Part Four:

Han didn't fall back asleep. The moment felt too large, the reality too heavy for him to trade it for fitful sleep. Gravitas held him down, his usual irreverence absent, and all he could do was observe.

He watched Luke blink and settle into the hood of his coat, eyes falling shut and breath deepening. He watched the sunrise: the light creeping along the rough edges of their ditch, a cool gray and then a warmer pink. He watched his own breath dissipate into the frozen air around them.

Doing anything else felt beyond his capabilities at the moment. Not only did he feel unable to move: he didn't want to move. There wasn't a damn thing in this universe that felt important enough to leave this short reprieve.

They needed to get up. They needed to get back to the Falcon before Chewie had a meltdown and came looking for them. They needed to get off this planet and get word to the Alliance that the Eretraan intel cell was wiped out. Lives had been lost; time was short.

But.

Han's eyes shifted from the strangled light falling over Luke's shoulder to the warm, beautiful woman nestled into his side. Leia. Leia, asleep and unaware, her weight supported by his arm and her forehead tucked into his throat. The softness of her skin, the pressure of her fingertips against his collarbone. The sweep of her eyelashes, the purse of her lips, the flush of her cheek, the stray lock of hair that fell from her hairline to her jaw and cut the smooth expanse of her neck with a warm, brown line.

He'd never seen anything as beautiful in his life. He'd never felt anything as beautiful in his life. He couldn't put it into words; the best he could say was that she was warm against him, a palpable heat radiating through her skin, her clothes, his clothes. Not a physical heat, not suns and kinetic energy or the movement of molecules, but heat in the form of presence. She was there, in his arms and against his side. Even a skepticism as healthy as his couldn't deny the significance of their position revealed in the morning light.

He could feel her steady, slow breaths against his neck and his lungs expanded, the muscle between them loud and insistent.

This was a very private fantasy come to life. More intensely private than the rest, because it teetered dangerously on the brink of romance, a concept that felt utterly foreign to him. A fantasy in which Leia Organa came to him, sidled up to him, wrapped herself around him, threaded her legs through his and trusted him enough to fall asleep in his arms. Not a prelude or postscript to a sexual encounter. Just divine simplicity. Routine. Habit.

His hand spasmed against the fabric of the coat wrapped around her back.

He was very aware that this moment was about to end. The minute she awoke, she would realize where she was, who she was with. Whatever unconscious, subconscious, physical need that had prompted it would shatter with the flutter of those eyelashes.

She would wake up and think he had taken advantage of the situation. She would see opportunism where there had been nothing but concern and secret adoration. His one-sided obsession was about to bite him in the ass and he had no one to blame but himself. The mask had been too good. He'd succeeded in his deception and hadn't realized it until it was too late to reverse course.

Ice in his chest, colder than the air on the nape of his neck. Stinging pinpricks of misdirected fire. He ran his free hand over his face, trying to smooth away the ugly truth.

She'd think he was a letcher, a creep, the kind of man that said shit like you all want to fuck her just as much as I do. Of course she would think the worst of him. She'd be an idiot not to and Leia Organa was not an idiot. That was all he'd ever fucking shown her.

I don't have friends. I'm not in it for you, I'm in it for the money. I care about just one person: me.

He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve her.

He stared at her hand, white fingers grasping the wrinkled fabric of his shirt. He inhaled the softness of her hair, memorized the weight of her arm. And because he was as terrible as she imagined, he swept his lips against her forehead and pretended for a moment—the barest fraction of a moment—that this was real. That it was all real. The intimacy, the profound connection, the implicit, automatic trust. That it wasn't a glittering moment out of time but the straight line that his life followed.

Then he swallowed and gently shook her awake. "Leia," he whispered.

Her steady breaths caught, her lips opened and closed, a soft hum coming from her throat as she burrowed further into his side. Han's chest seized and for a moment he couldn't find his voice. Every cell in his body urged him to close his eyes, pull her closer, find rest from the consequences of his own actions.

But.

"Leia," he said again, a little louder. "Wake up."

Her eyes snapped open. With resigned acceptance, he watched the dawning realization hit her: sharp understanding, blunt, ruthless awareness. Her hips were the first to move and she used the hand on his chest to maneuver away from him. He felt the slip of her hand with a visceral thunk in his chest. Finally her chin left his shoulder and her eyes caught his, unarmored and questioning.

She blinked. "Are you okay?" she asked. "I'm still wearing your coat."

He shrugged. "I'm fine."

Her eyes were not suspicious. Not in the least. Wide, honest, concerned. Han's confusion mounted. "Is Luke alright?" she asked.

Han nodded. "Behind you and with two good feet."

Leia gave him a look but didn't immediately respond. Han was floored. If he'd placed a bet about her reaction to finding herself in his arms this morning, he would have lost a fortune. He would have bet the Falcon that Leia would automatically assume the worst about his intentions, that she would be defensive, angry. He would have predicted seismic embarrassment, heated words, volley after volley of recriminations.

Instead confused quiet surrounded them.

"We should get up," she whispered after a moment.

Han nodded but didn't say anything, trapped in a mental maze. Years of unbridled lust warred with his saner senses. What he wanted to do was kiss her. She was close and lovely, lips slightly apart, and her eyes were enormous. A soft kiss, barely there, no pressure at all. He didn't want to devour; he wanted to savor. Slip her bottom lip between his, taste the sweetness of her breath. Run his thumb over her jaw. Feel her skin. Innocent, pure touches.

"Morning, guys," Luke said, voice loud as it cut through Han's thoughts.

Han's eyes shot to Luke's fully awake, fully engaged, face. And if Han didn't know better, he would have sworn that Skywalker's eyes held a little too much knowledge. Like he'd sussed out the moment between Han and Leia and made a decision for them all to stop it.

Han shook his head, annoyed with himself. Luke knew as much as Han let him know, and Han hadn't let Luke know more than the basics. Whatever he was seeing in those blue eyes was a figment of Han's imagination, not a testament to whatever Jedi magic Luke thought he possessed.

"Morning, kid," Han said with a nod and a small smile. "Ready to get out of here?"

XXX

Two hours later Han pressed his personal security code into the Falcon's exterior control panel, thoroughly chilled and deeply chagrined by his worsening physical state. His back was sore, the wind had bitten his skin and it was going to take him a week in the fresher to warm him up. And he was hungry: a big, gaping nothing in his stomach. Rations didn't do shit for hunger pains and nothing—nothing—made him feel as fundamentally human as hunger.

With a sigh of relief, he stepped aboard his ship and out of the wind. Leia followed him and Luke brought up the rear.

"Chewie!" he yelled. "Let's move."

Loud growling erupted from the cockpit, a smartass comment that Han loosely translated as nice to see you, too, Solo. Han grumbled under his breath and stomped down the corridor to the cockpit, shaking icy dust from his shirtsleeves as he went.

"Kick the enviro-systems into high gear, too, would you, pal?" he shouted. "We're fucking freezing here."

At the cockpit hatch Han gratefully took in the familiar sight of Chewie running pre-flight system checks. He dropped into his seat like a stone, heavy and with a tight groan. Chewie huffed and tested the auxiliary thrusters, inquiring about their late arrival.

"Her Worship made some friends," Han answered. "The bad kind of friends."

Another growl, low and teasing.

"I ain't as young as I used to be," Han said, gritting his teeth. "And I gave Leia my coat. Wasn't a good combination."

Chewie flipped the scanners onto full power and then turned his head to peer at Han. A series of careful growls, not accusatory but investigatory.

"A little better," Han said quietly. "I don't know, pal. I'll tell you later."

His copilot nodded and then they were in their element, a seamless pair with an unparalleled ship. Flying was precisely what he needed to clear his head. Han needed to rely on his bare instincts, the flight or fight mechanism of a good take-off on an enemy-held world. The challenge, the adrenaline, the high of speed and survival, slicing through clouds and atmosphere until nothing existed but the unforgiving black of space.

That's what he needed. That's all he needed.

"Anyone hailing us?" a low, female voice said from behind him.

Chewie grunted and Han turned a sharp eye on him. Han had warned Chewie not to mention the possibility of Jabba's bounty hunters in the Spinal Arm—a thought that brought back the morning's chill with a vengeance. Both Luke and Leia's comprehension of Shryiiwook was improving, and the last thing Han needed was for either one of them to understand how dire the Jabba situation was becoming.

To cover Chewie's slip, Han flashed a confident grin over his shoulder. "When are you gonna learn that no one can track this ship?" he asked.

"When no one tracks this ship," Leia said, quick as a shot.

A little better? Are you sure? Chewie grunted under his breath, to which Han could only shrug. Better was probably relative in this case. He hadn't completely destroyed her faith in him. That seemed to count for something.

"Alright, space fans. Let's get out of here," he said, and then punched the launch sequence. The thrusters kicked in, the Falcon shot into the sky and Han let his mind settle into the wonderful laser focus of flight.

XXX

Han rapped on the hatch to the crew cabin with his knuckle without a clear idea of what he was about to do. He'd hoped that flying would have helped his mood, the pit in his stomach that had formed sometime after waking up with Leia in the tree-ditch. But the excitement of flight hadn't done anything to lessen the anxiety-ridden tumor deep in his stomach. Masked it for awhile, sure, but the image of Leia's lips had haunted him every step of the way until he found himself staring out the viewport, silent and mullish.

Han's preoccupation had been obvious enough for Chewie to notice. And after his earlier slip about bounty hunters, Han didn't trust the furball to keep his nose out of the situation. All Han needed was his Wookiee copilot busting into the fray and making a bigger mess of the entire thing than it already was.

Han Solo didn't like an unfinished fight. It was time to fix this once and for all.

Hearing no movement from behind the hatch. he waved his hand in front of the sensor. A rush of air hit his face as the hatch whisked open and Han walked into the cabin with a sense of foreboding determination.

Leia sat on the bunk, tiny and alone. Her bare legs dangled off the edge of the bunk in the muted light of the crew cabin. Her head was down, chin nearly to her chest, and he realized that she had rebraided her hair into its usual stiff tail down her back. Her eyelids fluttered open as he stepped into the nearest pool of light.

"Hey," he said.

She raised her eyes to his. "Hi," she answered. "I felt the hyperdrive kick in. Are we safely out of the Arm?"

"Yeah," he said, wiping his hands on his pants. "No company for once. Kind of a miracle, huh?"

She nodded but offered no response and quiet settled between them. Not the calm, peaceful quiet of this morning, but an awkward, confused quiet.

He shifted his weight, then lamely gestured to the bunk. "Mind?"

He didn't wait for an answer. Sitting next to her on the bunk, he noticed for the first time that she had folded and laid his coat on the far side of the room on a storage container he often used as a desk. He considered the coat for a moment and then turned back around, clasping his hands between his knees and looking at her.

Her eyes were already on him.

"Thank you," she said. "For the coat, I mean."

He nodded and tapped the toe of his boot against the deck twice, a nervous habit. "Wasn't a problem," he said, feeling like he was tiptoeing next to a sleeping nexu. He had no idea what she wanted him to say here. He had no idea what he wanted to say here. There was a canyon between them, wide and deep, and though he wanted to bridge it, he had no resources with which to do it.

Leia resumed her careful study of the far hull, hands in her lap and shoulders tense. Seconds wore on, tired and slow. Han shifted and followed her lead, eyes staring at nothing as he scrambled to think of something to say. His brain felt like a total void. He had foolishly hoped that he would discover the remedy, the bridge for the divide between them, once he saw her. But nothing came to mind.

Given the choice, he would have sling-shotted them back to their earliest days together without a second thought. Open warfare, yes, but so much more comprehensible. He'd pretend that he didn't care, she'd rage at his attitude, and they'd understand each other. He felt a million times safer when she was hurling insults at him. He preferred that openness to this constant unsurety.

With a pang he realized that they might not have ever understood each other. Maybe they were simply on two completely different wavelengths, infrared and gamma rays existing on fundamentally different frequencies. How was he supposed to bridge the gap if he didn't understand a goddamn thing about—

Oh, shit.

He knew exactly what he had to say here. It might seriously kill him. But, hey, could anything be worse than this? This infinite awkwardness, this constant struggle between hiding what he truly wanted and what she thought he wanted?

Han took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and dived headfirst into Leia's wavelength.

"Look, Leia," he began. "I wanted you to know that, uh… I know I fucked up."

She looked up with such speed that her braid flipped over her left shoulder. "You—what?"

He waved a hand in the air around him, unsure why he was doing it. It felt like if he didn't move he might jump out of his skin, tenebrous energy cracking through his nervous system. "I should've apologized… well. I guess I owe you a couple apologies."

Her eyes widened.

Without waiting for her full reaction, he kept going. "I'm sorry for what I said with the kids. That was a … a shitty thing to say and probably a shitty thing to hear."

"It was," she agreed, her tone mild.

"I guess I assumed…." He trailed off and turned to face her, his left knee sliding up to rest on the bunk. His words came out in a rush: thoughtless, honest. Terrifyingly honest. "If there's a person in this galaxy who's more than just a good time, it's you."

Her eyes looked relieved. Almost kind. "Everyone is more than a good time. Not just me."

Han nodded, accepting the mild criticism with the only kind of good grace he had: blatant nonchalance. "Believe it or not, I have heard that. I'm usually better at showing it."

Leia pursed her lips, paused and then slowly nodded. "You usually are, yes."

What wouldn't he give to hear what was running through her mind? Her eyes couldn't seem to hold still on any single place, racing around the cabin like she was following a smashball game. Was she analyzing his tone? Trying to determine his sincerity? Drawing out the suspense to punish him?

He had no fucking clue.

Quiet. The low thrum of the Falcon's hyperdrive was the only sound he heard aside from his own breathing. Not companionable quiet. There was an edge to this hush, a vibro-blade sharpness to the silence. Either one of them could cut the other to the quick with such deftness, Leia with her ruthless intelligence and Han with his stubborn pride.

Like an uneasy truce.

There was another part to this, he realized. Something nervous in the set of her shoulders that screamed vulnerability. And he understood that feeling well; he'd been feeling the same all morning.

And because they were on her wavelength, she was the one to clear it up for him.

"It hurts," she said, quiet and sure. "It hurts to be talked about like that. Do you understand?"

"No," he answered. "People want you. What's bad about that?"

He didn't mean to sound flippant, but he truly didn't get it. Leia was sexy, smart, beautiful. Anything a man could want and with a level of class that made her so far out of anybody's league that she might as well wear a fucking tiara and declare herself queen of the universe.

Leia seemed a little shocked by his honesty. Han was immediately nervous that he'd been too blunt: his right palm spasmed in its place on his knee.

But she surprised him again, answering him in a patient tone. "It hurts because it's only one part of who I am, and not the part I want to be known for. It's like if someone only wanted to hire you because you have green eyes, not because you're a great pilot. You had no part in making your eyes green; it's an accident of genetics and has nothing to do with your abilities. And I suspect you've worked hard to learn to fly."

He had. It had nearly killed him to get into the Academy, and nearly killed him again to be kicked out of it. Learning to fly had been the hardest and most important thing he'd ever done in his life.

The thought resonated, especially because he hadn't shared any of that with the Alliance or Leia.

"I don't want to be someone whose worth is measured entirely by another person's desire to have sex with me," she continued. "I am more than that. I am worth more than that."

Well, hell. He couldn't disagree with her there. He nodded, aware she was watching him carefully.

"Been starin' at my eyes again, Princess?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

She shook her head but Han glimpsed the smallest of smiles at the corners of her mouth.

"Okay, fine," he said. "You want to be more than just a pretty face. But what if someone wants you for everything else, too?"

Like the depths of her furious confidence in the face of danger and impossible odds. Or the way she looked whenever someone mentioned Alderaan, like the pure manifestation of brute survival. The way she held her blaster, feeding off the energy around her, threatening and bold or protective and calm whenever necessary.

His palm spasmed again.

Leia didn't notice. "You said fuck. That's not usually a word people use when they admire someone's everything else."

He shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Probably depends on who's talking."

"I suppose that's true," she admitted. "Still."

He pressed his lips together and nodded once in agreement. "Still. Pretty shitty."

She eyed him with a calm that frankly surprised him. "Pretty shitty," she said. "Yes."

Han couldn't help but laugh. He'd heard her curse before but couldn't remember hearing shitty come from her mouth. It sounded foreign in her voice, rusty and unused and hilarious with a prim and proper yes tailing it.

His laughter died down, settling into the cracks in the interior hull plating like dust. In its place was a different kind of silence, still heavy but laced with an attempt to understand. Nothing she had said was particularly illuminating to him—he may be a mercenary but he understood boundaries pretty well—but she seemed to be taking his gesture at face value. A gift, kind of. Something he was offering to her that bound their vulnerabilities together, even if their vulnerabilities were vastly different from each other.

He'd tried her wavelength and even if he didn't quite reach it, at the very least he'd tried. That was more than he could say for his first attempt.

Satisfied that they'd banished the awkwardness for the time being, Han cleared his throat and glanced back to Leia. "Are we friends again?"

She arched a brow at him. "I swear I've heard you say you didn't have friends. Are you notifying me of your change in legal status?"

He rolled his eyes. "Funny," he said.

"Shall I find a notary? Do you think Luke's been licensed?"

"You're hilarious," he said, deadpan but internally celebrating. "Did Chewie teach you how to give me a hard time?"

She shook her head. "No. But perhaps I'll ask him. Since we're friends and all."

She looked up at him, met his eyes, and Han's true inner voice—the one he so ardently tried to ignore—sprung to life, loud and fierce. Friends? No. You want more.

He wanted her warm skin pressed against his. He wanted the gentle curve of her lips against his tongue. He wanted the strands of her hair between his fingers, sliding through his fist so he could just fucking pull it. He wanted her beneath him, above him, against the hull of the Falcon, on the desk of her office, every whim she had, every fantasy he'd harbored.

But more than any of that, he wanted her trust. And that was one thing he could offer her. Trust that he wouldn't overstep her boundaries again. He might not fully understand them, but he understood that she had drawn them very clearly. She'd trusted him enough to spell them out to him. The least he could do was respect them.

"I have a proposition," he said. "Something to avoid this whole shitty mess in the future."

Her eyebrows rose. "A proposition? Really?"

"Yeah," he said. "To clear up any confusion."

"Do tell," she said, turning her knees toward him and tilting her head. "I can't wait to hear this."

He exhaled and opened his hands. "I'm eventually going to say something stupid. And it'll lead us right back to where we've been the last few days and I'm fucking exhausted, so I'd like to avoid that if at all possible."

She narrowed her eyes. "I would suggest trying not to say something stupid in the first place."

"We both know that isn't gonna to happen, so let's focus on a safe word." Leia opened her mouth, but Han cut her off at the bit. "A safe word. Like something that tells me to back off."

"And you'll listen?" she asked dubiously.

He shrugged. "Yeah, I'll listen. You always gotta respect the safe words."

Leia leaned back on her hands, considering. By the look in her eyes, he knew she'd understood his none-too-subtle innuendo. After a moment, she said, "Fine. What's the safe word?"

"Well," he said, standing up, "how about green eyes for shut the hell up before I kick your ass?"

She laughed, closing her eyes. "Sounds good," she said.

He made a bowing motion as he walked backwards toward the hatch. She turned her head, reached for a datapad he hadn't noticed lying on the bunk beside her.

But he wasn't done yet. "And, Leia?"

She looked up to him, eyes big. "Yes?"

"If you want me to keep going, all you have to say is please, Captain, rock my world."

With a leer he turned around and walked out of the cabin, the hatch closing on her unamused it'll never happen, Flyboy.

XXX

One year later

Han was bone-tired. The cable he'd been trying to repair was an old, ugly son of bitch, hotwired at least three years ago and fraying at it's most delicate point. How the ever-loving fuck had he missed it in his last sweep? He was a better mechanic than that.

He wiped his hand across his brow and dropped into the holochess bench. His arms ached from reaching above his head for nearly two hours. He hadn't gotten enough sleep last night, either. Not that he was complaining, but the exhaustion was settling in faster and faster as this trip went on.

By his best estimate, they were still two weeks from Bespin. Chewie's great idea to undertake sorely-procrastinated repairs had been welcome at first. With weeks to wait, any project was a good project. Han had seen cabin-fever before and it wasn't pretty. The repairs, minor as they might be, were a welcome respite from the swallowing insanity of boredom.

But then Leia had … and they had …

… and now Han was not interested in menial repair work.

He dropped his head back and blew out his breath. They'd run out of alcohol after the first week of travel and Han hadn't missed it at all until this very moment, when he could really use a nerve-deadening, muscle-relaxing shot of whiskey to take the edge off his overworked arms and shoulders.

Arms loose at his sides and eyes closed, he didn't hear her until she was nearly to him. When he caught her footsteps, he raised his head and grinned at the sight before him, radiant and casual as only Leia could be. Dressed in an old shirt of his and a pair of loose combat pants she'd left on the Falcon during a mission forever ago, she was the open epitome of dressed down: hair loose around her shoulders and a coy smile playing on her lips.

"Hey," he said, opening his dead arms to her. "What's a nice girl like you doing in a dive like this?"

In a move that still sent him into residual shock weeks after they'd begun sleeping together, Leia settled on his lap, straddling him. The fit was tight; the oversized holochess table didn't leave room for easy maneuvering, that was for sure. But Leia made it work, turning even the most uncomfortable of positions into a memory he could never forget.

"Looking for a good time," she said, eyes bright. "Heard you might be the man for the job."

His mind fractured. The phrase a good time echoed in his ear over and over, weighted. It felt heavy in his memory, something he couldn't quite remember but absolutely remembered at the same time.

He slid his palms over her knees and up her thighs, watching the sly turn of her mouth. She looked so beautiful, ethereal in her absolute disarray. Nothing about her expression or her dress said Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan and it made him thrum, alive under her weight and her smile. The reality was better than he'd ever imagined it could be, stuck in a sublight trek to an uncertain destination, food rationed and their days together numbered.

He dismissed the thought immediately.

"I might be," he said, dropping his tone to match hers, "if you're lucky."

She gave him a brilliant smile and his heart trundled into a hard stop at the sight. "Well," she said, sliding her hands up his chest and to his shoulders. "I don't know about lucky, but I've been told I'm very ... persuasive."

He grinned. "That so? What could you possibly say that would change my mind?"

Leia looked him dead in the eye, wide and cunning, then dipped her lips to his ear. With the lightest touch, she kissed his earlobe and then very slowly and very carefully whispered, "Please, Captain. Rock my world."

Han blinked, leaned back and caught her gaze, playful but sincere and with full knowledge of what those long-ago words meant to him. Even as a joke, even as a dare.

"Well, when you put it that way," he said, and then kissed his princess soundly.

The End