Fuel
Fuel stops, of course, were necessary, even for smugglers and rebel princesses, but Han rarely took advantage of the extra amenities these places offered, and he was pretty sure Princess Leia never did.
Once he was landed somewhere and the Falcon's needs were seen to, he liked to stretch his legs, let gravity resettle his bones and body. It was more his way to catch up on the news in a local pub somewhere; taste the local cuisine; work contacts; even set up a night of fun. He'd gotten into his share of scrapes that way, true, but he'd rather spend his off-ship hours experiencing a place rather than somewhere that wasn't much different than the inside of a ship.
He was trying to coax the Princess into an experience, but she wasn't having any. It was too bad. They were ahead of schedule, thanks to the Falcon's hyperdrive, but she wouldn't even take the time to go down the soap aisle.
She hadn't wanted to stop at all. "Must we?" she'd asked when Han informed her the detour to shake a tail required a refueling. Why would anyone be anxious to get back to cold, ration bars and work, Han wondered. But he remained firm. One thing he always listened to- Princesses with severe standards of work ethics was not on the list- was his ship.
"Even with the extra jump, I'll still get you back early," he'd boasted. "But I don't like coming in on fumes."
She was hungry, however. Once she came around to the necessity of purchasing fuel she asked if fuel stops sold ready meals.
"They got everything, sweetheart. You can even wash your snowsuit."
"That won't be necessary."
This place was like any other fuel stop. Well, the holo of Emperor Palpatine- set on the roof, huge and in full color- was a little weird. Han hadn't seen that one before. It gave him the creeps. But his proposals to the Princess, cleverly designed to target subjects she enjoyed, like her hatred of the Empire for instance, were met with flat denials.
"This place is crawling with Imps," he muttered in her ear as she pointed at a sign indicating which way the nutritional dispensary was. "We should stay out of sight; go into town."
"Don't use that word," the Princess cautioned. "I agree there is a strong Imperial presence. It might be the same in town." She grimly turned her back on the exit doors, heading for 'processed agriculture.' "Let's just be in and out."
"We could support the local economy, then, huh? Line the pockets of the folks that live here instead of paying Imperial tax."
"Did you already forget the bounty hunter having a drink in the same establishment you did when we were at Platnar VI?" she retorted sweetly.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Can't forget him," Han said. Then he rallied. "That was just a coincidence."
"I don't think it was, Captain."
"C'mon," he tried one last time, wearing what he called the teamwork smile she sometimes couldn't resist and stepping in front of her, walking backwards, so she had to see it. "We've been in hyper five days. Let's take a walk."
"Last time we took a walk I paid your medcenter bill and we were three days late back to base."
Still walking backwards, he held up a finger before turning around. "That was Platnar VI again. Can't use the same adventure twice."
She tsked and remained immovable. "We're dining in, Captain."
The dispensary was aisles and aisles of ingestibles. Grains, fruits and vegetables, nectars, proteins. Beverages made a lot of the same, some fermented.
Han gave up on the Princess. "The food ain't even really good. Processed." He picked up a loaf of bread and smacked his palm with it. As hard and long as it was, he could maybe whack a stormtrooper with it if they got spotted. "For human consumption," he read off the nutritional placard. "Huh. They don't put wookiees on the sign. Chewie eats bread. I bet a lot of 'oids eat it."
"Your language," Princess Leia rebuked.
"Just slang, Princess," Han said.
"Chewie should probably not eat bread," she said. "He's from a non-agricultural world. He eats his meat raw."
Han scowled at the Princess, who was moving from bin to bin, opening containers and sniffing the contents. "You're enjoying this," he accused. "What happened to in and out?"
"I've never seen so much food."
"You're a princess. Sure you have," Han grunted. "I spent my childhood half-starved and I'm not impressed."
The dispensers were labeled with pictures of the life form who could safely ingest the item. Grains, fruits, meats (raw or cooked), what looked like dairy.
The Princess, busy taking it all in, seemed not to have heard him. He turned his attention to his fellow shoppers, the unpleasant memory of Platnar VI fresh in his mind. Bounty hunters made more use of the conveniences in fuel stops than smugglers.
Princess Leia had turned a corner and discovered the complex grains and sugars section. At least they were out of view of the stormtroopers. She turned a circle in place, looking around, her eyes wide and uncharacteristically young and hungry.
"If I may be clever with my language," Han said, "your eyes are glazed over."
Jellied fruits, sugared chokobeans, pastries of all heights, colors and shapes, and other baked goods Han didn't know the names for lined the shelves. It even smelled sweet.
The Princess seemed to have forgotten he existed. "Let's go grab a ready meal," Han touched her elbow. "What are you in the mood for?"
"Cake," she said decisively.
"Cake," Han snorted. "That ain't no dinner."
"I want cake."
"Fine, have cake but eat something else, something that'll fuel you."
"They don't serve cake on Hoth. I can't remember the last time I had cake."
"What if we meet Darth Vader and he cuts you open with his lightsaber?"
Leia actually laughed. "And sees cake in the contents of my stomach?"
"He'll think gettin' you was easy 'cause of the cake. He'll think you were soft."
"Soft and sweet," Leia sounded nostalgic.
"You need this." Han showed her the loaf of bread that could also be used as a bat. He banged it on the lid of the dispenser. "A bread brick."
"So when Darth Vader splits you open, he'll learn you were hard as a rock?"
Han laughed. "You got it. My reputation will die intact."
The Princess shook her head, amused, and continued down the aisle. "I bet under that hard crust is tasty, flaky bread."
Han noticed someone pointing. He steered her around a corner. "Princess, are you flirting?"
"No, I've written your obituary." She picked up a container of a slice of cake. It had four layers of a chokobean cream filling. "Han Solo will be remembered as flaky and crusty by his friends."
"Nice." He made sure to sound sarcastic, but he rather liked it. He noticed an Imp talking to a manager, while at two exit points, Imps were talking on comms. "Pick up a bottle of that acid nectar, will you, Princess?"
"Acid nectar?" She had replaced the layer cake for a tray of petit fours. "So that's how you fuel the Falcon?"
Han had grabbed a bushel of something- a gourd or melon. "No, it's what I squirt in an enemy's eyes."
"Damn it," the Princess swore as she noticed the increased alertness of the Imperials. "I've never stolen food before." She had zipped the pastry tray inside her snow vest. Now she reached into her boot and pulled a palm pistol out.
Han thought she was amazing. Worried about shop lifting as she was preparing to shoot a stormtrooper. Her morals were as mixed up as his, and he thought he loved her. He comm'd Chewie to make sure the Falcon was ready for take off.
"Ready for a food fight, sweetheart?"
The stuff in the bushel was a vegetable, Han decided, though he could be wrong. It hit a stormtrooper on the side of his helmet, and he lost his balance and toppled into a display. Beings gasped and squawked, and dove for cover or ran away. Leia opened fire and Han gave her time to add panic to the melee. Then he shoved her toward the exit.
Han used the spray nozzle of the acid nectar bottle, squirting a mist of painful juice behind him into the air and nearby faces. It was pretty effective at leveling a crowd, better almost than a blaster in this situation. He would enjoy telling this story, provided he and the Princess made it to his awaiting ship.
They still had a long sprint to the Falcon's ramp. He didn't like the idea of Palpatine enjoying the story of how the Princess died shielding her chest with pastry, nor the imaginary sounds of Jabba the Hutt enjoying the tale of how the infamous smuggler Solo was taken down by swatting blaster bolts away with a loaf of bread. The urgency of their safety gripped him, and he raced past the Princess.
"For that I am not sharing!" he heard her yell out, exertion in her voice. But his unchivalrous move had the right effect, for as he turned his torso to check on her, saw she was actually digging in a little harder, giving the final meters all she had.
Chewie was at the ramp, taking careful shots with his bowcaster. Han relaxed a little. "Chewie! Belly guns!" he shouted. The wookiee disappeared inside the ship just as Han reached the ramp. He slapped the close with his hand and waited for the Princess. She'd make it.
Maybe.
He yelled what he thought would encourage her. "You're missing the ride home, sweetheart!" and he held out his brick-hard loaf of bread as the ramp inched higher and higher to close.
Her face snarling with effort- gods, she was beautiful, Han thought- she stretched out a hand and grabbed the bread. He gave it a great heave, and it sure as hell was inedible because it didn't break as he hauled her in to the ship with it. Rapid fire from the ship's belly guns splattered outward and their getaway was assured.
Unless they put a tracker on the hull.
He clambered into the pilot's seat. "She full?" he asked his copilot.
No, the wookiee explained in hoots and grunts. He had become aware Han and the Princess were spotted from radio chatter, and had put a halt to the fueling process. Not even a quarter full. Not enough to get to Hoth.
"What is it?" the Princess asked tersely.
Han turned in his seat to face her. "We need to make a fuel stop."
She threw up her hands.
Han smiled. "I'm in the mood for some cake."
Author's Note
Written for a challenge prompt, Cake