Okay, I swore I was done writing fanfic years ago. On top of that, I dropped out of the SW fandom right after I saw ROTS. I really hated that movie. But promises are made to be broken, so here I am.

The reasoning behind this fic is both convoluted and very simple. I've been kinda depressed lately and in need of old comforts. Since part of the reason for that depression is inability to find a job, I've had a lot of free time on my hands. So I started working my way through some of my old favorite fics, even the SW ones. Those led me to some newer fics, which led me to scream, "Who the hell is Ahsoka?"

Of course, that sent me to Wookiepedia. Wookiepedia sent me to YouTube where I started watching some Clone Wars episodes, finally. That had me pulling out my copy of the ROTS novelization (I never bought the DVD's) from a box in the back of the storage room.

This fic came from a page near the beginning of the book where the author described how the public practically worshiped The Team of Skywalker and Kenobi, how children pretended to be them while playing and when young boys inevitably got hurt pulling daredevil stunts, the automatic question was, "Which one were you?" Then I thought back to the timeline I just read on Wookiepedia and realized that Han would have been a teen or pre-teen at the start of the Clone Wars. Thus, this fic.

It was intended to be a drabble, a few paragraphs about Han showing Luke a few news clippings sometime shortly after Endor. I only started writing it because I couldn't get it out of my head. Nine thousand words later…

*shrugs* Well, I'll just get on with it, shall I?

Han Solo had a secret. This was not unusual for an old smuggler. Not that he was all that old. No matter his actual age, he felt old today. It was not his secret that burdened him, but rather contemplating revealing it.

He'd kept many secrets in his time. While nowhere near the information broker that Calrissian moonlighted as, Han had smuggled information on more than one occasion in his career. Some freighters worked exclusively with spice, others with passengers. Some only carried knowledge. Han Solo had never been particularly choosy about his freight, only his payment.

Except slave trade; that was the one line that Han Solo had never crossed. Anything else was fair game, however. He was a smuggler, that's what he did. He acquired valuable goods and transported them to people who would pay good credits for them. Then he used the profit to get drunk and gamble. When he ran out of credits, he hauled another load. A favorite trick of his was to take on more than one cargo. Something semi-legit in the main hold for the Imps to take away, then something else far more valuable in the secret holds. Once they found contraband, the local enforcement agencies never looked any further.

He'd used this trick to hide more than a few things about himself, as well. He didn't talk about his past, and no one ever found out that he didn't have one. His less savory habits of gambling and alcohol covered up the fact that he avoided Spice and brothels. He shot first and aimed to kill but never an unarmed opponent. He made it clear that he wanted no part of the Empire because it was bad for business, never once speaking about how he hated the government's policies and actions. Han Solo played the scoundrel, and he was a scoundrel, to hide the fact that he was an honorable man.

When he'd taken on a couple of passengers on Tatooine, his preferred method of hiding was put to the ultimate test. He hadn't asked the old man for names when they had arranged the fare. That was standard. For the kind of credits the man was offering, Han didn't care if the Old Man called himself Isabella the Magnificent. Seventeen thousand for a simple passenger ferry was a ridiculous sum.

Of course, if he'd had any idea where that simple passenger run would lead him, he'd have probably turned and run the other way. Well, that might be exaggerating a little. He'd had a vague idea that his passengers were trouble. Between wanting to avoid Imperial trouble and the arm on the cantina floor, Han had a pretty good idea what he was taking on.

Jedi. It was a word he'd barely thought in twenty years. Seeing that plasma blade flash through the dim smoky atmosphere had brought back a flood of memories, some half forgotten. Jedi might have the ability to be subtle, but everything he'd ever heard of the mysterious group was decidedly loud and bright, like their weapon of choice.

For a change, he'd worked hard at seeming younger than he was. Han Solo was in his prime, but he often worked to seem older, more experienced, in order to increase the fee he could charge. Young smugglers tended to lose cargo. You didn't get old in this trade unless you were good. For the first time in his life, he'd worked at seeming younger, less experienced. For this run, at least, he intended to appear a young hot-shot. Better if this man and the boy with him thought their pilot completely ignorant of anything that had occurred more than twenty years ago.

Jedi? What in the nine hells of Correllia is a Jedi and why would I care about some ancient hokey religion?

If one took the direct route, even with the Imperial checkpoints it was only a day's travel to Alderaan from Tatooine. Bypassing the checkpoints turned the trip into a three day voyage, plus another six hours of in-system travel. They'd have to avoid the Hyperspace routes to stay off Imperial radar and without the checkpoint vouchers, they would have to appear as if they had reached Alderaan from an in-system destination. Ordinarily, Han would have spent the journey avoiding his passengers, isolating himself in the cockpit or his cabin.

Sentimentality won out this time, however. He used Chewbacca as an excuse. His long-time companion was quite good at dejarik. Han was a fair player at best, so the chance for a decent game was too much for the Wookie to pass up; even if he was forced to play against a droid. Han pretended he was in the lounge to watch his friend play. He pretended to have no significant interest in his passengers at all.

The first day, not caring about them was easy to affect. It was not difficult to ridicule the kid while watching him take low-power stun bolts to the rear. Han laughed and mocked freely, not hesitating to brag about his skills with a blaster. Anyone could see that this irritated the Old Man, but that only served Han's cover so he kept it up. The continued mocking allowed him to continue observing his passengers. It allowed him to continue reminiscing about a time long past.

The second day, Han tore himself away from the ongoing lessons to do much needed maintenance. He was in the middle of a full tear down and lubrication of the grav-lift in the main hold when the Kid showed up from nowhere.

"What'cha doing?" he asked, strolling into the cargo bay.

"Maintenance," Han answered gruffly, pulling hard to break the drain bolt free.

The Kid didn't say anything else. He simply stood there and watched as Han worked until the pilot began to get annoyed at the attention. "Haven't you got some pointless lessons in ancient religions to study or something?"

"Ben said he needed to meditate," the Kid answered. "So I got bored and thought I'd see what you were doing."

Han pulled harder at the drain bolt. There was definitely something sticking it in place. He shoved the catch basin out of the way and moved to get better leverage. Once he broke it free, he'd put the basin back and open the valve the rest of the way. Some of the lubricant would spill, but if he was fast it wouldn't be much.

"Well, go find something to do," Han instructed. "I'm busy."

The Kid was still staring at him, which Han found to be unnerving. With a completely internal sigh, he considered stocking some holo-novels or something in case he ever took on passengers again. On second thought, he was seriously considering never taking on passengers again. The Kid wouldn't leave and the blasted bolt would not budge. He really hoped he wouldn't have to ask Chewie to loosen it for him. The oversized brute was probably the one that had put it in so tight in the first place, but Han hated having to ask for that sort of help. It made him feel like a kid.

With a groan, Han planted one foot against the machine base and heaved with every muscle. Then he learned why the bolt had been stuck. Apparently, whoever had last maintained this thing had put the bolt back in cross-threaded. When he finally broke it loose, the drain valve opened nearly half-way, allowing a stream of fouled lubricant to flow out with some force. Han scurried out of the way of the viscous, filthy liquid. He reached for the basin, but found the kid had beaten him to it. The Kid was already holding the basin and slipped it under the draining liquid even before Han was fully out of the way; setting it down when the pilot was clear.

"Thanks," Han offered grudgingly as he grabbed a spare rag to blot the worst of the substance from his hands and arms. A few spatters decorated his clothes, but the sonic cleansers on board would take care of that well enough. The kid had grabbed a couple rags of his own and was already mopping up the mess on the deck.

"No problem," he returned with a shrug.

"You're pretty fast with a bucket, Kid," Han praised faintly. "Got any other skills?"

The Kid smiled wryly. "That same thing has happened to me before," he explained. "Every time my…" He hesitated, then shook himself and continued. Han pointedly did not recognize the obvious grief on the Kid's face. "Every time my Uncle would take the speeder into Tosche Station for maintenance they cross-threaded half the bolts. I started doing the maintenance myself when I was twelve, just so I wouldn't have to fight with their botched jobs."

Han considered the Kid. He definitely had the hands of a mechanic, though he wore the clothes of a Moisture Farmer. "Well, if you really are bored, I suppose I could do with an assistant," Han offered, not really knowing why. "If nothing else, you're clearly good at mopping up messes."

The Kid was still on the floor, cleaning up every drop of the spilled lubricant. He looked down at his hands and huffed out a laugh that was nearly a sob. He picked up the rags and stood. "Habit," he said. "Aunt Beru would have my hide if I left a mess like that on the floor."

Han then understood where his offer had come from. He knew grief. The people the Kid spoke of hadn't been left behind. They were dead, and recently. The Kid needed something to focus on, to forget the pain for a while.

"Well, you're more efficient than a cleaning droid and I can't afford one anyway, so you're hired," Han joked. It was a weak bit of humor, but the Kid grinned anyway.

"We haven't been introduced," he said, holding out his hand. "I'm Luke Skywalker."

Time stood still. Han felt everything, including his heart beat come to a complete standstill. In that split second when the universe stood still, a hundred thoughts ran through Han's mind. The sandy blond hair was just a shade or two lighter, but that crooked grin, those bright blue eyes crinkled at the corners even the posture was the same… A Jedi student named Skywalker…

Get a grip, Han told himself. You just picked the Kid up on Tatooine and Skywalker is a typical name for that planet. Darklighter, Whitesun, Brightsong, Clearsite… All were old family names that dated back to early tribal ancestry and typical for the planet. It didn't matter that he'd only ever heard one other person use that name. It didn't matter that in all the stops he'd made on that wretched dustball that he'd never once heard of the family. It was just a coincidence that he was currently transporting a Jedi student named Skywalker.

The split-second passed and Han took the calloused hand firmly in his own. "Han Solo, good to have you on board."

But despite his private denials, Han couldn't help the burning desire to know. It wasn't difficult to get the Kid to talk. Luke Skywalker was plenty naïve. He happily chattered on while they took the grav-lift apart and cleaned and lubricated the moving parts. Obviously part of it was a need to expel the grief and pain of the past few days. The Kid had led a pretty quiet life until his uncle had unwittingly bought the wrong two droids from the Jawa traders. The whole story flowed from there with very little prompting. Really, the Kid was lucky that it was Han he'd ended up with. There was still a bounty out for Force sensitive kids and the son of an actual Jedi… Well, less honorable men might have dropped him off at the nearest Imperial cruiser, rather than Alderaan.

And Holy Kriffing Hells, but this was the child of Anakin Skywalker himself currently up to his elbows in the Millennium Falcon's loading lift. If the Empire knew the Kid existed, the bounty on him would be three times as high.

And that bounty had nothing on Kenobi, whom the Kid had inadvertently outed. The Kid had called him Ben, but the coincidence was far too much. He was the right age to be that Kenobi and he was here with Skywalker's kid. That was more than enough evidence.

But Han Solo would not turn him in. For one, absolutely no good ever came from working with the Imperials. They'd probably arrest Han too if he tried to collect the bounty. For another, the smuggler had too much lingering respect for Jedi in general. He had already been a teen on the first Empire Day, thank you very much. He could clearly remember the Clone Wars. Then there was the elder Skywalker…

No, Han wouldn't even try to turn the pair in. If nothing else, he had no intention of turning on the Old Man just in case he was that Kenobi. No matter how old and decrepit the Jedi looked, no way would the smuggler risk getting on his bad side. There were not enough credits in the galaxy. He'd rather go up against Lord Vader himself.

But Han put those thoughts out of his head. He pretended that the Kid was no one in particular. He pretended he knew nothing of Jedi or battles between clones and droids. He pretended to be nothing more than who he was, a greedy smuggler looking for enough cash to buy a bottle of ale and a seat at a good card game.

The next day Han hid in the cockpit from the memories that his passengers brought up. He'd worked very hard to suppress his childhood and for good reason. The past was the past and it was best to let it stay that way. From the pilot's chair, he could hear the Kid asking the Old Man about his father. He half-listened to the few, brief snippets of information the Old Man imparted. Luke soaked it up and begged for more but the Old Man prevaricated. Han didn't blame him. Speaking of a dear friend, even one as long dead as the elder Skywalker, was surely difficult, painful. Han hadn't even been involved in all that and thinking about that time was hard for him. He could just imagine what the Old Man was going through.

Han had planned to sit the Kid down and have a talk with him before his passengers departed the ship. He had planned to tell the Kid that mentioning his father probably wasn't good for his health, since the Old Man was clearly unwilling to say so. He briefly considered telling the Kid what he knew of the legend that had sired him, but decided it wasn't his place. The Kid shouldn't have to hear about his family from a total stranger. Besides, thinking about that time meant thinking about his own childhood, something Han was not keen on doing. Han would let the Old Man tell the stories. He'd just put a bug in the Kid's ear about keeping his trap shut.

Old smugglers ought to keep their own mouths shut, anyway.

But then the Death Star had happened. The Old Man had given his life so that they could escape. The Princess had happened. The Rebellion had happened. After old Kenobi had died, Han had considered coming forward, but several of the Rebellion's leaders had known Skywalker personally. Surely they would be better to speak to the Kid. Besides, a good time never really arrived. Han had gone and gotten himself frozen in Carbonite and Luke had gone out and become a real Jedi. Through it all, Han never thought about that eager Kid who'd asked endless questions about a man he never knew.

Only after the Battle of Endor did Han finally understand the true reason the Old Man had been so evasive when talking about the Kid's father. Only when he learned what had finally become of the Great Anakin Skywalker did Han finally understand the Old Man's pain.

Leia was a wreck over the whole mess. She'd screamed and cried and finally settled firmly on denying her connection to him. That bit of denial had become a source of dark amusement for Han. As much as he loved her, Han could not figure out how Leia was able to both firmly claim her brother and solidly deny the existence of their father. Watching her juggle both states of mind was both impressive and amusing, though he found he had to walk a fine line so he didn't upset her.

Luke had no such trouble, of course. He loved the man, despite everything. Han couldn't quite wrap his head around that way of thinking, either, but it was easier to understand that Leia's vacillations. Han knew he couldn't forgive the man as easily as Luke had, but Han could at least understand the forgiveness.

Their father was the only thing Han had ever seen the two at odds about. They had been fast friends long before they had learned they were related. (And Han typically felt like thumping his skull against a convenient bulkhead when he thought about how everyone had missed that. They were both adopted, they had the same birthday. They had the same build and shared several distinguishing features. Sith, they even had matching names!) In the months since Endor, however, though, they had been drifting apart because of the man who had sired them.

Leia wanted nothing more than to deny his very existence, but Luke still longed to know more. He'd taken several trips in search of information about Jedi in general and his father in particular. The Emperor had been nothing if not thorough, however, and Luke's every lead dried up without revealing anything significant. If not for the existence of his flesh and blood children, it would be hard to prove that a man by the name of Anakin Skywalker had ever existed.

On this night, Luke and Leia had parted sadly after another mild row over Luke's quest. Leia had apologized to Han and requested some time alone to sort out her head, promising that she'd speak to him tomorrow. That was only one of the many things that Han loved about her. Leia always told him what she wanted, rather than making him guess like other women would. If she wanted space, she said so. If she wanted company, she asked. Han only had to worry about guessing wrong when Leia herself wasn't sure what she wanted and on those occasions she never held it against him if he messed up.

Luke, on the other hand, probably wanted a little company. Recently, the Kid had taken to brooding. Ordinarily, Han would take him a bottle of good Corellian Ale and tell jokes until he smiled and started talking about his troubles. Tonight, though, Han knew exactly what the Kid wanted to talk about. Han didn't know if he could be a sounding board for that particular topic. He was conflicted about it himself. Brother and sister marked opposite ends of the spectrum of reactions. Han fell somewhere in the middle. He wasn't quite as upset as Leia, but was still far more conflicted than Luke.

So Han retreated to his cabin on the Falcon to think. He sipped a bottle of Ale and opened a hidden compartment that held a few stray personal effects and his real identification papers. He hadn't opened this particular can of worms since before he'd joined the Rebellion, but felt that tonight was the night.

There was nothing truly precious in the conglomeration of trinkets. His real identification, a few small sentimental items from his childhood, a few holoimages of people he'd once known, nothing of value to anyone other than him. Except for a few datacards, that is. Han spread his trinkets out on the desk in his cabin and let his mind drift over these small objects as he sipped his Ale and debated fetching something stronger. Han ultimately decided to keep a clear head.

He fingered his ident-chip and tried to remember a time when he'd wanted a father. That desire had passed for him when he'd still been a small child, but he did remember wistfully gazing at the horrifically common name on his certificate of birth and wondering who that man had been. He could recall wondering if that man even knew he existed, if he was even alive. The ident-chip listed him as status unknown.

Han had made his own family, his own life, his own identity, instead of worrying about where he came from. Leia had known a mother and a father, and therefore could easily dismiss the man who was her genetic parent. Luke had never had either option. He'd been raised knowing that he should have parents, but didn't. Han had found his own feet. Leia had been given a whole new family tree. But Luke still searched for his roots. He longed to know where he came from. Perhaps it was more important to him because he did have a connection to those roots in the whole Jedi thing, but didn't have a background for that, either.

Somehow, the Kid had become almost a brother to Han over the past three years or so. It might have been when the Kid poured his heart out in the main hold. It might have been when they survived rescuing the Princess from the Death Star. It had certainly been before Hoth when Han had ridden out into the deadly cold night to find the Kid. Luke had become family long before Han had learned what had become of Anakin Skywalker.

The datachips stared him down as Han finished his bottle of Ale. He knew he wasn't the only one who remembered the Clone Wars. Han knew for a fact that General Rieekan and Mon Mothma had both known Anakin Skywalker personally. Maybe not as well as the Old Man had, but well enough to help Luke fill in some of the gaps. It was possible that they didn't know of the Kid's quest, but Han found that unlikely. He truly had no idea why they didn't speak to Luke on the subject. Perhaps they too felt it wasn't their place; that the Kid shouldn't have to hear it from a stranger.

Decision made, Han slammed the empty bottle down on the table and gathered up the sizeable pile of datachips and a card reader. Han was not a stranger anymore and much as he'd love to pawn the task off on someone else, no one else was stepping forward. Luke was family and Han would do this for the man who was his brother in all but name. He fetched a six-pack of bottles from the cooling unit and headed out to find Luke.

Han Solo had a secret and it was time he shared it.

He didn't have far to look. When the Kid had returned from his latest trip, Leia had met him at the hanger. Their little tiff had ensued almost immediately. Despite the hours that had passed since then, Luke was still nearby, sitting on one of the outer decks. As expected, he was brooding and staring out at the Coruscant skyline. Datachips discretely stowed in his pocket, Han stepped up and sat beside the Kid without a word. He knew that Luke had sensed him long ago and would have said something long before Han approached if he'd wanted to be alone.

Han handed him an Ale and the corner of the Kid's mouth flickered into an expression that was almost a smile before he twisted off the cap and took a drink. They sat in silence for several long moments before Han said, "You know, I never met my father."

Luke finally turned his head to look at his friend. At this point, Leia would have probably railed at him for trying to commiserate so clumsily. Once, the Kid would have shot out several questions too fast for Han to answer. Now, Luke had become a rather good listener. He simply said, "Oh?"

"All I've got is a name on an ident-chip. Don't know if he's alive or dead. Don't know if he knows I exist. My mother died before she could tell me anything." He sighed and took a swig from the cold wet bottle he held. "I never met the man, not once."

"You don't talk about your past," Luke observed.

"And I'm not talking about it now," Han stated firmly. A little grin pulled at the Kid's mouth.

"You're not?" he asked with suppressed amusement. "It sure sounds like it to me."

Han shook his head. "I ain't talking about my past. I'm talking about yours," he declared without humor. Luke shot him a questioning look and Han took a deep breath before continuing. "I never met my father. Ironically, I met yours twice."

Now he had Luke's full attention. The Kid frowned at him, clearly searching through his memories for something. "Twice? I'm guessing you're talking about Bespin," Luke said slowly. "When else?"

"When I was a kid, on Correllia," Han said softly, staring out at the skyline instead of looking at his friend. "He was still a Jedi then, and a student at that. He saved my life."

Han could almost hear Luke freeze in shock. He was so surprised that he couldn't put voice to any of the questions that Han knew were tumbling around inside his head. Han finished his bottle of Ale and put it back in the carrier. He fished out a new one but didn't open it yet, just rolling the cold glass between his hands. Luke was still speechless, so Han continued.

"This was back before the Clone Wars. Back then, street kids all over Correllia were going missing, but no one really cared 'cause it was just street kids. The only people who seemed to care were a couple of Jedi who came down to check it out. One day I was minding my own business and a couple of guys just grabbed me. One of 'em pinned my arms and the other stuck a blaster in my side and told me to keep quiet and go with them easy or they'd just cut their losses and kill me right there." Han shrugged. "I was just a kid, I didn't stand a chance in a fight, so I figured I'd go along and sneak away later. I never got the chance."

He opened the bottle he'd been holding and took a long swig. "They dragged me onto a ship who's hold had been filled with metal cages and all the cages were full of kids in shackles. Turns out that a group of pirates had turned slavers when they realized they could make more profit selling people than Spice." Han glanced at Luke then and saw he had the Kid's rapt attention. He turned away quickly, falling deeper into the memory as he recounted the tale. Han had never told this story before. He truly never talked about his past, not even with Chewie. Despite that, the story rolled off his tongue as if it wanted to be told, here and now.

flashback...

Han knew he was in trouble when he saw what was in the cargo hold of that ship. He'd been in and out of all kinds of trouble in his short life, but those cages… These were slavers. This was not his usual brand of trouble. If he ended up in one of those cages he'd never break free again.

Han began kicking and punching the two men. He didn't have much hope of beating even one of them, but he pulled every dirty trick in the book, hoping to keep them too busy to reach for their blasters. Maybe he'd get lucky and there would be a distraction he could use. The cargo door was still open. If he hurt them a little and made a run for it, they might decide he was too much trouble to track down again. Han was fast, he'd be hard to catch.

But neither man went for a blaster. Instead, they pulled out a set of chains. Han struggled harder but none of his kicks or punches seemed to faze the men. One arm was caught and bound, then the other. They clearly intended to bind his legs as well, but something made them both freeze. A third man was strolling toward them and he had come from deeper inside the ship rather than through the still open door. The slavers seemed far too surprised for this to be someone who was supposed to be here. This was confirmed when one of them spoke.

"Who the hell are you and how did you get in here?" he demanded, stepping away from Han and drawing a blaster.

The newcomer actually growled at the man, despite being human. "Oh, please fire at me," the blond man sneered. "I would love to have an excuse to dismember a couple of filthy slavers."

He said the last word as if it were a vile curse. The man with the blaster granted his request and began firing. But the newcomer did something completely unexpected. As the first round of blasts was fired, he pulled a lightsaber from his belt and ignited it, batting the laser bolts away to connect harmlessly with the floor and ceiling. Somehow, not a single stray blast hit Han or any of the children in the cages.

The man was a Jedi, Han realized slowly. Only Jedi had laser swords. He was actually being rescued by a Jedi.

The Jedi stepped forward, the expression on his face relaxed, if disgusted, as if deflecting dozens of laser bolts required no more effort than swatting at a bug. One more step and the blaster fire ceased because the slaver was only holding half of a weapon. He'd lost a couple of fingers as well and he dropped the handgrip in shock and pain, clutching at his wounded fist. A moment later and the man slammed into the bulkhead behind them so hard that he fell unconscious.

Han froze as the other slaver wrapped an arm around his neck and he felt cold metal against his skin.

"Don't come any closer," the second slaver said. "Just stay where you are. The boy and I are going to back up to the door slowly. When I've got a decent heat start, I'll let the boy go. That sounds fair, right?"

A gap opened between his back and the slaver's chest and the blade pressed into Han's neck, making him take a hesitant step backward. He felt a tiny drop of wetness roll down his neck and he knew the razor sharp blade had nicked him, though the cut caused no pain. The man took another step backward, but the Jedi moved before Han had a chance to.

The Jedi moved faster than Han could see and in a flash the blade was falling from his neck to the floor. To his horror, the hand that held it and the arm that hand was attached to followed the knife to the floor.

"No," the Jedi said softly, his voice hardened steel and cold as ice. "That doesn't sound fair at all." The slaver was curled up on the floor clutching at his elbow and whimpering. A moment later he was flying through the air to impact the bulkhead next to his companion. The Jedi glared at both men as if he'd like nothing more than to chop them into tiny bits right where they lay. He growled, "I hate slavers," then took a deep breath and extinguished the blade.

He knelt next to Han, which put them more or less at eye level to each other. The man's face instantly transformed from controlled fury into a kind, gentle expression. "Hello. I am Jedi Padawan Anakin Skywalker. You're going to be just fine now," he said kindly. He waved his hand over the shackles and the chains released and fell to the floor. The Jedi wiped at the blood on his neck with a square of cloth he pulled from his pocket, then examined the wound. Nodding with satisfaction at the superficiality of the cut, he asked, "What's your name?"

"S- Solo," Han replied with a stutter. "Han Solo."

The blond man held out his hand and smiled at the boy. Han tentatively shook his hand. "Well, young Solo, you appear to be unharmed, so I could use your help." He gestured toward the caged children, most of whom were cowering and some of whom were clearly injured. "There are at least a dozen more where these two came from and my Master is otherwise occupied at the moment. Could you help me get these other children to safety?"

As cruel and angry as the Jedi had seemed a moment ago, now he spoke only in kind, gentle tones and wore a bright, friendly smile. Han instantly felt safe when the man smiled at him. "Yeah, I can do that," he agreed and the Jedi went to the fallen slavers. He pawed at the belt of the one now missing an arm. "How'd you know to come rescue me, anyway?"

The man chuckled. "Well, I didn't exactly come to rescue you, specifically," he admitted lightly. "That was just a lucky accident. My Master and I have been tracking these," he wrinkled he nose in disgust at the men, "these sleamos for a while now. My Master is taking down the distributer they were selling to." He finally found what he was looking for and pulled a ring of keys out of the slaver's pocket.

Returning to Han's side, he stared so intently at the ring that it seemed he was trying to look through the metal. The ring held both digital lock cards and old style metal keys. After a long moment, he pulled two of the latter from the ring, pocketing the rest. "Here," he said, identifying each key as he passed it to Han. "This one should open the cages and the other should open the shackles." He pointed to the far side of the hold, away from both doors. "You start over there, and I'll start over here. Keep everyone together."

Han did as he was bid, going from cage to cage and releasing the captives. Some wore obvious bruises while the stiff movements of others indicated more severe injuries. All could walk, though and they followed him in an ever growing cluster as he worked his way down the cages, most of which were full. When he met the Jedi in the middle, they had accumulated a group of more than forty children all around Han's age.

"Alright, everyone," The Jedi addressed the group. "We need to get out of here. The rest of the crew will be coming back any time. There is a medical ship two bays over from this one. I will escort you to the entrance of that bay, then I need you to get inside and get checked out. I'll be coming back here to take down the rest when they return."

The group followed the Jedi as he led the way, one girl taking the opportunity to run over and deliver a swift, hard kick to one of the unconscious men against the wall. She restrained herself to that and rejoined the group quickly, though the Jedi offered no comment on her actions. They covered the distance swiftly and were soon being ushered into the docking bay that held a battered looking medical ship. Han hung back as the others filed in.

"You too, Young Solo," the Jedi urged, glancing back the way they had come.

"Nuh-uh," Han argued. "I'm going back with you."

The Jedi sighed. "No offence, Kid," he said in a condescending tone, "but I don't need a midget to help me take these guys out."

"How stupid do you think I am?" Han demanded. "I know that! But they're going to be bringing back other kids, aren't they? Kids who will probably be hurt and scared. I'll wait in the bay and when you get the bad guys, you just send the kids back out and I'll bring 'em here."

"I don't have time for this!" the Jedi declared.

Han smirked. "Which is why you're going to agree. Now let's get in position before they come back."

The Jedi shook his head, but moments later, Han was hiding under the ramp while the Jedi locked the two disabled men in the cages they'd kept the children in. After a few minutes, a pair of laughing, chattering men entered the bay with a sobbing girl between them. Han listened closely and heard blaster fire along with the distinctive sound of a lightsaber igniting. Moments later he heard a set of light, running footsteps on the ramp and he leapt out from his hiding place. The girl screamed in surprise, but calmed instantly upon seeing he was just another kid.

"Come on," Han urged. "We've got to get to safety."

"I think my arm is broken," she whimpered, clutching the limb awkwardly.

"There's a medical ship just around the corner," Han told her, leading the way. "That's where we're going. They'll take care of you."

He dropped her off in the bay and returned to find another child was already running down the ramp. This boy needed no urging to follow Han to safety. The process repeated seven times. Sometimes Han hid for a while in between, other times he only returned after the child had already been sent from the ship. After the seventh, he returned to find the Jedi waiting on the ramp.

"That's the whole crew," he said, satisfaction written on his face. "We got them all. Just in time, too. They would have taken off today if I hadn't caught up to them." He smirked at Han. "Thanks for your help, Kid. If you hadn't led the kids out, I wouldn't have been able to take them all by surprise and this would have been much harder."

"I don't suppose I can kick a few of them as a reward?" Han asked, peering into the open hold at the bound, unconscious, and in some cases dismembered pirates. The Jedi laughed.

"What you can do is go get yourself checked out," he began, but was interrupted when an older man strolled into the bay.

"Anakin," the man scolded. "I've been trying to reach you for half an hour. Why aren't you answering your comm?"

Skywalker fumbled in his pocket with a sheepish look. "I forgot I turned it off, Master. I didn't want the sound to give me away."

"I take it the slavers have all been dealt with?" the older man asked easily, crossing his arms over his chest.

"All present and accounted for, Master," the younger Jedi replied. "This is Han Solo," he introduced, putting a large hand on Han's slim shoulder. "He was instrumental in helping me rescue the other children."

The Older Jedi smiled at Han. "Well done, Young One," he praised. He eyed the cut on Han's neck. "Perhaps it is time you were checked out by the medical team."

"It's just a scratch," Han protested, swiping at the tiny cut on his neck. It had long stopped bleeding and now merely itched a little. He expected it would sting a bit later, but it really was superficial.

"Still, documenting every injury will help us in prosecuting these men," the older man explained.

"Come on," Skywalker urged. "I'll take you over." He turned to the older man. "I want to check on the others anyway. You don't mind guarding the prisoners for a while, do you Master?"

"Not at all, Padawan," came the reply. A warm hand fell on Han's shoulder again and he was led away from the ship.

Just before they left the bay, Han called over his shoulder, "Hey, kick them a few times for me, would you?"

Skywalker chuckled at the comment. "Come along, Solo," he said lightly. Han followed obediently and was surprised when the Jedi stopped him outside the bay that held the medical ship. He knelt down and looked Han in the eye.

"CorSec is on their way," he said softly. "The plan is to get everyone to their homes, if they have them or find a willing family to take them in if they don't. Am I right in believing that you won't go along with this easily?"

Surprised, Han could only nod in response. "I have a home, and a family. Just not a legal one."

The Jedi bit his lip and frowned thoughtfully. "I really do appreciate what you did today. You were very brave. I sense you will accomplish great things one day."

Han didn't know what to say to this, so he simply stood there patiently. Eventually, the Jedi nodded to himself and reached into the long brown cloak he wore. From its folds, he produced a small blaster and the knife that the slaver had held to Han's throat. He presented them both to Han. "Spoils of war," he explained, placing them in the boy's hands and wrapping his fingers around them. "I intend to say that you ran from me before we reached the medical ship and that you disappeared into the crowd," the Jedi informed him. "So you had better get to disappearing."

After tucking each weapon into one of his boots, Han stood and held out his hand to the Jedi, who shook it with a bemused expression. "You're all right, Skywalker," he said to the man.

"You too, Solo," the Jedi responded with a wink. "Stay safe, and may the Force be with you."

Han turned away, but called back over his shoulder, "You too."

With that, he disappeared into the crowd, a feat he was very good at.

end flashback

Han drained the last of his Ale, his throat parched after the long tale. He cracked another, still not looking directly at Luke. From the corner of his eye, though, he could see that the Kid wore an astounded look. Han had no specific plans as to what to say after telling his little story, so he simply sat in silence, sipping his Ale and staring at the Skyline. He was on his third, but I looked like the Kid hadn't finished his first. That was alright. The Ale was just an excuse, anyway.

He nearly dropped the drink when a small hand fell on his shoulder while its mate reached for one of the remaining bottles. He relaxed instantly when Leia sank down to sit cross-legged on the floor between them.

"When did you get here?" he asked in surprise.

She twisted the top off the bottle and took a drink. "About the time the slaver put a knife to your throat," she informed him. Luke didn't look surprised at all to see her. Of course, he wouldn't be.

"Why didn't you ever tell me this before?" Luke finally asked, speaking for the first time since Han had begun his story. "And why tell me now?"

"I don't like to talk about my past," Han replied flatly. "I'd much rather forget about that time. Besides, it wasn't my place to talk about him to you. Others actually knew him, General Rieekan and Mon Mothma, others, I'm sure. I barely met the guy." Han shrugged. "I don't know why they aren't talking, but I figured someone should."

"They knew him too?" Luke asked, looking surprised again. Han had figured the Kid didn't know that. Leia was frowning as well. She'd long considered Mon Mothma a friend and likely was torn between wanting the woman to help her brother and wanting the whole issue to drop. "Wait, how do you know that?"

In response, Han spilled the last of his secret. Quite literally, in fact, as he pulled the pile of datachips from his pocket and scattered them on the floor between them all. "Your dad was pretty famous."

Luke's eyes literally bulged at the pile of datachips. "All of this is about Father?"

Han shrugged again. "They're all collections of daily news that have at least one article about him or Kenobi. Usually both of them."

Leia was gaping at him as well. For once, her sharp tongue failed her and she merely managed a single word. "Why?"

Han sighed a scrubbed a hand over his face, a little embarrassed. "I was a kid," he explained, then sighed again. "I don't think you two understand. The Clone Wars were terrifying. Correllia was a frequent target of the Separatists because the system had some of the best shipyards in the galaxy at the time. But any planet was at risk, every planet. They could strike anywhere, any time. Kenobi and Skywalker, they were The Team," the capital letters were clear in his voice, even as he spoke without meeting either pair of eyes. "The Negotiator and The Hero Without Fear, I'm sure you can guess which was which. Either one of them could turn the tide of any battle. Together, they could do anything. Every kid I knew ate up stories of their exploits." Han shrugged again, remembering digging some of those datachips out of the trash as he'd never had the money to buy them properly. "Some kids built models for a hobby, I collected these."

"And you saved them all this time?" Leia asked incredulously.

"After the War ended, Palpatine began erasing so much data. He wiped so many things from history. Even as young as I was, I guessed that they might be useful one day." He didn't mention that he'd also had sentimental reasons for keeping the datachips. He didn't say how he'd been comforted by the stories during the long, cold days at the beginning of the Empire. He didn't mention how as a young teen he'd often pretended that Kenobi and Skywalker were still out there somewhere, hiding, getting ready to swoop in and save them all. His pride was already hurting enough. Instead, he handed Luke the card reader he'd brought.

The Kid poked through the pile of datachips, as if uncertain which to read first. Han peered at the dates and handed him one. The article the Kid wanted to see was right up front on that one and it described a thrilling tale of The Team taking out a droid manufacturing plant on Geonosis. Luke shoved the card in the slot and pulled up the article eagerly. This one also had several pictures and a few video clips pulled from the Clone army's surveillance equipment.

To Han's surprise, Leia leaned over her brother's shoulder to view the reader as well.

Luke spent several long moments simply staring at the screen without scrolling the article. Han looked over at it and saw that the screen was filled with an image of the two Jedi standing back to back in a casual yet ready stance, their shoulders almost but not quite touching as each looked in a separate direction.

Leia reached out and touched the image, gently running her fingers over the screen. Luke tilted his head over to lie on her shoulder and scrolled through the recounted story when she pulled her fingers back. They both let the story soak in silently and when they had reached the end, Luke sat up and turned to Han.

"May I borrow these for a while?" he asked tentatively.

"Keep 'em," Han said indifferently. He'd long ago had all the stories memorized. He'd only kept the datachips incase in they became valuable one day. And as a reminder of some of the happier parts of his childhood, but he didn't mention that part. "Now I know what I was saving them for."

Leia didn't say a word, still looking torn, but she watched intently as Luke selected another datachip, this time seemingly at random. The two read this one together as well. When they neared the bottom, Leia let out a gasp. "That's our mother!"

Han leaned over to glance at the image. It was of a group. Kenobi and Skywalker were front and center, but they were surrounded by a few others. The only two females in the group were a very young girl with orange skin and headtails whose species Han recognized but couldn't name, and a pretty, young, brunette in a shipsuit. He vaguely recognized her as the Senator from Naboo that had always seemed to end up in the thick of things.

"Your mother?" he asked Leia in surprise. "That's Senator Amidala, from Naboo."

They both drank in the image and Han noticed for the first time just how close Skywalker was standing to the petite woman. Yeah, he could see the family resemblance, looking at the couple and their children at the same ages. Luke definitely had his father's eyes, but Leia had their mother's chin and mouth. They both clearly got their constitution from their mother, but he could see traces of Anakin Skywalker in both the faces in front of him.

For the first time all evening, all feelings of embarrassment fell away from Han. He'd not only done the right thing here, he'd done a good thing. These two people, they were family to him. He loved them both dearly. It was worth any effort, any amount of wounded pride to be able to give them this. Later, he might give them another gift and give General Rieekan a black eye for them. Really, he couldn't be the only one they knew with copies of these articles.

"You know," Han said thoughtfully. "Senator Amidala was in the news almost as much as Kenobi and Skywalker. There are probably quite a few articles about her in those collections as well."

Neither responded, instead watching the video clips that went along with the article they had just read. Han just smiled at the pair and stood to leave. To his surprise, Luke put the reader down and both of them stood as he did. Luke stepped forward and he and Han shared a rare hug.

"Thank you," the Kid said earnestly. "I cannot tell you what this means to me."

Luke stepped back and was replaced by Leia. "I still have mixed feelings," she admitted, making Han snort in amusement. She tilted her face up and, with her lips inches from his, said, "But you've earned this just for what you've given Luke."

With that, their lips met in a fierce, passionate kiss that left the smuggler gasping for air and reeling with its intensity. When she finally pulled back, Han felt a broad smile break across his face. Alright, if the good deed hadn't been worth the embarrassment and awkwardness, that kiss definitely had been. Though now he needed a cold shower. Leia smiled back at him for a moment before shyly lowering her eyes. Han pulled her face back up for another, quicker, more gentle kiss before he finally tore his eyes from her face.

Luke was leaning against the railing with his arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face. "You know, I didn't really need to see that," he said flatly.

"No one told to you watch," Leia returned, her voice even despite the blush on her cheeks. She kept her back to her brother, but her blush deepened even more after a moment and Han recognized that they were having one of their weird Force/twin moments. He interrupted it without a care, leaning down to press a light kiss to Leia's forehead.

"My bunk is calling to me," he said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek. "You two hang out for a while. I'm going to turn in."

"Goodnight, Han," Leia offered with one last, lingering caress on his arm.

"Sleep well," Luke added. "And thank you again, for all of this," he said with a gesture toward the datachips at his feet.

Han flashed him a crooked grin and replied only, "Have a good night," before he turned and walked away.

Han Solo had a secret. He was not a typical smuggler and rogue. He liked doing nice things for others. He walked back to his ship that night with a peaceful grin on his face, knowing that by finally sharing his secret, he had made his two best friends in the universe incredibly happy. Tonight, all was right in Han Solo's world.

end.