a/n: honestly not sure what inspired this, but i think it's my personal headcanon. set right after the arrival on Bespin (as you will easily see).

Han Solo and the Slave Girls

The warmth on Bespin was blissfully stifling. Leia hardly thought to complain about the discomfort she was feeling in her snowsuit because she was so delighted to be warm; after the past few years on Hoth, and the past few weeks in the cold depths of space, she'd begun to resign herself to a life of endless cold. Even as beads of sweat beaded unflatteringly near her temples and her skin flushed pink, she basked in the change of temperature. She wasn't surprised, however, when Han was hardly as grateful for the change.

"It's hot as hell in here," he grumbled, lounging back on a white sofa and tugging at the loose neck of his shirt.

Leia paced quietly behind the couch, peering down at him. He tilted his head back and caught her eye upside down.

"You've got to be burning up in that," he said.

"I'm comfortable," she murmured. She clasped her hands and stopped, looking down at him. On a whim, she slid her hands tentatively into his hair, letting it slide through her fingers loosely.

Her fingertips pressed into his scalp and slid to his temples, and he closed his eyes, pressing his head into her touch. She smiled to herself somewhat shyly. Until recently, so very recently, she'd had no idea Han could be so…affectionate.

The door to their suite opened, and Han sat up straight immediately, his back straight. Though she couldn't see it, Leia suspected his expression was both alert and suspicious, and she rested her palms on the back of the couch, standing behind him and casting her eyes over his shoulder at the intruder.

She was unsurprised to see Lando Calrissian, his ostentatious pale blue cape still swirling over his shoulders; when he'd given them this room, he'd advised them he'd return shortly – and Leia admitted to herself that she was grateful. She found herself extremely nervous about so much time alone with Han. It somehow felt – different, outside of the Falcon.

"Settling in?" Lando asked, flashing one of his toothy, slightly worrisome grins. He took a few steps forward and folded his arms, inclining his head at Leia. "Leia, can I interest you in a change of clothes? You must be eager to get into something cooler."

Leia noticed Han's shoulders stiffen, but she smiled diplomatically at Lando.

"If you have something available, I wouldn't mind," she agreed.

He eyed her for a moment, his gaze moving from the top of her head over – the rest of her, and rather suggestively, come to think of it. She looked down uncomfortably, but not before Han had stood up in front of her.

"Hey," Han said edgily. "Cut it out, Lando."

Leia lifted her head, and lifted her eyes higher, staring at the ceiling a moment. She appreciated Han's reaction; she could also sense it being a possible problem.

"Easy, Han," Lando said smoothly. He stepped to the side to catch Leia's eye. "Merely estimating size – I'd hazard a guess that you're a standard human two?"

Han visibly bristled again; Leia came around the couch and laid her hand against his elbow, looking up at him for a moment to placating him. She turned her gaze back to Lando after a moment.

"Actually, you're right," she noted.

Lando seemed to know that, and held out his hand.

"Just where do you think you're takin' her, pal?" Han asked, in a tone that sounded falsely amicable.

Leia stepped forward, but did not take Lando's and, and did wait to hear his answer.

"One of my colleagues, Faora, is waiting out in the hall," Lando answered. "She's about your size, and she's willing to lend you something to wear."

Leia nodded, and gave Han a look over her shoulder that silently ordered him to back down – she sensed no threat in the gesture; she'd be fine, and some clean clothes would be nice. Aside from pajamas Han had leant her, and the occasional time spent in spare shirts of his, she'd been wearing the snowsuit for – far too long.

Han folded his arms pointedly, and stood frozen to the spot, glaring at Lando. Leia followed him out into the hall, where he gestured to a short woman with brightly coloured, short, spiky hair.

"Leia, this is Faora; she's a pilot for the colony. Faora, I'll entrust this lovely woman here to your care," Lando paused, and jerked his thumb at the door they'd just exited. "Take it seriously, or he might burn the place down," he added dryly.

Lando gave Leia an oily, charming wink, and disappeared down the hall, his cape flowing behind him. She decided she didn't much care for the cape; it was flamboyant, and the only other person she'd really known to wear a cape that billowed so was Vader. Faora beckoned Leia to her side and began to lead her down undecorated hallways to more apartments.

"Lando asked me to assist you because we're about the same size," she said pleasantly.

Leia noticed her accent was somewhat strange; she didn't recognize it, and wondered what Faora's native language was. The other woman had an intricate black tattoo on the back of her neck. She led Leia into a simple apartment, and then gestured to a rack of clothing just inside.

"You're free to choose anything," she said kindly.

Leia looked at the options from afar from a moment, and then looked at Faora quietly.

"Lando asks you to lend your clothing to a stranger, and you do it?" she asked. "No questions asked?"

Faora laughed.

"Well, I did ask him if it was really Solo's ship docked out there in one of the bays," she joked. She paused lightly. "Lando brought me on as a pilot when he took control of Bespin; he's given me lucrative opportunities. I'll help him out with what he asks."

Leia nodded and turned to the clothing rack, her fingers sifting through the material, and the options, carefully. She mentally noted that Faora seemed to know Han. She looked for a moment at something purple, but the neckline made her blush, and the quick thought she had that Han would probably enjoy it made her blush slightly more.

"I haven't seen the Millennium Falcon in ages," Faora remarked conversationally. "You're really here with Han Solo?"

Leia didn't answer right away, and she didn't nod. After a moment of silence, she said:

"You know Captain Solo?"

"I used to be part of the Hutt's crime ring," Faora said, with as much ease as if she were announcing her favorite colour was blue. "I was a procurer, but any aspiring pilot knew who Han Solo was."

Leia selected a boring; brown ensemble with a sheer overlay, and looked around a moment for somewhere to change. Faora pointed her towards a separate room, and Leia followed her gesture. She did a quick scan of the room, cursorily searching for visible cameras, and she saw nothing, so she swiftly began to change.

"What is the function of a procurer?" Leia asked mildly.

"It consists of flirting with warlords to garner safe passage through smuggling routes, in some cases," Faora answered.

Leia frowned, stripping of the last of her snowsuit and pulling the borrowed dress over hear head. She shimmied into the gown and felt a rush of relief at how silky and nice the material was – she hadn't worn something so nice since before Hoth. She stepped out of the room and sought a mirror, touching her hand to her hair.

"Would you like a hairbrush?" Faora asked politely.

"No," Leia decided after a moment, her voice soft. She tucked strands of hair back behind her ears – she'd fix it herself later, on her own. She met Faora's eyes in the mirror and then turned, her expression guarded. "Did you work with Han when he was a smuggler?" she asked, curiosity piqued.

Faora looked genuinely confused.

"Isn't he still a smuggler?"

Leia didn't answer. Interesting question – several weeks ago, she would have said yes; but due to everything that had happened between them since the ill-fated evacuation from Hoth, she didn't know.

She smiled faintly.

"I suppose if you consider piloting fugitive princesses smuggling," she remarked simply.

Faora flashed a grin.

"Come on – I'll escort you back," she said, leading Leia out.

"My clothing – "

"We'll have it laundered, and returned," Faora interrupted.

She cleared her throat as she allowed Leia out the door before her, and then shut it behind them.

"No, I wouldn't say I knew Solo," she said, plowing on conversationally. "He was a legend, before he bailed on that huge spice shipment," she said, letting out a bit of a snarky laugh.

Leia compressed her lips – it wasn't quite so funny to her; that incident was the impetus behind Boba Fett wreaking havoc on Ord Mantell. It hadn't been a pretty scene, and Leia had no fond memories of it.

"He was particularly famous with Jabba the Hutt's slave girls," Faora remarked, tilting her head thoughtfully.

Leia's stomach dropped, and her heart missed a beat – slave girls? She thought quickly, her mouth going dry. Her thoughts went haywire for a terrible, angry moment, as Faora went on. She wasn't naïve enough to think Han had never touched another woman before her, and she even knew he'd exchanged currency for the service, but – slave girls?

The Han she knew hated slavery –

"Oh, please don't take the wrong impression," Faora said suddenly, apparently noticing the look on Leia's face. "Let me explain – Jabba used to offer up his slave girls as part of payment to the smugglers – "

"I don't think I need elaboration," Leia interrupted stiffly.

"No, I think you do," Faora said, touching her elbow and turning to Leia in the hallway. She stopped her before the door to the suite. She paused, and pursed her lips seriously. "Solo always took Jabba up on the offer," she said. "He'd get the girl Jabba had on duty that night, take her up to a room, get her something to eat, take her chain off, and not make her do anything," Faora said.

Leia considered her hesitantly. She felt heartened – because that…that sounded like the Han she'd come to know, or at least believe was buried underneath all the cocky swagger.

"Do you hear what I'm saying?" Faora asked her forcefully. She smiled encouragingly. "They liked him because he gave them some freedom for an hour. He never touched them. He just gave them a break."

Leia arched an eyebrow stiffly.

"And this Jabba the Hutt, he allowed that?" she asked carefully.

Faora snorted in disbelief.

"Of course not; he didn't know. He thought Solo was using them."

"Then how do you know he wasn't?" Leia asked, resigned – she just didn't want to go back into that room with information that completely changed her opinion of Han, not when she'd just come to terms with how she felt about him after all this time.

"Because," Faora said emphatically. "Women talk to other women. And they all talked about how they hoped Han was around, because he was nice and just let them sleep."

Leia considered Faora for a moment, and then a small smile graced her lips, and she looked at the door to her suite, trying hard not to show how truly touched she was at the though of him – doing something like that. Faora smiled at her, and inclined her head.

"The outfit looks lovely on you," she complimented. After a moment, she added: "I'm sorry if I said anything you didn't want to hear. But I always had bit of a crush on Han Solo after I heard he used to do that."

Before Leia could answer, before she could blink, Faora had turned on her heel and disappeared down the hall, and Leia found herself staring at the door, thinking of Han on the other side of it. She keyed in the code and entered the room; he looked up. He seemed to have been pacing the floor, waiting for her to return. He took a few strides over as the door slid shut behind her and stopped, reaching out to place his hands on her shoulders.

"Hey, look at you," he said gruffly. His hands ran up and down her arms gently. "You look gorgeous," he complimented, flashing a grin. "You should wear girls' clothes more often," he quipped.

Leia held his gaze for a moment, and he waited for a short response, one that was typical of their banter. Instead, she placed her hands first on his shoulders, and then on his neck, pulling his face down to hers. She looked at him intently for a moment, and then initiated a kiss. He seemed surprised, but it only took him half a heartbeat to slide his arms around her and pull her closer.

She really let herself enjoy that kiss; she suddenly felt a certainty about him, deep in her soul; she felt like the risks she'd taken since Hoth, and on the way from Bespin – opening up to him, sleeping with him, getting closer to him – they all were worth it, because he was who she thought he was.

The real Han Solo was a revolutionary and a good man; the smuggler, the arrogant criminal with no respect for rules and regulations – that was the outer shell, that was the protective covering he created; deep down, Han was compassionate, loyal and – good.

He pulled away from her, a bit dazed, and licked his lips, his forehead touching hers briefly.

"What's gotten in to you?" he murmured, his eyes searching hers, as if he'd been struck over the head.

She smiled at him affectionately, stroking his jaw.

"You have," she murmured, resting her arms around his neck.

He gave her a lopsided, if somewhat quizzical smile, but she didn't reveal what she'd been told – she just let herself enjoy the moment of feeling totally confident in his character, and in her choice to give in to him.

thoughts? (note - the girls' clothes line is from the ESB deleted scene)

-Alexandra
#290