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[imahologram]

for whatever miscellaneous bullshit your little heart can come up with.

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[imahologram]

"And a Jedi and a farmboy hired you," she finishes, setting down her mug. That glosses over a lot of it, and she regrets that a little; she wouldn't mind hearing just how he and Chewie got hold of their ship, how they got tangled up with that Hutt of theirs, how everything fell into place to bring them here.

But if she asks for more, they'll be here for hours--and if Han doesn't want to talk about it, she's not sure where it'll leave them. There will be other caf breaks, she tells herself. And hearing smugglers' tales isn't a bad break from the Empire. They might need his stories in the future, as the war drags on. Rations of escapism, like rations of everything else they have here.

(And what will she tell him in return? Senate meetings don't make for much excitement, and somehow the adventures of a twelve-year-old girl--the last time she'd been carefree, if she ever had been--seem like they wouldn't provide him with much interest. Her years with the rebellion before him, maybe, but that's not escaping anything. Luckily, it's nothing she has to decide now.)

Leia pauses a moment, glancing up and down him in a way she hopes looks merely appraising, not...appreciative. (Not that she's appreciative. But he certainly seems to think she is, and the worst part is, she can see why he'd think so. He's appallingly aware of how handsome he is.) "But you kept the slacks."

[straightouttacarbonite]

A Jedi and a farmboy hired him, and somehow or other, he stuck around. He spreads his hands, as if to say that's the story. Simple, though it's anything but.

He still hasn't quite worked it out-- why he's still here. If she asked and he was in a talking mood he might just say it's too late to back out, that he's got better prospects with the Rebellion now than anywhere else. It doesn't matter.

What matters is watching her watch him, trying to gauge the look in her eye. He might not take it as interested if she wasn't being so-- well, interested. He tips his head, risking a little of his usual flirtation in the grin he flashes.

"I thought they looked pretty good."

[imahologram]

Leia catches the way his smile turns into something she'd rather not see. They've become friends of a sort--odd friends, bickering friends, but she trusts Han in a fight, and that counts for a lot--and that ought to be enough. It's more than she ever expected when they first met, and it's all she wants.

But he just has to grin at her like he thinks she's admiring everything under those stupid trousers rather than noting the trousers themselves. She rolls her eyes toward the ceiling, then realizes acknowledging it at all is letting him win. Quick, say something.

"Did you get them before your Shyriiwook incident?" After seems unlikely, after all.

[straightouttacarbonite]

Her absurdly mixed signals are so familiar by now, it's hard to say what he'd do if she ever actually responded positively to his overtures. Which are genuine, but joking, too-- like this is some odd game they can't help playing. Maybe that's all it is.

The grin doesn't fade quite as quick as she might be hoping.

"Corellian decorations are the only ones I'm still entitled to," he agrees. The rest had gone with ranks and privileges and his once-promising career. He rarely misses any of it. Still, it's verging on dangerously personal territory. Maybe in another life where they both got on better with their Imperial peers, they'd have gotten along better.

(That, he sincerely doubts, though.)

"Why the sudden curiosity?"

[imahologram]

It's a very general answer, one that says to her that's all I want to say. She didn't really expect an answer anyway, and she finds she doesn't really mind. He can have a little mystery to him if he wants it--especially considering how much he already told her today.

Maybe he's realized he's told plenty of story as well, if the question is anything to go by. She shrugs in answer, wondering what his explanation for her curiosity would be. What he'd say, she can guess--something about her non-existent feelings for him--but what he'd think... He's a criminal, and every decent criminal knows how to play things close to the vest when necessary.

"Where you come from is part of who you are," Leia tells him, deciding it's about as true as anything she could say. (She's certainly not about to admit that she can't pinpoint the exact origin of her interest.) "I wondered how someone turns into Han Solo."

[straightouttacarbonite]

Leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table, he raises an eyebrow but doesn't challenge her claim aloud. Why spoil the fun? As much as he relishes the opportunity to tease her, there's something oddly genuine about the questions she's asking, the answers he finds himself giving her.

"It doesn't happen every day," he says instead, pulling back to a standard level of bravado.

[imahologram]

"I don't think the galaxy could take it if it did," she answers, glancing at the nearest chronometer. There's chatting with Han, and then there's flirting with Han, and no matter what he might think, she doesn't want to get into the latter.

Han, on the other hand, looks like he'd like nothing better.

She stands, and does her best to force down the vague sense of regret that she can't keep asking questions. "We'd better get back to work."

[straightouttacarbonite]

Okay, he's definitely overplayed his hand, there. Still, there's something about how she shies away-- predictably sudden, one fond jab too many and she snaps like a piece of rubber. All business.

But it doesn't change the fact that she's been sitting here listening, asking, trying to get to know him better. Han doesn't have to be a self-proclaimed Jedi to sense the feelings at play there.

"Sure thing, your worship."

Sorry not sorry, Leia.