Author's Note: Thanks so much for the reviews! It's very heartening to know you're not posting into a vacuum. Okay, on with the soap opera!

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Annie burst into tears when she saw Leia walk into the crowded diner. Oh brother, Han thought, watching the tears roll down Annie's face, right in the middle of taking some guy's order. The shy, pretty strawberry blonde waitress was sixteen, always reading romance novels. On his first day at the diner, Han had asked Annie where Chewie kept the ladder and she'd blushed and stammered like he'd got down on one knee before her. But Annie was a sweet kid, a hard worker. She worshipped Chewie like a big brother, and Chewie cared for her in a similar way, sending extra food home for Annie's little sisters and sick mother.

Suzette shooed Annie aside and took over the order. Suzette frightened Han, a bit. She was a few years older—around Donna's age, close to thirty—and both women were tough, but where Donna was independent and savvy, Suzette could be nasty. She was a great waitress, though, efficient and reliable, and she truly did seem to care for Annie.

Annie ran over and threw her arms around Leia. "Oh! Miss Organa, I'm so glad you're back! Are you all right? Luke was here, and he said..."

"Please, Annie, call me Leia. I'm not babysitting you anymore." Leia smiled, gently drawing back. "How's summer school going?"

Han noticed how easily Leia guided Annie away from the topic of herself. Her evasive skill made him feel strangely provoked; intrigued, but also almost irritated. Logically, Han knew this wasn't fair. Leia had the right to privacy, and God knew Han himself liked to keep his cards close. But there was something in Leia's poise, in her self-possession, that somehow made Han want special access to her. With a small shock, Han realized that he wanted Leia to trust him, which was bizarre. He'd known her only two days, and since when had he cared what a woman felt for him, beyond sexual interest?

Sure, Han liked women to like him, wanted them to want him. He liked them and wanted them back. Donna, for example. Lando's glamorous, older cabaret singer had approached Han his second week in town. He'd been sitting at the bar in Cloud City, nursing a drink, when the voluptuous blonde slid onto the stool beside his and made Han an offer so straight-up profane it made an incredulous grin crawl across his face. Han tossed back his whiskey and followed Donna backstage.

It had happened a few times over the last two months. They'd met in her dressing room between sets. Han was usually slightly drunk. It was casual, impersonal fun on both sides, and it passed the time, but Han had soon let the fling taper off. He still saw Donna around, they chatted amicably enough in the bar, in the diner. Though he'd briefly thought about looking her up when he was lonely on his birthday, Han knew that any carnal charge between them was mutually and affably over.

Such was the nature of Han's romantic encounters: numerous, easy and good-natured, but short and resolutely detached. No one got hurt, but no one felt much beyond physical pleasure, either. Han had certainly never experienced the mixed frustration and fascination he felt for Leia Organa, with her kind doe eyes and quick, sharp mind, her scathing tongue, her stubborn little chin, her—

"Summer session's not so good, Miss, um, Leia," Annie admitted. "I hate Pride and Prejudice. My teacher said it was romantic, but all Elizabeth and Darcy do is fight!"

Leia smiled. "The thing about that novel is, they're fighting so much because they're in—"

Abruptly Han told Leia that if she wanted a ride back, to meet him here at two o'clock. He stalked off, leaving Leia blinking at Han's curtness, so jarring after his thoughtful return of her notebook. Turning back to Annie, Leia said, "Tell you what: come sit with me on your break and I'll explain it. Remember, like we used to do?" Leia squeezed Annie's hand, and the younger girl nearly swooned with relief.

The silver bells Annie had strung at the front door tinkled. A tall woman with curly dark hair, her olive skin radiant against her coral sundress, flew across the checkered floor. Leia laughed as Shara swept her up and squeezed her. Shara cut her clever amber eyes after Han, almost hurling himself through the swinging doors to the kitchen, and then raised an eyebrow at Leia.

"So, Lei..." Shara tucked her arm through Leia's and led her to a booth. "Is it true that you got rescued by Handypants Solo?"

Leia choked. "Han—pants—what?"

"You know exactly what I mean." Shara smirked, sliding into her seat, watching her childhood friend's face tinge pink. Shara had always had that pinpoint way of hitting the truth, Leia thought. She was a human laser. And even if Leia herself was unprepared to consider just what this particular truth might mean, she was willing to privately concede that Han Solo did good things for trousers.

"I have to be in Mantell for nursing school in two hours. So spill, girlie," Shara ordered.

Annie looked hopefully at Suzette. She had a table to clear, but the brooding handyman (Suzette said Han was just grumpy, but Annie preferred to think of him as brooding) rescuing her adored, lovely Miss Organa? This was the stuff of True Romance magazine!

"Oh, go ahead, you goose," Suzette called.

Delighted, Annie scampered to join the older girls.

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In the kitchen Wedge shook Han's hand, told him he was a stand-up man. Kes and Wes each said they owed Han a drink. That was fine. Then Chewie slapped Han on the back with one huge hand so hard Han almost lost his footing along with his breath.

"Is...that...praise?" Han croaked.

Nodding and gesturing, Chewie expressed something like My friend, you have brought yourself great birthday honor with your liberation of another.

"What I brought myself, pal, was a great birthday trailer," Han dismissed, buckling his leather tool-belt on his waist and thigh. It was an unusual configuration, he knew, but he liked how it kept everything strapped in place.

Chewie rolled his blue eyes. Han couldn't fool him, not after Korea, not after Chosin Reservoir. There was no reward then, at Frozen Chosin, and still Han had acted without regard for himself to save Chewie's life. But Chewie let Han keep his venal pose. He knew it made his friend feel safer.

But today Han couldn't quite sell his trademark laconic air. He seemed dazed, staring vacantly into the empty dishwasher.

"Say, Han," Wes called, exchanging a sly look with Wedge. "You ever see Leia before all this went down?"

Han was silent, lost in thought.

"Cute, right?" Wes prodded, deftly folding an omelet.

Han's shoulders tensed; he stuck his head into the dishwasher, as though to escape.

"You think Leia and a guy like him..." Wes muttered to Wedge, who considered, then shook his ducktailed head. Wedge had played cards with Solo, shot pool and shot talk; Han was cynical, hard, no way he was gonna crack, even for the foxy Leia Organa. Wedge had never known Leia to look at any guys, either; mostly she looked at books. She'd probably end up with some professor. On the other hand, Solo was considered real handsome, according to female gossip at Cloud City—

"Ah you fucker!" Solo howled at the rogue dishwasher, sucking a burnt finger into his mouth.

"Nah," Wedge hissed back. "No chance."

Wes cocked his head in challenge. "New pool. Twenty bucks buys in. I say they're, uh, "dating" by the end of the year."

Wedge pulled two crumpled tens out of his pocket. "You're on. I say those two'll kill each other."

Wes whispered the bet down the line to Kes. Kes wanted in, but refused. Shara would kill him if he started betting on the love life of her best friend.

Picking up his spatula, Chewie returned to the grand breakfast he was preparing for Leia. Chewie had first noticed the tiny brunette helping Annie with schoolwork. Chewie's own teachers had called him thick because he couldn't read the way other children did. He knew he wasn't stupid, but it hurt. In the army, Chewie had concentrated on cooking as his certification. He'd been so good that no one questioned his methods. But Chewie had ambitions that went beyond the meals he knew intuitively; he wanted to teach himself new tastes and techniques. So last year, after struggling for days to decipher the recipes in the gourmet cookbook he'd checked out from the New Hope library, Chewie quietly asked Leia for help.

Leia had been wonderful, encouraging and confident in his abilities. She'd taught him memory tricks, new ways of looking at letters, words. After several lessons in the back booth, something clicked. Reading would never come easily to Chewie, but it was no longer a curse. Grateful and proud, Chewie used the gourmet cookbook to make a raspberry-chocolate mousse, and surprised Leia with it.

Artfully, Chewie piled crisp, fluffy waffles with whipped cream and fresh sliced peaches. He rang the bell for Suzette. After Leia had finished eating this, he would send her more. She'd need extra strength, Chewie knew from long experience, to put up with Han Solo for the next few months. Chewie glanced at his normally decisive best friend, who'd drifting away from the half-fixed dishwasher. Everyone in the kitchen stared as Han paced the floor, perplexed. He looked like he'd been hit by a truck.

Kes knew what that look meant. He'd seen it in his mirror for weeks after meeting Shara Bey, until he got the courage to ask her out. A year later he had a ring, though he hadn't told anyone yet. Mouthing "I'm in," Kes slipped Wes a quick twenty bucks. "They're married by Christmas!" he joked. They all laughed.

Clicking his tongue, Chewie added bacon to Leia's feast just as Suzette scooped up the groaning plate. Leia would need extra extra strength to put up with a Han Solo who had clearly fallen in love with her, whether he knew it yet or not. Chewie resolved to shorten Han's list of diner tasks, giving him time to court Leia in proper fashion. Winning the love of someone wonderful was a worthy masculine test.

"Hey Suzette," Wes hissed, when the waitress came back with a stack of dirty plates and stopped dead at the sight of the useless, abandoned dishwasher, and the impatient, swaggering Han Solo wandering the kitchen, rubbing absently at his neck. "Come swim in our new pool with us."