Disclaimer: You know the drill, guys! I don't own it, I kind of wish I did, and the only things I own are a Train album and my favourite coffee mug.
Six Women Han Solo Ever Loved
The first woman Han Solo ever loved, as is the same with almost every man, was his mother. He didn't remember her – he was too young to have a clear recollection of almost anything at that age – but he knew that he loved her. He could tell, because, if he really tried, (which he doesn't, because that road is one better left unwalked. Or at least, that's what he tried to tell himself) he remembered feeling safe around her, the feeling of her soft brown hair on his cheek, and the warmth of her smile in the back bedroom of their less-than-adequate house. He remembered dancing in the living room, and post-lunch naps. Then, he remembered her scared face and how much he missed her when she left him. Whether she went by force or by will, he didn't know – he'd probably never know – but nevertheless, he loved her and he lost her. He often wondered, did either of them – did anyone, really – ever know what was happening? Did they know that he was being set up for a life he could come to regret? To hate, even?
These questions kept him awake some nights –not that he'd ever admit that – until the arrival of the second woman Han Solo ever loved. When Lanna found him, he wasn't much to behold. He was, in retrospect, nothing but a smart-mouth, proud teenager who got dealt a bad hand. Despite all this –despite all this was a term usually used in relation to the women who loved him – despite this scar, despite that fault, despite that one shot too many – Dewlanna took him in and loved him. Taught him how to respect women – a lesson he'd soon forget – and how to respect himself. Lanna taught him a lesson or two in how to take care of himself and how to get what he wanted. Those lessons became nothing but fading memories soon after he lost her.
Those lessons were long gone when he met her. Indeed, long before and long after Bria was finished pushing his heart to its very limits, she was simply "her", for no words Han Solo could come up with encompassed the third woman he ever loved any better. When he met her, he should have known he was doomed. (It occurs to Han sometime that "despite this" wasn't just something that applied to the love these women felt for him – he did his fair share of compromising and tolerating, himself) Despite all of the trouble that her withdrawal put them both through, and despite knowing without a fraction of doubt that his hopes of joining the Imperial Navy, of being a pilot, were impossible with her around, he still loved her. (Never mind that when he actually made it, he threw it all away to save a complete stranger) He thought – maybe foolishly – that this would be enough, that maybe this would inspire her. Surely, him giving up his one dream, the only thing he wanted out of life, just to make sure she didn't drive a knife through her leg was enough to convince her to stay, and not give up. After she left, there was always the fear that she'd just gone back. Not for the so-called religious experience, but just because running back to the addiction was easier than running from it.
Even as he convinced himself he didn't care and that if she wanted to be damned, she could be damned, it still hurt. With time, it became more of a dull ache, but it was always there. Until the next time. In between Bria and his next real love, though, there were plenty of women Han Solo "loved." He loved them all in different ways, but not one ever involved something less than four drinks and a whiskey chaser.
When he met the fourth woman he ever really loved, it was not a complicated thing. It was not hard, but nor was it perfect. He had his flaws, and she didn't seem to notice. She had her flaws, and, while he definitely noticed, he never once minded. You see, the Falcon was complicated, yes, but it was never a challenge to figure her out. She had her quirks and her moments, and loving her was something he could forget he did, sometimes, but it was never for long. It wouldn't be long before the old girl would rescue them once more, save their lives and not bat an eyelash. Indeed, he stole her innocence sometime along in their long run together, but she never seemed to mind. Yes, it may be strange to say that he loved that ship in place of any woman, but it was true. She had a mind of her own, and she was as human as he was – sometimes more – with feelings and moods and bad days, too.
Feelings, moods, and bad days – all things that seemed to stand between him and his fifth love. (Not to mention that damned fool idealistic crusade he'd curse a thousand times over)Leia, from the moment they met, had never seemed to have any feelings, any good moods, or indeed any good days. Kest, a good day for her was a day when the Empire didn't kill her, or at least attempt it. For the first years of their cock-eyed relationship, he thought he didn't care about that. That part of him (the part of him that told him that memories of his mother were to be avoided, that the lessons he learnt were never valuable, that giving it all up meant he'd get it all back somehow, that a ship was an adequate substitute for silky lips and feminine grace) wondered why, every time he promised he'd leave, for every "say goodbye, princess" and every "I'm as good as gone", he backed down. He'd developed a tendency to go back on his word with her, a scary habit to fall into. Wasn't the only reason he loved being a smuggler the freedom? The part where he could say, "I'm done, and I'm out of here"? So why did he find it so hard to exercise this when the door was well and truly open?
The reason, of course, was so blindingly obvious that it took some time for him to see it – not that it had stumped Chewbacca, or even Luke. At least, that's what he told himself. (A habit he should break – nothing good ever came of it) It was too obvious to see. He rarely, if ever,admitted that he already knew what the reasons were. It had a little to do with the Rebels, with the Rogues and the boys who were just that, boys, not men, too young to be fighting as if they weren't just kids, a little more to do with the kid, whose blonde-haired, blue-eyed farm boy innocence was too much to abandon – the kid has hopes and dreams that were bound to be squashed – without feeling just the slightest bit guilty, and a lot to do with the princess. There were contributing factors to this need to stay for her, though. Her stupid caff addiction and her big doe eyes. The way her shoulders shook when she ran herself ragged and froze her body half to death. Of course, she was strong and beautiful and independent and assured she could take care of herself (she couldn't, though, that was the thing), and these were all the things he loved her for in the long run, but he couldn't leave her alone when she couldn't take care of herself. He'd taken care of himself and Chewie for long enough, he knew what to do to help heal the wounds. It would have been wrong of him not to help the princess, right? But helping the princess meant that she got comfortable. Her getting comfortable meant them getting close, and that closeness could have been his undoing, for that closeness forced him to confront the truth. She was princess, he was guy like that, and they were both damaged goods. Neither of them were whole, but together, they were better. She was supported, and he was encouraged, for loving a woman like her meant loving her damned fool idealistic crusade, and seeing things for what they really were. Loving a woman like her meant healing old wounds, and locking the door as he left it all behind.
The fifth woman Han Solo ever loved cleansed him, and if not for her he would never have wished himself upon anyone so pure and young, let alone the sixth woman he ever loved. The sixth woman he ever loved was the last, and that was no disappointment. Loving her didn't mean losing the Falcon, letting go of Leia or saying goodbye to his dreams. Loving her was more of an expansion to his heart, he guessed. (Only to her would he ever admit he was going a bit soft) The sixth woman he loved didn't ever break him, didn't ever heal him either. He loved her – fiercely, madly, protectively, passionately – as any good father should, and she loved him – sweetly, innocently and unrequited – the way only a daughter could. Yes, she changed him, but not in the catastrophic way that Bria or his mother had, not in the rough way the Falcon had, and not in the unexplainable, undeniable way Leia did either. Jaina gave him more purpose. Something even more solid, even more concrete than him and Leia. She was always going to be the little girl he helped bring into the world, and not a single thing could change that.
No longer could he drop everything and put his life on the line blindly. Jaina relied on him, and he couldn't leave her fatherless, even if she did have a mother. She needed him, in a way that no one had ever needed a man like Han Solo. She needed him – the lowly smuggler turned, in essence, househusband, the man who forgot every promise he made – to guide her and keep her safe, she needed him because of where he'd been and what he'd done.
She needed him because, just like him, she never wanted to make those mistakes. She never wanted to forget her mother's scent, or to forget the lessons she learnt. She never wanted to put solitude above happiness, or stubbornness above love.
That was the other thing that loving his daughter did to him...it scared the living daylights out of him.
Hey guys, thanks for staying with me there! I figured I'd post it for shits and giggles, really. The end is pretty bad, I know, and it just doesn't sit right...I think there's too much sentimentality, I think?
Anyway, on the list of things available to those who review:
1. A drunk, unmarried Luke Skywalker.
2. Ditto Han Solo
3. Whipped cream and oozing chocolate sauce
4. Sand. Lots and lots of sand.
XX!