a/n: as I write The Naberries, I'm also trying to clear out the random prompts I have noted on my phone
Armor
"What's wrong with you?"
Leia grit her teeth – he was so infuriating, so endlessly infuriating. He managed to be where she was, to seek her out, when she wanted nothing more to be left alone, and furthermore, he managed to ask after her well-being in such an antagonistic manner – of course, she was sure he never thought he was being antagonistic, yet the way he said it – what's wrong with you? – almost smugly, as if he was positive she was in some righteous rage again, and he already had a thousand ways to tease her about it –
Leia shook her head slightly, looking up from her tray pointedly. She looked at him in cool silence, and then returned to the soup she had chosen for lunch, ignoring him.
Han picked the fruit up off his tray and started peeling it, digging his thumb in to create a notch and working from there. She felt him watching her expectantly, and she pointedly ignored it – she was sitting in a corner at a non-peak hour; what part of that indicated that she wanted company?
She saw him drop some of the peel onto his tray, and felt his eyes boring into her.
"You're being rude," he told her eventually, cocking an eyebrow.
Leia's eyes snapped up.
"Take a hint," she bit out sharply, swirling her spoon in her soup to cool it.
Han jerked his chin blithely at her food.
"If you take the metal spoon outta that, it'll cool faster," he advised.
"Why, thank you, Professor," she retorted.
He noticed, however, that after a moment, she took the spoon out, sat it aside, and leaned back in her seat. Han grinned, plucking at the remaining skin on his – what was it, a pear of some sort? Leia squinted at it, watching his hands, and he leaned forward, elbows on the table.
"You gonna tell me what your problem is?" he asked, in that same tone he'd started with – and she put her palm flat on the table, her lips curling –
"How do you manage to ask if I'm alright in the most obnoxious tone known to the human race?" she demanded.
Han looked surprised. She held her palm upwards, curling her fingers.
"You ought to ask nicely – 'hey, Leia, is something wrong?' – but instead you ask as if – whatever is bothering me is probably stupid," she trailed off, shaking her head at him, "or as if you can't wait to get under my skin about it."
Han stopped what he was doing, peering at her over the fruit. He glared at her mildly for a long moment, and then cleared his throat pointedly.
"Hey, Leia, is something wrong?" he repeated, enunciating in the same inflection she had.
Leia narrowed her eyes.
"Go to hell."
Han gave a short laugh, and she couldn't decide if he sounded amused, or irritated – either way, he didn't budge, he just leaned back a little, and crossed his legs.
"Okay," he said, switching gears. He yanked a strip of skin off the fruit and threw it down on his tray, "since we're already in hell," he retorted, gesturing around to the ice prison that they called a rebel base, "and I got nowhere else to go, why don't you tell me what's got you so pissed off you're takin' it out on the kid?"
Han threw another strip of fruit peel onto his tray, looking up at her sharply.
"'Cause it ain't really like you to sink your claws into Luke," he said edgily.
Leia sat back, her shoulders stiff.
"My claws?"
"Yeah, Your Worship, your claws," Han retorted, his jaw tightening. "They're more violent than you think," he muttered.
Leia lowered her eyes for a moment, shifting uncomfortably. She glanced around the sparsely populated mess hall, pressing her fingertips into her arm – she had been harsh with Luke this morning, and now that Han mentioned it, she clearly remembered his visible look of hurt when she brushed him off.
She sighed.
"I did not intend to take anything out on Luke," she said.
"Yeah, I believe you," Han said flatly. He reached into his pocket, thumbed open a switchblade, and started cutting his fruit, a thin slice at a time, transferring the slice onto his thumb, and biting into it. "So, what were you takin' out on him?"
Leia stared at his hands.
"Nothing," she muttered.
Han licked his thumb and then snapped his fingers, pointing at her.
"Wrong, Princess," he fired back swiftly. "You just admitted to my face you were taking somethin' out on him when you said you didn't mean to!"
He arched an eyebrow at her, smirked, and sliced another piece of fruit. Leia grit her teeth again, scowling.
"You sat down here with the intention of tricking me," she accused dully.
"Well, if you didn't underestimate me we wouldn't be here," he retorted fairly.
She frowned, and sat forward to poke at her still steaming soup with her spoon, wondering if ignoring him would put an end to this –
"I got all day," he said stubbornly.
- apparently not.
She put her fingers against her forehead stiffly and leaned back again, tapping the spoon on the tray. She set it down, and then chewed on the inside of her lip for a moment. She was entirely sure she did not want to discuss this with him, but he was sitting there, and she was dwelling on it, and if she kept dwelling, she might unintentionally hurt Luke again, and that wasn't fair –
Leia blew out a breath through her lips harshly, and looked at him directly.
"Did you know I have a new nickname?" she asked curtly.
Han arched a brow. He bit another slice of fruit off of his thumb, chewing thoughtfully, and tried to remember if he'd come up with anything new recently that would be enough to really piss her off, rather than just aggravate her – but he hadn't, and he generally made sure his masterpieces were light-hearted rather than downright mean.
Leia pursed her lips when he didn't answer.
"Ice Bitch," she quoted.
Han lifted his brows, taken aback – definitely not one of his.
"Someone called you that to your face?" he asked incredulously.
Leia seized on his comment like a feral predator.
"You have heard it," she accused, and then gave him a sour look – "as if it would be acceptable behind my back?"
"No," Han said slowly. He turned the fruit around in his hand, and then set it and his knife down, wiping his hand on his shirt – Leia gave him an annoyed look about that action, and he ignored it. "The one I heard was different, first of all," he said flatly, shrugging, "wasn't sure how you heard it unless someone said it to you."
Leia blinked heavily.
"Well, how did you hear it differently?" she asked nastily.
Han hesitated, pressing his knuckles together. A few of his fingers made soft popping noises, and he frowned.
"I heard Ice Princess," he told her – and he censored even that, because what he'd actually heard was Ice Queen, some remark from a disgruntled pilot, taking a dig at her supposed heartlessness as well as her now defunct Alderaanian inheritance – Queen Breha's heart would have broken if she knew how cold Princess Leia is –
Han shook his head, clearing it.
"I never hear anyone call you a bitch."
Leia gave a thin smile.
"I overheard it," she said. She turned her head to the side, and he gazed at her profile thoughtfully. "I had to hand down the decision that no family leave will be authorized for the upcoming galactic holiday season," she said crisply, and then quoted what had bothered her so much: " – Well, the Ice Bitch doesn't give a damn about hearth or home; she's never even shed a tear about Alderaan."
Han stared at her with an open mouth.
"Who said that?" he asked.
"I don't know," Leia said flatly.
"Oh, yes you do," he noticed immediately. His jaw tightened. "Who?"
She shook her head.
"It doesn't matter," she said firmly – and it didn't, really, because one person might have said it, but she knew he was not the only one who thought of her in that manner – it was just the word that she had a particularly sensitivity to, and the prevailing opinion that she out to be falling apart in public more often to prove she was – upset.
I'm always upset, she thought grimly, I'm fueled by it.
"Kriff," Han muttered stiffly. "Hey, it's alright, Leia," he said, offering a little smile.
She bristled at the kindness, stiffened a little.
"It's an extension of their anger that they can't go home for a bit, and I understand that," she said formally. "There's an – authoritarian respect I'm missing if that sort of language is bandied about, and they really ought to re-think their slurs– "
She noticed Han staring at her in disbelief, and she faltered –
"I don't like the word bitch," she finished slowly, and then she lifted her chin – "Rieekan was there when I overheard it and I believe he thought I was – crying."
"Were you?" Han asked flatly. He stared at her curiously – suddenly, she sounded more agitated that General Rieekan had noticed she was distressed.
Leia didn't answer – no, she wouldn't have defined it as crying, she hadn't cried in ages, but her eyes had started to sting and her throat had locked up, which meant she started to feel like she was going to vomit, until Rieekan approached her, and she pulled herself together as if she'd heard nothing at all.
"They're just heat of the moment comments by disgruntled soldiers – "
"Leia, some assholes hurt your feelings," Han interrupted simply. "Who cares if Rieekan saw you get upset about it?"
Leia's expression cooled.
"Hardly," she said finally, the word terse.
Han looked at her for a minute, and then he grinned – but it was a mirthless grin, not lopsided and charming, but exasperated, just something to do with his mouth while he stared at her, shaking his head for a moment.
"Listen – why the fuck does it bother you so much if someone thinks you have feelings?" he demanded bluntly.
Leia drew back, caught off guard by his question. She swallowed hard, and pinched her brow together slightly, gearing up to push back at him.
"I – " she started.
"I'm serious," Han went on, ignoring her attempted protest. "Some assholes hurt your feelings," he repeated, punctuating the statement by moving his hands in front of him sharply. He stared at her for a moment, and then shrugged. "It's that simple."
"It's not."
"Yes, it is."
"No, Han!"
"Why isn't it?" he challenged.
Leia leaned forward jerkily.
"I have to lead!" she said hoarsely. "I have to be unshakable. I have to be their armor."
Han looked at her silently for a long time. He sat forward slowly.
"Says who?" he asked quietly, very deliberately.
Leia made a noise of clear frustration.
"You spend so much time mocking my title – did you stop for a second to consider that it means something? It isn't just a stupid formality for a little rich girl. It's a responsibility. This rebellion is not going to crumble because I am not going to crumble."
Han relaxed a little, taking the comment about his mockery to heart. He liked to bring her down to his level, sure, but he wasn't doing it to trivialize who she was, and what it meant to her, he was just reminding her that she was a human, too.
"Okay," he muttered heavily, "but havin' a clear head on your shoulders in public is different than pretendin' you don't have feelings," he pointed out warily.
Leia looked away from him stubbornly, her profile exposed to him in sharp, pale lines and slightly flushed cheeks – cold, or embarrassment, or likely a mix of both. Han pushed his knife around and then picked it up, messily carving off another piece of fruit. He considered it blankly for a moment and then took another bite.
"You'd be better off just admitting that it hurt your feelings," he said sagely. "Then you can wallow about it instead of takin' it out on people."
Leia lowered her chin a little, but she didn't look at him.
"Y'know," Han drawled. "Go cry in your bunk, just feel it. Or cry on Rieekan, he thinks he's your dad now, anyway," Han muttered.
Leia turned and looked at him a little thoughtfully, tilting her head.
"Or come sit in the Falcon and cry and call those assholes a bunch of your own names," he went on, focusing on his fruit. "You can drink my whiskey and hide." He looked up and winked at her. "I won't take advantage of you."
It was an afterthought of a sly comment, but Leia knew he meant it.
She stared at him quietly, and then unstuck her jaw.
"I can't," she said tightly.
Han glared at her.
"I get that you don't want people tellin' you how to grieve in public, and nobody's got a damn right to, but around your friends – " he started angrily.
"No, Han," she interrupted softly. "I physically can't."
She swallowed hard, her throat dry.
"I try to cry, and I just get sick instead," she said tiredly. She fell silent. "If you felt everything I was feeling," she paused for a beat, "you would die."
Han nodded – she was probably right. He put his elbow on the table and gestured his knife at her innocuously.
"That's why you got to cry about little stuff," he said. "Like some asshole callin' you a bitch," he muttered darkly, and then gestured to her tray, "or how your soup's cold now."
Leia looked down dully, and noticed that steam had stopped rising off of it – and he was probably right; it must be cold. There was a slim, slim window between too hot to eat and frozen by the atmosphere, here on Hoth. She looked down at the meager meal for a long time, until she heard Han push his tray forward and get up.
She watched him walk off, tucking his knife into his back pocket, and her heart quickened a little – his presence had been nice, despite how resistant to it she was at first. She was surprised Han had such a philosophical view on emotions, but perhaps she shouldn't be; Han, after all, was always loudly announcing his feelings – whether they be rage, annoyance, delight –
He reappeared to set a new bowl of soup in front of her and set the cold one on his abandoned tray.
Then, he stuck the last slice of his fruit against her cheek. She swatted him away, knocking it to the floor and jerking around to glare at him menacingly. He grinned, and she fought the sudden urge to both laugh, and burst into tears. The halfway point was a sort of strangled huff, as she scrubbed her palm over her face to wipe off the stickiness.
He leaned down level with her shoulder.
"Tell me who called you that," he demanded.
She shook her head firmly – no; it wasn't worth it. Han instigating something wasn't worth it.
He snorted derisively and straightened up, shrugging – suit yourself, Princess. He cocked his head at her intently, and slid his hands into his pockets.
"Come by the Falcon tonight," he said, arching a brow.
"To cry?" Leia asked dryly.
"You can lock yourself in the bunk and everything," he said, completely seriously.
Leia compressed her lips tightly. She took a quiet, deep breath, and nodded. Han looked at her a moment longer, and then turned on his heel, and left her alone with her lunch. She turned her eyes to the fresh bowl of soup, and swirled her spoon into it. She watched the steam curl up lazily and blinked her eyes a few times –there was something about Hoth that seemed to have frozen everything inside of her, numbed her; but maybe there was something about Han that brought on a thaw.
-alexandra
story #337