a/n: more talky talky
Vulnerable
Space eradicated all sense of time, and that sensation was twofold when she was stuck in the wide reaches of starry nowhere moving at lethargic speed through one unknown, and towards another.
She had stopped trying to keep track of whether it was day, or night, or anything in between; it wasn't worth it, and it made the hours drag on endlessly. Instead she reveled in the quiet. They were in limbo out here, and for her that meant more quiet and calm than she'd seen in three long, bloodthirsty years.
Sitting in the booth of the Dejarik table, her hand curled around a chipped, scratched old mug full of hot kaffe, she gazed at the man sitting next to her. Her expression was thoughtful, her posture relaxed, her feet curled under her cozily.
Clad only in a warm, but ragged, sweatshirt of his and her underwear, she felt strangely at home, and as he sat near her in the booth, barefoot, his hair tangled, wearing only low-slung casual trousers, she thought if he'd been reading the Holo news, this might be the perfect picture of a mellow, laid-back average morning.
If they weren't two high-profile insurgents stranded in deep space, on the run from gang lords and emperors alike, barreling towards immense battles, and toiling with their own internal conflicts.
It wasn't the news Han was scanning; it was ration charts. He, too, had his hand curled around a mug of kaffe, kaffe he'd made earlier. From somewhere in one of the turrets, they could hear Chewie swearing in muffled growls.
The silence wasn't troublesome, it was gentle, and kind, and yet she still broke it.
"Why is it so easy for you to say?" she asked.
She traced the rim of her mug lightly with her index finger, and then leaned heavily into the back of the booth, nudging her shoulder against the ripped cushioning. She lifted the kaffe to her lips, and breathed it in.
Han grunted, and looked up, blinking hazily. There was a focused glaze in his eyes; she'd interrupted his mental calculations of supplies. He sat back, arching a brow almost sleepily.
"Damn, Your Highness, now'm gonna have to start over," he protested idly. He glanced over her appreciatively. "Was I not givin' you enough attention?"
She pursed her lips, taking a sip, and shrugged, eyeing him over the rim of her mug. She said nothing else, until he blinked a couple of times, and cleared his throat, cocking his head curiously.
"Why's what easy to say?" he asked.
Leia let her fingers tap lightly over the mug she was holding in succession. She lowered it to her knee, and balanced it on the kneecap, curling her palm into the warmth. Her other hand she tucked in between her thigh and her stomach, snuggling the fingers into the sleeve.
She pursed her lips.
"'It,'" she quoted herself pointedly.
Han gave her a stubborn look.
"Real eloquent, Princess."
She tapped her fingers again, and then tucked one of them under the mug, so only three were splayed out.
"The three words you said earlier," she clarified.
Han folded his arms slowly. He tilted his head back and forth, and grunted again, turning to look back down at his datapad.
"You still hung up on that?" he muttered.
"I'm not 'hung up,'" Leia said earnestly. "You think it bothers me?"
Han glanced at her dryly – well, seemed like it did, if she was still askin' questions, thinkin' hard on it, hours and hours later. He hadn't intended to say it, hadn't planned it, but when the moment presented itself, he had no qualms about letting the words come.
"S'not easy," he said finally.
"You make it sound easy," Leia pressed.
He flashed a smirk at her.
"Part of the charm."
Leia took another long sip of kaffe, casting her eyes down. She wondered if he was bothered that she hadn't said anything back. She hadn't ignored him, she just – couldn't say it, what he'd said.
Han unfolded his arms and leaned forward casually, stretching his arms out on the table. He traced his thumb around the top of his mug and pulled it towards him, glancing at her.
"You mad at me?"
She drew back a little, startled.
"No," she breathed earnestly. "No, Han, I'm not – angry about being," she trailed off – about being loved. "Are you mad at me?" she asked in turn.
Han lifted his mug, and shrugged.
"No," he snorted. "Why'd I be mad?"
Leia licked her lips.
"Well," she began, mumbling into her kaffe. "I didn't say it back."
Han, to her surprise, turned and gave her an amused look, his mug lingering in hand.
"So?" he retorted. "Leia, you say that sort of stuff when you want to, not 'cause someone else did. Otherwise s'just lip service," he pointed out. He leaned back smugly. "There's only one kind of lip service I'm int'rested in from you, Sweetheart – "
Leia rolled her eyes, her flushing pink, and took another sip of kaffe before setting the mug back down on the table. She placed her hand over it, letting the steam curl into her palm. She rested her chin on her knee, and Han watched her. She did that a lot – curled up, then had one leg tucked under her, one bent towards the sky, and her face tucked down low.
It was beautifully undignified.
She thought of his words earlier. It wasn't the first time he'd said them, but she didn't think she was willing to count I love yous whispered in the throes of sexual passion, not yet – though she did believe his to be genuine.
This had been different though, this had just been Han, standing behind her while she washed her face, his lips buried in her hair, and her neck, touching her reverently, and just the words, whispered quietly, and honestly, in her ear – I love you, Leia.
She'd stared at him in the mirror, reflection on reflection, her heart stuttering. And he'd only nodded firmly; flashed her a knowing smirk, and left her to her grooming.
How could it possibly not be hurting him that she'd only stared?
"Well?" she prompted softly. "Why is it so easy for you to say that to me?"
Han peered down into his kaffe, a muscle in his jaw tightening. He felt as if he were being interrogated regarding his sincerity, but he also tried to understand the inquisition stemmed from the brokenness that had plagued Leia since she lost everything.
"Because," he began finally, both of his brows going up, "I feel that way," he answered simply, as if it were obvious.
Leia bit her lip hesitantly.
"It's, ah," she began quietly, "not because you…take it lightly?"
He looked over at her sharply.
"Take it lightly?" he repeated. He shook his head, his jaw tightening. "I don't say that to just anyone," he said aggressively. "I," he broke off.
He raised his hand, rubbing it over his jaw. He held his hand out, staring at the palm, and then lowered it, his brow furrowed.
"You ever missed your chance to say that to someone?" he muttered.
He thought of the last time he'd seen his mother. He could barely remember it. He didn't know if he'd said he loved her. He thought of the scarce few women who he'd felt deeply for, and yet never said anything about it until it was too late – because he had too much pride, because he wanted to be the tough guy.
He grit his teeth.
"I said it 'cause I feel it," he told her. "I love you. You don't owe me anything.'"
From someone else, that might have sounded petulant, but from Han it was genuine – he didn't expect anything from her. He knew Leia well enough. He knew she was cautious and guarded; he wasn't foolish enough to think she'd sleep with him and let it mean nothing.
He had faith in her heart.
She traced her finger around and around the rim of her mug, thinking about what he'd said. Had she ever forgotten to tell someone? No. Her childhood had been one of effusive emotion, words of love and comfort thrown around generously and with gusto, she'd never been afraid to declare that sort of feeling – to her friends, to her parents, to anyone, until –
Until she had no one, it seemed. Until it felt like every sliver of feeling she let herself have would inevitably be turned into wrenching pain.
"Doesn't it make you feel vulnerable?" she whispered. "Naked?"
Han looked down at himself.
"'M only half naked," he drawled.
She tilted her head, and he gave a little grimace.
"Ehh…ugh," he muttered, and she raised a brow at the little whine.
"What language was that?" she quipped.
"You got a word that's, uh, manlier than 'vulnerable?'" he griped.
Leia laughed huskily.
He leaned back and ran his hands over his face, letting one linger to brush it back though his hair. He folded his arms across his chest again, sighing heavily.
"'Course it does," he muttered edgily. He opened his mouth, hesitated, and then closed it again. He frowned, deep in thought. "I'd feel worse if I never told you, though," he added under his breath.
He shook his head.
"That hurts, Leia," he said tiredly. "Hurts like hell, wonderin' if someone died not knowin' if you loved 'em."
Leia swallowed hard. She suspected it did. It was one thing she did not have to worry about when it came to her parents, her friends, her people – they had known. She knew, unequivocally, that they had known how she loved them.
She leaned heavily into the booth for a while, staring at him for a long time. She struggled to find something to say in return. She had her answer from him – so could she offer him her own words? It was too tender a phrase to get out.
"Han," she started quietly. "I – "
"Think the kaffe's got cold?" he interrupted gruffly.
He nodded, sitting forward. He cleared his throat, lifted his to smell it, and then inched out of the booth, coming around to grab hers, as well. He balanced them both in one hand, firmly holding them by their handles, and looked down at her pointedly.
"I'll heat 'em up," he offered. "Need you caffeinated, y'know," he drawled. "For later," he cut his eyes suggestively, and Leia compressed her lips, rolling her eyes affectionately.
"You're going to wear me out," she protested coquettishly.
"Well, shit, Leia, you should try not being so good to look at when you're all naked and asleep in my sheets," he retorted sternly.
She shifted towards him, shaking her head. She bit her lip, narrowing her eyes at him intently.
"Han," she began again, more firmly.
He crouched down, mugs resting on the seat of the booth, and gave her a pointed, earnest look, his expression serious, and brooking no argument.
'M interruptin' you 'cause you're not ready," he said quietly. "I don't wanna hear it 'til you are."
Her breath caught in her throat. She nodded, stretching out towards him. She perched first on all fours, then rested prone on her stomach, her face even with his. He touched her jaw lightly, and then leaned forward to kiss her.
"Kaffe," he mumbled. "Mmm. Gonna go…make it hotter, hot again," he said into the kiss.
Leia nodded. She let him go, and turned onto her side, her eyes following him as he strolled into the galley. She could hear him moving around, and she turned onto her back, and stared up at the arced ceiling of the main hold. Her whole life, her whole career, was words – diplomacy, politics; all built on words. Was that why she found them so hard, when it came to the raw ones? Her body had been hard enough to give. Her words…they were so much more vulnerable.
-alexandra
story #384