7A/N: A reply to the challenge from my friend Winterluna:
Your Star Wars story must be at least 1500 words, and must feature a canon couple from the EU, PT, or OT.
"Your Worship!"
Leia Organa looked up from her gaze on the icy floor to see the only man who would ever dare to call her such a disrespectful moniker. As she saw his crooked grin ambling towards her, she sighed, feeling extremely put out - the same way she had been for almost a fortnight. He seemed to notice as much. Typical.
"Hey, Your Highness, what's the matter?" It seemed that in no time, he was standing -no, leaning- in front of her.
"Please, Captain, I'm not in the mood," she said, trying to push past him, though he was far taller.
"That's too bad, Princess, 'cause I'm sure that you could really use somethin' to spice up your nights."
The Alderaanian suppressed her urge to groan in displeasure. That would be unladylike. Instead, she gave the man opposite her an extremely scathing stare that would have made any other man run for the snow-covered hills.
Alas, no. Captain Han Solo was not just any other man, as she had feared. But his grin did lessen noticeably as he cut the comedic antics and noticed her truly morose behavior. In a genuinely concerned fashion, he asked, "Really - are you feeling alright? You look kinda grey." It was true; in the past two weeks her complexion had grown more and more ashen in color as she ate less, slept less, and worked more.
In a weary tone, Leia reiterated her favor of solitude. "I'll be fine once you move so I can return to my bunk, Captain."
"Honestly, you might want to get checked out at the Medical Bay. At least go and take a rest, Princess, you look like you're about to fall flat on your face."
Was the idea that she didn't want to be bothered somehow not getting through? "Excuse me, Solo, but I don't recall you having a medical license. Or any license at all, for that matter. So if you would please move aside, I've got work to do."
"You've always got work to do, isn't there anything else to your life than this Rebellion?"
No, was what popped into her mind the instant he finished the question. After a moment of consideration, she countered, "Yes, of course. I have friends like Luke and Carlist. I've got lots of other things, things like-like-" Leia stammered, unable to think of anything at all.
"Right," the pilot interrupted, aware of her limited response. He sounded almost triumphant. "C'mon, Princess, you need to take a break from workin' all the time. It ain't good, even if I'm no doctor. You gotta do something fun once in a while. I mean, look at Luke and the Rogues - you could take a small leaf outta their books and quit actin' so stiff and uptight all the time."
"I do not-" she began huffily.
Han almost rolled his eyes at her. "You're only twenty-two, sweetheart. What did you do before you joined in on this insane revolution?"
That was the last straw for Leia Organa. At the moment, she was disgruntled, weary, stressed, overly busy, and most of all she was exhausted and depressed. The day she had been dreading for the past three years would be arriving in another twelve hours, and she planned to crowd her thoughts with as much work as possible in order to remain in complete solitude. Luke, though he had been sympathetic, had left on another supply run with Rogue Squadron, which left her free from his sympathy.
Now with Han bothering her, the numbing effects of a full schedule, battle layouts, and mission forms was starting to fade. She was becoming increasingly distressed as she was prolonged from working on automatic. It was with that built up negativity with which she lashed out at Han.
"Shut up! If you think it's so insane, then just leave! I don't care, just as long as you stay out of my way!"
With that, she forced her way past, down the corridor, and then into her quarters. It was only when the door opened again that she realized he had followed her.
"What are you doing in here? Please leave now." She didn't even bother to look up from her immensely full desk.
"Sorry, Your Worship, but even though ya think that I'm such a jerk, I do care about how you're feeling." He paused, and when he next spoke his voice was softer, more consoling. "And I know what tomorrow is. You don't have to hide it, you know."
The former Princess slammed the desk drawer shut - it shook from side to side before laying still and cold again. "I don't want to talk about this right now, I don't have the time. As much as you think you're such great company, you're not helping matters. Please leave, and don't make me call for assistance." She was on the verge of tears now, a tightness welling in her throat.
"Don't bother, Leia. You're so stubborn that you can't realize help even if it's standing right in front of you."
It was only when the door closed with a resounding hiss and she was free to lie down on her bed, crying silently that she realized that he had said her name for the first time.
Some several hours later, about the Millennium Falcon . . .
Han couldn't sleep. Even in the Falcon, with about a dozen blankets covering his shivering form, this Force-forsaken icebox of a Rebel base had the worst tendencies to spread its cold everywhere, including Captain Han Solo's cabin.
So it was for this reason, he angrily (but groggily) ripped off the covers. He instantly regretted it. He shivered as the cold air attacked his bare legs, but diverted his attentions to the glowing chrono on the table across the room. He was supposed to be up in another five hours.
Han stumbled in the dark until his hand found a suitably warm pair of pants. Or whatever you could call "warm" here.
He knew that he probably wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, because there was another blizzard going on outside, judging by the faint whistle of the shield doors. With this less than satisfactory thought on his mind, Han quietly walked over to the cockpit in pants, a loose shirt with a jacket, and a pair of boots. He might have something to do there, or remind himself of another repair that could be done without noise.
Rummaging around for the tools, he noticed a small light flickering. Outside.
A small, assuredly female silhouette was reflected on the smooth white ice - one that he recognized.
Han's curiosity was aroused. He would much rather investigate said silhouette than make repairs on the Falcon, something he had never thought possible. The cynic in him told him that he was getting soft or just far too lazy, but he told himself he was only doing it because he was tired.
Grabbing a heavier jacket, he left his ship and went to find the source of the shadow.
It was the Princess, fast asleep on a pile of datapads at the mess hall table. He could see the dark circles under her eyes despite the fact that she was slumped over her elbows. He didn't really want to wake her, but he also didn't want her to wake up in a few hours in the same position. Besides, she might actually freeze far too much for her own good if she stayed out this long, even if it was the main area. It was still colder than her quarters, and even colder still compared to the temperature of the Falcon.
"Princess," he called softly.
Nothing.
"Leia."
Her fair skin was ice-cold, like she'd been out here for too many hours. Han could almost see the slight manifestation of frost building up on Leia's white boots. Not even thinking about what her reaction would be were she awake, Han swept the twenty-two year old up into his arms as if she were a feather. From there, he carried her back to his cabin and set her down onto the bed that continued to hold some of his warmth.
Feeling the blood pulsating beneath her wrist, he determined that no matter how much sleep she really did need, he didn't want to make her sleep forever. The rate of the beats was too slow for his liking. Wincing at the possible verbal beating he might get later on, the Corellian began to take the Alderaanian's freezing clothes from her body and set them in a pile until she was down to her underwear. Sure, it wasn't dignifying, but it was necessary. Throughout the whole changing, Leia had stayed "out cold."
Secretly, Han wished that she would stay that way until the next morning, because the more complicated bit of his idea had come up. The best way to get her body temperature back to normal was to transfer his own body heat to her by close contact. Skin to skin.
Stripping down to a mere shirt and boxers, the worried pilot settled Leia into his arms as he sat up on the bed. He was trying to gently rub her skin to produce heat with friction, but was making more light strokes across it than anything else. As he felt his own tired body settling further into the mattress, Leia shifted in his arms; for one extremely panicky moment, he thought that she had woken up.
He had been wrong, thank gods. As he continued his gentle rubbing on her back and shoulders, Han felt her petite form melting into his own, and was surprisingly comfortable. Not in the way he always imagined he might, but her sleeping presence so close to his own felt extremely right in a way. He couldn't describe it in words, yet he sensed his heart thrumming at a hundred kilometers a minute.
In his restless state he remembered their contentious conversation earlier that day, and how her bottled emotions had finally gotten the better of her. Han wondered whether she could ever forgive herself, for he knew the reason behind her strange behavior.
Leia held herself responsible for the deaths of the people on Alderaan. After all, in her mind, it had been her who had gotten caught, Alderaan had been targeted merely because she had lived there, and she had also escaped execution. She was one of the only survivor's of that horrific day, and as with every survivor in every war, she felt the deepest, most self-deprecating kind of guilt that seemed to tell her she didn't deserve to live off another's sacrifice.
That was why she continued to fight this war, this barely hopeless war that only got tougher as the days passed. Han knew that her guilt was a huge part of her decision to stay with the Alliance. That, and the fact that she also had no place to go. He knew her well enough to see that she was putting in all this extra work as a sort of penance - a way to sacrifice her life for all the others that had been lost.
Yet Han could see that there was still more to it than that. Was it just a natural kind of compassion, a conscience, that had drawn her to noble causes? Was it that the gods, Force, or whatever kind of all-powerful existence had somehow allowed this one little Princess a warrior's spirit and a heart of pure gold in order to balance it all out between the good guys and the bad guys? He could very well see that happening, because before he'd known her, he'd been a stranger to the word conscience.
But Leia was the one exactly the opposite - her conscience was the main focus of what she did every day. Her morality, her ethics, and her beliefs were constantly in question with every single thing that she did for this Rebellion. She had to be sure of what she was doing, sure of the people that supported her, and most importantly, she was obligated to be sure of herself. Sometimes Han felt that she was so sure of herself that she became on reclusive, and that worried him.
He had never seen a girl like Leia; she was serious and mature, but in good times she could be lively and bright and young. Her beauty wasn't striking or exotic, though he found that he preferred her soft, rounded features, the silky brown hair, and the ever-meaningful brown eyes. Of late he'd grown fond of the spark in those eyes when she had an idea, when she was persistent, or when she argued with him.
Han didn't know how to describe his feelings, this exhilarating, intoxicating sensation that he felt around her. Love? He pondered that possibility. It had never occurred to him that he would ever, or could ever, love anyone. As an orphan, he had practically been born with a hardened heart. Three solid decades of an experience in this rough galaxy had only made him more cynical and unsure of the galaxy. With that mentality all of his life, he felt surprised, and almost compromised, to find a woman who had not only seen more terrible things than him, but who was still able to find faith in the goodness of the galaxy.
In a way, that optimism that bordered on naivete was what had drawn him to her. Han couldn't help but try to be her friend, to provoke her, to laugh with her, and to want to protect her. He so dearly wished (but wouldn't tell a soul) that she might feel similarly. Yet what could a Princess like her do with a guy like him?
He stared at Leia's sleeping figure, tracing his eyes over the beauty of her slightly parted lips, the rise and fall of her chest as she drew breath, and the curves of her form. Finally, there came a heaviness in his eyelids which permitted him slumber. He dreamt of the time when she might answer his sole question.
But there was time until then. Han would be there for her in the morning, waiting.