AN: The bunny slippers in this last prompt are a bit different. Hope you enjoy!
Han moved stiffly through his ship. He'd tried his cabin, thought about the 'fresher, but neither seemed to be much help, so he just drifted around. Whiskey seemed like it would do the trick. That and some heat. He made his way to the engineering station and dropped heavily into the chair.
One hand keeping the blanket closed at his throat, he placed the bottle between his legs, unscrewed the cap and lifted it to take a drink, all without letting go of the blanket.
He leaned his head back, thinking how he could chart the course of the liquid through his body. Demonstrate some human anatomy to the fucking Two One Bee.
Heat, Han remembered. Yeah. That's why he came here. Had nothing to do with the fact he didn't think he could bend over without falling down.
That was well done and easy, still wrapped one-handed in the blanket, and he heard the system come to life, envisioned the spirit of spacer's lore, the one who lulled you to death in the cold vacuum of space. They said it was the last thing you felt, the warm caress of her breath.
Han had always kind of liked that story but he saw now it made no sense. If she kills you, how does the story spread?
He shook his head. Stupid. Everything seemed stupid after a night like he had.
Chewie rushed in so fast he streaked past Han without stopping. Han waited, whiskey in his cheek. It took longer than he thought it would.
*What are you doing here?* Chewie demanded when he looped back.
Han swallowed the drink. "My ship," he said.
*I came to bring you something warm to wear. How did you get here so fast?*
Han gestured with the bottle and the liquid sloshed. "Nothin' short of a miracle."
The wookiee stood over Han's form and considered him. *Desert Boy was awake for a bit.*
"Oh, now he decides to," Han derided. Desert Boy was Chewie's name for Luke, in his own language. He could probably pronounce Luke, though, Han thought, having another swallow of whiskey. Chewie's mate had L sounds in her name, Malla; and the language was filled with Ks. Kasshyyk, Han pronounced to himself. Listen to that.
For that matter, could Chewie say Leia? It had an L. But he called her Empty Skies.
*You're staying here?*
Han nodded emphatically. "I'm stayin' here. Got work to do."
*Yes, I see you hard at it.* There was a note of disapproval in Chewie's tone, and Han squinted up at him.
"Everyone can just leave me the fuck alone, alright?"
*After the night we had, you are going to nurse a hurt?*
"Bet your furry ass I am. You think a night like that changes anything? And what's with the 'we had'. Kriffin' shit, Chewie. I thought Luke was fuckin' dead."
*We thought you both were,* Chewie said quietly. He bent at Han's feet. *Here, you should be wearing these.*
Han was in the middle of taking a drink, the bottle raised high to his upturned face. He finished to find bryynyy-hide slippers by his boots.
Chewie had made them. A wookiee custom; a new cub in the family meant the father descended to the low levels of the forest and hunted the bryynyy. The creature was small- too bad for it, Han thought, its hide was the perfect size for newborn wookiee feet- and the hunt was a rite of fatherhood too; the bryynyy, though small, had a toxic saliva it spat at its enemies.
*Good thing we have these,* Chewie said.
"Yeah." If a good thing was having the same sized feet as a baby wookiee a father should be sharing his life with instead of sworn to some asshole smuggler's side. Han's regret had turned to bitterness and he drank some more.
*They come in handy here on Hoth.*
"I've worn them a few times."
*Good.* Chewie was tugging at Han's boots.
"I couldn't get them off," Han said, trying not to tell Chewie but the words didn't stop coming. After the night he had, and this is what stuck with him, his boots. "I got snow inside my boots and my socks got wet and swelled."
*Did Two One Bee check you for frostbite?*
"I can wiggle my own damn toes."
Chewie shook his head and pulled so hard Han had to hold on to the chair arms. *There.* He tossed the wet boots in the direction of Han's quarters.
Han slid his feet inside the fur lining.
*Feel better?* Chewie asked.
"I'm waiting," Han grumped. "No."
Chewie patted him on the head. *No reason we all can't hope for another miracle. I'm going back to check on Desert Boy. Do something.*
"I'm warming," Han told his departing partner. "Up." He sat for a long time, clutching the blanket at his throat in his fist, taking sips of whiskey and staring at the slippers. He thought he must look pretty pathetic, but he was going to indulge. Fuck everyone, he thought. They knew nothing.
"Han?"
Her quiet voice was carried in the heat, and Han froze, his hand on the bottle. She could be it, the spirit. What did he know.
"I thought I would find you here," she said after she appeared, barely standing out of the ramp. "They said you left medical."
She scared him. His thoughts of spacer's death, her pale skin, that she came looking for him.
There was a lot he could say, but he'd used his voice screaming at Luke so all that came out was, "yeah."
She took a step further in, the spirit moving in for the kill or the tiny, hesitant princess who maybe had regrets.
"They think Luke will recover," she offered.
Han nodded. He wanted to scream at her, too. "Chewie told me."
"Of course." She nodded and didn't know how to say whatever else she wanted.
Han took a drink and didn't offer her any.
Neither said anything for a long time. She wasn't the spirit. But he was real cold.
"What are those?" she asked, and her hands, clasped together by her thighs, lifted a little.
Han moved his eyes back to his feet. "Slippers."
"They're quite pink," she observed with a bit of surprise.
"They're bryynyy," he said. "You never saw a bryynyy?"
"No, I haven't."
"They're on Kasshyyk. Live on the surface of the forests in the big pink discus plant."
"Camouflaged," she understood.
"Wookiees go down to the surface and hunt 'em."
Her brows lifted. "They do? Then, that- Is that-"
"Yeah, he made these."
She stepped closer. Anything Chewie drew her in. She gave him a dark look, because she wanted a closer inspection and he wasn't making it easy for her. The truth was he couldn't lift his leg. She squatted down and took off her glove to inspect them by touch.
"They suck on the hide to make it suede," Han explained. "The lining is the fur."
"I see that." She got back to her feet and slid her glove back on. "You're wearing an animal."
"It was a gift. And anyway, it was dead. Why waste it."
She nodded. "They look warm."
"Yeah."
"I'm- It's good," she spoke haltingly, "that you're- getting warmed up. When you left medical, I was concerned."
Han heard her, and took a drink. Concerned. Fine. After the night he had- it would be easy to make everything different. All he had to do was say something. But hells, he was frozen and tired and resentful. And he'd tried, earlier. It hadn't gone well, but then had come the night, and according to Chewie it had been rough on her too, and maybe now it was her turn to try.
"I left 'cause I don't want to stay. I got things to do."
Her gaze held his, and she came to some conclusion, because her head moved, a staccato cocking. She moved past him, and he couldn't get his feet to swivel the damn seat to watch her.
She came back holding another blanket and stood behind him and wrapped it around his shoulders, then gave it a tug, piling excess fabric there so if he lifted his arms it wouldn't slide off. Her hands rubbed his upper arms a few times briskly, for warmth but not the fatal kind the spirit made.
"You need rest," she told him. "Two One Bee wanted to observe you. They're putting Luke in the bacta tank. One more night won't kill you."
His chin was near his chest. "It might."
She placed a kiss on his temple, so light he barely felt it, except it was like the whiskey, trailing a path of warmth through each hair follicle on his head, down his neck, wrapping around to the place he couldn't get warm, where he held the blanket tight, and he felt a flush spread across his chest.
"I'm glad you were here," she said.
His eyes were closed. The night he'd had, he drowsed to himself. He'd been scared before but not like this; not for someone else.
"Me, too," he said.