"Look, I ain't in this for your revolution, and I'm not in it for you, Princess." – Han Solo, Episode IV: A New Hope
"Are you accepting the commission, or are you not?"
The other rebels around them were looking at the Princess in surprise, as though they'd never seen her in such a state before.
Han had been tiptoeing around the whole notion of staying on Yavin to help. The first few days he had claimed he was fixing up the Falcon, he needed the time, space and equipment. It was true, he reasoned. Though perhaps he could have been more efficient instead of heading off to heckle Her Highness every once in a while for amusement.
Luke had asked him to help with a scouting assignment and so Han had reluctantly agreed. One assignment had let to multiple odd jobs such as these until the General had gotten fed up by what he called "a precious waste of resources" – meaning Han. He had evaded the man's requests until today...except the General – slippery little fellow that he was – had passed on the responsibility of persuading Han to enlist to the Princess' dainty yet capable shoulders.
She wouldn't take any of his shifty replies for an answer. Instead, she only became more determined and more riled up as time continued. He supposed the rest of the rebels were so respectful and eager to please around her that she'd never have to exhibit any side of her other than her calm, stoic one. Today was a different story.
He took a different tactic, drawling, "What's in it for me, Princess?"
She rolled her eyes, "Obviously you're going to be well paid within reasonable limits."
"Somehow, I don't really like the sound of that."
"It's up to you, Han," she shrugged, "Take it, or leave it. But if you don't take it, you'll be leaving within the week because everyone who lives here, works. We all have our jobs to carry out. We don't hold up with slackers or inefficiency here."
Ouch. She could be as cold as a dead fish when she wanted to be. But direct and to the point, which was refreshing in his line of business.
"You need me," he declared with his usual touch of arrogance, "You need me for this commission, why else would you ask me?"
"We have plenty of other-" she began haughtily, but he interrupted.
"Who aren't as experienced or good a pilot as me. You need me for this commission."
"I don't need you," she pursed her lips delicately, "Our pilots are perfectly qualified for their jobs. I'm merely offering you a position."
"What if I don't want it?" he challenged, enjoying the flush that rose up in her cheeks. She was probably unused to such insubordinate attitude from an inferior.
"As I mentioned," she stated through gritted teeth, "That is entirely up to you. Whether you wish to go back to your previous...occupation," she phrased the word with disdain, "or stay to fight. But you are going to decide now."
Something in him wanted to keep pushing her, she was far too comfortable with her sense of authority, but then he caught a glance of Luke making his way over with a hopeful smile on his face. What the hell. He'd do it.
"I'll take it," he answered, amused at the look of surprise on Leia's face, "Just this one."
She quickly recovered, "Very good. I'll be assigning you along with Skywalker, Giles, Khan and Joyce."
"Who's leading?"
"I am."
Leia had quite enjoyed Han's expression when she had told him she would be leading the raid.
As soon as the Death Star had been destroyed, she had realized they would need to evacuate immediately, seeing as the Empire was fully aware of their location. After sending multiple scouts, they had finally narrowed down the planets to a potential three. Hoth seemed the most adequate, despite the harsh cold climate and possible predators. A group of rebels had already begun work on constructing a suitable outpost, although they had sent word that progress would be slower than expected due to the extreme temperature drop by nightfall. However, one of the rebels had also let slip that Han had been arriving from time to time with Luke. In fact, he had also been a part of the scouting expeditions.
In all their previous encounters, he had mentioned none of this. Although, now that she recalled, he had seemed a little tired, even when badgering her around. He took great delight in bumping into her "accidentally" around the base, making requests for spare parts for the Falcon, or to mock one of the squadrons she had sent out. Despite his admission that day of the ceremony, that he would like to stay, he seemed to be unable to decide what it was that he truly wanted. It looked as though he had decided, she thought, half-amused. He just didn't want to concede to it.
Tomorrow's raid was on one of the Empire's outposts. They wanted to take advantage of their enemy's weakness as much as possible and this particular raid would remove one of their biggest supply stations, as long as it was successful.
Han followed her as she strode out of the office, "How many other squadrons are you sending out?"
"The General decided we can only afford to send two at the present moment," she replied.
"You think that'll be enough?" Han asked doubtfully.
"Yes. Now, as to the matter of your ship..."
"What about her?" Han looked shifty.
"She will be very useful in the coming evacuations-"
"I agreed to one commission, not two, Princess."
She ignored him, continuing, "However, for tomorrow's raid, you will be flying one of the fighters."
"I don't think so."
"She is far too conspicuous for a fight. We want to take them by surprise, not announce our arrival like a red beacon. If you want to argue further against this, you can take it up with the General."
"Your Highness, I believe you're forgetting something," Han drawled smugly.
"What?" she demanded impatiently.
"The Falcon, as an illustrious carrier of smuggled goods, will aid our cause perfectly," he spoke in the same tone she had used when addressing him earlier.
She thought about it. He did have a good point, she conceded reluctantly. "So are you saying you'll arrive first and we'll have the squadrons arrive after?"
"That's about right. I'll land, sweet-talk 'em into allowing them to bring out their goods, and then tell you when to get down."
"They'll have clones guarding the shipments."
"Nothing I haven't handled before."
She sighed, "Alright, I'll give everyone a debriefing at five."
"You see, I'm not just a possessor of extreme good looks. I'm also quite intelligent."
"When you want to be."
"And brave."
"Don't push it."
He coughed, looking at her innocently, "The Death Star?"
"Are you going to bring that up every time I question your morals?" she demanded exasperatedly.
He grinned, "Who said I had any?"
"I'm surprised you aren't returning back to your smuggling affairs."
"I just might. This is only one commission, Princess, remember, I never said I'd be staying for good."
"No, I never expected you would," she replied honestly, "However," she stopped and turned to face him, "there is something I require of you tomorrow."
"Yes, Your Worshipfullness?" He knew she hated the nicknames he bestowed upon her.
"Your respect and compliance. I can't have any of the soldiers questioning my authority, not even you. You can make suggestions, of course, but ultimately I am leading the squadrons tomorrow and there is an order, a plan. Improvise only if absolutely necessary and if I tell you to get out, we are getting out. Is that clear?"
"Perfectly, Your Highness," he bowed mockingly.
"I know how much you like surprises, but I want tomorrow to go smoothly," she warned.
He looked at her in a show of injured dignity, "Hey, it's me."
It was going to be a long day tomorrow.
Luke found Han in the docking bay, "You ready?"
Han lifted his head to reply, banging his head against a low shaft of his ship. Luke winced at the sharp thud, "That had to hurt."
"I've been told I have a hard head," Han said dryly.
Luke grinned, "I can't argue with that. Leia said to tell you she'll be flying with you in the Falcon, so to have it ready soon."
"When she said she'd be leading...somehow I thought it would be through an intercom from the base," Han raised an eyebrow, "And since when have you been on a first-name basis with Her Royal Highness?"
Luke blushed, ignoring the second question, "She likes being in the thick of it all."
"I think it's more likely that she doesn't trust me to keep my head in a tense situation."
"Well you do tend to shoot before you think," his friend pointed out apologetically.
"What I can't figure out..." Han said, his voice muffled from beneath the bottom of the Falcon, where he was conducting repairs, "is why a Princess is willing to get her hands dirty when she's clearly got plenty of other people to do it for her."
"Maybe, it's because the Princess is qualified as an agent of the Alliance to get the job done," came Leia's irritated voice as she headed towards them.
Han made sure to ease himself out from under the ship carefully this time. He surveyed her appearance approvingly. Gone was the impractical flowing white dress. Instead she wore a dark green light jacket over tight trousers, a blaster strapped to her waist and thick, sturdy boots over her small feet.
"Your hair looks different," he commented upon the absence of her usual two thick rolls. Her dark brown hair was now braided around her head in a sort of crown.
"Are you finished?" she eyed him and his toolbox disparagingly, "We are leaving in ten minutes."
"Almost," he headed back under, "Just making sure she'll start up right or we won't be leaving at all."
Leia huffed with impatience. Luke turned to her ruefully, "She was damaged pretty badly in the last visit to Hoth. Some wild creature attacked it."
"And your friend decided to neglect to mention this until now?" she said incredulously.
"She'll be fine, she'll be fine, don't get your knickers in a twist," Han called out cheerfully.
Luke left hurriedly to his starfighter as to avoid the aftermath of that particular comment. At this point, all the rebels knew well enough to not come in between the Princess and the smuggler-turned-rebel in one of their daily squabbles. And no one knew better than he did.
Han landed the ship carefully on the runway, watching warily as a man in a hooded cloak and two clones approached. He had spoken to a clone already through the intercom, keeping his voice relaxed and steady as he announced he had arrived to pick up a new shipment.
"You go and talk to them," Leia directed quietly, "If they refuse to leave to bring out the goods, then stall as much as possible."
"And if they realize I'm bluffing?"
"You can handle it," Leia said, with a touch of irony, "Besides, Chewie and I have your back, should they shoot to kill."
"How reassuring," he muttered, heading out.
He plastered on a mask of impassivity as he sauntered out of the ship, keeping his poise relaxed, meeting the hooded man's face directly, "I'm here for the usual. And don't keep me waiting, it's a tight schedule and I need the stuff now."
The man with the hooded cloak cocked his head, surveying him keenly, "You don't look like one of our usual customers."
"You think the Empire has the time to send out a diplomat?" Han mocked him, though his heart was racing, "Especially after their recent loss, they can't afford to be choosy."
"No, I suppose they can't," the man said slowly, "However, I find it rather odd that after we sent out our last shipment so recently, they've sent yet another man for the job."
"The last one got attacked," Han replied breezily, "Taken down by some Rebel cruisers. They've gotten pretty bold after they knocked out the Death Star."
"I am still expecting payment, I hope you realize. We don't recompense for matters which are out of our control."
Han sighed as though the news was expected yet irksome, "I had a feeling you'd say that." He grabbed the money bag at his waist and jingled it encouragingly.
"Very well," the man gestured to the clones who headed off to a round building at the end of the runway. He turned back to Han, holding out a gloved hand, "The payment?"
"Get them babies over here first and then we'll talk money matters," Han replied. Why the hell weren't the starfighters over here yet?
"You're an interesting character for the Empire to send," the man scrutinized him coldly, "I understand they are currently short on...adequate resources...but surely they had better?"
"I am the best," Han drawled.
"Perhaps. But surely a man with more discretion would be wiser. The last man who arrived, you see, he's not what you might call a talkative fellow."
"He's dead," Han quipped, "So, no, I wouldn't consider him talkative at all at the moment."
"Funny you should say that. Because, you see, contrary to your belief, he was not taken out by a rebel cruiser. In fact, he has not yet left this planet, as he arrived only an hour prior to your appearance." The man lifted his hood casually to reveal a tattooed skull, pulling out a blaster with a sort of feline elegance, "Who are you and who are you working for?"
An explosion at the crates further down, sent Han reflexively flattening himself to the ground, his ears ringing. Taking advantage of the man's temporary distraction, he pulled out his blaster and shot. The man moved before he could hit him, however fired at something behind Han. Chewbacca's roar drove him to lucidity and he quickly moved back to the Falcon, firing at the man and the clones behind him, deflecting their fire. Another explosion had him stumbling back, however it was accompanied by shots from circling starcruisers.
Leia had stepped out as well, taking out one of the clones with precision. The man in the hooded cloak had disappeared.
"Back to the Falcon!" he yelled at her, while shooting at a clone, moving closer towards the ship. He needed to find the bald man quick if he didn't want the Empire on his heels as well. Jabba was bad enough. The man had seen his face at a close distance and would remember it.
"Chewie can't start it up! Courtesy of your "repairs"!" she shouted angrily.
He cursed, before a flash of movement caught his eye, "Behind you!"
Leia ducked, spinning to fire and Han heard her curse in pain. "You alright?" he yelled, amidst another explosion.
She didn't reply and he turned to his horror, to see a sputtering starcruiser spiral unsteadily towards her. He ran, pulling her out, losing balance at the impact of the starcruiser hitting the ground. He groaned, his ears ringing and smoke filling his vision. An elbow knocked into his abdomen and he grabbed Leia's arm, "Hey, Your Worship, watch it!"
She was sprawled atop of him, gasping for breath, yet clearly keen to get up. "Are you alright?" he demanded, looking around to make sure no more clones were approaching, yet uncomfortably aware of her squirming.
"I'm fine," she muttered, "Let's get back to the ship."
"You know, it's usually much more of a pleasurable experience to have a woman on top," he gingerly shifted her off, at the same moment realizing his blaster was gone, "but in the light of present circumstances-"
Leia shot at something behind them, "Get in the damn ship, flyboy!"
He pulled at her arm, noting her limp and grimace of pain, helping her along the ramp, as she fired behind them. "Chewie, get us in the air!"
Thankfully, the ship started up. Han scanned the parameters for any sign of the cloaked figure, until a compact black cruiser headed up in the air from a short distance away from the runway.
"Gotcha," he muttered, but before he could fire, the ship hit lightspeed and shot into space.
"We have to follow it," Chewie growled, "That man can recognize your face."
Han nodded, frowning, before he realized Leia was missing. He found the Princess collapsed unconscious on the floor where he'd left her. He bent down, shaking her gently, "Hey, Princess, wake up." She groaned a little. He checked her efficiently for any injuries but aside from where the blaster shot had grazed her leg, she seemed fine.
Luke's voice buzzed through the intercom, "Han, we're almost done here. Are you heading out?"
"Yeah, we're good," he replied.
Chewie called back, "Han, are we-"
"No, we're heading back to the base," he said shortly. Leia could be a Royal Pain in the Behind at the best of times, but he did know she wouldn't have collapsed on the floor of his ship if it wasn't serious. "The Princess is injured."