Fic: Loose Lips
Author: Angel (valarltd@yahoo.com)
Rating: R
Pairing: Han/Luke (flashback)
Category: Drama
Disclaimer: They belong to Lucasfilm, and do I look at all like the Great Flannelled One?
Summary: Sometimes, words spoken in private jest are the deadliest of all
Notes: Written in 45 minutes for the Betrayal challenge. Set sometime in the 3 years between Yavin and Hoth.

Warning: Torture


Loose Lips
2005 Angel


“Uh-uh Heater, Selling people out to the empire ain’t our style. You know that.”

The words of six months ago chased each other around Han’s brain until he was ready to shout or punch
a hole in the wall. Not that it’d do much good. Detention cells were made to resist such attacks.


He stood and paced, only to sit back down. Somewhere in the bowels of this hell-forged ship they were hurting
Chewie. The faceless troopers had taken his wookiee companion away, with only the words “you’re next.”

When they started on him, he knew he’d spill everything. He could last through a reasonable amount of physical
torture, but a dose of Tell-All would have him blabbing his life story and everything he knew.

And why didn’t he just speak up? Tell that black-masked nightmare of a Sith lord everything and be flying free,
with enough money to pay off Jabba and set himself up for life in a legitimate business.

He could do it. Just one name was all Vader wanted out of him. The one name he couldn’t possibly give up: Luke’s.

Bad enough he and Chewie had been made when doing a supply drop. Worse still that they had been taken. The
cargo was legit, just food and some basic medicines, so he couldn’t be charged for that. But Vader held a nasty
grudge for what had happened over Yavin and he was relentless in pursuit of the name of the pilot who had
destroyed the Death Star.

The Falcon had been pipped under all her names. Vader had seen two men and a wookiee board her with
the rescued princess. Han had been unimpressed to learn he’d graduated from minor outlaw to Priority One
Capture status.

He cursed Vader through the more imaginative torments of Corellian legend. Luke or Chewie. Impossible.
He couldn’t sacrifice either for the other. He wracked his brains for an out.

Chewbacca stumbled back into the cell, roaring defiance at the captors who had left him battered and burned.
Han made him lie down on the bunk, and checked him out.

“You’ll live, pal. You tell ‘em anything?”

Chewbacca snarled back, demanding to know if Han thought him a weak-minded fool who would yield to
such inconveniences.

“Sorry. Don’t get so touchy. Just rest.” He stroked Chewie’s fur reassuringly.

“Solo.” The trooper at the door gestured with his blast rifle. “Don’t make me come get you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Han threw a cocky grin at his partner and let the stormtrooper take him out.

“You’ve cost me much effort, pilot,” Vader said, his mask betraying as little as his tone. “But I will use
you up if I must to learn the name I need.”

Han crossed his arms over his chest, clenched his jaw and stared at the wall just to the left of Vader’s
head. He had never sold out a friend. Somehow, it was easier with just his life on the line rather than
hewie’s.

“Your thoughts betray you, Solo. You would rather die than tell me what I need to know.” Vader
circled him. “This is not surprising. Many have already died carrying his name with them. I will learn it.
If not from you, then from another. What can you hope to gain?”

“Time. Her Worship is gonna kick your armored butt to the outer rim and back, given enough time.”

“Ah, yes, the princess. She told me nothing, even under drugs and Force-torture. Are you made of
uch stern stuff? Or are you merely a minor criminal, unable to turn a living at honest trade? Who do
you protect, Corellian? Your pet? You threw away your career for him. The princess? She at least
would be worthy of such loyalty. Or him? Why do you protect him? Why did you return for him?”

Han kept his thoughts blank. He wouldn’t think of turning the Falcon around instead of making the leap
from Yavin. He wouldn’t think about the hours on the trip from the wreckage of Alderaan when he’d
held a beautiful grieving boy in his arms.

“I read you like a datapad, pilot. You love him. You do not even believe yourself capable of the emotion
any more, but you do. Have you bedded him yet?”

“What?” Han was shocked to hear the suggestion coming from his enemy, dropped as casually as a
friend would ask if he’d scored with a cantina girl. He put from his mind the image of Luke, the night
after Yavin, looking up at him with that odd mix of hero-worship
and amusement.

“Who is he, Solo? Give me his name. When I finish,” Vader’s voice dropped to a coaxing seductive purr,
“he’ll be yours again. You will have your career back, a star destroyer of your own, my own ship if you
desire. I know how well you fly. I know your record and how well you command. Freedom, an end to the
bounty hunters, a capital ship and your lover. What more could a man ask of this life?”

Han caught himself as he opened his mouth. “Force tricks only work on the weak-minded, Vader. Sorry
to disappoint you. You can’t buy me.”

“No. I cannot.” Vader sounded almost disappointed. “Since you will not tell me, you leave me with no choice.”

He clasped his black gloved hands on either side of Han’s head and forced him to his knees. For a crazy
moment, Han stared at the massive legs and codpiece before him, wondering if it was to be the standard
interrogation procedure of rape.

Then he screamed as his mind exploded. A Sith lord strode through his head, picking up memories and casting
them aside like pebbles. Here was the memory of stealing a kiss from the Princess. There was the old man hiring
him in the cantina. But one caught Vader’s attention. He picked it up, held it and let it wash over them.

Luke, laughing above him as he dives in for another kiss. Luke making a silly, obscene comment about
his prowess. Luke beneath him, as he takes a kiss of his own and whispers “Brace yourself, Skywalker”
before sliding into the beautiful body beneath him.

Vader tossed the memory away with such force that Han cried out again. “Filth,” the Sith Lord spat before
vacating the pilot’s mind.

Han cradled his head so it wouldn’t shatter into a million pieces, and did not rise from his knees. Vader calmly
went to the desk and said to the computer, “Pull all records on Luke Skywalker of Tatooine. Alternate name,
Luke Lars or Luke Whitesun.”

Stormtroopers hauled Han to his feet. “Take him back to the cell. You’ve been most useful, Solo. But I expect
Jabba the Hutt will be pleased to see you.” The voice held no malice, just infinite weariness.

Vader returned his attention to the computer read-out, and began tracking the history of his son, presumed dead,
but now alive and his enemy, thanks to the treachery of Obi-Wan.