CHAPTER 24:

Han Solo brought the mug of kaffe to his mouth and sipped the steaming drink. He sat next to his bed where Princess Leia Organa slept. His feet were propped up on the nightstand and his hands cupped the mug that he rested on his abdomen between sips. The heat of his drink penetrated the ceramic and warmed him inside and out. He took another small sip of the kaffe as he watched Leia sleep.

How much time had passed since Leia was bitten by the nico spider? Weeks, though it felt like days; it felt like yesterday. She could've died; she almost did. If she hadn't bumped into him in the corridor…

Han sighed and took another sip of his kaffe to erase that thought. He gazed at her face. She didn't look as if she was on death's bed like she did when she was recovering from the spider bite. However, Leia's concussion and fractured ribs concerned Han just the same. He had woken her up every three hours to make sure that her condition wasn't deteriorating. The last time he woke her, she had some sharp words for him, something he welcomed. Now he had nothing to do but sit by her bed and wait until the next time he was to wake her.

Han tried to push the image of Vilogo slamming her against the wall and kicking her as she lay curled up on the ground out of his mind. To no avail. The scene played over and over as if its sole intent was to torture Han.

She's hurt because of me.

He should have never brought Leia to Ord Mantell; he knew how dangerous that planet was. Han could have insisted on taking her to a safer place, on making her take a real vacation. However, Leia refused to go with him unless she was doing something for the rebellion. Procuring weapons for the rebel base on Eros seemed like the safest—and easiest—mission at the time. Han could've lied to her; he could've taken Leia to another place and suffered the consequences. However, he couldn't bring himself to lie to her, not about something that big. Han didn't want to ruin the trust between them that had grown over the last three years. Preserving that trust meant more to him than anything else.

Even keeping her safe?

Han swallowed down another sip of kaffe. Its heat was rapidly fading. Maybe his priorities were skewed. How could he think putting Leia in danger to remove her from a threat was a good idea? He ran a finger along the lip of the mug. He thought bringing Leia to Ord Mantell was the only way he could keep her close to him; he could keep a better eye on her than he could on Home One. On Ord Mantell, Leia couldn't keep him at arm's length; she couldn't avoid him. He truly believed that he was the only one who could keep her safe.

Was his motive pure? Or did he selfishly want her to himself?

Solo shifted in his chair. He didn't like the thought of him manipulating the situation to serve his own purpose. He rubbed his chin with his forefinger. Her safety came first—he was sure of that, even though he made the idiot move of bringing her to Ord Mantell—but he couldn't deny the thrill he got spending the time alone with her.

Thrill. Guilt formed a knot in his chest; Finding pleasure in something that almost killed her—them—three times sickened him. And he almost got Leia captured by the Imps.

Han clenched his jaw. Had Vilogo not ambushed them, they would have never had to deal with that Imperial officer, Hemit, and the band of Stormtroopers. Had Han not had a price on his head, Leia wouldn't have been lying in this bed recovering from some worrisome injuries.

Han squeezed the mug in his hands. Leia was injured because of him, because he had shirked his responsibilities (as usual). Before, Han saw only himself at risk by his recklessness—and Chewie, but Chewie was with him by choice. The smuggler had tried to ditch his furry pal. However, that Wookie was one determined being. Leia, on the other hand, didn't choose to take on Han's mistakes, but she had to deal with the fallout anyway. Keeping her close didn't keep her safe.

Han took another sip of his kaffe. The heat had dissipated and he was left with a cold, bitter drink that only enhanced his sullen mood. He gazed at Leia's peaceful face. Han could watch her sleep for hours, which was what he was doing now. He brought a lock of her hair to his face and pressed it against his lips. It was cool and smooth, and it smelled like direi blossoms. Han inhaled deeper, committing the sweet fragrance to memory.

His eyes traveled over her slight form under the covers as he adjusted them. Solo marveled at Leia's small stature, her streamline body. Beings easily underestimated her. The smuggler smiled at the memory of Leia taking one of Gorobian's men's blaster and knocking him to the ground. Yes, she was easily underestimated and minimalized by enemies and allies alike. She took on challenges, Stormtroopers, bounty hunters, and the Alliance's High Command as if she was as tall as Chewbacca. The way she jumped on Vilogo; it took the Fivoca all he had to shake her—

Again, the image of Vilogo slamming Leia against the wall and kicking her in the gut assaulted his mind. Han's smile faded. Vilogo was known for slashing those beings who got in his way of a bounty to death with his ferocious talons even if those beings were innocent bystanders. The Fivoca didn't kill Leia, though he had the opportunity. Han slowly exhaled. Vilogo most likely planned to use her as leverage. Most likely, the bounty hunter would've sold Leia to Jabba, and that grotesque Hutt would subject her to unthinkable vileness to punish Han.

The kaffe in Solo's stomach churned at the thought of Jabba hurting Leia. He glared into the mug of cold kaffe before placing next to the chair. Han was more of a threat to Leia's wellbeing than the assassin on Home One.

Did he love her enough to leave her?

His heart pinched at the thought of leaving Leia. She had sparked a fire in his gut, had given him a reason to live beyond just getting by.

Most importantly, she loved him. Leia loved him, even if she could only admit it when she was drunk. Han never relished the proclamation of love from a woman like he did Leia's. In fact, a woman professing her love always soured whatever relationship Han had with her. He didn't want that kind of responsibility or attachment; those things would only get in the way of his chosen path in life.

However, his stomach flipped at the memory of Leia professing her love. Arms thrown around his neck, the words, I. Love. You. Leia loved him not like she loved Luke. Han was almost afraid to believe it; someone like her loved him. Han's goals weren't lofty, and he wasn't idealistic or heroic. Everything he did was for survival. He rescued Luke over the Death Star because he cared about the kid; he took care of Leia because he loved her. His motives couldn't be more selfish than that.

Han dropped his feet to the ground and leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. Leia made him want to be a better person; he wanted to live up to her expectations of him.

Your friend is quite the mercenary. I wonder if he cares about anything. Or anyone.

Han bit the inside of his cheek as the words she spoke when they escaped the Death Star floated across his mind. Leia's voice dripped with disappointment. She didn't even know him, and he had the ability to disappoint her. Looking back, it was in that moment wanting to be the man she wanted him to be affected his future decisions. Maybe that's why he came back and helped Luke destroy the Death Star.

Solo leaned back, slouched in the chair, and crossed his arms over his chest.

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A growl and grumble woke Han up. He opened his eyes to find Chewbacca peeking his head into the cabin. The smuggler rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"I must've fallen asleep."

Chewbacca garrawed.

"You don't have to be sarcastic." Han looked at the empty bed. "Where's Leia?"

Chewie magrooed.

"The Falcon's not that big. How could you not know?"

Chewie gaggawed.

"Why are you avoiding her?"

The Wookie placed a hand on his hip and garagled.

"Good reason," Han said though he wished that Chewie told Leia who her would-be assassin was. That was something Han dreaded telling her. Han stood up and stretched his arms above his head. "What time is it?"

The Wookie reeggged.

"We should be back on Home One in a couple of hours."

Chewie garuffed.

"Again with the sarcasm?"

Chewbacca mumbled something under his breath and walked away. Han ignored his best friend, picked the blanket off the bed, and headed to Leia's favorite spot: the cockpit. She loved to stargaze, especially when they were traveling at lightspeed. And Han loved the way the light of the stars danced upon her face when she stargazed. The smuggler turned down the corridor and palmed the controls of the cockpit door. It slid open.

Leia peeked over the co-pilot's seat. "How are you feeling?"

Han walked over to his chair and sat down. "I should be asking you that."

Leia was leaning against the pillow with her feet pulled up in Chewie's seat.

"I'm feeling fine."

Han gave her a pointed look.

"I'm just a bit sore."

"You dizzy?"

She opened her mouth and closed it before answering him. "A little."

At least she was being honest with him.

She leaned her head back. "You look tired."

"I'm not," he said. He held up the blanket. "It's cold."

"I'm fine."

Han arranged the blanket over her. She settled underneath it and turned her attention to the scenery outside the cockpit. He watched her watch the stars.

"We should reach Home One in a couple of hours."

"I know."

"You should be resting."

"I am."

"I meant lying down resting."

Leia shrugged. "I'm resting now."

Her answers were curt, and Han inwardly cringed. Han's eyes traveled from her to the stars and then back to her.

"Somethin' wrong?"

"Why won't you tell me who the assassin is?"

"Would-be assassin."

She rolled her large brown eyes but this time her small action didn't bring Han pleasure.

"It's someone I know," Leia said when Han didn't answer. "Someone I trusted."

"Leia…"

She looked at him. "Why don't you tell me? Are you afraid I'll break?"

"Sweetheart, that's the last thing I expect of you."

She turned her head towards him and tilted it forward. "Then tell me."

"I'm surprised Chewie didn't tell you."

"I got the impression that he's avoiding me."

"Smart move," Han mumbled.

"You can't keep this from me, Han."

Han forcefully expelled a breath. "No, I can't."

He swiveled his seat towards her, leaned forward, and rested his elbows on his knees. She stared into his eyes, waiting.