Disclaimer: Same as before.

A Change of Plans: Chapter 6


By the time a very weary Han reached the medcenter, Princess Leia was wreaking her own special brand of havoc.

"What do you mean I can't go in there and see him?" she was hollering, while a very nervous tech stood before her.

"Y-your Highness," the young woman stammered in reply, "I can't let anyone in there yet."

"Why?" the princess demanded.

"He's still fighting against the fever," the tech replied, forcing as much dignity into her voice as she could. Han truly felt sorry for her at that moment. He knew what it was like to be under one of her Worshipfulness' verbal onslaughts. It was certainly a difficult place to find oneself in. Admirably, the young woman plodded on. "Once the fever has broken, he can have visitors. But right now, he's far too weak."

Han expected her Highnessness to continue her tirade, and he moved to step between her and the hapless tech. To his surprise, the princess sighed and backed off, moving silently out into the hallway without another glance toward him or the young woman she'd been shouting at just a few moments earlier. Han watched her exit in total shock, not sure what to make of her uncharacteristic shift from attack to surrender. Concerned, he gave a polite nod toward the young tech before following the princess out into the hallway.

Outside the medcenter, he found her slouched in an uncomfortable looking chair, appearing utterly defeated. Cold, hard worry formed in the pit of his stomach as he gazed upon her exhausted features and watched a solitary tear slowly make it's way down her dirt-streaked cheek. This was a side to the princess he'd never seen. She wasn't supposed to act this way. She was defiant, obstinate, aggressive, opinionated, bossy, determined, and optimistic. This was a woman who'd watched her world explode before her eyes shortly before ordering her two would-be rescuers around the Death Star in a hastily and haphazardly constructed escape plan. This was a woman who had an answer for everything. Come to think of it, this was a woman who usually pissed Han off royally, no pun intended.

As his concern mounted, so did his confusion. Surely, this couldn't be all because of Luke. Could it?

Crossing in front of her, he sat down in an equally uncomfortable chair as the one she now occupied, and gazed into her face. "You okay?"

She refused to look up into his gaze. "This isn't supposed to happen," she whispered, barely audible.

Han shook his head in confusion. "What's not supposed to happen?"

At his question, she finally brought her gaze up to meet his. Tired and tearful brown eyes stared into his own. She gestured weakly around her. "All of this. This-this mess," she finally managed, her voice starting to break a little with each word. "The ship, the base, Luke. None of this is supposed to be going on right now."

Hearing her start to break down, and still unsure of the cause, Han leaned forward. He softened his expression and his voice as he tried to soothe her. "Hey, it's not--"

She cut him off abruptly with a sob. "We won the battle, didn't we?" she cried. "I mean, the Death Star was destroyed! So why are things so bad right now? Aren't they supposed to be better? Aren't we supposed to be moving forward instead of falling behind?" She stopped, her eyes fixed on him in a pleading gaze he was finding it increasingly difficult to look at.

Amazed at his own actions, he took her hand and tried to comfort her, although he wasn't sure why he was doing it. Maybe it was simply because he hated to see people suffer. That had to be it. Looking down at the hand in his, he mumbled, "Things are rocky right now, sure. But they're gonna' get better. I've seen you guys at work, and I've gotta tell ya' that you're not doing a bad job."

His words didn't exactly receive the reaction he expected. As he looked back into her face, he was startled to see a very angry princess staring back at him. In one swift motion, she yanked her hand out of his and rose out of her seat, in an instant becoming her usual regal and haughty self once again.

"Right," she bit out. "So long as you get paid, everything is all right in your book, isn't it, Captain?" With that, she spun on her heel and stormed angrily away.

Watching her retreat for the second time that day, Han succumbed to fatigue and baffled frustration. Whirling, he rammed his fist into the wall in an explosion of pent-up emotion--emotion he was still puzzled over experiencing. Wincing in pain, he rubbed his knuckles and wondered when these people had suddenly started to matter.

Well, it was time to change that. Moving in the opposite direction the princess had taken, he decided it was time to make a clean break of it. It was time to leave these rebels to their war. It was time to tell Chewie to fire up the engines so they could blast off this rock.

*************************

By the time Han was able to make it through the crowded and harried halls of the base to the Falcon, his resolve had hardened to steel. He was leaving, and there wasn't a single being in the whole galaxy that could change his mind. He was as good as gone.

There was just one small problem.

"Chewie!" was all Han could manage to scream as he entered the hangar and gazed upon his beloved ship. Wires dangled from opened hatches on her belly, and cables were strewn across the upper hull as muffled banging noises could be heard echoing through the metal plating. Han's temper flared as he roared again. "Chewie!"

He heard the Wookie's questioning growl a few seconds before his furry head appeared upside down from one of the opened bottom hatches.

"What are you doin'?" Han cried in disbelief as he crossed the distance between himself and the Wookie in two strides. "I'm tryin' to get us out of here, and you're tearin' her apart!"

Chewie's explanation was far from satisfying.

"I don't care if you think she needed maintenance," growled Han in response. "She was flyin' fine before, and now she ain't flyin' at all!" Gesturing to the wires and cables and dangling pieces of metal, he continued, "What, you had to go tearin' her apart with out sayin' a word to me about if first? Get me stuck here on this forsaken planet with these idiots who think that a galactic war is the answer to all their problems? I got debts I gotta pay, pall! I can't be hangin' around here waitin' for these folks to get themselves blown up by the Empire! I mean, look at this place!"

At that moment, Chewie seemed to lose his temper with Han and began to throw some angry comments of his own. Han waved him aside.

"First of all, pal, I can't take ya' seriously hangin' upside down like that," Han sneered. "Second, you swore a life debt to me, not them. Now, I've tried to get rid of ya' before, so if you'd rather cast your lot with a bunch of doomed idealists, no one's stoppin' ya'!"

With that, Chewie dropped down out of the hatch and advanced on Han, towering over him menacingly. For a split second, Han was terrified that he'd gone too far in his tirade, letting his mouth get the better of his brain. However, Chewie merely growled that he must might cast his lot with these rebels before storming out of the hangar, leaving Han to stare at his retreating bulk and wonder once more about the pit he seemed to be digging himself further and further into.

Turning back toward the mess that was the Falcon, Han mused that he'd been doing a lot of wondering lately. Never before had he seemed to question his actions and motives as much as he did now. His life had been so simple. He'd been through hell once before, and in his resolve to never experience that again he'd managed to carve out an existence that was free of complications. He had his ship, his income, and his copilot. The life every boy dreams of. Now, however, his life seemed to be riddled with complications, contradictions, and everything else that gave his mind pause. How was it that in the course of just two months, his life had been so drastically altered?

"Captain Solo?"

Han spun around to locate the source of the voice that had just pulled him out of his thoughts. The young medic who had come aboard the Falcon earlier now stood in front of him.

"Yeah?" Han managed. He wasn't really interested in talking to any rebel, least of all this guy who had come across as brash and arrogant, in spite of his help with Luke.

The medic seemed to be looking beyond him. "Quite a job you have here, huh?" he asked, meeting Han's gaze and indicating the Falcon.

Han stared at him squarely and answered, "Yeah, well, my copilot decided to do some last minute repairs. You know, to get her up to peak efficiency."

The medic grinned. "And that would be the angry Wookie who just passed me in the corridor?"

Fed up, Han only glared. "What do you want?"

The young man's grin faded. "Well, your friend sent me to find you."

"Friend?"

"The kid in the medcenter."

Luke? Han immediately bristled as his defenses took over. "Yeah, well, the kid is not my friend. I was hired to fly him to Ryall and back in one piece. I take my job very seriously."

The medic nodded in feigned understanding. "I see," he replied. "Well, whatever he is to you, he asked for you. His fever broke and he's allowed visitors, so I figured I'd deliver his message. I thought he was a friend of yours, but I guess he just wanted to express his gratitude or something."

Han liked this guy even less with every word he spoke. "Well, thanks for the message," he bit out. "Now if you don't mind, I need to get back to my fixing my ship. If you'll excuse me, Doctor-" Han suddenly realized he'd never gotten the young medic's name.

"Cabbel," the young man replied. "Doctor Cabbel."

Han frowned. "Cabbel," he muttered. "Now why does that name sound familiar?"

Cabbel shrugged. "Ever do business on Carida?"

Han stiffened. Indeed, he'd been to Carida. He'd spent more time there than he'd care to remember. "You could say that," he replied.

Cabbel's eyes narrowed. "Well then you could say that my father did also. He's a high-ranking officer, I believe. Spent some time training cadets before he got transferred to the Imperial fleet. That was the last I heard."

"And they let you run around operating on wounded rebels with a father in the Imperial fleet?" Han laughed. "Pretty desperate, huh?"

Cabbel laughed bitterly in return. "Take a look around, Captain. This place is full of people with ties to the Imperials in some form or another. Some of us are ex-Imperials ourselves. Others are refugees from planets that have been overtaken. Some are the children of parents murdered by Imperials. And others are the rebellious offspring of Imperial military. None of that matters, as long as you know which side you are on and you commit to fighting for it."

Han shook his head cynically. "You know, all you guys here sound the same. Just wait 'til you've flown around the Galaxy a couple times and see how idealistic you are then."

To his credit, the medic remained expressionless. "I've been around the Galaxy, Captain, although I doubt that would impress you even if you believed me. But keep in mind that there are men and women here who have been through as much as you have and maybe more at half your age. So your smug attitude means absolutely nothing to me."

Han had had enough. Who was this young stranger to call him smug? "Listen, Junior-"

"I've said my peace," the medic said, cutting him off and holding up his hands placatingly. "I only came to deliver a message, and I've said more than I intended. Now if you'll excuse me. I know you have a ship to fix, and I have patients to attend to."

With that, Cabbel turned and left. Han watched him leave, and then turned back toward the mess behind him. Staring at the jumbled coils and wires, he realized his life was just as confused, chaotic, and disassembled. How many times today had people stormed away from him in anger? How many times today had he been left to sort out what had just transpired? And how many times today had he sworn not to let any of it matter?

He ran a hand through his hair and let it rest on his neck. He had to face the truth. Somehow, some way, it did matter. He wouldn't be this tense and exhausted if it didn't. The problem was, he was at a loss to figure out why. Why did any of this matter? Why did these people matter? He'd only known them for two months. Granted, he'd known Chewie for years, and he could understand why the Wookie's disappointment might affect him. But what about these rebels? Was he going soft? Was he losing his edge?

There was only one way to find out. Leaving the Falcon in it's dismantled state, he headed toward the medcenter.