a/n: just a little somethin' somethin'
Grace
His question came unbidden, and broke the silence indelicately. She didn't think she'd have had an easy answer even if she had anticipated it, but then -
"Hey, Leia? What d'ya think your parents would think of me?"
- it seemed like such an uncharacteristic thing for him to ask.
Han Solo, of all people, who was irreverent and confident, passionate and intemperate and wild - asking if her parents would approve? Asking after the opinion of Queen Breha of Alderaan and her esteemed husband, the Viceroy Bail Organa, Prince Consort? She'd been nearly asleep when he asked, and thus, his voice sounded eerily loud. She blinked sleepily, considering the question, then considering the reality of analyzing that question while she was naked and tangled up in bed with him in a place called Cloud City.
"Why?" she asked finally, her voice a soft murmur.
Han shrugged. Next to her, he shifted closer, his nose nudging against her cheek. He kissed her lips slowly, his thighs pressing against hers under the sheets, and sighed, rolling his head back. He lifted it a little to look at the luxury all around them - Lando's luxury, flaunted for them, enveloping them in a delicate bubble that blocked out all the grime and grit of the Falcon's stuttering, lengthy limp to this halfway-haven. The quarters he'd given them were opulent and gaudy, decorated with the gauche intent of shoving extravagance in the guests' face, and Han had watched Leia slip into the splendor like a second skin. She clearly felt no discomfort over the pomp and circumstance, but instead bore it with familiar grace, selecting fine clothing provided to her with a keen eye, using the breakable, fragile dishes at dinner without batting a lash.
She was born to it, this ceremony and wealth - though she was old, rich royalty where Lando was all flamboyant new money, and because Han was so used to seeing her rough it in trenches and bare bones bases, just like the rest of them, he was sometimes able to forget where she'd come from, and how in a different world - if her world still existed - well -
"'Cause I wanna know," he said, with inelegant honesty.
Leia shifted her head, her lashes fluttering. She sighed, catching his eye, and pursed her lips, studying him closely. The sheer grandeur of the treatment Lando was giving them was dizzying, and all at once suspicious. She hadn't dared put it into words yet, but she felt like an animal being prepared for slaughter, after being so used to dirt and rations and a meager existence. She felt like a sacrificial virgin, or a - a small, grim smirk burst over her lips - a daughter of an old house, about to be auctioned off in the marriage market.
She didn't trust this situation, and she was wary of asking Han if he, too, felt the ominous darkness around them. She wanted to go back to the Falcon, absurd a thought as that was; she wanted a broken hyper-drive, rather than silk sheets and palatial cloud vistas, and she wanted Han in his cozy, snug bunk rather than this ostentatious hotel room, where worlds collided, and he started asking things like this.
"Since when do you care about the opinion of," she broke off, hesitating, "others," she decided, choosing her words carefully.
She didn't want to say elite, or rich, or anything such as that, and make it seem as if she considered him lesser - as far as she was concerned, his blood ran bluer than any of the aristocrats she'd ever known, and it had everything to do with heart, and loyalty, and decency, rather than constructed titles and station.
"I care about your opinion," he muttered under his breath, his tone growing somewhat edgy.
She tucked her chin down, licking her lips.
"I know," she said softly, drawing back contritely. "I didn't mean - "
"'M just askin'," Han interrupted, "'cause you prob'ly care about their opinions, don't you?"
Leia didn't answer.
"So maybe I don't wanna be some existential crisis in your life," Han finished under his breath.
His forehead fell against hers gently, and he sighed. She turned her head up, lips finding his hesitantly. She slid her hand up between them, pressing it over his ribs and his chest, up to his shoulder, where she squeezed gently.
"You're not."
"You sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure," Leia murmured. "Existential?" she quoted, pursing her lips in a small smile.
Han ignored the comment. He studied her closely, and then she bit her lip, drawing back to look at him better.
"I had the crisis and resolved it," she said quietly. She shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I decided what I wanted. I'm here," she touched his neck reverently, "you're here - this is," she let out a slow breath, "this is what I want."
Han shifted around restless, adjusting his position. He propped his elbow up on a pillow, and rested his head on his palm, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully.
"Okay," he said slowly. "So, all this time, you not givin' in, it's been about what they'd think? If you're disappointin' them 'cause of...me?" he probed uneasily. "That's why'm askin' -"
She shook her head, effectively silencing him.
"No, there were - multiple crises," she amended. "It wasn't all - Han," she sighed, frustrated. "I've had a lot going on. I still have a lot going on. These past few weeks, you've been," she paused, trying to find the words, "you've been...the embodiment of peace. Don't," she paused, taking a deep breath, "don't take that peace away from me."
A pained expression crossed his face, and he pulled his other hand out from beneath the sheets to cup her jaw, and stroke her face.
"But that's why'm askin', Leia," he insisted again, gentler, and with a complex look on his face. She thought she read sadness in his eyes; anxiety, fear. "I don't wanna be just...your rebellion against them, or make you feel so guilty you can't ever be with - "
She jolted up suddenly, staring at him.
"My rebellion?" she quoted. "My body, and my heart, are not weapons against whatever issues I had, or did not have, with my parents," she said sharply. "They are mine and I gave them to you. Free of charge and of free will." She shook her head, her eyes stinging. "I don't play sexual politics or engage in heartbreak warfare for the purpose of others."
Han stared at her, taken aback. He rested his hand on her shoulder, and swallowed hard, nodding. He hesitated.
"C'mon, Sweetheart, I couldn't stand it if I was causin' some conflict in you 'cause you think bein' with me would make 'em angry with you," he told her quietly. "S'at least some part of why you been afraid of me, huh?" he coaxed.
Leia sat up a little more, her hair falling over one shoulder. She looked at him, frustrated, and she wanted to shout at him to knock it off, knock it off with the emotional babble. She was still struggling to talk about this - she'd given in physically, and she was saying things with her skin and her lips, her touch, and her wordless whispers and moans, that she couldn't vocalize yet, so why did he have to push?
But he was Han. He pushed, and he pushed, and let her push back, and then on the days when she didn't push back, he opened his arms, and held her instead.
"It isn't," she said finally. "I have not been hung up on my parents. And I am not - afraid of you," she muttered.
He gave her a look, and she shook her head firmly.
"I'm not, Han," she insisted. "I've been afraid of how I feel about you, and that's not the same thing."
He kept his mouth shut after that, watching her. She sighed, and shifted, drawing her legs up and folding them in a triangle. She gathered sheets around her, covering her lap, and twisted her fingers together near her ankles, staring at them.
"My parents?" she murmured, biting the inside of her lip. "I don't know," she said finally, looking up at him. Her expression was intense, thoughtful - she parsed through it as best as she could, and as honestly as she could. "My mother and father were good people. Honest, humble people, if you can believe it," she said, snorting a little - humility was so difficult, in the face of such wealth and power. "They were progressive, and taught me to be progressive. And they believed in meritocracy, even in the face of our tradition of monarchy," she explained.
She licked her lips, her hands coming to a stop in her lap.
"But they were also products of a regimented, strictly aristocratic upbringing - it was just who they were, what they were being trained for," she said softly. "They lived in a bubble where the social injustices they talked about and planned to improve were academic, not reality - and I did, too," she admitted freely. "I lived in that bubble, too, until I didn't."
She took a deep breath.
"I can't definitively say what they'd think of you...for me. I know they judged people on actions, not blood. They were compassionate, and smart, and kind, and above anything else, they wanted me to be happy," she reached up to tuck some hair back. "Inevitably, you would have startled them," she confessed softly. "As a knee-jerk reaction, it would have been the theory of what they preached juxtaposed with the reality of this sort of affair their daughter and heir was having, and it might have caused them concerns. About fortune hunting, about whether you'd hurt me, or betray me, or just...not respect where I came from, and what I had to do."
She chewed on her lip for a moment, and then tilted her head intently.
"They trusted me, though," she whispered. "They were very conscious of my rights as a person and my intelligence, and they - I think I can say this definitively, they would have had enough faith in me to know what I wanted, and what was good for me, and for a little while, until they knew you themselves, that would have been enough."
Han swallowed hard, watching her, his head still propped on his palm. She drew one leg up, resting her chin on her knee, her eyes stinging.
"It is so hard to talk about them in the past tense," she murmured.
He rolled forward fluidly and kissed her shin.
"I know, Sweetheart," he whispered. "'M sorry."
She reached down to rest her hand in his hair, stroking it gently.
"When I worry about the way our relationship might be perceived, I don't worry about my persona," she said thickly. "I worry about you. I don't care what they think of me. I have enough of a dynastic name, enough power, to spit in the face of critics, but you don't have that. And it hurts me, down to the bone, that because of insane social constructs, or ridiculous conceptions of decency and honor and class, to think that anyone would think you aren't good enough for me."
She hunched forward to kiss the top of his head.
"I worry about you, Han," she whispered again. "Not me. Not my parents."
"Hmm," he hummed, tugging on her leg gently. "Don't worry about me," he said gruffly.
He reached for her, pulling her back down with him, and moved closer, sliding his arms around her tightly.
"Oh, I can't help it," she breathed out painfully, burying her face in his shoulder.
He ran his hand through her hair, breathing her in.
"Why were you thinking about my parents' approval?" Leia murmured in his ear.
Han shrugged.
"'Cause," he said hoarsely. "I dunno. 'Cause all of a sudden I needed it," he mumbled. "I'd want 'em to like me. Don't want people to think less of you 'cause of...me."
"Don't think less of yourself," she whispered, touching her forehead to his, and her hands to either side of his face. She caught her tongue between her teeth earnestly. "Don't you know how careful I am with men?" she asked in a small, vulnerable voice. "Don't you understand what kind of man you'd have to be for me to, for me to," she faltered, trying to find a way to phrase it.
Surrender wasn't a good word; she wasn't one to imply she gave away any part of herself to another person. She viewed it more as sharing, rather than losing something, so to speak. She stopped trying to find something to say, and kissed him instead, long and slow and sweet, holding herself against him as much as he was holding her.
"I need you," she whispered, words tumbling against his lips, quiet and impassioned. "I need you calling me sweetheart and tangling your hands in my hair and touching me, when I'm asleep, when I'm awake, when you're inside me," she paused, swallowing hard. "You don't break down walls like mine when you're ordinary," she managed to tell him, her voice thick as molasses, fraught with emotion. "You don't get me unless you're good enough."
Han moved his hands up to touch her face, too, tracing her jaw line, then running a thumb over her lips and her cheek to brush away errant tears.
"Leia," he murmured. "I love you."
Her expression broke, her brows knitting hard, her nose wrinkling, and she gave a soft, quiet sob, shaking her head. What was this now, the seventh, tenth time he'd said it? And still nothing from her - it was like she forgot how to speak, and she couldn't understand why touch was so easy, and words were so hard.
"I can't say it," she burst out tensely. "I don't know why I can't say it, Han. I can't - "
He shook his head, moving closer, kissing her neck and her shoulders, drawing her into a tight embrace.
"Doesn't matter," he mumbled, lips against her skin. "I know."
He kept mumbling that, against her throat, against her breasts, her sternum - all over her skin: I know, I know, I know. She held on to him tightly, emotions running high - she ached for him, and the peace he gave her, and it settled her heart even more, somehow, that he twisted himself in knots pondering what sort of impression he might make on her mother and father - it told her everything she needed to know, but then, she'd known already that Han was inimitable among men, worthy - the grace to bring her through the toils and snares.
"Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come;
'Tis grace has brought me safe thus far
And grace will lead me home."
-Amazing Grace
- alexandra
story #383