Scoundress Saturday #3

A brief contribution from a current WIP that was nowhere near publish-ready: Han and Leia snuggle after he gets caught in a bad cold-weather event.

Han awoke slowly, like a fog was dissipating from his head. Leia shifted beside him—it was Leia, wasn’t it? Yes, there was that rosy scent of hers. She sat up suddenly, her flannel nightgown brushing against his arm.

“You’re awake,” she whispered. The cool back of her palm pressed against his cheek. “No fever. That’s good. How about your fingers? Can you feel them? Move them?” she asked. Han wiggled his fingers. They were a little tingly, but nothing like the angry burn of frostbite.


“Toes too?”

Han checked. “Toes too,” he confirmed.

“Good. No frostbite to speak of. Let me get you something to drink.” She was up and out of the bed at that and Han sat up slowly, trying to clear his head.

Was he dreaming? He had to be. He and Leia hadn’t shared a bed before. They barely touched each other, excluding when it was medically necessary, and yet she’d been curled up against him just moments ago…

She returned with two cups and perched primly on the bed beside him.

“Water first,” she instructed quietly, handing one of the cups over. He downed it in one gulp, surprised at the acute dryness in his mouth.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking the other cup from her. This one was warm and smelled like whiskey. Toddy. He drank that one a bit slower while she refilled the water.

“Better? No rattling in your chest?” she asked nervously.

“You aughtta know, Sweetheart. You were the one with your ear right there a minute ago,” he teased weakly. Her expression told him to cut the kidding. “No rattles.”

“Hopefully you missed the pneumonia, too.” Leia stood and tucked the blankets back around him. “You should sleep for a while more,” she instructed, stepping away from him.

“You’re not gonna sleep with me?” he asked, almost forlornly. She turned back to him quickly, a glimmer of light in her eyes. “You look beat, too, Sweetheart. Lay back down,” Han requested. Leia set the cups on the sideboard.

“Okay,” she agreed, returning to the bedside. Han lifted the blankets and she snuggled in to where she belonged.

“There is another reason I have thought of this match.” The prince’s voice softened slightly. “So many are dead, but you-you, Benvolio, you, Rosaline - you live. You survived. This whirlwind of death that decimated your families and even taken Paris and Mercutio, mine own cousins - it has passed you by, left you unscathed.”
Benvolio’s dark eyes caught Rosaline s again. The depth of pain she saw there made her throat ache. “Hardly unscathed , my lord,” she said softly.
—  Melinda Taub (Still Star-Crossed)