Luke's Girl

By Yatzee

yahtzee63@gmail.com

Han slammed down the lever on the console, saw the stars streak and blur as the Falcon was hurled into lightspeed.

“That was close,” he whispered, as he wiped the blood from his scraped knuckles. “That was too damn close.”

The navi-computer flickered, informing him moment by moment how much further away they were getting from Ord Mantell. Not far enough for his taste. For a long moment, he sat there, inwardly cursing that bounty hunter for being too damn good at his job, Chewbacca for being laid up with some weird alien virus and out of commission when Han had needed him, Jabba the Hutt just for being Jabba the Hutt, and himself for being an arrogant fool. He was used to the fact that his past could—and, with alarming frequency, did—catch up with him. Han was resigned to that by now. He knew what friends and enemies he’d made along the way; he watched his back. But it hadn’t been his life on the line this time. It had been Leia’s. And that he couldn’t bear.

Han pushed himself up from his seat, surprised to feel his body still shaking from the exertion of their escape. (And that was the only reason, absolutely the only reason, his feelings were not involved in this, no way.) Was she hurt? He’d seen the bounty hunter’s blaster shoved into her gut, seen blood on her face as they ran towards the Falcon. He had to make sure she was all right. But of course she was all right, wasn’t she? She’d managed to run through the entire spaceport with him, and had dodged more than a few energy blasts. He’d just go back there and make sure. No reason to worry.

So why was he running?

His boots slid on the smooth surface of the Falcon’s corridors as he came to the door of her bunk; he came to a stop just before the opening, just where she first came into sight. Leia sat atop her bed, holding a cloth to the side of her face—she’d been bleeding, but not heavily. And while she was pale from exertion and pain, she seemed to be recovering.

She was all right.

The relief hit him like a physical blow; he hadn’t realized he was holding his breath, but now he sighed so deeply his chest ached from it. Didn’t seem to do a damn thing about the shaking—damn it, why was he still shaking?—but it was amazing, how hard it hit him.

At least, he thought that until the moment she heard him sigh, and turned toward him. When Leia’s eyes met his, that rush of feeling claimed him all over again—and this time, he couldn’t explain it away so easily. He wanted to explain it. At any rate, wanted to explain why he was just standing there, gaping at her when she clearly needed help. And yet he wasn’t saying anything, and neither was Leia. She just looked at him, dark eyes wide.

After a moment, she whispered, “I thought he’d killed you.”

Han made a sound that might have been a laugh, if his throat hadn’t closed up. “I thought he was going to kill you. Leia—”

He didn’t finish what he was going to say. He couldn’t think, not for the life of him, what he might have said.

Leia let the cloth drop from her face; he saw the cut on her temple, the bruise that would be a black eye gathering dark beneath her ice-pale skin. The evidence of her close call shook even the fragile composure he still had.

And then she reached out to him. One hand, stretched toward him, pleading for—what?

He didn’t know. He didn’t care. Han took her hand and pulled her up into his embrace, clutching her to him fiercely. Leia buried her face in his shirt; her cheek rested against his chest. She had to feel the hammering of his heart.

Her hands slipped around his neck, bringing him even closer to her. He responded in kind, letting his touch slide down the length of her back, up again to her shoulders, caressing her.

Han had always thought the Princess beautiful. He had dreamed of her. He had desired her. And he had somehow convinced himself that it was no more than the normal male response to a lovely woman.

But this—the need to feel the rise and fall of her breath, the humming of her pulse beneath his hands—this was more than desire. He could control desire. This he couldn’t control.

Leia nestled her face into the curve of his neck and shoulder; he felt the heat where skin met skin and shivered at the contact, even as she did. He found himself kissing her hair, drinking in the soft scent of it.

All he had to do was tilt her head back—so easy, she’d let him, she’d do it herself in a moment—and their lips would meet. He was vividly, hotly aware of the length of the bunk stretched behind them; if this began, they’d be lying there together in moments, clothes stripped away, bodies—
Damn it, Solo, what the hell are you doing?

This is your best friend’s girl!

He pushed her away, too roughly; he saw Leia flinch, as if stung. Han covered it as best he could: “I can’t stay back here—there’s stuff I need to see to up front. You’re okay?”

“I’m okay.” She was staring at him, bewildered; which of them she was bewildered by was anyone’s guess.

“That’s good. I’m going back to the cockpit.” And he left her with that, refusing to look back and see her face.

He couldn’t think about her reaction right now. He couldn’t get past the voice in his head.

What the hell did you think you were doing? You flirt with her, sure, that’s one thing, but you weren’t taking it seriously! Neither of you! She would never take you seriously—you know that, she was just upset and overwrought and—damn it, Luke’s in love with her! You want to hurt Luke? Sure, you tease him about her—tease him a lot—but you never took it seriously.

Did you?

By the time he’d returned to his pilot’s chair, Han was feeling as embarrassed as he ever had in his life. Somewhere along the line, he’d gotten hung up on Leia. He’d known it for a long time, really; he was too old, had been through too much, not to know. But he’d hidden from the truth as long as he could. He couldn’t any longer.

All this was troubling enough without the fact that he didn’t have a damn idea how she felt about him.

She loves Luke, doesn’t she? You can’t miss the connection they have. They spend so much of their time together, and Luke clearly adores her, and of course it’s Luke she’s in love with. Luke is a hero. A Rebel. Maybe a Jedi one day, if you believe in that sort of thing.

She’d never take a guy like you seriously. Never.

And yet the way she’d reached out for him—

Maybe it’s just desire, Solo. She’s a healthy young woman, and, let’s admit it, you don’t look half bad. She’s lonely out here and she just got scared. So she wanted you. That’s pretty simple.

Sounded plausible. But it rang painful and false within him.

Well over an hour passed before he trusted himself to leave the cockpit. It had to be patently obvious to Leia that he wasn’t working on the Falcon—he could’ve completely reprogrammed the navi-computer in this much time—but she hadn’t come up to question him.

He moved into the Falcon’s living area; Leia was piled up on one of the couches, drinking some beverage that steamed in its tankard. She’d bandaged the cut on her head; the black eye was now fully purple and swollen. So it was a slightly lopsided look she gave him as he entered. “Another smooth getaway, Captain Solo.”

So, she’s gonna play this cool, Han thought, as annoyed by this as if he hadn’t been planning on doing the same thing himself. Fine, then. “Not smooth enough; we both lost some blood, something I don’t much care to repeat.”

“I’ll work on the firing range. I could’ve drawn my blaster a lot quicker than that if I hadn’t let myself get out of practice.”

Leia spoke lightly, but Han heard the genuine blame in her voice. “Hey. Princess. You did great. It’s my own damn fault for not knowing what he was up to a lot sooner than I did.”

“How could you have known? I didn’t suspect him either.”

“I deal with creeps like this. You don’t. You shouldn’t have to.”

She shrugged. “After three years in the Rebellion, my social circle has expanded. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Even in her bruised face he could see the teasing light in her eyes. He smiled back at her. “Guess so, Your Worship. Particularly if you’re hanging around a guy like me.”

Han had no sooner said the words than he realized he’d just left himself wide open. Leia was staring down at her drink, trying to gather the words. Trying to talk about what had just happened—well, nearly happened—between them.

Oh, no. No way. He had to head this off—keep it light—play the old game, where they both knew the rules.

“Maybe I oughta say, hanging all over a guy like me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Come on, Princess, that was quite a clinch back there. I thought you were going to swoon.”

She gripped the tankard so hard he thought it might break. “I—do—not—swoon.”

“Coulda fooled me.” Han said, folding his hands behind his head. “I mean, I get this kind of thing a lot, but still, I’m flattered.”

“As I remember it, you were the one with the wandering hands. Just because I was a little shaken up, you decided you could take advantage of me.”

“Take advantage of you?” After fighting so hard to restrain himself, this was just about more than Han could stand. “Listen, if I’d decided to take advantage of your—attentions—we wouldn’t be sitting out here having a chat.”

She raised an eyebrow at that. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“I’m pretty sure of you.”

The teasing wasn’t teasing this time. They were lashing out at each other, trying to hurt. And succeeding: Leia was quivering with embarrassment and anger.

Solo, come on, what are you doing? Cool off, will you?

But he couldn’t. He was angry at himself for wanting her, angry at her for—why was he angry at her again?

And then he realized why.

“Too bad Luke can’t be sure of you,” he growled.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, genuinely puzzled beneath her rage. “What did I do to Luke?”

She really didn’t know. He’d thought just the mention of Luke would bring her back to herself—remind her of the guy she had waiting back at the base.

But Luke’s name didn’t seem to have any impact on her at all.

Oh, hell. She did take me seriously. It isn’t Luke she wants. Maybe it never has been. And I’m sitting here tearing her apart—damn, damn, damn. Her outrage and betrayal were in every line of her body; she was as keyed up as she had been before, but now all that energy was working against him. “I haven’t done a damn thing to Luke. From the sound of it, you’re the one who’s so sure something’s going on—and you’re the one who was willing to interfere.”

“Nothing’s going on? After three years?” Han still sounded angry—he could hear his voice, as if from a distance—but the question was genuine. Could he have been wrong, all this time?

He wanted to be wrong.

The Princess wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. “Nothing yet. Nothing I have to be ashamed of betraying. Unlike you.”

Han opened his mouth to shout back at her, but couldn’t find words. What she’d said hurt too much. Luke was his friend. One of the best friends he’d ever had. Despite all Han’s boasts and insults, despite the fact that he had tried to weasel out of rescuing Leia, despite his near-abandonment at the Death Star’s approach—Luke had seen something in Han that he liked. That he trusted. And he’d gone with his own instincts, gone against every logical calculation, and taken Han as his friend without hesitation.

And this was how Han had repaid him. Trying to seduce a woman Luke loved. He was angry at himself. But he lashed out at Leia.

“Well, Your Worship, if it takes more than three years to get you heated up, I’m glad I didn’t waste any more of my time. I pity Luke, trying to defrost a block of ice like you.”

“Luke might have better luck. Especially now that I—”

Her voice choked off, and for the first time Han saw how hurt she was, beneath the anger. The pain within him echoed in response, and he made one last, inadequate attempt to get them out of the mess they’d made.

“Especially now that you—what?” he asked quietly.

Leia looked at him for a long moment, taking stock of him. Then she turned on her heel and walked out.

No doubt she’d stay in her quarters the rest of the trip.

He made his way back to the cockpit; there, at least, he had some semblance of control. Not that there was anything left to do.

Besides considering a change of course.

Han had never officially joined the Rebellion. The reasons he gave Luke and Leia were the truth, so far as they went—he didn’t care for uniforms, or titles, or orders. He helped out. But he maintained his independence. The unspoken part of that independence was his freedom to leave. And, for the first time in three years, he found himself considering that option. What else could he do here? The Rebellion was still on the run, no doubt—the fight wasn’t even close to being won—but it wasn’t like he couldn’t help on the outside. There would always be weapons to be run, arrangements to be made in the shadowy smuggler’s lanes. In some ways, Han could actually be more useful to the Rebellion on the outside—a hard truth he’d always resisted acknowledging.

He’d wanted to stay around. For Luke and—time to admit it—for Leia. Neither of those reasons seemed to carry much weight anymore.

Luke deserved better than this. He deserved to be able to go about courting the Princess without complications, especially from somebody he thought was his friend.

And Leia—

No doubt, right now, she hated him. Going back there and apologizing wouldn’t do a damn bit of good. Who knew how she’d feel tomorrow, though? Would she have let this slide, like their other arguments? Somehow, Han thought that was unlikely.

She cared about him. He didn’t doubt that, for all her hard words. For a moment, he actually let himself consider the possibility of being with her. As different as their pasts had been, they had found a place in time, and a way of life, that brought them together. If she really cared about him, it wouldn’t matter who he’d been, or what he’d done. The thought of that—of the happiness of that new beginning—actually made him catch his breath. But only for a moment.

There was a big difference between caring about him and doing something about it—and Han thought what he’d done probably just widened the gap considerably.

He was a smuggler. He had a criminal record in several systems, and under several different aliases. His earliest memory was begging in the streets for food. He knew he’d never stoop that low again—but beyond that, nothing was certain.

She was a princess. He’d seen holos of her as a child, jewels pinned in her hair as she played in the palaces of Alderaan. She was a hero of a Rebellion that might, one day, change the entire galaxy; when and if that day came, she would ascend to even greater power.

The only things more different than their pasts were their futures. At least that’s how it looked to Han at that moment.

He wanted her. Oh, gods, how he wanted her.

But he wasn’t going to get her—and it was better for him to go ahead and face the facts, instead of humiliating himself by running around after her. Not that it wouldn’t be good to hear her admit that she wanted him too. To kiss her goodbye—no, to tell her goodbye properly, taking a whole long night to do it—

He cut off that line of thinking quickly. I can’t go right away, he decided; they need all the help they can get, setting up the base on Hoth. But soon. Soon I have to leave the Rebellion, and Luke, and Leia, he thought. For all our sakes.

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