Star Wars: Lightforce

Chapter 15

Han tipped himself into the first establishment he could find that resembled a bar. It didn't have the comfortable seediness he was used to, but he managed to get himself a Mandallian Narcolethe and tuck himself into a booth in the farthest corner and that's all he needed.

The brisk walk and fresh air had partially cooled his temper and the effect of the drink was finishing the job. He shut his eyes and rubbed his temple, recalling Leia's face as he had left, being reminded of a bridge on Endor when he had felt similarly jealous, just after she had learned she was Darth Vader's daughter. She had fought to control her pain then too, tried not to show there was a crack in her impermeable armour but eventually turned to him for comfort.

He winced at himself. He had hurt her and she had enough pain in her life from other sources, she didn't need him to cause more. He wasn't even sure why he had felt so angry.

He downed half of his drink. Who was he kidding? Of course he did. He had an underlying fear that she would leave him behind; that her cause was bigger than he was. She was an enigma; powerful politician, savant strategist, fierce and unrelenting freedom fighter, a graceful, kind, gentle-hearted woman and passionate lover. His life had been engulfed by her, and the last few months had cemented his desire to be enveloped by her love for the rest of his days. That's why Mon Mothma's words felt like knife wounds.

He finished his drink and raised a finger at the young, blonde barmaid to order another. Years ago he would have noticed the girl's curves; her provocative outfit, but these days, she just wasn't his type.

He leant his forearms on the table, cupping his second Narcolethe, running over the conversation in his head. Running over it and over it. Leia hadn't ever lied to him, that was true. She hadn't told him immediately about her real parentage on Endor, spending hours locked in fraught conversations with Luke, the pain of their legacy obviously affecting them both, until she had felt comfortable enough to tell him what was going on. He understood. If it had been him, he would have needed to process that one for a while too. He wasn't convinced she wasn't still processing it. She had been totally honest with him about everything, whether he liked it or not, and only he had been allowed glimpses of her vulnerabilities. He should be pleased and not have been such an ass. Being realistic with himself, he knew that, eventually, she was bound to increase her senatorial duties. That was, after all, what she was fighting for. It would also be necessary for her to earn an income one day and she received a reasonable retainer for the position. He was an idiot if he thought it wouldn't happen, if he thought she would abandon everything she had fought for and fly off round the galaxy living rough on the Falcon. Her steadfast sense of duty was part of what he admired about her, even though it sometimes frustrated him.

A familiar gentle gurgle filtered through his brooding and Chewbacca stood over him. He had been searching the bars and finally found him, a bit the worse for wear.

"Yes, pal. I'm fine. Just needed to clear my head." Chewbacca sat opposite him, clutching his own rather vile looking green, bubbling drink and grumbled an enquiry as to whether it was about Leia.

"Yes, Chewie – well, actually, it's more about me. I lost my temper and upset her." Chewie nodded his head, tilting it back and growling a response.

"I know I'm good at putting my foot in it," Han admitted. Chewie gurgled when were the two of them going to stop fighting and realise they were made for each other.

"I know it, Chewie. I'm just not so sure she feels the same way. Especially not now." Another enquiring gurgle from his Wookie friend.

"I called her a politician." Chewie growled more admonishingly, moving his head vigorously and waving a paw at him.

"Yeah, it was a bit of a mean word to call her." Han looked remorseful and Chewie reached over and ruffled his hair.

"OK, pal, I know. Enough of the mushy stuff. Let's get back to the Falcon. Chewbacca asked another question as they stood up to leave which led to a sideways look from Han.

"No, I don't think she wants to see me tonight." Tauntaun feed sprang to mind again. "I'll spend the night on the ship."

#

Having spent the whole afternoon nursing his drinks in the bar, the sun was now setting as they disembarked from the shuttle at the landing platform. Ahead of them, his golden metal body reflecting the evening sunlight, was C-3PO, waiting patiently by the Falcon's closed ramp. Or not so patiently.

"Ah, there you are, General Solo. Chewbacca. I have been waiting quite a while for you," he admonished. "The Princess told me you would be here but the Millennium Falcon was sealed when I arrived. I have quite a lot of work to do to prepare her for tomorrow's ceremony and it has taken up a lot of my time just waiting here."

"We were busy." Han looked at the long cloth bag the droid was carrying. "What did you want?" he asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

"Her Highness requests that you wear this to the ceremony... if you will be attending, that is." 3PO sounded uncertain. Leia must have relayed her doubts to him. His robotic stance gave the impression he was hoping for clarification of that point, but Han hated giving the droid the satisfaction and found himself being deliberately obtuse.

"I haven't decided. Leave it here just in case."

"Oh..." 3PO hesitated. "Very well, General. Shall I relay your indecision to the Princess?"

"Go ahead." Han was blunt, taking the cloth covered garments from him roughly.

"Well, really!" 3PO grumbled and stumbled away. Han could hear him complaining all the way across the platform.

He lifted off the cloth bag to look at it's contents, and pulled a face. Chewbacca threw back his head, mouth open, and laughed his roaring laugh. The outfit was a very smart dark blue and cream jacket and trousers with his Alliance rank insignia already attached. It wasn't actually a bad outfit or even that unlike what he usually wore, just far smarter. He would much rather go as he was though, in his comfortable, familiar clothes.

He sighed. He supposed Leia could have sent a really hideous outfit over and requested he wear it as retribution, but she hadn't. It had been thoughtfully chosen and he would honour the thought by wearing it to her ceremony.