My thanks to Pitdroid, EsmeAmelia, I love dance, and 2Old4This2 for your encouraging words. :)
When Han awoke, heart pounding, his first thought was that he was back in his carbonite tomb. But then he realized that he could move his arms. When his fingers touched the now-cold bacta patches over his eyes, Han smiled. He had made it through the night without a nightmare, and, with Luke's help, he had followed his doctor's orders for the first time since his release from the Medical Frigate.
Han gently removed the bacta patches and blinked his eyes several times to clear them. The room was tidier than he remembered. Luke must have straightened up then, he surmised, since Chewie was even more tolerant of mess than Han.
Luke had stretched out on the floor beneath him, looking every bit the innocent farm boy that Han remembered meeting just a few short years ago. A lifetime ago, thought Han. The kid stirred slightly and curled into a tighter ball. Han unraveled himself from the cocoon of blankets and extracted the warmest one to place over his sleeping friend. Funny how he himself never felt as chilled in the morning. It was always worse at night.
After using the refresher, Han stumbled toward the smell of caf. Chewie must have made a pot before he had left. Han vaguely remembered that his furry friend was attending a training on the repair and maintenance of shield generators. Pouring himself a mug, Han wrapped his hands around the warmth of the cup and wondered if his circulation would ever get back to normal. Padding quietly through the ship so that he didn't disturb Luke, Han sat down in the pilot's seat. He set down the mug and ran his hands over the controls, a lump forming in his throat. It just wasn't fair. He loved flying more than almost anything in the galaxy. Jabba and his bounty hunters had managed to strip him of his dignity, a fate Han personally found worse than being frozen in carbonite. How could he face the others? There would be uncomfortable stares and pitying looks as soon as he stepped off the ship. Han realized that he couldn't hole up on the Falcon indefinitely. But he had no idea how to approach life without his cocky, pilot persona to fall back on. Who was Han Solo, really, if not a pilot?
Movement in the hangar below drew his eyes to a figure walking toward his ship. Han registered that his vision had been helped by use of the bacta patches at the same time that he recognized Leia. She was dressed in casual attire, her hair down, wearing a white jumpsuit and a gold belt with matching sandals.
Han's heart skipped a beat. She was headed for his ship. He got up, walked around to the entry, and lowered the ramp. When he gave her a sheepish half-smile, Leia ran into his arms.
"Han, I'm so sorry," she whispered, at the same time he admitted, "I was a barve. Can you forgive me, your highness?" She clung to him desperately and he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.
After a long moment, she drew back and looked up at him with tears in her eyes. "I don't ever want to let you go," she said. "I don't care if you join the Alliance or not."
He stiffened slightly and pulled away. "Gossip travels fast."
"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Han." Leia stroked his muscular arms. "Why did you run away from me? Why couldn't you just tell me what had happened?" Her voice grew louder.
Thinking of Luke sleeping in the lounge, Han put a finger to his lips and led her by hand into the cockpit. Once there, he sat back down in the pilot's chair and pulled her into his lap. Burying his face in her hair, he murmured, "You smell nice."
She let him snuggle her for a minute before she resumed her line of questioning. "Why did you push me away?" She pulled out of his embrace just enough to look him in the eyes.
Han dropped his gaze. "I didn't want you to stay with me because you feel sorry for me," he admitted. "I was angry."
"At me?"
He nodded. "For expecting more of me than I can deliver."
"Han, I never expected any such thing!" She stood to face him.
"You want me to join your Rebellion, don't you!" Han stood and moved to the hall so that he could comfortably stand and glare back at her. "Well, the Rebellion doesn't want me, sweetheart," he snarled. "And that little stunt with the pilot's physical probably cost me my license!"
"So, now you're blaming me that you're sick?" she cried, indignant. A loud moan from the lounge startled them both. Han and Leia froze.
"What was that?" she whispered.
"Luke stayed with me last night."
"Is he all right?"
Han fought down feelings of jealousy. "Yeah. He didn't sleep much, though." He shuddered involuntarily. He hoped Leia didn't notice.
Of course, she did. "Are you all right?" When he didn't reply, she added, "Are you ever going to tell me what's going on?"
Han felt his stomach clench. "Why don't you ask your Rebel friends?"
She let that slide. The silence between them stretched thin as they stood facing each other just outside of the cockpit. Han wished that Luke would wake up or Chewie could come back early from training. Anything to spare him the humiliation of admitting to the woman he loved that he was anything less than perfect.
She took his cold hands in hers. "You're trembling."
"I still have hibernation sickness," he admitted, looking at their joined hands.
"You told me you were better." It was a gentle reproach.
"I am," he insisted, meeting her eyes. "Better than I was when you found me."
"But ..." she prodded.
He looked away. "You need perfect vision and steady hands to serve as a Rebel pilot." His voice cracked, but he lifted his gaze to meet her concerned one. At the love in her eyes, he admitted, "I don't have either now. I might never get better." He released her hands and rubbed his own together absently. Crossing his arms, he added, "There haven't been too many cases of post-hibernation syndrome. The doctors don't have much to go on." He hung his head. When he spoke next, his words were nearly inaudible. "I'm sorry, Leia."
She took his face in her hands. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Han. Except for acting like a nerfherder." And then she kissed him.
