Mind Tricks
by Corellian Blue
(first published 2003, revised 2016, 2020)
Warnings: mental health issues, language
IX
Han was uncertain what woke him, only that a spasm had thrown him upright in his bunk. His eyes were wide and alert, his consciousness rigid, nerves raw and on edge: the same way he'd felt since the hibernation sickness. He searched his mind, found no trace of nightmares. His pulse was slow and steady, his skin free of the cold sweat that accompanied came with his terrors.
The place next to him on the bunk—the place where Leia usually slept—was empty. A hollowness ached inside his chest, emotion prickling his eyes. He had thought they had fallen asleep together, but not finding her here made him doubt his recollection.
Before they had fallen asleep, he thought they had made love. Made love twice. Once outside on the blanket in front of the fire, and then after he'd fed his hungry stomach, here in their bunk.
He could taste her on his lips, smell her on his skin. His memories were so vibrant, he could've sworn they were real, that it had happened. The reality was, he couldn't rely on anything lately, not his body, not his mind. For all he knew, making love to Leia had been a dream, a fantasy that continued to elude his touch as it had for two long years.
Han scratched at the patch of synthflesh under his chin, stopped when he remembered what had caused his injury. He glanced at his gun-rig sitting on the desk amidst Leia's clothes. The medpack, and the drofic capsules, were no longer on the desk. He supposed Leia had removed them.
He wondered where she was, if she was deliberately avoiding him. His internal chrono told him night had fallen on the Endor moon and dawn was only a few hours away. His stomach tightened then sank at the thought that Leia had again chosen not to sleep with him. Again.
He was fucking this up, couldn't believe how bad he was fucking this up.
He had wasted two years of his life following Leia around like a kelipie pup, doing everything he could to attract her attention while continuing to push her away; threatening to leave the Alliance whenever he realised his efforts to entice her were proving successful; that she possibly felt for him exactly what he felt for her.
Despite his best, fucked up efforts, Leia had not been deterred. Even his intimidating behaviour after their escape from Hoth—frustrated, suggestive words in the cockpit and cornering her in the circuitry bay—had not frightened her off. Once they had become isolated from the rest of the galaxy, from the Alliance and all the trappings of responsibility and appearance, they had dropped all pretence and revealed their true feelings and intent.
Han had never wanted that flight to Bespin to end.
But it had…and here he was again, continuing to fuck things up.
He kicked the covers off and padded into the adjoing refresher. He relieved himself into the sani unit, washed his hands at the basin without looking at his reflection in the mirror.
Then he went looking for Leia.