Author's notes: Thank you, reviewers! Without your reviews, writers would wither away into poofs of dust. Thank you for pointing out my mistakes! I fixed the Wookiee spelling in this chapter, and I'll fix the eye color and spelling in previous chapters if I ever get the time. Also, I have read no Star Wars books, which is why I pass over Shrike's part so quickly! And if you see any plot mistakes, feel free to tell me. Thank you all!
A dog sniffed at the pile of rocks, licking his muzzle as he smelled blood. The sun rose hot and yellow through the clouds of pollution as the constant, maddening hum of space transports zoomed overhead.
Suddenly, heaving from underneath, the rubble shifted. Then it spilled. Dizzily, wearily, painfully, a tall brown form strained to a stand. Chewbacca gave a moan of pain and clutched his shoulder. The dog backed away whining.
Immediately, Chewbacca's eyes darted here and there. No Han. He called Han's name in a soft, woofing tone. Nothing. He barked. He roared.
Han would never dare disobey a roar. It meant only one thing: Han was gone.
With a roar of agony, Chewbacca tore himself out and ran blindly, the horrifying site of a full grown Wookiee gone frantic with worry charging through the streets, calling out the same sound over and over, searching for his cub as he pushed by pedestrians with terrifying force.
It was a week before he ceased searching the endless maze of Corellia. He had been arrested for disturbing the peace; he had eaten and drunken nothing. There were red, raw circles around his eyes and his pace was shaky. He was on the verge of collapse. But he couldn't rest, not when a part of his heart was missing, torn so suddenly. His cub…his Han…where was Han?
On and on, through so many streets and mazes and bars that it became a blur, Chewbacca searched, tirelessly, devotedly, longingly…
He never found him.
SWSWSWSW
Malla was watching the horizon when he came back. She saw he was alone. He saw her cry. She saw how weak he was through her tears and raced forward. As he plodded tiredly, he met her, he grabbed her shoulders and looked into her eyes, missing the little hand that had rested on his head the last time he had seen her like this, missing the voice that had solemnly pronounced them Daddy and Mommy. And he forced it out. He forced it out from his aching soul. *Malla…oh Malla…I lost him. I lost…Han…*
It was then, and only then, in her arms, perhaps for the first time in his life, that Chewbacca the Wookiee cried.
SWSWSWSWSWSW
Shrike, a monster at heart and a dealer in crime, pain, extortion, and slavery, was the one who found the boy. Five years old, dressed in rags, with long, unkempt brown hair and fiery blue eyes. Something about the boy was very striking. And for Shrike, any promising boy was yet another obtainable tool and toy for his army of pickpockets, thieves, and cons. There was no love, not even sympathy, only greed in him as he approached the terribly thin child.
He said the perfect words to a hungry heart he would never even try to heal. "I know almost everything that goes on here on Corellia. I know who's lost and who's found, who's for sale and who's sold, and where all the bodies are buried. Matter of fact, I've had my eye on you. You seem like a smart lad. Are you smart?"
The boy's eyes lit up with the praise and he spoke in the Basic language that he had grown so proficient in from necessity. "Yes, Captain. I'm smart."
Shrike grinned at the easy trust. "Good, that's the lad! Well, I could use a smart lad to work for me. Why don't you come with me? I'll give you a square meal and a warm place to sleep. And I just bet you'd like to see my ship."
A fire burned in his eyes and seemed to imbue the neglected child with amazing energy. "A spaceship? Yes, Captain! I want to be a pilot when I grow up!"
Shrike nodded his head. "Well come on, then!"
And Han entered into a slavery of forced crime, of beatings, of starvation, and danger, but most of all, of lovelessness. A slavery that would last until his manhood, when he broke his chains and became the person the universe had shaped him to be with the losses and hardships it had forced him to endure. That, and the very same spirit that used to prompt him to walk out on dangerous limbs until a loved voice called him back, turned him into the man he became.
SWSWSWSWSW
Shrike took his medallion. Shrike took everything he owned and sent Han out to get more. Han realized very quickly that this was not home. Shrike sent him out and, hearing something rattle inside, broke the wooden medallion open carefully. A holocron chip dropped out. Interested, Shrike put it into his hologram.
A man's face in shimmering blue sputtered to life. He spoke.
To whoever finds this, I have been charged with the protection of the child you will find by me. I am on a long, long journey with him. There is a chance that, during this journey, I may fail in my duty towards him and his family. If so, please, in the name of goodness, take the child with you. Take him back to his home planet on Corellia. You will be well rewarded for your trouble, if you will only return him to the family of Solo. His parents are…
Shrike chuckled grimly and removed the holocron, holding it up to the dull light. "Not likely. The house of Solo fell into poverty three years ago. No reward there. Besides, this kid has better things to do than cling to titles. He's got a quota to fill and a job to do, or I'll teach him to do it. No, Han Solo…" he snarled out the last name. "You're far too busy to go back home."
With a careless flick of his fingers and a vicious stomp from his boot, Shrike ground the last bit of proof of Han's legacy into tiny shards of dust.
SWSWSWSWSW
When Han was a cocky, mouthy, rebellious nine year old, hardened by his life and angry at the world, he found a friend. A Wookiee female who began to serve as a cook. The minute he saw her, he stood with mouth open. Faded memories of green trees and brown, furry beings clamored mutely in his mind, but he didn't recognize them. She looked up, saw him staring, and smiled. *Never seen a Wookiee before, cub?*
He blinked, understanding nothing of what she had said. She grinned and reached into the oven, holding a hot piece of bread gingerly. *Every child understands food.* and tossed him a piece.
He caught it and bit, and the taste flooded him again with sensations he couldn't come to grips with. Comfort, familiarity…something else. "It's great." He admitted. "What is it?"
The Wookiee frowned, wondering how to tell him if he didn't understand. She shrugged and gestured him to sit. He did, but she didn't like the way his eyes kept darting suspiciously at her. She pointed to herself. *Dewlannamapia…or Dewlanna* She added her nickname.
The boy's face furrowed in concentration, and he tried to copy the first name. She noticed immediately how skillfully he emulated it, and she saw the muscles moving in his neck as he worked by the throaty sounds easily. Interesting.
The boy swallowed the rest of the bread and gave her a daredevil smile that hid his true feelings behind a mask of bravery. He tapped his own chest. "I'm Han. Just Han."
SWSWSWSWSW
Dewlanna became so much to Han. She came to love the human child, spending her own money to get him medical attention when he was ill, getting Shrike drunk so she could find out Han's last name and tell him, teaching him to read and speak Shyriiwook, and ruffling up his brown hair constantly, although he didn't like it and always smoothed it down. Han took so fast to the Wookiee language, almost as if he was relearning it. He didn't like speaking it, but he learned so well that Dewlanna couldn't say anything too fast for him to understand. He always loved that bread, the wastril bread, and nerf sausages. Dewlanna fed him, encouraged him, comforted him, and, more than anything else, she loved him.
And Dewlanna saw so, so much more in this Corellian, this Han Solo, than anyone else. She saw the greatness and fire that was inside him, channeled out into bitterness and smart comments by his hard view of life. In another lifetime, what he could have accomplished!
And Dewlanna wanted, with all her heart, to give Han that better lifetime. She wanted him to be free of Shrike, to follow his own destiny through the stars. She wanted it so much she gave her life for it, taking Shrike's blaster bolt that was aimed at Han when the boy tried to escape.
She gave her life for him, and dying in his arms, she heard the sweetest words, words blurred by tears and hitched sobbing that she was, for once, powerless to alleviate. "You want me…to go…to live. And to be…happy. Okay! I'll go. I still have time to get aboard that robot ship before it takes off. I promise. I'll go now. And I swear I'll always remember you, Dewlanna." And she felt his kiss on her forehead, and she died, happy.
SWSWSWSWSW
It was many years later, a lifetime later, when Han Solo refused to obey an Imperial order and skin the injured prisoner Wookiee alive, losing his position in the Imperial Navy as a result. He spared the Wookiee, who in turn swore a Life Debt to him, becoming his constant companion. Through thick and thin, through the passionate, reckless, up and down life Han led, the Wookiee was at his side.
Despite initial hostility on Han's part at having yet another person close in his life whom he might lose, they grew very close. Something unseen and unacknowledged, never even spoken of, drew them together. Han called the Wookiee "Chewie" as another human child called the Wookiee long ago, and the Wookiee called Han *cub* in affection, as he had called another human child, long ago.
In this scoundrel, this scruffy, fiery, sometimes shallow smuggler, Chewbacca found no connection with his lost cub, his joyful, innocent, sweet Han. True, the smuggler's name was Han, but he had a last name too, Solo. Chewbacca's cub had had no last name.
It was only rarely, very, very rarely, flying into the stars, through asteroid fields or doing that impossible kessel run, burning through the sky, that Chewbacca saw a glimpse of something very much like his lost cub in Han's eyes. The very same look that had shone in baby Han's eyes when he danced, so foolishly, on the end of the branches. The look that would have sent him into the stars.
But it was impossible. It was gone. There was no connection. Just a coincidence and a similarity and a twist of longing in an old Wookiee's eyes.
SWSWSWSWSW
The cool floors of the Millennium Falcon rumbled in space as she drifted, using minimal power to keep her in orbit around the trade station 45 Sentic. Chewbacca rumbled to himself softly as he paced the corridor, checking up on instruments and readings and perhaps for any dishes left out before bed.
Even as he busied himself with different tasks, he had one clear goal in his mind. Han was up in the cockpit, had been there for a long time. Chewbacca was waiting until the time was right to join him.
To those who didn't know him better, Han Solo seemed to be a very callous and shallow person, only concerned with credits, adrenalin rushes, and the small pleasures a smuggler could afford, such as alcohol and gambling. Chewbacca himself had found it a bit too easy to believe when he first came to be Han's co-pilot.
But now, after spending so much time with him, he knew different. Han was a classic softy with a tough guy exterior. Such a tough, hard shell he hid inside, almost as if he had put on another man. He had no clear virtues or sentiments to speak of, yet Chewbacca knew they were there.
For one thing, his friend was brave, almost to the point of foolhardiness. He was inclined to be reckless, but that recklessness was always buoyed up by the most amazing Solo luck. A veteran of the Clone Wars, Chewbacca had seen Han fight, and knew a warrior when he saw one.
Han also had a wonderful way of breaking all the rules and twisting them into something almost unrecognizable in all his endeavors. Whether in battle, in gambling, in love making, or even in bargaining, Han Solo was the most unpredictable opponent in probably all the known galaxies. He was deadly with his blaster draw and, in Chewbacca's extensive experience, the most skilful and breathtaking pilot ever. The Millennium Falcon was his baby; he knew her inside out. So did Chewbacca, but the Wookiee was sure he was not nearly attached to the relic as Han.
Chewbacca finally made up his mind and bent his head down to fit into the cockpit. Brushing by Han, he fit himself into a seat and turned to look at the Corellian.
Han was drunk. Chewbacca sighed when he saw the bottle dangling from his hand. He hoped it wasn't too bad. Luckily, Han usually only took heavy alcohol occasionally, mostly during his moody periods.
Chewbacca took the bottle away from Han, meeting no resistance. Han crossed his arms under his chin and rested them on the dashboard, his blue eyes staring at the stars.
There had been quite a lot of this when Chewbacca first met Han. The smuggler had just gotten through some very tough times, not the least of which was being kicked out of Imperial Service, losing a close friend name Bria, and memories of his days as a pickpocket still rather fresh in his mind.
To the Wookiee's surprise, however, there were a few, rare, precious moments, when Han was intoxicated, that he slipped into a dreamy state. While in this state, Han shared much of his past with the Wookiee, whom he trusted. In return, Chewbacca told him stories from the Clone Wars and stories about his home planet, Kashyyyk. Han loved the stories of Kashyyyk. A light would sparkle in his eyes and he drank in every word, asking so many questions. By sharing these things together, their friendship grew strong.
However, Han was quiet today. Today was probably one of those evenings where they just sat together, feeling the Millennium Falcon vibrate softly, watching the dark sky as it was streaked every once in a while by flying stars or spaceships. Across the whole view, the stars shone out, bright and white and so beautiful.
Han broke the silence, suddenly. "You know pardner, I always wanted to fly…since I was no higher than a Jawa."
*I could have guessed. Why?*
Han leaned back in his chair, gesturing out the window. "It was those darn stars that did it. I used to ask myself all sorts of questions about them. Questions I wouldn't be caught dead saying now." He grinned.
Chewbacca smiled, knowing Han would tell him but pretend it was embarrassing all the while. *What sort of questions, cub?*
"You know…stupid stuff like, are the stars alive…do they talk and laugh, or maybe burn like fire. Crazy stuff like that."
*I don't think it sounds crazy. It sounds beautiful.*
Han gave him a disgusted look. Then he turned to gaze back at the stars. Chewbacca looked as well, and his thoughts went back to sitting, perched at the very top of a huge wroshyr tree, arms wrapped tightly around the tiny, wriggling three year old who kept shrieking in delight and pointing at the sky.
"Chewie…did you want to go out in space? Besides the fact that you were forced to…do you like to fly?"
*I don't really know, cub. For me it was a necessity, not a choice. I love taking care of the ships…yes, and I do love flying. But my heart is still in Kashyyyk. I have strong roots there.*
"With Malla? And your cub?" Han looked at him with sympathy. He knew how Chewbacca had had to leave his family there, only able to visit a few times a year as they avoided the Imperials.
Chewbacca wondered how big Lumpawaroo was, what he was learning without his father there to guide him. *Yes.* He woofed shortly, wanting to change the subject.
Han, of course, understood. He did change the subject, so quickly that a stranger would have thought he was doing it naturally. "Well, at least you haven't lost any of them. In this crazy universe of ours, that's a rare gift."
The words hurt. They were meant to comfort, but they hurt. Chewbacca took a deep breath. *I did lose someone, Han.*
Han's face darkened sadly. "Sorry Chewie…me and my big mouth." He straightened in his chair, surprisingly alert for someone who had just downed three fourths of a bottle of Hayan whiskey. He watched the Wookiee for a minute, and then spoke very, very softly. "Who was it?"
Chewbacca looked at the stars, his answer coming out in a sad moan. *My first cub.*
SWSWSWSWSW
The wind was so strong, so hot, whipping dust and dirt into Han's eyes, flapping through his clothes, threatening to tear him off the Falcon's lamp as he reached out. He didn't care that planet Dobido would collide with planet Sernpidal in a few minutes, he didn't care that he was in danger of being pulled out into the collision, heck, he didn't even care if the moon hit the Millennium Falcon directly and killed him and everyone aboard.
He cared that Chewie was still on the planet.
So many survivors were packed into the ship that it was creaking as if in pain. Anakin Solo, his son, started lifting the ship higher into the atmosphere, fighting against the wind.
And below Han, an agonizing few feet below, Chewbacca stood and fought against the wind, trying in vain to reach Han's outstretched hand. It was madness to even try and pull up a heavy Wookiee in this hurricane, but it was impossible for Han Solo not to try.
But then, just like that, Chewie lowered his arms. He had given up. Han screamed, though the words were whipped away in the wind. "CHEWIE! GIVE ME YOUR HAND!"
Chewbacca shook his head and roared something. *Goodbye, cub.*
"NO!" Han roared back. "GIVE ME YOUR HAND!"
He frantically thought…I have to extend my grip…a few inches…
Dropping to his belly, he felt the wind pull him, sliding him towards the edge. His hands dug into the metal, finding grip after grip in a vain attempt to control his descent. His scruffy brown hair whipped into his eyes, blinding him.
"No! Dad!" He heard Anakin cry out, probably feeling what his father was doing through the force. But he didn't care. Anakin was safe. The people were safe. Now he needed to save Chewie.
He locked his ankles around the low pole, almost losing it as his ankle bones slammed against the metal and rubbed, rubbed, rubbed as he pivoted with the wind. Pain vibrated up his legs. Chewbacca's face flooded with worry and disbelief, and he shook his head, barking in dismay.
"Shut the kriff up, you big fuzzball! Give me your hand!"
Chewbacca obeyed, only because he foresaw what would happen to Han if he didn't. Han had always been afraid of losing his loved ones, something that stemmed from his mysterious childhood. Chewbacca had become so close to him…he didn't want to know what Han would do if he lost Chewbacca. His dear, angry, sensitive, insolent smuggler cub. A man with no roots, who grabbed the ground as fiercely as if he had. He looked into his friend's eyes and saw the pleading, the loving, begging worry.
So he tried. He leapt. The wind swept him forward and he almost…almost…short by a foot. Han grit his teeth in both disbelief and pain. Just a foot. No way in the kreffin universe was Chewie gonna die because Han was a foot short. If only he'd been born a Wookiee.
Gritting his teeth, Han unslung something from around his neck and dangled it.
When Chewbacca saw it, he gave a double take and nearly let the wind blow him over, his foot claws scrabbling in the sand. As it was, he regained control and leapt up, grabbing the wooden medallion. It should have broken. The string was just leather. It should have broken.
But it didn't. It survived for five seconds, until Han pulled Chewie's arms high enough to grab his wrists. The Wookiee took over, grabbing the edge of the ramp and pulling both himself and Han up against the wind, nearly carrying the Corellian by the waist until they both escaped the storm and stumbled into the ship.
They both collapsed, panting, onto the floor. Han sat up, wiping the sweat and dirt from his face with one hand. "Blaster bolts, Chewie, don't scare me like that again or I'll kill you."
Chewbacca, for once, didn't answer with an amused growl. Han looked down and notice the leather strap was wound rather tightly around his wrist, partly because Chewbacca was still clasping the other end with almost a deathhold from where he lay on his belly.
He wondered what significance the wooden carving had on his friend. Perplexed, he waggled his still imprisoned hand in front of the Wookie's face. "You mind telling me what's so epic?"
Chewbacca sat up and looked at Han, his eyes peering so deep it made the smuggler uncomfortable. Finally, Chewbacca spoke. *Where did you get this, cub?*
"Remember that Shrike I told you about? Went back to his ship, the one he kept in orbit around Corellia. You won't believe it, pal, it still is in orbit. Hunk of junk…anyway, I went to see if I could find anything…you know, about me. All I found is the medallion. I remembered it, so I took it. Not much. That greased Dug owed me a lot more."
Chewbacca woofed slowly, disbelievingly. Then he grinned. He laughed, as a huge sore that had festered deep in his past and in his heart faded away forever. He laughed. Han smiled, catching the humor but not the meaning behind it. His smile turned to dismay, however, as Chewbacca caught him into a rough hug, his chest expelling a roar of triumphant exultation.
When Han was finally released, he stared at the Wookiee with that amusing, petrified confusion Leia surprised on him so often. Chewbacca closed his paw over the medallion fondly, gazing at Han and finally understanding all the connections. On impulse, he reached forward and rubbed Han's hair.
Han was quick to bat the paw away. "I'm gonna have to sedate you, Chewie. Calm down and tell me what the heck is wrong. For someone who almost died you seem very happy."
*I am, Han, I am.* Chewie made an effort to calm down, at least for Han's sake. It had hurt for so long, but now it was suddenly perfect. Malla was waiting for him with his cub, Lumpawaroo, on Kashyyyk. Now he could bring her back the other cub they had lost so long ago. Older, prouder, needing them less, perhaps, with his own cubs and his own life to live. But he could come and see her again.
Chewbacca could barely believe it. His cub and his dearest friend were one and the same. He couldn't help laughing, almost roaring with sheer joy and relief. They had missed so much, but they were together again. Kashyyyk was Han's home as much as his, Chewbacca's fire was Han's as much as his; Han's cubs were Chewbacca's cubs. It had always been thus ever since Chewbacca met the smuggler, but now it took on a deeper significance in that Han Solo was no longer the lonely, homeless, hurt smuggler wandering the universe. He was a son of Chewbacca and a child of Kashyyyk.
The lost cub was found, and his soul was safe. He had not died, had not been corrupted, had not been destroyed. His spirit was too strong to be broken. No matter what, he had come home. Even as a man, there was one thing Chewbacca and Malla could give him that he would never stop needing or tire of, that they had already given him when they hadn't known his true closeness to them; that thing was love. He shook his head at Han, wondering where to begin. *But I have such, such a story to tell you. And…I am so happy, cub. You have made me so proud.*
Han still didn't understand. How could he? But he realized the compliment, and the joy in his co-pilot's voice. With his scruffy, Wookiee-brown hair, warm blue eyes, and the same love he used to show Chewbacca when he was a cub, Han smiled and squeezed the Wookiee's furry arm. "Glad to hear it, Chewie. Glad to hear it."
FINIS