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On the way to Bespin, Han divulges his fears of the future to Leia, and asks her to make a promise she can't keep.
Cross posted on Ao3 here.
Word Count: 2,001
Trigger Warning: Mentions of War
Han’s hands tangled loosely in her hair. Her hand splayed across his chest, rubbing the pads of her fingers into the soft, tanned skin. She felt his heart beating under her touch, having come down to a languid, regular rate. They’d been here for hours, taking advantage of the seemingly infinite, yet quickly dwindling away time aboard the Falcon. Her fingers stretched with every inhale, relishing in feeling such life pulsating under her grip.
Life, but loss was dispersed there, too.
Leia was surprised to feel as much tension hiding beneath Han’s skin as she did. Even their first night spent together in this bunk, she recalled the way his muscles tensed under her, around her, in her. She expected them to soften under her touch, like butter under a warmed sun. She expected to be able to rub the tension from his shoulders, watching it ooze out of him in contented sighs.
But, his body didn’t relent. Even in moments like this, enjoying the state of sated, relaxed bliss, she felt tightness bloom across his skin. It was a worry she stored away in the back of her mind, something to return to in their liminal time here.
Leia felt the vibration more than she heard the hum that came from the back of his throat, his eyes fluttering open. The controls on top of the bunk reflected blue and yellow lights in his irises, which looked around before landing on her, the corners of his eyes crinkling in fondness.
She felt her heart warm. A slow, delicious thing. Her chest had a spark that she watched sputter into the flame of a candle, and when the hand in her hair fell to her hip, rubbing small circles there, she felt it roar to a furnace.
“Asleep?” She asked, barely above a whisper, determined not to ruin the sanctity of the moment. Her head lolled against his shoulder, her gaze climbing up his figure. He lazily shook his head back and forth, tickling the top of her’s with the scruff from his chin.
“Jus’ enjoyin’.” He murmured, words pressed into her hair, a delicate kiss placed at the crown of her head. His fingers ghosted across her hip bone, letting the warmth spread there too, rippling across her body. She tucked her head, hiding the smile that stretched across her features, letting her eyes come to a close, the hand on her hip slowly making its way to her waist. “While we still can.”
His last words were said so quietly, she almost didn’t believe she’d heard them.
So far, the diminishing timeline had been largely ignored in their whispered conversations. They both knew it was a war, and nothing was guaranteed. They could land on Bespin just to have to be separated, sported to opposite sides of the galaxy, wherever their fates were bound to take them.
This was borrowed time. It had gone unsaid, because even murmured in the dark, the dread crept in. It crept in and burrowed in the dark corners of the bunk, stealing the breath from one of them with the choking realization that this might be it, this might be all they get.
She felt that dire feeling constrict her heart, more at Han’s admission of it than her own musing. Her fingers wandered up his chest, applying pressure and dragging them in s-shaped patterns. They bumped over the raised edges of scars, scars she’d kissed while he told her each of their stories.
“We don’t know what will happen.” Her placations echoed across the cabin, the words sounding as empty as they felt. They fell from her lips like they were weighted, determined to drag the two of them down with them. His fingers tightened on her waist, and she reached out her other hand, capturing his and attempting to rub the worry out of it, her thumbs pressed into the meaty part of his calloused palms.
“Leia.” She usually delighted in the way he said her name. After years of taunting nicknames only addressing her station, hearing him say Leia was the same feeling she got when an orchestra would hit the crescendo of a piece, making the very air around her vibrate and pulse with the sound. But, now it sounded more like a plea than a prayer, his chest bottoming as he breathed out. She turned her head, looking up to see that the crinkles of his eyes had turned.
What was a time fondness darkened into melancholy. She felt the muscles in his chest contract.
“Han.” She pulled her hand out of his, lifting her head to prop herself up on an elbow. “What’s wrong?” It was a null point, she knew what was wrong. It hung over both their heads from the moment twelve weeks was uttered. But Han, who’d seemed so content to ignore the issue, was clearly warring with it in his mind.
His brows were pulled together, lining his face as he gazed at her. She could see the years there, briefly. The years of running, the years of smuggling, the years of constantly having to watch his back, only able to trust the Wookiee at his side. Her hands moved to tuck his grown out hair behind his ears, her nails lightly scraping against his scalp.
“‘ts just…” He trailed off, turning his head into her touch, his eyes fluttering closed again. His fingers curled around her, pressing the tips of them into the intended skin. “If ‘t feels so good now, how much is it gonna hurt later?”
She felt the words hit her like an assault, bringing to the surface all of her brimming worries about what awaited them when they eventually landed. It was a thought she’d had many times, volleying it back and forth across the corners of her brain most nights they spent tangled together like this. She’d just never expected Han to voice those same insecurities. Her gaze softened, offering a sad smile that said she understood, she worried about it, too.
“I know.” She voiced, more an exhale of breath than complete words. Her fingers traced from his chest to his shoulders, her touch light. The engines hummed in the room next to them, a series of clicks and whirs she’d come to recognize stuttered through their silence. “Is this about Bespin?” Half of her didn’t want to ask the question, feeling like they were tempting the universe if they spoke any of their fears into existence. The other half knew Han, and knew the way his brain needed to talk issues out in order to wrap his head around them. If he couldn’t fix something with his hands, it was almost like he needed to see the words that were spoken, like they were made of the breath they came from. He needed to tease out the issue like he’d find a faulty wire or a stripped screw.
His other hand lifted from the mattress, drawing up to ghost across her cheek, pulling a piece of her hair back and off her face. “‘ts not jus’ Bespin.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, seeing the variable forces pulling on them flash across his face.
“Can you make me a promise?” He asked, his hand floating down from her face, finding her own fingers on his skin. He folded his hand over her’s, pulling it up to his mouth and pressing his lips against it. They were cold against her knuckles, likely from the small fan built into the top of the bunk.
She nodded, though she knew that she had no capacity to keep promises in times of war. Too much was unknown, too much was at stake. He knew this too, she knew. Still, the way his eyes searched her, she’d never seen him look desperate before. It felt like a cold knife sliding between her ribs, cracking her chest open for the carrion birds to feast on her despair.
“If somethin’ happens to me, with the Hutts.” She resisted the urge to shush him, to rebuke his words, to slide a hand over his mouth to keep the fate he was speaking out of existence, even in the hypothetical. They had more worries than the Hutts. The Empire loomed heavy over their movements, like a boot on her throat. She could only imagine what a half a million credit price would add to that. “Chewie, he’s gotta go back to Kashyyyk.” He spoke into her knuckles, her skin muffling his words. “He’s gonna want to come after me, with the life debt. He can’t come after me. You can’t.”
Her spine stiffened, eyes narrowing as she took in the words from the man below her. She was not used to being commanded, though, this technically wasn’t a command. He asked, earnestly, which almost made it worse. The dread she’d been trying to keep at bay crept in bed with them, sliding in the negative space between their bodies, curling around their limbs and stealing the warmth from her bones.
“Han —” She started, but the way his eyes flicked to her made her words stick in her throat. “It’s noble that you think I can control a Wookiee.” She tried to twist her features into a smile, but it failed halfway there.
“‘ve seen you command larger armies.” He murmured, letting their hands fall to his chest.
“Those soldiers don’t rip people’s arms out of their sockets when they get upset.” She said, recalling his words from earlier in the trip. It got the corner of his mouth to lift, slightly.
“He’d never do that t’ you.”
“If I tried to keep him from you, maybe.” The corner of his mouth that had twitched up stretched, showing his teeth as he turned his head to try and hide the smile.
“Softies, all o’ you.”
“Rich, coming from you.”
His smile faltered, the dread must have curled around his neck and stuffed up his nose, the way she saw the lines of tension she recapture the moment. He seemed to wait for her to chew on his request, gnaw at the implications and run her tongue along the consequences.
“If it was me, would you come after me?” Her chest tightened at the implication, but she knew his answer before she saw the way his face fell, his lips pressing in a tight line and his jaw setting like stone.
“‘ts different, you’re a princess.”
“And you’re important to me, to Chewie, to the rebellion.” She countered, squeezing the hand that was holding hers. She almost hated herself for the words that were coming next, but she’d hate herself more for lying to him. “I’d give you the world, if I could, but I don’t think I can give you that.”
He wouldn’t look at her, but he unraveled their hands and put his around her waist, tugging on her so she’d slide herself on top of him, pressing their chests together. She could feel his heartbeat pounding through her ribcage, setting time to her body like a metronome. She pressed her forehead against his, feeling the stick of the cooled sweat there.
“I think I love you.” He whispered, fingers tight on her. This time, she did feel a fissure in her heart break open, letting the furnace there roar across the rest of her body, fueled by his words and his hands on her. She shuddered, the emotion shred through the little defenses she’d had left, the bare threads of her old, reserved self snapping under the weight of his affection.
It was a confession that didn’t require a response, but she gave one anyway, pressing her lips to his in a soft, chaste way. Letting a kiss be a kiss, one that was tender and sweet, and one that was foreign to him after years spent living in the underbelly of the galaxy. But, she was determined to shower him in as many as she was able.
Rooney Mara doesn’t style herself anywhere close to how she was styled when she played Lisbeth Salander in her personal life, but nobody has ever looked as cool than this ever since. I seriously have never seen anybody pull off a look even close to this, ever.
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