a/n: i mean ... not my best, but wouldn't get out of my head? crack! fic i suppose.

Babysitting

It was a particularly dull, uneventful day – dull and uneventful tended to be good on Hoth, because it meant the base was still flying under the radar – but the pleasant dullness had given away to mind-numbing boredom around midday, which was why Princess Leia was thrilled to have found something to do later that evening.

Despite the fact that the something was an outright absurd way to spend her night.

She sat at the top of the Falcon's ramp, slightly hidden from view, sharply monitoring the exit so as to best follow Chewbacca's request of 'for the love of Sith, don't let Han off the ship.' So far, it hadn't been too difficult to follow that order. Han had only tried to leave once, and despite his altered state, Leia had tripped him.

So he was currently sulking in his cabin.

"Leia!"

She looked over at the sound of Luke's voice, and smiled. Coming up the ramp, he smiled at her a bit quizzically, pointedly noting her position. He folded his arms, peering in the ship, and looked down at her. She tilted her head up.

"How are the tauntauns?" she asked. Luke had been helping fit them with saddles – it turned out they didn't really like humans hopping up on them bareback.

"Fine," Luke said. "What are you doing?" he asked, bemused.

He didn't hear to see Han – or Chewie, for that matter, and he thought to strange to find Leia so casually guarding the Falcon. That's what it looked like, at least – as if she were guarding the ship.

"I'm babysitting Han," Leia answered blithely.

Incredulous, Luke tilted his head.

"You're – what?" he asked, taken aback.

"Chewie doesn't want Han wandering off the ship and getting into trouble," she elaborated.

Luke paused a moment, and then figured something must be up – there was no way Han would submit to this sort of thing willingly. He must be –

"What's wrong with him?" Luke asked warily.

"He's drunk," Leia answered.

Luke stared at her.

"How'd he get drunk?" he demanded.

"He drank too much alcohol."

Luke gave her an exasperated look.

"Yeah – I mean, it's not a birthday, is it? It's not off duty hours yet, Leia," Luke whined. "He'll get in trouble."

"Hence the babysitting."

"You agreed to babysit instead of reporting him?" Luke asked skeptically.

Leia looked slightly affronted at that, and frowned. She didn't really consider herself to be a snitch. She had hours of torture without divulging a single bit of information under her belt, and she'd thank Luke to remember that.

"It was kind of a fluke accident," Leia said dryly.

Luke looked around, and then sat down across from her, arching an eyebrow.

"I'll bite," he said. "Only because Han's probably the only person who could accidentally get drunk – besides you."

Nettled, Leia's mouth fell open.

"Why are you putting me in the same boat with him?!"

"Han's the type to think he can handle it and suddenly drink way too much, and you never drink," Luke said simply. "You're extreme opposite sides of the spectrum, which usually means the same boat."

Leia flushed slightly, fascinated by the concept – she filed it away to think about later. She sighed heavily, and sat forward, holding out her hands.

"He took dinner with the Rogue Squadron," she began.

Luke groaned.

"They were all off duty two hours ago," she pointed out. "According to Chewie – and to Han, at least, from what I could understand," she snorted, "he had a couple of drinks with them because he's such a tank," Leia quoted the slang primly. "But he forgot he'd taken a double dose of sinus medicine this afternoon."

Luke shook his head in disbelief.

"So, evidently, the alcohol reacted with the medicine – spectacularly."

"He's slurring that badly?" Luke snorted.

"Not slurring, per se," Leia responded coolly. "Mostly speaking Corellian, and attempting to sing in Shriywook."

"Really?!"

"Chewie asked me to keep him on board."

"Why can't Chewie?"

"Chewie is fixing something Drunk Han broke," Leia said lightly.

Luke swore mildly under his breath, and grinned.

"Having fun with Drunk Han?" he teased.

"I've met Drunk Han before," Leia answered dryly. She paused, and tilted her head thoughtfully. "I think he's more – uhhm, loopy, than drunk," she decided.

"Tell me all about it," Luke demanded.

Leia considered him for a moment.

"Well, it's nothing juicy," she decided. "It's mostly – he keeps forgetting where he is or what he's doing. Although I think now he knows he's not allowed to leave. He tried to go find someone named Lando for a game of Sabacc about twenty minutes ago."

"How did you stop him?"

"I tripped him."

"Leia!"

She widened her eyes innocently.

"What else was I supposed to do?" she asked seriously. "He's twice my size; leverage is leverage!"

Luke tried to look stern – tripping Han at the top of the ramp! He could have fallen, he could have –

"What did he do?"

"He fell, hit the deck really hard, and then rolled over and stared at me like I killed his pet. Then," she narrated dramatically, "he got up, told me I was jealous, and shut himself in his cabin."

"Jealous of what?" Luke cackled.

Leia shrugged. She felt a little bad – Han had hit the ground really hard, and he had looked genuinely offended that she was thwarting him. But he'd also called her Malla twice, and she was starting to get a slight complex about being mistaken for Chewie's wife.

"How long has he been in his cabin?" Luke asked.

"A decent while."

Luke arched a brow.

"Should we go check on him?"

"I thought about it," Leia said with a grimace, "but why agitate him?"

Luke laughed – she talked about him like he was a wild animal of some untamed species. Leia smiled at him good-naturedly, and shrugged. There was a comfortable silence, other than the few and far between bursts of conversation from the hanger, and then Luke hauled himself up, brushing off his hands.

"I want to see this," he said.

Leia rolled her eyes, and waved her hand, gesturing for him to go. Better her than him, actually – part of the reason she really hadn't gone to check on Han is that a small part of her was afraid he'd try something, or that he'd…taken all of his clothes of in a hazy stupor. He really was in a strange state of mind. A few moments later, Luke appeared with a pained expression on his face. Leia sat forward, alarmed.

"What's wrong?"

Luke held up his hands.

"He's – uh – " suddenly the expression looked amused, and she realized Luke wasn't upset, he'd just been trying not to laugh.

"What?" Leia asked, leaping up – she'd told Chewie she'd keep him on the ship and out of trouble! If he'd broken something else thinking he was 'improving it' - !

"He's stuck in Chewie's hammock," Luke managed, choking back peals of laughter.

Leia's eyes widened. She stared at him for a moment, and then darted past him, gritting her teeth – she hadn't even considered that a disoriented Han might think it was a fun idea to take a nap in the Wookiee's beloved hammock. Muttering under her breath, she burst into the crew cabin – how stuck was he, and could she get him out before a very moody Chewbacca discovered them?

The hammock had somehow gotten so tangled it cocooned Han, and he was peering at her through it with a stunned, glazed expression. He kicked his foot fruitlessly, and then gave her a truly pitiful look.

"Help," he said forlornly.

Leia came closer slowly, looking over the scene. Lazily, Luke waltzed in behind her, leaning against the door. He covered his mouth and gave a snort of laughter; Han glared at him half-heartedly, while Leia put her hands on the hammock's woven ropes.

"How did you manage this?" she demanded.

"It's not my fault," Han whined. "Foot got caught."

"But why were you in it in the first place?" Leia went on. She put her hands on her hips. "It's not your bed!"

"It's not?"

"Are you a wookiee?"

Han blinked at her hazily. His brow furrowed.

"No," he retorted, affronted.

Leia gave him a pointed look, and reached for the ropes again.

"I could just cut him loose," Luke offered, fingering his lightsaber.

"NO!" Leia cried. "Chewbacca would go ballistic," she muttered.

She eyed the entanglement for a moment, and then reached up, rising on her toes. She pushed one of Han's boots through one loop, and tugged on the hammock with a free hand. She reached for the end to try and shake it a little, maybe jostle him enough so that he could get himself out, except he yanked his foot a little too hard and the hammock flipped over, dumping him unceremoniously onto the floor.

Leia's lips parted in surprise. Han's head cracked against the bunk the hammock was suspended over. Luke winced at the thunk sound that echoed around the cabin, and from somewhere down the hall, Chewie roared a question. Luke blanched.

"I'll go distract him," he offered, sidling away.

Leia swooped down on the bunk, awkwardly pushing away the hammock and ducking under. Han, covering his head with his hands, rolled over on his back and drew his knees up. He groaned pathetically, and then opened one eye.

"That's twice you've knocked me on my ass today," he growled lightly.

She ducked her head, careful not to hit it on the low ceiling of the bunk, and reached for his hand, sucking in his breath – the injury wasn't bad, it was more scrape and bruise than bleeding cut. She rested her fingers on it.

"This time it was your own fault," she advised, examining the wound.

Han's hands fell away, lying flat at his sides, and his eyes tilted up to watch her study the bruise.

"How am I going to explain this to command?" Leia griped. "They're already all over you for your cavalier attitude."

"Tell them you hit me."

"I did not hit you, Han, you flipped out of a Wookiee hammock onto the floor."

"I'd really rather you tell them you hit me," he said dryly.

Leia considered him a moment, and then smiled. He smiled back, the grin lopsided.

"Okay," she agreed. "What's the backstory?"

"Huh?"

"Why did I hit you?" she prompted. "So I can confirm the lie."

Han thought about it, his mouth open slightly. He smirked at her.

"You hit me 'cause I'm so – so," he faltered, "cute."

Leia bit back a giggle – cute? If only she had the nerve to videotape drunk, doped up Han – it could give her some real blackmail clout – but then again, as much as she'd never have applied the word cute to the smuggler before, in his current state he was almost –

"You're pretty," he whispered to her secretively.

—adorable.

"Thank you," Leia whispered back in the same tone. "Why don't you go lay in your own bed, Han?" she suggested.

She tugged at his shoulders gently, and he sat up, rubbing his jaw. He winced as his head throbbed, and blinked – he felt so fuzzy, not at all lucid, and he couldn't remember exactly why – or why Leia, of all people, was tending to him.

"Am I sick?" he asked.

Leia hesitated.

"Well, there's definitely something wrong with you," she quipped.

Han recoiled, giving her a – well, to put it simply: he pouted at her.

"You're being mean to me," he informed her seriously.

Leia tried not to laugh, and mustered a contrite look – for a moment, she saw what Han must have looked like as a small child, and with such a charming, wounded expression, she wondered if either of his parents had ever been able to discipline him.

"I'm sorry," Leia said. "It's for your own good."

Han regarded her suspiciously. He looked over her shoulder, and tilted his head.

"Wedge!" he greeted blithely.

[No, that's Luke, you idiot] Chewbacca snarled impatiently, Luke at his side.

Han frowned, consternated. Leia backed away, and folded her arms.

"I'm sorry about the hammock, Chewie," she said guiltily. "I thought he was safe in his room."

[Why don't you take him to your room, and get him out of my hair?] Chewie grumbled.

Leia blinked at him, uncomprehending.

"He said," Han began, yawning, "that I have to go to your room and sleep."

Shocked, Leia looked between them. Han shrugged, disoriented. Luke glared at the Wookiee.

"I can't walk him through the base; someone will definitely know something is wrong," Leia argued.

[I can't get anything done on this ship if I have to dog his every move! The whole reason I asked you to do it is because he wouldn't stop talking about you!]

"What did he say?" Leia asked Han, exasperated – last time, Threepio had been here to interpret Chewie's favor.

Han concentrated. He looked confused, and then said:

"You have to stay because I kept asking for you," he translated. Outraged suddenly, he glared at his co-pilot. "I did not!"

[Where's Leia, I want Leia – Leia, Leia, Leia!] Chewie went roaring off down the hall, and Luke looked at them both, embarrassed.

Leia looked at her feet for a moment, and then sighed. Han leaned back against the wall, slumping.

"If anyone needs me, just tell them Captain Solo needed me to help with something on the ship," she said. "Something in a small space, that only I could fit or something."

"What are you going to do?" Luke asked.

"Stay here with him," Leia decided. "Until he sleeps it off."

Luke raised his eyebrows, and then shook his head, turning to stride away. He dragged his feet a little, not bothering to shut the cabin door, and Leia sensed a slight hostility emanating from him. She frowned a little – when was that boy going to get over his crush? She felt – she felt like he was family; like a brother – why didn't he feel that, too?

Turning her back to the entrance, she sat down on the bunk, and reached out, taking Han's temple in her hands.

"Let me get some bacta for this," she said.

He made a noncommittal noise in his throat and blinked tiredly, his expression a little blurry. He leaned forward and rested his head on her shoulder, closing his eyes heavily. His jaw was warm; his hair tickled her throat. She shifted slightly, surprised.

"Am I dreaming?" he asked after a moment, still grappling with the drug and alcohol cocktail.

Leia smiled a little. She put her hand on his head, threading her fingers through his hair.

"Yes," she answered lightly, teasing him.

He shifted his head slightly, blinking. He sighed contently.

"Don't wake me up," he ordered gruffly.

Leia compressed her lips – she'd expected a joke, something about how if this were a dream, she'd be naked; it never came, his breathing just – miraculously, it evened out, even in this absurdly uncomfortable position.

She didn't move him, even then. If his dreams were as innocent as resting his head on her shoulder, then she was content to let them continue.

han is so adorable, i love him.

-alexandra

story#278