Characters created by George Lucas- so they belong to him (I'm merely sharing for a short time). This is set shortly after A New Hope.

My sincere appreciation to Sonia and Heather for previewing this story, then giving me their thoughts and impressions. It always helps!

DOUBTS OF A HERO

- by Michelle Lunsford (04/98)

It was a typical morning in the east side dining hall. Various aromas, hinting at a plethora of edibles, wafted through the air. A myriad of humans and aliens, all dressed in a varied array of what could only loosely be termed Rebel uniforms, were milling their way in and out of the area. Still others had paused in the hall to enjoy a meal, catch the morning's news on the comm, or share a conversation over a cup of some preferred steaming liquid. All these activities registered, at least on some conscious level, in the awareness of all the beings that happened to be in the area at the time.

All, that is, except for one particular being.

The young man sat silent and alone in a far corner of the room. He was absolutely oblivious to his entire surroundings.

"Hey, kid. You awake?"

Somehow the voice made its way through the heavy haze in the young man's mind. A pair of troubled blue eyes blinked twice, and then focused on a familiar face. A slightly confused expression soon took form on the young man's features and he mumbled a response to fully express the extent to which he had understood his friend's query.

"Huh?"

Han Solo gave a half chuckle before occupying the only empty chair at the table. "Come on, buddy. Don't tell me you're *still* recovering from the party."

Luke Skywalker's brain slowly began to put the pieces into the appropriate places. No doubt it had appeared to his friend that he was out of sorts, so preoccupied had he been with his own thoughts. The party to which Han had referred was the event that had celebrated the destruction of the Death Star. While a brief medal awarding ceremony had occurred almost immediately after the demise of the formidable Imperial weapon, prudence and experience had then declared a hasty retreat was in order. So the Rebels had packed up camp and withdrawn from their temporary home on Yavin IV. A few weeks later camp had been more slowly, but no less orderly, set up again.

The new Rebel base was now established on Kreelos, a remote moon on the fringes of the outer rim. Though mild in climate, it was just barely habitable due to the mixture of gases in the atmosphere. A few additional days had passed, and once the Rebel leaders reached a point where they felt it was relatively safe enough to step back and take a breath, a full-fledged celebration of the Alliance's victory was organized and duly carried out. This had been two nights ago.

At various times throughout that long evening, Luke had found the focal point of the festivities to be none other than himself. This experience was received by the young hero with a mixture of emotions that spanned the gamut from sheer delight to utter perturbation. The later extreme, Luke had noticed, was especially the case when he discovered that there were several young females at the party who had expressed great interest in meeting the 'daring young pilot with the bashful smile'. At least that's how Han claimed to have overheard one lovely hopeful's description. It was, no doubt, this aspect of the events that led to Han's next comment.

Leaning in, conspiratorially, Han whispered to his companion, "Or were you up all last night having a private celebration?"

"Han!" Luke retorted with a good deal of exasperation, a distinct color working its way up his neck and face.

The smuggler gave his friend a hearty slap on the back. "Oh, don't get so riled up, kid. You know I'm just giving you a hard time."

Luke, not in a particular mood to appreciate his friend's efforts, responded with a sour expression before returning his attention to breakfast. He took one bite, chewed, and barely managed to swallow. It was cold. Just how long, Luke wondered, had he been sitting here?

"Hey Luke, everything okay?"

Once again it took a few seconds longer than it should have for Han's voice to register.

"Hmm?" Luke responded.

The older man drew his eyebrows together in a questioning, almost suspicious, manner. "I asked if everything was okay." He paused. All joking had been replaced by obvious concern. "You feeling alright?"

Luke pushed his plate aside and released a sigh. "I'm sorry, Han. It's just that I didn't sleep well last night." He waited, some part of his brain wondering if Han would take that comment and run with it. But the only response was the continued, questioning gaze.

"Actually," Luke went on, "I hardly slept at all."

Han was leaning across the table now, arms crossed, voice low. "You want to talk about it?"

Luke opened his mouth as if to speak, then thought better of it. Finally, he just shook his head. His gaze drifted away and an uncomfortable silence began to hang between them.

"Listen," Han said suddenly, leaning back in his chair. "There are some things I need to do on the Falcon. I was wondering, if you're not busy, would you give me a hand?"

"Sure, be glad to." The response was sincere, but there was a definite weariness in Luke's voice that he made no attempt to hide. "I'm scheduled for some flight simulations later this morning, but I'm free after that."

There was another, slightest of pauses before Han stood and responded, "Just come by the hanger bay whenever you're ready. I'll probably be there all day."

Luke managed a nod and watched as his friend turned and exited the dining hall. The next thing he knew, Artoo was beside the table, emitting a series of unmistakably urgent beeps. The young man blinked, realizing once again that he had been sitting, staring blankly ahead, completely lost in thought.

"Alright, alright, Artoo." A quick glance at a chronometer on a nearby wall revealed the reason for the little droid's insistence. He was late for the flight simulations. Hurriedly disposing of his mostly uneaten breakfast, Luke exited the hall, Artoo fast on his heels.

* * *

It was early afternoon and Luke Skywalker was meandering down corridors that would eventually lead him to the hanger bay where the Millennium Falcon was berthed. In direct contrast to his leisurely steps, Luke's thoughts were racing about in a most haphazard fashion. He had done poorly at the morning's flight simulations. No, he thought, poorly was too kind a word. Pathetic would be much more accurate. When the commander had questioned him about his performance, Luke didn't have a reasonable reply. The excuse of just having an off day was not one considered acceptable by the Rebel Alliance. In this business, just having an off day was likely to get someone killed. Luke had reluctantly admitted that he hadn't had much sleep in the past couple of days, and with a promise, as the commander had bluntly stated, to alter his sleeping habits and to spend extra hours in the simulators, Luke was given no further reprimand. The latter of the requirements Luke was certain could be accomplished. After last night, he wasn't so certain about the other.

Once again the images flashed in Luke's mind. He could feel the back of his neck tense as he fought not to concentrate on them, not to fix his mind's eye on any of them. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He felt the bitter pain as it stabbed his chest, and then the bottomless void beginning to claw at him from somewhere in his abdomen. No matter how hard he tried, Luke simply couldn't get the dream out of his head. When he began to feel a wave of dizziness, Luke paused to lean against the wall, hoping desperately that no one would stop to ask if he were okay.

Don't panic, he thought silently, and focused on taking slow, deep breaths. Within a few seconds, the dizziness passed. The images also departed, scurrying back to the dark recesses of his mind where they would wait to haunt him again. He ran a shaky hand over his face, and wiped away clammy perspiration. For a moment Luke considered returning to his quarters. But he knew there was no rest to be found there. In sleep, the dream would only attack him full force. At least in physical labor Luke had the possibility of forgetting his demons for a while. Besides, he'd already promised Han that he would help.

The sight of the Falcon occupying one corner of the hanger bay was, in its own way, a comfort to the young man. Luke had learned to appreciate the ship, having discovered through some rather harrowing experiences that she wasn't quite the piece of junk she appeared to be. By design, outward appearance was little indication of what the Falcon truly was. Not much unlike her captain, Luke thought.

As Luke made his way up the ramp, typical sounds of routine repairs could be heard from inside. Mixed among the noise of tools against metal parts was the distinctive sound of rather expressive Wookie and Correlian curses.

"Blast it, Chewie, I thought we replaced that converter not even two months ago. What do you mean it's blown?" Han noticed the young man's arrival and waved him in towards the cockpit as an irritated Wookie reply came across the comm speaker. Apparently the converter, though in good condition, had suffered by being hooked up in configuration with a much less reliable part; just one of Han's many personal modifications. The pilot swore. "Well, we'll just have to get another one, and hook it up through the *left* power coupling this time. Use the older one we have in the spare parts until I can lay my hands on a new one."

The answer from the comm spoke clearly of Chewbacca's assessment of that particular resolution to the problem.

"Yeah, well I didn't ask you to like it, you big furball, I just asked you to fix it. If it bothers you that much you can always work on the afterburners instead."

Another derogatory bark was heard, but Luke knew that would be the end of it as Chewie went to work on the converter.

"Hi, Han. How's it going?"

"Don't ask," was the gruff reply. Then Han got a good look at his friend's pale features. "Hey kid, you okay? You don't look so good."

"I'm fine," Luke lied, and thrust his hands into the pockets of his coveralls. "Just a bad day in the simulators."

"Whatever," Han replied casually. "If you're ready to get started, I could use a hand with some fine tuning I want to do in the hyperdrive unit."

Luke nodded. "Let's get on it."

* * *

Several hours later, the two men were tired and dirty, but the Falcon was a little farther along in her increasingly elaborate modified status.

"I believe that'll do it for today. I really appreciate your help," Han commented as he extricated himself from the narrow space between two engine components he'd crawled into earlier.

Luke waved him off with the towel he was using to wipe the grunge from his hands. "Glad I could help."

Han searched for his own towel, discovered he'd lost it somewhere along the way, and wiped his hands on his pants leg instead. "How about something to eat? I'm starved."

Having barely eaten a few bites of breakfast, and skipping lunch altogether, Luke heartily agreed. He was even a little surprised to find he was hungry at all, considering how his appetite had decreased greatly in the wake of his disturbing dream. Actually, he'd felt more at ease this afternoon, in Han's company, than he could remember being in several days. Suddenly the idea of facing groups of people in public struck Luke as something he wanted to avoid.

"Say, why don't I see about getting something sent to us here on the Falcon?" It was a simple enough suggestion, and Luke hoped his outward demeanor wouldn't hint that there was more to it than that.

"Why, you got something against eating in the dining hall?"

The young pilot shrugged. "Nah. I just don't feel like going to the trouble of getting cleaned up enough for public appearance, and you're even filthier than I am." Luke knew it was an excuse, but he didn't want to admit the real reason.

"Okay. Just be sure and tell who ever that if tonight's special is Marivian noodles, I don't want any. Last time I ate that I nearly broke out in hives."

Han attempted to clean up a little more, and before long Luke returned with two plates piled high of something that smelled absolutely delicious. They ate ravenously, and talked of repairs and future alterations that Han planned for his beloved ship until long after the meal was finished.

"Blast, when did it get so late," Han said when he noticed the time. "I don't mean to eat and run, kid, but my presence was expected at a sabacc game ten minutes ago."

Luke had learned that a sabacc game was just one of the ways some pilots managed to relax during their down time. "Who's playing tonight?"

"Wedge, some guy named Hobbie who shipped in with that new unit yesterday, and a couple others."

The sensation of calm and wellbeing Luke experienced earlier had continued while remaining in Han's company, and he was hesitant to leave. But he knew there was no avoiding the sickening dread, the inescapable nightmare he could already sense as the images began working their way into his mind. For an instant he considered asking Han if he could come along. But Luke didn't feel up to dealing with this mood in the company of a group. And if Wedge would be playing cards, then Luke knew he could be alone for a while in the quarters he shared with the pilot. Trying not to show signs of the apprehension that seemed to be coming upon him in waves, Luke stood to leave.

"Well, don't take all their credits in one night. I'll see you around." Luke hoped his comment came across lighthearted, but his voice sounded distant in his own ears. He turned to head down the corridor that would lead him to the exit ramp. Suddenly everything began to tilt and spin as dizziness surged his senses. He reached out for support against a nearby bulkhead, but missed, his arm flailing.

"Luke!" Han managed to grab the young man's shoulder before he fell, catching him and easing him into the chair.

"Sorry," Luke mumbled, his voice no more steady than his legs had been. "I must've stood up too quickly."

The smuggler didn't buy that for a moment. "What the blazes is wrong with you?"

"Nothing." Luke pushed his friend away, and blinked in an effort to focus his vision. "Don't worry about it. Just go on, you're late for your game."

"Forget the stupid sabacc game." Han's voice was stern. "This is the third time today I've noticed that something is wrong, and each time you've tried to tell me you're fine. Now are you going to tell me what's up or am I going to have to throw you over my shoulder and cart you to the medcenter myself?"

Luke knew Han could and would do just that, but he remained silent, pointedly avoiding the older man's gaze.

"You stubborn little gundark!" Han's concern expressed itself in frustration. He stood, faced away from Luke, hands on hips as he fumed. A few seconds later, he took the chair opposite Luke, attempting a different approach.

"Listen Luke, we both know I'm certainly not one for being all buddy-buddy when it comes to talking about problems and feelings. But something is going on, and I don't like the look of it. I'm worried about you and I want to help."

Luke managed to meet his eyes this time, but still said nothing.

"Hey, I'm your friend, you know." The smuggler displayed his best lopsided grin. "At least that's what you keep trying to tell me ever since I saved your skin. So why don't you let me play the part this time?"

The taunt worked, and Luke looked away guiltily. "Something's happening to me, Han." His voice was raspy, raw. When he raised his eyes this time, Luke made no attempt to hide the pain that had plagued him for days.

Years of mastering a sabacc face prevented Han from expressing the cold alarm he felt at that look. "What do you mean?"

Luke took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "I've been having this nightmare. Only I'm beginning to think it's more than just a nightmare."

Han nodded, allowing Luke to take the lead in the conversation now.

"It didn't really start out that way. It was more or less this feeling, just a sense of something bad that I couldn't quite pin down, but I just couldn't shake it either. I began to notice it soon after we left Yavin. Like I said, it didn't seem serious at first, and we were all so busy during that time that I didn't give it much thought. Then when we arrived on Kreelos it started to affect my sleep. Not a dream at first, just making me restless, you know. I could tell I wasn't sleeping as well. Then there were dreams, for several nights. But always when I'd wake up, I could never remember what it was about. I couldn't remember any of the images, only this horrible feeling of dread." Luke paused, his ashen face going even paler. He swallowed hard, his mind swirling with the pictures he desperately wanted to forget. His voice quaked slightly. "Until last night."

Han leaned forward, concern evident in his hazel eyes. He placed a hand on the young man's shoulder in a supportive gesture, but remained silent. If Luke was going to tell him, it had to be in his own timing.

Luke allowed his gaze to drift away and his eyes became unfocused, haunted. His voice projected a calm timbre that was somehow disquieting. "I see stormtroopers and Imperial soldiers, thousands of them. At first they're faceless, but it changes and I can see their faces clearly, even the stormtroopers because their helmets are removed. They're all crying out in horrible pain. It's so loud, I've never heard anything so loud. And then I see other people, men and women, some children too. Somehow, I know, these people are the family and friends of those Imperials. And now they're crying out too. Everyone is screaming their pain at me and it's so loud I think my mind will explode from the noise. And I can feel their pain too; the grief, the fear, the horror. It grabs at me, like it's trying to pull me into some bottomless hole. The noise and the feeling, it all just keeps building, getting stronger and stronger. I'm suffocating from it all. And then--"

Luke's voice faltered, continuing only in unsteady gasps. "Then I see my aunt and uncle. They're in pain, unbearable pain. There are flames and smoke everywhere. I can feel the heat, hotter than the worst midday on Tatooine, and everything is so horrible and loud. I want to escape but I can't. They're all reaching for me, pulling me under. I can't even scream."

Luke squeezed his eyes shut in vain against the images. He was visibly trembling now. "Last night, when I woke up, I could still see it all. The images, the feelings, everything keeps coming back. I can't get it out of my mind, Han." His voice broke in sobs. "It's all my fault. They're all dead because of me!"

The Correlian pilot pulled back, unsure how to respond. He'd experienced his own share of nightmares in the past, but somehow he knew this was different. The young man hunched down in the chair before him was obviously in torment and Han felt at a definite loss. But when anguished, blue eyes turned to him, imploring him, Han knew he would do whatever it took to find a way to help his friend.

"I'm not sure I have all the answers, kid," Han replied after a deep breath. "But we're gonna find them together, okay?"

Luke managed a nod. He pulled his arms tight about his chest, suddenly feeling chilled. "You got a jacket or something? I'm freezing."

Han moved to retrieve a blanket from an overhead compartment.

"So, you think I should see someone about this," Luke asked, pulling the blanket around his shoulders. His voice still sounded shaky.

Han considered carefully before answering. "Let's talk about this for a bit before we make any decisions. One thing at a time."

Luke nodded again, something akin to relief passing over his now haggard features.

"The first thing you've got to do is stop this guilt trip about your aunt and uncle's death." Han held up a hand to silence his friend. "Just listen to me for a minute. Now you've told me the details of the story before, and unless you omitted something about those events, there is no way I believe this 'it's all my fault' idea. It may not be the answer you want to hear, but what happened to your family just happened. It could have been anyone who bought those droids, but it was your uncle who did. And so it was your uncle the Imps found when they came looking. It may not be fair, but it is life. And in case you haven't figured it out, kid, life is not fair."

"But if I'd at least been there," Luke protested with the old argument.

"Then you'd be dead," Han said bluntly. "So you might have been a cocky hot-shot and knocked off two or three stormtroopers, but you'd still be dead. And that Death Star would still be out there." He plunged on, not waiting for any reaction from Luke. "Which leads to my second point. Now I'm certainly no expert, but some of what you described in that dream sounds like maybe your mind is trying to find a way of dealing with the fact that you now find yourself in the middle of this crazy war."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that in a very short period of time you've gone from being a backwards moisture farmer to a key player in the very heart of the Rebellion," Han replied. "That can't be easy to accept."

That was something of an understatement, Luke thought bitterly. Although a part of him was glad, proud to be playing an active role now, it had all happened so quickly. He'd been thrust into each new situation with little or no time to consider all the consequences. Even afterwards there had not been time to adequately deal with all the changes, and now it seemed everything was crashing in on his conscious at once. So another part of him was very angry at fate, or luck, or the Force, or whatever had led him to this point.

Han was continuing, "I know that trying to help your uncle make a living on Tatooine was a rough life, but nothing could have prepared you for the kind of things you've seen, the kind of things you've had to do in the past few weeks."

The Correlian leaned forward and something in his expression changed. Luke felt riveted by it. He was sure he'd never seen the man look more sincere.

"Actually, you're holding up a lot better than I would have thought. Which just puts another clinch into this hunch of mine." Han locked his eyes with the young hero. "You're meant to be something special, kid."

"I didn't ask to be special," Luke responded hotly, expressing some of the ire he felt.

Han shrugged. "Doesn't matter. It's your lot in life. You can either learn to make the most of it, or ignore it. But take this one piece of advice. If you don't at least try to live up to your potential, you'll never be happy."

"How do you know?"

"Because I've seen your kind before, and your kind never are happy any other way."

Luke sighed. Han was telling him the truth, a truth he already knew and, in a sense, had already accepted. But that didn't make it any less frustrating, especially considering that accepting his gifts also meant accepting the responsibilities that came with them.

"Han, it was my shot that destroyed the Death Star. Because of me, thousands of people are dead." Luke finally voiced a thought that had been disturbing him for some time.

"And because of you thousands and thousands now have a better chance of living," Han pointed out.

"That's a pad answer and you know it," Luke replied testily. "Yes, I know that if the Death Star were still here then Yavin would have been blown to bits and who knows how many more planets in the future. I know the Empire is wrong, and what we're fighting for is right. But that doesn't change the fact that I killed all those people."

Luke trudged forward, not daring to stop now that so much of what he'd been fighting against was finally being vented. "There were men on that station, men like me, who had simply gone to the Academy in an effort to escape their life back home. And there were men with families, wives and children, fathers and mothers. They were just doing their jobs, fulfilling their duty. Not every Imperial is as evil as the Emperor, Han. Some of them are just people, good people who simply don't realize what the Empire has become."

"You're absolutely right," Han admitted. He pointed a finger squarely at the younger man's chest. "But I'm going to tell you something, and if you don't ever learn another thing from me, I want you to learn this. We are in a war. And in war, both the innocent and the guilty die. There's both justice and injustice. It's going to happen, whether you're directly involved or not. And you will always be involved, eventually, on some level. War touches everyone. The question comes down to this; which side are you going to fight for? Are you going to get involved as much as possible? Are you going to take the opportunities offered you? Are you going to do everything you can to make sure that justice and the deaths of the guilty far outweigh the injustices and the deaths of the innocent? You have to make that decision, and you have to live with that decision. In war, things aren't always black and white, kid. Sometimes you just have to decide how much gray you can live with."

Luke let the words fix themselves in his mind. There was wisdom there, more probably than he could initially realize. He felt that, in time, it might help him deal with some of the things he had done. And, no doubt, with many of the things he would face in the future.

"Thank you," Luke said after a long silence. He eased the blanket from his shoulders and began to methodically fold it for storage again. "I'm glad-- glad I was finally able to talk about some of this stuff."

"I'm still a bit worried though," Han added, his voice still laced with emotion. "I know we've talked and all, but you were right when you said there's more to this than just a bad nightmare."

Luke met his gaze. "Then you do think I should see someone about this."

The pilot waved his hands in a negative gesture. "That's not necessarily what I mean. I'm just saying that when you described it to me, you were pretty shook up. It's also affecting your sleep, you aren't eating regular, and you almost passed out right here on the ship. You have to consider it might be something you need to speak with someone else about. Someone you can talk to, maybe on a regular basis, and in strict confidentiality."

"And why couldn't that someone be you," Luke asked pointedly.

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," Han replied with a grin. Then he sobered. "And I want you to know you can talk to me whenever, about anything. But I just think you should consider someone who might be able to do more than just talk back. I think you should confide in the Princess."

"I don't know," Luke said quietly. He'd certainly felt like a hero when they rescued Leia from the Death Star, but now that she was among the Alliance and into some sense of routine with her responsibilities, he'd not felt as comfortable about approaching her. "Leia's awfully busy these days, and she has so much to do with the higher ups in the Alliance. Plus with everything she's been through, maybe I shouldn't bother her with my problems."

Han nearly laughed. "Would you listen to yourself? Is this the same presumptuous farmboy who talked me and Chewie into marching into an Imperial detention block?"

Luke just stared back at him sheepishly and shrugged.

"Of course she's busy, and she's got pull with the brass, and she's been through hell, but those are also reasons why she'd be the perfect one for you to talk to. With her clout, maybe the Princess could point you in the right direction if you should need to talk about this dream business to someone else. And the fact that she's busy means she probably hasn't time to deal with all the feelings and thoughts going through that crazy mind of hers regarding recent events. In case you haven't noticed, you two have those things in common. You might be able to understand each other in a way no one else can."

"I guess I hadn't thought of that."

"And," Han went on, "she already thinks of you as a good friend. I'd wager she hopes you'd say the same thing about her."

"Of course I would."

"Then talk to her." The smuggler gave his friend a playful wink. "Besides, I think she's got an eye for you."

The young man smiled for the first time since their discussion began, and color flushed his cheeks. "She's just being polite and diplomatic," he managed.

This time, Han did laugh. "Sure. Whatever you say, kid."

"Now wait a minute," Luke persisted. "Yes, I do care about Leia. I care about her a lot. And she is-- well, she is beautiful. But that doesn't mean that-- I mean, just because--"

Han, obviously amused at the young pilot's floundering, grinned and raised one eyebrow questioningly, suggestively.

Luke stopped his stuttering and stared down at his hands. "I don't know what I mean, really. All I do know is that what matters right now is that I want to be her friend. Anything else that might happen-- well, anything else isn't important."

Han, somewhat impressed by his friend's suddenly intent seriousness, considered that. It seemed the naive farmboy was growing up after all.

"I'll think about what you said," Luke continued. "Maybe talking with Leia about some of this would help."

A brief silence passed before Han finally spoke a final concern. "There's just one more thing I want to mention. About this whole dream thing, you kept mentioning you could feel everything, as well as see it."

Luke nodded.

"Do you suppose this has anything at all to do with," Han paused, obviously uncomfortable with addressing the subject. "Could this be related in some way to your connection with the Force?"

Luke looked surprised. "I didn't think you believed in that."

"Well, let's just say that I've been around enough to know what works, and what works for me is staying one step ahead of the game using my wits and my good aim with a blaster." The smuggler shrugged. "Maybe what works for you is something a little different. The old man certainly seemed to think so."

Mention of Luke's mentor, Ben Kenobi, reopened the floodgates of loss. "What difference does it make," Luke asked, a grievous edge in his tone.

"I'd think it makes a big difference," Han replied.

Luke exploded, liberating the maelstrom of his frustration and grief. "But how am I supposed to know? What am I supposed to do about it? What good is it for me to have the Force when there's no one to train me now?"

The Correlian looked contrite. "I'm sorry, Luke. I didn't mean to bring it all back up again."

Luke shook his head. "It's not your fault." He wiped at tears that had suddenly fallen, unbidden down his cheeks. "I just miss Ben, that's all."

Han touched the younger man's shoulder, offering what comfort he could.

"I just feel so lost sometimes," Luke whispered. "There's so much I don't know."

"I wish I had some advice to offer," Han voiced with sincerity. "But most of what I know about Jedi consists of little more than cantina stories."

Luke nodded, acknowledging his friend's desire to help. He knew there had to be answers, somewhere. And in time he would find them. But for now Ben's loss was too fresh for him to feel anything but the ache. He wondered, with a sense of melancholy, when he would stop feeling so wearied by it all.

"Well, it's getting late," Luke said after a long silence. "I'd better go."

"You're welcome to sleep on board tonight, if you want."

"I appreciate the offer, Han, but I'll pass."

"Well, just so you'll know, there's always an extra bunk here with your name on it."

Luke managed a slight smile, even as the thought occurred to him that the Falcon and her extra bunk was just as likely to be gone at any time. As much as it thrilled him to see Han still hanging around, the noncommittal way the Correlian captain continued to remain with the Alliance frustrated Luke terribly. But that was yet another battle, and one he didn't even care to acknowledge right now.

"I want to thank you again, for talking with me tonight. I feel like it's helped."

The smuggler donned his lopsided grin once again. "That's what friends are for, right?"

Luke's own smile came easily this time. "Always."