Kalon - Han Solo [1]

Chapter 23 : Remembrance

Crossing her legs, Tasha looked up at the starry sky above her, letting out a short sigh. The rock she was sat on was cold, unyielding, unfeeling, sucking her warmth out of her. Her eyes sat on the flickering candles that surrounded her; there were a lot of them. She sighed again, a soft, defeated sound.

Footsteps sounded behind her, but she wasn't concerned about them. She knew who they'd belong to.

"I told you, I'd catch you up," she said without turning around. Han stopped in his tracks, looking carefully down to the girl sat near the edge of the cliff.

"If you're not careful you'll fall, sweetheart," he replied, standing over her. Tasha lifted her head, looking up into his eyes, sparkling in the light of the twinkling stars, the suns of far off systems.

"I'm a Jedi, remember?" she said, casting her eyes back out to the night, "I don't do 'careful'." Han smiled, sitting himself down next to her.

"Well, that's true."

They sat in silence for a while, just watching the world turn, the patterns the stars made in the indigo sky. The candles continued to burn.

"What are these?" Han said, gesturing to the beacons of light that surrounded the two heroes.

"One for each man that died on this mission," she said, "this one's for Biggs, he was a great guy, and I hadn't known him for very long. I found him looking for information about the rebellion, and nearly killed him. I thought he was a spy, but turns out he just wanted to join us, to be a part of this. Now this one . . ." she put a name to every candle, one for every lost soldier, spy, everything.

Han watched her carefully as she listed them, memorising the fire in her eyes that seemed to appear every time she spoke about the rebellion, the music in her speech, her ability to put words together so beautifully, just everything. Once again, he could see why they wanted her for their propaganda. She was a natural leader, able to rouse anyone into doing anything, even being able to make him come back.

He watched the sadness seep into her face as she continued to speak, but with no less passion than before. It was as though her sadness fed her passion, fed her determination, yet at the same time simply dragged her closer to her own destruction.

"That friend of yours is right," he said, cutting her off mid-sentence. She stopped, baffled.

"What?"

"You blame yourself for every death, every loss, you'll tear yourself apart." Tasha considered him for a moment.

"Well, maybe I want to be torn apart," she said, cocking an eyebrow at him. Han looked at her carefully, scrutinising her statement, her appearance, that piercing look in her eyes that seemed to bore into his sole, like she had seen .

"Tash." He sighed, trying to work out how to phrase it. He ran a hand through his brown hair. "What is it? What is it about you and this rebellion that's got you like this?" he asked finally. She looked at her finger nails, avoiding his eyes.

"It's a long story." She replied finally with a non-committal shrug. He smiled at her.

"I've got time." Now Tasha smiled at him.

"Another time," she said, standing up. She extended her hand down to him, smiling brightly again, her inner turmoil once again cleverly hidden from all those she meets. "As heroes of the rebellion we probably should make some sort of appearance at this party, shouldn't we?"