Since I'm going AU here, it occurred to me there's no reason I have to stick with what the film actually showed us. So here's my take on Han and Leia's reunion, with what I hope is more in-character dialogue.

Reshoot: Han and Leia

Resistance fighters poured out of the transport, disbursing quickly to create a perimeter. No one paid any attention to the old man standing still, staring at the transport's open hatch, waiting.

He felt her eyes on him before he saw her, emerging from the dark interior of the ship. She strode directly to him, without hesitation, and without acknowledging any of the personnel around her. Her arms were folded across her chest and her lips were a thin line. Her eyes roamed the chaotic scene in front of her and, unbidden, the words fell from his mouth as they always had.

"Leia, it's not my fault."

In an instant, her face softened into the precious and particular smile that was only for him. "It's always your fault."

"No, it's not!" he protested, a hint of indignation creeping into his tone.

"Of course it is," she responded, matter-of-factly and laughed delightedly as Chewie growled his agreement. She strode toward the big Wookiee, who lifted her off her feet with his enthusiastic greeting. "It's so good to see you, Chewie. I assume he's been getting you into trouble as usual?"

As the Wookiee provided Leia with an extensive listing of Han's recent failings, Solo stepped closer, his fingers dropping lightly against her sleeve. "All right, enough of that. Don't I get a hug, too?"

"Of course you do." His arm fell naturally around her shoulders as she turned back towards him, sliding a hand beneath his jacket and stretching as far around his waist as she could reach to return his embrace. "It's good to see you, too, Han," she added, quietly, her words muffled against his chest.

"You changed your hair." It wasn't what he'd meant to say, and her head cocked slightly to the side as she looked up at him, her smile widening.

"I did. Do you like it?"

His fingers traced along her hairline. "I do." He lowered his voice to a teasing rumble against her ear. "Makes you look younger." It was true - although the hairstyle itself was not especially flattering, it was so reminiscent of the braids she'd worn when he'd first met her that he found himself seeing the young girl she had been and not the old woman she'd become.

This earned him an elbow in the ribs. "Liar," she quipped, reaching up to ruffle his untidy, greying fringe. "You're certainly overdue for a haircut."

"I thought you liked me scruffy."

Her dark eyes twinkled at this, but she made no comment, simply brushing at the dirt on his shirt. "Don't you ever change your jacket?"

He looked down at his torso, confused at her statement. "It's a new jacket," he insisted, defensively, although he had to admit that after the day he'd had, the condition of said jacket no longer could be described as "new".

Smiling sadly, she shook her head gently, and he understood all at once that she was seeing the same echo in him that he'd seen in her, remembering another jacket that he'd worn constantly, defiantly flaunting his lack of a uniform.

He felt his own smile fade. Who was he kidding? He wasn't that brash young smuggler any more, no matter how hard he tried to maintain the façade. He was an old man, and running away hadn't made anything better.

Maybe Maz was right. Maybe it was time to go home.