In the cockpit Han toyed with a thermal regulator, turning the device around in his hands while mentally rehashing the confrontation with Leia.
It pained him to admit that he was partly annoyed at himself. Since when had he turned into someone who ran at the first sign of danger, insisting on playing it safe in every scenario? Smart, not safe, he tried to assure himself. There's no use risking the Falcon and getting us killed over a crate of medicine, especially after the other near misses we've had. But deep down his reluctance to take the risk Leia pushed for felt like a betrayal of his life ethos.
On the other hand, it wasn't as if the first decade of his adult life was a glittering tribute to optimal decision-making.
Part of his frustration was that he couldn't decide if the change were a positive one or not. Deep down he knew those unconscious shifts – which might simply be a maturation of character for all he knew – were partly or even mostly because of Leia. And having slowly come to that realization, Han found himself impatient with her for refusing to acknowledge a similar journey of self-discovery.
Han thought about what he had thrown at her: The things you say to me are a deflection and everyone but you knows it. He thought it was true; he hoped it was true. Two years now he had known her and although their connection hadn't been immediate, it had emerged soon enough after he and Chewie had decided to stay with the Alliance past Yavin. He had intuited that she keenly felt that connection too and every day since his confidence in that judgement had only grown.
And yet despite his certainty he struggled to see an end in sight for the two of them. Lately it felt as if they were in a holding pattern, alternating between fights over matters both trivial and not with a period of comity that only served as a cooling off for the next round. And then inevitably a few days later something would set one of them off again.
Initially he had found it invigorating, sparring with a smart and beautiful woman who held her own and delighted in challenging him. Now, however, their interactions just felt sour. Increasingly in recent weeks he had thought about leaving both her and the Alliance and returning to a simpler way of life, burdened only by his stubborn co-pilot and his even more stubborn debt. The complications of living life as part of a unit, even with beings he liked and respected, chafed at his sense of self-sufficiency and control.
And that was another thing he was tired of: having one foot out the door, internally hemming and hawing, unable to make a decision.
He didn't know what to do. He didn't know if he even could do anything. Maybe he was fooling himself that he held even an illusion of agency in this situation. Maybe whatever existed between him and Leia was entirely outside of their control.
He almost regretted sending her the coordinates; and yet knew that keeping her in the dark as to their destination was a loutish move on his part. He worked for the Alliance which meant working for her, and those moments of frustration and inadequacy rooted in being at the beck and call of others occasionally tempted him to pettiness.
Exhausted with the futility of his thoughts, he found himself wanting nothing more than a decent night's rest. Pulling himself from his captain's chair, he sleepwalked through a final review of systems and started for his cabin. There was no sign of Leia at the lounge table and he thought she must have migrated to the crew cabin for the night. Another ill omen: usually she stuck her head in to tell him she was turning in.
He was in standing at his open closet, tiredly pulling off a shirt that stank of bacta and bodily fluids, when he heard steps behind him. When he turned, Leia was moving slowly to where he was standing, her face a mix of hesitation and confusion and grief.
He wasn't able to hide his surprise. "Are you – do you need something?"
She shook her head and kept advancing toward him. He stood there frozen as she leaned into his chest, first just her forehead, the wisps of her hair on her temple tickling, until he recovered from the shock and wrapped his arms around her. She turned her head and pressed fully against him and wound her arms around him too.
Was this a sort of apology for their fight, for what she had said? He couldn't tell; he could never tell when it came to her.
She was quiet, not offering him any other signal, and deep down he knew she deserved a peace gesture of sorts in return.
"Listen," he sighed, choosing his words carefully. "I know it was bad."
"Which part?" Her voice was muffled.
"Both." He started to stroke her hair gently. "I don't wanna think about what's likely to happen with those patients we met..."
The crown of her head bobbed up and down in agreement.
"... but I also don't want to keep fighting with you about it."
There was less bobbing in response to that but at least she didn't pull away.
"I'm tired, Leia, y'know?" He kept his arm around her shoulders in case she were tempted to escape. "Tired of doing this over and over with you, the fighting, the arguments. There has to be a better way."
"I know." She sounded as sad as he had ever heard and his heart, never entirely stoic when it came to her, started to crack in two. "I'm tired too."
"So what do we do?"
This time he felt a shake of her head, a silent I don't know.
Well, that made two of them, he supposed.
"C'mere." Han guided them over to the bunk. "Let's just lie down for a minute."
He pulled her down with him and she curled into his side. He cupped her shoulder and slid his other arm loosely around her waist and tried to ignore the warmth that spread from her body onto his. A tear squeezed onto his chest and she thumbed it as it trailed down his sternum.
"I'm getting you all wet," she sniffed.
"That's supposed to be my line," he quipped.
For a moment he was worried he had overstepped but almost immediately he felt a gentle shaking against his chest. He craned his head downward to see her half-laughing, half-crying, her head buried under his shoulder.
"When exactly did you think you were going to use it?" she asked, sniffing.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I kept it around in case I needed it; and look, I did."
"Oh, Han," she sighed. She brought the sleeve of her gown to her face and swiped under her eyes. "Who knew you were funny."
He frowned, affronted. "I've always been funny. Everybody knows that."
She was quiet for a moment. "You are," she said finally. "I guess I always knew that too. I just didn't want to admit it."
"Didn't want to admit it to me or to yourself?" he couldn't help asking.
"Both," she said. Raising her head, her eyes found his. "You are funny."
That could have been interpreted more than one way but for once he decided to keep things simple. "Thanks, Sweetheart."
She lowered her head down and he migrated his thumb to the back of her neck and start rubbing gently along her hairline. Her lashes brushed his chest and she sighed softly.
They stayed like that, both still except for the steady movement of his thumb. After a while Leia shifted and lifted her head slightly.
"What do we do, Han?"
It was a question without an easy answer. He smoothed the side of her head and trailed his hand down her arm. "I don't know."
"What you said earlier, how everyone can tell when I – say things to you." Her face scrunched in concentration. "Am I really that transparent?"
Han tried to be fair to her. "No more than anyone else, I don't think." He thought some more. "It's good that you're as open as you are. You don't wanna hide things all the time. That's not healthy for anyone."
"Easier said than done," she said softly.
"Yeah." He nodded his agreement. "I would never tell you to act differently. I don't want you to be different. Maybe..." He trailed off, unsure exactly what he was getting at. "Just go a little easier on yourself? And go a little easier on me?"
"Hmm," she grumbled. "Is that warranted?"
"Well, I certainly think so."
"You could be easier on me too," she said pointedly. "Stop pushing back on every idea I have. It's like a reflex with you."
"Maybe," he admitted. "I've been thinking lately that the way we're goin', it's not to any place good. And I can't see a way out if nothing changes." He swallowed and held on to her tightly. "And I don't like thinking about that."
"Me neither," she whispered back.
"I don't want to lose you," he blurted out. "And not just from a risky mission or fighting in the war... but I don't want to lose the parts that are good with us."
She was so muted he could barely hear her. "I know."
She didn't offer anything else and Han thought she might be tensing up again. Had he said too much too soon? Maybe she wasn't ready for this; maybe they weren't ready. And with that instinct, a new wave of frustration came over him. Two years with the Alliance and with her, the daily ins and outs alongside the perspective-altering events that didn't just nudge them together but forcibly shot them in the direction of true partnership. And they still might not be ready? It was difficult for him to accept.
He held her to him in the least threatening manner he could conceive. After a while, with the hum of the hyperdrive filling the empty spaces between them, he thought she had overcome whatever resistance had rose within her.
"Are you, uh, gonna be okay?" He started massaging her back lightly. Her body seemed to melt further into his, one leg draped over his thigh, an arm heavy on his stomach.
Leia heaved a breath. "I think so. Yeah."
"Good," he said, optimistic once again. "You want to – maybe just – sleep here for a bit? Just sleep?"
The inflection in his voice wasn't terribly convincing and an earlier version of himself was hovering nearby rolling his eyes at such a pathetic advancement. But it was obvious that there was still a long way for them to go and if he wanted this thing between them to come to fruition he'd have to treat her differently. Not carefully or fragilely, necessarily, but thoughtfully. Because gods knew she had a lot more on her mind than just whatever feelings she might be harboring for him. Gods also knew – and it was obvious to anyone who even a little acquainted with Leia – that if she were pushed the wrong way, that would be it. Finished. Kaput. Over before it started.
In the span of time this went through his mind, she had propped herself up and was studying him solemnly. He stilled his hand on her neck and held his breath.
"All right," she nodded. She rose to a sitting position. "I'll just go get changed."
Han swallowed and managed to nod back. "I'll change too."
He watched her leave for the crew quarters and then touched the last of the tears on his chest. Lifting his finger to his lips, he tasted the faint saltiness and tried to imprint a feeling of Leia from the flavor.
Minutes later she came back, wearing loose shorts and a shirt that looked as if it had been scissored at the waist. Clutching a toothbrush and washcloth, she glanced at him only briefly before heading past the bunk. Han dimmed the cabin light and watched the glow from the 'fresher until she emerged again, a gray shadow against an even darker backdrop.
Han sat up and lifted the quilt for her to climb in beside him. "Just sleep," he repeated.
"You keep saying that," she whispered. He fit her to him as they had laid before and started slow, smooth strokes up and down her back. "Like you're trying to reassure me."
"I'm not," he answered, though deep down he knew he was. "I just – uh –" Don't want to push you, don't want to screw this up, whatever it is.
"It's all right," she said. Before he knew what she was doing, she craned her head up and kissed his cheek in the dark. "Go to sleep, Han."
That seemed unlikely, at least for a while, though he managed once again to keep that sentiment to himself. For now he would just enjoy being here with her: the smell of her hair, the silkiness of her bare arm as it lay on his chest, the way her breath tickled his neck.
He slipped his hand under the sleeve of her shirt, curling his fingers loosely around her bicep, and kissed the top of her head.
"Goodnight Princess."