Rating: PG
Author's note: Set in the early days of "The Empire Strikes Back," comes yet another tale of classic Princess/Scoundrel sparring. I've always been intrigued by the wonderful "You could use a good kiss" scene, and wanted this piece to be somewhat of a filler, to explain what prompted Han's whole "you want me to stay because of the way you feel about me" spiel.
Disclaimer: I understand that the characters and locations of Star Wars are the property of Lucasfilm, and do not belong to me. However, my words and storylines do. Please do not copy or reproduce this story in any way without my permission.
Dedication: To Kelly, my muse and greatest taskmaster all rolled into one.
"What am I doing here?" Han Solo wondered, irritated with the biting cold that had invited numbness into his weary limbs. "Man, I gotta get off of this ice cube." Three months stationed on this frozen hell, serving a cause that didn't respect him in the least, had left him burnt out and frustrated. There were other pressing matters he should be attending to, better uses for his skill and expertise than playing the Boy Scout. It wouldn't be so bad if he was at least appreciated. If the Princess showed a little gratitude, and told him 'thank you' every once and awhile. After all, he did pull his weight around the base, completed his fair share of the brunt work. But Leia Organa's chilly countenance was a clear reflection of the environment.
The smuggler still wasn't sure why he had bothered to hang around this long. Well… that wasn't altogether true. There was a reason he continued to put up with the lousy food and cold showers from day to day—the kid. He knew how disappointed Luke would be if he were to just cut and run, and even with all of his callous selfishness, it wasn't enough to face the betrayed look in the young Jedi's eyes. Was it possible that the same Han Solo who didn't believe in anything would feel guilty for bailing on a lost cause? Could be.
There was another reason he was lingering, though he often didn't care to admit it to himself. There was something about the royal spitfire that intrigued him. For as much as he resented Leia's bossy superiority, he found himself paying entirely too much attention to her. He was torn between wanting to hate her and the desire to prove to her his worth. His pride urged him to tell her just where she could shove her imperious attitude; Han Solo wasn't about to be tamed by some spoiled princess. But his gut was telling him something else, something different. That these were good people, and they could use a guy like him. It was confusing as hell.
And so he had stuck it out, suffering through the last few frostbitten weeks, assuring his grumbling partner that it would only be a few more days before they hit the stars again. He had, at one time, considered staying on for good. It had been an idea that he entertained one sleepless night, something that he hadn't even confessed to Chewbacca. Then came the incident on Ord Mantell. There was just something about having a blaster dug into your back that made one swiftly reconsider their decisions in life. It had been a close shave, too close for Han's comfort, and he knew now that Jabba meant business. So his fleeting dreams of nobility had vanished, thanks to the abrupt reality check. It probably wouldn't have worked out anyway. Space pirates didn't just clean up and become glorified heroes. He had to stick with what he knew; and he knew the smuggling trade. Han was also grimly aware of what Jabba's lackeys would do to him if he didn't pay up—and soon.
There was a shuffle of footsteps from the other end of the tunnel, and Han glanced up, snapping out of his reverie. And speaking of the Ice Princess herself… He watched in quasi-amusement as the subject of his vexation came breezing down the corridor. She looked extremely irked about something; her angelic features lined with weary frustration. Her chestnut locks were pulled up out of her face, and pinned to her head in tight, neat braids. Sure, it was better than those damn buns, but he couldn't imagine that the hairstyle was very comfortable. Probably cutting off circulation to her brain or something—which would explain her frequent bouts of crankiness. Just once though, would he like to see that silky cascade free and flowing. If she would just relax every once and a while, and deal with things as they came, she might actually regain the ability to feel. Han might have suggested that she literally let her hair down, if she hadn't been looking so furious.
"Something wrong, Princess?" He inquired casually, leaning back against a frigid wall.
Leia caught sight of him and nearly halted in her tracks, a frown crossing her lips. She sucked in a deep breath, clenching her jaw. "No. I'm fine. Thank you," she replied coolly, sounding as if she were just the opposite.
"Yeah," he grunted, with his ever-present sarcasm. "I can see that."
She shot him a warning glare, and then heaved an exasperated sigh. "Look, I don't have time for this," Leia informed him curtly. "I have more important things to do than stand around and argue."
He was instigating a fight, and he knew it. It was an old habit. Pushing himself off of the wall, he held his palms up in surrender. "Hey, now. Don't get upset." He let his arms drop to his sides, resolved to be polite. "I was only asking. Thought maybe you needed to get something off your chest."
Leia arched a thin brow at his attempt, his explanation having done nothing to lighten her mood. "'Off my chest'?" She repeated dubiously, looking vaguely annoyed.
"Well, like maybe you needed to talk to someone or something. You're looking a little worn around the edges." Han clarified; growing increasingly more irritated with his own chivalrous effort. "You can talk to us, y'know. No use carrying all of that stress around on your own."
"Talk to you?" She scoffed openly, incredulous. "About my personal problems?"
He felt his face redden at her reply. "Well, sure. If you needed to." He shrugged a little, trying to shake off her insult. "Never know, it might make you feel better."
"This is ridiculous. Taking advice from the very man whose motto is 'shoot first, ask questions later'." She shook her head, looking disconcerted. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not going to waste my time or yours." Brusquely, she turned her back on him, and proceeded down the hall.
The whole thing felt like a slap in the face, though he shouldn't have expected anything less from Leia Organa. "Hey!" He stormed after her. "I was just trying to help, your Highness-ness." Han told her, pointedly. "So don't patronize me, not when you're the one having issues."
"Issues? I beg your pardon?" The Princess snapped back, her cheeks flushed with anger. "My issues, Solo, are nobody's concern. Least of all, yours."
"Obviously," Han snorted in agreement. "Which explains why you're always trying to take on everything all on your own." He folded his arms with a smug sense of satisfaction. "You just thrive on responsibility, don't you?"
Leia felt herself brimming over with fury, and fought to keep her temper in check. He was goading her on, as usual. But this time, she wasn't going to allow him the pleasure of pushing her buttons. "This isn't about personal glory, Han." She stated tersely, her tone firm and unyielding. "I'm trying to do my job here. And quite frankly, I don't care what anyone else thinks about me."
"Like hell, you don't," Han swore fiercely, his dark eyes bearing down on her. "Otherwise you wouldn't be trying so damn hard. But this isn't something you can pull off on your own, sweetheart." He moved to grip her shoulders, caught up in a moment of intensity. "That's why we're all here. Or have you forgotten your own lectures about teamwork?"
"I don't need your help," she declared icily, jerking away his hold. "And I certainly don't want your input on my life."
"Well, you need somebody's." His focused expression melted into an unabashed retaliation, and he removed his hands from her. "You're trying to live up to your name. Admit it, you're Daddy's little girl."
When her porcelain face went ashen with shock, he knew he'd gone too far. Memories of her beloved foster father, Bail Organa, rippled across her features, and Han could see the ghosts of Alderaan reflected through her clear, brown eyes. She looked as if she had just been stunned. Her lips parted and trembled, momentarily incapable of speech, and she just stood there, blinking at him.
Han winced at her reaction, filled with a moment of self-loathing. He sighed heavily, looking sheepish, and shoved his gloved hands into the pockets of his oversized parka. "That was out of line…I didn't mean it."
"Yes, well." She had quickly regained her stony composure, her face once again a mask of ice. "You said it anyway." He waited for the inevitable smack to the face or the tempest of angry words that was sure to follow; but they never came. Instead of giving him a fierce tongue lashing, the Princess merely pivoted on her heel and strode briskly passed him.
Muttering a string of curses under his breath, he trailed behind her. "Hey… I'm sorry." Han offered with a slight grimace, a pang of shame coursing through him. "It's just…this place… It's making me crazy. I feel like a pent up animal here," He eyed the frozen walls with obvious disdain. "Trapped on this lifeless rock, in the middle of nowhere. I'm telling ya Princess, it's only a matter of time before they track us down. I can feel it."
How amusing. The Rebellion's chief tactical officers had orchestrated the entire Hoth operation, its secretive location given the stamp of approval by her advising strategists. Her dear friend, Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight in training, had never confessed to having intuitive doubts regarding their mission. And yet, Han claimed that he knew better. A swaggering braggart and self-involved pirate insisted that everyone else's instincts were dead wrong. He, who swore loyalty to no one, was giving her his sage advice on how she should conduct a rebellion that would affect countless lives. It was all Leia could do to keep from rolling her eyes.
A short, sardonic laugh of disbelief escaped her lips, and she turned to face him. "I'm not interested in your appraisal of the situation, Captain." She dismissed him with a stony glare, unwilling to continue with the endless battle of wills.
His brandy eyes narrowed in reply, assuring her that there was no escape from this argument. Captain. Of course, she would pull rank on him; it was her Highness's way of putting others in their proper place. Well, he wasn't about to be placed in an obedient category. "And I could care less whether you are or not, Your Worship." Han fired back, his voice edged with brash indifference. "I'm just giving you the straight-out facts here, that's all."
She could feel her head beginning to pound in response to the unwanted stress that was Han Solo. Gingerly touching a hand to her throbbing temple, Leia felt her patience strain and snap altogether. "And of course, you would be the leading expert on such matters," she muttered dryly, turning her back to him.
"Well, yeah, I'd like to think I know a thing or two about getting in over my head." Han insisted indignantly, thrusting a thumb toward his chest.
"And I'm sure you know all about saving your own hide as well." She glowered back at him, challengingly. "So why aren't you gone yet?"
"All in good time, Princess." He retorted in a low growl, stalking off in the other direction. "All in good time."
"Hey, Han!" The familiar voice greeted him from down tunnel. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed the exuberant Luke Skywalker. The young commander jogged towards him, and Han waited a moment for him to catch up. "Heading to the mess hall?" Luke questioned eagerly, his amiable disposition weighing tediously down on Han's nerves.
"'Was planning on it." Han replied shortly, the previous argument with Leia having temporarily darkened his mood.
"Mind if I join you?"
"Sure," Han relented, somewhat distracted. "If you don't mind watchin' Chewie eat."
"Great," Skywalker beamed back at him. "I need to grab a bite to eat anyway before I head out again." Han regarded the other with a sideways glance, noting that he was geared up to appropriately combat the planet's merciless weather.
"Got you on a short leash, have they?" Solo quipped teasingly, making a concentrated effort not to take his problems with Leia out on his comrade. Though Luke was certainly the rebellion's golden child and favorite to the Princess, he was undeniably their whipping boy. Or at least in Han's humble opinion.
"I don't know if I'd put it that way…" The Jedi-in-training corrected with a sheepish grin. "But I do stay pretty busy with my assignments." He looked to his friend, eyeing the older man thoughtfully. "So how have you been? I don't see too much of you and Chewie these days. Sentry duty's been taking up most of my time."
Han gave an unenthusiastic shrug in reply. "Oh, same old. Looking after the Falcon's repairs and helping out when I can. Her Worship's just full of all kinds of distractions for me."
"So what's going on with you and Leia anyway?" Luke interrupted with poor subtlety, his fair blue eyes probing Han with interest.
"It's nothing." Solo dismissed the subject, his voice catching on a sour note. "We just had a disagreement, that's all."
"It isn't nothing, Han." Luke prodded, ignoring the signals being sent for him to drop it. "You two are horrible to one another, and I'm worried about you purposely provoking each other."
"Well, it ain't exactly a new development, Luke." The smuggler reminded him sardonically, halting in his tracks. "Let's face it, she's a self-righteous, stuck-up, palace brat and chances are, we'll never be able to make nice."
"I think you could try to make more of an effort, Han." Luke advised knowingly, as if wise beyond his years. "You're not even civil with her anymore."
Han was aghast. He'd been looking for a sympathetic ear, only to be stabbed in the back by the one of his closest friends. All over a woman. "Hey, don't you dare cut me short, Junior. I've tried to get on her good side. Hell, I've even stuck around this dump to offer my services to her pitiful cause." He shoved a finger accusingly in Luke's face, dark orbs gleaming recklessly. "So don't you go and write me off as a jerk too, all right? I'm trying my damnedest to play the good guy here. But if her Highness-ness isn't going to make an effort, then I'm sure as hell not going to bother."
Luke heaved a small sigh, visibly troubled. "And we all appreciate your dedication, Han, really we do. You didn't have to stay and help out, but you have anyway."
"That's right, I did." Han interjected in his own defense, unwilling to conceal his irate disappointment. "And don't you forget it."
"I just think you need take it easy on Leia," the other continued with gentle sensibility. "She's so worried right now as it is, and the last thing she needs, are personal conflicts to complicate matters further." Luke paused to examine Han's petulant expression, carefully selecting his next words. "If you could just cut back on the teasing, you'd make things more comfortable for everyone."
Realization slowly crept across Han's features, and his forehead crinkled in a frown. "Oh, I see." He began slowly, evenly. "This is all my fault. The Princess feeling badly and being all stressed out. So, it's me that's the culprit, huh?"
"Han, that's not what I'm saying here. What I meant was—" But his well-meant explanation proved too late; Han's temper was burning steadily away with each passing moment.
"Right." The smuggler acknowledged gruffly, taking more offense from his friend's statement than he probably should have. "I know exactly what you meant. See ya around, kid." And with that, he strode swiftly down the corridor, prepared to leave the prized commander alone with his thoughts.
That was, until he nearly ran into an exhausted Leia Organa. Once the unpleasant surprise had settled, the two looked each other over with mutual agitation. "Captain Solo," Leia nodded in crisp curtness, refusing to acknowledge him any further.
"Your Grace," he spat back, brushing roughly past her.
Skywalker stood in silent observation, cringing at the cold exchange of words. The Princess' disgusted expression melted into genuine relief upon seeing Luke's face, and she favored him with a warm smile. "It's nice to know there are still some of us with manners around," Leia commented with an exasperated sigh.
"Having a rough day?" He inquired wearily.
"You might say that. That man…" Leia shuddered, casting a baleful look over her shoulder. "Utterly impossible."
Luke flashed a sympathetic grin, raking a hand through his sandy locks in a perfect picture display of youthful innocence. "Well, it's all part of his charm I suppose."
The Princess made a face at his reasoning, clearly skeptical. "Please. Han Solo has all the charm of a Kowakian monkey-lizard." She exhaled slowly to collect herself. "But enough about him. Han Solo is the last subject I'd like to linger on." Leia offered him her arm, graceful and composed once more. "You might tell me how you've been getting along."
Accepting her arm, Luke Skywalker was quick to oblige
Chewbacca gave the other a hairy look of incredulity. "You called her a 'Daddy's girl'? That was kind of a low blow." The wookie stated with a low growl, as he shook his head.
"Well, she deserved it!" Han retaliated, facing his longtime sidekick with a grimace. "Besides, we're talking about the queen of low blows here. Don't forget the little darling called you a 'walking carpet' not too long ago." The smuggler slapped down a card and drew another, disgusted with the lack of loyalty that was becoming more apparent in each one of his friends.
"Sure, she has an attitude." Chewie admitted gruffly, observing his hand of cards with an intense gaze. He plucked another card from the pile, sparing Han a doubtful glance. "But I'm sure you didn't help it any."
"And what's that supposed to mean, hairball?" Solo demanded testily, clearly provoked by his companion's rationale.
"I'm just saying that, for as charming as you think you are, you really don't have a clue when it comes to women." Chewbacca clarified with a dull grunt. Sometimes bluntness, the wookie mused, was the only sure-fire way to get a point across. Especially in Solo's case.
"Hey, I've had plenty of women…" Han boasted in an eager attempt to defend his insulted manhood, once again missing the point entirely.
"Not tavern wenches, Han." His partner interjected knowingly, traces of a smirk peeking out from under shaggy whiskers. "I mean actual well-born, classy ladies. And Leia's as high up as they come."
"A lady?" Han snorted in disbelief. "With her mouth? Right. If she was a real lady," he insisted sourly, "she wouldn't treat people the way she does."
"Well, what did you do to annoy her?" Chewie prompted, laying down his winning hand for Han to behold.
Solo swore under his breath, flinging down the rest of his cards. "I didn't do anything." He declared with sanctimonious innocence. "She was the one who let it get all out of hand. I was actually offering her my assistance."
"Your 'assistance'? In what?"
"She looked real upset." Han crossed his arms, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Like something was seriously bothering her and I asked what was wrong. Forgive me for trying to help."
"But did you do it nicely or in your own special way?" Chewbacca understood Han's nature all too well, and was often bewildered by the man's concept of human interaction.
"I was being nice." Han scowled down at his cards, "I can be nice, y'know."
"Well, whatever led up to your brilliant insult obviously got you both angry. It doesn't matter who started it." Chewie reached for Han's discarded cards and expertly began to shuffle the deck. "I know you well enough by now and you probably let your ego get in the way."
"Hey, watch it fuzzbutt—"
"That and your big mouth." The wookie added with a snide bark, pausing to stretch luxuriously.
Han sighed in defeat, having finally run out of counterattacks. "So you really think that Alderaan comment was over the line?"
"Does it matter what I think?" Chewbacca stuffed the cards back into their container, and tossed the box to Han.
"Look," Solo cut in sharply, catching it. "If you think I was in the wrong, then just come out and say it, all right?"
"She might be a feisty, spoiled thing, but if I were her," His co-pilot gave a savage grin, "I would have slapped you around for that one."
"Fine." Han admitted, acknowledging his guilt with the reluctance of a stubborn child. "Maybe I shouldn't have said it. But it's too late to take it back now."
The wookie merely raised a furry, challenging brow.
"No you may not enter, Captain Solo!" She could make out the sound of Threepio's nasal drone from behind door. "Princess Leia has retired for the evening and is in dire need of rest, so I'm afraid she is quite unavailable."
Leia froze in place and pressed closer to listen, her curiosity peaked. Han Solo, coming to her door at such an hour, after such a venomous quarrel? Part of her, the more petty side, was pleased to hear Threepio's snobby refusal. But the other half of her, the tender woman's heart, fluttered with excitement at his unannounced arrival. Barging into her private chambers in the middle of the night, was both unacceptable and completely inappropriate. And yet, at the same time tantalizingly mysterious… As there was no room for a simpering, feminine disposition in the Rebellion, it was a piece of herself Leia had never known. Thrust into a life of selfless diplomacy at such a young age, she had never been familiar with the courting process. This new, dizzying torrent of flustered emotion was completely foreign to her.
"Yeah, I understand that," came Han's impatient reply. "But this is kinda important, so if you don't mind—"
Threepio's peevish protests were suddenly muffled by the sound of insistent knocking. Her heart pulsing, Leia took in a deep breath, debating whether or not she should answer. Ultimately, she would have to face him again, so why not just get it over with now? As determined as he was, there was a good chance he would wake the entire barracks if she didn't answer.
Summoning up every ounce of regal stoicism, the princess straightened her small shoulders, and with forced determination, deactivated the door's locking mechanism. The panel abruptly slid open to reveal a bedraggled Solo and Threepio, looking about as disgusted as was a droid possibly could.
"Oh, Mistress Leia!" The gleaming annoyance fussed, wobbling fretfully towards her. "My most humble apologies for this unseemly interruption! Captain Solo's manners leave much to be desired and he simply would not be discouraged, despite my best efforts to deter him."
"It's very late," Leia stated flatly, ignoring the perturbed droid entirely. "Can I help you with something?"
The look on the smuggler's face was almost comical; and an expression of baffled astonishment rippled across his features, as if he hadn't expected her to give into his whims. Han struggled silently for a moment, his wit having temporarily abandoned him.
"Look Leia…" he scratched his head, boyishly awkward. "I came here tonight because I've had something eatin' away at me all afternoon…"
Leia nodded slowly, swallowing back the catty insult that was already forming in her throat. No need to goad him on at such an ungodly hour; the sooner she allowed him his ridiculous confession, the sooner she could slip beneath her warm comforter. "All right…" she offered with little enthusiasm, prodding him to continue.
Han released a sigh, pausing to meet her skeptical frown. She wasn't about to let him off easy. "I'm sorry about…you know, earlier." The sentence sprung from his lips in an embarrassed jumble. "It wasn't my place to say something like that."
He was standing right in front of her, all traces of ridicule absent from his humble expression, and still she couldn't believe it. Han Solo had just done two things she never would have thought humanly possible for him: refer to her without the use of a mocking title and apologize with absolute sincerity. Dumbfounded, she could only return his reconciling sentiment with a blank stare.
"I never meant to purposely hurt you like that," Solo hastened to add, again catching her off guard with his genuine approach. "I mean, I know I'm a pretty tactless guy sometimes," his dark eyes held her at rapt attention, unwavering in their gaze, "but I'm not about taking cheap shots. I have too much respect for you for that."
"I…I don't know what to say." Leia confessed in all honesty, her stubborn will beginning to dissipate into the frosty air. "Thank you." She pressed her lips together, battling with her conflicted pride. "I realize I haven't been…very pleasant to be around as of late, and I apologize." She meekly crossed her arms in front of her, the admittance leaving her with a sour taste. "I guess I'm still getting used to the limitations of this place."
"You're doin' a good job here, Princess. Whether you realize it or not." Han placed a gloved hand on her shoulder, and favoring her with a familiar lop-sided smile.
"I think I just cause you to forget that every once and a while."
Staring back into his rich brown eyes, Leia was surprised by the comfort his touch allowed, and found herself suddenly wishing that things were less complicated between them. "Actually, I think it might be a team effort on our part," she mused in agreement.
He flashed an incorrigible grin in return. "See? Teamwork. I knew there was a reason you were keepin' me around."
"I'm not keeping you—" Leia's defensive reflexes kicked in, ready to deliver a haughty retort. His goofy leer made her catch herself, and she merely shook her head, smiling wryly in spite of herself. "Keep dreaming, Solo."
"Maybe I'll do just that." With a suggestive wink, he turned to exit, leaving her feeling oddly weak in the knees.
Mind blanketed in mystified fatigue, she leaned back to watch him go, her lissome figure draped against the doorframe. Unbelievable, the extensive range of emotion he could drive her to. She still wasn't sure about this man--what exactly he meant to her and why. And though she suspected that Han would remain a perpetual enigma for her, there was at least one aspect about him she could grudgingly appreciate. Most certainly his relentlessness. Among Hoth's bleak snowdrifts, with another battle inevitably approaching, they were going to need all of the dreams they could get.
Fin