Sweetdeath04: You spent much more brainpower coming up with your name than mine, you know? I went, "I like Jedi and I dig the Rogues." That was the extent of my contemplations. And thanks for your mush support - I tried it! Thanks!

MissE: Thanks for the review! I took your suggestion to heart - hope you see the Solo cockiness now!

Pitdroid: You get a couple of hints in this post. Thanks!

SailorLeia: Mon Mothma makes a great villian in some cases. I should be careful, though, regarding the 'villian' word; she's not actually one here, just a politician. I know, I know, I hate 'em, too ;) Thanks!

Culf: Han and Leia are a package deal, in my opinion. And I couldn't really separate them, I don't think. Okay, that was a very hypocritical statement . . . ;) Thanks for reviewing, and welcome to PwtD!

Starrunner: A familiar face, er, name. Thanks! I know - the Leia-cide gets annoying. This is not an anyone-cide story, I guarantee it!

Thanks to all of my reviewers! It means a lot to get feedback, both good and bad! Thanks!

And now, without further ado, may I present the amazing Princess herself . . .

Han's going to kill me.

It was the thought that kept bouncing around Leia Organa's head since the beginning of this stupid mission and truly since she first agreed to it, if she was feeling honest with herself. It dominated her thoughts now. Sitting cross-legged on the floor of some dry stone building she had inhabited for the better part of a day and a half, she was trying valiantly to meditate, and, finding it difficult to pursue any form of mental peace, gave up the effort nearly as soon as it was begun.

Some of it probably stemmed from her current situation, her imprisonment, and her disappointment, both in herself and in the New Republic, but Leia knew that the root of her mental inconsistency lay with her guilt.

When she had initially agreed to the Anselm mission, she had been assured that the Meridian campaign, Han's campaign, would be complete and he would be informed of her escape. As it stood at the time she had departed Coruscant in a flurry of product transports for GansCorp, Han was still active and fighting.

And under comm silence.

She continued to turn the experience around in her mind, twisting and contorting it to view it from all possible angles. She had thought about it in the week or so before her escape, trying to imagine how it would affect him. She had imagined hurt, loss, pain. Most certainly anger. Definite sadness. When she had been speaking to the Second Party Senators, she had kept Han in the back of her mind, hoping she could find some way to communicate to him, and only him, through public channels. Before the "blaster shot" had hit her, her last organized thought had been of him and his reaction.

She had been completely unprepared. For, in that split second between the blast and the application of the sedative, she had felt him. Shocked. Tortured. His presence seemed confused and hopeless, not angry as she had theorized. His was an intense, true pain, similar to what Leia had experienced in Cloud City.

Similar, but not exact.

She had a fleeting impression of regret: extreme regret and self-revulsion for a multitude of tiny, insignificant details she had forgotten and forgiven years ago. Nuances that she found endearing, quirks she loved, but would never admit loving. Memories so vivid and real that she almost lamented her own death.

She saw herself through his mind in a fraction of a heartbeat, saw herself as he saw her. Caught a glimpse of beloved features so etched into his brain that he could bring them up at a moment's notice.

And in that split second before hitting the ground and succumbing to the sedative and its catatonic properties, she knew she had made a mistake.

I screwed up, and now Han is . . .

Well, she didn't know exactly. Leia had been in semi-contact with Luke up until she had met with Hovett. She had been aware of his emotions and dimly conscious of Han's presence. The sheer magnitude of the space between them was affecting how well she could sense either, and even if she had wanted to get a definite location on Han, she couldn't have.

And now that semi-contact was lost to her, abandoned in some adverse affect of these disgusting little creatures with whom she now lived. She had quickly learned to despise the creatures; three of whom now resided in her cell and the other five that she discovered in her rush to leave Hovett's compound.

Leia was becoming increasingly annoyed with this whole predicament.

"Han."

"What?"

"What are you going to do? Barge into Imperial-held space and shoot your way through?"

"Well, yeah. Isn't that how we always do this stuff?"

A beat.

"Yeah, kinda. But this isn't some rebel cell ready to be shipped off – "

"That worked out just fine, Luke – "

"– or a datacard with Imperial intelligence on it – "

"That got back to us eventually – "

"– or me on Dantooine when my X-wing got fried – "

"That was not my problem."

"– it's Leia. Possibly in captivity. Probably unable to contact us. Most likely upset and ready to behead anyone the minute they step into wherever she is."

"Nah. She's learned her lesson 'bout that one, kid."

Luke sighed exasperatedly. "Look, we don't have a lot of room here to make mistakes. Mon Mothma can't sanction this rescue and we're heading in blind to an Imperial-held world who's military leader is probably expecting some kind of New Republic intrusion unit to come barging in the front door."

"So, where's the problem?"

Luke closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

When his eyes opened again, Han was grinning at him under a set of glittering eyes. Luke grabbed the nearest object, a NR ration bar, deadly in more ways than one, and threw it at him. The bar smacked off Han's head, but the former smuggler was unfazed.

"Hard head," Luke noted.

"So Leia tells me."

"Yeah, well, she's one to talk. So."

Han visibly shifted into general mode. "We know Anselm is blockaded, we know that Hovett is on Anselm, we know that you can't hear Leia in your head. That about it?"

"The moon."

"Well, yeah, the moon. I forgot about the moon."

Chewie grumbled a question.

"Sorry, pal. Before we left Coruscant, we went and searched old Imperial records for Anselm or Hovett. Hovett's hasn't been updated since he was some idiot rich-kid lieutenant about fifteen years ago. Anselm's record has more; there are old population censuses and some information about a moon."

"The census probably can't help us, but the moon . . . "

Han paused. "It'll work."

Luke eyed Han warily. "Yeah, but how much damage will we sustain in the process?"

"Stop it."

"What?"

"You're looking all nervous." Han's voice drifted up from behind Luke, who was walking slightly ahead of him.

"I am never nervous."

"Bull. You're jumpy. Reminds me of farmboy who idolized and worshipped me, followed me everywhere, wanted to be me. One of the many, that is."

Luke narrowed both his eyes under the greasy mechanic's cap he wore. "Do you ever think before you talk?"

"Nope. Wastes time."

Luke shook his head in silent mirth and glanced around them. Han and he were strolling down the spaceport on Anselm's moon, picking up a flight down to the planet proper, hoping to pass off as Anselm ship mechanics finished with repairs at the spaceport and returning to Anselm itself. They had passed preliminary security with relative ease, flashing ID's Han had scrounged up somewhere in the Falcon. The Falcon itself was stashed inside an old spacestation rotating around Anselm, Chewie watching the helm and the environment around him for any suspicious movements.

Secondary security was a bit more difficult, requiring a few covert mind tricks and some less-than-delicate diplomacy from Han. Nevertheless, they cleared the spaceport and made it through to a rickety transport that looked it was being skeleton-crewed and had been around since the Clone Wars.

Luke smirked. "You should have no problem with this thing. It's practically an exact copy of – "

"Nice. You know, your jokes don't get any better the more time I spend with you."

"Sure they do. You just need some Whyren's Reserve to fully appreciate them."

Han chuckled. "Kid, I need Whyren's Reserve on a daily basis anyway to deal with you, your sister, and my life in general."

Alright, I need advice. I really want to post this thing over at the JC boards, but they've been having a bit of a Leia-cide epidemic lately. I'm afraid if I post this right now, I'll lose readers that are disgusted if it seems I have Leia dead and buried. Is this a concern? Whadd'ya think?

Thanks again, all! I would really appreciate your advice!