"Look, Han, I appreciate what you did, but I'm fine," Charon said as she followed the smuggler up the boarding ramp of the Falcon. She'd left the medic bay in the clothes she'd worn in the night before; a white sleeveless tunic she kept tucked in a pair of white pants, tucked in a pair of gray knee-high boots. The contrast really made the black and blue bruises stick out, and Han couldn't help wondering how she was going to explain her appearance to her crew when they got back from leave.

"I know you are," he replied, knowing better than to argue with her.

"I just want to get back to the ferry," she told him.

"I know, but this is closer."

"And where's Chewie?" she inquired.

"I think he found a female wookiee he decided to visit with," Han answered.

Charon laughed and commented, "Hope springs eternal."

"That another figure of speech from your galaxy?" Han asked.

"Beats me."

"Look, Charon," he stopped and turned to her, "I feel terrible about last night, I'd like to apologize, properly. So why don't you come in and I can do it over a cold bottle of Corellian brandy?"

"Nobody drinks brandy cold," she told him.

"Well I like it that way," Han responded.

She looked at him in amusement and noted, "You always were a strange one, Han Solo."

"Thanks for noticing," he replied.

"I guess one drink won't kill me," she said as she followed him onto the ship.

They'd had one drink, the brandy was strong stuff but not strong enough for one glass to do much more than take the edge off. Han decided it was worth risking anyway.

"I know you don't want to talk about this...neither do I...but I have to ask," he approached the subject cautiously, "what happened last night...was it because of me? Did this guy come looking for information about me?"

She looked at him and didn't even blink, but waited an appropriate beat to imply it was the truth as she answered, "No. Nothing like that."

"You wouldn't tell me if it was, so how do I know that's true?" Han pointed out.

She shook her head, "It wasn't anything like that...just...wrong place wrong time, or something."

As much as he did not want to have this conversation, he forced himself to ask, "What did happen?"

She shrugged, "We docked yesterday, I gave my men the week off, let them go out, blow off some steam, rest and recuperate...I figured what the hell? We're here for a week, I don't have to go out collecting passengers...I could take a night off, just go out and have some fun, and obviously I didn't go out in uniform...I got a few squares down and took in the scenery...and I passed by this alleyway, and someone just came up behind me and...blitzed me."

The rest remained unsaid.

"I'm sorry, Charon," Han told her.

She raised an eyebrow curiously, "Why? You didn't do it."

"No...but maybe it wouldn't have happened if I'd been here," he confessed.

"What do you mean?"

"I thought ending our marriage would keep you safe because you wouldn't keep getting caught in my problems...it really never dawned on me that this could happen when I was gone," he told her.

Charon shook her head, "It's not your fault, you couldn't have done anything to stop it."

"You don't know that."

"You can't keep beating yourself up over this, Han, this really isn't your problem anymore," Charon said as she stood up, "it hasn't been since we stopped being married."

"That seems very one sided," he pointed out, "every time we run into each other you're on my case about getting a new ship before the Falcon conks out permanently, about paying my debt to Jabba for me."

"Do you have any idea what'll happen if you don't?" she returned.

"You care," the words came out almost as an accusation, also partially in awe. Han explained, "Even though we're not married anymore, and haven't been for a long time, you care."

"Of course I do," she replied, "Do you really think I couldn't?"

"But I'm not supposed to?" he returned.

"This is something different entirely," Charon said.

"Yeah," Han nodded, "I'm not really all that worried about dying if something goes wrong, don't get me wrong, if I can avoid it I will at all costs, but when I can't anymore, the idea doesn't really bother me, because as soon as it does, I'm not going to know anything anyway...but I worry about you, I have ever since we took off on separate ships, every day I wondered if you were alright, if you were still alive, and it's never stopped. It doesn't happen near as much but I still worry about you, and how could I not worry now over something like this?"

"But you don't need to, I'm fine," Charon told him. "It's...it's really, almost, laughable, really."

"What do you mean?" Han asked skeptically.

"The whole thing is just so surreal...this kind of stuff just, doesn't happen when you're this age," Charon said. "It's something that happens when you're a dumb kid who doesn't know anything or gets cornered and can't get away...if you get to be as old I am without it already happening, then that's supposed to be it...it's not supposed to happen this far down the line."

"You got blitzed from behind, Charon, I don't think there's an age limit on that," Han pointed out.

"But it's just so ridiculous...admittedly, I don't really think had I been in uniform that it would've made much difference," she reluctantly confessed.

Han thought he was picking up on something she wasn't saying. "But there's a reason you went into the med bay dressed as a civilian."

"Nobody here knows me as anything except the ferryman, and I was going to be damned if I let anyone know this could happen to one of them," Charon told him. "This..."

The words froze in her throat, and Han felt they were nearing a boiling point.

Charon shook her head, trying to force the rest of her statement back down, she looked to the side and said, "This is something that would've happened when we were younger, when we were nobodies, when everyone hated us, when they chased us out of every sector we wound up in, that would make sense...I'm a damn ferryman, now, Han, I'm a captain, I have a crew of 30 men working under me-"

"Nobody's disputing any of that," he calmly replied, "Nobody's questioning your ability to do your job."

"This isn't about the job," she said. "The ferries may not have always been respected because they were slow and archaic, but the ferrymen themselves were always revered, they ran the largest ships outside of military vessels."

"And you spent a lot of time overhauling the whole system so now it is respected," Han pointed out.

"This isn't about that either," she deflected, "I belong to something now, I am something, I hold a position revered by some, feared by many, and what happened last night...doesn't happen to people like that. That'd be like saying it happens to a combat pilot or an admiral or a member of the Senate...it doesn't happen to people like that."

Han stared at her for a moment and said pointedly, "Combat pilots, admirals and members of the Senate, are all people, Charon...it doesn't matter what training they had, how much time they spend clawing their way to their title and rank, that's still all they are, people, this happens to people, all kinds of people."

"Obviously, because there's an exact protocol for it at the med bay," Charon replied. There was a pause, and she inhaled, and said, "I guess it's better this happened now, and not back then."

Han's eyes narrowed grimly as he asked, "Why's that?"

She looked at him and answered, "Because this time when I went in, and I asked for the droid medics, I got them. Best way to do anything, they at least know how to treat you like a human being. They do what they are programmed to do, and all they can do is make you feel like an awkward lump of flesh while they work on you...not like some inferior sub-human piece of garbage who..."

The sudden silence caught Han Solo off guard. He looked at Charon and realized she'd frozen where she was in mid-step, her legs were stiff but her upper body flailed to maintain balance, the pain blocker must've kicked back in again like the medic warned her about. Before he could reach her Charon toppled over, her knees briefly unlocked just enough she fell on them and her hands instead of falling flat. There was silence for a couple seconds before a sudden ear-splitting guttural sob filled the room as Charon's upper body collapsed against the floor, curling into as much of a ball as possible with two numb legs.

Han moved towards Charon and knelt down on the floor beside her. He said nothing and just placed a hand on her back and slowly rubbed it, knowing as bruised as she was it was about impossible to touch her anywhere without hurting her. Despite this, he pressed his weight against her until he was practically on top of her, gambling that the physical contact would outweigh the pain. He felt the sharp gasping inhales under him that came out as soon as they were sucked in. Keeping one hand on Charon's back he cautiously reached around with his other hand and felt her grip his arm in both of her hands hard enough to cut off the blood circulation. He still didn't say anything, their relationship had never been based much on talking as it was, they had a way of usually knowing what the other was thinking to some degree, and it had worked for them.

He'd known this was coming. Maybe not this exactly, but he had a good idea something of this magnitude was going to break loose. He'd known it in the med bay when Charon talked to the doctor, he half expected her to lose it then and there, any lesser person it would've been totally understandable, but he knew her better than that. That was why he felt right now that he knew exactly what was going on here, and it wasn't what most people might assume. Sure, what happened last night had a large part in this, but Han suspected it was more likely just the circuit that finally shorted the droid's system, and that this in fact had been a long time coming.

In his head he went over everything Charon had said since last night, and the word 'fine' kept surfacing. Charon had insisted she was fine, just like she always insisted she was 'fine'. She was 'fine' being treated and kept in the holding room, she was 'fine' when she had to be examined again by a human doctor, arguably the scourge of the galaxy. She was 'fine' when she had to be examined in full view of he and Chewie, she was 'fine' when he could tell she was just barely holding it together demanding to be discharged even against the doctor's advisement. She had to be 'fine' through it all, there was no way in hell she was going to lose it in front of him, or Chewbacca, and especially not that doctor. He understood, he really did. As she'd said, she had a crew of 30 men working under her, she had to be 'fine' for when they left dock in five days, she couldn't run the ferry and be in charge of her crew if she went all to pieces. She always said she was 'fine', just like he always said he was 'fine', because they always had to be 'fine', because they couldn't ever not be 'fine', because if you ever weren't 'fine', either people treated you like you had a plague, or they just ignored altogether whatever it was that made you 'not fine' like it was a non-issue. Or behind door number 3, they found out you weren't 'fine' and made you or your life a thousand times worse because they saw their opportunity.

It was the same old thing, the way it had always been, ever since he was a kid on Corellia. You get punched in the face and knocked on your butt by somebody bigger, you get back up, you either struck back for blood or you learned to brush it off and accept it, and if anyone asked you were 'fine'. Just like you spent your whole life accepting things and saying you were 'fine' in spite of them, because the truth was there just wasn't any other choice, especially for people like them, who had no family and no support. Once people found out what your weaknesses were they exploited them, so you learned not to show the chinks in your armor, you never let anyone see your weak points, you never let anyone see you fall to pieces. It didn't make for good survival. You had to durasteel yourself against anything and everything that could be thrown at you, and no matter what, when you turned around and walked, or hobbled, or were carried away...or were court-martialed for something you didn't even do and a five year career as a TIE fighter pilot was suddenly over, you were 'fine'.

You were 'fine' when you got the hell beat out of you for whatever reason, you were 'fine' when people threw rocks and bottles at you because they didn't like where you came from, you were 'fine' when you were chased out of town by a mob of violent morons who blamed you for everything going wrong in the community. You were 'fine' when you got mugged in the middle of the night and nearly killed, you were 'fine' when you starved for days at a time trying to get a ride with anyone leaving the planet, you were 'fine' when you were herded through a sick bay like livestock and manhandled and accused of wasting the medics' time, because they had more important patients to tend to. No matter what happened, you were always 'fine', because you had no alternative. The local Authorities were never any help and there was no one in your corner to back you up, so you learned to brush off everything possible because most times there wasn't anything you could do about it anyway, and the times you actually could were few and far between. You moved on and you never talked about it, not to anyone else, not to yourself, because somehow even that seemed to be a bad omen that would just make things even worse than they already were.

It was a good philosophy for getting through life, the problem was sooner or later it all caved in on you. Charon always told him she was 'fine, just like he always told Chewie that he was 'fine', simply because aside from the big hairball, no one else ever asked him or gave a damn if he was or not. You just get so damn sick of being 'fine' all the time, so damn sick of having to be 'fine' all the time. Even if you ever had an opportunity to fall apart, you still couldn't admit that you weren't 'fine', you blamed it on something else, oh you were just drunk and things got a little carried away, it'd been a bad day, never admit it had been a bad 30-some years in general and you were sick to death of the whole thing.

It took a lot of doing working around Charon's legs that were currently a dead weight, but Han finally managed to sit back against the wall and pull Charon up so she leaned back against him, every time she inhaled it still shot right back out as a gut wrenching sob, he didn't even know where she was still finding the oxygen to do it. He figured sooner or later she'd have to wear out, and when that finally happened he could easily see both of them falling asleep like this, and then he'd be the one with no circulation in his legs. Han kept his arms wrapped around Charon's torso but he didn't try to say anything, even though he had a pretty good idea what she was going through, he knew she wouldn't want to hear it. Instead he paid attention to his own controlled breathing and waited for any signs of her wearing down. Given just how much stuff they'd gone through in their lives the two years they were together, and how much more she went through that he didn't even know about, he didn't see that happening anytime soon.

Han had no idea how much time had passed, he felt like he'd about fallen asleep, but he was aware of how much quieter it had gotten. Not quiet, Charon's throat had to be raw by now but her breathing still came out as low gasping sobs, but nowhere near as loud as before. He could feel her body sagging against his more now than before, like she'd lost whatever strength she'd been holding onto. He looked and saw her legs were splayed in front of her and not moving, he watched the toes of her boots, no movement at all, so possibly the pain blocker still hadn't worn off. And as far as being 'not fine' went, they didn't come much worse than half your body being paralyzed, even if it was only temporary that was no comfort while you waited for it to wear off.

The Corellian smuggler felt exhausted like he'd been the one put through all this, his head felt foggy but he tried to think of a plan, he thought for a few minutes, and an idea came to him. He slowly maneuvered himself out from under the weight of Charon's body, then moved to get up, and kept one arm around Charon's back and slipped the other one under her thighs and lifted her off the floor as he stood up. Charon was well past the point of forming words, but a louder choked sob escaped her as her body jerked from the sudden movement.

"I know, I know," Han quietly soothed as he walked towards the fresher with her in tow, "Come on."

Han Solo might not be the smartest person who ever lived, but there were a few things he knew for fact. One of those things was when he and Charon were together all those years ago, each was the other's only source of comfort, and it worked, part of it was just the resilience of their youth, but in the end it didn't really matter what anybody did to them, because they had each other and they could move on from there. They might not be married anymore but he didn't see any reason why the same rules didn't apply now. He also knew that what qualified as sick bay clean differed from fresher clean: they got you disinfected and sanitized, but it only made you feel sterile, not clean, so he laid Charon out on his bunk, got her undressed, stripped down himself and currently found himself crouched down under the running water as he got her washed up, knowing again any contact with the bruises was painful but it couldn't be avoided. Charon sat on the floor of the shower with her her head tipped down, largely unresponsive as he got the soap out of her hair, an occasional moaning sob worked loose as he moved down to scrub her back and her shoulders.

Broad shoulders and a back to accommodate them. He remembered, it was something most people never saw, not like he did, not as intimately as he did, and that heightened how much he loved it. A thin build but not a tiny frame, it was fun having a girlfriend who could wear your clothes, more so when they actually fit fairly well.

He didn't know where his mind wandered but he was quickly drawn back to the present by another pained sob as he made contact with a larger bruise.

"Sorry," he said, feeling a pang of guilt gnawing at his stomach.

The steam seemed to be getting thicker and he was finding it harder to breathe, so he changed the water temperature, and let out a shocked, high pitched yelp when ice cold water ran down his back, Charon however didn't respond.

Han smirked mischievously as he entered the room and told Charon, holding up the evidence, "Don't tell Chewie, I stole his pillow."

After getting them both dried off and out of the fresher, Han got Charon half dressed in as she so eloquently put it, her 'under things' and her sleeveless tunic, the way he remembered she preferred sleeping when they didn't have to run off in the middle of the night, and put her in his bed with another glass of Corellian brandy, which had become a third, and then a fourth. She already had two pillows under her head and she groggily smiled at him as he slipped the extra one under her back.

"How're you feeling?" he asked.

She smirked blearily as she raised her glass and said, "You know, this ship fuel you call brandy seems to be working pretty well, I'm starting to get some feeling back in my legs, but I think I'm starting to lose it everywhere else."

Han sat on the edge of the bunk and looked at her. Despite the bruises, she looked good now.

"How're you doing?" he asked.

She looked at him, and blinked. "Better," she said honestly. "Thank you."

"Have you thought about what you're going to tell your guys when they come back from leave?" Han asked.

Charon noisily inhaled a long breath and huffed it back out as she looked up towards the ceiling and seemed to be contemplating the idea.

"They won't see anything except my face," she said logically, "I'll tell them that one of the droids malfunctioned and tried to kill me...as old as some of them are and as many times as we've had to press out the kinks in them, it's definitely plausible."

Han saw Charon's eyelids growing heavy, and every time she blinked they stayed shut a little longer than before, then her arm dropped off the side of the bed, almost dropping the empty brandy glass. Han grabbed it just before it hit the floor and took it away. He came back and Charon looked asleep, he grabbed the sheet and straightened it out over her.

A hand reached up and grabbed his wrist.

"Han..." Charon just barely got her eyes open to look up at him.

"I'm right here, Charon, what is it?"

"Stay..."

The word was so quiet he almost didn't hear it. Her eyes opened a slit more and she told him, "Stay with me, please."

He was stunned for a few seconds, he finally recovered and responded, "A-alright."

It was a tight fit the two of them in one bunk but they'd slept in far worse positions before, at least this time they had an actual bed, it took him back.

"Wha're you thinking?" Charon tiredly slurred.

Han chuckled, "Never could get anything past you, could I?"

"Nope," she answered, never turning to face him, never even opening her eyes, "Whas'it?"

"Oh...just thinking..."

"'bout what?"

"Maybe we both wasted the last dozen or so years. I thought you'd be safe if we weren't married anymore, if no one knew about us, if they never found out about us...and then something like this happens anyway."

"You wan' ge' married a'gan?" Charon was surprisingly coherent for how close to unconscious she was.

He laughed, "Trust me, I'd love nothing more."

"But you don' think 'is a good idea," she said.

He shook his head, knowing she could feel it. "I'm sorry, I don't...if we'd done it when we first met up again, maybe...but now..."

"I un'erstan'," she replied.

"Charon?"

"Hmm?"

Han rolled over and kissed her, the way he used to when they were young and married, the way he remembered doing that day in the med bay incinerator room, the way he hadn't dared since they ran away from Tarfooth, because he was terrified he wouldn't be able to walk away from her if he did. Now he was too terrified of losing her to care. It wouldn't matter, time and circumstances would separate them again soon enough.

The Falcon was quiet when Chewbacca came on board and there was no response to his echoing growls. He checked the cockpit first, no one there, and made his way through the rooms. He stopped in the bunk room when he saw Han and Charon in bed together, both dressed, she on her back and he on his side pressed against her. Chewie took a few steps over towards them and lowly chattered, nothing.

After all the turmoil that had taken place in the last 24 hours, this seemed like as good of a resolve to the wookiee as anything. Humans were hard to figure out, it was obvious that these two loved each other once, and though neither would admit it, still did, but for some reason they felt a need to lie about it. Well, that wasn't any of his business.

Han woke up and felt something moving against his leg. His first thought as he jerked out of sleep was that a baby womp rat got on board the ship somehow. He looked for his blaster but couldn't find it, he'd settle for beating it to death with his boot. He sat up and pulled back the sheet-

And saw the thing that had been touching him was Charon's foot. He dropped his boot and watched as it moved up and down, up and down methodically and every so often her toes would wiggle or curl. It took him a few seconds to realize the pain blocker finally wore off, for good this time he hoped, and that when Charon woke up she'd be able to walk, and leave the Falcon, and leave him again. Oh well, such was life, everybody had somewhere to be and something to do. As long as they both managed to stay alive, and he didn't see any reason why they shouldn't, the odds were good they would meet again someday somewhere.

He got up on his knees and hovered over Charon watching her sleep. He felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, he'd done everything that physically he could do to help her...the hard part was still to come, and it ate him up that he wouldn't be there for it. She'd walk back on her ferry alone, and she would be alone when they left the docking station, and she would be alone the nights that the memories of what happened all came flooding back. And, he sighed reluctantly, he knew that she would handle it, with the same expertise she'd been handling everything else she'd had to live through. No one would ever be the wiser, no one ever was.

This shouldn't have happened. That was the one constant thought that had been bouncing around Han Solo's head for the last two days. No matter how he looked at it, this should not have happened. That it had, let alone when he was actually docked on the same planet, hell, just a few city squares away from the ferry, it made him feel like he'd failed. Like somehow he was personally responsible for what had taken place the other night. Even though he knew better, he still couldn't shake that nagging feeling from the back of his mind. He felt like he'd failed Charon, and he'd stormed out of the med bay that night determined to make things right, the best he could.