Leia didn't speak to Han in the evening, when she trudged back up the path from the barbecue. To be fair, he didn't call down to her from the roof, either; Leia looked so tired, wound so tight with heat and suppressed fury, that Han was afraid he'd irrevocably damage their delicate alliance if he approached her. Han felt tense, too. He'd have liked to keep laying in the new cedar shingles, even after Luke and Chewie had left, to grind down the edge of his regret and anger. It was light out until past nine o'clock. But Han guessed a hammer pounding right above her sleeping loft wouldn't help him repair things with Leia.

So Han went out to the workshop behind the cabin. It was more a shack, but Han liked the way the setting sun crept through the cracked plank walls. And it was full of great old tools, stuff he supposed Bail Organa had used, or maybe that hermit artist Luke kept talking about; there was a splintered easel in there, a cracked set of paints, a block of fossilized modelling clay.

Han put on the radio, and started sketching plans for new kitchen cabinets and countertops. He had to bring all his spatial intelligence to the task: the surfaces and storage had to be functional, but compact enough to fit the galley space. The thought of constriction gave Han pause. He stood in thought, tapping his pencil against the vise in jittery time with "Bye Bye Love." Working inside that tiny house, right under Her Worship's tiny feet? Could get rough. Finally, Han shrugged. The work had to get done. When Han made a commitment, it was absolute, which was probably why he balked at them.

Han tinkered in the darkening shop, keeping an eye on the illuminated windows of Leia's loft. He tried not to admit to himself that he was hoping she'd come outside for one of her evening walks. His lip curled in self-disgust. What was he doing, hovering for Her Worship's favor? Han reasoned that he didn't have to apologize, exactly—it wasn't his fault! He could just tease Leia a bit (this time with more finesse), charm her into forgetting she was mad at him. She did love to laugh. But when Leia's light went out Han gave up, went back to the Falcon and fried a couple eggs on the small gas stove. Then he squeezed himself through his cramped, cool shower, and went to bed.

But Han couldn't sleep. He turned fitfully in his bunk, which was normally the most comfortable bed he'd ever slept in, maybe because it was truly his own. Near midnight, he was just beginning to sink when he heard the cabin's screen door squeak. Gotta oil that, was Han's absent thought before he sat up, realizing what the sound meant. Han looked out the window alongside his bunk and saw a small shape in a short white nightgown float towards the beach. Han threw on pants and boots and an undershirt. As an afterthought he turned back to the miniature fridge in search of a peace offering. Inside was a single, green glass bottle of Coca-Cola. It would have to do, Han thought, snagging the bottleneck between his fingers.

When he caught up to Leia, ghostly in the full moonlight, she was loosening a small white rowboat from the dock. She didn't look up at his footfalls on the planks, and Han hesitated, wondering if his presence was unwelcome. But as she settled herself on one of the boat's two bench seats, Leia calmly gestured at the other. "Are you coming?"

Han swung down into the opposite seat, holding the Coke, carefully distributing his weight.

"Can you row?" Leia asked, fixing the oars in their locks.

"Can I row." Han snorted, taking the shafts of the oars. He gave her his most high-wattage grin. "Princess, I was practically born in Inner Harbor." Patiently, Leia watched him fumble and paddle until the boat began a slow, silly spin. Half-smiling, Leia took the oars back. Holding up his hands, Han's grin skewed sheepish. "All right...never rowed a boat in my life."

Leia took over. Han studied the way her body moved, so small but strong, rhythmic and sure, pulling them through the dark water. When he was sure he'd understood the dynamic, Han caught her eyes. Softly he said, "Leia. Let me try."

They held one another's eyes. After a charged moment Leia handed Han the oars. She unwrapped a small white paper package, withdrawing a cherry popsicle, biting neatly into it. They rowed in silence for several minutes, Han relieved to have the physical work, the good ache spreading through his shoulders and thighs and back. With every stroke Han felt a kind of expiation, a penance that he could only hope Leia accepted.

After what seemed a long time, Leia motioned for him to stop. Around them the lake stretched, smooth and glossy black. Leia arranged herself in the bow, chest swelling with deep breath. Han leaned back, too, into the stern, arranging his long legs alongside hers. They drifted in silence, listening to the night. The stars were so close and vast that they seemed to hum; staring up at them, Han felt stunned. In Korea he'd slept outside often enough, he'd seen stars, but somehow those ones had felt farther. Maybe it was the part, he sourly thought, where he was worried about getting his head blown off, or whether he would have to do the same to someone else. That, and the violent doctrine of Corell Home, had given Han his fill of a traditional idea of God. Still, he found himself thinking now about something the kid had said: that there was a force in the world, guiding and shaping everything. That was life, Luke vowed. That was love, and grace, and art.

"What about cars?" Han had pressed, facetiously. "Is this force in cars?"

"Sure, why not?" Luke had smiled his easy smile. "Look at Millie. Isn't there something more to her?"

Han had frowned at that, not expecting Luke to be so apt an opponent. But he resumed his perfect poker mask. "Explain war. Ain't no grace there, kid, just the gun in your mitts."

"Grace is everywhere," Luke insisted, with that tranquil defiance of his. "Isn't the army where you met Chewie?"

Han had scowled and buried himself under R2's hood, into the engine, where he understood everything. He told himself, then, that there was no point in debating anything further, not when Luke got all sweetly weird and resolute. (He ignored the part where he'd have to admit Luke had been right on two deeply personal points.) But now...now, on the glassy lake, feeling helpless and weightless, edgy and safe, Han had to wonder. Here, floating next to Leia in what could be outer space, Han could almost believe in a spirit in the ether.

Abruptly Han sat up straight, retreating from a sudden well of emotion so strong that it felt to him like terror.

Han snapped the cap of the Coke off against the gunwale, hearing it clink in the bottom of the boat. He held out the bottle and after a moment Leia sat up and drank, then handed it back. Offering accepted, Han cleared his throat. "Hey, Leia?" His voice sounded too coarse against the peaceful night, but here he was, apologizing like he swore he wouldn't, like he'd never done for anyone else, over anything. Ever. "I'm sorry about—"

"Han, you...they..." Leia sealed her lips and looked off to the shore, shaking her head, scanning as though for some explanation she felt able to give. "I didn't pick it out."

"Yeah, I know."

Leia looked at him quizzically. Han bit his tongue, mindful of some not-mumbo-jumbo Luke had said: don't push her. Han thought it best not to admit he knew she'd been possessively dressed by Erin Isolder. Han also thought it best not to ride that train of thought down here to the lake, where Leia had spent her day half-naked at the feet of that spoiled creep. That's right, Solo, don't think of that, or you'll row straight back, get in the truck and go drag Isolder from his spoiled, creepy sleep.

"Eh, I could tell." Han dropped one shoulder, took a slug off the Coke. "The look was kinda...Marilyn Monroe."

He could hear a hesitant bemusement in Leia's voice. "What's wrong with Marilyn Monroe?"

Han waggled his eyebrows. "Absolutely nothin'."

Leia rolled her eyes and plucked the bottle from his fingers, taking a slow, deep swallow. "Marilyn's great," Han croaked, watching Leia's lovely, rolling throat, silver-white in the moonlight. "Just not like you."

Leia gave a wry, resigned smile. "What's like me?"

"Geez, I dunno." Han let a long arm drift in the cool water, then gave a small, impatient splash, gently rocking the boat. "Okay, if we're talking movies: there's Marilyn, and then there's—"

"Let me guess. An ice queen?" Leia sighed, brandishing her popsicle like a scepter. "I heard that one a lot in high school." She pursed her lips, flicking a finger in the water. "Or maybe I'm the annoying, brainy kid sister?"

"No!" Han declared, his rich voice so adamant that she started. "I mean—I was thinking more of what's-er-name. The one with the, ehrm. Big dark eyes." That voice dropped to a mumble. "Y'know, all elegant and clever...pretty..." Han rubbed at his neck. "...adventurous, uh—Audrey, that's it. You're more like Audrey Hepburn, I meant."

Han glanced up to see Leia flush all the way down to her collarbones, to the edge of her nightgown, then farther. He swallowed, his imagination following the path of that shy heat, then thought maybe he'd said too much. But Leia smiled, a flash against the night, bright against her blush of pleasure. Their knees close together, the couple studied one another. Leia watched Han's mutable eyes darken to intent evergreen. Han noticed Leia's hair, braided for bed, wound round her head in a fuzzy coronet that made her look like a sleepy pixie. Han shifted slightly forward, a motion he believed subtle but was reported by a series of gentle ripples. Leia closed her eyes, seemed to inhale him. And she slowly raised her popsicle between their faces.

Han paused a moment, silently gauging her. Don't push. Holding her eyes, he took a solemn bite of the cherry ice and chewed so slowly and gravely that Leia giggled. The electric moment defused, Han swiped back his Coke with a comically territorial look. The two shared popsicle and Coke in companionable silence, listening to sighing trees, crickets and loons, arrhythmic waves slapping the creaking boat.

"Y'know, Leia," Han said at last, his voice low and soft. "No matter what anyo—hey. All your life, you'll have this place."

Leia's eyes went wide and dark and shiny as the lake. Suddenly she darted close, pressing her lips to Han's left cheek, stroking the right in her palm. Just as Han lifted his hand to catch hers, Leia pulled away. "You have your moments," Leia murmured, plunging her hands in the water, letting her head fall back to the stars. After a stricken moment Han did the same, leaning back into the stern, careful to assume his trademark provocative languor. But Han forgot to hide his smile. And that smile, as small and sweet as a hummingbird, seemed too delicate to freight such tender shock.