One
Everything about the Alliance was annoying him today.
The planet on which they'd chosen to build their base—Hoth was Sithin' freezing, and every time he moved icy air seemed to leak in even under his heavy coat and set his whole body shivering. He hadn't felt properly warm for weeks. The damage that last mission had done to his beloved Falcon, and the fact that the rebels were so poor even he didn't feel right making them pay for repairs. The bounty hunter he'd run into on Ord Mantell who'd reminded him that if he didn't pay off Jabba the Hutt he was a dead man. The sick feeling he got in the pit of his stomach when he looked at the ragtag group of fighters around him and thought about their chances against the sheer firepower of the vast and battle-hardened Imperial fleet. The reproachful look Chewie got in his eyes when the Wookiee knew he was considering cutting their losses and heading off to pay Jabba. The idealistic enthusiasm in the kid's voice when he talked about defeating the Empire and "bringing freedom and justice back to the galaxy" and the chilling, nauseating knowledge that Luke was more likely than not to die fighting for that cause that meant so much to him. The fact that almost all the food provided around the base was little more than iron rations, the old, beat-up technology they all had to struggle with every day, the inadequate protection from the cold provided by their uniforms (not that he wore them most of the time, but he hated seeing the kid shivering like that), their incredible shortage of supplies.
And the princess—star's end, the princess. Her Worshipfulness. That was what got to him the most, and he knew it, even if he struggled against admitting it to himself. Everything about her seemed to get under his skin and tear up the way he'd structured his life. It—well, it just wasn't fair. He didn't want this. Not after Bria.
And so everything about her was annoying the Sith out of him—the way she wore those tight braids pinned primly across her head and the knowledge that he'd never seen her with her hair all loose, those thermal jumpsuits she wore that weren't enough to keep a Kowakian monkey-lizard warm on this ice cube, let alone the princess of a dead planet who deserved better than this, the way she still flinched whenever anyone mentioned Alderaan, the way her eyes turned soft when she looked at Luke when she thought nobody noticed, the way her eyes flashed when she looked at him, how she struggled so hard not to favor the two of them when assigning missions but couldn't quite help it sometimes, the knowledge that the Rebellion had become her new family and that if she lost them, lost Luke, it would destroy her. The fact that Han didn't have a clue if she really cared for him or not. He hadn't felt like this since Bria, and it terrified him.
Sithspit, did it ever terrify him.
But the truth of the matter was that Han Solo just wasn't feeling very well, and everything annoyed him because it just made his life that much more difficult on a day that couldn't have gotten any worse.
Chewie roared a suggestion as Han dropped the hydrospanner at his feet for the fourth time that morning.
"No, no, Chewie, I don't want to take a rest," Han replied, and knew he sounded snappish. "I have patrol in ten minutes, and I wanted to get this done before then. Besides, I'm fine." He rubbed his bare hand across his forehead and it came away damp with cold sweat. His whole body was hot and cold in waves, and he was shaking uncontrollably. Han was not fine, but there was no doubt in his mind that it wasn't anything serious, and he wasn't going to skip a patrol and give the princess a ready-made excuse to continue thinking he was a scummy low-life without a shred of responsibility in his body. If he slacked off, there wasn't anyone to take the patrol instead. As always, the Alliance was strapped for personnel and could use all the help they could get.
Chewie roared again, and Han felt a wave of guilt 'cause he knew his buddy was just worried about him. "I'll be all right, Chewie," he said in a softer tone. "I'm just a little tired, okay?"
He could tell Chewie wasn't convinced, but the Wookiee gave a low growl of agreement anyway and went back to his welding.
Han tried to tighten the bolt he was struggling with and promptly dropped the hydrospanner again. He swore so loudly and vividly that a passing rebel turned to stare at him. "What're you looking at, huh?" Han snarled, and the man jumped and moved on.
Han turned back to the Falcon and braced his hands against the ship's side, watching them shake with a kind of morbid fascination. There was no way he was going to be able to tighten that bolt like this. He didn't even know if he could force his fingers to close around the hydrospanner again. He wasn't sick, exactly—either the cold was getting to him or he was just tired. But either way, his repairs on the Falcon were a lost cause for the moment. Even he could tell that.
"Chewie?" he called more quietly, and the Wookiee looked up again with a quiet, questioning growl. "I think I'm gonna lie down on the Falcon, just for a minute, okay, buddy?"
Chewie nodded, making a slight wuffle of concern and looking at Han in a way that made him feel like Chewie could see straight through him.
"No, I'm fine," he protested with a little bit more heat. "Get me when it's time for my patrol, all right?"
Chewie rumbled an agreement. Satisfied, Han turned and headed up the Falcon's ramp.
By the time he reached the bunks, the world was spinning and blurry and Han felt slightly sick to his stomach. With an effort, he struggled out of his jacket, then, shivering so violently in the chill air he could barely function, fell into the bunk and tossed the jacket over his shoulders, burying his face beneath his arm so that he wouldn't have to see the world spinning.
He was lost in sleep before a Coruscant standard minute was up.
Author's Note: Han and Leia--the ultimate banter challenge. Not sure what possessed me to write this. To be continued, I suppose. After all, Leia hasn't even appeared yet.
