The meeting with their Alliance contact had gone much more successfully than she'd initially hoped for: she'd gotten all the information that they'd come for plus more.
He was wealthy, sympathetic to the Rebel's cause, and had many contacts high up in the Imperial government — he'd been passing along information to the Alliance for years — and this time had even included a substantial donation for the purchase of medical supplies, which the Rebels had been running dangerously low on.
The meeting had gone longer than planned, but that was of no concern considering all that they'd gained.
She shook his hand and slipped the data-chip with the credits loaded onto it in her pocket, leaving the meeting feeling exhilarated. These were the kind of meetings that she lived for — the successful kind — the gathering of Intel useful to the Alliance that would hopefully lead to the ultimate destruction of the Empire.
She was barely out the door when she felt a familiar presence sidle up besides her, falling into step with her even with his much longer stride.
"I guess it went well," Han said — he'd been watching from the other side of the room, ducked in a booth with a perfect vantage point of both the entrance points and the booth where she sat with their contact. His eyes constantly scanning the room for danger — there were so many in the galaxy who wished her dead — and many others who simply didn't care one way or the other, but who would turn her over to the Empire in a hot second just for the price on her head.
It was their usual setup: he was her first line of defense — she trusted him to watch her back while she had it turned. And he did not disappoint.
"It did," she turned her face up to his, a rare, unforced smile lighting up her face when she caught his eyes with hers. "It really did."
"Good," he said with an answering smile, eyes soft as he looked down at her. His hand pressed lightly — almost unconsciously — to the middle of her back as they walked down the near-empty street. It was practically a habit these days — they were so often undercover as a couple that he hardly ever even thought about it anymore — but he was thinking about it now; enjoying her rare smiles and warm proximity. He felt like it had been forever since he'd seen her even on the periphery of happy.
"Han, what time is it?" Leia asked, voice lacking the levity of moments before.
He cast a quick glance at the chrono strapped to his wrist, "almost 2200, why?"
They really had been in the bar for longer than anticipated. The suspiciously deserted streets were suddenly making a whole lot more sense.
"Oh," he said, realizing.
"Yeah," she agreed, casting her gaze about furtively as they picked up their speed from a leisurely stroll to a more brisk walk. They were at least thirty minutes from the Falcon… They were never going to make it in time, and they both knew it.
"There," Leia said, pointing at a neon sign about a block up ahead. "We can stop for the night, head out first thing in the morning."
She suppressed a grimace at the sight of the crumbling exterior walls and uncleaned windows as they drew closer. They didn't have time to be choosy — curfew was literally just moments away, and they couldn't afford to be caught out in it. She couldn't even imagine the look on Mon Mothma's face if they made it this far — successfully gathering intelligence and avoiding Imperials — only to be arrested over a simple curfew. They really should have been watching the time.
Where Leia was all tact and diplomacy, showing no outward emotions either way regarding the building that calling a motel would be charitable — Han let out an audible, disgusted groan at the sight of it.
"It's the only option," she said quietly, as she pushed the door open and walked into the small reception area, Han right behind her.
"I know." He said.
She tried not to notice the peeling paint, and dirty floors — the cut flowers sitting in a vase in the corner, long past wilted.
"Ya'll from outta town?" Asked a man from behind the counter, eyes never once touching on Han — instead deliberately eying Leia up and down. She was covered from neck-to-toe, hardly an inch of skin showing anywhere, but it didn't stop her from wishing she'd worn another layer. "You're just barely makin' curfew."
"Yes," Leia replied pleasantly, outwardly ignoring his leer in a way that Han — his hand having moved up her back to rest obviously on her shoulder — was apparently unable to do. "We completely lost track of time, and were lucky enough to spot your establishment right in the nick of time."
"Yeah," Han agreed in word though not in tone, "lucky."
"Sorry to say but I've only got one room left for you an'your… brother here," he said, and he did sound sorry about that. "Always seem to fill up right before curfew time, ya know. Lots'a off-worlder's seemin' to forget about it till the very last minute."
Leia pressed her lips together, pushing down a surge of annoyance. "Oh," she said, forcing a pleasant smile that to Han looked pained, but that was still capable of knocking a man who didn't know her to his knees (hell, almost knocked Han to his knees). "Han's not my brother," she said with a laugh, "he's my husband. In fact, we're on our honeymoon."
Han wasn't sure exactly why she said it, but he was definitely enjoying the half shocked, half angry look on the man's face. "We'll take the room," he said, giving Leia's shoulder a light squeeze.
They paid with a pre-loaded credit chip, and the guy handed them their room key gloomily, wishing them a good night.
"What was that back there, Princess?" Han asked her a few minutes later, more curious than anything else, when the door of their room closed behind them with a click. "People make assumptions about us all the time, and it don't usually upset you."
"It's different," was all she said, eying the room. It was somewhat cleaner than she'd expected — not exactly clean, but not quite dirty either. Dingy was probably an adequate term. There was an ancient green recliner in one corner, it's uncomfortable looking vinyl torn open in several places, revealing the flattened, discolored cotton of it's innards.
She noted, like the man had implied, there was only one bed.
"How's it different?" He asked, sensing that there was something there but not quite sure yet what.
"You're right," she said, "people make assumptions about us and the state of our relationship," whatever it is, she thought, "but they're generally well-meaning, if occasionally annoying… This is different because he didn't actually believe you were my brother, Han. You had your hand clearly on my shoulder, but he was still being deliberately dense and creepy."
"I actually thought you'd be mad I did that. You weren't so happy when I did that with Prynton Valnor." He pointed out, as if the two situations were even comparable.
She rolled her eyes, recalling their heated argument after the incident in question easily. "Its a situational thing, Han. That was different — Prynton is a tenuous Alliance contact who happens to be a flirt. I'm not going to be rude to him just because youdon't like him — and besides, I'm allowed to flirt with other men."
Han's eyebrows shot up practically all the way to his hairline — a smirk lightly touching his lips — as he watched Leia's eyes squeeze shut in embarrassment, cheeks tinged pink, as she realized the implications of what she'd said.
"Oh yeah?" He teased her, amused. "You been flirtin' with me?"
She opened her eyes to affix him with the best withering stare she could manage, "That is not—" she started then stopped. "I would hardly call that—" she sighed, rolling her eyes. "You know what I mean, Han," she said, annoyed with herself for being so visibly flustered, and annoyed with him for so clearly enjoying it.
"What would you call it, sweetheart?" He asked with a smirk still firmly attached to his face. Yes, he was definitely enjoying this far too much.
"Whatever." She said finally, giving up, as she plopped down at the foot of the bed. She'd clearly lost control of whatever the point was in this conversation — and she recognized this as a moment where wisdom meant remaining silent. Because there was no argument to be made here, was there?
There were only two options: the obvious lie, or simple silence. She'd painted herself into a verbal corner, and she knew he knew it.
She watched in silence as he sat down in the tattered recliner, the smirk on his face had receded into something much worse — softer — a light, genuine smile replacing it as he regarded her. He was so real sometimes that it physically hurt her to look at him.
"Mind if I take the first shower," he asked after a long moment, breaking the silence; sensing that maybe she wanted to be alone for a minute — worried that he might have made her uncomfortable with his teasing.
"No, go on ahead." She said with an airy, diplomatic wave of her hand, slipping off her shoes and scooting up to the headboard. She crossed her legs underneath her and pulled the datapad out of her bag.
The door shut behind him with a soft click, and she focused all her mental energy on the screen in front of her — on typing out the beginnings of a report of their trip. Studiously not thinking about the fact that Han Solo was taking his clothes off barely fifteen feet from where she sat: curled up on a hotel bed trillions of miles away from the Rebel base, as alone with him as she could possibly be. The knowledge that there was only one bed was a constant presence in the back of her mind, refusing to let go.
She bit her lower lip, eyes fixed on the disgusting chair Han had been in only moments before — her mind wandering.
There was something about Han and the way he constantly buzzed with energy — whether it be sexual, or nervous, or angry — seeming to exude life and light, burning hot with it — that reminded her she was alive. That made her glad to be alive. Standing next to Han was like standing next to a sun: he warmed the air around her, heating up her soul — she could feel herself thawing inch by inch, the feeling slowly creeping back into her bones.
It was becoming harder and harder to wrap herself back up inside the blanket of emotionlessness she'd become so accustomed to these last few years — and sometimes she missed that numbness — almost needed it, just to get through the day. But other times, like right now, she was grateful.
Even when it made her feel guilty, she still relished the occasional moments where she was actually able to feel something other than crushing despair, and limitless pain. Like right now — when the main thought occupying her brain was how angry she was with Han. Not for anything he'd said or done, but because of how much she wanted him. She could be mad at him for that, right?
Since the moment she'd watched Alderaan burn, she expected never be able to feel anything other than pain again. This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to be able to feel like this. Sometimes, she wasn't even sure she should be allowed to.
Despite what those around her may have thought, she wasn't in denial. She knew exactly how she felt about Han Solo — she just wasn't sure that those feelings would lead anywhere except more pain.
Well, first pleasure, she was sure, but then pain.
She sighed — frustrated at herself for her lack of mental focus, wishing she could pay attention to her work and stop daydreaming about Han Solo for more than two minutes strung together — she stared at the mostly blank report in front of her; Captain Solo and I landed at approximately 0900 hours, was all she'd written — her fingers hovered over the keypad. She couldn't think… not about the damned report, anyway.
She clicked the power button with more force than probably strictly necessary, tossing the datapad face-down on the bed with the type of huff she'd been prone to as a child, and really, had never quite grown out of.
She pulled her legs up, wrapping her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees — eyes fixed once again on that single, small recliner in the corner of the room. Much too small for either of them to sleep in comfortably, she knew.
She tried not to think about it.
She could hear the water in the shower cut off, and the sound of metal curtain rings being pushed loudly to the side.
She sighed, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her fingers into her temples, trying not to imagine the scene taking place on the other side of the wall — she wasn't sure she had the emotional or physical energy for this right now. The near-constant suppression of her feelings for him was getting so tiresome.
She opened her eyes when she heard the refresher door open, a cloud of Han scented steam following him back into the small bedroom. He was wearing boxers and an undershirt, and frankly, she'd seen him in less — once or twice, during the occasional dip in a pool or hot-tub when they had time to spare when away on Alliance business; but still, it took a conscious effort to not think about how unfairly attractive he was — all the time really, but especially at the moment.
"Showers free," Han said unnecessarily, eyes unreadable as he regarded her, nodding his head towards the open doorway.
"Yeah, thanks." She said, sliding by Han and into the fresher — leaning against the closed door behind her with a deep exhale.
She knew she was making this a much bigger deal in her head than it actually was, and she wasn't really sure why.
It wouldn't exactly be the first time they'd shared a sleeping space. They'd huddled for warmth overnight in ditches and tents, and once, when survival had demanded it, had even shared a sleeping bag; and they'd easily stayed in half a dozen hotel rooms that didn't also supply a sofa — and rather than invite unnecessary attention to themselves by asking for a cot, they had opted instead to divide the bed. Always starting the night with a thick, invisible wall separating them, as they stuck consciously to their respective sides — but reaching towards each other sometime in the night — eventually waking up in some disgustingly adorable position that they never spoke of again.
They'd done this so many times that they almost had a routine, so really, it shouldn't have been a big deal at all… except that the space between them had grown considerably warmer recently — considerably smaller.
She could feel them moving — slowly but surely — infinitesimally closer to one another by the day.
She loved it.
She hated it.
She didn't understand it.
And deep down she knew, she definitely wasn't ready for it.
And because of that, for weeks now she'd been carefully avoiding him when she felt she could get away with it — when it wouldn't arouse suspicion. Still though, she knew Han had caught on. This trip was the first time they'd exchanged more than a handful of words to one another in what felt like ages; there was no way he hadn't noticed — he wasn't an idiot, no matter what he liked to pretend.
She just… felt like she didn't know how to be around him anymore. The more she wanted to be near him — them more she craved the warmth of his presence — the more she avoided him.
She sighed, knowing he likely wouldn't let her continue with that tactic for much longer — in many ways, Han was a man of very limited patience. She was frankly surprised that he'd let her keep it up for as long as he had without demanding an explanation for her behavior.
She knew that was probably coming soon, but there was no reason that it had to be tonight.
Hoping to give Han enough time to fall asleep (and therefore avoid any awkwardness that having only one bed could cause), she spent an unnecessarily long time in the shower — enjoying the rare feeling of hot water beating against her normally freezing skin — running down her body. All the showers on Hoth were sonic, but even if they weren't, everything was so cold there that even if they'd had water showers there was no way that they would ever reach a temperature that could even be charitably called warm.
She brushed her teeth with a pre-packaged, disposable hotel toothbrush; applied cheap moisturizer to her face; and towel dried her hair until it was merely damp — braiding it in a long, loose plait over one shoulder.
She'd been in there for nearly an hour when she deemed it had likely been long enough — finally shutting off the light and opening the door a crack, peeking into the bedroom.
She breathed a quiet sigh of relief when she found the lights off, and though her eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the darkness, she could hear Han — his breathing soft and steady. Asleep.
She left her folded up day clothes next to Han's on the counter — tip-toeing silently through the bedroom and slipping between the sheets on her normal side of the bed, wearing just her white camisole and underwear.
It wasn't until a minute later — after she'd settled in, pulling the blankets up under her arms — that she realized Han wasn't asleep beside her. In fact, he wasn't beside her at all.
"Han?" She whispered in the darkness, confused.
"Yeah, princess." He said softly from across the room — it was clear from his voice that he hadn't been asleep after all.
"What are you doing over there?" She said, sitting up and squinting through the darkness in his direction. She could just barely make out his outline — he had the chair reclined as far back as it would go, but he was still mostly sitting up. The footrest was popped out, and it was clearly much too short for him — his legs were crossed over one another, and dangled ridiculously over the edge.
"Tryin' to get some sleep?" He said like it was a totally ridiculous question — as though it were obvious.
She sighed, rolling her eyes to herself. She supposed she appreciated the thoughtfulness of the gesture… but really? "Han, don't be stupid, there's enough room over here for both of us."
There was a long silence where she felt his eyes appraising her even in the darkness. "Didn't wanna crowd you," he said with a shrug.
"You won't."
"You're sure?"
"Yes, Han." What was with him tonight, anyway? She never would have thought she would have to beg to get him into a bed with her, but yet here they were.
She could sense his skepticism hanging heavy in the silence, but still she heard the recliner protest loudly as he pushed the footrest back down and stood up.
She scooted over a fraction — assuring that she was completely on her half of the bed — before Han lifted the covers and slipped between the sheets next to her.
She lay stiffly on her back, arms crossed over her front, eyes staring unseeing up in the dark. After a minute Han rolled over onto his side, facing her — and a not-unpleasant tingle worked its way up her neck at the feeling of his eyes on her.
She could feel him, almost, in the silence — gearing up to speak. Sorting out what he wanted to say in his head. Not something he was typically prone to doing except when he was worried about something — usually it was when he was trying to work her out, make sense of something she'd said or done. Figure out how he'd upset her. She held her breath — waiting.
"You know I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable before, right?" He asked finally, remorsefully, "I was just teasin' you."
She exhaled the breath she'd been holding. "You didn't," she said honestly, still facing the ceiling, "not really."
"You mad at me for somethin'?" He asked, voice suddenly tired — like he was waiting for an argument that he was too exhausted to wage.
"No!" She said, but it was too quick — too loud to be really believable. "No," she repeated in a whisper, "I'm not mad at you, Han."
"You sure, Leia?" He asked quietly, seriously, "…I don't just mean about tonight. You've been… different lately. Avoiding me. Why?"
Her fingers toyed with the end of her braid, and she felt her heart catch in her throat. She opened and closed her mouth several times soundlessly. She wasn't sure she knew how to answer that. What did he want her to say?
His hand brushed lightly — softly — against her bare shoulder, "would you look at me, please?"
She nodded, before taking a deep, steadying breath, then rolling over onto her side — his face only inches from hers, their eyes meeting in the dark.
"You wanna tell me what's been goin' on with you, Leia?"
She let out a strangled, nervous laugh — a slightly hysterical edge to it. "Gods, even I don't know, Han."
"Yeah you do," he said quietly, "I think you do."
"I—" she felt the words stick in her throat, and a surge of annoyance rose up at herself. She was Leia kriffing Organa, and that was not someone who was prone to being lost for words; she usually had what some might consider too many words. She'd given speeches that had stirred nations, and she'd rallied the troops on the eve of battle — inspiring them to once again pick up their courage and fight for the cause — to die for it, if need be.
Where was her voice now? Where was that courage now? She'd faced down Vader and Tarkin, unwavering in her convictions, and verbally spat in their faces — but she couldn't open her mouth and tell Han Solo how she felt? What was wrong with her?
What was wrong with her that she could hate with the burning passion of a thousand suns, but couldn't tell a simple man that she cared about him? Was she really so broken?
"I don't—" she breathed out a frustrated huff — this shouldn't be so difficult. Why was this so difficult?
She saw in the darkness of Han's eyes something very much like understanding, before he reached out a tentative hand and brushed a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, then rested it fully against her cheek, lighting her insides on fire — her heart beating double time. She let out a shuddering breath when she felt his thumb begin drawing a delicate pattern against the side of her face with so much tenderness it could make a person cry.
She covered Han's hand with hers, lacing their fingers together against her cheek. Gods, what were they doing?
What was she doing?
"I don't know—" she took a deep, fortifying breath, "…how to do this," she admitted finally.
"You don't know how to do what, Leia?" He breathed.
"This," she said, her free hand indicating the space between them. "I don't know how to… be around you anymore."
"Be the same as you've always been."
"I'm not the same I've always been," she said, "I feel like… like I've been sleepwalking since Alderaan, and I'm just now starting to wake up."
"Sweetheart," he said quietly, "nothing has to change just because you're awake."
"I think they've already changed," she admitted softly, but with conviction.
In fact, she knew that they had. She wasn't sure what she was doing exactly, or even where this was going. But she'd woken up weeks ago, suddenly certain that Han Solo was integral to her survival, and she wasn't about to let him slip away.
"C'mere," he whispered, raising his arm up — offering her a soft place to settle.
She rolled over, accepting, placing her hand gently on his torso, resting her head softly against his chest. His heart beat loud, strong and fast in her ear. He brought his arm up around her shoulders, giving her a comforting squeeze, before his hand fell to the back of her head, fingers brushing lightly through the hair against her scalp.
She let out a shuddering breath at the feelings he evoked within her — a need for him that seemed to thrum throughout her entire body. She wanted things with Han that she'd barely ever given a passing thought to before. She'd been so young before the destruction of Alderaan — and almost every day since then, it was a battle just to get through the day.
Even now, though she felt that fog of numbness being slowly melted away, it still wasn't entirely gone. She bit her lower lip, trying to hold back words that threatened to spill out — words begging him to touch her, to make her feel something — words she would likely regret.
She didn't really think she was ready yet for more than this.
"Look," he said quietly, his words echoing in his chest, against her ear, "nothin' has to change right now, Leia. The only difference is that we aren't pretendin' that we don't know what's happening here... I'm here," he said, "I'm gonna be here when you're ready."
"But you're leaving," she whispered sadly. It was a fight they'd more times than she could count, and she didn't particularly feel like rehashing it tonight.
"I'm going to come back," he said. "You know I'll do everything I can to come back."
"I know," she said quietly. She did know — knew he would do anything within his power to return to her. But that didn't ease the worry she felt in the pit of her stomach every time she was confronted with his inevitable departure. There were forces beyond his control — beyond either of their control — that she knew wouldn't hesitate to drag him away from her. Against both of their wills.
"Get some sleep, sweetheart," he whispered into her hair, dropping a kiss against her forehead. "Been a long couple a days."
"Yeah," she said softly, her eyes fixed on the whiteness of her fingers, contrasting against the darkness of his undershirt. She'd used to think of them like that — contrasting opposites — but she knew so much better now.
"Goodnight, Han," she whispered, and he pulled her just a little bit closer — a little bit tighter in response.
"Sweet dreams, princess." He said, the words rumbling low in his chest, vibrating against her ear — and when the vibrations died away she was left with just the sound of his heart, beating steadily against her cheek. A rhythmic lullaby that sang her to sleep. A song of perseverance, and strength. Of comfort, and so much love it could wreck a person. Reminding her how much she still had to live for; and how good it could feel to be alive.