Log Date: 1/25/00 Log Cast: Luke, Han Solo Log Intro: Much to the relief of Leia, her brother Luke, the Wookiee Chewbacca, and many more of the NR personnel, Han Solo has been returned from his ordeal on Nar Shaddaa more or less in one piece--with mostly a crack on the head and some rough spots in his memory to show for it. He's been dunked into bacta to take care of his injuries, and ordered to stay off duty until he's certified fit to work. Which only makes for a certifiably bored Corellian. But fortunately, even when recovering from amnesia, Han is a man of fairly simple habits--and boredom tends to lead him into working on his beloved old ship. And that's exactly where Luke, restless over a number of matters he can't comfortably discuss with anyone else, is hoping to find him.... ---------- Cargo Hold(#6365RXntFN) One of the largest rooms on the _Falcon_, this hold is clearly a center of activity of the vessel. Along the aft wall, close to the starboard ring corridor, sits the huge console controlling the hyperdrive and navigation functions; along the starboard wall, a curved, upholstered arc of couch surrounds a holo-chess board, and provides support for a single sleeping bunk. Towards the fore is open space for cargo, and just about all the remaining wall space is taken up with bulkheads, access panels, and circuits. A hatchway in the ceiling, and a larger one in the floor, allow more access to the innards of the ship. Towards the port side of the hold is visible the entrance into the other half of the ring corridor. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Luke => Cargo Computer: Millenium Falcon -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- tarboard leads to Main Ring Corridor (Starboard). It took Luke a while to come to this place. For all the weeks spent in isolation, he figured he should have his head straightened out again by now. But instead, he finds himself restless and uncertain. The strain of his relationship with his student has eased somewhat, but with Tarroc busy with his duties as a General once again, Luke finds himself with too much time to worry about the process of his training. And that letter from Shenner only managed to crystallize his worries into a tangible reality. And so, not knowing where to turn, he finds himself wandering back to the old friend whom he knows can be relied upon no matter what the circumstances. Finding Chewbacca outside the _Falcon_, the Wookiee let him on board with an affectionate ruffle of his blond hair, and Luke walks rather cautiously into the ship's hold, sensing Han's presence there. The Corellian is there, all right. Restless and edgy himself ever since he's gotten out of his brief dunk in the bacta, informed with utmost courtesy but unyielding firmness that he is not expected back on duty for at least several days, Solo's been spending hours prowling around his ship. Most everything and everyone around him feels... more or less familiar, but the _Falcon_ thus far has been the only place he's felt truly at ease and able to shake off the nagging sense of unreality that's haunted him for days now. Ominous clankings and pops and hisses from one of the overhead access panels are the signals of where exactly the Corellian is: digging with a vengeance into the battered old freighter's innards. Although he's not actually physically in sight, he doesn't need to be. The blistering Corellian oath that sounds on the heels of a particularly impressive *POP* could be heard from halfway around the ship. Luke can't help but chuckle softly at the typical response issuing forth from within the Falcon's depths. If anything, his activity is a sure sign that his recovery has at least begun, and Luke tries not to fret internally too much about his friend's condition, at least for now. "Hey, Han," he calls in a friendly voice, giving the bulkhead a knock of greeting. The clankings from just overhead stop, and then Solo's baritone wafts down: "Luke? That you, kid?" Shortly thereafter, upside down through the open access hatch pokes a tousled dark head. Hazel eyes blink owlishly, before they catch sight of the young Jedi; then, Han grins in greeting. "Lookin' for me?" Almost like old times. Luke smiles, nodding. "Yeah, if you're not too busy destroying your ship," he says with a wry grin. "Just thought I'd drop by and see how you're feeling." To this, the Corellian smirks -- but mildly. "Mind your toes," he advises, before tossing down the hydrospanner with which he'd been waging war on a number of slim pipes up in that hatch. Then Han jumps down himself, grasping the edges of the open hatch without bothering to slide out the little ladder arguably more sane individuals would normally use for getting down from such a precarious perch. "I'm fine," he pronounces firmly, "though I'm tellin' ya, kid, if one more person gives me that 'I understand you're a fine pilot, General Solo' speech or asks me if I remember Admiral Ackbar or Mon Mothma, I'm gonna shoot somethin. Or somebody." Not surprisingly, he's gotten his clothes thoroughly rumpled and streaked with oil and coolant fluid and who knows what else; as he lifts up a hand to shove his hair out of his eyes, it leaves a dark smudge across his brow. "At least five different people," he adds dryly, "have informed me that they understand me to be good friends with 'Jedi Master Skywalker'." Standing back from both the flying hydrospanner and the descending Solo, Luke watches his friend carefully, arms folded. "Well, they're right aren't they?" he chuckles, then his tone goes somewhat more serious. "So, you don't think you're having any more memory problems at all?" Although the headache's gone, courtesy of the painkiller Kathryn Montavre had provided him, Solo still rubs unthinkingly at that spot over his left eye. His expression in answer is almost a smirk, but fretful. "Well, yeah, they're right, but I just... got a little confused, is all, I didn't turn into a blithering idiot." Then the smirk fades down, leaving something rather more sheepish in its wake as Han lowers his hand. Not quite meeting the blue gaze upon him, the older man goes on gruffly, "I... don't _think_ so, kid, but... that's the thing. I remember important stuff... you, Leia of course, Chewie. The ship." He waves a hand around. "Don't think I'm missin' anything... unless it's just somethin' little I overlooked. But if it's somethin' little I don't have to worry about it, huh?" Just ever so slightly too voluble for Solo perhaps, these words, and in keeping with that slight nervousness haunting his eyes. But as if he's also aware of this same nervousness, he abruptly concludes, "Listen, junior, I'm parched. Want anything to drink?" Perhaps the best way for Han to gain his equilibrium is to leave him be, Luke thinks to himself. He certainly bounced back from carbon freeze with flying colors, and here, as then, he had Leia and his friends to rely on for support. He listens, understanding the nervousness, but not wanting to add to it. "That sounds like the Han I know," he grins. "I'll have whatever you have." And this time, the split second glance he gives Han is a little vulnerable, too, though quickly camouflaged by his grin. _That_ makes Solo per directly at his young friend, this time, and his dark eyebrows crook up. "Why do I get the feelin'," he drawls, "that you'd take brandy if i offered it?" Meeting him gaze for gaze, Luke gives an elaborate shrug, and evades the question as best he can. "Why, is that what you're having?" he counters, stifling a chuckle. Weeelll, isn't _this_ interesting. And although Han's not about to let on, an ever so slight cause for concern. Grinning his best devilish grin, he points out, "I _did_ find my stash." "I recall that," Luke replies evenly. "And unless you already drank all that was there, I think there's enough left to get a bantha drunk." Han's devilish grin gets wider. And a Tatooine farmboy, for that matter, though he doesn't say so. What he does say is "Well, have a seat, junior, and just let Papa Han get some glasses, huh?" He tosses a nod off at the semi-circle couch around the holochess table, while turning to stride off across the hold. His target is another of the myriad little access panels that festoon the _Falcon_; a less than likely place to store alcohol, perhaps, but then again this is Han Solo's ship, and the entire vessel might arguably qualify as a perfectly dandy place to store alcohol. A little wearily, Luke slides onto the couch and stretches out, crossing his boots at the ankles, drumming his fingers on the chess table's surface. The Tatooine farmboy might be detectable at certain moments in Luke's life as the Jedi Master, but rarely in the presence of someone outside his small circle of friends. So maybe he's a little more relaxed in this atmosphere, so that when Han turns for a moment to find the cubby wherein the brandy is stashed, he slumps a little more in his seat, staring and brooding at his fingers resting on the table. A bit of jucicious digging brings up not only half a bottle of bright amber Corellian brandy, but also a pair of almost clean glasses. Han squints critically at one of them, but the faint residue on its inner surface is easily dispatched with a more or less unstained portion of his shirt-tail. With hospitality properly attended (at least by his standards), the older man wanders over to claim a seat across from his fair-haired young friend and pours him up the first glass. "So, wanna tell me what I've been missin' the last few weeks?" he invites. Maybe after a few shots of Corellia's finest he'll work up asking Junior what's actually bothering him, he thinks at the same time. A faint smirk crosses Luke's lips as he reaches for the glass of brandy, and he stares down into it with a grim expression. "I've been asking everyone that myself. I've been... gone for a while." He glance over at Han then, turning the glass around in his hand a couple of times without drinking from it. "I've had a few run-ins with the people I think took Jessa," he says. "Sith-trained." Finally he takes a long sip of the potent elixir and sets the glass down. Long experienced at the fine art of transferring brandy from a bottle to him while barely acquainting it with the shot glass in between, Han does his own pouring while keeping his full attention on Luke. "Sith," he repeats, his rugged features growing more serious now. The word sounds a little awkward coming out of him; the ex-smuggler's never been entirely comfortable with matters of the Force even when being best friends to a Jedi and married to his Force-gifted sister. But Han comprehends the implications, nevertheless. "You think it's any of the Dark-Siders we've bumped into lately? Or is this somebody else we're talkin' about here?" "At first, we thought we might be dealing with at least one new one." Luke says, his voice a slight bit raspy. "But thanks to Poguala, we've been able to link her to one we were already aware of." He clears his throat, readying it for the next swallow of brandy, and blinks as his eyes water immediately aferward. "That's not what bothers me. What bothers me, is that in the past they were working alone. Now they seem to be working... together." Of course that's not all that bothers him. A lot bothers him. But he glances at Han to regain his senses, and refuses to entertain those thoughts for the sake of his own stability. "Drink slow, kid," the Corellian cautions lightly. Then, leaning comfortably back against the back of the couch, he considers the problem at hand. "Joinin' forces sounds bad," he agrees darkly. "And we ain't exactly swimmin' in Light-Siders, huh? There's you... Sinjon. And, uh, Jessa..." For a brief moment Luke closes his eyes, his jaw clenching. He takes Han's advice and doesn't pick up the glass again, even though he has a strong impulse to reach for it. He lets the name linger in the air, then draws a breath, looking back at Han, appreciative of his willingness to discuss matters of the Force with him. "Leia," he points out in a controlled one. "And Tarroc. But he's..." He shakes head. "Only a novice." Han starts to nod, to agree albeit reluctantly to the mention of his wife. But the second name mentioned catches him offguard. "D'agor?" he asks blankly. "Since when he is a Jedi?" Luke's brows shoot up, and he looks at Han in surprise. "I guess I thought you already knew," he says, thinking back. "And he has kept it kind of quiet. Not long after Jessa disappeared, I came to him to tell him about her, and he told me what she had already discovered. That he's descended from a Jedi who died in the Purge, and he's Force-gifted himself." Some of the relief he felt at the time returns to him, and he smiles. "He's a very talented student." Pausing, he looks at the besmudged and touseled Corellian for a reaction. Han's reaction can probably best be summarized as 'floored'. His hazel eyes go wide, and he blinks several times, trying to make the mental adjustment of thinking as the younger officer as... like Luke. Then he manages a crooked grin, tosses back another swallow of brandy, and shakes his disheveled head marvellingly. "Damn. D'agor's a Jedi. Who'da thought it?" From the sound of him, one might almost think you'd just told him Mon Mothma likes to lounge around her private quarters in the nude. "Well. This is good, right? If you're teachin' him and all." The Jedi Master well understands Han's reaction. The shockingly young General D'Agor is certainly a man of contradictions. His social skills might have been lacking, but his innate skill as a pilot and head for strategy made him part of the NR's elite. "It is a bit surprising. But in a way.. it explains a lot." Low, rich, and rumbling, Han's laughter resonates up out of him as he continues to marvel. And then, like that, the idea simply settles into place, accepted as something to be dealt with only if it becomes an issue, filed away for future reference. "You'd probably know better than I would, kid," he says amiably. "But you got yourself another Jedi. And hey, if you can find one, maybe you can find more, huh?" And that point, laid out there for all to see, makes Luke cringe, for it finally addresses the core of his anxieties. He leans his elbows on the table. "I haven't had a great track record," he finally murmurs, the look he then gives Han is terribly young and vulnerable. "That's one reason I've been gone so long. I wasn't ready to take this on yet. I wasn't ready for Tarroc." Han is not normally a man who feels his age, for all that he's pushing forty these days. But that painfully youthful look of Luke's suddenly makes the Corellian feel old and gray, weathered and world-wise. He sits up to pour out another modest quantity of liquor for the Jedi, saying almost gently, "Here, kid." Then he glances up, studying the younger man's stricken expression, and hazards an interpretation of what he's just been told... and what he hasn't quite been told yet, too. "Just barely got the hang of bein' a Jedi yourself, and this whole notion of bein' Head Jedi's gettin' to ya, is that it?" To have it put so bluntly and succinctly makes Luke smile, and he tilts his head, letting his cheek lean into his hand as he watches the brandy filling the glass again. "Thanks," he murmurs, "But you're right. You're exactly right. Jessalyn wasn't anything like this." His smile fades, his brow knitting as he finally bursts out, "I feel so responsible!" His mouth quirking up on one end in his familiar lopsided grin, Han scoots Luke's glass a little closer to him, drawling feelingly, "Now ya know how I feel every time I see some fresh-faced recruit callin' me 'General Solo'. Every time that happens, I wanna go get in six or seven bar fights, and win the cape off Lando's back in sabacc till the sun comes up. If ya ask me, kid -- you could use a bit of unwindin' time." A sigh makes it way from Luke's lungs. He's quiet for a moment, though he nods in acknowledgment of Han's example. "Well, yeah," he admits slowly, allowing a grin to break though. "That's kind of why I was looking for you." "I'm your man," Han promises grandly, toasting Luke with the bottle before pouring himself another helping of its contents. "Just tell Papa Han what he can do for ya, kid. Wanna go find a bar fight? Or start one? I'll play sabacc with ya, but I'll tell ya right now, you pull any 'this isn't the card you're looking for' hand waves on me and I'll belt ya with a hydrospanner." Luke gives a genuine laugh. "Somehow neither of those sound very relaxing," he says, shaking his head. "Do you have any other suggestions?" Hazel eyes glint with mischief as Han replies, otherwise straightfacedly, "If it's relaxed you want, the immediate two options that come to mind are, you can finish that bottle off for me, or I can go find you a girl." Skywalker gives his brother-in-law a murderous look, and reaches for the bottle of brandy, wrenching it rather dramatically away from the Corellian. "Thanks. I think I know which one to pick," he growls. "You sure about that, kid?" Han asks wryly, unable to keep from grinning. "I mean, girls don't usually leave you with headaches in the morning." Luke snorts, and upends the bottle heftily. When he looks back at Han, he glares at him through red-rimmed eyes. "I've seen Leia give you a headache or two," he points out in a lofty one. Solo's eyebrows climb towards his hairline as he watches his younger friend inhale most of the rest of the bottle's contents, and he experiences a surge of fascination as to exactly how long it'll take the stuff to hit Luke's brain like a vibro-axe. "Now hey there," he protests, "it ain't my fault your sister's a morning person. Never have been able to convince her that civilized sentients don't _have_ to get out of bed at six in the morning!" "Especially when you're hung over," Luke adds, his voice a little bit slurred. He's just relieved the subject has been changed, and doesn't for a moment take much note of the alcohol content surging towards his brain. Then he blinks largely a few times, realizing his cheeks are burning. Luke might be a desert-dweller by breeding, but still, the young Jedi's fair complexion rather clearly gives away that pink flush starting to tinge his cheeks. Taking note of it, trying not to grin _too_ obviously, Han notes, "That stuff's older than you are, y'know, Luke. Maybe you better wait a bit before you have any more. It can sneak up on ya when you're not lookin'." Point out that the liquid amber fire appears to have already started sneaking up on him? Naaaah. The young Jedi shakes his head again. Maybe it seems to be spinning a little. It's hard to tell. But after a moment of concentration, he steadily pushes the bottle -away- from him. "You're right. I should know better than that," he chuckles, looking anywhere but at Han. "Take it from an old hand at the fine art of gettin' plastered, kid," Han says lazily, "if anybody's entitled to gettin' plastered for a little while, it's you. But the trick of it is, how to do it without pukin' your guts out later." _Now_ the grin makes itself more obvious. "Pacing is everything. And I promise not to tell a soul you're gettin' soused." Surprisingly, Luke finds this incredibly gracious. Perhaps it's because at times he's aware of the loss of some of his privacy, a constant interest in his life tends to keep people eager to pry. It certainly wouldn't do to have rumors of a drunken, defeated Jedi Master. He chuckles, accepting the advice and the sentiment. "I'll slow down," he promises, rubbing his forehead. "Sorry, I've just got so much on my mind. I got -- a message from an old friend today. It got me thinking...." Han inclines his head, quite happy to sip down the rest of what's left of his own brandy while his friend decides whether or not he'd like to have another bottle around later. Ah, something else knocked free, eh? In Han's experiences there are few things better at loosening the tongue than decades-old Corellian brandy, and he's not surprised to hear things start escaping the younger man now. "Which old friend would this be?" he asks with brotherly interest. "Shenner," Luke says on a breath, tilting the bottle a little so he can get a look at the label on it. Funny.. it's a little blurred. He frowns and puts it back down. "She's grown up so much. That in itself... well, it's been so long since... and now... lookit her! She said -- " He's still doing a pretty good job of being coherent, what with the hand gestures and all, and in a fair impression of the young bard's voice, "-- 'I hope Jessa's not dead, Luke.'" He digs the palm of his heel into his eye. "If she is, it's all on my conscience... I'm such a coward. And Tarroc knows it... How can I teach him now?" "Shenner," repeats Han, brow crinkling a little as he tries to place the name. "Refresh my memory, kid, do I know her? She knows you and Jessa?" And he frowns at Luke, not liking the sound of this self-directed accusation of cowardice -- but he'll get to that in a minute. Digging around in his memory, Luke comes up with an answer Han can relate to. "The kid we found. She was on the _Black Dragon_ during the Palanhi incident?" he says, trying to prod Solo's memory. "Jessalyn... " He stalls on the name, his words slurring. "Jessalyn befriended her, and they were very close. Shenner needed a friend back then." He swallows hard, daring to eye the bottle again. "She... was a good influence, I think... I could never return her feelings." Palanhi is the prod Solo's memory needs, and it dutifully produces a vague recollection of a gawky slip of a redheaded kid lurking somewhere in the vicinity, during days of feverish recovery on board the _Dragon_. "Oh yeah," he rumbles thoughtfully. "The kid with the flute. Hangin' out with the bookworm." Then he leans forward, studying Luke's features and stance with just a trace of awkward uncertainty. Heart to heart talks are hardly Solo's forte... but then again, this _is_ one of his best friends in the universe before him, so. The brandy bottle's almost empty, but it's still there, and so Han pours out the last of it for Luke and scoots it into easy reach, if Luke wants it. "Jessalyn lo--" he begins, and then catches himself and scales down to a slightly less alarming phrase instead, "--cared about you, huh kid?" Feeling his skin burn with embarrassment and shame, Luke reaches for the last gulp of brandy, and finishes it with a good bit of relish. His eyes seem to be watering even more for some reason. Whenever he thinks of her caught in that trap, or the time they spent on Tatooine, learning how the hell Jedi training should even be done, seeing her build her lightsaber, knowing how she loved him. "Yeah," he murmurs simply, not knowing what else he should say, and perhaps aware that he's been rambling. Han, however, doesn't appear to mind. Reaching over one lean hand, he claps it lightly upon the young Jedi's shoulder and asks, his tone forthright as always but his eyes surprisingly gentle, "You wanna tell me how this makes you a coward?" His fists come to rest on top of the table as Luke looks imploringly at Han. "For a lot of reasons," he insists, but quickly shakes his head. "Because I can do nothing to save her. After all the pain I caused her, I left her to be cap.. captured by those Sithspawn." Rubbing his forehead again, as if trying to force his mind into coherence, Luke gives his friend an awkward look. " He didn't exactly say it straight out, but I still knew -- Tarroc wants to go after her. He thinks I'm a coward because I won't." Having his Jedi mask down, having Luke's eyes turned on him with such imploring force, leaves Han feeling uncomfortably as if a homeless nerf had just climbed into his lap. For just a moment, he experiences a flash of panic; what can he say to _this_? He finally blows out a breath, though, and rasps huskily, "Luke, pardon my Bocce, but that sounds like a steaming load of bantha shit." The Corellian softens those words with a bit of a crooked grin, though, as he clarifies, "At least the part about you leavin' Jessalyn, that is. Were you there at the time?" "That's just it, Han. I should have been." Luke presses his lips tightly together, apparently to keep them from trembling, and slowly lowers his gaze. Solo's mouth tightens up too, into a stoic, awkward little line, as he takes a moment to digest the sight of Luke Skywalker looking perilously close to tears. _Awww, hell..._ He mentally flails for a moment, then leans farther forward over the holochess table, the better to clap his other hand onto the younger man's other shoulder. "Look, kid," he rasps then, "it ain't like I understand all that much about the Force -- but last I checked, Jessalyn was a Jedi, right? I mean, you were done teachin' her, as best you could? Gave her her little Jedi diploma, or whatever you guys do when you're done?" A steadying breath. Luke makes sure that he's composed enough this time so that he sounds more rational than desperate when he responds to Han's reasoning. It takes him a moment longer than it should, and he finds it difficult to wrap his tongue around the words nonetheless. "Yes, I thought... her training was complete... but, Han, that training was... all from -me-. I have no idea what I'm doing." "News flash, junior," Han answers easily, winking one hazel eye, "that goes for the rest of us, too. Even those of us who ain't got the Force. My best plans have been made up as I go along." So speaks the man whose idea of a good plan is to run pell-mell after a squadron of stormtroopers, singlehandedly, waving his blaster over his head and firing and shouting like a madman. But hey. To even consider trying to carry on generations of Tradition by making up techniques as he goes along galls Luke to no end. He regards Han a little hopelessly, then falls back into the couch's cushion, suddenly laughing and rubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah, none of us know... the risks are just so great. But there's.. no other choice." Equably, Han lets Luke lean back, dropping his hands down to lean them comfortably on the chess table before him. "So it looks like to me," he steadily replies, "that if you don't know, and nobody else knows either, but you gotta do this Jedi thing anyway, you're just gonna have to choose a point at which you just gotta trust you've done your job and these new Jedi you're gonna teach will do theirs." Luke studies his fingernails. He glances at Han. He chews on his bottom lip. And finally he shrugs faintly, a small appreciative smile appearing. "I know," he sighs, and chokes out, "It's just so hard to do that." The moment of weakness abruptly passes, and Luke looks about as if ready to rise. "Listen, I know you've got work to do on the.. the Falcon," he starts. "Kid, do I look like I'm in a hurry?" Han mildly inquires. "No," Luke says, a touch of awkward fondness in his voice, conjured up by the alcohol and his embarrassing display of emotion. "But I think I've done a good enough job of rambling on about things I shouldn't be worried about." He reaches over and gives Han's arm a squeeze. "Thanks for listening to me." The older man's lopsided grin quirks up again, and he gruffly pats at Luke's hand. "Any time," comes his ever so slightly sheepish reply. His gaze, though, is level and clear. Heart-to-hearts might not be his forte, but for Luke, well, this particular Corellian'll do anything. He studies the Jedi as unobtrusively as he can, trying to gauge whether he ought to take off with half a bottle of brandy in him... and then telling himself Luke's a big boy, he can take care of himself. Still, though... "You wanna zone out for a little in a back corner of the ship, kid, feel free. Chewie and me, we'll make sure nobody finds ya." All at once the younger man seems to realize how out of character Han has treated him, and a surge of affection rushes up. He gives the Corellian a tight hug about the neck. "I'm so glad you're back, Han." After pulling back, he smiles wryly. "Now that you mention it... I don't relish the thought of bumping into Poguala in this state. Maybe I'll just.. crash." Taken aback as Luke leans over to hug him, Han actually... blushes. But he also grins. "Probably for the best, kid. And... yeah, I'm glad to be back." The easy grin is returned, and, albeit unsteadily, Luke rises to his feet. The room only seems to be spinning a little bit, he notes to himself. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. "Easy, kid," Han murmurs, rising as well and offering the young Jedi an arm. "What say you let me help ya, huh?" [And as the Corellian helps his young Jedi friend go hide somewhere nice and cozy in the Falcon, end log.]