Han & Leia | Galaxy of Us

Chapter 15

"I think you just can't bear to let a gorgeous guy like me out of your sight." – Han Solo, Star Wars: Episode V

Leia highly regretted ever challenging Han Solo to a battle of wills. Never mind that she'd been half-frozen at the time, though that had clearly left an effect on her wits.

He was a pain in the ass even when he wasn't attempting to flirt with her and now he wasn't even just flirting. No. If he had been any other man, Leia would've said he was being nice. All the offers of help had put her on her guard from the beginning of the week. And it hadn't taken her long to confirm her suspicions hadn't been unfounded.

Han Solo was trying to fluster her. And it was working.

It had begun the day following the wampa attack. She had been digging out old files on one of their informers – the base had been suspecting a leak and the most likely suspect was Lorna Phalk – when Han had appeared out of nowhere in her office and asked if she needed any help. She had been about to refuse when he strode over to her table and mentioned that he'd briefly "worked" with the woman before. So she had shrugged and agreed, questioning him for any important details and adding them to her holographic database. As she was automatically moving the slides with her finger, she was so engrossed with attempting to search for some sort of link, that she failed to recognize Han moving behind her until it was too late.

He wasn't even standing that close, just enough that his chest brushed her head and she could feel his heat radiating along her back, reminding her of the time when he'd slyly pulled the blaster from her holster from behind her. To all appearances, it would seem as though he was merely viewing the logs for the same purposes she was. He reached out a hand to move a slide back, his arm brushing her shoulder and she snapped, "Stop that."

"Stop what?" he asked mildly. Damn him, he knew exactly what she was talking about.

She slapped his hand away, "You're not supposed to be looking through this, I am."

"I thought we agreed I was going to help?" he dropped his hand and she turned around to face him, taking a step back, then inwardly cursing when her back hit the table. His eyes flickered to the table and she could've sworn he almost smirked.

"Yes, we did. But you need to stand behind the table. Over there. You're not supposed to be viewing the logs."

"But what if I can link something important?" he inquired innocently, "Don't tell me after all this time, you still can't trust me?"

"You haven't even clearly given me or the General a statement that you'll be staying with us for good," she reminded him, "Obviously I can't take that risk."

He leaned in close, "Risk what?" – making it extremely clear what he believed her to be afraid of risking, before he calmly walked away to the other side of the desk and lounged back in a chair.

And since then, there had been many similar episodes – he didn't do anything to warrant panic, he just simply invaded her space as he always had. Yet, this time, he did so with the purpose to provoke not irritation, but some sign that she was attracted to him. Little things...his arm brushing hers, him leaning over her to grab something...things that shouldn't have the capacity to bother her, but they did. The latest incident had involved her almost tripping and falling face-first into the snow, if he had not caught and steadied her, his hand lingering a little long at her waist. Not to mention their little practice defense sessions, in which she'd always end up being either under him or on top, and endure his impudent references to sexual positions in the process.

And the problem was that if she did give him a reaction – be it a sharp rebuke or a slap of the hand, he'd take it as him having the ability to fluster her with his proximity. Which was what was happening, but he certainly needn't know that, she groused. So, she put up with all the...closeness...with all the outward patience of a saint, even if her body wasn't exactly reacting like one.