Numb
It was about this time that she would slip into a depression.
The anniversary of the destruction of the first Death Star was approaching and with it the anniversary of Alderaan's destruction. Others realized the solemnity of the situation but none of them were as affected by it as Leia.
Han knew the signs. She would wear sweatpants regardless of the temperature. She would sit curled in a ball as they watched the holovision. She wouldn't be interested in any amorous activities, from kissing to making love.
To the rest of the galaxy, she was fine. Every morning she would put her hair up, dress in the appropriate attire, and be off to work. She'd carry out business as usual without any clue to how she was feeling inside. But she would come home and drop her bag and her shoulders and face would fall with it.
She played with her food, pretending to eat it. She would talk to Han but just enough to keep the conversation going.
One night, she had gone to bed early. When he entered the room a few hours later, she was curled in on herself on top of the covers. Her eyes were open, staring blankly at the wall.
"Hey," Han said softly. She grunted some sort of response.
He quickly got ready for bed and pulled a spare blanket from their closet. He threw it over Leia.
He bent down and kissed her forehead. "I love you," he whispered.
He walked around to the other side of the bed when he heard her quietly say, "Hold me. Please."
With a small smile, happy that she was letting him help, he snuggled under the blanket and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him.
"I'm here," he whispered into her hair.
During the night, he rolled away in his sleep, leaving Leia unprotected. With the lack of safety his arms provided, her subconscious took over.
An old man with hollowed out cheeks. Heavy breathing from behind her. Lights flash. She reaches a hand to stop him. Alderaan is gone. She feels hot, like she's on fire. The breathing from behind her is louder. No, not from behind her…it is her. She looks at her hands. Black gloves. She feels the heavy armor on her. She is Vader. Han (how did he get here?) shakes his head.
"I thought you were different," he says, disappointed and angry and hate-filled. He walks away.
"No!" her new metallic voice says. "No! NO!"
She wakes suddenly to Han brushing her face with is fingertips.
"Leia, sweetheart. It's me," he soothed, continuing to softly caress her.
"Han…" She felt sick. She put a hand over her face and began to cry. She cursed loudly and Han brought her to a sitting position before gathering her into his arms. She cursed again, quietly, and sobbed into his chest.
Han didn't ask what she was having a nightmare was about. He already knew. There was probably anger in this dream, however, because she managed to punch him in the ribs before she woke up (not that he would ever tell her).
After a few minutes of tears, Leia seemed to be a bit calmer. She played with his t-shirt. "Han?"
"Yeah, sweetheart."
"You don't think I'll…I'll…end up like…him…do you?"
"Like who?"
"Vader," she said, barely more than a breath as if saying the name would summon him.
"Gods no!" He turned her face to look at him. "There's no way you could be like that." He tucked her head under his chin. "I won't give you a chance to become that."
She burrowed herself into him, getting as close as possible. "Will you talk to me? Just talk."
"About what?"
"I don't care. I just want to hear your voice." With love in it, she added to herself.
"Alright." He sighed and absentmindedly began to rub her back as he thought of what to say. "Well, I just got back from that trade route discussion on Corellia. That was hell. They're trying to up the rates on imports from the Outer Rim but that's an entirely different story. No, but I was flying home and it went off without a hitch! When has that ever happened? The Falcon landed and she's perfect. Nothing wrong. Which probably means something big is planning to fall apart at a moment's notice, like the hyperdrive or the life support systems. So I've been double checking everything…"
She drifted off to the sound of his voice and feel of his breath.