Title: Maybe
Timeframe: ESB, on Hoth
Summary: Han watches Luke after rescuing him, and does some thinking.
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I glance over at the kid, feeling as lifeless as he looked. Sure he's a little bit more blue than we would prefer, and came about as close to death as can be. The important thing is: he's back and he's alive.
Seemed like everyone on the entire planet of Hoth wanted to welcome and congratulate me when I came back with Skywalker. You'd think I brought back hidden treasure or the key to destroying the Empire. Maybe that's what Luke is, to them. Right now he looks like a pathetic being curled up on a medbay cot.
I did what I had to do, and nothing more. A friend, yes a friend, was in danger and I had to help him out. Who knows what could have happened if he was left out there the entire night. Hypothermia was inevitable, death was near certain. Was my deed heroic? No.
Not that I haven't known friendship, that would be a load of bantha crap. None of this mushy friendship bond that Luke's always trying to push on the lot of us. Take Chewie and me for example— I rescued him, and he has a life bond to me. It's plain and simple, loyalty to the death. We don't need to talk about much, and not much needs to be said.
As for Leia and Luke, it's… complicated. Leia is a different story for another time. Luke, well he's not exactly average. I've saved his skin how many times before, and still saving him.
Just now he's starting to stir. I consider leaving, not wanting to be here when he wakes up to be thanked. I've had a thousand rebels thanking me. And for what? On the verge of leaving them all to return to my former life? Ditching a cause that was just beginning to win me over? Being enough of a bantha fodder to let Luke investigate that impact in the first place? I don't want any of it. Just give me a ship to pilot and a job to do and I'm fine. Awards and recognition are for politicians and holodrama performers.
He rolls over, moans a bit, and then silences once more. I release a breath and lean lightly on the doorframe. A chill passes through me, and for the first time my thoughts turn to my own injuries. I got the expected diagnosis—frostbite, dehydration, the usual. Nothing I can't fight back from. I didn't even need a bacta dunk, thank the forces that be. That can be real unpleasant I've heard.
The realization that my own injuries are trivial is a surprise. In my world, I come first. Something doesn't look safe, I'm outta there. A deal looks sketchy, I'm done. Chewie and I look out for each other and no one else. Yet somehow I'm watching over some farm kid as he sleeps, or now snores, and ignoring the pain in my toes and my dry, burning throat.
Any minute now someone will come rushing in the door, probably a 2-1B medical droid or a rebel officer of some sort. If I'm lucky, maybe it will be Leia. That moment in the tunnel still hasn't left my mind, even after an entire night of frozen wasteland before my eyes… then again, if she came in here for the kid I'd be the last thing on her mind for sure.
Yet somehow I'm not completely sure of that. After what the three of us, four including Chewie, have been through together it's something different. Friends by circumstance, I guess. Shove a small group of people in a desperate enough situation and interesting things start to happen. If I had run into Skywalker on the street a few years ago I wouldn't have looked twice. But it's different now.
Maybe, just maybe, something has changed.
I haven't gone soft, don't try and push that on me. If I were really soft I wouldn't be watching silently, I'd be checking every which way to make sure he was fine. If I were soft I wouldn't have nearly frozen to death. But something is different now.
Maybe it changed the second I saw him floundering about in the snow. Maybe it changed the minute I decided I couldn't leave him out there. Maybe it changed when I decided to fly in and save Luke's X-wing from Vader back in the Battle of Yavin.
You know, I think something changed the instant I let the kid and the old man on board my ship. This isn't the same Han Solo who used to ship spice for a living and care about his ship all the time.
Maybe, just maybe, things were different now. Doesn't' mean I'm not going to jet off this planet or away from the Rebellion at the first chance I get, but it won't be guilt free either. I feel a sort of loyalty to Skywalker and the Princess.
Sure enough, here comes a droid buzzing through the door right now. He'll wake the kid up, and I don't want to be around for that. Time to go back to tinkering with the Falcon where I belong. Too much thinking can drive a man crazy, I'll leave that to Skywalker. The Rebellion needs him, not me.
Maybe.
.