Log Date:
	12/15/98

Log Cast:
	Han, Leia

Log Intro:
	(OOC: This is a very short scene which was never finished, but
which I'm keeping for general reference since it talks about a raid on
O'paal carried out by the NR.)

----------
A breather, at last. The _Falcon_ has been safely ensconsed in the hangar of 
  _Home One_ for a while now, but still, for the commander-in-chief of the 
  Ground Ops forces who went to O'paal, whether this is blessing or bane 
  hasn't been determined. There wasn't any ground action during the raid... 
  but this hadn't stopped Han Solo from being on his feet throughout the 
  entire encounter, keeping tabs on this, getting status reports on that, and 
  checking every so often to make sure the troops he'd brought with him were 
  in combat readiness should they wind up being needed. Now, though, he's 
  stolen a moment to himself, and gone tiredly into the bunk room on his 
  freighter, leaning over the little 'fresher unit and splashing water on his 
  face. _Tired,_ he muses, but it's a good tired, and he's not at all 
  ungrateful for the activity. Now if can only be kept up. _Gotta have a word 
  with Tarroc as to where he wants my boys to go next..._

Leia has kept herself busy during Han's absence...almost insanely busy. As a 
  premier member of the New Republican government she certainly has cause to 
  remain busy, but burying herself in her work is a good excuse for avoiding 
  the fact that she worries like hell about her foolhardy, brave husband 
  during these missions. It is with palpable relief that she retires to the 
  bunk room and readies herself for the longest, hottest shower in Republic 
  history.
And then she hears the refresher.
"Chewie?" she calls tenatively, hand resting on the silver hilt to her 
  lightsaber.

Not Chewbacca, though one might argue that the brown head that pokes out of 
  the 'fresher nook is as tousled as the Wookiee's fur any day of the week -- 
  Solo's military trim has started growing out. "Princess," he calls out, a 
  lopsided grin curling his mouth.

"Han!" The eagerness in Leia's voice is piercing before, true to form, she 
  swallows any semblance of excitement that the Corellian has returned. A hand 
  hastily pats her braided hair and her gown, then she walks forward, 
  trembling in effort not to hurry. "You're back."

Decorum be damned. Han closes the gap between him and his wife, reaching to 
  draw her to him, slinging his arms loose and low about her dainty waist. 
  "Miss me?" he rumbles playfully.

Leia shrugs, though her ready smile and the sparkle in those chestnut eyes 
  betrays her delight. Hands resting upon his ample chest, she murmurs, 
  "Well...now and again."

"Poor Princess," murmurs the General, craning his disheveled head down to 
  brush a tender greeting of a kiss along his beloved's lips. "How'd ya manage 
  without me?"

Leia, smirking, raises one finger to touch the scar along Han's chin. "Oh, I 
  suffered through somehow," she answers wryly, then tightens the embrace. 
  "Thank you for coming back safely."

Tiredness be damned, too. His weary gaze palpably lightened, Han kisses that 
  fingertip that caresses his scarred chin, and then cradles Leia close to 
  him. _She was worried about me!_ he thinks, a surge of warmth in his chest 
  at the notion. But he can't resist murmuring teasingly, "Piece o' cake. Me, 
  the _Falcon_, and only a coupla squadrons' worth of TIE fighters... they 
  never knew what hit 'em."

Leia snorts. "That's all that you encountered around O'paal, is it? Where was 
  the rest of Valak's entourage?"

The teasing leaves Han's voice and eyes, as he lifts his head again to meet 
  his wife's gaze. "Shooting at our SDs, mostly," he answers earnestly. "Some 
  damage on both sides; we left before things got too dicey, though." A beat, 
  and then he adds gruffly, "They didn't need us this time around."

Shaking her head, a frown furrowing her patrician brow, Leia mumbles, "Then it 
  sounds as though you all were sent there and endangered uselessly. Poor 
  planning, that."

"I wasn't too thrilled about it," says Han, a touch disgruntledly. "But the 
  brass wanted some ground troops along, just in case." He lifts a hand, then, 
  cupping Leia's white cheek with it, running the tip of his thumb along her 
  skin. "As it wound up," he concludes in dry tones, "I didn't do anything 
  stupid."

The smirk broadens, though it is undercut by sweet affection. "That's a 
  change. So how successful was the raid?"

"Guess it depends on what they call success," drawls the Corellian. The drawl 
  segues to a sigh, and he cradles his wife against him, content to drink in 
  the feel of her slight frame against his own rangy one. "We were successful 
  in nipping at their toes, from what I could tell."

Leia, shaking her head rather firmly, remarks in a crispish tone not at all 
  aimed at her husband, "That's not good enough, Han. We can't send a strike 
  team to O'paal and have them think all we can do is nibble their toes."

[OOC: Incomplete scene, but kept for posterity and the reference to the
 O'paal raid.]