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“Enough!”
She doesn’t know where these girls learned it was funny to tease someone. It’s mean-spirited and cruel. She doesn’t know why Ulic is letting them. He’s just as smart as them – smarter.
Leia huffs and stomps away.
She gets the idea in her head and it’s only an instant before she acts on it.
It’s only a peck, but Leia kisses Ulic Alde.
That ought to shut up that gaggle of nerfherder’s wives.
Ulic’s face is bright red when Leia draws back. He looks as if he could melt into a puddle on the ground, leaving nothing but a pile of clothes and a pair of boots.
Leia flushes too, realizing how bold and forward her actions were. Ulic’s a friend – they played at their father’s ankles together, now they’re learning to run the system (and the rebellion) together, and someday they’ll be in charge together.
The girls giggle and gossip feverishly behind her. She hasn’t shut them up; she’s given them more fuel for their prattle.
Why did she have to kiss him? Why does he have that dumbstruck look on his face? And, oh gods, why is her stomach doing summersaults?
“Hey, Ulic?” She’s come this far, might as well ask. Her face gets hotter as she asks, “Do you like me?”
Hastily mumbling, “Of course I do, Leia.”
There’s a beat before he realizes he forgot the ‘princess.’ He fumbles out an apology.
Funny thing is, it’s the thing that makes her sure she likes him too.
----------
Of course it happens again. When monotony is a lifestyle, how could it not?
It’s a hundred times worse the second time. Lux blames the alcohol; Ahsoka knows it’s the guilt.
It wasn’t difficult to figure out, not after the first time. He and Steela were together. Did she take advantage of his grief? Or did he take advantage of her complicity?
But they can’t (don’t?) stop themselves when it happens again. Maybe they deserve the pitted sick feeling in their stomachs.
This isn’t what she hoped it would be like. Ahsoka’s not sure if she’s satisfying a childhood fantasy, a bygone crush. Maybe it would help clear her conscience if she could say it was why she was having sex with Lux. Because the only thing it feels like, right now, is a betrayal of Steela’s trust.
Ahsoka stares at the ceiling, Lux passed out next to her, feeling pointlessly empty.
Sleeping with him only manages to make her feel wretched. But if she’s so deplorable, why should it matter if she’s loyal to a dead woman?
----------
Someone drops a bottle. The crash shatters the silence. A couple of people stoop down to clean up the mess. Everyone else turns back to their drinks, removing their hands from their blasters.
They don’t have any targets; there haven’t been any assaults on the camp. The resistance is on edge. They haven’t gone this long without a fight in years (Ahsoka’s lost count how many). Either as the aggressor or the defendant, doesn’t really matter, they need a battle to keep calm.
“We should get off this damn heap and find a different system. It’s not worth sticking around waiting for the stormtroopers to come knocking.”
“Dono, fuck off.”
For whatever reason, Saw is more callous than usual. Maybe if he had a drink in his hand (and not on the floor) he might act more reasonably.
“He’s right you know,” Ahsoka sticks her neck out.
“You try organizing an inter-planetary move,” he grumbles and sparks a lighter. Through his teeth, clenched about a death stick, “I’m working on it. There haven’t been any new leads in a while. We’d be retracing our steps.”
“Better than wasting our time here.”
It’s Saw who suggests they waste their time elsewhere; they leave and head back to the bunks. That’s how it starts.
Not particularly suave or emotionally charged; it’s pretty blunt, in fact, but, gods, they both needed this. They’re too tightly wound.
Ahsoka enjoys herself for the first time, having sex for the hell of it.
She knows what she’s doing now, even if she’s bumping against a new body. Saw smells and tastes like smoke and ixetal cilona, but at least he’s not drunk (or carrying a millstone around his neck). It’s also clear he’s spent time in the beds of other species; she appreciates his attempts to please her and himself.
Morning brings a release she hasn’t felt in a lifetime. There’s no tether about her wrist to Saw or to anyone.
----------
Simple and direct, that’s the best way, Leia reminds herself.
Ulic takes it as well as she expects.
They were children when she first kissed him. They were stupid teens when he finally got up the courage to ask her out. They’re adults now, on the cusp of maturity, there’s no point in clinging to youthful fancies.
Leia chews the inside of her cheek as he goes. It hurts to cut him loose, but she would be lying if she said it wasn’t the right thing to do.
There’s no point to holding on if there’s no feeling left to pursue.
It surprises her when Ulic fervently supports her campaign. Leia is stunned he would still stand beside her, after she broke up with him. Father chuckles, “Not even that can shake his stubborn Alde loyalty.”
She relaxes. It’s not a ploy to get her back; Ulic isn’t capable of something like that, he’s too genuine. It’s a relief she can still count on him when it really matters.
The rebellion’s going to need all the help it can get.
----------
It takes every ounce of control Mara has not to immediately gut him through for touching her with his filthy hands, but he hasn’t given her the information she was sent for (she must not fail the Emperor).
Her instructions are simple: get the intel, kill the source and anyone who will talk.
The how is left up to her discretion, and if this is the best way to loosen his tongue, so be it.
Mara plays a part. She acts alluring and willing and draws him in, makes him talk. It’s easy and it’s disgusting. He’s a predictable piece of scum and she has to give herself over to him.
She spreads her legs and lets him screw her. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s not a thousand volts surging through her. She’s not sure how to keep him going, but he doesn’t seem to notice she’s not interested in what he’s doing and more interested what he’s saying.
The information slips and Mara laughs.
There’s a devilish gleam in his eye when she does; he thinks she’s enjoying herself as much as he is. It makes it all the more satisfying for Mara when she pulls a blaster on him from his stock-piled weapons.
So, she thinks as she leaves the hideout, the rebels believe they have a way to infiltrate the Grand Moff’s office. If they succeed, they won’t get away.
Mara doubles back at the door to check the body. His corpse is still warm.
He’s not the only one she’ll leave in a cold bed.
----------
What stuns Leia is not that she did it; it’s that she always thought it would be with someone she cared deeply for. It was supposed to be a transforming experience, not a last ditch attempt to break the tension and calm her nerves.
The circumstance, not the act, puts her off sex (lovemaking?).
By no means does she regret it (Leia doesn’t do regrets).
She’s always been curious and she likes Miek, not as much as she thought she would like the one, but enough. And he was gentle, slow – awkward. No more than her, at any rate. (She must be his first too.)
Neither of them can sleep.
“I should get back to my post,” Miek says to the wall.
He dresses, his security uniform no longer impeccably pressed.
She stays in the bed too scared to move.
Any day now her galaxy’s going to be changed forever. Either the Alliance will obtain the long-anticipated plans or they’ll all be executed. Leia can’t decide what’s more frightening to her, a chance to turn the tides or the inevitable charge for treason against the Empire.
At the door he glances back; Leia smiles more encouragingly than she feels. Then she’s alone in the dark with her thoughts.
Mind reeling, Leia has to move. She draws back the covers, her feet meeting the cold floor, and picks out a plain, functional dress and hood. She slips the white dress over her head and sets to the task of coiling and pinning her hair to the sides of her head.
What finishing school said was only proper after marriage, what she just did – sex – it was supposed to be a life-altering. Now it’s past and it’s just a thing she did.
Perhaps it might have meant more in a different time – a different place. Maybe she can try again when this threat doesn’t loom over her like the shadow of Alderaan’s mountains, dark and heavy.
No, Leia thinks, you only get shot then there’s only forward. No going back.
No going back. The Alliance will either taste success or face defeat. It all hangs in their next communication from the infiltration unit.
----------
There’s a foreign tongue in Han’s mouth and a throbbing in his head before the night is over. It doesn’t take much more persuasion than that to get him away from the festivities and into a dark room off the hangar.
He eagerly feels up the form that’s latched onto him, while she unbuckles his belt.
Even in the darkness Han can make out her blue skin and headtails, he thinks she introduced herself earlier (Aemele – Alauni – Ardana – it was something with an ‘A’). She’s not the first twi’lek he’s had sex with, but she’s certainly the most fun.
By the time they emerge, the party’s energy and excitement have died down. Han’s almost disappointed they missed the end – almost.
Ardana (he’s pretty sure that’s her name) parts his lips one last time before disappearing.
Han finds Luke practically passed out in a corner; exhaling and dragging a hand through his hair, Han stoops down to pick him up, “Come on, kid. You’re not on the farm anymore, you’re gonna need to learn how to hold your liquor.”
The kid mumbles something unintelligible in response as Han hoists him into one of the Falcon’s bunks. Then he collapses in his own, feeling pretty good about himself.
----------
Luke hesitates before knocking; hastily flattening his hair before the door opens.
Leia smiles at him as he enters, but doesn’t stop working, “Sorry, I’ve been so busy recently. What was it you needed to talk to me about?”
Luke is just about ready to bolt back out the door.
She’s not like the princesses in stories Aunt Beru used to tell. Those princesses were always nice, beautiful, and fell in love with the hero or they were high and mighty and wouldn’t give farmboys, like him, a second thought. She’s neither of those – not that she’s not nice (or beautiful).
He never thought one would be so easy to talk to. Somehow it makes talking to her more nerve-wracking than if she was like the stories say.
“It’s nothing. It can wait.”
“I might have less time later.”
Breathing deeply, “Wedge and I – mostly Wedge, really – had an idea for a squadron, but we’re not sure you’re going to like it.”
“Luke, you should really take this up with the generals.”
“Let me run it by you first, before we bother them. Please, Leia.” Senior pilot or not, he doesn’t have enough weight with the higher ups to suggest something like this.
She nods courteously and sits up in her chair. Victory ceremony aside, he thinks this is the most regal she’s ever acted in front of him. It makes it harder not to see her as a princess from a story.
“We want to start training a squadron of advanced pilots,” he dives into a list of candidates and explanations of drills, drawbacks, and benefits.
Leia raises a hand; Luke stops short.
“You don’t need to say anymore, it sounds like the two of you have thought this out. You have my support to bring this to Command; it’ll be a relief to have a squad out there that knows what they’re doing and what we’re up against. I trust you.”
With her confidence, the inexplicable pull does its work again; Luke longs for Tatooine sunburn to hide his blush.
----------
As soon as his cheeks turn pink, Leia’s eyes drop to the floor. (Why does she always have to be the one to turn away other people’s affections?)
“Thank you, Leia. You won’t regret this,” his face is bright with excitement as he moves to leave; it makes what she has to say that much harder.
“Luke, please wait a minute. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
He takes a seat across from her, his mood shifting like he’s anticipating the inevitable and Leia has trouble finding words. She doesn’t have it in her heart to disappoint him, but it would be far worse to let it go on.
“Luke… Tell me if I’m wrong, but you like me, right?”
He flushes deeper and he avoids her gaze. Low and disheartened, “Is it that obvious?”
“I’m afraid so. I’m sorry; I don’t feel the same.”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
But she’s afraid he doesn’t. She feels something, ever since he removed the stormtrooper helmet in her prison cell. It keeps creeping up between them; a pull she recognizes, but can’t name. She wishes she could, maybe then this wouldn’t be so difficult.
“I value your friendship – I do. It’s just…” her voice weakens the more she grapples for a way to explain.
Luke shakes his head, “You don’t owe me anything.”
She’s relieved she doesn’t need words to explain, she doesn’t know if she could have. Still, it doesn’t stop her from feeling guilty. Leia hopes the wound is not too deep and it will heal in time.
Standing and offering her his hand, “Friends, then.”
Leia takes it, “I would like that.”
----------
This is not what Luke had in mind. First of all, there’s no room; there’s hardly enough space in the cockpit of his X-wing for him, let alone for two people.
But Prithi’s got ideas of her own, “Let’s see if you can make this shot.”
Luke’s ears burn bright red.
The zipper from his flightsuit is tugged down. He pulls at hers. (They are going to be so late making it back to the fleet.)
Prithi takes point. She knows what she’s doing better than he does; Luke’s blocked the memory of those painfully awkward talks with Uncle Owen. He supposes even if he did remember them, they wouldn’t have been instructive.
Gods, he hopes she isn’t going to regret this.
Turns out they don’t need much space and despite her goading the rest is fairly instinctual (not like there’s any room for mistakes).
The cockpit doesn’t feel so cramped on their way back. Prithi cozies up to him and he is silently relieved; the flight would have been as bad as or worse than Uncle Owen’s talks if things had gone wrong.
Her chalactan tattoos distort as she raises her brow, “We should do this again some time.”
It’s hard to get the words unstuck, but Luke agrees.
Maybe next time there’ll be more space. Maybe next time he won’t feel like such an idiot or think about a certain memory. Then again, maybe not. More room leaves more opportunity it to screw something up.
----------
“How long has it been since you were last on Corellia?”
Tess swirls the drink in her glass intriguingly. She’s gorgeous, interested, and can do shots with the best of them; the problem is Han is more engrossed by the rusty brown liquid than the white fingers around the rim or the conversation.
“It’s been years. Haven’t had a reason to go back.”
She puts the tumbler on the counter and rests her hand enticingly on his thigh, “Do you miss it?”
“The ships and the whiskey more than the place.”
“And the people?”
Tess, Wedge, a dozen or more pilots – they’re all Corellian. He’s had more of their intrepid ways in the past few years than his entire childhood on the planet.
“Doesn’t appear as though I can get away from them,” he responds, distracted.
Tess isn’t interested in the conversation anymore either. She moves in, her fingers splaying out over his shirt. Her breath is heavily perfumed by cheap booze, close enough for Han to breathe it in, a secondhand intoxication – or it usually is.
For whatever reason, Han’s just not in the mood. He pulls away from Tess.
“I take it this means the odds are not in my favor.”
“Not tonight.”
Probably not any night, though he’ll never tell her the odds. Her shoulders shrink as she draws back; her red curls even seem to bounce dejectedly.
The bar slowly empties until Han is the only one left, but he is hardly the last to leave. A small, haggard group lumbers in together; they order a round. Her highness is with them. Given their last encounter, Han takes it as his sign to leave.
Unbidden, his mind considers his odds with the princess. Those are some odds he never wants to learn.
----------
Probability-wise, one of them was bound to die in combat, but looking at it logically doesn’t make it hurt less.
Luke finds solace among the other pilots; Alex wasn’t their only casualty today.
They are quick to make connections and quicker to lose them during this endless fight. They try their damnedest to make sure their sacrifices are not for nothing, but, on days like this, it all seems so pointless.
Glasses clink together and their contents are poured down parched throats. Luke shakes the unpleasant sensation from his bones, but Alex remains.
He feels awful that he barely knew her (she had only just joined Rogue).
That she’ll probably be forgotten in a week makes him feel worse.
They have to move on, they can’t dwell; it’s the difference between pulling the trigger on the enemy or letting them get to it first.
It’s probably why so many relationships between the pilots end abruptly. Death and the possibly of death strikes the fear of being too attached into them. Luke has yet to see one last longer than the span between dogfights.
They’ve all done it, but he thought things might have been different with Alex. Maybe he could have gotten to know her beyond the blue eyes, black braids, and pretty face which attracted him to her in the first place (he would have liked that).
Luke grimaces as he takes another sip; he’s sick of relationships which don’t amount to anything.
----------
There isn’t much time, but Han and Leia sequester themselves away from the preparation for the mission. Just for an hour – maybe two. Like hell Han’s keeping track of the ticking clock.
If someone really came looking for them, they wouldn’t even be hard to find (although something else might be hard). Seriously, if they’re needed, logically, the Falcon should be the first place to look for them.
Fuck, if anyone’s going to disturb them now, though; they’re all too busy.
They’re more adventurous this time, for all they know they might not have another chance.
When they’ve finished, they lay side-by-side (as much as they can on the tiny bunk) breathing heavily. Leia’s on top of one of his arms; Han reaches the other one out to the wall.
“It feels wrong to be leaving her behind.”
“The Alliance will take care of the Falcon while you’re gone,” Leia assures him.
That’s not what Han’s worried about; he runs his hand up and down the cool, smooth metal.
He’s been through a lot with this ship. She’s carried him from one end of the galaxy to the other, gotten him out of a lot of tight spots, and made the Kessel Run in twelve parsecs. For as long as he’s had her, and apart from Chewie, the Millennium Falcon has been the most reliable thing in his life (even when she’s malfunctioning).
The thought of her missing the action feels like an act of betrayal. He can’t take her with him and he can’t leave her here.
“Why not let Lando take her – for the offensive. She’ll be more useful in the air than sitting in a hangar bay. You’ve committed yourself to the fleet, why not the Falcon?”
“What if she doesn’t make it back?” He would be devastated. What he can’t express: she is his freedom; he can’t live without her.
Leia doesn’t have an answer for him. The question hangs in the air.
Dimly at first, then more glaringly than the brightest star in the galaxy, Han realizes: he doesn’t know which ‘she’ he was referring to. He doesn’t know what he would do without either of them.
Telling her he loves her, committed Han to Leia for good. He didn’t recognize it then, but he does now.
He’ll be damned before he has it any other way.
----------
Her life is changed by Han, in ways unexpected and unimaginable.
She laughs more freely, loves more openly. She sometimes wonders if it’s because of the end of the Empire, not Han. They came so close together, it’s hard to tell, but it must be him: she no longer sleeps alone.
A fact that’s hard to hide in their current base of operations.
Despite the protests of propriety from the remaining Alderaanian elders, or maybe in spite of them, Leia makes no attempt to hide her un-princess-like behavior. Neither does she go out of her way to parade her relationship in front of them.
It’s a balance that works for her.
Han either bears it well or ignores it completely. Leia thanks the gods he hasn’t done anything rash about it.
When it’s just the two of them, the protests don’t matter so much anyway.
When it’s just the two of them, Leia only cares about Han. She hopes it’s abundantly clear to him in their nightly activity.
There’s a banging on the wall.
They both grimace with embarrassment.
Ahsoka hears it plainly enough.
----------
“You’re leaving.”
“Yes.”
He really should have seen it coming. Luke tries to keep his shoulders from slumping forward too much, showing his resignation.
“Wroona needs me.” Dasha is not the only pilot to muster out for their home system as soon as they had word.
Imperial outposts are still everywhere. Homeworlds of non-humans, in particular, were targeted by the Emperor as places of ‘violent species.’ They suffered the brunt of the Empire’s scrutiny. It makes sense they would want to put this behind them once and for all.
“You could come with me,” she offers.
Luke shakes his head. They barely know each other and he has his own task ahead of him. What he feels for Dasha isn’t enough to make him divert from the course he’s chosen.
“It’s a pity I didn’t meet you a year ago.”
“You might not have liked me so much then,” he half jokes.
But in the year before Tatooine he closed himself off to just about everything except training and rescuing Han. He can’t imagine he was very pleasant to be around.
Their relationship was just what he needed these past few months. It was easy and undemanding. But the physical relationship aside, he’s confident they both knew it wasn’t going to work.
They’re interrupted, “Lieutenant Defano your shuttle is waiting.”
Dasha sighs and heaves her pack onto her shoulder, “I’ll see you around, Luke Skywalker.”
She kisses him goodbye.
----------
Among the other perks of working alongside Karrde, Mara finds she no longer has to leave her bed partners drenched in their own blood.
She can enjoy herself – no ulterior motive attached. She likes sex that way – no strings.
She’s not looking for a long-lasting relationship or the love of her life. She’s only looking for the occasional someone to spend a night with. Karrde’s business lends her the opportunity to meet plenty of men looking for the same thing. (“As long as you don’t let it get in the way of business, I don’t care what you do in your free time,” says the captain.)
Dash Rendar is supposed to be just another ship passing in the night, but Karrde works with him again and they fall into a pattern.
Mara comes to anticipate the docking of the Outrider. Rendar is a bit full of himself, but he knows when to shut up.
He’s found dead in a cantina some time later.
She should have known anyone who slept in her bed would end up cold on the ground, either by her hand or someone else’s.
----------
Heat seems to emanate from Lando’s body. It makes an already sweltering bed hotter.
Mara kicks the sheets off. They tangle at her feet.
To her relief, Lando makes no attempt to drape an arm over her or otherwise make physical contact. It’s too hot for anything else.
They don’t touch. They don’t speak.
It’s like any other time with any other man since the fall of the Empire. Only Lando isn’t some other guy, he was a friend before and a lover now. What he’ll be after remains to be seen, but she gets the sense this won’t last much longer.
Mara brushes back the strands of hair clinging to the sweat on her face. Her hand pauses on her brow, fighting back a headache.
It’s become a constant companion in the past week, always there at the back of her mind.
Between the headache and the temperature, Mara has to find some reprieve. She rises and goes to the bathroom. Water runs cold over her hands and down her face. It’s enough to ease the pounding of her head.
From the other room Lando asks, “Need a drink?”
(It ends as it began.)
----------
“Now that your abolition scheme is over, what’s your next excuse to keep seeing me?”
Saw can be so full of himself at times.
Ahsoka rolls her eyes, “What makes you think I want to keep seeing you?”
Not one to be deterred by sarcasm, Saw retorts, “It’s not like you’ve been hiding your interest in picking up where we left off very well.”
“We left off somewhere?”
Saw’s at a loss for a comeback. Ahsoka snickers.
“Alright fine. We weren’t together, but you know what I meant.”
She does.
“Same as before?”
“Works for me.”
They don’t bother finishing their drinks before barging into the nearest hotel room. Throwing Saw onto the bed, Ahsoka makes one thing clear to him: she doesn’t need an excuse to visit an old friend.
----------
Luke spends more time in Mara’s training sessions again. She likes him there, he can feel it. She likes showing off how far she’s come, how much better she’s getting, how strong she is in the Force. All things Luke doesn’t need to see to believe.
They stay late, long after Ahsoka is gone. They train harder and more aggressively when it’s just the two of them.
Heart rates go up and grins flicker across their faces when their blades clash together.
Sometimes they don’t train. Sometimes Mara lets her guard down and speaks to him, tells him things about herself she’s never mentioned before. He returns the favor.
On one of their training nights, they finally finish what they began back on Wild Karrde.
Their lightsabers catch above their heads, their free hands struggling, and their chests heaving close together. In a surprise move, Mara stops grappling and reaches for his neck, pulling herself into him.
The moment her lips lock with his their lightsabers fall to the ground. Clothes come off and limbs wrap around each other.
Luke jokes later that the duel is a draw.
----------
Mara doesn’t know where Luke finds the patience to put up with her, but it’s more than anyone’s ever given her before.
He tells her he loves her before she returns to work; Mara freezes in place.
Petrified, she stares at him. She doesn’t know what he expects her to do, to say.
The declaration follows her about the ship and accompanies her on her duties. It makes her light-headed to think about. No, not light-headed – light-hearted. A smile lights in her eyes as she realizes it.
Warmth spreads through her body and she’s sure it’s because of him.
They meet unexpectedly before her scheduled return to Coruscant. Between rounds of blaster shots from pirates, Luke manages to make his way toward her.
“I’m sorry!” he has to yell over fight. “I shouldn’t have said that! I didn’t mean to –”
He’s cut off by another shot, overhead. He turns to redirect another round of fire back at them, but Mara grabs the cuff of his sleeve and yanks him back down.
“Don’t apologize! I love you too!”
She’s overcome by the warm feeling again; it’s in her fingers and her toes (gods damn it; this is not the time or the place to lose focus).
Make it out of here first then she can tell him again.