All the Way – Chapter 5

by Justine Graham and Erin Darroch

"Hey, Goldenrod, here's an idea—why don't you stop yappin' for a minute and just do what I told you?"

Han's irritated snarl reverberated harshly in the tight confines of the crawlspace into which he'd managed to squeeze the upper half of his body. He glared down the length of himself to where he could just glimpse the droid's shiny golden clogs next to his own booted feet, which remained extended out into the narrow service bay.

"Point that thing in here and stop movin' around," he barked, then returned his attention to the miniature snubber circuit he was attempting to fuse into place across the relay's aging contacts. The task was difficult enough, given the cramped and shadowy conditions, without adding the fractious droid's endless critical commentary to the equation.

"But sir," Threepio protested, anxiously shuffling his metal feet, "you cannot possibly expect this measure to be effective. Your ship's dialect is peculiar, but Ihave applied my considerable powers of communication to the task and I believe I have managed to decipher its meaning at last. And sir, I am sorry to inform you that your mainframe has been most alarmingly compromised!" The droid delivered the last words in a tone of shock and dramatic revelation, his tinny voice echoing unpleasantly in the narrow space.

Han gritted his teeth. "Of course it's been compromised, you bolt-head. I'm the one who compromised it. Now hold that thing still for just a second and let me finish what I'm doing."

"How rude!" Threepio exclaimed indignantly, although Han could see through the gap that the droid was attempting to comply with the command, his metal hands clamped awkwardly around the slender signal extender as he endeavoured to angle it toward the designated spot.

Han turned his attention back to the task at hand, grimly hoping that Threepio's indignation would ensure his silence—but it seemed the vexatious droid wasn't quite finished voicing his complaints.

"I was only trying to help, sir," Threepio said. "How was I to know that anyone would ever use components from an astromech unit, a transport droid, and a slicer bot all in one ship? It's no wonder the signals are so convoluted. The Millennium Falcon seems to have three separate auxiliary droid brains competing for control of the Superflow and I simply do not understand how you expect—"

"Stick a plug in it, Motor Mouth," Han bellowed. "If I want your opinion, I'll ask for it. I know what I'm doing, okay? So, shut up!"

"Now, now, Captain Solo, is that any way to speak to such a helpful assistant?" The wry tones of Leia's rich alto voice drifted down the shaft to Han's ears, startling him and making him lose his grip on the laser welder. As he fumbled to retrieve the tool and reposition it, he felt a smile begin to stretch across his face.

"Why, thank you,Mistress Leia!" Threepio cried. "I am glad to know that there is at least one being aboard this ship who values my contributions."

"Of course we do, Threepio. You're always of great service to us," Leia said in her most soothing voice, "but I can take over from here in assisting Captain Solo. Why don't you go back and check to see if the calibration is finished on the new negative power coupling?"

"That is a splendid idea, Your Highness. I shall do just that. After all, someone has to keep an eye on such things."

Han had just managed to finish soldering the tiny connection under his fingertips when he heard the hollow thunk of the signal extender being deposited on the deck plates and then the sounds of Threepio as he toddled off, fussily muttering over the shortcomings of certain discourteousCorellians. The noises made by the droid's departure, with his metal feet clanking on the deck plates and his servomotors whirring in a high pitched hum, were gradually swallowed up by the drone of the Falcon's sublight engines.

"You know...," Han said conversationally, projecting his words down the service shaft to where he could see Leia's boot-clad feet near his own. "Chewie's gonna kill you for that. He damn near tore his fur out trying to get that thing fine-tuned. He ain't gonna be happy if the Professor starts messin' with it."

Setting his welder aside, he slid his body out of the tight service chute, emerging in the same fashion as he'd scooted in: on his back with his knees bent and both boots planted on the deck plates. Looking up at Leia, he gave her an eyebrow that said you know I'm right.

Her reply was a rueful grimace. "Well, he'll have to kill me for that after he kills me for sleeping through half of my shift," she said. Folding her arms across her chest, she gave him a slight frown. "I slept almost nine hours, Han. Why didn't you wake me?"

Sitting up, Han reached for the clean rag he'd dropped on the deck plates just outside the service panel, then began to wipe traces of grease from his hands as he eyed the princess from head to toe. He noted with interest that she had dressed again in the same white snowsuit—now fresh from the autovalet and restored to its former tidy condition—and she had rebraided her hair into the same neat coronet. Her overall aspect was much brighter, though; her skin had regained a healthy pink tinge and her eyes held a lively spark. Pleased to see that she had rested so well, Han beamed up at her with his most self-satisfied smile.

"Well, Princess, I didn't wake you up, because I had to crawl right over the top of you to get out of the bunk and you never so much as fluttered an eyelash the whole time. I figured if you didn't wake up for that experience, you probably needed the sleep worse than I needed the help." He tossed the rag aside and climbed to his feet.

As he stretched up to his full height and looked down into Leia's upturned face, he was gratified to see that his playful comment had provoked only dry amusement. The light of mirth was dancing in her eyes, and his own grin widened in response.

"And anyway, I got three solid hours and woke up feeling pretty good," he continued, absentmindedly rubbing one hand across his bruised and aching midsection. He let his eyes roam over Leia's face for a moment, drinking in the sight of her looking so refreshed and alert. "Plus, we haven't had any trouble from the sublights or any of the essential systems since several hours before we...ah...before we...went to...bed…so..."

He trailed off and dropped his hands to his sides, suddenly conscious of how intimate those last few words had sounded. Leia lowered her gaze for an instant and bit the inside of her cheek. She raised her eyes again swiftly, though, and what Han saw in those dark-brown depths loosened some constriction deep in his chest. He released a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"Anyway," he muttered belatedly, "good morning."

"Good morning," Leia replied, her gaze lingering on his.

Han could see no indication in her expression that she wanted to forget the intimate exchange of the evening before—or even worse, pretend it had never happened, which had been her usual reaction of late, whenever things between them got too intense. This time, though, instead of looking away, her eyes remained fixed on his. In fact, she was giving him that searching and speculative look she'd given him the night before, as he'd carried her to the bunk room. There was a whole galaxy of meaning in it, and Han's heart began to thump a little harder.

"You look great," he blurted.

Leia dropped her gaze again with a soft laugh and a slightly self-conscious smile, but recovered quickly with a lift of her lashes, dark eyes sparkling. "You look pretty good yourself, Flyboy. Three solid hours, huh? Is that all it takes you to recharge?"

Not usually, was Han's honest answer, although he left that part of his reply unspoken. He had slept remarkably well and he knew exactly why, but out of habit he gave only a nonchalant shrug. "Good captain gets used to short sleeps."

Leia quirked an eyebrow. "Convenient."

"Yeah. What about you?" Han took the opportunity to deflect the attention away from himself. "Nine hours enough?"

"More than enough," she said. "That was the best night's sleep I've had in months."

"Good," he replied. Inwardly, he exulted to hear those words. Outwardly, he gave her a wry smirk. "Even better news is that Chewie's still asleep, had about six hours so far, so chances are good that nobody's gonna get their arms pulled outta their sockets today."

Leia smiled faintly at his jest, then unfolded her arms and spread her hands wide in a gesture of apology. "Well, I'm sorry I missed half of my shift, but I'm here now and I'm ready to work. What can I do?"

"If you can keep running interference for me with Threepio, that'd be great." Han didn't even try to keep the sardonic tone from his voice; the tiresome droid was lucky it hadn't been shoved out of an airlock already.

"I'll keep him out of your way, I promise," Leia said wryly. "Anything else?"

"Well, if I can get this damn thing working," he gestured towards the relay hidden inside the nearby crawlspace, "we won't need to keep such a close watch. Goldenrod can make himself useful for once and keep an eye on the cockpit for any emergencies, which'll free you and me up to deal with…uh, with...other things."

Leia's eyes flickered up to meet his again, and suddenly all thoughts of frazzled mainframes and bothersome droids faded away from Han's consciousness. All he could think about was how good she had felt in his arms last night, so close and warm and trusting, and what pure pleasure it had been to fall asleep with her. Although he'd managed only three hours—and those seemed to have passed in the span of a heart beat—they'd been perhaps the most restorative three hours of his life. He had returned to full consciousness with a blink, feeling remarkably well rested, but also slightly bewildered at finding the princess sleeping contentedly in his embrace. Then the memories had come flooding back of that astonishing moment when she had slipped into his bed, nestled against him, and set his whole world back to rights. Gazing down at her slumbering face before he'd left the bunk, it had taken every last speck of his self-control to resist waking her with a soft kiss, and whispering the words that had been too long tied up on his tongue.

And now here she was, gazing up at him with those big brown eyes, looking rested and calm and open, and somehow even more beautiful than he'd ever seen her.

"Hello? Han?"

Han blinked at the wave of her hand before his face, breaking the light trance into which he'd fallen. "Huh?"

"I asked what other things we need to be dealing with. I don't suppose there's any shortage."

"Yeah, there's more than enough work to keep us busy for a while."

Rolling his shoulders, he winced at the spasm of pain that shot across his midsection and down the length of his back as he moved. He hadn't yet had the chance to take stock of the injuries he'd sustained in their escape from Hoth—in fact, he didn't remember receiving any—but his hurts were nevertheless beginning to make themselves known. Abruptly, he decided it was time for a break.

"I was just gonna grab some caf," he said. "Bet you could use some, too."

"That's an easy wager," Leia said.

"Then lead the way," he invited, mock-gallantly extending a hand toward the hatch.

Leia gave a gracious nod in response, and together they ventured out of the bay and into the ring corridor beyond. As they made their way toward the ship's small galley, Han's thoughts swirled and dived inside his head like a swarm of excited zizibees.

He knew he wasn't imagining things where Leia was concerned—he'd felt it last night and it was still evident now: something had precipitated the sudden thawing of her icy demeanour. Maybe, he mused, the tide had turned with the heartfelt apology he'd finally spoken into the darkness of the bunkroom; at any rate, his sincere words seemed to have fallen on fertile ground.

But no, he corrected himself; it had begunbefore that. From the moment she'd murmured "Okay, Hotshot" and pulled his mouth back to hers for that searing kiss, there had been a warmth and receptiveness about Leia that he hadn't felt since before the catastrophe at Ord Mantell. His delighted brain couldn't focus long enough to trace the shift back to its origins but, judging by the easy camaraderie between them this morning, things with Leia seemed to be back on track—and that was good enough for him.

Following the princess into the galley, he snagged her mug from the bulkhead storage compartment, filled it with caf from the thermal carafe and handed it to her, then poured the remaining contents into a mug for himself. With a few quick taps of the controls, he set the next carafe brewing.

"Mmm, thank you," Leia said, wrapping both hands around the yellow mug and lifting it to her lips. She took a generous sip, swallowed, then exhaled on a sigh as she rested against the counter's edge. "Oh...I needed that."

"You and me both."

He took a quick gulp of the hot caf, then set his cup down for a moment so he could shrug off his flight jacket. The morning's effort of physical labour had left him feeling too warm, but he was clad only in a short-sleeved quasicotton shirt beneath, and the cool galley air was a welcome relief. Stepping over to the hatch, he leaned through it to toss the jacket atop one of the anchored crates in the corridor beyond. As he straightened up to turn back in Leia's direction, his entire body seized in mid-motion, a jolt of pain shooting through his back. Stifling a gasp, he completed his turn with greater care, his aching muscles clenching in protest at the twisting movement. Slowly, he eased over to lean against the galley counter and released a sigh of relief.

"You're hurt," Leia observed from her position leaning against the opposite counter in the narrow space. Lifting her mug to her lips, she took another sip and eyed him knowingly over the rim.

"'m fine," Han answered reflexively. "Little stiff, that's all. Somethin' about having a ton of ice and rocks land on my back maybe left a few bruises. Nothin' major."

He reached out to retrieve his own caf, but was halted in mid-motion by Leia's light, scoffing laugh. "Nothing major?" she echoed dryly. "Han, look at your arm, for a start…."

"What?" He crooked his elbow and peered down at the underside of his bare forearm, frowning at the mosaic of mottled purple bruising that bloomed there. "Huh," he said, lowering the limb and then reaching again for his mug. "Didn't even notice." He took a big gulp of caf, swallowed it down with a sigh, then beamed a contented smile in Leia's direction.

Her measuring gaze rested upon him for a long, thoughtful moment. At length, she set her own cup down, then turned back and took a short step in Han's direction, abruptly closing the scant distance between them.

"What about this, then?" she queried softly. Reaching up, she gently nudged aside a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead, her cool fingers lightly grazing his skin. "You've got a little gash there, just at your hairline."

"Ah, 's nothin'," he muttered, rapidly scanning her face as he tried to figure out what was happening and how to respond. "Nothin' to worry about, anyway."

The princess was very close—so close he could see the delicate blue veins in her wrist, feel the heat of her skin, smell the clean, botanical scent of her freshly washed hair. He let his eyes fall closed for a moment, breathing her in.

"I noticed you rubbing your stomach," Leia said, a slight challenge in her tone. She lowered her hand and brought it to rest on his shoulder.

Opening his eyes, Han looked down at her with a quizzical smile, feeling more than a little mystified. Leia's caring touch was very welcome—he would happily allow her to inspect all of his scrapes and bruises for as long as she wished—but he still couldn't believe she was offering such attention so freely.

"Yeah?" he said. "What about it?"

"Let me see it," she said. Her voice was soft and low, and she remained close, her hand a warm weight on the slope of his shoulder, her eyes focused on his face.

It took a beat for Han to process what she was requesting—and then longstanding habit made a jest impossible to resist. "Wait. Are you asking to see my abs, Princess? Did you get a knock on the head on the way out of Hoth?"

Leia's lips quirked up at the corners, but her eyes remained serious, and Han could see that she did not intend to be dissuaded.

"Aw, Leia, honestly, it's not that b—."

"Han." Her voice took on a slightly harder edge, and he easily recognised her resolve in the stubborn set of her chin.

Noting the way she narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips together, he released a sigh. He certainly didn't wish to argue with her and, anyway, he reasoned with himself, he hadn't actually examined the injury site himself yet. The pain emanating from around his ribs was beginning to intensify, so it wouldn't hurt to take a look. Now that the ship's essential functions were under control, he reckoned he could spare a few minutes to assess the damage to his body. He nodded slowly in acquiescence, but couldn't repress another playful tease.

"Strippin' off at your command, Your Highness. Thought this day would never come..."

Leia rolled her eyes dramatically as she took a half-step back to give him room, but Han could see that there was a faint smile playing about her lips. He was reminded with a wistful pang of how easy such flirtatious banter had once been between them, before the events at Ord Mantell.

Tugging the hem of the snug shirt free of his waistband, he peeled the fabric upward to reveal his bare torso, but kept his attention on Leia's face. The way her eyes widened in alarm as she drew in a sharp breath and then bit her lower lip prompted him to glance down in reflex—and he, too, grimaced at what he saw. A furious splash of colour flourished across his right side, extending around his rib cage, almost to his back, in deepening shades of sickly purple-green. The blooming bruise stood out in stark contrast against the lighter tones of the surrounding flesh, and he had to admit that it looked pretty bad. It was starting to feel pretty damn bad, too.

He gave a low whistle. "Huh. Must've taken more of that avalanche than I thought."

Leia made a small sound of dismay as she reached out, touching tentative fingers to the healthy flesh surrounding his bruised and tender ribs. Her careful touch was feather-light, but the whisper of contact between her skin and his was enough to make Han feel flushed and warm all over again. Her knuckles were grazed, he noted with a frown—fine, darkened scratches and reddened scrapes marred the surface of her pale skin, evidence that she hadn't come away from their frantic escape completely unscathed, either.

Still holding his shirt up and out of the way, he watched as the princess gently traced the outline of the angry bruise with her fingertips, sending a low shudder down the length of his spine. It wasn't pain that elicited the response. The area was sensitive, yes, and the slow stroke of her fingers moving against his bare skin felt good—but it was more than mere sensation that moved him. It was the intimacy of her touch and the obviously warm sentiment behind the gesture that set his pulse thrumming a little faster.

Suddenly, his brain felt as though it couldn't keep up with whatever was going on between them. He was finding it difficult to think clearly in the midst of Leia's nearness and her scent, and the tender care in her soft caress. He swallowed with some difficulty on a throat gone dry.

"Wha—uh, what about you, Princess?" he croaked. "Seems like you took a little damage, yourself. Maybe you ought to let me take a—."

Leia gave a short laugh and dropped her hand. Taking a step back, she leaned a padded elbow on the opposite counter and then gave him a wry eyebrow. "Nice try, Hotshot," she said, "but I'm not showing you my abs."

Adopting his best crestfallen expression, he tugged his shirt back down. "Well, damn."

Leia smirked and then cocked her head and pursed her lips, as if giving the notion further consideration. "Well, not here, anyway," she emended.

Han experienced a split-second of shock that turned into a hearty laugh, feeling both surprised and delighted by the turn the conversation had taken. That unexpected comment—and Leia's undeniably flirtatious tone—set his head spinning even faster than before. What the hell is happening? The whole interlude was starting to feel a little surreal, like a dream that couldn't possibly be on the verge of coming true. Over the past two months he had struggled to reconcile himself to the fact that the once-bright promise that had existed between himself and the princess had been permanently extinguished. But here it was again, rekindled and sparkling in Leia's big brown eyes.

A surge of elation had him battling the urge to scoop her into his arms and kiss her whole face, sore ribs be damned. He was also aware of something else swirling beneath the initial rush of glee: a powerful swell of relief and gratitude that threatened to overwhelm his habitual defenses. The resolution he'd made the day before—to tell her what she meant to him, no holds barred—goaded him on. But his gut instinct of self-preservation, so long entrenched, urged caution. He tempered the impulse to blurt the depths of his feelings. The last thing he wanted to do was to assume too much, too soon, and thereby fuck it all up again.

"I'm glad you're okay, Leia," he said at length, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears. He cleared his throat and then drew in a steadying breath. "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you. I think I would—I'd probably—hell, I know I would—". He stopped short.

"Would what?" she prompted softly, eyes wide.

Han gulped, hesitated for an instant, and then went for it. "I'd lose my mind."

Leia's solemn gaze grew warmer as she tilted her head to one side and gave him a slow and contemplative smile. He realised then that his limited confession—still possibly the most unguarded emotional statement he'd ever made to anyone, ever, in his entire life—came as no surprise to her. Looking into her darkly gleaming eyes, he could see it, plain as day, and the knowledge hit his brain with the force of a stun beam. Before he had time to fully process what it meant, she spoke again.

"Of course I'm okay, Captain. I've hardly got a scratch on me. And that," she said, abruptly pushing off from the counter and closing the distance between them once more, "is thanks to you."

She was standing toe-to-toe with him now, her upturned eyes focused intently on his face. Gazing down at her, Han watched as the bright mirth in her expression gradually faded away, leaving behind a softer aspect that was open and hopeful, and unexpectedly vulnerable. His heart clenched, and once again he had to restrain the urge to gather her into his arms and kiss her all over. Despite the warmth he felt in the energy between them now, something told him that they still had some deep chasms to cross before he could take such a bold and significant step.

Myriad emotions flickered in the depths of Leia's soulful eyes as she looked up at him, scanning his features as if searching for answers to unspoken questions. He couldn't read her mind—hell, half the time, he could barely make sense of his own damn thoughts about this business between them—but he didn't need that ability to understand that she was trying to make sense of it all, too.

She placed a hand on his shoulder again briefly, then trailed it lightly down the length of his arm to his wrist. "You could have been killed, Han," she said in a quiet voice. "Coming into the Command Centre while it was under assault." She brushed her fingertips against his dangling hand in silent invitation.

Without hesitation, Han warmly wrapped her small hand in his own, clasped palm to palm. "I could say the same for you," he replied. He silently congratulated himself on keeping his voice even, despite the fact that his heart was attempting to thump its way out of his chest. "You should have been long gone by then, you know. Evacuated with the rest of High Command."

"I had a job to do," she replied simply, "but you…." She trailed off with a slow shake of her head. "You had no reason to be there. And if you'd left when you first got your clearance, you would have been well clear of the system by the time the Empire showed up, and then none of this would have—."

"I couldn't leave you, Leia," Han interjected, as he tightened his grip on her hand. "When I heard what was happening, that Vader himself was inbound, there was no way…. I couldn't go, not 'til I knew you were safe."

Leia returned the squeeze and gave a thoughtful nod, briefly dropping her gaze down to the deck plates at their feet as she seemed to ponder his words. After a moment she spoke again. "Well, as you just pointed out, I should have been on the transport with the rest of High Command and, as far as you knew at that point, I was there. So…." She slanted a glance up at him. "Why did you come to the Command Centre?"

Han gave a short laugh. "BecauseI know you, Sweetheart, and you've got a bad habit of running in the wrong damn direction every time the shooting starts."

Leia's eyes were locked on his now, dark and fathomless. She smiled faintly at his remark, then let her gaze flick downward once more. Feeling a rush of blood in his ears, Han watched, transfixed, as she dragged her teeth across the edge of her lower lip in an unconscious gesture he recognized at once—she was weighing her options and pondering her next move.

He held his breath. Seeing the rapid rise and fall of her chest, he realised that her pulse must be racing at least as fast as his own. A beat of silence passed before she cast another upward glance at him, and what he saw in her eyes made his stomach give a happy lurch. There was no mistaking the sparkle of invitation there, or the way her hand, still wrapped in his, tightened again in quiet entreaty, exerting gentle traction that he had no will or wish to resist. He couldn't quite believe it was happening—but he wasn't about to question it now. Lowering his head in cautious hope, he felt his heart stutter for an instant and then pound hard against his ribs as Leia stretched up to meet him halfway.

For the first time since their encounter in the circuitry bay, their lips met again in a slow and sensual caress that was light, but full of promise—a kiss of affirmation that made Han's heartbeat soar so high and strong, he thought the power of it might lift them both above the deck plates. The first delicate touch of their lips gave way gradually to something more, as one lingering kiss led to another and then another, and then the lines began to blur. Daring at last to give expression to his pent-up desires, Han released her hand, slipped an arm around her waist, and drew her close. She came easily against him, pliant and warm, as their mutual hunger turned latent spark to searing flame.

She was sweet and hot, delicious with the mingled flavours of caf and mint and her own unique taste. The scent of her flooded Han's senses, and the knowledge that she wanted his kiss, that she craved this communion the way he did, erased everything else from his mind. The pain in his ribs utterly forgotten now, he wrapped both arms around her in a deeper embrace, his pulse quickening once more when she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body tight to his. He felt her fingers sliding through his hair as she parted her soft lips beneath his, and then the lush sensation of her tongue, the intimate flicker of it, the silent invitation, swept over him in a sublime wave. He heard himself groan as his whole body tightened in response.

The sudden sharp bleat of the nearby autocaf abruptly shattered the moment, startling them apart with a series of bright pings as the machine noisily finished its brewing cycle. Chewbacca had long ago modified the device to produce a signal on completion that was much louder than the factory default, one that would easily carry throughout the ship. At such close proximity, the piercing tone was loud enough to provoke a flinch, and that had ended their heated kiss with an unpleasant jolt.

He shot a hot glare at the offending machine, then felt his irritation turn swiftly to dismay as Leia took the opportunity of the disruption to begin withdrawing from his embrace. With light pressure from her palms against this chest, she gently extricated herself and took a small backward step to widen the space between them even more. It wasn't a cold departure, but it left Han feeling bereft nonetheless, and he had to force himself to drop his hands away and let her go. His whole body still tingled with residual heat from where she had pressed her petite frame against his, and the sweet taste of her intimate kisses lingered warmly on his lips and tongue. He wanted more of that with her and he wanted it now.

The urge to pursue her was almost overwhelming. Her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing as heavily as he was, he noted. He reckoned he could probably edge into her space, gather her close, and persuade her to pick up right where they'd left off—but the fleeting moment, as exciting as it had been, was lost. When she picked up her yellow mug and then lifted it to her lips, he saw the good-humoured twinkle in her eyes, and breathed out a sigh of relief. At least she didn't intend to flee the scene this time, he consoled himself, watching her resume her position leaning back against the opposite galley counter.

Feigning composure he did not feel, he reached for his own mug, drained the last of the caf and set the cup down with a thump, trying like hell to get a grip on his caroming thoughts and emotions. Sparring with Leia had always been fun; she kept him on his toes like nobody else ever could, so fast and fierce with wit and words, a force to be reckoned with in all respects. He'd never been left so continually slack-jawed, frustrated and elated by anyone, and the present situation was no exception— although this time she'd taken him down with ardent kisses instead of tart invective. Their brief but passionate encounter had left his body thrumming and his mind utterly devoid of thought—so much so, he didn't know what to do or say next. While his gobsmacked brain whirled in slow, helpless circles, Leia spoke and spared him the trouble of composing a coherent response.

"So," she ventured, as she set her cup aside and then folded her arms across her chest. "You still haven't told me how I can help."

Han's brows knitted together in puzzlement. Help? Help with what? Dimly, he recognized that his ability to process information had been short-circuited by the surge of adrenaline and desire that had flooded through him in response to her kiss. All the blood in his body had apparently abandoned his brain. Momentarily at a loss, he became aware that he was simply gaping at her.

Leia swallowed a laugh, and then cocked her head to one side and regarded him with an expression of fond amusement. "The ship, Hotshot?" she prompted. "Repairs? You wanted me to help you with….?"

Realization finally dawned and Han's sleep-deprived and oxygen-starved brain sluggishly made the shift from 'standby' to a somewhat more functional gear. "Ohhh," he returned distractedly. "That, um. Yeah, uh, lemme think…."

Leia's smile widened. "Perhaps we should refill our cups and go sit at the table," she suggested, gesturing with her head toward the open hatch. "You can give me a briefing on what you've accomplished so far, and plan my work for the day?"

"Sure…okay," Han said, striving to disguise his consternation.

In the span of mere moments, they had gone from kisses hot enough to warp the metal plates beneath their feet to...status reports and work plans? Were they not going to talk about what had just happened between them, or address the monumental events of the night before? How was he supposed to just—.

"C'mon," Leia goaded him in friendly fashion, interrupting his thoughts. "Here's your chance to order me around a little, Captain."

The teasing tone of her voice rebooted Han's frazzled connections at last, bringing his central processor back online with a snap. "Order you around?" he said with a wry snort. "Since when do you ever follow my orders, Your Highnessness?"

"About as often as youfollow mine."

Leia pushed away from the counter once more, and then planted one fist on her hip and regarded him with a thoughtful smile. "But...I suppose your willingness to 'obey' might depend on what those orders actually entail...?"

Han blinked. She had that flirtatious sparkle in her eye again, the one that made him feel like the ship's artificial gravity was on the fritz. He rubbed his jaw in a show of unhurried contemplation, buying time.

"It might," he agreed. "I can play nice when I have to, as long as there's something in it for me."

"I see." Leia gave a slow nod. "Such a mercenary. So...what if I ordered you to kiss me again? Think you could comply with that?"

Oh ho ho, Princess! That's more like it.

Striving for an air of nonchalance, Han reached for her empty mug while he pretended to ponder the question, channelling his inner exultation into giving the appearance of careful deliberation as he refilled first her mug and then his own at the autocaf. Turning back to her, he handed over the steaming cup and then lifted his own as he gave her a smug smile.

"If you're going to start giving orders like that, Sweetheart, I might be persuaded to fall in line."