A/N: Timeframe is mid-ROTJ, after Han's rescue from Carbonite but before Endor. I was just thinking about how Han might've opened up (or not) about what had happened to him while in Carbonite.

Headaches

"I see we are on zopran."

Han Solo crushed his forehead between his fingers. "For the headaches, yeah."

"And how are they? The headaches?"

Han looked over at the green-skinned alien. The Alliance-appointed, green-skinned alien psychologist that Leia had personnally escorted him to that morning. "They're doing just great, thanks for askin'."

"Sarcasm, hmm" the alien replied wryly as he looked at his notes. "According to your charts, that is to be expected."

Han took a double take. Wait a minute, that's in my charts?

"Gotcha," the alien wheezed some sort of chuckle. "We are not the only one with a sense of humor."

Han nodded and put on a half-hearted grin. Just great. "So, are we done here?"

"Done?" the alien sputtered. "We have not yet answered a single question."

The pain inside of Han's head blossomed to new, excucriating heights. He contemplated standing and marching out of the office, but the fear of throwing up left him sitting comfortably in the cushioned seat. His hand continued to massage his forehead. "Alright, whatdya wanna know?"

"Okay," the alien answered, seemingly surprised as he began flipping through his flimsiplast pad. "How is your memory? What do you recall lastly?"

Han drew in a deep breath. Grasping at the ghosts of his pre-carbonite memory always made the pain of his headaches worse. "I remember arriving at Cloud City." As he said the words, images of the torture table and the black figure of Darth Vader flitted across his mind. He wiped the palms of his hands on his pants.

The alien eyed Han's hands and entered something onto his pad. "And after that?"

"After that," Han repeated. The smell of burning flesh and hair filled his nostrils. Then the memory of a light kiss against his forehead ghosted across his skin. He wiped the back of his hand against his forehead. "We met Lando, my friend. And he...he betrayed us."

The alien contemplated him for a moment, his big green eyes blinking slowly. "Can you describe the ordeal?"

Han shook his head. Smoke filled the air around him and he felt the desperation of a last kiss. "It's all a blur," he shrugged helplessly as he licked his lips. He could see her face, knew what she had said but couldn't quite conjure up her voice. The pain abated the memory. A haunting remnant of the torture. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Alright," the alien replied. "Accessing that part of the brain is painful, yes?"

In more ways than one. "You could say that," Han replied through clenched teeth. When he opened his eyes he realized that every muscle in his body had tightened. He methodically went through the effort of relaxing them, starting with the balled fists of his hands.

"Fast forward, two and a half standard years later. What of your first memories post-carbonite?"

Two and a half years? The words still seemed incredible to him. The air was dry and arid. Relief flooded through him, his body went bonelessly limp. Someone who loves you. "Not much there either," he rasped.

"Uh-hum," the alien replied, idly entering notes into his datapad.

"Everything else seems fine," Han added, hoping to say anything that might make this visit his last. "I remember everything, small details, how to fly my ship, where I hid my emergency creds. Everything, you know?"

"Yes, of course." The alien looked up from his notes, granting Han his undivided attention. "And what of the time in carbonite, Captain Solo. What memories, if any, do we have there?"

Han blinked twice and then looked away. In his mind he focused on that missing two-and-a-half year span. There was nothing but darkness there. That's what he had told Leia and Chewie, for he was unable or unwilling to describe it sufficiently. Leia was there - very clearly - calling to him, perhaps holding his hand. And Chewie. Chewie was there. Han's face contorted as what felt like blades of rough-cut glass dragged across his scalp from within. "There's nothing there," he said absently, the pain making his voice crack. He shut his eyes. Flashes of his mother wizzed by following a quick succession of faces, some nameless, others unforgettable or near-forgotten. In his mind, he spun around searching for Leia. The phantom touch of her hand slipped through his fingers and he balled his fist at its absence. He opened his eyes to stop the onslaught. The doctor was watching him intently. Bursts of perspiration had coolled his forehead and Han swiped at it with the sleeve of his jacket. Images, memories, all of those faces, flashed before his eyes with every blink. He had heard some beings describe similiar when brushed by death's hand. Had he come that close to dying?

At that moment a chime sounded; a pleasant low sound. "That's our reminder. Time's up, Captain Solo. You did well."

Han wrinkled his forehead. He didn't feel like they had done much at all. He stood on wobbly legs as the door slid open and Leia walked tentatively into the room. She hesitated and then glided towards him, looping her arm around his waist. Han locked his knees, not wanting to appear shaky in front of Leia and in her presence he somehow found strength. She squeezed him knowingly. She had been openly affectionate to him like this ever since his rescue, more than she had ever been before, yet there was an awkward barrier between them that he just couldn't find his way around.

"He is doing incredibly well," the green-skinned alien informed Leia and Han could feel her relief as she heard the words. "He should continue the zopran for the headaches and I'm certain his memory, pre and post carbonite anyway, will completely return."

"That's wonderful," Leia responded. The fact that the two of them were discussing him like a child didn't sit well with him, but he didn't feel like prolonging the visit with an argument about it, so he let it go. "I'll make sure he takes the zopran," she continued. "And, should he come back to see you?"

"One visit," Han interjected, reminding Leia of what they had agreed to.

"Han," she replied, twisting out of his arms to look up at him. From his vantage point he could see the purplish skin peaking out on her neck where her slave collar had been. He remembered what her skin tasted like as he had kissed each and every bruise away and what her hair smelled like when it was unbound and sprawled across his pillow.

"Alright," he answered her. A look of pure relief spread across her face, wiping away two and a half years of worry along with it. Han grinned, ignoring the dull throbbing that it caused. He was still amazed by all of it. He was free from Jabba, in love with a beautiful princess who was, apparently, just as much in love with him. Certainly all of that was worth a few trips to the quack? And a few headaches at that? "Anything you want," he whispered down to her.

She smiled back at him, rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him quickly. Little did she know how much he would do for that small gesture, how much he had already done. How much he planned to do.