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Han’s frequent trips to the medical bay since the transfer to Hoth stop surprising you eventually. He’s a regular, coming in for every scrape and bruise. Usually, it’s only ice that he needs… on a planet made of ice. Still, he likes to insist you treat him whenever he can if only to assure him there’s no concussion or sprain. At this point, you’ve even stopped looking up when he struts through the doors. Why would you need to? You have a sixth sense about him at this point.
This time is no different. When you hear the hiss of the door sliding open, you know it’s him coming through. Of course, it's him. He’s a master at choosing inopportune moments to command your attention, and you can feel his presence in your bones.
“Captain,” you greet him, pretending to take stock of inventory. Pretending you hardly notice him. You don’t even look up from your datapad. You don’t even say his name.
“Doctor,” he returns, leaning against the rack of supplies. “Give me a hand, would you?”
“I'm on break in ten minutes,” you tell him after checking the time. "Find someone else.”
He leans in. "I would’ve asked someone else if I could’ve. Two seconds, doc. That’s all I’m asking for.”
You drop the datapad into your satchel. “Fine,” you sigh. “What can I do for you?”
He extends his left hand, revealing a swollen welt on the base of his thumb. “Luke suggested I get this checked out,” he explained. “I don’t think it’s that bad, but I thought what the hell?”
You seize his hand gently and hold it close for inspection. “How’d this happen?”
“Lost my gloves outside yesterday,” he says.
“Numb?”
“Pins and needles.”
You drop his hand. “That’s frostbite, Han,” you tell him. “It is that bad.”
Han cradles his hand to himself. “No need to get snippy, sister,” he says. “What do I do about it?”
Ten minutes until your break... But you’ve never been able to refuse Han, and Dak will understand if you’re late to lunch.
You sigh and lead Han to a basin of warm water. “Give me your hand,” you instruct.
He complies, resting his hand palm-up in yours. Slowly, you submerge his hand under the warm water, trying to ignore his pained hiss when the water hits the frostbite.
“Keep it warm. Keep it covered. Do not rub or massage it,” you tell him. “What did I just say? Repeat it back.”
“Warm, covered, no rubbing,” Han repeats.
You nod and pull some gauze out of your satchel. “I’ll write you a prescription for anti-inflammatories. Set an appointment with me within the next couple of days to check up. Alright?”
“Well, aren’t we in a rush today?”
“I told you,” you say. “My break is in ten minutes, and I’m meeting Dak for lunch. Hand.”
Once again, his hand is in yours. “You ever not meeting Ralter for lunch?”
Slowly, you begin to wrap the gauze around his thumb into a sort of fingerless glove. “Occasionally,” you answer absently. “Why? Does it suddenly bother you that I eat with my friends?”
“No,” Han responds immediately. “You and Ralter are pretty friendly, though.”
His meaning isn’t lost on you, and it gives you a moment’s pause as you look up at him. He has this idiotic smirk on his face like he’s got you pinned down and dissected. It’s infuriating. As if you and Dak Ralter of all people would be involved. As if there was anyone for you besides... “Yeah, of course, we’re friendly,” you tell him. “We’re friends. ”
“‘Course, you are,” Han replies. The smirk doesn’t leave.
You study him for another second before dropping his hand. “Do you have something to say, Solo?”
He folds his arms over his chest and leans in. “Do you, doc?”
The sudden proximity is a little too much. Maker, you can feel his warmth. “Impossible man…” you grumble as you straighten yourself and walk away.
“Would you have me any other way?” Han calls after you.
“Yes, I would!” you shout back over your shoulder. You could waste hours describing the various ways you would ave him, but you’ve had enough of Han Solo for one day. You’ve never been able to understand how someone so… pretty and charismatic can be such a nuisance.
When you reach the mess hall, you collapse on the bench across from Dak. “Sorry, I’m late,” you mumble.
“What kept you?” Dak asks, pushing your rations across the table to you.
“Solo got frostbite,” you explain, stabbing at your rations.
“Oh?” Dak says with a conspiratorial look. “Did he beeline for you like always?”
“Stop it, Dak,” you say through a mouthful. You swallow before continuing. “It’s not gonna happen. He’s obsessed with the idea of you and me together.”
Dak nearly chokes before he starts laughing.
“Yeah, I know,” you say as a smile creeps over your face.
“How doesn't he know about me?”
You shrug and shake your head. “He’s an oblivious idiot?”
Dak nods. “Either that or I’ve got to try harder,” he muses. “Why not tell him it’s never gonna happen next time?”
You stammer before a coherent sentence leaves your mouth. “Oh, right. Right, of course. How does this sound? ‘Hey, Han, you’ve got the wrong idea about me and Dak. You can fuck me through the floor now.’ How about that?”
Dak is silent for a moment. “I love how that’s where your mind immediately goes,” he says. He takes a bite of his rations. “You need to make out already. Before the end of the week.”
“Ha ha.”
“No, I’m serious,” Dak says. “I dare you.”
You almost cough up your food. “No!” you say. “Not that stupid game!”
“You owe me a dare! You said so yourself.”
“That was over a month ago!”
Dak wields his fork at you like a weapon. “Fair’s fair,” he insists. “You’ll thank me later.”
“Doubt it,” you grumble.
But Dak waves off your doubt and moves on. It’s easy for him. He doesn’t think about it every day.
You, on the other hand, think about it all through lunch. You think about it through the end of your shift, dinner, and on the way to the barracks. The mere thought of simply kissing Han plagues you when you brush your teeth and change into nightclothes. It cuts into your sleep.
Which explains why you're so tired at your shift the next morning, slumping into the medbay and making caf before attempting conversation with anyone.
"Doctor?" Harter Kalonia approaches you after your first sip. "Are you ready to start?"
"Yes," you sigh, lying through your teeth and reaching for the datapad she’s holding out to you. One look at the name at the top of the info sheet and you want to bash your head against the wall. "Who let Captain Solo schedule his appointment for first thing today?"
"He insisted," Kalonia replies. "He's waiting in the examination room right now."
"Of course, he is," you grumble. "Let's get this over with."
When you walk in, he’s sitting on the examination table like he’s not sure what to do with himself. His frostbitten hand is pinned between his knees while his other is propping him up, and there’s a scowl on his face that’s almost comical.
“So,” you begin, “I guess I should’ve specified not to book me for the very next day. ”
“Well, doc, you seemed a little too busy to elaborate on much of anything,” he says, sounding as irritated as he looks.
“I told you to go find someone else,” you point out.
“And I told you that there was no one else,” he counters.
“Nevermind,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “Let’s see it.”
He holds out his hand and lets you gingerly unwrap the burn. It’s something you should take your time with, but the closeness is making everything foggy. His head is so close to yours, and you’re both looking down at your hands, observing the way your fingers brush up against his now and then. If both of you were to look up at the same time, you would be nose-to-nose. There isn’t anything you want more than to be over with it. Nevertheless, you push through every agonizing second until his hand is bare before you.
“It isn’t the worst I’ve seen,” you explain. “Fairly mild, in fact. Keep taking your meds, and it should heal up within a few months. So… more appointments, probably. Not tomorrow. Give it some time to progress.”
“Sure,” he agrees.
“Good thing it’s your left, huh?”
“I’m left-handed.”
“No,” you protest. “You shoot with your right.”
“I shoot with my right,” he confirms. “Everything else I do with my left.”
It would be laughable if you weren’t mortified. “Funny how the only person I know who wears two jackets indoors managed to get one of the most inconvenient frostbites on base,” you mumble.
“I see nothing funny about this,” he counters.
“I promise you it’s hysterical from this side,” you say, making appointment notes on the datapad.
Han furrows his eyebrows and practically pouts. “Well, I’m glad I could amuse you.”
He’s being childish, and you’re sure he doesn’t think so. For once, you smile at how ridiculous he is. And then you look up to notice that his eyebrows have unfurrowed and his face has lost its hardness as he looks at you. You stand that way until your smile fades, and you realize that you’re standing nearly nose-to-nose as you feared. If you wanted to, you could move just a couple inches forward and… Dak’s challenge immediately comes to mind when your eyes flick down to his lips, and the backward step you take is almost involuntary.
“Right,” you say, swallowing hard. “That’s it for today. Set an appointment for about two weeks from now on your way out, alright?”
“Aren’t you gonna wrap this up?” he questions, waving his hand.
“Oh, yeah,” you mutter, reaching for fresh gauze from your satchel.
You’re halfway done wrapping his hand when he speaks up in a low voice. “You’re doing it again,” he says.
You spare him a glance before returning to your work. “Doing what?” you question.
“Rushing. Like you can’t wait to get away from me. You treat all your patients like this or am I just special?”
“You’re imagining things,” you say, shaking your head. This isn’t a safe conversation.
“Yeah?” he asks, closing his hand over yours and making you look him in the eye. “Then how come you walk in here without so much as a hello and try to leave without so much as a goodbye?"
It takes you a moment to work up an answer to that. How are you supposed to explain to him that the only reason you keep him at arm’s length is because of how badly you want him closer all the time? How could you ever possibly explain something you don’t fully understand yourself? “I-I’m not trying to. I’m just...”
“Busy?”
“Busy,” you confirm.
Han nods, lets you finish wrapping his hand, stands, and takes a deep breath. “Figures,” he says. “Say hello to Ralter for me.”
“Maker--” you start, your hands curling into fists at your sides. “I-- You-- You are so oblivious sometimes. For your information, I’m not even having lunch with Dak today.”
“Alright, I get your point,” he says, heading for the door.
You don’t think he really does, but you still don’t know how to explain it to him. You don’t know if it would matter. It doesn’t stop you from calling his name before he can step through the door. “Han.”
He stops dead in his tracks and hesitates a moment before looking back at you. “Yes, doctor?” he sighs.
You don’t know. Honestly, you were saying his name just to say it. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “Just…” you start. When you open your eyes again, he’s still staring at you. You like to imagine that you can still see some of the softness in his features that he showed you a moment ago. “Please… Take care of yourself?”
He swallows hard before answering, “What do I rely on you for?” He’s out the door before you can answer.
At the end of your shift, Dak meets you outside the medbay to go to dinner.
“Hey,” you greet him.
Whether he knows by the tone of your voice or the way you’re walking, Dak cringes and says, “Was your day that bad?”
“Well, I had an appointment with Solo if that answers your question,” you answer. You hold up a finger. “And before you ask, no I didn’t.”
Dak smiles and shakes his head as you begin to walk. “At this point, it’s like you don’t want to.”
“I do!” you answer a little too quickly and a little too loud. Quietly, you repeat yourself. "I do…"
"Then why don't you do something about it?"
"Because," you sputter. "It's just… It's not that easy. I mean, what if he didn’t kiss me back?"
"Is that it?" Dak asks. "Am I being stupid or is this the same guy who comes in for every stubbed toe and doesn’t let anyone else treat him?”
“Because I’m a good doctor!”
“Yeah, but you’re so mean to him,” he answers. “Look, you’ve got nothing to worry about. And besides, fair’s fair. So--”
“No, Dak,” you say, turning serious. “That’s just it. If something happens, I want it to happen because I want it. Because he wants it. This is a real part of my life, not a game or a joke. It’s just-- It’s too important.”
Dak is silent a moment before whispering. “Holy kriff, this is beyond a crush for you, isn’t it?”
You walk with your head down and don’t answer.
“Okay,” Dak continues. “Okay. No dares. You do it in your own time.”
“Thank you,” you say. Then you smile. “Now, can we talk about something else? I have had enough of Han Solo for one day.”
Dak wraps his arm around your shoulders and squeezes. “Absolutely.”
It’s the end of the week, and your shift is nearly over when your comm buzzes.
“ Hey, doc, do you do house calls ?” Han’s voice asks the minute you pick up.
“Solo?” you say. “How did you get this frequency? It’s for medical personnel only.”
“ Pulled a few strings. Do you do house calls?”
“Technically, yes. But it’s--” A deep breath. “It’s the end of my shift.”
“ It’s not for me, ” he says. “ It’s Chewie this time. Can you swing by the Falcon ?”
A moment’s hesitation. “Give me two seconds,” you say before flicking off the comm and gathering your med bag.
You know exactly where the Falcon sits. You pass her every day on the way to the mess hall and try not to think about the captain, but you’ve never been inside. There’s no time to consider that as you climb the ramp and navigate the halls to where Chewie sits. Han is standing over him like a protective parent which almost makes you laugh considering how often it’s the other way around.
“Finally!” Han says, waving you over. “Tell her what’s wrong, Chewie.”
Chewie says… something.
“I don’t speak Shyriiwook,” you tell Han. “You’re going to have to translate.”
Han nods. “He caught his wrist and twisted it working on the power couplings. Says it hurts something awful.”
So it went that you would ask Chewie a question and Han would translate his answer. Chewie had sprained his wrist badly, but you fixed him up with a sling and instructed him to rest it. “And I mean it,” you said. “I know you work hard, but you need to let it be for about two weeks. Got it?”
Chewie nodded and said something that sounded like affirmation before standing and retreating down the hall.
“Ah, he’s gonna go get some sleep,” Han explained. “Been a long day for him.”
“Him and me both,” you sigh, leaning against the wall and trying to stretch out a kink in your neck that’s been there all week.
Han swallows hard and reaches for a cabinet on the wall. “Drink?” he asks, retrieving a bottle of brown liquor from the cabinet and pouring two glasses before you can answer.
“Guess I’m off-duty now,” you concede, accepting the glass with a nod. You take a sip and let the burn of the liquid settle in your stomach before speaking up. “So, why’d you drag me out here? He could’ve come to the medbay with that.”
“Well, uh,” Han begins, swirling his drink and not meeting your eyes. “Don’t tell him I told you, but he’s sweet on one of your nurses and didn’t want to embarrass himself. Harter something.”
Your eyes widen. “Harter Kalonia?”
“That’s the one.”
“Oh,” you say. It comes out as a giggle. “Well, she’s cute.”
“Yeah, she is,” Han agrees and takes a swig of his drink.
That response doesn’t sit right with you. Before you have a chance to think, you blurt out, “You wouldn’t stand a chance with her, of course.”
Han raises his eyebrows, folds his arms over his chest, and leans against the wall with you. Less than an arm’s length away. “I wouldn’t? What makes you say that?”
“Well,” you scoff. “Reason one: Kalonia isn’t a nurse. She’s a first-year resident on her way to being a doctor. Reason two: she’s a very no-nonsense girl. Level-headed. Not your type. Reason three--”
He holds up a hand. “Whoa, hold on,” he says. “How do you figure who’s my type and who’s not?”
“I--” you begin, struggling for a good explanation besides the fact you figured his type was anyone not like you. You take a swig of your drink and swallow. “I assume--”
“Yeah, you assume,” Han says. “And I venture to say that your idea of who my type is is a lot different from mine. But go on. Reason three?”
You take a deep breath before continuing. “Reason three: Kalonia wouldn’t hold with your… style.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that I don’t think you could seduce a woman without yelling at her.”
“Oh, you think so?” Han asks, leaning in. “Bet I could surprise you. You oughta make it part of that dare game you play with the pilots.”
You almost snort. “Yeah, I think that game effectively ended a couple days ago.”
“How come?”
He’s looking at you with the same softness you saw in him before, and you wind up staring at him so long that you almost forget to laugh off the question. When you do laugh, it comes out awkward. “Something stupid Dak dared me to do, that’s all,” you answer, pushing yourself off of the wall and gathering all of your supplies back into the bag. “Thanks for the drink. I’m off.”
He calls your name before you reach the door. Not “doctor.” Not even “doc.” He says your name, and even though you squeeze your eyes shut like it hurts you, it’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever heard from him.
“There you go again,” he says, irritation lacing his voice. “Running off without a goodbye.”
You turn back to face him. “Why do you care so much?”
Now, he pushes himself off the wall and walks over to you. His shoulders are hunched, and he looks like he’s at war with himself. “What was the dare?”
“None of your business,” you answer.
“It’s just between you and Ralter, isn’t it?”
Exasperated, you throw your hands up. “What is your obsession with me and Dak?”
“It’s not an obsession! I just wanna know what’s going on!”
“He dared me to kiss you! Is that what you wanna hear?”
That shuts him up. Considering that was more information than you ever planned on volunteering, it shuts you up, too.
It’s a full minute before Han says, “I thought he was in love with you.”
You roll your eyes. “He’s not in love with me,” you answer. “Dak Ralter doesn’t like women.”
Han goes silent again as he processes the new information. Finally, he speaks again. “And you turned down the dare?”
“Of course, I did,” you answer immediately.
“Of course, you did,” Han repeats. “Why would I think anything different?”
"What are you talking about?"
"What am I talking about?" he responds. "I'll tell ya, sister. I'm talking about how I've had just about enough of this for one day."
You laugh in his face, trying to hide how his words sting. "Oh, you've had enough? I've had enough of you from day one!"
“Fine! See if I come by your office again! I won’t! Weren’t you leaving, or something?”
“As a matter of fact, I was,” you snap and march out the door.
The minute you leave the Falcon , you stop dead in your tracks. The outside cold hits you like a slap to the face, but there’s cold under your skin too. You’re shaking, not shivering; and your own words are gnawing at your mind. You can’t bring yourself to take another step forward. In fact, you want to turn back around. You want to look him in the face and argue with him until the sun rises. You want to feel his hand closing around yours again. You want to sit in total silence with him for hours. Yes, he’s a storm that makes your bones ache with his presence, but you’re a liar if you say you’ve had enough of him. You’ve never had enough of him. You never would.
The beginnings of a scream rise in your throat before you spin around and march back up the Falcon’s ramp.
You collide into his chest in the hallway, just as he’s storming out of the lounge. When you regain your bearings, you both start talking at the same time. Then you both stop. Then you both start again.
You slap your hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I would take it back if I could.” Then you drop your hand. Oh, but your fingers glide over his lips and down his chin so you curl them into a fist once they’re back by your side.
“So, you’re saying you would take the dare if you had another chance?” he challenged. “Alright, I dare you.”
You stare, horrified. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Slightly,” he admits. “I don’t know… You’re a doctor, right? Can you explain why I can’t even think straight when I’m in the same room as you?”
“What?”
“I just said I can’t think straight,” he repeats. His hands are on your shoulders before you can register that he’s reaching for you. “As a matter of fact, I haven’t been able to go a whole day without thinking about you for months now, and I’d like to know what’s wrong with me. Have any idea?”
You don’t know what’s wrong with him, but you sure as hell know what’s wrong with you. So you answer, “A little…”
“It means something to you?”
“Um,” you start. His fingers are gripping your shoulders so tightly, it’s dizzying. “A little.”
It’s not the answer you mean to give, and by the way he sighs and pulls his hands away from you it wasn’t the answer he was hoping for either. A little too late, your mind clears, and you realize that he’s slipping away. And maybe it’s the alcohol taking the edge of fear off, but you’re so sick of letting your chances pass you by. So you grab him by his sleeve and pull him back to you.
You’re nose-to-nose again, but this time it’s on purpose. Your neck has to crane to look up at him like this, and he has to bend his head down. He could move right now, you realize. If he wanted to, he could step away. But he doesn’t.
So you kiss him, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket and pulling him in. The cold in you shatters, making way for burning, melting warmth when he wraps his arms around your waist and hoists you closer to him. It’s still not close enough, but it’s better than you dreamed. You had never quite gotten the details right in dreams. How could you have imagined the texture of his hair at the nape of his neck where your fingers comb through or the unexpected softness of his lips against yours? How could you have imagined the way his arms around you are both strong and gentle. How could you have imagined him not letting go even when you pull away? How could you have imagined such warmth in a frozen wasteland?
It’s a moment after you pull away before you dare to open your eyes, but when you do, you find him staring at you, soft and dazed.
“Okay?” you ask as though a kiss is a sufficient explanation.
But then again, maybe it is, because he swallows and nods. “Okay…”
With a smile, you kiss him again -- quickly and sweetly -- before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into an embrace, your hand cradling the back of his head. You can feel his smile, warm against the curve of your neck.
You stand that way for what feels like an age, and the warmth never leaves you.