Loose Ends

by Susan Zahn and Erin Darroch

Thanks to Marjorie Joyce for beta reading.

Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves.

—Henry David Thoreau

Princess Leia stood alone before a wide transparisteel window aboard the Rebel Alliance medical vessel, Mercy. It was the only spot aboard the massive starship that afforded an unhindered view of the Millennium Falcon, which was docked via an umbilical hatch to the side of the frigate.

In less than an hour, the Falcon would be leaving. Chewbacca, along with his surrogate copilot Lando Calrissian, would launch their search for Han Solo, who had been recently ripped from their lives by order of the evil Sith Lord Darth Vader, and then handed over to one of the most infamous bounty hunters in the known galaxy.

Gazing now at the distinctive profile of the old and battered freighter, every unkind remark Leia had ever made about it came back to haunt her. While some of those gibes had been genuine—unleashed in the heat of the moment in response to breakdowns and other inconveniences, more often than not, Leia had insulted the ship simply to rile and distract her cocky owner. Nothing stung Han like a critique of the Falcon's performance, and Leia had found it to be an easy way to get under his skin—especially useful for those times when he managed to get under hers. It had been so easy to overlook all the times the ship had saved her, all the times she had sought asylum onboard from the never-ending demands outside. Just like Captain Solo, the ship had proven time and again that one should never judge by first impressions or outward appearances. And just like with the Falcon's captain, Leia had gradually fallen in love—if one could indeed love a ship. As she gazed out upon its particular shape and scarred surface, she thought she finally understood.

With a deep sigh, Leia pulled herself away from the window and walked toward the bank of lifts nearby, her intention to rejoin Luke Skywalker in the hospital ward now that he was out of surgery and recovering. The hallway was empty and she had the lift to herself as she stepped inside. She raised her hand to key in the correct deck level but hesitated, staring blankly at the keypad for a long moment, then on impulse changed her mind and selected the deck level where the Falcon was docked.

Moments later, she found herself walking toward an open chamber off to the side of a long corridor. Recessed into the wall beside a sealed hatchway was a security keypad. More out of muscle memory than any conscious thought, Leia typed in the Falcon's security code. Han had entrusted her with an access code to his beloved ship scarcely a week after they had first met, on the eve of their first mission together. He had explained at the time that it was a necessary safety measure, in case they were separated during their brief run to the hidden Rebel outpost on Triniili. The fact that he had never cancelled it—that it continued to work for her even after nearly two years of bantering, bickering, and hesitant attempts to build something more between them—was proof of his high regard, and of his trust. It had taken her far too long to realize that Han communicated his deepest feelings through actions. Free access to his beloved ship said more to Leia than any words he had ever uttered.

Leia waited as the hatch cycled open, then stepped into the narrow circular chamber and waited as it rolled closed around her. Seconds later, the platform began to drop, lowering her down the umbilical shaft to the Falcon's ceiling hatch and finally into the freighter proper. The moment the internal hatch hissed open, she was greeted with the familiar and distinctive odors of the old ship—that mix of engine lubricant, recycled air, a hint of Wookiee, and the warm Corellian spices that tended to find their way into everything that came out of the cramped galley adjacent to the main hold. All of it had become so ingrained into her daily life during the languorous monthlong sublight trip from Hoth to Bespin that it was still a bit of a novelty to breathe anything else. Submerging back into the freighter's atmosphere triggered a surge of memories that threatened to overwhelm her. She followed the lingering scent of those spices, drawn by treasured recollections of shared meals with friends.

The sound of the hatch cycling open must have alerted the Falcon's crew, because seconds later, Lando strode down the short corridor from the cockpit and found her standing in the middle of the hold, probably looking as lost as she felt. The former administrator of Cloud City had apparently raided Han's wardrobe, for he was now dressed in the spacer's familiar white shirt and black utility vest combination—though his dark trousers lacked the distinctive Bloodstripe seams. The sight of that familiar ensemble made Leia's chest tighten and only added to her sense of discombobulation and dismay.

"Princess?" Lando asked as he drew closer. "We didn't know you were coming aboard. Is there something wrong?"

As if snapping out of a trance, Leia opened her mouth but then belatedly realized that she had no answer—she had no idea what had caused her to come here rather than go to the medical ward. Struggling to find some plausible excuse, she deflected instead. "Where's Chewie?"

Lando gestured over his shoulder with a thumb. "In the cockpit. We've been plotting out possible paths Fett may have taken."

Leia licked suddenly dry lips, her eyes casting around the familiar room. She had memorized its every feature in the past month, and everything was exactly as she recalled, but it felt strangely empty nevertheless. Haunted. Bereft.

Lando gazed at her for a quiet moment, his initial friendly smile fading as his dark eyebrows knitted together. "Are you okay?"

"I…I stopped by to grab something before you go."

He nodded, although his dark eyes did not leave her and his expression of concern had not changed. "Okay. Well, we'll be up front if you need anything."

She gave a single nod of acknowledgment, then turned away and started walking the long route around the circular corridor, heading as if on autopilot to the crew's quarters where she had lived together with Han for four precious weeks. As she walked, she could almost hear his deep voice echoing along the padded walls of the passageway, the heels of his boots tapping on the smooth deck plates alongside hers, his large hand a light pressure at the small of her back, guiding her warmly to bed. They had taken that short walk together every evening for a month, as the Falcon had crawled its way through the Anoat System, and each time Leia had been filled with happy anticipation and a sense of joy. Now she felt only dread.

The cabin door was open, as if waiting for her. She stopped at the threshold, haunted all over again by the palpable emptiness. The bunks were neatly fixed with clean linens, everything in its place just as Han preferred it, this tiny refuge from the chaos of his life.

Leia stepped inside and walked to the center of the room before pausing again, this time daring to summon her most treasured memories as she closed her eyes. The laconic, subterranean voice that comforted and excited at the same time, the hands that could so easily soothe and arouse her, the arms that wrapped around her to provide their own private sanctuary, taking her far away to a time and place beyond the realities of their daily lives.

She drew in a sharp breath, fighting impending tears.

What am I going to do?

A particular memory, the wisps of one of those prophetic dreams that sometimes came to her at night, crept back into her mind.

"You'll be okay, Leia. You're the strongest person I know."

"I'm not strong. I just don't know what else to do."

"You will."

Rather than dwell on where such premonitions originated, she chose instead to focus on the sensation of Han's embrace in that phantom setting, his words not a reassurance that he would return but rather a conviction that somehow she would find a way. But would her strength be enough to find and bring him back, or simply to cope with his absence?

What could she do, other than what she had always done—pushing through yet another hardship and carrying on? Although it went against her heart, she had agreed with the logic that she could serve a critical role in the search for Han by remaining with the Rebel Fleet to utilize her access to underworld contacts and hacked data systems, and to serve as a beacon in case Han found a way back on his own. The minutes were ticking down until the moment when his ship would fly away and leave her behind, just as it had so many times before, only this time she had no idea when it would return or if Han would be on it when it did. It might be days, or months, or even years before she would step foot in this cabin again to feel Han's presence, his life force around her.

And in that moment, it came to her why she was here.

With sudden purpose, Leia turned and popped open the storage locker where Han stored his most personal belongings. She glanced over the items inside, a mixture of the familiar and the enigmatic. Then her eyes settled on the stack of holovids at the back, focusing on one in particular. It was labeled with the date of Luke Skywalker's Majority party, from back when they had been stationed on Serricci—the same date that had coincided with her own Majority and had marked the first tectonic shift in her relationship with Han. This was it—actual proof of a time when they had been happy together, even if only briefly and under less than ideal conditions. It would have to do. She reached in and slid it out of the stack, fingered the smooth edges of the round disk as she read Han's unmistakable handwriting, then slid it into a hidden pocket of her white gown.

She closed the locker door and began heading for the exit, then abruptly stopped. Something made her turn back, a sensual urge that whispered that the flickering holo of a captured candid moment—one she barely remembered through the alcoholic veil of that night—would not be enough.

Leia opened the neighboring locker and allowed her fingertips to caress the assortment of garments stored there. They came to rest on one of his nicer white shirts, the type he tended to wear beneath his flight jacket—the same style that she had last seen him wear before he was swallowed up in a cloud of orange-tinted fog.

Without realizing it, she held her breath as she eased the shirt out of the locker, then held it up to her face and closed her eyes as she inhaled, drawing in the scent she had come to associate with Han—the blend of mild cleanser with a hint of cologne. With it came a wave of warm sentiment and positive memories, though the familiar scent evoked a wave of emotion that made her eyes sting and her throat tighten.

A sound at the entrance to the cabin interrupted her reverie. She spun around to find the huge, shaggy form of Chewbacca blocking the hatchway.

Lando told me that you had come aboard.

Feeling awkward to be caught in such a personal moment, Leia nevertheless sensed the concern lingering behind the Wookiee's bright blue eyes. On impulse, she held up Han's shirt, as if in answer to his unspoken question. "I thought…maybe I'd like to keep…."

She bit her lip and shook her head, unable to complete the sentence. If anyone could understand, though, she had to believe it would be Chewie.

His shaggy head dipped to the side, his habit whenever he was doing some deep thinking of his own. Then without a word, he moved forward into the cabin and opened his long arms to her, offering a hug. Awash with relief, she accepted the invitation and hugged him back.

The End