a/n: and so we come to an end (sad!)
Part Three
7 ABY
Given the amount of time she had spent in it over the past several months, Leia had mixed feelings about Dr. Mellis' office as she sat in it once again awaiting a significant discussion.
There was an understandable dichotomy to the way she viewed the place; it was where she had first met Dr. Mellis after Pooja's recommendation, and where she had a difficult conversation regarding the specifics of all she went through on the Death Star, and how that related to her fertility concerns. It was where she had been told there should be no problem, where she had received a positive confirmation of her medical pregnancy test – and where she had been told, again, that there was nothing wrong with her, but that there was a problem with Han. The fact that the internal issue on Han's part was a thing that could be remedied didn't make it painless to deal with.
Contemplating all that had happened as she sat quietly with Han – neither of them pacing the floor this time around – she tentatively thought of the future. If all went well – if all could go well, after this, from now on, there was a chance she might never have to sit here for miserable reasons again. It was nettling that she associated her obstetrician's office with dread and uncertainty, when it should be a place of hope and happiness – with some appropriate nerves mixed in.
Han slouched in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. His attention was half-heartedly focused on his bicep, which he kept glaring at as he flexed his fist opened and closed. The extensive bruising caused by the treatment had faded over the past few days, turning from a mottled mess of black and blue to a duller green and tan.
He said it was no longer sore, though Leia wasn't quite sure she believed him. He had recovered from the third round of treatment slower than he had the second, though the convalescence was not prolonged in any sense of the word. His immune system handled it well, and for the most part he shook off the malaise that the bacta flushed through his blood with as much effort as it took any healthy man to get over a particularly severe flu.
They were here today, after Dr. Soivrin's imposed down period, to determine whether everything had worked as expected. There was no reason to believe it hadn't, yet still Leia felt apprehensive. She wanted – more than anything – to walk out of this office today with the firm conviction that when she and Han were ready to try this again, they would have nothing but good things to look forward to.
Han tilted his head back lazily, rolling it to the side to look at her.
"What are we doing tonight?" he asked.
Leia blinked, rousing herself a little, and rolled her head towards him, considering him a moment before shrugging.
"What do you want to do?" she answered.
He mimicked her shrug.
"Shouldn't we do somethin'?" he asked. He waved his hand. "Kinda…celebrate all this bein'…done with?"
Leia pursed her lips, lowering her lashes a little.
"If we are in the clear," she allowed.
Han extended his arm, his palm up, and waved his fingers at her. She placed her hand in his.
"We are," he said firmly, arching a brow. "You know we are," he added, his lips turning up a little. "You can sense it, can't you?"
He squeezed her hand gently. He'd sat with her again while she mediated last week, keeping her company out on the balcony as she sat in silence and cloaked herself in that ethereal therapy he did not understand. She had come out of it feeling calm, accepting, and optimistic – much like she had shortly after Corellia, and she said to him that she was almost sure she could feel something so good for them -
"I can feel something," she confirmed softly. "It's not always a perfect answer. Luke taught me that. I feel good when I meditate, right now."
She paused, biting her lip thoughtfully.
"It may be related to a baby," she said, and pulled his hand towards her, tucking it against her breast. She shrugged. "It may only be…the Force reminding me that I have you," she murmured, "and that gives me a lot of happiness, even in the face of the bad things we go through."
Han looked at her quietly a long time, and then his mouth turned up in a half smile. He tugged his hand back, pulling hers with it, and kissed her knuckles. His lips trailed over her fingers as he loosened his grip a little, and nodded.
"Yeah," he muttered, looking around the office. "Wouldn't really want any of this without you, anyway," he reminded her.
Leia smiled, and crossed her legs, drawing her hand back when he released it.
"I suppose we ought to make something of the evening," she reflected. She hesitated, and nodded at him delicately. "How are you…feeling?"
Noting that her nod was directed below his waist, Han's head fell back heavily and his brow furrowed. He thought about it, and grimaced warily, shaking his head. It physically pained him to give nonverbal notice of his lack of stamina, much less say it out loud. He'd rather subtly warn her off the idea now than let his ego get the best of him and drag them right back into the situation they'd been in before his treatment.
His relationship with Leia was so much more than sexual intimacy, but difficulties in that area took such a grueling mental toll even if the both of them well understood the intervening reasons.
"I want you, Sweetheart," he said honestly, and caught her eye, summoning one of his charming grins. "I want my stamina and my wits back first,"he drawled, his tone a little dry – it wasn't stamina that had been the problem a few weeks ago, it was the guilt he couldn't shake, and the lurking apprehension that he might hurt her again.
Leia's expression was inviting, sultry, and she pursed her lips attractively, holding his gaze through her lashes.
"There are things you do not need much endurance for," she teased gently, tapping her index finger against her lips suggestively. "You deserve a treat."
Han's eyes darkened a little, enticed, and he smirked at her admiringly.
"You ain't got to twist my arm," he retorted – but lifted his head a little, and gave her a sharper look. "You don't owe me for this, Leia," he added. "It was for me as much as you," he said.
He stopped talking for a moment, and then shrugged.
"I want a baby, too," he reminded her – as if she needed reminding; it was something she had known long before she came to her own terms, about her own desires.
"I know," Leia told him simply, compressing her lips. "It is not all about," she sighed, and gestured at her abdomen, "a baby. It's about your life, too. And," she added, her voice trembling just slightly, "the reasons you went through this don't change the fact that it was unpleasant, and rough," she told him, "and I want to take your mind off that. I want to make you feel good."
Han's head rested back on the chair, his shoulders tight. He folded his arms, tapping his fingers against his bicep and looking at her intently.
"Yeah," he said huskily, finally dipping his head in a nod. He gave her a mildly stern glare. "Y'don't have to give me a blowjob."
Leia laughed hoarsely, her face flushing. She leaned back, settling herself primly against the other armrest of her chair, and turned her head so he was treated to her profile as she focused her attention elegantly on Dr. Mellis' empty chair.
"You know I like it," she said.
"Mmm," Han murmured, arching a brow. "Think you like what it does to me, more'n anything."
She tried to compress a wicked smile, and closed her eyes lightly. Han smirked to himself, amused, and straightened up, sitting forward to lean on his knees. He looked at his bruised arm thoughtfully, and turned to stare at her again, happy to have her, marveling – constantly – at his good fortune.
"Hey, Your Worship?" he called, his jaw tight.
She looked over at him again, and he lifted his chin with determination.
"It wasn't that bad," he said gruffly, digging his knuckles into his arm for emphasis. "Even the worst of it," he said, scowling instinctively, "wasn't as bad as back on Tatooine - worth it, Leia." he said, swallowing hard. "Worth it for me, 'cause I got to be alive to bother you the rest of your life," he said, deadpan. "Worth it for you, so you don't go through," he pointed at her abdomen, "that again," he finished.
She pressed her lips together tightly, her eyes stinging, and blinked delicately. It was easy to compose herself – yet she felt a deeper twinge of something in her chest; she wanted to reach out, take his hand again – we, she wanted to say, the word he'd so adamantly used throughout all of this sadness – we.
She was sensitive, lately, to the notion of his selflessness; she had been sensitive to it more so since the day she broke down in the treatment room – she was still feeling he held back for her sake, that their relationship could sometimes be unbalanced, uneven, in how much he was required to give to her while she struggled to maintain strength when he needed it from her most.
The office door softly opened, and Leia cleared her throat, shaken out of her reverie – though she held onto her thoughts for later. She wanted to talk to Han, as these next few days unfolded, if she could find the right moment – remind him of what she'd said at Varykino. It felt like a lifetime ago, but it mattered to her: she wanted him to be able to utterly fall apart around her, if he ever needed to.
She had felt, so sharply, that he was on the verge of that several weeks ago; she felt it now, too – and it made her ache for him. As much as she knew, and believed, that he didn't resent dealing with her, so to speak – he had to have moments of pure exhaustion – hell, she exhausted herself –
"Ah, you both look as if you've had your fill of this place," Dr. Mellis said, gesturing around wildly as she closed her office door. She smiled wryly, her files tucked under her arm, and made her way to her desk, pausing in front of her chair. "You'll be on your way quickly – we have very little to discuss."
She cleared her throat and sat down.
"Mixi's expertise is demanded at her practice this afternoon, though her presence is not needed here since I only have to deliver you the good news I had already assured you that this would bring."
Dr. Mellis sat back, spreading her hands out over her datapad, though not picking it up, or bothering to have Han and Leia lean forward to view anything on it.
"Han, the marrow and tissue samples we took earlier this week are clean," she informed him without preamble. "The carbon was a toxin trapped in the marrow, and given that it has been eradicated, and was never a mutant cell deficiency, you won't be troubled by it again."
She gave a succinct nod to punctuate her words.
"Mixi did note that she advises we screen you one final time when you and Leia decide to try to conceive again, but it will be nothing more than a formality for peace of mind."
"That's fine," Han said harshly, almost before Dr. Mellis was through speaking – though without intending to sound rude. He nodded, holding his hand up for emphasis. "Peace of mind's good," he added.
"I certainly agree," Dr. Mellis answered. "She also advised that if you experience any performance or stamina issues, that won't last," she said, expertly advising without appearing to give it too much gravity.
Han shrugged.
"You needn't worry, Arksiah," Leia said. "I'll take it easy on him."
Dr. Mellis smiled wryly.
"Only briefly," she said. "Mixi also noted that when your system is back to normal, a true normal, you'll likely feel ten years younger," she revealed. "That will be the benefit of regulating something that has been just incrementally off, year by year."
Han's brows went up at that, and he turned to Leia, bringing his hand up to brush his knuckles under his jaw.
"You hear that?" he murmured. "Ten years younger, puts me 'bout even with you," he drawled. "Think you can handle it?"
Leia tilted her head back and forth a little flirtatiously. She said nothing.
Dr. Mellis smiled encouragingly at their banter. She leaned forward, pulling her chair up. She looked between them thoughtfully, her hands folded passively on the desk in front of her, and she tilted her head at Leia, her brow knit with gentle concern.
"At this point, I want to get a feel for how you are," she said.
Her eyes lingered on Leia, though she was speaking to both of them, and she took great care to convey that.
"I know," she went on, "that I am a medic and by no means a therapist, but I deal plenty in affairs of the heart and mind in my profession," she said kindly. "I've seen heartache in my field many times."
She nodded, holding her hands out openly.
"You feel like you're coping okay?" she asked. "Both of you?"
Han looked at Leia, and she looked at him, both of them considering each other for a long pause. She gave a slow nod, and Han followed her lead, relieved to see her do it. She turned back to Dr. Mellis, while Han looked at her a beat longer before doing the same.
"I am…trying not to rush getting over it," Leia said quietly. "There is a lingering empty feeling."
Dr. Mellis nodded, her lips pursed in understanding.
"That is very normal. More than you know," she said kindly. She turned to Han, and Han gave her an unreadable look; Dr. Mellis seemed to sense what Leia already knew: he wasn't going to voice anything in this office.
"I want you to know it's also normal for some women to feel some sense of," Dr. Mellis hovered her hand around her heart, looking for the right words, "guilt, or shame, when they are feeling ready to try again," she said. "It's not uncommon."
Leia nodded, and took a deep breath. She lifted her eyes up to the ceiling, biting the inside of her lip, and shook her head.
"I'm doing okay," she said shakily, her eyes drifting down to Han. "We both are," she said, though it was a little uncertain there, as she searched Han's eyes for confirmation.
He got up and moved to her side, pushing his hand over her forehead and hair gently and cupping the back of her head in his hand before he nodded, pulling her close to his side and standing there protectively with her.
He nodded again, for Dr. Mellis' benefit.
"That's good to hear," the doctor said sincerely. She interlaced her fingers again, and inclined her head at Leia. "And how are you feeling about your contraceptive?" she asked. "Is the shot working for you?"
Leia shrugged lightly. She tucked her hand into Han's belt, and rested her head against his ribs comfortably; content to have him there, and amenable to the display of affection in this relative privacy.
"It takes some adjustment," she murmured.
"Are you interested in having an implant put back in?" Dr. Mellis asked delicately. "They're certainly more stabilizing in terms of hormones, and your cycle," she listed, holding up her palm cautiously. "I only ask because I know it was your preferred method," she said. "Do not think I want you to do one thing or another."
Leia considered it silently, unsure. She had received a shot prior to leaving for Corellia, and several weeks after their return, received one again to cover her for another eight weeks.
She tilted her head up at Han, looking at his jaw for a moment, and then looked back down, shaking her head slowly.
"No, I don't think so," she said, taking another deep breath. She smiled bravely. "The implant is…very secure," she said, laughing shakily. "If I go back to it, I might lose my nerve to have it out again."
She didn't want that – she knew that with more time, it would all seem clear, and optimistic again, and she looked forward to that.
"Understood," Dr. Mellis said. She leaned back slightly and tapped her datapad. "In that case, I will write you an appointment for," she looked up and checked a calendar projected on a neat little board on her desk, "next month, to keep you protected."
Han cleared his throat, sliding his hand into his pocket. He looked down at Leia.
"Uh, well," he said slowly. "You want me to get the shot this next time, Leia?" he asked.
"It doesn't bother me," Leia murmured honestly – and it didn't; it was such a routine, small shot, that she could bear it with a quick moment of bliss grasped from the Force, and it was over; it was nothing like having to cause pain to him with a needle, or facing things such as that in a state of already heightened stress.
"Yeah, I know," Han said gruffly, shrugging. "'Cept it'd give you a break from the hormones for a month or so," he trailed off for a moment. "You just been through a lot, Sweetheart," he said heavily. "Let me get it this month," he nudged. "I figure I ought to have offered to already."
Leia turned her head a little, her nose pressing into his shirt. She swallowed hard, basking in him for a moment, smug and humbled, all at once, to have ended up with a man like this.
She sat forward, giving Dr. Mellis a wry look as she nodded.
"Well, if he insists," she said huskily, and narrowed her eyes, mustering a playful expression to throw over her shoulder at him before she turned back to Mellis with an arched brow. "He seems selfless," she warned, "but it's only that the hormones make me bitchy."
Han made a soft noise of outrage, drawing away, affronted.
"That's not why I'm - !"
Leia silenced him with a knowing look, well aware that wasn't his motive at all, but taking momentary refuge from her overwhelming feelings about his offer and the joke.
Han afforded her a mock scowl, and rested his arm on the back of her chair, shifting his weight to one leg and leaning towards her some.
Dr. Mellis smirked to herself and made a few notes, organizing things so that the updated note on the schedule forwarded directly to Leia's holo access point – which meant Tavska would make a note of it accordingly. She lifted her head, standing, and braced her palms on the table for a moment, looking at them both intently. Then she leaned forward, and extended her hand – first giving Han a warm, firm handshake, and then doing the same with Leia.
Leia stood to receive it, and Dr. Mellis pressed her hand tightly for a moment, before letting go. She nodded emphatically at them, satisfied with what they had been able to do, and satisfied that they were going to be okay –
- and Leia felt an immense relief crash over her, relief at the treatment being over, relief at having overcome something, even as she still felt as if she had been hollowed out – she felt she was able to go home with Han tonight, seduce him into a bubble bath, fool around with him, feel unburdened for a little while – and in a good way, in the safety of their bed, cry a little because Han was in the clear, so they were in the clear, and that unshackled their grieving process from the rut it had hovered in while that poison still lurked under his skin.
When it was all said and done, Han figured that in some way, the whole ordeal of the miscarriage might well have been the most normal sadness they had ever faced. Normal, of course, was a critically relative term, and in a galaxy as vast and diverse as theirs, the idea of a norm was damn near farcical. Despite such a varied gamut of experience, there was a sort of commonality between all human societies and human experiences – in some form or another, there was marriage, there was death, there was sickness, parenthood, love, grief – loss of a child.
From culture to culture, the routine aspects of what could happen in an uneventful life included things like this – and he and Leia, for so long living their lives in dire circumstances, and then still in abnormal circumstances, as lionized public figures at the center of power struggles and governance, had existed outside of that norm.
Leia had said that herself, felt that herself: they had been through more than their fair share of heartache and tragedy, but it had thus far been so astronomically unique and devastating that it left them reeling years later. Han's rough street upbringing, and later his experience with electrical grid torture and the carbon hibernation, existed in a realm he hadn't imagined or comprehended until it happened – the same was true of Leia's loss of Alderaan, and all the wretched horrors she'd seen since.
Han figured that his initial conflict with her father – an age old, suitor-versus-parent conflict, as Carlist Rieekan had always pointed out – had come closest to normal, but the unbelievable odds of Bail's survival and his reappearance in Leia's life precluded even that from being a run of the mill rough period.
So it came down to this, losing the baby, that anchored them to a post-war reality – it was, as it turned out, a remnant of things that had happened during the fight, but a thing that also drew them constantly forward into a better future, rather than shackling them to the past. It was, as she had confided in him, Leia's first encounter with grief that she processed healthily on an interpersonal level, and despite the pain it brought, it signified a break from the frustrated, traumatic repression of the past. For Han himself, it was enlightening in a way he couldn't entirely understand – throughout it all, even the treatment, he had felt safely in possession of his life, of his family, and until recently – he hadn't even realized – he had still been anxious, in the back of his mind, that any moment – this could all be ripped away.
Losing Leia, in any capacity, would always be his greatest fear, but somehow the past few months had alleviated the constant anxiety that simmered in his soul over his worth in regards to her, or his ability to maintain this life – he knew they were set in stone. It always seemed impossible to him that he and Leia could be any closer, and yet this had, so delicately, brought them closer.
It seemed strange, and almost sinister, that he could feel an invigoration in his relationship as a byproduct of their loss, but it wasn't a cruel thing, and it wasn't something he felt because he was callous, or because he didn't care. He and Leia had gotten through the worst of it – the miscarriage, on her part, and the treatment, on his – with a deep, rich trust in the strength of their feelings for each other. He had taken care of her, she had taken care of him – and there had been very little resistance to that need for each other.
It was as if they had abandoned – any remaining vestiges of pride, or resistance to their own insecurities and weaknesses, and not only relied completely on each other, but took strength from that, and renewed it.
In the days after his last treatment, as the remnants of his bacta cocktail faded and he began to feel entirely himself again, Han reflected on what he'd said to Leia on Naboo last year – last year? It felt like a century ago. He'd told her that in some way, he wanted to have children with her because he needed some other outlet for his feelings – I love you, Leia, a lot more than you can handle, and it's got to go somewhere. When he thought of that, he thought the brutal, beautiful thing about it was that he had been given only the barest taste of what it would feel like to be a father – father to Leia's children – and it wasn't going to alleviate the intensity of his feelings for her, it would amplify it beyond anything he could imagine.
He could feel that amplified sentiment at his fingertips, and he wanted it so badly that it hurt.
Undergoing the treatment had drawn a sharper grief out of him than he'd experienced when he was at Leia's side as it happened – then he had been bewildered, hurting more for her than anything else, devastated in the abstract; now it felt more tangible, if still just outside of his reach.
He had enough restraint not to push Leia, not in the slightest, yet as he'd vaguely worried – his own clean bill of health made him almost ravenous to try again, and he knew – he knew – his wife still needed time.
He knew he was damn glad that he didn't have to worry about dropping dead from carbon toxicity – that he was going to live – because it meant there was time to realize all of the things he and Leia wanted.
[Cub?]
Chewbacca's wary growl echoed down the halls of the Falcon, and Han cocked his head, listening to the sound of the Wookiee's footsteps. He didn't answer; well aware Chewie was on his way to check on him.
Even though it had been a full two days since Han had last gotten light headed and –
[Are you still upright?]
Han rolled his eyes, scuffing his boot loudly on the floor of his cabin. He folded his arms, waiting for Chewie to barge in, and remained where he was, leaning lazily against a metal rack of cabinets.
Chewbacca peered in and nodded, obscuring the doorway with his large frame.
[It is generally polite to answer,] he growled.
Han shrugged.
"Told you, 'm fine now."
[You are still sleeping more than usual,] Chewie pointed out. [You are still on medical leave, as well.]
Han snorted wryly.
"Yeah, I'm stretchin' that," he joked. He arched a brow. "You ever think I might be milkin' it?" he goaded, lifting one of his hands and pointing at Chewie seriously. "Leia's been very affectionate for the past week and I ain't lookin' forward to losin' that."
[Leia is always affectionate to you,] Chewie retorted.
Han shook his head smugly, tilting it to the side.
"Yeah, but she's been comin' home and not doin' any work outside of the office," he bragged. "She's givin'-me-nightly-shoulder-massages affectionate."
Chewbacca arched an eyebrow.
[I want to mock you for needing your mate to cuddle you, but you've both been through hell lately,] he said dryly – and Han agreed with the statement so thoroughly, that he forgot to bristle at being told he was being a clingy little thing.
[Perhaps you can ask her to braid your hair again,] Chewie mumbled.
Han eyed him sharply.
"Ask her to what?" he demanded.
Chewie raised his shoulders innocently, shrugged, and did not repeat anything – the Viceroy had related the story to him a few days ago, and though Chewbacca understood Leia's sensitivity to Han's illness, he was mildly disappointed she had not allowed Bail to take holos of the tiny braids.
He drew his lips back in a thoughtful smile, and nodded his head to the side.
[Bail sent a message. He's on his way down to the hangar,] he said. [I told him you'd comm if you did not want him around.]
Han shrugged. He didn't care if Bail came and bummed around – he wasn't about to comm him and tell him to stay away.
[What are you doing in here, anyway?] Chewbacca growled curiously.
Han shrugged again.
"Thinkin,'" he said bluntly.
Chewbacca's brows when up.
[That's new.]
"Funny," Han retorted, glaring at him.
Chewbacca folded his arms and considered Han. He looked at him for a long time, and then gave a snuffling sigh, his lips drawing back slowly as if he was choosing his words carefully.
[You sure you are all right, Cub?] he asked intently. [You were out of it for a day or two. I know that irks you.]
Han nodded, looking down at his foot.
"Yeah, fine," he said gruffly.
He thought about saying something else, but he wasn't really sure what to say. He'd been in here thinking about his relationship with Leia, about what they had been through – because he knew they were on the verge of the next step in this process of moving on.
They were out of the rut that had separated the raw grief from the secondary grief his treatment brought on, and that left them both on a new horizon – and his own introspection didn't leave him one hundred percent certain of where Leia's head was after taking care of him last week.
Han hesitated again, and then said exactly what came to mind –
"I dunno what to do next, I guess," he blurted. "I feel better," he grunted, shrugging – and he did, mentally, and as the days went on, physically as well, though he hadn't quite yet gotten the nerve to try anything more than heavy petting when it came to his and Leia's more intimate exploits – they had run into such a minefield of negative sexual moments lately that he wanted the moment they dove back in to be – effortless.
He frowned at himself.
"Think I'm worried I feel too much better," he said finally, his tone drying up. He lowered his hands and gripped the edge of the drawers behind him. "I don't wanna…get ahead of her, y'know," he muttered.
Chewbacca dipped his head in understanding.
[Han, you've always had an impressive knack for empathy even when a person you love is going through something you cannot relate to,] he offered sagely. [I have seen you console Leia. I think you sometimes forget that these walls hide nothing, and my ears pick up everything,] he added. [I was there on the way to Bespin.]
Han gave him a funny look, and Chewbacca snorted grimly, shaking his head.
[Ah, there are things I can be deaf for – but there were things I did not know I needed to be deaf for until I had already heard,] he said imploringly. [Leia told you she was abused by an Imperial soldier, a thing you could never begin to understand. Yet she felt safe. You comforted her anyway,] he pointed out.
Chewbacca nodded almost to himself.
[I do not think you need to worry that you will become insensitive to Leia merely because you recovered more quickly.]
Han looked surprised, but clenched his jaw, nodding.
"Yeah," he said slowly. "Thanks, pal."
[I think you will have your younglings,] Chewie offered quietly. [There is still plenty of time.] He paused, and then gave Han a toothy smirk. [After all, Leia is quite a bit younger than you.]
Han shot him a dark look.
"Get out," he ordered.
Chewbacca guffawed, and as he backed away, Han leaned forward, glaring after him –
"'M gonna be feelin' ten years younger, y' know," Han shouted after him indignantly. "Doc's words!"
He only heard Chewbacca laughing, and then Chewbacca shuffling around loudly in one of the cargo holds, getting down to business. Scowling to himself, Han left his cabin to make sure the Falcon's ramp was unlocked for Bail, and then strode back to his bunkroom, wracking his head for something to do.
He rubbed his forehead, and went back to his chest of drawers, sliding open the top one. A rattling noise echoed around the cabin as the contents fluttered around on the bottom of the drawer, and Han considered them, his eyes on the wilting arallutes. Removed from sunlight, they were not blooming as they should be; their growth cycle was diminished, and they would never curl in and delicately harden into seeded rattles.
Han picked one up and looked at it thoughtfully. Everything in this drawer had been something he or Leia had been given for the baby. He had stashed all of it when they returned from Corellia, before too many stark reminders could shock her. She knew the things had been kept out of sight for her benefit, though she had never said a word about it. He had yet to decide if he needed to give them back to her at some point, or tell her where he had put them in case she was ever ready to use them again, or put them somewhere that meant something to her – perhaps in the same place she kept her mother's coronation circlet, and Shmi Skywalker's diary.
He heard footsteps in the hall and looked over vaguely, watching the doorway. He heard Bail greet Chewbacca, and then waited for his father-in-law to appear, giving him a gruff nod of greeting when he did.
"Han," Bail greeted, folding his arms and leaning in the doorway.
"You can come in," Han said, looking back at his drawer and lowering his hand. He arched a brow. "Don't have to hover in the doorway."
"Am I going to see anything I would rather not?" Bail retorted suspiciously, eyeing the private cabin.
He spent very little time on the Falcon, but he knew Leia spent plenty of time there.
Han glanced over his shoulder and shrugged.
"I wouldn't sit on the bed," he suggested, nonchalant.
Bail gave him a narrow look, and came forward, folding his hands into his sleeves. He approached Han's side cautiously, looking down at the drawer.
"What is all this?" he asked quietly.
Han handed him an arallute.
"Some stuff I put away for Leia," he answered, picking up the knit white shoes Ryoo Naberrie had sent. He held them – both of them – in his palm. "She hasn't even seen these, I hid 'em before they got to her."
He narrowed his eyes intently, shaking his head. He looked up at Bail.
"They really this small?" he asked. "Babies?"
Bail reached out to touch the shoes, tilting his head. He nodded.
"You won't believe it until you see it," he confirmed mildly.
Han frowned, and replaced the shoes. He held out his hand for the flower, and Bail looked at it for a moment, studying its slowly wilting petals, and its duller colours – without sunlight and care, the seeds softened, rather than crystalized into rattle beads.
"Metaphoric," Bail remarked, handing him the flower.
Han snorted dryly. He shut the drawer and turned to lean against it, tilting his head at Bail.
"Come to check up on me?" he asked.
The Viceroy shrugged.
"Leia said you were all but back to your old self today," he said. "I have to admit, it's nice to see you up and about."
Han grinned.
"I'll bet," he snorted. "She told me I kept verbally abusin' you when I had a fever."
Bail rolled his eyes.
"I don't believe you knew what you were saying."
"I hope I did," Han retorted.
"You revealed that you taught Zozy to growl at me," Bail accused.
Han snorted, delighted.
Bail watched him with interest for a moment, and then arched his brows.
"You are feeling yourself again, then?" he asked, sincere in his concern.
Han rubbed his jaw, nodding smoothly.
"Yeah, Viceroy, 'm good," he confirmed easily. He narrowed his eyes. "Finally got rid of that damn sinus headache," he muttered.
For days, a severe, flu-like headache had lingered, occasionally making him feel dehydrated or dizzy for fleeting spells even though all else was healing fine. He still had a fading, mottled bruise on his arm, too, though that looked more dashing than sickly.
Bail nodded firmly.
"Well, that is good to hear," he said. "I know none of this has been ideal, but at the very least it is over. I don't mean for this to sound – competitive, in terms of heartache," Bail said, "but it is a comfort to me, at least, that Leia – and yourself – don't have the uncertainty and the lack of hope that Breha and I did."
Han folded his arms tightly. He tapped his shoulder thoughtfully, and shrugged.
"Yeah, me too," he agreed. "Dunno if it's…over, for Leia," he said hesitantly. "She was pretty broken up the first day I got treated," he admitted. He rolled up his sleeve and pointed to a separate scar, the one left from the needle he ripped out. He ran his finger over it, frowning. "It is, sort of," he decided. "It's…cleaner, going forward."
Bail looked at the scar curiously, but did not ask. Han looked up from it and caught Bail's eye sharply.
"Thanks for stayin' with her while I was," he flicked his wrist distastefully, "out of it," he said, quoting Bail's words. He snorted gruffly. "She fight you on it?"
Bail shrugged.
"A bit," he agreed. "I think for your sake, more than hers," he said bluntly.
Han grinned a little, and continued to look at Bail intently.
"She was okay?" he asked. He reached up and brushed his knuckles against his jaw, tilting his head – he had only hazy memories of the worst two days of his treatment reaction, and most of them involved Leia being there with him, right at his side.
If he remembered anything about how distressed she'd been after Jabba's Palace – and coupled with how upset the treatment made her in the first place –
Han was restless with concern, hoping the strain hadn't been too damaging.
He studied Bail's face carefully, and his father-in-law smiled at him calmly, nodding his head.
"She was," Bail said simply – he assured Han firmly, not only because it was true – Leia had handled herself, and Han, impeccably – but also because he also knew how his daughter agonized over Han's subjugation of his own hardships in favor of being there for her.
Bail had no intention of triggering any guilt in Han by implying Leia had been in pieces.
Bail arched his brows.
"She and I spoke briefly about the first iteration of your carbon poisoning," he said slowly.
"Yeah?" Han grunted. "What's there to tell?" he muttered. "Same bantha shit."
"There was quite a story about the fate of Jabba the Hutt."
Han caught Bail's eye sharply, deciphering that comment. He held the gaze for a moment, then looked down at his nails, and brought his thumb up to his mouth, biting down coolly.
"She told you 'bout that?" he asked around his nail, chewing on it – he wondered what had spawned that conversation, what brief interlude she had taken that pulled that story out of her.
"She did," Bail confirmed quietly.
Han bit down on his nail again, and pulled his thumb away from his teeth.
"That's when I decided I was gonna marry her," he said bluntly.
Bail's lips turned up in a wry smile.
"You think less of her or somethin'?" Han asked edgily.
"Quite the opposite," Bail murmured.
Han placed his hands behind him on the edge of the cabinets, his brow furrowing.
"What the hell got her talkin' about that?" he asked, exasperated. "You sure she was okay?" he asked suspiciously – Leia hated talking about that; she hated that she'd taken pleasure in extinguishing a life almost as much as she hated the realization that it had taken otherworldly, dark strength to do it.
Bail shrugged.
"It was an odd conversation, but not out of place," he reflected. "We were merely talking. The way fathers and daughters do."
Bail idled for a moment, taking a deep breath.
"Han," he said. "You and Leia married before I was entirely adjusted to the idea. You know that. You also know that I've had my mind set at ease time and time again, not only by Leia's words, but through your actions."
He smiled tightly.
"I respect that you sought my advice in being there for Leia through all of this," he said. "I do hope that you know, regardless of your own doubts, that you have never failed her. From the way she speaks, you have always understood her on a deeper level."
Bail clasped his hands together firmly.
"You have no idea how great a relief it has been for me to let go of some of the endless worry a father always has for a daughter in these matters," he said. "If, perhaps, one day you do understand, for the sake of your own daughter," he said, smiling wryly, "I will be around to offer my sage wisdom, and mock you ceaselessly for suffering the same way I did."
Han arched a brow, smirking a little at that last, and shook his head, eyeing Bail carefully.
"Why're you gettin' all mushy on me, Viceroy?" he muttered.
"One in a while, I feel it is appropriate to thank you for being a man I don't have to worry about."
Han smiled a little.
He shifted his feet, taking a deep breath and letting it out erratically, his brow furrowing.
"I don't want her to do that christening," he said heavily. "I hate seein' her hurt, and it's gonna hurt her."
Bail leaned against the cabinet, his shoulders sagging a little.
"I wouldn't place that burden on her, either," he said. "If it will make her feel close to Breha, though," he trailed off. "Let her be."
Han nodded – of course; unless he perceived she was endangering herself, Han was naturally inclined to let Leia be. He ground his teeth together, his jaw tight, thinking it over. The Haven opening was still a couple of months away; there was no telling how Leia would feel then, or what they would be up to.
He lifted his arm and scratched at the scar in the crook of his elbow, dwelling on her. She had seemed as well as Bail implied for the past few days – Han had been intensely focused on berating himself back into perfect health since their last appointment with Dr. Mellis, and now he felt a need to re-attune himself to Leia's state of mind, maybe talk to her about how she had felt while he was writhing around in feverish nightmares.
He thought this was their turning point, though he could be wrong – and he did not want to firmly resolve to start leaving this behind them if getting past the treatment hadn't unlocked her in the same way it unlocked him.
He folded his arms and looked over at Bail.
"You want to go grab a drink?" he grunted, for lack of anything better to do for the rest of the day – it was still working hours, and if Bail was here, he must have nothing pressing to attend to at his offices.
The Viceroy arched his brows, but nodded, and Han shoved himself forward, leaving the drawer full of items abandoned behind him. He grabbed a vest from the pile of wrinkled clothes on his bed, and threw it on, glancing at the drawer a few times anyway –
He figured he and Leia needed another heart-to-heart about grief, post-treatment – and he wanted to reassure himself that his incapacitation over the past few weeks hadn't interfered with her healing – more than anything, though, he wanted to stumble into a perfect moment when they could both feel some semblance of normalcy again and that, he knew, had little to do with talking - and everything to do with instinct.
She loved nights like these – loved them. Nights like these that unfolded so slowly, seemed to go on forever – nights that were a marathon of pleasure, kicked off early, with something innocuous, such as a languid kiss on the neck in the kitchen, and then tumbled through a thousand iterations of intimacy. Long, hot showers, sultry engagements in foreplay that were not mere means to a routine end, but attentive moments all their own – there was a tender, guarded part of her heart that thrived for this elongated closeness, the romance-driven, sexual haze that she and Han sometimes found time to drown in completely.
This night was all of that, and more – satisfying in such a way as so many of other times they had set aside all reason and all other aspects of life to lock a bedroom door and be lost in each other had been, but more so in its own unique way – this felt like an utter surrender to a purer desire, a reclaiming of a rhythm that had stuttered and struggled since they had lost the baby.
It was impossible not to think, in the back of her mind – of that loss, and those feelings, but the difference was that for a moment it wasn't overwhelming; for a blissful few hours, she was consumed in being Leia, just Leia, and she had Han back in her arms – confident, charming, healthy – and the two of them forgot about the miscarriage and all of the baggage that came with it and found themselves in sync again over the course of an evening that took them all over their bed, tangled their sheets beyond belief, left them laughing, breathless, covered in sweat, entwined –
At the end of it, a slowing peak of victorious exhaustion, Leia's heartbeat had slowed as her head spun and she steadied her breathing, clinging to Han's shoulders with an aggressive grip that was gentle and possessive all at once. She bit her lip; her nose buried in Han's hair, breathing him in deeply, her breasts brushing against his chest as she moved her hips, her thighs hugging tight around his.
Han's breathing was ragged – warm against her neck, as he buried his lips in her clavicle. The sound of it – the feel of him breathing, as his shoulders flexed under her hands, his chest rose and fell against hers, made her close her eyes, sense him without looking at him – his fingertips dug hard into her hips and she thrust down on him a little harder.
He jerked his head back and let it fall against the headboard behind him, eyes closed tightly.
Leia's hands rose to his neck, and she ran her thumbs in circles there, catching her breath. She leaned forward to kiss him, reinvigorating her relentless command of his hips. His palms slid up to her ribs, then back down to her hips, following the movement of her hips.
His mouth moved silently, and she placed a hand behind him against the headboard for leverage, picking up her pace with what was left of her energy – energy that had waxed and waned all evening, going through cycles of ravenous, and languid – this was – so good for her, it felt so right, she'd missed this, missed him, and there was something so arousing about the evening culminating in her on his lap – she felt as if she had overcome some aspects of her grief, and Han had clearly gotten over his hang-ups, both emotional and physical – and it was just – so –
"Leia," Han said huskily, his hands running up to her ribs again – and around to her back, up her spine.
He groaned softly and drew her forward, his hand tangling into her hair at her neck. He tucked his head against her temple, his lips moving close to her ear. He mumbled something softly, incoherently, and then drew one of his legs up, his knee pushing her forward against him a little more.
Leia tilted her head back a little, taking another deep breath, and curled her hand against the edge of the headboard, using it to pull herself forward harder. Han swore softly.
"Mmm, Sweetheart," he groaned quietly. He swallowed hard, kissing her temple, moving his lips back to her ear. "I love – this," he told her, his breath catching sharply through his words each time she thrust her hips forward. "—you, love you, when you," he broke off, closing his eyes again – "fuck me," he murmured, his lips running along her jaw.
Leia bowed her head, her forehead pressing into his hair, and she bit back a grin, her face flushing pink – and she was so ambivalent about taking control like this in bed – though it sometimes nettled her slightly, she liked Han to take the lead; it was never lack of confidence, not anymore, it was preference – she so often pushed herself to the breaking point in management of her career and her public life, it was a relief to surrender to Han and let him lavish her with affection and attention and do all the work –
- that wasn't to say this wasn't empowering and invigorating, having Han under her and in awe of her, clinging to her with the same fervor she often directed at him – she wanted it like this even more, right now, to wordlessly show him how unafraid she was of him, of being with him – she was sure he knew that now, he'd shown no reticence all night, yet she wanted to reinforce it.
Leia moved her hips forward and Han slid his hands back down to her hips, gritting his teeth. He drew in a shuddering breath, and thrust his hips up sharply to meet hers, just as she pressed her knees down hard on either side of his thighs. She cried out softly at the intensity of it, and pressed her palm tight against his shoulder, holding still.
Her lips moved soundlessly for a moment, and her lashes fluttered, her breath breaking into short, soft. Han pulled his head back to look at her, and she pursed her lips, shaking her head.
"Oh, don't move," she whispered huskily. "Mmm. Mm, don't move," she murmured, her fingertips slipping against his skin, muscles tightening.
Han let his eyes roam over her, watching as she drew her bottom lip into her mouth in a look of brief, fierce concentration, and then gripping her thighs tightly as she trembled, her hand tightening on his shoulder, digging her nails in. She made a soft, enticing keening noise in the back of her throat, sweet and musical, and Han ached to move his hips, torn between the desire to watch her come, and to be a part of it.
Leia shifted her hips forward, gasping softly, all of the air rushing out of her lungs, and leaned heavily against his chest, tilting her head up to press her lips against his jaw in quick, hot kisses, nodding slowly – to herself, to him; she wasn't quite sure.
Han pressed his lips to her shoulder, sliding his hands over her thighs and then up to her breasts, his heart racing – she felt so unbelievably tight around him, and it was taking all he had to hold still for her –
"Leia," he groaned in her ear.
Her hand ran through his hair affectionately, and she nodded again, kissing his lips, her lashes brushing his cheeks as she pressed herself closer, tightened her muscles deliberately, and Han nearly lost his breath, his drifting up hazily – Leia kissed him again, losing herself in it, one of her hands drifting down his chest to find his, interlace their fingers.
The tight, permissive touch of her palm against his was all he needed to take what he needed in return; he shifted his foot, drove his ankle into the bed, and pushed her hips down against him hard, bucking his hips in a few erratic, rough thrusts, hyper-focused on the steady contractions of Leia's muscles as she eased down from her climax.
He closed his eyes, tilting his head back at the last minute, pulling his mouth from hers, and Leia's unoccupied hand flew to his hair, stroking it back, then coming to rest at his jaw, her thumb tracing his lip. She still gripped his fingers hard in her other, and he opened his eyes to look at her as he tensed, locked in the throes of his own climax – he anchored her hips to his; she pressed her thumb against his lips until he drew it into his mouth and bit it, his shoulders shuddering roughly.
Leia breathed out quietly and leaned forward, relaxing against his chest and reveling, for a quiet moment, at the feel of him snug inside her, at the rough tenderness of her hips secured against his – the way he fit against her, in side her; it was the spiritual definition of perfect.
She pressed her lips against his shoulder, and then moved her kisses down to his chest, right over the heavy rhythm of his heart. She focused on his tensing muscles, soothing him, until he relaxed as much as she had, and then returned the favor, soothing her bite-marked thumb with a quiet kiss as he reached up to take her hand and hold it.
Leia lifted her head and met his eyes, shyly, through her lashes, and then more coquettishly, her skin colouring that fetching, soft pink he loved so much, and he looked back at her, one eyebrow cocked lazily, with a crooked, smug smirk.
She smiled a little more, and shook his grip loose, bringing both hands up to press against his neck and lean closer to him. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her there, their noses almost brushing. She did not feel compelled to speak, for the moment – and he was silent, too, just looking at her – both of them well aware that they had it back – she was sure that there, in a solemn place in the back of his mind, the miscarriage was there, just as it was in hers, but it wasn't a dark shadow damning their intimate nights anymore – Leia didn't feel like crying, and Han wasn't distracted by the possibility of causing her pain.
Leia rested her forehead against his for a moment, and he traced his fingers up and down her spine lightly.
"Good?" he asked, murmuring in her ear.
Leia nodded slowly – she had lost track of how many times she'd come over the past few hours; there was a point at which she her nerves were feeling everything so intensely it seemed a constant cascade, punctuated by spikes of pleasure – and he hadn't worn himself out quickly either; Leia supposed this was a taste of that ten-years-younger syndrome that had been mentioned.
Han smirked a little brighter, and sat shifted forward a little to kiss her, his knee lowering slowly to the bed. Leia shifted her hips, and the movement drew a mild grimace from both of them, as Han reached down to tap on her ribs gently.
She drew her hand down to his chest, resting her palm on his heart. Interpreting his request effortlessly, she moved her hips gingerly and moved off of him, pressing a kiss to his bicep and rolling over onto her back among the tangled sheets. She closed her eyes and breathed in and out slowly, her hand drifting down to her stomach and resting there hesitantly.
She inched her fingers further, brushing her knuckles against her thighs, and felt Han shift beside her.
He sat forward, ran his hands through his hair, and then turned to his side, rolling over and sweeping something off the floor. He rolled back towards her, and pressed a soft swatch of material into her hands – a discarded towel, from their post-'fresher romp.
Leia gave him a grateful look and ran the towel between her legs, tossing it to the floor on her side of the bed as Han burrowed down into the covers as close to her as he could get, a yawn pulling at his lips.
He closed his eyes and buried his face in her shoulder, his lips pursing in a lazy kiss, and then tucked one leg over hers loosely, ensuring they remained close to each other.
She turned her head, her lips bumping into his temple. She nudged her shoulder at him gently.
"No," she murmured, the corners of her mouth turning down in a pert little frown. "Don't go to sleep."
Han's arm wormed its way out from under him and he draped it over her hips, holding her firmly – alertly, as if to prove a point.
"'M not," he mumbled easily, his voice gruff, and teasing at her sated senses with mellow, tantalizing warmth.
Leia laughed quietly, turning to her side and curling up so she could face him. He grinned; eyes closed, and opened them slowly to peak at her, his eyes still dark and lustful, glittering with pride. She leaned in to kiss him slowly, moving her leg up to rest her knee gently between his thighs. When she pulled away slightly, Han adjusted his pillow so he could see her better, and there was silence again, until Leia found her voice.
"I missed this," she whispered.
Han nodded.
"Yeah," he agreed simply.
She swallowed hard.
"After the miscarriage it all got so," she paused, her lips pursing ruefully as she searched for the best way to characterize it.
"Unfamiliar?" Han tried, for once finding the exact right word, in a rare moment when her vocabulary failed her.
Leia tilted her head a little, nodding.
"Yes," she agreed softly. "Unfamiliar," she repeated, deliberately pronouncing each syllable of the word. "It was like the…way we were before Varykino," she started, frowning.
Han shook his head, frowning.
"Nah, it wasn't," he corrected.
"No, because then we were just mad at each other."
"Frustrated," he amended, and Leia smiled wryly.
She reached out and plucked at the edge of his pillowcase, still keeping close to him.
"This wasn't that kind of tension," she whispered. "It wasn't tension at all. I wanted to be with you," she murmured. "You wanted me, it just," she trailed off again, shrugging. "There was all this fear," she said finally. Her lashes lowered. "I don't know, maybe a little…guilt. Like we were betraying something."
Han snorted dryly.
"Yeah, can't enjoy somethin' when it led to the reason we're upset, right?" he agreed, reaching up to put his hand over hers, stilling the fidgeting movements. He tapped her knuckles. "Then you got me, thinkin' 'm gonna…poison you," he muttered, rolling his eyes tensely.
Leia looked up slowly. She saw the irritation and tension flit across his face, but it faded quickly, and he curved his palm around her hand more firmly, catching her eye to search her expression.
"We're okay now, Sweetheart."
"I know," she said. "We always were. It's just been rough."
Han nodded.
"You feelin' better?" he probed. He hesitated. "I mean – ahh," he trailed off.
"What?" Leia asked softly.
Han grunted in frustration, mostly at himself.
"Hey, I don't wanna get you down, or bring it up right now if you're feelin' good," he said. He paused again, frowning, and then shrugged. "Y'know, with the…grief," he decided finally, and then released her hand and snapped. "S'like what Chewie said – how's your heart?"
Leia laughed quietly, her face softening at the thought of Chewbacca's words. She smiled a genuine smile, her eyes lighting up even as they simmered with tears, and she lifted her shoulders, thinking about it.
"It is a little better," she said. "It's getting better, Han," she promised.
She bit her lip, and turned her hand over in his, sighing.
"I can relax now that you've had that treatment," she murmured. "I can…shake loose all the fear that was," she gestured with her other hand, "building up in my chest about you. And," she took a deep breath, "now that we…know that was the problem, and it's fixed now," she gave a small shrug, "…it's more straightforward. It's simple. I – we," she corrected, "take it as it comes, and we think about…trying again," her voice shook a little, "some time."
Han nodded. He leaned forward, kissed her, and then shifted up, rooting around to untangle some quilts and draw them over them. He lay back down, tucking them in, and Leia inched a little closer, pleased with the turn of events. Han grinned and propped his elbow up on the pillow, looking down at her contently.
"Yeah," he said huskily. "Yeah, I think that sounds good."
Leia nodded in return, and reached out to trace her finger down his forearm. She ran her hand over his bicep, along his shoulder and down to his chest, where she began to thread her fingers through the sparse, dark hair there, pursing her lips for her next words.
"You?" she asked, eyes catching his through her lashes. "You play it so tough – "
"'M a tough guy."
Leia smiled indulgently.
"You play it so tough," she went on quietly, "but I know the carbon…rehash was miserable."
Her hand stilled, and she compressed her lips, taking a deep breath.
"Was I there for you, enough?" she asked carefully. "I wanted to be. I tried – it was just that it got so," she sighed, closing her eyes tensely. "That first day, when I cried," she said bitterly. She shook her head, and opened her eyes again. "I was still so…fragile. Did I give you enough?"
Han tilted his head, his expression calm, and he shrugged, reaching over to tuck her hair back from her face. He held her cheek in his hand for a moment, and then let it fall to the sheets between them.
"Leia, I'm fine," he said firmly. "Told you, it wasn't all that bad," he blustered. "Not as bad as it looked, Princess."
Leia studied him intently.
"I didn't want you to have to spend any of your energy focusing on me, or what seeing you go through that was doing to me," she protested. "I think I failed at that, and I," she stopped, frustrated with herself. "I feel like there's an uneven distribution of comfort between us, sometimes," she said in a small voice. "You don't get as much as you give."
"I don't…need it," Han said slowly, unsure where this was going.
"You have to need it sometimes," Leia said, exasperated. She propped her head up, mirroring his position, her brow furrowed earnestly. "You have to have moments when you can't take me anymore, you can't take my," Leia frowned, looking for a word. "Neuroses," she decided finally, falling back on a familiar one.
Han looked a little annoyed, but thought about it, his brow knit.
"I don't get like that," he said. "I can always…take you," he quoted, a funny look on his face – perhaps because in a lighter moment, it would have been an amusing double entendre, but the suggestive meaning of it evaporated for now.
"Han," Leia began. "I know. I believe you. You always have – "
"I don't get tired of comfortin' you, Leia," Han interrupted seriously. "I don't…think about it like that, or think I'm bein' – I dunno, neglected. I don't get tired of you strugglin' with things you can't help," he insisted. "Sure as hell don't get tired of you needing me – kriff, I chased after you so long, Sweetheart, spent so long wantin' you, I don't ever take it for granted."
He stopped, and set his jaw. He reached up and rubbed his forehead, his temple twitching uncomfortably.
"Hmm. Damn," he mumbled. "Listen, I don't know how to say this without it comin' off as…sinister or somethin'," he said, glancing at her warily, "but…I always want to make you feel better. I want you to come to me, y'know? You lean on me and," he shrugged, "it makes me feel real signif'cant, like I'm makin' a difference in the world."
Leia turned her head into her palm to wipe her eyes, narrowing her eyes at him through her fingers.
"I hate it when you talk to me like that," she said huskily – Han acted as if he wasn't good with words, but the things he said sometimes – they soothed every terrible thing that had ever happened to her. "It makes me cry."
Han smiled charmingly.
"You hear what I'm saying, though?" he asked sternly. "I don't like it when you say things like I must be tried of dealin' with you, like you're some burden – "
"I don't think that," Leia broke in honestly. "Believe me, I trust you. I know you mean what you're saying. I mean that – I don't always know if you're okay because you're just that strong, or if you're holding back because you think I'm too fragile, or too occupied with my own issues, to shoulder yours."
Leia licked her lips.
"We talked about this when Dr. Mellis diagnosed you. We talked about it at Varykino," she reminded him softly. "I don't ever want you to subjugate your feelings because you think they'll stress me out."
Han looked at her for a long time, his lips fixed in an introspective frown.
"Maybe I think that without knowin' it," he said, with a slight edge of dismissiveness. "I don't think you're fragile," he snorted dryly. He thought about it a moment longer, and then shrugged. "Y'know, I ain't anglin' to make you cry again, Your Highness, but most times, all I need is you there."
He shrugged again.
"Worst thing that can happen to me is losin' you," he said flatly. "Second worse, losin' Chewbacca, so I'm gonna hold you to this if somethin' ever happens to that furry oaf," he added affectionately.
Leia smiled faintly.
Han rubbed his forehead again, and then ran his knuckles over his shoulder, still thinking.
"You were there for me when I was mopin' about all this bein' my fault," he said hoarsely, admitting it after a moment.
"It wasn't," Leia reiterated.
Han dipped his head in a nod. She licked her lips.
"That's my point," she whispered. "I don't want to have to drag things out of you when you're hurting."
He smiled faintly, and shifted his feet, his knees brushing her legs.
"You want to know somethin' that was really gettin' to me?" he asked slowly.
She nodded.
"I thought you weren't gonna want to look at me," he confessed, grimacing unhappily. "After we lost it. 'Cause I thought I'd remind you."
Leia compressed her lips, and turned her head again, swiping her palm under her eyes before looking back.
"I thought the same thing," she admitted. "Different reasons. I thought you'd think it was all too…gory."
Han shrugged a little. Leia let her arm fall, and let her head fall, curling up and sidling closer, a relieved laugh escaping her lips. She turned her face into his elbow, and pressed little kisses along the bone there, celebrating the loss of the last bits of tension that had lingered in her.
Han caught her against him, and hugged her with one arm, lowering his head to press a kiss to her hair. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment – savoring that they were moving forward again, able to re-harness their confidence in the healing power of time, now that the glaring obstacle to moving on was gone.
He loosened his grip, and then lowered his own hand, sharing her pillow, and looking at her intently.
"Why'd you tell Bail about Jabba?" he asked.
Leia took a deep, shuddering breath.
"I don't know," she said. "He was keeping me company. He was distracting me. You said it was too hot for me to be in bed with you, and I was remembering Tatooine," she sighed. "I mentioned the shackles. And I guess…it was time for him to know. He wanted stories on how we came to be. Those," she laughed dryly, "aren't conventional."
Han nodded, deciding there was no point in pressing her more. Except –
"I said it was too hot for you to be in bed with me?"
Leia laughed hoarsely. She nodded.
"You did. You kicked me right out."
Han looked shocked, and appalled at himself. He narrowed his eyes.
"That damn carbonite – "
Leia slid her hand over his mouth, her eyes glittering.
"—is gone," she murmured firmly. "Gone."
Han grit his teeth, then shook her hand off, smiling. She was right – gone; a thing they never had to worry about again. It was the last toxic, persistent residue of the Empire eviscerated and banished to their history; a conquered ghost, laid to rest – like so many others had been, these past few years.
He moved forward, and slid his hands up to her neck, tilting her head up to kiss her. Leia gave herself to that kiss, reaching up to curl her own hands around his wrists, and hold him tight.
He broke away, swallowing hard and clearing his throat to hide that he was breathless, and then he shifted, sitting up. He scraped his bottom lip with his teeth, and drew his legs up, draping his hands over them.
"I have somethin' for you," he said. "S'not much. S'not…a thing," he muttered, leaning over to open the bedside drawer.
Leia sat up, drawing the sheets with her curiously. She curled her knees in, watching as he took something delicately into his palm, and then turned back to her, obscuring it from view for a moment. He hesitated, steeling himself – because he was uncertain if this was right, but it felt right; it was one thing he hadn't run past Bail, because Bail himself was right – he had taken care of Leia plenty of times without guidance, and he wanted to do something for her - for them – that wasn't wholly based on someone else's handling of this kind if loss.
He pulled his hand back, and handed her the arallutes he had kept on the Falcon.
Leia gazed at them silently, and he held his breath, unsure.
She looked up, reaching out tentatively.
"These are – the ones you and Father gave me, after you told him?" she asked quietly.
Han nodded.
"Yeah," he said thickly. He swallowed hard again. "I – I uh, put some stuff away, stuff like this," he said. "I think I made it easier on you."
He watched as she took the wilting flowers in her hand, and examined them, fingers gingerly moving over the softening petals. Leia tilted her head, remembering how she'd felt when her father handed her the bouquet, kissed her cheek, hugged her tight, and told her how happy he was for her – how she'd felt when she saw Han's face, right after she told him.
Her heart ached, and Han reached out to rub her shoulder.
"I didn't want 'em to just…die in that drawer on the Falcon, y'know?" he offered. "Might not've been right to tuck 'em away," he added gruffly. "It didn't turn out right, but," he trailed off. "Leia?" he asked, a quiet plea for her to say something.
Leia curled her hand in gently, cupping it carefully so as not to crush them.
"I think," she began faintly, lifting her eyes. "We should press some of them," she offered slowly. "Preserve them, in a booklet?" she explained, her voice wavering. "I've been…wondering what to do with the sono," she admitted huskily. "I can't look at it yet. We might put these with it, in a keepsake box."
It felt odd to suggest it, to remember it that way – but she found she wanted to remember, not to erase, or suppress; this awful thing had happened, but it had saved Han's life, as well, and it was so rare that a tragedy had a bright side to it; it was so rare to encounter a darkness that did have reason.
Han nodded, his shoulders relaxing. Leia focused intently on her hands, uncurled her fingers and flattened her palm. She took a few of the delicate, richly coloured petals, and plucked them loose, turning to place them on the bedside – and then, in an impulsive fit, she took a deep breath, and blew the rest of them into the air, turning her head up to watch them scatter, and settle all over – the floor, the sheets, Han's shoulder.
He turned to her with quiet surprise, and she shrugged helplessly, reaching up to touch her wrist to her lashes, feeling for tears – they were there, but not falling, and she smiled through them. She did not think for a moment that the last of her sadness had been eradicated – there was grief still to come. But sitting here with him, with the worst of both their experiences with it behind them, the rawness faded, bit by bit – and she could see a better horizon, a period of recovery in which the brutal wound knitted into a scar, and the pain dulled to the inexplicably comforting soreness that defined the concept – of healing.
The End
- alexandra