Jedi of Grace

Star Wars fan. Han and Leia enthusiast. A Jedi should always be graceful.

[knightedrogue]

Ficlet: Interlude

The HSBCAS called. I responded. :) 

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[jediofgrace]

Oh, my darling Kay-Are... you bring us such joy. I adore this so, so much. I felt and empathized with poor, tired Leia. Loved all her thoughts on Han. You were able to put it all into just a few paragraphs. Then to have him there was funny and clever and just made me so happy for Leia. She will be able to smile throughout the day as she looks forward to seeing him later. Ficlet perfection.

[cicfics]

Blue Night

Happy birthday, @knightedrogue! You are a genius and as kind and driven as you are brilliant. I am so proud to be your friend. The Rules finishing soon, but in the meantime have a Bespin bit from that ‘verse. Spoiler alert: yes, Han and Leia end up together in Jewels ‘verse.

NSFW.

XXXXXXXXX

“Dejarik’s just not your game.” Leia said, sipping her icy water.

Han lounged in the accelerator couch, frowning when his sore shoulder prevented optimal laconic stretch maneuvers. But he gave it his best. Let no one say Han Solo did anything halfheartedly when it came to his girl.

Especially flirt.

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[jediofgrace]

Cicatrick. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You can write in ANY verse at all, and we all happily read along, believing you invented the verse yourself. I love what you did here with the lighting. I love this from Han’s perspective. I love that there’s more to come in this story. I love that @knightedrogue has a birthday and we all get stories! Happy Kay Are birthday to us all!

[otterandterrier]

Remember me, love, when I’m reborn.

[leiahan2200-deactivated20210315]

It’s the holidays, and Chewie’s hung mistletoe in the Falcon’s hatchway with care. Will Han and Leia follow tradition? Pre-ESB.

Infinite thanks to my lovely beta-readers, @swimmergirl71 and @jediofgrace , for all your help with this fic! Xoxo

Fanfic: Feeling Festive, Star Wars | FanFiction

[jediofgrace]

My dear Jenny, the master of “will they or won’t they?” has done it again! Yay @j-cbs !!!

[knightedrogue]

Privacy

For @swimmergirl71, who wanted more H/L OT content on her dash. I’ve been writing for hours, it feels like, but here you go! Written while at work and with no promises for quality. 

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[jediofgrace]

Okay, this is just plain fun on a screen. So fun to see Leia burn for him like that. And then she’s all brave and kind of kisses him? And then the story ends? (Jedi complains so much KR continues story because she must keep fan base happy? Okay okay, I’m half way kissing—oops I mean kidding! *subliminal message alert*)

[atomic-chronoscaph]

Han & Leia - art by Roger Kastel (1980)

[jediofgrace]

I will never get tired of this picture.

[corellianangel]

For @otterandterrier‘s old Scoundress Saturdays prompt - “Leather”

Pining. Romance. Pure angst. Late, but I had to get this out. Unbetaed, but could really use it.

Timeline: Star Wars rebellion era, Just prior to Return of the Jedi.

Leather

Leia had found it in a crate. It was in a flimsiplast refuse bag, under a jumble of greasy spare parts – their personal effects disguised as trash. When the Empire had taken the city and captured the rebels; Lando’s assistant– Was it Lobot? Leia momentarily struggled to remember – must have urged the staff to rescue some of Han and Leia’s meagre personal effects from their hotel suite and the Empire. They’d stowed the smattering of items aboard the Falcon. In an outwardly filthy, sticky bag of rags was some of Leia’s new attire from Bespin. A modest selection of stylish new outfits; dutifully wrapped and smuggled onboard with the utmost care. The result of a charming, overindulgent, fabulously wealthy host. One who had no qualms disingenuously competing for the affections of a princess over his old friend; a penniless smuggler. One who turned that friend and his companions over to the Empire, in a bid to spare the thousands of lives of the citizens of his city instead.

And in that crate was also this one particular item. An item that someone had risked life and limb to retrieve from their Imperial captors. The one item in that awful looking jumble of trash that belonged to Han.

Han’s blaster rig.

Leia didn’t know when they’d taken the belt from Han, after their capture on Bespin. She’d never asked.  It didn’t even cross her mind then. It hadn’t mattered then. It actually didn’t matter. Not at all. The material possessions they carried meant absolutely nothing in the face of what they’d lost, what they were about to lose. And she’d lost everything once already; family, friends, home, people, planet…Her entire future. But right now, for her, at this moment -  this piece of cut and sewn hide and steel was somehow, stupidly, selfishly, sillily important.

Leia brushed her hand along the leather. Eyebrows knit in recollection, she fingered the durasteel hooks and tangs of the hidden metal fasteners on the holster rig’s reverse. The buckles’ workings were hidden by a broad plate of metal, linking the strips of tanned nerf hide into an deceptively simple looking web. Yet intricate, sturdy, adaptable and ingenious underneath.

The whole blaster belt was fairly low-hanging, and even lower cut in the pouch to accommodate Han’s customized blaster. The leather here was thicker than on the belt strips–stiffened and formed. The pistol itself had been set aside. The bulky mass of the DL-44 lay – black, aged, chipped and currently impotent, its power cell removed, resting on its side on a nearby table. The princess had no intentions for it. She didn’t like its heft–too heavy and awkward for her petite hands. Though, admittedly, she had shot it dozens of times. And the memories associated with it – with the handsome, gruff, kind owner of that heavy blaster pistol, and the worn leather holster her fingers now traced the details of–those rang achingly deep.

Her first time seeing it, was after that ridiculous harried rescue and escape from the Death Star. When she’d met him that day, Han had been wearing a purloined Stormtrooper belt.  But once aboard the Falcon,  he’d retrieved this belt from some obscure location as he sped into the Falcon’s cockpit.  The next time Leia had seen the blaster belt, it was on Han properly then, when he’d summoned Luke into the Falcon’s turret, a few short moments later.

In the intervening three years, Leia would often mentally trace the belt’s contours over Han’s hips.  Half that time they’d spent battling their rising attraction to each other with barbed words and angry taunts. But…oh…she’d watched him anyway. How could she not? He was attractive by most human standards. Sure. But there was something else; an energy or force that crackled between them– magnetic, electric  and wild. She watched him as often as he dared watch her. Often they would lock eyes in the boredom of a command meeting. Outlined in the glow of a camp fireside on a mission, or even a heartbeat snapshot of Han running and gunning after the enemy, – the image of the handsome smuggler and this gunbelt on him, seared itself over and over into Leia’s imaginings.

Side by side as warriors, and fast friends, Leia and Han had been at odds on some level most of the time though. Leia’s throat now constricted, and she gulped. Why? Why had she denied herself him, until seemingly the last minute. Three years wasting all that time and energy, fighting nature and need; just daydreaming, when – by the Stars– they’d been so perfect for each other. Neither of them alone was perfect, no. Far from, actually. But together; together it was like they were one entity. Working, quipping, maneuvering, firing in a concert of uncannily coordinated movement. Add in their friends: Luke and Chewbacca – and their quartet was nigh unstoppable.

And when, after three arduous years; finally, finally Leia and Han had gotten over their own self-inflicted denial, Leia had more than fulfilled her fantasies with the Corellian smuggler. New ones were made. She’d let herself indulge in Han. Pushing aside the three long years of agony and grief, that had kept her so isolated. Putting a portion of that pain aside, and making new memories. New dreams. New hope–and not just for the Rebellion (because Han was just that good  of a military asset), but for Leia herself.

Leia saw a different future with Han.

With Luke in the background (oddly too?) and…maybe… just maybe…Peace. Happiness. A home, career, and family, even.

But no…

Such flights of fancy, were not permitted to the last princess of Alderaan. She had a war to fight. A planet, a people to avenge. An army to lead. Love was not…

Love was…

Leia twisted her hands around the elongated buckle plate. It seemed to flex under her angry grip.

Han. She wanted Han.

She could have this one thing. Right? It didn’t have to be love.  But it was. She couldn’t deny that anymore.  After all, she’d declared her love to Han in front of Vader, Boba Fett, Calrissian and three dozen others. And seemingly the entire Rebellion had been aware of it behind her back for the past few years..

Everybody had known. Everyone. Even she, though she’d refused to acknowledge it. A mistake she would forever regret. Especially now.

Six months had passed already. With Han entombed that whole time. If it was her–Leia–Han would not have waited so long as this. Leia blinked back tears. It was too long. Han would have fought, tooth and bloody nail to get to her by this time. Despite threats and bounties, Han always came back. The stretch of time he might be gone on a mission might become indeterminable, but he always came back. And if one of his friends was in danger, he would throw himself in the deep end of trouble, headlong and obstinate; until all were safe and sound–cursing their foolishness, unaware that he’d just risked his own hide to get them out. Calling them all morons and misguided, he’d cite the surety of getting paid as his only motive.

A wry smile crept across Leia’s features, as she recalled Han’s angry declaration, shortly after meeting her. Words only; bitter, defiant, and mercenary, “Look, Your Worship! I ain’t in this for your revolution, princess. And I ain’t in it for you. I’m just in it for the money.”

In the coming hours, days, and years, how fortunate not a word of it would be true.

Han had had many an opportunity to leave the Rebels and deal with his debts and bounties in the subsequent three years. Some he took, and was waylaid by fate. Others he did not; opting to remain behind, for…well… any number of ill thought-out reasons. Yet in the end, he’d always end up grumbling about having to ensure that he had to stick around to keep that damned Kid and that spoiled brat of a Princess out of trouble.

So Han stayed. And three human orphans; from three different galactic sectors, three different walks of society and different destinies – were thrown together. And they became fast friends. As Leia reflected, she realized, perhaps even a family.

Family again…

Leia had to stop thinking about these people as such. She would only lose them if she did. And she didn’t know if she could take another such loss without shattering completely.

Yet…Leia didn’t want to be cold and brittle.  She wanted warmth. She wanted people in her life again. People that neither Vader nor the Empire could take away.

But after losing everything before, she’d dared to care again. And it was all swept away again. Han taken. Luke outwardly maimed and inwardly destroyed.  And all by Vader. Again.

The cut edge of the stiffened leather of the holster left a shallow impression along the pad of the princess’s thumb – the material’s finish so unique; the texture of tanned and treated leather - there was nothing that quite met it’s qualities -  tough, yet pliable, firm, resistant, each flaw and weathering making it more beautiful and characterful still. Leia could feel the tiny, stray threads of leather that frayed from the the exposed seam.The twist of the waxed thread rasped against the blade of her fingernail as she ran the edge along the crests. Each time her nail hit the next stitch, there was a light tik . The impatient sweep of her thumb nicked along the stitch line, keeping time with the rhythm of her breath.

She wondered if the belt’s owner struggled to breathe. Though she knew he could not. Would he briefly awaken where he was? Straining, fighting and gasping in a futile attempt to escape his metal tomb? Hands clawing out at the unseen world around him. Now a grim prop of triumph; of hunt, hound and capture. An effective visual reminder of how Vader meted out retribution. The Dark Lord making a macabre trophy of the prey that had repeatedly eluded him until that fateful day.

Shifting on her seat, Leia adjusted the drape of the leather straps across her lap. The leather was darker in the heavily worn areas. Where Han’s thumbs hooked in from behind, the thick hide was perceivably strained. The ship’s grease and oil from his hands staining the rough, napped inner grain to a smooth, rich mahogany. Where the hand would slide over the butt of the gun; there the leather was worn to a high gloss by the repeated action. The first and middle finger would have reached to break the snap. The draw action smooth. Lighting swift. The grip sure, solid. Han’s torso would have crouched like a cat, legs in a wide stance, he’d twist – body taut– ready to charge, flee or spring into action. Not a gunfighter’s classic narrow stance. No. But the coiled pose of someone who knew he had to move.

Stars, it brought her some many memories.  This stupid, dirty, worn piece of leather.

Too many memories…

Upon waking, it would be one the last things Han would don. Leia would watch him through her mind’s morning fog. Her body and brain heavy with drowsiness and the night’s–and perhaps the morning’s romp with him. He’d be hunting for his boxers in the heap of hastily discarded clothing on the floor, while Leia would rake her eyes over the bronzed landscape of Han’s back. Bloodstriped trousers, socks, and shirt would follow in short order. Then as a rough hand dragged through the tousle of his hair, Leia would mutely observe the flex and bunch of the lines of Han’s lean form as he moved.  Before kissing Leia while she pretended to doze, Han would pull on his ubiquitous light jacket or a vest, and then this particular belt. Long, deft fingers would sling the worn leather to stretch across Han’s narrow hips. Bowed at the waist, he’d secure the thigh-strap, his body all hard angles in the cabin’s light. And Leia? Well…She would just quietly observe. Happy, perhaps even content, for once.

Tak, tak. The stitching came to the curve where the pistol’s trigger guard would settle, the leather bulged out. It had been recently mended by an inexperienced hand. The thread here was thinner, a different colour; wound through new and old stitch holes repeatedly, with a promise it was stronger than the original seam.

Broken, stitched, scarred - hardened.  Like Han.

Leia’s stroke paused at the holster’s thigh buckle. A stain here, a faint darkening, a hint of burgundy.  Then another recollection. A mission gone awry. Han writhing on the ground, blood pooling underneath him from a wicked blaster wound. The big Corellian pinned by their friends Luke and Chewie, while Leia tore strips of cloth and readjusted Han’s belts to construct a haphazard tourniquet.  They’d almost lost him then too.

It had been frightening. But they’d all been in a similar situation at some point or another. That was their lives. The Rebellion, Leia, Han, Luke; they all lived on borrowed time. Wondering about when’s and ifs, was at best – frivolous. The incident between them and Vader on Bespin proved that once again. Han and Leia had taken the risk of having given in to their feelings. And thence paid the price for hoping and daring.

If they were a makeshift family, then there was a greater reason for them to retrieve Han. As he had no-one. They had no others. She had no others.

It had all been taken by the Empire. By Tarkin and his vile pet, Darth Vader.

Leia’s torso curled in on itself. Her small hands gripped the leather belting so tightly it hurt. In the room, there began a high frequency rattling, a vibration that carried through every knob, switch and loose item. The latches on her locker jumped spontaneously. Leia hissed out a long breath between her teeth. A growling, horrible, keening rage.

Damn you, Vader.

Whatever tiny bit of a life she had regained since the loss of her homeworld, now teetered on the brink again. A grain of sand about to be lost to the wind. To hold on to it harder, to attempt to clench it, would have it slip unnoticed between her fingers. Her attention distracted by the very action of possession.

“Breathe.” A voice – in her head? Maybe. Maybe someone else’s. Unrecognizable, yet calming.

So she breathed.

The rattling of the room ebbed, then ceased. The resultant building pressure seemed to ease. Leia wondered if the ship was experiencing some turbulence or…

Leia’s head rose, placing Han’s blaster belt aside on the nightstand. She took in the disarray that was the Millennium Falcon’s cabin with a sigh. She was lost in thought once more, until she started–blinking harshly. Leia chanced a look in the mirror, tucked in a stray lock of dark chestnut hair into the bun at the base of her head, patting it flat.  Stretching for a pair of grey nerf hide gloves, she began to pull them on.  She paused for a beat, and ran her fingers over the other. Leather enclosed her now. Her boots, her belt, her trousers, cloak and armour. Nearly every piece of her disguise as a bounty hunter was comprised of the tough, flexible material.

She had once armoured herself with cold words and cool resolve. Rightfully earning the name “Ice Princess” behind her back from those both below and above her in the Rebel Alliance’s command structure. It had served her well to do so it that environment of decisive action and intrigue. So much that her enemies would know her as such as well.

But now she was entering Han’s world. A place of criminals and cutthroats, gangsters big and small. Where the Empire and the Alliance were but another organized threat that could be stolen or profited from. A dusty, shadowy place were the boundary between enemy and ally often overlapped, and was at best blurred. Here, everyone was a potential enemy. You trusted no-one. Ever.

Leia would have to become one of them. Tough, flexible, resilient, worn and wary. Like the leather she cloaked herself in. But retaining her core of steel. Not the cool mettle, that one that had vengefully awaited Vader and certain death on Hoth. No. This was the fiery heart of Alderaan’s last princess. She would burn her way through this pit of vipers to find the man who had rekindled that heart, melting away the encasing ice that built up as her armour after the destruction of Alderaan.

She would be steel wrapped in leather. 

[jediofgrace]

This is so beautiful. Your descriptions of the leather belt, of Han himself, are so rich and filled with Leia’s love... over and over as I was reading, I would just think, “wow”. So well done.

“New hope–and not just for the Rebellion (because Han was just that good of a military asset), but for Leia herself.” I love this line. You write Leia perfectly and the “new hope” part was brilliant.

[gffa]

Star Wars - Princess Leia Organa | Brian Rood

[lajulie24]

Eternal Flame: A Han/Leia Playlist Featuring Women of the ‘80s

There’s the Girl  / Heart “For the last time, Furball, she ain’t my mate.” - Han

There’s the girl you were after All this time you can’t get past her

Here’s Where the Story Ends / The Sundays Leia grieves and tries to go on

It’s that little souvenir of a terrible year That makes my eyes go sore

The Warrior / Scandal featuring Patty Smyth Shooting at the walls of heartache, pew pew.

You run, run, run away It’s your heart that you betray

Head Over Heels / The Go-Go’s “And what precisely am I supposed to know?” - Leia “Oh, shit.” - Leia, after she figures it out

One hand’s just reaching out And one’s just hangin’ on It seems my weaknesses just keep going strong

We Belong / Pat Benatar Han doesn’t want to leave. Leia doesn’t want him to leave but can’t say it. Fate and the Empire intervene.

Whatever we deny or embrace, for worse or for better We belong, we belong, we belong together

Running Up That Hill / Kate Bush Han and Leia navigate their new relationship en route to Bespin

Do you want to know, know that it doesn’t hurt me? Do you want to hear about the deal that I’m making? You, it’s you and me

Take My Breath Away / Berlin Taking a leap together into the unknown

When the mirror crashed I called you And turned to hear you say, “If only for today, I am unafraid”

The Look of Love / Madonna “I love you.” - Leia “I know.” - Han

My conscience is clear, I know right from wrong That’s a lie, I know nothing except that you’re gone But there’s more to learn from the look in your eyes Than a trip round this world or stars in the sky

When Tomorrow Comes / Eurythmics On Endor and beyond, Han and Leia vow to be there for each other

And you know that I’m gonna be the one Who’ll be there when you need someone to depend upon When tomorrow comes

Eternal Flame / The Bangles Like a dream, but real. Forever.

Close your eyes Give me your hand, darling Can you feel my heart beating? Do you understand?

[lajulie24]

One Night

It was such a good prompt (“It’s too hot to sleep”) that I have to blame/credit @otterandterrier at least partially for this one. As well as whoever decided to put shirtless Han Solo in the comics.

“Ugh.” Han shuddered slightly as he checked the window for bugging devices, wiping a handful of grime and dust on the side of his pants. “Kinda missing that ditch we slept in last night right about now. This side’s clear.”

Leia was checking the wall on the other side for any strange hollows. It was unlikely the Empire would bother to bug what was essentially a flophouse, but one never knew. And neither of them was really up for more surprises after the day they’d had. “Clear here, too. What’s wrong, this not up to your royal standards?” she asked, turning one of his usual barbs back on him.

Han gave her a little bit of a smile, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Believe that’s my line.”

Leia surveyed the room again, this time from a practical rather than an espionage standpoint, and shrugged. “There’s running water. A shower. A bed,” she pointed out.

She nearly laughed out loud at the look of disgust Han was giving the bed. “You don’t wanna know what’s gone on in that—“

“I think we both know what’s gone on there,” Leia interrupted, raising her eyes toward the rhythmic squeaking sounds coming from the room above them. She shrugged again. “It’s one night.”

Han turned from surveying the bed to surveying her, a look of curiosity on his face. A year ago, this kind of conversation would have gone the other way around, with Leia mildly disgusted at their situation and Han treating it like standard operating procedure. Maybe her time in the field had changed her more than she thought. 

Honestly, Leia wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of this place either, but they didn’t have much choice. They’d finally gotten those Imperial agents off their trail, but it wasn’t safe for them to be skulking around the city streets after sundown. And after being on the run for nearly two days straight, sleeping in shifts, they definitely needed a place to rest. Even if it was this place, run down, dingy, vaguely mildew-smelling, and hotter than balls, as the Rogues would say.

Oh yes, that was the other issue. They had managed to come during a heat wave on planet that, combined with more than 90% humidity, had every enclosed space feeling like a sauna. Han had already stripped off the jacket he’d been wearing when they arrived, and had his shirt partially unbuttoned, fanning himself with it.

For a moment, Leia flashed back to last night when they were putting up their temporary shelter, the sight of Han’s shirt damp with sweat as he pounded in the stakes, but she swatted that thought away as quickly as it came. Not helpful, Organa. Focus.

The room also had an in-room chiller unit, thank the Goddess, and Han had it on and turned up full blast in minutes. Leia joined him, and they both stood silently in front of the vent for a while, letting the cool air wash over their chests and bending down to let it hit the backs of their necks. Leia felt little hairs rise all over her body as the cooler air met the perspiration on her skin.

Han was looking over at her. “One good thing,” he allowed, and she smiled back at him.

The squeaking upstairs stopped abruptly, punctuated by a loud groan. “Guess they’re done,” Leia said matter-of-factly.

Han laughed, “Guess so. You want first shower?” he asked.

“Sure.”

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[jediofgrace]

This is too short! But it’s so so good. Great descriptions of the gross room, the tension between them, the heat. But... did I mention how short it was? 😍

[lajulie24]

Banthas and metaphors

Leia strapped herself into the navigator’s seat in stormy silence. Han could feel her eyes burning a hole into his back as he and Chewie started the takeoff sequence, but he ignored it. Pissed off and alive was still alive. He’d take it.

Of course, alive also assumed that they’d make it past the Imperials waiting for them just at the edge of the system, which was not a foregone conclusion. Leia was uncharacteristically quiet as they maneuvered their way past the guard ships, keeping her comments confined to pointing out approaching fighters or sharing updates from the navicomputer. Han didn’t really have time to consider whether her terseness was meant to avoid distracting him during a difficult escape or to punish him for pulling her out of the mission.

All three beings audibly breathed out once they made the jump, the stars enclosing the cockpit in dizzying bands of light.

Leia unbuckled herself and stood up purposefully. “You fully stocked with bacta?” she asked.

Han turned in his seat and looked at her. “You know we are.” When she wasn’t throwing herself into ridiculously dangerous situations, she was overseeing supply and procurement operations on base. She knew the state of their medical supplies better than Chewie did.

“That blaster burn needs attention,” she said, referring to the graze Han had suffered on his shoulder as they’d made their hasty retreat. “Come on.”

She was definitely still furious with him; her speech had the frosty, clipped tone she used when she was angry but trying to maintain professionalism. It was the tone that prompted her detractors on base to assume she was a cold, unfeeling Ice Princess (or Ice combined with a much more vulgar title or two), but Han recognized it as precisely the opposite. There was a roar of rage or heartbreak or some combination of the two just beyond that frost. He’d seen it a few times, provoked it a few times.

He’d rather have her roar, honestly.

Keep reading

[jediofgrace]

This is such great Han and Leia! Great banter and tension throughout. Han’s insights into her were especially good.

[leiahan2200-deactivated20210315]

Han and Leia get closer aboard the Falcon again… Special thanks to @swimmergirl71 , @jhgraham , @jediofgrace , and @erindarroch for their help with this ficlet! Xo

[jediofgrace]

YAY!! Han and Leia pre-ESB yearning at its best! 😍

[otterandterrier]

Two scenes from the wedding Han Solo and Leia by Martyna Maksimiuk

**do not remove the caption or repost anywhere else without credit!**

[jediofgrace]

So pretty!

[corellian-smuggler]

She can see him tossing and turning, and to her it seems that he must be in distress. Still, Leia isn’t sure she should wake him. After all, they’re sleeping together but it’s not like they’re sleeping together, and even if they were, she’s not really sure what the rules are, here. Would Han want her to wake him up? Would he appreciate it, or would it be some kind of transgression? A breach of shared-bed etiquette. Leia even considers that he likely wouldn’t want her to know he was in distress if he really was.

But then Han makes a noise that’s almost a whimper, and so Leia shakes him awake.

“Wha—Leia?”

“Yes. Are you alright? You were having a nightmare.”

In the dim light of the cabin Leia can see that he’s looking at her with wide, bleary eyes—like he’s shocked to find her in his bunk.

Like she’s some apparition.

Han blinks at her and rubs his eyes.

“Wasn’t a nightmare,” he says gruffly, rolling onto his back. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

In the gloom Leia studies the rapid rise and fall of his broad chest—absorbs his rumpled hair and the hoarse sound of his voice, low and groggy with sleep. He can say it wasn’t a nightmare all he wants, she thinks, but she’s something of an expert on the subject and she rather considers herself—well, not an expert on him, exactly, but Leia maintains—almost fiercely, to herself—that she knows Han. Enough to see that he’s visibly shaken by something. His eyes even in the darkness appear haunted, and he’s still breathing like they’ve just outrun a swarm of Stormtroopers. Tentatively, she rests her hand on his shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks softly.

“Nothing to say—told you. It wasn’t a nightmare.”

With a grimace, Leia withdraws her hand.

“And you wouldn’t tell me if it was,” she nods to herself, moving to turn away from him beneath the soft, warm blanket of his bunk.

His hand on her arm stops her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Leia doesn’t stop to think if it’s the best time or place, in the middle of the night, when she’s curled up in his bed with him, when she’s trapped on his ship with him—the late hour and the stark intimacy of sleeping pressed together have leveled her emotional walls to dust.

“That’s how this works, doesn’t it?” she whispers hotly. “When I have a nightmare, you expect me to tell you.” Leia casts a disgusted look at her own body twisted in his sheets, propped on his pillow. “To climb into bed with you. You swagger around pointing your finger in my face demanding I confess my feelings, to say I don’t want you to go. That’s how it always is, isn’t it? I’m always the one who has to be vulnerable—whether you’re comforting me or goading me, that’s how it always is.”

His expression when she finishes is one of disbelief.

“You think—you think you’re the one—?”

With a hiss of frustration he sits up, drawing his face level with hers.

“You think you—? I’m the one out on a limb here, Princess. I’m the one always out on the limb—“

“When?” she demands.

The ire lights Han’s face in an instant.

“How ‘bout when I came to say goodbye to you, and it was the hardest damn thing I ever kriffing did—and you just stood there like it was nothin’? How ‘bout when I said there was something between us, and you said you didn’t know what I was talking about, huh? How about that?”

Leia blinks, startled. For days it has been the unspoken rule between them—not to bring up what had happened between them in the south passage, and now…

Now he has the audacity—

“You didn’t say there was something between us,” she snaps into the hush of the night cycle. “You just—accused me. You wanted the upper hand, Han. You wanted me to say it first.”

“Because you kriffing—dammit, Leia, you hurt me!”

“I hurt you? You’re the one who left me!”

“I was trying to protect you! I was trying to keep you safe! How d’you think it felt, watching that scum put his hands on you on Ord Mantell? That was my fault, Leia, that—that scared the shit out of me. I had to leave.”

The silence is resounding.

Finally, Leia can’t keep herself from speaking any longer. It bubbles forth beyond her control, after so many months of denying—

“I wanted you to stay, Han,” she whispers tremulously. “And not for the rebellion. For me. I wanted you to stay with me.”

Han’s sound as he lays his head back down is animal and tortured and grateful all at once.

“Leia—“

“I still want you to stay.”

Somehow his head lands not on the pillow but on her. The heat of his forehead near to her neck is a fierce shock against which she does not fight as he tugs her closer and as she wraps her arms around him. The weight of him and the heat of him—the reality of holding one another in his bunk in the darkness and hearing the agony of his tormented voice—Leia’s eyes sting.

“This is killin’ me, Leia,” he practically moans, so gruff and quiet against her shoulder. “How can I live with myself if you get hurt ‘cause of me?”

“It wouldn’t be because of you—“

“It is,” he barks. He sits up again to look down at her. “Ord Mantell was because of me. Because I’m—a fuckin’—criminal—“

Leia almost has to close her eyes against the sight of his anguish. She’s never seen him like this before, and all at once she understands that there are greater barriers between them than a bounty or an enlistment form.

With trembling fingers Leia reaches for his face.

“Han,” she whispers.

To her astonishment he holds her gaze as he says, “Do you know what it did to me? Thinking about what could have happened to you—about my past hurting you?”

“I have a past, too,” she breathes.

“No, Leia. Not like this.”

She’s terrified now. They’ve never spoken like this before, never.

“I don’t care, Han.”

“You don’t know—“

“Yes, I do.” She uses her hands on his shoulders to draw him closer—back down to her. “I know what you’ve done and why you did it. I know why you think you have to—resist this—“

Almost miserably Han mutters next to her ear.

“You’re resisting, too.”

The weight of voice is one weight too many. She can’t bear the burden of this anymore.

“I’m done,” she whispers. “I can’t do it anymore. I don’t care if you’re enlisted or not. I don’t care how many bounties you have, or about whatever it is that you think makes you—not good enough for me. And I don’t care if it distracts me from the rebellion or if some Hutt druglord in the Outer Rim puts me on his hit list—“

“I care—“

“I want you.”

Han’s eyes flash stunned. For the first time she sees him arrested by hesitance. When he speaks his voice is grave.

“I—I more than want you, Leia,” he confesses. Or swears.

Leia nods once more, and draws him closer. Against his lips she whispers,

“I know.”

Then Han is shoving blankets aside to get closer to her, drawing them together until they’re chest to chest and hip to hip, his lips scorching her neck and jaw. Leia is boneless and breathless as she tilts her head, the relief profound as she surrenders at last to his embrace.

But then Han’s voice sounds again against the column of her throat.

“I was dreamin’,” he whispers, “bout this.”

She’s so caught up in touching him that it takes her a moment to understand what he’s talking about. She can feel him practically shudder as he works his palms up under her shirt. “Bout that night—at the river. When you were swimming. Do you remember?”

She can only nod helplessly, enflamed and stunned as he continues. Oh, that night at the river, 110 degrees on base even at night—when she’d furiously slipped into the humid jungle, to immerse herself in the cool water of the waterfall and the stream that it gave life to—how Han had found her there in the night—

“‘Cept—except in my dream, I didn’t leave. I stayed ‘nd watched you get outta the water. And you—you knew I was there, and—“

Above her she watches his eyes rake fiercely over her and then close, relishing the fleeting image of his dream or trying desperately to suppress it, she’s not sure. She knows only that she can see it now as clearly as he seemed to—what would have happened if she’d walked, naked, out of the river and found Han standing there in the shadows of the trees? What if she’d let his eyes rove over her body in the moonlight? If she’d gone to him as she’d imagined so many times before?

Leia doesn’t want to wonder anymore.

“Then what happened?” she asks, feeling flushed. She’s practically panting, and Han is, too, and when he draws back to search her eyes, she says, her heart racing,

“Show me.”

He does.

[jediofgrace]

This is searing and so deeply and wonderfully captures both of them.... I just want to live in this fic and ponder each and every word. So lovely.

[lajulie24]

Oh, Brother

Things were looking a little grim. But what else was new?

Well, Han’s level of optimism about the situation, for one. Still relative optimism, of course.

“Coulda been a hell of a lot worse,” he said, and I wasn’t sure whether he was trying to comfort Leia about the fact that our contact had been compromised, or crow about the fact that he’d been the one to figure it out before we’d actually gotten to the meet.

It could be either, judging from the way he was casually sitting back in his chair. Han’s way of comforting Leia, I’d learned, was subtle. Outwardly speaking, it didn’t look very comforting at all, and at first I’d just chalked it up to him not caring, or needing to pretend that he didn’t care. 

But as Aunt Beru used to say, Don’t let the straw raider fool you. And as I’d gotten to know Han, I’d realized that his casual ways of offering comfort—leaving the Falcon’s ramp down in case you needed a place to hide out, a flippant invitation to dinner (“No big deal, Chewie made extra”), a well-timed mug of kaffe, or just a remark that put the focus somewhere else—worked much better for Leia than a thousand well-meaning words of comfort from others. I’d seen her stiffen, go cold with them, even as her outward appearance radiated warmth and gratitude. Han’s way helped her stay in her body more, stay Leia.

(I’d studied Han’s way of doing things for a bit, in the hopes I could imitate it, learn how to do it. But it didn’t fit, and it made Leia give me funny looks, like she wasn’t sure she could trust me anymore. I’ll admit, I did take some satisfaction in finding out that just being plain old Luke was enough for her to talk to me, confide in me.)

Han’s brand of comfort was not working any particular magic right now, however. “It is worse,” Leia said, glaring at him. She pinched the bridge of her nose, like she had a headache. “No contact, no meet, and now we’re stuck here. It’s only a matter of time until the Empire is at the door.”

“Well, gettin’ your pants in a knot ain’t gonna help, sweetheart,” Han returned. “Relax. I already sent Chewie the code.”

“The code?” I asked.

Leia’s eyes got bigger, and there was fear behind them. “It’s not secure to send communica—“ she began, her fear quickly escalating to rage, until Han interrupted her.

“Think this is my first spin around the market?” he asked, anger rising in his eyes. “This is what I do, Your Worship. Been doin’ it a hell of a lot longer than you. And I just kept you from accepting a personal invitation to an Imp party, so maybe you could show some gratitude ‘stead of questioning every move I make!”

They stared at each other for a long minute, their eyes still challenging each other. I was getting ready to play go-between again when Leia lowered her eyes briefly, then looked back at Han, her anger abating for now.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I just got—“

“—spooked, I know,” Han said, his expression softening as well. “Was a close one.”

“Thank you,” she said sincerely.

Suddenly I was struck by the memory of how Han had pulled Leia and me away from the meet at the last minute. He was supposed to have been working behind the scenes, not seen at all, while Leia took her supposed fiancé (me) to a private dinner with her godfather (our contact). A few blocks before our meeting spot, Han had appeared in an adjacent speeder cab, pulling up alongside ours and pretending to be an older brother who disapproved of the union.

“Young lady, what in the stars you think you’re doin’?” he’d demanded, and the eye conversation between Han and Leia in that moment had been one for the ages. “Puttin’ on airs? What, d’ya think you’re too good for your family now? Think you’re a princess or somethin’?” he’d said, and that’s when it had clicked. Abort! Abort!

I’ve really been working on my sabacc face lately, to do better on missions. And nobody takes a mission more seriously than I do. Well, maybe Leia. Nobody else, though.

But—Young lady. And oh, Gods, the thought of the stern expression that had been on Han’s face. It was just too much. I did the one thing I promised myself I would never do on a mission: I giggled.

Han and Leia both looked at me with curious faces, and that made it worse. Now I couldn’t stop.

“I’m sorry,” I said, gasping for breath, unable to hold back the laughter that had now completely taken over my body. “It’s just—“ I recovered long enough to do my impression of Han’s stern older brother act—“You get in this speeder right now, before I tell Father about this nonsense.”

Han’s eyebrow quirked up, and a grin began to make its way to his mouth. Leia maintained her serious mask for another minute or two, until her laugh rang out, too, surprising us all.

“And you, young man,” she said, joining the imitation, “You need a good talking to. You’re coming with us.” She mimed grabbing me by the collar—just as Han had before I’d croaked out a startled Yes, sir—and then burst into another explosion of laughter, putting her head in her hands.

Han couldn’t help a chuckle or two, himself. “Well,” he said, grinning, “It worked, didn’t it?”

His comm buzzed, and he took a quick look. “That’s Chewie,” he said. “C’mon, kids. Let’s blow this town.”

[jediofgrace]

I could read a whole book of this. So fun and entertaining, yet shows their characters perfectly. Well done, young lady! 😁

[lajulie24]

Eclipse

The droid pricked each of fingers of Luke’s new prosthetic to test their response. Even though he was watching it happen, the tiny jolts of pain he felt startled him. “Ow,” he said softly.

It was his hand, but not. With the wrist compartment open he could see the connections to each of the digits firing as he moved them, see the mechanics of how they were joined; he could feel the sensory input from his new hand, yet know it was not quite of him.

In a similar way, he could sense the energy coming from Leia, who had moved to the viewscreen to watch the Falcon as it departed. Connected to him, even more deeply and personally than before, but not of him. Her energy had changed since Hoth, profoundly so, but if anything she had become more Leia, her own essence distilled down.

Even amid the delirious haze of the last thirty-six hours, with Luke himself stuck in an internal cacophony of voices (Vader’s, calling him Son; Ben’s soft lies about his father; Uncle Owen and Yoda in strange agreement: You should never have come), Luke could sense her shift. Her new alignment.

Her sadness ran deep—oh, so very deep, and he could only sense the glimmer off the top of that well. Her fear was great, too, though she’d put it aside to do what must be done: guiding Luke to the medical bunk to dress his wounds, helping Chewie bring the ship back to the Alliance, enduring what he’d heard was a relentless debriefing, bringing every ounce of influence and rhetoric she had to bear on freeing Lando and securing supplies for the Falcon, staying at Luke’s bedside through the night and during his surgery this morning. But with her fear and sadness, there was a new element to the fire inside her. Two suns joining, an eclipse that burned brighter than either one alone.

Han.

Leia would be the first to tell you—rightly—that she didn’t need another person to be fiercely, beautifully herself. Yet from the first moment they’d bickered in her cellblock, Han had managed to reach some spark within her, stop it from dying. Nurture it. People thought, rumors said that it was a sexual spark alone: All she needs is a good fuck, and he’s just the one to give it to her. But people who knew her, knew them, understood better. Saw that Han loved all of Leia, the spark inside and the layers she used to protect it. Saw that Leia loved all of Han, even as it confounded her, terrified her.

Luke walked over to where she stood, her eyes not leaving the Falcon. He put an arm around her, watched her face for a moment.  Han was frozen, lost, somewhere unknown out in the universe before them. Yet his fire was here, combined with Leia’s, kept safely in her heart, warming everything around it.

Luke had his own demons left to fight, but in some strange way, this change in Leia filled him with a hope he’d not thought possible again.

Together, they watched the Falcon disappear into hyperspace, then silently looked at the stars for a few minutes.

Finally, Leia turned to Luke. “I need to tell you something,” she said, still troubled, but radiant as the stars behind her.

[jediofgrace]

LaJuuuuuulie....once again, you take my breath away with your insight. “Han.” That realization right there speaks so much of Luke’s connection to Leia, to the Force, to his friends... I love it. I love that he knows everything before she says a word. “Yet his fire was there...” so beautiful.

[lajulie24]

Forty Days to Bespin, by Leela Starsky

“You want to know what I’m afraid of, Han?” Her dark eyes met his finally, full of challenge. “Really afraid of?” If this didn’t scare him off, nothing would. “I’m afraid of falling in love with you!” There! She’d said it! Her rage callously abandoned her and her shoulders slumped. She looked away, terrified of what she might see in his eyes. “Afraid that I already have.”

“That makes two of us.”

One of the original great Han/Leia fics, and one of the great trip-to-Bespin fics in particular. I still enjoy rereading this one, and it has no doubt inspired many a writer to pen their own ideas for this trip.

[jediofgrace]

Beautiful.