All Bets Are Off - Chapter Five
The cold air in the hangar nipped at Leia's nose and deepened the pink of her cheeks as she purposefully made her way to the docking bay where the Millennium Falcon rested.
Chewbacca was huffing about as he often did, tightening bolts along the vessel's loading ramp, when he spied her approaching. The Wookiee, always unabashedly pleased to see her, warbled a greeting.
"Hi, Chewie," Leia returned the salutation warmly. "How have you been?"
Over the years they'd spent together, Leia had become much better at understanding Shyriiwook, and she and the giant Wookiee were able to enjoy considerably lengthier conversations without the assistance of either Han or C-3PO.
[I am glad you have returned safely, Little Princess. Cub does not sleep well when you are away. He is up at all hours banging on the ship and cursing. This Wookiee can get no rest.]
Caught off guard by that revelation and feeling more than a little disconcerted by its implications, Leia blinked in baffled silence for a moment. "Is...is he here?" she asked.
[Yes. In the cockpit, updating maintenance logs.] Chewie's bright blue eyes flicked up the ramp towards the cockpit. [I am sure he will be happy for your visit.]
Leia gave a rumpled smile. I'm not so sure about that, she thought, but thanked Chewbacca anyway. She paused as she stepped up onto the ramp, drew a steadying breath, and then ascended the corrugated slope and entered the ship.
It was unusually warm inside the Falcon. Leia peeled off her gloves and tossed her puffy outer jacket onto the Dejarik table before making her way to the cockpit. As expected, she found Han seated in the captain's chair, tufts of his tousled hair peeking up from the back of the seat. Leia paused for a moment, steeling herself for a potential nasty encounter with the irascible pilot, but she was determined to apologize for her part in their earlier altercation. Gathering her resolve, she spoke his name softly as she stepped into his space, hoping that her gentle tone would signal to him she wasn't there to continue their argument.
"Han."
When he didn't budge at all or turn his head, she realized that he was, at the very least, upset with her—if not truly angry. As she moved down the narrow aisle between the support stations, he remained motionless in his seat, right leg crossed over the left, with Chewie's massive kaffe mug loosely held in his right hand.
Halting directly beside the pilot's chair, Leia looked down and saw to her surprise that his eyes were closed. She repeated his name a bit more loudly. "Han."
Startled, the tall spacer's eyes flew open and he jumped up from his seat, accidentally tossing the cooled-off contents of the oversized mug directly onto the Princess. The forgotten cup dropped to the deck plates and rolled away as he snatched his blaster from his hip.
"Kriff, Your Worship!" The surprise in his voice was obvious as he blinked wide eyes, weapon still gripped in one unwavering hand.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Leia cried, retreating. Grimacing, she plucked the front of her uniform top away from her skin as the cold liquid penetrated the fabric.
He holstered his blaster. "You could get yourself blown away sneakin' up on a guy like that!"
"I wasn't sneaking. Were you actually asleep? I didn't realize—"
"Shut my eyes for a minute. Damn, Leia, I almost let you have it!" Then, taking in the sight of her sopping wet clothes, his worried expression transformed into remorse, and then a rueful half-smile. "Well...guess I kinda did. Sorry about that, Princess."
Leia couldn't help but notice the dark circles beneath his golden-green eyes, and recognized the exhaustion in his voice. Was Chewie's observation true? Obviously, Han hadn't been sleeping well...but was it because of her?
"Well, if kaffe could kill…," Leia began, only to be cut off as Han took her lightly by one damp arm and then pointed toward the corridor leading to the ship's interior.
"Too cold out there to be runnin' around in wet gear," he stated, nudging her in the direction of the cockpit door. "Go strip off in the fresher and I'll run your stuff through the autovalet while you rinse off. Ain't gonna find no fancy perfumed soap like they probably dish out on Pargaux, but at least you won't be smellin' like a kaffe house after."
Leia flushed at the reference to their last unfriendly encounter. Refusing to be prodded any further, she shrugged out of his light grasp, planted her feet, and then placed a hand on his arm to ensure she had his full attention.
"Han….about Pargaux...well, maybe not Pargaux, exactly, but..." She glanced down at the floor, then raised her eyes to meet his, determined to make her apology, no matter what his response might be.
And he did look wary. She could feel his muscles stiffen under her touch as she mentioned their recent disagreement. Withdrawing her hand, she folded it with the other in a posture she dimly recognized might seem overly formal. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.
"I'm….I want to apologize for my behavior earlier, Han. I'm sorry if it sounded as if I don't appreciate your…attention regarding my safety, because I do. It's just … well, if you could just ..."
A look of mild confusion crossed Han's features as she spoke, but then his face relaxed into a wry smile as he realized she was attempting a sincere apology. He waved a hand to cut her off.
"I know, I know—'just don't act like a nerf herder about it,'" His hazel eyes were soft as they met her gaze, and Leia felt her stomach flip. She had the distinct impression that there was more he wanted to say, but he bit the inside of his cheek instead, and then the moment was gone. He gave her another nudge in the direction of the fresher. "Go. We'll talk when you're done."
Inside the small refresher a few minutes later, Leia allowed relief to wash over her. To her utter amazement, Han had taken her apology without gloating, teasing, or further argument. Feeling lighter than she had minutes before, she set about stripping off her uniform in preparation for the fresher.
Just how large is Chewie's mug? she thought wryly as she peeled off her wet clothing, realizing then that she was soaked all the way through to the new, pale-blue lingerie that she had donned that morning, before leaving Parguax.
Oh gods, she thought, pondering over her next move. Should she hand these over to Han to add to the autovalet or hold on to them? If she didn't include them, would he think she ran around the base commando-style? Would he even notice them in the mix or if they were missing?
Of course, he would. It was Han. He would notice.
Why do I care if he sees my underwear when I'm not wearing them? she rationalized. They are just clothes...everyone wears them.
Having made her decision, she began divesting herself of the delicate, lace-trimmed garments. As she tossed them in the pile at her feet, she spared a moment to say a silent prayer of thanks to the fates. If it had to happen, she was grateful that it was while she was wearing something pretty, instead of the washed-out, greying Alliance-issue garments she usually wore.
Fleetingly, her more rational self raised the question of why such a thing should even matter, but she swiftly batted it aside, not wishing to examine those thoughts just yet. Despite her best efforts, though, her mind strayed back to that moment in the hangar when she and Han had exchanged heated words about his overprotective attitude. Standing there, glaring at her with his face all creased with worry and frustration, he had let something slip—a darkly muttered comment that seemed to fall out his mouth without his permission; an admission that Leia found deeply surprising—and, she had to admit to herself now—rather exciting.
Han's voice shook her from her musings. "What's the hold up, Sweetheart? Toss me your duds so I can run the valet." She heard him give an audible, exaggerated yawn through the fresher door. "I really need a nap," he muttered to himself.
With a resigned sigh, Leia wrapped herself in a ragged towel, gathered her things and opened the door. Hurriedly pushing all of her damp clothing into the captain's waiting arms, she swiftly palmed the door closed again and turned her back to it. She resolved not to think any more about what he'd said—or what it meant. She was covered in sticky kaffe, and needed to focus on tidying herself up.
Standing in the narrow shower unit a moment later, Leia was careful not to wet her hair as she rinsed the kaffe off herself. At least Han's tossed drink hadn't landed above her shoulders, she mused. She was going to be running late enough to her debriefing as it was without having to deal with her hair. After swiftly sluicing the sticky substance from her skin, she powered on the hot air dryers fixed inside the shower space. To her dismay, she found the forced air they blew was far from hot and the fans made an almighty racket, so she quickly turned them off again and groped instead for the worn towel that she'd draped on a hook outside the shower enclosure. She was intent on quickly drying herself off, retrieving her clothes, and getting on with her day. Having carefully wrapped the coarse material around her body to preserve her modesty, she was just reaching for the fresher door when a loud clanging noise and the sound of Chewbacca's irritated growl filtered through the panel to her ears.
[Cub! Stop banging on that machine!]
Leia backed a step away from the door, but then on impulse palmed it open a crack to better hear what the fuss was about. She had no desire to walk into another potential catastrophe, courtesy of Han Solo.
"This is all I need," she heard Han lament. "Kriffin' autovalet seized up in the middle of the cycle…her kriffin' clothes are still wet…she's gonna be pissed and blame me for it. Son of a Sith..." She heard the metal-on-metal sound of something—a tool, most likely—as it hit the deck floor, followed almost immediately by a yelp of pain.
[Good thing you have two shins], Chewie barked back at his human friend. [Throwing tools around isn't going to fix it. You are too tired to be working on this. You are just making it worse.]
"You got that right, pal," Han said with a sigh. "I'm just makin' it worse. Things were goin' okay and I had to go and fuck it up…again."
[Little Princess will not fault you for this, Cub. You did not break the machine to vex her.] Leia heard a guff of Wookiee laughter, and then Chewie added, [Unlike some of your behavior in the past...]
Leia inched forward, glued to the tiny gap in the door, intently listening to the space duo's conversation about her. The fluttering in her stomach intensified as the implications of Han's plaintive comments hit home.
"Hells, Chewie, back then I was just tryin' to get her attention. Now…."
[Now you care deeply for her], Chewie said in a low growl.
Leia held her breath, waiting for Han's response. She didn't have to wait long before a deep, exhausted sigh reached her ears. "Yeah."
Leia's eyes widened, and she felt her knees wobble beneath her. She staggered back a step and gripped the durasteel sink for support, for fear her legs might give out entirely.
So he does have feelings for me.
At first, her mind raced as she grappled with the newfound realization, instantly connecting it to the muttered admission he'd let drop during their confrontation in the hangar. As the import of Han's words, then and now, settled within her, she felt a strangely calming wave of clarity.
Every once in a while you get one who wants to help you because they want to do something nice for you, Lyrena had said. Not because they think you need it. Because they care.
Like a loose bearing sliding smoothly into place, it clicked—and suddenly, so many things made sense. It was his feelings for her that drove his actions, including his often-annoying tendency to treat her like some delicate thing that needed protection. He needed to know she was safe, not because she needed protecting—but, in a way, because he did.
"I don't know how to do this, pal," Han said in a tone of such heavy despair it made Leia's chest feel tight.
Instead of spouting one of his usual blustery retorts or roundly scoffing at Chewie's suggestion, he sounded almost...vulnerable. Leia pressed her lips together and drew a deep, calming breath through her nose as she tried to attach meaning to his words.
[You are a good man, Cub, and the little princess is no fool], Chewie replied. [Go to your bunk now. You need sleep. Things will seem better after you rest. I will fix this].
"Can't do it, Chewie. Gotta get her clothes…."
[I said that I would take care of this]. Chewie's deep rumble brooked no argument. [I will comm the droid to bring her fresh clothing. Give me your shirt. The Little Princess can wear it while she waits].
Han's reply was faint, and muffled by Chewie's wry Wookiee snort. [None of this would be required if humans had fur].
"Here," Han said. "And Chewie, don't tell her—."
[I will tell her nothing], Chewie said firmly. [You will tell her yourself, when the time is right. Now, go, Cub! Even you are not able to make things worse while you are sleeping.]