Han awoke to Luke’s warmth beside him. He shifted, and watched as the other man rolled over to curl
 closer. He ran an idle hand along Luke’s side, feeling the muscles, the bone, the scar on the outside of
 his hip. Han sat up to take a closer look, and swore colorfully at what he saw. The symbol was obviously
 a word, and it had been burned into Luke’s thigh by a practiced, very precise hand. He reached for the
 readout beside the bed, and scanned the mark.

 This time the swearing was loud and vigorous enough to awaken Luke. He looked up and smiled at Han
 until he realized what was happening.

 "Who did it? Who dared mark you?" Han demanded. "Jabba didn’t do that, I know."

 "Fett," Luke said, very softly.

 "Do you know what it means?"

 Luke nodded, his eyes shadowed and wary. He’d never seen Han this angry, not even after the x-frame.

 "Tell me. Tell me about it." The flat coldness informed Luke that his words would be sealing the bounty
 hunter’s death warrant.

 "No. Come watch. It started after you’d been working for Jabba for a year. Boba Fett decided that
 anything you could do, he could do better. It amused Jabba to hand me off to him immediately after you’d
 had me."

 "It would. Go on."

 "You had a run to R’alla, for illegal water. The last thing you told me before you left was ‘Stay alive. Be
 here when I come back.’ You were very cruel, you know. You gave me hope of escaping. Because of that
 hope, I was doing my best to stay alive. Watch."

 Han felt as if he was plummeting into the endless blue of Luke’s eyes, as the past came alive around
 them.

 ***

 Luke sat on the dais, listening to catch the last echoes of Han's steps as he left. The trip to R'alla and

 back would take about nine days; water runs like this were one of Jabba's shorter errands. He could

 endure. He always did. He missed his lover already.

 The band gave out a slow tune, and Jabba shoved him off the dais with his tail. *Dance. *

 Obediently, wanting to be alive for Han's return, Luke turned the shove into a graceful slide. He glided

 out into the middle of the floor, and danced. From the corner of his eye, he noticed some of the

 denizens of the palace drawing in closer, closing a ring around him.

 Gauntleted hands clasped his upper arms, squeezing painfully tight. He altered the dance and undulated

 against his captor, not looking to see who held him. A metallic voice chuckled in his ear, and his insides

 turned to ice. He kept moving anyway, knowing he had not been told to stop.

 Boba Fett let him go, then, without warning, fired the capture-cable from his vambrace. Luke didn't

 dodge it, but kept his arms out, letting it wrap around his waist. Still obeying Jabba's order to dance, he
 spun himself into the cable, coming within arm's length of Fett, then twirled out, almost to the limit.

 He pretended to fight the cable, tugging it and dancing to the others who watched as if asking for their

 help. Slowly, the bounty hunter reeled him in. It was a game Luke knew all too well. He slowed his

 breathing, trying to calm down. Fear washed through him, a harbinger of the things to follow.

 *Enjoy, * came Jabba's order.

 Fett finished the game by wrapping him entirely in the cable and towing him out of the throne room.

 Alone in Fett's room, the hunter retracted what was left of the cable, leaving an ugly welt on Luke's

 waist as it whipped off of him. He knew better than to utter a sound of pain, but sank to his knees as

 his owner required.

 Heavy boots circled him. He tracked their progress by sound. He heard Fett remove the helmet, and

 felt the fear take an even firmer hold. On nights when the hunter left his helmet on, it was usually a

 quick use or two, a backhand slap across the face and banishment to a slave cell for the rest of the

 night. But when the helmet came off, Luke learned a little more about what the live bounties underwent

 at this man's hands.

 "Stand up and strip."

 Luke obeyed the order quickly, gracefully, doing his best to be perfect and give Fett no excuse to harm

 him. He stood, arms spread slightly, feet apart, balanced but vulnerable.

 The gloved hand ran down his back, tracing the faint remnants of the welts from his last beating. Luke

 was unsurprised when two fingers shoved into him, dry and rough enough to hurt. He didn't gasp or

 cry out.

 "Good. You aren't too stretched from him. I know all about Corelli, my pretty slut. All about them."

 Fett pulled his fingers out and looked disgusted at the residue on his gloves. "And here you are,

 befouling me with his slime." He wiped his fingers on Luke's back in a fancy pattern. An evil idea

 came to him, and he ordered, "Get me something to write on you with."

 Luke quickly brought a small eye-stick from the tiny slaves' prep room just off the main bedchamber.

 The hunter shoved him to his knees and tested it on his arm for color. Pleased with the dark brown, he

 drew an intricate symbol on the back of Luke's left hand. "I want to find that mark somewhere on your

 body next time you are given me. If I don't find it, I'll mark it on you." He pulled an apparatus from

 his belt. "Know what this is?" Luke shook his head. "It's a slave-marker. The scar it leaves does not

 heal and cannot be removed without removing the muscle beneath it. If I can't find this word on you

 somewhere, I will carve it into you, right here." He put his hand on the outer side of Luke's left thigh.

 "Where I can always feel it when I want."

 "Yes, Master," Luke managed. That meant he'd have to apply the mark every day, since he never

 knew to whom he would be given. If another did not like the mark, he would be punished for

 wearing it; if Fett marked him, he'd be punished for provoking the hunter into it.

 "Good, now, suck me off." The hunter undid the codpiece of his armor, and presented himself. Luke
 obeyed, shutting his eyes as he did so, until a hard yank of his ponytail pulled him back to reality. "I
 don’t think so, slut. Keep your eyes open. See me, not _him_."

 Luke did his very best, eager to have this over. Fett was good for about two times around. He licked and
 sucked, taking the shaft all the way into his mouth and then pulling out until the barest tip of the head
 remained. He knew what the hunter liked and provided it beautifully. Well-trained over the years, he never
 even flinched at the bitter salt that filled his mouth as Fett climaxed.

 The hunter left Luke on his knees, and went to sit in the chair and stare at him. After a few moments, he
 wandered back over and circled the kneeling boy. Luke felt the delicate probe of a bootknife at his ear.

 "You’re thinking of Solo, again. If I thought it’d take him out of your mind, I’d drive this knife straight into
 your brain and fuck you as you died convulsing. As it stands, I can’t afford to pay for you, so I’ll settle for
 this."

 He shoved Luke forward, making him crack his head against the floor. He jerked Luke’s wrists behind
 him, slapped a pair of binders on them, and pressed the boy’s chest to the floor.

 Using only the remnants of Luke’s saliva, he took the boy brutally, shoving hard and deep, then pounding
 as roughly as he knew how.

 Fett couldn’t see his face, so Luke shut his eyes again. He clenched his teeth against the burning and
 breathed against the pain until it subsided. Then, he tried to imagine Han was taking him, rough with
 need and desire. That helped even more. At length, the hunter finished, collapsing atop him.

 ***

 "That doesn’t explain the mark, kid."

 "You left on that last Kessel. I didn’t have time to draw the symbol. Fett lost his temper. Jabba found it
 amusing, the idea that you would be getting merchandise with a Mandalorian trademark."

 "Some trademark. He labeled you a sex toy, forever."

 "That’s the polite translation."

 "I know."

 "You know, I wouldn’t mind wearing it for you." The tenative, tremulous smile barely touched Luke’s lips.

 "Like this?" Han trailed his fingers over the mark, tracing each line and curve of it. "Mine," he said. He
 moved down to trace it with his tongue, then envelope the whole of the scar with his mouth. "Mine," he
 whispered against Luke’s skin. He moved up, and kissed Luke, pressing deep, learning the mouth he
 knew so well all over again. "Mine. Not anyone else’s. Mine, for as long as you want to stay."

 "I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me, my love."

 **

 By the time the Falcon landed on a jungle moon orbiting the gas giant Yavin, Luke had come to a place

 in his grief where he could accept all that had happened. The reassembled droid had been carried away

 to have its memory banks worked over, the princess had disappeared and Han and Chewbacca were

 busily repairing the damage from their escape.

 When he had walked down the ramp, serene in his robes, a gasp had gone up throughout the hanger.

 Leia had introduced him to the Alliance brass and he had sensed their discomfort upon hearing the

 words "Jedi Knight and student of Obi-Wan Kenobi." They had given him a room and he meditated

 now, kneeling on the mat and listening to the wind in this new place. Activity surged around him, and he

 knew what was in the offing. He rose, and went in search of a flight leader.

 "You need pilots," he said to man in the captain's uniform. "I would like to volunteer."

 "What have you flown?" came the question, boredom carefully covering the desperation in his voice.

 "T-16 skyhopper. Sailbarges, skiff, pod-racers."

 "What? Humans don't race pods. The reaction time is pared down below human reflexes. Wait a

 minute." The captain took a better look. "You're the Jedi!"

 "I am. Check me out however you need to."

 "All right. The simulator is this way."

 Luke emerged twenty minutes later, calm and cool, not even sweating. The captain gaped. "All

 opponents killed, and all you took was a hit to the stabilizer. You're in. Skywalker, was it?"

 Han wandered in to watch the briefing. He was shocked to find Luke sitting on the front row, listening

 as intently as any other pilot. He listened to the briefing and found himself agreeing with the young man

 who opined that a two meter target was impossible. The pilots dashed for their ships on General

 Dodonna's order, but he caught Luke's attention before his lover could leave.

 "So you're going up?"

 The blue eyes shone with the joy of flight, but something darker lurked beneath the surface. "I couldn't

 miss it. Why aren't you in a flight suit?"

 "Snubs are a young man's game, Luke." Han's voice was very quiet. "I used up my time and more, long

 ago. I'll be up there with you. The Falcon's as fast as anything they've got, and better armed. She loves
 me and won’t turn on me like this fickle bitch would." He patted the side of Luke’s X-wing, then pulled the
 young man close for a lengthy kiss. "Be careful, Luke. I can't lose you again."

 They hit space. The X-wings divided into their squadrons and the Y-wings into theirs.

 "Would you look at the size of that thing?" demanded a stunned young man with the unlikely name of
 Wedge Antilles. Luke remembered sitting next to him in the briefing, and having him and another young
 man assigned as his wingmen.

 They listened as Gold Leader started his run in the trench, paying less than half their attention. The rest
 was occupied in keeping the enemy fighters off their comrades, and off their own tails. The Falcon made
 all the difference. The heavy quad guns provided covering fire for the ships in the trench, and she picked
 off any TIE fighters foolish enough to come her way.

 "I’m hit!" from Gold Leader was followed by "Torpedoes launched!" Then there was only radio silence.

 "Red Five, start your run. Good luck, Luke," said Red Leader, nursing his own half-crippled fighter out of
 the trench to play bait for the TIEs.

 "Close it up, Wedge, Zak. We’re going in full throttle. Han, keep those TIES off our tails for just a little
 longer."

 "Will do, kid. Can you pull out at that speed?"

 But Luke was gone. He switched off his computer, and rode the winds of the Force. The hurricane gale
 picked him, and carried him, and he rode it, mastering it, exulting in it, as the fragile fighter shot down
 the trench.

 A darker pattern emerged from the wind he rode, trying to tear him from his precarious flight. But he held
 firm in the timeless storm that raged about him.

 "Zak, Wedge, Luke’s not responding!" Han tried not to shout over the comchannel, and then he saw the
 prototype TIE appear. "We have some serious company. Distract them. Keep them off him!"

 The X-wings scissored and dodged as much as the narrow trench allowed. The prototype and his
 wingmen hung close. Zak went in a fireball. And Wedge was hit. Han got one of the wingmen, but the
 leader was too good.

 "I can’t hold her. Solo, I’ve got to bail."

 "Antilles, keep your ass in that trench, you damn coward! Luke needs you for five seconds. Are the
 rebels turning out such crap you can’t--" In the midst of the harangue, the wingman came into Han’s
 sights. He fired a fraction of a second slow, damaging the TIE and sending it spiraling into the leader. The
 prototype whirled out of the trench as his wingman exploded on the floor.

 Luke approached the place where the winds began to set him down. He fired, guiding the missile into the
 shaft with gentle breezes of Force, and then pulled up, and out of the trench. As he came back,
 deposited in the easy chair by the last zephyrs, he heard Han whoop over the com, and Antilles cheer.

 "Come on, kid, let’s get out of range!"

 The ships raced back toward the moon, and set down in the hanger of the rebel base.

 Han dashed across the hanger, catching Luke as he came down the ladder from the cockpit of the
 X-wing. He spun the young man around and kissed him squarely. A ragged cheer then a more forceful
 one went up from the rebel techs. The princess dashed over, and they opened their arms to her and
 hugged her, too.

 **

 The entire Rebel Alliance assembled in the great hall of the Massassi temple, waiting to honor their
 heros. In the anteroom, Han and Luke waited. Han had polished his boots and dug out a good shirt with a
 collar that closed. Luke had cleaned his cream and tan robes, and comported himself with dignity
 befitting the last Jedi. Han just wanted to kiss him until he lost his composure and let fly the grin that
 seemed to light his whole face.

 Together, they made the long walk down the main aisle of the room, and climbed the stairs to the
 Princess. She hung the medal on Chewbacca first, stretching to do so, even though he stood a step
 below her and bowed deeply to receive it. Then Han’s medal, and she smiled as he gave her a wink and a
 smirk. Lastly, she presented Luke’s, and gave him her very best smile. For a moment the Jedi melted,
 and the very young man underneath smiled back.

Epilogue