• "Escape to Yavin," Marie

'This changes everything.'

Princess Leia Organa sat in the dimmed cockpit of the Millennium Falcon as its captain and crew sped its recovery from their recent encounter with Imperial forces, trying to speed her own recovery from her recent encounter with said captain.

All the usual tension in her petite frame was gone as she lounged deep in thought in the copilot's chair, striking a casual pose she could afford only in private. No one who knew Leia would recognize this subdued Princess.

'I'd never given Han a second thought,' she corrected herself, 'OK, maybe a second thought, but never a third--and now this.'

Had Han merely escalated his Corellian-patented flirting to new heights, or could there have actually been something behind his insistent kiss?

'He really is a scoundrel, coming on to me like that.'

But she couldn't be mad. Han's sexual improprieties were part of practically all their encounters (what he did in that club on Cato she'd never forget!). Such improprieties would have made most any other female's heart skip a beat. But not most any other female--let alone life-form--had the powers of concentration, singleness of purpose, and otherwise occupied passion the Princess did. The way Leia saw it, she just didn't have the time or space for a relationship--sexual or otherwise--in her life.

But in this particular encounter he'd made himself palpable to her. She couldn't run, couldn't ignore him this time.

'Did I actually grab his hair?'

Yes, she did. What did it mean?

She shifted in the copilot's chair and sighed, leaning her chin on her hand.

'Don't I love Luke, someone who has the same concentration and purpose I do?'

Yes, she did. But there was that other trait they shared--otherwise occupied passion. As hard as they had worked together on the same tasks--and there had been many; they just seemed to gravitate toward the same ones--he was never quite all there with her. She couldn't be mad at that, either, though. It was just the way he was--a beautiful, spiritual way that a Jedi in training should be. She was sure she loved him, and loved him just the way he was. But she wasn't in love with him.

Then there was Han. How could she love him, let alone be in love with him? He was rude, crude, unbelievably arrogant, uncommitted to anything but himself, semi-cultured at best, impulsive, reckless, and thoroughly chaotic. He really knew how to push her buttons, though she knew he often did so without even realizing it. And she also knew that she found half those qualities refreshing, stimulating, and necessary to her own growth.

Yes, she had to admit he was talented, helpful, sensitive, educated, social, funny, fun-loving, and adventurous. He was at heart a good man; he'd demonstrated that time and time again. And he was handsome. Uh huh. Very handsome.

But it didn't matter. He was a smuggler, a Corellian flirt, and a temporary and unofficial member of the Rebellion. He was as good as gone as soon as they got to the rendezvous point at Hector.

Leia pounded a fist on the wall next to her.

'This is a waste of time. I've got no room for these thoughts or feelings, anyway. And I should have them for Luke if I have them at all.'

Suddenly, a tangle of indignation, yearning, confusion, anger, hopelessness, and need welled up in her throat. No amount of concentration, purpose, or passion could stop the sob that escaped her. She drew quick breaths and pounded the wall again to keep the door closed on the feelings that were suddenly rising up in her, for she knew what would come tumbling out with them. But the door swung open and so did the memories--her last night in the palace...her father at the launch pad...her capture aboard the transport...the torture at Vader's hands...Tarkin...and...

Alderaan.

With the inevitable replay of its explosion in her mind's eye came her inevitable explosion into tears. Leia leaned forward and cried into her hands to muffle her wails. No one must hear her. No one must see that she was still haunted by the events of three years ago...and that they made it too painful for her to feel anything anymore.

Leaning on the door jamb with arms crossed high on his chest, Han had been admiring the reclined, pensive Princess and her profile from the entrance to the cockpit. He knew she'd disappeared here after their kiss, and sought her out after he'd figured out what to do with the power coupling and given Threepio his next assignment.

Han had started the first time Leia pounded her fist on the wall, alarmed to see anyone (but himself, of course) strike his ship, but quickly recovered himself. At her tears, though, he was stunned. Never in the three years he'd known her had he seen her cry--a trait he found admirable, if not unbelievable, in her. He knew better than anyone except the medics on Yavin what Vader had put her through: he provided her first aid on the Falcon during the trip to Yavin; he was there to catch her when she collapsed shortly after the destruction of the Death Star and carry her to the med bay. And everyone knew what she lost at the tender age of 19--her position as Imperial senator, her father, her home world, her future as a proper princess. The path she had started down before Alderaan's destruction as senator and Rebel had ensured her being anything but proper royalty, though. She wasn't afraid to work hard, to live a common life. That may have been what he admired most of all in her.

Now, stun subsided, he started again--this time with a concern for her that he didn't know he was capable of--then stopped. Lines furrowed his forehead and he grimaced as he realized he couldn't, shouldn't do anything for her right now.

'She won't share whatever this is with me--not yet, anyway. She's got to work this out.'

With a last regretful look at the suffering Princess, Han turned and left, both of them shaking with their own emotions.

'I wish I could help her.'

On the edge of the copilot's chair with her head in her hands, Leia lifted her tear-streaked face to look into the cave beyond. 'I wish someone could help me.'

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