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The mess that had been today's mission was finally dust in the Falcon's afterburners, but as they fled back to the brutal safety of Hoth, Han saw they had not escaped unscathed.
This time Leia had taken a wrenching blow to her shoulder, lunging at the double-crosser trying to draw a bead on Han as he dove to recover his blaster. The being she grappled with had been easily twice her size but still no match for her cunning.
Luckily just a sprain, Han had estimated after a close and thorough examination of the tender spot, complete with two bottomless brown eyes rolling their well-worn route and an exasperated we don't have time for this huff when he insisted on two rounds of the medscanner. Could never be too sure with the Falcon's equipment, he thought to himself as he rested the scanner on the dejarik table and rifled the med kit for pain relievers - not that he would ever admit that aloud, especially in front of Leia.
Now he watched her shrug off her jacket streaked with blood, sweat and the surprise of those who had underestimated her, transforming from ruddy warrior back into the cool command of an Echo Base leader. She pulled on the too-large thermal coat Han handed her - typical standard issue for the Hoth rebels, this one the spoils of a recent Sabacc night aboard the Falcon, when credits had run dry and stakes had veered into personal effects and, eventually, acts of humiliation. Poor Janson must be a shivering son of a bitch right about now, Han mused to himself as Leia bundled into the oversized togs to warm herself before they planted their boots back on that frigid hellhole.
He watched her tackle the final step - rearranging the two chestnut lengths that tumbled down her front. She struggled in mulish discomfort as she tried to wind the braids back into place around her head.
He watched, unaware that he edged ever closer to her, drawn by the irresistible twists of shimmersilk that always seemed to beckon him in their rare reveals, tempting him to curl his fingers around them, to steady himself as he was pulled into the gravity of her orbit. Until he was in front of her, just a breath away.
"Need a hand there, Your Worship?"
With a resigned huff Leia lowered her arms, surrendering to her mutinous shoulder and rebellious plaits.
"You sure you know what you're doing, Flyboy?" she challenged, gazing up at him.
Yes, whispered a voice inside his head.
Hanging his trademark smirk onto amused lips, he stepped closer.
He did know exactly how to do this, burned as it was into his brain. He'd secretly marveled the few times he'd spied her in the act of putting her hair in place - usually without a reflective surface to gauge her progress, her fingers flying with efficiency as they wrestled to reign in the wildness of her lengthy tresses. But it was the taunting intimacy this private scene afforded him that had seared it on his memory.
Because it seemed lately that he was always watching her. Somehow, he had gone from peering over her diminutive head to keep an eye on those in pursuit, to watching out for her, to simply watching her.
Han gazed down at her now, standing still yet flickering with impatient energy, laced with mild annoyance at needing help to overcome what he was sure she considered to be a personal shortcoming. He saw the familiar vexation stamped on her face - that same look he'd first seen when she'd barreled out of her death-row cell and surveyed the situation. That same look he now knew hid quicksilver calculating on how to surmount whatever obstacle dropped into her path.
Taking stock of the situation in front of him, he reached out, gentling his hands around the bottoms of the braids, not unlike how he had learned to take the reins of the unpredictable tauntaun that served as his sole companion and means of survival out on the desolate plains of Hoth.
Delicately crossing the two braids just under her chin, he paused before he proceeded to wrap one of the braids around the side of her face, up and over her head.
He cast a quick glance down before his other hand arced to complete the mirroring motion with her twin braid, snagging on a glimpse of her eyes. While they still crackled with their usual rich dark fire, a faint wisp of something else now danced there that he hadn't seen before. Even the flick of her sable lashes did not fan away this mysterious tendril.
Staying his course, he slid the end of the remaining braid up the other side of her head, unfazed by the tricky territory he was navigating in. He continued winding the weighty strands around until the free ends met at the top of her head, then worked to join them in a makeshift manner to hold without the luxury of hairpins.
This time, when their eyes locked, Han was rewarded with a shy - no, a private - smile that quickly blossomed across her whole face.
It hit him then, like the jolt coming out of hyperspace. When the lights of a million stars, streaming past him as he watched from the shelter of his trusty ship, would halt in their tracks. When he would be smacked in the face with the goal of his destination. As he was now, staring into the tiny but brilliant sun that radiated before him: unextinguishable, lighting the darkness wherever she ventured, even when her path took her into the forbidden corridors of his soul, whether she knew it or not.
As his mind reeled to adjust to an idea that had been until now confined strictly to the safety of his dreams, Leia reached out her hand, her finger stroking softly his cheek along a gash he hadn't even noticed.
"This looks deep'" she murmured. "Let's get something on it before it leaves a permanent mark."
Too late for that, Princess.