All the Way – Chapter 3

by Erin Darroch and Justine Graham

Hunched over his near-empty bowl, Han scraped a final heaping spoonful of stew into his waiting mouth, then set the dish down and pushed it aside as he chewed and swallowed the last of his meal. He couldn't remember any food ever tasting as delicious as that first mouthful of rich gravy had tasted—and the final bite, replete with savoury braised meat and tender root vegetables, was pretty damn good, too. He took a slug of water to wash it down, and then leaned back with a satisfied sigh, amazed at how much better he felt with some warm food in his stomach.

Chewie liked to say hunger makes the best sauce—and Han reckoned that was probably true—but there was no doubt that the Wookiee was a skilled cook, and the majority of the prepared meals stacked in the Falcon's small freezer had been made by him. An inveterate hunter of wild game, he never missed the chance to bag fresh meat, fowl or fish for their stores whenever they happened to be planetside in a suitable environment and the opportunity presented itself. Unfortunately, ever since they had signed on as contractors with the Alliance, such opportunities had come few and far between—and they'd hosted way too many impromptu gatherings for the Rogues, Han reflected ruefully—so their inventory was nowhere near maximum capacity.

He rubbed absently at his stubbled jaw as he mused over the length of the journey ahead and the amount of food and water they had on board. There would be enough to keep them alive, he thought, but only with careful rationing, and even then it would be tight. On their most recent run, he and Chewie had stocked the ship with a moderate amount of fresh food barely sufficient for the short jump to Tatooine; they hadn't planned on a sublight trek halfway across the Anoat sector—and certainly not with an extra person aboard. It was likely that the end of their present journey would see them resorting to the flavourless emergency ration packs stored away in the galley—or worse, the dusty pouches of pickled Glaav-fish that Chewie had acquired in trade on their last visit to the Minos Cluster more than two years prior. The soft-hearted mophead had bartered away a perfectly good case of Regellian draught ale for that stuff—a gesture of goodwill, he had later explained to his exasperated captain. Neither one of them had any intention of consuming the foul fish—Han wasn't sure he could stomach being near an open packet for more than a minute, let alone put any of its contents into his mouth. But he and Chewie shared an aversion to unnecessary waste, and Han never could bring himself to dispose of perfectly edible food. He'd meant to gift the lot to someone in greater need, but then he'd stashed the packs away in the rear hold and forgotten about them.

May turn out to be a stroke of luck, Han thought wryly as he slid off the acceleration couch and scooped up his empty bowl from the tabletop. As much as he dreaded the idea of choking down the sour-tasting fish, those few vacuum-packed pouches were likely going to make all the difference; indeed, they might be the only items of food left to fill their empty stomachs in the last few days of their approach to Bespin.

He stretched and gave a broad yawn, then turned to shuffle his weary way back to the galley, feeling with every step as though his legs had been hollowed out and refilled with duracrete. With warm food in his stomach, the overwhelming fatigue he'd managed to stave off for a few hours was flooding back with a vengeance, and it was all he could do to remain on his feet. The only thing that stood between him and his bunk now was a quick shower to wash away the day's extraordinary accumulation of grime, which he would do just as soon as Leia emerged from the fresher.

Acting more on autopilot than from any conscious thought, he cleaned the dishes and drifted into a waking dream, imagining how good it was going to feel to stand under powerful jets of hot water amid clouds of cleansing steam, and what a relief it would be to stretch out in the comfort of his bunk and sink into oblivion for a while. After drying his hands, he briefly contemplated going back to the main hold to wait for the princess, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. In his current state, he thought that if he sat down now he would probably never get up again. Instead, he leaned back against the galley counter, folded his arms, and dropped his chin to his chest, meaning only to ease the tension in his neck and rest his eyes for a moment. Dimly, he wondered if it was actually possible to fall asleep standing u—.

"Han?"

Startled out of a near-doze, Han was fully alert in the span of a heartbeat, his seasoned spacer's reflexes kicking in on a jolt of adrenaline and sending his hand sweeping down to his thigh, even as he jerked around in the direction of the voice that had called his name. Just how long Leia had been standing there he had no way of knowing—he was shocked to realise that he hadn't even heard her approach. But there she stood at the galley threshold, and he knew as soon as he laid eyes on her that something was wrong.

Swiftly, he scanned her from head to toe, his brows knitting together in confusion. She was still dressed in her white snowsuit, which was liberally stained with the grubby evidence of their hours-long struggle for survival. Her corona of braids was still mostly intact and just as frazzled as it had been before her departure, and there were still traces of oil and dirt smearing the delicate line of her jaw. She had exited the main hold just as he had sat down to eat his meal, but clearly she hadn't spent the intervening time cleaning herself up.

Han's stomach lurched as his thoughts leapt at once to every catastrophic scenario. What else had gone haywire while he'd been filling his belly with Nerf stew? Surely, he hoped, they hadn't lost the water recyclers, too—that would be catastrophically bad. A death sentence, in fact.

But as he took in the bleak expression on Leia's face, he realised that whatever was troubling her had nothing to do with the state of the ship. There was no air of alarm or urgency in her demeanour, no frantic tension in her body; just terminal weariness and what looked to Han's searching eyes like...grief? Hurt. Dejection? He let his eyes roam her face, his confusion deepening as he tried to understand what he was seeing.

The princess's turmoil seemed to originate wholly from within—that much was evident in the way her throat was working, as if she were vying with herself for control. He could see it also in the pain that lurked behind her reddened eyes, contradicting the stiff mask of indifference that she was so obviously striving to keep in place. He felt a quick flash of relief that he wouldn't have to spend the next few hours wrestling with his ship for mere survival, but that was swiftly followed by a terrible, sinking feeling of dismay. He took a step in her direction.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Leia stiffened visibly at his approach, lifted her chin and hardened her gaze. In clipped tones faintly tinged with her old Core Worlds accent, she said, "It seems you have found another use for my—for the cabin I normally use." Her dark eyes were flinty now, her pale features composed into an expressionless mask.

Han felt the blood drain from his face. Seven hells, Solo, you idiot. In his stress and exhaustion, he'd completely forgotten that Leia no longer had anywhere on the ship to call her own. The tiny hold he had long ago converted for her use had been pressed into service at the last minute, just a few hours before his planned departure from Hoth. The narrow makeshift cabin—if it could even be called that—was now filled to the brim with storage crates, stacked high atop Leia's small cot and crowding every centimetre of the floor, almost to the threshold.

"I had some things in there," Leia continued in a carefully neutral tone of voice. "Some clothes and a hairbrush and…." She faltered for a moment, before swallowing and resuming in a decidedly colder tone. "And a few...personal items."

Han felt the blood return to his face in a hot flush of chagrin. He knew exactly the items that Leia meant: her small treasure trove of Alderaani artefacts, collected over the years since her homeworld's tragic destruction at the hands of the Empire. Many of those relics had been gifts from him, in fact. Without examining his own motives too closely, he had actively sought and acquired such trinkets for Leia ever since the earliest days of their acquaintance. From the tiny kriin-wood puzzle box he'd stumbled upon just a few months after Alderaan's demise, to the ornately carved hair clasp on which he'd spent half of his previous month's wages, just a few days before Ord Mantell, Leia had unabashedly cherished them all. She had even saved the labels from the bottles of Alderaani wine they'd enjoyed together, pressed between the pages of an old-fashioned text embossed with the seal of the Royal House—a truly rare find secured at a cost so exorbitant that the thought of it still made Han's eyes water. And while each tiny piece of Leia's restored heritage brought a look of melancholy to her face at first, it was the look that followed, the happy spark that brightened her expression and the deep gratitude in her eyes, that made each new addition to her collection worth every credit and more.

With a plunging sense of distress, Han understood why she had returned to the galley so soon, unshowered and still in her grubby snowsuit. Although he knew that her personal items were still in her quarters exactly where she'd left them, Leia clearly believed otherwise. He realised that she must have gone to her cabin to retrieve clean clothes, found it filled to the gunnels with freight, and assumed the worst. He swiped a hand over his face, silently cursing himself in every language he knew—not only for rendering her private space unusable, but for forgetting to return those artefacts to the princess in the first place. It pained him now to think of how close he had come to leaving Hoth with her treasures in his possession, knowing the odds were high that he would never have made it back. Leia had so little of sentimental value, and what she did have she had entrusted to his care. Indeed, every material thing she held dear and wanted to keep safe she kept aboard the Falcon, tucked away where it could never be lost or forgotten when a base had to be abandoned at a moment's notice. The idea that the princess had come close to losing such precious mementos—that he had almost takenthose things away from her—made him queasy.

Apparently oblivious to Han's inner turmoil, Leia finally broke the silence between them with words as sharp and cold as chips of ice.

"I presume you have disposed of my things, which means I have nothing to change into. So, if it's no trouble, I would appreciate the loan of any clothes you can spare, so I can put these into the autovalet." She plucked at the front of her dirty snowsuit and then dropped her arm back to her side, looking more forlorn than Han had ever seen her. Although her features were still carefully controlled, there was no mistaking the depth of hurt and confusion in her eyes. Han's throat tightened, his heart lurched and he took a step closer.

"Sweetheart, no, it's not what you think."

Although the princess didn't take a step back, she might as well have, as every line of her petite figure seemed to lean away from Han's advance. Lifting her chin, she tried again to harden her expression and met his gaze with a dark and stony glare. "It doesn't matter, Captain. Now, if you will just—"

"Leia." He closed the remaining distance between them and caught one of her hands in a tight grip. "I haven't gotten rid of anything. I would never—"

It was clear that the princess's first impulse was to snatch her hand away, but in the wake of Han's vehement denial, he felt her fingers close reflexively around his, and saw the tension in her face ease the barest fraction. He held her gaze for a long moment, tightening his grip as he willed her to absorb the impact of his words.

Leia's eyes searched his face and, to his profound relief, he saw the moment when the anguish that lurked there began to drain away. She blinked, then drew a shaky breath and let it out, giving his hand a light squeeze in return.

"Oh…," she said. "That's...that's good. I'm— I'm glad."

Han shook his head in frustration. "Blast it, Leia, did you think I would just—"

She did take her hand away from his then, her posture stiffening and her voice rising. "I don't know what you would do if you thought...if you thought—I mean, obviously, you were dead-set on leaving and—" She cut herself off, clamped her arms across her chest and turned her face resolutely to one side.

Despite her closed-off, self-protective body language, Han couldn't help but reach for her again, desperate to avoid any further misunderstandings between them. Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder, warmly cupping the curve of it in his palm as he dipped down to catch her eye once more. "I would never do that to you, Princess," he said, weighting his voice with utmost sincerity and all the heat he could muster. "You must know me better than that by now."

Leia turned her eyes back to him, a stricken expression on her face. It remained there for an instant before transforming into a look of such profound sadness that it hit Han in the gut like a solid kick.

"I-I thought I did," she said, unable to disguise the slight quaver that crept into her voice. "But then I thought...perhaps you just wanted to...to move on and...I don't know... just…forget. About all of this." She waved one hand in a weak gesture that somehow encompassed them both, their relationship, and the past two years of their lives. "And forget about…." She trailed off, shoulders slumping as she lowered her gaze and then looked away, leaving Han to fill in the blanks while he gaped at her in slack-jawed dismay.

Forget about us.

She didn't speak the words aloud; nor did she need to—her meaning was clear, and it hung in the empty air between them like a heavy pall.

Utterly lost for a moment, Han's throat tightened and his breaths came short. She looked so small, so tired, so fragile standing there, chewing on her cheek with her eyes cast down to the deck plates beneath their feet. In all the time he'd spent with her, in all the calamitous circumstances in which he'd witnessed Leia's enormous fortitude, determination and resilience, he had never seen her look so vulnerable.

Without another word, he reached for her with both hands, grasped her by the shoulders and drew her gently to him. "Forget?" he said, hearing his own voice break harshly on the word as he edged closer still. "Leia, I wouldn't—I could never...." It was his turn to choke off. He drew an unsteady breath as his overtaxed brain scrabbled for the right words, then he plunged heedlessly ahead, too tired to calculate the consequences. "Do you really think I could? Do you think I'd want to?"

Leia's tilted her chin upward, her wide, dark eyes intently scanning his face. Han met her gaze and held it, feeling as though everything he wanted to say was trying to claw its way out of his chest since it couldn't get past his throat. Damn it, she had to know. Why couldn't she see? Why couldn't he just tell her? He licked dry lips and tried to speak again, but was relieved an instant later to see Leia's expression soften and the lingering look of pain behind her eyes gradually melt away. She drew in a deep breath and gave him a faint, rueful smile as she breathed it out.

Feeling the tension in her shoulders ease a bit, Han gave her a cautiously hopeful nod in return as he released his grip on her and took a small backward step. He had to force himself to do it, because he had an overwhelming urge to do the opposite—to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight, to kiss away the worried creases that marred her brow, and tell her everything was going to be all right.

But he knew that it was neither true, nor what she wanted to hear, and there was no time or energy now for weightier conversation.

"No, of course not. I do know you better than that," Leia replied at length to his comment. Absently, she raised one hand to her frazzled braids as she took a step back and then leaned one shoulder wearily against the galley door frame. "I'm just so tired I could cry…and when I saw the state of my quarters…." She dropped her hand and gave him a defeated shrug.

Han grimaced. "Look, I'm sorry about that. I needed the space, and I didn't expect—."

"You needed the space…?" Leia echoed in puzzlement as she settled her weight against the bulkhead frame, crossed her arms and tilted her head to one side.

Although it was apparent that the princess was suffering from the same level of post-evacuation exhaustion as he, clearly the condition hadn't dampened her critical faculties in the slightest. Han knew exactly where her thoughts had gone—to the Falcon's vast cargo holds, which she would naturally presume to be empty.

He scrubbed one hand over his face, trying to frame a careful response. The last thing he needed now was another grilling from the princess or a heated debate over the nature of his motives and objectives. But there was no point in trying to evade the truth, he decided. All she had to do was head to one of the holds and see for herself, and the jig would be up. Accepting defeat, he shook his head and gave a noncommittal shrug.

"Yeah," he admitted wearily, "the main holds are full."

"Full?" Leia's rich alto pitched up in surprise. "Full of what, exactly? You signed off, Han. Resigned from service." Her fine dark brows furrowed as she continued to stare at him in consternation, arms folded tightly across her chest. "You were on your way out for good, so—?"

There was nothing for it. Han drew a deep breath in and blew it out. "Yeah, well, I agreed to take one last load for the cell on Kubindi."

Leia's expression turned incredulous. "Kubindi? That's… that's halfway across the galaxy. Are you telling me you accepted another commission after you terminated your contract?" She gave a short laugh. "They must have paid you a small fortune for that…"

"Not another commission. A favour."

She raised one wry eyebrow. "A favour doesn't usually involve payment, Captain."

Han glowered at her then, feeling his exhaustion and frustration surge. He hardened his expression and jutted his jaw at her. "Yeah, that's why I called it a favour, Your Worship."

He let that acid remark drop between them like a stone into a deep well. Leia gaped at him for an instant and then closed her mouth, her expression transforming swiftly from surprise to sincere remorse. She unfolded her arms and let them drop, and then spread her hands in a gesture of apology. "I'm—I'm sorry, Han. That wasn't fair of me…."

Han stared at her, his breaths coming short and his chest tightening once again. He knew it was absolutely his own doing, why the princess so often jumped to the worst conclusions about him. He'd spent the last couple of years repeatedly insisting to her—and to anyone else who cared to listen—that he didn't care about the cause, that he was only in it for the money, and didn't give a damn what happened to the crack-brained Rebels, as long as he got paid. Could he blame her if she believed him? Hell, he'd half-convinced himself with that idiotic narrative, and now he wasn't even sure how he felt about the whole demented business. All he knew was that his life had become enormously more complicated and confusing the day he had accepted the charter from Tatooine to Alderaan. He gave a doleful shake of his head.

Delicately, Leia cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her face as she offered a faint, cautious smile. "I am sorry, Han. I should give you more credit. It's just that you—you keep surprising me."

Han gave a short, wry laugh as he felt his exasperation subside. "Well, that's one thing I'm good at, Princess," he said, giving her a friendly wink. "Keeping you on your toes."

Leia's smile grew a little wider and her dark eyes danced. "That you certainly are…."

They shared a lingering look, and Han was relieved to sense the atmosphere between them gradually easing back to its former warmth. There was so much more that he wanted to say—so many things crowded into his mind all at once—but now was not the time. His four-hour window for rest was rapidly dwindling, and he wasn't about to ask Chewie to extend his shift any longer. Everything else he and the princess had to say to each other would just have to wait.

"Look, Sweetheart, I'm sorry about your quarters," he said. "All your stuff is right where you left it, I promise. It's just buried under all that freight. You go get a shower and I'll clear a path to your locker, grab what you need, and bring it to you."

Leia heaved a sigh, gave a tired nod of acquiescence and offered another faint smile. "That would be great. Thank you." Pushing off from the bulkhead, she turned to leave.

Han watched her go, his heart wrung out at the sight of her small figure disappearing around the curve of the short ring corridor that led to the crew's quarters. That Leia would ever think such things of him—that he could simply discard her and all his memories of her like so much garbage—was a notion that he could not allow to stand. He swallowed hard as he felt his inner resolve become as fixed as duracrete.

Whatever the risk, whatever the outcome, he could not allow Leia to go on thinking that she meant so little to him, when she meant so much.