a/n: oh you know. Bespin.

important (ish): this story incorporates EU canon from the Young Han Solo series (A.C. Crispin), in which Han's first love is a woman named BRIA THAREN who is killed after double crossing him to aid the Rebellion in securing the Death Star plans (obviously, that canon was scrapped in favor of Rogue One, but it's still Bria's accomplishment in my heart) - just a note for anyone new / not familiar with the EU.

The Shirt

For lack of anything better to do, Leia explored the Falcon – every part of it, every little nook and hidden compartment, until she felt like she knew it intimately – she wanted familiarity with it that extended beyond merely being trapped on it for a sub -light journey and somehow, getting to know the ship felt like getting to know its captain.

In her roaming and rummaging, and her re-organizing and re-arranging, and her ceaseless effort to find something comfortable, and different to wear, while also dressing appropriately – she found, with a sigh of relief, something that looked like women's clothing shoved in a corner in the back of one of his drawers.

It was wrinkled, a little dusty, and crammed in a corner, but it was decidedly feminine, and Leia's thermal undershirt was sweltering – and the form-fitting sleeveless undershirt that she'd worn under her thermal on Hoth drew Han's eye a little too provocatively – and she didn't blame him for looking, she only felt bad for flaunting what she wasn't ready to give yet, and so she refrained from wearing it – his t-shirts drowned her and had to be tied up or tucked around oddly – she was desperate for something that made her feel relaxed, half-way like herself, like a girl, even –

She shook the shirt out, checking the size – not her size, but then, not many women had the same frustrating rail thin-and-abnormally-short combination that Leia was. It seemed like it might suit her decently – the sleeves came down to the elbow, it was a cool, light material – there were three buttons down the front of it, but two were missing, and one hung loosely by a thread.

Leia ran her hands over it. She knelt by the drawer and peeled off her long-sleeved thermal, discarded the sleeveless top under it, as well. She pulled the shirt over her head and brushed out some of the wrinkles, glancing down.

She hesitated – it was a little big for her in the shoulders, but the woman it belonged to had clearly had a smaller chest; the lack of buttons and loose fit gave Leia pause for a moment. She took it off, pulled her tight undershirt back on, and then pulled the shirt over it. She tucked some loose strands of hair back and picked at the shoulders, situating the shirt differently – it would do.

She stood, sweeping up the remnants of her snowsuit and folding them loosely. She breathed a sigh of relief – the shirt was so loose and comfortable, worn down enough that it felt airy and relaxing.

She put one foot, and then the other, up on the open drawer to roll the hem of the blue pants Han had leant her, and then stepped into the 'fresher to check her reflection.

The faded lavender colour of the shirt looked nice against her skin, and she smiled in a small bit of disbelief, reaching up to touch her face, and re-do her hair – perhaps it was vain, but she felt better, to be in something clearly made for a woman – and Han had told her to find whatever she could – right after he'd suggested she give up on clothes entirely and walk around naked.

In your dreams, Solo – she'd said.

Yes – he agreed, very seriously.

And she laughed, because he was funny, and she had given up trying to resist laughing at him, because laughing was a precious thing these days, and it felt good.

She knotted her hair loosely at the base of her neck and brushed tendrils of it out of her face, sighing as she left the 'fresher, and the bunk, to find some other thing to occupy herself with – she could find some inventory to do – again – or curl up the gun turret and memorize the buttons, and the stars outside, and if she did that, Han would eventually poke his head down and accuse her of hiding, and suggest what they could to do pass the time, and she'd turn him down, again – for now.

Barefoot, and bored, she roamed through the main hold, listening for Threepio, or Chewbacca – or Han, though the ship was oddly silent; she found him in the cockpit, polishing – of all things – his boots.

She stopped, and stood there watching him, and he glanced up after a moment, one of his feet resting on his knee, white, grease-stained socks sticking out starkly against his dark trousers. He gave her a quick smirk, and then looked back down at his boot, bracing it on his ankle to get a scuff out – and then he did a double take, his eyes flashing sharply.

He stared at her, and after a moment of silence, Leia realized he wasn't saying anything, and wasn't going to say anything, and she folded her arms, an anxious feeling rushing through her – he just stared at her, his eyes snapping over her shoulders, darting around in quick, harsh movements to the missing buttons, the sleeves, the hem.

She felt small under the gaze, and she reached up to put her hand over the button, pressing the neck of the shirt closed –

"Han?" she asked quietly.

Hearing his name seemed to snap him out of it – in a way. He looked up at her, meeting her eyes, and she realized he had been a thousand miles away – years away, thinking about something else, someone else, somewhere else – he blinked at her as if he were abruptly recognizing her, and then he said –

"Where did you get that?"

He sounded – spooked, as if he'd seen a ghost, and his voice was hoarse suddenly.

Leia picked at the collar, swallowing hard.

"It was – in the back of one of your drawers," she said softly. "I supposed some girl left it."

Han moved his head in a stiff nod, but he looked – angry, almost.

"Yeah, it's a girl's," he said shortly, looking back down at her chest, and her stomach - and his gaze lacked the appreciative, longing sexuality she'd grown used to him directing at her, instead he seemed – drained.

She parted her lips nervously.

"I can take it off," she started, shifting her weight and stepping back.

Han sat up straighter, dragging his foot off his knee and planting it back on the floor. He set his boot on the floor and shook his head jerkily, waving his hand.

"No," he muttered, rubbing his forehead – and Leia watched streaks of shine wax smear his forehead, and bit back an amused laugh. He glanced at her around his hand, thoughtful, quiet. "Leave it on; it's fine."

She felt distinctly like it was not fine, and she compressed her lips, saying nothing, looking at him warily –

"Han, it's okay, you – just tell me if I – "

"It's fine, Leia," he said abruptly. "It's fine. Where'd you find it, a drawer?" he asked, speaking quickly. "A drawer?" he repeated, as if that didn't sound right.

She nodded wordlessly.

"You weren't diggin' through an old trunk or anything?"

He seemed confused, and Leia shook her head.

"No," she said honestly. "I wouldn't go through your things."

Han nodded, and Han rubbed his forehead again.

"It's fine," he said, a fourth time.

He went silent, and then bent down to pick up his boot again. He looked at it for a moment, looked at her, and then got up, starting to edge past her. She took his arm.

"Han," she started, curious.

He looked at her like he really did not want her to say another word, so she fell silent, and nodded at his face.

"You have polish on your forehead," she said.

He glanced upwards as if he could see it, and then looked at his hands. He reached forward, smeared polish on her face devilishly, flashed a half-hearted grin, and left her standing there – and she turned her head and looked out the viewport, absently picking at the threads where buttons on the shirt had been – that was possibly the most speechless she'd ever seen Han, and she wondered, with a sinking feeling, what she'd done.

xxXxx

He seemed – subdued, for the rest of the evening. Their meager dinner of lightly seasoned cardboard – Chewie's sarcastic christening of rations - was quiet in a way it usually wasn't; he abandoned his usual nightly attempt to teach her Sabacc or seduce her or – whatever else he got into his head during the tedious hours of the day.

Chewbacca roamed through the main hold, brewing kaffe, black as the space around them, to energize him for his night staying up to watch the helm, and he gave Leia a pleasant smile, and then cocked his head, and rumbled something curiously at Han.

Leia, still struggling to get the hang of Chewbacca's unique language, tilted her head, curious – only able to catch a few words – it sounded as if he growled –

[Is that what I think it is?]

Han glanced up at the Wookiee, and then over at Leia, and shrugged. He nodded.

Chewbacca cocked his head to the other side, and looked at Leia intently.

[That means,] she understood that much, and the rest was a jumble, and she bit her lip, consternated – what was the last part, 'that means – a lot?' Or had he asked – 'do you understand what that means to him?'

"I'm sorry, Chewie, I don't," Leia began, and Han gave the Wookiee an annoyed look.

"She can wear it," he said defensively.

Chewbacca arched his brows mildly – Leia understood the gist of his response, due mostly to his body language; Chewie wasn't trying to say she couldn't wear it –

What Leia did interpret, from the foreign – foreign to her – exchange, was that there was something significant about this shirt, and if she caught even Chewbacca off guard in it, Leia worried what she'd dredged up.

"I found it in a drawer," Leia offered slowly.

Chewbacca nodded, and murmured something. He retreated, filled a mug with kaffe, and returned, socializing with them in silence. He spoke politely to Leia, and she stared at him, concentrating on his words very carefully.

Han got up, and cleared his throat.

"He asked if I've been in a mood all day," Han griped, glaring at Chewbacca as he nudged past him. "'M not in a mood."

[Are too.]

Leia shook her head.

"He hasn't been," she said. "No more than usual," she quipped.

"Watch it, Your Worship," Han said smoothly.

He pulled half a bar of chocolate from his pocket and chucked it to her.

"Dessert," he announced gallantly, holding the other up in his hand.

Leia peeled the wrapper off, leaning forward on her elbows. She bit off the edge of it and closed her eyes tiredly, letting her head fall to the side, and when she opened them, Han was staring at her – staring at the shirt again, rather.

She lowered her hands, licking her lips.

"Han," she said sharply. "Do you want me to take this off?"

He blinked at her. He tilted his head. He mustered up a charming smirk, and gestured at her dramatically.

"Sure, Princess."

"That's not what I mean," she retorted, while Chewbacca directed a baleful growl at Han. "You know what I mean."

He shrugged. He was quiet for a moment.

"Nah, it looks nice on you," he said – with an odd, grudging tone to his voice. "I just haven't seen it in years, is all," he added gruffly.

He went quiet again, and then he threw his half of the candy bar onto the table, abandoning it.

"Here, you have that," he said. He ran a hand through his hair. "Hey, are you sleeping with me again?" he asked.

Leia blushed, glancing over at Chewie quickly and then pursing her lips uncertainly – Chewbacca pretended not to hear, and Leia cleared her throat, a little annoyed that Han had made it sound like –

She nodded, though –

"If you don't…mind," she said. "Just in your – bunk," she added, and Han grinned at her a little, amused that she'd clarified for Chewie.

"I don't mind," Han said.

He ran a hand through his hair again and then shrugged stiffly.

"'M goin' to shower," he said. "'M goin' to bed early," he added.

He left her alone in the main hold with Chewie, and she turned to the Wookiee with wide eyes.

"Should I take it off?" she asked hoarsely.

She felt like she'd messed with Han deeply, some how – but he hadn't snapped at her, at all, and in the past, when she'd hit Han's nerves the right way, he'd gone for the throat – just like she did, when she was hurt.

Chewbacca blinked at her wisely, thinking.

"Who did it belong to?" Leia asked.

Chewie answered, but Leia didn't understand the word – she didn't know the name in Basic, thus she couldn't translate it at all, and she stared at him, uncomprehending. Chewbacca seemed to re-think his answer, and leaned forward.

He pointed at Leia gently.

[You,] he rumbled.

Leia shook her head, pursing her lips.

"It's not mine," she said, misunderstanding.

Chewbacca shook his head.

[You,] he repeated. [The you before you.]

Leia was almost positive she understood the words in the most basic sense - they were simple translations. She still furrowed her brow though, her mind working through it with difficulty.

"I don't understand," she said softly.

Chewbacca looked thoughtful again. He hesitated.

[You understand...love?] He asked gruffly. [The word, not the emotion.]

Leia struggled to translate – love, she identified. Did she understand him when he said –

"Yes," she said slowly.

Chewbacca reached out and tapped her shoulder, indicating the shirt.

[The shirt…girl,] he said slowly, trying to use the most simplistic of his language. [Belong to girl…Cub loved, before you.]

Leia looked at him for a long time.

"Oh," she breathed faintly.

Chewbacca looked a little guilty – he didn't know how to express Han's behavior towards Leia in more subtle terms; he didn't have the Basic vocabulary for it, and Leia didn't have the understanding of his language that she needed. He hoped Han wouldn't be angry with him – he hoped Leia wasn't angry with him for using that word.

"What happened to her?" Leia asked.

[Long story.]

Chewbacca said nothing else, just raised his mug to her and ambled off, and Leia sat alone in the main hold, peeling at the foil on her candy bar, and looking at the half Han had abandoned – she knew she ought to be more surprised that Chewbacca considered Han's feelings for her to have gone as far as love – but she wasn't; she had come to the conclusion she and Han both knew they were in love, they just hadn't gotten around to handling it yet.

xxXxx

Leia found that Han wasn't kidding; he never reappeared after his shower, and when she ran out of things to even pretend to do, and retreated to the cabin to sleep, he was in bed with his back to the room, only the dim 'fresher light left on for her.

She stripped off the pants he'd been letting her borrow and unbraided her hair, re-twisting it into a loose strand more comfortable for sleep. She took a deep breath, and made her way over to his bunk, lifting the sheets and quilt and crawling gingerly into her place – her place, the place that had only been hers for a few nights now, since one awful time when Leia had been so shaken by a nightmare, that Han sat up with her distracting her with stories about his pranks at the Academy, and she fell asleep to the sound of his voice, and the warmth of him next to her, and he asked her if it would help if he slept next to her every night.

Han shifted to give her more room, and lying on her back, Leia plucked at the hem of the shirt she'd found, the movements of her fingers agitated as she tugged lightly at frayed threads. She hadn't known this seemingly old thing would dredge up memories, and yet though it felt ominous, she didn't want to take it off.

He said it was fine, but the tone of his voice had been so odd, and there was that thing in his eyes, and such pain in his jaw, and after what Chewie had said, she knew this lavender shirt was not a discarded memory of a one night stand, but the remnant of something that hurt to remember.

She held her breath next to him, still unsure of this whole sleeping arrangement, still unsure of her right to wear this. He kept to his promise that sharing his bunk was just an experiment on keeping her nightmares away; these past two nights he hadn't made any overt moves on her, nothing more intimate than the forced closeness that came from sharing a rather small bunk.

She wondered if he was really asleep; if he was angry with her.

His shoulders were moving, but there was no rhythm to it, so she ultimately deduced that he was awake, and either feigning sleep, or trying to find it.

She watched his back for a long time, her fingers clutched at the neck of the old shirt she'd so audaciously donned.

"Han?"

Her voice was a whisper, so he could ignore it if he wanted to continue to pretend to be asleep.

He shifted slightly; he didn't turn to look at her all the way, but he turned and his head lifted and moved, angling his ear towards her, so she knew he was listening.

"What was her name?" Leia asked cautiously.

Han grunted quietly, demanding more from her.

"The woman this shirt belonged to," Leia clarified.

Han settled back down, his back to her. She was sure he wasn't going to answer, and she supposed she deserved that. She had so often snapped at him with bared teeth and raised hackles when he merely requested she open up to him; what right did she have to ask for his?

He did answer, though. Finally, after a long, heavy silence, he said, simply:

"Bria."

Leia swallowed hard, hesitant. She thought, immediately, that it sounded like her mother's name, but it wasn't quite the same – it sounded like Breha might sound if it was pronounced in the harsh Corellian drawl, but Leia had never heard it said that way, so she sensed that this was a different name altogether.

Bria, she thought, and parted her lips.

"What happened to her?" she asked, voice hushed.

This time, his answer was quicker – dull, blunted, but with a hint of warning that maybe begged her not ask anything else:

"She's dead."

Leia's heart caught in her throat – dead? Some woman he'd loved, loved and lost? And here she'd thought – well perhaps she'd thought him an unscrupulous womanizer, but considering it now, she didn't really have evidence to support that.

She thought of Chewie's stumbling explanation – the you, before you. So, Han had lived with a broken heart, and Leia had assumed all these years he was too strong for such human things.

She bit her lip and, impulsively, reached out for him, inching closer. Her hand was nervous on his shoulder, her mouth anxious as she rested her cheek on his pillow, sheets between them, but her body pressed to his back.

"It's hard to lose people," she whispered.

Her fingertips pressed into him gently, comfortingly.

He was quiet for a long time.

"Yeah," he agreed bluntly.

His only response was to reach up with one hand and cover hers, entangling his fingers tightly. She thought that might be the end of it, but after a moment, he turned over, and he slid his arms around her, one of them boldly sliding under the shirt, running over her sleeveless top.

She sat up slowly, and gracefully pulled the shirt off, dropping it to the floor, shivering as she lay back down. He looked relieved, even though he'd said, so many times, that it was fine, and he ran his hand into her hair loosely. He moved his fingers in her hair lightly, rhythmically.

He leaned forward, nudged her cheek with his nose, held his lips near hers – a fraction of an inch, giving her every chance to pull away, and when she didn't, when all she did was part her lips, and hold her breath, he kissed her, and Leia closed her eyes tightly.

She felt, in his kiss, in him, the same ache for lost loved ones that she felt so persistently, and he held her closer, and closer, kissing her, and only kissing her; she thought she might drown in the intensity of it.

He pulled away, his breathing quick, and ragged, and she swallowed hard a few times, catching her breath. She put her hands on his neck, and stroked his jaw.

"Leia," he murmured huskily.

He closed his eyes, and laid his head on the pillow, pressing his face into her shoulder and breathing her in slowly. She settled down with him – there was nothing else; he didn't try to pull her under him, slip off her top, dip his hand between her legs, he did nothing she would have expected him to try, just to test the waters – and the thing was, tonight, she was sure she'd have said yes, yes Han, I want you –

She touched his cheek, and his chest, lightly –

"Shhh," she soothed, the sound soft, and spontaneous, an intuitive lullaby – she'd spent so much time assuming making a commitment was too selfish a thing for him, too hard for him because he was a temporary thing, a criminal nomad with no desire for enduring connections, and it was suddenly so much more than that; he had experienced loss and he didn't want to go through it again.

Leia slid her fingers into his hair, curling her fingertips up and moving her hand in the same way he'd touched her. She smiled softly, pressing her forehead into the top of his head. She slid her leg in-between his, and he wrapped an arm around her waist.

She said nothing else – and he didn't either; she thought perhaps they fell asleep around the same time, but the last thing she remembered running through her waking mind was the thought that – if Han could take a risk on her, on loving her, when he'd been through the very intimate tragedy of losing a romantic partner, she could take a risk on him, even though she'd lost so much, and even though she'd been so afraid to lose anything else ever again.

If he was that brave, she could be that brave, too.

guess what? happy valentine's day (x3)

-alexandra

story #343