Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, no matter how much I wish and pray (and say) that I do. Cause if I did, I'd prolly have my own island right now. And I would have married Han Solo/Harrison Ford.

Okay guys, this is my first Star Wars fanfic, so please tell me what you think, and I may start an actual story. Maybe, if I can think of an original plot line. Anyways, please review, good and bad welcome! Everything appreciated, just tell me whether you liked it or not, please!

A/n: This pretty much takes place on Bespin during ESB, right after Lando gives the gang over to the Empire. This is what I beleive happened to Han. (Keep in mind, he is drugged.) And everything that is in italics is what Han is thinking to himself, inside his head. Kay? Okay, great. Enjoy!


Emotional Sacrifice


He stared off into dead air, his mind nowhere yet seemingly everywhere at once. Each sense was alert and alive - pinched even, heightened beyond what seemed humanly possible.

He was human, wasn't he?

Some would say no; a heart as calloused as his could never be considered vaguely human. Or alive. Inevitably he had never been capable of feeling; sentiment was not the only emotion that Captain Han Solo lacked. No, lacked wasn't right...

Killed.

Yeah, that was better.

Killed.

Starved.

Singed-off until it no longer existed. Replaced by a bitter irony at facing the life he had begun to enjoy. So where the hell had had he gone wrong?

Tatooine.

Stupid shaggy blonde haired kid. And the old guy too. Why did he take it again? Oh...yeah.

17000 credits. That's why.

His mind was drifting. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. Words, thoughts, lines blurred together, conjoining into one and then dissipating into nothingness.

Nothingness.

Was that how it felt? No...this was something different...this was...warm...

He mentally kicked himself.

He couldn't think...gotta...get this...out...system...

A sudden light bleared at the corner of his vision, a slight slit that expounded warmth. He tugged motionlessly at the binders that held too tight. Was it her? Who was her? White...white...bright...

"Arghh..." a small groan escaped unwillingly. Keep it together, Solo!

Blinding brilliance poured from in front of him. Palms damp and wrists rubbed raw. He could feel the blisters beginning to rise. This was okay. He could deal with this. A few blisters and a broken rib were nothin' compared to what he'd been through. His thoughts swam, along with the visions in front of him. Was it--her?

He watched as a bristled white arm raised itself. It came towards him...faster...faster...Leia...

A sharp pain welled inside of his stomach then exploded into dozens of tiny pinpricks of light. He doubled over in anguish.

"Nope, not her," he whispered. A cackle raced its way through his senses, followed by darkness. Bleak, swimming pools of guilt. Ha. Leave me to my thoughts. Perfect.

Nothingness became something. Eyes, seeing. Vision, returning to normal. As did thought.

"Leia!" he gasped. Well, at least he thought he did. Couldn't be sure. Why in hell was he suddenly calling out her name anyway?

Because you love her.

"Who's there?"

No one. Only you.

"Oh gods. Now I'm talkin' to myself."

Only because it's the truth.

Han scowled. Not the truth. It was...a crush. He'd had this problem before.

Which one? Denial?

"Shut up!"

Okay...gotta get out...of this situation. A splitting pain wrenched his skull in two with a brilliant flash of pure crystal.

"So they haven't worn off completely yet. And I gotta stop talkin' out loud. I'm gonna scare somebody." Only myself. Gods, I really have lost it. It's only the drugs. Only...

How did he get in this situation in the first place?

Lando.

Traitor. Backstabbing ass. About as good a friend as Bantha fodder. Ratted us out.

Leia.

What were they doing to Leia? Nothing, he hoped.

Sacrifice.

Well now, that was an interesting word to work its way into his head. Han Solo didn't sacrifice. Han Solo didn't care.

Did he?

"Stupid...kid..." Two brown depths, soaked in agitation and amusement appeared inside the slimy dredges. A forehead, creased by wrinkles far too aged for a twenty-one year old beauty joined them. That petite nose and small mouth; a frown heightened on each side by the hidden glimpses of a smile. Brown hair that smelled of...perfume. Something he couldn't place, a scent that careened through his thoughts and made him do, think, feel strange things. The face that gave him the barest sensation of warmth...it brewed, deep down, fighting to make its way to the surface.

Emotion.

Sacrifice.

Leia.

He'd do anything to spare her from pain.

Mechanical breathing struck his ears. The light. Doors. Needles.

Cold metal piercing flesh. He watched the slight blue liquid course down the needle.

A cool fluid pooled in his veins, then suddenly swept into and through them. He sucked in his breath. Chest tightened. Pain scortching, scratching. He would not show weakness. Not...much.

Pins began to pick at his fingertips, making their way down to his toes. He smelled--grunge. Dirt, trash. Urine.

What--what was that drumming? No, not drumming. Water. Dripping. Slowly. Head splintering with each drop.

Expanding, eyesight achingly precise. His pupils were beyond dilation. But he would not shake. No...weakness...

Tactol. So, this was the pick of the poisons. A hyper-sensory stimulant. Han knew tactol well enough to know what it did. He'd only experienced it once, and hadn't planned on encountering it again.

Seems all my plans get shot to hell.

Tactol was a drug that increased the sensory systems tenfold. Enhancing sight, smell, vision, and - best of all - pain. Frazzled nervous systems shot off electrodes that sped to the sight of the perception.

He had a bad feeling about this.

He was jerked along down a hallway. Every step was torture, every breath ragged. Still, he searched every room he passed, every prison cell he walked, searching. Searching. Where was she? He had to find her. Be sure that she was okay. Then he would be okay. He--would...

Leia!

Han looked up, faced with the fear and adrenaline of a man whose senses prickled at his spine. There. Fear itself. Black. Deep. Not scared.

"Where's Leia?" he practically shouted. A black gloved hand sprung up from the side. Han felt his throat close off as he sneered. He'd kill him for harming her.

"You'd be better off letting us ask the questions," a voice hissed, punctuated by the deep rushes of air that sustained life itself. "Unfortunate I need you for other experimentation. You'd be so easy to snap now."

Oh, hell no, he wasn't getting the best of him. He was Captain Han Solo, the fastest smuggler in the business.

"Try your best buddy. I ain't so easy to kill off," A white arm snared his. "What're you lookin' at?"

A pop echoed behind him. Heat. Lots of heat. His overly sensitized skin could feel it burning from ten feet away. It ate into him, searing, burning.

Leia.

White straps bit into his skin, through the rough shirt that had already been eating at him. Scan grid. Only imperials would combine a scan grid with tactol.

Han sucked in his breath.

"Oh, hot," air screamed, coursing through his teeth. No questions. No answers. Life. He would sacrifice it all. For them.

What had he become? This was not the man who had picked up a couple of lowlifes in Tatooine for some lousy credits.

Love. Leia. Eyes. Brown eyes. Beauty. Passion. Devotion. Sacrifice.

Luke. Faith. Fear. Terror. Pain. Emotion. Sacrifice.

For the first time in years, Han could feel. It flowed, warm, deep, a pool.

Leia...I-I love you.

Love.

Care.

Emotion.

Sacrifice.