many many thanks to shinewithalltheuntold for being my Star Wars idea person, and reading and being so very supportive.

This has five parts: Han and Leia on the Falcon, Han screws up, Leia (well, Luke, really) screws up, Han and Leia spend some time with little Poe Dameron, and Luke tells Leia about their mother at a very inappropriate time and Han has to help.

It's kind of fluffy, a little angsty, mostly all the relationship moments I needed to write after seeing TFA.

Her injured arm leans against his chest. The dressing has taken care of the worst of it, but he knows the sting of blaster wounds. The fires burn low under the night sky; the Ewoks and what's left of their invasion fleet celebrate together because the Empire might be defeated this time. Leia smiles like it is. They'll have to mop up the remnants and build a new republic which is much harder than blowing up a Death Star or two. He toys with her fingers, stroking the back of her hand. Her head rests on his shoulder and the stars are bright through the trees on this quiet little world. She's been hugged and congratulated and saluted for two days straight and now, some of the ships have begun to depart and she'll probably go on one of them but she hasn't, not yet.

He'll wait. He'll go where she goes because this warmth isn't just on his chest, but in it and he has no idea what to do, except that he wants to keep kissing her, over and over and she seems to want that too. Not just tonight, not in the moment, but tomorrow, and the next day and he's never spent more than a handful of days with anyone. Not like this. Never.

Leia shifts, slipping closer into his arms. She sighs.

"It still stings."

"I know," he says, unable to come up with anything better. "Next it'll itch."

"Great." She turns her head, looking up at him. "Distract me."

"Oh, distract you?" He can think of quite a few ways to do that, but maybe not in front of an audience. "I wonder how I could possibly distract you? I'm not that smart."

"You're smarter than you look."

He chuckles, then kisses her because that makes his mind go blank. Maybe that works as well on her. Leia leans into the kiss, into him, and he nibbles because her lips are the most delicious thing he's ever tasted. Leia's tongue presses against his upper lip, then she's in his mouth and he's the one who can't think. She pulls him closer with her good arm, tugging his hair. He can't help thinking this alone is worth beating the Empire for. He's been kissed before, been had, but Leia, she's a princess and she's accustomed to getting her way. So he surrenders, lets her tongue tease along his lips.

"Seems you're perfectly capable of distracting yourself," he whispers against her mouth.

She takes a breath, balling her fingers in his jacket. "I wanted to taste you."

"Maybe you'll grow to like the taste of scoundrel."

"Only one," she replies. Her eyes stare too deep into his. Does she realize that he's not forever, like she is? That there's a shallowness to his mind that she'll never understand. That can't be enough for her. She's been educated; she leads. The whole Rebellion looks to her and he's just a pilot, who happens to be not too bad with a blaster.

"I don't even know where I'm going to sleep," she whispers, kissing his cheek. "The huts are pretty full."

"They are," he answers. Han squeezes her hand, his heart thudding in his chest like a malfunctioning grav plate. "You know, there's plenty of room on the Falcon. Chewie's off sleeping in a tree. He loves that."

"So you're home alone?" She leans in and the scent of her carries over that of the forest: bonfire, bacta plaster and field soap.

"Don't have to be." He kisses her again, careful not to rest his hand on any part of her injured arm. "Might be nice to have the company. The Falcon can be kind of lonely when it's just me."

"Wouldn't want that," she whispers back. There's no fear in her voice, no apprehension, and he loves that about her because he's terrified of her, of them, of what it's going to be like when he blows this to hell like every other relationship.

He stands, drawing her up with him. Grabbing one of the flasks of whatever passes for whiskey on this planet, he wraps his arm around her shoulders and they slip through the last of the party.

Leia kisses him again on the path to the landing pads, pushing him against a tree. She runs her hand across his chest, tracing his sternum. She must know how his heart races, because his blood rushes in his ears and the more she kisses him, the less resolve he has. He wants this, wants Leia straddling his lap while he runs his fingers through her hair. It's so rarely down and it's so soft. She's soft, and hard. So strong.

And brave in a way he isn't. He needs to see her eyes, because he can almost believe he's good enough when she looks at him.

"Hey," he says. "We don't- there's no rush."

"I like kissing you."

Her smile makes his heart take a moment to recover because it's too warm. "Me too, I mean, I like-"

She saves him from searching for words and kisses him again, leading him down the path. Leia opens the Falcon, kissing him in the doorway. The door clunks a little.

"Been meaning to get that fixed. Lando-"

"I don't care about the door," she says, taking his hand. Leia leads him up the ramp, to the best home he's known. She leads him to his cabin, because she knows exactly where it is. She figures out that he squirms if she kisses that place on his neck, even if she has to stand on her tiptoes. He lifts her up, pressing her against the wall so she can keep kissing her way up his neck. He lifts her, pressing their bodies together against the wall. Leia wraps her legs all too easily around his waist, letting him carry her the rest of the way to his quarters.

They fumble with the door, kissing more than they manage to work the mechanism. It finally slides open and they half tumble through onto his bed.

She hisses in pain, only for a moment, and he kisses her forehead in apology.

Leia holds his chin, and smiles, pain forgotten. "So this is what your bed looks like."

"It's not much." He hasn't replaced it. Out of all the odd parts on this hunk of junk, this is one of the originals, and it's home.

She tugs him down by his shirt. Her eyes shine, full of longing and the same determination that brought down the Empire. He doesn't stand a chance. "Welcome home, Captain."

He laughs, because he's wanted to be anything but scoundrel, nerf-herder, smuggler, and 'captain' has a nice ring to it when she says it. Hell, everything has a nice ring to it when she says it.

Leia tugs up his shirt and he doesn't want to stop her, he wants to rip his own shirt off of his head, hers too, but they're going to do this right. Nice.

Except Leia's not nice, she's definitely not playing nice at all because her hands, her cold little hands run down his stomach. He wants to ask if she's sure this is what she wants, but he doesn't want to ruin this, them, because he has a pretty fantastic track record ruining things. And small freighters. Sometimes big ones.

"Leia-"

"Shut up."

"Leia," he tries again, kissing her hands when he pulls them away from his stomach.

"Don't you dare stop-"

He shakes his head and kisses her mouth, promising with his lips that he has no intention of that. "This is what you want." It's not a question, not really, but-

"And not what you want?"

She's a horrible person, because she knows exactly what he wants and it's more of the way she wriggles against his hips.

"Oh, it is, trust me."

She runs her hand over his neck, pulling him closer, her fingers tangled in his hair. "I trust you with my life."

Han kisses her forehead, then her cheek and shifts so his weight is on the bunk, not her. He runs his hand over her chest and stops with it over her heart. "Do you trust me with this?"

"Yes," she murmurs, too quickly. "I love you."

Love isn't easy, and worse, it pretends to be easy when it's actually anything but. He can't do that with her, can't risk the inevitable end that comes to all his relationships. Leia, he can't leave when he ruins this, because even though she'll be better off without him, he loves her. He's that selfish.

She kisses his mouth, because she's so much braver. "Should I ask if you trust me?"

He shakes his head. "You want to ask that now?"

"You started this!" Leia pushes herself up on her elbows, trying to get a better look at him, and she winces because she must have forgotten that bending her arm like that hurts.

"Hey," he reaches for her shoulder, wanting to take her pain away. "Look, relationships, especially these kinds, well, all relationships that aren't being friends with a Wookie, don't end well for me. They don't even end, they get left behind and I don't go back. I'm not good at coming back."

"You came back to Yavin Four and saved Luke," she reminds him. Her eyes are too soft, too trusting. How can she look at him like that? "You came back to the control room on Hoth to save me. You come back."

"That was different-"

She lies back down, and again she winces and the little hitch in her voice just hurts, but she's ignoring it and she's fine. She's fine. Leia reaches for his chin, making him look into her dark brown eyes. "Han, I know you don't want to believe it, but you're a good man, and you can be that and a smuggler, a scoundrel, and a general. I didn't think it was possible, but you're unique, and I love you. I love all of you, even the parts that infuriate me."

"Especially those parts," he adds, because he adores that little smirk of hers.

"I already told you to shut up," she repeats. Instead of fighting, he kisses her, and they keep kissing until her (warmer) hands run down his stomach and he aches to be closer to her, skin on skin because she's so soft and warm. They take her shirt off carefully, easing the rough fabric over her injured arm. His shirt they tear over his head. because they need to touch and it's just in the way like the rest of their clothes.

He'll have to tease her later because the floor of the Falcon is not the kind of place she'd ever want her clothes, but she's not as stuck-up as he says she is. He's seen her dirty, and they've both slept in those Ewok huts, and been through sandstorms on Tatooine, she's not the kind of princess who worries about being far from a shower.

Her underthings join his and then her bare skin slips against his like a live conduit, and he forgets to worry about the sheets of his bunk, or the rust he's been meaning to get out of that corner. There's a whole galaxy that they need to save, the skeleton of an empire to pull down and bury, but her body, her mouth, the warmth of her makes all of that fade while his heart leaps to lightspeed. She laughs beneath him, rises up to meet him, panting and urging him on- in- because they have to have each other, have this. He needs to hear the catch in her breath, taste her skin, her sweat; her very breath.

"I'm not going to break," she whispers into his ear when she thinks him too gentle. She's the strongest person he knows, but he needs to take his time, learn her skin and explore.

"I might," he mutters against her lips. Talking is a waste of breath needed for other things, but she tugs him close with her legs, finds his eyes, makes him look.

"No you won't, hotshot." Her mouth presses soft against his, she smiles and pulls them closer, opening her thighs.

Then he's lost, truly adrift because he loves her and being with her, slipping into her body, is the kind of worship he's reserved for space travel, but this is Leia.

And he loves her.