Takes place after novel, The Crystal Star
Sequel to Where He Belonged
CRYSTAL JEDI
by Elizabeth Stuart
He acknowledged finally, after thirty years, that he had behaved badly. He'd looked at the situation from every angle, and there seemed to be no way to say Sorry for the way I treated you other than to just say it. Luke would forgive him, because Luke was a forgiving sort of person. Near as Han knew, Luke had never harbored a grudge, never nursed it over the years until it became bigger and bigger and grew more important than anything in life.
A servodroid paused in front of him, balancing a tray of goblets that brimmed with golden nectar. Han returned his empty glass and accepted a fresh one, ignoring the disapproving glances that came from around him. It was a solemn occasion, one that required he be sober; yet if he drank himself senseless, they would forgive him. The shock, they'd say, the strain.
Surely Luke would be as forgiving as these near-strangers and old friends.
From the circle of the little group that protected him, he studied the room, searching for a golden head laced with silver. Had Age captured Luke? Or was he still youthful and agile, still noble and solemn? Had his face sagged and his body filled? Han looked down at his chest under the formal shirt. Leaner than he'd been on their wedding day, less muscles under the slack skin.
His eyes misted. They were all waiting for him to break down, but he be damned if he'd give them the satisfaction. He glared into the crystal goblet. It reminded him of Crseih and Luke, the crystal star, the crystal Jedi. Both vital and alive, both so incredibly fragile that when the pressure built and built--
On Crseih only the star had shattered; Luke hadn't. Han refused to believe the rumors. Over the years, stories about Luke had occasionally reached them... a quietly mad Jedi, calming crises, averting wars, bring peace and hope-- only to others, never to himself--then vanishing, resurfacing when the lure of tears beckoned. Occasionally returning to Coruscant to see his sister's family, but never staying, never tarrying the way he had before the argument.
Hell, it hadn't even been an argument! Just a few words, really. Words that had meant nothing to him except a momentary satisfaction. But to Luke, they had meant something more...
...The argument with Leia continued after dinner. "I'm just tired of him always bein' here," Han repeated carefully. "Why doesn't he get a life of his own?"
The delicate silk shawl fell off Leia's shoulders, and she twisted it between her fingers before dropping it onto the chair. "I've been to talk to him."
"You told him-- ?"
"Of course not." She sat beside him on the bed, her left hand clenched into a fist, pressing against her mouth. "I think he knows."
"Knows what?"
"How you feel." A breeze wafted through the room. She looked at the billowing curtains, but made no move to rise and close the shutters.
"Shit, now my damn feelings aren't even private!" He growled because she expected it, but his emotions were in turmoil. "What about how he feels?"
She didn't reply. Did she sense what he did, that Luke's feelings for Han had grown into something more than friendship? He hated the way Luke looked at him, a hungry look that couldn't be banished or disguised. It made him uncomfortable and angry. It flattered him. It made him want-- and he hated that most of all.
Leia rested her small hand on his forearm. "What about the way you feel?"
He panicked, defending his thoughts with anger. "You know how I feel! That business on Crseih was the last straw for me. On top of everything, he treated me like a worthless piece of scum. I've had it with him!" He pushed himself to his feet. "I got nothin' else to say."
The level brown eyes watched him with surprising patience. "He's leaving. He's going back to Dagobah."
"What the hell for?"
"To search for Jedi artifacts... he says."
He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Well, good riddance! Maybe he'll stay there for awhile." He waited, but she obviously wasn't in the mood for an argument. "I'll, uh, go check on the kids before we turn in."
Jacen and Jaina were dead to the world. He'd never seen kids who played so hard and crashed so hard. Except maybe Luke on Yavin, when he'd been so young, so eager, so full of life. Before that same life had battered at him, pushed him down every time he pulled himself to his feet. Han leaned his head against the door jamb and watched the twins. Even in a heavy sleep, Jaina was active. Her limbs moved jerkily through a dream, and he smiled faintly.
Next door, the nightlight in Anakin's room gave off a soft green glow. The baby-- correction, the three-year-old who was old enough to hate being called a baby-- was also asleep, one thumb having found its way into his mouth. He was all ivory and rose, with pale lashes that moved gently on his cheeks as he breathed. Han bent over the bed and brushed a kiss on his forehead.
Abruptly, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He whirled, hand going immediately for the blaster he wasn't carrying. A figure emerged from the shadows in the corner of the room. Black robes swept the floor.
"Luke!" He relaxed infinitesimally, then his eyes narrowed. "What're you doing here?"
"Saying good-bye. I didn't wake him."
"I can see that." He stood his ground, unwilling-- for a reason he didn't dare think through-- to leave his brother-in-law alone with his youngest child. "You finished?"
Luke moved nearer the light of the hall. His pale eyes glittered. "Yeah, I'm finished." His left hand made an aborted gesture. "I'll be leaving very early in the morning, so..." Luke blinked and looked down. Han followed his gaze and saw the artificial fingers curling around the real ones so tightly that it must have hurt. "Anyway... good-bye, Han."
"So long." It was rude to be curt, but he couldn't resist seeing the reaction his words could provoke. There: a flicker of surprised hurt, quickly concealed. In a gesture he accepted as deliberate cruelty, he allowed his fingers to graze Luke's cheek, not lingering long enough to enjoy the silkiness of the cool skin. "Take care of yourself."
The blue gaze lifted quickly, a bright flare of joy rekindling in their depths. "You, too," the Jedi said, his mouth trembling. "I'll miss-- "
He interrupted the possible declaration of affection with a jerk of his head. "You didn't do any Jedi stuff to Anakin, did you?"
Luke's mask wobbled for a moment, then he regained it and glared with a fierceness that refused to be hidden. "No, I didn't do any Jedi stuff to your son, Han."
"Good." He held the gaze until Luke relented and began to walk away. 'Cause I want him to be safe and to be happy-- I don't want him turning out like you.
Like a miniature cyclone, Luke spun around with a swirl of black. "Don't worry, he'll be fine," he hissed softly before vanishing around the corner.
Han flinched, but rage immediately followed on the heels of shame. Stay the hell out of my mind-- and stay the hell away from me and my family!
There was no indication that Luke heard him that time. Han closed the door to Anakin's room and stood in the brightly-lit hall, shaking with the aftermath of intense emotions that he couldn't identify. When he recovered, he headed toward his bedchamber, back to Leia. Where he belonged...
There was a stir at the entry, a sudden flurry of activity. Without looking, he knew it was Luke. There was no one else who could arouse people the way a living legend could. He didn't move-- there was no need. Luke would come to him.
It didn't take long.
When he sensed the room's attention refocusing, he turned with a grin.
Luke gave him a grave little smile in return and waited, allowing himself to be scrutinized. Strangely, he didn't look older--on first glance. Upon further inspection, Han noted tiny lines around the mouth and eyes, a few shallow creases in the face. There was no silver in his hair, and Han was inexplicably disappointed. Luke was still slim and muscled. His posture was rigidly military, his back straight as though its stiffness was an armor of protection.
"Luke," Han said, finally daring to meet the gaze. "Thanks for coming."
Blue crystal that fractured the room's light and sent it dancing into the darkest corners. Blue crystal that drained everyone's emotions, absorbed them, possessed them. In an instant Han felt it all: peace, fulfillment, wisdom. Then the illusion faltered, and he fell into a well of solitude. Dark sorrow, sobs of a child, a life of loss, of wanting and never having, nothing, ever, just love me han just love me, stay the hell away from me and my family... Scrabbling for a hold, a way to pull himself to safety--
He jerked back.
"Are you all right?" Luke asked compassionately.
"Yeah," he replied, dazed and confused. "Yeah, I'm fine."
The children arrived-- children no longer, but adults fully grown. They swept between him and Luke, and Han stepped back, striving to regain his composure. He moved several paces, blindly accepted another goblet, held it in his grip, not drinking, only holding it because he had to hold on to something or he'd fall forever.
He stared at Luke. This time he wasn't a vision, not a dream, not a regret. Not a nightmare come to haunt.
He stared and considered what he saw.
The crystal was still there, the alarming fragility, the awful strength of it. But Luke's eyes held understanding and acceptance. And an aloofness that was terrifying in its honesty.
Han swallowed.
At some point, Luke had discovered the truth and decided to live with it.
At some point, Luke had discovered the cost was too high.
At some point, Luke stopped caring.
The galaxy could have died around Han and he wouldn't have noticed, not then. He was too preoccupied, too shocked, too saddened already to care about the collapse of a thousand worlds. He had to be wrong. Luke would always care, he was that kind of man, he was a Jedi, a saint, a hero, a fool. Luke would never give up on anyone.
I'm here, Han whispered silently. I'm here now, I'm ready. Luke... be here, too. Be here for me. I need you.
"Are you all right?"
He looked at the blond hair, the luminous blue eyes, the concern, the comfort that was offered. "I'm fine," he answered, but he wasn't.
"You don't look fine," Anakin said worriedly. "Come and sit down. You know, Dad," he said as he escorted his father across the room, "you should come to live with us. It's where you belong. It's what Mother would have wanted."
Was it? But Leia had known, too. She'd known Luke's secret... and she'd understood her husband's heart long before he'd discovered it. They'd both loved Luke in those days, but only one of them had dared touch him, dared feed his hunger a single time. Han stared at the satin-draped bier that was outlined with lit tapers in the tradition of Old Alderaan. No, Leia had known the truth.
And Leia would want him to be with Luke.
He looked at the young man whose resemblance to Luke still broke his heart. Leia had never told him, not in words, but-- "Where's Luke?"
"He's-- " Anakin's voice faded into nothingness as Han spotted Luke again. The azure gaze met his from across the room. Then Luke bent forward, dipping down, disappearing for an endless moment. He reappeared--
--a blond-headed boychild giggling in his arms. A beautiful woman at his side, her long, dark hair swinging freely.
His smile bespoke his feelings: satisfaction, happiness, completion. Revenge.
And no peace ever.
"--gone, you know that. Dad... are you all right?"
The goblet slipped through his fingers. In slow motion, it fractured, each piece chiming like a tiny bell as it hit the slick marble floor. The crystal shards slid and came to rest in a golden pool, fish swimming for their survival. Alive, but irreparably shattered.
How could a thing so broken still live?
He stared across the room and saw nothing but moons, faces of people concerned about him.
Luke was gone, back to wherever it was he belonged.
And bit by bit, Han was following him.
End