a/n: this is another sort of interlude story. it lacks one of my usual introductions to the 'core' stories of the Identity 'verse because it really isn't one. at the heart, it's a continuation of Casualty that i didn't think deserved to be confined to imagination. so, as a reminder: Casualty took place throughout 7 ABY, and ended (epilogues) during the New Year's Festival Week that opened 8 ABY. therefore, remember that in this story, we're still in 7 ABY, trudging slowly towards the Haven opening.
Part One
7 ABY
Time - a concept that was damning and comforting all at once. Whether it be that there was too much time, or too little time, and whether it be a matter of the wrong time, or the perfect time, it was a thing indescribable in its necessity and its relativity, a thing reliable, and unreliable. Time was both a physical presence and an intangible idea - a construct, more often than not, that was both warden, and liberator.
Following the loss of their much-wanted baby, the acute sting of grief mellowed to a slow, dull acceptance - Han and Leia, having reached the quiet, deeply mature understanding that time was what they both needed to ease the shock and overcome the sense of throttled hopes they had both been struck with, grappled with the persistent ache of enduring it, a feeling which resembled the half-lucid, irksome muscle-ache of a mild fever or flu, something that sapped strength without inflicting the full brunt of illness.
Time was, without question, what they had needed - what they still needed - and yet it was an elusive healer, more difficult to navigate than expected - integrated into their daily lives and interactions in ways that, particularly for Leia, did not always sensitively reflect the deprived, bewildered sadness simmering in her heart.
She still found it surreal, carrying on in the workplace, in her daily life, while orienting her reality to the fact that she was no longer arranging her schedules - arranging her life - to prepare for a baby; the abrupt shift back to operating without a thought to impending motherhood was jarring; it flared up roughly, and left her - depending on the day - bitter, or pensively morose, as she tried to recapture a way of thinking that she had disposed of several months ago, when she and Han had reformed their mindsets.
Frustrating her efforts to ease back into that more youthful, babies-are-a-thing-of-the-distant-future attitude was a conflicted, small voice that kept reminding her that this one miscarriage was not the end of it all; she was young, and healthy, she and Han were - not lacking in ability, and there would be opportunity in the future - success, even - and that voice asked her not to utterly erase the maternal instincts she had started to cultivate and summon, because she would need them. As for Han, her worry over him frustrated her, too - the matter of the infection in his bone marrow hung over them heavily, provoking anxiety and uncertainty that neither of them were responding to with finesse.
The cascade of relief Leia had experienced in learning that there was nothing inhospitable about her own body still buoyed her, but was mitigated by her concern for Han's health, and her empathy over what he was likely feeling despite her reassurances that she placed no blame on him for any of this. It was a devastating turn of events, but an unpredictable one, and Leia knew that logically, Han understood that - she was also viscerally aware of how large the gap could be between logical understanding and the tempest of emotional reaction.
She knew he was still coping with the uncomfortable revelation that he'd been walking around with poison inhabiting the very fabric of his body, sleeper cells - in a grim, literal sense - biding their time. It had to be an eerie brush with mortality that Han was unaccustomed to - his other near-death experiences were more obvious, explosive and conventional - and this was - not quite near-death at all, but a lurking, internal assault that had not only inadvertently hurt the person he loved most in the world, but hung like an executioner's ax over him now while he mulled over it.
Leia had her own anxieties about Han, and they were all tangled, knotted, bothersome - more than anything, she wanted him healthy and safe; to even think about losing him was unimaginable. It hurt beyond words. She felt as if she were balancing on a tight rope, unsteadily walking the proverbial thin line. Her first instinct was to demand Han have himself treated, immediately, all else be damned, because she couldn't stand one more second of agonizing over his well-being - yet she tried to be understanding and tactful, sensitive as she was to Han's pride, and ego.
He was reeling, and she didn't want to pressure him - but she needed him to be okay - but at the same time, she did not want him to think she was careless of his wariness in her own pursuit of motherhood, because that wasn't it at all. For the most part, Leia wasn't anywhere near the realm of considering another pregnancy right now, she was still raw, and hurt -
- and part of her knew that Han saw that, and probably thought that losing his mind over his own medical scare, or barreling along into treatment, would somehow be irreverent of her. All things considered, she didn't really know what Han was thinking; he was his usual charming, cavalier self, for the most part - so attentive and concerned for her that, for once, it was irritating her more than soothing her, because she wanted him to be focusing on himself, too, and she was doing well - better than she'd expected herself to be.
The underlying tension of it all seemed to hide away and nest in their bedroom, of all places - much like it had suffered last year, when she and Han had been so out of sync in the weeks leading up to their visit to Varykino, their intimacy suffered, first from Leia's emotional response, her physical discomfort, and now - from something she wasn't quite able to put her finger on, stemming from both of them, perhaps - but significantly from him. Charming and cavalier as he was overall, he was struggling with her in bed, holding back, lacking confidence - and Leia was at a loss as to what she could do for him, stymied as she was in feeling out of place in demanding he go get treatment, but knowing, knowing that his sudden reticence about sex had to have something to do with a fear that he'd get her pregnant again, and it would hurt her.
She wanted to grab his jaw in her hand and shake him - she didn't want that to happen again either, and if that were it, then why wouldn't he schedule his treatment appointment? If that wasn't it - then what, what? Was he just afraid she was still averse?
Alone in the kitchen in their place, barefoot, and contemplative, Leia chewed her lip, her head and abdomen both aching dully - a monthly plague that she hadn't contended with, or been used to, since she was sixteen years old and had first gone to Coruscant for a Diplomatic Academy by herself. Her mother had been piercingly realistic and adamant, and had her seen by a physician and fitted with an implant without judgment or fanfare – whatever you do, Leia, be careful and safe and guard your heart, but the legitimacy of the succession is a concern - no babies out of wedlock. It was one thing Queen Breha had been strict about, and often, Leia smiled to think of how prudent her mother had been, and how wildly she had overestimated Leia's teenage love life.
The rebellion had mandated contraception, a policy that Leia had thought shrewd and, as it turned out, a saving grace when she was stranded with Han prior to Bespin. Her re-acquaintance with all of the tribulations associated with her monthly courses had been brief, ending abruptly when she conceived so quickly after having the implant removed, and now it was back, irregular and frenetic, a nuisance, and an inconvenient reminder of her miscarriage.
Leia found herself battling an unholy maelstrom of hormones - her body's attempt to reclaim the normal equilibrium, as it realized she wasn't pregnant anymore, coupled with a new, less permanent birth control that she wasn't used to - coupled still with the general presence of so many hormones at all, considering the implant had been so stabilizing - once or twice, in a silent fit of a mood swing, Leia had manically wondered how terrible she would have been during the war and the reconstruction if she hadn't had her hormones so blithely regulated.
She smirked dryly to realize that birth control may have been some inadvertent anti-depressant, and supposed she was glad it had worked, else she might have taken to drugs.
The general state of her fluctuating hormones wasn't helping her ability to dissect and understand what was - or wasn't - going on with Han, or between herself and Han. She bristled at him more frequently than usual, and felt both confusion and - unfounded - crushing guilt about it; unfounded, because Han never seemed to take it too personally, and confusion, because she couldn't pinpoint what was nettling her: was it solely grief, was it resentment of how he dragged his feet in getting treatment? There was friction, too, independently within her because she was still finding it alarming to - as she'd told Han – grieve healthily, and function.
It had been almost two months since their return from Corellia, and still navigation was tumultuous; the Media occasionally asked if she and Han were thinking about children, and that was a tug at the heart - she was absorbed, primarily, with Haven planning, and most did not know the reason behind her abrupt, two-week absence, but around those that did, she sometimes felt awkward, and subdued; she had a difficult time telling what was progress, and what was repression, because for so long in her early twenties she had confused repression with healing. She was unsure what was an appropriate level of sadness at this point, and then chastised herself for trying to quantify it in terms of right and wrong; she wanted to move on as well as Han seemed to, but she knew they didn't feel this the same way.
Mayhem, she thought vaguely, rubbing her palm against her shoulder as she stared at nothing, listening to the hum of appliances, it's quiet, emotional mayhem - she felt uneasy today, irritable; a lifestyle holo-mag had run a fun, carefree article that used software to predict what a child of hers and Han's might look like, and Leia had seen it, felt it like a knife to the gut, and for the rest of the morning battled an urge to burst into tears - only to be told in a meeting, after lunch, that one of her vice ambassadors would need maternity leave next year.
It felt like so many blows to the head, and irrational anger flared hot - she cut short her work day with polite condolences to the few audiences she'd had left and retreated from the office - not too early, so there would be no cause for gossip, but early enough to find solitude in her home. She felt mercurial, and she didn't want to take that out on Tavska, or anyone else in the office; she felt like she could breathe, and relax, at home – even if she was nursing a sad little neediness that had struck her when she walked in the door and realized Zozy wasn't there to snuggle with her. He was at the zoologist being fixed; she and Han had done some research and found that if he wasn't, he would go off wandering to find a mate in his adolescence and on Coruscant, he might get lost or hurt – so off to the zoologist he went.
Without even Zozy to distract her, she then tensed herself up again reflecting on Han, her thoughts vacillating between tender, and consternated.
Forced to boil it down to something simple, she supposed she was supremely irritated that he hadn't set his treatment appointment yet, but she didn't feel comfortable pushing him, nor did she know how to delicately address that, or their faltering sex life, without having a messy fight that targeted the wrong issues; it was all new territory, and she was, she decided, adjusting poorly to the role reversal they had undergone, which required her to coax him out of whatever funk he was in, to decipher him, and unravel him - like he always did for her.
That in itself left her nettled. It made her feel inadequate, as if she'd been unfair to Han all these years, taking and taking and taking comfort and therapy from him and never returning it if he needed it - granted, she knew Han didn't feel that way or fault her, and Han was so guarded, and skilled, at playing certain things close to the vest that she was more easily convinced he was okay - but it still perturbed her, made her chastise herself.
She had told him more than once that she was more than capable of being as much of a rock for him as he was for her -
Leia grit her teeth, quelling some flaring annoyance. It wouldn't do her any good to stand around and brood over things and work herself into a foul mood - instead, she took a breather from her thoughts, and turned to the cupboards, flinging one or two open, then shutting them - then migrating to the icebox, which she opened and peered into, uninspired, considering dinner options.
It was as if the opening of the icebox door summoned him; as if the universe was mocking her, and had to alert Han Solo that his wife was, at that moment, contemplating cooking dinner, and he had better get home and interfere if he had any interest in a satisfying meal. It wasn't that she couldn't cook, it was - that her heart wasn't in it, and her talents lingered reliably at mediocre.
She could smell Han when he walked in the door; he must have been doing something with the wiring on the Falcon. The sooty, charred scent preceded him into the kitchen, where she was still standing in font of the open icebox. The latent irritation she'd been nursing all afternoon bucked up, unbidden yet flourishing. It always nettled her slightly that she, educated and autonomous as she was, found herself so at a loss for what to do about dinner when Han wasn't cooking or she hadn't ordered something - today, it nettled her more than usual.
He threw his things down on the counter with no decorum and quite a bit of noise, and moved behind her, resting his hand on her shoulder. Kissing the back of her head, he murmured a greeting, his voice, deep and masculine, somehow thrilling her, and pissing her off at the same time. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of him - and at herself, for the volatility of her mood at the moment, and the feminine stereotype she was not interested in embodying - but turned her head and pressed a lopsided kiss to his knuckles.
Han reached past her and grabbed a beer from the door, backing up and leaning against the counter. She heard him twist the cap, toss the metal against the counter top - and his boots made a low scuffing noise as he crossed his ankles, staring at the back of her head. She sensed concern emanating off of him, and frowned - she wasn't sure why he was worried, and if he asked if she was all right, she didn't know how to explain it all that well.
"Leia," he mumbled warily, in a tone that suggested he sensed her mood. "Uh, there was...some blood on the sheets this mornin'," he ventured. "Was that - "
"I'm on my cycle, Han," Leia interrupted shortly, her expression pinched - and she gave a short, incredulous shake of her head, as her abdomen throbbed at her as if to underscore her statement.
She resisted the urge to slam the icebox door closed, rather grabbing something out of it for the sake of appearing decisive, and closing it gently as she turned around to face him, her lips compressed tightly. His shirt had a rip in the collar, and the material was singed and grimy; his jaw was lined with a dusting of hair, morning shadow that indicated he hadn't shaved today - he'd been doing that lately, and she hated it, if only because it indicated he was at odds with himself. Han was always clean-shaven; poor grooming was usually a subtle indication that he didn't have his head on straight.
"Okay," Han said slowly. "Figured," he added, attempting to sound breezy. "S'just," he went on, "you're home a little early, and - "
"I do that now," Leia muttered, her eyes flashing. "I feel off, I take a break. It's healthy," she reminded him.
Han fell silent, tilting the bottle back and forth in his grip ever so slightly. He lifted it to take a sip, studying her - the obvious point to be taken away from that statement was that she'd been feeling off, and that was what he cared about, not necessarily blood on the sheets.
Leia looked down to realize she'd grabbed a stick of wrapped butter, and grit her teeth, glaring at it moodily.
"M'just," Han started uncertainly - he didn't know how to put it.
He didn't know what was cause for concern, and what was within the realm of normal. They were past the worst of the miscarriage now, far past it - medically cleared and back to having some semblance of a sex life, though he was - sharply - aware that there was a deficiency to it that was making him more and more self-conscious by the day - but Han also had so little experience with Leia's cycle. She'd always been on something permanent that stopped it completely, and before she'd gotten pregnant, the mood swings had been kind of comical, but now he felt -
"You'd tell me if somethin' was not right, yeah?" he asked, in what he hoped was a non-confrontational tone.
Leia, who had the bursting, loud thought, immediately, that she wasn't the one ignoring an internal predator, considered throwing the butter at him -
"It's normal," she snapped, evidently trading one caustic thought for an equally caustic verbal assault, "act like you've slept with a woman before."
Han's reaction was immediate. He drew back a little, his mouth tightening. He pointed at her sharply around the neck of his ale, his eyes narrowing darkly, and fired back, without hesitation:
"Get over yourself."
He wasn't loud, and he wasn't as malicious as he probably could have been; in fact, she wasn't sure if it was a reactionary response that he blurted, or if he calculated it, and said it to remind her it wasn't fair to take shots at him when all he was doing was asking after her well-being. And she - knew that; if he didn't know what the underlying cause of her caprice was, he couldn't avoid triggering it.
She stared at him, her eyes flicking to his finger, and then down to the butter - she knew she was being temperamental, and she quieted, giving herself a moment to un-ruffle her own feathers and ease her hackles back down. She took a deep breath, and flicked her eyes back up, thinking about her next words - and then choosing to be forthright, and a little facetious.
"I want to throw this butter at you," she informed him. "My upbringing is restraining me."
"Throw it, Sweetheart," Han retorted, deadpan. "I'll write a tell-all and they can feature you on Wild Wives of the Coruscant."
She bit her lip, holding her breath for a moment - and made the conscious choice to let his joke break the tension; she smiled wryly, and lowered her hand - then snapping her wrist up abruptly and lightly throwing the butter at him, not in an offensive strike, but playfully. Han reached out, caught it deftly, and set it on the counter near his bottle cap, the tension that had flooded his face at her comment dissipating. He smirked, and shook his head, poking it, and then looking back at her with an arched brow.
"What were you thinkin' of makin' for dinner with just a stick of butter anyway, Your Highness?" he teased.
"Dinner?" Leia quoted innocently, pursing her lips. "I was looking for lube."
Han compressed his lips, obviously taken aback by the vulgar quip, but impressed nonetheless. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he studied her.
"Well," he said, scratching his chin seriously, "that'll get ya an infection."
He folded his arms, and tipped the neck of the bottle at her.
"You oughta just use spit."
Leia tilted her head, and gave him a slow smile, surrendering herself. He watched her demeanor relax, and he took a swig of the ale, nodding his head to himself in relief and falling silent. Leia folded her arms across herself, bowing her head with the smile still on her lips - she took a moment to value Han, because any number of men might have taken her handful of inflammatory comments as an opportunity to fight, or to ridicule, or to storm out, yet he just gave it back to her and stood there, stubborn and unrelenting.
She looked back up, and Han was finishing up the ale - she arched her brows a little, as he set aside the now empty bottle and ran the back of his hand over his mouth.
"Gonna ask you again," he muttered. "You okay?"
Leia sighed heavily, her arms pressing into her rib cage. She nodded curtly.
"I'm not askin' just to bug you," Han said.
"Mmhmm," she agreed under her breath, and parted her lips to give another sigh. "It is just my cycle," she said shortly, her voice softening towards the end, "which is," she lifted her hands and gestured at her head tensely, "what it is on its own, you know," she said vaguely - cramps, headaches, mood swings - Han nodded, and Leia scraped her bottom lip with her teeth, continuing: "it's also just - the worst, the worst reminder," she growled. "I shouldn't be on my cycle."
She leaned back, her spine connecting with the counter behind her. The blouse she was wearing, loose at the neck, slid off one shoulder, and her eyes drifted to her bare skin for the sake of having something to look at. She focused on it, and plucked at her elbows, feeling his eyes on her.
"I feel," she said, twitching her wrist, "trapped. Maybe...I need to get through the rest of the nine months it would have been before everything stops feeling like," she sighed, "such a slap in the face."
"We," Han offered quietly, after a moment.
She looked up and turned her head back to him.
"Yes," she amended softly. "We."
She bunched the hem of her shirt in one hand, baring a strip of skin around her hips, and kept looking at him for a long time, until he shifted a little warily - almost knowingly - and she directed her eyes upward, steeling herself.
"We," she said again, cautious, but resolved to broach the subject, "need to talk."
Han didn't miss a beat. He shifted his weight, and answered -
"Yeah."
Leia's eyes drifted back down to his. He looked rueful, and unnerved, and she faltered for a moment. She felt there was such a grey area in bringing up their intimacy issue without it sounding like an indictment of performance -
"When we have sex lately - "
Han cringed, letting out a soft, defeated groan.
"Yeah," he said again, interrupting her. "It's bad."
Leia blinked, caught off guard. Her lips turned up in a half smile.
"It isn't bad," she said honestly. "It's - "
Han grunted, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose.
"S'not good," he muttered petulantly, and Leia almost laughed - but he followed it with a sullen look, and crossed his arms defensively across his chest. "S'my fault," he said under his breath. He grit his teeth, and visibly struggled with what to say next. "Didn't mean to make that sound like...you're...unsatisfying," he fumbled.
She did laugh - gently. She lifted her shoulders with quiet understanding.
"Han, I know what it's like to feel," she paused to try and find the right phrasing, pressing her fingertips against her chest thoughtfully, "ahhh, anxious, in bed? Like something," her voice caught, "like something really ruined it for me, and I have to...get past that?" she licked her lips. "I know what that's like," she repeated.
Han watched her. She pressed her palm more fully against herself, kneading her collarbone lightly.
"And if what's going on with you is what I think it is," she went on, "you've got to take me to heart, because," she swallowed hard, "you're - holding back, and a little distant, and it doesn't make me feel very good," she said shakily, "about myself - and I know that's not the root of it - "
"'Course not," Han broke in hoarsely, panic flitting across his face. "Leia," he said desperately, his mouth dry, "you turn me on - so much it should be - criminal, I shoulda gotten over it already - married to you now'n I still can't get a break - "
"I know, I know, I know," Leia said soothingly, a pink blush creeping up her throat.
A muscle in his temple throbbed, and she pursed her lips, giving him a moment to calm down. She wouldn't normally have chosen to ambush him when he got home from work, but it had all spiraled, and why put it off now?
"You found out about the carbon toxicity and it really got to you," she said quietly. "You're - are you anxious about me accidentally," she waved her fingers, "getting pregnant? You don't want me to hurt again?"
Han dug his knuckles into his forearm, his eyes on her heavily. He gave a curt nod.
"Keeps gettin' in my head," he said gruffly - and kept resulting in a role reversal in its own right, as Leia was, true to the age-old male-female tradition, usually the one who had trouble finishing. It wasn't even that he had trouble getting there, necessarily, it was more that he'd developed an aversion being inside of her when he -
"The sheets are suffering more than usual," Leia quipped softly.
Han glared at her, cringing again.
"Kriff, Leia," he ground out in a dull whine.
She bit her lip with a sweet, apologetic smile.
"You have to take me to heart, Han," she repeated. "It wasn't your fault. You aren't going to hurt me."
He shifted, the muscles in his jaw drawn up tightly.
"You're the one who was always sayin' the month-to-month birth control ain't that reliable," he muttered.
She nodded, lowering her gaze a little - he had her there, but at the same time, it was still reliable - the difference was a few measly percentage points high in the ninetieth percentile.
"Han," she said huskily, studying his expression carefully, "if you're that torn up about this, if it's messing you up this badly - why haven't you scheduled your bacta treatment?"
She asked - and she was relieved she'd been able to get the question out without it being irritable, or sounding selfish or demanding. He was open, and more willing to talk than she had anticipated - and she suspected that on some level, he was relieved she brought it up, because it saved him from feeling like he was burdening her by pointing out a problem. She wished he'd get over himself, on that front, and remember what she said about her not having a monopoly on neurosis in this marriage.
Han reached up and scrubbed his hand across his forehead, running it down to his jaw. He looked conflicted, guilty again, and just plain wary. He shook his head and frowned, folding his arms tightly again.
"Listen, Leia," he started grudgingly. "I, uh...I know I been draggin' my feet on that," he mumbled. He glanced away from her, looking guardedly at some of the cabinets. He cleared his throat. "I was kinda...waitin' on you, I guess, 'cause I thought you might feel like I was pressurin' you if I got it done and then just...jammed it down your throat that I was ready to go," he muttered.
She pressed her lips together, listening.
"'Cept...that's not all of it," he admitted. She watched him grimace, and then he cleared his throat roughly. "Don't really want to tell you this, 'cause it makes me a pretty big son of a bitch," he said dryly, "but...thinkin' that way, like I was thinkin' about you...gave me a reason to put it off," he muttered, "'cause it doesn't sound like a hell of a lot of fun."
Leia breathed out slowly, and silently, taking his words to heart. She felt no animosity or resentment at that, just understanding; Han sounded human, like any person who looked at an invasive, probably debilitating, medical procedure, and balked - and even worse, Han felt no negative symptoms, and had nothing as abysmal as impending death driving him.
She reached up to draw her fingers through her loose hair, and then placed her palms on the counter behind her, boosting herself up on it. She brushed off her knees, and placed her hands on the edges of the counter, leaning forward to look at Han intently.
She supposed she ought to be angry with him for avoiding it because it would be unpleasant, but she'd been subjected to enough unpleasantness in her life to feel, deeply, how difficult it was to voluntarily go through it. His confession made her think of the mental gymnastics it had taken for her to reach out to her doctor in the first place, and ask if she was able to have a baby – it had felt like inviting pain she didn't really need to face.
Han scuffed his foot on the floor loudly, restless under her gaze.
"I was thinkin' about you," he said after a moment, "but about my self, too – "
"Han," she interrupted quietly.
He clamped his mouth shut, and she bit her lip, taking her own deep breath.
"Come here."
He looked up at her, his eyes narrowed, and hesitated, as if waiting for the catch. When it didn't come, he pushed away from his counter and strolled forward to her. He cocked his head, arching a brow lightly as if to say – here I am, now what?
She straightened her shoulders a little.
"I haven't – pressured you on this, because I know it…is distasteful," she said softly, "it's ugly – and I haven't wanted you to think all that matters to me is having a baby."
Han nodded, lifting his shoulders.
"It's never – been that," Leia said, her eyes stinging. "Having a baby with you is important to me, but having a baby for the sake of it isn't, and that has never changed. I haven't wanted you to think that I just need you," she laughed uncomfortably, "cleansed, for me to…use you as a breed…stallion."
Han gave her a funny look, and tilted his head to the other side.
"I know," he said, resting his hands on hers.
Her knuckles flexed under his touch.
"It has been bothering me, though, that you haven't made efforts," she admitted shakily, "because it scares me that you're still being affected by that, that, venom," she spat, and then stopped, swallowing hard. Her jaw ached as she tried to keep herself composed, and she reached for his waist, tucking her hand into his belt. "The thought of losing you is paralyzing – "
"I know, Sweetheart," he said, his shoulders falling – he hunched over, coming to rest his forearms on the counter near her, and tilting his head up to watch her speak.
"I need you to get that treatment," she whispered, "for selfish reasons, but not the ones you would think – "
"I don't think it's selfish, 'M the one bein' selfish, s'just – "
"Hard," Leia broke in, reaching up to touch his jaw lightly. She nodded – she wasn't entirely sure what it would consist of, but bacta tanks were unpleasant to begin with, and she doubted that bone marrow treatment involving bacta was much better.
He looked a little pale. He hesitated, his mouth dry, then swallowed hard –
"I don't like…thinkin' about how bad I felt after you got me out of that stuff," he said in a strained voice. "I'd rather be shot."
She nodded, her lips pursing.
His forearms still rested on the counter next to her thighs, and he remained bent at the waist, though now he bowed his head so low, it was almost in her lap. She tilted her head and watched over him, running her hands lightly through his hair.
Han pressed his forehead into her ribs, then tilted his head and kissed her sternum through her blouse, slowly lifting his head. As he did, her fingertips slid down his cheeks to his jaw, holding his face in her hands.
"It's going to be okay, Han," she soothed confidently, raising her brows.
He nodded, sliding his hands closer, pressing his knuckles gently against her hips. He nodded again.
"I know," he mumbled, for the third time. He inched a little closer, his chest pressing onto her knees and she shifted forward a little from her perch on the counter, fingers sliding into his hair again.
"Are you scared?" she asked.
Han didn't say anything. He twitched his shoulders, and Leia smiled a little to herself, biting her lip.
"Does it make you nervous?" she rephrased, humoring him – she couldn't remember a time Han had ever admitted to her that he was scared, but the most striking fear she'd ever seen in his eyes had been there when the Stormtroopers hauled him away on Bespin – fear, she understood, not of what would happen to him, but of what would happen to her.
Han nodded. He slumped down and rested his head in her lap for a moment, and she was struck by how much physical reassurance he seemed to need - and she was happy to give it. Her hands moved soothingly through his hair, and he rested there until his back started to complain about the position; then, he took a deep breath and straightened a little, eye level with her.
He gave her a sultry smile, and she pushed her forehead against his, giving a soft, long suffering sigh.
"I'm – we're – handling this, but we're moving like we're in…molasses," she whispered, her shoulders falling tiredly. "That treatment is like an…awful reminder, but we can't move on," she broke off, and Han nodded, his nose brushing hers before he pulled away a little.
He tapped his fingers on the counter, his brow furrowed.
Leia still brushed a hand through his hair – she wondered if he, too, was wary of their whole lives becoming about fertility; if the magic would be sucked out of their relationship, the heat drained out of their romance, if they let this consume them – but it wouldn't be like that. She was, despite what it meant for Han, heartened by the prognosis for them in this regard.
She had sparks of hope; even if they were simmering in the back of her mind, ready to be called on when she felt ready.
He narrowed his eyes at her thoughtfully, tilting his head back into her touch.
"How bad have I been in bed lately?" he murmured, and he said it so seriously, and so lazily, that Leia almost wasn't sure if he'd actually said it.
She gave him a little smirk, catching her tongue between her teeth.
"Han, I am a blessing and a curse to you on a nightly basis," she teased affectionately, pursing her lips when he arched a brow curiously. "Your lot in life is that you are both the best, and by default, the worst, I have ever had."
Han looked at her with an unreadable expression for a moment, and then grinned, a little colour coming into his cheeks, the light flickering back in his eyes. He shrugged charmingly.
"Takes the pressure off," he drawled.
She placed her hand on his cheek, and leaned in to press a kiss to his lips, relief running through her at how the conversation had gone – her irritation faded; her head even felt a little better, and when Han straightened up, stepped closer, and wrapped his arms around her to pull her flush against him, she felt she had re-harnessed a bit of her emotional mayhem.
As she and Han sat patiently – or, impatiently, in his case – in Dr. Mellis' office, Leia took note of the obvious parallel of the moment. The last time they had been here, it was she who paced, anxious and filled with dread, at the prospect of hearing rest results; now, Han was the restless one. She had thought he might drag his feet still, even after their honest conversation; but merely a few days later he had come home and muttered that he made the appointment he needed to for a quick consult, and a few invasive baseline tests.
Instead of pacing the office as she had, he sat stiffly – and they weren't particularly concerned about results, they knew the problem, just not the specifics of what treatment was going to entail.
That, Dr. Mellis had told them, would be guided by a detailed analysis of the samples of Han's bone marrow and spinal fluid she had taken – an analysis which was to be discussed with them in this very office today.
In one of the chairs before Dr. Mellis' desk, Han sat up straighter than usual, gingerly favoring his left hip – it was nastily bruised, and sore, from the bone marrow aspiration he'd had earlier this week.
She kept fighting the urge to offer him a pillow. Because she knew him so well, she knew how much he hated this, and would loathe any coddling or reference to it, so she allowed him to continue with his façade. Han was so notoriously disdainful of seeking medical attention for himself – Leia was never sure if it was a point of masculine pride, or if he simply did not like feeling as if he were breakable.
Deviating from the restraint she had practiced with him in this office last time, she abandoned her own chair and took a seat on his lap, admiring the look of surprise on his face with some smugness.
He encircled her waist with one of his arms and leaned forward to kiss her shoulder, pressing his teeth playfully into her sleeve and then tilting his head up. She lifted her eyebrows at him primly.
"We're in public," he informed her seriously, throwing her own words back in her face.
She nodded.
"Mmhmm," she murmured, and looked around the empty office pointedly, her eyes resting only fleetingly on the feminine paintings, and the maternal imagery – she turned back to him, lifting one shoulder. "I had a change of heart."
"Huh," Han grunted skeptically.
Leia sighed, pursing her lips in mock resignation.
"You see, I've realized the futility of modesty around here," she said, gesturing lazily with one hand, "considering Arksiah's been about as far inside me as you have," she quipped.
She raised her brow at him.
"Further, maybe," she whispered.
"Doubt it," Han blustered, giving her a mild glare.
She gave him a look.
"Have you ever touched my cervix?"
"Has she?" Han retorted. "Doesn't count if she didn't use her hand," he qualified.
Leia tilted her head back and forth. She shook it.
"Well, I suppose no one has, with bare hands, but technically she has – "
Han darted his hand between her legs, running his palm up the inside of her thigh; Leia gasped, shivering at the ticklish sensation, and crossed one leg over the other, trapping his hand between her thigh so he had a difficult time moving it.
He grinned at her.
"Jealous?" she asked.
He tried to inch his hand up higher, and she squealed softly, biting back a laugh.
"Ha-Haaan," she hissed – "You – just what do you think you're going to – "
"Touch it."
Leia laughed shortly and reached down to grapple with his hand playfully, slumping against his shoulder a little –
"You are not – "
"You wanna bet, Sweetheart?"
"I do not – you keep that hand to yourself – " she burst into laugher again, her face flushing, and Han grinned, turning his head to press his lips to her neck – Leia succeeded in grabbing his hand, and laced her fingers into it, squeezing tightly.
She closed her eyes briefly and rested her head on his shoulder, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.
He squeezed her hand in return, shifting her a little closer to him and taking a deep breath, his brow furrowing.
"This how we flirt now?" he drawled. He grinned, his lips buried in her hair. "I threaten to touch your," he tilted his head, brow furrowing – "cervix?"
"It would seem so," Leia murmured, well aware of the lack of sensuality the word invoked.
"How's that for dirty talk?"
Leia lifted her head a little and kissed behind his ear –
"I can make it dirtier."
"Try me, Princess."
She poked her tongue out and ran it over his earlobe, lowering her voice seductively –
"I want you to touch it with your tongue."
Han's head reared back so he could catch her eye, and she lifted one eyebrow proudly. He slid his hand up over her back and smirked, conceding the point with a nod, his eyes searching hers intently – her distraction tactic was effective, even if he saw it for what it was.
He leaned back heavily in the chair, and winced when his back protested, aching uncomfortably. Leia brushed her knuckles against his jaw and pursed her lips, the attractive blush still colouring her face –
"You're man enough, I think," she murmured charmingly, and Han rolled his eyes upward, glaring at the ceiling before he gave a short, slow laugh.
"Layin' it on thick," he accused.
"Too much?"
He gave her a look, squeezing her hand again.
"Didn't say that," he drawled.
She flattened her palm against his shoulder, slipping her arm around his neck and her other hand into his hair.
"You're takin' pity on me, eh?" he asked, a little grudgingly. "Think I need to be coddled and distracted," he went on, arching a brow, "have my ego stroked?"
Leia held his gaze.
"Do you?" she asked softly.
Han maintained a gruff expression, though it faltered, and faded, for a brief moment, since they were alone, and his back and left side were hurting, and he was uneasy about what all this was going to entail.
He shrugged.
Instead of answering, he straightened his shoulders a little, and glanced around, his jaw tightening.
"It bother you to be in this office?" he muttered.
Leia did not look around – she stared at his profile, fingers brushing the hair at the nape of his neck lightly. It did leave her feeling a little drained, like it had the first time around, but she was okay – she was focused on him right now, and that was a blessing – he was something to take care of.
She didn't answer him; instead, she leaned closer, pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, and slid her hand down his neck a little, working her fingers in a light massage at the top of his spine.
"'M fine, Leia," he mumbled tensely. "Don't – c'mon, don't worry about me," he shrugged. "It's me."
She kissed the corner of his mouth again, flicking her eyes up, a reprimand on her lips – when the door opened, and in walked Dr. Mellis, with both her midwife apprentice, and the immunologist researcher she had brought in.
Han's grip tightened on her as he whipped his head around. Despite the arrival of outsiders, Leia did not immediately take her hands off Han, or make an effort to remove herself from his lap – she valued her privacy, but she also had little interest in reacting as if there was something abnormal about her showing affection to her husband.
Rather than leaping away from him as if burned, she finished her kiss, and then straightened up, her eyes following as Dr. Mellis and her retinue snugly shut the door, and made their way around the desk – Mellis taking a seat, the other two standing with her.
Han's grip loosened, and Leia slid forward, her feet finding solid ground. She still made no effort to move, for the time being, just leaned against him lightly, her eyes calmly on the trio before her. Han slouched back in his chair, evidently deciding the discomfort in his hip was worth suffering, so that he might look unconcerned, and his hand hovered around her hip, no doubt enjoying having her there.
"Leia, Han," Dr. Mellis greeted warmly, folding her hands on the desk and leaning forward with a wry smile. "I had read a deeply scandalous article that suggested divorce was on the horizon for you two," she quipped, "I am delighted to instead see you appear to be quite infatuated with one another."
Han snorted.
"We only get divorced when the news cycle is dry," Leia answered, deadpan.
She ran her hand over Han's shoulders a few more times, and then she did stand, her fingers sliding off of him lightly. She resumed her seat next to him, dragging her chair forward, her attention fixed sharply on Dr. Mellis, her brows set, and her expression steeled.
The doctor smiled at her, and gestured at her associates.
"You know Nygura, my apprentice, and Dr. Soivrin," she said, politely, but with dismissive formality. "Less familiar with Dr. Soivrin, I believe – did she step in for a moment when you had the marrow aspiration?" Dr. Mellis asked Han.
"Briefly," Leia answered, giving a nod to the woman.
Dr. Soivrin returned the nod, bowing forward at the waist slightly – she spoke rarely, and had been reticently professionally when Leia had a quick introduction to her a few days ago.
"I appreciate you trusting me to bring in her expertise," Dr. Mellis said, holding her palm out to Leia with gratitude. "I know how important it is to you that your healthcare be kept privileged and how selective you are about who is brought into the fold."
Leia nodded, and Dr. Mellis gestured at her colleague.
"I assure you again that Dr. Soivrin has impeccable discretion," she complimented, "in fact, she barely speaks to me."
"Debilitating shyness, Arksiah," Dr. Soivrin spoke up, deadpan and dry.
Nygura smiled, bringing her hand up to her mouth, and Dr. Mellis nodded, leaning back. She held out her hand for the datapad Soivrin was holding, and arched her brows.
"I suppose we ought to get down to it," she remarked.
"You're familiar with my distaste for – mincing words," Leia retorted dryly, and Han glanced over at her, willing her to look at him before they started.
She did, and gave him a soft smile, reaching out to brush her palm against his knee before turning back to the trio, and nodding shortly.
"Right," Dr. Mellis said. Behind her, Soivrin leaned against the office window stiffly, and Nygura turned to sit on the edge of the desk, both of them relaxing a little to take the formality out of the atmosphere.
Dr. Mellis tapped some things on the datapad, then leaned forward and spoke to them frankly.
"The analyses we ran on the aspirated marrow only further confirmed what I had already told you after the fetal tissue analysis," she said, and tilted her head at Han, "that Han has an unnatural level of carbon concentration in his marrow, and while his body is acclimated to it as it stands now, it will negatively affect any attempts at conception and could begin to affect his health down the line."
She looked at Han wryly.
"So, ah, sorry to subject you to the aspiration, as it told me nothing new," she said.
Han shrugged.
"Don't mention it," he said dryly.
Mellis smiled a little ruefully, and gestured to Soivrin.
"Dr. Soivrin – "
"Mixi," Soivrin supplied cordially.
"Mixi," Dr. Mellis amended, "performed an intensive analysis of what sort of bacta concentration would be needed to effectively cleanse Han's system, and subjected a sample of Han's marrow to a small scale version of the treatment – which was successful."
Leia compressed her lips, sitting back a little. Her shoulders loosened – she was unaware that she'd been quietly harboring a fear that after all this, she was suddenly going to be told that Han couldn't be helped after all, and they would just have to live with this, and see if one day it thoroughly destroyed his system, never mind prevented her from having a baby with him.
"She's extrapolated the appropriate regimen to give to you, Han," Mellis said, honing in on him, "in order to eliminate the carbon from your system. As you already know, that means intravenous bacta-based cell therapy," she paused, "do you have any familiarity with that?"
Han stared at her, and then seemed to realize she actually wanted him to answer. He arched his brows, and then looked over at Leia.
"Uh," he muttered unhelpfully. "Been in a bacta tank," he answered slowly, "so's she," he added, jutting his elbow out at her. He frowned, and shook his head.
"Yes, many people have, at some point," Dr. Mellis said kindly. "This is somewhat different. Less unpleasant in some ways, and more unpleasant in others," she said dryly, leaning forward on her arm. "We often treat immune-based diseases this way, cancers, T-cell infections," she listed – "since the integration of carbon into your marrow is essentially a sort of…cancer, that's why this fits."
Han leaned forward his elbows on his knees. He rubbed his hands together and shrugged.
"Yeah," he said. "What's the deal, then?" he asked gruffly.
Leia gave him a look, but Dr. Mellis didn't seem bothered by the irreverence. She pointed at Soivrin, indicating she should speak, and the other doctor cleared her throat.
"I am going to administer a regimen consisting of three rounds of deep marrow bacta therapy," she said – in much the same tone as Han was using, and Leia arched a brow appreciatively – how Dr. Mellis had managed to choose a discreet doctor who was possessed of the exact rough attitude Han probably most needed was beyond her, but she appreciated it.
"The first round will be mild, to introduce you to the intensity of this sort of bacta," she explained, "the second round will be more targeted, and the third will be the most intense, and will flush the carbon out completely – given that this is not a cancer, I doubt there will be need for a supportive fourth round in a few months – this treatment should comprehensively eradicate the problem."
Soivrin folded her arms, tilting her head to the side.
"Roughly two weeks after the last round, I'll examine your marrow again to confirm it's returned to what is medically considered normal for a human – following these treatments, you may find you're more susceptible to flus and minor poxes while your immune system readjusts."
Listening, but watching Han subtly, Leia absorbed all of that – and studied him out of the corner of her eye as he listened. He kept his eyes on Soivrin respectfully, if a little coolly, and when she had stopped speaking for a good minute, he shrugged again, and nodded.
"Intense bacta, three rounds, needle," he glanced at Leia, "got it," he muttered."
Leia leaned forward on her own knees, tapping her fingers against her lips for a moment. She shared a look with Dr. Mellis, and then transferred her gaze slowly to Soivrin, sensing there was a little more. She bit the inside of her lip, and then cleared her throat, lowering her hand and rubbing her palm on her thigh.
"Side-effects?" she asked softly.
She lifted her chin, and closed her eyes a moment.
"I – can't help asking this. Is there any…possibility that," she broke off, grimacing when she found her voice was shaking, "it could…hurt him?" she asked. "If he has a bad reaction?"
Dr. Mellis leaned back, looking up at Soivrin again. Soivrin set her shoulders back.
"As a medic, you will never hear me unequivocally assure you that nothing could go wrong," she said honestly, "however, given my research, and experience with marrow diseases and intravenous bacta, I'm comfortable telling you that you have very little to worry about, Your Highness," she said easily. "There are going to be side-effects, but if anything – fatal – were to happen, well," she arched her brows earnestly, "I would be genuinely shocked."
Han flicked his wrist shortly, his eyes narrowing.
"Leia," he grunted.
"Yes?" she asked quietly.
"No," he corrected, pointing at Soivrin, shaking his head. "'M talkin' to her. It's Leia. She doesn't like bein' called by her title by doctors," he said, adding, pointedly: "Mixi."
Leia sat back, giving him an exasperated look – he was right, but she hadn't been particularly concerned about it in that moment, especially since the doctor in question wasn't between her legs - but she supposed Han was harnessing control, somehow, and the way he usually established his dominance was by exhibiting knowledge of her, and exercising his position as – well, as her defender.
"Understood," Soivrin answered, unflinching.
Leia sighed, sparring a glance for Nygura, who smiled at her breezily, and then pursed her lips, her gaze drifting back to Soivrin for a moment before she looked over at Han, eyes on him softly.
"The side-effects," she prompted again. She nodded at Han sharply. "He isn't going to ask about them, as it would interfere with how blasé he is being."
Leia thought Han might be annoyed with that comment, but he sat back, and grinned a little wryly, shrugging as if to reinforce that notion. He lifted his hand and jabbed his thumb at Leia, nodding –
"My wife is worried," he drawled, and Leia almost laughed – she wrinkled her nose, and played the part.
Though – playing that part was not difficult; she was worried. She was also determined, and empathetic to Han's firm desire to be – nonchalant, lest he otherwise be overwhelmed.
The charade drew a small smile out of Mixi Soivrin. She inclined her head in understanding, and then crossed one ankle over the other as she began to offer insight.
"The benefit of not being submerged in bacta means you won't be tasting it for days," she said, "that is…where the benefit ends," she offered, matter-of-fact. "You'll likely have muscle pain, migraines, nausea, dizziness, fatigue," she listed. "You're going to feel weak and, to put it simply – plain old not good."
Soivrin hesitated.
"I also want to warn you that…given that the carbon will be flushed out, it will overwhelm your system for a short while – the bacta you'll have is fused with an inhibitor that prevents a cytokine storm reaction, but the cascade of toxins is," she paused, "likely to cause a relapse of carbon poisoning," she said.
Leia winced, flicking her eyes downward unhappily.
Soivrin grimaced herself.
"I am admittedly unfamiliar with what that entailed for you, other than what I read in the medical file provided to me by the Rebellion," she said slowly, "I know it was unpleasant, and I can say that this is unlikely to be as severe, but it will mimic what you experienced then."
Taking a deep breath, Leia looked over at him.
Han looked grim, his jaw tight, and expression guarded – and she sensed that he'd been dreading hearing exactly that. He rarely discussed his feelings regarding the carbon poisoning, but having been at his side during the worst of it, she knew how miserable it had been.
The very thought of experiencing it again had to be – daunting, and Leia's heart ached; she wished she could tell him not to worry about it, that there was no need to go through this for her – yet it still remained that if they removed their desire for a baby from the equation, his health was still a factor.
Tense, she got up, and paced around behind his chair, forgetting herself for a moment, and loosely draping her arms around his neck. She leaned forward and kissed his temple, pressing three gentle kisses there. She pressed her palms against his chest, resting her cheek on his head briefly, and Han pulled away, arching his brows and giving her an amused look.
"There's people watchin' us, Princess," he informed her, feigning secrecy.
He shot a look at the audience.
"You know how much you'd make, sellin' holos of this?" he asked dryly.
Dr. Mellis laughed.
"This is a safe place, Han; you're well aware of that," she said mildly.
He reached up and squeezed her hand, a resigned, stiff expression on his face – and again, he gave one of those shrugs meant to convey indifference, acceptance – stoicism.
"Yeah," he said gruffly. "Second dose of carbon poisoning, sounds like a dream," he muttered sarcastically. He narrowed his eyes. "Is it gonna blind me again?" he asked grudgingly. "'Cause if it is, you gotta help me convince her," he gestured behind him at Leia, "to walk around naked for the next week."
Leia whipped her hand against his chest, smacking him lightly, tilting her head to glare at him.
"I don't anticipate blindness," Soivrin said wryly. "That seemed to be more of an effect of you not using your vision, rather than a carbon effect – otherwise, you'd probably have stayed blind."
Han nodded curtly.
Dr. Mellis waited a beat, and then picked up her datapad, glancing at Soivrin, and then picking up with her own thread of the conversation.
"All that remains is to schedule the sessions – I'm familiar with the demands of your schedule, Leia," she said. "I'm less familiar with Han's – but I am more than willing to arrange for this to take place outside orthodox hours if you would like to be with him."
Dr. Mellis tapped a few things out on her datapad expectantly, and then caught Han's eye.
"Weekends, evenings, days…?" she asked.
"Doesn't really matter," Han muttered. "They don't keep track of me."
"My availability is not an issue," Leia murmured dismissive.
Han tilted his head back.
"You don't have to be there," he said, shrugging. "S'nothing."
She narrowed her eyes.
"You think you're going to sit around, hooked up to a needle drip, by yourself?" she asked dangerously, her brow darkening.
"C'mon, Leia, don't stress yourself," he muttered. "Chewie'll bum around – "
She jabbed her knuckle into his collarbone pointedly, glaring.
"You barely left me alone when I had a sprained ankle," she hissed at him. "I will be there, Han," she declared sharply. She pinched him lightly. "I took vows."
She held his gaze, trying not to feel insulted, or hurt, at his apparently unwillingness to have here there – but she didn't think it was unwillingness, at the core. She sensed that he didn't want to make a big deal over it because he couldn't stand the whole thing in the first place – it was more damaging to his psyche than he let on that he had something – wrong with him – and all of this was clinical, sterile – ungainly.
Han gave a little nod, and turned back to Mellis with yet another of his shrugs.
"No point in puttin' it off," he said gruffly. "When's the soonest?"
Dr. Mellis smiled at him, and Soivrin and Nygura leaned forward to put their heads together with her, perusing the schedule, and beginning to offer suggestions to him.
The rest of their time in the office was spent finalizing details, which Leia handled – it assuaged her need to feel in control of things – and things were settled without much fuss, resulting in both of them leaving Dr. Mellis' office with the conflicted feeling of being simultaneously burdened, and unburdened.
At least – Leia assumed Han felt that, as well; he was pointedly silent, once it was all said and done, and because she supposed he wasn't dealing with anything they hadn't already discussed, she let him have that silence – until he didn't protest when she offered to fly home.
Before igniting the engine, she turned to him, one hand on the speeder steering, the other reaching out for him, brushing down his chest, and then hooking into his belt and holding on tightly for a moment.
She studied his profile intently, swallowing hard, and she realized that for the past week, she hadn't been struck so hard with grief, the urge to cry, melancholy over the miscarriage – she'd been absorbed in preparing for this.
"Han," she started quietly.
He looked over at her, his jaw set, eyes hardened.
"Sorry," he said gruffly.
She parted her lips in silent question, taken aback. He twitched one of his shoulders.
"For startin' to blow you off, in there," he clarified under his breath. "I want you with me," he muttered haltingly, and then grimaced at himself. "I want the whole damn thing over with, Leia," he admitted roughly.
She tightened her fingers.
"I know," she murmured – she really knew; she remembered, clearly, how painstakingly slow things had seemed to move when she was miscarrying; it never seemed to end, and this tangential pain was still plaguing them, a stumbling block to recovery.
He nodded, and then looked over at her, and leaned over, gesturing. He shook his head.
"Switch with me," he grunted. "Let me fly home," he decided – making a face as if he'd just realized what he'd done, relinquishing control.
She raised her eyebrows, and then smirked a little – and nodded, switching seats with him in an uncoordinated tangle of limbs that left half of her hair untucked from its braids, and his vest sitting crookedly on his shoulders. He grinned – an authentic one – and straightened it a little, leaning over to tug her into his side.
Leia relaxed into the embrace, tilting her head back and closing her eyes – over with; she wanted the whole damn thing over with, too, and so they soldiered on, confronting unsavory, and bearing it.
Leia was not particularly well versed in sick bed protocol - or rather, as Han would likely have a stroke to hear it called his sick bed, she was not well-versed in what one did when accompanying someone to treatment. She had no template for it - she hadn't even experienced what it was like to attend hospice for an ill relative, or care for a comrade injured in battle; all of the morbidity and mortality she had experienced had been sudden; violent, explosive, and swift. The closest thing she had to go by, she supposed - was the incapacity Han had faced with his first bout of carbon sickness - but this was different; Han wasn't visibly ill, he felt nothing, for the time being.
She - they - were merely here, in a secluded, private treatment room within Dr. Mellis' practice - ready to start a treatment, and anticipating the worst of it.
There was an awkward unpleasantness to showing up at a doctor's office and offering oneself up for an invasive procedure - particularly when the only outward symptom of the problem had negatively affected someone else. It was bewildering, and Han seemed unnerved at the core, though he was exercising extreme control over himself, fronting a cavalier, roguish attitude.
At the moment, they were alone in the treatment room they had been directed to, and as a result his bravado had slightly - only slightly - diminished. Refusing to sit, he had draped himself over the high back of a comfortable leather armchair, leaning on it lazily, and was giving her a dry look, one eyebrow raised.
"Y'know who's got it pretty damn good?" he drawled.
"Hmm?" Leia murmured, her arms crossed, leaning against the frame of the bed behind her - the room was sterile, and sparsely decorated. It consisted of several cozy chairs, pristine arrays of various medical supplies, a standard med center bed, intercoms, and a state of the art holo system for entertainment purposes.
"Zozy," Han said, deadpan.
Leia arched her brows at him.
"Zozy," she repeated, tilting her head. "Zozy has it better than you?" she prompted.
Han gave her a pointed look, and she bit her lower lip, smiling slowly, as Han pointed out -
"He didn't have a clue what he was in for when we took 'im to the zoologist."
"You're jealous of Zozy?" she teased.
"Ignorance is bliss," Han maintained stubbornly. "Little guy just," he waved his hand, "rolled around, playin' with toys, snugglin' up to you, all happy," Han shook his head. "Think he'd have been that carefree if he knew he was about to get his balls cut off?"
Leia laughed softly. She shrugged, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
"You aren't being castrated, Han," she reminded him.
Han nodded, but muttered something under his breath. Leia turned to look at the door, impatient with waiting - a two-onebee had shown them in, a nursing tech had briefed them, and here they waited, as materials were gathered, and things were organized to set it all in motion - it was late in the afternoon, in the dwindling work hours, strategically scheduled so that if Han's reaction was severely adverse, he had no obligations to prevent him from going home and resting.
Leia had mandated that for the next two weeks, no events or meetings outside of standard hours be placed on her schedule, and Tavska had been given a shallow overview of the situation, so she knew that Leia might need to take unexpected personal days if things were more gruesome than expected. In the event that was impossible, or some legitimate crisis arose that demanded Leia's attention, Chewbacca was on high alert, having dealt with carbon sickness before, and Bail had offered to assist Leia in anyway she needed, whether it be standing in for her, or seeing to it that she had what she needed at home.
Leia pressed her palms into her forearms, looking around - despite how unsavory it was to be in a place this clinical, the rooms that made up Dr. Mellis' practice were mellow, and set her mind at ease; she had always been personally comfortable here, and she found herself bitterly wishing she'd been here when she was going through the worst of her miscarriage - it might have kept an already harrowing experience from being tainted with the horror of that faceless doctor she tried not to think about.
"Leia," Han said dully, his voice echoing loudly in her head. "You're pale," he noted, his voice heavy, and his eyes sharp.
She took a deep breath, looking back at him, and lifted her shoulders lightly.
"I don't like this," she admitted simply.
He snorted under his breath.
"Me neither," he muttered.
She nodded, her gaze drifting over him, fixed first on the lines of his face, the slope of his shoulders - and then the details of the chair he leaned on.
"It's so," she began, her voice softer, "unfair. I can't shake that feeling - it's petulant, and it isn't doing me any good - but it isn't fair," she murmured.
She looked up at him again, her jaw tightening.
"You're the one who helped me realize that I couldn't let Vader influence my decision to have a baby," she said softly. "I wanted it to be one thing that wasn't - contaminated by him, or the Empire - and I thought it would be, when it was," she sighed, looked down at her arms, "so easy to get pregnant."
Leia swallowed hard.
"I know it turned out that the ways he tortured me didn't damage me like I thought, and in the grand scheme of," she unfolded her arms and gestured aimlessly, "all of it, this treatment is an easy solution - we're not even close to facing the troubles some couples do - troubles my parents endured," she trailed off for a moment. "It's still something Vader did," she went on hollowly. "He put you in that carbonite. He sowed that infection - and it still plagues us; the Empire, all of it," she broke off again.
Leia reached up, and tucked loose wisps of hair behind her hears, lowering her hands to press them against her neck. She compressed her lips, staring at nothing for a moment, and then blinking, her focus back on his deep brown eyes.
"I can't stand it," she admitted huskily. "It never seems to end, their - their haunting of us," she shook her head, her jaw aching tensely. "I wanted this to be," she gestured at her abdomen, lower her head heavily, "pure."
Han brushed his knuckles under his chin, nodding. He couldn't argue with that - he wanted, more than anything, for everything to have just gone right, one single, fucking time - and then, for the rest of their lives, he'd wanted it to go exactly how it was supposed to. He didn't want to be standing here, waiting for some tech to stick a bitch of a needle in him and subject him to a carbon poisoning redux. What he wanted was to be at home, or on the Falcon, still in a state of nervous anticipation about impending fatherhood; what he wanted was to have never had to stand at Leia's side while a medic tried to detect a heartbeat that was no longer there.
He straightened up a little, placing his hands on the back of the chair.
"Doesn't matter that it hasn't been pretty so far," he said gruffly. "You got that?"
She tilted her head, breathing in slowly.
"Yeah," she said softly.
He arched a brow.
"Know what 'm gonna say?" he drawled.
Her breath came out in a rush, and she laughed lightly, tapping her foot as she nodded.
"Marriage is gross," she quoted.
"Revolting," Han said, deadpan.
Leia looked at him through her lashes, and smiled. She pursed her lips – and then turned her head at the sound of the door opening, nerves crawling up her spine and drawing chill bumps out on her skin.
She compressed her lips tightly, and the entering nurse, with Dr. Soivrin at her heels, shut the door. Each of them had medical carts with them, and Leia noted there was no droid in sight – she wondered if Dr. Mellis had decided against the presence of droids because Nygura had related Leia's issues with the medical droid to her.
She felt a little relieved at that thought, and forced her shoulders to relax.
"Leia," Soivrin greeted with a cordial nod, "Han," she said. "I will tell you what I tell all of my patients: I am sorry to see you again," she quipped.
Han smirked at her dryly; Leia shifted, turning to lean her hip against the frame of the bed as she watched them take their equipment over to the chair and begin to set up.
"I won't ask if you're ready, either," Soivrin said in her same mildly acerbic tone – which Leia had begun to notice was the norm for her. Soivrin plucked a harmless looking intravenous bag of thin, fluid bacta from her cart, holding it up with a dry expression – "Instead, I'll ask if you've braced yourself."
Han snorted.
"Braced," he said flatly.
"Very convincing," the tech said, with an amused giggle.
She gestured to the chair.
"You can sit down there," she said, "or you can sit up in bed – you might feel dizzy, or sleepy when it starts to kick in – "
"Chair's good," Han said hastily.
Leia lifted her chin ruefully.
"You aren't going to get him into bed for a needle drip," she warned wryly. "It would devastate his street cred."
Han grinned, and sat down in the chair, holding his arm out rather lazily. He yanked at the sleeve, rolling it all the way up to the crook of his elbow, then pushing a little further.
He looked between Soivrin and the tech pointedly.
"You waitin' on somethin'?"
Leia pushed away from the bed and paced forward, loosening her arms slowly. She lifted one hand up to brush her lips, watching Han's arm, and glanced around, her gaze sharp, and observant.
"If you're ready, we are," the tech said. She picked up a strip of sturdy dark red rubber from her tray, and turned to Leia, bending forward gracefully at the waist. "My name is Kettsy," she introduced. "I'm the two-onebee," she offered with a smile, lifting her eyes to Leia's with a supportive nod.
When she turned to Han, she held up the device in her hands, and assured him with a wink:
"My hands are much warmer than a two-onebee's."
She stepped forward, pointing to his arm, starting to speak – and then straightened up, turning around with a mortified look on her face. Leia tilted her head, having already caught the amused expression on Han's face.
"Leia," Han said smugly, "the nurse is flirting with me."
"Princess Leia, I am – I did not intend," Kettsy said rapidly. "We rarely have men in here and they – can be so jittery – sometimes flattery - "
Leia rolled her eyes good-naturedly, waving her fingers lightly.
"He likes it," she muttered, cocking a brow. She lifted one shoulder. "And you get to tell your friends you flirted with Han Solo in front of his wife," she added.
"I don't think I will," Kettsy said faintly, cringing as she looked over at Soivrin.
Dr. Soivrin just gave her a look, and the tech shook her head at herself, moving around to the side of Han's armchair.
"This is a rubber tourniquet," she said, showing Han the malleable thing in her hands. "I'm going to knot it around your bicep to get a clear vein in the bend of your arm," she explained.
Han shrugged, and nodded; Kettsy stepped closer, taking his upper arm in her hand.
"Have you ever injected lightening?" she asked, matter-of-fact.
Leia bit her lip when Han leaned away from the tech, an offended expression on his face.
"Amphetamines?" he growled. He shook his head. "Hell no. You know what that shit does to you?"
Kettsy turned to glance at Leia, amused.
"I thought he used to deal drugs."
"Smuggle," Han corrected aggressively, "smuggle – spice, an' I never used it," he protested.
Kettsy smiled, turning back to him.
"My mistake," she said smoothly, and pointed to his palm. "This procedure may feel like injecting amphetamines," she explained. "When I tighten this tourniquet down, make a tight fist with your hand; then Mixi will set the drip."
Han nodded, and the tech cinched the tourniquet on his arm – Leia watched his face intently for signs of discomfort. He only grimaced a little, flexing his arm once before making the fist she asked of him.
Soivrin stepped forward, having already readied the intravenous materials – she approached Han from the side, nudging her tech out of the way, and leaned down with a set expression.
Leia watched her lower the needle applicator to the crook of Han's arm, where his veins were angrily straining against his skin – the needle was – impressive; larger than any needle should be.
She pressed her hands against her hips, and then folded her arms again, feeling a little light headed – it wasn't the needle, though; she watched them set Han's drip, and so acutely, so viscerally, she felt all the pain of why they were doing this rush back at her, threaten to overwhelm her – similar to how she'd felt when she and Han had first tried to have sex after the miscarriage.
It felt – raw, and harsh, a keen reminder – and she thought of Han's previous misery with carbon poisoning, too, and her breath nearly stopped.
She thought for a split second she was going to pass out, which would have mortified her – what happened was almost worse. She remembered once in her life, when she was eight or nine, being struck so suddenly with illness that she hadn't felt like she was going to vomit until it happened – ruining her mother's shoes, and Aunt Celly's nerves, in the process.
This was something like that – though instead of getting sick, with only a startled gasp, she abruptly, and violently, burst into tears, reaching up to clap her hand over her mouth when she realized, with shock, that those were sobs clawing at her throat.
She muffled the sound in her palm, taking a quick step backwards, trying to compose herself for Han's sake – bewildered at the way this distress had struck her out of nowhere – and Han sat forward in wide-eyed alarm, instinctively thrusting his arm out to reach for her.
He ripped the newly set needle out of Soivrin's careful hands, and right out of his arms, barely noticing it as he got up and took a step towards Leia.
"Han," Soivrin said sharply, distracted by two different issues.
Kettsy hurried over to Leia's side, her expression calm. She took Leia's arm gently, reaching up to take her hand, draw it gingerly away from her mouth, and hold it.
"Han," Leia managed finally, "sit down," she ordered.
He stopped coming towards her, concern etched all over his face –
"Sit down," she said again, her voice breaking. "You're – you're bleeding all over," she said hoarsely, her eyes drifting to the gash in his arm.
Soivrin took his shoulder and very firmly drew him back.
"The needle," Han muttered, furious with himself. "She doesn't like needles," he said, his eyes still on Leia earnestly.
"Here, turn and face me," Kettsy said, gently turning Leia. "There's no reason to watch the needle."
Leia shook her head, pulling her hand out of the tech's and lifting it to rub the bridge of her nose, momentarily unable to speak due to the flood of tears. She bit her trembling lip, taking a few deep breaths, and swallowing hard to calm herself.
"It isn't the needle," she managed finally, her voice raw.
Kettsy placed her hands on Leia's shoulders, shushing her quietly, and kindly. She ran her palms up and down Leia's arms, while Soivrin firmly re-situated Han, mopping up his blood, applying sterile strips to the needle site he'd ruined, and re-setting his needle.
"Still," she warned seriously. "Leia's alright," she said.
Han lifted his chin anxiously, fighting to stay still, watching Leia like a hawk. Kettsy seemed to be handling her all right, but he'd never seen Leia unexpectedly dissolve into tears like that, not in company, and not quite so – completely, and dramatically. He figured his own stunt, ripping out the brand new needle, was equally as dramatic - -but it was startling, it was –
"Leia," he said tensely, making an effort to sound soothing. "Talk to me."
She bit her lip again, hiding her face behind her hand. Kettsy continued to talk to her very softly, saying nothing coherent, just soft, nice words. She had no doubt seen her fair share of grieving women in this building, and she was unfazed by the outburst, even from such an iconic public figure.
"He's all set, Leia," Kettsy said softly. "The drip is set, he's good to sit there and let it work – blood's all gone, he's fine," she murmured. She paused, squeezing Leia's shoulders warmly. "I know," she said kindly, "I know."
Leia nodded – she sensed that Kettsy did, at least, understand why it was affecting her so badly – it wasn't the needle; it really wasn't; it was thinking about why they were here in the first place, it was fear for Han's well-being, it was the ache in her abdomen and heart, the itch in her arms, all those things that were still sore and tender because they'd been deprived and left hollow for the time being.
She was finally able to compose herself, and lowered her hand, nodding again at Kettsy. She took a deep breath, and brushed her hand under her eyes, turning to sit on the edge of the bed, and focusing on Han – his jaw was tight, eyes narrowed as he watched, worried about her.
Soivrin inclined her head at Leia, effortlessly acknowledging the pain, and tactfully letting Leia have it without anymore attention – she turned to make some adjustments to the meter handling Han's bacta, and then her lips turned up in a small smile.
"Very cinematic," she remarked wryly. "Fascinating, to see and know that Han Solo and Leia Organa are normal people."
Her comment was well timed, honest without being cruel, and just right – it buoyed Leia's trust in her, and drew a mild smirk out of her – reminded her she ought not to worry about her privacy here, nor should she beat herself up for having a human reaction to the stress of this.
She took a deep breath.
"Solo," she said faintly. "Leia Solo."
Soivrin inclined her head politely again. She gave a short look to Kettsy, and the tech stepped back from Leia, bending forward at the waist before she retreated.
"I'll be in intermittently to check in for the next three hours," she said demurely – there was some bustle as the two medics took their leave. "Leia, if you need anything – water, a secure comm – buzz us," Kettsy said, her parting words before she and Soivrin were gone.
Leia watched the door close, and then slowly turned her head back, her shoulders falling. She sank down into the bed a little more, sheepish, and tired, and after a moment, took a deep breath, and tilted her head to the side, meeting Han's eyes through her lashes.
He still looked alarmed, uncertain, and he was covering the crook of his arm – the secured needle – with his palm, hiding it from view.
"It's not the needle," she whispered again. "It's," she started, her palm hovering at her abdomen – "it's why we're here. I wish we weren't here," she said in a small voice.
Han swallowed hard, nodding. He sat back a little; comforted somewhat to know it was no new trauma, just the slowly healing wound she was still dealing with. He relaxed his hand a little, and her eyes drifted to the bacta needle, her chest aching.
She grit her teeth, hurting, and angry with herself for hurting – she didn't want this to be about her, she wanted to be there for Han, to be – still coping well with this. She took a deep breath, reigning herself in, calming herself down again, reminding herself internally – she was coping well with this – there was no right way to grieve; she still had time.
"Hey, Sweetheart," he said huskily, nodding down at his arm. "You aren't gonna go through it again, you hear me?"
She heard the unspoken part of his promise – not because of me. She rose, and went over to him, sitting gingerly on the edge of the armchair, away from the arm with the needle in it. She knew he couldn't promise her that with utter certainty; even the doctor told them that there was always a risk – a natural, age-old, risk – but his words meant something anyway; they brought to mind the feeling of peace she received when she reached into the Force to meditate – that it wouldn't happen again, and the sadness was hers – theirs – to have, and to feel, for a little while longer.
-alexandra
story #367