AN : Oh boy. Here we go folks. Have a good week! R&R!
Dawn rose brightly through the high windows of the cell-like room.
The shower had cleared his head, and after reassuring the poor young girl, who he now felt responsible for, that he did in fact have a plan, it was almost showtime.
He had argued with an imaginary Leia for most of the night, debating the finer points of his plan with his missing wife. It very likely meant he was slowing going crazy, but it also made him feel better, so he couldn't have cared less. Imaginary Leia had rolled her eyes a lot at him, and sitting propped up against the foot of the bed, that made him smile. She had hounded him insistently about the layout of the palace, where Obi-Wan's old house was in relation to where he was now. Drilled into him the terrain variations and small patches of moisture farms which littered the landscape. Imaginary Leia didn't seem to think he would be able to calmly extract himself from this nightmare, and she was likely right. Leia was so much more a planner then he ever would be.
His gut twisted. It had now been over forty eight hours since he woke in this "life". He wondered, absently, touching his broken nose again gingerly, just how long it would take until he actually did go crazy. Not long, he assumed. A man could only be expected to tolerate so much before he finally had to snap. And sitting here, covered in sand and dust, missing his children with no idea where his wife might be, he knew he was dangerously close to a tipping point.
The room was a disaster, as per the 'plan', his boots were scattered and he was now missing a shirt as well. They figured, logically, if he was in fact a "favourite" of that stupid slimy slug, he might be able to barter for Tateryna. At least he could get her off of this Gods-forsaken hunk of rock, maybe even find her work, surely he must have contacts somewhere. He could put on a good show of liking the girl, it was worth a shot at least. Imaginary Leia wouldn't let him consider not bringing her along.
Activity could be heard in the hallway, but it was a while before anyone came for them. Finally though, the door swept open and two large guards stomped in. Tateryna had been sleeping fitfully on the bed and was now scrambling up towards the headboard. Han was fairly certain she would stick to the story. She seemed terrified - with rather good reason - and he prayed that her terror would translate into silence if nothing more.
The larger of the two guards stepped towards the bed and motioned for the girl to get up, she hesitated a moment too long and was yanked off by the upper arm. She gasped and whimpered pathetically. Han nodded at her, encouraging her to go with them, not to make a fuss. She gathered her feet under her and stood meekly in at the door. Han took him time, pulling the unfamiliar shirt over his head and looking for his second boot. The guards stood stoically, as if use to this behaviour. The thought made his stomach turn. No. He though, grabbing his missing boot from the other side of the room and yanking it on. There is absolutely no way he would never stoop to doing this kinda thing; Leia or no Leia.
The reception chamber was a buzz with activity when Han entered some time later, still flanked by the two guards. The girl had been whisked away from him, led back down a dark passageway; a passageway Han remembered stumbling down half blind and frozen. The memory made him shudder. This was all too much for him. Jabba wasn't there, the throne stage was empty. His guards abandoned him at the doorway with a heavy push and he was left to stand, a stranger among a sea of unfamiliar faces, in a space which he never had any intention of stepping foot into again.
A small hand landed on his arm and he spun, fists curling in quick reflex. He had no blaster, and pulling it would have been a bad idea anyway.
The figure standing in front of him was small. Her hand, old and worn, still rested on his arm.
"Pilot." She said simply. Her voice was so familiar. He said nothing, brain searching through every dingy memory of this place, trying to find her in a lost corner.
"Pilot." She repeated, more a question this time.
"Vima." Her name came to him in a whisper. He knew her. And she knew him.
"Pilot." The old witch repeated once more, a confirmation of sorts.
"Where is she?" Han breathed, desperate. If this woman still knew him, then maybe she knew what happened to Leia.
"Your lady?
"Leia. Where?"
"She is waiting for you, Pilot." Han resisted the urge to grab the frail old woman. His hands, still balled into tight fists, shook slightly.
"Where?!" He hissed, forcing his hands to uncurl with great effort.
"Not here. Pilot." She said, almost sadly.
"Please. Where is she?"
"You needed to know. With her. And without her." The riddles were becoming more then he could bear.
"Know what! Where's my WIFE!" He growled sharply, and grabbed the sleeve of her robe. Heads near him swiveled to watch the spectacle he was currently creating in the middle of an long-dead crime lord's audience chamber.
"Hush. She is not here."
"Then where? If she's not here, then where is she? I need to find her." He couldn't force himself to calm down, bloody witch, she very obviously knew where Leia was.
"No, Pilot. You cannot. She is not yours."
"Not mine." He repeated, his grip slackening and he stumbled back. The lack of fists thinned the small audience and the attention he had gathered a moment ago was dissolving. The old woman continued to regard him unmovingly. Seeming to not care about his current state of turmoil.
"You needed to see." She said finally, quietly. Realization slammed down on him suddenly - she had done this to him. To them.
"You! You did this!" he hissed, jaw twitching.
"You needed to see." She repeated.
"You filthy witch. I knew! Don't you think I've always known? You've taken her from me to teach me... what!?" He demanded quietly, bitterly, angrily. "That I needed her? That I wasn't good enough for her? That I didn't deserve any of it? You don't think I know that? I've always known that!"
"No, Pilot." the hood of her rode moved as she shook her head.
"Then WHY!" He demanded, advancing on her again. To her credit, he thought mildly, she didn't back down, only stood staring up at him calmly; albeit, sadly.
"To see what might have been, and what could still be."
"What do you mean, what could be." He asked, air burning his lungs. She was dead, she had to be. His skin flashed hot, burning crawled under his hands. What was this? A warning? Some kind of Force dream? Luke had those. But he thought only Jedi could do that.
"Do you not know, Pilot? You asked me once. I told you. Do you still not believe me?" She was mocking him, and it made him angry.
"I have no-" Oh, he stopped short, he did remember. A faint memory, a haze of drink and darkness. An alley and a haggard old woman. Years before Leia, in the heyday of his loneliness which he had convinced himself he liked.
"Where is she?" he asked again, hands still hot, even as a cold numbness sealed around his heart.
"You love her."
"Of course I do, I have for years. I've loved her since I first met her. Is that what you want! You can have this!" He cast an arm out to the side, exaggerating his point. "I don't want this, are you listening to me! I'm not some stupid twenty-something anymore, you hag! I'm a father. I'm her husband. I love her! Where is she? Where are my kids! I don't understand what you want from me!"
"No. But you will."