Standard disclaimers apply.

Arms piled high with old ship parts he's not entirely authorized to have, Han Solo picks up his pace as the Falcon comes into view. He is so close to safety that he begins to congratulate himself on a job well done. Of course, as soon as the thought begins to formulate, he hears her voice behind him — all huffy and annoyed and definitely suspicious, just like usual.

"Just where do you think you're going?"

"Back to the Falcon," he says easily, grinning at her. "That allowed?"

She blows air through her nostrils in something only marginally more ladylike than a snort. He finds it strangely alluring all the same. "I suppose what I should be asking you is, where were you ten minutes ago when you were supposed to be at the briefing?"

"Ah," he says, shifting the pile of parts in his arms guiltily. "That question is a little harder to answer."

""I thought so," she mutters. "You know, I'd have thought you'd be more interested in protocol after your last mission." There's a rather unbecoming scowl etched on her face, and he resists the urge to stick out his tongue. He knows (from past experience) that that would only make the situation worse, and he really needs to be getting back to the Falcon. He should ignore her completely and continue on his way. But somehow he can't resist trying to rile her up a little.

"Well, I'd have thought you'd be better at talking nicely to people, what with that being your job and all."

Overall, Leia Organa is not actually an unfriendly girl, Han knows when he really stops to think about it. There is far too much empirical evidence to the contrary. For one thing, running for the Imperial Senate was basically a glorified popularity contest, and she'd managed to gain plenty of supporters. There has to be a reason she is known to emerge victorious from rooms full of diplomats, even outside of the fact that she is a damned good arguer. And she's even managed to remain the darling of High Command, despite how frequently she seems to do the exact opposite of what they order her to do (usually throwing herself into some sort of mortal danger in the process). People genuinely like her — hell, she was raised so that everything about her is likable.

And yet, when she's talking to him, all that breeding seems to fall away, leaving something about as charming as a fengla. And twice as snippy.

"Are you even listening to me, Han? We can't afford to lose any more men!"

"What?" he splutters once he fully registers what she said. "I saved men with my quick thinking, your Worship. That last mission was a disaster. The transport you arranged flew straight into an ambush."

"The transport that was supposed to leave two hours earlier, except no one showed up? That transport? You can't possibly even pretend to think that was my fault." Hands on her hips, she glares at him. He glares right back.

"An opportunity came up. I doubled your profit," he growls, shifting the ship parts so he can shake a finger at her. "You should be grateful." She stares at him and shakes her head, incredulous.

"You know, for someone who's spent the majority of his life up to his ears in illegal endeavors, I'm still surprised you take so many risks. Maybe your past and present are more different than I thought."

"You're right," he says, suddenly dangerously agreeable, baring his teeth in something a little too leering to be called a smile. "Far fewer people were ever in danger when I was smuggling spice. If you weren't married to your precious Rebellion, you'd take a step back and realize these missions were doomed from the start."

He has every intention of finally getting the last word for once, but she opens her mouth to fire back a retort. Honestly, he's not even surprised. "Or, you could walk your sanctimonious Corellian backside down to Command to be briefed, Captain. Things are a little less dangerous when you actually know what you're doing."

With one final glare she's gone, disappearing through a door that seals behind her with a mechanical hiss.

Yup. Charming to the last.

"Well, you certainly seem to bring out the best in her, Captain Solo."

Han twists around to see General Rieekan standing behind him, smiling fondly at the door Leia disappeared through, and he starts to get a bad feeling. The general doesn't seem angry — yet — but Han is suddenly uncomfortably aware of the fact that Rieekan was leading the briefing he had just skipped. And the reason he had skipped, which he still holds in his arms. He decides his best bet is to keep talking and hope he can duck away subtly.

"Yeah. Most conversations with her don't turn out the way they're supposed to."

Rieekan chuckles good-naturedly. "I think I may have noticed."

Han cringes. He knows his arguments with Leia can get loud, but he never actually stopped to think about the fact that Command might be listening to them. For some reason, that bothers him. He's not entirely sure why.

"So is there a specific reason I bring out this side of her? Or is it just the combination of my good looks and personality? She's jealous, is that it?" In hindsight, perhaps the overacted narcissism was not the way to communicate with Rieekan, especially considering the briefing and the stolen parts he's carrying. But the General ignores his comment, staring at him thoughtfully. His brow furrows, like he might not answer — and then he sighs and pulls Han further down the hallway, away from the room where Leia is.

"You have to remember when you met her, Captain," he says softly. "After her capture, the torture … after Alderaan. I'm sure it was, objectively, the worst day of her life. And understandably so."

"I remind her of the worst day of her life?" Han asks in a low voice, his stomach twisting into nausea the way it always does when someone brings up Leia and the Death Star in the same sentence.

"No," Rieekan amends, shaking his head. "I wouldn't go that far. But I'm starting to think that she be compensating for whatever weakness she thinks you saw that day."

"Sure. When she single-handedly forced me into a trash compactor and spent the next few hours thinking up creative insults for me, my friend, and my ship."

"Not many people know what she went through on the Death Star," Rieekan admits. "That's a lot of power you have over her, at least in her mind."

"Well, too bad that doesn't translate to real life. Maybe I could actually win an argument then." Han shakes his head, a resigned look on his face. When Tatooine freezes over.

"I wouldn't give up," Rieekan says. "If anything, I think your friendship could be good for her."

"Oh yeah? And how is that?" Han is skeptical, to say the least. He's fairly certain at this point, thanks to much observation, that Leia doesn't need anyone - let alone a smuggler like him.

"If anyone can bully the Princess into taking a much-needed break …" Rieekan sighs and pats Han on the shoulder. "I think it could be you."

And as he turns and walks away, Han realizes, not only that he refrained from mentioning all of the infractions that he must have noticed, but that he also offered advice about talking to Leia.

He can't help but wonder if someone is rooting for him after all.

Han learns about the get-together to raise the morale of the troops about an hour after it's started, and makes his way to the mess hall a little while later to see if anybody thought to save the good drinks when they left the last base. That turns out to be a disappointing negative, but the music isn't too bad and he doesn't want to think about everything that needs fixed on the Falcon, so he decides to hang around and see if he can find a way to occupy himself.

Luke and the rest of the Rogue Squadron are at the center of the room, which has been cleared to make an impromptu dance floor. Though none of them knows the steps, they still seem to be immensely pleased with their efforts. To his surprise even Leia is lurking on the periphery, watching the boys' antics with a raised eyebrow from the far corner. He makes his way over to her almost immediately.

"At least somebody's enjoying themselves," he murmurs, leaning casually against the wall beside her and nodding toward Luke. She shakes her head in awe, her eyes never leaving the kid's twitching form.

"I have no idea how he does it," she says finally. "Yesterday he was coughing up leeches from that swamp in Ando and beating himself up over the fighter that went down. Today he's acting like a child."

"You can't seriously begrudge him that," Han says. "The kid deserves a break more than anyone. Almost anyone," he adds as an afterthought, staring pointedly at her.

"Of course he does," she agrees, opting to ignore the second half of his comment and shifting uncomfortably in her high shoes. She still barely comes up to his chin. "Sometimes I just wish—"

"That someone could be as serious as you all the time?"

She thinks for a minute, then sighs and shakes her head. "I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. It's exhausting."

"Maybe if your enemies were exhausted they'd slow the attacks and we could actually pull ahead," Han mutters darkly, but then he shakes his head. "We shouldn't talk about the war. Don't wanna ruin the party."

"What else is there to talk about?"

Her eyes are wide as she stares at him, genuinely curious. He wonders how often she gets the luxury to think about something other than the galactic struggle for freedom. From what he's heard, much of her life has revolved around the developing Rebellion — probably as long as she can remember.

"I wish you could be doing something you actually want to," he says suddenly, alarmingly serious.

She blinks up at him. "I thought you said — what was it? That I'm married to the Rebellion."

"I did," he admits, unabashed. "And you're certainly too attached to it. But I think you throw yourself into the work because you don't want time to think. Nobody would every accuse you of enjoying it, that's for sure."

"I suppose that's a good thing," she says, sighing. "It would be incredibly inappropriate to take pleasure from the same war that is continuously taking people's lives."

"Still," he counters, "it wouldn't kill you to have fun once in a while. You're allowed to, you know."

"It just doesn't feel right," she admits, so quietly he can barely hear her over the music. "Not after— there are so many people who will never have fun again."

She suddenly takes an intense interest in the hem of her dress, running her fingers along the stitching. He lets her distract herself, but when she looks up he catches her eye.

"That's not what they would want, Leia," he tells her. She doesn't respond.

In the middle of the room, Luke trips over his own feet and goes sprawling on the ground, pulling Wes down with him. Their laughter carries over the music, loud and carefree.

"They make it seem so easy," Leia murmurs.

Han straightens suddenly and heads for the hallway, waving for her to follow him. To his surprise she does, letting the door fall shut behind her and looking up at him warily. "What do you think you're doing?" she asks, accusatory and nervous all at once, as he leans back against the wall and blatantly stares at her.

"Watching you," he says, unashamed. "I had this theory that you might smile if people weren't watching."

"You're watching," she points out, eyebrows dipping in a fierce glare. But he can see through this one. The corners of her eyes are starting to crinkle. "Seems like a flaw in your theory."

She kicks off her shoes, sending them flying down the hallway with a disdainful look that makes him think they were really hurting her. He adjusts his gaze to make up for the sudden change in height.

"I thought I was the exception," he murmurs. "You followed me, after all. You didn't have to. You don't do anything you don't want to."

"I wanted to make sure you didn't get yourself in any more trouble."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Well it seem like you're the one in trouble this time, Princess."

Her eyes widen as he comes at her, grabbing her arms and lifting her so that she's balanced on top of his feet. She squirms weakly for a few seconds, but her heart isn't in it, and she finally rests her hands against his forearms as he starts to sway back and forth. He's not moving with the beat, and her heels are pressing down sharply on his toes, but he doesn't regret this move for a second.

"This is ridiculous, Han. I have work to do, I'm supposed to look–"

"You're not hurting anyone," he says. "That's why we're out here — so nobody sees you enjoying yourself amid the death and destruction. Although everyone else seems to be able to dance without belittling the war effort," he adds snidely, taking a quick step that causes her to stumble against him. She resists the strange urge to leave her head against his chest and pushes quickly upright again.

"I don't think I'm actually dancing," she says, smirking down at her place atop his feet. He raises his eyebrows at the expression on her face.

"Is that a smile?"

"No," she says, kicking him gently in the shin. "It's a look that translates roughly to, I hate you."

"I know," he says softly. "That's why you followed me."

"I already explained–"

"Shhh."

The look she gives him is one of exaggerated offense at being silenced. Then the impossible happens — she giggles.

"Ha!" Han exclaims, moving one hand from her side to poke her in the ribs. "I win."

"You cheated," she says, her voice solemn and monotonous again, but the smile returns after only a few seconds. "It's hard to be serious with you stumbling around like some sort of drunk bantha."

"Like a drunk Luke, more like," he chuckles, surrendering to her renewed squirming and stopping his swaying movements. He lets her step off his feet and stands behind her as she peeks through the door at the Kid.

"He is really drunk, isn't he?"

They watch as Luke stumbles into Wedge, then links elbows and starts to drag him in a circle. "Yeah. I'm pretty sure he is. And that would take considerable effort with the stuff they had in there." He pauses, studies the kid. "Though I'm sure he had plenty of encouragement from the Rogues."

She shakes her head, a fond smile on her face. Then she sighs.

"Thank you, Han," she murmurs softly.

"What for, Your Worship?"

"Making me smile," she admits, avoiding his eyes. "I'll deny it tomorrow, I'm sure. But I think I needed that."

She goes to retrieve her shoes, wincing as she stuffs her feet back into them. He grimaces sympathetically and pulls her upright once the straps are fastened.

"Hey Leia?"

She looks up at him. "Yes?"

He briefly weighs the risk of ruining this moment, then decides her good mood probably isn't going to disappear on him. "One more smile? For me?"

She rolls her eyes at him, turning her back and starting down the hall. "Don't push your luck, Flyboy."

But he's almost sure he catches a hint of a grin as she walks away.

Reviews are encouragement!

Much love,
KnightNight