Distribution: If you already have the original fic "Strong" on your site, feel free to take this and let me know afterwards. Otherwise if you want to use my story, please just ask first.

A/N: I wrote most of this story in Iraq, so the names and some subtle elements may have been influenced by my experiences. Specifically, some of the Bothans are named after Kuwaiti brands of bottled water. If this offends you, please go find a hobby.

"Han," she mumbled after a long time. "Han, I can't. You should…" blinking, she wrenched herself away from his embrace. Han let her go, but kept one hand on her forearm. She was trying to recover some semblance of dignity, surreptitiously wiping at her nose and taking slow, deep breaths. "I'm sorry about that," she said with strained calm. Her voice was still ragged, but the worst was over.

"Ah, don't be," he said. "Hey, if I were you, I'da lost it completely. Just about anybody would."

"But I'm not just anybody," Leia replied, bitterness framing her words.

Han laughed. "No. No, highness, you're definitely not."

A pleasant silence fell between them, and Leia was actually smiling a little.

"Ahh…" Han stuffed his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling awkward. "Do you…"

"How 'bout a drink, flyboy?" Leia interrupted him.

"Love one," he replied with relief.

"So he sent me to a public school from that day on, complete with an armed escort," Leia related. Hours had passed, and they'd made their way through half a bottle of confiscated alcohol. "I was always trying to ditch the guards until Kiri came along. She never told my father anything I did, even though she always knew what I was up to, and she taught me how to defend myself. Kiri was a good bodyguard because she didn't try to be my babysitter." One of the millions killed on Alderaan. Another of Leia's old friends, lost forever.

Han wrapped his arm around her shoulder. They were sitting on the floor on top of Leia's bedroll, leaning against the cold wall. Leia treated Han like a piece of furniture, making herself comfortable, and the smuggler didn't mind her elbow digging into his ribs. He poured her another glass of whatever it was they were drinking and took a swig for himself straight out of the bottle.

The princess looked disheveled, exhausted, and redfaced from her earlier crying, but for once she actually looked relaxed.

"You look really pretty with your hair all messed up," he found himself confessing. Oops. He glanced suspiciously at the bottle.

"And you look very handsome when you're being sincere," she returned.

Han knew it would be a bad idea to kiss her at this point. She was drunk and that would be taking advantage. Besides, she'd been upset and had just needed someone to talk to. Plus, she was gorgeous. No, wait, that wasn't a good reason not to kiss her. Leia would kill him if he tried it. That was a better one. Okay. No kissing. He risked a glance toward her and found that she had passed out. There was princess drool on his shoulder.

Disentangling himself gently, Han picked her up and carried her to her cot. He deposited her small body there and laid her on her side (just in case), then covered her up with the bedroll. I'm gonna be her hero now, he thought to himself as he pulled the musty sleeping bag up to her shoulders. He could have taken advantage of her, but he hadn't. He'd been a perfect gentleman, a shoulder to cry on, and a drinking buddy all in one. A nice guy. Weren't women like her always saying they liked nice guys? Han had his doubts about that, but he was still pretty sure he'd scored big points tonight. Smooth.

He mentally congratulated himself, took one last look at the passed-out princess, and left with the remains of the illegal liquor.

Not a bad night's work.