Category: H/C, Romance
Pairing: Han/Luke
Rating: R
Series: Fourth (and last) in the 'Endor' series; sequel to 'Passage to Endor', 'The Longest Night', and 'Firefalls'.
Summary: As Luke struggles to save Han's life, new possibilities unfold.

I can't lose him, I can't. Each time I pace to the other side of the lounge, I can hear the hum and the faint clicks of medical equipment. Inside of me, I can sense the terrible strain tearing through Han's body. They've been operating for hours. Outside, the white light of day is fading in a violet sky and reflects on pale leaves. People move like mechanical shadows through the gardens, but I hear nothing except labored throbs of pulse mingling with the staccato rhythm of the monitor, each electronic burst a heartbeat, too fast, too abrupt. Dead silence in between. Each time the rhythm falters, it runs through me in a swift ripple of cold, a stumbling, wrenching half-second until Han's pulse sets in again, and my own heart pulls tight in my chest. And then I can breathe once more. All the rhythms of my body are twined with his. Through the Force, I'm aware of him just as I'm aware of myself, a steady current of energy and sensation running back and forth between us. I've never done this before, but there was no time to think, no time to lose. Han was dying. I've drawn on the Force for strength so often, it came naturally, and all I did was try to pour as much into him as I could. It's the only way I can fight this with him. I should've noticed something was wrong. When Mon Mothma suggested this mission, I had a feeling that I would be needed, but I didn't realize it was Han who'd need me... And the truth is, I might have come anyway. After all that's happened, I couldn't let him go. That night, when he came to me, I felt centered, ready to face the future. Maybe I just gave in to selfish desires, maybe -- once he's recovering -- I'll have to search my own reasons for doing this, but I can't think about that now. He must live. That's all. "We have him stabilized." A droid's neutral voice repeats what I already know. From the dry sterility of these rooms, Han's presence is like the only source of life, crowded by the machines that echo brainwaves, heart rate, flow of blood. Stabilized only means that the crisis has reached a temporary standstill. Nothing's decided yet, but I can't think any farther ahead. All I can do is face one moment at a time, and hold on with everything I've got. Chewie is right behind me, somber and silent, fangs bared in a frightened snarl. His silence scares me more than his frantic rage did, hours ago. They've pulled a stiff, white cover up to Han's chest. His skin is very dark against the sheet and taut over his cheekbones, but his mind has fallen far behind a last line of defense. It's all that protects him against the shattering pain. I can feel his presence like a flicker on the very edges of my own awareness, constantly. A part of him knows that I'm here. It makes no difference when I touch him, except that I want to feel him. His skin, cool and firm under the palm of my hand. My right hand. It works flawlessly, now that the charred components have been replaced. The E-scan equipment can't tell the difference between natural nerve and bionic extensions. I can, but it doesn't matter. When I lay my hand against Han's shoulder and feel his skin, the faint pulse beating somewhere deep within, all that counts is the warmth of sensation, raw and immediate. That's what he showed me, the night before we set out to Endor, what I knew when I confronted my father again. It made a difference. More machine than man... How wrong Ben was. Much of Anakin's body was supported by bionic circuitry, and yet he lived with it, felt with it. Just like I do. And just like him, I want to reach and know and find myself in the life of another. When I stretch out with my senses, I can trace the barrier inside Han's mind, chilling and solid like pack ice. I can't intrude any further, but this is where I'll stay. A desolate zone like the snowfields of Hoth, and the threat of a storm hanging over the horizon. I'm here, Han. I'll be with you.

Luke couldn't tell how long he'd kept his vigil when the doctor entered the bare cubicle. She was a Drangonin, tall and willowy, with long, elegant hands and leathery skin that shaded from olive into pale green. On the other side of the bed,  Chewbacca straightened to his full height.

"Do not concern yourself overmuch," she addressed them, the hiss in her low voice like an echo of the perpetual winds and dust storms raiding the barren Drangoni homeworld. "Once the self-healing processes have been sufficiently stimulated, your companion's chances of complete recovery are very good." A studious glance traversed the monitors at the foot of the bed. "We shall transfer him to the bacta tank shortly," she finished.

"No, not the bacta tank."

To Luke's own ears, his voice had the hollow sound of a recording. Bewildered, he tried to make sense of what he'd just said.

The Drangonin's brow ridge furrowed. "It is completely painless," she assured him. "Your friend won't experience any discomfort."

"I know," Luke murmured. "I've undergone bacta treatment myself..."

But something tugged at his mind and shadowed every thought with a touch of... terror. Irrational, yet acute enough to send his heart into a race as he probed along the thread of sensation.

"Is there another option?" he heard himself ask. "You've operated on him before."

"Indeed, but I would not recommend exposing the patient to the risks of repeated surgery." A slight whistle of agitation stole into the doctor's raspy voice. "Not when a far more promising treatment is available."

Luke swallowed. The doctor's analysis made perfect sense, but another ripple of unreasoning refusal swept through him, almost sickening in its intensity.

"We have already repaired a number of torn blood vessels," the Drangonin continued, "but the damage is quite extensive. The bacta will mend traumatized tissues while promoting cellular regeneration. Microsurgery cannot supply equal stimulation at the same time."

With an effort, Luke disengaged his mind from the phantom warnings that fled along his nerves. "What if--" he started without a clear notion what he was going to propose. "What if the healing process could be sustained in another way? Would you operate in that case?"

"In another way?" she echoed. A thoughtful glance from amber eyes searched him and caught on the lightsaber at his belt. "Are you referring to the Jedi art of healing?" The doctor's voice softened with a blend of startlement and reservation. "You are a Jedi, are you not?"

"Yes." Luke met her gaze squarely. "And the Force can provide healing, much more so than any synthetic agent."

Interlacing her fingers, the Drangonin focused on the monitors again, but Luke could sense the disturbance of doubts underneath her professional composure. With a slender filament of the Force, he reached towards her presence, willing the doctor's consciousness to consider his truth. I _am_ a Jedi. And I need your trust.

"Very well," she said after a pause. "I'll have to consult my colleagues. This is an... unprecedented request."

Luke nodded, his throat dry. "Thank you."

A hydraulic buzz sealed the room's silence only for a moment as the door slid closed. Massive head tilted, Chewbacca growled a question.

"I'm not sure," Luke said softly. "It's something I'm picking up from Han..."

From across the bed, the Wookiee's deep-set eyes regarded him with frigid speculation.

"I can't tell you why, and maybe it's just Han's perception of things... but, Chewie, I just know we shouldn't let them go ahead with the treatment! Something's wrong."

Chewbacca's gaze darkened, and his growled inquiry finished on a menacing snarl that raised the hair at the nape of Luke's neck.

"No," he said honestly. "I've never done this before, and Yoda never told me much about the healing techniques. I'll have to meditate. I promise I won't do it if I'm not sure."

After a tense moment, Chewbacca lowered his head, and the moan that escaped his throat held nothing but stark, boundless grief.

Luke bit his lip. "I know how you feel. Believe me, I know."

Diffuse sunlight bathed the blanched foliage of shrubs and trees in the hospital gardens. As he walked down a short ramp, Luke realized that a full rotation period had gone by since they'd landed on SiCla Two, the closest inhabited world that showed on the Falcon's star charts.

Once an agricultural outpost in the Clavid System, the small planet was slowly regressing to its natural state of surface erosion and little yield. A terraforming project had been abandoned over a decade ago, and the Empire's claim to the planet had reverted to nominal at that point. Gravel wastes and leached topsoil surrounded the remaining settlements and farmlands.

Luke closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply, tracing a distant alkali smell on the air. At least they were safe here. And fortunate that the large clinic had not been shut down as the planetary population decreased.

Following a gravel path up a gentle rise in the ground, Luke turned to look back at the surgery tract of the clinic. Dust-streaked walls, patterned by row upon row of square windows. He located the right one immediately, with the blind, absolute certainty gathered through the Force. If there was any change in Han's condition, he could be sure to sense it instantly. Chewie had been right to insist that he take a walk outside and get some fresh air.

No matter how he tried, Luke had found it impossible to summon complete detachment so long as he stayed inside the small hospital room. His physical senses awash with the sound of Han's heavy breathing, the faint body warmth, arrhythmic pulse stirring tremulous echoes beneath his own skin, he'd wrestled hopelessly with the numbing dread that assailed him in waves.

Luke lowered himself into the soft, discolored grass and started a slow purge of thought from his mind. Long hours of desperate tension had left his nerves raw. The weak spill of sunlight through milky clouds burned in his eyes like a glare, and the chemical scents that drifted over from the medlabs stung in his nostrils. His own heartbeat still thundered in his ears.

With considerable effort, Luke tightened his focus to calm himself. He couldn't question what he sensed from Han. Something in him violently rejected immersion in the bacta tank, but whatever caused that reaction was beyond Luke's reach. All he could do was inspect his own abilities and make sure that his concentration wouldn't fail him.

Calm, passive, at peace, Yoda's voice whispered to him from the dry well of the past. As he entered a light meditative trance, Luke paced his breathing to the steady flow of the Force. At peace...

But unrest swirled within, thickened by recent loss and mutinous regrets. Too much in me... too much anger, fear and passion... Luke filled his lungs with the fresh, bitter air. Memories unlocked and engulfed him in the moment when savage fear had possessed him, running wild in the iron darkness beneath the Emperor's dais until it grew too ferocious to contain. The past, Luke told himself. This is now, and nothing else matters...

From bright air and bleached grass and countless, microscopic sources of energy, he drew the Force into himself until its lucid currents permeated him and loosened the cold knots in his stomach. Nothing was ever lost in the Force. And for the coming hours, he would subsist on nothing but that abstract truth.

When he returned to the room, half an hour later, the doctor had already arrived. Diodes pulsed nervously on the mediscanner she ran across Han's abdomen. Not turning, she acknowledged Luke with a perfunctory nod.

"I'm ready," he said when the Drangonin finally straightened and slid the scanner into one of her gown's pockets.

Vertical pupils slitted as the doctor met his gaze. "The surgery team agrees that we're looking at a calculable risk," she said dispassionately. "Our chief surgeon will explain all the routines to you before we proceed. Of course, no one here has ever collaborated with a Jedi healer, but we honor the tradition."

Luke stepped closer to the bed. "I'm grateful for your trust," he answered, his eyes on Han.

Stronger than before, he could feel Han's lifesense in the Force. Luke's glance traced the outline of bones showing starkly through the skin of Han's cheeks and jaw, the fragile flutter of pulse in his throat.

Not a healer. He couldn't tell her that. He should count himself lucky that the medical staff lent credence to a claim he couldn't buttress with any kind of proof. Too much depended on his absolute conviction, and it left no room for hesitation or doubt.

A moment later, Luke felt the weight of a large, furry hand on his shoulder, and hot anguish stabbed through him. Then and there, it was impossible to tell if the reaction came from Chewbacca or himself.

Can't lose him, Luke thought, thrusting apprehension aside. And we won't.

In the sanitized atmosphere of the operating theater, the hours ran together, drenched in arctic lighting and a stream of electronic signals from the monitors. On a scale of ten thousand to one, the operating screen showed spidery needles making their path across a ragged network of capillaries and nerves. Distant, only half real.

On the margins of Luke's awareness registered the clipped exchanges between doctors and droids, the movements of scalpels, clamps and surgical beams within the sterile field. While he maintained a sense of his surroundings, the rest of himself was centered on the inner vista he'd chosen as a focus -- a glittering expanse of water that moved in a tranquil rhythm, like the Corellian oceans he'd never seen. He drifted with its mobile patterns and channeled buoyant energy with the unthinking ease of drawing and releasing breath.

Time had lost its hold over him, concerns and questions had ceased to exist. There was nothing but the white essence of incandescent power, pervading each atom of self and mind, and Han's presence, tangible like a source of heat and light.

Until the brilliance that surrounded them began to fade at the edges, frayed into a dark purple seam that curled and twisted. Chilling alarm speared through every layer of consciousness, and Luke felt it reflect through the Force, unsteady pulsations in a dense field that threatened to collapse.

Collecting himself, he strained to reach deeper into the Force, strengthening the link at each point of contact. For a long moment, there was nothing, then renewed energy burst through him with a suddenness that almost rent him apart. Wide open, he felt Han's lifesense merge through his own in a single, hot surge. Bright, powerful, unaware, it coursed through him and beyond, rippling apart into scintillating reflections.

Luke gasped as he fought to assimilate the searing intensity that left him shaken, as if all his senses had been melted down and reformed in the blink of an eye.

Heart beating frantically, he regained himself in bits and pieces. Fragments of fluorescent light and color slowly regrouped into the neutral angles of medical equipment and white walls.

Two paces away from him, the chief surgeon rubbed a gloved hand over his forehead, and Luke saw alarm mix with triumph in his grey-flecked eyes. "There was a moment when we thought he was going."

"I... know." His stomach twisted. Luke steadied himself and narrowed his awareness to material dimensions. With a final glance at Han's prone form on the surgical couch, he accompanied the doctor into the outer room.

The man quirked a weary smile. "He's out of danger now." Snapping plastic gloves off his fingers, he extended a hand. "I suppose it was too much to hope that I would learn how you do what you're doing, but the results are impressive."

As he gripped the man's proffered hand, Luke tried to control his reactions. He was shaking with fatigue and relief.

"Thank you," he mumbled, a vast gratitude pressing up in his chest. Impossible to squeeze it into mere words.

"My pleasure." The surgeon returned a casual bow and began removing his gown.

In the washroom, Luke bent over the sink and let cold water run over his hands and wrists for a long time. Under his skin, he felt the soothing coolness slide through his veins, washing him back to the shores of solid reality.

It was over. Nothing could go wrong now.

When he raised his head, the reflector above the sink showed the Drangonin doctor, calmly watching him from the far side of the room.

"You look tired."

An understatement, Luke thought. For a moment, cold grey tiling and steel appliances reeled around him. He managed a nod.

"We have guest facilities on the premises," she told him. "You should rest yourself now. Your friend will remain sedated for the next twenty hours, so that the tissue regenerators can do their work. We'll notify you if there is any change in his status."

While Chewbacca announced his unshakable intent to keep watch outside Han's room, Luke followed a droid across the hospital grounds. Half-screened by a row of spindly conifers, living quarters had been assembled from prefab modules, which provided each apartment with a separate entrance. Luke let himself in with the code key, too exhausted to spare more than a passing glance for his surroundings as he took himself to the bed.

He dropped across the mattress, still fully dressed, and fell asleep before another thought could form.

Luke came awake to a weightless sense of well-being. Body warmth enfolded him, and his skin tingled with volatile pleasure that teased up memories through the receding fogs of sleep. For a moment, he could almost feel Han's arms around him, but the sensations faded as his head cleared. Prying his eyes open, Luke found himself alone in a room he didn't recognize.

He tugged at his rumpled tunic, uncomfortably aware now that he'd slept in his clothes. Recollection of the past two days returned like a holo-reel in fast-forward as his fingers tripped clumsily over the fasteners. An instant later, the sound of the door buzzer broke the stillness.

As he started up, Luke realized that it had been droning intermittently. Most likely, that was what had brought him around after -- he glanced at the wall chrono -- twelve hours of complete oblivion.

Chewie? he wondered, palming the door release.

"Luke!"

Leia's voice startled him from residual drowsiness. At her shoulder, Lando gave a tight nod in greeting.

"We came as fast as we could." Leia's hands grasped his and squeezed. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, but how--?" Luke glanced from her to Lando, needing another moment to rearrange memories and events into vaguely logical sequence. He'd put a call through to the Alliance to report their new coordinates, but had spared no thought for the consequences since then.

"General Rieekan filled us in immediately," Lando answered. "We commandeered a long-distance shuttle and cut a few corners to get here as fast as we could."

Luke finally remembered to step aside and allow them into the apartment. "I suppose you've already been at the clinic?" He ran his fingers through mussed hair. "Chewie's still there?"

"Yes. He says Han won't wake up anytime soon, but the doctors seem pleased with the rate at which he's improving." Leia sent a distracted glance around the room before her eyes returned to Luke. "Chewie told us where to look for you... and that you were out on your feet the last time he saw you."

"Guess I was." Raising a hand, Luke rubbed at the scratchy stubble on his chin. He felt a mess and probably looked it, too. "If you'll wait a few minutes -- I think I really need a shower."

"Wait..." Lando slung the bag he carried off his shoulder and held it out. "Fresh clothes. Chewie said you might want them, so we went past the Falcon to get this for you."

"Thanks." Grabbing the bag, Luke headed for the shower.

Fatigue still dragged at him as he dumped his disheveled clothes on the floor. After several minutes of hot water pouring down his body, he adjusted the temperature, shocking sluggish circulation into gear with a gush of liquid ice. More than ordinary exhaustion lingered in his bones, but he felt reasonably refreshed by the time he got dressed again.

When he returned, Leia and Lando had seated themselves on faded armchairs by the window.

"Much better." Leia approved of his appearance with a brief smile.

Lowering himself on the edge of the bed, Luke began to notice the marks of strain and sleeplessness on her face.

"What happened?" she asked, leaning forward.

"Han collapsed almost immediately after we'd made the jump to lightspeed. We hooked him up to life support..." Luke broke off as the memory jumped into razor-sharp focus, edged by trenchant inner cold. He breathed deeply, divorcing reason from the closed circles of raw emotion. "By the time we could be sure that he was... stable, we'd already covered a third of the distance to Nar Pol. Heading back to the fleet would have taken too long." Luke glanced aside. "Han was bleeding internally. The doctors believe it must have been going on for some time before he broke down."

"Yes, we know." Leia traded a swift glance with Lando.

"We talked to the chief medical droid aboard Admiral Ackbar's ship," Lando explained with painstaking sobriety. "They examined Han immediately after we'd returned from Tatooine..."  He spread his hands wide in exasperation. "How they could clear him for duty is beyond me!"

"Oh, I can imagine that Han absolutely insisted on his inviolable right to act irresponsibly," Leia interjected with sharp sarcasm. "No one can be forced to accept therapy, unless service regulations apply, and Han wasn't even an official member of the Alliance forces at the time."

Luke shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

"Hibernation sickness," Lando returned bluntly, a grating edge in his voice. "The after-effects were far worse than anyone realized. Han was in bad shape when the freezing process set in and never received any treatment for it."

A chill stole through Luke's senses. He remembered now. The vicious cramp that had seized Han in the early morning hours, followed by offhand explanations -- all buried in the rapid landslide of events that day. I should've known...

"Han was warned about the risks," Leia resumed. "According to Two-Onebee, organ failure was just a matter of time. In retrospect, it's a wonder Han managed to hold up for so long."

"He must've kept going on stimulants and painkillers that last day," Lando added. "I know he went to see the medics at least twice, but I was too damn busy to stop and wonder why."

"You mean... he knew?" Luke pushed up and paced. "Han knew it might kill him sooner or later, and he didn't do anything about it?"

"Perhaps he underestimated the risk," Leia qualified, her placating intentions all too transparent.

Luke swung around to look at her. In the aftermath of protracted alarm, incredulous anger trembled in his nerves, and he sensed subdued annoyance from his sister.

"Medical droids are supremely efficient, but they have a tendency to get rather... technical," she said. "It's possible that Two-Onebee didn't make himself entirely clear."

"Either that, or Han just didn't want to know," Lando suggested. "He's always had a streak of recklessness a little too wide for his own good."

Never tell me the odds, Han's voice quipped from countless memories, spouting a favorite adage in a mocking drawl. Luke's stomach tightened under another stir of anger.

"I see," he finally said.

While Leia's eyes mirrored his own frustration, Lando offered an encouraging grin.

"Well, let's just hope it's gonna teach him a lesson to be more careful." He sat up, ready to lever from his chair, and flashed a glance at Leia. "Shall we go take a look at that Corellian sonovagun?"

A hazy morning hung over the hospital gardens as they crossed towards the surgery tract.

"Lando will go straight to Nar Pol from here," Leia said, wrapping the loose jacket a little tighter around herself. "He talked Rieekan into letting him take Han's place."

"Didn't take much talking when the alternative was Madine," Lando put in. "Crix Madine, head of Corellian Patriots United. They've got everything lined up for frontal attack, no matter if they'll smash their thick skulls in the process. Besides, if Han wants in when he's back in shape, the job's all his."

"He'll appreciate that," Luke said, less than half of his mind involved. He could feel Leia's sidelong glance graze him with controlled speculation and quickened his pace as they passed the duraglass portals.

A monument to sleepless vigilance, Chewbacca stood guard over the door to Han's room, arms folded. Luke gave a smile to the proud satisfaction gleaming in those dark blue eyes. Pointless to tell Chewie that he could afford a rest now, practical suggestions wouldn't make a dent in the Wookiee's resolve. The control panel felt icy when Luke tapped the door release, though perhaps it was just his own body temperature swinging through extremes. Two long strides took him to Han's bed.

Immobilized by the narcotics that guarded the healing process, Han looked peacefully asleep, unruly dark strands sticking to his forehead, his lips slightly parted.

Luke felt another heedless smile spring up as his eyes settled on the generous curve of Han's mouth. Whatever else he should be feeling right now went under in the rush of memories that chose this moment to sweep his skin. The connection between them was still there, a subtle background pulse that seemed to set off every thought and sentiment and coalesced in irresistible longing to touch.

Behind him, Leia and Lando had entered the room, but he'd already gripped Han's hand before he could consider. When Luke turned back, his fingers linked with Han's, he realized how possessive that gesture had to look, but Lando's expression betrayed no surprise. Next to him, Leia tucked a loose strand back behind her ear, the nervous motion of her fingers in stark contrast with the stillness of her face. A calm, incredulous anguish had smoothed out every tense line around her eyes and mouth.

Luke waited until she met his gaze. Whatever showed on his own face right now had to be just as revealing.

He released Han's hand and moved aside with a sudden, clear awareness that for Leia and Lando, this moment concluded something begun on Bespin. A nexus of which he'd never been a part.

Leaning over, Leia brushed a quick kiss against Han's forehead and murmured something that sounded like an elaborate, affectionate curse. Her eyes were suspiciously bright when she straightened, but Lando's face showed an uncharacteristic, brooding look.

"You goddamn fool," he growled, features tightening into a grimace of guilt and regrets as he glanced down at Han. "All set to make me pay for my sins, I'll bet."

"For once, I don't think he did it on purpose," Leia said wryly, her usual aplomb back in place.

"Right." Skeptical as it sounded, Lando's expression changed again when she touched his arm. He cleared his throat and shrugged. "Well. Now that I've made sure they've stitched the bastard back together, I guess I'd better hit the trail."

"I'll see you out," Leia suggested and turned back towards Luke. "I'll be around a little while longer, but first I'm going to find the doctor in attendance. Two-Onebee compiled all of Han's medical files, and the hospital staff might want to look through them."

"I can take care of that," Luke offered awkwardly, "if you'd rather stay here..."

Leia's careful restraint made way to a small, bemused smile. "That's okay. I can see Han will be fine now."

There wasn't any time to think. As soon as Lando and Leia had left the room, Chewie marched in as if to survey a potential battlefield. And before Luke could react, furry arms grabbed him in a bone-cracking embrace. The resonant bark that rumbled in the Wookiee's chest could have scaled up to a roar, but it was caught back and softened into a series of hoots and snorts.

Even though Luke didn't catch everything, each word was underscored by sentiments that sparked clear echoes within his own mind. Relief, acceptance, mingling through remembered sorrow and loneliness. He pulled back to look at Chewbacca, but Han stirred behind them at just that moment. Almost as if his unconscious mind had been triggered by this outpour of unchecked emotion.

When they turned, Han shifted and mumbled something completely unintellegible before he stilled again, one hand flung out, the sheet bunched over his midriff. Luke reached out to lay his palm against Han's open hand, startled when long fingers closed around his own in impulsive response. A slow, unbroken ripple of sheer happiness spread through every part of his body.

How do you do this? Luke thought, clasping their hands more tightly together. How can you make me feel this way when you're not even doing anything?

Chewbacca finally hustled him from the room with gentle, insistent mockery. It was true, his stomach growled viciously, and Luke left in search of the cantina without a clear recollection when he'd last eaten.

Cool sunlight streamed through the windows and varnished the pale linoplex floor. In an alcove further down the hall, Leia sat hunched over a datapad.

"Why didn't you come back?" Disconcerted, Luke paused in front of her. For the first time he recalled, Leia's habitual self-control held a clear measure of reserve.

"I didn't want to disturb." She closed the file she'd been studying and looked up at him. "Where were you going?"

"The cantina -- if there is one."

"It's at the back of the main building." Leia rose, stashing the 'pad in her caryall. "I haven't had any breakfast either. Come on."

The note of forced mirth in her voice didn't escape Luke, but he refrained from asking any questions until they'd left the surgery tract. Outside, droids were unloading a hovercraft, white daylight sparking confused flares off their polished bodies.

"We should talk," Luke suggested when they'd turned into a sandy footpath that led towards the center of the complex.

"I know." Leia didn't meet his eyes. "And we might not get another chance to do that for some time..." For several moments, there was no sound except for the hovercraft's distant hum and sand crunching underfoot. "So much has changed," she started again, "and I don't want anything to stand between us."

"I don't want that either. Leia, I--"

"No, wait," she cut him short. "Hear me out first. I'm sorry for what I said... for snapping at you when I should have been grateful. That was very unfair."

"You have a right to be angry and disappointed."

"Do I?" Her smile was spare and faded quickly. "I knew Han was with you, and I couldn't help it. I know it's not your fault. And how could I possibly blame you for falling in love with him?"

Luke felt a faint warmth stir in his face, for reasons he couldn't have explained.

"It was Han's choice, neither yours nor mine," Leia continued, "and I can't argue with that. But I'll need some time to adjust. Reconsider the plans I'd made... a little too fast, obviously."

The brittleness in her voice caught at him, and Luke broke his stride to face her. "I don't blame you for being angry with both of us."

A sarcastic smile twitched on her lips. "I wish I could tell you that I'm not... I wish I could be more gracious about all this." Her shoulders sank, releasing some of the forced poise.

Luke shook his head. "You're wonderful, Leia."

"No, I'm not!" A sudden, wry grin broke on her face. "But I'll be all right."

While they resumed walking towards the main building, Luke felt her mood swing towards the bleaker side again, overtaking the moment's relief. He slanted Leia a quizzical glance. "There's something else, isn't there?"

"There is." She met his eyes without hesitation this time.

"Vader," he guessed by the pained look on her face.

"I should have talked to you before I said anything to Mon Mothma."

Luke shrugged. "I trust your judgment."

"It was hardly a question of judgment," Leia countered soberly. "Mon Mothma came to see me in sickbay and I just... fell apart. She was very kind. You must know that we can rely on her support."

"I don't doubt that," Luke returned, keeping his tone level despite the press of renewed regrets.

"But you're uncomfortable with the notion that our father's identity should be kept a secret," Leia guessed.

"I'm not sure that's even possible in the long run." Luke pulled up his shoulders. "No, you're right... I don't want to hide the truth. I know it's not easy to understand, but our father turned away from the Dark Side, in spite of everything. It could be a message of hope."

"Frankly, I'm afraid that's not how the majority would see it," Leia returned. "And it's not that easy for me, either. I remember too much about Vader, about the role he played in the Emperor's annexation policies..."

They'd almost crossed the lawn in front of the main building when she stopped again. "I need time to get used to the idea that he could have been anything but an instrument of vengeance and destruction."

"I understand," Luke said. "But whenever you're ready, I'd like to tell you more about him."

Leia nodded. Concern pinched the skin around her eyes and tightened her mouth. "We'll make it through this, won't we?"

On impulse, Luke would have embraced her, but instead he just touched her hand. "Of course we will, Leia."

She returned his grip firmly. "Don't be too long. The Alliance needs you. And your sister needs you too."

Han woke up late that afternoon, eyes flicking rapidly behind his lids as he turned over and fumbled for something on the bedside stand.

Luke moved to his side at the first signs of returning consciousness. "What do you need?"

"Drink..." Han swallowed and inhaled raspily. "Some... water."

"Wait, I'll get it."

Luke could hear his own heart beat double time as he poured from the carafe on the table. There was no one else in the room. Leia had left shortly after midday, and Chewbacca hadn't yet returned from the spaceport facilities. Perhaps he'd finally succumbed to fatigue during his slated inspection of the Falcon's systems.

After he'd taken a few sips from the glass Luke held to his mouth, Han drew a long, shuddering breath. "How--?" He squinted at the bronze square of sky beyond the window, the question he mouthed barely audible. "What happened?"

Luke lowered himself on the bed and set the glass aside. "You scared the hell out of me and Chewie," he said, his voice catching on the words.

Hazel eyes wandered over his face, unfocused, as if searching for a memory.

"You'll be all right now," Luke added, the sound of his own voice strangely disconnected from the rest of himself.

"Luke..." Han reached up and curved a hand around his neck. The slight tremor in his fingers translated into a quick chill that slid down Luke's spine. "C'mere..."

Within a split second, his pulse went into an off-beat rhythm. Leaning over, Luke brushed their lips together, his fingers trailing a confused path from Han's collarbone to the hollow of his throat. When he felt Han's mouth move under his own, something inside him yielded; tension knots unraveled at an aching speed until his heart was racing and his stomach turned to water. He had to force himself to let go again, tear away from the need to pour all the loneliness, the desperation and joy into a single kiss.

"Don't stop," Han muttered, a glimmer sparking in his eyes, "I c'n take more'n that..."

But beneath the show of recovering confidence, Luke sensed his shakiness, the backwash of mixed emotions more exacting than physical strain.

"Better take it easy," he said softly, struggling for a grip on his own feelings. "You need to rest, to get well." His hands drifted from Han's temples into his hair and slid down the sides of his neck.

"Mmmh... that feels good..." Dark lashes swept down, flickered and stilled. Han's breathing leveled out as his mind spiraled back towards oblivion.

For a moment, Luke wondered if he'd drawn on the Force, without thought, to encourage the suggestion of sleep just like he'd channeled replenishing energies into Han's body. But most likely sheer exhaustion had taken its toll.

As he settled himself on a chair, Luke turned his attention inward and searched along the link that kept Han's presence alive within his mind, a loose filament lacing through all his perceptions with incredible ease. Could he keep it there, a potential lifeline like the growing bond he shared with Leia, or would it fade again with the necessities that had initiated it?

The question would have been easier to answer if he knew exactly how he'd established the connection, and it reminded him once again of how scant his knowledge was. Yoda had taught him how to focus, how to search the Force for insights across gulfs of time and space, but empathic links had not been a part of those lessons. Perhaps the fall of the Empire would give him access to wider knowledge, Luke speculated; surely there had to be documents that preserved traditional Jedi teachings, records that could help him fill the gaps left by his own sketchy training.

Pass on what you have learned, he heard Yoda's voice again, grating out faltering words that prescribed his future. But what had he learned? En route to Alderaan, Ben had introduced him to the basics of meditation and lightsaber practice. Several weeks of compact training on Dagobah had hardly revealed more than the essence of what it meant to be a Jedi. And the most radical changes had set in after his encounter with Vader, followed by tenacious introspection and exhausting drills of his own invention that burned away isolate weeks on Tatooine. How could he pass on any of his hard-won knowledge and not talk about Vader?

About Anakin, Luke amended. His mind cradled the memory of the ravaged face, healed and restored only for a transient vision that rewarded him with a specter of the man Anakin might have been.

Everyone else recalled only the black mask and the terror that clung to Darth Vader like a blinding shadow. Too familiar. Luke inhaled consciously, turning his focus away from the darkness buried under layers of consideration and inevitable acceptance. Too soon to touch it, or it would polarize every feeling, drag every thought into a swirl of implosive energy, reversing time to consume itself. Choices that canceled each other out, each beckoning destruction. The trap Palpatine had set for Anakin as much as himself.

All he could place against it were moments of visceral insight, memories he'd longed to share with his sister. But he realized now that much time might pass before Leia could accept the truth, until acknowledgment could generate curiosity about the man who'd fathered them. And it might take even longer before he could assume the responsibility of instructing anyone in the ways of the Force.

When he looked up again, the brassy flares of afternoon had dimmed into a pale glow, receding before the jade hues of twilight. Tiredness began to fray his thoughts. Luke rested his chin on his fist and studied the sleeping man on the bed. Watery shadows crept across the sheets, slowly submerging Han's clear-cut profile, and a sudden ache twisted in Luke's chest.

How much of the way would you go with me? Or am I asking too much?

Han slept through most of the next fourty hours, waking only for meals and brief trips to the bathroom. The doctors and droids who came in to run a plethora of tests professed satisfaction at the pace of his recovery and as a consequence trimmed down their estimate of the needed convalescence period. Luke stayed close by, not wanting to miss a moment when Han was awake. More than once, it occurred to him that he was overcompensating, making up for squandered chances and earlier neglect.

Mere hours after he'd been liberated from his carbonite prison, Han had been rushed back into the middle of frenetic action, and once the most conspicuous symptoms of hibernation sickness had disappeared, they'd all taken it for granted that he'd recuperated completely.

The possible consequences of that carelessness chilled Luke to the bone whenever he let himself consider them. At the back of his head, questions gnawed. Diffuse plans and prospects ran together, shaken up by the seismic rush of change. Disquiet churned in him and vied with impatience each time Han reached for him, an indefinite yearning set off at every touch, always catching him unawares.

Do we have a future? And what will it be?

Han had almost killed himself with his own stubbornness, it always came back to that. Anger still seethed at the thought, but Luke kept it tightly leashed. A barrage of reproach and retrograde alarm couldn't possibly help Han recover.

On the third day, Han showed signs of growing restlessness, and the following morning, Luke walked in on a blustery argument between an indignant Corellian and a riled Wookiee. Arms folded, Luke leaned back against the wall, waiting for their agitation to settle.

Chewbacca's snarls informed him that his demented human partner had expended much breath and energy on complaining about everything in sight from the first moment of waking. The dryness of recycled air, the smells, the stale food and the nurse droids' lack of humor.

"Yeah, so what?" Han groused. "You'd be scraping the ceiling in my place, you big oaf. I never said I'm a model patient. Besides, I feel fine." He turned to Luke, hazel eyes smoldering without a sliver of remorse. "Ever seen a case of real cabin fever? It ain't a pretty sight."

Exasperated and amused, Luke shook his head. Definitely an improvement, to see Han's temper sparkle like this. "You're far from it," he said, "believe me. But maybe Chewie will take you for a walk in the gardens..."

"Like I need a foul-tempered seven-foot watchdog?" Han grumbled.

"...and meanwhile, I'll find the doctor," Luke continued, unperturbed. "Just don't count on creating trouble to get yourself kicked out. The staff's more conscientious than that."

The vivid scowl faded, and Han's mouth curled into a reluctant grin that said, 'you got me there'. "All right, all right," he relented. "I'll be good. Just get them to release me as soon as possible, okay?"

The covers slipped down to his hips as he sat up and stretched languidly, early sunlight accenting the ripple of muscles over his abdomen. Last night, all the dressings and growth-enforcer pads had been removed, revealing not the faintest trace of scarring. Though thoughts of medical matters were far from Luke's mind as he watched.

Precipitate fantasy teased his senses with the feel of Han's skin, the hard, angular body moving against him, the heady mixture of smooth caresses and rough friction. Muscles tightened all along his body, prepared to pounce at the demands of unreasoning instinct. And in all likelihood, Han could read that impulse off his face. The low-lidded look he gave Luke issued as blatant an invitation as it could get.

Ironic amusement at his stormy responses snapped Luke out of the mood. He felt every bit like a teenager again, mystified by the first upsurge of hormones. A smile bent his mouth as he silently shook his head.

Over the past days, he'd learned a lot about the touch-starved craving in his body... and the eminently visible effects a single kiss could have on him. Right now, it just wouldn't do.

"I'll see you later," he told Han, pushing away from the wall. "Take a walk, but don't overdo it."

He found Doctor Kaldra in her office, her brow ridge knotted in concentration as she bent over the desk console.

"Please, have a seat," she invited absently.

"I can come back later, if it's inconvenient--"

"No, no." The Drangonin's pupils were slitted when she met Luke's eyes. "As a matter of fact, I would have asked you to see me anyway."

"About what?" Luke felt a twinge of apprehension as he took the chair opposite her desk.

"Some interesting test results." Kaldra's mouth curved in a reassuring smile. "You'll remember that I asked why you objected to the bacta treatment..."

Faintly uncomfortable, Luke gave a short nod. He still couldn't supply reasons that would fit the stark patterns of empirical science. Kaldra, however, didn't seem to mind.

"It is unusual," she resumed. "The bacta imitates organic fluids, which ensures its compatibility with every known metabolism. No allergic reactions or disagreeable side-effects have been recorded so far." The Drangonin cocked her head. "I was curious. I studied the files that Princess Organa so graciously provided and compared the tissue samples we took with the data on record..."

Her expressive body language suggested a lot to Luke. "You've discovered why bacta immersion might have been the wrong choice?"

"I believe I have." Her hands moved across the console, and a projector switched on, painting visually enhanced raygrams on the white wall next to her desk.

Without much hope of success, Luke tried to read sense into the visuals, the pale strands and colored blotches forming chaotic, abstract patterns.

"These are nerve fibers. The changes are so minuscule that it took me a while to notice," Doctor Kaldra explained. "It is quite possible that I would have overlooked them altogether if General Solo's medical profile hadn't included the cause for these injuries."

Luke swallowed around a cold lump in his throat. "Injuries he received before he was put into carbon freeze?"

"The file specifies that he was tortured by means of a finely tuned neural disruptor," the doctor said quietly. "The effects are most evident around the cerebral cortex, but essentially, his entire nervous system was affected."

"Affected? How?" Luke managed.

"The dendrites, or nerve endings, were practically frayed, and synaptic linkages severed, due to constant overstimulation. For a while, this impairment must have slowed his reaction time and affected the processing of sensory input. But when you compare the two samples, you'll see that the damaged tissue has regrown naturally. By now, the effects are barely visible, even in maximum magnification."

Luke let out the breath he'd been holding for some time. "So he'll heal completely, no after-effects?"

"None whatsoever," Kaldra assured him. "And in this particular case, the body's capacities of self-healing are superior to every treatment we can devise. Accelerated growth, such as the bacta stimulates, would have created renewed stress on the delicate neural tissue. And instead of stimulating it would have hampered the healing process."

"I see." Luke rubbed at his lower lip.

Impossible, that Han should have realized as much. He'd refused bacta therapy on a gut reaction that most likely had nothing at all to do with self-preservation.

"I had no idea," Luke added.

The doctor studied him with bright amber eyes. "Yet your intuition proved to be correct," she said amiably. "Now tell me what I can do for you."

Han and Chewie were back in the room when Luke returned. Hazel eyes pinned him at once, full of expectation and impatience.

"You're out of here today," Luke said, the last word cut off by a Wookiee groan and a satisfied grunt from Han. "On one condition."

Han's face fell and settled into frank suspicion. "Let me guess," he said caustically. "They wanna cut me open again and make sure everything's back in place."

"Nothing quite so drastic," Luke returned, fighting back a grin. "The doctor wants to examine you at regular intervals over the next three days. You don't have to stay in the hospital, but we can't leave the planet either."

"Fair enough." Han shrugged. "I'll be a lot more comfortable aboard the Falcon."

Luke shook his head. "Quarantine regulations. You haven't been cleared yet, and they won't allow you into the docking bay area. But I could rent a room for the duration, somewhere in the city."

"So long as I can leave this germ-free little box..." Han trailed off to run a glance full of speculation across Luke's body. "Make sure that room's got a properly sized bed though, will ya?"

Despite Han's vocal protest, Chewbacca insisted on driving them over to their new lodging in a rented hovercar. Not wasting much time on it, Luke had selected a halfway house on the town's eastern edge, close to an old quarry.

By the time they arrived, dusk cloaked the jumbled landscape of abandoned gardens and sprawling sinter formations. Scattered quartz outcrops glittered from the shadows. From the inn's entrance, a yellow light spilled across the road.

An outdated ventilation unit coughed and sputtered into action as they entered the large room. Glowpanels came on and steadied, shedding a wan glow over furniture and appliances at least two generations old.

"Better than the hospital," was Han's laconic comment after he'd checked out the drink dispenser.

He flopped down on the broad bed, seemingly drained, but when Luke placed a hand on his shoulder, long fingers curled around his wrist and yanked him off balance with a well-calculated tug.

"Much better."

The low growl brushed Luke's skin like velvet, and his breath caught when Han pulled him against himself. Warm hands captured his face. "Careful--"

"I'm always careful..."

Just above a whisper, Han's voice had gained a seductive, husky edge.

"Can't remember seeing much proof for that..." Already distracted from rational reflection, Luke looked into dark, hazy eyes, mere inches away from his own.

"Oh no? Let's discuss that later... just kiss me now."

As if he had a choice. Luke brought their mouths together and felt the same leap of pulse from Han, the quick, tight beat of recognition and wanting. The kiss was slow and thorough, gradually deepening as their tongues engaged in lush patterns of advance and retreat. They were both breathing hard when Luke pulled away.

"Like that?" he murmured, burying both hands in the shaggy dark hair.

"That was enough to raise the dead, kid." Han made a point of slanting a glance at his groin.

"Don't exaggerate."

"Just do that again and you'll see..." Han gave him a slow, sensuous grin that still looked a little blurry around the edges.

"You're supposed to rest," Luke objected, exerting firm pressure on Han's shoulders. Insistent heat curled deliciously in his belly, but he ignored it together with Han's disgruntled snort.

"In that case, why don't you take my clothes off?" Challenge glittered in Han's hooded eyes.

"Right." Luke straightened. Laughter stirred in his chest, but at the same time his throat constricted strangely. "And then I'll sing you to sleep. Anything more I can do for you?"

"Cut the singing part." With a drowsy smile, Han locked his hands behind his head.

Starting with the knee-high boots, Luke went about his task methodically and occupied his mind with a reiteration of the most extravagant Corellian curses. Han was half-asleep by the time he finished undressing him. With a final, regretful glance, Luke pulled the sheet up over the long, perfectly muscled body and prescribed a cold shower for himself.

A boundless, floating pleasure permeated his senses, leavening through the layered mists of sleep. Luke breathed in deeply as sensation stirred his pulse into waking. Before thoughts had a chance to shape up in orderly procession, his awareness filled with Han, with the scent and feel of Han's body loosely spooned against his back, one arm wrapped around his waist, holding him close. A steady ebb and flow of breath tickling his shoulder. Firm heartbeats and the brush of curly hair where his spine touched Han's chest. They'd moved closer together as they slept, and now he found himself cradled in an unconsciously possessive embrace.

Well, maybe not entirely unconscious, Luke thought foggily when Han's free hand slipped under the cover to run down his thigh, playfully exploring with a mere graze of fingertips across reflexively tensing muscles.

"You awake?" Han's voice asked close by his ear.

"Mmmmh..." A thoughtless smile spread on his mouth. Luke opened his eyes to a crisp morning, the bright haze like a reflection of the warmth that traveled lazily beneath his skin.

"Should you be?" he asked after a few moments. "It's early..."

"All your fault." Warm lips nuzzled at his ear. "I must've been half-dead last night--" Han bent his head to drop light kisses against the back of Luke's jaw, "--but now I feel very much alive..."

He shifted, his legs nudging Luke's thighs while a full, heavy cock pressed up against his buttocks. Instant response ran through Luke's body and arrowed into his groin, tightening an erection that had formed before he'd even noticed. A low sound of pleasure vibrated in Han's chest.

"See what I mean?"

"No, but I can feel it..."

A soft chuckle prefaced the more definite caress of Han's lips settling against his throat, nipping, pursuing a thread of quickened pulse. Luke turned his head, seeking that demanding mouth with his own, one hand curling into the sheet when Han licked at his lower lip. The wandering hand slid around to trail up lightly between his thighs, and Luke gasped in surprise at the hot sear of sensation.

"Good morning," Han whispered throatily, before he took full possession of his mouth.

Mind swathed in a languorous haze, Luke gave himself up to the longing that immersed every nervepath in scintillating energy. The smooth, seductive glide of Han's tongue searching the inside of his mouth, the silky shaft pulsing against his skin. The same slow tune sang through their bodies as they shifted back and forth, pressed together, legs twining. When Han palmed his erection and rubbed it gently, Luke's insides twisted. Held breath burned in his chest, and he broke the kiss gasping, laughing, caught up in a web of light-headed pleasure.

"Gods, Han... I--"

"I know." The husky murmur was followed by a kiss brushed against his ear, then Han's lips slid through his hair. "Time to make up for all the missed opportunities."

Words had barely taken shape in his mind when Han started to stroke him with easy, practiced sensuality, and all that came was a choked moan. Luke moved into a rhythm pulled from the depths of his body, and it was all that anchored him among the dizzy swirls of sensation. Every touch gaining brilliant definition, verging on a blind, overwhelming joy until he could almost feel Han's life stream through his own veins.

Fine shivers crawled in the wake of the faster breaths blown against the nape of his neck, each smooth, deft stroke winding him up tighter as he felt Han thrust between his thighs, blood-hot hardness kindling frissons that fled across sensitive skin. Han was wrapped around him, rough breaths tingling his ear until Luke turned his head again and reached back, knotting his fingers into thick, dark hair. On his ragged breath, vacant words drifted against Han's mouth, then no longer words, just the harsh, pleading sounds of unbearable arousal.

It was over too fast. Luke drew Han's mouth down on his own, needing the taste of him to close an overloading circuit as their motions quickened. A warm palm pressed against his belly while Han's fingers played him with sure, torturous knowledge, coaxing one crest of heat after the next, until he moaned into Han's mouth and thrust back with his tongue, releasing himself into the white tide of a piercing climax.

Scalding pleasure unfolded inside him, building higher and higher until he trembled with the sweet, wrenching ache that left a hollow in his chest, a strange craving sharpened by the feel of Han urging against him in a tighter rhythm. In another moment, Han's arms clamped like a vise around his torso and slick spurts melded skin to skin. Luke shivered at the sound of Han's explosive groan, mind grasping at fragments of thought through the dense reverberations of spent passion.

Making love with Han was still such a new experience and more unsettling than he'd ever anticipated, crystallizing a need in him that he'd never felt so intensely. Emptiness hungered on the far edge of his consciousness, as if he'd reached too hard, past everything he could possibly claim.

Luke returned the gentler kiss Han placed on his mouth, felt his pulse settle and his body sag, preserving the memory of pleasure in sated heaviness. When Han finally disentangled himself to head for the bathroom, cool air prickled on his sweat-dampened skin. Like the touch of a fine blade.

He closed his eyes, closing himself around a constant hunger for more. Every touch only seemed to feed the part in him that moved restlessly, straining for a final connection. Amidst aimless thoughts and feelings, the slender thread that linked him to Han's presence glistened like a promise.

Too early, Luke told himself. Promises and plans for the future would only shackle Han -- who loved his freedom too much, his fierce independence inseparable from all that he was. Luke drew the sheet around himself and listened to the steady rush of the shower. For each of a dozen ways to share their lives, there seemed to be a hundred-odd possibilities of losing Han. Not just to the hazards of wild gambits and crazy stunts, but to recklessness and stubborn pride. Asking Han to be more careful couldn't possible alter his attitude, that entrenched habit of challenging life to defy him. We need to talk about this, Luke thought, but he didn't have the faintest idea how to broach the subject.

Later, after they'd cajoled a fairly palatable breakfast from the food processor, Han insisted on going for a walk. Down the road, some battered plastene and pourstone structures were slowly withering into the landscape. Property fences had fallen and sonar arrays rusted in some of the unkempt gardens, embroidered by a plague of creepers.

As they strolled along, Luke kept up a surreptitious watch, sidelong glances checking for covert signs of fatigue. But if anything, Han seemed more energetic than he had in a long time.

"Don't look at me that way," Han grumbled eventually, one corner of his mouth tucked up into a lenient grin. "I'm all right." But then the dark brows knitted in afterthought. "Unless there's something else? Something the doctor told you that I should know about?"

"No." Luke met the direct glance with equal bluntness. "Nothing."

"That's good to know..." The set of Han's jaw relaxed ever so slightly. "The past few days must've been rough," he added, wrapping an arm around Luke's shoulders. "And I never even said thanks. Chewie told me a couple of things..."

"It's been just as tough for him," Luke returned, startled by the edge in his own voice. When he quickened his pace, Han's arm slipped off his shoulders. "Did he tell you that Leia and Lando came to see you?"

Han made a noise that could have been confirmation. "You and Leia," he started, "I mean... is she okay? She's not blaming you, is she?"

Luke shook his head. "But it's one thing to be reasonable about all this, and another to... well, come to terms with it."

"Yeah. Guess there's no help for that."

There was an awkward pause.

"So Lando came along, huh?" Han kicked at pebbles that trickled down the ditch by the roadside.

"He convinced Rieekan to transfer your assignment on to him."

"He did? Doesn't sound like the Lando I used to know." Han pulled up his shoulders with a baffled expression. "The crazy bastard's really pushing for a guilt complex... Totally pointless, but there doesn't seem to be any way to make him see that."

"He's trying to help," Luke objected. "He thought you'd want to get involved again later, and if somebody else took over, that might not be so easy."

They'd reached the rim of the quarry, a crater blasted out of crumbly soil and quartz-grained rock. The lower end had been converted into a garbage dump some time ago, an odd assortment of gutted vehicles, scrapped household equipment and plastic containers rotting between the rubble. Remnants of a solar reflector glinted in the sunlight like metal spiderweb.

"Listen," Han started again as they walked along the path skirting the quarry, "you think there's any chance we can talk the doctor out of those additional tests? Three days on a dustball like this looks like a major waste of time to me."

"No," Luke said sharply. "We can't, and I'm not going to try. I'm sure Lando can handle the job on Nar Pol. For all we know, he might be on his way back to the fleet by now."

"Hey, relax," Han growled, "I didn't say Lando couldn't handle it."

Above the rockface, stunted trees balanced themselves in the dry ground with splayed, gnarled roots. Han plucked off a twig and turned it in his fingers, rustling curled leaves that were covered in stone dust.

"I was just thinking we could find us a nicer place to relax, that's all." He tossed the twig aside.

Luke nodded shortly, wrestling with a senseless frustration that kept chafing and undermining rational thought. We're together, that's what matters...

They descended a short slope and struck off into the vague direction of their lodge. Beyond the weed-grown gardens stretched undeveloped terrain, sprinkled with patches of wiry vegetation like outposts in the stony wilderness.

"What do you want to do now?" Luke asked.

"Except get out of here?" Han slanted him a curious glance, most likely prompted by his far too serious tone. "Are you asking what I'm gonna do with the rest of my life?" He gestured negligently. "I've never planned that far ahead... Makes even less sense now."

"But you accepted when they offered you the rank of a general."

Incongruously, Han started to laugh.

Luke broke his stride to stare at him, torn out of his edgy mood by the low, rich sound of that laugh and the glitter lighting in Han's eyes.

A rush of warmth spread through him, momentarily obliterating all else. Only this was real, the love he'd discovered one step at a time, a strange certainty that spanned the shimmering distances of Tatooine. He loved Han for his level-headed pragmatism, his passionate temper and irreverent sense of humor -- even for his infuriating traits. His mulish pride, for one. His arrogant refusal to admit that sometimes even Han Solo had to rely on others just as much as they relied on him.

"What's so funny?" Luke asked when no explanation was forthcoming.

Han chuckled and raked his fingers through outgrown hair. "They made me a general so fast, no one ever got around to signing any papers. And no one checked my medical file either. Guess that gives 'em a handle to revoke the commission now... if they want to."

"Is that what you want?"

"Can't think of it as a permanent arrangement." Han waved a hand, dismissing rank, career, a clearly demarcated future. "We'll see what comes up. Far as I can tell, this war's not nearly over and we'll have our hands full of all kinds of problems for years."

"No doubt about that," Luke agreed soberly and tried to ignore the knot of troubled feelings that kept twisting inside him.

Han reached across, knuckles brushing the side of Luke's face before his hand slid around Luke's neck, briefly warming his skin. "The only thing I know right now is that I want us to be together," he said in a lowered voice.

Luke almost reached back when the hand was withdrawn, tangled emotions surging in the wake of those words. It should be enough. But another part of him couldn't seem to stop raising questions, locating impossibilities, circling the memory of those paralytic hours in the clinic, of the terror cued by trenchant beeps from the cardiac pacer.

"Luke..." Han studied him with narrowed eyes. "What's up? Come on, kid, get it off your chest."

"I should've realized something was wrong!" The words were out before he had a chance to consider. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" Han's features hardened almost imperceptibly.

"About those cramps," Luke said tightly. "Leia told me you refused treatment before we left for Endor."

"That's right. Floating in a bacta tank in sickbay while Imperials blast the ship to kingdom come ain't my idea of going down."

"And what is?" Luke shot back. "What do you think you're proving? That you're indestructible?" He took a deep breath, but anger kept clenching in his gut, a hot pressure just below his ribcage. "And what about the next time? What's so impossible about asking for help when you need it?"

"Sure, and let mechanical brains make my choices for me." Han's expression darkened further. "The carbon freeze was bad enough, but it doesn't turn me into a goddamn cripple or a headcase! I can still take care of myself."

Well and truly piqued, Han's temper flared erratically, with a nervous, aggressive energy that made Luke wonder. Too used to running things his way, Han didn't handle restrictions of any kind too well, but he'd always exhibited a pragmatic attitude when forced to solicit medical assistance -- which happened frequently enough.

Yet now Han's expression was shuttered and defensive. Unrelieved tension simmered close to the surface, barely reminiscent of the man who'd spent the night with him on Endor, calmly determined, ready to listen with an open mind.

"What is it?" Luke asked haltingly. "I mean... about the carbon freeze. You've never been that touchy about accepting treatment."

A muscle slanted in Han's jaw, like a physical mark of the rash denial that didn't come this time. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I just... When Two-Onebee said 'bacta', it set off all the alarm bells in my head. Just the thought of that claustrophobic tank... no, thanks."

A chill touched the back of Luke's neck, out of nowhere, and his hands balled tight as he damned his lack of comprehension. So soon after the carbon freeze, the notion of another confinement had to trigger a score of devastating memories, no matter how hard Han tried to shrug them aside. And Luke recalled what he'd felt of the barriers inside Han's mind, blocking the haunting pull of a past that could not be changed.

He just couldn't face it, Luke thought, that's all. But while he'd dredged part of that truth to light, he'd pushed Han deeper into his defenses at the same time.

"So I made a mistake," Han said, no hint of compromise in his tone as he lengthened his strides. Some hundred yards ahead, a weather-worn sign announced their lodge in faded phosphor. "We all had more important things on our minds, and I thought I could tough it out."

Luke shook his head. What could be more important than your life?

"It almost killed you." He stepped into Han's path and met his shadowed glance. "Han, one of the reasons why I surrendered myself to the Imperials on Endor was that I wanted you to be safe. To live."

"Yeah, but you're forgetting one little detail," Han said harshly. "You never expected to get out alive, ain't that right? Now what d'you call that?"

"Necessary," Luke said through clenched teeth.

"I'd call it heroic suicide, at best." Han snorted. "There you go again. You think it's necessary to get yourself killed, but if I take a risk, I'm irresponsible -- or just plain stupid, right?"

"That's not what I said." Luke swallowed, reaching for composure, for detachment, but Han's brusque reproach had brought too much alive in him, and memory stormed his mind.

...the slowly building rage like a toxic invasion of his blood -- while beyond the viewport Rebel ships burst into shrapnel and glittering gas clouds in eerie silence.

The helplessness to which he'd condemned himself, glaring back at him from the pale reflection of his own face, superimposed on the fevered tableau of destruction.

The darkness that sank its claws into him as he backed away into deeper shadows, no longer trusting himself to contain the waves of fury.

The fear that curled into his bone marrow like a living, writhing thing, stirring a blind need to defend, to destroy the threat and deliver them all. Protective impulse and seething hate sprang from the same source, both kindling the passion that drove his furious attack against his own father...

"So maybe I gamble a bit too high sometimes, but the idea is to survive," Han's voice broke into heedless recollection. "Can't say the same about you. You've been trying to sacrifice yourself ever since we met." He stabbed a finger at Luke's chest. "Don't tell me. It's a Jedi thing."

"What if it is?" Luke asked, dragging his mind back to the present. "I knew I had to confront my father, that he could turn back. I was trained for that... even if Ben and Yoda didn't foresee what would happen. I was the only one who could do it."

"Yeah, I bet I'm gonna hear that a lot from now on," Han returned, his voice laced with sarcasm. "The last Jedi knight. Always placing himself in the line of fire."

"I can't change what I am."

"Nobody said you should." Impatience flickered in Han's eyes. "So, if you're planning to do your Jedi thing," he charged, his voice low and tight, "how do I fit in? What do you need me for?"

Each word landed like a physical blow. Luke felt his heart kick painfully hard at his ribs. "I'm not whole without you, damn you!" The words were barely out when Han reached for him and hauled him close, crushing their mouths together. Luke returned the kiss blindly, every sentiment swerving into passion as his arms locked around Han's back and his mouth answered each unspoken demand, every feeling that suddenly seemed to pour from Han into his own mind and heart.

"I love you," Han said between the first kiss and the next, sounding just as breathless as Luke felt.

Luke closed his eyes and traced the path of mindless, joyous wanting through every fiber in his body while their mouths clung -- searching, claiming, responding. A long time passed before he could let go and come up for air. Before he found his voice again.

"I'm sorry... I just couldn't handle the thought of losing you."

"Yeah, I know what it's like." Han cupped his jaw, caressing the curve of Luke's mouth with his thumb. "I'm sorry too. Let's go back inside, okay?"

Morning was scaling up towards bright noon, and the decrepit ventilation unit in their room wheezed petulantly. Luke switched it off and opened all the windows. Stiff plaitsilk curtains rustled in the breeze while Han's fingers conversed with the drink dispenser.

"Want anything?" he asked Luke. "One of those wholesome mineral drinks?"

"You should have one yourself." Luke walked over to the kitchenette, accepting the plasticup Han held out to him. "We could take a look around the city later on," he suggested. "I haven't seen much of it either."

Though their fingers barely brushed together, subliminal tension resonated through the contact.

"Yeah, maybe later..." Han entered another request, glaring at the dispenser that took its own sweet time to process orders.

"About the carbon freeze..." he said abruptly. "Probably sounds weird, but getting dropped into it wasn't that bad. There was so much going on at the time, and I had my head full of worries... I figured it'd either kill me or it wouldn't. It was fast."

Silvery reflections from the dispenser's display danced over his profile, conjuring the terror he'd buried as deep and hard as he could. Luke leaned back against the table and watched, motionless, as if this memory formed an unstable energy field that could be imbalanced at the slightest intrusion.

"The bad part was coming out of it again," Han continued. "Felt like every cell in my body'd been screwed with. Even when my eyes got better... nothing really worked for a long time. Like my brain couldn't make sense of anything anymore."

Luke almost flinched, a swift arrow of cold sliding through his solar plexus. "That's more or less what happened," he said softly.

"Is it?" Han turned his face towards him, shifting tides of thought passing like clouds over his face.

"The doctor explained it to me yesterday. She says it's the combined effect of... torture and hibernation that affected your entire nervous system."

In the silence, the sound of another plasticup plunking from the dispenser came as a small explosion. The processor put itself to sleep with a huffy rattle.

"Which is why the bacta wouldn't've been good for you either," Luke added, deliberately switching to a lighter tone. "Your instincts were right about that."

"Maybe. But I should've reported to sickbay when there was time." Han picked up his cup, downed the contents like medicine and shook his head. "Chewie says you kept them from dumping me in the bacta tank. How come you knew what was wrong?"

"I didn't. It was just... a hunch."

A crooked grin started in the corners of Han's mouth. "A Jedi hunch."  He saluted with the drained cup. "Guess that means I owe you two."

Luke shrugged, grateful to let the memory slide. "Who's counting?"

Instead of an answer, Han tossed his cup into the recycler, took off his vest and unbuttoned his shirt, his grin growing wider when he noticed Luke's quizzical glance. "What, you don't think you've earned a little striptease?"

"Is that what this is?" Luke managed a fairly impassive tone, although his throat threatened to go quite dry again.

Han pulled up one shoulder. "I'm trying to be a model patient," he elaborated after he'd slipped the shirt off. From a vest pocket, he retrieved a small tube. "One of the nurses gave me this last night. I'm supposed to use it twice a day, to make sure there's no scarring. Keeps the tissue supple, she said." The timbre of his voice changed when he added, "You can do it for me if you like."

"If I like..." Luke let out a soft laugh. "Very subtle."

Unperturbed, Han moved closer. "It requires taking your shirt off too."

"All part of the prescription, I take it."

"Exactly." Han's fingers were already busy unfastening his tunic. "Always knew you were smart..."

A half-formed reply slipped from mind when the tunic was pulled over his head, and Han's arms trapped him against his chest. Luke felt a start deep in his belly, a smooth, delicious swirl. Odd, how the feel of skin on skin alone could heighten his perceptions, edging each with a flicker of electricity. He ran a hand up Han's chest.

"We won't get anything done like this..."

"Yeah, I think I should lie down... give you better access."

Eyes kindling, Han let his hands fall off and stalked right over to the bed. Pulling his boots off, he slouched on the fresh sheets, a study in casual elegance. As he followed suit, Luke couldn't take his eyes off him.

Noon light brought out a shade of bronze in Han's skin and enhanced the sleek lines of his body. Sprawled on his back, he somehow managed to look graceful and strangely innocent at the same time.

"Here..."

Reflex snapped Luke out of his absorption when Han tossed him the tube, and he plucked it from the air automatically.

"C'mon, get to it," Han ordered in a mock-drawl.

Straddling his thighs, Luke squeezed some of the gel into his palm and started massaging it into the skin over Han's abdomen. Muscles tautened into hard ridges against the pressure of his hand.

"You've got a great touch..." Han reached for his hand and placed a soft, moist kiss against the inside of his wrist. "I could get used to this kind of medical attention."

Luke stilled, caught between the feel of Han's body beneath him and another insurrection of might-have-beens. Under his fingers thrummed a strong pulse, connecting with the faster heartbeats that battered his own ribs.

I had to believe you were safe, that nothing could ever break you... that's why I didn't realize something was wrong. I won't let that happen again.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Han was watching him closely. Quick to sparkle with irritation, laughter or passion, the hazel eyes had turned thoughtful.

"Nothing."

Except that I love you. The feeling lived on the most visceral level, like a shiver in the spine, and still took him by surprise.

Leaning over, Luke traced a path up Han's chest with his lips and breathed the scent of his skin. He let his fingers draw lazy patterns into the dark fuzz over Han's breastbone, nuzzling a small brown nipple that stiffened when he laved it with his tongue. Excitement slithered through him as Han's chest heaved a fretful breath. He nipped playfully, lips closing around the tight nub while Han's fingers threaded into his hair. Instantly stirring flesh rubbed his thigh and fueled the lush heat that gathered low in his belly. A moment later, impatient hands drew him down against the length of Han's body, leaving him with a scant margin to draw breath.

"Yeah, that's where I wanted you all along," Han murmured appreciatively and raised his head, his mouth fastening on the side of Luke's neck.

Hips rocked forward impulsively as capable hands roamed all over Luke's body, found their target in each separate nerve ending when they quartered his chest and ran down his sides before they finally settled on his hips. Fugitive heat blossomed everywhere, intermittent fires sketching a map of delights. Luke pressed back hard, and the feel of Han's trapped erection triggered a high-voltage discharge in his groin.

Pausing for breath, Han hooked a finger under his waistband. "Come on, we'd better get your pants off you. 'S gotta be uncomfortable..."

Luke levered himself up and slid to the side. "How about you?"

He cupped Han's groin lightly, savoring the heat that melted through the cloth, the distinct pulse when his fingers outlined rigid flesh. Lean hips bucked upward, conquered by raw reaction. Han bit down on his lip.

"Yeah, you... got a point there..." he rasped.

It took them a while to strip off their remaining clothes, entangled, losing track of the intent more than once, supple movements outblazing conscious thought with frissons of urgent pleasure.

When pants and underwear had finally landed in a heap on the floor, Han eased back and pulled Luke across himself, settling him between open legs. One hand reached up to play with the strands that clung damply to Luke's temple.

"So now that I've told you about the worst moments in my life," Han started, "...what was yours?"

The question caught him off guard, and for the space of a breath memory clenched like a cold fist in his gut, colliding with the sprawling burn of sensation.

"On the Death Star--" Luke paused again for a beat, every thought at odds with the live electricity in his flesh. "For a time, all I could think was that I'd betrayed everyone... everything. I did nothing."

Each word formed separately, a painful truth wrenching away from the deadlock of paradox. Every choice a pitfall, another name for destruction. Yet the memory lightened as he inspected it from a distance, his senses brimming with the feel of Han's body beneath him, mooring him to the present.

"What could you do?" Han asked, his voice thickened by a rash stir of anger. "You were a prisoner. You were trying to get through to your father somehow... and there was one hell of a battle going on outside. You really think you could've stopped that?"

"At the time, I thought--" Luke caught himself. "Palpatine made me believe that I could."

"Yeah, and maybe he wanted you to believe all kinds of things, but that doesn't make them true either." Han glided both hands up Luke's spine and settled them firmly on his shoulders. "You knowwho you are. But in case you forget, I'm gonna remind you."

"You do that all the time."

Luke bent his head to capture Han's lips, probing for a deeper taste of him.

For a long spell of ambiguity and doubt, every passion had seemed like a slippery slide down to the Dark Side -- but changed awareness had patterned that amorphous shadow into something more comprehensible. And without this passion that sparked through the shadows, its currents of light and air in his veins, he never would have stretched beyond the limits, to shelter Han's life and make it part of his own. With this knowledge that sank through him -- skin, flesh and bones -- he could begin again, the paradox unraveling by slow degrees.

"Han," he whispered, raining kisses across the top of his chest, the line of his arched throat, abruptly out of words. A new life, a dream, a wild flight through futures he'd never considered -- flung far past the borders of language.

Luke surrendered to the pulse that steered every touch, lips and hands cruising Han's frame, charting scattered pieces of himself in every ripple of response. A sequence of rampant thrills rocked them together, heady and liberating. Until Han took his face between his hands, a serious charge in his eyes.

"I meant what I said... that I want us to be together. But you'll have to tell me what you need from me."

Luke shook his head, bewildered by the sudden, swift ache that chased through his chest. "Just you. The way you are."

"Well, you can have me right now..." Han said, the slow, laconic tone accompanied by a provocative glance from under his lashes. "Make love to me."

That glance alone lit on his skin like a touch of blazing sunlight. Luke sucked in a sharp breath, his body tingling at the suggestion, every part of himself turning on as if a deepest nerve had been struck. "You mean--"

"Yeah. Want me to spell it out for you?"

Luke silenced him with a kiss. "But I've never--"

"Doesn't matter. I'll show you..."

He shivered when Han's fingers drew a hot trail up between his legs, probing for untried nerves, launching playful instructions with each bright sting of pleasure.

"Don't you want to--"

"Later..." Han shifted, groping for the gel amidst the rumpled folds of the sheet. "And you bet I'll take you up on that."

Luke sat back, a dry heat sweeping him, skin recalling the frightful intensity of twin suns that stared down on him, unblinking. "I want you to."

His hands skimmed Han's flanks, the length of his thighs, taking delight from every flutter of muscle and confidence from the quickened cadence of breath. Sliding lower, Luke raked his teeth across the soft flesh of Han's inner thigh, coaxing his legs further apart while a finger circled the tight entrance.

"Don't worry," Han muttered, "it's all right... don't stop now..."

Words came apart, faltered into abrupt incoherence as Luke traced the hard shaft with his lips, drew all that solid heat into his mouth for a second and another. His slickened fingers inched forward, toyed and gentled until Han groaned huskily, pushing back in wordless demand. A film of perspiration glistened on his skin when Luke moved again, taking directions from the hands that closed hard around his shoulders. Muscular legs locked around his torso, uncompromising strength securing him exactly where Han wanted him. No need to ask if he was sure.

Every nerve in Luke's body lurched as he pushed inward. Blinding pleasure rose through him with wanton force. He turned his face into the palm that cradled his cheek.

Han's eyes met his, alert and aware, as he willed his body to relax. A sharp intake of breath lifted his chest.

Luke trembled and held himself still, caught up against a fine edge that burned on his skin, like wind-driven sand out of the desert, laying him bare.

"Don't stop..."

Han's fingers tightened their grip, splayed out over the nape of his neck as he urged Luke down into a breathless kiss. Pulled closer, he slid in smoothly, sheathing himself completely. He moaned against Han's mouth, breaking away only for a desperate, rushed breath, and the next kiss took out all higher thought functions at once. Fierce pleasure overran them both, loosening taut tracks of discomfort and control on Han's features.

He moved slowly, deeper into tight heat and changing knowledge that filled his body to bursting. Then they were moving together, rocking, shifting, and he could feel a tremor run through Han with a thrill like a shot of raw oxygen -- could feel it from within as he tightened his rhythm, welcomed, wanted, every nuance of feeling blending through his own.

"I love you." Ragged breaths severed the words, his mouth separated from Han's by a mere thread, hard gasps mingling with the frantic race his of own heartbeat.

Every honed sense in him reached outward, and he couldn't stop it any more than he could have stopped his body from thrusting, seeking the core of every jarring thrill. Seconds stretched to impossible lengths as sensation raced past the confines of skin, swelled through the fragile connection and lashed back through him.

He could feel it now -- redoubled echoes, a fugue state of being that made him one with all that coursed through Han's senses -- opened, entered, filled, each stroke a spasm of shocked pleasure -- and one with himself. Closed circles of feeling interlocked, winding themselves into a tightly coiled spring. Skyburn on his skin, the essence of motion. Han's voice, low and breathless. A splash of pale sunlight across crinkled sheets. His hand on Han's cock. Each moment a swirl of atoms that glittered into energy. Claiming pressure, wild pulse drumming against his shaft, setting a pace.

It couldn't last longer than a minute, a second, a heartbeat. He lunged again, and again, as the first waves of incandescent pleasure broke through him, giving, taking. Han arched into his deeper thrusts, and hard tremors shook his whole frame. One beat, one surge, one moment of dissolution, melting and exploding. One.

When he opened his eyes again, late afternoon painted brazen patterns on the walls and ceiling, an intrusion of light dancing past the limits of solid reality. As if every moment that made up the future had coalesced around them. Unwilling to move, Luke drew a long breath and held it. Like a localized ripple in the Force, a reflection of all the loving surrounded him in the loose circle of Han's arms.

He opened himself up to mobile temporal currents and let the future whisper through his mind in a way he hadn't dared since the vision on Dagobah. Some of it would never come to pass, and some of the fractured sights were joined by longing and wishful thoughts. But among the roll of images and events unfolded the life he wanted, shared with a headstrong Corellian who refused to compromise his freedom for anything and lived his commitments instead of proclaiming them. Within this fold of time, Han was at his side, a constant source of rumor and speculation.

A poor choice for the last Jedi. A quirk in the time-honored history of Jedi knights who'd bonded amongst themselves. It couldn't possibly last...

As Luke listened to the murmur of future voices, he sensed the reaction from his older self, amused and irritated, yet secure in the choice once made. He would have no other.

Perhaps that was why he'd closed himself off, mind, body and heart, to Yoda's advice. If you honor what they fight for, let them die--?

Impossible.

I'm sorry, his own voice answered Yoda's weary reproof, but the only regret Luke knew right now was for the tortuous process of understanding that came in fits and starts. When he'd rushed to Bespin, he hadn't been ready for the burden, as Yoda so relentlessly reminded him. And he'd only been half aware of the call he followed, striking primal recognition into his soul. The possibility of a passion that would balance his perils, of a fulfillment that would make sense of his unrest and last longer than the years spent waiting.

He was ready for it now. He'd been ready for it when he'd returned to Tatooine, hopeless as it seemed, the clairvoyant feeling pushed into a far corner where it smoldered, abandoned without a name. Giving it a name would have made it part of his decisions, a crucial link in a fragile temporal nexus that could rip or reconfigure beyond recognition.

Time itself had been fragile when he'd finally gone to meet his father, all the strands of future interlacing, twisting, rearranged into radial patterns of possibility and paradox. Except one.

The future he'd chosen for himself, not the Jedi, not the symbol that time and politics would make of him. This strand had lain curled on itself, a node of dormant energy, a thread of heat weaving over his skin where nothing could reach it. Except the touch of those long-fingered, sensitive hands.

He turned his head and found Han's eyes on him, untroubled, probing with possessive warmth.

"What's on your mind?"

Luke smiled and leaned over into a gentle, thorough kiss. "You," he murmured against his lover's mouth, and in his chest, tendrils stirred and drew together, weaving skeins that would moor a deeper bond in time. A desire that would be answered.

"The future."

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