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There were a few moments, after Han had been dragged from his cell and Luke had threatened Jabba, that they were all alone in the dark corridors of the palace, waiting to be loaded onto the skiff that would take them to their deaths.
Han felt the fat, clawed hand of the guard hold him still. Almost alone, then. But as he was fairly sure the creatures didn’t understand Basic, if their unintelligible grunts were anything thing to go by.
“Luke?” Han called out into the darkness. He wasn’t sure if he was still blind or if the tunnel was as pitch-black as the dungeons had been, but he still couldn’t see a thing.
“I’m here, Han.” Luke’s voice was soft next to him in the darkness.
“What’s been going on?” He’d managed to get a basic overview of the time he’d missed from Chewie, but the Wookiee had been notably silent on certain subjects.
“I’ll be happy to explain it all to you later,” was Luke’s reply, and Han was convinced there was something they were all keeping from him. “Now’s not really the time or place.”
Han nodded sluggishly, remembering too late that Luke wouldn’t have been able to see him in the darkness. Or, perhaps he could. Chewie had referred to Luke as a ‘Jedi Knight’, and not in that affectionate, teasing way that Han always had. There had been respect in the Wookiee’s tone. Han kept silent for several minutes, thinking of the last time he had seen Luke – freshly scarred from the Wampa, shaggy-haired and innocent. Like a kid, still. It certainly didn’t match up with the man he’d heard warn Jabba – and it had to have been a genuine threat – Luke had never been any good at bluffing.
“Luke?” He called out after a long silence, his voice small and tinny as if it, too, was being engulfed by the darkness.
“Yes?”
“Do you really have a plan?”
“Yes.”
His voice was so confident, so sure, and not in that cocky Rogue pilot way; fueled by drink and inhibition. No, this Luke’s voice was deeper, more resonating. More mature, Han realized.
He didn’t think that would comfort him, but, somehow, it did.
“You came for me.” Han looked intently into the glass of Corellian whiskey that sat before him, and could feel Luke’s questioning gaze on him. They had been drinking in the pilot’s lounge for close to an hour, but suddenly Han’s words turned the conversation into something more serious. It was not long before they would have to leave with the rest of the strike team for Endor, and it might be his last chance to say what had been on his mind ever since Tatooine.
“Of course I did,” Luke replied simply. “And you already thanked me for it.”
Han looked up, then. “No. On Bespin,” he clarified. “Leia told me you came after us.”
Luke looked down at his own drink and swirled the contents thoughtfully. It drew Han’s attention to the black glove on his right hand. It was hard to believe that underneath it lay a mass of bionic wires. Leia hadn’t been able to tell him much about the circumstances that led Luke to losing the appendage, but Han could imagine it was something he did not want to relive. Even so, Han could not help but stare, something which Luke quickly became aware of.
“It doesn’t hurt,” Luke said softly, putting his drink down and flexing his fingers self-consciously. “Really, it’s better than a real hand.”
“Yeah, that whole pulse thing is overrated.” Han took a violent swig of his drink and set back it down on the table with a clunk. “Just ask Threepio.”
Luke smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. In fact, Han noticed, he had the look of a man who hadn’t properly smiled in at least...six months.
“Leia also said you had some kind of vision, about us in danger.” Han tried to begin again.
Luke pursed his lips and looked a little irritated. “Leia seems to be saying a lot of things.”
Suddenly feeling abashed, Han leaned back into his chair. To be quite honest, he’d forgotten about Luke in his reunion with Leia, and it had been a subject they’d all studiously avoided since. He wondered how much she had told Luke about what had happened between them on Bespin.
“About Leia...” Han began, unsure of what exactly he was going to say, but Luke cut him off with a dismissive gesture of the hand.
“Look, you’re happy, she’s happy – let’s just leave it at that for now, okay?” Luke looked pained, and Han initially thought it was just doing to noble thing and stepping aside, but there was an undercurrent of...something to Luke’s expression that seemed to indicate it went deeper. Yet another thing they could not talk about, Han reasoned. He wondered how that had happened – time was Luke would come to him with everything from his troubles and/or successes with women, to the planning of the next maneuver, to his advice on what ale to try with Mon Calamari food. Now Luke seemed closed off, no longer a boy seeking guidance, but a man determined to do without it.
There were also physical differences that had not escaped Han’s notice. Luke's hair was darker, and Han wondered how long he had spent locked away in his cabin, planning the rescue. The marks on his face had settled, forever leaving his skin marred - cheekbones slightly altered, removing the last traces of boyhood from his face. He wore black – so different from the whites and tans Han had known Luke to favor previously. All in all, he had the appearance of someone who had been irrevocably changed – he was not the cocky, exuberant boy he had known six months previous. It saddened him, slightly, even more because he feared Luke would never tell him the reason.
“You had a vision of us in danger?” Han repeated, trying to prod some life out of his friend.
“You don’t believe in that kind of stuff,” Luke answered, smiling thinly again. “Remember?”
“Yeah, well,” Han dismissed the notion, “I believe what I see with my own two eyes, and ever since I met you I’ve seen some crazy stuff.”
Luke’s smile faded. “You were in pain,” he answered, and his eyes glazed over, as if reliving the experience. “You, and Leia. You were...tortured for my benefit...he wanted me to feel it. He wanted me to come rescue you.”
“Vader.” Han clenched his fist. If he ever saw that walking pile of wires again...
“I would always come for you, Han,” Luke told him seriously, and he met his eyes for the first time that evening. “No matter the cost, or consequence. Whatever it took to save you – any of you – I would do it.”
“I know,” Han acknowledged quietly. Luke knew he would do the same for him. In fact, Han wanted to go out and find Vader, not so much for the torture he experienced under his orders – that was nothing – but for the kid. He wanted to rip apart all of Vader’s internal mechanisms for daring to cut off his young friend’s hand, for the hurt and suffering Luke now carried in his very bearing, for the age in his eyes. And because there was a part of Han that screamed you don’t deserve him, for Luke had been young and pure before Han had agreed to take him off Tatooine, before he’d been forced to guilt Han into staying with the Rebellion, before he’d chased his imprisoned form halfway across the galaxy.
It was a sobering thought, to be loved so deeply. It was different with Chewie – Wookiees were unlike humans in that way. Humans, Han had always believed, were murdering, thieving, scheming beasts who were incapable of things such as loyalty, or honor. And yet there was Luke – and Leia – proving his entire philosophy wrong. And even more frightening – they expected the same in return from him. And, strangely enough, Han was willing, keen even, to reciprocate. Why else would he have volunteered to lead this crazy mission?
“So, what do you say, kid?” Han asked, even though that old nickname felt strange, now, on his tongue. “One more drink, and then we’ll bring down the Empire.” He grinned and looked around for the barman.
Luke smiled then, a true smile, unfetted by grief or sadness. “Sounds like a plan.”