Note! This started out as the beginning for another story I'm working on, but that was has dialogue, and once I got about three paragraphs in, it hurt too much for me to put dialogue into this… so I made it it's own little story : ) I think it's best qualified as a character study.
Disclaimer! I'm not George Lucas and don't own Star Wars. Never have been, never will be, and never will own.
It is close to the mark of a new day when Han Solo finally finds himself back in the comfort of his home, a mission to a distant planet having left him absent for a few too many days. It kills him to be absent for more than a few days—he is a different Han Solo than the one he had once been—because all he has of Leia is pictures of them that others often sneakily took, and the occasional talk late at night. He also knows, and she knows plenty well that he knows, that when he is absent for more than three days, Leia converts back to the workaholic that never would truly die in her, no matter how much he tried to teach her the words 'vacation' and 'relax'. Most of him wishes that she would not work herself to her death, but part of him knows that, without him there for her to return to at night, there is essentially no reason for her to return home—C-3PO is hardly a reason to return home at night, that is undisputed and unmentioned.
So, when Han finally finds himself back in the warmth of his own home after countless miserable hours, he is both disappointed and unsurprised to find that Leia is not there. The large apartment remains silent as he quickly disappears into the recesses of the room he and Leia share, depositing his bag on the bed for when he returns later, before quickly hopping into the 'fresher, and putting on a clean set of clothes. By the time this routine is complete, it is a new day of the year, and has been for a little over twelve standard minutes. Walking back into the main area, he quickly checks all the rooms, and only when he has confirmed to himself that Leia is completely absent does he head for the speeders. He is perfectly aware that he should have immediately headed for the speeders, because he is home several days early, and Leia does not start coming back into their dwelling until the bare minimum of time the mission requires—though she should know by now he has a knack for being back several days earlier than scheduled.
It takes him about fifteen standard minutes to get to the large building that holds Leia's office, for even in the midst of night, Coruscant is notorious for being busy with traffic. At a distance, he can vaguely see the dim light glowing in her office, and knows without the Force or a better look that she is hovering over her data pad, reviewing some list of requirements or another. The rest of the building is silent and dark, resting from it's typical bustling atmosphere. There is something both eerie and peaceful about the building at night, but Han does not ponder in at the moment, rather finding himself at Leia's building floor, and only a handful of meters away from her. He hurries himself across the floor, not bothering to knock at her door, though part of him knows he probably should. It is polite, his conscious says, and Han smirks at this. He can be polite, yes, but he has been apart from his wife—his heart, his soul, his partner-in-crime, his other half—for longer than he had liked, and knocking would just get in his way.
She does not look up when he enters and he is, for the second time in the inky blackness of the night, unsurprised. She is both tired and focused, a rather unhealthy combination in his book, but at the same time, that was Leia. Focused, determined, and exceptionally stubborn, and not hunger, nor fatigue, or even the man she married would stop her from finishing what she was doing. So, instead, he sits himself in one of the chairs off to the side of the room, and lays his head back, a smirk dancing it's way across his lips, a quiet snort the only sound. He had been in such a rush to get back to her, to have her in his arms, and now here he is, sitting in a chair, with her in two seconds of his reach, but not daring to cross the distance and touch her. Most would think him strange for all of this, but that is because they do not quite know him well enough. For it is the knowledge that Leia is still fine after being away from her for too long for his liking that puts his rushing mood to a halt, and lets him sit back and relax, waiting for her to come to him.
He shuts his eyes for a minute, and he supposes later that he dozed off just a little, because he is startled when a sudden weight finds itself comfortable on his lap. His sudden jerk of movement finds him nose to nose with a tired but grinning Leia, and he too grins as he once more relaxes. On instinct, she leans forward and their lips meet in a gentle, loving kiss. Neither say a word, for nothing needs to be spoken. They have a love that many dream of and only few get, one that does not require words or the Force to communicate. That, coupled with this routine that they have danced through one too many times now, leaves them with the knowledge that neither need to say a word.
Deep down, Han knows that he should pick her up and carry her down to the speeder—she is a lightweight through and through, and he has never had any difficulty carrying her—but he has found himself suddenly sore from his long mission, and his only desire is to rest. If he rests in this chair, however, he knows he will be stiff in the—later—morning, and complain throughout the rest of the day about his aching muscles—it is thoughts like these that make him laugh and wonder just when the hell he got so damn old. He has Leia to think of, too, and so, though he does not wish to, he forces himself awake, picking her up and carrying her to the turbo lift, then to the speeder, before driving them safely home, and carrying her back to their apartment. There, they quickly complete their well practiced routine, checking to make sure all the lights are off, tossing his bag into a corner of their room, and finishing their night cycles of getting ready for bed, and the joining each other in said bed.
Throughout this entire time, neither have said a word, and neither mind this. Han knows that Leia will ask him about his mission later, when he is feeling more refreshed, and Leia knows that Han will gently—and lovingly—scold her about working herself to extremes just because he is not there, and that will be that. They will go on through the rest of the day with moments of loving affection and habitual bickering, and everything in the galaxy will be at balance. Because, at the end of the day, all routines are, are dances that are mastered after countless times of practice. And they're okay with that.
It was really late when I wrote this, because I write best late at night, and the I and K keys on my keyboard are still slightly pink from the not so good combination of typing and coloring, and I should have gone to bed much earlier but I couldn't because I was on a roll! So, I got this complete fic, and a completely colored picture of Mike and Sully from Monsters Inc.! I think it has been a successful night.