Surreal
There's always been something alluring about sleep. Sleep, dreams, death. They commingled at night, though she never allowed it in the light of day. During the day she kept them separate, each in its own box.
She dreams now, and Han kisses her, crowding her into the small space she's been working in as he caresses her hand. His nails are gritty, sheathed in grease and sweat, but all she can feel is the warmth that radiates from his touch, through her skin, lodging somewhere that causes a flush to spread across her body.
It's morning again and she reaches frantically back into her dream state, but it's gone now. She's wide-awake and reality reasserts itself with a sharp pain that stabs through her. It's like this every morning now, but she gets dressed and ignores the sound of blood rushing in her ears.
He's walking away from her, but she's powerless to stop him. She can't find the words and she knows she's hurting him, but nothing will come out. Just when she thinks she's really lost him, heturns around and comes back to her. His arms pull her into him and she finally lets go, hot tears scalding her cheeks, his hands ruffling her hair as he awkwardly embraces her.
Rays of early morning sun touch her eyelids and she blinks, wondering where she is. Realization comes with a bitter aftertaste like air in the wake of a firefight. A firefight....
She rocks him, holding onto him fiercely, his eyes open but unseeing. Chewie stands a short distance away, his protective stance given way to grief as he watches her. Suddenly there is a flutter of movement, a breath in her ear.
"Leia?"
Pulling back, she stares at him, running her fingers over his forehead, down his cheek, trembling as they touch his lips.
For the first time since that day, she allows herself to dream past dawn, to morph the real and the surreal. And as she slips back down into the fantasy, it's so intoxicating that she decides she won't ever stop.