Imitation of Life

By: Syntyche

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"Han? Han, wake up. Please, Han, you must wake up."

It was a voice he didn't want to hear. He was afraid of what she would say to him.

"Han, please."

She was shaking him gently, and there was worry in her husky tone. Han considered waking. He didn't want to cause her to worry, didn't want to be the one who made pain roughen her beautiful voice.

"There isn't much time, Han. Please."

But he was worried. He had failed her, and they both knew it. He hadn't protected her at all. He had led them straight into a trap.

Still, he couldn't bear to hear the worry – worry for him – and her continued shaking of his shoulder was making his head spin. Gingerly, he cracked one hazel eye.

"Leia?"

She sighed in explosive relief, flashing him a quick, bright grin that lit her dark eyes. Han's breath caught in his throat; he hadn't really believed he would ever see her again, and the moments after he'd been decarbonized and later in Jabba's throne room seemed like far-away sketches of a nightmare. She wore a desert cloak; presumably over the … attire … he'd seen her in earlier, and she carried a beaker of water and another hypospray. Even with her long auburn hair bundled at the nape of her neck and the garish makeup that matched her dancing girl's costume adorning her petite features, she was beautiful.

"Here, sit up," she said gently, the worry not quite gone from her face. She pressed the release for his bindings – though he could have done it quite easily himself, if he wished – and maneuvered one small hand underneath his back to help him sit up, ignoring for the moment his trembling and struggles not to cause another fit of coughing. "Drink this."

He complied. It was warm and tasted like rainwater (on Tatooine?? Solo, you are losing it), but he drank it eagerly anyway – perhaps a little too, and his stomach ached from his rushing.

"Are you strong enough to move?" she questioned, her eyes darting toward the door. "We don't have much time; I've got to get you out of here."

"Where's Chewie?" Han asked slowly, stretching his legs carefully over the side of the pallet. "Jabba said he was here."

"Lando's taking care of him," Leia replied, quickly holding up a hand to forestall Han's automatic protest. "He's been helping, Han," she explained. "He helped us escape from Vader, and he's been here for months disguised as one of Jabba's guards, waiting for Fett in case we lost track of him on the way. Really, Han," she smiled, "see? You were right after all. He didn't have any choice but to go along with Vader, but he's helped up every step of the way since then."

Han's eyes were still narrowed in suspicion. "I sure as hell would have done everything I could to keep from betraying my friends."

Leia smiled indulgently. "I know. There were all the citizens of Cloud City to think about, though." Her expression changed. "Han, we have to hurry."

Han's mouth tightened and he stood slowly, coughed, and leaned slightly on Leia. "Okay. Leia," he hesitated. "Leia, in case we don't manage to pull this off … I … I'm sorry, sweetheart, for messing up in the first place." He couldn't quite meet her eyes, and concentrated instead on putting one foot in front of the other to the doorway.

"It's all right, Han," Leia replied. "I shouldn't have relied on your intelligence."

Surprised, Han looked up to meet her eyes – and wished he hadn't. Her normally warm brown eyes were hard and cold as she surveyed him. "A two-credit smuggler in debt up to your eyeballs; no money, no cause, no loyalty."

Han froze, thinking at first maybe she was teasing, but she continued on, each cruelly spoken word hitting home.

"What good did you think you were to the Alliance, anyway? You couldn't even keep your hunk of junk running – if you'd done a decent job repairing it, we wouldn't have been in Cloud City in the first place."

He stared at her dumbly until all he could hear was the roaring his ears. He couldn't believe this was happening.

She sighed. "Now that I think about it, you're no good to anyone, especially in this condition. What are we going to do with you?"

Han's stomach dropped as she retrieved the hypospray she'd brought with her, lifting it to hollow at the base of his throat. He tried to back away, but his body responded too slowly. Oh, no, Leia, please, no, don't, what are you saying? I'm sorry, please ……

His disjointed thoughts trailed away with the hiss of the hypospray.

"Get up, Ssssolo."

He didn't want to, really. If he just closed his eyes and stayed asleep, he could believe this was all some horrible nightmare he was trapped in, and if he could just wake up – but not to the sound of Lizard-face – he'd be whole and healthy and well, and none of this would ever have happened.

"I've been ordered to move you to the Wookiee's cell to quiet him down."

That jolted him a little. Well, that was stupid. Jabba deserved what was coming to him if he was going to put him with Chewie. No four walls had been able to hold them yet. He felt a little revived knowing he would see his partner again, and that Chewie was alive.

Lizard-face pressed the button that undid the restraints, and Han eased himself up groggily, shooting a dark glare at the guard just for good measure. Upright, he assessed himself quickly. He was sweating profusely, the moisture leaking from his skin to dampen his hair and shirt and chill him in the cool air of the underground room. He continued to tremble, and his stomach growled despite his nausea. In short, he felt terrible. At least he seemed to have gotten the urge to cough under control.

Except that the thought started the tickle again in the back of his throat. Han suppressed a tired groan.

"I'm ready," he affirmed, taking a rather wobbly step in the general direction of the door. He was feeling worse after Leia's second hypo, but maybe it was the untreated hibernation sickness.

He walked in silent concentration through the dark labyrinth of rooms, stubborn pride keeping his feet moving as his body begged him to rest.

"We there yet?" he finally inquired casually, hoping it wouldn't throw him into another coughing spasm.

In reply, Lizard-face led him through a door and down a dimly marked corridor. Species familiar and alien to the Corellian jeered and jabbered from their various cells as he passed – a few of the prisoners he even knew, and ignored their jubilant, mocking laughter as they recognized him in return.

Stopping before a door near the end of the row, Lizard-face entered a key code into the pad by the door, covering the interior of the room with his blaster as he motioned Han forward. Han swept the cell with his eyes quickly before stepping in – it wouldn't be unlike Jabba to throw him in with the Hutt's pet rancor instead of Chewie. He could only see a single ray of light illuminating the center of the small cell, and nothing in the dark shadows beyond. Impatiently, the lizard-guard planted a hand in the small of Han's back and shoved hard, propelling the already unsteady Corellian into the cell and nearly off his feet. Han barely managed to salvage his balance. It was savagely cold in here – or at least it felt that way to him. He was fast fading, the prolonged march doing nothing to ease his illness. He hugged his arms around himself tightly, remembering suddenly that Chewie was supposed to be here.

A low growl emanated from one of the darkened corners of the room, and the shivering Corellian risked a hopeful, "Chewie?"

A familiar rumble was his reply, and Han sagged in relief as furry arms caught him up as easily as if he'd weighed nothing and took his weight off his sore feet. A barrage of questions from the Wookiee pounded at him, and Han's tired mind slowly clicked the Wookan into a language he could reply in. He began to relate what had happened to him, but a questioning growl from the Wookiee made him realize he had answered in Corellian. Han sighed, his head dropping onto his chest.

"I feel terrible," he admitted. "Chewie, we, we have to get out of here." A sudden, overwhelming sadness would have sent him to his knees without the Wookiee's supportive grip around his shoulders. "Leia. Chewie, she … " Words failed him to accurately describe the heartache of her words and actions. "Ah, Chewie," He rested his aching head against the Wookiee's strong chest, feeling the strains and pain of the day settling atop his shoulders like an oppressive cloak. "I don't know who to trust anymore, pal," he whispered. He wished he believed himself when he mumbled, "We're better off on our own, though, you know?" Amidst Chewbacca's comforting rumbles, Han closed his eyes and let himself drift off to sleep.