Chapter 8:

Han Solo slipped the key card into the lock of their hotel room and the door swooshed opened. Princess Leia Organa entered first. She dropped her bags on the floor in front of the doorway, rushed over to one of the beds, and jumped on it.

"A real bed!"

Han's face broke into a lop-sided grin as he watched Leia delight in the small luxury—well, maybe not so small of a luxury considering their war-torn world. She lay on her stomach and slid her hands against the white sheets, gathered the comforter between her arms, and pressed her cheek against it.

"Real, fresh sheets, nani-down comforter!"

Leia rolled onto her back and spread out her arms and legs, imitating a starfish. "I'm in heaven."

Han laughed. He picked up her bag and tossed it onto the other bed by the window.

"Thanks for messing up my bed."

Leia pivoted onto her side and propped her head up on her hand. With one leg crossed over the other, her position accentuated the curve of her hips. Han tried hard to look away, but it was a losing battle. However, Leia didn't seem to notice or be bothered by the desire in his eyes.

"Your bed?"

"It's closest to the door."

"So?"

"I think it's best that I be closest to the door."

Leia's right eyebrow arched. "You think you're my protector?"

"I've been your protector since someone's been tryin' to kill you," Han said. "Longer than that. Since the Death Star."

"In case you haven't noticed, Captain, I don't need your protection."

"In case you haven't noticed, Sweetheart, I've saved your ass more times than I remember."

"In case you have forgotten, Flyboy, I've saved your ass twice as many times."

"Ha! Believe what you want; that's my bed."

"What if an intruder comes through the window instead of the door?" Leia upped the pitch of her voice and folded both hands under her chin. "Who's going to save me then?"

Han dropped his bag at the foot of the bed Leia lay upon.

"We're on the twenty-fifth floor."

Solo then walked over to Leia, put his hands on his hips, and looked down on her. She rolled onto her back.

"You never know. Criminals are creative."

"I know."

He winked at her as he slipped his arms underneath her shoulders and knees.

"What do you think you're doing!"

Han lifted Leia into his arms and unceremoniously tossed her onto the other bed.

"This is my bed."

"Oh!"

Leia scowled at him, but Han ignored her. She hopped off the bed, grabbed her bag, and put it on top of the dresser with the intent to unpack her clothes.

"We don't have time for that. We're meeting our contact in a couple of hours."

"We have three hours."

"I'm hungry."

"Just because you think you're my protector, that doesn't mean you make the rules."

"I believe it does."

"If you think I'm going to—"

Han lowered his chin and raised an eyebrow. "Are you hungry?"

Leia pursed her lips as her eyes pulled up to the left. She frowned and said, "I think we should get something to eat before the meeting."

Han rolled his eyes. "Yes, Your High-and-Mighty-Holiness."

The princess pulled a face as she rolled off the bed and grabbed her bag.

"I hope you're not wearing that," she said as she entered the refresher.

Han looked at himself. "I always wear this."

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Han Solo kept stealing glances of Princess Leia as he escorted her down the street. She wore a blue dress made of the softest material Han had ever felt that was belted at her waist and hung several inches above her knees. The neckline of the dress grazed the top of her shoulders, and a jeweled chain created a keyhole. A sapphire gem surrounded by tiny diamonds clasped the two sides together, and a row of diamonds fell between her breasts. Solo was glad that Leia was substantially shorter than him.

"What?"

Han pulled his eyes from her breasts and shrugged. "Nothing.

He fought to keep his eyes focused on the path in front of them, but it was a battle he couldn't win.

"What?"

"Uh…I was just wondering if those," Han pointed to the jewels on her chest, "were real."

"What do you think?"

"If they are, that's a dangerous dress to be wearing."

"They're not. You can stop staring at them now—and I don't mean the faux gems."

"Then you shouldn't have put 'em on display."

"Oh! I wanted to blend in."

"Sweetheart, you could never blend in."

Leia looked up at him; he couldn't tell if she was angry or flattered. Maybe flattered, but her inability to take a complement about her appearance—especially from him—flustered her. Han waggled his eyebrows at her. She expelled a burst of air from her nose and looked away. Han looked the other way to hide his smile. He loved when he made her cheeks pink.

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After dinner, and without thinking, Han took Leia's hand as they stepped into the dive bar where they were to meet their contact. He cursed himself and waited for her to rip her hand out of his and snap at him for being so presumptuous. However, Leia didn't pull her hand away. Her tiny fingers wrapped around his. He stole a glance of their hands and of her. She kept her large brown eyes focused on the shops and kaffes that they passed. This was a breakthrough.

Breakthrough? Is that what Han wanted? He wished their friendship could be more relaxed and easy like her friendship with Luke; she often grabbed Luke's hand on her own. However, there was more-than-friends happening between them. It gripped his lungs, made it difficult to breathe; he did his best to not dwell on something that could never happen, something he was afraid would happen. He had to pay off Jabba the Hutt and wouldn't be around much longer. Could he do that to her, start something and then leave?

Or maybe he didn't have to leave. Jabba would never believe that Han was hiding out with the Rebel Alliance; Han was a loner, not a joiner, and he didn't work for free (though he had been with the Alliance for three years and did on more than several occasions work for free; did that make him a member?). Since he'd been working for the rebels, he hadn't run into any bounty hunters—they, too, would never look for Han amongst the rebels. It was a great hiding place, and it did have its perks.

One of those perks was Princess Leia Organa. Han knew he should have kept a distance from her the moment he laid eyes upon her in the detention center on the Death Star, but something more than attraction pulled him too her. Maybe it was the way she insulted Chewie or how she handled a blaster. Maybe it was the way she blushed because of something he said, or her courage to fight for what she believed. Or that she believed in something at all. Han sometimes wished he believed in something as strong as she did. Maybe he wouldn't feel so lost.

Over the past year (okay, maybe two or the whole time), Han found himself in her orbit. Some of this phenomenon was his own doing, but Leia managed to find excuses to be in his orbit as well. They were a planet and a moon, she being the planet, and the gravitational pull between them had become more like breathing; it was as if they needed each other—and not just for rebel business on her part and for contractual work for his part. They both were world-weary and seemed to understand each other in a way no one else did. Leia brought him comfort without making him feel weak in his moments of weakness. Han thought of when she held his hand in the trunk. By the way they sniped at each other, she could have easily ridiculed him. He had come to need her in his life. Did she need him?

Han looked across the street. He couldn't need her. All he needed was Chewie, the Falcon, and open space. Leia needed her commitment to the Rebel Alliance and to establish a democratic government after the Empire was overthrown. Freedom and responsibilities didn't mix.

Still, Han couldn't keep his mind off of her even when she wasn't around. He spent hours thinking about Leia, replaying their interactions in his head, how he'd rile her up, how her large brown eyes twinkled during those rare times she smiled, how her cheeks flushed pink when he teased her. He glanced down at their hands again.

Maybe Leia was warming up to him. In the moment, with the heat of her hand passing through his, Han believed that she harbored more feelings for him than she wanted to admit. Perhaps she held his hand because she more than liked him—or she felt uncomfortable in this setting that was far from fit for a princess. Han thought otherwise. Leia had met contacts in scummier places. Besides, he'd rather believe that she liked holding his hand.

"What's wrong?"

"Huh?"

"Standing here in the doorway is attracting attention, flyboy."

"I was… just looking for the best place to sit."

Leia pulled Han's hand and led him deeper into the bar. While his head stayed pointed toward Leia who walked in front of him, Han's hazel eyes roamed around the room. The bar was populated by various aliens and humanoids alike: smugglers, thieves, and con-artists. And lesser-known bounty hunters. Maybe it was good that Han had changed into a black shirt and pants and wasn't donning his usual outfit.

However, they weren't going unnoticed. Tiny droplets of perspiration built up when he observed that all eyes were on them. No, he had to amend that; all eyes were on Leia. Han's eyes fell upon Leia. She held her chin high, but he was certain it wasn't her proper posture that was catching everyone's attention; it was the way her skirt swished side-to-side as she walked. Had she always walked with a sway to her steps? Her cadence seemed too natural to be an act. Maybe Han was only noticing this for the first time because the rhythm of her backside was accentuated by short flowing skirt of her dress. The attention she was amassing was dangerous. He was about to tug on her hand, but then realized that that attention kept their eyes off of him. Things would turn bad if Han was recognized by the small-time bounty hunters in the bar.

Leia let go of Han's hand as she slid into a booth closest to the back exit. Han slid in next to her. Leia pressed the menu screen and mulled through the drinks. She ordered a Bacovian whiskey for both of them.

"Since when do you drink whiskey?"

"Since today."

"Are ya' sure you can handle it?"

She raised her right eyebrow. "I can handle anything you can handle."

"Ha!"

"You know I'm right."

"I know nothing of the sort," Han said though he believed she could handle more than he could.

An attendant droid brought their drinks to their table, and Leia sipped her drink as her large brown eyes scanned the room. They stopped at the beings sitting at the bar.

"There's our contact."

"You stay here. Lemme take care of this." Han placed his drink on the table.

"Of course."

Leia swiped her arm across the table as she stood up. Han's drink clattered into his lap. "Oops."

"What the hell?"

But the princess didn't hear him. She had cleared their booth and was walking over to the bar.