AN: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Yes, this fic uses a popular fan theory (which I'm 95% sure is going to turn out to be true anyway – the movie seemed to strongly hint at it throughout).

"Without a Heart"

By EsmeAmelia

Chapter 2

"Luke, we need to talk."

Luke barely looked up from the Falcon's game table, where he had been vaguely drumming his artificial fingers for the last several minutes. Leia was leaning over him, bringing prominence to the dark circles under her eyes. "What, Leia?" he asked in a gloomy voice.

"It's about Rey," said Leia.

"What about her?"

"You know what. Luke, it's been almost a month – when are you going to start her training?"

Luke sighed, glancing back down at the table. "I've given her a bunch of material to read."

"You know that's not enough." Leia slid into the seat next to her brother, putting a hand on his shoulder. "She needs a teacher, Luke."

The old Jedi's eyes widened at her. "Why are you asking me to do this after what happened to Ben? Han's dead because of me, all the other Jedi I trained are dead because of me, including my . . ." He couldn't bring himself to utter the last word. ". . . no, I can't do it again. I can't risk losing Rey the way you lost Ben."

Leia's eyes lowered as her hand slowly slipped off of Luke's shoulder. "And are you ever going to tell her the truth, or are you going to be like Obi-Wan and keep her father's identity a secret?"

Luke swallowed several times, his mechanical fingers curling. "She considers Han a father now." He glanced up at the chair where Han had sat when he first scoffed the Force. "At least Han was there for her, however briefly." He blinked rapidly to keep the stray tears in his eyes. "Better than a father who left her."

Leia looked like she didn't know how to respond to that, but after a deep breath she put her hand back on her brother's shoulder. "Luke . . . Han's dead, Finn's still in a coma . . . she's lost so much in such a short time." She slightly cocked her head in her brother's direction. "And she'll find out who her father is sooner or later, you know that."

Luke swallowed, again becoming interested in the game table's pattern. "I can't tell her," he whispered. "How can I ever explain what I did?"

The general blew a small bit of air out of her mouth. "Well, maybe you could practice by explaining it to me, since I don't really understand it either."

Luke looked up, gazing into his sister's eyes. "Neither do I."

. . .

"Daddy! Taun-taun ride!"

"Okay son, hold on!" Han hoisted little Ben onto his back, where the child wrapped his arms around his father's neck. "Hope you're dressed warmly, cause we're goin' to Hoth!"

Han trotted around the living room, doing his best to imitate taun-taun noises while his son giggled and shrieked and pressed him to go faster.

"Oh no!" Han shouted after a few circles around the room. "The sun's goin' down!" He carefully sank to his knees. "Too . . . cold . . . the taun-taun's . . . freezing to . . . death." Slowly, so as not to drop the child, he leaned forward and collapsed to the ground.

"Uh-oh!" said Ben as he rolled off of his father.

"Ben," said Han in a pretend gasping voice, "if you wanna stay alive durin' the cold Hoth night, you're gonna have to . . ." He opened a side of his vest. ". . . cut the taun-taun open and crawl into its guts!"

The child started laughing so hard that he sounded in danger of getting hiccups. "Okay Daddy, I'll cut you open!"

Suddenly there was a red lightsaber in his hands, which he thrust into his father's chest.

Han woke up with a start, his body wanting to gasp but once again unable to do so. The sound was back, the raspy mechanical breathing that never changed. He wondered if Vader's breathing ever drove him crazy like this.

"Having a nightmare?"

Han opened his eyes and there was his son, the first time he had shown up in a few days – at least Han thought it was a few days. Every so often a stormtrooper or two would show up to feed him or empty his bedpan or do whatever it was they did to maintain the thing in his chest, but he spent most of his time alone, drifting in and out of sleep, lacking the strength to get out of bed even if they didn't keep him strapped down. It was probably only a matter of time before all his muscles wasted away.

"Do you remember when your son had nightmares?" Ben continued, leaning in closer to his father. "How he would come to your bed and beg for comfort?"

"Yeah," Han said in the raspy whisper that was now his voice, "and I gave him comfort. Leia and me both did."

Ben's eyebrows went down. "No," he spat, "you would just tell him to get into bed with you and go back to sleep. He told you about his nightmares, but you never understood them." He leaned in closer, reaching an uncomfortable proximity. "Tell me, what are your nightmares like?"

Without waiting for an answer, Ben put his hand on his father's forehead, squeezing his temples, sending pain jolting through his head. "I see . . . oh yes, I see . . . you foolishly mourn your son . . . you fear that he will never return to you. Well rest assured that he won't." He pressed harder, making Han cry out as best as his voice could manage. "So much guilt . . . so much regret . . . and your wife, you worry about your wife. How is she faring now that she thinks you're dead?" By now the pain was shaking Han's body, making sweat explode out of his pores. "You fear what will come next . . . you don't know how to live with your new situation . . . you almost wish you had just died when you were cut open, don't you?" Now it felt like his fingers were digging into Han's skull. "Yet you still think there's a glimmer of hope . . . some part of you believes that your friends will still come to rescue you."

He abruptly removed his hand, once more making Han want to gasp, but once more nothing came out of his mouth and the Vader-like breath was still as steady as always. He imagined that his heart would be racing if he still had one. Why did it take something as drastic as losing his heart to make him appreciate something as simple as a heartbeat?

"Let me put your hope to rest," Ben said with a snarl. "The dark side is strong here and no weak Jedi senses will penetrate it." Again he was giving that wicked grin. "Everyone you know thinks you're dead, Han Solo. No one is coming to rescue you."

. . .

Luke cautiously entered the base's cafeteria, which where he had last seen Rey, who had been vigorously studying the datapads he'd given her. The room was quiet and empty - except that Rey was still there, slumped over a table in the corner, fast asleep. One of the datapads was tucked under her hand, still turned on.

The Jedi swallowed, reasoning that she must have been studying all day. Her breath was steady, but there was a slight twitch in her cheeks, which left Luke staring and remembering.

Remembering a baby girl whose cheeks twitched when she slept.

Squeezing those cheeks, kissing those cheeks, pinching those cheeks.

Listening to the high baby laugh.

Before everything changed.

He slowly took off his cloak and gently draped it over her, which caused her to stir but not wake. Her cheeks twitched again, once more bringing that baby to Luke's head, the little girl he had never forgotten during his self-imposed exile.

"Sleep well, daughter," he whispered.