This pushes the T rating a bit, but bear with me. Same trigger warnings still apply. Also – a bit of this installment makes use of my observation that Leia (Carrie, really) comes across as quite out of it during the second half of ROTJ.

3

What a day. Or rather what a two days, what a week, what a – fuck, when had his life not been an endless stream of near-escapes, last-minute avoidances? Still – as he stared up at the ceiling of the stupid hut, his head and his feet pressed tight against opposite walls, he felt overwhelmed with it all. No more Empire – well, no more Vader and Emperor, he wasn't that naive; twins in his midst; there weird furry creatures who almost roasted him on a spit; celebrations 'til late into the night…

Or, more accurately, what this time on this damn moon had really felt like: worrying about Leia, who was enthusiastic but kind of spacey, her voice just a tad more monotonous than usual; watching her mount that bike out of the corner of his eye with a hint of trepidation and then feeling like shit for thinking about that when she'd made very clear to him that she wasn't in pain really and that it made her uncomfortable to know he was constantly thinking about it; then freaking the hell out when they lost track of her – Luke had said it's Leia, she can take care of herself better than any of us, she's fine but damn he couldn't stop thinking about stormtroopers, he felt guilty for that too, for despite thinking Leia could take on any blaster-wielding man having become convinced that she was in danger around any bad guys with cocks; having another paroxysm of panic when they found her in different clothing; practically yelling at her, all You have to tell me things, I'm worried like hell, what happened, did something happen, did someone touch you?! when he found her crying after Luke; she'd hissed out, so mortified and upset, It isn't about that, stop it Han, you're humiliating me, not everything is going to be about that!

All that, too, leading into the improbable number of times she'd kissed him – small, sweet close-mouthed kisses, sure, but still startling, if only because – well. The last time they'd kissed had been the night before the Endor expedition, gentle kisses while she clung to him the way she did now, that had been cut off pretty abruptly when she'd felt him hard against her leg and despite his cursed apology she had grown abruptly tense and stiff and silent.

And then yeah somewhere in that they'd blown up the Death Star, killed Vader and the Emperor, learned about Luke and Leia's parentage, celebrated with the little fuzzballs, all that. Apparently Luke had done some light arson – er, traditional Jedi funeral – as well. And now he was lying here with both of them, a configuration that Leia had agreed to with a pointed poise he couldn't imagine. When Wedge Antilles had called out to Luke, upon seeing them all headed to bunk together, Hey Luke, might wanna give the love-birds their space – or else I hope you're a heavy sleeper!, Leia had raised her eyebrows and said simply There's no need – we are far too acrobatic to satiate ourselves inside these tiny things. Much to the delight of everyone in earshot. Whereas Han knew if someone said to him, so-don't-you-guys-wanna-be-alone-so-you-can-fuck he'd probably just go off on them about minding their own business and making assumptions, and draw more attention to it anyway.

The truth was simpler. She felt comfortable around Luke, and Luke needed somewhere to sleep, and there was only so much room. Han hoped that was it, at least. What he was afraid of was that Leia was anxious, felt like if they were alone he'd pressure her for sex, wanted a buffer. Which was almost laughable – even though she'd confessed a kind of ambivalent frustration with the fact that she'd longed for their sexual reunion for six months only to now no longer crave it, his feelings were – less complicated. Honestly, the idea of going to bed with her now scared the hell out of him. Which, he knew, would piss her off, but that was where he was at.

Acrobatic indeed. On the way to Bespin they'd definitely been – adventurous. Leia in bed, he'd discovered, was – well, Leia. Passionate, loud-mouthed, demanding, fearless. Which made getting back to that seem all the more incomprehensible. Like, he could hardly imagine now bending her forcefully over the console and spanking her before taking her, talking filthy. Say that you're mine, say that you love it, beg me for it. All these words that drove her wild and now made him feel sick and slimy.

Lying there, in that stupid hut with her wedged right between him and the kid — her brother, her brother — he felt something like a stupid dawning realizing aneurysm of anguish. Like how he felt with Cherie's life debt came up in conversation. How he'd thought they were partners and though they were there'd always be this fundamental inequality between them. The unequal thing that made him get thrown to rot and her get thrown to be devoured, different ways to torture for different people. He felt unbelievably naive. He wanted to think through every time he'd ever taken on the world with her — how had the big badness of everything they were fighting against fallen on them with such unequal distribution? How had he not noticed? He felt like a fucking fool. He felt like a grade-A jerk.

Earlier, when the celebrations were winding down and folks were starting to get ready for bed, because she couldn't reach too effectively with the wound on her shoulder, he'd done the salve for her at her request, hoisting her straddled legs into his lap like some improbable position. They looked ridiculous, he was sure — him sitting awkwardly with her hips resting on his thighs, her legs akimbo, her Ewok-made dress hoisted up around her waist, her eyes shut. She was humming as he touched her, dutifully working the concentrated ointment over the walls of her vagina and into her rectum, and whenever he touched somewhere that was especially raw still, she hummed a little louder. Holding her hips in his hands, he remembered thinking seriously, She didn't really want to trust me with this but she had to, because she didn't really have a choice. He felt like his life was this giant string of beads of choice after choice, while hers had shut tight like a vice. Which was silly, because he came from nothing and she was a princess. But also, how many places had he gone to look for work knowing even if someone scuffed him up they couldn't do deep harm?

It was like he'd always known she was a woman but it had never fully occurred to him that everyone else saw her that way, too. It was like he was thinking in order to rape her surely you have to imagine her rapable, and that was something he just couldn't see. Too strong, too unyielding, too impressive and expensive and valuable for something so low. What kind of low and dirty sons of bitches looked at his Leia and thought yeah, I can take her? Thought I deserve her, I can take her, she's my kind of filth? Thought she looks worth less than blood spit and cum, I can do it. He knew it was wrong because surely it should be unimaginable for any woman, any sentient, no being should ever — but he couldn't help coming back to that thought — Leia? Our Leia?

Leia, now – curled up on her side, her fingers pressed firmly against his bare chest, wearing just that big shirt from underneath the dress, her legs clasping tight around him… all that long hair everywhere, when he'd spun her and kissed her he'd laughed, I like the hair! and her smile had twitched a bit but not fallen. He couldn't bear the implication – and there had to be one, he couldn't let himself just think maybe she'd twitched 'cause why not, he had to read into everything she did now, couldn't help himself – what, did she feel like now it didn't matter? Did she feel ruined?

Her womanhood had always seemed like a private joke between the two of them, a little secret, with his comments needling at something few others knew was there. Now he wondered — rather than pointing out something unsuspected about her did they just reinforce the same damn thing, what she must get from all over? What women got from all over?

Against him, Leia was sleeping soundly. But he knew she'd popped one of the anti-anxiety bits, the sedatives, before she slept. She did it with her back to him, but he knew. Same as he could tell she'd taken one two nights before – the slight grogginess, her low voice, her just barely hooded eyes. Luke was out cold beside her, one arm splayed over her protectively, kinda sweet.

Now would be a good time to do it – grab her datapad, slip out of the hut, find some liquor from earlier, sit down in the warm night and finally read the damn briefing and report. She'd given him express permission to do so, and there was a part of him that still really wanted to, felt like he needed to – he kept fucking running through scenarios in his mind, every time he laid in bed asleep holding her, trying to give her that good pressure she said made her feel okay. That felt so fucking wrong: Leia, talking to him quietly about how good it felt to know the Empire was gone, telling him she loved him, and all he could think of was imagining – yeah. Yeah.

He knew she'd hate that, if she knew. So maybe if he read the damn thing, and he knew all about it, he wouldn't keep thinking about it, because he wouldn't have to scroll through scenarios?

Maybe he had a responsibility, to man up and know what had happened, so he could better help her? Read about all her injuries. Read exactly what had happened, what Mothma and Rieekan knew. Hells, what Lando apparently knew, a bit of, that still fucking burned. Could he do that? Holding her hips, before, trying his best to touch her tenderly, he'd felt bile rising up his throat. Wished he were anywhere else. Wanted to vomit. How was he going to help her if doing so made him want to be sick?

Not anymore. He had to toughen up. He had to know.

Han detangled himself from Leia and grabbed her pad before exiting the hut. The night outside was warm, mostly quiet save for nature sounds. He settled on the edge of the platform, letting his feet dangle a little and leaning forward so his arms were resting on the rope railing. Took a deep breath in. How many years ago was it, when he met these two troublesome twins, got involved in this fight? Now their enemy was vanquished. A princess and a guy like him could be together, be happy. Everyone hunting them was dead, they'd killed them. Hells, he could marry Leia if he wanted to, if she'd have him.

And yet. Holding her hips in his hands, the most vulnerable he'd ever seen her… trying to pretend that everything was okay, trying to be tender to her, all the while wanting to vomit. Han couldn't imagine a life like that. He wasn't a good enough man. Fuck, he loved her too much to ever watch her suffer.

He was staring at the locked datapad, bent forward and tense, when suddenly there was a shadow beside him and––

"Trouble sleeping?" Leia asked politely, sitting delicately beside him and crossing her dangling ankles.

"Somethin' like that," he said gruffly. He indicated the datapad, didn't look up.

"Oh," she said, and he could feel her slight frown.

"Thought you took somethin'?" he asked, glancing at her sideways. She looked – well, if he was being honest she looked gorgeous, otherworldly, wearing nothing but a long-sleeved shirt, hair flowing, lit up by stars. But her expression was melancholy.

"I did. Perhaps adrenaline," she mused, looking straight ahead.

"Yeah. Crazy night, princess."

"Mhm," she agreed. "And then I woke up and you were gone so I – have you – I suppose you've been reading, then."

"Nah." He cleared his throat, rubbed the back of his neck. "Haven't worked up the nerve."

She nodded a little, nuzzling up against him, her face contemplative and maybe a little sad. He put an arm around her, exhaling heavily. Kissed her hair.

"I'm so sorry, Han," she murmured, and he flinched, really flinched.

"Don't say that, don't you fucking say that," he practically growled, tightening his grip on her until he noticed her wincing, then releasing her so abruptly he was practically jumping back. Which only made her grimace more, as if in shame. Which only made him feel worse.

"If you want to read it, you can. You know that. I told you that," Leia said after a long moment. "I don't want to keep secrets from you."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I know, babe."

"I would prefer not to be here when you do, though."

"Yeah," he echoed, and he kissed her temple absently.

"So if you're going to––" she started, rustling beside him and moving to get up.

"No, hey – sit down. Sit down, alright? I got liquor, sit down with me," he said, and and set down the datapad and reached out for her, and then again she was beside him, curled up tightly, running her fingers over his chest lightly.

"You're so beautiful, Leia," he blurted out, shaking his head. "You're so – fucking beautiful, you're so…"

She kissed his collarbone but didn't say anything, just sort of nuzzled her face against his chest.

"I just – wanna look out for you. I wanna make sure you're okay," he muttered, stroking all that long hair.

"That's kind, Han."

"Feel like I can't." He frowned, tightened his grip. "Feel like I can't protect you, never could."

"Hush," she said mildly. "I've never needed protecting."

"Yeah, well," he muttered. Two words but they – yeah. From the look on her face he could tell, that they said everything.

"The Empire's gone, Han," she said quietly after a long time. She sat up, peering at him through all that hair, looking tired and young but also surprisingly hopeful. "Or soon to be gone. We can have everything – I want to have everything with you."

"I want that too," he admitted, furrowing his brow and looking at her intently.

"I wish I could just make love to you right now – under these stars, out here – I think it would be so nice…" She shook her head a little, blushing.

"M'happy just sittin' out here with you, sweetheart," he promised tiredly, patting her back a bit. "Honestly. Just wanna have you near."

"You're a good man," she said seriously, brushing her hair back behind her ears and leaning in to kiss him gently. Her lips were quivering a bit against his, and he stroked her hair in a way he hoped was soothing.

When she pulled away, he rested his chin on the top of her head. "S'my – fuck," he croaked out. "Lei, you wouldn't even have been there if it weren't for––"

She interrupted him by embracing him tightly. "Stop agonizing," she was whispering against his skin, "You have to stop brutalizing yourself, please, please, please––"

His voice was low, trembling, spilling out by accident: "I fucked up, Princess. I fucked up so bad. I really fucked up, I––"

She was humming again, like she had earlier, when he was holding her hips, touching inside her, and holding him tighter, tuning him out, and finally he just let her hug him. Looked out into the trees, played with her hair.

After a long few minutes, she kissed his cheek and scooted back. "I'm going to try to sleep, dear. Will you come soon?"

"Yeah," he said, mustering a crooked grin and leaning in for another kiss, which she gave him gently, those same full, trembling lips.

"Good night, Han," she exhaled, and he watched as she walked slowly away, fading back into the darkness.

Han looked down at the datapad. Everything in explicit detail, every fact, all laid out before him. And looked back at where Leia had been hovering, in the flesh, complicated and hurting and somehow optimistic. Back at the datapad. Back at the dark. And exhaled heavily, rubbing the back of his neck.

#

Slightly shorter installment, but it's because I'm going to stretch this out into another chapter rather than just three. Your comments have meant the world.