Title: Sine Qua Non
Author: Megara79
Series: Star Wars
Rating: T
Summary: Leia grieves.
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Thanks to: Mary S for being the perfect beta! And to Michele, for the encouragement.
A/N: My first Star Wars fic. Oh lordy! In case there are anyone who still remains in the dark, be warned that this fic contains spoilers for The Force Awakens. Also, the title is a homage to Battlestar Galactica's Roslin and Adama. It loosly translates to 'Without Which There is Nothing.'
Leia feels it immediately.
It's like a vice, tightening around her heart, ripping into her with talons forged of iron. The pain in her chest is excruciating. It swells, the expanse of her ribcage too small to contain the viciousness of the storm raging within her. The ache bites into her flesh. It invades her veins and slithers through her body, hot and cold in equal measures.
A stifled sob escapes her, quiet in its agonising despair, and her eyes close of their own volition. She turns away from the general melee of the room, clutching at the edge of the control station she's standing behind.
She's not a jedi like her brother, or their father before him. The choice has been of her own making, her mind, she suspects, not suited for the inherent solitude that comes with giving yourself to the force completely. But the power has lingered within her all the same. Leia has taken comfort in it and looked upon its presence like an old friend. It's called to her, guided her, and whispered her name with respect and reverence her entire life.
And when Han dies at the hand of their son, it tells her of that too.
In that moment, she hates the force with all her might.
Hates the light.
Hates the dark.
And heaven forgive her, hates her son.
"General Organa, is everything alright?"
Leia waves away the concern of the operations officer who has approached her. The young woman lingers. She's too respectful to push, but the General is imperative to the Resistance and her well-being is in question. She hovers, her uncertainty irritating, and Leia snaps at her.
"I'm fine!"
The words are harsher than intended but they have the desired effect. The girl nods, eyes wide at the reproach, but she's a soldier and though unconvinced, falls in line and returns to her station without further argument.
Leia closes her eyes again, allows herself a brief second of solitude, then straightens. She pushes the pain away and boxes her feelings aside, much like she's always done. She's a pragmatist after all and her grief, at present, is inconsequential. She has a job to do, people who depend on her, and the war does not pause to pity those left behind.
She presides over the fleet and issues her orders with efficiency and precision. She's calculating and stead fast. She signs reports and strategises with those with whom she shares the burden of command. She doesn't lose sight of their cause, and never wavers. By the time the battle ends victorious and news of Han's death reaches the rest of the Resistance, Leia's exhausted. Tired of keeping up appearances, and pretending that the loss of her husband has little meaning as long as the tactical advantage is theirs. She ignores numerous looks of sympathy, and refuses to acknowledge those that are brave enough to offer their condolences.
In the end, it's a droid – a machine supposedly incapable of feeling – that knows exactly what she needs. "Princess, maybe you should retire? Only for a couple of hours, so you can catch up on...," he pauses, searching his memory anagrams for the right words. "To catch up on your paperwork?" He stares at her, his head cocked to the side, and she wonders if it's all in her fraught mind, or if there's genuine concern and sadness in his metallic eyes.
For a split second her appearances fall, and it all filters through – the anger, her grief, the panic that has hovered under the surface since the day they lost Ben. She knows that C-3PO can't decipher her facial expressions, but it doesn't matter. If she breaks now, here, she doubts she'll survive it.
"I think I will. Thank you, Threepio," she says, biting the inside of her lip. Not here, not here, not here! She leaves as quickly as her dignity allows her, and curses herself at the same time. For always having to be the general. For never being able to show an ounce of vulnerability to anyone.
Anyone but Han.
The splintering sense of loss threatens to overwhelm her completely. It cuts at her insides, grating her heart into bleeding pieces, and she begins to panic. Just as she's about to scream, a small mercy finds her – the faint tendrils of her brother's love rippling at the edges of the force, soothing and calm in its own sorrowful ways.
He knows too then.
Leia accepts the comfort Luke offers, if only for a brief while. The respite is short lived and soon turns hollow when she remembers that like all the prominent men in her life, he's no longer with her. Bitterness creeps up on her. It's not an emotion she's used to, but she relishes the sensation, and she silently rages at him. Tells him to keep his damn sympathy to himself. Yells at him for fleeing like a coward when she needed him the most.
When the devastation of losing Ben became too much for her and Han to handle.
Han...
She cuts off the mental link to her brother with a ferocity that is sure to leave him with a migraine for days.
Escaping to her quarters, she closes the door behind her, away from prying eyes and stifling responsibilities. The pressure in her chest keeps building, and she's struggling to breathe. She wraps her arms around her middle, a keening sound she barely recognises as her own, filling the room. She sinks to the floor, unable to keep herself upright, and stays there until the panic recedes and her knees start to hurt.
She feels drained when she finaly moves, her back and hips protesting wildly as she gingerly tries to stand. There are a million things she should be doing, but all she wants is to fall asleep and not wake up until the war has ended and the gaping hole in her heart has started to heal.
She wonders if it ever will.
Stumbling over to her bunk, Leia lays down. As soon as she closes her eyes, memories of the previous night flood her mind, the unforgiving onslaught impossible to stop. She quietly begs for a do-over. She wants the past 24 hours wiped clean. Surely the Universe can grant her this favour?
Don't the powers that be owe her? Hasn't she sacrificed enough? Hasn't she suffered enough?
The Universe doesn't answer, and the seconds tick by without respite.
She grabs Han's pillow, hugs it to her, and inhales the faint traces of his scent that still linger on the cover. She can almost feel his hands skimming down her back, the way they've done so many times before, and the way they did last night. Gentle fingers trailing over her ribs, and ghosting across her abdomen.
The feel of him inside her, familiar yet novel, after so many years apart.
She tries to choke back the wave of guilt that erupts within her but is powerless in its wake, and regret flows through her like molten lava. It's a feeling she's become intimately familiar with throughout the years. A living, pulsating organism that has become such an intricate part of her, that she hardly remembers who she was before it took hold of her.
She should never have sent Ben away in the first place. She should have paid more attention and not dismissed his questions and interest in the dark side as mere curiosity. She never saw his fall coming, and even after it happened, a small part of her still believed that he could be redeemed. Where was her damned force-sensitivity then?
Han had seen it. He'd recognised Ben's obsession for what it was.
And she had refused to listen.
'I never blamed you.'
'You should have.'
Ben's fall had wrecked her relationship with Han in a way she'd never thought possible. The agony of losing their son in such a heinous manner flared to life all too easily, twisting kind words into snide remarks and turning amiable conversations into bitter exchanges. They grew distant, unable to take comfort in each other in the midst of the terror that Ben had unleashed.
The first few years are just a haze to her now. They blur together in a torrent of cruel words, vicious accusations, and a bottomless ache that culminated in her and Han's separation. The love that once bound them so tightly together had become brittle and only seemed to serve them when they were apart. With Leia in charge of the Resistance, and Han back to his smuggling ways, they still bumped into each other periodically. It rarely ended well. He'd avoid her when she wanted to talk, and infuriated her with his refusal to speak about Ben. She'd pursue the matter until he snapped and unleashed all his hurt and fury onto her. She missed him and the life they'd once shared, and yet could never bring herself to tell him. Eventually, their fights and arguments would chase him away again, and he'd leave her feeling hollowed out and a little more broken than before.
That had all, inexplicably, changed in the midst of the rubble that had been Maz Katana's home.
She'd found him in between pulverised stone and charred bodies, haggard looking and battle worn, yet brimming with the same energy and inappropriate exhilaration that impossible odds and being outnumbered always brought forth in him. If he favoured his right leg, she was probably the only one who noticed. If he winced as he turned to bark an order at someone, he could easily convince her it was due to a trick of light.
When his eyes locked with hers, she felt as if someone had punched her in the gut.
Instead of the sense of forboding and weariness she'd become used to, she could see his shoulders relaxing, his entire posture radiating relief and something akin to longing in the ever-changing colour of his eyes.
It had taken her with such surprise, she hardly noticed they were standing in the middle of a battle field. The mere sight of him mesmerized her, a long-gone peace unexpectedly settling within her. After years of feeling like the world had been knocked askew, the ground seemed to realign itself right under her feet. She had no explanation for it, but as she stood there, looking at him, the dying embers of her charred soul ignited with a blaze and coaxed her withered heart right along with it.
For the first time in years, they'd been able to speak to each other without hurling accusations and assigning blame. Ben's presence on Takodan, however brief, had shaken them both, but instead of driving a deeper wedge in between them, it seemed to be the fuel their reunion needed. By the time Han left for Starkiller base, Leia knew without question that she and her husband had reconciled.
On the bed, Leia hugs the pillow even tighter. She curses the treacherous tear that slowly trickles down her cheek, retracing the steps of unforgiving predecessors. She imagines Han's coarse thumb stroking across her cheek, chapped lips following as he kisses the spot. His mouth finding hers, years of separation disappearing with each loving caress. Words of adoration whispered in her ear, countless apologies written on her skin and murmured back to him by her.
'I never stopped loving you.'
'I never should have left.'
She touches her cheek. The tear is still there and her room empty. Her mind and memories are poor substitutes, and do nothing to fill the gaping hole in her heart. It's only been a day, but an eternity has passed and now she has to face the rest of her life without him. Something she'd thought their separation had prepared her for.
Something Takodana changed.
Another tear slides down her cheek.
And another.
And another.
She curls into a fetal position, the pillow clasped against her chest, and weeps for her shattered family and for her broken heart.
That is when she feels it.
The force ripples, much like it did when Luke's conciousness touched hers. The reverberations are familiar and foreign at the same time. The tendril is weak and hesitant. Unsure if it's welcomed, if it should be there in the first place. It carefully seeks her out, its conflict staggering. It touches her for the briefest of seconds, and Leia's heart feels like it's going to stop. An explosive fury erupts within her and threatens to overwhelm her completely. She fights it with all her might, clawing back her anger and grief before it can chase that achingly familiar tendril away. He's changed, drastically and not for the better, but an inherent part of him is still hers and that's the part that is reaching out to her. That's the part that mourns right along with her. Doubt wars within her, love and hate in equal measure, but through it all a sliver of hope breaks through her heartache, and whispers that maybe everything isn't lost after all. That the staggering guilt and desperation he floods her with means that there's still hope, not just for the New Republic but for herself and for what's left of her family.
That her son truly means it when he begs her, 'Please forgive me.'
The end