I reached my apartment a short while later and signaled my door to close behind me as I stormed inside.

Fuming, I realized I was still wearing Skywalker's jacket. I threw it off with a scowl and headed to the 'fresher where I could rid myself of my soiled garments before jumping into the shower.

I felt only marginally better when I exited the unit and toweled myself off. I had tried to clear my mind and relax in the steamy spray, but every time I closed my eyes, that intolerable face appeared touting accusations of love and fear. Oh, how he made me want to scream! Why was it that I could never get away from him?

Throwing on an old pair of grey jogging shorts and a ratty, worn tank shirt, I found myself walking familiar steps towards the kitchenette. I hadn't eaten since long before my workout with the Jedi this morning, but I just wasn't hungry and couldn't bring myself to force anything down. Instead, I grabbed a glass and decanter from my countertop and moved to the sofa in the other room.

"Why can't you stop to even consider it as a possibility? What are you afraid of?" The voice echoed in my head. I reached for my glass of Corellian whisky and was surprised to find that I had finished it off already. I poured myself another and swallowed that one nearly as fast. I could feel the fiery liquid slide down the back of my throat and spread its warmth across my body.

I reached again for the decanter, ready to pour yet another drink, and stopped my hand in mid-air. Why do I want another drink? To drown out the cacophony of thoughts and voices in my head, of course. Just another few glasses and I'd reach that blissful mental silence of inebriation.

I dropped my outstretched hand back into my lap and absently drummed an unconscious tattoo on the side of my glass.

Why can't I just sort through it all? Am I that terrified of what I'd find? Is that it then, I want to get drunk because I can't face my own thoughts? Am I running from myself now, too?

I briefly shook my head.

What am I doing?

I took a deep breath and attempted to organize the mess in my mind.

Okay, sure. I'll admit that I care about Skywalker. Today, for example: I'd intended to distract him from thinking about Callista because I knew how much he was hurt when she left. I would have done the same for any friend of mine.

But would I really have gone to such lengths? Of course I would have.

Well, no. That's not exactly true.

I sighed as I finally let the memories rush back to me…

Honestly, I knew Skywalker's whole 'Callista thing' was a disaster from the beginning. I'd met her once or twice at the start of their relationship and she struck me as exceptionally odd. There was just something wrong about her. I mean, the fact that she was a body-snatching freak was probably my first clue, and I'll never understand how Skywalker was ever okay with that part, but she simply left me with a very bad feeling. Who was I to interfere, though? Skywalker was a big boy; he could make his own decisions, even if they were the wrong ones. Besides, who's to say he would have listened to me, even had I warned him?

That's when I decided it would be a good idea if I distanced myself from the two of them. I convinced myself it would be best for everyone involved if I weren't around. The year that followed was one of the longest I've ever experienced since the death of the Emperor. I threw myself into my work, and while I know that Karrde appreciated my enthusiasm, I'm sure he knew the real reason behind it. He never actually came right out and asked about Skywalker and his new romantic interest, but he would make casual references to the Academy and Yavin, or the Jedi in general just to gauge my reactions.

I checked up on him often enough. Of course I kept in contact with his sister and a number of his students at the Temple. I think I knew it was going to happen. It wasn't a matter of if so much as when she would leave him. And I was ready when she did.

What a mess…

When I first went to see him after she'd gone, I was prepared for a mopey, sobbing Jedi. I wasn't prepared for the waves upon waves of heartbreak and despair rolling off of him like rain off a Kaminoan rooftop. That was the moment Luke Skywalker was at his worst.

When I entered his apartment, the first thing I noticed, aside from the barrage of pain, was the smell. It was a mixture of whiskey and stale air. I'd never seen his place in such disarray. The Farm Boy was positioned on a chair near the entry wearing a sweat-stained under-tunic and a greasy pair of pants. When he lifted his head from his hands to see who was invading his solitude, I could tell he hadn't showered or shaved in days, and I was amazed at how he'd been able to recreate the exact color of my hair in what should have been the whites of his eyes.

I'll never forget the look he gave me that day. The shame in his eyes was almost more than I could bear. I did the only thing I could think of to help him out, and I remember the exact words I used, "I need a workout. Grab your lightsaber, we're going sparring."

And a workout it was. Luke fought with a vehemence I'd never seen in him before and haven't seen since. We dueled for hours and hours; I remember being hard-pressed to even keep up with him, and though I'd never have admitted it to anyone, I was near exhaustion by the time we called it quits. We're usually pretty equally matched, but that day Skywalker won every round solidly, with no question.

I stuck around for another couple weeks, under the guise that Karrde had unfinished business he needed me to attend to in the area. Skywalker and I sparred nearly every day, never as intense as that first session, but still rough enough for me to be sore by the time we finished.

He seemed to get a little better each day, mentally. He cleaned himself up, straightened up his apartment, and even went out to visit his sister once or twice. When that happened I knew he was going to pull through and took it as my cue to depart, which I did only after promising to return every few months for a 'rematch'.

So…no. I'd have to say that I wouldn't, in fact, have gone to such lengths for any old friend. Skywalker was a special circumstance. I mean, somebody has to look out for the guy, right? He certainly isn't up to the task, himself, and his sister is too busy holding the New Republic together.

Okay, okay. We've already established that I care about the Jedi, and I'd be blind or lying if I said he wasn't attractive.

"But love?" I spoke into my empty glass and was mildly surprised when it answered me.

"Why not?"

I came back from my reverie and looked up to see a familiar backwater smile peering in from my doorway.

I smirked before stating, "I really should remember to lock my door when I come home for the evening."

Skywalker continued his smile, "I brought food. Can I come in?" He held up a large brown sack as a peace offering.

As if on cue, my traitorous stomach gave a loud grumble.

"I'll take that as a 'yes." The Jedi lowered the bag and stepped through the doorway.