Author's Note: I own absolutely nothing here (don't remind me). I've read some pretty great stories on here and thought I would try my hand at it. Let me know what you guys think. If anyone actually reads this I will continue and need a Beta reader. Thanks guys!
Han Solo, former smuggler and more recently Rebel Alliance hero, looked disgusted as he surveyed the damage to his most prized possession, the Millenium Falcon. The miscellaneous blaster shots and atmospheric damage he could mentally file under "part of the job" and move on. The sensor array, however, would be costly to replace and of course there were other, less obvious problems.
As hard as he tried, he couldn't ignore the emptiness of the cabin without a certain Princess there to question his every move, bark orders, and generally annoy anyone with auditory receptors.
But man, was she gorgeous.
Shaking his head, he snapped himself out of his wandering thoughts and tried to focus on the task at hand. He had a deadline to make and money at stake. Besides that little hiccup at Kessel a few years back, Han never missed a deadline. Ever.
Besides, what was the point in sulking over a woman that wanted to do nothing but change him? It seemed that although she had fallen for a "scoundrel", that wasn't what she wanted in the long run. As soon as the Battle of Endor had concluded, she had slowly but surely started trying to change everything about him that made him Han Solo.
Yeah, well not this scoundrel sister.
It had started small and seemingly innocently enough. She had suggested "upgrading" his attire. Apparently his Corellian bloodstripes weren't as roguish and dashing when there weren't Death Stars to be blown up. Then, his few evenings per week spent at the sabaac tables were being frowned upon. His drinking habits were a topic for discussion shortly after that.
It didn't take long for him to wonder if there was anything about him she actually did like, or if she just fell for some idealized version of himself that she could domesticate and mold how she wanted. The more concessions he made for her, the more resentment built up. The arguments got worse and more frequent until it seemed that was all they did.
The last straw was the Falcon. She knew what the ship meant to him. Ever since he'd won it from Lando in that sabaac tournament on Bespin, his beloved ship had represented freedom. Every compartment, every wire, every blaster turret, was his to do with as he pleased. To take wherever he wanted. Every upgrade he'd made he and Chewie had done the labor on, paid for by runs they had made smuggling anything and everything they could get their hands on. He had lovingly planned out every single modification to the finest detail.
So when Leia had calmly suggested he could benefit from a newer, more reliable ship, his temper had predictably flared. That was his breaking point. It hadn't taken long for their relationship to sour after that.
So he ran. He and Chewie had packed all of their worldly possessions and pointed the Falcon towards the stars.
Fast forward 4 months and here he stood on Nal Hutta with a banged up ship and a Princess sized hole in his chest.
