The morning had come all too swiftly as far as Han was concerned, not allowing him time enough to rest himself or to resolve the conflicts in his mind which seemed to rage without end. All he had left in the quiet of the village was a few more minutes, and it wasn't nearly enough. He didn't want to finish this little venture, not really. Sure he wanted to see his friends and son, but the truth was, he didn't want to go back to being what he was.

It had been inching it's way into his head for a while now, the thoughts of what a ridiculous little man he'd shown himself to be over the last ten years, and how much he hated himself for it. The Han Solo who craved action had faded with the last battles of the civil war, and replaced himself with a pathetic, weak old man, teetering on the precipice of complete sanity.

He'd never wanted that, he'd never wanted to wither away, to accept the fate that a so-called destiny might hand him. The captain of the /Millennium Falcon/ made his own luck. But the Admiral of the New Republic fleet sat in an office the size of a freighter and gave out scanning orders. There was a huge, gaping line between the two, and Han had crossed it without even knowing. This was an existence he hadn't signed on for.

He couldn't believe how far he'd let himself go because of one event so long ago. One feeling. One little touch. One woman. He made himself suffer for all the stupidity of it, unwilling to admit that his pride was the most ludicrous of all his stumblings. Well, if there was one thing that had smacked him in the face with it's clarity after the whole debacle on Hodan, it was his the presence of his own arrogance. This was something he wouldn't allow to strangle him any longer.

He looked down at the pile of clothes on the table next to him, leaning forward on his seat and taking the garments in hand. His dress uniform. He hated it. It had no purpose other than to make him look like a regal idiot on special occasions which he never liked to celebrate anyway. His medals still gleamed from the torn fabric of the shirt, shouting their praises of Bravery, Honor, Valor, Courage... all the things he'd let go. Where was the little button that read "Han Solo: Broken, Weak, and Decaying?" There was a medal with a little more truth.

He tossed the uniform into the fire which burned in the center of the room. The first order of business upon his arrival at home: resignation. It was a start. Maybe then he could spend a little more time on things that mattered, maybe something he even things he enjoyed. Hell, he'd haul cargo for the rest of his life as long as it meant that he, Jacen, and Chewie could have a run in with pirates every once in a while. An adventure would do the kid some good, and it wouldn't be bad for the rest of them either.

An exhale escaped his lungs as his chest seemed to become lighter and burdens of the past evaporated from their place of dominance over his heart. There was more that remained, but he knew all to well how to break it's hold. The question was whether or not he would allow himself to take the necessary action.



But to offer up one's heart, even if just the broken pieces, and have it refused... Humiliating was a word that came to mind but for Han it was somehow amazingly understated. A picture of several large rancors pounding him into the ground seemed more accurate.

He had thought about what they're life would be like, with Jacen, another boy and a girl, sleeping under the Sunsets of some exotic world when they were out camping on the beach. Han, of course, would be complaining about the sand as Leia looked on, laughing and watching as the kids snuck up behind him and drug him into the surf. They could have had those good times. He could have been a good father, a good husband. It all seemed lost to him now.

That was what he'd offered Leia, little bits of happiness in a harsh and unforgiving galaxy. He'd offered it to her every time he looked into her eyes, but it wasn't enough. When she refused it was a blow to his head he hadn't imagined possible. He'd wanted to argue, but Isolder offered a life of luxury and power, he merely offered one of butterfly kisses in the moonlight and the promise of that funny little feeling in his heart.

There was a time in his life when Han Solo could call him self a bachelor, a man whose affections were held by no single woman in the whole of the galaxy, a man who played the universe for all it had and harbored no plans of settling down. Those were the good old days when he could count himself as simple minded, all he needed was a reason to fly and a round of drinks every once in a while. Ignorance is bliss, he'd been told, and boy had it been true. He hadn't let himself know what love meant, the meaning of emotions he'd just locked away for the sake of a good time. He missed ignorance like a man in the desert misses the sight of something living.

If he'd known that knowledge brought this kind of pain he'd never have accepted it. But then again, he had the memory of every little touch locked up inside his head. Every kiss, every caress of her hand, every moment of that single night they had, it was all alive and well inside his mind. As much as he hated himself for what he'd become, as much as he hated how he felt, he didn't want to forget those things. Every time he saw ringlets of her hair drop into her face, it was worth the stabbing his heart went through to see her so distant.

As he remembered the glint in her eyes as she stared back into his soul, accepting fate didn't seem so easy. He didn't want to die with the light in those eyes turned grey, to leave her to fade away. It wasn't worth the pride and emotional vanity to rob the universe of something he treasured so.

He'd hated the memories of her for so long that it was hard to pull them from the pool of malice he'd steeped them into. The tiny measure of pride kicked him in the proverbial ass for it as well as he finally realized what he was costing himself. What he'd done too himself was ridiculous, but the part he'd played in what they'd done to each other was pure lunacy.

As he watched his Republic insignias and regalia burn and melt into oblivion, he finally admitted to himself that it hadn't been all her fault. All that time he'd hated her out of not wanting to accept his own failings. He'd started the problem with his fear and distance along time ago, and he hadn't let up since.



~Gods, what an idiot.~

"Han?" He heard Leia's voice as if it were echoing in some canyon on Tatooine as she entered the room, pulling him from his thoughts.

Han removed his gave from the fire in front of his and looked up at her.

Leia made a quick glance at the fire and it's contents before continuing, "Are you ready to go?"

Han nodded, grabbing the pack that sat on the floor next to his feet and pulling it over his shoulders. "Let's get this show on the road."