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“They should hate you.”
It is the wrong thing to day, but this time like all the rest, Bodhi Rook can’t take the words back.
The room falls silent, deathly still; a holo of Alderaan in slow rotation the only movement. The scattered plans for the Day of Remembrance are forgotten as every person in the room locks their eyes on him, horrified expressions on their faces.
Well, horrified expressions on every face but one. Leia Organa is impassive, the only sign she heard him is her blank and bloodless face.
“I’m so sorry,” Bodhi whispers. The silence shatters.
“Of all the—”
“Who would even say that—”
“Rook!”
“You should go,” General Dodonna says, not cruel, but final.
“No.” Leia speaks, and the room falls silent a second time. “I’ll handle this. Everyone else, out.”
Nobody moves. Leia turns to the General, princess in the set of her chin, soldier by the glint in her eyes.
“Alright,” Dodonna says, and jerks his head at his fellow officers.
The room clears; only Bodhi and Leia remain.
Leia circles around the table, slowly approaching him. Bodhi can’t look at her. His eyes dart around until they are transfixed by the spinning holo of Alderaan. Leia stands shoulder to shoulder with him and they regard the planet together.
Bodhi is still trying to find an apology that might be worth the air spent on it when Leia speaks again. “They should. I have no idea why they don’t.”
Bodhi looks down and he sees her hand next to his, both of them gripping the table so hard their knuckles turned white. He forces himself to relax his grip. “I spoke out of turn.”
Leia laughs at that. It is so startling Bodhi looks over at her and finds her considering him with a strange look of disbelief. “You are the only person in the galaxy for whom it is not out of turn.” She looks away, back toward the planet. “They’re never going to blame you.”
“They should. If I hadn’t gone to Jedha…”
“If I hadn’t carried the plans”—Leia leans forward and, after a decisive jab to the holo, Alderaan hangs in front of them no longer—“two billion. As of the last census.”
Bodhi is silent, gives the number the respect it deserves. And then, “Six hundred thousand in the city. Another twenty to fifty thousand pilgrims. Eleven million on the planet. We’ve found six million survivors so far.” Bodhi swallows. “My numbers aren’t as large.”
“But you have them,” Leia says softly. “You’re the only other person that does.”
Bodhi looks down at her hands. They are still white-knuckled, still grasping at the table with enough force her fingers tremble. Bodhi reaches over one of his hands, covers hers. It’s an intimacy he has no right to presume. But what is it, next to the enormity of death that is already shared between them?
Leia leans against him. They stare at nothing. They are not alone.