She dreamed the night Han was put in carbonite.
She dreamed of ephemeral shapes, tangible things she could not touch. An object, real and substantial, with clear lines and shadows and three dimensions. A comm: a caf mug: an Arallute. Small things, with textures and weight and shape. Fascinated, she reached for them but her finger tips slid through air, as if their permanence had been erased.
In daytime, she touched. Air blew on her eyelashes, her feet pressed into deckplates, the Falcon's holochess table was cool beneath her fingers. She existed and the things existed. Real was real.
But in sleep, nothing had form. The laws of physics didn't govern the galaxy. The objects she should be able to grip in her fists withered away in her grasp. She wanted to hold them, desperate to cling to the only real she had left. But quarks jumped out of existence as she neared and somehow, somehow, she knew why.
In daytime she could remember the touch of his skin. In her dreams she wandered the galaxy unable to remember what he felt like.
Author's Note: Written for Erin Darroch.
