a/n: ! set at a vague point after 'Return of the Jedi'

Fade

Leia woke with a start – she felt troubled; uneasy. She was not altogether unaccustomed to waking up abruptly, with that exact feeling – usually, though, that feeling was accompanied by tossing, turning, quick, panicked breathing, a struggle to escape from the claws of whatever nightmare hellscape had snared her.

She hadn't been dreaming, though – she'd been sleeping well. Her heartbeat was steady and languid and she was disoriented in a pleasant way – yet the feeling of unease lingered, and she turned over, blinking in the dark, tentatively reaching into the quiet of the Force – was something wrong with Luke; was this power she so often ignored trying to warn her of something – ?

Leia stared for a moment at the pillow next to her, and then realized with a jolt that Han was gone; his side of the bed was empty, sheets distressed, pillow askew. She sat up quickly, bracing herself on her arm. She slid her palm over – his spot was still warm, so he must have just gotten up.

She furrowed her brow and looked around curiously, about to call his name. She heard water running in the restroom and rolled over, staring across the room at the door for a moment.

She blinked a few times, and frowned to herself – she suddenly seemed to remember Han fighting the quilt off of him and getting out of bed, and she struggled for a moment to determine if she'd imagined it, or if that was in fact what had startled her awake.

"Han?" she called quietly.

She figured he wouldn't hear her over the water running, and then she heard him coughing. She slipped out of the sheets and pressed her toes into the carpet, letting her feet down lightly. She bent down and swept his t-shirt off the floor, pulling it over her head as she took a step in the dark.

Leia's nerves hummed with apprehension as she felt her way through the dark to the 'fresher door, blinking sleep out of her eyes and using the thin line of light glowing around the hinges to guide her –

She smoothed her knuckles against the door in a gentle tap, pushing it open just a little –

"Han?" she ventured, stumbling over his name in the middle of a yawn.

She still heard the water running, loud and harsh, and she thought she heard him coughing – the tail end of him getting sick? – but Han was never sick. She rested her cheek on the doorframe, hesitant to barge in on him.

"Han?"

He mumbled something incoherent; it may have been an attempt to brush her off, to get her to go back to bed, or it may have been acquiescence to her opening the door; she wasn't sure, and she pushed the door open regardless, stepping in cautiously.

Han was hunched over the sink, one forearm braced hard against the ceramic counter. He grimaced, and spit a mouthful of water into the drain, cupping his free hand under the faucet again and splashing his mouth out.

Leia watched him for a moment – she thought his hand was shaking, and he was certainly pale. She hugged herself lightly, and then reached out, resting her hand on his bicep.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her brow furrowing gently.

She moved a little closer, tilting her head to look down at him anxiously. His skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, but he didn't feel feverish – and his muscles were tense, all knotted and tight as if he'd just been in a fight.

She watched him spit in the sink again, still rinsing his mouth out, and she frowned more deeply, running her palm over him – up over his shoulder, up to his neck to feel more of his skin.

"Are you sick?" she asked quietly.

Han shook his head. He ran the back of his hand over his mouth, and stayed hunched over, staring at the running water. He gave another sour grimace, and then glanced up at her, a strange sort of amusement crossing his face for a moment – he laughed shortly, mirthlessly, and then turned off the sink with a quick jerk of his wrist.

"I, uh," he started haltingly, his voice gruff, and startlingly unsteady. Leia ran her hand over his neck soothingly, pursing her lips. He caught her eye sheepishly, and let out a breath slowly. "Nightmare," he said. He scowled at himself, as if he were in disbelief this was happening to him. "Bad one."

Leia's stomach dropped. She slid closer, leaning against the counter, moving her hand into his hair, her other hand reaching for his arm. Han never had nightmares – or, at least he rarely did; he was more prone to insomnia if he was bothered – and when he did sleep uneasily, he was never this affected by it; he never got sick.

She parted her lips slightly and made a quiet, shushing sound. Han bowed his head, resting it against the cold of the porcelain counter, and then turned, still hunched over as if he were nauseous, or in pain, and he took her hips in his hands, pressing his nose, mouth, eyes, forehead – pressing his face against her sternum. She felt the erratic warmth of his breath through the t-shirt she'd thrown on.

Leia looked down at his bowed head sympathetically, sliding her hands into his hair. She pressed her fingertips in light little massages against his scalp. He lifted his head, started to straighten, simply running his hands up her sides until he got to her shoulders. He curved his hands around her, holding on tightly.

"Han," Leia murmured into his shoulder. "You feel like you're about to collapse."

Han gave another uncomfortable, small laugh.

"Huh-uh, 'm okay," he mumbled. He cleared his throat. "Ahh, it shook me up, got to me. That's all. I'm fine."

Leia nodded. She looked up at him, and having been there many times, knew exactly how he was feeling – and she wondered what could have so badly haunted him that it tied him up in knots like this.

She rested her palms on his abdomen.

"Come in to bed," she murmured. "Come on, we'll talk about this."

Han looked a little reluctant. He cleared his throat, and loosened his grip, letting his hands fall to his sides.

"Nah, s'okay, uh – lemme brush my teeth," he muttered. "I'm good."

Leia leaned over and handed him his toothbrush and the half-empty tube of toothpaste they shared, wordless for a moment. She turned the faucet back on for him, and leaned back against the sink. She brushed her knuckles against his stomach a few times.

"Mmhmm, get the taste out of your mouth," she agreed. "I'll make you some tea – "

Han shrugged tensely.

"Yeah, I don't need to be babied," he said abruptly. "You can go back to bed."

Leia slid her hand off of him. She tilted her head, standing still, her expression unreadable. She took a deep breath, breathing out slowly, quietly, and lifted her shoulders.

"I can," she agreed. "I won't," she said. She let that sink in for a moment, and then stepped closer. "Brush your teeth, Han," she soothed, running her hand over his tight muscles gently – and she felt him relax a little under her touch. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his bicep, ignoring his brusque tone. "Come in to bed."

She took a few steps back to let him breathe, and left the bathroom, heading to the kitchen from their bedroom. She left the lights off, widening her eyes to adjust, and stood near the sink for a moment, contemplating making Han a cup of tea even if he thought he didn't want it.

Then – Han wasn't much of a tea drinker in normal circumstances, so Leia abandoned the idea. She did, however, take a soft, clean washcloth in her hand and dampen it with cool water, saturating it evenly, and then folding it over and taking it with her back to bed.

She returned to her spot as Han was coming out of the 'fresher, shutting off the light and dragging his feet back to bed. He ran the back of his hand over his mouth with a grimace and all but threw himself into bed – somewhat dramatic, but an expression of exhaustion, as well.

He rubbed his head a couple of times as he shifted, trying to get comfortable. Leia moved closer. She tapped his shoulder silently, crossing her legs, and then gently pulled his head into her lap. She ran her fingers through his hair, and rested the cool cloth on his forehead.

Han jumped a little, blinking rapidly. Leia applied a gentle pressure to the cloth, pursing her lips.

"Is your head pounding?" she asked quietly.

She watched Han's throat move as he swallowed hard.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

Leia tilted her head at him, looking down on him primly, and smiled a little wryly. Han blinked sheepishly at her knowing look and nodded, closing his eyes.

"Hmm," he grumbled. "Oh, yeah," he said dryly.

He fell silent, and Leia held her hand against his forehead for a bit longer, before sliding her hands over his shoulders and starting to skillfully knead the taut muscles there, her knuckles working smoothly. Han turned and twisted a little, lying on his side, pillowing his head on Leia's thigh. He reached up to press the cloth against his forehead, sighing heavily.

"Didn't mean to wake you up," he muttered, frowning.

Leia brushed her hand through his hair and shrugged.

"It must have been pretty bad, if it made you sick," she murmured.

Han's shoulder twitched a little, and he pulled his hand down over his eyes as if he could – hide his face. He didn't look up at her.

"Don't – make a thing of it," he said edgily. "It's just – "

"Shut up, Han," Leia interrupted mildly.

She took a deep breath, falling into silence for a moment while she contemplated what he was feeling – distress, over whatever the nightmare had stirred up, fear that it was real, burgeoning relief that it wasn't, lingering horror that it could be real – disorientation, embarrassment – she knew it all so well, and she wanted him to understand that – their relationship was going to be reciprocal in everything, and she would be here to play his part, once in a while, when he was the one fighting off demons.

Leia tilted her head back, still smoothing her palms over Han's shoulders in a careful massage. She relaxed, staring up at the ceiling, and cleared her throat.

"The first time I had a nightmare, on the way to Bespin," she began calmly. "Do you remember?"

She felt Han's hair brush her thigh as he nodded.

She went on, lowering her voice –

"I was mortified," she said. "I – well, you said you remember," Leia said simply.

Han nodded again – a lot of screaming, screaming that had taken him completely off guard, Leia's disorientation, her nails scratching him when he woke her up and she couldn't get a handle on her surroundings and she had no idea who had his hands on her – Han remembered thinking it was absurd that she cared so much about appearances, then, when he was just trying to calm her down and make sure she was okay –

Get away from me, Han, don't – look at me - !

Fine, Sweetheart, I'll close my eyes, just take a deep breath, it's the Falcon, it's me – I know you don't like me much, but you're safe, you know –

He shifted and slid his arm under Leia's leg, twisting it around her thigh. He relaxed a little more.

"I never like waking up like that," Leia whispered.

"'Course you don't," Han snorted under his breath.

"What I mean is," Leia continued, "even now, it still…mortifies me," she admitted. "It makes me feel weak and frustrated and – ahh," she sighed, trying to find words. "Small," she decided, "damaged."

Han grunted.

"I don't think that stuff about you," he muttered.

Leia nodded.

"No, you don't," she agreed. She pushed his hair back. "I trust you. You're used to it," she murmured. "So," she began, lowering her head a little, arching her body over him and resting her forehead against his temple, pressing a cool kiss to his brow, "do you think I, of all people, am bothered if you've got the shakes after a nightmare?"

Han squeezed his hand against her thigh, and then slowly shook his head, regretting his terse remarks.

Leia lifted her head, rolling her shoulders back comfortably. She pressed her hand against his forehead for a moment, and then removed the cold cloth, and tossed it aside, replacing it with just her palm.

"What was the nightmare about?" she asked.

Han groaned quietly.

"Can't talk about it," he said – but it didn't sound as if he didn't want to – he said that like he wasn't able to vocalize – "Felt like I was trapped in the carbonite again," he said vaguely, with another grimace, "s'like I can't remember the details, just that…you were getting' hurt, someone was hurtin' you," he explained gruffly.

Han cleared his throat, his eyes closed tightly.

"Details are a blur," he grunted. "S'just…bad, it was bad – felt like, if I didn't make myself sick, it'd never get out of me."

Leia rested her palms on his neck soothingly.

"You made yourself sick?" she asked.

Han drew his lips back sourly, clenching his teeth.

"Yeah, shoved a couple fingers down my throat," he admitted sheepishly.

Leia slid her fingers from his neck into his hair, combing through it very slowly. She said nothing, content to just touch him, providing soft, somatic comfort like he so often did for her.

She watched him turn his head into her touch, shift his body towards her, tucking himself into her lap. Leia ran her hand down his shoulder and squeezed his elbow gently.

"It'll fade away," she promised. "That – sense of terror, it's sharp right now, but it'll fade. You'll be wary of trying to go back to sleep," she said, "but you'll be okay."

Han didn't answer her right away. He moved his head until his temple was pressing into her ribs, and tilted it, looking up at her tiredly.

"Is this how you feel every time, Leia?" he asked hoarsely.

She thought about it quietly – reflected, intently, choosing her words before she answered.

"It was," she admitted huskily. "For a while, it was. When everything I had was gone, and it – the feeling never faded, because when I woke up – it wasn't much different than the nightmare."

She took a deep breath, and smiled a little, leaning back against the headboard easily.

"It's not so bad these days," she said. She relaxed her shoulders. "You're always here when I wake up. The fear…fades quicker."

Han nodded.

She ran her fingers through his hair for a few more silent moments, and then she shifted, maneuvering around gingerly until she was stretched out next to him, and she could tuck the covers around them tightly, burrowed down in the sheets cozily. She slipped her arms around him, twisted her legs around his – nestled her knee in between his thighs comfortably.

Han touched her face, and then slipped his hands under her t-shirt, pressing his palms tightly against her back. He kissed her forehead, and the corner of her mouth.

"It's alright, Han," she whispered. "I'm alright. No one is hurting me."

He swallowed hard, giving a short nod.

"I know, Leia, but they're always – it's just – I'm always afraid someone will."

She knew it was difficult for him to admit to something as mundane as fear, and she didn't comment on it, for his sake.

"You were screaming for me, for help, really blood-curdling screaming and I couldn't – couldn't do anything. Couldn't get to you."

Leia kissed his shoulder, his throat – kissed him just behind his hear, and kissed his jaw.

"Han," she whispered.

He tilted his chin up, eyes searching hers.

"Hmm?" he mumbled.

She kissed his lips.

"You've got me right here," she comforted. She took one of his hands and pulled it from her back to her chest, just below her shoulder – she pressed it against her heart, so he could feel the rhythm, and feel her breathe in and out. "Heart's beating, lungs're working," she murmured. "You've been there for me every time I've needed you," she paused, and smirked softly, "even a handful of times when I didn't want you."

Han laughed hoarsely.

He nodded a few times. He left his hand against her breast, pulled her closer with his other arm, and sighed, exhausted. Leia brushed her ankle against his under the sheets, every so lightly keeping up a lulling rhythm.

"It'll fade," she assured him again, her voice soft in his ear. "It'll fade, honey."

Han wove his hand into her hair. He was so much – taller than her, so much more muscular, and Leia was used to being wrapped up in those arms, held tightly, protected – still, on this particular night, though nothing was physically different about the way he held her, it was clear that she was the one doing the holding, while he buried his head in her neck, and let the nightmare fade.

-alexandra

story #352