Hard Lesson Learned

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A/N 1: I do not own Star Wars

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A/N 2:Timeframe: after "Truce at Bakura".

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Chapter One:

Han Solo sat alone in a darkened corner of the "Green" mess hall: one of three aboard Home One, the Rebel Alliance's flagship. A cup of caf sat nestled between large hands, forgotten in his failed attempts to keep his mind clear.

Darkness… a deep, sinister nothing. He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe.

The very oxygen in his lungs was frozen like the rest of him… and yet, he couldn't be more starved for air. But like the cruel thing that it was, the cold, unfeeling metal refused to let him pass on into the peaceful afterlife.

Han blinked rapidly, letting out a breath of air he hadn't realized he was holding. And with that realization came a new wave of nauseating fear. The fear that he was dreaming, and that he hadn't really been rescued from his frozen prison by those he called family.

He jumped when hot brown liquid from his mug sloshed over the lip and onto his trembling hands. Grimacing, Han stood and went to retrieve some napkins, leaving his cup where it rested on the table.

He grabbed one and wiped his hand, gritting his teeth when the thin sheet merely dissolved in his grasp upon getting wet.

"Damned cheap crap!" Han muttered irritably.

He distractedly grabbed at another napkin, the motion of pulling it from the holder eliciting a hiss not so unlike the steam from that wretched room in Cloud City.

Steam, as cold as Tatooine was hot… surrounding him, flash-freezing previously warm muscles. It happened so fast he didn't even remember when he stopped moving… stopped breathing…

Only remembered the all-encompassing dark…

Han's knuckles clanged loudly on the metal of the napkin dispenser, and he looked on in chagrin at the large pile of white tissues now on the counter. He didn't remember grabbing that many towels…

Shaking his head exasperatedly, Han took a select few and left the rest for someone else to use. He finished cleaning his hands en-route to his table, and tossed them in a garbage bin.

Settling back down, Han rubbed sleep-deprived eyes. He was grateful that he had managed to keep from waking Chewie as he left the Millennium Falcon.

It had been two days since their return from Bakura, and in that time—and also during the many days they'd spent on the planet- Han had slept very little. But now his eyes drooped shut on their own.

Voices… were those voices? It was so hard to tell these days. Had it been days? Or mere minutes that felt like years?

There was no way to tell time… no one to comfort the smuggler in the one instance he would have gladly welcomed it…

Han nearly jumped out of his skin at the touch of someone's fingers on his shoulder. He spun; heart pounding, eyes wild and barely focused… to stare into the eyes of a stranger.

"Who are you?" Han groused groggily.

Who are you?

Someone who loves you…

He doubted this man would feed him that particular line.

"Trouble sleeping much, Solo?" the man sneered.

"What's it to you?" Han griped.

The pilot- Han could now see the orange of the man's half-shed flight suit— smirked.

"You don't know me, huh?"

"Well, I should think that obvious."

"I was there when Skywalker flew in the Yavin IV battle. You deserted the Alliance when we could have used your help." The pilot leaned forward. "I'll never forgive you for the friends I lost that day."

Han frowned. "Everyone but Luke, Wedge and I was lost in that one. I don't recall a fourth."

"Yeah, I was in medical that day." The pilot allowed.

"How convenient." Han returned. "I did come back, and I'm sorry about your friend. But the pilots all chose to go into battle that day, knowing full well what they were up against." Han turned his back on the man. "Now go away unless you have something from High Command."

"Oh, I've got something for you, old man." The pilot's voice was hard now. "A knuckle sandwich, you smug son of a…"

He stopped. "Awe… you're not worth the breath it would take to insult you properly."

"Lucky me." Han sniped sarcastically.

"You can hide behind that tough exterior all you want General, but I know what's really going on here."

Unable to stop the surge of trepidation that coursed through him, Han blanched.

"Has the poor little smuggler been having bad dreams?" the man mocked in a sing-song voice. "And might the subject be carbonite?"

Han leapt to his feet- to do what, he wasn't sure- but he was saved making a decision when the man was suddenly spun around. Han blinked at a dark blur that shoved the man into the nearby wall, lifting him up by the scruff of his tunic until he was several inches off the ground.

"Would you like me to put you in carbonite, so that you can experience what it is truly like?" Luke Skywalker's voice was deadly quiet.

The man trembled when he realized who had him pinned. Swallowing, he shook his head.

"N… no, Commander Skywalker."

Luke leaned in closer. "Then go away like he asked, and don't bother him again."

Nodding, the pilot scrambled for the door when Luke dropped him unceremoniously onto his feet. Luke turned around and said something, but it was all muffled to Han's ears.

Han was staring blankly at the spot the pilot had just inhabited.

Rough hands shoved him onto the small lift platform… slowly it descended… there was a flash of icy-cold, and then…

The next thing he knew, he was falling stiffly onto the ground… and then hands hauled him up and wrapped him in a cloak…

Wait, what? Han thought.

"Han…"

The smuggler jerked back fearfully as warm hands touched his biceps. He stumbled backwards over his chair, his mind reacting to the memories it was helplessly caught up in.

"Han!"

Booted feet leapt forward to catch him and then gently move him upright again.

Han shook his head to clear it, and finally registered Luke's concerned blue eyes hovering near his face.

"Are you alright?" Luke asked.

Han started to shrug in his normal show of nonchalance but frowned when he was met with an unfamiliar resistance. Glancing down, he saw Luke's Jedi robe enveloped about his shivering frame.

Han wrapped his arms about his chest, knowing it was too late to fool his best friend and little brother.

"I… I can't…" Han stuttered.

"Why don't we take a walk?" Luke suggested.

"Hunh?"

"We seem to have attracted more of a crowd." Luke informed him.

Han saw that the kid was right, and nodded his assent. Luke walked by his side as they left the cafeteria, keeping quiet to allow Han a chance to collect his thoughts. Han allowed Luke to guide them to a more private location as he tried to think.

Could he really talk about his experiences? No, he didn't want to burden anyone… and he refused to appear weak…

Fool, this is Luke you're talking about. Han berated his stubborn self. He's the last person who'd judge you, and you know it.

They approached a door Han wasn't familiar with, and Luke ushered him through it. Han was surprised to see they were in one of the two gardens. How the Mon Calamari's kept such full and lively gardens on a spaceship was beyond Han. All he knew was that being here right now was soothing to his frayed nerves.

The garden was in its night-life cycle, which meant that the place was deserted while the crew slept.

"I've always liked it here." Luke murmured. "It's the most peaceful place on Home One."

"I can see that." Han agreed, sitting down in a large patch of grass.

Luke settled down beside him in a cross-legged position. He didn't speak for a long while, making Han wonder after a time if the kid had begun meditating. Finally he spoke.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Han sighed: he felt like a toddler, unable to solve his own issues.

"I'll get through it."

"All alone?" Luke asked.

"Yeah, it's how I did things for years." Han said.

Luke pursed his lips. "But you're not alone anymore, Han. You have people who care for you."

Han knew Luke was right, but something deep inside Han kept holding him back. Luke looked at him strangely, and Han frowned.

"You're not trying to read my mind are you?" Han demanded.

"Of course not." Luke said mildly. "I would never invade your privacy like that."

"Good." Han felt his cheeks flush in shame: of course Luke would never do that to him. "Ah… I'm sorry Luke."

Luke smiled softly, resting a hand on Han's arm.

"Why won't you let me help?" Luke inquired cautiously.

Han bit his lip, looking away from Luke's earnest gaze. Damn him and his sweet, Farmboy nature… and damn Han's own stubborn streak.

"Han?" Luke leaned over to see his face.

Han blew out a sigh, giving up the fight as he lay back, and only then did he realize that this spot had a view of space outside via the ceiling. The sight took his breath away momentarily with the hundreds of stars, all glittering like diamonds in a fabric of the deepest black.

"I'm supposed to be the big brother." Han whispered in disgrace, unable to look his companion in the eye. "I'm supposed to be the tough one that others come to for heart-to-hearts. I'm not supposed to need one myself."

Luke blinked in shock, taken aback by the loneliness in Han's tone. He lay on his side in the lawn next to Han, propping his head on his arm.

"Perhaps." He allowed. "But that doesn't make it wrong that you need comforting every now and then."

When Han still didn't look at him, Luke thinned his lips into a straight line. Han could feel his brother's eyes on him, and finally he could take it no longer.

In a flash, Han was on his feet; his taut nerves finally snapping from the combined lack of sleep and near-constant fear. Han was unable to stop himself from lashing out at the Jedi.

"Not everyone is like you, Luke!" he snapped, ignoring the kid's flinch. "Not everyone is comfortable spilling their souls or revealing their dark, dirty secrets!"

He forced himself not to see the hurt in Luke's face, or the pain in his eyes.

"I need to be alone; I don't need anyone babying me!" Han went on.

He ripped Luke's robe off and flung it at him.

"Keep your charity, I don't want it." Han grumbled before he stormed out.

He never looked back to see the silent tears slipping from Luke's cheeks to wet the blades of grass.

Nor did he notice an hour later when Luke snuck onboard the Falcon where Han was again having trouble sleeping. The Jedi gently touched a hand to the warm, perspiration-drenched brow, and sent a tendril of the Force to soothe him.

Luke paused on his way back out of the ship, seeing a towering Wookiee barring his way, arms crossed.

[What are you doing, Cub?] Chewbacca asked. [You know Han does not like the Force used on him.]

Luke nodded. "I know, but he can't sleep. All I did was ease his memories back for a while so he can get some rest. Nothing more."

Chewie glanced at the cabin from which Han's snores sounded.

[Han has been rather high-strung of late.] Chewie allowed. [Thank you, Luke.]

Luke smiled, and moved to pass his Wookiee companion, but Chewie laid a hand on his arm.

[Are you alright, Cub?] Chewie asked. [You've been crying.]

Luke wiped at his face, glancing to Han's cabin. The Wookiee followed his gaze before nodding in understanding.

[You two had a fight.] It wasn't a question.

"Yes." Luke whispered. "I know he's just stressed, but..."

[Han has had a hard life, Luke.]

"I know." Luke patted the Wookiee's arm. "I need to go. I'll see you later, okay Chewie?"

[Goodnight Cub.] Chewbacca pulled the Jedi into a big hug, making the young man laugh.