Fate

"Sorry, Solo." On the screen, the Bothan hunched his shoulders and averted his gaze, his eyes dark slits beneath his craggy brow. "I didn't want to be the one to tell you, but I thought you should know."

Han nodded automatically at the image of his friend. "I appreciate it, Dev," he muttered. A pause hung awkwardly between them, suspended in interstellar space. Han's mind had emptied and he couldn't think of anything else to add to the conversation. "Well, I'll see you around. Thanks again." He switched off the transmission before Dev could respond.

Now it was official: a deathmark. He couldn't honestly say he was surprised, the designation being the next logical step in the dangerous dance between him and Jabba. But it was a shock to his system nonetheless.

He stood up from the overflowing desk that occupied the corner of his cabin. Circuit boards and loose wires were strewn over the surface and fought for space with nav charts and cracked holopads. He had come to his room to use the 'fresher after playing the rest of his sabacc cards and had happened to notice the blinking light on the transmitter. It hadn't been there long so he hailed Dev back out of curiosity, his friend's initial communication tantalizingly cryptic.

Clearly he had been too optimistic in seeking out the news. If only he could rewind time and bask in the bliss of ignorance a little longer.

Of course if he could rewind time, he'd make sure to go back a lot further than just a few minutes ago.

His stomach was still churning as he headed out to the hold of the Falcon. Hands on his hips, he surveyed the small crowd juggling their cards and drinks around the holochess table. "Who needs a refill? Wedge? Janson?"

"You know I do," Janson hooted, slinging back the last of the liquid in his glass.

Wedge raised a finger as he shifted his cards in his hand. "Same here."

"Me too." That was the new kid. Joen? Jin? Something like that. A fresh recruit, he had shown up during the move to Mykos and glommed onto Janson for gods knew what reason.

Han circled around to the other side of the table. "Princess?"

She looked up from where she sat next to Chewie. "Not yet."

He met her eyes only briefly before heading to the galley. Didn't tease her about being a lightweight or try to sneak a peak at her hand. Not this time.

Deathmark. During his smuggling years he had known a few others who had resided in that category. He hadn't heard what happened to them and he wasn't sure now whether that was a comforting thought or not. And what did his mark mean for Chewie? Dev hadn't said and Han hadn't thought to ask.

Apparently Jabba's run out of patience with you, Dev had said. Dev had a cousin in Mos Eisley who occasionally ran errands for the guards at Jabba's place. One of those go-betweens who created another layer of separation between the syndicate and whatever organization passed for law enforcement these days. As such, he was able to overhear scraps of information which he freely offered or perhaps sold for gambling money. And the freshest scraps indicated that Han's name had been on Jabba's tongue quite a bit lately.

Lost in thought, Han pulled a bottle from the shelf above the sink. If he had gone to Tatooine as planned would he have been able to avoid the deathmark? Or would he now be dead, his incomplete payment angering the Hutt even more?

Han stood motionless, bottle in hand. It was a moot point now, he supposed. Instead of dealing with his debt he had let himself be persuaded to accompany the fleet to Mykos. And once they arrived, the minor chaos of the separation had resulted in the Falcon being requisitioned to ferry supplies from one base to the other and back again. The initial few weeks had been a never-ending stream of take-offs and landings and unloadings and re-loadings; in fact, today was the first time in a while that he had stayed in one place for more than half a day. He had been hoping that a longer stretch on solid ground would give him a chance to gather his thoughts and plan his next move.

And now this. As if the universe was rebuking him just for trying to catch his breath.

"What's wrong?"

Han started at the sound, banging into the corner of the shelf as he did. "Kest." Rubbing his forehead, he turned to see Leia standing in the doorway.

"What do you mean? Nothing's wrong. Why would anything be wrong?" Gods, that wasn't obvious at all. The always-tenuous connection between his brain and his mouth must have severed completely.

"Uh-huh." Unconvinced didn't even begin to describe her expression. "Did something happen?"

He grabbed a second bottle from the shelf, pulling out the stopper before re-inserting it. "No. Yes." He turned back and thrust it at her. "I don't want to talk about it. Take this. You know how much Janson can put away." He rubbed above his eye again, fingering the small bump that had started to form.

"Han."

He focused on her reluctantly, on her small frame centered in the entrance. "You can tell me if something happened," she said softly.

Han sighed and looked down at the bottle he was holding, his knuckles white as they gripped its neck. He didn't want to tell her yet, not while his thoughts were this muddled. "Later," he grunted, resting his other hand briefly on her shoulder as he maneuvered around her.

Back at the table another round was underway. Han used the excuse of pouring drinks to stay out of this hand. He followed the play of the others haphazardly, his mood sour, and realized he was looking forward to everyone leaving so he could be alone.

"So, Princess, when is the next base gonna be ready? The big one?"

Wedge groaned. "Wes, we just got here. You really want to move again?"

"Not now." Janson rearranged his cards carefully. "But if we're waiting for something, it might as well happen sooner rather than later."

"What about you, Han?" Wedge asked. "You eager to get to another base?"

Han looked up from his glass. "Whatever's in the future could be worse than where we are now," he said shortly. He ignored Leia's eyes on him. "Maybe we should just be content with our current fate."

"It's not that I'm not content," grumbled Janson. "I just want more space so I don't have to share quarters with people who snore." He shot a look over his cards at the new guy.

"It should only be another month or two before Echo Base is ready," Leia said neutrally. The others nodded in recognition, the name well known by now even though the actual location was highly classified. Even Han figured he'd be in transit by the time the coordinates were revealed.

The current hand dragged on until Chewie made a triumphant comeback on the last play, knocking Wedge off the top spot, and roared gleefully as he scooped up the pile of credits. Relieved, Han stood up and began to gather the cards. "All right. Party's over. Everyone out."

The three pilots stretched and yawned and delivered friendly jabs to the Wookie as they departed. Leia helped Chewie sort his loot while Han rounded up the empty glasses. When he returned from the galley, Leia was still seated at the table and Chewie was nowhere to be found.

Her finger traced the rim of her glass as he sat down across from her. "So."

"So." He studied his hands. "Look —." He stopped and started again. "I got some news and I'm trying to figure out what to do next."

She eyed him intently. "Do you want help figuring it out?"

"No. Not yet." He rubbed his face with the heels of his hands. "You can probably guess what it's about," he muttered under his breath.

There was no response from the opposite side of the table and in the absence of a reply he looked up expectantly. She always had a comeback, a question, a suggestion to everything he threw at her. But now she was just watching him silently and he was starting to feel uncomfortable.

"Bet you never thought —." He clamped his mouth shut just in time.

Her expression turned wary. "Thought what?"

Bet you never thought you'd be involved with someone who had a deathmark. Even in his head it sounded ridiculous. Because you aren't involved, a voice reminded him. Nothing about their relationship — or whatever word could be used to describe this thing between the him and the Princess— pointed to an actual involvement. That wayward thought — hope — was just further evidence that his brain was broken.

And yet here she was, not for the first time, sitting at his table late at night, empty glass in front of her, all the others having retreated to their quarters.

He must be going crazy. That was clearly the explanation. The longer he was with the rebellion, the crazier he became. Crazy for her, crazy for this life they had built in the midst of a war, a different life than he had ever known. One that held a reason to live for something more than just himself and his next meal.

Leaning back in the booth, he pushed those thoughts away. "You hear from Luke recently?"

"A couple of days ago." Her tone was muted. "He keeps me updated on the size of the bugs on Altari. He and Hobbs have apparently programmed a couple of droids to hunt them down and incinerate them."

"Huh." He searched for a smart-ass comment and came up empty.

Silence lingered between them. Han couldn't remember a time when he felt so dejected in her company. It was obvious to them both that the night was unrecoverable.

She pushed back her chair and stood up. "I'll leave you alone now." He watched her take her glass to the galley and then come out and head toward the ramp. Was she angry? No. Maybe hurt. That was even worse.

Without thinking he rose from the booth and followed her. "Leia."

She stopped, her back to him, her chin angled to the side.

He closed the distance until they were nearly touching. Standing directly behind her he studied the profile of her face, the face that had become almost as familiar to him as his own. He remembered the night that Luke's squadron went missing and how the fear of loss had allowed her to be folded in his arms. Now there was no looming loss to bridge the gap between them. Unless he counted his deathmark.

"Leia." He tried again. "I'm sorry."

She inhaled a shuddering breath and pivoted to face him, her eyes bright. "Get some sleep, Han," she whispered. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Lying in his bunk, he wondered what would have happened if he had told her. Would she have offered comfort, wrapping her arms around him in consolation? He didn't want pity — he never wanted anyone's pity — but at this moment he felt a deep longing for physical contact, for someone else nestled against him, that most basic connection perhaps the only hope for restoring his fragmented sense of self.

He turned onto his side and stared at the wall. The ache of longing didn't fully abate, but then it never did. He closed his eyes and dreamt of a different fate, one that might have arisen from a less impetuous past and held the promise of a less complicated future. One that might include her, with him, her body next to his own.