Author: Angel

Email: [email protected]

Rating: NC-17 for torture, and non-consensual sex.  Lots of Angst.

Warning: Rape, torture, drawing on the Dark Side and other bad stuff.
If this upsets you, leave now!

Summary: Luke's pain is part of a trade agreement.  Set a year before TESB.
Assumes some knowledge of Brian Dailey's Han Solo trilogy.

Disclaimer: These are not my characters, and George (may his name be
praised) would not appreciate what I've done here.  But, I'm not making
anything off of this except ego gratification.

Distribution: Lady Angel's Den of Debauchery
(http://www,geocities.com/TelevisionCity/Stage/5785). Otherwise, ask and ye
shall receive.

Feedback: Here's where I get paid, in applause.  If we poor shadows have
offended, think but this and all is mended, etc

Author's note: Massive thanks, praise and a large stein of
Denebian Firebrandy to Cara for beta-ing.  It wouldn't be what it is
without her.
This turned ugly for some reason.  It's a hurt/comfort fic, so hang in
there.

*****
Win-Lose Parameters
c 2000 Angelia Sparrow
*****

Han paced the Falcon's forward compartment, stopping only to punch in the
occasional order on the holo-gameboard.  Chewbacca protested vociferously at
the lack of attention to the game.

"Sorry, pal, my game's all off.  Where is the kid anyway?  I knew I should
have gone with him."  He made another pacing circuit of the Falcon, stopping
himself to drop into the acceleration couch and try to pay attention to the
game.  Chewbacca had set it up to distract him from his worry, but instead,
as he concentrated on win-lose parameters, the game focused it.

This had started as a routine trade trip to an obscure but important system.
  Azi'Befo was on the Outer Rim, but an important supplier of vekallium,
used in hyperdrive components.  The operation was run by a hard-nosed
merchant priesthood which was hostile to both Rebel and Imperial alike.
They had been sent to set up trade so the Alliance could keep its aging
fleet spaceborne.

The Azi'Befo High Trader had steadfastly refused to negotiate with the
Alliance until the Jedi- Negotiator, specified by ancient custom, could be
found.  Luke, although very uncertain of his abilities, had offered to go,
and Han had offered to fly, thinking he might be useful.  But the Traders
had insisted that only Luke be allowed to bargain.  Han had reluctantly
stayed with the Falcon, helping Chebacca with minor repairs, and worrying
despite the thrice daily com checks from Luke.

Now there was nothing left to fix and if he played one more round of
holo-chess, he was going to blast something.  Fifty-four losses and five
wins over the last week had taken their toll.  Chewbacca did not like
losing, even to his partner, but he was a good enough player that he seldom
did.  Han had the sneaking suspicion the Wookiee had thrown one of the games
to keep him from becoming too discouraged.

Groundside boredom was common among spacers, but Han had tried all the usual
tricks to avoid it. The local music was atonal and annoying to his taste,
the holonet transmissions were bizarre and incomprehensible, dealing with
currency fluctuations, market trading and the occasional piece of
pornography so explicit and violent even Han was shocked.  Apparently,
nothing was off limits as long as it turned a profit.  Han had thought
himself cynical, but the "everything's for sale, it's only a matter of
price" attitude went so deep he was almost appalled.  He had cleaned his
quarters, before ransacking them, trying to find a pack of Sabbac cards, and
then cleaned them again after he remembered he'd left the cards at Chalmun's
Cantina by accident during a hasty exit.  The Imperial News Networks were
full of the usual propaganda.

Luke had last reported in the night before, saying negotiations were headed
in a favorable direction. When he had missed the morning com signal, Han had
been ready to go look for him.  Chewbacca had reasonably pointed out they
didn't know exactly where Luke was, and that he might merely be tied up in a
conference.  When the midday com call hadn't come, Han was ready to barrel
out and start shaking people on the street demanding information.  Chewie
had tried distracting him with a holo-game, but it wasn't working.

He wondered about his own win-lose parameters, and Luke's, versus the
hard-nosed merchant families' for whom trade was a religion.  It was
midafternoon and he casually put in a call to the High Trader Legilujo about
his friend's whereabouts.

"Ah, Captain Solo, there has been a slight difficulty.  The Jedi-Negotiator
has taken ill, perhaps our food does not agree with him.  As a result, he
has not attended any meetings today.  Our delegates are quite disappointed.
This does not bode well for your proposals, Captain."

Han wanted to reach through the viewscreen and punch the smug, uptight
little man in his rather bulbuous, pale green nose.  "I'll come finish the
negotiations," he promised.  "How do I get to your estate?"  He knew where
Luke was staying, but had not been given the coordinates.

After some formal protests about the impropriety of dealing with a non-Jedi,
   Legilujo downloaded the information to Falcon's computer, and Han printed
out a durofilm map.  "I'll be there in about an hour."

Chewbacca announced his displeasure, as Han packed a small carrybag.

"I know, Chewie.  It's either a trap, or a set-up.  But if Luke is really
sick, I can't leave him with these people.  Besides, any trap this obvious,
I should be able to walk in, steal the bait and walk out before they notice
it's missing."

The Wookiee was unconvinced, but saw Han to the foot of the ramp.  "I left
Legilujos' coordinates in the computer.  If I'm out of contact for 48 hours,
come and get us, with both guns blazing, and double pay off in the Money
Lane.."  He ruffled his copilot's fur.  "‘Sides, Her Worship'll kill me if
the negotiations fall through, and then she'll space me for losing track of
the kid."

A very fuzzy Wookiee hug set him on his way.  He hailed a groundcar and gave
the driver the coordinates.  The driver looked in askance at the rather
battered-looking spacer who demanded to be taken to the High Trader's
estate.  All questions were stopped by a generous dose of the local
currency, and Han found himself, minutes later, slowly cruising past
manicured lawns of violet sward, decorated with religious statuary of the
Azi'Befo Trade Religion.  Left on the ornate portico of the mansion, he
roughly calculated the value of the door as he rang the chime, not failing
to notice the view-eye that tracked him.

A tall, orange humanoid servant greeted Han, and took the carrybag before
leading him to the formal receiving room.    High Trader Legilujo rose from
the comfortable chair, almost a throne, that dominated the opulent room, and
came toward Han with a look of sincere regret on his faintly green-tinged
features.

"Young Skywalker is more seriously ill than we thought.  My personal
physician is in attendence right now.  I will take you to him.  We have
moved him to the staff infirmary, which is better equipped than his room."

"What's wrong with him?" Han demanded as they walked through the halls of
the mansion.  The old adage "Corellians can't get lost" was getting a real
work out.

"Food poisoning, complicated with some sort of internal abdominal swelling.
We are not sure what the inflamed organ is, since we have nothing comparable
in our anatomy.  We have some of the best xenobiologists on the planet
working on this.  Perhaps you can tell us more?"

"He's human, off Tatooine.  Not sure if that helps."

"Not much.  We are human too, but our metabolisms are not identical.  Ah,
here we are.  Please go right in.  I have dignitaries to soothe.  Shall we
expect you for dinner in two hours?  I'll send Uyilydyc for you in an hour
to show you to your rooms."  The High Trader bustled off, the orange
bodyservant trailing in his wake.

Han knocked carefully, and opened the door quietly, in case Luke was
sleeping.  "Hey kid," he called softly as he stepped into the room.  The
blond head on the pillow never turned toward him, and he walked over to
check on Luke.  The last thing he saw, before the spinning darkness, was a
blond wig on a pillow form.

He came to looking into blueness so deep it swallowed him, like the oceans
of his homeworld, like the summer skies above Udo VI.  "Hey kid," he said
weakly, abandoning his attempt to sit up.  "Anyone get the registration of
that Star Destroyer that hit me in the back of the head?  How about you?
They told me you were sick."  He realized, with some embarrassment, his head
was in Luke's lap.  He further noticed his blaster and gunbelt were missing.

"I'm fine.  They drugged my dinner last night.  I woke up in here."

Then Han noticed the other two men in the cell.  They wore black body suits
and glared at him.  "Who're our neighbors?"

"Cuyad Hoj and Dyf Kodul.  They're snowmen."  Han was surprised to hear the
smuggler slang for stormtrooper come from Luke, but masked his confusion.
"Apparently the High Trader didn't like their vekallium offers any more than
ours.  He took their armor as well as the weapons."

"So we've made the formal introductions?"

"They don't believe that our names are Klet Fador and Jare Syton.  They keep
insisting we're rebels named Skywalker and Solo.  But Jare, I've seen the
wanted holo.  I don't think we look like the rebs, but they do.  I tried
explaining we're traders out of the Oor system."  A cover story.  That
explained the slang.

"You're rebel scum," spat the dark-haired trooper.  "I was stationed on
Tatooine two years ago.  You're the moisture boy that skipped out and left
his family to die.  The old lady wouldn't talk, she only knew you'd left
before dawn.  The old man got nasty.  Maybe you should know his last words
were spent cursing you and droids and someone named Kenobi."

Old wounds ripped open, Luke was across the cell in an eyeblink, pounding
the taller man into the wall.  "Did you pull the trigger?" he demanded,
slamming the trooper against the stones with each word spat through clenched
teeth.  "Did you toss a couple charges down into the courtyard?  Or did you
just butcher the jawas?"

The dark one grinned down although his teeth were rattling.  "Nah, I was in
Tosche Station modifying our troop carriers and tracking down the
Darklighter family.  Seems their boy went AWOL on his service commitment
about the same time.  Who'd have thought your little ball of sand would be
such a hotbed of trouble?"

"Put him down, Luke."   Their cover story was blown, so Han propped himself
on one elbow, his head still spinning from having been dropped so
unceremoniously.  Almost hyperventilating, energy crackling off of him, Luke
obeyed and slid down the wall to sit beside him..  "We're all in this
together.  Let's not do Legilujo the favor of killing our cellmates.  So,
Cuyad, what are our chances of getting out of this?"

The redhaired trooper shrugged.  "Don't know.  We were just here to scout
out rebel sympathies in the populace and report back..  They must not be too
sympathetic if they threw you two in here as well."

"And at the expense of a trade agreement," Han agreed.  "I thought failure
to turn a profit was a major sin for these people."

Dyf rubbed the back of his head, a sullen, greedy look coming over his face
as he squatted beside his companion.  "Skywalker and Solo.  Cuyad, we take
them out of here, we could get promotions and more money than we know what
to do with.  The combined bounty on this pair would set us up for life.
Lord Vader wants them really bad.  Not only that, if we play it right we can
collect about three ways on the Corellian.  There's half a dozen bounties on
him.  We could buy our own planet!"

"The problem is getting them out," Cuyad began.

"How'd he get into the troops with a mercenary streak like that?" muttered
Luke.  "It's as bad as yours."

Dyf flushed an ugly brick-red, and gained his feet.  Any violence he was
about to wreak on the smaller man was forstalled by the door opening.  A
group of armed Azi'Befo shifted their weapons restlessly as one stepped into
the cell.

"You will come with us," the leader of the squadron motioned to the two
imperials.  The rest covered the four men with their weapons.  The troopers
left under escort, and the door was locked again.

"Look, kid, Chewie has orders to blast us out if we don't get back soon."
Luke almost smiled, reassured.  "Dyf was kinda rough.  You okay?"

The half-smile faded.  "I thought I was over it.  But the thought that he
might have been the one who murdered my aunt and uncle....and he was
laughing about it!"  The younger man slumped down the wall to sit beside
Han.  "So many dead and all because of me.  Aunt Beru, Uncle Owen, Ben,
Biggs.  Stick around and you could be next."

"Not the first time I've kept dangerous company.  Give me a hand up.  I want
to lie down on the pallet they left us, and I don't wanna crawl."

Luke stood and helped his friend to rise.  "Aunt Beru used to tell me
‘Morning is wiser than evening.'  Get some sleep.  The knockout gas may
leave you a little weak for a day or so."  He eased Han to sit on mattress,
but neither made a move to lie down.  Finally Luke whispered, "I'm scared.
I've never had the time just to sit and wonder what's going to happen.  Is
this what it was like for Leia, I wonder?"

"We'll get through it, kid.  We only have to make it for a day or so."  Han
lay back, but Luke stayed sitting on the foot of the bed.  The residual gas
in Han's system was still enough to send him into dreamless sleep, his last
sight being Luke trying to relax into a Jedi meditation.

They awakened to the door opening and Cuyad Hoj was thrust roughly into the
room.  He sank into a corner, arms crossed over his head as if to protect
himself.  A tray of food was set in, and the door was locked again.  Luke
picked up the tray and took it over to where Han was still trying to clear
his head.  Leaving their two meals, he picked up the third and went to the
red headed trooper.

"Cuyad?" he asked.  "Can you eat?"  The man merely made a shooing motion.
Luke set his meal down and added, "I'll leave it here in case you change
your mind."

After breakfast, Luke went back to sit beside Cuyad.  Han realized the
Imperial was not much older than Luke.  The boy tried coaxing the story out
of him, but he remained mum.  Finally Luke asked the crucial question.

"Where's Dyf?"

"Dyf's dead.  And it's my fault," came the high, screamy answer as if Cuyad
was at the end of his composure.  "I couldn't.  I just froze.  Since I
couldn't do it, they let a droid.  When they take you, do what they want you
to."  A harsh sob racked him.

Seeing he could get nothing further, Luke placed one hand on the other man's
head and closed his eyes.  Slowly Cuyad relaxed, and then slept, still
sitting.

"I've got a very bad feeling about this," Han commented.  "How'd you do
that?"

"Low-level calming suggestion, and a little Force coercion," Luke answered.
"Ben taught me some.  I've never tried it on anyone else.  He needed a sleep
with no dreams.  I suspect he'll have nightmares enough when he wakes."  His
eyes fell on the uneaten breakfast.  "I probably should have made him eat
first."

Han chuckled wryly.  "Outside, he'd shoot us both without a second thought,
and here you are nursemaiding him."

"It could have been me in that armor, if everything had gone according to
plan," Luke protested.

"Nah, you'd never be a stormtrooper.  You can't meet the height
requirement."  Luke grinned, remembering Leia's first words to him during
her rescue.  "Wish you'd gotten more out of him.  It might help to know what
we're up against, and where they've been for the last ten hours."

"Has it been that long?"

"My mental clock says it has.  And it's been accurate on more planets than I
can count."  Anything else was cut off by the door opening.  This time, the
weapons beckoned them.

Han took stock as they walked, his mind creating and discarding escape
plans.  Two unarmed men against eight blaster rifles made odds he didn't
like.  There was always the idea of jumping the High Trader, taking him
hostage, getting the vekallium and getting off planet.  A look at their
destination squelched the idea.

The arena was almost sterile, like an operating theater.  The seats were
three meters off the floor, and behind a transparisteel wall.  The Azi-Befos
secured Luke in the middle, his arms chained together above his head, his
legs chained apart.  A table with a whole array of ugly equipment stood to
one side.

High Trader Legilujo announced, "Now for the Alliance.  Since they have
attempted to deceive us by sending a half-trained boy instead of the
required Jedi-negotiator, we require proof of their desire.   In order to
prove how badly they want the treaty, the two delegates will follow all
orders unstintingly, providing us with entertainment, or we will activate
the Mark VII PainGod.  If you provide a better show than your Imperial
counterparts, you will be given both the vekallium treaty and the remaining
stormtrooper.  Should you fail, the record of your attempt will be broadcast
on every spectrum, marketed in every holocube store, and any survivors will
be sent with the Imperial representative.  May Kiv'Lant the Wealthy judge
your endeavor."

"So what do we do?" Han demanded, carefully not looking at his friend or the
table.  He concentrated his attention on the Mark VII, which had rolled into
the arena.  It was based on the same chassis as the old Mark X Executioner,
but Han had a sinking idea that this one was designed to work on humans as
opposed to droids.  There was no way that hunk of scrap was getting its
metal claws on Luke.  He would succeed where Cuyad had failed.

An ominous metallic voice began the instructions.  "There is a blinderhelm
on the table.  Put it on the subject."

"Subject?  Is that me or him?"

"It is your friend.  He is neither to see nor hear what ensues."

Han found the blinderhelm easily, sitting in a pool of light from a hidden
source.  He carried it to where Luke waited quietly in the chains.  "Hang in
there, kid.  This could be really bad.  But the droid ain't gonna get a shot
at you.  I promise."

"Do whatever it takes to get us out of here alive.  I trust you."
Luke ducked his head to help make seating the helm easier.  It covered his
eyes and ears, leaving his nose and mouth free.   It seemed the Traders
liked to listen to screams.  His breathing slowed and deepened as he
relaxed into a meditation.

"The active one will move more quickly to carry out the orders or the Mark
VII will be activated!" snarled the directions.  From the corner, came the
ominous buzz as the Mark VII activated a vibroscalpel in anticipation.
"Choose an implement from the highlighted area and use it to remove the
subject's clothing."  Han flinched as he saw the contents of the illuminated
section, but chose the most innocuous one and followed directions.

As the metal barbs tore through Luke's shirt, leaving small cuts on the pale
back, Han felt himself falling into the old mindset from the classes.  This
was not his friend, not even a person, just a subject.  Fifteen years and he
could still summon the impersonal numbness of the officer training classes
in interrogation.  He had hated the feeling then and he hated it now, the
way it turned others into objects, and himself into not much more than a
droid.  But he knew the only way he could possibly keep them both alive was
to not think, only do, and to believe it was just another training film he
was being forced to watch.

The hellish commands followed one after another, and he obeyed them, numbed,
but still cautious.  Occasionally there was a cry from the subject, but they
were few and he suspected another Jedi mind trick, perhaps a dissociation.

Then there were no more commands.  Han stood blinking, coming back to the
cold realization of what he had actually done.  Gods, maybe it would have
been better to have let the droid do it.  Then he caught sight of the Mark
VII's flame thrower burning with a small blue flame, frustrated at the
compliance of the humans.  He reached out to remove the blinderhelm when the
voice came again.

"One last thing.  Use him sexually.  That is the appropriate ending to this
little show."

Han flinched at the casual creulty of the unspeakable command.  He hesitated,
seeing his friend for the first time since the helm went on.  It was one thing to
use tools, another thing to harm Luke with his own body.  The pause lengthened.

"Activate--"

"Wait."

The droid whirred in frustration, and Han caught a glimpse of
the attatchment it was readying. He thought for less than a half second
before drifting back into the numbness.  He moved behind the subject, and
began running his hands over the bleeding back.  The subject flinched, but
did not cry out.  Blood was a poor lubricant, but without something, they
would both hurt more than necessary.  A louder cry from the subject at
penetration, and small cries throughout punctuated the experience.

"Stimulate him as well," commanded the voice.  "Very good," it commented at
the rapid compliance from the man in the arena.  "Pace it so that you
complete the act at the end of the ten count.  10-9-8-"

Han thought of nothing except the metallic cadence as he strove to complete
the task.

"3-2-1."

Fire shooting through his chafed groin, and a soft cry from the subject.  He
pulled away and wiped himself clean on a small towel.

"The performance is complete.  The vekallium concession is given to the
Alliance," announced High Trader Lejilujo.  "You are free to go.  Your
baggage awaits in the front hall.  Uyilydyc will take you there.  You may
unchain your friend."

The numbness was gone, but the necessity for motion blurred the pain.  He
could afford remorse later, after they were off this rock.  He lifted the
blinderhelm from Luke's head, and was unprepared for the tears that greeted
him.  He wiped them away gently with his shirtsleeve.  He stooped to
unfasten the ankle shackles first, and then opened the wrists, sparing his
friend a painful tumble.  Luke's clothing was in rags, so he took off his
own shirt and wrapped the younger man in it.  Luke  sagged in his arms, his
legs not bearing his weight, so Han threw him across his shoulders to
expedite their departure.

In the hallway, Luke's carrybag, his own, and a bound Cuyad Hoj awaited him
with High Trader Legilujo.  The orange-skinned bodyservant picked up the
bags and threw the stormtooper over the other shoulder.

"Captain Solo, your Wookiee companion says if you do not contact him at
once, he will begin strafing the lawns."  Legilujo handed Han a comlink.  A
few hasty words reassured Chewbacca that both men were safe and on their way
back to the Falcon, with the trade agreement.  Legilujo handed him a
dataplaque with the trade treaty in it, and an old-fashioned piece of paper,
with actual signatures.  "Your gunbelt and your friend's lightsaber are in
your carrybags.  And here is your groundcar.  It has been a pleasure doing
business with you."  The bland greenish face held only the most sincere of
farewell smiles.

Not trusting himself to not do something the whole Alliance might regret,
Han barked, "C'mon," at Uyilydyc, who carried bags and prisoner to the
waiting transport.  "Put him in the front, and leave Luke's bag in the back
seat."

On the ride back to the spaceport, Han cleaned Luke up as best he could with
the portable medkits from their carrybags.  He got the bleeding stopped, and
most of the worst cuts disinfected and covered in synthiflesh.  He chose a
loose black shirt and trousers and helped the semi- conscious man into them.
  Cuyad stayed silent through most of the ride.

As they neared the spaceport, he ventured, "Your friend lives.  The droid
was never activated, was it?"

"No," came the curt answer.

"What will be done with me?  I'm not sure I really want to go back to being
Trooper 1432."

"We'll worry about that when we get off planet.  Luke's going into shock
back here.  Kid, don't do this to me."  He patted the younger man's cheeks
brusquely, and reached for a wrist to chafe.

"You did it to me," was the soft reply.  Luke's eyes never opened to see the
stricken look that washed over his friend.

Chewbacca opened the doors of the transport and Han handed Luke out, with
orders to the Wookiee to be careful.  He helped Cuyad out of the front seat
and took off the binders.  The trooper picked up the baggage.

Back aboard his beloved ship, Han began the preflight, wanting to be away
from this world.  Chewbacca came in and informed him that Luke was being
treated by the med-station couch, and Cuyad was strapped in for liftoff.
Then came the question that Han had dreaded.

"I know he smells like me.  And I know I smell of his blood."

They made the jump to light speed silently, tension in the cockpit becoming
impossible.  Finally Han cracked under the stare of 200 year old blue eyes.
"It was me or a Mark VII PainGod.  The Mark VII killed Cuyad's pal because
Cuyad wouldn't follow their orders."  He fell silent and decided the best
way was to tell it flat.  "I tortured him.  For their amusement.  Following
their orders.  Then to top the whole stinkin' mess off, they had me rape
him."

Silence from the copilot seat.

"How can I face him, Chewie?  What can I say?  Will he even want to listen?"

In his long life, there wasn't much the Wookiee hadn't encountered, but this
situation was new.  He barked some advice, and stared his friend down until
he took it.

"Good idea.  Think about what to do with Trooper 1432 back there, too.  I
have an apology to make."

The medunit had let Luke move to his own cabin, and Han cycled the door
open, waiting.  Acknowledgment, invitation, absolution, he wasn't sure, but
it felt right to wait.

"Han?" came the tremulous voice from the dark cabin, a child's voice, an old
man's voice, but not the voice of his friend.

"Can I come in?"

"If you must."

Han nearly sat on the edge of the bunk, but remembered himself and dropped
into a chair near the bed.  Luke still shrank back, almost unconsciously,
and wouldn't meet his eyes.  Not knowing where to start, Han groped for his
words.

"Luke, I'm sorry."  That felt so weak, the words limping out of his mouth,
saying so little.  Sorry was what you said when you bumped into someone or
spilled a drink.  It didn't begin to cover what he had done.  Part of him
tried to rationalize that Luke wouldn't even be alive if he had said no.
"I'm sorry I hurt you.  I'm sorry for everything.  And mostly, I'm sorry
your first time had to be in front of a bunch of Traders with me instead of
however you really wanted it."

"How did you know?"  The flatness frightened Han more than any anger would.

"The tears.  They were too fresh to have come from anything else.  And only
virgins weep.  You weren't crying really, just. "

"I know what I was doing!"  There was the anger.  "Damn you.  Damn you
through the five hottest hells.  I thought you were my friend!"

"The Mark VII killed Dyf Kodul.  I couldn't watch it kill you."  Han kept
his own anger in check.  He bit back the vicious retort that was ready to
spring off his tongue.  "Dyf took ten standard hours to die, and Cuyad had
to watch it all.  I couldn't do that.  We performed for less than three
hours.  And we both lived."

"Performed?" Luke spat.  "Is that what you call it?"

"No, it's what that green bastard Legilujo called it.  I won't say it was as
bad for me as for you.  Not even close."

"Maybe you should have let the Mark VII have me," Luke mumbled.  "It might
have hurt less than knowing my best friend is capable of beating and raping
me."

The truth lay between them like a festering corpse.  Han stood to go.
"You're right.  It would hurt less.  Because the dead don't feel anything.
But you would have died knowing your best friend was a coward who couldn't
bring himself to save your life.  I wish it could have been different."

He left, and Luke lay alone in the dark considering his words.  The medunit
had repaired all his physical wounds, but part of him was still inside the
blinderhelm and always would be.  In the deep recesses of his mind, he would
always be waiting for the next blow, the next electroshock.  The reality of
his bunk on the Falcon, the faint tremors of hyperspace, all felt like a
illusion.  He knew it was all a dream he had conjured to escape from the
Azi'Befo arena.

The last thing Han said troubled him.  What had he meant by "I wish it could
have been different?"  Did he wish that they hadn't had to "perform" before
the Traders?  Or was it something more personal?  Was it tied to the apology
about his first time?

Even in the darkness, Luke blushed at that.  He adored Leia, but in the two
years since her rescue had had no luck getting close to her.  A few younger
pilots of both sexes had made themselves available, but he really hadn't
felt romantic about any of them and had declined their offers..  In fact,
his life had been so busy that relationships were the last thing on his
mind.  Now, his innocence wrested from him, everything looked different, and
he took mental stock of the trip.

In the darkness of his room, a larger extension of the darkness in the
blinderhelm, he replayed the day.  The easy teasing at breakfast, the rising
fear during the walk to the arena, the screaming panic held down by Jedi
discipline alone as he was chained.  He had seen the Mark VII PainGod, and
knew the torture droid was well named.  He had been reassured when Han had
promised the droid would not touch him.

The panic had returned when Han had buckled the blinderhelm on him, but in
the darkness he had reached out and found the Force. The meditative trance
was the only thing that had allowed him to endure, with anything approaching
sanity.   The first blow from the metal-tipped whip had almost torn him out
of the meditation.  He knew only that his back was on fire, and bleeding,
and his friend had done it.  But the Force had been there, cool, comforting,
inviting him to sink into it.  Replaying the memory, Luke felt the hot sting
of tears behind his closed eyelids.  His rational mind put in that Han had
obviously pulled the blows or he'd have no skin left on his back.  He wasn't
sure the knowledge comforted him.

As he played through the entire run of sensations he'd experienced, not
knowledgeable enough to put names to some of them, the thing that struck him
was that Han had done his best not to hurt him.  The tentative stroking of
his chest before the electroshock had helped avoid the most sensitive spots.
  The prodding of his arms had located veins, and learned the shape of
muscle, keeping the vibroscalpel from doing any serious damage when he was
cut.  Even the last violation could have been worse.

Luke told himself that as his mind replayed the hands rubbing across his
bleeding back, the faint sting of salt from the palms as it burned in the
wounds.  Then the removal, leaving him in darkness alone.  That was another
thing.  At all times, Han had kept a hand on him, letting him know he wasn't
alone in the darkness and silence.  When he had left to change implements,
he had always touched Luke's shoulder.  Soon, he had come to associate the
small touch on the shoulder with a warning that he would be alone for a
time.  But this time, this last time, there had been no light touch, no
warning.  He had been alone, and then the hands were back.  No one had
touched him there for ten years, not since Uncle Owen had given him his last
spanking, and no one but the med-droid had ever seen it bare since he was
out of diapers.  But this touch was much more intimate than either of them,
spreading him open, displaying parts better left hidden.

Then the pain.  Like nothing he ever felt before, stretching, burning agony.
  He knew he had screamed at that.  He couldn't help it.  Even the Force
hadn't helped.  Han had paused, waiting only a moment for him to acclimate,
then had set a steady rhythm, almost mechanical.  For a horrible moment,
Luke had wondered if the Mark VII had been activated after all.  But the
touch of a very human hand, wrapping around him, stimulating him had told
him his tormentor was still human.

The last really had been the worst, even if he had been too badly hurt for
anything to come of it, and the tears finally spilled over.  He lay on his
side, clutching the thin pillow, and sobbed in the darkness, until sleep
claimed him.

Luke awoke to a chime from his door.  "Come in," he responded.

Cuyad came in balancing two meal trays, and set them down on the small
table.  He unfolded the legs of a small bed tray he had tucked under his
arm, and set one tray on it.  He smiled weakly at Luke. "Chewbacca says you
have to eat.  I brought my lunch too, but if you want me to, I'll leave.
Can you sit up?"

Stiffly, Luke sat up.  The synthiflesh stores on the Falcon hadn't been
enough to cover his whole back, just the deeper cuts.  The rest were
bandaged with antiseptic foam and cloth.  The two cracked ribs ached under
the tape.  The medkit's bonefuser was shorted out, its parts cannibalized
for some navigation equipment.  Cuyad helped him into a more comfortable
position, and set his lunch on the tray over his lap.

"Oh, courtesy of the med-unit."  Cuyad set a dose of analgesics on the tray.
  "The Wookiee said it was the best he could do," he added as Luke sniffed
the food skeptically.

"The Falcon's galley is notorious for being understocked."  Luke managed a
small smile.  "I didn't have time to check it before we left on this
mission.  At least we're not down to emergency concentrates."

The two young men ate in companionable silence, Cuyad stealing worried
glances at Luke throughout.  Finally irritated, Luke asked what the matter
was.

"You're so young.  I know you destroyed the Death Star, so I thought you'd
be older.  And, it's a bit weird having lunch with someone that yesterday I
was under standing orders to capture.  It's weird not being under orders.  I
feel naked out of the armor and yet free."

Luke commented, "Not everyday I get to have lunch with a stormtrooper
either.  Why'd you go into it, Cuyad?  You seem a decent guy."

"I'm from Vatrak III.  It's a farming world.  We only go to school until
we're 9.  Then it's manual labor.  If you manage to pick up enough to pass
the Academy exam, you kick the manure off your shoes from the first
transport out, after your results come back.  I got in, but washed out of
the advanced academics.  They gave me a shot at stormtrooper training and I
took it.  Anything was better than going back to growing crops.  How'd you
wind up a rebel instead of an Imperial pilot?  I heard you two talking about
the Academy.  Captain Solo is obviously cashiered, probably an officer, if
the Bloodstripe on his trousers is any indication."

Luke told the short version, the droids, the trip to Alderaan, the Death
Star.  "My uncle wouldn't let me off-planet to go to the Academy.  And what
Dyf said about the Darklighters was right.  Biggs jumped ship.  He died on
the Death Star run."  He steered the conversation to a less dangerous
subject.  "What are you planning to do now?  You'll be court-martialled if
you go back to the troops.  Can you fly?  The Alliance can always use more
pilots."

"Will they take me?  I mean, that holo of Dyf has likely been seen in every
corner of the galaxy.  Does the Alliance have room for a coward?"  The
bitterness was directed only at himself.

"I don't know what we have room for."  Luke's glare was fixed in the
direction of the cockpit.  Cuyad didn't miss it.

"Your friend saved your life," he said softly.  "Dyf died hard, and in more
pain than I thought possible.  And I had to watch every gruesome second.
You're alive, you're not badly injured, and you have a friend who is hurting
inside as much as you are over what happened.  I'm not defending him. Luke,
I'm just telling you to think it through before you start to hate him.  What
did you think would happen after he put the blinderhelm on you?"

"How did you know?"

"I got that far with Dyf.  But when I saw what was to be used on him, I
couldn't.  I hesitated too long and they activated the Mark VII.  I never
liked Dyf, but in the end, I couldn't hurt him.  Part of the ‘camaraderie of
the Troops' bunk they drilled into us so hard.  And partly because I had no
idea how to use the things."

"While Han obviously did."  More harshness and bitterness.

"He was an officer, Luke. The Academy has required courses on interrogation
procedure training, both with primitive and modern techniques.  Most are
just theory.  I didn't make it that far, but everyone knows about them."

"I think lunch is over."  Luke set the tray on the small table, groaning as
his taped ribs ached under the painkiller.  He lay back, folded his arms,
and tried to meditate.  Cuyad left silently.

The Force was hard to find.  His own center was disrupted, and the darkness
clouded his thoughts.  It was easy to get caught in the anger and pain, and
yes, even hate.  He felt the Force now, and in a way he had never felt it.
It felt strong, and more directing than usually.  Unlike the usual calm,
this left him feeling excited, eager for action.  As more of it flowed, he
began to see images of what he could use it to do, how he could get his
back.  Wrapped in a darkness he couldn't see, Luke slipped deeper into the
meditation.

Han stood under the sonic shower, brooding.  He had taken Chewie's advice,
but he really had hurt Luke too badly to even attempt rapproachment this
soon.  The last trace of blood was gone from his skin, but he still felt
dirty, violated.  He wished for hot water, really hot, and strong soap.  His
mind insisted on replaying the scene from the arena and a small voice
whispered that perhaps he really had wanted Luke and the Traders had given
him an excuse and a venue.  He slapped the "off" control and reached for his
clothes.  That was bantha crap, pure and simple.  When had he ever taken a
roundabout route to anything he wanted when a straightforward one would do?

This mess was going to take a lot of work with the psy-droids.  What were
they going to tell the Princess?  He stalked back to the cockpit and dropped
into his chair.  Chewbacca was elsewhere, so he stared at the streaky stars
of hyperspace, and brooded some more.

Cuyad slipped into the cockpit, not wanting to disturb the pilot.  He sat
quietly in the navigator chair and stared at the various modifications to
the freighter.

"I hear you breathing, trooper," grumped Han, "Spill."

"How do I join the Alliance?' he blurted.

"I'll put in a good word for you with the Princess," Han promised.  "Now
quit snorting, or go to the passenger lounge."

Cuyad tiptoed out, and sat on one of the acceleration couches. Chewbacca
grumbled from the galley.  He propped his head on the gameboard.  He'd done
all he could, and there were wounds of his own he needed to heal.  At least
he knew he would have a place when the Falcon landed.  The Wookiee left the
galley with a growl of frustration and marched to the cockpit.

Three days later, Leia Organa, former senator and Princess of Alderaan,
greeted a freighter of very glum men in the hanger of the temporary base.
Yavin was no longer safe, and a permanent base was being carved out of the
ice on Hoth.  For now, the Alliance was scattered over a dozen worlds, the
largest collection being on Straviingurla II.  She waited at the foot of the
ramp as Chewbacca helped Luke off the ship.  Han trailed by a number of
steps, followed by a very shy young man.

"Luke, what happened?  Are you all right?" she asked, looking at his haggard
face, and the healing wounds visible on his arms.  He handed her the
holocube and the paper with the signatures.

"I'll tell everyone at once during the debriefing.  We got the vekallium."

"Wedge, take Commander Skywalker to the new sick bay," The Princess ordered,
her tone sharper than usual from worry.  The golden young man with the easy
smile she had sent on the mission was gone, and in his place was a stranger,
holding on to control with every ounce of strength.

"I expect a full accounting of this, Captain."  She turned on Han, only to
see the same fracturing control on his face.

"At the debriefing, Your Highness," he said with no trace of his usual
sarcasm.  Only a deep weariness and pain were in his voice.  "For now, let
me present Cuyad Hoj of Vatrak III.  He wants to join us.  Cuyad, Princess
Leia Organa of Alderaan."

The tall red-haired boy bowed over her hand, looking quite abashed at being
in the presence of a legend.  "I'm charmed, Your Highness."

"He has better manners than you do," she goaded Han.  The Corellian said
nothing and would not meet her eyes.  She beckoned a deck officer over to
take the young man through in-processing.  "You will join us for the
debriefing once you are settled.."

As the pilot vanished back into his ship, she stared up at the Wookiee
towering half a meter above her.  "I don't suppose you're going to tell me
what's going on."  A long howl of pent-up sorrow was her only answer.

A week later, after the Two-onebee unit had certified Luke ready for light
duty, Leia called the debriefing.  In the conference room, Leia watched as
Luke and Han sat as far as they could out of each other's line of sight.
Cuyad sat worrying the trim on a new jacket.  General Dodonna and other
ranking Alliance officers sat around the table.

Han told the story of the trip, leaving out the horror of the arena,
mentioning only the food poisoning story that Legilujo had fed him and that
he and Luke had decided to use as the cover.  They had talked, briefly,
stiltedly before planetfall.  He introduced Cuyad and explained only that he
was a recanted stormtrooper.

After the other dignitaries left, Leia interposed herself between the three
men and the door.  "You didn't tell them everything.  We've been friends for
too long for you to keep secrets from me.  Spill it.  What happened that you
two aren't talking to each other?  Won't even look at each other for Sith's
sake?"

"Leia," Han began, and was surprised to see the shock on her face as he used
her name, "I don't think that's a question you're ready to have answered.
And if you insist, I think Cuyad needs to go.  And Luke may want to leave."

Her eyes narrowed sharply.  "What are you three hiding?"

"Cuyad, tell her what you know."

Awed by the tiny bundle of furious energy, Cuyad told his story, of the trip
to Azi'Befo and the search for Rebel sympathizers, of the cell and the
arena, of Dyf and the Mark VII.   Leia listened, her face growing paler by
the minute.

She dismissed him, and locked the door.  She sat down at the table, staring
at Luke.  "Are you well enough to tell me yours?  How did you survive the
torture droid?"

"There was no droid.  And I don't know anything, since I couldn't see or
hear through the blinderhelm.  Ask him."  Leia was horrified by the hate
that filled Luke's face and voice as he looked at Han for the first time
since they'd been back.

Han took up the narrative where Cuyad had left it, his voice tight, control
wavering with each word.  Luke said nothing, but sat and glared, calling on
the new aspect of the Force that he'd discovered during the trip.  He was
amazed that Han freely confessed his guilt, not soft-pedaling his actions.
The temptation to stop the flow of words nearly overpowered him, and he knew
he could do it.  He resisted the temptation, but would not stay to hear the
pity in the Princess' voice.

"There's your story, Princess."  The hard sound of Luke's angry words
startled her.  "May the fleet get good use of the vekallium.  It cost more
than you can know."  He stood up to go.  She wanted to take him in her arms,
comfort him as she had after the loss of his mentor, but he was gone before
she could stop him.

She turned to Han.  "I know you did what you did to save him, but I think
you'd better live on your ship for a while.  I'm not sure I want to look at
you."  As he slumped, she gestured at the door.  "Starting now, Captain.
Until Luke forgives you, I don't want to see your face."  Han left,
wondering how much worse his life could get.

When the men had left, Leia laid her head in her arms and let the tears
come.

Han was sitting at the game board, scowling his way through a series of holo
chess problems, six month and ten missions later, when a light tread on the
deck plates made him look up.  He was expecting to be sent off-planet again.
  Leia had been adept at conjuring reasons for him to be away.

"Luke?"  Han couldn't keep the hopeful surprise out of his voice.

"I came to accept your apology," Luke said without prelude.  Han watched
warily for any sign of the anger that had been there in the debriefing room,
almost prepared to duck.   "I've spent a lot of time with the psy-droids,
and thought it all through.  I know you saved my life, and I'm grateful for
that.  And I know you did your best not to hurt me any more than they
required of you.  And, most of all, you never left me alone in the dark."
Luke sat down beside him on the couch and turned off the game board.  "So
where do we go from here?  Are we friends or what?"

"If you still want anything to do with me, we're friends," Han said,
surprised.  He hadn't seen Luke since the debriefing, and after the hate he
had seen there, this openness was a shock.  The way Luke had seemed to
darken, like being under a shadow, had bothered him more than anything then.
  The shadow seemed to have lifted.

"We've been friends for two years.  I can't see destroying it over the
actions of some depraved Traders."  Luke laid his hands over Han's and met
his eyes.  "I understand you had no real choice.  Cuyad asked a question I
have been turning over in my mind for the last six months.  What did I
expect to happen when the blinderhelm went on?  I forgive you for
everything.  I want us to be like we were."

To Luke's surprise, the brown eyes locked with his spilled over, and he
found himself in the other man's arms.  He relaxed into the embrace,
enjoying the rapport that had been so rudely breached by the Azi'Befo.  Han
loosened his hold after a minute, but found that Luke had tightened his.

"It's going to be a very long road back, for both of us.  It's not going to
be easy, for either of us."  He let go and sat up.  His hands were still
over Han's.  "Will you walk that road beside me?"

Overwhelmed by the deep sincerity and grace, Han nodded.  He knew things
could never be as they had been before.  But maybe, just maybe, they could
be better.