Somehow she'd always known they were running on borrowed time, precarious moments all loosely strung together by the will of luck.

Or—by the will of the Force. She doesn't know which. The two most prominent men in her life have such divided perspectives concerning how things come to be. Personally, Leia's never quite believed in luck. And the Force is a little out of her element. Bygones, she supposes.

But if either happens to exist, Leia prays one will intervene. Now would be the time.

Please.

Leia curses herself for not knowing, not realizing sooner. She curses this star-forsaken gas mine and Lando Calrissian's crackling audacity. Most of all, though, Leia curses the name of Darth Vader. So help her, she has half a mind to go tearing at him full force, screams rattling her throat.

But Leia knows better than that. It would only worsen matters. Not that things could get much worse, but she's not in any mood to risk jinxing the situation.

Not when Han's life is on the line.

"Nothing to worry about," he'd said, upon their landing in this traitorous sky metropolis. "Trust me."

She'd trusted Han, truly. Really, she had. It was Lando who triggered her suspicions and it was Lando who betrayed them. Leia should've trusted herself, when have her instincts ever led her astray?

Now the love of her life is being ripped from her white-knuckled grasp and Luke is most assuredly on his way, moments from tumbling into this mess, just as Vader intended. It's a disaster, it's a catastrophe, it all could've been avoided if only she—

Leia's mind is racing faster than Coruscant traffic, there's so much static between her ears that she hardly notices Chewbacca's raging tantrum or Threepio's panicked shouting. She's lightyears away, she may as well be back in that revolting slug's throat, that's how utterly useless she is—

Han's gaze locks with hers, green and brown mingling, expressions tight with sorrow and suddenly Leia is rendered immobile. The most basic of functions now sit just out of reach. Breath hanging idly in her lungs, heart resting motionless in her ribcage. For one electrifying beat they are a portrait, etched in the shattered passage of time.

The next double-crossing second sends time barreling onward once more and in a desperate instance of impulse, Leia is grabbing his shirt and Han is crashing into her and they're tangled together in a kiss born of a nebula.

They're breathing each other's air, starved of this closeness, passion rushing through fingertips and fingers brushing through hair and all Leia wants is this. This this this, this forever, until the end of time itself.

And just as suddenly, Han is pulled away, brute force dragging him farther from her arms, farther from her lips, farther from her, and Leia has never known a pain like this.

That pain—that hollow, yawning cavern spreading through her chest—is what drives her to the words.

Words she's never said, words that were always reserved for family, words so powerful that perhaps Leia's gripping some obscure hope that they might reconcile this tragedy.

The words leap from her mouth.

"I love you!"

They explode, echoing across the chamber, dancing their way to Han's awareness and she sees the way his eyes flood with something cosmic.

"I know."

He knows.

He knows he knows he knows—

That smart-mouthed son of a bantha, of course he knows, he's known all along but she's too late, too late, and the platform is lowering and Han is disappearing and—stars, if the circumstances weren't so bone-achingly grievous, she might actually laugh.

He knows.

That information isn't much but it's enough, it's enough to fill the chasm, it's enough to soften the sharp-edged agony coursing through the tunnels of her veins. Twin tears streak down both cheeks and she doesn't even care, she doesn't care about her reputation or her image or anything.

With a final inkling of self-preservation, Leia turns away, burying her face in Chewbacca's fur coat because she can't watch anymore. Everyone has limits. She should've reached hers years ago. It's nothing short of miraculous that her knees have the strength to keep her standing, the cold, durasteel floor has never looked so enticing.

Threepio is rambling on, robotic anxiety rolling from his speakers. Leia hopes Lando feels this anguish, she hopes he'll remember it for the rest of his back-stabbing, rotten existence in this merciless galaxy. She hopes the torment of guilt will haunt his sleepless nights, she hopes it's unbearable.

And when the steaming slab of carbonite is lifted from within, Leia's eyes have a mind of their own and she risks a treacherous glance.

There he is. Her whole heart, frozen in a contortion of dismay. Stuck there. Trapped there. She wonders if he felt it. She wonders if he was afraid.

She shouldn't have looked.

Vader's imperious rumble cuts through the air, "Well, Calrissian? Did he survive?"

A question, reminding her how dire these circumstances really are, reminding her he might not have survived—

Leia's stomach lurches with anticipation and she's seconds away from another spiral, but then Lando chimes in.

"Yes, he's alive. And in perfect hibernation."

Relief. Alleviation rushing across sweat-soaked skin, premature consolation spreading like the sunlight of daybreak.

He's alive. Han is alive. And despite the trials she knows are about to bend her in half, Leia feels oddly renewed. Love has finally found her. She sure as hell isn't about to let it slip through her fingers.