Ratings/Warnings (this chapter only): MA; adult shenanigans, albeit very brief, dreamy ones

Note: Han is feeling slightly spicy in Part 1. And then he turns moody. Oh, Han. Hang in there!

Chapter 9: Han

Part 1:

Han felt the mattress give way beside him and then the familiar weight of her hand as it came to rest on his chest. He kept his eyes closed, enjoying her bold touch as she followed the contours of his abdomen with her warm palm, rubbing in a gentle pattern steadily downwards, stroking with her fingertips across the skin of his lower belly, then turning her hand palm-down to slide over his hip bone. He was already rock hard by the time she wrapped her hand around him, and he couldn't stifle a groan of pleasure as she gave him a gentle stroke... two... three...

Ah, Leia.

The chime of the holding cell door brought him crushingly, disappointingly to a waking state. The rest of his body was in a fairly lively state, too. Muttering under his breath, Han sat up on the narrow bed with his back to the entrance and scrubbed irritably at his face with both hands. A bleary glance over his shoulder at the chrono display told him who was at the door.

Breakfast. Oh, joy.

He waited in silence while the anonymous attendant settled his food tray on the small side table and departed. Life in a First Order medical station holding cell was not nearly as bad as it might have been. In fact, it had been a better experience than he'd had at some pricey hotels, although it wasn't quite up to resort standards. Still, he mused, it could have been worse. Clean room. Decent food. Polite attendants.

The worst thing he could say about it was that it was dull. No, make that mind-numbingly boring. Tedious in the extreme. Phasma's determination to see him returned to the Resistance under her own conditions meant that—as long as Kylo Ren never learned of his survival—Han would languish here until she'd found a way to do that, or until his friends arrived.

He hoped sincerely that the latter would happen first. It had been several days since the exciting communication from Leia had confirmed that she was on her way—or, rather, that her delegates were on the way. He had no details of the plan and had not pressed her for them at any point in their frequent daily communion. He thought it better not to know the particulars, so he hadn't ventured near the topic. Indeed, he'd made a point of trying to keep the mood of their connections light and playful, or reassuring and warm. He could sense her anxious state and had no desire to make it worse.

As he moved around the bed towards his breakfast, Han chuckled grimly in disbelief at himself, and the ludicrous fact that he was actively engaging in regular telepathic communication with Leia from halfway across the galaxy.

Or am I, he thought. Maybe I'm just losing my mind.

Since discovering his link with Leia and their ability to communicate emotions and imagery through the Force, he had at times felt weirdly disconnected from reality, as if the whole, crazy business of his life were happening to someone else. It would make a hell of a holodrama, he admitted. Melodramatic and cringeworthy in places. Truly tragic in others.

He picked listlessly at the cooling breakfast food, feeling restless and irritable. The sensual dream of Leia had left him feeling deeply unsatisfied, and lonely. Such dreams had been something of a regular occurrence over the past year, after their final, blistering disagreement over what to do about Ben had sent him soaring away on the Falcon for a much longer absence than he'd planned. He recognised that the extended period of avoidance had been a feeble attempt to spare himself—and her—more pain. He also recognised that it hadn't made their situation any better. It hadn't solved the problem that lay between them; in fact, it had only damaged the trusting connection that had bound them together for so long, and it had eroded the intimacy that had brought them both some comfort. His increasingly frequent dreams of Leia being sweet to him—or not so sweet; he liked that, too—were a reflection of a deep desire to be reunited with her, to try to find a way over the chasm that lay between them after Ben's fall to the Dark Side.

Thinking of Ben recalled to mind Han's different, darker dreams. For three nights running he'd suffered a repetitious nightmare of that heartbreaking moment when he'd seen Ben's face, heard his voice, and dared to hope.

Will you help me?

Yes. Anything.

He'd meant it, in that moment. He would have done anything to see their only son, their precious firstborn, turn away from looming darkness and remain in light. If only he could have taken Ben by the shoulders and steered him back into his mother's arms. But there had been no light in those black eyes. No remorse. No love. The child they'd conceived as an expression of their devotion to each other—the son they'd reared with loving care—had been well and truly turned against them. The vision haunted Han's nights and loomed like a spectre on the edge of his vision even in waking hours. Some days were worse than others, he was finding, and this was starting to feel like one of the bad ones.

Shoving the tray back on to the table, he stood and braced his hands on his hips, trying to decide if he could be bothered doing any exercises, even to pass the time. He'd almost worn a rut in the path between the fresher unit and the door of his cell, and he'd disciplined himself to keep fit with exercises using his own body weight for resistance. He was also conscious of the instructions he'd received from the two medics about keeping his shoulder joint limber. But his heart wasn't in it today. He felt deeply uneasy, and uncharacteristically anxious about things that were well beyond his control. His thoughts kept turning to Chewie and Rey. He understood from Leia that they'd made it back from Starkiller Base; at least, that was the impression he'd had from her—that they were safe and well. But there was something else there, something she hadn't communicated, and it was bothering him.

With dark thoughts crowding his mind, he stripped off his clothes and went to take a shower. His thoughts turned to Leia again as he lathered his skin and let his mind wander. As if in answer, his awareness of her through the Force intensified as she reached out to him. With his feelings so uncharacteristically close to the surface, Han couldn't stop the reflexive pang of longing that he felt when she sought that connection. He was filled with a fierce, futile wish for a return of their former life together, the happiness they'd shared before the massacre that had ripped the hearts out of them. Han was powerless to shield Leia from the flood of dark emotions that gripped him, and she responded in kind, a mirror and a magnifier of his own pain. The moment stretched tautly between them as he braced his arm against the shower wall and let the hot water stream down over his bowed head.

He desperately needed to get out of this holding sell. He didn't like the forced inactivity; he didn't like the powerlessness; and he really, really didn't like the waiting.

Soon. I promise.

Part 2:

Lunchtime came and went, and his mood did not improve. In frustration, he expended some restless energy on the exercises he'd avoided earlier, working with determination to keep his shoulder joint supple. But by mid-afternoon he was back on the bed, staring morosely at the ceiling.

He was pondering the wisdom of trying to meet his rescuers halfway. It wouldn't be hard to lure the lone stormtrooper guard into the room, he thought. In his experience, they were not the brightest stars in the galaxy, nor the best shots. His shoulder was a worry. The new tissues in his chest felt tight, and the thin skin over the wounds in his chest and back stretched uncomfortably whenever he moved the arm. But Han reckoned that he was still fighting fit, if a bit slower than before. Provided there was a long-range ship docked nearby, or a planet within reasonable distance of a shuttle, he figured he could be free before dinner time. He was mulling over the domestic repercussions of taking matters into his own hands—instead of waiting for Leia to execute her plan—when he heard a curious sound at the door.

Lifting his arm from his forehead, he craned his neck up and listened more intently. There was another muffled thunk, followed by a series of louder bangs and bumps against the metal surface. He'd grown accustomed at this hour to hearing a change of guard at the door. But this was something different. Han was instantly alert, on his feet and moving around the bed towards the entrance. He had nothing at all that would serve as a weapon, apart from his fists, but he stood with his back to the wall next to the door anyway. No sense making himself an easy target.

The chime sounded, there was a pregnant pause, and then a familiar face appeared, scanning the room for any sign of Han.

"Poe Dameron!" Han crowed, moving into view, beaming with approval. "Good choice, Sweetheart!"

Poe looked mildly startled and slightly perplexed at the strange greeting, but seemed relieved to see his target in one piece and ambulatory. He clapped Han on the shoulder in greeting and looked him up and down. "Alright, old man?" he said with a grin. "You ready to move? Give me a hand with this trooper."

"Yeah, yeah," Han said, moving around to take up one of the white-booted feet of the stormtrooper that lay unconscious at the open door. "Who's with you?" Han asked, as they dragged the armoured man into the room. "Leia wouldn't let you come alone, I guess."

He straightened up, wincing as he gingerly rotated his injured shoulder joint. He gave his rescuer an appraising look. Poe was dressed rather incongruously in a business suit reminiscent of the sort that Han recalled seeing Corellian used-freighter sales reps wearing. Han quirked an eyebrow and gestured the obvious question.

"Long story. We thought we'd need a ruse to get in here. Turns out, not so much. Finn's with me. We ran into a little trouble with another trooper. They were about to make a shift change, so we had two to deal with."

"Bad timing," Han agreed. He went to the door and peeked out. The corridor was deserted. He ducked back in and turned to Poe. "Where is he?"

"We clocked the other guy around the next corner. He's dragging him back here so we can hide 'em both. I should probably go help him... Did you know there's hardly any security on this station? And none on this detention block, other than these two? This place is deserted. We walked right in." Without waiting for a response, Poe looked Han up and down. "You're looking pretty good for a dead man."

Han shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. "I was only mostly dead."

Dameron laughed out loud, looking enormously pleased to see that Han hadn't lost his sense of humour. "Mostly, eh? How are you feeling now?"

Han nodded and then shrugged again. "Not bad."

Poe grinned again and shook his head in amazement, then his expression sobered somewhat. His dark eyes met Han's. "I heard about what happened. Don't know how you survived that."

"I'll tell you about it later," Han promised. He did not relish the idea of recounting the bitter tale, but the young pilot was one of the few people, apart from Chewie and Leia, that Han would ever wish to confide in. Only slightly older than Ben, in many ways Poe Dameron was the son Han wished they'd had instead. That unworthy thought made him wince. "We need to get out of here. Better go help the kid."

"Who are you calling 'kid'?" Finn wheezed from the open door. He paused for breath, propped his forearm against the frame and gave Han a broad smile. "Man, you are one tough dilga-nut."

Han had no idea what a dilga-nut was, but he accepted the compliment with a grin nevertheless. He was genuinely pleased to see the younger man and took a moment to greet him warmly. For some reason, seeing Finn's face made Han feel marginally better about where Rey and Chewie might be. He decided he would ask that question later, once they were clear of the station and on their way home.

"Hey, get that guy in here," Han said, suddenly coming to his senses as he realised the second stormtrooper was lying unconscious at Finn's feet. "You're right—there's not a lot of action on this station, just a skeleton crew, but we're pushing our luck standing around here gabbing."

Han took a step back and let the younger men haul the second trooper through the door. Finn disappeared into the corridor again and returned holding the handle of a large metal container, which he heaved onto the bed. Han palmed the door closed and noted the time. If the previous days' routines were anything to go by, they would be undisturbed by guards or meal attendants for a long while yet, unless someone missed the guard whose shift had just ended. Han rolled his shoulders uneasily, wincing with pain as he stretched his wounded muscles. This little operation was going rather too smoothly—and too slowly—for his liking.

Turning back towards the bed, Han eyed Finn's container curiously. It looked like a sample case, the sort that sales reps across the galaxy carried around to meetings, hoping to persuade customers to buy their wares. Glancing again at Finn, he noted that the younger man was dressed in a suit similar to the one Poe was wearing.

"You're here on 'business', I guess?" he asked sardonically, bending to pull the boots off the feet of the first stormtrooper. Han was still without footwear himself, the medics having failed to include any with the items they'd left for his use, and the troopers having no reason to supply any. To amuse himself, and to distract Leia from her worry over him, he'd been sending her occasional comical visions of his bare feet, sometimes with socks, sometimes with one-off and one-on, and variations thereof. His short time in the holding cell had been tolerable enough, but excruciatingly boring. It was probably a very good thing that he was being extracted before he resorted to sending more interesting imagery.

Poe watched Han stripping the stormtrooper and guessed his plan. He bent down to help, while Finn rummaged around in the case.

"Yeah, we're here on 'business'," Dameron said, in answer to Han's question, "you're looking at the finest representatives of the Calrissian Pharmaceutical Corporation, here to sell the medics a knockoff version of the new miracle gel that everyone's raving about. Don't we look the part?"

The young pilot stopped what he was doing when he noticed Han staring at him, mouth hanging open in surprise.

"Calrissian?" Han said, wonderingly. "Are you serious? Where did you find him? How's he doing?"

Dameron nodded, wrenching the lower leg plate off of the unconscious trooper.

"Fine, as far as I could tell, although you'd be a better judge of that than I am. Leia knew where he was. She helped us get to him, and then he helped us get to you." The pilot grimaced as he hauled on the front of the trooper's chest plate by himself, unaided by a distracted Solo.

Han was impressed all over again with Leia's resourcefulness. He hadn't seen Lando in years. His Socorran friend had abruptly withdrawn from his business dealings with the New Republic and drifted away with his young son many years ago, in the aftermath of his wife's sudden death. Even Maz Kanata hadn't seen him since, or so she'd said, and they'd once been good friends. Trust Leia to have the intel, he thought. He stooped to continue stripping the first trooper.

Finn had finished upending the contents of the sample case onto the bed, and was busily prying at the bottom of the container. With a pop, it finally gave way and Finn gave a satisfied chuckle. Han glanced up just in time to see him pulling a pair of Han's old boots out of the case.

"Leia sent these," Finn said, with a bemused shrug. "Said you might need them."

Shaking his head in amusement, Han took the boots and pulled them on, grinning with satisfaction. Leia was nothing if not perceptive, he reflected, and thorough. Looking up, his gaze fell on the sample case again.

"You should've had a weapon in there instead of boots," he informed his companions matter-of-factly, and then in a tone of reproach, "Neither one of you even had a blaster."

"We weren't sure how closely we'd be searched," Finn replied, crouching down to remove the helmet from the second trooper. "Turns out, we weren't searched at all."

Han watched him for a moment, thinking. "Then how did you overpower these guys? Hand-to-hand combat?" He looked somewhat doubtful as to the likelihood of that happening, which caused both of the younger men to look in his direction with mildly offended expressions.

Poe put his hand in his jacket pocket and withdrew it, holding it up to show Han a small, opaque spray bottle. "Knocked 'em out. One spray to the faceplate and boom." He grinned. "Lando gave them to us. Very handy."

"Very handy," Han agreed, somewhat mockingly. "And what did you do while you sprayed it, huh? Just held your breath?"

When both men nodded, Han couldn't stifle a hearty laugh. "Good to see that Lando is still thinking things through like a pro. Did he give you the knockoff hydrogel to peddle, too?"

"Yep, and a ship to get you home. Speaking of which, we'd better move. We arrived a little early for our 'sales meeting'," Poe told him, exaggerating the words, "and there was no one at the docking bay. So we just walked in here. Crazy."

Han agreed with Poe that the utter lack of security, apart from the meagre guards outside his door, was crazy—and worrisome. Again he had the creeping feeling that something was going to go horribly wrong if they didn't hurry up.

Turning to look at Finn, Han noticed the younger man was standing stock still, gazing down with an odd expression at the face of the second stormtrooper whose helmet he'd just removed.

"What's the matter? Get moving," Han ordered, moving around to help. When Finn didn't budge, Han looked at him again. "Finn. Buddy. Snap out of it."

Automatically, Finn moved to obey the command, but he seemed disturbed as he continued stripping the trooper. As they worked together to divest the man of his armour and the underlying bodysuit, he said quietly, "They're brainwashed, you know? Programmed. They don't even know what they're doing half the time. Don't have a choice."

Han grimaced, empathetic to Finn's feelings but feeling increasingly anxious about how much time they were wasting. Ignoring the boy's remarks, he finally managed to yank the breastplate off of the unconscious guard and shoved it into Finn's hands. "Put this on. We need to move."

"Uh, no chance," Finn replied, sounding shocked. He stared at Han with an appalled expression. "Sorry. Nope. I am never putting that gear on again. You wear it."

Han threw both hands up in exasperation and then braced them on his hips, fixing Finn with his best glare. "We don't have time for a therapy session, pal. Put it on."

Finn was shaking his head, still objecting. "We don't even need the uniforms. If we go right now, we could get back to the docking bay before they even realise we're gone. There's no one to stop us. We're wasting time doing this." He gestured to the two unconscious stormtroopers, looking genuinely distressed.

"Look, kid," Han said, mustering his self-control, but unable to keep the impatient snarl out of his voice, "I'm not going anywhere without these blasters. And you're gonna look kind of funny holding a blaster if you're wearing your fancy suit. Put it on."

Poe intervened in their disagreement by calling for Finn's attention and gesturing down at his own body, now clad in the armour of the first stormtrooper. He lifted the glossy white helmet to his head and said, "You do what you gotta do, buddy."

Part 3:

They moved down the curving corridor at a brisk pace, Han walking between the two men in uniform to give the appearance of being escorted. But they need not have bothered. Once the tiny cell block was behind them, the corridors were wide and brightly lit, but sparsely populated. Medics and aides, patients and visitors, and the occasional roving droid were the only figures in sight, and no one gave them a second glance. Occasionally, the passage widened on one side, creating a deep alcove that provided space for a food or beverage kiosk, or a small waiting area with clusters of casual seating arrangements and potted Keugoan flora. These areas were likewise thinly occupied, and the passing trio attracted no interest. It was puzzling, and deeply unsettling.

In his short stay, Han had heard it mentioned more than once—and had it confirmed by Poe and Finn—that the station was very lightly guarded by First Order military personnel, but the utter lack of security was bordering on ridiculous. So far they'd seen only one stormtrooper and that one had been standing mutely on guard at the first docking bay blast door they passed. The guard gave a nod of his head to the costumed Finn and Poe, which they returned, but that was the extent of the notice they drew in their progress towards their destination.

As they followed the curving walkway Han wished that he'd opted to don one of the stormtrooper suits himself so that he could have the reassuring weight of a blaster in his hands. Finn and Poe marched silently to either side of him, each equipped with a weapon, while Han had only the tiny bottle of Lando's knockout spray in one clenched fist. Although the complete absence of opposition said otherwise, something was wrong. Han could feel it, and he'd long ago learned to trust such intuitions. He scanned around him as they walked, trying to spot the hidden danger.

Finn, on the other hand, was preoccupied by his own displeasure. "See?" he was complaining in a low voice, his voice distorted by the helmet. "We didn't need the uniforms. No one has even looked at us, and we're nearly there."

They were headed to docking bay four and they'd just passed number three. Han took a deep breath, trying to decide if his suspicions were strong enough to warrant a change of plans at this late stage. As they walked, he glanced up at the visual displays that showed the bank of docking bays along this corridor and their current status. As they approached the blast doors leading to the hangar, he could see that the image for number four showed red, indicating that it was occupied. In the space below the header, there was a low-resolution image of a ILH-KK Citadel-class civilian cruiser with the rather grandiose name of The Immortal Chance, according to the text displayed below. Han quirked an eyebrow at that and started to look away when something in the blurry image caught his eye.

"Uh oh," he muttered, coming to a halt just in front of the wide, squat entrance to docking bay four.

"What's wrong?" Poe's voice filtered through the helm on Han's right.

With a grim expression, Han pointed at the display. "I think I know why we haven't seen any security."

Before they could react, the heavy blast doors gave a metallic groan and crashed open. The three men took a reflexive step back in unison, but it was clear that trying to run would be futile.

From the corridor behind them, Han could hear another blast door open, followed by the sound of running, booted feet. He realised, too late, that the lone trooper they'd passed must have given the signal that the trap was sprung. Looking through the gap into docking bay four, Han saw arrayed before them dozens of stormtroopers, each with a blaster aimed at the trio. One of them stepped forward and disarmed Poe and Finn. Han could hear Poe cursing himself in chagrin at being caught so easily.

Han gave a philosophical shrug and muttered, "It happens, kid. But it ain't over yet. Stay alert."

Captain Phasma stood squarely aligned in the middle of the opening, her chromium helmet under one arm. Behind her, Han could see The Immortal Chance perched and ready to go at the far end of the landing deck, looking very far away indeed. His heart sank, but he decided to bluff it.

"Well," he said, with an exaggerated sigh, "you were right about me, Phasma. I don't look like much, but I got it where it counts. So you should know that our friends are waiting for us. If we don't arrive soon, Snoke is going to receive a message telling him all about your little plot. Something tells me he won't be too happy when he finds out you've been keeping me here without his say-so, when you know he wants me dead. I think you'd better let us go, and cut your losses."

"Oh, I'm going to let you go," she assured him, mocking amusement twinkling in her blue eyes as she advanced to stand in front of him. Han's appreciation for her enormous height deepened significantly, as he had to tilt his chin up to maintain eye contact. "But I'm going to make you work for it. And I will get what I need from you first."

That sounded ominous. Han swallowed, craning his neck around to try and peer deeper into the lofty space behind Phasma, looking for ideas or inspiration. Stormtroopers—what appeared to be the medical station's entire complement— were arrayed on the metal access ramps and platforms that bordered the entrance and interior walls. Han couldn't see the areas to the immediate left or right of the blast doors, but there were no troopers at all standing between himself and The Immortal Chance. It was a clear run down a gently curving access walkway to the boarding ramp, which was already extended and waiting. Han scowled, trying to work out what Phasma had in mind.

"I take it these two are your rescuers," Phasma sneered, sarcasm dripping from her tone. "Pathetic. Well, we cannot have it appear that First Order troopers under my command aided your escape. Get those uniforms off."

Finn complied with alacrity, and Poe followed suit. Soon they were both standing, barefoot, clad only in the thin bodysuits that served as underarmour. Phasma turned her head to speak in a low voice to the stormtrooper on her left, who promptly turned and moved off down the corridor at a brisk trot. She turned back to face her three captives and her eyes fell on Finn.

"FN-2187," Phasma barked suddenly, sounding simultaneously amazed and outraged. She advanced to tower over Finn, who quailed for an instant and then jutted out his jaw in defiance, meeting her glare with one of his own. He looked as though he expected imminent repercussions for his ignominious disposal of Phasma down a garbage chute, but she had only one question in mind.

"Your record indicates that you were first conditioned at the age of five," she stated, her voice cold. She loomed over the ex-stormtrooper who had defied her, her eyes searching his face. "In the wake of your defection, I checked. We had no reports of aberrant behaviour from you until we reached Jakku. Tell me how you defeated your conditioning."

Han was glad to see Phasma distracted, giving him a moment to try to figure out his options. He had to admit, there didn't appear to be many. He held a vial of knockout spray loosely in his curled fist, and another one in his front pocket, but he could not see a way to make use of them, considering the dozens of stormtroopers surrounding them. Poe was similarly casting his gaze around and evidently coming to the same conclusion. Their eyes met and they shrugged at each other, momentarily at a loss. Han turned his attention back to Phasma and Finn.

Finn appeared to have been caught off-guard by Phasma's demand, and his surprise was reflected in his hesitation and stammer, giving an authentic ring to his answer, as if he'd never considered the question before. "I—I don't know how I defeated it. If that's what I did. I just couldn't do it anymore. What you wanted me to do."

Phasma looked unsatisfied with his response, and then her gaze turned coolly speculative, eyeing him up and down. "Perhaps I should keep you here, where you belong. You can be re-conditioned, and we will see if your defiance re-asserts itself."

Finn's dark face turned ashen and he looked wildly at Han and Poe. Before Han could respond with a suitable distraction, Phasma barked a humourless laugh, cruelly amused by Finn's expression. "Don't worry, boy. You're a troublemaker, like your friend here, and you're not worth my time. You may 'escape' with Solo and the other one, if you're able."

Suddenly, their attention was attracted by the sound of hurried movement coming from the corridor. The trooper Phasma had dispatched a moment before was returning, accompanied by a small group of what looked like comms technicians. Han suddenly understood Phasma's plan when he saw that several of them were carrying small holo-recorders.

Phasma gave a grim smile of satisfaction at the sight of the technicians and promptly ordered them to get set up for recording, with techs positioned at the entrance of the docking bay, and at various points within the hangar itself. A part of Han was greatly relieved; it meant that Phasma was sincere in her declaration that she planned to let him go. She was clearly planning to record his "escape", however, and Han had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't going to like everything about her plan.

With a gesture, Phasma indicated that the threesome should pass through the blast doors into the hangar where the remainder of the stormtroopers were standing at the ready. Exchanging glances with one another, the three companions nervously complied. Stepping deeper into the relative gloom of the cavernous space, Han peered overhead and from side to side. With a cold chill, he froze in place as his gaze fell upon the pair of medics standing under guard to the left of the door. Mellor and Astor, looking nervous, were positioned between a brace of stormtroopers. Their hands were bound, and they were still in their medical uniforms. Han's eyes turned back to Phasma, who was outlining her plan.

"I cannot now turn you over to Snoke without giving Kylo Ren the opportunity to finish what he started," she stated. "And we have agreed that it is in both our interests to see Kylo Ren humiliated by demonstrating his failure to kill you as directed."

Han closed his eyes for a moment against the cold recitation of the facts.

"These troops are under my personal command and control; they are loyal to me. They will do exactly as I order them to do," she stated confidently, with a sidelong glance at Finn. "Solo, you will be allowed to make a run for your ship, and we will make a good show of you taking fire. I guarantee that you'll not be injured, but your friends will have to trust to luck, or step lively."

Han opened his eyes at that, and exchanged looks with a very worried-looking Finn and a scowling Poe. Han shook his head, trying to give them a reassuring smirk.

Things just keep getting better and better, huh?

"Naturally, I would have preferred to see you delivered to the Resistance under my own control, but perhaps this way is better," Phasma conceded. "You are correct, Solo, that my involvement in this arrangement must be disguised. To that end, these two medics will be identified as your accomplices, traitors who aided you in your escape. They will be featured in the holovid running alongside you but, regrettably, they will not make it aboard your ship."

"No chance, sister," Han was shaking his head. "They're coming with me, and you're gonna let 'em. Or else I'm not co-operating with your little melodrama."

"You will co-operate, Solo, or I will execute your entire merry band and put you back in your cell to be dealt with some other time," Phasma bristled.

Han had no doubt that she meant every word of her threat, but he had one more card to play before the bluff was up. He let out an exaggerated groan of impatience and gave Phasma his most pained, patient smile. "Nah, Captain. I think you have that all wrong. You're getting a little mixed up."

"Am I?"

"Yeah. You are. How about this? You let all four of these men go with me, unharmed, and we'll put on a really good show of dodging and diving. As long as that happens, when I get back I won't send Snoke a message explaining all of the juicy details about how you arranged your little propaganda piece, and how you let Kylo Ren's father get away."

Han was unprepared for the emotional impact of saying those words out loud: Kylo Ren's father. Inwardly, he recoiled and suppressed a shudder of revulsion, while striving to continue glaring effectively at Phasma. Abruptly, disconcertingly, Leia chose that moment to reach out, clearly having sensed his spike of distress.

Are you okay?

With no time to think clearly or to choose his words more carefully, Han repulsed her with unintentional violence.

NOT NOW!

Wincing, he realised that he would probably have to make up for that later, because he could feel, despite his attempts to block it out, her sharply rising fear and anxiety. He hoped fervently that he would get the chance to apologise, provided he didn't manage to talk himself back into his cell, and his friends into early graves.

But Phasma seemed suddenly to have tired of their banter, weary of putting so much effort into a gambit that had no assurance of success and that was costing her so much in terms of time and risk. Clearly regretting her decision to haul Solo out of the trash compactor in the first place, she gave him a sour look and then a curt nod.

"As you wish. I will allow you all to leave unharmed. You will keep your silence. We'll both get what we want."

Turning on her heel, she gestured to waiting stormtroopers and technicians to make ready. The guards near Mellor and Astor removed their bonds, and then a few of the troopers stepped in to prod Han and his friends forward, to stand at the end of the long, curving access ramp that led to The Immortal Chance at the far end of the hangar. As they were herded into position, Han cast apologetic glances at each of the medics in turn. He and Poe exchanged worried glances. He could tell the younger man shared his concern that the stormtroopers would not manage to miss all of them. The prospect of pelting down the access ramp with dozens of blasters firing at their backs was deeply uncomfortable.

He heard Finn say, under his breath, "You know stormtroopers can't hit the side of a gundark even when they try. We'll be fine."

That drew laughs and broke the tension, as he'd clearly intended, and Han gave Finn an approving wink.

"You ready?" Han asked his team, glancing around to receive their nods.

Gathering deep breaths, they ran.

NB: This chapter is a hot mess. My difficulties with this piece almost stopped me finishing the story. I knew it was all going to hell in a handbasket but no better ideas came to mind, so I just carried on with it. Anyway, let's get to the point of this saga. Next chapter: Han and Leia - Reunion – Part 1! Yay!