Delay after delay caused the Rogues' return to Echo Base on Hoth to be unpredictable and ultimately very late, with only a skeleton crew and a half-awake General Rieekan there to greet them. Luke spied the general's sleep shirt peeking out of the quilted uniform jacket; evidently he'd asked to be roused when the squadron landed.

"Kriffing cold," Wedge muttered as he held a crisp salute, waiting for the others to line up.

Luke had never put much thought into why he liked General Rieekan. Now Luke stood grinning at the general's tousled hair, feeling a warmth that shouldn't exist in the ice cavern. General Rieekan had gotten out of bed for them. What a nice thing to do, Luke thought. Sure, he was general and all that, but he could have left it to the major in charge.

The briefing, the general told them, could take place in the morning given the late hour. He congratulated the twelve on a successful mission, bade them to rest up, and turned to go back to bed. The Rogues all wished him a good night.

Janson called out, "What's new on Echo Base, sir?"

The mission, a defense of Altiv, had lasted two weeks. Not a single shot was fired.

Rieekan turned and gave Janson a flat grin. "We're still here," he said. It seemed he was too sleepy to go into more detail, but almost as an afterthought he turned back and told the men, "One of the tauntauns is pregnant."

"That's new, I suppose," Wedge muttered at Luke's side.

"Should we care?" Janson asked.

"Yeah we should care," Luke stated in his commander persona. "The tauntauns are helping us fight this war."

"Not as personnel," Janson argued.

"No," Luke agreed, "but they're not equipment either." His commander persona lapsed. "I wonder if it's my mount."

"Shmi," Wedge said with a sly smile.

Luke asked for the same mount each time he went on ground patrol. He felt they had a good working relationship. He'd named her Shmi, after his grandmother, who had died before he was born. There was no special reason, except to remind himself of his roots.

"You gonna be a dad, Skywalker?" Janson teased, and everyone laughed.

"What kills me is a tauntaun got luckier on this base than I have all year," Wedge said ruefully.

There was more laughter, and the men headed to their lockers. As they shed their flight suits, Janson called out to Luke, "I'm surprised your princess ain't around to welcome you home."

"It's late, Wes," Luke answered without affront. "And she's not my princess."

"Falcon's all shut up, too," Wedge observed across the hangar. "Thought Solo might throw us a party. Evidently he's got a bedtime, too."

"Or a princess."

Luke grew irritated. It was one thing to say things about him and Leia, because he knew they weren't true, but he didn't like it when they said stuff about her and Han.

"Shut up," he snapped. "More talk like that about High Command's gonna earn you tech duty, you hear?"

"Yes, sir," Janson grumbled.

Luke wasn't through. "Get your own friends so you don't have to go nosing about mine."

Their quarters beckoned, three rooms housing twelve pilots, and the men began to feel exhaustion seeping into their bones.

"Can we sleep in, Boss?" Wedge asked. They fell on their bunks without undressing.

"We're not on the roster, so enjoy," Luke answered.

More quickly than usual, the rooms fell to snores.

Luke got up early. It was his intention, though he could use more rest. He gathered his things in the dark and palmed the door opening. It slid back noiselessly, but there was nothing he could do to prevent light spreading in from the corridor. It hit Wedge's bunk, whose face twisted in his sleep, and he rolled over.

Luke dressed in the communal 'fresher. It was not easy and very uncomfortable. His fingers grew stiff with cold in the few moments of exposure and he had trouble zippering his jacket.

"Kriffing cold," he muttered to himself. He said the same thing at least a hundred times a day on Echo Base, and he realized with a start he hadn't heard himself say it in the last two weeks.

Leia was in the mess, sipping tea and scrolling a gloved hand down the screen of a data board. Her back was to the entrance but Luke would recognize the elegant hairstyle and white snowsuit anywhere. He slid into the seat across from her.

"Hi."

Her smile was open and real. Not many were granted that smile. Those that were didn't see it often. Luke was so glad when he saw it.

"Luke!" she beamed. "I heard you were back. Congratulations."

"Mmpf," Luke grunted. "It was a long time for nothing."

"Not nothing," Leia contradicted, falling back into an official tone everyone received. "A peaceful resolution to a tense situation."

Luke grinned without humor. "Is that what High Command's calling it? The guys were disappointed we didn't get to show our stuff."

"I'll never understand the machismo of battle," Leia shook her head and looked down into her tea. "The way I look at it, there's no casualties and no damages."

"True," Luke acknowledged.

"You're all back in one piece. Tell your men it makes me happy, Commander. That should give them something to talk about."

"We're the Rogues," Luke said. "Ace pilots."

"Gossips," Leia said "without resentment. "Get your meal."

Luke fetched a tray piled high with food. That was one thing he liked about Echo Base. There was always a lot to eat, and he was always hungry. It had been explained that the human body burned more calories trying to stay warm, so they needed to eat more.

He lifted a roll and felt a draft on his inner wrist. He tugged his glove down.

"The briefing is scheduled for o-ten," Leia informed him.

"Thanks," he said after swallowing the roll and before shoving a forkful of egg into his mouth. Despite being ladled out from a warmer, it had lost all its heat. "Kriffing cold," he muttered.

Leia smiled. "You had two weeks of not wearing gloves. Warm food..."

"Two weeks of sitting in a cramped cockpit. How's Han?"

"I did get a trip sitting in his cramped cockpit."

Luke pretended to look around. "Don't let the guys hear you say that."

Leia smiled again, and she rested her jaw in the palm of her hand. "We gave him something different to do."

"And you got to come along?"

She nodded. "It went well. An extraction."

"Sounds more exciting than my peaceful staring match."

"An Imperial general's cover was blown as one of our spies. We pulled him out before he was arrested."

"Quick action," Luke commented.

"It was an emergency. Felt like it at the time anyway."

"How'd you get him away?"

"He put himself in an escape pod off a Destroyer and deployed it, and the Falcon located him before the Empire did."

"Humph," Luke grunted. "Not very original."

"Perhaps not." Leia was still smiling. She knew Luke was referring to the time she had sent the plans to the Death Star in an escape pod.

Luke moved on to the starchy root vegetable. "Did you get some nice weather at least?"

"For a couple of hours. The trip itself was longer."

"Is he here?"

"Yes. Madine. He's pushing for a position on Command."

"One of those, huh."

"Yes. He's causing Rieekan some grief."

Luke was sorry to hear that. "You know, this stupid bit of politics within our own ranks is not going to win the war."

"I agree completely. And no one trusts him."

"You can't. I wouldn't."

"No." Leia looked thoughtful. "He and Han came to blows before we even got back."

She looked somewhat pleased about that, Luke thought, and he wondered why. "Machismo of battle," he said, and she laughed.

"Maybe so."

"I heard a tauntaun is pregnant."

"My," Leia said with her brows up, "what is considered news here. You heard about what's going on in husbandry but not about our new general?"

"Rieekan was sleepy."

Amused, she shook her head slightly from where it rested in her hand. "I'm glad you're back." She gazed at him a long moment. "It's never the same when you're not here."

Luke nodded, embarrassed and pleased but also hungry, so he kept at his meal, trying to come up with a suitable answer.

She watched him eat, and finally stood with a sigh. "My shift's about to start. I'll see you at the briefing."

"From the other side of the table," Luke grumped.

Leia scooped up her tea cup and as her hip grazed the side of the table gave his shoulder a couple of consoling pats. "It won't be that bad."

Luke finished mess by himself, grinning into his tray.

"This is new, eh," Wedge remarked as he, Luke and Wes Janson made their way to the control center. "Do you see that?" He pointed at the ground.

"Yeah, there's funny prints in the snow," Janson said.

Luke slipped on the ice, and grabbed Janson's shoulder to keep his balance. "Kriffing cold," he said. But Janson was right; the path down the passage was dimpled with tiny holes. He looked up and feared for a moment the ice cavern had been melting during his absence, dripping tiny needles of icy water onto the floor.

"And someone was in my locker while we were gone," Wes added darkly.

"In your locker," Luke speculated. "I doubt that."

"Why would anyone go in your locker?" Wedge wanted to know.

"Look at this," Wes flung his arm out before Luke, causing the men to stop.

"Look at what?" Luke questioned. The South Passage looked as it always had: ugly and cold and barren.

"This!" Janson exclaimed, shaking his arm and indicating his sleeve.

"Oh, how'd you do that?" Luke finally spotted what Janson wanted him to see. He poked a gloved finger on the fabric. There was a hole in the sleeve of Janson's jacket, just at the inner elbow. "You get it caught on something?"

"I don't know," Janson's voice went up. "I wasn't here, remember? It's very neat, isn't it? Creeps me out."

"What creeps you out?" Han Solo's voice came at them from the other end of the Passage. Not a loud call; acoustics carried easily as they bounced off the ice walls. He was making his way easily over the ice.

Luke waved and gave him a smile. The Alliance had two goals for him that day: attend the briefing, and patrol a sector. It was a light day. Paying Shmi a visit had been one of his personal goals anyways; the other two were eating with Leia and seeing what Han was up to. So basically his day was almost done. He might even get a nap in.

He returned his attention to Janson. "Very neat. As your commander, I advise you to req a new suit or-"

Janson lowered his voice. "Who the hells would cut a hole in my sleeve?"

"Hey, Solo," Wedge grunted.

Luke did a double take. Somehow time went very fast just now, or Han managed to navigate the icy corridor much faster than Luke was able to.

"Kriffing cold," Luke said.

"Heard they don't have to restock any proton torpedoes," Han said about their mission. "My condolences."

"Yeah, you get it," Wedge said. "We were hoping to put a dent in the Empire. Command held us back."

Han held out his arm in the same posture as Janson. "This a new salute? Can't keep up with you guys; always tryin' to outdo the Empire." He was wearing a parka, thick with the fur of some animal lining the hood. He'd covered his boots with the thick outercloth the Alliance provided.

"Ain't this more your salute, Solo?" and Wedge stuck his middle finger out of his gloved fist.

Han ignored him and peered down at the hole in Janson's sleeve. "Oh, you got a hole," he tsked.

"Any idea how I got that hole, Solo?" There was a knowing tone to his voice, just shy of accusation.

"Nope," Han said evenly. "I'd say you got worms, Janson."

"Worms?! This isn't the work of worms. Look how regular it is." He tugged downward on the wrist cuff to smooth the crinkles. "No worms can live on this ice ball."

"Probably there's something," Han reasoned mildly. "Tauntauns are here-"

"Barely. They gotta take shelter at night."

"They sleep," Han said. He was strangely tolerant of the creatures. "Humans do too, anywhere they live. I bet a snow creature bit it."

"The wampa?" Luke said doubtfully.

"Looks like a molar toothprint," Han observed. He couldn't be serious and Luke laughed.

"Ah, kriff, now I've heard everything. A wampa opened my locker and tasted my sleeve?" Janson's scoff dissolved into laughter.

"And he didn't bite it with his fangs, but chewed it at the back of his mouth, where the molars are," Wedge said.

The four men laughed. "Maybe it's a she," Han offered. "And she's building a nest. Maybe her saliva can tan a hide."

"I heard a tauntaun was pregnant," Luke said.

"I don't bother with the sexual reproduction of tauntauns," Han said dryly.

"This ain't hide," Janson said.

"Hells, I don't know," Han seemed to grow tired of the discussion. "Maybe one's creeping around the base, all camouflaged, opening lockers and sampling stuff."

Wes actually looked around. "I don't like to think of it. You seen that one they bagged? Looks more ferocious than your Wookiee, Solo."

"He's not my Wookiee."

"Chewie's no one's Wookiee, Wes," Luke broke in sternly. "I don't want to hear you say it."

Wes waved his hand. "Didn't mean nothing by it. Really I didn't. I just meant your friend. Your Wookiee friend."

"Whatever caused it, Janson's got to break out the sewing kit," Luke brought the conversation to a close before it disintegrated any further. He turned to Han. "You going out?"

"Yeah. Sector seven. I tell you that in case I don't come back." He shook his head. "Kriffing cold."

"Kriff yourself, Solo," Wedge swore lightly. "You're the only one of us free to go-"

"Didn't sign my life away, did I?"

"- so why do you stick around?"

It was a question often asked, usually behind Han's back. Luke's face showed mild surprise that Wedge actually broached it to Han's face. It must be that Corellian machismo.

Usually Luke was in earshot of the question. Or it was posed directly to him, like he was a fountain of inner knowledge. Uttered causually or slyly; out of genuine interest or the calculation of odds. Sometimes it felt like a psychology seminar: someone with too much education spouting off about the instinctive motivations of humankind; other times it was just talk.

To be honest, though Luke was closest of the pilots to Han, he really didn't know. He'd have checked 'all of the above.' Answers he'd heard included Han stayed for Chewie, Han stayed for Luke, when Han said "kriffing cold" he really meant "I love the cold", Han hated the Empire, Han loved the Princess, or Han was hiding from Jabba the Hutt's numerous bounty hunters.

Leia was right: the Rogues were a bunch of gossips.

"What," Han was saying now, his face guiless and full of bullshit, "and not show off my outfit?"

"What are you talking about," Wes muttered. "We all got that." His gloved fingers waved over Han's parka and the leg coverings.

"Yeah, but you don't have this," and Han stuck his leg straight out, about a seventy degree angle to the floor.

He didn't even fling a hand out for balance. It reminded Luke of a bird they saw... somewhere; before Hoth he'd been so many places. A wading bird, with impossibly long legs. C-3PO, Luke's protocol droid- or Princess Leia's, depending on who was winning the argument- was along, and informed them their legs were covered with a hairy fuzz, and that periodically they had to dry them in the sunshine to kill the algae.

Luke had shrugged off the information as just more useless pratter by the droid, but here it was now, entertaining his brain, and now he had a lot of questions. What was the purpose of the fuzz? Why couldn't it stay wet? Did it pose a health hazard? And what was unique about the bird's physiological design that a leg jutting straight out was practical, or even comfortable?

Something always came back, was his developing philosophy, and he was training himself to be more observant and not dismissive of the merest piece of information that hit his senses.

For instance, a moment ago. Wes had not observed Han's approach as anything out of the ordinary, whereas to Luke it stuck out as uncommonly quick. And that was a question that needed answering.

Luke smiled. "You did something to your boots, didn't you? Let me guess," and suddenly he liked the freezing planet of Hoth.

Han scorned him. "Like me sticking my leg in the air don't tell you anything."

"It's not extra socks," Luke breezed on, "I got four pair on and I still can't feel my toes. Kriffing cold."

Janson peered at Han with suspicion. "Did you do something?"

Han shrugged elaborately. "Kid says I did."

"Then it must be so. You built in a warming unit?" Wedge guessed.

"Boosters!" Luke exclaimed, momentarily forgetting he was practicing to be a Jedi Knight and resorting to the imaginative youth he used to be. "Kriff, that would be funny. Like jet packs for your ankles." He laughed loudly.

Han was looking at him oddly. "I don't think so, kid."

Luke shifted his jaw sideways. True, a jet pack generally was not for indoor use.

"It'd melt the snow," Wes said, saving face for Luke. "Then the tunnels would collapse."

Luke glanced at Han's feet. "You put blades on 'em?" he guessed. "Or gliders?"

"Good guess," Han said. "Try again." His leg was still up in the air.

"Repulsors," Wes said, was still following Luke's train of thought of a jet pack. "They don't make 'em that tiny, though."

Han pointed at Wes. "That's not a bad thought, Janson."

Whatever it was that kept Han from signing on the dotted line to stay with the Alliance, there was no doubt he was part of Hoth. Luke's friendship with him had earned the smuggler honorary membership to the Rogues.

Once they'd managed to coax him into the cockpit of an X-Wing and the twelve Rogues wound up taking out fifteen Imperial fighters before their hyperspace coordinates kicked in- a glorious moment for Rogue Squadron, one they still talked about- but Han strolled away with a wave of his hand upon landing, calling "thanks for the good time," and he disappeared up the ramp of his freighter the Millennium Falcon.

That was the thing about Han. Why- why join the fight with your buddies- they were buddies, weren't they? drank together and played sabacc and all that- and then not finish?

Luke thought maybe he'd gone to hide shaking hands and steady them with a glass of whiskey. Han was a good fighter pilot. He'd trained with the Imps, and the reason Rogue Squadron scored so many kills was Han knew how the enemy would move.

Luke was still trying to guess. Han had obviously done something to his boots and was holding his leg up so they would look, but Luke still wanted to play. "Spreaders?"

One of the other pilots, Hobbie, had told him where he came from it snowed so much the humans wore a special shoe to prevent them from sinking into the snow. But Luke dismissed that before Han even shook his head. It snowed here, but what they walked on was ice, not soft snow.

Han put a hand on Luke's shoulder to keep his balance. His leg had started shaking. "Will you just look?"

Wedge and Wes bent from their waists. "Oh," Wes said. He took his glove off to touch a series of small metal tips.

Luke stopped him. "It's metal," he warned. He was terribly paranoid about the cold. "Where'd you get the spikes?" he asked Han.

"Do they work?" Wedge wanted to know.

"Let's race," Han challenged. He took his hand from Luke's shoulder and stamped his feet, letting his two legs regain their equilibrium. Little pieces of ice flew into the air.

Luke and Wedge weren't fool enough to race on ice and played referee. Luke waited until Wes and Han stood side by side and counted off a start. "Go!" he shouted.

Han and Wes took off on a run down the passage. Janson's legs windmilled in place a few rotations, and as soon as he got real traction, one foot slid from under him and he landed heavily on his stomach.

The Passage was a bit uneven, Luke observed. Wes actually slid forward on his belly.

"Maybe we should belly crawl to get around," Wedge suggested with a laugh.

Han was halfway down the Passage already but turned around, jogging back like he was on turf. "There's your funny prints," Luke told Wes. The spikes on the bottom of Han's boots left little holes on the ice.

Wes was on his feet, rubbing a bruised knee and brushing snow off his flight suit. "I need some of those," he told Han.

"Only thing they don't let you do is slide," Han said. "You go head over heels."

"Sorry I missed that," Luke said. He wasn't sure he'd want spikes in his boots. He often slid as a means of navigating the passages. It was less effort than walking.

"It wasn't pretty," Han said.

"So what did you do?" Wedge asked. "Put nails in your boots?"

Han nodded. "Cut the tips off, hammered in from the inside. That's the hard part. Labor's what's gonna cost you."

Luke started walking again to the control room. Han's new venture, he thought. "Doesn't it leak?" he asked. "From the hole in the sole?"

"Hole in the sole," Wes sang out loudly.

"The nail's head is wider than the spike. But, I'm willing to concede it's a weakness," Han said. "I'll put a layer of caulk over it."

"How much?" Wes asked.

"I'll cut you a good deal. I got four boxes of nails, quantity five hundred. There's turn around time, though. Got to let the caulk dry. Figure you got two pair?"

"Yeah."

"So special orders only."

Luke had done the math. Han was a pilot, not a carpenter. "Why would a smuggler need all those nails?"

Han looked at him like any fighter pilot or moisture farmer should always have two thousand nails on hand. "Whatever needs doing."

"I'll come by later, place my order," Wes said. He entered the control room, an arm slung around Luke. "I'll have me some Hoth ice boots!"

"Great," Luke said without enthusiasm. "Just what we needed."

"We call 'em cleats," Wedge said. "Why don't we have them already? Why is a smuggler inventing footwear on an ice planet?"

Luke laughed, but it was a good question.

"Kriffing cold," he said.

This was originally part of a Christmas fic but it got left behind. I'm not sure it has a purpose still :) but hope it was fun.