Written as a crack!fic for my brilliant and dear LASOS after another insane MSN conversation. Warning: sanity not required.

Five Times Han Solo Royally Screwed Up
By Mathematica

“Can you imagine how fucked Han Solo would have been if the Falcon needed keys?” -- LASOS

The Death Star, 0 BBY.

“Come on, kid!” Han yelled, blasting a few advancing stormtroopers. “I don’t know about you, but I ain’t hanging around this party much longer.”

“Open the Falcon! Hurry!”

“I’m on it.” Han snapped as the trio sprinted towards the Falcon, a cohort of troopers hot on their heels. “The old man better have got the tractor beam out of commission or this will be a short … trip …” He ground to a halt suddenly, patting his stolen armour where his pockets would have been.

“What do you mean by that?” Luke asked, voice filled with foreboding.

“I mean it’ll be short, kid.” Han replied. “I left the keys in my old pair of trousers.”

Unknown planet, 2 ABY.

“This is the worst day of my life.”

“Oh come now, Han,” Leia grinned. “It can’t be that bad.”

He grunted. “You think?”

“Well, this is what you get for leaving your keys on the Falcon.”

“Hey, how was I to know that our hosts didn’t have any lasers? Or were raving misandrists on a parallel only with Hapes?”

“Well, we’re stuck here until Luke comes to get us. But I must say,” Leia smirked, eyeing Han’s bound wrists, naked torso and thick gold collar, “that you do make a most admirable sex slave.”

Hoth, 3 ABY.

“You’re leaving?” Leia asked in disbelief. “I thought you were going to stay!”

“I thought I was too!” Han hollered from across the landing bay. “Until that idiot bounty hunter showed up on Ord Mantell!”

“So you only cared about the money!”

“That’s right!”

“You … you scruffy-looking …”

“Nerfherder? Heard that one enough.” Han snapped, stalking toward the Falcon. He stood in front on the ramp, as though taking one last look at the base. Then he took another. And another.

“Well, Captain?” Leia asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I thought you were leaving.”

“I was.” Came the reply. “Until I locked myself out of the Falcon.”

Bespin, 3 ABY.

“We will find Han, Princess.” Luke swore, placing a comforting hand on Leia’s shoulder. “I promise.”

“Well, don’t go promising anything yet.” A sardonic voice broke in. The duo whirled around, startled, to see Lando Calrissian entering the room, Chewbacca hot on his heels.

“What do you mean?” Leia asked, rising. “Why aren’t you going after Han? We agreed you could use the Falcon -- all you have to do is fix the hyperdrive -- it --“

“That’s just it, Princess.” Came the reply. “Solo’s currently frozen in an ice cube courtesy of Fett, and last I knew, the keys were in his pocket.”

Endor, 4 ABY

“Lando! Where are you? How’s the Death Star run going?”

“It’s a bit … difficult to say.” Lando grunted, balancing the kitchen knife between his teeth. “Er, you should com Gold Leader, just to get an --“ Thunk. “--affirmative.”

“Calrissian …” Mon Mothma asked suspiciously. “What, exactly, are you doing?”

“Trying to get into space, what does it look like I’m doing?” He discarded the knife with a sigh, and picked up a hydrospanner. “Listen, can you get Han for me? It’s been half an hour, our entire navy is being obliterated as we speak, Leia’s a nervous wreck and I still haven’t managed to break into the Falcon …”

The Death Star would have obliterated the rebellion. Vader would have captured Luke. Han would have died. Leia would have died. Endor would never have happened. The Sith would have ruled supreme.

Thank god for small mercies, eh?