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Their exfiltration from Ord Mantell was a complete blur as Leia sat next to Han's med bay bedside in constant, exhausting vigil, six days after their mission had ended in disaster. They had scrambled to get Han, gravely wounded with a blaster bolt that had pierced his lung to Home One where surgeons and the Alliance's most advanced medical equipment waited to revive the downed Captain. Han had died, for a second time, on the operating table. Somehow, the intrepid surgeon had managed to revive the seemingly infallible pilot, or maybe his Corellian luck shined on his once again, please Goddess she had prayed to a deity she thought she no longer believed in, not for the last time! Han was still critical after losing so much blood. Lost in a fretful coma she could only pray he would come out of.

She proudly, if vaguely, recalled how Luke, Evaan, Sana, Wedge, and Janray had taken over when she had lost her mind once Han lost consciousness. Luke did some crazy mind thing to talk their way off-planet. The others had blasted their way through a squadron of Imps. She wished she had paid better attention to their exit, because she suspected it was truly impressive and she was proud to know such great rebels, if still incredibly distracted by her constant presence at Han's bedside.

Leia, once again traumatized, had found her actions to blame for the situation. She had convinced Han to do the fake relationship mission with her. Selfishly admitted a small (ok, large) part of her motivation was having a safe way to be closer to him without the emotional accountability a better person would have afforded him. He had privately voiced his concerns for her safety, for a loss of anonymity, for the large target this mission would place on their backs if it was successful. She had listened to him, as she always did. Weighed the pros and cons of his concerns, and decided it was worth it. Risked him without a backwards thought of his welfare.

She wrestled over these thoughts, tormented herself sleepless at Han's bedside with love and self-preservation, and prayer of preservation for the man she loved. She could picture just ending the fake relationship, going back to the status quo of their sexually charged but mostly friendly friendship and mission partnership.

She knew, knew, they could have dragged out the sexual tension, flirtation, and fighting for another few years and this would have never happened to Han. But she could also picture the hurt it would cause Han. He had made himself vulnerable to her. Showed his hand, for probably the first time in his life. How her own heart would fracture beyond repair. How she would cast herself to darkness forever.

She recalled her dream where they had made love, were married with a child on the way. How she had recoiled at the notion there could be a version of her willing to take her eyes, even a little, off her revenge-filled mission to crush the Empire. She had risked their entire mission, her life, to save him and didn't regret it as she thought she would a few weeks ago, and that scared her too.

After years of the stress of spying, war, being a skilled politician and diplomat in the most cutthroat of arenas, she had coolly taken a mental inventory of everything she had ever said to Han, because the non-verbal signals were damning but meaningless when it came to pretending nothing was ever there. She knew she could just end the fake relationship mission now. Walk away and pretend it was only acting, nothing real between them just a little (incredible) sex to relieve some tension – he was obviously imagining anything more than that. She could deny him, gaslight him, insist there was nothing of it.

She knew she should do that to protect him from her. To diminish the target on the Alliance's back now that they knew the Empire was bringing the full weight of its power down on them to eliminate the threat their relationship signified.

Hell, she even knew she could fake Han's death based on Janray's holo footage from Ord Mantell and when he flatlined the first time on the flight to Home One. She could send him, Chewie, and the Falcon to the wilds of space to get away from the grips of the Hutts and the Empire, from the danger she created for him, and he could start over.

And part of her knew, wanted to armor herself against a side of Han that threated her. The unloved boy who had learned through hard life lessons at the School of Hard Knocks to always look out for number one, to always shoot first, no mercy for anyone unless no one was looking, that he might take that shot at her. Not hesitate to shoot first, walk away, and never look back. Maybe it was better to not let him, not let him break her, and dispatch him away, Ice Princess mask firmly on.

She knew, accepted as a fact or war, as penitence to her revenge, that she was ruthless when she had to be. When the Rebellion and the mission called for it, she could and had killed. She had just killed that kid to save Han without a second thought or an ounce of regret. She had literally staggered, at times, under the weight of all the blood she had on her hands, but yet she continued to be ruthless when she must, wasn't afraid to shoot first if she had to.

But push came to shove, she didn't want to shoot first, she didn't want to be ruthless with him. Maybe Han would just walk away and save them from herself. And even if she did deny everything between them, whatever blustery denial he might have ready, she knew he had not been just playing for the holo when he said he loved her.

Leia thought of the Alderaanean myth her mom had taught her as a younger, stubborn future queen, too proud and full of hubris to heed the council of folks wiser and more experienced than her. Icarus had been warned not to fly too close to the sun with his wax carved wings as he made his escape. Yet he had not heeded his father's wise advice. How, lost in the wonder of flight, his wings had melted and he was felled. Leia questioned whether her hubris was in believing she could love again without falling, or whether it was in her assumption she could never be the Princess, the Rebel, and love and be the better for it. Whether her resistance to Carlist and Mon's assurances that love and war were not mutually exclusive, which resulted in only a short period of happiness with Han, was the cause of her downfall from flight.

And the real crux of it was, she had finally just come to accept that they were stronger and better together. Since they had come together as a "fake" couple, she had felt emboldened as a leader, clear-headed, and confident. The purpose she felt when they were united as a team, flying in the same direction instead of towards opposite ends, finally, made her feel incredibly powerful and contained.

Before this all went to hell, before Han had fucking died twice, she had finally understood that they could beat the Empire, together. Maybe that was too romantic a notion for the Leia of even a month ago, but she knew it now. She had that dream, that beautiful sacred dream of them happy and united. A simple and breathtaking vision of the future that validated this belief that they were supposed to be together. That there was happiness for them both somewhere along this painful journey that had so far been defiled by ugliness, loss, and trauma.

"Leia," A hoarse voice rasped next to her. She let out a sob, tortured thoughts and strategic plans temporarily forgotten as she basked in the relief she felt that the man she loved more fiercely that she knew possible was awake and back with her.

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Echo Base, 3 ABY Empire Strikes Back

Carlist Rieekan shook his head as Solo angrily marched out of the command center, the Princess barely acknowledging him as he bid her goodbye. At least after letting him walk away, she went after him, yelling "Han!" He could hear them screaming at each other in the south passage...again.

He wanted to throttle both of them! A month after Han had survived the shooting in Ord Mantell, he and the Princess were at each other's throats, very publicly, he thought in renewed irritation. How two people who loved each other so fiercely and plainly could be so idiotic and awful to each other was a mystery to him. What really shocked him was that both Solo and Leia had approached him and Mon to end the fake relationship propaganda mission, despite its incredible success.

He was bitterly disappointed in his Princess. He just could not believe she would walk away from Solo. He was positive their relationship had ceased to be fake before Ord Mantell. He'd seen Solo sneak out of her room at inappropriate times of the night on multiple occasions. Maybe they had really broken up and continuing the relationship mission was too painful. Leia had dodged his increasingly concerned inquiries. She appeared thin, constantly irritated, and haunted by dark shadows under her eyes. He had half a notion to just lock to two of them in a closet until they worked out their issues.

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Echo Base, 3 ABY Empire Strikes Back

"Han, this is Mon Mothma. Leia is in the command center; it's been hit and Vader is on his way. She needs to get to her transport. You are the only one she might listen to."

"Ma'am, Leia would listen to a ton-ton before she'd listen to me."

"Do you love her Han?"

"Do banthas stink?"

"Go try, please. I'm worried she doesn't care if she lives or dies if you are leaving."

"How did you hear so fast?"

"Carlist."

"You two gossip mor'n a bunch of ninnies in an elderly house!"

"Go get her Han! And win her back, you idiot! She loves you."

"Copy that, take care, Mothy!"

What is wrong with that man? Mon Mothma thought. She wanted to knock their heads together...again!