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“Wait,” Evaan says, and the words halt in her throat as they come out. She flushes, worrying her fingers in front of her. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, she chides herself. This isn’t how we planned it.
But Leia has already turned around, pausing with her flight helmet still in her hands. She doesn’t say anything, just waits, a hopeful smile playing on her lips. Evaan has noticed that Leia reserves her smiles, keeps them close for when she really needs them, and this one wants to escape but needs something. “Evaan?”
The shuttlecraft is ready—Evaan saw to the preparations herself. Leia is ready to be flung back into the black, back to the Rebellion, back to a higher cause that Evaan is simply not a part of. The tiny space in the Lord Junn suddenly seems tinier, narrowing down to just the two women and the heat between them.
“I just,” Evaan starts lamely. They’ve said their peace. She will be a princess, elected in her own right. Leia will be a revolutionary. This is where their story ends. So instead of saying anything, she takes two broad steps forward, cups Leia’s face in her hands, and kisses her.
Leia’s helmet drops to the floor with a metallic thunk as she twines her arms around Evaan’s neck. She kisses back instantly, perfectly, their lips pressing together tight enough to mask the gasps of surprise they both make. Leia is soft and small and passionate, her hands roaming the back of Evaan’s flight suit, and she pulls away for a second to breathe.
“I’m sorry,” Evaan whispers, their lips grazing as she speaks. Leia’s breath is warm, coming out in short pants, and Evaan’s heart ratchets up. “I couldn’t…I had to. Before you went away.”
“Don’t apologize,” Leia says, half-sob and half-laugh, and Evaan backs her up against the curved side of the shuttlecraft, their hips pressing together as they kiss. “Don’t ever apologize, my friend, my wonderful friend.” And they are friends, they will always be friends, and this kiss is only a goodbye. Evaan thinks it, and she knows Leia is thinking it.
They kiss hungrily, ravenously, lips against necks and breasts pushed against breasts. If they were anywhere else (if they were just two Alderaanian girls, if they were two Rebel pilots, if the galaxy didn’t matter), Evaan would pull Leia to the floor, tug off her clothes, make her stay.
But instead, she pulls back, twining her fingers through Leia’s soft hair. “We will find each other again,” she says, the words hoarse with emotion. “Through all the darkness and all the stars. This isn’t our ending.”
“Yes,” Leia says, eyes closed, forehead pressed against Evaan’s. “This is our beginning.”