It was one of those weeks when at the end of it you were grateful to be back where you started. Ground territory gained in recent battles had been ceded and then recaptured. Scheduled missions had been aborted and hastily re-planned. Supplies on the base had dipped low enough for Han to have to squeeze in an emergency run. And on top of everything else, the droids' neural networks had gone down during a routine upgrade. Engineers had worked night and day to restore the machines to full functionality and Han had marveled at Leia's patience with the automatons in their depleted state. He could barely stomach Threepio at peak performance.
Thus the final evening of the rotation, when things were more or less back to normal, brought a bacchanalian atmosphere to the base. A roaming band of pilots and techs, laughing in camaraderie that only recovery from near-disaster can induce, bounced giddily around the base. Peeling off in twos and threes, they used the Falcon as one of their watering holes before making off for fresher pastures. By the end of the night only a few hardened veterans, punch-drunk and loopy, sat slumped around Han's table.
"What I don't get," Luke was saying, "is how a neural upgrade that is written by droids and tested by droids can fail so spectacularly when it's actually installed on those same droids."
"It's all part of their plan," Wedge informed him. "Start with some minor outages, escalate to larger ones, and then, just when we think everything is back to normal – bam! – a group of renegade droids trigger a total network blackout before rising up and taking over the base."
Leia frowned. "If that were true, wouldn't they skip the minor outages so we're caught off guard by the big event?"
"They're too smart for that. Or maybe they're not very smart but they want to lull us into a false sense of security about their intelligence before they spring the trap."
"If they took over the base, the first thing they'd probably do is disable the communication systems," Luke said thoughtfully.
"We'd have to be on our toes," Wedge declared. "I say we come up with a plan that's shared only with a trusted few. Then when the droids take over we'll be ready to fight back."
Han stared at the three of them and wondered if a brain parasite had infected the base's water system while he was away. "You're all crazy. Or drunk."
"Not yet," Wedge retorted. "Is that a challenge?"
"It's not." The smuggler decided now was as good of time as any to rescue what was left of his supply of Whyren's. He plugged the half-filled bottle with a stopper and reached around the table for the empty glasses.
"That's our cue," Luke yawned. He stood and nodded at Leia. "You coming?"
"Sure." Han watched as she stood up distractedly and followed the other two out.
Trying not to dwell on the Princess, on the way she had casually leaned against Luke in the booth, Han busied himself shutting down his ship for the night. They hadn't seen much of each other recently what with the chaos pulling her in one direction and him in another. He knew she wasn't avoiding him. Lately he had been infused with more of a certainty about her, about them, though not in the direction he had once hoped. He wasn't sure why; it was just a feeling he couldn't shake.
So Han wasn't surprised to see her sitting back at the table alone after he returned from the cockpit. They hadn't spoken in a while and were overdue for an opportunity to catch up. Friends, that was it. Maybe that was the end state for which they were destined. Despite what had happened between them, they would settle back into their previous rhythms of two people who had shared great and terrible trials and needed time together to remind themselves of what they had been through.
"You must be exhausted." He slid into the booth next to her. "From the week."
"I guess so." Leia rested her chin on her hand and looked up at him. "You heard about the incident with the Endeavor?"
Han had. The news had reached him during his flight back to base. One of the mid-size cruisers had been rammed by friendly fire during a battle in the Chommell sector. Fifty-seven lives had been lost before the breach had been sealed.
"Certainly doesn't help the Alliance's image," he couldn't help saying. Perhaps because he had never formally enlisted, he found himself a magnet for anti-Rebellion grumblings wherever he went. Most of the criticisms he never passed on to Leia; it would only add to her burdens and much of it was outside of her control anyway.
"We'll need to rotate some of the techs from here to the flagship," she said, half to herself. "And then backfill them among the newest recruits."
"What about the mission to Hellas?"
"High Command wants to delay due to the fallout from the recent uprisings. We're targeting another two weeks from now, but that could change."
"Huh." Han was forced to agree with that logic. Not long ago he would have argued for making a decision and sticking to it, no second-guessing. But too much was up in the air these days.
"And then there's the situation with the transports."
He let her get everything off her chest. The missions, the strategies, the considerations, the decisions. The losses, the near-losses, the hard-won gains. Her recitations were perfunctory, almost robotic. He wondered what she was really thinking.
At one point he got up to retrieve some leftover food from the galley. When he returned, Leia paused long enough to eat a few bites. He poured her some water, hoping she would linger a little longer with him.
Finally Leia exhausted her list of responsibilities. She blinked, met his eyes, and a new awareness seemed to settle over her again. "What do you think?"
"About what?"
"About any of this."
Han couldn't come up with an answer that would contribute anything useful to her problems. He couldn't think of a single reassurance to soothe her worries. His thoughts of friendship from mere minutes ago flew out of his head. All he knew was that she was looking up at him as vulnerable and beautiful as he had ever seen her. Without thinking through the consequences, without thinking at all, he kissed her.
Her lips were warm and familiar and when they broke apart she didn't appear angry. So Han kissed her again, this time using his tongue to remind them of what they had before, what they had done with each other during that period of time when his life had briefly crossed over into new and hopeful territory. Touching her now, those memories sharpened and he let go of any pretense of gentleness and pressed her into the booth.
He worked his mouth down her neck and under the collar of her shirt, his hands rough over her breasts. Leia gasped under him: not a petite, graceful inhalation but a harsh lungful of air that vibrated between them. Han uncovered more bare skin and heard his own breathing: desperate, needy, laced at times with a moan whenever she squirmed against his groin. He continued his descent, peeling her clothes down lower, until Leia made a strangled noise and tugged his head back up to hers.
In his cabin he reclined on the bunk and watched as she stripped the rest of her clothes off. There were no tender exchanges marking the renewal of their intimacy when she straddled him and took him inside her. At first he almost blanked out at the sensation but then, unable to go slow, he gripped her hips and thrust hard and fast. Leia buried her head in his neck as he pistoned inside her and his only desire was to erase the memory of those painful weeks of nothing, to fill the emptiness with the draught that day after day had lain just out of reach.
She came first – or Han assumed she did, right around the time their rhythm faltered and she stiffened in his arms – and he was so far gone that all he could do was to swing them onto the mattress and brace himself above her. She drew her knees up to her chest and clutched his shoulders and he thought briefly of tasting her but by then his climax was upon him and he could only ride the waves, once again at the mercy of this thing between them that against all logic refused to stay in its cage.
Tenderness came over him during the post-coital lull. He tangled his fingers at base of her scalp and tried to nuzzle her throat but Leia slipped from his grasp and bent down to pick up her clothes.
"I have to go."
She was clearly determined to ignore the aftermath of what had happened and even the event itself. Han flopped back on the bed, newly frustrated. "Leia –"
It took her a moment to meet his eyes. "What?"
He rubbed his forehead and watched her smooth out her shirt, all traces of their recent passion buttoned up tighter than the stiff collar. "It doesn't have to be this way."
"That's right," she said coolly.
Sighing, Han sat up and reached for his pants. When he had dressed, he followed her out to the lounge where she was clearing the remnants of their meal.
"I'll do that," he offered.
Wordlessly, she handed him the plates.
"Look, let me know how the Hellas mission turns out. You can comm me anytime."
Leia softened a bit. "All right."
"See you." Before she turned to leave, he stooped down and kissed her. She returned the kiss briefly before breaking apart from him.
Han watched her make her way down the ramp. Despite their reconnection, he wasn't satisfied. It wasn't enough and he knew it wouldn't be enough even if there were other times beyond this one. He didn't require a commitment or a guarantee or even a promise of anything resembling a future together. But he wanted something more than this.
A flimsi detailing his next assignment, a routine run to the Deltros system, had drifted onto the deckplates. Han picked it up and idly wondered what Chewie was doing. If they started the pre-flight check now, maybe they could shift their departure to first thing in the morning. A modified itinerary arranged itself in Han's head complete with new jump timetables and faster routes through the sectors separating the Rebellion base from his destination.
In the next minute, with alarmingly little thought and no consultation with his co-pilot, Han made up his mind about his next move. An idea had presented itself as a solution to his problems and he clung to it like a man dying from a rare disease clings to the promise of a cure.
A month later, the Falcon touched back down in the same corner in the hangar from which it had lifted off. Having been in comm-silence for most of that that period, the ship's storage disk was a collection of unanswered messages.
Captain Solo, we received notification that you have picked up the delivery. Since you departed from [redacted], landing procedures have changed to align with regulation 17(b), part (ii). Please respond to this message to confirm you are on schedule for your documented return date.
Captain Solo, we note you did not dock at [redacted] as anticipated. As it seems you have adjusted your itinerary, we request that you please take the time to inform us of your new arrival date.
Han, it's Wedge. The last few days have been crazy here – I'll fill you in when you get back. I don't need to tell you that the patrol teams are getting antsy about your delay. Drop them a line when you get this so they know when to expect you.
Captain Solo, we have exhausted all our protocols for Alliance-supported spaceflights. If you do not return our message, we may be forced to deny you clearance for landing.
Han, where are you? We don't have time for this. Let us know IMMEDIATELY when you are scheduled to return. Leia.
Chewie, it's Luke. What's going on? Why haven't we heard from either you or Han? If Han's in trouble, let us know. We'll find a way to help from here.
Han, it's Luke again. If you get this message, please respond. Leia wouldn't want me to tell you this, but she is getting seriously worried about you. Just send us a sign, any sign, so we know you're okay.
When those messages hit the Falcon's receiver, the freighter was docked at a dusty spaceport on the corner of the Dune Sea shared with the most prominent structure on Tatooine. No one had been on board when the comm alerts pinged, and the pleas for information were stale by the time the planet was a sandy dot fading behind the accelerating ship.
Having experienced his share of frantic nerve-fueled escapes, the flight from Tatooine ranked as one of Han's worst. The first day-cycle after he and Chewie departed was awful; collapsed in a heap on the med-bunk, he swam in and out of consciousness disconnected from any sense of time. During periods of alertness his stomach emptied onto the deckplates and Chewie alternated between dealing with the ship and dealing with Han. The med-bay on the Falcon was inadequate for the task of permanent healing, but the Wookie managed to fashion homemade splints and bind the worst of Han's injuries until they reached the fleet.
In his more lucid moments, Han focused on Leia. He knew she would be concerned given the lack of information from him, but nevertheless he ordered Chewie not to answer incoming comms or reach out to anyone in the fleet; his usual cocksureness had deserted him and he didn't want to risk revealing the Alliance's location if the Falcon was being monitored in any way. Of course, if a tracking device had in fact been slapped onto the ship's hull then landing at the base wouldn't magically make it disappear, but Han was too delirious to think through every contingency. His only goal was to return as quickly as possible and figure things out from there.
Chewie set a new record for consecutive jumps between the outer rim and the fleet, and the threat of a rage-filled Wookie helped convince the sentries on duty to clear the Falcon for landing. After the ship touched down and his co-pilot wrapped up the post-flight check, Han attempted to arrange himself in the least alarming manner so as not to attract too much attention.
But it didn't work. Word of their disappearance had spread, and amid the early morning bustle a small crowd of onlookers had gathered around the Falcon's lowered ramp.
"Oh, gods." Leia rushed over as Chewbacca propped Han up and helped him limp off the ship. Han saw himself from Leia's perspective: his right arm wrapped in a sling and resting at an unnatural angle against his side; bruises splotching the side of his face; one leg trailing behind the rest of him, unable to support any weight. He tried to avoid her eyes but caught a glance all the same: her reaction would have terrified him if he hadn't spent the past few days trapped in his broken body.
"Chewie, what happened?" she demanded.
"I'm fine," Han ground out.
Ignoring the Corellian, Chewie roared a lengthy answer that echoed through the hangar. Even Leia would be able to make out the Shryiiwook words for debt and injuries and Hutt.
"I'll alert the medic," Leia said, hurrying away.
Later that day, after four sessions in the bacta tank, Han lay consigned to a bed, arm swathed wrist-to-shoulder in a post-treatment sterilization wrap. The boneknitter had finished its work on his ribs and antibiotic patches striped his calves like lash marks on a mistreated animal.
Luke and Wedge and Wes were just leaving as Leia arrived in the medcenter. She paused at the door to consult briefly with the med droid before going in.
When she approached his bedside, Han opened one eye. "Nice of you to stop by, Princess."
The casual welcome that would have been appropriate for an acquaintance or a senior officer only served to infuriate Leia more. "You stupid, stupid man," she said hotly. "Stupid."
Han winced as he propped himself up in the bed. "I'm flattered. Normally your insults include threats of bodily harm."
"I'm trying to keep it together for your sake. Do you know how worried we were?"
"We?"
Leia didn't blink. "Yes, we. The fleet sends you on a routine run and you return weeks late and out of contact the entire time. We didn't know what to think, or if you'd even make it back alive. What exactly did you expect to gain by going to Tatooine?"
"Trust me, it wasn't for an impromptu vacation." Han flexed his hands and closed them back into a fist. Scarring from the fusion torches lined the inside of his fingers. He had been told they would fade if he submitted to additional treatments. "I thought a partial payment would get Jabba off my back a while."
"And how did that work out?"
"Not well." Han had decided to elide over the details of the days and nights spent in Jabba's dungeons. Leia wasn't naive regarding tactics carried out by revenge-seeking spice lords and Han didn't especially want to relive the experience himself. "I had half of what I owed him. Figured it was a healthy down payment. Needless to say, he didn't take it that way."
"Let me guess. He let you out alive so you could come up with the other half. Plus interest."
"That about sums it up."
"Han." Leia leaned in so close Han could smell the faint floral scent of her shampoo. "Either we loan you the money or you go into hiding with us. There are no other options."
"What if I don't like either of those?"
"Do you like dying a slow death? Because that's the only other alternative."
"No." Han stared at his hands again. His fingers had been the first target of Jabba's minions and it was especially painful for a pilot used to depending on his hands for his livelihood. "I'm not saying it was the smartest thing I've ever done."
"Then why in the galaxy did you do it?"
Han had considered the answer to that question for weeks and yet was still unsure of how he would respond. Fortunately, this was one of those rare moments in his life when the gods decided to grant him a reprieve. Before he could open his mouth the door to his room slid open and General Rieeken entered. Dressed in his officer's fatigues, he exuded an air of warm competence that was a welcome contrast to the sterile clinic.
"Captain Solo, it's good to see you. We were all worried when you didn't return as scheduled."
"Sorry about that, General. I'm glad to be back."
"I assume they're taking good care of you here?"
"They are," nodded Han. "I'll be back to normal in no time."
"Excellent." Rieeken looked down at Leia. "Princess, the pilots are on their way back from Sartos. I thought you might like to meet them when they land."
"Of course."
She departed gracefully with only a brief glance at Han. Rieeken watched her for a moment and then turned back to the bed, arms folded.
"Solo, I'm sure the Princess has offered the Alliance's assistance if you ever happen to find yourself in a sticky situation."
"She has." Despite his prior firmness on this topic, Han felt like he was facing a crossroads with only ambiguous signage to guide his way. "I told her I didn't need the help."
Rieeken inclined his head. "Regardless, I'd like to reiterate that offer to you myself. Just in case you think it was made unofficially in the spirit of – ah – friendship."
Han shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling trapped in the med bed. "I can't accept the Alliance's offer, General," he said. "But if you are able to keep me on as a contractor so I can earn a living, I'd appreciate it."
"Understood." The older man smiled genially. "And yes, we can keep you on as long as you're willing to work for us."
Despite Rieeken's kindness, Han was relieved when the General left him alone. The evening crawled on interrupted only by what little dinner he could keep down followed by a visit from the medic on call. She frowned at his physio data but cautiously deemed him eligible for discharge on the following day.
A low-wattage light next to his bed only partly illuminated the darkened room. Before Han could steel himself for a sleep-cycle surely to be interrupted by nightmares, Leia appeared in the doorway. She knocked softly before entering and approached his bed.
"I have to say I'm surprised to find you still here," she commented.
"Yeah, well, Chewie said that if I pulled my usual stunt he'd throw me over his shoulder and haul me back here. And then sit on me until I was pronounced healed."
Leia's only response was a slight rise of her eyebrows. Han raked his eyes over her, over the body he had known so intimately and that was now sadly encased in an Alliance-issued shirt and trousers.
"You look nice," he said. And she did. Tired, of course – she was almost always tired – but a few hairs had escaped her braids and fluttered around her face in a way that made him want to reach out and smooth them back.
Leia flushed faintly at the compliment but otherwise ignored it. "How are you feeling?"
"Why don't you join me under the blanket and find out?"
He watched her fight a smile. She sat on the edge of his bed and took his hand. "Han, why did you do it?"
There was no way Han could tell her the truth: I did it for you, for us. Besides revealing too much on its own, that admission would have been especially self-serving if said to Leia. Already overburdened with guilt, she didn't need to take on any more because of him.
"I had finally saved up enough credits to make a dent in my debt and I thought there was a chance he'd be receptive," he said finally.
Leia was unimpressed. "You thought Jabba the Hutt would be receptive to a partial payment?"
"Kind of." Not really. "I know it sounds naïve but things had been quiet on that front for a while. I was hoping he had bigger problems to deal with and would give me some leeway if I made a gesture." Han shrugged. "Won't make that mistake again."
She watched him carefully, clearly skeptical of his explanation. Han squeezed her hand in a way he hoped was reassuring. "You know me, Sweetheart. Always getting into trouble despite my good intentions."
"I certainly agree with the getting-into-trouble part."
"Besides," he joked, "I think the food is better here than in the mess. Almost makes it worth it."
Leia shook her head. "Han," she said firmly. Han thought she had that look about her, the one that tended to scare off new recruits. "Next time you won't be so lucky. We both know that. Promise me you won't try again."
Han studied the bandages on his arm and considered how easily human body parts could be mangled beyond recognition. Leia's request – no, demand – hung in the air between them. The part of him that wanted nothing more than for her to crawl into his bed tried to convince the rest of him that if he didn't look her in the eye he wouldn't be held accountable for what he was about to say.
He closed his eyes and took a breath. "I promise."