The Millennium Falcon, main sleeping quarters, ass o'clock in the morning

"Gooooood Morning Han!" trilled Princess Leia, her dulcet tones like nails on the chalkboard of Han Solo's mind.

"Grflblfin," replied General Solo eloquently. "Blaarfingar-huh-whaa?" he added, with the silver-tongued scoundrel's charm he was so known for.

"Well, I'm so glad you asked, sweetheart," said Leia, setting alarm bells ringing in every part of Han's brain that wasn't absorbed with what must be the most horrific hangover in the history of...well, it was a bad one. Han had the experience to say, without a doubt, unequivocally, he had maybe probably most likely had too much to drink last night. Seeing how his lovely princess was currently bouncing lightly on his mattress instead of curled up beside him, it had probably been just him. Which was never a good sign.

"It's really quite a long story," she said, loudly. Is she being louder than usual? thought Han, or is it just that every small noise sounds like an emergency klaxon? "We should discuss it over breakfast," Leia continued. "I ordered that seven layer coffee cake from the tatooine bakery down the street."

Han made a truly heroic effort to contain his dry heaves, and decided to let discretion prove the better part of valor. "Mercy, highness," he managed to get out. "Have pity, your worshipfullness. What did I do to deserve this?"

"Well, I don't know, Han, do you think that running off to thwart a deadly conspiracy with no backup or updates, as we promised we would never do, should be held against you?" she asked sweetly.

It was beginning to come back to him. Some sort of hazing at the treaty signing, roping that press secretary into helping cover it up. "Deadly?" he said, "C'mon Leia, it was just a spiked drink. I mean, obviously they shouldn'ta done it, but no harm no foul? At least between us, I'm assuming they got shit-canned."

"Han," she said, eyes narrowing, "do you happen to know what xaxor is used for outside of Corella?"

"Um," said Han, demonstrating his worldly experience and knowledge of the galaxy.

"Duud and Baa'Riipk have been arrested," said Leia. Han made a vaguely inquisitive noise and slowly sat himself up on the edge of the bed, leaning his side up against the wall. "For attempted assassination, high treason, unlawful use of a restricted substance, Xaxor specifically, and several other charges relating to the tax code which I don't suppose you'd find relevant."

Han snapped fully alert at the mention of assassination, hangover or no hangover, and reflexively reached for his blaster. "What?!" he said, and then flinched the sound seemed to reverberate inside his skull.

"It's poison, Han," said Leia. "To almost anyone except a native Corellian it's slow, and painful, and lethal."

"Huh," said Han, "I always thought it was just technically illegal because, you know, spice."

"It's the other way around," she said, at a slightly more reasonable volume. "That variety is outlawed because the by-product is so highly toxic to most sentients. Your people happen to have a different receptor in their genetics, xaxor only acts on your system with a fraction of the potency. You'd have to drink more than a gallon of the stuff to have a lethal dose, not that anyone KNEW THAT." aaaand the loudness was back. Not, it seemed, without reason.

Han was beginning to grasp exactly how much bantha shit he was in, here. If Leia had heard about someone gunning for him, not told him about it, and run off half cocked after whoever it was without a word, he'd have been mad as a rancor with a toothache just as soon as he'd made sure she was alright. And half out of his mind with concern before that.

"I'm sorry, Leia," he said. "I didn't know. Figured it was just some stuck-up assholes tryin' to throw you off your game."

"Yes, well," said Leia, "kriffing tell me the plan next time, nerf-herder." The ex-smuggler's princess sat gently on his lap and put a hand on his stubbly cheek. "I thought you might be dying, Han," she confessed quietly. Aw, thought Han, she was really worried, wasn't she?

"Sorry, Princess," Han softly replied. She smiled lovingly at him for just a moment before her grin turned sharp around the edges. Han began to sweat, recognizing that look.

"Now that we've cleared that up, let's talk about what you did after we all found you in the spare room," said Leia with an edge of unholy glee that told him in no uncertain terms she was holding him to the full penalties of their agreement. He maybe shouldn't have added in the clause about unlimited teasing for a week, but it had just been so much fun when the shoe was on the other foot.

"Wait, all?" Han said, alarmed, and added under his breath, "Dammit, Ak, you had one job."

"I take it there are some gaps in your recollection?" said Leia.

"Honestly that stuff was a little stronger than I thought it would be, I don't exactly remember much of the night past bit of the ceremony where I tossed it back," said Han. "I didn't do anything too bad, did I?" He asked tentatively.

"There was table dancing," said Leia, clearly trying valiantly to keep a straight face. "And 'traditional Corellian pickup lines.'" Han was mortified. There was something about being caught with your ass out by chance and not by choice that rankled his formerly-wanted sensibilities.

"The high consulate minister said she'd never been so insulted in all her life," Leia continued, "to which you responded, and I quote, 'wow, you really need to get out more.'"

"I'm sure I didn't mean anything by it, Sweetheart," said Han, horrified for a moment at the thought he may have flirted with another woman.

"I'm sure you didn't, too" Leia said sweetly.

"Oh, no" said Han, covering his face with one hand.

"She's seventy four. And married. Her wife was quite amused, though," she continued with a grin. "Not sure we'll get anywhere with that offer to join up for a foursome, though, such a shame."

"Wait," said the appalled former smuggler, "whose offer?" Quickly reconsidering his options Han continued, "Oh karking hells don't tell me, I don't want to know. In fact, I don't want to know any of it. It never happened, and we should never speak of any of it again. Unless someone wants to blow up the galaxy because I used the wrong fork or something." Leia gave him a look he was in no shape to decipher. "Oh kriff, they do, don't they? What's the damage, what were the consequences?" Han continued.

"Why, nothing at all, of course," said Leia. "Duud took the blame for all of it, since he's the one who poisoned you."

"Which would explain why you didn't just hit me with a stunbolt before I could embarrass myself," he grumbled, slumping down a little with relief despite his petulant tone.

"No need to be embarrassed," she said cheerfully, "on the contrary, you're a planetary hero. Your quick thinking and cultural acumen saved galactic peace. There's going to be a holovid documentary."

Han flopped back on the mattress, groaning

"As Press secretary," she continued blithely, "naturally Ak'Dumann is producing it. They're beyond thrilled, apparently it's the most widely requested historical footage compilation ever recorded, they expect it to go viral galaxywide. Consider your bet with Lando officially won, Han."

The groans increased to reach levels a Wookie would be proud of, and the put-upon ex-smuggler promptly rolled back into his bunk to cover his head with a pillow. It made for a slightly less uncomfortable position than the one that got him into this mess, anyhow.

End note: Star Trek References (By order of appearance): The Talosians, psychic natives of the planet Talos IV, appear in several episodes. Al'yht backwards is thy'la, a term coined by Gene Roddenberry in the novelization of the motion picture to appeal desperately to slash shippers describe the relationship between Kirk and Spock in native Vulcan. The Dureean as described in my story are thinly-veiled expies of the Andorian alien species seen on TOS. The repeatedly referenced 'emerald ale' (nalumor, just to be lazy about it) is a nod to Romulan Ale, an alcoholic drink in StarTrek usually portrayed as having an improbable green color. The Gornelians are copies of the Gorn, those lovely lizard-folk that Kirk once famously (and hilariously) fought in the eighteenth episode of season one, 'Arena' (see also the name of Governor Gornelious Areenah the eighteenth). "Rich Corinthian Leather" is a nonsensical and wildly effective marketing phrase for Chrysler car seats coined by the late, great actor Ricardo Montalbán. He portrayed, among his many other roles, Khan Noonien Singh in the Original Series episode 'Space Seed,' as well as in the movie 'Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.' Finally, prolific furry pests causing problems on a space station are a reference to the infamous tribbles first seen in the episode "The Trouble with Tribbles," doing just that.

Thanks for playing and a special shout out to AO3 users Nibelung for guessing the most references, and Darthkoalabear77 for the encouragement :D