Chapter 8
Han began to lead Leia through Corellia, and though he would never admit this to her, he was beginning to think that he was lost. At first he had walked swiftly, almost at a jog, his ecstasy at the knowledge that he was going to be a father and his desire to be alone with Leia heightening his pace. As he walked through the streets he used to hear about so often and dream about living in, however, his pace slowed to an amble. He looked around himself curiously, seeing buildings that were once magnificent and prestigious in a state of dismal disrepair and neglect. His adult mind told him that he was in the correct place, but the child within him screamed that he was wrong. Was this really where he was supposed to be? He remembered coming to these streets as a child and staring at them for hours, hoping that one-day he would be rich enough to live there. It was funny that he had spent most of his life yearning for wealth, and when he finally obtained it, he couldn't care less. Leia, and now the baby, were evidence enough that he did not need riches to be happy, but it was still hard for the little boy within him to know that he would never stay in those splendid buildings he had yearned for. All of the Corellia he had known - both the downtrodden streets he had grown up in and the prosperous neighborhood he had dreamed about – had vanished forever. He looked down to his wife and saw that she was gazing at him intently. His eyes must have shown his despair, because she tenderly brushed his cheek with the back of her hand and clutched him to herself.
"Oh, Han," she sighed, "This is where we are supposed to stay, isn't it?"
"I'm so sorry, Leia. These streets used to be so beautiful they rivaled New Alderaan. I just...assumed...that they would have stayed that way. I'm so sorry I ruined your vacation."
"Han, you could never ruin my vacation! I think it was because of the will of the Force that we went on this vacation. I'm pregnant because of this vacation! And I wouldn't begrudge any time alone with you no matter what the circumstances."
"I know, Sweetheart, but it just seems that every time I try to do something nice for you, it goes wrong. I wanted to take you to a beautiful resort, away from the government. And I took you to a place of poverty and filth. My job as a husband is to make you happy and comfortable, and I couldn't even succeed in that," Han said dejectedly.
"Han, your only job as a husband is to love me. And to stay faithful, of course," she added with a grin.
"Like I'd have a hard time with that!" Han said, sorrow leaving him. He clutched Leia to his chest and buried his face in her hair, breathing her scent. "Man, Leia, you always know how to cheer me up. How d'ya do it?"
"That's easy. It's my job as your wife to cheer you up."
"I thought that your only job was to love me and stay faithful!"
"That too. Han, why don't we go to the hotel that we were supposed to stay at? You know, appearances can be deceiving. Maybe it's really nice inside," Leia said optimistically.
"Okay, but I don't want you to get your hopes up. I doubt that it's up to par with your expectations."
"That's fine, honey. I don't need posh amenities anyway. I think that it would actually be interesting to stay in a place that didn't house uptight and snobbish people."
Han and Leia walked toward the building he had pointed out as being their hotel, and they were almost there when they heard a quiet, yet insistent voice calling out to them.
"Mister, Missus, can you please lend me a credit? I am so hungry," said the tiny voice, and both husband and wife jerked their heads in the direction it was coming from. A little boy of about seven years stood before them, in clothing Leia would not have used as rags, and scruffy brown hair that fell down to his shoulders.
His eyes were large and bright blue, almost disconcerting, and they were full of a pain that should not have been present at his age. Han and Leia gazed at each other, both with eyes full of sorrow for the young soul they had come across. Leia's despair came from her compassion for all beings, especially the downtrodden. Her new role as mother only heightened her feelings. Han's despair came from the fact that he saw himself, about twenty-five years ago, in the same position this little boy was in. He knew exactly how the boy felt, and no words could describe the pain.
"What's your name, son?" Han asked kindly.
The little boy looked confused, as if he had never been asked this question before. Han's heart wrenched as he realized that this was probably true. If anybody had shown him compassion as a child it was merely through the toss of a credit, without a word spoken.
"It's Ty. Ty Glenner."
"Where are your parents, Ty?" Leia asked.
Ty looked at his feet with embarrassment. "I don't have any. Well, not anymore. Mama and Papa died when I was real little."
Leia looked shocked at this, and her hand went to her belly, as if wanting to protect this fate from her child. Han, however, looked unaffected by this revelation. He continued staring at the child as if he were seeing a ghost. Seeing as how her husband was standing so fixedly, Leia took the initiative to speak.
"Would you like to stay with us, Ty? We're staying at that hotel over there, and you can stay with us until we find you somewhere nice to live. We can get you some tasty food, too. Would you like that?" Leia asked.
Ty nodded his head emphatically.
Han was happy that Leia had offered this to the boy. Under any other circumstances he would have been furious at Leia for ruining their privacy, especially after they had been anticipating plenty of alone time, but now he was determined to make a better life for Ty. He wanted to find a permanent home for him, a home that he hadn't had until he married Leia. He wanted Ty to have the same quality of life that he would wish upon his and Leia's own child.
As they walked toward the three-story high, gray, dilapidated hotel, Han and Leia introduced themselves to Ty. He didn't seem to recognize their names, which they thought of as a good thing, and the three of them entered the building together.
