a/n: companion piece to 'Armor.' yes, you should read 'Armor.'

Chinks

[Cub.]

Han was in the cockpit, his feet up on the controls lazily, in the middle of dismantling Luke's portable comm and rigging it to play pop music instead of its dull monotone, when Chewbacca poked his head in, his eyes alert and wary.

Han swiveled in the chair, unabashed – Luke had misplaced the comm yesterday and Han was taking full advantage of the chance to prank him with it. He arched a brow at the Wookiee silently, unwilling to lose his concentration.

"What d'ya think, huh?" he asked. "Some upbeat dance music or a sultry love song?"

He snorted; smirking at himself – Luke would likely be most embarrassed by the latter –

[Princess Leia just walked up the ramp.]

Chewie informed, ignoring Han's antics. Han paused and tilted his head. He frowned, his mouth tightening with slight annoyance.

"What, and she sent you in here as a damn envoy?" he asked. "What's she want?" he asked, rolling his eyes.

[She did not send me in here. She stood in the main hold for half a minute, and then walked into your bunk room and shut the door.]

Han sat forward, lowering his hands and resting them on his knees, one holding the comm tightly, the other tapping against his knee. He frowned, taken aback, and then he blinked, realization dawning on his face.

"Oh," he mumbled. He nodded to himself. He sat back again. "Yeah, uh, that's okay," he said, mostly under his breath. "It's fine, pal."

Chewbacca blinked at him suspiciously and narrowed his eyes, waiting for elaboration. He put his paw on the wall and moved into the doorway a little more, glaring at Han. Han held his project up before his eyes, pointedly ignoring the Wookiee, and then turned and gave him a look.

"She's here to cry," he said shortly.

Chewbacca straightened up and stepped into the doorway, folding his arms and glaring down at Han in silent question. Han scowled at him evasively and did not respond to the intimidation for a moment – until it became clear that Chewie would not be cowed, and Han swung his feet off the controls, planting them on the floor with a thud and turning to face his co-pilot.

"Look," he said tersely. "I had lunch with her earlier, and she was real upset, but she was doin' that thing where she acts like she's not, but everyone still gets snapped at," he explained. "I told her she ought to just come here and lock herself in there," he jerked his thumb in the vague direction of the bunk, "and – cry that out."

He leaned forward and peered down at the comm, picking at some wires with unnecessary interest.

"Told her I'd leave her alone."

Chewbacca kept staring at him for a long time, and then he unfolded his arms, leaned forward, and rubbed his forearm affectionately in Han's hair, tangling it and ruffling it into an unholy mess while Han scowled and tried to duck away.

[That is very nice, cub,] Chewbacca warbled proudly. [I will make some dinner for her to have later – crying works up an appetite.]

He turned to go, matter-of-fact, and Han put one hand on his knee, straightening up.

"Chewie, c'mon, don't make a big deal – " he broke off, his words falling on deaf ears.

He felt a little guilty – he didn't know how Leia would feel about him telling Chewie why she was here, though she must trust him to some extent if she'd let him see her ducking into Han's bunk, of all places.

Han leaned back for a moment, shoulders relaxed. He frowned to himself – he figured he should go check on her, but he didn't want to make her feel like he'd promised her privacy only to invade it. He stared at the comm in his hands for a moment, and then got up, abandoning the cockpit. He tossed the comm onto the Dejarik table and went down the hall to the bunkroom, standing outside the door.

He pressed his ear against the metal, narrowing his eyes – he couldn't hear anything, but even if she'd let her guard down and decided he was right about her needing some normal emotional release, he doubted she'd loosen up enough to go into loud, sobbing hysterics with him around.

He waited, and then, after a struggle with himself, decided it really was best to just let her be in there, like he'd said he would - and if she wanted to take Chewie up on the offer for dinner when she was done, that was her choice.

He ran his hand through his hair and walked away quietly, hopefully quietly enough that she didn't know he'd been out there, and he returned to the cockpit, sweeping the comm off the table and resuming his work as if he'd never been interrupted –

His focus never went wholly back to the prank, though; it was half on her, consumed with intent thought about their conversation earlier – he angrily wished she'd told him who it was who coined the nickname Ice Bitch, though he was pretty sure he could figure it out if he investigated hard enough, and then he'd be able to educate the bastard in manners via his fist in the other guy's throat.

He'd have to be subtle about it, though; Leia would be furious if he assaulted someone on her behalf - she'd consider it to be vulgar, she'd say it made her look weak, and like she couldn't take care of herself, or hold her own - but kriff, that was some of the woman's problem, wasn't it? She refused to just let someone take care of her once in a while –

Though, in fairness to her, Han noticed that no one really tried to – Luke was in awe of her, most of the High Command deferred to her, everyone else saw her as royalty to be obeyed –

Han grimaced, thinking of her words earlier – I have to be unshakable! I have to be their armor! – hell, she was barely in her twenties – This rebellion is not going to crumble because I am not going to crumble! Han hadn't always understood how much pressure she was under, but he'd become more aware recently, and often it made him regret the way he'd teased her and made light of her and her work.

He found himself wondering what she'd been like on Alderaan, back in the palace – sure, he knew she had a lot of responsibility, and expectations to meet, even then, but she hadn't been in charge, she hadn't yet had her entire youth robbed from her and held ransom by military generals and politicians old enough to be her mother.

Han picked at the comm, vaguely deciding it should be a screechy, deliberately bad rendition of a love song – one of those often played in Jabba's Palace, that would easily remind everyone of Luke's farm boy roots – Han grinned slightly, redoubling his efforts there, trying to dampen his thoughts of Leia so he could just let her be in there, in peace –

Chewbacca's efforts in making dinner began to fill the Falcon with the promising scent of spices and salted meat, and as the early evening passed, Han had his feet back up on the controls, almost finished with his prank – and he heard footsteps behind him, turning to investigate just as the kid came moseying into the cockpit.

"Have you seen Leia?" Luke asked glumly. "She wasn't at dinner."

Han shrugged.

"Saw her at lunch," he said honestly.

He technically had not seen her come in – Chewbacca had ratted her out. He was also sure she wouldn't want Luke to know she was having a weak moment. Leia trusted Luke, that was abundantly obvious, but she liked to be strong for him; his optimism and positivity pushed those around him to be better.

"Was she okay at lunch?" Luke asked.

"Ah," Han said vaguely. "Nah, not really," he answered flatly.

"Yeah, I thought not," Luke muttered. He scratched his head distractedly. "The enlisted guys are mad at her because she handed down the no-leave decision."

Han gave Luke a dark look, and Luke shrugged, nodding in understanding - both of them knew Leia was hardly the impetus behind that decision, just the scapegoat for it.

"You heard this new nickname she got?" Han asked sarcastically.

Luke gave him a grim look, folding his arms uncomfortably.

"I didn't hear anyone say it," he said warily. "I heard a story about someone saying it." He paused. "Rieekan put out a memo reminding the rank and file that directing a slur at a superior officer is a punishable offense."

Han blinked incredulously.

"Kriff," he swore.

Luke nodded gloomily.

"He means well," Luke said.

Han just shook his head, though – Rieekan probably did mean well, but a lot of the enlisted men were likely to just read his comment as a sign that Princess Leia had gone running to him with hurt feelings rather than bucking up and taking the insult – like a man. This – wasn't at all what Leia had done, considering Han had practically had to browbeat her into admitting the comment hurt her feelings.

Luke scuffed his foot on the floor and shrugged.

"Well, if you haven't seen her," he muttered. "I'm gonna go check her office again. None of us are mad at her," he said, gesturing to his chest. " The Rogues."

"'Course not," Han muttered.

Luke turned to go, and then stopped, swiveling back with a narrow look.

"Is that my comm?" he demanded, noticing the thing in Han's hands. "I've been looking for that!" he whined.

Han considered trying to hide it, and then considered denying it, and ultimately just handed it out casually.

"Uh, it had a glitch," he said, feigning innocence. "I fixed it."

Luke snatched it, giving him a suspicious glare.

"Bantha shit," he hissed. "What did you do to it?"

Han gave him an innocent shrug. Luke held it up, examined it – poked at the controls – and nothing out of the ordinary happened, so he tucked it into his pocket with one last skeptical glare at Han, and left the Corellian alone with his thoughts.

Deprived of the task that had kept him busy, Han got up and followed the aroma of Chewie's cooking, poking his head in the galley to investigate. He guessed the dish was a spiced stew – and he was right; it looked delicious. He poked around at some sizzling vegetables – fresh, a supply which Han kept tightly under wraps, lest the whole damn Rebellion get wind of it and hold him hostage for real food – and Chewbacca smacked his hand away.

[This is for a small, sad Princess; not for you.]

Chewbacca's growl was stubborn and final.

"Chewie, she's not gonna eat all that," Han griped. "She eats like a bird as it is."

Chewbacca bared his teeth, and Han retreated from the food.

[Why didn't you tell Luke she is here?]

Han frowned.

"'Cause," he answered in a clipped tone. "It was like pullin' teeth to get her to admit someone callin' her a name bothered her, and she prob'ly needs this, and I want her to trust me," he muttered.

[Leia does trust you,] Chewbacca reflected mildly. He cocked his head, checking the temperature on the vegetables. [What name was she called?]

"Ice Bitch," Han quoted.

Chewbacca knew the implication of the word, though there was no direct translation into his language, as Wookiee culture did not have slurs for their females. He gave a dark growl and rounded on Han.

[Who said it?]

"She won't tell me."

Chewie made a low, howling sound.

"Yeah, I know, pal."

Han leaned against the wall for a moment, and then cleared his throat.

"I'm gonna go check on her," he declared, bracing himself. "She's been in there more than an hour."

Chewbacca nodded, and gestured to the food. Han understood his meaning – yes, he'd make sure to offer – and left the galley to return to the bunkroom, where he stood outside the door again, listening, and trying to plan how to approach her best.

He frowned to himself – she hadn't liked the way he approached her at lunch, but this was different; he'd offered Leia a specific place to come let her guard down, and she'd taken him up on the offer, which he hadn't at all expected her to do.

He felt a little humbled by it – and overwhelmed.

He grit his teeth and lifted his hand, rapping his knuckles very gently against the bunkroom door. He heard movement inside, and a muffled response, and after standing there a moment, he ran his palm over the entry mechanism and opened the door, stepping inside. He didn't close it behind him, in an effort to make sure she didn't feel trapped in the relatively small space with him.

Leia sat up in his bunk, wrinkled – everything about her was wrinkled, her hair, her uniform, the sensitive, reddened skin around her eyes. She wiped her palm across her face slowly and tucked strands of hair back, drawing her knees up, and Han came to stand next to the bunk, looking down at her.

"Hey," he said quietly.

She swallowed bracingly.

"Hi," she answered, her voice raw.

She blinked, and then reached up to wipe away tears that escaped from her lashes. She ducked her head down, rested her cheek on her knees. Han put his hand on the top of the bunk, leaning forward to get a better look at her.

"You okay?" Han asked.

Leia shrugged.

"Feel any better?" he asked wryly.

She lifted her head and tilted it, nodding slowly.

"Yes," she said huskily, the word coming out in a rush. She bit her lip, and started to move, giving him a wary look. "I'll go – "

He shook his head, sitting down quickly on the edge of the bunk. Instinctively, he reached out and rested his arm against her legs, stalling her. She looked down at the touch, but said nothing. She compressed her lips.

"You can stay," Han said patiently. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't," he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Uh, dehydrated," he muttered, finding the first lame excuse that came to mind.

She looked a little amused, and shook her head. She reached up to wipe more tears off her cheeks, and flushed a light red, looking down at her toes.

"Chewie threw together some dinner," Han said casually, taking care to make sure it didn't sound like he expected her to come out and eat. "If you're hungry. You missed out on mess."

Leia nodded. She let out a harsh breath.

"I must look…awful," she muttered, looking up and looking back down hastily. She rubbed one of her eyes. "I don't know. I don't want him to see me all," she waved at her face, "red, and…gross."

Han tilted his head. He laughed a little, and she looked up sharply.

"What?" she bit out tensely.

"Nothin'!" he protested with a shrug, shaking his head. "I just – you never seem like the type who cares what you look like," he said frankly - she wore men's fatigues, she went without make-up as often as she wore make-up – he never got the impression she was vain –

"Well," Leia said delicately, her voice very soft. She bowed her head, and lifted her shoulders. "I do."

Han looked at her intently – somehow, it seemed like a significantly vulnerable confession, Leia admitting she did care about her looks, very much like any other young woman in the prime of life - -and he should have known that she had that capacity in her, just like he knew she was as capable of getting her feelings hurt as anyone else in this wild galaxy.

Han leaned forward, his arm sliding around her knees. He gave them a tight hug, resting his chin boldly on them.

"Hmm," he sighed gruffly. "Hell, you always look nice," he said seriously. He flashed her a grin. "I reckon that's why the other women 'round here don't like you," he joked dryly – he knew, from his own perception, that Leia had more unintentional conflict with the handful of women on the base than she did with the men, and it seemed to bother her much more – he figured that made sense; he'd always known women to run in packs, and Leia didn't have a pack.

Leia looked miserable. She'd experienced that kind of – competitive meanness on Coruscant, as a Senator, but she just hadn't ever understood it, or seen the point in engaging in it; it had been almost non-existent on Alderaan.

"I don't think anyone 'round here likes me," she said faintly, mimicking his accent.

Han tilted his head, shifting his chin to her other knee.

"Fuck 'em," Han retorted coolly.

Leia laughed hoarsely.

"Luke likes you," Han said. "Chewie does, the Rogues do," he said. "I like you."

"You have a contorted way of showing it," Leia quipped dryly.

"Hey, Your Worship, I let you cry in my bed for an hour," he pointed out.

Leia wiped at her face, nodding, with a small smile on her lips.

"You sheets are nice," she complimented.

"Thanks, I stole them from a hotel on Selonia."

Leia laughed. Han grinned at her, and lifted his chin from her knees. He gave her a squeeze with his arm, and then released her and then – without thinking, almost instinctively, he leaned forward and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to the top of her knee, sitting back swiftly, realizing almost as he did it how – presumptive –

He cleared his throat.

"Uh – I, year," he mumbled. "That was – sorry," he muttered, and got up, clutching the top of the bunk in a white-knuckled grip. "Chewie's – his cooking is good, you should eat," he fumbled.

Leia stared at her knees for a long moment in response, and then she closed her eyes, letting out a laugh of disbelief. She shook her head, and then lifted it a little sheepishly, catching his eye.

"I…assumed you would try to kiss me at some point," she said quietly. "That's not where I imagined."

Han looked at her blankly for a moment, and then arched his brow.

"Imagined?" he quoted. "You assumed?"

Leia lifted her shoulders in a shrug.

"Maybe," she said softly.

She got up, and Han got her arm, his eye fixed on her pale face, still a little damp with tears – red eyes, still lovely though, and captivating, even if she was hurting. He drew circles on her forearm through her shirt, and leaned forward, just a fraction.

"Han," she breathed, edging back only as much as he'd leaned in. "Please don't do it right now," she whispered.

He read, not rejection, in her eyes, but a desire to put it off – to just put it off until, things were better, or she wasn't crying, and already feeling too cornered – or maybe she hadn't sorted out how she felt, or what she'd – imagined, yet. He nodded, and softened his grip on her arm, nodding again, and stepping back. Leia took a deep breath.

"It smells good," she said in a small voice, and looked up at him. "I could eat."

He flexed his jaw in a smile, and stepped to the side, holding his arm out and gesturing for her to go ahead of him – and then stopping – catching up to her, and darting in front of her, blocking her exit.

"Hang on, wait," he said, looking at her intently. "How come you don't care if I see you all red and," he paused, using her word, though only teasingly, "gross?"

Leia moved her lips silently, and then furrowed her brow. She said, very simply –

"You see through me anyway."

She didn't sound angry, or resentful – just resolved, and honest, and Han let his hands slide off the doorway, stepping aside to let her go seek out a seat at the table, or perhaps say hello to Chewie in the galley – and he looked after her thoughtfully, tilting his head – yeah, that seemed to be it, mostly; the whole damn Rebellion looked at her and saw unrelenting armor, and all he saw were the chinks, and everything underneath.

happy valentine's day (again!)
-alexandra

story #342