Ratings/Warnings (this chapter only): T; mild language; themes; angst

Note 1: At last...!

Chapter 11: Leia

They rode in companionable silence through the teeming thoroughfares of Ord Mantell, hands clasped together on the seat between them. A riot of life, a wild assortment of it in mid-revelry, flashed by the shuttlepod window. The blaze of colour and light shimmered and blurred; Leia closed her eyes.

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

As they disembarked in front of the hotel, she heard the note of recognition and surprise in Han's voice as he murmured its name. She smiled to herself, took his arm and walked with him under the majestic arch, their footsteps ringing on the polished floor. In the ascending turbolift, she swayed towards the warmth of his body and sighed in relief as his sheltering arms enfolded her again, holding her still. She kept her eyes on the glittering landscape as it fell away from their feet.

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

The heat of Han's body at her back made her tremble as she lifted the access card to the door. After a long, fumbling moment, his hand rose up to take it from her. She let him slip it from between her fingers and watched as he slid the card home. Finally, the door whispered shut behind them and she drifted into the room. She bypassed the chairs and couches, drawn by the stunning view, like a sleepwalker on midnight travels.

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

"Leia?" Han called softly, and the rumbling timbre of his familiar voice speaking her name seemed to unleash an avalanche inside her, a turbulent cascade that came crashing out of her—out of her guts, out of her mouth, out of her streaming eyes.

"Ah, Sweetheart," he said, crossing the room to take hold of her, to turn her around. She covered her face with trembling hands, unable to quell her convulsive breathing or to still the shaking of her limbs. He pulled her close, the weight of his hands against her back and shoulder anchoring her to the floor. When her sobs only intensified and her own ragged weeping seemed to be shaking her apart, he engulfed her completely in a fierce embrace, wrapping his arms around her from shoulder to hip and burying his face in her hair. "Ssh... It's alright. It's alright."

He held her until she stopped crying, and longer still, loosening his arms and placing soft kisses along her hairline. After a while, she was able to draw a shuddering breath, swallow the ache in her throat and, finally, to look up at him.

"Han," she whispered, touching his chin with her fingertips, scanning his face, drinking him in. "I thought I'd lost you. Really lost you."

"I know," he murmured, smoothing her hair with one hand, rubbing gentle circles on her back with the other. He looked down at her and his eyes crinkled up in a smile. "But I keep finding my way back."

For the third time in an hour, she felt her face crumple, helpless to stop it, and she buried her head in his shoulder. He held her for a long time, his heartbeat thumping reassuringly against her cheek as she clutched him tighter. He didn't speak, but the warmth of his body and the strength of his arms around her provided all of the comfort she needed. After a while, soothed by the sound of his breathing, she began to regain her grip on her surging emotions. She drew a deep breath and smiled at the feeling of his lips pressing a kiss against her temple. When she felt able, she took a step back and wiped at her eyes with her hands.

"Ugh, I'm a mess," she said, drawing another deep breath. Han didn't contradict her, she noticed ruefully. She gave a shake of her head and a sigh. He hadn't seen her fall apart like that in many years, she realised, and she could feel his thoughtful gaze tracking her as she moved across the room. "I'll be right back."

She passed through the adjoining bedroom, noting the tall transparisteel wall that matched the one in the common room. The fresher chamber likewise had a stunning view. The arrangement of the rooms in a shallow string along the windowed exterior was a feature of the hotel's unique architecture, designed to maximise the impressive panorama. She glanced at the sunken whirlpool bath positioned at the base of the window, and smiled to herself. Palming the controls that made the clear panes opaque, she set about the task of regaining her composure.

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

A short time later, she emerged into the common room and noticed the sound of subtle music emanating from hidden speakers. Han had found the entertainment deck. She found him in the small kitchenette that was tucked into the corner near the entrance. He'd just discovered the bottle of Whyren's Reserve she'd left behind that morning when she'd first checked in. He turned as she entered, giving her a look of utter astonishment. He looked pointedly at the bottle of Corellian whiskey, and then gestured expressively at the luxuriously appointed room.

"If I'd known I would get this kind of reception," he began, his eyes wide in exaggerated disbelief, "I would have—."

"Don't say it," she interrupted, raised a warning finger. "Don't make me regret it. I could have arranged to meet you in Mos Eisley, you know."

Han snorted. "No chance. Too far out of your way."

Leia gave him a faint, rueful smile, hoping he didn't actually believe there was any place in the galaxy she wouldn't have gone to retrieve him. "I was tempted. I know how much you love Tatooine."

"Well, Tatooine would've been cheaper. You can't afford all of this," Han stated categorically, glancing around the suite again. "I hope Lando didn't spring for it. I owe him too much already."

Leia gave him a strange look, wondering how and when he'd become indebted to Calrissian, but declined to pursue the comment. "You don't know what I can afford," she pointed out. "Not everything costs money. And I have my resources."

"Oh, I'm sure you do, Sweetheart," he drawled in something like his old teasing tone. "You're nothing if not resourceful. I've known that for a long, long time."

He put the bottle down on the counter, unopened, and moved in close, so that she had to lift her chin to maintain eye contact. She scanned his face, noting the tiny changes in skin and hair since the last time she'd seen him, that afternoon at the base on D'Qar. His skin had lost a touch of colour, and his greying hair needed a trim, but his eyes looked the same, and his weighty gaze told her that he was done with small-talk for now.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, fingertips drifting down the length of her arm to catch her hand in his. "You looked a little wild there. Had me worried."

She had to fight the impulse to answer glibly, to dismiss his concern. Deflection had become an ingrained habit, a ready shield to keep them from discussing anything of importance. She could tell by his expression that he half-expected her to do the same just now. But she was struggling to put into words how she was feeling, and the moment stretched out between them.

"Leia?" His hand tightened on hers.

In answer, she lifted her other hand to his weathered face, dropped her gaze to his lips and looked up at him in invitation. Even as he responded and leaned in to kiss her, she noticed with a pang of regret the light of surprise in his eyes. Until that moment on the pier, it had been a very long time since she'd reached out to him in simple affection, an age since he'd felt an impulsive caress from her hand.

This kiss was delicate; a sweet, lingering touch of their lips, and no more. But Leia was suddenly aware again of the link that had lain dormant since their meeting on the pier, when they'd reverted to words and physical touch by force of habit. As his warm lips moved against hers, she felt the delicate filament between them stir and swell, glowing steadily brighter in sync with their kiss. The sensation was novel, thrilling, and they broke off in mutual surprise. Han's eyes roamed her face in fascination, as if seeing her clearly for the first time.

"You're alright," he said in tone of wonder, as if the kiss had provided sudden insight into her state of mind.

"I'm fine," she confirmed in a whisper, holding his gaze.

They were past the point of pretence. Something fundamental had changed between them. The mysterious energy was alive all around them, passing through and transforming them. Recent momentous events—their daughter's return, Ben's murderous attack and Han's burgeoning awareness of the Force—heralded a sea-change, a seismic movement that was transforming everything. Like the shift of melting ice as it transitions back to water, they were entering a different state.

Han's catastrophic encounter with Ben—and the glimpse that Leia had seen of Ben's corrupted soul as it happened—had finally shown her something she'd long been unable or unwilling to see. The knowledge had gutted her, hollowed her out, and left her feeling bereft beyond hope of solace. But Ben's dreadful act had also, in a way, bridged the gulf that had separated her from Han, the chasm that had widened with every conversation, and deepened with every touch. As devastating as it was to contemplate, Leia knew that thinking about that act was right and necessary. She'd felt Ben strike his own father down and then exult over it, and remembering that moment helped her to see more clearly what she had to do.

"We don't have to talk about it." Han said suddenly, reading her expression and following the direction of her thoughts. He looked wary. "Not tonight."

Leia gazed at him for a moment longer and then, on impulse, reached out through the Force, deliberately extending that living tendril in his direction like a hand in the darkness. After a slight hesitation, she felt him reach back. The sensation was a novelty all over again, blending as it did with their physical presence and the intimacy of eye contact. He was still standing close, holding her loosely by one hand. She released him and placed both hands on his chest, lifting her chin in silent invitation. And just in case he missed that signal, she sent another.

Kiss me.

She met his second kiss with warmth, sliding her hand around to the nape of his neck, and he responded with intensity, pulling her against him with both hands. The combination of physical touch and telepathic communion was breathtaking. The heat of his large hands splayed against her shoulder blades, sliding down her rib cage and coming to rest on her hips was one thing; but the corresponding spark of excitement that arced between them was something else.

Some of this was familiar terrain: the taste of his mouth, the contours of his body pressed against hers, the reassuring weight of his touch. This was a distance they'd travelled together thousands of times. But the liquid glow of their telepathic communication illuminated the landscape in a completely new way, made it all the more navigable. Leia opened her mouth a little wider, let him in a little deeper and marvelled at the new dimensions, the changing elevations of his emotional response. They broke apart after a moment, breathless and thrumming with sensation, and shared amazed smiles.

"I knew that would be good," Han murmured, dipping down to kiss her again, testing the connection, and grinning at her response. "But that is really, very good."

Leia laughed against his mouth, feeling almost giddy. For a moment, she forgot everything—all of the pain, the frustration, the worry and fear—and just revelled in the pleasure of being loved and feeling wanted. It had been so long—too long—since she'd let him touch her like this, since she'd reached out to him for comfort or pleasure. Although they'd frequently resorted to physical communication in their long years together, in the aftermath of Ben's betrayal it had become an increasingly narrow channel through which to funnel all of their rage and sorrow. In the months before their final, blistering fight a year before, she'd withdrawn completely, shutting him out and using all of her considerable resources to keep him out.

With a sigh, she leaned into Han's embrace, rested her head against his chest and enjoyed the feeling of his hands slowly stroking down the length of her back. He seemed content simply to hold her now, to let the pleasurable connection between them ebb and flow in warmth. Leia closed her eyes and let her mind wander.

In the days after the events at Starkiller Base, she'd bitterly regretted that year apart. She could see clearly, but too late, that it had been an utter waste of precious time and that the years before that, too, had been squandered. After they'd exhausted all practical hopes of recovering their lost children—when years had passed with no sign of their daughter, and no word from their son—they'd descended into hell. Fruitless rage and futile worry had only emphasised and aggravated their fundamental differences and, in the end, it had ripped them apart. Not only had they lost their children—they'd lost each other, too.

And now, against all hope or expectation, Leia had the sense that they were being knitted back together, that the mysterious force that surrounded them could somehow help to heal the wounds and close the rift. She lifted her head and reared back to look up at him. His warm smile told her that he felt it, too. Craving another kiss like the last one, she slid a hand underneath his jacket and up the swell of his chest—and stopped cold.

Under her fingertips, she could feel the deep, obscene hollow of the lightsaber scar. She looked at Han and saw in an instant that he was going to protest, that he dreaded going down that road. She knew that her own expression had flinched at the touch, that revulsion for the violent act that had caused the wound must show on her face, as it was etched on her heart. But before he could withdraw, or try to move her hand away, she reached out to him again through the Force.

Let me see it.

The objection in his eyes was matched by the sensation that he was silently willing her to let it go, to put it off. But if there was one lesson that Leia had learned more thoroughly than all of the rest, it was the necessity of facing threats and perils head-on. She sensed his rising anxiety and tried to quell it with a gentle touch of her hand and a calm projection of reassurance.

It'll be alright.

Searching her face with his eyes, Han seemed to feel and accept the reassurance that she was offering him through their mysterious connection.

We'll be alright.

After a moment, he nodded his head, and took a step back.

"Okay," he said, releasing her to retrieve the bottle of Corellian whiskey from the counter, "but I think we're going to need this."