Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Their captors had been gone for nearly six months. Bail felt certain that the war was over, win or lose, and the ore their prison camp had been forced to mine for the last several years was no longer of immediate need. At least that seemed most likely, as the mines were not spent, and he knew this particular ore did something important for internal processors. He knew what once, years ago, probably from a science lecture on the senate floor. All he knew right now was that the ore alone did not make a communication relay.

When the Imperials left—in the dead of night, after drugging their dinners to make the prisoners sleep through it—they had taken all communications equipment, weapons, and ships. Their prison camp was left with access to the greenhouse that gave them sustenance, the tools they needed to farm, a few power generators, and no guard. He supposed they were free, but without the ability to get off this moon, it didn’t feel very free. At least when the Imperials were around, they could hear comm chatter. Now they had … nothing. They were just a handful of Alderaanians, pulled from the planet’s surface moments before its destruction, trying to survive on a tiny mining moon waiting for someone to check for signs of life.

Bail was on plowing duty that morning, preparing a new patch of tubers that should be ready to harvest in about three months. It was hard to imagine still being there in three months, but they had to pretend that life could go on with only a greenhouse and dwindling power. “Your majesty?” someone said, approaching.

Bail looked up from the clump of dirt he was breaking apart to face the young man. Orwen, formerly a jewel merchant on the south continent, stood in a bowed position, waiting to be acknowledged. “For the hundredth time, Orwen, the formality is unnecessary.”

“Nevertheless, you are still my Viceroy and the Queen’s Consort, your majesty.”

Viceroy over what, Bail wasn’t really sure anymore. Two acres of greenhouse? “Very well. How may I be of service?”

Orwen inclined his head farther before finally standing up straight. “The Queen requests your presence.”

Unceremoniously handing off the plow to the man, Bail took off to the other side of the greenhouse. Breha was very rarely awake these days. The internal batteries that drove her pulmonodes no longer gathered bio-energy from the rest of her body, and the only way to keep her alive was to have her hooked up to one of their precious generators. The Queen did not require much power, but she insisted her power be rationed in much the same way the food was rationed. So she spent most of her day in a near-comatose state.

“Breha?” Bail asked as soon as he had entered the tent that stored her, her cot, and the wires that led out to the generator from below her tunic. “How are you, my love?” A weak but cheerful smile shone back at him, and she reached a hand out. He sat on the edge of her cot and engulfed her hand with both of his. “Is everything all right?”

Breha nodded, but motioned to a data pad on the storage crate she used as a table. “I’ve been doing some calculations. I needed to know how much power we have left.”

The first thing Bail wanted to ask was who had given her a data pad, because with a data pad she would do something like crunch numbers. Numbers that he, quite frankly, didn’t want her to crunch. Bail cleared his throat. “And what did you discover?”

“I think you know exactly what I discovered.”

Bail ran a hand through his much-too-long hair and let out a slow breath. “Breha—”

“I consume a month’s worth of energy.”

“That’s a gross overestimation.”

“It’s not. Not realistically.” She passed him the data pad, her arm shaking from the exertion. “I am at my lowest possible power consumption to stay alive. Our camp is not. If we stretch our power in true survival mode, I cost us a month.”

“You are our Queen, Breha. We will expend the power to keep our Queen alive.”

“Bail.” A silent breeze brushed through the tent, whipping up the crude blankets that lay underneath his wife. Some dust rolled across the floor, a reminder that they hadn’t had the water to keep their living area clean for weeks. The shadows of their prison camp would be nothing but dust in a season, no more. The tubers he was plowing for would not receive any water, which was fine because there would be no one left to eat them.

He looked down at the data pad she had exerted too much energy to pass to him. Her timeline was sound—she was gifted at statistics—but what she didn’t say out loud was they would lose more people than just her. They would only gain that extra month because people would starve, and the Queen’s sacrifice would give the people who survived a few more weeks to hope for rescue.

This was their end. Decades of fighting tyranny, and they were going to become moondust, forgotten, and probably already assumed dead.

Breha reached out for his hand again and he squeezed it, still lost in her calculations. “We’ve done everything we could possibly have done, my love,” she said, once again, as she often was, completely in line with his thoughts.

But that’s when they heard it. The unmistakable sound of a starship breaking through the moon’s atmosphere. And then another, and another.

Orwen rushed to the greenhouse entrance, his eyes on the skies, looking for the visitors. Breha’s grip on Bail’s hand tightened to a strength he didn’t think she had. “They’re X-Wings!” Orwen shouted. “Repeat: they’re X-Wings!”

Bail met Breha’s eyes, and he saw a life in her he hadn’t seen in months. He wanted to share in her optimism, but he needed to see it for himself first. He helped his wife sit up on her cot and then rushed after Orwen, who was waving his hands at the approaching ships. Sure enough, Bail watched three X-Wings bank in formation and come to land in a shallow crater just south of the mine entrance.

As they approached, the ships were on solid ground, their landing sequence underway. Bail listened to the engines power down and the cockpits depressurize, sure they were the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard. He found himself touching the nose of the lead X-Wing, just to make sure it wasn’t a mirage.

The lead pilot lifted the canopy off his cockpit and leapt to the ground without using his ladder. “There’s so much interference out here it took forever to pinpoint you after we picked up lifesign readings,” he said, as if they were already in the middle of a conversation.

“Is there?” Bail asked, hoping the pilot would give more context.

The pilot nodded and worked his helmet loose. “Unfortunately. We’re still within the asteroid field created when Alderaan—well, anyway, it’s caused a lot of interference with our systems. Artoo was finally able to isolate it. Where are we?”

Bail had stopped listening after the pilot had mentioned Artoo, looking past the man for the astromech he’d known longer than most people in his life. The droid dropped unceremoniously to the ground from the X-Wing’s socket and whirred a few beeps of greeting.

The pilot watched, glancing back and forth between them. “You know my droid?”

“Your droid? I met this droid over thirty years ago, boy,” Bail said, giving Artoo an affectionate pat on the head—if one could give droids such a thing.

“Sorry. He’s been at my side since I joined the war.”

Helmet finally off, Bail took in the sandy hair, his lanky physique, noted the lightsaber clipped at his side. Not only was he looking at a dead ringer for the Anakin Skywalker he’d known, he was looking into eyes that might as well have belonged to his daughter. “Luke.”

Luke blinked and looked at Artoo like he might have an answer. The droid gave an affirmative trill, making the young man meet Bail’s eyes again. “Have we met?”

“No. Well, not officially.” He had, during a moment of panic from Obi-Wan, been handed both twins in the medical facility on Polis Massa. To say he met Luke that day was a bit of a stretch. “Perhaps I should introduce myself. I am Bail Organa.”

“You’re—” The words caught in Luke’s throat and he shook himself out of the initial shock. “Um. It’s a pleasure, and a surprise, Your Majesty. Is this an Alderaanian colony?”

Bail shook his head. “Former prison camp. The Empire left us with bare minimum supplies about six months ago.”

“Sounds about right. Is the Queen here?”

“She is, but she’s weak. She needs immediate medical attention.”

Luke nodded slowly, and then faster. “Right. Wedge!”

One of the other pilots, who had used his ladder to get out of the cockpit, approached, shaking his shaggy black hair out of its sweaty helmet position. “Yeah, Luke?” Wedge looked up and locked eyes with Bail, sure he was seeing a ghost. “Senator?”

“Wedge. It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, you, too. Uh—” He looked at Luke. “Do I need to do introductions, or—?”

“No, no. We figured it out,” Luke said, flashing a quick smile at Bail. “Open a channel back to the fleet. Request a medical frigate immediately. That should be all we need. Everyone here should probably be examined.”

“Right. Anything else?”

Luke locked eyes with Bail again, and his expression was unreadable. Bail had no idea how much he knew, how much Obi-Wan had been able, or willing, to tell him. Stars, would he have a chance to see Obi-Wan again? Luke hadn’t even confirmed whether or not the Empire had fallen. From the lifetime of questions embedded in Luke’s gaze, Bail suspected the young man had just as many questions for him and he did of Luke.

After another moment, Luke dropped his eyes back to Wedge. “Alert Chandrila that we have Alderaanian refugees the Chancellor will want to welcome personally.” He paused a moment to clear his throat. “And request that they pull General Organa from the field immediately.”

Chapter Text

Leia sat on the bunk above the Falcon’s dejarik table, removing her boots with the precise accuracy of someone disarming a bomb, not making eye contact with the man leaning against the wall closest to the crew’s quarters. “Explain it to me again, nice and slow,” Han said, in the controlled tone of someone who desperately wants to shout.

Finished with her boots, Leia then gave just as much attention to her socks. “Our relationship is still very new.”

Han scoffed and turned in a circle before retaking his spot on the wall. “I kissed you well over a year ago.”

“Uh uh. You do not get to count frozen time. It is new.”

“Says the woman who took leave from the Alliance to rescue me. Maybe it hasn’t been over a year for me, your highness, but it’s definitely been over a year for you.”

“Nevertheless, it is new, General, and I will continue sleeping in my own bunk, not your extra wide one.” Having taken as long as possible with her footwear, Leia moved on to her flight jacket. As she opened the front, exposing her flimsy tank top to the drafty cool air of the starship’s lounge, she felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. The reaction was definitely caused solely by the room’s temperature, not by Han’s fixed gaze below her neckline.

“Leia,” Han said. No longer content against the wall, he walked over and knelt on the bench below her. It actually made him shorter than if he stood in front of the bench, but that kept an awkward distance between them. This way they were close. Very close. His hands moved over her kneecaps and traced delicate designs up across her thighs. “We spent all afternoon in my bunk. Together. Not sleeping. I’m asking you to come to bed. To sleep.”

It had, in fact, been a great afternoon. Han knew a lot of expletives, in a lot of languages. It was a very impressive vocabulary. She had distracted him with enough fervor that he kept forgetting they were in a bunk. The consequences of that forgetfulness caused even more expletives when his back or head would hit the top of the bunk. And oh, it was fun—fun to be the single object of this man’s desire, but also fun to have fun. Leia pulled one of his hands off her thigh and kissed his knuckles. “It was a very enjoyable afternoon.”

“Yes, it was. So come to bed.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because Chewie sleeps in there, too.”

“Across the room. In his own bunk.”

The crew quarters had spacious floorspace, but no privacy. Han’s extra wide bunk was in plain view of Chewie’s extra long bunk, and there was nothing in the room to help prevent sound from carrying. “For the sake of all three of us, I am only in your bunk when Chewie is not on the ship. Like this afternoon. When Chewie is on the ship, I will continue to use the lounge bunk.”

Han stepped onto the bench, his hair touching the ceiling panels. His gaze was behind her, surveying the height and depth of the alcove. “This bunk won’t fit a wookie.”

“No. Chewie cannot use this bunk.”

“Or both of us.”

“No, absolutely not.”

“Right.” He crouched down so they could lock eyes. He reached out to rub her shoulders and bare upper arms. “I promise, we’ll just sleep.”

The hair underneath his warm hands prickled. Han attempted to massage it away, but all that did was spread the goosebumps to the rest of her body. “Han,” Leia said, her voice wispy. “We are not capable of sharing a bed and only sleeping. Not right now.”

It took a moment, but he admitted defeat. Exhaling a heavy sigh, Han moved down from the lounge bench and returned to rubbing her knee. “You might have a point.”

“Good night, flyboy.”

“Yeah. Good night.” After a moment’s more hesitation, Han pulled away from the lounge bench and walked down to his quarters.

Leia swung her legs up into the bunk and pulled the covers around her. The blankets that had been on board the Falcon when she first met Han were highly suspect. Slowly, over the course of the missions they’d run, she’d replaced all of the blankets and bedding to make for a decent sleeping experience. The blanket she was using was a soft wool blanket from an artisan on Takodana. It kept Leia plenty warm and wasn’t itchy.

Flat on her back, Leia stared at the top of the bunk. Their current assignment was two-fold—she was serving as ambassador to the Outer Rim, spreading the word that the Empire had fallen and all were welcome in the New Republic. When not meeting with dignitaries and leaders, General Organa and General Solo were on reconnaissance, watching the comings and goings of Imperials on a few key worlds, planning attacks and forwarding their battle plans back to the New Republic Senate. Mostly, though, Leia was enjoying Han as a distraction, Chewie as a foil to Han’s enthusiasm, and some time away from Luke.

She loved Luke like a brother long before she knew he was her real brother. Her twin. But that was the easy thing to accept. To have a sibling, someone she so easily bonded with, was something she’d wanted her entire life. She had not been ready for the revelation of her birth father’s identity. Nothing could have possibly made her ready.

Leia, when I said before that I didn’t know your parents... Obi-Wan’s voice echoed in the far reaches of her mind. Princess Leia Organa, you are wise, discerning, kind hearted. These are qualities that came from your mother. But you are also passionate, and fearless, forthright. And these are gifts from your father. Both were exceptional people who bore an exceptional daughter. I wish I could tell you more.

“I wish you could have, too,” she whispered into the darkness.

No, you don’t, came a quick reply in her mind. He’d been trying to reach her for the last six months, and she’d mostly ignored him. Or at least, she’d tried to. But Obi-Wan was, if anything, persistent. You weren’t ready. Neither was Luke, when he found out.

“Do you think we’re ready now?” she dared to ask him. She looked out onto the lounge floor, half expecting to see a wisened, older version of the man she’d known. But there was only darkness and the blinking lights of the engineering table.

Together, yes. Obi-Wan’s presence faded away, to wherever he went when not nudging at her.

Obi-Wan was the easier Force presence to allow into her mind. She felt another, more forceful presence occasionally, but she was still pushing him away. She had no interest in communing with Anakin Skywalker. Not now, not ever.

Leia slept peacefully but lightly. When Chewie nudged her awake to give her cockpit duty, she didn’t even startle. She pulled on her socks, sans boots, and put her flight jacket back on before taking up the captain’s chair.

It was a quiet night of hiding in an asteroid field and keeping an eye on Imperial activity. One small shuttle, a couple of TIE fighters. Nothing to report beyond “still in motion.”

About an hour into her shift, the communicator’s light flickered to life, a holo connection struggling to get through the asteroid field’s interference. Leia nudged the thrusters up to take them far enough out of the asteroid belt to let the communication through, but not enough to be picked up by Imperial automated sensors. The light stopped flickering and the console beeped to confirm a call was coming through. Leia clicked the button and a small holo projection of her brother sat on top of the console. “Oh, good. We’ve been trying to get through for a couple of days.”

“We’ve been in an asteroid belt keeping tabs on Imperial activity. What’s the matter? You look concerned.” Even Luke’s most stoic face was expressive enough that he would’ve been eaten alive in politics.

“Right to the point, I see.” He smiled at her. “We’re calling you three of you back and your duties will be re-assigned.”

Leia frowned. “What? Why?”

“You need to be here, Leia.” Luke motioned around even though she couldn’t see the room. She assumed that meant he was back on Chandrilla. “Wedge and I found an old prison camp on a small moon. We need you to help acclimate the survivors.”

“Why?” she asked again.

“They’re Alderaanian, Leia.”

She blinked at him. Sure, she would like to meet them, be a comfort to them, but it’s not like there weren’t others who could help them readjust to the New Republic. “Okay…”

“Including your parents.”