Greedo Shot First

"Going somewhere, Solo?" The Rodian's blaster pistol never wavered. Han saw how things were and slipped casually back into his seat.

"Yes, Greedo, as a matter of fact I was just going to see your boss. Tell Jabba that I've got his money." He smiled his sardonic smile, and Greedo felt himself melting all over again. How could this furry human, who couldn't even be bothered to speak Huttese, inspire such feelings in him? It was preposterous. Greedo shook it off.

"It's too late. You should have paid him while you had the chance. Jabba's put a price on your head so large that every bounty hunter in the galaxy will be out looking for you." Greedo's voice lowered, and he picked his words carefully. "I'm lucky I found you first."

Han smiled knowingly. He knew he had Greedo wrapped around his little finger. How could he have been so stupid to get involved with a Corellian? But those broad shoulders, those powerful hands -- woof! Inside Greedo fidgeted. There had to be a way out. He couldn't kill Han, he simply couldn't.

Han leaned forward. "Yeah, but this time I've got the money."

Greedo sensed an opening. If he could get the money to Jabba, perhaps his rage would dim over time. Perhaps Han could be saved. "If you give it to me, I might forget I found you."

Almost languorously, Han stretched out and picked at the wall. "I don't have it with me. Tell Jabba...."

"Jabba's through with you." Oh, Han, thought Greedo, you're toying with me again. He felt the anger rise in him again -- the anger comingled with desire. "He has no time for smugglers who drop their shipments at the first sign of an Imperial cruiser."

Han's gaze seized Greedo's, and his eyes bored into the bounty hunter. "Even I get boarded sometimes," he drawled, his voice thick with double entendre. A knot formed in Greedo's coelum as he relived the memory -- those three days on Ord Mandell, nights of passion, days of yearning. An explosion of emotion rose in him, driving rational thought out, leaving him cold and lonely.

Han must have sensed it. "Do you think I had a choice?" he asked sardonically. Greedo quailed. He knew he was nothing but a plaything to the smuggler -- a plaything to be used and then discarded. Despair took hold of Greedo's heart.

"You can tell that to Jabba. He may only take your ship."

"Over my dead body."

"That's the idea." His expression unreadable behind Rodian eyes, Greedo stared sadly at Han. They could never be together, never again. He still loved Han Solo, but they were through.

Greedo smiled wryly at Han. "I've been looking forward to killing you for a long time," he whispered. Han had been his first assignment, but they had ended up both alive and in bed together. He remembered it fondly, relishing the memory.

"I'll bet you have." Han's eyes were cold. There was nothing left there, nothing at all.

A single tear welled in Greedo's left eye, impossible to see in the cantina's dim light.

Under the table there was a flash and a loud report. Greedo lolled back in his seat, the gaping hole in his chest smoking and giving off a terrible stench.

Han jumped to his feet, profoundly surprised. His shock lasted only a moment, however; his mercenary instincts kicked in, and he sheathed his unused blaster before melting into the crowd.

Greedo's pistol dropped from his limp hand. The barrel was still smoking.