This (I hesitate to call it a story) has no concrete time or place. It is of course about Han and Leia (are there any other characters in SW?). Oh, and it's also AU so…beware non AU lovers. -summary

Disclaimer: Put simply, I'm George Lucas' bitch.

"Princess Leia?"

The voice, timid, crept up on her and she was reminded of how much she hated surprises.

"Princess Leia?"

She turned around this time and (almost) met the gaze of a (too) young pilot who needed…

"…your help?"

She imagined that his eyes were two transparent circles and that the wall behind him was visible through them and… why do I hate surprises?

The pilot shivered as The Princess seemed to look right through him and so he crept away (almost) unnoticed.

People started looking to Leia for guidance and leadership. Regrettably she had only two shoulders and rather small ones at that; not equipped for heavy weight. She needed time and space to heal. But the Rebellion needed a leader right away and all available room was used for storage of equipment. No room for emotional baggage.

Luke tried to understand but a part of him would always liken her to an indestructible tower of strength; a person completely devoid of weakness. This idolatry simultaneously pleased and terrified her.

"Leia, are you okay?"

She turned to him; longing for empathy, another somewhat larger shoulder. He had both these assets along with purity which was why she couldn't. Not yet.

"I'm fine." As the lie escaped she wanted to bite her tongue but this would be a contradiction to her response so she settled for skipping dinner.

What she really needed was someone who would not expect the galaxy of her; someone accepting of her flaws and loving not just in spite of them but because of them. That, however, was clearly an unattainable dream. In fact, she mentally prepared herself for never finding that person and had been so certain of said person's non-existence that she almost missed the unattainable dream when he stumbled into her life.

"What are you doing here?"

"I …wanted to discuss the details of the mission to Donovia."



Had Han remained an optimistic person, her hesitation would have been enough to arouse hope.

Had Leia not developed masochistic tendencies, she would have let his response strike her as a little too disappointed to indicate merely friendship.

Her eyes were the first thing that he saw. Her downcast expression made him want to edge closer to her. They were the pinnacle of her emotions; stubbornly showing her feelings even as rest of her face remained obediently impartial. People long gone would recall the little girl's eyes that seemed to absorb what you were saying and yearn for more. When she grew older (because she had grown up so very long ago), she didn't lose that absorbent vulnerability (because it was a vulnerability, no matter what compliments she received) but she stopped yearning and childishly dreamed of a day when everybody would mysteriously lost their voices.

"Which part of her do ya thinks the best?"

The question had appeared out of nowhere one initially innocent day in the pilot's changing room. Standard responses were called out; most inappropriate to mention. Expectant glances met his so he paused, thinking.

Her eyes

"Her lips," Han said, gruffly, the pats on his back only serving to reinforce his guilt.

Eventually the war was won (except it never really ended; they just achieved victory, celebrated, then realised that bad things still existed and that it was perhaps a mistake to think that the eradication of the Emperor would inevitably cause the eradication of the Empire).

She buried her head in his shoulder because there was no sand to stick her head available (and people were sure to wonder what the Chief Of State was doing in a children's sandbox).

"You okay?" Han asked, repeatedly to the woman (girl) in his arms.

Her muffled answer was routine: "I'm fine."

During those times (too infrequent for her liking) when her nose was in contact with his neck, she shunned the galaxy, her responsibilities, and her title; throwing that implacable weight off of her. These were some of the only times she permitted her emotions to show and she always thought it a shame that his head was facing the other way. The lifting of her head proved a monumental task (but eventually her neck grew sore and his roaming hands took on a life of their own).

People would always view her as a great leader; a revolutionary defender of justice. But after her death, her reputation was sealed as the young martyr. A tragic example of past mistakes. People would forever use her as an example of imperial rein. "This poor young girl would have had a normal life if only the Empire had never existed." "She would have skipped gaily through the fields if it hadn't been for that darn Emperor."

There were also whispers of the man she was rumoured to have (past tense) been with. One who disappeared after the memorial, into blissful anonymity.



When talking of him, people would almost use the phrase 'to be never heard from again.' Except that not many ever really heard 'from' him, it was more of a heard 'of' type of situation and they would adjust their sentences accordingly.

The alcohol provided a reliable shield for a while until he ran out of credits. Shifting the blame seemed to help a little except that he could never really bring himself to hate the kid. Verbal abuse soon lost its appeal when a dejected Chewie started fighting back.

Eventually, he ran out of things that could be thrown into that parasitic void of pain and years of running from his emotions had sapped him of the strength to hide from this one for too long.

So he submitted.

His grief threatened to swallow him and although he had endured more than his fair share of it, Han managed to fight back.

Eventually he won. (Except he never really won because it still hurt, she was still gone and it had never really been a competition in the first place).

I have developed an unhealthy reliance on brackets.