Thank you all so much for sticking with this story (and with Leia) – your responses have been so important to me. Please do know that her drug isn't a one-to-one with mifepristone and misoprostol, so there are a few liberties being taken in the piece.
As a head's up/TW, there is quite a bit of blood in this installment, for reasons you might expect. I've upped the rating to M accordingly.
4
She had heard that it was common for girls to think they were dying the first time they had their cycle – conceive of it as a wound opening up in that secret place between their thighs. These girls were not Leia Organa, who was angling hand mirrors between her legs since nine at least, too curious to let any part of herself remain a secret. These girls also had never had Breha Organa for a mother, Breha who used none of the cutesy euphemisms her companions mamas' seemed so fond of – the blossoming of a flower, the dawn of your womanhood. Leia's mam was more direct: it's the monthly shedding of your uterine lining, dear, because you're not pregnant.
Eleven, mouthy, and trying on adolescence for size, Leia had mumbled that it seemed a bit odd to be punished for not getting pregnant.
Punishment is quite the word. What about "change"?
"Change" is ear-piercing and training bras and antiperspirants, not vaginal bleeding. (Leia Organa also had not been taught any of the similarly euphemistic terms for the object of her hand mirror gaze – no "private place" or "swimsuit area" or "girl parts." It could be a bit shocking to talk to her, that skinny six-year-old saying that no, the baby wasn't in Auntie's tummy, it was in Auntie's uterus.) The eleven-year-old princess had placed her small hands on her hips decisively, looking up at the Queen. Mother, this is unacceptable.
Mother, thought a dizzied Leia Organa as she shifted the angle of the wholly inadequate heating pad stretched across her abdomen, this is unacceptable.
It had been a half hour since the blue pill, and Leia was unceremoniously splayed out on the stiff couch, wrapped tightly in the bed's grey comforter and trying to assuage some of the pain in her stomach. Not your stomach, Leia, this isn't the stomach flu – uterus, then. Like the worst cycle of her life, and then some. Unacceptable. How had her mother endured so many times? Another spasm of pain, like she was being wrung out – Leia gritted her teeth and jerked up her chin. Kept quiet. Etiquette, like finishing your dinner, remember someone's title, using the right fork...
Suddenly, cold fingers pushing her hair out of her face, tender – Han, she realized, delighted with the cool relief. She opened her eyes to flash a pained smile at him sitting beside her, perched on the couch's arm, but his eyes were fixed straight ahead, jaw set. Instead, then, she tried to twist her face to catch his fingers against her lips, kiss them. "You're so–" she couldn't help but pause with another spasm, this time in her lower back, "quiet..."
Han grunted in response.
"Well, I don't mind quiet…" Then the back again – shit. She ground her teeth, dug her nails into the side of the couch just a little. She would have to change positions soon, to favor it. Had they ever slept together on this couch? She thought probably not – the one perk of the place was its real bed – but how could she not know? Memory slipping, spilling...
"Yeah, 'cause that means you get to be the only one talking," he quipped teasingly. "Need anything?"
Leia suddenly grabbed his large hand and plopped it back onto her face. "Need you to touch my face s'more, hotshot." She frowned. "Coldshot." Frowned again. "Anyway, you're nice and cool…"
He dutifully began to stroke little circles on her face, trying to remember that her slight fever was normal, expected. "You warm? Why don't you ditch the blanket."
Blanket. Blanket? Blanket. "Oh." She tried to swirl out of it, managed to tangle it around one ankle. "Blast…"
Han smirked, running his fingers pleasantly across her forehead. "You're loopy," he teased.
"Am not, how dare you, this is an outrage," Leia mumbled, mostly to herself, settling back down with her knees close to her chest. "I should have you written up for that in-suh-bord-uh-mmmMMph." (And jerked slightly, a hideous grimace on her face.)
Daddy, did you tend to her? she thought lightly as Han immediately moved to kneel by her face, worry etched into his features. She and her father never talked much about such personal things… Leia distinctly remembered the first time she'd thrown menstrual pads into a trunk they were sharing for one of those diplomatic trips he was always taking her on – how he'd blushed. What he thought when her mother had hissed Bail, she's too old to wear that now about the gorgeous red coat he'd brought her from Naboo – Leia Organa, suddenly pubescent in his absence and wearing white… that red coat… She always did want that coat, longed for it thinking stupid uterus, you couldn't wait long enough to let me me wear it once? You couldn't have been patient?
Another deep spasm, electrifying her enough to sit up and arch her back deep. Ugh, moronic Leia, you couldn't wait long enough to get your implant renewed? Had to take advantage of those stupid treehouses – you couldn't have been patient?
"Whoa!" Han said, reaching to touch her shoulder. "You alright?"
Leia, her eyes squeezed shut, still holding the deep arch, nodded. "Yes, I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
She inhaled quickly, then dropped back so she was sitting up normally. "My back always hurts during my cycle."
"Yeah, I know."
Still wearing a pained half-grimace – now it was her belly again, very low, just below her bellybutton – she raised her eyebrows. "Excuse me?"
"Trip to Bespin – you don't remember? Got real good at rubbing your back for a few days there."
Leia turned faintly pink at the memory. "Mmph – bet you thought you'd get lucky that night… so sorry to have disappointed with the cause..."
Suddenly his voice was low, his grin lazy and mischievous. "Oh, but you know I'll take you whenever-however, princess."
Leia turned pinker still, then almost laughed or cried. Did that really happen? Were they really flirting right now, while somewhere in the recesses of her stomach – uterus, Leia, don't be a coward – something they accidentally made together was swirling away, bit by bit, into her ugliest pair of underwear? Oh, Han… She loved him so.
As if reading her mind, he pressed a cool kiss to the spot on her just below her earlobe. "Lemme get you another painkiller," he murmured, his breath like the breeze back home…
"No, that's – that's fine, there's no need––"
"Then I'll rub your back," he said decisively, turning her gently and pressing his cool hands under her camisole, kneading her lower back with the heels of his palms. She arched her back again and sighed softy. "That feel good?"
"Mmm, mmhmm," she murmured, then grunted in pain, leaning back heavily against his hands. In another universe, she thought neutrally as he rubbed harder, determined, we are us, but I am in labor. Another spasm hit, and without even thinking she moaned, "Dammit Solo, your child is not going down without a fight!"
She was cringing before she even finished speaking, waiting for his stormy Too Far Princess Too Far look to hit her, when suddenly – he started to laugh. More a surprised gasp at first, like shock, and then genuine silent guffawing against her, the vibrations sliding up and down her back. She could count on one hand the times she'd seen him laugh so hard – and yet he had laughed, deeply, warmly, a-little-shockedly, before looping his arms gently around her waist and resting his forehead against the small of her back.
"Fuck, Organa, you're somethin' else." Maybe not another universe, she corrected herself as he pressed his lips to her spine, shaking his head in amusement. Maybe another six years… He kissed her again, then said, "Better eat something."
She rubbed her temples, trying to ward off the dizzy feeling. "I was just at lunch…"
"Yeah, I'd bet anything you didn't eat it. What d'you want?"
"No food in here." (They hadn't even stocked the fridge.)
"Yeah, I know, I-"
"You won't leave, right?" She hated how small and desperate her voice sounded.
He gave her a funny look. "M'not going anywhere. Was gonna comm Chewie or the kid or something, to get you whatever you want."
"Whatever I want…" She smiled a little in spite of herself. Spoiled.
"Within reason, Your Highness. Your royal palette ain't always easy to please."
Leia closed her eyes, let herself drift back in time… reading late into the night (early morning really) in the royal library, her mother shuffling in in her dressing gown, hair all in disarray. Just as I suspected, she'd said, frowning at her daughter. You always keep me up.
I'm not making noise, Mam, Leia would protest. I'm only reading.
Not noise, beloved. Just knowing you're up – wakes me up. Ever since you were a baby, you know – I'd always wake up right before you cried… And I thought you were probably hungry, working so long after dinner. And because she had never learned to cook, her offering was always meager but delicious: a grilled cheese sandwich, cut into triangles. Sleep soon, darling, promise me?
(Later, when Leia would learn about the veracity of the Force, she would understand it in these terms, as her mother's ability to know her movements before she did…)
"I would love, more than anything," Leia found herself saying, her voice sad-happy, "a grilled cheese."
Han raised his eyebrows. "Alright, princess, one grilled cheese."
He kissed her forehead and stepped into the bedroom for a second, undoubtedly to not only request grilled cheese but also to update a worried Wookie. She felt a surge of affection for him. Han, dear… oh Mam, I do think you'd like him, he's the only other person who's worked hard at keeping me fed…
Without his cool hands, she felt flushed, overheated, desperate to splash some water on her face – plus, the pain in her back had returned, giving her an intense desire to walk.
She was maybe halfway to the kitchen sink when he returned. At first he was mostly distracted, running through his conversation with Chewie again in his head – yeah she's sad, he'd said edgily, but that's normal, right? That's why she has me – help her feel better. Chewie's cryptic, not requested observation of I asked how you were feeling, not the little princess ringing in his ears, causing him to set his jaw tight – how he was feeling was wanting to know if she was okay, that was all there was to it, he wasn't gonna make this about him.
Took about a second to notice she wasn't on the couch, another second to notice that the couch was stained, a dark blotches smeared across its center – took two more to see Leia, walking to the sink with deep stain blooming on the seat of the sweatpants, its hue almost seeming to get darker as he looked at it. Somewhere in there he got out, "Princess?" Strode over to her, trying to get closer, faster – "Hey Leia, you're––"
She looked at him, surprised to hear her name and confused at his urgency, then twisted to inspect the back of her pants. Her eyes widened with worry, and she looked up at him for a second before suddenly snapping over at the waist. "MmmPHHHhh!"A low, scared sound from deep within her. Fucking guttural, Kriff. "H-han – ah!" He dropped to his knees again, trying to catch her face, but she kept jerking up her chin with almost violent intensity in an attempt to keep her expression under control. "Ah – ah..."
He felt like grabbing her face in his hands, but stopped himself. "Talk to me talk to me."
Her eyes squeezed shut as she clenched up her face further, but she nodded tightly. "Fine, I'm – mmmph – fine."
"Let me get you another pain––"
"No! It'll make me nauseous I'm f-fi-ah, stay here please – MMPH – stay–"
Then he did grab her, his hands tight on her upper arms, his face close to hers even though her features were still clenched tightly. "M'right here."
She gasped quietly as she opened her eyes, brushing pieces of her rapidly collapsing hair out of her face. "Not sure what happened, I don't… mmmph... think standing up, the – shift of gravity – blood flow, whatever – ah – Han!"
He tightened his grip on her arms. "I got you, I'm here." Han could count on one hand the times he had seen Leia Organa truly scared – not angry, not frustrated, not determined, but frightened. And this was one of them. "We're gonna get you back down, alright? Lie you back down." Wrapping his arms around her, he considered his options – the bed was further, the couch was damp, the table was closest but the least comfortable…
"I'm fine – I'm fine…" she mumbled, leaning against him heavily. "I want to – I'd like to clean up. Ah – autovalet… the pants…"
"And then you're lying down and taking something else."
"Yes, alright…" Leia conceded with effort, struggling to stand fully upright. He watched as her face blanched. She then gagged with her mouth shut but swallowed, a tiny dribble of yellow bile leaking down her chin. Shit, Princess. "Will you – mm. Could you?"
He was on his feet immediately, his arm tight around her shoulders. They did a slow shuffle to the 'fresher, careful not to take steps too large, almost all of her weight against him. He used the quiet moment to take stock of her expression: not sad, just pained and most of all drained. Weary. Her hair ersatz, her tanktop stained slightly with sweat. The blots of blood on the seat of her pants. Looking humiliated and worn out and resigned. His heart ached for her.
When they reached the 'fresher, she put the hand he wasn't wrapped around on his other shoulder. "I'll just – mmph. I'll run my – the pants and the underthings through the autovalet…" She put a firm hand on her lower abdomen, just below her bellybutton, like she was giving it a warning. "Could you get me another sanitary napkin, please? They should be on the bed..."
"'Course. You want help – getting undressed and all?" His cringed slightly.
"I'll be alright." Right, sweetheart, tough as ever. She tilted her head up as though she wanted to kiss him, but when he leaned down close she instead nuzzled her soft cheek against his scruffy one. "I love you very much, Han," she said, her voice soft but confident. She rarely said it that way: usually murmured love you or gave a ringing I you in response to his own proclamation. And if she did, she rarely attached his name to the end of it. That is, she rarely articulated it with such confidence and conclusiveness.
He kissed her forehead. "See you in a sec."
As Leia slipped into the 'fresher, Han tried not to gag at the sight of the still-growing puddle on her backside. When he'd last checked it it was a brilliant red – now the hue had darkened to something deeper. Heavier. He ran a hand through his hair roughly. Kriff, hell, fuck – Leia.
As he moved quickly into the bedroom, eyes scanning and looking for the pads – his chest aching again at the meagerness of her possessions, laid out – Kriff, hell, fuck – he was thinking about her body. Not like sex. Thinking about how it always seemed invulnerable, wrapped up like some kind of expensive gift in sheets and sheets of white cotton – those damn dresses and slips and camisoles and brassieres – with her hair like some kind of store-bought honeyed cake, constructed, architectural. Inorganic.
Kriff, hell, fuck – Leia. Stomping around Hoth in boots that looked built into her legs, wearing labyrinth-like braids whose ending and beginning you couldn't figure out no matter how long you looked, composed and starkly pristine, snow-colored. Hiding the Empire's torture below her neckline and donning long sleeves in the Yavin heat so she'd appear perfect. Wearing goddamn eyeliner and blush into battle, diligently swiping concealer over every scratch or scar or love bite with the same seriousness with which she strapped on her holster. Leia with a body like a goddess in every sense: mortals couldn't touch it, couldn't scuff it up, couldn't leave a mark if they tried. And he'd tried. Leia who'd tell you straight-faced she didn't need food or sleep – a self-sustaining organism, a perfect little ecosystem, a fucking machine.
Well, now he'd done it. Kriff, hell, fuck. Fuck, damn – damn, Leia.
He reached for the napkin, turned it over in his hands. Thought of Leia cramping through strategy meetings but never giving a hint. Thought of Leia masturbating in her tiny quarters on Hoth, so silently and with a completely neutral expression, her movements precise and nimble, easily believable as asleep. Leia taking out stormtroopers on the Death Star with a determined, haughty superiority only to be rushed to medical when they landed – ribs, toxins, bruising, tears. Her blasted leg an inconvenience on Endor; her chafed, chained neck secondary to kicking Jabba's slimy ass. Trying desperately not to come their first time en route Bespin for reasons she couldn't articulate then; begging her, his voice low and rumbling, let it go, Leia, just let it go.
Used to dream of seeing her vulnerable, getting past all that icy, sharp-edged glass. Well, here she was – bleeding in the 'fresher, in so much pain and clearly panicked and not bothering to appear in control, all his fucking fault. Fuck! Damn!
He grabbed the other pads and headed to the 'fresher, his mind racing with guilt and anxiety. "Princess?" The door wasn't locked, but he wouldn't go in without her go ahead, would spare her that sense of out-of-controlness he knew what she hated, so instead he gave it a few hard raps. "I got the – stuff. Y'okay in there?"
The two-second delay had him almost shaking, but there was her husky little voice, extremely strained but trying. "I'm fine, thank you," she called politely. He could hear the labor in it.
"I can come in, yeah?"
"Han, I don't think…" She sounded tired, fading. Kriff, hell. Yes, he would be coming in.
He pressed the side of his face up against the door, as though to get closer. "You sound – y'sound worse."
"How kind, be still my beating – mmph…" She trailed off for a second, and he heard her hard breathing again.
"Leia I swear I'm either coming in or calling Medical–"
"I'm fine, I really––Han!"
He'd pulled the door open, and there she was, glaring at him with flashing, tired eyes. Vulnerable, vulnerable, collapsing in front of him – he'd never seen her look so fragile.
Naked from the waist down, Leia was huddled on the sani with her legs splayed in a wide straddle, elbows propped up on her knees, chin in her palms. Her hair had completed its collapse and hung around her in tangled clumps – he could see vomit clinging to the pieces closest to her mouth. Dried blood splattered on her inner thighs, dripping on the rim of the sani. Her head bent forward, her eyes looking up at him tiredly through her hair. The bloody sweatpants and underwear on the floor – she'd never gotten them into the autovalet – the drenched pad wrapped up in paper beside it, the splash of rust-red stains on the metal floor, the low falling sound coming from the sani's bowl. The look she was giving him, lonely and worn, before she clenched her waist and doubled over, groaning, "Ah...mmmMMMmph - ah..." Not seeming to know what she was doing, that she was making sounds. His pulse slamming in his ears: LEIA. LEIA. LEIA.
He kneeled in front of her and touched the sides of her thighs: "Hey now, I got you, I got you."
She snapped her legs together, cringing as she did so. "Han – go…"
"Relax, sweetheart, nothing I haven't seen before."
She snorted. "Spend a lot of time with girls expelling clots of blood?" she asked, kneading her lower back.
"Listen, Your Worship. I've seen every inch of you, and I've seen you sick. S'no different."
"You – mmph – you know that's not true…" She buckled over again. "Agh… I'm mortified..."
"Well, don't be."
"I think it's – I think it's too much to – I think it's coming too much to – I think I better just sit – sit here for the remainder, I think," she mumbled, her face pressed almost to her knees, "supposed to just be – I think – three or four hours? Already been some so… ow." Lifted herself back up, spread her legs again, cheeks hot with embarrassment.
"Sounds right," he said, rubbing the side of her thighs again.
"I feel so awful… I feel like… I feel so… mmm––!" She blanched, her eyes going wide with fear before she vomited – instinctively, he cupped his hands underneath hers, catching the sick without hesitation.
"Oh Gods, I'm so sorry…" she moaned as he nonchalantly cleaned her vomit from his hands in the sink, then wet a clump of tissue paper before returning to her.
"Quit it, it's nothing. You ain't seen a thing until you've cleaned Wookie puke, alright?" He stroked her knee with his thumb, trying to catch her eye. "M'gonna clean ya up now, okay?"
She looked away but nodded slowly.
First he wiped her chin and mouth, casually, like they did this all the time. She grunted and squeezed her eyes shut, the trickling sound still there, but didn't protest. He wet another clump of tissue paper, began to attempt to scrub the dried blood from her inner thighs. Kriff, hell, fuck. Leia, Leia, Leia. He started to scrub at her other thigh, trying to be nonchalant. She was humming quietly under her breath then, the pitch intensifying for a moment with each spasm, determined not to focus on his actions.
"Whatcha singing?" he asked casually in an attempt to distract her as he moved to soak another clump with which to clean the crusty bits of vomit from her hair. Leia, Leia. Passing gruesome clots in their 'fresher, hair sticky with sick, legs spread wide open and the dark curls between them glued together with blood, nothing private. Scaring him, depending on him.
"Song from my mam," she said, arching her back abruptly and squeezing her eyes closed, sharp breath hissing through her teeth. "Mmph – Mama used to sing when I was a baby, when I was sick..."
Han had never heard her call Breha any of that before – her mama, her mam. He kept wiping her hair.. "Yeah? She like to sing?"
Leia nodded a little, holding the position. "She had a beautiful voice… mmph." She reached for his hand, gripped it tightly. He looked at her pink cuticles, her tiny slivers of fingernails, the raw half-moons they were leaving in his hands. Bitty, youthful, having seen so much. "Not quite becoming of a queen, so I was her audience… some children enjoy – ah! – being sick? As it were? Not me, I hated missing out on anything… but I loved when she looked after me…"
"Didn't you have – what, nannies for that?"
"Mama liked to look after me herself… 'specially when I wasn't well… make me grilled cheeses, wipe my brow, sing to me..."
"Mm. That's nice," he mumbled, moving to place her things in the autovalet. He was surprised at how much he liked that – liked the idea of someone loving her, taking care, treating her well...
"She was kind," Leia breathed. When he looked over at her from this angle, he could see the sweat on her brow, its sickly sheen. "So sweet."
"Yeah? How she end up with you for a kid, then?"
Leia let out a soft, breathy laugh. "I take after daddy…" she murmured.
They were quiet for a long while, interrupted only by Leia's soft groans. Chewie, with bread and cheese and the discretion to not mention the gruesome couch just visible over Han's shoulder in the doorway as he took the things from his friend, came and went.
Han kept running a hand over the length of her hair lightly, couldn't stop touching her, couldn't stop trying to make it stop. Leia. Leia. Leia. His brave-as-shit girl… And then – her face a vision of relief after a particularly bad turn, her tired voice croaking: "Han? Han – I think it's past. It passed… I think – mmph. I think that was – that was – that was it…"
"Yeah?" He didn't want to know how she knew, trusted her. Brushed his fingers up against her slick forehead. "You feel okay?"
"I feel alright," she breathed. "Thank you."
She sat for a few more minutes, breathing heavily, then cringed only a little as flushed the sani. She limped into her now-clean clothes, a fresh napkin waiting inside the underwear. With his help, she stood to rinse her hands, her face. He stood behind her as she did so, and she leaned back to nuzzle her face against his neck. There it was again: "I love you so much." Her voice tired, scratchy, but genuine and true. I love you so much.
She turned all the way around, then, pressing her face to his chest and wrapping her arms tight around his waist in a rare unambiguous display of total affection. I love you so much.
Leia, vulnerable, powerful, strong, tender, making difficult choices for the both of them, unafraid of herself, firm in her convictions, enduring and still managing to be sweet and soft and perfect in his arms. To be loving, to be an anchor – keeping him planetside, keeping his feet on the ground. And him, doing the same for her, he liked to think. Looking after her and reassuring her and giving her confidence to keep going. Yeah, maybe he was doing the same for her.
"Han? Did you hear me?"
"Sorry – missed that, Princess," he admitted, rubbing her back, stroking her hair, this tiny powerhouse, delicate badass, vulnerable unbreakable woman who knew what it meant to endure. To keep her feet on the ground, to get back up.
"I said, I'd really like that grilled cheese now, hotshot," she mumbled into his chest.
"Right, Your Worship." Love you so much. I know. Because I love you so much. And I, you. "Coming right up."
After this, I'll be moving onto a longer, weekly-updating multi-chapter work about Han & Leia's first few years as young parents loosely within the TFA canon – be on the lookout after Gravity's final installment. And please do review – your comments always give me a lot to think about!