He's My Friend Too

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A/N: I do not own Star Wars.

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I sit alone in the mess hall, my back to the corner as I lean over my not-so-hot chocolate. Miniscule clouds form on the surface of the drink, and as my mind wanders aimlessly to match, I find I am grateful for the lack of companionship.

Not only do I have a lot on my mind because of… Vader's revelation, but I am not in the mood for any sort of company at the moment. It is the dead of Home One's night cycle, when any intelligent person not on shift would be in their bunks, catching some Z's.

But I cannot sleep. And for once since that awful day in Cloud City, it has nothing to do with my newfound heritage, or the loss of my right hand.

My mind shifts to Leia, who has received all the attention since we lost Han to the carbonite… and Boba Fett.

I know she misses Han: I can see it anytime I look at her. I don't need any special powers to know her heart lies in that carbonite with the smuggler.

But so does a part of mine.

A pang of jealous longing washes over me as I recall how just about everyone who heard about Han looked to comfort Leia… and her alone.

I am so sorry, Princess…

We will find him…

I am sure he's alright, Ma'am…

Do you need anything Leia?

As if she was the only one to care for the smuggler.

Instantly, however, I chide myself; pushing such petty emotion far from my being.

I do not begrudge Leia the well-wishes she receives, since I kind of prefer being on the sidelines of such attention-getting anyway. However, it does sort of rankle that no one seems to remember that Leia is not Han's only friend.

Han Solo is my friend too.

I look inside myself, to the ragged and wounded heart I hide so thoroughly from everyone. I cannot let them see how broken I really am inside. I am supposed to be their poster boy: a perfect, happy representation of hope, with a smile plastered upon my face at all times.

But I am far from whole.

I recall the various blemishes on what once was such a carefree and open heart. I recall a time when I wasn't so… war-worn. There was a point in time when my biggest concern was getting home before sundown so Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru didn't fear for me… or chew me out.

That is the first hole in my heart: the loss of my guardians. Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru were not my mother and father, I know that. But they did love me, and I them. They raised me: changing my diapers when I still used them, always providing a safe home, a meal, and the knowledge that I was not a burden to them. They taught me how to work, how to love, and how to stand up for what I knew to be right.

Aunt Beru was much better than my uncle, even in her quiet way, at showing her affection for me. She would make me her famous stew whenever I felt under the weather; she'd hold me when I had a nightmare. Aunt Beru was also the one who I knew I could talk to: I never feared opening my mind to her, so to speak.

Uncle Owen was an enigma at times to me; though looking back, I understand now what I could not then. Whenever he got after me for strange behavior, or for my odd quirks or finding something no one else possibly could have, he knew that I was using the Force. And though he'd get after me, I knew he was concerned for me. He may not have been very good at showing his love, but the rare moments he opened up to me in return are cherished forever within the recesses of my heart and mind.

The dark day I walked the sands of our burning homestead to find their blackened remains is the day the first raw wound was opened in my heart. I was so afraid, then. I had no idea where to go from there… and I knew then that I was officially an orphan.

The kids in school teased and bullied me often about the fact that I was never really the Lars's son. And they were right that I wasn't their flesh and blood, but they were my parents, and we were a family.

I feel a few chilled tears slip from the corners of my eyes, and I allow them to fall for my late family.

My mind shifts to the jagged tear left behind by the mixture of the loss of Ben Kenobi, and the fact that the one man I'd trusted had been lying to my face. I still feel the sting from his deception, and wonder why he didn't tell me. But as I ponder over that query, the first inklings of understanding seep in.

The answer, of course, lays within the still-smoldering black mark branded onto my heart by Darth Vader… my… father. A black mark that wasted no time in shoving away what little innocence remained within me.

I won't kid myself in saying I was fully mature before Bespin. I admit that I was still a little wet behind the ears… impulsive to a fault and reckless. Which is exactly why Ben kept my lineage a secret from me.

As an orphaned boy who'd always ached to know his father, had I found out any earlier that he was alive…

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. I probably would have run straight into his arms, seeking the absent attentions of the man who'd sired me. Just to be with him, I would have gone, so I didn't feel like an orphan anymore.

But though I am glad that scenario never played out, it still hurts that I was lied to. Not just by Ben, but by Owen and Beru as well.

A noise lifts my head, breaking my thoughts as I seek out the source. But it's only a cleaning droid going about its business.

I lift my mug of chocolate to my lips, idly watching the robot as it sweeps the floor. The glint of gold from its photoreceptor reminds me briefly of See-Threepio, or Goldenrod, as Han liked to call him.

Han.

I swallow the returning lump in my throat, feeling more tears sting my eyes as I remove my gaze from the droid to my hands.

Han's absence is a keen pang deep within me: I feel his loss as surely as Leia.

I know Leia loves Han; she loves him so deeply it hurts her to be without him… especially after they finally admitted they were smitten with each other. I know she aches to hold him in her arms, to kiss his lips… to simply hear his voice and his sarcastic humor, or see the lopsided grin he's famous for.

I have done my best to be understanding and supportive of her, as far as she will let me. But again; I wish that, just for once, someone would think to comfort me as well.

Because I love Han too.

It's nothing like Leia feels for him of course, but it's still a profound love. It is the love of a brother. Hot tears blur my vision then, and I bury my head in my hands, my drink forgotten.

Han is the brother I never thought I would get to have. I heard Biggs once say that you couldn't choose your family. Well, he was wrong: you can choose your family, or at least some of it.

Han and Leia are the family I have chosen, as well as Chewie and Artoo. Hell, even Threepio, as annoying as he can be, would be sorely missed if he were to be taken away.

My aching, wounded, and torn heart cries out for my big brother. My arms ache to pull him into a big bear-hug, and to feel secure in his embrace as I have never felt in anyone else's. I miss his advice, something I could sorely use right now as I struggle to make sense of my screwed-up life.

I recall with fondness the many late-night conversations we had, neither one of us giving any thought to the lateness of the hour, or the fact that one or both of us had early shifts the next day. We simply understood that when one of us needed to talk, or just needed some unbiased company, all other things became secondary.

That is the love brothers' share.

Oh, how I wish I had arrived sooner to help Han. Perhaps I could have taken his place: at least then he'd be safe, alive… and with the woman he loves.

Then I snort. Would it really have made a difference, my arrival being moved up? Vader would still have won. And then where would we all be?

"Luke?"

I lift my head, my blue gaze jerking to the source of the voice. I quickly relax though, when I see who it is. Leia is gazing at me oddly, as if she had never seen me cry. Slightly self-conscious, I swipe at my eyes, looking away.

But then I feel her mood shift, and she joins me at the table, sitting not across from me, but beside me. I glance briefly to her, wondering what she needs.

When she wraps a slender arm about my shoulders— much in the same way I did to her in the medical bay as we watched the Millennium Falcon leave— all of a sudden something feels… right. The galaxy is still far from perfect, and Han is still gone, but something about being held by Leia comforts me.

It almost feels as though she and I have a special connection of our own. Not a romantic love, we both understand that, but it is still much deeper than simply a platonic relationship. We don't need to describe it: because on a base level we understand it in the same way.

"Oh, Luke," she murmurs, drawing me into her side, with my head resting lightly on her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

And that is when I realize that she knows why I am in here; all alone in the middle of the night.

"I got so caught up in my own grief," Leia went on. "That I never thought to ask how you were taking Han's… disappearance. I know his absence has hit you hard too." I feel her grimace against my head. "You have been such an anchor to me Luke, all this time, when I know you have been hurting too. Let it out; I am here. Let it go, Luke."

I stiffen in an effort not to break into sobs, but when she tugs me closer with a comforting murmur, I turn my face into her. I release my sorrow in great heaves, my shoulders shaking with each ragged breath I take.

She allows me to cling to her, and she stays strong for me, allowing me a much-needed moment.

When I finally calm enough to talk, I pull away, offering a small watery smile.

"I miss my brother," I murmur plaintively.

"I know Luke," Leia says quietly. "I do too."

She rests her hand on mine, and leans her head against my shoulder now, silent as I was earlier. And as I wrap my arm about her in turn, the galaxy feels a little brighter now.

"We will find him, Luke," Leia says firmly, and I don't doubt the determination I hear in her voice, that I can feel in her presence.

"Yes," I return. "Yes we will."