By Lady Peter
I'm going to die here. Trapped in a garbage compactor, drowning in muck. With total strangers.
"Oh Stars, please don't let me die a virgin."
The dark-haired one gave her a strange look, and Leia had a horrifying thought: what if she'd spoken aloud? But that couldn't be possible. And why had she even thought such a silly thing?
In the years to come (because she didn't die there), Leia came to learn that you had all kinds of strange thoughts when you really believed that death was imminent. Sometimes she thought about her family, or the important things she hadn't gotten a chance to do, but just as often she found herself thinking of her breakfast that morning. That was my last meal? Really? Huh. And sometimes she'd think about sex, like that time in the garbage compactor on the Death Star.
So anyways, the darker one gave her a look before going back to his attempts to lift her above the rising tide of garbage. And the blond one (he'd said his name was Luke, right?) was trying to raise someone on his comlink, while the wookie seemed to think he'd actually get that maglocked door open by force of will. That left her and Brown Hair to fend for themselves.
Maybe it was his hands on her hips that had made her think it. She felt suddenly aware of her sexual self, the one who'd been bottled up inside since she'd entered the Senate, waiting for a chance to escape. At an especially inappropriate moment, apparently. Completely unbidden, an image jumped into her head of herself looking coyly up at the faux trooper and saying, "I've never been with a man before. How quickly does that armor come off?" She actually had to suppress a gurgled laugh at that, as well as an unexpected surge in her belly.
Now she found herself looking at him surreptitiously while she struggled to keep above the sludge. Any thought was better than the one that lurked below her odd sexual fantasy: that after preparing herself to be martyred to her cause in a military execution, she was going to be crushed to death by a garbage masher in an inept escape attempt. Given the choice, she would have picked execution. Rather than acknowledge that awful thought, she sized up her second rescuer. He filled out his purloined armor better than the blonde one, seeming a bit taller than average, though it didn't take much for anyone to tower over her. And she thought he must have some military training: although the armor looked all wrong on him, the way he handled a rifle was a dead giveaway.
Another slip down the pile of trash interrupted her thoughts. "Get on top!" he barked at her. She gave some rejoinder and accepted his hands around her waist again. His armor felt foreign and unpleasant against her, but she still found herself stealing glances back at him. Despite his sharp tongue, there was something appealing about his face, she decided. What color were his eyes? She couldn't quite tell.
What would he do if she actually propositioned him? Would he laugh at her? Probably. But maybe he'd put his arms around her. Maybe he'd lean his face close enough that she could see what color his eyes were. And then maybe he'd kiss her, a real kiss, not like the ones she'd suffered so far from the boys she'd known back at-. Stop. Think of something else. His lips were actually quite nice, when he wasn't using them to be insulting.
Now the walls were truly threatening to close in on them all. Another wave of panic, like the one that had made her beg the stars not to let her die a virgin, came over her. This time she looked at Brown Hair openly, wanting to beg him to make it not true, not happening: make them all not be about to die. He looked back at her, and his expression was not reassuring. But it was honest. It seemed to say: I'm sorry we screwed up. You don't deserve this- none of us does. It might've been interesting knowing you. His open gaze pulled her in until she didn't notice anything else any more. His eyes were hazel.
The sound of renewed yelling broke the spell and she looked around. Everything was moving again, but in the right direction this time. It looked like Luke (yes, she was sure that was name now) had made contact with whoever (Thripio?) and gotten the compactor reversed. She laughed and cheered like the rest of them, and even gave Brown Hair a hug. Just as quickly as the assurance of death had come, it was gone. She was completely task-focused again, and she forgot all about her flights of fancy while wrestling garbage in the lower levels of the Death Star.