“Questions,” Han repeated in a low tone with a small nod of his head. He had lots of those. The problem, of course, was that he wasn’t sure he could ask them. Han worried that he had blanched or had given some other clue that he was worried about what to say to Jacen. There was another voice in his head, though, insisting that he suck it up and press on. He didn’t want his first born son, of all people, to see through the smooth facade and realize that his father was some kind of joke.
“Yes,” He answered the first question that was asked of him. “Don’t know exactly how much time passed with me in the damned carbonite, but it looks like we’re about the same age.” A momentary smile formed on his face, maybe as the result of some kind of subconscious desire to lighten the mood. It was already strange seeing the son he never knew, but stranger yet since Jacen was more of an equal at least in his age.
“Kid--” He began, but cut himself off. After all, Jacen was no kid. “Sorry. Jacen. I got something on my mind and was hoping you’d give me a straight answer. Maybe we could sit down first?”