Disclaimer: All George's.
A/N: A little drabble, Leia PoV, pre-RotJ.
She doesn't cry.
She hasn't cried in months, since the small (though public) breakdown at the rendezvous point
Instead she settles down into his bed abroad the Falcon and pulls the blanket, which she has never known to smell like anything other than a blanket, up to her chin (the Falcon's heating system has been on the fritz on Chewie hasn't had time to fix it yet).
According to Luke, they'll have reached Tatooine by the time she wakes up. She buries her head in the pillow, which does not smell like his after-shave, and sleeps.
She dreams.
She dreams of Alderaan, in waves of luminous rock that floated in beautiful designs before her tearing eyes. She dreams of her father, kissing her brow, promising to see her once she returned. She dreams of Vader, the hiss of mechanical breathing that cuts through the drug induced haze like sleep; the taste copper on her tongue.
She dreams of Han, wrapped in darkness and pain and eternity and her heart breaks at the thought of him trapped in state of constant of suspension. Left to wait (she vividly remembers his distaste for waiting).
She dreams of her failures and wakes wishing she could cry instead.
End