FROZEN

Leia curls her legs underneath her, hugs her waist with heavy-gloved hands. To anyone observing her, it would appear that she is huddled up for warmth; easy enough to believe, on this harsh world. But she is holding herself steady, shielding herself from something more penetrating than the wind- thrashed ice, the stone floor's chill.

Several meters away is the only opening into their small den; later, they will open this space, make it capable of holding troops and ships and armaments. But for now it remains just a cave, poor shelter against the bitter cold. The others are clustered in the back, huddled around heaters, rubbing their hands together and cursing with as much vigor and cheer as they can muster. Save one.

Han stands in the opening; he is bundled in thick clothing, as they all are, but the cold there must be intense. He doesn't seem to notice.

If you did not know him at all, you would think he was standing lookout -- braving the fierce chill as a good soldier. If you knew him only slightly, as most in this cave do, you would think he was holding himself aloof. Refusing to gather in the camaraderie of the troops, even though it costs him. Then there is Leia, who is close enough to see his face. She can see that he is looking at the sky.

You grew up with a sky over your head, he said to her once, with a mixture of envy and disdain. He obviously considers this a strange idea, an almost decadent luxury. Before that she had never given much thought to what it would be like to grow up without a sky. Without horizons. To be surrounded always by the infinity of space.

When she was young, traveling from her homeworld had been the rarity. She had seen the light of the stars all around her, and known only the beauty of it. Han sees space differently; for him, the darkness -- the void -- are what he pays attention to. Even as a child, he tested airlocks, checked engines, repaired shielding. He is attuned to the dangers; until recently, she thought he was blinded to anything else. That he had stripped away all the gentleness, pared himself down to what was hard and safe and strong. She does not think this anymore.

In these last weeks she has come to realize how much he leaves unspoken. How much he actually sees, but never acknowledges. She is beginning to believe that he hides away as much hope -- as much desire -- as she does. Then again, perhaps this is wishful thinking.

All she knows for certain is that he is standing there, snow swirling all about him, making him shiver. He is looking upwards; she cannot read the expression on his face, but it is not unlike wonder. She had only seen the danger of this world. He sees the beauty of it. And she wonders whether she will have the courage to see what he sees, the courage to stand at his side.