LACUNA
(n.) a lack, a void where something should be; an unfilled space or missing part.
After having seen her literal world obliterated before her very eyes, Leia thought there was nothing left the Universe could teach her about pain. Standing there, powerless once again, as they ripped her figurative world from her arms to suffer a brutal procedure that may instantly obliterate him vividly proved how very wrong that assumption had been.
From the moment they announced Han's fate and Chewie went berserk trying to stop it, in the midst of the chaos around her, a hard determination rose up inside Leia. As she looked into the cold, lifeless orbs of Vader's mask while he once more inflicted so much pain on the ones she loved, an unyielding purpose slotted into place.
Even afterwards, still standing there with a palpably grieved expression so intense her agony was a tangible thing in the room with them, when Vader announced he intended to personally imprison her upon his ship, remarkably — to even her own self, in hindsight — Leia didn't blink; she didn't even care.
Torn between abject horror at the sight of Han's carbonite frozen form and the urge to throw herself bodily on the slab he was encased in, she didn't have a single trepidation, not the slightest sense of fear.
Leia knew only vengeance.
Vengeance, and abject pain.
And on some nondescript Cloud City landing platform as their last-ditch rescue attempt failed and she could, once more, do nothing but watch as her love was lost to her, disappearing into unknown space with that ghastly ship, it was the pain that finally won out.
Yet, as always, Leia held it together while she needed to. Through Luke's rescue and stabilization; through the days' long flight to the fleet; through the long debriefings, explanations of their absence, and repeated descriptions of their fraught encounter with Vader; through exhaustively thought-out strategy sessions to find and retrieve Han before Boba Fett had a chance to hand him off on Tatooine; and through Luke's prosthetic attachment surgery and subsequent rehabilitation therapy.
Leia held it together through it all, with the supernatural resilience she was noted for. But as the immediacy of the calamities around her faded, as time passed until they were a full month into losing Han with zero progress made, real cracks began to show in her facade of normalcy.
And then they received the disastrous but verified intel, confirmed by General Cracken himself: they had missed it. Fett had managed to successfully deliver Han to Jabba the Hutt right beneath their noses.
What could have been an albeit difficult heist operation to secure him from Slave I had now transformed into an infinitely more complicated extraction mission from an intensely fortified compound infamous for its impenetrability, owned and operated by the galaxy's most notorious organized crime family.
Rescuing Han from Jabba's Palace, at best, necessitated an immensely challenging, highly intricate and perilous operation that would require vast resources and personnel the Alliance likely could not spare. At worst, it was simply impossible.
So it should come as no surprise that, upon hearing this news, the remaining light of hope in Leia flickered. She fought not to let it die out completely, but at the moment, she frankly didn't feel like she had much fight left in her.
Actually leaving her shift on time for once, she retired to her small quarters aboard Home One to lick her wounds in private — which she planned would include single-handedly finishing off the bottle of Whyren's she'd pilfered from the Falcon. It was the last bit of whiskey they had left as their long sublight flight drew to a close, and she and Han had decided to save it to drink together as a celebration of survival once the ship was repaired and restocked at Bespin and they were safely on their way back to the fleet.
If things had gone according to plan, if she had gotten the chance to make good on her vow from the morning of what would turn out to be the day Han was frozen, it would have been a celebration of more than just survival. That bottle would have commemorated the consummation of their relationship.
Now, it marked nothing more than a lonely, despairing woman's ineffective attempt to drown excruciating grief and self-reproach under a sea of alcohol.
But she had to try something, anything.
The idea of Han, frozen and defenseless, in Jabba's custody was as bleak as it was terrifying. There were moments Leia felt — truly feared — she was losing her mind; the horror and panic was that debilitating.
It had been awful from the second they placed Han in carbonite, but as long as Fett had yet to redeem his bounty, it all but guaranteed Han's safety. The payout on Han was huge, meaning Fett was certain to protect his greatest asset through any means necessary. Sure, there were other hunters after Han's bounty too, especially with word out to the most elite of their sect that Fett was double dipping, scoring a hefty load of credits first from Vader and then the Hutt — it was the entire reason Fett took this long to bring Han in, making countless diversionary hyperjumps between periodic pauses at safe ports — but any and all bounty hunters had a vested interest in keeping such a high-ticket commodity alive.
With Han now in Jabba's clutches, that was no longer the case.
Pouring out her fourth drink, all the way down to the very last drops of the bottle, in some sort of twisted self-punishing exercise, Leia pondered the blunt possibilities of what Jabba might do to Han. Thaw him out, no doubt, so that he was alive, awake, and aware of his punishment. And then…what? Beat him, torture him as Vader had done? Indenture him as Han himself suspected? Or kill him in some drawn-out and humiliating public display?
All at once, she realized with a sinking jolt that since the Hutts were so notably ruthless — and Jabba worst of all — it was quite possible that, in a fit of rage, Jabba would just murder Han immediately.
It might already be too late.
Was Han no longer alive?
The very real possibility that it was already the end for him, for them, was…
Well, it was unthinkable.
She had famously lost both her parents without warning; no goodbyes, no wise and loving last words to cling to. But that was different. Her relationship with her parents, both individually and collectively, had always been solid and sure, happy and secure. Though her time with them had not been nearly long enough, it was free from any remorse or misgivings. They had lived and loved, and laughed and cried, and cared for and supported one another in a way that harbored no disappointments or regrets.
With Han, her regrets were innumerable and all-consuming — she was filled-up and choking on them.
A harsh, intrusive voice in her head mocked her bitterly all of the time, but now, it increased to the point of yelling with each successive drink she finished off. The inner voice tormented her with all the things she could have, should have, now would have done differently in the time she'd known Han. All the suffering she'd caused him. The gratification and happiness just out of their reach, that they now may have forever missed, because of poor choices.
The destructive game of push-and-pull they had been locked in for years was rife with regrets all around. She knew Han had his, too; during their time stuck in open space, he'd told her of many. There was blame on both sides: if they had only been braver, more open, less prideful, truer to and less frightened of their own feelings, not so very afraid of getting hurt. If they'd changed just one of those things, they could have been together long ago. It was missed opportunity after missed opportunity.
But then came the trip to Bespin.
Like a gift straight from the heavens. Like a recompense after enduring the mission to Ord Mantell that had so spectacularly gone to all nine hells.
On Ord Mantell, they had stood right at the blissful edge of finally giving in, of finally admitting it all. Instead, it devolved into hurt feelings, contention, acrimony and estrangement. And things between them would have been left in that sad and miserable state had fate not intervened. Had the avalanche not blocked their way to her transport, had the Empire not pursued them and cut them off from the rest of the Alliance ships, had the Falcon's hyperdrive not shut down.
Mercifully, all of those events did fortuitously line up — an intervention of fate, or the Force, or of something divine. So perfect it was nearly giftwrapped, this opportunity that fell into their laps for one last chance to repair what was broken between them, to come together once and for all.
And they had. For six glorious weeks together; weeks of happiness, delight, and passion such as she had never known.
Yet they didn't fully come together. They failed to reach that absolute resolution to the back-and-forth between them, didn't achieve a total sense of completion and contentment in their relationship. Feelings had been revealed and emotional wounds tended, but they were both still left with a sense of longing, a yearning ache to break through that final, unyielding wall between them.
For that, the blame lay solely at her feet.
It was because of her they couldn't tear down that wall. Because of her they couldn't quite reach a perfect openness between them. Because — and in this drunken honesty, Leia would finally call it for what it was — Han's decision to deal with the debts of his past didn't align with her plans for their future.
Nothing about his motivation to clear his death mark was inherently wrong; on a rational level, his arguments were sensible and sound. But plain and simple, she hadn't wanted him to go, had been terrified of losing him to distance, time, death, or Han simply changing his mind while they were apart.
Even as he bore the ugly brunt of that choice, he unfailingly stuck to his guns, and that in itself felt like a betrayal to Leia. Certainly when he first told her. To her mind, Han had agreed to sign up with the Alliance, was finally on the brink of making the commitment she'd spent years wishing for, but the very moment he earned a 'yes' from her lips, he was reneging and taking off. From her standpoint, that made her scorn entirely justified. But the longer she thought about it, the more she realized just how astonishingly noble Han's actions had been.
Seemingly the entire Alliance knew Han Solo wanted desperately to sleep with Leia Organa. The easy thing would have been for him to simply go along with what she wanted; say he'd stay, or say she could come along with him. She never would have been mad at him, they never would have been estranged, and they would have spent the entire trip to Bespin in bed together.
Han wanted her so much he'd been abstaining from sex with anyone else for years, and he could have had her a hundred times over by now if he'd only said the right words. Instead, with much more grace than she deserved, he accepted her anger and indignation, her coldness and resentment. He eschewed his own interests and desires for her safety's sake.
And how did she reward him for all that selfless valuation of her needs above his, her protection over his wants, a love strong enough to put her very life above his, a tender care so great that his thoughts were only of her all the way to the end? Had she praised him, valued him in kind, freely given him her love?
No. She yelled, she rebuffed, she suppressed, she held back. She willfully denied Han her body, and nearly her heart. She barely gave him those all-important words, waiting until it was almost too late.
That was the simple, shameful truth.
The chime at her door only partially shook Leia from her censorious reflections. Even as she crossed the room to let whoever it was in, her mind remained caught up in dark self-recrimination, cursing herself for all the time and chances she'd squandered. She stumbled on an errant boot on the way to the door, but still, her thoughts were not deterred.
The knowledge that she'd denied Han because of…what? Because he was trying to keep her safe? Because he wanted to protect her? Because he was determined to go off on a potential suicide venture in order to save her life? What high crimes, indeed!
These reprehensible insights into herself mingled with sweet memories of how Han had bolstered her time and time again, built her back up with patience and loving care; all the kind, incredible, heartfelt things he had said to her over the years.
And even after they were together, she still withheld her body — what amounted to her full-and-free love and trust — all because he wouldn't allow her to endanger herself on his behalf. All because she was afraid of losing him, afraid that he would never come back.
Now, it was entirely possible Han never could. That too was her fault, not his.
She had been fixated on years' worth of her hopes but why hadn't she considered years' worth of Han's? The one and only thing he wanted was her, and though she wanted that too, it was because of her that he never got to experience the consummation of their love. He got only hunger, deprivation, and denial. Looking back, her decision — proclamation, ultimatum, whatever word she used to dress it up — seemed like nothing more than a textbook example of using sex to get her way.
As she palmed open the door, Leia recalled how, during their one and only fight on the subject, Han had suggested she'd been—
Oh gods, had she been punishing him?
Was that the real reason she left up that final wall between them? Not out of fear or self-protection, but as a penance for Han not giving over to her way?
All at once, she felt sick. Violently, imminently sick.
She had only seconds to register it was Luke in her doorway before she tore off into the fresher, making it just in the nick of time to throw up the meager contents of her stomach — almost entirely booze — into the sani.
With the fresher door open, even from outside her room, Luke couldn't mistake what he was hearing.
He hated to see Leia like this, all the more so because he now knew Vader was his father. The man responsible for torturing her endlessly on the Death Star, torturing Han on Bespin and then trapping him in carbonite, hurting Leia beyond all reason yet again in the process — that Sith Lord's blood flowed through his veins.
While Luke understood he wasn't to blame for Vader's actions, he couldn't help but feel a certain sense of guilt by association. Even if that element hadn't been present, this was Leia; she was quite possibly the closest loved one he had left. These past weeks he'd been so caught up in his own head, dealing with his own new truths post-Bespin, that although he spent time with Leia on a daily basis whenever he wasn't assigned off-ship, he was beginning to fear he hadn't truly checked in with her as much as he should have. Seeing her suffering now in such a brutal fashion was as eye-opening as it was awful, and if there was anything he could do to ease that, he wanted to be there for her, doing it.
Stepping fully inside the room, he sealed the outer hatch to give her some privacy from others beyond; he knew she wouldn't want anyone else witnessing this and probably wasn't happy that he had. Luke suspected Leia would be in a bad way tonight after receiving the news about Han, but this was beyond what he had expected. There wasn't a need to ask if she was alright; it was obvious she wasn't.
While this was a tragedy on a significantly smaller scale, in some ways this had to be worse for Leia even than Alderaan. He wanted so badly to help her back then, and knew that he had. Better than most, he'd been able to console and cheer her — and he was astute enough to know it wasn't due to his Force abilities but because of their deep friendship that bordered on family. Despite that, there were parts of her that he couldn't access; times he couldn't ease the pain, times he just couldn't reach her. Initially, Luke had attributed it to grief too unfathomable to crack but then he'd witnessed how, after another of her tormenting night terrors, there was one — and only one — being who could calm and comfort her, and that was Han.
Simply put, Leia and Han had a unique connection that bordered on transcendent. She needed him back then to make it through everything that had happened to her, and Han needed Leia, too — though his home planet was still intact, his life certainly hadn't been. There was a language they alone were able to speak to one another. No matter what Leia was suffering, Han could always break through, could always bring her back from the edge. His mere presence invigorated her. Rather it was to calm solace, flustered attraction, or goaded anger — Han fired her up, encouraged and revitalized her.
Now, without him, Luke feared Leia would be consumed by grief and despair.
Oh, she admirably kept up a facade; no time for sorrows had long been her ingrained mantra. She still went above and beyond in her work, tackled the day-to-day in as normal a fashion as possible, and generally refused to fall apart. But it was evident to him at least that on the inside Leia was absolutely bereft at losing Han. And it was no wonder, given the circumstances.
While she hadn't said much to him about those circumstances, Luke sensed a noticeable shift in Leia when they reunited after Dagobah. As soon as he heard about her and Han's journey away from the fleet, he knew something must have happened between them along the way. Six weeks was a long time…without much to do…and two people who loved and wanted one another, holed up together in close quarters. It took very little for him to put it together. Leia must have finally let her guard down, only to be faced with such a tremendous loss yet again. That had to be shattering, and the destruction it wrought on her was beginning to be too much to mask.
Despite her best attempts at maintaining the status quo, Leia was pale, listless, and exhausted. She barely ate, was apparently throwing up, and on at least one occasion that Luke knew of she'd suffered from a fainting spell. Her deterioration in both physical and mental health was alarming, and he wasn't the only one to have noticed. He was, however, one of the few — if not the only one here aboard Home One — that she had confided in about finally opening up to her feelings for Han.
Putting all these things together brought Luke to a concerning conclusion, but Leia's reemergence from the fresher distracted him before he could consider the full ramifications of what that would mean for her.
Although she tried to be discreet, Luke noticed her wiping her eyes as she walked back into the room, and he wondered if it was from the physical toll of vomiting or if she'd been crying too in the fresher. That possibility made him grapple all the more with what to say, how to approach the topic.
Ever the diplomat, in an attempt to dispel tension from the awkward scene, Leia beat him to it and spoke first. "I'm sorry about that," she apologized around a sniffle, seeming affably chagrined.
"Don't be sorry, Leia," Luke hastened to put her at ease. "But here, sit down." He motioned her over to the small settee that her larger-than-average cabin came equipped with, one of the small luxuries of being a member of High Command, and took a seat first in the hope that she would follow his lead.
Her legs had begun to feel shaky so it didn't take much to persuade Leia. She sat down beside Luke with a sigh of relief, though it was short-lived. Any respite she felt quickly faded at what he said next.
"Leia, I'm worried about you. Wedge and Rieekan — come to think of it, Lando, too — they all saw you getting sick, or…or just coming from getting sick." The details were fuzzy; whenever they talked of Leia's state it was in a hush-hush manner, none of them wanting to speak out of turn and spread her business around. "And there was that time you almost fainted."
"I didn't faint," she defended.
"Your knees were giving out." To Luke, that was virtually the same thing.
Admittedly, Leia couldn't deny that had happened, in nearly the most humiliating fashion, too: very publicly, in the midst of a Command meeting. "Yes, well, it's nerves. I've been under — This has, obviously, been a very stressful time."
Stress and depression could account for some of it, that was true, Luke privately allowed.
"And…I may have been drinking a bit too much just now," she disclosed. "On an empty stomach."
That was undoubtedly true, as well. She'd been swaying slightly at the door, was wobbly on her feet as she dashed to the fresher, and he noticed the empty bottle on her bureau. But even if that was to blame for this one instance, it didn't explain the others.
"Right, but…" Luke paused uncomfortably, hoping it wouldn't be necessary to finish his thought. Right, but you can't discount the weeks confined in sublight with Han. A man and a woman whose passion for one another was barely contained when they did have places to escape to.
Leia didn't appear to be picking up on what he was hinting at, which unfortunately meant it would be left to Luke to broach this himself. Because although it may not be a certainty, they'd reached a point where it had to be acknowledged as a distinct possibility. But how did he kindly and tactfully say, 'You just spent weeks sleeping with Han, you only have to do the math on what follows'?
"Leia, there's a chance—" Luke stopped himself, realizing that sounded chauvinistic, like he thought he had to explain her own body processes to her.
He regrouped, trying again. "Have you considered…" He trailed off since that also sounded like he believed her too naïve to have thought of these things herself.
At a loss, he finally just opted for bluntness — with no idea his words would trigger an utter meltdown. "Leia, are you pregnant?"
Her already-pale complexion blanched further, a distraught look overtook her face, and with no further warning, Leia burst into open weeping.
Luke was so taken aback that he froze for a moment, eventually regaining his wits and reaching out to gather her in his arms. "Hey. Hey, listen, it's okay. It's okay, Leia. It must be overwhelming, but you're not alone in this. We'll be there for you. I'll be there for you, whatever you decide."
Leia was beyond words, only fierce crying, her body racked with sobs so strong they were shaking Luke too as he held her.
She wasn't offended by what he'd asked. It was, after all, a reasonable assumption to make. But asking her only reminded Leia of its impossibility, and why it was impossible, and how she was to blame for that, which sent her right back into a storm of shame and self-loathing and compunctious remorse.
Though she was inconsolable to a point where Luke palpably perceived her inner turmoil, he continued to try. "And—and we're going to find Han. I promise you. We're going to find him. We'll find him, and then everything will be alright, you'll see."
Her despondent crying persisted, and it pricked his heart so that Luke's own stomach was starting to turn, made worse by his feelings of fault in the matter. "Vader wants me. He should've never gotten you and Han involved in this. But I'm going to make it right or die trying, Leia. I'll make it right for the both of you, maybe…maybe three of you."
After a spell, when her tears finally began to slack off in intensity, Leia managed to get out a simple — though, to Luke, improbable — sentence. "I'm not crying because I'm pregnant."
"Leia," he began cautiously.
"I'm not pregnant."
Even if Han had not been put into hibernation and taken away, with their base destroyed and the Empire on their tail, there could hardly be a worse time for Leia to fall pregnant; that was just a fact. Add Han's capture to it and it was no wonder she would be in denial. Still, to Luke's mind, pregnancy was the clearcut conclusion. At the very least, it was worth a trip to the medbay to find out for certain.
Be that as it may, Leia was so afflicted by it all that he almost didn't press her. If she was taking better care of herself, he might have let it lie for a while and simply hope she came to terms with it on her own. But lost under the weight of grief and stress, she wasn't thinking clearly and had descended into noticeably unhealthy habits. Whichever way it went, she would need to make some level-headed decisions soon — starting with the fact that if she did want to keep this baby, she really shouldn't be drinking.
"I'm not trying to argue or upset you," he treaded lightly. "I know this is difficult to think about, it's clearly not ideal, but your symptoms and the timing of it, it adds up, Leia."
Luke was reluctant to play his final card given the recent and still raw revelations about his parentage that currently left him with mixed feelings about his abilities, but it just might be the thing that finally made her face reality.
"I can feel the change in you. Your Force signature is different now. It's blended at the edges with Han's. I know you solidified your bond; you two are connected now. It's only natural after that to…to be together physically. There's nothing to be embarrassed about, least of all with me."
Leia shook her head. "I know I'm not pregnant," she insisted. "I couldn't be."
"Have you taken a test though? Because even if you used protection that doesn't mean—"
"I know I'm not pregnant because we didn't—" Her throat seized up, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "We didn't do anything that could have resulted in pregnancy. That's my fault."
It was horrible to admit, the cruelty she'd wrought on Han. The words felt sharp and revolting on her tongue.
Of course Luke would think she and Han had slept together. Why wouldn't he? She'd already confided in him that she loved Han, and that the two of them became romantically involved while they were away. A couple stuck in a slow crawl through space, with endless time on their hands and nothing to do but each other. It had all the makings of a racy romance novel — and it had been romantic. The instinctive assumption would be that they spent the time loving one another.
They should have.
Anyone else would have.
But she deprived Han of that. She deprived them both.
"It's all been my fault…" Leia said, more thinking aloud than making a conscience admission to Luke.
And now that she'd found her words, they flowed unreservedly; hysterical and unstoppable, like a bottle under pressure come uncorked that was violently spewing forth.
"I refused him. Still. After all this time, still. And why? Because he was planning to leave. Because he had the audacity to want me alive more than anything else. Because he was crazy enough to love me…broken, fucked up me. But, dear gods, do I love him," she sobbed, tears streaming down her cheeks anew.
Through the Force, Luke was touched by her emotions: sorrow, despair, longing, anger at Vader, and just barely beneath that, anger at herself — anger, shame, and deep guilt.
"I should have told him. I should have told him years ago," Leia berated herself. "I finally did, in the end. But even that I didn't give him properly. I waited too long, until it was seconds away from being too late. He kissed me goodbye. Han kissed me, and then they were taking him away, and he had to know. So I told him I loved him in front of Vader and everyone else there; it didn't matter to me who heard. But it should have been something soft and sweet and only for us. I robbed him of that, too. By then I had no choice, I had to tell him. He had to know I love him, that I've always loved him. He couldn't die not knowing it."
"He did know, Leia," Luke broke in when her sadness reached such an extreme it threatened to overwhelm him. "He knew. I'm certain Han knew."
"That's what he said," she whispered.
Though her declaration was anguished, it did seem to abate her tears, so Luke doubled down. "Han knew you loved him. Of course he knew. I'm sure he knew."
"I was so stupid, such a fool!" she plaintively cried. "I had him right there with me. For weeks, we had each other all to ourselves. We should have been together. I should have slept with him. I hate that I didn't. I hate myself for that."
"Leia, you can't—"
"Han was so good, he was so good to me," she went on as if she didn't hear him. Lost as deeply as she was in heartache, Luke wondered if she hadn't.
"Han was always good to me. But about this? No one would have believed it. We were together — kissing, touching, sleeping in the same bed — and not once did he press me. Even though he told me he hadn't been with anyone else, not anyone, not for years. Years. And he never pressured me, never tried to convince me. He was almost a saint in that regard. I don't know many men who would — We would get so close and then…I just couldn't. Wouldn't. I wouldn't," she corrected scornfully.
Again, Luke felt from Leia a visceral surge of self-reproach, remorse and regret, and he sought to reassure her. "That didn't matter to Han. I'm positive it didn't make a difference to him. He would never want you to—"
"Oh, he was so tender and patient with me," she talked over Luke, whether in agreement with his statement or still lost in her own mind, he didn't know.
"It wasn't that I didn't want him. I've never not wanted him. But I thought that if I slept with him it would be giving something more of myself — my heart, my soul — and I couldn't bear to lose that to a man who was walking away. Not when I've already lost so much. In the end that didn't protect me though, did it?" she bitterly chided her past self. "Han already has my heart and soul; we didn't need sex for that. All I really did was needlessly deny us pleasure and intimacy, the incomparable closeness and connection that should have been ours."
Luke was certain that had she not been drunk and in the midst of an emotional breakdown, had she been fully in her right mind, Leia would not be telling him such private, deeply personal aspects of her relationship with Han. A part of him felt like he should stop her ramblings, that she wouldn't want him to have heard these things. But another part of him knew she desperately needed to get it out. She was walking around half alive, slowly killing herself under the weight of these emotions that urgently needed to be processed if she was ever going to survive long enough to be reunited with Han.
So Luke didn't stop her. Through the Force, he encouraged her to vent, to let it out, vowing that anything she said to him would never leave this room.
"Han deserved it," Leia went on brokenly. "He deserved to be with me. Not just sex, more than that. Me. He deserved me. But I was holding back: some of my heart, my full self. That's the real reason I wouldn't sleep with him. Because even after everything we've been through, all the millions of times Han's proven himself to me, I was still holding back. And Han deserved better than that. He deserved consummation and fulfilment. He deserved love — all of my love, without reserve. Instead, I behaved abominably. I spent years denying I was even attracted to him, when it was painfully obvious to everyone that I was. I lied, I refuted, I invalidated what he knew to be true. Time and again, I made him think his feelings were unrequited, when in reality there was no one in this galaxy who meant more to me — and I knew it. I just wouldn't give him that truth, or my heart, or myself, because I was too closed-off and cold…just like the Ice Princess everyone said I was."
"No," Luke averred with more gravity now. "The ones who knew you never said that. Han certainly never thought of you that way. He had words with anyone who dared call you that. I saw it with my own eyes."
"That's because, despite what anyone thought or how I treated him, Han was nothing but good to me. And when I wanted to do more, when I was ready to escalate things, you'd think he would have jumped at the chance, but he was still so concerned that I be certain, that I wouldn't regret it. Who does that?" Leia wondered in awe. "And afterwards, after he'd loved me, he wasn't expecting anything more. He even stopped me when I tried, said it wasn't necessary to reciprocate. He wasn't going to let me until I told him that I wanted it. Again, who does that? In the heat of the moment, after years of waiting, what man does that?"
Internally, Luke had to admit that wasn't a Han and Leia sex narrative the Rogues would have ever come up with, but personally, he wasn't surprised. Over the years, Han had repeatedly proven how selfless his love for Leia truly was. He would do anything for her safety, comfort, and happiness. Luke was fairly certain it would kill Han to ever, in any way, do wrong by Leia. Unfortunately, in the aftermath of the Death Star and Alderaan, she was too psychologically damaged and suffered from a sort of emotional PTSD that just wouldn't let her see it.
"I've been foolish and naïve," Leia continued to agonize over her conduct. "Enforcing so-called precautions that did nothing but hurt Han when I already so clearly belonged to him and there was no stopping it. I finally realized that on Bespin, but I realized it too late. Vader was there, and it was too late. Now Han's gone. Just…gone. Maybe forever," her voice cracked with despair but she forced herself to admit it aloud. "I may never see Han again. So no, I'm not pregnant. I'm just devastated. I'm just a fool who couldn't see what a good thing she had, who thoughtlessly took it for granted. And now, it may be forever too late."
"Don't say that, Leia." It troubled Luke to hear those words from her mouth, it was so unlike her. Princess Leia Organa was many things that beings throughout the galaxy praised; that was what made her such a threat to the Empire. She possessed innumerable inspirational qualities, the most famous of which was that she never gave up. "Han is alive; I can feel it. You can't lose hope. You have to believe that—"
"But I deserve this. Han didn't deserve to suffer because of me, but this is what I deserve."
"You are the best person I know. You don't deserve bad things any more than Han did. Why would you think that?" Luke asked, astonished.
"Why would I not think that?" Leia refuted. "Do you need a list of my deficiencies? I can provide them all too well." She lifted her forefinger, beginning to count off her perceived offenses. "Alderaan needed me to protect it, and I failed. I failed my parents, my people; I failed them all. I couldn't save Hoth, or Yavin," she said, lifting more fingers in turn, "and I condemned what was left of Dantooine." Another finger rose. "Han only became determined to throw himself at the mercy of a kriffing crime boss because that bounty hunter targeted me." She put up yet another finger. "The only reason Vader tortured Han was to hurt me. Do I need to continue? I'm the common denominator. I am the one who deserves to suffer."
"Leia, none of those things were your fault," Luke assured her.
"They were all my fault!" It was Han's voice in her head that made her walk back that assertion. "Alright, maybe I couldn't have saved Alderaan. Maybe there's nothing anyone could have done there; we'll never know. But I am to blame for everything with Han. I deserve to suffer, look how I made him suffer. Look how I treated him, the way I punished him since Ord Mantell — and for what? For his honor and unbelievable goodness? For valuing me above all else? For loving me more than he wanted his own needs met? Yes, what an absolute monster that made him."
Han had behaved particularly nobly concerning Leia throughout the ugly aftermath of the botched Ord Mantell mission. It was hard to find fault with him in that or view their estrangement as anything other than owing to Leia and not Han. But Luke firmly believed that, at the time, Leia felt justified in drawing the lines she had.
"Yes, but you had your reasons," he reminded her. "You were hurt. You were—"
"So was he," she insisted through a reoccurrence of tears. "I should have thought more of his reasons, of his hurt, rather than only my own. Goddess knows Han thought of mine far more than his. He apologized to me for Ord Mantell, do you know that? Despite the fact that he did nothing wrong, not one thing. I instigated what nearly happened as much as he did, and he didn't want to leave afterwards. I knew he was only doing it because he thought he was protecting me, but I was still so outraged and cold to him. I was hurt, yes, but I was scared. I was so scared to see him leave. I couldn't bear for him to go."
"Of course you couldn't. There's no crime in that, Leia," Luke told her gently. "It's a perfectly normal reaction. No, it is," he added when she scoffed. "I can't say how many times you've told me what a decent, virtuous person I am. Well, guess what? I pitched a fit back on Tatooine when Biggs joined the Academy — I'm talking tantrum level, from a full-grown man. I'm embarrassed of the way I acted, but the Jundland Wastes were a lonely place and I didn't want to say goodbye to my best friend. It's the same reason my uncle forced me to stay on the farm. I was beyond mad at him about it back then, but I know now that he was just trying to protect me, and he couldn't bear to see me go. None of us acted that way because we're bad people. It was only because we didn't want to lose the ones we loved. It may not be pretty, but it's basic human nature."
Leia's whisky and grief-soaked mind considered that, and while she found some merit in Luke's claim, it still didn't add up — because Han stood like a beacon on a hill of selflessness, and she'd utterly failed to measure up.
"Yes, but Han had that same human nature and look what he did with it. He loved me so much he swore off any other women. He wanted me that badly. And he could have had me." She appreciated that now, if several weeks too late. "Han could have had me back on Hoth, and he knew it. I know he knew it; if anything, Ord Mantell proved how willing I was. He could have deceived me — many men would have tried — or he could have gone along with what I wanted to get what he wanted. Instead, he took all my unjustified anger in order to do right by me. It killed him to leave, and I saw that, but he was doing it anyway. For me. And how did I receive that, how did I reward all that noble self-sacrifice, that—?"
Her voice broke into a sob as she considered in fullness how truly sacrificing Han had been. Without deliberation or debate, he valued her needs above his, her protection over his wants. At the time, she'd found fault in even that, twisted it into Han ignoring her autonomy by excluding her from the decision, but she could see now that it wasn't even a decision. It was simply a foregone fact of his existence that she always came first. Han's love was strong enough to put her very life above his own, so great that his thoughts were only of her all the way to the end. And in return, she yelled, she rebuffed, she held back. She denied him her body, and nearly her heart.
When she didn't say anything more after a moment, Luke reached out and rubbed her forearm comfortingly. "Leia, I know you're spiraling and second-guessing all your choices, and I understand why, but you did the best—"
"I did the best I could, I did what I thought was right — I know what you're trying to say. But that's just it: nothing that I thought was actually right. And for once, my willful blindness wasn't about the Alliance; I can't even blame it on that. I was so fixated on us not being separated, on the idea that if Han would just stay or agree to take me with him that would somehow magically fix everything. But I was there when they took him. I was right there with him like I'd wanted, and I couldn't stop it. There wasn't a damn thing I could do. So what good was it for me to be there? All it did was endanger me and—"
Leia's eyes widened in horror. "Han was right. Oh gods — if I hadn't been there, maybe he could have gotten away. He could have tried harder; he could have fought more if he didn't have to worry about me. That's all he was worried about. Me. He didn't know if he was going to die right then and there, and his only thoughts were for me. I don't deserve that. I don't begin to deserve that," she said with a sorrow so deep Luke could feel it inside himself. "All Han wanted was my love, of any kind, and I wouldn't give it to him. If not sex, why didn't I at least tell him I love him? What is wrong with me?"
"Leia."
"Why did I make him wait until what may be the very last seconds of his life to hear it? I'm horrible, horrible! I'm the one who should be frozen in that block! I'm the one who should be lost!"
"Leia, stop," Luke spoke firmly now, fearing she was on the edge of hysteria and needing to break through to her. "Just breathe. Just breathe with me a moment. Look in my eyes and breathe with me."
He led her in a one of the meditative deep breathing exercises he'd learned on Dagobah, all the while tapping into a sense of tranquility within the Force to aid them. He visualized wrapping it around Leia's Force signature until she seemed to calm a measure and regather her wits.
Once he felt he had her full attention, Luke took both her hands in his, holding her red-rimmed gaze. "Listen to me, Leia. Han knew you loved him. Everyone knew you loved him. Hearing you say it wasn't new knowledge for him, I'm sure it wasn't. And Han would not want you to hate yourself. He wouldn't want you to neglect your health, or drown in grief. He wouldn't want you to blame yourself. He—"
Suddenly, Luke felt something tugging at his consciousness…and a slow smile formed on his lips at the revelation that seemed to come from Han's spirit itself. For all he knew, it may have; he never got full clarification from Master Yoda on Force visions and transmissions of emotions through the Force.
But whether it was Han's consciousness calling to him from hibernation or delivered through the Force itself, Luke was filled with the knowledge of his friend's thoughts and intentions in those last moments.
"When you said you loved him, Han told you 'I know', and he said it that way for a reason: because he knew exactly what you would be doing right now," Luke revealed. "He knew you would berate yourself for every mistake, for every time you could have said how you felt but you didn't, every time you wanted to kiss him but you yelled at him instead."
The Force flowed through Luke in a unique and awe-inspiring way that was a first for him. These were not mere suppositions or even observations, as with previous Force visions. This time, Luke was living it, feeling it firsthand, as if it were himself. But it wasn't from within him, he was merely a conduit broadcasting to her.
These were Han's thoughts he was hearing, Han's emotions he was experiencing. It was an unsurpassed level of insight, and from within it, Luke discerned what Han needed most of all was for Leia to recognize all this and not punish herself.
"Han wanted you to know that it's okay, that he doesn't hold any of it against you. That, despite everything, he still knew you loved him. And that he understood. That…that you didn't ruin anything. That it was — oh, it was perfect," Luke murmured, feeling Han's love so powerfully it drew tears from his eyes.
"Han loves you, Leia," Luke emphasized; he couldn't emphasize it enough. "He loves you with everything in him, and he cherished the time you had together, just as it was. That's what he wanted you to hear when he said 'I know'."
Luke felt the exact moment it reached — truly reached — Leia. The knowledge of it, the conviction, the acceptance, and finally, the forgiveness of herself. With that catharsis, she broke down again, but now with tears of gratitude mingling with the pain.
Luke gathered her in his arms and held her fast as she let go at last. "I miss him. I miss him so much, sometimes I can't breathe. He can't be gone, Luke. He can't be. I feel like they tore my heart from my body. My soul is frozen there with his."
"It's alright, Leia, it's alright," he soothed. "It's alright to feel. Even if that feeling is sadness, even if it's pain. I miss him, too," Luke confided. "And that's okay. It's okay to miss someone you love. It's even more okay in this instance because we're going to get him back. We are, I promise you that."
Leia wanted so much to believe him, but her harrowing experiences of the last few years had bashed her down to the point where now she was almost afraid to even hope. Somehow in the midst of all that trauma, her heart had stubbornly willed to love again, and then she'd lost that love too.
Did she dare to trust in faith and optimism anymore? Did she have the courage to have courage again?
And where would she even start? How could she make it without Han, who was not only the love of her life but who had been her rock through it all?
You pick up the pieces and go on. There isn't any choice. Either you let it take you down, or you go on.
Whether that was wisdom from her father, or her mother, or Ben Kenobi from when she was a frightened child, or one of Han's many pep talks, or some amalgamation of them all — Leia heard those words in her mind and felt their call to action.
And this time, she had a tangible reason to go on. Not merely revenge — or seeing justice served, depending on how one framed it — but a presently existing, salient reason to fight.
Han was still alive. Rebel Intelligence stated it; Luke swore to it. Han was still alive.
Yes, he was lost to her right now, but he was still alive. He was out there somewhere.
That wasn't just hope, that was real possibility.
She couldn't leave Han forever stuck in a state of stasis. It was up to her to find him; she had to find him. If she didn't absolutely need Han to live her life, she wanted him there with her as she did.
Determination took root first, but hope would soon grow from it.
She would rescue Han from the carbonite prison if it was the very last thing she did.
For that, for him, she dried her tears.
Leia dried her tears, and the next morning, she got up and put one foot in front of the other. She slept, she ate, and as the weeks and then months passed by, she worked tirelessly both for the Alliance and with everything she possibly could do to aid in his rescue.
Leia went on for Han so that someday he could go on again.
AN: That has always been my interpretation of the 'I know' line. I never understood the whole fanboy, male ego, hero worship surrounding it because it was so obvious Han didn't mean it like that. If nothing else, the solemn way Ford delivers the line tells you it's not meant as a throwaway bit of swagger and humor.
The film showed us at the beginning the main issue between Leia and Han was that she wanted him to stay with the Alliance, and until and unless he would, she was going to deny her feelings for him for all she was worth. But when faced with what may be the last moments of Han's life, Leia knows she's loved him all along, knows she should have told him all along rather than gaslight him about it, and is so desperate to tell him before he dies that she's willing to do so in front of Darth Vader. Naturally, Han, who knows her as well as he does, understood that and wanted to ease the worry with a, 'Hey, it's okay, I knew all along.' It not only answers the conflict from back in the Hoth passage, but saying 'I love you too' would have done nothing for Leia since she's already aware of Han's feelings for her; he hasn't been the one denying them. But saying 'I know' lets her off the hook and basically releases her from feeling bad about not telling him she loved him sooner.
What Ford said in The Empire Strikes Back on-set recordings as they were preparing to shoot the scene and he first came up with the line change backs this up perfectly. If she says, 'I love you,' and I say, 'I know,' it's beautiful. The point is I'm not worried about myself anymore; I'm worried about her.