aimedforthemoon | (no subject)

He's got a few papers folded in his hand and a datapad tucked under his arm, and he drops into the spare chair.

"Photograph to start with," he agrees, as he grabs the stylus and pokes at a few things on the screen.

"If you don't mind the hat," she says, turning the book around to show her last photograph taken before she left for her mission, her lieutenant's cap on her head. Hair neatly back, eyes straight at the camera.

"Hat is fine," he says. "It's your eyes I'm interested in. Can I see the book?"

It's been awhile since Han's seen a book.

"If you have to."

She hates the book. She hates what it means, she hates what is in, but it's the only record she has of her family.

She hands it over, slightly tense.

He notes the tension.

"Only long enough to scan the photo," he explains. The entire process is simple. Aim the datapad at the book, a quick pass by a laser sweep, and then he checks the screen.

When he's finished, he hands it back. No worse for wear.

"Strange things happen when you get murdered in spacecraft. Suddenly, everyone wants to know your life." Esfir says, voice an odd mixture between bitter and amused.

Han glances up at her, pausing the stylus against the screen.

"Strange things happen when you spend your life a slave after being left in a spaceport before you could remember your parents," that same tone as hers, in his voice. "I know the feeling."

For a long moment, she just meets his gaze.

Then she nods sharply, just once.

"It would be easier, I think, to match details from my life with a false one. Orphan, parents killed. Aunt teacher. Things like that. Yes?"

Edited 2008-10-07 07:09 (UTC)

"It would be. We'd need to find a planet that fits. You want to keep your name," he says.

Because it's hers.

"Yesfir Shostakovna Yazycova," she says, chin up. Half a moment later, her expression softens.

"Do you know what that means? I'm Yesfir, daughter of Shostak Yazycov. He was killed in battle, defending Russia against invaders. I was nearly five."

"That's something to be proud of," he says, with a good deal of respect in his tone. "Reason to keep the name."

He has her spell it, and he punches the letters into the datapad then repeats the spelling back.

She spells it with a 'Y' - for all she likes the 'E', she doesn't want to be called Ehsfear.

"Is there somewhere like that? Invaded twenty-four, twenty-two years ago?"

"There's a few," he says. "Outer Rim planet would probably be your best bet, or a moon..."

A pause, before he glances up at her, thinking on something.

"Now there's a thought."

"And the accent," she says, but not so loud as to disrupt his thoughts.

"You could have picked it up almost anywhere," he says. "But there was a planet, about twenty-odd years ago, near the Hutt Space I used to run spice through. Renatasia III."

He leans back slightly in the chair.

"It got...well, it wasn't pretty. How tall are you?"

"Neither was the Great Patriotic War." Beat. "One meter and forty-six centimeters, or so. That's...four foot...nine? Ten? Between them."

More numbers and info punched in. "Green eyes," he murmurs, to himself. "You allergic to anything weird?"

She snorts.

"No."

"I just want to make sure, if the med-droids will get this then I don't want them giving you anything that'll hurt you."

Though, immortal...yeah.

"Oh. Um. Speaking of that..."

She reaches up and undoes the first couple buttons of her blouse, pulling the left side down to expose her bindrune. The symbol is stainless steel, and slightly shorter than her thumb. It's also very obviously embedded into her skin above her heart.

"This doesn't come out. And, uh, my metabolism is twice as fast as normal."

Edited 2008-10-07 22:34 (UTC)

Han lifts his gaze and studies the metal embedded into her skin.

"I have missed a lot."

He nods, slowly.

"Is that...from the god?"

"Da. It's what holds me together."

"Then that definitely does not come out."

Han would like her to stay in one piece, thank you.

"Well, from what he say, I would have to be torn apart first. But." She gestures.

"I'm not as weak for illness and things like that. But, I was fairly hardy before. Unless your world has something that I wouldn't know, just from coming elsewhere."

"I can't really think of anything, off hand."

Han leans in the chair.

"We've got a different style of treating injuries, though. It's called bacta. It's a chemical made up of two different types of bacteria that seek out wounds and promote cell regeneration, and it cuts down on scarring. It comes in patches and we have tanks...I wonder if your body would try and attack the bacteria if it didn't recognize them."

"I...have no idea."

"Hopefully we won't have to find out. They used it to heal my eyes after I'd been in carbon freeze."

He thinks on something else.

"I'll get you a copy of the Basic alphabet (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Image:Aurebesh-GMSR.png). You should learn it."

For a moment, just one, just bites the inside of her lip.

"Do I need to know it to leave here?"

Edited 2008-10-08 07:59 (UTC)

"A basic knowledge of it would be helpful, but I don't expect you to learn it over night," he says. "Not saying you couldn't, I just...it took me a long time to learn it, when I was a kid."

Granted, he didn't go to school.

Han leans back in the chair.

"It's almost time for things to get interesting, back there."

He leans away, she leans in. Slightly.

"So, more chaos, less likely to ask questions. Although, heightened tension and tempers..."

Then her eyes seem to brighten.

"Soon?"

"Soon. I just got out of a briefing, actually, going over a bit more plans. I don't see anyone really questioning you on a thing, if you want to be honest. Afterwards, maybe."

Flying first.

Fighting first.

His eyes are on hers.

"Do you want to stay, when it's over?"

(You may claim your reward, your heart's desire)

"Yes."

A single word, spoken softly, but she never looks away, never even breathes but to say that one word.

(I want to fly)

Han lets his chair fall forward, boots hitting the floor lightly.

"When I entered the Imperial Academy on Carida, I had to have my identity completely recreated from scratch, my name cleared. I know someone who can build you an entire life...she even changed my retinal patterns to keep them from being able to connect me to the bounties on my head if I was caught. After this is over...you and I can go talk to her."

A pause.

"And get you a ship."

And Esfir smiles.

It's that open, delighted, warm smile that never really stays and doesn't suit Esfir at all. It's Fira's smile, Fira-Firushka-Firenka's smile, the smile of the warm, kind girl hidden underneath layers of reserve, who only comes out when it's safe.

And she smiles at him.

And he smiles back.

"I gotta pay you for coming to fight in my war somehow."

"I'll stay with your army until I know your world, until I can be free and make my own way. But if that takes years, remember that you owe me a ship, oke?"

Edited 2008-10-08 09:19 (UTC)

"And I'll teach you everything I know," he says, with a nod. "But I won't forget that part of the deal, I promise."

Handshake to prove it, he extends his.

"Deal," she says, taking his hand in her small one and shaking it.

And then she laughs, giddy and delighted and it's more a giggle than anything else.

Han grins at that laugh. He likes that laugh.

He sets the datapad aside on the desk. "I'll work on your papers tomorrow," he says. "Time stops out there."

"Could you write me some basic phrases, too?"

"I'll come up with a list of the basics that will help you navigate around," he says. "That way you don't wander someplace on the carrier that you shouldn't."

Not like he thinks she would.

"I'll look at them in the morning."

In the morning - not now, not later, not soon, but morning. There is an invitation in her eyes and the way she looks at him, an invitation clear as day if you know how to spot it.

Han's very aware of that look in her eyes (stay with me) and he nods, slowly.

"I'll write them in the morning."

Not now.

He kicks his boots off, one at a time, and leaves them nudged up against the desk.

She's wearing tennis shoes, no socks, and they are easily slipped off. This she does first, every movement careful and self-aware and this is different. Not lightheaded and overly confident from dogfighting, not with that heady love of life where you'd pin someone, anyone, to a wall and kiss them til they gasped.

This is deliberate. She asked, he agreed and no, you don't need the words.

Not when you lean in and up (their chairs are so close together, so close) and kiss him.

Edited 2008-10-08 14:14 (UTC)

If Han Solo were any other man, he might pause to think of the woman back home, for a moment, and it might make him stop. But Han Solo has never been that type of man (and he sees the way Leia looks at Luke and he knows) so he doesn't.

His hands shift to rest against her thighs as he leans down to return the kiss.

It's not wild and rough and breathless (not this moment anyway) but it doesn't have to be.

No, not wild and rough and, well, she is starting to feel breathless. Blame the way his hands feel against her thighs, or the way he tastes, or even just that today was not the best day she's ever had. And it's not so much that she needs this (although, sex and all things that lead to it have always helped ground her) as she wants-

Him. Still.

And, fine, yes, this as well. Kissing him slow and lingering and running her hand up his chest to curl around his neck.

If he's being honest, he's breathless too.

But that doesn't stop him from kissing her back, slow and deep, and then moving to pull her to him, closer, he's got to have her closer. He's got to have her because she understands him.

He turns the lights out before they hit the sheets of that neatly made bed of hers, even though it won't stay that way for long, there's always tomorrow to deal with the particulars.

Edited 2008-10-10 08:21 (UTC)