A/N: Some of the events from Chapter 15 of Purpose of Heritage from Han's POV. It...uh...literally only makes sense if you've read that chapter.

CW: references to past torture, specifically involving injections.

When Naj Phibs asked Han to go back to his cabin and talk to Leia, he wanted to refuse. He was furious with her. She had been shot — she was kidding herself about the wound being a mere graze — and she hadn't told anyone. Doesn't she know how serious this could turn out to be? Doesn't she know—

Of course she knew. She wasn't stupid. If it had been anyone else, Leia would have insisted they get medical treatment immediately, but she was the exception to that sort of care and common sense, per usual. Leia could just muscle through like she always did because she was special somehow. Well, he had no intention of encouraging that.

The scars were bad; he wasn't going to pretend like the sight of her back wouldn't shock someone who was entirely unprepared. But this was life or death. The scars should take a backseat to anything necessary to save her life.

Han had retreated to the cockpit after sending Naj in to Leia, ignoring Chewie's inquiries about what was bothering him and choosing to busy himself sorting an odd assortment of wires, plugs, and fuses that were jumbled together in a compartment under the navicomputer.

[Nihal said they haven't slept in two days], Chewie said. [I think they should all get rest. We can tell them we landed somewhere safe.]

Han didn't answer. Safe was relative anyway. Sure, there was nothing within the sightline of the Falcon, but that had been the case on the last moon, and the pathfinders had apparently stumbled into a nest of stormtroopers almost immediately. Leia had been shot when they had assumed the group was safe.

Phibs entered the cockpit before Han could answer Chewie. "I need one of you back there," she said.

Han stood before Chewie had a chance to ask clarifying questions. Leia was upset about others seeing her scars, and while he knew she trusted Chewie, he didn't want to introduce a new variable into what was no doubt a devolving situation if Phibs was asking for back-up. He had seen them. She would prefer him.

He was still furious and that fact didn't change when Naj mentioned a blood infection. Han suddenly wasn't sure—He hadn't ever thought through what he'd do if someone died in the middle of a mission. A vision of Leia entered his mind uninvited, body still and cold, skin pale and lips blue like they had been when he'd found her in that whiteout on Hoth. Leia, dead and…in a hold? In a smuggling compartment? Somewhere where he wouldn't have to see her as he tried to get everyone else back to Home One. Leia, dead and—

Leia, who was at that very moment, crammed into the far corner of his bunk, curled into a ball and whimpering, "Please. Please don't. Please," as if in a trance.

"Leia?" he said quietly. She gave no indication that she could see or hear him. Han looked at Naj. "This is from an injection?"

"I haven't been able to give her it yet. She needs an antibiotic, but she flipped when she saw the syringe."

"She doesn't do needles."

"She said, but I don't keep tablets. There's too much of a risk of someone missing a dose while we're out in the field. The injection is one-and-done."

Leia shook violently, eyes glazed over and not seeing him, lips moving in a near-silent plea of please don't please. She looked more frightened than he'd ever seen her and he found himself willing to do nearly anything if it would stop her from being so scared.

He sat on the edge of the bunk and Leia flinched, blinking and seeming to suddenly see him. Han forced as much lightness in his voice as he could when he said, "Hey, Worship. Talk to me. What's goin' on?"

Leia moved so quickly upon seeing him that Han barely processed how she was suddenly pressed against his body, shoulders shuddering and face buried in his shirt. He hesitated a moment before patting her back gently. He didn't hug people a lot — he'd had a fair number of embraces forced on him by Luke and Leia, but it wasn't his norm — and he wasn't entirely sure what she wanted, but he tried to sound calm and hopefully soothing as he reiterated her need for an injection.

He could tell Naj didn't fully understand, that though she seemed to be attempting patience, she just wanted to get the shot over with, and he was struck with the realization that he thought Leia must have had long ago: there were aspects of the princess' experience that only he understood. There were others in the galaxy who understood of course, but as far as people in regular contact with her, he was it. No one who hadn't seen the serums in action could possibly know the sort of pain and terror they caused in their victims. No one who didn't have firsthand experience with them in some capacity could possibly understand how the threat of a simple injection would cause the strong, feisty, stubborn woman currently clinging to him to fall apart entirely.

Her quiet, almost pathetic begging made him want to tell Naj to find another way, but he knew there was no other way. Those images of Leia cold and dead that his brain conjured up so easily since Hoth rose to the surface of his mind, and he found himself asking about the distance to the nearest med frigate. He couldn't have her dead on the ship with him for that long. Not her. Probably not anybody, but especially not her. He couldn't—

He shouldn't have been surprised that the idea of being crammed into a smuggling compartment if she died pissed her off, but her sudden transition to coherent sentences caught him off-guard. He hadn't antagonized her on purpose this time, but seeing a hint of Leia's normal spark as she told him the allegedly obvious solution to the problem of where to store her corpse if she died — turning the chiller on in hold two to keep her body from decaying should have occurred to him, apparently — was heartening. Han thought, hoped that if he could just redirect the glimmer of defiance that she showed so readily by threatening to haunt his ship for all eternity as punishment for his storing her body in a smuggling compartment, he might be able to convince her to endure the shot.

She would do damn near anything for the Alliance, and he might have felt bad about bringing it up if what he was trying to accomplish had been self-serving, but she had a kriffing blood infection. He was saving her life. When she nodded, said okay, Han felt relief wash over him.

He held her during the injection and again, after Phibs was done, when Leia collapsed against his chest, tears soaking through his shirt. Naj eyed them warily, and Han was briefly aware of how it looked — Leia, who wasn't physically affectionate with the pathfinders for reasons Han could only guess at, throwing herself into his arms, burying her face in his shirt, crying all over him. He had told Naj not all that long ago that he didn't get involved with people he worked with, something he had said in part because it was usually true, but mostly to let her down easy when she had been understandably confused by his own short-sighted attempt at relating via flirtation. He knew this looked…well, it looked almost like he might've been lying.

Han cleared his throat softly, nervously, and caught Naj's eye. "Could you get a glass of water?" he asked. "I think she'll probably need it."

Naj nodded, eyes darting between his face and Leia huddled against his chest. "Yeah, she will," she agreed and exited into the lounge, leaving the cabin door open.

Leia was still, so still that, had she not continued sniffing back tears, Han would have checked to make sure she was breathing a dozen times while waiting on the water from Phibs. Chewie stuck his head in the cabin, a concerned expression on his face.

[I can smell her fear from the corridor,] he said, obviously worried. [What happened?]

"She needed a shot," Han said as Naj entered, carrying a glass of water.

"Do you want me to stick around?" she asked as she held the glass out to Han.

He shifted Leia slightly so he could take the water and shook his head. "We can call if we need ya," he said, hoping that maybe, maybe if Leia felt less looked at, less examined, she'd be able to pull herself together more easily.

Whether Phibs leaving helped or Leia just needed time to settle herself he wasn't sure, but it only took a few more minutes after they were left with only Chewie hovering in the doorway for her to stop sniffling, and a few minutes after that for her to finally speak.

"You can let me go," she said softly, her voice shaky.

Han knew that he could let her go. He could've let her go at any time. She hadn't been gripping him, hadn't held onto him at all. She had, rather, fallen against his body, seemingly sure that he would hold her in place. But, she seemed much steadier, much less likely to need physical support, so Han tested her assertion by loosening the arm he still had around her. Leia lifted her head and sat back, the dazed look still on her face.

Han pressed the glass of water into her hand and Leia took it but didn't drink. She seemed almost frozen, sitting very still with the glass gripped in her hand, rarely blinking. Chewie stepped into the cabin and crouched next to Han's bunk, leveling his gaze with hers. He looked Leia over for a moment, speaking to her while he peered at the bacta patches that peeked out from under the tank top she wore with concern. He stared at the tiny bandage that covered the spot where she had received the injection and spoke to her again. When Leia didn't respond, Chewie looked at Han and vocalized softly, obviously worried.

[This is not like her,] he finally said. [Is she very ill?]

Han shook his head, clearing his throat. "They hurt her with injections, Chewie. The Empire. Shots mess her up."

A look of distress crossed the Wookiee's face. [I knew she received serums by injection but I did not know the fear was so long-lasting.]

Han pressed his lips together. Chewie wouldn't know; of course he wouldn't know. He hadn't seen in person…and Han was certainly never going to talk to him about it. He didn't like talking about the three interrogations he had witnessed, didn't like thinking about them. Leia was the only one who had ever managed to drag bits and pieces of the experiences out of him, and that was mainly because he didn't have to explain for her. She knew what it was like better than he did.

"Yeah, pal," Han finally said, watching Leia's fact for any sign that she was paying attention to what they were saying. He didn't love talking about her like she wasn't in the room, but she truly didn't seem to be in the room right at that moment. "They hurt her bad. She's gonna react, probably for a long time."

Chewie made another quiet, distressed-sounding noise before gently patting Leia's braids on her head. [I will make you some tea,] he said. [You always want tea when something has been upsetting.]

With Chewie gone, Han watched Leia's face carefully. The blank stare was almost as bad as the vision of her hypothermic and nearly dead that kept muscling its way to the forefront of his thoughts any time he thought her life might be in danger.

Han wondered how in the hell he had gotten in so deep with this woman — and not even just her; he might not have visions of Luke or Wedge or any of the others nearly dead readily available any time their lives were threatened, but he knew if something was going to hurt them, he would try to protect them. Whatever the sickness was that had confounded him for years as it affected the minds and hearts of others, causing them to care and accept harm for themselves for the sake of the people around them seemed to have finally infected him. He wasn't sure he liked it, but he was quite sure it was both chronic and terminal.

Leia blinked a few times and the rigidness in her body seemed to soften. She looked confused, but confused he could handle. Questions could be answered and worries could be assuaged. He could deal with whatever she threw his way as long as she wasn't frozen in terror, and as long as she wasn't dead.