The Light
By Angel

three  linked five-minute fics.  Theme: lightness.
Not mine, George's.  Rating: PG


Han picked up his bondmate’s body, carefully. Luke had never been all that heavy. He’d carried Luke more
than once, but now, the slim form weighed more with every step he took. It was only a quarter mile back
to the Falcon. He’d get Luke there, and they’d be fine. He told himself that with every step. The limp
body in his arms made him a liar with every flap of the dangling hands.

He couldn’t make it. He could make it. He had to.  Luke would be all right. Not one more step. Just
one. He could make one more. And one more.

When one arm left off its dangling and wrapped across his shoulders, it was as if the sun had come out from
behind the smoke that still billowed from the bombed building. Luke wasn’t so heavy any more.

And he found the strength to run.





A thundering blast. The crashing of stone and metal.  Smoke and fire and dust everywhere. Luke ran. The
building was coming down around him and he couldn’t get out. Everything went black.

Light. Blinding light that seared his eyes. Light that went right through him, penetrating him, clearing
the smoke and chaos from his mind. He breathed the light. He was the light.

“You can’t stay here, you know.” A very tall Jedi he had never seen came out of the light.

“Why not?”

“You have much work to yet, Master Skywalker. I had no time to teach your father. That work fell to my
pupil, Obi-Wan. But you must know much before you return, and that is my work.” The man’s enormous hand
reached out and touched Luke gently on the temple.  “You know all you need now.”

The tall man vanished, and the light began to fade.

Luke felt strong arms holding him, and the smell of  the explosion, rank in his nose, was overpowered by
another scent he knew well. Exerting himself beyond the limit of his endurance, he forced his arm around
Han’s shoulders.

There was light, and there was light. The Force burned brightly, but it wasn’t the only light in his
life.






*The cub smells of light,* Chewbacca said.

“You’re crazy, pal. He’s covered in smoke and dirt.  He stinks. I’m going to clean him up and put him back
together.” Han slapped a diagno-strip on Luke’s forehead and started getting him out of the fouled
clothing.

As always, he became absorbed in his work as the filthy black gave way to fair skin and golden hair.
Undressing Luke was like watching the dawn on Corellia: the first hints of skin like rays stealing
into the dark, then more and more lightness, banishing the black altogether.

The diagno-strip beeped at him. Luke would be fine after treatment. Han put the oxygen mask over his
face, cleaned the cuts and bruises, and washed away the dirt.

His gleaming golden boy laid there, no Jedi or warrior, just his lover, fair and beautiful. Han
watches as Luke’s eyes fluttered once and opened.

The light in then burned him, but he smiled anyway.  “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Luke smiled, moved the oxygen mask away and kissed his lover. He tasted like the light.