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Potent

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Leia found Han face down on the table with his arms wrapped protectively over his head. It was the kind of sight that should have given her pause, but it wasn't exactly an uncommon morning-time occurrence in the mess in Endor's aftermath. Celebration and grief could, after all, have very similar outcomes. Chewbacca was working his way through a bowl of steamed igritt with every sign of pleasure, and rumbled her a greeting as she approached. Han didn't so much as twitch. Leia bit her lip and composed herself and very carefully, trying not to jar the table, she set her breakfast tray down on it.

"I hear Wedge got his hands on a case of snimi-berry wine," Leia said, sitting down.

Han groaned faintly.

"A Corellian delicacy, so I've been told," Leia said, pouring herself a cup of caf. Pouring was always an optimistic term when it came to the kind of caf that the mess brewed, but at least it still did its job. "Potent. Proof that a Corellian's got a tough stomach and a tougher head."

Chewbacca huffed a laugh.

"Was a bad batch," Han mumbled, face still pressed against the table. "Exactly the kind of thing you'd expect a hick from the Borderlands to supply, my one mistake was the fourth glass."

Leia called on all her diplomatic training to tut sympathetically. "What a thing for Wedge to do, to debauch a hero of the Rebellion like that—a general, no less."

One of Han's eyes opened the barest crack. "You're making fun of me."

"Oh no," Leia said, taking a bite out of her steamed bun. "If I was making fun of you, I'd mention the fact that you apparently composed a poem to me last night."

Chewbacca whickered.

Han shut one eye and opened the other. "Now wait just a minute—"

"You're absolutely correct," Leia said, "there's no call for me to be sloppy. Han did insist that it was an ode."

"I don't remember—"

"Hair like the finest Lashaa silk, and eyes as bright as Tatooine's twin suns," Luke said as he passed their table.

"There's two of them now." Han heaved a sigh. "Great."

"Shut up and drink some caf, flyboy," Leia said, pouring him another cup and setting it at his elbow. "It'll help."

"Yeah, yeah," Han said, slowly levering himself upright. "No call for you to go acting like you've never been hungover, your worshipfulness."

"That is an accusation I can neither confirm or deny," Leia said, tipping her chin in the air.

Han grumbled something as he took a swallow of his caf, pulling a very rubbery face at the taste—and then went astonishingly pink when Leia leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"What was that for?" Han said, blinking up at her with wide eyes as she stood.

"I have to go talk with Mon Mothma about our supply lines," Leia said, "so that was the first installment."

"Of what?" Han asked, still looking more than a bit stunned, and how a man could be so brilliant and so infuriatingly obtuse, Leia had no idea.

"It was long the tradition on Alderaan for the poets of the royal court to be granted a favour in return for their poetic prowess," Leia said, patting him on the arm. "My quarters, seven. Just don't bring the snimi-berry wine with you."

She strode off grinning to herself, with the sound of Chewbacca's laughter in her ear.