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Sep. 10th, 2012 01:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anghrainetitle: The Imperial Menace (2/8)
verse: Lucy
CHAPTER TWO: LEIA
In the war room, Princess Leia listened incredulously as Han and Lucy's voices came out of nowhere. She felt a burst of undignified glee—they came back, they came back! Then Wedge Antilles turned around, his flight path none too steady, and only the Falcon remained. The fate of the entire Rebellion (and, less significantly, her own life) rested, yet again, in Han and Lucy's hands.
The last few seconds ticked down. Leia braced herself as well as she could, determined to face death unflinchingly.
The Death Star went supernova.
Leia's bones seemed to melt, her lungs emptying themselves of air. She sagged for a moment—just a moment. It was all right. Three of her generals had collapsed into chairs and two were weeping out right. Leia straightened, breathed again, smiled. They'd survived. More than that. They'd won. They'd won! They'd defeated the Empire's greatest weapon, proved once and for all that they were a force to be reckoned with. All thanks to Han and Lucy.
She wanted to laugh for sheer joy, felt it building in her chest.
“Excuse me,” Leia said abruptly, hardly hearing Willard's jaunty command to go celebrate, or Threepio dutifully clinking behind her. She turned on her heel and walked towards the hangar, where soldiers were screaming in relief and triumph. Men who normally didn't dare to meet her eyes clapped her on the shoulder.
“A great day for the Rebellion—eh, Princess?”
“It is,” said Leia, smiling as she tried to thread her way through the cheering crowd. She saw Wedge Antilles' X-Wing make its shaky landing. An excellent pilot, she thought, to fly that well, with that amount of damage. She'd suggest a promotion if one hadn't already been planned. Leia made sure to shake his hand and congratulate him, only vaguely aware of the pilot's stunned expression; the Millennium Falcon had just soared into the hangar.
Leia hurried towards it, her smile widening until the corners of her mouth ached. She didn't care. The ramp lowered, the doors slid open, and then Lucy was there, picking up the skirts of her borrowed, stained white gown and racing down the ramp.
“Lucy! Lucy!” Leia shouted, and with a total lack of interest in her dignity, closed the remaining distance between them at a run. They both laughed and screamed, every bit as unrestrained as the men, Leia's arms wrapped around Lucy's neck, Lucy's tight around her waist, both of them half-hugging, half-dancing in a circle. Even when they stepped back, Leia seized Lucy's hands in hers.
“You're not hurt?” she said, looking into Lucy's bright face, just as Lucy gave a nervous squeeze of her hands and said,
“You're all right?”
They burst out laughing again, then heard Han and the Wookiee clattering down the ramp. They both turned and rushed forward to hug Han, first Lucy and then Leia, who burst out, “I knew there was more to you than money!”
She could feel him start, then throw back his head and chuckle. Both girls reached for each other, and Han tried to keep an arm around both, and they were mostly a tangle of arms, all three of them laughing their heads off. Somebody whistled and they just laughed more.
Impromptu celebrations seemed to be breaking out in every direction. Han said something about a drink and Lucy clearly needed another change of clothes, so Leia directed them back to her apartments, supremely indifferent to what anyone thought of it. They ran off together, Han's arms still around Lucy's and Leia's shoulders, and Chewbacca and Threepio trailing behind them.
In her chambers, they finally disentangled themselves, still laughing. Leia ordered Threepio to get Han and Chewbacca their drinks, and dragged a bemused Lucy off to the opposite side of the room, throwing open her wardrobe.
“I don't really need—” Lucy glanced down at herself. “Oh. I'm sorry.”
Leia's lips twitched. “Lucy, you helped destroy the Death Star. I don't care if you shred every article of clothing I own.”
“Well, thanks.”
Leia only shook her head. Pushing aside several senatorial gowns and a white pantsuit, her mind started to drift to everything that would have to be done. It might take some time for the Empire to track the path of the Death Star, but not long, especially not if that last Imperial pilot, the one Han and Lucy had sent flying into deep space, managed to survive. Still, it wouldn't happen in the next day—
Her closet whistled. Leia, despite herself, jumped; Lucy gasped. Then they heard the distinctive whirring of an activating astromech droid, and Artoo wheeled out from behind Leia's clothes, sensors blinking at Leia and then spinning around to take in Lucy. He barrelled straight at her.
“Artoo!” Lucy cried, and stooping, did her best to wrap her arms around the little droid. His inquisitive beeps turned ecstatic.
Leia smiled. “He's been sulking ever since you left,” she told Lucy, who got to her feet, her hand still resting on his dome. “Though I didn't know he was hiding in the back of my closet.”
“I was afraid I'd never see you again,” Lucy told the droid. He rocked back and forth, almost cooing.
“You really shouldn't leave him behind,” Leia said, doing her best to make it sound more like a duty than a gift. She thought of the vague plan she'd formed earlier that day, of maintaining the instinctive friendship they'd struck up, keeping Lucy with her and looking after her—half in some small recompense for what they'd lost, and half because she wanted to. She didn't have to give it up, after all. At least not with the same finality as before. Her new-old sense of foreboding and loss seemed to slip away.
Leia took a deep breath, the first since Lucy and Han's departure that didn't hurt on its way down.
“—aking your droid,” Lucy was saying, looking and sounding shocked.
Leia shrugged. “Artoo's an astrodroid. He's supposed to be a pilot's companion, not a politician's; he belongs on a ship.” She pulled out a calf-length tunic and grey-and-red leggings, and tossed them at Lucy, then pushed her towards the bathroom. The droid in question, his clamp attached to Lucy's stained skirts, followed after her.
Lucy, with a valiant effort, managed to resist giggling.
“No, Artoo,” said Leia. She led him to the other side of the room while Lucy dressed. Artoo wheeled over to beep at Threepio, while Han slouched by her cabinet, apparently deep in conversation with Chewie. He just lifted his eyebrows as she approached. Leia didn't have the heart to snap at him just now; her mood was still leaning very much towards the celebratory.
“She didn't help,” Han said abruptly.
Leia, pouring herself a glance of wine, started. “What?”
He jerked his head towards the other side of the room. “You said something to Lucy about her helping blow up the Death Star. She didn't.”
“Are you trying to tell me she just went to sleep while you saved the Rebellion?” Leia asked, raising a skeptical brow.
Chewbacca chortled. Han ignored him.
“No,” he said, “I'm telling you she saved your hides, not me. No helping about it, Lucy blew the damn thing up all by herself. I was going to try, but—” He shrugged and took a gulp of ale. “She did it without a computer, too.”
“Without a computer,” Leia repeated.
“Yeah. She'd turned it off for some reason. Hell of a shot.” Han gave her a sly look, which Leia met directly.
“You'll need to tell them.” She didn't bother to specify who she meant, and Han didn't pretend to misunderstand.
“I wasn't planning on stealing the credit for it, Highness,” he said, eyes narrowed. He seemed more genuinely angry than he'd been at any of her criticisms of his ship, moral fiber, or basic competence.
“I didn't say—”
Lucy stepped out, fiddling with the belt to the tunic. Threepio greeted her, Artoo whistled cheerfully, and Han and Leia both calmed down.
“Hey,” said Han. “I was just telling the princess, here, that the Rebels should be thanking you, not me.”
Lucy blushed, but only said, “All of us, really.”
Leia's lips gave a small, involuntary twitch. She had half-expected her to reject any praise—but then, when she thought back to their escape from the Death Star, Lucy had been sheepish at times, but not hesitant, and certainly never overcome by humility. Her manner could be a little self-effacing, but when it came down to it, Lucy seemed to have a reasonably accurate idea of her own worth. Well, good for her.
Han, bypassing Threepio, poured a glass of the weakest wine in the cabinet for Lucy. She wrinkled her nose behind his back, but accepted it cheerfully enough. Leia lifted her own.
“To victory,” she said, smiling at Lucy.
“And survival,” muttered Han. When Leia frowned, he winked at her, and then, as if driven by some bizarre sense of equality, gave Lucy a careless, conspiratorial grin. Leia shook her head.
Lucy's eyes went from Leia, to Han, to Chewie and the droids. “I'm for both,” she said, and laughing, raised her glass. “To life and victory.”
#
Duty inevitably called, and for Leia, sooner rather than later. She and the other leaders had to reorganize the squadrons, plan tomorrow's victory celebration and then the evacuation of Yavin, and receive more detailed reports from the handful of survivors. It was dull, but necessary, work, and nothing much surprised her except for Han's presence. He stayed through all the reports, lounging next to Wedge Antilles while Lucy went looking for some friend of hers.
Antilles had favourably impressed the generals as well as Leia, and he got his promotion without any prodding from her. In fact, the success of this small, targeted attack led them to create a new squadron that would specialize in operations of that kind, and they unanimously agreed to place Wedge Antilles in command of it. He would hand-pick the rest of the squadron himself. Antilles looked stunned, but accepted his position with only a slight stammer, smiling weakly when Han said something to him.
Leia was uncomfortable, though she couldn't have said why. She felt distant, disconnected—almost dizzy for a few seconds, Han's face a pale blur. She pressed her fingers against her temples and the feeling passed.
When it came time for Han to report, he delivered a quick and concise account of the Falcon's part in the attack. When he revealed Lucy's actions, Leia bit back a smile at the gasps, dropped jaws, and assorted expressions of astonishment that went around the room. It was, she supposed, very petty to enjoy it, but she didn't much care.
“She turned off her computer,” General Dodonna said again. “You're quite sure, Captain Solo?”
“Yeah,” said Han. “I thought she must have gone crazy. When I asked her about it, Lucy just said she was all right.”
Dodonna frowned. “I've never heard of anything like it.”
“I have,” said Commander Willard, a long time friend of Leia's father. “Back in the Clone Wars, some of the Jedi generals preferred to fly blind. They said it helped them stay in touch with the Force.”
The younger officers looked uncomfortable, the elder thoughtful.
“The most successful pilot in the war was one of them,” Willard added. “I knew him slightly—General Skywalker. It was well-known that he didn't bother with his computer above half the time. Either they were right, or he was just that fine a pilot.”
General Dodonna slanted a sideways look at Han. “Any relation?”
“Probably,” said Han. “When I met her, she was travelling with an o—with a man who called himself Ben Kenobi. About sixty. He said she was his niece. They talked about the Force and the Jedi pretty much all the way to the Death Star.”
“General Skywalker was actually raised by one of the other generals,” Willard said helpfully, looking at Leia and the other young people. “Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was pretty well-known in his own right. They usually served together. I remember hearing Kenobi refer to Skywalker as his little brother a few times.” He scratched his chin. “Funny, though. Jedi were monks, took all kinds of vows. They weren't allowed property or families. I never heard that Skywalker . . . though, hmm.” His eyes went distant.
“Can't say I care whether a dead man broke his vows,” said Dodonna, “but it seems plain enough that she's his daughter and some kind of Jedi. We could use her. Solo, do you think you can convince her to join up?”
Han choked.
A young commander cleared his throat. “As it happens, sir, Miss Skywalker expressed, ah, an interest in joining the Rebellion already—but only as a pilot.”
The generals' and commanders' faces brightened.
“I think,” said General Rieekan dryly, “that we can make an exception for the woman who destroyed the Death Star.”
Leia, who had expected nothing else, simply gazed at the table, trying to ignore the sullen trickle of resentment in her belly. Her hands tightened beneath the table, nails digging into her hands. Yes, of course. An exception. A reward.
General Dodonna snorted. “Well, we'd better eat if we're going to stomach any more reports. Someone can go tell Skywalker the good news.”
They all got to their feet. Han and Antilles, with identical looks of relief, were already on their way out. Leia managed to smile at Dodonna.
“I'll tell her,” she said.
It took longer than she expected to find her friend. Lucy had talked to several survivors of the assault on the Death Star. Leia couldn't find any of them, but she had a strong suspicion Lucy's friend had been up there. Most likely he had not returned. Perhaps Lucy had simply gone somewhere to grieve. If so, Leia didn't want to intrude on her—but it was best, she thought, to keep their spirits up until they left. She'd try the most likely places, she decided, then leave Lucy to herself if she couldn't find her there.
It was easier decided than done; Leia almost immediately realized that she didn't know which places would be most likely for Lucy. She paused, then asked herself where she would go.
Five minutes later, she found Lucy at the shooting range.
At a glance, Leia could see that Lucy's friend hadn't made it. Lucy was dead white, her jaw clenched, lips pressed tightly together, and her brows lowered over her eyes. Her hand shook as she aimed—just a little, but Lucy's aim hadn't wavered when facing down stormtroopers. She didn't shoot quite as well as Leia, but she had good nerves.
Leia walked up to her, careful to make as much noise as she could get away with. Lucy lowered her blaster and turned to look at her. Her smile was painfully artificial.
“How was your meeting?”
“Dull but necessary,” said Leia. “I'm surprised Han sat through all of it.”
Lucy's smile warmed. “Han's pretty surprising.”
Leia thought of asking after the friend, or at least after Lucy's own welfare, but immediately discarded the impulse. Lucy clearly had no more desire to speak of her losses than Leia did. She'd scarcely even alluded to the existence of her uncle and aunt, much less their terrible deaths. Instead Leia picked up one of the available blasters.
“Do you mind if I join you?” she said.
“Of course not!”
They practiced for fifteen minutes, exchanging a few words here and there. Leia helped Lucy adjust her grip, doing her best not to be officious about it.
“It's a new model,” Leia explained. She was on the point of launching into a full, technical explanation, stopped herself, then at Lucy's fascinated look went ahead with it anyway. Lucy, though unfamiliar with the particulars, seemed to understand her reasonably well.
“I've always been more into ships than blasters, but—I mean, I had to know the basics,” Lucy said. She seemed, if not a remotely masculine girl, not a prissy one either.
With Leia's help, Lucy's shots narrowed to the target area. She still wasn't as good as Leia, but very nearly. Lucy scowled at the targets.
“You could try whatever you did to make the Death Star shot,” Leia suggested.
“I guess,” said Lucy, doubtfully. She lowered her blaster. After a few seconds, the grief and anger seemed to drain out of her expression, her face smoothing over. She let out a small sigh. Then her eyes flew open, she raised the blaster, and shot a volley at the target. It rolled towards them; the two girls blinked at the smooth, neat hole at the center.
“Damn,” said an impressed male voice behind them. It couldn't possibly be Han, Leia thought, and they spun around.
Han was there, along with Wedge Antilles, and two young men that Leia didn't recognize, one of whom had presumably just spoken. Antilles seemed nervous, and the unfamiliar men stared wide-eyed at Lucy. Han just grinned.
“Oh, Wedge. Hi,” said Lucy. Leia wondered how Lucy even knew him, then shrugged it off. Who knew, with Lucy.
“Uh, hey,” Antilles replied. There was a certain rigidity to his posture; he bowed slightly to Leia. Another former Imperial. “Princess. I, um, we don't mean to interrupt—”
“Well, actually, you kind of do,” said Han.
Leia shook her head at him and turned to Lucy, her eyes dancing. “I think Commander Antilles is here to ask you something, Lucy.”
A smile crept over Lucy's lips. “Commander?”
“Uh, yeah.” He mumbled a brief description of the new squadron, and gestured at the men with him. “I've been ordered to personally pick the pilots to fill the rest of the squadron, and I want the best.”
He looked earnestly at her. Lucy just blinked.
“Well, that's wonderful,” she said. “Congratulations.”
One of the pilots clapped a hand over his forehead. The other shifted uncomfortably; Antilles sighed.
“We'd be honoured if you'd accept a commission in Rogue Squadron, Lucy.”
“What?” She stared incredulously at him, then turned to scowl at Han. “That's impossible! Women don't fly in the Rebellion.”
Antilles, seeming more comfortable, quickly explained the decision made at the meeting. “I mean, you saved all of us, Lucy, and you're a Jedi. They can break a few rules for you.”
Lucy didn't seem to share any of the offense that Leia had felt on her behalf. “That's great! I'm not a Jedi yet, though. Maybe never.”
“Enough of one to make that shot, anyway,” said the man who'd slapped his forehead. “We don't care if you don't have a lightsaber.”
“I do have a lightsaber. Ben gave me my father's,” Lucy said, dazed, “but—”
“Well, there you are then.”
Han was laughing openly. Lucy shot an agonized look at him. “I promised to join your crew!”
“I think we can manage without you,” he drawled. “But stay by all means if you'd rather smuggle than fight the Empire.”
Her eyes went back to Antilles. “You really don't care about having me in your squadron?”
“I care about how well you can fly and shoot,” he said. “And, okay, you might need some accommodations in terms of living space, and please don't get pregnant. Otherwise? No.” He shrugged, glancing at the targets, and then at Leia. “I'd ask you, too, your Highness, if I thought you'd accept.”
Leia laughed. “I'm a diplomat, not a soldier, Commander. But I can handle her living arrangements.”
“Well?” said one of the young men, grinning at Lucy.
“Sure,” she said. Realization only seemed to be dawning on her. Her smile widened and her eyes brightened. “I mean, yes! I'd be thrilled! Thank you so much!”
“Thank you,” said Antilles, every bit as earnest. “Well, we'll let you go—you and Solo probably need to get ready for tonight's ceremony.”
Leia was still smiling to herself as Lucy watched them go, still dazed. His parting remark only seemed to catch up with her once they'd disappeared from sight. She turned an alarmed gaze to Han and Leia.
“What ceremony?”
#
Leia left Han to explain the existence and rationale for an elaborate award ceremony, while she helped oversee the preparations. Afterwards, remembering that Lucy still had no clothes, she—yet again—dragged her friend back to her wardrobe.
“I guess I should wear a uniform.”
"Well,” said Leia doubtfully, “I might have something sort of military--"
Lucy looked down, her brows drawing together. She fiddled with her belt. "I--the awards and everything, they're for us blowing up the Death Star, right?"
"Of course."
Lucy sat down. "Then a dress is fine."
Her voice was odd. Stiff, and distant--almost more like Leia's than her own. Leia looked thoughtfully at her, and Lucy lifted her eyes.
"I wasn't in uniform when I destroyed the Death Star," Lucy said. She shrugged, trying to seem indifferent and miserably failing. "I was wearing your dress."
"I see," said Leia.
Lucy sat down. "I really am honoured by . . . everything--" the wave of her hand took in her acceptance, instant promotion into Rogue Squadron, and the forthcoming ceremony--"but I want, I want it to be for what really happened. For who I really am."
"No, I understand," Leia told her, smiling. "Really. I know what it's like to be--exceptional."
Lucy returned the smile, still a bit awkward. "Yeah, I guess you would. You're not exactly one of the boys."
"Definitely not," said Leia. She turned back to the closet. "Well, I can just--hmm. That'd be ... something."
"What?"
"I have one of my senatorial outfits--it's a bit more elaborate than what I usually wear, and the colour looked terrible on me. I bet you could carry it off, though--" She dug through her closet, tossing a sleeveless black blouse, dark brown skirt, and black-jeweled brown belt at Lucy. More carefully, she pulled out a vibrantly yellow overgown, beruffled, high-collared, and trimmed with black, which she held up to Lucy's face. She'd been right; it was vivid but not actively repellent on Lucy, and with her tanned skin and light hair, she managed to avoid looking as if she'd contracted some fatal disease.
"Uh," said Lucy. "I like fancy stuff and dresses and things, but I hadn't quite thought ... are you sure it's all right?"
"I'll never wear it again," Leia said, suppressing a shudder. "And I'm not sure it's possible to remind everyone you're a woman any more loudly."
"Well--" Hesitantly, Lucy reached out, and stroked the rich fabric. "It's very pretty."
Leia helped her into the rest of the outfit, then lifted the gown over her head, straightening the sleeves and layers of skirts, and adjusting the belt.
"What do you think?"
"Whoa," said Lucy.
"I'll send for a replica droid to do our hair." Leia unpinned hers, combing a few tangles out with her fingers. Lucy was still staring, dumbfounded, at her reflection; Leia pulled the ribbon off the other girl's braid, rapidly unplaited it, and twisted the heavy blonde hair up on her head, leaving a few tendrils to curl around her face. "Maybe something like that."
Lucy blushed. "That'd be nice." Her gaze shifted, finally, from the bright yellow gown to Leia's reflected eyes. "Thanks, Leia. For everything. Seriously, I will buy my own things as soon as I get paid."
"And wear boring uniforms all the time," said Leia, laughing. "Live while you can." She pulled her own dress--white, of course--over her head, and held up an elaborately woven gold belt and a angular silver one. "Now you can help me decide. Gold or silver?"
Lucy gave her a hesitant smile, then said decidedly, "Silver."
#
When they met Han outside, he looked first stunned, then entertained. He contented himself, however, with an almost inoffensive greeting.
“Hey, Lucy. Hey, Princess.”
He always called them that. It would have just just been respectful from anyone else, but he managed to make her title sound like an insult. She didn't even want to know how he'd say “Senator.” As for “Leia”—well. No.
“Good afternoon, Captain,” Leia said. She'd give him princess. “I assume you've been briefed on your role?”
“March up the aisle in time with the music, smile a lot, pretend I'm a hero,” said Han, face tight. “Yeah.”
“But you are a hero,” Lucy said earnestly.
Han stared at her, then laughed.
“Don't you start thinki—”
Her expression turned stubborn. “I made the shot, but if you hadn't turned back, everyone would be dead except us. You risked all our lives to save the Rebellion.” Lucy smiled, tentatively. “You risked the Falcon, even.”
Han winced.
Leia softened, a little. “Yes, that's why you're all being honoured, not just Lucy. Chewbacca, too, if I could reach high enough. Just—” She shook her head. “I have to go meet the generals. I'll see you both at the ceremony. Good luck.”
When the time came, though, everything went off with a hitch. The march, composed months beforehand (“just in case . . .” the composer said wistfully) trumpeted through the hall. Soldiers lined the aisle, following instructions as precisely as any stormtrooper. Generals, admirals, and commanders stood at her back, and her droids rattled excitedly, but Threepio didn't feel the need to add any commentary. Leia took a deep breath.
The doors flung open, and Han and Lucy strode in. Leia caught some startled expressions, but no more; mostly the soldiers just looked admiring. Han, thankfully faithful to his instructions, was smiling—but it was a laughing, eminently Han-like smile, and she thought it might even be genuine. She didn't imagine he'd spent much of his life being thanked at all, much less lauded for heroics.
Lucy seemed divided between severity and awe; Leia suspected the former was merely preoccupation with the skirt trailing behind her and, it had turned out, slightly undersized boots. Once they approached the dais, Lucy bowed to her, and Leia lowered the medal around her neck, Lucy's eyes finally rising to meet hers. Lucy's entire face lit up, and Leia couldn't help but beam back at her, all residual anxiety melting away. There were plenty of things to worry about, to prepare, to have nightmares over, for both of them. But not now. Not today.
When she turned to Han, he had the effrontery to wink at her, here, now. Leia couldn't bring herself to respond with anything other than a slightly repressive glance before smiling again. She dropped the medal over his head.
Then they both turned, exactly on cue, Leia between them and above them, still smiling. The Rebellion burst into applause.
no subject
on 2012-09-11 12:50 am (UTC)But! On to the actual review!
Because... Leia and Lucy shooting together! Leia being outraged that they're treating Lucy as a ~special exception~ to the "no icky girls in the boys' clubhouse" rule (and Lucy not noticing it--- that's just so perfectly THEM)!
And going shooting together! OMG!!!!! Speaking of things that are perfectly them!!!!
(Okay, now I want all of the Luke-and-Leia fic where THEY talk about clothing. And why gold leather jackets and donut-hair are Totally Valid Fashion Statements.)
no subject
on 2012-09-14 10:02 pm (UTC)I really want that fic, ha. I did vaguely allude to it in the post-ROTJ one, but I'd love something with that and them being totally Padmé's children with it.
no subject
on 2012-09-25 02:40 am (UTC)And them shooting together was... so, so very right. And hit me in my happy place in ways that I don't think Luke and Leia shooting together would have.
Yes, yes, totally Padme's children about the clothing, and--- okay, this is my own issuefic-as-good-crack coming out, IDEC--- I like Luke-and-Leia squeeing about fashion together in the same way I like Lucy-and-Leia shooting together. Hello, happy gender-role-defying places.
no subject
on 2012-09-11 01:08 am (UTC)no subject
on 2012-09-14 10:03 pm (UTC)