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]

A nod, then a shrug. "Now depends on whether or not you're okay with being in a relationship with Leia Skywalker."

She'd said it to others, but not Han. She knew that he still had (well founded) reservations for her father, but as much as she tried desperately to hold on to the partsnof herself that were still Alderaanian, she couldn't be an Organa anymore. How could she possibly explain that?

Leia waits, gauging his reaction to laying claim to her father's – and brother's – name.

[velocities]

There isn't much time for a reaction. However it is he feels about her father, whatever suspicion and caution there is exists for Vader. Even on Bakura it had been the Skywalker in her, not the Vader, he'd tried to remind her of. Something more of Luke, of someone neither of them had known until now.

"Wouldn't be here if I had a problem with it, sweetheart." Han squeezes her hand and smirks, giddy and stupid and insufferable. "Though I gotta say I liked the sound of 'Leia Solo,' too."

Not a proposal, of course, but if they're being honest...

[organa]

"Oh, don't you start with that, too."

She plants the hand he's not holding on his chest and gives him a light, playful shove.

"Some women may wait until their wedding nights to let a man take their hair down, but we are not getting married."

[velocities]

Han just laughs and settles back on the cot, resting on his elbow as he looks up at her.

In some other time with some other version of events about to transpire there might be princes and kings chasing her down, but if she wants him, wants him, then Han figures he's already got the winning sabaac hand. He's just got to wait for all the other players to fold.

"Anything you say, highness-ness."

Except, wait... "Who else started that? Luke?"

[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.