a/n: This is an Identity story. Setting - Han and Leia's first night in their shared apartment.

Palace

The apartment was silent – silent, yet somehow humming, humming with the strangeness that was common to places that were sparkling new and waiting to be made familiar; it was dark, and late into the night, and Leia lay awake in a tangle of fine new sheets and quilts, head on a luxurious pillow, gaze fixated on a glowing beam of moonlight that pierced in through half-open curtains.

She was restless, wide-awake, her skin crawling with a feeling she couldn't quite identify – was it thrill, apprehension, doubt – fear? The week had been exhausting beyond belief – her work, and his, demanding as usual, and in the midst of that their personal affairs coalescing and triumphing in this new apartment – theirs, their new apartment – and though she was tired to the bone, Leia found herself unable to sleep –

That in itself was not altogether uncommon, but she felt so on edge – and next to her Han slept heavily, sprawled on his stomach with plenty of space to spare, knees and elbows at angles that never would have worked on the Falcon – she watched him sleep, listened to his soothing, steady breathing, kept a vigilant study on the moonlight on their pillows, and the dust that glittered in the pale ghostly light of it.

She hugged an arm to her chest, her cheek pressed into the cool satin of the pillow, legs crossed at the ankle – she parted her lips and breathed lightly, careful not to toss and turn, careful not to wake him –

They had been on the lookout for an apartment since he'd returned from his campaign against Warlord Zsinj; it solved so many problems – it gave them more space, kept her from having to run from the Falcon to her quarters in the old Imperial palace, erased the space that had always lingered between them, whether it be because they were physically separated, or emotionally resisting each other – and she'd felt nothing, nothing but relief, and excitement leading up to this day, this final day of the week that marked their first night in their apartment.

Moving in had been – giddy, almost illicit; Leia had no qualms about her relationship with Han, nor was she ashamed of him, or wary of other's opinions – but she understood politics, and she understood subtlety, and so while she did not hide, she also did not flaunt – and more than that, Han was hers, and hers alone, and she wanted it to stay that way for as long as it could; she didn't have to share him with the world –

And so the move had felt clandestine; it had the flavor of something covert – and that made it exhilarating, in a manner that was more than just Leia's quiet, internal delight at the idea of having Han next to her every morning, Han somewhere in her place all the time – when she got home, on non work days – always.

She spent day after day leaving work, where she toiled relentlessly to keep the newborn, reincarnated Galactic Republic thriving and holding steady, and handling property lawyers and furniture orders and bothering Han about decorations – it had felt so, so unfathomably average, the way they tried to navigate something as simple as establishing a home on Coruscant, in the aftermath.

It felt average, but simultaneously, it gave her a shivery feeling, left a taste of something wild on her lips, because she was a Princess of Alderaan and it would be unheard of, wouldn't it, for her to live with a man – a man of no nobility, at that – prior to a marriage, and yet despite Han's proposal on Corellia, Leia hadn't even considered marrying him first; there wasn't time – and so she felt a little young, and a little reckless, and she savored it, even if it bewildered her, because she couldn't ever remember feeling like a normal teenage girl –

Here she was, an Ambassador, and a warrior, and the leader of a dying and desperate homeless people, and at the end of the day she was also a woman just on the cusp of her early twenties who ran through the rooms of an empty new apartment, her lover on her heels, chasing her, shrieking and laughing because no one could hear them here, and the war was over, and they were alive, and Han was going to stay – forever.

Leia had felt – a torrent of emotions leading up to this, most of which settled into content relief when the last piece of furniture was situated, and Han was pouring wine in the spotless kitchen, and she was barefoot on the balcony, staring bright-eyed at Coruscant traffic, breathing the smoky, metallic air, and thinking this is home now – and she'd been really lost in the feeling of success really doing it, really moving in with him, gave her, because it was something she'd done purely for her own – their own – happiness.

She lay in bed next to him and felt that euphoria slipping through her fingers, escaping through her skin into nothingness, replaced by an unidentifiable something that was keeping her awake, and making her anxious – she felt a queasy stirring in her mind, and in her stomach, that damn near promised her she'd have nightmares if she fell asleep, and she kept slowly blinking back tears, quietly, intensely, trying to understand why she felt so down, suddenly, when all of this was so good.

Han slept on, and Leia bit her lip, her eyes roaming over him – he had done so much of the heavy lifting, situating everything in the apartment, and he'd been dead to the world in a heartbeat – sweat barely dry on their skin, mumbling in her hair tiredly, but smugly – hey, Sweetheart, think about all the places here we haven't fucked yet - promising her weeks to come of christening this place and making it completely belong to them.

She didn't want to wake him – yet she didn't want to let herself go to sleep; she could feel the darkness of her dreams tugging at her, and she'd – she'd rather wake him gently, than wake him screaming, not tonight, not when it was a day they'd both earned so thoroughly and deserved to have in peace.

Leia compressed her lips and moved closer, shifting onto her side. She slid her hand across the space between them, brushing her fingertips against his arm.

"Han," she murmured.

He moved his head, shifting it up a little, eyes closed.

"Hmm?" he mumbled gruffly, his mouth falling open a little.

Leia bit her lip, wrapping her hand around his wrist. She squeezed it, and then ran her hand up his arm, moving even closer.

"Han," she whispered. She took a short, quiet breath, wincing at herself. "I can't…sleep."

He nodded at her, eyes still closed.

"Hmmm," he grumbled under his breath, thoughtful.

He breathed in, his brow furrowing, and then rolled closer to her, running his hand over her stomach. He touched her hip, arching a brow – still without opening his eyes.

"You want to have sex?" he mumbled thickly, tucking his head into her neck.

Leia laughed softly, pressing her mouth against his shoulder.

"Are you even awake?" she whispered.

He shrugged a little, sliding his hand from her stomach to her hip, and then to her inner thigh, brushing his fingers between her legs.

"I can do it in my sleep," he mumbled, and Leia clutched at his hair with one hand, giving a small gasp of laughter, and pressing her legs together – trapping his hand; he grinned, and she was laughing quietly again, so taken with him, body and soul.

"I'm sure, scoundrel," she murmured, kissing his temple, "but I like you to look at me when you do it." She sighed softly. "Look at me, Han."

Han pulled his head back and finally opened his eyes, giving her a hazy, sleepy look. He smiled smugly, his expression languid. He blinked a few times; focusing without losing his relaxed countenance, and gently pulled his hand away from her thighs and curled his fingers into a loose fist, touching his knuckles to her jaw.

"Yeah, Princess, I see you," he said slowly – his voice was gravelly, drowsy, and she loved when he sounded like that.

He looked at her a little longer and then pushed himself up, leaning on one arm and looking down at her.

"What'sa matter?" he asked huskily.

Leia twisted onto her back, looking up at him. She tossed her head a few times, struggling to find a way to put it into words. She was happy to be here, she was happy about this place, about them, she knew that, and yet she had this sneaking feeling, threatening thing lurking on her shoulder –

"It feels to good to be true," she said finally, her voice wavering.

"What does?" Han retorted, forcing the word out through a yawn. He tilted his head at her, and Leia lifted her chin, gazing all around the dark room – the window, its moonlight, the closet, over to the 'fresher door, and she thought about the rest of the space that was theirs –

"This," she whispered, her voice small. She lifted her shoulders, drawing her bottom lip into her mouth, and biting down on it, hard.

Han tilted his head at her. He lowered himself back down gingerly, sliding one of his legs in between hers and aligning his body with hers. He kept most of his weight off of her, but she shifted towards his shoulder, curling up against him. He placed his elbow above her shoulder and leaned down to kiss her, sliding his hands into her hair.

He nodded.

"Yeah, I get it," he said hoarsely, his lips moving against hers. He drew back and arched a brow. "It is true."

Leia took a shaky breath.

"I can't remember the last time something this good lasted," she said. "I – there was, the trip to Bespin, but even that," she trailed off – they both knew how it had ended, and even that trip, full of new experiences and hard-earned intimacy as it was, had such growing pains that it wasn't as purely optimistic as they stood to be in this moment, on the brink of a new world.

Leia blinked rapidly.

"Han, I've looked forward to this for weeks, and it's starting to feel like everything might fall into place, and I feel – like – if I let myself completely enjoy it, it will all be ripped away."

Han slid his fingers through her hair slowly, looking at her silently. She moved her hand up between them and wiped at her face and he lowered his forehead to hers –

"Leia," he whispered contently.

She put her hands on his neck. He lifted his head a little.

"'Course you feel that way," he said gruffly. "You kept havin' everything taken away from you, last few years," he mumbled ineloquently. He lifted his shoulders. "Seemed like even when you dug your nails in to hold on, you just got your nails ripped off, too."

Leia made a noise that might have been a laugh, and might have been a sob.

"How poetic," she murmured, breathing out a sigh.

"Mm-hmm," Han drawled. He pressed a kiss to her jaw. "I got lines, Your Worship."

Leia nodded.

"I might have fallen for some of them," she confided.

"Only some?" Han fired back smoothly.

"The really good ones," she teased.

"Elaborate," he growled.

Leia smiled. She tilted her head back.

"Ahh, well," she murmured. "Remember when you called me a committee?" She feigned a sigh. "That was so hot."

Han laughed under his breath.

He turned on his side a little, and propped his head up, wrapping his free arm around her middle and pulling her close. Leia took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, laying her head near his elbow. She splayed her palms over his chest. He leaned over and kissed her shoulder, moving his lips lower, and Leia tilted her head up, eyes above her head.

She closed her eyes.

"I can tell, sometimes," she said softly, "when I'm going to have nightmares," she swallowed hard, "before I even go to sleep."

Han shifted, kicking sheets out of his way. He nodded, listening – he knew; he knew her so well. He knew she'd shy away from sleep, and then lie awake thinking about all of the terrible things anyway, and he'd told her she could wake him up, he could distract her if she needed it – and he was relieved, every time she did, that she took him so seriously.

Han kissed her ribs, and her stomach, and Leia shifted her legs, lifting her knees Han's hands curved around her hips, and when she raised her head and looked down, his shoulders were hovering right above her ankles. He kissed the inside of her thigh, pressing his nose against her skin.

He lowered his head to rest his chin on her navel, and Leia reached down to slip her fingers through his hair. She smiled at him, pressing her lips together to keep them from shaking.

"You want me to go down on you?" he asked, arching a brow gently. He inched his mouth down suggestively, flashing his teeth, and Leia smiled, her abdomen tightening at the feel of his lips between her legs.

"Yes, as a general rule," she murmured.

She tightened her hand in his hair, though, and shook her head.

"But no," she said softly, "not right now."

He sat up a little, kissed her knee, and crawled back over her, resting his weight on his forearms and staring down at her. His hips pressed against hers lightly, and she felt safe, and glad she'd woken him up to talk to her, to keep her company, even though he looked so tired, and she wished she was more stable, sometimes, and she wished he could get more sleep than he did, sharing a bed with her.

"I want to hang on to this feeling I've had all week," she said, her voice pitching anxiously. "That this is permanent, and it's the best thing that's happened to me in…years."

"Me? Or the apartment?" Han drawled, deadpan.

"The apartment," Leia retorted, just as deadpan.

"It's a nice one," Han agreed.

Leia giggled.

Her smile faded for a moment, and she caught her breath.

"I was just – watching you sleep – "

"Watching me sleep? Didn't know you were so creepy, Princess – "

"Watching you sleep," she went on, stifling another giggle at his serious tone – and he pulled back, listening again, "and feeling like – if I went to sleep, I'd have a nightmare, or I'd wake up and you'd be gone."

He shook his head.

"No'm, not goin' anywhere," he assured her.

"I know," she said, leaning forward to kiss him.

Han, grimacing a little at the strain of holding himself up over her, rolled to the side, and wrapped his arm around her, breathing out dramatically and pulling her close. Leia turned her head and stared at him until he opened his eyes again. She smiled and flicked her eyes around the room silently, saying nothing for a long time.

She looked back at him, and lifted her hand, pushing her hair back from her shoulders.

"I love you," she said.

He kissed her firmly – "so much," she murmured very softly.

Han nodded.

He pulled back, and ran his thumb along her jawline.

"Hey," he said gruffly. "You think you're feelin' – down," he said slowly, "'cause – and I'm not callin' you spoiled – everyone's going back to the stuff they had before the war, and you've got," he lifted his shoulder, and looked around, "well, it's an apartment, not a palace."

Leia thought about it, her breathing even, and soft – part of it; maybe. Her heartache over Alderaan seemed to grow, rather than diminish, with every passing week – every day spent in a new galactic order that would forever be missing one of its finest planets.

She blinked a few times, and then shook her head.

"No, no, Han," she said huskily. "I miss Alderaan. You know…how much I miss it," she went on. "I'm not upset because all I have now is you, and – and Luke, and, Chewie and…this apartment," she laughed a little. "I'm not settling for you. I'm settling with you," she said, "and I couldn't stand to lose you."

Han splayed his hand over her lower back.

"I think we can survive," she said bravely. "I think we can be happy."

She said the words, and the threatening feeling that had been lurking all around her in the dark seemed to evaporate, melt away – she chased it away by refusing to be fatalistic, saying, out loud, that they could turn their backs on the war and the poison of it and – find an equilibrium they'd sought.

Han nodded, laying his head on the pillow next to hers.

"I have to figure out who I am," Leia whispered.

Han shrugged.

"I know who you are," he said gruffly.

She arched a brow.

"Short, stubborn little thing," he said seriously, and she kicked him lightly, as he kept going – "Sharp teeth," he turned his face into her neck, jerking his knee back to dodge another kick – and she laughed, while pretending to be outraged – "kind of like a, uh, tough, smart ass – faerie – "

Leia tilted her head back and shrieked with laughter, doubling over, and Han grinned against her thought.

"Oh, you're such an idiot," she gasped, clutching her ribs. "Listen to yourself."

Han grabbed gently at her ribs, tickling her, and she dissolved into more helpless laughter, clinging to him – ah, he meant so much to her; the way he made her laugh, his bravado, the strong, warm steel underneath his thick skin that made him capable of supporting her – he came off as so tarnished and rough and raw, and yet she could wake him out of a deep, much-needed sleep and he'd give her a shoulder to place her burdens on and kiss her breathless and leave her laughing –

"You feelin' any better, Sweetheart?" he growled – had he distracted her, was she able to regain her fierce pride and contentment and stamp out the nearly second-nature fear of loss that the war ingrained in her –

He'd said – it's an apartment, not a palace; and he was right, she'd never have the palaces of her home back, and it hurt; but he made this simple, private place on Coruscant feel like Antibes itself.

She smiled brightly, and pressed her lips to his cheek in a chaste, affectionate kiss, holding her lips there possessively – and she'd get to wake up like this, every morning, from now on – Han in bed next to her, the Empire fractured, and the world unstable – unstable, but fighting, striving towards some kind of balance.

Pretty heavy on bolstering the themes that were sort of wrenched away in 'Identity' ... because so much of Leia's problem in that story was that she'd found her 'equilibrium' (lack of confrontation of her post-traumatic stress) and Bail coming back upended everything -

anyway, hope you enjoyed. above is just some insight on why i wrote it.

-alexandra
story #345