Archive: Just SWA-L
Archive Date: November 29, 1999
Author's Webpage: I also have fanfic from the Hercules/Iolaus side of the Force at http://www.rtis.com/nat/user/chimera/legends.htm
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me, no money made, etc.
Notes: Originally published in the fanzine "Return of the Rest of the Garbage."
Pairing: H/Lu
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Set post SW:A New Hope.
Summary: After a difficult battle, Han and Luke get a little too happy on spice brandy.

Han Solo was at the nav station in the Millennium Falcon's cockpit, running a maintenance routine to track down the intermittent power loss in the main thrusters, when an outburst of cursing from the lounge area interrupted him -- again. "What's wrong with you now?" he yelled.

Some thumps and a muted crash echoed down the companionway. A sensor remote hitting the deck, Han guessed. Then Luke Skywalker stepped into the cockpit and flung himself into Chewbacca's oversized acceleration chair. "I've been stung by that damn remote so many times I'm gonna need a bacta treatment for nerve damage in my ass," Luke said.

Han leaned back in his chair and stretched. His back and shoulders were cramped from sitting hunched over the station and before that from hours of tense piloting, dodging in and out of confrontations with Imperial pursuit craft. The Falcon was docked in the bay of the rebel frigate Tantavie IV, and the frigate and her support fleet had finally made it into hyperspace after a long, tense game of hide and seek with an Imperial task force. A glance at the chrono showed him they were already into the second shift. Well, time flies when you're having fun, Han thought sourly. He said, "Have you got the setting too high?"

"No, I've beat it at this setting a hundred times. I should be getting better, not worse." Luke looked flushed and exhausted.

"Haven't we just been in combat for something like eighteen hours?" Han knew that, because he was still reeling from the number of blown circuits and overstrained shielding panels he had found during his post-flight. But Luke had gone straight from locking down his battered x-wing to practicing with the remote in the Falcon's lounge.

"Yes."

"Did you ever think you might just be dead tired?"

"That shouldn't matter. It hasn't before."

Han just looked at him.

Luke sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Don't say it."

Han said it anyway. "You're trying too hard."

Luke swore, pushed himself to his feet and flung himself out of the cockpit. "Take a break," Han yelled after him.

"All right, all right."

A break, Han thought, what an idea. He stood and stretched more thoroughly, easing the kinks out of his back, and headed out of the cockpit. On the way down the companionway he stopped at a storage locker and opened the special sealed and padded anti-grav container inside. In it was a package he had been saving for a special occasion. Well, there hadn't been any special occasions and he was ready to celebrate something, even if it was just surviving the last eighteen hours.

He found Chewbacca back in the repair bay, the Wookiee's bulk squeezed down into the access hatch for the motivator, snarling and cursing at some recalcitrant circuits. "Hey, Gruesome, give it up for now. We're going to have to pull the whole shield generator anyway, and I don't want to start that on no sleep."

Chewbacca grunted weary agreement and began extricating himself from the motivator's innards. When his head and shoulders appeared, he saw the bottle Han was carrying and grunted inquiringly. Han turned it so the Wookiee could see the label. Chewie frowned at the unfamiliar script. He could read Corellian, since that was what most of Han's technical manuals were written in, but this archaic version of the language was hard to decipher. But then he saw the warning stamp, printed clearly in basic, and pretended to recoil in horror.

Han grinned. Most people expected Wookiees to be heavy drinkers, just because of their appearance and fierce reputations, but most of them had never had any experience with anything but primitive brewed beers on their homeworld, and the Wookiees that became spacers always had trouble with distilled alcohol products meant for mainstream humans, let alone the ones meant for Corellians. "Just 'cause you're such a delicate little flower--"

Chewie showed his fangs. Han laughed and stepped back out of range.

He found Luke back in the lounge, still trying to beat the damn remote. As Han watched he deflected three bolts with perfect precision, then took the fourth too high, deflecting the bolt right into his left temple. Luke bounced off the concussion-padded bulkhead and slid to the deck. Artoo-Detoo beeped apologetically and cut the power to the remote before it could swoop in for the kill.

Han winced and said, "So is that a Jedi trick? Confuse your opponent by cutting off your own head?"

"Uh, yeah," Luke said, sitting up and touching his forehead cautiously. "We're clever that way. Calm down, Artoo, it's not your fault," he told the agitated droid. He recovered his light sabre, which had shut itself off when he lost his grip on it, and got to his feet somewhat unsteadily. "I guess maybe I do need a break."

Han used what he considered extraordinary self-restraint, and didn't offer editorial comment. Instead he broke the vacuum seal on the bottle, eased out the plastic cork, and handed it to Luke.

"What's this?" Luke said, taking the heavy glass bottle. The fumes caught up to him a moment later, and he held it at arm's length. "Whew, that's strong."

"Try it."

Luke thought about it, but being Luke, he shrugged and took a drink anyway. It went down far more smoothly than he had expected; it was like drinking liquid silk. Liquid honey- colored silk. "That's not bad," he admitted. "Holy shit." The liquid silk, after taking a few seconds to ascertain the most direct path to his nervous system, had suddenly turned to liquid heat.

Han recaptured the bottle before Luke dropped it. "Nice, huh?"

Luke nodded. The assault on his nervous system continued and it was like being given a massage from the inside. "What is that?" he asked, steadying himself on a stanchion.

"Corellian brandy."

"So that's what it's like." Luke wiped his watering eyes. "Was that enough to kill me?"

"Oh hell no. It would take at least half a bottle to kill you. I'm going up to see Rieekan, want to come?"

"No." Luke looked around for the remote. "I'm going to finish up here, then call it a day."

Han shook his head, but didn't argue. "Take it easy on the droid, huh? We need him." He headed for the outer hatch, Artoo Detoo's cheerful squawk following him.

The upper level of the bridge was relatively quiet, with the second shift manning the consoles in the open area below the gallery and most of the stations offline during hyperspace. While the pilots and support crew had been off-duty since the frigate went hyper, the bridge crew and command staff had still been busy, cleaning up the aftermath of the battle. There were a few controllers sleeping sprawled on the couches in the gallery, apparently having been too exhausted to reach their quarters.

Passing the open entrance to the tactical area, Han ran into Princess Leia Organa. Literally ran into her.

He caught her as she bounced off his chest and steadied her. "Hey, where's the emergency?"

Her eyes were red and the skin below them bruised-looking from lack of sleep. "Han, I'm in a hurry, I have to get down to Operations--"

Han didn't let go of her arm, letting her tow him a few steps down the accessway. Leia, typically, had been everywhere at once during the battle. Her actual job had been to analyze the attack patterns in tactical with Rieekan, Madine, and their other strategists, but that hadn't taken up all of her time. He knew she had subbed for one of the weary controllers for a few hours, because he had recognized her voice in the tactical information relay, and Wedge Antilles had told him that when none of the other rescue units were available, Leia had taken out a shuttle to pick up a pilot whose x-wing had been too shot up to get back to the base ship. He planted his feet to halt her headlong rush for the turbolift and said, "I came by there on the way up; Operations is shut down for the offshift."

"What?" Leia stopped and looked up at him, frowning. "Why the hell are they shutting down so early?"

"Leia, the shift changed over an hour ago," he explained patiently.

"It did?" She looked around the bridge in bafflement, apparently noting the presence of the standby crew for the first time. "Then where am I supposed to be? And what's that?" She peered suspiciously at the brandy bottle.

He showed her the label. "Want a shot?" he asked politely.

"No, thank you. What are you doing up here with that?" She covered her face with her hands. "Oh no, don't tell me, I can't deal with it now." She looked up at him, confused. "What are you doing up here?"

"I was going to see Rieekan, but I think I'll stop by Weapons Control and tell them not to follow any of your orders. Do you know you're so tired you're babbling?"

"I am?" She rubbed her temples. "I am. You're right, I should go to bed."

"Want some company?" Han asked, trying to make it sound like a casual offer. He didn't want to let the princess know just how badly she got to him. Not yet, anyway.

"I thought we decided I was in need of sleep," she said, arching an eyebrow at him.

Han passed on the first answer that came to mind, concerning something else she was badly in need of; it wasn't fair, after all, when Leia was so obviously not at her best as far as verbal repartee went. He settled for putting on an air of wounded innocence. "Hey, your holiness, I was only offering to help you to your cabin. What is it going to do to my rep around here if you keep making these insinuations?"

Leia wasn't quite loopy enough to buy that. Her lips twitched in a reluctant smile. "No, thank you, I'll just call Threepio if I need any help."

"I'm more fun than Threepio."

"You're more trouble than Threepio," she tossed over her shoulder as she strode away, but her smooth exit was ruined when she bumped into the bulkhead next to the turbolift.

Han sighed regretfully and went on down the accessway.

The door to General Rieekan's office was open and Han leaned in the hatchway. Rieekan was sitting at his console, the surface strewn with data disks and printouts. His face was gray and he looked exhausted, not just physically, but every other way as well. When he saw Han he said, "So, you're still alive. Anybody else?"

Han pushed off from the door, sat the bottle of brandy down on the console and dropped into the only other chair. He said, "It wasn't that bad." Han was only technically in the chain of command, so he was one of the few people General Rieekan could relax around.

Rieekan let out his breath. "I know." He eyed the bottle on the console. "What's that?"

"Corellian brandy."

Rieekan picked up the bottle and read the label with raised brows, probably noting the lack of the Imperial coded tax stamp. "The good stuff. Where did you get this, on that run to Commenor?"

"Yeah." He could see Rieekan's resolve wavering. He added, "I could use a belt, too."

Rieekan gave in, leaning back to grab two plastic cups off the shelf behind his head. "And I," he said, working open the plastic cork, "Could use a sock in the jaw."

Han left the general in a considerably mellower mood, after killing the bottle between them. Well, Han had killed most of it himself, but the brandy was distilled for the Corellian metabolism and Rieekan had wanted to be relaxed, not put himself in a coma in sick bay.

He had meant to go back to the Falcon and get some sleep, but on the way back to the hangar he passed the pilots' ready room and decided to stop in. If he could find the deck officer, this might be a good time to agitate for the use of the hangar's diagnostic suite, considering the part the Falcon had played in the fleet's last engagement.

The ready room was more crowded than he had expected it to be, but there were a lot of people who needed to let off steam. Like every other crew area on the Tantavie, it was too small for its purpose and being used to store pressurized containers by Maintenance. It was also bare, with nothing to soften the ribbed struts stretching up the walls and the overhead except some old concussion padding. Pilots, techs, and other support crew were standing around, or sitting on the containers or the few chairs, talking or playing cards at the tables. Han found Wedge Antilles playing sabacc with a couple of the other pilots and Te Sorben, an older man with dark lined skin, graying hair and a good-humored face who was one of the ground commando leaders. Most of the Tantavie's complement regarded Han with wary respect, an attitude he did everything he could to encourage, but Antilles and Sorben he actually liked. Han leaned casually against the stanchion nearest the sabacc table and said, "Hey Antilles, who's the deck officer this shift?"

"I think it's Brenner, but he may be over with the emergency crew on that shuttle," Antilles said, looking up from his cards.

Sorben smiled without glancing up, and murmured to Wedge, "I'll tell Brenner you gave him up."

Wedge shrugged, with a grin at Han. "Better him than me."

Good, Han thought, ignoring the byplay. If they were working on that half-melted shuttle.... He'll he distracted. And Brenner was young and easy to browbeat. The other Deck Officer was a Mulari female, who had to be charmed into favors. He turned to go, but a young tech was urgently shouldering his way through the game's spectators, obviously making for Antilles, who was senior pilot and leader of red squadron. Han stayed where he was, wondering what the hell had gone wrong now. The tech reached the table and blurted, "Engineering is having a party, and we're not invited!" as if it was a life- threatening emergency.

Han glanced briefly ceilingward in annoyance, and noticed several people shaking their heads in relief and irritation.

"How come?" somebody demanded.

"They said that last time we drank all their liquor and didn't bring any."

"Well, they're right about that," Sorben said.

"What are they complaining about?" Wedge argued, rearranging the cards in his hand. "They've got the still."

"Hey," Kamer, the senior droid tech, said, looking around worriedly, "Don't mention the still, it's a secret."

"The still is not a secret," Wedge told him, patiently. "Everybody knows about the damn still. Madine told me to tell Veris not to put so much oris root in the jet juice because it was giving the Bothans the runs."

"Well," Kamer said dubiously, still unconvinced. "I guess it's okay to talk about it here, since there's no officers around."

Wedge sighed. "There is an officer here, you idiot."

"Oh, you don't count," one of the younger pilots said, grinning.

"Well, thanks very much, but I'm not talking about me. Solo's an officer."

Han snorted. "The hell I am."

"The hell you are. You're on the roster as a captain."

"That's because I'm a shipmaster."

"No, you're a commissioned captain."

Han frowned. This was beginning not to sound like a joke. And Antilles didn't have this kind of sense of humor. One of the card players had bowed out and vacated a chair, so he grabbed it and sat down. He pointed a finger at the younger man. "If you're lying, I'm gonna put you through that bulkhead."

"I'm not lying, Solo," Wedge protested, exasperated and beginning to look worried.

"When was I commissioned?"

"I think Rieekan did it not long after we left Yavin. You can look for yourself, it's on the roster."

That bastard Rieekan, Han thought. I'll get him for this. "I don't even know where the fuck the roster is."

"Come on, Antilles," Sorben said placatingly. "First we find out Madine knows about the still, now we hear Solo's an officer. You're destroying all our illusions."

"Fine. Catch me trying to be the voice of reason to you people again."

Damn it all to hell, Han was thinking. I've been drafted. One more reason to blow this place. Except that he kept piling up reasons but somehow he never actually packed his Wookiee and left. I'm beginning to wonder about you. First you practically lose it over a loud-mouth pint-sized Alderanni princess, then you hang around here with this bunch of suicidal idealists. What's next, are you going to get religion or something?

"Solo, are you going to warm that chair or are you going to play cards?" Sorben asked.

Han let out his breath. He didn't feel like chasing Brenner down, and he was probably still a little too high from the brandy to use the diagnostic suite to its best advantage anyway. "Yeah, deal me in," he said, resigned.

Luke stepped into the forward crew's mess, looking for Han. There were a few people still at the tables lingering over dinner, most of whom looked too tired to move. He snagged a piece of reconstituted pita fruit off the counter and as he started for the door, one of the techs at a nearby table hailed him. "Engineering is having a party, and they said we couldn't come," she told him indignantly.

"What jerks," Luke agreed, munching the fruit. "Hey, has anybody seen Han?"

"I think he's in the ready room."

As Luke turned to go, Pantel, a pilot from blue squadron, said, "What's the matter, Skywalker, lose your boyfriend?"

Luke stopped in the hatchway and leaned against the lock, half-tempted to break Pantel's jaw. But he knew where the idea that he and Han were sleeping together had come from.

A month or so ago he and Wedge Antilles had been doing an engine refit on an x-wing in the Tantavie's bay, and Leia Organa had come through, walking with her usual determined stride, giving them both a preoccupied wave as she passed. "Damn, she's gorgeous," Wedge had said. "I wish she'd wear her hair down sometimes. I bet it goes all the way to the floor."

That image did it for Luke's concentration. He lost track of the power leads he was trying to count and swore under his breath. "Don't talk about it. You're making me crazy."

Wedge snorted. "What's with you? I know you must be getting it regularly."

Luke stared at him. "Wedge, are you okay? It's me, Luke. Snap out of it." Luke Skywalker, who hadn't had anything even remotely resembling sex since leaving Tatooine, and Camie hadn't exactly been his ideal of feminine beauty.

Wedge gave him a withering look. "I know it's you, I'm not that far gone."

"Then what the hell are you talking about?"

"You and Solo," Wedge said, exasperated. "Who else?" Luke had been so surprised his foot had slipped and he had fallen off the ladder and sat down hard on the deck. He had been laughing, because the idea was pretty hilarious and he thought Wedge was kidding him. Then Wedge had scrambled down from the x-wing, red-faced and desperately embarrassed, to apologize profusely, and then he had explained why he had thought so.

Among Corellians, very close friendships, especially between young people who weren't already bonded or pairmated in any way, often included sex. Luke had been assigned a bunk in the crew quarters, but he only used it when the Falcon was away, and he spent a lot of time on board the old freighter, and.... "And you're the only person Solo's ever nice to," Wedge had finished, still mortified. "I just assumed--"

"No, it's okay, no big deal," Luke had assured him. Wedge was Corellian himself, so he hadn't meant anything by it. Staying in the Falcon gave Luke more privacy for trying to learn to use the Force, and even though the bunk in the wall above the game table was lumpy and uncomfortable, it was still better than the crew's quarters on the Tantavie, which had a poorly repaired buckled bulkhead that threatened her pressure integrity and an air system that smelled like dirty laundry. The rebel frigate was overcrowded, and it was easier to concentrate aboard the Falcon, with no one around but the comfortably familiar presences of Han and Chewbacca.

Luke had worried about it for a bit, but the Tantavie was a ship full of tense people who worked too hard and risked their lives constantly, and didn't have anything to do on their off time but imagine that their crewmates were having more fun than they were. Pantel, obviously, did mean something by it, but protests would just make it look like Luke gave a damn what people thought. And he had decided that he really didn't care. He said, "You've got me wrong, Pantel. It's Chewie I'm interested in."

Pantel stood there blankly, not having a smart answer for that, and Luke turned to go. He almost ran smack into General Madine, who had stepped into the hatchway and had obviously heard the whole conversation. Madine had that expression of long-suffering he always got when anyone mentioned Han Solo around him. The Corellian General was a stickler for military protocol, far more so than General Rieekan, and he and Han had never gotten along.

"Excuse me, sir," Luke managed to say with a straight face, and stepped around him.

In the ready room, one of the captains of the small supply ships had walked in with a crate of cheap spiced brandy and started handing out bottles. Kamer the droid tech brought one over and set it triumphantly on the sabacc table. "What do you guys think of that?"

Han winced. "Get it away from me." After three-fourths of a bottle of real Corellian brandy, he didn't even want to look at the cheap stuff. Just being in the same room with it was ruining the warm glow created by the genuine article.

Wedge Antilles squinted at the label and gave a succinct opinion. "Yuck."

Sorben concurred, waving a disdainful hand at the plastic container. "Boy, take it away."

"What's the matter with it?" Kamer demanded, aggrieved.

"It tastes like shit," Wedge said. "And I'm Corellian; I'd have to drink so much to feel anything I'd float away."

"I don't believe that," Kamer said, affecting an air of belligerence but grinning anyway. "That's a myth."

Han and Wedge exchanged a look.

"Oh my," Sorben said under his breath. "I can smell where this is going."

Luke made it into the ready room in time to hear the conversation on spice brandy, as he found a seat on the pressure containers next to the table where Han, Wedge, Sorben and the others were playing sabacc.

"What's wrong with spice brandy?" Luke asked.

"The hangover will make you wish you were dead," Wedge explained. "The spice takes the kick out of the brandy, and the brandy dulls the effect of the spice, so you tend to drink more than you can handle, and then it all catches up with you at once."

"The spice stays with you longer than the alcohol, too," Han added. "It gets absorbed into your tissue and you can smell it in your sweat for a couple days afterward."

"And we're going to drink it anyway?" Luke said, dubiously.

"You're thinking too much again, kid."

"Oh, yeah, right."

Kamer doled out the first round. Sorben passed, saying, "I ain't Corellian, and I ain't stupid." Luke took one cautious sip. It wasn't anything like the brandy Han had given him. It burned immediately, with an aftertaste like the fluid you used to rinse your teeth. He wondered if the stuff would eat through the plastic cup. Then the sweet taste of the spice kicked in, making the drink almost bearable.

"You've never had this before either, Luke?" Dack, who had wandered up to watch the game, asked him.

Luke folded his lips over a smile. Dack, who was a tech just starting pilot training, was so young he made Luke feel ancient. He said, "No, drinking spice liquor was one of those things my uncle would never let me do. It took me a while, but I finally realized he usually had a good reason for not letting me do most of them, too." He frowned as the memories came back. "Except for why he didn't want me to see Ben Kenobi. I never did figure that one out. Thought I was still too young, I guess."

Han didn't look up from his cards, and didn't comment. Kid, you need to get a couple of drinks into Rieekan sometime and then ask him about Ben Kenobi. He needed to think of a way to arrange that, somehow.

More bottles made the rounds. Finally Wedge, looking worried, said, "I didn't realize there was so much of this stuff aboard. Madine went offshift, so he's probably asleep by now, but Rieekan should still be around. Do you think he'll get mad?"

Han thought about the condition Rieekan had been in when he had left him, and said, "Nah."

"Hey," Luke said, pointing across the room. "There's Chewie."

Han looked up, just in time to see his copilot downing an entire bottle of the brandy while holding his nose to keep from tasting it. He swore under his breath, shook his head, and went back to his cards. Some of their more exciting adventures had started just this way.

After a few more rounds, and some more doubting comments from Kamer on the legendary ability of Corellians to hold their liquor, a drinking contest had somehow developed with Wedge and Han on one side, everybody else on the other. Luke kept up for awhile, and he was almost beginning to enjoy the taste of the spiced brandy. The ready room was even more crowded and Chewie, much to the consternation of the people who were still nervous around Wookiees, was becoming the life of the party. Luke was starting to relax, and the jokes were getting funnier, the permutations of the sabacc game were getting harder to follow, and his thoughts were wandering freely.

"I suppose this means you're all going to be disgusting pigs the entire time I'm off shift," someone said. This interrupted Luke's thoughts, which currently concerned trying to figure out how many Tatooine standard days it had been since he had actually had sex. He was beginning to realize this was impossible, since he couldn't remember how long he had been on the Tantavie and he wasn't sure how to count hyperspace and he had had too much to drink already to do the math in his head. And he really should be thinking about improving his piloting skills, or meditating on the Force, or something. "What?" He looked up. Ria Vanrin, a lieutenant on the command staff, was standing next to him, smiling down at him. She was tall, olive-skinned, her long dark hair braided up around her head. "Oh, yeah, it sure looks that way," Luke said.

Ria hesitated a moment. "Um, Luke, I was going to stop by the galley for a bit, do you want to come with me?"

Luke thought about it, but shook his head. "No, I think I'm going to stay around here a while longer. Ow! Ow!" This last was directed at Han. "Why are you kicking me?" he demanded.

Han shook his head in disgust, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "No reason, just go right on with what you're doing," he said, making a mental note to explain to Luke later what Ria actually meant when she wanted you to go somewhere with her.

"Oh, all right." Ria looked disappointed. "Maybe some other time."

"Okay, I give," Wedge said. He stood up, then a funny expression crossed his face and he slowly sank from view below the edge of the table.

Han pushed the last bottle of brandy away, satisfied with his performance. The sabacc game had broken up some time ago, as the players had become too confused to tell the cards apart. The other active participants in the drinking contest had either wandered off or were sprawled around on the floor, and Te Sorben had amiably cursed them all for drunkards and left some time ago. Luke had dropped out of the contest early on, and was now lying on the deck somewhere among the pressure containers, occasionally giggling to himself.

There were too many people in the room and the noise was making Han's head buzz, for some reason. "Hey, Chewie, come here. Come here. No, come here. Here. Yes, you."

Chewie finally made it over and hunkered down next to him, swaying unsteadily. Han showed him the bottle. "Do you know what this is?"

Chewie squinted at it, trying to make his eyes focus. Eventually he nodded, pleased with himself, and growled an answer.

"Yeah, it's a bottle of spice brandy. It's also the last bottle of spice brandy."

Chewie's brows lifted in alarm.

"I want you to take it to -- No, Chewie, concentrate, okay? Take it to the officers' mess in the Engineering pod, and take all these people with you, you got it?"

With a little more coaching Chewie got the idea, and took the bottle, holding it over his head, and paraded out of the ready room. It was amazing how quickly the area cleared.

Han stood up -- then had to grab the table to keep from pitching headfirst into it. "Oh, shit."

"What?" Luke said, still lolling on the deck.

The combined effect of the single bottle of good brandy and the several of the cheap spiced varieties hitting at once almost knocked Han out on his feet. He held onto the table while his vision went dark and the deck swayed gently. That's what you get, trying to prove what a big butch bastard you are. He should have gotten up and walked around a bit between shots, let it hit gradually instead of all at once. The last time he had moved around had been more than an hour ago, to persuade Chewie that Corporal Fathrat wasn't that guy whose head Chewie had promised to tear off when they were in the Ara'Khan on Cannonis ten years ago, she just looked like him. Han blinked hard and shook his head, and the ready room swam unsteadily back into focus. He grinned down at Luke. "Hey, kid, can you walk?"

"I guess." Luke sighed. "Why?"

"I can't. You're going to have to help me to the ship."

They staggered across the deserted bay, under the launch racks for the x-wings, past the shuttle bays and into the section where a gantry had been torn out to make room for the Falcon. They made it up the ship's ramp but Han had to lean in the hatchway while Luke stood swaying in front of it, trying to hit the right buttons on the control pad.

Standing there, so close behind Luke, Han suddenly found himself having to fight the urge to lean down and nibble the back of the younger man's neck. That was another reason he didn't like spiced brandy; it made him horny but too drunk to do much about it.

"Dammit, everything keeps moving around," Luke complained.

"You know, you're cute when you're drunk," Han couldn't help saying. "The rest of the time, too."

Laughing, Luke almost fell through the hatch when it finally slid open. "Oh, shut up," he said, grabbing Han's arm and pulling him inside the ship.

Once inside, Luke couldn't get the hatch to close. For some reason Han thought this was funny, and ended up sliding down the bulkhead and sprawling on the deck in the companionway, gasping, "It's on automatics, kid, what the fuck did you do to it?"

"Nothing," Luke protested. He hit the right sequence then and the hatch began to cycle and close. "There, see?" He turned around and found Han on the deck. "What are you doing down there? Get up!"

"It is up," Han said, but Luke didn't get what he meant. Luke dragged Han to his feet and they lurched down the companionway and to the cabin hatch. Fortunately its keypad was far more simple and Luke got it open on the first try.

They both stumbled into Han's cabin, which was just big enough to fall down in, which Han promptly almost did. Luke caught him and they rolled into the bunk, Luke landing heavily on top.

Han gasped, "Damn it, kid, I told you I won't put out unless you at least buy me dinner."

Luke, trying to sit up, grinned and said, "That's not what I heard," and squeezed the part of Han's anatomy his hand happened to have landed on.

They were both laughing like kids now and at first it was a mock wrestling match, until Han realized something hard was pressing against his pelvis. Without thinking, he asked breathlessly, "Are you still wearing your light sabre or are you just glad to see me?"

Luke looked bewildered a moment, until his mind caught up with what his body was doing. Then he grinned and reddened and said, "Oops." He started to push himself up off the bunk.

Without making any kind of conscious decision, Han reached up and caught Luke by the nape of the neck, pulling his head down so he could use his tongue and teeth on his ear.

Luke yelped in surprise. Han felt his fingers dig into his shoulders and let him go, flopping back on the bunk. He grinned up at the younger man, and said, "Oops."

"What are you doing?" Luke demanded.

He didn't sound mad, but Han was too fuzzy-headed to read his expression accurately, and suddenly wondered how he was going to deal with it if Luke slugged him or just got up and left. On the whole, he thought it would be easier if Luke slugged him. Trying to look harmless, and suspecting he wasn't doing too great a job of it, he said, "Nothing."

Luke snorted in disbelief. "Not now. I mean, then. What did you just do?"

Han noted there wasn't exactly any struggling to get away going on, that in fact Luke was settling in more comfortably against him. Apparently contemplating his reply, Han stretched and yawned, arching his back and lifting his knee to rub against the inside of Luke's thigh. "What, you mean this?"

"No, that's new. I meant...I meant..." Luke's powers of description failed him. "This."

He wound both hands in Han's hair and pressed his mouth against his. Han was too surprised to react, his lips parting by instinct, then he managed to turn his head away. He didn't kiss men, not on the mouth, anyway. Of course he didn't usually invite them to climb on top of him and do any of the things he was trying to encourage Luke to do right now, either. But it wasn't a decision he wanted to make right this second. It apparently didn't faze Luke, who transferred his attentions to Han's ear, probing it with his tongue and tugging on the lobe with his teeth.

Then they were moving against each other, not to any real purpose, just fumbling around, breathing hard. Han felt Luke's hands along his ribs, rubbing down the outside of his thigh. He wanted to roll Luke over on his back, get on top so he would have more control, but his body had absorbed too much alcohol to cooperate, and Luke was squirming around too actively. He compromised by biting him gently on the neck, getting a startled moan in response.

Han had lost all track of what he was doing, overcome by sensation and need. He ran his hands down Luke's back to his buttocks, kneading them and pulling him more firmly against him, then he suddenly realized what position he was in. In all the writhing around Han had somehow ended up with his legs spread and his knees bent. He had an instant of confused panic, then realized he was being an idiot; unlike any of the other male spacers who had tried to invite themselves into his bed, Luke was unlikely to take this as tacit permission to rip his pants off and penetrate him, no matter how drunk he was. It had been too long since he had had sex with a friend, Han realized, with someone he actually knew well enough to trust a little. He had had his guard up so long he had almost forgotten how to drop it at all. He decided to crank things up a notch and worked a hand down between their bodies and into Luke's groin, rubbing firmly.

Luke suddenly gasped and dug his fingers into the bunk padding on either side of Han's head, and shuddered violently. Then he collapsed, all the tension leaving his body in one sharp burst. Damn, Han thought, surprised. He must've really needed it to come so hard from just that. By Corellian standards, what they had done so far was barely considered sex at all. With a little urging Luke slid off of him, until he lay on his side next to the bulkhead. Han brushed the sweat- dampened hair back from Luke's forehead, and when Luke blinked at him said, "You okay?"

"Yeah," Luke answered, sounding dazed. "I guess I needed that."

"I guess you did." Han sat up on his elbow, but his vision went black suddenly and his head swam. He fell back on the bunk, rubbing his temples. "Oh, shit." Dammit, don't pass out now, Solo. It was going to be bad enough to wake up with a hangover. Waking up with a hangover and an extreme case of frustration was going to be much worse.

"What is it?"

"I shouldn't have had that last bottle of brandy. Or maybe those last three bottles of brandy."

Luke chuckled. Before Han could tell him just how not- funny this was, he felt him shifting around. "Hold on," Luke said.

"To what?"

In his current state Luke evidently thought that hilarious. Listening to him alternately snicker and hiccough, Han felt himself drifting further into heavy darkness. Then he felt his shirt pulled up and a warm mouth on his stomach. A rush of mingled adrenalin and pure heat jolted him back to almost full awareness. He opened his eyes and lifted his head. Yes, he's doing what I think he's doing.

"You taste good," Luke commented, sitting up enough to fumble at the fastenings to Han's pants.

"Luke, um...." Guilt was warring with lust; Han hadn't done anything for him really, yet. "You don't have to...."

"I know; I want to." Luke assured him, pulling Han's pants open and sliding his hand inside.

Han fell back on the bunk. Speaking articulately suddenly seemed an almost impossible task, but he managed, "But you've never done this before, right?"

"Instinct," Luke explained. He settled himself more comfortably across Han's legs, absent-mindedly doing something with his hand that made Han gasp. When his mouth joined his hand Han let his head drop back in pure pleasure and lost the will to argue.

He could tell Luke had never done this before. He was awkward and occasionally tentative, but was making up for it with enthusiasm and a flair for experiment. Han knew the fact that he couldn't hold still wasn't helping Luke's concentration any either. He had grabbed the edge of the bunk behind his head, digging his fingers into it to try to retain some control, but he was writhing and making involuntary noises in his throat that probably sounded like he was being tortured. Suddenly he knew he couldn't last any longer. He pushed Luke away with a knee, then rolled onto his stomach and spasmed into the padding.

Han came back to himself gradually, aware he was again very much on the brink of passing out, both from the effects of the brandy and an intense release. He had time to realize that he had done it again: he was sprawled face down on the bunk and barely holding on to consciousness, as vulnerable as he had ever let himself be in a situation like this. And he had just let Luke do something to him that usually required you to either return the favor or put out, and Han was in no shape to do the former. But all Luke did was collapse next to him, rest his chin on Han's shoulder and ruffle his hair, and that was all he had really expected him to do. "Was that okay?" Luke asked, sounding like he was not far from losing consciousness himself.

"Oh, yeah." Han managed to roll over and pull him closer. "That was more than okay," he murmured, and then he did pass out.

Han woke later to find Luke sprawled next to him with an arm across his chest, their legs twined together. They were still in most of their clothes, they were both soaked with sweat, and Han realized he was the one lying in the wet spot, but after a few moments consideration, he decided he was still too drunk to care. In the morning, when the hangover set in, he would care, but not right now.

Han shifted away just enough so that Luke wasn't snoring quite directly into his ear. Luke murmured something incoherent and without really waking slid his hand from Han's shoulder and down over his chest, pausing to rub the nipple he encountered with his thumb, then continuing down to land on Han's hip and squeeze it familiarly. He stopped there, nestled himself a little closer, then sunk back into a deeper sleep. Han chuckled and nuzzled his hair, then kissed his forehead lightly. "You've got incredible instincts, kid."

Luke had been drifting in a half-sleep for some time, aware only of a feeling of vague contentment. Eventually he realized that a large part of the reason he felt so warm and comfortable was that he was lying pressed against a warm body, listening to deep even breathing and feeling a heartbeat that wasn't his own. Waking up next to someone was a novel experience but one he definitely thought he should have more often. He hadn't felt this good in a long time.

Then, gradually, his head started to ache. He knew what this was, too. This was the spice hangover they had warned him about. It wasn't so bad.

Some indeterminate time later the mild ache had progressed to what it must feel like to have a metal spike driven with exquisite slowness through his ear and into his brain. His only hope was that he would eventually gather enough strength to beg Han to smother him with a pillow. Puzzled by that stray thought, he concentrated a moment, then remembered, oh, yeah, I slept with Han last night. Then he thought huh?

Maybe he hadn't done what he was remembering doing. Maybe he had been hallucinating. If so, it had been one hell of a hallucination, and one that he had been badly in need of. Whatever it had been, now he needed to move. He was dying, and it wouldn't be polite to do it in Han's bunk, let alone sprawled half on top of him. And he really had to use the bathroom, too.

Carefully he pushed himself up, knowing that if he bumped his head against the upper bunk, his skull would explode. Managing to make his eyes focus, he looked down at Han.

He lay on his back, sprawled bonelessly, one arm flung back over his head.

Nah, Luke thought, I couldn't have. He started to climb over Han and out of the bunk. Without waking, Han chose this moment to shift into a more comfortable position, rolling over onto his side, disheveled clothing displaying expanses of skin in places Luke didn't usually see, his thigh brushing against Luke's groin in a casual contact that sent a jolt through him, despite the painful hangover.

Oh yes, I did, Luke thought. He gently disentangled himself and managed to climb over Han without accidentally putting a knee or elbow anywhere that would have gotten him flung to the deck, then managed to get out of the cabin and reach the head without passing out. After taking care of his most immediate problem, he glanced at himself in the small square of mirror and winced. He was as pale as a corpse that had been left to float in vacuum, and the skin under his eyes looked bruised from fatigue. He could still smell the spice from the brandy and wondered if he had spilled it on himself somewhere. Then he realized it was coming from his sweat; Han had warned him about that, he remembered. He suspected he was going to get real tired of it before it wore off. He squinted at himself, and noticed he had bruises on his neck, too. Not bruises, he noticed after a moment. Lovebites. That was something else he hadn't hallucinated.

I'll just have to think about this later, Luke told himself. Later, when he could think.

He staggered out of the head to find a furry heap on the deck in the main area. He stood a moment, baffled, before he realized this was Chewbacca. He circled carefully around the snoring Wookiee, found the hatch, and managed to get it open.

The air in the bay wasn't fresh, but at least it was different. Luke sank down at the end of the ramp and leaned against the stanchion. This was a much better place to die. Yeah, he'd do it right here.

He sat there in a half-daze, until movement attracted his wavering attention. He squinted hard and recognized Leia Organa.

As she approached the ramp Luke held up a warning hand. "Don't get too close." His voice came out as a raspy croak.

"That bad, hmm?"

"Yes."

"After viewing the carnage in the ready room, I can't say it surprises me."

Luke tentatively touched his forehead. "Do you think General Rieekan will be mad that things got out of hand?"

Leia smiled wryly. "The last time I saw him, he was stretched out on the floor of the officer's mess, snoring heavily. You can ask him when he comes to."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Oh, don't apologize, Luke. You all obviously needed a break."

"What about you?" Luke peered up at her. "Didn't you need a break too?"

"I thought it would, ah, inhibit all of you if I was there."

Luke thought he might have been able to use a little inhibition. Or not, he wasn't sure.

"Besides," Leia continued, "This was the most uninterrupted sleep I've had in I don't know when. We'll exit hyper in six hours, so that's the end of the vacation." She glanced at her chronometer. "I'd better get up to the bridge. Do you want me to help you to the galley or--" she looked him over appraisingly. "--the sick bay?"

"No, I'm not that bad off." Besides, Wedge had told him the diagnostic comp made the droids hassle you unmercifully if you came to them for hangover remedies. "I'm just going to sit here for awhile. I have...something I need to think about."

Leia got to her feet, dusting herself off. "The Force?"

"No, not this time."

She smiled. "That's good. I think you're trying too hard with it."

"Yeah, well, that's what I hear."

He watched Leia walk away, trying to get his brain started again. He was beginning to worry. His life was complicated enough as it was, and the last thing he needed was to wreck his friendship with Han. Han, who was one of the few people who accepted Luke for who he was, who didn't expect him to be anything else. Many of the others seemed to expect him to be an instant Jedi, as if all it required was ownership of a light sabre. Leia was one of the very few who knew enough of the Old Republic's history to understand what being a Jedi meant, and how much training and knowledge Luke would need to acquire from somewhere before he could even come close to that level. But Leia had far too many of her own troubles, she didn't need to be burdened with his.

Han woke to a truly blinding headache. At first all he could do was lie there, waiting for his skull to explode. Gradually it wore down to the point where he could blink without moaning, and then he managed to sit up.

Something was missing. He looked around in bafflement, trying to get his brain started again, wondering why the cabin felt empty. Suddenly memory returned. Oh, shit. You stupid.... But how else could you top what had to be the clumsiest seduction in the history of humanoid sex unless it was by passing out before you could do hardly anything? What were you thinking? Nothing, that's what you were thinking. His mind had obviously been a spice brandy-induced blank. No, he knew what was wrong with him. For years it had just been him and Chewie against the rest of the galaxy. He just wasn't used to this weird, alien feeling of belonging, of fitting in, of being accepted, even if there was still reluctance on both sides in some cases. You're living in a fucking community, you idiot.... He swore and ran a hand through his hair, and began the involved process of struggling out of the bunk. You've got to get out of here before you lose all of your edge.

Luke was still sitting on the ramp when the hatch slid up behind him and Han demanded suspiciously, "What are you doing?"

"Dying."

"And you're doing it on my ramp?"

Luke rolled his eyes, then winced at the resulting pain. "I'll try not to bleed too heavily."

"Get in here."

Luke managed to stand by climbing hand over hand up one of the ramp struts; he was amazed at how much his muscles had apparently atrophied in the short time he had been sitting there. He followed Han back into the ship.

Chewbacca was still sprawled on the floor of the lounge, as boneless as a fur rug, his snores occasionally ending in pitiful whimpers.

"Don't step on Chewie," Han warned him. "If you wake him up before the hangover really sets in, he'll get violent."

"Oh," Luke said dubiously, and edged carefully around the unconscious Wookiee, then collapsed on the worn acceleration couch. Han had disappeared but Luke heard him rummaging in a locker around the corner. "Hey, are you hungry?" the Corellian called after a moment.

"No! Are you kidding?" Luke clutched his stomach protectively and fell over sideways on the couch. He should say something, but his brain felt as if it was clogged with sand, as if he had left it out overnight in the Tatooine winds. Maybe he shouldn't say anything. Han was acting perfectly normal. Well, perfectly normal for Han, anyway.

Han stepped around the corner from the Falcon's tiny galley, eating a ration bar. He offered the open box to Luke, who recoiled further in horror. "It'll make you feel better," Han said.

"It'll make me throw up."

"That's the idea."

That was probably true. Luke had a lot of maintenance to get through this shift, working on the fighters damaged in the battle, and he wouldn't be able to do it like this. But he couldn't face the prospect right now. "Maybe later."

Watching Han cross the lounge, Luke thought, maybe he doesn't remember as much as I do. That might be for the best. Or not, he couldn't decide. And he hoped this haze of indecisiveness departed with his hangover, because it was getting to be really aggravating.

Then Han dropped into the chair at the technical station, propping his bare feet on the deactivated console, and said, "Did you go down on me last night or was I hallucinating?"

Luke rolled his eyes. That was one way to open the subject. He said, "You were hallucinating," then let out his breath and added, "Everybody thinks we're doing it anyway."

"Who the hell is everybody?"

Maybe it wasn't everybody. "Just Pantel, I guess. He's an asshole."

"Damn, Luke." Han chuckled. "Don't be such a bitch."

"Dammit, you-- I--" Luke sat up and groped around, looking for something to throw, and succeeded only in falling off the bench.

Chewbacca started at the noise and groaned mournfully, lifting his head and showing a truly startling array of fangs. Han told him, "You're having a dream, go back to sleep."

The Wookiee subsided after a moment and the snores started again. Luke let out his breath in relief and leaned his aching head back against the cushions. He said, "So?"

"So what?"

"So...." Luke waved his arms, but inspiration didn't come, and Han remained unhelpfully occupied with demolishing the box of ration bars. "So I don't know."

Han shook his head. "Look, you aren't the first person to get drunk and fall into bed with me and regret it later, okay? We were just fooling around, kid, I'm not your boyfriend."

"Well, good," Luke retorted. "'Cause I told Wedge he could be my boyfriend." After the rest of what Han had said got through the haze, he added, "And I didn't say I regretted it."

He wasn't sure Han heard that part or not, because he was in the process of almost choking himself laughing at the Wedge comment. He recovered, gasping, and shoved the box of ration bars away as if it was its fault. But that familiar lopsided, cagy grin crossed his face briefly, and he said, "Careful kid, you're gonna get a reputation."

Luke tried to glare at him, but the effect wasn't exactly devastating. "You started it."

"You grabbed my ass."

"So to you, that means 'Let's have sex.'"

"Yeah, it does. And you knew that, don't pretend you didn't. That innocent little farmboy act doesn't work on me, you can save it for Leia."

Luke let out his breath. "It doesn't work on her, either."

"Yeah, well, I've tried everything but begging and nothing works on her. She's just not interested in me."

"You think so?" Luke frowned to himself. "Because I always get the feeling that she is."

"Dammit, don't be nice to me." Han slammed the box down on the console. "I told you it irritates the hell out of me when you do that."

"All right, all right. She thinks you're horrible and would rather sleep with a squida than touch you. Are you happy now?"

"Yes."

"That would be funny if you weren't serious," Luke muttered. He also had the feeling they had exchanged all the information they needed to, but he still wanted to know one more thing. He said, "So...."

"So what?" Han prompted.

If Luke didn't manage to ask now, he might never have the chance. Han could be incredibly difficult to communicate with when he wasn't in the mood, and he was hardly ever in the mood. And this was really bugging him. He said, "So why wouldn't you let me kiss you on the lips?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Why would I not want to know?" Luke countered, which had seemed a fairly witty and sensible thing to say when he had thought of it, but now that he had actually said it he wasn't so sure. Han confirmed this impression by looking at him like he suspected Luke was still drunk, which was probably true. Luke hesitated, then gave in and told the truth. "I thought maybe I was doing it wrong."

"You think too much."

"Yeah, yeah." What he was thinking now was that...That he had better get to the head, quickly. Really, really quickly. He struggled to stand on his wavering legs. "This has been a truly fascinating conversation but I have to go throw up now."

"Good idea," Han said, preoccupied and apparently under the impression this was a voluntary process. "Oh, and kid," he added, as Luke was staggering toward the companionway, "The next time Ria asks you to go to the galley with her, go."

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