Near Dusk

...a misted blue light hung in the room he didn't recognize. Han smelled ancient stone and sand beneath the thick odors that stifled the air. His vision blurred again, and when he raised a heavy hand, he noticed that his fingers were shaking. Metal grated in the distance, echoed by the rumble of a steelstone portal. And then there were steps approaching through the cavernous hallway.
A small shiver touched the nape of his neck, and Han backed off instinctively. The hand that had travelled to his hip closed around nothing, because he'd lost his blaster -- somewhere. Too long ago to recall any details. Cool, solid stone against his back returned him to the present. And to echoing steps on ancient flagstones.
In the arching doorway across the hall, a hooded man stood, and he seemed to be drawing the shadows to him as he held out a hand...

Han sat up and rubbed his forearms. With a deep breath, he exiled the haunting dream, labeled it wanton activity of brain cells too agitated to join the rest of his mind in comfortable rest. But although the images paled, the wintry silence lingered, and his hands were clammy.
      That's because we're locked up inside a freakin' iceberg, Han told himself. The whole place is too damn cold...
      He'd already set the Falcon's heating on maximum, but the generator simply wasn't a match for Hoth's perennial frosts. Pulling up the thermoblanket, Han settled back down on his bunk and sent a mental command into his body. It's too early. Sleep.
      Drowsiness toyed with his ungathered thoughts for a couple of minutes, then receded. Unpleasant stable-smells rose to his nostrils. Han snapped his eyes open with a curse and stared around. In the dimness of his cabin, the tangle of clothes on the floor was just a blacker patch of night. But they definitely emitted that unmistakable Tauntaun scent.
      Han pulled the blanket higher up to cover his nose, but the smell remained. It was probably on himself too, since he'd skipped the cleaning routine last night, too bone-tired to drag himself to the shower after hours of patroling the snow-crusted wastes of Hoth.
      Shower, he thought, wrapping his mind in a pleasant vision of warm water that eased the cold and residual stiffness from his body, of sleepy heaviness returning...
      Half an hour later, Han slipped back under the cover, hair damp and skin warm. He stretched, ran both hands down his chest and belly, tracing the faint electricity that had come awake in his nerves during the shower, stirred by the pleasurable sensations of water caressing his skin. He sighed at the unmistakable tingle in his groin and wished for company in his bed. It had been too damn long.
      At least he wasn't the only one with that particular problem. Han recognized the symptoms of building sexual frustration all around the base. Whatever the pilots did in the dorms provided only temporary relief, and most of them wore a look of impatient suffering from an itch they couldn't scratch.
      Han thought he'd caught the same in Leia's eyes, too, but wasn't quite sure anymore. Maybe those flashes of temper and the persistent, nervous tension were owed to political motives much like everything else the Princess got involved in. Then again, who could guess at the hidden fantasies feeding Leia's political passion? Sometimes Han felt challenged to solve that mystery, but solved mysteries generally lost their allure in the blink of an eye.
      He abandoned thinking and closed his eyes to listen to the messages his body kept broadcasting with increasing urgency. His hand drifted further down the taut muscles in his belly. His mind began to project images on the inside of his closed lids. Han palmed his slowly lifting erection and skimmed through the catalog of pleasurable memories mixing with fantasy.
      There was the slinky blond dancer he'd met during stopover on Sullust... too long ago. Distance blurred her features, but her performance both on stage and off it had been memorable.
      Briefly, Han tried to picture Leia in those transparent scarfs and the skimpy little nothings the dancer had worn, but the fantasy didn't work very well. The Princess looked automatically stiff and uncomfortable in that attire.
      Han sighed again, grinned at the waste of effort and redirected his mind to immerse itself in the flow of memories. The blond dancer flung out her arms and spun, twisting her slender body without effort. Silken scarfs floated to the ground like feathers, and he ran his hands over skin equally soft, pliant to his demands.
      Without much enthusiasm, Han pressed into his own, rhythmically stroking hand. Imagined her arms around him. Conjured the feel of soft, blond hair against his chest, tickling his belly. His pace picked up slightly, and a quickening pulse began to flutter in his throat. The body in his arms was firm and slender, skin warm and tanned by endless summers. His own hands were brushed aside when a hungry mouth traveled down, nibbled and sucked and teased --
Han responded to the swell of heat with a faster breath. Hips pushing up, he lost himself to the fantasy. A warm mouth possessed him, gave him intimate caresses that stirred fire along his nerves. Strong hands gripped his thighs. Han reached down to cradle the blond head and looked into his lover's face. Arresting blue eyes met his.
      Luke.
      Han bit his lip at the flash of heat and pressure in his groin. Somewhere in the middle of his fantasy, his thoughts had taken a wrong turn. And it wasn't the first time that had happened.
      Luke -- slender, strong, and incredible. And (inside wanton dreams, generated by an excess of hormones and daily bleakness) very willing to be instructed, very eager to please. Han didn't take long to lose himself to the building heat in his senses. A deep moan vibrated in his throat when a bright wave of release took him. Sated, he rolled over on his stomach, pressed his heated face into the pillow and expected to sink back into sleep.
      But the image lingered, he could still see Luke's face before him, except that it brought a stir of very ambiguous sentiments this time. And something disturbingly close to embarrassment tied it all together.
      Han snorted at himself. He had every right to use whoever he wanted to liven up his private fantasies. They were nothing but mind games anyway, enticing one moment, forgotten the next.
      The forgetting part didn't seem to work very well tonight. Cursing his hyperactive glands, Han pushed up and returned to the shower. It was almost morning.

On his way to the hangar, Han passed an open door and caught a low, electric buzz punctuated by whirrs and metallic clicks. Without thinking about it, he stopped for a brief look inside.
      White glowpanels lit a chamber cut from the snowpack. White walls reflected the gleam of a dancing lightsaber. In the middle of the room, Luke was practicing with a spherical remote that circled him and sent out playful discharges in rapid succession.
      Since the pilots used this place to work out, they called it the Gym, and someone had supplied a couple of mats to soften falls in combat training. Due to the desperate lack of entertainment around the base, the Gym enjoyed increasing popularity, but Luke had it all to himself at this early hour. And he was evidently too absorbed in his routine to notice Han's presence.
      The brilliant blade cleaved cold air, caught the remote's flashes of energy to it, and they bounced off, shattering into bright fragments. At the center of fractured light, Luke moved with controlled precision.
      A far cry from the clumsy farmboy, Han thought as he watched, fascinated in spite of himself. He'd always remember their trip to Alderaan, and the boy who'd clutched his saber under Kenobi's supervision, easily flustered, bouncing back and forth between unreasoning bravado and confusion.
      Luke had shrugged all that aside as easily as he spun the lightsaber in a circle of pure energy. Lean muscles tensed and rippled under the tight-fitting gray jumpsuit he wore. Breath rose from his mouth in frozen clouds, blond strands were plastered to his sweat-damp forehead. The remote reacted to his moves with redoubled speed, and laser needles pelted him. Luke flicked the glowing blade into their path, breath escaping in a harsh gasp.
      Idly, Han wondered if Luke was venting his own sexual frustration this way, or if he realized at all... Probably not.
      Unlike the rest of the pilots, Luke showed no signs of twitchy impatience. At night, when the dorms were crowded, when the first round of canned ale loosened the pilots' tongues and imagination, he'd listen to their loudtalk but never said a word. Watching with an odd, calm curiosity. And it hadn't gone unnoticed.
      He's such an innocent, the pilots who shared quarters with Luke frequently said. For a while, Han had agreed without giving it any thought. What else could you expect from someone who'd grown up in provincial isolation, tethered by the inflexible morality of moisture farmers--? Innocence. Watching Luke, Han caught himself in the middle of serious doubt, and the notion became elusive.
      The pilots' strutting and bragging, the wordplay and innuendo only ever seemed to amuse Luke. He wasn't ignorant, and his tolerance had amazed Han on occasion. Maybe he just wasn't interested.
      Han told himself to look again and canned the thought. Unaware sensuality seemed to vibrate in every move Luke made, waiting to be liberated. Han felt a private grin curve his mouth, recalling surreptitious glances when they'd showered together, after patrols.
      He'd seen enough of Luke to mentally strip away the jumpsuit and picture the lithe, perfectly sculpted body, while imagination supplied any missing details. And he knew Luke had been watching him, too. Perhaps --
      No. Definitely not. He'd decided a while ago that pointless speculation wouldn't get him anywhere, except deep in trouble. Luke was... distant, as if driven by very different, very private needs that never fully revealed themselves, but didn't seem altogether innocent.
      The remote shut down and lowered itself to the frozen floor of the Gym. Snapping his lightsaber off, Luke bent over, elastic cloth stretching over his curving backside and lean thighs as he reached for the metallic sphere. A sight to behold, Han thought, glad there was no one else around to observe his reaction.
      He gave in to momentary impulse and crept up on Luke, wrapping both arms around his waist the moment his friend straightened out. Luke gave a startled, winded laugh and wriggled in his grip. The close contact sent another frisson of heat through Han's groin, and a sudden sense of alarm prompted him to let go fast. He stepped back.
      "Han?" Luke spun, eyes bright with a surprised smile. "What got you up that early?"
      "My sense of duty," Han retorted.
      "I didn't know you had one."
      Han muttered something about insolent youngsters showing none of the respect they owed.
      His mocking tones brought another grin, and Luke shook his head at him. "You're getting restless," he observed, reaching for the bundle of clothes he'd dumped in a corner of the room.
      "For a reason."
      Luke stepped into the baggy thermo-coveralls and pulled up the zippers, but his eyes searched Han's face all the while. "Not Jabba's bounty hunters--?"
      "What d'you think? They got too damn close on Ord Mantell."
      "They're never gonna find you here," Luke objected. He bent to close the fasteners of insulated boots.
      "I wouldn't bet on that. Jabba's got a reputation to lose, and that's something he cares about more than money." Han shifted his weight and stared at the frozen white wall. "Besides, I've been out of business too long. If I waste any more time, I'll have to start out again from the bottom."
      The blond head lifted, and Luke took a few steps to stand very close. "Wasting your time, huh?"
      "C'mon," Han growled, "you know what I mean. I gotta get back to my own life, sooner or later."
      "I know," Luke said after a pause, his tone unrevealing.
      That was all. No reproach, no further questions. Han recalled the anger and disappointment Luke had flung at him on Yavin 4. But by now, Luke knew how much of the materialistic mercenary was a protective pose, knew him too well to argue with his profound need for independence. Disillusioned, Han tried to ignore the small sting that came from Luke's acquiescence.
      He gestured angrily, indicating the snowpack walls. "I feel like I'm freezing up inside. And they don't pay me well enough to put up with this kinda thing."
      "Yeah, right, I forgot that money's all you love," Luke said, watching him closely.
      Han snorted, the bleak sense of frustration not appeased. "Ready to go? I'd like to grab some breakfast before they send us out for another tour."
      Smelly Tauntauns, icy winds and stiff, aching fingers. The prospect already sent a shiver over his back.
      "Me, too," Luke said. "I'm starving." But when they turned into the corridor, he asked, "When you've paid Jabba... will you come back?"
      The soft-spoken question got to him just like that, and Han clamped down hard on a very irrational impulse. "I can't promise," he answered slowly.
      Luke stopped to face him. "I understand," he said after an electric pause.

When he dreamed again, it was in the most unlikely place.
      ...he drew heavy, watery breaths and steadied himself against the cool stone wall. He was breathing dust that danced on the dry air, and for a second seemed to hear voices whispering distantly, echoes from a lost past. Diffuse light slanted across the cracked flagstones -- a wintry sunlight searching the deserted hall.
      On the other side, at the top of wide, flat steps stood the robed stranger and watched. Han looked up, startled by the sudden leap of breath in his chest. His skin crawled. From the wide sleeve of the black robe, a hand lifted. There was confidence in the gesture, and restrained power and --
      -- something he couldn't fathom, but it sent a strange anguish through him. Impossible to read the shaded face under the hood. Han walked towards the man, drawn to him despite the chill in his heart.
      "Where've you been?" he whispered...

He was jolted awake, shivering with the damnable cold. Nocturnal winds howled around the tent.
      The tent? Han pushed the blanket from his face and stared up into caving steelfoil while he tried to realign his thoughts. They were in an emergency shelter built in the middle of a blizzard -- Luke and he. And he'd promised not to fall asleep, no matter what.
      But somewhere between worrying his head off and cursing the Rebel Alliance to hell, exhausted sleep had finally caught up with him. Han straightened and grabbed the glowlantern.
      Strands of pale hair reflected the unsteady light. The rest of Luke was hidden under a thick, insulated blanket. Leaning across, Han heard the shallow breath that brought back a flicker of fear. Very gently, he pulled the blanket down and studied Luke's pale face, the swelling under one eye and the deep gash he'd summarily cleaned earlier.
      Han laid his fingertips against the exposed throat, touching clammy skin and a fluttering pulse. The last shot of stimulants he'd given Luke was definitely losing effect, but he wasn't entirely sure if he could risk another. The night was far from over and their supplies were running low, because he'd already gone to the limits of an overdose, frantic as he'd been after he'd found Luke on death's doorstep.
      Han ran his fingertips up the cool cheek and temple very lightly, then tugged the blanket back in place. Snow drifts pressed in on the shelter from all sides. And how many more hours to go? How long until the fragile construction would buckle under the assaults of an icy gale and the weight of the snow?
      The survival pack had contained only what a Tauntaun could carry behind its saddle, steelfoil tent and flimsy struts, mats and self-inflating thermoblankets, a medikit, the glowtorch, and a palm-sized scanner. Nothing of it had been submitted to in-the-field tests, Han suspected, and surely no one had considered the possibility that someone already injured and hypothermic would have to be kept alive with the scarce aids of the survival pack. Anger simmered through him again.
      He hadn't pictured any of this when he'd rushed from the base, furious and frightened because Luke had gone missing and nobody else seemed ready to do anything about it. He hadn't thought any further than finding Luke, out there in the dusky snowfields and the lethal subzero temperatures.
      Sure, they'd warned him against riding out again, with dusk drawing near. Would have quoted the odds, too, if he'd given them time. But adrenaline flushed him with obstinate anger, and it wasn't a matter of rational consideration anyway. He couldn't give up on Luke like that.
      Urging the Tauntaun on into the drunken dance of the snowstorm, he'd thought of Tatooine's blazing binary, of shimmering wastes and blond hair bleached to reflect the light, of a life waiting to be lived. He was going to beat the terminal winter that wanted to claim Luke. He was going to beat the odds one more time.
      Luke stirred under the thick blanket. His flat breaths grew heavier, and he turned over with a small moan. Han watched him tensely, but after a second, Luke quietened again, sinking back into deeper unconsciousness.
      Han relaxed a little. The glowlantern showed his own breath, a white vapor rising thinly from his mouth into freezing air. He wrapped his arms around himself, against the inner cold that curled in his bowels. It felt as if he'd spent every reserve of adrenaline in the first, hot surge of fear when he'd found Luke.
      Thinking he'd arrived too late, then queasy with relief next. But the fight wasn't over. Death was stalking their shelter, patient and vigilant, waiting for its quarry to succumb to false security.
      Han grimaced and wished, irrationally, for an enemy to fight, for a tense moment of action when everything was poised with unthinking reflex and resilience. Unfathomable, the night outside, inimical and shapeless, draining life away bit by bit. Heavy sleep tugged at his mind. Another enemy Han didn't know how to fight. Sweet sleep, drifting into unconsciousness, sinking down, down into a feathery, white abyss...
      Whispers stirred through his slipping thoughts. Luke tossed on the insulated mat, muttered words Han didn't understand. He snaked a hand under the blanket, touched Luke's bare shoulder soothingly and almost flinched at the coolness of his skin.
      He'd been forced to strip him, Luke had been lying in the snow too long, and his clothes were stiff and cold as stone, there wasn't any way he could get warm inside the snow-soaked coveralls. The stench of the Tauntaun's bowels was another reason. Han had stuffed Luke's clothes into a bag, storing them close to the shelter's sealed flap.
      "Ben," Luke whispered. "Come back."
      He'd been like that when Han found him. Delirious, his mind engulfed in fevered fantasy. Only after the first shot of stimulants, there'd been a few lucid moments when Luke recognized him.
      Han? Han -- gods, I'm sorry... you shouldn't be out here.
      Han bent closer and stroked his fingers across the tangled blond strands.
      "Don't leave," Luke whispered.
      "I'm here, kid," Han muttered, although he knew Luke wasn't talking to him at all.
      Something about it unnerved him, because even delirious Luke was different, and Han could almost believe all that spooky stuff about another reality accessible through the Force. And that strange reality encapsulated Luke's mind, sheltering him from the frost that claimed his bruised body, from the truth -- that he was dying...
      The skin under Han's fingers was as cold as the snow.
      "Luke!" Han called in a whisper. "C'mon, talk to me, snap out of it!"
      Luke gave a few slurred sounds, directed at something or someone on the other side of reality. Han felt him shiver again, faintly. Earlier that night, the cold had wracked Luke with spasmodic shudders, now his body no longer resisted. The shiver crawled over his skin and faded. Luke was fading, like the weak, thready pulse Han felt in his wrist.
      He reached for the medikit, reread the instructions although they blurred before his eyes, and administered another shot of amphetamine compounds. His heart hammered in his throat as he waited for the symptoms of allergic shock caused by an overdose, but Luke's pulse steadied, and he rolled over to lie on his back with a deep breath.
      "I had a strange dream," Luke said in a low, oddly clear voice.
      "Yeah, me too," Han muttered huskily.
      A hand lifted from under the thermoblanket, and Han caught it in his own.
      "Han?" Luke's fingers moved across the back of his hand as if in recognition. "Han... are you okay?"
      He gave a short, winded laugh. "Sorry, kid. I'm freezing and I'm scared shitless. No, I'm not okay."
      The blond lashes lifted a little, and Luke's gaze focused with apparent effort. A strained, fuzzy smile tugged his mouth. "C'mon, Han," he whispered, "don't peg out on me now... You've been... through worse--"
      Before Han could protest, Luke squeezed his eyes tight shut, and a pained expression froze his features for a second. "Hibernation," he brought out. "You have... hibernation sickness..."
      Han cursed under his breath. Luke had slipped back into delirious fantasies much too fast. He tightened his grip on the cool hand.
      "No need to be dramatic," he said, talking to keep up an illusion of normality for comfort. "But this place's cold enough to freeze the pelt off a Wookiee. How about we spend our next vacation on Tatooine, huh?"
      "Too dry," Luke whispered.
      "Not if we do a tour of the bars in Mos Eisley," Han retorted. "And don't try to be funny, I'm sensitive and it might just get too much for me."
      With his free hand, he reached for the small medscanner and placed it against Luke's throat. His body temperature had dropped below anything that could still be labeled normal.
      Luke's fingers moved across the inside of his wrist. "You're cold."
      The absurdity of it almost made him laugh again. "You got that wrong, buddy," Han growled. "You're cold enough to freeze water."
      There was a long silence, then Luke murmured, "I feel warm. It's okay, Han."
      His innocent words released the last wave of adrenaline into Han's blood. Shreds of information from a first-aid course they'd all been forced through came back to him, and he remembered that freezing was supposed to trap the mind in fantasized warmth right before the end.
      Han cursed absently as alarm sent a chill through him that left no room for anger. There was no way he could risk another shot of stimulants, the last dose had worn off too soon. He seemed to recall something about keeping the freezing person awake and grabbed Luke shoulders, shaking him lightly.
      "C'mon, Skywalker, use your head 'n get yourself together. Don't give up on yourself like that, y'hear?"
      Luke muttered something unintellegible and rolled over to curl up on his side.
      If you can't wake him, warm him, Han told himself. He couldn't dispense with his own blanket, but he could drape it across both of them, share some of his own, waning body-warmth, for all the good it would do.
      Fumbling to rearrange the blankets, he touched his own parka, clammy and wet with melted snow. Whatever body-warmth he had left to share wouldn't reach Luke through the padded, synthetic fabric.
      Han sat up and stripped to his underwear, tugging at his clothes with stiff fingers while he shivered in the cold air. Then he eased down behind Luke and pulled the blankets up over them.
      Luke gave a drowsy sigh.
      "Comfortable like this?" Han muttered. "You gotta get warm, y'know, and I can't give you another stim-shot just yet." He wrapped an arm around Luke's chest and felt a distant heartbeat vibrate against his palm, like a promise, offering anchorage to his tangled thoughts and sentiments.
      When he spooned his body against Luke, there was another mutter that sounded reassuring. A sign Luke wasn't slipping any deeper into unconsciousness. Something like "I'm okay."
      "No, you're not," Han said testily. "Hell, how d'you think this is gonna work when I'm not around to come after you each time you run into trouble?"
      He'd been planning to leave the next day, but the Falcon and those unfinished repairs and all the plans he'd made seemed incredibly far away. Han listened to the wind's gasping breath as it washed around the shelter. How many hours more, until dawn? Until someone would come looking for them--
      To cheer himself, Han tried to picture bright skies and snow, dazzling in the sun, and the Falcon soaring from the subterranean hangar.
      "I gotta leave, you know," he said. "It's got nothing to do with ideals -- hell, you know how I feel about that. I'm just not the type to devote my life to a Cause."
      But Luke hadn't argued earlier, and he certainly wouldn't object now. Han felt his chest rise and fall with a steadier breath, felt his own breath come in synchronicity, and drowsiness began to cloud his mind again. He pulled away from it almost desperately, and kept talking simply to stay awake.
      "It's about... flying, more than anything. And I'm not talking about flying missions here, the situation when you know exactly where you'll end up, this is about going with wherever it takes you, somewhere you've never been. The randomness of it." He paused, thinking of Luke's elation whenever they went into lightspeed, of the way he'd grab every chance to take his X-wing out into space. "You know what it's like, don't you? When you want the galaxy to surprise you with something totally unexpected. Test your limits. Not entirely safe, I guess."
      To belong nowhere, grow no roots. To face every day like the last, alone.
      Another gust of wind toyed with the shelter, and the steelfoil rustled, the metal frame squealed tiredly. Nothing's ever safe, Han thought, he'd lived with that truth for so long that his worries about Luke's safety were very obviously absurd.
      "There's so many places for you to see," he murmured. "Just wanna make sure you get your chance..."
      A cocoon of warmth was slowly forming under the blankets. He was dozing off again. Muscles spasmed suddenly and jolted Han back awake to a stab of annoyance at himself.
      Don't fall asleep, damn you, who knows what you're gonna wake up to! A vision of waking to find the body next to him cold and lifeless trickled ice down his back. No, Luke. Can't do that to me, y'hear?
      Han groped around under the blanket for Luke's wrist to check his pulse. It was definitely stronger, and his skin had warmed, too. Maybe the extra blanket and his efforts had helped, or maybe the stimulants were finally taking effect, Han didn't care which. He breathed deeply in relief, rested his hand on Luke's chest again and lay still.
      His mind filled with the small sounds of the creaking frame and the wind outside, the feel of snow-drifts laying their cold embrace around the shelter, the rhythm of Luke's breathing, all the details of the body curled against his own. And the nearness registered with a strange sense of comfort.
      When Han lifted his hand to slide it through the blond hair and down Luke's shoulder, it was almost to memorize him. It made a fact of their yet uncertain survival, because there'd be a moment in the future when he'd close his eyes and think of Luke --
      Crazy thoughts. But lying so close to Luke felt good -- too good in such an absurd situation -- and his hesitant touch stirred an instinctive, sleepy response. Luke moved against him, deeper into what had somehow become a protective embrace. Han felt the brush of soft hair against his mouth, the slight pressure of Luke's body, and the contact his groin made with Luke's backside took the innocence out of every touch. Because his reaction was instant, blatant, and totally inacceptable.
      Han couldn't remember being embarrassed about it since adolescence, but the moment he felt himself go hard brought just that. Embarrassment, rising to his face with a crawling warmth. Disgusting, Solo... get a grip on yourself. You'd probably screw a corpse if you had to.
      He held himself perfectly still and listened to Luke's even breaths while he stared out from the sheltering blankets, at the white mists of breath curling into chill air. The glowtorch had dimmed, but its shine reflected on the gauze of ice that covered the shelter's inside. Han tried to slake the persistent heat by filling his mind with thoughts of the rapacious winter he no longer felt and reciting the dangers to himself -- but when Luke stirred again, the warmth and pressure sent another small pang of electricity through Han's groin.
      Cursing in silence, he felt his erection push up and harden. Not Luke, not this, not now...
      Luke was half-dead, and the winter outside still a mortal enemy just waiting for him to be lulled by false comfort. At least he wasn't likely to fall asleep now, Han reasoned with a touch of self-mockery. Despite his efforts to control, his body was getting into gear, oblivious to circumstance, and responding with a strange urgency.
      Caught between contradicting impulses, Han finally tried to pull away a little so Luke wouldn't become aware of his condition, but there wasn't much room to maneuver under the blankets and Luke's body molded against him, drawn to the warmth he offered.
      It's all your fault, Han told him silently. He let his mouth sink against the blond hair and with closed eyes traced the multitude of sensations haunting his nerves.
      Breathing Luke's scent, he absorbed the feel of Luke's body stretched out against the length of him, touching everywhere. A slowly building heat tightened him, and almost before he knew, Han moved his palm across Luke's chest and belly in a slow caress.
      He stiffened at the sudden breath that escaped in a sigh, but the small sound Luke gave was encouraging, almost an articulation of pleasure. And he felt so good and warm, so alive. Well hell, this is about staying alive, so what? No need to be embarrassed.
      Han surrendered himself to the older, unreasoning impulses of flesh and nerve and settled down, holding Luke in a light embrace.
      As the minutes passed quietly, the stillness seemed to grow on him with a strange sensitivity. His skin caught alight with the gentle pressure of Luke's body, the ridge of his spine to his chest, the curve of his butt against his hips, moving softly against his erection with every breath they drew until he was electrified all over.
      Han couldn't remember ever feeling like that before. Trapped in suspension, lightheaded with the shivers of pleasure that came from nowhere and intensified although he lay motionless. He heard his own, ragged breath and couldn't help it. He'd just have to lie there until morning, keep them both warm, stay alive, resign himself to not doing anything.
      Consider it a special test of your self-control, Han told himself, savoring the irony of the situation. He'd never excelled in that particular department. With an odd sense of remorse, he recalled his private fantasies that seemed crude and almost alien now, and they sure didn't compare to the breathtaking nearness.
      Han bent his head and brushed his lips against the nape of Luke's neck cautiously, as if a single wrong move could break the spell. Luke shifted and sighed, muttered something Han couldn't catch, but he held his breath when Luke turned and slid an arm around his waist that just rested there. The blond head sagged against his chest, finding its place as if it were natural for them to lie like this.
      "Han," Luke murmured after awhile, from the depth of sleep.
      The surge of emotion took him unawares.
      "I'm here," Han whispered back, breath catching. With you. And nothing else matters, just you 'n me, nothing left but this --
      He belonged here. The thought formed with unquestionable certainty and brought an uneasy tingle in the aftermath.
      I'm leaving tomorrow, Han repeated to himself, dry facts that no longer connected to reality. A harsh wind drove into the shelter overhead, incredibly distant, because all he felt was the melting heat inside him, slowly unraveling.
      Part of his mind suggested that they'd both slipped into treacherous, lethal abandon, but the thought was inconsequential. He seemed to be drifting in and out of a strange trance, and his hand moved absently, drifted across Luke's shoulder and upper arm in a slow caress. Smooth skin sliding under his fingers, warm breath grazing his bare throat.
      How much time had passed? How many hours until dawn, or was it just minutes? Wanton heat had crept into every part of his body, and sensations sizzled on his skin that warmed as if in a light fever. Rigid flesh strained the fabric of his underpants, throbbing hard as Luke moved up close, blindly seeking his greater warmth.
      Kid, you sure ain't making it any easier for me, Han thought at him and clenched his teeth against the sharp arousal coiling in his gut. And how much longer can I take this? Serves me right, I suppose.
      An urgent need for release twisted inside him, struggling with a very unfamiliar sense of dignity. Amusement flitted through his thoughts. Didn't know you had any dignity left to lose, Solo. Not since you hocked it with the rest of the moral garbage. Although Luke would probably disagree. Impartial to Han's past, he'd always credited him with a future Han couldn't quite see. Believed in him, too, unreasonably.
      Lost to the twining strands of thought, he'd pulled Luke into a tighter embrace and only noticed when a warm mouth brushed his throat. The sensation raked his nerves with fire. Han froze, giving himself a desperate warning.
      Some rescue. Luke's courting death and you go all raunchy on him. He looked down on the tangle of blond hair that caught a shimmer from the fading glowtorch, felt Luke's breath whisper across his skin. The tight, hard pulse in his groin was winding up to become an ache, but there was a strange tenderness too, threading into his thoughts. Maybe this is just a dream and we're both dying, Han reflected fuzzily. Gods, I don't care anymore...
      Luke shifted in his sleep, a long sigh escaping from parted lips. The arm that had rested loosely across Han's side tightened reflexively, and the motion brought his erection close up to Luke's hip. It took no more than that.
      A flash of pulse rocked through Han's limbs, and the fact that he held himself completely still didn't help at all. Han clamped down hard on an explosive gasp, but defiance and disbelief were ripped away in the violent shudder that passed through him. He arched his back and held every sound inside as the heat spent itself with spasms of raw pleasure.
      Han sank back into himself with an overwhelming sense of incredulity. It wasn't supposed to happen. Not to him. Sated warmth mingled with a stir of disquiet at his own reaction, at the feelings claiming him with the undisputable authority of a nocturnal tide.
      You've no idea what you're doing to me, he thought and couldn't say it aloud, although Luke certainly wouldn't hear. He'd slept right through the memorable event. Yeah well -- at least I won't be freezing. Now who's rescuing who, huh?
      He cradled Luke in his arms and admitted there was some truth in the notion. Because it felt as if Luke, without doing much, had offered him anchorage for the wind-blown jumble of his unsteady life with all that undeserved, quiet trust.
      Quit thinking, Solo, you're not making sense anymore, Han told himself. And if death were to take them now, before they knew --
      He fell asleep with the next deep breath he drew.

Threepio and Artoo made it to the sickroom faster than he. Droid conspiracy, Han suspected, or maybe the pair of them had been loitering about, waiting for a chance to express whatever the droid equivalent to relief was. Vocally and profusely, Han suspected.
      Several meters ahead of him, Threepio raised a golden hand and tapped the controls. Through the opening doors, Han caught a glimpse of the brightly lit room with its flawless, white walls, the bed in the alcove -- and Luke, engaged in quiet conversation with Leia who hovered beside him, leaning very close.
      The doors snapped shut before Han could put a name to the situation, but it looked like a rather intimate talk at the very least.
      He punched the controls, and suspicion solidified when the doors slid back with a reluctant sigh. Leia had put a distance between herself and the bed pretty fast. Leaning against the wall on the other side of the cubicle, arms folded, she exhibited her usual, remote aplomb.
      Luke's head lifted as soon as Han strode in, Chewbacca in tow. Another uncontrollable wash of sentiment swamped Han's mind and took him to the alcove in a second, drawn there by the bright warmth in Luke's eyes.
      "How're you feelin', kid?" He grinned widely, because things had finally reverted back to normal. Luke would be all right in a matter of days, and the scars on his cheek were already fading. "You don't look so bad to me," Han added. "In fact, you look strong enough to pull the ears off a Gundark."
      Distantly, he wondered if there was any particular quality to a Gundark's ears that explained the phrase, but Luke didn't ask for details.
      "Thanks to you," he said with one of those brilliant smiles.
      Next to Han, Chewbacca bent closer with a contented grunt. From one moment to the next, the night in the emergency shelter had lost its disconcerting importance, it was finally slipping into the past, and Han's confidence returned. He'd beaten the odds, ultimately.
"That's two you owe me, junior," he reminded Luke.
      The smile deepened with affection, but Han could almost feel Leia's gaze tingle his neck, and Luke glanced over at her briefly -- almost furtively. There was definitly something going on here...
      Han turned, deliberately slow, yet determined to get to the bottom of it. "Well, Your Highness, seems like you managed to keep me around a little while longer," he improvised, adding a touch of smug arrogance for good measure.
      Leia responded with predictable impatience and denial. He let her blame it all on Rieekan's orders -- and believed her, too. Leia would never bend a rule in favor of personal concerns, if they should accidentally deviate from the Cause.
      "That's a good story," Han said pleasantly, warming to his act. "But I think you just can't bear to let a gorgeous guy like me outa your sight."
      Chewbacca's derisive snorts startled him from the flow of the scene for a second, but ultimately offered a cue for the next step. Regaining his balance, Han wrapped his arm around Leia's shoulders and turned to face Luke and Chewie.
      "You didn't see us alone in the south passage, where she expressed her true feelings for me," he elaborated in complacent tones, even if the grin was beginning to feel a little frozen.
      The Princess stiffened with barely contained annoyance, but at the same time something showed on Luke's face. His calm composure faltered, exposing -- jealousy?
      Well, what'd you expect? Han released Leia's shoulders and stalked away, tailed by a very interesting choice of insults as he approached the bed. To call him 'scruffy-looking' went a bit too far, he supposed, but he didn't quite catch the rest. Maybe he'd pushed too hard. Leia's flare of temper at his playful mockery really exceeded his expectations, and for some reason, Luke's expression unbalanced Han's sense of control even more. Embarrassed, or dismayed, or both, Luke glanced down.
      All right then, let's have it, Han thought angrily, leaning closer to him. "Must've hit pretty close to the mark to get her all riled up like that, huh, kid?"
      Luke seemed ready to agree, but didn't get a chance to answer the question.
      "Why, I guess you don't know everything about women yet," Leia said sharply.
      When she bent down to kiss Luke with the same obstinate fervor, Han thought that 'half-witted' was the epithet he truly deserved. At least he had his answer. Luke let out his breath slowly, and the startled pleasure in his eyes left no room for doubt.
      He's in love with her, Han thought, staring at Luke who didn't seem to notice him nor Leia's stormy departure. Frustration assailed Han, never mind that it was entirely out of place, since he'd known all along. Or thought he knew. With a few muttered words, he left the cubicle and followed the Princess.
      Two-Onebee had stopped her in the corridor, allowing Han to catch up inconspicuously. When she headed out, Han walked alongside, pretending he didn't notice the withering glare she tossed him.
      "Why are you following me?" Leia snapped, echoing part of their heated conversation in the south passage.
      "I'm on my way to the command center," Han said. "Why -- where are you going?"
      She gave an indignant snort and kept her eyes straight ahead.
      "Hey, c'mon, what's bothering you?" Han tried after a minute of smoldering silence. The hard tension in her jawline fostered suspicions that his insolence wasn't the cause for Leia's agitation at all. "Something wrong?"
      "Would you care?"
      Maybe he deserved that. Maybe he'd hit too close to a mark he still didn't see. "Look, I didn't mean to... whatever. Interfere. Get between you and Luke," he offered, allowing regret to shade his tone just a little. "I guess I didn't realize--"
      Leia cast him a sidelong glance that stopped him mid-sentence. Wrong again, Han told himself, reading blunt surprise in her gaze just before she caught herself.
      "Jealous, Han?" she asked sarcastically.
      "Jealous?" He shrugged the laughable suggestion aside. "Just wanna know what's going on. You look like you're ready to blow a fuse."
      "You would've blown several, in my place." For a few seconds, it seemed as if that oblique statement had ended the conversation, but with another inexplicable shift of mood, Leia relented. "He's leaving," she said unaccountably.
      "He's... who? Luke?"
      Leia give a clipped nod. "That's right. He told me just before you came in. I'd expected that from you, but Luke--" Anger made way for the flat tones of disappointment when she continued after a brief pause. "How are we supposed to win this war, if everybody comes and goes as they please? And Luke believes in the Rebellion! I'll be damned if I know what changed his mind."
      "Yeah, me too," Han said softly.
      "You don't know? He didn't tell you about... Dagobah? About training to become a Jedi?"
      So there was a political reason to her irritation. Not much surprised, Han shook his head, recalling Luke's delirious ravings that had eluded every sensible pattern at the time.
      "No, he didn't tell me. But I guess... well, it's what he has to do," he said tentatively. "Kenobi started training him, and Luke just isn't the type to leave off and forget about it, or try something else." Han paused for a beat. "Thought you liked that about him. Persistence and discipline."
      "There's a right time for everything," Leia objected. "And this definitely isn't it." A quizzical sidelong glance grazed him.
      "What?" Han asked.
      "I'm a little surprised to hear this from you. You used to sneer at Luke's ideas about the Force, after all. I didn't realize he turned you into a believer."
      He snorted. "Don't worry, he didn't, I still think he's chasing shadows. Then again, that's something you gotta do at times, to find out what works for you. Luke's got more ahead of him than flying patrols like your good boy 'n working his way up the ranks."
      She looked at him as if he'd just informed her that Tauntauns could fly, but their arrival at the command center halted the argument. As she approached the monitoring consoles, Leia switched back to business effortlessly.
      There was something admirable about her degree of control, Han admitted to himself. And yet, half-listening to her conversation with General Rieekan, he felt another stir of annoyance. Because all she saw in Luke was the accomplished pilot and a symbol of hope the Rebellion needed. Less than he deserved. Maybe Leia would come to understand that, once he'd left.
      To chase after shadows -- and hell only knows what kinda trouble he's gonna run into next, Han thought.

...the musty air exhaled by ancient stone thickened with dust that swirled on a sudden breeze. Outside, noon fried the parched mesa, but the mammoth walls of the palace persisted in shady coolness.
      His vision cleared for a moment, and he lifted his head to face the stranger in the hooded robe. The gesture extended to him was a signal long awaited, its finality striking dejection through his soul. Han took another step forward, shoulders drawn back briskly against the dizziness that surged with every breath.
      From a shaft somewhere high above, wan daylight snaked into the empty hall and outlined the folds in the man's black cloak and hood, almost touching his face. Han struggled to see through the twilight that descended on his vision.
      "I can't see," his own voice croaked from somewhere outside himself. His throat was dry.
      "You have hibernation sickness," whispered someone he didn't recognize. "It will pass."
      "Hibernation?" He tried to laugh. "I ain't hibernating. It's the goddamn planet, one frozen hell of a place."
      A hand passed over his eyes, touching with great delicacy, and sight returned abruptly.
      "Where are we?" Han stared around, heard the distant sound of wind blowing sand-drifts against the walls of the palace.
      "Tatooine?" he asked, confused. "This is Tatooine. Jabba's palace."
      A hand closed around his wrist, cool and strong, the pressure just above natural human strength, skin smooth and lightly tanned.
      Han's breath caught as he glanced down at the flawless hand that felt too cool. "It ain't... real," he whispered. "This -- isn't real."
      "But what is reality?" a gentle voice asked.
      The hood fell back with a slight rustle. A wash of daylight caressed blond hair and exposed thin lines around the blue eyes that regarded him with forced sobriety.
      "Luke," he said tonelessly. "You're back. It's been... so long."
      A thin smile haunted Luke's mouth, but the impact of change came only when Han met his eyes again. Winter color, strength burned to great intensity, old grief. Eyes that softened with the shadow of their loss.
      "It's been very long," Luke answered him quietly. "But I'm here now..."

Han jerked awake on the passenger couch in the Falcon's lounge. He hadn't intended to fall asleep. The table before him was littered with precision tools and blueprints of the Falcon's motivator over which he'd been poring, waiting, without credence, for some ingenious idea to strike. They sure needed one, now that the order to evacuate was a matter of hours rather than days. Han rubbed a hand over his eyes, too drowsy to think straight. When he leaned back, he remembered the dream.
      Several curses came to mind at once. Recurring weird dreams were bad enough, but this one was eloquent on top of it all, flaunting what he'd resolved not to think about, embedding itself in his recollection with the merciless clarity of a holo recording. It was neither normal nor healthy to obsess about someone like that.
      Han pushed up and approached the dispenser to fix himself a drink. So he worried about Luke more than he consciously allowed, because he was leaving on some obscure quest.
      Leaving us all behind, Han thought uneasily as he remembered the dream, the profound change he'd read in Luke's eyes. Short years filled with a lifetime of experience. And all that he'd labeled innocence, for lack of a better word, had been lost for good.
      Han's mouth curled in a grimace as he dropped back down on the couch. Premonitions and idle regrets... it had to be the company he was keeping that rubbed off on him. Well, not much longer -- provided they could fix the buckling motivator.
      Han sipped on his drink and glanced at the chrono that informed him it was getting late. His plan to finish repairs before midnight took leave of every realistic estimate. Maybe tomorrow morning they could recruit the services of a mech droid.
      Han exhaled with a sigh as he pictured the hectic rush ahead. The entire base would be dismantled tomorrow, after all those weeks of getting it installed. One more proof that entropy, not some supernatural order ruled the galaxy. And tomorrow, his stint as a righteous Rebel would be over beyond recall.
      Han wondered if anyone had taken the time to inform Luke about the impending evacuation. Luke was still in sickbay, confined to convalescence under Two-Onebee's relentless supervision. Maybe he hadn't even heard about the Imperial probe droid ratting on them in binary gibberish before Han and Chewie could stop the thing.
      Han set his drained cup down and stretched, driving the heavy fatigue from his arms and back. He should drop in on Luke, give him the latest news, make sure he was all right. Because there wouldn't be any time to say proper goodbyes tomorrow.
      Yeah, yeah, who're you foolin'? Han mocked himself. It's that damn dream turning you to mush. Again. Like the night in the shelter had.
      He'd explained it all to himself days ago. Extreme situations could do that type of thing. Cloud the perception, bring out the strangest sentiments. An excess of adrenaline combined with overtaxed nerves and accumulated frustration were to blame for his reactions. And yet, maybe he'd better put his theory to the test, instead of living in the shadows of doubt.
      Han pushed up from his seat. Just a quick visit, then he'd get back to working on the motivator with a clearer mind.

On ordinary days, the Rebel base was wrapping up and falling asleep at this hour; now the place was astir with the flurry of fevered preparations. Maintenance droids had started to pack up portable equipment. Astromechs buzzed around the parked fleet of one-man fighters and snowspeeders, conversing in shrill beeps and whistles. Pilots and ground crew lugged sealed containers to the carrier shuttles.
      Han turned into the central corridor, hands pushed into his jacket's pockets, walking at a leisurely pace. A group of Rebel pilots hurried past and from the corner of his eye, Han caught their curious glances. He seemed to be the only one with nothing to do except stow himself away, and if nothing else did, that showed he wasn't part of the Rebellion any more than Tauntauns or Wampas.
      Inside the med lab, Two-Onebee was waving thin arms as he choreographed the efforts of several nurse droids who were presently disassembling medical equipment. Han passed the window in a quick stride, glad he wouldn't have to ask permission for his late-night visit. Then he punched the door controls again and ran a nervous hand over his collar, hoping he wouldn't disturb.
      Ambient lighting had been dimmed to a diffuse, warm glow. Quiescent, but wide awake, Luke lay on the bed, fingers laced behind his head. At the sound of the opening doors, he pushed up with a quick motion as if startled out of wandering thoughts. Han let the doors slip shut in his back.
      "Hiya, kid," he said, not very brightly, and worked up a loose grin. But the moment he'd entered the room, the moment he met Luke's eyes he already knew what had happened, in spite of his resistance and denial. Knew by the leap of pulse and the jitter in his heartbeat that he was in serious trouble.
      Han crossed the room slowly. His sidelong glance caught the bright red fabric of a flightsuit hung in the closet. "So you know about the evacuation, huh? I'd been wondering..."
      Luke nodded. "Yeah, I've heard, but Two-Onebee wanted to keep me around as long as possible, and to be honest... the dorms don't compare to this place, for comfort." He smiled. "Sit down. How's the Falcon?"
      There wasn't any seat in the cubicle. Han brought his facial muscles under control and cautiously lowered himself onto the edge of the bed.
      "I'm worried about the motivator," he said. "The miserable thing's got the shakes, and we're still not sure what's wrong with it."
      Luke's gaze grew concerned. "Think you can fix it in time?"
      "Yeah, we will, 'cause we have to." Han waved it aside. "What's your call for tomorrow?"
      "I'm on one of the fighter escorts that'll see our transports out of the system -- if nothing else comes up."
      "Such as? Another Wampa adventure?"
      They shared a grin. Han relaxed a little and noticed that the scars on Luke's cheek had healed up without a trace.
      "I'd been wondering if they were keeping you posted at all," he resumed his opening statement, mostly to keep the conversation going. "Everybody's been pretty nervous since we copped that damn Imperial spy."
      "Which you blasted to particles."
      Han pulled up his shoulders. "Well, sounds like scuttlebutt's faster than I thought. Since you've heard all the news I was going to share with you, I guess I'd better let you rest."
      "Hey, wait!" Luke caught his sleeve the moment Han turned. "I've slept enough to stay up through the whole next week, and it gets pretty boring here." When Han had settled back down, he added, "As a matter of fact, they did forget to keep me posted. Leia dropped in about an hour ago."
      "Oh she did, did she?" Han said, forcing a casual tone.
      "Uh-huh." Luke considered for a moment. "We... had an argument the other day, y'know." He looked up at Han. "I was hoping for a quiet moment to tell you. I'm leaving the Rebellion for a while. I've made up my mind that I must follow Ben's advice and continue my training. I'll be able to serve them better, afterwards. Anyway, I told Leia, and she disagreed."
      "I know. She told me."
      "Oh." Luke shrugged a little helplessly.
      "It's your choice," Han said, although Luke hadn't asked his opinion. "There's just one person in the universe who knows what's right for you, and that's you. 'S what I told Leia."
      "Then maybe that was what changed her mind. She said she was sorry for getting so upset."
      "What, Her Royal Holiness apologized? That's a day to remember." To Han's own ears, his sarcastic tone lacked all the usual levity. "So you two... made up, huh?"
      Luke cocked his head, studying him for a silent moment. "It's not like that," he said tentatively. "It's not like we -- well, you know. She only kissed me 'cause you'd nettled her. She... kind of apologized for that, too."
      "Apologized for kissing you? There's something seriously wrong with the girl, and no mistake." Flustered, Han let his gaze travel around the room. "You know, Luke, I'm sorry for causing that scene. I know how you feel about her, and uh--"
      "Relax, Han," Luke said, startled and slightly amused. "I'm not... well, whatever, no need for you to worry."
      "You're not in love with her?" Han blurted before he could stop himself and at the same time wondered if he'd ever read anybody's feelings right.
      "No," Luke answered, slanting him a curious glance. "She's... I don't know, distant, most of the time. Probably sounds funny, but Leia still intimidates me. She's always so sure of everything she does. She's wonderful, but somehow -- I can't reach her. Not like I can reach you."
      Han felt a certain tightness in his throat that warned him to keep his mouth shut for the moment.
      Luke gave an awkward grin. "Besides, I've... never been very good with girls. I feel clumsy around them. You know, like my hands and feet are too big or something." He shrugged in acceptance, humor returning to his expresion.
      "Your hands 'n feet look all right to me," Han said mechanically, wishing he could think of something more intelligent. "And the same goes for the rest of you."
      "You think?" Luke chuckled, discarding the subject. "Like I said, you have no reason to worry, I'm not going to stand in your way."
      "You think I--?" Han almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. "No, honestly, kid. I like her -- sometimes. She's attractive, she's got personality, and someday she's gonna find the upright guy who'll devote his life to the same ideals."
      "And that's all?"
      For unaccounted reasons, Luke's perplexed expression lessened the tension that had crept up on Han. He grinned. "Yeah. You know, if I gave it a try -- if she let me, which isn't at all likely -- it'd be the same old story. Once the fighting stops, it's very predictable. Safe."
      Luke shook his head at him. "You're crazy, Han."
      I must be, Han agreed in silence, because something like vast relief had descended on him, and the laughter in Luke's eyes added a touch of subliminal electricity.
      "You're the one to talk about crazy!" he said, resorting to well-rehearsed, playful tones. "Where's Dagobah anyway? Never heard of that place before."
      "Me neither." Luke's expression grew pensive. "You're not going to believe this, Han, but... out there in the snow, I saw Ben, and I heard him."
      Han barely stopped himself from pointing out that freezing was known to cause hallucinations. It was the memory of his disturbing dreams that halted him. "Well, whoever or whatever told you, go ahead if it feels right," he offered. "Hang on to yourself, and you'll be okay."
      For a second, Luke gave him a strange, probing look, and Han thought of the dream again because there had been something very similar in Luke's eyes. He wasn't going to mention it, wouldn't lend inordinate gravity to nocturnal phantasms so that Luke might be tempted to consider them portents of the future. Worse, he might get Han to believe that, too.
      "You were talking about Kenobi and Dagobah, that night," Han told him instead. "Confused me with the old man, too. Very flattering."
      Despite his wry tones, Luke protested instantly. "I didn't! I knew it was you." He lowered his voice and his gaze. "I knew it was you," he repeated.
      His eyes lifted briefly, then swept away again. Han could feel his stomach tighten. "You remember," he said tonelessly.
      Luke nodded.
      Just -- how much do you recall? Han didn't want to know. He rose brusquely. "'S gettin' late, kid. You need to sleep, and I need to fix the Falcon."
      And they wouldn't see each other until some incalculable chance in the distant future showed mercy, but the right words for the occasion had not been invented yet. Han wasn't looking for any. He absorbed the sight of Luke on the bed, blond hair and blue eyes reflecting the warm light. He cleared his throat. "Do me a favor and try not to run into something big 'n gruesome as soon as I turn my back, okay?"
      "No." Luke drew in a deep breath. "Han, wait. There's something I need to say. I guess it'll make me feel better having said it. The way I feel about you..."
      Han stared at him, the set of his jaw hardening.
      "Yeah, I know, I'm not good at hiding anything. But I've never said it, and I want to. Before you go. Before we both leave." A flicker of nerves showed under Luke's composure when his gaze drifted and found the sheet to focus on. "I've fallen in love with you. You were very good about it, you know... acting like it didn't make any difference. When you said you'd leave, I even wondered if you were doing it to spare me the disappointment."
      "Wait, wait -- I was--?" Han interrupted himself and swept nervous fingers through his hair. Disparate thoughts tugged his mind in several directions at once. Disbelief seeped into every other sentiment and he thought, inconsequentially, that a week ago, he would have done the honorable thing. Tell Luke that love and erotic attraction were things best kept apart to avoid emotional mayhem.
      "I sure wasn't very... good about it, that night in the shelter," he said, voicing the next erratic thought that came. "Luke, you've no idea..."
      "It felt like a dream," Luke said quietly. High color had risen into his cheeks, but the confusion had faded from his tone. "Took me a while to realize it wasn't."
      "Thought you were asleep," Han managed.
      "It was more like slipping in and out of a... fantasy. But I could feel you with me all the time."
      Things were moving too fast. "It wasn't what you think it was," Han started and knew he'd stopped making sense. He paced the cubicle, wondering where to begin. "Luke, I... I guess I'm not used to feeling this way about anyone. It's like -- something I can't control. You've got your own life, and I've got mine."
      Half-turning, he caught the look Luke gave him, and it certainly didn't help him establish control over the situation. Han focused on the clean white wall in front of him.
      "That night, when I worried about you... I felt so goddamn helpless. And then nothing seemed to matter anymore. Except being with you." He flicked a glance over his shoulder. "Shit, I'm acting like a bloody teenager going all jittery in a bad way."
      The silence that followed seemed to accumulate the tension.
      "Are you going to come here, or do you want to spend the night talking to the wall?" Luke asked at length, his voice not entirely steady.
      On a deep breath, Han turned back and did what he'd wanted to do since the moment he'd entered the room. Dropping down by Luke's side, he grabbed his shoulders and kissed him until they were both gasping for breath.
      "I know I shouldn't," Han murmured when he let go. "I'm in trouble."
      Luke obviously couldn't say a thing. His hand lifted to caress Han's temple and play in his hair, and Han leaned over to lose himself to another kiss. His tongue slid across the soft lips, darted into the warmth of Luke's mouth, challenging until his exploration was returned with the same, breathless ardor. Luke's fingers twisted in his hair as he pulled Han closer.
      The hungry pressure of Luke's mouth and the sensuous caresses of his tongue released small shivers that played across Han's skin. Confidence built from Luke's initial hesitance, and his responses stirred Han in a guarded place, where confused emotions entangled themselves. Han broke the kiss for a long, shaky breath and hugged him hard.
      "This is so--" he said against Luke's hair and laughed, out of breath. "To think that I thought you were jealous -- hell, what a mess."
      Luke's hands closed around his shoulders and gripped tightly. "I was," he said, turning his face. "Didn't think you'd ever... notice me."
      "No? Then you're crazier than I thought." Han ran his fingertips across Luke's cheek, traced the jawline gently, and looked at him until Luke closed his eyes. Han breathed a very light kiss against his lips. "I've been having all kinds of strange dreams about you, some conscious, and some not..." He shook his head and straightened a little. "Why'm I boring you with this, huh?"
      An incredulous smile curved Luke's mouth. "I'm far from getting bored, believe me." His hands slid down Han's chest to slip inside the jacket. "Why don't you... take that off?"
      Han glanced down at himself and wondered why he'd been walking around the base with his heavy blaster belt. Professional habit and notorious distraction, he told himself. "Yeah, right. Get rid of those boots, too."
      The jacket and blaster belt followed. He stood for a second and smiled at Luke, almost losing track of his thoughts again. Until Luke pushed the bed's cover aside and made room for him.
      "How d'you manage to get comfortable on that damn narrow thing?" Han grumbled when he let himself down on the bed and pulled Luke into his arms.
      "You're not supposed to get sick together."
      "Yeah, lovesick." Han buried his mouth in the softness of blond strands and smiled at the slight indrawn breath his words stirred. "I'm gonna file a complaint before I leave. Medical beds are too small, and so are their freakin' emergency shelters. What else?"
      "We can't lock the door."
      "We can't? I sure hope droids knock before they enter."
      Luke had pulled the shirt out of his pants, and the pattern his hands made on bare skin scattered Han's thoughts. He slid closer, trailing kisses down the side of Luke's throat while his fingers skimmed across the soft folds of Luke's pajamas. The loose tunic and pants were a point in favor of sickbay, he noted, because they allowed him easy access. His hand dipped under the thin fabric to explore Luke's chest and grazed instantly tightening nipples. Luke squirmed against his touch, and his excitement reflected through Han in quickening ripples. Scattered heat pooled in his groin, too powerful to resist.
      With one swift and definite move, he took command, pinned Luke to the bed with his weight and caught back a gasp as sensations closed in from all sides. The feel of the strong, slender body stretched out under him, the sight of Luke, disheveled and flushed, the sound of his fast breaths all conspired to overturn Han's control.
      Matching his erection to the hardness that rose inside loose pajamas, he pushed against Luke, and a low moan caressed his senses.
      "I must be dreamin'," Han said softly, letting his lips brush Luke's temple. "You're... I don't know -- something to make me lose my head."
      "I guess I've already lost mine," Luke murmured back, hands stroking insistent tenderness down Han's back, giving him shivers that crawled all the way up to the nape of his neck. He cupped Luke's face firmly and laid claim to his mouth again, deepening the kiss while he rocked his hips into a steady rhythm. Luke moaned into his mouth. Instinct drove Han's motions and pulsed through him hard and fast as he thrust forward, demanding surrender. Luke arched against him with ragged breaths, urged Han closer -- and stiffened abruptly.
      With a fleeting sense of regret, Han felt the shivers that ran through the slender frame but didn't break his rhythm for a second -- it was too late anyway -- and the sound of Luke's voice groaning in sweet, ravaging pleasure gave him a thrill of scalding intensity. The tremors subsided, and Han eased off to lie at Luke's side, holding him in a gentle embrace.
      An expression of dazed contentment spread on Luke's face. Long lashes fluttered against his cheeks.
      "You're too fast for me," Han teased, watching him. "But I suppose we're even now."
      The comment stirred Luke from his abandon. Still breathing fast, he locked his arms around Han's waist. "Not by a long shot," he said.
      His gaze lowered, traveled slowly down from Han's mouth, across his throat and the bare skin revealed by a half-unbuttoned shirt, until Han could almost feel that gaze raking him. Luke pulled away to run his fingertips over the prominent bulge in his pants and back up with gentle pressure.
      "Watch what you do," Han said tightly. "That blaster might go off before you know."
      When Luke relented with a small grin, Han pushed both hands under his tunic and pulled it over his head, gathering Luke in his arms for a swift embrace. "How d'you feel, huh?"
      Luke let out an emphatic sigh. "Still totally amazed. And totally wonderful." He leaned back to look straight into Han's eyes. "I love you," he said, almost soberly.
      Han swallowed. "I swear I'd no idea..." He glanced aside and shook his head. "Guess I was trying so hard not to think about you too much that I didn't notice anything."
      "Why?" Luke asked.
      "Because--" The answer had been easy when hormones and wanton fantasies alone worried him. Now it wasn't anymore. "Because I was starting to think ahead -- about the future," Han tried, sure he wasn't making any sense. "And the future's a millstone round your neck. You never know what you've got coming anyway, and if you wish too hard--" He stopped with a shrug.
      Luke buried his face in the curve of Han's throat. "Don't we have a future?"
      "Sure, several." His forced humor failed to alleviate the sudden tension, and Han abandoned it with a deep breath. "No," he said. "We don't have a future. All we've got is now." Another wisdom he'd lived by for years of riding fortune's capricious tides. Now it sat heavily amidst his tangling thoughts.
      "How did this happen?" he asked softly.
      "How d'you mean?" Luke's head came up slowly. "There's no reason why you fall in love. Isn't that the whole point?" A sudden glitter chased the clouds of distant sadness from his eyes. "Or do you want to hear how wonderful you are--?" He twined his fingers with Han's and lifted them to his mouth for short, breathy kisses blown against his fingertips. "Your hands, your eyes, your mouth--"
      "Yeah, yeah, I've heard enough already," Han growled, cheeks warming with unreasonable embarrassment.
      "Your soul," Luke said, unperturbed.
      Han gathered a handful of blond hair and held Luke against his chest, very tightly. Felt him with the length of his body, with the ebb and flow of breath and heartbeat. He closed his eyes.
      "Love you, too," he murmured, articulating words that involved a future they didn't have, a commitment that couldn't hold, and that was the only reason he could say them at all.
      Luke gave a small start and hugged him closer. They were quiet in each other's arms for a while until Luke slid his fingers under Han's shirt and buttoned it down, tugging the fabric aside to cruise the warmed skin with his mouth. He looked up.
      "If all we've got is now..." He paused and sheltered a skipping heartbeat with his palm that rested lightly on Han's breastbone. "Make love to me, Han."
      Han raised a hand to lay it against Luke's cheek. "I sure as hell want to, but--"
      "But nothing," Luke interrupted. "I've been waiting long enough already."
      "Oh, you have, huh?" Han grinned weakly, letting his hands fall off in a gesture of surrender. "Just look at the state I'm in..."
      They lost the rest of their clothes fast and embraced again, breath catching in their throats at the electric friction of skin against skin. The simmering fever in Han's groin climbed again rapidly as he smoothed his hands down Luke's back and felt a stiffening cock rise to rest alongside his own erection. He whispered in Luke's ear, between swift kisses and sharply indrawn breaths, told him how perfect he was wherever his fingers touched until Luke broke away.
      "Han, you... go on like that, and I won't last another second."
      Han stilled the motion of his hands with a smile and leaned over, their lips almost touching.
      "What's it matter?" he whispered against Luke's mouth, just before he sank into the kiss.
      His tongue slipped into Luke's mouth to explore him slowly and deeply, searching him out to claim and express what he couldn't say. Too many feelings beset him, ambiguous and heady after long confinement. Cajoled by Luke's intense response to every touch, every word.
      When he let go, Luke pressed into him with a low moan, arms flung around Han's neck, refusing to release him. His legs twined with Han's, trapping him close.
      The pressure between their groins charged Han's nerves with overbright sensations that traveled across sensitized skin in a lightspeed journey.
      "Luke," he brought out huskily, "wait... we're gonna need something... some sort of lubricant."
      "Oh... yeah." The clouded blue eyes still fixed Han's mouth and lifted reluctantly. "I suppose there must be something 'round here."
      "Lucky we're in sickbay," Han muttered. He sat up, inhaling deeply, and looked around.
      In a locker across the room he found an assortment of lotions and made a random pick. Anticipation deepened his breath as he walked the short distance back to the bed and felt himself cross an invisible line simultaneously, as if past and future had chosen to collide in this place. Every moment registered with strange intensity, shaping memories that entrenched themselves without pardon.
      "I'm ready," Luke said unasked, reaching out to him. "Han--"
      He returned into those open arms and dragged his fingers through the blond strands to ease away some of the urgency. Bodies molded against each other, immediately electrified. Han opened his mouth to an impassioned kiss, felt Luke's tongue play tenderly with his own while he sent his hand down searching, gentling, loosening tense muscles. Luke wriggled closer to his touch, the cadence of his breath disrupted when a finger found its way inside him and moved in a slow rhythm.
      Han raised himself when readiness finally turned into raw need. He gripped the lean thighs that opened for him and dragged in a long breath he wasn't going to let out anytime soon. Leaning down over Luke, he saw all the stormy longing on his face, in his eyes, and gathered whatever was left of his reason to him.
      The first, tentative prod brought a blinding wave of sensation down on him, and Han pushed in too hard and fast and came to his senses only when protesting muscles forced him back out.
      Luke stifled a cry and bit down on his lip.
      "Hell, I'm sorry, I'll be more careful," Han rasped through clenched teeth and counted out the seconds it took him to regain control. He caressed Luke's face. "It's gonna hurt for a bit, whatever I do. Just let it come, okay? No need to be tough about it."
      He pressed down slowly with closed eyes, almost winced at the moans forced by pain, not pleasure, commanding himself to keep still until the small signs of acceptance eased around his straining flesh. He could feel Luke's eyes on his face, searching him. And when Luke whispered his name like a secret pledge, the sound of it scalded him like a brand on his soul.
      He urged his body deep between Luke's thighs, lost himself to the richness of scent and sensation. Ragged breath warmed his face with uncompromising love, eloquent in the language of insistent hands raking tenderness down his sides. Love, taken where it was found, unquestioned -- and he had to remind himself to believe nothing else, ask no questions.
      Driven to the limits of endurance too soon, Han curled his fingers around a firm erection, coaxed the deep moans of pleasure and need he'd longed to hear from Luke and felt their echoes swell in his nerves. He began to thrust firmly, unable to obey the need to prolong this as a more savage urge took over.
      The pulse of a sharp thrill ran wild through him. He dived with it, drawn by the demanding embrace of strong arms and flesh, thrusting in a ragged rhythm, and found Luke's eyes -- an entranced expression, drawn inward to explore the moment--
      His sight dimmed with the hard climax that took him. He collapsed on top of Luke, pressing into him, welding them together during those moments of mindless, overwhelming completion.
      Thinking returned slowly, awakened by the sound of a gentle voice. Side by side on the narrow bed, they looked at each other.
      "That was one," Luke whispered after a long time, his mouth brushing Han's throat.
      "One?" he echoed drowsily.
      "You said I owe you two, remember? When you come back--" Luke stopped to kiss him.
      The future, out of reach. But Han nodded and returned a smile to mask the predictable heaviness that had entered his mind. The brightness in Luke's eyes was already burning for an unknown future with harder passions, he was ready to plunge himself down the maw of reality lying in wait to tear his fantastic dreams apart.
      Luke raised himself on an elbow. "Hey, what's wrong?"
      "Nothing's wrong," Han said thickly, meaning it. "You're just... getting to me, that's all."
      The blue eyes drifted, unfocused. "How long until we--?" Abruptly, Luke's head lowered. "I know," he whispered. "It will be long, Han."
      "Yeah." Sobriety spread its cool consolation through Han's thoughts.
      Sudden knowledge had hardened Luke's expression when he looked up again, inescapable change invading his eyes with the first shadows. "I'll come back to you. I promise."
            Han thought about the hooded man of his dreams, the strange frost in those familiar eyes. "I won't forget," he said hoarsely.
      With a hesitant smile, Luke curled up against him and fell asleep within moments, arms locked around Han who lay wide awake.
      Tomorrow did not exist, no matter the promises they made, the hopes and the dreams that toyed with his ungathered mind. Nothing's safe, he told himself. Which was how he'd always wanted it.