UNEXPECTED II

I've been trying to make sense of these newest star-charts for over two hours now, but there's an incessant buzzing sound coming from across the corridor that keeps disrupting my concentration. I suppose I should be used to it by now- despite the brash words I offered Luke and the Princess earlier, the Falcon /is/ a scrap heap…a well-maintained and carefully put together one, at that, but a scrap heap nonetheless. There are always odd noises or sounds coming from it…but I've learned to identify most of them. This one is different, I can't quite put my finger on it. Chances are good that it's just a loose vent or something harmless like that, but on the off chance that it's a broken drive that's going to fly us straight into a wormhole, I should probably go check.

'Should' being the operative word here.

I don't know- I'm not so sure I want to chance running into the Princess again…her highness was awfully mad at me earlier. So I suggested that she wasn't pulling her weight around the ship…so what? It's not like she has any weight to pull- Chewie could knock her over with one finger. I didn't think she'd take *offense* at it.

Hmph. I was wrong.

Instead of smiling at my little joke, she grabbed the power tool out of my hands –right out of my hands!- and went flouncing off in that haughty way of hers. I yelled after her that since she insisted on taking my tools, SHE could do the welding herself. Yeah, right. Her worship, deigning to get her hands dirty? The Emperor'll self-combust before I see /that/ happen.

Dammit. There's that noise again. Sith, that's irritating- there's no rhythm to it. Most things have a rhythm, but this…the buzzing will start up and then stop, start again and then stop again, all with no discernible rhythm. It's almost as if someone is…I don't know…/welding/, someone who's never welded before. That would explain the endless stopping and starting, if they were inexperien…Oh, SITH.

I said that she could do the welding herself. It was a joke. Gods, a little thing like that vs. a ship like this? I didn't think she'd actually /do/ it.

Quietly, I cross the corridor, my curiosity piqued. Is she really that insane? Sith, I was kidding…

Sure enough, there's the Princess, wrestling with a lever the size of her head. I almost laugh at the sight, but then think the better of it. Even /I'm/ not so reckless as to mock her highness when she's got a power tool in her hands- she could take my head off with that thing.

She still hasn't realized that I'm in the room. I take the opportunity to observe her, to see what the hell Luke's on about. Chestnut hair, carefully braided across her head- not a single strand out of place. I want to whistle under my breath; Gods, she doesn't get out much, does she? She's looks younger than she normally does…maybe it's the reduced stress that comes from not having to fix me with withering glares. Whatever. Yeah, sure, she's pretty enough…I've seen better, though. And that temper…whoa. I'm not so sure she's worth the effort, but if she is to Luke, well then, more power to him. Still, it's kind of fun to get the two of them riled about the possibility that she might like me…not at the same time, of course. Never again. I learned my lesson from what happened in the med bay. From now on, I'm teasing from a safe distance…

Like now, for instance. She still doesn't know I'm watching her, and that lever's still giving her trouble. I think it's one of the ones that Lando and I stole from a Kessel junkyard years back. I'm not surprised that it's not turning- even Chewie's had trouble with that one. Leia, however, doesn't know this. Taking a deep breath, she throws her full weight against the lever. Not surprisingly, it doesn't budge. Alright, I've ridiculed long enough- it's time to be chivalrous, gentlemanly, her knight in shining armor...or knight in a beat-up spaceship, for that matter. Whatever works. You know, all that crap…

I step forward, and reach for the lever. So what if my arms have to go around her to do so? It's her fault that she's in my way…She bucks violently against me, practically shoving me across the cabin. Ow. That's gonna be sore. Well, what was I expecting? Really. A smile? Okay, okay, so I'm learning. Leia rule number #1- no touching. I can do this.

"Hey…your worship, I'm only trying to help."

She shakes her head, chestnut hair waving back and forth in my line of vision. She isn't looking at me, though…her attention is still focused solely on the lever. That inattention could explain her next sentence:

"Would you please stop calling me that?"

What, no snappy retort? Her voice sounds almost…defeated. Kinda unnerving.

"Sure, Leia."

She shakes her head again, probably at my use of her first name. Han Solo, you old softy.

"You make things so difficult sometimes…"

Of course I make things difficult, sweetheart, otherwise life wouldn't be any fun. I nod, agreeing with her.

"I do, I really do."

She looks a bit surprised at my admission, and I hastily correct that. I wasn't admitting ANYTHING, your highness.

"You could be a little /nicer/ about it, though…C'mon, admit it, sometimes you think I'm alright…"

Whoops. If I wanted an ego-boost, this was really the wrong place for me to look. I steel myself against her retort, knowing from experience that it'll be a scathing one. Oh, boy, I really set myself up for /that/ one, didn't I?

She gives the lever one last thrust, catching a bit of ivory skin underneath it in the process, and flinches violently. Her pain is practically tangible- her frustration, evident. Oh, sith. As usual, it's going to be taken out on me… I look around, uneasily, wondering how long it will take for me to duck behind those bulkheads. No matter- I'm just about to retreat to a safe distance when she responds.

"Occasionally…maybe…when you aren't acting like a scoundrel."

Excuse me? I'm sorry, I must have had some spice lodged in my ears…Is her Highness actually /agreeing/ with me? My mind backtracks a bit…wait, was that a compliment or an insult? As usual, she's managed to mess with my brain.

"Scoundrel?"

She nods, looking defiant, and I can't resist the urge to tease her. I've been called a lot of things, sweetheart…'scoundrel' is the nicest of the bunch.

"Scoundrel?"

She nods again, but her expression isn't nearly as fierce. Ah-ha: gotcha, sweetheart. I lower my voice, advancing towards her, and reach out to take her injured hand between the both of mine. Gods, her skin is warm…

"I like the sound of that."

She looks startled at my tone, scared, even…I am surprised to feel her hand trembling in mine. Apparently, she feels it, too, as her eyes flicker down and come to rest on our hands. I can see her stiffen, her defenses going up again. Her tone is sharp, the frantic snarling of a caged animal:

"Stop that."

I feign innocence, slowly massaging each of her fingers with mine. Hey, if you've got to go, might as well go in style, right?


"Stop what?"

Her eyes flutter back up to my face, trying to gauge whether I'm joking or not. I almost want to smirk at her…but that would be showing my hand, and if there's one thing I've learned from Sabaac, it's never to show your hand until you're absolutely sure that your opponent is beaten. And in this instance, I'm not.

"Stop /that/. My hands are dirty."

Oooh…that's a weak excuse, especially for her. I have to chuckle at it, as in appropriate as that may be. She must be even more riled up than I thought.

"My hands are dirty, too, what are you afraid of?"

She snaps her head away from mine, fixing me with one of her infamous 'you-must-be-kidding-me' glares.

"Afraid?"

Well, Princess, you're trembling… The words come out of my mouth before my brain even has a chance to finish the thought.

"You're trembling…"

She shakes her head, violently. Gods, this woman must really hate losing.

"I'm not trembling."

Uh-huh. And I'm a nice, respectable businessman.

I decide to test my luck by resting a hand lightly against her waist- it can't hurt, she'll either kill me or kiss me. And, given that she hasn't withdrawn her hand from mine yet, I'm hoping for the latter.

"I think you like me *because* I'm a scoundrel…I think there aren't enough scoundrels in your life."

She smiles faintly, a hand pressed against my neck. Wow- a bit forward, there, aren't we, princess?

"I happen to like nice men…"

Her words are joking, but there's no humor in her tone. Her eyes are fixed on mine, liquid mahogany, and I find myself captivated. Sith. I should stop right now, she's going to kill me for taking advantage of her. My body plows on, however, not even bothering to consult with the rest of my mind. Sith.

"I'm 'nice men'."

No, I'm not, but at this moment, I'm willing to learn. Leia lowers her eyes, gaze slowly tracing my mouth. Gods, she's so close…

"No, you're not, you're…"

Fighting 'til the last… With all due respect: shut up, princess. I lean forward, the barest of movements, and capture her mouth with my own. She gasps, a sharp intake of breath, and I press the advantage by fitting my tongue against hers. Sith. Leia squirms against me, lifting herself onto her tiptoes to get a better angle at my mouth, and one of her hands curls against my scalp. I press myself to her, hands flat against her back. Oh, gods. She's so warm, so small, so…

"Sir! Sir! I've isolated the reverse power flux coupling!"

Threepio. Sith. He's space garbage. I'm not kidding. First chance I get, he's going through the airlock, I don't care /whose/ droid he is or what information he's carrying.

Startled, Leia pulls away. I can almost /hear/ her disappointment, and I want to scream at Threepio for interrupting this. Disentangling my arms from Leia –dammit- I turn around and fix Threepio with my most menacing glare.

"Thank you. Thank you very much."

Gods, if sarcasm could kill…of course, he's a droid, so my anger is completely lost on him. Still, I feel somewhat better…

/Somewhat/. He's still going out the airlock.

"Oh, you're welcome, sir…"

I tune him out, turning my head to the side as Leia brushes past me. She's practically /running/ in her haste to get out of here. I watch as her small figure disappears down the passageway, remembering the feel of her waist, her hands…her lips. Oh, gods.

Maybe Luke is onto something after all…