THE ART OF LOVE
"Chewie, you're on watch now," Han told his furry first mate. It had been an exhausting day – being attacked by Imperials and attacking back, trying to get the Falcon's hyperdrive to behave and not succeeding in doing so, discovering that the cave they'd entered was in fact a giant and very hungry space slug. Add to that his and Leia's first kiss, and all in all, Han figured it'd been sort of an intense day.
{Are you and the Princess going to finally mate}? Chewie asked as Han followed Leia down to the galley. Han hoped Leia had been unable, or at least not able to translate, the Wookiee's impertinent question.
"Shut up, fuzzball!" Han snapped at Chewie. There were times when his best friend could be downright irritating. This was one of those times. Chewie merely chuckled.
The fact was, Han Solo was very, very interested in 'mating.' But Leia was much younger than he, and he wondered how much exposure to the opposite sex she'd had. Being a princess and a member of the Imperial Senate at such an early age had probably made anything resembling normal interactions with the opposite sex impossible.
Leia had been cleaning up the small area that housed the galley, crew and captain's quarters, and a small med bay. Han wasn't the sloppiest man in the galaxy, but admittedly, he hadn't had much time to keep the place freshened up. Little things like war kept getting in the way.
"I hope you don't mind," Leia said, blushing slightly as she carried the bedding to the portable valet.
"Are you kidding? I'm grateful as all hells. Chewie doesn't help out much in this area," Han said, smiling at her. Leia glanced up. She noticed that the cocky pilot's persona had been replaced by a man who was smiling tenderly. He actually looked a bit unsure of himself.
"Well, it's not as if any of us would win any housekeeping awards these days," Leia said. "The only reason my quarters weren't a wreck was because there was almost nothing in them."
"It was a little sparse," Han admitted. "But it's not as if military bases are built for comfort, especially in the frozen version of hell. Come to think of it, neither are small freighters." Leia gave him a smile. His heart felt as if it was going to burst. "Anyway, thanks for taking care of that."
"You're welcome," Leia said quietly as she fed the bedding through the valet.
"I guess I don't think of princesses as having to do laundry," Han said to her as he came over to assist her in folding.
"It's funny," Leia said to him. "When I was little, my best friend was our chambermaid's daughter. Kira and her mother would clean our bedrooms and those of any guests at the palace. I loved helping change the sheets and towels. It was relaxing for me. The smell when they came from the drying unit was heavenly."
"Interesting," Han said to her. "What was it like growing up in a palace?"
There were no notes of sarcasm in Han's voice. He was genuinely interested in what she had to say. It was clearly a bit unsettling to both.
"Well, it was an interesting life," Leia said.
"I'd imagine so," Han said, reaching into the chiller. "Want something to drink?"
"What do you have?" Leia asked, unsure of what she wanted. She didn't want to get drunk, but maybe a little alcohol would settle her nerves. She was more than a little nervous being in such close confines with Han. She wanted to get closer to him, in all ways possible, but he'd been right just before he'd kissed her – she was frightened. At the same time, though, she desired him, longed for him to kiss her again, as he'd done in the circuitry bay.
"Some decent Alderaanian ale. Not top of the line, but I did manage to negotiate a good price for it on Ord Mantell."
"And the Rogues have been singing your praises ever since," Leia reminded him, her tone dry but not condescending or cold. In fact, she laughed a little. Han watched her, overjoyed to see her smile and laugh.
"I've got some Asteria water and Emera wine," Han added.
Leia blinked in disbelief. "Where did you..."
Han smiled. "I'm a smuggler, remember?"
"I seem to remember hearing that somewhere. I love both," she said simply. "I'll start with some Asteria water, thanks." You need to stay sober, she informed herself firmly. Another thought passed through her mind: was it possible Han had somehow figured out her favorite beverages? She'd never really considered it, but it occurred to her that Han Solo might be a person who was gifted at tuning in on subtle clues about people. Certainly she'd never been that obvious with him.
Han handed her the glass and she allowed herself to luxuriate in the flavor. She'd not had Asteria water in ages, and the subtle fruitiness of Asterian peaches brought her back to a time when she wasn't dodging bullets and trying not to fall in love with someone whose background was somewhat questionable.
"Do you cook?" Han asked. It was a real inquiry, not an occasion to taunt her, but she felt a little defensive.
"No. I loved being in the kitchen when I was little, especially when Chelbi – that was our cook – was baking sweets. But she was always annoyed at me and said that the kitchen was no place for children, especially not princesses. Can I arrange a banquet for a cast of thousands? Probably. Can I manage a meal that won't poison the both of us? Doubtful." Leia's cheeks grew red with embarrassment.
"Don't be ashamed," Han said gently.
"At least you can put a meal together," Leia reminded him. "The soup and juice you made for me when I was sick was the best food I'd had since I'd gone on the front lines."
"Didn't like the hot buttered rum?" Han teased, very gently.
"The only thing wrong with the hot buttered rum was that I could have used more of it." Both laughed.
"Me, too," Han agreed. "First, we need to figure out what our supply situation is. I calculated that going through deep space at sublight, it could take as much as forty days to arrive at Bespin."
"That long?" Leia felt her heart sink a little. She couldn't contact the fleet and risk giving away their position. But forty days seemed like an eternity stretching before her.
"Worst case scenario. I think we can do it faster, but let's plan for what happens if something goes wrong."
"I can't cook, but I can do inventory," Leia offered.
"Let's figure this out, then. You're on ration bars."
"Got it." There were several flavors of them, but to Leia, they all seemed flavorless. She counted them out carefully. Han assessed the perishables. They counted quietly, but both seemed at ease with the silence.
"So what's your estimate?" Leia asked Han when both had completed the task.
"Well, worst case scenario is ration bars for two meals and the good stuff for one," Han said unhappily. "If we make better time, we can revise it, but for now, let's treat it as if we're going to be out here a long time. Fortunately, we've got enough kaf for the entire time and beyond. We'll have to watch the potable water supply, but we've got lots of beverages, unless we plan to go on a weekend bender, which I suspect isn't your style."
"Not exactly," Leia said, chuckling a little. "And I don't think it's yours, either. Unless you're playing cards with the Rogues."
"Oh, please, the last time we played sabacc I woke up with the hangover from the ninth level of the hells. I can't do that anymore."
"Getting too old for that?" Leia teased gently.
"Hey, I'm only thirty-three," Han joked back. "I don't think I'm quite ready for Recopia." Recopia was a favorite among human retirees. It had perfect weather year round, and the waters were reputed to have healing powers in them.
"I only hope we live long enough to get there," Leia said wistfully. A look of great pain passed over her face. Han knew what it was: she was missing her family and friends who died on Alderaan and the ones they'd lost to war. But Han knew that getting her to talk about what went on inside of her would require more than laundry and inventory
"Chrono says it's late," Han stated. "We can have a really late dinner or a really early breakfast."
"I'm not much of a breakfast person. If you want to make it for yourself, of course do so, but for breakfast, I'm fine with a ration bar and some kaf."
"We haven't had a decent meal in over forty-eight hours," Han pronounced his calculation. "I'm thinking dinner." He wanted to say, you need to eat more – Leia had lost a lot of weight in the last year – but he saved it. She probably would take it as him being critical, and he didn't think this was the moment. "Do you like roast gorak with malla petals?"
Leia smiled at him. "You have the ingredients for that?"
"I do. I was introduced to it when I went to Alderaan to do a little breaking and entering. It's good."
"And is that when you learned to cook it?" she joked.
"No, that came later. Even I get tired of nerf grease once in a while." Han flashed her his lopsided grin.
"You know the way to a woman's heart is through her stomach," Leia said, laughing.
"I wasn't sure," Han admitted. "I've never seen you eat much."
"Let's just say that while we have a number of fine cooks, they don't have a lot to work with. I stopped caring what I ate a while ago."
"Perhaps this'll change your mind. I don't do anything fancy, but I was allowed in the kitchen while I was a kid, and I learned mostly by watching. Plus, one time I lost a bet and had to cook breakfast for a month."
Leia arched an eyebrow. "Han Solo actually lost a bet?"
"It doesn't happen often, but when it does, well, it's a big loss," Han said, sipping his ale and taking a gorak from the deep freeze. "On the other hand, I won the Falcon fair and square from Lando, my friend. By the way, I use malla petals, but I also throw in some Corellian vweilu nuts. You ever had them?"
"A long time ago, yes. I liked them."
"I know you haven't learned to cook, but I imagine you can chop up salad vegetables," Han said to her.
"I think I can," she responded.
Han was thawing the gorak and handed her some root and leafy vegetables.
Leia had been feeling more and more at ease talking with Han – until this moment.
"How should I do this?" Leia asked Han.
"Just cut stuff up," Han told her. "You're good with tools."
Leia wasn't especially confident, but she took the vegetables Han handed her and a knife. The nervousness and lack of confidence were returning. Gingerly, she began to chop an orange, triangular shaped vegetable.
He's going to think I'm an idiot, Leia told herself. She remembered watching Chelbi chop vegetables. She was faster than the speed of light when she did so. The memory was making her feel inadequate. Chelbi's chopped foods were also uniform in size; Leia had some flimsi thin slices and others that could choke Chewie.
"I'm pretty terrible at this," Leia said to Han, who was preparing the malla petal and vweilu stuffing for the gorak.
"It's just practice," Han assured her. "Nobody's born knowing how to do this stuff."
"But not many reach my age and not know how to do this."
"Relax, Leia." Han's voice was soothing. "We're preparing dinner, not works of art."
Leia took a deep breath and began her task again. Her hands shook, but she firmly gripped the knife. She could wield a blaster pistol and hit a target many meters away. She was somewhat adept at doing repairs. She could, if need be, pilot a spacecraft. So why, she told herself, am I worrying so much about this?
She began to relax a little more as she progressed. Her slices were becoming somewhat similar in size, although her speed was, to her mind, pathetically slow.
"How do cooks do this?" Leia wondered out loud.
Han looked at her. "You're doing fine, sweetheart. I'll give you a hint, though." He walked over to her and stood behind her. "Pull your elbows in close to your body, and move the knife, not your wrists." He positioned her carefully. "Give it a try and see if it helps you." He loosely held her while she made an attempt. Leia was beginning to feel more and more flustered.
"You're not getting graded on this," Han reminded her. "It takes practice." He backed off gently and returned to the gorak.
"How'd you learn to cook?" Leia asked him, trying to implement the technique he'd shown her.
"From the cook where I grew up," Han answered. "Her name was Dewlanna, and she was a Wookiee. Despite what you see Chewie eat, it's not all raw meat." Wookiees did, in fact, enjoy many cooked dishes, although traditionally meat was served raw. "I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with her. She was, for lack of a better term, something of a guardian to me."
Leia wanted very much to ask him about his parents, but wasn't sure he was willing to talk about it. She'd let him go there if he wanted to.
Han seemed willing to continue. "She protected me from a lot. She even tried to help me become educated. My dream was to join the Imperial Navy. She knew I'd never be admitted if I was illiterate. Does it bother you that that was my previous occupation?"
Leia already knew that. She'd looked up whatever background she could find on him, if only to confirm her suspicions that the way Han could shoot and pilot were skills only acquired under military auspices. But she simply nodded.
"All of the officers here were Imperial soldiers," Leia reminded him.
"You were telling me what life was like in the palace," Han said, returning to their prior topic of conversation.
"I had a nice life," Leia said to him. "I always had good food and clothing, never worried about where I was going to have to spend the next night. I had parents who loved me. I had the best scholars tutoring me. And I used to complain about the constraints that it imposed. But I never really appreciated it till...a few years ago."
Han knew she was talking about the destruction of Alderaan. A shadow of pain passed over her features; no one else probably would have noticed. Han had spent three years studying her. She wasn't fooling him.
"What things made you not appreciate it?" Han's simple tone momentarily took Leia aback; that royalty could complain about their lives was not something most beings understood. Of course, for most beings, life was about working and paying bills and trying to offer their offspring that which was better than they had. A life in the palace, for most, seemed positively opulent and wonderful.
Leia was still cutting and was about to answer his question when she let out a shriek of pain.