It was like every other time; it was different.
His nose resting on the top of her head, his breath tickling her ear. His hand on her waist, her stomach, her hip, setting the rhythm of their bodies only after she had climaxed. One of her legs, anchored between his two; she could feel the soft hairs from his calf tickling the inside of her knee.
He was there as always; it was as it always was. And yet something had changed, something infinitesimal and yet obvious. They moved in tandem, a familiar give-and-take, but a disharmony had crept in and made itself known.
Han, where are you, Han? she thought desperately.
And that voice inside her, that rational, weary voice, replied: He is above you and around you and in you. He is not going anywhere.
That voice had failed her, though. Or maybe she had failed it; she had ignored its warnings and its logical arguments about why the course of action she had taken was a mistake. In the flush of her rebelliousness she had ignored it, had deemed it staid and dull and not up to the task of what I – we – are facing.
And now doubt crept in. Maybe she had been wrong all along. Maybe this was the first sign, this separation between her and Han despite the fact that his body was wrapped tightly around hers. Can't get any closer than this, she imagined him saying in response to her silent worry.
The fingers on her hip tightened, signaling his imminent release. Leia instinctively relaxed her body and let him dictate the pace in service of his climax. With a shudder and a gasp, it came; he came. His breaths shortened against her head in the heat of the moment and then lengthened again, slowly, lazily, his body depleted.
After a quiet interlude he slipped out of her, sat up in the bunk, and made his way to the 'fresher. Another part of their routine; he always returned with a tissue for her.
And he did return, and handed her the tissue which she wadded between her legs. She watched as he pulled on his boxers and pants and an old shirt. He bent down to kiss her absentmindedly and said something about needing to check the stabilizers, to make sure they were operating as expected after his earlier fix.
He left the cabin and she lay on her back, legs crossed to keep their fluids from leaking onto the sheets.
She thought about all that had happened, everything that had been triggered by the decision she had made. She recognized the first stirrings of regret creep over her and burrow into her pores. For the first time in months Leia felt frightened.
Her doubt, her skepticism, usually contained within a steely self-control, was starting to curdle into a dull panic. It was too late, it would be too late; too many things had been thrown away in the service of her certainty, her commitment to the action she had taken.
A question reverberated in her skull, tormenting her with its constancy.
What have I done?