Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Leia and Han. Matthew Sweet owns the song I'm borrowing from, "Worse to Live." If you sue
me, all you'll get is my computer and a 1988 blue Volvo.
Author's Note: This is sort of a sequel to my last Han and Leia fic. I still haven't read "Balance Point," but I realize that I didn't
really want them to break up any way. I'm going to try and put a series together and fix the problem I made.

I'M NOT THAT EASY TO FORGET

Han was sitting in the pilot's seat of the *Millenium Falcon* wondering what deity or Force he'd offended to put him where he was.
His best friend had a moon dropped on him and his wife just kicked him out of the house because she said she didn't care. How
could she not care? They'd been through so much together to not care...they had three kids. No, he would change this.

He stormed out of the *Falcon* and closed it up as he made his way to his apartment. Yes, it was still his apartment. Granted, he
didn't have a job and didn't do any work, but yes it was his apartment. He'd conceived three children there with Leia and spilled
coffee all over the carpet. She couldn't just get rid of him.

He banged on the door for a few minutes when he discovered that his code no longer worked. Eventually, C-3PO came by and
opened the door. At first, the gold droid and his silver leg wouldn't let Han in, but a strong Correllian hand to the chest cavity put
the droid in the coat closet.

"Leia! Leia! Where are you? I know you haven't left yet! Goldenrod would have told me!" He began opening doors at random,
trying to find his wife.

She walked out of the bedroom regally, long brown hair falling down to the small back. Her eyes were puffy from the tears she'd
been crying since he'd left the apartment hours earlier. Thankfully, the kids weren't home.

"I've decided I'm not leaving," he declared, standing in the hallway.

She blinked her brown eyes and shook her head. "Han, it's over. We just don't..."

"Yes we do," he interrupted. "But we're having problems. I'm having problems and you're having problems. But they're not *our*
problems, and that's why you think it's over. You're burying yourself in your work just like always, to ignore the fact that I now have
more Correllian ale in my veins than I do blood. The grand Princess Leia Organa isn't supposed to be weak, is she?"

Leia opened her mouth to say something then just shook her head.

"This is the weakest thing you've ever done, Leia. Is it worse to live with me than to let me go? I don't think so. If you did this to
wake me from my stupor, it was successful. Can I bring my stuff back now?"

"It's not as simple as that, Han. I don't know what you're doing anymore. Do you know what I do at work during the day anymore?"

He shook his head. "Well, no. But I have been dealing with that since the day I told you I loved you. Before that, really." He
sighed. "What do you want to know about me? About what I was feeling when I watched Chewbacca die? About why I blamed
Anakin? About how I hate that our kids have the Force? About where I go at night? About when I turned into a slob? I'll
tell you anything you want to know, Leia. I know leaving isn't going to work though. It's not the answer here. It never has been
for us. I couldn't leave you on that frozen Hell-Hole known as Hoth; I certainly can't leave you now."

"Then do I get to have a husband again? Or do I get to have slouch who saps all my money and sleeps on my couch. Who won't
even sleep in my bed anymore. Tell me, Han; do I get to have a man? A father for my children? We're too old to be smugglers
and rebels, Han; we just need to be a man and woman; a husband and wife."

He was on her quickly, his arms around her tightly. He felt her tense and then slouch in his embrace, sobbing softly. He couldn't
cry, of course; even in this situation, he was man enough not to. But he stroked her long hair and kissed the top of her head and
told her he loved her like he never had before.

"I'm back, Leia. I never really left."