Somewhere above Sullust

03:54

Dear Han,

I have nowhere to send this letter, so I guess I'll just write it, hold onto it, and hope against hope that I'll be able to give it to you someday. Someday soon.

Or maybe I'll just write it, then burn it. I'm sitting here in my quarters aboard Home One with a scented candle on my desk. I lit the candle to calm myself, but it's coming in very handy as a way of getting out my frustration. The first four drafts of this letter have already been burnt to cinders. I'm having some trouble expressing myself. But that has always been my problem with you, hasn't it?

So, to get you up to speed: Lando finally grew a conscience and double-crossed Vader, which surprised me more than it probably will surprise you. As soon as we were away from the stormtroopers, Chewie and I ran like hell to get to Boba Fett's ship, but it lifted off just before we got to the platform. I watched you fly away and felt my heart burst. Then I nearly got shot in the back, because I wasn't paying attention to what was behind me. You always watch my back for me. I could almost feel your hand on my arm, pulling me out of danger. Almost. I'm not very good at getting myself out of danger anymore. I'm too used to you doing it for me; you spoiled me.

You promised me that nothing bad would happen on Cloud City, and except for the obvious stuff that you went through, you kept your promise. I got away, with Chewie and Luke in tow, and am now safe and sound with the fleet. More safe than sound, really. I feel…unmoored. The fleet has been flying around aimlessly, trying to avoid inhabited systems and Imperial patrols, and I feel similarly aimless without you.

Soon after we first met, I was complaining to Luke about you, some argument we'd had, and Luke told me to be glad that you fought with me. Glad. I was so numb after Alderaan's destruction, and Luke's theory was that you were trying to provoke me, to get a reaction from me, to make me feel again. I didn't understand his idea at the time, but I do now. You gave me focus. Now, nothing matters to me. Nothing upsets me nor makes me laugh. Rebellion defeats, new systems joining the Alliance, food shortages, Luke's jokes—I really don't care very much about any of it. I need you here. I need you to argue with me, flirt with me, roll your eyes at me, wink at me conspiratorially, call me one of those nicknames that make my blood boil. Or kiss me. That also makes my blood boil, in an entirely different way.

Remember on Hoth, you complained that all I ever thought about was the Rebellion, that I was as cold as the planet and that I needed a good kiss? Every time I think about that now, I smile. Truer words were never spoken. I wonder if you had actually thought that theory through, or if you were just saying whatever popped into your mind. How do you know me so well? Nobody else has ever said I was easy to read, much less transparent. But you look at me sometimes, and I feel absolutely exposed. It used to bother me so much. I don't mind it now, though; it's nice to be understood. And it's nice to feel beautiful and naked and open, which is how I feel when you stare at me.

On Corellia, did you ever hear that fairy tale about the princess who sleeps for years until she is awoken by a kiss? I never liked those sorts of fairy tales when I was little—I didn't want to be that kind of princess. I was horrified by the thought of having to wait for some man to bring me to life. You know that I kind of prefer being in charge of things. And yet, Han, you really did awaken something in me. But nobody ever told me the sequel to that fairy tale—the part where the handsome captain, having kissed the princess, gets captured by the bad guys and leaves her all alone. Bereft. I wasn't sleeping when I met you, but I sure would like to be now. I long for sleep now.

I can't sleep anymore. My nightmares are just as bad as last year, except now I've got nightmares about you, too. You screaming from torture, you being put into that carbon freezing chamber, you frozen and lost, floating through space. And if I'm not having nightmares, I have other dreams about us—laughing, teasing, running through forests, even dreams in which we just talk or eat together. And then there's the other sort of dreams, the kind with us horizontal and wrapped up in each other. Whatever dream it is, it wakes me up. I stretch my hands out to feel for you in the dark, until I finally realize you're not there. I miss your arms so badly. I told you that your arms were my favorite part of your body, right? They wrap around me and make me safer than I've ever felt in my life. I can't sleep without you and your arms.

So since I can't sleep, I've taken to writing you letters. I burn more than I finish, but I think I'll keep this one. And I'll put it aside for you, with the others, all these thoughts that I was too stubbornly stupid to share with you before. We had three years together, and I wasted so much of it. I never told you anything important, I never opened myself up to you like I should have. You called me brave once—the brave little princess who took on the whole Empire, remember?—but I've been such a coward with you. So this letter writing, I guess, is my way of articulating my feelings. The next step is say them aloud to your face.

I think about you constantly. I hunger for you. I crave you. I cherish you. And I am coming to rescue you, whatever it takes. Please hold on, wherever you are, however you can, just a little longer.

All my love,

Leia