Title: With a Flash and a Sizzle

Summary: A brief encounter between Han and Leia shortly before ESB

Rating: G

Feedback: I'm not ashamed to beg. ;)

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She was only on a simple diplomatic mission to try and gain more allies for the Rebellion.

That was all.

The fact that Leia was two weeks overdue on her return to Hoth meant nothing. Such things happened. It was perfectly normal. Sure, there had been indications that it was a trap, and sure, Leia had insisted on going anyway because they needed those supplies, but that didn't mean that it would be dangerous. And the lack of communication didn't mean anything, necessarily, either. Messages took time, even when hijacking the ImpNet, and even then there were security issues. And 'diplomatic mission', after all, meant trying to kiss some planetary official's behind while manipulating him into doing what you wanted, and that took time. At least, such was Han Solo's experience. He didn't go for diplomacy, really. He'd always felt a blaster was far more effective, and damn quicker.

There was a flash, and a sizzling sound. Han let loose a string of curses that would make a Hutt blush.

He and Chewie had been working on the sensors of the Millennium Falcon for weeks now. Their last run had been nearly disastrous, after the occasionally working sensors almost failed to sense the Imperial vessel hiding behind a moon. Being caught smuggling weapons to the Rebellion would have been . . . bad.

Han admitted to Chewie that they couldn't put off upgrading the sensors any longer. He had hoped he could keep fiddling with them to get them to still run. But, as they were extremely busy on running weapons for the Rebellion and taking time off would not be good, it had been unavoidable. Chewie had given the Wookiee equivalent of an 'I told you so'. Han, feeling he didn't have the advantage in this situation, hadn't replied, despite the strong urge. They had made a stop on the way back to Hoth, and managed to harangue a deal out of a ship-scraps dealer. The sensors weren't the best of equipment, and would need some work, but Han was sure it could be fitted to work on the Falcon.

And so here they were, simultaneously freezing and getting burned by electrical circuits that refused to function properly.

Han stared at the blackened piece of wiring, and sighed. He yanked it out forcefully, and started cross wiring to make up for it. The Falcon had so much cross-wired circuitry that  a few more wouldn't hurt. And, half of the Falcon's systems could be damaged and she'd still run. This was his ship, all right.

Chewie made an interrogative noise. He was on the other side of the ship, trying to get the wiring on that side integrated as well. He and Han could just barely hear each other through the deck plating if they shouted.

"Why didn't we get the other one? Because it was a hundred credits more, Chewie!" Han yelled back.

There was a pause, then another comment from Chewbacca.

"I am not a cheapskate!"

When no response to that was forthcoming – and Han had a feeling Chewie had decided to humor him – he went back to work. Han was in an uncomfortable tight spot of the ship, with half his body wedged into the Falcon's underbelly. A small collection of tools was placed near his face, nearly in his way, but he was working in a small area, and he certainly didn't want Goldenrod trying to help by handing down tools.

He focused, knowing that he could make the thing work. He had successfully completed less promising repair jobs. Han Solo just didn't fail.

Except with Leia.

He sighed at himself. Not this again. His mind refused to leave the subject of Her Royal Worshipfulness alone. He couldn't stop worrying, and thinking about all the possible ways the mission could go wrong. He was sure she was fine. The woman could mostly take care of herself, even if she was irritating. And lorded stuff over others. And was just . . . Princess-like.

He remembered when he learned she was going on that diplomatic mission. The grin he had worn when he saw her coming to see him had faded when she told him where she was going, and that she wouldn't be able to witness his screwups for a while. Leia's brown eyes had been fiery with daring and smugness over catching him flatfooted, and her head had been tilted up to meet his eyes. Her hair had been drawn back into an intricate braid that he had wanted to take down, and her cheeks were flushed. Her lips had been pressed together tightly, and he had wanted to kiss them apart.

You're Solo, remember? Han thought angrily. Solo. Another yank of wiring, and another tiny flash and sizzle.

With another sigh – he was sighing too damned much – he dropped the tool he was using and scrambled through his toolbox.

A siren sounded from outside. Han paused, then recognized it as the siren that announced that the blast shield of the Rebel base was being taken down for an incoming ship. It happened frequently enough it was no longer startling, and he wasn't outside in the hanger bay to be caught in the inevitable gush of cold air, anyway.

Then after the siren sounded briefly, a voice announced the name of the ship to alert base personnel who might be waiting for passengers from the incoming ship. And the name of the ship was . . . Elenore's Pride.

Han jerked, attempting to sit up out of sheer reflex. His head hit the ceiling of the crawlspace hard, and with a dull thunk. Han groaned, gingerly lifting a hand to see if there was any blood.

In the next moment, Han was scrambling back out, in a squirming, furious effort. Not really thinking about why he was doing what he was doing, he raced to the open cargo door of the Falcon. When he reached it, standing on the lowered ramp, he stopped. In his usual ensemble of pants, rough white shirt and vest, he realized how cold it was outside the hanger; after the immersion into the warmer air of the Falcon, he had taken off his heavy snow-jacket.

Elenore's Pride was a small, converted freighter, much in the manner of the Falcon, but where the Falcon was fitted to be a smuggling ship, the Pride was converted to be more of a diplomatic vessel, with the appearance of being harmless. It did, however, have weapons hidden within various parts of its hull.

His heart beating a little faster, and with a worry he refused to admit existed nibbled away at him, he noticed that the ship – normally painted a pristine white with the ship's name in flowing words along the side – looked a bit worse of wear. There were laser scorch marks and superficial stress fractures from fast maneuvering the ship had not been designed to handle.

The Pride's ramp lowered with aching slowness. Finally, it was fully opened, and a group of men and women walked out, easily and unhurried.

Among them Leia Organa.

Han let out his breath in a soft whoosh. He hadn't even been aware he was holding it. She was all right. It had all been his ridiculous fears. He nodded to himself, then turned to go back to his ship. He really had to get those sensors working, and after all Leia was just fine. Just fine.

"Well, Captain Solo," a feminine voice called.

Han froze, then slowly turned, his features settling into a habitual easy grin. So the Princess had come over here, eh? "Yes, Your Worshipfulness?" he asked, sweetly.

Leia stood about ten feet away from the bottom of the Falcon's ramp. She wore a closefitting cold-weather suit, covered with a white jacket; the legs of her suit were tucked into deceptively delicate looking boots. A blaster was on her hip, and on the other hip she rested her hand. She had a smile, and surprisingly not one with an attitude. Her hair had been tied back, but some strands of it were loose. Slightly scuffed up and wearing unflattering clothes, she still looked regal.

Her face registered irritation at Han's nickname for her. "Interesting that you're here when I happen to be, Captain," she remarked, raising an eyebrow.

"Just doing repairs," Han replied casually. Which was, technically, true. He and Chewie were doing repairs. That he had insisted on doing them now, with their ship in this specific hanger – the arrivals hanger – was, well, not so normal.

Leia's smile widened. "Oh, is that why you specifically requested being able to dock the Millennium Falcon in this hanger?"

Damn it. She knew. How did she know? "Maybe I just wanted to be sure I could always leave easily, Princess," he snapped.

"That would be typical," she said, losing the smile and giving him a sharp look.

"Oh, would it?" Han said, floundering. "Are you –" He cut himself off.

"The mission itself went well, we just had a run-in with the Imperials on the way back," she informed him, raising her chin.

Han snorted.

"Of course," she added, her eyes flashing with anger at his dismissal of her abilities, "at least we're out doing something." She gave him an almost challenging look, but it faded when he said nothing, feeling almost hurt. She seemed to hesitate, glancing back to her companions. They were waiting for her, to be debriefed as a group. Looking back at Han for only a moment, Leia turned away and joined the others.

Han tried to think of something – anything – to get the last word, but he couldn't. He was dong something, damn it. He was worrying about her. As Leia moved from his sight, he made an annoyed noise and hit the side of the Falcon, knowing he wouldn't damage his precious ship. "Damn it," he muttered, and turned away. Why did she have to be so . . . irritating? It was like every time she was gone, he got this image of her in his mind, this beautiful, alluring image – and then when he saw her again, and it would vanish again. Why the hell did he do this to himself?

It was like it was something they simply did, Han and Leia, and they could not help themselves from doing it. It was almost like a fight, each testing the other and continually being hurt and surprised by the response. They bantered, but every once in while they would actually hit something, as their conversation would get so easily heated. As if they kept trying casual friendship, and it wasn't working. Perhaps some other relationship would, but who knew? He was a smuggler, she was a princess.

Luke Skywalker had been right about him and Leia, all those years ago when they had first met. It would never work out between the two of them.

With an aggravated sigh, Han went back to working on his ship. Hey, at least she doesn't give me backtalk, Han thought, patting the ship's bulkhead. The Falcon was cooperative, and liked him, unlike Leia. He squirmed into the small crawlspace, and grabbed a tool, trying to integrate the sensor systems once again.

And he was greeted with a flash and sizzle.

The End.