AN: You know I don't own Star Wars. This fic was written in response to a friend's request.

"Language Barrier"

By EsmeAmelia

To say Han didn't like Tatooine was an understatement, but when the guy you worked for situated his crime organization there, you had to spend at least some time on the desert waste of a planet and endure the sweat and dehydration. At least Han had the Falcon, meaning he didn't have to stay at those stinky, overcrowded spaceport hotels (okay, he couldn't usually afford to stay at those hotels, but he wouldn't want to anyway, though one that served free breakfast occasionally tempted him). And at least sticking to spaceports meant he didn't have to go out into the wilderness where who-knew-how-many creatures were just waiting for lunch.

Or so Han thought.

"Jawas?" Han exclaimed as he and Chewie exited the Mos Eisley Cantina, where Jabba's goons had just delivered their instructions.

[You heard them, Jawas,] Chewie replied.

Han snorted. "I heard, but I don't believe it. Askin' us to go trekkin' out into the desert and search Jawa camps for an astromech droid – what kinda crazy job is that?"

[This droid's apparently got information worth a lot of money if we pull this off,] said Chewie before ruffling Han's hair. [And we do want to get back on Jabba's good side, remember?]

"Yeah, yeah," Han muttered. The job seemed simple enough, anyway: rent a speeder, use the speeder to get to the Jawa camps, Han would pretend to be a customer while Chewie went looking for this droid, they grab the droid, they bring it to Jabba.

Simple, right?

. . .

On the top of a butte overlooking the desert, Han lay on his stomach, peering through microbinoculars at the Jawas gathering around their sandcrawler and setting up various droids to sell. "Don't see any astromechs," he said.

[It could be inside the sandcrawler,] Chewie suggested.

"Or this could be the wrong camp and we could be wastin' our time," grunted Han, putting down the microbinoculars and pushing himself to a sitting position, "but fine, let's see if they've got this droid."

Chewie reached into his satchel and pulled out the hooded poncho that Jabba's goons had given them. [Here, you're supposed to wear this.]

Han groaned as he took the poncho, which was dark gray and made of some kind of rough, scratchy material. "I'm gonna sweat my ass off in this thing."

[Well you're a farmer today, remember? A farmer who's looking for an astro droid to help on your farm.]

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Han grumbled as he pulled on the poncho and got to his feet. "Well, how do I look?"

Chewie stood up and stared at him as if expecting him to do something.

"What?"

[I don't think most farmers carry blasters.]

Han groaned again, glancing downward and seeing that the poncho wasn't long enough to cover his holster and blaster. "Nope, nope, I ain't goin' down there without a blaster!"

[You have to,] Chewie pressed. [You don't want to make the Jawas nervous, do you? They could recognize that you've got a price on your head and report you to bounty hunters.] He put his large paw on Han's shoulder. [Don't worry, I've got your back.]

With a third groan, Han pulled off his holster and blaster and handed them to Chewie. "Here, now don't lose 'em."

[You know I won't.]

Han knew, but he still had a bad feeling about this.

. . .

"Hey!" Han shouted, extending his arms and putting on the biggest grin he could muster, trying to ignore how the poncho itched and how sweat was dribbling down his back in long, sticky trails. Don't make the Jawas nervous, just distract them long enough to get the droid. "Heard you got droids," he said as the tiny hooded creatures approached him, looking at him with wary glowing eyes. Don't make them nervous, Han reminded himself.

One of the Jawas muttered something at Han in their rapid, high-pitched language.

"Uh, yeah," said Han. "Listen, I need an astro droid for my farm and I heard some Jawas in the area have got an astro droid? Specially one with blue marks – I'd love a droid with blue marks cause . . . blue's my favorite color." Sweat was trickling down his face and to his dismay he suspected it wasn't just because of the heat. Hopefully the Jawas wouldn't notice. "So, what have ya got?"

Suddenly the Jawa's eyes bulged. "Ootidi!" he (she?) shouted, pointing up at Han.

"Yeah, ootidi," said Han, hoping Chewie was having better luck than he was. "Look, do you have an astro droid or not?"

Han would never know how the Jawa was going to respond, since something bashed him in the head from behind and knocked him out.

. . .

Han awoke with a pounding headache and a tingly pain in his legs and rear end. It took several moments to realize that he was sitting on some sort of sandy floor, his back pressed against some big wooden thing and his arms painfully jerked behind his back, but it wasn't until he tried to move his hands when he learned that they were tied up behind the wooden thing. He had to blink over and over before his vision cleared up enough to tell him where he was . . .

Oh bantha shit!

This was one of the many, many reasons not to go out into the wilderness on Tatooine: Tusken Raiders were always out to capture people and do . . . what? Torture them for fun? Eat them? Han didn't want to find out, but he could hear their growling, screeching language outside the hut. Great, of all the possible ways he could die, being Tuskens' lunch definitely wasn't his preferred way to go. He shifted to the right, then to the left, trying to wiggle out of the ropes, but to no avail. Apparently Tuskens were really good at tying knots.

He gulped, hoping they hadn't gotten Chewie too – though he couldn't for the life of him imagine them knocking out a Wookiee. They were still growling their language outside – maybe deciding how they should cook their prisoner. Han made a mental note to try to learn their language if he survived this.

Then suddenly, there came a loud shriek in their language.

Han froze. This Tusken sounded bigger, louder, and meaner than the others. Maybe it was fighting to get the whole meal for itself - the following screams and crashes sure seemed to indicate that. Great, not only was he about to die, but this giant Tusken might not even be gracious enough to kill him before eating him.

The hut's tent flap door was opening.

Han held his breath, closing his eyes, hoping that the giant Tusken would at least snap his neck before devouring him.

[Han, come on!]

"Chewie?"

Han opened his eyes in time to see Chewie swoop into the hut. [Han, are you all right?] he roared as he untied his friend.

"Got a headache, but otherwise I'm fine . . . wait, was that you screamin' out there?"

[Well I had to rescue you, didn't I? Come on, they could wake up any moment!]

Once Han's hands were free, Chewie yanked him to his feet and dragged him out of the hut, giving him little time to process the unconscious Tuskens lying on the sand as they ran towards their rented speeder, which a pair of Tuskens were inspecting.

Chewie yelled at them, again in their own language, giving them a fright and causing them to run off.

"How come you never told me that you speak Tusken?" Han finally asked, still trying to process the scene he'd just witnessed.

Chewie shrugged. [Their language has some similarities to Shyriiwook.]

"Well, ah, okay," Han said as he climbed into the speeder's driver seat. "What'd you say just now?"

Chewie shrugged again as he climbed in next to Han. [It doesn't have a specific translation in Basic, but it has to do with their genitalia being used as an insult.]

Han twisted his mouth as he started the speeder. "Okay, that was a bit too much information, let's get back to the Falcon."

[The Falcon? What about the droid?]

"Forget the droid! This job ain't worth the trouble – I'm sure we can pay Jabba off with a better job." He glanced over to the side to grin at Chewie. "Sides, you've gotta teach me the Tusken language so I can scare 'em off myself."

THE END