3

She wore a skin-tight flight suit to her first flying lesson. It was black with a double band of scarlet piping running up the outside of her legs, piping that ran straight up her sides and into the vee of her armpits. The lines were magnetic, carving the female curves of her body from the dark fabric like an artist's paintbrush or the tertiary feathers of a kitehawk. A single, heavy loop of hair tumbled down her back and when security swiped her identity tag, the name that flashed on the console was 'Lusa Durasha.'

If Han Solo had made a mistake agreeing to this, he wasn't thinking about it, because he couldn't keep his eyes off her hips as they crossed the skyhook to his private landing bay.

Although he owned a luxurious Marketta-class shuttle and a beautiful Mon Calamari DeepWater-class freighter, Leia was hungrily eyeing his pair of heavily converted Corellian light-freighters.

"You like Corellian ships?" he asked.

"Yes." She set her palm on the silver hull of the sleek YT-2400. "How about this one?"

"No one flies that but me."

"Why?"

"It's special."

He took her by the elbow and guided her over to the less impressive Spirit of Nyenthi'Oris, an oldYT-1000 model with a top-mounted cockpit. It would be easier to learn on, easier to gauge docking and manoeuvring as the cockpit was equidistant from the port and starboard sides. He lowered the hatch and showed her around on board before leading her to the cockpit.

"Have you ever done a pre-flight check?"

She shook her head.

"All right, I'll talk you through it." He began switching on the various systems and performed the check aloud, step by step.

By the time the engines had warmed up, the knees of her bodysuit were damp with sweat from her palms.

He activated the repulsors and nudged the throttle forward just enough so that the ship began moving. "Ready to fly her off the skyhook?"

"Shouldn't I watch you first?"

"It's like sex," he said. "The only way you learn is by doing."

"I see." She promptly reached for the controls, pulled the yoke lightly to the right, and the ship began heading directly for the control tower. She yanked the yoke to the left and overcompensated. Two breaths later, the portside angled precariously close to a large pleasure cruiser parked in the adjoining bay. "Han," she said, sounding panicked.

It was the first time she'd said his first name and he loved the sound of it. "Uh huh."

"Han, bad sex won't rupture a hull."

"I suppose you have a point," he drawled, reaching for the controls. "How about you co-pilot until after we make our jump."

"We're jumping?"

"Don't worry."

"I'm not worried," she returned briskly. "But don't you need clearance?"

"I have standing clearance." He called up the schematics on the navicomputer. "I happen to know a little debris field that's about a ten-minute jump from here. It's a great place to practice manoeuvres and there's no local traffic."

When they'd made the jump to lightspeed, he turned and found her staring out through the transparisteel with rapturous expression on her face. The starlight was soft on her skin, like the warm volcanic sand on the beaches of Northern Corellia after the high-noon sun had passed.

"What do you think?"

"It's beautiful."

Han thought about the way she'd awkwardly grabbed for the controls. "You've never even flown on sims before, have you?" he asked.

She dragged her gaze away from viewport and her eyes flickered defiantly, as though that was an accusation. "You said the only way you learn is by doing."

"Well, it does help if you have an idea of what you're supposed to be doing."

"I couldn't get access to the piloting sims at the university," she admitted reluctantly.

"Why?"

She shrugged, and then said conversationally. "Your friend with the cape said you were married."

"Used to be. Marriage didn't suit me."

"The monogamy?"

"The nagging." Han eyed her curiously. "You?"

"I feel the same way about questions that you do about nagging." Uneasily, she fidgeted with her gloves, tugging on the tips to loosen them. "Shouldn't you be teaching me something useful… like what all of these sensors stand for or how to bring a ship out of hyper?"

"Yeah," he said slowly. They would continue this discussion later. "Rule number one, gloves." He reached into the bag beside him. "Rule number two; don't yank on anything. It's not like flying an airspeeder."

That was the beginning of her first lesson. After an hour flying around the debris field, she'd begun to develop a feel for the particular steering habits of the Spirit of Nyenthi'Oris. Although she didn't recognize all the controls and sensors on the heads-up-display and central console, once he'd named or pointed out any specific one, she could identify its function. She asked intelligent questions and made mental notes, and overall, she showed promising instincts, but she still had a long way to go. She would need to learn how to do low atmospheric flying, evasive flying, trouble-shooting, and how to react to sensor information quickly.

She also smelled good and she didn't shy away when he set his hands over hers and gave her pointers.

Once they had entered hyperspace for the return to Coruscant, he folded his hands behind his neck as though he had all the time in the world. "So, is Leia Skywalker the singer and Lusa Durasha her alter-ego with a thing for astrophysics and ships?"

"I asked you to teach me how to fly, not ask questions."

"I might be willing to teach a 'friend' how to fly but I want elaboration on the 'no questions' part. Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Define 'trouble.'"

"If you want to fly again, with me," he threatened, "Then I suggest you start talking. If you don't, go ahead and keep your lips sealed."

"Well then, if you're going to put it like that. Officially..." She took a deep breath and peeled off her flight gloves, setting them delicately one by one on the console boards. "Officially, I'm a ward of the Emperor."

"And…" he prompted.

"I don't wish to remain as his ward."

That explained the forged identity chip. "So, let me guess. Your grand plan involves learning how to fly, getting your hands on a ship and taking off for some distant part of the galaxy where the Empire can never find you."

"You're warm."

"What do you plan on doing for a living?"

"I trained in theatre," she said. "And if I can fly, I can work as a pilot."

Han laughed. "It's a lot tougher to make a living as a pilot than you think if you're not registered with the Empire. That's if you can get enough credits together to buy your own ship. How much are you making singing part-time at the Manarai?" Han stifled his grin upon seeing the slight flare of her nostrils. "It's not enough for a ship, Sweetheart. And it must not be enough for flight lessons, or you'd already have your license."

"I suppose it's easy for you to look down on everyone who isn't worth a billion credits."

"I haven't always had money," he said. "Don't assume you know everything about me."

She folded her arms over her chest, cheeks flushed with indignant anger. "The way you've just assumed you know everything about me."

"Listen. It would be a crime to let you think that there's a nice, cushy world where making a new life for yourself will be simple."

"I don't recall stating that I expected it to be easy or simple," she replied crisply.

"Well I've been out there. It's rough." He locked his jaw. A woman flying alone into a starport on a backwater tradeworld would also attract unwanted attention. "You're a beautifulwoman. You'll age twenty years in five doing hard labour on Aduba-3 or Excarga, wind up working for a pleasure house in a spaceport town. You'd be better off hopping on the next passenger freighter for Alderaan or Duros and finding real entertainment in a civilized city."

"Alderaan and Duros aren't far enough away."

"From what?"

"Here."

"What's here?"

She shifted her shoulder noncommittally. "I'd prefer a world that has no Imperial ties or checkpoints."

Han rubbed his chin and checked the time. They had five minutes before they arrived back at Coruscant. "Like I said, we're close to few planets where you can hop on a passenger freighter. I'd be willing to-"

"No." She grit her teeth, and her face filled with a determinationso desperate that she inclined her head as if to hide it from him, as though he'd hit a raw, exposed nerve. "It will only work if I have my own ship."

There was no sense arguing with her. Besides, the need to have that freedom was a drive that Han understood all too well, one that had absorbed him during his formative years and he would have thrown a punch at anyone who told him differently. He flicked his eyes toward the ceiling. Reflected above, he could see the crown of her head, rigidly tense. Her hands rested on her knees and she was twisting her fingers together. "All right," Han replied slowly, coming to a decision. "If you're serious about this you should learn how to fire a blaster. You're going to need a few extra sets of I.D tags. At least two sets. The best forgeries you can get."

"Thank you." She looked directly at him and gratitude caused the tension to seep from her body. "I've heard rumours about you. That you know about this sort of thing – how to pull it off."

"What else did you hear?"

"You worked as a smuggler until about six years ago, when you showed up on Coruscant and promptly became involved in one of the largest takeovers in the history of Imperial City."

"All true." Han shrugged, even as the snug lines of her bodysuit caught his eye again. Shortly after the takeover, he had negotiated for exclusive weaponry deals with both the Corellian Pirate's Association and the Smuggler's Guild. Since then, he had never looked back . "Mind my asking why would you be a ward of the Emperor in the first place?"

"I've said too much already." She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, voice lowering, as though they were back in the Manarai and she didn't want anyone to eavesdrop. "I know that you're a man of your word." The cool, collected woman from the nightclub was back. "Perhaps we should discuss what you want in return?"

"Do you flirt with everyone to get what you want?"

"No. You're special. Like your other ship." She smiled. "What is it called again?"

"I didn't say." After a moment, he added, "The Rrakktorr's Revenge."

"Which means what?"

"The 'rrakktorr' is the inner strength and fire of the male Wookiee."

She let her eyes slowly wander over him from his boots all the way up to his forehead. "You're far too handsome to be calling yourself a Wookiee." She furrowed her brow. "I can only assume you must have named her in honour of someone. Or the memory of someone."

"Three points for you, Sweetheart."

"Did you achieve your revenge?"

"It's a state of mind, not a single act." Had it been six years, no seven, since his life had deteriorated and... He had to shake his head, his chest felt like it had been wrapped in a vice. "My ex-wife asked too many questions too." He smiled charmingly and set his elbow on the arm rest. "Let's get back to our deal."

"Of course." She reached up, unbound the looped knot of hair, and let it loose over her shoulders. "Where were we?"

Han swallowed, trying so hard not to stretch his hand across the narrow space that divided the pilot and co-pilot's seats. She would look beautiful on the cockpit deckplates or on the leather couches in the main hold or his bed back on Coruscant, any place he could imagine with the slinky bodysuit stripped away, but right at that moment, they weren't playing on equal ground and he couldn't bring himself to take advantage of that. If he'd learned anything over the years at Calrissian-Solo Munitions Inc., it was that everyone should walk away from the table believing the deal was fair.

This wasn't.

"I thought you said I could buy you dinner," he said cheerfully, reaching for the satchel beneath the pilot's chair. "It's probably all cold and soggy, but I figured you wouldn't mind."

"No." She blinked at him and a surprised smile formed. "I mean, that would be great."