"Here's to the Empire!"

Han knocked back a glass of something bubbly as the table erupted in cheers. He wasn't quite sure why he'd said it - he had no allegiance to the Empire and a surprisingly strong distaste for what it stood for. But, somehow he'd ended up at bar in Coruscant surrounded by the kinds of people he knew would appreciate such a sentiment.

"The Empire!" They chorused back like a flock of parrots.

Good thing Chewie ain't here...

In a rare move, the two had separated to take on a double run. Chewie had dropped Han on Coruscant to hand deliver a very special (and small) package, while he completed a routine run for a buyer they had on a neighboring planet. Han fingered the vial he held in his pocket, reminding himself not to get too slap happy. All he had to do was hand it off, but it had to be worth a whole lot for what he was being paid to move it.

He'd had to laugh when he'd heard the plan. At midnight, he'd receive a kiss from a woman in red. She'd take the vial and the job would be done.

Usually his work wasn't quite so...interactive. Han had always been one to keep his work life and his private life separate. Of course, this couldn't really be considered private - a quick kiss with a stranger in a public place, but as the booze worked their way through his system, he felt a little anticipation fizz through his veins.

"You don't look like our normal clientele," a lithe waitress murmured. He glanced at her, noting the slight lavender sheen to her otherwise human-looking eyes.

"Oh yeah?" He knocked back the rest of his glass and handed her the dregs.

She lifted an eyebrow, but took the empty glass. "A little too rough, though I appreciate the jacket."

Han shrugged, feeling the slightest discomfort. He'd bought a new jacket, navy and crisp just hours before in an overpriced boutique. With a couple winks and a few kind words, he'd managed to get the little sales clerk to give it to him on clearance.

He caught a glimpse of the barely there markings on the girl in front of him, and smirked back at her adding a little hardness to his hazel eyes.

"Well, you don't seem like you fit in either, sweetheart. Don't see many mixed breeds around here."

He'd scanned the room as he always did upon entering a space and found exactly what he'd come to expect from Imperial holdings. Humans as far as the eye could see. You'd think they were the only beings in the universe.

But the woman didn't shy away as he thought she might. Instead she stepped a little closer.

"I don't think either of us belong here," she whispered. And with a mischievous smile, she wended her way back through the crowd.

Han frowned after her. One of his new drinking mates jostled him, a well-heeled lawyer from the upper levels who had an obvious spice problem. But, Han's jolly mood from a moment before had evaporated.

Life had taught Han in some very nasty ways never to ignore a gut feeling, and right now his gut was telling him that this Miralan woman had something on him.

He clapped the man on the shoulder and said he'd be back with more booze, then followed the way that she'd gone. The bar was packed with people, dressed up for a night of revelry and no regrets. A couple of the more attractive women caught his eye, one even stroked a hand along his back, but he shrugged her off, intent on his goal.

After a few moments of looking he grabbed a male waiter by the arm and asked in a gruff tone, "Hey, you seen the little waitress? The one with the freckled cheeks?"

"Tarah's gone on her break, but can I get you anything?"

Han shook his head then cocked it toward the bar.

"Send her over when she's back, huh?"

The young man gave him a knowing look, then seemed to catch himself before nodding.

"Will do, sir."

Han glanced at the back door of the place, tamping down the urge to go after her into the night. Yeah, there was a chance she just knew a fresh item of clothing when she saw one, but there was an even bigger one that she'd been trailing him. And at this moment, all Han wanted was to know why.

But the chrono on the wall read 11:45, and he knew he wouldn't be able to track her down in time to make his drop. He grabbed one of the copper stools at the crystal bar and threw down more credits than he should have.

"Give me your best Corellian whiskey. Neat."

He reached into his pocket and grimaced at the next part of his assignment. The red mask was relatively simple, shaped out of velvet and backed with a bit of space silk. Han still hated the idea of wearing it. He wouldn't be the only one - masks were often part of the New Years celebrations on many planets. The Coruscant elite still kept up the tradition even as their Imperial overlords mostly eschewed them.

He dangled the scrap of cloth from his fingers. It was cut in an odd shape, the sides of the eyes angling up into points and the piece over the nose drooping down to create a semicircle. The woman in red would recognize him based on this mask. They were supposed to look like a couple he supposed.

He shook his head as the bartender slid a glass of dark amber liquid his way. The things he got himself into. After this next run for Jabba, a significant shipment of spice, Han swore to himself that things were gonna change. Maybe he'd set up his own operation, stop having to serve assholes like Jabba. Or maybe he'd find some cute, young thing, buy a house and become a family man.

That's likely.

With a snort, Han tied the mask to the back of his head with nimble fingers, pointedly ignoring the look of the bartender in front of him. He plucked the glass off the table and buried his nose in the rim. Gods, this was good stuff. He eagerly sampled a bit, letting it roll on his tongue. Drinking that bubbly swill seemed like a travesty when faced with the magnificence of a high end Corellian brew.

"Were you waiting for me?"

Han turned, expecting to see the Miralanian waitress, again, but stopped short at the sight before him. The young woman was about the same height as the waitress, but that was where their similarities ended. Where the waitress was wiry, almost too skinny, this girl had a shapely figure, a dizzying array of slopes and curves swathed in red. He could see dark eyes, behind her red mask, looking at him impatiently.

"Guess so," he murmured, taking another, larger sip from his drink. The whiskey fanned out though his veins, slightly intensifying his reaction to the very female form in front of him.

With a slight nod, the woman slipped onto the stool next to him and nodded to the bartender.

"I'll have what he's having," she murmured, in a deep penetrating alto that cut through the chatter in the room.

Han watched as the bartender deftly poured another absurdly expensive glass of whiskey.

"Hope you're planning on paying for that, sweetheart. Corellian whiskey ain't cheap."

The woman barely glanced at him, eyes trained on the screen above him. The holo images showed the celebration in the capital happening mere miles from where they were sitting. The camera zoomed in on a gathering of political types, raising glasses on a balcony high above the

cheering crowds. It would have been rather jolly, if not for the white suits lined up on either side.

"Have you got the vial?" The woman asked after taking the tiniest sip from her drink.

Han considered her for a moment while taking his own sip.

"Think you've got something for me first."

The woman's eyes flashed on him, and he could see now in the light from the screens above that they were in fact a dark brown. Not too dissimilar from the whiskey they were sipping.

"I think that particular part of this interaction is unnecessary," she said.

Raising his hands, along with the glass, Han groused, "Hey, I didn't make the rules, honey."

The woman's jaw tightened and Han couldn't help the way his lips quirked at the sight. He wasn't quite sure why she was demurring at this point. After all, she or her bosses had made the plan, but it had been a while since Han had had the chance to tease a girl.

"I don't have time for this," the woman continued, looking up at the chrono.

Han eyes flicked the screen. 11:51.

"Well, you're gonna have to make some, cuz I can't trust you till I get the proper signal."

The woman raised her glass and took a bonifide gulp this time. Her face was hidden by the hood she wore, but Han saw her shoulders shake a little in what he would swear was a cough.

He frowned. "How old are you?"

"That's none of your concern," the woman snapped.

Han glanced at the chrono again.

"For the next 8 minutes it is."

The woman sighed and turned toward him, allowing him a glance at her once again. Well, what he could see beyond the shape of the mask that perfectly matched his own.

"I was not supposed to be here," she said in a measured tone, "but the same illness that requires that vial, has stricken the woman who was to stand in my place."

Han could see the slight edge in her eyes, a mixture of exhaustion and desperation. For a moment, he felt for her. But, it wasn't enough to change his mind about seeing this thing through.

"Sorry to hear that. But a deal's a deal. I assume you wouldn't want me just giving this thing to anyone who asked."

The woman tensed, as if to reply, but then took a breath and relaxed just a bit.

"I suppose you're right," she conceded. She swirled the whisky in her glass, and Han found himself mesmerized by the sight of the large glass clutched in her delicate hands.

"Guess you don't have a lot to celebrate this year," Han found himself saying. The chrono switched from 3 to 4.

"Do any of us?" The woman said, eyes alighting once again on the screen in front of her.

Han shifted on the stool, wondering what exactly she meant and why he even cared.

"Things don't seem so bad," he said, only to trail off at the blazing look he received.

"They don't, do they? I suppose to someone like you, it doesn't much matter what kind of power is in control and who they might be hurting."

Han rolled his eyes even as he felt that same unsettled feeling in his stomach after that toast earlier.

"Can it, will you? You don't know anything about me. And if you were so high and mighty, you wouldn't be dealing with likes of me anyway."

He expected a huff or a retort and was a little disappointed with the woman didn't respond. Once again, he found her eyes glued the screen above. He tried to parse out what kept grabbing her attention, but all he saw was more footage of the same gathering. Senators and generals and other kinds of people Han would never know or care about.

"On my home planet," the young woman said a little more softly, "we make wishes on New Years Eve. Hopes for what the New Year might have in store."

"Yeah? On mine, we just get ass backward drunk."

This time he got the huff, and felt absurdly pleased by its appearance.

"Nevermind."

11:57.

"Nah, keep going. I'm keeping my tradition, might as well keep yours."

Han finished the last of his whisky as the young woman considered him. She had a stubborn chin, made of the creamiest skin Han had ever seen. Just beneath the hood he could see dark hair pulled back and pinned down.

"I wish that something would change," the woman bit her lip and looked down, swirling her drink again.

Han leaned forward, despite himself.

"What do you want to change?"

She glanced up at the screen again then back at him.

"The status quo. Something has to happen to galvanize the galaxy..."

Han suddenly sensed they were in dangerous territory. He had known the woman leaned a little to left, but now he suspected he had a full-on rebel sympathizer on his hands. He glanced at the chrono once again. 11:59. Thankfully, sharing time was almost over.

By the time he turned back to her, the woman had gathered herself. She pushed the rest of her drink towards him with a tight smile, "Since you let me keep my tradition, I'll help you with yours."

"Thanks," he said, feeling suddenly awkward. The energy in the room was buzzing as the beings waited for the countdown to begin.

"Must we really see this through?" The woman murmured.

Han stood towering over the little thing. In the few minutes they'd spoken he'd forgotten how small she was. He nearly gave in, no longer having any doubts that this woman was his mark. But something in the curve of her cheek and the bow of her lips made him lean a little closer.

"Like I said..."

"You didn't make the rules," she sighed. "No, that was Winter," she murmured. "Saw your picture on the background check."

His smiled widened as the counting started.

"10, 9..."

"Well, once she recovers,"

"6, 5.."

Han's slipped the vial from his pocket and into her hand.

"2, 1..."

"You can tell her all about it."

"Happy New Year!"

Han leaned forward, lips colliding with the little woman in red's. He could have sworn she was farther away when he'd started and he couldn't help the smile against her lips as he realized she must have stood up on her toes. The roar of the party around him seemed a parsec away as all his awareness funneled into one spot in the universe, the little shiver of energy between her mouth and his.

Before the cheers had stopped, the woman pulled away taking both her energy and the vial with her. She gazed up at him, and for a flick, he wondered if she'd stay. Then without a word she turned away and disappeared into the crowd.

Han stepped back, feeling a bit like a puppet who'd been cut from his strings. He was oddly winded, as if he'd just run a race. Had it really only been 10 minutes? It felt like a lifetime.

Looking down at the bar, he was reminded of her drink. The light caught the barest hint of lip color on the rim, a similar shade to the costume of the owner. Han picked up the glass and considered it.

"Drink up, my friend," the Miralan said to him for behind the bar.

Han frowned at her.

"Don't have any friends," Han growled. "What's your angle?"

"Stop being so gruff," Tarah said. "Your aura gives you away."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Haven't you ever met a Miralan?" She laughed. "I have no angle. Just reading you. I usually see the same kind of aura around here. Yours is different."

Han took a sip of the whiskey, unsure of whether or not he wanted this conversation to continue.

"What was her name?"

Han glared over the rim.

The woman shrugged her delicate shoulders, "I can see the lip stain on the rim."

"Doesn't matter," Han said as he continued to drink.

"Why do you continue to lie to me?"

"Why don't you mind your own business?" Han said angrily. He was a little surprised by the swirl of frustration and edginess that behind his words.

"Because this is my business," she trilled. "Bartending just pays the bills."

"So what, you're a reporter? A narc?"

"I'm a spirit healer."

"Great," Han said, taking another gulp from the absent woman's drink. "This is exactly what I need."

"How true," Tarah beamed at him. "You, my friend, need a change."

Han stared at her, feeling a slight chill as the word echoed through him.

"You're on the wrong path. You continue to mire yourself in darkness and it chokes your light. Which you have a lot of by the way."

"I can see why you're a bartender," Han grumbled.

"Something touched you just now," Tarah continued, placing an ice water in front of him. "Your light is pulsing, almost dancing whereas before it was still."

Han couldn't help the flash he had of the woman's lips on his, the strange sort of energy he'd felt as he kissed her.

"Aw, you know..." Tarah murmured, "The purple of wisdom just appeared."

"Would you stop it?" Han growled. He pushed the glass toward her, feeling a little twinge as the last of the woman was swept away into the dish pit.

"And green...you didn't get her name?"

Han wasn't sure if it was the rest of her whiskey or the inanities of this waitress, but his head was spinning a little as he stumbled off his stool.

"Hey," Tarah called after him. "You have to let go. When the time comes, just let..."

The Miralan's voice faded away as Han wended his way through the crowd.

The cool night air hit him as he exited onto the avenue, along with a ripple of continuous cheering and the glittering light of fireworks. He looked up at a holo display hugging the side of a building.

And in the moment before before he continued on his way, to Chewie and the Falcon and another job for Jabba, Han allowed himself a wish before he disappeared into the Coruscanti night.

The thought remained where his body hadn't, then drifted up into the ether. The silvery thing the gods would catch was more a question than an outright wish.

What if this really was a new year?