The timing for this little one-shot is right before 'Recovery', maybe a day before. I love 'Recovery' so much, I just had to write one about it.
Han hated medcenters. He always had. For one thing, they were always too white, too bright, too big and empty. Voices echoed down the halls. As did the cries. For another, they stank of fear, desperation, and, for some odd reason, loneliness. Something about that fresh, citrus fruity, sterile smell wasn't helping. And none of that was helping Han, either.
With a surrendering sigh, Han tossed his datapad aside, giving up on trying to occupy his mind with the latest news articles. The stories were a mess as were the holojournalists themselves. With the Yuuzhan Vong calling out the Jedi in their uproar following Jacen's "battle" against their warmaster Tsavong Lah, new groups were sprouting out around the galaxy, popping out from behind corners and slaughtering any Jedi to be seen. As if Han wasn't worried and stressed enough. It had torn him having to leave his kids right away after reuniting with them. But they were safer with their aunt and uncle, safer apart from him and their mom.
Han tore his gaze from the small caf table beside him and forced himself to look at the bed before him. There she was. Her chestnut tresses were simply, and untidily, braided for the sake of keeping it out of her face. For innocent reasons, it looked so wrong when Han was used to seeing her hair meticulously kept, combed back, hung up in a refined and elegant bun. Even strands were hanging loose, curling in little locks around her ears and temple. Her skin was pallid, sickly-looking. Her eyes were sunken, both in the middle of dark circles. Sweat gleaned on her forehead and that alone was enough to suggest to Han the presence of nightmares. In sympathy with the looming night visions, her fingers twitched and her brow furrowed, pulling her lips in their own imitation of a wince.
The sight made Han's heart ache; every tiny detail and every problem with it. His heart swelled and surged and his guilt triumphed his guilt as he decided that he needed to be close to her. He needed to hold her and comfort her. As if it could fix everything he had done to her. With one hand, he caressed her warm cheek, his thumb brushing at the rosy color there. Her cheek twitched, but her lips and brow relaxed. Han's sigh, this time, was of relief. Leaning forward to reach her better, Han left a delicate kiss on her forehead.
Now, Han would be the first to admit all his recent wrong-doings. He'd admit to so much more than that if it meant getting his wife back sooner. But all that mattered was that this was his fault. In the long-run sort of way, that is. If only he hadn't pushed Leia away. If only he'd taken the hand she'd been offering and dropped his whole pathetic guilt trip and gone back to her. She'd only ever been willing to forget it all for him. Enough of the 'if onlys', though. He'd said things, done things, and all those things were done. He couldn't take them back. But he could control how things went from here. Han couldn't lose her again. No, not again. This time, he chose her.
"I'm so sorry, Princess," he cried quietly, partly wishing she would wake up while also unsure if he would be able to speak to her if she were awake and could hear him. So he told her everything he needed to say now as he caressed her face and sat as close to her as he could. "I'm so sorry."