"Lookin' good, Baby," Han murmured to his ship as he flicked a few switches on the console. The Falcon hummed, systems checks showing pleasing results all round. Even the temperamental hyperdrive appeared to be fully operational.

So poetic, sniggered Chewie. No wonder Little Princess is smitten with you.

"Ah, shut up, furball. Who the fuck died and made you a critic?"

The Wookiee grinned. Malla says I have a beautiful way with words.

Han snorted, rolling his eyes.

"OK," he yelled down to the technicians buried in somewhere in the Falcon's insides. "I think that's it. You can come on out."

He was pleased with the morning's work. There were still one or two minor things to resolve, but nothing that the technicians couldn't fix themselves. Just as well too; he would much rather have started the day by curling himself around his Princess, nuzzling her awake and tangling his fingers through that beautiful cascading hair of hers, kissing her neck softly until she rolled over and had her way with him. You're a lost cause, pal, he thought, but without any real self-consciousness.

His thoughts drifted back to last night. He hadn't planned on telling her he loved her. It had just… happened, the words spilling out of him as though his body could no longer contain the feelings bubbling up inside. Not that it hadn't been true for a long time now, it was just, well… the old Han Solo would never have been the one to say it first. In fact, if he was entirely honest with himself, the old Han Solo – loner, criminal, cynic – would never have said it at all. The old Han Solo's heart had been locked up tighter than an air shrimp's ass and he'd thrown the metaphorical key out the metaphorical airlock years ago. But that was before Leia Organa had come into his life, blasting through every shield and defence mechanism like a supernova, obliterating the old Han Solo as surely as the Death Star had obliterated Alderaan.

As it turned out, the Han Solo she'd replaced him with was a giant sap. Who knew? he thought with a private wry smile.

The fact that she hadn't said she loved him back didn't worry him too much. The woman had shields and emotional defences almost as robust as his own. Han was pretty sure she felt the same way and would say it in her own sweet time. If only you could stick around to find out, he thought to himself, his mood suddenly turning gloomy.

He stood up and stretched, pushing that thought away. "I could use some breakfast, pal. Whaddaya say we go get Leia and see what Lando can rustle up?"

Agreed. I am hungrier than a bantha. No, a rancor. No! I am hungrier than an exogorth…

"OK, OK, I got it. You're hungry. Let's go."

Exiting the Falcon's ramp, Han confirmed that the technicians would finish up, then he and Chewie ambled inside. Maybe he could even get some decent kaffe to bring back for Leia, he mused as they wandered through the white corridors towards their apartment. Might make up for her waking up alone.

As they retraced their steps, Chewie suddenly paused. You go on. I want to check something.

Han frowned. "Thought you were hungry?"

I will not be long.

"Sure, pal," Han said, shrugging. He was anxious to see Leia and didn't want to get caught up with whatever strange business the Wookiee felt compelled to undertake. Continuing on his way, he felt his step grow lighter as he neared the apartment, a pleasant fluttering in his stomach. He'd only been away from her a few hours, but already he missed her, his fingers aching to trace her soft skin. He hoped the extra sleep had improved her mood; she'd been so rattled last night, clinging to him like a mynock. Come to think of it, she'd been on edge ever since they arrived on Bespin, and he couldn't really figure out why. He understood her unhappiness over him leaving – shit, he was pretty fucking unhappy about that himself. There were times, tangled together in his bunk, when he thought there was no way in the Nine Hells he'd be able to walk away from her. He needed her like he needed oxygen, like he needed food or water. But then he'd remember Ord Mantell, the image of Leia lying white and still in the med centre, and he'd grit his teeth and know he would do it, even if it ripped his heart to pieces. Even if it ripped her heart to pieces. He would do anything in his power to prevent Leia Organa from hurting, but if it was a choice between her being sad or being dead, the decision was a no-brainer.

Leia's unease, however, didn't seem to be just about him leaving, although that was admittedly a large part of it. Something about Cloud City was getting her all riled up, and not in a good way. She definitely didn't like Lando, but that didn't surprise him. Lando's suave, sophisticated act worked wonders on a certain type of woman; he'd seen it a thousand times before. But not Leia. She'd been in the Imperial Senate since she was sixteen, had faced down Darth Vader and Grand Moff Tarkin. She ate guys like Lando Calrissian for breakfast.

At least the Falcon was fixed now, so whatever was bothering her, they could be gone from here by the end of the day, find out where the rest of the Fleet was hiding, make like an amoeba and split. He hated seeing her like this, anxiety knawing away at her insides like a parasite. He wanted her happy and relaxed, the Leia he'd seen during the trip to Bespin. Warm, wry, confident, so beautiful it took his breath away.

What the hell did you ever do, he thought as he palmed the apartment's door lock, to deserve her.