Chapter 16. White Lies

She is so engrossed in her datapad that she almost misses a step when…

"You know, your worshipfulness, you're a incredibly difficult woman to track down. One'd think you're a smuggler, who owes credits to the good ol' Jabba the Hutt."

A familiar teasing voice makes her break into a grin, an utterly undignified one, but Leia couldn't suppress it even if she tried.

"But then, you killed that slug long ago…"

She turns around to see Han, his hazel-green eyes twinkling with mischief, a small smirk, a trademark mix between boyish and arrogant, playing on his lips. In the next second, she's swept off the ground into a tight hug, familiar, warm, comforting, stealing a laugh from her lips. Luke is standing nearby, and for a second, it feels like before. Like Endor, or Yavin, or all those times when life brimmed with happiness, when the future tasted of sweet, intoxicating possibility and hope. When reality didn't dare to infringe on her small make-believe world, and Leia felt as if she could walk on water, oblivious to sharp stones hidden underneath.

As her feet touch the ground, though, even with Han's hand resting on her waist in a whisper of this perfect little fantasy, she knows they're still there… hiding in the faint echoes of dreams, lurking in the farthest corners of her mind, whenever she tries to think of their future together.

"What are you doing here, hotshot? Thought you hated pretentious political gatherings?"

"Allergic to them, in fact, but I've started to think that you may've gotten yourself in a bit of trouble, blaster shots and all."

"I had it under control."

"I know you have, but the kid," Han gestures to Luke, and her little brother dons a perfect expression of an affronted innocence, "wanted me to come. With Kashyyyk free, getting here was a matter of days."

"Where is Chewie?"

"Still back home, sorting out a few things, but I suspect he simply doesn't like Coruscant that much."

"Not that I blame him." Luke grins in response.

And just like that, she's swept by the force of nature that Han is, as if she hasn't spent months and months avoiding him with obstinacy worthy of a better cause. He hasn't noticed, or pretends that he hasn't, doesn't push for an explanation either, just brushes it aside with a teasing joke and moves on.

With a deliberately melodramatic sigh, her mom remarks, "I suppose a tiny bit of me hoped that my daughter's first romance wouldn't be so…suitable. Sometimes it does a girl good to fall for a bit of a scoundrel, now and then."

Leia's first romance may've been suitable, but then came Han. A respite, a gust of fresh air. Reckless, flamboyant, charming, always straightforward to a fault, allergic to politics and causes, yet loyal to his friends. One of the reasons she fell for him in the first place: so different from the stuffy politicians and courtiers, who hide behind decorum, manners and etiquette in an attempt to mask greed, hatred and ambition. With Han, what you see is what you get: a scoundrel with a heart of gold.

Yet, a small part of her, a broken echo of that Leia from her dreams, the one who felt infinitely lonely year in and year out, remarks that… a healing virtue of any respite lies in the fact that it's only temporary, and deluding herself otherwise would be short-sighted, that avoiding each other came surprisingly easy to them, this time around as well. Before premonition and anxiety can take their hold of her, Luke seems to sense her unease and, as they walk down to her quarters, whispers in her ear.

"Remember what I told you, Leia, don't punish Han or yourself for something that hasn't happened yet."

Leave it to Luke to be the voice of wisdom. With that, Leia promises herself just to enjoy this sudden, if utterly untimely reunion. She's genuinely happy to see Han, very much so, relief, joy and longing all mixing together in a familiar melody. Yet, their renewed proximity, now more real than ever, doesn't feel quite the same. Her word and responsibilities are bigger now, her time is not her own, no matter how hard she tries, it's difficult to find a balance over the next few days.

As much as she wants to blame it on Thrawn, who has unceremoniously put the future of the peace deal in her hands; as much as she wants to blame it on the recent tragedy, her new title of the Councilor and everything that comes with it, truth is… it's her choice, her chance to help all sentients in the galaxy. The meaning of it, the weight, the responsibility, extends beyond any relationship, beyond herself, even, for she is not more important than the cause she serves.

It takes her longer to reply to Thrawn's messages now, an unfortunate consequence of having to hide the real identity of a person she speaks so much with.

"The point of a negotiation is to make each party feel as though they've won. I need you to fight me on this point, Grand Admiral, loud and clear, then we'll meet in a middle here." Leia sends Thrawn the list of rearranged talking points while they talk via com that evening.

"So how affronted so do you want me to seem, Councilor?"

"As if I've just destroyed your favorite painting, if you have one, of course."

"You… you wouldn't?"

She laughs, for this sudden surprise and confusion in the usually calm voice is so… endearing that it takes her off guard. Stars above, if anyone only knew how easy it can be to throw the usually impenetrable Grand Admiral off balance with such minor things.

"Depends on how convincing you're tomorrow."

She ends the call, and that's how, with an amused little smile on her lips, Han sees her when he comes back from a night out with Luke and the Phantom Squadron.

"What got you in such a good mood?"

"Ah, nothing, just… Winter being silly."

She waves a dismissive hand, yet feels a pang of guilt, irrational and, strangely, more personal than it has any right to be. This behind-the-scenes alliance, born out of a few chance meetings, late night chats and political necessity, shouldn't feel like a personal transgression.

For no reason at all, it does.

So, the next day, when Thrawn suggests to meet, even if her initial instinct is to accept, she declines and spends the evening with Han in an attempt to create an illusion of normalcy, even if for a little while. Stupid dreams and fears shouldn't dictate her life, she reminds herself, no matter how real, how excruciating they feel.

"I've been thinking." She pretends to mull a point over. "What if I decided to go flying around the galaxy with some scoundrel after the peace deal is signed?"

He shakes his head in—surprise? Disbelief? Leia isn't sure. While he seems sceptical that she will go with this rash plan, he likes the idea, the warmth in his eyes and that boyish smirk tell it louder than words.

"If you try really, really hard, you may become a decent smuggler one of those days, your highness. Not the best, but palatable."

She mock-punches him in the arm.

"Only… you won't leave this precious New Republic of yours, not now, not ever."

He's right, she knows it, with or without her nightmares, she would never leave the New Republic behind, not while the state is so fragile and the peace so uncertain.

"Just like you'd never leave the Millennium Falcon."

Space is his first love, she knows it, and doesn't even want to compete, for that's what makes Han who he is. Yet, it's also what made avoiding him over the last months a bit… easier than it should be. It scares her, this very moment, for she can see it again: that future where their lives diverge into two parallel lines that are never meant to intersect in the first place.

"I know you'll always come back through," she says more to herself than to him, trying to chase away faint ghosts of her dreams, "eventually. That's why I still put up with you."

"As long as there is something to come back to, sweetheart." It sounds like a question, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

"There is, always will be."

For no reason at all, her words taste like a little white lie.

"Chandrila." Leia says to get rid of that irrational feeling. "We'll go to Chandrila together once the treaty is signed, and take it from there."

"Sounds awfully like a promise, your worshipfulness."

Her dream is treacherous tonight. It sneaks up on her in a comforting, gentle wave. She's looking out of the viewport, taking in endless darkness of space, light of faraway stars and lulling sounds of ship engines. How easy this life can be, how tempting. As the ship enters in hyperspace, images, time and distance blur together in an enthralling flow of light colors.

There it is though, a crack, a small dark line crossing her viewport, a stark, unmissable contrast against the wave of light. It creeps up, down and sideways, spreading like a web through transparisteel. Too much, too fast. It grows, her viewport vibrates, getting more and more fragile with each second, until it finally breaks, unable to withstand the pressure of hyperspace.

A million splinters, razor-sharp, disparate, some no larger than a grain of sand, some bigger than her palm,yet she sees her own reflection in each and every one of them.

Shouts, stamps, whistles, the Senate is in disarray, and somehow she's trapped in the middle of it. All eyes are on her, yet Leia cannot make out any sound, not over the rushing of blood in her ears. No matter what she says, no matter what she does, they look at her as if she's a threat, as if they barely know her. Why, after all those years?

Chaos rising, engulfing the New Republic she fought so hard to protect. She argues, she plots, makes countless speeches, strikes deal after deal, yet her words fall on deaf ears, suspicious glances following her everywhere.

Another splinter. She's facing a young man, his eyes, those familiar, wide eyes of a chubby toddler reaching for her in a middle of the night whenever he had a bad dream, are now hardened, cold and distant. He's angry, desperate, throwing accusations at her like daggers, no matter what she says, no matter what she does, she cannot erase the look of betrayal from his face.

"You knew, but never told me, mother."

Her breaths came shallow in her chest, a sense of an impending loss wounds itself tightly around her in an agonising grip of a thousand splinters, so tight ghat she fears she will soon suffocate.

She wakes up drained and tired, but doesn't have the luxury of time to dwell on her dream. The talks are her best distraction, they're on the brink of getting a deal, and she'd be damned if she allows anything, even her own turmoil, to interfere.

That evening, though, she looks for an escape, anything to take her mind off. Luke is nowhere to be found, but luckily, after a few failed attempts, Threepio confirms that R2D2 has located his master in the East wing training hall.

"And they call me a menace," she quips at the sight of her little brother fighting the last standing battle droid to the ground.

"Well, to be fair, you are." Luke grins as he comes to greet her, "size matters not, as master Yoda would say."

She smacks the back of his head in mock outrage, more out of habit than true annoyance, she can never be mad at him. This illusion of normalcy is exactly what she needs tonight.

"Runs in a family, I guess." She shrugs her shoulders.

"Remember I told you the place of that press conference was important to our parents?"

Be careful with what you wish for, indeed. For that's how an escape becomes a trap. Well, she did give him a perfect opening. Leia bites the inside of her cheek. She can do it, she has to, since it's important to Luke.

"Yes."

"I didn't know why, really didn't. Just felt it. Until… you know, sometimes trivial things, shapes, movements, silhouettes, can trigger visions, no predicting it."

"And?"

"It happened behind one of those columns. Our mother told our father she was expecting."

"Were they…" Leia swallows a sudden bile in her throat, she knows almost nothing about her birth parents beyond scant facts, and there is a possibility, a frightening prospect that she has always tried to chase away. "happy? Were we wanted?"

"Yes, they were happy. Very, very happy."

The gust of air leaves her lungs as she releases a breath she hasn't realised she's been holding. It matters, for whatever happened next, it matters, they were planned, they weren't… too many alternatives to count or contemplate, especially knowing Lord Vader. Somehow, it makes it easier, as if a heavy weight is lifted off her shoulders. Instead of replying, she squeezes Luke's arm, sending him a wave of gratitude and reassurance.

"You've never asked what triggered a vision."

"Pray tell what, oh, great Jedi master?"

Luke doesn't return her smile, though, his expression pensive and serious. Too serious for a small chat.

"Two people, standing behind the column. A woman and a taller man, too close to be just strangers."

Only she can walk into two traps in one evening, and only Luke can predict her well enough to bait her twice.

"Luke…"

"I am not making any assumptions. But it's hard not to. Threepio bringing an imperial jacket from what he told me is your closet, may've been be a step too far. So, is there something you want to tell me, little sister, about you and Grand Admiral Thrawn?"

The walls are closing down on her, and only years in politics allow Leia to stand still. Now, she knows it's a loosing battle, Luke is far more attuned to her feelings than a regular observer, but she clings on to a vain hope that her calm appearance can fool him. Fleetingly, she toys with an idea of reprogramming Threepio to be less chatty. She'll never do it, of course, but the droid will definitely be sent to a tech maintenance and given the semi-soft plating he hates, instead of the gold durasteel one.

"No."

She straightens her back, crosses her arms on her chest, and starts throwing an argument after argument at Luke, just like she would in the Senate.

"Poise, voice, emphasis," her father's voice gently reminds. "The less certain you are, the more confident you need to sound."

"We're forced to be allies for the sake of the talks, that's all." A glint of scepticism in Luke's gaze makes her add to clear any lingering doubt, "I've never ever thought about him in any other way, it's preposterous."

Only, she may have, purely by accident, driven by the shock factor and all, when she saw him in this very hall for the first time, maybe, just maybe, a couple of times since. Not long enough to feel guilty, though. Finding someone attractive and being attracted to the said someone are two completely different things.

"I don't even know him that well."

She doesn't, not really, he's still an enigma, a set of scattered, diametrically opposed facets of a man, changing depending on a day. Captivating, intriguing, utterly annoying, incredibly perceptive and fascinating in equal measure. One thing for certain, though, irrational as it may be, against all her political instincts, she… trusts him, just like he trusts her. Ironically, there're only select few people in this world who bear this distinction. Never in a million years had she imagined that an Imperial Grand Admiral would be one of them.

"I'd never do it to Han, of all things, if that's what you're implying." Leia makes a small pause before adding one last argument. Last, but definitely not the least. "Even a hint on anything inappropriate between a New Republic Councilor and an Imperial Supreme commander would be a political suicide."

Silence stretches, yet Luke doesn't answer, just keeps looking in her eyes and then… lets out a heavy breath.

"You know, it's a pity you've stopped learning the Force."

"Smooth, Luke. We've been through this, I have a duty to the New Republic."

There it is again, the chasm, no matter how hard they try to ignore it, and the bad excuse, sounding hollow to her own ears. The one Luke pretends to believe in, bless him, allowing her to hide. The last time he tried to teach her, she felt it, whenever she would open to that kriffing Force of his - a faraway echo and an image of the one man she wanted to see, hear and feel the least, the man who seemed desperate to talk to her, all of the sudden. She cannot, though, not while she still feels the durasteel-like grip on her shoulder, and hears his mechanical breathing behind her back, in and out, in and out. She's not ready, maybe some day, but not yet.

"It's a pity you stopped, little sister, you would've learned how to put up mental shields to hide when you're lying."

"I'm not lying."

"Not about the last two points, and somehow, it worries me even more."

The starry-eyed, naive farmer from Tatooine, the hero of the Rebellion, the famous Jedi master and the only person who can see right through her, through layers and layers of royal upbringing, political masks and roles she has to play.

"Just… be careful, Leia, that's all I ask."

The only one who doesn't judge, not even now, even with unspoken implication hanging heavily in the air between them. Suddenly, Leia feels tired. The weight of restless nights, the talks, and this conversation finally taking its toll on her. She sinks into the floor, resting her head on her hands. What a mess.

"I just need a moment alone, please, Luke."

Luke leaves, but an imaginary mirror to herself, the one he has inadvertently put in front of her, remains, the reflection she glimpses there is sharper, more precise than in any dream, and what she sees, that shadow of a possibility, that nascent vulnerability is frightening. In a paradoxical way precisely because it doesn't feel to her as frightening, outrageous or preposterous as it should. Yet, it's too personal to be just political, and too political to remain only personal.

How, when, why… too many questions she doesn't want to ask herself.

Until the man in question comes barging in, completely and utterly oblivious to having caused her distress. Yet, as always in his presence of late, she feels strangely calm. Fancy that, somehow she doesn't mind that vulnerability know, no matter how out of place it is, doesn't even quite care, after all, possibly, it's just a folly, just something in her head that she made up herself and that has no bearing on the real world. None at all.

One thing that has, though, one thing that binds them together tighter than any shadow of a possibility ever could, is their shared sense of duty. Thrawn's calm voice brings her back to reality reminding her exactly of that.

"Just remember, Councilor, that I also trust you, and that I wouldn't have asked, if it wasn't important for a cause."

Chandrila or Chimaera.

Leia's choice is made even before she says the words.