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When the beeping started, Leia had the distinct impression that she hadn’t been sleeping at all. After they’d closed the doors to the Echo Base hangar, sealing Han and Luke to their fate out in the glacial night of Hoth, she’d gone to her quarters, already knowing that there would be little sleep for her. Night fell quickly, and there were still too many hours until sunrise.
Assuming no serious harm had befallen them, there was still the danger of exposure. Han had taken an emergency shelter with him, but that was no guarantee of safety—he had to be able to set it up for it to be of any use, and the winds could make that an impossible task, especially if he had to do it alone. And what if it wasn’t enough to keep them from freezing?
These thoughts swirled through Leia’s head as she lay under a pile of blankets on her hard cot, staring at the ceiling. If anyone had walked in, they might have thought her dead, so expressionless was her face, hardly even blinking. All her emotions roiled deep under the surface, close to her soul, cutting invisible wounds. She would lose them both, like she’d known she would. All those times she’d laughed at Han’s ridiculous stories, or confided in Luke, or shared her meals with them and Chewie instead of keeping to herself, there had always been a voice telling her, no, don’t do this, you know how it ends. And she’d argued back with it, reasoned that it wasn’t good to barricade herself in, either, that camaraderie was good for morale, for her perception as a leader—and to keep her from going back to the dark place she’d been in after Alderaan. Fraternizing didn’t have to mean attachment.
But the voice had been right to warn her. Two more people she’d grown to care about would likely die, far too soon, and there was nothing she could do about it. She would be alone, again. Chewbacca might stick around, maybe, might even try to stay her friend, but she knew he would be too grief-stricken about his friend to be much company. The primal howl he’d let out as the doors slammed shut had been like an icy dagger to her heart. Besides, being around Chewie would only remind her of the ones they’d lost. No, it would be less painful for both of them if she stayed away.
At some point, she had decided to get up and head to her station in High Command. Partly to find something to keep her occupied; partly, maybe the bigger part, to be the first to hear if there was news. A futile hope, she knew, but it gave her purpose.
Except there was nothing for her to do at that time of night, nothing that the skeleton crew couldn’t handle. And there was no news, of course, so being up and waiting only made her general state worse. She was in no mood to make small talk, less so to endure the knowing, pitiful or sympathetic glances thrown her way. She’d gone back to bed.
After that, the last words she’d exchanged with Han came to haunt her. His poisoned arrows, her barbed fences. He had been angry at her coldness, but what else had he expected? He’d made up his mind to leave. What confession did he think she owed him? Clearly Han didn’t think he owed her an explanation, nor to tell her privately, not like it was an afterthought.
The ice above her, made blue by the emergency lights, brought to mind Han’s face in the early morning of that day in Ord Mantell, the light that filtered through the cracks playing with the shadows to make a living mosaic of his features. He’d held her in his arms the day before, in that ballroom in Anobis, as they blended in and waited for their target, their embrace firm and tense with anticipation at first, but softening with each song, each whispered confidence or joke. He’d held her again after the ambush, so much fear and desperation, it almost hurt her. The way he’d held her as they hunkered down in that derelict warehouse, waiting until morning to get back to the Falcon, it was different from any other time. Like they’d done that every night. Like he couldn’t let her go.
Apparently, he could.
Now, she reached for the chrono on top of the crate that doubled as her night stand and fumbled to press the button that would shut down her alarm. When the sound didn’t stop, it took her sluggish brain another second to realize that it wasn’t the sound of her alarm. It was her comlink.
She shot upright and grabbed the device, almost shouting her acknowledgment before she’d even managed to open the channel.
‘Your Highness, we found them. They’re alive.’
She could have pushed her way through the throng of curious onlookers that had crowded around the snowspeeder, and they would have parted like air for her. She might have, even as she dreaded the sight that could be waiting for her—alive, they’d told her, but there were many stages of being alive. They could be battered and frostbitten, barely holding on. But then, she heard his voice. Muffled and hoarse and broken, but still his voice.
‘I’m alright, pal, I’m alright. No, I don’t need to go to the medcenter, c’mon, just need to warm up. Frostbite? Don’t be dramatic.’
So Han at least was alive, conscious and well enough to be refusing medical help. That left Luke, she thought, as the rebels moved aside at last to make way for the stretcher already rushing off to the medcenter. Involuntarily, her hands flew to her mouth as she caught sight of the mangled flesh where Luke’s face was supposed to be.
Horrified, she glanced away just in time to catch Han’s gaze from behind a soldier’s back as he passed by, ushered off by an agitated Wookiee. His face was grim, but he gave her an acknowledging nod before heading towards the Falcon.
The rebels dispersed, everyone heading back to their tasks or else to the barracks after the night shift. Leia felt torn. She wanted to know how badly hurt Luke was, but she also wondered if Chewie could use her help in convincing Han to see a medic. In the end, she decided to swing by the mess to grab some caf, then check in on Luke first. That way, she’d be able to bring some news when she stopped by the Falcon. Not that she needed an excuse to see Han, she thought, stomach tight with worry, hunger, exhaustion and a dozen other things she couldn’t name.
It had been a long night, and it would be an even longer day.
What struck her the most when she stepped into the Falcon about an hour later was the smell of caf. Typically, Han’s caf was better than the instant stuff the Alliance was able to stock up on, and Leia was well acquainted with the tantalizing aroma of a recently brewed pot permeating every corner of the old freighter. Even so, the mouth-watering quality of it seemed different that morning, so strong in the air that Leia felt like she could fall back on it and be carried away.
Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the lack of breakfast, or both, combined with the disappointing caf she’d just gulped down.
The sight that greeted her in the main hold was no less unusual. Her heart kicked up on instinct at the strange, woolly shape that seemed to intrude on the familiar space, but it turned around at the sound of her steps. Han, wrapped in a heavy, fluffy brown blanket that covered him head to—almost—toe, holding a mug to his face, the steam clinging to his chin like a personal cloud.
‘Hey,’ he said, lowering the mug. A second later, as if suddenly aware of it, he shook the blanket off and let it fall heavily on the ground. He seemed surprised to see her there. The weight of the last time they’d seen each other hung in the space between them, but even with it, Leia felt like she was finally able to breathe.
‘Hi. I just—’ I had to see you. ‘I was just at the medcenter inquiring after Luke. He only has injuries on his face, but he managed to get a bit of frostbite on it, too. He’s also hypothermic and exhausted. They’re going to keep him in a bacta tank overnight, but he should be okay. I thought you’d want to know.’
Han nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s good. Thanks, uh… You just missed Chewie, he was on his way there. I kept tellin’ him to go see Luke, but he had to make a fuss ‘bout me first.’
‘Oh. And… how are you?’
He gave her a one-shouldered shrug. ‘I’m fine; I was suited up and had the shelter. Just needed a hot shower to shake off the cold.’
One corner of his mouth tilted up in a smirk, his hand lifting his mug slightly in demonstration as he said, ‘I'm reapin’ the benefits of almost dyin’, though. Chewie broke in the good caf to warm me up. Big guy must've really thought I was kickin’ it this time.’
‘That’s why it smells so glorious in here, then,’ Leia remarked.
‘Yeah. Primo Naboo beans. Want some?’
Two cups of caf in a row on an empty stomach was not a good idea. Leia said yes anyway.
‘He did, you know,’ she commented as Han grabbed a chipped mug and filled it with plain caf. He lifted his eyes to her in question. ‘Think you might not make it through the night.’
His movements were slow as he walked back towards her and handed her the mug. The tips of their fingers touched for a moment, and it felt like an electric charge—not a jarring shock, but a pleasant surge, like sunlight hitting water; a sense of energy and awakeness that caf couldn't replicate.
‘We all did,’ she said quietly, her eyes unable to stop studying him. Han was the one who looked away, a heavy exhale through his nose.
‘You don’t have to worry ‘bout me, Your Worship,’ he said.
‘No, I didn’t have to,’ Leia snapped, glaring at him when he looked up again, startled at whatever he saw on her face.
‘’Cos I’m fine,’ Han clarified, and she huffed before letting it go.
‘Right. What happened out there, anyway?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. The kid was injured and unconscious when I got to him, no tauntaun anywhere. Last I’d heard from him, he wanted to check out a meteorite.’ Han rolled his eyes and made a face. ‘’Cos you just can’t get enough of meteorites around here.’
‘Wampas?’ she suggested, after thinking about the possibilities. It was unlikely Luke had been hurt by a meteorite after it’d landed, and an Imperial threat wouldn’t have bothered with mauling Luke. A tauntaun, on the other hand, would have been the perfect snack for the top predator of Hoth. Han nodded grimly in agreement.
‘At least it didn’t bother with farmboy meat. But Luke was pretty out of it… scared me to see him like that.’
They fell into a somber silence, during which Leia sipped her caf. Despite the bleak images that Han’s words had conjured up, she closed her eyes in pleasure as the rich liquid spread its warmth throughout her body. Her sleepless night felt like a distant nightmare, retreating under covers in the daylight. As she drank, she pretended not to watch Han’s index finger rhythmically tapping his mug. Trying to fill the silence, perhaps, the awkwardness that was threatening to settle in with the memory of their last confrontation. She’d already drunk half her caf almost in one gulp, and Han was probably almost done with his. She should finish it and say goodbye, go back to her post, to her duty, to the life she’d chosen to lead. A life that was incompatible with spending the night worrying about Han Solo, one of countless beings she was responsible for.
Leia had to be the one to leave now.
She took a slow sip.
‘I had no idea you were a “paragliding freak for the Eriadu peaks”,’ she commented. Han frowned.
‘Wh—oh.’ He looked down and pinched at the fabric of a sweatshirt Leia had never seen before: oversized, in a dark grey color, it looked warm and comfortable. It also had that exact phrase in large, lime green letters. ‘I’m not. I didn’t buy it. It was, uh, an acquisition I had to make during a… job.’
Code for something that was definitely illegal and demanded a very loose definition of the word job.
‘Oh,’ Leia said, ‘that’s a shame.’
Raising an eyebrow at her, Han left his empty mug on the dejarik table and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘It is?’
She shrugged. ‘I think it would have added more color to your character if you’d secretly been a paragliding freak.’
Han laughed, that full-throated laugh that made his head tilt back and the back of his teeth show, a rare sight that made Leia feel like she’d pulled off some clever, high-stakes mission whenever she was the one that’d brought it forth, making her smile in return.
‘So, finally, we know what you want,’ he said, still grinning. ‘A colorful man. Is that it?’
Leia’s own smile wavered uncertainly as she tried to gauge what he was getting at. Was it harmless, good-natured teasing, or was he circling back to the unfounded accusations he kept throwing on her face? Did he truly want to make her hate him on his way out of her life?
‘Yes, you got me all figured out,’ she replied, keeping her tone light.
‘Ah, if only I’d known that’s what it’d take.’
The feeling of sunlight seemed to leave her then, seeping out through the soles of her feet until Leia felt as cold and colorless as the tundra outside. Han’s indictment hadn’t been callously thrown at her, like his words back in the south passage. His face wasn’t contorted in anger, or sharp with mockery. It was the same as before, traces of genuine mirth still softening his features. And something else, too, in his eyes, something rare for Han Solo.
Defeat.
That was the thing that set a righteous fire burning deep in her chest.
‘What about what you want, Han?’ she said, her tongue sharp as a whip.
‘Me?’ He scoffed and took a step back, but Leia took a step forward.
‘Yes, you! You’re the one who keeps changing his mind.’
‘Yeah? An’ what am I supposed to be changin’ my mind about, Your Highness?’
With a frustrated groan, Leia threw her arms up. She was done here.
‘You know what, Han? When you figure out if you’re sticking around or not, do let me know.’
Breathing fast, she turned on her heel to go, a pang of regret in her chest at the thought that this was it, she’d come offering truce, hoping they could part on better terms, and they had still fucked it all up. They would never get it right, never—
‘Wait,’ Han said, grabbing her arm and tugging her back.
Later, she wouldn’t know what he meant to say or do. Later, she would realize she’d likely misread the look in his eyes, the trajectory he’d intended to pull her towards, and he’d just reacted more than acted. She would curse herself for letting her impulsivity take over and wreck all of her plans once more. But, in that moment, closing the distance between them felt as unavoidable as blinking when the glare of the sun hit her eyes, like she had no other choice but to wrap her arms around Han’s neck to pull him down, standing on her toes to meet him halfway and pressing her lips to his, a leap across a chasm of impossibility.
Their disparate heights and intentions made for an unbalanced first kiss; she crashed against his mouth hard, muffling a grunt from Han, and, for a second, fear gripped her as he held her by the shoulders, thinking he was pushing her away.
But he was steadying her, and soon he was holding her, one rough hand tilting her head back as he readjusted the kiss, the other pinning her waist against him. His mouth opened to welcome her in, and his tongue swept across her bottom lip before dancing with hers, gentle, at first, then eager, as her hands sank into his hair. She’d told him she would rather kiss a Wookiee—she’d really said those words, loudly, in public, a barb worthy of a teenager, not a military leader—but here she was, testing half of that theory, and her determination wavered. Molten fire poured into every corner of her body, banishing all memory of the cruel cold of Hoth; they could have powered up their own sun, burning everything away.
His hand splayed over the small of her back, pulling her closer, and a small moan vibrated in the back of her throat at the friction of their bodies. Years of frustration and confusion seemed to fade away, any anxiety for the future evaporated; there was nothing but the present, warm and safe and clear, contained within the four bounds of their arms around each other; what else could there be left to figure out?
Eyes still closed, Leia leaned into the palm of Han’s hand as they slowed down to catch their breaths, his thumb brushing across her jaw. Now that the scope of her sensations broadened beyond a focused center, she felt that her hands were tingling, clasped around the collar of Han’s sweatshirt. Funny that she should be the one trembling, a result of too much caffeine and anxiety, instead of the person who had just spent over ten hours in the snow.
The thought brought reality crashing down again with merciless clarity, and she blinked her eyes open. Han stared back at her, no defensiveness in his expression now, no walls to hide behind. His mouth was crooked in a smile, but not in the usual cocksure way. It was soft; it was for her.
But this didn’t solve anything. So what if he wanted her, if he stayed for her? She thought she’d lose him if he went to Jabba, but that would have been on him. If she lost him in this war because he’d stayed for her, it would be on her. Another death to her growing toll, another loss to mourn. Hers was a fate worse than death: to be the one left behind.
‘I can’t do this,’ she said hoarsely, letting go of her hold on him as she pulled herself free from his arms. Her body felt immediately cold and forlorn at the absence.
Still looking dazed, Han blinked, confusion slowly settling in.
‘What?’
Leia shook her head, walking backwards as she put as much distance between them as possible.
‘I’m glad you’re okay. You—you probably have a lot to do before leaving.’
She squeezed her eyes shut as she pivoted on her feet, hurrying out of the Falcon, and out of his life. There was no winning farewell to be had, but if it was for her to make the choice to push him away, to hold the memory of Han’s hurt face knowing that leaving could keep him safe, she could live with that.
As Leia well knew, there were worse things to carry with you.