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A Shuffle of the Deck by Deb Durkee art by Liz PART 3 Leia wasn't sure how long Han had been standing in the entranceway to the galley. She felt his presence rather than seeing him, and when she turned her back on the table she had set he was leaning against the bulkhead, his arms crossed over his chest. She had managed to gather herself together after he had disappeared into the small head adjoining his bunk. She had turned her attention from the thoughts that had haunted her, and had focused her energies into making a halfway decent meal for him. He looked better than he had, but not by much. His face was pale and haggard, dark circles masking his eyes. Perhaps worst of all, bruises were beginning to appear at odd intervals on his face and exposed torso. There hadn't been much time between his torture and his subsequent journey into the black hell of carbonite. The marks of his torture and the beatings he had endured had not had time to form. Now, black and blue patches of skin darkened his forearms and shoulders where the restraining straps had cut into him, his chest where the guards had attacked him with the butts of their laser rifles, where Boba Fett had taken a few sucker shots at him. She shivered. Her torture at the hands of Darth Vader was what she compared all pain to, and so far, nothing had come close in terms of physical agony. But now, and as she had watched Han writhing in pain on Bespin with Vader looking over his shoulder, she would give anything to be able to trade places with him, and take that pain away from him. She nearly asked him how he was feeling, then thought better of it. What could he tell her that she didn't already know? "I found some vhrelt streaks in the refrigeration unit," she said softly. The table behind her was set with two heaping plates, flanked by two towering glasses of blue liquid. The steaks were still steaming; Han's stomach growled insistently at the smell of the meat. "When did you learn how to cook?" he asked, sliding into the booth. She slipped into the booth across from him. "I didn't. Threepio made it." "Ah." He nodded, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He pushed at the piece of meat, letting the scent fill his nose and make his mouth water before he took a bite. It was easily the best piece of meat he had ever tasted, even though it was a bit old, and perhaps a bit overdone for his taste. It didn't matter. His perception of things had changed since returning from that black hell. The smallest details had become important, and larger issues had suddenly become monstrous. Leia must have recognized his melancholy expression, as he slowly and thoughtfully mopped up some juice from the meat with a slice of seasoned bread, because she reached across the table and put a hand on his wrist. It was only then that he looked up at her, startled out of his reverie. "Are you all right? Do you want to lie down again?" Han didn't reply for a moment, then, almost as though he was working on a time delay, he glanced up at her. "No, it's not that. I...when I was in carbonite, I...remembered things. Things I thought I had forgotten, that I thought I made myself forget. I haven't had such an easy life--you know that. But you don't know half of it. I didn't either, not for a long time. It might sound a little bizarre, but it's true. When you've been through so much, you make yourself forget. You have to, or you go crazy. "I thought that those memories had started to go away. That they'd gone back down to whatever hellhole they came out of." He shook his head as if to clear it. Concern written across her face in large type, Leia began to get to her feet, but Han twisted in her grip and gently pushed her back into her seat. Even though the rest of his body was still ravaged by fever, his hands were cold. "I could tell you things, and you'd never look at me in the same way. There are things that I never would have been able to live with myself if I had remembered." "Han, don't--" "I have to," he interrupted. "If I don't, I'll never be able to forget it again." He pushed the meat around on his plate some more, if only for a reason not to have to look at her. "I want you to hear it from me. Ten years from now, I don't want someone coming up to you and telling you something that might make you hate me. You shouldn't have to hear any of it from a stranger." He hesitated, reaching for the glass in front of him. He took a drink and made a face. "Damn it, I need something a hell of a lot stronger for this one," he said as he slid out of the booth. Leia half turned to watch him in speechless amazement as he went over to one of the storage lockers and pulled out a bottle half full of Corellian whiskey. He opened it as he sat back down, and poured a large amount. He hesitated, then filled the glass to the rim. Taking another drink, he winced. "Whatever it is, you can tell me." There was fear in her eyes, and Han despised himself for once again being the instrument of her pain. "I know I can tell you," he replied, his dark eyes never leaving the glass in front of him. "It's just a matter of what you'll think of me afterwards." Now she did rise from her seat. Han reached for her, wanting to guide her back down, but she evaded him. She slid into the booth beside him, her leg pressing against his as she tucked her shoulder under his arm. He pulled her closer to him, and she rested her head against his shoulder. "Tell me," she said softly. "You know that I started out in the Imperial Academy, that I graduated, I was in the navy as a lieutenant. And that I got court-martialed when I rescued Chewie. There's a few details missing in there. "When I took the Imperial oath, I meant every word of it. I thought that I had finally found somewhere I belonged. I found something that I was good at, for once in my life. I had every intention of staying there." He stopped, but Leia knew that was not the end of the story. It was nowhere near the end. "But you didn't." He shook his head. "No. But not for the reasons you think. You and Luke filled in the blanks with what you both wanted to be the truth. But the truth isn't always what you hope for. It can be dirty. "I was young, and I was stupid. I was assigned to the 42nd Fleet, under Admiral Ephtalia. Literally. She was older than me by almost ten years, and, when she saw me, she saw her chance. She needed an accomplice, and I was just gullible enough to be it. I thought I fell in love with her. It wasn't even that--it was lust if it was anything. But, I was a kid, and thought it was love. Once she had me hooked, she knew I would follow her anywhere. "She was in charge of a slaving unit, run out of Mon Calamari. She found out a way to make her own profit. She would take twice as many of the natives as she had to, take half to the Empire, and sell the other half on the black market. She had a base on one of Mon Calamari's moons, a sweet little operation if there ever was one. Meline was making credits hand over claw, but she never thought to cut me in on the deal. She promised me rank, though, and thought that would be enough. An easy career and easy sex--that's how she kept me around." Now Leia did pull away from him. He didn't acknowledge her as she did, but he noticed. "I was young and I was stupid," Han sighed. "I'm not proud of what I did. I sent a lot of innocents to their deaths in work camps--men, women, children...didn't matter. They were all worth something. It's what Meline wanted, and what she wanted, she always got. No matter what." Leia struggled to find the words. "But you got out..." "Yeah, I finally walked out on her. Took me almost a standard year to realize what a monster she was, and that she was trying to make me just like her. Until then, I had no intentions of leaving. I was happy there, or at least I thought I was. I didn't believe in everything the Empire stood for, but I didn't care. I thought I could stay there the rest of my life. Then...one of the captives had the audacity to speak out to her. She made sure he didn't get out of line again. She didn't kill him, though. Shot his wife and his little girl right in front of him. I remember going back to my unit, seeing the blood that had splattered on my uniform. I knew I'd never get it out. 'Cause part of it was my fault. I hadn't pulled the trigger, but I stood by and let it happen. I told her that night that I was walking. She swore that she would make sure I never went anywhere in the Empire, that I'd stay a lieutenant for the rest of my life. She had the connections to do it, too. It wasn't a month later that I found Chewie, and I saw a way I could at least start making up for everything that I'd done. Even though I knew that I never could really fix it." He turned to face her. "Everything that everyone ever said about me--it's all true." Leia was on her feet in an instant. Since she'd met him, Han had professed to hating slavers with a passion, while in truth, he had been one himself, had been part of some of the greatest evils she had struggled so hard against. It was one thing that the rebellion stood for--freedom for all. That was why so many alien species came to the side of the rebellion. And now he was telling her this...he felt about as small as a Jawa with no legs. "I know what you're thinking," he said softly. "No, Han, I don't think you do." She sat down on the edge of the table, bracing her feet against the soft animal skin of the bench. "The past doesn't matter anymore. It's what we take from it that does. And, I know you, Han. Whatever happened then doesn't matter anymore. The only thing that makes it important is that it made you who you are now. If we all lived in the past, there would be no future for any of us." Han slid closer to her, leaned over, and rested his head against her thigh as he wrapped an arm protectively around her leg. She smoothed his still-damp hair back. "I spent a long time without you," she told him softly. "I don't want us to lose any more time." "We're going to spend the rest of our lives running. Looking over our shoulders. Waiting for someone to drive a knife in our back." "I know. And I don't want to face that alone." She hesitated, looking down at him. "Promise me something, Han," Leia breathed. There was fear in her voice. "What?" he asked, his voice muffled against her thigh. "Promise me you won't make me say good-bye to you again." "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said sadly. "But I can't promise you that. I told you that I would never lie to you, and I won't. I don't know what tomorrow's going to bring, or the next week, or the next month. I never took stock in the odds, because the odds were always against me. I never should have survived the streets, or the Academy, or the navy. I shouldn't have survived being a smuggler. And I sure as hell shouldn't be alive now. I don't even know why I am. And I don't know how long my luck's going to hold out. So I can't promise you that. I would if I could, but...I'm almost out of lives, sweetheart." Han's words were not encouraging. Leia suddenly felt sick, because she knew that everything he said was the truth. There were no guarantees in life. Even if the war ended, even if they survived to see its end, it would never really be over. Not for them, at least. There would always be the ghosts from Han's past emerging from the shadows, remnants of the Empire after her. Any hope for a normal life had been over long ago, before she had even been born, perhaps. When she had been handed into the life of a princess Han had already been eleven years old, a boy who had barely tasted life before he knew how bitter it could be. What she couldn't know was how much of his collapse had been prompted by his physical sickness, and how much had been caused by the overwhelming force of his memories. Now, she wanted to give him everything. Most of all someone to love. She had grown up with a father who had loved her, who had taught her everything, who had given her all she had ever wanted. At the same time he had encouraged her to be herself, who she was on the inside, not who those in the senate wanted her to be. He gave her something more important than any material object: her own voice, and the courage to use it. He had made her not only into a senator, a diplomat, and a princess, but a rebel as well. She had always known that it was Bail Organa who had given her the strength, the determination, and the will that had allowed her to become a driving force behind the rebellion. No matter what the outcome of the war, she knew she could never do enough to repay him for everything he had given her. But Han...he'd had no one. "Then I'll promise you something," she said softly, stubbornly, in a tone of voice that left no room for argument. "I'll promise you that I'm not going to say good-bye to you again. I don't care what it takes. I don't care if I have to follow you halfway across the galaxy. I'm not letting anyone take you away from me again." She took a deep breath, and Han knew she wasn't struggling to find the words, but to find the courage to say them. "There was a time, after the Death Star destroyed Alderaan, that the rebellion was my life. That was all that mattered to me, was getting revenge, and finding justice. That still matters. But it's not the most important piece of my life. You are. You have been for a long time--I just hadn't realized it. When I almost lost you...then I knew. Then there was no question. There is nothing that anyone could tell me about you that would make me love you any less. Whatever you've done in the past, whatever has happened to you, it's made you who you are now. And that man is the only one that matters to me." Han reached up to her, and she folded her legs beneath her as she let him pull her down to sit in his lap. She had heard people talk when she had announced her decision to leave the rebellion temporarily just before they'd made their way to Tatooine. She had heard them say love is blind, and that she had been victim not to love but to lust. If no other time had, this moment made her put everything into perspective, made it all worthwhile. Han made her feel safe. He was someone she trusted not only with her life, but also with her mind, her body, and her spirit. "Was she pretty?" Leia asked suddenly. Her reunion with Han was supposed to be a happy one; there was too much seriousness in the air now. They didn't have long alone together, between the inevitability of the rebellion and the even more insistent inevitability of an intruding Threepio. Han looked at her, baffled. "Huh?" Leia smiled; he had forgotten already. "The admiral. Was she pretty?" Han grinned, relief evident in his face. "She thought she was. Spent most of her free time looking at her own ass in the mirror." She had to laugh. "She sounds like more your type than I am." Han sobered at that, reached up to touch her cheek. "No. I don't think so," he told her, then kissed her. "Are you still in here?" Han's voice pulled Leia out of a light doze. He was sitting up in bed, the covers pooled around his waist. She had been sitting on the room's only real chair, a bench requisitioned from Alliance stores. She got to her feet and stretched, going over to sit beside him. "How are you feeling?" "Like if one more person asks me that, I'm going to shove them out the air lock," Han threatened, his voice still relatively good-natured. Leia gave him a stern look, then reached up to press a hand to his forehead. "You're still warm. How does everything look?" "Blurry. I feel like I'm half drunk," Han replied with a scowl. Leia reached down and took his hand, squeezing his fingers lightly. "Do you feel that?" Han's brow furrowed. "Yeah...kind of." She nodded. "You might have some nerve damage. That's what Threepio suggested, at least. He did a little searching through the Falcon'smed logs, cross-referencing your symptoms and condition with everything listed. Anyhow, prolonged periods of chemical and nutrient deprivation could do that. Everything should come back to you, once you start eating right again." Han looked skeptical. "Again? I never ate right in the first place." Leia didn't reply. She concentrated on a point away from him, closer to the floor than to his face. He reached out to touch her cheek, tilting her face toward him. She bit her lip, unsure whether she wanted to tell him what she was thinking about. "What is it?" He looked apprehensive and comforting at the same time. Leia shook her head, but Han refused to let her look away. "I was afraid of how we would find you," she finally said. "I was afraid that something had happened to you, that if you weren't dead...there would be something else. That when we finally did get you back, that you wouldn't be the same person. That carbonite would have changed you. And when Threepio said there was a possibility of latent neurological damage..." Han pressed a finger to her lips. "Leia, don't. I'm fine...or I will be, once I get my legs back. This, it's just like being sick. That's all." Leia knew she looked doubtful. "You don't look like you believe me." She shrugged. "It's not that, it's..." she trailed off, her gaze falling to the bruises on his chest and shoulders. He reached out and took her hand, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze. "It's not as bad as it looks." "It seemed as though every night I would have the same dream over and over again," she said softly. "That banquet room door sliding open, Vader standing there, the torture chamber..." "How do you know what happened there?" Han interrupted suddenly. Of course, Han hadn't known, Leia thought. Why would he? Why would Vader tell him that he had made her watch as Han was tortured, as he writhed and screamed in agony? That the Dark Lord had come into the tiny, closet-sized room to stand beside her and watch as well? And how she had felt that Vader had smiled behind that wretched mask of his, delighted with Han's agony. It had been an image that had haunted her dreams, as reoccurring as the scene that had been played out in the carbon-freezing chamber. Han, strapped to the platform, sparks leaping toward him to strike his face, his chest, searing his skin. The dreams were hardly ever the same, though. But more often than not, he would die. "I...I had to watch you," she said, so softly that Han could barely hear her. Han looked away from her, as though he were suddenly ashamed. He had no reason to be, of course, but he seemed to be. Knowing Han, he wouldn't have wanted her to see him so weak, so helpless. He had promised her he would protect her, whispered the promise in the dark confines of the Falconas they held each other. And he obviously felt that he'd failed her. "I'm sorry, Han," Leia blurted out suddenly, not entirely sure why. "I never should have let you go there. It's my fault..." At this, his eyes met hers. She stopped short, surprised by not only the determination but the anger in them as well. He sat up, trying to disguise the effort it took. Reaching out to her, he gently gripped her forearms. "No. I'm tired of people telling me that what happened is their fault. It was nobody's fault, no matter what you tell yourselves. So stop blaming yourself, and help me do something to make sure it doesn't happen again to someone else." He paused, but it was clear he wasn't finished. There was something more he wanted to say, but it was obvious he didn't know quite how to put it. "But...if anything, this proves what a threat I am to you, to Luke. There are more people out there that want my head. Jabba won't be the last. I almost got us all killed." It was her turn to become defensive. "I don't want to hear it, I--" "No. You trusted me. You thought I could get you off Hoth and back with the rest of the fleet. I told you that everything was going to be all right. And look what happened." "What happened, Han? We faced Darth Vader, and we walked away from it. We all walked away. We knew we would have to confront him sometime, you knew that as well as any of us. We may not have won, but we didn't lose, either." "Always the diplomat, huh?" Han asked. There was a tinge of bitterness in his voice, and Leia wasn't sure if it was directed toward her or not. "It's not something I can help, that's the way I was raised." "I know. I'm not blaming you for anything." There was something in his voice, in the way he avoided looking at her. "There's more, isn't there? You said that being in carbonite brought back some memories that you thought you had forgotten. You told me about your experience with the Empire. What is it?" "It's not all that clear. It might have been once. Sometimes the only way you can live with things is to forget they happened. There was a point when I was still living on the streets on Corellia that I thought there was only one way out." "Han, please..." "No. It was a long time ago, sweetheart." But not really that long ago,his eyes said. "As far as I was concerned, I'd never had anyone. No family, no friends, no nothing. But when I was frozen, some things came back. The worst part was, I didn't have a choice about it. I couldn't run, I couldn't even scream." There was a darker side to Han; she had always known that. How could there not be, to a man who slept with a blaster within reach and the door locked, even when they were on the Falcon?She had suspected that dark streak ran deep in him, but she'd had no idea just how deep it might be. "I don't really know what came back to me in the last year. When you got me out of there, the first few minutes were like, well, an overload. Everything was there, and everything was in the front. Then, everything receded, and it went back to wherever it came from. I thought it was buried again. I guess I was wrong." He looked strangely thoughtful. She didn't push him, knowing that he would continue when he was ready. And he did. "How far back can you remember?" he asked suddenly. Leia was taken aback for a moment. She hadn't been expecting him to ask her anything; she had thought he would just tell her what had been bothering him. But she could tell that, in his own strange way, he was getting to that point. So she thought a moment, then answered him. "I was taken to live with Bail Organa on Alderaan before I was a year old. But I still remember my mother. Not anything in particular, just emotions. Feelings. She was very young." Leia looked down at her hands, thinking back. Han's question had brought back a memory that she had pushed away, one that she had not tried to forget, but nearly had anyway. "She was always sad. I remember feeling it when I was near her. It wasn't because of me, it was something else, something that I couldn't help. I didn't understand then. I still don't." Han nodded. "I never told you who I really am, who my parents are, what happened to them. I never told anyone. That's because I don't remember. I don't remember anything before the time I was, I don't know, around six or seven. The earliest memory I have is being on the streets of Corellia, begging people for credits as they walked by." Han shrugged absently. "That's the only way I could get money to eat. That, or steal. But before that...I don't know. It's never bothered me. I always figured that they never cared enough about me to take care of me, so why should I care about them? "But something happened when I was in carbonite. I started to remember whatever I made myself forget. And I knew it--I knew who they were, what had happened. Why they left me." Leia reached out and put a hand on his arm. He didn't seem to notice, though; he was looking at her without really seeing her. Leia knew that he was seeing the past--a dark, misty time that he wanted to know about, but couldn't. "But I don't know anymore. It's gone, just like it always was. When that carbonite dissolved, everything else went with it, everything I thought I'd come to terms with. Now all I get of it is flashes, in dreams. Bits and pieces of something I lived through, something I used to know." He fell silent. Leia knew there was more to what he wanted to say, and he just didn't know how to begin. "What do you see?" she asked gently. "Fire," Han replied, still not looking at her but instead through her, past her. "Soldiers in black, unmarked uniforms with heavy blaster rifles, smoke, screaming people. Every time I smell burning flesh, I know that I've smelled that before. There's nothing worse than that--it's always made me sick. That was one of the things we were taught in the Academy--you could tell what species was being massacred by the smell. I always knew if it was human." Leia knew that there was nothing she could say to that. There had been talk of his past, not just among the rebels but there had been speculation from the Imperials too, as they attempted to create an accurate profile on him. These guesses had ranged from his being part of a disposed royal line on Corellia to his being the bastard son of a pair of Corellian immigrants from one of the nearby planets. Leia suspected that none of the guesses came close to the truth, that what had happened was far worse than anything anyone had imagined. His words now, the soft, low tone of his voice, the expression in his eyes, convinced her of that. "Do you want to know?" Leia asked him. He seemed to consider. "I don't know. I'll tell you after I find out." "I can help you. I can get you into the rebellion's databanks, set you up with contacts on Corellia. I'll help you, if you want me to." Han hesitated, holding out a hand to her. She took it, squeezing his fingers tightly. "Not now," he told her. "Maybe after this war is over, after everything's done...maybe then." |