Hurrying from the tent, Leia diverted away from the crowded campfire. She was not ready to deal with the Rogues right now. They'd made camp for the night in the first small clearing they could find and, quickly scanning the site, she determined her only hope of a private escape was into the dense woods beyond. It probably wasn't her best and certainly not her safest idea, but at the moment she didn't care.

Halfway to the edge of escape, she looked over her shoulder to make sure Han wasn't following her — the last thing she needed was to find herself alone in a secluded moonlit forest with him — and ran, quite literally, into Luke.

She'd been so focused on getting away from the older man that she hadn't even seen the younger before she crashed bodily into him. Luke, however, had seen her coming and was more prepared; his hands automatically went to Leia's upper arms to steady her.

"What's going on?" he asked once he was satisfied she'd regained her balance. Ducking his head, he tried to catch a better glimpse of her downturned face, but Leia wasn't having it. With a hint of amusement and a heap of weary-but-tolerant resignation, Luke added, "What are you guys fighting about now?"

"What makes you think we're fighting?" she evasively replied.

It was a kneejerk response, he knew, her words flowing on autopilot rather than any kind of thought-out denial, but it still seemed absurd to Luke. "Well, for starters, I saw you come tearing out of the tent, so whatever upset you must have happened in there. And then there's the fact that, with you and Han, it seems to always be—"

The mention of Han's name finally prompted Leia to look up, and the utter alarm bordering on hysteria Luke saw in her eyes gave him pause.

He moved his hand down her arm soothingly and was about to genuinely ask what was wrong when his palm brushed over the bare skin of her wrist and he stopped short as it struck him.

As sudden and violent as a bolt of lightning in a dust storm over the Dune Sea; focused, intense, and unexpected enough to take his breath away.

Anxiety, fear, and dismay — along with an unmistakable edge of shame — that Leia was powerfully telegraphing. So much that Luke not only sensed it but could actually feel the emotions himself. His adrenaline whipped into an instant frenzy: his heartrate sped, his palms began to sweat, and he was overtaken by an immediate need to run.

Gasping, Luke snatched his hand back away from her.

Physically severing the tie must have worked. Or it was his own startled apprehension at such a strange out-of-body sensation. Either way, in the next moment he was back in himself again, alone with his own emotions.

Leia stared at him, clueless as to what Luke had just experienced. In ordinary circumstances, she might have questioned it further. Distracted by her own concerns, she took his odd behavior to be a sign of lingering irritation with her.

Sidetracked though she may be, Leia was too well-bred to be rude without cause and postponed her retreat into the woods long enough to apologize.

"Luke, about before," she began with gentle humility, for she honestly hadn't intended to hurt his feelings and always hated being at odds with him. "I didn't mean anything by it, I swear."

Luke was only partially listening, caught up in his own thoughts. Reckoning that perhaps he had been too quick to dismiss the Force powers of this planet and their heightened sensitivity on the Festival of Spirits.

When he refocused himself, Leia was still talking; mid-thought, he gathered, but it was easy enough to understand.

"—and it's only that, for me, communing with the dead for one night would do more harm than good. But I wasn't making fun of you. Truly."

She awaited his response with such sincere concern it made Luke remorseful for his earlier overreaction. "There's nothing to be sorry for. You're entitled to your opinion. I shouldn't have taken it personally."

Even so, Luke didn't feel guilty enough that he'd let the current, intriguing situation slide. He was desperately eager for any further knowledge of the Force, and here a goldmine had just fallen into his lap. While he knew it was likely unwise to tell Leia he'd just experienced her emotions — he suspected that was too much like Vader invading someone's mind for her to take it well — whatever happened between her and Han had likely fueled the unexpected Force link.

Leia had fled into the night rather than stay and face Han. Her panic, laced with a lingering trace of exhilarated excitement, still loudly transmitted from her. If he reached out with the Force, Luke could continue to feel it even without touching her, though he was certain Leia was unaware and not intending to be projecting such emotions. As her friend, he wanted to help with whatever had upset her; as an aspiring Jedi, he needed to know more.

"But I also know what you're doing," Luke broached carefully.

She regarded him with a speculative arch of her dark brow. "And what's that?"

When dealing with Leia and emotions one always had to tread lightly, even him, though he was one of the few in her confidence. All the same, her subconscious had cried out to his in distress. Luke figured that made it his business, and he wasn't backing down. "You're changing the subject."

She didn't deny it, rather feigned confusion. "Of?"

"You know what of: you and Han, and what you were fighting about."

"We're not fighting," Leia did refute now, in an overly airy tone meant to project nonchalance and disinterest in the subject.

Her tactic had no doubt worked effortlessly a great many times in the Senate, but Luke knew her too well and gave her a look that said so.

"We hardly fight anymore," she stuck to her guns.

"Because you're flirting instead," he countered with a knowing smile. Excitement blended with panic and shame. Emotions running high that left one — what had Ben called it? — susceptible to being felt out through the Force. The friend in him, who'd known both Leia and Han for years now, could already guess at what happened in that tent.

"That's ridiculous." Leia was determined to repudiate any such thing. It was bad enough she knew the truth of what she'd just fantasized, brought on by their almost-kiss; no one else was going to find out. "Han and I do not flirt."

Luke shot her a dubious look. "That wasn't flirting five days again in the Mess when the two of you were vibing so hard I had to endure a shift's worth of Wes's complaints about not having a girl of his own?"

He spared her Janson's more colorful comments — I need it so bad that Wedge's tauntaun, the one with the long lashes, is starting to look good! And now Solo and the princess got to horn it up in front of me, too? — but that didn't prevent Leia from knowing the exact time he meant; it had affected her as well, and featured heavily in that night's heated dreams.

Still, she maintained, "That wasn't flirting. I told you, we don't flirt. We…" She paused, searching out a more benign term and settling on: "…discuss."

"Banter," Luke corrected.

"Debate," she again insisted on the safer word.

"Tease."

Leia continued to reject his descriptors but was now fighting a smile. "Sometimes bicker," she allowed.

"Bait each other is more like it."

"Occasionally taunt. Maybe."

"What you mean is tempt. Or in other words: flirt," he pronounced with a hint of Han's gloating at successfully proving his point. "You two need an outlet for the tension. If it's not flirting, it's fighting. And you claim you weren't fighting, so…." Mischievous triumph was in Luke's eyes as he pinned hers, knowing by her own logic he had her. "What exactly happened in that tent that sent you running?"

"Nothing." Leia was quick to pooh-pooh it, and it wasn't even entirely a lie. It hadn't been what happened in the tent that had shocked and alarmed her; it was those tangible images of the two of them together on the Falcon.

But that wasn't real. None of it was real. She swore she had felt—

No! It wasn't real. It couldn't have been; simple logic told her that. "Nothing happened."

"Something did. When you ran into me you were spooked. Panicked, afraid," he spelled it out more bluntly so she couldn't wiggle her way out of it. "Leia, I could sense the fear on you."

An immediate shot of nervous dread coursed through Leia. Did he mean something in her body language had given it away, or could he actually sense it through the Force? But he had said 'fear' and not any of the other emotions she'd experienced. That fact comforted her. Regardless, she had no intentions of admitting to any of it.

"I'm not afraid of ghosts, Luke," she dismissed with a forced laugh, trying to get him focused back on the Festival of Spirits.

Just then, movement caught Luke's eye: Han exiting the tent, in a slow and relaxed stride that couldn't have been more different from Leia's. Nevertheless, he looked visibly upset to Luke's shrewd eyes, though the hardened spacer tried to hide it.

Luke turned his attention back to Leia, more sure now than ever that something had happened between them in that tent and it caused her to lash out at Han.

"No, ghosts aren't what you're afraid of," he agreed. "Some things are more frightening then ghosts." Reaching out with his feelings, he knew that to be true, but there was a deeper truth as well. "Although…it is the ghosts that scare you. In a way."

He looked at her studyingly. Leia had the impression he was reading her like a book, flipping through pages she didn't want seen, ones she'd tried to keep stuck together but Luke's insight into her easily wrested apart.

"The Festival of Spirits doesn't bother you, but not every spirit is a walking apparition. The souls you've loved and lost leave you afraid to lose again. That's your fear," he perceived. "And it's that type of ghost that can really haunt you."

Maybe it was because he had read her so astutely. Or maybe it was that she knew Luke understood those ghosts too; having lost his aunt and uncle, his mentor, and his best friend, he was now nearly as alone in the galaxy as she was. Maybe it was just that there was no real risk in admitting such a universal truth: grief haunted you far more than any make-believe specter ever could.

"You're right about that," Leia granted with a kind of quiet anguish that broke Luke's heart. "There are no imaginary childhood stories of demons and spirits that can live up to what we've been through."

"That's true," Luke acknowledged. "But the thing is, Leia, even that kind of spirit is just an illusion. They can't touch you in the here and now. Those ghosts only have the power you give them; that your fear gives them. It's the fear that really hurts you and holds you back."

Her defenses quickly went up at Luke's suggestion. The very idea that she was being 'held back'!

And she was in some way allowing it? Choosing it?

Choosing the —she struggled to identify the particular feeling and could only come up with — safety of fear, rather than taking the risk of letting that fear go and freely living again.

Leia was unsure if that last, apt analysis had been Luke's intention or if it came from her own internal perception, but the diagnosis fit too well for comfort and sent her further into self-protective denial. "I am not hurt."

Luke glanced over to Han brooding by the fire and it was on the tip of his tongue to say, 'Well, someone is', but he knew they both were, whether Leia would admit it or not, so he held back.

"I'm not afraid, either," she declared with combative resilience.

"Of course not," he nodded. "My mistake."

Leia knew better than to declare the argument won here, and a moment later Luke proved her correct.

"Then you wouldn't mind going and saying goodnight to Han for me?" he requested, theatrically rubbing at his only faintly aching injury. "My leg's a bit sore."

Nice try, Skywalker, Leia thought. Had he forgotten she was once a master of intrigue and political manipulations? Having been a teenage galactic senator and secret spy for an underground organization striving to free said galaxy still came in handy in her personal life. She could smell this manipulation a metim away. Not that it was ever very difficult with Luke; she'd never known such an artless being.

"How odd. You seemed to be walking fine up until now. Should I grab a medkit?" Leia made as if to go fetch one and Luke hastened to stop her.

"No, no. I'll be alright." Some of the casual self-assurance had been erased from his face at her attempt to call his bluff, but he wasn't giving up yet. "Just go tell Han I said thanks for the assist earlier and I hope he sleeps well."

"I didn't know you and Han were in the habit of wishing one another sweet dreams."

"Mockery is another form of deflection, you know," Luke pointed out.

"I'm not mocking," Leia said, shaking her head. "It was only surprising. That, and I'm confused as to why you can't tell him yourself, eventually, since we'll all be sleeping in the same tent." Her tone made it abundantly clear she knew what he was up to.

"Mockery, deflection, and evasion: that all sounds like fear to me."

This thing between Leia and Han was getting out of hand. The betting alone was enough to make Janson a full-time bookie. It was about time someone stepped in — and it seemed inevitable that it would have to be either him or Chewbacca.

"Why won't you go over there, Leia?" he pressed on. "It's not far. What harm is there? If you're not afraid."

"Luke." She tsked her tongue pityingly, as if he was the one with in crisis. "I think some of that Tatooine sand is still loose somewhere in that head of yours. There is no secret reason, and nothing to be afraid of — here or over there. But it's getting late, and I'm cold," she doubled-down on her earlier lie to Han, as ludicrous as it now sounded to her on this balmy evening. "And I've already spoken to Han tonight."

"Yes, and bolted out of the tent as if your very life depended on it."

Leia gave a sigh, beginning to get frustrated with this conversation. Verbal one-upmanship was one thing; there was a sport to that and she was always up for a fine debate. This, however, was frustratingly focused. He was trying to pin her down and she didn't like it, all the more so because she had no effective argument against his position other than continued denial, which Luke didn't seem to be buying.

"Look, I don't know what you think you're trying to get me to admit, but there's nothing deeper to it. We talked, it was late, and so I left. What could I possibly have to fear in talking to Han? Do you think I'm terrified of conversation?"

Again, it came to Luke swiftly. "Talking wasn't what sent you running."

This time, it wasn't an emotional feeling but a diffusion of indisputable, bone-deep knowledge as certain and sure as needing air to breathe.

"You were scared of what was coming next. What you wanted to come next," Luke astutely revealed.

What you wanted to come next…

What you wanted to come next…

What YOU wanted….

His unnervingly correct accusation echoed through Leia's mind — and with it came a fresh flash: she was suddenly back on the acceleration couch with Han, keening softly as he kissed his way up her ribcage, his hand at her breast thumbing her nipple, keeping her primed even as her hips continued to quake in the aftershocks of orgasm.

The panic Leia felt was fresh too as, standing there in the forest clearing with Luke, she experienced the same throbbing pleasure between her thighs as the Falcon Leia did.

THAT'S ENOUGH!

She may or may not have screamed it aloud. She wasn't sure anymore of where fantasy and reality ended tonight. In any case, fight or flight had kicked in again, and she was through with any further discussion.

"This is a silly conversation, and it's finished," she said in a voice that brooked no arguments. But to show there were no hard feelings between them, she softened her tone, reaching up to affectionately pat his arm. "Goodnight, Luke."

"Alright, Leia, I'll drop it."

She gave him a shaky smile, gave his arm one final pat before turning and taking several steps in the direction of the tent and the relative privacy it afford now that Han had vacated it. But Luke's voice abruptly stopped her.

"Just know you're not the only one your fear is hurting."

Leia's shoulders stiffened at the direct hit.

"And by the time you're ready to let go of that fear, it might be too late," he advised.

Perhaps she should have zeroed in on his warning that eventually it would be too late, but it was his first assessment — the thought of truly hurting Han — that pained Leia's heart.

You're confusing desire with disdain.

The memory of what she'd said twisted in her gut. It was her own words that haunted her now.

Slowly turning back to face Luke, she tried to say something more to dismiss and deny it, but in the end, her remorseful conscience wouldn't allow it.

She found she was disgusted with herself.

"I..." At a loss for words, Leia just nodded. "I know."