He let himself get swept along in her thoughts, taking in the little plants, the plans, the care she lavished on the things in her life. There had been little, but she had made it into something. She was the type of person who could make a life out of anything, far stronger than he'd been at her age. His breath hitched a little at the helmet, at the small figure resembling a rebellion pilot, at the joy she had taken in flying--even low to the ground as her speeder had been.

It made him think fondly of his x-wing, sunk in a tiny bay beside the island and forgotten until just now. Now, it almost seemed like murder.

But her thoughts flew on, a young man he didn't recognize with wide, innocent eyes and then the Falcon and Chewie and Han--

And the connection was broken, Luke's breath shaking a little at the wash of emotion coming off her.

"No," he said, after a moment. "I'm sorry. It's a lot to ask and you haven't any practice in controlling this. We can stop, for now." Hesitantly, he put a hand on her shoulder. "If you want to talk about Han, I..." He swallowed. "When, if, you want to tell me, I want to hear it."

I should have been there. Han should be the one to live. Not me. But the thought was private, and he banished it in favor of concentrating on the girl in front of him.