a/n: i like to write little things when i want attention.
"Little Things"
She lay on her stomach, stretched out comfortably in bed with the sheets gathered around her waist. It was slightly muggy in the bedroom; Han had the windows open, but the fresh air that drifted in was heady with post-rain humidity and the faint scent of impending summer. She liked the feel of that sticky, somewhat smoky hot weather.
Since Hoth, she'd found being cold unbearable. Cold felt like trauma personified; when she was cold, it always felt so, so hard to get warm again. She knew Han didn't like the heat very much, and the way he subtly flipped his pillow over every few minutes, seeking the cool side, reminded her he'd thrown the windows open for her, because he knew her so well, and she loved him all the more for it.
He threaded his fingers through her hair and pressed his nose against her cheek. She shifted her head slightly.
"Leia," he murmured, tilting his head just a little.
His hand slipped out of her hair and brushed the back of her neck, then traveled over her back soothingly.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
She lifted her head just a little, peering at him out of one half-open eye. Strands of her hair fell in her face and curled, coaxed into waves by the sheen of sweat the heat brought on. She said nothing, only looked at him, curious.
He propped his chin on his palm, and looked back with a knowing light in his eye, as if he expected her to dodge his question, but knew she couldn't.
"C'mon," he prodded gently. "C'mon, Leia, I know you," he drawled. "You've been off all day."
And it had been a quiet day. Both of them home, with no work obligations, no public events or official appearances. A lazy day, by all accounts, and half of it, at least, spent in bed.
Leia let her eye drift closed and shifted, tucking her arms underneath her. She crossed her ankles under the sheets, her legs brushing against his, and sighed. There was no point in demurring, and she didn't really want to, anyway. She still hadn't reached a point where she went to him, openly, seeking comfort and pouring her whole soul out, but she was certainly beyond a time when she just told him she was fine, and resisted his affection.
"I miss my parents," she said simply.
Han's hand slid over her spine one finger at a time, in a tiptoe like motion that tickled her skin. He slid his palm under the sheets around her waist and rested on her backside, which brought a small twitch of a smile to her lips.
"I mention my parents," she whispered, "and you grab my ass?"
Han gave her a slow, innocent grin.
"Hey. You're the one thinkin' about your parents while you're in bed with me," he retorted. "Naked."
Leia bit her lip. She laughed quietly. She turned her face into her pillow, and then lifted her head, unfolding her arms and running her palms over her face lightly. She pushed her hair back, letting it all tumble over her shoulders, and then readjusted her arms and rested her chin on her wrists, staring at the headboard in front of her.
"Made you smile, didn't it?" Han asked defiantly.
He slid his hand back up and massages her shoulder. He was silent for a moment, and then let his arm fall, and his head after it, staring at her profile. She didn't look too upset, just reflective.
"Any…reason?" he ventured finally. "S'it a…life day, or somethin'?" he asked.
He didn't think it was. Leia wasn't forthcoming about her family or the things she'd lost; he figured it hurt too much to talk about. He'd looked up some stuff about her family before, it was public, but he hadn't memorized things like that. Maybe he should.
Leia shook her head.
"No," she sighed.
She licked her lips.
"Not a life day, or a holiday, or…anything," she shrugged. "I just miss them."
Han nodded. He reached over to tuck some hair behind her ear, mulling over possible responses. Leia was a formidable woman, intimidating, aggressive, strong, self-assured, but sometimes when it came to emotions – she was fragile, nervous. He was always wary of startling her into silence.
She compressed her lips and clicked her tongue softly.
"I keep…finding myself wanting to tell them something," she murmured. "Simple things. I want my father to read a brief I wrote. Or I want to tell my mother," she trailed off, and smiled a little, "something annoying you did."
Han lifted his chin, indignant.
"I didn't do anything annoying this week," he protested.
Leia smiled. She rolled her eyes lightly. After a moment, she shrugged heavily.
"I miss them," she said again. She sighed. "I spent…so much time thinking I wasn't a child. Wearing…maturity and ego like a…crown," she quipped dryly, and Han knew the word choice was deliberate. "I loved them, but I think when I was elected to the Senate I thought…I was grown. I didn't need them."
She swallowed hard.
"I took them for granted," she whispered.
Han leaned over to kiss her cheek. He laid his head down on the pillow next to hers, draping his arm over her back. He slid one of his legs over hers under the sheets, pressing closer to her. Leia sighed, and tilted her head, resting her cheek on her arms and looking at him.
"I think that's the worst part," she murmured. "I know they're gone. I know I'll never see them again. But I still…things happen, and I still have a brief, instinctive moment, where I think…I can't wait to tell Mama," she took a deep breath, "and then I remember I can't. It's like losing them all over again."
Han nodded, listening, but offering no words of his own just yet. He wondered what had prompted this, if anything. He wondered if he had missed something.
"Is there...somethin' you want to tell them?" he asked carefully. "Somethin' you can't tell me? Or don't want to?"
Leia gave him a quizzical look, caught off guard.
"What? No," she said, shrugging. She looked curious, and shifted. He tilted his head at her, unblinking. She arched her brows. "I'm not pregnant, if that's what you think," she snorted.
Han gave her an alarmed look, and half-sat up.
"I wasn't thinkin' that," he retorted. "I don't think you'd…not want to tell me that," he pointed out. "Or not be able to?"
Leia gave kind of a husky laugh.
"Well, I wouldn't want to tell my parents that before I told you," she said sternly.
Han settled back down, and Leia grinned at him. She shook her head, and turned onto her side, pushing a hand back through her hair again. She sighed heavily, biting her lip.
"Like I said, it's little things," she murmured. "Little things," she trailed off.
She pressed her palm lightly against her nose and tapped her forehead.
"Does it ever get better?" she asked, turning her head towards him slowly. Her expression was cautious, hesitant, and it caught him off guard for a moment, until he realized she must be asking about his mother, and she was worried he wouldn't take it well.
Before he could answer, she spoke more clearly.
"Do you still miss your mother?"
Han hesitated, his words caught in his throat. He shifted, flicking his eyes from her, to the ceiling, and back again. He couldn't decide what the best thing to say was, the most soothing thing, so instead he told the truth.
"Leia," he mumbled, trailing off faintly, before going on: "She died when I was so young," he broke off again, and shook his head apologetically. He ran a hand over his jaw. "I don't remember her."
"You remember something," Leia said gently.
"Yeah, she had red hair, and she was nice," Han said dryly. "I remember wanting her, after she died."
Leia nodded, her eyes roving over him sympathetically. She listened, and because she was listening, Han went on.
"I miss…missing her," he said slowly.
Leia's chest ached, and she pursed her lips.
"So, maybe that's worse," Han said, shrugging.
Leia tilted her head thoughtfully. Was it? Did he feel pain when he thought about her, or did he just know she wasn't there, and it wasn't relevant to his life anymore? They had lost their parents – mothers, Han had never known a father – at vastly different stages in life, but would she eventually face a day where she stopped thinking of her parents, where there was just acceptance, and a knowledge of what used to be, rather than…pain?
They were both silent for a long time. It was jarring to talk about loss. Most of the time, it was almost easier to just…ignore it, shove it away, and repress the heartache that came with it.
She breathed out slowly, and cleared her throat. She turned, and in a flurry of movement, rolled herself over top of him, settling her hips over his, and pressing down comfortably on his chest, sheets tangled between them. She considered him for a moment, and tapped her fingers on his shoulder lightly.
"I suppose," she drawled softly, "I will just have to tell you everything now."
"Guess so," Han answered gruffly. He arched a brow. "Even when I did somethin' annoying?"
"Particularly then," she retorted.
She licked her lips, parting them lightly.
"Can you handle that?" she asked. "Me…always telling you…everything?"
Han looked back at her smugly, triumphant, almost; as if he'd won something he'd been fighting for his whole life. He touched her jaw reverently, and he nodded, intent on the task – he was confident he could more than handle it, and she sighed and rested her head on him. He was warm, her skin was warm – she was warmer than she had been in a long time.
also, we all about to missing some beloved game of thrones characters
-alexandra
story #391