AN: This is NOT the missing moment I set out to write - but (again) Han wouldn't shut up about this... It's a short one-shot, my take on what happened to make Han come back during the Battle of Yavin. If you like, please leave me a comment. Cheers - Z

Wear-worn brown leather gloves clutched angrily as he tightened his hold on the grip, feeling the Falcon shudder deliciously around him; as she always did coming through grav-well. Power and mechanical-will battling against nature.

The green planet feel away behind them, Han nosed the ship towards the openness of space, towards Tatoonie. Towards freedom once more.

Chewie leaned up and flicked a few warning switches back to neutral, grumbling as he always did about the pull senors and the slow system update.

He thumbed the stabilizer flange and sat back. He'd have just enough after paying off the monstrous mass of slime to maybe install the re-router he and Chewie had gripped about for what was now nearly seven months. At least hanging around in Mos Eisley hadn't been a wash. One more drop and he'd be able to kiss that dust ball goodbye for a while. They had some time now, he mused listening to the navi computer whirl to life, especially since the bounty would be called off - they could go to Kaskyyyk. It's been a while since they had been there, and surely Chewbacca would want to go.

Stuck up bitch.

The floating face of Leia Organa popped into his head. He cared. He cared about a lot of stuff.

Probably too much, now that he thought about it. What had the Rebellion - his brain spat the word out, bitter tasting and angry - every done for him?

Nothing. That's what.

Nothing, except get him shot at, shot up and cast out.

No. He didn't want anything to do with the Rebellion. Least of all the one now led by that woman. Who exactly did she think she was? And just who did she think he was for that matter. He tugged the gloved off and tossed them back against the viewscreen; angry.

Chewie - wisely - said nothing. He hadn't wanted to leave right away. He had argued to stay, to fight, to help. But they couldn't do that- they both knew it.

Still fuming, he jabbed a finger on the navi-display, annoyed at the slow startup. They needed to get out of system - fast, before the Imps showed up with that super station and blew everything to hell.

He ran his finger across the hyperlane jumps he intended, eyes flicked quickly, hurriedly, towards the nearby systems. One jump, and then another. Perhaps four in total; five to throw any trackers off his tail. Then pay off Jabba and be right back in the thick of it all again. His index finger glided again across the screen, wiping a speck of dust out of the way, running over the Core as he did. It slithered under his touch, the screen jumping and catching with the contact. Words buzzed with electrostatic and settled again just as quickly. He breath caught inadvertently. Alderaan. It was still there, sitting waiting on his screen. It should have updated by now - blinked out. Disappeared. But it hadn't.

Was that only yesterday?

Stars blurred out in front of him as they made their first jump out of system.

Only yesterday that they had blasted away from that monstrous station. Only yesterday that she had sat where he sat now, eyes wide and serious; shaking her head at him as if he were a silly child, ridiculous and naive.

He huffed out a breath again; agitated. She bothered him; in such a short time the Princess had crawled under skin and chewed him up a bit. Perhaps he had wanted to impress her, this royal pain in the ass they had picked up. Rescued.

Princess.

His eyes landed again on the tiny blue words.

Alderaan.

He had seen her after the debrief, followed her - drawn by something he couldn't entirely understand - watched her duck into the supply room and fall heavily against the wire raking. Exhausted.

They had parted ways as soon as the small transport had brought them all into the hanger, surrounded by high ranking officers, they had squirreled her away with them, a festival of hugging, bland compassion and calculated war strategy. No one had worried about her. He couldn't explain his presence outside the small medical supply area, but he also knew he couldn't leave her alone. Not yet anyway.

She had stayed there, shaking with silent sobs as he stood apart from her, watching with voyageur intensity. Who was this woman? this young girl of barely eighteen years.

He sank back, further into the shadowed alcove - staying out of her sight. She had grabbed a box - stimshots - off the rack behind her, struggled with the packaging, ripping it open with her teeth. He should have gone to her, helped her, but he couldn't. She wouldn't have let him help her in any case, he rationalized as his hands itched to help her.

He needed to leave, not get tied up with a rag-tag group (again) over some obviously misguided feelings (again) for a cause and a beautiful woman (again).

Luke was a good kid. He was steady. Dependable. He would have helped her, and she would have let him. Perhaps she was better off that way. Maybe they both were.

Mercenary.

Those words, full of anger and hurt, echoed through the small confines of the cockpit.

Her eyes haunted him. Even now. Doomed. That's what they were. The Rebels, the Princess. Him.

Stars swirled, streaked out and turned back to sharp points of possibility in front of them. First jump over, Chewie was already calling up the second jump - countdown started.

One more minute.

Fuck. He breathed out, releasing a cacophony of strangled emotions. Long and deep. She had lost everything. He knew that. Vaguely. But she hadn't been what he had expected. She hadn't cried or wanted comfort. Hadn't leaned into him and chocked back tears. She had been angry. Fierce. Brave. He hadn't been prepared for her.

Forty-five seconds.

He would never get another chance at this. Han looked down at his hands, steady as always, and clenched hard fists over the controls. No matter which side he chose, that would seal the lid to whatever fate would seep out around the edges. This would not end well - either way.

Forty seconds.

Up until now, his life had been a chase. Always staying ahead. Running. Always and forever running. Running towards something - or running away from it.

Thirty seconds.

Jabba was waiting for him. The cases of credits stored safely under the decking were an ear mark against further hunting. Running. Always running. How long had it been since he even considered stopping?

Twenty seconds.

"Thank you, Captain." Her voice rang clear through his memory. She had stood lightly in front of him before he had climbed the ramp into his ship. He hadn't said anything, simply stared at her, nothing snark or witty clipping off the end of his tongue. "Good luck. Where ever that takes you." She had added, eyes soft and disappointed. As if she had expected him to fall at her feet and declare allegiance to her hopeless cause. It had angered him then. But now? Her small frame leaning against the racking came back to him, and he swallowed hard. She wasn't running.

Ten seconds.

"Turn her around."

Chewie growled quietly, a question.

"We need to go back."