Recovery

by madame.alexandra

Han and Leia tackle the residual effects of Han's carbon poisoning as they both continue to heal in the aftermath of Leia's miscarriage. An Identity story. H/L; AU. [Set before the epilogue of Casualty; reading that would be useful].

2. Two

a/n: so, as you will notice, just as Casualty was (counterintuitively) told almost disproportionately from Han's point of view in some of the more intense parts, this is more from Leia's.

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Part Two

7 ABY

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Han figured - the intravenous bacta treatment, it wasn't so bad. Thus far, it wasn't the all-encompassing hell he'd envisioned, when he heard the word relapse and immediately began psychologically reliving the toxic nightmare he'd been trapped in when he was dragged out of the carbonite and thrust back into harsh reality. Following the first round of bacta, he'd felt nothing more than moderately hung-over - and as he had been somewhat of a pro with massive hangovers back in his younger days, enduring a minor one was a breeze. To Leia's relief, the introduction to the bacta hadn't immediately knocked him on his ass; to her chagrin, he had decided it was affecting him so inconsequentially because he was possessed of an obviously superior masculinity.

He wasn't taking it easy enough for her liking, and his dashing, roguish swagger regarding how minimally he was affected had resulted in her directing several truly magnificent eye-rolls at him - though instinctively, he knew she was relieved it hadn't been gruesome thus far. She was apprehensive, still, anticipating how debilitating it might get. Han, however, well into his second round, had developed the smug attitude that this was a hell of a lot of talk and worry about nothin' - and he had to hold fast to that attitude, because the threat of experiencing carbon poisoning again hung over him with dark malice, a macabre noose he wanted nothing to do with.

Hangovers he could handle - carbon poisoning -

He grimaced even thinking about it, curling his fist involuntarily and feeling an uncomfortable throb of protest as his veins tightened, and the needle in his arm shifted slightly. He had balked at this, and put it off - at Leia's expense, something that still gave him some shame, despite how understanding she was - precisely because he had dreaded infirmity, dreaded anything resembling the noxious, metallic haze that had demonized his health after Jabba's Palace. He wasn't accustomed to it; he abhorred illness. He could sustain the goriest of personal injuries with little more than loud, violent swearing and a tightly set jaw; there was something honorable about battle scars, or wounds acquired in a brawl - but the more internal things? Viruses, infections, poison - if he had to describe how he felt about those things, if he was forced to use the word - he'd say it scared the hell out of him. It was more than just the frustration and discomfort of physical incapacity, it was the stigma that unarguably hovered around illness - it seemed to project weakness, inferiority; indicated that a person was at the mercy of an unseen natural foe.

Conventional wisdom taught that infirmity was an equal opportunity aggressor - not a barometer of individual strength, but a fluke dictated by indiscriminate biological factors.

Still, Han loathed it; he'd loathed the carbon poisoning then, for those reasons tangible and intangible, and he had loathed the idea of medics and clinical rooms and all of this, this - this that Leia had subjected herself to without a thought, undergoing several invasive tests to analyze damages that might have taken root after the Death Star. He hadn't thought much of it back at the time. Always considering her body to be her business; he hadn't, as he'd told her, given half a thought to perhaps having himself looked at, too, despite having been through some rough exposures of his own during the war. Even as he had warily shied away from making the proper overtures towards treatment, after their return from Corellia, his reluctance had been infused with guilt, knowing that he was leaving Leia bewildered and uncertain of his intentions -

- and now that he found the treatment to be less harrowing than he had imagined or Soivrin had warned, he grit his teeth and railed at himself a bit more, for putting it off, for letting his and Leia's intimacy falter when she needed him. She had been so, so understanding, and so strong, and that made him angrier with himself - he sensed she harbored some unwarranted, misguided guilt for being the reason he was, so to speak, putting himself through this - and maybe if he'd been single, and he'd found he had something in him that was a possible ticking time bomb, he'd have shrugged it off blithely and gone ahead living life recklessly. But he was no longer that man. He had Leia, family, friends - those who depended on him - and he wanted to live; he'd have had to bite the bullet eventually and gotten himself together, whether it affected their ability to have a baby or not, if only because the one thing more daunting to him than his own death was the idea of losing out on everything he and Leia were on the brink of having for the rest of their lives.

He thought of how it would hurt her to lose him, or how devastating it would be to have what was supposed to be a long, triumphant life in a peaceful galaxy cut short and - he couldn't stand it.

He berated himself for dragging his feet, and he flinched away from the petty, reluctant wariness he'd nursed about this whole thing - he'd let his own insecurities, and dislike of anything like this, scare Leia, and worry her, and he was determined to make that up to her -

Making it up to her was easy to do, with this going so well; he knew it eased her mind. She disliked seeing him in pain as much as he disliked seeing her in pain - and given her unexpected, intensely emotional reaction the first time she saw him hooked up to a needle, he was quick to blithely brush off her apologies when she reached out today to tell him she'd be late to his appointment - there was a debate running late, and the vote at the end was important - she'd only be an hour, at the most -

Take it easy, Sweetheart, it's fine - he soothed gruffly.

He didn't mind Leia running late; he wouldn't have minded her not being there, if it would have made her feel better. As difficult as it obviously was for her to sit in a room with him and dwell on the loss that had brought them to this point in the first place, he knew she'd feel worse if she let that keep her from staying with him - he appreciated that. He wanted her there, and didn't, at the same time - wanted her there, because deep down, he hated this, and Leia herself was his safe place; he loved her, and she made him laugh and kept him sharp and distracted, and - yet, didn't want her there, because pride and ego still drove him sometimes, and his swagger and bravado fell flat when he was confined to a chair with a needle drip to his arm.

He knew it was hard on her; she had stepped out during the last session at one point, claiming to be fetching water and fruit - and she'd returned with both, her eyes red, and her mascara smudged. He refrained from mentioning it, as she obviously hadn't wanted him to, but it stuck with him, irking him that - as she'd already said - it had to be this way; that this had to interfere with their process of moving on. It bogged them down in the worst of the grief, again - twofold for her.

He'd been a little relieved that she was kept late at the Senate, knowing it meant less time she was confined to a room with him where there was little to do but think about the miscarriage, yet after hearing some of what the nurses had told him - and seeing a brief news bite on the Holo, which he'd turned off when it flashed an image of Leia holding a baby in a Senate pod, he was more anxious about her still.

Chewbacca took her place for a short while, maddening in a way Leia never was - too knowing, and too wise, he bordered on motherly, which was nothing short of obnoxious, coming from a seven-foot mass of fur.

[You look rough,] he advised, during their current game of Sabacc.

Han, only half-absorbed in the game, scowled, staring at his cards. He was having difficulty focusing on them, strategizing his plays - his vision was fine, but the lack of concentration made him paranoid, anyway. He knew it was likely a worsening symptom - and it pissed him off; he had no intention of having worse symptoms - and he was distracted, thinking about Leia -

"Make a guy feel real special, Chewie," Han retorted sarcastically.

[Your skin is white,] griped the Wookiee tersely, [you are only going to feel worse,] he went on solemnly, and then lifted his paw, gesturing at the bed, [you are better off laying down, or trying to sleep during this round.]

Han glared at his hand, dissatisfied with the cards, and the suggestion. He shook his head, glancing over the cards narrowly, flexing his fist again and wincing when the needle in his arm throbbed. He frowned, lowing the cards a little.

"It's not botherin' me," he argued, "barely even gave me a damn headache last week."

Chewbacca growled at him menacingly.

[The medic told you herself that the first dose was for acclimation; this is a stronger - ]

"Yeah, yeah, cry me a river, pal, 'm fine," Han interrupted in a mutter. He arched an eyebrow, and narrowed his eyes. "You just want me to fold so I don't hand you your ass," he drawled.

Chewie snorted.

[This is the worst round of Sabacc you have ever played,] he retorted snidely.

"Is not!"

[One of your cards is turned facing me!]

Han looked down, outraged, and Chewie let out an amused bark, having tricked him. Han looked up, scowling, and sat back in his arm chair, chucking his hand down on the table they'd drawn up - it was a useless hand, anyway, and when he had focused, he'd gotten too focused on his face card - the more he thought about Leia, the more the Queen of Air and Darkness started to look like her, and it was messing with his head. He reached up to rub his jaw, hoping Leia was alright - he'd have thought - she'd have run the other way, instead of throwing herself into a situation that ended in her holding a baby.

Chewbacca sat back thoughtfully, setting his own cards aside. He tilted his head.

[You are worried about Leia?] he asked perceptively.

Han shrugged heavily.

"Usually am," he admitted bluntly.

Chewbacca turned and looked at the powered down Holo, frowning, and thinking to himself.

[I can turn it back on,] he began, but Han just shook his head, waving his hand stiffly.

"Don't," he muttered. "It kinda," he paused, frowning, "bothers me."

Chewie made a soft, quizzical noise, and Han grunted.

"Her holdin' a baby," he answered stiffly.

[That is something you want - ]

"Yeah, Chewie, that's why it bothers me," Han snapped, tensely. "I like it, and she – y'know, lost that!" He lifted his arm and waved it lightly at Chewie, making the needle obvious, jostling the bacta drip. "'Cause of me'n my dirty bone marrow."

Chewbacca shook his head slowly.

[I do not believe Leia blames you.]

Han said nothing, if only because Leia preempted him, entering the room at the tail end of the conversation, and breaking into it, her voice neat and simple as she shut the door behind her.

"She does not," she said, as she turned and came slowly across the room, coming to a stop with her hip pressed against the metal foot board of the bed. "As she's told you, many times," she added softly, eyes on Han.

He looked at her sheepishly, and Chewbacca rose gracefully, striding forward and sweeping her into a warm, gentle hug. He had taken to hugging her upon sight for the past few weeks, which Leia knew to be a cultural practice from his tribe on Kashyyyk - it was custom to shower female Wookiees who had suffered the loss of a cub with embraces, and Leia gratefully accepted his efforts to share that with her. She let him hug her, and hugged him back a little tighter, taking a deep breath against his soft, familiar fur before leaning back, and giving him a small smile, and a confident nod.

[You look well, Leia,] Chewie said kindly. [How is your heart?]

Leia shrugged a little, tilting her head carefully. She lowered her lashes and folded her arms.

"Still healing," she decided simply, and Chewie rested a comforting paw on her shoulder.

He glanced back at Han for a moment, then gave Leia a meaningful look, which she interpreted to mean he was being his usual brash self, despite a probable onslaught of worse symptoms. Leia gave a quiet smirk, her eyes rolling affectionately. She nodded, and Chewie drew his paw back, stepping to the side and offering to go fetch them all a snack.

"Fruit," Leia murmured, nodding at Han. "Kaffe," she requested, pointing at herself.

"Whiskey," Han piped up, and Leia rolled her eyes again, while Chewbacca sparred his errant life debt a menacing glare before excusing himself to give them a moment.

Leia watched him go, her shoulders tense, and then unfolded her arms, coming forward closer to Han.

"Hi," she breathed, bending down to kiss his brow, her fingertips brushing his jaw. She met his eyes for a moment, and pursed her lips. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "The arguments ran late - the vote was too contentious to abstain," she broke off, frustrated, and Han gave her an easygoing grin, shrugging -

"S'fine, Sweetheart," he said - echoing his earlier words.

She compressed her lips, nodded - and turned her attention to his arm, her hands running over his wrist and bicep, then drifting to the needle site gingerly. Moving just to the right of that, she brushed her fingertips very tenderly first over last week's puncture point and then over the rather grisly laceration he'd given himself ripping the first catheter out.

Han leaned over, narrowing his eyes, inching his face closer to hers. He gave her a look.

"Quit fussin'," he demanded menacingly.

She raised her eyes to his.

"I am not fussing," Leia retorted stubbornly, as she continued to fuss with the intravenous drip - making sure his arm was cushioned, his palm had good circulation.

He shook his arm at her, pretending he was going to rip the needle out again. She swatted at his bicep, and he glared at her. She smoothed her palm over the stiff, irritated muscles in his arm - the bruise from the injection site had spread dully up his arm, and she bit the inside of her lip at the sight of the mottled, obviously sore flesh.

"Fussing," Han growled, watching her closely - her eyes seemed okay, but she did seem introspective, frustrated, or bothered by something - the incident at the Senate, he suspected. The nurses said she'd stood up for another female Senator; a young, single mother -

Leia ignored his insistence, and his intent study of her.

"Your skin is a little clammy," she murmured to herself, pursing her lips. "If you're feeling worse, Han - "

"Fussing," he insisted, arching a brow pointedly. "You're actin' like Rouge."

Leia drew her hands away immediately, affronted. She crossed her arms and glared down at him - a rare triumph, given her stature. Shaking her head, she took a seat in the chair Chewbacca had vacated, much better suited to it than the Wookiee had been, and leaned back in an attempt to appear relaxed. She seemed on edge - though she had been restless, and anxious, the last time they were here, too. She leaned forward on her knees, her elbows balanced on her thighs, and pressed her palms together, touching the tips of her fingers under her chin.

Han tilted his head and eyed her profile, hesitating briefly.

"I heard 'bout what you did today," he ventured, deciding that it was okay to bring it up. She seemed on edge, and he wanted to hear her side.

"Hmm," Leia murmured absently, blinking vaguely. She stared ahead of her at the bed - the bed Han refused to use, as he claimed sitting up made him feel less pathetic.

Han stuck his foot out and nudged hers gently.

"Nurses're all talkin' 'bout it," he went on slowly.

"Yes," Leia said in a clipped tone. "It was playing on Holos when I walked in - already being hailed as a particularly moving publicity stunt," she muttered irritably.

She shook her head, well aware that her actions had drawn immense attention. Knowing that did not change why she had chosen to act - she was not one to complain about being seen in a positive light, particularly when such was often a rare thing for politicians; she just felt a sense of personal disappointment in herself for not having better motives.

"You helped some Senator with her baby? Showed a bunch of others up?" Han prompted. "Why'd she have the baby with her at the Senate?" he asked.

Leia gave a tight shrug. She didn't know - Senator Arkadya had brought her three month old into the grand arena, drawing plenty of attention, despite the frazzled look on her face that indicated she wanted nothing more than to fly under the radar. From the clear distress and embarrassment emanating off of Lissa Arkadya during the whole incident, Leia highly doubted it had been her first choice. She figured that, like Leia herself, Arkadya had several intervening personal crises or commitments, and knew the vote was high on the list of priorities. There had been a considerable amount of nasty grumbling and side-comments directed at her when the baby started crying and Leia -

"I did not do it to make a statement, or because I particularly want to normalize bringing infants to political events," Leia said edgily. "Lissa wasn't trying to make a statement, either, I just don't think she had anyone to take the baby."

"'M not insultin' you," Han snorted.

Leia lowered her hands, and turned her palms over on her knees, studying the lines there.

"I didn't know I was going to do it," she murmured, half to herself.

She looked up at him.

"I am being hailed as some...crusader for working motherhood, but I had a moment of irritation that she brought the baby, too," Leia admitted huskily, cringing at herself. "I thought she should have stayed home with him," she trailed off shrugging. "I suppose I don't know what it's like. I don't have her problem," she said bitterly.

Han watched her thoughtfully. Leia leaned forward more heavily, pressing her weight down on her knees. Her shoulders slumped heavily.

"I think I was...irritated out of jealousy, too," she confessed softly. "There she was, with her baby, in my Senate," Leia caught her lip in her teeth, closing her eyes tensely. "I went over there to," she sighed.

Her act had been simple - without making any statement, she'd gotten up, left Evaan and Tavska in her pod, gone over to Senator Arkadya's pod, and taken her baby, thinking less stress, more attention, and a distraction might calm down both the Senator, and her infant - and thinking, too, that the only thing that might keep Leia herself from going mad, listening to the crying, and feeling it, piercing and sharp, in her soul - was having something there in her hollow arms for a brief moment.

It worked, and Leia remained in Arkadya's pod for the remainder of the vote, while Arkadya gave her planet's final words and moved forward with the rules of order.

Leia frowned a little deeper, shaking her head.

"Han, it wasn't from some place of...social protest or...feminist solidarity, I - "

"You wanted to hold the baby," Han finished for her.

She sat back, looking over at him, up through her lashes. She folded her arms across her chest, and compressed her lips. She nodded.

"Yes," she admitted hoarsely. "I just wanted to hold the baby."

She shook her head, chewed on her lip, and sighed quietly. Han smiled confidently. He lifted his arm and waved it, jostling the IV bag again.

"We'll fix it, Sweetheart."

Her eyes roamed over the IV, and then over his face, her lips pursing intently. She got up, and came over to check the needle again, her hand smoothing over his arm.

"Leia, so help me, if you don't quit fussing over me - "

She put her face directly in front of his, glaring at him.

"You let me fuss," she hissed.

He arched his brows, a little alarmed - and noted the slight break in her voice, just at the end. She managed a bright smile, reaching out to pat his cheek and kiss him above the brow. Han turned his head up - well - if she insisted - he didn't mind that much -

She lingered close to him, her torso brushing against his arm as she safely adjusted the drip so she wouldn't get tangled in it. He watched her expression, and swallowed hard, trying to guess what she was thinking. Had it made her feel better, holding the baby? Had it bothered her, like it bothered him more than he expected, in the brief holo image he saw before he stubbornly turned the footage off?

He lifted his needle-less arm and reached over, taking her hand in his and tickling her palm before interlacing their fingers and holding tightly.

"Hey," he said, eyes on her intently. "It make you feel any better?" he asked. He drew circles on her wrist with his thumb – it didn't seem like it had.

Leia messed with the collar of his shirt, flattening it, plucking at imaginary threads. She didn't answer for a moment, but she shook her head slowly. Her eyes closed, and her nose wrinkled slightly, a face she often made when she was resisting tears. She took a deep breath.

"I thought it might," she whispered, her hands still resting comfortably at his shoulder. She kept her eyes there, before looking at him out of the corner of them. She shook her head again. "I felt terrible," she confessed, "and I had such…cruel thoughts, about Senator Arkadya," she added in a small voice, licking her lips, "her baby was an accident and she just – got to have it," Leia trailed off, furious with herself.

She pressed the heel of her palm into Han's shoulder. She grit her teeth, struggling to keep it together.

"It hurt so much," she admitted softly. She leaned forward, lowering her lips to his hair – "I don't get to hold mine."

Han tilted his head up, furrowing his brow gently. She ran her hand through his hair, and then seemed to bury her face in it. It felt as if she were rubbing her nose against his scalp, and after a moment of bewilderment, he realized she was –

"Leia," he murmured suspiciously, immediately deciding she was hiding tears. "Are you wiping your face?"

She made a noise somewhere between a defeated laugh, and an indignant protest – yet she nodded.

He grinned, tossing his hair a little. She pressed a kiss to his temple and leaned back to look at him, her eyes red. She combed her hand through his hair again, smoothing it out affectionately.

She lifted her shoulders dejectedly, lifting one leg slightly to rest her knee on the arm of the chair.

"I don't want all your energy exhausted dealing with me," she said gently. "You need to focus on this."

Han looked at her patiently, tilting his head with a stubborn look.

"When are you gonna stop talkin' like that?" he asked mildly, not expecting an answer – when would she stop making remarks, few and far between as they were now, that implied he would reach the end of his rope with her?

It was impossible for him to – suddenly not want to deal with her, as she put it; and in this, in this grief, especially, she was blameless – perhaps there had been times when Leia's stubborn refusal to confront her own demons, or address the meanness that came out of her when she was hurting, had made him angry, and frustrated, and feel like he had no way to get through to her or help her – but this wasn't that, and even in those times, he hadn't wanted to give up.

Leia smiled. She leaned down to give him a kiss, and then slowly lowered her leg, loosening her tense shoulders as she walked around. She turned and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning against the footboard and crossing one leg over the other.

"Otherwise, how's work?" Han asked dryly.

Leia smirked ruefully.

"All quiet on the Haven front," she murmured. "Winter and I are going to see a seamstress for her wedding gown, sometime this month," she added. "I think she's going to wear violet." She wove her arm through the metal bars of the footboard, leaning into it. "I selected parents for the Christening today," she told him.

Han gave her a wary look.

"Mila and Kier Hwor," she said. "Mila had a miscarriage last year."

Han nodded slowly.

"You sure you want to do that?" he asked carefully. "You – you do what you want, Leia," he encouraged firmly, "but – Bail says Rouge knows the ceremony – "

"I know what my father says," Leia said calmly. "I know it will be painful. Unbearable, even," she bit the inside of her lip. "I want to do it. My mother would have," she repeated – her usual refrain – "and I want to feel close to her."

Han tilted his head back heavily, accepting that – he didn't press her any further. He trusted her to know herself well enough that she'd back out if she later felt she couldn't handle the reminder.

She cleared her throat, and pointed at the bacta drip, grimacing.

"How is it today?"

"Ain't a damn thing, Princess," Han responded smugly, waving his hand.

Leia gave him a look, leaning back on the bed. She supported herself with her wrists and looked skeptical.

"Don't give me that look," he drawled. "'M takin' this like a pro."

Leia tilted her head at him smartly, a soft expression on her face. She twitched her foot up and over at the Sabacc cards.

"Gambling?"

"Only with hearts," he said smoothly, and winked at her.

She sat forward, content.

Han leaned back a little more, and she rose to her feet restlessly, her arms folded across her chest.

"Are you really not feeling bad?" she asked probingly.

Han groaned, rolling his eyes a little.

"Somethin' wrong with my skin?" he grumbled testily. "Chewie said I looked bad."

Leia gave him a small nod.

"I think you feel worse than you're willing to admit."

Han looked at her stubbornly for a long time, and Leia glanced over at a chronometer – it shouldn't be much longer before Kettsy, if not Soivrin herself, came in to do a routine check on Han's progress.

She turned back to Han, and noticed he had sat forward, staring down at the floor under him, his forearms on his thighs, his fist balled up, making his veins stand out.

"Han," she called gently.

He reached up to rub his forehead gingerly, setting his jaw – it was a overwhelming, how abruptly he felt bad – almost as if clenching his fist had unexpectedly pushed so much bacta into his system that he was dizzy, and lightheaded and –

"Yeah," he said heavily, his voice strained. "Leia, is there," he waved his hand shakily, "a bucket?"

Leia looked to one of the tables in the room, and swept a metal bin basin into her hands, making her way over to him without hesitation. She dropped down to one knee and placed it between his feet, perfectly situating it at the exact moment he lurched forward, his stomach turning over.

"Hey, get back," he mumbled hazily, pushing his arm out and pressing it into her chest, trying to – shield her, in some way.

Leia ignored him and twisted her arm around his. She didn't bat an eyelid when he vomited, just as she hadn't recoiled from it on Tatooine, and the long jump back to Sullust.

Han grimaced, baring his teeth at the sour taste left in his mouth, and Leia held his hand firmly, turning her head, and speaking with authority when she heard Chewbacca re-enter the room.

"Chewie," she said calmly. "Would you mind asking after Dr. Soivrin?"

Chewbacca nodded solemnly, only taking a moment to set down the snack tray he'd fetched before disappearing again.

Han turned his head, rubbing his wrist against his temple harshly – his skin felt slimy, suddenly, and he frowned, unsure if his stomach was going to settle or not. Leia had his arm pressed against her heart, and he focused on that, which eased some of the sudden dizziness. When it faded, and he felt steady again, he turned, and she was right there, her hands already pressing against his neck and forehead, and her touch was good, peaceful – he lifted his eyes with a grim smirk – rough, sure, but still only as bad as the nastiest hangover, for now.

---

Long into the evening, Han stubbornly maintained that he did not have it that bad – and for the most part, Leia believed him. He stopped short of insisting he was fine, as he clearly wasn't, but even Leia could see he hadn't yet reached the level of affliction that had plagued him after the carbonite.

He had spent the tail end of his second round of bacta intermittently vomiting; Leia had sought to lighten the mood with the light tease that now he had a taste of what her morning sickness had felt like – which drew a grim, wry smile out of him. He appreciated her upbeat attitude, and how unfazed she was – he didn't know if she was really unbothered, or if she was putting her exceptional skills at work and faking it. He had only the haziest memory of how she had handled it when he was affected by carbon sickness.

The nausea faded once he was unhooked from the drip, but his strength was severely sapped, he was dehydrated, and he didn't want to eat, as unsettled as he still felt. Chewbacca helped her get him home, since he was lightheaded and his disrupted equilibrium was making it difficult for him to walk – being Han, he adamantly refused a hover chair.

While Chewbacca had seen to dinner – which Han declined, and she had only picked at – Leia had called her father to let him know she wouldn't be over to the Embassy this evening, and might have a late morning tomorrow. He had taken it upon himself to come to her, instead – not for work, but for the sake of family, saying, when Leia tried to dissuade him –

I won't be in the way, Leia; this is what family does – you still need support, too.

She didn't have the heart – or the desire – to put her foot down and refuse him, and though she was at first a little worried that Han would balk at anyone other than Chewbacca or herself being around while he was sick, it turned out that he was so exhausted and out of it that he was sort of blocking out everything around him.

He was in the 'fresher when Bail arrived, anyway, and when her father asked after him, Leia responded that he was showering, and Chewbacca was lurking around the spa to make sure he didn't fall.

"Why aren't you in there?" her father had asked curiously – he knew her to be unperturbed by this sort of thing; he'd been rather jarringly introduced to how hands on she could be when he was first brought back into the galactic fold.

Quick-witted as ever, she had responded –

"I can't resist him when he's naked. The nurses warned me not to excite him."

"Leia."

She smiled tiredly, giving him a look.

"I can't keep him from falling, or lift him," she said. "I'm not strong enough."

Her father gave her a quiet, half-smile.

"You're very strong, Leia."

She smiled at him gratefully, and he busied himself doing something – much like Chewie, Bail made an effort of being there in the peripheral, even if not directly needed or asked to do something. Leia silently appreciated it – her father was right; she still needed support herself, and she was grateful to have that from sources other than Han, particularly while she focused on him, and ensured he focused on himself.

Chewbacca disappeared into the room they kept for him once Han was out of the 'fresher, and Han initially returned to the living room, where Leia had brought some of her lighter work for the evening – she often saved more frivolous briefs, categorized as such by Tavska, as reading to do as she wound down before bed.

He griped about Chewie, made a few jokes about Bail, and Leia humored him, flicking the holo from evening political commentary to one of the high stakes racing channels – it was not long before he abandoned his masculine, devil-may-care slouch on the sofa and stretched out tiredly, lowering his head to her lap and breathing out in relief.

She set aside all of her briefings – her mind wasn't sharp enough for them at the moment, anyway – and put her feet up on the kaffe table, running her hands warmly over his shoulder.

She thought about telling him to go to bed, but she didn't think he wanted to. She herself was tired, yet too on edge to sleep, and he likely didn't want to lie in there and wait for her to come in.

Her hands drifted to his hair, and she settled them there, her attention fixed lazily on the races – Han gambled on them occasionally, dealing in high stakes bets with Lando and some of the Rogues, and it never bothered Leia because Han was incredibly intelligent with his bets, and these days he always kept it legal. She thought for his birthday, she might try to secure box seats at one of the most elite races – she was never one for watching things such as this on a holo, but live events were always a rush.

Han tossed his head a little, his shoulders twitching.

"Leia," he mumbled.

She smoothed her hand down his neck, tucking it under his shirt near his heart for a moment to soothe him. He nodded, satisfied, and she tilted her head, moving her hand back up slowly.

"Cold?" she murmured

Han shrugged hazily, and she bent forward to look at his face – his eyes were closed; she wasn't even quite sure if he was awake. Regardless, she stretched out to her right and swept a woven blanket off the armchair, tugging the edge of it gently out from underneath Zozy, who lifted his head and gave her a meek, suspicious look. She shook it out and spread it over Han. She crossed one ankle over the other and settled back again, tucking the blanket behind his shoulders to keep him warm.

Han seemed to appreciate it. He curled up a little, tucking himself onto the couch more, mumbling to himself. He shifted his head a little and turned, looking up at her blearily.

"Told you," he murmured.

She pressed her palm to his forehead, checking for fever; he hadn't spiked one yet, though Dr. Soivrin warned he might, if not now, then certainly after the aggressive final round of treatment.

"Told me what?"

He smirked.

"You c'n always take care'f me," he said.

It was an echo of what he'd told her on Corellia, a little before he had brought home Zozy.

Leia smoothed her hand back through his hair, turning her head to check on the mooka – he was still very much subdued by the stitches he'd received after his snip, and had been moping around the apartment lately, his energy tempered. Zozy cocked his head at her peacefully, and then twitched his nose at Han, as if he understood that one of his caretakers was not well.

"'M fine, though," Han added, and she laughed, shaking her head at him.

She didn't know how to define her emotional state, as it were. In some respects, Han's treatment was a distraction. She could focus intensively on the specifics and logistics, making sure he was fine, boosting her mood every time she thought, with relief, of how this would keep him safe, and repair things she had worried were irreparable. In other respects, it was so difficult; it anchored her to the loss she was trying to cope with and move on from, made her feel helpless, angry, and haunted.

Han had told her that part of him put off the treatment because he didn't want her to think he was rushing her, because if he had it done and was squared away, the only thing standing between them and a baby would be her emotional recovery, and he didn't want that pressure on her. She had not viewed it that way, concerned as she was about his health, and she valued his concern – still, she did suddenly find herself wary of how they both would feel when all this treatment was said and done.

The pain had been most raw in those days on Corellia, and still fresh in the small handful of weeks after – this treatment, though, showed her in sharp relief how much it still hurt, even though she had adjusted to feeling it, and was functioning alright in her daily routines.

Often she found herself frustrated – helpless with frustration, even – when she thought about how much uncertainty had surrounded her decision to have a baby, and how difficult it had been for her to overcome her insecurities and realize that yes, she did want that, and no, she wasn't going to allow Vader, or anyone else, to take that away from her. It had been a rough path to get to where she needed to be, to be ready, and not only had it been taken away from her, the level of devastation she felt shocked her, considering she hadn't previously been a woman who thought of nothing other than having a baby.

She almost thought her anguish was unfair, and yet she supposed it was illuminating in its own right, letting her know with gentle brutality how blind she'd been to what she wanted; how she'd almost let things as arbitrary as bloodline, and bad experience, dictate her choices.

When she thought about it, her thoughts invariably drifted back to Han, and she found comfort in him even when he wasn't there to talk to her, touch her, or smile at her. She didn't think there was anyone else who could have put everything into the right perspective for her.

Her head drifted back, and she sighed contently, drawing Han's head against her abdomen gently, and beginning a slow, leisurely dance of her hands in his hair, choreographed beautifully to soothe him to sleep, and give her something to focus on. Slowly quieting her thoughts, and reaching out into the Force to relax her mind, she found herself almost falling asleep as she lazily stared at the Holo through her lashes.

The gentle lullaby of the Force hummed in her ears, and she harnessed a few tendrils of it experimentally, pressing her fingertips into Han's temple – I love you, she thought to him sincerely, and Han breathed calmly and easily, so relaxed he was nearly dead weight in her lap.

Her hands stroke through his hair absently, she listened to her father, quietly slinking around in the kitchen as if he were in any way useful at cleaning up – she had no doubt he was placing dishes in the wrong spot.

She yawned, lashes fluttering, twitching her fingers slightly when one of them tangled in a strand of Han's hair.

"Leia!"

She nearly jumped out of her skin at her father's whispered howl. Eyes flying open, she turned her head slowly and glared at him in alarm.

Bail have her a pained look, thrusting his hand out at Han.

"What the hell are you doing to him?" he demanded in a hiss.

Leia stared him, incredulous, and grit her teeth.

"Shhhh," she snapped at him quietly. "He needs to sleep - he's not suffocating in my lap, Father, he's been there before," she added narrowly, glaring.

Han stirred, and Bail snapped furiously at him, gesturing for Leia to look. She glanced down, and pulled her hand back, her lips pursing —

Oh.

She had … it seemed in her little meditation she had inadvertently twisted much of Han's hair into loose, but neat, little braids.

She looked up with wide eyes.

Her father shook his head, indignant. She lifted her hands slowly.

"My hands, I … they can't help it, they just - braid!" she hissed. "I'm…Alderaanian!"

She narrowed her eyes.

"This is your fault," she accused, still whispering. She bit her lip, and looked down at her handiwork – if Winter caught wind of this – worse yet, if Rouge caught wind of this –

Her father, still looking both scandalized, and amused, folded his arms, shaking his head.

"Isn't the poor man going through enough?" he demanded sternly.

"This is the day you decide to take Han's side?" Leia retorted, her eyes wide.

Bail arched his brows, and Leia swallowed hard, wincing at herself as she turned to begin undoing the loose braids she'd twisted. Her father stepped forward, holding his hand up, evidently having a change of heart.

"Don't undo them," he protested, a smug look crossing his face. "Not before – you must have a," he gestured with his hand, and looked around aimlessly, "a holocamera?"

Leia frowned – had Han not been feeling bad, and already self-conscious about it, she herself might have wanted a holo, but given the circumstances, she shook her head, proceeding with her gentle unbraiding.

"Father," she admonished, giving him a look. She sighed. "This isn't the right time."

He tilted his head at her, smirked again, and nodded in understanding. He folded his arms, and took a few steps forward. Zozy lifted his head, flattened his ears back, and gave a soft, muttering growl, staring at Bail suspiciously.

Leia clicked her tongue at the mooka, silencing him with the familiar command, and he placed his head back on his paws, still glaring at Bail. The Viceroy shook his head, giving the little guy his own suspicious, offended look.

"I cannot understand why he doesn't like me," Bail remarked edgily.

Leia compressed her lips, pointedly directing her attention to undoing the last of Han's impromptu braids. She was almost positive Han had somehow trained Zozy to menace Bail, despite the fact that they seemed unable to train Zozy to do anything else.

"It's just how he shows affection," Leia offered innocently.

"Hmmm," Bail murmured, narrowing his eyes.

He considered the mooka briefly, and then looked at Han, moving forward again. This time, Zozy did not growl at him, having been reprimanded by Leia the first time, but he did follow Bail with his bright little eyes. Bail stepped in front of the holo, tilting his head.

"You said he didn't eat?" he asked.

Leia shook her head, shaking the last braid out. She bit her lip, wordlessly apologizing to Han's hair – though it did have a lovely wave to it now.

"Do you worry he may become more dehydrated?" Bail pressed.

"A little," Leia murmured.

She nodded towards the hall.

"I have intravenous fluids to put him on, in a home kit, if he won't drink anything," she said. "It's alright if he doesn't eat, for now."

She left her hand over Han's ear; keeping things quiet for him, and her father frowned deeply, looking at her worriedly.

"Needles bother you, do they not?" he asked. "Will you be able to fit him with one? I know it won't be hurting you, but if you are still squeamish about sticking him - "

Leia grimaced lightly.

"If I had to, I could," she said, "though, this not being an emergency, I'll ask Chewie to do it – he's got quite a bit of practice with giving Han medical attention," she murmured wryly.

"Ah," Bail said dryly. He snorted. "I suppose that doesn't surprise me. It is his sworn duty to keep him alive."

Bail unfolded his arms, and then clasped his hands in front of him formally.

"Do you need anything?" he asked.

Leia sat forward a little, resting her hands idly on Han, rather than letting them run wild with a mind of their own in his hair. She shook her head.

"I did tell you there was no reason to come over," she said. She looked down, and tilted her head at Han, nodding to herself. "It isn't so bad," she decided, agreeing with him. "What worries me is the next round," she added, her voice softening.

Her father nodded, setting his jaw. He moved further around the kaffe table, and then crossed his arms again, sitting down on the arm of Zozy's chair. The mooka turned his head, his eyes widening, as if he were both shocked and offended that Bail would dare come near him, despite the growling. Bail shot Zozy a mildly taunting look.

"I am not afraid of you," he told him seriously. He leaned a little closer. "I started a galactic rebellion."

Zozy twitched his tail, unimpressed. He bared his teeth.

"Zozy," Leia admonished, arching a brow.

Bail rolled his eyes, and looked over to Leia, clearing his throat.

"Would you like me to stay here for a few days next week?" he asked. "If this upcoming third round is to be the most aggressive, you may need extra support."

Leia hesitated, unsure Han would like the idea. She tilted her head uncertainly, a tight expression on her face as she considered it.

"I appreciate the offer," she began diplomatically.

Bail raised his hand gently.

"Leia, hear me out," he said. "I know Han doesn't want an audience. No one does, in illness, whether it is of this nature, or of the more common viral persuasion. You yourself did not want me around you a few weeks ago," he reminded her carefully, "anxious as you were about my feelings."

Leia swallowed hard, and nodded. Her father shrugged.

"I have no interest in alienating Han, or hovering around him," he said, keeping his voice low. "But I know, from personal experience, how emotionally taxing it can be to take care of someone, and be at their side, and watch them suffer," he reminded her softly. "It is difficult even when you know that person is going to be okay, in the end."

Leia nodded, her eyes stinging a little.

"Yes," she agreed, lifting her shoulders. "He does it for me all the time, Father."

Bail smiled, tapping his fingers against his elbow.

"He does," the Viceroy agreed, "and you know I appreciate him for it nearly as much as you no doubt love him for it."

Leia flushed, and her father hesitated a moment, before leaning forward slightly, uncrossing his arms and bracing his palms on his knees.

"Lelila, I know you're still hurting," he said gently. "This is all very closely tied to your," he paused, just long enough for Leia to sigh, and offer him some respite –

"I don't mind if you say miscarriage, Dad."

He nodded.

"It's very closely tied to that. It hasn't been long, and you're still recovering yourself, you must be," he said perceptively. "So I only offer so that even if I am utterly useless around your home, if you need me, I would be here. To field unexpected visitors or have tea ready or," he shrugged, and pointed at Zozy, "take this little bastard out for a walk."

Leia grinned, blinking a few times. She averted her eyes and took a deep breath, taking his words to heart. He was right, and she supposed that bothered her some, too. She didn't like that she wasn't back to herself yet, and because of that, she wasn't as unbreakable as Han was always able to be for her.

"Maybe," she said, conceding. "I'll think about it."

She swallowed hard.

"We'll see how bad he feels," she added, with a light wink. "For the most part, even taking into account tonight, he's done better than predicted."

Bail smiled wryly.

"I am sure that, possessed of that information, Han's ego is insufferable."

Leia shrugged. She looked down at him, her shoulders falling.

"He needs to go to bed," she said, sighing. "I don't want to wake him."

She removed her hands and stretched them over her head, yawning. She pushed her hands back through her hair, and then let them rest on her shoulders, twitching her foot a little – in just a subtle way, to see if it roused Han at all.

He shifted, turning his head and blinking, and Leia breathed a sigh of relief.

"You talkin' about me?" he asked, tripping over the words.

"Mm-hmm," Leia murmured honestly, touching his shoulder. "Han, you need to go to bed. Your back will hurt if you stay here."

He blinked at her hazily, and she arched her brows, expecting him to take offense to the comment about his back – my back? Sweetheart, I ain't that old yet –

Instead, he kept looking at her hazily.

"Go?" he repeated roughly. He turned slowly onto his back, his brow furrowing. He reached up and rubbed his forehead hard. "'M not goin' anywhere," he retorted.

Leia arched a brow. Bail sat back, tilting his head.

Han lowered his hand and looked at her through narrow, bloodshot eyes. He shook his head.

"'M stayin'," he said. "Told you that. 'M gonna hang around for you."

She bit her lip, giving him a funny look, and then nodded slowly – confusion, or disturbed awareness; it was a side effect. She leaned forward a little, catching his eye and holding clearly for a moment.

"I know, Han," she said. "You did hang around, hotshot. You married me."

She smiled, and then spared at glance for her father, wrinkling her nose lightly.

"He's okay," she assured him.

Han looked at her uncertainly, then seemed to snap back to the right place in time, and blinked a couple of times.

"Yeah," he agreed seriously. "That was good."

She ran her fingers along his jaw.

"It's been pretty good," she whispered conspiratorially, and then nudged his shoulders. "Bed," she said again.

Han stared at her a little longer, and then lurched forward, sitting up. Leia helped, keeping her hands on his shoulders as he shifted and leaned forward, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment.

"Bed sounds good," he drawled.

Leia gave him a warning look.

"Han," she started –

"You're gonna have to be on top, though," he suggested.

"—Dad's here," she finished, wincing.

Han raised his head from his hands, looking around until he saw Bail. The Viceroy glared dully at him from the armchair, and Han shrugged carelessly.

"He's been married, he gets it," Han rambled. He looked at Bail critically. "S'not like he's a virgin."

Leia fixed a mild glare on Han, and stood up, nudging his shoulder firmly.

"Mmm-hmm," she murmured, her face pink. She poked at his arm gently. "You need to stop talking."

Han reached for her hips and held them, looking around her waist at the armchair with a sharp glare, blinking a few times for focus.

"Zozy," he snapped. He nodded at Bail, arching his brows. "You forgettin' somethin'?"

Zozy wagged his tail, and Bail stood, narrowing his eyes. Leia smiled a little, and succeeded in putting enough pressure on Han's bicep to get him to stand up. He seemed steady enough, though his hands drifted from her hips to her shoulder heavily.

Bail watched sharply, ready to step in and help her if she needed it. Leia waved him off, directing Han first towards the hall, and then changing her mind.

"Here," she said, pointing him into the kitchen. "I want you to drink something."

She didn't bother to turn a light on, and Han leaned against the counter, rubbing his jaw.

"Why'm I not s'pose to talk?" he asked, frowning.

"You aren't particularly lucid," Leia answered softly, pushing a glass of water into his hands after she had infused it with an electrolyte supplement.

He took it, reaching up to pinch his nose.

"'M not?" he slurred.

"No," she said softly, standing close to him. "Drink that, Han."

He nodded, and did so, downing half the glass. He made a face, though she knew the electrolytes were flavorless. He held the glass out to her, hastily getting rid of it, and then put his hand back to his nose, pressing fingertips hard into the bridge of it.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Dizzy," he grunted.

He turned on his heel and leaned over the sink, resting his elbows hard on the counter. Leia moved to his side, holding the glass ready in case he needed to rinse his mouth out. He didn't get sick, only seemed to be mentally preparing in case he did, breathing shallowly through the nausea.

Her heart ached.

After a moment, he lowered one arm, and slid it over to her, reaching for her hand. She gave it to him, and he scowled, his brows furrowing – he said nothing, holding tight, and then cleared his throat, straightening up some and reaching out to take the glass of water back.

Satisfied he wasn't gong to be sick, he more slowly finished drinking it, setting it aside with a distasteful look when he was done.

"One more round, yeah?" he muttered, half to himself.

Leia nodded, leaning forward to press a kiss to his bicep, her lips brushing softly over the worsening bruise there. The sore skin tightened under the touch, and she wrapped one arm around his waist – one more, that was all, and it did not matter how miserable the third round was, he'd have here there to get him through it.

---

The third iteration was by far the worst.

Leia felt that she and Han had been warned appropriately; Dr. Soivrin had not minced words when she had described the worst of what the side effects might be, and for that, Leia was grateful. The cruel joke of it was that initially, it appeared that Han was only going to have a mild reaction; during the final, three hour treatment, he'd only reacted half as negatively as he had in the second one, and bucked up in the half hour he spent in the treatment room unhooked from the bacta and taking the saline drip Soivrin fit him with to hydrate him as best as possible before sending him home.

What struck him later that evening was a true cascade in every sense of the word; Leia had never been so relieved to have her father and Chewbacca there in the background. Han went downhill so quickly it took her breath away; one moment he half-heartedly griping at her for insisting he take it easy, the next, heavily draped over the sofa's arm rest, his eyes closed, breathing shallow.

The onset wasn't sudden, dramatic, and loud; it was more internal – fatigue and fever being the worst of it, which settled into severe muscle pain, and eventually, evoked shivering, nausea, and vertigo. It was eerie, how closely it resembled carbon poisoning, right down to the incredible feat his immune system executed in holding it off until it reached a point at which Han just couldn't take it anymore, his mental resolve collapsed, and he was overwhelmed by it.

That it was not as life-threatening and wretchedly severe as it had been when it was true carbon poisoning, rather than a diluted mimicry of it, did nothing to mitigate how difficult it was to see him like this, and be unable to do anything other than wait for it to pass.

Han was not a complainer – he never had been, not in situations like this. In petty moments, when it came to little things like mundane paperwork, he could whine and begrudge things with olympic magnificence, but in injury or illness Han was withdrawn, stoic and – if pushed – understandably irritable.

Knowing him as well as she did, and drawing on her past experience, Leia tended to him with skill and precision, though this time she was less timid, more confident. Back then, when she had him back in her arms again after wrenching him from Jabba's clutches, she had been scared, uncertain, desperate to help him, but unable to discern where his head was – where they stood.

He'd been aggressive in his misery then; his pride wounded, self-conscious about what a mess he was in her presence, and prone to lashing out at her – which had only strengthened her resolve. He exhibited almost none of that anger, at himself and his situation, now. He was utterly exhausted, and he was resigned to his plight for the moment – furthermore, their bond was much stronger, and much more accustomed to the unpleasant and the ugly aspects of romance than it had been in the early days.

Though she had humored him and refrained from hovering when he was feeling bad after the second treatment, she did not do so this time; she stayed at his side, quiet and unassuming, well aware that at some point, when it became too much, he'd drop the last bit of bravado and want her there.

And want her there he did, from evening, to late after midnight, when his fever spiked higher and he woke out of a fitful sleep, unable to get comfortable. He was restless, sick and sore, and he kept getting up to stumble into the 'fresher – Leia didn't follow him, though each time he rose she sat up, her ears perked sharply, on edge as she listened to the water run.

Each time, when it shut off, and he stumbled back out of the 'fresher, she lay back down, acting as if he hadn't disturbed her, though they both knew it was a feint.

As he collapsed back into bed for the third time, unable to settle, Leia turned towards him. He tossed and turned tensely for a moment, until her hands came to rest on his back, and she leaned up, pressing her cheek to his shoulder.

"Han," she murmured, rubbing his spine soothingly. Her hand moved confidently over him, and she shifted closer her, pressing her chest against his back so he could feel her there.

He sighed roughly, uncomfortable, and leaned back into her touch a little. She kissed behind his shoulder; his skin was hot and salty - not in a pleasant way. He lifted his head heavily, blinking hazily, his mouth and jaw knotted up in a tight grimace.

"Mm," he mumbled. "M'i…keepin' you up?" he muttered. "I c'n go crash on the sofa. Or in the guest - "

"Shhhhh," Leia murmured, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair. "You aren't bothering me," she promised.

She squeezed his shoulder, hoping he'd turn around - and he did, after a moment, his face nudging her shoulder almost desperately. He swallowed hard, parting his lips, and she noticed they were dry and cracked – she needed to get him some water.

"How bad do you feel?" she murmured sympathetically, pressing her hands to his neck, and her lips to his chapped ones, unperturbed – she wanted him to know, unequivocally, that she did not find this off-putting.

He cringed and pushed his face closer to her neck, seeking comfort. He shook his head.

"Like hell," he answered finally, his shoulder sagging. He grasped at her hips tightly, squeezing in a way that was not intended to comfort her, as it usually was, but was an attempt to anchor himself to something better, remind himself this hell wasn't going to last.

Leia cupped his cheek in her hand, holding his face against her breast, her mind humming with memories of Jabba's Palace, the escape from Tatooine.

She kissed the top of his head. He kicked the covers off of him fitfully, so Leia shifted them down, too, helping him out - he was so miserable, and still barely willing to admit how miserable. She closed her eyes lightly, her heart pounding - she loved him so much for this.

Han shifted closer, his skin slick with sweat, and titled his head up, breathing in and out slowly. He winced, and first, tucked his face into her shoulder again – and then twisted away, pushing his hand back through his hair. Leia sat up and pushed the covers off of him entirely. She gently tugged his pillow out from under his head and turned it over to the cooler side, leaning over him,

She brushed his hair behind his ears, kissing his temple.

Han groaned hoarsely, his brow furrowing.

"Hot," he told her gruffly. He shook his head, his jaw tensing. "'S too…hot."

Leia massaged his shoulders, biting her lip to steady herself. She nodded, and turned, climbing out of bed and walking around it to his side. She checked the water on the bedside table – empty. She sat down on the edge of the bed, and put her hand through his hair again, tilting his head back.

"Han," she called softly. "Can you tell me what feels worst right now? Tell me what you need?" she coaxed.

He groaned again, turning his face away. His jaw tensed, and he grimaced; she watched him shiver despite his complaints that he was too hot, and she realized he was having muscle spasms.

He jerked forward and sat up, putting forth a lot of effort to do so, and Leia grasped his shoulders, stopping him. She kept him sitting, though he tried to get out of bed, and it was a testament to how sick he was that she was able to easily keep him from moving.

"Tell me what you need," she repeated gently.

"S'too hot in here," he said hoarsely. He leaned forward his head falling hard against her shoulder. "Leia, let me go."

"You don't need to keep getting up," she murmured.

He tried to wrestle out of her grip, his face darkening.

"'M gonna be sick," he protested.

Leia straightened up and turned to her side, glancing around – she knew she had – put it somewhere – there. She spotted a metal basin she'd asked Chewbacca to bring up from the Falcon, and swept it neatly into her hands, setting it on the bedside table for him and nodding firmly.

Han gave it a bitter look, but seemed to resign himself to the futility of continuing to get up and lay back down – he reached out and grabbed it, and Leia stepped over to the side to run her hand gingerly over his shoulder when he began to dry heave. The sound of it hurt her ears, and from the look on his face, the violence of it hurt his throat and chest. There was nothing left in his stomach to purge, and she stood there until his body finally realized that, and eased up on him.

He bowed his head, letting her take the basin from him, and he shoved his hands into his hair, mumbling under his breath. He reached out for her, and she moved closer, pulling his head against her breast again. He rested there for a moment, and then unexpectedly pushed her away – it wasn't a rough shove, but it was urgent.

He grimaced.

"You're too hot," he complained, his face turning pale. He grit his teeth, struggling with himself. "'M too hot in here," he repeated, hyper focused on it. He started to get up again. "'M gonna sleep somewhere else – "

She stepped forward again and pushed him back gently, palms firm on his shoulders.

"You stay here," she murmured. "It's more comfortable."

"You, you," he mumbled.

Leia only continued tucking him back in, leaving the covers pulled back. He didn't fight her too much, and she took the empty glass from the side table, showing it to him.

"I'll get you some more ice water," she promised, keeping her voice low, "and let you have the bed to yourself for a little while."

Han nodded, tossing his head fitfully.

Leia compressed her lips, and started towards the bedroom door, only to remember that her father and Chewbacca were both still in the apartment, and though the hour was late, she had best get dressed on the off chance one of them was lurking around.

She set aside the glass briefly, and fumbled around in the dark for her pajamas, throwing them on carelessly without bothering to see if the shirt was the right side out. She reclaimed the glass, and slipped out of the bedroom.

She found the dim lights in the kitchen were already on, and spared that a vague, curious thought as she mixed an electrolyte supplement into Han's fresh ice water. She removed a few ice packets from the refrigerator, and then paused for a moment with the things laid out on the counter, resisting the urge to burst into tears.

She stared at the ice for a long, tense moment, and then closed her eyes and took a deep breath – if Han needed to be alone for a bit, to cool off, or feel more comfortable, then it was a good time to ask Chewbacca to give him another saline drip, and she might – hop in the 'fresher herself and steady herself a bit –

"Leia?"

She almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of her name – she hadn't heard her father approach, though she supposed it made sense that the kitchen lights had been on, if he was up. She was frozen for a moment, and then breathed out at the realization that it was him.

She did not look up right away.

"Father," she said hoarsely. "You can't sneak up on me like that," she warned, finally lifting her head. Her eyes stung a little, and very abruptly, it hit her hard that she was more fragile tonight than she'd been willing to admit. "You can't," she said emphatically. "You have to make a noise."

Coming out of the shadows, her father nodded, his face a picture of earnest concern.

"I apologize," he said sincerely.

She nodded, gathering the ice packs in her hand.

"Is he alright? Do you need anything?" Bail asked.

She let out a sigh; glad she had asked him to come be with her after all, frustrated with herself for needing him. She nodded, compressing her lips.

"If you – would wake up Chewie," she said shakily. "I think Han needs another hydration drip."

"Of course," Bail said immediately.

"If you could adjust the temperature control as well," Leia directed. "Elevate it a few notches. He's hot, but when the fever sweats out he'll have chills so keep it warm."

Her father nodded, and hesitated only a moment.

"How would you feel if I also made a cup of tea for you?" he offered. "You could sit out here with me and have a break."

Leia sighed, torn. She grimaced, but ultimately nodded, agreeing to it – Han kept saying he was too hot with her in bed with him anyway, and as much as she wanted to be there, and hold him, she didn't think he'd relax enough to sleep, or let the worst of it really take hold of him, if she didn't give him an hour or so to wallow.

She nodded again, miserable herself, and tucked the icepacks against her chest, giving her father a small smile as she retreated back down the hall into her bedroom. She stopped to turn the 'fresher light on to provide some clarity, and returned to Han's side of the bed.

Sprawled on his back, he looked at her through heavily lidded eyes, and reached out, his palm brushing against her thigh.

"You don't – you don't," he muttered distractedly. "You don't have that – thing on?" he asked. His hand curled into a fist and he slid it up to her hips uncertainly, his lashes fluttering without focus. His jaw tightened. "'M – 'm – I'll kill 'im, Leia."

She brushed his hand away gently, placing it back on his chest and squeezing.

"Took it off years ago," she murmured simply, aware he was talking about the costume Jabba had forced her into. It was disturbing, how the feverish delirium was so starkly reminiscent of the carbon poisoning that it confused him into half-thinking that's exactly what he was going through, and what point of time he was in.

She sat down on the bed again, near his chest this time, and started slipping ice packs into the pillow – when they melted and became slush-like, she'd deal with the dampness later. She pressed a cool palm to his neck, and leaned closer, catching his eyes softly.

She smiled and adjusted the ice packs accordingly, so that he'd have that cool respite as he tossed and turned. She helped him to sit up, and pressed the water into his hand, monitoring his intake until a few moments later, Chewbacca shuffled in, the requisite equipment for a saline drip in his hand.

Han shot the Wookiee a grim look as he approached and shook his head.

"No," he grumbled. "Don't need – "

[Leia needs you to take it,] Chewbacca said dismissively, talking over Han's protest smoothly, easily saying the right thing to get him to shut up and submit.

Leia took the glass of water and stepped back, giving Chewie room and biting her lip. She left the glass on the table, and watched Chewie and Han argue aggressively for a moment, her hand brushing her lips. Chewbacca turned and gave her a gentle look over his shoulder, assuring her Han was cooperating.

Unable to handle watching him set a needle in her current state of distress, Leia slipped out of the room, following the scent of freshly brewed tea. She found her father's handiwork – an impressive feat in boiling water - in the kitchen, and took her time fixing herself a cup so that it suited her tastes; a slight bit of sugar, a dollop of honey, and just a dash of chamomile spice.

She took it into the sitting room where she supposed her father had situated himself, sparing a glance for the hallway that led to the master bedroom, and for the chrono on the wall. She noted the late hour and, as she entered the living room, felt her father's eyes on her intently. She ignored his study, pensive as it was, and took a seat in the snug corner of the couch, nudging Zozy out of the way so she could have her usual spot.

The mooka was quick to relinquish it, his eyes on her with forlorn, sympathetic calmness. He understood, again, that something was wrong in his family, as this was the second time in so many weeks he had been refused his usual spot in Han and Leia's bed. She afforded him an affectionate little smile, and nodded to the spot next to her, granting him permission to hop back up on the sofa and snuggle.

Tired, and distracted and tense, Leia drew one leg up on the sofa, balancing her mug in her hands. Zozy leapt up quickly, taking up a place in the little nook between her ankle and the back of her thigh. Her father watched her as she fidgeted to get comfortable, and finally she shook her head a little, glancing up at him.

"What is the look for?" she murmured, almost self-conscious – should she have drawn a robe over herself; could he see through her shirt…?

"Nothing," Bail replied. "I was only wondering if you owned any informal clothing that did not clearly belong to Han first."

His tease was gentle, and clearly intended to distract her mind a little.

Leia looked down at her attire - Han's t-shirt, a pair of Han's cotton, bloodstriped sweats that she'd cut into shorts years ago on a whim that damn near killed him with lust - hell, she was even wearing Han's feverish sweat - she looked up and glared at her father.

"Did Mama never wear your clothes?" she retorted.

Bail looked taken aback.

"No," he said bluntly, brows going up as if he weren't quite sure if he should be appalled at the suggestion, or offended that Breha never had.

Leia arched a brow softly - in fairness to her mother, it was unlikely Bail Organa had anything as comfortable as a well-washed, faded Corellian Supernovas Smashball t-shirt. She tilted her head, sitting back into the cushions and letting her shoulders fall a little.

Giving in to a long, tired sigh, she raised the tea to her mouth, testing it carefully with her lips before taking an indulgent sip. Zozy rested his head on her ankle contently, and she stared at her father, still feeling that sense of gratitude, for his support, and irritation at herself for not having the capacity to get through this, and be there for Han, on her own.

"Why were you still up?" she asked quietly, curious, but not resentful. She clicked her tongue gently. "That worried about Han?"

Bail laughed a little dryly. He shrugged, tapping his finger against the mug of tea he'd poured for himself when he convinced her to have one. He shrugged.

"Never dealt with illness well," Bail said warily. "Makes me uneasy. Restless."

"Mama?" Leia asked softly.

Her father nodded.

"It was always life or death with her," he said heavily. "I never slept when she was ill."

Leia nodded, her lips compressing sadly. She glanced over her shoulder with a heavy sigh, her teeth cutting into the inside of her lip as she gazed at the wall as if she could see through it, into the other room, where Han was trying to sleep off the worst of it.

"He looks so unwell," Bail said unhappily. "It is jarring," he admitted. "I do not think I have ever seen Han so much as sneeze."

Leia swallowed hard, placing her mug on the armrest to hold it.

"He'll be fine," she said steadily, turning to look at her father. It was dark in the living room, lit only by the glow that drifted in from the kitchen, and she felt no need to turn more lights on - she wanted to keep it calm, and quiet; it was so late, and Han was already disturbed enough. There was no need to start commotions, or act as if it were the daylight hours.

Bail nodded. He lifted his mug, and gestured with it at the wall, his next question gruff -

"You're holding up well?" he asked. "This has seemed," he paused, choosing his next words carefully, "draining for you."

Leia was nodding slowly even as he asked his question, but she reached up to wipe her hand under her eye swiftly, bowing her head for a moment. She nodded again, and looked up.

"Yes, I'm," she said bravely, and licked her lips, continuing slowly, in a different vein: "He's been through this before," she said. "It was worse, when the effect wasn't just – residual," she shook her head. "It's hard to see him like this," she explained, "to remember," she looked up, and took a deep breath, "how scared I was back then."

Bail nodded as she talked, listening.

"The carbonite," he said slowly.

Leia lowered her chin, and nodded. She grimaced at the word. Her father went silent, letting her be - was quiet for a good while, before he turned towards her with more resolve, his expression intent, curious.

"I know so little about it," he said. "Those events. Your past with Han, how the two of you," he shrugged. "Came to be. I suppose I know bits and pieces. Han makes his jokes," Bail rolled his eyes.

"How the two of us came to be," she quoted, very quietly. She smiled, and then the smile faded a little, thinking about all of it, how long ago it all seemed. She rubbed the pad of her finger hard against the ceramic of the mug in her hand. "For a little while, I thought he was dead. When we found him, I thought the poisoning might kill him," she admitted, her voice shaking. "I'd never seen him so…incapacitated. Worse than this. It was devastating. And he was still trying to play it off, he kept," she closed her eyes, her throat tightening harshly: "he wouldn't stay still and let us treat him until he got the shackles off my neck – "

Her father's alarmed voice jolted her –

"The what?"

Her eyes flew open, and she looked at him tightly. Her heart stuttered in her chest - he really didn't know, these events. There had never been official record; they were beyond the Rebellion thresholds, and Leia had never seen fit to volunteer her exploits on Tatooine to her father. She hadn't intended to speak of it now – but she was tired, and her thoughts were uneasy.

"This was your leave of absence, you took? From the Rebellion?" Bail asked quietly. "When all of this happened, with the carbon poisoning?"

Leia compressed her lips, and nodded. Her father kneaded his shoulder with his knuckles, studying her.

"Shackles?" he asked tensely.

She instinctively reached up and brushed her knuckles against her neck, thinking of how Han had slipped his hands as far as they would go into the spaces between the metal and her skin, desperate to somehow keep it from touching her. That gesture of his had been the balm that soothed her soul, while Chewbacca and Lando ravaged the ship looking for bolt cutters, and Han stood close to her, half-blind and shaking, his lips close to her ear.

Did anyone touch you? Sweetheart? I'll kill him.

He was the first person she whispered it to, as none of them had been on the casino barge to witness the actual moment –

I strangled him.

No one had touched her, not there in Jabba's palace, yet the lascivious looks, and the humiliating display of her body, which she had always considered her own, a private temple that she shared sparingly, and only with incredible trust. The experience of being chained to that throne, exposed and leered at, was violence in its own right that rivaled some of the worst physical slights she'd received.

Leia lowered her hand, holding her mug in both of her palms. It was warm, steadying. She drew in a deep breath.

"I left the Rebellion to rescue Han," she said. "I had no way of knowing if he would make it, or if I would survive. The decision cost me dearly, in terms of Mon Mothma's trust," she hesitated, looking at her father, "but I had to do it. I had just spent," she compressed her lips, unsure of the exact time, "weeks in wild space with Han, coping with how I felt about him, and if there was any chance that I could have him, and a life with him, to look forward to – to get me through that war – I had to save him."

Her father listened intently, his own tea abandoned to the table. Leia looked down at hers; steam curled upwards from the tea lazily, and the scent of it was soothing.

"The mission strategy failed, as they were wont to do," she said dryly. "Luke and I found ourselves held captive, just after I managed to get Han out of the carbonite," she trailed off, and then raised her eyes again.

"They were sentenced to death; I was held as an ornament for the Hutts."

Bail sat back, and then sat forward. He rested is elbows on his knees, and placed his fingertips against his temples.

"You mean slavery?" he asked dully.

Leia said nothing; she didn't think she needed to. Her father rubbed his jaw roughly.

"Were you hurt?" he asked hoarsely.

She considered the question for a moment. The answer was obvious, but a moment of reflection also indicated he was using the word hurt as a euphemism, and Leia shook her head simply.

"I was an aesthetic toy," she said quietly.

Bail lifted his head, his face pale.

"There is no limit to the things I failed to protect you from," he said.

Leia lifted her shoulder.

"I didn't mean to bring this up," she said edgily.

"What happened?" Bail asked curtly.

"I was chained to his throne," she said, in the same tone. She gestured vaguely to her throat. "Shackles," she repeated. She was silent for a moment. "Han cut them off. Han incinerated the outfit. Han could barely stand up on his own, and he swore he would personally murder Jabba the Hutt if it was the last thing he ever did."

Bail looked down at his palms grimly, thinking that sounded exactly like his son-in-law. His brow furrowed, and he sat back a little, hesitant.

"Is that what happened to the Hutt syndicate?" he asked. "Jabba the Hutt's death was exacted with vengeance?"

Leia nodded.

"I can hardly say I blame Han," Bail said tightly. "The slugs had a bounty on him as it were, and given what they subjected you to – "

"Father," Leia interrupted quietly. She shook her head, pressed her palm against her chest. "I killed him."

Bail lifted his head to her, his eyes wide with shock, and Leia braced herself not to recoil from whatever he was thinking, whatever she would read on his face. She did not know what bid her to tell him, except she was dwelling on that time period, and she was so caught up in the many, many ways Han had saved her and supported her, and how the disasters on Tatooine had been such a defining part of what ensured that every risk she and Han had ever taken on each other was the right risk.

"I strangled him," she admitted, her fingers scraping at the air around her neck. "It was the darkest thing I've ever done."

Her father only stared at her a little longer, and then turned, reaching his hands out. He took hers in both of his, and pressed his palms together tightly, shaking his head. His lips moved soundlessly before he found his voice again.

"Dark?" he quoted hoarsely, eyes flashing. "There is no darkness in self-defense. There is no sin in a desperate act when one's back is against the wall," he said. "Lelila," he called her name gently. His brow furrowed. "Two years ago, you told me that Jabba the Hutt was murdered."

She cast her eyes down bitterly, and Bail lifted his hand to touch her chin, raising her head proudly.

"What you speak of is not murder."

Leia grasped at his wrist.

"You think I was strong enough to throttle a Hutt with my bare hands?" she asked huskily, her eyes burning. "There was power there I didn't understand," she hissed, her words a strain on her as she confessed to it – "Power I did not recognize until Luke told me who I was."

She licked her lips.

"I drew on it. I didn't know what I was summoning, but it was something, and I lashed out with it. It was self-defense," she agreed, "but it was darkness. It felt good. I wasn't just angry over myself, I wanted him to hurt because of what he did to Han. To my man. I didn't want him subdued, I wanted him dead – mutilated, and I wanted to bask in it. I did bask in it."

She grit her teeth, a few tears escaping her lashes.

"And Han let me," she whispered. "That's who he is. He's raw emotion, and he's been there to let me have my raw emotions, and they don't bother him."

Leia pulled her mug towards her, pressing it against her breast tensely.

"I think that is why I often – gloss over my past with Han, how it came to be," she said, using his earlier words. "There's no etiquette. There was no finesse, no courtship – it was only a slow discovery of myself, and in that discovery, the realization that a man like Han was the only person who would let me be the leader I wanted to be, and a woman. He has the right kind of soul for it – other men, they would have expected I be as soft, and sweet, and diplomatic at home as I am in the Senate, or they would have demanded I turn to the gutters to distance myself from that elite life – but I'm both," she bit her lip, "and I sometimes think that maybe that is the Vader in me – but Han sees me with such complexity that I can show him the worst side of me, and he still thinks I'm, that I'm,"

Her lips trembled, and she reached up to wipe her eyes fruitlessly.

"That I'm some sort of angel," she said, with a tearful laugh of disbelief.

Her father reached for her hand again, taking it firmly.

"Of course," he said quietly. "You must be, to him."

Leia took a deep breath.

"I know you have had to see me in different lights since you were rescued, Father," she said, "but I don't always want to rub your nose in it. You don't hear – fluffy stories about Han and me because there aren't many, not in the conventional sense. There are perceptions of me that I don't want ruined for you, ever."

Bail sighed tiredly.

"Wisdom never stops gracing us, Leia, no matter what our age," he said. "There is no chance of me thinking less of you for seeing fit to kill a being that held you captive. The last shield of pacifism sometimes has to be one grand act of violence."

Her eyes shimmered, and he lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

"Even the most peaceful sometimes understand that violence is necessary – why else would I have placed Alderaan at the very heart of an armed insurgency? Pacifism is so often viewed as weakness, but at the core, what it truly is – is the self-control to turn the other cheek until the moment when diplomacy has failed for the final time, and in that moment – you are righteous in your counterassault. You are righteous."

Bail studied her for a long time, and then spoke quietly:

"It may interest you to know that the Hutts were the very same species that enslaved Anakin Skywalker and his mother, for a time."

Leia swallowed hard, unsure if she wanted the magnitude of that to sink in - Hutt family power shifted frequently, and it was possible the Hutts she faced were not the same Hutts who enslaved Vader as a boy - but how achingly poetic was the justice that let his daughter slay one of the monsters of his troubled youth?

While she let the thought simmer, and left it for later meditations, her father watched her. He paused, and then gave her a wry, encouraging smile.

"I haven't thought that there was anything sinister about your relationship with Han for a long time now, little one," he said kindly. "You needn't worry that telling me about it, or remembering it with fondness, will cause me to think less of you."

He shrugged.

"It is different than my own love story," he acknowledged. "Breha and I…were quite tame, by comparison. Conservative – uptight, as Winter might say," he noted, and Leia gave a watery laugh. "It was strong, though it might have benefited from some of the mess you and Han dealt with prior to your marriage," he reflected.

He hesitated.

"Breha and I suffered twice as much during our attempts to have a child because we were, by virtue of our own sheltered upbringings, unaccustomed to the unpretty aspects of things. I was not educated in how to attend to my wife when she was," he trailed off, bowed his head. "Suffice it to say – Han was by your side, in the room, fending for you, when you were miscarrying," he said, and lifted his shoulders – "It was a while before I learned that as a loving husband, I ought to be there for Breha. The way of royals was to leave the unpleasant up to those paid to deal with it."

Leia listened closely, and her father gave a tired nod.

"This is something I noticed Han was good at before you were married," he said, "a thing that first endeared him to me. Luke brought you home and handed you to him, bleeding, and on the verge of getting sick, and Han…didn't flinch."

Leia smiled. She nodded a little.

Han had proved himself time and time again – then, and now. She had nursed a lurking feeling, after the miscarriage, that he would be wary of her, after all of the blood and the clinical unpleasantness – yet there was none of that.

Han looked at her the same. Han always looked at her the same.

Leia turned her head to gaze at the hallway entrance, her thoughts drifting to Han in the bedroom, Han fighting a fever, Han, Han –

"Han is so strong," she said, facing her father again. "It astounds me, Daddy," she whispered. "I don't mean nothing bothers him. That sounds soulless – and I know when Han is bothered. I feel it. I mean," she caught her breath before going on: "the way he survives suffering, the way he takes hits and – doesn't sustain damage."

She swallowed hard.

"I grew up so protected that everything that happened to me was pure shell shock, trauma I could not fathom, much less contend with – but Han…he grew up so roughly, so brutally, that I think he absorbs the evil in the world – because he thinks it's the norm. I was unhinged by the atrocities in the galaxy and Han – I think the good unhinges him."

Bail smiled at her gently.

"Perhaps that is one of the reasons you are right for each other."

Leia nodded, her lips trembling again. She leaned forward to set aside her mug, and then turned, gathering Zozy up into her arms and holding him close to her chest. He chirped sleepily, but happily, his tongue lolling out, and Leia still endeavored to hold back tears.

"I lost it when the nurse hooked him up to the treatment, the first day," she whispered. "I could barely hold myself together. This whole ordeal – it affects his health whether we have a baby or not, so it isn't voluntary, yet I still feel like he's doing it for me."

She kissed Zozy's head, her eyes downcast.

"And I'm sitting out here, barely able to stand seeing him hurt, when he's always stayed with me, and always been there for me, despite how much it bothers him when I'm upset."

Her father sat forward a little, contemplating her words. He reached for his tea, took a long drink, and then set it back down thoughtfully, turning to her.

"I told Han this, once," he said calmly. "People cannot take care of each other unless they also take care of themselves."

He let that sink in for a moment, before continuing:

"I think you are right about Han's strength. He has considerable strength. Some people are simply able to bear things. It isn't a question of superiority, but a result of what life has forced one to adjust to. I will never believe, however, that you lack strength because you need to walk away from seeing him suffer, or you need a moment to sort yourself out."

Bail reached out to take both of her hands, carefully not to disturb Zozy. She let the mooka settle in her lap, squeezing her father's fingers tightly.

"I told you already that I understand you're still hurting so much," he said quietly. "It hasn't been," he took a deep breath, "it hasn't been three months since you lost your baby, and with all of this, you're feeling it that much all over again, and compounding it is how sick Han is – all so that you two can move on."

He shrugged simply.

"I can't imagine what you're going through – "

"You and Mama – "

"No, Leia. I can relate to some things, but every person's personal suffering is different, and I will never presume to know exactly what you and Han feel. I can say that if the carbon toxicity he has had been discovered some other way, I doubt you would be so heartbroken, and so emotionally wrecked. You would worry for him, and fuss over him, but you would be able to – how were you putting it? – be there for him, all by yourself. The intervening factors here are different."

Bail lifted his brows.

"I think perhaps you underestimate Han," he added, though he did not clarify his statement much: "I would argue that unbeknownst to you, he seeks support for himself. From Chewbacca, for instance. Maybe Luke."

Or myself, Bail thought, though he had no intention of telling Leia that Han had needed plenty of support and advice after the miscarriage; he didn't want Leia to take it as an statement that she had neglected Han's grief due to the sharpness of her own.

She looked at him for a long time, considering all that he had said.

"When did you say that?" she asked. "To Han."

The viceroy smirked a little.

"Han and I have plenty of moments that you aren't privy to," he said smugly.

Leia bit her lip, and smiled. She clutched at his hands again tightly, and bowed her head, nodding slowly to show understanding of all he had said. She felt mixed up - she wasn't sure what had possessed her to talk about Jabba with her father, except she had stepped into the middle of the conversation without realizing it, and then it came tumbling out of her. She had been feeling selfish lately, because of her own pain, and her desire to get this all behind them, god, just get it behind them – and her memory of the thrill she'd felt back then, the darkness in her fingertips, had been a manifestation of that.

Bail stood, and kissed the top of her head, pointing to their teacups.

"Shall I heat these up a bit?" he asked.

Leia sat back, and sighed, thinking about it. She closed her eyes, a few more tears falling, and her father instead sat down on the edge of the kaffe table, placing his hand on her knee until she opened her eyes again.

"Lelila?" he asked.

"He's blaming himself," she whispered, "and I just want to make him stop feeling that way. I don't know how. I don't know what to tell him that I haven't already said."

Bail sat forward and hugged her – awkwardly, as Zozy lifted his head in protested and nipped at Bail's robes protectively. Leia held his shoulders tightly and drew some strength with him, and then leaned back, her eyes red.

Bail tapped her cheek lightly, giving her a strong, confident nod.

"You say it calmly, and honestly, until he believes you, Leia," he said. "Has he ever made you believe something you doubt about yourself?"

She nodded, thinking – every time he told me that I wasn't ruined, until it became so obvious to me I thought I was foolish for ever thinking it.

"Say it like he said it to you," Bail advised, and then stood slowly again, gesturing at the mugs. "Tea?"

Leia shook her head.

"I think," she began huskily, and turned her head at the sound of Chewbacca shuffling down the hall.

He poked his furry head in to look at them, large brown eyes adjusting to the different light, and then came forward, giving Leia a kind look.

[He wants you,] he said gently. [The fever diminished a little after I administered the hydration drip,] he told her. [He went to sleep for a bit, and woke up distressed. Nightmare.]

Leia nodded, standing swiftly. She placed Zozy gently down on the couch, leaving him to his own devices, and stepped forward to kiss her father's cheek and give him a meaningful look, thanking him silently for his sage council, and his willingness to listen, and be there, and love her.

She slipped past Chewie, squeezing his paw for all the same reasons – and for all he did for Han, acting as his rock in times when Leia was none the wiser.

Emboldened by her brief moment of respite and introspection, she squared her shoulders, and went back into the room, where Han was sitting up against a few pillows, hunched forward, his forehead pressed into his knees. She shut their bedroom door behind her, and crawled into bed next to him, reaching for his shoulders.

He shivered violently, and she move closer, knowing that this time, her body heat would be a blessing, instead of an irritant.

Lifting his head, he looked at her blearily.

"Leia," he said hoarsely, relieved.

He turned and leaned into her, and Leia caught him in her arms, fingers sinking into his tangled hair.

"Bad dream," he ground out, his voice unsteady. "You okay?" His hand brushed at her thigh, and then at her abdomen, grasping for the closest part of her to touch, and anchor himself to her presence. He shivered again, shaking his head with a groan. He was bogged down in half-memories, of the agonizing months when he'd hung in suspension, his mind barely lucid, thinking only of what they had done to Leia – is she okay? Is she –

She stretched her legs out, gently guiding his head to her lap, and began to run her hands over him soothingly, yanking the covers back up around him. Her palms pressed into his shoulders, and then against his heart, and she rested his head against her abdomen, watching over him protectively, talking to him in soft, reassuring murmurs – she was okay, and he was okay; the worst of this was almost over – and when it was done, they could set their sights on freedom from this sorrow.

---

- alexandra