AN: Thanks to the readers and reviewers! God, I've been EVIL to poor Han, I'm sorry. It wasn't my idea to give him an unstable psychopath son. Yeah yeah, I know, I'm the one writing the story, but it's weird . . . it's like Kylo Ren takes control when I write about him and Han or . . . something. Maybe I'm just crazy, but HOPEFULLY Han won't lose any more body parts.

And yeah, for those of you who read my other fics, I ended up utilizing my much-used OC Rianna for Luke's dead wife. After all, we don't know for sure that Rey's actually Luke's daughter (though like I said earlier, the movie dropped many not-so-subtle hints), and if she is, right now we have no way of knowing who her mother is and using Mara Jade didn't feel right since I've never used her before and TFA wiped the slate clean anyway. Okay, done blabbing.

"Without a Heart"

By EsmeAmelia

Chapter 8

"HAN!"

Leia's eyes shot open, bringing the unchanging view of Coruscant into her vision, which was quickly blurring in front of her eyes. A great jolt of pain had suddenly shot through her body and was now settling in her left foot. She saw Han in her mind, faint and blurry, but one single thing clearly spoke to her.

He was suffering.

She blinked at the window, breathing in heaves through her slightly-open mouth, her stomach twisting so hard that she wondered if she would vomit. Did she dare think . . . did she allow herself to hope? Her breath quickened. If Han was alive . . . if he was suffering right now . . . then what the hell was she doing here?

She needed to find Han!

She leapt to her feet and rushed out of the room.

. . .

Rey was slouching on Pooja's sofa, watching old Jedi Council recordings on one of Luke's datapads. She had just found a set of recordings from when young Anakin Skywalker was first brought to the Jedi Temple and something seemed to be compelling her to watch them over and over again.

"No, he will not be trained. He is too old . . ."

"Clouded this boy's future is . . ."

Of course Rey knew what eventually became of Anakin. How that innocent-looking young boy would one day become one of the most feared beings in the galaxy.

She wondered if Ben Solo looked so innocent at that age.

"I see you found my father."

Rey looked up and there was Luke, his hands awkwardly clasped together, his eyes shifting slightly. "Rey . . ." he said hesitantly, ". . . do you mind if I sit?"

"No, of course not," said Rey, scooting over to make room for the Jedi.

Luke gulped as he sat next to Rey, his hands still awkwardly clasping each other. He gazed over at the recording Rey had paused, lingering on his father's frozen face.

"If I'd had a son," he said in a low voice, "I would have named him Anakin."

Rey almost dropped the datapad. "What?"

"You heard me," said Luke, unable to take his eyes off the boy on the screen.

"Yes I heard you," said Rey. "I just don't understand why."

Luke sighed. "I saw the good in him before he saw it in himself . . . and in the end, he triumphed over the dark side." He blinked down at the screen. "If only I could have helped my nephew like that . . ."

"I don't want to hear about your nephew," Rey quickly said, turning off the datapad. "Your father may have triumphed over the dark side, but your nephew is irredeemable."

Luke didn't agree, but he didn't argue either. Instead he turned his attention to Rey, gulping once more as he gazed at her face. "Rey . . . can I ask you something?"

"What?"

The Jedi cleared his throat, almost looking like he was studying the young woman. "Rey . . . do you remember your parents at all?"

Rey's heart suddenly thumped. Why would he ask something like that? "I . . . I can't recall their faces at all." She closed her eyes, reaching deep into her mind and running into the barriers that only let a few things drift through. "But . . . I feel things. Like . . . I feel like I used to sit on my mother's lap and run my fingers through her hair." Her eyes slightly opened. "I want to say her hair was long and thick . . . not that I can actually remember."

"What else do you feel?" Luke asked in a hushed voice.

Rey gulped, closing her eyes again. "An ocean . . . a beach . . . I feel like I was happy there, that we were all together." Her breath shortened. "But then something terrible happened . . . I think my mind might have blocked a lot of it out . . . but I spent so many years alone, always waiting for them to return, and they never . . ."

Her eyes opened before she could allow tears to escape and she saw that Luke was gazing downwards, breathing audibly, his hands clasped once again.

"Something . . ." he said so softly that Rey could barely hear him, ". . . something terrible did happen." He slowly looked back up at her, his blue eyes glistening. "Your mother's hair was thick and long . . . and you did sit in her lap and play with it."

It was as if Rey's entire body had been doused in icy water. "What?"

Luke blinked at her. "Her hair was deep black. She had beautiful green eyes and light brown skin. She used to sing you old Nubian lullabies . . . maybe you would remember those if you heard them." He gulped, still staring at Rey. "She loved you very, very much . . . but she was killed with all the other Jedi, run through with that same blade that killed Han." Now a tear was inching its way down his face. "In all the years I was alone, not a day went by when I didn't miss her . . . or you."

Rey flew to her feet, panting, staring unblinkingly at Luke. "You . . . you're . . ." She stared into his eyes, frantically searching for some memory, some subconscious hint that she had seen those eyes before she found him a month ago. "You're . . ."

Luke glanced at the floor, a shameful expression crossing his face. "Yes, Rey . . . I'm your father."

Something was building up inside Rey as tears filled her eyes. All the years alone swirled into her head. The endless nights of staring into the dark, wondering if tomorrow would be the day when her family would finally come for her. The wall covered with those scratches, every scratch marking another day alone, another day when her family hadn't come. Endlessly waiting, endlessly searching . . .

"You left me!"

Luke sniffled, gazing downward once again. "I thought . . . I thought I was protecting you. After your cousin . . ."

"My cousin?" Rey shouted, furiously shaking her head. "No . . . no . . . that, that . . . thing isn't my cousin!"

Luke slowly looked back up at her, his cheeks streaked with tears. "I felt that way when I found out about my father . . ."

Rey swallowed, feeling a large lump in her throat. "Father . . ." It was as if she were saying the word for the first time. Was she trying the word out on Luke or trying to acknowledge that she even had a father?

"And Han Solo? You feel like he's the father you never had."

Why were Kylo Ren's words coming to her now? And why did they feel truer than Luke's even after Han had been dead for a month?

Kylo Ren, the monster who had murdered Han . . . her cousin . . .

"Rey . . . Luke finally said, ". . . daughter . . . I don't expect you to forgive me. I know you were waiting so long for a family that never came." Fresh tears were flowing. "I love you, Rey, I always have . . . but you don't have to love me."

The Jedi looked so vulnerable – even more vulnerable than he had looked when she first saw him or at Han's funeral. Wasn't this what she'd always wanted? Hadn't she been waiting forever to find her family?

Luke Skywalker . . . her father . . .

Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out to him, her eyes welling up . . .

"Luke!"

Both father and daughter were jolted out of the moment by Leia's voice. Rey turned around and there was Leia – her aunt – standing in the doorway, looking out of breath, her eyes wide.

"Leia?" Luke asked. "What is it?"

Leia took a deep breath. "It's . . . it's Han."

"What?" Rey exclaimed, rushing up to her aunt. "What about him?" Her uncle . . . Han was her uncle . . . was her uncle . . .

Leia took another deep breath, giving her brother and niece a cautious look. "Don't . . . don't get your hopes up too much . . . but he might not be dead."

. . .

Ben had stopped visiting.

Han had long ago lost track of time, but it seemed to have been a while since he lost his foot and he hadn't seen Ben since. The only visitors he got now were the stormtroopers who tended to his biological needs and they still never spoke to him, but at least one of them had had the courtesy to get rid of his hand and foot. At least he no longer had to stare at his dead appendages.

He still had to listen to the sound, though.

In, out, in out . . .

"Hey Leia, still hope you're doin' all right." Talking to Leia had become his sole source of comfort during his waking hours, however crazy it might have been. His old self – the one who could breathe on his own and had two hands and two feet and a real heart – would probably think he was losing it. Maybe he was, but right now he would take any little bit of comfort he could get.

"Haven't seen our son lately," he continued. "Maybe I actually got him thinkin'. Course, it seems like every time I try to remind him of our family I get something cut off." His stump of an ankle pressed a little into the mattress. "You wouldn't believe how weird this feels, Leia. Sometimes my body just wants to wiggle its left toes and forgets they aren't there anymore. Sometimes my fingers curl on my one hand and the other one wants to join in before it remembers it's just a stump."

He gazed over at the small lump in the blanket that was his right foot, then at the spot where its brother lump should be. "I dunno how long I've got, sweetheart. You'd hate me for sayin' this, but . . . I almost want them to go ahead and kill me now." He leaned his head back. "I can't move anything to kill myself, but I once heard of a guy who was taken hostage and kept strapped down like me, but he managed to kill himself by bitin' his tongue hard enough to bleed to death." Just mentioning the story brought his own tongue brushing over his teeth. "Sometimes . . . sometimes I just wanna bite like that . . . but then I think of how you'd feel if you knew I'd survived Ben's lightsaber but ended up killin' myself anyway." His eyes closed, the sound still filling his head. "Or maybe I'm still scared of dyin' – old habits are damn hard to break after all."

The door opened – was it mealtime already? Han opened his eyes in time to see four stormtroopers entering. One carried a sponge and a bucket of soapy water, one carried a toothbrush with toothpaste already on it, one carried a razor, and the last one carried Han's shirt and pants, which looked like they had been washed – though the hole in his shirt from the lightsaber was still apparent as it dangled from the stormtrooper's arm.

"What's goin' on?" Han exclaimed, though merely looking at the items was enough to make him want to jump at them if he were able.

The stormtroopers said nothing as usual, but the one carrying the clothes made his way up to the bed, yanked off the blanket, and . . . actually unlocked the binders. One, two, three, four, each one drawing a small cry from Han's mouth as the sores were suddenly exposed to the air, feeling like closed wounds that had been ripped open.

Now the other troopers approached. The one carrying the bucket set it on the floor next to the bed, dipped the sponge in, and started scrubbing Han's legs.

Warm water . . . soap . . . was he really being washed? He had almost forgotten how good warm, soapy water felt – and suddenly he wished he could smell the soap.

He had only a few seconds to absorb the sensation, though, since the stormtrooper with the toothbrush jabbed it into Han's mouth, filling his mouth with the fresh, sharp taste of mint – the sharpest taste he'd experienced since waking up here. He didn't even mind the pokes and jabs from the rough brushing – just the fact that his teeth were being brushed at all was enough to give him an unexpected feeling of ease.

It would have been so easy to just lie back and enjoy being cleaned . . . but why were they doing this?

Han seriously doubted it was because Ben had just decided to be nice for a change.

Something bad was probably about to happen.