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It started innocently enough, with Solo and Skywalker trading stories about stupid things they’d done while drunk. Mara had joined them at the Solos for a dinner-double-date thing, but Organa Solo had gotten stuck in some awful-sounding meeting about over-regulation of medical droids. So once the twins were down for the night, Solo broke out a bottle of Corellian whiskey to help kill the time until she arrived. And as sometimes happened, the act of drinking led to reminiscing about drinking. Before Mara knew it, Solo was regaling them with a ridiculous story about how he once got so wasted that he mistook Chewie’s cabin for the fresher, and ended up pissing on his sleeping Wookiee friend.
Like about 27% of the things that Solo said, Mara would’ve preferred never to have heard this—not that telling him this would have stopped him. The man had no shame.
“Ugh, that’s disgusting,” she said, wrinkling her nose in distaste.
“Hey, it’s me we’re talking about,” Solo said. “Did you expect anything different?”
Mara rolled her eyes, while beside her, Luke just chuckled. Not surprisingly, he’d passed altogether on the whiskey, and was instead demolishing a pint of blue ice cream. (“Mind if I have some of this?” he’d asked Solo earlier when he’d dug it out of the conservator, to which the other man had replied, “You know Leia only keeps that shavit around for you.”)
Mara took a sip of her drink. When a person tells you an embarrassing story, the socially appropriate thing to do, she knew, was to reciprocate with one of your own. And while she certainly had some tales she could have offered up, she’d used up all of her socially appropriate energy on the back-to-back-to-back trade briefings she’d had to attend today.
So instead she decided to punt to the man who, two standard months ago, she’d officially started—dating? Seeing? (Words that seemed so trivial and inadequate when compared to the hopes she had for the two of them).
“So what about you, Luke?” she asked. It still sent a little jolt through her every time she spoke his first name aloud, same as kissing him in public did.
“What about me?” he asked innocently.
“Come on, you were a starfighter pilot. You have to have some funny drinking stories.”
“Oho!” Solo crowed. “So you admit my disgusting story was also funny.”
Mara ignored that, while Luke shrugged and said, “Eh. Not really.”
“Now that’s rich.” Solo pointed across the table at his friend. “You definitely have some drinking stories.”
“Well, of course I have drinking stories.” Luke grinned. “They’re just not very interesting. They’re more like, ‘I drank too much, and probably acted like an idiot, but failed to do anything truly entertaining’ type stories.”
“What about the party after the Yavin medal ceremony? Huh?”
“Ohhh.” Luke looked up at the ceiling for a moment, as if thinking back on that, then laughed. “Okay, yeah, you’re right. That one’s pretty funny.”
Mara raised her eyebrows, encouraging them with a look to go on.
Luke said, “Basically, I tried to keep up with Han doing shots. Bad idea, considering I was 19 and the only thing I’d ever drank up until that point was this malt stuff on Tatooine that’s more water than anything else.”
“Excuses, excuses,” Solo interjected. “You couldn’t keep up with me now either, kid, not without that Jedi detoxification trickery nonsense.”
“Anyway,” Luke said with a laugh, “Han had to walk me back to my quarters at the end of the night.”
“Okay, I’m starting to see what you mean,” Mara said. “This is the most boring drinking story I’ve ever heard.”
“But the kicker,” Solo said, “is that he was so drunk he didn’t remember it was me who took him back to his room. He thought it was Wedge.”
“So the next day, after I managed to drag myself out of bed,” Luke said, “I tracked Wedge down in the canteen to thank him and also apologize for the fact that he had to babysit me. And keep in mind, he barely knows me or if I’m going to be a good squad mate or anything at this point. I’m this complete stranger who’s suddenly getting all this attention for something that might’ve just been stupid luck. So anyway, here I am, thinking I’m being so mature by talking about this with him and clearing the air like an adult, instead of hiding in embarrassment like I wanted to. And Force, the look on his face—I mean, he had no idea what I was going on about. And when I realized my mistake, he tried to play it off like it was no big deal. You know, ‘Oh, everyone’s been there and had a few too many.’ But I could just tell he was thinking he’d gotten stuck flying with a complete moron. I was so mortified.”
Mara snorted. “Stars, that does sound like something you would do.”
She had yet to see Luke actually get drunk, but she could picture it anyway—him fresh off the moisture farm, trying to act worldly and play the part of the hotshot pilot and failing miserably. It made her wish, as silly and sentimental as it was, that they’d met earlier, that they already had five, or even 10 years together under their belts, that they’d had a chance to grow up together. Which was stupid, because realistically, there was no telling if they actually would have liked each other at a younger age, even if you ignored the deal-breaking Rebel vs. Imperial thing. But the part of her that glowed in his presence (or even just at the thought of him) couldn’t help but indulge sometimes in the private fantasy that they would’ve somehow found a way regardless.
She came out of her brief reverie to hear Solo saying, “… just revealed that I once urinated on another being, and you’re saying what happened to you was mortifying?”
“You’re the one who thought it was a good story,” Luke said.
“It was decent,” Mara said. “Three out of five stars.” She narrowed her eyes at Luke. “But I still don’t think that’s the most embarrassing one you’ve got.”
“Well, here’s the problem,” Solo said. “The problem is we’re only talking about drinking stories, which is too narrow a field. Because Luke here—Luke, unlike the rest of us mere mortals, does not need to get drunk to make a complete fool out of himself. He is a master of doing that while sober. For instance—”
And here Solo paused dramatically to give his friend a weighty look, which the younger man returned with a confused frown and wary half-smile. Mara could tell he was trying to figure out what Solo was about to dredge up next—and she could also tell from their silent exchange that she had been right. That Yavin story was far from the most embarrassing story Luke had, and whatever was coming next was going to be good (or maybe terrible, depending on how you looked at it). Because if there was anyone who had dirt on the galaxy’s golden boy, it had to be Solo.
“For instance,” Solo said again, “have you told her about … the Hoth med center?”
Luke looked confused for about half a second longer—before his eyes went wide and his expression shifted to one of abject horror. “No. No no no no no no no, we are not talking about Hoth. Absolutely not.”
Mara frowned. “Is this about … the wampa attack?”
“Eh, it’s more like a … sordid coda to the wampa attack,” Solo said, amusement flashing in his eyes.
“Sordid?! Really, Han?” Luke covered his eyes with one hand, cheeks turning bright red. The embarrassment Mara felt coming off him in the Force was so strong it could’ve knocked her over. “Oh, kriff …” He groaned, then shifted his hand up so he could peek out at her. “Look, I will … some day I will tell you the Hoth story, Mara, but … not now. It … it’s too soon.”
“Too soon?” Solo asked with mock outrage. “Well, jeez, now you’re just being unfair to Jade here. I mean, don’t you think she should know what she’s getting into with, you know,” he winked at Luke, “you and Leia, before it’s too late for her to back out?”
“Oh, Force …” Luke banged his head down against the kitchen table and covered it with his arms. A moment later he looked up again, face flushed with his hair sticking up in tufts here and there. “You know Leia was just messing with you. Nothing about that was real.”
“I don’t know, you enjoying it seemed pretty real to me.”
“I was playing along! I knew what she was trying to do! It was like a practical joke to me!”
Solo just gazed into his mug as he swirled the remains of his drink. “If that’s what you tell yourself to sleep at night.”
“Fine. Whatever you say. But we are not. Talking about this. With Mara. Not right now.”
“Oh, come on, Luke. If anyone has the right to tell this story it’s me. It’s basically another time I saved your life. Just think about what could’ve happened if I hadn’t, you know, been so persistent. You wouldn’t have died or anything, but …” Solo trailed off, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.
With another miserable groan, Luke laid his head back down on the table. He looked like he was going to go the way of his abandoned ice cream and just melt where he sat out of sheer humiliation.
“Well, I’m certainly intrigued,” Mara said. She drummed her fingers on the side of her mug. “Especially since this apparently involves your sister, too.”
Luke sighed. “It does.” He sat up and met her gaze with trepidation in his eyes, as if he was bracing himself, just waiting for her to put the pieces together.
But honestly, she didn’t have a clue what they were talking about. The only thing that was clear to her was that Solo was just teasing—but getting a little too carried away with it. That and the fact that, whatever this was, it was such a sore subject that Luke couldn’t keep himself from overreacting and was digging himself into a deeper hole with every response he gave. She really didn’t think she’d ever seen him so flustered. And though she was dying to know more, especially with all this build up, she was beginning to realize that what she needed to do was step in and put him out of his misery. Tell Solo that he could shove this story. That she didn’t need to hear it, not now, not ever.
And maybe Luke picked up on her intention in the Force. Because as surely as if she’d said all that aloud, his tense expression relaxed into one of subtle appreciation, a small smile ghosting across his lips.
A smile that slowly grew into a smirk, a wicked gleam coming into his eyes as something seemed to dawn on him.
He turned back to Solo. “You know what? I’m taking this too seriously. I mean, it is pretty hilarious in a … deeply disturbing kind of way. And we couldn’t have known. And it happened years ago, right?”
“Ah, is that some Jedi wisdom?” Solo asked, though he was looking at Luke somewhat suspiciously now.
“Very funny. But what I was saying was—what Mara said just reminded me that, you know, this is really Leia’s story as much as it is mine. In fact, you might say that this is more Leia’s story than mine, considering she initiated the whole thing. So given that, I was thinking—we can tell Mara the story, but—I think it’s only fair that we wait until Leia gets here, and …” Luke cocked his head as if listening to something that only he could hear. “That should actually be pretty soon. She’s on her way up now, so we won’t even have to wait that long.”
But Solo wasn’t looking so eager anymore. Clearing his throat, he reached for the bottle to pour himself another drink. “Actually, never mind. Forget it. It’s a boring story, Jade. Put you right to sleep.”
“Are you sure, Han?” Luke asked. He leaned forward, a downright gleeful smile spreading across his face. “Because I would be more than happy to ask Leia if she would be comfortable with us telling Mara about Hoth.”
“Nope. Nope. No need.” Looking a bit ill, Solo raised his mug as if in a toast. “You got me there. I clearly didn’t think that one through.”
“All right. We can drop it if you want.”
“Oh, I want. Very much so.”
Solo took a gulp of whiskey, while Luke, still grinning over apparently flipping the tables on his friend, returned to spooning up the soupy dregs of his ice cream. While Mara sipped more of her drink and wondered what could possibly embarrass Organa Solo more than her brother.
“You know,” Solo said to Luke, suddenly serious, expression contrite. “I wasn’t actually trying to …” He waved a hand in the air, searching for words. “Well, you know what I mean. I wasn’t trying to hurt you. We’ve joked about the whole Hoth thing before, and I just thought …”
“I know,” Luke said. “But us joking about it is different than—” And then he seemed to catch himself, to realize what he was implying. He shot a worried look at Mara. “Of course … not that …” He reached over and clasped Mara’s hand in his. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that—”
“That what we have is new?” Mara supplied, not unkindly. “And that we should open up about things when we’re comfortable, not because we’re being forced to?”
“Well … okay, I did mean that,” he murmured.
“It’s okay,” Mara said, holding his gaze to make sure that he knew she meant it. She’d be lying if she said that she didn’t long for some version of what Luke had with his sister and brother-in-law: The decade of shared history, the inside jokes. The way the three of them could have entire conversations where they knew exactly what they were talking about, but no one else did. The trust. Ever since she’d acknowledged her feelings for him, she’d been so impatient to have all of those things with him, too. But at the same time, she knew full well that if he had expressed any of what she’d just thought right now aloud, she probably would’ve run for the door.
“It’ll happen in time,” she said. “I want it to happen in time, instead of rushing it all at once.”
“I do, too,” Luke said.
He squeezed her hand, then leaned over and kissed her.
When they parted, she saw that Solo had turned away to give them some semblance of privacy, and was looking out the window at the glittering Coruscant night. Glancing back at them now, he intoned, “Ah, yes, as the old Corellian adage goes—you know it’s meant to be when you can talk freely about that horrifying time you unwittingly … well. I guess you’ll find out, won’t you?”
Their heads still leaned close together, Mara laughed along with Luke (who only blushed a little this time at the mention of whatever the terrible Hoth incident was). The last of the tension from a few moments ago drained away, and the three of them lapsed into a comfortable silence.
It was broken, as Luke had predicted, by the front door to the apartment sliding open a minute later. A tired-looking Organa Solo stepped inside, a stack of datapads and flimsiplasts cradled in her arms.
Without any prelude, she asked, “What in nine hells are you three talking about?” She walked further into the living room, which adjoined the kitchen where the rest of them were sitting, and dumped her files on an end table. “For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why I wanted to die of embarrassment in the middle of a discussion on med droid factory inspections. Then I realized it was coming from you.” She arched an eyebrow at Luke.
Across from Mara, Solo stiffened, but Luke jumped in with a self-deprecating laugh. “Sorry about that. Mara just wanted to hear if I had any funny drinking stories. And you know, Han couldn’t pass up a chance to make me look bad.”
Solo added, “I told her the story about the Yavin medal ceremony party.”
“Oh, for kriff’s sake,” Organa Solo said, but not without a hint of fondness in her voice. She sat down on the sofa and started pulling off her boots. “That’s why you were leaking all over the Force? I have worse drinking stories than that.”
Luke just gave a little what-can-I-say shrug and turned back to scraping the insides of the nearly empty ice cream carton. As he did so, he exchanged the briefest of glances with his brother-in-law, blue eyes dancing with amusement, while Solo looked as relieved as if he’d just been rescued from a rancor pit.
And speaking of rancors—perhaps Mara should have let this sleeping one lie. But she was suddenly struck by an evil urge to mess with Solo just a little bit more and she couldn’t resist it. Given that he’d subjected her to a gross story about his errant bodily functions, he kind of deserved it—didn’t he?
“Well,” she said, “Solo also mentioned something about … is it the med center on Hoth?”
Solo choked on his drink and Luke practically shouted, “Mara, no!”
While Organa Solo stalked over to her husband, eyes shooting blaster bolts at him. “Han, you nerf-herder, you … you WHAT?!!”