Chapter Text
“Leia,” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, “walk faster, but don’t make it obvious.”
She didn’t want to raise suspicion by looking over at him, but she could hear the tension in his voice. That alone gave her cause for concern. She tried to increase her pace as casually as possible. Han barely had time to silently acknowledge that it was the first time Leia had taken an order from him without even questioning it.
The bag slung across Leia’s shoulder was so heavy, but she feared to readjust it would draw attention they didn’t want. Han had made it explicitly clear before they’d landed that this was a lawless and extremely dangerous planet. It hadn't always been, but since the Empire had taken control of the galaxy, it had changed. He and Chewie could blend in without even trying, but Leia had to be briefed on the ugly underbelly of Corellia.
Leia had reminded him that she didn’t like the idea of stealing illegal goods and selling them for money to buy weapons and x-wings but Han hadn’t been phased by that part of the mission, going so far as to make a passing comment that others didn't have such moral qualms with stealing to fund the rebellion with a little more bitterness than Leia could identify. He’d assured both her and Mon Mothma that if they could get the cargo off-planet, he and Chewie could exchange it for much-needed credits to buy weapons and aircraft.
General Dodonna had strongly voiced his concern about that part. How exactly did Han expect to smuggle when he had a bounty on his head known to anyone and everyone who would be willing to buy smuggled goods from him. Mon Mothma had told them their part of the mission was to just get the cargo back to Home One - Solo and the Wookie weren’t the only former smugglers in the Rebellion. That had hurt Han’s ego (although he’d never admit it) but he was also secretly grateful he wouldn’t have to try to double or triple-cross any of his old smuggling contacts. He wasn’t sure how many, if any, of them still held him in their good graces.
So now, he, Leia, and Chewbacca made their way through the crowded, dingy streets of Corellia each laden with crossbody bags full of glitterstim spice and coaxium hyperfuel. Though his outward expression remained neutral, internally, Han was sneering at being back on his homeworld - a word he used lightly, since it had never been much of a home.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed several of the city’s syndicate brute squad paying closer attention to them.
Not much farther , Han said to himself. The Falcon is less than two klicks from here. We can make it.
They made it another city block when a group of children went darting past Leia. Han had forewarned her about the little street urchins who were expert pickpockets by the time they were seven. He’d known because he’d been one. When she saw the children approach, she smoothly transitioned her bag to her other shoulder... but it was so full that one vial of glitterstim slipped out. Before it hit the permacrete walkway, Han was already looking to the patrolling brutes, whose eyes had found the tiny offending vial.
“Shit, they know... RUN!” Han yelled.
The three of them raced in the general direction of the Falcon . Instinctively, Chewie and Leia let Han lead, even though it had been years since he’d been to this particular city. The city’s patrol shouted in gruff, angry voices to reinforcements joining the pursuit. Han ran without looking where he was going, leaping over refuse piles and ducking under low-hanging awnings. He darted around a corner and stopped so suddenly that Leia ran into the back of him. They’d run straight into a dead end, save for a too-narrow access port meant for allowing steam to vent between the buildings.
“Well, come on!” Leia urged. “What are we standing here for!?”
“What are we supposed to do, scale the wall?” Han shot back.
Leia pointed at the access port. Han looked at it dubiously.
“There’s no way Chewie will fit through there!” Han argued.
Chewie roared for them to go and he would find another way around. Han didn’t like it, but there was no time. Leia squeezed through with ease, but Han’s broad shoulders caused him difficulty and much to his dismay, he was stuck.
Han heard a voice much too close behind him.
“Down here! They’re going through the pressure access vents!”
Han grit his teeth and forced his way through, hearing the pop! of his left shoulder dislocating.
“Are you alright?” Leia asked as his face warped with pain.
“No. Run now. Hurt later.”
Additional troops had seemed to materialize from nowhere, and these ones were shooting at them.
“Dammit! If they hit these vials of hyperfuel, we’re all gonna be smears on the permacrete!” Han bellowed.
All hope for subtly gone, Han withdrew his blaster from the holster on his thigh and returned fire. Leia also produced a blaster, from where Han wasn’t entirely sure. Still no sign of Chewie.
Less than a klick away now. We’re gonna make it , Han told himself. We just gotta find Chewie and we’ll get out of here.
Leia was running as fast as her tiny frame would carry her, turning to shoot behind her as much as she could. She spun around to take out two sharpshooters on the roof but her left foot got caught in a grate. When she spun, her foot remained firmly in place and she went down with a sickening crack! from her ankle. To her credit, she never uttered a sound.
Han hadn’t immediately realized what had happened. He was nearly 10 meters ahead of her when he glanced back and saw her crumpled on the ground, still firing with one hand but clutching her ankle in the other. He spun around and ran back in her direction, skidding to a halt when he reached her.
“C’mon, we gotta go,” he urged her.
“I’m trying,” she whimpered.
Han reached around her torso and flung her arm over his shoulder. The pain from his dislocated shoulder was throbbing, but he forced it down. “Can you stand?”
“I don’t think—no,” she said with certainty. She had grown frighteningly pale and beads of sweat had formed on her forehead.
“Fine, I’ll carry you,” Han declared. He knelt to pick her up but realized there was no way he could bear her weight and both of their stolen cargo bags. He gently set her back down on the permacrete and frantically tried to think of a way out. Blaster fire was coming from multiple directions. Leia was returning fire as rapidly as their enemy was delivering it until her blaster clicked and nothing came out. She pulled the trigger again but nothing. Her firing cartridge was empty. Han truly saw no way out of this one. His blaster had a finite number of shots remaining too, and when those were spent, they would be weaponless.
He could think of nothing else to do besides try to shield Leia as much as possible. He practically laid on top of her firing his blaster one shot at a time, trying to make each one count. He knew they shouldn’t have taken this mission. The moment he’d seen Corellia on the datapad briefing, he’d had a bad feeling about coming back here. He had just decided that morning to stay with the Rebellion... to stay on the newly designated Echo Base... to stay for her. He’d planned to tell her of his decision to be a permanent member of the Alliance as they celebrated their victory after the mission. Plans never seemed to work out for him.
“Leia!” Han shouted to be heard over the sounds of chaos around them.
She grimaced to let him know she’d heard him.
“I’m sorry I got you into this...” He tried to keep the fear and panic from his voice, but Leia heard it anyway. Han was never afraid and that scared her. So she did what Han would normally do to try and bring him back around.
“Of all times, Han Solo, now is when you finally decide to accept fault for something?!”
As though it was ingrained in his very essence, Han leaned up slightly so she could see his furrowed brow and half-cocked smirk.
“We’re about to die and you’re making jokes?!”
“We are not about to die!” Leia insisted.
Somewhere, an enemy took advantage of Han’s momentary raised figure and fired a well-aimed shot that would have struck him in the back of his skull had he not leaned up even further when he thought he saw a mass of brown fur move in the distance. The shot struck Han on the right shoulder blade. The momentum sent him forward, toppling back onto Leia and his blaster fell from his grip.
“Han!”
With difficulty, Leia slid out from underneath him. He lay motionless on the permacrete.
“HAN!” Her guttural scream echoed off the walls of the warehouse buildings on either side of them. Despite not being able to walk, Leia was still looking for a way to get to the Falcon .
Although without Han and Chewie, I don’t know how I expect to fly it out of here... Leia was a fair enough pilot that she could operate an X-Wing if she needed to, but the Millennium Falcon was a much larger craft and required a co-pilot.
A groan of pain snapped her attention back to the smuggler lying face down beside her.
He’s not dead! Oh, thank the Gods. Thank the Force. Thank whatever it is the people of this planet pray to!
Han slid his right arm back and attempted to bear enough weight to push himself up, but the pain from the blaster shot made his elbow buckle and he collapsed back to the ground.
Another wave of syndicate enforcers was approaching, all with loaded blasters. A shadow passed over Han and when he looked up, a host of brown fur was standing over him.
“Chewie!” Han shouted with relief. “You made it!”
The Wookie roared a warning and lobbed a thermal detonator at the approaching enemies. He knelt to help Han up, but the smuggler forcefully shook his head.
“No, Chewie. Get Leia to the Falcon first.”
Chewbacca was momentarily torn. His first and primary allegiance was to Han so naturally, he wanted to get him to safety first. But Han wanted Chewie to help Leia, and if he chose to take Han first and Leia was injured further (or worse, killed), Han would never forgive him.
The Wookie grunted and scooped up the princess effortlessly. He paused and looked back at his friend.
“Go, pal,” Han urged him. “I’m right behind you. Promise.”
Chewbacca sprinted toward their ship, trying to take advantage of every second the detonator had bought them. He huffed up the boarding ramp, somewhat ungracefully set Leia down on the lounge bench in the main hold, and darted back out.
Between his dislocated shoulder and the blaster wound to his other shoulder blade, Han was trying to drag both his and Leia’s bags of cardo behind him. He was tempted to just drop the bags and high-tail it to his ship, but he couldn’t stomach the idea that they would have gone through all of this for nothing. Though he was still considering it when Chewie reappeared.
The Wookie would have preferred to carry Han the rest of the way, but he knew Solo’s pride would never allow it. Instead, he grabbed the bags and insisted Han stayed in front of him, despite the fact that they were no longer being shot at.
Finally, they were all aboard the Falcon . Chewie dropped the bags in the hidden cargo compartments and started for the cockpit. Han made to follow him, but Chewie growled an order for him to go to the med-bunk instead.
“You can’t get us off this godsforsaken planet by yourself!”
Chewbacca barked a reply that, roughly translated, meant, “Watch me.”
Han huffed indignantly and made his way to the main hold. Leia was still on the lounge bench, trying to conceal the pain her ankle was causing her.
Soon enough, Chewie had successfully plotted their course and set them into hyperspace (with difficulty by himself, but he would never admit it to Han). He found Han trying to splint Leia’s ankle, despite the fact that he could barely lift his right arm and his left hung uselessly by his side.
“Chewie, c’mere,” Han requested. “I need you to set my arm back in place.”
Chewie moaned dubiously.
“I know it’s gonna hurt like hell without any painkillers, but I gave the last of our onboard supply to Leia.”
“Wait,” Leia interrupted. “Let me put a bacta patch on your blaster wound first.”
“No,” Han insisted. “I gotta set your ankle.”
“But,” Leia persisted, “the longer you wait to treat that wound, the worse it will be. It will scar if you don’t get bacta on it soon.”
“Wow, a scar,” Han said sarcastically. “I’ll have to cancel all my social engagements after this.”
“Han, I’m just saying that if you let me treat it now, it’ll be completely gone in a few days.”
“And your Worship, I’m just saying if I don’t set your ankle, you might not be able to kriffing walk!”
“Just go in the supply cabinet and give me a damn bacta patch, Han!”
“With what? The Force? In case you forgot, your highness, I’ve got one bum arm and another with a hole in it so—”
In the middle of their bickering, Chewie seized the opportunity - he clutched Han’s left arm, yanked it hard, and nodded in a satisfied sort of way when he heard the shoulder pop back into place.
Han’s expression of annoyance with Leia changed into a grimace of pain. “Son-of-a-kath-hound! Damnit Chewie, that hurt!”
The Wookie shrugged and whined.
“Yeah, I know it had to be done one way or the other," Han agreed, "but... couldn’t you have given me a warning?”
“It probably would have only hurt worse since you’d have been expecting it,” Leia offered.
Chewie was looking through the med-supply kit and groaned at Han.
“Uhh, bad news, Princess. No bacta patches.”
“Ugh. What’s the point of having a med-supply kit if you’re not going to keep it stocked?”
“Oh, lay off, will ya?” Han snapped.
Leia had already inhaled and opened her mouth intending to criticize the cleanliness of the ship and how his wound was likely to get infected, but the retort died on her lips. Chewie had fashioned a sling out of what appeared to be grease rags for Han’s arm that he’d set. Han squeezed his eyes shut when a wave of pain passed over him as Chewie helped him maneuver his arm into the sling. Leia realized that by giving her the last dose of pain medication and with no bacta patches, Han was suffering the full brunt of his injuries.
“Sorry,” she said curtly.
Han gave her a weak dismissive wave. The adrenaline that had kept him going to escape Corellia had finally crashed. He was barely keeping his eyes open as he wondered when was the last time he’d slept.
Chewie was quietly setting Leia’s ankle and securing it with whatever he could find - in his case, a thick piece of cardboard and more grease rags. Leia instantly felt bad for rebuking their efforts. Without their help, she would have never made it off the planet. Chewie completed his task and whined softly.
“He said sorry it’s not the prettiest splint, but it’s the best he could do for now.”
“It’s perfectly fine,” Leia said quietly. “Thank you, Chewie. Both of you, really.”
As tired as he was, Han perked up, not willing to miss an opportunity to tease her. “Write this down, Chewie. This is the day that her Worship Princess Leia thanked us.”
Leia just leaned further back on the bench, trying to elevate her foot. She wasn’t going to go to sleep - she had to brief Command when they returned to Home One. She was just going to rest for a moment. But the pillow beneath her head was so comfortable. When did Han even spring for such luxury comforts like pillows? She wondered as she slipped into a dreamless sleep.
Han sat at the other end of the lounge bench, looking down at Leia’s head on his lap. He met Chewie’s eye as if to say, You’re seeing this, right? I’m not just imagining it?
The Wookie shook his head and barked quietly at his friend before returning to the cockpit.
“Hmm, thanks for nothin’, pal,” Han mumbled. He rested his hand on the bench, careful not to drape it over Leia’s sleeping form (despite however much he might have wanted to), and let himself sleep the rest of the flight.
Han woke when the ship came out of lightspeed. A minor thing, unnoticeable to many, but Han could always pinpoint the moment of transition from hyperspace to realspace. Leia had rolled onto her side with one hand tucked beneath her and her other pressed against his thigh, just as if it really were a pillow she was shaping to the desired comfort. Han was furious at himself for the involuntary backflip his stomach made in response to her touch.
For Kriff's sake, Solo, get ahold of yourself! He chastised himself. You’ve had more than your share of women who've given you plenty more attention than this. What are you so worked up about, anyway?
Leia stirred, so Han remained as naturally still as possible, hoping she would think him still asleep.
She woke in slight confusion, having to remember what events led to her current circumstances. The first thing she realized was that her hand was pressed against something — something firm and warm. She glanced up and realized with silent panic that it was Han’s thigh she had mistaken for a pillow. Slowly in an attempt not to wake him (and unaware he was already awake), she withdrew her hand. Chewie appeared and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of them. She sat up and scooted to the edge of the bench just as Han opened his eyes and mumbled, “Wassamatter? We back at the fleet?”
Chewie growled an affirmative answer.
Han got to his feet and yawned. Forgetting his injuries, he stretched, wincing as he did so. Despite herself, Leia’s eyes flashed to Han’s hip bones that were briefly exposed when his shirt came untucked. Han appeared not to have noticed.
“Well,” he said with a sigh, “come on, your Worshipfulness.” He extended his arm, despite the blaster wound still stinging his shoulder. She limped over and let him put his arm around her waist. She could only imagine how they looked. Between her limping on a broken ankle, Han’s arm in a sling and a blaster hole in his jacket, she realized they probably looked terrible. “Guess we better get this cargo unloaded so Mon’s unmarked smugglers can get it sold for us,” Han grumbled. Leia did not fail to notice the bitterness in his tone.
“Not so fast, hotshot. First, you’re going to the med-center and getting your shoulder treated.”
“Holy vrelt pelts, woman,” Han bemoaned. “You are gonna drive me to drink.”