In The Dark

by Kat Roland

The hangar was dark as Leia treaded lightly across it. At this time of night there were no pilots, no support crew, no droids; just the faint outlines of the X-Wings and the familiar shape of the Millennium Falcon parked next to the bay doors as if keeping watch over the rest of the base.

She risked a glance at the ship as she tiptoed past and was relieved to see the cockpit dark and still. A few minutes earlier she had sat up in her bunk gasping in reaction to one of her recurring nightmares of the Death Star, Alderaan, the people she had lost and would never find again. Going back to sleep was impossible and staring at the ceiling of her room night after night was becoming intolerable, so she crept out of her cabin, desperate to find a spot, somewhere, anywhere, where she could find some reprieve.

She approached a door in the corner of the hangar and punched in a code that was shared among only a few higher-ranked personnel for after-dark access. Stepping outside into the humid air of Yavin, she took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind and calm herself.

Dim lights dotted the ground around the edge of the base. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she pondered where to go from here. The top of the base offered a gratifying view of tangled trees and the distant hills of the planet. Here at ground level there was only a small group of boulders off to the side that provided any elevation. A couple of the crew members had rigged up a wooden platform to rest on top and it had become an informal hang-out place for many of the pilots and crew on their breaks.

She sighed and walked over, scampering over the first couple of rocks to reach the platform, and sat down, her legs drawn up and her chin on her knees. She looked out at the dark trees hearing the whisper of the wind and the movements of hidden jungle animals. The constant humidity made the night sky hazy, but she looked up anyway, trying not to think about Alderaan and where it used to live among the stars.

A noise from the base startled her, and she swiveled her head sharply to see Han Solo exiting the hangar through the same door she had used. He stopped and tilted his head upward, his arms stretching over his head as if he had just woken up. She was still staring at his figure, softly illuminated by the ground lamps, when she saw his head turn toward her. When neither of them looked away, he started moving toward the rocks, his long legs covering the ground between them quickly despite his slow pace. He easily stepped over the boulders and then stood on the platform, arms crossed, a few feet away from her. Neither of them said anything.

Leia had turned away from him and stared out into the night. She wasn't annoyed he was here, but she didn't trust herself in her current state to keep up her usual manner toward him.

"Hope I didn't startle you," he said softly. A cautious note had crept into his voice as if he knew he was intruding upon her solitude, although it didn't stop him from easing into a sitting position, his knees drawn up like hers, his hands loosely clasped together.

She didn't respond. They both stared out at the dark forest surrounding the base.

He shifted his body to lean back on his wrists and tried again. "You make a habit of sitting out here at this time of night?"

She turned her head partway in his direction. "I could ask you the same question," she responded.

He nodded and she could feel him relax next to her, the familiar rhythm of their banter starting up again. "Chewie was snoring loud enough to wake half the base. Couldn't get back to sleep."

She echoed his nod but didn't buy his explanation. She wondered if he had been sitting in the cockpit of the Falcon in the dark watching her walk across the hangar. That image served to remind her that he had used the same door that she had.

"How do you even know the code to get out here?" she asked.

He snorted. "Come on, Princess. What kind of piss-poor smuggler would I be if I couldn't figure out something as simple as that?"

That didn't surprise her, with the amount of time he spent in the hangar and all the people he observed going in and out. She figured half of the Rogues and crew knew the code too. Sometimes she wondered what High Command was thinking, putting up feeble defenses against their own people, trying to protect them after everything they'd already been through.

"So what are you doing out here?" he pressed, turning his head to look at her fully. "Couldn't sleep?"

She paused, letting the sounds of insects fill in the silence, allowing herself just this once to bask in the sensation of his eyes on her.

"I was asleep," she said softly, "but then I woke up."

He turned back to look straight ahead again. "Huh." She couldn't see his expression in the dark, but she could easily imagine his unreadable features, carefully arranged to give her maximum emotional space.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.

"No," she said quickly, then added, "thank you," so he understood that she wasn't affronted by the question.

A breeze blew over them and even though the night air was warm - it was always warm here - she shivered, her thoughts drifting unwanted back to her nightmare. Her tank top did little to protect her against the moving air and goosebumps popped up on her exposed skin.

He glanced over at her again and she discerned some motion out of the corner of her eye, his arms going over his head, his back curving, his hands reaching toward her.

"Here," he said, placing his shirt on the tops of her shoulders, molding it lightly around her neck and adjusting it to cover her upper arms. His touch was light and sure and she hoped that he hadn't caught the twitch of her shoulders as the tips of his fingers slid over them. Not for the first time she wondered what else his fingers could do, where on her body they would trace ancient patterns, if he and she would ever happen to…

A shrill cry of a bird broke her thoughts. She looked over at him fully, now shirtless in the dark. "Never miss an opportunity to take your shirt off, do you Captain?" she asked drily.

He chuckled and leaned back on his elbows, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "Wouldn't want to disappoint the ladies, would I?" he drawled. Her lips quirked up in an almost-smile in response.

She kept looking at him, hoping that the dimness would obscure from him the movement of her eyes roaming up and down his body, his muscular yet lean shoulders, the broad chest, abdomen muscles contracting above his belt. Gods, he was handsome. No wonder half of the women on the base were after him.

She forced her eyes forward. They sat companionably, listening to the night sounds and their steady breathing.

"So I hear you're building a new base," he said casually. He always referred to High Command decisions as hers: her Alliance, her Rogues, her strategy. She couldn't help feeling flattered. Not because she was the sole person in charge or actually wanted to own all of that responsibility — not now anyway, though at one time she might have been tempted — but because he tinged his words with respect. She never felt any insecurity in him toward her position in the Alliance; that was at least one advantage of his irritating confidence.

"Yes," she answered simply. Construction had been underway for a couple of months, regular updates filtering into High Command meetings. "We have more recruits coming in, we're obtaining additional supplies and ships…." Her voice trailed off uncharacteristically. She tugged his shirt more tightly around his shoulders, her eyes focusing at the wavering branches of the trees.

She could hear the confusion in his voice when he spoke. "That's good, right? All your diplomatic efforts are payin' off."

"I suppose so," she sighed, a feeling of frustration, one she hadn't known she had, gathering in her words. "But… it doesn't feel like anything is changing. Even with the Death Star destroyed, there's still no end in sight. All it did was buy us time."

He spoke slowly, his confusion still apparent, "But that's what war is, isn't it? Buying time until the next battle?"

Her frustration spilled over and her voice came out louder than she would have liked. "I know, Han, I do. I guess I just—." She paused, unsure what to say next. "I guess I thought it would be — different — by now."

He didn't say anything for a while, his quiet breathing pulsing slowly in the darkness. They both knew that she wasn't just referring to the current war efforts. He had never asked her directly about her time on the Death Star or about Alderaan. But he had been around her enough this past half-year to witness their effects on her, her frequent withdrawal from other people, the emotional armor that she had built up.

"So who's going to be moving to the new base?" he asked.

"All essential personnel," she answered, grateful that he retreated from the emotional topic. "An auxiliary support crew will stay here to keep this base minimally operational and ready in case we have to come back, but the forward strategy will be carried out of the new one."

"You know," she added, a tinge of humor returning to her voice, "the new base is not nearly as warm as this one. You might have to get used to keeping your clothes on."

"So does this mean that I'm considered essential, Your Highness?" he answered with a grin. "You might be losin' your best opportunity to get rid of me."

She blushed, grateful for the cover of night, and scrambled to cover her strategic error. "I'm sure you'll find some way to make yourself useful," she said lamely, ignoring his soft chuckle at her discomfort.

Silence gathered around them again. She picked at the hem of her pants, wondering what else they could say to each other. Her thoughts drifted to day-to-day mundaneness, the ever-changing status of the Falcon, news from around the galaxy. When she opened her mouth, something entirely different came out.

"Why are you still here?" she asked, tilting her head down quickly to hide her nervousness.

He didn't say anything for a long while. They both knew that she wasn't referring to him being outside with her tonight. His habit of announcing his impending departure despite flying supply runs for the Alliance months after the Battle of Yavin was more and more confounding.

"It's steady work," he said slowly. "Haulin' spice gets old after a while. The Alliance pays what I'm owed and Chewie an' I can avoid seein' anyone we don't want to see."

She knew he was referring to the bounty on his head. She hadn't learned about it until a few months ago and only then did she understand that he had his own burdens and worries that he hid almost as well as she did hers.

The thought of him leaving soon, likely never to return, prompted her to say without thinking, "We might be able to help. We have some additional funds that —."

"No," he said abruptly. "I'm not taking any credits from you or the Alliance for somethin' that's my problem."

"It wouldn't be a gift," she pressed, her voice steady. "You're an excellent pilot, you have leadership qualities… it could be an arrangement that may work out in our favor." She was looking at him intently now, trying to gauge how hard she should push. "Think about it," she continued, not missing his blank expression and lack of reaction.

She knew he didn't want to be a pawn in the Alliance's machinations, didn't want anyone to feel any sort of responsibility for him or his circumstances. But how could he have stayed with the Rebellion for so long and not expect that his work would be appreciated, even sought after?

They sat for a while longer, the silence between them now tense instead of comfortable. She sighed to herself, wondering why every interaction with him felt like an obstacle course, land mines to be evaded, mishaps to be avoided, before they could arrive at some sort of emotional truce.

She rose, newly tired from lack of sleep and the conversation, stretched her legs, and pulled the sleeves of his shirt tighter around her shoulders so it wouldn't fall off on her way back.

"Think about it," she said again. He didn't respond, didn't look at her.

She turned toward the base and paused, glancing down at the top of his head before she started back. "Thanks for the shirt."


A few days later she was standing near the side of the hangar, checking a roster of Rogues against the current status of the X-Wings, when she felt him sidle up behind her.

"Where's my shirt?" he murmured, his body almost too close to hers, his mouth mere centims from the back of her ear. She stopped what she was doing and pivoted to face him, clutching her datapad to her chest with both arms.

"What shirt?" she asked, her eyes wide in mock innocence. Although her first instinct now was to respond in kind to his provocations, she was secretly relieved at his manner, the tenseness of their last encounter absent in his body language.

He looked at her for a moment and then stepped back, a smile sliding across his face.

"I see how it is," he said slowly. He nodded, almost as if to himself. "Fine. You can keep my shirt." His voice dropped and he took a step forward, dipping his head down toward hers again. "Just try not to think about me too much when you wear it, Sweetheart."

Her stomach flipped at his words and his chosen term of endearment. It was one that he used sparingly in the past couple of months and it never failed to give her a warm jolt. She found herself drawing on her years of diplomatic training to keep her expression neutral, not wanting him to see how much sway he had over her reactions.

Their eyes stayed on each other and then he stepped back, his demeanor shifting.

"Ah, look," he started, running his fingers through his hair as if he were nervous. She had rarely seen him unsettled in her presence and wondered what he was about to say.

"I, uh…" He paused again, a sheepish expression on his face, hand still on his head. "I should've walked you back to your quarters that night."

She gave him the beginnings of a smile, and hoped that she was conveying with her eyes that she too had missed his escort.

"Next time," she said softly, nodding at him.

He nodded and took a step back. "Yeah. Next time," he repeated. His usual confident manner returned again as he continued to walk backwards toward the Falcon. His fingers rose in a mock two-finger salute and he called back at her, his voice rising above the hubbub of the hangar, "See ya later, Princess. I'm off to scrounge up some more supplies for this two-bit operation of yours."

She made sure to roll her eyes before he turned away completely and then went back to her work, allowing herself another smile as she tried to focus on the roster again.