Signs of Life

By JalendaviLady

Chapter 5

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Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars.

If you recognize any characters, locations, or things in the following story, George Lucas owns them.

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Leia woke slowly to the sensation of something warm next to her.

Then, she heard the snores. Han… stayed…? Here?

She drowsily opened her eyes, registered his face about a foot away, and snuggled back into her pillow.

A quiet moment.

HAN STAYED HERE!?!?

She sat up quickly, keeping the sheets tucked close around her – she was fully dressed, but human instinct is human instinct. The motion pulled them from under Han, rolling him onto the floor with a firm undeniable thud.

A mumble, followed by a soft "Owww…."

"Han, what in the universe are you still doing here?" Leia demanded, looking down at the ex-smuggler.

"Guarding you. Some people not happy about what's going on with your father and the Executor defecting," he mumbled, trying to get up.

"And you sleeping on my bed—without my permission, I might add—is going to help protect me from that?"

He lifted his head, gave her a wry smile, and said, "Would you rather I had been in your bed rather than on it?"

"URGH!" She threw a pillow at his head.

He caught it.

She grabbed another pillow and paused. "The Executor defected?"

"Mon told the Admiral and General aboard it what happened on the Death Star. Apparently Piett and Veers' loyalty was to Vader rather than to the Empire. That and some information that came out of the medcenter a few hours ago."

"How long was I asleep?"

"Nearly a standard day." He sat up.

No wonder he fell asleep. "What's going on with Anakin and Luke?"

"Luke's been started on some sort of critical care therapy—he's apparently too sick to be put in bacta yet. Won't give anyone but you and Mothma details—privacy policies and so on. Personally, I think it sounds like they might not let him regain consciousness for weeks."

Tears started rolling down her face. Han got up and sat next to her, arm around her shoulders. "They think he'll recover fully, but that it will take time, and care, and support from friends and family," he told her softly.

She sniffed a moment, then, shakily, "And Anakin?"

"Fit to wake up whenever he wants to. They took him off the sedatives about an hour ago. One of the medics said she thought he'd wake up in about thirty minutes, if not sooner."

"Then leave and let me change, He'll recognize that I'm in the same clothing, think I haven't rested all day…"

"Fine. I'll wait just outside the door." He got up and walked out.

Leia ruffled through her closet, looking for anything casual. She quickly grabbed a dark brown roughly woven brown shirt and a similarly made light brown shirt she had worn a few times while undercover. Easy to wash, and comfortable. She slipped on a pair of deck slippers, grabbed her ID, and headed out.

They headed towards the medcenter. "Mon Mothma, one of the chief medics, Veers, and Piett are meeting us there," Han told her as they walked. "Chewie and Lando figured they'd better not be around until he really understands that he's got friends here."

"Wouldn't they want quiet down there?"

"Second thing he's going to ask… no, third thing… will be what his condition is and what the medics need to do to him." They stepped into a turbolift. "He'll need as much support as he can get."

"How bad is it?"

"6 months total minimum before he can leave." He leaned against the wall of the lift. "That's healing and therapy. 5 months or more of therapy in the medcenter, and who knows how much more after they let him leave."

"He's not going to be happy about that."

"He'll be less happy when he finds out why."

The lift door started to open. Leia smacked the door close button. "What's going on?" An uncomfortable silence. "Spill it, flyboy!!!"

"From what the medics can piece together from his current condition and his Imperial medical records, he's artificially dependent on full life support. He was put in the suit while he was still healing and adjusted to it as he healed. Might have been solved by 2 months intense therapy followed by a few years of low level therapy 20 years ago."

"Force help him," Leia whispered.

"Or so the rumor by way of Piett from Mon Mothma goes." He put a hand on her shoulder. "His first question will be about Luke. The medics will tell him as much as they can without details, sugarcoat what can be sugarcoated. His second question, after he calms down enough to talk again, will be about how you are doing. You need to reassure him, as much as you can. Knowing that you are ok will help him stay calm, I think. After that, he'll ask about himself, which is when he'll need help."

She managed a weak smile. "And you are sure of that sequence of events?"

"Betcha credit." He smiled back.

"You're on."

They kissed.

Just as the door opened.

...

Mon Mothma would have chuckled, had it not been indecorous to do so. Princesses kissing smugglers in turbolifts. What'll be next, queens wedding slaves?

Truth be told, she did wish the young couple the best luck possible. Leia had a bold streak in her few could hope to understand or keep up with and Han had a moral dignity that was hard to place.

Even to a world-weary old politician, it seemed that the Force had made them for each other, somehow.

Piett was laughing behind his hand, eyes twinkling.

Veers called out something in Huttese that made Han blush.

The two split, Han looking like he was going to start a diplomatic incident right then and there.

A medic wandered in. Everything was forgotten in the sudden clamor for information.

"Quiet, everyone. This is a medcenter, not a circus," she ordered. "Commander Skywalker seems to finally be stabilized; we're letting him rest for a while with physical aid until we're sure, then we start the bacta dunks. He's still in very bad shape. We're giving him the best care we can. Until we can do a more thorough examination without hurting him, all that can really be said is that he is suffering from the effects of what seems to be the worst lightning strike any of us on the medcenter staff have ever heard of."

"And Anakin?" Mon Mothma asked. There's nothing we can do for Luke right now other than let the medics do their jobs. Anakin's going to need help, emotional if nothing else.

"He's starting to wake up. I'll let you all head back in a moment. He's on extensive life-support in one of the long-term private recovery rooms. He is to get no information about his or Luke's condition unless he asks for it, and even then all he needs to hear is that Luke is hurt but being cared for and that he himself is going to be in the medcenter for a while undergoing long-term therapy that will hopefully reduce the amount of life-support he is on. He is not to be told the details of Luke's condition nor is he to be told the details of why he needs long-term therapy if that can be avoided for the time being."

Everyone gave signs of agreement.

"Then let's head back."

She led them back through the depths of the medcenter, into the relatively quiet areas in the center where the various surgical recovery and long-term stay rooms were.

Mon Mothma was slightly surprised to discover she was apprehensive about finally seeing the ex-Sith. She had previously had dealings with him in the Senate, but only cursory. Pardoning him was one thing—there was more than enough proof that he had changed and everyone in the upper echelons of the Alliance seemed to see it, Bothan politicians aside. Besides, there was a war hero begging for him to have a second chance and listening to such a request was the least they could have done for someone who had already spent 3 years in a medcenter and was quite likely to be staying in one for many more years. Meeting Anakin, while in the company of his former associates—and potential continuing associates, depending on how things stood between he and the two ex-Imperials—and his daughter was something else. Even Han seemed to belong in the group more than she did.

I suppose I had better get used to it. People see me as the leader of the Rebellion so firmly that I barely belong anywhere not directly linked to politics. Even here, I feel more like I'm making the political statement of a leader checking in on her recently pardoned former enemy than the human statement of supporting my friend—if Leia considers me that and not simply her leader and mentor—and her family through a very rough time. I don't belong here as a human. Only as a political figure.

It was a sobering and disturbing thought.

Then, they were at the door, the medic ushered them in, and all she could do was stand still, horrified at the condition of the wrecked human body lying in the bed.

...