a galaxy far, far away . . . .

[straightouttacarbonite]

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There is a reasonable chance of it being NSFW and junk. <3

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Return of the Slow Boat to Bespin

[straightouttacarbonite]

The galaxy never seems so wide as when you're stuck with a busted hyperdrive, but after their tentative, long-awaited encounter in the cockpit, Han finds he's not terribly bothered by crawling along toward Bespin. It's selfish, he knows, but it's not like he can do anything to speed the journey up; they might as well enjoy themselves. Take their time, since they've got time whether they want it or not.

Eager as he is, Han doesn't press the issue immediately. Eventually they laughed and shrugged their shirts back on and she kissed him again, sweetly, and left about halfway through his shift. Frankly, he was surprised she'd been willing to go that far, when before then it had always been heated looks followed by cold shoulders, when she'd run away right after letting him kiss her. He can't be in a hurry, not after that. He'd let her go and spent the rest of his shift grinning stupidly at the stars. No complaints.

Now, he's let her sit a while with the memory of his mouth on her, and judging from the looks they exchange as they go about their business, she's not regretting it. So he plans ahead, a little. He manages to talk Chewie into taking a long shift just in case (this involves a fair amount of good-natured growling about the princess' poor life choices) and to keep Threepio out of the way, and he finds one last bottle of wine hidden away in the hold, and goes to knock on the door of the crew quarters.

Hell, if she's sleeping, he's gonna feel really silly.

[imahologram]

It's a good thing she's not actually sleeping at this point, just getting ready for bed. Leia's pulling off her shirt when she hears the knock at the door. For a moment, she freezes, trying to remember if she missed a shift in the pilot's seat--but no, it's Chewie right now, isn't it? Letting the fabric drop back over her, she calls, "Come in."

Her cheeks grow warm when she sees just who it is. She hasn't been avoiding Han by any means, but there hasn't been a moment quite like the one they'd shared a few days ago. That he hasn't pressed for anything more than a smile or two hasn't gone unnoticed by her; she's vacillated between gratefulness and disappointment since then.

(Just think, she tells herself ruefully, on a night when the memory of his callused fingers makes sleeping more difficult than usual, you would have killed for this a few weeks ago.)

"Someone's up to no good," she says, glancing at the bottle he's carrying.

[straightouttacarbonite]

"I don't know who, I'm up to nothing but good."

Granted, his intentions could be questionable depending on one's perspective, but he feels pretty good about them. His aim is for her to feel pretty damn good, too, so where's the harm there?

Han has made a lot of rash decisions in his life, has been the subject of plenty. He's been giving her space because that isn't what he wants from this, because she deserves better and he couldn't stand to be a regret. The faint flush of her cheeks is appealing, doesn't seem unwelcoming, but it's not a proper invitation either. As always he's trying his luck.

He takes a step closer, offering her the bottle.

"I always try to keep something on hand for bribes."

[imahologram]

Leia raises an eyebrow, leaning forward to take the bottle from him. "Just what do you need a bribe for?"

Not much, when it comes down to it. He's as welcome a presence in the crew quarters as anywhere else, and especially so when there's no one to interrupt them. She's spent more time than she'd like to admit remembering the nicest moments from the last time they were alone together. Recreating them, especially with some wine on hand, sounds like a better idea than trying to sleep on this narrow, lumpy mattress.

She slides over a little on her bunk, tucking her feet beneath her. There's not much space there, but it's enough for him to sit if he'd like to. Consider yourself invited, flyboy.

[straightouttacarbonite]

"You never know what kinda trouble you might get into."

Right now he's not planning on bribing her, except maybe with the warm memories of the other day, the promise of more to come. It's a little different now, the way he looks at her; no less intent, but softer around the edges. Checking the door absently-- not that he expects to be interrupted, but it doesn't hurt to be doubly sure-- he comes to sit beside her. There's not much space, but he'd make a point of sitting too close if they had a whole planet to stretch out on right now.

[imahologram]

"Maybe not." She watches him glance back at the door--good choice, Solo--and take the few steps necessary to sit beside her. He's all warmth, even through his clothes, and she recalls of the feel of him beneath her when his arm brushes against her shoulder.

After a moment's stiff-backed consideration, she leans into him a little. It's the sort of movement that feels overwhelmingly artificial to her when she's thinking about it; hopefully the wine will bury that instinct to be so conscious of everything she does. "The only trouble I see right now is if you don't have a corkscrew."

[straightouttacarbonite]

She's not the only one who's been thinking back on their time together. Keeping a little distance makes it easier to put aside her hands sliding under his shirt, the way she'd spoken his name-- soft, then louder than she meant to. It's distracting. He wants more.

Even if she's a little awkward, he smiles as she leans against him. It's all right if it takes a while for this to feel comfortable. The wine can't hurt.

"Good point."

Slowly, without moving his gaze from hers, Han leans close, his lips parted very slightly, until they're nearly brushing hers...

And then he pulls the corkscrew from his pocket. What? He had to lean over.

(The real problem is he forgot to bring cups.)

[imahologram]

Leia stares up at him, her breath heavy in her lungs, as he comes closer and--ugh, of course all he was doing was fishing the corkscrew out of his pocket. The disappointment is obvious on her face for a moment, and then she realizes as much and glances back down at the wine.

She holds the bottle out to him, the back of one hand brushing deliberately against his thigh. "I'm guessing you know your way around one of those."

(So does she, as it happens, but that's irrelevant for the moment.)

[straightouttacarbonite]

Hey, if he didn't tease a little he wouldn't be the scoundrel she likes so damn much. Though it's hard to be very amused by the way her face falls. And here he'd thought he might be moving too quickly if he'd kissed her there.

He touches her arm, lets his fingertips trail over her hand until he can grasp the bottle, eyes on her until the moment he has to look down at what he's doing. Though with the heat of her hand against his leg, he's ridiculously tempted to say the hell with it, drop the bottle, probably make an enormous mess, and get on with kissing her.

But he doesn't. The cork comes loose with a soft pop, and he hands the bottle back.

[imahologram]

He's very good at being a scoundrel--she'll give him that, at least. And a rather generous one, at that, letting her take the bottle back for the first sip. She can still feel the ghost of his fingers over her skin, nearly as weighted as his gaze upon her. Everything he's done since knocking at the door has had a new studiousness to it, as if he's decided that if this is going to happen, he's going to do it with absolute purpose.

"I'm guessing you don't have any cups in that pocket," she says, but the fact that they're drinking like scoundrels isn't really a deterrent. She brings the bottle to her lips and tips it back with the sort of precision that might suggest this isn't her first time stuck somewhere without stemmed glasses. After a pull, she offers it back to Han, her tongue flicking out to catch an errant drop of wine at the corner of her mouth.

[straightouttacarbonite]

If this is going to happen-- and needless to say, he very much wants that-- he's going to be serious about it. Not too serious, because there are some things too serious to be serious about, but if they're doing this, she has to know he means it as more than just a way to fill the time between here and Cloud City.

But he's never been particularly quiet about what he wants. Still.

Rather than answer he takes the bottle back and drinks, watching her mouth. Still not subtle, Solo.

This time when he leans in he's not reaching for his pocket, and he doesn't plan to disappoint her.

[imahologram]

It's going to happen, because she decided it would when he showed up in her doorway--oh, so this is how we'll do things--and once Leia Organa's set her mind to something, it gets done. So far, tonight lacks a sense of the spontaneity of their last tryst, but she doesn't mind that. The fact that it all feels premeditated suits her.

It doesn't do anything to quell the vague, frustrating sense of self-consciousness, though, nor does her sudden realization that his attention has shifted down from her eyes. She bites down on her lower lip, which doubtless doesn't help anything. As much as she's used to having the attention of others, the open stare of one very desirable man is a sort she's still getting used to. It's those scant moments before their first kiss all over again.

She's relieved when he shifts his weight again, wasting no time in snaking an arm around his neck to pull him to her in a kiss. The flavour of the wine clings to his mouth, adds to the taste of him.

[straightouttacarbonite]

Half of him had been set on waiting for her to make the next move, but neither of them is a master of patience. Action suits them both better than contemplation or conversation, so here he is. Extremely premeditated, but only because he wants the space to be spontaneous without worrying about interruption.

The way she bites her lip is shy but not hesitant, and overwhelmingly charming. He kisses her greedily, far more interested in this than the wine, lifting his other hand to cup her cheek. It's good wine-- wouldn't be much use if it wasn't-- but (if he can be melodramatic and sappy for a moment in the space of his own mind) the taste doesn't compare to her lips.

"Leia."

He pulls away just enough to breathe her name, soft and fervent. She ought to know just what she does to him. If he could think of any fitting words, maybe he'd say them, but he just takes a moment to search her face like he needs to commit the moment to memory, and then he kisses her again.

[imahologram]

The party after the destruction of the second Death Star is pretty impressive, considering that it's been planned and put on by a group of war-mongering Ewoks. Once Luke joins Han and Leia, trying to find a smile despite Darth Vader's death, the three of them are feted like nobody present tried to cook and eat two of them this week. They're fed until Leia's sure she won't be able to move if she takes another bite (which, she thinks wryly, wouldn't be a bad way to lull them into a false sense of security if the plans to make dinner out of them were still on). After the food, there's dancing and singing, and though "Yub Nub" leaves something to be desired, it's a fun night.

The Ewoks are getting into something like ghost stories when Luke excuses himself, his expression growing a little more sorrowful once more. He's going to Vader's pyre again, she realizes, and the thought of the man who was--technically speaking--their father gives her pause.

She glances over at Han in the firelight, his blue eyes bright as he takes a fourth cup of wine and clinks it against the wooden cup of the Ewok serving him. It's not right to leave him in the dark about this. She loves him, too much to lie to him even by omission about the man who tortured him and had him frozen in carbonite for half a year.

"Han," she murmurs, taking hold of his free hand. Gently, she pulls him toward the edge of the forest, where the shadows grow longer and the music threatens to be overtaken by the soft drone of insects and the whisper of a breeze. "I need to talk to you."

[straightouttacarbonite]

Ewok wine is actually pretty good. Who'd have thought? He was dubious about the first cup they pressed into his hand, but a party's a party and they've got a lot to celebrate, and a lot of lost friends to honor. By the third cup he's even managing not to be annoyed by the fuzzy, rowdy little creatures crowding around him, dancing and singing, dragging Rebel pilots into their swaying circles, playing gruesome drums-- though with any luck there aren't any heads left in those helmets.

Every time Leia comes into sight he smiles at her, bright and easy now that he doesn't have to worry about the inevitable eventuality that she'll leave him. This time-- well, he grins like an idiot as she comes up, but something about the urgency in her low tone pulls him out of his festive mood as they draw away from the dancing.

"What is it?"

(She can't have changed her mind, there isn't anyone else, right?)

[imahologram]

"Out here," she says, drawing him away from the Ewoks' settlement until there's more shadow than light. With the starlight above their heads, it's not impossible to navigate, and there's little to fear out in the quiet darkness.

Little around them, at least. The only things worth worrying about are truths less tangible than anything they might find on Endor.

Finally, they're in a little grove of trees that seems suitably far from the party. Leia sits down at the base of a tree, leaning back against its trunk. The moss is soft beneath her, and she can't help thinking Even if I end up sitting here alone, I'll be comfortable. Cold comfort, but she can't ask for much better at this point. Not knowing what she does.

"Come here," she murmurs, tugging his hand toward her. This whole conversation--the possibility of it, not even the words they've started to share--already feels like an ending. One last lingering embrace, and then she can say it.

[straightouttacarbonite]

Han can hold his liquor pretty well; he's had enough to be pleasantly tipsy, but not much worse off. But the further they walk, the more sober he feels, troubled by how quiet she's being. It's beautiful out here; he can barely appreciate it until she stops, folding into a hollow between the tree roots.

Sitting there, her hand curled in his, he feels like that's the only tether holding them in place. She's pressed her back against the tree but he can't help thinking it seems like she's going to float away. Getting ready to cast him off, maybe. An hour ago everything seemed fine but now that feels all too possible.

He sinks to his knees, then sits beside her. Far too close, if she means to be rid of him, but that's who he is. He doesn't intend to be let off easy.

"Let's have it," he says softly, weary.

[imahologram]

As far as she's concerned, he's nowhere near close enough. Leia wraps her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder for a breath, and then another. If she could, she'd stay right here for the rest of the night, letting herself be awake without really thinking, just thanking the Force for the fact that Han's beside her right now. They're lucky to be alive, could easily have been among the lost. But until he knows the truth, she'll never be able to luxuriate in his nearness with anything like contentment. A secret will always lie between them.

"It's Luke." It's not really Luke, but it starts and ends with Luke in her mind: Luke, who told her, and Luke, who brought Vader's body back to the moon. "I didn't tell you everything today--not everything he told me."

She looks at Han, holding his gaze as long as he'll let her. She'd be a coward to say this to his chest or to the ground, and if there's one thing Leia Organa refuses to be, it's cowardly. "Our father--our birth father--was up there on the Death Star."

[straightouttacarbonite]

It sort of takes him by surprise, that she comes closer rather than shying away. He couldn't shake the sense that she was trying to let him down easily. Maybe she's trying to let herself down easily; he doesn't know, and instead of wasting more time trying to guess he just slips his arm around her, lets her take her time. If this is the last of it-- he can't imagine why this should be the last of it-- then they might as well both savor it.

And when she speaks he snaps to attention, meeting her gaze. She's no coward and he isn't, either; he won't be the one to look away, only to let his brow furrow with confusion.

"That doesn't make any sense..."

[imahologram]

As tempting as it is to wait and let him puzzle over this, she can't. The conversation's a runaway bantha, and the only thing she can do is explain until all the words careen into a wall and everything's over.

"It does," she tells him, reaching for one of his hands. It feels selfish, wanting to slip her hand in his and twine their fingers, but right now, she finds she doesn't give a damn. One last moment when she can keep Han to herself, safe and strong within her grasp, is what she can have. She's going to take it. "He was the reason Luke had to go up there, Han. He had to face Darth Vader."

There's the truth, one that's only weighed on her for the last day. It kills her to think that Luke kept it to himself so long.

[straightouttacarbonite]

Selfish he can handle. A minute ago he was sure she was trying to chase him off; if she's not, then hell, she can hang on all she wants to. He curls his fingers around her hand, warm and sturdy, reliable. Except he's still totally confused about what she means.

"Because he killed Luke's--" your, he should've said-- "father?"

It's halfway between statement and question. That's what the old man said, isn't it? And what difference does it make, anyway? He's not in love with her father, after all, whoever he might have been. Whether he was a senator or a spice runner or a Jedi, it's all the same, doubly so if he's dead. The only reason he can see not to declare himself too drunk to have this serious a conversation and forget it is that Leia's clearly tied herself in a knot, which means he needs to help untangle it.

[imahologram]

The distance of the question, like they're just discussing Luke's parentage, makes all of this a little easier. And it feels more true, anyway--her own parents died four years ago, not yesterday, no matter how her brother might feel.

What'd be easier still would be Han just understanding what she means, so they could move on from this and get to the part where his eyes narrow and he jabs a finger in her face. But this is Han she's talking with; one gets used to having to spell everything out in bright, bold Aurebesh.

(It's probably better that she does, anyway.)

"No." Her fingertips dig into the back of Han's hand until she can feel the bones under his flesh. This is it--this is the end of all of it. If there was a way to curl even closer to him without ending up on his lap, she'd do it. "Because he was his father."

Even if it was only for scant minutes that actually counted, she has the feeling that Luke will carry those with him forever.

[straightouttacarbonite]

Subtlety has never been his style. For Han if you mean to say something, it's best just to say it and be done with it. Leia, of course she's diplomatic when she needs to be, but she's never been afraid to speak her mind to him. Maybe that's partly because she's kept him so long at arm's length; there couldn't be much fear of driving him off when that's what she was intending to do, but he's stuck around in spite of everything. By now, he figures, she's got to know he's not going anywhere.

Which is the only reason he doesn't snap back the obvious accusation that she must be joking. Because it's utterly ridiculous; Luke is about the furthest you could get from someone like Vader. The only resemblance is a total inversion.

He opens his mouth, and then shuts it again, looking at her like he hasn't seen her until now. (Really, he does that a lot, if for different reasons. If he lives to be a hundred he'll never be tired of looking at her, he's sure of it. If she lets him keep doing it that long.)

"Are you sure?"

Maybe that's a stupid question, but he can't help doubting it.

[imahologram]

"Of course I'm sure." For once, it's not argumentative--just tired. He's staring at her like he's looking for Vader in her dark hair or the curve of her mouth, and she thinks he already knows the answer to his question, anyway. Somebody had to sire her, even if it was Bail Organa who raised her. "Luke's sure."

And that's everything. If either of them are going to know, it's going to be the Jedi. Han wasn't here for all of Luke's silences in the last half-year, or for the way his expression would shift from cool certainty to something sadder when he thought no one was looking.

There are so many other things she could say--that she just found out a day ago, that she's sorry, maybe--but none of it makes any difference. Han will believe her, and he'll do...whatever it is he's going to do, but she assumes it'll involve finger-pointing...and things will end. She just has to wait, little as she likes it; she can't even find it in her to enjoy the fact that he's curled up next to her, knowing something else is coming.

[straightouttacarbonite]

If he's looking for any such trace, he doesn't find it. Leia looks like she always has. Perfect. Stubborn and young and beautiful and unwilling to show that she's scared, even if she is.

It's hard to put himself in her place; can't imagine what it would be like to learn an awful truth like that. But, then, her entire understanding of family is unlike his, of course he can't imagine what it would mean. She can't seriously believe she's at all like him-- that Luke is at all like Vader-- right?

He reaches up to brush his thumb over her cheek.