Unexpected Disclosures
"Man, wake up."
Janson blinked, trying to clear his vision in the harsh light above him. His head hurt, as if sharp knives were stabbing into his skull, and he couldn't quite gather himself enough to turn his head toward the voice.
"Go away," he muttered.
Swatting at the offending light, his hand briefly connected to what felt like a small flashlight, its jarring assault continuing even after it was moved out of arm's reach. Janson groaned before sitting up.
"What?" he growled.
The blurry form of Hobbie Klivian leaned in front of him, wide face and narrow eyes slowly congealing into familiar features. Hobbie leaned in far too close and Janson rolled his eyes, triggering another sharp stab of pain.
"You gotta get up," he said. "Wes, you gotta get up."
Janson pressed his right hand to Hobbie's face, pushing it away and closing his eyes. "I gotta sleep, is what I gotta do. Go away."
"They arrested Solo."
Janson's eyes flew open, his heart stuttering into a startled rhythm, shock blowing through him like a cold, wintery gust of wind. "What?"
"He's in the aft brig," Hobbie said, dour voice thrumming with urgency. "Dodders had Langrog do it. The dumb shit is blabbing about it to everyone."
Guilt overtook him. Janson remembered with sudden, startling clarity the doubt he had expressed about Solo scrambling both the Mercs and the Rogues on the grounds of no intelligence or command anyone had heard. That had to be the reason for the arrest; Dodders was nothing if not a parliamentarian type, obsessed with rules and protocol and Solo was bound to wind up in the old general's sights sooner or later. This particular attack had been so fucking weird, it only made sense that High Command might ask some questions.
Solo'd been right, though. The Empire had been lurking in the gravity wells and if he hadn't sounded the alarm, there would have been a good chance that he—and everyone else aboard Home One—would have wound up captured or dead. The man should be getting a medal, not a stay in the brig.
Janson sat up, the knives' sting marginally lessened by the shock of the news. "What's the charge?"
"Assault," Hobbie said.
That threw him. "On Skywalker?"
He was thinking of his accusations against Solo, the jab about getting a promotion when Luke was out of commission.
Hobbie shook his head. "No. The princess."
Janson's jaw dropped, shock in every line of his body. "No."
Hobbie shrugged.
"No," Janson repeated. "He wouldn't."
No way in hell. No way. Solo looked at the princess like she held all the secrets to the universe in her hands. She wasn't as obvious about it but her wanting was as clear as his. The touches, the chemistry. The obvious way they antagonized each other so much it was like standing near a flame.
That shit was consensual and Janson knew it.
"The kicker is that she isn't even the one alleging it," Hobbie said. "Rumor has it she's been stuck in the medcenter and hasn't been allowed to give report."
Janson's chest exploded into cold rage as he pictured the dopey, lovestruck way Solo watched the princess when she wasn't looking, the disappearing space between them when they talked, the tempting quirk of lips that wanted to turn up into a grin whenever they conversed. He remembered all the glances, the secret smiles, the spring in both their steps.
And he remembered the image of Solo lifting the princess in his arms in the Falcon's cockpit.
"Bullshit," he said and stood up, searching for his pants with fury in every motion of his limbs. He wasn't going to let this gross misjudgement stand.
He wasn't serious about much, but he'd be damned if he let Solo be used like that.
—0—
Footsteps loud in the corridor, click-clicking against durasteel and the thrum of energy as people passed by General Rieekan. Whispers all around, bouncing off the walls, as clear as the unease in the air.
Everyone was talking. Everyone. There wasn't a single person on Home One who didn't know and have an opinion on Solo sitting in the brig, and the gossip followed Carlist like a plague. From conference to conference, meeting to meeting, as he waded his way through the mire of incredulous disbelief and anger, the gossip followed as close behind him as his shadow.
Anger, yes. Anger boiling over in the ranks, uniting even the most contentious of rivals. He'd left a meeting with Lieutenant Zend—she'd been seemingly calm, but obviously holding onto her composure by a thread—and had several more on his schedule for today, all requested to discuss Solo's arrest.
Carlist shook his head, angry himself. Solo didn't deserve such treatment, not by any stretch of the imagination. Leia herself had confirmed to him that they were in a relationship, and while that didn't mean assault couldn't happen, reports from the medbay told him that the princess was also furious and claiming the allegation was false.
He hadn't had a spare second to confirm that with her. His schedule trudged on endlessly, more and more meetings added by the hour. So many Rogues and Mercs and general command staff expressing horror and shock, the roiling, simmering disbelief like a hum in the air.
If he were a man more likely to jump at shadows, Carlist might have begun to think he was being kept from the princess, tied down to meetings that the rest of High Command was not taking. The one with Zend hadn't been planned—she'd just burst into his office without warning—but she'd been the last in a long string of people in arms about Commander Solo's arrest. Between the meetings and the isolation precautions being placed around both her and Skywalker, there was no way to speak to the injured party in question.
Finally, Carlist couldn't take any more. Ducking under the premise of a quick inspection of the Rogue's telemetry scanners, he made a beeline for the only available person to clarify the situation.
Home One's brig was a sterile set of empty rooms. It looked nothing like a jail, no bars or even a door. Instead a clear shield locked the officer in, much like an enviro-shield did for the water in a 'fresher. There was no privacy here, no dignity, but at the very least Carlist would be able to see and speak with Solo freely.
Stepping in with a glower, he said nothing to the guards and simply stared them down until they left their station. And there, on a bench, sat Solo: feet planted on the floor, knees wide apart, leaning against the wall behind him like he owned the place. In any other circumstance Carlist would have smiled at the pose, so typically Solo that he had to fight the instinct. His clothes were rumpled; it seemed he hadn't been offered a change since the battle, and his hair was darker than usual with sweat. When he looked up, his eyes were tired and lined with worry, his mouth set into a tight grimace. That expression plucked at the father in Carlist, the man who saw so much of himself in the hotshot former-smuggler.
"Commander Solo," he said, taking care to enunciate the rank. It felt important to do so right now, either to make up for the lack of respect his colleagues had shown him or to emphasize the rank for Solo to hear. He wasn't sure which.
At the words, Han's head shot up and he stood in a whiplash-inducing movement, so fast that Carlist didn't see it so much as feel it. "Rieekan. You gotta get me out of here."
Carlist nodded and neared the shield. "It's a chaotic situation."
Han's eyes turned stormy, shadows falling over his expression. "It's all bullshit, you know that."
"I do."
"She said she told you," he continued. "You can ask Luke, or Chewie, or Salla. They know about us, they know I wouldn't do—"
Carlist interrupted him, quick as lightning. "She told me you two were in a relationship. Doesn't mean the assault didn't happen."
"It didn't."
"Can you give me a compelling reason why I should believe you?"
He waited, watching Solo swallow and open his mouth, close it, open it again. The younger man seemed to be working up to his own defense and Carlist waited as he would for any junior officer in this kind of situation. He believed Solo, he believed that he was innocent of these charges, but there was a part of him, a protective part, that knew he would need this assertion from Solo to really feel comfortable. Leia's word was as good as gold, but he hadn't been able to see her yet. So he had to ask the question, even if he knew the answer.
This was Carlist's princess. He had to be absolutely certain.
"Because I love her," Solo said, low and uncomfortable. Like the words weren't for Carlist's ears, like they belonged to someone else. He supposed they did. They came from Solo with all the hush and sanctity Carlist would assume should be there.
A part of him thrilled to hear such a frank declaration. It wasn't a surprise. Solo had been following the princess around for years and had been nothing but steadfast to her. Even as he'd railed against joining the Alliance in an official capacity, he had been trustworthy when it came to her safety and well-being. There was no one else Carlist trusted more with his monarch's life than Solo and his old, cantankerous ship.
It had been why he'd been pleased when Leia confirmed it to him in the briefing theater yesterday afternoon. Their attraction to each other had always been visible to anyone with eyes, and in the moments between fights, when their voices quieted and they allowed themselves an uneasy, combustible friendship, Carlist had seen their potential, had seen how compatible they were. Solo needed Leia's cool head, her detachment and finesse, and Leia needed Solo's frankness and spontaneity. A balance, as all good things were.
But that was his opinion. It didn't mean it reflected reality. And in a case like this, it was most important to listen to what actually was, not what one wanted it to be.
Carlist pressed his lips together. "Loving her doesn't mean you didn't hurt her."
A spark of rage at just the thought, flickering alone in his chest, drawing in oxygen and leaving him breathless with its ferocity. He wouldn't dare, Carlist thought. And I wouldn't let him.
"Dammit, Carlist!" Han's voice broke through his dark thoughts. "You are supposed to be on my side here!"
"No," Carlist replied. "I am on her side. And since I can't get to her right now, I have to ask you. Is there any other reason why she would have been in that state?"
Solo blinked and shut his mouth.
"There has to be a reason, Han," he said into the quiet. "I believe that you love her."
He did. He believed it in his bones. The knowledge had been there a long time, nestled in marrow, a fundamental truth.
"But there's a reason she was not herself in that battle," he continued. "And I need to know why before I can get you out of here."
Solo stared at him through the shield, eyes wide. A breath, two, and then he turned on his heel, walked the few steps to the bench and sat down.
"I can't tell you," he said.
Rieekan sighed, deflated. "This isn't a game, son. They're talking about charging you with mutiny. You could be shipped out to who-knows-where. They could seize the Falcon. They would do it in a heartbeat for any reason they could find."
Solo shook his head, put his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. "No."
Carlist watched him on the bench, the way his eyes focused on the decking below his boots, and felt truly helpless.
—0—
"Release me immediately."
Luke could hear her from down the medbay corridor, the agitated tone of highborn rage Leia used when she felt at her most desperate. And while he was angry with her, at her deception, at Han's, at the way they had all kept the secret of her Force-sensitivity from him, that tone of voice was not one he ignored. Not once, not ever.
"Leia?" he asked as he padded down the corridor. "What's going on?"
She was in the hatchway between her private room and the open medic's station, regal even in her patient's gown and with hair falling out of the thick braid that trailed down her back. When she turned to look at him, her eyes were fierce, wild and scared. Vengeful. She looked like she had leashed her anger tightly to her side, like she was in no danger of losing control, but only because she stubbornly refused to do so. Chewie was standing by her side, looking equally furious: fangs bared, blue eyes a dangerous fire in the hair around his face.
"They arrested him," Leia said.
Luke furrowed his brow. "Arrested who?"
She stared at him, her ferocity as obvious as a stun beam. Chewie growled, low, wordless but clear enough.
"Han?" he asked, shock rolling through him. "Why?"
Luke thought back to the morning, the times Han had stuck his head in to check on him, the glasses of water he'd brought and the annoying jokes he'd made. That had only been a few hours ago; what could he have possibly done—?
"Because I woke him up and had him drag me to you," Leia bit out. "Because I was so out of control that somebody assumed I had been drugged."
Oh.
Oh.
"That's… not good," he said, lame and feeling impotent. "That's not good at all."
Her glare was like a quick-acting poison: withering and consuming.
Luke held up his hands in surrender. "But you weren't drugged. They have your blood tests now; that'll show them—
"Jan doesn't even believe me. Do you really think he will believe a blood test?"
"Has Dodonna come by to see you?" Luke asked.
He has not been here, Chewie answered as Leia shook her head. Old-General is not accepting meetings but I sent Zend to speak with Rieekan.
Luke's eyes slid to the side, trying to think. The situation was tenuous, of course; these things were always messy. The Alliance had had a few accusations of sexual assault over the past few months and Leia had always made sure the allegations were addressed. In some cases the alleger wanted discretion and in others they needed to speak for themselves. Every case was entirely different. And Leia was adamant about it, almost vehemently aggressive in her support, in a way that had made Luke far more aware of the incredible delicacy of the cause. Until Leia had come into his life, he hadn't realized how terrifying gender politics could be.
But this wasn't that. And Dodonna was twisting the grand sensitivity of such an accusation to serve his own purposes.
"What does he want?" he asked, finally arriving at the heart of the matter. "What does he get out of arresting Han?"
"I don't have the slightest idea."
Spite, Chewie offered.
Luke turned to the Wookiee, nodding as his eyes cut to Leia. "I mean, he's not Han's biggest fan—"
"No," she interrupted. "Jan isn't that vindictive. He's probably using it to center himself, finding something to focus on as we transition to Echo Base."
Luke closed his mouth, not wanting to disagree with Leia in such a state. He wasn't so sure about Dodonna's motives though. It was no secret that he hated Han, that the commission of the former smuggler nettled him. One could be a great hero of a revolution and still be petty.
"We need to go talk to him, tell our side," Luke finally said. "I'll get a human medic, I'm sure we can get discharged..."
He trailed off at Leia's fiercely condescending look. And then he realized his own mistake.
He turned to the Two-One-Bee. "We can't leave?"
"You are under strict isolation orders, Commander Skywalker," the droid said. "You may not be discharged for some time."
Leia tossed her head, her wild braid slinging over a shoulder like a snake. "I demand to speak to General Dodonna," she said, taking up her fight against the droid with all the passion he knew she possessed.
Luke was startled to realize that he felt more alone than ever, that the bureaucracy of the Alliance was not the shining pillar he had told himself it was. He retreated into himself, mulling over what Leia had told him earlier, how alone she also felt.
Is this what it means to be a Jedi? he thought amongst the rising tide of Leia's loud protests, louder, louder, louder until he could feel her anger pinging from wall to wall. Until he could taste it in the air. And in his aura-sight, he saw Leia burning bright red, flaring with fire and heat, so angry that he could barely see her natural form.
—0—
Six hours of waiting, of going through the right channels, of scheduling meeting after meeting with Jan's secretarial droids and with constant cancellations, had left their mark on Carlist. The usually calm Alderaanian had become irate. His princess locked in a medcenter without visitation rights, his subordinate stuck in the brig on—from what Carlist could see—a trumped-up, ridiculous charge.
Enough.
He jogged to Jan Dodonna as the man crossed the hangar, the only place he could see to intercept him. After all, Carlist had been on the prowl for the past hour.
"Jan!" he called over the din of a bay at work.
The other general turned without managing to hide his annoyed expression. "Carlist," he answered. "Can't it wait?"
Stepping in front of him, Carlist blocked his path. Jan looked tired, the dark circles under his eyes a testament to how little he'd rested since the attack early this morning. Carlist could feel it, the concern, the resigned fury in the general, could feel how righteousness took the place of sense when exhaustion reared its ugly head.
He did not think Jan Dodonna was a bad man. He was a tired man with a grudge and an opportunity to act on that grudge in service to a higher ideal.
"We need to talk," Carlist said. "What have you found in your investigation?"
"I don't have time for this. I am the lead in several investigations that make no sense, discerning information from unreliable and unhelpful sources. And that is not even considering the work to dock and transport people and equipment onto the planet's surface—"
"You have incarcerated an innocent man," Carlist interrupted. "That is more important at the moment."
Jan turned fully to him, shoulders heavy. He noted the tightness in Jan's mouth, the lines that creased his forehead in stress. "Innocent," he repeated. "There is no such man in the galaxy."
Carlist put up his hands. "Innocent of what you claim he has done," he amended, well aware that Solo could hardly be considered innocent in the broader context.
"I take allegations of sexual misconduct very seriously."
"As you should," Carlist agreed. "But shouldn't the allegation be confirmed by the supposed victim herself?"
Jan pressed his lips together, shaking his head. "Ideally. But I would prefer an accused predator not to be free on my ship while we investigate. Doesn't that follow the most prudent course of action?"
"Our ship," Carlist corrected. "And Her Highness requested to speak with you hours ago."
"This is not the only item on my schedule. I have a base to ready, too. Perhaps you should be more concerned with that than with one soldier under your command?"
Jan made to step around Carlist, but the Alderaanian parried his efforts. "A soldier who acted honorably today. A soldier who saved us."
"Really? Saved us? From an Imperial force that discovered our location because of a probe his squadron found and brought back to base?"
Carlist shook his head. "That wasn't his fault."
"A soldier who defied orders and took off on his own vigilante mission, endangering his XO and the XO of another squadron in the process? A squadron he took command of without authorization?"
"I gave him permission," Carlist defended.
Jan exhaled harshly, trained angry eyes on Carlist's. "This man might have defiled your surviving monarch. Surely you don't take that lightly?"
Defiled. A telling word choice and one that made Carlist clench his fists. Defiled, as if purity was a standard to judge anyone, much less a woman who could and would speak for herself if given the opportunity. Too ancient an ideal for matriarchal Alderaan, for any modern society, truly.
Defiled, like Jan Dodonna could assess Leia Organa and see anything but capability and strength, inside and outside her bunk.
Carlist opened his mouth to respond and shut it before he could. While the information he'd gleaned from Leia herself had helped him come to his conclusion, it was also not his information to spread. Tactics, inventory, grim outlooks… all of these were in Jan's right to know as well as Carlist's. They shared the burden of command with heavy hearts and mutually-assured destruction.
But they were talking about the personal life of a colleague, a woman of enormous cultural and political influence. He thought of Solo, locked up in the brig but refusing to answer Carlist's questions even when it might free him.
That loyalty was important. That loyalty meant something. And Carlist was not about to bend against that kind of honest goodness.
"I don't take it lightly," he answered once his feelings had settled. "But I think the princess is the only one who should be making such allegations."
Quiet descended between them, as Carlist realized they had gathered a bit of an audience. Mechanics had stopped their work, the buzzing of a revolution silenced in favor of the conversation between two of the Alliance's senior officers. Those rumors that had already spread—he could only imagine—would intensify in magnitude. They had to tread lightly.
Into the quiet, Jan spoke, his voice hushed with the same realization. "There is more going on here than just the allegation, Carlist," Jan said. "The blood tests have shown something… else."
Carlist blinked. "You can't access her records. That's private."
"I can and I have," Jan replied. "Hers and Commander Skywalker's both."
Carlist's chest flooded with worry and anger. "You are way out of line."
"You'll understand," the other general said, so grave that Carlist leaned in. "Or perhaps you already do."
Carlist furrowed his brow. "Perhaps I'll understand what?"
"I wonder how much you already know," Jan said with an odd tilt to his head. "You were close to the Viceroy, after all."
It was like Jan had suddenly started speaking a different language; Carlist couldn't make sense of the words.
He settled on a simple question. "What does any of this have to do with Bail?"
"You should probably come with me to debrief the princess—" Jan began but was interrupted by a cacophony on the other side of the bay.
"General Dodonna! General Rieekan!"
The voice was loud and instantly identifiable as Lieutenant Wes Janson's. Carlist turned to look behind him, noting a gray-uniformed figure coming at them at a dead run, arms flying and boots clicking rhythmically against the deckplates.
"Janson, please," Carlist said to him. "Not now."
"With all… due… respect, sirs," Wes Janson said between breaths. "It can't wait. I have… information, fuck, I can't breathe... "
Carlist put a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "You are offshift, Lieutenant. Go back to sleep."
"No, General," Janson said, breathing shallowly like he'd run a marathon. "I can't sleep. Solo isn't guilty."
Carlist stiffened. "It's an order, Janson," he said, a spike of realization hitting him with the speed of a podracer. "Hit the bunks."
"They're together," he huffed. Loudly. "Together together. I've seen them."
Carlist didn't react but inwardly he winced. The crowd had stilled. Everyone had heard. Everyone was listening.
"Who?" Jan asked of Wes, seeming flustered by the interruption.
"Solo and the princess," Janson said. "They're sleeping together. It's not assault."
Carlist eyed the crowd, the hushed whispers that broke out everywhere around them, like echoes in a cave. Then he turned to Jan.
In any other situation, his expression would have been amusing. Lips parted, feet planted wide, eyes narrow: Jan looked like a caricature of himself. Always in control, unflappable, secure in all his authority, Jan Dodonna was the epitome of a good military man. And at the moment, he more resembled a Gaavian Float-Fish than a general.
"Impossible," Jan said when his mouth caught up to his brain.
"No, sir," Janson answered, and Carlist wanted to kick him for his always-loud voice. "They're banging. Having relations—"
"That's quite enough, Janson," Carlist interrupted.
"—doing the—"
"Stop," Carlist interrupted again, adding more heat and volume. "He understands."
Janson nodded, eyes big and innocent. "They're together. Whatever it was that happened, it didn't have anything to do with assault."
Jan closed his mouth, seeming to catch himself in an undignified expression, and turned wide eyes to Carlist. "Is this true?"
Carlist eyed the audience, an audience that had frankly forgotten to even pretend to be working. "Yes. It's true."
Jan's eyes seemed to unfocus, his brain working feverishly to comprehend. Again, Carlist found it amusing, the way Jan's elitism showed itself. What a strange universe he lived in, to be surprised at this revelation. Carlist had been aware of the growing closeness between the two for some time. He hadn't actually needed the princess to confirm it to him, though he felt gratified when she had. A sign of trust and a nice little hint at how deeply she'd fallen.
However, his mirth died down as the whispers doubled, as he stood within earshot of Leia's personal life being splayed out for all to hear. This wasn't at all what he'd wanted. This was just as much an invasion of her privacy as Jan's inspection of her medical files and it sickened him to his core.
"Let's go," Carlist urged Jan. "We should not discuss this here."
—0—
Leia was incensed, furious, an out-of-her-control rage thrumming through her veins like fire. Her fingers twitched with untapped kinesthetic energy, something she had only noticed on Nar Shaddaa, something that forewarned potential destruction. She wanted to tear something apart, wanted to watch her anger manifest in the physical world in some obvious way.
Han.
He was in the center of the fire, flames whipping around him like a molten hurricane. Han, who had done nothing but support and love her, touched by this insane accusation. Han, who had his faults but who would never, ever, lay a hand on her, would never treat anyone with such disrespect. Han, who was the sole reason Luke and Leia were here on Home One and not in an interrogation cell on the Executor.
Han, who had warned her.
The tingling in her fingers spread to her wrists, palpable anger in every cell. Energy sparked beneath her skin, she could feel it, could feel the power she despised, growing stronger and stronger as the image of Han sitting in an Alliance brig solidified in her mind, visceral, real and true.
A snap, loud and heavy interrupted her rage. The Two-One-Bee leaned to peer behind her, and Leia turned with Chewie and Luke, finding that a telemetry monitor had fallen to the floor, the extending arm that held it aloft broken in half.
I didn't do that, she thought even as she knew she had.
A reflex.
She had to control herself.
Luke stood next to her, so much calmer than she was, ice-blue eyes a complete contrast to the burning she could feel behind her own. She tried to breathe in his peaceful essence, tried to exhale the rage into the sterile Medcenter air. She found the rhythm of his breathing, tried to match it, tried to find a center that wasn't Han, a center outside of her own protectiveness. The rage bustled in her veins but she held on, trying to focus on Luke, imagining blue where red had taken command.
"Your Highness."
She turned her head to see Carlist and Jan walking toward her. Both men looked exhausted, dark circles under their eyes and a thin twist to their lips.
Relief and anger flooded her in equal measure, relief to see Carlist with her own eyes, alive after the disaster that was this morning's evacuation, anger directed at Jan for his unconscionable actions toward Han.
But reassurance, too, that she could straighten out this mistake. Suddenly the daunting prospect of telling anyone who would listen that she loved Han was negligible. In the face of revealing her Force-sensitivity, which she knew she would also have to disclose, her relationship with Han was a joy. The time for privacy had passed; if she had revealed it in the first place Han wouldn't be sitting in the brig right now—
"It was not assault," she said. Her voice was probably too loud. "Commander Solo and I are in a relationship."
The generals stopped just short of Chewie's bulk. "So I hear," Jan said through gritted teeth. "Apparently I am the last to know."
It is none of your business, Chewie growled and Leia almost smiled at the reversal in the Wookiee's thinking. He'd been quite adamant in his opinion before they'd told Luke.
"There was no need to disclose it," she said. "I am not his commanding officer."
"General Dodonna, sir, I can personally vouch for them," Luke jumped in.
Jan turned to Luke, icy eyes narrow. "I wouldn't meddle, son," he said. "I haven't even begun to think about your dereliction of duties this morning."
Luke opened his mouth to reply but stopped. Turning to look at Leia, her stomach flipped to see the pain there, the loyalty that kept him from defending himself.
Because how to defend Luke without revealing the larger, all-consuming secret? Luke could say that he was indisposed because of Vader, but then how to explain Leia's similar state?
Release my Cub, Chewie growled, low and threatening. You have caused enough damage.
"Really, Jan," Carlist stepped in. "It's time to let Solo go."
Jan seemed to consider them all, eyes sweeping from one to another, mouth set in his perpetually-disapproving grimace. He settled on Leia. "You chose him?" he asked.
Leia was surprised at the soft tone in the man's voice, how bewildered he seemed, how flabbergasted. And, too, she was surprised that amid the questions he had to have about the morning's events, this question rose in prominence.
"I chose him," she answered. "And he chose me."
Chewie stepped closer to her, as if to brace her upright, but for her this didn't take any effort. It was not a painful concession to make. The truth was more complicated than fear of disapproval, and in any case, if that had been her sole worry, she would have divulged it the minute the Falcon's struts had hit Home One's docking bay after Nar Shaddaa.
Jan blinked and dropped his eyes, clearing his throat. "There is another matter," he said, turning to Luke. "You were not intoxicated during the evacuation. There is no trace of alcohol in your blood tests."
"No, sir," Luke answered.
"In fact, there is no indication of any physical ailments in your chart. Why weren't you in your X-wing during the evacuation, Commander?"
A flicker of anger rippled through Leia's chest. "You can't look through his medical record."
Jan ignored her. "Answer my question, soldier."
Luke pursed his lips and shook his head.
"I have the same question, Commander Skywalker," Carlist stepped in.
Leia sucked in a breath, realizing the moment of reckoning had come. Luke could not answer this question without revealing her own Force-sensitivity and he would see that as a betrayal. She looked at him, at Chewie, thought about Salla, who had kept the secret for months. She was not ready, she was not ready, she was not ready to reveal this.
But she'd already hurt Luke so much; she had seen it in his eyes. The idea of someone to share the burden with him, the excitement in his eyes when she'd confirmed it… He deserved better than her silence and her fear. And she didn't want him to be alone anymore.
She was not ready, but she also wouldn't betray Luke any more than she already had.
"Commander Skywalker and I were both affected by Darth Vader's presence in the system."
Chewie murmured a soft, wordless sound and Luke's shoulders visibly sagged in relief. Carlist looked confused.
But Jan didn't move a muscle.
"I'm Force-sensitive, like Luke," she said. "I found out during my mission to Nar Shaddaa."
Carlist blinked, seemed to read an invisible script in front of him, eyes moving back and forth across an imaginary page. "I… How?"
She used the Force to ensure our escape, Chewie offered.
Carlist looked to Luke for a translation. "I don't understand."
"I don't quite understand it, either," Leia replied. The hollow in her stomach was becoming a chasm and she wished more than anything that Han was standing beside her. "But it's true. And it is why both Luke and I were less than helpful in the evacuation."
"We sounded the alarm," Luke whispered.
Hair-trigger anger rushed through her. "You were unconscious and I could barely walk. We didn't do anything. Han is the one who saved us."
Cub only knew to act because you told him to, Chewie offered, always the pragmatist, always the optimist. And Little Jedi told us to go into the cloud. You grabbed the yoke to prevent us from Vader's initial blasts. All of you deserve much thanks.
Carlist leaned into Leia's space, lowering his voice. "You've only known since Nar Shaddaa?"
She nodded, knowing what he was getting at. "I don't think my parents knew," she whispered. "And if they did, they must have kept it secret to protect me."
"They wouldn't have known or they would have adopted the both of you."
Jan's voice was like cold water, splashing into bone marrow and the deepest recesses of their stomachs. An unwelcome addition: everyone else in this room was family.
Luke found his words first. "I was never up for adoption, sir," he said. "My aunt and uncle raised me after my parents died."
"Who were they?" Jan asked.
Leia wanted to slap him. "What is the point in all of this, Jan? Luke is not the one you should be discussing. We've known about his Force-sensitivity from the beginning."
"Correct. I am trying to ascertain when you two found out you were twins."
It was like being dropped into a vacuum. Nothing moved. No one spoke or breathed. The five of them—six, if you included the Two-One-Bee next to Carlist—were motionless. It wasn't like the paralyzing influence of Vader in her dreams; no, this was like her muscles had stopped working of their own volition. Shut down. Motionless.
"Jan." Carlist found his voice first. "Jan."
"Did you know, Carlist?" the older general asked. "Is this another secret you've kept from High Command?"
Leia's focus had shifted to a pinprick. She could hear the men speaking, could understand the words, but her brain was just a muscle and her muscles had failed her.
"I don't know what you think you're doing—"
Jan's voice was harsh. "Their blood tests are indisputable."
"What… What would even make you think to compare them—?"
"Something Solo said," Jan dismissed. "It doesn't matter. I want to know how long you two have known."
Leia couldn't think. It was like being dropped back in time, to the medbunk on the Falcon where Han had first told her of his suspicions of her Force-sensitivity. She felt like she had just reconciled herself to that revelation. This… This was so incredibly bizarre, so much more incomprehensible to her, that she was struggling to find her voice.
Little Princess, Chewie said, leaning down to peer into her wayward focus. Little Princess, are you okay?
"Twin?" Luke asked so quietly that no one but Leia seemed to hear him.
"This is ridiculous," Carlist said. "The odds are astronomical. Skywalker came to us by pure accident—"
Little Princess?
"You don't believe me?" Jan asked. "Two-One-Bee, call up the records."
Leia didn't see it. She didn't see anything. Her brain had stopped computing anything but sound, anything but the different voices speaking around her.
"—gross invasion of privacy—"
"—keeping secrets from us—"
—indefensible to tell Little Princess and Little Jedi this way—
Leia heard them but didn't react. Her lungs could only take in small breaths of oxygen. She'd lost all feeling in her hands. Her head felt too heavy for her neck. Too big. Too full.
Twins, she thought.
And with one last burst of energy she looked at Luke, looked into those ice-blue eyes, so different from her own. Looked at the face that didn't resemble hers in the slightest, looked at the kindness etched into his features, so different from her cold passivity, the lengths she went to appear untouchable.
She thought back to this morning, the need to see him, to touch him as he lay on the ramp. She thought about the sudden imperative to make sure he was safe, the way she could feel him sometimes, could anticipate his attacks when they sparred in the training room. From the moment they'd met they had just clicked, always deriving such comfort from each other. Their friendship had had no right to blossom so fast.
She stared at him, at the man Jan called her twin. Opened her mouth, heard the word not in her voice but Luke's—
"Twin," he said.
Author's Note: And that's where we go more AU within the original AU. Thank you so much for your comments and support; they truly mean the world to me!
The next chapter will be posted on Monday, June 1st. Special thanks as always to my editor and partner-in-crime, AmongEmeraldClouds. Stay inside as much as you can, wash your hands and stay safe! -KR
