Leia stewed. Four days had passed since the event, which, in her mind, came to be known as The Kiss.
A kiss, sandwiched among a battle, a broken hyperdrive, and a mynock inside a space slug inside an asteroid. All those had made her head spin in fear and disbelief, but only the kiss had taken her breath away.
Four days since she stood in the circuitry bay and she trembled, because the nearer his lips came to her own the more she was affected by a sort of pulsing, hammering, knowledge of free fall.
Fight, flight, failure and free fall. Was her decision to return his kiss any of those?
It had overwhelmed her. The knowledge, his lips, the want. She had run away to think.
She figured he would try again. This was Han Solo. But so far, for whatever reason, he hadn't. He didn't chase after her, and she appreciated that. He had said he was nice, after all. But-
But.
Forget nice. By gods, his eyes, his hands. That mouth, that talked to her crooked and fun, layer upon layer. His strength, the harmony he held with his ship. The captain's logs. Logs! She couldn't get over that he kept logs. It was charming; so proper, and efficient, and exactly what a captain was supposed to do; like her, he was good at doing a complete job.
The years they'd known each other. A history together, of places and events, of stress and frustration and laughter.
He was becoming a very attractive package.
At the end of the third day, when Leia lay in her bunk and imagined those lips asleep and slightly parted, she knew the decision had already been made.
Free fall. A glorious leap from unknown heights, exhilarating and breathless, a willingness to risk, to live and feel.
She was very proud of herself.
And so she emerged from hiding, and she waited. He kept himself very busy, and C-3PO and Chewie too, with diagnostics and meter readings and requests for tools, or he tucked himself into maintenance hatches or crawled over the large conduits. There was a look in his eyes when he talked to her, but not that look.
Had she misread him? Had he been satisfied, with one tongue-swirling, head-spinning, blood-boiling passionate kiss? That was all? Confused, she retreated some again, more angry than hurt, wondering if this captain, who made notes and charts and plotted, had only been out to use her.
For one kiss? Han Solo and one kiss? By Leia's reckoning, that was not finishing the job.
On the fourth day, he had set his drink of water down, and said a bit tiredly, "I think I'm mostly caught up. Repaired what damage I could. The rest needs parts."
She touched his wrist. "You've been working nonstop." She let her hand linger.
"Yeah," he said. And he looked at her hand, small and pale atop his, and she was rewarded with a bob of his adam's apple as he swallowed. "I'll remember that next time I'm in a war and running from bounty hunters." He covered her hand with his other, and gently slid hers away. "I'm gonna help Chewie clean up."
Leia paced in a stomp about the cockpit. After all that- that- that build up, he was going to let it deflate? With a sigh? After all that swagger? When they still had months to look forward to together on this well-logged heap of junk? What was his problem? Why? What kind of-
Angrily, Leia confronted him at the holochess table where he and Chewie sat, not cleaning, but playing a game. She waited with a hand on her hip until he lifted his gaze to her.
"Something wrong, Princess?"
"Are you going to kiss me again?" she demanded.
His mouth opened. The lips weren't tired; surprised, she thought, and entertained. Chewie warbled something, and started to rise, but Leia told him, "It's fine, Chewie. Don't get up."
Han looked at her. "Do you want me to?"
"I expected you to try again. I've been waiting."
"Oh." Now he looked pleased; his lips were curving slowly up one cheek. "I thought-"
"Never mind what you thought, Captain. Obviously, you were wrong."
And from across the table she grabbed the back of his head, and pulled his mouth to hers. This time she was doing the kissing, and she concentrated on it. The soft feel of his lips, the way her tongue grazed over his teeth when he opened his mouth just enough. His hair, threading between her fingers as she swept her hand upward.
She kissed him a long time, shifting the position of her head, tasting kaf and breakfast and maybe even the accidental drop of engine oil, looking at the lashes of his closed eyes, feeling the stubble of an unshaven cheek, tracing the tendons of his neck. Chewie was still in his seat, and had made a few comments as she and Han got going, but had fallen silent.
When it was enough, or should she say when she needed more, she pulled her face free. His eyes opened, and that look was back; deeper and better, and he was smiling.
"Never make me wait again," she said, and strode off to her cabin.
He spilled Chewie's drink in his haste to follow her. "Never," he vowed from behind.
Leia's eyes were glittering, she wore a full smile of one who survived a free fall, only to climb to the top and do it again.