I think I'm going to aim for maybe one chapter a week, or every week and a half, since that gives me enough time to get everything drafted, edited and polished before I post it and also gives me a few days' break.

Forgive me if this chapter seems dry—I think it does, but there's a good chance that's because I've read it and edited it to death. I've spent far too long on formatting issues with the italics and line breaks.

Anyway, on a more positive note, thank you for the lovely feedback on the first chapter! It's definitely been an inspiration to keep writing :)


Coruscant's night air was cool on his face. Luke smiled as he ducked into the last of the secret passages in and out of their penthouse, then backed around, emerging a few floors below the official landing pad and hangar.

Luke never liked using the main entrance. There were always eyes watching it.

Tonight, especially, was something he didn't want anyone watching.

He could have travelled by foot through Coruscant—or he had enough money to use the public transport—but he rode his borrowed speeder to his first rendezvous, as fast as it could go.

Only once he was shooting through the airlanes at breakneck speed, high winds stealing his words before even he could hear them, did he dare voice what was on his mind.

"Blast it. Blast it, blast it, blast it—"

The injuries to his torso—cracked ribs? He still wasn't sure; he hadn't dared go to a medic for them and just ended up using bacta—twinged in protest. He ignored them. That fall hadn't even been that far— well, no, it had been far, much too far, but he'd even risked cushioning himself with the Force! It shouldn't be hurting like this!

But that thought was a distraction, a fleeting muse; soon enough the dark worry and concern and panic clouding his thoughts reared its head again, as delivered by the man he loved most in the galaxy:

His father was after him.

His father would kill him if he found out, oh stars—

He forced himself to breathe. Took deep, rasping breaths and mused that a respirator or his father's meditation chamber would be really helpful right about now, but eventually managed to get oxygen into his lungs and blood into his extremities. He relaxed his fists on the speeder controls.

It wasn't a shortcut—not by a long shot, and certainly a more reckless action than his father wanted him to be taking. But this entire situation was a too-reckless action his father would disapprove of, including the meeting he was heading to right this moment, and he needed to let off steam.

He took a sharp dive in the speeder. Fellow commuters screeched at him but—unfamiliar vehicle or not—he levelled himself quickly and shot off in a completely different direction, through the Works. Going faster, faster, faster

He had not lied to his father when he said he still irritated the Coruscanti Police for his flying. But once they realised it was him, they never bothered to chase him anymore; it got too messy if something went wrong and his father got involved.

So he could shoot through the abandoned buildings of the Works and no one would stop him.

He flew for as long as possible without seeing anyone, but cut off with a curse when the airways became too busy again to pull off the sort of stunts he needed to clear his head with. In his distraction, the shields his father had begun to re-teach him had crumbled; the annoyance and amusement and life of everyone around him was making his head ache.

He hated Coruscant so, so much. It was too busy.

But at least it had enough people to hide one smallish boy on the cusp of adulthood slowly meandering his way towards what might be a pre-arranged meeting place... but what was more likely a newcomer to Coruscant's suicidal idea to drop by the remains of the old pet shelter in the lower levels. The remaining tookas that sheltered there ripped strangers apart; naturally any outsider sporting the sort of half-upper class Coruscanti accent, half-rough academy drawl that betrayed how little time he'd actually spent on the capital in the last seven years would be no exception.

The tookas purred loudly when they saw him.

A smile tugged at his lips despite himself—and despite that awful, awful thought still dogging the back of his mind. He brought the speeder right behind the rundown walls, into the shell of what was once the tookas' play pens, and sat in the pilot's seat whistling lowly to himself.

He hadn't turned up yet.

No surprise. He'd been able to sense that as he came in.

One particularly bold tooka leapt onto the edge of the speeder and nearly tumbled into his lap, rubbing its head along his arm. Luke gave a sound that was half-sigh, half-chuckle. He reached for the bag slung into the passenger's side of the speeder.

Well. One of the bags at least.

The rattle of the small pellets he always brought them—and the smell—fixed their attention on him.

He threw them. They chased after them like TIEs after X-wings. He was so amused with watching them scramble that he almost didn't notice the newcomer—but he did.

"Kid?"

Han ducked into the ruins of the shelter and scowled as a tooka ran over his foot. He growled a little at it; it growled back, then scampered back to Luke.

"Why'd you always feed these buggers anyway?" he grumbled, dumping himself in the newly-vacated pilot's seat. Luke shuffled over and tried not to trip on the bag at his feet. "They just get in the way."

"They growl and threaten anyone coming they don't like," Luke pointed out.

"Which is everyone 'cept you."

"Exactly. Good lookout, isn't it?"

That wasn't the reason Luke had started feeding them. Luke had started feeding them because they'd been hungry. But Han didn't have to know that.

Han harrumphed but changed the subject: the sure sign that he admitted that Luke was right. "You fixed my speeder?"

"Flew it all the way here."

"How far?"

Luke smiled. "From home," he evaded. "And she's better than ever." He lifted his hands from the front. "Feel free to test her."

Han gave an exasperated sigh but he reached for the controls... then stopped. Remembered why they were there.

"I'll test it later," he said, then turned to grin at Luke. Luke couldn't help but grin back. "What've you got for me today?"

Luke reached for the bag. "Where's Chewie?" he asked conversationally.

"Fixing some glitches with the Falcon. Some friends of his offered to help." He was meeting with other Rebel contacts. "Now stop holding out in me, kid: what's that?"

A tiny datachip, the size of Luke's thumbnail, lay in the palm of his hand.

"A datachip," he said redundantly. "It needs to go straight to the Rebellion. The other stuff in here is the usual stuff—jewels, gold, fancy weapons—and you know how that split goes—"

"Hey, hey, hey—hold up." Han took the datachip out of Luke's slender fingers, his thicker ones struggling to pick of the wafer-thin sheet of metal. "What is it? Where'd you get it? You don't go to all this trouble for nothing, I know that—and you look like you got pretty beat up at some point."

Wincing, Luke resisted the urge to reach for his side. First his father, now Han; was he that easy to read?

"I robbed Tarkin."

Han heard every word that wasn't said. His eyes blew wide. "You're kidding."

"I'm not."

"So— so this—"

"As I said," Luke repeated, "it has to go straight to the Rebellion."

Frankly, he didn't want anything from the Tarkin Initiative in anyone's hands. But this in particular... it could be disastrous if the wrong person got it—it could well cost him his life.

Han opened and closed his mouth like a gooberfish. "...alright," he said finally, palming the chip and sliding it into his pocket. "Chewie 'n I'll make sure they get it. Now," he focused on the more important part of this conversation, "the profitable part? A guy's got debts, you know."

And that was why Han was here: Credits.

It... disappointed Luke, for all that he was used to being surrounded by the crushing ambition and greed of the very worst sentient beings the galaxy had to offer.

He lived among the elite of Coruscant, after all.

"The usual split," Luke said. "Everything's in there."

"Aw, c'mon kid, I've got Jabba after me again. Fifty-fifty—"

"Eighty-twenty. The Rebellion needs this, and you know it."

"I ain't in this for your little Rebellion," Han reminded him, though there was little heat in it, "Angel."

The sheer absurdity of that name made Luke laugh. It was a slightly hysterical laugh—it had been a trying day—but it was a laugh all the same.

"I heard that for the first time today," he said conversationally. "Where the hells did that come from?"

"Dunno, kid. I just know your little heists are getting pretty popular with everyone who's got a bone to pick with the Empire." He leaned forward. "You're embarrassing them."

"That all I'm doing."

"That's all you need to do. You're a celebrity. Everyone knows about the little thief in black with an academy accent and an escort of," he scowled down at the newest tooka, "little menaces wherever they go."

Luke's hand distractedly came up to pet one of said menaces. "Not everywhere. And who came up with that stupid name?" It's like they knew it would annoy my father.

"So it wasn't your Rebellion's propaganda machine?"

Luke paused. "I... hadn't even considered that. I just know that the Empire's started hunting me under that name."

Han looked alarmed. "Wait, hang on a second—hunting you?"

"I'll be fine. You'll be fine—I'm the only one at risk of being caught in the midst of stealing, and I won't give you up. It's my problem."

"Kid..." Han looked hesitant. No—he was looking at Luke like he was a plague-ridden child: too dangerous to go near, too pitiful and doomed not to feel for. "You know you could... stop? Leave this planet, leave everything behind. Hells," his hand clenched around the datachip, "it's been six months and you've already done so much for your Rebellion, I'm sure whatever contacts you have—"

"I'm staying, Han." Leaving was the last option on his mind. He couldn't leave his father.

"Is it 'cause you've got nowhere to go? 'Cause I'm sure Chewie and me can find some space on the Falcon—"

"No, Han." His voice, in its own way, boomed like thunder; for a moment he was was father's son. "I'm staying. No matter who they send out after me, I'm staying."

He'd dealt with every problem this Force-forsaken planet had thrown at him for six months now. He'd deal with his father too. He might need help, but... he'd deal with it.

He could not leave his father.

He stood from the speeder and swung his legs over the side. Han watched him approach the door wordlessly, tookas trailing in his wake.

"Hey, kid," he said suddenly. "Same time, six days?"

Luke nodded, but didn't turn around. "Same time, six days." He kept walking, despite the tooka now sinking its claws into the fabric of his trousers. "Give Chewie my regards."

Han was left in the shadows of the shelter, eyeing the remaining tookas nervously.


Luke had no speeder now, so he took the walkways and bridges to the nearest train station. It was a while away by foot and this area was rundown; more often than not, he had to make sudden leaps to avoid a piece of scaffolding collapsing underneath him. He didn't mind—nothing like the momentary imminence of death or clear one's head.

A tooka followed him all the way.

He stopped and let it approach him again, rubbing its face against his legs.

"You know," he said conversationally, "if you don't head back now, you might not be able to find the shelter again." That was what had happened to the tooka who'd followed him all the way to Tarkin's. He'd had to hide it at home for a few hours and hope that no one contacted his father.

The tooka just looked up at him with large eyes as he spoke. Contrary to what he was trying to tell it to do, it sat down.

Luke might have overdone it when he'd tried to use the Force to stop them from attacking him. They adored him instead.

His father would not approve.

Not in the least because his father wasn't the one who'd taught it to him—

He sensed the person coming moments before they came.

He frowned when he did. Their mind was oddly quiet, like they were used to making themselves invisible until the last moment—

A shadow detached from the wall and Luke stared down the barrel of a blaster. "Freeze."

Luke froze.

Felt along the blaster with the Force and quietly set it to stun, but froze.

"Put your limbs up."

He put his hands up.

The figure prowled closer. Now Luke could make out dark, threadbare clothes as rough as the worn buildings' permacrete around them. Two cobalt lekku swung behind them and the voice had been low and slightly accented: a male Twi'lek, originally from Ryloth. Bony fingers grasped the blaster, shaking.

"Please don't hurt me," Luke said calmly, in the tone of one who was speaking more for the other person's benefit than their own. "I don't have anything on me worth stealing, I'm afraid."

He tried to inject the Force into his voice, at least a little, but he daren't do it too much; he had enough of the Emperor's attention as it was. He didn't need to draw more by lighting up the Force like a blown starfighter.

Besides, mind tricks weren't of the dark side. His Royal Wrinkliness would not approve.

In any case, it didn't work. The man's hands trembled more, but they didn't lower the blaster.

"You're in an abandoned section of Coruscant, and you're no building planner," he spat. "You came to make a deal."

Luke had lied too many times already today. He was tired of it. He wasn't even very good at lying.

"I did," he conceded. "But I already handed over everything of worth. I have nothing on me right now." Not strictly true: he had the credits needed for the train, but he needed those. He didn't exactly feel like contacting his father to pick him up.

The Twi'lek took one more step forward. "I doubt that, academy brat." Luke winced; he really needed to learn to disguise his accent. "So make this easy—"

He'd stepped too close.

The infamously aggressive wild tooka snarled and launched at him.

He cursed. The way he lashed out with his foot was perfectly understandable and Luke wasn't surprised when he kicked it to the side, but he did try to surreptitiously catch it with the Force before it could tumble off the walkway and into the levels below.

It landed and backed off, hissing.

"Please don't hurt the tooka," he said, voice still in that even calm, "it's not going to hurt you."

The Twi'lek ducked his head to glare at it. "That thing spat at me like a raving—"

He froze.

The tooka had wound itself around Luke's legs like a particularly fluffy sea slug.

The Twi'lek lowered his blaster. "It likes you."

"It's nothing, I just fed it—"

"A brat with an academy accent getting followed around by a tooka?"

Luke stilled.

Han's words from earlier raced back to him in damning clarity.

"You're—"

"No I'm not."

"And you just—"

"No I didn't."

"—robbed that sleemo Tarkin! And— if you just came back from a deal—" His eyes widened behind the mask on his face. "You—!"

"Please be quiet."

He knew.

Or, he'd guessed. Correctly.

He couldn't leave this man wandering around.

He knew his face now; he could identify him, turn him in—

But what could he do about it?

He wasn't able to alter memories. Mind tricks either didn't work or Luke wasn't skilled enough to make them work on him. Could he—

He swallowed.

No. He couldn't kill him.

He reached out a hand—to do what, he didn't know. But it didn't matter, because the Twi'lek seized his wrist anyway.

"Thank you," he intoned. "If— if you are Angel, then the things you've supplied the Rebellion..," so it was the Rebellion who'd come up with that stupid name, "you have no idea how much of that has gone to Coruscant."

Luke knew exactly how much. Fifty-fifty was the deal: half the funds, as well as the usable equipment, went to the Rebellion. The rest went to the people of the galaxy—particularly Coruscant.

Luke hated this planet. But he didn't hate the people who lived here.

And even once Han had his twenty percent, once the Rebellion had taken half of what was left... That was still a lot. He could still help.

"You've helped my family so much," the Twi'lek breathed. He put his blaster away entirely, then, and held out his hand. "Thank you."

Luke sensed nothing but earnesty from him, so he shook it.

If he'd ever had any doubts about stopping now that his father was involved, they had vanished.

"You can't tell anyone," he warned him. "Or I'll get caught. If you blabber—"

"I won't! I won't tell anyone—"

"Anyone?"

"Anyone."

There weren't really any other measures he could take. "Alright then." Luke dropped his hand and smiled at him.

The man seemed to hesitate, there.

"...you're a kid," he suddenly realised, peering through the twilight at him.

It reminded Luke of— well, of everything. Of his father waiting at home. Of the application to Skystrike or Prefsbelt half-filled out on his desk. Of the looming prospect of either leaving Coruscant and giving up this chance to help people in less than half a year, or staying on this detestable planet and learning to be an Imperial he hated.

But... at least then he'd be able to continue with all of this...

"Yeah," Luke found himself saying on autopilot, pushing past him. "I am. But I can help."

He paused, then kept going. The tooka followed.

"So I will."


He stopped perhaps a few levels up, only a short trek from the station.

The tooka still at his heels purred loudly.

"You really need to stop," Luke told it. "Seriously. You've already given me away once. I have a reputation here."

It purred louder.

"Shoo! Go away!" He made little hissing noises and flapped his hands for good measure.

It hissed back, unsure, but eventually stalked off indignantly with its tail in the air.

Luke sighed then headed for the station, feeling for his fare in his pocket.

A glance at the boards revealed that the next train in the direction of the Senate gardens was leaving in three standard minutes. He bought his ticket and took his seat inside. An Ithorian mother was wrestling with her squirming triplet toddlers in the seat opposite; she gave him an apologetic look, but he smiled back warmly. Another, slightly older one of her kids wandered over to babble at him and he listened intently, nodding and prompting in all the right places.

When she disembarked at the next stop, he let his smile fall. He turned his gaze towards the holo at the front.

Three stops to the Senate gardens. The Imperial news played but he only half-listened.

Darth Vader was hunting Angel. Angel had a name in the first place. Increasingly urgent questions and answers about his future.

He needed to talk to his contact.