Awakening... but without light. Only a jolt of sickening vertigo, like dropping out of hyperspace and into the mouth of a black hole, swirling gravity taking hold and dragging him down. Shivers chasing themselves over feverish skin, pain exploding somewhere deep in his gut. But--not alone. Somehow he knew, without understanding why, and he reached out blindly.

"Who's there?" His voice sounded hoarse in his ears, unrecognizable.

A pair of hands caught his own, lean fingers sliding through his and locking tight. A voice came from somewhere close by--a voice he knew well, though it, too, seemed changed in some undefinable way. Its tone was hushed--and Han thought he caught a tiny hitch, a swift catching of breath.

"Someone who loves you."

He felt himself lifted then, his pain and disorientation ebbing as a pair of arms cradled him into sheltering warmth. He reached out, drawn by an instinctive need to touch, palms sliding up over rough, heavy material until they came in contact with bare skin. His fingertips traced a quickening pulse, the smooth contours of throat and jawline. He opened his mouth, wanting to speak the name--and firm, gentle lips came down, hungrily covering his own.

Han closed his eyes, a soft groan rising in his chest. He found he wanted nothing more than to melt into that touch, to fill his body with healing breath. He slipped his hands forward, fingers tangling in a fall of soft hair before brushing through short, downy fuzz at the nape of a bowed neck. He locked his hands there, holding the heated mouth tightly against his own as he returned that kiss with his full being, his final strength.

You. It was you, all along, and I just never knew...

A harsh bleeping sound threaded its way into his consciousness. Jabba, he thought irrationally, and then rolled, groaning, legs tangling among twisted sheets. He stumbled off the bunk and across the Falcon's small cabin, fumbling for the controls of the wall comlink. Mercifully, he managed to find the right button and put a stop to the racket. The screen brightened, the unexpected glare making him squint.

"Morning," Leia said cheerily. "Good to see you're up and at 'em."

Han rubbed his eyes. He'd been dreaming--he was sure of that, though the images had already faded to a blurry haze at the back of his mind. Only a light giddiness in his stomach remained--and now there was also a creeping sense of alarm, of wrongness... of loss. Of something missing.

Leia looked fresh and relaxed, her slim figure swathed in a flowing white tunic. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head, shining ringlets falling loosely to frame her face. "Not that it's really morning any more," she added, brown eyes sparking mischievous affection. "You must've been pretty tired. I called you when my ship landed, but you weren't answering your com."

Han reached groggily for the lighting controls, his head pounding. "What time is it?"

"Just about noon."

"Damn." He'd been sleeping way too much--especially for someone used to getting by on almost no sleep at all, often for days at a stretch. An after-effect of the carbon freeze, maybe, though that was weeks ago and he was supposed to be over it by this time... why the hell hadn't Chewie wakened him? He shifted restlessly, irritation starting to creep up.

"You know that you and General Madine are reporting before the Provisional Council in less than an hour, right?" Leia added after a moment.

"Uh... yeah." Actually, he'd forgotten completely. His annoyance deepened a further shade.

"Okay good--I'll see you here in a while, then." She winked at him, reaching for the controls on her own com pad.

"Leia?"

Her hand hesitated.

"Have you heard from Luke? Is he here yet?"

She shook her head. "He's not expected until late this afternoon. Mon Mothma wants to talk with him privately, so chances are he'll be tied up--but he did say he'd try to make it for the reception tonight. Maybe the two of you can catch up then." Leia reached for her com button again, then hesitated. "Mothma wants to talk to us in private too."

"You and me? Why--what about?"

Leia shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine." She flipped her switch, and Han's screen went dark again.

"Mon Mothma--damn." A formless sense of apprehension tightened his stomach.

He lurched into his cabin's tiny bathroom cubicle to splash cold water on his face. His bloodshot reflection stared back at him out of the mirror. "You look like hell, Solo," he muttered, fumbling about for his shaving equipment. No chance of putting it off another day--a five o'clock shadow really wasn't part of the Alliance dress code.

Han was smearing lather on his face when black stars erupted across his vision. He sagged forward and clutched the edges of the sink for balance, pulling in a few sharp breaths as he willed the dizziness to pass. The floor gradually re-stabilized underfoot, but a sick churning lingered in his gut. He studied himself in the mirror--a pale, exhausted version of himself, and let out a growl of irritation.

Just a few more days...

A few more days, and the cleanup would be over with, the Alliance forces would be regrouped and ready for action--and he and Chewie could go on their scheduled leave. Somewhere. Anywhere but here... Scintillia, they'd talked about, and Chewie had mentioned Kashyyyk several times as well. It didn't matter. Any place where the air didn't smell like carbon fumes would do just fine. Wouldn't hurt to get checked out by med-droids again before he went, though. Whatever the carbon freeze had done to him, he decided he really couldn't get over it fast enough. He pushed upright, shaved hastily, and finger-combed his shaggy dark hair into a reasonable semblance of decency. It would just have to do.

Midday heat washed over him as he stepped down the ship's ramp and into muted, yellow-gray sunlight. He winced and tugged at the stiff collar of his dress uniform, sweat already beading on his forehead. A haze of pollution veiled Coruscant's Imperial City, trapping solar heat here in the upper levels. Outdoor temperatures could easily reach the limits of endurance by early afternoon, and they were already getting there now.

The Falcon sat perched on a wide platform bridging the dizzy span between two of the city's dun-colored ferrocrete towers. The area had been designated as a makeshift open-air hangar, and ships were dotted everywhere. Most still exhibited scars from the preceding weeks of battle, and crews and tech droids were scurrying about, scrambling to effect repairs as quickly as possible.

It had been over a week since the Alliance had declared victory here, but no one had really relaxed yet. Anything could be hiding in the depths of the planet-wide city's urban canyons, and Han agreed with Madine's assessment that all forces needed to be ready again as soon as possible. The Imperials had buckled faster than either of the two Generals expected, and the takeover had gone smoothly from there. So smoothly that it made them both nervous--another reason why sleeping late seemed like a bad idea.

Chewie was crouched on top of the Falcon, laboring to mend some damage to the old freighter's exterior hull. Han shot him a resentful look. In spite of his thick coat of reddish fur, the Wookiee seemed completely untroubled by the heat--and that, in Han's opinion, just wasn't fair.

"So pal," he started by way of a greeting, "when, exactly, were you gonna wake me up?"

Chewbacca extinguished his welding torch, pushing a dark plexisteel shield back from his furry face. I tried to wake you--twice, he rumbled, a note of defensiveness creeping into his tone.

"Oh yeah? And how hard did you try?"

Hard enough--and it is not as if I couldn't have used your help out here. The Wookiee glared at him--an expression that would have struck fear into the hearts of most life-forms, though the effect had long since worn off with Han. You sleep like a Brulle-slug, he added.

"Thanks a lot, gruesome," Han snapped, irritated by concern that flickered behind his co-pilot's gaze. "Looks like you missed your chance, 'cause now I've gotta go and--"

Sit up real straight while a bunch of politicians and diplomats and gods-know-what-else ramble on and on about nothing, Chewie quoted smugly, his grunts and snarls echoing Han's irascible tones with remarkable accuracy.

Han scowled. "Think you're pretty smart, don'tcha? You've been spending too much time with Luke, that's what it is."

Chewie let out a short bark of protest. Not enough--I am saddened by his absence.

"Yeah." Han dropped his gaze to the deckplates, wishing he hadn't brought up the topic. Luke's absence felt like a broken tooth, an empty space you just couldn't stop thinking about. Ironic that he'd disappeared right after Endor, just when it'd seemed that the three of them were finally going to be together. Him, Luke and Leia--a family.

Did you use the fusion-torch yesterday? asked Chewbacca.

Han glanced up, startled by the abrupt change of topic. "No--why?"

It is missing. You should put tools back in the storage compartment when you're done with them. As it is, I am left using this. He held up his antiquated welder, fixing Han with a reproachful stare.

"Hey--don't look at me, pal. Like I said, I haven't seen it."

Chewbacca let out a quiet snort of disbelief, lowering his visor back over his features as he reactivated the torch.

"Think we could talk him into joining us for some Rn'R after all this crap is out've the way?" Han asked suddenly.

Chewie glanced up sharply. Who...?

"Well--Luke, of course. Maybe that trip to Scintillia--"

He will not come.

"Aw, c'mon, you can't know that! We'll see him tonight, we'll all talk about it then." Han grinned, absurdly cheered by the notion of the three of them running wild on the infamous gambling station. "M'sure *you* can help me persuade him," he added. Wookiee methods of persuasion were legendary, and widely feared.

Chewbacca shook his head and bent over his task, visibly declining the invitation to further banter. Sparks leaped from the tip of the welder, spilling over the Falcon's hull in a bright shower. Better go now, or you will be late, he growled.

"Yeah, yeah..." Han turned and plodded toward a marked-off section at the edge of the hangar platform where a row of transpo-cabs hovered waiting, their round black shells gleaming in the sun. He had an unpleasant feeling that Chewie was right. Luke was different these days. The bright-eyed kid had disappeared, leaving behind a grim, quiet stranger who wore Luke's clothes but bore no other clear resemblance to the friend he'd known for years.

But tonight he'll be here... and I'll ask him.

Han chose one of the cabs at random, sinking down into the wide, self-forming bench seat and reaching to slide his card through the console's payment slot. The doors whooshed closed, sealing him in a spheroid bubble of solar-tinted transparisteel. He punched his destination coordinates into the keypad and leaned back as the vehicle lifted off the platform, swooping into the giddy heights between the forest of towers.

And not just about Scintillia, either...

Cool air flooded the passenger compartment, and Han tilted his head back with a sigh of relief, closing his eyes. Scintillia was the least of it. The questions he wanted to ask, the ones he truly needed answers to, remained stubbornly formless at the back of his mind. A familiar ache settled in behind his breastbone.

"You could've told me, kid."

The cab's control console let out a questioning bleep, startling him with the realization that he'd spoken that last thought aloud. "Never mind," he muttered. The machine fell silent, reassured that he hadn't been issuing a vocal command. He slouched deeper into his seat, the sound of his own words ringing mockingly through his thoughts. It was what he'd said to Luke the last time they'd spoken--over a comlink, moments before Luke took his X-Wing into hyperspace.

"You could've told me."

There'd been a moment of crackling silence over the channel, informing Han more eloquently than words that Luke knew exactly what he was talking about. The hand he'd lost, now replaced by a bionic contraption that looked and felt just like the real thing, but wasn't. And his father--Vader. Things that Han had found out in other ways, through the small silences and slipped phrases of those around him, until he'd finally cornered Leia and dragged the story out of her. She hadn't wanted to tell him. Said that he should really be asking Luke... but he couldn't. Couldn't ask Luke anything, anymore.

Finally, Luke's voice had come back over the com. "Yeah," he'd said quietly. "I could've." And then the channel had snapped closed, sealing their conversation with the silence of finality.

If you want me to give her up, if she's what this is about...

Han let the thought trail off, already knowing the answer. He'd give anything for Luke, including his own life.

When he opened his eyes again, the cab was weaving through a throng of air traffic. It dropped abruptly to dart between two gigantic towers, skimming low above the brown, blanketing haze that covered the city. The pyramid-shape of the Imperial palace loomed ahead, its sheer, green-gray walls shading into tan as they receded in the dirty mist. His craft swept around the palace in a long, smooth curve.

Once on the far side, it was possible to see the jagged scar that sliced diagonally across the face of the pyramid. A burning Alliance ship had scraped along that wall, cutting a blackened path into the hard, slick surface before it skittered off again, plunging into the city's fathomless depths. Han had known the pilot, a young Chandrilan named Dynn. He could still hear the man's final, panicked transmission crackling over the Falcon's com, and his jaw clenched involuntarily at the memory. He looked away from the scar, firmly focusing his gaze on the approaching landing pad. The cab set down with a soft hiss of anti-grav brakes, and the hatch slid open to release him in front of the palace's grand entrance.

The massive stone doors stood open, guarded by a heavily-armed assemblage of soldiers. No need to flash his identification at them--the group snapped to attention, saluting him as he hurried up the steps. "At ease," he muttered, nodding at them as he passed through the doorway. This was one thing about being a general he knew he'd never get used to. All the deference and protocol just made him edgy.

The palace interior was half-hollow and bisected by a wall of polished green glass, rising from the center of the floor to the pyramid's apex. Beyond the wall lay a maze-like complex containing offices, living quarters, a sumptuous banquet hall, and a lavishly equipped entertainment gallery. The level directly below the foundations had been occupied by the Imperial palace guard, while on deeper levels still, the Alliance forces had discovered a sprawling warren of slaves' quarters and a high-security prison facility.

Han passed along the Grand Corridor, a lane formed by twin rows of trees. They were supposed to be some rare variety, though he couldn't remember what they were called. They were pretty enough, he supposed--long rows of straight, silver-colored trunks, greenish-purple leaves constantly in motion, as though stirred by an intangible breeze. They filled the lane with moving shadows and subliminal whisperings, like a strange, distant music.

At the end of the lane, a multi-tiered flight of steps led up to the Grand Balcony--the spot from which Emperor Palpatine had broadcast his rare public addresses. Han climbed slowly, not wishing to invite another dizzy spell. The balcony was a sweeping expanse of gray granite, large enough to have landed the Falcon on it, with room left over for Wedge's Rogue Squadron of X-Wings besides. He hurried across, passing into the vaulted corridor that led toward Palpatine's throne room.

Here, the signs of battle stood out clearly, laser burns etched deeply in the smooth dark stone. The palace was eerily quiet now, as if the walls had simply absorbed the violence of the past weeks. Walking into it was like entering a tomb, which was what this corridor had literally become for far too many of Madine's ground forces. The fighting had become surprisingly intense near the throne room, as though the Imperials were trying to keep it safe. Perhaps they expected their dead Emperor to come back and reclaim it.

Han shivered, sweat-damp skin clammy in the cool air.

The doors of the throne room were sealed, guarded by a second throng of ingratiatingly polite Alliance soldiers. Han waved off a flurry of salutes as he turned right, heading down a smaller hallway towards the briefing room.

Crix Madine was waiting at the far end of the hallway, the very image of military decorum in his crisp uniform, though his restless fidgeting managed to spoil the effect. A tall, pale-haired woman stood beside him, a black leather case tucked under her arm.

"Solo," Madine said, nodding his head by way of greeting.

Han saw the woman glance over sharply at the sound of his name. "I don't believe we've been introduced," she said, extending her hand and giving his a firm shake. "You are General Solo?"

"Yeah, that's me." He managed his charming smile, though he was slightly unnerved by the curious and frankly appraising look she was giving him. "And yourself?"

"Winter."

"Oh, so you're--" Leia's closest friend. Practically her sister. And evidently not impressed, if her expression were any indication. "--the one who managed to crack the planetary defense codes."

She inclined her head, modest and dignified. "I certainly didn't do it alone," she replied. "I had a great deal of--"

The meeting chamber doors swung open, and a small gathering of distinguished beings rose in silent, formal greeting. Mon Mothma presided at the head of the table, stately in her sweeping gray robes. Commander-in-Chief Admiral Ackbar was on her immediate right, while Leia stood at her left. Glancing around the table, Han also recognized General Jan Dodonna and Bothan Councilor Borsk Fey'lya. The latter was perched in a chair specifically designed to compensate for his short stature, bringing him up to the same height as the other Council members. A trio of seats had been left conspicuously empty at the near end of the granite table. Han and Madine took their places, while Winter paused to set the black leather case on the floor before she sat down.

Mon Mothma remained on her feet for a moment after the rest of the Council had resumed their seats. "Greetings Generals Madine and Solo; Lady Winter. Several of us have seen your written reports, but I hoped that you would quickly summarize for the assembled Provisional Council. General Madine?"

Madine rose again, launching into a condensed account of the ground battle. Having heard most of it already, Han only half-listened until Madine motioned to Winter, who picked up the leather case and set it on the table.

"As I've already mentioned," he was saying, "we were not expecting such a vigorous defense of the Imperial Palace or, particularly, of the throne room. Accordingly, we later conducted a thorough search of the throne room and discovered this."

Winter opened the case and drew out a sphere of translucent, golden material, roughly the size of a human head. "Our tests have determined it to be a specimen of pure amber," she said, placing it carefully on the table.

Han shot Madine an incredulous look. "A big chunk of sap? That's what they fought so hard to protect?" All gazes swerved in his direction. He ignored them.

The corners of Madine's mouth puckered in a tiny smile of amusement. "It would seem that way, General Solo."

Han rose and circled the end of the table, examining the object from various angles. "But... why?" he finally asked.

"Well, that's the real question, isn't it?" Madine lifted the amber globe so that it caught the light, spilling geometric patterns of yellow radiance over the table's polished surface. "Our readings tell us that it's derived from the sap of the indigenous, nearly extinct ch'hala tree--the same species that can be seen in the Grand Corridor."

"So--it's worth a lot?" Han suggested.

"Actually, no," said Winter. "Certainly not compared to the contents of the Imperial treasury, which were left relatively undefended. Our holographic resonance scan *did* reveal an unusual crystalline matrix structure within the amber, though."

"Meaning what?" asked Dodonna. He raised a grizzled eyebrow, tilting the object an inquisitive look.

"Well, we don't know yet--no one has managed to decode it," Winter replied.

"Decode," interjected Mothma. "Are you implying that this matrix structure is not naturally occurring?"

"It's very complex and highly regimented," the pale-haired woman explained. "The pattern is almost certainly a repository for some kind of information, though what that might be is anyone's guess."

"Could it be a weapon?" Han wondered.

"It could be almost anything," answered Madine, though his nod indicated that his thoughts had been running along similar lines. "Whatever it is, it was obviously very important to the Imperials, as well as to the Emperor personally."

"Perhaps it's some kind of a religious artifact," Leia suggested. "Palpatine was a Sith, after all, and the amber could be connected to his beliefs in some way."

Fey'lya twitched impatiently in his high seat. "All this is very interesting," he cut in, "but it hardly seems like a matter of pressing importance."

"Perhaps not urgently pressing," agreed Mon Mothma, "but certainly worthy of sober investigation. General Madine, I would ask that you guard this object carefully until we can determine what it is."

"There's a security containment lockup on the third floor below the palace's foundations. I think that would be the safest place for the time being."

Mothma nodded. "That sounds very satisfactory. Thank you." She turned her clear, pale-blue gaze on Han. "General Solo?"

Both Madine and Winter sat down, the latter carefully replacing the amber sphere in its case. Han saw Leia's gaze lock with that of her childhood friend, an unreadable glance passing between them. Great, he thought, with a sort of grim amusement. So much for impressing the in-laws.

Remaining on his feet, he delivered a digest account of the neutralization of the Imperials' satellite defense grid and the series of strategic air-strikes that followed. When he was done, Fey'lya rose, clearing his throat.

"The reclaiming of Imperial City has been a pivotal step in driving back the Imperial forces and paving the way for the dawn of a New Republic," said the Bothan Councilor. "I would therefore urge the Provisional Council to strike now, while the iron is hot, and push for ratification the proposed constitution. With Coruscant now secure--"

"Not secure," Madine interrupted. The Bothan Councilor's head snapped in his direction, fastening on him with a look of displeasure. "The constitution is a political matter, and is therefore beyond my range of expertise," Madine went on quickly, "but I must emphasize that Coruscant is far from secure. The nature of this planet's terrain is such that any number of hostile forces could be waiting--"

"Forgive me, General," Fey'lya purred, "but it seems to me that it's very much the role of our military forces to *make certain* that the planet is secure."

Madine stiffened slightly. "That's true, but it's just not possible in this case--definitely not so soon after the invasion. I would strongly caution against an attitude of complacency."

"I agree with Madine," Han broke in before Fey'lya could respond. "Not only could there be some nasty surprises waiting for us here on Coruscant, but the same's true in any number of systems. Our position within the galaxy as a whole is hardly secure."

Admiral Ackbar gave a slow nod of his heavy, amphibious head. "I believe that the point made by the two Generals should be well-taken. I support ratification of the constitution also, but at the same time, we must guard against the notion that our victory is complete."

Fey'lya's cream-colored fur lifted in rows of angry bristles. "Nonsense," he retorted. "The death of Palpatine has demoralized the Imperial forces, as evidenced by their half-hearted defense of Coruscant. In re-taking this planet, we have stolen the very jewel from the Empire's crown." He faced Mothma, visibly turning his back on the two generals. "Now is the time to consolidate our position--time to restore Coruscant to its former glory, as a symbol of the Alliance's triumph and of the dawning New Republic."

"A symbol?" Han snapped. "If this place 'symbolizes' anything to anyone right now, it's the number of people who've died to get us this far--at Yavin, and Endor, and here--"

"I am sure that Councilor Fey'lya intended no disrespect to the sacrifices made by our courageous Alliance forces," Mothma interrupted mildly.

Fey'lya inclined his shaggy head toward her. "Indeed not. I am merely asserting the self-evident fact that this constitution will bolster the Alliance's morale, and--more importantly, it will garner support from worlds that remain as yet undecided."

"I would agree with Councilor Fey'lya on that last point," said Leia. "On the other hand, if it's true what Generals Madine and Solo are saying, that the planet isn't yet secure--"

"Then it simply means that our forces must be vigilant, particularly in assuring the security of the delegates who will shortly be arriving to witness the formal Declaration ceremonies," Fey'lya finished, darting Han and Madine a pointed look from beneath his bristling eyebrows.

Leia looked as though she were about to say something, but at that moment, Mothma rose to her feet. "I would like to thank you all for your time," she said quietly, nodding to the assembled beings. "Unless there are other issues of pressing importance, I would like to adjourn the meeting at this time in order that preparations can be made for the diplomatic reception tonight. The Provisional Council will meet again tomorrow afternoon to further discuss these matters."

Everyone rose and started to file towards the door. Han got up too, but Leia caught his gaze, giving a quick shake of her head. "Oh, right," he muttered, sinking back down in his chair.

With only the three of them left in the room, Mothma glanced over at Han. "General Solo, why don't you join us at this end of the table?" She nodded to the seat that Admiral Ackbar had recently vacated. Han crossed to it and sat down warily, giving Leia a questioning look. Her shoulders lifted in an almost imperceptible shrug.

Mothma folded her hands on the table in front of her. "This has been a difficult time," she began quietly. "Collectively, we have lost so much--and you must understand I have nothing but the deepest respect for the sacrifices that have been made. But," she went on, "I also think that we must look to the future and celebrate our victories. We have made tremendous gains in a very short time." She paused for a moment, glancing from Leia to Han, then back again. "For this reason, and for those already stated, I concur with Councilor Fey'lya. The constitution is an important step in solidifying the position of the New Republic."

Leia inclined her head. Han waited, stonily silent, while Mothma continued. "The formalization will take place in two days, allowing the assembled delegates to return to their homeworlds with news of this. I have asked that Commander Skywalker be present, since he may also wish to announce the commencement of the new order of the Jedi--something I plan to discuss with him tomorrow morning. The Jedi served as guardians to the Old Republic, and the re-establishment of their tradition would bode well for our future."

More symbols, Han thought, and felt a sudden flash of anger. They're trying to turn Luke into some kind of goddamn--

Leia was nodding, and Han felt his silent rage turn against her. He fought it down as well as he could. "I can't say whether he will agree," he heard her saying. "He's been through a lot, and..." Leia stopped. Han could guess what she was thinking. Vader's son. And, her brother, though that part was known only to a select few.

"He is the last of the Jedi. If their order is to return, it must be through him," Mothma said gently, clearly guessing Leia's thoughts as well. "Your brother has more than proven his allegiance, and it would please me to honor him in this small way."

More than proven his allegiance... Han felt his anger wind up another notch. To think that Luke would have to prove anything to people who already owed him so much...

Mon Mothma leaned forward a little in her seat. "Councilor Organa, General Solo--there is another reason I wished to speak to you both. It would give me great pleasure to honor the two of you, as well. In so many ways, we are celebrating new beginnings. It seems a fitting time for the galaxy to witness the beginning of your new life together."

"What?" Han blurted. "You mean--"

Leia shot him a chilling stare. "We will need to discuss this in private," she cut in.

Mothma rose. "Of course. I certainly do not expect an immediate answer." She inclined her head in a gracious bow and strode from the room.

Han rose explosively as soon as the doors swung closed. "How long have you known about this?"

Leia stiffened. "What makes you think I've known any longer than you have?"

"Because it's all part of the same big political show--Coruscant, the Jedi order, the gods-damned New Republic, this... I can't help thinkin' that you and Mothma--" he bit the sentence off.

"Go on," Leia prompted, her voice dangerously quiet. "You can't help thinking Mothma and I, what?"

"Planned this."

"Our wedding?" She continued before he had a chance to interrupt. "You and I have been planning a wedding--or so I was led to believe."

"Yeah? Well sweetheart, this sure wasn't part of my plan. I wasn't figuring on being turned into some kinda 'symbol' for your New Republic."

Leia's mouth tightened. "Don't give yourself too much credit, Han--you're not the symbol, the wedding is. And you can't say that I didn't warn you about it, either."

"What're you talking--" but then he remembered.

They'd been walking among the trees of Endor, the drumbeats of the victory celebration far behind them. She'd turned to him with that look in her eye, the one that warned him when she was dead serious. "I am a princess, you know."

"Yes, your worship--I know," he'd answered. He'd had a few drinks too many by that time, and the words came out as a slurred drawl.

"You'll have to marry me," she returned then, a note of challenge entering her voice. Like a dare.

"Yeah? Well, I'll have you know that I don't have to do anythin' unless I want--"

Leia burst out laughing.

Han stopped in his tracks. "What's so funny?" he'd demanded.

"You're scared, aren't you? That's what it is." It was all part of their game, a constant upping of the ante.

"Scared? I ain't scared of--"

"Sure you are. Scared of committing yourself to anything, or anyone."

"I'm not scared."

"Prove it, then."

He'd hesitated for a split second--but the wild, distant drumming, the euphoria of victory, and the potent Ewok wine singing in his veins all coalesced into a mood of recklessness. This was what he'd wanted--what he'd been pushing Leia towards. Her dare was really a concession, and for him to surrender now would only prove that he'd won.

"Sure, why not, let's get married," he'd said. And at that moment, for reasons he could neither count nor name, it had seemed the right thing to say. Now, facing her across the conference table, he couldn't shake the feeling that Leia had known more than she'd ever told him. The game wasn't over at all, and suddenly it seemed that everything was stacked against him.

"So. You didn't actually mean that I'd have to marry you because you're a princess, did you? More because I'm--what, a commoner? A criminal..? Is that--"

"No, that's not it," snapped Leia. "I have to represent the Alliance, and I don't mean just here in the Core, but everywhere. I can't afford for my personal integrity to appear... compromised."

"Compromised...?" It took him a moment to work through the meaning behind her words, but then he choked out a bitter laugh. "So that's it--you can't be seen shackin' up with a former smuggler. You really think that marrying one is gonna look better?"

"Your 'crimes' were against Imperial laws which no longer apply, and in any case, it's agreed that you've more than proven--"

"My allegiance? Damn--you and Mothma even talk alike!"

Leia took a deep breath and folded her arms. "All right," she said with forced calm. "I can see what you're saying--this wasn't exactly what I had in mind for our wedding either. But ultimately, what does it matter?"

"What does it matter--?" Han stared at her, and suddenly wondered if they were even speaking the same language. "We're being pushed to do this before we're ready because of some archaic notion about appearances--"

"Before we're ready?" Her chin lifted defiantly. "I am ready, and if you're saying that you're not--"

"Look, I was thinking in a couple of years, not a coupla months!"

"So right now you're not sure you want to get married, but you 'll be sure in two years--is that it?"

"No--that's not it! I'll be ready when I say so--not when a bunch of diplomats n' politicians think I should be!" He turned on his heel, striding for the door. "Not even you, sweetheart," he flung back over his shoulder.

"And so, it seems very clear to me, as well as to the people of Bliiyes and the surrounding systems, that what's needed now are powerful legal and, if need be, military initiatives, in order to..."

Han shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The Bliiyesian ambassador, a thin, blue-haired humanoid, gestured continuously with very long fingers while he spoke, his voice rising and falling in an almost hypnotic cadence.

Han sipped at his drink, making sure to nod politely every time the ambassador came to a pause in his rambling monologue. Small-talk had never been his thing, and the political variety struck him as particularly tedious. He glanced around, wondering if everyone was as bored as he was.

Apparently not. The Grand Balcony was crammed with beings of almost every conceivable description, all talking at once. Leia had introduced him to quite a few of the delegates, but he was damned if he could remember most of their names now. They'd been arriving in small groups throughout the day, representatives from perhaps two dozen different systems.

He glanced over to where Leia was standing near the balcony's edge, a silver goblet poised in one hand. Beyond her, he could see the palace's vast interior chamber and the topmost branches of the Grand Corridor's ch'hala trees. Leia was talking quietly to a tall, striking-looking man with a neatly trimmed beard and a shock of jet-black hair--prince something-or-other. The dark-haired man was saying something to her in a low voice, and Leia's laughter carried above the crowd in a long, quiet ripple.

This is her moment, Han reminded himself. Gotta behave. He'd reached a tentative reconciliation with her that afternoon, though the look she darted at him over the rim of her goblet made it obvious that their earlier discussion was hardly over.

"...and I certainly think that the ratification of this new constitution is a step that augers well for the upcoming process of negotiation between the Alliance and my own people. Would you tend to agree with that, General Solo?"

"Hmmm?" Han realized he hadn't heard a word the Bliiyesian had been saying. "Uh, of course."

The ambassador launched back into whatever it was that he'd been on about, and Han tried not to fidget. The pounding in his temples had intensified to skull-splitting proportions over the course of the day, and this conversation definitely wasn't helping.

He scanned the crowd for familiar faces, but no luck. Chewbacca had declined his invitation--nay, entreaty--to attend the reception, giving little more than a shrug and a sulky growl by way of an excuse. Artoo and Threepio were arguing over in the corner, but that was one conversation Han wanted no part of--less, even, than the one he was currently snared in.

Finally he muttered something about needing another drink and excused himself. Ridiculous, considering the number of server-droids weaving through the crowd with trays of cocktails, but he stuck to his story, heading resolutely for the bar. He was halfway there when a riveting sense of presence stopped him, raising hairs in a tingling line along the back of his neck.

He turned, and fond himself looking right at Luke.

Han stood frozen for a second, staring dumbly. Finally he took a hesitant step toward the slim, black-clad figure, racking his brain for some kind of sensible greeting. Only belatedly did he notice the willowy, copper-haired woman standing by Luke's side. He stopped, jolted by something ugly and undefinable, a feeling he really didn't want to be having. Squelching the reaction fast, he groped around for a more acceptable emotion.

"...said that the Jedi order was important to the Old Republic," the woman was saying, "so of course one of the questions everyone's asking is whether you're going to try and revive it now that Coruscant is secure?" She was twirling a stylus between her thumb and index finger, her electronic datapad poised to record Luke's reply--and then Han understood his own instinctive response. Reporters. Security had done everything they could to keep them out of the palace for the night, but somehow hey always wormed their way in.

He took an angry step towards the pair, then stopped again--because Luke was looking at him, studying him with a quiet, unconscious intensity. Han saw something flicker behind the blue eyes, a sweep of anguish that was gone almost the moment it appeared--controlled so quickly, so completely, that he immediately doubted he'd seen it.

It struck him that he must look ridiculous just standing there, so he took another awkward step forward. A hand caught the crook of his elbow.

"Hey there." Leia had materialized at his side. "What'd you say to a short walk?"

"Uh, sure," he answered quickly, only too eager for an excuse to leave. "Let me just ask Luke if he wants to--" He glanced around. The red-haired woman was talking to an Ithorian now, and Luke was nowhere to be seen. "Damn! Where'd he go?"

Leia gave an impatient shrug. "Never mind--I'm sure he'll turn up."

Han followed her through the crowd and down the steps toward the palace's grand reception hall. Leia walked quietly, her gaze fixed on the main entrance at the far side of the enormous chamber. Imperial City's metallic vista stretched beyond the open doors, rows of towers rising to fill the dark brown, starless sky. When they reached the foot of the steps, she started along the lane of ch'hala trees. Silver branches met in a canopy high overhead, sealing them in a vaulted tunnel of shadows.

Han fell into step beside Leia, waiting for her to speak. She didn't, and he wondered if this was yet another game--a test to see who would break the silence first. He decided he was tired of games.

"Any idea where Luke's been these past weeks?"

Leia gave a quick shake of her head.

"Probably off on another mysterious Jedi mission," he speculated.

"I wouldn't know."

Han sighed. "Well, I'd like to know why he took off like that just now, like he was avoiding us or something."

"Maybe you can ask him tomorrow?"

"Yeah, if Mothma lets him out of her clutches long enough," he growled.

Leia stopped walking, and folded her arms around herself. "Han, I need to ask you something serious."

"Yeah?" He paused, waiting. That creeping sense of apprehension was back.

She hugged herself tighter, her face a pale oval against the shadowy backdrop of tree trunks. "I need to know if you're having any doubts."

"Doubts..." He pondered the word, finding that it didn't quite match what he was feeling, though he could think of none that came closer.

Misreading his hesitation, Leia shot him an exasperated look. "We're supposed to be getting married--remember?"

"How could I forget?" he snapped.

Leia started walking again, her strides quick and angry. When he didn't follow, she stopped and turned around, studying him in the half-light. "I know that all of this is a lot to get used to," she said carefully. "All these functions, and diplomats, and ceremonies..." she paused. "Look. I guess this took you by surprise today, and I probably could've done a better job of warning you about it."

"Yeah--you could've." He wasn't going to deny it.

"Han, I understand if you feel rushed, and--I don't mind waiting. Maybe not two years, but we can talk about that. I just need to hear from you that this is what you really want."

"I--" he stopped, realizing that he didn't have an answer to that. "I... guess I need some time. Couple days. Okay?"

Her features tightened, but she gave a small nod. "Sure." She turned and started back toward the steps.

"Leia, I--" he felt like he owed her something more, some kind of explanation. "Guess it's all been a bit much since Endor, haven't really had a chance to think things through... and there's been all these changes in Luke. He just doesn't seem like himself any more, and--"

Leia spun to face him again, and even in the dimness, he saw that the last trace of color had drained from her features. "You know something?" Her voice was brittle with fury. "Just once, once, I'd like us to have a conversation that's not about Luke."

"What? What the hell are you--"

"You don't even know you're doing it, do you?"

"Doing what--?" He stared at her, thinking he should be angry. Instead he found himself holding his breath, as if she were about to tell him some tremendous secret.

"He's all you ever want to talk about. Your messages to me, our conversations--all you ever seem to do is worry about him."

"Well... yeah!" And then, suddenly, he was angry. "Damn it, Leia--don't you worry about him? Don't you see how much he's changed...? He's your brother, for gods' sakes!"

"Yes--he's my brother. Exactly." She spun around, climbing the steps in swift, efficient strides.

Han watched in numb bewilderment as she vanished back into the crowd. Finally, he turned back toward the shadowy lane with an angry shrug. "What the hell was that all about?" He kicked at the steel pavement, sending a fallen twig skittering. It didn't seem to matter where he started out with Leia, they always managed to end up in a fight.

He paused, leaning against a tree-trunk. The whispering of the leaves was oddly soothing, as was the pungent sap aroma that rose from the silvery bark. Amber, he thought vaguely, and remembered the chunk of it that he'd kept on his window-ledge as a boy. That piece had been filled with primordial insects--shapes floating in the golden depths, tiny bodies simultaneously trapped and exposed.

Now, all he could think of was carbonite. Of being trapped himself, frozen and placed on display in Jabba's palace. He wondered if there would ever be a time when he didn't dream about it, when his nightmares wouldn't be filled with blind sensations of drowning in metallic ice.

A wave of dizziness washed over him. He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the tree. It occurred to him that he felt just as trapped now. Just as exposed--only in a different way. Ahead of him stretched a future filled with formalities, uniforms, small-talk, political games he'd never cared about and didn't want to play. And none of it should matter--not if you really loved someone.

Except...

There was something, some truth that kept slipping from his grasp every time he got near it. He shook his head in frustration--and a tiny movement captured the corner of his gaze. He turned, peering into the gloom between the rows of trees, making out the vague outline of a figure. A slender humanoid, dressed all in black, standing about a hundred paces further along the lane. He couldn't make out the face, but somehow sensed that it was watching him.

"Luke...?"

He took a step toward the dark shape. The figure turned away, vanishing between the tree trunks. Han caught the impression of fluid, athletic grace, the swirl of a black cloak trailing behind slim shoulders. "Luke, wait!" He hurried to the spot where he'd lost sight of the figure, but no one was there.

"Damn!" Makes it twice in one night he's disappeared on me...

A flicker of movement drew his attention upward, and he saw the same figure high overhead, scaling the pyramid's sheer inner wall with impossible speed.

"What the--" his voice dried up in his throat. Jedi tricks notwithstanding, he doubted even Luke could pull off a stunt like that. He unhooked his comlink from his belt and keyed in Madine's number. "Yeah--get some people down here now. Think we've got ourselves some uninvited company." Even as he said the words, the intruder slipped into a narrow vent and was lost to view.

Madine arrived moments later, a small troop of soldiers in tow. Han couldn't help but suspect that the other General was as pleased as he was to be excused from the reception. They split into groups and searched the area surrounding the palace until a couple of hours past midnight, but no trace remained of the mysterious figure. What was more, the palace's securiNet grid hadn't picked up the intruder's life-signs, a feat Madine swore to be impossible for anyone but a droid. What was more, the outdoor radar sweeps hadn't picked anything up all night either, and even a droid would have shown up on those.

"Looks like you saw a ghost," Madine said finally, a glint of understated humor in his serious gray eyes. By this time, they were standing on the landing platform outside the palace's main entrance, hot night-winds gusting clouds of grit into their faces.

"Yeah, that's very funny," Han growled back at him. "You won't object if I have extra guards posted for the night?"

Madine shook his head. "It's already done--a wise precaution anyway, ghosts or otherwise."

"Yeah," agreed Han. So far in their working relationship, he and Madine had managed to see eye-to-eye on most things. It was something Han was grateful for.

Madine opened the hatch of his twin-seater flyer and gestured to the passenger side. "Want a lift back to your ship? It's on my way."

"Thanks, but no. Think I'll stay n' poke around a bit longer."

"Suit yourself." Madine tilted him a jaunty salute as he slid behind the controls, firing up the engines. Han stepped back as the small craft lifted off, its outlines swallowed almost instantly by the soupy darkness. He turned and trudged back through the palace's main entrance, ignoring the frenzy of salutes the guards snapped in his direction.

The Grand Balcony was deserted except for a few boxy maintenance droids. They hummed back and forth, polishing the granite floor of whatever imperceptible scuffs it had suffered during the reception. Han leaned on the balcony's edge and stared out over the tops of the trees, his latest argument with Leia resurfacing.

He sighed.

Nothing made sense. More than anything, he wished he could recapture that clarity, the sense of direction that had gone awry the morning after the victory celebration. Starting when he told Luke. Granted, he could've shown more sensitivity for the kid's feelings. Perhaps it was unfair to expect him to start feeling all brotherly towards Leia overnight, just because he now knew about the blood relationship.

But Luke's reaction had startled him just the same. Han hadn't expected the tightened posture, the frost rising behind the blue eyes, the silent withdrawal.

They'd argued.

Well--Han had argued.

Any kind of reaction. The more he'd said, the less they seemed to have to talk about, and finally, he'd taken refuge in a silence of his own.

By the time he found out about Luke's hand, and about Vader being his father, it was too late.

He pushed away from the balcony's edge with a groan of frustration, crossing to the wall com. Maybe it was too late for their friendship, but there really was only one way to find out. Keying in his security clearance-code, he found the location of Luke's assigned quarters.

A short lift ride later, and he was knocking on the door--quietly, because Luke was quartered on the same floor as most of the delegates.

"Luke! C'mon, it's me--open up." No answer. He thumped his fist on the door, repeating the summons as loudly as he dared. Silence again.

"What're you doing, Han--trying to wake up the whole palace?"

He wheeled, startled.

Luke was behind him, leaning against the corridor wall with his arms folded. At some point the kid had developed a strange talent for just appearing like that--silently, in the blink of an eye. And disappearing in the same way. A Jedi thing, perhaps, though that shy smile belonged more to the farmboy he'd met in Mos Eisley all those years ago.

"Luke? What're you--"

"Didn't quite expect to find you breaking down my door." Amusement shimmered behind the bright gaze, and Han felt some of his apprehension melt at the sight of it.

He took a step back, gesturing to the door's numeric keypad. "Well," he growled, "if you'd just open it n' let me in..."

Luke seemed to think about that. "No," he said after a moment. Just like that--no explanation, nothing.

Han suddenly felt foolish. "Uh, if this is a bad time--" He cut himself off. Of *course* it was a bad time, it was practically morning. What the hell had he been thinking?

Luke shook his head. "I didn't get dinner earlier, how 'bout you?"

Han shrugged. There hadn't been much food at the reception, and the thought of eating repulsed him anyway--had for days. He'd been subsisting on nutri-tabs instead, which was what his 'dinner' had consisted of. "I'm okay."

"Well, I'm starving. I was thinkin' of swinging past the kitchen for a midnight snack--you want to join me?"

"Sure," Han said quickly. He fell into step as Luke started along the corridor. "So--you couldn't sleep either, huh?"

Luke slanted him a look of exasperation. "Looks like you were personally going to see to that anyway." He flashed a quick, unexpected smile. "Just as well."

"Yeah?"

Luke answered with a silent nod, but didn't elaborate. Han decided not to press for details. He could imagine that the Imperial palace must hold its share of lingering nightmares, particularly for Luke.

The palace kitchen was pitch dark, but Luke managed to find the glowpanel controls almost immediately. After a moment of experimentation, he left them all off except for one mounted above a small metal table in the corner of the room. "Don't want too much light in here, or someone'll notice," he explained.

Han nodded, looking around. So this, he supposed, was where meals for Emperor Palpatine and his highest-ranking officials had been prepared. The room seemed suitably appointed for such a purpose--black granite and brushed steel, gleaming pots and pans hanging alongside implements that looked more like they belonged in a torture chamber.

If Luke was troubled by the room's decor or by its implications, he gave no sign. Throwing Han a conspiratorial smile, he crossed to the rear of the kitchen and heaved open an enormous sliding metal door. Inside was a walk-in pantry at least four times the size of Han's cabin aboard the Falcon.

Luke paused just inside the doorway and let out a quiet snort of disgust. "Used to do better raiding my aunt's larder."

Han crossed to his side. Apart from a few boxes and jars, the shelves were bare. If there had been any leftovers from the reception, they'd obviously been stashed somewhere else.

"You're an old hand at this, I take it?"

Luke answered with a noncommittal shrug, smiling at Han as he slid past him and started rummaging.

"Guess no one thought to stock up... Okay--here." Han tugged the lid off a wooden crate. "You like pana-fruit?"

"Sure."

"Catch." Han tossed a few of the fist-sized, fuzzy globes in Luke's direction. "How 'bout these?" He moved to the doorway, holding up another find.

Luke was already setting the fruit down on the table. He glanced back to see what Han was holding--a transparent jar full of twitching, gelatinous tentacles.

"I think I'll let you eat those."

"Yeah, but I ain't hungry."

Luke threw a fruit at him, aiming to miss.

Han ducked, laughing. "Okay, okay. There's gotta be something else in here..."

Further exploration turned up some stale bread, a partial round of exotic-looking dark blue cheese, and a chunk of smoked x'ar fish that didn't smell too much past its prime. Han was emerging from the pantry's chilly confines, prizes in hand, when a small whoop of triumph echoed from the far side of the kitchen.

Luke came to join him at the table. He was grinning, holding up two bottles of chilled ale. "Looks like they're stocked up on the things that count." He paused and cast a critical eye over Han's offerings. Finally he gave a slow, grave nod of approval. "Not bad, for a beginner."

"Oh yeah?" Han took a swat at him. Luke ducked--and Han took advantage of the movement to relieve him of one of the bottles. He settled into a chair, propped his feet on the table and took a long sip, watching in amusement as Luke hungrily fell to. Anyone would think the kid hadn't eaten in days. And, depending on where he'd been during the weeks since Endor, that might not be so far from the truth.

Wherever he'd been, Luke had definitely caught some sun. His hair had lightened a bit, and his skin had taken on a honey-brown cast. Han watched the quick, unconsciously graceful movements of his lean hands as he cut slices off the cheese. His left hand was a few tones darker than his right, and Han supposed it was possible that the cloned skin didn't tan quite as readily.

He flicked his gaze elsewhere before Luke could notice him staring. It was the last thing he wanted to remind him of--his lost hand, his parentage, or, for that matter, their conversation over the X-Wing's com.

"How've you been?" he asked softly, letting the question slip without thinking. Luke glanced up, vague light from the glowpanel slanting across a sharply defined cheekbone. Too thin, Han thought. Wariness was creeping into the sky-blue eyes, and it struck Han that there was a pinched look underneath that vibrant tan.

"Fine," came the cautious answer. "I'm fine, Han."

"Uh-huh. So if I asked where you've been for these past weeks--"

"Tatooine."

Well, that made sense, Han supposed. "And if I asked--"

"What I was doing there?" Luke smiled. "If you asked, I'd tell you that I was looking for some datatapes that Ben left for me there."

"Yeah? So--did you find them?"

Luke shook his head. "He hid them pretty carefully. He set up a trail of clues that he must've thought I'd recognize, but I haven't had much luck figuring them out. I'll have to go back."

"So you're gonna head out again after your meeting with Mothma?"

Luke fixed him with an unreadable stare. "I was planning on sticking around for a few days, maybe. Depends..." he stopped.

"Depends," Han echoed. "So--you're thinking about re-opening the Jedi temple? That is what she's gonna talk to you about, you know."

"I was there... tonight, after I left the reception." He shivered visibly. "I don't know if I can explain it, but--it's a dead place. Terrible things happened there, and... it's all still there, Han. In the walls, in the air..." he trailed off again and reached for one of the pana-fruit, biting deeply. A trickle of juice ran down his chin. He swiped at it with the back of his hand, giving Han a look that was almost a challenge.

Daring me not to believe him?

Han picked up his bottle and took another slow sip. "Go on," he prompted quietly.

Luke glanced down at the table. "I don't feel ready anyway."

Han nodded. "Yeah. Well don't let them push you into anything you're not ready for, okay?"

"I won't."

The warm certainty in Luke's tone was immediately reassuring. Han felt a surge of relief, and below it, a tiny stab of envy. Of course he won't do anything he's not ready for--he knows what he wants... And then, he realized that it was his turn to be scrutinized.

"How 'bout you?" Luke asked, his tone hushed. "How've you been?"

Han shrugged. "Okay, I guess..."

"Just okay? I heard you're getting married in a few days."

"That's what you heard, is it?" He felt himself starting to bristle. "May I ask who told you that?"

"At the reception--it was pretty much all anyone wanted to talk about."

"That a fact?" Han picked up his beer, pounded down the last of it in a few gulps, and got up to hunt for more. He found a cold-cabinet filled with ale at the far end of the kitchen, alongside a goodly stash of other intoxicants. He appropriated an expensive bottle of Corellian brandy and stalked back to the table with it. Luke watched curiously as he opened the bottle and took a deep swig.

"Something wrong?"

Han banged the bottle on to the table and sat down, scowling. "Oh, nothing's wrong--unless, of course, you count the fact that a bunch of politicians are trying to run my life for me! And Leia--I'd have thought she'd at least have the decency to wait 'till I said yes."

"But you did say yes," Luke said, surprised. "On Endor--"

"Yeah, well..."

Luke dropped his gaze, staring down at his hands, and Han suddenly wanted to kick himself. He was in love with her, you stupid-- He launched into a stumbling, abbreviated explanation of the day's earlier events, concluding, "m'just having a hard time with all this..." he waved his hand vaguely, "...respectability."

A grin flashed across Luke's face. "Aw, you'll get used to it."

Yeah, but do I want to? Han took another gulp of brandy, swallowing his retort along with it. When he put the bottle down, he realized that Luke was watching him intently. He almost jumped when a strong, slim hand closed over his own on the neck of the bottle, fingers squeezing with gentle pressure.

"I want you and Leia to be happy," Luke said softly. "Means a lot to me."

"Yeah...?"

"You're my friend, Han--yeah." Luke let go of his hand, sinking back in the chair.

Han realized that his mouth was hanging open. He closed it, but found he couldn't quite stop staring at Luke. Somehow he'd managed to see right through him, answering the question that couldn't be asked.

"...Thanks," he muttered awkwardly. That strange feeling had returned, that sense of having lost his way. "I just wasn't expecting--so soon," he said lamely. "I figured maybe in a coupla years... guess the powers-that-be wouldn't think that's proper."

Luke nodded. "Good thing I was on Coruscant, then."

Han frowned. "Why...?"

"Well--for the wedding, of course." Luke chuckled.

"You'd be there--really?" He couldn't hide his surprised relief.

There was amusement, and only the tiniest hesitation, in Luke's reply. "Yeah. I'll be there." He stood up and drained the last of his ale. "G'night," he said softly, and headed for the door.

"Luke?" Han hurried after him, catching his arm.

Luke stopped and turned, looking up at him in surprise--and Han pulled him close, clasping him into a tight hug. "Good thing you're here anyway," he muttered. He scrubbed his hand affectionately through ruffled, sun-bleached hair, then stepped back, still holding Luke's shoulders.

Luke was smiling--his real smile, the smile Han hadn't seen in such a long time. He was suddenly, fiercely reminded of the moment their gazes had met in the hangar on Hoth. Luke had that same expression then, his eyes filled with...something. Something too big for words. Then the blue gaze clouded, sand-colored lashes sweeping down to hide his thoughts.

He said he wants us to be happy, Han thought. Wants to know we're gonna be okay. But... what do I want? He thought of the expression he'd seen flash through Luke's eyes at the reception, and suddenly all he wanted was to soothe away that lingering pain. If I marry Leia now, he'll know. He can stop worrying about us, start healing... and he won't be alone any more. We'll be a family. Brothers.

"'Night," Luke repeated. He stepped back, gently breaking out of Han's grasp.

"'Night, kid," Han said quietly.

Luke turned toward the door--and froze, as an ear-splitting siren went off, shattering the night.

Part 2