A/N: My first venture into the Star Wars fandom, and a shot at Han/Leia. Han's thoughts when he's about to be frozen in carbonite.

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, or its characters.

"They're gonna kill her!" Shouted the young towheaded man, his voice escalating in frustration.

"Better her than me!"

One corner of his mouth twisted up into a wry, rueful smile as he recalled that particular conversation. He'd willingly given away the life of some nameless, faceless princess, because hey, why should he die for her?

After all, he only fell in love with her after he met her.

Now he watched her face as the platform he was standing on was readied for its descent into carbonite, searching for some kind of guarantee.

Sure, she'd said she loved him, but he'd learned that they were really a lot alike - they both lied when they had to. The difference then, was that he lied when he felt like it, not just when he needed to.

He couldn't see why she'd lie about this, but who knew? He still didn't trust people. Not even her entirely. Well, especially not her, because he loved her.

Nothing could change the fact that he was a cynic - always would be.

The platform slowly began to jerk forward, and he kept his chin up. Nobody was going to be able to tell anything but heroic stories about him if he didn't survive this. He'd heard enough scummy pilots (alright, he was one of them) pick apart the details of a person's death and find all the cowardly ones. He never claimed to be a nice person.

When he looked back on those couple of moments he realized that for a lowdown smuggler, it had been what could be called a "life defining" moment. He'd agreed to go rescue the princess after all.

But those words, "better her than me!" often haunted him, especially when they were in situations when they might all be killed. Because by then he'd give anything for it to be him instead of her (not that he'd tell anybody or anything).

He was still searching her face for some tiny detail, something that would tell him that she really meant it, that she could find it somewhere within herself to love someone so "beneath" her. He could have laughed then, but he was determined to be noble or whatever until he sank all the way into that tank. The stories about him were going to be great.

He could feel tiny tendrils of carbonite swirling around his feet and legs, making them go numb. He wondered if his life would flash before his eyes. Kind of a crummy thing for his final moments. Maybe he could ask for a Western or a thriller instead.

He couldn't tell, but he bet that Vader guy was wearing a pretty smug look on his face. He'd seen enough of those to know when someone was wearing one. He'd been stuck in plenty of nasty situations. Problem was, it didn't seem like evil Jedi or whatever that guy was, would be prone to letting him go on a bribe.

He thought maybe he ought to say something so that people could make it the climatic moment in their stories when they were told in bars or canteens. Or maybe even at the rebel bases. "And then he said - !" But what could he say?

And then she said it.

"I love you!"

It was perfect. A perfect last line, something that would leave them on the edge of their seats, saying that he'd been himself 'til the end.

"I know."