Things were really looking up for Han Solo. It had been a rough go there for a while in the year after saving Chewie. Han would never admit it to anybody, least of all his co-pilot, but there'd been more than a few moments he wished he'd never intervened. Life in the Imperial army hadn't been perfect - sometimes it had made him sick - but it had been better than anything he'd had before.

And yet, he had a feeling Chewie knew and he didn't judge him for it. Which just made him all the more likable. Han had found during the last year that each scrape they'd gotten into, each infuriating setback had only brought them closer, made their trust grow. And as time went on, Han found himself settling into this. He started to find, to his surprise that having a comrade like that, having a brother, beat having he whole Imperial Army behind his back.

Except when that Army was sticking a gun in that co-pilot's back.

Han hadn't truly realized until that moment how attached he'd gotten to Chewie. As he'd watched the scene play out he'd felt a dread he hadn't felt in a long time. The kind of welling terror that had damn near choked him as a child watching his life get dismantled one caretaker at a time. But then, out of pure survival, Han had wisened up and toughened up. He'd stopped allowing himself to get close to sentients and the pay off had been well worth it.

So, he'd never planned on caring too much about Chewbacca. He'd taken him up on his offer to assist him, to get him through the next messy leg of his disappointing life, but that had been it. An eye for an eye, a life for a life. Then…

The bottom had dropped out as he watched the Imps corner the Wookiee. There were only two of them, stupid as droids probably, but he knew where there were two there'd be more. They'd come swarming out of the woodwork, faceless machines, hellbent on one thing: advancement. Capture the Wookiee, get the reward, a little bit more power, a little bit more freedom. He'd frozen, for just a flick, shocked by the combination of terror and sadness.

Then a little scrap of a thing, all skinny limbs and flying hair, had dashed across the tableau and straight into a fruit stand.

Han still couldn't believe the gambit had worked. And in his heart of hearts, he was grateful. But that didn't mean he wasn't mightily annoyed right now.

"Chewie," he muttered, "How many times have I told you not to let her on here?"

Chewie and his holochess partner blinked up at him from their game. He was destroying her, but the kid looked happy, knee tucked up under her chin and a smile perma-plastered to her face.

Why was she always smiling?

[And how many times have I told you to stop being rude?]

Han's understanding of Wookiee had vastly improved in the last year - when you only had one other sentient to talk to 90 percent of the time, you learned to speak their language. Han found he relished having their secret exchanges - very few beings knew how to understand the guttural language - but he still sometimes forgot that those same beings could hear his parts just fine.

"I'm the captain - I can be just as rude as I want," he turned to the girl, trying for stern. "Beat it."

Leia's smile faltered just a little, but then brightened as she looked over at the Wookiee, who nodded at her encouragingly.

Oh, not again.

"Chewie and I were talking," Leia said, referring to the oddly comfortable combination of gestures and sounds the two used to bridge the gap in her language capabilities, "And he says he really thinks it's time I learned how to fly."

Han cut a look to his partner, who crossed his arms in response.

"I've known you for six months now. I'm trust-worthy," Leia said, as if this were some magic word, "I'll be careful…and…"

By the way she trailed off, he was pretty sure his "No means no" face was in full effect.

"How many times do I gotta tell you," he looked over at his partner, "Both of you that I ain't here to be a babysitter or a charity worker," Leia opened her mouth to argue at that before Han held up a hand, "We're smugglers, kid. We're moving things on this ship that you shouldn't be with in a mile of let alone a few metims. We're not role models and we're not friends."

Leia's smile finally deflated, and Han felt a little pang at its absence.

"Look, finish your game, and then get going. It's gonna be dark soon, and I know you say you can handle it, but those sand people say otherwise."

He could feel the tension in the room. He was sure he'd get an earful later on from Chewie. But this wasn't a joke, this was his life, his livelihood. He didn't have time to be playing games with a teenager. And he didn't have the resources to put his ship at risk. He couldn't believe he was even rationalizing this! With a huff (that was embarrassingly teenagerish), he wheeled around and stomped toward the cockpit.

They'd come to Tattooine for one thing. Jabba. The golden goose that would get Han and Chewie out of this interminable cycle of scraping by just enough to not get killed. Being on the run was exhausting, and being poor even more so. Han would do just about anything to have the freedom that came with copious credits. Even if he had to put his soul on the line once more to do it.

At least running spice wasn't running flesh. Slavery made his skin crawl. The people who used the stuff he ran made their own choices and dug their own graves. He wasn't responsible for their wellbeing and he wasn't responsible for a little slip of a girl bored to death on a planet far, far away.

But, as he watched Leia, pick her way across the hanger, a dejected tilt to her small shoulders, he felt that little tug. That little black hole in his chest, that signaled of more danger to come. So, he flipped the switch that turned the transparisteel from clear to slate, and the feeling went away.

He didn't think of her much during their next month out in space. They were generally back at Tatooine once every month or so - sometimes more, sometimes less. This time they had fought a few fires, and gained a couple unexpected contracts. When Han and Chewie arrived back at Mos Eisley, their reputation had proceeded them. An excited buzz followed their footsteps as Jabba himself had called them into a private meeting.

Han had never planned on making a name for himself as a smuggler, but the thing was, he'd never planned on much. Growing up on the streets of Coronet City didn't really imbue him with a sense of ambition. Well, not the same kind that someone like Leia had, not the kind that came from a warm hearth and a pair of kind souls. No, his only ambition had been to get out, to make it up and out any way he could. He'd hoped it would be in the Navy, but as that future had gone down in flames, he'd decided to take it anywhere he could get it.

So, he was glad. And feeling good as he walked the streets of Mos Eisley. The riots of a few months back had died down into a grinding submission that kept the Imps away. Besides, they tried to stay clear to give the Hutts the respect such allies deserved. It was ironic, really, that Han had been run out of the Navy and straight into their ranks. But again—

"Captain!"

Han saw a flash of brown hair bobbing in front of him in the crowd and his thoughts halted. Chewie had stopped in a back alley shop to get the kind of grooming someone covered in fur required a few times a planet turn and Han felt a little uneasy. He hadn't spent a lot of time alone with the kid, not since that first meeting in the shuttered shop. Chewie had always been there as mediator, aiding in a cheerful rapport or intervening when things went south. Han could admit to himself he was a moody berk sometimes.

But, apologizing was never his strong suit, and besides, did he even need to—?

"You're back!" the teenager said, slightly panting with hurried excitement sloppily hidden.

"Yeah…" Han said, lifting a hand to the back of this head. "Just made it in yesterday."

Leia smiled at him, and he wondered again where all that joy came from especially in the face of his previous behavior.

"You doing alright?" he asked, attempting something like kindness.

She nodded and looked tacitly behind him.

"Chewie's busy," he said, "Didn't get taken out. This time."

The kid's eyebrows pulled together and he shook his head a bit. She was too soft for the likes of him.

"You coming from school?"

Leia rolled her eyes. "What?" he asked, "Don't you like school? Seems like you'd be the kind to sit up front with your hand straight up…"

Leia colored at this a little in a way that was almost…adorable. "Well," she said, measuring her words, "I do like to learn," she said, "but you don't want to hear about that."

Han smiled, imagining her little pigtailed self scratching away at a datapad, "Try me."

She looked up at him with her big, brown eyes all wide and for a moment he understood what made Chewie all dippy around her.

"Solo," a voice called over his shoulder.

Han glanced back furtively, hand instinctually straying to his blaster. He relaxed when he saw the owner of the voice, but turned back towards Leia with an eye roll of his own.

"Just ignore—"

"I heard about the Renuvian Blockade jump, very impressive," the young man said, voice irritatingly near now.

"Yeah?" Han said, "Well, I lived it, so I don't need the recap."

The boy let out a maddening chuckle. "The famous Solo humor."

Han shook his head, understanding now that he wasn't going to make it out of this encounter without a deeply annoying tête-à-tête.

"Look, Rufi, I don't have time sign your smashball. If you ever do make it into the ring, maybe we can—"

"Oh, you didn't hear?" the boy held out his arm, proudly showcasing tattoo of the symbol Han begrudgingly displayed when in Hutt territory. Great, now he'd have to deal with this berk on a regular basis.

"And who is this lovely creature?" Rufi asked, cutting into the space between him and the kid.

"None of your—"

"Garko," the young man offered, "Garko Rufi. I'm a friend of Captain Solo's."

Leia eagerly took his hand, seemingly missing Han's telegraphed disapproval.

"Leia," she said, "You're a smuggler too?"

Han rolled his eyes at the volume of her proclamation - wasn't like they were doing any of this illegally - but Rufi only puffed up like a Porg.

"Exactly right," he said, scratching a beard that wasn't there (and probably never would be), "and yourself?"

"I'm a…" Leia looked back at Han, a determined set in her brown eyes, "a pilot in training," she said, lifting her chin in a kind of defiance. Han would be hard-presssed not to call it cute. But, only in his head.

"Ahhh," Rufi purred, "a future smuggler then." Han bristled at that, but his annoyance was already continuing on, "what model of ship do you fly?"

Leia's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Han crossed his arms, mildly enjoying watching her crash and burn.

"It's…well, I…haven't got a ship yet. I'm—I read a lot, and I drive the fastest speeder in the southern—"

"No ship?" Rufi asked, clicking his tongue like a mohawked matron. "How will you ever make it off the planet that way?"

Leia's eyes flared, and for the first time since he'd met her, Han saw the woman she'd be one day.

"I'll make it," she thundered, "I'll go to the academy. I've got the marks."

"You should ask your friend Solo about that," Rufi drawled, "He knows all about the Academy."

Han inwardly groaned, anticipating in a flick an endless litany of questions pouring from that shockingly prolific teenage mouth.

Sure enough, Leia's eyes snapped to him with a look of surprise and barely repressed triumph. Han was tightlipped as they came; this was quite a revelation for interested parties.

"You this loose-lipped around everyone you meet, Rufi? Won't last long that way."

It was Rufi's turn to bristle. "I've told the kid this once and I'm gonna tell you," Han said, stretching to his full height and glaring down at him. "Smuggling's not something to aspire to. You got another option, take it."

Han didn't know much about the obnoxious youth who'd been a constant follower of the smuggling ring these last few months, but he could tell in that moment, by the twitch of his mouth or the sudden depth in his flat black eyes, that Garko Rufi had no other option.

Han shrugged. "Lesson over for today. Come on, kid."

Leia didn't move for a moment, then started, eyes flicking toward him, "You mean me?"

"Well, I certainly don't mean Rufi. Chewie'll want to see you."

Leia smiled, again, and Han was annoyed at the relief that flowed through him. It shouldn't matter, but he liked that look on her face. When'd that happen?

But, as he turned, he also caught the hesitant smile she threw at Garko. A little bit toned down, but a little bit…he didn't know, flirtatious? No, it wasn't that. Conspiratorial?

Whatever it was, he didn't like it. And he was glad he'd gone with his higher impulse by inviting her along. Sure, he was doing everything in his power to dissuade her from getting any more entangled in their lives, but he figured if it was between him and Garko Rufi, he might as well do a public service. What was one more afternoon of holo chess anyway?

Han didn't notice the change at first. On their next visit to Mos Eisley, the kid showed up as usual full of chat and questions he refused to answer. She walked with Chewie in the market and brought him back a groundapple. And she didn't say anything about flying. Between that and the apple Han had been feeling pretty warm toward her.

Then the next time they were back, she didn't show for a few days. When she did, she was sleepy eyed and loopy. She played a game of holochess with Chewie but dozed off on the banquette. Han had shaken her awake near sunset, and Chewie had watched her ride away from the town wall.

This time, though, this time she hadn't come at all. They'd been here a full week and had yet to see the little moisture farm girl. Han wasn't bothered by this, per say. However, Chewbacca was getting twitchy and he did kind of wonder if something mighta happened to her.

"Hand me that splicer," Han reached behind him, "Not the two-headed one, the one we picked up on Gamaleen," Han's hand remained outstretched for a moment too long before he glanced over his shoulder to see the Wookiee staring at the door to the hangar they currently occupied.

Han glanced that way too, only to see the portal undisturbed, as it had been all day.

"Expecting someone?" Han asked pointedly, shaking Chewie from his stupor. The Wookiee harrumphed and started fishing through the box in front of him.

Han waited with something akin to patience.

"Maybe she's finally listening," Han said. "Been telling her to stop coming around for months."

Chewie growled a little at this, though he handed the splicer to his captain with the calm control he applied to most tasks.

Han tried to let it go as he turned back to the repairs, but he just kept thinking about that closed door, about the subtle rift that had opened between him and his only friend.

You should ask your friend Solo about that.

"What is it about her anyway?" Han asked. "We meet people all the time, and you don't take 'em in like stray kittens."

Chewie remained silent for a moment then said, [We meet beings, not heroes.]

Han scoffed, twirling the splicer in his hands before arrowing it into the shield projector. "What do you know about heroes?"

[Well, given my life has been saved twice in the same Galactic Year, I know my fair share.]

"Yeah?" Han's voice echoed against the ship's interior, "Well, you aren't running around calling me a hero."

Chewie paused again, but Han could imagine a Wookiee smile brightening his eye.

[You aren't a hero, you're just a man. A far better man than you give yourself credit for. But, the little one reminds me of the generals I fought in the Clone Wars.]

Han pulled himself out of the compartment and looked back at Chewie. In all their months together, the Wookiee hardly ever mentioned the Clone Wars. But, it was hard to imagine the kid wearing armor running around with a blaster. In fact, it was an uncomfortable thought as he envisioned the many bloody ends that could come from such a fate.

"Then I'd think you wouldn't wish that on her."

Chewie frowned at him, and Han turned back to the ship.

[Wish what?]

"War, blood, death…" Han said, as if listing the produce they'd need to stock the pantry.

[To die fighting for a cause you believe in is the greatest fate any being could wish for.]

"You know, you're making me rethink this life debt. Maybe you're just suicidal…"

He expected to hear some Wookiee laughter but Chewie remained stoic.

[The little one sees beyond her own life, beyond this small planet, she is called to greater things. It is our mission to help her get there.]

Han froze at this. He pulled himself out of his crouch and stood his full height, still a head and a half shorter than the Wookiee.

"Our mission is to survive. Our mission is to take care of our own skin. That's it, Chewbacca. I've told you from day one that if you want something else, you're free to go."

He had. Han had been slightly horrified when Chewie had promised his life to him. He'd done everything in his power to dissuade him, offering to drop him off on Kashyyk anytime they were in spitting distance of the planet. The last thing he'd wanted to do was rescue him from one kind of slavery only to chain him to another.

[I know, pup. But, as I said, there is greater honor than pledging your life to a cause you believe in.]

Han shifted, eyes flicking to the door, "So who's the cause now, her or me?"

Chewie shook his massive head. [Both. If you'd stop fighting it.]

Han made his attempt at a growl now, "Are you gonna get on me about teaching her again?"

[It's your ship, and your language,] Chewie said.

"I've told you, buddy, it ain't gonna happen. I've got too much—"

[I've heard it all before,] Chewie said, [The Gods know you aren't the most careful or the most frugal. What is really stopping you?]

Han glared at him, but the Wookiee glared right back.

This was ridiculous. He was sick of having to explain himself. Of course he wasn't going to put his ship at risk, throw his time away, put the kid in danger…

"Fine," he snapped, "You want hero stuff? I don't want this for her. I don't want this for anybody." He gestured around the hangar. "She's got a family here. She's got a life. Sure, it's dusty and boring as hell, but it's safe, it's easy, it's…nice."

He expected Chewie to but in, but the Wookiee only leaned against the panelling and tilted his head in encouragement.

"You think I didn't want that? You think I would take scratching and scrabbling, clawing my way into that academy, over…I don't know, just living? She doesn't need to get mixed up with you and me. She doesn't need to get mixed up with Jabba. And out there?" Han pointed up at the ceiling, but Chewie nodded at his referencing of the Galaxy at large. "Well, that's worse than all of it."

Chewie sighed, the strength of his exhalation wafting across the top of Han's head.

[The little one will go whether we help her or not.]

Han shrugged. "Well, that's not on me. She can make her own choice."

[You know, her life isn't everything you think it is. If you talked to her rather than barked at her, you'd know.]

"Yeah, I'm sure school is really kicking her ass—"

[She's an orphan.] Chewie said, voice low and somber. [Just like you.]

Han frowned at him, splicer and tinkering forgotten, "What are you talking about? She's got a family."

[An aunt and an uncle, not blood related. They are good people, but they aren't really hers.]

Han listened.

[So, you see, she has her reasons for wanting to go exploring. She wants to find herself.]

Han's face noticeably darkened. "Well, all she's gonna find is a hell of a lotta disappointment." He threw down the splicer and headed toward the door.

[Where are you going?] Chewie called.

Han let the swish of the door answer for him. He was sick of talking about the kid. He was sick of Wookiees and children and getting dragged into his conscience at every turn. He wanted the simple things in life. The things he could always count on to make him feel good.

Booze and music and women.

There was the cantina at the center of town for everyday drinking, networking, and the occasional bar fight, but Han made a sharp left turn into the seedier part of Mos Eisley. Or the seediest part, he thought, it was all on the seedier side. The Lock and Key was not the kind of place Han went often - believe it or not, he liked some subtly in his sex life - but it was an easy fix when he needed it.

Like most buildings in Mos Eisley, the first floor landing gave way to a basement level - the best way to keep things cool during the day and warmer at night. The distinguishing feature of this particular establishment were the cages hanging from the ceiling. Gyrating beings of multiple species danced in them, some paid, and some patrons on a lark.

Rumor had it they were based on very real cages Jabba had in his palace. Han hadn't seen anything like that his one time in the throne room. But, the Hutt's fortress was a big place. He imagined if he did have cages, the inhabitants weren't being paid or paying to play in them.

Han tried not to think to hard about things like that.

"Whyren's Reserve, double, on the rocks," Han grumbled to the bartender. If there was anything that aided in the not thinking, it was a glass of the good stuff.

Han leaned against the bar and scanned the crowd. He'd only been here a couple of times, but he'd been pretty lucky both times. Space travel may have been a dream come true, but it definitely got lonely at times. Han was always free to have liaisons on their travels, but he only really felt like he could let his guard down here. It wasn't that Tatooine was so great - in fact it was a ball of shit - but it signified off time. He and Chewie didn't come back to Mos Eisley until they'd accomplished what Jabba had sent them out to do, and usually a little more on top of that.

In the few days or weeks before they were sent out again, Han felt like he could let his ever present guard down just a little. Just long enough to let off a little steam.

Luckily, he wasn't the only being that thought this way.

A healthy assortment of sentients, mostly humanoid, filled the space, some watching the caged performers, others pulsing on the dance floor. Since the Lock and Key was one of the more expensive clubs in town, the place attracted mostly smugglers and spice traders. No one asked too many questions, and no one expected any big commitments.

"So, you're not dead yet," a voice purred to his left.

Han didn't turn immediately, using his peripheral vision to place the owner of the silky tone. It was a Nagai he'd met his first time here. He couldn't quite remember her name, but he remembered a few other things about her.

"Guess I got a few more tricks up my sleeve than you thought, sweetheart."

She laughed, a silvery sound that matched her silvery skin. Han allowed himself to glance at her, immediately appreciating her long, slender limbs in her skimpy black jumper. The material glinted dimly in the flashing light, reminding Han in a strangely sensual way of chainmail.

"I hope so," she murmured, "I don't usually give humans a second go. But, you…"

Han could see the interest in her grey eyes, and was pleasantly surprised at how easy this evening was turning out to be.

"Two Storm Troopers," a voice called out on his right. Han didn't visibly tense, but threw a quick look over his shoulder scanning the bar. He realized three things at once: the voice belonged to Garko Rufi, a Storm Trooper was a drink, and the female on his arm was none other than an outrageously done up Leia Skywalker.

Without another glance at the Nagai, Han strode to the other side of the couple and slapped an arm down on the bar. Leia started, glancing up at him. For a moment, her brown eyes blinked in confusion, and then they widened with obvious embarrassment.

She wore the normal tans of a Tatooine native, but her look couldn't have been further from the casual, utilitarian style she sported most of the time. Her arms were wrapped in linen, but her shoulders and middrift were bare. Kohl rimmed her eyes, and her hair shined sleek and straight. Han tried not to stare, but wasn't quite immune to the effect, which just made him even madder.

"Captain Solo," she said, shifting ever so slightly away from her companion.

"What in the seven hells…" Han started, only to be cut off by Garko.

"Solo! What a delightful surprise," He turned back to the bartender, "Make it three."

The bartender glanced at Han who shook his head.

"What are you doing here?" he asked again, this time in a more measured tone.

Leia opened her mouth to reply, only to also be cut off by Garko.

"Leia needed someone to teach her to fly," he drawled, "It took a little convincing," he looked at Leia meaningfully, "But, I'd never turn my back on a fellow pilot."

Han wasn't sure whether the surge of anger came from the suggestiveness or the smugness, but he'd curled both his hands into fists before he'd taken his next breath.

"You took her up in your ship?" He wasn't sure exactly what he meant, but Garko seemed to be on the same wavelength.

"Not yet," he said, "but Leia has proven that she's got what it takes."

"Don't talk about her that way," Han growled.

"Excuse me," Leia snapped, voice full of an authority he'd never heard before, "I'd appreciate it if neither of you talked about me, thank you very much."

Both men looked down at her, Han with a dark frown and Garko with an indulgent smile.

"She's got spunk, doesn't she?" Garko purred.

Leia rolled her eyes, and pushed away from the bar. She pulled on Han's arm, marching him a few feet from the young upstart.

"Glad your thinking straight," Han said, "Where'd you park your speeder? You better—"

"I'm not going anywhere," Leia said, crossing her arms.

"What?" Han said, "Kid—"

"Would you stop calling me that?" Leia cried, "I'm seventeen. Isn't that the age of responsibility on Corellia?"

"The age of—" Han scoffed, unable to comprehend this assertive little being in front of him.

"I've asked you to teach me and you have refused," Leia said, "Garko's offered to help me, and I am going to let him."

"Garko wants a lot more than—"

"Garko needs a co-pilot," Leia said. "I can be that."

Han sputtered at this. "You—you—"

"Are you done here?" Garko slid into the conversation, handing Leia her drink. She swirled it and took a big sip, almost carrying off the gesture but for the small cough she gave as it snaked down her throat.

"I'll see you, Captain."

With that, Leia walked away, shoulder brushing Garko's, looking in her skintight outfit like she owned the place. Han wasn't sure what to do with himself. He looked around for a moment wearing the expression of a cirque clown, pantomiming confusion at this hilarious turn of events. But, there was nothing kriffing hilarious about it.

In his befuddlement, he caught sight of the Nagai again. Kuvrin. That was her name.

Without another thought, he strode up to the bar and grabbed his drink, knocking it back with a neatness that came from a few too many quick getaways.

"You want to get out of here?" he said, sliding his empty glass toward the bartender.

Kuvrin's eye's flicked behind him. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

He growled in the back of his throat, "Wouldn't be asking if I wasn't."

The Nagai took him in for a moment, took a dainty sip of her drink, then shrugged gracefully.

"Then by all means."

Thirty Eight minutes.

The whole damn thing had taken thirty eight minutes. The woman panted beside him, satisfaction apparent in her languid pose, and Han stared straight at the chrono.

Thirty Nine minutes.

"Perhaps you should go back," Kuvrin, offered, in the same tone she'd use to offer him a glass of water.

"What are you on about?" Han growled, closing his eyes, but still seeing the stupid chrono.

"That man put something in the little girl's drink," she murmered.

Han's eyes snapped open, "What?"

Kurvrin stretched, "It looked like some kind of spice."

Without another thought, Han was on his feet pulling on his pants and looking for his gun.

"You didn't think maybe," he hissed as he shrugged into his shirt, "you should have mentioned this at the club?"

She barely opened her eyes, "And miss out on those extra tricks? No…besides, I'm not responsible for anyone but me."

Han heard the echo of his motto, and for the first time, the words rang hollow.

He opened his mouth to respond, to throw snark and vitriol at Kurvrin, but the pull, the little string that he'd been ignoring for months now, tugged on him just a little harder than the pull of anger, and hatred, and fear.

"Thanks," was all he said, before stealing out into the night.

The club was only a few minutes from the Nagai's flat, and Han's mind was startlingly empty as he traversed the dark streets. For once that loud, nattering voice in his head was silent. He was following something deeper, and something truer, and for just a flick he felt some measure of peace.

That feeling disintegrated the moment, he strode into the club, and saw her. It took a moment for him to process it, the clumsy limbs suddenly graceful, the oversized features suddenly sultry. But just as quickly as she drew his male attention, the situation doused him in ice. She was dancing. In one of those. Damn. Cages.

Garko stared up at her with naked desire, surrounded by a group of cronies, all mirroring his lascivious praise. They stood directly below the cage taking full advantage of the transparisteel bottom. Han thought of punching him, indulged in the vision of beating him to a pulp.

But, first things first.

He drew his blaster and shot cleanly through the chain attaching the top of her cage to the ceiling. It crashed neatly onto the assholes' upturned faces and tipped toward the packed dance floor. He leapt over the railing and pushed his way through the crowd. The cage, as he'd gaged, had not hit the floor but was held aloft over the dancers heads. Some of the patrons looked concerned while others cheered, seeing this turn of events as a simple escalation of the party.

Han felt a little guilty as he caught sight of Leia, holding dazedly onto the side of the cage as it was past around like a party balloon.

"Set her down!" Han shouted, shoving his way, blaster first, toward the cage. The beings around him looked appropriately nervous now and quickly assisted in moving her to the nearest flat surface.

Once she'd processed where she was, Leia looked at him through the bars.

"Han…" she said, smiling at him, before slumping against the side.

He shook his head and carefully opened the door, pulling her out of the contraption. He winced as he felt the hard steel of the bars, certain she'd be covered with bruises tomorrow. Maybe he should have thought before pulling the blaster (the story of his life.) He tried to make up for it now by being as gentle with her as possible, deciding the only option was to scoop her into his arms.

"What the fuck?" Garko yelled.

Han settled Leia in his grip, then turned to face the little gangster. Blood poured down his face from a broken nose and gash across his forehead. It was almost enough.

"Out of my way, Rufi," Han said. "Unless you want to get bloodier."

"This isn't your business, Solo. You ain't her dad."

"No," Han said, "I'm her friend."

The next morning dawned bright and blazing. It was a Septday so the town was quieter than usual. Not for any holy purpose - this was Mos Eisley after all - but because any inhabitants who weren't arriving that day had trashed themselves to oblivion the night before.

Han had expected to be in their ranks, but he awoke from a cramped night on the acceleration couch as bright and blazing as the twin suns. He whistled as he brewed a pot of caffe and fried up a gigantic Krayt egg - enough for four humans - and laid out the table.

Chewbacca dragged himself into the space with a perplexed look on his hairy face.

[Isn't it Septday?] he asked.

Han nodded as he dropped the last fork onto an actual napkin.

"That it is, buddy," Han singsonged.

Chewie grumbled as he pushed past him to the caffe machine, returning a few flicks later with a steaming mug and a smug look on his other one.

[So last night went well,] he said, eyeing Han as he shuffled through a cabinet he hadn't opened since Chewie's last birthday.

"You could say that," Han said, voice muffled by the dusty detritus in front of him.

[And you brought her back here?] the Wookiee said.

Han paused, then shrugged, "She was…uh…indisposed. Couldn't send her home."

Chewie grumbled, [You really do have the worst taste in sentients…]

"Umm…good morning," a surprisingly deep alto, made even huskier by the shenanigans of the night before cut through the space.

Han turned to see Chewie's mouth agape and the little farm girl looking worse for wear. She'd done what she could to tidy herself, eyes mostly clean of kohl and hair braided away from her face. He'd left her an old shirt, and was gratified to see she'd used it to cover up the worst of her revealing outfit.

"Morning, sweetheart," Han teased, both for her benefit and the Wookiee's.

Both looked at him incredulously, Leia's cheeks tinting pink and Chewie's eyes going stormy.

Han's smirk faded just a bit - he'd seen Wookiee rage and would never assume he was immune just because of a silly life debt.

"She was out with Garko Rufi last night," Han said, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes darkening along with Chewie's, "he spiced her drink. I brought her here."

Chewie growled, and this growl was not at all conversational.

"Don't worry, pal. There was blood, and there'll be more of it if he goes near her again."

Leia looked like she wanted to sink into the floor. The color had drained from her cheeks and she held her hands against her middle as if to stave off sickness.

"I just wanted to fly…" she said forlornly, "he…he said he understood."

Han felt that pull in his chest again, it was more noticeable and more alarming in the harsh light of day, when the outside danger had subsided and all that was left was this internal one.

He wanted to comfort her, but he wasn't sure how. Chewie seemed frozen with the same dilemma, at a loss for as how to convey real sympathy with clownish gestures and grunts.

"I should go," Leia said, blinking viciously and swiping one hand then another under eyes, "Sorry about last night. You were right—"

Well, Han knew how to respond to that.

"Yeah, I usually am. Sit down. You're gonna get sick if you don't eat something."

Leia hesitated, the light gone out of her brown eyes and replaced with a dull detachment. But, she let her hands fall away from her center and sat gingerly on the booth.

Han strode into the galley and returned with the pan of eggs. He scooped a healthy portion onto each plate then returned with a couple more mugs of caffe and a tin of ghibli fruit biscuits.

Both inhabitants of the table looked glum, neither making a move to eat.

"Oh, right," Han said, "One more thing."

He reached into the cupboard, pulled out the biggest dustiest tome, and dropped it onto Leia's lap. She winced a little at the weight, then inhaled sharply as she read it's title.

SoroSuub Starmite-class X027 Freight Manual

Leia's shoulders tensed and her face lifted to his, life crackling in her eyes like exhaust flames from an engine initiation. Han's heart beat a little faster, fueled by the same mix of disbelief and anticipation.

"What does this—"

"First rule of flying: you can't fix it, you don't fly it."