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CHAPTER TEN

Leia rested a hand gently on the pilot's forehead. He was still so pale, but at least the fire no longer burned beneath his skin. They had brought him back to the ship and soaked his wounds in bacta, but beyond that there was little they could do for him. The Millennium Falcon was equipped with only the most basic medical provisions.

As Han, Luke, and Chewbacca worked to put the weapons systems back online, Leia had sat by the anonymous pilot's bed, waiting for him to wake up. It had been nearly a day.

We don't even know who he is, Leia thought, watching his eyeballs twitch faintly beneath his lids. If he dies out here, no one who loves him will ever know what happened.

She tried not to think about it. After all, his pulse was strong. His wounds were healing. There was no reason to think he wouldn't make a full recovery.

If he ever woke up.

They owed him so much, she thought. He'd saved them from certain death at the hands of the Empire. Whoever he was, whatever his motives, there was no escaping that truth.

They owed him.

"But if you want us to pay you back, you're going to have to wake up," she murmured.

"You drive a hard bargain."

Leia started in surprise, jerking her hand away from his forehead. "You're awake!"

"Seems that way." He smiled, and tried to sit up, groaning at the effort.

Gently, she pushed him back down to the bunk. They were in a cramped room just off the main hold, where Han had stored his meager medical supplies. "Easy," she told him.

"You lost a lot of blood."

He grimaced. "That wasn't part of the plan."

"What plan?"

A strange, blank look flashed across his face, and then it was gone, so quickly that Leia thought she might have imagined it. Especially when he smiled. His eyes sparkled with good humor, and some of the color seemed to come back into his face. "The plan where I rescue the fair maiden and reap her eternal gratitude."

Leia suppressed a grin. This was still a stranger, she reminded herself, and they were at war. You couldn't trust every would-be hero with a charming smile. Just look at Han, she thought. Hero one moment, scoundrel the next.

The galaxy could be a confusing place.

"If you're well enough to flirt, you're well enough to answer some questions," she said sternly. "Want to tell me what you were doing out there, fighting someone else's battle?"

"Is that your way of saying thank you?" the pilot asked. "Because if so, you and your blast-happy friend have some work to do on the etiquette front."

Leia sighed. " Thank you. Now…what were you doing out there?"

"What were you doing out there?" he countered. "Who are you people, anyway?"

"I asked first," Leia said, biting down hard on the corners of her lips to trap another grin.

"Indeed you did." The pilot looked thoughtful for a moment. "Truth?"

"That would be nice."

He raised a hand, wincing at the effort. She shook, being careful not to squeeze too hard. "Tobin Elad," he told her. "Dissident, guerilla warrior, exile, orphan, and rather atrocious poet. Though not in that order."

"Leia," she said, keeping her surname to herself.

"Professional damsel in distress?" he suggested, when it was clear she wouldn't be offering any additional information.

"I prefer to rescue myself, thank you very much."

"I'll keep that in mind for the future," he said lightly. "Wouldn't want to overstep."

"You call yourself a warrior," Leia said. "That means you have an enemy."

He grew serious at once. "We all have an enemy. The Empire." Again, he tried to push himself into a sitting position. This time, despite the pain, he made it upright. "Though I suppose some of us have more reason to fight than others."

Leia suspected that the pain written across his face had nothing to do with his wounded shoulder. "And your reason?" she asked softly.

" Reasons," he admitted. "Three of them. Or hundreds of thousands. Depending on how you count." He fell silent.

Leia waited, letting him go forward at his own pace.