Log Date:
	9/22/98

Log Cast:
	Leia Organa-Solo, Han Solo

Log Intro:
	Settling down to kill time as best he can on Home One while the
three units of GroundOps troops he's brought with him to the Caspar
system do what _they_ can to kill time, and while the New Republic
diplomatic officials of the New Republic continue their negotiations with
the representatives of Caspar, Han finds that to his delight he has time
enough to attend to one of the most important things in life: tinkering
with the _Millenium Falcon_. Or, perhaps more properly, he has the rank to
make himself the time, and he unrepentantly takes advantage of it, though
he tries not to shirk his duty in favor of his ship... much.
	Stealing time with his wife has been his other method of keeping
his spirits high on the cruiser. Neither of them have been surprised that
even when in theory in the same place, their duties continue to keep them
not seeing much of one another... but Leia unerringly has found him on
his beloved freighter when she needs him.
	Or on this particular day, when she wants to needle him....

----------
It is late in the evening when the _Falcon_'s hatchway opens and lowers, 
  allowing Leia to walk wearily into the disreputable ship that her husband 
  loves...well, perhaps not as much as she, but certainly comparisons can be 
  made. "Han?" she calls, voice echoing in the otherwise quiet corridors of 
  the YT-1300.

There are noises coming from somewhere near the cockpit, the sounds of lowly 
  muttered Corellian curses, and a *clank* as something ominously falls over 
  -- presumably onto some portion of Han's person, given that another sharp 
  curse blisters its way around the corridor. A beat later, in a rather more 
  normal -- not to mention embarrassed -- voice, Han calls out, "I'm here, 
  Princess..."

Leia peers around the corner, never certain precisely what she will find in 
  disarray: the ship, Han, or both. "Are you all right?" she replies 
  solicitously, her head the only thing visible heretofore.

Solo is on his feet, but he is rubbing the back of his dark head and glaring 
  blaster bolts at an access panel that hangs open just above him. "Yeah," he 
  grumbles, as he turns to meet his wife. There are tools scattered on the 
  floor near his feet, and he is out of even what passes for a uniform with 
  him, back into one of his old and disreputable shirts, rumpled from what may 
  well have been hours of work.

Leia emerges fully, folds her arms across her chest, and, with head quirked 
  sideways, studiously and thoroughly gives the Corellian a once-over. Head to 
  toe, top to bottom, side to side. No amusement shows: she seems as serious 
  as a scholar with the most recent and impressive find for his field of 
  study. "MmmHmm."

"What?" blurts Han, his brow crinkling at that royal look swept up and down 
  his lanky frame. "I got coolant fluid all over me or somethin'?"

Leia murmurs, her drawl dry and matched with an upraised brow, "Hmmm. Yes, I 
  suppose I can see it. Hmm." She paces closer, eyes still sweeping up and 
  down, and tries to angle herself toward his hindside. "Han, turn for me, 
  will you?"

Wha....? The Corellian blinks a few times, peering down at his wife, and 
  although he does turn, he also asks blandly, "What, do I have coolant fluid 
  _back there_?"

"I think the description might be apt after all," Leia muses, tapping her 
  fingertip to her chin, then gives Han a beautific smile and, turning on her 
  heel, heads aft.

"Description? _What_ description?" Han bursts out, tossing down the 
  hydrospanner he'd been holding, drawn after the Princess unerringly, his 
  brow crinkled in puzzlement.

Leia replies without pausing, "Nothing, dear," and disappears around the 
  corner.

He swiftly catches up, his longer stride closing the gap between him and his 
  wife, and he reaches for her shoulder to detain her. "Hey! Hey, no, now, 
  what's goin' on, Your Highness?"

"Oh...nothing." She gives Han the sweetest, most guileless expression 
  manageable, her brow eyes wide and innocent.

Han trusts a guileless expression upon the face of his beloved about as much 
  as he would on -- oh, say -- himself. Gripping both her shoulders now as he 
  turns her around to face him, he considers Leia through narrowed hazel eyes, 
  and tells her in gruff accusation, "You don't tend to look at my backside 
  for no apparent reason, Your Worship -- and if you do, you sure as hells 
  ain't let me know about it before now. What're you up to?"

Leia blinks and inquires, neither flustered nor blustery, "Why, don't you 
  know? I'd have thought you of all people would have heard it by now, Han. 
  Did you have supper? I'm a bit hungry." She ducks, leaving his hands' grip 
  behind, and slithers away, though a giggle bursts forth: Leia has only so 
  much self-control.

"Heard _what_?!" Han hollers, having rather less self-control than the 
  Princess, at least right now. He starts after her again, in mounting, 
  frustrated curiosity.

Leia's response is cryptic: "Corellian beefsteak."

Han stops. He makes a strange little noise that suggests he's just almost 
  choked. And he blinks, seven or eight times. His mouth opens, then closes. 
  And finally he blurts, "What?"

"That's apparently what some of the lower-ranked ladies in your command call 
  you." Leia glances behind her and repeats, "Corellian beefsteak. Prime cut, 
  if I heard aright."

Han, being Han, can't stop the startled broad grin that bursts out across his 
  face, nor can he stop his pleased and involuntary "They did? Who?" He does 
  catch himself, though, clearing his throat, and doing his best to plaster on 
  a more sober and proper expression that looks about as home on him as 
  innocence does. "Er. I mean, they did?"

Leia nods as she turns to face her husband once again, her arms crossed and 
  her expression growing stern in the light of his pleasure. "Yes. They did." 
  Brrr.

Er. Um! Han's expression turns sheepish, and only _now_ does he start 
  blushing, just a little. "They, uh, said that to you, huh?" he says brightly.

"Someone did," Leia confirms frostily. "Apparently we're the subject of 
  considerable scrutiny by some of the military, and your broad shoulders and 
  chin scar are prominently mentioned. -Prominently- mentioned."

No doubt about it, that's a blush creeping across Han's countenance. "I, uh, 
  hadn't noticed," he mumbles, truthfully enough.

Leia mmmmhmmms. That eyebrow of hers, the regal one that renders young 
  councilors speechless, crooks somewhere near her hairline, and her mouth 
  twists into a smirk. "Well. Neither had I. I suppose we can't help what is 
  said about us. And if you don't mind mine, I don't mind yours. Hungry now?"

Han is not entirely devoid of the skills of diplomacy. He does not, for 
  example, suggest that the two of them have Corellian beefsteak for dinner, 
  though the thought _does_ cross his mind, long enough to provoke a grin that 
  he immediately turns around and squelches. But he also avoids mentioning his 
  reactions he's had to certain Marines commenting upon portions of Leia that 
  they really shouldn't have been commenting upon, and restricts himself to 
  grinning crookedly and saying, "Uh, sure, Princess."

Leia taps her foot. Her earlier displeasure was feigned, but at present she's 
  not entirely certain her irritation is falsified. "And just what," she asks 
  quietly, "caused that grin?"

"What grin?" is Han's immediate reply, all traces of that particular 
  expression vanishing into hiding.

Leia's braids swing with the briskness of her turn aftward again; marching 
  toward the ramp she calls, "Enjoy the sofa tonight, Beefsteak."

Aaaaaaaaah, hells! "Leia... Leia, _wait_!" Han once more takes advantage of 
  his longer stride to intercept his wife before she can get off the ship. In 
  honest worry, he asks her, "Hey, c'mon now, what'd I do?"

Leia pauses, twists her head to glance behind her, and says sweetly, "Gotcha."

Again, Han blinks, a flush of startlement and chagrin flooding his face, 
  before he seizes Leia by her shoulders, pulls her to him, and lowers his 
  head down to kiss her vigorously. When he pulls back, he rumbles, "You're 
  takin' lessons from me, aintcha?"

Leia's arms circle his neck as she releases a delighted laugh, eyes dancing 
  with life and merriment not recently seen in her gaze. "Corellian beefsteak. 
  Well, I can't disagree with them, but I can't say I enjoy our physiques 
  being discussed like that. Bec at least neglected to tell me what they said 
  about me, but you...and the shoulders, and the scar...and the..." She 
  dissolves in laughter and hugs him near.

Han clears his throat again, and rumbles, "I don't think I want to hear 
  anymore about what any of my...er....ladies have been saying." He smiles 
  down into Leia's eyes, though. "But if you wanted to share with me your 
  opinion on what a heartbreakingly gorgeous guy I am, I could be persuaded 
  to listen...."

Leia's eyebrows lift. "Let me see if I understand this. You want to hear what 
  they have to say about you - though it'll come from me - but you don't care 
  what the handsome young pilots and soldiers and guards say about me?"

"I didn't say _that_," Han corrects wryly. He leans down to brush a kiss 
  across Leia's brow, gracing each of her eyebrows. "I already know what the 
  marines have been saying about you. You don't wanna know. _I_," and his 
  voice drops to a brandy-warm whisper, "wanna know what _you_ have to say 
  about me, Your Worship."

Leia, laughing lightly, nuzzles the underside of his jaw and whispers, "An 
  Alderaanian lady is taught to refrain from discussing a gentleman's 
  physique, even one as flawless as yours."

"Well," murmurs Han playfully, "if you'd rather not talk, I could think of 
  something else we could pass the time with..."

Leia's cheeks flame into life, though she demures, "I've no idea what you 
  mean, General."

Han holds Leia close, peering down at her with a warm golden shine lightening 
  his hazel eyes, and he murmurs huskily, "Forgot we're married so soon? Maybe 
  I better remind you..."

Leia brushes her lips against his in the most delicate reminder of their 
  mutual adoration before, eyes still closed and mouth still close, she 
  murmurs, "What do they say, anyway?"

Bringing a hand up to support the royal head while he slowly and pleasurably 
  kisses the royal mouth, Han murmurs back, "They... er... express great 
  aesthetic appreciation of your..." He coughs, then, pulling back just far 
  enough to flash his wife a lopsided grin. "... Intellect."

Leia smirks as best she can around the Corellian lips. "If that's all," she 
  breathes and snuggles nearer, "I'm finding a cave on Endor and moving there."

"What," purrs Han, "and lose all your reminders of matrimonial bliss?"

Leia's knees are buttery thanks to the velvet suggestiveness in Han's voice, 
  and, eyes lowering, she replies quietly, "I have more marital bliss in this 
  second, Han, than most women have in their entire marriage."

Well, with an answer like that, the Corellian naturally has to exercise his 
  well-practiced skills of osculation. He does so, a long and masterful and 
  increasingly heated kiss, and when he finally pulls back again, he's gazing 
  down into Leia's eyes with a look that makes up for this being one of those 
  instances where his glib tongue fails him.

The florid hue of Leia's best (and, mercifully, for Han's eyes only) blush has 
  returned fullforce, though she's smiling at him with that curious blend of 
  innocence and sensuality that, again, fortunately he alone sees. "I think 
  I'm about to forego dinner," she murmurs before inviting him to renew that 
  most recent embrace.

"That'll make two of us," whispers the erstwhile -- and arguably still 
  practicing -- scoundrel. And Han draws his beloved close, doing exactly as 
  the welcome and invitation in her arms and eyes request.

[End log.]