Life On the Edge
Four hours later, the slam of an unplanned return to realspace jerks them both awake.
The Millennium Falcon is under attack and, after a moment of wild confusion, Han realises he'd fallen asleep with Tahiri in his arms.
"I have a real bad feeling about this!" he calls, as they tumble out of the bunk together. He stumbles his way down over the couch to the deck he makes it somehow, like he always does. She twists around him like she's part of him, rolling off the dejarrik table to land on the deck.
A flash of brown skin across the smooth black-and-white surface, and then she's gone.
He sees the flash of her tee-shirt hem around the back of her belly as she darts out of the hatch ahead of him he pauses to snatch up his boots and trousers, snarling. He can feel the jolt of strafing shots against the shields, and he can hear the yell from the engines as the autopilot puts the old girl on the fastest course away from trouble.
"Chewie! Tesar!" he says yelling down the ring corridor. "Take the gun turrets!"
There's no time to correct the mistake, but he manages a frown and a growl as he hauls himself into the cockpit.
There's a storm of fire coming straight at the cockpit canopy, and Tahiri is in the high-backed co-pilot's chair Chewie's old chair. She leans in the seat, one bare arm reaching out across the dashboard to the switch that arms the concussion missile launcher.
He throws himself into the pilot's seat beside her.
"What the blazes do you think you're doing!?" he demands taking the controls with one hand, trying to button up his flies with the other.
"Getting us out of here," she says, with a warning look at him, then nodding out at the lean dagger of the Alliance ship that's holding station high above their bows. "Interdictor."
And there are two more below the Falcon's keel, out on either side in a low-drop pair. Alliance Star Destroyers, three of them.
She glances at him in silence, and for a long moment, neither of them speaks.
But then he smirks, and nods in approval.
"Good girl," he says. Faced with a grav-trap, the natural instinct of most pilots is to throw their ship away from the interdictors. The smart thing to do is head for the gap between their projector arcs, and send a spread of missiles in the direction of their tractor beams. "Was that luck, or tell me later."
But still, three Star Destroyers. That's never easy. Especially when they're launching X-wings.
"Tez, Lowie, we got fighters coming up! Could be some Sexys in the mix!" He glances back at Tahiri, and swallows. She's staring at the interdictor now, with wide, worried eyes. "I guess they want us bad, huh?"
"Leia," she breathes, then looks at him with guilt in her eyes. "Han, Leia's on that ship."
For a moment, he stares at her, and then, as much to her surprise as his, he grins.
"That's great," he says, slewing the Falcon straight round towards the Star Destroyer at the apex of the trap, and opening the throttle. "Is she hailing yet?"
"Han?" she asks, worry and confusion sketching on her face as her fingers shift to the commscan board. "Yes, she is."
"Put her on," he tells her. "Trust me, beautiful I've got a plan."
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