Story Challenge #8: 21st October 2003
Write a story, any length, with the title "Crossed Wires".

Crossed Wires
A SW fic by Morgan D.
Inspired by A Blessing in Disguise, by Irene Heron

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"Leave it be. I'll have it fixed when we get back to Coruscant."

"Stop squirming, junior. I'm almost done here anyway."

"No, you're not."

"I've got most of the neurocircuits mended already. I can't do much for the skin damage, but at least you'll be able to move your hand properly."

"No, I won't."

"Well, maybe not properly, but enough to get your fingers work around a blaster or that saber of yours. And that's basically what we need here. If we find ourselves in another entanglement with stormtroopers, I'm not sure I'll be able to protect you."

"I don't need protection. I still have a perfectly functional left hand. I'm still a Jedi. And I'll get on a lot easier if I don't have whatever mess you're doing to those circuits troubling my concentration."

"My, my... aren't we ungrateful tonight..."

"I promise I'll act extremely grateful if you stop what you're doing, Han. I'll do anything you want. I'll agree to your wildest fantasy, no matter how kinky and sticky and slimy it is. Just please leave those wires alone."

Han stared at his lover's face for a long while, clearly considering the proposition. "Nah."

"What do you mean, nah?"

"For starters, I've never had trouble getting you to agree to kinky, sticky, slimy sex before."

"You might, from now on," Luke glared.

"Besides, necrophilia is really not my thing, so I'd rather put my work into keeping you alive."

"Then I'm sorry to say you're doing a lousy job."

"What's your problem, kid? I'm just trying to help here!"

"You. Are. Not. Helping! You're making it a lot worse."

"Your confidence in me is just flattering, you know that?"

"My confidence in you has been severely tarnished now that I feel you rubbing my middle finger while I can see it's my thumb you're holding."

Han blinked, gazing down at the prosthetic piece of artificial flesh, steel bones, synth-skin and a nightmare of wirework that was now sticking out from the fusioncutter-made gash on the palm. "Can't be," he murmured.

"Admit it, Han. You don't know what you're doing."

Hardly an admission anyone would get from the Corellian if he could help it. Or at least postpone it. Putting the soldering-needle down on the table, Solo tapped Luke's thumbnail with his finger. "Can you feel this?"

"Yes. On the tip of my middle finger."

Not good. "And this?" Han inquired, pressing the spot Luke had just described.

"Index finger, somewhere near the third phalanx."

Not good at all. "What about this?" he insisted, moving the young man's index finger back and forth.

"Argh. Little finger," Luke grimaced. "And you're bending it the wrong way."

Okay, so maybe he had inadvertently mismatched a few connections. Still no reason to be so grumpy. "So what about this?" he whispered, licking the tip of Luke's little finger.

The blond's eyes widened. "Don't do that," he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.

"Just trying to get it right," Han grinned, moving to the ring finger and sucking it gently. "Where did you feel this?"

"In my gullet."

"What?!"

"Let go, Han, if you don't want me to throw up all over you."

"But..."

There was nothing remotely friendly in Luke's eyes now. "This might come as a surprise to you, but toying with crossed wires in my fake hand doesn't quite strike me as sexy."

Han froze, silently cursing himself. He knew Luke played down the loss of his hand. He knew better than to believe that the artificial appendage didn't bother the young Jedi. That had in fact been his first concern in getting it repaired as quickly as possible — so the kid wouldn't have to be reminded of the maimed limb all the time until they managed to go home. And since they were on their own and couldn't risk being recognised in public medical facilities...

When Luke started making a fuss about not wanting Han to repair it, the Corellian had instantly assumed it was just more of that noble I'm-not-worth-your-concern attitude of his, and had dismissed it as the exasperating bug it was.

Apparently, he had been very wrong about that. "I'm sorry, okay? I just thought... I screwed up, okay, but why don't we make the best of it? I mean, this could be kind of sexy."

"Oh, really? Would you like to enlighten me? How this could possibly be sexy?"

"I thought it was obvious."

"Obviously, it isn't."

"You know when you blindfold me so I can't tell where you'll touch me next? It's really nice. I thought you'd like to know how it feels."

Blood rushed to Luke's cheeks. But judging from the angry sparks in his eyes, that was so not a happy blush... "I see. Same thing, isn't it?"

"Well..."

"Maybe I should get some more prostheses in my body. Then you could get me completely cross-wired, so you could make me come just by rubbing my toes. Wouldn't that be fun?"

Where were the stormtroopers when you needed them to barge in and rescue you from an appallingly awkward situation? "I was just trying to get you to calm down..."

"Oh, right. You wanted me to calm down. You know what would help me to calm down?"

Han was pretty sure he didn't want to know. "What?"

"This!"

"NO!"

For an endless, insane, terrifying fraction of second, Han feared the target of the flying lightsaber's blade was Luke's own elbow or shoulder — curiously, the thought that Luke could raise his sword to threaten him never crossed his mind at all.

The saber did neither. Instead, it swiftly swung like a pendulum between the two men, the tip of the blade tearing through wires and the two Sibha Habadeet micrel power supplies, before the weapon flew back to the clip in the Jedi's belt.

The hand mechanism was now very much dead.

Unlike Han's heartbeat, which seemed about to deafen the entire galaxy with its frenzied thumping. "What did you do that for?!"

"I am not a machine," Luke hissed. "I am not a toy."

"And is it me who thinks of you like that?"

Luke didn't answer.

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In fact, the two of them didn't exchange a word for the next five hours, which was no small feat considering the humble dimensions of their hotel room. While the Jedi spent the entirety of that time standing alarmingly still and facing the window — a sight that could have been poetic, if the two-inch-thick metal curtains weren't firmly closed —, Han tried to find something to do. Watching the news on the subspace relays, cleaning his boots, polishing his blaster, hiding in the 'fresher... anything that would allow him to pretend there wasn't a brooding Jedi standing in the middle of the room.

The fact that Han recognised Luke's stance as one related to a calming technique didn't soothe him all that much. Esoteric meditation techniques shouldn't be necessary in a lovers' tiff. Over the years Han had made but vague efforts to truly comprehend the Jedi philosophies, so the concept that a simple argument could lead to the Dark Side was a bit too melodramatic for his taste.

Besides, he had always felt that anger could be very welcome at times. A couple of angry words could sometimes achieve better results than a decade of politeness, self-control and diplomacy. Anger often forced people to face the unpleasant truths and deal with them, while beating around the bush seldom accomplished anything.

On the other hand, his words to Threepio during that trip to the Alderaan system all those years ago echoed eerily in Han's ears. No one thought much about upsetting droids, but who in his sane mind would want to upset a Wookiee? Metaphysical issues aside, an angry Jedi wasn't something anyone with a grain of common sense would like to set loose in the universe.

"I'm sorry."

The words had been loud and clear. But when Han turned his head to look up at the speaker and found Luke still in the same spot and position, with his eyes closed and his expression blank, the Corellian wondered if he had started imagining things. "Don't apologise," he said anyway.

The heavy silence stretched for about ten minutes more. Han was about to scream when Luke spoke again. "You've never tried to blindfold me."

"Would there be any point to it? You'd use the Force to sense me." And how was that relevant now anyway?

"You're right, of course," the other murmured. "I can't help sensing your presence through the Force at this point."

"I did think of trying," Han admitted. "I actually considered bringing ysalamiri to our bedroom once, but I know you don't feel comfortable around those things."

"No, I don't."

Was that it? Would that conflict be summarised for posterity as a simple matter of bedtime incompatibilities?

"I'm really sorry, Han."

"Told ya, don't apologise."

"I believe I should."

"I was insensitive. You overreacted." Han shrugged, tossing away the tourist-guide card he had been reading for the eighth time that night. "We're even."

"But you were not being insensitive," Luke sighed. "You were honestly trying to ease my mind. I can't claim to have misunderstood your intentions."

Politeness. Self-control. Diplomacy. Maybe Han Solo didn't have a grain of common sense after all, but he preferred his Jedi lover biting and kicking. It made the kid look more alive. "Luke, I'm not worried about you snapping at me once in a while. I'm not worried about you criticising my mechanical skills, my intelligence, or even my ability to get you in the mood. I am damned worried about you ending our argument by hurting yourself."

"It's just a machine."

"Luke..."

"You were right. I think of it that way."

"It's a part of you, kid."

"A part of me?" At last the young man was moving, opening his eyes and turning to face him. "It's not even alive!"

"Well, if you hadn't cut through the micrel power supplies..."

"You don't understand, Han, this was never alive." Luke gazed down at his right palm, charred and very much robotic. "This is just like a dark hole in the Force. An ysalamiri attached to my arm. I can feel life pulsating in every cell of my flesh, in the blood rushing through my veins, in the ongoing battle of enzymes, germs, bacteria, antibodies... The Force is present in the tiniest organism inside me, in the slightest particle of my body. But this sense goes only as far as the upper half of my forearm. Lower than that, I can't sense anything. The neurocircuits make me feel, but can't make me sense it. It's dead. It's like it's not even there."

Han frowned. "I don't understand."

"No, I don't suppose you do."

"Don't be condescending, okay? I don't understand because what you're saying is rubbish. You try that gibberish on Leia, if you will. See if some other Jedi-ese speaker gets it or not. I'm betting she doesn't."

Luke had the grace to look a bit repentant. "I didn't mean to be condescending."

"Then would you mind giving up the Jedi pose and coming to sit here with me in bed, so we can talk properly? Like two lovers, not like... like the Great Wise Warrior and his lay, simpleminded... paramour?"

"Paramour?" Luke chuckled softly. "Have you been spending time with Threepio lately?"

"I've been watching too much crap in the news about the sexual scandals of the local Royal House while you were standing there like a freaking statue. Now, bed!"

With a small, loving smile, Luke took off his boots and clothes, getting under the blankets only in his underwear. Arranging the overly soft pillows under his neck, Han lay on his back and pulled Luke closer, nestling him against his chest. It was very late already; their altercation had kept them awake long into the night.

"I really didn't mean to sound condescending."

"And I really meant that part about not caring about apologies," Han snorted, petting the soft blond hair. "Most of the time I don't get a thing about that Jedi crazy stuff of yours. But this time I think it's you who's got it wrong."

"How?"

"You're saying you can't sense the implant. That it's dark, like ysalamiri-dark. No Force."

"Yes."

"What about the remotes?"

"Remotes?"

"The remotes you use in your saber drills."

"Oh."

"You can sense them, can't you? That's how you manage to block their fire."

"Well, yes..."

"And they're just as lifeless and mechanical as your hand, aren't they?"

"Technically, yes..."

"And they're not even attached to your neurological system."

"No, they're not."

"So why can't you sense your hand if you can sense a bunch of flying remotes?"

"I... I don't know."

"So answer this one, kid: isn't your right hand the one you use to hold the saber most of the times?"

"Yes."

"And it's still the one you use the rare times you use a blaster nowadays?"

"Yes."

"And the Force guides your fighting with those weapons?"

"Yes."

"But not the hand that holds them?"

Luke breathed in deeply. "That makes no sense."

"You're telling me?" Han snorted.

For the following moments, he could practically hear the gears spinning in Luke's head.

"Still... it's a fact, Han. I can't sense it at all."

"Show it to me."

Luke shuddered. "Why?"

"Junior, you're not gonna create a drama just because I want to hold your hand, are you? Don't you think it's a bit too late for that?"

"It's not my hand..." Luke muttered under his breath. But he brought the appendage up from under the blankets anyway, resting it on Han's belly, damaged palm downward.

"Want me to stop touching your hair?"

"No..." The younger man practically purred.

"Hair is dead tissue too."

"Yeah, but I was born with it," Luke grunted. "It is part of me. You really can't say the same of this hand."

After a brief struggle, Han managed to get the paralysed fingers intertwined with his. With the power gone, the skin felt cool to the touch, at least fifteen degrees lower than the normal temperature for a human. "This hand is your attempt to save Leia, Chewie and me from Vader in Bespin. Your giving up your training, disobeying your masters, crossing half the galaxy in that tight cockpit of your old starfighter, invading a mining station crowded with Imperials, and risking your life in a saber duel with a Sith Lord just to help us... me. And that is all very much you."

"But I..."

"You didn't manage to rescue me, I know. Would you care to explain why that should make me think any less of what you've done for me?"

"It was my..."

"And don't give me that 'It was my fault you were in that situation in the first place', okay? If I hear it one more time in this lifetime, I swear I'll strangle you," Han growled, playfully tightening his arm around Luke's neck.

"Let go, you old pirate. None of what you're saying makes this hand any less mechanical."

"So?"

"So it's a dead, numb, crude, worthless, robotic gizmo."

"That coming from the guy who goes out of his way to nurse Golden Rod's self-esteem?"

"Uh..."

"From the guy who broke into that smuggler fortress in Azlatruff to rescue his old, out-dated R2 unit?"

"I couldn't leave him there!" Luke protested in indignation.

"It's just a droid," Han shrugged. "Robotic, crude, numb... dead..."

"Oh shut up..."

Han did. Not because he was told to, but because he knew that pushing Luke's buttons would only take him so far. The kid had to draw his conclusions on his own; besides, he alone could figure out how his Force sensitivity was being blocked where the implanted hand was concerned. Han Solo might have grown to accept the Force as more than a hokey religion, but he was nowhere closer to unveiling its mysteries — or interested in the challenge — than a decade before.

He had his suspicions, of course. He was no MD droid, but how much had one to study to figure out that having your hand cut off by your own father would leave behind a nasty mess of psychological trauma? And how much did one had to understand about the Force to realise that the power to sense and control it passed through the Jedi's mind? Putting two and two together required very little expert knowledge.

And having a piece of your body chopped off was dire enough without the freaking symbolism. Vader had had, according to rumours, very little real flesh left in him by the time of his death, and sometimes Han suspected Luke tended to think of the man as two separate entities: evil, hateful, mechanical Darth Vader — his enemy —, and good, respectful, human Anakin Skywalker — his father. No wonder if that skewed vision led him to think of the cybernetic hand as the Dark Side taking over him, corrupting his body, mangling his soul. From that perspective, it sort of made sense if that instrument of foulness hindered his contact with the Force, with Light and purity. Warped logic, but logic nonetheless.

However, the failure might still be what troubled Luke the most. The people he loved had needed him, and he had been too weak to help them — Han feared that was how his lover would always think of the episode, no matter how many times he analysed it, no matter if he intellectually knew that little improvement would have been achieved had he acted any differently then.

All in all, Han was stuck with a nutcase for a lover. Stuck with said nutcase for life.

Funny how that was not in the least a frightening notion.

Lost in his thoughts, it took him a while to realise his fingers were being tenderly caressed. "Whoa..."

"I'm sorry," Luke murmured. "The skin must be cold."

"Feels great," Han assured him. The movements of the prosthetic hand were slow, almost shy. A bit clumsy too. "Doesn't seem easy."

"It's a bit like..." Luke sighed, and the hand stopped moving again. Only then he finished the sentence. "Like trying to control several objects and make them do different things at the same time. Requires a lot of concentration."

"But you're sensing it now."

The Jedi raised his head a little to face his lover. "Yes. Always did, I guess. I just..." He shrugged and trailed off.

Han kissed the blond's forehead, wishing he could do more to bring peace to that strained, lovely head. "Stop beating yourself up, will ya?"

"I'm an idiot."

"No, you're not."

"Of course I am. It was so obvious. Even you could spot it."

Han rolled his eyes. "Thanks, kid."

Luke flashed him a tentative smile. "You said you weren't worried about me criticising your intelligence..."

"And you said you didn't mean to sound condescending," the Corellian grunted with a mock-glare.

"Well, who would ever have bet that the day would come when you would teach me something about the ways of the Force?"

Han pulled their still intertwined fingers to his lips, chuckling. "Talk about crossed wires..."

Maybe with time Luke would learn to move the hand telekinetically without so much mental effort. It seemed easier for him now to flex his thumb to softly brush Han's lower lip. "Thanks, pirate."

Simple words, contrasting sharply with the intensity of the emotion in those glistening blue eyes. Han flashed him his most impish grin and took the probing thumb inside his mouth, licking it with much more feeling than lust.

"Han..."

"Did you feel that?"

"Yeah..."

"In your gullet?"

"Lower."

"Ah." Han's grin broadened, casting light to banish all shadows. "Not so bad with the soldering-needle, am I? Sometimes I even amaze myself."

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