Motives
"I don't even think I want to know anymore." ~Han Solo
Chapter 26
Coruscant
Han was busy with the conference over the next several days. It had been a mixed blessing. On the one hand it had occupied his mind, playing the part of the President of Corellia, enabling him to somehow forget the horrific mess that was his personal life. On the other hand, by the time the conference was over it had been several long days since he had seen Leia and the more time that was placed between what had happened and what he wanted to say, the more insurmountable any kind of apology seemed to become.
Each time he let himself think about contacting her, even getting as far as punching in several digits of her comm code, or walking halfway towards her apartment or her office, he could not in his mind conjure up even a hint of what he might say to her. So he had let it go. Now, over a week later, it seemed an impossible gulf of awkwardness lied between them. One he had no idea how to breach. And so he allowed the days to amble on, his soul living like a ghost within the confines of his body. Words came out of his mouth, food went in, hands were shook, deals were struck and the universe moved along, oblivious to his dilemma and to his pain.
Eliza, his daughter, had been the only bright point of light in his darkness. With everything laid out before them, all secrets revealed, it seemed their relationship plundered forward in spite of all the inherent obstacles. She was strong and intelligent and somehow, in her own way, seemed to understand what he was going through. She tended to him as a wife might, minding his appointments, laundering his clothes and urging him to eat. At night she never failed to find him, in his office or sprawled out on their sofa, where she would silently pick up the discarded datapads and ration bars and cover him with a blanket.
He was thinking of her now as he made his way across downtown Coruscant. Following the successful conference, Han's temporary presidential appointment had been extended indefinitely without so much as an explanation from Orakzai. Each time Han had tried to initiate contact with his father-in-law, he had been rebuffed by the man's assistant stating that the elder President was still not feeling well. So it had come as a shock, albeit a welcomed one, when Orakzai had summoned Han early this morning for an emergency meeting.
With so much feeling out of his control, Han had bolstered his resolve to exert himself during this rare, face-to-face meeting with Orakzai. If he couldn't do anything about anything else in his life, he felt he could at least wield some control from one sick old man. It was high time that his stint as a puppet for Orakzai should come to an end. He had his daughter, but was unable to enjoy being a father. He was married to a woman he did not love and it was ruining his relationship with the best thing that had ever happened to him. And certainly not worse than that, but just as incredulous: he was being made into a politician! Of all these things, Han thought to himself wryly, he would at least fix that one.
After waving his way through the security guards and protocols, Han barged into Orakzai's personal suite, wound up and ready for a fight. "Where is he?"
Orakzai's assistant looked up with tired eyes and then back down again, dismissively. "He isn't ready just yet. I'll need to speak with you first."
"No," Han replied, taking a slight joy in the way Gharris' eyes shot up to look at him in surprise. "He likes making me the gods-damn President, then he can answer to me like everyone else."
Han darted forward toward the closed door but Gharris quickly moved to side-step him, placing his hand on Han's chest stalling him from going any further. "Captain," Gharris said quietly, making Han's old title sound like a term of endearment instead of an insult to someone who was now the Commander-in-Chief. Han opened his mouth to speak but Gharris cut him off saying, "He's dying."
Han's mouth clamped shut slowly as the meaning of Gharris' words hit him from several different directions: disbelief, suspicion, incredulity and dread. He shook his head, sure he had heard incorrectly. "What?"
"The President," Gharris clarified, as if there might be a doubt as to who he was referring to. "He's dying. Soon. Perhaps today."
Han studied the man, looking for signs of treachery but finding nothing but sincerity and gloomy resolve.
"He has the virus," Gharris went on. "Has had it. But…there is only so much of the antidote, you see. And…well, it's just not the natural order of things, children dying before their parents."
"Holy shit," Han whispered, putting all the puzzle pieces together now, dawning coming to him in the form of vivid memories. Memories of the President slowly relinquishing all of his duties to Han and ending with the papers he had signed granting him all the rights and privileges of the sitting President. "Son of a bitch."
"It has not been easy for him," Gharris stated.
Han looked down at the man. Gharris' hand was still resting against Han's chest even though he had abandoned all pretense of storming the door of the dying man. The touch was intimate in a way that offered compassion and apology and although Han realized that he had subconsciously appreciated the gesture, he now resented it suspecting it to be further manipulation. He turned away, breaking the contact and walked a few steps so that his back was fully facing Gharris.
Once again all choice in the matters of his life seemed to be slipping through his fingers. He couldn't relinquish presidential control to a dying man any more than he could wrest away personal control from him. Orakzai, even dying, had bested Han yet again. This made Han angry, angry enough to forget the natural benevolence one would usually grant the dead or dying.
"Give him more," Han stated succinctly, knowing the words were useless, knowing that he would never follow up on them but just wanting to say them anyway. He turned back to face Gharris. "Now!" Han demanded, his powerlessness in the situation feeding his rage. "The medicine is killing her. We need him alive."
Gharris stood there watching Han, he seemed unsurprised and somewhat sympathetic to Han's reaction. "No," he replied calmly.
Han bit back on a curse and stood silently while he let the anger ripple through him. All the lies. The manipulation. Everything from the beginning, from Orakzai's fateful meeting with Leia to her potshot at him in the battle of Coruscant. To his daughter and his wife. And then, slowly, inevitably and, Han thought quite pathetically, his anger started to dissolve.
"It's too late now," Gharris whispered. "And it would only delay the inevitable. Corellia needs a strong leader, now more than ever."
Han looked at him in silence, unable to formulate any questions, demands or replies. In his mind he was trying to determine how deep-seated this situation actually was. Obviously Orakai had known he had the virus all along. Had he used Eliza to lure Han into the trap of becoming leader of Corellia? The possibility seemed too incredible to swallow. Surely there had to have been easier ways to sucker someone into the most powerful office in the Corellian government and certainly there had to be more suitable options than Han Solo.
"I know it's a lot to absorb," Gharris' gentle voice permeated into his thoughts. "But time is of the essence and the President does need to speak with you."
Han shook his head, his thoughts still a little foggy. "Yeah, okay. Sure."
"One more thing," Gharris said, handing Han a small datapad. And as Han began reading it, Gharris added, "The President's last will and testament."
Han scanned over all the long words and jargon and looked back up to Gharris.
"I think you should know, before you go in there," Gharris said, tilting his head toward the president's door. "That he has left you everything. His estate, all his assets. Any transferable titles and positions. And," Gharris hesitated. "Full custody of his daughter and granddaughter."
"Okay," Han said, glancing back down at the datapad and looking for any keywords that might dispute or verify Gharris' claims. "I'm a little surprised by all that other stuff, but I already had custody of Eliza and I'm legally married to Sasha last time I checked."
"Yes, but given her mental state, it isn't beyond the realm of possibilities that any judge might question the validity of that union," Gharris stated.
Han nodded his head. He had wondered on that point himself, not that he would do anything about it. What kind of person would disown a dying woman? He would never be able to look Eliza in the eyes again.
"Why are you telling me this? Why did he do this? What's this all…" Han trailed off, he couldn't even guess or put into words what this all might've been about.
"The situation is more complicated than you can imagine," Gharris replied carefully. "Before just now you didn't know about the virus but still today, there is much more to discover."
"I'm tired of the riddles, Gharris. What was the point of it all?" Han asked, waving the datapad at the man. "Was his dying wish to ruin my life?"
"The point is," Gharris said patiently. "That there is a man in that next room lying on his deathbed. And whatever he's been in his life, whatever he's done, he's been trying to make it right. In maybe the only ways he knows how." Gharris took the datapad back from Han and set it on the desk beside him. "I thought if you knew, that it might help, help you both. He's not an easy man to talk to, not even weak, tired and dying. And you – well, you're…" Gharris hesitated, waving his hand at Han in all his pent up anger and frustration, before adding, "You."
Han pressed his fingers on the bridge of his nose. The realization settled upon him coldly that whatever the reasons were, or whatever the truth turned out to be really didn't matter. He would never abandon Sasha at this point, wouldn't gain anything by calling a press conference and dismissing their marriage as a farce. Not even Leia would want him to behave that way to the dying mother of his de facto child. And Eliza's place in his life would never be in question, no matter what confessions Orakzai might be ready to tell him.
He looked back up and into Gharris' eyes and said, "I don't even think I want to know anymore."
"Then you're probably in the perfect state of mind to speak to him now."
The room was dark when Han entered and it had the stale scent of death lingering in the heavy air. There were machines whirring and beeping, the sound of artificial life clinging to the dead. Han stopped several paces from the bed and looked down on Orakzai. He was a shell of the man that he had known, thin skin hanging on too, large bones.
"Come closer," Orakzai rasped, waving a frail hand against his side.
Han stepped closer, stealing himself against the feeling of dread sitting upon his chest. "You wanted to see me?"
"There are things…things you need to know," the old man whispered. "About Eliza. Things that can set everything right." He began to cough and the machines protested angrily. "I don't deserve it," Orakzai continued, almost laughing through his coughs. "For what I did to Sasha. My own daughter. I don't deserve it…but, but I still want it."
"What? What do you want?" Han asked, still unable to fully separate his hatred from the pity he now felt for the dying man.
"Sasha," Orakzai said. "Promise me. Promise me you'll take care of her."
It was an easy promise to make, one that he was going to do anyway. "I will. You have my word."
"She didn't deserve any of this. I was a…I was a bastard," Orakzai said, coughing and laughing miserably again. "I tried to, in the end, I tried to make it right."
"What about Eliza? You said something about Eliza."
"You will let Sasha die thinking," he said, coughing again. "Thinking she has a family? You and Eliza? You will do that?"
"Yes," Han agreed. "You said something about Eliza could set everything right."
"That, that is not my story to-to tell," Orakzai said.
"Then whose is it?" Han replied through gritted teeth. "Why did you bring me here? Did you just want me to take over your post? Take care of your daughter? Screw the Alliance? What?"
"Rutien," the old man whispered, as if the word held all the answers to his questions.
Han almost didn't catch the word as unexpected as it was. "Rutien?" He repeated, not understanding the connection to these current events and his commanding officer from over a decade ago. "My old commander?"
"Find him," the old man said, his hand fumbling to grab at Han's hand. Han let him take it and watched as the old man grew serious, squeezing Han's hand with effort as he said, "He knows, and he'll, he'll want to see you." Orakzai released Han's hand and turned away from him. "But be quick. He's, he's dying, too."
Han stood there for a long moment, staring at the man and watching his chest rise and fall with the sound of the machines. Suddenly, he missed his ship. In the old days when he felt like this, knee deep in shavit and powerless, he would disappear inside of his ship and fly off to another planet and another place. To freedom. But he had left that man behind somewhere between Yavin IV and Bespin. He had accepted that his life would change and like life sometimes liked to do, how the change came about was nothing short of ironic and surprising, to say the least.
He sighed and looked out the window. To the high rise buildings, the lanes of starship traffic and the rising light of another day as the sun struggled to rise on Corsucant over the horizon. And then he thought of something else the old Han had known how to do: improvise.
When he finally left the room he wrote a name down on a sheet of flimsiplast and told Gharris, "I need you to find this man."
Gharris looked down at the piece of paper, seeming neither surprised nor familiar with it as he replied simply, "As you wish."