Disclaimer: Star Wars belongs to Lucasfilm. My only profit from writing this story was awakening the force within myself! Please review, fav, or follow if it speaks to you.

Note: It is so interesting to me that it took me months to publish this piece. I kept thinking it wasn't right, I had to change it, Leia loved him too much, it didn't pass the Bechdel test. But, readying it for publishing now has made me like it all over again. Besides a few words here and there, this is how it came out when I was still caught in the rush of Never Will I Ever. I feel like its a metaphor for how we look at ourselves. Oh, I'd be so much better if I was this way or that way, if I had this thing or that thing, but really we are all unique and strange and lovely just the way we are. What makes fanfic and people so fun is how different our perspectives can be regarding the same thing: be it life or Star Wars. Much love, Flick.


The sound of my commlink pinging wakes me. For a moment I am completely disoriented. I'm warmer than I ever am and surrounded by the smell of engine oil, soap, and Han. My eyes snap open. We're still wrapped around each other, but at some point we've switched places. Both his arms encircle me and my face is pressed into his shoulder. It's the most wonderful thing I've ever felt.

But the pinging continues and I'm forced to weigh my options. No matter how natural this feels, the truth is it isn't. I drugged him then took advantage of the situation. I'm pretty certain Han wouldn't see it that way, but the thought is enough to push me into action.

He seems to have other ideas about that. As I slowly start to extricate myself, he makes a grumbling noise and pulls me closer. I freeze, certain that he's woken up. But when I risk a glance at his face, his eyes are still closed.

I can't help it. I just stare at him for a few moments. I don't know when I'll have the chance to be this close again, at least in my waking hours. His lashes are longer than I thought, elegantly brushing his cheek bones. That scar seems to be standing out more than it usually does. And his lips are as sensual as ever, even in sleep. The bottom one protrudes, ever so slightly.

I truly have to draw the line now. The urge to lean forward and close the distance of a few centims, is too strong.

I wriggle out of his hold almost losing it as his hand runs across the ticklish spot he discovered a few days ago. He's frowning, looking so like his waking self that it makes me smile. I finally give into the desire that pushed me away and place my lips on his forehead. He takes a deep breath then settles back against the pillow.

Gods, I—

PING PING PING

It's my commlink again, and I spring away, heart beating wildly. I turn to my jacket, and fish through the pockets, just wanting to stop the blaring noise. At least it seems blaring. I hit a button and a voice crackles through the speaker.

"Princess Leia?"

I start and look over my shoulder, feeling strangely guilty.

"Friedrich?" I whisper.

"I've been trying to reach you," he says, voice sounding a million lightyears away.

"One moment," I say, scooping up my jacket and throwing one last longing look at Han, "Let me step out."

Without pausing to think anymore, I palm open the door and slip into the corridor. I feel that tug in my middle that tells me to turn around, to snuggle back into the arms of my Captain. But, duty is calling as it always does, and I must answer.

I consider leaving the Falcon entirely, but the hangar will be loud, so I step into the common area and sink into the banquette.

"Friedrich, come in," I say, now in a more normal voice.

"Leia," he says, somehow transmitting warmth over the distance, "how wonderful to hear your voice."

I sigh. It's never a straight line with Friedrich.

"Thank you," I say and then catch myself, "It's good to hear from you too."

"Do I sound different?" he says, his Alderaanian heritage showing through the lilt of the question.

"I'm not sure what you mean," I laugh.

"Tabeera and I were married last month. We've only just arrived back from the traditional caravan around Lueshant."

"How wonderful," I say. My heart twists a little, and I'm not sure why. It certainly isn't jealousy towards an old suitor. Well, maybe it is, in a way. No matter what Shara says, I still can't imagine Han ever wanting to…

"…a gift for you," he says.

I realize I've tuned him out.

"I'm sorry, Friedrich, I was distracted by your lovely news. Can you repeat that?"

"Another…organization would like to offer its services to the Rebellion. You know of the Black Sun?"

A shiver runs through me at the name, but I can't quite place its origin.

"Is it another…family?" I leave out the word crime.

He chuckles.

"Still as innocent as ever," he chides. I bristle slightly at his patronizing tone. Has he always been this way?

"Just tell me," I say, careful to keep the waspishness out of my voice.

"They are much more…far-reaching than the Beemers. They're members are highly trained operatives that infiltrate many levels of society. Having them as an ally could be very much a game changer."

I'm listening now, pique forgotten.

"A high-ranking master has been in talks with our elders, and he has decided to follow our lead. The strides you have made, particularly the recent disruption of communication in the Outer Rim has convinced them that now is the time for action."

"I have to take this to High Command, Friedrich. Can you put us in touch with them?"

"Yes…" he sounds hesitant, "but there is one stipulation. They want to work with you. After hearing about your involvement on Lueshant, they trust that you will act with discretion. But only you."

This makes me pause. But only for a flick.

"That can be arranged" I say. "I will have to take a small team of course."

"I believe that will be permissible," he says. I hate his tone. I hate that my old friend has become part of this dark, controlling world. But, I have to put that aside and take this opportunity for my soldiers, my cause, and all of our friends and family that are gone forever.

"Right," I say, reminding myself that the end is right even though the means may be very wrong. "What happens next?"


I bring the news to High Command and they are thrilled. It's not often that I would describe any of the members of our highest rank to be really emotive, but I can feel the palpable relief spread through the room. We are stretched thin these days. The news that an influx of money and information could be coming our way is very welcome.

The next step is to make contact with the Black Sun. Friedrich said that an emissary would reach out to me in the next few days. I wish they would be less vague, but I am also secretly relieved to have a window of time. The dance is the day after tomorrow, and, for once, I am having a hard time staying focus on my Very Important Calling.

Instead my mind floats along, rifling through my salvaged wardrobe and imagining his hands on me again. I haven't seen Han since we slept together, but I feel oddly calm about it. When I worry about his possible departure I remember the way he was that night and remind myself what he said in my dreams.

"I'll stay as long as you'll have me."

He finds me in the mess going over plans for the dance floor with Timmon. One moment she's speaking intently, like we're planning the most covert of missions, and the next her eyes widen and she's jabbing me with her elbow.

"Ouch," I grumble, "I'm listening. I'm just not sure how the pilots will feel about garlands on their…"

"Hey, Princess," Han says.

I swivel on my chair, heartbeat already picking up speed.

He looks lightyears better and his voice sounds more normal, but my eyes are drawn to what he carries in his hands.

If Mon Mothma herself had told me what he'd brought, I wouldn't have believed her.

"Wanted to thank you," he says, handing me a spray of bright red lilies. They grow on this planet and are coveted for their beauty and their mystical properties, but they're hard to find. And especially in these quantities. There must be two dozen of them.

Timmon's eyes bug out even further as he puts the flowers in my hand.

"Where did you find those?" she breathes, reaching out a finger to touch one. I blink disbelievingly as the plant moves toward her finger and seems to nuzzle it.

I can hear the smile in Han's voice before I look back up at him. I'm used to his cocky swagger, but the look on his face is much more authentic this time. Pleased pride with a hint of nerves.

"Had to take the Falcon out for a test run. After we fixed the air system. These were over in the 13th quadrant," he looks at me now, "you'd like it there, Princess. Only went to Alderaan the one time, but it has the same kind of cliffs. And the water's so clear you can see twenty metims down."

I feel like my heart might burst. The flowers, the way he's talking, the look in his eye…

"Ummm, I'm gonna go ask Wedge about his ship," Timmon says in a pained tone, "but don't do anything with those flowers until I have a look at them?"

I turn back to her and see the hungry look in her eyes. Her people are botanists, very in tune with the natural world. I can tell it's driving her crazy to give us some privacy.

"I promise, Timmon," I say, "I'll give you one if you'd like."

She looks so pleased at this, that I pluck one from the bunch and hand it to her before she goes. It curls around her finger and nestles like a newborn kitten in her hand.

"On second thought," she says, staring down at it, "Wedge can wait."

In a flash, she's out of the mess and Han and I are left in the oddly quiet space. It's between meals right now, the hour I used to take coffee and cake at home. I have a cup before me, but I gave up about halfway through.

I'm not sure what to make of the gently swaying creatures in my hand, so I look at Han. His eyes are on me, and the electricity is instant.

"Thank you," I say, "I've never gotten flowers before."

He frowns, "How's that possible?"

I shrug. "I suppose people assume royals have enough of them."

"Well, did you?"

I laugh. "Probably. But none that were…like this."

I'm not sure what I mean by that statement, but he seems to appreciate it. He tilts his head and reaches a hand towards them.

A couple stretch up and kiss his finger tips. I feel an odd mixture of envy and gratitude.

"Interesting little buggers," he said, "I knew people liked them, but I didn't know they'd be alive."

"All plants are alive," I say, even though I know what he means.

"Touche," he murmurs. "You know what they're supposed to do?"

His knees are on either side of the bench and he feels very close. The only space between us is occupied by the flowers. I shake my head, sure that if I try to speak the words won't come.

"People say they make you tell the truth," he murmurs. The flowers shudder a bit as if in ecstasy.

"Is there something you want to know, Captain?"

His eyes which had drifted to the flowers snap back up to mine. I sense his hesitation.

"There's a lot of things I want to know, Princess."

"What's one?" I ask, willing it to be the one question that matters.

"Did I say anything stupid the other night?"

I laugh in spite of myself.

I want to lob a teasing insult his way, as I normally would, but I pivot. I don't know if it's the flowers or his open hazel eyes, but I smile gently.

"No," I say. "You told me a little about your time on Corellia then you fell asleep."

I do manage to leave out the fact that it was in my arms.

He frowns slightly. "And that was all?"

I hesitate, wondering if the plant really will force me to tell him. But before I can say anything, the moment is interrupted. Of course.

"Wow, those are something," Luke says We both turn and my knee knocks against Han's under the table.

I feel such a surge of irritation that I don't say anything for a moment. Han doesn't either, so the three of us are just left to stare at each other a beat too long.

Finally, I regain control over myself. I nod and look down at the swaying bunch.

"They really are, aren't they?"

"Sorry," Luke sounds a little strange. If I didn't know him better, I'd call it peevishness. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"We're in the mess, kid. It's a free Galaxy. Well," he says, eyes catching mine for a flick, "it will be."

I want to go back to the moment before. I want everyone else in this base, on this planet, to disappear. But when do I ever get what I want these days?

"Did you need something, Luke?" I sound so put out that his face clouds over.

"Just wanted to offer to help you and Timmon. Shara told me you'd be in here."

I feel a little chagrined at this.

"Thank you," I say, "We can certainly use the help."

Han starts to get up, but I put a hand out to stop him.

"We need to talk," I say. Maybe the flowers really do have some effect, because I'm finally cutting to the chase.

Han looks startled by this and glances over at Luke.

"What about?"

"A few days ago, you said you were leaving."

I can feel Luke tense beside me. I'm not sure how but I know he's coiled tight, with a strange mix of apprehension and anticipation.

Han looks at both of us, clearly uncomfortable with being put on the spot like this. Too bad.

"I said I was thinking about it," he corrects, in a clumsy dodge.

"Well, you've had time to think," I say, urging him on.

"What, when I was sick as a dog or when I was unconscious?"

"Han—" I say.

"He's not going anywhere," Luke says. "The Epsilon Cooridor has been completely shut down by an Imperial blockade."

Both Han and I turn to look at him again.

"You knew that didn't you, Han? They closed it last month."

I frown at this revelation. Does that mean—?

Han stands, breaking our contact and raking a hand through his hair.

"Last time I checked, I didn't exactly play by the rules, kid. Smuggler, remember?"

Luke looks at him skeptically.

"But you don't have a death wish," he says.

"No," Han grounds out.

I'm so confused at this point I'm not sure what to do.

Was Shara really right? Was it all just some sort of test?

There's a strange energy between the two men now. I glance up to find them measuring each other. Finally Han smiles, but the expression doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"For now, we're here. But the game's always changing."

"Yeah, what game is that?" Luke could be joking, but he isn't

"It's all a game, kid. Enjoy the flowers, Princess." With that, Han walks purposely away from the table.

I stare after Han, willing him to come back. He slows a little looking as if he's about to turn, but then he surges forward and out the door.

"He was lying, you know," Luke says.

I nod.

"Just trying to mess with our heads," Luke says. "Or maybe with your heart."

I look back at him, startled by his pointed comment.

Whatever he sees in my face makes his shoulders sag and his eyes drop to the ground.

"I'd hoped I was wrong about that one."

"Luke…" I say, wanting to comfort him, but strangely not wanting to correct him.

"Han's my friend. I care about him, Leia. But…he's…how can you? You're so…"

He's at a loss, the words trailing off as his eyes search my face in vain.

"I'm so what?"

This seems to focus him.

"You're so much better than he is. You're a princess, a senator, a leader of the rebellion. He's just—"

"Just a man," I finish. "He's just a man. And I'm just a woman. It happens everyday."

"Not everyday," Luke says, glumly.

"I'm sorry," I say. Both of us are aware of what I'm apologizing for.

Luke shrugs.

"I'm just worried about you," he lies. "He's not the kind of guy who sticks around…"

"He has so far," I say.

Luke seems to return to himself at this. "Yeah, he has. But, Leia…if you ever looked at me the way you look at him," he glances away at this and takes a deep breath, "I wouldn't even consider leaving you. And I certainly wouldn't be lying about it."

I know he's right. Luke is a good man, a hero. Han, no matter how big his hidden heart, is a little bit crooked, bruised and battered by life. Why does that make me want him all the more?

"I'll remember that," I say.

I look down at the flowers. They seem to have cocked their heads in interest. It only occurs to me then how truthful this whole conversation has been. None of it seems totally unnatural, but still…

"I always thought," Luke says, not noticing my musings, "that we had a sort of connection."

I feel his longing and his hurt. I blink. How can I feel that?

"I know what you mean," I say, even though all I want is to stop this conversation and flee the room.

He looks up at me, hope brightening his features.

"You feel it too?" he asks.

I open my mouth and close it, truly not sure how to put into words what I feel.

"It's like," he begins, "it's like sometimes I know where you are. And…I can kind of sense how you're feeling." He glances behind him. I wonder if he's thinking about my feelings for Han.

"You're Force sensitive," I murmur, "that makes sense."

He shakes his head.

"It's different. I still can't really do it with other people. I should be able to. One day, with a lot of practice, I think I will. If Ben was still here…" his voice trails off and his eyes dampen again for a beat. Then he shakes it off, reengaging. "With others, I'll pick up a little bit here and there, but with you, it's more consistent and…and sometimes I feel like you're there with me too."

I shake my head.

"It must just be your…the way you feel about me."

"Or…" his gaze is too piercing.

"I don't have the Force, Luke."

"How do you know?"

"I just do. I don't. I can't—" my heart is racing, and I start to feel my throat tighten. I'm shocked by the feeling. I had panic attacks as a little girl, but I haven't had one in years. I swallow convulsively, trying to push it away.

"It's alright, Leia. I'm sorry," Luke puts his hands out and rubs my shoulders, voice soothing and apologetic. "It was just a theory. Maybe a little bit of wishful thinking."

My hands are shaking slightly, and I can feel the stems of the flowers wrap around my wrists. They feel both comforting and confining, somewhere between a gentle touch and a pair of handcuffs. I want to tell him, can feel the words bubbling up inside. About Vader, about the dreams, about the fact that everything he says I've felt as well…

But a fear rises in me, so powerful, I feel the flowers shy away. It stiffens my spine and slams an old, familiar door closed in my mind. I'll just add this conversation to my many other secrets.

What comes out of my mouth is as much the truth as anything else.

"I wouldn't wish for that."


"Why don't you look excited?" Timmon asks, catching my eye in the mirror.

I flash her a smile, but feel the tightness in my chest. I don't know if the nerves have more to do with Han or Luke or the fact that I'm allowing Timmon to do my hair.

"I am excited," I assure her.

"She's just nervous," Shara puts in. Timmon has already worked her magic on her, creating an elegant twist with her glossy black hair. Seeing how beautiful she looks has finally allowed me to cede control over to the tiny Roh-aster. It's been years since I've had someone do my hair. It was one of my first little rebellions back in my early teens. My aunts could pick out my clothes and dress me and make me go wherever they wanted, but I was in charge of my hair.

Of course, this led to more than a few disasters, but eventually I got the hang of it. And it's served me well since the Rebellion certainly can't afford to employ a fleet of hairdressers.

Timmon has been pruning my locks for the last hour. At first she was in awe over the sheer quantity of it when released from it's perpetual weave. I think a few minutes ago, the fatigue finally set in. But, none of us seem to really mind the wait too much. Our conversation has been sparkling tonight, both deeper and sillier than it has been before. I have a feeling it has something to do with the vase of bright red lilies on my dresser.

"You have nothing to be nervous about," Timmon sings, "You are going to look so beautiful that no man, not even Han Solo, will be able to resist you."

"No man, huh? Don't want to make her that beautiful, or there won't be anyone left for you, Timmi."

Timmon laughs.

"You're right. I'll have to hold back just a bit."

I look up at Timmon's hair, dyed bright blue for the occasion. It shimmers slightly in the light. The lavender velvet she borrowed should contrast horribly with it, but somehow the picture is delightfully intriguing. "I don't think anyone will be able to ignore you tonight," I say.

She winks at me, "Well, that's the idea."

I still haven't decided what to wear. Shara tried on a couple dresses, but decided on a black sheath of her own paired with the silken wrap she was drawn to the first time we opened the box. I'm planning on giving it to her since it looks so stunning against her tan skin.

That leaves too many choices for me. I would have scoffed at this three years ago. On Coruscant, I had more dresses than I could ever need, in every color and style. I don't remember hemming and hawing back then. My mind was on bigger things. I always knew exactly which outfit would suit the occasion, and made a beeline for that. I don't remember taking much enjoyment out of the process, just business as usual.

How is it that here, in the middle of the most high-stakes, dangerous time of my life, I'm acting more the girl than I ever have? I must have tried on every dress in that box five times in the last week. I've stared at myself in the mirror, swathed in dark green and wrapped in peachy-gold, just luxuriating in the feel of my femininity. For once, my hidden insecurity is silenced.

I know that no matter what I chose, I'll look lovely. I'm certain that fire that burns behind his eyes will flare up. I'm pretty sure he'll take me in his arms and whirl me around the dance floor. I just wish that conversation in the mess hadn't happened. I was so close to letting myself go, so close to trusting him, and then that strange story came out. It doesn't sit well with me, the idea of him coming up with this imagined job just to—what?—bait me?

I've never thought of Han as anything but forthright. Well, that's not entirely true. That first year, I wondered along with everyone if he was working with the Empire. But, as time went on, I'd decided he didn't have it in him, to deceive anyone at that level for that long. He'd lose patience. And then, as I got to know him still better, I'd decided he'd consider it beneath him. He had a code, a different one than me or Luke, but one that he took very seriously.

Or so I thought.

A strange sensation startles me out of my musings. I look up and see one of the lilies curled around my ear and pressed against my temple.

"I'm feeling inspired," Timmon says.

She ends up leaving my hair down, but wraps it in a net of lilies. They turn out to be very easy to work with, following her hands and winding around each other in an intricate weave. It's truly stunning, and it bolsters me in a way. At least I can imagine that whatever comes out of Han's mouth tonight will be the truth.

My new hair accessory decides me, and I slip on the dark green dress. It's made out of a rare material that molds to my skin yet flows at the same time. I twirl before the mirror to show the effect to my friends. The skirt whirls out before fluttering back around my legs. The dress seems as alive as the flowers in my hair.

"He won't know what hit him," Shara grins.

I feel myself blush and my heart pound as I glance at myself one more time in the mirror. I don't think I've shown this much skin since that ceremony on Yavin IV. My arms are bare as is my décolletage. The dress cuts across my shoulders and meets in a V at my sternum. The hint of cleavage is both alluring and tasteful. I wish I had a necklace to drape across my bare neck, but unfortunately my jewelry stayed on Coruscant long after I did.

On our way out the door, I pluck one of the remaining lilies out of the vase and drape it across my neck. Just as I imagined, it loops around my throat and rests against my chest, the bud just brushing the dip above my collar.

It's the first thing that catches his eye and allows me a blissful moment to study him before his eyes meet mine. He doesn't look all that different and yet the effect makes my heart stutter. Someone has cut his hair as well. Gone are the too long locks, and in it's place is a sharp style that frames his face but still leaves enough for me to run my hands through.

If the opportunity ever arises, that is.

His jacket is dark blue and one I haven't seen before. It's as sharp as the hair, hugging his broad shoulders and framing his neck almost in mockery of a Naval uniform. The shirt he wears underneath is crisp, rather than softened with age, and his boots have been glossed to a high shine. The touches are subtle, but the intent behind them is as plain as day.

Whatever knot had been around my heart loosens as I take him in. And then his eyes meet mine. The heat in them could melt steel. It certainly melts me.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. For once, my snarky spacer is at a loss for words.

I'm struck by this scene for a moment. It reminds me of something. The planes nosing into the space, the colors of the flowers and the lights, the sound of the music. Voices laughing and feet hitting the floor as couples dance their troubles away. I'm sure I've dreamed this, or something very like it.

Han clears his throat.

"Wanna dance?"

I nod and he reaches for me, slipping his hand around my waist. I almost laugh. We aren't even on the dance floor. It's a few metims behind us. We're in the middle of the crowd, but here we are, wrapped around each other, his head resting on my hair for a moment.

His breath tickles my crown and then I feel his chest rise a little in a surprised intake.

"You've got them in your hair," he says. I feel a hand raise to touch the lilies, and the stems rustle against the nape of my neck as they reach towards him ever so slightly.

"They were too beautiful to leave in my room."

The heat between us is overwhelming. I glance to the side, trying to catch my breath and realize that he's been slowly moving us into the dancers. The music changes to something a little jauntier, and I tip back to look at him.

"You're here," I say.

He nods, eyes still looking a little dazed as they take me in.

"Why did you lie about the trade route, Han?"

A devilish twinkle shows in his eye and then he's spinning me away from him. I can't help but laugh as he spins me back to him. The dress has done it's trick, and earns me a few appreciative whistles. Han seems to like this if the cocky smile is anything to go by.

"That's quite a dress, Princess," he says, as he tucks me back into his arms.

"Don't change the subject," I reply, grinning uncontrollably at him.

"Wasn't lying," he sighs, "We did have an offer. They figured if anyone could outmaneuver the Empire, it'd be us."

"But you weren't going to do it," I press.

"Not this time, no," he admits.

"Then why did you say it?"

I push against him, wanting to look in his eyes, feeling frustration overtake me, but he doesn't yield. Instead he draws me close again so my ear is resting against his chest. I see Timmon's smiling face. She gives me a thumbs up. A little ways off Luke is dancing with a lovely Dyanne.

"You and Luke looked very cozy," he says. It almost sounds like a non-sequitur but Shara's words come back to me. He's stalking you, making sure there's no one else you want.

One of his hands skims the lilies again while the other holds onto my waist, beating a gentle rhythm against my side.

"So, you said you were leaving?"

I feel him shrug.

"Wanted to give the kid his chance," he says, a little gruffly.

I do lean back now, glaring up at him.

"Thanks for that," I say.

He smirks.

"So, he took it?"

"Maybe," I admit. I can feel Luke's gaze on me, but decide not to respond. Instead I look up at Han, pushing past the moment we would naturally look away.

"And what did you say?" he asks, his eyes flicking to my lips then back up.

"What do you think?" I shoot back, annoyance making my voice a little arch.

He shakes his head, looking tired all of the sudden.

"I can't read your mind, Princess. If I could do that, everything would be a lot simpler."

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Don't have to be sorry. You wouldn't be—"

"That's what I told Luke."

He stops talking and stares down at me.

"You two are so close," he says.

I nod.

"He's practically been in love with you since day one,"

I wince, but nod again.

"And you said, I'm sorry?"

He's nodding with me this time, and I'm pretty sure we look ridiculous.

He lets out a long breath, then strangely, steps away from me.

"You look like a dream," he says. And then he turns me so my back is to his front. Tingles break out across my flesh as his hands run down my arms and encircle me. I know I've lived this before.

"What are you doing to me?" he whispers in my ear.

I'm shivering as I reply almost from memory. "Nothing."

Then a sound breaks through the almost mystical moment. PING PING PING

"You're killing me," he says. This time with humor rather than despair.

PING PING PING

I realize with a sinking pit in my stomach that it's my commlink.

In a daze, I hit the button with shaking fingers.

"Princess, a communication for your eyes only has just arrived from the Black Sun."

Suddenly reality comes rushing back. Han tenses against me, his hands gripping my elbows.

"The Black Sun?" he says blankly.

I am sure in this moment, absolutely sure, that there is some god up there that takes absurd pleasure in mucking up my life. The timing could not be worse.

"Yes," I sigh, beginning to pull away, back to my duties and responsibilities and—

Han is shooting forward, walking ahead of me through the dancing bodies. He snags Luke by the shirt and keeps going. It takes me a moment to register where they're headed. Oh no.

I race after them.

Once we are out of the throng and almost into the winding hallways I allow myself to call out their names. Luke hesitates, but Han pulls him along. I know there's no stopping them now as the heels that I wore for the evening are slowing my pace.

Anger and embarrassment are rising inside of me as I envision the scene that's awaiting.

When I finally make it to the room High Command uses as its headquarters, I can hear Han's voice filtering through the doorway.

"…sound like I was asking?"

"Sir, you have no right to—" the man's voice cuts off and when I round the corner I find Han holding him up by the scruff of his collar.

"Show me the damn message," he says.

The man scrambles a little then hits a button and the video rises on the projector screen above.

"Greetings, Princess," a man's heavily accented voice fills the space. His face is covered so that only his eyes show. "You have heard from Friedrich of the Beemers and now you hear from us. Encoded in this message is a map that will lead you into our mountains on Ord Mantell. There we will discuss how our two causes may benefit each other. When you have entered our territory, we will seek you out. Keep your entourage small, and arrive only on foot."

That's all there is.

"No," Han's voice rebounds off the walls of the mostly empty chamber.

Luke immediately responds, "Han…"

He whirls around and faces me. His face is a tight mask of hostility.

"Now whose the one lying, Princess?"

"Excuse me?"

"When were you planning on telling us about this?"

My mouth opens and then closes and then opens again.

"I am a member of High Command, Han. I do not have to tell you or Luke anything at all."

"Don't give me that," he says. "You didn't say anything because you knew—"

"That it would make into a madman?"

"Yeah," he spits, pacing back and forth, "I'm crazy. Crazy to care about either of you. If it isn't Luke trying to play pirate, it's you trying to be the big hero. You're both gonna get yourselves killed."

"Hey," Luke protests, "We're adults, Han. Stop acting like you're so much—"

"Older? Better? Wiser? I'm all those things, kid. I know which battles to fight and which ones to sit out. At least I did. Before you two got in here," he points viciously at his skull, "and started messing with my head."

I would laugh at the echo of Luke's words if I wasn't about to explode with indignation. I take a deep breath and will myself to keep a hold on my control if only to prove Han wrong.

"This deal with the Black Sun could change everything," I say. "They have access to information and resources that could turn the tide of the war. That could save so many lives."

"Then send a team in, by all means. But you," he takes a deep breath, "are staying here."

"Do not tell me what to do, Captain," I growl.

"You have no idea what you're dealing with, Princess. These people make the Beemers look like upstanding citizens. I've been on Ord Mantell. The things I've seen would keep you up at night."

I do laugh now. "That would probably be a good thing," I snap.

He gives me an odd look at this.

I only glare at him. Right now, it's hard for me to remember why I would ever want to dream of Han Solo.

Luke pipes up, "Leia, does it have to be you?"

"Yes," I say, evenly, "They heard about the deal I made with the Beemers, and they only trust me."

"Oh yeah? And who'd they hear that from? Your boy Friedrich?" Han's voice drips with contempt.

"I don't know," I say truthfully, "But he was the one who called me in the first place."

I see no point in shielding the truth at this point. Han's angry enough.

"Great," he says, eyes rolling toward the ceiling, "Just great."

I feel tears prickle behind my eyes. I'm familiar enough with the sensation now. And for once, I recognize that Han is the only one who elicits it. All week, I had been looking forward to this night. For a little while, it had been exactly as I imagined. Now I feel foolish standing in front of him in my pretty dress with flowers wrapped in my hair.

I almost tell him as much. But I'm afraid if I do, the words might come out broken and pathetic. Instead I go with business, cold and comfortable.

"Argue it with High Command if you like," I say, "But they will be sending me. This is a war. No one life is worth more than any other."

"Leia..." Luke's voice sounds pleading.

But it's Han who I'm looking at. His face is impassive, stoney.

"At least when I do leave, I'll never have to hear you say that again."

I nod and turn towards the door.

"Now would be a good time to go, Captain."

His bitter laugh follows me out of the hallway.


I skip the rest of the dance. I know Timmon will be disappointed, but I don't have the heart to go back. Instead I head for my room, suddenly hating the feel of the space silk against my overheated skin. The minute my door closes I shed the dress, letting it pool carelessly on the floor.

Tears are slipping down my face now. How can he be so kind one minute and so cruel another? I don't know what to do with myself. I couldn't go back to the dance, but I'm not even close to tired. Energy, misplaced and misdirected, races through my body. I feel like my skin is crawling, like I might burst and bring the whole base down with me.

Catching a glimpse of myself in my mirror, I pause before it. My skin is pearly gray in the poor light of this makeshift room. But it's smooth and curves delicately over my breasts and my hips. I take off my panties and my brassiere so I am standing naked before myself.

I close my eyes and let my mind wander where it wants to. I envision him, back on the Falcon, nice coat thrown over a chair, hair mussed, boots tromping around. He wouldn't go back to the dance either. For a moment, I'm aware of the ridiculousness of the situation. What are we doing? But then, I remember how angry I am with him.

It's strange how it makes my body sing rather than sting. I open my eyes and see that my pupils are dilated. My breath is coming in little gasps. My nipples are pointed and puckered. I touch one and feel a burst of pleasure sear through me to my sex. I swallow as this latest revelation thrums through me. I am aroused - incredibly aroused - by what just happened.

Disgust wars with desire as I contemplate what I should do with this knowledge. I can't stop seeing his flashing eyes and remembering the feel of his body against mine. I imagine the two together. I feel him behind me, arms where they were when that damned commlink went off. His eyes are locked on mine in the mirror while his hands skate across my flesh.

"You're wrong," he growls into my ear.

Both his hands come up to cup my breasts and his face burrows into my neck. He nips the skin there while his fingers tweak my nipples. I feel his hardness behind me, and gasp at the myriad of sensations. He bites a little harder. I buck against him, completely lost in the fantasy.

"You're wrong," he says again, keeping one arm wrapped around my breasts while the other hand travels down to my warm, wet center. He strokes me and I almost come apart.

"About what?" I gasp as his fingers slip inside me.

"Your life is worth more to me than anything," he says.

I writhe against him, overwhelmed by the feeling of him inside me and behind me.

"You can't think that way. We have to fight for the greater good," I moan. I want to take this further, I want to strip him and truly be taken. But, my imagination can only go so far.

He sucks on my neck and curls his fingers in a way that makes me see stars.

"I'm a pirate," he says, "not a hero."

Somehow these words send me over the edge. I orgasm powerfully, shuddering and shaking, then sinking onto the bed behind me. I look down at the floor and find a litter of lilies at my feet.

The pleasure still pulses through me as I extract my fingers from between my legs. I reach for the closest piece of fabric and start when I realize what it is I'm touching. Han's jacket. Borrowed a week ago, the night we tried to fix the enviro-system. My cheeks burn as I think of giving it back to him now, but then I'm bringing to my nose and sniffing the collar.

Gods, I love that smell.

I lay back on my pillow and bring it with me. Exhaustion steals over me and I am tremendously relieved. Tomorrow I'll be angry with him again. We'll argue and insult each other, and I'll probably get hot and bothered all over again. But for now, I'll sleep wrapped in his jacket since I can't be wrapped in his arms.


I know I should still be angry with him. He's been insufferable, embarrassing, insulting. This week couldn't have been more different than the week that proceeded it. Han pulled out all the stops in his campaign to keep me on base. He pulled High Command into it, Luke into it. Even Timmon hesitantly suggested I relent. Though Shara told him to kiss my ass.

As I knew would happen, High Command was unmovable. They are heroes, not pirates. Though they care about my safety, they care a whole lot more about the cause.

Then he had the gall to demand to pilot the mission. That made me boil. How dare he drag my name through the mud then suddenly want to be by my side? Of course, I knew I'd give in. After all, I'm almost in love with the man. But, I wasn't going to let him know that. I called him every name in the book before I let High Command overrule me.

Now here we are, after a week of briefings and preparation, about to make the jump to Ord Mantell. The supplies are packed, the crew is aboard and I can feel the Falcon humming around me.

I should just stay in the common area. Make small talk with Lieutenant …What's his name? Finch? But my body moves on its own accord, knowing that what I want is only metims away.

He's facing out to the hangar, his hands in his lap rather than readying the controls. He seems deep in thought, more still than I usually see him. My heart is in my throat for some reason. That sense, the one I work so hard to ignore, buzzes through me. I feel like I've just stepped into a flowing stream, headed out to its fated sea.

"Captain," I say interrupting my bizarre train of thought and returning to the present, "we're ready."