Chapter Text
"Look at him. If it's anything, it's a girl." And Val doesn't mean anything by it, he knows that, but still, it stings. It bites harder than the damn cold, and out here in the snow, it's pretty damn cold.
Even so far from Corellia, far from the influence of the Empire, far from the notions of 'stronger families make better pilots' and everything that brings, it would always be a human than would assume.
And yes, there is a woman. There's always been a woman. Qi'ra's been his everything for as long as he can remember, but that still doesn't make it right.
Even if he didn't miss Qi'ra every day, it still wouldn't make it right.
But it's not the time. He smiles wistfully, lets the longing and sadness drip into his voice, and tells them all about her.
The rest can wait.
-
He's running a job in the depths of Coruscant a year or so later, trying hard to keep out from under the thumb of the Hutts. Everything went to shit on Tatooine, as everything's seemed to since Qi'ra... left... and he's trying to make back the Hutts' money by transporting a whole load of forbidden narcotics from the Core planets to the Outer Rim.
It's not an especially exciting job, but it's good money and he really doesn't have any other choice.
He doesn't have many more chances with the Hutts before they get him, for good.
However, the job goes smoothly, the drugs get placed on the freighter they need to be on, and he and Chewy are home free. They don't even get stopped by the Empire during the handover.
Job well done, and about time too.
Chewbacca wants to visit some old friends in the city, and Han wants a night off, so he bids his friend farewell and tells him, very solemnly, "Don't get into trouble."
Chewy snorts, thumps him over the back of the head and growls something along the lines of, " I never get into trouble. I always save you, remember?"
"Thanks buddy." Han waves him off, because that is desperately Not True. "Go. Go and see your other friends . I'll be... back at the ship by daybreak. You do the same."
" Idiot."
Chewy, despite his large size and general hairiness, disappears into the crowd within moments.
Well. What to do? Han can't venture up into the overcity, he'd get taken out by some smuggler or assassin or Stormtrooper within minutes, but there's gotta be something to do down here...
The grotty bar on the corner seems like a good idea.
It doesn't seem quite like such a good idea once he's several fingers into a bottle of Corellian whiskey and the barman(?) creature(?) is eyeing him with something akin to disgust.
One wonders how a being without visible eyes can 'eye' someone, but the look Han's getting is far from complimentary.
"About time you left, pal." The creature grunts. It's a pretty mean feat considering its lack of a mouth, though that might just be because Han's had a lot of whiskey.
"Wha- ...why?" He's pretty sure his tongue wasn't quite as heavy in his mouth when he came in, but his memory doesn't actually seem to extend that far back...
"You've been crying about your missing girlfriend for two hours, and frankly, it's stopping customers."
"Qi'ra's... not my girlfriend." They'd been so much more than that.
"Girlfriend, wife, whatever, I don't care about human pair bonding." The barcreature complains. "Go on. Get out." He gives Han a shove, and spills the whiskey everywhere.
It's a bit rude, actually, but Han's having a lot of trouble actually keeping upright, so he can't seem to make an effort to draw his weapon.
"Wha...ever..." Han grabs the bottle of whiskey, slams a few credits down on the bar, and stumbles out into the street.
Is alcoholism really the answer?
No. No it's not, but it's certainly plastering over the hole in his heart.
He stumbles off down the street. This isn't the worst place in the undercity, but it's nowhere near the best. Everything seems a bit too bright, neon lights splitting his head open from the inside. He passes another couple of bars, an eatery, a dodgy-looking med clinic, and a brothel.
He stops at the brothel.
It's not actually because he wants to go to it, just that his legs don't want to make him walk any further.
The guard outside, who’s as hairy as Chewy but tinted light blue, yells in Basic, “You! You want a woman? Got tons of humans, ready and begging for your co-”
Yeah. No. Bad idea. The annoyance that spikes through him is probably only partially due to the alcohol. “Wha- What if I don’t want a woman?”
“We have some Arconian females, if you’re interested? The eyes take a little getting used to, but they’re ready for-”
“Yeah, yeah I get that you’re employing women, I get that.” For fuck’s sake, it’d be easier to find dry land in a Dagobahrian bog. One would think that the proprietor of a whorehouse would know what he’s trying to get at, but apparently not. “What if I wanted someone who’s not a woman?”
The guard cocks an eyebrow at him. For someone who’s entirely made out of hair, it’s a pretty mean feat. “I thought you humans had that weird obsession with gender thing.”
Han’s hand inches towards his blaster, almost without prompting. But no, he’s not going to shoot anyone. He’s going to be good today. Besides, he’s so drunk that his aim’s going to be fucked if he even tries. It’s probably left him a little vulnerable, if he’s honest, but no-one’s ever said that Han Solo makes good decisions all of the time. “Pal, if anything, you’re the only one here with a weird obsession with gender.”
“Don’t all humans pair-bond with people of the opposite gender?” The guard muses, slovenly. “And you spend forever with them? Didn’t I hear that Darth Vader himself was the product of a human pair-bond gone wrong?”
Han really didn’t want to shoot anyone today.
Fortunately, he doesn’t have the death of some random asshole on his conscience, because as soon as he draws his blaster, the guard waves at a police drone circling overhead and that same police drone knocks him unconscious with a spray of stun-fire.
Han wakes up an hour or so later, royally pissed off, to find himself stuck in a cell with a very displeased Wookie looking down at him.
“ ‘Don’t get into trouble’, huh?” Chewy grunts, but pays his bail.
-
Sometime later, they’re in the middle of a firefight. Han and Chewy have stolen something, the Empire wants it back, yadda yadda yadda, and there’s a ton of TIE fighters after them.
Just another day’s work, really.
Han’s piloting the Falcon madly in an attempt to get the fighters off their tail, and Chewy’s trying to pick them off with the cannon. Everything’s going very Fine until Han gets a call.
It’s a deep space communication. Untraceable. Usually, times like this would be the one point where he wouldn’t open a call, but something in him tells him to open this one. “Yeah?”
“Han, baby, got a minute?” It’s Lando Calrissian. Son of a bitch. What’s he calling for? Last time they met up they’d had an argument and nearly destroyed an entire bar. That’s not saying he doesn’t like the guy, but even so.
“Talk to me.” He nearly overclocks the controls spinning the Falcon in a full loop to avoid a blast from one of the fighters.
“Well…”
Han knows that tone. It’s a cute attempt at being persuasive. He sighs, drags the controls to the right and says, “What do you want from me, Lando? I’m not giving you the ship.”
“Can’t I just-”
“I won her fair and square. If you want another ship, go talk to one of your other friends.” The ‘other’ is an accident. It kinda slips out.
Of course, Lando picks up on it. “‘Other’ friends, huh? Baby, do this one thing for me and I’ll pay you better than you’ve ever been.”
Lando? Offering a reward? Wow. Something’s serious. Han flips the Falcon upside down for a couple of seconds, and then darts around an asteroid. “I’m not saying yes, but what would you want me to do?”
In hindsight, he probably should have just hung up.