From a Certain Point of View
The pain radiated through Han, from his fingertips to the tips of his toes. He gasped for air, the crushing pressure on his chest nearly suffocating him. His footsteps pounded against the duracrete in time with the beating of his heart but his movements were sluggish, as if running underwater. And the faster he tried to run the farther his destination slid forward in front of him.
Long arms came out of nowhere and grabbed him, the heat from their skin searing him and razor sharp claws left trails of blood behind them. Flailing his arms and kicking his legs, he fought to escape. Silent screams curdled his blood until a sharp pang nearly cracked the back of his skull open and he fell to his knees. Finally finding his voice he moaned for mercy as he struggled to free himself from his captors.
Darkness settled over him turning everything black, from the air that he breathed to the blood running through his veins. Toxic and venomous he fought the poison seeping through him as it seemed to wick the fight right out of his bones. A long, tortuous scream of defeat died in his throat as his eyes flew open, shattering the darkness with the faint hint of light.
Deep, panting breaths of air escaped through his mouth as his chest heaved up and down. It took him a moment to gain his bearings as he brought his hands up to his face and studied his fingernails, mistrusting his eyes that they were indeed still there. One more long forceful breath escaped his lungs as he blinked his eyes heavily. He was in his bed, the sheets balled up all around him and drenched in his sweat. A dream, it was a dream. A wave of intense relief washed over him, triggering hot, stinging tears to well up in his eyes.
He rolled out of bed and walked to the 'fresher, shedding his damp clothing along the way. It was the middle of the night, but he thought better of trying to sleep again as he stepped under the jets of water and cleansed the film of perspiration that covered him.
Leia had not come home from work and after waiting up late for her to arrive, he had finally gone to bed. If there was ever any doubt about what had been happening in the middle of the night, recent events put those thoughts to rest. His only question now was why she had left him alone to suffer and where, in all of the nine hells of Corellia, was she?
By the time dawn broke, Han was floating in kaffe and he went to work looking like a spice addict the morning after. He was groggy and found it hard to focus. It felt like so much more than a simple lack of sleep, more like the dream itself had been siphoning the strength out of him.
Later that evening, he sat in her apartment at the dining room table. His elbows on the table and his head resting in his hands as he fought the constant, sweet pull of sleep. It took all he had to lift his head and look towards the door as he heard it slide open.
As soon as he saw her he shot up, the adrenaline pumping through his veins chasing the drowsiness away.
"What happened?" He gasped as he approached her.
Her face was dirty and her left cheek was swollen, the skin a shiny purple. Her clothes were disheveled and ragged and on her left bicep her sleeve clung to her skin, stained with the deep crimson of dried blood.
"It's not that bad," she replied as he grabbed her chin, tilting her head up so he could study the nasty bruise.
"Leia, what happened?"
She looked up at him and studied his eyes for a moment. As if recognizing his exhaustion, her face clouded over with guilt and grief. She took her hand and grabbed his wrist, pulling it away from her face. "I was looking for something."
And then she dropped her hand and took a step toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head against him, her chest deflating with a heavy sigh. It took him a moment to respond, but eventually he draped his arms around her in a loose embrace. Her body melted into him in return and he increased the pressure of his hold as he rested his cheek against the top of her head.
Whether it was this uncharacteristic display by the Princess or his nagging exhaustion or a combination of both, he didn't know, but all he wanted to do was hold her like that forever. As if with her in his arms all the rest would just disappear. There were no unanswered questions or demons lurking in the shadows, only the two of them and it felt so unbelievably right in spite of everything else. He let out a sharp breath and felt the sting of tears wash over his eyes. But even through his hazy fatigue, he knew it just wasn't that easy.
After a long moment he gave her a squeeze, and said, "C'mon, we should clean up that wound."
They walked to the 'fresher and she sat in the same chair that Han had sat when he had first arrived, the chair where she had tended to him until he passed out. While he gathered up bandages and bacta, she removed her long-sleeved shirt, hissing in pain as she ripped the material away from where it had attached itself to her mangled skin.
When he turned around to face her, he tried not to notice the thin camisole that was not-so-discreetly clinging to her every curve. Leia moved and held herself as if oblivious to the fact that she had a woman's body or that Han would even notice it under the thick layer of grime that she brought home with her.
The bright, red blood trickling down her arm helped him to regain his focus and he knelt down in front of her and began to clean what was clearly a blaster wound. They both remained silent as he worked on her injury. The trail of dried blood and filth meandered all the way down to the creases in between her fingers but he concentrated on the area directly surrounding the nasty gash.
As his hands worked on her upper arm the backs of his fingers brushed up against her breast repeatedly; an innocent, inadvertent touch to be sure, but electrifying nonetheless. A wave of bumps covered Leia's skin as the air turned thick around them. Han's throat closed up as if he was allergic to her and he struggled to swallow and keep his concentration on the task at hand. Several soiled bandages later, he applied a liberal amount of bacta over the clean, exposed burn and then sat back on his heels and looked at her, resting his hands on his thighs.
An entire conversation flowed between them in that one long glance. He was tired, physically from a lack of sleep and an imaginary fight for his life. But also tired mentally, tired of playing this game with her, with her half-answers and mysterious behavior. And she was clearly affected by his apparent suffering during her absence, looking at him as if he was the one that needed tending to, her eyes studying the lines on his face like the pages of a holonovel.
Shaking his head into the silence and sighing heavily, he started, "Leia-"
She began shaking her head in the negative, brushing off his question before he even had a chance to ask her anything.
Placing his hands on her knees, he pressed on, "Who did this to you?"
The answer flashed across her face and Han could see her waging a battle with her mind. Tightening her lips together furiously, unwilling to let a single word escape.
Han's determination swelled; he was no longer content on waiting for her to break. He was tired and worried and fed up with her silence. He put as much force as he could behind his next words, "Leia-"
And then her hands were on his face, cool and trembling against his skin, silencing the remainder of his thought before it could be voiced. She leaned into him, their faces so close their noses nearly touched. Her chin hitched up and her lips brushed up against his, their breath mingling in the air between them. Her eyes remained open and wide, darting back and forth, silently studying him.
Han drew in a breath as if to speak again and she pressed her lips against his. The kiss was awkward and chaste, only landing on half of his mouth. Closing her eyes, she rested there for a heartbeat as if savoring the silence this bold move had afforded her. Her lips were soft and warm against his and he felt her hands traveling to the back of his head as his own eyes closed. Lacing her fingers through his hair, he felt a wave of bumps wash over his skin as she pulled him into a deeper kiss with one heavy breath.
Han's heartbeat and breathing sped up reflexively and he lifted off of his heels and ran his hands up her thighs as he leaned into her, finally resting them on her hips with a gentle squeeze. The half-whimper, half-moan that she gave him in response caused a painful surge in his crotch and he answered her with a tortured, low-pitched groan of his own.
And then the tentative, awkward start was behind them and they plunged ahead full throttle. He snaked his arms around her waist and pulled her to him, her body sinking against him, soft and supple as if void of bones. Their chests pressed together madly, their breathing fast and furious and their lips never separating. She clung to him desperately, wrapping her arms around his neck as if he might try to escape. The sounds coming from her, agony and ecstasy, woven together like the braids in her hair, reached into his soul and squeezed his heart with an iron fist. Their tongues danced and battled for position while Han's mind raced to catch up with the rest of his body.
Although he preferred action over words, especially if those actions resembled anything close to what Princess Leia was currently doing to him, something about her kiss set off those pesky warning bells in the back of Han's brain. The woman that preferred words was resorting to action probably for reasons as complex as she was. He hoped, desperately hoped, that part of those reasons were to convey feelings she had a difficult time trying to express. But he knew in his heart that part of the reason was to evade answering his questions. And suddenly the kiss that he had longed for and the lips that he had craved to taste, turned bittersweet.
He brought a hand up to her face and rested it against her cheek as he attempted to slow down their frantic encounter. His thumb stroked the side of her face, finding a damp warmth there that cooled his engines even further. The moment began to unwind around them as he gently pulled his body from hers, the arms wrapped around his neck reluctantly loosening. Transforming their deep kiss into gentle caresses, he began to plant tiny, delicate kisses along her now-closed mouth and then along her jaw line – tasting for the first time her salty tears.
He pulled his head away from hers and began to wipe the tears from her cheeks with the backs of his fingers. Snaking his hand around to the back of her neck, he pulled her to him and rested his forehead to hers. A quick silent exchange passed between them. Something that Han thought said: this is good, but it is nothing without the rest.
She sniffled and he pulled away from her. Clearing his throat, he said, "You should get cleaned up, so I can dress that burn."
Relaxing back on his heels again, he looked at her. She moved her mouth to speak, then inhaled a quick breath as if sucking the unspoken words back into her lungs. She closed her mouth and swallowed as she reached out and trailed her hand along his face, resting it on his cheek and stroking his lips with her thumb as if she already missed them.
Responding to her silence, he took her hand from his face and squeezed it, before he rose to his feet. Standing there for a moment, he leaned down and planted a lingering kiss against her forehead, and then turned around and left. Every step felt like a thousand and all he wanted was to turn around and finish what she had started, pin her against the 'fresher wall and take her for his own. But the bitter taste of her tears still rested on his lips and kept him moving, leaving her and his unanswered questions behind.
He exited the 'fresher with bandages and bacta in tow. Setting them on the dining room table, he looked around the room as if the answers to his questions were scribbled on the walls and the ceiling in a foreign hand. Taking both of his hands, he ran his fingers through his hair, ending the gesture by fisting chunks of his hair and pulling madly as if he could forcibly remove the frustration that resided in his mind.
The silence in her apartment mocked and taunted him. The bare walls, the nondescript furniture and the cool, shiny marble floor all refusing to reveal anything about their owner and occupant. They were a living replica of the hardened shell that she wore like a second skin, a camouflage of the life and passion that breathed within. He took a deep, tired breath and dropped his hands to his sides.
The sound of her bedroom door opening jerked his mind back to reality and he turned and faced in that direction. She was walking down the hallway toward him, wearing loose, casual pants and a sleeveless shirt, her hair was pulled back in a single braid and her feet were bare.
They sat next to each other at the table, coordinating their movements silently. Han adjusted his chair so that he faced her sideways as he applied more bacta to the open sore and then followed up with a medicinal patch. He ran his fingers over the medicated pad, warming up her skin and activating the adhesive. Her eyes were on him, but he diligently tended to her arm, intentionally fighting the urge to look at her.
She sighed so heavily that her entire body raised and dropped with her shoulders and her arm moved from within his grasp. He straightened up his posture and reset himself without comment.
Finished with the adhesive pad, he began to unravel a length of bandage when he heard her whisper, "It all started when Luke died."
His hands stilled and his eyes rose up slowly to meet hers. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her lips formed a tight, white line. Han watched her and waited in silence. After a long moment he turned his attention back to her arm and began to work on her wound again, wrapping the bandage tautly against her skin. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her turn her head away from him, staring toward the same walls that he had tried to coax answers out of earlier.
"I was…devastated. To say the least."
Her words were low and sounded as if it pained her to give them voice. He kept his head down and his movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to upset whatever delicate balance was allowing her to speak.
"But there was something else. An almost immediate change in the air around me…as if I-"
She stopped abruptly and her eyebrows pulled down toward her nose. She seemed unable to find the words she was looking for. Then, her face softened and she whispered, "As if I had learned to breathe without oxygen."
Fastening the end of the bandage, he dropped his hands to his knees and their eyes met for the first time since she had started speaking again. He felt she was trying to gauge his understanding of her words, but at the same time did not expect him to fully comprehend them.
"I started to feel this pull, this urgent need to go somewhere, anywhere but where I was." Her eyes closed briefly as she shook her head. "I thought I was going crazy."
He took her hand and cradled it within his own with a gentle squeeze.
She turned her body so that their knees were touching. "We were discovered…by the Empire, and that pull…that urgency…it was physically painful." She looked down at her hand in his and then sighed. "I was supposed to take a transport, but I took Luke's X-wing and Artoo instead. I had fully intended to meet up at the rendezvous, but…before I knew what had happened, I was crash-landing on Dagobah."
When she finished she seemed more relaxed, as if coasting with the momentum of her words now. She lifted her eyes to meet his and let a short, burst of air escape through barely parted lips, one of relief as if her spoken words had been weighty and large and she felt lighter without them inside of her.
Han's voice cracked when he finally spoke. "Was someone there…on Dagobah?"
She nodded her head. "A Jedi Master. Yoda." She paused. "My father had me study all the Jedi Masters and Master Yoda was arguably one of the greatest."
He watched her as she seemed to organize her thoughts for a moment, pushing the appropriate words to the forefront with care. "He told me that I was the only hope for the future of the galaxy. That my destiny was much broader than the mere failure or success of the Rebel Alliance. And that my future choices could tip the scales between good and evil and eventually bring peace and balance to the universe."
There was a noticeable edge to the last sentence that Han could not quite put his finger on. She seemed skeptical but at the same time delivered them with a reverence that he thought was very sincere. He felt a puzzled look crawl across his brow, but said nothing.
"He said he would train me as the last of the Jedi." She seemed to recognize Han's confusion and she looked away for a moment and let out a sharp breath. "My father raised me and trained me as a politician. I was brought up to believe in the power of the pen, to fight with words, laws, justice…and maybe the occasional blaster." She stole a quick glance at Han and smiled weakly before she looked away and said, "Not with blind faith and lightsabers."
Trailing her finger along the table, her eyes followed the invisible path she created. "He refused to help me get my X-wing out of the swamp unless I trained with him."
She looked back at Han with that same look of defiance in her eyes that he had seen so many times before in so many different situations. The familiarity of it caused him to relax and she seemed to do the same.
"It wasn't that hard, once he started explaining it to me."
Han smiled and then took a finger and tucked some stray hairs behind her ear. He wondered if anything didn't come easy to the beautiful woman in front of him.
"He told me that I would have to face Vader and the Emperor to restore balance to the Force." She looked up at the ceiling as she said the last part, again a mixture of disbelief and belief in her words. Pushing herself up out of the chair, she walked a few paces away from Han, leaving her back to him.
"And what didya do?"
She spun around to face him, her shoulders angled with her straight posture. "I got my X-wing out. Quicker than he expected. And he was…upset with me. Told me that my training was incomplete, that although I was powerful I had no idea how to harness that power and that I should stay until my training was complete." She walked back towards him and placed her hands on the back of her chair. "But I left."
Han leaned forward in his seat and had wanted to say: 'And then what?' but it seemed impatient and immature, so he kept his lips drawn together and waited for her to continue.
"I had convinced myself that the success of the Alliance was tied to the destiny that Yoda spoke of. The same destiny that my father and I had worked so hard for…and given up so much." She walked around the chair and sat back down facing Han again. "That if the Alliance overthrew the Emperor and Vader then in essence I would have faced my fate…if that was my fate." She shrugged. "So, I decided to rejoin the Alliance and…wait."
Han recognized the tone of these words. They were the words of someone who had done something that they thought was totally right at the time but had been proven dismally wrong in retrospect.
She pressed her body against the back of the chair and folded her arms. "It wasn't as if the Emperor had a penthouse where I could pay him a social call. I figured if it was meant to happen then the opportunity would present itself."
"And I'm guessing it did."
"Yes." There was a long, deliberate pause as her eyes bore into him. "Very quickly." Her answer was terse, her words sharp and low as she unfolded her arms and then looked away from him.
The abrupt swing in her mood led him to believe they were butting up against a raw nerve, a crucial point of no return in her story. Placing his hand on her knee, he asked, "Do you wanna stop?"
She placed her hand over his and gave it a squeeze and then her eyes blazed a path up his body until their gazes met. Shaking her head, she whispered, "No." Staring at him for a moment, she asked, "Do you want me to?"
His breath caught and he licked his lips. Her question bounced off the naked walls of her apartment and sliced through him with each pass. Whatever she was about to say could never be unsaid, could never be unheard and the weight of his answer pressed heavily on the back of his throat. And suddenly all he wanted to do was kiss her.