Log Date: 4/22/98, 4/23/98 Log Cast: Han Solo, Leia Organa-Solo Log Intro: Reunited on Caspar now that Han's mission to Tatooine is over, Han and Leia have found themselves gripped in the urge to lose themselves in one another's company -- an all too frequent and yet too infrequent situation, for their company has not, in the two years of their marriage, been a commodity they've been able to share often. Now, despite the ongoing wrenching worry about the fate of Luke Skywalker, Corellian and Princess can't keep their eyes or their hands off one another... and Leia, anxious beyond words for her brother, clinging to her husband's presence as much as Han is clinging to hers, finds herself moved to wonder about the long-term state of their marriage... and one of the usual consequences of two people getting married.... ---------- His life is almost right again. Back with his beloved, back with his ship, Han's felt his spirits these last few days rising buoyantly back to their normal levels, dampened only by the fact that he's yet to have seen Chewie since setting foot on Caspar. This particular morning, the thought of the Wookiee has been nagging at the Corellian as he immerses himself in running checks on the _Falcon_'s systems. Half of what he's found has been in excellent working order thus far -- testament to Chewbacca's loving attention to the ship even if he's been at odds with her pilot -- and Han has recalibrated, retuned, and reset much of the rest, merely to give his hands something to do. Deep in thought, he's kneeling before an access panel in the ship's ring corridor, a small tool chirruping output at him as he squints into the circuitry he's checking. Behind him and to one side, leaning against the exit that leads to the aft section of the _Falcon_, Leia luxuriates in the simple and, to her thinking, vastly underrated pleasure of observing the rugged handsomeness of her husband. True, considering his face is directed toward the access panel, much of what she sees is ear and hair and torso, but considering her appreciation for the entire package and its presence near her, she has no complaints. Unable to resist teasing him about the rival for his affections, the princess observes dryly over the rim of her mug, "I saw some gaffing sealant up front in the cockpit...might help." Han's dark head turns, hazel gaze lifting, and a grin quirks momentarily across his mouth before he drawls, "I'll use that on the port side. Starboard, she just holds together with spit." His gaze warms, though, lingering on the Princess for a moment before he glances back down at his work. Comfortably clad as she is in one of his shirts and a pair of leggings, she finds it facile to slide down the smooth lines of the wall to sit beside him near the open panel, back resting against the bulkhead. "Didn't you fix this thing a few months ago?" she inquires, experimentally sniffing the air. "I think I smell burned, crimped wire. As if...as if..." A pause, eyes twinkling. "Spit were burning." "Preventive maintenance," is the Corellian's succint reply, his grin flickering into being again. "I owe her some." Then his gaze slides sidelong to his wife beside him, and the grin turns a trifle sheepish. More softly, he adds, "You too, sweetheart." Leia's eyebrow lifts and, with her tone as wry as ever, counters, "And I can see who's getting the bulk of your attention, too." Still, the reproof is softened by her free hand ruffling his hair with boundless affection. Han lifts a hand to seize Leia's, gently, firmly, and then turns his head slightly to feather a kiss across slender white fingers. "Suggesting a change in my morning schedule, Princess?" Leia's brown eyes linger on the green-shot irises of the former smuggler beside her, and, a dusky rose tinting the alabaster smoothness of her cheeks, she says, "What about the other love of your life? Isn't her rust about to wear too thin to hold her together?" "She'll hold together," Han murmurs huskily in reply, still paused there with the tool in his one hand, Leia's fingers twined in the other. He doesn't mention that the _Falcon_ is apparently in quite excellent shape for once, and merely watches his wife, the crooked grin softened to something gentler. "How about you? Where should I apply the gaffing sealant?" Leia draws his hand closer to her diminutive frame and presses his fingers to her chest, just above her heart. In a light tone that is belied by her dark eyes, she murmurs, "How about right here?" "I'll see what I can do," Han rumbles. Deftly turning himself around, he slides down to sit by Leia, but he doesn't stop there. His arms reach out to draw her to him, while he drops the tool at his side, far more interested at the moment in cradling the Princess against him. He continues on in a critical tone, "Gonna need some work to get you going point five past lightspeed." Leia, fully flustered by the implications of his banter, stretches forward to rest her tea mug on the polished tile floor before angling herself in the best position for nestling against her husband. "Oh, I might have a bit of trouble making point five past lightspeed," she notes with a sigh. "And at least _my_ engine doesn't burn out after the first jump." "Only one way to find out," Han promptly and wisely responds, guiding Leia's head to rest against his shoulder, arm comfortably curled around her, while his free hand traces paths along the side of her face. "Good ship needs a gentle hand on her, y'know." Another small pause, a palpably softening of the mood, then the princess whispers, "I love you, Han." He brushes his lips across her brow, then, holding her close, and he whispers back tenderly, "I know." Leia breathes in and out, quietly, comfortably, slipping into a sense of peace like nothing she feels away from Han. In these moods, and these moods alone, can she broach the more serious topics. "I've been thinking about something, Han." "Mmmm?" Han murmurs in mostly wordless reply, the sound resonating through his chest. Willing to just hold the woman he loves, Han lightly nuzzles the top of her head, and adds, "You do a lot of that, Princess." "One of us has to." Again the gentle teasing from her before, turning her head to meet his lips tenderly for a lingerin second, she continues quietly, "We've...been together a lot in the past few days. Enough to make me think that may someday, -some-day, we'll have a normal homelife." That clearly startles him, dark brows rising over hazel eyes for a moment or two, though he doesn't lessen his protective, sharing embrace. The urge to say something flippant is strong, and he does murmur a "Hey!" in protest. But he also asks, receptive to Leia's soft, solemn tone, "What qualifies as 'normal', sweetheart?" Leia shrugs, averting her gaze despite the fact that ocular agility would help her look at him even in this state of recline. "A marriage when we'd see each other more than once every eight weeks and sleep beside each other more than ten times a year?" The Corellian is silent for a long moment. Then, he simply squeezes Leia to him, and answers softly, "I could go for that." "And a marriage with children." No doubt about it, Han's entire frame starts at _that_ comment, though his arms don't move off his wife. But he does look down into her face, hazel eyes gone wide, and he swallows once, croaking out, "Leia... uh... you tryin' to tell me something?" His astonishment takes her by surprise, and for a moment she seems lost for comment. Then, laughing softly - and without much humor - she tells him, "No, nothing like that. I'm not pregnant." Pause. "Yet, at least." Han sucks in a breath, and his voice has turned gruff -- with relief, perhaps, or maybe confusion, as he tries to fathom what's going on in this conversation. He shifts slightly where he sits, making himself more comfortable, and asks, "So... are you... telling me you'd like to be?" He sounds almost awkward, a noticeable shift from the confident pilot who'd just been dropping inneundos at his wife. Leia turns the question around and meets Han's gaze with the directness he has come to know in her. "It's more a question about children, Han. And whether we want them." He doesn't need to ask if she wants his opinion on this; for all that he's been accused more than once of not being the galaxy's greatest thinker, Han Solo is suitably swift in reading the expressions of the woman he loves. He blows out a breath, gazing back at her, and finally allows himself to admit, "Leia, I... ain't exactly... an interstellar authority on... families. I couldn't tell you what kind of... father I'd make." The smile she attains is wonderful sweetness, a glow of faith in him and affection for him suffusing her with light and with love. "I think," she murmurs, working her way into his lap to put her arms about his neck, "you would be impatient at times, absent at times, and annoying at times...but the most loving father a child could ever dream of having." Something in this conversation seems to be making Han uncomfortable somehow, though he strives to cover it; one corner of his mouth lifts up in an attempt at a smile. His eyes, though, turned more brown and green in the shiplight, remain earnest, and he mutters, "I'll take your word on that, Your Highness." One of Leia's hands curves around his cheek, ensuring that her eyes and his eyes meet. She reads his expression, masticates a bit, swallows, and leaves it to digest. In the meantime, she has other things on her mind. "So you still want to check out my hyperdrive, Captain?" she murmurs. "Make certain all the parts are working smoothly?" That makes an immediate lopsided grin flash across his features, and a spark kindle in his hazel eyes. Well, with an offer like that... Arms still encircling Leia's dainty form, he rumbles playfully at her, "I dunno... we'll hafta see how many parsecs you can finish the Kessel Run in..." What can she say to that? Leia laughs lightly, leans closer to him, and, lips touching his ear, whispers something indelicate about him fine-turning her to make certain she finishes in record time. Who is this woman, and what did she do with Leia Organa Solo? Han ponders this for less than an instant. Not about to let the Princess get in the last word, he murmurs back at her challengingly, "Now, where'd I be finding your nav computer, hrmm?" He doesn't give her a chance to answer, either, diving adroitly in to meld his lips with hers. _Well, that was easy_, Leia muses, considering the level of difficulty (nil) in changing Han's mind from the apparently discomforting thoughts about parenthood. Though she had embarrassed herself by showing some honest emotion and desire where her husband is concerned, she also finds herself easily distracted from the conversation. Han's kisses should always receive the brunt of her attention. It's not exactly parenthood that's troubling the Corellian -- rather, it's childhood. His. And he can't quite break himself out of the mood the memories have stirred up in him; though he readily, ardently claims his wife's mouth for his own, he eventually pulls free of the kiss, just far enough to move his mouth round to her ear, his cheek against her hair. "Maybe," he rasps at last. "If we can... be here for 'em. Kids, I mean." Leia's muscles stiffen. She isn't an expert on Han's childhood, thanks to her husband's reluctance in opening up about anything other than the _Falcon_'s engines and his exploits using them, but she knows Han well enough to tell something's bothering him. As she holds him close, fingers playing in the brown softness of his hair, she whispers, "What _is_ bothering you?" His arms tighten around Leia for a moment, as if he seeks to strengthen her mere presence by drawing it even closer to him. And he sighs a little, not lifting his face from the Princess's hair. Gruffly, he answers her, "Never had a father. I'd be flyin' by the seat of my pants, you know." Leia, pausing, counters gently, "I didn't really have a mother, either. So I suppose we'd both stink at it, hmm? Having no personal experience at our roles and having nothing more going for us than loving each other and wanting children." Han makes a noise that might be a laugh, if it were longer, or if he were grinning. His expression's a solemn one, though, and he murmurs against Leia's hair, "I think your childhood probably beat mine, Princess... but... yeah." And he makes another small noise, but this one's closer to laughter, with an odd note of wonder. Leia snuggles more securely into his arms, sighing with contentment at the nearness they are sharing both physically and emotionally. Turning her face to brush a kiss against his head, she remarks, "My childhood was wonderful, Han. I know it doesn't compare to what you had...or didn't have. But having good parents doesn't ensure you'll make a good parent, so the opposite must be true too. As long as we love each other and try our best, it'll be all right. I know it." She hesitates, then adds with greater conviction, "I -know- it." Han doesn't elaborate on his younger days; he only nods once to Leia's first words, listening, holding her and absorbing the feel of her slight frame against his, the two of them safe and together in his treasured ship. And although there's still nervousness rippling through his thoughts at the notion of parenthood, there's also a strange, tight warmth peeking into being, somewhere in his chest, gaining strength the more he ponders these alien possibilities. He shifts Leia in his arms so he can look comfortably down into her face, and, hazel eyes turned tender, a slight smile crooking his mouth, he asks her, "This is all 'cause you wanna make a nice man of me, ain't it?" A nostaglic and terribly sweet smile spreads across the princess's gentle features as she touches his chin and the scar that traverses it. As she raises her gaze to meet his, she murmurs, "I like nice men." Part of him registers a pang at what feels like a further slipping away from days of fast-paced piloting, smuggling runs, and problems that required only his blaster and his wits to solve, with Chewie at his side... but the rest of him, with that warm brown gaze upon him, finds that he isn't exactly sure he minds the loss at all. "I can't get too nice," he warns, his voice warming, rich as his favorite bottle of brandy. "You might go kiss another scoundrel when my back is turned." Leia snorts. The sound is derisive, sarcastic, and final. "Thank you, but I've learned my lesson. One scoundrel per lifetime per princess. That's my motto." Her gaze lingers upon his, searchingly, studiously, causing her to lose herself briefly in the twinkling hazel she sees, then, having nothing particularly to add to her comment, she punctuates it with a tender kiss. "Good motto," rumbles Han in approval, delving vigorously now into this new kiss, the still-open access panel beside him now entirely forgotten. A sigh escapes Leia as she surrenders to the embrace; here, here in Han's arms, she can relinquish her tight hold on the Iron Princess facade she prefers to wear in public. Here she is wife first, woman first, lover first, and softness is preferable to the caustic creature she can be with others. This time, his kiss is long and fiery, his hands moving automatically to best fit Leia's form to his own even with his sitting there on the deck, his wife in his lap. And he trails further kisses down around to the underside of her chin, along the skin of her throat, before returning to stake claim once more at her full, softened mouth. _This keeps up,_ he thinks fleetingly, _we're gonna make our first kid right here on the _Falcon_..._ Han can't help but grin at that thought, and he is spurred on to feather kisses all around the delicate line of his beloved's jaw. "What're you smiling about?" his wife mumbles mistrustfully despite the near-overwhelming urge to forget everything other than the tremulous reaction to his lips' touch, the heightening of her emotions at the feel of his hands on her tiny frame. She has to know why he's grinning. Period. "Think you're ready for a small version of me?" is his low, wry reply, breathed in between his mouth's attentions to her face, and the motions of his free hand up and down her hip, leaving trails of sensation in the wake of his palm. Leia's teasing whisper of, "You've taught me how to react to childish behavior," loses its sting thanks to the tremble in her voice that each of his kisses evokes. _Ah, well...he knows I'm no match for him here_, she thinks helplessly as she captures his mouth with her own, a searing kiss that makes plain her intents and interests. Han's expression turns devilish, Scooping Leia up into his arms, he rolls gracefully to a crouch, and then up to his feet, the Princess hefted without effort in his grasp. "Childish behavior," he murmurs, "is _not_ what I have in mind at the moment..." Leia, characteristically, cannot resist one last poke as she murmurs, "One-track mind," before she reknews the kiss. After all, they have a lot of catching up to do; in time spent together, by comparison to normal couples they should still be honeymooners. So...this really isn't so scandalous where behavior goes, is it? Scandalous or not, Han carries Leia right into the bunk room, not bothering to look where he's going -- he knows the way, and he's far more interested in the increasingly urgent business of kissing his wife. Once he's crossed through the hatchway, though, he pauses to put Leia down with care on the nearest bunk. He doesn't let go of her, though, leaning down over her instead to continue his attentions. Leia regards him as he continues his ministrations, her demeanor roughly one of a woman utterly in tune with the man she loves. Her breaths, shallow and quickening, are in the same rhythm as his, as if they are one person in two bodies. And soon, soon, she hopes with all her heart that they become one. [End log.]