The base was shrouded in solitary darkness when they finally left headquarters. Dim stars flickered in the sky turned a velvety brown by reflected illumination from the metropolis. Automatic doors opened only after several punches to the controls, then released them into the breezy coolness of a late spring night.
      "Feels like sabotage sometimes," Han said, scowling at the doors. "Nothing ever works the way it should." With an angry shrug, he pointed the way to his hovercar.
      The inner city still buzzed with air traffic, while whatever destruction and decay there might be faded into obscurity behind glaring holoscreens and bright advertisements.
      Han parked his craft near a sprawling stone palace. "Food," he said by ways of explanation. "I'm sick 'n tired of the stuff my processor passes off as a decent meal."
      Inside the restaurant, glowspheres shed their hazy apricot light over tables distributed around a fountain that took up the center of the room. The murmurs of rippling water blended with soft music and equally hushed conversations.
      "Exclusive place, huh?" Luke commented. "So at least they pay you well..."
      Han shot him a quick grin. "Not the kinda place I'd call home. But this is a special occasion, right?"
      As soon as the first course arrived, Han began to wolf down the spicy pastries like a man who'd been starving himself for weeks. Which probably wasn't all that far from the truth. Watching him, Luke's sentiments seesawed between amusement and concern. But the mellow lighting smoothed those hard lines of strain from Han's features, and when he pushed his empty dessert plate away with a contented sigh, a relaxed expression had crept into his dark hazel eyes for the first time since Luke's arrival.
      "So," Han said, reaching for the wine, "what's the scoop? Let's hear what you've been doing of late."
      "Pretty much the same you're doing here," Luke answered. "Only in all kinds of places -- wherever they needed a hand."
      "Or some brains..."
      "I wouldn't know about that." Luke smiled, accepting the refilled glass. "The situation's the same in every other star system. Administration's in shambles once the Imperials are gone, trade falters, supply convoys get waylaid by raiders..."
      "And there's too few of us to clean up the mess," Han finished. "You know something, kid? I think we've been cheated." He leaned across the table, eyes sparkling with wry humor. "Nobody told us we'd have to work even harder after the war's over, when we signed on. Maybe we should consider a lawsuit -- what d'you think?"
      Luke chuckled. "I'm sure our contracts say as much in the small print."
      Grimacing, Han drained his glass and waved to the busily whirring server droid. The small F2 unit surprised them when it answered in dulcet tones instead of beeps and whistles. "What a wonderful improvement," Han said sarcastically as the droid sailed off again. He helped himself to a refill and shook his head, gazing down at his glass. "You think I've improved myself, Luke?"
      Startled by his lightning change of mood, Luke said nothing and was still sifting through the implications when Han added, "Isn't it ironic... I walk out on Leia 'cause I'm not ready for the respectability -- and now look at me. Seems like I can't avoid getting respectable, however hard I try..."
      "You're doing what needs to be done," Luke offered. "Like you have before, with the Rebellion."
      Abruptly, the dark head lifted. "Ain't quite the same." Han rubbed a hand over his stubbly chin. "It's... hell, it doesn't feel like it's me anymore, know what I mean? Why, you probably don't. Sorry I brought it up."
      "That's alright," Luke said gently, holding Han's shaded gaze. "And I know what you're talking about, believe me. Even if it doesn't show that much."
      "So how d'you do it? How do you manage?" Han was dead serious now, his jawline hard, his mouth tight.
      At that moment, Luke wanted nothing more but to reach out and reassure his friend with a simple answer. Yet the scant answers he'd found for himself were anything but simple and had been bought at a high price. "Find the time to calm down," he said slowly. "Clear your mind. Somewhere deep down, there's a point of balance you'll need to find. And then you'll know exactly what's right for you."
      "Go on vacation, you mean," Han muttered. And yet, by the way his gaze lowered awkwardly, Luke could tell that Han had heard more than that in his answer.
      The ride across the city to the apartment block where Han currently lived was a blur of colors and hectic runlights from countless floaters, airspeeders and hovercars. Fatigue crawled up inside Luke as he sagged into the self-forming seat and tried to decide when he'd last slept. He'd left the Drezz system on a bright morning and arrived around noon, a hyperspace jump riddling the calculation. Absent-minded, he followed Han into the lightless lobby when he heard the Corellian swear filthily. Someone had pasted a hand-written 'Out of Order' sign across the lift doors. Still grumbling viciously, Han started up the stairs.
      By the time they'd reached the seventh floor, Han was out of breath. He fumbled for his keys in several pockets and, finding them at last, swayed on his feet. A film of perspiration covered his pale face.
      Luke took the code-key from his trembling fingers and slid an arm around Han's waist. "C'mon, let's get you inside."
      Instead, Han sagged against him with a deep, labored breath and wrapped both arms around his waist. I love you, Luke thought, heart clenching with the need for comfort he felt from Han.
      It wasn't a new thought. The feeling had crept up on him a while ago, in the middle of war, when there wasn't any time for caution or consideration, because Han was the one hold he had amidst a vertigo of shadows. But the war ended, and there was Leia, and while Luke kept the love to himself out of unquestionable necessity, he was unwilling to let something go that had warmed and guided him through the most desperate loneliness.
      He returned the embrace, gently patting Han's back. "It's okay. You need a rest now."

The morning brightened as a salty breeze chased and scattered the clouds. Han headed the hovercar for the ancient districts on the other side of a cone-shaped mountain that had once been the center of the city. Wide terraces had been carved into its gentle slopes, but the streets meandering between derelict buildings became narrower and airtraffic lessened considerably.
      "Look at that!" Han pointed at a huge complex of office blocks, brutally crammed in among the painted brick houses, a statement of power made in glass and durasteel. Further down the road, an abandoned building site extended, littered with heaps of rubble and broken stones. Han snorted in disgust. "Used to be a bazaar," he commented. "Place where people went to trade gossip all day..." He trailed off, throttling the hovercar's engines.
      Battle had never reached this part of the city, remote from the industrial and military zone as it was, yet neglect and decay were visible everywhere. They walked down a winding alley lined with three-storied houses. In one of the windows, an old woman sat with a pet teekabird perched on her shoulder. A faint smell of smoke was on the air, and two small boys swooped past them on outdated floaters.
      As they penetrated deeper into the old district, the alleys became more lively with children playing on decayed porches, old people sitting in front of small cafés, and scattered vendors' stalls. Luke was glad to see Han's spirits lift by the minute. Avidly absorbing every detail, Han explained what these streets had been like and who used to live where. Eventually, he stopped in front of a squat building, red paint flaking off, the windows broken.
      "This is where the local import store used to be," Han said, fingers tracing faded yellow letters across the wall. "Sold sweets 'n toys as well. Kind of a paradise for kids." Turning, he pointed across the street. "That way."
      A cobbled path led into a park, Though it was little more than a patch of untended grass surrounded by trees and wildly growing brambles, Han paused to gaze at it with unveiled affection.
      "Your favorite playground?" Luke asked with a small grin.
      "Yeah, I guess it was." Han's tone had softened with reminiscence when he added, "We used to call it The Jungles... Had lots of exciting adventures here, believe me."
      "Tell me all about it. We had a place like that on Tatooine, among the dunes close to the Darklighters' farm. And I'm pretty sure that's still exactly the same it used to be."
      "Good to know some things don't change, huh?" Han straightened to shake his head at himself. "Hell, I'm gettin' sentimental. All your fault, Luke."
      His eyes were bright and warm when they met Luke's. "Sure, you didn't want to come in the first place," he managed. He should be used to it by now. Han smiled at him, and due to some strange alchemy, his nerves flickered wantonly -- it was as simple as that.
      On the other side of the small park, a path ran along the edge of the terrace.
      "Ain't far to go now," Han said, gesturing at the clusters of leaning old houses and sheds wedged between the buildings below. He looked around. "There used to be a lift down. Stairs are further south."
      They found the lift still operational, an open cage running on tracks that plunged down the steep wall of rust-colored rock. Han stepped inside, squinting into bright noon. Silvery daylight brought out the colors everywhere and dispelled the atmosphere of decay.
      The lift had traveled to roof level when it ground to a shrieking, sudden stop. Slapping the controls to no avail, Han cursed under his breath, when, from the corner of his eyes, Luke caught something flashing in the sun on one of the roof-tops, some twenty meters across, and it sent an icy rush of adrenaline through him. His senses snapped into tense alert.
      "Han--!"
      But the moment he shouted that warning, a gun went off with a white blaze, and Han gave a cry as he stumbled backward.
      "No!" Luke flung himself into the line of fire and aimed his blaster, but the roof-top lay bathed in friendly sunlight, as empty as it had been only seconds ago. Fear and a creeping chill wrenched at his stomach.
      "Han?" He slid to his friend's side, instinctively reached to feel his pulse, though his tightly strung senses told him that Han was alive.
      Blood darkened his jacket with a slowly spreading stain. The projectile had passed clean through Han's right shoulder immediately above the lungs, to bury into a steel transom behind him. But from beneath his head, blood trickled across the slightly tilted floor of the lift cage, very dark against the blanched skin.
      With shaking fingers, Luke ripped Han's comlink from his belt, tapped in the Alliance emergency code, never taking his eyes off the still form beside him. The steadiness of his own voice surprised him as he reported the shooting, the dangerous loss of blood, and a possible skull fracture. From lightyears away, someone informed him that the ambulance would take about ten minutes to reach them. All the while, Luke's mind filled with Han's fading life sense, almost darkening his vision as if the light were slowly leaching from the world around him.
      Shallow breath, a thready, faltering pulse, and a mind slipping into deep unconsciousness...
      "Come back, Han--" His hands framed the pale face while his senses stretched to reach the man who'd saved his life more than once. Icy cold shivered down his spine as his mind brushed only emptiness.
      You can't leave me, Han. You can't -- d'you hear me?
      The inner frost intensified, ate his breath and pressed in on his heart with icy clamps, tightening. Unreasoning rage laced through his fear.
      ...can't leave me like this -- not like this...
      But, almost visible to the mind's eye, the void between Han and himself expanded, frozen and black like the interstellar gulfs of deep space. Luke wanted to plunge himself into it, muscles clenching as if in preparation for a wild leap. And death seemed to weave its shadows through him already.
      With a long, shuddering breath, he let all thought and emotion drain away from his mind, let the moment grow and fill with a vast silence, the invisible radiance of the Force.
      Life. You'll live, Han.
      It poured through his body, pulsating and vibrant luminescence. A winged creature in blind flight, he carved a path of air and breath and heartbeat through the void. Toward Han, deeper into cluttering shadows, until he dipped under the numbing blanket of unconsciousness where pain assailed his senses, sharp and fast. He soothed the labored heartbeat, slid along torn blood-vessels, sealed the scorched nerve-endings with the healing touch of the Force.
      Live.
      He gathered the pain to him, clutched at it, fierce echoes resonating in his blood, in his bones. Extended a sheltering touch to the soul cocooned in twilight.
      You want to live, Han. You've always wanted to live--
      His body ached, screamed in protest, but his mind had become a beacon, disconnected, and the void filled slowly. With images of life, with his own life -- the deserts of Tatooine glowing dusky red as twin suns sank to be cradled by dunes of fine sand, sands rippled by a relentless wind, scattering to reveal the splendors of space jeweled with faraway suns, white starstreaks and arcing light mirrored on the surface of a nocturnal ocean, immensely quiet--
      Han--
      Touch me.
      The response he could feel was only a mental whisper in silent space, but for one moment, expanding, shrinking infinitely, Luke let his soul twine with Han's -- every thought and feeling shared, every secret bared and uncovered.

The next time Han woke, cloned skin covered his injured shoulder and Luke sat on a stool by his bed, intense blue eyes like burning tibanna gas fixing his face. The room rocked unsteadily around him.
      "What...?" he croaked.
      Reading the rest of his question from silently moving lips, Luke said, "You were shot. You'll be all right."
      His vocal cords still tight and dry in his aching throat, Han forced another question out. "Who--?"
      Luke shook his head. "They were gone before I could get so much as a glimpse of them."
      "They?" Han mouthed.
      "Someone stopped the lift. That was no coincidence."
      Inside Han's head, the slosh of lazy waves became a dizzying swell that brought sickness to his stomach. He anchored himself in Luke's gaze and noticed the tense lines of exhaustion around his eyes. From the look of him, Luke had not left his side for however long he'd been out.
      "Better... get a rest," he slurred and licked at his parched lips.
      "I'm okay."
      But the pale face hardened fractionally, and Han groped around until his fingers found the hand that rested on the sheet, inches from his own. Luke's skin was cooler than his, the fingers that wrapped around his own stiff.
      "Luke..." He closed his eyes as the ripples that blurred his vision intensified. "Luke, you... wasn't a dream, was it?"
      No dream, the answering pressure of Luke's hand told him. Slipping and sliding, he drifted...
      ...into deep, stagnant green, liquid glass filling his lungs as he tried to draw in air. Gelatinous, unbreathing twilight. He was cold. He thought distantly that it had to be the loss of blood draining his body of warmth. A muted roar was in his ears, the green twilight shot through with sounds and sensations from the outside world like pale specters. Until a calm voice called him back and breathed with him...

Every time he inhaled, a jab of pain flared in his shoulder. Han supposed that the painkillers they'd given him were finally wearing off. It was a reassuring sign, because they obviously expected him to heal.
      Luke held a water-filled glass to his lips, and he sipped slowly, let the water run down his throat instead of trying to swallow. Eventually, when he felt sure enough of his voice, he said, "Tell me what happened, tell me how--"
      Han shook his head cautiously. "Not that. I was dying."
      "It's over, Han." Luke's gaze wandered past him to fix some invisible spot in the middle distance. Emotions fled across his features too fast to read. "You're back," he added, head lowering.
      "Back where I wouldn't be without you." Han lifted a heavy hand, wanting to see Luke's face, but the door whooshed open, and when Luke raised his head, he'd schooled his expression to stillness again.
      Trailing after the medical droid, Commander Cerrick entered the room in full uniform.
      "General," he said and dipped his head in a brief, military nod.
      Han had never felt less the general. When Luke vacated his seat by the bed to move aside, Han's immediate impulse was to stop him. He felt strangely reluctant to allow even the small distance between them.
      Cerrick took another step closer. "On behalf of the command staff, let me say that we were all greatly relieved to hear of your recovery."
      Recovery seemed like an exaggeration when something continued to hammer away at the inside of his skull and his shoulder protested viciously against every breath he drew, but Han decided against saying so. "I appreciate your concern," he answered instead. "How's things back at the base?"
      "We've located the problem with the computer core and fixed the generator," Cerrick reassured him. "And I've put a team together to investigate the assassination attempt."
      "What makes you think it was that?" For the first time since he'd regained consciousness, Han began to wonder about motives and backgrounds.
      "The man was a professional," Luke said, before the commander could provide an explanation. "He took one shot and vanished. Like someone following very clear instructions."
      "You say you saw a man?" Cerrick turned towards him.
      After a brief pause, Luke gave a shrug. "I can't be entirely sure, but for some reason I had that impression. Though he wasn't alone. They must have followed us for some time, waiting for a chance to strike."
      "What exactly did you see?" the commander probed in cool, formal tones.
      "I saw a rifle flash in the sunlight. A small motion, a silhouette."
      "While I didn't see nothing at all," Han joined. "Heard Luke yell 'n woke up here."
      From the door, the droid interfered. "Commander, the patient is unfit for extensive interviews at this point."
      "I'm not taking orders from a tin can!" Han growled. The swift grin that tugged Luke's mouth instantly made him feel better. "Any theories, Cerrick?"
      "Regrettably, no." The commander straightened. "I'll get back to you as soon as we have a lead."
      With softly clicking joints and buzzing servos, the droid escorted Cerrick from the room.
      "He's kinda stiff, but hard-working," Han commented, tilting his chin in the direction of the door. "Very persistent, once he's sunk his teeth into something."
      Luke nodded absently and leaned against the wall. "Cerrick's right. It was a carefully planned assassination attempt. Someone was hired to kill you."
      And he might try again.
      Han felt a slight flicker of nerves and ignored it, easing back into the pillows. "Not the first time. I've lived long enough to make a couple enemies. And the next time around, I'll draw first, don't worry."
      Luke's tense silence told him that he did worry -- like Han knew he would, were their roles reversed. "Hey, cheer up," he said softly. Shaded blue eyes swept up to lock with his, and there was an echo of recollection. The calm voice inside his mind and a touch so light it was no more than a breath--
      "Get a rest, kid, you look like you need it," Han added, forcing a casual tone. Because suddenly he longed for Luke's nearness in a way that made all he said sound wrong. He quelled the irrational reaction and tried another grin. "Okay?"
      Luke nodded. "I'll be back."
      Alone in the small room, with the smells of uncompromising hygiene and electronic whispers from the monitors, Han stared at the white ceiling. No longer tired, he inspected his diffuse memories, followed slender threads back down into the ocean of glass where he drowned and heard a voice--
      Come back with me...
      Gentle persuasion lit up the dimness until a wash of light seemed to engulf his self, the sensation startlingly physical. The voice created a barrier between him and the pain raking his nerves with teeth of white-hot steel. Though he knew the pain was still there, even as it lifted off him, banished, absorbed.
      Don't leave me, Han.
      He wanted to answer, but couldn't find his voice. He wanted to ask a hundred questions, but only a single word formed inside that strange underwater stillness.
      Luke--?
      Gentle waves cradled him, and he inhaled deeply until the lightness filled every cell in his body and he floated. Not alone. Luke's presence touched all his senses with an impossible tenderness that laced through every breath. A caress, a smile, and the blue eyes alive with emotion.
      Love, unconditional, unquestionable. Luke...
      The withdrawal, though infinitely cautious, left him cold and empty. Abandoned inside himself, with nothing but memory and a desperate need he knew he could never shake off again. For an intimacy that wove through the aloneness he'd embraced for so many years, his independence turned into an alien thing Han didn't recognize when it stared him in the face.
      He shut his eyes tightly. He'd never allowed anyone too close, no friend and no lover. That had been the problem with Leia as well. And finally, he understood why. It had been the only way to forget about the loneliness and the bleak desolation that grew in the buried places of his self, year after year.

Luke had returned when Han woke up, disoriented, because he hadn't noticed he was sinking back into numb sleep. Judging by the light that filtered in through the shutters, almost a day had passed, and evening was approaching. Luke stood by the window, peering out through a crack in the shutters.
      And Han's breath caught at the sight of him. His heart slipped into total stillness for a fraction, then stumbled back into an unsteady rhythm. It felt every bit like dropping out of hyperspace and finding himself propeled to a different dimension. Everything seemed familiar, but nothing really was.
      Like the slim frame by the window, the pale gold reflections on Luke's hair, the clear profile, and the hand that moved absently, tracing patterns on the window-frame. All the profoundly familiar details sent a strange new resonance through Han, vibrant with the fleeting tenderness, with something he barely understood. He lowered his lids and continued to watch Luke through his lashes, mesmerized and quite unable to form a helpful thought.
      This wasn't supposed to be happening. And only yesterday, he would have snickered, uncomfortably, at the idea of mental communication. Now he faltered before the reality of it. And, clinging to the thought, Han wondered what it had cost Luke to bring him back from death's doorstep.
      The marks of strain that he'd caught earlier had disappeared. Lost to his own thoughts, his head slightly bowed, Luke seemed at ease, though incredibly far away. But control and discipline had become second nature to him, and like never before Han wished he could see through that facade of quiet. If he reached out -- with his mind -- would Luke feel him?
      Ridiculous. Those unsettling powers were not accessible to him, and he'd never wanted them, wanted them even less the more he understood what a staggering price they exacted. Far too often, a haunted inner vigilance showed in Luke's rain-colored eyes.
      But the impulse, the need to reach out remained. Han closed his eyes firmly and rolled over to lie on his side. Quiet steps approached, stopped in front of the bed. Something inside Han clenched, rendering him unable to react. He was waiting.
      Then the soft sound of doors opening and whirring wheels cut into his tense anticipation. When Han looked up, a small droid floated a dinner tray towards him, but Luke had simply slipped from the room. As if he'd never really been there.
      Han stretched out on his back and listened to a wild heartbeat pounding in his throat. It wasn't supposed to be happening, not here, not like this. It had caught him off guard, in a totally unprotected spot. And that, he thought, must be the reason it was called falling in love. Falling, deeply, without any hope of catching himself.

The base's interrogation rooms and detention cells were housed in a subterranean bunker that still reeked of Imperial paranoia. Soundproof walls and thick steelstone portals shut out every sound from the exterior world while glowtubes bathed the long corridors in a greenish white glare. A stale smell hung in the recycled air.
      Walking alongside Han, Commander Cerrick read out notes from his datapad. "...our men discovered a whole arsenal of illegal firearms and explosives in a hidden compartment aboard the man's shuttle. A thermal gun was found, but ballistic analysis is inconclusive."
      "Meaning you can't tell it's the right gun? What's his name?" Han asked. Shoulders drawn up and hands crammed into his jacket's pockets, he radiated a disquiet Luke could easily share. Low ceilings, over-bright illumination and the chill those walls seemed to breathe brought back a shadow of the Empire.
      "Bergest Dorn," Cerrick replied. "Though his papers are probably forged. The man is highly uncooperative. He refuses to answer any of our questions."
      "Anything on record?"
      "Not under this name." The commander clipped the datapad to his belt and stopped in front of a heavily latched door. "A mercenary, that much is obvious," he concluded. "We've placed him under arrest on the charges of illegal arms trade. Security will want him transferred to civilian prison within the next twenty-four hours."
      Manacled and grim, Dorn sat on the edge of the cell's cot. A compact man of light, freckled skin, his head shaved except for two strands falling from above his temples, his chin covered by a black, curly beard.
      With folded arms, Han paused on the doorstep. When Luke moved to his side, the prisoner's eyes traveled his way -- and darted off quickly as the man flinched in recognition.
      Luke extended his senses toward Dorn in what had become unthinking reflex and caught the edge of a memory. Before his inner sight, a picture unfolded, clear with brilliant daylight. The steep wall plunging down from the upper terrace, a disabled lift cage with two figures inside.  Han and himself. And he felt the pounding of adrenaline in the hired killer's blood as the rifle's polished barrel was raised. Luke's jaw tightened.
      "I request legal counsel," the prisoner announced in guttural tones, addressing Cerrick who ignored him and looked at Han instead. With a small shrug, Han stepped outside the detention cell.
      "Sorry, Cerrick," he said, as the commander sealed the heavy door scrupulously. "I don't think..." He stopped, and his eyes narrowed. "Luke? What is it, kid?"
      "He's the man on the roof," Luke said slowly, wondering how to explain his sudden insight.
      Eyebrows climbed towards a receding hairline as Cerrick straightened out. "If I recall your statement correctly, all you could see was a moving silhouette."
      "You'll have to accept my word for it." Luke returned the taller man's skeptic gaze. "It was Dorn, out on that roof."
      "And you're willing to swear to that? What is it that makes you so sure?"
      Before Cerrick could take his interrogation any further, Han interfered. "Hold it, Commander! If Luke says he's the man, then he's got a perfect good reason. Wild accusations ain't his style."
      Reserve froze Cerrick's features into an expression of impartiality. "Very well. I shall include the new statement in the file."
      He led the way out of the detention area with a brisk step while Han edged closer to Luke's side.
      "You look like you've seen a ghost..."
      Luke shook his head. "I could see us... through his eyes. And a gun, trained on your head." A hand found his shoulder, lingered there for a moment's reassurance. Luke slid his friend a sidelong glance. "You believe me?"
      "Uh-huh." A corner of Han's mouth lifted with the hint of a lopsided grin. "Doesn't seem reasonable to question something that just saved my life, right? You've made a true believer out of me..." Halfway between awkward and amused, Han's tone hid a sincerity that was all the more visible in his eyes.
      "Well, thanks for backing me up," Luke said. Han's intense gaze lit a spark of electricity in his stomach that flickered like a falling star.
      Upstairs, in the building's lobby, a broad-shouldered guard awaited them, sidearms tucked into spring-loaded holsters dangling at either side of his hips.
      "Lieutenant Dobson," Cerrick introduced him, and the man offered a formal salute. "The lieutenant will act as your personal guard, General, until the matter has been clarified. A simple precaution. There might be another attack."
      "Yeah, all right," Han growled, with a reluctant nod for Dobson. "I'll be careful."

High tide sent tongues of clear water flickering around their boots as they ambled along the shore. Broken shells, tangled seaweeds, and small pieces of bleached driftwood littered the stretch of sand. The unquiet sea reflected a cloud-swathed sun, fragmented into patches of liquid steel. Han broke his stride to gaze out over the ocean, eyes distant.
      "Never the same," he said, almost as if talking to himself. "You could come here a thousand times, and it wouldn't ever be the same. The light, the shades, the sounds... everything's constantly changing."
      Luke's eyes wandered to where the fragments of light swam on silvered waves. He listened to the rush and swell, the faraway cries of gulls circling high in the air, and Han's voice.
      "Used to spend a lot of time on the shore when I was a boy," Han continued. "Floater barges were in fashion back then... Gods -- how I envied the people who could afford those!" He stopped and smoothed a strand of dark hair back from his face. "Used to make up stories about pirates 'n battles, but most were about gettin' away, I guess."
      "I know what you mean." In front of Luke's eyes formed an image of the Dune Sea and the perpetually shifting outlines of sand drifts. "Back on Tatooine, my fantasies involved getting away more than anything." An empty horizon beckoning, to be filled with possibilities and vague rumors of different places, distant worlds...
      "And then, when you're finally gone, you realize you never really knew what you were looking for." Han made a confused gesture, as if reaching for an elusive notion.
      Wondering at his friend's mood, Luke slanted him a quizzical glance. Han shrugged.
      "Out there, every place you've left behind suddenly feels like home. But you can't go back, and--" He broke off with an apologetic grin. "I'm not making much sense, huh?"
      "Makes perfect sense," Luke said. "Go on." Han's tone and the drifting look in his eyes revealed that he was groping for difficult truths he'd never consciously explored.
      "Well, it's... suddenly there's no point in going back, y'know. Ma died, somebody else moved into her place, and there was nothing left to return to."
      They walked on while playful gusts of wind whipped up the glittering waves.
      "I wonder what it must be like for my sisters," Han continued. "All the people who never left here. And where they live, maybe they didn't even notice Imperial occupation that much. Next to no industry out there... You ever wonder about visiting Tatooine, to look up old friends?"
      "Occasionally," Luke admitted. "You know, I can easily picture the guys at the garage still fixing their landspeeders. I'd walk in, tell them about the war, the big changes. And they'd say 'oh yeah?' -- then go back to discussing power converters."
      Han chuckled. "'S gonna be pretty much the same with my sisters, I suppose. Maybe I'll drop in on them sometime. Their kids must be about the same age I was when I ran away." His voice softened when he added, "I don't belong here. That's what I kept telling myself as a kid, and maybe then it wasn't true... but it's true now. I sure don't belong here anymore."
      "We can find new places to belong," Luke suggested, startled by the moody note in Han's voice. Underneath, he caught a trace of unadmitted pain that had festered long, until it was abandoned rather than healed.
      "No," Han said in a firmer tone. "Not places. People."
      When he felt the touch of Han's fingers, wrapping around his own, Luke stopped in stunned surprise. Both the touch and the gesture echoed longing through him in a slow, seemingly endless ripple.
      "Remember what you said about being calm, in balance?" Han asked, holding his gaze. "I've thought about it... and I guess this is as close as I'll ever get to figuring it out. Those wide open spaces -- like here -- make me feel good. The change. But there's always been something missing." He glanced at the stormy waters, then back at Luke. "I belong with you, kid."
      Too many thoughts crowded Luke's mind, all wrapped up in amazement like a dazzling cloud. The pressure of Han's fingers, linked with his own, the rough tenderness in his words. But before he could piece a sensible answer together, a very different sensation sliced through the cloud of unknowing, so abrupt it almost let him flinch.
      "There's -- someone," he said, and realized his voice had become hoarse and unsteady.
      Han tensed, hand slipping to his blaster's grip. Between high walls sheltering the estate, the beach lay quiet and empty like before, but Han made no objections. "We'd better take cover," he said tersely, gesturing toward a row of small boat houses.
      They squeezed into the narrow space between two sheds built from wood that had been bleached grey by the sun and the salty breeze.
      In an effort to sharpen his focus, Luke closed his eyes. The sense of danger became physical, crawled on his skin with reverberations of fear, and heartpounding alertness... "I can sense two of them," he started while his mind reached outward to pierce the diffuse tangle of sentiments.
      The cocked blaster in his fist, Han peered around the corner of the shed. "Nobody showing," he reported uneasily.
      From somebody else's mind, a flare of panic reeled Luke's perception. His fingers closed around the hilt of his lightsaber reflexively as he caught himself. Then, abruptly, his searching mind met a total blank while his senses filled with the tranquil sound of waves on the beach, the coarse wood against his back, and Han's shoulder pressing into him, muscles tense, his breath tightly controlled.
      "Feel anything?" Han whispered, turning back to him.
      Yes, Luke thought, too much.
      The sharp sensation of alarm had been replaced by very different feelings due to Han's nearness. "It's gone... Something happened, Han."
      Holstering his blaster, Han straightened. "This is beginning to give me the creeps," he muttered.
      "We should--"
      "No -- Luke, wait..."
      The hands that settled on his shoulders trembled slightly with abating tension. A strange uncertainty had crept into Han's eyes and seemed to darken them. "I just don't know how to tell you..." He faltered, bent closer.
      For one moment of catching breath and stumbling pulse, Luke drowned in the hooded gaze. Next, the world went out of focus as Han leaned over, closing the small, infinite gap between them, and a warm mouth covered his own. His hands lifted, clasped Han's neck to bring him closer. There was no way to control the confused rush of sensations, and Luke returned the kiss fiercely, lips moving against Han's mouth, fingers tangling in his hair. The tall body pressed into him as Han held on harder.
      It took a while for the comlink's whistle to cut through the mists of excitement, and they broke apart staring at each other.
      Han unclipped the comlink with a grimace. "What is it?" he asked edgily.
      "Dobson here," replied the distorted voice of his temporary bodyguard. "There's been another... incident. You'd better come and see for yourself, sir."
      Civilian security had already arrived on the scene, and a small crowd was gathering when Luke and Han sprinted from the building's entrance.
      Still clutching his blaster rifle, Dobson leaned against his own craft and watched the security officers dispassionately. Three uniformed men were bending over an inert body.
      "What's going on?" Han snapped at the heavily armed guard.
      "Some creep snuck up and tried to enter your door code, sir," Dobson replied.
      "And you shot him?"
      "It was either me or him. Sir." The lieutenant straightened a little as an elderly officer approached them, evidently the captain of the security team.
      Sparing only the briefest of glances for Han, he planted himself in front of Dobson. "The man you just killed, Lieutenant, appears to have been unarmed. We've found no weapon on him."
      "I saw a gun in his hand," Dobson said stoically.
      Next to Luke, Han shifted uneasily. "I don't like the look of it," he muttered from the corner of his mouth.
      "Your statement will be taken into consideration," the security officer continued in a chill tone. "For now, Lieutenant Dobson, we'll have to arrest you on the charges of manslaughter."
      With a shrug and an almost indulgent expression, the muscular lieutenant let himself be led to the patrol car. An ambulance arrived with flashing lights and howling sirens as Han slowly crossed towards the body sprawling on the pavement.
      Following him, Luke gazed down at the skinny form of a young man with pointed features and reddish hair, vacant eyes staring up into the sky.
      "Damn!" Han whispered. He blinked nervously, then glanced away in grim disbelief.
      Luke touched his arm softly. "You know him?"
      "Yeah." Chin jutting, Han struggled visibly for composure. "That's Mack... my aide. I've got a very bad feeling about this."

A rectangle of bright light slanted from the apartment block's entrance. Smells from the sea were strong on the cooling air when they got out of the hovercar. Han felt the pounding in his head recede, while Luke, a step behind him, commented on the quiet of the district. And the next thing Han knew was Luke yelling, "Run!"
      He followed that command with blind instinct. A sickly pungent smell bit into his nostrils as Han lunged for the entrance, waves of adrenaline flooding his veins. That smell... His stomach lurched in recognition. Some narcotic gas, potent enough to knock a man out after mere seconds of exposure. Luke was still behind him when a blaster discharge whipped through the dark. His own sidearm drawn, Han wheeled.
      The lightsaber ignited with a feral hiss and shone an incandescent, pale green. "Go!" Luke shouted, dropping into combat stance. "Get inside!"
      Another discharge spattered off the dazzling blade. The next shot came in at a different angle, and Luke deflected it with a flick of his wrist that sent the lightsaber into a sweeping curve. So there was more than just one unseen enemy out there.
      Han's throat constricted, and a cough wracked his chest as he leaned against the transparisteel door and punched in his entry code. He squinted into the thickening twilight, but all he could see was the slender man in black, creating a barricade of brightness with his blade. The door slid open, and Han stumbled inside, let a blind shot sizzle out into the shadows. Luke backed off. A bright bolt of energy grazed the closing door.
      "Change the code," Luke rasped, eyes staring into darkness.
      Han braced himself against the small console in the lobby. He drew in a deep, labored breath of clean air, then tapped the keys. The screen flickered up.
      "Got it," he muttered, instants later. If anything, the cold sickness in his stomach had intensified, and the floor tilted at a sharp angle. "You think--" he started, trying to steady himself.
      "I don't know." Although he'd deactivated his lightsaber, Luke still radiated tension. He gave a dry cough and swiped at his forehead. "I don't know what to think."
      "They really mean it, huh?"
      "Yeah," Luke said tightly.
      They stepped into the lift, and Han, privately grateful that someone had remembered to repair it, sagged against the nearest wall.
      "How come the gas doesn't affect you that bad?" he asked on a ragged breath.
      "There are... certain techniques to control body functions, though I couldn't block the effect for long," Luke told him in an absent tone.
      "I don't suppose you could teach me that trick--?"
      All he received for an answer was a slim smile. Han's stomach wrenched again when the lift juggled to a halt.
      Freezing with the same disquieting notion, they stopped in front of the apartment's door and exchanged troubled looks. Luke's jaw hardened, but then he shook his head. "There's no one inside. And I don't think anybody's been here while we were away either."
      "Some good news," Han bit out, unlocking the door. The gas's effects had revived his headache, and all he could do to avoid crumbling on the spot was gracelessly sink into the next available chair. Their breakfast trays were still on the table, but the bright morning seemed very far away.
      "I'll call security and tell them what happened," Luke said, toggling the small com unit on Han's desk.
      Fixing an empty cup on the table, Han commanded his vision to stop spinning without much success. While he listened to Luke's clipped explanations, another part of his mind began to sift through the tangle of disturbing notions growing more complex by the minute. Impossible though, to think through the big, throbbing blur in his head...
      He looked up, and realized Luke was bending over him with a worried expression, hands on the chair's armrests. "I don't like the look of you," he said, eyes narrowing.
      "I'm sure I wouldn't either. What a hero I am..." Han snorted, annoyed by the weakness that refused to be fought down. "Didn't do much good down there, did I?"
      A hint of amusement showed in Luke's gaze as he touched Han's shoulder. "Hey, you were severely injured only a few days ago, in case you've forgotten. There'll be another time -- hero..."
      His affectionate tone and the smile that replaced Luke's taut composure appeased Han a little. He levered himself out of the chair. "So, what's next?"
      "They're sending a patrol to check the estate. Apart from that, we're to lock the door and stay where we are."
      "Sounds easy enough."
      "Yeah. Time for you to take it easy." Luke obviously saw the protest coming and shook his head at him, mouth curling with mock-exasperation. "Look, just lie down for an hour, and you'll feel a lot better. C'mon..."
      Muttering reluctant agreement, Han pulled his shoulders back and tried not to sway on his feet, though Luke could probably see clear through his pretense. Why was it so hard anyway, letting his weakness show? Luke had seen him in a state much worse than this, just recently. "You're not planning to go back down, are you?" Han asked, a sudden suspicion forming.
      "No. I'll stay around and watch. Okay?" Luke gave him a quick hug that felt like a promise, because beyond the physical touch, Han thought he could sense the warmth of him brush his mind. The gesture surprised him and before he could react, Luke's hands fell away, and he stepped back. Feeling the blood rise in his face, Han turned.
      "Right. Gimme a shout if there's anything..."
      Inside his bedroom, he pulled off his boots, tossed his shirt into a corner and collapsed on the bed, promising himself he wasn't going to fall asleep.
      After a while, the tiny black stars that danced on the edge of his vision faded, and his mind cleared hesitantly. Exhausted as he was, Han considered getting up. For a shower at least, and to find out if the security patrol had arrived.
      Relax...
      A calm voice, not his own. Or was it that he'd slipped into hallucinations? Han closed his eyes, filled his lungs with oxygen that slid through his blood, warming his body. And the quiet returned, a faint echo of the blissful tranquility he'd felt when Luke's soul touched his own.
      How could I live and not know... anything? Han asked himself, because it seemed as if a hidden sense in him had been wakened, a slow stirring that changed all his perceptions bit by bit. No more than a shadow of Luke's greater sensitivity, surely. And how did he live, aware of the possibility to share so much, yet never sharing it with anyone?
      For a split second, Han had a notion of vast loneliness that sent a swift chill through him.
      No. I'm here, Luke. Let me be with you.
      Was he actually hoping to reach Luke that way? But the touching had seemed so easy, so... right. Drowsy warmth spread in his limbs, and with a deeply inhaled breath, Han lost himself to the soothing memory.

He was dozing when the comlink pinged insistently in the lounge, and the sound triggered trained reflexes Han couldn't ignore. Disentangling, he slipped off the bed and, careful not to wake Luke, padded from the room.
      Commander Cerrick was on the other end of the line, his voice uncommonly agitated and tight. "I'm not sure I should be discussing this over an unprotected frequency," he said without preliminary. "However, I have reason to suspect sabotage concerning--" There, a burst of static tore through the hurried words.
      "Cerrick?" Han tapped the controls impatiently, recalibrating the transmission focus. The noise faded into an angry hiss. "D'you hear me?"
      "General, you'd better get here fast, so we can discuss the matter in person," the commander said, his voice blurred. "But watch out for--" Again, distortions drowned out the rest of the sentence.
      "All right, I'm on my way," Han said into the voice pickup, hoping the other man was still receiving. He pursed his lips and wondered about Cerrick's odd nervousness. The man was devoted to bureaucratic procedures, over-anxious sometimes, but certainly not given to irrational impulses. Sabotage... But where?
      "Wouldn't be surprised," Han muttered to himself. "All those malfunctions. It just isn't natural..."
      Briefly, he considered waking Luke, but decided against it, leaving him a note on the com terminal instead. Luke needed a rest, and Han expected to be back in a few hours.