Author's Note: I have been an avid Star Wars fan since I was first introduced to the series when I was eight. I've never stopped loving these movies, even as I've gotten older and recognized their (many) flaws. So it's a little strange that this is the first Star Wars fic I've ever written. And it's even stranger that, of all characters, I chose Chewbacca for my first foray into this fandom. I mean...I've always liked him, of course; he's a great foil for Han, and I've always liked that we can never understand a single word he says. We have to gather what he's like just from his actions, and from others' responses to him. But if I were to list my favorite characters, he would be waaaay down the list. As long as I was going to write a Star Wars fic, why didn't I go for Obi-Wan, my favorite character? Or at least a Jedi or someone more central to the plot.
But after I saw The Force Awakens for the first time, I found my mind returning again and again to Han and Chewie. I suppose it makes sense, because they're the recurring characters who have the most screentime in this movie, and obviously Han's death is one of the biggest and most emotional scenes. What really got me, especially the second time I watched the movie (when I knew how little time they had left with each other), was Han and Chewie's relationship. Wookies obviously have longer lifespans than humans, and Chewie is still in the prime of his life while Han just gets older and older. I was really touched by tiny little gestures like Chewie making sure to pick up Han's coat for him-like he was saying, "You're an old man, so you make sure you stay warm out there."
Chewie deserved more than the one or two shots we were given of him dealing with the aftermath of Han's death. So I decided to do what I could. I just hope they show how he's grieving and coping in the next movie. Also, because the EU was abolished, I took that as an excuse to make up whatever the heck I wanted in his backstory :P
The Millennium Falcon was empty. The cockpit was cluttered with tools and exposed wires halfway through being replaced, and the central storage area was filled with enough supply crates to last them months in space. Through the open hatch leading outside, Rey's voice filtered in accompanied by the occasional cheery beep or whistle from BB-8 as they worked on exterior repairs.
But inside, the ship was empty. Hollow. Cold. Like the vacuum of space had somehow seeped in and lingered.
Chewbacca stood in the central room of the ship, knowing that there were things he ought to be doing. Repairs that needed to be made. Finnicky hyperdrives that needed to be double-checked. But somehow...he couldn't find the energy to care. The hushed silence that clung to the ship seemed to sap all of his motivation.
With a thump, he dropped into his favorite seat at the table, where the material of the seat had turned shiny and conformed to the shape of his body after so many years of sitting in it. Listlessly, he poked at the button that turned the flickering holo-game on, but he quickly switched it off again.
"C'mon, Chewie, you lost that rinzefruit fair and square! Don't take it out on me just 'cause I'm a better dejarik player! Okay, okay, best 17 outta 32, whaddya say? Here, I'll even throw in some apples, hmm? Nice, red Corellian apples—at least you can't say I'm stingy."
He was everywhere in this ship. Chewbacca let his eyes drift over to the swiveling chair in front of the bank of screens and controls, all of which were dark and silent now. But he could see Han sitting there, yelling instructions into the cockpit as he flipped switches and adjusted gauges.
"What? No, the deflector shield, ya big furbrain! Why would I want to go into hyperspace FROM A DOCKING BAY?"
He gazed absently at the spot where he had first seen Luke draw his lightsaber and fail abysmally at defending himself. Such a long time ago, yet it felt like yesterday—and now they were heading out to find Luke again. He remembered Luke mentioning something about ghosts one time. Something about spirits communing with the Force. Chewbacca didn't know much about the Force, but he wondered...no. That was stupid. Han was the last person to 'commune' with anything. He would haunt his memories, but that was all.
Irritated with himself for letting his thoughts wander there even briefly, Chewbacca got up and resumed his original mission of checking to make sure all of their belongings were stowed safely in the crew's quarters. Ghost or no, it seemed that Han's presence followed him with every step. As he walked across the secret smuggling compartments in the hallway, Chewbacca remembered the dozens, probably hundreds of times they had stored their precious goods down there. Or hidden themselves.
"Whaddya mean, I won't fit? Maybe someone should go on a diet or—pteh!—get a haircut at least... Look, we gotta face the music, Chewie. Either we dump half the shipment, or I'm gonna have to sit in your lap."
The crew's quarters were shipshape. Neither he nor Rey had many belongings, and the life of a smuggler often meant a distinct lack of sleep or leisure time. And as a Wookie, well...clothes weren't exactly necessary either. The only real personal effect he'd left near his bunk (which he was relieved to see hadn't been tampered with when the Falcon traded hands) was a simple pair of handcuffs locked around a small hole in the side of the bunk.
Han hadn't said anything when Chewbacca had bored the hole and clasped the cuffs around it. Chewbacca had never even said a word of thanks after Han had turned back to rescue him from the slave camp. Instead of just scuttling away and saving his own hide, Han had instigated a slave revolt. No matter how much he blustered about being unable to fly the huge ship he'd stolen all by himself, or how he really just wanted to get back at the man who'd cheated him out of his money's worth...Chewbacca was still grateful.
Han never looked at the handcuffs. Chewbacca never spoke of what he'd done. But they'd never parted ways since.
Well. Not until now.
As he turned to leave again, an open hatch in the corner caught his eye. He didn't remember what it was until he bent down to close it. Of course. No one had bothered to take out Han's crate of possessions yet. There wasn't much in it, since they hadn't had much chance to relax after meeting up with the Resistance. Just a few odds and ends—an extra blaster, a change of clothes...
He pulled the shirt out of the crate and stared at it. It was empty like everything else in here. Han would never wear it again. It would never be warm from his touch. But it still smelled like him. Chewbacca buried his nose in the collar and breathed it in. He had met lots of people in this galaxy who said they couldn't stand humans' stink, but Chewbacca had grown to like it. At least this human's stink. Sweat and drink and gunfire and fuel. A violent smell, a frenetic smell. But somehow comforting at the same time.
"Shh, easy...easy, Chewie, I almost got it... There! Would you look at that stinger—it's a wonder you could even walk at all. Chewie. Chewie, why are you shaking? Nettlebees aren't supposed to be poisonous...unless..."
Why did this smell remind him of the time he'd almost died from a poisoned dart? He had been so delirious for most of it, he didn't even have many memories of that time. But now he remembered lying in his bunk, shaking uncontrollably while Han held him still and frantically tried to call up someone who could give them an antidote.
Slowly, Chewbacca folded up the shirt again and replaced it in the crate. He closed it, wondering if he would ever have the heart to go through Han's things again. Maybe they would stay there, under his feet, forever.
They had patched each other up many times in this room, he thought as he pushed himself to his feet again. Burns, concussions, blaster wounds... Han always tried to tough it out, act like it wasn't as bad as it was. But he was always so gentle when Chewbacca was the one in pain. It was like he understood that, every time someone touched his wounds, he was back under the slave masters' whips. Somehow, it was never as bad when it was Han.
Chewbacca made his way back to the cockpit. There was much to be done here, and as skilled as Rey was, she would need his experience and the extra pair of hands. But the air in the cockpit was so heavy and silent that he found it was all he could do to simply sink into his seat.
He couldn't look at the pilot's seat. He couldn't. But he did.
"Hey, Chewie," Han said softly. "Do you ever think about the vastness of space?"
Chewbacca turned to look at him. Han leaned back in his chair, his feet propped up on the dashboard and his hands clasped in his lap. They weren't in flight, but they'd landed far enough away from any cities that they could see every star in the sky through the cockpit window. Except for the grassy hill in front of them, they could almost be drifting in space.
"You know..." Han continued when Chewbacca didn't say anything. "Those big open spaces between each star. That...emptiness that just seems to go on forever. It's easy to forget when we're always running from crime lords or the Empire, but...we're just tiny specks in the universe, aren't we?"
Chewbacca nodded, not really sure where these uncharacteristic musings were coming from.
Han let out a deep sigh and ran a hand through his greying hair. "I'm getting old, Chewie." He chuckled. "Old and senile. Just listen to me, talking like this. I've just...you know, been thinking, ever since..." He waved his hand vaguely, but Chewbacca understood. He was thinking of Ben. And Leia.
"I'm really not that important in the grand scheme of things, you know? I'm not some Jedi with a big destiny to change the galaxy. All of this will keep going even after I'm gone. So...in the end...does it even matter?"
The unasked question rang loudly in their ears: Do I matter?
Chewbacca looked up into the vastness of space, the faraway stars, the immeasurable black distances between them. Then he looked down to the tiny speck that was Han Solo, sitting beside him with an oddly lost expression.
"You matter to me," he growled softly in reply. "And you matter to them. Isn't that enough?"
Han met his gaze and slowly smiled. "Yeah." He tucked his hands behind his head and looked back up at the stars. "I guess it is."
Chewbacca looked at the empty pilot's seat next to him, then looked out at the sun-drenched stones of the Resistance base. Rey was walking towards the ship, carrying a sheet of scrap metal to patch up something on the Falcon's hull.
He decided it would be enough for him as well.