A/N: Don't own it. Disney does and George did. And I thank them both.
Sooo I've hesitated posting anything as of late even though it's been more or less finished? (severe confidence issues) Whaddya know… Aaaanyways, we all know it's more than a bit pointless and completely plotless in here, sooo, if you are still with me by the end of this. Sorry and thank you?
Warning: There is some mention of PTSD and mild violence.
Timeline: Star Wars rebellion era. pre-ESB Hoth
Grasping Perception
Chapter Seven
The top edge of a glacier was no place for an active nightmare, Han Solo decided wryly.
It would seem a natural conclusion that it was simply an unsafe place to be overall. Ethereal, isolating, and intimidating, all while being an awe inspiring construct of nature. But deathly cold, uncertain and unstable terrain too. And here, under than waning ribbons of light generated by the planet Hoth's geomagnetic storm, there was more than the beauty of the aurora and its soft reflected glow off the surrounding snow and mountains. There had been peace and light, and (best of all) Leia.
And Leia had joined Han here. Gazing in wonderment at nature's display above Hoth. The comfortable warmth of two friends sharing a bottle. Unfortunately, tonight it was reconciliation after yet another fight.
Why did they keep doing this? Didn't they have enough real-life battles to fight already?
Han, street raised and academy trained, was the reluctant warrior. Leia, princess and future queen of now-destroyed Alderaan, a fervent and righteous commander. They were survivors at the least, and at the present - staunch comrades in arms. Tonight was the point, that Han thought maybe they found some connection between them beyond the call of duty, beyond the bonds forged by battle. And perhaps, that brave step beyond the boundaries of their unusual friendship. Or at the very least, a peaceful middle ground between the dueling points of desire and duty.
But, as luck would have it, as always – things for them went sideways.
Why? Han shook his head silently in frustration once more.
Because for Leia there was no peace. Not waking, and not sleeping. And this time, seemingly after a few fingers of alcohol, fell asleep she did, exhausted beyond the limit of even her resilient constitution. The last princess of Alderaan truly knew no peace. And the trauma that drove her was relentless. She was loathe to rest, to sleep. And she reaffirmed why, again and again.
And why you should really be cautious on the edge of a solid mountain of ice.
Or maybe just not be there at all.
Han would come to that conclusion rather painfully tonight.
In her unconscious panic, kicking, fighting and thrashing; the hard instep of Leia's boot made contact with Han near his left eye. The ridge of her heel tore a line of pain into his temple. Han's durasteel grip on Leia spasmed at the unexpected impact. Instinctively his head twisted with the direction of the blow. Violence was always a part of Han's world – since before he was old enough to speak — to survive he had to be able to roll with the punches. Yet, anchored by Leia's weight on one hand and the concave bowl of the snowdrift they had been lounging in on the other; Han wrenched his arm and spine as he landed hard on his right shoulder. His vision lit up to pure white, and it seemed as though someone had just rung a Jedhan gong in his head, and for a brief half-moment he just went…
—Blank—
Eventually, Han became aware of a tugging on his left arm. Not painfully so, just enough to pull the rest of him into the sadly unforgiving realm of consciousness.
Han was on his hands and knees, partially sprawled face-down, a slab of ice digging into his cheek. The contorted position had half his body numbed, and he was pretty sure he'd wrenched his spine. The snow jamming his mouth and nostrils was another experience all together, and he sneezed and sputtered to clear them.
As he recovered, Han also could swear he could just see, and hear?...Cute, yellow little dizzy-birds fluttering about the edge of his vision, as his equilibrium failed him once more. Han's temple throbbed as he touched it to the blessedly cool surface of the snow. My head...
Then, for a good ten second beat, Han just groaned wordlessly, pathetically, and shamelessly.
Kriff, I'm too old for this.
Positioning his right arm underneath him, Han pushed up, his shoulders rising. Gods. His head must weigh a thousand kilos. Han struggled to see what was pulling on his arm, when vertigo swept over him once more. Wincing, Han collapsed onto his elbows again, his free hand clutching at his skull. His recent memory had failed him, and he strove to recall what had perpetrated it.
Ah Sith. Concussion? What was I—
Head throbbing, Han blinked, searching for the cause.. Only to behold the swarm of twittering dizzy-birds closing in, obscuring his vision.
"Ugh."
Definitely, a concussion.
What from?
Another painful yank on his outstretched arm, And Han's eyes flew open in realization.
Leia!
Adrenaline cleared the majority of Han's fog, and only the physical effects of vertigo threatened. But it was enough for him to react, and move.
Leia. Leia. Leia. It was a silent, panicked mantra. As if he could reach her by thought alone.
The blurred white form of the Alderaanian princess thrashed on the end of Han's grip. His shoulder and elbow spiked in agony. One or more might be dislocated. He had to get the princess up. Get her up, before Leia dragged them both too close to the edge. Perhaps even ( because their lives were just that screwed up and unlucky) to their deaths however many tens of meters to the glacier's foot below. Concentrating, gathering what strength remained in his own half-frozen limbs; Han shifted his weight, rolled and pulled Leia to him with the hand that remained snagged in her belt. Snarling in frustration and effort, Han hauled back, landing awkwardly on the sharp point of his hip as his body twisted, and slipped. He gasped, his lips pulling tight in grimace, as the wind was knocked out of him for the second time.
This blasted woman was going to manage to kill him while she was unconscious.
"Ah, kriff! Princess!" Solo cursed. "Wake up!"
As if in answer, Leia's panicked cries quieted, though she remained seemingly unaware of their surroundings. Wriggling his chill-stiffened fingers, Han began to disengage himself from the princess. As he shifted away, the motion disturbed Leia enough that she appeared to come to, blinking luminous amber brown eyes at Han. The young woman's features were bathed in the lurid red light of the overhead geomagnetic storm. Her hair was mussed, beginning to stray out of her intricate corona of braids.
Relieved the worst was over, Han gave Leia a comforting half-smirk. Now that she was metres away from the exposed edge of the glacier, at least they were safe. Yet, Leia's brows narrowed, her strangely empty pupils dilated, and her lip curled in a snarl. The princess inhaled sharply. For whatever forgotten reason, Han had seen this look before. And it wasn't good.
Uh oh.
"Get your hands off me. Get. Back!" Leia's arms shot out, and with the thrust of a pressure wave, Han felt as though he was slammed into by a mountain. The rangy Corellian skittered across the icy surface of the ice field, tumbling shoulder over heels. He slid to a stop, sprawled on the snow, his vision filled with the curtained crimson glow in the heavens, backlit by the stars beyond. Had she— , Did she even touch him?
What in the hells?
Groaning with effort, Han rolled up to lean on his elbow, scanning his surroundings for the princess.
There she was, crouched, curled up into the tiniest of defensive balls. Whimpering, denying, defiant; her hands warded off invisible foes. Despite having witnessed this scene on and off for the last three years, Han felt that familiar tightening in the center of his chest once again. That concern, sympathy and that other emotion that filled him around Leia. Blast. This sight was nothing new to Solo. Leia's night terrors; brought on from her imprisonment by the Empire, was one of the first private confessions she'd ever had to make to him, after she'd nearly torn Luke's head off when he'd responded to her cries on the Falcon, back when they'd made that first run back from the Death Star to Yavin three long years ago.
Indeed, many of the Rebel personnel suffered nightmares. The signs of trauma and combat stress was part of the ambient noise of the Alliance military base. Rumor had it; even the base counselors required stress rotations. Where those stalwart listening ears went to get away from the war's psychological front line, was anybody's guess.
It was all very hush hush private. It had to be.
Even when they could hear the cries filtering through durasteel doors of the base in the quiet of the night.
Han had a great many of his own demons as well – not from fighting for the Alliance – not really – though there were a few of those too– yet Han opted to drown them all in a liberal application of strong drink. Smothering each of his personal ghosts in a questionably cheap whiskey, rum or brandy. In the past too, he'd also find some quick release with a willing attractive partner – sometimes, lately, he felt as though he was losing a part of his soul when he did, especially when it was some vacant tryst where names were purely optional.
Especially now that Leia was a part of his world. Was well on the way to becoming his world. Was everything and all Han saw before him, if a street kid could dare to dream.
And in the last three years, he'd dreamed about her a lot.
Leia...
But Leia… Leia's demons kept her awake. She shunned her rest as result. Alderaan's princess carried the weight of her lost world with her at all times. The billions of ghosts of her home planet dogged her every step. Alderaan's destruction absolutely, utterly drove her. Her torment pushing her to exhaustion, to lash out, to a pinpoint-obsessive focus on the objective, the mission, the goal; to a detriment to her health, to push away those who sought to be her friends; people like Mon, and Shara, like Luke, and like Han.
And yet, there were times...
Earlier in the evening Han and Leia had found a quiet, perhaps vulnerable moment with one another under the rare beauty of Hoth's auroral display. Han was in a state of self-loathing and thusly self-medicating, Leia joined in and the smuggler obliged with his spiced rum. But he – they must have underestimated the princess's stamina for the rum's spiced alcohol. Leia could normally put it back like a man twice her size. Yet tonight, something was off. Out of balance. She'd succumbed too quickly. Her violent flailings too seemed imbued with some invisible reservoir of strength to a degree Han had never witnessed from Leia before. Indeed, it seemed utterly impossible for a woman of the princess's slight build. What she'd done—
Han's head snapped up. Hauling himself up to his feet, he mentally calculated the distance away from the curled-up princess. It didn't appear she'd shifted at all from where they'd landed after he'd hauled Leia away from the ice's edge. The rock-hard glacial ice and smooth wind-driven snow provided for a low-friction skid. The princess was such a tiny thing. How hard had she shoved him? Eight, maybe ten meters?
Impossible. Han snorted as he approached. He must have tossed her aside without noticing, or slid further than he expected. Superhuman Leia might seem, there was just no way—
Actually maybe she'd pushed him more like 20 meters. Han's depth-perception seemed to be off. "Huh," he muttered, rubbing at his skull as he covered the distance toward Leia.
Trembling and moaning, Leia remained in a protective ball. A glistening rim of moisture with white tips of ice coated her lashes. Han settled and crouched on his haunches a couple of meters away, cocking his head, studying her, monitoring that she remained safely away from the precipice.
"Leia," he rumbled softly, intending to rouse her gently. He didn't need another clop in the skull from startling her. The sound of his voice carried on the crisp, clear air. "Sweetheart," he intoned. He hesitated to touch her. She had boundaries, after all. But maybe a quick, gentle shake was all she might need to pull her out of whatever nightmare she was in.
Han longed to reach Leia – wherever she was, to bring her back from the edge of the ice and the edge of her pain. His hand trembled with cold as he gently, but firmly nudged Leia's shoulder.
In response, Leia merely sniffled loudly. Han reached out to remove a strand of hair over her cheek and upper lip, that was plastered there by mucus and moisture from Leia's breath. The barest stroke of Han's hand across her skin, brought frissons of a distant teeming power that travelled up Han's arm. It wasn't painful or electric. It was alien and familiar, all at once. Muted, yet powerful. Not unlike the auroral lights above – a mere visual whisper of the raw power of Hoth's sun.
But Leia was no ordinary star, she was a supernova of strength. Her resilience, charisma, and leadership were but one facet. She had physical presence too, despite her small stature. Staring down any being into insignificance. Disassembling them into component parts, to be rearranged to the princess's advantage. The age-old, razor-honed strategy of turning evil unto itself.
Tensioning, Leia's voice became haunted, "He's here."
"I'm here." Han gently corrected. If only he could hold her, shield her from these terrible dreams, this unendingly cycle of pain, guilt, and trauma. To just give her a sense of foundation, of security. Something to hold on to when she—
A cry now. Heartrending and small. Like the whimper of a wounded pittin.
Han swallowed thickly. This was not his territory. Not at all. Where he came from, a sound like that brought on the predators, quickly followed by the scavengers. You would repress that sound or risk dying. But hearing it from Leia, it absolutely broke that vicious leaning and instead broke his heart.
And he would do anything to not hear that from Leia again.
Han Solo would face down any being that would dare to elicit that sound from Leia. To the death.
"Vader…" Leia choked in a strangled whisper. Then stronger, defiant and accusatory, "Vader."
Okay, any being except for maybe that one.
