ishotfirst | (no subject)

(no subject)

There's a slight sense of something growing near on the ship once they disembark off the Falcon, into the hangar bay. It hasn't been long at all since she was last here, but the war is getting closer.

Pilots are out running attack runs and mocking up plans for possible confrontations, so everything is a bit busier and there's more people around, but when you're just a pair of pilots, in flight suits, with helmets under your arms and a sense of purpose, nobody really cares where you're going.

Being a general might help with that as well.

Han sets his helmet on one of the A-Wings and then starts the preflight.

"Mech droids scanned them earlier this mornin'," but it doesn't mean he's not going to inspect the craft himself, and he knows she'll do the same with hers.

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"Heard what?"

His shoulders are starting to ache -- but he goes into a tight twist, stars blurring in his vision as they streak past.

"Your head. Meeting. The roof."

He goes the other direction into the twist

thud

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"You black out? I can't drag your ass back in."

"I ain't gonna,"

and there are stars
and they blur

Han blinks as he 'levels' out of the spin.

"I ain't used t'this."

Edited 2008-09-16 03:29 (UTC)

"You're a bloody great big tree, and A-wings are for sensible-sized plants."

Beat.

"They don't eat people."

Beat.

"Unless they are very hungry and said people are dead already."

"Not my height, I can't kriffin' breathe."

It comes out a little sharp, but then he pauses.

Circles back around.

"Yeah?"

She shrugs (not that he can see).

"You get that hungry, people change. And if you can't breathe, you pass out."

"I know."

He's been that hungry, but they didn't have anything to eat at all.

Han's not one to admit defeat often.

"TIE pilots," he was one once "Fly with ox'gen. Masks. I ain't. Gonna."

A brief pause.

"You want to call it at five?"

"Yes. Hooray, I've kicked your ass."

Han laughs, quietly.

"You can claim your prize back on the cruiser," he responds.

They've traveled some distance but it's not too far, request clearance, get the bay, line up, set her down, power off the engines, pop the cockpit glass. His helmet's off and he's leaning back against the seat, eyes shut.

He'll move in a minute.

Of course he will.

In the meantime, she just leans against her A-wing, eyes closed, gently running her fingers over the still-hot panels.

He always does.

Once he's unfolded himself from the tiny cockpit, he climbs down to the floor and tucks his helmet under his arm, fingers raking quickly through sweat-damp hair.

"You're gonna give 'em hell, kid."

Her hair has started to be pulled free from her braid, and there are strands sticking to her face and neck.

"Hopefully."

"Yeah."

He's got a gut feeling -- things will be alright -- but he can't be too hopeful. It's still a war. He swallows, mouth a little dry.

"I should leave this stuff back in my quarters," he finally says.

Whenever she wants to leave the hangar.

Efsir opens her eyes and looks up at him.

"Probably."

Beat.

"Still offering to help me out mine?"

"I don't go back on my word."

Not to friends, anyway.

Han offers her a bit of a smile, then tips his head towards the door.

"C'mon."

She takes a deep breath, as if she were about to speak, then nods.

"Of course. General."

It's not a very long walk back to his quarters.

And once the door slides shut behind them (and security locks it automatically) he moves across the room to set the helmet down. There are large maps laid out on a table, and a few datapads stocked off to the side.

"You didn't have a problem breathing."

More a statement than a question.

Edited 2008-09-16 04:51 (UTC)

"I'm-"

She stops.

"In my jet, I had, we had, oxygen masks. But you're-"

She'd had no trouble at all.

"Oh."

"The last time I couldn't breathe, like that --"

Han shakes his head slightly.

"--the years I was in carbon."

His lungs ache as he unzips his suit, thin shirt beneath and pants as well.

"You not having trouble is a good thing, trust me."

"So it's nothing to do with me being dead?"

She did not mean for her voice to sound that small and shaken.

"No why would it--"

Han turns to look at her.

"No. Our pilots don't wear oxygen either. They're used to the forces. It just--"

He crosses the room to her, looks down because she's so small.

"Nothing to do with you being dead."

"Because I died because I couldn't breathe anymore oxygen so that's-"

For a moment, her habitual reserve seems almost to break, then she shakes her head, glances away.

"Good. I'm used to things, then. And, thank you."

"Hey," he says gently, and his hand goes up to brush across her cheek. "I promise. You are one hell of a pilot and the fastest sapsan out there and you are going to kick some serious ass. Thank you."

And then he leans down and kisses her. It's not a fierce kiss.

"I would want you on my wing if I were gonna be up there."

It's Han's way of saying that she's ready.