Author’s
Note: Expanded Universe timeline and canon.
“Happy Returns” by KnightedRogue
Decades
of peace had sure made a difference in this place.
The
biggest change was the heat. It bloomed inside walls of ice and snow
like a damned miracle, perfectly designed for optimum comfort, ready in all its
ironic bluster. Warmth like a sauna; warmth like a good morning wrapped in
bed-sheets and smooth skin. It was warm enough to make a guy question his eyes,
question the clear evidence of winter weather right in front of him. There was
ice and there was snow and wasn’t there wampas roaming around out there
somewhere? But the air wasn’t frigid and so everything was fine.
What.
The. Hell.
Astounding,
the way the heat filled him with a false sense of security, like Hoth wasn’t
the ass-end of the galaxy, like it wasn’t strung over with old tension and
bitter remorse and the bodies of Imperials and Rebels alike. No, the heat was
new and kind: inviting, almost.
And to
Han Solo—war hero, New Republic general on reserve, husband to the Chief of
State and father of three—it felt like a prank. Heat? Here? Years
after it would have been needed? When it could have done some good for people?
What he
would have given to feel this heat the night he’d packed the galaxy’s future
Jedi Master into a tauntaun corpse while he dream-talked about his dead mentor
and a guy named Yoda.
Han hated
Hoth: hated the cold, hated the memories it held. Other Alliance bases hadn’t
been as bad as this one, with its deceptive, pretty white and the weary
camaraderie of the crews. By the time they’d gotten to Hoth the group that
would someday become New Republic Starfleet Command had been immune to existential
crises. They knew they were going to die, that no one could save them, that the
cause they would die for was small, and grassroots, and underfunded. Deep
nihilism bled through the ranks and it left a cheerfulness that itched at Han
like a bad rash. In his experience, naivete and world-weariness didn’t go
hand-in-hand and the dichotomy of it bothered him.
He’d seen
it firsthand in Luke, and Wedge, and Hobbie. Even Janson. Even Leia. Hoth
had drained the hope from the Alliance’s staunchest defenders. Back then Han
had felt like the only one who could see the symptoms, since he was not yet a
committed part of it.
And now
he was back, with Luke and Wedge and Hobbie. And even Janson and especially
Leia.
It felt
like cheating death to come back here. Like they were all taking the bait, like
the happiness and freedom they’d found in the intervening years might disappear
just by setting foot on this damned planet. Superstitious? Sure. But that
didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the fear anyway. If he’d learned anything from
Hoth it was to hold onto the hope for something better when it looked bleakest.
Han swept
mean, calculating eyes around the bustling hanger, lording over the chaos on
the same boarding ramp he’d stomped down many times on this infernal planet. He
wore a formal winter coat he’d bought, oh, ages ago, during their first
family trip to Corellia.
The
hanger around him looked the same as it had decades ago: big and ugly. The bare
ribs of the structure jutted out too far and left the whole structure feeling
weirdly organic without any of the benefits of organic material. More ships
filled the hanger than twenty years before: fancier ships, too. Han spotted
Borsk Fey’lya’s favorite plaything in the corner, a 529 Headhunter that looked
like it’d been spit-polished to within an inch of its life. He caught sight of
a Chitron Class Double-Z fighter in the far corner and wondered which diplomat
had gotten their grubby mitts on something as brand spanking new as that
beauty. Crew bustled around the ships as they had before but without the
cold-weather gear.
And it
was warm. So warm that Han itched at the collar of his proper dress
shirt before removing the winter outerwear altogether. Jacketless now, he still
couldn’t escape the heat. Someone shoulda warned us, Han thought as he
heard footsteps at the top of the ramp behind him.
“Dad, I
thought you said it was going to be cold.”
Han
turned to watch his daughter as she walked toward him. She was dolled up,
looking just like her mother, all shrewd brown eyes and thick hair tied up into
Jaina’s version of an up-do. Her long-sleeved dress covered her shoes but he
could tell she wore heels; the top of her head reached his nose and no
Organa-Solo woman was that tall, even at full maturity.
And he had
to admit that Jaina looked pretty damn mature tonight.
She wore
black, covered, but somehow those neat lines made her look dark, mysterious.
Sixteen year old Jaina had been wearing cosmetics for a year now but her eyes
were deep tonight, like the farthest reaches of the universe and fathomless.
She was more at home in the inner hull of her X-wing—his child, always—but
she looked like a million credits tonight. Han had a quick moment of
gut-wrenching, rabid fear that his baby girl could get hurt looking like this.
The good
news was that Jaina sure as hell could take care of herself, lightsaber at the
ready.
“It’s
fucking sweltering,” his daughter added and the spell of fatherhood
broke.
“Watch
that mouth of yours,” he growled but smiled to himself as he turned to reassess
the hangar. “Your mother will kill me if she hears you talk like that.”
“Talk
like what?” she asked with an innocence Han didn’t buy for a nanosecond.
“Like me,”
he answered.
Jaina
smiled but left it alone. “Why is it hot in here? You always said Hoth was cold.”
“They must’ve solved the environmental
problem. They were stuck on it when the Imps showed up.”
Jaina
stepped next to him on the ramp, crossed her arms over her chest. “No kidding.
How do you think they did it?”
Han
shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe applied a heat shield? Something from avonatics?”
“You’d
still have the melting problem, though,” she said. “This place is
spick-and-span. Not a drop of moisture in sight.”
“It’s
spick-and-span because fancy people are here this week. People like you,
looking like a Zyonier hooker. Your mother know you’re wearing that?”
Jaina
raised her eyebrows. “Watch that mouth of yours,” she repeated his words back
to him with a small grin, then added, “And of course she knows. She helped me
buy it.”
With
that, she turned around and climbed up the ramp, leaving Han shaking his head.
Damn it,
Leia, he
thought.
The boys
hid their discomfort about as well as Han tried to hide his, though looking at
them now he thought they all probably failed miserably. Without any forewarning
about Echo Base’s new and improved heating, the Organa-Solo clan was clad in
winter formalwear: an ongoing comment made to him over the course of several
relatively polite conversations he’d had while awaiting Leia’s entrance.
“You seem
quite warm, General Solo. Are you unwell?”
“That
dress shirt must have three thermal layers beneath it!”
“Why are
you dressed like you are outside, Sir?”
Han had
dismissed the comments, used to the polite swordsmanship expected of him at
events like this one. Toeing the line between being a respected veteran of a
great war and being his unique brand of unpredictable, he spent time with
guests he knew he could charm easiest and left the harder marks to Jacen:
Jacen, who had more political chops in his big toe than his siblings or father
had in their entire bodies. Jaina was somewhere over by the main banquet hall
and Han had no idea what she was doing there other than to maybe smile her way
into a light alcoholic drink despite her father’s practiced eye. Anakin,
fourteen and the most impressed with Echo Base, was grilling two
historians charged with renovating the base on the finer points of artistic
license. Han had left his youngest child to the conversation and found a
relatively secluded post with his back to the long stream of guests entering
from the North Corridor.
He didn’t
find these events restful but their necessity had made him a pro at realizing
when his patience was wearing thin. He knew when to take a break from people.
“I see
you didn’t get the we have heat now memo, either,” said a voice from
Han’s right.
He turned
to see the first genuine friend he had found at the dinner so far. Wedge
Antilles’ young, sharp face had filled out with the years, giving him a
perpetually laughing visage. His hazel eyes twinkled in the bright light of the
mess-hall-turned-ballroom. Wedge always reminded Han of the old tales of
meddling spirits in Coronet City he’d heard as a kid, the ghosts out for a ruse
and a gamble, the ones that did harm and good in equal measure through no fault
of their own. Smart and wiley, Wedge was the Corellian brother Han had never
had, and they shared a journey into respect and admiration in public life,
though Han’s association with a certain princess had rocketed him to a fuller
fame than his countryman.
The
shorter man was in full SFC cold-weather dress uniform, white and bulky and
confined in all the worst places: collar, cuffs and crotch. Han winced, knowing
the feeling well. As a reserve officer, Han wasn’t required to wear the dress
whites any longer. When asked he’d loudly proclaimed he was in no way going to
wear the torture uniform and that there was no way Leia could make him despite
how much she seemed to enjoy the sight. She’d surprised him and had agreed,
even said she found civilian-wear more appropriate for their return to Hoth. You
didn’t fully commit until Endor, she’d said. It might look like you’re
pulling focus from the veterans who were already commissioned.
He’d
escaped dress whites hell on a technicality.
Wedge
brought with him two tumblers of Whyren’s Reserve, offering one to Han. What
a guy, what a pal, Han thought.
“It feels
like a Bimmsaari heat-storm in here,” Han said as he took the proffered tumbler
and a handshake. “You’re a lifesaver, Wedge.”
“I bet
you say that to all the girls,” Wedge quipped.
“Only
one,” Han said with a quick smile. “Where’s Iella?”
Wedge
rolled his eyes. “Dodonna,” he said by way of explanation.
Jan
Dodonna was here, clinging to life with all the stubbornness of a bantha, as
were the other former members of High Command. The only exception was a rueful
Crix Madine, off doing who-knew-what who-knew-where with New Republic
Intelligence. For that Han was grateful. He could handle Ackbar’s pedantic
conversations, Dodonna’s insipid ass-kissing. Looked forward to seeing Carlist
Rieekan, a regular dinner guest at Han and Leia’s penthouse on Coruscant when
he was on-planet. But Madine … ugh.
“Where’s
Chewie?” Wedge asked.
Han waved
a hand. “His cub hit majority today. Big deal for Wookiees. Figured no one here
was gonna shoot me so he could take a couple weeks off, you know?”
“You have
more faith than I do.” Wedge quipped. “Saw the kids wandering around. How the
hell are they so big?”
“Tell me
about it,” Han said, side-eyeing Jaina as she crept closer to the bartending
droid, looking just like her mother from across the room. His heart squeezed
for a moment before he refocused on Wedge. “Syal at home?”
Wedge’s
daughter, a rambunctious and pernicious seven-year old, was a blast to have
around, but Han could understand why her parents might want to leave her
somewhere more fun than a ridiculous banquet. Force knew Leia and he had
learned their lesson early on. Youthful energy did not mix well with diplomats.
“I didn’t
even want to try,” Wedge confided. “She’d be running around pulling tablecloths
off the tables.”
Han
laughed, remembered the pranks his twins had pulled on various ambassadors at
state dinners: not quite pranks in that everyone knew exactly who had
thrown Farshi shrimp into the beautiful cake while it set in the kitchens.
Seven year olds had zero subtlety.
Jaina had
approached the bartender droid who shook its head, and Han wondered if his kids
had actually grown out of the prank phase. He suspected they hadn’t. They’d
just learned to hide it better.
“And the
chief?” Wedge asked after a quick sip of the Whyren’s. “Haven’t seen her around
yet.”
“Running
late, I guess,” Han said.
“You
didn’t come together?”
Han
shrugged. “She’s been on Kloctuu the past two weeks, and Bithil the week before
that, and Bothawui before that.”
Not the
usual diplomatic trip by any stretch and Han was anxious to see her. His
fingers itched to touch her skin, eyes scouted the crowd for big, gorgeous,
brown. A month without his wife made him lonely and desperate and feeling like
he was missing a leg. And then to be here on Hoth where he’d threatened to
leave every spare moment of the day to garner a reaction from the princess …
He just
wanted to see her, is all.
Wedge
nodded, pulling Han’s focus back to the present. “Oh, right. The trade pacts.
I’d heard something about that. Did it all work out?”
“No
idea,” Han said. “I can’t watch the Holonews anymore without seeing my face and
that shit drives me up the wall.”
Wedge
laughed, a deep, honest laugh. “Spoils of the fame, I guess.”
Han hummed,
took a sip from his tumbler.
“I tell
you, being here makes you think some,” Wedge added.
Han
nodded. “I was thinking earlier that the heat woulda been nice that night Luke
and I got caught in the snowstorm.”
“You mean
when Luke got lost and you went out after him against direct orders.”
Han
shrugged again. “Same thing.”
Wedge
shook his head. “Not the same thing.”
Han took
another drink, uncomfortable. “Yeah, well. I wouldn’t have been in such a rush
to leave if the heat had been on around here.”
“You
still hanging on to that line?” Wedge asked, turning to look at the assembled
diplomats, the very clear reminder that they weren’t here as younger
men, fighting for their lives and certain of their own defeat. They were here
as victors and happily married men with kids and lives of their own. “You
weren’t in a rush to leave. I hate to break it to you.”
Han
turned with him, eyeing the hush of voices as a protocol droid announced the
Chief of State of the New Republic into the ballroom.
Leia. Han’s anxiety, quiet though
it had been, simmered and then settled entirely. He couldn’t see her in the
milling crowd, only heard the hushed reverence, the respect, as his wife
entered the room. And that alone reminded him of how far they’d all come, the stark
difference between Echo Base then and Echo Base now.
“Don’t
know what you’re talking about,” he said to Wedge but his eyes were all on
Leia. Always on Leia.
Han had
picked up a few more people once Leia began small-talking her way through the
hall. It would take her some time to find him, he was sure, so he tried to be
patient and focused on the heroes around him.
General
Garm Bel-Iblis had zeroed in on Han the minute he spotted him, the older
Corellian a mutual reluctant participant in these kinds of induction
ceremonies. Iella Wessiri had rejoined her husband and now stood at Han’s right
elbow. Wedge had left momentarily to refill the drinks, acting like the
military chaperone he’d always been around his squadron, most of whom also
found themselves in the chatting circle. Wes Janson and Hobbie Klivian. Carist,
thank god; Han needed the Alderaanian general to offset the
former-Rogues’ chronic enthusiasm.
But the
best as ever was his brother-in-law.
Luke Skywalker
had gotten the heat memo, wore a light-fabric dress shirt and no jacket. Black
all the way around, like a Jedi on a night-mission with no extra fabric and the
ability to loosen his collar and unclip his cufflinks. Han was envious the
minute he spotted the sandy-haired man.
“Who the
hell warned you?” Han asked a little too loud, cheery petulance obvious in his
tone.
“Han,”
Luke smiled and made his way over to Han’s increasingly large circle of
reluctant guests. “Read your invitation next time. How’s it going?”
The
kid—not a kid anymore but Luke could pull that nickname from Han’s dead fingers
if he wanted—hugged Han with genuine warmth. When his children were training
with Luke on Yavin 4, Han saw him a whole lot more than he did when the kids
were on Coruscant. Han and Leia regularly visited the jungle moon to visit
Jacen, Jaina and Anakin; the side benefit was hanging around Luke for a few
hours. The kid didn’t like Coruscant, said it felt empty and cold.
It’d been
about two months since the kids had been with their uncle and probably as long
since the adults had seen each other. Longer than Han liked, for sure.
Go
figure. When Han had helped found this family he’d wanted them close by. Things
felt better when the whole clan was together.
But he
couldn’t say any of that. “It’s hot,” Han muttered instead.
Luke
laughed, slapped his brother on the back. “Crazy, isn’t it? This place looks
completely different.”
“Weird to
be here again,” Hobbie said. “Hi there, Boss.”
Luke
smiled, made the rounds with handshakes all around. “Definitely weird,” he
agreed. “Did you see the hanger? Someone’s got a Double Z.”
“That’s
Falnor,” Rieekan chimed in.
“How’d he
scam his way in?” Han asked. “Falnor threw in support after Endor, didn’t he?”
“Publicity
stunt,” Bel-Iblis said. “Though to be fair I never set foot on Hoth while you
guys were here, either. The committee played fast and loose with who they
invited.”
“You’re
tellin’ me,” Wes said. “Solo’s here.”
Han
raised his eyebrows, all too aware of Janson’s tendency for good-natured
attacks. “I built this damn base as much as you did, Janson.”
“Probably
more so,” Rieekan said, patient and low from Han’s left.
“Oh,
sure. You’re a big deal, that’s fine. But the rest of us were fighting evil.
Solo here was chasing skirts.”
Han
rolled his eyes. Should have known that would be the punchline. Janson never
meant any real harm. “It ain’t chasing if you get them,” he argued with
a wolfish grin.
“Them?”
Janson argued. “You got one.”
Han
smiled broadly. “The one that mattered. And look at that, she’s running the
whole damn galaxy.”
“She sure
is,” a deep voice said from behind him. “Despite the efforts of you lot.”
Han
turned, his big dopey smile already in place. Leia looked absolutely stunning
tonight, sapphire blue dress high-collared and low-backed, capped sleeves
emphasizing her shapely arms. The dress flowed down her body like a stream,
hugging close to her waist and hips, flaring out into a sensibly wide skirt.
Slender and small, graceful and beautiful, she looked every bit the princess
she had been, like the princess she hadn’t been here on Hoth the first time.
“Hi,” he
breathed, and reached his fingers for her hips, mindful of their onlookers.
“Look at you.”
She
smiled. “Look at you. I see you didn’t read the invitation.”
“Nope.
Why?”
She
rolled her eyes playfully at him. “You’re impossible.”
He
grinned, leaned in and brushed a kiss against her cheek. He didn’t pull back
right away, just kept his lips against her skin for a beat, her breath on his
throat the most reassuring thing in the universe. There was much more he’d like
to do but time was short and eyes followed Leia like magnets. He’d settle for a
brief, conservative welcome and then find a more suitable way to express his
admiration later on.
She
stepped into his arms, slid her hand along his elbow, fit herself neatly into
his side and turned toward his collection of friends. “Well, look at this
handsome group,” she murmured. “I should have known you’d all hide together.”
“Madame
Chief-of-State,” Wes said with a deep bow. “It is an honor to be here with
you.”
The
effort was so grandiose that the group laughed, the way Janson mimicked the
efforts of the political hangers-on of the evening. Falnor and Fey’lya and the
rest, all who had never set foot on this garbage-heap of a base back when it
had mattered.
“Milady,”
Wedge said.
Hobbie
chimed in, too. “Your Highness.”
“The boss
of our boss of our boss,” Janson finished in a Rogue trifecta of teasing.
“Wes, I
once pinned you in combat drills in this very room within eight seconds,” Leia
said. “Don’t pretend to stand on ceremony with me.”
The group
laughed again, and Han remembered the shock on Janson’s face on that wonderful
day. The image only made him laugh harder. As if he’d needed any more reason to
fall in love with the woman at his side.
Luke
swept in to kiss his twin sister on the cheek. “The highlight of Echo Base,” he
said as he stepped back. “We didn’t let him live it down for weeks.”
“He didn’t
let me live it down,” Wes pointed to Han.
“Because
it was fuckin’ hilarious,” Han said, wrapping his arm around Leia’s back again.
“You’d turn all red with your mouth open and—yeah, like that.”
Janson’s
face had developed a distinct blush. The sight made Han laugh harder.
“Princess,”
Carlist murmured and leaned in for his own welcoming hug. “It’s good to see you
well.”
“Carlist,
you must make it to Imperial City more often,” she responded. “It’s been
months.”
“I
suspect you’ve been busy enough without me there to distract you. How did the
trade summits go?”
Leia
settled back into Han’s side with a slight huff. “Like all trade summits go:
compromise, grovel, a few yelling matches and then back to square one.”
“There
aren’t enough credits in the galaxy to tempt me into politics again,” Bel-Iblis
murmured into his drink.
“Trust
me, I’ve felt that way quite a bit the past few weeks. Coming back here has
been the highlight of my schedule, if you can believe it.”
Hobbie
barked a laugh. “That’s pretty depressing, Chief.”
“I know,”
she said, running a hand over Han’s back. Back to you, the gesture said
to him and he squeezed her hip in response. His brain spiraled into deeper,
more private thoughts; he had a sneaking suspicion hers did, too, because Luke
stiffened and made a pained face.
“You can
stop that now,” Luke said. “Both of you. Please.”
The group
turned confused looks to him, sensing there was more to their former
commander’s comments than what they heard. Bel-Iblis and Rieekan turned away
for a side conversation, oblivious to the exchange, and for that Han was
grateful.
Because
he knew exactly what was coming.
“Stop
what?” Wedge asked.
Luke
waved a hand in Han and Leia’s direction. “Those two,” he said, gently teasing
and moving the conversation into areas Han was not interested in pursuing in
public.
Janson
looked at Han and Leia, and then back to Luke. “Is this a Jedi thing?”
“Yeah,”
Han said, hoping to drop the topic. “And a twin thing. Don’t listen to him.”
This had
happened before, something that didn’t broker shame or embarrassment for them
in the confines of the family. But outside of the Jedi lineage he’d married
into, the idea that Luke could sometimes sense when Han and Leia were
particularly … amorous … was disturbing and not something he or Leia
wanted spread to the general public.
“Yeah,
okay,” Iella said with a skeptical look toward Luke. Trust the intel agent to
catch more to what was not said than what was said. “Isn’t that strange to you
guys?”
They
turned to look at her, the beautiful woman on Wedge’s arm.
She
smiled but her eyes swept around the small group. The old Rogues, the galaxy’s
only Jedi Master and the Organa-Solos, whose great success in life had been
planted squarely here, in this godforsaken planet in this hellish base.
“Isn’t it
strange to think that the people you knew then became these people?” she
continued, pointing first to Luke, then in a running path between Luke and
Leia, and finishing with another running path between Han and Leia. “You’re a
Jedi Master, for goodness’ sake. You two are twins, separated at birth.
And you two got married and your daughter has been drinking a Tonrian Sunrise
for the past ten minutes.”
Han
jerked his head to look at Jaina at the bar, catching her with a slim glass in
her hands.
Got you, he mouthed. Jaina scowled
and set the glass down on the nearest attendant droid platter.
“Isn’t
that strange to you?” Iella finished. “That so much came from so
little?”
By now
the Organa-Solo kids were used to sitting at the head table during state
dinners. Their formation was ingrained, from left to right, always: Jacen,
Anakin, Leia, Han, Jaina. A tried-and-true tactic to create the littlest
disruption possible. Jacen sat on the end because he could fake interest in
their guests the best of his siblings or father: Anakin next to him because
Jacen’s diplomacy evaporated if he sat next to his twin. Han next to Jaina to
keep an eye on her antics. Leia square in the middle, the centerpiece to the
inevitable holo.
The best
part was that Han and Leia always sat together. Han had a nasty habit of
whispering outrageous, ribald things into her ear under the guise of polite
affection. The seating arrangement was a great compromise on everyone’s part.
Leia
hadn’t sat down yet, was finishing a commemorative speech at the podium to the
right of the head table where he and his children sat. The crowd was rapt,
listening to the Chief of State’s beautiful alto as she praised those lost in
the battle that had brought about Echo Base’s eventual capture.
“I didn’t
even drink that much of it, Dad,” Jaina whispered from his left.
Han
snorted a laugh. “Doesn’t matter. You still broke the rules.”
Her eyes
were on her mother but she spared a glance to him, adolescent righteousness
quick in the set of her lips.
“The rule
is to follow basic New Republic Charter law. Section 5 clearly says that
we should follow the customs of local law while working in a diplomatic role.”
He rolled
his eyes. “Did you search for that information ahead of time knowing you
would be caught?”
Jaina
continued heedless of his response. “And since there is precedent for underaged
drinking on Echo Base—”
“There’s what?”
he interrupted.
Jaina’s
eyes flicked back to her mother. “Come on, Dad. Uncle Chewie told us about
Uncle Luke’s majority party.”
“Majority,”
he emphasized. “Means you’re legal to drink Tonrian Sunrises.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t know Mom had
reached majority then and Uncle Chewie says—”
“Tell you
what, kid,” Han said, voice low with just a hint of threat beneath it. “Stop
talking now and I’ll put in a good word with your mother when I tell her about
this later tonight.”
That made his daughter settle
down real quick, the obvious sign that she wasn’t going to fight him on it
anymore.
Han hid his smile. Teenagers. Pressing
their luck all the time, without regard to logic or reason.
“So it
with deep respect that we open this historical site to the public. Access to
education and the horrors of the Rebellion should serve as a great reminder of
the cost of war. Beings perished here so that we could enjoy the freedom of a
true republic. Let this site be a beacon, a torch, for the next generation to know
the price of stability and honor.”
Polite
applause, a slight nod to her audience, and Leia was sitting in the chair on
Han’s left with a quick rush of her dress. Finally.
“Nice
one,” he murmured to her. “Short.”
Leia
smiled at him. “I gave the speechwriters the day off after the summit. They
always add about five minutes to the speeches.”
“Sounded
good to me.”
“Anything
short sounds good to you,” she replied, lifting a glass of water to her lips.
Han
turned to look at the audience, the powerful beings tucking into their
expensive meals, choosing correct cutlery on instinct. It was an odd sight. He
very distinctly remembered the week in which a blockade on Premmine had halted
delivery of their emergency rations when Echo Base had been the last refuge for
a struggling Alliance. He remembered the sad energy of the mess hall—this very
same room, without the silver candelabras and the white linen tablecloths—and
the gauntness of the familiar faces he saw in the crowd. Luke, whose eyes were
dulled by hunger. Wes and Wedge quieter than usual. Carlist Rieekan with sunken
eyes and grim lips.
Han could
picture them so clearly as they were, as they had been at their worst. He held
that memory close, not because he liked to see his friends in that state but
because it was important to remember that war had not looked like this.
The walls were still that terribly white but now it was warm in here. The
tables were still short, rectangular durasteel, utilitarian and sharp, but now
they held exotic food, roast meat and a colorful assortment of root vegetables
from Tanaab. And the vast majority of people who sat here now would imagine
that this was how the war had looked.
Leia
caught his eye again. “I urged them not to do a banquet. It feels—”
“Shady as
fuck?” he muttered with a raised eyebrow.
Leia
pressed her lips together to suppress her quick smile at his irreverence. “I
was going to say gauche but yours works as well.”
He nodded
his thanks to a serving droid as it placed his plate before him. It smelled
delicious if a little too mild for his tastes. He lifted his utensil to his
mouth, chewed and swallowed before saying, “I like my words better.”
Leia
began to eat her own food, eyeing the crowd before them. She paused with her
utensil held close to the plate, looking between her meal and the assembly. “I
do, too,” she finally replied.
“Are you certain,
Ma’am?” the historian asked. “The bunk rooms are beautifully recreated,
offer the finest insight into the Rebel Experience. That was, after all, the
mission—”
Han and
Leia stood at the ramp to the Falcon. He itched to get into more casual
clothing, to get out of public. The posturing was getting to him; it was time
to get out of sight.
He’d
hated Echo Base when it had been a functional military outpost. Now it was
almost unbearable.
“No,
thank you, Frissone. I’m sure the amenities are lovely. But I well know the
bunkrooms and would much prefer the safety and comfort of the Millennium
Falcon.”
Han tried
to hide his smirk. Leia and he had discussed this invitation before she’d left
for her trade summit and she’d been absolutely firm in her position. Leia
Organa-Solo would not spend another night in a Hoth bunkroom if she had
anything to say about it.
It was
always fun to watch her argue with someone else. It was especially delicious now,
standing on the ramp of a ship in which she’d fought with him often
enough on this damn planet.
“If you
insist, Ma’am,” Frissone said, disappointed. “Good evening.”
Han
tossed him a quick smile and led his wife up to the Falcon’s hatch, a
hand on her lower back, the train of her dress whispering behind them.
Once the
hatch shut, she turned to him with sharp eyes and a grimace on her lips. “Are
you sure the kids will be okay in the bunkrooms?” she murmured. “Maybe they
should stay here with us?”
Han was
halfway out of his dress shirt already, tossing it angrily to the deck as if
the shirt itself had wronged him. “Leia. No.”
“Who
knows what they could do if they got it in their minds to, I don’t know,
hotwire the speaker system? Retrofit a Two-One-Bee? Try and restart an ion
cannon or two?”
He
laughed. “Wouldn’t put it past them to try,” he admitted. “But Luke’s there.
He’ll know if they’re up to something.”
Leia
nodded. “I suppose.”
“And I’ll
give you odds that the old Rogues will keep them plenty entertained,” he added.
“And I never went anywhere near those bunkrooms the first time we were here.
Why the hell would I go anywhere near them now?”
“To
provide feedback to the historical teams—”
“Yeah,
no, sweetheart,” he interrupted, and tore off another thermal layer. “Sorry.”
The whole
evening had left a bad taste in his mouth. Not the people, no. He loved
seeing Luke and the rest of the Rogues. It was nice to see Garm and Carlist and
even Ackbar. He loved having his kids there to see for themselves what Hoth
looked like.
But this
wasn’t really Hoth.
This was
a sliver of the truth. This was historical re-imagining to make difficult times
a little more palatable for the public. He didn’t want to see the bunkrooms
because he didn’t want to see what the historians had made of the bulky, subpar
sleeping bags or the grimy sonic showers. He didn’t want to see the suffering
of the bravest people he knew get short-shifted in favor of the delicate
sensibilities of people like his own children, who’d never gone without a good
meal and a hot shower. He was enormously proud of that fact, don’t get him
wrong. Leia and he had worked hard for their children’s stability. But
he also didn’t want to see it happening before his eyes.
The
second thermal shirt joined its twin on the deck and he glanced at Leia. He
wondered if she were as bothered by this as he was.
“Do you …
like what they’ve done here?” he asked, unsure.
Leia was
different than him in a lot of ways, despite their happy marriage. She had been
privileged as a child, like Jacen, Jaina and Anakin, and sometimes she
surprised him with her takes of difficult situations. Maybe she understood
something about this …. this regression. Retrograde. This re-do of
history.
He should
have known better. “I hate it,” she answered. “It feels disrespectful to me.”
He
nodded. “Yeah.”
“The
committee insisted that certain amenities be included. The way we lived here on
Hoth wasn’t exactly hygienic or, uh, legal, strictly speaking. They had
to make some adjustments.”
Han
exhaled and fought against the last thermal shirt he wore, sweat-soaked and
disgusting. “Hygienic. Ha. Do you remember that time the sonic system went
down?”
Leia
wrinkled her nose. “Now I do.”
“I
remember the Rogues trying to heat water for showers in a bonfire in the
hanger. The fire kept getting blown out by the wind.”
He tossed
the last shirt to the deck, freshly free from the weight of all that clothing.
“Thank
the Force for my water shower,” he added, casting a mischievous eye to his
wife.
Gorgeous
in the low light of the Falcon’s ring corridor, Leia leaned against the
bulkhead with one foot peeking out from beneath the whisper-soft folds of her
dress. She looked so at home there that his breath caught. The striking
difference between the young—ridiculously young—warrior she’d been
twenty years ago and the confident, stunning powerhouse she was now.
If he had
imagined Leia Organa looking like this twenty years ago, he would have fallen
to his knees in awe a long time ago.
He was
being obvious, he knew, because she smirked and crossed her arms over her
chest. “Your water shower?” she asked with a playful wink.
“What?”
he asked, lost.
She
cocked her head to the side. The light panels caught her earrings—a re-creation
of Breha Organa’s coronation jewelry that he’d had made for her the day she’d
been elected to her second term—and the light refracted into a million prisms.
He took it all in with an awed expression, happy to be a little confounded by
this woman.
Leia’s
smile grew a little haughty, a sliver of her former attitude the last time
they’d been on this planet.
“Is this
a ruse to entice me into your bunk? Captain?”
Han’s
brain struggled to keep up. “Yeah?” he said, confused. “Because that’s where we
sleep?”
And also
he’d really, really like to get his hands under that dress. She had to
be uncomfortable. That, and she always found ways to surprise him when she’d
been away on diplomatic trips. He fell into imagination, picturing silks and
lace and the way Leia’s breasts looked in black. He liked black on her. A lot.
He
couldn’t wait.
“I have
no idea what you’re talking about, Captain,” she said.
He
blinked. Captain …. Hells, she hadn’t called him captain in
years. When she was baiting him these days, she called him general. The
higher rank, the bigger achievement to the eyes of the galaxy, though he’d
never found it as comfortable as the captain. Even on Hoth, she’d only
used captain when she’d wanted to get a rise out of him—
Oh.
Captain,
being held by you isn’t quite enough to get me excited.
Oh.
“That
right?” he mumbled, catching on. “No idea?”
She shook
her head and Han was overwhelmed by the idea of angry, righteous Leia Organa in
his ship, on this planet, for the first time, all indignation and pride.
The years slipped away and there she was, the princess he adored but flatly
refused to love. The only person who could push him to his breaking point and
leave him desperate for more. He’d loved her for decades now, had forged a life
with her: kids, careers, a future. Was head-over-heels for her.
Would do anything for her. Regularly dress up because she asked, because it was
important to her. Would attend stupid, depressing commemoration ceremonies for
her, knowing she would fly home with him on his ship because he felt safest
with her here. That she’d rearrange her schedule if he fell sick to care for
him, would delegate trivial responsibilities if he asked the same way he would
for her.
And
somehow she could flip a switch and turn back into the fathomless Princess of
Alderaan.
“It’s
awful cold out there,” he said, nodding to the hatch. “Want a drink to warm you
up?”
He
thought about the way the historians had glamorized the base, how the memories
of some could be so quick to forget the horror of this place. He thought about
Echo Base having heat, what an abysmal failure that was to recognize the
sacrifices of the original Alliance. The way the public would flock to this new
historical site and imagine, like Fey’lya and Falnor did, that this was
their history.
Cold were
the short memories of the people who’d waited to be rescued from the Empire.
“Just
one,” she responded and led him into the galley. “And then I’m leaving.”
He grinned
to her back, at the beautiful play of her shoulder-blades. “Sure you will,” he
murmured, and felt his heart pick up its rhythm.
