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The scene is familiar: a dimly lit cantina full of run of the mill degenerates. The floors are sticky, the tables are sticky, the air is sticky, and no one there is truly there for an honest reason. Leia was looking to get information about a weapons factory in the nearby system; Han was looking to keep them both from getting recognised, captured, or killed. Really, a typical Tuesday evening.
Han blends into the crowd here, camouflage they both benefit from since neither truly belong to this scene. There’s a lot of men dressed similarly, talking with their hands and lying with their mouths, one weird look away from reaching for their knife, blaster, or other stashed weapon. As they move from the entrance through the busy cantina to the back exit, Leia trails Han, a hair’s width from his back, unwilling to let someone separate them for any reason. It’s always a lot of men in these shitty places, and frankly, she’d love to see some more women break into the crime scene if only to break up the monotony. It’s always some Big Lurking Thug with teeth growing out of the side of his face or something like it who calls her things like “sweetheart,” but in that sticky way that makes her skin crawl. Not like when Han says it.
And just as foretold, here is the Big Lurking Thug, shoulders so wide he fills the doorframe to the back exit.
“Going somewhere, sweetheart?”
For as much as he likes avoiding concussions and black eyes, Han could do without the total disregard of his presence. Not that Leia can’t handle it when an unprovoked stranger who doesn’t seem to recognise either of them decides to pick a fight with her. It’s just that he’s right there, punchable face and all, ready to take the heat.
“Move.” She’s all business, her voice hard, a threat larger than this bonehead can comprehend. Big Lurking Thug’s large bald head has stubby little horns growing out of it, the sickly green skin becoming loose jowls around his cheeks and neck, giving the impression that he was melting under the neon lights. The rest of him–muscly shoulders tapering down to a thin waist and even thinner legs–told Leia all she needed to know about this fight.
“I thought little girls were taught manners.”
Han bites his tongue but doesn’t move, standing awkwardly in the splash zone, a barrier between Leia and this grade-A shithead. This guy doesn’t seem interested in who Leia is so much as he is interested in what Leia is, in that she’s a woman with a pulse. Who allegedly doesn’t know her manners. This is nothing new for this kind of place.
“Not me.” Leia huffs. “Now move.”
Big Lurking Thug’s thoughts are telegraphed like a ribbon advertisement screen, one word rolling out at a time across his spacious forehead. He adjusts his weight between his feet, and his hands hang heavy by his side. If Han was in a picking fights mood, he certainly wouldn’t pick this guy. BLT’s attention turns from Leia to Han. “Control your girl.”
“Hmm.” Han says, ready to play the smartass even if it's not the first role he would have picked for himself. “Not my girl.”
“Your dog, then.” Big Lurking Thug says with a disinterested shrug. It’s an original insult, if not a confusing one, which makes Han wonder if this is creativity on display or some sort of cultural thing that neither of them get. Usually BLTs stuck to the classics, calling Leia some kind of bitch–uppity, icy, mean, dumb-ass. But a dog? Was Leia his what, his guard dog? It was probably just something lost in translation, though, not some profound understanding of just how Han and Leia fit together.
But it isn't Han’s job to figure that out right now. Instead, he shrugs and asks, “Are you up to date on your shots?”
“Why does that matter?” Big Lurking Thug seems to have forgotten his earlier moment of almost-genius.
“She bites strangers.”
Han can’t see it, but can feel Leia’s glare into the back of his head and then it all kicks off. Leia pushes Han out of the way and lines up a punch that hits Big Lurking Thug on the cheek with a thud. He staggers back, upper body swaying off balance as he pulls his arm back, preparing to swing at her with one of his big meaty fists. The move is too little too late as Leia kicks BLT in the shin, the off balance wobble morphing into this would-be tough guy falling to his knees. Han, by merit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, catches the tail end of the swing that BLT started, getting the wind knocked out of him as BLT’s fist makes contact with Han’s chest and Han makes contact with the floor. By the time Han’s scrambled back up, still trying to catch his breath and draw his blaster, Leia’s got her arm across BLT’s neck, pinning him to the doorframe, and her blaster jammed into his stomach. Her knuckles are bloodied, and there’s a big split on this asshole’s cheek. The situation might be poor, but watching Leia handle herself sends a thrill through Han.
Breathing heavy, Leia looks up at Big Lurking Thug, her teeth bared. She doesn’t say anything because there is nothing else to say. If this shit wasn’t already infuriating for all the self-evident reasons, it was because it was a tedious and seemingly necessary price of doing business. Holding him here gave her a second to plan for what was to follow–odds are the folks in this cantina, who previously hadn’t cared about whatever this guy was up to, would go right back to what they were doing before. But that presupposed that this even registered as something to pay attention to.
Frustrating.
Tying up loose ends, Leia pulls the trigger and the last thing that Big Lurking Thug sees is her face, furious. He’ll think it was because she was furious with him. She wasn’t. She didn’t care about him. Couldn’t care about him. There were bigger things going on in the galaxy that she was trying to save, yet it felt like at every turn there was some monster in the shadows who would reach at her with prying eyes and greedy fingers. She was furious about the fact that it had come to this again. That this shit kept happening. That even though it kept happening, she was still only shooting stuns.
The body slams to the floor and Leia glances behind her. Sure enough, everyone is back to what they were doing. Business as usual, every scumbag for themselves. Han, who looks mostly fine, is standing there catching his breath, hand on the butt of his blaster.
He’s got her back. He’s always got her back. Even if he’s bitching, even if she’s fed up. And what was it that Big Lurking Thug had called her? A dog? Dogs were loyal. It wasn’t a bad comparison outside of this particular situation. Leia could stand being Han’s dog.
“It’s always something.” She says to Han, holstering her blaster. He nods and follows as she steps over Big Lurking Thug’s body and through the exit.