Standard disclaimers apply.

Late for a meeting and behind on several days worth of paperwork thanks to a surprise Imperial attack and a caf incident with the Rogues, Leia Organa's heart drops to somewhere around mid-stomach when she sees Han Solo making a beeline down the hallway towards her.

"Hey Your Worship, wait up. We need to talk."

Leia cringes at Han's tone. Normally (if they can call any exchange between them normal) the lecturing and berating falls to her, while he whines about protocol and snarks suggestively when she pauses to take a breath. But now, his voice is dangerously authoritative. And she's really not in the mood to feed his sudden power trip today.

"Oh, we do?" She rolls her eyes and turns away, but he moves past her to block her escape — not running to catch her like he often does, but simply taking bigger strides. Her shorter legs can't keep up, and he knows she won't abandon her dignity enough to run. It looks like they're having this conversation after all.

"Do you know what this is?" He waves a sheet of flimsi in her face, narrowing his eyes to read her reaction. She doesn't give him one, besides mild annoyance and a raised eyebrow. She expects this in turn to annoy him — he certainly deserves it for interrupting her routine.

It works. He scowls, staring down at her expectantly.

"I don't, but I'm guessing it isn't good," she finally mutters unhelpfully, hands on her hips. She'd never show it, but he's actually starting to make her a little nervous. His face is too serious. It doesn't suit him.

He hands the flimsi to her, scowl deepening. "It's your medical file. Somebody thought it would be a good idea to brief me before we leave tomorrow. Damn good thing, too."

"And why is that?" she demands, mood shifting quickly from annoyed to angry. "You have no right–"

"I'm leading this mission, Princess," he says with a smug grin that doesn't reach his eyes. "I have every right; in fact, it's my responsibility to make sure all my information is up-to-date."

"You're not a member of the Alliance," she shoots back. "The formalities hardly apply."

"So keeping you safe is a formality now, Leia?" He shakes his head, incredulous. "This isn't some joke about me not condemning myself to your cause. This is your life." His face softens, and she panics as he starts to lean closer.

"Your concern is touching, but my life is fine," she says sharply, stepping back. "I don't know why you're acting like this, but nothing in there affects the mission–"

"Do you know how many medications you're on?"

Sithspit.

"Three?" She bites her lip at the lie and shoves the file back at him without looking at it. She knows exactly what it says anyway.

"Seven."

"Han, it's nothing."

"Nothing? Nothing?" He turns his attention to the flimsi and starts to read. "Nerve stimulants. Anti-depressants. Anti-anxiety. Sleeping aids. Pain meds–"

"Stop, please–"

"What the hell, Leia? This is enough to–"

"Shut up, Han!"

She snatches the file back from his hand and glares at him as several Rogues walk by silently, clearly straining their ears for the details of this latest fight — she suspects her and Han's antics are quickly becoming the base's primary source of entertainment, and she resents it. Han raises his eyebrow at her, and reclaims the file after they turn the corner out of sight.

"It's been six months. I didn't think — I hoped you were—" He trails off, a funny look in his eyes. She thinks it might be pity, and it makes her want to kill him. She settles for a particularly scathing look.

"I'm fine. I'm— I'm handling it."

"With enough drugs to knock out a bantha? That's handling it?" He scoffs, shaking his head.

"Apparently so," she says dryly, resisting the urge to kick him. "At least I'm still functioning. Your "medication" doesn't work half as well — I've seen you hungover–" And you weren't tortured for days. You didn't lose your entire planet. The implication of the scale of her loss hovers between them.

"Corellian ale is tame compared to all this, and that's a sentence I've honestly never even thought about uttering before," Han says finally. "I just can't believe that your judgement can be clear enough to leave the base."

"Honestly, Han? You've never seen me not drugged, by one person or another. And don't think you can pull this high-and-mighty attitude on me — you smuggled spice for a living!"

"I'm not being high-and-mighty. You're not doing anything wrong. I just don't understand why they're still giving this to you if it isn't working."

"It's helping," she says weakly. Even she is unconvinced by her tone.

"Clearly not enough."

She sighs. "I don't think they know what else to do," she murmurs, avoiding his eyes. "Nobody knows what to do with me."

Han stares at her, trying to think of something remotely comforting to say. Finally, he just shakes his head. "Well, I know what not to do with you — bring you tomorrow."

Her jaw drops. "You aren't serious."

"I am."

"You can't do that. You need me for this. You need me."

He shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets and leaning back against the wall. The picture of confidence — and she doesn't buy it for a second. "I'll be fine on my own."

"Really? You're going to diplomatically negotiate the release of weapons to the Alliance, and not even in Basic?" She doesn't bother to hide her skepticism. He'd probably get executed before he even opened his mouth.

"Hey. I can be diplomatic if I have to be," he whines. Leia rolls her eyes.

"Your job is to sneak past ships and shoot the ones who notice you. My job is to talk to people."

Han opens his mouth indignantly, but closes it rather quickly as he realizes he has no argument to that statement. But he can't hide the worry in his expression at the thought of her leaving the safety of the base.

"Are you at least seeing somebody about this?" he asks gently, bending down a little to finally meet her eyes. She holds his gaze for a heartbeat, then looks away again.

"There will be plenty of time for that once we've won the war."

"Isn't that a little optimistic?" he says, frowning. "There's no guarantee this thing will even be over in our lifetime. You need to take care of yourself now."

She doesn't answer, but something in her expression must give her away. Han suppresses a shiver at the empty look in her eyes and quickly becomes angry again. But this time, it's not directed at her.

"Hey. Don't make that face. You're gonna make it out of this alive." When she doesn't respond, he grabs her shoulders and forces her to look up at him. "You don't need to sacrifice anything else, Leia."

She only shakes her head. "They've already taken everything from me. It wouldn't really be much of a sacrifice, would it." It's not a question.

"The Rebellion needs a leader, not a martyr," he says in a deadly serious voice. Then he lets go of her and runs his fingers through his hair with a sigh. "You're doing a terrible job of convincing me you're fit for duty."

"You have no choice, you know that. And even if you did, I don't … I don't think you could fix this." Fix me.

His eyes are gentle again, and for some reason it makes her want to cry. She hasn't cried in six months — she blames the meds for that. "I wish I could," he says softly. "I wish I could."

"Why do you even care?" she demands, sniffing violently and taking several more steps back. She fully intends to escape now. "Worry about yourself."

"Everybody needs somebody looking out for them," he says. "I can't shake the feeling you're becoming my responsibility." He steps back as well. She knows he's letting her go, and is shocked by the feeling of sadness that steals over her at the realization. She wanted to leave. She has paperwork to do, people to update, a rebellion to run.

So why does it hurt that he's no longer chasing after her?

Maybe she isn't ready to run quite yet. "Well, who looks out for you?"

His answer is automatic and exact, the kind that doesn't even require thinking. "Chewie."

She makes a face, which he misinterprets spectacularly. In his defense, she supposes her "walking carpet" comment and similar insults haven't exactly given her the best track record with his friend.

"Hey now. Just because he's not human doesn't mean–"

"Please, Captain, that's the last thing I meant. I'm just astounded by his ability to overlook your flaws and spend so much time with you. I have to wonder if it's not some strange form of attraction. Born from pity, perhaps?" She smirks wickedly to let him know she's kidding, and he grins back, ready to play.

"The way I understand it, I wasn't originally supposed to go on this mission tomorrow. You specifically requested my incredible talents. If that's not you overlooking my 'flaws,' as you call them, and choosing to spend time with me, then I don't know what it is."

She scoffs, dismissing his accusation with the wave of a regal hand. "Your skill set is beneficial for this mission, that's all. You're skilled at evading the Empire."

"And the Rogues aren't?"

"The Rogues are needed elsewhere; there are plenty of missions underway at any given moment, after all. But since we can't actually get you to commit to anything that doesn't directly profit you…"

"I'll make a profit from this?" he asks innocently. "That's news to me!"

Leia groans. "Don't play dumb, Captain. I'm sure they're paying handsomely."

"Was that a compliment?"

She frowns. How did he arrive at that conclusion? "No?"

"I think it was!" A smile spreads slowly across his face, and his eyes glint mischievously. "You think I'm smart. And handsome."

Really? "No, I don't–"

His grin is downright wicked now, and he eyes her with pretend disbelief. "Are you attracted to me?"

"Of course not, you– you– Get out of my way!"

Unable to think of a proper insult, and yet still strangely flattered by the strange, confrontational way he voiced his concern for her, she storms away successfully this time. But she can feel his eyes on her until she turns the corner and disappears from his sight.

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KnightNight7203