A/N: A scene from Chapter 22 of Purpose of Heritage from Han's POV.

Han was up late, keeping his mind and hands busy by cleaning every blaster and blade in his possession well after Leia and Chewie had headed off to their respective cabins. The princess had been on his mind all… Well, it would be disingenuous to say all evening unless the many days and weeks and months that she had been on his mind were somehow included in all evening. He thought about her a lot, spending an equal amount of time being enamored by her general existence and reminding himself that there was no way in any universe that a princess and a guy like him would ever—ever—

He didn't like having to remind himself of their inherent incompatibility and her definite disinterest constantly, but the only other option was actually discussing the topic with her, and that…wasn't an option at all. He was in too deep to even pretend that having Leia confirm that she would never care for him the way he cared for her wouldn't split his chest open. He had resigned himself to the fact that he'd just need to act normal while getting over the attachment he had developed to the princess, though after the day they'd had, that seemed more unlikely than ever.

Seeing her cornered by that Army Trooper on Kinyen had nearly sent Han into a panic. The fact that she had almost been taken by the Empire again, that she had been injured — no matter how superficial the wounds — it all made very apparent that fact that Han was nowhere close to getting over his feelings for her. As he'd first cleaned the blood from her cheek and fingers, and then held her so tightly, he'd briefly wondered if he was hurting her further, he became painfully aware that he was even more attached than he had originally thought.

Almost losing her — even for the briefest of seconds — was enough to keep his heart and mind racing long after they'd left Kinyen behind. He knew from experience that, if he couldn't shut down his feelings or thoughts, then keeping busy was the next best thing, and after a couple of hours, he was in possession of a fair number of sharpened and polished vibroblades, and several spotlessly clean blasters.

The habit itself reminded him of Leia, of her insatiable need to do something any time tragedy struck. He had thought it a strength for a good long while, but he could see how easily her tendencies had become means to avoid.

Though, if I'd been through all that she has, I'd probably want to avoid, too.

He did avoid, he was pretty sure, at least when the topics at hand were upsetting. He knew how to change topics effortlessly when the subject of his pre-smuggler life came up, even with fellow Corellians like Wedge who occasionally wanted to swap stories of home. He never spoke of family, and the topic of his mother in particular had always been off-limits to everyone but Chewie. Despite the effort he put in to avoiding the pain associated with those memories, Leia had somehow drawn a couple of his most gut-wrenching recollections out of him. Both times he had spoken to her about his mother, he'd detailed dark memories that he'd prefer to forget altogether, and both times, she had responded by holding his hand. He had wanted to pull her close to him for his own comfort as much as for hers, but had settled on sitting with his fingers loosely clasping some of hers. Just remembering her hands wrapping around his made his breath catch.

Han had successfully tired himself out enough that he thought he had a fair chance of falling asleep without visions of Leia's bloody cheek haunting him. He went to his cabin, and was down to just an undershirt and bloodstripes when a distressed scream filled every part of the ship and sent him hurtling toward the crew cabin.

The scream was very clearly Leia's; even when it ceased, he could hear her whimper and cry as he approached the cabin door. Han hesitated for a mere second before palming the door open and hurrying toward her bunk.

The blankets and sheets were twisted every which way as if she'd been struggling, and Leia had tears running down her face. She screamed again, her expression filled with terror, and when she spoke, it was a language Han barely recognized by sound — Alderaanian.

Despite her claims that space made her nightmares worse, Han hadn't ever had to interrupt one. Leia had said that being on the Falcon was better than other ships, especially since they'd switched things up in the crew cabin to help her keep tethered to the present, and he knew that, if she knew it was going to be a bad night, she often forewent sleep altogether. He had heard her cry out after retiring to her bunk a handful of times over the years, but by the time he'd gone to investigate, she'd always been up, dispensing caf in the lounge or crawling on the counter to retrieve some of Chewie's tea from a high shelf.

"Leia?" Han said calmly, hoping his voice would break through whatever was causing her to react in terror. She whimpered again. Han knew touching her was a gamble — she'd told him that she might attack him if he did such a thing — but he couldn't bear to see her so frightened for much longer. He bent over so he could look at her more closely and reached for her shoulder to try to shake her awake.

Leia's fist came out of nowhere, landing a hard blow a few centims below Han's elbow. Pain radiated over his skin, and he was pretty sure the spot was going to bruise, but the momentary discomfort was worth her not being so scared.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked in Basic, more tears rolling down her cheeks. "Please. Don't…please don't."

The desperate pleading in her tone nearly broke Han. "Leia," he said gently.

[She needs to be woken up.]

Han turned his head sharply toward the cabin entrance. Chewie stood in the doorway, distress clear on his face.

"I know, Chewie. I'm tryin'." He turned back to Leia, who was still whimpering, Please don't, over and over again. "Leia, sweetheart, wake up," Han said softly, unsure of what he should try next.

Leia's eyes fluttered and she stopped whimpering at once. She stared at him, and Han became very aware of how threatening his standing over her might feel. He knelt on the deckplates next to her bunk and cleared his throat. "You were screamin'—"

He was cut off by a blur of princess tumbling out of the bunk and pressing her forehead to his chest. Han's first inclination was to wrap his arms around her, but she was even more upset than she'd been right after leaving Kinyen, and she'd asked to not be touched then. He let his arms hang at his sides, unsure of what she'd want.

"You wanna talk 'bout it?"

Leia's voice was soft, barely a whisper. "No."

She trembled violently against him and Han again wanted to pull her into his arms, to make her current fears dissolve and shield her from any new ones that might emerge. He swallowed and spoke hesitantly, unsure of what her reaction might be. "Leia, can I hold you?"

Her soft, "Please," was enough for him to react immediately. He wrapped his arms around her small form and stroked her back soothingly.

A sob shook her body and Han lowered his head slightly so she could hear him easily. "'T's all right, sweetheart. I got ya."

Leia cried harder, fingers twisting the bottom of his shirt. Han's chest ached with an overwhelming desire to help her feel safe. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to the top of her forehead without giving the action much thought until her head was tucked gently under his chin.

Sweetheart…

Immense affection for her hit Han right in the gut, followed closely by a confusing chaser of anger aimed at anyone who had contributed to her pain and fear. He was surprised Leia still clung to him, surprised she hadn't attempted to backtrack and act as if she wasn't upset or scared, but he would gladly sit with her, hold her for as long as she wanted him to.

Leia's sobs slowed, though her shaking didn't stop. When she spoke, her voice was spent, almost hoarse. "Did I hurt you?"

His arm still smarted and Han grew more certain with every moment that whatever bruise appeared during the night would be terrible to look at. But Leia sounded almost scared to hear the answer, and he didn't want her feeling guilty on top of everything else.

"I shouldn't've touched ya when you were so freaked out," he said.

"That's not what I asked."

Han hesitated, unsure of how to answer, and Leia, who seemed to know him better than he wanted her to at times, lifted her head away from his chest and studied his face carefully. After a long moment of consideration, she glanced over his chest and down to his exposed arms. The red mark that had appeared within seconds of her fist making impact seemed to attract her gaze. Leia brushed her fingers over the inflamed skin with a soft, hesitant touch before her face crumpled and another sob erupted from her body.

Han pulled her close again. "Leia," he said, keeping his tone as gentle as he could manage. "It's okay. Looks worse'n it is. I'm glad you fight like hell when you feel threatened."

She shuddered. "You aren't a threat."

"No way for you to know that when you're havin' a nightmare."

Leia placed a soft hand on his upper arm and whispered, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he repeated, his heart shattered by the horror she clearly felt toward her own unconscious actions. "You're okay."

They remained on the deckplates, the raised pattern on the durasteel pressing into Han's shins through his bloodstripes. He hardly noticed the discomfort, hardly noticed when Chewie disappeared from the doorway without a word, hardly noticed how close he was to Leia's face, how little he would need to move to brush his lips against her cheek.

Sweetheart…

Once her tears subsided, Leia seemed to relax slightly. She let out a wry laugh. "This isn't quite what you signed up for, is it?"

Han considered what she meant, and struggled to come up with the right words. True, he had officially signed up to be a pilot and to help with connections for supplies. But he was always on board to help Leia, to be what she needed when she needed it. These trips were about the Alliance, of course, but they were also about her. Everything, at this point, was for her, at least in part.

He settled on murmuring, "Sure it is."

She lifted her head and looked at him, a slight smile on her lips and eyes shining. "Being kept up half the night by someone else's nightmares? You sure?"

That sarcastic little smile and teasing glint in her eye always made Han want to kiss her. He shook his head slightly and offered a small, genuine smile of his own. "If it's you, Leia."

She drew a sharp breath and looked at him with…Han could barely dare to hope, but it seemed almost like longing. She leaned toward him, this time pressing her forehead to his cheek. Han's heart hammered away in his chest, threatening to break through his ribs altogether.

Sweetheart…

"I'm okay," Leia murmured. "You can go rest. I'll be okay."

Han cleared his throat, dreading letting her go and finding that the longing had been in his imagination. "You sure 'bout that?"

She pulled back, a small, pained smile on her face. "I'm sure. I appreciate you helping me calm down, but I think I'd like to be alone for a bit."

He nodded. "'Course." Desire for contact reappearing as soon as he released her from his embrace, he touched her uninjured cheek, brushing a thumb over soft skin. "Holler if ya need anything," he added.

Leia nodded, and Han helped her stand. Heart thrumming, he immediately wanted to hold her again, but she seemed focused on returning to her bunk, so he left the cabin after an exchange of quiet goodnights.