MIXED UP ⌲ HAN AND LEIA

eleven; a promise

People, aliens, rebels of all kinds rushed past Leia—some were wounded, others looking around desperately for loved ones. They didn't mind her personal space, nor did she mind theirs. There was only one person on her mind.

Her eyes traced the surroundings deliberately, trying to spot any sign of the brown-haired, hazel-eyed scoundrel who had been stupid enough to go on the near suicide mission without her consent. He had done this because he knew that she would say no, of course. And she hadn't found out until after the Millennium Falcon was long gone.

Han Solo had been gone for ten days. Admittedly, Leia hadn't slept at all during the nights between them.

Typically, the princess was rather skilled at keeping emotions limited, due to her expansive exposure to the workings of politics. But—now that she had no idea what state Han was in or even where he was—she was nearly in the process of breaking down. The beings around her seemed to notice, too; they gradually started giving her a little more space. And rightly so.

"Dammit, Han...." she bit her lip, her words brisk and only traveling under her breath. "Where the hell could you be?"

She decided to stop and close her eyes.

Leia knew that Han was skeptical of the Force, even now—and she didn't know quite what to believe herself. But, nonetheless, she felt strangely connected to him and Luke alike. She knew that Han was alive, somewhere in the vastness of the Rebel base, but she wasn't quite sure how alive he was. Yes, he was breathing, she was sure of that—but that didn't mean he wasn't dying.

Her skills in this strange, magical "Force"—though improving—were still limited. Luke had only taught her so much. So she decided to simply stand, aware of nothing but herself and the distant presence of a handsome, stupid scoundrel.

He didn't seem too far away, really. But her feelings couldn't tell her where he was, exactly; it was almost as if they were whispering that she should stay put. That he—somehow—would come for her. So that's what she did.

Some of the other Rebels flashed Leia muddled glances as she stood frozen, but she didn't care. She was too terrified to move; a strange phobia of losing Han had begun to overwhelm her ever since he had gotten frozen in carbonite all those years before. It certainly hadn't lessened—and she never thought it would. For the peculiar, fated thought of him disappearing forever stayed planted in the midst of her mind.

"Leia," A voice interrupted her transfixed thoughts. In an instant, she noticed that Luke—her brother—was standing directly in front of her, his eyes clouded with unease. It was as if, somehow, she was caught in a dream. Or a nightmare, rather.

"Luke? Oh—I, I'm fine, really...."

He shook his head, his blue eyes narrow. Although he was obviously concerned, he didn't seem confused, just—surprised. Nonplussed, maybe. It was hard to tell, and he was strangely adept at hiding his feelings. Maybe it had something to do with the Force; Leia didn't quite know.

And yet, on the contrary, it seemed as if Luke could read her mind. His gaze softened. "Han's okay, Leia. Trust me on this one."

Leia's gaze snapped at him more intensely. "Do you know where he is?"

Instead of answering her question, his eyes traveled to something behind her, and a grin rose to his cheeks. "Why don't you ask him?"

The princess spun around in an instant, picking the scoundrel out of the mass of other Rebels within seconds. He stood with that signature smirk plastered on his face as he always did; except, this time, the smirk had grown into something more of a grin. He looked tired, yes—and the bicep of his right arm was heavily bandaged—but he was here, he was okay, and that was all that mattered.

So Leia ran as fast as she could, not bothering to apologize at angry remarks as she ran into others simultaneously. The thought of running into his arms seemed to deluge her mind—more so than her habitual manners ever could.

As soon as her body collided with his, all the worries she had accustomed beforehand faded. Han was taken aback, having to take a few steps backward to steady himself.

"Whoa—hey, sweetheart. You've missed me, I take it?"

Leia sighed, her head buried in his chest and a small hidden smile on her lips. "You asshole. You arrogant, stupid asshole. What ever happened to listening when someone gives orders? I can't believe—ugh, who the hell cares. I love you."

Han laughed. "I know. But you know what else I know?"

"What do you know, Han Solo?" she asked innocently. He had asked her this question many times before, but the answer was always heartwarming (and amusing) in its own way.

"I know that I love you, too."

"Hey—I know."

"That's never going away, is it?"

Leia looked up at him with playful thoughtfulness in her eyes. "Nope,"

Han sighed and kissed her forehead softly. "Good,"

Leia backed up slightly, tracing her fingers over his bandaged arm carefully and watching his eyes as he winced. "What the hell did you do to yourself?"

"Hey! I didn't do this to myself; it was one of those stupid, nostalgic, Empire-obsessed–"

The princess gave Han a scolding look. She was the only person in entire the galaxy who could scare him to the point of silence. "You know I don't want to hear it."

"Sorry," he said, biting his lip. "I'm okay. I just need some of that awful bacta therapy...."

Leia smiled, shaking her head. "You're something else."

"And I know that's why you love me, sweetheart."

She pulled him down for a kiss, her lips capturing his softly. The kiss itself didn't last long, but when they pulled away, their faces were still only inches apart.

"I was afraid, Han. I really was." Leia whispered, a wave of emotion escaping through her voice.

Han frowned. "Leia—I know I drive you nuts, but I won't ever leave you. That I'll make sure of."

Leia first looked deeply in his hazel eyes, then traveling her gaze down until it reached his lips. "Promise?"

"Promise,"