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Despite his seemingly bottomless well of enthusiasm, there was no getting around the fact that Luke was a terrible dance partner.
In his defense, they hadn’t had much time to practice, and had done so only in the cramped confines of the Millennium Falcon (the only location on base where they could escape his fellow Rogues’ prying eyes). Still, this was the third time he’d tripped her with a misplaced limb, and it had Leia wondering if his knees were pointier than normal.
It didn’t help that their practice location came with a very opinionated audience. “It’s not a race, kid.”
Luke scowled towards the workbench on the other end of the hold, where Han sat tinkering with some engine piece. “It’s harder than it looks, okay?”
“Ignore him,” Leia commanded. To make sure she had his focus back, she prodded his shoulder a little harder than was necessary. That last knee to her thigh had hurt, dammit.
When Luke nodded and straightened his back, Leia counted down and, with great effort, allowed him to lead her through the first few steps of the Tinuvian dance they hoped to master in the next forty-eight hours. The Tinuvians had a rich tradition involving dancing; unfortunately, they also had a societal quirk that decreed all dances must be led by the taller of the pair. There were precious few beings at their current base who were shorter than Leia, and none of them were equipped to handle a diplomatic mission. And if she couldn’t find someone short enough to let her lead, she had thought at least she could trust Luke to be a decent pupil.
If she was being honest, he was also safe.
Sure, he’d had a bit of a crush those first few months, but even that had been at the safe distance that came with his veneration, and familiarity had seen both fade away. Neither age nor war had managed to strip him of that twitchy, frenetic energy that coursed through him in a way that generated warmth like a perfectly distanced star.
Yes, Luke was safe, and he was comfortable, and his touch certainly didn't shock her nerves the way someone else on this ship managed to do.
If only Leia could calm that spectacular energy of his enough to stop him from tripping her.
She failed to suppress the exasperation on her face as Luke untangled that skinny leg of his; but when Han let out a snort of laughter, she quickly redirected her glare. Luke might’ve been safe in ways that Han was not, but Han was a more satisfying target. “Don’t you have anything better you could possibly be doing right now?”
Han twirled a soldering pen between his long fingers. “What, and miss the private comedy show you’re putting on? In my own ship?”
Leia sucked in a breath through her teeth, but before she could think of a reply, Luke’s comm beeped. He didn’t bother to hide his sigh of relief. “That’s Wedge. We’re on scouting duty.” He glanced sheepishly up at Leia. “If you want to find someone else to go on this mission, I’ll understand.”
That smoothed the sharpness of her already fading annoyance. He was trying, and she couldn’t imagine it was easy to learn an alien dance with only a few hours of practice in between scouting missions, especially for someone who didn’t have the benefit of an entire childhood of diplomatic training. Luke also didn’t have the benefit of Leia’s stubborn streak, which had made stuffy dance lessons into a challenge to be overcome. And this was simply another such challenge. “You’ll be fine. We still have two days to practice. Just try to watch those holovids I sent you if you have any downtime.”
Luke nodded a quick goodbye to Han, who returned it with a wave of two lazy fingers. When they were alone in the hold, Leia crossed her arms over her chest and, granting herself a bit of petulance, stamped her boot down hard as she turned to face Han fully.
“I didn’t realize you were such an accomplished dance critic. I suppose they taught that subject at the imperial academy?”
Han dropped the engine part onto the table with the sort of disinterest that confirmed her suspicion that he’d barely been paying attention to it during their dance drills. “Oh, if they did, I probably would've failed it. You know how much I hate taking direction.”
“I struggle to think of any subject you wouldn't fail.”
She immediately regretted the lie; it wasn’t worth the smug smirk he gave her in response. He knew she'd gotten a slicer to dig up his academy scores. “Go ahead and take out your frustrations on me, I can handle it better than Luke can.” He shrugged. “‘Course, I can handle dance moves better than he can, too.”
Leia cocked her hip and smiled. “Hm, I was wondering if I’d wounded your pride. Maybe I had you agonizing over why you weren’t chosen for this mission?”
His smirk softened as all its sharpened edges went into his eyes, bearing down on Leia in a gaze that had her stomach feeling weightless. A shiver raced up her spine in anticipation of the dangerously low pitch of his voice that always accompanied that darkened gaze. “Oh, I know why I wasn’t chosen, sweetheart.”
All her wit and vocabulary, honed in the crucible of politics, failed her utterly in her search for a retort. She found herself in the unfamiliar ground of a muddled mind, and already, Han stood and closed the distance in two strides of his long legs. He leaned in close, and Leia’s breath caught in her throat.
His smile widened. “I’m much harder to lead.”
As blood rushed to her cheeks, she gave serious thought to punching his shoulder; but any pain she could inflict would not be worth the triumph he’d feel at such a clumsy rebuttal. Instead, she clenched her teeth, rolled her eyes, and turned away.
When she approached the doorway leading to the hatch, she threw over her shoulder, “Thank you for letting us practice here. Despite your disregard for my personal space, I know how you value your own.”
—
Leia rounded the corner to find Han already marching towards her, coming from the direction of the medbay. His face was weary but not distraught or frightened or any of those other emotions he thought he was so good at hiding; it settled some of her anxiety.
“Kid’s fine,” he said immediately, taking her by the elbow and leading her back the way he’d just come. “Jensen made it sound way worse than it actually was.”
Leia let out a heavy sigh. “But he is wounded?”
“Yeah, but nothing he can’t bounce back from. Guess the desert builds ‘em tough.”
Indeed, when they entered the medbay, they found Luke sitting upright on a bed, looking more sheepish than pained. “I’m fine, I don’t know why Wes was being so dramatic.”
A muscle feathered in Han’s jaw. Ah, thought Leia, there’s the worry. “Probably ‘cause he saw fireworks coming out of the side of your ship.” Exasperation dripped from his voice. Truly, who did he think he was fooling when he insisted he didn’t care about any of them?
Luke rolled his eyes over to Leia and explained, “We were doing low atmosphere surveillance on a planet a few systems over, and I guess someone had left an automated sentry drone at this abandoned colony. It only grazed me, but it short-circuited something in the cockpit, and–” He gestured to where the med droid was currently applying bacta to his thigh before dropping his hand listlessly back onto the bed.
Leia chewed on her lip. “Do you know what caused the short-circuit?”
When Luke shook his head, Han nodded to Chewie, who hovered behind the droid with his lanky arms crossed over his chest. “Think you could take a look at his X-wing?”
Chewie tilted his head and growled out a query that Leia couldn’t quite follow, but she caught what sounded like the inflections for tomorrow and gathered that it had something to do with the upcoming mission to Tinuvia–the one she needed Luke for.
Han waved his hand. “We can manage without you. Because Her Highness isn’t planning on throwing herself into danger with this one, right?”
“I never plan on throwing myself into danger.” Her gaze darted to the wounded leg. “I take it you’re out of commission?”
The droid answered for Luke: “This leg should not support his weight for a minimum of three days.”
Luke hunched his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Leia. Maybe you can find someone else?”
“It’ll be fine,” she replied with far more confidence than she felt. Tinuvians were highly ritualistic, especially in the old money aristocracy that Leia hoped to court on this mission. Her contact, a former colleague from her Senate days, had gotten her an invite to a gathering of Tinuvian elites who were supposedly sympathetic to the cause; the Dance of Entreaty would get their attention in a way that was both subtle and culturally respectful. “I’ll just have to be more direct with our aid request.”
Han frowned. “I thought you said these people didn’t take kindly to direct requests?”
Leia shot him a glare. “Yes,” she replied through gritted teeth, wishing she could articulate but I don’t want Luke to feel worse about it through stomping on Han’s foot. “But we’ll have to make due.”
Han stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. “I’ll do it.”
She furrowed her brows. He’d already agreed to fly them on this mission, what else was there for him to do? “You’ll do what?”
“The dance.”
When she burst out laughing, he had the gall to look offended. He spread his hands wide and scowled. “What’s so funny?”
“You think you can master an intricate, highly ritualistic alien dance in, oh–” She pretended to check her wrist chronometer. “Fifty-three hours?”
He shrugged again. “I’ve seen you and Luke muddle through it enough times. I was there when you showed him the holorecordings. How hard could it be?”
Luke snorted in reply. But when Leia gestured to him, thinking she’d found an ally, she instead saw his sardonic expression softening in thought. “I mean,” he said hesitantly, “maybe it’s worth a shot?”
She gaped at Luke, then at Han, even at the spark of mirth hiding deep in Chewie’s eyes, before at last throwing her hands in the air. “Fine! But if you cause an intergalactic incident, you–” She jabbed a finger into Han’s chest; he did not budge, and all she got out of it was a sore fingertip. “--will have to smuggle me out of there.”
Han gave her a breezy smile as he turned to leave. “I won’t be the one causing any incidents, Princess.”
“Good luck,” Luke deadpanned. Leia wasn’t sure who it was meant for. Maybe both of them.
—
“Next jump is in about two hours,” Han announced as he entered the lounge, “all systems good.”
Leia pushed off of the dejarik table with a snort. “That’s a first.”
He let the insult to his ship pass with only an eye twitch. His normally fluid, painstakingly careless gait faltered as he stepped up to her. He hooked his thumbs into his belt, then dropped his hands down at his sides, then finally held them up, almost as if in surrender. “So. Practice?”
“Right. Practice.” She had to look away from his face, shaking out her limbs as if to prep for a sparring session. “They use the same music for a lot of different dances.
“Uh-huh.” He was clearly less interested in the culture lesson than he was in why she was stalling with information he'd already heard her tell Luke. “You wanna get started?”
“Yes,” she blurted, even as a shameful inner voice insisted, Not safe! Her body disagreed, with how it strained towards him like a leaf seeking sunlight.
In hindsight, it would’ve been easier if Han had kept his cool, if he’d smirked and stalked towards her with a predator’s grace. Instead, he pursed his lips as his gaze darted between each of their hands. But he placed his legs at the proper distance, bent his wrist to rest against his hip, and held out his hand, exactly as the dance required.
“Oh,” Leia breathed. He had been paying attention. She had to remind herself that was a good thing for the mission. It also meant she’d underestimated him, again, and she knew he kept a mental tally of the times he’d managed to prove her wrong (and likely a physical one somewhere on this ship).
She raised her hand to hover above his, only to find her fingers trembling. She tried to speak, to inject authority, levity, anything but whatever it was that made her hand shake. He lifted his hand closer to hers, and Leia’s fingers jerked back.
Han’s brows twitched together, and something sparked in his eyes that looked almost like hurt, a flicker of pain that lasted less than a second before anger stepped in to save him. He nodded slowly. “Yeah, you know what? You’re right. We should just wing it.”
It could’ve been a joke, said with the breezy composure he so loved to project. Instead, with his brows drawn and his lip curled, it had all the weight of blast doors slamming shut.
Without another word, he marched back towards the cockpit.
Leia stepped backwards until she could slump against the bulkhead. This mission already hung by a thread, and she had jeopardized it further because of– She couldn’t quite pin down the emotion that had frozen her hands in front of Han’s, what still crackled at her fingertips. Trepidation bubbling up from her stomach, borne aloft by giddiness. Fear and excitement tangling together and strangling words at her throat.
She clenched her jaw. And so what? He was good looking, he made her laugh even when she didn’t want to, and they’d been through countless disasters together. It was only natural. Leia knew a thing or two about committing crimes, and “having a crush on a smuggler” certainly wasn’t going to appear on any of her wanted posters. If she kept it locked away, refused to feed it, it would eventually starve.
She just had to get the tremor in her hands under control.
By the time she’d swallowed her pride enough to extend some sort of peace offering, the Falcon had dropped out of lightspeed and was heading towards the next hyperspace lane. Needing something to distract herself, Leia had spent the time getting dressed for the gala. They were still a few hours away, but the dress she’d borrowed was comfortable enough to wait around in. She entered the cockpit quietly and sat in the copilot seat.
“That’s a new one.”
“What?” But when she turned to Han, she found him looking at her hair. “Oh. I’m hoping to keep a low profile, so I wanted to avoid anything that looked like my normal hair.” To that end, she’d opted to wear it down in a loose, thick braid, with a few smaller braids twining throughout. It was the sort of style that was meant to look natural and effortless and had taken her almost an hour to do.
“This is you trying not to attract attention?”
“What do you mean?” she asked sharply. It didn’t have the bite of an insult, but if something about her was going to draw attention, she needed to correct it.
But Han quickly returned his gaze to the viewport. “Nothing, I mean– it’s fine, you’re fine.” He cleared his throat and mumbled, “It’s a nice dress.”
“Oh, I… thank you.” She drew her fingers over the silky, pale purple skirt. “I borrowed it from Lieutenant Mathri.” She’d also had to borrow high heeled boots just so the skirt wouldn’t drag on the floor.
In the weighty silence that followed, Han reached over and flipped a switch on the copilot’s dashboard. Leia pounced on the change of subject. “Is it difficult to fly without Chewie?”
“For this sort of flight? Nah, not really.” His fingers fluttered for a moment over a series of dials above Leia’s knee before turning one of them. “The hard part is unlearning things.”
“What do you mean?”
“Habits. You get used to a certain pattern of movements.” He glanced at her sidelong and smirked. “Y’know, like a dance.”
She huffed out a small laugh and shook her head. “Speaking of which, we… really should try to practice at least once.” She quickly added, “I need to make sure I can do the steps in these shoes.”
“And you want to find out how clumsy I am.”
“And I want to find out how clumsy you are.”
When they were safely away in the next hyperspace lane, they stood once again facing each other in the lounge. This time, Leia had the good sense to turn on the music recording. Han fell into the opening stance flawlessly, as before, though he kept his expression guarded this time. That, more than anything, had Leia pressing her hand firmly down onto his.
Han’s eyes widened, only for a second, and then his face shifted to the same severity he wore when navigating an Imperial minefield. She watched his other hand move, thinking that if she tracked it, she’d be braced for him to take her by the waist and pull her close.
It was not the electric shock she’d expected. It was warmth, flowing from his hand like a river throughout her body. It wasn’t as though she wasn’t used to the feel of someone else’s hands–she’d done these same moves with Luke only a day prior–but Han’s touch was slow, deliberate. Not cautious in that he thought her breakable, but cautious in the way he watched her face for any reaction as his fingers splayed across her side, watching her like he wanted his fingers to dig deeper.
The sharpness of that gaze only lasted a moment before his focus shifted from her to his own feet.
“Head up–” But Han was already lifting his head again as she spoke. He’d heard her give that order to Luke plenty of times. He’d been listening.
He’d been watching, too, judging by how he only misstepped once.
Sucking in a breath, Leia began the spin slowly. A broad hand drew down her side, and as it lowered, as she exhaled, she let her shoulders drop, let her eyes close, let his touch wash over her as surely as the music did. She was keenly aware of each point of contact: his hand now resting on her stomach, the thumb of his other hand tracing over the wrist of her outstretched arm, the breaths raising gooseflesh on her neck.
Han took the next spin a bit faster, and perched on one toe, Leia surrendered to the momentary weightless feeling, to the rush of air as her skirt flew out from her legs.
Their palms met again. When he laced his fingers through hers, the music began to swell, and Leia gripped his hand tighter than she had before. His other hand traced along her waist before sliding to warm the small of her back, their bodies closer now. With eyes shut, she could not tell how much space remained between their chests. She could get closer, only half a step forward–
There was a thud and a yelp of pain. Leia’s eyes flew open to find that she’d pushed Han against the bulkhead.
“Sorry!”
He winced and rolled his shoulder, but his response sounded more amused than annoyed. “Can’t help but take the lead, can you?”
“I–” She gave an apologetic shrug. “Instincts took over, I suppose.” She stepped away and clasped her hands in front of her. “But I think you’ve got a good handle on the moves.”
“Really?” The surprise and faintest lilt of delight in his voice made Leia raise her eyebrows. Han almost managed to turn his sputter into some semblance of a haughty laugh. “I mean, yeah, of course I do.”
—
They couldn’t land a conspicuous hunk of junk like the Falcon at the elegant estate where the gala was being held without drawing too much attention; luckily, the city was dense enough that quieter landing platforms were in abundance not too far away. On their approach to the estate, Leia had insisted that they walk proudly in the open, as sticking to the shadows in a wealthy part of the city might look suspicious; to which Han had insisted they walk arm-in-arm, like a happy couple. Leia had rolled her eyes and accepted his elbow, only because it probably was a good idea.
He’d managed to dig out some respectable clothing from somewhere in his ship: not his bloodstripes, but similarly tight-fitting black pants and a dark blue shirt. It was hard not to be impressed; he’d even buttoned the shirt all the way to the top.
They merged into the throng of humanoids gliding towards the estate in a glittering parade of wealth. Pale green marble ornamented by iridescent Tinuvian minerals cascaded on either side of them the length of several city blocks. Han leaned close to mutter, “I can see why you wanna make friends with these guys.”
“I expect you to be on your best behavior,” she said through the genial smile she’d plastered on her face.
“D’you think they’re hiring pilots? Can I use you as a reference?”
“Only if I get to tell them the truth about you.”
“What, that I’m a great dancer? I hear they like that.”
She shushed him through her teeth as she spotted her contact waving to her at the top of the wide, polished staircase. She greeted Balthen warmly; he’d served as the chief of staff to the Tinuvian senator, and though Leia had not dealt with Balthen much, she knew his former senator was not at all fond of the Empire. Accepting his offer of aid was a gamble, but the Alliance needed funds, and there was enough money flitting through this gala to make the risk worthwhile.
Leia did feel a stab of annoyance when Balthen ignored her companion. Han didn’t seem to take it personally, though; he was busy scanning the crowd, likely on the lookout for any white helmets. So she kept her smile in place and followed Balthen into the estate.
Inside, the crowd funnelled up another grand staircase, but Balthen led them down a corridor to the right. Leia immediately exchanged a glance with Han. “Ain’t the party that way?” Han jerked his thumb towards the staircase.
Balthen waved a dismissive hand. “I thought the princess could do with a few private lessons on protocol before engaging in the Dance of Entreaty.”
Leia exchanged a pointed glance with Han. “Actually, I've studied the dance quite a bit. And we've been practicing for some time.”
“Well–” There it was. The slightest falter in his step, and then his hand lifting to hover for a second at his hip. Leia’s heart sank. “In any case, I believe a refresher course would not go amiss, yes?”
Leia put all her focus in keeping her tone light. “Yes, of course.”
An elbow at her arm drew Leia’s gaze back to Han. He lifted his chin, flicked the topmost button of his shirt free, and jerked his head towards the door. His shirt came untucked as he whipped a blaster out from behind his back.
The sudden rustle of clothes got Balthen’s attention, but Han was already surging forward. To Leia’s relief, he flipped the blaster and whipped Balthen across the head. Leia glanced down the corridor in either direction; the stragglers of the crowd had not looked their way yet, and it was all silence and closed doors at the other end.
Han threw open the nearest door, into a mercifully empty room. “Do these people have a dance for backstabbing scenarios?”
Leia groaned as she lifted Balthen’s arm. “Oh, shut up and help me carry him.”
They got him shoved into the room and made it halfway down the hall before they heard the too-familiar stomp of boots. They only glanced back long enough to get a glimpse of the stormtroopers before Han snatched Leia’s hand and they broke into a run.
—
Stars whirled in the viewport, and Han slumped against the pilot seat with a heavy sigh. “Well, that was too close for comfort.”
Leia gestured listlessly to her skirts. “Would’ve been a much quicker escape if I wasn’t wearing all this.”
“Hey, I’m more impressed you made it all that way in heels.”
She tried to muster a smile, but with the adrenaline of their flight through the city and off the planet rapidly wearing off, she couldn’t find the energy. Her feet hurt. Her heart hurt. She was tired.
Han stood abruptly, tapped her on the shoulder, and beckoned her to follow him out of the cockpit. “C’mon.” Curiosity won out over Leia’s exhaustion, and she followed him to the lounge.
He turned to watch her enter. “But you gotta admit.” He nodded down at her dress. His throat bobbed with a hard swallow. “It added a certain dramatic flair to the experience of running for your life.”
Leia snorted and gave a quick twirl, watching the skirt billow around her feet, and– well, all right, it was a nice feeling. Han didn’t even laugh at her moment of self-indulgence, only watched her with a wisp of a smile dashed across his face. With only him to see, somehow it felt all right. It also felt all right to say aloud, “This was the first time I've worn a nice dress since…”
She didn’t need to finish the statement. Han knew. He knew more than she ever gave him credit for. “Yeah,” he said. He stepped in front of her and raised his hands. “Why don’t you show me some?” He flinched at his own vagueness, and before she could ask him to elaborate, he did so on his own: “Your own dances. From Alderaan.” His lips twitched into a tentative form of that lopsided smile. “You can lead, this time.”
The little stab of grief was expected; she didn’t think she’d ever stop feeling it when someone mentioned her home. She did not expect the comfort, the gratitude spreading warmth down to her fingertips at the request. She almost couldn’t speak through the surge of emotions, not all of them bad, but she managed to croak, “All right.”
Han stood by while Leia adjusted his left hand, lowering it, palm upwards. She placed her own palm atop his and slowly rotated it, coaxing with her pinkie finger for him to mirror the move. Then she raised her left hand in a sweeping arch, and as she brought it down, Han, adaptable and ever attentive, lifted his other palm to meet her. With the same wrist rotation, they stood with palms pressed together. Leia at last chanced a glance at his face; she smiled to find his brows furrowed in concentration.
She swept her right leg back and tapped her toe twice against the ground. Han lifted his left foot first, then thought better of it and switched to the right foot, raising an eyebrow at Leia as he did so. She nodded.
Han turned out to be a quick study, following her through the steps with only a few false starts. Leia bit her lip to try to hide her smile, hoping the next move would catch him off-guard.
Even standing on her toes, Han had to duck to accommodate the twirl beneath her arms. When he faced her again, wide-eyed, a laugh burst out of her. Han’s face broke into a wild grin.
“Gotta find you some taller heels if you want to pull that one off.”
A few steps later, Leia halted and tapped her fingers against his. “And if I could manage it, this is where I’d lift and spin you.”
He cocked his head. “What, you’re not even gonna try?”
“You won’t bait me that easily, Captain.”
The last word came out in a breathless rush as Han drew her close, flush against his chest, and wrapped an arm around her waist. Before Leia had the chance to decide if she was alarmed or excited, her feet left the ground and he spun them both.
It was over as quickly as it had started, but Han did not let go of her hand even as he stepped back. Leia didn’t realize she was grinning until she spoke, “I think that was more of a Corellian move.”
He shrugged and lifted their joined hands to twirl her, far more easily than she’d done to him. “I got moves from all over the galaxy, sweetheart.”
She rolled her eyes, but she knew her grin softened the gesture. “I believe it, flyboy.”