He watched her silently, here only to comfort her, for there was no hope now. She had not opened her beautiful eyes for days now, and perhaps she never would. For there was very little time left for her.
He had stayed by her bedside almost constantly, knowing that he would not need to do so for long.
He should have known as much. The bond she had shared with her brother was too strong to survive being broken, and the pain she had felt at his death was too great to ever come to terms with. And, as though such pain were not sufficient, the universe had bestowed upon her illness and injury beyond her capacity to endure.
And so she lay before him now, older, but still beautiful, not nearly as old as she should have lived to be, her once dark hair almost completely grey, her lips tinged blue.
Gone were the wires and tubes, gone were the monitors and sensors, for they intruded too painfully and were no longer any aid.
His hand dwarfed hers as he cradled her fingers with his own, and how slender they were. Her hands had always been delicate but now they were thin, fragile; wasted.
Just like her life would be soon.
Gently, he reached out and smoothed her hair, brushed his fingertips across her face, flinching at how cold she was, remembering the glow that used to reside in her cheeks.
He remembered, too, her voice, how rich and soft it was, how easily she could throw him a devastating smile, and how little she had done so since the pain of these last years.
The loss of their youngest son had almost destroyed them both, however little they showed it to onlookers. And now there was so little left for them. Only each other.
For friends had died, one by one, fighting the evil that threatened to destroy them all, and not for the first time in their lives. His best friend was gone. And countless others who were close had simply fought to the death.
The first family he had ever truly had had been damn near torn apart through foolishness and pain. And, when they had finally overcome their problems, his children were grown and had flown the nest before he had a chance to justly understand and appreciate who they were.
She was all he had left.
And he had hoped, pleaded, damn everything, he had even prayed that she would not be taken from him. Had implored that she survive, had begged that her life should not be ended so harshly.
But no answer had come, no relief had befallen him.
But relief would come for her, and swiftly.
He stood and settled himself on the bed beside her, drawing her into his lap, knowing it would be for the last time.
She drew a breath, coarse and pained, and he felt the tears begin.
"It's alright," he murmured, stroking her hair, pressing her fingers to his lips. "I'm here."
And somehow she heard his words and opened her eyes. Han gasped.
"Leia…"
She looked at him with an odd expression on her face; she looked tired. He laced his fingers with hers and squeezed them. She smiled.
"You're here," she breathed.
"Yes," he gasped, "I'm here."
Her smile faded a little and she squirmed.
"It hurts," she murmured.
"I…I know, I know, but it'll be alright."
He could hardly bring himself to say it for he knew he was lying. The little colour that remained in her face was fading fast and her lips were paling even as she spoke. Her hand had begun to shake in his and was losing its familiar warmth. Her voice was weak and growing more so.
"Make it stop," she whispered, moving a little closer to him, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment with the effort.
He closed his arm about her waist and nodded.
"I will. Just go to sleep. When you wake up…"
His throat constricted.
"What's the matter?" she asked, suddenly concerned. "Are you hit?"
Hit?
Oh, Gods, she didn't know where she was.
"Yes," he managed.
"Let me see where," she murmured, trying to move.
"No," he soothed, voice quavering, "just lie still. It'll all be over soon."
She cocked her head as she lay in his arms.
"Will you be here when I wake up?"
He tried to nod, to smile, and almost broke down then, but he recovered, showed her the face she wanted to see, the face of the man she'd married, happy, carefree, in love.
But he would always be in love.
"Of course I will," he murmured in reply. "I promise."
She smiled, a tired little smile that hurt her, but she knew he would want to see it.
"I love you, you know."
He nodded.
"I…I know."
"Do you love me?"
He closed his eyes to try and maintain his self-control and felt his eyes prickle beneath the lids. She touched his face, to perhaps in some way ease the pain of his wound – the wound that did not exist – not realising that it was a different pain altogether that grieved him so, although it burned with the same agony even if it were in his heart not his body.
"I love you," he whispered, inclining his head.
He reached out a hand and stroked her face with the tips of his fingers. She lifted her chin and pressed her lips to his. A small sound, almost like a sob it seemed, escaped him and, fearing she'd hurt him, she pulled away, but he did not take his hand from her face.
"I love you…more than you'll…ever know."
She smiled for him again and sighed. He nodded.
"Now…don't be…afraid. I'll be here…when…you wake up."
He stroked her forehead.
"Just…close your eyes."
She let her eyes meet his, he let his eyes look into hers for the last time.
Then she closed her eyes and slipped away.
And he wept bitterly, cradling her body, cradling the woman who had been his light, his hope, his dreams, his life, lamenting the days they would never have, the time they would never share.
A deep void tore itself open inside him as something he had never realised existed was extinguished and he knew what it was; Leia's light in the force. Somehow he could feel it. Had felt it. And that void swallowed the hope, the dreams, the light and left only darkness, only pain.
He had lost her. He loved her more than life itself and still he could not save her. He felt the anger and the anguish boil up inside him, re-igniting his hatred for the galaxy, re-forging the impenetrable barrier that shielded his mind from all emotions. He cursed what ever was listening. How dare they take her from him?
But the anger melted away as quickly as it had come for it paled in comparison to the torment his soul was suffering.
She was gone, and nothing would bring her back. He was angry, in pain; afraid.
Alone.
And he wept openly because of it.
"Come with me?"
His eyes opened.
"Leia?" he dared to ask, choking out her name through tears that refused to dry.
What cruel trick was this?
"Come with me?"
He looked down at her. She was unmoving in his arms.
"Han?"
Her voice. Her voice was speaking to him.
"Where are you?" he whispered desperately.
"Come with me?"
Where was she? How was she doing this? Or was this a trick? And what did he have to loose?
She was asking him to go with her.
"How?" he rasped.
And then she was there, in front of him, standing tall, as young as the day they had married, as beautiful as always, glowing softly.
"Oh, Gods…" Han whispered before his vision blurred.
She smiled.
"I came back for you. Leave this existence; leave this body; Come with me?"
"Yes!" he cried. "Yes! Just tell me how! Please!"
She smiled.
"Take my hand."
He looked up at her, then down at the body he held. Then, stretching his hand out, he closed his fingers around hers.
A white brilliance blinds him for a moment and then a warmth surrounds him, a security envelops him. And she is there, with his hands in hers, smiling, so young, so beautiful.
"Leia?" he asks, hardly daring to have faith in what his eyes believe, what his heart wants to.
She reaches up, touches his face.
"Yes, Han," she breathes. "Yes."
"How do I know you're real?"
She laughs softly and tells him what he has told her so often in their past.
"Trust me."
His eyes narrow in suspicion. He does not want to test her, but there is no way to trust her unless he does.
"I love you," he murmurs.
"I know."
And his tears fall freely as she kisses him for he knows now that she is who she claims to be, although he had thought it impossible.
"Where am I?" he asks, but she places her finger on his lips.
"We are as we were," she whispers.
He touches his own face and finds that he is young once more. She looks behind him.
"As are they."
He turns and sees them all. Her brother, her parents, his friend and co-pilot, their friends, their son.
"They missed you," she whispers. "Almost as much as you missed them. My parents want to meet you, you know."
He is afraid. What if her parents don't approve of him? But she senses the question as though he had asked it out loud.
"They have always admired you. And these, Han? Do you know who they are?"
A woman and a man stand hand in hand before him, and, though he is sure he does not know them, he recognises them both from somewhere.
The man is tall and proud, his strong features beaming. The woman is smaller than him but quite tall even so, her hair as dark as her husband's, her eyes dark and wide.
"We have waited so long to meet you."
He stares, hardly able to speak.
"Mom? Dad?"
They smile and nod.
"You recognise us."
He laughs incredulously, turns to his love.
"Is this real?"
She nods.
"Yes. This is real. You are real. We are real."
And suddenly he knows where he is.
He is home.