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Surviving Encounters
The twins shifted.
Leia resisted the urge to grimace and subtly adjusted her weight, easing one hip against the edge of the table.
Across the reception hall, Boba Fett turned his helmet toward her.
Of course he did.
Leia’s hand moved instinctively toward the curve of her abdomen before she stopped it halfway.
Ridiculous.
She was visibly pregnant. There was no tactical advantage left in pretending otherwise.
Still, she disliked the feeling.
Pregnancy had introduced her to an entirely new category of vulnerability, one she had not particularly enjoyed discovering. Around most people, she could ignore it.
Around Boba Fett...
No.
His visor remained fixed on her as he crossed the room.
For perhaps the first time all evening, Leia wished Han had come.
Then she reconsidered.
Absolutely not.
“Minister.”
His electronically filtered voice had changed very little over the years.
“Mandalore.”
He stopped in front of her.
“You look well.”
The helmet dipped slightly.
Leia’s palm settled over her stomach before she could prevent it. “Thank you.”
A pause.
Fett turned his head, taking in the room around them. New Republic ministers. Mandalorian representatives. Diplomats who had spent the better part of the evening pretending none of them had ever tried to kill one another.
“How far we’ve come.”
Leia nearly smiled. “Tatooine?”
“Among other places.”
There had been other encounters since then, although that particular day remained difficult to forget.
Mostly because Lando had apparently dedicated his life to making certain she never did.
“Indeed.”
Fett looked back at her.
“Where’s Solo?”
Leia’s eyebrows rose. “Why? Credits getting tight?”
A short sound emerged from the helmet.
It might have been a laugh.
“I’ve left the days of hunting Han Solo behind me.”
“How reassuring.”
“Along with some of my youth.”
“That I believe.”
His visor tilted.
Leia smiled pleasantly.
Diplomacy was, after all, one of her specialties.
“Han’s at home.”
“Baking dew cake?”
She stared at him. “With an apron, presumably.”
“And waiting for the little lady?”
Leia’s smile sharpened. “Jealous?”
“Perhaps.”
That stopped her.
Fett offered no explanation.
Leia felt warmth creep into her cheeks and immediately resented her complexion, her biology, and whichever ancestor was responsible for both.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he added. “I meant the arrangement.”
“Of course you did.”
“A home. Family. Someone waiting when the work is finished.”
The response was so matter-of-fact that Leia had no immediate answer.
Then Fett added, “Not you specifically.”
“Thank you for clarifying.”
“You looked concerned.”
“I was trying to decide whether pregnancy had damaged my hearing.”
His helmet remained motionless.
She could almost feel him looking at her.
“Still the same.”
Leia folded her arms carefully above her stomach. “I could say the same.”
“No.”
Something in his tone changed.
She waited.
Fett glanced toward the negotiating tables. “You stand here now as though the difference between us is obvious.”
Leia followed his gaze.
New Republic officials clustered at one end of the hall. Mandalorians at the other.
“Isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
She looked back at him.
Fett continued quietly. “You have liars at your table.”
Leia’s expression cooled. “So do you.”
“Yes.”
The answer came without hesitation.
“But mine admit what they are.”
Leia almost laughed. “Is that supposed to be a virtue?”
“Sometimes.”
His visor shifted toward a Republic delegate laughing too loudly beside the refreshments.
“Your people will sign an agreement tonight and find reasons tomorrow why their promises no longer apply.”
“Some might.”
“My people won’t.”
“Your people have occasionally interpreted negotiation as an opportunity to shoot someone.”
“If we intend to shoot someone, Minister, they generally know it.”
Leia looked at him.
There it was.
The infuriating part.
A sliver of truth.
Politics had taught her long ago that respectability and honor were not synonyms. She had sat across tables from perfectly polished men who would betray an agreement before the ink had dried.
She had also met criminals whose word, once given, was absolute.
Han came inconveniently to mind.
Fett seemed to notice something in her expression. “You understand.”
“I understand that you’re making a very flattering argument for Mandalorian moral superiority.”
“I said nothing about morality.”
“No. You were careful not to.”
That faint sound again.
Definitely a laugh this time.
Leia studied him.
Years ago, he had been a faceless threat standing beside Jabba the Hutt.
Now he was here negotiating recognition, trade, security guarantees.
And she was carrying Han Solo’s children.
The galaxy had a peculiar sense of humor.
Fett stepped back. “Give Solo my best.”
Leia narrowed her eyes. “I’ll tell him you asked after him.”
“Don’t.”
That time she did smile.
Fett turned away.
“Fett.”
He stopped.
Leia rested one hand lightly over the twins.
“For what it’s worth... I don’t underestimate you.”
His helmet turned just enough for the dark visor to catch the light.
“I know.”
Then he walked away.
Leia released a breath she had not realized she was holding.
One of the twins shifted hard beneath her ribs.
“Yes,” she murmured, rubbing the spot. “I know.”
Another successful encounter with Boba Fett.
Success, in this particular case, continuing to mean that everyone had survived it.