#speed write

“So you just wait until the oil is hot,” she explains as she dumps carrots into the pan with a satisfying sizzle. “And then add the vegetables in one at a time. The order is based on what takes the longest to cook.” 

Ladybug stirs the carrots around the pan before adding onions, and then mushrooms. Then she hands the spatula to him. He replicates her work with a level of enthusiasm the task absolutely does not deserve. 

It makes her smile. 

“That’s it?” he asks. “It can’t be that simple.”

She laughs. “I mean, I’m not a professional chef or anything, but basic cooking isn’t too hard once you’ve done it a few times.”

The timer goes off, and she flinches at the sound. Her eyes squeeze closed. It’s the smell of grilled onions that ground her more than anything. Then his hand, squeezing her shoulder. She looks at him and his eyes are so warm. It’s impossible not to smile back. 

She’s already awake. This is real. She doesn’t need to wake up.

“Pasta’s done,” she says, flipping the heat off. “Do you know where I can find a colander?” 

“A what?” he asks, his eyebrows scrunched up in genuine confusion. 

“Umm… a pasta strainer,” she clarifies. 

“What’s a pasta strainer?” 

She blinks at him in shock. “Oh my god! You’ve really never stepped foot inside a kitchen, have you?” 

She yanks open a cupboard, and then another, rifling through pots and pans.

“I've been inside a kitchen.”

She snorts. 

“What?! I have!”

“Clearly very little cooking took place while you were there.”

He grins back sheepishly and shrugs as she places the colander in the stainless steel sink. 

“I can’t believe I married you.”

He pulls away from the stove to step in behind her, his hands resting at her waist as he kisses her cheek. “You don’t even regret it,” he whispers, and she can hear the grin in his voice. 

And he’s right. She doesn’t regret it. 

Not even a little bit.

…

Ladybug serves out the food on the plates. Grilled veggies and chicken pile up on top of the pasta, and she tops it off with crushed walnuts. Her presentation is as artful as any professional plate Adrien has seen in his very privileged life, and he finds himself doubting that she’s not a professional chef.

He scoops each plate from the counter and brings it to adjacent corners of the small dining table. When they sit, she’s so close their knees bump. He relishes in the contact. 

He taps the side of her knee with his own on purpose. 

Her smile is positively indulgent. 

“You’re like a child, poking and poking for attention.”

“I’m just excited!”

Her cheeks bloom with the color of pink rose buds. “About?” 

“That you’re here! That I can touch you!” He offers his hand, and she takes it instantly. “That we can have this.” 

Her eyes turn glassy. “Me too,” she admits.

Adrien has never had family dinners like these. Not even when his mother was alive. 

He’s never ever going to let them get old. 

…

Marinette laughs into her cereal the next morning, remembering Chat’s cheeky expression as shared good byes not an hour earlier. She can’t believe it took her so long to let herself love him. 

“You’re in a good mood.”

Marinette startles and looks up into the amused eyes of both her parents, sitting across from her at the breakfast table.

“I am!” she agrees. “I had a really good day yesterday.”

“Anything in particular happen that made it a good day?” her mother asks.

Marinette’s smile wilts just a bit at the edges.

“Nothing in particular,” she says. 

“So you’re going to make me guess,” her papa teases.  

“Go ahead.” There’s no way they could possibly guess that she literally dreamed up a boyfriend for herself and was now living with him one day a week. 

More than anything though, she wishes she could tell them. They would love him. 

…

Adrien sits across from his father at the long formal dining table in the Agreste mansion. 

Every clink of his silverware echoes throughout the cavernous room. 

They don’t speak. 

Adrien doesn’t bother trying to make conversation the way he used to. He knows from previous experience that initiating conversation often is either pulling teeth or navigating a minefield and he doesn’t have the energy for either.

But it’s hard to sit still, and the hour-long meal feels like an eternity.

There’s no teasing or banter as they eat. His father would never tolerate a game of footside under the table even if they sat close enough to each other for that to be a possibility. He misses Ladybug’s voice and her laughter. Meals are meant to be shared, and Adrien didn’t know what that was like before Jubilation. 

He doesn’t know how to go back to this. 

Being dismissed afterwards to his room offers no reprieve. For all that his room is filled with books, games, a basketball hoop, and a zipline, there’s nothing in it. Not for him. It’s all soulless. 

He doesn’t even want to sit down. 

“Plagg, do you think anyone would notice if I stopped sleeping here?” 

Plagg shrugs.

Adrien takes that as permission and transforms.

He lands on the balcony and slips inside into the living room. She’s not there, but it almost doesn’t matter because the silence here is peaceful instead of oppressive.

And it’s already filled with memories of her. Real memories of her. 

He stares at the blank wall opposite the dining table that used to hold all his mother’s pictures. 

He has an idea. 

…

Ladybug does a double take as she walks through the dining area. The wall is covered in framed pictures of her and Chat Noir. Some, she recognizes from the Ladyblog. Others are selfies that she knows he captured on his baton. She pulls the Oblivio kiss from the wall, and touches the glass where their hands are joined. 

It’s a kiss that actually happened for all that she can’t remember it. But now, she can remember so many kisses that never actually happened. The first time she saw this picture she wanted to deny its existence. Now, with the way he’s holding her with such care, the way their fingers are interlaced, she doesn’t understand how she ever saw anything in it other than love.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he asks. 

“Why this kiss and not the Dark Cupid One? It was first.”

He shrugs. “I think this one was more special? It looks like it was something we both wanted.” 

“Do you remember it?“

He shakes his head. “Just looks like our amnesiac selves saw something in each other that maybe took us longer to realize.”

“Not you,” she counters. 

He rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know if that’s true. The way I felt in the beginning and the way I feel now… I don’t know. It’s different.” 

She frowns, glancing up from the picture to him. “In a good way?” 

“Yes!”

She takes in the picture for another several seconds. He’s right. 

She places it back on the wall so she can look at it every time she walks past, every time they sit down for a meal together. 

Then she catches sight of the one next to it. 

“No! Absolutely not!” she exclaims, ripping it from the wall. 

“What? Why not?”

“Why not?! It’s a terrible picture!” Her eyes are half closed and she’s making a creepy grin, and his mouth is twisted in some weird way as he’s clearly in the middle of speaking. It flatters neither of them. Its only redeeming quality is that she remembers the patrol the picture came from and they had spent the whole thing laughing so hard they could barely breathe. 

“Why do you want to look at it every day?”

“It’s a real picture,” he says, taking it from her and placing it reverently back on the wall.  

And there’s something in the way he says real that has her eyes narrowing. She wants to ask, but he shakes his head. 

“Please?” he asks. He’s begging. 

It’s a terrible picture. She hates it. There has to be better ones. 

She knows he’ll let her take it down. 

But he has a reason. The picture means something to him that he can’t explain. She can’t take that away without understanding why. 

She huffs. “Fine.” 

He grins in pure delight. “It’ll be your favorite by Christmas.” 

She groans, knowing he’s likely right. 

He laughs, and pulls her into an embrace, kissing the side of her face.

Because she's going to laugh every time she sees it. And like he said, it’s real . 

Unlike the rest of her life.

…

“Hey cupcake! You okay?” her father asks, poking his head up through the trap door. 

“I’m fine,” she lies. “Why do you ask?” 

It’s a stupid question. She’s wilted over her desk doing absolutely nothing. She doesn’t even have a project laid out or a video playing. Of course he’s worried that she’s not okay. 

She really needs to get better at pretending.

“You’ve just been pining away all day. And it’s the weekend.” 

“I promise I’m not pining.” She can’t be pining over Chat if she and Chat are together.

Sure, she misses him every moment they’re apart. Even his stupid jokes and his total lack of cooking experience–though she’s being unfair. He’s proven himself a fast learner. 

She wishes she could call him or send him stupid texts, wishes that she could bring him over to meet her parents. 

Who is she kidding? She’s totally pining. 

“We’ve just been worried about you. You’ve been really quiet lately, and sleeping maybe too much.” 

She wasn’t sleeping. It was just hard to get up in the morning when everything felt pointless.

“I’m okay. Just… trapped in the routine, I think.” 

“Well, come downstairs and break it up!” her father invites. 

She forces herself to smile, but she doesn’t feel it. 

…

The bell rings signaling the end of class, and Nino starts to pack up, but Adrien is much slower to move. Was class really already over? Adrien feels like he just got there.

Nino bumps his shoulder. “You okay, mec?” 

Adrien’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I’m fine.” 

He’s better than fine! He had low-key moved out of his house, and Ladybug was living with him part time! And sure, he can’t tell Nino any of that. And he can’t share anything about his day with his girlfriend either. He can’t introduce his best friend to his girlfriend or his girlfriend to his best friend. He knows they already know each other, so it seems like it shouldn’t matter. 

And yet, it’s not the same. 

“Do I not seem fine?” he asks. 

“You didn’t take any notes,” Nino points out. 

Adrien blinks down at the empty document on the screen of his tablet. “I just couldn’t focus.” That much is true at least. 

“Anything you want to talk about?” Nino offers. 

There’s so much he wants to talk about. He wants to tell Nino all of it.

But his life is all cut up into pieces, more than it ever had been before, and every way Adrien turns he’s bumping into walls that he never wanted to be there. He feels cut off, like he’s looking at the world through the glass of his bedroom window. He should be used to it. He’s no stranger to loneliness. He’s been lonely his whole life. 

But now, he’s had a taste of something more.

He’s had a literal taste of home cooked meals, been blessed with evenings full of lively conversation and joyous laughter, felt the warmth of Ladybug wrapped up in his arms as they fall asleep. 

It feels so good, he almost can’t believe it’s real.

But there’s no flying alarm clocks here threatening to shatter his dream. 

Just six neverending excruciating days between each glorious evening in paradise.

But even if one day a week is all he can have, it’s still the best his life has ever been. 

“No,” he tells Nino with a smile. “I really am okay.” 

He wills himself to believe it.

…

She wakes up in his arms. And it’s both the best and worst part of her day. Because she loves being in his arms, loves waking up with their heads pressed and their legs tangled together, loves how warm and treasured she feels in his hold. 

And it’s also the moment when she has to tear herself away to go back to her normal life. 

The life she doesn’t get to share with him.

One day a week is not enough. Not even close to enough. 

She steals his pillow to take home. It’s not quite the same, but at least it smells like him. 

But it doesn’t change the fact that the clock has reset and she’s six long never ending days away from seeing him again.

She trudges to school the next morning. She’s not excited about any of it, but she also has nothing better to fill her time with. 

After class, Rose is talking. Marinette tries to listen. She tries more than once, but she can barely hear a world of it. Something about trying to see a new specialist. And Marinette feels guilty. Rose deserves her attention. Marinette wants to be a part of her life, wants to be a part of all of her friends’ lives. 

But she can’t let them be a part of hers in the most fundamental way. 

And it’s becoming harder and harder each day with all her friends, with the classes she sits through counting down every minute - not until the bell rings, but until her night with Chat Noir arrives. 

For the one night a week where she gets to live . 

“Marinette? Are you okay?” The fact that it’s Juleka asking showcases how distant she must be acting. 

She summons a smile. It might even pass muster. “Of course! Just tired.” 

Four skeptical pairs of eyes peer at her. 

An akuma alert saves her from having to answer. 

But more than that, that alert doesn’t fill her with unease or panic. That alarm sends her heart skyrocketing and her stomach fluttering in the most pleasant of ways. 

That sound means she gets to see him more than once that week. 

…

“This is not the time for flirting!” 

Chat grins. If there’s one thing he’s learned in the last few years it’s that it’s always time for flirting.

She likes it when he flirts. And the more stressed she is, the more important it is because it keeps her out of her own head. 

And more importantly than any of that, he thinks she’s amazing and brilliant, and he wants her to know it every minute of every day. 

“M’lady! I’m just trying to ensure that if we should fall in battle, the last thing you’ll ever hear is my undying affection for you,” he says while swinging his baton like a bat to reflect the akuma’s powers. 

“Gah! I really can't believe I ever agreed to marry you.” 

He laughs in delight, twisting around her to shield her from another strike. 

Once they’re in the clear, he leans towards her. “You know it was the best decision in your life.” 

Something flashes in her eyes, and she softens. 

“Why is it impossible to stay mad at you?”

“Love you, too, M’lady,” he says cheekily, knowing full well that she wasn’t ever actually mad. 

…

Despite the one akuma, the rest of the week drags on like one of Ms Mendeleiev’s Chemistry lectures. When school is out, Marinette races home, makes a show of packing a bag “for Alya’s” and is out the door with barely a wave. Ladybug swings through the window an hour early, and somehow he’s beaten her there. Her joy at seeing him overwhelms the slight disappointment that she won’t be able to surprise him with a homemade dessert. 

“Hello m’la–” 

She cuts him off with a desperate kiss. He diligently drops whatever he was holding with a thud, and his arms wrap around her. Her hands tangle into his hair, caressing his cat ears to send him into a purr. She presses every centimeter of herself into every centimeter of him as if she can push hard enough to melt into him so they’ll never be separated again. She breathes in his breath, savors it, wishing she could breathe him in and take a little piece of him with her. 

When he tries to pull away, she kisses him again and again until he’s all she can see, all she can feel. 

“I love you,” he breathes against her mouth. 

“I love you, and I’ve missed you so much. There weren’t enough akumas this week.” 

He laughs. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.” 

“A week is too long.”

“A week is waaay too long,” he agrees. He takes her hand and leads her to the sofa. “I got something for you. Wait right here.” 

She sits as he darts into the other room and comes back with a box wrapped in red paper, decorated with a tiny little ladybug plush and a big black bow. 

“Aww! This is adorable,” she coos at the little ladybug.

“Open it!” he urges, his excitement bubbling over. She tears through the paper rapidly and finds herself face to face with a baby doll.

It’s meant to be a joke. She knows that it is, but she’s stroking the plastic baby’s face and hair, and she’s crying.

“It’s Emma,” she chokes out. And his arms are around her instantly. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just — We’ll have an Emma someday. A real baby.” 

And it’s so beautiful. She wants it now.

But it feels impossible. She can’t even tell him her name. 

She clings to him as the tears come. And he holds her, his hands rub her back and he coos soothing sounds and words into her ear. 

He’s so strong. He seems to accept their situation so easily, it’s almost not fair.

“How do you do it?” she whispers. 

“Do what?” he asks softly, leaning his head against hers. 

“Go back and forth?” she says over his shoulder. “Keep this life and your regular life separate?” 

He turns her head to look at his, his eyes swirling in concern.  

“I just— I hate going back,” she continues, desperate to keep talking before the tears overwhelm her completely. “I can’t talk about you, and I can’t introduce you to my parents, I can’t tell you about any of it! And I can’t— None of it feels real!”

Her sobs break past her defense like a dam braking, and he yanks her to his chest once again. 

“I just want this all the time.”

He kisses her head, her hands, her cheeks, and then her mouth, never letting go of her. 

“How do you do it?” she asks again. 

His catlike eyes search her face. 

“I thought keeping everything separate was what you wanted,” he finally says, his thumbs stroking each of her hands. “I can do it because if this is all you’re able to give me, I will take it. But I don’t want to go back either. You broke out of the dream, M’lady. I would have stayed there forever. I survive losing the dream every week because I know it will come back.”

She blinks rapidly, trying to fend off the burn of threatened tears. He thinks she’s stronger than him, but she knows that he’s wrong. He’s always been the stronger of the two of them. He carries so much that always felt She loves him so much. 

“But if you’re telling me this is what you want full time all the time? I will tell you my name right now. Just say the word!” 

Hope bubbles up in her chest, and she nods rapidly. 

“No.” 

They both bolt to their feet at the unexpected voice. 

Bunnyx is standing there in the center of the living room. 

It’s so strange to see anyone there who isn’t them, Marinette feels dizzy. She blinks a few times, and Chat squeezes her hand. She knows he will follow her lead.

Marinette clears her throat. “Why are you here?”

“Ladybug, I’ve told you — you can’t know each other’s identities.”

A rock lodges in her throat, and she blinks back tears. 

Why can’t they know?

“We wouldn’t tell anyone!” Chat Noir insists. 

Bunnyx smiles softly, but it’s tinged with sadness. “I know, but you’ll get caught.”

“Monarch already knows we love each other,” Chat Noir argues back. “He’s seen us together. We haven’t been subtle during the last batch of akumas.”

“He’s seen Ladybug and Chat Noir together,” Bunnyx concedes. “It’s your civilian sides that allow him to figure it out. And then one of you always gets akumatized. And it’s a Chat Blanc situation every time!” 

“Chat Blanc?” Chat echoes.

“Do you want to explain it to him, or shall I?” Bunnyx asks. There’s no bite or malice to her tone.

Marinette turns to him, let’s her finger caress the side of his face. “I told you,” she chokes out, “our love destroys the world.”

He yanks her into his arms, and rocks her fiercely back and forth, shaking his head. “There’s no way, m’lady.”

“I saw—“ 

“He’s right,” Bunnyx tells her with a smile. “It’s not your love. It’s your identities and it’s not anything the two of you do. It’s not your fault. Not ever. Not a single time. It’s Monarch.”

Marinette sobs harder. It isn’t fair. The only thing she and Chat had ever done was try and protect Paris over and over again. She wants to love him with all of herself, she wants to love him openly. 

Why can’t they have that? 

“I think you’ve made your point,” Chat says coldly over her shoulder. “You can leave now.”

“No, wait!” Marinette objects, twisting in his arms to face their uninvited guest. “You said, it’s our civilian side that messes things up?” 

Bunnyx’s answering smile stretches across her whole face. She taps her own cheek. “I did say that, didn’t I?” 

A portal opens up behind her and she backs into it. “Don’t have too much fun, kids!” 

The portal shrinks into a dot and they are alone once again. Marinette turns to Chat, grinning. 

His eyebrows are scrunched up in that adorable way when he’s confused. “I don’t understand.” 

“Ladybug and Chat Noir can date! Outside and in the open! We just have to do it as our hero selves!” 

“We can have more than this,” she says, “if you want.” 

He answers her with another kiss that steals all of Marinette’s breath. 

“I want everything we can have, M’lady.”

“MARINETTE!” the voice caused her to jump, eyes whipping towards the door Alya was now tearing through.

Alya practically threw herself onto the bench, sliding close to Marinette and grasping her by the arms forcefully.

“Alya wha-“Marinette exclaimed.

“You didn’t tell me you were dating Chat Noir! No wonder you said my OTP wouldn’t sail, girl you should have told me I would have everyone shipping Marichat in hours, I already got a head start! It’s all over the Ladyblog!” Alya blurted everything out without breathing, her words punctuated by a slight shake of Marinette’s shoulders until she finally let go to thrust her phone towards Marinette.

There was a quiet pause as Alya’s words sank into Marinette’s brain, the confusion plain on her face. She opened and closed her mouth a little as if trying to find words that wouldn’t come.

“Alya, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about?” she questioned exasperated, “What even-”

“Read it!” Alya pushed her phone into Marinette’s hand in answer, a webpage of the lady blog open its title big on the screen: ‘Marichat, The Purr-oof.’

Marinette frowned scrolling through the article skim reading, her expression schooled flat as she swiped through the attached pictures. As she browsed her school mates entered the class occasionally throwing her comments; ‘You’re so cute together!’ ‘He was so brave!’ ‘Congratulations I suppose but even you could do better than a mangy sidekick.” She brushed them all off, even Chloe’s rude compliment her mind engrossed with the pictures instead…

It was horrible! Not the idea of her dating Chat, anyone would be lucky to date him, but rather the events themselves. Marinette hadn’t realised it had been so bad, having been injured she never saw the damage and Tikki had restored the city before she’d awoken but photos didn’t lie and they showed a clear path of chaos and destruction city wide; this had been a dangerous battle for sure. Her heart swelled for her black kitty, he must have been so brave and so strong but so very alone. Her eyes watered at the thought as she scrolled back through the photos more carefully, examining the details further

It started with blurry phone photos of him dashing in to save her from the collapsing room, the entire side of the building having slid away in the quake. He’d scooped her limp form into his arms and carried her bridal style away from the collapse. Then were a series of HD press photos of Chat Noir cradling her bleeding form to his chest a roof over from the school. These photos were from too far of a distance for her to read his expression but he hunched as if pained and she could see the flick of his agitated tail between shots. He’d scooped her back up in the next photos, tucking her head into his shoulder and gently resting her arms on his chest so as not to hurt her, before the last few shots of them together showed him leaping away to other buildings across Paris. Marinette felt a brief glimpse of pride at her Kitty for thinking fast in a risky situation; he hadn’t taken her directly home, hadn’t risked her even when the stakes were so high and even with Ladybug was missing too. Her Chaton was such a clever cat.

Marinette had completely missed the conversation between Alya, Nino and Adrien going on around her. Her attention locked on the photos until Adrien addressed her directly, his face peering into view over her desk.

“So you’re not dating Chat Noir?” posed Adrien curiously, a little too innocently.

“Not even a little, he was just being his typical hero self.” She didn’t stutter, hadn’t in months, and there was a sort of easy fondness in her tone that was quite telling of the affection she held for Chat. Even Alya was raising her eye brow in response, whilst Adrien had just coloured slightly.

“That’s a shame, I’m pretty sure he’d be lucky to have you. You’re amazing Marinette.”Adrien announced proudly, without a hint of shame despite the blush still on his cheeks.

Music poured from the piano as Sam worked his magic. Han Solo strolled around his saloon, taking in the crowd, the same dower look on his face that had been there ever since Paris. Money was flowing left and right, and so were the drinks. The books would tell him later that it had been a good night, but Han Solo? He didn’t have good nights.

Smoke drifted out of the gambling room, and Han sauntered in to see how things were going. Routine. The door banged open with the glee of a drunken patron anxious to have his luck at roulette, and that’s when he heard.

Storming back into the main room of the saloon, Han growled at Sam.

“I thought I told you never to play—”

Under the brim of a white hat, his eyes locked with hers—the unforgettable brown eyes of Leia Organa.

**

Han swirled the whiskey in his glass before downing it. He looked into the empty glass, but instead of seeing the table beneath it, saw Paris.

The quaint little boulevards that they drove along together, people walking about unhurried, unworried. The streets fell away to the winding roads and tree-covered hills. Leia’s head against his shoulder, and the way she snuggled up beside him when he put his arm around her…

The champagne bottle popped open in his hand, and she smiled serenely when he handed her a glass.

“Who are you really? What were you before? What did you do, and what did you think?” he asked softly as they sat together on the divan.

“We said ‘no questions,’” she reminded him, smiling through her lashes. Han chuckled and raised his glass.

“Here’s looking at you, princess.”

There was dancing, dinners, evenings—oh, so many wonderful hours spent connected at the hip…

“Franc for your thoughts?” She asked one afternoon, while they were relaxing in her apartment.

“In America, they’d only bring a penny. Guess that’s about all they’re worth.”

“I’m willing to be overcharged,” she promised, sitting down beside him. “Tell me.”

“I was wondering…”

“Yes?”

“Why I’m so lucky. Why I should find you waiting for me to come along?”

“Why there’s no other man in my life?” Han nodded. “That’s easy. There was. He’s dead now.” He could never forget the steel in her voice when she said that.

“I’m sorry for asking. We said ‘no questions.’”

She’d leaned into him then, her head nestling into the crook of his neck, her cheek against his shoulder.

“Only one answer can take care of all of our questions,” she murmured.

He remembered her kiss, too…all of them, so unique, yet each magnificently the same, so electric, but comforting, fiery, yet chilling him to his very bones.

And then came the Nazis, with their hatred and destruction and anger.

It was in that small café in Montmartre…“As Time Goes By” drifted sweetly from Sam’s piano, and the finest champagne in all of France was theirs to drink.

“With the whole world crumbling, we pick this time to fall in love,” she remarked, tucked once again close to his shoulder.

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad timing. Where were you say…ten years ago?”

“Ten years ago? Let’s see…I was having a brace put on my teeth,” she chuckled. “Where were you?”

“Looking for a job.” And where do you see yourself in ten years, he’d wanted to ask. With me? That’s where I’ll be. With you. Han leaned in and kissed her passionately, hoping to convey his feelings. After all, it was the only answer they needed.

Exploding shells interrupted, and Leia jumped.

“Was that cannon fire, or is that my heart pounding?”

“It’s the Germans.”

Leia’s face became serious. “You must leave France, darling.”

“We must leave,” he’d corrected. He wasn’t going to leave without her.

“Of course, we—” Leia suddenly turned away, crying.

“Princess, princess, what’s wrong?” He turned her gently to face him, his thumbs swiping across her cheeks to dry her tears.

“I love you so much, and I hate this war so much. Oh, it’s a crazy wolr.d Anything can happen. If you shouldn’t get away, I mean, if, if, something should keep us apart, wherever they put you and wherever I’ll be, I want you to know…” Her tears had overwhelmed her then, and she’d turned her mouth to his for a kiss. Han had gently obliged. “Kiss me,” she pleaded in a harsh whisper. “Kiss me like it’s the last time.”

And the last time it had been.

Han looked up from his empty glass to where Sam sat across the table.

“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine…”

**

A few nights later, Leia watched her husband from the window of their rented room as he snuck out to the Underground meeting. She was worried about the man, yes—after their years together, and all the things they’d been through, it would be impossible not to be attached to him.

There was a more overwhelming and confusing feeling, though, Leia knew that the only way to absolve the feeling was to talk to Han.

**

“Go ahead and shoot,” Han dared. “You’ll be doing me a favor.”

Leia stared into his eyes for a few moments, trying to keep up her charade, but in her heart, she knew she could never pull the trigger. The gun dropped to the floor.

“Han, I tried to stay away. I thought I would never see you again, that you were out of my life.”

She started to fall into his arms at the exact moment he stepped forward to catch her.  Leia wasn’t sure who was holding the other tighter, but she knew there was no way she could let go.

“The day you left, if you knew what I went through! If you knew how much I loved you…how much I still love you.”

Han’s lips touched hers, and she was suddenly both lost and found.

**

“It’s late,” Han whispered into her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“I’ll never have the strength to leave you again,” she replied into his chest.

“What about your husband?”

“I can’t fight it anymore. I ran away from you once. I can’t do it again. I don’t know what’s right any longer. Please—get my husband out of Casablanca. Then—no mater what happens after that, we’ll be together.”

Han looked into her deep brown eyes.

“Alright. I will. Here’s looking at you, princess.”

“I wish I didn’t love you so much,” she whispered. Han held her tighter.

**

Han had sold his bar and packed his bag. He’d made all the important people believe he was about to take Leia and leave the country.

“Louis, have your man go with Mr. Laszlo and take care of his luggage,” Han ordered. “Renault, fill in the names. That will make it even more official. Mr. an Mrs. Victor Laszlo.”

Leia stopped in her tracks.

“Han, why my name?” She pulled away from her husband. “I said I couldn’t leave you again,” she insisted, taking hold of his arm.

Laszlo stepped forward.

“My darling, I know your heart has not belonged to me for some time. Besides, I’m going underground. It wouldn’t be safe for the two of us to be together. I’ll be a lone operative from now on. After the war…I’ll send word.”

Tears brimmed along the bottom of Leia’s eyes, and she hugged him tightly.

“Here’s looking at you,” she whispered, squeezing his hands. Laszlo turned away, and Leia returned to Han’s side.

“We’ve given your seat to another young woman—one of my employees who’s been waiting for her papers for a very long time,” Han explained. He pointed off toward the plane, where a woman wearing a trench coat and a hat waited for Lazslo to bring the papers.

“What’s next for us?”

“Switzerland. Lazslo worked it with the underground. I’m to take over a bar there. They run false papers out of the back room. Help escaped POW’s get back to allied territories,” he explained. “It’ll be rough. Little dangerous. But we’ll be together.”

The plane sped down the runway and left the tarmac, flying off into the clouds. Their eyes watched it until it disappeared into the clouds.

“When do we leave?”

“There’s a Free French garrison over at Brazzaville. Our passage is all arranged.”