i.

[organa]

It's been a long time since Leia's been this inconsolable. Things don't usually get to her – not visibly, anyway – but she's rattled to the core when she bursts into the Twilight's cockpit with a dramatic sort of flare that she can't help in this moment. She managed to keep her emotions steady and under control on the way over here, but the dam that was holding them back has now burst. Leia's furious, and wounds that were never fully on the mend feel like they've been ripped open all over again.

Most of all, she's hurt. Anakin's words stung, and she's mortified he would even imply such a thing.

Comments

[organa]

Just as playfully as before, she smacks him again, sitting beside him as best she can on the cramped cot.

"Don't call me that. I'm not a princess anymore." Unhooking her lightsaber from her hip, she looms over him, dangling the pummel from her fingers. "Or do you need a reminder?"

As for who said something even remotely on the subject of her marrying him— "It's not important."

[velocities]

The amount of hair that falls over them when she leans in is astounding, and save the odd strand persistently trying to get into his mouth, Han can't say he dislikes it. Very much the opposite, actually.

He eyes the pummel and then gives her that same look he'd had in the circuitry bay after evacuating Hoth.

"Okay, Leia. How about you remind me of something else?"

[organa]

"Like what? This—" The tip of the lightsaber's hilt is pressed against the underside of his chin, faux threateningly. "Or—"

For a moment, Leia ignores the constant thrum of Force-sensitive minds looming at the edge of her awareness. The lightsaber drops to his chest, rolling off both him and the cot. It clatters to the floor as she presses a firm, quick kiss to his lips.

"Or something more like that?"

[velocities]

His hand has already gone up to skim past her ear and cradle the back of her head, fingers tangling in the hair at the root for the first time he can remember.

"Now who's the scoundrel?" Muttered low as he pulls her back down for another kiss.

[organa]

She'd insist that the scoundrel was still him if he left her room to answer, let alone breathe, before claiming her lips again.

Leia wilts atop him, barely having the presence of mind to push her hair back out of the way as best she can without moving. She really ought to replait it, but that would also require moving. Right now, that's the last thing she wants to do.

[velocities]

No, moving is entirely out of the question. He keeps his hand on the back of her head, careful not to pull her hair when pulls her down with him so he can lay flat on the cramped little cot they're on.

As far as he's concerned, any Jedi eavesdropping can go ahead and get spaced along with Mon, the rest of High Command, and every prince or king that thought they could take this from her. This moment, this small happiness. It's selfish and possessive, but this is his.