A/N: I'm not sure what happened with this piece. It started off as one thing (a sensitive exploration of the aftermath of a romantic encounter inspired in part by Nicolle Organa's wonderful fic "An Undercover Kiss") and then turned into… well, whatever this is. If it doesn't work as a coherent story I'll just chalk it up as an exercise in writing.

The chapters are short so I'll post a couple at a time. Thanks for reading.

It wasn't a close call by their standards, but Leia's heart was still hammering after they made the jump to hyperspace.

Her nervousness had begun hours ago and had only increased over the course of the evening. The tense wait in the cafe for their contact who never showed. Their grim realization once outside that the city was swarming with Imperials, manning checkpoints and scrutinizing identity cards for anyone attempting to enter or leave its borders. Her and Han's panicky jog through the streets to evade detection. The last-ditch maneuver in a shadowy lane when she pulled him down to shield their faces, faces that were no doubt plastered on WANTED posters all around town. His lips on hers, warm and soft and addictive, threatening to distract her while she waited for stormtroopers patrolling nearby to either wrench them apart in suspicion or allow them the privacy of an anonymous, canoodling couple.

Then, after the streets miraculously emptied, their wait at the port, crouched low behind a stack of cargo crates as Han hissed instructions to Chewie over his comm. The Falcon's ramp lowering in unison with a blaring announcement of tightened departure protocols for security reasons. The mad dash to the ship during a changeover of the guards, Han pulling her back up when she stumbled and fell, the two of them sprinting up the ramp to temporary safety.

And then another nail-biting stretch on the ship as they timed their departure to coincide with a larger vessel granted permission to take off. Trailing the hulking barge as closely as he could without ramming into it, Han steered them through the atmosphere and made the jump to hyperspace in record time.

All in all, not a terribly risky escape. So why was she in such a tizzy about it?

The kiss.

It was something she had thought about, kissing him, and had maybe even daydreamed about it while stuck in dull meetings or in the privacy of her bunk late at night. But going through with it wasn't anything she had planned, certainly. The decision had been pure impulse on her part: no flirtatious lead-up, no prior conversation, and certainly no warnings from her brain to the rest of her body that this action, this kiss, was not a real thing and not to be taken seriously.

So naturally, and entirely against her will, she had reacted by taking it very seriously. And that knocked her off her guard to such a degree that she had no idea what to do next.

In the cockpit, Chewie stood up and rumbled something about the aft sensors needing a good smack.

"Holler if you need me," Han called after him.

Chewie always needed him, she thought. If not now, then sometime in the near future. But she, she didn't need anyone.

Han swiveled around in his chair to face her. "Did you hurt your hand?"

Her hand. She glanced down at the raw skin dotted by smears of blood. Such a minor thing, really, compared to what had happened between them.

She forced her eyes back up to find him looking at her intently.

"It's fine," she said.

Before she could stop him, he took her injured hand and cradled it in his palm. The same large, calloused palm that back in the dark street had cupped her cheek before sliding over her clothes, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. She flushed at the memory, at her body's reaction to it, and squirmed in her seat.

And now he was looking at her, she realized, with a new expression on his face. Hungry. Hopeful. Maybe even tender.

This won't do, she thought. This won't do at all.

She stood abruptly, her knee hitting his outstretched arm and breaking the connection between their hands.

"I need to contact the cell again," she announced. "Or at least try to. Given that it's only been a few hours, there may be a chance they're still responding to messages."

"Oh," he said. "Of course." She turned away to avoid his reaction. "I'll, uh, go help Chewie with those sensors."

She couldn't help feeling guilty as she spread out her datapads on the lounge table. Guilty, but, if she were honest with herself, also relieved. It had all happened too quickly, too soon, and she didn't know what to do next. There were an array of options stretching before her and just as many conflicts churning within her. And among all of those options and conflicts she couldn't make out a single easy choice.

She would figure it out back on base, she declared to herself, and sort things out there. No need to rush into a decision.

That resolution made her feel a smidgen better. A solution would appear, she was sure, and she would take it in hand, and bend it to her will, and set things right.