Hey, guys. This has to be another short chapter because I have almost no time at all. But I gots t'give the fans what they wants. Hopefully there'll be another up in a few days.

Chapter 15

It really doesn't seem far enough to bother with the speeder, but Han seems to want to, and I let him. The traffic is still heavy despite the late hour, as it always is on Corruscant. Han and Leia's speeder is a sleek black model with grey nerf-hide seats—nearly brand new, from the looks of it. Leia wears expensive gowns, worthy of a princess-turned-president, my boys sleep on down mattresses, and Han—formerly a dirty, ill-mannered, smuggler—drives a luxury speeder. And here I am trying to scrape up rent every month. I don't have a job, because I don't want and can't handle one, but I have my generous veteran's pension from the Republic, which, thanks to Leia, is almost enough to live on—or would be, if I didn't spend it on…various recreational activities. I smile a little, though somewhat grimly, thinking that perhaps Leia had moved to up the pension years ago out of concern for my well-being, wherever I may be. And then I was able to afford more spice. Thanks, Leia.

My thoughts return to the absurdity of the luxury speeder as we near my building, a dingy, dark brick skyscraper—on the smaller side, only around two hundred stories—of housing, meant to be "affordable" and "quality" apartments for the working person, but their upkeep has been bad, and they no longer quite fulfill their mission. At least they're clean. Han parks the speeder on the roof platform. "Do you still fly the Flacon, Han?" I ask, wondering how he can reconcile the smuggler turned husband and father.

I see a wince pass over his face. "She's been givin' me trouble. Poor girl's getting old. But yeah, I still fly her, when I get a chance." He smiles a little. "Leia always says I love the Falcon more'n I love her."

I don't smile. It's a bad joke, not funny.

After a moment of awkward silence, I ask, not realizing I was going to ask it until the words are out of my mouth, "You wanna come in for a minute? I mean…." I try to explain myself, "If you still want a drink, I have a bottle of rum and some ales in my cooler. We can make do."

He frowns, as unused to my hospitality as I am. "Why?"

I shrug. "Old times' sake?"

He seems unsure, hazel eyes searching me. He doesn't trust me. That's what it is. He does seem to be overly watchful around me, somewhat hesitant in his speech and mannerisms. What is he afraid of? Am I going to pull a blaster on him? I don't carry a weapon, nor am I quite angry enough at him to kill him. But I doubt it's a question of anger—I doubt he knows just how much I resent him for his involvement with Leia.

Oh. That's not it, is it? It's me, entirely, not anything he thinks I'll do to him—but me presence he doesn't trust. I'm depressed, angry, maybe a little crazy sometimes—but I'm not psychotic.

I smile bitterly—it's almost funny that someone would see me that way, and say, "Fuck, Han. I'm not going to hurt you."

He, however, doesn't seem so sure. But maybe I'm reading him wrong.

I shake my head. "Fine. If you don't want to—"

He stops me from getting out of the speeder by grabbing my shoulder, like the night in the cantina. "I'll come in," he says. "For a minute."