Log Date:
	4/24/98, 4/26/98

Log Cast:
	Leia Organa-Solo, Han Solo

Log Intro:
	[OOC Note: This log, in time, takes place immediately after
leia-query.txt.]
	On Caspar, where they've been reunited after more weeks apart,
a kind of idyllic bliss has descended upon Han Solo and Princess Leia.
Alone together on the _Millenium Falcon_, the two have revelled in one
another's presences... and even discussed the daunting (at least for Han)
prospect of children.
	But the dire need that brought Leia to Caspar in the first place,
and which led Han here to catch up with her, can't be forgotten; indeed,
the simple stark fact that Luke Skywalker is in the hands of the Empire
can only be put off by his desperately worried sister and brother-in-law,
and even then, not for very long....

----------
The cot is small, inviting coziness and, in fact, demanding it if its two 
  occupants are to rest upon it without someone falling off. At Han's side, 
  nestled with her nose to his chest, tousled hair half-undone from its braid, 
  lies the sleeping form of his wife, her body pressed against him such that 
  he likely can feel every breath and heartbeat. Somehow her hand is curled 
  between them under her chin, offering the image of a child peacefully 
  slumbering.

Han hasn't fallen asleep; instead, he lies there quietly with Leia nestled in 
  his arms, and pondering in wonder the general state of bliss that's 
  descended upon him in the last few days. _Do you know how much I've missed 
  you?_ he thinks at Leia's silent face, tenderly stroking her hair, unafraid 
  of gazing at her like this as long as she's not looking. His thoughts are 
  very full, as he ponders, too, the bizarre concept of himself as a father. 
  Leia as a mother he can see -- even if she seems so small and fragile lying 
  here in his arms. But himself, as some youngster's dad? This takes him 
  rather longer to absorb.

Dreams visit Leia in her drowsy state, fleetings images that evoke a smile on 
  her soft features. Perhaps she shares Han's thoughts, envisioning hazel-eyed 
  boys (probably bound to be as much trouble as their sire) or dark-haired 
  girls (ditto the sons) playing together in the Solo household. A small sigh 
  escapes her and, murmuring something that sounds like her husband's name, 
  she squirms nearer still to Han, arm now lying across his torso as if to 
  ensure he stays put.

Seeing this, Han can't help but grin down at the Princess; he's aware he's 
  probably grinning like an idiot, but he doesn't mind, for she won't see 
  this, either. Perfectly content to let her twine about his larger form, he 
  feathers a kiss across her brow, and runs one hand up and down the curve of 
  her back while holding her close and safe within his other arm. _Not going 
  nowhere, Princess...._

Then, with the barest glimmer of a second, the mood of this marital moment 
  shifts, at least from Leia's end. Something casts a shadow, like the passage 
  of a heretofore unseen cloud between the ground and the sun, across the 
  former serenity of her visage, and a frown draws her eyebrows together in a 
  furrow. In his arms, despite the safety of his embrace, her muscles stiffen.

Knowing Leia's body and its responses the way he does, Han notices this 
  immediately, and his grin dims down to a bemused, light frown. "Shhhhh," he 
  whispers huskily, curling his free arm around her.

Leia twitches. Not violently, but enough to suggest whatever effected a smile 
  a minute earlier has twisted into something disruptive to rest: the 
  suggestion is further strengthened by the quickening of her respiratory 
  rate. Panic would be the best term for what she is experiencing.

The Corellian's brows draw together over baffled hazel eyes, and in increasing 
  concern he begins to turn over on his side, propping himself on one elbow, 
  still cradling Leia close to him, trying to get a better look at her.

Her features contort until bona fide fear is evidenced, and, flailing out 
  unexpectedly at the empty air, she mumbles a syllable or two, incoherent.

As his wife begins shifting in his grasp, Han's frown deepens. "Hey," he 
  speaks up, his hand lifting to caress her cheek, though with more firmness 
  than lightness of touch, now. "Hey, Leia? Wake up, sweetheart..."

Leia bats at his hand, caught up in whatever dreams - now nightmares - are 
  assailing her. Within the confines of the cot she twists away from him, one 
  word clear in her mumblings: "Luke..."

If Han's ardor for his wife's proximity hadn't already given way to concern 
  over this apparent nightmare, the mutter of her brother's name would have 
  been a cold dash of water in his face. As it is, he can feel his insides 
  twist in a flare of abrupt guilt. Willing to move his hand, but not to let 
  her go, Han shakes Leia, calling her more urgently, "Leia! Snap out of it, 
  honey, come on!"

"No!" That word accompanies her catapulting upward from the cot and, 
  mercifully, away from the evil manifesting itself in her dreams. Upright, 
  gripping Han's hand, she sobs out a breath and struggles to reorient herself 
  to her surroundings as the last vestiges of the nightmare slip away.

Han's reflexes make him surge into sitting upright almost before Leia does, 
  and he immediately wraps his arms around her. "Hey," he rumbles softly, 
  "shhh, you're okay..."

Leia's eyes are wide, fearful; she squeezes them shut after a terrified glance 
  is flung at Han and buries her face in the muscular warmth of his shoulder. 
  She cannot speak yet, cannot detail to him what slashed through her peaceful 
  slumber to poison it with horror.

A anxious frown still tugging at his mouth, Han buries one hand in Leia's 
  hair, the better to nestle her head there against his shoulder. Disturbed in 
  a way he can't quite define by seeing Leia look so panicked, he holds her 
  close, and murmurs down to her, "Shhh, sweetheart, it's alright, I'm here, I 
  got you."

Leia drinks in a breath filled with the sweet masculinity of Han's scent, 
  bolstering her enough to still the quivering of her diminutive frame. Her 
  arms, however, link about him like cables to suggest she has no intent in 
  reliquishing her hold anytime in near future. "Just...don't let me go yet, 
  all right?" she whispers against his skin, her cheek resting warmly on his 
  collarbone.

"I won't," he promises simply. Without the cockiness that often edges his 
  words, his voice is a warm velvet whisper, shading down into bass registers. 
  He brushes his lips over her hair rather than resting his cheek there, now 
  solely focused on giving comfort, rather than needing it. "I got you."

Eventually - and, to her credit, quickly - Leia's breathing and pulse slow to 
  a more acceptable rhythm and her muscles slacken, suggesting that the 
  tension is bleeding away. "I haven't had a nightmare in ages," she sighs. 
  "I'm sorry I worried you, Han."

His embrace softens as his beloved's frame seems to relax, though Han doesn't 
  move his arms; those arms squeeze the Princess once, tenderly. "It's 
  alright," he answers. "I... know how it feels." It hasn't been too long, 
  after all, since Luke had to stop _him_ having nightmares....

"We have to get him back, Han." There's no use explaining to him who "he" is; 
  Leia can be reasonably certain her husband knows very well she's talking 
  about Luke. "I can't live with myself like this. I just can't."

Han blows out a soft sigh across his beloved's head, but does not hesitate to 
  tell her, then, "Tell me what you know about what happened, sweetheart -- 
  Winter didn't tell me a damned thing."

Leia releases a shuddering sigh so that when she speaks, her voice is calm. 
  Apparently Han's efforts at soothing her have had the desired effect. "I 
  don't know where to begin," she murmurs. "What I know - what I sensed - were 
  so many intangibles...feelings that had no substance. Images of my 
  childhood, my family, diseased and dying..." A trill of recounted terror 
  courses through her, though a tightening of her hold on Han counters its 
  effects. "What I know is that he's not on O'paal. He's in some sort of 
  obsidian tower in a mist. A swamp, I think. With green lightning. And he's 
  in pain, Han. Constant, continuous mental pain." Now her voice cracks, now 
  the veneer of calm slips. "And what am I doing? Lying here making love to my 
  husband and letting him -suffer-. How...how could I?"

That knot of guilt in Han's gut spasms again, not only at the thought that his 
  attempts to be loving to the Princess have caused her even inadvertant pain, 
  but also at the reminder of Luke's dire predicament. His throat ripples as 
  he swallows hard, and although his frame has grown tense, he still keeps 
  Leia in his embrace. And his voice grows rough-edged as he rasps out 
  tentatively, "Leia honey... I... can't speak for you, but... I needed it. To 
  keep from going crazy."

Leia withdraws enough to direct her brown gaze at his features...those 
  wonderful, sardonically grinning, slightly scarred features she cherishes 
  with every fibre of her being. "I can tolerate being without you until I see 
  you again," she confesses, direct and honest with words he likely could 
  never say to her face. "Then I wonder why I ever talk myself into letting 
  you out of my sight. I needed it too, Han. I needed it, and I needed you." 
  Her lips brush the underside of his chin before she murmurs, "But...we need 
  to do something, don't we?"

The Corellian can't help but smile lopsidedly at Leia's words, and as she 
  kisses him under his chin, he lifts his hands to cradle her face between her 
  palms, drawing her gaze back up to meet his own. His gaze has turned 
  serious, and he replies steadily, "Yeah, sweetheart... yeah, we do." 
  Fighting down the brief flash of uncertainty in the back of his mind, the 
  derisive _What can you do? Didn't do a damned thing when he got captured 
  last time, -did- you?!_ query, he goes on, "What's being done so far?"

"I don't know," she confesses, helpless despite her fiesty determination to be 
  anything _but_ helpless about anything, "other than Lando getting together a 
  small force with a pilot, the NRI director, and," a small pause here, 
  "Karrde's redhaired associate, Mara Jade."

Han's brows wing down over his hazel eyes; clearly, he doesn't approve of 
  Jade's involvement in this. "Huh. Winter said something about" -- and he 
  abruptly scowls, deeply -- "'negotiating'. You know anything about that?"

Leia's small shoulders lift upward in a shrug, the sense of helplessness 
  expanding to include foreboding. "I haven't spoken to Winter since I came 
  back from my assignment." This last word is nearly spat out, making all too 
  evident her resentment at the delay in learning about her brother's 
  imprisonment.

"Well, do you know where she is?" Han keeps his hands where they are, as he 
  studies his wife's expression, his eyes dark. "Last I knew, she was here on 
  the case..."

Shaking her head slowly, she turns her eyes from the searching gaze of her 
  husband to fix on the far wall while she pacifies herself with two deeply 
  inhaled breaths. "All I know is she was recalled to Calamari and sent away 
  again on some personal assignment by the Council that's very secret. 
  Apparently so secret *I* don't kow about it."

Breathing out a sharp, soft curse in his native tongue, Han presses his eyes 
  closed for a moment, then opens them again, moving an arm to curl it lightly 
  around the Princess. "How about Lando?"

Leia just shakes her head again and tries to look something other than useless 
  while guilt and worry weighs down her young features, drawing lines where 
  none yet belong. "I haven't seen him except when he got me away from the 
  Imperials."

Once more, Han draws Leia to him, but intending to comfort now rather than 
  give pleasure, his embrace protective rather than sexual. "Then first thing, 
  we find Calrissian and find out what the hells he's planning. And how we get 
  in on the plan."

Leia pauses, then, so softly that Han may have to strain for each syllable, 
  she murmurs, "I can't. I have a duty here." Misery now colors her presence, 
  and willingly she sinks into Han's embrace.

"Ahhh, sweetheart..." Understanding this in a way he hadn't used to, after 
  having gone on to Tatooine even after hearing of Luke's plight, Han cradles 
  his beloved close to him. "_I'll_ go to Lando, then. I'll go..."

Leia's "thank you" comes straight from her heart as she quiets in his arms, 
  secure as much from his promise as from his embrace. A silent minute ensues, 
  her breathing normal again, her stress diminished while she forces fear for 
  her brother into the back of her mind; her awareness is filled now with 
  singular wonder and gratitude that she has the love of this stalwart 
  scoundrel.

He squeezes the slight frame he holds, once, and then rubs a hand soothingly 
  up and down her back. "You're welcome," he tenderly replies.

Small as she is, she fits so neatly within the confines of his embrace, so 
  perfectly, that within scant minutes her natural strength and serenity 
  return, buoyed by Han's selfless support. She drinks in a breath sweet with 
  the musky reminders of his nearness, closes her eyes, and smooths her 
  emotions until all that remains is peace.

[End log.]