Thanks again to my wonderful beta's: jublke and statsgrandma57. You guys are the best! Thanks to everyone who's reading and following.

What Makes a Hero?

Chapter Nine

The numbers on the ship's chrono showed that it would be another two hours until the Falcon reached the rebel base on Yavin 4. It had been three hours since Han had secured the unconscious princess into the ship's utilitarian medbunk. A little more than four hours had gone by since Han and Chewie had fought their way past Imperial stormtroopers and escaped through Thyferra's tunnel system with Han cradling the injured princess and Chewbacca carrying the body of Astin Kieriernan. Four hours was an awfully long time for anyone to be unconscious, Han knew, and since it was Leia… He'd tried to stop her. If he'd been just a little faster, he would have caught her before she went charging down the stairs after that stupid kid. But he hadn't been able to catch her, and now he was afraid… He shook his head, he didn't want to finish that thought.

Han activated the diagnostic sensor, passed it over Leia's body, and checked the result. He scowled at it for a moment, gave the device a sharp smack with his hand, and repeated the procedure. It said the same thing it had said the last five times he'd tried it—mild traumatic brain injury and moderate neural suppression due to electrolaser stun. So the princess had a mild concussion and had been stunned by a blaster; why didn't this kriffing sensor tell him something he didn't already know—like why Leia was still unresponsive!

Tossing the offending instrument onto the holotable, Han went back to stand next to the medbunk, carefully watching its occupant. He was too edgy to sit. Han was no medic, but he'd learned enough first aid during his time at the Academy to know that a head injury was always a serious thing. It probably hadn't helped the situation any that he'd had to carry Leia through what'd seemed like kilometers of tunnels to get back to the Falcon—but there hadn't been any other way. Once the stormtroopers had figured out who Leia was, they'd been hot for their bounty, the tunnels had kept them safely hidden. The fact that Han and Chewie had taken out five troopers right there in the stairwell hadn't done anything to improve their pursuers already bad tempers, either.

"C'mon, Sweetheart," Han addressed the unmoving princess. His voice was low and a little rough.

There was no response, of course. He reached out with a hand that he discovered wasn't quite steady to brush the hair back from the black and purple bruise on Leia's temple. Han glared angrily at his trembling hand before balling it into a fist. It was steady again when he activated a coldpak and placed it against the bruise on Leia's forehead. Her Worship was going to have one hells of a headache when she woke up. If she woke up, he thought unhappily. He'd already lost too many people in his life that he cared about—Jarik, Dewlanna, even Bria—and he wasn't going to lose any more!

With an inarticulate curse, Han stalked across the main hold and stabbed unnecessarily at a few buttons on the engineering console. He threw himself down into the seat at the station and ordered his agitated body to just stay still! What in the nine Corellian hells was wrong with him, he wondered? There was no reason for him to be behaving like this. This whole rebellion thing was just a place to hide out until he could pay off Jabba, wasn't it? He silently damned to perdition the pirates who had stolen the reward money they'd received for saving Leia's pert little royal butt on the Deathstar. He and Chewie would have been long gone if it hadn't been for that disaster! And certainly her Worship meant nothing to him—Han was quick to assure himself of that! She was nothing more than a stuck-up, spoiled little girl who was so used to getting her own way that she was completely blind to things that were obviously really bad ideas. Just look at the mess this little trip had turned into; it was a good thing she'd had him along to get her out of trouble! Kriff! One kid was dead, and the other…

The sound of a low moan from the medbunk had Han up and across the hold in two long strides. Leia twisted her head feebly from side to side, though her eyes were still closed. The coldpak had slipped from her forehead to one side.

"Sweetheart," he said again softly, "open your eyes."

There was no response. The princess' eyes remained tightly closed.

"Come on, Leia," he cajoled her, "you need to try."

Still nothing. Han resisted the urge to shake her—that would only make matters worse, he realized—and instead tried a different tack.

"Your Worshipfulness," he taunted, using that most hated of appellations, "you really messed things up this time. I just hope you're grateful I was there to bail you out."

A crooked grin lit Han's features when Leia's eyelids fluttered and her eyes opened to slits. He hadn't been sure that little trick would work, but he ought to have known that if anything would rouse her it would be the possibility that she was wrong and he was right! He felt a quick wave of sympathy when he saw the pain-filled expression on her face. That had to be one monster of a headache!

"Here." Han put the coldpak in her hand and guided it to the lump on her temple. "Hold this there," he directed. "It should help, at least a little." Absently, he took her other hand in his, rubbing his thumb comfortingly along her knuckles. When he realized what he was doing, he jerked his hand away again.

Obediently, Leia placed the pak against her aching head. She closed her eyes again, then opened them fully. They were filled with questions.

The invisible durasteel band that had been tightening relentlessly around his chest for the last five hours loosened perceptibly at the sight of awareness in Leia's dark eyes. He drew a deep breath; it felt like the first one he'd taken in days. Han's heart, which had been beating in an unusually quick cadence now slowed to something close to normal. Maybe he wouldn't have a heart attack after all! He offered the princess a relieved smile.

"Astin." It was the only word Leia said.

Astin. At the sound of that one name a surprising mix of feelings washed over Han: anger, jealousy, and finally, sympathy. Of course she would think about Astin, he told himself. She'd almost gotten herself killed trying to get to him, for hells sake! She'd just seen him die. With difficulty, Han put his own feelings aside—it was only a bruised ego, after all—and nodded comfortingly at the Princess.

"We got him," he answered Leia. It wasn't a lie, since they'd brought the young man's body with them after the fight with the stormtroopers. Right now, it was respectfully secured in the cargo hold's cold unit.

"He's dead, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Han said shortly. He bit back any further comment he might have made. Han could see emotional trauma, combined with the physical, in the pained lines of Leia's face. Even though his ego was bruised—and that was all it was, he was sure—he wouldn't cause her any more pain. He might be a lot of things of which he wasn't too proud, but Han Solo was not cruel.

"Han, I'm sorry." Leia said weakly.

"What?"

"That," she stuttered, swallowed, "that wasn't the Astin I knew. The Astin I thought I knew." She swallowed again and rubbed her throbbing head. "Thank you for everything you did for us. I'm sorry I got you involved." Leia shut her eyes again. Han didn't know if it was because her head hurt, or her heart. He guessed maybe it was both.

He didn't know what to say, or what to do—or even what he was feeling. Again. And, again, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. I just need to stay detached, he told himself. "Here, use this." He grabbed the coldpak, put it back in Leia's hand. "This will make your head feel better."

Leia pressed it back against her head with a sigh. In a few moments, she was asleep. Han grabbed a blanket from the storage rack above the bunk and awkwardly covered her with it. He stood for a moment, watching her sleep. He was starting to realize that he was way beyond his depth when it came to dealing with this little princess, and that fact irritated the hells out of him.

He was heading back to the cockpit—he could deal much better with his unruly emotions in the place where he felt most comfortable—when Chewie stopped him with a question. He pointed at the carryall containing the bacta samples, which had been abandoned at the entrance hatch in the frenzy of activity when they got back to the ship. Han stared at it for a long moment, almost as if he didn't recognize it.

"I forgot about them," he admitted. He bent down and carefully fingered the vials. In their furious dash to safety, the two sets of vials had been jumbled together. Han had no idea which ones were tainted and which ones weren't. The kid had warned him…

Chewie groaned out a comment, his nose wrinkling with distaste.

"Yeah, Chewie, I think you're right; they're more problem than they're worth. You know what we're gonna do? When we drop out of lightspeed, we'll space 'em." Han turned toward the cockpit access tube.

The Wookiee barked out another question. "Yeah, I'm sure," Han responded, not turning around. "We've got the kid's notes. I'm sure somebody can interpret them." Now he did turn to face his first-mate. "Yavin's a gas giant; we'll jettison them right into its atmosphere. They should burn right up." Han thought about Astin's body in the hold, and Leia's fragile form in the medbunk. He looked at Chewie with tired eyes. "The kriffing stuff has already caused enough suffering."

Without another word, Han turned and headed to the cockpit.