A soft, dim light welcomed Han's eyes as his lids floated up over them. He blinked repeatedly as the source of the dull illumination came into view, making his acquaintance with his surroundings a little better.

The room was gray and chilly with a small, nearly burnt-out light bulb set into the ceiling, affording the room its only elucidation. With the shadows the bulb cast, Han could make out the lining of a door on the wall opposing the one his neck was bent against. The whole room was pure transparasteel.

Han pressed his elbows into the ground and attempted to lift him self further off the floor only to find that his left shoulder didn't like this idea. It gave out underneath him and he let out a grunt as his upper body made harsh contact with the glacial ground.

As his bit back the pain, his head fell to one side, and his gaze came upon the figure of Leia, a bruised cut slashed across her forehead from the center to the slender end of her right eyebrow. She lay unconscious a meter or so to his right, her breath shallow and her frame curled in a fetal position as she shook lightly, her dress providing no warmth in the frigid room.

The entire the universe plopped right back into place, and Han remembered what had gotten him to this smallish gray chamber. A little vacation led to a little politics, led to little ride in a cab, led to a little kidnaping. One problem lead to another and next thing you know you're in for it: the story of his life.

He endeavored again to sit up, adjusting his position so as to put very little weight on his damaged joint. He pulled himself erect against the wall behind him. Taking in the room from a higher point of view, he took a deep breath as he felt a pull on all his cells - a familiar sense of departure that he'd known almost all his life. They were exiting hyperspace.

The knowledge that they were leaving hyperspace was not at all comforting, that meant without a shadow of a doubt that they were on a ship. This was decidedly bad news. Ships move, and a little known fact is moving makes one harder to catch. This was not necessarily the kind of news he was looking for. The news that they were on a big red space station in the shape of an X which broadcasted "We've got Han Solo and Leia Organa in here," would have been more helpful.

Of course, had that been the case, Han would have been less glad at being rescued and more embarrassed at having been kidnapped by beings with that calibre of intelligence in the first place.

Han looked over at Leia again. She was out cold and the gash on her forehead didn't look pretty. He scooted over along the wall until he was nearly touching her prostrate form, and ripped of a piece of his already torn uniform, wetting the strip of fabric with his mouth then dabbing it along the edged of the cut, attempting to clean it.

It had been a long time since he'd done this, attending to wounds - if one discounted the cuts and scrapes that Jacen came home with every once in a while. The last time he'd played medic was on the battle fields of the war with the Empire all those years ago, when he'd still had some real life left in him. It was strange to be caring for someone like this again, to have the kind of contact you have when you truly want to quell another being's pain, when you want to mend them.

Mentioning that kind of feeling and the name Leia in the same sentence seemed to be a contradiction in terms, and yet it festered in Han, near that place in his chest he might have called his heart before this day. Now he wanted to label it 'The Rebel', a piece of him which won't shut up and stay put. The place in him which wanted to live in that all too distant past, where it might have grown and flourished, before the galaxy, and Leia, and Han himself caged it.

Han noticed Leia's breaths become deeper, her eyes moving faster from side to side under her lids until they fluttered open, squinting minutely under the dim light. She seemed to look up at the ceiling, trying to remember the happenings which had brought her to the dismal room in which she lay.

Han pulled the cloth away from her cut, allowing her to sit up a little a rest herself on her elbows. He could only hope against hope that the impact which accompanied the wound he'd been attending to, didn't knock out anything more than her consciousness. Dealing with Leia was bad enough - dealing with a Leia who didn't know who she was wouldn't be any easier.

"Where are we?" she asked him as she pulled herself further off the floor and leaned her upper body against the wall.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Han replied, handing Leia the rag he'd been using on her. "The best I can give you is we're on a ship of some kind."

Leia took the piece of cloth from Han and gave him a strange look. He pointed to her forehead as an answer, and she felt around for what he motioned at, gritting her teeth as she found the open cut.

"I don't hear any engines. What makes you think we're off-world?" she asked, attempting to clean the cut she couldn't see and not doing very well.

"Here," Han said faked irritation, taking the cloth and resuming his previous task. "We came out of hyperspace about ten minutes ago, and since the sublights haven't kicked in, I'm guessing the pilot's using inertia and gravity to get us into orbit somewhere."

The ship shuddered under them as Han finished, and the two both looked up as the light shook, flickering on and off.

"I stand corrected," Han amended, "We're now landing."

"Wonderful," Leia said, echoing Han's unspoken sentiment.
The shuddering subsided only to be followed by a jolt that flung both Han and Leia's bodies a few inches from the place where they sat. It was a little painful for the both, but it was a sure sign they'd landed.

Han moved his shoulder in a circular motion, trying to improve the circulation and relieve some of the tension built up from the shot itself and the following trauma, including the jarring touch down the rickety vessel they inhabited had made.

"You okay?" he asked, as Leia stretched her neck.

"I'm fine," Leia said, using her arm to pull the kinks out of her levator scapulae.

Han and Leia looked towards the door of the chamber as it slid open, revealing a motley crew of assorted species, wearing sparse armor and holding impressive weaponry at the ready. This was a sight neither of them had been looking forward to.

"Up," the apparent leader of the lot commanded, speaking it as more of a statement than anything.

Han stood up clumsily, his legs stiff from an extended amount of inactivity, and his shoulder not willing to do its part in helping him to his feet. He then took Leia's hand as she supported her weight with the wall, and aided her in standing.

The minions, who had surrounded the speaker, made their way towards the dignitaries, taking Han by the arm, pulling down on his already pained shoulder. They led him and Leia out of the chamber quietly.

Han picked up as many details as he could while they made there way down this compact metal hallways of the vessel. It was dank and dirty, in a way that would make the [i]Falcon[/i] blush, boasting a smell that reminded Han of dead Tauntauns.

By the time they'd reached and passed the galley, Han had come to the conclusion that these guys weren't the real captors. These were mercenaries, petty thieves and smugglers who had gotten into the wrong side of the business.

Though it wasn't good news to know that whoever was looking for them would have a harder time finding them, it was comforting to know that they hadn't been kidnapped by people who Han wouldn't have associated with voluntarily in his smuggling days, let alone the present. These kinds of people didn't have the ambition for a job like this on their own, or the means to pull it off. That came from people higher up, people with either ambition or a cause. In the worst case scenario, they'd have both.

The group made their way out of the ship and onto a dirt path leading towards a rudimentary installation of sorts, surrounded by a low wall which met directly with the encircling forest. As far as Han could see, the green of trees spanned out from the landing pad, which was encrusted in a thin layer of moss.

Han and Leia were escorted up several flights of stairs and through a hallway to a side of the instalment, which opposed the landing pad, until they came upon a short row of cells, each with an occupant save for one. Though the others appeared to be filled with deviant members of the group, there was no doubt that the end cell was to hold two more important borders: the Queen Mother of Hapes and her Admiral companion.

The two were thrust rather forcefully into the cell, the barred doors closing behind them as they fell to the ground.

Han rolled onto his back, too exhausted to get up again, and inhaled deeply, shifting his head to the side to see Leia hunched over and trying to steady herself. Her breath was difficult.

"I thought I'd gotten passed the point where I pissed people off like this," Han said, his head floating back to bring his eyes to focus on the ceiling, finding a point of balance.

"I don't think you'll ever loose that quality," Leia replied, rolling over to sit and rest her weight on her elbows once again.

Han ignored her comment, "Remind me to say no next time I'm offered a free vacation."