Luke walked through the hangar, not needing to pay attention to his surroundings. He'd had so many liftoffs and arrivals at this base he knew the way without looking. He carried his helmet under his elbow, and his wing man had already headed back to their quarters, because if Luke was in the hangar he always liked to walk a bit further and see what his buddy Han was up to, if he was here. The way things stood, he hadn't seen much of him lately.

He shouldn't, but he felt a bit down about that fact. There were others. The fact that he was really tired. That nothing had really changed since after the Battle of Yavin. That he hadn't changed.

As it happened, the Falcon was here, but by the looks of things she was getting ready to head out again. The copilot Chewie was ordering a crew around, growling at them in his indecipherable native language, and Han stood near their cart, looking down at a data plaque. He held something between his teeth, a white, slender cylinder. Probably the stylus, Luke figured.

"Hey, Han," he called, shifting his helmet to his other side so he could wave, "you're putting as much Imperial distance on yours as we our on ours."

Han looked up, the white thing straightening as he closed his mouth. His pronunciation was a little sloppy because of it. "The point ish to shoon be measuring Republic dishtinsche, right kid?"

"I guess." Luke stared at the thing dangling from Han's mouth. It wasn't a stylus. "What are you sucking on?"

Han took it out of his mouth and showed it to Luke, who said, "It looks like a death stick."

Han placed it between his teeth. "Candy death stick."

"Oh." Luke frowned. He was glad it wasn't a death stick, and of course it couldn't be. Luke would have known. Where he was from, lightyears from here, there was a saying. One death stick and you're dead. But he also wasn't glad, for no reason at all.

"Want one?" Han asked.

Luke looked around. "Yeah, okay," he said. He approached Han and set his helmet on the ground. The two men sat on crates yet to be loaded and looked at the candy in their hands. Luke put it in his mouth and took a long draw on it, like he'd seen actors do in the holofilms.

Han laughed at him. "It ain't real, kid."

"Looks real."

"You'd know?"

"No, actually. I wouldn't. You?"

"Been around 'em."

"Did you use 'em?"

Han glared at him. "I still got my teeth, don't I?"

"Are they real?"

Han gave him a shove that almost knocked Luke off his crate.

He laughed. "Alright," he said. "I've never been around anything," he confessed. "I'm a total goodie two boots."

"I recall you gettin' very drunk a little while back."

"Oh, yeah. The second night after the Battle of Yavin. I couldn't handle it."

"Which, the second night, or the liquor?"

Luke grinned. "Both," he said. "But mainly the second night. And I haven't done it since."

Han nodded. "So you're not a stupid two boots anyway."

"Being hungover is the worst."

"It's no fun," Han agreed.

Luke took the stick out of his mouth and looked at it. "Where'd you get candy death sticks?"

"Last run they sent me on. Palalai. There's some kind of holiday, the young dress up like their nightmares and go around begging for candy."

"You serious?" Luke said. "I coulda used a holiday like that when I was a kid."

Han scoffed. "Me too."

"So what kind of two boots were you?"

"Ha," Han answered. "The kind that's bootless."

Luke thought about the answer a moment. "I can't figure that out. The phrase is some kind of two boots, so... you had no sense at all?"

Han bit off an end of his candy. "I'm an experienced two boots."

"Yeah, I'd go along with that," Luke agreed. "You've done a whole lot more than me."

"I knew you were feelin' sorry for yourself," Han gloated. "You had that down boot shuffle."

Luke grinned sadly down at the candy in his hand. "Down boot," he repeated, and thought about all they had said. "I had it good as a kid."

"That's good."

"Only- they said I whined."

Han choked on too much sugar going down the wrong way. "Well," he coughed, banging a fist on his chest, "maybe you grew out of it."

"Maybe?" Luke glared, but then he smiled and then rapidly became glum again. "I'm a no experience two boots. I'm never getting anywhere."

"What are you talking about," Han demanded. "Just eight months ago you became a commander! You've done a lot."

"Not since then. I'm a stagnant two boots."

"You're really running with this phrase, ain't you kid."

"I'm supposed to be working on becoming a Jedi Knight."

"From what I know, the Jedi were plucked as tots. And it took 'em years."

"But they had a teacher."

"I bet you no tot, even a Force sensitive one, can fire a proton torpedo as accurately as you did."

"But they-"

Han held a palm up. "Don't be a whiney two boots. Listen." He looked at the loading crew and leaned in toward Luke. "You'll never hear me say this again. Me and my two boots wasted a lot of time. I'd much rather have your two good boots, than you have mine."

Luke was greatly cheered. "Really? You mean that? Thanks, Han."

"Mine got holes in the soles."

Luke shoved Han. "Kriff you."

"Captain Solo?" A member of the loading team approached Han.

"What?"

"We're ready for the last two crates to load."

Han waved him away. "Go at 'em."

"You're sitting on them, sir. You and Commander Skywalker."

"Oh." Han managed to stand with a candy death stick in his mouth and not look too foolish. "We'll be out of your way. C'mon, kid. There's more candy in the mess. I brought back buckets."

Chewbacca yowled what sounded like a reprimand.

"I'm tellin' you, it was free!" Han called back sternly. "It distinctly said, take one."

"What's he saying?" Luke asked Han as they moved away from the ship.

Han was still talking to Chewie. "Who said I wasn't a nightmare? See, kid," Han winked at Luke and threw an arm over his shoulder. "I was a nightmare two boots."

"You took more than one, didn't you," Luke guessed. "You took whole buckets."

"Guess who ate all the blue milk choco balls," Han ignored Luke. "There's a certain Princess who has two very sweet boots."