As always, a huge thank you to my beta jublke for her invaluable help. And, no, I still don't own Star Wars.

After The Ball

A Star Wars Fan Fiction

Han stepped cautiously through the open doorway, careful to keep Leia one step behind him. His eyes darted around the shadowy space, his hand never far from the butt of his blaster. Leia watched the tension drain out of his shoulders when he had determined there was no imminent threat. With a fond smile, she ordered the lights to sixty percent, and their quarters in the diplomatic block of one of Coruscant's safer neighborhoods came into clearer view. Some old habits apparently refused to die, Leia thought, and Han was always there to protect her.

"Why do they always have to have a party when a new system joins the Republic?" Han grumbled as he headed toward the cold box. "Couldn't they just issue the new guy a membership card? Or maybe a plaque?" He twisted the cap off a bottle of Gizer. "And they go on forever; I thought this one would never end!"

Leia glanced at the chrono on the shelf. It was seven minutes past twelve—ridiculously early for an escape from a diplomatic function—but she had known that Han was ready to leave. So they left. Not that she was particularly upset about their early departure. Quiet times like these between her and her new husband were far too infrequent, as far as Leia was concerned.

Carefully folding her midnight-colored wrap, Leia draped it over one arm. She watched as Han unbuttoned the collar of his crisp white shirt with one hand, and scrolled through their messages with the other.

Gods, she thought, he was gorgeous! His slate gray jacket was unadorned—he was well and truly a retired general—but its military cut complimented both the bloodstripes down his trousers and his tall, lean physique. Leia blessed Lando for both finding the jacket and for convincing Han to wear it. Watching him as he thumbed down the list, she found herself amazed that he was hers and hers alone—her very own Prince Charming.

Han's mouth tightened to a thin line and his brow furrowed as he stopped to read one of the messages.

"Is there a problem?" Leia asked him.

"No…" Han drew the word out as he read. "This is from Cracken," he continued. "I really should answer it." He turned to Leia with a grin. "Cracken wasn't at the party," he commented. "He was able to get some work done."

She smiled back. You could take the general out of the army, Leia thought, but you obviously couldn't take the general out of the man. In his own way, Han loved the New Republic every bit as much as she did, and was willing to work just as hard for it—in his own way. She felt something warm and sweet blossom deep inside her.

"Well, then, I'll go change while you're doing that." She grunted as she slipped off a pair of sparkling shoes. "My feet are killing me." As she moved past him toward their bedroom, she stopped to plant a kiss on the back of her husband's neck.

"Hey, Leia." Han reached out to grab her wrist. "That's a nice dress."

Leia had to smile, even as she blew out an exasperated breath. She'd been exceptionally particular when she chose this gown, since it was the first time they were going to a formal event as man and wife. But all he'd said about it before they left was that at least it wasn't white.

"Glad you like it," she said. "And I'm glad you finally noticed it," she added tartly.

Han's eyes traveled down the icy blue shimmersilk dress, pausing to admire the low-cut bodice and the fabric that clung lovingly to her trimly curved hips. "Yeah, I noticed it." He slipped his hand to cup behind her head, tilting her face up toward his. His kiss brushed her lips, setting off an electric tingle somewhere south of her waist. "I'll be right after you," he promised.

"Take your time," she said as she continued on to the bedroom. She had another outfit she thought he might like, now that he seemed to be paying attention, and she needed a chance to change into it.

Leia was back out of the bedroom quicker than she expected. Walking barefoot, holding the hem of the shimmersilk off the ground with one tiny hand, she came up behind her husband. For a minute she just watched him, delighting in the view. He'd taken off his jacket and tossed it onto a chair; now he was standing at the desk pecking two-fingered at the datalink in that adorable masculine way he had. Clad in shirtsleeves, bloodstripe trousers, and high boots, he was once again the smuggler she'd fallen in love with 8 years ago. As she felt her heart quicken, Leia realized how pleased she was they'd left the party early.

"Han?"

He turned from the datalink, surprised to find her standing behind him. "Problem?" he asked her.

"These kriffing combs are stuck in my hair. Could you give me a hand?"

Han flashed her a crooked grin as he spun her around and reached for one of the combs. "You know, I've always loved your hair," he began as his fingers wiggled the first comb loose, "but there are times it takes up way too much of your time." He gave the second comb a tug.

"Ouch!" Leia reached her hand up to help unwind her tangled hair from around the comb. "No hair jokes, Flyboy," she cautioned him.

The second comb came free. Han handed it to his wife and ran his fingers through her hair, gently pulling it loose from its elaborate upswept style. His hand lingered at the nape of her neck, rubbing it lovingly with his thumb. Leia turned and leaned her body into his.

"Did you finish your message to Cracken?" she purred against his throat.

"What?" he asked dumbly. "Oh, kriff!" he swore, "Cracken. You distracted me."

"Good!"

"Sweetheart, I really have to finish this." Han waved in the direction of the datalink. "It's another one of those warlords, moving in from the Unknown Reaches."

Leia pulled away from him, her eyes dark with concern. "Are you going to have to go?" she asked him. Even though he was officially retired, some of the generals still consulted with him. Between his experience bringing down Warlord Zinsj and his exceptional if unorthodox strategic planning skills, his advice was invaluable. But there were times when he did more than just consult. She knew there were things he had to do—she understood that—but that didn't keep her from worrying about him when he was gone. And missing him.

"No, not this time," Han reassured her. "I think Wraith Squadron should handle it. That's what I'm telling the general. Or trying to." He reached down and gave her hair a tug. "Just give me a few more minutes."

Popping up on her toes, Leia kissed his cheek. "Okay, general," she teased.

"Don't call me that!"

Ten minutes later, Leia heard booted footsteps on the bedroom floor.

"Did you finish your message?" she called from the 'fresher.

"Yup." Han dropped down on the edge of the bed and began to tug his boots off. "Hey!" he called to his wife, "don't take too long in there. Some of the rest of us might want to use it, too."

"I'm done."

Han dropped his boot onto the floor. Leia stood across the room, the glow from the 'fresher doorway illuminating her from behind. Her hair, long and loose, glowed like a silky brown cape. The satiny sleep gown she wore both covered and highlighted her generous feminine attributes.

Han moved to her, his stocking feet whispering on the floor. "It's red," he observed.

"At least it's not white," she agreed.

His hands caught her around her waist. "I like it," he continued. "Now, take it off!" He slid his hands further down her body.

"Not so fast, Flyboy." Leia pushed firmly against his chest, sending him back a step. "You're still dressed." Her fingers moved up to the closures on his shirt, deftly unfastening the first, then the second.

"Yeah, okay," Han agreed. While Leia undid his shirt, he nibbled at her neck. Somehow, this only made her work faster. When she ran her hands up his naked back, Han gave a low moan. He picked up his wife and placed her gently on the bed, dropping down beside her. Skillfully he slipped the gown over her head.

"I really like this," he said again as he tossed the gown aside. He peppered her with kisses.

"Really? I didn't get a chance to wear it for very long."

Han propped himself up one elbow and smiled his scoundrel's smile. "See, that's because I like it so much," he explained.

Leia nodded gravely as she shoved his shirt the rest of the way off. Han turned back to his wife, running his hands along the silky skin of her belly.

"Han, wait a minute!"

"What? What is it?" His hands froze, his eyes alert.

"I need to send a message."

"Now?" he asked indignantly.

"I was just going to let Threepio know he should take tomorrow morning off." Leia smiled playfully. "Unless you want him coming in first thing?"

"Okay, that's a good idea," he agreed. Han reached over her and grabbed the comm off the nightstand. He thumbed it on and handed it to Leia. When she was through, he snatched it from her hand and tossed it back on the table.

"Did you remember to turn it off?" she asked him.

"No problem." He smiled invitingly. "Now, come here, your Worship."

Leia rolled on top of him. "No problem, Flyboy."

The early morning light reflecting into the bedroom window gave everything a soft, golden glow. Leia watched as it washed along the floor and up the walls. One errant beam streaked across the bed, lighting Han's tousled hair with a bright nimbus that resembled a halo. Her eyebrows quirked up as she smiled at the inappropriateness of that image. The last thing Han needed was a halo!

Carefully, Leia slipped her arm out from underneath her husband's shoulders. Han muttered and shifted a little, but he didn't waken. Gathering the sheet around her against the early morning chill, Leia propped herself up on her elbow to watch Han sleep. She enjoyed watching him sleep; it was one of the few times when he was completely relaxed. Tenderly, she ran her finger through the hair at the edge of his ear. Still asleep, Han turned his head into the touch; a crooked half-smile on his lips.

Her scoundrel. The first time Leia had said the word to him, she'd meant it. Now it was a term of endearment. Oh, he was still a scoundrel, but the best kind of scoundrel there was—loyal, brave, and giving.

There was an old Alderaanian children's story about the lonely prince who searched the whole galaxy, looking for the perfect woman to be his princess. After searching far and wide, he discovered that his princess was right there—living right next to the castle. He'd just never looked carefully enough to see. Change prince to princess, Leia thought, and that was her story. Han had been there all the time, if only she'd had the sense to look.

Leia must have drifted off again, because the next thing she was aware of was the insistent beeping of the comm's message indicator and a string of muttered Corellian obscenities from her husband.

"What time is it?" Leia asked through a yawn.

"Too early," Han grumbled.

She squinted sleepily at the chrono next to the bed. 8:30. "So who do you think it is?" Leia asked. "General Cracken or Mon Mothma?"

"I'd happily kill either one right now. Or both." Han sat up and reached over to thumb the comm to silent.

Leia went to the closet and pulled out soft robe. "That won't hold them for long," she said as she fastened the sash around her waist.

"Long enough for us to get some caff first." Han was pulling on a pair of sleep pants. "I'll go get it started."

"Wait!"

Han turned around, one eyebrow raised enquiringly.

"Thank you." Leia said, as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

"For last night? Glad to oblige, sweetheart!" His grin was smug.

"For last night," she agreed, nuzzling against his bare chest. "And just for being here, with me—and for me."

Han reached down to tip her face up to his; his kiss so gentle it was a caress.

"Always, Leia. Always."