Recursion
by Erin Darroch
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Chapter 2:
Later, freshly showered and completely sated, Han lay sprawled on his back in the bed alone. The day before had been easily one of the most satisfying of his life, and he was still in a pleasant daze. He rocked his head to the side to look through the window at the awakening landscape of Ord Mantell, recalling with a faint smile the moment on the shuttle pier when he'd first seen Leia again after their parting on D'Qar. Although they'd been communicating with each other through the Force for something like eight days by that point—a fact that still had the power to astonish them both —nothing matched the deep gratification he felt when he saw the love in her eyes and felt her fierce embrace. His brush with death at the hands of their son had done what nothing else had the power to do. It had finally shattered Leia's last hope of turning Ben back to the Light, but it had also brought them back together.
The power of the Force and its role in recent events was undeniable, and Han was long past the point of dismissing it. In fact, he was still thoroughly enjoying his own newly developed sensitivity to it. On impulse, he reached out through that unseen dimension and easily found Leia's familiar presence in the adjoining fresher where she'd disappeared a few moments before. He was a fast learner, and he'd already picked up on the fact that he could sense her without disturbing her. It was a pleasurable sensation, reassuring and warm, to know even without being able to see her that she was safe. Whatever else the future might hold for them, he hoped that his new ability would prove to be permanent.
Holding his awareness of Leia in his mind and listening to the sounds of her moving around in the shower, he allowed himself to think about the future. About their daughter. About their son. The same quiver of unease that always gripped him when he considered such things rippled through him again at the thought of what was to come, and how they would face it.
So much of what they'd thought lost forever had been restored—their marriage, their daughter and, indeed, Han's own freedom and good health. But despite the fact that his personal circumstances had improved enormously in the past few days, he was aware that their current idyllic situation was strictly temporary. They were due to meet Poe Dameron, Finn and their other companions at the shuttle station in a couple of hours, and then they'd all be on their way to the new Resistance base on Kodus—and heading straight into outright war.
The recent destruction of the Hosnian System had pushed the simmering conflict between the First Order and the Resistance to a rolling boil, and Leia would be at the very heart of the coming action, whatever form that might take. The attack from Starkiller Base had destroyed multiple worlds and billions of beings—an appalling act carried out by madmen for the sake of eliminating the New Republic. And although the Resistance—with some help from Han himself—had obliterated that particular threat, Han's experience told him that there would be more to come.
Leia had seen first-hand the terrible consequences of allowing power to concentrate unchecked in the hands of a few when, at the age of nineteen, she'd witnessed the obliteration of her own home world of Alderaan. The experience had marked her profoundly on a personal level, but it also continued to exert a strong influence on her politics. As a former New Republic Senator herself, and now as the leader of the Resistance, Leia was one of the few surviving public figures who could feasibly raise the banners and rally the galaxy to oppose the First Order. And Han knew his wife very well; there could be no doubt that she planned to do exactly that.
The drone of the hot-air dryers being turned on in the fresher finally prompted Han to climb back out of their rumpled bed and begin thinking about the day ahead. He made his way to the small kitchen to start the kaffe brewing before Leia emerged looking for her morning fix, and then went to the suite's communications panel to punch in an order for breakfast. He suspected this Ord Mantell interlude would be their last experience of luxury for a long time, and he intended to make the most of it. With those tasks accomplished, he retrieved the small case containing the clothes and personal items he'd purchased on Eufornis Major and returned to the bedroom to get dressed.
As he tucked his shirt in, and then sat on the edge of the bed to pull his boots on, he thought with some despair about the coming war. It would be the third galactic conflict in his lifetime, although it was likely the last he would live to see. He'd been a kid, only seven or eight years old, when the Clone Wars began, and his entire life had been dominated in one way or another by the power and influence of the Galactic Empire that had emerged during that time. As a young man, he'd been caught up in the subsequent civil war, thanks to dumb luck, a pressing need for money, and his own convoluted sense of honour—not to mention his unexpected but irresistible compulsion to stick close to a certain feisty princess. And now, with his old age looming on the horizon, it appeared he would be swept up in another epic struggle, with Leia at the centre once again.
Fully dressed now, Han made a circuit of the hotel suite, gathering up their scattered items and dumping them into his case. He returned to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of kaffe, then turned to lean back against the countertop as he sipped it. Through the tall windows on the far wall opposite him, the busy air traffic of Ord Mantell was getting busier as the sky grew brighter. A steady stream of spacecraft from a hundred different worlds landed and took off as he watched. For a fleeting moment, he entertained a daydream about whisking Leia away on one of those ships to some distant planet where the coming war would never reach them. He wasn't a coward, and neither was she. But he couldn't shake the dread he felt at the prospect of a return to open warfare, particularly with their son fighting on the side of the opposition, and their daughter now likely to be swept up in the conflict, too. His worst fear was that their children would be drawn into another confrontation with each other. And he knew that there could be no happy ending for any of them if that happened again.
In his more honest moments Han could admit—at least to himself—that if he had the chance to do it all over again, he wouldn't hesitate to run away and leave the galaxy to carry on its endless wars without him and his family. If he'd had any idea back then of what would happen to their children, he'd have taken them and his wife to the Outer Rim, the Unknown Regions—or anywhere, as far away as the Falcon could fly—to live out their days in obscurity, and relative safety.
But that sort of thinking was pure fantasy. Leia had always been driven to fight against corruption and oppression, despite the personal cost to herself—or perhaps because of it. After so many years together, Han knew that she would never give in to the notion of quitting or walking away; not when there was still work to be done, not when there was still any hope of success. Nothing short of continuous sedation would have made her ignore the threat of the First Order once she'd perceived it. And nothing now would stop her going up against the so-called "Supreme Leader" Snoke, the vile creature who'd deliberately targeted and corrupted their son.
The thought of Snoke sent a shudder of revulsion though Han's body. He turned his head and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to shake the image of Ben, dressed in the garb of Kylo Ren and carrying a red lightsaber, that loomed in his mind. The last thing he wanted to think about this morning was that sputtering blade of malevolent energy, the menacing young man who wielded it, or the monstrous creature behind it all.
As he turned away from the window, his eye fell upon the half-empty bottle of Whyren's Reserve that he'd shared with Leia the night before. Setting his cup down on the counter, he retrieved the bottle, tightened the cap and went back into the bedroom to stash it in his case. They still had a journey of at least three standard days in front of them before they reached the new base in the Nastasi system, and Han reckoned the whiskey could be put to good use in that time. He'd been away from the Resistance for more than a year, and a couple of Leia's current travel companions were new to him. He'd also inadvertently acquired new companions of his own, in the form of two First Order medics who'd treated his wounds aboard the Avarshina medical station. He thought a dose or two of good Corellian whiskey might help smooth things out as they all got to know one another.
Having run out of things to do, Han walked around to the far side of the bed and sat on the edge facing the tall window to while away the time watching the bustling Ord Mantell landscape. Despite his efforts to distract himself, though, his thoughts kept wandering back to Snoke. Leia wanted Snoke dead, and Han was absolutely on board with that plan. But to achieve that goal she would need troops, ships, equipment and supplies, all of which had been exceedingly scarce in recent years, as she'd battled both the rise of the First Order and the wilful ignorance of many of her former colleagues in the New Republic Senate.
The First Order's appalling destruction of an entire star system presented Leia with a challenge, because many denizens of the galaxy would now be even more fearful, and worried, and inclined to avoid conflict. But it also presented her with an opportunity. The entire galaxy would have learned by now about the destruction of Hosnian Prime and the Galactic Senate, and outrage over that atrocity would garner substantial support—material support, as well as political support—for the Resistance. It was an opportunity he knew Leia wouldn't overlook.
As he mused over that thought, he heard the fresher door open, and looked over his shoulder to see Leia approaching. She'd chosen to dress in simple but elegant civilian garb, he was pleased to see, instead of the drab military uniform she usually wore, and her hair was still unbound. He grinned at her.
"You look great." The unabashed compliment was only a faint echo of Han's actual thoughts. To his eye, she looked fantastic; refreshed, relaxed and happy.
She rolled her eyes at him, but her mouth tilted in a smile as she tossed her hair brush on top of her case, and walked around the bed to where he sat. She moved to stand between his knees, then curled her fingers through his hair, and leaned into his embrace. With him seated, they were nearly at eye level.
"I feel pretty great," she admitted, smiling into his eyes.
Han allowed his hands to roam over the contours of her body, and gave her a lewd wink. "You sure do."
She rolled her eyes at him again, but then she kissed him anyway, apparently forgiving the bad joke. Her lips were soft, her body even softer, and she smelled of lumeria soap. She melted against him without reservation, winding her arms around his neck as she deepened the kiss and, for a moment, Han considered tumbling her back onto the bed. Not for sex—he didn't think he could manage again so soon, no matter how good she felt—but just to hold her, to keep her smiling and kissing him like this for a little while longer. But Leia was already thinking of other things.
"Mmm, you taste like kaffe," she murmured as she broke the kiss and began to pull away.
He released her, and she turned to make her way towards the kitchen, compelled by her mild addiction, and drawn by the rich aroma wafting from there. Han turned his head to watch her go, realising that his face was plastered with a smile.
He still felt mildly bemused by recent events, and the vagaries of his own fortunes. Nearly murdered by his own son; rescued, healed and then surrendered by a sworn enemy; and finally reunited with his estranged wife—all in the span of perhaps fifteen or sixteen days. It was more than a little overwhelming.
And he hadn't missed the significance of Leia's decision to meet him in person on Ord Mantell, instead of allowing her envoys to deliver him to her base. The fact that she was here with him at such a crucial time—instead of marshalling her forces for war—said more about the depth of her feelings for him than mere words ever could.
The door to the suite chimed and Han jumped up to answer it, passing Leia in the kitchen as he went. She gave him a quizzical eyebrow over the rim of her cup, too intent upon drinking her hot kaffe to put the question into words.
"Breakfast," Han explained as he reached to palm the door open. "You wore me out, Sweetheart. I need to recover my strength."
He was rewarded with another roll of the eyes, and a soft snort of amusement. She smirked at him as she lifted the cup to her lips again.
"You haven't seen anything yet, Flyboy."
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