Since, apparently, Han and Leia now had separate bedrooms, I found Han brooding in his room. He still wore the long coat of the Viceroy, but its buttons were undone. His boots were discarded on the floor. His brown hair, struck through with its occasional white, was slightly rumpled. Thankfully, it seemed I'd caught him on his first bottle of Corellian brandy.

In the room itself, I sensed echoes of resentment mingled with anger, and also, an aching want that I knew he'd verbally never admit to. Once again, I wondered what exactly had been going on between Han and Leia lately. It wasn't just the rebellious events of late. Their marriage had clearly come under strain in the three-year interval since I last saw them—but how? Why? They'd once been so happy together…

I also knew that I couldn't ask. It wasn't my place to pry; they always resolved their spats. If this one was bigger, well…

I'd come here for only one purpose regardless.

"Hey, Han," I remarked, keeping my tone light. On the walk over here, I'd begun to pick over my own theory and realized it had some pretty large holes. Sure, Han might be upset about all of this, but he wasn't stupid; he was incredibly canny when it came to strategy, if not politics. So, he would realize reporting Leia—who I knew he yet loved immensely—would only get the opposite outcome he wanted for Padmé.

And so it made no sense that he would do it. (So who, then?)

Maybe he'd let something slip, though. As evidenced by said brandy, he liked his drink. Always had. Clearly more lately, but… he might've been drunk and let something slip to one of the attendants who carried him back to bed the other night, or…

Han said, "Luke!" He didn't seem overly pissed at me right now, which reassured me. "Come sit down."

Feeling somewhat awkward since the only place to sit was on Han's bed, I took the very edge. I decided not to tell him I felt echoes of… well… I coughed a few times, trying not to seem embarrassed. He enjoyed making fun of my embarrassment whenever it occurred.

"Want some?"

"Oh, no thanks. I don't drink." Which was true. Since Jedah, I hadn't touched a glass. My continual mortification over that incident lingered on even a week later.

"Right. All those…" Han made a broad gesture. "—hang-ups."

And there it was. He regularly made fun of Jedi tenants, Jedi philosophy, and "Jedi hang-ups" as he called them. Like my retained virginity. Usually, I laughed along with him, because some of the points he made had merit. But today, I had to suppress the urge to swear at him. I felt almost uncontrollably angry all of a sudden, and I didn't know why.

(Yes, I did.)

Once again, I saw the Inquisitor's head rolling away over the grass, visualized the grotesque scene of carrying the lower half of his body while Tai-Lin of all people took the head rolled up in his scarlet cloak, and remembered the heat of setting the pyre alight…

Death, yet the Force.

Was Han somehow responsible for that scene?

The very man's brows beetled. "You okay, kid? You look… pale."

"Fine."

"Hmm." Didn't believe me. But he moved on, "So—why're you here?"

I took out the sonic neutralizer and clicked it on. It was a risk, using such tech. But both Leia and I found it unlikely that anyone had kept checking up on any bugged for sixteen years in a row; they'd likely grown quite complacent by now. Also, Han's new room wasn't even in the usual Queen and Viceroy quarters. They might never have planted anything here.

Han's brows rose. "So—this is about that meetin', eh?"

"Yes."

He poured himself another drink, then gave me one of his most sarcastically sweet smiles. "So—how'd it go?"

Once again, I felt stung. Mad. I managed to retain an even voice tone. "Very well," I said casually; "we have some wonderful allies to start."

"Well, ain't that just grand."

"In fact the meeting went great. It was just the dark Force-user coming to do battle with me that was really the snag, but you know…"

"Wait. What?" The way Han blanched erased any doubts in my mind that he knew about this. Liars couldn't pale on cue.

"Hmm?"

"Vader—he came here?"

Oh. Of course, Han wouldn't know any other dark Force-user. Now, I felt badly.

"No, Han," I said, voice gentling. "It was just… a minion of his. I took care of it."

"What's that mean?"

"It means Vader knows nothing. I—I killed the being." My stomach churned. My eyes burned. Why did I suddenly feel the urge to cry? (Pathetic.)

Because I'd taken life, and even though it was necessary, and an evil life, I felt the weight of that. It was very easy in execution, but very hard in aftermath. And I realized that whoever took the run on the Death Star would face down the same choice a millionfold. How could we ask anyone—no matter how zealous their hatred of the Empire—to make that shot?

"Here," said Han gruffly, and handed me a glass of brandy.

Recognizing the act of compassion, I took it in hand and took a single, paltry little sip.

Han said, "You've never killed anyone before, huh."

"No." It came out in a whisper.

Silence.

Then, Han put his arm around my shoulders. "You did what you had to do, Luke. You protected us. And I appreciate it."

I nodded. It was true. I knew that. It had to be true. "I just… don't ever want to do it again."

"What? Kill?"

I nodded.

Han was quiet for a while. Then he said gently, "I don't think that's an option given what you and Leia are tryin' to put together."

I struggled with that truth. The lump in my throat precluded words. "But—what other choice do we have, Han?" I managed to get out. My voice sounded husky, and thick, and small. I took another sip of brandy.

"You have a lot of choices, Luke," he retorted, standing up so suddenly it caused my glass of brandy to slosh all over the bed corner. Whoops. Hastily, I moved some sheets to cover up the stain, then sat on those. "Like stopping this idiocy."

"It's too late for that." It was the Force speaking through my lips. But the truth os this resonated within me. We'd set this in motion; we couldn't stop the flight halfway down. I added, "This is happening. And we'd like your help."

"Oh, would you?"

"Of course. Your knowledge would be invaluable—"

"And what kinda knowledge's that, kid?" came the derisive retort, daring me to mention his shady past.

I stood, not caring if he discovered the brandy stain. "We both know you'd never betray your wife, who despite… whatever is going on here… you yet love. Also, you know betraying her and me would only result in the opposite outcome you want for your daughter. You feel trapped, and afraid. So you're lashing out and acting like a petty child. Think this through, Han. Really think this through, because the spaceship is in the hyperlane. You have choices. There's one I'd really like to see you make, and one I know you have the courage for.

"Get it the kriff together."

With that, I left, head high. Apparently, I was becoming the speech guy in all of this. But as soon as I got a hallway away from Han's quarters, I sagged against the wall.

"Oh, but your capture will please Lord Vader."

"Thankfully, that is not how this will end."

"Well, Jedi? Have the balls to finish me off? I don't think you do…"

"What we told you is true, from a certain point of view. Anakin Skywalker became Darth Vader."

"WHAT?!"

"I see. You're one of Vader's."

I shut my eyes, breathing in deeply. There is no emotion. There is peace. I'd done what I had to do. Time to move on and keep doing whatever I had to, until it was done, or I was dead. I couldn't think about anything else. I wouldn't think about anything else, or anyone else.