Motives

"Let's get this over with." ~Han Solo

Chapter 29

Abregado-Rae

Han Solo stepped out of the landspeeder and looked around. As clandestine, unofficial visits went, this one left a lot to be desired. Apparently sneaking out when one was the president of a large, core world was not as easy as he thought it would be. The smallest accompaniment that he was able to negotiate for was no less than thirty people, most of them armed. A few had arrived days before him and had apparently set up camp among the rooftops of every establishment within a parsec of the cantina he planned to visit.

"The retired Commodore is verified to be inside," Stanton told him while brushing the dust off of Han's shoulders.

Han shook his head. He hadn't even been able to shake off Stanton's tail. His eyes went up to the skies, past the sniper nests and to the wispy clouds scrambling across the deep amber sun. He was definitely losing it. "And I'm going in alone," Han replied, looking back down at the nondescript door on the nondescript building. He put some real emotion behind his statement, trying very badly to make it sound like a statement and not like a child asking for permission. He had failed, miserably.

"But, of course, sir. Just as you had insisted."

Han made a sound from the back of his throat, something between skepticism and exacerbation. "Yes, this is exactly as I envisioned it," he mumbled as he walked toward the entrance flanked by six special forces' agents and within the long-ranged scopes of a dozen more.

As he entered the small establishment, it took his eyes a bit to adjust to the darkness. Han had learned numerous universal truths throughout his lifetime. One important one being that the darker the lighting, the better the joint. If this tried and true barometer was still to be trusted, old Rutien had found himself a pretty good haunt. There was a long, dimly lit bar to Han's left, a few squat tables in the center of the small room and the perimeter of the windowless wall was lined with booths.

"The target is sitting at the booth straight ahead, sir," one of the special forces' agents told him.

Going in alone, my ass, Han thought as his eyes landed on his old commander. Orakzai had told Han that his former superior officer was dying and the "unofficial" reconnaissance that was done for this visit had confirmed that. Either way, even from this distance and in this lighting, Han could tell that the years had not been kind to Rutien. The older man was slumped in the booth, his back curved over in a perpetual arch. Whether in this lighting or the bright light of day in the street outside, Han was sure that he would've never recognized him.

"Alright," Han replied, taking in a deep breath and inhaling it. He felt prepared for anything.

"One of ours will be serving while you're here," the agent said, tilting his head toward an armed guard stepping behind the bar. "And the Commodore insisted on the Torgruta remaining. I will stay by her side."

Han glanced over to find a female Togruta standing off to the side near the bar. She had pale yellow skin with white markings and wore a heavy, floor length gown. Han nodded at her and she returned his nod with a slow, deep bow of her montrals.

The absence of any tingling warning signal zipping up Han's spine was more alarming than if it had been there. He wondered briefly how much more he may be losing of his old self stuck in boardrooms and sleeping in over-sized and over-stuffed beds. Shrugging his shoulders, Han clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. There was nothing to be done of that right now, so he said, "Let's get this over with."

As soon as Han approached the booth, Rutien chuckled in apparent amusement. That chuckle turned into a fit of coughing as Han slid into the booth across from the older man. There were two drinks already sitting on the table.

"Han Solo," Rutien said, shaking his head.

"Did I miss the punchline?" Han asked, not bothering to hide his aggravation. He had already lost the battle of coming here alone, he was in no mood to be laughed at.

"C'mon," Rutien replied, taking a sip from his drink. "Even you must find it pretty unbelievable that you ended up President of Corellia."

"Is that why you wanted to see me? To remind me that I wasn't worth a shit? For old time's sake?"

Rutien sighed, holding his drink and looking genuinely contrite. "You left the Imperial Academy before they taught you to really excel at being a prick." His old commander swirled his drink lazily in his hand, letting the ice clink against the sides of the glass. "Unfortunately, I stayed on way too long."

Han made a derisive noise of agreement. If there was one thing that the Empire excelled at, it would've been at manufacturing pricks. "Is that it? You got me to come all the way out here to give me some kind of backhanded compliment?" Han asked.

Rutien coughed again, this time bringing a handkerchief up to his mouth until he could compose himself.

Han studied the man. Rutien and Orakzai, they were the same. Powerful men that had wielded limitless authority only in the end to find that it had all been for nothing. Orakzai had died in a small hospital cot on a foreign world, having exposed his only daughter to a terminal disease and running his country into the ground. And here Rutien was, wasting away on a skullduggery of a planet like Abregado-Rae. And just like Orakzai, no matter what this man had done, or what he felt he needed to say, Han felt secure in the fact that there was nothing that he could say or do that could hurt him now.

Rutien had finished coughing but said nothing. Han, anxious to get the conversation going, said, "Word is you're dying."

"Everyone's dying," Rutien answered brusquely, receiving Han's volley only to volley back with, "How's your daughter?"

Han clenched his jaw. Just a few seconds ago he had convinced himself that he was invulnerable to this man's shenanigans whatever they might be. The casual mention of Eliza felt like the floor shifting beneath his feet. "She's well," Han replied guardedly, matching Rutien's brusqueness. This felt like a card game and Rutien had just raised the ante. The two men leveled hard gazes at one another. Han was not in the mood to play games. "Why don't we just get to the part about why I'm here."

"Don't you see?" Rutien asked. "It's all related."

Han shook his head. "I don't know how sick you are, but you aren't making any sense and I'm a busy man, so-"

"I need to tell you something about that day," Rutien interrupted.

"What day?" Han asked, his question laced with irritation.

"That day you saved the Wookiees."

The day I saved the Wookiees, Han thought, remembering back. The day he had saved Chewie and got the Falcon. The day Watts had died and... He stared at Rutien. "The day you saved my life," Han said.

Rutien ticked his head to the side and shrugged. "Let's not be overly dramatic. It was more like: the day I spared your life."

Of all the mysteries of the universe that Han had pondered on over his lifetime, like how Chewbacca could possibly always be cold and how Leia took up so much room in his bunk. Why Commodore Rutien hadn't shot him that day wasn't especially at the very top of the list. But it was one of those things that had never made sense to him.

"Alright," Han replied. "I'll bite. Why'd you spare my life that day?"

"My orders came from Orakzai."

"To save my life?"

Rutien laughed, which resulted in another fit of coughing. "No," he finally said. "To run tests on you and Sartain."

"What kind of tests?"

"Paternity. His little girl was pregnant. Apparently she named you, but he suspected Watts."

Han leaned back into his seat. "So the test for cooomb spores," he ventured.

"That's the one," Rutien replied, his eyes trained on Han. "He told me to take care of the father for him."

Han raised an eyebrow. "To take care of...as in..."

Rutien nodded. "As in, exactly what you think it means."

"So," Han replied, suddenly feeling as if a Wookiee had just sat on his chest. "That's why you targeted Watts. He is Eliza's father." The sting of Watts' betrayal bloomed fresh again inside of him, washing over him like heat from a spicy meal.

The old man stared at Han for a long time. His eyes had lost all humor and had turned inexplicably soft. "I'm sorry."

"No, well," Han shook his head, trying to shake off the funk that had settled over him. "I saw the tests with my own eyes, but somehow…"

"No," Rutien shook his head. "I'm sorry for what I did. The girl...she's yours."

Han's gaze snapped up to meet Rutien's. "What?"

"I switched your sample with Sartain's. The girl is yours."

"What?" Han repeated, unsure if he was hearing this correctly. Unsure if Rutien was telling him the truth and unable to find the hook in this bait if there was any. Why would Rutien have lied back then or why would he be lying now? "You switched the samples?" Han repeated. He was a father? Really a father? A tentative jubilation began to mix with his confusion and suspicion.

"Yes."

Han placed his hands onto the table, on either side of his untouched drink, and leaned in. "Why?"

The old man shook his head, looking down into his drink. "Funny thing about that paternity test. It ran your DNA across the entire database."

"So?"

"Did I ever tell you that I knew your mother?"

Rutien looked back up at Han and although Han somehow in the back of his consciousness realized where this might be going, he could not fully accept or grasp it. All he could muster was a disbelieving shake of his head as he let his hands slowly drag across the table while he rested his back against the bench.

"See, Orakzai wanted me to make it look like an accident," Rutien continued. "You two trying to escape just made that all too easy. The alarms were sounding by the time the results were coming through." The old man looked down again at his drink and ran his finger around the rim absently. "I had no idea. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't go through with it, and I couldn't disobey orders, so I…I switched the labels and ran them again."

It wasn't enough. Han still couldn't believe it, couldn't wrap his head around what he was hearing. He had to ask, to hear it. Hear the words spelled out for him. "What're you saying?"

The old man closed his eyes and smiled. "I guess your mother thought she was protecting me from myself by not telling me. I would've given up my stripes to have been a father to you."

And there it was. That word. Father. He had found it so easy to believe that he was Eliza's father, that part of the story was perfectly understandable and acceptable. But, this other. Han sat there in silence staring at the man across the table from him trying his best to reconcile him as something between this old man he had come here to meet, a stranger, a prick of a commander and then...this...something else. The leap was too great.

"I loved your mother, 'til-"

"No," Han interrupted, scooting out of the booth and standing. "I can't believe this."

"Please, sit down," Rutien pleaded, and waved his hand toward Han's abandoned seat. "I'm an old man. I'll be no more trouble to you. But...I've waited a long time to look upon you with a father's eyes. Can you at least give me that?"

Han looked down at this man. His mother had died and left him orphaned when he had been very young. From everything he could remember of her, she had never said anything about his father and no name had been listed on his birth records. Han had visited the home address listed on his paperwork as soon as he had been old enough and the small, abandoned row house had been located right in the shadow of Behnal, the largest military installation on Corellia. Curious neighbors had told a young Han that the woman there had worked at a local market frequented by soldiers and officers alike. It didn't take much of an imagination to fill in the rest of the blanks. And why would this man lie? It would be easy enough for Han to run his own tests. The large bubble of doubt inside of him began to slowly deflate.

Han slid back down into his seat, feeling as though that Wookiee from earlier had stood up from his chest and suckered punched him in the gut.

"Being a father," Rutien said. "There's not much in life that can compare. I had it stolen from me and...I ended up doing the same to you."

Han worked up the courage to look at Rutien again, his eyes searching for genetic proof of his claims. It was hard to tell in the darkened light of the cantina, but Rutien's eyes suddenly appeared to be a familiar shade of hazel and his nose sloped in a familiar way. Han's stomach churned uncomfortably and he grabbed his heretofore untouched drink and took a healthy swig from it. "Orakzai must've figured it out somewhere along the way," Han supplied, pieces of the puzzle falling into their places.

"Probably," Rutien agreed. And then he looked at Han again, that deep, studying look that was now making more sense to Han. A father seeing his son for the first time. "There were a few times, you know? That I...pulled strings for you and that ship of yours. Blockades. Port Authorities. I always wondered what you thought. That the Empire was that inept or that you were just that lucky."

Han smiled in spite of himself and took another sip of his drink. "A little bit of both, I guess."

"Are you happy?" Rutien asked. "Now, at least?"

Han nodded, looking at...his father. There was a wetness at the backs of his eyes. "I've been happy," he said. "Since the day you let me go."

"That's," Rutien replied, his voice cracking with emotion. "That's more that I could ever ask for. Or that I deserve to hear."

"Do you…?" Han looked around the dusty cantina. "I could arrange to have the best doctors looking after your care."

"I'm not alone," Rutien answered, smiling and nodding over Han's right shoulder.

Han turned and saw the female Togruta standing at a high table watching them carefully. He turned back to his father.

"We've been together for a long time and she takes good care of me. And there's not much any number of doctors can do. I'm resigned to my fate and the time I have left. This," he said, moving his hand between he and Han to indicate their conversation, "was the last thing that I wanted to get done."

Rutien hadn't said the words: and now I can die happy or contented, but Han heard them just the same. "Understood. But if you ever need anything."

Rutien smiled. "I know how to find you."

There was a long, shared silence then. The two strangers who had sat down together earlier, now looking upon each other with different eyes. The time had long since passed when not knowing who his father was had bothered Han. But there had been a time when he would've given anything to know his father or at least to know who he was and why he had abandoned a son. That little boy's curiosity and pain, deep down inside of Han where he had buried it so long ago, was now soothed.

"I'm sorry," Rutien said. "Sorry that I didn't know you, have you as a son. Be a father to you. But I'm glad I could at least do this for you now. Give you your daughter."

"You didn't give me a daughter," Han quickly replied without malice in his tone. "Eliza's been mine since the day I met her," he continued. "But you did..." He thought of his best friend. The one that he thought had betrayed him. Of the...doubt he had been carrying around about Watts. "You did give me back my friend."

A/N: Nearly every one of my long, epic stories started with a line or idea. This one started with this scene with Han's father. The line from Han: "Word is you're dying." And the revelation of the man he was speaking to was the idea that started this story. So, we are nearing the end here. All loose ends will begin to be tied up. I always feel a bit of relief once I make it to this point. Thanks for traveling here with me. Your thoughtful reviews and comments are always welcomed and I hope you are enjoying the ride.

Stay tuned for more. :-)