Summary: She was wearing his shirt. They made their assumptions.

Disclaimer: Borrowing is not stealing. And for the record, I am borrowing, making no profit and these characters belong to George.

Author's note: If you have a dislike of run-on sentences do a u-turn now! Leia is in deep denial in this one, and I've thrown grammar out the window in favor of artistic expression. (Basically, the whole thing is in run-on sentences. I don't think it sounds bad, but it's you who matter. If you don't like the idea then please; don't read it and flame me for grammar.)

Sorry, had to get that over with. Now, this little plot bunny is based on an actual event I witnessed in the ladies change room. Though I doubt they will ever read it; sorry anyways. This takes place in the pre-ESB era.

Oh, and don't worry folks; TNQLL is going to be continued. Promise.

It had been in her closet, left there from the time she had fallen into the pond (pushed by him, though he denied it) and he had given it to her so she could cover her indecently wet shirt (but only after he had attracted the attention of every soldier of the Rebellion within earshot). And as she was standing there in front of her closet door she remember how it had smelled like sweat and soap and him, and felt that little ache she did remembering that he was away and she was here (the ache, of course, should in no way be mistaken for missing him). And so. She put it on.

…Forgetting, unfortunately, that she had to sleep in the B-bunks today. And that the B-bunks meant other people, other than him and her, but of course there was no him and her because she did not love him and they were not a couple and she was wearing his shirt out of practicality and not as a sexual gesture of wanting.

And it was in such a state (and in Han Solo's white dress shirt) that she made her way to the bunks and, hopefully, a sleep that would not be plagued with endless dreams of him (which, coincidently, meant nothing.)

Leia Organa was tired.

Tired in a way that was not associated with worrying late into the night while pouring over supply run statistics and schedules. A kind of tired that had not been caused by his ship being three days behind schedule and still not docked, or his unresponsiveness over the comm. link.

And it was because of this non-worry induced state of tiredness that her judgment had slipped and she had put on his shirt in what was not a gesture of wanting and had forgotten that this could be misinterpreted as evidence of their non-relationship.

Technically, it was his fault.

They thought otherwise. (With the "they" being the women in the other bunks.) They had jumped to conclusions, falsely assumed conclusions that were wrong. Because she was not standing there wanting him and they could not see right through the façade that she was not wearing and she didn't love him so how could they tell? And when she answered "no" to the question did she miss him she was not lying so of course their raise eyebrows to each other meant nothing, certainly nothing pertaining to the fact that she was standing in his shirt and her pride and her denial because she wasn't.

One plucked up the courage to ask her "why, if she didn't miss him, was she wearing the shirt?" And this question somehow pierced her layers of not missing and not wanting him and came in contact with the part of her brain that was clear of what was not love. And so she answered;

"It was cold."