notes: Sorry this took so long to get out, y'all. I won't bother you all with excuses - just know that I'm sorry. I hope you enjoy, and that the chapter can make up for the wait... (or at least that it doesn't disappoint...")


CHAPTER 7

Twelve days earlier…

Luke reeled, pain exploding in his head. "No!" he screamed, staggering and falling to his knees.

He bit his tongue to keep from crying out aloud and lifted his hands, stained and streaked with vaporator grease, to his temples. Darkness threatened to overwhelm him—threatened to drag him down into inexorable silence—and Luke frantically pulled out of Leia's mind. He blinked, and the darkness vanished, replaced by the hot air and hotter sands of the western vaporator field.

She was gone. She was dead. Darth Vader had killed her.

I'm gonna kill him. Luke thought, savage and grief-stricken. I'm gonna kriffing kill him. He didn't know how—didn't even know how he was going to find Darth Vader, let alone kill him—but in that moment, Luke was certain: he was going to be the end of Darth Vader, one way or another.

"You okay, Luke?" Uncle Owen asked, seeing Luke stumble and turning toward him. He looked concerned, his brows drawn together in a frown, his eyes dark with worry. He took a step toward Luke, extending a hand—to pull Luke up or to pat him reassuringly, Luke didn't know—but Luke scrambled to his feet before his uncle could reach him.

"Yeah," Luke said, taking a step away and forced himself to smile, though all he felt like doing was screaming to the sky in agony. "Just a bad headache."

Uncle Owen grunted, looking unconvinced, but said, "If it gets too bad, tell me and I'll take you home."

"I'll be fine," Luke said. The pain, born of the strike from Vader's lightsaber, was already fading, leaving in its wake only grief and aching emptiness.

Luke spent the rest of the afternoon in a daze. Sorrow battered at his heart, his sense of loss so strong it made him sick. He gagged and threw up his lunch behind the fence, hoping that Uncle Owen thought he had just gone to relieve himself. He didn't want Uncle Owen asking any questions, questions Luke wouldn't be able to answer.

How could he tell his uncle—his practical, earth-bound uncle—that he was mourning the death of the girl that he had talked to in his head?

Dinner that night was a nauseating affair. Luke choked down his food with a tight throat and a tongue that felt thick and clumsy and numb. He threw up again afterwards, retching miserably into the toilet, gripping the edge with white knuckles. When he was done he sank back with a groan, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand, swallowing heavily.

Leia, he thought desperately, fighting back tears. Oh, Leia...

He continued to swallow back tears until he climbed into bed that night. I won't cry, Luke told himself. He thought of Leia, and of the last words he had spoken to her. "I love you," he had said, and, "I wanted to share my life with you." That he would now never have that chance cut him to the deepest fold of his soul.

A tear slipped from Luke's eye and trickled down his temple and into his hair.

Suddenly morbidly curious, Luke reached out for their connection. He wondered if it was still there—if it had vanished, or if his half was still shining bright within him.

He found the connection easily enough. It burned gold and brilliant deep within his mind, connecting him to Leia.

Connecting him to Leia…

Luke sat bolt upright in bed.

"Leia?" he called, barely daring to hope.

There was no answer.

But still, the bond shone bright and strong—and Luke could feel Leia on the other side of it. Not the crushing weight of darkness Luke had sensed earlier, not emptiness, not the absence of death, but her.

She was alive. Alive. Alive, though he could not hear her heartbeat or feel the breath in her lungs. He could not feel her thoughts either, even when he pressed close—and press close he did, heart in his throat, excitement battering at his ribs. He had to see her, had to talk to her, had to know—to hear—that she was alright.

Nothing.

Luke tried again. Again, however, he could not slide into her mind, could not even hear her thoughts. Instead all he felt was something—something soft, something springy, something strong. It was a wall standing between him and Leia, resolutely keeping them apart. When he touched it, a sour taste crept into his mouth and down into his bones.

He threw himself against it with a silent cry, arrowing every thought and emotion he could muster at it. For a second it buckled and bulged—but then it held. Luke tried again, grasping for Leia's thoughts with formless fingers. His mind slid against the wall as if it was made of glass, keeping him out and away from Leia's mind.

"Leia," Luke shouted, standing at the very edge of the wall. "Leia!"

Only silence answered his calls.

Luke fell asleep exhausted both mentally and physically. He had spent the better part of an hour fighting against the wall, pummeling it with as much thought and force as he could conjure. It had remained strong, however, not letting him through.

Luke woke early the next morning, even before his chrono went off. He sat up in bed, hugging his sheets to his chest, and with his heart in his mouth tried again to contact Leia. He hit the same wall—only it seemed thicker and more resilient than it had the night before. Luke bashed himself against it time and time again, seeking to shatter it, break it, even crack it—to no avail.

The day was long and hot. Luke spent as much time pushing against the wall, trying still to press through it, as he did working on the vaporators. His uncle commented twice that he seemed distracted and distant—to which Luke replied simply that he had a lot on his mind.

"Do you still have a headache?" his uncle asked after lunch.

"Yes," Luke lied, taking the easy way out. "But I'm okay. It's better than it was yesterday." After they got home, however, his uncle pressed a couple of pain meds into Luke's hand with the terse command to take them.

"I want you at full capacity tomorrow," he said gruffly, trying—and failing—to hide the worry in his face.

Luke swallowed them obediently, though his headache had long ago faded. "Thanks," he mumbled, and went to find some water to chase down the pills.

That night, when he went to bed, Aunt Beru stayed an extra minute in his room. "How are you feeling?" she asked, smoothing his hair away from his forehead.

"Better," Luke said, looking up at her.

His aunt smiled. "Good," she said, and leaned down to press a kiss to his hair. "Your uncle was really worried."

Luke shrugged. "It was just a headache," he said.

Aunt Beru shook her head. "He said you've been distracted and distant since yesterday."

"Well I'm feeling much better now," Luke promised.

"Good," Aunt Beru said again. "Well, goodnight my little child of the desert," she said, and stood.

Luke watched her go, then closed his eyes. He was exhausted from the long day, and even before he could throw a javelin of thought at the wall separating him from Leia, he drifted off to sleep.

He dreamed.

He was out on the dunes at night, the three moons shining down on him with pale light, gilding the sand in silver. A light breeze rustled around him, lifting his hair and tugging at his shirt with cool fingers.

"Hello Luke."

Luke whirled at the sound of the soft, feminine voice. And there, standing amid the whispering sands, her shawl drawn tightly about her shoulders, was a woman Luke had only seen in pictures.

"Shmi?" Luke breathed. Then, even softer, "Grandma?"

Shmi opened her arms, smiling through tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

Luke flung himself forward and into her arms. She smelled of jasmine and of the desert, dry and cool beneath the pale moons, but she was warm and solid.

She ran her fingers through Luke's hair, holding him tight. "Oh, Luke," she breathed, and kissed his head. "I've longed for this moment for longer than you would believe."

Luke hugged her fiercely, then pulled back. "Why now?" he asked.

"Because you needed me now," Shmi replied.

She knelt in front of him. "Listen to me. You have a long, hard road before you, Luke. But if you travel it with strength and conviction, you will shape the galaxy with your love."

"My love?" Luke asked, trying not to scoff at the idea. "What can love do?"

"More than you might guess. Trust in that love—and in the love you have for Leia. It will guide you."

"Okay," he said, still not sure he understood but not wanting to contradict Shmi again, and buried himself in his grandmother's arms once more. "Thank you," he whispered to her, and let her go.

"Trust yourself," Shmi said, standing. "Trust the love you feel. Be strong and courageous. And be kind."

And with that she turned and began to walk away.

Something clicked in Luke's mind. "It was you," he said, taking a step after her.

Shmi turned back to him, eyebrows raised in silent question.

"When Old Ben severed the connection, and I saw all those things. I saw you, didn't I?"

Shmi smiled. "You are very astute," she said softly.

"Why didn't I recognize you then?"

"The Force plays strange tricks on the mind," Shmi said, "and on the sight. Perhaps it did not want you to recognize me; perhaps you were not ready to."

Luke frowned, not sure he understood. "The Force?" he asked. He had never really understood just what the Force was. He hoped, perhaps, Shmi could explain it to him.

"The power that binds this galaxy together. It is part of every living being, both great and small, and for those few whom it chooses, it can become a tool."

"Like Leia," Luke said.

Shmi nodded. "Like Leia."

"Okay," Luke said. He thought he understood a little better now. He still did not understand how he could have not recognized Shmi for anyone but herself.

"Don't think on it too hard," Shmi suggested, smiling at him. "It will just make your head hurt."

"Okay," Luke said again, this time grudgingly. "Will I see you again?" he said quickly, as Shmi turned again to go.

"Perhaps," Shmi replied. "But now I must leave. And you must wake."

"I don't want you to go," Luke began to say—only to be jolted awake by the sound of his chrono going off.

Luke lay in bed for a long minute, staring up at his ceiling shadowed by the red gleam from the face of his chrono. What had Shmi meant when she said he would shape the galaxy with his love, he wondered? What did it mean to trust his love?

What did mean that he had dreamed of his grandmother as if she was alive—his grandmother who had been dead for more than 15 years?

He got up and dressed slowly, thinking. Trust in my love for Leia, Luke thought, remembering Shmi's words. But what does that mean? How can that help?

Breakfast was a quiet affair, Luke eating his oatmeal methodically as he mulled over his dream. His uncle read a news report on the family's pad, eating absentmindedly. His aunt tried once to get the two of them to engage—but then she gave up and ate in silence as well.

The day out in the fields was long, dry, and hot. Luke continued to consider Shmi's words, puzzling over them and trying to fit the pieces together in a way that made sense. As the hours grew, however, he became more and more irritated; he did not understand what Shmi had meant.

Love can't do much of anything, Luke thought, feeling rebellious in his irritation.

And yet Shmi's words stayed with him, gnawing at his ribs and at his heart, whispering to him in a language he thought he understood but could not quite hear. It baffled and infuriated him.

He also continued battering at the wall separating him and Leia every spare moment he had—but as always, it held strong and fast and did not break. He came away feeling bloodied and bruised—if thoughts and mind could be bloody and bruised—and tired beyond belief. When he got home just before dinner, it was all Luke could do to climb in the sonic shower to clean up, then collapse into bed.

"Don't you want to eat?" his aunt asked, coming into his room half an hour later. Luke, already asleep, didn't answer.

He dreamed he was in the desert. Clouds boiled in the distance, promising a disastrous storm, while above him the twin suns burned. The air was hot and dry, the wind still, the sand sending up shimmering heat waves. Even so, Luke shivered as if cold.

Luke turned, looking around him. Shmi was nowhere in sight—no one was anywhere in sight. There was only him. Him and the heat and the impending storm.

The air trembled around him. Luke turned again, eyes scanning the rising dunes, searching for the disturbance

As he turned, a gust of wind tore at him, plucking at his hair and shirt and pants and flinging sand into his face. Luke gasped, the wind tearing the breath from his lips, and shaded his face with his hands.

And there, on the wind, came a faint voice. It was soft and feminine, and crying his name—crying it in desperation, in need, in hope.

Luke knew the voice.

"Leia?" he asked, her name falling from his lips unbidden. Then, again, louder, Luke cried, "Leia?"

His want for her, his need for her—his love for her—rose in his chest, burgeoning like a bird flaring its wings between his ribs. He loved her. He loved her, so firmly and fiercely that it stole his breath away. She was his other half, like a twin sister he'd never expected to need so badly; with her he was whole.

Fire erupted in his veins, burning his bones to ash. It hurt even as he exulted in it, the feeling exhilarating and profound. It was the same kind of rush he had felt when he first started contacting Leia, only tenfold.

Turning and squinting, breathless with the rush of the fire which was fading to a simmer in his blood, Luke saw what at first he thought a trick of the desert heat and wind. As he stared, however, the wind still battering his body, the image coalesced and solidified.

There, a dozen feet away from him, stood Leia. She was dressed in an over-large shirt, and her hair was shaved down to her scalp so that only a dark fuzz covered her head. She looked thin and pale, her expression bleak and afraid.

The sight of her ran a shock through Luke's bones, electric and horrifying. She looked so different from the bright, happy girl of his dreams; where once she had smiled and laughed readily, now she looked gaunt and full of fear. Her hair, too, was a shock. Where before it had always been long and braided in intricate styles, now the skin of her scalp showed through the dark fuzz.

"Leia," Luke gasped, and started to run toward her.

He hit a wall.

Luke fell back, landing on his butt, the wind knocked out of him. His nose hurt too, though it was not broken or bleeding.

He stood slowly, and reached out a hand. He touched the invisible barrier standing between him and Leia, ran his hand along it. It was soft and springy to the touch, but firm. It would not give, even when Luke punched it with all his might. It sagged a little at the point of contact, but did not give way, and when Luke pulled his smarting hand back it sprang back into place.

It was the same wall that stood between her and him in his mind.

"Leia!" Luke called. "Leia, can you hear me?"

Around him, the wind picked up. It tore at him, flinging burning sand into his eyes, nose, and mouth. Luke staggered and caught himself, once more lifting a hand to shield his face.

"Leia!" he called.

Thunder boomed. The suns slid behind the boiling clouds, casting the desert into a world of shadow and shade. The wind grabbed at him, pushing and pulling his body as it swept around him, trying to knock him off balance.

"No," Luke groaned, angling his body into the wind and struggling back towards Leia and the invisible wall standing between them. "Leia," he cried, grabbing onto fistfuls of the wall and using it to drag himself forward. He pressed himself against the barrier.

For a second Luke thought he was going to make it through. The wall bulged around him as he sank in, in, into it. He stretched a hand out, pushing against it, shoving it deeper and deeper. I love her! Luke shouted, to himself and to the wall standing between them, nearly breathless with emotion. The fire in his roared back to life, filling his fingertips and wrist and chest. You can't keep me from her!

For a split second, Luke thought he felt clear air on his fingertips.

"Leia," he called, desperate now, hoping that she could hear him—but she remained impassive and still, unheeding and not acknowledging his cries. His feet slid in the sand, carving deep furrows into the earth. He strained, pushed, yearned. The wall buckled—and rebounded, throwing Luke onto his back a dozen feet away.

Luke picked himself up slowly, sore and aching.

It began to rain.

"Leia," Luke cried. He staggered toward the wall again, ignoring the driving rain. He was soaked to the skin in seconds, his clothes plastered to his body, his hair dripping and clinging to his forehead and neck.

He reached the wall. Pushed against it. Fought it.

But it stood strong. All he succeeded in doing was carving new furrows into the rain-soaked sand and numbing his hands.

"Leia," Luke half-sobbed, half-gasped, falling to his knees. "Leia!"

The rain continued to fall, lightning cracked, and thunder boomed. But Leia remained silent and unmoving, untouched by the storm.

~oOo~

The next morning, Luke awoke tired and sore. He sat up slowly, blindly smacking at his chrono to stop its incessant beeping, and swung his legs out of bed. He stayed there for a long moment, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands.

What was that? he wondered. Was it real? Or just a dream?

It didn't feel like just a dream. Even now he could vividly remember the sensation of the wall around his fingers as he tried to push through it, the rain, the wind. Even now every detail stood out sharp and clear in Luke's mind.

Luke rose and dressed in the dark, thinking. If it was real, then what did it mean? And what can I do now?

He pulled on his boots, lacing them up his calves, then stood to go out to breakfast.

He felt as if the dream was important—as if it was meant to teach him something. But if so, what was he supposed to learn?

Luke was quiet through breakfast: bread pudding in milk. He ate in silence, lost in thought, trying to puzzle his way through the meaning of the dream. He kept running into roadblocks, though. I wasn't able to make it through the wall, so it wasn't a lesson on how to get through. And Leia didn't hear me, so it wasn't about reaching her...

"I need you to work on R6-D9," Uncle Owen said at the end of breakfast, shaking Luke out of thought. "He's in dire need of a tuneup."

"Okay," Luke said.

"Once you're done, you can help you aunt around the house."

"Okay," Luke said again.

Uncle Owen grunted and stood. "I'll see you two at dinner."

Luke went to the garage and made his way to the back where the farm droids spent the night. He spotted Arsix's green-domed head and threaded his way through the droids, coming to a halt beside the astromech. "Come on, Arsix," he said. "It's time for a tune up."

Ar-six beeped happily and put down his third wheel, following Luke out of the back of the garage and to the workbench. Luke picked up a small wrench and knelt down by Arsix, looking for the bolts to release the front panel so he could access its wiring.

Luke was cleaning dust and sand out of Arsix's internal computer core when the thought struck him.

"Trust in that love," Shmi had said, "and in the love you have for Leia. It will guide you."

And with that memory came realization: Leia had appeared to him in the moment he had recognized, felt, and expressed—to himself, if not aloud—his love for Leia. And when he was fighting against the wall the time he almost made it through, it had been thoughts of Leia, and of his love and need for her, that had urged him on.

Did his love make the wall weaker? Or make their bond stronger?

And what even was the wall? he wondered. It wasn't anything from him, he was certain—nothing had changed for him. Which meant it was on Leia's side. But what could cause such a wall to form? Had someone tried to cut their bond from her side? Were they somehow creating the wall using drugs or mind control or something else entirely?

Arsix beeped in consternation.

"Sorry," Luke said and went back to cleaning it.

That night, Luke was ready to try again. He climbed into bed and laid down, staring up at the ceiling. He took a deep breath.

Okay, he thought. Here I go.

He searched for and found their bond. As he expected, when he tried to sink into it he encountered the wall.

He conjured to mind Leia, thinking fiercely, I love you, and pressed against the wall. It sagged—but did not break.

I love her, Luke thought, fiercer.

The wall wobbled, but held firm.

Let me through to her! Luke demanded, anger rising in him.

The wall did not give.

Damn you! Luke screamed and bashed both of his fists against it. It rippled and remained strong.

Luke fell asleep crying—crying out of frustration, out of anger, out of despair. Had he lost her forever? Was she gone for good? Would he never hear her voice or her laughter again? Never feel her smile?

He woke feeling stiff-eyed and stiff-cheeked, the tears dried onto his skin. He scrubbed a hand over his face as he rose, and once he was dressed went into the family's 'fresher to wash his face. He stared at himself in the mirror hanging above the sink for a long moment. He looked gaunt and tired, his face red from the water and the scrubbing, his eyes lined with dark shadows.

Luke dried his face and hands and, leaving the 'fresher, went out to breakfast.

He was back in the east field, cleaning the first row of vaporator vats, when it happened. He was only half paying attention to what he was doing—cleaning the vats did not take much mental exertion—and was thinking once more about Leia.

He missed her with a sharp and painful yearning that made him dizzy and nauseous. What he wouldn't give just to talk to her one more time, just to hear her laugh, just to feel her smile. What he would not sacrifice for her sake. He loved her, even now—would always love her.

Fire, unknown and strange, like nothing Luke had ever before felt—though now that he felt it, felt as if he had known its taste and touch all his life—trickled into his lungs, his eyes, his mind. Luke felt it slide into him, rise up from a hidden, unknown depth of his soul, taking on the form of flame and shadow, lacing his blood with power untapped.

As much by accident as on purpose, Luke cast a thought at the golden cord of their bond. He sunk through it, struck the wall—and felt it crack.

"Leia!" Luke called excitedly. "Leia, can you hear me?"

For an instant, Luke thought she had. For an instant, he could almost hear her thoughts, her breath, her heart. For an instant, it was like he could read her mind.

Then the wall sealed, leaving Luke alone once more.

But he had done it. He had done it. The wall had been cracked—and that meant it could break.

~oOo~

Luke spent the next two days examining the wall that separated them. He wanted to know what it was—what it was made of, how it responded to various forms of thought, how it reacted to different kinds of attack. The more he knew about it, the better he thought his chance to break it.

What had created it continued to elude Luke, but he did learn some things. He learned that it was not a straight wall, but curved around Leia, blanketing her and hiding her behind it. He learned that it seemed to absorb thoughts born and borne by fire most readily, though it repelled all kinds of thought no matter how fast, hard, or strong those thoughts were.

He also learned that it was not the love in his heart that broke the wall—or at least not his love alone—but rather the cord of light that connected his mind to Leia's. He had been experimenting with the wall, placing his hands on it and focusing on his love for Leia, feeling the resulting traces of fire creeping through his veins, when he noticed a golden glow burning around him. Looking closer—it was difficult, as he was in the abstract realm of thought, and so everything was both near and far, straight and round—he saw that their bond, which existed all around him, was glowing brighter and brighter, shimmering and shifting like water under wind. Its end vanished beyond the wall—but around the bond were tiny fissures spreading out like roots.

Before Luke could reach out for it, or for Leia, however, the fire in his blood died and the bond returned to normal. He'd lost his concentration.

The love he felt for Leia, he guessed later that afternoon as he picked up his room and dusted the house, strengthened the bond, allowing it to pierce whatever veil had descended over her.

At last, on the first day of the second week, Luke decided he was ready to try to break the wall again.

Luke lay on the garage roof and stared up at the stars coming out one by one. He remembered laying with Leia on the beach the last night they had spent at the house by the lake, remembered her bright voice and bright words.

Great Mother Desert, he prayed silently, invoking the name his aunt had taught him to use only in the direst of circumstances, help me.

He closed his eyes.

Conjuring Leia's image—the image he had seen in the dream—to mind, Luke concentrated on her, and on his love for her. The love that lay always in his heart expanded out, unspooling in his chest like white-hot strands of gold and silver, igniting his veins.

I love her, Luke thought fiercely—and struck at the wall that stood between them.

It cracked, spiderwebs of fissures spreading out from the point of impact. For a second the wall wavered, the sour taste of it creeping into Luke's mouth and down into his bones, the invisible barrier buckling. It chipped, small crescents of soft and springy debris raining down the length of the wall.

Luke struck again. The cracks expanded, and Luke reached a hand forward to push against the wall.

He felt her. She was cold and afraid, bound to something hard in a sterile, brightly lit room.

Luke pushed harder.

He felt her heartbeat, felt the warmth of her thoughts trapped beneath her cold skin. He felt the breath in her lungs, the blood in her veins.

He was close. So close.

The wall surged around him, closing over his hand. Luke jerked back instinctively, ripping his hand free of the barrier. He stumbled backward, away from it, holding his hand to his chest. It stung as if it had been burned, and it hurt to flex his fingers.

Their bond shone bright and gold, piercing the wall with its light. But it wasn't enough. It hadn't been enough to break the wall. The wall was stronger than him—than it.

So what did he do now?

~oOo~

Luke woke very suddenly, feeling uncomfortable. His back burned, and it was difficult to breathe. He sat up in bed, glanced at his chrono—0256—and groaned.

Eerily wide awake, Luke flopped back down onto his pillow and tried to go back to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, however, they opened a few seconds later, his thoughts whirling and his mind shrieking in a voice he did not understand.

Staring up at his red-shadowed ceiling, Luke thought again about the cord connecting him and Leia, and the wall that separated them. What could he do to break it? He had been so close, and yet had failed in the last moment.

The bond needed to be stronger. Yes, Luke thought, that's it. He had to strengthen the bond, make it harder and more poignant.

But how?

Luke sank into his mind, finding the shining cord, and centered all his thoughts on it.

How do I make you stronger? Luke wondered.

Luke poked and prodded at the cord—gathered thoughts and tried to weave them into it. It was like sewing, he decided; he took a thought and, sinking down into the cord, threaded each one into it, making it thicker and thicker. Painstakingly careful, Luke took ideas of strength and resilience and wrapped the cord with them, making a shield around it.

Luke stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Even as he watched, however, every thought and idea he had tried to add unraveled, sliding off the cord like rain down glass.

Frustrated, Luke groaned.

What do I do? he asked.

Shmi's words came to him, creeping along the avenue of memory. "Trust in that love—and in the love you have for Leia. It will guide you."

But he had done that, and had failed. Hadn't he?

Love strengthens the bond, Luke thought. Maybe...maybe that's what I have to do.

Luke once more concentrated on the cord binding his mind to Leia's. It shone, bright and gold, amid his thoughts. He closed his eyes and thought, I love her. Instead of using that thought—and the emotion welling up inside of him—to attack the wall, however, he focused on the bond. I love her, he said again—to himself, to Leia, to the bond connecting them. I love her so much. Tears gathered in the corners of Luke's eyes, born of desperate longing and desperate need. Please.

He sank his thoughts into the bond, sank his emotions, sank the fire gathering in his fingertips. The cord swelled, drinking them in, bloating with Luke's love and yearning for the sister of his heart. Luke gave it more—and more still. And still it drank, glutting itself.

And then, like a star going supernova, the bond exploded—then shrank, collapsing in on itself, leaving Luke cold and confused. What had happened to it? Where had it gone? In its place was simply darkness—darkness lit suddenly with a warm, red glow.

Luke looked closer. And there, burning hot amid his thoughts, was an ember. Luke touched it—and it was like a door opened before him, through which he could sense Leia's heart, mind, and very soul. No longer was there a cord he had to travel down; no longer were they connected with a tether. Rather, they simply were: were two halves of a whole, were side-by-side, were together, linked in thought and breath and heartbeat.

The second of this realization seemed to last an eternity—an eternity in which Luke felt Leia's heartbeat, felt her breath in her lungs, felt her thoughts growing in her mind. For an instant, Luke knew everything she was thinking, everything she was feeling. She was hurt, and she was cold, and she was scared.

And then the wall rose between them once more, cutting Luke off.

But he had glimpsed her. He had felt her.

And their bond—it was stronger than ever before.

~oOo~

Luke spent the next day with half of his thoughts hovering just on the other side of the doorway into Leia's mind. The wall rose before him, as strong and resolute as ever, and he did not push against it—yet. He wanted time to concentrate, to focus on the breaking of it, not attempt to do it with only half his mind.

The day seemed to drag on forever, but at last Uncle Owen released Luke from his chores. Luke made a beeline for the roof of the garage. It had become his safe space, and the place he went to when I needed to concentrate. He climbed up and settled on the warm shingles, then closed his eyes.

The ember was there. Luke sank through it, falling through the doorway without hesitation. The wall reared up before him, invisible and impenetrable, keeping him from Leia.

I'm coming, Leia, he thought, and gathered his strength.

It only took a moment for Luke to realize that he did not truly understand the new form their bond had taken. When he tried to integrate his thoughts and feelings into it, they simply slid off, like oil on water. Their bond remained strong—but not strong enough to pierce the veil hanging between them.

Growing frustrated, Luke grabbed fistfuls of the ember and launched himself at the wall, battering at it with hand and foot. It buckled, cracked—and Luke felt a wash of horror, disgust, and fear.

"Leia," Luke gasped. "Leia, I'm here. What's going on?" But the wall had already reformed around his hands. Luke jerked back, pulling them free and releasing his grip on the ember.

It had worked—sort of. He knew for sure now that the ember of their bond was the answer to the problem. He just didn't know how to use that ember—yet.

~oOo~

By sunset the next day, Luke was exhausted. He had spent all day in the fields with Uncle Owen, who had gotten onto him for slacking off and being distracted. The truth of the matter was that Luke had spent most of the day examining the ember closely, poking and prodding at it, learning all that he could.

It was a doorway, as he had guessed before, opening directly into Leia's mind. No longer was there an avenue down which he had to travel to reach her; no longer was there anything between them, save the wall that stood in their way. Once it was gone, Luke suspected, they would be able to trade thoughts and feelings as easily and naturally as breathing.

First, though, he had to figure out how to get rid of the wall.

He was going in to wash his hands for dinner when he felt it: the wall bulged and buckled, tiny flakes of it peeling off. Luke flung himself through the ember doorway, already partway open, reaching for the wall standing between him and Leia even before he was all the way through.

"Leia!" he cried.

For a second he thought he heard her—heard her call his name, heard her beg him to come to her. "I'm here, Leia," Luke said, ramming into the wall. It shivered and shook at the impact, but did not give.

Come on, dammit, he thought desperately.

He reached back, tried to grab onto the ember and pull it forward. Fistfuls of it came away in his grasp and, though he had tried before and failed, he punched at the wall with it. The wall trembled and held.

"No!" Luke yelled aloud, slamming his clenched fists onto the sink.

A long moment passed in which Luke clutched the edge of the sink and fought back tears. He had been close—so close, dammit. He had even heard her somehow. And yet the wall had confounded him one more time.

"Luke? Luke, are you okay?" his aunt called through the door, sounding worried.

"I'm fine," Luke lied. "I just dropped something."

"Okay," Aunt Beru said, sounding uncertain. "Hurry up and finish. Dinner's getting cold."

After dinner, Luke spent a long time standing out in the courtyard, thinking.

Unlike the cord, the ember did not seem to pierce the wall. It merely existed, a doorway between minds. Yet he was convinced that the ember was the key to conquering the wall. It was the natural progression of the cord—had become what it was when Luke fed it all the love and need and fire he could. Which meant it was better than the cord—right?

It had to be.

So how did he use it?

He explored it more that night before drifting off to sleep, running his thoughts around the ember, gauging and measuring every centim of it. It burned with an inner light, illuminating the darkness that had once been filled with glowing gold, though it was cool to the touch. At even the slightest touch of his mind, the ember opened its doorway—a doorway Luke knew, knew with the marrow in his bones and the blood in his veins, was supposed to be to Leia's mind.

Luke tried feeding the ember his feelings, emotions, and fire just as he had before. They ran off its surface, spilling and pooling around Luke's ankles.

Come on, Luke thought, grabbing onto the ember once more to drag it through the doorway. The ember, which was the doorway, did not budge but for the two tiny pieces that broke off in Luke's hands.

Luke woke tired and heartsore the next morning. It was a struggle to drag himself out of bed and out to breakfast, and even more of a struggle to make himself follow Uncle Owen out to the landspeeder.

"Are you feeling okay, Luke?" Uncle Owen asked halfway through the morning. "You look sick."

"I'm fine," Luke said. "Just tired."

The next day was even worse. Luke had slept only fitfully, plagued by dreams of the ember standing open but unmoving while Leia screamed on the other side of the wall.

"Are you sure you're feeling fine?" Uncle Owen asked in the landspeeder on the way out to the fields.

Luke shrugged. "I just didn't sleep well."

The day passed in a haze of exhaustion for Luke. He helped his uncle with the vaporators, ate lunch robotically, and fell asleep in the sonic shower. He dreamed again of Leia screaming on the other side of the wall, jolting awake so hard that he bumped his head on the shower door. He climbed out massaging his scalp and wondering what had made her scream.

He went to bed early that night. Frustrated with the ember and wanting, more than anything, to get a good night's sleep, he burrowed into his bed as soon as dinner was done. His aunt came in just as he was falling asleep and perched on the edge of his bed. Running her fingers through his hair, she hummed a gentle lullaby Luke hadn't heard in years. He fell asleep to the sound of his aunt's husky voice.

He awoke two hours later as sharply as if someone had screamed in his ear. His eyes snapped open to the darkness and silence of his room—but still he remained convinced that someone had screamed.

Luke blinked and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He was going crazy—this whole thing was driving him crazy. First he was unable to sleep, now this…

He heard the scream again. The bottom of his stomach fell away, and he felt as if he was falling.

"Leia," he gasped aloud, and almost before he new what he was doing he had sunk through the ember and to the edge of the wall, placing hands of thought against it and shoving. "Leia!" he yelled—only to be drowned out by another terrified scream.

He had to reach her. He had to get to her now.

Come on, he begged the ember, turning back in the doorway to grab at it in desperation. Punch through it.

But the ember remained still and resolute, unmoving.

Leia screamed again, this time shrill and pained.

Fire rose in Luke's chest, opening, unfolding. It strained against him, filled his body until his skin felt paper-thin and about to tear. It was all the power of the stars, all the strength of the worlds orbiting them, all the vastness of space beyond. It was life, it was death, it was eternity.

Luke stretched out his hands and placed them against the wall.

The fire roared out of his fingertips, blue and bright. It splashed against the wall, rose up, up, up until it dwarfed it, spilling over the top and down the other sides. The wall writhed—bubbled, boiled, and finally buckled.

In that moment, Luke understood. The bond itself had not been what had fractured the wall—it was the fire that had coursed down it, like electricity along a metal plate. It was the flames thater given mind to that had fractured and split the wall, made it buckle and break.

But now—now he gave the flames ripping through him free rein.

The wall burned. Flakes of ash drifted free of it, filling the ember doorway with grey. Luke stood still amid it, unfazed and untouched, watching the fire.

The wall, however, did not burn away. It merely burned.

What now? Luke thought, trying not to despair. If even this had not worked, then what could he do against it? What could he possibly do that he had not already tried.

Leia screamed a fourth time, this time thin and weak.

Luke stepped forward, frantic and out of options. Lifting a hand, he struck at the wall—and felt his hand pass through it. Shocked, Luke took an involuntary step back. Then his mind caught up.

He stepped forward, putting out his hand once more. It passed through the flames, and through the wall as if the wall was nothing more than paper.

Taking a breath, Luke stepped through.

Her terror, horror, and pain slammed into him, knocking the breath from his lungs. His eyes swam and he staggered, barely able to withstand the weight of the emotions suddenly assaulting him. He caught glimpses, fragments of sight and sensation: hands on their thighs, pain between their legs, a man with pale eyes and dark hair.

"Leia," Luke gasped, fear and realization pouring through him. "Oh, Mother, Leia."


end notes: I know that this chapter was a little bit different (i.e. a bit more abstract). I hope it wasn't too confusing or confounding - and if it was, I hope you'll say something so I can know to go back and rework it some more. (My betas said it was fine? But I'm still anxious. lol) Regardless, I hope you'll let me know what you thought of the chapter - so hit that "comment" button!