Disclaimer: George Lucas invented them and turned them loose. I'm merely an interpreter of unsuspected possibilities.
Notes: *Italics* for thoughts and emphasis.
Pairing: Han/Luke
Rating: R
Series: 'Endor Series', first of four stories
Spoilers: This is set in the middle of 'Return of the Jedi', en route to Endor, and picks up some loose ends to create a few more. My only excuse is that I haven't managed to write anything under twenty pages in a long time, and I'm making a real effort here to keep it short. I hope. ;-)
Summary: A nocturnal visit before the battle of Endor.

We're cruising in orbit around a lifeless planet, where a moon has broken up into a disjointed girdle of debris. Pieces of rock trapped in the gravity field until they trundle and fracture, burned to slag during their first and terminal flight through the planet's atmosphere.

I can see my own reflection merge with the barren surface. Ravaged, from within.

It's the middle of ship's night, and I'm restless again. How many hours until we reach the launch point? And from there --

Endor.

My hand pressed flat to the porthole, the coldness of duraglass keeping the vacuum out. My left hand, not my right. And through the glass, I can feel the pressure of night, urging inward.

Luke turned away from the porthole and listened to the unfamiliar thrum of separate sublight drives, the slow pulse that kept Admiral Ackbar's flag ship in a steady orbit. It had been months since he'd boarded a craft bigger than a one-man fighter, since he'd moved with the busy choreography of Alliance battle preparations.

Only for another day, he told himself. Too short a time to recover the sense of belonging and the blind faith that had driven him for years.

Two steps took him to the narrow bunk where he slipped his boots off and stretched out, all that restless energy like an electric taste in his mouth, overlaying the contentment he'd felt earlier. At least he'd managed to reach the fleet before the convoy set out for Sullust, in time to secure his place among the command team.

Luke recalled the moment's sense of liberation with a brief, thoughtless smile. How good it had felt to just rush down the steps and rejoin his friends. Count me in, too.

Simply following the kind of impulse Yoda called reckless, drawn to the warmth of companionship he no longer took for granted, to the promise of sharing whatever lay ahead.

Or was it that his choice had been prompted by another flash of premonition? Since Yoda had opened his mind to the mobile complexities of time, the boundaries between private dreams and the demands of the Force had grown thin. And sometimes, embedded within the sparks of future that invaded his senses, he could feel a probing presence brush the edges of his mind. Ominous, powerful, shockingly familiar. Was he following Vader's call, snaking past his defenses to curl into his own mind?

The thought tightened the muscles all along Luke's spine. For months, he'd balanced himself at a distance from the seeking presence. Shielding himself every way he knew, while he tried to incorporate the truth into the crumbling structures of his self. Until he could allow the thought. Father. And get on with life.

Or at least pretend to. There was no way he could pick up where he'd left off, but he'd tried to weld the parts together somehow. The farmboy who'd wanted to be a shooting star. The dormant potential he'd barely begun to explore before its shadow fell over him and for months blackened every feeling.

But on Tatooine, when they'd raced at breakneck speed from the fires that spread among the dunes, and again today, when he'd barged in on the strategy meeting, he'd sensed the slow return of an equilibrium.

Too late, perhaps.

He recalled how Han and Leia had risen to their feet almost in one motion. The look on their faces; relief overtaking the faint alarm that came with recognition. And it had been good to see them together, joining forces, relaxed around each other for the first time that Luke remembered.Lovers, he repeated to himself. For six months, when the thought of Han's suspension on the brink of death had haunted his waking as much as his sleeping mind, it had been purely academical knowledge. But now Han was back.

That Leia's feelings for him had moved from uneasy attraction to something more comprehensive was evident. That Han was on the verge of committing himself seemed equally clear. When he looked at them, Luke could sense the stirrings of a future, swirling, taking shape -- if they could just win this one battle. And if I don't come back, they will remember me the way I used to be...

A cold sensation clenched underneath his breastbone. Their confidence had become alien to him, a magic circle that excluded him. Leia's fierce conviction that their ultimate victory, whenever it came, would be worth all the sacrifices. Han's stubborn, hell-bent readiness to try beating the odds.

There is no try.

Luke felt his mouth twitch with a dark stir of sarcastic amusement. A moment later, he recalled the troubled look in Leia's eyes whenever she caught an expression like this on his face. He'd changed. And not in a favorable way, Leia's eyes seemed to tell him, though she never said it out loud.

What happened to the brash, gawky, affectionate farmboy?

He's gone, Leia.

It wasn't as if he'd lost confidence in himself altogether. But what he'd pieced back together over long, tortuous months was something he hesitated to call his own. An erratic flame that could leap up and burst through him, only to spend itself within hours, leaving him weary and depleted, as it had after the fight by the Sarlacc pit. At other times, he burned with hopes too ferocious to be anything but delusional.

All those years that he'd wrestled with half-understood yearnings, learning to keep his own counsel, trying not to ask too much or wish too hard, because most of the time he'd only succeed in making himself miserable... That forcible moderation, drilled into him by Uncle Owen's unyielding pragmatism, had been stripped away like skin pared off his flesh. Until he burned with wanting the impossible, driving himself half crazy. But he needed the spurious warmth that came from it and couldn't let it go.

And maybe that was why --

There, a distinct sound cut into his thoughts. Determined footsteps approached through the corridor. Luke sat up automatically, tense with sudden, unreasoning anticipation. In the same instant, he damned his own reaction -- how much longer did he need to adjust to ordinary situations like these? -- but then the footsteps faltered outside his cabin's door.

Luke nearly held his breath at the sound of a hesitant knock. It couldn't be. He didn't want to think any further, past the limit where he'd set himself up for another needless disappointment. He could hold himself still, unbreathing, as if he wasn't here. Another knock filtered through the plasteel door, more resolute this time.

"Come on, Luke, I know you're not asleep." A pause, then a grudgingly added, "It's me."

His feet made no sound on the coarse, neutral carpeting that covered the cabin's floor. When the door slid open, Luke had steeled his surprise back behind a semblance of composure. The quick leap of breath and pulse. The warning issued to himself, before precipitate sentiments could turn out all the wrong conclusions. But surprise was still visible in the narrowed hazel eyes that studied him over a short distance.

"So this is where you've holed up all the time since the briefing." Han entered without waiting for an invitation, following the fond habits of years gone by. "Long trip from wherever you spent the past week? You look tired." But that last statement lacked every note of conviction."I am." It wasn't so much of a lie. He'd lived with that draining incredulity at the core of his self for months, and he'd still carried on.

Han glanced around the stark functionality of the cabin. There were no seats except for the bunk that retained a vague imprint of Luke's body across the pristine blue cover. "We thought you'd join us for dinner," he said.

"We?"

"Yeah. Leia, Chewie, Lando, Wedge, the whole bunch. Might be the last time we can just have a couple of beers and tell ourselves that someday soon the Empire's gonna be history." A crooked smile lifted one corner of Han's mouth and vanished in another moment.

"I see." Luke took an uncertain step back into the room. "Did Leia send you to come looking for me?"

Han cocked his head. "Why d'you say that?"

He'd thought that was obvious. Before he could frame an answer, Han discarded his own question with a shrug.

"She didn't. Maybe part of my mind's still in deep freeze, but I've got enough brains left for minor decisions..." Hooking both thumbs through his gunbelt, Han strolled over to the porthole. "...like accepting a generalship and a suicide mission and getting a real bad feeling about lots of things."

For a moment, Han's presence felt like an intrusion on his brittle tranquility. "Like what?" Luke asked, his tone harsher than he'd intended.

"Later," Han said curtly.

When he turned back, the tight set of his jaw had softened, and a faraway look had crept into the shadowed eyes. Han shook his head as if dismissing obtrusive specters. His glance wandered to the porthole and the transparent depth of night.

Across the secure distance of several paces, Luke watched him. After six months of missing Han, he could probably spend hours just looking at him. There'd been no time for it on Tatooine, no time to assure himself that Han's fierce spirit had made it through torture and hibernation undamaged.

A pale shimmer of starlight fell across one side of Han's face, revealing the thin lines around his mouth and eyes. The tracks of pressure and resistance. Confusion, the lingering aches of hibernation sickness, and an exacting struggle to reclaim life, every last scrap of it, no matter the price. The kind of weakness Han would never admit.

"Matter of fact, one of the reasons I'm here is to say thanks," Han said, pulling himself away from recollection, his voice lowered to an awkward growl.

Like a live charge, a piercing chill snapped back into Luke's nerves. Gratitude was the last of what he deserved, and he couldn't take it from Han, for reasons he couldn't give.

"You already have," Luke made himself answer in the most casual tone he could muster. "You owe me one, remember?"

"Yeah, but I get the sneaking feeling that you're not planning to take me up on that." While his voice stayed level, Han's chin rose with the challenge. "Look, I've just spent six months in limbo--" His face darkened abruptly, and every line of his body seemed to tighten in defense against unadmitted terrors.

"I know, Han," Luke said softly. Too much feeling rushed into his voice, but there was no help for it now. "I know what it's like."

"You do?" Gradually relaxing, Han leaned back against the bulkhead, his eyes resuming their scrutiny of Luke. "The last thing I recall is a cozy high-tech version of hell, Vader gloating from the rim of the carbon pit, my life slowly sailing out of sight..." He glanced aside, one hand lifting to trace the rivets around the porthole.

With a small pang, Luke recalled how those dark, perceptive eyes had found him across the conference room, a brief spark of delight mingling with concern and half-formed suspicions.

"...and that Vader's using me to bait you," Han finished with a rough edge in his voice. "Damn the bastard. Guess I should've known that you've learned how to defend yourself, huh?"

You have no idea. There was a certain irony in this, and Luke used it as a focus to steer clear of different sentiments. "Leia must've told you that I escaped just barely," he returned.

"But you did."

"I thought I could take him on. Beat Vader--" Luke broke off with a sharp gesture and considered himself across the lapse of months, his younger self like a mirror of confused hopes and passions. "I suppose I was simply trying to fill the hero's part."

Han gave a low chuckle. "Come off it. That's not like you. And that ain't why you came after me either." His voice offered comfort in the usual off-hand fashion, but a nervous energy flickered at the back of his glance. "You care. That's why you do these things, even if they're far from reasonable sometimes."

Luke drew in a sharp breath. Time and again, he'd witnessed Han's quick and sober appraisal of any given situation. Advantages, drawbacks, ulterior motives and possible outcomes. Unlikely, that Han could have missed the inevitable consequence of his own reasoning. Maybe he's just trying to spare me, Luke thought.

But the truth was, if he hadn't cared, Han would have been useless as Vader's bait. He always came back to that one basic flaw. Caring, wanting too much. Until every attachment he'd grown added up to rigid chains of cause and effect. Every tie of friendship and affection a shackle Vader could use against him. The snare which had ended the lives of Owen and Beru Lars. And Ben Kenobi.

He took their lives. My own father. Luke felt the chill spread through him at a slow, inexorable pace. He's not going to hesitate the next time. If it suits his plans, he'll kill Han without a thought, and then what will become of me? With his newly honed senses, Luke could feel the threat like a hungry shadow, weaving its meshes around him, spreading, eager to engulf everyone close to him. He'd never thought of Han as vulnerable, before the vision on Dagobah.

"What is it?" Han's surprisingly gentle tone promised the kind of understanding Luke couldn't let himself believe in. "You saved my life. And now you've got a problem 'cause I'm grateful?"

Sever those ties, Luke told himself, each and every one. Stop caring. And perhaps they'll be safe.

"Think nothing of it," he answered evenly. "And it wasn't just me anyway."

It was all he could do. Refuse those rough, fumbling gestures of gratitude and affection, no matter how much he wanted to draw their warmth to him and forget --

Han's eyes narrowed. "And that's all you're gonna say to me?" he asked, folding his arms.

His controlled response startled Luke. The Han Solo he'd known before the rushed evacuation of their base on Hoth had never been stoic. He would have spun him around, forcing Luke up against his laughter, his temper, his impatience.

"Picture this for a moment," Han continued. "I'm out of it for a little while, and everyone's changed. Leia's walking around in a bounty hunter outfit. Lando's struggling with some idiotic guilt complex. And you..." He trailed off, a sharp line slanting between his dark brows. "If it wasn't for Chewie," he added in a lighter tone, "I might've woken up in some kind of weird parallel universe, for all I can see."

"That's how it feels sometimes." The words were out before Luke had time to consider.

How many mornings had he come awake to the crushing weight of a knowledge that skewed his entire reality? Vader's son. There wasn't any way Luke could bring himself to tell Han. Not yet.

I'll lose him, he thought. More than I already have.

"You've changed more than the rest of them, you know," Han said.

Uncomfortable under his probing gaze, Luke turned aside. "We haven't seen each other in over six months. It's just time, I guess, and some more training that makes the difference."

"That's not what it looks like to me," Han returned. "Not that the stunts you pulled on Tatooine weren't impressive, but this is about... your attitude. The way you handle things."

Once again, his response startled Luke. The old Han Solo had never been so perceptive, but six months in forced hibernation seemed to have shifted his focus. Luke could sense a hidden insecurity in him, and perhaps that heightened Han's sensitivity to his own unbalanced state.

"...and the way you're treating your friends," Han added on a sharper note. "Leia said something pretty much like that, a short while ago."

Stung, Luke swerved to meet his eyes. "Then she's wrong. What do you mean, 'the way I'm treating my friends'?"

"Don't forget, I know you pretty well, kid," Han reminded him, but sarcasm had replaced the affectionate mockery in his voice. "'Least I thought I did. You used to come to me whenever something was wrong. Hell, you poured it all out and made me listen, no matter what."

"Maybe I've simply grown up," Luke returned. "Isn't that what you kept telling me? Grow up and learn how to take care of yourself."

"Yeah, except that this ain't what I had in mind." Han's jaw tightened perceptibly. "One moment it's like nothing's changed, and the next you turn a cold shoulder. But if that's how it is, and you simply don't need me around anymore -- fine. I can take a hint."

"That's not what I said."

"Then tell me what's going on."

Luke took a moment to regain control. "You know what's going on. We're all getting ready for a mission that might decide the whole war. Everybody else is bound to be just as... preoccupied."

"Don't brush me off like that, damnit!" Han snapped, temper finally breaking through his strained composure. "We used to be friends, remember? I thought that's why you got me out of the goddamn carbon freeze."

"No," Luke said in a low, pressured voice. "I got you out of it because I owed you my life twice over." And because I missed you...

For six months, he'd lived with that churning emptiness. Missing Han like a lost hand, like the other half of his life that had sailed past the weather vanes of Cloud City and burned up somewhere in the planet's corrosive gases.

"And now you think you've leveled the score?" Han shook his head. "I won't buy that, kid. Not from you." When Luke met his glance again, he caught the spark of a sudden, strange fury in Han's eyes. "I wanna know what happened to you, Luke. What you did all those months, where you've been, and why you're looking at me like there's no tomorrow. I wanna know about your hand."

"Leia told you," Luke said tonelessly and fought an absurd impulse to hide the prosthesis behind his back.

"Does that mean you didn't want me to find out?"

Before Luke could react, Han took a step forward and reached out to wrap his fingers around the bionic hand. "Vader did this to you," he said, and his grip tightened with anger.

"What he did to you was a whole lot worse," Luke answered thoughtlessly, his defenses coming apart under the impact of Han's touch, the pressure of Han's fingers lacing through his own. "I could feel what he was doing to you -- to you and Leia. Everything. And all just to get to me."

"Feel it?" Han shook his head. "Is that one of those Jedi things? Hell..." For another moment, he seemed to tangle with the concept. Disbelief colored his voice when he added, "You should've stayed away."

He lifted Luke's hand and his thumb moved across the inside of the wrist as if searching for a seam where cloned tissue blended into natural skin. Luke almost held his breath. Strange, how the bionic sensors could transmit a hot tingle just like his living nervepaths.

"I couldn't," he answered without thought, wrestling with his hungry response to the warmth and gentleness of Han's touch.

The hard set of Han's jaw relaxed into a lopsided smile. "Yeah, just like I couldn't stay safe in the base when you went missing on Hoth. It's what we do." His free hand rose to settle on Luke's shoulder. "Now tell me again that all you had in mind when you went up against Jabba was paying old debts."

"That was part of it," Luke stalled.

Han's hand closed hard around his shoulder and forced him nearer. "Look, I've been dead for six months. I'm not gonna waste any more time on If and Maybe. I need to know."

"What?" Luke asked, his voice very dry.

"This."

Time froze like the breath in his lungs when Han leaned over. Suddenly Han's arms surrounded him with straightforward, demanding pressure, and a warm mouth lowered against his own. The impulse that moved Luke forward, deeper into the sudden contact, sprang from the depths of his body and trapped him like an energy field. He embraced Han with arms that felt stiff and clumsy. He couldn't remember the last time he'd touched anyone, the last time he'd been touched for the sheer pleasure of closeness. There was a sweetness in the kiss, a hesitation in the slow movement of Han's mouth against his own sending hot probes like seductive promises through him. As if he could retrieve his balance at a touch.

An illusion, he labeled it, and yet it was powerful enough to unravel his control. While the kiss lasted, he knew nothing but the solid warmth of Han's body against him and the touch of his hands, hands that could take him and break him and heal all the half-sealed ruptures. But when Han pulled back, reality swerved in like the cool breath of recycled air on his face.

"There you've got the real reason why I'm here," Han said in assertive tones that no longer fooled Luke. Whatever had prompted his move, he'd gambled on a mere hunch. "That's one question answered."

And how many more raised? Luke shook his head, numbed. The shock of discovery had galvanized nerve endings that hungered for renewal and sensation. They couldn't have picked a worse time to make a new start.

"Why now?" he asked, the words traveling on a fine current of frustration and bleak certainty.

"I thought I'd just told you why. Losing six months in the blink of an eye's bound to put things in perspective."

"Sometimes it feels like I lived a day for each hour."

"You look it, too," Han said huskily. "We'll have to make up for lost time."

If we get the chance, sat on the tip of Luke's tongue.

But time was burning up in constant acceleration, and he could no longer afford the entanglements of diffuse hopes and possibilities. This capsized reality was nothing that could belong to him. And every moment of lenience would multiply the dangers.

"Later," he said vaguely, compromising the choice he'd already made and the needs that threatened it.

When he extracted himself from the loose hold, Han's eyes narrowed instantly. "Later ain't good enough, Luke. You can't put life on hold. Damnit, we could all be dead tomorrow!"

"And that's an excuse for refusing to think ahead?" Luke asked sharply. "For ignoring the consequences?"

"Who says I'm not thinking about them?" Han waved a hand. "Come on, tell me what's on your mind!"

"Leia--" he started, plucking the most obvious impediment out of the air.

"Yeah, what about her?" Han charged, his body language broadcasting the clear intention not to give any ground.

"She's--"

My sister, he almost said. But a darker truth shadowed this new awareness, and Leia had a right to hear it first.

"She loves you," Luke amended.

"She hardly knows me," Han pointed out in all sobriety. "Perhaps she'll still feel that way when we've finally got time to stop and think, and perhaps she won't. This whole situation's as unreal as it gets. Not exactly solid ground for serious decisions."

And doesn't that apply to us, too? But before Luke could voice the question, Han continued, "She was lonely and frightened, and I happened to be there. It should've been you."

That final statement carried a quizzical note Luke didn't understand. "Leia was never attracted to me in that way," he discarded it with a shrug. "I don't want her to get hurt any more, that's all."

"I'm a free man," Han retorted, watching him closely.

"And that justifies everything?" Luke ran the fingers of one hand through his hair. Too many different feelings played havoc with his rational mind, and the longer they talked, the less he could fathom Han's reasons to force a confession of desire from him, in everything but words.

Han pulled up his shoulders. "The strange thing is, I'm really beginning to like her. And the more I care for her, the more I can tell that she deserves better than me." His easy grin reappeared and shone briefly through the clouding trouble in his eyes. "You wanna slug me now, or shall we make a formal arrangement?"

Caught out by the lightning switch of mood, Luke fought back the nervous laugh that struggled up his throat. Unreal indeed.

"I want to--" he started and knew within a heartbeat that he'd lost this fight. He'd never had a real chance.

"Yeah, what?" Han asked hoarsely.

Luke took a step towards him, close enough to touch. Close enough to feel the restraint that kept Han motionless. "Is this the answer you're looking for?" he asked quietly. "Yes, I want you."

"You're hurting."

"And now you're turning yourself into my prize? Is this what you think you owe me?"

"How can you say that?" He was unrevealing, this changed, stoic Han. "C'mere, and I'll show you."

Without thought, Luke reached out, but it was his right hand that lifted, and he caught the motion with a sharp intake of breath.

The flicker of pain in Han's eyes was unmistakable. "Say it, Luke."

He closed his eyes. "Touch me."

A strange liberation swept him the moment those words finally came, and without transition they were in each other's arms. Luke could feel the deep, unsteady breath Han drew as he held on hard, a breath that went out slowly and brushed his mouth just before their lips met again. Like a vise, Han's arms circled his waist and caught him up against full, compelling contact. The pressure flared along nervepaths down the center of his body, and the muscles in his belly and groin pulled tight when the tip of Han's tongue flickered across his lips, seeking entry, then pushing past his teeth. Luke moaned low in his throat. Grabbing Han around the neck, he returned the kiss with the fervor of near-starvation. Heat fined through every capillary, erratic sparks kindled between their mouths that teased up fugacious fires. Light-headed from the sudden leap into a different reality, he played with Han's tongue, invaded Han's mouth in turn and against his chest felt a responsive surge of breath and pulse.

They stood locked together in the middle of the room, hands pulling impatiently wherever they could reach, urging each other into a crowded closeness that made breathing all but impossible. Luke tangled his fingers into the shaggy dark hair to hold Han against him, shifting angles until their mouths were crushed together, questing and exploring at a plunging depth. He could have spent an eternity like this, kissing and kissing and kissing Han while sensation conquered his body in a rush and replaced every half-formed thought with sheer, excruciating need. The firming hardness that pressed against his belly gave proof that Han wanted him, and it was making him dizzy, the strangeness and the mystery of it, this transformation of wanting into physical substance. Like he'd never been touched before, breaching a boundary girdled in interdictions and impossibilities. No matter how much he'd wanted Han, he'd never expected this, because Han was all he couldn't have.

Gasping into Han's mouth, Luke felt his own erection strain the cloth of his pants when he pushed himself against Han's thigh and traced the reaction that snapped through them both, a pang like an electric discharge in the pit of his stomach. His head fell back, and Han's mouth made a hot, possessive path down his exposed throat while his hands wandered down to rub his backside, urging the kind of pressure that would take him sky-high within a blazing second. Luke felt his body arch in preparation, and over a great distance Han's muttered curse found its way into his mind.

In another moment they would lose their balance. Something close to laughter and closer to anguish rippled through him. He framed Han's face in both hands, calling a desperately needed pause so that their eyes could meet.

"We must be going crazy."

"If we don't go to bed right now," Han said, his breathing ragged, "I'm gonna have you on the floor, I don't care."

The bunk offered an impersonal, military kind of comfort only two steps away, not the type of bed made for loving, and it was all they could manage to cross that distance and drop down on it. While Han pulled off his boots, Luke started in on his shirt, slipping it off together with the vest. A selection of small tools slid from one of the countless pockets when it fell to the floor, and Han tossed his gunbelt after it with a rough chuckle. Luke found his fingers unsteady when he removed his own weapons belt, because now the knowledge was finally gaining on him. What they were about to do. And how binding it would be.

He knelt on the bed when Han yanked the tunic over his head and leaned in to taste his chest, his mouth cruising close to the wild heartbeat that battered Luke's ribs. Luke threaded his fingers into the tousled hair, motionless as he watched -- the muscle that slanted in Han's jaw and the shadow of thick, dark lashes, warm lips chasing shivers with every light caress -- and the tenderness that ached through him made him think again.

Of the future that lay in wait beyond the confines of this cabin, inescapable.

Of his destiny, a path selected for him long before he had a chance to make his own choices. For the greater good, for the purpose of power, he'd been used and steered on this course, and there was no way he could turn back now.

Ever since they'd left Tatooine, the Force had swirled with contradictory currents that heightened his awareness of a nexus in time ahead, a crucial juncture gaining in density as it shaped him to its purpose.

Defiance reeled through him, along with the savage hope that one day, maybe soon, he could return to this. But so long as his future was limited to the confrontation with his father, ominous like an eclipse, he couldn't claim anything or anybody for himself.

It took Luke only a split second to seal a pact with himself, his eyes closed, his hands on Han's shoulders. I won't ask why you're here, what you want from me, where you think we're going. I don't want to know, or I might not be able to do what I must.

One night. No questions. No promises. Except for the one promise he would have to ask of Han. If he could hold himself to that decision, Han would live and remember, leaving him free to face his father... and himself.

Then, consciously, Luke pushed every thought from his mind. This is for us. And if it's all we'll ever have, let it be complete.

When he looked up, their eyes met and held each other in temporary balance. The cabin's silence simmered with all the things that would not be said. Not here.

Luke slid his arms around Han and kissed him again, slow and thoughtful with more than desire. Easing Han back, he worked his pants loose, his mouth seeking the pulse that beat hard in the hollow of Han's throat. Through the thin fabric of Han's briefs, he cupped the hard flesh and traced with his lips the vibration of a rough gasp that fled Han's throat, touch replacing the answers he couldn't give. Luke sat back to strip him naked, revealing every inch of skin; the long, perfectly muscled legs, narrow hips, and the dark curls at Han's groin shadowing the stiff length that rose towards his touch.

He'd showered and bunked with Han often enough to develop some very detailed and precise fantasies. No part of this body was a mystery to him, except for the touching, the taste and feel of him; the way Han's cock pulsed and lengthened under his hand. And it made all the difference.

Aware of every detail with a searing clarity, Luke felt a mirrored shockwave in his groin, jolting him in the tight confines of his pants. He pushed off the bed when Han fumbled impatiently with fasteners and zippers to yank his remaining clothes off in turn. A flush of heat swept over his skin, drawn by nothing more than the smoldering look Han raked down his body. Luke bit his lip at the playful caress of fingertips circling the base of his erection, then trailing up to the tip. A fierce thrill coiled in his gut, and he flung himself into a heedless embrace, molding his body against the lean, hard frame.

"I want you so bad," he whispered, out of breath.

"Don't... need to tell me..." Han curved a hand around the back of his head and brought their mouths close, the next words taking shape against Luke's lips. "I can feel it."

When Han kissed him again, he yielded. Stormed, searched, conquered, his senses brimming with the powerful reality of Han's body against him, the warmth of his flesh and the relentless curiosity of those capable hands. Long fingers paid attention to every part of him and discovered him anew, gently taking down all his defenses, until the raw surge of need careened through Luke's body. That gentleness could hurt so much, that it should be Han who taught him this lesson was nothing he'd ever expected.

Han's fingers traced a path down his spine, and in the chills that crawled all over his back, Luke felt a residue of Hoth's perennial winter. It was there that they'd said goodbye, for the last time sharing an easy kind of closeness, charged even then with desires that clogged in his body, just below the level of thought. And with every gliding touch, Han seemed to be searching his skin for lingering traces of winter, chasing them with the nip of teeth and the teasing flicks of his tongue against Luke's nipples. All along Luke's body, muscles tightened fretfully, his nerves catching alight with the intensity of six solitary months.

It was when he'd lost Han to the carbon freeze, when he'd come close to losing himself in the gut-wrenching vertigo of change, that he'd discovered the wanting in himself and held it close.

And now Han was drawing it out of him, into firelines crisscrossing his skin, and he in turn needed to learn him by touch while guarded fantasies fired the heat of these transient moments. An urgent pulse throbbed in his groin, and his breath came hard when he reversed their positions. Scattering kisses down Han's chest and stomach where muscles tensed in automatic response, he absorbed taste, scent and texture and the heat of Han's erection as it brushed his chest.

Throughout his driven exploration of Han's body, all he knew was the longing to fill all his senses with Han, to touch him everywhere at once. There wasn't any time to lose.

Luke slid lower to take the rigid cock in his hand, incredibly soft skin and rhythm of the blood like another heartbeat. He licked along the length and felt the quiver, the racing pulse that hardened him more until Han grew in his mouth, filling him with redoubled need. His own hand strayed to his groin to match the movements of his mouth on Han's cock, and this, too, became part of overcoming the loneliness. As if touching himself had been drawn into the sudden shift of reality.

Stretched out under him and trying hard not to buck, Han reached for his shoulders. "Luke," he gasped, "c'mere, damnit... I wanna see your eyes."

When Luke moved over him, the look in Han's eyes burned him to the quick. For a moment, he felt sure that Han knew where he was going and that he might not return. Then strong arms wrapped around his waist, drawing him against the full length of Han's body, and a ragged moan escaped them both. Increasing the pressure between their groins, Luke set a pace, a heated rhythm seizing him like a savage adrenaline high.

Perhaps Han had expected him to be passive and pliant; half a year before, he would have focused all his attention on Han's needs sooner than his own. Before he'd discovered a wanton, unsteady passion in himself, urging him to take what he'd wanted for so long. Luke cupped his hands around the strong-boned jaw, searching Han's face for reflections of the rash pride, the lazy humor and passionate independence that defined the man he'd lost to the carbon freeze. But from the traces of familiar expressions formed an openness that was completely unknown. A readiness for whatever he would be able to give.

This, he thought, leaning into a deep, bruising kiss while he pressed his hips into Han's, and this...

Han's fingers stroked up the back of his thighs and dug into his flesh, encouraging the thrusts of his hips. The hot thrills that swerved across Luke's skin trickled ice in their wake. Another moment, then the coldness that had taken up lodging inside him would return.

No, he thought desperately as he felt the chills set in and weave their delicious frosts all over him, I want this to last...

But Han twined their legs, grinding their hips together. The shared urgency shot lightning into Luke's groin and reeled every sensation into drunken need. He bit down on a cry, swept up and tossed back on the electric tide that seized his body and squeezed at his heart, the blinding intensity of his climax ebbing in long ripples. Almost joined. Almost flying.

He trembled, the rush of his breath mingling with a groan that escaped Han as he arched up. A glazed hunger reflected in the hazel eyes before they closed, sealing the moment's release in darkness.

Over slow, dazed seconds, their hold on each other loosened gradually. Heartbeat still loud in his ears, Luke brushed a kiss against Han's collarbone that left the taste of salt on his mouth, then he eased his weight off Han's chest.

Now learn to live with it and let it go.

"Luke," Han murmured, fingers sliding into his hair.

He took the hand and placed a kiss against Han's palm, his throat too tight for words.

All in the flash of a moment, he recalled the hangar of their Hoth base, the flurry and the noise of an evacuation in progress galvanizing the air, and the silence they'd shared in the very middle of it. The shadows in Han's eyes and the lightness of his own heart. The words that almost made it to his lips before they could form and falter in his mind. A long time ago, so long it seemed like another life.

Leaving would be different this time. And he still couldn't say those words.

I could spend all night watching him, listening to his even breaths. Han falling asleep in my arms is like the promise of a life we could have together, of days and nights full of ordinary things. The simplicity of it. Why have I never dared to reach for this before?

I want to tell him that I love him, but I have no feeling left to give. Nothing that's really mine, that I could trust. I could cut myself open -- and then, would you see how it is with me?

I'm Vader's son.

When I look at myself in a mirror, the changes that mark my body are unrevealing. The clearer definition of muscles, a few scattered scars, the perfection of my bionic hand. All that's missing is the certainty I once had, the purity of my cause, the righteousness. Before I went to Bespin, I must have felt as if I would live forever. But the man who looks back at me from the mirror no longer trusts in righteous beliefs and hazy dreams. In his own way, Han always tried to prepare me for this.

And I hold my breath when I feel him stir beside me.

"You should sleep." His mouth brushes my ear.

But how could I?

I draw him across me, and we begin again, with that blind, fumbling need. He holds me, my hands pushed against the mattress, my legs captive under his weight. We don't have time for more. We could try and try again and spend all night like this and burn ourselves out each time, always too fast, too desperate.

But for the time being, I can forget myself, I'm part of a different future when Han urges me into his rhythm, his hands everywhere, giving the kind of pleasure that burns me.

He is so warm against me. Am I using him to drain this cold away from my flesh? It wells up in shivers, drawn to the surface of my skin by every touch of his hands, and there's nothing I can do but clutch him to me.

Don't you know what you're doing to me? What is it that you're trying to prove? Who are you trying to claim, the boy I used to be, or the man I've become? The nights we act out under foreign skies, the places we create to belong. If only I could belong with him.

I don't have to look at Han to be aware of his presence. I can feel him inside me, his hands on my skin, his rhythm of breath joining mine. His presence here, in the heart of night, fills the room. I feel him with all my senses.

Where do I take this yearning within me? What darkness will I face if I let it run free?

I know how much he cares about Leia. Perhaps Han needs this night to make up his mind, and when -- if -- I return, it might be too late. There's nothing I can do about it.

He watches me while I get dressed, as if it makes us strangers again. And though I long to tell him everything, with every moment I can feel the raw hunger for living grow stronger inside me. With it grows the danger, a risk I cannot take.

If I don't leave now, this need to survive will turn against me. I must be ready to face death at my own father's hands, just as Ben was ready to let Vader strike him down. I can't afford being afraid. Fear, just as surely as the rage that consumes me at times, leads to the Dark Side.

"What the hell're you doin', kid?" His eyes search me, concern darkening into seething defiance.

He doesn't realize how much power he has over me, that a single touch could draw me back and keep me with him.

"We can't spend all night together."

"Says who?" But he scoops up his clothes and starts to dress, reliable even in his irritation.

"Do you trust me?"

That makes him swing around, one hand still on the fasteners of his shirt, a tousled fall of hair shadowing his eyes.

"I'd trust you with everything -- except yourself," he retorts, a flash of the old mocking humor in his eyes. Impossible that he should know my thoughts.

"I'll have to leave soon, and I won't tell you when. Promise me something, Han."

He gives me a look as if I've betrayed him. "What's that?"

"Don't come after me." I can see angry protest spring to his eyes, clouding them. "I need you to do this for me, Han. Promise me--"

"I don't understand," he says, his voice full of rebellious impatience.

"There's something I have to do..." But vagueness won't keep Han from drawing his own conclusions and acting on them, so I tell him. "I found my father on Bespin. I'm Vader's son."

"What? How--?" I can see the jolt of reaction run through Han's body, then he shrugs one shoulder and stands, adjusting to the truth with a minute shift of balance. Only a few months ago, he would have questioned me. "I don't care," he says.

And I almost believe him.

"I have to confront my father. It's the only way. All I'm asking you is to stay with Leia."

"Yeah. Sure." There's a jagged edge in his voice as he buckles the gunbelt and heads towards the door. I'm almost safe. Until he swings back and his hands capture my shoulders. "Trust me, okay?"

His lowered voice makes my stomach clench, because it loosens recollection, and I feel so much more than I should.

"All right, I said I owe you one, and if this is what you want..." His expression softens with the kind of acceptance I'd never expected from him. He gives a short nod, nothing but confidence in his eyes as he releases his hold on me. "I'll be waiting."

And then he's gone.

For a long while I stand beside the bed and look at the rumpled sheets that preserve the memory of his warmth, of his touch.

I won't sleep. I have to prepare myself to do what I must.

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