A/N: My sudden-onset writing bug has refused to go away, so I thought I would try something a little different in terms of story structure and also style (I think? maybe?). My goal is to keep this fairly canon-ish but that may change as I get further along in the timeline. As always, thank you for reading.
Cold
The assignment hadn't started out as planned, much less ended as planned.
It was supposed to be the three of them, she, Briggs, and Sorley, transported there and back by the Falcon. But Briggs had been called away at the last minute for an urgent action, her experience as a sniper a coveted skill at this stage in the rebellion, and Sorley had fallen sick, one of the first to catch the Madura flu that would soon sweep across the base. In retrospect Leia had been lucky to be away during those early virulent days that overwhelmed the rudimentary medcenter.
But she didn't feel lucky at the time. She was annoyed that the assignment was almost called off and remained annoyed when she discovered that it had been reduced in scope and Han added as a participant instead of just the pilot. As was becoming more common with these types of decisions, she had been frozen out of the go/no-go discussion. It was increasingly difficult to ignore that her standing in the command structure had been slowly withering under a pretense of concern for her health since her return from the Death Star. Since Alderaan.
This trip was only her second time on the Falcon. The ship was older and dirtier than she remembered, the relief of her rescue perhaps bathing it in a rose-colored light. And Luke had been there too, his loss distracting her from her own. Now she was stuck with a grumpy pilot and a Wookie she couldn't understand with no buffer between the three of them for the nearly full-day flight out. She hadn't seen much of Han since the medal ceremony that seemed like ages ago. His sharp edges, and hers, prevented her from calling him a friend. Luke, yes. But not Han.
Even before they arrived at the location of the exchange, the only exchange they were now authorized to make, there were problems. Last minute changes to the meeting place. A switch from one contact to another. Instructions that contradicted previous communications. Han grumbled about the new landing site: not flat enough, too many trees, too risky at night. You brag about your piloting skills and you can't even handle this? she had shot at him. What did he expect in a war? Every day was like this for her.
They started their trek to the meeting place, now located a safer distance outside of town where the trees grew tall and gangly, their lower branches brushing the forest floor. "Chewie would like this," Han mused as he kept pace beside her on the path. Chewbacca was back with the ship, the fresh uncertainty about the other players in this drama making Han reluctant to leave the Falcon unoccupied.
Within viewing distance of the meeting site, they knelt behind a tangle of undergrowth. She zipped her jacket up against the chill and regretted not bringing gloves. Han took a long look through the night-vision binocs before passing them to her. "I don't see anything."
"We have a buffer of an hour." Those were the instructions. Instructions drawn up in an office, far away from where they were now.
Han sighed and shrugged off his pack. The packs made more sense for multiple exchanges over several sites but they had brought them anyway.
"How many do we expect there to be?" he asked. Puffs of steam from his breath hovered in the air.
"Two, maybe three. They were vague." Deliberately vague, no doubt. She knew these contacts weren't just tools for the Alliance and had their own agendas to protect.
They waited and stared at the empty meeting spot. They were crouched on a bluff looking down and across. It was idiotic that this was the assignment chosen for the two of them. The one for which a sniper was a clear asset.
"Would've been nice if we had a sniper with us," Han muttered beside her.
"If something goes wrong we can always hope for a belated acknowledgement of error," she said under her breath. "And a proposal for a completely different mistake the next time around."
"Listen to you," he drawled, a tinge of respect in his tone. "Didn't think you had it in you to bash the brass."
She glared at him in the dark. "You didn't think I had it in me?"
His eyes were on her. "Nah, I guess I knew you had it in you. After — you know." He peered through the binocs and shifted his stance. "Still a surprise to hear it, though."
Something rose in her that she couldn't tamp down. "They don't trust me anymore. Because of what happened."
He passed her the binocs again. She held them steady, scrutinizing the foliage around the meeting site.
"Maybe they trust you but aren't sure what you — want." She thought he was going to say what you can handle.
"They don't need to wonder. I've told them. All I do is work for the rebellion. Do what needs to be done." Even to herself she sounded bitter. "They're determined to treat me like a child."
He let out a chuff of breath. "Uh, Princess, you are kinda young." He mimed a don't shoot motion in the dark. "I'm just sayin'."
"That shouldn't matter." And yet by his silence, she knew that it did. That her age was an obvious factor when others in High Command were two, three times older than her. That they might be resentful of having to treat someone so young as a colleague on equal terms.
She focused again on the site. "I see someone." Several figures were approaching the meeting point. Four; no, five. She zoomed in, trying to identify any distinguishing characteristics.
"Let me see." His leg brushed against hers as he withdrew his blaster from a holster. A blaster that was louder and less accurate than a sniper rifle.
"There's too many of them," she whispered, ignoring his request. "More than we agreed on."
He placed his blaster on the ground carefully and slid his pack back on. "We should get back to the ship. We'll wait and try again."
"Maybe some will leave." She didn't want to give up so easily. "There's still time left in the window."
He made an impatient gesture. "Can I take a look? Your Highness?"
The figures were still arranged at the spot, their body language casual but not quite friendly. "Fine." She handed him the binocs and pulled out her own blaster.
In her peripheral vision, she watched him adjust the settings. "Looks like they're all carrying weapons. Was that part of the understanding?"
"It wasn't specified." Their arrangements rarely went into that level of detail.
There was a snap off to the side. A twig, perhaps. Exactly how near or far she couldn't tell.
Han heard it too. He stuffed the binocs into his jacket and took a step back in a tense crouch. "We need to get out of here."
She opened her mouth to argue, but then there was a second noise, a rustle, off to the other side. Clamping her mouth shut, she backed away slowly, following Han to the trail.
"Kest." She heard a shot crack next to her head, then another. "This way." He grabbed her elbow roughly, pulling them off the trail. Away from the direction of the Falcon.
They darted around trees, the trunks and branches barely illuminated in the moonlight. Their lights were in their packs and would have been too risky to use anyway. She followed him more by sound than by sight, holding her hands in front of her face to protect against obstacles.
They kept up their pace, ears strained for noises other than their own. At one point she thought she heard more shots fired but couldn't be certain. A beam from a light suddenly appeared, wavering on the ground near their feet. Han saw it too and zigged sharply away before pulling her down against a trunk.
She leaned back, panting heavily. Han was peering over her shoulder at the direction from which they had come. He passed his comm from hand to hand, indecisive.
Suddenly he froze. Slipping his comm back in his jacket with a bare minimum of movement, he grabbed her hand. "Come on."
They were running again, faster now, and at one point she heard audible shouts from behind them. Han wouldn't let her slow down, kept tugging her along by the arm so insistently that she wanted to slap him. The terrain turned rockier, small boulders interfering with their progress, and then the ground sloped down. Down and down until it flattened out and they hit the river.
He didn't pause before wading into the current. She followed grimly holding her pack to her chest now, the water frigid, branches of the shore trees dipping to the surface as if unable to resist its pull. How long could they last in this temperature? The opposite bank was a faint line in the moonlight.
Stumbling around a rock in the waist-deep water, she nearly fell and her pack caught on a branch. Tugging at it in desperation, she managed to wrench it free only to have it slip from her frozen hands. She lunged for it helplessly as it swirled in the current and then disappeared under the surface.
"Leave it," Han hissed. She forded on after him, furious at her pack and at herself, wanting nothing more than to leave this place, to go some place warm and dry so she could mourn in solitude.
"Get down." She heard his voice as if in a dream at the same moment a watery light shimmered in front of them. He pulled her under the water, the pain from the cold stabbing her in the chest. She held her breath as long as she could, her boots brushing the bottom, her heart hammering, her memories from captivity keeping her from rising back up. When she could bear it no longer, she jetted to the surface and gulped in a breath.
Han rose beside her, his teeth chattering. "Look —." She turned where he was staring and saw the light resting on a lump, a rock perhaps, downstream. It receded further before blinking out.
They waded cautiously to the shore. She wanted to collapse on the mud but Han tugged her stumbling up the bank until they reached a flat expanse scattered with trees. They fell against a tangle of roots without speaking. After a minute he unzipped his bag and handed her a slim vac-sealed package. "We need to get out of our wet clothes. Use this."
"What about you?" She realized that she was shivering uncontrollably.
"I have a change of clothes. I'm going to take a look around and try to get a hold of Chewie."
It was obvious this was an excuse to give her privacy. She tore at the package, her fingers numb and uncooperating, and managed to extract a thermal blanket. When he was out of earshot she pulled off her wet shirt and pants and wrapped the metallic layer around herself, the fabric generating a weak heat when it hit her skin.
He came back a few minutes later. "I can't reach Chewie. We're going to have to hole up here. I didn't see signs of anyone else." He rummaged through his bag and fished out some clothes. She averted her eyes as he removed his boots, his pants, his shirt, and put on the damp replacements.
"Those aren't going to help much," she couldn't help saying when he was done.
"I got another blanket somewhere in here." The sleeves of his shirt drooped as he bent down to unzip another pocket. "Got tired of Chewie lecturing me that I was never prepared."
"So that explains it." She kept the conversation going to distract herself from the cold and the hard ground and the failure of the mission. "I wouldn't have thought you were so responsible."
He gave her a sharp look. "I've had to look after myself my entire life. Not all of us grew up surrounded by servants, Princess."
She blinked, his words stinging unexpectedly. Why? She had heard worse.
He looked at her uncomfortably and then stared down at his bag. "Sorry. Didn't mean for it to come out like that."
"It's fine," she said tightly.
Sighing, he sat against the tree next to her and tore the blanket open. Draping it over his legs and chest, he let the edge of it flop onto hers. "You warm enough with just the one?"
"I'm fine."
"So what do you think happened?" He glanced down at her. "You think your contact was compromised or had planned this all along?"
She bunched the thermal quilting in a fist in an effort to warm her fingers. "I don't know. I'll find out but it won't make any difference. There was a window when the information would have been useful and it's nearly over." That would have been her first task once they returned to the Falcon: relay the intelligence back to the base.
"You want to contact someone on my comm?"
"I'll wait." Frankly she didn't want to talk to anyone right now. "Who knows what else will happen before this is over."
"Never a dull moment. That's my guarantee when I fly you somewhere."
She couldn't help smiling. "Do you make any other guarantees?"
"Uh, let's see." He pretended to stroke his chin. "Mediocre food. Bad jokes. Gobs of Wookie fur. Maybe some minor malfunctions." He checked for a reaction. "I think that about covers it."
"That doesn't sound too bad. And here I thought —." She stopped.
"What?"
She studied her wet boots peeking out from the blanket. "Something more — unpredictable."
"'Unpredictable'? Comin' from you?" There was a smile in his voice.
She treated him to her best glare.
"Can't fool me, Princess." She waited for him to elaborate but he stayed silent on the topic. "Why don't you get some sleep? I'll keep a lookout."
"I'm fine," she repeated.
"Suit yourself," he said. "But if you change your mind you can use my pack as a pillow."
They were quiet, pretending to listen for intruders. She felt drowsy, her limbs aching and heavy under the blanket. Out of the corner of her eye she observed tiny motions that indicated Han was still awake and alert. Perhaps it was safe to take a quick nap. She pulled the blanket tight around her and turned onto her side, arranging her head on the edge of his pack.
Cold. She woke up shivering, her body stiff and sore. Something lumpy under her head. The hard ground, a blanket no longer providing warmth. The failed exchange, the missing intelligence.
Han. She turned gingerly to look for him. He was reclined on his back next to her, one hand resting on his thigh as if prepared to draw his blaster. Sleeping.
She clenched her muscles in an effort to quell her shaking.
He opened his eyes, saw her awake. "Leia?" he mumbled. Not Princess or Your Worship. "You okay?"
She gritted her teeth. "I'm fi—." And then something broke inside her. Alone. Sleeping outside on the ground next to someone she barely knew. No home to go back to. "I'm —. I'm cold."
"Here." He moved thickly, half-asleep, turning her on her side, fitting himself to her back and draping his blanket over the both of them. "Better?"
She closed her eyes, the knot in her chest easing. "Yes."
His arm came around and held her to him. "Good."
She woke frequently after that, the presence of a body behind her even more unfamiliar than the rest of their circumstances.
She could tell that Han slept on, seemingly undisturbed. And why should he be? This was a temporary gig for him. He'd go back to wherever he came from, back to his smuggling and a life free from burden and guilt.
It was still dark when she felt him stir awake. His arm had migrated under both blankets, his fist curled against her breastbone. It was the warmest part of her: his hand, the slope of her breast above her bra.
She felt his tremor when it hit him. Minute, almost undetectable.
At first she pretended to be asleep. Slow, even breaths. No movement.
But then she rebelled. Against herself, against the consequences. Meager consequences, after all, compared with everything else.
As if in a dream, she placed her hand on his own. Her fingers cupped his, a reversal of their bodies' position. Slowly, slowly, she moved his hand to the edge of her bra. The tips of his fingers hovered on her skin. They were still for one second, two, before they started moving.
Up. Down. Back up. Millimeters of skin traversed each time. His palm rested on her bra cup, finally giving in and applying a gentle pressure while his fingers moved.
She exhaled quietly. His hand didn't stop but didn't migrate anywhere else. He was supposed to be a player, a womanizer; even she had heard the gossip. Did she have to do everything?
No. A sigh escaped her as his hand slipped under her bra. Her entire breast was on fire, her nipple tightening under his palm, his thumb now tracing lazy patterns on her flesh.
She felt his shuddering breaths and her own. Despite a throbbing in her veins, she held herself still, her hips willfully ignorant of what might be lying in wait behind them.
They stayed like that for minute after minute, neither of them retreating or advancing, the rest of their bodies safely separated by the blankets and his clothes. Only his hand moved, the same motions over and over. As if that were all both of them had ever wanted.
A buzz broke the silence. Then a garbled exclamation.
"Chewie." He removed his hand and struggled to sit up.
"Chewie, do you read me?"