Nothing In-Between
by Cooking Spray
Disclaimer: Highlight address bar. Read carefully. Consult dictionary if necessary.
It seems I've revisited the GFFA for a third time. . . I recently inherited the box set of the original trilogy, and thus my muse has been directed to create fanworks accordingly. Specifically, of a Han/Leia variety, because I've been captivated by their relationship since third grade. But enough about my influences. . . you just want the fic, right? XD
This is a "what if" piece. I must credit Limelight (who is amazing) for some of the inspiration, although I think this has developed into something of its own aside from her original "sex on Bespin?" inquiry. It actually kind of wrote itself.
And just as a warning, there are a lot of sexual themes ahead, so if you find this daunting, I suggest you leave. It's very un-graphic, but it's there - just to caution you.
With no further ado. . . the story.
There are never any "reasons why". At least, not any that can be effectively recalled. In this respect, Leia thinks that reality does seem to echo fiction just a little - but not enough to interest her in getting a subscription to the Females' Monthly Reading List's satellite cast.
All that she knew was that one moment, she was escaping from the gullet of an asteroid-stranded cave worm, still contemplating the possible repercussions of lip-locking with a veritable outlaw who was only supposed to be safely escorting her from the wreckage of a rebel base, and the next she was allowing said outlaw's hands to feel their way up her shirt. Apparently, the kiss had tapped into a whole wealth of forbidden feelings - and while part of her screamed at her to stop while she still could, another part of her liked the danger of it. Not just because it was terribly wrong on many levels, personal and professional, but because it was something she couldn't control. She was tired of being in control, of the constant throb in her lower back at the strain of her severe posture, of the ache in her jaw from keeping a straight face. For once, she thought she might let someone else take over, because maybe they knew her better than she thought they did.
It helped that it was Han. She wasn't ready to admit why, but it did. Of course, in her lifetime, she had not come into acquaintance with many men outside of uniform, but somehow it made things seem slightly more okay when the arrest of her good sense was by him. Perhaps because he was still unmistakably a smuggler, and he was only doing what he did best. She knew that she was filling the shoes of That Girl quite well, at the moment, and that she might be only a conquest and everything thus far might only have been temporary fixation. However, she wasn't worrying about repercussions, because she was certain the look of questioning he gave her every so often meant that he cared at the moment, at least. He wasn't good at conveying these things, and she was temporarily grateful - she did not want to worry about the weight of them.
There were at least a hundred reasons why this was A Very Bad Idea. But, in light of the circumstances, and on account of the girl being the Princess, who was Letting Him Touch Her, they were pushed out of mind temporarily. It was beginning to become one of those Heat of the Moment scenarios, and he wasn't sure that he wanted it to be like this. Once again, on account of the girl being the Princess, who was tiny and sword-tongued and plucky and The Most Infuriating Woman He Had Ever Met, famous for Never Letting Anyone Touch Her, except on those occasions when touching was unavoidable and just recently. Maybe he should stop and Think About What Exactly He Was Doing before Something Very Bad happened. But the look in her eye kept stopping him.
She averted her eyes when the last piece of clothing was shed, suddenly aware of the starkness of the whole situation. The air was cold and stung at her bare skin, and everything seemed too empty, too still. With no facade to hid behind, and no tolerance for cowardice, especially her own, she looked at him. He was still intrinsically Han, somewhat comforting in his familiarity, and thus far the only man who had managed to put her in such a precarious situation. She could not yet tell whether or not he would be the last. There was a certain gravity to it, on the edge of both of their minds, but for the moment, Leia doubted gravity, because it would certainly settle back into place at twice the normal crushing force in the morning. She wanted this, because, if for no other reason, it would make up her mind about him, and everything.
So, slowly, with resolution, she went to him, and put ginger but assured arms around his neck, looking into his eyes. He looked back, and slowly lowered her onto the bed in the same deliberate manner, making no allowances for second thoughts.
It was awkward and very standard, almost like a real-time re-enactment of the text files all young girls on Alderaan were made to read at the preteen age. Not that she had expected fervent passion and hair-pulling - she hadn't expected anything. She closed her eyes halfway, and let her hands drift to his sides. She wasn't sure if she felt anything out of the ordinary.
Afterwards, they did not talk, but Leia did not protest the hand that stretched across her shoulders.
When she awoke, in the still-superficial darkness that indicated night in the Falcon, she gathered her clothes and left, feeling, if anything, oddly devoid.
Han woke up alone. This was not an unusual Morning After phenomenon - although, generally he was the one who left the girl. He was reminded of why everything about what had occurred went against all better judgment. She had made him feel like a teenager, fumbling more than caressing, all diagram-precise desperation with no time to stop and smell the musk blossoms. Oddly, though, he felt little regret, little embarrassment, little of anything but confusion. Leia had made it clear that she was willing, which was enough to be in awe of as it was, but whether her resolve would still be so unwavering in the morning was yet to be discovered. By all means, he should've been swaggering about with a lightyear-wide grin. He'd bedded Leia Organa, notorious ice princess, famously unattainable. If word got out, every member of the Rogue Squadron would seethe in jealousy, and he'd be subject to many rounds of back-patting and catcalls from the crew for weeks on end. Assuming he ever met up with the crew again, as the Falcon was currently drifting through space at sub-light speed and the last time he had seen a live breathing rebel was back on Hoth, as they were dragging themselves out of the carcasses of fallen Imperial walkers and scrambling back to whatever means of transport they could procure.
Instead, he sat up and rubbed a weary palm over his face and through his hair. Her clothes, and all traces of her, were gone, except for a single strand of bronze hair not quite shining on the pillow.
She stepped into the fresher even though she did not feel especially unclean. She dressed in white and still looked as virginal as ever. She wondered if everything had been a greatly unprofessional mistake.
Her reflection told her nothing, so she questioned her heart instead, even though it hadn't been of any use so far, and now was probably not an exception.
She knew that sex was not love. She knew that love was not a proper validation of the worth of one's existence, and should not serve as such. She knew that most men were scoundrels, the one in question being no exception of the fact. There were plenty of reasons why this was wrong. She knew them from memory, and could recite them all upon request, should someone ever feel the need to inquire.
She also knew that when he had kissed her, she had let him, and that there were times when the idea of him did not seem so terrible. And last night, she had allowed that too. Although it wasn't what she had heard from those romance texts that polluted the memories of most females' data pads at the base, it had not been unpleasant, and that was something. She didn't know what yet, but something.
As she fingered the control panel on the wall and stepped into the corridor, she decided that she would not hold herself back from him. It would be progress.
It's strange, how intimacy can change two people. Exchanges that once had sprung up unbidden were like lost arts. The dynamic was ruptured - which was probably for the better, in terms of a relationship, because, fun as it was, all of that verbal sparring was getting them nowhere.
Leia stepped into the kitchen, where Han was already preparing breakfast. That was an oddity in itself, but one that she chose to ignore, because there was enough tension in the air as it was. Besides, she decided she liked the gesture - it demonstrated that he was trying to make an effort. Even if it was only an act of apology, it was better than running and hiding.
He heard her approach, and instantly felt the awkwardness return. Part of him was annoyed with her for not being the Woman You Can Sleep Off and Forget About, which in turn recalled all of the times when the girl had expected something out of him, had lingered. There weren't many, but there were a few - and this was the best example of all of them, even if it was only because they were technically stuck with each other until they could find somewhere to land away from the reaches of the Empire. It was the only time he could remember that he found himself caring about the aftermath, and not just because she was a professional responsibility, either.
She smiled, so he smiled too, and took it as a good sign. They were both separated by distance and clothes, and for all intensive purposes, it was impossible to see what had changed in them, unless you read between the lines. Chewbacca was probably the only one around who could immediately pinpoint the difference, so it was fortunate that Leia could not speak Wookie.
In matters like these, Leia was always claimed by a shyness of sorts. The intricacies of human emotion were webs in which she preferred to remain untangled, because anything that involved guesswork did not adhere to her line of thinking. And yet, she had allowed herself to be put in this position. Strangely, though, absurdly nervous as she was, there was no doubt for her decisions. Even if they were to be revealed as poorly thought through, in the end, Leia estimated that she could use some impulse in her life. Even as part of the Alliance, she was living inside her lines.
Watching him, though, she realized that the euphemistic "last night" and all of its implications was not brought on simply because she'd succumbed to a much-suppressed drive to step outside the boundaries. She'd succumbed to more than that, but this was the part that scared her. Feelings, emotional attachment - a happiness dependent on a radical, on an another person. She wasn't sure she wanted to place that on the line yet, especially since Han's devotion was still largely a matter of skepticism. She had woken up every morning for the past three years expecting him to be gone, but he had somehow managed to prove her wrong every time. Was this a fact she should take to heart?
She wanted to ask him. He wanted to tell her. But, like the truly obstinate individuals they were, they said nothing, intent on not spoiling the brief moment of relative peace they were sharing. It was, perhaps, the only time they had been in a room together without either saying something bordering on sarcastic or hostile, after all.
Instead of words, he gave her breakfast - and, for the time being, it was enough.
Apparently, the period of almost-delirium ("delirium" in the sense that something akin to civility and warmth was enjoyed between the two of them, which can only indicate some sort of mental imbalance) was, like most things, only temporary. And there was also a name for it - afterglow.
Han would've liked to point out that with all of the white the princess wore, she always glowed, but no one was around to properly appreciate the stab besides C-3PO, who was famously lacking in a sense of humor and probably would've corrected him by saying something about how humans can't technically reflect prisms of light.
The argument was trivial, as all arguments involving the names Solo and Organa tend to be - another attack to the functionality of the ship made Her Worshipfulness, which of course spiraled into a litany of childish retorts and defenses. Actually, Leia was grateful, in a way, that two people who had slept together were still able to argue with such vehemence. She was frightened of what their relationship would become if it were not comprised of some form of mild sparring, because even though the nicey-nicey act had its benefits, it was much too disconcerting to deal with on a regular basis. Also, it made her not wonder whether or not it was okay to want to touch him any longer, because now she had no desire to make contact, physical or otherwise, with the mangy space pirate currently brooding in the control room.
She admitted that she found his boyish pouting adorable, though, and by dinner discovered herself to be in an amicable enough frame of mind to join him. (Actually, she had harbored no grudge within five minutes following the fight, but there was a proper amount of time one must remain offended to save face, and sleeping with someone changes nothing.) He actually mumbled one of his non-apologies, which was also very cute. Leia let him know by giving him a surprise kiss on the cheek and a whispered "you're forgiven" - it was cordial enough, but it had taken a lot of courage to offer something other than the usual retort. She, too, was trying.
The surprise was effective, and throughout the duration of the meal, both of them eased into a near companionability, occasionally punctuating their conversation with shy grins and dropped glances that were never there before. Chewbacca, who had spoken little thus far, partially to indulge his curiosity and partially to give the lovebirds their space, said something low in Wookie that, though indecipherable to even Han's ears, sounded distinctly encouraging.
That evening (or what constituted as evening in Force-forsaken space), he put a tentative hand around her waist, as if she were glass and might break (even though they both know that if she's any sort of non-perishable material, it's stresscrate). Just her waist. She did not flinch, but she did nudge him in the side when he tried to make a comment about the stars. He smiled sheepishly, and she rested her head on his shoulder for a while. It felt strange, and on some level, still foreign to her, to want something and not deny herself of it. She was still uncomfortable with the wanting, so the contact did not last long - but it was nice. Nice not just to be near someone, but nice to be with Han.
When it was time to retire to bed, she allowed him to kiss her - even though he was too proud to ask her outright, the specific look of puppy-like questioning he gave her at her door could not be interpreted more clearly - and this time, they got to finish.
She had taken to placing her hand on the back of the pilot's seat in flight. It was a timid alternative to his shoulder, but she was afraid that might somehow negatively effect his piloting, which was fear-inducing enough as it was. It made her feel supportive in a juvenile way, and although she supposed it would make more sense to show her appreciation more obviously, she could not think of a token more definable of her feelings than herself as she was in his presence. Leia didn't do obvious, and now was no time to start.
Hand or no hand, they were still the same - she criticized his driving and made tart comments. It was her unofficial job, and she couldn't give it up, especially since the past few days hadn't seemed to improve Han's sense of caution any. She supposed she was really no incentive. Amidst the bickering in the cockpit, C-3PO's pessimistic nattering, and Chewie's guttural groans, she could tell that he really didn't mind her banter. He almost expected her to call him on a particularly shoddy maneuver - they were, and always had been, Point and Counterpoint - and it was because Leia was usually always so godsdamned right that he kept from killing her.
The clouds on the way to Bespin were beautiful, especially with the hail of blast-fire raining down on the hull. If time had allowed, the scene could've been quite romantic, but for now, that hand on the back of his seat and the self-assurances he directed at her were good enough.
They did not talk, they adapted. Some things slipped out, here and there. But for the most part, they acknowledged things only in small, unthreatening ways - hands on the small of a back, a lingering glance. It was all that Lando needed to know that Leia was Off Limits, because even though no one was holding a sign, their invisible lines were plain for all to see. Being around Han and Leia was like reading a holo-novel whose real story was perpetually told between the lines.
She immediately distrusted the place. Lando's smiles were too wide, and everything about the city was over-the-top, although it was really not so ironic in light of the city's location. Even Chewbacca's fur seemed to stand on end. Han was Trust in a Distrusting world, and even though she was closer to accepting their terms, she took his hand only because he was the last remaining constant in her sphere. And because being near him was like some sort of catharsis on her nerves, but that was beside the point. He was still going to leave, no matter how tightly she did or did not cling to him. She doubted that her presence was enough to make his personal orbit change course.
Planets had sooner been vaporized in a single eye blink before anything of the sort occurred.
They were having a staring match. But no one was keeping score, so they both lost.
She had never been in love before. She wondered if she was doing it right. She also wondered whether Han had been in love before - really, in love - but she decided that she would not measure herself that way, because she knew she'd come up short. And anyway, wasn't he there with her, right then? Maybe it was guilt that kept him, or obligation, but the solid, real-to-the-touch figure beside her was undoubtedly Han Solo, and that was all that mattered.
He stroked the side of her face, and she shivered instinctively, closing her eyes and trying to forget the fact that he didn't look ashamed in the least, and also the fact that the thing she most wanted to do was remember.
They were wanted by a merciless, megalomaniac galactic empire and entrenched deeply in an inter-stellar war, but all she needed to feel safe was him. It was a bit selfish, and more than a little unreasonable - he was just a man, and a scoundrel of one, at that. But he filled the places her certainties and confidence couldn't reach, and he made men like Lando seem cheap in comparison.
It was lucky that when the empire found them, he was there beside her, for what little amount of good her composure could still do for her.
She wondered when exactly the transformation between "sleeping together" and "making love" occurred. They were past excuses, except maybe the ever-playable "we're-in-the-middle-of-a-war-and-I-might-as-well-live-today-because-I-might-die-tomorrow" card. This time, there was nothing left to prove - and actions without clear, concise goals behind them scared Leia, because the depth of the hole in her heart labeled "feelings" was still largely uncharted and still subject to the rogue hurricane from time to time. Was it okay to do something just because it felt good? Felt right? Because after the torture they'd been subjected to, they both needed it?
He made her feel like a little girl, but it was okay, because she had always been an especially bright child. His fingers as they threaded through her hair lingered, and when he kissed her, she kissed back. Her arms around him said don't go in the way she couldn't before, even though they were perhaps more ineffectual now than ever before. He had to leave - they were taking him. But not for the moment - for the moment, he was holding her, and she was letting him.
For once, she remembered not to forget.
When you are in love, you're always the last person to know.
It was a cruel fact, but it was a fact and Leia could deal with the cold, hard truth of it. Besides, crisis situations had the tendency of revealing everything in the most unflattering of ways, and there were no subordinate clauses involving wayward princesses and space pirates to exempt them from the rule.
What she knew was: Han was leaving her, but not in the way she had expected and possibly forever. And there was absolutely nothing in either of their powers they could do about it. She was a statue of a girl - in spirit, she had already joined him.
The words "carbon" and "freeze" reached her but did not register. She had always known he'd have to go - he'd threatened his departure time and time again throughout the years she'd known him, but something that she was so close to placing her finger upon had always made him stay. He was leaving, but it wasn't supposed to be like this.
She felt Chewbacca's rage but did not share in it; everything was clouded in swirling steam and she thought this might be hell or someplace like it. Not only because of the heat but because of Han telling Chewie to take care of her for him, and her not minding being someone who needed looking after on account of her trembling knees. She had witnessed the death of a planet and now she was witnessing the death of a world, and one she had only just begun to discover.
He gazed at her, and his eyes were full of the sadness that she only hoped was mirrored in her own. The kiss was much too sad - an apology and a goodbye, and she wanted to tell him that she preferred his apologies better without the words "I'm sorry" in them and definitely not like this.
They took him away, and it was too soon. She watched helplessly as he was bound. This was what she had been afraid of all along - that he, like everything else she had ever cared for, would be taken from her - and she knew that when it happened, there would be nothing she could do to stop it. Just like now.
He was trying to be strong for her. Her heart welled inexplicably, and out of all the emotions that rushed through her in that split second, she decided on one. Decided - because she was, through and through, the diplomat, and she'd heard somewhere that the best solution was always the obvious one, and should come without thinking.
She told him, in a voice loud and clear, and then he knew.
And, more importantly - so did she.
Most of this was written in a succession of 2 a.m. writing binges, because inspiration seems to find me at odd hours of the night. To prove it, some segments are kind of disjointed - but I wanted to say things in a way that managed to be both vague and somewhat illuminating of Leia's progress in accepting her emotions and giving them a name, if that makes any sense. P If it's not obvious, the entirety of this fic takes place during ESB - there are a lot of off-camera moments to fill in, and since Leia goes from half-heartedly refusing kisses to openly showing affection, I decided to fill in the gaps. I also wanted to show that the first time sleeping with someone is not always the stuff of Lifetime movies, but it can be an icebreaker.
Somehow, this ended up being devoid of dialogue, again, which I always want to write desperately and somehow never end up doing. I had trouble sticking to one tense, too - halfway, I kept wanting to use second person, and had to stop myself every time. XD
As for the title, it was semi-inspired by a line from Meredith Brooks' "Bitch", a song that always reminds me of Han and Leia for some reason. It's also ironic, and what's more suiting?
Thoughts and reviews are appreciated.