Category: Angst, Romance
Pairing: Han/Luke
Rating: R
Series: Sequel to 'Passage To Endor' and 'The Longest Night', part three in the 'Endor' series
Summary: After the victory party, Luke and Han find themselves in the eye of the storm.
Warnings: I think this story illustrates my disbelief in flawlessly happy endings...

Like a wild heartbeat, the sound of drums echoed between the trees. Another night had fallen on Endor, this one lowering like a smoky blue veil, shot through with the fireworks that marked an impossible victory. Like a gentle, inescapable daze, dusk swathed solid forms as much as minds. Casualty reports, clinical assessment, doubts and questions would all come later. This was the reprieve they'd earned, sprung fresh out of a fantasy... Han couldn't resist it any more than the Rebel pilots and scouts who milled restlessly throughout the Ewok village.

"Well done, General!"

He started up when someone clapped his shoulder.

"Thanks." Han sent a reflexive grin at a bright red flightsuit until the man's identity registered. Wedge Antilles, his usually groomed appearance tousled, evidence of a spontaneous dance with several zingy Ewoks.

"According to Lando, it was you 'n him who hit the jackpot," Han added. "You're the real stars of the show."

"Just happened to be in the right place at the right time," Wedge shrugged it off. "Got lucky for a change."

"Yeah, but they're still going to promote you and hang a medal round your neck," Han warned, the grin easing from a mere stretch of facial muscles into someting more genuine.

Wedge returned a smile full of self-irony. "In that case, I guess I'd better do a fade into the woodwork while my luck's holding."

As he strolled off, Han stared down into his mug. Dazzling specks of reflected fireshine swam in the bittersweet berry-brew. Luck. The concept didn't seem big enough to cover the events of this day.

Palpatine and Vader dead, the Death Star destroyed, the very showpieces of the Imperial fleet gone up in fire and shrapnel. Distant realities, tucked away at the back of his head. All that counted right now was that they'd survived a set-up for full-scale disaster.

Luke. Leia. Chewie. Even Lando and the remaining Rogue pilots who'd covered for the Falcon during her breakneck dive into the Death Star's bowels -- alive, all of them. Not for the first time that night, Han caught himself reiterating the list. Higher consciousness could moor itself in that basic certainty while the rest of him drifted with the tides of incredulous relief. Draining his mug, he walked to the platform's edge where a rope ladder plunged towards the shadowed floor of the forest.

Between the trees extended a dark field of silhouettes, lit erratically by the sway of torches, bonfires blazing on all the higher levels. The air had been filled with the scent of burning pinewood by the time Luke made it back to the village. Hours after everyone else.

He's safe, Leia kept repeating. He'll be here in a little while.

But the waiting had stretched until Han thought a nerve would snap somewhere at the back of his neck. Electric tension climbed through his body when Luke finally crossed that walkway in quick strides.

He'd arrived like a fugitive out of the night, relief lightening his step, new vitality setting a proud glow into his eyes. Impossibly young and raw from the razor edge he'd escaped.

Too damn close to radiant, Han thought now, tracing the moment across the restive flickers in his nervous system.

For a few seconds, when Luke had flung himself across the remaining distance, both hands grabbing Han into a fierce embrace, everything had made sense again. Physical contact slammed through him like a final connection closing, jumpstarting a major circuit that drew time itself into a spin.

Han couldn't recall a word of their brief exchange, just his own stunned and shaky gratitude, slowly spreading into every part of his body, and the shadow of an unspoken question in Luke's eyes. The sense of a tide on the turn, just before an unclaimed balance shifted again.

The moment was over too soon to figure it out. For all Han could tell, it might have signaled a conclusion sooner than a new start -- right now he wasn't too sure of anything anymore. Too many emotions coursed through him, heady and ungathered, each claiming precedence over the other. Rationality informed him that this was hardly surprising, given the rollercoaster ride of the past twenty hours. Times like these always went straight to people's heads and triggered extreme responses. Maybe that was all there was to it.

Breathing deeply, Han craned his neck at the sky. Overhead, solitary flares concluded improvised fireworks, pinpoint lights that blossomed into transparent air and faded in minuscule glitters. Everywhere around him, jubilant Rebels were getting drunk on victory and home-made booze alike. Han glanced across the bopping throngs, contemplating another drink without enthusiasm.

What the hell's wrong with me?

He felt miles away from the rhythm of the party, tense and drained to the same degree. Uncertain if he could afford having his senses dulled by another shot of Ewok poison. Han grimaced at himself. Like you're the appointed sentinel around here?

For the past hours, he'd kept a surreptitious watch over Luke, anticipating hairline fissures in his self-control. The joy in him was tangible, blending with a calm finality that promised total acceptance. But every victory came at a price, and as the evening progressed, Luke's quiet restraint exhibited all the telltale marks of leashed unrest.

Han cast another glance at the open space outside the chief's hut where wooden boards and trestles had been assembled into makeshift benches. Luke still sat there with Chewbacca, blond hair flashing as he dipped his head in a nod. Another instinctive start took Han by surprise, a slight jitter in the dim region where thought verged on physical sensation.

Can't let it go, huh? Well, that was stating the obvious. He'd come too goddamn close to thinking he might never see Luke again, and his protective impulse sure qualified as a perfectly natural reaction. But getting through that new shell of Jedi composure -- now that was another matter entirely.

Luke had made no attempt to approach him in private since his return. If anything, his attention seemed focused on Leia, warmth and affection fairly vibrating between them. Han pulled up his shoulders in a stiff, uneasy shrug. It was why he'd hung back when he'd noticed Luke standing apart, gazing out into the depth of the forest, why he'd motioned Leia to join her brother and bring him back if she could.

Luke hadn't told them much about his encounter with Vader and Emperor Palpatine; just that Vader -- Anakin, he insisted -- had died turning against his Master.

Well, let someone else get their head round that. Han stowed it away for future inspection, uncomfortably aware that he didn't want to imagine things in graphic detail. Nothing short of a veritable cataclysm could have compelled a change of heart from Vader. And yet, when the first rush of euphoria made room for reflection, Han found his mind worrying at the saw-edged pieces of a puzzle that should have formed a sensible whole and somehow didn't.

Brother and sister. Father and son. Redemption, survival, a new beginning. Weighty concepts that fell short of generating reassurance. Perhaps it was that churning unease, widening the gap between Luke and himself. Han could tell that Leia's loving acquiescence was far better suited to Luke's present needs.

And anyway, what could he possibly offer? A challenge to continue where they'd left off? Questions and demands? A reasonable talk to resolve where they stood with each other? Oh yeah, Han scoffed at himself, like he could claim that as his special field of expertise at the best of times.

Besides, mind-reeling events had accumulated since that one night aboard the Rebel flag ship. Maybe in the meantime Luke had filed it away as a mere interlude, a matter of comfort and release more than anything else.

There was a helluva lot more to it, a different part of Han's mind flared up at once. You know it, and he's gotta recall that much too.

And they'd been friends for years before this. There was no freaking reason why he should wait for Luke to take the first step.

The moment Han started to make his way across, his stomach spasmed, and the onset of another cramp barely left him enough time to steady himself. He leaned against the timber wall of the nearest hut and tried to breathe evenly, letting the ferocious pain run its course through his body. Though less frequent now, the vicious protest of abused organs had lost none of its initial intensity.

Dizzied, Han bit down hard on his lower lip, counting seconds until the pain subsided into chafing nausea. Keeping careful control of his movements, he slowly rounded the hut and paused by the railing of another catwalk. He definitely needed to perk up before he could go and talk to Luke -- if he was in any shape for that at all.

The touch of a light hand on his arm startled him a mere moment later. Leia.

"You're so restless," she observed with a smile that balanced encouragement against concern. "What is it?"

Her hands moved to his waist, initiating an embrace he returned in sheer reflex. But when Leia's arms circled him closely, when he caught the mingled scents of pine and smoke from her loose hair, a sharp pang of grief and loss took him by surprise. For a moment of hideous sentimentality, he wanted nothing but hang on to the sense of achievement and joy that defined Leia's touch.

Well, count on her to notice every minor slippage. Stiffening slightly, Leia bent away from him, the same question still hanging between them.

"Let's walk," Han suggested in a lowered voice. "Get away from the crowds."

A complex webwork of bridges and walkways spanned the dark gaps between the trees, interconnecting clustering hovels and family homes, hunting platforms and shrines devoted to the fanged and feathered divinities of the forest. They negotiated a maze together, side by side, exchanging inconsequential remarks between long stretches of silence.

"Han..." Leia eased back against a curving limb, her body language broadcasting relaxed attention. "What does it take for you to tell me?"

He grimaced, thinking of the many explanations he owed her. "I don't know where to start. I'm still tryin' to catch up here, you know..."

"I know."

From the branches above her head dangled dried nuts and cones assembled on leather strings, clicking together in the brief stirring of a breeze.

"The worst thing about it is," Leia continued, "that nothing will bring it back. The months you've lost. The way it affected us."

"Times it feels like I've been dropped off in the middle of another life." Han mustered up an ironic, distinctly lopsided smile. "Like my own choices've been overrun by some bigger plan, or something."

"Luke said something similar to me, after Bespin..." Leia trailed off, her eyes adrift in the shadowplay of branches and foliage. "Though he calls it destiny."

For some reason, the notion gave Han the chills. Even now. Like it would never be over -- not for Luke -- and I'll be hanged if I can put a name to it... Han kicked at a fragment of desiccated wood.

"Luke--" he started awkwardly and broke off again to make it an outright question. "What do you think? Will he be all right?"

There was no hesitation in her reply. "He's had a lot to come to terms with recently," Leia answered, "and it has made him stronger. I just wish I'd known sooner what was going on in his mind." Her glance returned to Han's face for a silent, intense scrutiny. "Luke told you, didn't he? Before he told me. That Vader is his... our father." She turned sideways, her arms folded and her features suddenly pinched. "It didn't surprise you at all."

Though Leia had averted her face, Han nodded. "Yeah, just the one thing though. He left out the brother 'n sister part."

"When?"

It wasn't what he'd expected at all. Han fought an impulse to clear his throat. "The night before we got here," he muttered.

"I see," Leia said, her voice very dry. "I passed by your quarters that night... I thought maybe you'd returned to the Falcon."

Well, I did, Han thought caustically. Once Luke had shown him the door, he'd sat brooding in the cockpit for hours. "I didn't know," he said lamely.

The truth was out now, tangibly present if unspoken, an amorphous coil of fractured desires, wasted chances and speculation. He had to tell her.

He took a step to her side, one hand lifting impulsively as if to settle on her shoulder.

"I love you," Han said once more, checking the gesture before it could add damage to the rueful note in his voice. The words themselves came easy, simple acknowledgment of the growing attachment between them, bolstered by gratitude. Except that they'd somehow acquired a different meaning behind his back.

Leia cocked her head and met his eyes squarely, one hand toying distractedly with a loosening braid. "Strange," she returned, a strained note of amusement in her voice, "there was a time when I couldn't wait to hear you say that. Now I wish you wouldn't."

Stung, Han bit back a snap retort. This wasn't supposed to go smooth and easy. "Why not?" he asked.

"Because it sounds so much like... sorry."

There could be no simple answer to this. And, gods be damned, Leia deserved better. Most likely, she'd given more to the Rebellion than anyone else; the sense of fulfillment that pervaded this night belonged to her by rights.

Han hooked both thumbs through his belt and fixed a dim spot dead ahead. Staring truth in the face offered some relief, but there was more to it than one night's discovery. Things that had nothing do with Luke at all, demands they'd avoided to make of each other.

"It's not that simple," he gave it a try. "You and me -- Leia, you should know it means an awful lot to me." Hell, had he ever sounded more uncertain and apologetic? "But now... I'm not who you need. Fighting a guerrilla war together is one thing -- setting up a new order is something else. You're going to be among the people who'll draft it up, and I... I don't even have a life right now."

Leia's head turned abruptly, and her question cut succinctly through his muddled reasoning. "Is it just that you need more time to work things out for yourself? Or is it somebody else?"

"Someone else," he answered honestly, his voice thick with regret and anger directed at no one but himself. Of course Leia knew who.

"Then you should go," she said, the steel in her tone slicing through the quiet.

Oh, damn.

"Listen, let me explain--"

"Not now," she cut him short. "I appreciate the thought, but I really don't feel like talking about it right now."

Han swallowed an idiotic reply along with the sentiment. I'm sorry. There really wasn't anything worse to say. Through the trees, he could see the reflections of distant fires, and he stalked off without another glance at her, heading back towards the heart of the celebration.

By the time he reached the center of the village, the number of Ewoks and Rebels still securely on their feet had been decimated by a good half. Most fires had burned down to throbbing mounds of ash and charcoal, and smaller groups huddled around them to talk in murmurs or doze off.

The first familiar face Han spotted was that of Wedge Antilles amidst his squad-mates, slack with overwhelming fatigue. Han swung another tense glance around. No sign of Luke anywhere. Just Lando, strolling towards him with a distinct lurch in his step.

"Where've you been, old scoundrel?" Lando's wide grin threatened to split his face. "And where's your Princess, huh?"

With a half-hearted glare, Han backed away from another shoulder-clap. "She wanted some time by herself."

"Oh really..." Lando wiped at his mouth and blinked.

"Have you seen Luke?" Han asked while his friend still ransacked his brains for some jaded quip or other.

"Not in a while, no... kid might've found himself some company, y'know."

Who're you calling kid here? Han thought absently. "Right." He'd located Chewbacca's shaggy form in a heartbeat. "Go to bed, Lando."

Seated in the fork of massive branches, the Wookiee was surrounded by a flock of drowsy Ewoks. The tribe had made a point of assigning quarters to their newly adopted clansmen, and the directions Chewbacca gave Han were thankfully short and precise. Luke had retired over an hour ago, he added.

"Just wanna check up on him," Han countered a probing glance. "Thanks for watching him for me, pal. I'll see you later."

With the grace of a robot operating on reserve, he walked over to a log cabin on the fringe of the village. Luke should have been dead on his feet hours ago. By ordinary standards, he'd be fast asleep for the next two cycles, but ordinary standards rarely applied to Luke. Han's stomach gave a short twist, but nothing worse followed.

Stop worrying, damn you.

Mobile shadows cast their web across the thatched roof. When Han stopped outside the cabin, he could almost feel their touch on his shoulders. The weight settling there was compounded from disbelief, exhaustion and nervous misgivings, resisting every attempt to shrug it off.

So what're you gonna tell him?

No easy answer leaped to the rescue, and honest to the woodland gods, he wasn't up to solving riddles or debating serious decisions tonight. The reasonable thing to do was give it a rest; tomorrow they could pick through all the debris and the loose ends of the past and make a fresh start.

No, Han thought, I can't, goddamnit, I can't wait another hour, not even another minute.

He'd already reached for the door and gave it a light push with the heel of his hand. The groan of dry wood almost made him flinch. All hells, you've got it bad...

Han couldn't recall trapping himself in such a state of unrelieved tension since he'd made his first Kessel run. Well, no matter, he could simply sit with Luke until he woke up of his own accord or -- or whatever. Recollection flashed through his senses with the feel of Luke's body against him, lighting a faint heat on his skin. Jaw setting hard, Han opened the door and stepped inside.

For some moments, he squinted his eyes into warm, stagnant darkness until the fur-covered shape of a pallet gradually emerged from the gloom. Something was wrong, the silence wrapping around him with the solid density of air inside a compression chamber.

Silence. Untroubled by the slow breaths of sleep or the near inaudible rustles of a body stirring the covers. There was no one in the bed.

For a second or two, Han stood motionless, a cold numbness spreading in his chest.

Luke had disappeared again.

It's the joy around me that I can't endure. It's too much, too soon, too close to the dreams I had about this moment. And it makes me too aware that I can't join in with all of my heart. Not now.

Too much of me lingers in the shadows of the Emperor's throne room, caught between loss and gain, between one future and another.

How could I doubt my own choice? It was what I'd prepared for, though I never realized that throwing a life away would be so much easier than holding on to myself. How that rage warmed me. For a few moments, I could sense it all -- completion, a wild passion running through me, until I was the living conduit for a power I'd never felt before. Every thought an instant command, a sure and deadly motion. I could have changed the revolution of planets and bent a universe to my will. The Force was with me. A cold fire, shielding me from my own fears.

I almost lost myself and regained awareness through nothing but the memory of my loss. Is that all that's left for me now, acceptance of the losses I've endured, and hurting for the chances that will never return?

I should look to the future. To the countless new possibilities we've gained today, all the possibilities I can feel inside me. But what will hold them together -- what, if not the past?

I'm neither here nor there. I'm scattered among the ashfall and the debris in Endor's atmosphere, the countless living threads of the Force. I've never felt it so clearly as I do tonight, and yet it never felt so empty. Nowhere, everywhere, an invisible shelter for the joy that isn't mine. At peace, while I am restless.

Ever so often, I stop to glance over my shoulder, still hoping to see their lucent forms somewhere between the trees. Ben, Yoda. Anakin. But the Force is empty of their presence. They've passed on -- don't they know that I still need guidance? That for all my achievements, this loneliness will barely let me breathe?

I need --

No, I've been given so much, I can't ask for more.

And from now on, I'm the only one.

But that's wrong. The Force is in everything alive, that's what keeps it with me. Vast. Powerful. Without effort or purpose.

It's only a matter of time, until there will be others -- again -- yet the thought holds no comfort. Not now, when the memory of death and battle keeps reeling through my mind and thickens the air around me. I can't stay here. I must move on, my heart beating in the rhythm of my steps, and my body closer than my soul. There's a pull in me keeps drawing me back, that I must resist.

Am I running from myself?

I can see the firelight play across Leia's face. I can feel the pressure of Han's arms around me, tantalizing shades of what might have been. Now they belong to each other, free to build their own future, just as I hoped they would be. I can't retract the promise I made.

That was the bargain. Anything to keep them safe. I have no right to ask for more.

When I look up at the sky, at the dark chasms between the stars, it's like an opening in the fabric of space and time. A state of flux before new connections form and new patterns settle, and the change will become irreversible.

Tomorrow I'll be ready to accept my duties and the consolation of the Force, but this night is wide open. Only this one night...

I'm here, Han.

I'm tired of running, and I shouldn't be thinking this way.

But I'm here.

Strange, how trouble could always round up fresh energy, the thought skidded across Han's mind as he ran through the forest. Running at a mad pace across rutted, barely visible tracks, without a clue where he was headed. But despite the insanity of racing out after Luke like this, it felt liberating. Brambles whipped around his boots, fallen branches threatened to trip him every other second, yet he kept going until each breath seared his lungs.

Oh no, Luke, you're not gonna do this to me again. Fresh anger threaded into his feelings, aiming this way and that. He'd wasted too much time. Luke would have some explaining to do for pulling another vanishing stunt. I'm gonna kill him I'm gonna hold on to him and I'll show him --

A pale gleam on the forest floor brought Han up short. Beyond the trees, it shimmered like a patch of untimely snow, but as he strode closer, his boots kicked up soft ash from a dead fire. A very large fire had burned at the center of the clearing not too long ago, he concluded a moment later. Without a clear reason, Han shifted his shoulders uneasily.

White ashflakes had settled everywhere, coating the branches with a deceptive frost, and when he looked again, Han noticed footprints traversing the open space in a clear line.

He fell into another jog as he followed the fresh trail. Somewhere not too far in the distance, a shadow moved between the trees -- unless he'd finally started hallucinating. Han quickened his pace. Wouldn't it be ironic, the thought crossed his mind, if he broke his neck somewhere in the woods tonight, after he'd survived the battle against the Imperials?

Straight ahead, the trees thinned out and opened onto a smaller grove. Faint starlight gleamed off pale hair.

"Luke!" The shout raced ahead like an aimless arrow and rocked through him with a stormy heartbeat.

Luke had already reached the far side of the grove when Han passed the last phalanx of conifers.

"Luke," he repeated breathlessly. The sharp sting in his side passed again quickly, but something compelled him to pause several paces away from the silent man in black.

As if he hadn't heard him the first time, Luke spun towards the sound of his voice with disturbing suddenness. Too many emotions fled across his face -- anger, grief, despair, joy, each transforming into the other on that burn-out level of intensity.

"Han?"

A single word, underscored by conflicting questions that scattered in another moment and left only the waiting in Luke's eyes.

"Yeah, and where the hell d'you think you're goin'?" Han growled, but his own anger had drained away before he'd finished. "I said I'd be waiting for you. You gonna tell me you forgot that?"

"I hadn't forgotten," Luke returned softly, his tone oddly expressionless.

"Then why are you running?"

"You shouldn't be here."

They'd both spoken almost simultaneously, and Han wondered briefly if this could be Luke's answer to his question. Not likely, he decided, Luke's answers had a tendency to get complex as hell these days.

"Why not?" he asked.

Luke shook his head. "How did you find me?"

"What's it matter? I found you." Han shrugged. "Call it a hunch."

With every passing second, he could feel his mind and body settle and a strange calmness leaven through him. He was here. Now. And something moved back into balance, like a slow shifting of rock layers in the ground.

"I don't want to think--" Luke started and broke off again, his eyes flickering from Han to a spot in the middle distance. "I wanted you to find me," he continued in a tight voice, "and maybe I wanted that too much..."

"Too much?" Han echoed. Irritation and amusement hovered amidst his thoughts for a moment. "You sure gave me the scenic tour through all this miserable greenery. And anyway, why d'you think I came after you in the first place?"

"You don't have to explain," Luke returned guardedly.

Though he looked a little more relaxed, his reactions were still off kilter, and arguing sure wouldn't get them anywhere. Han took a step closer. The score of questions he'd wanted to ask could all wait another day. All that mattered right now was to make Luke see why he'd come, why they needed to be together...

The moment his hand curved around Luke's arm, an abrupt motion broke the gentle contact. Luke jerked away from him as if stung.

"Gods, Han, leave me alone!"

It came out in a tight hiss, almost the voice of a stranger, and Han took a moment to check his impulsive response. A chill gripped the back of his neck, but he refused to pay attention.

"Sure," he said, keeping his voice level. "If you gimme one good reason why."

Luke's shoulders seemed to tremble with the strain of controlling himself, though in the dimness Han couldn't be sure.

"There's... too much in me. I don't know what's going to happen... I don't think I should be around anyone tonight."

"Or what?"

"It's as if I'm... still in some kind of transition. And once that's over--" Luke passed a hand over his face, letting the unfinished sentence hang between them.

"Once you come back down to solid ground, you think you're gonna crash-land, is that it?" Han moved closer again, by no means ready to let Luke bolt. That his control was finally ripping seemed like a much healthier reaction than his earlier restraint... not to mention understandable.

"Something like that," Luke said vaguely, after a stretching pause.

"And you don't think there'd better be someone around to break your fall?"

The pained look of confusion had disappeared from Luke's face when he turned it towards Han again.

"I want you to be safe," he answered with obvious ambiguity. "And maybe... maybe I didn't want you to see me this way either."

Han shook his head, thinking of the crowd back at the village and how the fighter pilots had engulfed Luke in their rowdy congratulations. None of them knows you the way I do, he thought, not even Leia.

"I've seen you in all kinds of different states already," he returned with straightforward emphasis. "That's what this is all about, Luke. You don't have to hide from me."

It was a relief to see Luke's short nod of acceptance and the way some of the desperate tension faded from his pale, set features.

"What about... Leia?" he asked quietly. "She'll miss you. She loves you."

Inwardly, Han winced. He'd kind of hoped that Leia's reactions had been amplified by the recent sequence of losses and emergencies more than serious feelings for him. "We've talked about it," he said shortly. "No point in letting this go any further and make things worse."

"But--" Luke swallowed and drew in another breath. "I thought you belonged together."

Han wondered if he'd heard right and for a moment his mind got stuck between exasperation and protest. Some minutes ago, he might have thought that Luke was making excuses to spare him an outright brushoff. Now he knew better. Something way too fierce had crept into the shaded eyes that studied him with close attention.

"I don't get it," Han said. "Tell me why you're so wedded to the idea that Leia 'n I should be together."

"Maybe because I want to think that something good and solid has come from... from all this," Luke replied slowly.

"Well..." Han spread his heads in front of himself. "How about you 'n me? What's wrong with that?"

"If that's what you want--"

He'd heard more than enough. Caution and consideration could go hang, for all Han cared. Reaching for Luke's shoulders, he pulled him against himself and held him fast.

"Luke, you goddamn idiot -- why d'you think I'm here making such a big-time fool outta myself, huh?" One hand cupping Luke's jaw, he held the gaze from dark blue eyes. "I can't think of anything 'xcept being with you," Han continued in a low growl. "That good enough for you?"

Something like reluctant amusement rippled the surface of Luke's expression, though his eyes seemed to darken further. "Yes. More than enough."

"Yeah? So show me. Convince me."

He should have been ready for it, but in too many ways, he wasn't. When Luke slid a hand around his neck to draw Han's lips down against his own, a faint tremor ran through Han's body, and the instant, claiming pressure of Luke's mouth took all of his breath. He gripped back hard, steadying himself as much as drawing Luke closer in the motion, and a quick gasp passed between their mouths as the first kiss was followed by a second.

For the longest time, Han found himself unable to do anything besides kissing Luke, desperately, deeply, hungrily, locked in a tight embrace that warmed their bodies against each other. The reality, the truth of it slowly seeped through to his bones, invading him with the bright heat of a flawless summer day.

Hell, nothing at all had ever felt so right.

An instant later, Luke pushed away and wrapped both hands around Han's face. "I need you."

The sound of that husky, breathless voice alone could do all kinds of strange things to him. Han felt his heart give a violent kick to the inside of his ribs.

"Goddamnit, yeah -- Luke... I never thought I--"

The next kiss stopped him from derailing fully into passionate incoherence. Han trailed both hands down the slender back, tracing the ridges of tightening muscles along Luke's spine and an unsteady cadence of breath. Lips locked, they clung together and shifted their stance for greater closeness, hands wandering in the wake of a new tension that spread through their bodies.

Beyond the growing pressure in his groin, Han felt something deeper rise and expand, a knot of sentiments unraveling into gladness and galvanic anticipation. Part of him wanted nothing but to go on and make love, right here on the ground, until they were both too spent to think about the past, about the last days and nights -- and it took a major effort to push through the dazzling haze of desire and convert his touch from demanding to soothing and slow.

Luke needed him to stay in control right now, at least a little while longer. And there'd be time for more later.

Time.

The thought formed with the brilliance of something turning nova, finally blazing through every level of awareness. They weren't heading off into the next crazy adventure, the major battles had been fought, and the future had become a serious possibility.

Don't go too fast, Han warned himself, we're together now, and we've got a lot of catching up to do. We'll take it from there.

Easing Luke away from him, he brushed his fingers up into soft hair. "You wanna go back to the village or stay somewhere else? It's all the same to me."

"Let's stay here," Luke said after a moment's hesitation. "If we can find a place to spend the night."

Han released his shoulders to glance around. "Shouldn't be too hard. But we might do better somewhere higher up. It's bound to get pretty cold down here."

After half an hour of climbing and negotiating pathways fashioned for a smaller species, they stopped by a craggy giant of a tree which had been split by lightning at least a generation ago. Where its body had cracked and burned, a hollow remained, half-hidden behind a frazzled curtain of creepers and vines. Moss covered the cavernous inside and most of its floor, glistening dark green through a thin cover of dry needles.

"Three walls, no roof," Han said, pushing knotty vines aside. "Looks good enough to me."

Getting their boots off at close quarters required a careful choreography. While Luke lowered himself on the springy moss at once, Han took his vest off and unbuckled his blaster belt, placing it within easy reach.

Without another word, they stretched out next to each other, casually touching, though neither made a move to increase the closeness. As if a familiar boundary had not been fully overcome and in some ways offered security for the night.

Han felt weariness spread into his mind the moment he lay down, silky cobwebs wrapping around every thought and slowing it to the pace of an inconsequential crawl. But while his eyes had slipped closed as if dragged by gravity, his senses registered Luke's presence with the accuracy of a homing beacon -- the faint brush of body warmth, the soft movement of breath and the way each exhalation stirred the air currents around him. When he finally turned his head, Luke was watching him with an alertness that seemed unnatural for this hour and level of exhaustion.

"You should sleep," Han muttered.

With an indicated shake of the head, Luke propped himself up on an elbow. "I want to look at you."

In the shadowed gloom of this place, that didn't make too much sense, but Han had long passed the stage where he absolutely insisted that things make sense.

"So, what d'you see?" he asked, trying to keep the slur of fatigue out of his voice.

Instead of an answer, a smile touched Luke's mouth, and his glance drifted sideways.

"Hey, Luke..." Han raised a hand to brush the back of his fingers against Luke's cheek, almost awkwardly, a fleeting gesture more than actual touch.

In many ways, reaching out in a rush of desire was much easier than this, and he didn't quite know how to touch Luke anymore.

"Relax," he added in a lowered voice. "You need to, kid, or you're really gonna blow a fuse sooner or later."

Luke lifted one shoulder. "How did you spend the last night?"

Caught out by that abrupt switch of subject, Han stared at him for another moment. The last night had already assumed a prominent place on his list of bad memories. "In another tree," he said dryly. "How about you?"

"I spent most of it inside a detention cell in the bunker," Luke answered without a hint of emotion. "My father had to shuttle down from his ship first. It was strange... the silence of those hours."

"Silence?" Han prompted after a pause.

"They didn't interrogate me." Luke sat up, hands wrapped around his knees. "They just took my lightsaber, escorted me to one of the cells and made me stand in the middle of it. There were six stormtroopers who kept their blasters trained on me all the time while we were waiting."

"At least Vader made sure they wouldn't lay a hand on you," Han said uneasily. He wondered about the thoughts that must have been running through Luke's head, but couldn't make himself ask.

"Yes, he did." Luke shifted, perhaps pulling himself away from the memory with that short motion. "Last night," he added softly. "Seems like another life."

Han could easily subscribe to that. "I know... at least I think I know. But it's gonna come back together in a while."

Actually, that was a grimly defended hope more than solid conviction, one that applied to his own life as well, and the scars left by the carbon freeze. For now, it would have to do.

"I'll take your word for it." Luke turned his head, and distant starlight caught a brief glitter of indomitable confidence in his eyes. He stretched his legs and paused again to sweep a covert glance across Han's body.

"Can I--?" he started with an awkward smile.

"Sure." Han let a long breath go and reached a hand up to Luke's shoulder. "You can get as close as you want. Whatever feels right."

When Luke slid down next to him, Han maneuvered an arm around his shoulders. A faint tingle started up from the bottom of his spine and welcomed the closeness with suggestions to explore and deepen the pleasure of charged physical contact.

"Feels so good," Luke murmured as if in response to his thoughts, head lifting to track the path of his fingers that traveled from Han's open collar to the side of his neck. "Han..."

All his best intentions forgotten, Han shifted to brush their mouths together and trace the curve of Luke's upper lip with his own. Another frisson of pure amazement slid through his veins when he felt Luke's instant response. The movements of their mouths were slow and soft as they savored each other's taste, breath merging in weightless patterns of delight and curiosity. Han ran his fingers through Luke's hair, the scent of him mingling with the tang of the nocturnal forest.

"Do me a favor and try to relax now," he muttered against Luke's lips. Before I lose my head...

It startled him still, the surge that washed through him and filled him with a gentle heat that heightened every sensation. The warmth on his skin where Luke's palm rested loosely on his chest. The light pressure of Luke's body molded against his side. The clean, simple perfection of lying here, together, cradled by the wide open night.

After a while, Luke's breathing settled into a slow, regular pattern. Through a mesh of thin, withered branches, Han looked up at starry points of distant light, blurring into half-shadow. Relax, he issued the same order to himself. We're safe now.

For a long time, he stayed afloat in the diffuse zone between dreams and unfocused perceptions. Most of his body had entered sleeping mode, but his consciousness refused the full dive into oblivion, some obstinate instinct insisting that he must remain alert. A chill prickled his skin, and his mind cleared reluctantly as he tracked its source.

Luke had slipped from his loose hold to lie on his side, his back turned towards Han and his arms wrapped around his torso. Tension had crept into his body to battle with restless sleep. When Han moved closer to spoon himself against Luke's back, every muscle in him seemed to have drawn tight in unconscious defense. Luke moved fretfully, one hand groping for the lightsaber he'd placed at his side, then clutching it to him with the force of instinctive alarm.

Han ran a hand down his arm until he cupped Luke's fist, slowly disengaging stiff fingers from the metal hilt. For a second or two, Luke gripped back with unexpected, frantic strength before an overruling reflex snapped through him. He curled up on himself, a convulsive shiver raking his frame, and a rasping breath escaped through clenched teeth.

Han sat up. He knew better than to startle Luke, but whatever nightmare had stolen into his unguarded mind, it had been going on long enough.

"Luke, come on..." He touched Luke's throat where a thready pulse ran beneath cool skin.

Before he could think of anything else, Luke scrambled up, white-faced, his breathing shallow and erratic, eyes wide with an expression that set Han's teeth on edge. None of this was Luke, not the man he knew, the man who'd learned to counter every fear with greater determination. Dilated pupils reflected a darkness deeper than this night.

"Luke," Han repeated, his mouth suddenly parched. "Wake up, come on, everything's all right."

Empty verbiage that seemed to make no impact at all. Maybe it was the sound of his voice more than the sequence of reassuring murmurs that eventually got through to Luke.

His mouth tightened into a thin, bloodless line, and he squeezed his eyes shut, as if in a desperate effort to hold something inside.

Han reached for his shoulders and felt resistance melt away slowly as he eased Luke into a comforting embrace.

"Better like this?" His mouth brushed tangled blond strands. "It's all over now."

Little more than a dry whisper, Luke's reply took a while to unscramble in his mind. "How can you be so sure?"

Privately, Han damned the trickle of cold that snaked down his back. To hell with irrational misgivings. But stale comfort and half-truths wouldn't help Luke any, so he stashed all the readymade phrases. Instead he asked, "What're you afraid of?"

"It's all inside of me," Luke said. He'd bent his forehead against Han's chest, and although the words came out more distinct this time, his voice hadn't lost its raspy edge. "The Emperor knew."

Gods, but he hated the sound of that. Han fought to keep the sentiment out of his thoughts. "Knew what?"

Though Luke didn't bolt this time, control assembled in his body like a tangible force until he straightened and sat back against the moss-covered inside of the tree.

To Han, he still had the look of a man who'd stared his deepest fears in the face, coerced by some brutal, abstract power.

"What if... this isn't me anymore?" A tightening ran through him, and when Luke continued, he'd adopted a tone of cutting sobriety. "Han, have you considered the possibility that the person I used to be no longer exists?"

Han shook his head, unable to check his reactions this time. "No, I haven't," he said bluntly. "All I gotta do is look at you--"

"It's been six months," Luke interrupted him. "Think of all those changes." He shrugged vaguely. "We've barely spent two days together since then."

His chin lifted, and the movement seemed to transform his expression, a subtle shift suggesting isolation, jarring knowledge and intense pride. And maybe for the first time, Han caught a glimpse of the raw power that churned in him, shaping the man who wielded it to its purpose.

Luke could be many things now, he realized, clamping down on the quick disturbance that stirred in his gut. Much more than anyone had ever guessed.

"You don't change personalities like dirty shirts," Han said, aiming for a casual tone. "I don't see any reason why the things you've learned about yourself should make you a completely different person."

"Not necessarily," Luke answered, but the weight of troubling questions and fresh memories seemed to linger between the words. "I've learned so much, and at times it felt like it's tearing me apart... So much that I've left behind..." He interlaced his fingers and studied them as if to reinforce his composure. "I felt so sure of myself only yesterday, and yet they could make me look at myself and face things I never knew... or didn't want to know."

Through a morass of fatigue and concern, Han considered his answer. "You say the Emperor knew..." he started, though it felt like a blind stab in the dark. "What about the things he didn't know -- the things he couldn't know about you?"

He'd heard only rumors about that shrunken old man, but he'd collected some first-hand experience of Vader's ruthless power, and Vader definitely knew how to push people's buttons. Palpatine had to be more than a match for his Dark Lord...

Has been, is no more, Han reminded himself angrily. His question had gone unanswered, and doubt still set Luke's face in hard, unyielding lines. Like he couldn't dare to give in to a single emotion. Hot fury gripped Han at the thought. Hell, what did the bastard do to you?

"I can't tell you," Luke said tightly, and for a split second Han might have sworn that his thoughts had been scanned like an unprotected database. Uneasiness wound up tighter in the pit of his stomach.

Don't fall for it, he warned himself. That's what Vader's been doing... what Palpatine must've wanted. Make Luke feel like's he's isolated from the rest of humanity.

"You don't have to talk about it," Han said hoarsely. "There'll be another time."

So Luke had changed, big deal, that was the way of things, an essential part of being alive. And he'd witnessed some major transitions already. Memories glittered through Han's mind like diamond splinters within a kaleidoscope, each adding a different perspective.

Luke's dazzling smiles still brought back the tousle-haired boy from Tatooine, literally burning with reckless curiosity. Learning, struggling with the setbacks that threatened his dreams, changing all the time.

The sober look of determination belonged to the Rebel Commander, together with frequent flashes of wry humor that kept Luke balanced in the middle of emergencies and near-disasters.

And from raw potential emerged the quiet grace of an elegant fighter who'd whirled and danced through the ranks of Jabba's retinue on Tatooine.

All of this, and a whole lot more. Facets of this man that he'd not seen yet and would discover in time.

"Maybe I should just remind you," Han said without giving it another thought.

"Of what?"

"Everything. Who you've been... who you are." And what you are to me.

"And maybe some of the things you never had a chance to try," he added.

Luke's expression softened as if another part of him had just found its way through a mire of dreams and memories. Tired, questioning, and full of longing. "I think I'll need that."

"Then why don't you get back over here?" Han suggested in a lighter tone, though he kept himself from reaching out. No point in pushing too hard, he'd just wait as long as it took.

At the first move Luke made towards him, Han's breath went out in a rush like he'd been holding it for the past half hour. He didn't bother to hide his relief when Luke's arms went around him and held on tight, as if he could no longer tolerate the slightest distance between them.

"I'm sorry," Luke murmured somewhere close by his ear.

"Don't be." Han glided both palms up the tense back, gently rubbing at knotted muscles. "Just get it through your head that I'm here. You don't have to deal with it all on your own."

Luke shuddered against him, and for a disconcerted moment Han wondered if he'd said something wrong.

"I didn't think I... deserved this." Luke drew in a sharp breath. "There was a time when I could hardly feel anything -- besides the need to do what had to be done. And now... it's like I've been given a new life, and I shouldn't be asking for more."

Han moved one hand to the collar of his tunic until his fingers caressed skin, lightly probing under the fabric.

"You don't have to ask, you know," he said when Luke met his gaze.

A smile rose into Luke's eyes, and Han felt his own mouth curl in response, but the shaky start of a grin got no chance to develop any further. Luke's mouth covered his own within a heartbeat.

Relief flooded Han like breakers crashing into some undefended shore, and he opened to the gentle pressure, teasing the tip of his tongue across the full lower lip. A quick intake of breath crushed Luke's ribcage against his own.

Without breaking the kiss, Han let himself sag against cushions of ragged moss and pulled Luke along with him, caressing the quick pulse that jumped where his thumb rested under Luke's jaw. The warmth and the pleasure of holding Luke close seemed to gather over his heart, loosening all the coils that trapped him in angry circles of doubt and resistance.

Going back to sleep was impossible now, they were both too strung out, and the tension of the past minutes spilled over into lightheaded thrills. Every sensation took its full course through Han's body, sequential waves of pleasure building and running higher. He held Luke's face between his hands and played with his tongue, drawing him out until Luke gasped into his mouth, and his right hand firmed over Han's hip, coaxing him closer. Shared breaths shortened as they began to move against each other.

"I want you, want you, want you so much," Luke whispered against his mouth, fingers slipping under Han's shirt. "I need to feel you..."

From the sound of his voice, the tantalizing blend of cool night air and body warmth, desire grew into a charged field that seemed to spread all around them. Boundless, expanding in infinite ripples of energy. Under the slow glide of Luke's hand, Han felt all the muscles in his belly draw tight, sparks dancing feverishly in the pit of his stomach like a swarm of firemoths on a midsummer night. Without quite noticing, he'd gone rock hard in mere seconds, and when his groin rubbed against Luke's belly, a wave of heat seared through him.

He could think nothing but to release himself into this, into fumbling caresses and wild, joyful kissing like they'd never done any of this before. Like they could invent everything anew, a celebration of survival and untried possibilities.

They were wrapped around each other, hands roaming wherever they could reach, joined in the complicity of flesh and nerve that built into random, possessive curiosity. Reeled out of coherent thought, Han tugged at the fasteners of Luke's tunic without making much progress, but the hands that answered his touch used an idiom he understood perfectly -- and, gods, nothing mattered now, only the fitful sounds of mingled breathing, the fine rasp of fabric between their tangling legs and the dampness gathering in the curling strands behind Luke's ear. The feel of all that energy urging in shivers to the surface of Luke's skin.

Han slid a hand down his side, tracking from the ridge of a hipbone to the firm curve of flesh, opening Luke's thighs with his own to increase the pressure. Hips pushing back into him, Luke broke away only to say his name, the warm brush of lips and breath preceding sound, one hand firming around Han's neck as he moved his tongue into Han's mouth and took the last of his breath.

In the darkness behind closed lids, a shadow of the last night lingered, of waiting and clutching at memories, of wanting, sharpened by the keen edge of loss. It became part of every touch as Han's fingers delved inside the black tunic and traced the outline of a firming nipple, rubbing it to hardness while Luke shivered under his touch. A low, gravelly sound vibrated in Han's throat, raw pleasure echoing back through him until it fired in his groin and his heart and every nerve sang with desire. He gathered a handful of rumpled cloth and pulled the tunic over Luke's head, hands obsessing on warm skin, shaping each line and ridge from the dark, then tracing the clear, hard jut at Luke's groin that stretched and tightened further under his lightest caress.

It had never been like this, or else he just couldn't remember this live heat flooding him with each gasp of breath blown against the side of his neck. Luke's hand drifted up the back of his thigh and slid between his legs, jolting him with a shock of pure, electrified need. He leaned down, nipping, sucking soft skin at the bottom of Luke's throat while his fingers found and unsnapped the clasp of his pants. Luke arched his back when Han pushed a final layer of fabric out of the way and ran teasing fingertips up the length of his erection.

"Luke..." He looked up into hazy blue eyes and stilled completely as he watched pleasure loosen and tighten Luke's features with every move of his hand. "You're amazing," he murmured, not thinking about it, "so goddamn beautiful..."

Luke's answer was a wordless, broken sound, and Han slid two fingers over the parted lips, arousal tightening into a hard knot in his belly as he kept stroking and teasing for the pleasure of hearing those soft gasps and moans. Every atom of his awareness seemed focused on Luke's reactions, the feel of his skin, the contours of his face, tenuous in the faint, silver-grey light. A static tension built inside him, radiating outward, blending oddly with the tranquility that filled his senses like clear water.

He could lose himself to this, easily.

A hot wave of urgency careened through him when Luke's fingers began working at his belt, snapped the buckle open and closed around his cock. Between one thunderous heartbeat and the next, Han stifled a groan at the tight ache that pulsed in his groin.

They were lying side by side, mouths brushing together with each ragged breath, absorbed into a dreamy rhythm that reflected back and forth in building power curves. Slow rocking motions and long strokes interlacing in changing patterns, weaving a trance that wound into Han's senses with threads of fire and air. He hadn't realized how close they'd both come when Luke stiffened and reached for his wrist to stop him.

"Han, wait -- come here..."

He flung his arm around Han's waist, dragging their bodies together into a tighter hold. Han moved over him, his unbuttoned shirt hanging loose, grazing Luke's ribs as he bent down and kissed a moan off Luke's mouth, a soft vibration against his teeth.

"Yes," Luke rasped, his head tossing back when Han ground their hips together.

He surrendered to the rhythm, delicious heat spiraling his mind into zero gravity. Each motion exacted stings of sweat on his skin, and his fingers tangled roughly in the dark blond hair as Luke writhed up against him. Trapped in a close circuit of fevered friction, urged on by throaty moans and the commands of Luke's hands on his hips, Han heard his own voice over a distance, repeating Luke's name like a promise. They were thrusting together in perfect synchronism, a stumbling wild race that spilled over in heaves.

Han's breath caught hard at the consuming thrills that seized him. With a violent shudder, he buried Luke beneath himself and felt responding tremors slide through the chills that swept over his skin -- echoes of a volatile communion in the gap that opened between body and mind, between completion and need. Something sweet and fragile that would be lost again when he opened his eyes and returned to a reality of broken circles and unanswered questions.

Slow aftershocks crawled through his body, and his head was swimming with the dazzling resonance of too intense sensations. They were plastered together, enveloped in a counterpoint cadence of rough breathing, in thrums of abating pleasure and pulse like an invisible shield around them.

With closed eyes, Han turned his face towards the hand that caressed his jaw and temple. He'd never felt like this after making love, not even as a teenager when he was still fumbling through erratic desires and trying to figure out what went where. Like he'd been picked up and swept to an edge of discovery, to fly or fall.

He didn't want to move. He felt the vibrations of Luke's heartbeat against his chest and wanted to hold this strange spell inside his body, savor and taste and breathe it like a piece of perfect music made up from half-familiar tunes and a new, powerful rhythm.

"Han?"

Pulling himself together, he opened his eyes and shifted his weight off Luke at the same time.

"It's okay," Luke murmured and slid a hand around Han's neck. "Stay..."

Han inhaled shakily. "I'm not going anywhere."

He leaned over to trail breathy kisses across Luke's neck and chin and ear, lingering over the most sensitive spots until a chill draft raised goosebumps on his skin.

"We're a mess," he muttered ruefully, raking a glance across Luke's sprawled form. "Matter of fact, it suits you... Anyone ever tell you that you're gorgeous when you're all messed up and sweaty and ruffled like this?"

"No." Luke gave a soft laugh. "And you're crazy."

Han dropped a kiss where his teeth had left a slim red mark on Luke's throat. "Sure took you a while to find that out... Jedi."

He pulled his vest to him, groping for the clean rag he always carried in one of its pockets. The night wasn't warm enough to sleep half-naked, and when they'd cleaned up summarily, they rearranged their clothing with some reluctance.

Next time, Han thought as they settled back down, contentment humming in his body, I'll make sure we'll get into a proper bed, someplace nice 'n cozy and far away from everything so we won't have to get up for days...

Where Luke's face rested against his upper chest, he felt warm breaths coast through the fabric of his shirt. Restful, gradually lenthening. But without another glance at him, Han could tell that Luke's overactive mind still resisted the tug of sleep. He reached across for Luke's right hand and placed it firmly over his chest, holding it there, entwining their fingers.

"When did this start?" he asked without a clear idea where that question suddenly came from. "I mean -- you know, how did things change--"

"I was on Dagobah..." Luke's fingers tightened their grip reflexively. "Remember what I told you the other night? That I... could feel what was happening to you on Bespin?"

"Every word of it," Han returned, too focused on sensation and the sound of Luke's voice to spare any thought for metaphysical entanglements.

"That's when," Luke continued. "I felt that I couldn't go on living without you. I just didn't know how to."

There was no trace of the hurt in his tone, but Han felt a brief, irrational pang nonetheless. He closed his eyes, calling up the dim features of the holding cell in Cloud City. The hard clicks of Lando's boots on the floor, the harsh lighting that slatted through the grid above and showed the stress lines around Lando's mouth and eyes.

"I know," he said more to himself. "It was... when Lando came in to tell us that Vader's setting a trap for you, and everything just fell into place... It was driving me crazy. The way they were using me. The things that would happen to you." He turned his head to look at Luke, stroking his thumb up along the tight jaw. "I would've done anything to stop it."

"Nothing could have stopped it," Luke said quietly.

Their eyes met and held, acknowledging parallel insights like simultaneous flashes of lightning on the far sides of the galaxy. And maybe that was just another definition of destiny.

"You think it's what got us here..." Han started. "By the long route."

"It did."

The shadows on Luke's face dissolved into a slow, thoughtless smile. Han traced the outline of his mouth with a fingertip, drawn by something that felt like an inner compass, and it had been pointing towards Luke for a while, no matter how long he chose to ignore it.

Things had been meant to turn out this way, because of the choices they'd made and the wanton magic of chaos and coincidence. For a moment, it all seemed perfectly logical, but then, fatigue-addled brains could spin all kinds of wild theories during those interminable hours before dawn. He'd probably shake his head at himself in the morning.

He stole another glance at Luke and cradled the blond head against his shoulder, thinking, Maybe... and maybe not...

...just before sleep rose to claim him.

Something was tearing him into opposite directions with brutal, inhuman force. A splitting pain concentrated in his middle and from there burned outward, as if every cell in his body had caught fire. He was going under, about to drown in that scalding flood, gasping to drag enough air into his lungs.

A moment later, Han's brain sputtered into some semblance of life and suggested that he'd come awake in the middle of another cramp. A bad one.

Giddy with the excruciating level of agony that twisted through his insides, he fought to keep breathing while filthy curses flashed across his mind -- goddamnit, it just wasn't fair...

"Han... what is it, what's wrong with you?" he heard Luke's sleepy voice at his back. A hand closed around his shoulder.

"Just... a cramp," he managed as the worst pain let up and the rest dwindled to intermittent throbs pounding in his gut.

"A cramp?" Luke had raised himself and leaned across, stroking a hand down his arm. "You're shaking."

"I'll be... okay in a moment." Han made himself relax, one muscle at a time. "A souvenir from the carbon freeze," he added raspily, suddenly uncomfortable with the notion of an outright lie. "The doctors warned me this could happen for a while afterwards."

"And you're sure that's all?"

"Just takes some time..." Han took a deep breath and another, then turned over to look into concerned blue eyes. A slim band of copper outlined the cracks and jags in the burst wood above, the sky having brightened to a brimming shade of aqua. "You could kiss me good morning," he suggested, putting a real effort into a playful tone, "see how fast I'll get better..."

A reluctant smile tugged Luke's mouth, contradicting his troubled glance.

"Just give it a try." Han lowered his voice to an inviting murmur. "Now c'mere..."

His hand still trembled when he let it drift across Luke's hair and neck, but the gentle caresses of Luke's lips, moving from his brow to his cheekbones and finally his mouth, proved their distracting power within moments. Different sensations spread their diffuse glow inside him, and Han surrendered gratefully to their reviving warmth. So he'd just had some nasty moments, but the intervals between these fits were definitely lengthening, which had to mean his condition was improving.

"I could use a shower," he said when Luke drew away to study him critically.

"You should pay a visit to sickbay," Luke returned.

Han recognized the note of obstinacy in that calm voice and thought better of his immediate impulse to object. "Yeah, well, I guess I'll do that later, whenever there's time." He made a point of stretching languidly. "But first I need to wash. And breakfast wouldn't be bad either."

Though Han would have preferred a good, long shower aboard the Falcon that he might have shared with Luke, a brief dive into one of the clear forest streams wasn't all that bad as a substitute. Chill water tightened his skin with pleasant prickles and cleared his head, reducing those gut-wrenching spasms to abstract memory. He watched incursions of early sunlight make watery patterns on his skin and felt at home in his body again. Close enough to reborn, in fact.

Luke climbed back onto the overgrown bank after a few minutes and shivered visibly as he shook the water out of his hair. Wetness darkened it to a tan shade of bronze, just like the curls at his groin, where droplets glittered enticingly. Han watched with some regret as Luke pulled up his pants.

"Too cold for ya, farmboy?" he teased.

"You'll end up all shriveled and frozen if you stay in there much longer," Luke pointed out, tossing a smile over his shoulder while he bent to grab up his tunic.

"Yeah, and wouldn't that be a shame," Han muttered to himself.

He got his feet under him and splashed towards the bank, a wide grin spreading on his face when he caught Luke's glance traveling down the length of his body, then sweeping hurriedly aside, only to return to him in another moment. A small puddle formed at Han's feet as he stepped onto dry ground.

"We'd better head back to the village before somebody starts worrying," Luke said reasonably.

"In a minute..." Han touched his shoulder, fingers gliding through sparkles of wetness on Luke's skin. "You need to warm up first."

"Running a mile could fix that..."

Before Han could counter that suggestion, Luke shone him one of those brilliant smiles and cool lips were crushed against his own. Luke's arms slipped around his waist. Wetness melted into bare skin while they stood locked together, kissing as if they had half a lifetime to make up for.

Mind floating on the pleasurable sensations, Han's time sense began to evaporate. His hands had drifted down to the slender hips when Luke stiffened abruptly and in another second twisted away from him.

"What?"

"Something's wrong..." Luke murmured, initial alarm consumed into absolute stillness as he focused on some invisible danger. "Get dressed, Han. Fast."

They were running at full speed while the light strengthened and painted copper streaks across the forest floor. Instead of giving in to the worst-case scenarios that threatened to swamp his mind, Han concentrated on avoiding snarls of thorny undergrowth and the frequent barricades of rotting wood. Luke seemed to be racing along on auto-pilot, his speed not slackening for a moment whenever another obstacle forced a detour. Like he had the whole forest mapped out in his head. Han didn't need to ask where they were going either.

He'd tried to contact their group at once, pointless as that was. At such a distance from the village, nothing but scratchy static burst from his comlink, yet they should enter transmission range within the next few minutes. Unless something jammed all frequencies.

Don't get paranoid, Han told himself, there's no one left around here who's got jamming equipment, except our own people.

All the same, his instincts discounted the faint possibility of some natural disaster and strongly suggested another dirty trick from an Imperial contingent instead.

Damn bastards, don't you know your blasted war's over? Fury and alarm swept Han's mind in alternating waves, until practical reasoning kicked in and cut both down to size. At the worst, they were up against vindictive stragglers. Fighter pilots might have made use of their ejector seats when they recognized defeat, though it seemed more likely that some scout troopers and members of the Imperial ground crew had managed to escape into the wilder parts of the forests.

Han rounded another mammoth tree, drew in a lungful of air, and swallowed thickly at the acrid rasp in his throat. Smoke.

The bitter, cloying scent was unmistakable, implicating fires that fed on living substance rather than dry fuel. Some steps ahead of him, Luke slowed his pace.

"The village has come under attack," he said when Han caught up, absolute concentration setting his features in stone.

Han didn't waste any breath on the colorful expletives that leaped to the tip of his tongue. "Yeah, that's what I'd figured. What now?"

"I'm trying to get a clearer impression of what's going on," Luke answered in that same abstracted tone.

They'd both fallen into a light trot, adjusting pace and movement to the requirements of stealth rather than speed.

"Right. And I'll try raising someone at the camp." Han thumbed his comlink. This time, blurry noises filtered through the blistering interference.

"Anybody hear me?" he repeated, his mouth close to the small pickup.

Some hundred yards ahead and left, a pale mist hung between the trees and slowly crept through the ferns. They couldn't be far from the fires now...

"Solo?"

Tinny distortions turned his name into explosive vowels, and it took Han a moment to identify the voice of Wedge Antilles, nearly drowned out by crashing, splintering sounds. "...burning," the voice rasped, "...are you?"

"We're on our way," Han said tersely while his mind went into overdrive. "Got in touch with the fleet?"

If they'd failed to broadcast a distress signal, Luke and he would have to make their way around to the parked Rebel crafts and use one of the longrange com units.

"...launching a battle group," Wedge answered. "If they make it in time. We can't get out. They're blocking our only escape route."

Damn.

"We'll clear it for ya, pal," Han promised, but as they jogged on, the situation unfolded in grisly detail before his mind's eye.

The whole village burning up like tinder, wrapped in suffocating smoke... Ewok fugitives could climb higher into the trees and escape across branches that wouldn't carry larger beings, but everyone else would be trapped between the frying pan and the fire --

Luke's hand on his arm interrupted those thoughts, and Han skidded to a halt. Sprawled on his back amidst the ferns was a Rebel soldier, his torso blackened by a lethal blast that must have been fired at close range.

All hells, to die like this, the morning after their victory... Fury tightened Han's throat as he cursed his own lapse from ingrained caution. They'd organized an emergency watch last night, out of habit more than anything else. Not good enough. They'd let a delusive sense of triumph get to their heads, and one man had already paid for it with his life. Most likely wasn't the only one either.

Smoke wafted through the underbrush as they proceeded towards the village in a crouching run. Even before the first lick of flame showed through drifting fumes, Han could hear an ominous crackle that filled the air like live energy. It made his skin crawl.

Luke stopped again a short while later. "They've laid a circle of fire around the village and left just one opening."

"Figures." Han squinted into vaporous twilight. "So that's where the main part of the mob's gonna be waiting, too." Another question leaped to the front of his mind, and he paused only to acknowledge that he'd come to rely on Luke's Force-enhanced perceptions like they were the most natural thing. "How many of them, can you tell?"

"Twenty, twenty-five..."

Han bent his mouth into a toothy grin. "Nice to know the odds are against us..."

"We've got the element of surprise." With a tight-lipped smile, Luke tilted his head. "And we'll have some help..."

Following his glance, Han spotted movement higher up in the trees, blurred by foliage and smoke, vague shadows he might have taken for specimens of the local fauna only two days ago. Except that wild creatures would be running from a forest fire, not towards it.

"Yeah, short help," he muttered. So at least some members of the Ewok tribe had survived and were gearing up to fight back. Han activated the comlink again. "Wedge, can you hold it together for a couple more minutes?"

"Affirmative." The voice that answered him came from an inferno of savage background noise.

"Listen," Han continued, "we'll create a diversion down here. Keep everyone close and get outta there on my mark, got that?"

"Every word, General."

"Good. Won't be long."

Much as he wanted to ask about Leia and Chewie, there wasn't any time. Han clipped the comlink back to his belt, commanding himself to take comfort from Luke's steely expression. If anything had happened to Leia, he would know.

"This way." Luke gestured toward a thicket of tall ferns and shrubs.

As they crept along, chilling sounds wove denser patterns around them. Dry wood groaned and cracked in the terrible heat overhead. Succulent parasites hissed as their fleshy leaves went up in steam. Only a repeating blaster canon could have set the living trees aflame that fast. Through curling wisps of smoke, Han traced the outline of something that looked like a platform's charred remains, caught in the lower limbs of a burning tree. All around it, small flames stitched random patterns into the lowering gloom, a parody of the dawnlight that barely pierced the murk with its slender arrows.

"There," Han mouthed, crouching behind a screen of clustering ferns. A sickening, sweet stench crept into his nostrils, and his stomach clenched reflexively.

Amidst the vapors that hung over the clearing, the pale forms of Imperial scouts moved like wraiths, raised blaster rifles converging on a dangling rope ladder. Whoever tried to escape the escalating hell up there would fall right into their enemies' line of fire. Han's hand went to his blaster and snapped off the security strap.

Luke turned to lock eyes with him. "Now."

The signal flashed through Han's body with white-hot needles of adrenaline, and they broke from their cover in one motion. Trained reflex took over as Han pushed down the trigger in mid-lunge, the angry whistle of his first blaster discharge echoing the shout that tore from Luke's throat. The pale emerald blade ignited and sang with pure energy, a faint halo offsetting its cold brilliance.

Two scout troopers went down before the group scattered to counter the surprise attack. Han took in their lineup in one glance. The pair of olive-clad officers who flanked the canon tripod on the other side of the clearing, the group of armored scouts who hung back by the ladder -- four of them, gun barrels swinging nervously back and forth between different targets -- and the two pilots in black flightsuits, closest to them, who came charging from the left. Han dropped down on one knee and took aim while Luke whipped into their line of fire. A deflected bolt caught one man in the chest, and the other stumbled a moment later, clutching at a blaster burn in his midsection.

Han jumped back to his feet and wheeled to knock the gun from another man's fist with a shot from the hip, peripherally aware of smoke chafing in his lungs. For the first time since he'd come out of hibernation, full coordination returned to him. Instinct took over with the practiced interplay between neural impulse and muscle that predicted every move and timed his shots to the ferocious dance of Luke's blade. As they wove back and forth between disorganized counter-attacks, Han could feel the connection grow between them, shared purpose hovering in fractional contact, extending into thoughtless symmetry.

While Luke pivoted into the blasts that came pelting towards them, Han picked his targets one after the next. As he edged forward, a flash of red cloth caught his eye. Smoke and brambles had hidden the group that huddled by the foot of a mammoth tree. The Imperials had already taken prisoners.

Between two Rebel pilots, Lando squatted on the ground, one eye nearly swollen shut, the other glaring white from the soot-blackened half of his face. Han's next shot was aimed at the soldier who stood guard over the captives. Right at that instant, the sky started raining stones.

So their furry friends had followed closely and determined the best moment for another diversion. Confused shouts went up everywhere, and Han threw a grin in Luke's direction as they sprinted across open space, drawing fire that spattered off the trees and the saber's incandescent blade. From the corner of his eye, Han caught a dark blur of motion and flung himself sideways. Dive, roll and fire. He grabbed up an Imperial blaster and tossed it at Lando who'd scrambled to his feet.

As if something had warned him, Han spun back to stare down the muzzle of the swiveling canon. Calculating time and distance in a split second, he launched himself at the gunner in a flying tackle, and they went down together, rolling on trampled ground until the butt of Han's blaster connected sharply with the other man's jaw.

When he twisted around, Luke had reached the tripod. The brilliant blade swerved to lateral, slashed through the conduit connector below the barrel, and arced upward in time to catch another crimson plasma bolt. Luke's face had been a mask of grim purpose all along, but for a moment, the fierce pride he took in his skills shone through and lit his eyes as he jumped back. It was almost over.

While the remaining pair of scouts took off in a panicked run, Lando and his companions had rounded up three officers who lowered their guns, the bloodless look of defeat gaining on their faces. Han snapped on the comlink to bark an all-clear message. A second's silence sent alarm spearing through his gut, then Wedge acknowledged the signal.

Swallowing smoke, Han fought for breath to repeat the message with greater urgency. The air throbbed around him, and as he glanced up into the tree tops, his heart missed another beat. A canopy of raging fire domed the forest. Soot and ash swirled on the updraft as falling branches crashed into the lower limbs.

Han got to his feet just as a distant rumble permeated the din and built quickly into an angry drone. A scant half minute later, Alliance fighters were laying a carpet of sizzling foam across the devastation. Jogging towards the rope ladder, Han identified a troop carrier, engines stuttering in reverse as the craft lowered through the trees. There had to be more Imperials scattered in the woods, but the ground troops could take care of them.

The upper part of the ladder was wreathed thickly in smoke. Before Han could get his breath back, a heart-warming roar ripped the tapestry of chaotic noise.

"Chewie!" he shouted. "Get down here!" The last word came apart with the onset of a racking cough as more smoke entered his lungs.

"High time we got clear," Luke said at his elbow, his voice rasping, ashes sprinkled across his hair and shoulders. He doused the lightsaber. Concern swept over his features as he glanced upward. "Leia..."

Han stepped aside automatically when their friends came clambering down the ladder.

Leia clutched at the ropes with a soot-smeared hand. One sleeve of her shirt had been ripped off to serve as a makeshift sling for her left arm, and she'd wrapped another frayed rag around her hair. While Chewbacca lowered himself down a twisted braid of vines, Luke caught hold of his sister and set her down firmly.

"Let go of me... I'm all right." The words came out in a hoarse whisper as Leia pulled the cloth away from her mouth.

"No, you're not." Luke slid a supportive arm around her waist. "What happened?"

"She almost got caught beneath falling logs," Wedge answered, the words cracking on a cough. He jumped down from a height of six feet, uninjured, though his flightsuit was virtually hanging in shreds.

"It's okay," Leia dismissed every show of concern with an angry toss of the head. "It's just... some bruises and a sprained wrist."

Chewbacca rumbled a dubious comment. Though his eyes watered from the biting fumes, Han gave his Wookiee partner a brief scrutiny. Except for too many patches of singed fur mottling his pelt, Chewie looked his old, indestructible self.

"Let's get away from here all the same," Luke urged. While more Rebels climbed down, he motioned his sister away from the clearing.

"Yeah, before the rest of the village comes crashing down around us," Han agreed grimly.

"And where have you been?" Leia paused again after two shaky steps, her voice gone mortally quiet. "Do you know how many died this morning? Damn you, we needed you here!" Beneath streaks of ash and dirt, her face had turned a pasty white.

Han drew a slow breath into his lungs and repressed another cough. As the final rush of adrenaline drained from his body, stress and exertion began claiming their dues, and a dull ache settled between his shoulderblades.

Luke's troubled expression acknowledged the reproach. "Leia, we came as fast as we could," he said quietly.

If they'd spent the night in the village, Han thought, things might easily have turned out worse. All the same, angry regrets wormed through his reasoning.

"The Chief's hut was the first that went up in fire," Leia whispered. "I could... hear them inside." Her jaw clenched, a muscle trembling with controlled pain. "Some of us got away before all the walkways burned... maybe they're still up there somewhere."

"We'll organize search parties," Luke assured her. "Leia, please--"

For a moment, dark eyes flashed furious protest, then a shiver ran through Leia's body, and she sagged forward without a sound. Luke caught her, and in another second Chewbacca was by his side. With a soft growl, he scooped the slight form up in his arms, settling Leia's head against his furry chest. She'd never looked so fragile before, a veil of loose strands covering half her face.

"They must've sent a medical team," Han answered the Wookiee's quizzical rumble. "Look after her, will you, Chewie? I want her on the first transport going out."

A quick sidelong glance showed him that Luke had lowered his head. Putting all questions on hold, Han touched his shoulder. "Let's get to work."

Several hours later, Han emerged from the shelter where Alliance medics were still tending minor burns and lacerations. They'd lost only one man to the fires, but four members of the strike team had been ambushed and killed on patrol.

Han rolled down his sleeve as he straightened. For the past hour, he'd felt like burning wires were slowly lacing through every muscle and coiling around his spine. When he'd grudgingly delivered himself into the medics' hands, they'd fixed the problem with a stim shot and routine advice, no questions asked. He could already feel unnatural warmth start pumping through his veins and dissipate the various aches that gnawed at his insides.

Some paces away from the shelter, Lando watched another shuttle lift off. Bacta strips cooled the swelling around his left eye, but didn't quite cover the stubbles of a burned eyebrow.

"You okay?" Han walked over, his glance swerving from Lando to the spot where Luke conferred with the ground troops. "You look like you've had it rough."

"Could've been worse." Lando shrugged. "The guys who fell asleep in their flightsuits were the lucky ones, but some of the others got themselves badly burned." He rubbed an index finger over his moustache. "How's Leia?"

"She's in sickbay, aboard Ackbar's cruiser. Just checked with the doctors, and they say she'll be fine."

"Listen, old buddy..." Lando turned slowly to focus his right eye on Han. "I don't want you to think I'm prying, but I thought... I mean, you weren't--"

"Not now, Lando, okay?" Han muttered.

As the shuttle climbed above the tree tops, he could hear those murmured chants again, filtering through the foliage from somewhere high up. Sheltered in the branches of an ancient, sacred tree, the Ewoks mourned their dead. Han craned his neck and noticed that a yellow shade of afternoon tinged the scrap of pale sky.

"Ready to pack it in?" Lando asked suddenly.

When Han looked again, Luke was approaching in quick strides. Still full of energy, his expression alert and unrevealing.

"Almost ready," he said. "Everyone who spent the last night here has been accounted for, but there's been some fighting around our ships. Wedge tells me that General Madine's group caught five more scouts when they tried to hijack our X-wings. They should arrive shortly."

"They're here." Lando gestured to the right where a group of uniformed men made their way through ferny thickets,  led by General Madine.

"Skywalker." Raising a gloved hand, Madine quickened his pace. Fatigue deepened the lines of displeasure around his mouth. "I've just received a comcall from Mon Mothma, and she'd like to see you as soon as possible.  There's a free seat aboard my craft, if you want to come along right away."

Luke shook his head. "Thank you, but I'll take the last shuttle. I still have work to do around here, and I'd like to talk to the Ewoks before I leave."

Madine's eyes narrowed as he sized him up. "I doubt that's more important than--" He broke off with a stiff shrug. "Forgive me, but I'm not used to the presence of Jedi knights who come and go as they please."

Disdain bled through his cool tones, and Han bristled inwardly.  Who did the man think he was, the mastermind behind yesterday's victory?

"I wouldn't have claimed that title for myself until last night," Luke answered calmly. "Please tell Mon Mothma that I'll meet her in under an hour."

For a moment Han thought that Madine would fire off another peeved retort, but the general limited his response to a crisp nod and turned on his heel.

Mon Mothma's quarters aboard the Mon Calamari cruiser were only slightly larger than the average crew cabin. When the door slid aside and Luke stepped through, Han saw that the Alliance leader was seated on a plastiformed chair by the desk console, white robes rippling in elegant folds as she made herself comfortable. No matter her surroundings, the woman always retained a regal air.

Han muttered a greeting as he followed Luke inside. Technically, he hadn't been invited to this meeting, but he hadn't been excluded from it either, and Luke had seemed rather glad for his company.

Across from Mothma, Leia sat on the spartan, military version of a settee, once again dressed in grey slacks and shirt, her hair bound tightly at the nape of her neck. Only the bandaged wrist and her pale face gave testimony of this morning's ordeal.

Han positioned himself close by the door and caught the surreptitious glance that passed between the two women. Leia gave a barely perceptible nod.

"I'm afraid I can't offer you a seat, gentlemen," Mon Mothma said in her soft, melodious voice, "but I promise not to keep you longer than necessary."

Her eyes focused on Luke with an intensity that prompted Han to try second-guessing the thoughts behind that observant gaze. He'd only met the former senator once, but he'd heard Leia praise Mothma's diplomatic skills and integrity often enough. Still, to see her target Luke with that probing look made Han feel wary about the talk to come. Maybe the second dose of stimulants had boosted his warning instincts beyond reason, but he couldn't quite shake his misgivings.

"I apologize for the delay," Luke offered. "General Madine made it sound quite urgent."

"It is. I'd like to talk about your father." Mothma's bald announcement was couched in sympathetic, almost sorrowful tones. "Leia and I had a long conversation this afternoon," she explained, "and I feel honored that she chose to share this painful knowledge with me. General Solo has been informed as well, I take it?"

"Yeah, I know all about it," Han growled, oblivious to formalities as he tried to fathom where this was heading. "Luke told me before we set out to Endor."

Mon Mothma nodded. "And who else is aware of this?"

"No one," Luke returned in strictly neutral tones. "No one except Han and Leia."

"I had to tell someone," Leia said quickly, her glance imploring Luke until he turned towards her.

"I understand." Subliminal pressure was all too audible in his voice, but his face gave no hint of his thoughts.

"Leia also explained to me how your father redeemed himself," Mothma added.

"He did." Luke's chin rose by a fraction. "He turned back to the Light."

For several moments, Mon Mothma studied her clasped hands. "I do not doubt your judgment," she said at length, "but this truth will be difficult to comprehend for many of our friends. We've won an important battle, but some time will pass before this war is truly over, and we cannot afford confusion among our allies. We shall have to move carefully."

Luke's shoulders rose and sank with a slow breath. "You recommend that we should keep our father's identity a secret."

"There's no other way," Leia cut in, a pained note tightening her voice. "Even for me, it's difficult to understand... Luke, I don't want people to look at you and wonder if you could turn into another Vader! They should have complete faith in you, nothing else."

Yeah, faith based on a lie, Han thought, shifting uneasily. While he couldn't argue with Leia's assessment, the notion of sweeping things under the carpet didn't sit well with him either. Then again, nobody had asked his opinion. And Luke said nothing.

After a short silence, Mothma straightened in her seat. "I agree with Leia," she said. "Furthermore, as a Jedi knight, you can't be bound by the rules that apply to the regular members of our forces. You'll have to follow your own insights. That is at once your privilege and your burden." When she paused again, Han could hear a 'but' lumbering up on heavy feet.

"Yet people will look to your for guidance... and for hope," the Alliance leader continued. "That's why I would ask you to consider your actions carefully."

Get to the point, Han thought irritably. The longer her speech continued, the less he liked it.

"I think I understand my responsibilities," Luke said.

"I am convinced of that," Mothma returned, "and yet, your decision to surrender yourself into Imperial hands has raised a certain amount of disquiet among our fleet commanders."

"I understand," Luke repeated impassively.

"Well, I don't!" Han snapped. "We'd all be space dust, if it wasn't for Luke."

"I'm far from disputing that statement, General Solo." Completely unperturbed, Mothma glanced at him, then her attention returned to Luke. "But maintaining military discipline among our forces was necessary, or we might never have established an organization equipped to carry out this operation. From a strictly military point of view, Luke's decision could be construed as defection."

"Only if he'd left without permission," Han returned stonily. He'd wrestled with military protocol long enough to spot convenient loopholes anytime, and he could guess who'd been piqued by the somewhat laconic report he'd given last night. Madine, most likely, and by-the-book characters like him. "I was in charge down there," Han continued. "And I knew Luke was leaving to confront Vader. Once the commanding officer's been informed, defection doesn't come into it."

"So you authorized this course of action?" Mothma asked.

Han folded his arms. "Implicitly, I did."

"You don't have to take the responsibility for this." Luke threw him a cautioning glance. "The truth is, I would have left anyway. I had to."

"Yeah, but that doesn't matter now, does it?" Han countered. "I knew where you were going, and I didn't have you arrested for treason or anything like that. If anyone wants to argue the point, they'd better take it to me."

He couldn't be sure, but for a moment, amusement seemed to sparkle in Mothma's eyes. "I shall notify our defense council that the decision was made in accordance with standard procedures," she said evenly. "Thank you for clarifying the point, General."

Han made sure to trim his incipient grin to the proportions of a modest smile. "You're welcome," he said in his best casual drawl.

"General Solo, since you're here..." Mothma's tone switched back to factual and efficient. "There is a matter I would like to discuss with you."

He shrugged. "Sure. I'm listening."

"Intell agents have arranged an inconspicuous meeting with the Corellian resistance leaders on Nar Pol," she proceeded. "We must strike swiftly. As long as the Empire holds Corellia, they dispose of the best-equipped shipyards in the galactic core."

"True enough," Han agreed, bracing himself. Way too easy to see what would follow next.

"General Rieekan suggests that we should appoint you to discuss attack strategies with the representatives of the local resistance," Mon Mothma continued. "He expressed great faith in your tactical ingenuity."

"Too generous." Han worked on a neutral expression. "And I suppose you'd like me to head out to Nar Pol right away."

"As soon as reasonably possible," she qualified with a slightly apologetic inflection.

No way, was Han's first reaction. Damnit, there'd been no time to make plans for the next hour, let alone the next day, but he'd wanted some time off. Time to relax and let all the changes sink in until his life resembled a functional whole again. Time to be with Luke and figure out where they were going from here...

Memories of Corellia began flitting through his mind, diffuse images strung together by a tangle of ambiguous sentiments. Glittering oceans, Imperial troop carriers droning inland, garbage dumps and burning fields. He hadn't come anywhere near Corellia in years. When Han looked up again, Mothma's glance rested on him with serene conviction. Maybe she'd calculated that this proposition couldn't leave him unaffected.

And hell, he'd walked into this with open eyes, he'd accepted the rank of a field general and the whole caboodle of obligations that came with it. Now wasn't the right time to back out, apply for shore leave and point out that he had a life to reclaim.

He could feel Luke's eyes on him. Well, he could be back from Nar Pol in a matter of days, Han reckoned. His mind was made up in a lightspeed second.

"All right," he said, considering. Alliance techs were still wiring a new radar dish into the Falcon's comscan systems, but otherwise, the old lady was in better shape than she'd been for a long time. "I can have the Falcon ready for takeoff in a couple of hours. Who'll brief me on this mission -- Rieekan?"

"He's presently compiling all relevant Intell files for you." Mothma inclined her head. "Thank you, General Solo. I realize that we're asking much of everyone these days, but victory could still slip through our fingers if we don't act with due speed and determination."

He gave her a lopsided smile. "I know. If that's all--?"

"Good luck," Leia said, and Han acknowledged the conciliatory gesture with an ironic bow.

"Thanks, Your Worship."

And that was that. Han took himself to the door, nudging his thoughts towards pre-flight preparations and the requirements of the mission. But for all his efforts to marshal a pragmatic stance, frustration and a bleak, hollow feeling nagged at him. This wasn't how he'd hoped things would go --

"I'm coming with you."

Han's mood veered sharply at the sound of that. He turned to meet calm blue eyes, reflecting the finality in Luke's tone and the kind of warmth that kindled instant echoes in the pit of his stomach.

I can manage, old habits prompted a flip reply, but he snatched it back, half expecting objections and caveats from Leia or Mothma, relieved when there were none.

"Glad to hear that." He held Luke's eyes a moment longer. "Sure could use your help."

Chewbacca was running final diagnostics on the new radar dish when Han caught the sound of confident footsteps ascending the ramp. Before his mind could process the data input, his pulse was changing cadence and quickened noticeably. He came close to shaking his head at himself as he turned to watch Luke enter the corridor.

His friend. His lover. Definitely, if he had anything to say about it, his future. Though he might need some time to get used to the effects Luke's mere presence had on him.

"Ready to go?" Han asked, meeting him halfway.

Luke dropped a duffel on the deck plates. "Ready if you are."

Their arms went around each other as if cued by the same, overriding impulse.

"Hey..." A winded laugh escaped Han as he pulled Luke against himself, and his breath caught hard at the pressure of Luke's arms circling his torso. They hadn't had a private moment since dawn, and now, through a flush of stunned gratitude, Han recognized the thread of troubled questions running through the back of his head. What if Luke had changed his mind, what if guilt and concerns about Leia added too much strain to all the pressure he was under? Yet all of it evaporated when Luke hugged him harder, pressing their bodies together as if to renew their knowledge of each other that way.

A faint odor of smoke rose from his clothes and filled Han's mind with a drift of hazy images. Uncertain silhouettes moving through the vapors, the crackle and hiss of invisible fires, and Luke whirling with his luminous blade, every lunge and parry, every ripple of muscle brimming with power. Too much had happened too fast, and Han wasn't quite prepared for the seething tide of emotion that took him, heart rising into his throat.

"It's not true, you know," Luke said abruptly, head lifting.

Han swallowed thickly. "What isn't?"

"That we'd all be space dust if I hadn't gone to my father." A rueful smile bent Luke's mouth. "Though I would be, if you hadn't blown the bunker."

Han shook his head. "Don't remind me. That whole operation almost went bust... and besides, Lando and Wedge killed the reactor core."

"Well, in that case, let's settle for calling it a group effort," Luke returned lightly, but the flash of humor disappeared in another moment. "Han, are you sure you should be doing this? You're worn out, and you look it too."

"Thanks for the compliment." Han grimaced. "Look, don't worry, I can handle this. And you heard the lady. We'd better move fast and earn our vacation."

True, he felt a little worse for the wear, now that the soothing effects of the last stim shot were dwindling rapidly. Raw soreness climbed through his body, but the wandering touch of Luke's hands -- gliding up his back, tracing knotted muscles with gentle insistence -- provided all the distraction he needed.

"How about you?" Han asked. "I'm sure the council's got all kinds of ideas about the tasks you should tackle next, and teaming up with an ex-smuggler on recon missions can't be high on their list."

Luke indicated a shrug, concern slowly fading from his expression. "We won't be gone very long, and Leia will keep me posted on all strategy discussions in the meantime."

"Well, then..." Han lowered his head until he could feel Luke's breath against his mouth. "Let's go out there and fly."

"Han..."

The sound of Luke's voice, low and intense, stole into his senses with pure seduction. Luke moved in closer, stretching the moment to its limits, until anticipation acquired near-tangible substance. Han's eyes closed on a rush of sensation when soft, full lips claimed his mouth, seeking, shifting, savoring. Different memories came alive in his mind, of the last night and the naked longing in Luke's eyes, of the morning sun sparking promises off the river and copper threads playing across Luke's skin.

He wrapped a hand around Luke's neck, and the kiss deepened from gentle exploration to serious passion in a matter of moments. All around them, the Falcon thrummed on standby. Slow vibrations crawled leisurely up Han's legs, fusing with the sensations that sprawled through his body. He ran his hands down Luke's sides, cradling his hips, and felt every part of him ignite with a hungry joy, every touch searching a new reality for its secret essence.

Impatient snarls from the direction of the cockpit finally broke them apart.

"Yeah, yeah, we're coming," Han growled and released his hold on Luke with conscious reluctance.

Gods, he loved the glow that danced in Luke's eyes right now, the liberating, passionate surge that swept away every line of tension and discipline.

Over the past years, Luke had been forced to grow up under pressure, and he'd shown more strength and resilience than anyone would have given him credit for, including Han Solo. But necessities had a way of encroaching too hard and too fast on private needs and half-formed fantasies, and Luke had been given little time for chance discoveries and exploration... for living, in the fullest, most basic sense of the word.

As they walked towards the cockpit, Han promised himself he'd make sure Luke got his share of everything life owed him.

Chewbacca rumbled with good-natured amusement when they entered, and Han gave him a mock-glare in return. A brief pang flared through his lower torso as he dropped into the flight chair. He held his breath for a moment, but only a dull throbbing in his spine remained.

Through the segmented viewport, he looked out at the depth of silver-sprinkled darkness, hazed by the energy field that sealed the docking bay. His fingers flashed across the controls automatically, adjusting coordinates, requesting clearance for departure.

The Falcon lifted slowly, and the warning lights above the docking portal changed from red to bright gold as the freighter picked up speed.

At Han's signal, Chewbacca initiated the lightspeed sequence. Acceleration shuddered through the hull, and a minute later, the pinpoint lights of stars exploded into white arcs. A brilliant distortion wave engulfed the freighter.

As the Falcon flung herself into hyperspace, Han felt the tremors slide through every molecule of his body. Incredible speeds tore down the barriers of space and time. He felt full of life, and more aware of it than ever before, of Luke's presence at his shoulder and the future setting in with this moment's power and purpose, scoring him to the quick.

Strange notions. Han breathed deeply and quirked a grin at himself as he switched from manual to autopilot.

"Here we go," he said, pushing out of his chair. "I'd better run some in-flight checks on the radar configuration now. Back in a couple of minutes."

Though maybe, he reflected when his stomach twisted in protest, he should hit his bunk and relax for a while. There had to be some painkillers left in the medikit too.

Better get them fast, Han told himself as he walked towards the lounge. Spikes of pain shot through him at every step, and he had to concentrate on keeping his balance while the corridor lurched drunkenly around him.

He'd barely made it to the lounge when a violent spasm seized his insides, and his vision blurred. Blindly, Han braced himself against the bulkhead, heartbeat thundering in his chest as furious agony wrenched through his body, centered just below the ribcage.

He doubled over and fought for breath to call out, but all he managed was a choked gasp. Shredding pain thudded along his veins, together with sick dread like liquid ice.

This was it. He'd cheated the odds too often, and this time he was losing.

No! enraged protest screamed through his mind, not now, not yet --

Dimly, he heard Luke in the corridor, shouting his name, then nothing, nothing...

...nothing at all.

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