For those of you who follow me on Tumblr, you've seen me post this in bits every week. It will ultimately be a 3-part piece, styled like Gravity and Exceptional Leia.

This piece is entirely about sexual violence rather than it being a background detail you could avoid by skimming. I was interested in how most writing about Leia and sexual violence locates it on the Death Star, before she knows Han, and then centralizes him finding out and helping her cope as part of the arc of their relationship. However, there's a more canonically-supported (in my opinion) place to locate sexual violence and Leia – in my experience, people avoid that one. Maybe because it's more complicated to write about such events occurring within the context of a relationship rather than being revealed as a relationship develops?

Anyway, that's where this fic takes place. It doesn't hold as the headcanon for any of my other work and I don't think it's more or less likely than anything else. Just something rarely written about within the section of the fandom that writes about Leia's trauma.

It's also one of my rare pieces heavy on plot, and entirely from Han's perspective. A good challenge, but a challenge nonetheless.

Vulnerable/Invulnerable: Part 1

"Something's up with Leia."

Han frowned at his friend, instantly defensive. "Whatdaya mean something's up with Leia?"

Luke glanced around the small Tatooine hut before continuing, "She seems — tense. Edgy."

"Cmon kid, I've been out of it for six months and even I know that's just her way."

Luke shook his head. "It's different now. Something feels different. Like she's on high alert all the time."

"Why the hell would she be on high alert?"

"I don't know, that's my point — something's up with her." Luke bit his lip, then glanced around again before clarifying, "Since Jabba's."

Han stiffened, crossing his arms firmly. "What're you gettin' at," he said, his voice flat and cold.

Luke held his hands up. "Not anything, necessarily. I just – I didn't know if you knew. If anything had happened."

"Hell yeah something happened, that sick sonofabitch chained her up and she choked the hell out of him, and good riddance––"

"Dinner's almost ready." Leia's voice, then, definitive but light, and then there she was, hand on her hip, brushing sweat-dampened hair back from her forehead and fretting it into her braid. "Well. What will have to pass for dinner," she amended, looking between them. They both looked at her: wearing an amalgamation of their things because the looseness made easier the use of bacta on her wrists and neck, flushing with the heat, looking back at them curiously. "What?"

Han shot Luke a look that bordered on aggressive, as if to say see? We're fine here, thanks, before saying cheekily, "Weighin' whether or not your cooking's edible, is all," settling a large possessive hand squarely on her lower back, and guiding her back towards the kitchen. He couldn't place the feeling inside of him: some kind of resentful jealousy? Like he'd finally got the girl and Luke was just so eager to spite him, make it sour, make there be something wrong. But he knew even on some level that that wasn't it – wasn't why he suddenly felt so defensive.

Leia was back tending to whatever it was on the stove and as if to reassure himself he came up behind her slowly and ducked to kiss her neck a few times. She rolled her eyes and smiled lightly – "Ha-an…" – and he upped the ante slightly, slipping his arms around her waist and moving so he was pressed up against her, still kissing her neck insistently, mindful of the marks.

Was that a quick breath she sucked in? Was that a flash of something across her eyes? Or was he being crazy… he had figured she'd probably be reluctant about displays of affection like this in front of others and sure enough she murmured, "Han, Luke's in the other room…"

"Who cares," he mumbled back, kissing the side of her face, suddenly desperate.

She smiled faintly, gently extricating herself. "You're supposed to be resting, you know…"

"Resting's boring."

"Is it?"

"Can think of some better ways to pass the time…"

"Mm. Glad the carbonite hasn't left you changed." She kissed his lips delicately and he found himself performing a close analysis of it – what made it the same, what made it different? She was smiling genuinely up at him, almost uncharacteristically vulnerable in her warmth, and held his hands in hers. "Later, hotshot, okay?"

Later, okay? He felt an almost overwhelming surge of relief – if something … happened, whatever the hell Luke was implying, surely she wouldn't be making allusions to later, right? Or smiling warmly at him when he touched her? Yeah she'd been uncharacteristically clingy the past few nights – clingy as in clinging, as in literally clinging to him, practically wrapping her legs in addition to her arms around him and pressing her face to his chest and holding him so tight it almost kept him up – but hell, he'd just escaped a near-death experience, it'd been six months without her, and their bed mat here was real narrow anyway. And it hadn't felt sad or wrong or anything – if anything, he'd felt – what, wanted and needed? Good? Stroking her hair and basking in the pleasure of the tough princess needing him so much… if something had "happened" surely she'd want her space… or like, be – crying, or something? That felt crude, but – and yeah she'd insisted on dressing all of her own wounds, but he figured after being put on display no shit she'd take a little privacy where she could get it – that didn't mean anyone had – he gulped, feeling his face screw up with anxiety – gods, touched her or anything, fuck…

"Luke!" Leia called, twisting away slightly. "Go tell Chewie and Lando to come on in and eat before it gets too dark!"

Another thing about this hideout, too – no electricity, would attract too much attention, so they rose and went to bed very early, something none of them were used to. Ostensibly they were her because Han was supposedly too weak to fly or something, or had been, for the past few days. Had been delirious the first few, mostly just aware of Leia's face and her cool hands tending to him, her mouth in her a worried line. They'd be heading out tomorrow, thank gods. When it got dark it was sort of awkward – nothing to do other than talk quietly and eventually get in bed. Or, talk quietly, eventually get in bed, and listen to some joke about Han and Leia finding a way to occupy their time. She'd just snuggled beside him, murmuring about how much she missed him, kept cool cloths on his forehead – she seemed fuckin' angelic, how could anyone think…?

And yet – there, as Lando came up to them with those very soft footsteps of his, behind her to get a cup before greeting, "Solo, Princess" – she practically jumped, jumped–– … and he felt his stomach churn…

As Leia did her best to arrange things in a way that somewhat resembled a table, Han pulled Luke aside, his voice low. "Listen. What'd you mean by tense. huh? Like jumpy?"

Luke raised his eyebrows high, glancing at Leia then back. "Jumpy's a word for it, yeah," he said slowly, his voice just as low.

"What else." His voice warning, serious.

"I think she, um." Luke looked away, then looked back. "I think she hasn't taken her hair down since she first put it back up?"

Han stared at him. "What."

"When we got here and she showered and she put it up. I don't think she's taken it back down."

"That's – what? She's showered since then."

"She's like showered with it – up? I think she's – I don't really know. I can't explain it – you haven't been really in it these past few days, you haven't seen her…"

Han snuck a glance back at Leia. Her hair did look kinda worse for wear – but they all looked worse for wear.

"Just – talk to her? Or I can talk to her, if you want––"

Han shook his head sharply.

"I just – I'm worried about," Luke's voice going lower still, his eyes big and innocent and suddenly insufferable, "If she needs medical attenti––"

Han swung his fist back against the wall automatically and the clatter was spectacular, causing Leia to jerk up. "Careful…" she said, frowning. "Are you going to come eat?"

Han pressed his fist to his mouth and nodded, breathing hard, suddenly not able to look at her.

"Han?" There she was, suddenly close, her slight hands rubbing his upper arms then inspecting his fist. "If you're feeling dizzy again, you ought to lie back down… let me get you some water?"

"M'feelin' fine, he muttered, resting his hands on her waist automatically before moving them to her back, holding her against his chest and inhaling.

"Han…" she murmured, her voice warning but pleased. He looked down and she was smiling, confused but happy. She seems happy, right? So everything must be okay? "Let's go sit down, alright?"

You'd tell me, right princess? You'd tell me anything? That was the deal, yeah? "Yeah, alright. Okay." He kissed her forehead and noticed that his hands, holding her, were shaking slightly.

She seemed fine through dinner, chattering lightly, picking at her food in that Leia way of hers, where she made her hunger come off as kind of purposeful. Smiling at him warmly, always, when she caught his eye – she seemed so happy to see him, every time she looked at him, it almost made him redden. He supposed he hadn't felt the past six months like she had. Tried to imagine six months without Leia, but he couldn't.

Instead he was imagining Leia in a lot of different ways, ways he felt like he couldn't look at her while thinking about, that made him unable to eat, either. He hadn't seen much of the getup that she'd been in but he could guess at it, it hadn't occurred to him until now to consider how she'd gotten into it. Had there been marks on her, too, that he hadn't really seen, that Luke had seen? He knew about the welts on her hands and neck because he helped her, a little, to figure a way to strap bacta patches onto them so her movement wasn't restricted, the world's most unwieldy bracelets and necklaces. He'd like to buy her a hundred bracelets and necklaces, enamel bangles like women wore back home, and then lift them off of her, gently, and see smooth, unharmed skin underneath. He stared at his plate and thought of every dancing girl he'd ever seen at Jabba's, made them all into Leia, he always knew they were more harem than entertainment but – Leia?

Luke had said medical attention, Kriff. Had she had bruising or––? What would that even… He shuddered. And the thought of even trying to coax Leia into something like that was incomprehensible, Leia who'd always been private and insisted on the strength of her body. How could anyone convince her to what, spread her legs so some half-rate medic could look – look for what?

"Hey." Her low, husky voice, her hand on his knee. "Are you alright there?"

He nodded faintly, swallowing. This was all bulllshit, Luke being nervous bullshit, her hair, so what, overreaction, there was no reason to think…

Talk to her, Luke mouthed as they cleaned up the dishes after the meal. The other half of the sentence was obvious – Or I will.

He was waiting for her in their little sleeping bag, later, when she finished showering, coming out already wearing her modest nightclothes that kept her covered wrist to ankle, her hair messy but wound tight. Everyone else had fallen asleep – she always made sure to shower last. She crawled in next to him and clung to him tightly, and he inhaled the soapy smell of her, so clean and raw, his heart pounding. He started massaging her shoulders gently, but she twisted and made a little sound before looking up and giving an apologetic smile. "Mm. Sensitive," she breathed as explanation.

"Sore? S'good, it'll help," he whispered back.

"More bruisey than muscle," she explained, nuzzling her head back up against chest. She was practically clinging to his shirt, her grip so tight… he stroked her hair carefully.

"These givin' you a headache?" he asked softly, casually, pulling one of the long pins loose, but her hand was immediately there, stopping his and pushing the pin back into place. He bit his lip, his heart racing faster. "I miss those princess tresses, huh? How 'bout letting 'em down for me?"

She shook her head sleepily but said nothing, and they were silent for a long while. Talk to her or I will. Talk to her. Talk to her.

"Hey sweetheart?" he whispered, scooting down slightly so his mouth was closer to her ear, and he swore he saw her shiver. "C'I ask you somethin', without you getting mad?"

She nodded faintly, her eyes still shut, and he wasn't positive if she was awake or not. She was still clinging to him tightly, though, her grip like death, desperate and unrelenting. He let his fingers run over her back, tracing patterns there, imagining-fearing what he'd find on the skin underneath.

He'd thought of a lot of ways to put it: did someone hurt you, did something happen, all vague almost infantile euphemisms for the language that was now screaming in his head, loud and violent as the images of her that wouldn't stop – her red, tearstained face, her thrashing form, her breasts…

Instead he found himself blurting out, hushed, "Are you okay?"

And at first there was nothing, like maybe she was asleep after all or else didn't understand, but then there, there it was – one sharp, keening inhale and suddenly she was shaking in his arms, trembling almost violently, her face pressed harder to his chest – no tears, no sound, just spasming, like something breaking open – her whole body jerking and needing to be held tight and clearly craving that tightness, pulling his arms tighter around herself, as if she had total confidence that he could hold her together. He didn't know if he could hold her together.

The next day, before they took off, he strode up to Luke after he'd finished his goodbyes with Leia. Trying to be casual, he planted himself next to the younger man and put his hands on his hips as if surveying the ships before saying in a low voice, "You were right," he muttered, not looking at Luke, voice low, watching as Leia gave instruction to Lando. "Somethin' happened."

"It did?" Luke asked, eyes widening before he remembered to keep a neutral stance.

Han nodded stiffly.

"She told you?"

"More or less," he said gruffly. Not in so many words but, yeah. He could figure it out.

"Gods I'm – I'm sorry, Han," Luke said seriously, looking at him fully, but he just shook his head. Not the time or place for any of that. Wouldn't help anyone. And anyway, why was he sorry to him?

He'd stayed up all night, or just about, in order to make sure his grip didn't relax. That – pressure, she'd managed to whisper, once her breathing had calmed to something a bit more reasonable. It feels – better, with the pressure, with your weight, if it doesn't bother you too much. That had been all she'd said. He'd just said he loved her but, cowardly, he'd done after he was pretty sure she'd fallen asleep. Waited for her death grip on him to relax and then brushed his lips over her hair and muttered Love you, Leia. I love you, Leia.

He saw Luke swallow out of the corner of his eye. "If you need anything, let me know, alright? If she needs anything," he amended, as if trying to spare Han's pride.

He almost said something sardonic and nasty, but bit it back and, instead, gave a small, terse nod. He looked at Leia, running her fingers over her wounded neck absentmindedly, her hair even rattier than the day before. If he didn't know better he'd have thought she was having some kind of seizure last night – all that shaking. It feels better with the pressure, it feels better with your weight. What was it?

You know exactly what "it" is, a voice in his head was saying. That's what you just told Luke, isn't it? You know exactly––

"Good luck," Luke said genuinely, moving to hug him, and Han had the distinct feeling that something was being handed off to him, some task he didn't quite have the skills for or the resources to do right, something that was so, so important. She was so, so important.

"Yeah, kid," he said casually, clapping his back, still squinting in Leia's direction. In this bright light, as she tilted her head to and fro with interest he could see purple thumbprint marks in a two neat lines on the sides of her throat. Anyone could. "Same to you."

And then next thing he knew they were being intercepted by Rebellion officials on the base, all mandatory debrief and seclusion, in a windowless holding area with a fuckin' guard, first him and her and Lando and Chewie, then him and her and Chewie, then him and her. High Command with their ridiculous protocols – we went on an unauthorized mission and upended the entire socio-political structure of a region, they have a right to hear what happened – she was drumming her fingers against her knees, looking tired but not totally out of the ordinary.

"Hey princess?"

She jerked at his voice, then settled. "Yes?"

He tilted his head. "You feelin' any better?"

"What?"

"From last night."

She sort of pressed her lips together and nodded slowly, but he got the sense that she wasn't saying yes so much as agreeing that it had, in fact, happened. "Later my love, okay?" she said, and she kissed his cheek gently. It took him a second to register that this was the first time she'd – well, treated him like – whatever they were, here, in front of – well, in front of this guard, but still. And he was so caught up, really, in thinking about what that was, what this would be like, whatever this was, that he almost didn't notice the door opening, and Carlist stepping out.

"We are ready for you now, Princess," he said, smiling warmly at her, and she rose stiffly – she had been walking more stiffly today, she definitely had – and now he wanted to vomit, like actually vomit, maybe Luke was right, maybe he should try to see if she needed some – medical something, Kriff, seven hells… He loved her, he wasn't cut out for this, he loved her, he'd ruined her, fuck, fuck––

He gave her hand a squeeze, and she returned it with another painful, brutally tight grip. And then she was gone.

Without Leia, there was nothing to occupy Han except his thoughts… He reclined awkwardly, trying to strain to hear a bit, but there was nothing he could make out.

Ruined was the wrong word. The wrong word, that was fucked, he may not be Intergalactic Feminist Royalty like Her Highness but he knew fucked-up shit about women or whatever when he heard it. Ruined her – who the hell did he think he was, think she was, that she could be torn up so easily? She'd been through so much and he didn't even know anything. She was tough as shit. She was the strongest person he knew. She would punch in the face anyone who tried to mess with her, right in the teeth.

And if she hadn't been able to she would still – come back swinging, she'd still – it's just this whole thing was her was so new, and – not fragile but – and it was him, because of him.

But she'd be able to. She could knock the shit out of anyone. Himself included. S'what he loved about her.

Except suddenly, then, the door burst open – no Leia, though, but – Rieekan?

Rieekan – the old general's eyes looking red-rimmed, like he'd been – what the hell was happening in there?

Han jerked up to his feet. "Where's the Princess? She okay?" He jerked again, too, just a bit, when he felt the older man rest a hand on his shoulder. His voice cold and hard and low. "Hey, alright – tell me – she alright in there?"

Carlist cleared his throat and removed his hand awkwardly. "Yes, ah – yes. We're – not quite through yet. I was just – going to get some water. We'll be ready for you shortly, though." He shuffled past him to the cooler on the other side of the room, filling a plastic cup carefully.

"She still in there? She – fuck––" Han was moving towards the door into the meeting room, but the guard bristled and Carlist spoke quickly.

"She actually – yes, she's still in there, but – she's showing, ah, remarkable – poise. She's – she's not – I'm just – a bit of paternal – ah. She's fine, Captain Solo. She isn't – in distress."

"Distress, huh."

"Yes. Well. We'll be with you shortly, hm?"

"How shortly is shortly."

He meant it as a real question, but Rieekan just nodded sympathetically without answering and returned inside.

What was she saying in there? Was she saying – everything, whatever everything was? Leia was intensely private, especially about herself and her body, all implication and meaningful looks – for fuck's sake, it had taken him some forty days of teasing for her to even explicitly admit she'd ever masturbated… So private that she hadn't said anything to him, how she could be – the fucking rebellion, the fucking Alliance, taking something else from her, who were these generals to cry over her, they didn't know her, goddamn motherfucking buzzards––

Except, of course, he remembered with a start, they sort of did. Or rather they had known her for longer than he had, but that didn't mean they knew her like he did.

He'd never been with anyone who'd had – parents, before, or family, the only person he knew really who had it was Chewie, he'd never been with anyone who wasn't an autonomous individual looking out for themselves. And Leia was an autonomous individual looking out for herself. Forced to be, but weren't they all, when you got down to it? He didn't know what to do with – other people, invested in taking care of her. Luke had already drove him up the wall. Maybe if he was more certain he could do it himself he wouldn't be so angry at the idea of not being trusted to. Like they could see right through him, that he'd done whatever this was, that he wasn't enough. Folks her father knew taking her arm and smiling politely, knowingly at him: We'll take it from here.

The door opened again. "Leia––" he started, getting up in a rush that made his head spin, goddamn carbonite, but it was only the stenographer. Sort of old-fashioned thing, but droids weren't trusted with material this sensitive, Leia had told him. She'd sat in these briefings, as a member of High Command. Sensitive. Right.

"Oh, no I – no, but we're ready for you in here now," the stenographer said, looking at him with huge eyes. What did they know that he didn't?

"Where's Leia," he said through gritted teeth.

"She headed along to medical…"

Medical? "She alright?" he demanded, voice low.

"Um…"

He got in and sat down at the large, round table, leaning back in his chair, trying not to explode. "Is Leia okay or what?"

"The Princess––" Dodonna was beginning, and then Riekkan interrupted.

"We've sent everyone to medical after their briefings," Carlist said slowly, on the other end of the table with the other members. "We'll send you there as well, once we've finished up. Protocol, you know."

"Fine. Let's get this over with." He squinted at them, then frowned. "Where's – Mothma, or whatever?"

"She, ah. Decided to accompany Her Highness," Carlist said delicately.

"So she's not alright," Han said hotly, sitting up in a clatter.

"Just to – ensure the best possible care – ah…" The older man was looking around uncomfortably. "Why don't we get started?"

The debrief was pretty straightforward. Or rather straightforward in that they asked the questions he expected: what happened on Bespin (since they hadn't had a chance to debrief him afterwards – but as he told them what felt like a relatively recent encounter he could tell it was old news to them, the Vader thing), what happened at Jabba's, how he was imprisoned, how he escaped. What wasn't straightforward was the refusal to answer any of his questions about Leia which, granted, he was expecting, Command was notoriously secretive and he didn't expect them to, what, give him some kind of boyfriend privilege, but it wouldn't have been so maddening if there weren't asking him all these questions like he was some resident Hutt expert on the average number of women in the – what was that word Dodonna was using, so nasty and antiquated – harem, what he knew about the Hutt's participation in sentient trafficking, if he'd ever smuggled slaves––

He slammed his fist on the table at that one. "What the fuck? What kind of man do you all take me for?"

"We're just trying to get a better understanding of the larger economic system and how it flourished despite intergalactic law––"

"Bullshit. Like the Senate or whatever didn't know there were slavers traversing the galaxy. Same now and it'll be the same if you really stick it to the Empire––"

"Captain––"

"Think this is so unusual, some den of sex slaves, fucking par for the course in the backwater places your kind won't touch and––"

"Clearly our kind isn't as protected from these atrocities as we might imagine." That was Carlist, then, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He still looked – shaken, had been distracted during Han's debrief, it hadn't slipped his notice, the way he struggled to mask the emotion on his face. The general cleared his throat. "Please, can we just – can we just move to wrap up these proceedings?"

Han set his jaw. "Yeah. With pleasure."

They sped through the rest of the briefing, Carlist not looking at him still, and then he was hustled off to medical, where she wasn't, but it took him ages to learn this, because no one would say either way, or say whether she was hurt bad, or if she'd stayed for a while or not at all, or why the hell Mothma was with her. After that, after he'd been pricked and poked and pronounced decently alright, it took him ages to figure out where her damn quarters were on Home One, he could hardly remember, and the whole place was a maze and no one would give him her personal info because a goddamn droid doesn't have a sense of what it means to be her – what?

She'd told him she loved him, he told her sleeping body that he loved her – her boyfriend? Her…?

"I'm her person," he ended up snapping. "I'm her person, we're together, tell me where to find her fucking room––"

Finally, finally, one of the Rogues passing through the hall stopped him from smashing the damned thing to pieces and, after a lot of You're back! Hey! It's true! Solo! Can't believe it! said easily, "Sure, I can show you to the Princess's place no problem." And thankfully took his brusque demeanor as "Han being Han."

He took a deep breath as he rapped on the door, trying to steady himself. Don't interrogate her, don't pressure her, don't get in her space, don't make assumptions, don't make it weird, don't make her feel weird, couldn't it still be nothing, right, just a big ol'––

"Captain Solo." Mon Mothma, then, blinking at him from the doorway. He'd encountered the Rebel leader a handful of times, but never like this, in casual pants and at such close proximity, holding a mug of tea or kaffe in one hand and a datapad in the other, stylus behind her ear, her eyes looking very tired.

"Is this – s'is Leia's, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, but she's resting now…"

Resting? "Alright." He didn't move.

"Please, come in," Mon said, sighing and letting him step into the room. Leia's quarters were still tiny, not so bad as the enlisted folks' but still small, a teeny sitting room with a grey couch and an electric kettle where Mon had apparently settled in, a door to a small bedroom and bathroom. "I don't know when she'll next be up, but…"

"Yeah," Han said, shrugging off of his jacket and tossing it onto the couch before surveying the room, frowning. "What happened at medical? Why'd you go with her, huh?"

"It seemed clear that she would do better with company, that's all."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Female company," she allowed. "She's fine now. Resting. Everything will be fine."

"Nice of you to take the time to sit with her through all this," he said, more than a little skepticism in his voice.

Mon opened her mouth, then shut it, then restarted. "I'm not sure if you know this, but I've known the princess for a very long time. She's – something of a daughter, to me. Like a niece."

Which is why you all work her to death and make her feel like shit, uh-huh. "What'd the doctors say."

"That everything will heal without complication," she replied, her tone even as it was cryptic. "Listen – perhaps I can have you comm'd when she's awake, or––"

"Yeah. No. M'not going anywhere."

"I just – there was a real emphasis placed on rest and I – well. I just think maybe it might be best to handle this amongst – not family, but––"

"Yeah, like you said – not family. 'Cause you're not her family, alright? Luke and me and Chewie that's – fuck, just – Kriff… She got meds or something? Show me where the meds are."

The woman was looking closely at him, then nodded carefully before leading him into the fresher. "It's fairly easy to remember," she said slowly, handing him each object in turn. "It's a bit limited because she won't take needles, so – lots of pills, but nothing egregious. These are for pain, they're every three hours for today into every six tomorrow and so on. They dissolve – these ones, yes, in the taller bottle. It's important to stay ahead of it, she's probably due for another in an hour and a half, I set a series of alarms."

"Right. Okay."

"This one is the sedative, it can be split in half for more general anxiety or taken in twos to sedate."

"Sedate."

"They didn't give me reason to think that would be necessary, just if she's had trouble sleeping."

"They."

"At medical – I did try to get the best, it's difficult when she refuses droids and then obviously gender is an issue – bacta patches for her wrists and neck, that's quite easy as long as you know how often to change…"

"Yeah, i got that, s'no problem."

"And then this is a – salve of sorts, ah, it's more highly concentrated. She'll want to apply that herself, I'd imagine."

He turned over the tube in his hand, caught the usual bacta warnings alongside vaginal, anal, swallowed. "Sure. Yeah." Then, desperate for something to do to not feel completely, utterly useless, began to empty his pockets onto the ledge of the sink.

"What––?"

He emptied his pockets of the two dozen or so tiny bottles he'd snatched from a supply closet in medical and rubbed the back of his neck. "Stole some conditioner. Y'know – for the whole." He gestured vaguely to his own hair. "Situation." He did his best to shrug, look nonchalant. "Figured it was probably gonna hurt bad to comb all that out, so."

"Mm. That's good thinking."

He couldn't get over how surreal this was, was so lost in his own head that he almost didn't notice when the someday-Chief-of-State repeated her question. "Wha – sorry?"

"Kaffe?" she was saying, moving back to the sitting room. "Since you'll be staying with her?"

"Oh. Yeah." He fiddled with the bottles, a meager offering, trying to get them to all line up perfectly, be enough so her head wouldn't hurt. "Sure."

Han would never know how he managed to pass an hour and a half sitting sipping kaffe with the prim Rebel leader, and yet – he managed. Answered in short, terse replies when she asked if he'd recovered easily from the carbonite. Refilled her mug for her, was cordial enough. He felt so damn large here, clumsy, with Leia's few things strewn about, all of them small. The cramped tiny quarters.

Maybe Mothma thought she'd outlast him, sitting here quietly? Well, she wouldn't. Sure he fidgeted – and yeah, took the time to read the labels of all her meds about a thousand times, trying to deduce Leia's injuries from them, then trying to tell himself whatever he deduced wasn't true. It'd been so silent for so long that he practically leapt when the woman's alarm went off.

"That'd be the painkillers," she said evenly.

"I got it. I mean – I got it all. Y'don't have to…"

She looked at him contemplatively. "Carlist and I were discussing taking shifts. We don't want her to be alone. I believe he was going to relieve me in a few hours, and then I was going to take back over around 2200."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, that's all – yeah, I got it, no one needs to… I got it. I got her."

"You'll have to forgive me, it's just – it feels like something – it feels like something through which her parents would see her, were they alive. Her mother…"

"Yeah. Well." He didn't mince words. "They aren't." He shook his head. "M'gonna go – bring her her things in there, alright?"

"I don't doubt the validity of your relationship, I know how important you are to each other, I do, I just feel––"

"Stay, if you feel like you should. Okay?"

"I'd like to go in before you," she said simply. "Or with you. When she wakes up, she might not know where she is, and as a woman––"

"Can you just – with all the woman stuff? I was with her on Tatooine, alright, she was fine then, just antsy, for Kriff's sake––"

"I don't appreciate being spoken to that in that manner – we all know the princess finds it charming but I'm afraid I for one am rather put off by it. I've known Leia for longer than you have, some of these medications can cause confusion, I don't want to cause her unnecessary panic. Go get her medication and I'll escort you in after me."

"Fine. Fine. Whatever. Fine."

He took a second to gather up the things from the bathroom and realized his hands were shaking. Waiting impatiently outside her bedroom door, he could hear Mothma speaking softly, a voice he never could've dreamed of hearing from the woman: hello, I know, I'm so sorry to have to wake you up, it's time for another dose of the medicine. The pain one, the dissolvable, not so bad.

Her jumbled voice: mmm… long've I been out…

Just a few hours. Captain Solo is here to see you. Can I bring him in?

Han…?

And then he stepped in, permission or not. "Hey, sleepyhead."

He couldn't stop looking at her. Leia sat up carefully, rubbing her eyes, her hair a rat's nest of braids and pins, and he couldn't stop staring at her. Her neck had been bandaged up heavily, ditto for her palms, and her face, pale save for sunburn and drawn without makeup, was faintly tearstained. She definitely was having a hard time keeping her eyes open, too – that'd be the sedative, shit. "M'sorry… m'out of it…" she murmured, leaning a bit against Mon.

"No worries. I've got your meds right here."

"Oh… s'good…"

The older woman tipped her chin a bit, and he quickly replaced her on the bed, sitting next to Leia and putting his arms arounds around her tightly, kissing her hair over and over. She wriggled a little in his arms, though, and he let up, instead getting her to lie back down.

"Mm… y'look weird…" she said, tapping his cheek.

"'Cause you're all doped up, sweetheart."

"Oh…"

"You startin' to ache?"

"A lil…"

"Here, alright." He peeled back the foil and took out one of the pain tablets. "Open your mouth, under your tongue," he said a bit gruffly.

"Always fond of my tongue, weren't you…" she said sleepily, grinning.

"Mmmhm." He stroked her jaw lightly, unable to look at her expression. "Open, baby."

She did so without hesitation, and he took a moment to be grateful that she was so trusting, so content, to see him, then set the tablet under her tongue.

"And close."

And she did again, shutting her eyes, too, and leaning back against the pillow.

"How's your neck, huh? Those hands? …everything else?" He shifted awkwardly, running his hands over the packets and salve he'd also brought in. "I've got some stuff, if you want me to redress anything that hurts…"

She shook her head, eyes still shut, but lifted her arms a little. "M'ere."

"Y'want me to rest with you?"

"Oui sih-plait…"

"Alright, princess." He laid down beside her, on top of the blanket so he wasn't brushing against too much of that sunburnt skin, and she adjusted and shifted them both until he was almost covering her, holding her tight and practically concealing her from anyone who would look.

The pressure feels good, she'd said. Something like that.

He didn't know what she would say, in the morning when she was awake enough to feel awkward, and embarrassed, and herself again, but for now…

For now he'd set an alarm for another three hours and try to get whatever taking-care done he could while she was still loopy, because once she was fully awake again there was no way she'd be so open. Hell, he wasn't sure she'd be convinced to take pain meds once she was in her right mind again. He wondered vaguely how they'd gotten her in the system in the first place. Post-sedatives? And did they give those to her under the guise of something else or did she"need" to be sedated or did she want to be?

Fucking Mon Mothma in the med bay with her while he gave testimony that was nothing new from the three before him. What if she wanted him there? Or what if she didn't?

He took another second to look at her face. Butterfly bandage over a scrape on her temple, had he noticed that? The angry pink skin on her nose and cheeks, peeling in places. The taped down and wrapped tight bandaging pressing bacta to her neck kind of like another collar. Dark circles under her eyes, and she looked thin. Things he hadn't noticed before.

He thought about Jabba's, about squinting in the palace and cuffed, headed for the Sarlacc, trying to find Leia. He hadn't seen her, in the whole get-up, though he could guess – nor had he seen her actually chained up. But Luke had, and Lando had, and Chewie had, along with a host of others, he realized grimly – fuck, even the damn droids. Something like Mothma taking her to medical, or Rieekan losing it in her private briefing. Like everyone knew but him. So easy for her to talk to everyone but him. Yeah it was possessive, but he couldn't have that. Not with her. Not with him.

#

What did you think? Where were you frustrated, engaged, upset? Make sure you subscribe so you can read parts 2 and 3.