Disclaimer: I don't own any of these guys, I'm just borrowing them for a while.
Warning: Less whiny Luke, but Han has to deal with some graphic medical stuff, so if that makes you squeamish. . . .
A Change of Plans: Chapter 3
"Don't we have anything to eat on this bucket of bolts?" Han was angrily and noisily rummaging around in the galley for something edible besides ration bars, so he barely heard Chewie's reply.
"I threw it in the garbage," the smuggler growled back to his first mate's suggestion that he eat the food he'd picked up on Ryall. "It was starting to smell funny, and--let's face it. The pudding was BLUE!"
The Wookie started to laugh at Han's predicament and his obvious chagrin, and Han, in return, threw his darkest glare back at him. Frustrated, hungry, and undeniably cranky, he finally snatched a ration bar out of the storage unit and unwillingly began to eat it.
"These things have the taste and consistency of dried mud, you know that?" he bellowed.
In response, Chewie playfully smacked Han across the back of the head and reprimanded him on several points.
Han countered, "I am not cranky, and I am not going to wake the kid up! Believe me, I wouldn't want to! The past four hours have been quiet and peaceful."
Chewie laughed sarcastically.
"Look, pal, while you were napping here in the Falcon, I was dodging bounty hunters! I'm now hungry and tired, so allow me the minor luxury of venting on my own ship, will ya'?" To punctuate his words, he took a violent bite out of his ration bar, struggling not to grimace at its awfulness as he stormed away toward the cockpit.
Falling into the pilot's seat, he blew out all his frustrations in a loud huff. As he did so, a slow satisfied grin crossed his face. Blowing up like that had felt good. It was more like the Han Solo he knew. Not this overly concerned rebel assistant he'd become in the last two months. For the past four hours, he'd been alone with Chewie as the Falcon traveled through hyperspace, and he'd enjoyed it. They'd argued, played a game of holochess, and performed a few minor repairs, just like they always did on hyperspace trips. And as the hours ticked by, Han had begun to disassociate himself from the young rebel who occupied the medical bunk. The kid was just a charter for which he'd be paid when the Falcon reached its destination. That was all. End of story. He'd get paid, and then he'd kiss the rebellion and her worshipfulness goodbye.
Han swallowed. That last thought had been strangely unsettling. An image of himself kissing the princess unexpectedly formed in his mind, and the effect it had on him was unnerving. He shook his head. He hated that woman! That girl, really! She was barely out of childhood, and yet she had the nerve to boss him around and insult him at every turn. To make matters worse, she was good at it. That princess had a sharp head on her shoulders, that was undeniable. And she had a lot of spirit and determination; he had to give her that. She commanded attention, and she always got it, even from him. She wasn't bad to look at either.
He shook his head again to clear it of the unexpected turn his thoughts had taken. The last person he wanted to be thinking about was the princess. That was certain. She was too young, too idealistic, and too committed to a cause for his tastes. She'd suckered him into too many runs with the Rebellion, and he'd grown to resent it. After all, his ship was already marked because of the events surrounding the Death Star's destruction. He didn't need to draw any more of the Empire's attention toward the Falcon than it had already received. If he could change the past, he would. But since that was impossible, it was time to focus on the future and distancing himself from the Rebellion. If he didn't, paying off Jabba was going to be next to impossible. No one would hire a guy whose ship was on the Empire's most wanted list. He needed his anonymity. It was time to start seeking it.
Satisfied with his resolve, he rose from his chair and moved toward the maintenance hatch where Chewie was busily working on the power couplings for the shield generators. He'd noticed a fluctuation on the way to Ryall, and it was imperative that the shields were in full working order before they ran into any kind of trouble.
"Need a hand?" Han asked as he approached the Wookie who was in the middle of fusing to ends of a coil together.
For a split second, Chewie looked up at Han's inquiry. That was all it took for the welder to slip in the Wookie's hand and for Han's senses to be assaulted by the sound of Chewie's pain-filled howl and the stench of burnt Wookie hair. The welder fell to the floor with a clatter as Chewie clutched his singed fingers.
"Chewie!" Han cried. "How bad is it?"
At his first mate's agonized response, Han quickly headed aft.
"I'm grabbing the medkit, Chewie," he hollered as he ran. "Just hang on." He palmed open the door to the sleeping cabin and moved as quietly as he could while still being quick about it. The last thing he wanted to do was to wake Luke up and listen to his whining again, but he needed the medkit, which was stored right above the kid's bunk. Carefully grabbing the case, he slipped back out of the cabin and ran back to Chewie.
"Burn salve and a bandage, right?" Han asked as he reached his copilot.
Chewie nodded, and Han smiled. This wasn't the first time Chewie had received such a burn, and it was not likely to be the last. In fact, Han had administered this treatment no less than four times in the past. Of course, other sentient beings would likely demand a painkiller and some synthflesh if faced with the same injury, but Chewie wouldn't have it. And Han had learned long ago not to question or challenge a Wookie.
It did not take long for Han to administer first aid, even though it made him grimace to do so. The burn was not as bad as some others had been, but it still wasn't pleasant to deal with. As soon as he was finished, he packed up the medkit and looked over his handiwork.
"You gonna be able to operate the controls with that bandage like that?" he teased.
Chewie growled a response that was somewhat less than pleasant, and Han laughed.
"Is that any way to talk to your doctor?"
In reply, Chewie grumbled something under his breath that Han didn't quite catch before heading toward the cockpit. Han watched him leave with a smirk, and then stared at the medkit.
Did he want to put it back now? Or should he wait a while before re-entering the sleeping cabin and not risk waking a sick Luke Skywalker? It took him a while to decide, but in the end he chose to go ahead and put it back. After all, the kid hadn't awakened when he retrieved it, so he wasn't all that likely to wake up now.
He crept back into the cabin and silently placed the medkit back in its place above the bunk. Satisfied that he'd managed to be a silent as was humanly possible, he risked a glance at Luke just to make sure the kid hadn't stirred.
He immediately wished he hadn't. With a concerned frown, he leaned forward to get a closer look at what he hoped he wasn't seeing. Luke's face was clearly that of a dangerously feverish person. Crimson cheeks contrasted sharply with bloodless lips and darkened eyelids. His blonde hair was soaked with perspiration and plastered to his damp skin, and he appeared to be struggling for air through his pale and parted lips. Han felt his own pulse involuntarily begin to race as he moved his hand to touch the sweat-soaked forehead of the young man. In doing so, his suspicions were confirmed. The kid was burning up.
Reaching for the medkit once again, Han murmured, "What the hell did you manage to catch, kid?"
Knowing he wasn't likely to know the answer to that question until they reached the base in five hours, and desperately hoping that whatever it was wasn't contagious, Han began to search through the kit for anything that might bring the fever down. After all, what more could he do?
Nothing, he realized with regret.
**********************************************************
Han stretched his stiff, cramped legs and rubbed a hand across his eyes. Noting the stiffness that also resided in his shoulders and back, he grimaced. He'd been sitting on this crate for far too long with too little change in his "patient's" condition. For three hours he'd sat at Luke's bedside placing cold compresses against the kid's skin, trying in vain to bring down the fever that gripped him. In those three hours, Luke had not so much as opened an eye or voiced one word of complaint. Instead he remained sweat-soaked, flush-faced, and as utterly unconscious as he'd been when Han had first discovered him this way. The search through the medkit had produced a single fever-reducing tablet that was a year past its expiration date and nearly ineffective. Han had managed to coax the tablet down the kid's throat, but three hours later, he had yet to see any results.
Rising to his feet in frustration, he headed toward the galley for a drink. Once again, he'd have preferred something alcoholic, but water would have to do. There was nothing else on board, since her Highnessness had so graciously raided the Falcon's stores for the Rebellion's post-Yavin celebration. Sipping water instead of rum for the second time that day, Han noted how good it felt to be standing. That thought immediately prompted him to question why he had remained sitting for three hours straight in the first place. After all, he was hardly the caretaker type. While searching his time-numbed brain for an answer, Chewie entered.
"No, there's no change," Han remarked before the Wookie could even ask. "If anything, I'd say he's getting worse."
At Chewie's concerned growl, Han grimaced.
"Yeah, I know we have two hours left, pal," he answered, putting as much of a nonchalant attitude into his voice as he could. "But what else can I do? Just keep him from dyin' 'til we can get to the base, and hope they can treat him once we get there."
In response to Han's comment, Chewie voiced yet another concern.
Han nearly choked on his water. "What do you mean what-if-they-don't-let-us-land? They'd better! Her Highnessness owes me and the kid her life, for cryin' out loud! And after that shot with the Death Star, that kid is the only reason there's still a Rebellion left to carry on this fight. Contagion or no contagion, we're landing this thing!" He took a final gulp of water, and slammed the container down on the galley counter. "Besides," he added, "I'm not sick yet. And neither are you. That oughta' count for somethin'."
Chewie, although he said nothing, gave Han a look that spoke volumes.
Unfortunately, it only served to get the already irritated smuggler only more annoyed. "Don't even start thinking that I care about this kid, or the Rebellion. I'm just looking to get paid so I can get back into Jabba's good graces. And I can't do that if I'm in orbit around a planet 'cause they won't let me land, now can I?"
The Wookie continued to look skeptical.
"What?" Han exclaimed in exasperation. "You want me to say that I'm worried? Well, I am! I ain't cold, pal. I don't wanna see a kid his age sufferin' from who knows what! Especially not after what he's already been through. He doesn't deserve it." He narrowed his eyes at his partner. "But does it change anything? No. I already said, I ain't in this little revolution of theirs. And I'm not goin' to be. So don't go thinkin' that just because I'm showin' a little bit of concern for this kid that I'm gonna up and join their little war. True, I got no love for the Empire, but I don't want them breathin' down my neck either."
At that, Chewie bristled and roared angrily. Even one who didn't know how to decipher Wookie would be hard pressed not to get the gist of Chewie's reply. And it was one that Han didn't want to hear.
"So then you join the Rebellion, why don't ya!" Han yelled before storming out of the galley. Chewie's hatred of the Empire was certainly well warranted and understandable. But the last thing Han wanted was to be dragged into an all-out war. That would be very bad for his particular line of business. Chewie knew this. But that didn't stop him from making his own particular opinions known at every chance, much to Han's annoyance.
Not knowing what else to do or where to go, he headed back toward the cabin. As boring and unproductive as it was, tending to a sick Rebel would have to be a lot less irritating then having to deal with an irate Wookie first-mate.
Han stepped into the cabin, half-expecting to see Luke in exactly the state in which he'd been left, and half-hoping to see some improvement. He hadn't counted on a panicky, blue-eyed stare coming from a face that was gasping for air.
"Can't breathe," choked the rebel through dry, blue lips. Indeed, a horrible whistling sound filled the cabin as he struggled to take a breath. "Han, please!" he gasped desperately.
Han forced himself to be calm and take action. "Chewie, get in here!" he hollered as he crossed to the kid's bedside and tried to assess the situation. Luke was sweating profusely, and his fever was still up. Although he was now partially alert, his eyes were still glazed and focused solely on Han as he fought to breathe. Han felt helpless as he watched the kid's struggle, and he racked his brain for something he could do. The kid had been coughing earlier, which meant that his airways were probably congested. More than likely, the kid just needed to cough again. At least, that's what he hoped.
Chewie rushed in a split second later, clearly alarmed.
"Chewie, grab that basin," Han ordered, indicating the bowl he'd been using earlier for compresses, "and help me prop him up."
Chewie complied swiftly, and together he and Han managed to heft the wheezing rebel into a sitting position. Grabbing the basin, Han grimaced. This was not going to be at all pleasant.
"Support him, Chewie," Han said, and immediately the Wookie's arms got a firm grip on the young man who was now shivering violently and making grotesque rasping sounds. Han focused his attention on Luke. "Okay, kid, listen to me. I want you to take as deep a breath as you can."
Luke fixed Han with a terrified gaze, and Han noted that his lips seemed to be an even darker shade of blue than they were earlier. The kid was suffocating.
"Do it now, Luke!" Han yelled, suddenly fearful himself and trying to fight it. He had to remain calm. He didn't want this kid to die. Not on his ship. Not like this.
In response, Han felt Luke's clammy hand seize his wrist as the kid squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on drawing a deep breath. Unable to look, Han glanced down at the hand that held his arm. The fingers and nails were violet. Within seconds however, Luke's effort had its desired effect. The kid doubled over the basin in a violent fit of coughing as his lungs tried to clear themselves. Chewie held on tightly, firmly supporting him as cough after cough shook his weakened frame. Han could feel Luke's hand on his wrist trembling with the effort, and unconsciously he moved his other hand to the back of Luke's head in uncharacteristic sympathy. "That's it, kid," he murmured. "You're doin' okay."
Han flicked his gaze to Chewie, only to see his own concern mirrored in the Wookie's returning glance. Luke's fit seemed to last an eternity, and the smuggler was growing more and more worried as it continued. When at last the coughing stopped, the kid was left gasping for air and sagging weakly into Chewie's arms.
When Han was pretty sure Luke wasn't going to start up again, he disengaged Luke's now limp grasp from his arm and offered a slight smile upon seeing the fingers flesh-colored again. "Feeling better, now?"
Luke's lips, now merely a pale pink, curved upward weakly. "Thanks," he whispered hoarsely.
Chewie growled a question.
Han shook his head. "Better not lay him back down like that, or he might get choked up again." He glanced around the cabin for something to prop him up with, and spotted the pillow and blanket on the opposite bunk. "Hang on a second," he said, shifting the basin off of his lap and nearly gagging as he got a look at its contents. "Ugh," he groaned, placing it on the floor by the door and moving to grab the pillow.
"Sorry," he heard Luke whisper behind him.
Grabbing the blanket in his other hand and rolling it into a pillow-like cushion, Han shrugged his shoulders. "Don't worry about it. That was just a little more personal that I usually prefer to get with my passengers."
He noted the shaky smile Luke gave in response as he arranged the pillows and blankets behind him.
When he was satisfied, Han nodded to Chewie. "Go ahead and ease him back down."
Once the kid was lying against the pillows and they had covered him up with blankets once more, Han wiped an inexplicably shaky hand across his forehead. As annoyed as he was to find that his hand was trembling, he was even more annoyed to find his hand come away damp.
"Worried, Solo?" Luke's weak voice teased.
Han raised an eyebrow at him. "Who me? I'm just afraid of what her Worship will do to me if I bring back her golden boy as a corpse."
"Didn't know you cared," Luke retorted, a bit more weakly than before.
Han noticed it, and the kid's tired expression. Luke's pale face was blotchy from the forcefulness of his coughs, and his lids were dark and heavy. "Yeah, well quit being a wise guy and get some sleep."
Luke nodded, and closed his eyes. Within moments, he sank back into a feverish sleep.
Han sighed. Why did it always seem he got more than he bargained for where this kid was concerned?
He looked up at Chewie. The Wookie was clearly worried about Luke's condition, and didn't seem afraid to show it. Even now, Chewie was brushing damp strands of hair away from the kid's forehead. A stab of pain shot through Han as he stared at his copilot, an unbidden memory surfacing from his childhood. He saw himself as a child, sick and feverish, being nursed to health by the only mothering figure he'd ever known, her furry paw brushing hair from his forehead in the same manner as Chewie was now.
He shook the image away, steeling himself against the pain it brought. He set his jaw. Just another person he'd cared about and lost.
He looked down at the sleeping rebel and asked, "How much time we got left?"
Chewie looked up gave his estimation. An hour and a half.
Han nodded, trying to force his face to remain expressionless as he stared at Luke. He wouldn't think about the Princess, or Alderaan, or the Alliance. He wouldn't think about possible outcomes. Grimly, he moved to empty the basin so he could administer more cold compresses to the feverish hero. After all, there was nothing left to do.
Warning: Less whiny Luke, but Han has to deal with some graphic medical stuff, so if that makes you squeamish. . . .
A Change of Plans: Chapter 3
"Don't we have anything to eat on this bucket of bolts?" Han was angrily and noisily rummaging around in the galley for something edible besides ration bars, so he barely heard Chewie's reply.
"I threw it in the garbage," the smuggler growled back to his first mate's suggestion that he eat the food he'd picked up on Ryall. "It was starting to smell funny, and--let's face it. The pudding was BLUE!"
The Wookie started to laugh at Han's predicament and his obvious chagrin, and Han, in return, threw his darkest glare back at him. Frustrated, hungry, and undeniably cranky, he finally snatched a ration bar out of the storage unit and unwillingly began to eat it.
"These things have the taste and consistency of dried mud, you know that?" he bellowed.
In response, Chewie playfully smacked Han across the back of the head and reprimanded him on several points.
Han countered, "I am not cranky, and I am not going to wake the kid up! Believe me, I wouldn't want to! The past four hours have been quiet and peaceful."
Chewie laughed sarcastically.
"Look, pal, while you were napping here in the Falcon, I was dodging bounty hunters! I'm now hungry and tired, so allow me the minor luxury of venting on my own ship, will ya'?" To punctuate his words, he took a violent bite out of his ration bar, struggling not to grimace at its awfulness as he stormed away toward the cockpit.
Falling into the pilot's seat, he blew out all his frustrations in a loud huff. As he did so, a slow satisfied grin crossed his face. Blowing up like that had felt good. It was more like the Han Solo he knew. Not this overly concerned rebel assistant he'd become in the last two months. For the past four hours, he'd been alone with Chewie as the Falcon traveled through hyperspace, and he'd enjoyed it. They'd argued, played a game of holochess, and performed a few minor repairs, just like they always did on hyperspace trips. And as the hours ticked by, Han had begun to disassociate himself from the young rebel who occupied the medical bunk. The kid was just a charter for which he'd be paid when the Falcon reached its destination. That was all. End of story. He'd get paid, and then he'd kiss the rebellion and her worshipfulness goodbye.
Han swallowed. That last thought had been strangely unsettling. An image of himself kissing the princess unexpectedly formed in his mind, and the effect it had on him was unnerving. He shook his head. He hated that woman! That girl, really! She was barely out of childhood, and yet she had the nerve to boss him around and insult him at every turn. To make matters worse, she was good at it. That princess had a sharp head on her shoulders, that was undeniable. And she had a lot of spirit and determination; he had to give her that. She commanded attention, and she always got it, even from him. She wasn't bad to look at either.
He shook his head again to clear it of the unexpected turn his thoughts had taken. The last person he wanted to be thinking about was the princess. That was certain. She was too young, too idealistic, and too committed to a cause for his tastes. She'd suckered him into too many runs with the Rebellion, and he'd grown to resent it. After all, his ship was already marked because of the events surrounding the Death Star's destruction. He didn't need to draw any more of the Empire's attention toward the Falcon than it had already received. If he could change the past, he would. But since that was impossible, it was time to focus on the future and distancing himself from the Rebellion. If he didn't, paying off Jabba was going to be next to impossible. No one would hire a guy whose ship was on the Empire's most wanted list. He needed his anonymity. It was time to start seeking it.
Satisfied with his resolve, he rose from his chair and moved toward the maintenance hatch where Chewie was busily working on the power couplings for the shield generators. He'd noticed a fluctuation on the way to Ryall, and it was imperative that the shields were in full working order before they ran into any kind of trouble.
"Need a hand?" Han asked as he approached the Wookie who was in the middle of fusing to ends of a coil together.
For a split second, Chewie looked up at Han's inquiry. That was all it took for the welder to slip in the Wookie's hand and for Han's senses to be assaulted by the sound of Chewie's pain-filled howl and the stench of burnt Wookie hair. The welder fell to the floor with a clatter as Chewie clutched his singed fingers.
"Chewie!" Han cried. "How bad is it?"
At his first mate's agonized response, Han quickly headed aft.
"I'm grabbing the medkit, Chewie," he hollered as he ran. "Just hang on." He palmed open the door to the sleeping cabin and moved as quietly as he could while still being quick about it. The last thing he wanted to do was to wake Luke up and listen to his whining again, but he needed the medkit, which was stored right above the kid's bunk. Carefully grabbing the case, he slipped back out of the cabin and ran back to Chewie.
"Burn salve and a bandage, right?" Han asked as he reached his copilot.
Chewie nodded, and Han smiled. This wasn't the first time Chewie had received such a burn, and it was not likely to be the last. In fact, Han had administered this treatment no less than four times in the past. Of course, other sentient beings would likely demand a painkiller and some synthflesh if faced with the same injury, but Chewie wouldn't have it. And Han had learned long ago not to question or challenge a Wookie.
It did not take long for Han to administer first aid, even though it made him grimace to do so. The burn was not as bad as some others had been, but it still wasn't pleasant to deal with. As soon as he was finished, he packed up the medkit and looked over his handiwork.
"You gonna be able to operate the controls with that bandage like that?" he teased.
Chewie growled a response that was somewhat less than pleasant, and Han laughed.
"Is that any way to talk to your doctor?"
In reply, Chewie grumbled something under his breath that Han didn't quite catch before heading toward the cockpit. Han watched him leave with a smirk, and then stared at the medkit.
Did he want to put it back now? Or should he wait a while before re-entering the sleeping cabin and not risk waking a sick Luke Skywalker? It took him a while to decide, but in the end he chose to go ahead and put it back. After all, the kid hadn't awakened when he retrieved it, so he wasn't all that likely to wake up now.
He crept back into the cabin and silently placed the medkit back in its place above the bunk. Satisfied that he'd managed to be a silent as was humanly possible, he risked a glance at Luke just to make sure the kid hadn't stirred.
He immediately wished he hadn't. With a concerned frown, he leaned forward to get a closer look at what he hoped he wasn't seeing. Luke's face was clearly that of a dangerously feverish person. Crimson cheeks contrasted sharply with bloodless lips and darkened eyelids. His blonde hair was soaked with perspiration and plastered to his damp skin, and he appeared to be struggling for air through his pale and parted lips. Han felt his own pulse involuntarily begin to race as he moved his hand to touch the sweat-soaked forehead of the young man. In doing so, his suspicions were confirmed. The kid was burning up.
Reaching for the medkit once again, Han murmured, "What the hell did you manage to catch, kid?"
Knowing he wasn't likely to know the answer to that question until they reached the base in five hours, and desperately hoping that whatever it was wasn't contagious, Han began to search through the kit for anything that might bring the fever down. After all, what more could he do?
Nothing, he realized with regret.
**********************************************************
Han stretched his stiff, cramped legs and rubbed a hand across his eyes. Noting the stiffness that also resided in his shoulders and back, he grimaced. He'd been sitting on this crate for far too long with too little change in his "patient's" condition. For three hours he'd sat at Luke's bedside placing cold compresses against the kid's skin, trying in vain to bring down the fever that gripped him. In those three hours, Luke had not so much as opened an eye or voiced one word of complaint. Instead he remained sweat-soaked, flush-faced, and as utterly unconscious as he'd been when Han had first discovered him this way. The search through the medkit had produced a single fever-reducing tablet that was a year past its expiration date and nearly ineffective. Han had managed to coax the tablet down the kid's throat, but three hours later, he had yet to see any results.
Rising to his feet in frustration, he headed toward the galley for a drink. Once again, he'd have preferred something alcoholic, but water would have to do. There was nothing else on board, since her Highnessness had so graciously raided the Falcon's stores for the Rebellion's post-Yavin celebration. Sipping water instead of rum for the second time that day, Han noted how good it felt to be standing. That thought immediately prompted him to question why he had remained sitting for three hours straight in the first place. After all, he was hardly the caretaker type. While searching his time-numbed brain for an answer, Chewie entered.
"No, there's no change," Han remarked before the Wookie could even ask. "If anything, I'd say he's getting worse."
At Chewie's concerned growl, Han grimaced.
"Yeah, I know we have two hours left, pal," he answered, putting as much of a nonchalant attitude into his voice as he could. "But what else can I do? Just keep him from dyin' 'til we can get to the base, and hope they can treat him once we get there."
In response to Han's comment, Chewie voiced yet another concern.
Han nearly choked on his water. "What do you mean what-if-they-don't-let-us-land? They'd better! Her Highnessness owes me and the kid her life, for cryin' out loud! And after that shot with the Death Star, that kid is the only reason there's still a Rebellion left to carry on this fight. Contagion or no contagion, we're landing this thing!" He took a final gulp of water, and slammed the container down on the galley counter. "Besides," he added, "I'm not sick yet. And neither are you. That oughta' count for somethin'."
Chewie, although he said nothing, gave Han a look that spoke volumes.
Unfortunately, it only served to get the already irritated smuggler only more annoyed. "Don't even start thinking that I care about this kid, or the Rebellion. I'm just looking to get paid so I can get back into Jabba's good graces. And I can't do that if I'm in orbit around a planet 'cause they won't let me land, now can I?"
The Wookie continued to look skeptical.
"What?" Han exclaimed in exasperation. "You want me to say that I'm worried? Well, I am! I ain't cold, pal. I don't wanna see a kid his age sufferin' from who knows what! Especially not after what he's already been through. He doesn't deserve it." He narrowed his eyes at his partner. "But does it change anything? No. I already said, I ain't in this little revolution of theirs. And I'm not goin' to be. So don't go thinkin' that just because I'm showin' a little bit of concern for this kid that I'm gonna up and join their little war. True, I got no love for the Empire, but I don't want them breathin' down my neck either."
At that, Chewie bristled and roared angrily. Even one who didn't know how to decipher Wookie would be hard pressed not to get the gist of Chewie's reply. And it was one that Han didn't want to hear.
"So then you join the Rebellion, why don't ya!" Han yelled before storming out of the galley. Chewie's hatred of the Empire was certainly well warranted and understandable. But the last thing Han wanted was to be dragged into an all-out war. That would be very bad for his particular line of business. Chewie knew this. But that didn't stop him from making his own particular opinions known at every chance, much to Han's annoyance.
Not knowing what else to do or where to go, he headed back toward the cabin. As boring and unproductive as it was, tending to a sick Rebel would have to be a lot less irritating then having to deal with an irate Wookie first-mate.
Han stepped into the cabin, half-expecting to see Luke in exactly the state in which he'd been left, and half-hoping to see some improvement. He hadn't counted on a panicky, blue-eyed stare coming from a face that was gasping for air.
"Can't breathe," choked the rebel through dry, blue lips. Indeed, a horrible whistling sound filled the cabin as he struggled to take a breath. "Han, please!" he gasped desperately.
Han forced himself to be calm and take action. "Chewie, get in here!" he hollered as he crossed to the kid's bedside and tried to assess the situation. Luke was sweating profusely, and his fever was still up. Although he was now partially alert, his eyes were still glazed and focused solely on Han as he fought to breathe. Han felt helpless as he watched the kid's struggle, and he racked his brain for something he could do. The kid had been coughing earlier, which meant that his airways were probably congested. More than likely, the kid just needed to cough again. At least, that's what he hoped.
Chewie rushed in a split second later, clearly alarmed.
"Chewie, grab that basin," Han ordered, indicating the bowl he'd been using earlier for compresses, "and help me prop him up."
Chewie complied swiftly, and together he and Han managed to heft the wheezing rebel into a sitting position. Grabbing the basin, Han grimaced. This was not going to be at all pleasant.
"Support him, Chewie," Han said, and immediately the Wookie's arms got a firm grip on the young man who was now shivering violently and making grotesque rasping sounds. Han focused his attention on Luke. "Okay, kid, listen to me. I want you to take as deep a breath as you can."
Luke fixed Han with a terrified gaze, and Han noted that his lips seemed to be an even darker shade of blue than they were earlier. The kid was suffocating.
"Do it now, Luke!" Han yelled, suddenly fearful himself and trying to fight it. He had to remain calm. He didn't want this kid to die. Not on his ship. Not like this.
In response, Han felt Luke's clammy hand seize his wrist as the kid squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on drawing a deep breath. Unable to look, Han glanced down at the hand that held his arm. The fingers and nails were violet. Within seconds however, Luke's effort had its desired effect. The kid doubled over the basin in a violent fit of coughing as his lungs tried to clear themselves. Chewie held on tightly, firmly supporting him as cough after cough shook his weakened frame. Han could feel Luke's hand on his wrist trembling with the effort, and unconsciously he moved his other hand to the back of Luke's head in uncharacteristic sympathy. "That's it, kid," he murmured. "You're doin' okay."
Han flicked his gaze to Chewie, only to see his own concern mirrored in the Wookie's returning glance. Luke's fit seemed to last an eternity, and the smuggler was growing more and more worried as it continued. When at last the coughing stopped, the kid was left gasping for air and sagging weakly into Chewie's arms.
When Han was pretty sure Luke wasn't going to start up again, he disengaged Luke's now limp grasp from his arm and offered a slight smile upon seeing the fingers flesh-colored again. "Feeling better, now?"
Luke's lips, now merely a pale pink, curved upward weakly. "Thanks," he whispered hoarsely.
Chewie growled a question.
Han shook his head. "Better not lay him back down like that, or he might get choked up again." He glanced around the cabin for something to prop him up with, and spotted the pillow and blanket on the opposite bunk. "Hang on a second," he said, shifting the basin off of his lap and nearly gagging as he got a look at its contents. "Ugh," he groaned, placing it on the floor by the door and moving to grab the pillow.
"Sorry," he heard Luke whisper behind him.
Grabbing the blanket in his other hand and rolling it into a pillow-like cushion, Han shrugged his shoulders. "Don't worry about it. That was just a little more personal that I usually prefer to get with my passengers."
He noted the shaky smile Luke gave in response as he arranged the pillows and blankets behind him.
When he was satisfied, Han nodded to Chewie. "Go ahead and ease him back down."
Once the kid was lying against the pillows and they had covered him up with blankets once more, Han wiped an inexplicably shaky hand across his forehead. As annoyed as he was to find that his hand was trembling, he was even more annoyed to find his hand come away damp.
"Worried, Solo?" Luke's weak voice teased.
Han raised an eyebrow at him. "Who me? I'm just afraid of what her Worship will do to me if I bring back her golden boy as a corpse."
"Didn't know you cared," Luke retorted, a bit more weakly than before.
Han noticed it, and the kid's tired expression. Luke's pale face was blotchy from the forcefulness of his coughs, and his lids were dark and heavy. "Yeah, well quit being a wise guy and get some sleep."
Luke nodded, and closed his eyes. Within moments, he sank back into a feverish sleep.
Han sighed. Why did it always seem he got more than he bargained for where this kid was concerned?
He looked up at Chewie. The Wookie was clearly worried about Luke's condition, and didn't seem afraid to show it. Even now, Chewie was brushing damp strands of hair away from the kid's forehead. A stab of pain shot through Han as he stared at his copilot, an unbidden memory surfacing from his childhood. He saw himself as a child, sick and feverish, being nursed to health by the only mothering figure he'd ever known, her furry paw brushing hair from his forehead in the same manner as Chewie was now.
He shook the image away, steeling himself against the pain it brought. He set his jaw. Just another person he'd cared about and lost.
He looked down at the sleeping rebel and asked, "How much time we got left?"
Chewie looked up gave his estimation. An hour and a half.
Han nodded, trying to force his face to remain expressionless as he stared at Luke. He wouldn't think about the Princess, or Alderaan, or the Alliance. He wouldn't think about possible outcomes. Grimly, he moved to empty the basin so he could administer more cold compresses to the feverish hero. After all, there was nothing left to do.
