ON THE WINGS OF THE FALCON
I'm getting too old for this shyte, Han muttered to himself as he headed across the hangar toward his speeder. He was grateful that Less Than Twelve Parsecs Shipping had continued to be successful largely under the auspices of Jaina, but he'd still occasionally get called in when business was a little too good. The last few weeks there'd been a number of instances of that, and while Han still loved flying the Falcon, he enjoyed it more when it was for a leisurely weekend offworld with Leia or taking the grandchildren for a short jaunt. He'd worked since he'd been a child, and he was about as far from childhood as one could be without being dead.
The hangar where he'd tied the Falcon down was empty at the moment; Jaina and Jarik were still on runs. His last comm to his daughter had been to hire some more help. The business was expanding even more than it had when Han had helmed it. He considered that a good thing—but he wasn't happy about being the backup.
He and Leia were enjoying this time of their lives immensely. Leia still taught part time, and had just finished writing a section of an academic text on diplomacy, but there were plenty of hours for being on the beach, sipping kafs or brandies on the veranda, getting away for weekends at pleasant resorts, and enjoying their privacy. There was the occasional holorazzi that hassled them, but for the most part, they'd slipped from public view, and that's the way the couple liked it.
Jarik was technically still living with them. He was frequently away, but he'd stumble in every now and then, mostly to shower, do laundry, or grab a meal. The business kept him busy, and he'd developed a long term and serious relationship with a young travel medic, Lysandra. Between work and getting together with Lysandra when their schedules allowed, he was scarcely there.
His belongings were another story. He littered the house with them, despite repeated entreaties by both parents to pick them up and set them in their proper places. His laundry floated to locations not normally associated with dirty clothing; his tools were left wherever he dropped them. So there was never an opportunity to miss the young man; he left reminders everywhere he went.
Han found this more than slightly irritating, and a bit baffling; Jarik understood the importance of things in their places on ships. That had stuck with him, but it had not transferred outside of flying machines.
Han was wondering when the kid would grow up. At 25 standard, he was hardly a kid, but he definitely conducted himself as one. He was making good credits; Han and Leia had gently suggested that he might like a place of his own, but that had had little impact.
Han parked the speeder in the storage port. Leia's was notably absent; this was her day for a late seminar. They'd have dinner when the moon came out; Han would barbecue up some nerf steak, serve some simple sides, and they'd relax in the warm summer air and sea breeze, candles flickering. And best of all, Jarik wasn't due in for at least another day. They'd have a wonderful evening, the smell of ladalum permeating the night, the comfort of their own bed—and each other's arms. Even after 38 years of marriage, the best part of any day was lying down next to his beloved wife, taking her in his arms.
Han palmed the door open that entered from the storage port to the kitchen, looking forward to two fingers of Corellian whiskey…
And found himself on the floor, sharp pain shooting up through his foot and ankle, all the way up through his leg. When he was finally able to stop seeing stars in front of him and able to open his eyes, he observed that his ankle was at an angle that shouldn't it have been. He groaned, as much in aggravation as in pain. He wasn't as young as he once was; mending took longer.
Han reached peak aggravation when he discovered what had felled him: Jarik's tool box, right in the path of travel. This meant that in addition to forgetting his own tools, he had taken Han's.
He was in pain, and really, really pissed.
Gingerly, he reached up with one hand and tried to pull himself up using the counter. He was going to have to get his boot off before the swelling began; it was already going to be hideously painful. He shifted his weight as much as possible to his good leg to get himself up; again, he felt as if phosphenes were again flashing before him.
Kriffing kid.
As Han finally raised himself to a position of standing on one leg, the door slid open, and Leia gasped. "Han, what happened?"
Han gritted his teeth, and pointed to the errant toolbox, its lid still open, now moved from its original position.
Leia rolled her eyes, and for once, it wasn't at Han.
"That boy and I are going to have words," Leia snarled. Han forced a smile; when Leia said she was going to have words with someone, it was generally best to treat it like a solar storm. "But in the meantime, Flyboy, we've got to get you to the med center," Leia asserted, taking his arm and leading him to one of the kitchen chairs.
"Get the boot off," Han hissed. "They're new."
"Han, you bought those boots two standard years ago," Leia reminded him.
"See? New!" Han was in searing pain now; he was pretty certain something was broken. He'd had plenty of broken bones in his life and was familiar with the unpleasant sensation. It might not have compared to having been frozen in carbonite, but it was still mighty uncomfortable.
Leia began comm'g for a med trolley. "I don't think I can get you into my speeder," Leia said. "Not without crippling you for life, anyway."
"I think our youngest son already accomplished that." Han couldn't decide which was worse, the pain or his fury at Jarik.
Leia punched in the universal 999, and was assured by the droid on the other end that a trolley would be forthcoming within a few minutes. Leia went over to her suffering husband and wrapped her arm over his shoulder, leaning over to kiss him. Han leaned into her unhappily, grateful for the comfort of her breast.
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"Looks as if we're going to have to implant some bone knitters," the—blessedly sentient—medic announced. Han hated the med droids; they had been less than gentle, in his not terribly humble opinion, when they'd carted him off. "That means that we'll have to put them in under the skin this time. Your ankle is broken in three places, and it's not going to be comfortable without anesthesia to put it back into its proper position. It will be an overnight stay."
"I'm gonna kill that kid," Han hissed at Leia. She patted his shoulder.
"Not if I get to him first," Leia assured him. "And I plan to." She leaned over and kissed him, and then turned to the medic. "Now that we know what the problem is, please get him some pain meds, or we'll all be sorry."
"Absolutely," the medic said, turning away to get the blessed liquid that would remove Han from reality for a short time.
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A day later, Han was home, resting on the sofa, pain meds on board, and smashball on the holotank. The Drednoughts were playing, and Han was comm'g Lando to bet on how much the Drednoughts would lose by. The team never got better, but Han was steadfastly loyal to them.
"Can you believe what they said to me?" Han grumbled at Leia, who brought him a Corellian whiskey and a snack.
"You mean, it will take longer to mend because of your age? I heard it," Leia assured him, and had been annoyed when the very young medic had iterated it to Han. Leia and Han were well aware of their ages, and they didn't need reminding. Their joints reminded them of it frequently. They also found themselves irritated at the attitude that the young must be possessors of wisdom, and that that wisdom was lost as a person got older.
The door was palmed, and in strolled their youngest son.
"Hey guys," Jarik greeted them. "How's it going?" Jarik seemed oblivious to his surroundings and to the condition of his father.
Leia stood in front of Jarik, hands on hips, feet planted hard on the floor, and volcanic eruptions in her eyes.
"Take a look at your father's ankle!" Leia chided him.
"Wha—what the nine hells happened?" Jarik said, looking over at Han. "How'd you mess up your leg?"
Han was about to speak, but Leia didn't miss a beat. "You managed not only to forget your toolbox, but you left it by the kitchen entry, and when your father, who did one of your runs—"
"That was Jaina's run! I can't help it if she overscheduled!" Jarik shot back, ever the smartass.
"—I don't care who scheduled it, your dad tripped over the box and his ankle was bent and broken in three places!" Despite the fact that Jarik was Han's height, he'd seemingly shrunk before his mother. This was pretty much the effect Leia had on people when she was upset. Jarik realized that he'd pretty much run out of luck at this point, and there was no way he was going to charm his way out of this one.
"I don't care how many standard hours you've been awake, I don't care how bad you smell, and I don't care what your plans are," Leia pointed her finger into her son's chest. "You are going to clean up everything in this place, and you're going to put it in their proper places, and then, we're going to talk. Understood?"
"Ye-ah," Jarik said meekly, not wanting to deal with his mother's wrath any longer. He turned to Han. "Sorry, Dad. I—"
"I don't wanna hear it," Han told him. "Do what your mother told you to. Now!"
Jarik, defeated, headed off to the kitchen to start.
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To the shock of his parents, for the next few weeks, Jarik managed to do what he'd never accomplished in his life: cleaning up his belongings and offering to do extra household tasks when he had a few free minutes.
Han and Leia were pleasantly surprised and wondered how long it was going to last. The young man obviously felt terrible regarding his father's injury; probably more so, because his parents had not brought it up again. There had been a chilly silence that only broke when Jarik was working, which was much of the time, but as Han improved, that ice began to thaw.
"I don't know what you said to that kid," Han mused one night, as they were lying peacefully in bed, the moonlight bathing them.
"Sure you do. You were there," Leia remarked. "But I'll confess, I'm surprised he's followed through. Usually he doesn't do that unless he's paid." She chuckled. "It might be genetic."
Han laughed. "What makes you think that?" He winked at his wife mischievously.
"I seem to recall that I fell in love with a smuggler," Leia said, snuggling into Han's arms. As strong, independent, and capable as she was, she enjoyed the protective feeling of Han's sturdy embrace. Even after all these years, she always had the sense that things would be all right, so long as he was next to her.
"Too old for that now," Han said softly, kissing the top of her head.
"But not too old for other things," Leia's tone was sly. Han chuckled, and rolled gently on top of her.
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Han's ankle had mended, although he still limped slightly. This annoyed him. Chewie, who'd been sick with worry upon hearing that his cub had been injured, had hovered over the household to the point where finally, Leia informed him that he needed to visit Kashyyyk for a few days. Chewie had always been a worrier; of course, Han had given him plenty to worry about over the years.
There was a diplomatic meeting between several planetary leaders taking place in Coronet City regarding trade and tariff disputes. Leia had taken a cadre of her students to watch negotiations in action, so Han had the house to himself. The Drednoughts were playing. Jarik had barely been around as of late; he actually found himself slightly missing the boy, as they had always enjoyed smashball together.
He grabbed an ale and comm'd Luke as to how many points the Drednoughts would lose by. Luke responded shortly thereafter; they put 50 credits on the point spread. He sipped and swore at the team as they fumbled the first play. Tonight, they were playing the Skull Crackers, who were weak this season, although in the past, they'd massacred the Drednoughts.
He was cursing out yet another play and another player when the door was palmed; he hadn't heard it. So Han nearly jumped out of his recliner when Jarik strolled across the room, ale in hand.
"Dreds playing like shyte again, eh?" Jarik said, grinning.
"Always," Han growled.
"How's your leg, Dad?" Jarik asked his father. If Han wasn't mistaken, the boy looked mildly guilty.
"It's fine," Han said to him simply, without rancor. The boy had improved, and he was pretty certain Jarik felt pretty crummy about the whole incident. Honestly, he'd been shocked at the transformation his son had undergone in recent time.
It had taken the proper woman to get Han to stand up and fly right. Han wondered if the same dynamic was at work with his son.
No conversation beyond yelling at the players and the refs took place throughout the game. Ales were replenished during sponsor breaks, and Han groaned when he realized that Luke had beat him on the point spread.
"Nothing I hate worse than owing your uncle money," Han groused as he transferred the credits to a gloating Luke.
"Uncle Luke doesn't use that Force thing to get a leg up, does he?" Jarik asked, scoffing a little.
Han shook his head. "Kid, I don't pretend to know how it works. But I do know Luke normally loses." Both laughed. "So I'm pretty sure it doesn't help increase his odds. But at least he's a better sabacc player than when I first met him."
"You mean he even knew how to play?" Jarik laughed.
"Nope." Han grinned at the memory of teaching Luke the game. He'd been pathetically awful, and there'd been a few wartime games where he'd felt so bad for the kid, he'd refused to take his credits. Luke was slightly better now, but it was always low stakes when they played with Leia and Mara.
They were quiet as they finished the last of the ales they had in hand. It was Jarik that broke the silence.
"Seriously, Dad, I'm sorry I messed up," Jarik said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "You know the day you broke your ankle and stuff? And then Mom went after me?"
"You definitely don't want to face your mother's wrath again," Han reminded him, speaking from a lifetime of experience.
"Well, yeah, there's that," Jarik agreed, wincing. "But also, I'd gone to see Lysandra. And I was like a day late, 'cause I got caught up in a sabacc game, and she told me, either get my act together or get lost."
Han settled back into his chair. "I hope you didn't do something stupid."
Jarik winced. "Yeah, Dad, thanks for the vote of confidence. But seriously, I was thinking, I'm getting kind of old for stupid."
"Trust me, no one's ever too old for stupid," Han assured him.
"No, I mean, like really stupid. So she told me she didn't wanna see me till I could get it together. I love that woman. I didn't wanna blow it."
"Please tell me you didn't," Han sighed.
"Nope. I decided yeah, I'd heard enough from Jaina, and you, and Mom, and most of all, I didn't wanna lose Lysandra. So I started trying to be better. Like showing up when I said I would, that kind of thing. Not getting distracted by things. Not leaving my crap around all over the place, which bugs Lysandra when I stay with her. I mean, I can keep my ship clean and all, so I decided I was gonna do it, here and at her place, the ship, and I wasn't gonna be late on deliveries. I mean, I'm usually only a couple hours, but Jaina really went off on me, said it was costing us a bunch in credits, and that she was gonna make me leave the business."
Han raised his eyebrows in surprise; Jaina had not confided in him with regards to that. Then again, Jaina was responsible for day to day operations, and Han had long ago, with more than a bit of difficulty, let go.
At long last, Jarik looked up at Han, and his eyes were nearly pleading. "I wanna marry Lysandra. Tell the truth, I wanted to marry her about a half standard hour after meeting her."
Han grinned. "Yeah, that's about the time I decided that your mom and I belonged together. Took a little longer to get her to get used to the idea."
"Yeah, so she said," Jarik said, laughing. "I, uh, actually got a ring for her. Actually, I got it about a year ago."
"I found your mom's at Nenmo's not long after I met her. Sat in the ship's safe for a long time."
"Okay, I didn't go to Nenmo's," Jarik said, laughing. "But I found a cool jewelry place when we went skiing on Hoth. You know they have all kinds of mines there, so no transport charges." Jarik grinned. Like his father, he wasn't the loosest man with credits—at least ones that were his own.
"Kid, all I remember is that I nearly froze to death in that hellhole," Han laughed. "They didn't exactly have luxury resorts when we were there."
Jarik closed his eyes and leaned back. Han saw a younger version of himself.
A man made better by a woman.
"There's just one thing," Jarik finally said.
"Yes?" Han quirked up an eyebrow.
"Lysandra loves the Falcon."
Han chuckled. "You mean she doesn't call it a bucket of bolts, or worse?"
Jarik opened his eyes in disbelief. "Dad, it's the Falcon! She's a legend!"
"Well, that's because of her pilot," Han reminded his son.
"Oh, sure," Jarik kidded back. "Just remember who taught me to fly."
Han winced a bit.
"So can I take her?" Jarik asked.
Han rolled his eyes, but it was mostly for show. "Sure. Not a scratch, y'hear?"
"Too late for that," Jarik said cheekily. "Thanks, Dad."
Han just smiled.
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Jarik had taken off for the hangar to prep the Falcon. A short time after, Leia padded in, looking slightly weary.
"Rough meeting?" Han asked her, taking her in his arms.
Leia grimaced. "Let's just say that I'll be shocked if a few of my students decide that diplomatic life isn't for them. It didn't go well. On the other hand, it was realistic, because as we all know, they usually don't go well—at least not at first. But they asked good questions, and even made a couple of points that I hadn't considered." She kissed Han again. "I guess you're never too old to learn." She shed her shoes and headed for the chiller.
Having poured herself a glass of cool Emera wine, Leia settled into her chair, which was adjacent to Han's. A narrow table that Han had made, with some inlaid stained glassine, made it perfect for setting drinks on.
"You'll never guess who you just missed," Han said, laying his hand over Leia's free one.
"I know it wasn't Chewie, because I don't see excessive shedding," Leia remarked, chuckling.
"No, it was our youngest," Han sighed, but with a smile.
"I'd ask what he did this time, but he's been significantly better as of late," Leia commented. "Not that I'm ruling out reversion to old habits."
"No, nothing like that," Han assured her. "In fact, he's made a pretty big decision."
"Please tell me it's not professional racing," Leia moaned slightly.
"Not even close. It seems that another less than ideal guy has decided to let a good woman make a better man of him," Han said, grinning.
"He's going to ask Lysandra to marry him," Leia said, smiling softly.
"He'd better, before she gets away," Han mused. "What can I say? He's in love with the girl. Kind of reminds me of someone I know." He closed his eyes, and suddenly, he was very young, Leia was very young…and they were in the trash compactor…
He smiled.
"So how does he plan to propose to her?" Leia asked her husband, her tiny hand tucked into his large one.
Han flashed her a tender smile. "On the wings of the Falcon."