This story is a work of fan-fiction. Star Wars and its related characters were conceived by George Lucas and are now owned by Disney. I don't own any of this.

My thanks to my husband for beta-reading this one for me. However, we are new to the rather extensive extended Star Wars universe so if you see something that's wrong in canon or could be better explained using the EU, please drop me a line.

I'm not sure if this is a one-shot or not, so I'm keeping this open for now.

Thanks for reading!

Dear Han,

I always knew this would happen one day. It's not like you ever tried to hide it. Every time our conversation drifted toward the future, you'd always mention it.

"I have a price on my head. I have to go back."

I tried giving you money, limited though my funds are. You refused to take it, knowing that nearly all of my finances fund the Rebellion. I offered to go with you to Tatooine to plead for your life. You refused; no woman of yours would ever grovel before Jabba, you said. So I begged you to turn a blind eye to your troubles and stay with me. And now you literally are blind, frozen in carbonite, forced to deal with Jabba on the Hutt's terms.

How can I live with that? Did I cause your suffering?

You stupid nerfherder! Why didn't you take your reward money to Jabba after the ceremony on Yavin 4? I know, you probably lost everything to loose women, sabacc tournaments, repairs on the Falcon. Anything is possible. It doesn't really matter now. Luke says that you were robbed, but how he would know that, I have no idea. You seem more comfortable letting your guard down and admitting such things to him than me. Sometimes, I think Luke is the only thing that binds us together; without him nearly dying on Hoth, you never would have been there to get me out when the stormtroopers landed.

I owe you my life.

It's hard to keep writing but I have to move forward. I want to lay my head down on your pillow and inhale your scent and cry until I can't breathe, can't think, can't remember. I keep hearing the terrible sound of the freezing chamber lowering into place, seeing the desperate but hopeful look on your face as the crystals bit into your exposed flesh, smelling the awful stench of carbonite vapor. You looked at me the entire time. Looked at me to do something to save you and all I could manage was to cling desperately to Chewie while trying not to cry.

I'm crying now.

I'm not giving up, Han. You need to know that. I've been reading up on carbonite transport, Flyboy. You should be fine as long as no one tampers with the environmental control settings, should be fine unless Boba Fett crashes or drops you off someplace untoward, should be fine if we can get to you before Jabba thaws you out. Hibernation sickness will weaken you, but you should be alive at the end.

But that is one too many shoulds and now my fears are spiraling in a panic like the debris field around a collapsing star.

What if you are already dead?

I can't bear the thought. Wrapping myself tighter in your quilt, I distract myself with the thought that a scoundrel like you actually cared enough about bed linens to choose something this soft and cozy. What else don't I know about you? The Millennium Falcon contains a lifetime of your secrets and I've often wished that I had an opportunity to creep through the crevices of this ship to satisfy my curiosity and discover just what makes you tick.

Now that I have the time - all of the time in the world, it seems - I can't bring myself to snoop through your belongings. Part of the thrill, I am late to realize, was the fear that you would catch me and I would have to justify my actions. Now that there's no chance of you finding me out, I no longer have the desire to spy. You would understand if I sought you out now, because my reasons have changed. I want to belong to you. I'm no longer seeking blackmail fodder to support our numerous volatile fights. I'm searching for you, for your essence, for something to get me through this wrenching pain of separation.

With these four words, I could explain it all: I've missed you, Han.

Upon hearing my confession, you would smile that lopsided grin of yours and your eyes would widen just enough to allow me to slip inside and catch an unguarded glimpse of your soul.

Oh, gods, Han, I miss you so much.

No words can describe this aching sense of loss. Chewie feels it too - I can hear him howling mournfully from his bunk - but I don't know how to comfort him either. Somehow, that only makes it worse.

I don't know how we'll live through this, but we have to. I cling to the thought that one day we will be reunited.

I love you,

Leia

Finger hovering over the delete key, Leia debated whether to keep the journal entry. For now, the princess decided. For now.