"Our mechanics will need weeks, potentially months, to rebuild the engines on the Falcon, we don't have enough spare parts as it is, or the right kind of Corellian alloys to rebuild the whole aft quarter of the ship-"

He just stands there, arms up, waiting for her to stop yelling. She hits his chest twice, hard enough that her fists sting and he just stands there, like an idiot because he's an idiot and there's no escaping that, not even with the Falcon.

"How could you be so stupid!"

"I wasn't intending to get hit, I can usually fly out of the way of those missiles. Just didn't work, Leia."

No your highness, your worshipfulness, or other nickname she can get angry over. He stands there until she's not yelling, not even talking, and her heart races so loud in her ears that maybe she couldn't hear him, even if he did. She half wants to shoot him and he didn't even call her princess.

She takes a step and rests her head against his chest and the familiar metal, dust and leather of the Falcon still clings to him. Leia can barely breathe because everything's been cold, dry, not really here, since he missed his checkpoint.

Then they found the wreckage, and it wasn't much of the same damn Corellian alloy as the Falcon, but it could have been enough, and Han's engines were blown to pieces so he limped out of the main shipping lanes and it took them weeks to find him.

"You could have been dead."

"But I wasn't," he says and that's him, cocky and teasing and somehow invincible, but she can't lose him. He knows that. He has to know that. "Hey, I know that scared you. It scared me because I knew you'd worry and I knew you wouldn't be able to look for me, and that you'd be concerned."

"Concerned?" her voice breaks on the question and she doesn't even care. The whole New Republic could be watching right now and they can all fly off the outer rim on a garbage scow for all she cares. Her tears that burn their way free from her eyes and her nose hurts from not crying, even though now she is crying and her whole head aches.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He hugs her so tightly that her feet are off the floor. "All I thought about was that you'd worry, and I had no way of letting you know I was okay, and I was," he promises. He sets her down and kisses her. "I know how many people you've lost, and I don't intend to be one of them. I'll come back, as long as I can, okay?"

She nods into his chest, because Han, Luke and the Rebellion are the only family she has left, and he knows that. It's easier for him to say it, because when she lets that sorrow have words it creeps into her and digs deep. She was almost home. Her parents were so worried about that mission, but it was vital, and they understood. They must have.

Maybe Han gets the brunt of that unspent anger, her unconquered tears, because she's the one who left her parents. She's the one who stood on the bridge of the Death Star and watched them die.

She signed the order for Han's mission, told him he should go, even kissed him goodbye. For twenty-two days, she thought he was dead, and knew it was her fault.

Like her parents. Her planet.

He kisses her forehead, leaning down over her as if he can shelter her from this. "If I could have sent a message, I would have."

"I know," she says, but her throat's so tight that she might not have enough made a sound. She trembles, not because she's afraid, but because of the strength it takes not to crumble against him. "I know."

"Come here," he replies, holding her so tightly against him that she doesn't need to stand, barely needs to breathe. He's back, and alive, and he'll be here for months while they fix his damn ship. He'll be obnoxious, because he hates being grounded, but he'll be here.

"Anything happen while I was gone?" His voice is light, easy, and he's doing it for her, because he must be able to feel the heat of her tears through his shirt. She sniffs and shakes her head. "Luke cause any more trouble? Threepio offend any important delegations? Lando, he must have done something, he's a menace to polite company"

She can't come up with any kind of witty answer. Eventually she looks up, but his smile's too gentle, too patient and apologetic and she can't speak. She can't-

He wraps his arm around her shoulders, tall and warm against her, walking them away from everyone else, out across the landing strip. The first group of moons rise over the thick, dark trees, glowing red from the dying sun of this system. She's not angry with him, not really, but she doesn't have the right words for this. She can barely think about speaking before her throat closes. Loving her parents was so much easier than this, than him, because she never doubted them.

Is that it? Is she afraid of him? He kisses her head again and that's not it. She trusts him. That part of her, she can't yet call the force because she's no Jedi, trusts him. She's not afraid of Han Solo. She's always known who to trust. Luke tells her that's the Force, guiding her before she even knew what it was. Han would laugh so hard if she told him that the Force thinks he's a good guy.

"So, what were sunsets like on Alderaan?"

"Pretty," she mumbles, sitting down next to him on a tree trunk that fell long before the rebel base arrived on this planet.

"Purple?"

He shouldn't remember that, but he does, of course.

"Only in the winter."

"Right," he nods, wrapping her fingers in his. "What did they look like in the summer?"

"Why do you keep asking me?"

He turns to her, his dark eyes soft and seemingly endless in the red light of the dual moonrise. "I don't want you to forget."

She snuggles closer into his chest. "I won't forget." They watch the night come, and the stars creep through the trees one by one. "What do you remember?"

"Of Alderaan?" he asks, rubbing the back of her hand. "An asteroid field, a pretty nice landing bay that I had to get out of really fast, it was one of the nice planets, people like me didn't go there often."

"Too close to the inner ring."

"Too civilized. Never picked up a good contract there," he says, and his eyes sparkle. Smugglers are everywhere and his old contacts have been useful. "Still, it's almost where we met, because I can't romanticize the Death Star. Your parents would have hated me."

She kisses that idea quiet. "My mother was the most practical person I've known. You're a good man, a good pilot, a good leader in a fight, you're true to your word and I love you. My father appreciated that people could come from anywhere and rise to be better than they were." Maybe they wouldn't have been that thrilled about her being involved with someone with a price on his head, but they would have gotten over that. They trusted her. "What do you remember of your parents?"

Han shakes his head then kisses her forehead. "Nothing. I had parents, and they died. I remember being in a lot of trouble, getting arrested, running away, learning how not to get shot at, learning to hide. Most places were a lot worse than the dive I met Luke in, maybe a little better than Hoth. No wampas on Corellia, but there were some nasty things down in the city sewers that you wouldn't want hear at night."

"So you don't think that's important to remember?" she asks, half-teasing.

"I think it's okay to let that go, but Alderaan was a good place, with good people, and the rainforest-"

Leia stares down at the dirt beneath their boots, her heart sinking into that dark place she doesn't know how to avoid. "They're still dead."

He nudges her boot with his. "I like to hear about them."

"You're just doing it for me," she says, looking up back into his eyes. He's still too sincere, too caring. For all his feigned brashness, he can't hide his love for her. Maybe that's what makes this so comfortable.

Han's rough fingers brush her chin, then her cheek. "I like knowing you grew up someone safe, somewhere happy. It means you know what that looks like. Maybe even how to do that."

"Do what?"

His lips move but he doesn't kiss her. "I just think, if we're going to do this, you and me, one of us should know what it looks like when it's good. I've had years to make a mess of my own life, but with you, it should be something different, something respectable."

She starts to tease him, but she sees only love in the way his eyes are open, warm. "You want to be respectable?"

"No," he starts, shifting his weight on the log. He fidgets with her fingers, trying to find his thoughts. "And yes, I want to be with you, so yeah, I'd do respectable. I have no idea what that looks like, because I've never seen it up close. It's different out there on the outer rim, some people make it together, have other people, but most of the time, you're alone, and I know what that's like. I don't even remember the family I came from." He takes both of her hands, half-losing his seat to do it. "And I didn't think I wanted anything like that, but I do, Leia."

"Is this some kind of proposal?" she asks, hating the edge in her own voice. Just because her parents were good at being married doesn't mean she has the first idea…

But she loves him and she's not afraid.

"Yeah," he replies. "I think, do you want it to be?"

"I didn't let myself think I would have a family," she says, stroking his cheek. "Of any kind. The galaxy was at war, how could I possibly-? And I learned to lead people, not to be with them. Then you crashed into my life, hotshot, and yes, I would like it to be. If that's all right."

"Marry me?" The words are out of his mouth a heartbeat after she finishes and she kisses him.

"I will."