All the Way – Chapter 4
by Erin Darroch and Justine Graham
Standing at the threshold of Leia's makeshift quarters, Han raked a weary hand through his dust-caked hair while he considered his latest problem, which was figuring out the quickest and least exhausting way to clear a path through the sea of storage containers that filled the small cabin.
Technically, the narrow space was not a cabin at all. Early on in their acquaintance, when it became apparent that their association would include many shared missions spent in close quarters aboard the Falcon, Han had recognized the need for Leia to have her own private retreat. To that end, he had fashioned the space from a partition of the number two hold near the smaller of its two interior hatches, and furnished it with a basic cot, a tall storage locker bolted to the bulkhead, and a tiny but functional workstation between the two. It was by no means a luxurious space, but it was as warm and comfortable as a converted cargo hold could be. And thanks to its location far enough away from the cockpit and the main hold where he and Chewie spent most of their time, it was relatively quiet, affording Leia a place to work uninterrupted or simply to rest in solitude.
But General Rieekan's earnest plea for one last, crucial supply run to an isolated Alliance cell in distress had forced Han to reclaim the area for storage once more. He hadn't expected the decision to be so fraught, but he found that using Leia's space had felt like a heartless betrayal, as if every piece of cargo that he and Chewie crammed into the room crowded the princess out of his life just a little bit more. As the stacks of freight had grown taller, Han had found his temper growing shorter. He'd snapped and barked at his hapless friend until Chewie had finally barked back—an altogether more effective vocalisation—and sent Han grumbling on his way to find something else to do, leaving the irritated Wookiee to complete the task on his own.
And so it was that Han hadn't realized until now just how jam-packed the tiny cabin actually was. He scratched thoughtfully at his chin and briefly considered trying to move everything out into the corridor to free up access to Leia's cot for the night, but dismissed the idea with a shake of his head. That task would take at least half of the already short period of time he had remaining for sleep, and he just couldn't afford it. He settled instead for shifting a smaller section of the heavy crates, grunting and sweating with the effort of moving them around like pieces on a holochess board, until he was able to reach the door of the tall storage locker where Leia kept her personal items.
As the narrow plasteel door slid open and he got a look inside, he couldn't help but break into an affectionate smile. The princess was an immaculately tidy person—a trait he found strangely endearing—and her storage habits were no exception. The shelves and compartments were smartly ordered and the items within had all been tightly secured against the turbulence of flight. He scanned the interior, noting with a spark of pleasure how carefully she had stored her collection of Alderaani artefacts in the transparent containers that were locked in place on several shelves. They were clearly cherished items, and Han again felt a heavy pang of regret that Leia had believed, even for an instant, that he would throw them all away.
Reaching in, he ran his fingertips down the folded fabric edges of stacked clothing before popping loose the built-in strap that kept the neatly arranged bundle in place. He thumbed with care through the meagre selection, finally extracting a pair of heavyweight thermal leggings that he knew she favoured, and a mismatched but equally warm fitted tank top made of Kashyyyki silk—one of several gifts presented to the princess by Chewie on behalf of his wife Malla, following their last clandestine visit to the Wookiee home world.
Leia was deeply attached to that garment, in part because she was susceptible to the pervasive cold inherent to space travel and the thin silken fabric provided effective insulation—but also, Han suspected, because she had been so touched by the warm sentiment behind the offering. Han understood what Malla had meant by the gesture, and he'd wondered at the time if Leia did, too.
Of course, they hadn't discussed it.
He gave a derisive snort as he stretched the restraining band over the short stack of clothing to resecure it, then turned his attention to retrieving some underwear.
It felt a little strange to find himself crouching down, sorting through the small storage bin at the bottom of the locker where the princess kept a scant assortment of more intimate apparel. Feeling oddly intrusive, he didn't linger over the task. As quickly as possible he identified and extracted a plain white quasicotton camisole and a matching pair of underpants—cheap, standard-issue military gear by the looks of them—that nevertheless felt distractingly dainty in his hands. He balled both garments up and shoved them under his arm along with the other items, then resumed rooting around for something to cover Leia's feet. His fingertips brushed fabric that felt strangely familiar and he couldn't help the affectionate grin that spread across his face as he withdrew a pair of socks that had once belonged to him. He added them to his collection, regained his feet and resealed the locker, then turned and made his way back along the short corridor to his own quarters.
As he entered the bunkroom, he could hear the muffled splatter of falling water through the fresher door, but even before the hatch had closed behind him he detected the distinctive thunk of the recycler powering off, which was followed by the faint crackle of the shower's enviro-shield being deactivated. Although Leia had a reputation among the Falcon's two-man crew for extraordinarily long showers, she seemed to have cut this one quite short—probably because she was as anxious as he was to eat and then fall into bed, Han reckoned. He strode over to the med bunk and stacked her clothes there, as he'd promised, then crossed back to the fresher door and rapped two knuckles on the durasteel surface.
"All clear, Princess," he called out. "Your stuff's out here on the spare bunk."
The sound of Leia's answering thanks drifted through the thick panel, followed by the whine of the hot-air dryers switching on, so he turned and palmed the hatch controls, then headed back to the galley.
Following the brief flurry of strenuous activity in moving the crates, fatigue was taking hold of him again. His eyes were gritty and he felt a bit dazed, so he busied himself by making a steaming cup of Leia's favourite herbal infusion, then put her lukewarm food into the nanowave to reheat, before carrying the thermug full of tea to the main hold to await her return. As he set the cup down on the holochess table, he eyed the acceleration couch with tired longing, but resisted the urge to sit. Instead, he crossed over to the technical station to give the Falcon's myriad secondary systems displays another perusal. He noted with satisfaction that all of the lights that were supposed to be lit were still lit, and there was no sign of any ominous flashing that might portend disaster. He breathed out a sigh of relief and then straightened at the sound of stockinged footsteps padding along the ring corridor behind him.
Turning around just in time to see Leia step down into the main hold, he felt a tender twinge at the sight of her, so wan and vulnerable with her face scrubbed clean of both dirt and makeup, and her nearly dry hair piled in a loose, voluminous knot atop her head. In the absence of the stacked-heel boots she usually wore to boost her diminutive height, she looked even smaller than usual, and younger than her years. As she shuffled over and sat down at the table, he noted with interest that she had borrowed one of his old flight jackets, which she had donned over the top of the ensemble he had selected for her. The sleeves had been rolled up enough to leave her hands clear, but the dark-blue garment entirely swamped her slender frame. He quirked a smile, supposing that the outerwear offered more warmth—and a bit more coverage—than the form-fitting sleepwear could provide.
"I'll get your food," he told her as she settled on the couch. "Be right back."
Leia murmured her thanks as she lifted the mug to her lips and inhaled the fragrant steam with a look of pure bliss.
Crossing into the galley, Han retrieved the bowl of stew from the nanowave, grabbed a clean spoon and headed back to the hold. He was pleased to see Leia's cheeks pinkening up as she cradled the mug of hot tea close to her face, and smiled at the look of gratitude on her face as he set the bowl of stew in front of her and laid down the spoon.
"That'll hold you while I get a shower," he said, leaning down to drop a kiss on her forehead. "Then it's bedtime for both of us."
It wasn't until he had pivoted around, passed through the galley and begun striding down the short corridor to his quarters that he realised what he had just done—and, even more remarkably, that Leia hadn't objected in any way. Indeed, she had accepted his spontaneous gesture of affection as if it were the most natural thing in the galaxy.
He shook his head in wonder as he entered the cabin and began stripping off, tossing his discarded clothes and boots into the empty bay opposite the med bunk. He had removed the original mattress on that side years ago and now used the empty bed recess for occasional storage and for the staging of the myriad items required to keep his treasured ship in good condition. The space was already a jumbled mess of tools and spare parts, thanks to the flurry of last-minute repairs he'd been in the middle of completing just before they'd fled Hoth; he figured a few dirty clothes atop the pile wasn't going to make much of a difference.
As he stepped under the shower and felt the first gratifying gush of hot water cascading over his aching muscles, he marvelled again at the change that had taken place between himself and the princess. He couldn't figure out how the temperature between them had shifted so quickly from bitterly cold to decidedly warm—but he wasn't about to question it. After the frosty hostility of the last few weeks, it was a huge relief to know that even if Leia didn't understand his reasoning or agree with his decision to leave, at least she didn't hate him.
Slapping a palm full of cleanser atop his wet head, he worked it into a rich lather with both hands, then applied another generous measure of liquid soap to his body scrubber and began swiftly scouring his skin clean. He had to admit that he didn't know what the hell he was doing where Leia was concerned—not really. He was just following his instincts and hoping like hell that the two of them were finally moving in the same direction again. He finished his ablutions, stowed the scrubber and flicked the controls to send a heavier flow of water pouring over his lathered hair and body, using his hands to sluice the suds away. After such a long and brutal day, the hot water was pure ecstasy and he congratulated himself—not for the first time—on the wisdom of investing in a real-water shower all those years ago. He was grateful in hindsight, too, for the decision he and Chewie had made to devote precious cargo space to the fitting of an oversized water tank and top-of-the-line recycler. Not only would they all enjoy the benefits that only water cleansing could bring, they would also handily avoid death by dehydration.
He emerged from the fresher a few minutes later, bare-skinned, clean and dry, and feeling like a new man. With the spark of energy restored to him by the shower, he dressed in his most comfortable sleepwear, and then turned his attention to clearing the med bunk for Leia. The bay opposite received another haphazard load of obsolete tools and miscellaneous components—most of them spare hyperdriveparts, Han realized with a wry snort, but all of them useless for solving the Falcon's current engineering woes. He tossed them in a heap atop the other items already in the bay, and then draped the lot with the weighted magnetic dust cover that he'd removed from the spare bunk.
After topping the med bay's mattress with a fresh sheet and a thermal blanket pulled from storage, he grabbed one of the pillows from his own bed, gave it a few shakes to plump it up, then placed it at the head of the bunk and stepped back to inspect his handiwork. The shallow berth was clean and tidy and looked inviting enough for a decent night's rest. Still, knowing Leia, he rummaged through the under-bunk storage and then laid a second threadbare blanket across the foot of the bed, just in case.
Satisfied at last that the bunk was as comfortable as he could make it, he headed to the main hold. He supposed Leia must have finished her meal by now, so he intended to usher her back to the cabin for the few remaining hours of their much-needed rest period. Upon stepping across the galley threshold, though, he was met with a sight that halted him in his tracks and made him rethink his plan.
The princess had indeed finished her meal, but it seemed she had already found a place to crash for the night. She was curled up on the acceleration couch with her favourite woven blanket—another gift from Malla, which she kept in the storage space beneath the bench—now wrapped around her petite form to stave off the penetrating chill. She had curled a fist over the edge of the moss-green fabric and tucked it tightly under her chin, leaving one sock-clad foot dangling off the end of the bench.
Han released a sigh at the sight of her and then, keeping his footsteps light, crossed over to stand at the edge of Leia's makeshift bed. Looking down on her slumbering form, he could see her dark lashes twitching against her pale cheeks, as though she were already in the midst of a dream. Gone were the heavy lines of stress and worry that had creased her fine features earlier that evening. Her pale oval face was peaceful in repose, and he was deeply reluctant to disturb her—but the bright and draughty main hold was no place to get a decent sleep.
"Hey," he said softly, reaching down and gently nudging the stockinged toes of her exposed foot. "Leia. There's a warm bunk waitin' for you, Sweetheart. C'mon."
Leia stirred just enough to draw her foot away from the disturbance and mumbled something incomprehensible against her fistful of blanket, but she subsided quickly and her eyes remained serenely closed.
"Princess," he tried again, leaning over and making his tone a little more strident. "Wake up."
When she still made no response, Han straightened up and rubbed his jaw. He couldn't blame her for keeling over at the first opportunity—fatigue was dragging at him, too, compelling him to seek his own bunk as soon as possible. It was clear that rousing the princess enough to get her to walk back to the cabin was a battle he had neither the time nor the energy to attempt, so he decided to follow his instincts once more.
"C'mon, baby," he muttered as he leaned down, "you can't sleep out here." Carefully slipping his hands beneath her body, he then slowly scooped her slight frame, blanket and all, off the couch and into his arms, adjusting his grip as he straightened and turned.
Despite the care he'd taken to execute the manoeuvre smoothly, Leia startled awake as he swivelled around, her head jerking up and her eyes flying wide as she clutched at him in reflex.
"Wha—what are you doing?" she exclaimed, her fingertips digging into his shoulder. "Where are we—wait! Han, put me down."
But Han was already in motion, crossing the hold and then sidling quickly through the narrow galley with the princess cradled close to his chest.
"Ssh, it's okay," he murmured as he cleared the threshold at the galley's far end and began striding towards the bunk room with his burden held securely in his arms. He decided that if he just kept moving, he could probably accomplish his objective in less time than it would take to argue with Leia about it. "Sorry, Princess, I didn't want to wake you up, but you need a bed."
To his surprise, he felt the tension leave Leia's body almost immediately. She made no further protest. In fact, she slipped her arms around his neck to support some of her own weight, and settled herself more securely against him. He risked a glance down as he walked and was relieved to see no fury, outrage or indignation in her upturned face, but something else—a speculative look that was far from fiery, but just as warm. He quirked a tired smile down at her and she returned it slowly, her dark eyes searching his face. He thought again of that momentous, molten kiss they'd shared, and had to force his attention back to the business of navigating the curving corridor.
When they reached the bunkroom door, Leia reached out a hand to palm the controls, allowing Han to focus on the somewhat tricky business of side-stepping through the narrow hatch with his arms full of princess. He cleared it neatly and then crossed over to the freshly made guest bunk.
"Your bed, Your Highness," he intoned. He set her down with care and then straightened to his full height, leaving her sitting upright with her legs dangling over the edge. "I trust it meets with your royal approval."
"A muddy ditch would meet with my royal approval at this point," Leia returned dryly. She took the crumpled blanket from her lap and shifted around to drape it over the one Han had already lain at the foot of the bunk.
Leaving the princess to settle in, Han stepped over to his own bunk, situated at a ninety-degree angle from hers and built into the bulkhead at the end of the cabin directly opposite the hatch. He turned down the bedclothes and then sat, expecting as he did so that he would see Leia already disappearing beneath her blankets. He was surprised instead to see her still sitting upright, perched on the edge of the mattress with her feet dangling above the deck plates. She still wore his flight jacket, but she'd loosened the knot that held her hair in place atop her head, sending dark locks spilling over her shoulders and down her back. Her eyes were trained downward and focused on her hands, which now lay palm-up and limp in her lap. She was beyond exhausted, Han could see, and for a moment he thought she might go back to sleep sitting up. Still, he was struck again by how beautiful she looked, sitting there in her mismatched pyjamas and his old socks, with her dark hair long and loose, framing her face in silken waves.
"Everything alright?" he ventured at length, when she showed no signs of movement.
Jolted from her daze, Leia gave a slow nod. "Perfect. Thank you."
As if prompted back into motion by the sound of Han's voice, she shrugged out of his flight jacket and placed it at the foot of the bed, then turned her attention to gathering her hair over one shoulder before deftly weaving it into a thick, loose braid. With that task swiftly accomplished, she finally swung her legs up into the bunk and tucked them beneath the bedclothes.
"G'night," she mumbled as she turned away and curled up on her side in the centre of the bunk. She pulled the blankets up and over her shoulder, and then rested her head on the pillow with an audible sigh of relief.
Han observed her in silence for a moment longer before reaching up to the panel above his head and dimming the cabin lights to their lowest setting. With a groan, he finally stretched out in his own bed, easing himself onto his back as he drew the top sheet up to cover the lower half of his body, feeling profoundly grateful for the warmth and softness of his spacious bunk. Out of habit, he tuned in for a moment to the sound of the Falcon's engines, but they remained reassuringly steady and the low hum eventually lulled him into a trance-like state. He stared blankly for a while at the faint blue glow of the controls embedded in the bulkhead, fully expecting that oblivion would overtake him within seconds.
A quarter of an hour later, he was still awake—or at least half-awake—adrift in a twilight state in which he was neither deeply asleep nor fully conscious, but suspended in some murky, restless in-between. To his dismay, he became acutely aware of the sound of Leia's steady breathing from the opposite bunk. Although he was physically depleted and completely at the end of his stamina, his brain was still whirring, trapped in a state of adrenal exhaustion. He huffed in frustration at the irony of being too tired to rest, before turning over on his side, bunching his pillow under his head, and determinedly pressing his eyes closed once more.
But it was no good. His mind teemed with half-formed thoughts and snatches of memory, as fragmented and fleeting mental images of their many recent close calls with death replayed in his head. They had been fortunate to survive this hellish day at all, he knew, but still he couldn't quell the uneasy sensation in his gut when he thought about their present predicament. Sure, they had managed to stabilise the ship—life-support and the environmental systems were working, and they had supplies enough to see them to Bespin, as long as nothing else went wrong. But so much of their present circumstances depended on sheer dumb luck, and Han couldn't shake the ominous feeling that his luck was running out.
Moreover, he was furious with himself for giving away the Falcon's old Tak-Simm generator which could have served as a backup for the damaged hyperdrive motivator, and he couldn't stop berating himself for it. Gods knew he kept every other part, working or not—the pile of components he'd hefted into the spare bunk bay could attest to that—so why not thatone? That long-ago act of such utterly foolish and squanderous charity came back to haunt him now, making him grind his teeth.
Why had he been so cocky? What in seven hells had he been thinking? Had he been so enamoured of the shiny new motivator that Leia had procured for him a year ago that he had somehow forgotten how the galaxy actually worked? Whatever can go wrong will go wrong, he reminded himself bitterly. He never should have lost sight of that fact.
His eyes popped open again and he gave a low groan. To be so completely wiped out and yet unable to sleep was almost enough to drive him insane, and he racked his brain now for the cause. Never the type to ruminate over his feelings, he was nevertheless aware of something else going on in the darker recesses of his troubled mind, and it didn't require great introspection to identify the unpleasant blend of guilt and mortification that was keeping him awake. This whole damned debacle was his fault. A long string of poor decisions on his part had led them to this predicament, and he felt the burden of that culpability most keenly whenever he thought about Leia.
Lifting his head to shift his pillow beneath him once more, he cast his gaze across the cabin. In the pale blue light, he could just make out her slight shape in the opposite bunk. She lay with her back to him, facing the bulkhead, silent and still, except for the steady rise and fall of her breathing. It appeared that she had hardly moved a muscle since he'd turned the lights down low.
Physically exhausted and mentally spent, Han had no further defence against the sense of abject failure that swamped him as he gazed over at the diminutive princess finally at rest. For hours, he'd managed to repress those queasy feelings beneath the primal impulse to survive, but now, with no further significant threats on the horizon, he found his attentions turning inward, where they rarely ventured and never dwelt.
Leia had already suffered enough because of his ill-considered choices. His past mistakes had nearly cost the princess her life on Ord Mantell, and that terrifying reality had provided the impetus for his decision to cut ties and move on before something even worse happened. He'd been at war with Leia over the necessity of it ever since—but he'd also been at war with himself and he had therefore delayed his departure repeatedly, until his excuses began to sound feeble and pathetic even to his own ears.
And now, reflecting on the sheer idiocy of discarding his only backup hyperdrive, he reproached himself for once again putting the princess squarely into the path of mortal danger. That certainly had never been his intention—in fact, it was his greatest horror—and yet it was a pattern that continued to assert itself.
What was worse, he reflected bitterly, even if they managed to survive their present circumstances, the end of this journey would inevitably see him hurting her once again. He could neither stay with Leia nor leave without causing her great pain, and his deep remorse over that fact was an unending torment. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, and it wasn't something he could keep bottled up any longer. Although he knew she was sound asleep and couldn't hear him—and that one day he would need to summon the courage to say it to her face—right now he just needed to say it.
"I'm sorry, Sweetheart."
His voice, rough with fatigue, was barely loud enough to carry over the background hum of the Falcon's engines. His words were absorbed by the darkness, making no impact at all and providing no relief. He sighed.
Across the room, Leia rolled onto her back, turned her head against the pillow and tilted her face in his direction. The lighting was dim, but her features were limned in a hazy blue glow, allowing Han to see that her eyes were open and she was looking directly at him. For a long moment, she simply held his gaze across the darkened space.
"Sorry for what?" she queried at length. Her voice was soft, but tinged with genuine curiosity.
Han felt his breath grow short as his heart tripped into overdrive, but he cracked an automatic grin, trying to play it off with a short laugh. "For waking you up again," he hedged, folding one bent arm beneath his head so he could more comfortably look at her. "Thought you were out cold."
Leia heaved a dramatic sigh and shifted up onto one elbow. "I can't sleep," she said, and then gave a low and bitter laugh of her own. "I feel like death, but I just can't shut my brain off."
Han grunted. "Yeah, I know the feeling."
Another beat of silence passed before the princess spoke again.
"So...what were you apologising for?" she asked.
Han drew in a deep lungful of air and then blew it forcefully out, feeling too raw to spar with her and too tired to dodge the question. Obviously, she had not been put off by his feint. And anyway, he reminded himself, hadn't he just decided that he owed her a real apology? He supposed that now was as good a time as any, since neither of them was getting any sleep. He looked back at her and felt his reflexive smile falter and fade away under her steady, measuring gaze.
"Hell, I don't even know where to start, Princess. For this." He gestured vaguely with his free hand to indicate their current plight. "For the state of this damn ship. For Ord Mantell. For everything. But especially for—." He cut himself off and looked away as he groped for the right words. Outpourings of emotion had never been his strong suit, and it was certainly no easier now when he was at the end of his endurance, but the princess was listening intently, and he had to try. "For how I handled things...after," he finally managed to say past the sudden constriction in his throat. He met her eyes again across the darkened space. "I never meant to hurt you, Sweetheart."
For a long moment, Leia didn't move or respond in any way. Han could feel the weight of her gaze still upon him though, and he squinted, trying to read her expression in the low light. Her oval face was pale and serene, and he thought he detected a look of contemplation on her distant features, as though she were giving his words careful consideration. He breathed out, feeling marginally better now for having expressed his regrets—but his relief swiftly transformed to perturbation when the princess abruptly sat up, pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. His confusion intensified as he watched her slip from her bunk. He shifted up onto one elbow and raked a hand through his hair.
"What?" he blurted, his bewildered gaze tracking her progress as she padded softly towards him.
Fleetingly, he wondered if he had completely misread her, or if maybe in his exhaustion his apology had somehow come across as insincere. Did she mean to confront him? Maybe jab her finger at him or tell him off again, like she'd done just a day or two ago on Echo Base? Why else would she leave the warm comfort of her bunk to come and stand over him, exposed to the chill of the cabin's recycled air?
But as she drew near, he could tell that Leia was neither dismayed nor doubtful, and there was no trace of anger or belligerence in her expression either. She came to a halt at the edge of his bunk and gazed down at him, her enormous dark eyes shining in the soft blue glow of the panel lights—expectant, hopeful eyes, filled with unmistakable longing that mirrored Han's own.
In a flash of intuition, he suddenly understood what she needed—because it was precisely what he needed, too. Wordlessly, he lifted the edge of his blanket and then watched in wonder as Leia Organa climbed into his bunk. He moved backwards toward the bulkhead to afford her room, while she shifted around to lie with her back to him. Stunned, he drew the bedcovers up and over them both and then, still propped up on one elbow, stared down in frank amazement at her reclining form.
In that moment, he experienced a bewildering wave of uncertainty—the latest in a string of unfamiliar emotions he'd experienced over the course of this interminably long day—about what to do with his free hand. Leia settled the question when she reached back and drew it down over the curve of her own waist, and then doubled his arm with hers. She tilted her head back against their shared pillow, angling a dark glance up at his face. He could feel her body shake as she gave a soft laugh, and he realised that he was still gaping down at her in slack-jawed surprise. He closed his mouth and finally lowered himself once more, settling in behind the princess and resting his head behind hers on the pillow. She tipped her face back slightly in his direction.
"Is this okay?" she whispered over her shoulder.
By way of response, Han tightened his arm around her body and stretched to place a reverent kiss on her cheek. Under the present circumstances, he thought that she wouldn't object to that—and indeed she did not. In fact, he could feel her smile against his lips, and couldn't help but give a heartfelt smile in return, which he followed up with another soft kiss on her temple.
"You bet it's okay, Sweetheart," he murmured, and then wrapped himself around her completely.
Whatever the hell was going on, he was in no frame of mind to question it. This was closer—in every sense of the word—than he'd been to Leia since that pivotal evening on Ord Mantell, and it felt fucking fantastic. It was freeing and fulfilling in a way he could scarcely articulate even to himself. To his deep gratification, he felt the tension leave Leia's body as she relaxed into his embrace, curving her form against his own. Despite the discrepancies in their sizes, Han was pleased to note again how exquisitely her compact figure nestled with his; they fit together like a couple of synchromesh gears—differing in size, but aligned with one another in perfect balance. Moreover, he marvelled to realise that his earlier feeling of unease had evaporated, taking with it the last, tight remnants of stress.
There was nothing of desire in the bodies they pressed intimately against each other, no flame of passion in the arms that held each other tight—they were both far too tired for that. Simple, shared comfort and the promise in Leia's touch were all Han needed to feel human and whole again. Finally at peace, he buried his nose in her fragrant hair and allowed himself to drift with her towards the beckoning horizon of sleep.
As he slipped just beneath the surface of consciousness, he heard the princess give another light chuff of laughter. Then she spoke; just a muffled word mumbled quietly against the pillow.
Lifting his head a notch, Han squinted down at her resting profile. With her features limned in pale blue light, he couldn't help but notice the corner of her lips curving up into a smile.
"What?" he prompted.
Leia turned her cheek away from the pillow and looked up at him with darkly sparkling eyes, her smile widening. "'Baby?'"she quoted, her voice laden with restrained mirth.
Han was baffled for an instant, and then stiffened slightly as his tired brain finally caught up to the reference. He'd called her by that name back in the main hold as he'd stooped to lift her, in an endearment that had felt as natural and spontaneous as the light kiss on her forehead before it. He shouldn't be surprised that she'd processed it—after all, not much got past his princess, apparently not even when she was sound asleep. He blinked down at her, momentarily nonplussed.
"It's a funny thing, Flyboy," she continued, resting her head again and shifting slightly backwards, pressing warmly against him. "All this time, I thought the Falcon was your only 'baby'."
Han gave his own soft chuckle then, tightening his arm around her as he relaxed and lowered his head to the pillow once more. "Shows what you know," he returned.
Part of his exhausted mind was still churning, working to unlock the puzzle—why was Leia suddenly so warm, so fond, so close? He couldn't make any sense of it, but neither did he wish to ruin the moment by asking questions and forcing the issue. Nothing good would come of him interrogating her, and especially not when they were both so tired that they could hardly speak, let alone communicate on any deeper level. He was more than willing to leave the question of why to rest—especially when it meant that Leia was here, nestled safely in his arms.
No doubt the inevitable discussion would come; but for now, it felt so good to have her close, calm, and content. He nuzzled her ear, pressed a soft kiss there, and then gathered her closer still. Drifting deeper into tranquillity as their breathing synchronized and gradually slowed, together they finally gave themselves over to the shared oblivion of sleep.