A Negotiation

For Justine Graham and Erin Darroch, because I am late on the birthday wishes. Special thanks to AmonstEmeraldClouds for the edit!


The kids were throwing him a Life Day party.

Grimacing, Han rolled onto his back and let his eyes close as he enjoyed the quiet of the bedroom: the way the penthouse's air filtration system blew soft breeze against the hair on his chest, the way the expensive sheets rustled against his hand: the sounds of Leia breathing softly beside him. Small pleasures won through hard effort: the kind of thing that sometimes went unnoticed in a home that had seen its fair share of busy. Family life wasn't peaceful like this very often, however, and he wasn't a man known for his contemplative moods. The combination was like the first night's rest after being away from home, so he took a moment to enjoy it.

A party. Later tonight.

He knew it came from a good place. It was a milestone—or so his kids had claimed, he frankly couldn't care less—and they had wanted to celebrate. All of them. Their spouses, a few close friends, Luke and Mara and their kids, too. It won't be huge, Dad, his oldest had said. Just the not-boring people, we promise.

Which was Organa-Solo speak for none of Mom's political friends. That was good. He didn't particularly feel like ass-kissing today.

He stayed with these thoughts for a moment longer, then rolled over to look at the beautiful woman next to him. Startled, he caught the discerning flicker of deep brown and realized she was already awake, quietly studying him in her too-enlightened way. A soft smile lifted the edge of her lips and his heart did that flutter thing it did whenever she walked into a room.

"Happy Life Day," she said, turning fully onto her side to face him. "How does it feel to be turning—"

He pressed his knuckles into her lips to interrupt her. "Nuh-uh."

"It's a big number."

"Age ain't anything but a number. I'd be fine with this being just another day."

She rolled her eyes and unfurled his hand to kiss his fingers. "Sorry about the party."

"You should be," he said, and then hauled her closer to him until he could snake his legs through hers and feel her skin on his. "You made those little monsters."

"Not-so-little anymore," she replied, and he accepted that with a nod. "And it was certainly not only me making them," she continued. "If I recall."

He grinned. "Sure. You only say that now, when they're doing something stupid."

"Of course. When they do great things, it was a one-woman show."

Chuckling, he snuck his nose into her hair and breathed her in deeply. Decades together and he still couldn't quite handle the scope and brilliance of her mind. After all those years—the good and the bad and the hard—he was confident that he did the same to her.

"So," he began, using the confidential whisper he'd perfected after years with small children in the penthouse. "We can skip this thing, right?"

"No."

"The kids can have their shindig and we can just stay here all day."

"No."

"If they want me to be celebrated, I can think of a whole hell of a lot more fun things I'd like to do here—"

She kissed him to shut him up, an effective enough tactic. Her lips were soft and the hand she pressed against his cheek was a nice touch, too. Gentle and calming, like water on a hot day or bacta on a wound. And when she pulled back, he struggled to remember what the joke had been.

Ahh, Leia, he thought, and dove for her lips as she laughed at his antics, the way he could so easily be distracted by her attention: even now, even though he was at the age when people weren't supposed to be so utterly enchanted by their partners. His body pressed her into the mattress, framing her head with his hands on the pillow and shifting as close to her as he could get without disappearing into her entirely. He kept it light, teasing, because they had plenty of time today to revel in the bedroom if they so chose.

The remarkable benefit of being a former chief-of-state and first husband; no one told him he had to be anywhere anymore, except maybe their kids and—

A commlink chimed somewhere on the bedside table. Han paused, looked between his lovely wife and the offending device, then grabbed it before said lovely wife could react.

"Han!" she cried, scrabbling for his hands as his hips pressed her into the bed. "That's my comm!"

"So?"

"So," she huffed in frustration. 'We've talked about taking my things—"

"You got something to hide, Princess?" he asked, using his free hand to balance his weight as he sat back on his heels, comm secure in his much longer arm. "This wouldn't be about something for me, now, would it?"

Sitting up, she mirrored his pose. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He grinned. "Let's see," he said. "Says here the message is from the furball."

"Please, Han. Don't read it," she begged.

Her words came much faster now and the panic he saw there soundly confirmed what he had said. He'd never intended to actually look at the message—she still got all sorts of top-secret intelligence briefings and, honestly, he had never been a jealous guy, anyway—but her reaction told him everything he needed to know. The only good part about Life Day was watching Leia scramble to hide shit from him.

"What are you willing to pay to have this back?" he asked.

Sitting on her heels, she looked disheveled and adorable, all righteous fury reminiscent of Her Highnessness but in the best possible way. One shoulder of her sleep shirt had fallen to her elbow and her hair was coming out of a messy bun on top of her head. No makeup, no stylists, no fancy clothes… Honestly, if his Life Day ended right now, he'd consider it a day well spent.

"I can make it worth your while," she said.

She said it like she was negotiating a hostage crisis, hands up and everything, and he laughed out loud. "Can't pay in credits, darlin'. I already got more than I need."

Leia sniffed. "If you're aiming for sex—"

"Got plenty of that, too," he said with a waggle of his eyebrows. "I was thinking more along the lines of a coordinated retreat of the party tonight."

Tilting her head, she dropped her hands into her lap and assumed the role of chief politician—an open expression, calm, collected—but the effect was hilarious to him. Leia only slept in one of his old shirts; her legs were bare under the hem and she looked softer and more beautiful to him now than she'd ever looked in those hearings or mediations from her time as the most important person in the galaxy.

Ah, pal, he thought to his younger self. If you could have only seen this.

"How early?" she asked.

"Six hours."

"It won't be that long of a party, Counselor," she countered.

"Three."

She poked him in the chest. "Your children are throwing you this party. You have to at least attend most of it. Thirty minutes."

"Two hours."

"One hour."

"Deal," he said and lowered her comm back down within the reach of her hand. "Nice doing business with you, Your Worship."

She rolled her eyes and looked down, read her message, then looked up again with a quick smile. "You, too, Captain. You just gave him time to come up the turbolift."

Narrowing his eyes, he tried to figure out her ploy, put the pieces together. "Chewie's here?"

"With fresh rhyscate and panna-cakes."

Han broke into a smile. "Ah, hell yes," he said and leapt out of the bed with all the energy of a much-younger man. "That's a surprise I'm definitely okay with."

He heard her I know it is, but he was busy putting on a pair of sleep pants and an old t-shirt he'd had since before the kids had been born. When he was presentable, he checked to see that Leia was likewise suitably dressed, then grabbed her hand as she moved to the closed door of their bedroom.

He stopped. "I wasn't kidding about leaving the party early tonight," he said.

And Leia smiled, reached a hand up to stroke his unshaven cheek, her fingers rasping against morning stubble. "A deal's a deal," she said. "An hour early."

He nodded, kissed her forehead, and led her by the hand to greet his old friend in the foyer of the penthouse he loved, eager to celebrate all he'd done to deserve a happy Life Day.