A long, sterile hallway, pools of light amid a larger darkness, and Han Solo stood at one end watching Leia Organa at the other. Early morning chill settled into the walls, whipping through the space between them, pulling at her clothes and the loose ends of her hair, braided and wrapped around her head like a seal against the outside world.

Her back was to him; he had time to watch her undisguised. Her fatigues were wrinkled, her boots scuffed and worn. He couldn't see her face, couldn't see the shadows he knew would be under her eyes, the tired, pinched look of her cheeks. But her stance, her clothes, her hair all told him that she hadn't slept.

He hadn't meant to run into her. He'd been heading to the mess hall for caf, to see if what Luke had told him was true. A better brew than usual on this Sweetheart's Day. The Alliance couldn't afford anything but slightly more expensive caf. No sweets, no leave, no time for the frivolous romanticism in the Alliance ranks, but hell if Han wasn't going to take advantage of High Command's rare consideration.

And then he'd stumbled onto her silhouette in the hallway and all thoughts of richer caf disappeared.

Three months since the Alliance had scored its first massive victory against the Empire and they had very little to show for it. Han didn't know anything specific—he was a contractor and no one thought enough of him to tell him—but based on the shabby interior of the Mon Cal battle cruiser out of which they were currently operating, he gleaned that the Alliance was strapped for credits. Moral victories don't pay the bills and High Command seemed loathe to resort to stealing and pillaging for supplies.

Except for Leia.

The princess had agreed with him on the stupidity of the Alliance emphasis on clean warfare. She'd asked him about Imperial storehouses and he'd gladly supplied whatever information he had. There was the one near Dubrillion, the one near Saddleback Station on Corell. The hotspots that criminals of his kind knew and abused on a regular basis. And she'd taken the information to Jan Dodonna, offering to raid the stores herself with a small group, to get her hands dirty and do the work herself.

Dodonna had denied her request, said he was shocked that the princess of Alderaan would resort to such base tactics. The Alliance needed good publicity; whatever desperate tactics they'd sanctioned before were no longer good for public relations.

But Han… well, Han understood. Because Leia had nothing. No one. And she herself was desperate. If someone destroyed a homeworld, didn't they deserve to lose something, too? Not just the weapon itself but everything?

As someone who'd seen the back end of desperation more than a few times in his life, he knew how it looked. And he knew how it festered in the gut, how it roiled and raged until released.

That's how she looked now, he thought. Like the seal might pop at any moment.

"Happy Sweetheart's Day, sweetheart," he said into the cold air.

Her back stiffened and she turned her head to the side just enough for him to catch her profile but not enough to see her eyes.

"Go away, Captain," she said.

Han grinned to himself, happy with her fire. "What has Her Highness planned for her date tonight?"

She turned her face back to the viewport in front of her, a princess-shaped outline against the stars. "What date?" she said.

Her voice sounded brittle and bitter. Like one good hard kick might end her. But Leia Organa wasn't a total mystery to him. He didn't understand her idealism, he didn't understand her passion for peace and justice and freedom. Her pedigree or whatever the hell the goddamned kings and queens of the galaxy called it. Whatever made some people better than others.

But he understood strength. He understood courage.

"Lemme guess," he baited. "Antilles?"

That provoked a reaction. She turned around to give him a narrow look. "What are you going on about?"

"Not Antilles," he said to himself but loud enough for her to hear. "What about Preytr? She's got a mighty big crush on you, you know."

Leia lifted her chin. "Nice eyes, too," she said after a moment.

Han was thrilled. A response! He had assumed this was going to be a one-way banter. "Sure does."

Han waited a beat, holding her eyes, and then Leia's mouth turned up into a reluctant smile. Soft and … not inviting. Not anywhere near inviting. But friendly. And Han relaxed his stance a bit.

"Unfortunately for Lieutenant Preytr, I despise Sweetheart's Day," Leia said. "It's sentimental and ridiculous. I don't have time for such things."

Han pressed his lips together and nodded. "Unfortunate for all of us. I bet royal dates are really something, huh?"

And then a smile, a genuine smile, from the depths of her small body, and Han's heart stuttered to a halt right then and there.

"You have no idea, flyboy," she said.

She turned back around to resume her vigil of the stars and Han knew that was his cue to leave. Still warm with the shock of her smile, he nodded to himself, shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and took a few steps back. He was just about to turn and leave her alone when he heard his name, issued from the woman at the far end of the corridor.

The one he already knew he adored. The only one that made his blood run hot, made his brain fry in ways he'd never thought it could. The only one that could make him duck and turn around and leave her to her own devices because she'd damn well proved she could handle it all, everything, without needing anyone else.

What he'd wanted to say to her was that he hoped she found distraction tonight, distraction from her unholy loneliness and pain. In Antilles' arms or Luke's or Peytr's—though he thought he knew her preferences by now, as pretty as Preytr's eyes were—but he wanted her to smile like that again. To whomever she wanted, with a friend or a lover or just the viewport in front of her. He wanted her to get a break from herself, whatever that meant for her.

"Yeah?" he asked instead.

She clasped her hands behind her back, tilted her chin up and said, very softly, "Happy Sweetheart's Day."

He nodded though she couldn't see it and turned around, walking away, imagining what it might feel like to hear her say that again, for real.

It'll never happen, he reprimanded himself, and went back to the Falcon, slightly-better cup of caf completely forgotten.