The first thing to register in Han's mind was a faint chirping sound which seemed to punctuate an otherwise silent, dark world as he became slowly aware of his chest's soft rise and fall. It was the warble of an animal he'd never heard before, being joined by the quiet brushing of wind on a tree branch, and the light crackle of a fire as Han's auditory sense recalled it's function and transmitted more and more information to his brain.
His smell and taste came in tandem as he took in the aroma of a mild incense, a flavor of fruit saturating it's presence, reminding Han of dulla berries and the way they looked when Jacen smeared them across his face as a child. The odor of raw alcohol entered his nose with a bite, forcing a twitch in his nostrils and a clouded memory of a bar fight and a hospital bed. He couldn't make out the time and date of either event, but he made an educated guess at which one had come first.
He opened his eyes next, finding them willing to cooperate for the time being and deciding it to be a wise decision to employ them. At first all he saw were blurs of an off-white and tan mixture, striated with lines of dark brown at high frequency, but as his eyes adjusted, he found himself facing the underside of a thatch-type roof which sported a small opening in the center, out of which escaped some moderate smoke from the fire he'd smelt earlier. Through the opening he could see a balmy blue sky and the edges of tree branches poking in from the sides.
The last sensation to fill in was his sense of touch, and he was made immediately aware of what a bad idea it had been to reinstate the feeling. He grit his teeth as his shoulder and torso informed him quite vividly of their rather impaled state, aching and throbbing so as to more eloquently communicate their point. He felt as though he'd just been given a deep tissue massage by a rancor.
Luckily he didn't have to search through endless mental pathways to remember exactly what had afflicted him in this manner, his memory was quite clear on the whole series of events, though it didn't make it any easier on him. It would have been much simpler for him right then if he hadn't recalled the incident at all, because now the bit right before he passed out was replaying in his head.
It wasn't like it was the first time he'd almost told her. It wasn't the first by far. He'd thought about it so many times that it was almost second nature to have the idea wandering around in his head. It had become one of those comforting images in your mind that have never actually happened, and despite the fact that you could never bring yourself to truly act them out, it was consoling to have them stored for future use somewhere in your psyche.
He'd never gotten that close, though, never to the point where he had *seen* himself say it, seen himself in her eyes, about to whisper those few simple words. He'd almost done it too, almost blew years of worthless regrets right out into hyperspace, almost risked everything. Or rather, risked nothing.
As far as he'd known, he was going to die, he could have gone to that eternal summer, the proverbial happy town which all the fanatics he'd never believed always rambled on about. He hadn't had anything to loose right then, nothing holding him back, total freedom in those few seconds before what he'd though was certain fatality. Oh how he wanted those moments back, that liberty just for a few more seconds, long enough to follow through on that plan, that little idea which wanted so badly to realize itself.
What forced him away from the acting of this desire? What foolish little shackles bound his feet to this ridiculous path of so called maturity? Pride, regret, guilt, fear, pain, you name it and Han Solo had let it take over his life, ruling his every action for more than a decade now. His name was listed under idiot, coward, and arrogant in the encyclopedia of his intellect. Reality stings with truth and one that has taken so long to hit you tends to stab through you like a knife through the heart.
He wasn't the only one to blame, he knew, it took two of them to screw this whole thing up. In the beginning, it was him, but in the end it had been her that delivered the final punch to their relationship. Round three, Leia wins by knockout.
At the start of it all he was the problem, unwilling to let go of what was already gone, as if he could hurt the dead. But when he went to her apartment that day, the day when she would drive a thousand stakes through his heart, he had allowed himself to feel what they had between them, he let himself love her.
This was where the idiot bit came in. He'd been scammed, he'd made a real fool of himself. Sure, he loved her, but letting himself know it was the biggest mistake he could have made. When Bria died it had hurt him so badly that it felt as though his body had no room left to feel, he'd never wanted to go through that again. He'd invested so much in his wife, losing it all with her last breath, he didn't think he had anything left to give, or any willingness to do so. But he did it again, after holding back for ages, on that one night he'd done it again, only to have his heart ripped out and handed back to him after.
If Bria's death had filled each of his nerves with anguish, than Leia's betrayal had created entirely new ones only to desecrate and transgress against them. He'd offered her all he had to give, and she'd just tossed him aside, discarded him without a thought to console a rejected heart. She hadn't even cared one iota whether or not he even existed at that moment. He meant nothing to her.
What didn't make sense to him was the look on her face, that look of shear terror in her eyes that he'd seen before drifting into unconsciousness. After everything he'd convinced himself of, after all the conclusions he'd come to, how the hell could she have had that kind of fear for him? She had looked at him with the same dread of loss that he new too well and it didn't add up. He was one slap short of sobriety and he wasn't sure he wanted to reach it anyway.
Han lifted himself off his shoulders, supporting his weight on his good arm as he felt the signs of immobility in his abdominal region and the worthlessness of his other shoulder. He was positive that the junjat was an animal he could eat with a clear conscience.
As he rested his back against the wall behind him, he found himself facing Leia's sleeping form, which lay curled in a chair a few feet from his cot. She was wrapped in a woven blanket and resting in what appeared to be a rather uncomfortable position, with her head tilted to one side and propped up on her hand. By the looks of it, she'd been there all night.
Han smiled slightly at the thought, only to be interrupted as Leia's eyes fluttered open and she yawned, stretching her limbs a little before sitting upright.
"Good morning," Han said, his voice soft without his intention.
"Are you...?" she seemed to search for an appropriate term, as though "okay" really wasn't what she was meaning to ask.
"In one piece?" Han finished for her. "Yah, save for a few missing chunks I think I'm all here."
"Good." She looked down at her feet as they both went silent.
It was almost funny. They were in the same position they'd been in for eight years, the prostrate silence they'd built so well, only now they were there for different reasons. The rigid quiet was now present not because of the threat of argument, but because of the threat of a strange kind of peace.
"Before..." Han found himself speaking without even thinking, "... back there when we were alone I– "
Leia cut him off. "You were going to say something. I know." She didn't look at him, just kept staring at her hands which were clasped in front of her. Before Han could say anything more, she seemed to put on an entirely new face, adopting a calm and collected manner. "The Hodans are going to help us."
That was as plain in meaning as a slap in the face. Han felt crushed for a brief moment. He'd thought that perhaps it was all over, that maybe they were both to the point where they could talk, or would talk. But no, they were back at square on as far as Leia was concerned, she didn't want to discuss it.
He fell into play with her thread of conversation, "You mean the guys in loin clothes? How exactly?"
"Give them a little more credit than that, they saved your life, and they're not as primitive as they seem." Leia sat back in her chair. "They've offered to let us stay until you get better, but they've got bacta here so it shouldn't take to long."
"We have to get to that hanger, otherwise we're sitting ducks," Han protested. Lying around and waiting for their captors to come around wasn't his idea of a good plan.
"There's nothing there that we could use, they're all short range craft. Look," she handed his a datapad with some specs on the hanger, "The long range ship is in orbit."
Han sighed, "So what are our options then?"
"For now, we wait."
His smell and taste came in tandem as he took in the aroma of a mild incense, a flavor of fruit saturating it's presence, reminding Han of dulla berries and the way they looked when Jacen smeared them across his face as a child. The odor of raw alcohol entered his nose with a bite, forcing a twitch in his nostrils and a clouded memory of a bar fight and a hospital bed. He couldn't make out the time and date of either event, but he made an educated guess at which one had come first.
He opened his eyes next, finding them willing to cooperate for the time being and deciding it to be a wise decision to employ them. At first all he saw were blurs of an off-white and tan mixture, striated with lines of dark brown at high frequency, but as his eyes adjusted, he found himself facing the underside of a thatch-type roof which sported a small opening in the center, out of which escaped some moderate smoke from the fire he'd smelt earlier. Through the opening he could see a balmy blue sky and the edges of tree branches poking in from the sides.
The last sensation to fill in was his sense of touch, and he was made immediately aware of what a bad idea it had been to reinstate the feeling. He grit his teeth as his shoulder and torso informed him quite vividly of their rather impaled state, aching and throbbing so as to more eloquently communicate their point. He felt as though he'd just been given a deep tissue massage by a rancor.
Luckily he didn't have to search through endless mental pathways to remember exactly what had afflicted him in this manner, his memory was quite clear on the whole series of events, though it didn't make it any easier on him. It would have been much simpler for him right then if he hadn't recalled the incident at all, because now the bit right before he passed out was replaying in his head.
It wasn't like it was the first time he'd almost told her. It wasn't the first by far. He'd thought about it so many times that it was almost second nature to have the idea wandering around in his head. It had become one of those comforting images in your mind that have never actually happened, and despite the fact that you could never bring yourself to truly act them out, it was consoling to have them stored for future use somewhere in your psyche.
He'd never gotten that close, though, never to the point where he had *seen* himself say it, seen himself in her eyes, about to whisper those few simple words. He'd almost done it too, almost blew years of worthless regrets right out into hyperspace, almost risked everything. Or rather, risked nothing.
As far as he'd known, he was going to die, he could have gone to that eternal summer, the proverbial happy town which all the fanatics he'd never believed always rambled on about. He hadn't had anything to loose right then, nothing holding him back, total freedom in those few seconds before what he'd though was certain fatality. Oh how he wanted those moments back, that liberty just for a few more seconds, long enough to follow through on that plan, that little idea which wanted so badly to realize itself.
What forced him away from the acting of this desire? What foolish little shackles bound his feet to this ridiculous path of so called maturity? Pride, regret, guilt, fear, pain, you name it and Han Solo had let it take over his life, ruling his every action for more than a decade now. His name was listed under idiot, coward, and arrogant in the encyclopedia of his intellect. Reality stings with truth and one that has taken so long to hit you tends to stab through you like a knife through the heart.
He wasn't the only one to blame, he knew, it took two of them to screw this whole thing up. In the beginning, it was him, but in the end it had been her that delivered the final punch to their relationship. Round three, Leia wins by knockout.
At the start of it all he was the problem, unwilling to let go of what was already gone, as if he could hurt the dead. But when he went to her apartment that day, the day when she would drive a thousand stakes through his heart, he had allowed himself to feel what they had between them, he let himself love her.
This was where the idiot bit came in. He'd been scammed, he'd made a real fool of himself. Sure, he loved her, but letting himself know it was the biggest mistake he could have made. When Bria died it had hurt him so badly that it felt as though his body had no room left to feel, he'd never wanted to go through that again. He'd invested so much in his wife, losing it all with her last breath, he didn't think he had anything left to give, or any willingness to do so. But he did it again, after holding back for ages, on that one night he'd done it again, only to have his heart ripped out and handed back to him after.
If Bria's death had filled each of his nerves with anguish, than Leia's betrayal had created entirely new ones only to desecrate and transgress against them. He'd offered her all he had to give, and she'd just tossed him aside, discarded him without a thought to console a rejected heart. She hadn't even cared one iota whether or not he even existed at that moment. He meant nothing to her.
What didn't make sense to him was the look on her face, that look of shear terror in her eyes that he'd seen before drifting into unconsciousness. After everything he'd convinced himself of, after all the conclusions he'd come to, how the hell could she have had that kind of fear for him? She had looked at him with the same dread of loss that he new too well and it didn't add up. He was one slap short of sobriety and he wasn't sure he wanted to reach it anyway.
Han lifted himself off his shoulders, supporting his weight on his good arm as he felt the signs of immobility in his abdominal region and the worthlessness of his other shoulder. He was positive that the junjat was an animal he could eat with a clear conscience.
As he rested his back against the wall behind him, he found himself facing Leia's sleeping form, which lay curled in a chair a few feet from his cot. She was wrapped in a woven blanket and resting in what appeared to be a rather uncomfortable position, with her head tilted to one side and propped up on her hand. By the looks of it, she'd been there all night.
Han smiled slightly at the thought, only to be interrupted as Leia's eyes fluttered open and she yawned, stretching her limbs a little before sitting upright.
"Good morning," Han said, his voice soft without his intention.
"Are you...?" she seemed to search for an appropriate term, as though "okay" really wasn't what she was meaning to ask.
"In one piece?" Han finished for her. "Yah, save for a few missing chunks I think I'm all here."
"Good." She looked down at her feet as they both went silent.
It was almost funny. They were in the same position they'd been in for eight years, the prostrate silence they'd built so well, only now they were there for different reasons. The rigid quiet was now present not because of the threat of argument, but because of the threat of a strange kind of peace.
"Before..." Han found himself speaking without even thinking, "... back there when we were alone I– "
Leia cut him off. "You were going to say something. I know." She didn't look at him, just kept staring at her hands which were clasped in front of her. Before Han could say anything more, she seemed to put on an entirely new face, adopting a calm and collected manner. "The Hodans are going to help us."
That was as plain in meaning as a slap in the face. Han felt crushed for a brief moment. He'd thought that perhaps it was all over, that maybe they were both to the point where they could talk, or would talk. But no, they were back at square on as far as Leia was concerned, she didn't want to discuss it.
He fell into play with her thread of conversation, "You mean the guys in loin clothes? How exactly?"
"Give them a little more credit than that, they saved your life, and they're not as primitive as they seem." Leia sat back in her chair. "They've offered to let us stay until you get better, but they've got bacta here so it shouldn't take to long."
"We have to get to that hanger, otherwise we're sitting ducks," Han protested. Lying around and waiting for their captors to come around wasn't his idea of a good plan.
"There's nothing there that we could use, they're all short range craft. Look," she handed his a datapad with some specs on the hanger, "The long range ship is in orbit."
Han sighed, "So what are our options then?"
"For now, we wait."
