As the Falcon barreled out of the hangar and flew toward the looming Star Destroyer, Han realized that he had two small advantages. The Imperials had not known the princess was on Ord Mantell, so their reactions were bound to be a bit slow. Thank the gods for Imperial bureaucracy. Second, the Imps were clearly under orders to capture them rather than kill them. Leia had only been stunned by the Imperial officers, which meant that they also had to be careful when firing at the Falcon if they wanted to capture their prize unharmed.
The thought of Leia being anyone's prize made Han sick to his stomach, and he wondered briefly how she was doing. He desperately wanted to leave his pilot's chair and tend to her wounds, but he knew that he had to get them to safety first. Willing himself to concentrate, he maneuvered the ship out of the range of the Destroyer's tractor beam. He would take his chances with the fighters that were already swarming to his position. He set the turret guns to fire automatically, and he programmed the computer to calculate the jump to light speed.
The next few minutes played out in dizzying fashion, as Han led the imperial fighters in a dangerous game of hide-and-go-seek. At Han's command, the Falcon darted, dipped, and rolled away from every obstacle to their freedom.
A casual observer to the battle would have marveled at the sheer genius of the flight. Though clearly driven by instinct, the ship's movements possessed a poetic elegance. It was passion tempered by love, skill blended with uncommon artistry. The drama was a compelling struggle for survival, a beautiful dance set against a wide black canvas punctuated with random points of light.
The experience of the flight was much different, however. Han cursed the turret guns for their inability to actually hit a target. They did provide some cover, but Han was frustrated by the fact that they had not damaged even one blasted fighter. "Damn technology," he muttered. Then, there was the matter of the navicomputer, which was taking forever in making its calculations. The Falcon was rocked with blaster fire, and Han quickly switched more power to the aft shields.
"C'mon, baby," he said, urging both the ship and its stubborn navicomputer. Another blast shook the ship, setting off both alarm bells and a loud buzzer. Wasting no time, Han quickly checked the source of the alarm, and then reacted to the buzzer. Taking hold of the appropriate lever, Han eased it forward and felt the ship slam into hyperspace. Safe for the moment, Han made a quick check of the ship's systems and then raced to the side of his beloved princess.
Han could not make his legs move fast enough, could not keep the blood from pounding between his ears. After what seemed an eternity, he finally cast his eyes upon his sleeping princess. She was deathly pale, but her head wound had stopped bleeding in his absence. Checking the datapad for the medbunk readout, Han was relieved to learn that her condition was stable for the moment. However, the computer had provided a long list of tasks for her care.
Han vigilantly set about his work. He removed the bandage he had hastily applied earlier, cleaned the wound, and wrapped her head in a new bacta dressing. He then turned his attention to her shoulder. He carefully cut open her shirt enough to grant him access to the wounded area. A large purple bruise had already formed on her delicate skin, but there was no other visible damage. Han ran the hand scanner over the area just to be sure there were no breaks, but it appeared that Leia's shoulder was in relatively good condition.
Han refastened the buttons of Leia's shirt and reached out to gently caress her cheek. Just then, Leia began to exhibit the effects of stun sickness. Though she did not regain consciousness, she began coughing and retching uncontrollably. Han reached for a small empty container and lifted Leia so that her body could purge itself more easily. After several minutes, her body's spasms ceased, and she became limp in his arms.
Han tenderly lowered her to the bunk, and then got up to clean the container and fetch a wet rag. Returning to her side, he gently wiped her face and mouth, his fingers lingering to touch her soft lips. He bent down to kiss her forehead, whispering, "Please wake up, Leia. You're safe, Sweetheart."
When she didn't respond, Han left her briefly to prepare an IV. She was already severely underweight, and he was afraid she was also dehydrated as well. "This is gonna hurt a bit, Princess," he said as he inserted the line in her arm. Though she whimpered a bit, she did not regain consciousness as Han had hoped.
His work completed for the moment, Han pulled a chair close to the medbunk. He knew he should check the Falcon's systems, but he couldn't bear to leave Leia until he was sure she would recover. Reaching out, he took one of her hands in his own and kissed it softly. With his other hand, he brushed as stray lock of hair from her face and stroked her cheek.
A single tear slipped down his face as he said, "I love you, Leia. Please be okay." Her lack of response released a flood of emotions, and his tears began to flow freely. He then began to shake violently as the stress of the day took its toll on his body. Though he struggled to remain awake until the princess regained consciousness, exhaustion eventually got the better of him. He drifted off into a fitful sleep, his hands still holding hers and his head resting against her on the medbunk.
His dreams, at least, finally offered a respite. His Leia was alive and happy, cocooned in the safety of his arms. Somewhere in the back of his mind, however, there was a persistent feeling of dread. The night, at least, would protect the princess and her pirate, but would the morning be so kind?