LET DOWN YOUR HAIR
The trip to Bespin is going to take forever—figuratively speaking—but it's our only option with the hyperdrive being out. Leia agreed with me that it was our best choice for a safe port, but between traveling at sublight speeds and choosing a route way out beyond anywhere that might be civilized, it's going to be a long haul. We have to do it this way, though. We won't find any Imps out here; there's nothing this far out that's worth their fighting about, taking over, or stealing. And it's empty enough that we should be able to tell if something is following us.
{{{I need a break,}}} Chewie grumbles to me.
"So take one! It's not like you have to ask me!" Chewie's been doing above and beyond and he knows he's allowed to take breaks except for takeoff, landing, and being chased. But he always asks. Maybe in fifty standard years or so, he might stop.
Goldenrod's still shut down; I haven't missed him. Eventually we'll have to boot him up again, but for now, I'm grateful not to hear his yattering. I hate droids, and he's not doing anything to change my opinion on that subject.
I'm not sure where Leia is at the moment; I hope she's sleeping. She's exhausted—not that she'll admit it to anyone—but I insisted that she rest, and she didn't protest too much. She even kissed me on the cheek-again-when she headed out of the cockpit. I've gotten three kisses from her now, and I never want them to stop. Not that I wouldn't be happy for her company right now, but there are things that I need to get to. I've already done a prelim check on fuel and supplies; I think if we can get to Bespin within four standard weeks, we should be okay. Not that we won't have to be careful, but I think we should be able to make it.
I need to check some things at the engineering console, so I head back in that direction. The engineering console's adjacent to the lounge, but I don't expect Leia will be there. I hope she's gone to my quarters; I told her she was welcome to use them and that I'd give her some privacy. She's clearly got a lot on her mind.
So I'm surprised to see her in the lounge, where she's pulling off her boots. One tiny foot, clad in an Alliance-issued Merlie wool sock that has seen better days looks smaller than it does clad in a heavy snowboot. It looks delicate and feminine even in the ugly sock.
I sit down at the console, trying not to disturb her, but I can't help but sneak a glance as the other boot is shed and the other foot is revealed. I wonder what those little feet look like uncovered. I'm guessing they're pretty. She has small, delicate-looking hands, although they can handle a blaster with the best of them. I bet her feet are a lot tougher than they look, too.
She lays her head down on the game table, which doubles as a dining table, work table, whatever it has to be at a given time. She looks so tired.
I do the few things I need to do at the engineering station and start back toward the cockpit, but I stop at the entryway, just to make sure she's okay, and then I stay, hoping she can't see me, because what she's doing now is something I've always hoped to see.
She's let her braids down, and very slowly, she begins unfastening one of them. I know that her hair is very long-I saw it at the awards ceremony. My heart is beating faster, I'm starting to sweat, and I can't catch my breath.
Leia begins working on the second braid, unaware that I'm watching her. She seems preoccupied, which is her natural state these days, and she unfastens the braid somewhat absently. Leia's mind is obviously not a quiet place, but as she completes the task of removing the plaits, her face seems to relax. As it does, the sheer exhaustion she's feeling becomes evident.
I want to run over to her and take her in my arms and tell her everything's going to be all right. Of course, I don't know that—and it's more likely that it probably won't be—but it doesn't make me want to comfort her any less. I know that losing her homeworld's taken a toll on her that she's still dealing with three years later. She won't talk about it, but I can tell. Hell, I barely lived on Corellia, and I'd be kind of depressed if it was blown to smithereens.
And we've lost friends in this debacle of a war. Lots of them. We've both been to too many memorials for two people of our ages. There are a lot of good beings in the Alliance, and we lose them all the time. I know that weighs heavily on Leia, and believe it or not, it does on me, too.
But all those thoughts vanish as she finishes the second braid, and shakes out the long, dark mane of her hair. It falls down all about her head and shoulders in a tousled mess, and it's unbelievably sexy. It makes her look younger, and all that much more vulnerable.
She works her fingers through the tangles, grimacing a little as they catch in the knots.
I step into the lounge. "Would you like a brush?" I ask her.
She looks up, startled, as I intrude into her thoughts. "That would be very nice," she answers with a faint smile. "Thank you."
I grab my brush from the 'fresher and bring it to her. "Want me to brush your hair, sweetheart?"
She glares at me a little. "I think I'm capable of brushing my own hair, Flyboy."
I hold up my hands in a no harm, no foul gesture. "I was just offering."
"I can assure you that while grooming may not be something I spend much time on, I know how to do it," she reminds me.
"You always look beautiful to me." And she does.
"Now you're just trying to flatter me," she shoots back. "It makes me wonder about your motives."
"I can assure you that all of my motives are dishonorable," I tell her, and give her a smirk.
"Now why doesn't that surprise me? Thank you for letting me use your brush."
"Have at it. I'm going to fix us something to eat."
"I'm not hungry!" she snaps.
Sure, she's not hungry. She might not feel hungry, but it's been a standard day since I've had anything, and I'm betting it's been longer for her. She's going to eat something whether she likes it or not. Her blood sugar has to be down in her toenails by now.
I cut up some fruits, and put out some Bantha cheese and the last of the fresh wastril bread—it'll be flatbread from here on out.
"Aargh!" she hisses, and I turn around to see that the brush is stuck in a batch of tangles.
"Maybe Chewie's brush would work better," I joke with her. Except that Chewie allows no one to touch his brush. He considers humans to be filthy disease breeders. Wookiees are a remarkably hardy bunch.
"Very funny," she snips at me.
"Here, let me help." I expect her to argue with me again, or get up and walk off, but she gives a resigned sigh.
The only thing I know about brushing women's hair is from watching old girlfriends; I've never done it for them. The one thing I don't want to do is hurt her; it's Leia, and I don't ever want to do anything to hurt her, and also, she'll kill me if I do.
I can see where the knots caught the brush. I'm used to dealing with ultrathin microfiber wires, and they're horrible when they tangle up. I apply the same technique to removing the brush, which, after a few minutes, and considerable hissing on Leia's part, I manage to get it free. And to my astonishment, she didn't call me names the entire time.
I start at the bottom of her hair, very slowly brushing out each knot carefully, strand by strand where necessary. Leia's being remarkably tolerant of my slow work. I suspect this isn't the first time she's had her hair handled by someone else. She is, after all, royalty.
"You're pretty good at this," Leia remarks. "How much practice have you had?"
I bristle at the remark; I'm not normally defensive when it comes to women I've known in the past, but I don't like the implication that she's just another woman to me. Because she most assuredly isn't.
"You're the first," I tell her honestly.
"Oh." She seems a little embarrassed.
"I've only observed. I don't travel with women very often."
She turns to eye me skeptically.
I shrug a little. "Chewie gets jealous."
"He has no reason to be jealous of me," she says coolly.
"He likes you." Which, in fact, he does. He's become very fond of Leia. "He likes you better than me, in fact." Which is probably true.
"That's not hard to believe," she taunts, but she's smiling.
I move upward on her hair, brushing it very slowly, and she's visibly relaxing. This particular kind of intimacy is new to me, and a little unsettling, but oh my gods, it's wonderful. I hope she can't hear how hard my heart's beating. I'm warm all over, but it's a pleasant warmth.
She turns to give me a shy smile, and she's blushing. I love it when she blushes.
When brushed, her hair feels like the finest shimmersilk. It's absolutely beautiful. She looks as if her eyes are starting to close.
I wonder what that hair looks like spread out on a pillow, with her wearing nothing but that, her cheeks flushed, her skin glowing...
Down, boy!
I head over to the counter and bring over the cheese, fruit and bread. Not much of a meal, but it'll give us both some needed energy.
She nibbles at first, but the food makes her realize she does need to eat. I know she stopped caring about food long ago, but her enjoyment of our snack is genuine. We don't say much, but she gives me the sweetest smile when she's finished.
"Thanks for the snack," she says softly. "And for brushing my hair."
"The pleasure was all mine." And I hope there will be more pleasures for us in the not-too-distant future.