Rating: PG (alcohol)
Summary: Han writes to Leia during his absence following Chewie's death.
Author's note: My response to the 2004 Valentine's Day Love Letter (Writing) Challenge at , and my only online publication, ever. Hopefully I'll get brave enough to try again one day.
He set the whisky down on the end table, picked up the flimsiplast and stylus, and just sat. After a few moments of stillness, he began to write:
I love you. I need you. Especially now, but I don't I can't I don't know how.
Violently, the stylus flew across the dingy motel room as he released it in favour of the whisky again. Downing the liquid to steel himself against what he was thinking, feeling, his throat burned from more than the drink. Slowly, he retrieved the stylus, returned to the bed, and sat. Still clutching the pad, he tore off the first flimsy and began anew:
I'm in a deep, dark, hole. I need your help to get out. Problem is, every time you throw me a rope, I hang myself with it. I know I'm hurting you, but I just don't know how to grab the rope without pulling you down with me. How do I get past this? How can I get back to where I was, where we were, before before
I've never really given much thought to the future, you know? Whenever I see us in my mind, we look like we did after the Battle of Yavin—not in the ceremony, but in the hangar—you, me, Luke, Chewie. Inseparable. Except now the kids are in the picture, of course. They get older, but the rest of us don't. It's really never occurred to me that we might actually die. Look at how many times we've come close, but always, always, found a way to cheat the Fates. I guess I'm a coward, not a Hero of the Battle of Yavin, not the cocksure scoundrel I pretend to be, just a man afraid. Afraid of mortality, I guess. Because now I know. I know if I can lose Chewie, I can lose you, I can lose the kids, anyone, everyone. Is this why you held me at arm's length so long? Because you already knew?
I don't really blame Anakin. I hope he knows that. I don't blame anyone but me, even though I know that's not what he'd want. I know he pledged to give his life for mine, if the need arose, but it still shouldn't have happened. I can't even bring myself to face Malla and Lumpy. I know I should, but what could I possibly say? That's part of the problem I'm having with facing you, too. After all the terrible things I've said and done lately, what could I say? How can I make you believe that I'm sorry, that I love you, that I want to be with you more than anything? How can I make things right? Can I make things right? Or will I just do more harm to our family? Help me. Please. I need you.
With a resigned sigh, Han stood, setting the flimsiplast and stylus on the table. He refilled the glass from the mostly-empty bottle, then set the glass down on the bedside table, and drank the remainder of the bottle quickly. He glanced once at the still-full glass, then turned, dressed, and left the room.