Fandom: Star Wars
Pairing: Han/Luke
Category: AU
Rating: NC17
Summary: Han is captured by Vadar when Hoth is attacked.
Notes: This is not a new story, merely new to the Net. It first appeared in an issue of Elusive Lover. My thanks to Cara Loop and her invaluable help. Also, this was written prior to the release of The Phantom Menace. I've opted not to make an changes in the text even though my view of Vader and Obi-Wan has changed since then.

Consort Of A Jedi

Coruscant, New Republic City
Present

Hell. Depending on his mood and situation, Captain Han Solo had several ideas of what that place might be like. An endless diplomatic reception was very high on his list. Inane chatter that could lead to wars if mishandled, crowded rooms, predictable food and drink topped off with a dress uniform -- it all added up to one miserable package. He fought the urge to tug at the high, snug collar of his dark blue tunic and wondered who had come up with the universal law that demanded all formal wear be excruciatingly uncomfortable. Must be the work of the Dark Side of the Force.

He smiled slightly at his joke and snagged another glass of sparkling wine from a servo-droid's tray -- his third drink of the evening and his last. He'd been far too well trained to drink too much (Lesson 601: Never overindulge). Even if a good drunken stupor would take the edge off things. A sentiment well reinforced by the approach of tonight's guest of honor, Ambassador Gurney.

Deciding he couldn't escape the encounter without giving insult, Han held his ground, even though every instinct urged him to cut and run. "Good evening, Ambassador," he said with his best diplomatic smile and a slight bow.

"Captain Solo." The head of the Haikan delegation echoed the bow, but his smile had a less formal quality to it, and he opted to stand far closer to Han than either the crowd or the noise level dictated.

Han shifted his weight onto his back leg, discreetly increasing the distance between them by a precious inch. "I trust you're enjoying the party."

"It is always a pleasure to experience the company of such interesting people without the barrier of a conference table."

Interesting? Yes, that would be one way to describe a government made up of the survivors of a galactic rebellion.

"A host of fascinating stories to be told in this room," Gurney went on, his pale grey eyes studying Han. "Yours for instance."

The other man stood three inches taller than Han's own 6'1", but while Han was broad-shouldered, with a lean, muscular build, Gurney's body ran to flabby bulk. In a way, the man could have been a human version of Jabba the Hutt.

He leaned closer to Han, one hand taking hold of Solo's arm. "They say you served the Empire."

Han opted to ignore the liberty of the touch and play dumb. "Yes, years ago, I was in the Empire's Corellian brigades."

Gurney's grip tightened and the shadow of a smirk entered his smile. "Yes, Corellian. Tell me, Captain Solo, is it true what they say about the men of Corellia?"

Oh, Gods. "I wouldn't know. I've learned not to pay attention to spacers' tales. So many of them are pure fantasy," he answered, giving a subtle pull to try and free his arm.

"Ah, but I have it on good authority that this one is true." Gurney released him, but as he withdrew his hand, it hovered for a moment over Han's backside. "Perhaps we could explore the matter?"

"I'm taken," Han answered, shifting away from the almost-but-not-quite pat on his ass. Definitely Jabba the Hutt in human guise.

Gurney looked amused. "Yes, a secret marriage to Commander Skywalker if the rumor mill has it right. But one could hardly fault a man such as yourself for straying when his spouse has abandoned him."

Han gritted his teeth and reminded himself that Leia would kill him if he caused a diplomatic incident. "The rumor mill can be as unreliable as a spacer's tales," he answered, his tone cold enough to make the planet Hoth seem warm. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

Gurney seized his arm again. "Oh, no, Captain, I couldn't possibly let you out of my sight."

This was going to get ugly, he thought with resignation, but tried one more time. "Ambassador, I am a married man, and I do not, as you put it, stray."

A lecherous smirk rewarded his attempt. "Yes, I suppose you must keep up appearances here, but when we are on my homeworld, there will be no prying eyes."

Han ached to pull the small blaster he'd hidden inside his tunic and disintegrate Gurney's wandering hands. He assumed that was why he wasn't supposed to be carrying a weapon -- but he never went anywhere unarmed. Pity violence wasn't an option. He settled on casting his thoughts towards his sister-in-law. *Come rescue me, Your Worship, or I'm not going to be held responsible for my actions.*

He knew she couldn't 'hear' the words, but her Force-sensitive mind could pick up the emotions behind a thought. Leia Organa Calrissian appeared at his side within moments. "Leia, you look lovely this evening," he observed, then bent down the foot that separated their heights and kissed her on the cheek.

Leia smiled and took his arm, insinuating herself between the two men with a smoothness that seemed to make Gurney blink in surprise when he realized he was no longer within grabbing distance of Han. The lady had style; Han had to give her that.

"Good evening, Ambassador," Leia said. "Are you still planning on leaving in the morning?"

"Yes," he answered. "Captain Solo and I were just discussing that."

"There's nothing I can do to persuade you to change your mind?"

He shook his head. "There is no point in doing so. My people are divided on the issue of whether or not to join the New Republic. Further negotiations must take place on my homeworld where all parties may be convinced. If not, any decision made here will result in civil war."

Leia nodded, and Han realized she agreed with Gurney, her questions merely a way to turn the Haikan's attention towards matters of state and away from Han's backside. *Not bad, Princess. Not bad at all.*

So briefly that only someone who knew her well would spot it, a smug smile touched her face, then her attention returned to Gurney. "You requested the Captain here as your negotiator."

"He has the best chance of succeeding with some of our more difficult council members."

He meant the representatives of the Smugglers Guild, of course. A good portion of Haika's economy was based on smuggling -- something the Alliance had approved of as it had often thwarted the Empire's purposes and helped keep more than a few rebel bases supplied. Now, the New Republic wanted the smuggling to stop. The revenues lost to the smugglers and pirates were needed to rebuild war-torn worlds, while the planet itself had strategic value as a base against a few Imperial strongholds.

As a former smuggler who'd 'seen the light', Han did have a better chance than most to convince the smugglers legitimate trade had its advantages. But there were others who could do it - Leia's husband for one - and Gurney had made it more than clear that he had plans for Han which had nothing to do with negotiations.

Han ached to escape Coruscant and its host of watchful eyes if only for a few days, but knew it would cause problems if he went along with Gurney's plans. More than a few members of the government were opposed to entrusting him with the mission. If he added his own voice to theirs, Gurney would have no choice but to allow Lando Calrissian to head the delegation departing for Haika next week. "I'm not certain-" he started to put an end to it, but caught the flash of pain on Leia's face as he spoke. Pain and doubt.

His stomach twisted. He'd said 'I'm not,' instead of 'I ain't.' Such a little thing, but somehow the polish of his speech had become the symbol of 'dark changes within'. Not that there were any, but try to tell anyone around here that. "Excuse me," he muttered, gently sliding away from Leia's grasp.

Han stepped right, then moved past the Haikan, careful not to force Gurney to give ground and lose face. He kept going until he'd escaped the reception hall. Once outside, he leaned back against the nearest wall and tried not to scream. *So ends another night of providing the evening's entertainment.*

His loyalty or his anatomy. No one seemed to give a damn about any other subject. Heard one battle story, heard them all, he guessed. Political intrigue or sordid sexual affairs were much more interesting. It certainly kept his name prominently on every guest list despite his modest rank and nebulous position with the new government.

A soft series of growls his mind translated as 'Are you all right?' and a powerful arm settling around his shoulders pushed away the specter of depression. He tilted his head to smile up at Chewbacca.

"I'm okay, pal." He opted not to mention Leia's slip, dumping everything on Gurney's designs instead. "Just a little tired of fending off the advances of everyone who wants to add a Corellian male to a list of conquests."

Chewie snorted with the sort of bored disdain of one who had already discovered the truth behind all those spacers' tales.

"You say that now when you're all respectable, but there was a time. ..."

Another soft growl, this one accompanied by a squeeze of Han's shoulder.

"Yeah, maybe you'd better see me home. Last thing I need is not to have an alibi if Gurney starts spreading his own tall tales." Things were difficult enough to handle without adding rumors of infidelity into the mix. Not that being with a member of another species had ever guaranteed Han's chastity in the past, but Chewie's word, unlike his own, was beyond reproach. He sighed. "Never quite pictured married life being like this."

A soft murmur of sympathy and another squeeze answered him. The Alliance victory had reunited the Wookiee with his wife and son, making life as joyful for him as it was complicated for Han. He knew that contentment made it all the harder for Chewie to see Han troubled.

That knowledge did not prevent his exhaustion-loosened tongue from blurting, "Some days it's all I can do not to climb into the Falcon and head for open space." A headache, as sudden as it was brutal, rewarded his thoughtlessness (Lesson 1: Disobedience will be punished; obedience rewarded.)

A sharp growl and the pressure on his shoulder went from comfort to restraint.

"Sorry, pal. Didn't mean to worry you," he tried to soothe his friend while he fought to hide the tearing pain. "I wouldn't go without you." He wouldn't go period, he pleaded with his headache. He'd never leave. He'd stay here and serve the Alliance for as long as there was a need for him. The ache subsided into a dull throb, but the internal battle hadn't gone totally unnoticed, and it was obvious he now had a suspicious Wookiee on his hands. The last thing he wanted anyone to know was how his own body could betray him, so he opted for diversion. "I am a little surprised you've decided to stay. I thought you'd head home, not bring the family here."

A few chirp-like snarls relayed the expected answer.

"No, I don't know of anyone better to be Kashyyyk's Representative, but I was still surprised you took the job." He stopped and looked up at his friend's furry face. "You didn't stay because of me, did you?"

The Wookiee gave him a superior glare and growled defiantly.

"What do you mean, 'what if I did?' Damnit, Chewie, you paid off the life debt you owed me years ago."

A furry head shook in disagreement.

Han sighed. It was damned difficult to out-stubborn a Wookiee, and Chewie wore his most intractable look. Worse, he had to admit he really didn't want to win this argument. He needed someone to believe in him, and so far Chewie was the only one applying for the job. "Thanks, pal," he muttered, furious with himself for his selfishness; but, when even the man he'd married wouldn't stand by him, it was hard to do the right thing and send away the only friend without 'reservations' about Han's loyalty.

Strong arms surrounded him, pulling him snugly against a furry torso. A warm, safe haven of affection, the embrace made Han's eyes sting with barely suppressed emotion. He clutched at the long brown fur, desperately trying to stay in control, but he was so tired. Of everything. He didn't do helpless well. In the past, he'd always been ... inconvenienced and waiting for his opportunity. Not even when he was Vader's prisoner had he felt so lost. Damnit, why did Luke's final message to him have to contain a request that he stay and help the Alliance? Han often wondered if Luke had any idea how effectively he'd imprisoned him with the simple plea. His only hope -- and a faint one at that -- was to convince himself the Alliance equaled one person, then get that person's permission to leave. A difficult strategy given the mind he was trying to fool was the same one that had thought it up.

Another soft growl of concern made him pull back. "I'm okay, Chewie," he said and started walking again. "I'm ... just bored. Have too much time to think." He latched on to the hope of an immediate, if temporary, respite, any notion of turning it down gone. "I'll be fine once I get to Haika."

Neither of them added the obvious 'If he were allowed to go.' Han was not a prisoner. The New Republic had made him a captain -- the same rank he'd earned when he'd served in the Empire's forces -- which gave him both military and diplomatic duties. But, to date, his service had consisted of going to receptions. He wasn't trusted enough to do more. He'd committed the heinous crime of surviving a year as Darth Vader's prisoner when few had managed to live a full week. Worse, he was seen as the reason Luke had gone off to Gods only knew where instead of staying to help build the new government himself. It made Han ... unpopular.

The irony was, he understood. He really did. Had this all happened to someone else, Han knew he would have been suspicious. But it hadn't happened to someone else. It had happened to him, and he was almost certain he could be trusted. There were simply a few things he couldn't do anymore -- like say 'ain't' or walk away from this miserable planet without permission.

Chewie cut into his thoughts with a menacing purr.

Han smiled. "Yeah, I meant when we get to Haika." Amazing how much the thought of blasting off in the Millennium Falcon with his partner at his side cheered him. Even if the destination would be a diplomatic mess.

His friend's comlink chose that moment to ping. Chewie reached into a pocket hidden on the inside of the sash that had replaced the ammunition belt he'd worn for so many years. Pulling out the small white cylinder, he switched it on and a voice Han recognized as Chewie's mate began growling before the Wookiee could say anything.

Malla sounded furious as she told Chewie their son had gone off to one of the lower pleasure levels, despite being forbidden to do so. She was going after him and expected her mate to meet her at Zipral's, 300 levels down. With one last snarl, she broke the connection without letting Chewie get in so much as a grunt.

The Wookiee gave a long-suffering moan that made Han chuckle. "Come on, pal," he said, clapping him on the back. "We'd better help her find Lumpy before she really gets mad."

They were near a bank of lift tubes, and one of them opened when Han pressed the call button. That only happened about once every three weeks. Maybe his luck was changing.

The door closed behind them, and the lift immediately began to descend. Han punched the button for their level, but it didn't light up. Frowning, he tried again. Nothing. He started pressing the buttons for other levels, but nothing seemed to work.

He gave Chewie a look, then hit the emergency stop. The lift didn't even slow down. Swallowing to equalize the pressure in his ears, he pulled at the cover on the control box, but it wouldn't open. A closer look at the edges revealed it had been carefully welded shut.

"Hell," he spat, pulling the small blaster from beneath his tunic. "Try using the comlink, Chewie," he ordered, adjusting the weapon's beam to its narrowest setting.

It took less than a minute to cut through the welds, but the lift had already descended into the lowest levels, far below where anyone with any sense went. Alarms should have sounded a full fifty levels ago. Ten levels ago, automatic systems should have stopped the lift, then sent it back up to one of the security levels. Given the sophistication of the sabotage needed to take them this far, it didn't surprise either of them to find both their comlinks and the lift's communication equipment useless.

"Must be some sort of jamming field," Han muttered through clenched teeth, his attention focused on rewiring the controls before they hit bottom.

Chewie growled his agreement.

"Generator must be on the outside of the lift," Han told him, finding nothing hidden among the wires to account for the jamming or the lift's failure to respond to its controls. "See if you can force the hatch."

The Wookiee reached up, touched the hidden ceiling panel, then screamed as an electric charge shot through his body in a sparking white arc.

"Chewie!" Han shouted, spinning around to knock his friend free, but the charge cut off, and the Wookiee crashed to the floor, unconscious. Scrambling to the limp form, Han's fingers flashed to a pulse point, and he sighed in relief at the faint drumming he felt. A relief that abruptly ended when the lift came to a halt.

The doors opened on the murky surface of Coruscant far below where the sun's rays could reach. The red haze of the few emergency lights still working provided the only illumination. Han tried to close the door, first by the button on the control panel, then by brute force, but it would not budge. No refuge, then.

Eyes studying the darkness beyond the haze, he pulled Chewie out of the lift, set his blaster on full power, then destroyed the floor. Nothing. A second shot disintegrated the ceiling and the lift fell, crashing at the bottom of the shaft a few moments later. The static roaring from his comlink stopped abruptly. Thumbing the emergency button, he was rewarded with a calm voice saying, "Emergency Control."

"This is Solo. A lift malfunctioned. Chewie and I are on the surface outside of Bank 10016. We'd appreciate a little help."

"Oh, dear." A droid. Nothing but a droid could be such a master of understatement. "I shall send assistance immediately."

"Thanks," he muttered, a soft growling drawing his attention. Chewie? No, too far to the right.

Han planted himself in front of his fallen friend, blaster at the ready, eyes and ears straining to penetrate the curtain of black fifteen meters away. He caught a vague impression of movement, but, all too aware of the blaster's limited charge, he held his fire. Another growl, this time to his left. Slightly different sound -- same species, not the same member. A third answered from somewhere in front of him. Surrounded. Where the hell was that assistance?

A shadow detached itself from the blackness and leaped towards him. Han fired, a red bolt of energy catching the shadow in the middle of a long, thin torso. A howl of anguish rang out, and a corridor ghoul crashed to the ground a few meters away. Venomous claws raked the air while razor-sharp fangs flashed in the faint red light, then it went limp. Han had time to note the creature would have been his height had it stood on its hind legs, then a whole pack of them attacked.

Forced to make each shot count, he killed four of them as they charged, but a fifth's leap sent it crashing into him. Firing as he fell, he felt claws rip into his shoulders and legs. A cold so hot it burned coursed through him, but he forced his body to throw off the dead predator, then managed to get to his knees in time to see a sixth ghoul sink its fangs into Chewie's neck.

"No!" he shouted, pulling the trigger. The blast knocked the beast away, but he could see blood soaking the Wookiee's fur and the ground beneath him. No, no, no! He fought to get to his feet, but couldn't find the strength. His vision blurry, he fired off another shot, this time only grazing an attacking ghoul.

The light began to fade, the coldness consuming him. Desperately, he started firing in an arc, trying to drive the attacking creatures back. Dimly over the roar in his ears, he thought he heard a lift door open. His last thoughts were that if the stupid droid had sent an empty lift, they were dead, and that it was cold down here. So very cold.

Hoth, Echo Base
19 months earlier

The base shuddered beneath a barrage of Imperial cannon fire while Han fought to stay on his feet and keep hold of Leia's hand as they raced along the corridors towards the last transport ship off this frozen mudball.

A direct hit sent them sprawling, the ceiling collapsing in front of them. He heard Leia scream, but she seemed unhurt when he regained his feet. Yet the corridor was blocked. Pulling out the comlink, he reported, "Transport, this is Solo. Better take off; I can't get to you. I'll get her out on the Falcon."

He grabbed her hand again, struck by how warm and small it felt in his, then started to run back towards his ship's berth. He could see the opening to the landing bay when he heard a loud thud. Leia jerked free from his grasp, shouting, "Threepio!"

Spinning around, he saw her go to the aid of the fallen droid. Every instinct he had screamed at him to cut and run, but he'd learned to ignore that sort of reaction a long time ago. Four long strides carried him to the golden droid's side. He jerked it to its feet, then gave it a hard shove towards safety.

Reaching for Leia's hand, he heard the muffled blast. Not as loud as the one that had collapsed the corridor, but a crack followed it, and horror twisted his stomach. He snatched Leia up, then hurled her with all his might in the direction of the Falcon. A millisecond later, the walls and ceiling gave way, sending a crushing weight of snow and ice raining down upon him.

Dagobah
Present

His legs tucked beneath him, Luke Skywalker sat on the ground outside a cave created by the twisted roots of a huge, dead tree and stared into its black maw. It still radiated with the corruption of the Dark Side, but no visions had touched his mind the few times he'd entered it. Not since that first time, when he'd faced a phantom Darth Vader, had the cave given a glimpse of anything but its own slimy walls.

He sighed. A cave that had foretold his greatest pain -- that Darth Vader was his father -- was now useless. Or had the cave told him anything? Had it been Yoda? So many questions, and no one to answer. "You said you'd always be with me," he whispered to the winds, but no vision of Obi-Wan Kenobi or Yoda appeared before him in answer. For four years he had heard Ben's voice when he'd needed guidance -- during the final year, a phantom form of the man had often appeared when they talked. But the last time he had seen or spoken to Ben had been over seven months ago. Before he'd gone to face his father and the Emperor. Before his father had given him Han.

"Is that why you stay away?" he asked. Anger, hate, aggression -- those were the emotions both Ben and Yoda had warned him led to the Dark Side. Strong negative emotion, yet at times it seemed the two Jedi Masters had avoided all strong emotion, spurning love as well as hate, passion as well as aggression. And he felt such overwhelming passion for Han. Passion and a love that threatened to consume him with its power. Was this what Anakin Skywalker had felt for Luke's mother? Had those emotions led to the birth of Darth Vader? He'd fled from Han to find the answer, but even after all this time it eluded him.

He ached to return to Han, but, terrified of what he felt, had stayed on Dagobah trying to reconcile his desires with the threat of another Skywalker becoming a Dark Lord of the Sith.

His father's dream filled his thoughts. He could see it so clearly. Himself as Emperor, Han at his side. Han, who had been trained by Darth Vader to be the perfect consort to a future emperor, to be everything Luke had ever wanted. And that was the shame of it.

Luke had wanted Han almost from the beginning. His brief infatuation with Leia had vanished when he'd heard Han's whoop and, 'You're all clear, kid. Now let's blow this thing and go home!' Han had come back for him, had swooped down on the Imperial ships chasing Luke's X-Wing and eliminated the threat, leaving Luke free to destroy the first Death Star. All Luke had wanted to do during that triumphant flight back to the base on Yavin 4 was see Han.

"He came back for me," Luke told the cave. "He said it was a suicide mission, that he only did things for money, but he saved me. Saved us all."

How could it be wrong to love such a man? But was Han still that man? And if he wasn't, who could Luke blame but himself? Not for the first time, he cursed that day on Yavin 4 when he'd been drawn into a conversation about Corellian anatomy. 'Nothin' like 'em, kid,' one of the crew chiefs had told them as they took a break in preparing for the evacuation to a new base. 'Males might look like the rest of us, but there's one delicious difference.'

Why had he listened? Even in those days he'd known the worth of spacer's tales, and Shartin had loved telling them. If only he'd walked away, if only he'd done anything but ask what he meant by that.

Shartin's eyes had gleamed, and he'd cast a leer in the direction of the Falcon's berth. 'Backsides are as slick and clean as what's between a woman's legs. All ya gotta do is arouse 'em, then slide into the hottest, snuggest paradise a man can find this side of the next life.'

Maybe if he'd accepted it everything still would have turned out all right, but, curious and not about to believe the old spacer, he'd mustered up his courage and asked Han about it.

Han had smiled. "Why, kid? You wanna give it a try?"

At the time, Luke had been certain he was being mocked and had laughed it off as a joke. But within minutes he'd begun torturing himself with thoughts that Han might have been extending an invitation. Images of having Han had filled his fantasies from that night on. In his dreams, the arrogant Corellian submitted to him eagerly, granting his every whim and obeying his commands. Only a fantasy -- he'd honestly thought he'd preferred the annoying reality. But the fantasy had grown more and more vivid each time Han had irritated him or flirted with Leia in front of Luke.

It should never have been more than that. But Darth Vader had used Leia and Chewbacca to draw Luke into a trap on Bespin's Cloud City. During the battle, his father had looked into his mind, had seen the fantasy and decided to make it real -- a gift for the son Vader had felt certain would eventually join him. How ironic then, that what Vader had done to Han had given Luke the strength to destroy the corrupt Dark Lord who had once been his father.

"Did you know?" he asked the trees. "Did you know all along that Han was alive?"

Somehow Vader had blocked Luke's awareness of the man he loved while Han had undergone his 'training,' and Luke had spent a year mourning someone he thought crushed to death beneath the ruins on Hoth. He'd never experienced anything as painful as the moment when a tearful Leia had told him Han had died saving her. Not even the loss of his right hand came close. He hated to think the two Jedi Masters who'd guided him hadn't known better, but a part of him knew they had. He really didn't blame them for not telling him at first.

"I'd have gone storming off to his rescue before I was ready," he admitted. Worse, Leia, Chewie and Lando would have insisted on going, too. They all would have died or been corrupted and perhaps the rebellion with them.

But later, it was harder to forgive. "You knew I dreamed of redeeming my father, but when I saw Han..."

Luke sighed heavily, stood up, then walked back to camp -- never home, nothing could be home without Han.

R2D2 beeped a greeting as Luke entered the clearing near Yoda's hut. A second series of beeps sounded more inquiring, so he answered, "No, I'm still not certain if it's safe to go back."

A whirl he'd come to associate with sadness followed.

"I'm sorry, Artoo. I know you miss Threepio. I want to go home, too." Odd to think of Coruscant as home and not the center of the Empire. He'd never even seen it, but Han was there, their friends and Luke's sister. Leia. They'd had only a handful of conversations during the brief time they'd known about their kinship. "Damnit, Artoo, what am I doing here? I don't want to live like this."

But did he have a choice? Both Ben and Yoda had chosen lives apart from others. Was it the only way to resist the temptations of the Dark Side? "I--" he gasped, a ripping pain interrupting his words. What? He cried out again as anguish churned his stomach, then the cold swept over him.

A shrill wail snapped him out of it, and he blinked to find himself on his hands and knees, Artoo throwing a fit of concern. "Han," he whispered, feeling his love's pain despite the light years separating them. No, no more. He'd failed Han once. He would not do it again.

Darth Vader's Imperial Star Destroyer
18 months earlier

Cold. For days, weeks, nothing existed but the cold. It pleased his doctors when the pain started. They insisted it was a sign broken bones and torn flesh had begun to heal. The relief flowed from them in waves as they spoke. It would have been their deaths, had he died or failed to recover completely. Vader had promised them that.

So they clucked happily when they pulled off a miracle and restored him without resorting to so much as a bionic microchip, then they handed him over to Vader without a backward glance.

For days Vader tortured him, demanding answers Han couldn't supply. He didn't know where the rendezvous point was. He'd intended to head from Hoth to Tatooine to pay off what he owed Jabba the Hutt. Focused on plans to survive that, he'd not paid any attention to where he could meet up with the rebels again provided they were still there and he was still in one piece. The probability he'd never return was what had made Luke and Leia fight so hard to get him to change his mind. But the bounty on his head kept growing, and he'd known sooner or later even the most honest rebel would be tempted to collect.

He told Vader this. What reason was there not to? He answered every question, knowing his information was useless or obsolete. Finally Vader either believed him or grew tired of hearing him scream.

They threw him into a cell, a last 'home' before his execution. He guessed two or three days passed while he waited. Towards the end of his stay, despite inertia dampers, he thought he felt the sway of the big ship once or twice, as if the vessel were engaged in battle, but he couldn't be certain.

Finally the cell door opened, and a guard ordered him to his feet. This was it then. Not much chance of a rescue from Vader's flagship. He walked along the corridors, a guard on either side, his wrists locked in restraints, and thought of the one thing he regretted most of all -- that Luke hadn't taken him up on his offer on Yavin 4. Uncertain of what Luke wanted, Han had hidden behind a flip suggestion and had not been surprised when Luke hadn't picked up on it.

But why think of that now? Why not think of Leia? He and Leia had been on the verge of falling in love -- Han was almost positive. Ironic, as he'd only pursued her to make Luke jealous. But Luke and Leia were so much alike, and, unlike Luke, she seemed to be interested, so he'd let his attentions drift away from a young man to a princess. Maybe now, with him out of the way, Luke and Leia could find happiness together.

He took a great deal of comfort from the thought as the guards led him into Vader's chambers. He saw no signs of an obvious means of execution, but he'd heard the Dark Lord didn't need to resort to anything so crude as a weapon to kill.

"Release him," Vader's deep voice rumbled over the sound of the respirator built into the mask.

One of the guards removed the restraints, then Vader ordered, "Leave us."

Han blinked at that. He'd figured Vader for the type who considered public executions object lessons, but he heard the doors open, then close behind him and assumed the guards had indeed left.

"It seems, Captain Solo, I have a use for you after all."

Han had a bad feeling about that.

"Kneel before me."

Determined to meet his end on his feet, Han did not comply. He expected Vader to use the Force to make him obey, but it caught him by surprise when blue bolts of blazing light shot from the Dark Lord's fingertips. The energy crackled within Han's body, setting his nerves on fire. He screamed in the grips of a pain more intense than any he'd suffered during his questioning. Losing his balance, quite by chance he fell to his knees.

The energy engulfing him switched from blue to a gold shimmer. Pleasure so intense it made him gasp soothed the hurt in an instant. Another second and he moaned in orgasm, his seed spilling into his trousers before he'd even had a chance to realize his cock had hardened.

Nearly boneless from the intensity of his climax, he heard Vader say, "Disobedience will be punished; obedience rewarded."

For a year the lessons varied, but that did not.

Coruscant, New Republic City
Present

Luke arrived at the spaceport in the middle of the night, then headed for the hospital level, both common sense and his awareness of Han guiding him. Separated from him for so many months, Luke suddenly felt like he could not endure another moment without him and broke into a run, leaving Artoo to catch up when it could.

His heart pounding, his blood roaring in his ears, he only vaguely heard requests for him to stop while he raced through unfamiliar corridors as if he'd had their layouts memorized. Only when he reached the last door separating him from Han did he stop, struggling to control himself.

Satisfied he at least appeared reasonably calm, he palmed the door open and saw Han lying still and pale on a bed with Leia at his side.

"Han." His voice a mere croak of sound, it made Leia spin around. Her dark eyes widened, then she was across the room and in his arms. The twins clung fiercely to one another, Luke trembling while tears of joy spilled down Leia's lovely face. "Damn you, Luke," she sighed. "Where have you been? We needed you."

Such was their bond that Luke knew she spoke only of herself and Han, not the New Republic. "I know. I'm sorry. It was something I had to do." Something still unresolved, but -- "Han?"

"He'll be all right," she assured him, leading him to the bed. "He got a heavy dose of ghoul venom, but they got the antidote into him in time."

Relief making his knees weak, he sat down on the edge of Han's bed, then took his hand. "I'm here, my love," he told the sleeping man. "It's all right now. I'm here."

Only it wasn't all right. He could feel it in Leia. "What is it?"

"Chewbacca."

"He's dead?"

She shook her head. "But he might not live."

Sorrow swept through Luke. Chewie's death would mean the loss of one of his few friends, and it would devastate Han. "What happened?"

"Lando's trying to piece that together, but they ended up on the surface level and were attacked by a pack of corridor ghouls." She caressed her brother-in-law's cheek. "He must have killed eight of them with a contraband blaster. Thank the Gods he never pays any attention to regulations."

Leia shuddered. "But there were too many of them to keep at bay until a rescue squad arrived. Chewie lost a lot of blood on top of a large dose of venom. And there's evidence of a shock of some sort." She looked at Luke, misery in her eyes. "Some are saying Han shot Chewie."

That being the most unlikely thing Luke had ever heard, he stared at her a moment trying to judge if she was making some odd joke, decided she was serious, then finally found his voice. "Why would anyone believe that?"

"Several of the council members, including Mon Mothma, think he might be an Imperial spy. The theory is Chewie figured it out, so Han tried to eliminate him."

"If that wasn't so stupid, it would be funny," he started an angry tirade, but Leia dropped her eyes, unable to meet his gaze. "By the Force, Leia, you don't think--?"

"That he shot, Chewie? No, but... he's changed, Luke."

Luke squeezed Han's hand, understanding what sort of hell he must have been going through if not even Leia could support him. "He's not a danger to the Alliance." *Only to me and to himself.*

He could see she wanted to believe him, but she asked, "How can you be certain?"

"Because I ordered him to serve the Alliance." A sound a lot like a sob caught in his throat. "He can't disobey me, Leia. Our father saw to that."

She shuddered again, obviously no more at peace with who their father was than Luke. "How? Why?"

"I've loved him for a long time," he admitted, kissing the back of Han's hand. "Vader knew it and made him into a gift to celebrate my conversion to the Dark Side."

"I don't understand. How could you abandon him if that's true?"

"How could I stay?" He looked at her. "It wasn't supposed to be this way. You were supposed to marry him. The twins you carry should have been his."

Leia's hand moved to a belly that had yet to show any signs of pregnancy. "I thought it might be twins," she said with a smile. "A boy and a girl. Like we were."

He nodded.

She touched his face. "I'm happy, Luke. I suppose I could have made an equally happy life with him, but I know it would have been a lonely one for you."

*I'm a Jedi. I'm supposed to be alone.* "Leia--"

Her fingers across his lips silenced him. "There's no running from this, Luke. You have to take the life Fate gave us and stop worrying about whatifs." His sister gave way to the Senator. "Besides, the New Republic needs the man who slew the Emperor and freed us all."

Luke jerked, then he laughed, a sound utterly void of mirth. "I didn't kill Palpatine."

"What? Tell me."

The Second Death Star
9 months earlier

Luke struggled to stay calm, to keep his growing rage from consuming him as he watched the Imperial cruisers attack and destroy one rebel ship after another. A trap. It had all been a trap. For him. For the rebels.

*Don't give in to anger. Don't give in to hate. That leads to the Dark Side.* He repeated Ben's final warning to him over and over. Better to die a Jedi, than to live and rule as a Dark Lord of the Sith.

He could feel Vader's gaze boring into his back -- watching him for the slightest sign of weakness. He'd been so certain good remained within his father, that he could reach Anakin Skywalker and together they could defeat Palpatine. How could he have been so wrong? 'Father,' his mind pleaded, 'help me.'

Desperation made him feel sick, and he was on the edge of surrendering to his urge to lash out when the cloaked and hooded figure standing on the far side of the throne room shifted, drawing his attention. Who was that? Why was he here? Latching on to those questions, he channeled all his hate, anger and desperation into curiosity and only flinched when Palpatine said, "...this fully operational Death Star."

The rebellion was finished. *Who are you?* All his friends would die. *Why are you here?* Palpatine and his ilk would reign supreme forever. *Why do I feel I should know you?*

The Emperor and his taunts faded into the background, and Luke moved towards the figure, the vague hope of salvation oddly stirring within him.

"Step forward," Vader ordered, and the figure moved to the center of the room. "You have much to learn about the Force, my son. It is more than the power to rule. It can give you your heart's desire."

A flick of Vader's finger sent the cloak flying away, while some sensory barrier seemed to collapse, allowing Luke to see and feel -- "Han!" A white-hot wave of joy flooded through Luke at the sight of the love he'd thought long dead.

Han dropped to one knee, his head bowed. "Lord Skywalker, I am at your command."

Luke froze, then blinked in surprise. He'd expected Han to greet him with a heartfelt, 'Great to see you, kid! Now, how the hell do we get out of this mess?' For a moment he thought his eyes were deceiving him, that this was not Han, but every measure of the Force within him shouted it was. Then he recognized the pose, the submissive air. No. By the Force, no. Slowly, he tore his gaze from Han, then looked at his father. "What do you mean by 'my heart's desire'?"

"On Bespin, I looked into your soul," Vader confirmed his worst fear. "He is my gift to you."

His fantasy. His father had turned Han into his fantasy lover. He looked back at Han, who still knelt with his eyes cast downward. Desire welled up within him, and he trembled with the need to surrender to his father's vision. *Together we will rule as father and son.* Vader had given him the greatest gift he would ever be offered. The sheer horror of it burned away everything but the thought that Ben and Yoda had been right all along. There was no good in his father.

His gaze locked on Vader's armored face. He felt no hate, no anger. Only a tingle of regret. "Han, get to your feet." When the Corellian obeyed, Luke took him into his arms, then drew Han's head down for their first -- and last -- kiss. Held and holding, lips warm and soft, nothing had ever felt so right. If life were fair, at that moment the Death Star would have exploded and taken them during that one perfect moment.

Instead their lips parted, and Luke knew what he must do. His lips brushed Han's ear. "I love you. Now, get out of the way and stay alive if you can," he ordered, stretched out his hand, then willed his lightsaber to come to him.

In the blink of an eye the weapon flew from the Emperor's throne into his grasp. The energy blade flaring to life at his touch, he swung on his father.

Obviously startled by an attack in a moment when Luke had seemed on the verge of surrender, Vader froze a second before bringing his own lightsaber up in defense and almost failed to parry the blow.

His mind clear of all but duty, Luke pressed his attack. No joy, no hate, nothing beyond the sizzling crack of his lightsaber impacting with Vader's and the anticipation of his opponent's next move. He blocked a cut to his leg, then swung around, striking to Vader's torso. The energy blade bit deep, Vader howled in agony, but only the sparks of damaged electronics showed in the wound. *More machine than man*.

Luke had dared think of himself as a Jedi before this day, but never had the Force sung so loudly in his veins, never had his mind, weapon and body been so united in a single purpose. Not one of Vader's strikes came close to harming him. Taking no pleasure in this battle, he opted to end it quickly and sent his blade arching towards the Dark Lord's neck.

A moment later the black helmet thudded at his feet. He thought of his vision in the cave and for an absurd moment expected the face plate to explode, revealing his own lifeless eyes. The crash of Vader's body striking the floor snapped him out of it. He stared, waiting for it to disappear as had the corporal forms of Ben and Yoda, but nothing happened. Perhaps a Dark Lord of the Sith did not become one with the Force upon death. Or not enough flesh remained for him to notice that it had gone.

"Excellent," the Emperor's voice cackled behind him. "Now, young Skywalker, you may take your father's place at my side."

Nearly drunk with the Force, Luke found himself considering the notion. He could serve the Emperor, then in time assume the throne. And all the while Han would be at his side. Han. He tore his gaze from the black armor and turned towards his love.

Hazel eyes met his, and in them he could see Han's answer, 'Don't be stupid, kid. This ain't for us.'

He smiled, then turned to the Emperor. He didn't have to speak; Palpatine saw it on his face.

"So be it. Die, Jedi." Blue lightning flashed from his fingertips with the crackle of live energy.

Luke blocked the first bolt with his lightsaber, but a second and third followed too quickly, coming at him in arching sweeps that penetrated his defenses. He screamed, every cell in his body on fire, and collapsed.

*Don't be ridiculous, Luke, this is no life for us.* Han had directed the words at Luke with all the will he possessed, hoping to snap the kid out of it. Now, he watched the price of his victory as Luke writhed on the floor, howls of agony ringing through the chamber.

'Do something,' he told himself. But Luke had ordered him to stay out of the way. *But he also told me to stay alive.* In other circumstances, Han might have smiled in triumph as his mind wormed through the loophole. For him to stay alive, the Emperor had to die. But what to do? The blaster strapped to his side was a decoration at the moment -- the charge drained by guards who had wisely distrusted the prisoner enough not to believe Vader when told Han was harmless.

His gaze fell on Vader's lightsaber, hissing away in a lifeless hand. That would do. Knowing quick motion attracted attention, he walked the ten feet separating him from the weapon. Luke's screams made the journey seem to take hours, but he kept his movements controlled and non-threatening as he picked up first the weapon, then the helmet a few feet further away.

He could feel the lightsaber pulsing with power as he moved towards the Emperor's unprotected back. Any second now, he knew, attention on Luke or not, Palpatine would sense him, so he had to time this right.

Drawing on the memory of every moment Vader had sent the Force coursing through Han's body, he watched for the faint shimmer that meant the beginning of an energy touch flowing from Palpatine towards him. When he saw it, he tossed Vader's helmet to the far left, the clang of its impact drawing the Emperor's attention away from both rebels for one split second.

Han swung the lightsaber with all his might, sending the energy blade in an arc that cleaved through Palpatine's waist. He followed the cut with a hard kick, knocking the torso away from the pelvis to make certain no Force trick could hold things together.

The Emperor screamed in rage and agony as his body fell in two different directions, then a fireball of blue energy tore itself from Palpatine's gaping wound and hurtled towards Han.

Coruscant, New Republic City
Present

"Han managed to get clear of most of it, but enough made contact to knock him out." Luke shuddered at the memory of Han lying on the floor so still he hadn't even been able to tell if he was breathing. Palpatine had been toying with Luke, drawing out his death, but he'd sent pure lethal energy at Han. The part that had missed Han had completely destroyed the inner wall of the throne room. "I managed to drag him to the shuttle, and we cleared the Death Star all of three seconds before its destruction."

Leia stared at him. Her mouth finally moved, but no words came out. She swallowed, then managed, "Han killed the Emperor?"

"It's what he does, isn't it?" Luke said, stroking Han's cheek. "I go off to do something noble, and he has to save me."

"It sounds more like you saved each other. In my experience, that's always been the way of things with you two."

"A good match then," a voice said from the doorway.

"Lando," Luke greeted his brother-in-law, but did not release Han's hand. "It's good to see you again." He liked Lando, but didn't know him well. During the last year of the rebellion, Luke had spent much of his time working alone, dealing with his grief over Han's 'death' and honing the skills Yoda had taught him. But Lando and Leia shared a deep love Luke could see even without the enhanced wisdom of the Force. That was good enough for him.

"Luke." The dark-skinned man glanced towards Han. "You staying?"

*Forever. Not for another second.* "If I can."

Lando rolled his eyes. "Spoken like a Jedi. Is being cryptic one of the requirements?"

Luke struggled not to take offense, reminding himself Lando was an old friend of Han's and had good reason to be irritated with the man who had hurt him. He squeezed Han's hand, wondering what to say. Ironically, he couldn't tell Lando the truth -- he'd always found it difficult to get a straight answer from his teachers, and maybe talking in riddles was some sort of requirement.

The silence stretched to an awkward length, then Leia spoke up. "Did you find anything?"

Lando glared at Luke a moment longer, then his face softened as he turned to his wife. "It was sabotaged. Rather sophisticated piece of work."

She sighed. "I thought we'd found all of the booby traps." At Luke's questioning gaze, she explained that, while Coruscant had surrendered to the inevitable change in leadership without firing so much as a single shot, in the first few weeks of the Alliance occupation several beings had died from a variety of bombs and sabotaged equipment. "Why wasn't that lift tube station checked?"

"It was. I reviewed the vid-records myself. Clean-up crews found a bomb in three of the shafts and repaired a repulser designed to mis-fire. This was something new."

"An Imperial terrorist?"

"Possibly. We found similar rigs in another lift station near the Palace."

"And Han and Chewie were the ones unfortunate enough to walk into the trap."

Lando nodded, but Luke didn't like the look on his face and said, "You think the trap was for them."

"Could be a coincidence," Lando answered, "but the other sabotaged lift was in the bank Chewie passes on his way home."

"The question is why," Leia said. "The bounty on their heads specifies they be taken to Jabba the Hutt alive."

"Yes," Lando agreed. "And if Han hadn't destroyed the jamming generator no one would ever have known what had happened to them."

Luke shuddered. He would have known. "Could it be some sort of reprisal?"

"What? For bad party conversation?" The bitter edge to Lando's voice was obvious. "Attending receptions -- that's all Mon Mothma has allowed him to do."

Leia bristled. "You can't blame her. She doesn't know Han like we do."

*And even you have doubts.* That, too, was obvious. "There has to be something," Luke insisted. "If it's not something they've done, then something they were going to do?" Han and Chewie did have a knack for finding trouble. Maybe they were planning something.

"The Haikan request," Lando suggested. "There's a lot of opposition to Han going on the mission, but the Haikan Ambassador is insistent upon him."

Leia's eyes flashed with anger. "You can't possibly be suggesting that one of the Senators--"

"It's no more far fetched than their idea that Han is some sort of Imperial agent planning on murdering us all!" Lando snapped back.

Luke could see the heat of a long-standing argument building -- Leia trying to understand all sides of the problem; Lando defending Han blindly with nothing but faith in a memory of the way Han once had been to guide him. He tried to think of a way to stop the emotional explosion, then something touched his mind, and he smiled. He kissed Han's hand, then said, "I know you're awake. Open your eyes."

Adrift in the cold, time and reality lost all sense of meaning for Han, making him fight consciousness. Would he find himself still buried under a mountain of snow and ice? Or would the face of an Imperial doctor -- anxious that Han live long enough to face a torturous interrogation -- greet him? Perhaps even Darth Vader waited for him on the other side of his dreams.

Occasionally, a warmth would touch him, teasing him with the hope everything would be all right if he opened his eyes. But as he drew closer to the warmth, other sounds made him certain he would wake up in an Imperial medical center, and his mind would flee back into the cold depths where not even the Dark Lord of the Sith could hurt him.

Cold, but safe. Safe, but unaware. That began to bother him. There was something he needed to know, but the answer could hurt him worse than Vader. He knew it, but he slowly reached the point where he had to know. Like a man swimming through cold, dark waters, he started towards warmth and awareness. So warm. Warmer than it had ever been. He moved faster and faster, then suddenly he heard voices and felt someone holding his hand.

No stranger to coming to surrounded by enemies, he stuck to old habits and kept his eyes closed, giving himself a moment to get his bearings. His head felt fuzzy, making it hard to focus on anything, but he absorbed the words even if he didn't understand them. Then he became aware of a presence, and a slight tremor passed through him. Luke? Or was this really all another dream?

"I know you're awake. Open your eyes."

What? He struggled to understand the command. The stab of pain at his failure to obey immediately helped his focus and the haze in his brain began to fade. Eyes, something about eyes. Luke wanted him to open his eyes. He sighed, blinked, then looked into the smiling faces of his friends. Or all but one of his friends. He gripped Luke's hand, more afraid than he could ever remember, and asked, "Chewie?"

Leia's smile faded. "He's in the bacta tank, Han."

Han swallowed. "How long?"

"Three days."

Han stared at her in horror. Wookiees healed far faster than humans, and, submerged in bacta, Chewie should have been fine within a day. Ignoring both the protests of his visitors and his own battered body, Han forced himself out of the bed, then headed for the bacta tanks.

He stumbled, but Luke caught hold of him, and together they managed to keep Han on his feet.

"You should be in bed," Luke chided him, pulling Han's right arm across his shoulders.

Not an order. "I have to see him."

Luke nodded and helped him the rest of the way.

Mallatobuck looked up when they entered the observation room, a soft, mournful groan greeting them.

"Malla," Han said, and Luke released his hold on him, letting Han go to her.

Powerful arms enfolded him with gentle care. "I'm sorry," he said, "I--"

A chirped growl cut him off as she told him not to be ridiculous, she knew he always did his best to protect her mate.

He almost smiled. It seemed like Wookiees were constantly putting him in his place. He glanced at the tank on the other side of the glass partition. Chewie looked limp, his fur floating in the viscous fluid the only sign of movement. "Has he come around at all?"

She shook her head.

An MD-O droid entered the bacta tank room and made an adjustment on the controls of Chewie's tank. Han touched the intercom switch. "What's wrong? Why hasn't he come out of it?"

"The species Wookiee seems particularly susceptible to the venom of the corridor ghoul," the droid answered. "Also, there was a severe disruption of the patient's neurosystems. It is making treatment difficult."

The shock. Han slumped forward, but stayed on his feet. "The hatch was rigged. Some sort of stun or electrical field." Whoever had set the trap had wanted to make certain his victim was helpless.

"Yes, General Calrissian has given us a working version of the device. It should help us analyze and treat the injury."

Han clenched his fists. "Will he live?"

"Impossible to say at this time."

*Aw, Chewie. I always knew I'd be the death of you.* Damn that life debt. The Wookiee should have been safe at home on Kashyyyk, not in some fucking lift with him.

Luke's hand touched his shoulder. "That's enough, Han. It's time you got back in bed."

He looked at Malla. "Come get me if there's any change?"

She nodded, and Han started towards the door. Then he remembered. "Is Lumpy okay?"

A near purr answered him.

"Then you found him before he could get into trouble."

A growl and a questioning gaze made his blood run cold. Lumpawarrump had not been lost. Why had Han thought differently?

He managed a smile. "Just something Chewie said. I must have misheard him."

His mind whirling, he didn't speak to Luke as the Jedi helped him back to his room. Only now did some of what had been said when he was coming to make sense. It had been a trap, but not for two. The bait had been for Chewie alone. Some sort of faked message. To count on Han coming along would have been far too sloppy for so meticulous a plan. A death trap for Chewie. Someone had wanted Han to go to Haika alone. As he sank down into his bed, one thing was certain -- nothing would keep him from going to Haika now.

The next morning Chewie showed a few faint signs of improvement, and the doctors pronounced Han fit to go home. Han thought it summed up the state of their marriage quite nicely when, after getting meticulous instructions from the doctors about what Han could and could not do, Luke had to ask him where home was when they stepped out of the lift tube in front of the Presidential Palace.

Han trusted his look spoke volumes, then said, "They assigned me quarters in the Senatorial Residence, instead of the Officers' Quarters." He started walking, determined to avoid the hovercabs whizzing by -- he distrusted autopilots as a rule and the last few days had made him suspicious of anything he couldn't control with his own two hands. "They wanted me where they could keep their beady little eyes on me."

"Han, I'm sorry, I never thought--"

"Hey, don't worry about it," Han cut him off, not interested in excuses. He had more important things on his mind. "I always wanted to become an expert on cocktail parties."

That effectively shut down the conversation. What the hell did they have to talk about anyway? All he really wanted to know was why Luke had bothered to marry him before taking off; then again, the answer probably had to do with some Force mumbo jumbo, and he'd had far more than enough of that. Or worse, as he'd feared from time to time, Luke numbered among those who thought he might be some sort of Imperial stooge. It would explain why Luke had ordered him to serve the Alliance as such a command ensured betrayal was not an option, but then why leave? To find a cure? To wallow in self-guilt over what Vader had done to Han? He almost asked, but he decided he lacked the energy to deal with the answer.

Although the walk from the lifts to his quarters was a relatively short one, Han felt exhausted by the time he stepped through his front door. He didn't bother to show Luke how to work the security system, figuring that if the kid were around come dawn he'd deal with it then. Instead he went straight into the bedroom and collapsed on his bed.

"You all right?" Luke asked from the doorway.

"Just tired."

"Then get some sleep. We'll talk later."

*Now, there's something to look forward to.* He would have sworn he'd only closed his eyes for a moment, but when he opened them again, the room was dark and he could see stars through the windows -- one of the perks of an upper level address. Disgusted he'd slept the day away, Han shifted to get out of the bed, only to have an arm slip around him and pull him back down.

'Damn, presumptuous Jedi,' Han grumbled to himself even as he curled up against Luke.

The younger man shifted so his head shared Han's pillow. "Feeling better?"

"Yes." Much better. Sometime while he'd slept, Luke had stripped him and he found his body becoming quite interested in the press of naked skin against naked skin.

"I'm sorry I left."

"I assume you did what you had to," he said when all he wanted to do was ask if Luke had decided whether or not to stick around this time. As he feared a negative answer might lead to some undignified begging on his part, he didn't voice the question. All he really had left these days was his pride. Small comfort in an empty life and an even emptier bed, but he'd learned to make do.

"I needed to go somewhere to think," Luke said, then briefly nuzzled his neck. "I missed you."

"Missed you, too." Only as much as he might have missed a lost limb or two, but he kept the pain out of his voice, making the words sound like an obligation instead of an agreement.

Luke sighed. Han couldn't be certain, but there might have been a small amount of despair in the sound. Or was that simply wishful thinking on his part? "You're aroused. Do you want to make love or should I go?"

Not for the first time Han wondered what the hell Vader had seen when he'd looked inside Luke's head. *He said you loved me, wanted me, so how could you leave? How can you even think of not making love?* "I'm sick of that damned remote, but I'll use it if you'd rather do some more thinking."

For a moment, Luke was silent. "I'm sorry," he finally said, then got out of bed.

Han clutched the sheets in frustration, but didn't say a word as Luke left the room. Fine. Why should tonight be different than any other night? Angry and hurt, he willed his erection to wilt, but his stubborn flesh remained hard and demanding.

Cursing, he jerked open the bedside drawer and pulled out his 'lover'. Smaller, but based on the same design as the remote Luke used to practice with his lightsaber, it differed mainly in the phallic protrusion. Though he had grown to detest the sight of the thing, he switched it on and rolled over on to his stomach. Humming, the remote hovered over the bed.

"So fuck me already," he snapped, not looking at it while he tried to conjure up an image of a more cooperative Luke. *Ah, romance.*

Almost as if to mock him, a click sounded and the hum fell silent. "It seems to be my night to apologize," Luke said.

There was a long silence as Luke looked at him, sorrow radiating from the clear blue eyes. Then he asked, "Is this what I left you to, my love? Ridicule and suspicion from those I asked you to help, with only this thing for comfort?"

A little stark, but essentially the truth; Han found himself trying to find a way to spare Luke's feelings. A part of him thought that nonsense -- Luke deserved a little pain for all he'd put Han through -- yet he didn't want to hurt him. He almost laughed at himself as he realized he couldn't even blame the impulse on Vader. Han had always had a protective streak a sector-wide when it came to Luke. He settled on saying, "You couldn't have known how the others would react."

Luke considered that. "Perhaps not." He set the remote on the bedside table. "But I did leave you with nothing but this to pleasure you when we should have been discovering one another." The mattress dipped beneath Luke's weight, then he kissed the back of Han's neck. "Shift over onto your side. I want to be able to touch you."

An order. How charming. Irritated as well as aroused, Han chose to misunderstand and repositioned himself on his side as requested, but with his back to the other man.

His small show of defiance seemed to amuse Luke, who chuckled as he slid his arms around Han and pressed his torso against Han's back. "You always were impossible," he whispered, then nipped Han's earlobe.

"Only doing what you requested, oh, lord and master." Han answered, then found himself flat on his back with Luke looking down at him.

"Don't. Don't joke about that."

"I won't," Han acknowledged the order.

Luke looked stricken, and Han realized he hadn't considered how carefully he had to monitor what he said to keep from giving orders Han had no choice but to obey.

The heat of Luke's body pressing against his own made Han decide he'd had enough apologies for one night, and he reached up, his hand cupping the back of Luke's head, then drew him down for a kiss. When their lips parted, Han said, "We can deal with it later." If there was a later, and he didn't dare hope that there would be. "Let's make love for now."

"I do love you."

"I know." He couldn't bring himself to say more. Not without more assurance than words that had been spoken before, but had not kept Luke with him. He tried to smile. "Now, can we get down to some serious kissing? Among other things."

Luke let him get away with the evasion, both acutely aware that all he had to do to find out how Han felt was to order him to talk. Instead, he kissed Han.

*Mmm, so nice.* Han's lips parted, and Luke's tongue eagerly accepted the invitation, probing and exploring with a thoroughness that almost made Han come. That made him wrench his head away, then shift back onto his side, his top leg bent. "Take me. Now."

Luke didn't say anything, but his arm went around Han's torso, pulling him closer. The head of his cock nudged Han's opening, and they both moaned.

Impatient, Han shoved back, impaling himself on the tantalizing hardness. Gods, it felt good. Like a part of his soul that had gone missing finally being restored. He began to thrust and Luke laughed, his hand coming to rest on Han's hip to hold him still.

"Slow down, love," he said. "I want this to last."

It wouldn't have to last if they could do it all over again in the morning like any other married couple, but they weren't like any other couple. That thought saddened Han enough to calm him, and he obeyed, matching the lazy rhythm Luke set.

Torture and paradise at the same time, he wanted the gentle motion to last forever even as he ached for release. So long. It had been so long. And how long until the next time?

Luke's hand wrapped around his cock, and Han lost any sense of time and place, his entire being focused on memorizing each sensation. Warm, hard, the slap of flesh pounding into flesh, the teasing fingers on one nipple, the snug strength pumping his cock. Too much, never enough. Oh, Gods. He came with a shout, his seed spilling over Luke's hand, then, even in a daze of release, felt the liquid heat filling his body.

Emotions he'd fought hard to keep buried since waking up to an empty bed nine months earlier burst to the surface, and it was all he could do not to scream the words. *I love you, I've always loved you and always will.*

He did not give voice to them. And it was just as well. For the next morning he woke up alone, the sheets cold. Luke had left him. As he had before.

Endor
9 months earlier

To Luke's relief, Han showed some signs of coming to as the stolen Imperial shuttle entered the atmosphere of Endor. They'd made it. Luke found that difficult to accept. The Emperor and his Dark Lord were dead, the second Death Star had been destroyed, and he and Han were both alive. He hadn't dared hope for such a happy ending, but it had been granted to him all the same.

"Luke?" a muzzy voice asked.

"I'm here," he answered, reaching out to take the hand groping for him. He brought it to his lips and kissed the palm. "I'm here, love."

Han squeezed the hand holding his. "Where's here?"

The question reminded Luke that Han's captors were unlikely to have kept him informed. "A moon called Endor," he told him, then rattled off the coordinates to help the pilot in Han to orient himself.

"Chewie? Leia?"

Luke had felt Leia's mind touch his only moments earlier, so he knew his sister was alive and well. Nothing had suggested she felt sorrow, only triumph and joy, so he felt certain Chewbacca had also survived the battle. "They're fine," he assured Han, then added, "They were in charge of destroying the shield generator protecting the Death Star. And I imagine Lando had something to do with the fireworks that followed."

"Lando? Lando Calrissian?"

Luke tensed. So much Han didn't know, and a lot of it might hurt him. But Luke had to tell him before they touched down on Endor. "Leia thought you were dead, Han. We all did." He gave him a moment to let that sink in. How long would Han think Leia should have mourned him? Things happened quickly in a war, and Han and Leia had never even kissed.

Slowly, acutely aware of how disoriented Han must feel, Luke told him the snow that had buried Han had shielded the Falcon from Vader's troops. "She made it off Hoth undamaged, but Chewie hadn't finished overhauling the hyperdrive. They made the jump to light speed, got clear of the Imperial fleet, but the drive gave out after only a few minutes." Chewie had found a reference in the computer to Lando being the administrator of Cloud City on Bespin. The Wookiee had decided to take a chance and headed there. "It took them four months to make the trip at sublight." Months Luke spent training with Yoda, but that was a tale for another day.

"Leia was vulnerable and lonely." Long before they'd known of their blood ties, she had talked to him like a sister, telling him how Lando had been everything that had attracted her to Han, but his responsibilities on Bespin had given him a settled quality that appealed to her, while Han's love of adventure had always made her uneasy. "Lando was charming and charmed."

There was a short silence, then Han said, "You said he was here, so he went with her when she rejoined the rebels."

Luke nodded. "Vader put a bounty on the Falcon and her crew. Someone in Cloud City wanted it and tipped off the Empire."

"Vader went to Bespin," Han muttered, sounding more as if he were recalling a memory than informing Luke, then he did focus on Luke. "He was going to kill me, but when he returned, he said that he had a use for me after all."

"He captured Leia and Chewie, tortured them to draw me into a trap. It worked." Luke could still hear Yoda pleading with him not to go, not to face Vader before completing his training, but the fact that Luke couldn't sense Han had terrified him, and he'd left Dagobah within an hour of seeing the vision of their suffering. For all the good it had done anyone. "By the time I arrived, Lando had already freed them." Vader had planned to test a carbon freezing process on Chewie, but Lando had the guards taken care of before they reached the prisoners' cell. Even as Luke had confronted Vader, the Falcon had been lifting off. He'd lost his hand and the comfort of thinking his father a noble hero for nothing. "In the end, they had to save me."

Han slipped out of his seat, dropping to his knees beside Luke. He reached up and touched his face. "Hey, didn't you hear me? You saved my life. If you hadn't gone to Bespin, I'd be long dead."

Luke switched on the autopilot to handle the landing, then slid off his own seat to take Han into his arms. The older man had sounded calm, but his body trembled. "Vader hurt you."

"It doesn't matter," Han answered, his voice muffled against Luke's shoulder.

"It matters to me." Han had lost a year of his life and the Force only knew what else because of him, because of what Vader had seen when their minds had touched. He held his love tightly, only vaguely aware that the shuttle had landed. He wanted to promise Han no one would ever hurt him again, that he would keep him safe and happy for the rest of their lives. But he had at least one last hurt to inflict himself. "Han, there's something else."

"Can't it wait?" Han didn't quite plead with him. "I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed right now."

"Wish it could." He kissed Han's forehead. "But if I don't tell you now, you'll find out five minutes after you leave this ship."

Han sighed. "What is it?"

"Leia and Lando have been married for three months."

"They happy?"

"I think so."

Han tilted his head back and studied Luke's face. "Then maybe we can be happy, too."

Luke couldn't help but smile, then kiss him. When their lips parted, he said, "I love you."

"I love you, too," Han answered, but Luke found himself wondering if it were Han or Vader's conditioning talking.

He forced another smile. "Let's go see our friends."

A few of the rebels who had secured the landing pad had known Han, and their eyes widened when he and Luke emerged from the shuttle. It seemed to unnerve Han, for he caught hold of Luke's hand, his fingers wrapping around in a firm grip.

"You all right?" Luke asked, giving the hand a reassuring squeeze.

Han managed a small smile. "Been a long time since I was out in the open like this."

"Let's take a walk then."

Their hands linked, they strolled through the lush forest for hours. Sometimes they'd talk -- a reminiscence from their adventures together or Luke would tell him a story about his time with Yoda. Han volunteered nothing about his time with Vader, and Luke couldn't bring himself to ask. Having lived with the fantasy Han for years, he felt he knew exactly what Han would now be like, and he needed to come to terms with the changes before he could endure more than Han's admission that Vader had hurt him.

As the sun began to sink towards the horizon, Luke drew Han into his arms, then kissed him. It felt so good he kissed him again, then again. He could take him right here, stand him against a tree or lower him onto a span of grass, then plunder his beautiful body. A terrible temptation, given how long he had wanted this man, but he knew he did not hold a living fantasy in his arms, but a man whose free will had been stolen. At the very least he owed that man a soft bed beneath his back and an illusion of choice.

Aching with desire, he managed to pull away from Han, but was careful to catch hold of his hand as he moved back. "We'd better get to the village," he said.

Han looked almost dazed. "What?"

"We need to go. Leia will be wondering where I am." And by now word would have spread that Han was alive, something few would believe until they saw him with their own eyes.

Han looked like he was trying to focus his thoughts enough to answer when the first of the fireworks burst overhead. Green shimmers of light filled the sky, the pops of the rocket firing, then exploding not reaching them until a red blossom of fire had replaced it.

Luke started walking and had to give Han a slight tug to get him to follow. "Are you all right?"

"Sure, I just... last I knew the rebellion was on the run, and now they've won. Makes it hard to get my bearings."

"Give it time, Han. You have a lot of friends who'll help."

Luke's words seemed prophetic when they emerged into the main clearing of the Ewok Village. Chewie gave a huge roar that silenced all but the fireworks, then raced towards them.

Laughing, Han found himself suspended in air over the Wookiee's head, the powerful arms holding him with ease as Chewie spun around in a circle, bellowing his delight.

Satisfied Han was literally in safe hands, Luke turned to his sister, embraced her, then whispered, "I told him. It's all right."

He felt her sag against him and looked up as a dark hand touched Leia's arm, but Lando's uncertain gaze fixed on Han. Luke repeated his assurances and watched a second body fairly wilt with relief.

Relief turned to joy as Chewie set Han back on his feet, and the Corellian swept the couple into his embrace. Tears brightened in Leia's eyes then spilled as she clung to both her husband and the man she had once loved.

Han bent down and kissed her cheek, then mouthed, "To hell with it," and kissed Lando as well.

A stab of jealousy cut into Luke's enjoyment of the scene. He knew Han had loved Leia, and he'd guessed that, however briefly, Han and Lando had once been lovers. Confronted with the reminders Han had not been his the last time they'd all parted, he found himself fighting the urge to yank Han away from them and shout 'he's mine!' His mind turning to thoughts of rivals, he couldn't prevent himself from seeing each person who welcomed Han back to the living as a threat.

Han was his love, his responsibility, his everything. He would not share.

No. He told himself to calm down. That he was being foolish and overreacting to the last vestiges of the Force losing its grip on his emotions. Keeping his feelings out of a fight could mean the difference between life and death, but it seemed it could result in quite an emotional whirlwind when all threat of battle had ended.

"And General Rieekan, where is he?" he heard Han ask over the din of a celebration back in full swing. "Is he all right?"

Carlist Rieekan had been the commander of the Alliance forces on Hoth when Han was captured, but had he been more than that? It struck Luke that the two would make a handsome couple. At the same moment Leia said, "He should arrive tomorrow afternoon."

That was it. "A shame." The words left his mouth without conscious thought behind them. "I guess he'll miss the wedding."

"What wedding?" Leia asked.

He pointed to Han. "Ours."

It was hardly the appropriate way to announce his intentions to anyone, let alone the other half of that 'ours,' but when he held out his hand, Han took it and smiled, even if he did appear stunned around the edges.

Luke looked at his sister. As the highest ranking member of the Alliance currently on Endor, she had the right to perform marriages -- a concession to the craziness of the rebel life, but no less binding.

"Are you serious?" she asked, her disbelief obvious and understandable. The last time Han had seen either of them, he had been interested in her, not Luke.

"Do it," he told her, his manner almost menacing. "Now."

Shaken, she looked at Han, but he nodded his agreement. "All right," she said. "I guess you know what you're doing."

Except for the skeleton crews still manning the ships of the fleet, every survivor of the Battle of Endor had descended on the Ewok village, but few of them seemed aware of the brief ceremony taking place on the far edge of the clearing. The two or three drunken cheers when he and Han kissed to seal their vows brought Luke no satisfaction. All in all, it was far from the grand public declaration he'd wanted, but, having forced the situation, he had no choice but to make the best of it.

He managed a smile, grabbed Han's hand, then headed off into the woods to the secondary landing pad and the Falcon.

Han's face lit up when he saw his ship, and, absurdly, Luke felt yet another coil of jealousy snake through him. All thoughts of giving Han the meagerest illusion of choice vanished, and he nearly yanked his consort off his feet in the march to Han's old cabin.

"Strip," he snapped, then embarrassed by his actions, denied himself the right to watch, and turned his back to him while he dealt with his own clothing.

He heard the rustle of clothes as Han obeyed him, then a hand touched his bare back. "Luke, what's wrong?"

He sighed. "I guess you're not the only one having trouble dealing with this."

"Do you want me?"

"Gods, yes."

"Then that's all that matters now," Han's lips nuzzled the back of his right ear. "We'll deal with the rest of it in the morning."

"You make it sound so easy."

"Not much we can't handle when we're together, kid," Han reminded him as he turned Luke to face him.

His breath caught at the sight of Han's naked body. He'd never seen anything or anyone so... "Beautiful."

Han smiled. "No, I'm gorgeous. You're the one who's beautiful."

Luke laughed, and they toppled onto the large bunk together. The brief moment of humor had restored his equilibrium, and Luke began to make love to the man he'd married. Ill-temper behind the decision or not, he loved the sound of that -- the man he'd married.

Love fairly humming in his veins, he left no inch of Han's body unexplored by either lips or hands. When the long, powerful legs parted, then rose up to drape over his shoulders, he knew Han wanted this as much as he did, and he entered him without a moment's hesitation.

He gasped at the sensation -- slick, hot flesh gripped him tightly, yet yielded easily to his every thrust. His fantasies hadn't even come close. "Oh, Gods, Han," he gasped. "So good."

Strong legs and arms squeezed him in answer, fingernails scoring his flesh as Han writhed beneath him. Not a second lapsed between their climaxes, and, stunned, they collapsed together in a heap.

Han drifted off into a deep sleep before Luke even found the strength to untangle their limbs. He'd thought his own descent into slumber only an eyeblink away, but found sleep eluding him even hours later. His mind would simply not shut down. He kept going over and over everything that had happened since he'd surrendered himself to Vader.

During the final battle he'd thought he must have glowed with the Force, but now he couldn't feel more than a vague shadow of it. Why not more now, when he felt so alive, so happy?

Unbidden, Yoda's words flashed through his thoughts. *Anger, hate, aggression... these things lead to the Dark Side.* He'd felt all of those things tonight -- but not on the Death Star. He'd felt them here. On Endor. With Han. Oh, Gods, no.

"Ben?" he whispered, desperate for words of reassurance. Nothing. Not a whisper of his mentor's voice answered.

Perhaps if he spoke louder... he eased himself from the bed, then left the ship. He could hear sounds of the celebration as he called once again, "Ben, please, I need to know." Time would soothe his insecurities, eliminating the anger and any need to hate. But Han would always inspire passion, and that, too, was a strong emotion.

He ached to return to bed, but the fact that Ben and Yoda had chosen not to live with others took on a horrifying significance. "Is that the price I must pay? Must I choose between love and being a Jedi?" Or was it worse than that? Would love succeed where his father and the Emperor had failed? Was that why Vader had given him Han? To turn him if all else failed?

"Ben, please," he moaned, but Kenobi did not answer. As he hadn't on Bespin. Only when he'd returned to Dagobah had Ben spoken to him again. And Luke knew he had to leave.

He went back into the Falcon and stood in the doorway of Han's cabin, watching his lover sleep. How could he leave? But he couldn't stay. Numb with grief, he gathered his clothing, then stumbled into the lounge. Even as he dressed, he pleaded with himself to wake Han and explain why he had to go, but he knew he'd never have the strength to leave if he looked into Han's eyes. So he took the coward's way out and recorded a message for him, told him he loved him, but that he had to go. Almost as an afterthought, he asked Han to stay with the Alliance, to serve them as Luke could not.

He summoned Artoo, met the droid at the landing pad, then took the shuttle up to the ship where his X-wing was berthed. By the time the sun rose, they were long gone.

Coruscant, New Republic City
Present

Han got out of bed, showered, then walked into the living room. No Luke. Just a damned message light blinking on the companel. He didn't need or want to hear the latest version of 'I have to go.' He still had the old one memorized. And he had plans of his own. Luke's desertion did nothing to alter that. He had, after all, expected it.

Opening the closet door, he ignored the New Republic uniform, and pulled out the trousers of his old Imperial uniform. More specifically, the pair with the Corellian blood stripe running along the outer seam of each leg. It used to amuse him to wear the symbol of an officer decorated with his homeworld's highest symbol of bravery while speaking like a spacer who'd never seen the inside of a school. Amusing and useful -- it never hurt to be underestimated by a potential rival or enemy.

With deliberate care he recreated the 'uniform' he'd worn as a smuggler -- the trousers, cream-colored shirt, black spacer's boots and dark blue jacket. A mild throbbing in his head began when he strapped on his holstered blaster. New Republic policy strictly forbid such an open display of a sidearm by non-security force personnel, but he gritted his teeth and reminded himself he had to serve the government, not obey it.

Semantics, but the dodge had worked well enough for months, and it worked now, the headache fading before it could really get started.

Next he checked the droid duty logs and discovered C3PO was currently unassigned. He filed orders that would send the protocol droid to the Falcon, even though he was well versed himself in smuggler's protocol as well as every dialect he was likely to encounter. But no sense letting everyone know that from the onset. Besides, Threepio recorded conversations as well as translated them. That could prove very useful. And, fussy as it was, the droid was something to talk to.

He packed the few things he didn't want to leave behind, sent them on ahead to his ship in a hovercab, then headed for the hospital on foot.

Although he remained in the bacta tank, Chewie was conscious when he arrived. Han grinned, his legs weak with relief as he leaned against the tank, his forehead separated from Chewie's right hand only by the thin, transparent wall. "You had us all scared witless, pal," he scolded the big, hairy oaf. "Don't you ever do that again."

Chewie brushed the glass in front of Han's face, simulating the usual comforting pats they were inclined to give one another.

"Listen, I'm heading for Haika," he told him, taking shameless advantage of the fact that Chewie couldn't argue with the breather fastened over his snout. "I want you to get well, then go home -- back to Kashyyyk." Feeling like the scruffy nerf herder Leia had once accused him of being, he chose to lie to ease his friend's mind. "Luke's here to look after me now, so you transfer that life debt you think you owe me to your wife and son. Make a couple more kids and raise them to be as brave and honorable as their father."

He stepped back, then smiled again, even though his heart was breaking. *I'll never see you again.* "Bye, Chewie. You're the best friend I've ever had."

He turned on his heel, then focused on his plan and left without a backward glance. Once on the top level, he began walking towards the spaceport. Technically he was leaving without orders, but his head didn't so much as buzz. He'd picked up on Luke's displeasure with the way the government had been using him, and Han had opted to translate that as he was now free to determine the best way to serve the New Republic himself. That meant going to Haika. Afterward... well, he'd decide later, but already knew he would never come back here.

His hopes for a clean getaway were dashed by a familiar voice calling his name. Leia. Damnit, why was Luke the only one who ever managed to slip away unnoticed? He considered running -- his long legs could easily outdistance her -- but she might do something inconvenient like call security if she didn't have her say. With a sigh, he stopped, then turned to face her. "Morning, Your Highnessness. Something I can do for you?"

"You can stay here."

Hell. "You were in the tank observation room, weren't you?" Stupid of him not to check before he spilled his guts to Chewie.

She nodded. "You can't go."

"Yes, I can."

"But what about Luke?"

He resumed walking, forcing her to almost run to keep up with him. "He's gone."

She looked startled, the news taking her by as much surprise as it had the first time. Obviously, she'd thought he would stay. "He'll come back."

"Maybe, but he can find me wherever I go. If he wants to."

Her small hand clutched his arm. "Running away won't solve anything."

"I am not--"

That damned flinch of hers stopped him again, but he'd had more than enough of this nonsense. "Dammit, Leia!" he snapped, jerking his arm away from her grasp. "I was an Imperial officer -- the youngest man to ever command a Corellian star destroyer." *A brilliant pilot with a remarkable gift for languages* -- they'd read his file into the record at his court-martial, and that phrase had particularly stuck in his mind. A gift for languages. He'd showed a good knowledge of over a dozen different ones in Leia's presence. How could she think he couldn't manage to get Basic right? "Do you think I walked around the bridge of my ship speaking like some backwater spacer?"

Leia looked stunned. Perhaps by his rage, or maybe he'd finally made his point. He hadn't changed. He'd simply lost the ability to hide behind the facade of an uneducated smuggler.

"Oh, to hell with it." He gave her one last glare, then stalked away.

This time she did have to run. "Han, you can't just leave like this," she protested.

"Watch me."

"The Senate hasn't sanctioned your taking the mission."

"Fine, but there isn't any law that says I can't go to Haika for personal reasons." And if he happened to negotiate the damned planet's entrance into the New Republic, he doubted anyone would complain too much. If he failed, an 'official delegation' could give it a try.

"You're an officer. You can't go off and do whatever you want."

"Funny, that's a lot like what the Imperials said after I saved Chewie from one of their pet slavers." That had cost him a dishonorable discharge and turned him first into a smuggler, then a rebel. No command, no pension, no rights. "I think I can risk never being invited to another government reception."

"I can have you arrested for desertion," she told him as they entered the spaceport.

He gave her a dangerous look. "You can try, but I wouldn't advise it." He had no intention of being stopped. Someone had tried to kill Chewie. No one did that and got away with it.

In a burst of speed, she dashed ahead of him and planted herself in the middle of the ramp leading up into the Falcon. "I don't want you to go," she insisted, her face flushed and her eyes bright with unshed tears.

"I'll miss you, too, Leia." Gripping her upper arms, he lifted off her feet, gave her a kiss on the forehead, set her down, then stalked up the ramp into his ship. "Goodbye, Princess," he called down to her, then closed the hatch.

"Good morning, sir," Threepio greeted him as he moved towards the cockpit.

"Isn't it just."

Luke sat in front of Mon Mothma's desk as she droned on and on about how happy she was he had rejoined them and all the plans everyone had to make use of a Jedi in their midst. At first he'd listened politely, not at all the picture of a man who'd been summoned at an indecent hour in the morning. He had, after all, neglected his responsibilities for quite some time. And it was an opportunity to start addressing some of the misconceptions the woman, and those like her, had about Han.

But then a growing anxiety began to gnaw at him. It was so out of place in this situation, that he instantly knew he must be reacting to something Han was feeling, but his love's emotions weren't strong enough for him to actually feel them. Finally, he could endure it no longer and abruptly got to his feet. "Your pardon, Madame President, but I have a matter I must attend to."

Before she could recover from her surprise, he hurried out of her office. He started running as soon as he left the Palace itself, because it suddenly occurred to him precisely how stupid it had been to leave Han to wake up to an empty bed and a recorded message. At the very least, he should have programmed the panel to play the message as soon as Han entered the room. But then, even if he'd heard the message, he might not have believed it. No, Luke should have woken Han up, should have told him about the Presidential demand to see him immediately.

His comlink pinged, reminding him it would work on this world. He sighed with relief and answered, "Han?"

"Oh, thank the Gods, Luke, you haven't left."

Leia. That didn't bode well. "No, I had a meeting with Mon Mothma."

"Han thought you'd left him again. He..."

"What?"

"He went to Haika. Alone and without approval."

Luke cursed. "Get the approval, Leia. I'll go after him."

"All right," she answered. "But you'd better come back, Luke Skywalker. I want my children to know both of you."

"They will. I promise," he answered, then broke the connection so he could summon Artoo.

*Han, my love, this is the hardest thing I've ever had to do, but I must leave you. I fear we've made a dreadful mistake and played right into my father's hands. I need to think, to be certain my fears are unjustified. I hope to return to you soon, but remember always that I love you. Please, stay with the Alliance, help them as I cannot. Goodbye.*

Han sat at his pilot's station, staring out the cockpit at the blueness of hyperspace without really seeing it. He wondered how Luke had said goodbye this time. What new orders he'd left. If he'd even allowed for the possibility of returning again. He probably should have played the damned thing, but how much rejection could one man take?

*Hey, you're a gorgeous guy, Han. Great to fuck once or twice a year, but I've got more important things to do. Oh, by the way, go build snowforts on Hoth until I tell you otherwise.*

Nope, he'd pass on that. What he did not know about, he didn't have to do. Item Number One on the Han Solo List of Ways to Avoid Following Orders -- it had served him well in the pre-Vader era; it would serve him well now. He'd simply have to hope Luke was clever enough to find him for the next biannual fuck. A shrill beep cut into his thoughts. The Falcon was coming up on Haika.

He smirked at himself. Nothing like a good two-day sulk to make a man feel alive. At least it had passed the time. "Best trip I ever took with you, Goldenrod," he said, glancing over to where Threepio sat in one of the observation seats. "But I suppose I should switch you back on now." The annoying piece of metal had lasted all of an hour before Han had deactivated it, taking an obscene amount of pleasure in doing so.

Then again, why not wait until they landed? Be worth at least a good ten more minutes of peace. Han flipped the switches that cut in the sublight engines, hyperspace dissolved into streaks of light, then a normal star pattern took form. Another switch activated the companel. "Haika Control, this is the Millennium Falcon requesting landing coordinates."

It took fifteen minutes to get the clearance for his unscheduled arrival -- but he'd expected that, so he opted not to take offense. As long as they weren't shooting, it was fine with him. He landed without incident, sighed, then switched on Threepio.

"-- and the smugglers are known to--"

"Threepio!"

"Yes, sir?"

"Shut up."

"Shutting up, sir."

*That'll be the day.* He glanced out the cockpit and an even heavier sigh escaped him. "Oh, hell."

"Something wrong, sir?"

"Ambassador Gurney is here." He'd hoped dropping in like this would have the added benefit of avoiding any official welcomes, but his luck seemed determined to run true to form.

"But, sir, this is a great honor! It's his way of showing how important he thinks your arrival is."

"More likely how important he thinks my ass is."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Never mind." With an exaggerated grunt, Han heaved himself out of his chair, then headed for the hatch.

The faint hope the appearance of a well-armed smuggler versus a polite officer might put the man off faded the moment he saw Gurney's face. The damned Banthaturd positively beamed at him.

"Captain Solo! How good of you to come and help us in our time of need!" Gurney proclaimed, embracing him with enthusiasm.

Han extracted himself with due speed and gave serious consideration to the ramifications of vaporizing him. Unfortunately, he came to the conclusion he probably couldn't get away with it. Unless the wandering hands he kept dodging were as busy here as they'd been on Coruscant. If that were the case, he might get a medal.

He'd halfway convinced himself the entire free galaxy would applaud the Ambassador's demise when the whine of another ship coming in distracted him. Oddly enough, Gurney didn't take advantage of the situation. Instead, he stood back, putting a respectable distance between them.

"You are extremely attractive, Captain Solo," he said with a rueful smile. "But he is a Jedi, and my world needs his help, not his wrath."

Jedi? Engine sounded like an X-Wing, but... He turned in time to see the ship settle next to the Falcon.

The canopy opened, then Luke swung out of the cockpit. "Shut her down, Artoo," he called as he jumped to the pad, his leap graceful and impossibly slow.

Han started to smile, amused by Luke's showing off, but he quickly found himself fighting the urge to drop to one knee before his lord and master. Damnit! It wasn't Luke who'd wanted that sort of pompous display. That had been Vader's idea of what was proper conduct for a consort.

Pain stabbed through his skull at his disobedience, but his training was at odds with what he knew Luke would want. Normally that would have been enough for him to ignore one of his Lessons. Trouble was Vader had been adamant about such signs of respect, while Luke had never told him he didn't want them. Han had only guessed from the dismayed horror he'd seen on Luke's face the first and only time he'd bowed before him. "Luke," he whispered, reaching towards the Jedi, even as he stepped forward, one knee beginning to bend.

Strong hands gripped his arms and pulled him into a brief, but fierce kiss. "Never kneel to me," Luke hissed in his ear, then turned to Gurney.

*Never kneel. Damn, damn, damn.* Right off the top of his head, Han could think of a half a dozen situations where that kind of pageantry would be appropriate or help set up a false, but useful impression. 'Need to train the kid to avoid absolutes,' he thought, trying to keep control of an urge to launch into Luke's lessons immediately.

That urge gave him a headache (Lesson 13: Never embarrass Lord Skywalker) and did nothing to improve his mood. Smiling, he took the arm Luke offered him and settled into the role of the proper consort, but inside he seethed. Such a pity Lesson 24 was 'Never beat the crap out of Lord Skywalker.' Or words to that effect.

After ordering the two droids to stay with the ships until they were summoned, Luke settled into the comfortable seat of Gurney's plush speeder and allowed himself to enjoy the pleasure of having Han next to him. Or at least he did for the few moments it took until the simmering anger beneath Han's smiling facade penetrated his awareness. He sighed, wondering what he'd done wrong this time.

He'd felt certain delaying even a minute in following Han to Haika came under the heading of a Bad Idea. But maybe his sudden arrival had embarrassed Han. Or was Han too angry about waking up alone to forgive him? He took hold of the hand resting on his arm, lifted it to his lips for a kiss, then felt the anger bombarding his awareness lessen, but it did not vanish completely. Didn't take a Jedi Master to see they'd be in the middle of their first fight the minute they were alone.

Unless he didn't want to have a fight. Was such a thought his first step towards the Dark Side? Did the desire to forbid an argument make him a potential Dark Lord or merely human? "Ah, Han," he whispered, conflicted to the point of despair.

Han leaned close to him. "What's wrong?"

"What isn't? I don't know what to do."

Han gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "We'll figure it out."

He sounded so certain. It was almost enough to make Luke believe it. Cheered by even a glimmer of hope, Luke settled back and focused on Gurney's attempts to give them a guided tour.

There was little to distinguish Haika and its capital city, Kailt, from a dozen other planets Luke had visited. A pretty, but unspectacular world, settled by colonists who'd brought plants and animals indigenous to the core worlds with them. Local industry had become homeworld-focused as off-world dealings had centered more and more on smuggling, but there were a few products that were well-made enough to compete in the galactic market. If the transformation in the economy were handled carefully enough, the standard of living should not deteriorate. Convincing the locals of that would be the trick.

Luke had listened to briefing files on his journey here, but hadn't had time to formulate any plans yet. Absently, he reached over and caressed Han's thigh. He could only hope Han had something in mind.

Something turned out to be a kiss. Han waited until they'd been shown to their quarters, then he pulled Luke into his arms and gave him the deep, inviting kiss Luke had longed for since Mon Mothma had summoned him from their bed.

Holstered blaster, jacket and shirt fell victim to Luke's eager fingers, and he soon had a nice, bare-chested ex-smuggler to play with. And, oh, how he wanted to play with him. Wanted to bury himself in the warm heat of Han's body, while his lips made a meal out of every inch of skin they could reach. Unfortunately, he could sense the anger simmering beneath Han's show of passion.

Damn. He pushed Han back, holding him at arm's length, unable to let go totally. He willed the passion to fade, drawing the Force through him like a cold shower, then he looked into a pair of hazel eyes radiating confusion. "I won't use you," Luke insisted, the firmness in his voice more to convince himself than Han. "You want to argue, not make love. I can feel it."

Han looked at him for a long moment. "You're imagining things," he said and pressed his erection against Luke's thigh. "All I want to do is make love with you."

Luke groaned, aching to ignore everything but the pressure of the delicious hardness. Cursing himself, he used the Force a second time to cool his passions, then glared at Han. "Well, I want to argue."

Han sighed. "It's not worth the headache."

Luke didn't like the sound of that. "What headache?"

Han started, as if he hadn't realized he'd spoken. "It's nothing," he muttered, but he didn't even try to meet Luke's gaze.

"Tell me," Luke demanded, not at all opposed to using Han's conditioning when Han's own welfare might be involved.

Another sigh, but then Han answered, "Some sort of biofeedback loop Vader set up in my brain. If I displease you or disobey one of your edicts, I get a headache."

"How bad?"

"I... suspect it would kill me if I didn't stop disobeying."

Horror swept through Luke like an ice storm in his veins. "Kill you?" He'd assumed Vader had used pain to condition Han, but it had never occurred to him that his father had come up with a deadly way to reinforce that conditioning. He pulled Han into his arms and held on tight. "Don't worry, I'll find a way to get rid of it."

Han stiffened, then took a deep breath as if to calm himself. "I don't want you to."

Luke blinked. "What?"

Han eased back enough to look at him. "It's a Force enhancement of my normal desire to please the man I love. If you destroy it, you'll destroy the love as well." He reached up and caressed Luke's cheek. "I don't want to not be in love with you."

Luke didn't want that either, but... "You'd be free."

He shook his head. "I don't like the price. I can live with it, Luke, if you just think before you tell me to do something."

"What if I order you to ignore all future orders and do what you want?"

A slight smile crossed the handsome face. "I'd know you didn't mean it. Vader knew you didn't want a human droid, so to some extent I can separate what you want from what you tell me to do, and no one wants to be disobeyed all the time."

"So what do I do?"

"Give me room to maneuver. Don't use absolutes, as in 'never kneel.'"

Luke glowered. "I don't want you paying homage to me."

Another smile, this one broader. "Your problem is that you lack a devious mind. I can't pretend to be an ignorant smuggler anymore, but there might be more than one occasion when it would be useful to come across as subservient." He gave Luke a long look. "Let me trade a few bows and adoring looks for 'made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs'."

Luke snorted. "I don't know who you thought you were kidding with that. Anyone over the age of two knows a parsec is a measure of distance, not time."

A wolfish grin let Luke know he'd missed the point. "But you and Kenobi opted not to point that out, which told me how desperate you were, and I set my price accordingly."

Though it had been over five years since he'd walked into that bar on Mos Eisley, discovering he'd been had made Luke scowl. "Leia, was right. You are an arrogant nerf herder."

"Just as long as you don't agree with her about the scruffy-looking part."

Luke laughed. "All right, Han, you win. No more orders."

"Now there you go with the absolutes again." Hazel eyes gave Luke a smoldering look. "Sometimes I like taking orders from you."

His mouth went dry, at the same moment his cock reminded him they were alone. He swallowed to get enough moisture to say, "In that case, strip for me. Slowly."

Han's eyes closed, his hands stroking his own chest before moving down to the waistband of his trousers. "My pleasure," he murmured.

Passion and love coursed through Luke as he watched, ignoring the voice howling in his head that he shouldn't enjoy this, that he should find a way to free Han no matter what the price, not sit there and enjoy his submission. He ignored it in the face of such obvious mutual pleasure, but somewhere deep inside him, he felt the line between Light and Dark grow that much dimmer.

Han sat in the gallery overlooking the floor of the Haikan Parliament and scowled as the Ambassador made yet another impassioned speech about the need to join the New Republic. It all sounded quite sincere, but who was he trying to convince? Han had a perfect view of the large wedge of empty chairs below. A solitary person sat in the block of seats that comprised a good third of the room. Calamus -- the only representative of the Smuggler's Guild whom he had met. Or seen, for that matter.

According to Gurney, the other smugglers had vanished. A melodramatic way of saying they'd gone into hiding in the face of a rumor that they would all soon be arrested for treason. Calamus had remained behind to speak for them, but he didn't have their approval to make deals. From what Han could tell, almost without exception, everyone else in Parliament was all for the agreement Leia, her Senator pals and Gurney had drafted. Not that this kept the Ambassador from making his damned speeches while Luke sat nearby looking impressive.

That left Han to watch and think. So far he'd been unsuccessful in convincing Calamus to arrange a meeting with the key members of the Smuggler's Guild despite the impressive credentials of Han's unsavory past and his even murkier present. It made a man suspicious. And right now all of those suspicions were falling on Gurney's shoulders.

Han had favored him as the one behind the attack on Chewie from the moment he'd had a chance to give some thought to actual suspects. The miserable excuse for a Hutt in human guise had been the only one insistent Han be the New Republic representative sent to Haika and had made it clear he had plans for Han that didn't mix well with a Wookiee chaperone. Spreading rumors about impending arrests made it impossible for Han to complete his mission and kept him here with very little to do. Time and boredom -- all any observer would think it would take to destroy the tremulous Skywalker-Solo marriage. Yes, it all fit. Except...

He sighed. Except that murdering Chewie to get Han into anyone's bed was excessive. A bribe or even a 'we're all males here' appeal would have done the job and not risked Han's rage. Worse, his inability to get a seal of approval on the New Republic pact was already beginning to erode Gurney's status. The man obviously loved the pleasures power and position provided, so why would he risk them to satisfy a simple case of lust? No, if Gurney were the sort to go around arranging murders, it stood to reason he wouldn't be above arranging Han's kidnapping. Even if rape wasn't the man's style -- and he had too much in common with Jabba for Han to give him much credit on that count -- Han would be willing to bet a fortune he was the type to see a difference between rape and sex as ransom. All of which meant that, while he could make Gurney fit, it wasn't a good fit.

That left Calamus, but only because he was the only one besides Gurney to exchange more than a few polite words with Han at the half-dozen receptions held since Han and Luke had arrived on Haika. Ironically, the only real change in his situation since he'd left Coruscant was Luke, not Han, was the talk of every party. He might have felt a certain satisfaction in the 'serves Luke right' scheme of things if it weren't for the fact that every time some Haikan official demanded Luke's attention, Gurney demanded Han's.

True to his statement upon Han's arrival, Gurney had kept his hands to himself, but his eyes roved Han's body more boldly than ever. It was getting on Han's nerves and making Luke go all inscrutable. Why the blasted Jedi couldn't admit he had the normal reaction of not liking it when another man made a point out of constantly eyeing his consort, Han didn't know, but that was the way Luke had opted to handle it. That... irritated Han. Yes, Luke knew Han could not stray, but that didn't mean he might not want to someday. Besides, with Luke acting like it didn't matter, Han felt ridiculous about voicing his suspicions.

'I've decided he's a murdering bastard because he keeps trying to seduce me.' Oh, yes, he could see the look that would earn him. Worse, he'd deserve it. Han sighed in exasperation with himself and this miserable situation, then sighed again with relief as Gurney finally shut up and sat down.

A few polite words of support would follow, then the Ambassador and Luke would take their leave. As he had every day, Han was to meet Luke at the main entrance, but he didn't wait until protocol allowed Luke to rise before making his own escape. 'All right, whoever you are,' he thought, hitting the door to the stairwell, 'you have five minutes before my protector reclaims me.'

It would all be a hell of a lot easier if Chewie were here. Han had spent the better part of his adult life with the looming presence of the Wookiee at his side. There were few situations in which he didn't know precisely how Chewie would react. Once they'd joined the rebellion, Luke had accompanied them on missions from time to time, but not often enough to make working with him the easy matter it was with Chewie. For one thing, he and Luke had a tendency to be over-protective of one another.

In this case, that translated as Luke wouldn't let him out of his sight for more than a minute or two. Han appreciated the sentiment, but he wanted to catch whoever was behind this more than he wanted security. Han could tell his Wookiee partner to hang back so they could see what would happen. If Han got his ass shot off in the process, Chewie would be there with a last-minute rescue and a growled 'I told you so.' He figured some day it would be that way with Luke, but right now the blasted Jedi... hovered.

Luke also ignored all hints or subtle suggestions that some room for the bad guys to maneuver might get the two of them off this rock sometime before Leia's unborn children were old enough to be in the Senate themselves. Unfortunately, at this point in their new relationship, Han was leery of coming straight out with such a plan. Chances were even if Luke didn't flat out forbid him to play the bait, he'd say or do something that would make it clear he disapproved, and that could be almost as difficult to squirm around as an out and out order. That left Plan B -- set up a pattern where he waited alone for Luke after each speech.

This was day four of The Plan and so far it had been a resounding failure. Damn it! How long did it take to pass a man a note, for Gods' sake? Something trite, yet cryptic like 'Meet me in the garden after sunset.' He slumped back against a decorative pillar and tried not glower at everyone who passed by without giving him so much as a glance, let alone a message.

To make his day a total loss, Luke showed up with Gurney still in his wake. Worse, the Hutt wannabe was issuing a dinner invitation.

"That's kind of you, Ambassador," Luke said, pausing briefly to offer Han his arm, which his dutiful consort took with an easy air he hoped irritated the Ambassador. "But we really shouldn't impose on your hospitality."

"It's no imposition at all. And we need to discuss a new strategy."

Careful to keep his voice pitched low enough only Luke could hear him, Han muttered, "Try shutting up."

Luke gave him a half-smile, but addressed his remark to Gurney. "We need to find a way to convince the Smuggler's Guild to listen to our proposal."

They walked outside and, not to Han's surprise, found the sun low in the horizon. Gurney had a talent for talking the day away. Come to think of it, it had been one of his shorter speeches. Verbosity seemed to be a Haikan trait, and Gurney was a true master. For all his own distaste with the man, Han had to admit many seemed to hang on his every word. Or at least they had until Gurney had insisted on giving virtually the same speech over and over again.

Movement in an alleyway across the street broke into his thoughts, and his hand flashed towards the grip of his blaster, but Luke shoved him away, sending him sprawling to the pavement. His head hit hard enough to daze him for an instant, but he heard Luke's lightsaber activate a split second before a blaster fired.

The glowing blade deflected the shot, then arched around to block a second burst.

'Well color me helpless,' Han thought with irritation as he rolled away from the range of the Jedi's weapon. A swinging lightsaber might keep him all safe and cozy, but it also prevented him from returning fire. Coming up on one knee, he drew his blaster, then pulled the trigger.

Their assailant fell to the ground, his chest a smoking ruin, but blaster bolts hurtled towards them from the far right, one scoring the wall behind Han. Stone fragments erupted upon impact, and a sharp pain cut into Han's shoulder. Luke, not Han, flinched, the ex-smuggler too busy shooting back to react to the injury.

Gurney chose that moment to panic, running for the building entrance and away from the shield of the lightsaber. A shot caught him in the head, transforming it into a sickening red mist.

Mission accomplished or spooked by the sound of approaching security forces, the assassin took off.

Han started after him, but Luke caught hold of his arm. He thought he should pull away from the Jedi, that it was wrong to simply stand there while a killer escaped. Instead he blinked, admitted, "I don't feel so good," then blackness took him.

Close calls gave Luke a headache, and he had a big one at the moment. The stone fragment had cut deep, causing a dangerous loss of blood, but a blood stimulant and two hours in a bacta tank later, the doctors had proclaimed Han as good as new and allowed Luke to take him back to their quarters.

The gorgeous fool didn't have the sense to even act tired when their door closed behind them. "I could use a drink," Han announced, heading for the dispenser. "How about you?"

It seemed a more practical notion than wringing his beloved consort's neck, so he answered, "Fine."

He could hear the coldness in his own voice, and Han looked up at him. "You okay?"

Luke nodded. "But then I'm not the one who almost died, am I?"

"You're exaggerating," Han answered, collecting first one, then another glass of amber liquid from the dispenser. "I've come closer than that lots of times."

"Is that supposed to comfort me?" Luke snapped, the cold fear that had gripped him since Han had collapsed transforming into anger. "If you'd stayed behind me--"

Anger flashed in Han's eyes, but it stayed out of his voice. "I thought we'd agreed I wasn't helpless." He set Luke's drink on the table within easy reach, then sipped at his own.

Funny how the simple truth could make the anger surge even hotter. Fairly hissing each word in his rage, Luke retorted, "I do not want--"

"Stop!" Han cut him off, his index finger flying up to emphasize the command. "Don't you ever give me an order like that!"

Han didn't quite manage to hide the flinch, and Luke remembered the price Han paid whenever they disagreed. "I'm sorry," he said, his own head beginning to throb. The worst thing about loving Han had always been the man's impulsive brand of courage. He'd charge into danger without thinking about what might happen to him. It had saved many a life, including Luke's, but he feared the day Han's luck did not accompany his courage. To have it within his power to keep him safe was a temptation that made him tremble with the need to use it. "I'm sorry."

He looked at Han. The man's face had gone pale, but sorrow, not anger radiated from him. The order Luke had been about to give died in his throat. What did he really want? Han Solo or a fantasy? At times like this, he really didn't know. "I love you," he said. "I don't want to live without you."

Han managed a smile. "Feeling's mutual, kid. That's why I keep coming after you when you get it in your head that you can take on the galaxy all by yourself." He reached out and caressed Luke's cheek. "You can't, you know."

It sounded so much like the man he'd met in a Mos Eisley bar that the tightness in his chest eased. "Just promise me you'll do your best to stay alive."

Han's arms went around him. "I promise."

For now, it would have to do.

Verbosity was definitely a Haikan trait. Han decided he'd never made a truer observation as he sat listening to yet another hours long eulogy of the dearly departed Ambassador Gurney. Worse, he'd forgotten he had one of his dress uniforms stowed in the Falcon. Threepio hadn't. Damn droid had been so pleased to present it as the perfect thing to wear to a state funeral. Of course, a droid never had to deal with a stiff high collar. Han felt like he was being strangled.

He glared at Luke out of the corner of his eye. Luke in his nice, comfortable, if admittedly elegant, black tunic and trousers. Damned Jedi had taken off 'to think' before the New Republic uniforms had even been designed, let alone getting fitted for one. Han tugged at his collar again and muttered softly, "I hate you, and I'm going to melt Goldenrod down into a paper weight."

Luke's mouth twitched, a sign he was fighting a smile. "Is that any way for an officer to talk?" he whispered.

"It is if the officer is suffocating," Han answered, shifting and registering yet another complaint. "And if his bladder is about to burst."

Another twitch of the mouth Han loved so well. "Can't help you with the uniform, love, but it isn't a breach of protocol to slip off to take care of the other problem." Luke gave a slight nod of his head to indicate one of the Representatives returning to his seat. "You really should listen to Threepio's briefings."

That sounded like a fast route to death by boredom. Not that the occasion in question was any less lethal. "Next time I'll ask you for the highlights," Han muttered, getting up.

Luke started to rise, but Han touched his shoulder. "I think I can manage this mission alone." Besides, it would look like they had no intention of coming back if they left together. Now, there was a wonderful thought.

A frown touched Luke's face, but he nodded, then returned his attention to the latest glowing analysis of Gurney's career.

Or, more accurately, the glowing load of Bantha droppings. Han figured anything that didn't mention the late Ambassador's talented wandering hands couldn't be all that accurate. Han's vanity did not stretch to such lengths that he could even consider the notion he'd been the first victim of Gurney's attentions.

Relief lightened his mood a little when he escaped into the amphitheater's service quarters, and, unable to resist the impulse, opened the first three fasteners of his tunic. He could almost hear the skin of his neck gasping with joy as he bared his throat. Wondering how long he could stretch this break, he headed for the facilities.

He found the large room already occupied by two Representatives and opted to use the sani-unit furthest from them, but their conversation echoed and he overheard.

The dark-haired one was saying, "...perhaps all for the best."

His fairer companion asked, "How so?"

"I've never been fond of those who cling to position after they've gone stale."

"Yes, I see your point. I remember his speeches during the Overt Mondel negotiations."

"Highlight of his career, in my opinion. Two weeks worth of speeches to stall for time and he never repeated himself once."

"Quite the contrast to this last week. Not only the same subject, but almost the same words."

They continued their conversation of Gurney's recent decline as they finished, then left Han to himself.

So Gurney wasn't inclined to repeat himself. Yet he had done nothing but that since returning home. Han had also heard tales of how persuasive the man could be, yet he'd failed repeatedly to convince Calamus there was no danger to the smugglers. Then there was his own experience. The Ambassador had groped Han every chance he got on Coruscant, yet he'd settled for eyeing him on Haika. He could think of good reasons for each change. Hell, the man had told him to his face he wouldn't be actively pursuing Han with Luke around. Yet, if Gurney had been that worried about Luke's reactions, why risk irritating him with all the looks?

With his only real suspect dead, Han had given serious consideration to suggesting to Luke they leave Haika until all the rumors of arrests died down, for it seemed neither their mission nor his search for Chewie's attacker would be completed until that happened. Now he found himself reconsidering. Laser surgery and related technology had reached the point that it was simple enough to duplicate the appearance and voice of anyone enough to fool the casual observer. Yes, an impostor would explain a lot, but there were checks against that sort of thing. Weekly -- sometimes daily -- voice, retinal and brain scans were routine procedure with government and security officials. Unless Haika didn't bother with such things.

He sighed. Luke was right. He did need to listen to Threepio. Once he finished, he went outside instead of returning to his seat. Luke wouldn't be pleased, but Han had a hunch and there was no way in hell he was going to be able to sit still until he'd checked it out.

Luke's comlink pinged softly, interrupting rather dark thoughts about what he'd do to Han if he didn't get back here. He activated it and whispered, "Han?"

"Yes."

"Where the hell are you?"

"On my way to the Hall of Records. There's something I need to check out. Meet me there when the funeral is over."

He frowned, not even trying to deny the way his stomach lurched at the thought of Han out of his sight for that long. "You should be here."

"You should," Han replied, "but I'm only the pretty decoration on your arm. No one will think it odd that I got tired and left."

That this was true did nothing to settle his stomach. "Han," he said while he tried to think of a way to order him to return without infuriating the other man.

"Love you, see you later," Han responded, then cut the signal.

Luke stared at the silent comlink not knowing whether to laugh or start planning his consort's murder. He knew his exasperating scoundrel wouldn't answer if he tried to re-establish the link. That left him with two choices: be unpardonably rude and leave or do his duty and stay here.

He almost walked out. Only the vision of explaining to Leia and Mon Mothma he had insulted the Haikans because the idea of leaving Han alone upset his stomach kept him rooted to the spot. Instead, he gritted his teeth and took up the silent mantra, "Han can take care of himself. Han can take care of himself..."

Han glowered at Threepio and wondered if Luke would really mind if he sold the blasted droid for scrap. Halfway through a tedious description of Haikan security procedures, he finally snapped and clamped his hand over the opening that served as Goldenrod's mouth. "In other words, they do a complete Identiscan once a week."

The gold head nodded when Han did not take his hand away.

He shifted his attention to Artoo and said, "See if you can tap into the security computers and find out the dates Gurney was checked since he got back from Coruscant."

A ping and a whirl answered him, then one of the front panels opened on the droid. A metal rod with a plug on the end appeared, then slid easily into a computer access port and Artoo went to work.

Only then did Han risk uncovering Threepio's mouth, but the look he gave the droid promised dire retribution if it dared to say a word. Body language being one of the whatever million forms of communication the damned hunk of metal was fluent in, it wisely stayed silent. Not that Han expected such a state of bliss to last.

A moment later Artoo beeped in triumph and the information appeared on a nearby screen. As Han had suspected, the first date turned out to be the day the Ambassador returned from Coruscant. The second was the day Han and Luke had arrived, the actual time only a few hours after Gurney had left them at their quarters. "When was the next scan set for?"

A whirl, a beep, then the date of Gurney's death popped up. It didn't surprise Han the assassination had occurred before the appointment with Security. Interesting that the Ambassador had said nothing about needing to make the required stop on the way to dinner.

It fit circumstantially, but with a sinking heart Han knew he had to let Threepio talk. Life was simply not fair. Delaying the inevitable, he sat down at the computer station and called up a holorecording of Gurney's speech to brief the Parliament on his trip to Coruscant.

Almost immediately he could see as well as hear the differences the Representatives had been discussing. This Gurney was more animated; his presentation -- though long-winded -- almost interesting, and he answered all questions with the same eloquent verboseness. After a half-hour, Han cut off the hologram and called up the date of a later speech on the same subject, but one made prior to when he suspected an impostor had taken over. Not to his surprise, this, too, verified what he'd overheard. Not once in the half-hour he watched did the Ambassador repeat any of the earlier speech.

Finally, Han called up the holorecording of one of the speeches he'd endured during the past week. Although better than he'd remembered, it was a flat, lifeless thing when compared to earlier works, and, although questions had become rare, those that were asked were answered in only a sentence or two.

He looked at Threepio and braced himself. "Okay, Goldenrod, I need you to analyze every word you've heard Ambassador Gurney utter, then compare this week to everything earlier. And try to do it quietly."

"Yes, sir," Threepio answered. Although Luke had opted not to share quarters with the droids, Threepio had been present at every speech and every State function. The overgrown paperweight might be annoying as seven hells, but it had its uses.

A few minutes lapsed, then the droid said, "This simply cannot be right."

"What can't be right?"

"Well, sir, sentient beings have patterns for expressing themselves, and Ambassador Gurney tended to favor complex sentences and--"

"I know that," Han cut in. "Just tell me what doesn't seem right."

"My analysis indicates that two different men spoke during the time in question."

"That's what I--"

"However," Threepio continued, "comparison of their voice patterns indicates an exact match."

Damn. Then again some gadget or other might be able to fool a protocol droid. "Artoo, can you confirm that?"

"Well," Threepio huffed, then practically preened when Artoo's analysis agreed with its own.

"Not an impostor then." He thought a moment, then whispered, "Shit." No, it couldn't be, but... His mind flashed over everything again and came up with the same answer. "Artoo, see what you can pull up on any Imperial activity in this area. Especially anything that happened before or during the Clone Wars."

In minutes he had the answer he'd dreaded -- the Empire had once had a base on Haika. A research base.

Now it all made sense. Someone on Haika was using Imperial cloning technology. Not something compatible with a strong New Republic presence, so they'd needed help in either weakening the treaty or defeating it entirely. Han's smuggling background made him a natural to draw the assignment, but that wasn't the part of his past his opponent was interested in. His Imperial ties were the important issue -- both the solid ties of his days in the Corellian fleet and the rumors of his current Vader-inspired loyalties. As a former slave of the Empire, Chewie would have been seen as a major obstacle to anyone planning to appeal to any Imperial loyalties Han might have. So he had to be eliminated.

The why. He had the why. Unfortunately, he was no closer to the who.

The funeral finally, mercifully ended and Luke made his escape at the first possible opportunity. By telling himself he was being an overprotective idiot, he managed not to run all the way to the Hall of Records, but the knot in his stomach stayed firm until he rounded a corner to discover Han sitting at a computer station and scowling at Threepio.

It was such a delightfully normal scene that Luke had to laugh.

The sound drew Han's attention and instantly the scowl transformed into a smile.

"Sir," Threepio said, "we've made--"

"Not now," Han snapped at it even as he rose, then walked towards Luke.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Luke asked when his arms were full of handsome consort.

"No," he whispered, his breath caressing Luke's lips. "Been a long, boring day."

"But, sir!" the gold droid protested.

"Not now, Threepio," Han ordered a second time and his gaze locked with Luke's. There was something imploring in his eyes, and Luke could almost hear him whisper, 'Trust me.'

He did, so he kissed his love, then glanced at the droids. "Go back to the Falcon for the night."

"Very well, sir," came a reply that sounded more like an exasperated pout than anything else. "Come along, Artoo."

Once they were alone, Luke smiled at Han. "You can admit it now." His lips nuzzled Han's ear. "You were just ducking out on the funeral, weren't you?"

Han smiled. "Never could fool you. Forgive me?"

Luke was so relieved to find him alive and well despite his fears that he would have forgiven Han anything up to and including mass murder. But he wasn't about to tell him that. "Is there a reason I should?"

"Take me back to our quarters and I'll show you."

"Sounds intriguing. Let's go."

Han didn't say much during the trip back to their rooms. He obviously had something on his mind, something he wasn't ready to talk about. Curiosity burned inside Luke, but he asked no questions, contenting himself with a few stolen kisses.

When they reached their bedroom, Han stopped him from turning up the lights, then lit a few candles instead. That done, he turned his attention to the entertainment console, and soft music set a very romantic mood. Luke regarded him with a mixture of suspicion and arousal as romance did not exactly mix well with his perceptions of Han Solo.

Slowly Han began to remove his dress uniform, his movements graceful and enticing.

Luke moaned, fighting the impulse to pounce while the body he loved so well was bared. His cock throbbed and rose up as if reaching out for what it desired in a near mockery of the arms hanging impotently at his side, but, if Han wanted to seduce, Luke would make no move to deny him.

Han removed his boots, then, at last, his hands settled on the waistband of his trousers. For a moment Luke feared he intended to tease, but the large hands made short work of stripping off the last garment, then a gloriously naked Han stood before him.

He smiled at Luke, then sank down onto the bed and held out his hand. "Come make love to me," he said, his voice deep and husky with passion.

Luke tossed off his clothes as he all but raced across the bedroom. Despite that, he managed to settle on top of Han with something more dignified than a lunging thud. His weeping cock eagerly quested for its sheath, and, with a low chuckle, Han shifted his legs out of the way and drew Luke into his body.

"I want you," he whispered, a redundancy given the slick heat welcoming Luke's every thrust; unfortunately, he added in an even softer voice, "but we have to talk."

"What?" Luke muttered in confusion, his body freezing.

"No, don't stop. I think we're being monitored."

A passion-killing statement if Luke had ever heard one, but he was far gone enough to stay hard and the press of hands against his ass got him to start thrusting again. His own voice dropped to the soft near-murmur of Han's. "Why?"

"I found... Gods, Luke, that's good..." Between the soft gasps and moans of mutual pleasure, Han managed to tell Luke what he'd discovered. "I think I was su -- aaahhh -- posed to figure it out. Think... my reaction's... Mmm, harder..."

Thus the reason for the music. Nothing obvious, but enough to mask exactly what they were saying. Sweat broke out on Luke's brow from both the strain of holding back his climax and the fact that Han had decided to give any observers the impression that he had no intention of telling Luke about his discovery. Setting himself up so they could see what would happen next. Luke didn't like it. Not at all, but it made perfect sense. "I won't let... out my sight," he grated through gritted teeth. "But--"

Han's teeth gently nipped his ear. "I know. Invisible... Jedi to... mmm... the rescue."

Exactly. A few simple mind tricks and some stealth would keep him hidden from anyone making contact with Han. Not as safe as keeping himself glued to Han's side, but it would have to do. "Agreed," he muttered, then fixed his lips on the side of Han's neck and sucked hard, marking the flesh where anyone could see, to announce Han belonged to him.

Han arched upward, his seed spilling between them, then collapsed back, the contraction of his muscles, pulling Luke over the edge into a climax so powerful it left him light-headed.

He slumped against the body beneath him, knew he should go get something to clean them both up or at least shift over to a more comfortable position. Instead he fell asleep.

The next morning, Han was gone.

Han woke from a disturbing dream of strange hands fondling him to find himself dressed in his trousers and lying on the floor of what looked a lot like a cell. "Luke?" he muttered, sitting up and trying to shake the sleep clinging to his brain.

Hands helped him gain the upright position, but his thoughts remained sluggish. "You okay, Solo?"

Calamus. He tried to jerk away, but only succeeded in toppling back over onto his side.

"Easy, hotshot," the other man soothed him and helped him sit back up. "Give the drug a chance to wear off."

"Drug?"

"Tranquilizer gas pumped into your quarters while you slept. It's how they got all of us."

"All of us?"

"Near as we can tell from shouting back and forth between cells, about fifteen of the most influential members of the Smuggler's Guild."

His head clearing with annoying slowness, Han studied the tall, thin man kneeling beside him. "How long have you been here?"

"Two days. They took me the night Gurney was assassinated."

"You were at the funeral."

Calamus' reaction was one of picture-perfect surprise. "What!?!"

"You even gave one of the eulogies." At a little under an hour, it had been among the shorter speeches.

The man ran a hand through his thinning white-blond hair. "That's impossible."

Han said nothing.

"It must have been some sort of impostor."

Or a clone. Or Calamus was lying, although his surprise and confusion seemed genuine enough. Han decided for the direct approach. "I find it difficult to trust you, given your lack of cooperation."

That got him a disgusted look. "Do you think I make it a habit of throwing away sweet deals like yours?"

Han had proposed the New Republic set up a base on Haika with the main objective of keeping the resistance groups fighting the remains of the Empire well stocked with arms, food and medicines. With the salaries, the benefits and the bonuses for dangerous runs, the pilots would see no decrease in their incomes -- many would see an increase -- and the peril involved would keep the adrenaline junkies happy. The only real loss was the illusive dream of one big score that could make a smuggler wealthy, but few veterans of the trade clung to such illusions. All in all, a sweet deal indeed. At least given the current Haikan set up. Smuggling was a legitimate trade here, not the quasi- to out-and-out illegal sort of operations Jabba and his ilk ran.

"So why the lack of help?"

"My comrades are prisoners. I couldn't deal with you until I'd dealt with that." Calamus gave him a long look. "Now, my question is, how do I know I can trust you?"

Luke glared at the chief security officer. "For the one-hundredth time, Han did not leave me."

Commandant Tirus gave him a long look that spoke volumes.

He sighed heavily. When he'd found Han gone, Luke had suffered a brief moment of panic Han had indeed done exactly that, then enough intelligence had penetrated his brain to remember Han could not leave him. That had resulted in the even greater fear he'd gone off to play the bait without anyone watching his back. "We were drugged somehow, and Han was abducted."

"Perhaps," the stately redhead allowed. Generous, since her men had tested his blood at his request and found he had traces of a powerful tranquilizer in his system. "Or he drugged you so you would not interfere with his leaving."

A headache began to form behind Luke's eyes, and he rubbed his forehead to ease the pressure, wishing he'd never called in the local authorities. But the drug had left him so sluggish he'd not wanted to waste time while he recovered. Instead, he'd been trapped here answering questions until long after he could function. He decided to try one last time to get Tirus to listen, then he would find Han on his own. "Nothing is missing from our quarters except for the trousers of his dress uniform. Do you think a man trying to slip away unnoticed would do so without a shirt or his boots?"

"No, but it is possible that a lover provided him with a change of clothing that would help him keep his identity hidden."

Luke could not bring himself to give the woman specifics about Han's conditioning, but he tried to work around it. "A Jedi and his consort bond, Commandant. Han is incapable of taking another lover or of leaving me. In any case, I can assure you that, while circumstances undoubtedly exist that would prompt him to walk down a street stark naked, nothing would make Han Solo willingly leave his blaster behind."

He'd said it before, several times, but this time he thought -- damned drug must still be making his brain sluggish -- to pull out the weapon and lay it on her desk.

She picked it up and studied it, noted the tinkering Han had done to make it a very personal weapon. "All right, who do you think took him?"

Relief made him dizzy, then he told her the why and hoped she could help him with the who.

Two heavily armed guards came for Han and escorted him out of the cell. He thought it was on the overly dramatic side to deal with one half-naked, barefoot man, but he opted to view it as a compliment and didn't take offense. Besides, there was no way he'd go anywhere until he'd found out who was behind all of this.

One of the guards shoved him through a doorway, and he fell on his face into a deep, plush carpet. It seemed not everyone around here had to make do with a cold, bare floor.

Slowly he sat up to find himself in a luxurious study. To his equal disappointment and satisfaction, Gurney stood near a window. "Nice trick with the clone," Han said, getting to his feet, then making a show of dusting non-existent carpet fibers from his skin and trousers.

The former Ambassador nodded and held up a crystal decanter filled with a pale blue liquid. "Would you care for a glass of Alderaan brandy?"

Han didn't quite manage to keep the impressed look off his face. As most of the highly prized spirit had been destroyed with the planet that manufactured it, Alderaan brandy was one of the most expensive and hard to come by liquors in the galaxy. "Someone has been doing some real smuggling."

Gurney grinned. "I've never been one to pass up an opportunity." He filled two small glasses, picked up one, then moved away from the other, leaving it up to Han whether or not he wanted to claim it. "I must say you don't look very surprised to see me. Why not think me a prisoner like Calamus?"

"You were too anxious to have me on Haika. Requesting an ex-smuggler made sense, but it didn't have to be me. Not unless you were concerned with more than winning over the Smuggler's Guild."

Gurney's eyes raked him, and Han had to fight hard not to let his discomfort show. Damned difficult not to feel vulnerable without even a pair of boots to put more force behind a kick. "That was never a concern of mine."

"So I've figured out. You want to play with clones, not smugglers."

"More precisely, I wish to smuggle clones." Gurney took a sip of his drink. "The cloning technology I have access to is imperfect, but good enough to create a market for temporary duplicates. Stage your own murder, provide yourself with an alibi for everything from criminal to libidinal pursuits, or even take an extended holiday from the pressures of daily life -- the possibilities really are almost endless. But to make it work, I need pilots who are loyal only to me and no threat of New Republic interference."

"And that's where I come in."

"Yes. There are more than a few indications that you would have no great love for the New Republic, and..." again his eyes caressed Han, "you are a very beautiful man."

Han's stomach lurched at the display of open desire, but if these were his pre-Vader days, he would have given Gurney an encouraging smile. Not an option now. Instead he focused on the business half of the man's scheme. "Suppose I am interested in your smuggling operation," he said, picking up the glass of brandy, then taking a slight sip. He'd never really cared for the stuff, but it gave him something to do. "How do you expect me to help?"

"Ideally, you can put an end to the threat of the treaty between my government and yours."

Han shook his head. "I don't have that kind of influence." Keeping his movements casual and unthreatening, he made his way to the window and got a glimpse outside. A good ten stories above the ground, and the stonework along the sill indicated they were in a dilapidated looking building on the far west side of the city. Whenever it had come to his attention, he'd dismissed it as abandoned. Stupid. Old habits should have told him to never take things at face value. "But you already knew that."

"Yes, but I did want to see if you would try to indicate otherwise."

Han gave him an 'I'm waiting' look.

"If I allow you to complete your mission successfully, both my government and yours will be grateful. Grateful enough to put you in charge of the New Republic base. I will insist upon it."

"But you're dead."

Gurney dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "Merely a demonstration for prospective buyers. Informants will give Security my whereabouts, and I and my followers will be rescued."

"Let me guess. This is all going to turn out to be a plot by Calamus?"

A delighted laugh answered him. "I knew you had a mind for this sort of business. Yes, my dear friend Calamus and his treacherous band of rogues will all be killed in the rescue attempt."

"And the cloning technology will be lost forever," Han finished. He had to hand it to the man. He wasn't a Jabba wannabe, he was a Hutt-soulmate.

"Naturally."

Han lifted his glass in a toast. It would work. Gurney would get everything he wanted. Or he would have, if he'd not relied too heavily on rumors about Han's questionable loyalties. "All right, I want in," he said, then drained the last of his brandy. "But only if the price is right."

"Twenty percent," Gurney offered.

Han didn't bother to hide his surprise at the large percentage. He had no access to the technology to make the plan really profitable, nor was he in a position to turn down any offer and gain his freedom.

"You'd expected something more along the lines of five or ten percent?"

"Yes."

"Consider my generosity a compensation for your divorce. Or would you prefer to be a widower?" Yes, Luke would have to be removed from the equation. His loyalties were totally with the New Republic, and he was not a man who could be fooled by any attempts at misdirection.

"Divorce," Han said quickly, not even wanting to discuss the mythical alternative. "The death of the only Jedi would result in far more attention to me than I want. A divorce would be the logical conclusion to a stormy marriage."

"Excellent." Gurney set his own empty glass down on a sideboard. "Now, all that remains is the consummation of our relationship."

He began to unfasten his tunic, but Han shook his head. "No. I agreed to a business proposition, not to play the whore for you."

Gurney's hand continued to open the fasteners. "Ah, but this is not a matter open to negotiation." He fixed Han with a cold stare that seemed in stark contrast to his growing erection. "You will either be in my bed for as long as I desire, or you will be dead."

Han stared at him in near-shock. The fool would risk all his plans for the sake of having him? He wished he could laugh, chalk it all up to a distasteful episode, drop his trousers and get it over with. Gods knew he'd done it often enough in the past, but he couldn't now. He backed away from Gurney. "Then I'll be dead." He said it with the certainty of a man who knew either way his life would soon end. The Ambassador stopped disrobing.

"Don't be ridiculous, Solo. I'll grow tired of your charms within weeks. And I assure you, should you force me to order your death, I'll still have you first."

"If you rape me, it'll hurt, and if you hurt me, Luke will know where I am." That too, Han knew beyond all doubt.

"Yes, your bond. My operative told me Skywalker flinches when you bleed, but it seems to have a range limit, otherwise he'd be here by now."

Han shook his head. "He's not here because there's a limit to his awareness of me and my emotions. But when I'm in pain, he can feel it across light years." He crossed his arms over his chest, a clear gesture of defiance, not defense. "It's up to you, Ambassador. A profitable, strictly business deal or a lifetime spent with a Jedi hunting you."

Gurney refastened his tunic, and for an instant Han thought he had won. But the man pressed a switch on the desk and the guards reappeared. "Take him back to his cell," he ordered, then looked at Han. "I never settle, Solo. I'll give you an hour to change your mind, then I'll take my chances with your Jedi."

Luke wanted to scream in frustration. For an hour he and Tirus had gone over the facts for a list of suspects. No one fit. Not even Gurney. Luke had a few doubts about whether or not the Ambassador was really dead, but why kill 'himself'? Any plan he might have would work better backed by the power and prestige of his office. They'd even questioned the droids, but both Threepio and Artoo had gaps in their memory logs that corresponded to the time they'd spent with Han in the Hall of Records and with ten minutes of the time they'd spent on the Falcon since then. Someone had broken into Han's ship and done a very selective memory wipe.

"Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way," Tirus said when for the ninth time everything pointed to Gurney. "If a man stages his own death, it stands to reason he wants to be thought dead, but it isn't the only possibility. What if he wanted only a temporary illusion of death?"

"Of course. It fits if he has no intention of staying dead." Luke wondered if the drug had worn off too long ago to blame missing that on the aftereffects. "He--"

Fear, sickening in its intensity, flooded through him, and he clutched at his stomach in reaction. By the Force, Han, what's happening? He shouldn't be able to feel it, but it coursed through him like an icy hand of death.

"Commander Skywalker?" Tirus' hand touched his shoulder.

He waved her off. "It doesn't matter. I can find Han now."

She stared at him, then said, "My people and I are at your service."

*Lesson 3: Whatever the price, no one but Lord Skywalker may ever have you.* Han sat on the floor of his cell waiting for the last minutes of his life to tick away. Calamus had been removed to another holding area, leaving him alone when he would have given anything for company. For a distraction from thoughts of what must happen. He did not want to die. He wanted to grow old and live a long, if occasionally annoying life with Luke, but there was no leeway in this particular lesson. No loophole. No hope.

All he could do was pray that he could force Gurney to kill him quickly. Otherwise...

The door opened and Gurney himself stood there. "Well?"

A sensible man would have allowed the guards to continue to deal with Han, but, then, little of Gurney's obsession with him fell under the heading of sensible. It gave him one hope after all. Han nodded, unfastened his trousers, then slid them off. Lying back, he spread his legs.

"A lovely sight, Captain, but I prefer the comforts of a bed." He held out his hand. "Will you come with me?"

Han stood. He'd counted on the man's obvious love of creature comforts and the fact that few saw a naked man as a threat. He took the offered hand and let his captor draw him from the cell. The guards were in the hallway, amused leers on their faces.

He let his natural stride carry him a step ahead of the other three men, then he spun around hard, driving his fist into the smaller guard's stomach. A hard yank of his other hand sent Gurney spinning into the other guard.

Han ran for the study door, mercifully found it unlocked, but once on the other side of the door discovered it had no working locking mechanism. There were two other doorways on opposite sides of the room. He had to make a fast choice and went for the one on the right. A stairwell, but one he could see was blocked a story below. More hidden cells or perhaps a way to prevent escapes, it forced him to go up.

Six stories and he reached the top. The roof door was locked, but it gave easily when he threw his weight against it. Over the pounding of his heart, he could hear sirens approaching. Luke. He looked around for another way off the roof, but saw only rubble. It would have to do. He snatched up a heavy board, then swung it around as the first guard burst from the stairwell. Han struck with all his strength, caving in the man's skull and sending him toppling backwards into his companion.

Gurney sidestepped the tumbling mass of humanity on its journey down the stairwell. He outweighed Han, but in a fight muscle and skill mattered more than bulk. Unfortunately, he also had a blaster. "That's quite enough, Solo."

Han dropped the useless board and backed away. Gurney followed. "Are you insane?" Han demanded. "Can't you hear them coming?"

"Yes." It seemed the answer to both questions. "All my plans in ruin because of you. Well, I'll not be thwarted on one count."

Han's eyes widened. He'd expected to die, but not this. He kept backpedaling until his backside impacted with short wall surrounding the flat rooftop. "I won't let--"

Gurney pulled the trigger.

A bolt caught Han square in the stomach and an icy fire flooded through him. A stun blast. He would have slumped to his knees if not for his grip on the wall. He watched the man approach, helpless to stop him, but not... totally helpless. The blaster must have been calibrated for Haikan, not Corellian physiology. Not many differences between the two, but enough that Han was not completely paralyzed.

*Whatever the price, no one else.* Gurney grabbed him, pulling him up to force a brutal kiss even as one hand moved towards Han's groin. *Whatever the price.*

He had the brief thought that this was really stupid, that help would arrive long before much damage was done, but he had to obey the edict screaming in his head. At least he wouldn't go alone. Using all the strength and range of movement he possessed, he grabbed Gurney, then toppled backwards, sending them both tumbling over the edge of the building.

The Ambassador shrieked, wrenching away from Han as if freedom from the grasping arms would stop his fall. Han wondered if they'd bother to have another funeral for the murdering bastard, then heard the scream.

He'd heard it once before, a gut-wrenching protest as Darth Vader cut down Ben Kenobi. Luke. *Forgive me.*

Luke rode with Tirus, his fist clenched on his lightsaber while wave after wave of despair and fear assaulted him. "Faster," he hissed, feeling on the point of madness at his inability to reach Han's side instantaneously. "Turn right here. Faster, please faster."

His companion gave his arm a brief squeeze and told her driver to increase his speed as much as he dared.

"There, that building up ahead!" He shouted. "Stop!"

The speeder jerked to a halt and Luke leaped out. Something pulled his gaze upward and he saw a dark shape hurtle from the rooftop. "Noooo!"

Drawing on the Force, he reached out and upward, picturing a giant hand closing around Han, then fought to slow the descent. Sweat broke out on his brow at the effort. Never anything so far away, anything so precious. *Can't lose him. Can't lose him. Can't...*

A loud, sickening thud turned his stomach. Gurney had reached the ground, but half the length of the building remained between Han and the ground. Realizing it was working eased Luke's strain enough that he changed Han's angle of descent, his consort's feet gently touching the ground while Luke's arms seized him in a crushing embrace.

Han's knees began to buckle, and Luke simply held him up while another thread of the Force yanked a blanket from the speeder's emergency kit, then drew it over to cover the trembling man in his arms. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

"Stun blast," Han answered in a slurred voice.

"He'll be all right then," Tirus assured Luke. "My driver will take you home. I think we'll be busy cleaning up around here for awhile."

He nodded, then half-carried, half-floated Han into the speeder. "My thanks, Commandant."

"None needed," she told him. "You did all the work and showed me what a Jedi can do when he's motivated. Well met, Luke Skywalker."

"Well met, Tirus."

He held Han all through the drive to their quarters, but had to use only a fraction of the Force he'd used earlier to support him into the building. Han was almost walking on his own by the time Luke lowered him into their bed.

Exhaustion made his own head swim, and he sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at the face he loved so well. He felt so drained, yet he clutched his lover's hand with enough force that Han flinched.

"I'm okay, Luke."

He wanted to sleep, to recharge, but knew he could not. "Yes, but you were also almost dead. I want to know what happened," Luke said and, because something told him it was vital he know it all, he added, "And don't you dare lie to me -- not even by omission."

Hazel eyes full of mutiny glared back, but Han nodded. "He tried to rape me. I stopped him."

Luke blinked. "What? What do you mean you stopped him? Tell me everything."

Han obviously took him literally and began with waking up in the cell. Perhaps he hoped that by the time he reached what had happened on the roof, Luke would have calmed down, but he merely waited, a coil of anxiety shuddering within him as he listened; then Han finally reached the point Luke dreaded.

"There was no other way to stop him. I had to jump. I had to."

"'Jump.' You had to jump rather than let him paw you until I got up the stairs? What the hell are you talking about?"

Han turned his head to the wall, then said, "Lesson 3: Whatever the price, no one but Lord Skywalker may ever have you."

"What?"

"Lesson 3--"

A fury greater than Luke had ever known gripped him, and he seized Han's shoulders in a bruising grip. "Damn you!" he shouted, shaking the larger man like a rag doll. "Don't you ever!... How dare? ...By all that's sacred, Han Solo, don't you ever do something like that again! I've accepted my descent into the Dark Side to have you, but, by the Force, I will not sink to that only to lose you to a... suicide pact!"

"Luke, stop! What--?"

"Do you hear me, Han?" he roared. "You stay alive. I don't give a damn about any damnable lesson my father drilled into your brain, Lord Skywalker orders you to stay alive!"

"I hear you," Han gasped. "I understand."

"Good," Luke hissed, then drew on the Force for strength as he pulled Han to him.

Han woke in the middle of the night to find Luke curled up beside him, still asleep. His dreams had pieced together the meaning behind the Jedi's ravings. Luke thought that loving him, being with him would turn him to the Dark Side.

*I fear we've made a dreadful mistake and played right into my father's hands.*

Luke's farewell message to him on Endor now made tragic sense. He'd thought Luke had left him on Endor because he'd feared Han's loyalties might have been altered by Vader and had ordered him to serve the Alliance to prevent him from betraying it. Knowing his loyalties had not changed, he'd regretted Luke's lack of faith in him, but had been confident he could eventually convince Luke that, for better or worse, as always Han's loyalties were to his friends, not to governments or causes. So confident. He'd never for a moment feared failure.

But he'd been wrong. Horribly wrong. Luke thought loving him would cause another Skywalker to assume the mantle of Dark Lord of the Sith. Not once had Han considered that. If anyone could be said to have a pure soul, he'd have thought it was his Jedi. No, Luke Skywalker had never been a man destined for the Dark Side of the Force. At least not as Han understood it. Only that certainty was now ashes. From what he knew, it was all a state of mind, and if Luke's mind had decided the Dark Side was his inevitable fate, how could Han save him? How could he hope to win a conflict where their love itself was the problem? No, he couldn't let this happen. No matter what it cost him.

Carefully he slipped out of the bed, ignoring the twinges of a body bruised by their nearly violent coupling. Ironic that Luke had taken him with such a possessive air during the last time they would ever make love.

Suicide made the most sense at this point, but such utter surrender had never been a natural attitude, and with Luke's orders to the contrary, it had become an impossibility. No, he had to do what he'd tried to do when he'd left Coruscant -- run and never look back.

By focusing exclusively on the fact that he must leave to save Luke, Han managed to dress, then make it to his ship without suffering a headache severe enough to alert Luke. Once aboard the Falcon, he told the droids to wait in the holding area until Luke needed them, then sealed the ship and blasted off as soon as they were clear.

*Where to go now?* His mind was a virtual blank, then it focused on the one item of unresolved business -- Jabba. Though the ever growing bounty was far higher for Han, there was a price on Chewie's head as well. Once Han disappeared, life could become very unpleasant for the Wookiee. But not if he settled the debt and ended the bounty.

Jabba could be reasonable on occasion, and Han had managed to stockpile enough wealth to pay him three times what was owed. Worst case, the Hutt would have him executed anyway, but would probably consider the matter closed and take the price off Chewie's head. That would leave Chewie and Luke safe from any further association with Han Solo. Hoping Jabba's current interests were focused on the female of any species, he set his course for Tatooine.

Something about engaging the hyperdrive made Han lose his focus or at least the ability to protect himself from edicts against leaving Luke. Even as the stars turned to lines of light, a pain greater than he'd ever known ripped through his skull, and he screamed.

A tearing pain wrenched Luke from deep sleep, and he sat up with a moan, then realized he was alone. "Han!" he called, reaching out with his mind to locate his lover. Off-world. Han had left him. Easy enough to figure out why. He could remember what he'd shouted the day before about the Dark Side and his ironically love-inspired fall. Han had either run in horror or, far more likely, to protect Luke, but it was killing him.

Luke forced himself to stay calm, then settled into a meditative position. He'd never been good at telepathic contact, but, as motivation, pleasing his teachers ranked far below saving the man he loved. Latching onto the pain, he released his hold on his body and followed the path to Han.

Suddenly he found himself in the cockpit of the Falcon, staring out at hyperspace. Han sat in the pilot's seat. Given the level of pain buffeting Luke through their bond, he'd expected to find him writhing, then he realized it had gone beyond that stage. Han was all but paralyzed. "Han."

No response. Either Han couldn't hear him or couldn't make his muscles obey enough to respond. Luke looked at the navicomputer and recognized the coordinates to Tatooine. Back on Haika his body tensed. Going to see Jabba did not meet Luke's minimum standards for following orders to stay alive. Obviously, Han's Force feedback loop agreed.

He had to try to divert the Falcon. With Han all but insensible, that meant he would have to use the Force to alter the destination. But if he made the slightest mistake...

*Traveling through hyperspace ain't like dusting crops, boy! Without precise calculations we could fly right through a star or bounce too close to a supernova and that'd end your trip real quick, wouldn't it?* For a moment they were once again blasting away from Mos Eisley with Ben and Chewie. No, he couldn't think of that. Only that if Han continued on his journey, one way or the other, he would die in horrible pain. 'Remember what Yoda said,' Luke told himself and once more heard the Jedi Master's voice. *No! Try not. Do. Or do not. There is no try.* For Han's sake, he would do.

Luke concentrated on the navigation console and willed it to begin the complicated process of changing course in hyperspace. He meant to bring the Falcon back to Haika, but found himself altering the coordinates to Dagobah instead. An act of intuition or merely a course he'd programmed enough times to feel more comfortable with, Luke didn't know, only that it seemed the right decision.

The final readout shifted to the proper configuration, then Luke returned his concentration to Han. "Hear me, my love, you are not leaving me; you are not going to Tatooine. We will meet on Dagobah."

Over and over he repeated the phrase, visualizing it entering Han's mind like the air flowed into his lungs.

Finally Han responded, "Dagobah. Meet you on Dagobah."

Luke felt the pain begin to ease, then let himself return to Haika.

By the time the Falcon came out of hyperspace, Han had recovered enough to manage the tricky landing himself. Admittedly the results would never go down in the annuals as one of his better touchdowns, but it left him and his ship on dry land and in one piece, thus meeting his minimum requirements for a good landing. He shut down the systems not needed for a prolonged stay on the surface, then wondered, "Now, what?"

By sending him to Dagobah, Luke had saved him. Han knew that much. And that he'd been right all along about the lethal potential of the feedback loop meant he'd never be able to fool himself long enough to try to run again. Not when he had specific orders to stay alive and to wait for Luke here.

That left him with no other option than to face Luke. Luke, who thought loving Han would make him evil. Was Luke right? Had Han completely misjudged the situation? He'd honestly thought together they could handle anything. A part of him still believed that, despite what Luke had said. But what did his opinion matter? He wasn't the all-knowing Jedi in this relationship. Damn.

Unable to simply sit and wait, he got up, lowered the access ramp, then stepped out onto the surface of Dagobah. For over a year of his life, not a day had passed without Vader sending the Force coursing through Han's body, leaving him with a heightened awareness of when it was in use. As he had felt Emperor Palpatine's energy surge before it lashed out towards him, he now recognized that same simmering power, radiating from everything around him. Someone had done a lot of energy manipulation here. He guessed it must have been the Jedi Master, Yoda, Luke had mentioned on Endor.

Han glowered at the world as Yoda himself was unavailable, feeling right down to his toes the creature was the cause of his current woes. Part of him wanted to retreat back into his ship, but Han preferred to confront an enemy. The planet would do.

He began walking, his long legs moving in a rapid pace that helped clear the last aftereffects of his near fatal headache. He'd rather have run, but with all the undergrowth that seemed more a way to end up with a broken ankle than anything else. He quickly came upon a dark mud hut he recognized from Luke's description of Yoda's home and favored it with another scowl, but opted to keep going. Yoda's signature seemed to permeate the very air, not just the hut, making the structure an unsatisfactory target for his anger. Unfortunately, without a decent something or other to yell at, he found himself with time to think.

Maybe if he stopped fighting Luke, things would be all right. If he embraced the fantasy and became the perfect mate Vader had tried to create, Luke might not feel so off balance anymore and could resist whatever it was he had to resist to stay on the... Light Side? But could he do it? Perfect fantasy mate was never a job description he'd aspired to, but if it helped Luke... well, he could at least try. Even if it did leave a sour taste in his mouth.

Certainly, resisting his Vader-dictated role in the scheme of things hadn't helped. Every time he turned around, he and Luke were fighting. And Luke was plagued with doubts about the future. But did that mean he should give up, or that they simply hadn't tried hard enough?

Han sighed and slowed his pace. Walking wasn't helping, and he was on the verge of losing his bearings. Not in the mood to be rescued from the nasty swamp like some errant child, he was about to turn back, when a flash of movement caught his eye. He drew his blaster and spun towards what he'd seen. Nothing. Not even a small animal.

He tried to dismiss it, but he had that tense feeling in the pit of his stomach he'd learned long ago never to ignore. Time to retreat to familiar ground. He took two steps in the direction he'd come from, then, with a loud crack, a tree branch about the width and length of his leg fell to the ground in front of him.

It looked like healthy wood, and the air was positively still. It shouldn't have fallen. Han tried to go around it, but a second limb fell to block him. *Okay, the planet doesn't want you going back to the Falcon. That, or I've finally lost it.* He tried different directions, but only one stayed clear. Although Han detested being herded, he didn't have much choice. The limbs were getting bigger and falling closer.

He looked at his weapon. He couldn't blast a whole planet, but it was tempting to give it a try. Reason won out, and he opted to wait until he had a more specific target. 'Oh, well, might as well find out what the trees want me to see,' he decided, then sighed. Some days he longed for the sanity of his life before he'd met one beautiful Jedi wannabe. That made him smile. If anyone had ever told him he might even momentarily think of his time working for Jabba as the good old days...

With a shake of his head, he started walking. Every time he wasn't certain which way to go, a twig or a stone would twitch in the proper direction. Eventually he came upon a huge, dead tree. The black wood was surrounded by damp ground, even some standing water, while its roots formed a cave that lacked much aesthetic appeal.

Han could feel Force energy crackling all around it and decided this was where the Enemy truly lived. Twigs near the cave entrance rustled, beckoning to him, but he shook his head. "Uh-huh, not a chance," he announced. "I'm not taking another step until I know what's going on."

Fighting words, and he expected an attack by rogue wood and stone, but, to his surprise, the wind stirred softly, carrying with it words with the hollow ring of memory.

*"There's something not right here. I feel cold, death."* Han recognized Luke's voice despite the echoing tremor.

Someone -- Yoda? -- answered, *"That place... is strong with the Dark Side of the Force. A domain of evil it is. In you must go."*

Han frowned. Evil? Cold death? There was nothing like that here. Only the vague scent of wood past its prime and the powerful remnants of energy manipulation. What was going on?

*"What's in there?"* Luke again.

*"Only what you take with you."*

Oh, that was clear and not exactly encouraging. Still, Han had the strong feeling the answers he sought were in there. "I hate this. I really hate this," he muttered, moving towards the entrance.

*"Your weapons... you will not need them."*

Han glowered, hoping it reached wherever Yoda's voice was coming from, but, what the hell. If he was going to be dumb enough to listen to a ghost, he might as well do what it said. With more force than necessary, he jammed his blaster back into the holster, then stalked into the cave.

He found a less than slimy wall, leaned against it and announced, "All right, amaze me."

The far end of the cave filled with a shimmer, then Luke's image took form. He looked sad, so lonely it hurt to look at him, but a small smile slowly touched the Jedi's face even as five more images appeared -- Han and Leia with three children who looked enough like both of them to leave no doubts that the kids were theirs.

As Han watched, the figures aged, growing older, with only the loneliness clinging to Luke like a shroud unchanged. "All right, I get the message," Han grated through clenched teeth. "I'm a family man, and Luke's miserable."

The vision faded abruptly, then, once again, Luke stood before him. This time he wore Palpatine's robes. He'd seen this vision often during his captivity -- Emperor Skywalker and, sitting at his feet, Consort Solo, dressed in the sort of finery that made Han's skin itch. It was Vader's idea of a bedtime story.

Luke shimmered again, and his face began to twist into a version of the late Emperor's ravaged features. Vader had not shown him this, but Han had long suspected it was the eventual result of overusing the Force. Knowing the inevitability of it made it no easier to see.

Emperor Skywalker petted his consort's head, but it was the real Han he stared at while something whispered in Han's mind this consort was not the gift of a father to his son, but a man taken and trained by Emperor Skywalker himself. It seemed this version of Luke had learned on his own the Force could give him his heart's desire.

Bad enough Vader had done this to him, but for Luke to have... It was unthinkable. Yet Han knew it could have happened, had Luke succumbed to his father's plans. He shook his head, then focused back on the problem at hand.

The twisted version of Luke seemed to radiate power, his final countenance even more grotesque than Palpatine's had been. Yet the eyes remained his Luke's, and they were filled with horror. 'Do something,' they seemed to scream.

Han returned the gaze, thought a moment about what his Jedi would need to hear, glared at the hand stroking Consort Solo's head, then snapped, "Stop that!"

A questioning glance answered him, but the petting continued.

"Listen up, Skywalker. I am Han Solo, captain of the Millennium Falcon, the youngest man to ever command a Corellian Star Destroyer, ex-smuggler, ex-rebel, a member of the New Republic armed forces and the man who loves you. I. Am. Not. A. Pet."

Luke's hand stilled, then withdrew.

"That's better," Han said with satisfaction. "Life with me won't be easy, Luke. We'll have to work hard at getting around Vader's tampering with my head, but it'll be worth it. And you'll never be like this. I'll kill us both first. I swear it."

Emperor Skywalker smiled, bowed to him, then faded into the image of Luke standing somewhere in the swamps of Dagobah with his mouth hanging open. The Jedi shook himself, then called, "Han?"

A shared vision? "Luke? That you, kid? Did you see all of this?"

"Yes," he answered, then the cave was silent and black once more.

The show seemed to be over, so Han walked outside, moving to slightly higher, drier ground before sitting down to wait for Luke. But the planet hadn't finished with him. Once again the echo of Yoda's voice came to him in the wind. *"Always in motion is the future."*

Always in motion. Not set. Changeable. Something that could be influenced. "You bastard," he hissed at a creature dead for over a year as the significance of the visions penetrated his brain -- he'd bet everything he had that the difference between this life and the others was a wall of ice burying him on the planet Hoth. He remembered the way his stomach had clenched in the second before the wave of white came crashing down upon him. The Force. Someone had used the Force in that corridor. Yoda. Or Kenobi. One or both of them must have sought to prevent the two most probable outcomes of Luke confronting Vader.

The cave had revealed what it had shown the two Jedi Masters -- one version of the future where Luke grew old alone and nearly crippled with unhappiness, while in a second Vader had triumphed completely. But Han Solo bound to Luke offered a third alternative. Luke would not be alone or Emperor. He would see to that. "A good plan," he admitted to the wind. "But it's a damned good thing I've loved him since the day we met." Otherwise he might be feeling more than mere irritation right now.

"Han?"

He looked up, his ire vanishing at the sound of his Jedi's voice, and smiled at him. The man he loved, had always loved; the man he had to help keep true to himself. "Hiya, kid. Don't know about you, but I could use a kiss."

Luke was at his side and in his arms in the blink of an eye. His lips were warm against Han's, the strength of his embrace reassuring.

It was too good to last. And sure enough that damned Yoda wind popped up again.

*"All his life has he looked away... to the future, to the horizon. Never his mind on where he was. Hmm? What he was doing. Hmpf. Adventure. Heh! Excitement. Heh! A Jedi craves not these things."*

Han could tell he was talking about Luke, and he bristled. Pulling out of the kiss, he snapped to the world in general, "It seems to me that his love of adventure proved damn useful to your miserable schemes." Not that he'd ever tell Luke just how miserable those schemes had been. Han would deal with that ocean of guilt should the kid ever put it together himself. But he doubted the Jedi ever would. Luke believed too strongly in the goodness of his teachers, and only Han could tell him he'd felt the Force in use in that icy corridor on Hoth. No, he'd let the kid think the visions in the cave were merely an object lesson in rejecting Han or taking this fantasy thing too far or too seriously. Hell, for all Han knew, he had it figured all wrong and that was exactly what it had been.

Luke couldn't quite suppress a smile. "I don't think you're supposed to talk to a Jedi Master like that."

Han glared at him. "You keep out of this. Besides, he's a dead Jedi Master. I can say whatever I want." He stood up and scowled at the cave -- it was as good a focal point as any. "Well, you little troll, what other nonsense did you tell him?"

Again the answer came from the planet's memory. *"But how am I to know the good side from the bad?"* Luke asked.

*"You will know. When you are calm, at peace. Passive. A Jedi uses the Force for knowledge and defense, never for attack."*

"Oh, for... As if anyone ever won a battle with--" Wait a minute. He whirled around to look at Luke. "Is that why you think I'm the gatekeeper of the fucking Dark Side? Because you aren't 'calm and at peace' with me?"

Luke had the grace to blush. "That and..."

"And?"

A sigh shuddered through Luke's body. "Yoda and Ben isolated themselves. The only Jedi I know of who didn't was my father. I'm afraid any strong emotion, even love, leads to the Dark Side."

"Gods give me strength," Han muttered, then returned to Luke's side. "If that were the case, every time a little Jedi was born, his mother or father would have gone traipsing off into the Dark Side."

"What?"

"Luke, think about it. You can have kids without being in love, but a little passion, even lust makes it a hell of a lot easier."

Luke blinked in surprise, and Han stared at him. Nine months. Nine months the kid sits on this slimy mudball and thinks and he never figured that out? "Luke, sometimes you amaze me."

"But Ben and Yoda... they said... I haven't heard a word from them since we married."

This sounded quite reasonable to Han, but he'd been around Force users long enough to know that it probably wasn't. "I suppose the fact that they're dead made no impression on you."

"They said they'd always be with me."

"I believe I mentioned that eternity has to involve more for them than watching over us."

Luke managed a slight smile. "But I'm nowhere near a Jedi Master, Han. The whole galaxy seems to need my help, and I don't know what to do."

Han reached out and cupped Luke's face in his hands. "That's what I'm here for, love. I'll help you. I've said it before, but there's nothing we can't handle together. Maybe your teachers know it, and that's why they don't appear anymore."

Again Yoda spoke, this time his voice stronger, but still lacking that sense of living tissue behind it Han would have liked to hear. *"The heart, sometimes listen to it you must for true wisdom."

Luke stiffened. "He never said that to me before. Master Yoda?"

Nothing appeared, but the voice answered, *"My path, Obi-wan's path. All paths are different. Lead to the Dark Side all they do not. Inside, what matters is there."*

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

*"Sometimes with Forever Sleep knowledge comes. Alone you are not. Alone you shall never be. Leave you I can forever more. To the Dark Side you shall never fall."*

The wind rustled again, and something told Han that Yoda would never speak again.

"Never fall?" Luke echoed the words in obvious disbelief.

"I could have told you that much." Han smiled with bemused affection. "The Force is energy -- not good or evil, Luke. It's the intent behind its use that gives it morality. And you're the most moral man I've ever met."

Luke looked at him in wonder. "How did you get so wise, my love?"

Han shrugged. "I've been zapped and pushed around by the Force so many times, I know what it feels like. The energy you used to keep me from falling felt the same as the energy that nearly killed me on the Death Star, which felt the same as the energy swimming all around us now." He shrugged. "Near as I can tell, there is no Dark Side to the Force. Only a Dark Side to the being using it."

A long silence passed, then Luke nodded his acceptance. "I guess I have been an idiot."

Han was tempted to agree, but shook his head. "Nah, more like a student who learned his lessons too well."

"And what about you? Did the cave cure you?"

There was enough dread in his voice that Han knew Luke really meant 'do you love Leia again instead of me?'

The ground beneath his feet felt dry enough, so he slipped his hand behind Luke's head, drew them both down to lie in the soft grass, then settled his Jedi on top of him. "I don't know why I married Leia in one version of the future. I suppose I thought it was the right thing to do, and I do love her in a way. But, I fell in love with you the day we met in Mos Eisley. You and me together -- this is the way it should be. Can't you feel that?"

"Yes," Luke whispered, his face fairly glowing with happiness.

"Then shut up and make love to me."

The cave *had* changed him, of course. Or more precisely it had clarified things in his mind. Han would never be able to do some things, like disobey a direct order from Luke or feel desire for anyone but the man stripping away his clothing with such fluid grace, but his heart and mind agreed Luke Skywalker needed Han Solo in his life. Not some illusion created by a Dark Lord who knew nothing of the man his son had become, but an ex-Imperial officer, ex-smuggler, ex-rebel and current cocktail party expert to the New Republic -- although that would change if he had anything to say about it. Luke needed a devious, strong-willed, reckless adventurer who'd found a sense of duty and love despite his best efforts to avoid them. In other words, Luke needed him.

He parted his legs and Luke entered, not a perfect fantasy mate, but Han Solo, consort of the only living Jedi. Not a bad job description at all.

End

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