The Price
by Elizabeth Stuart
"I knew your father once. Long ago."
It only took a couple words to hook Luke Skywalker-- they just had to be the right words, as these happened to be. The new hero of the Battle of Yavin, the destroyer of the Death Star, the self-proclaimed future Jedi, took to tagging after Jan Dodonna like an over-eager pet syrrit. I could have told him that he was acting like a fool, making himself look younger than his few years, but I didn't. Curses, the kid had been through enough. At the time, I didn't know what happened back on Tatooine before he hooked up with me and Chewie, but I knew how he felt about the old man dying. And then that buddy of his, the pilot, whatever his name was-- him pulling the Big One while protecting Luke from the TIE's must've been hard on the kid, though he never showed it.
So when he started following Dodonna around, those big eyes all bright with worship, I didn't say anything. It didn't take a genius to see that Luke would eat up every word he heard about his father-- I figured it gave him something to hang onto. (And I thought to myself: When he grows up, he'll learn that holding onto the past is a waste of energy-- it brings nothing but more regrets. But he wasn't old enough to know it then.) I remember one of the pilots making fun of him, saying something like "Tell Skywalker you knew his dad, and he'll wax your snub, spit-polish your boots, and be your slave for life". I told him to shut up. He did. Not that I'm bragging, of course. But in those days, they did what I told them. Still do.
I figured it would end in trouble-- what kind I didn't know. But hero-worship like that, especially when it's misplaced, always turns sour. It was his dead father Luke wanted, not a burned-out old general with a lot of years and a lot of experience behind him. So when Luke came to me that day, I wasn't surprised. And when I heard the whole story, I was even less surprised. Except maybe I was surprised that Luke had been so totally clueless. Seven hells! How had that kid been brought up?
Anyway, it started just like I said before:
"I knew your father once. Long ago." General Dodonna smiled at him, a tired smile but a kind one. "He was a brilliant pilot and a fascinating man."
Luke stared. "He was?" Ben had told him about the great pilot part, but fascinating? His father was fascinating?
"Oh, yes. Anakin could hold forth on any topic. Highly educated-- self-taught, I believe. Full of penetrating comments, clever questions. He could hold a roomful of his peers enthralled for hours."
Luke leaned on the edge of the console, arms crossed, until he remembered that he was in the presence of a real hero of the Rebellion. He straightened, making himself stiff like a soldier should be. "Did you know him for very long, sir?"
"Several years. Until the Emperor's Purge." Dodonna turned back to the strategy board.
He wondered if he'd been dismissed. Probably. Why would a general want to talk at length to a kid, even if he was the son of a famous Jedi? "Thank you for telling me, sir."
Dodonna grunted, and Luke began backing away. He'd delivered the message and had no more business here in Com Center; he was bound to get thrown out if he dallied much longer.
"Skywalker."
"Yessir?"
The general seemed startled by how quickly Luke reappeared at his side. Then he smiled faintly. "Run an errand for me, will you? Colonel Nessm has some data I need. Fetch it, there's a good boy."
"Yessir," he answered happily. If Dodonna kept him around, maybe he'd hear more about his wonderful, brilliant, clever, skilled, fascinating father-- the one he would grow up to be like. Fleetingly, he wondered if his father had been handsome, too--then dismissed his doubts as blasphemous. He hurried, nearly running to the staff room at the opposite end of the big cruiser. It felt good to finally have a purpose. There was little for a fighter pilot to do when there wasn't any fighting. The mechanics didn't like him working on his ship, and Han was always busy with something or skipping out to run what he called "errands" or "dropping in on friends" as they passed through different star systems. And the Princess-- well, he hadn't seen her in weeks. Pilots and princesses just didn't seem to hang in the same places when there wasn't a battle going on. She'd probably forgotten all about him anyway. Lots of times the pilots would get together--that was how he'd learned several new card games and lost that little bit of money they paid him-- but they'd known each other longer than they'd known him and sometimes he thought he didn't quite fit in. (Sith-hell, he'd never fit in back on Tatooine-- why expect to fit in here?) Plus, he was a hero and some of them didn't like that. Some of them didn't mind, though. He especially liked Wedge. The Corellian was really quiet, but he was a devil under that mild expression. And then there were the girls. He wasn't very good with girls. He knew he stared at them too much, but he wasn't great about knowing what to say when one of them spoke to him. Oh, he knew all the conventional come-ons; they just didn't seem to work. These girls were smarter than the few around Anchorhead. Maybe Han would give him lessons on how to talk to them.
Luke crashed headlong into something or someone. He stumbled, but caught himself with no grace whatsoever. He'd have to learn to be more careful-- his father wasn't clumsy!
"Skywalker? Is that you?"
"Yessir." He pushed his hair out of his eyes and squinted down. He'd knocked Colonel Nessm to the floor. Why did his body feel too big for the rest of him? Lately he was always running into things or knocking them over. Sometimes he'd just turn around and stuff would go flying. But it was so crowded here! He was used to empty spaces around him, not all these people and droids and walls! "I'm sorry, sir." His assisting hand hung ignored in the air.
Nessm stood and straightened his uniform jacket. Luke thought that the stiff collar looked too tight. Nessm's neck was turning purple. "Take this information back to General Dodonna. Be quick about it. And watch where you're going."
"Yessir!" He saluted-- very carefully, because once he'd hit a captain that way-- and backed up a few steps before he turned and hurried off. Once out of the colonel's sight, he increased his pace to a trot. The corridors weren't very crowded, and it was easy to evade the few people who popped out of doorways. He pretended he was weaving through Beggar's Canyon, dodging the rock walls, aiming for the womprats--
That reminded him of Biggs, and the bounce left his step. The hardest thing about losing Biggs-- besides losing Biggs-- was that there was no one to talk to about him. Oh, there were people who would listen. Wedge listened, and even Hobbie, but it wasn't the same. They couldn't share the stories. They hadn't known Biggs the way he had, they didn't care the way he did. They didn't know how Biggs could laugh and rage with equal intensity, or how his dark eyes could bore a hole right through you, or how, when he was happy, his face could soften and his smile make your heart skip. It would be great to talk to Windy-- or even Fixer. If he was home-- if there was still a home, which there wasn't--he and Windy and Fixer and Deak would've gotten drunk and talked about Biggs and then they all would've gone staggering back to their own homes and he would've gotten yelled at by Uncle Owen-- except Uncle Owen was dead-- and Aunt Beru would have shook her head and pretended she wasn't crying-- except she was dead, too.
What if Windy and Deak and Fixer were dead? What if the troopers hadn't stopped at the Lars homestead but had burned Tosche Station and all of Anchorhead? What if they killed Camie or took her with them? What if his friends were being held prisoner? What if they'd been on the Death Star? What if he'd killed them too? What if, when he'd loosed that torpedo and been so proud that he'd destroyed the killing machine-- what if he'd killed his friends and didn't know it?
He knew about one of them; he'd killed Biggs as surely as if he'd put a blaster to his head. Biggs died shouting Wait! but for what? Wait, I'm not ready to die! Wait, Luke, help me! Wait, Luke isn't clear-- Luke isn't safe-- I don't want to die!
Biggs died to protect him, and he hated that knowledge. No one would ever love him that much again. No one would ever die for him again.
"SKYWALKER!"
He jumped at the sound of his name and looked back over his shoulder. A lieutenant he didn't know was standing in the doorway to Com Center. Briefly, he wondered how Com Center had gotten behind him. "Yessir?"
"General Dodonna is waiting for that information from Colonel Nessm. Do you have it?"
"Yessir! Right here, sir!"
"Give it to me."
The disk was snatched out of his hand, and Luke watched disappointedly as the lieutenant took it inside. He'd hoped to be able to talk to Dodonna again, but it looked like they weren't even going to let him in. Maybe if he waited out here for awhile, right here in the corner where he wouldn't get anyone's way...
He'd meant, really meant, to stay awake. But he knew he'd failed when somebody woke him up. A hand shook his shoulder. He blinked sleepily and tried to uncramp his legs. He'd tucked them out of the way, not wanting to trip anybody when he was resting, for Sith's sake, and now he'd slept probably for hours and couldn't move because he couldn't unwind his legs. Someone grabbed his arm and hauled him up.
"Have you been here all evening?"
It was General Dodonna! Luke straightened his tunic as best he could and hoped his hair wasn't messy. "Yessir. Sorry, sir."
Dodonna chuckled. "Come along. You can help me with something."
"Yessir!" He followed two paces behind, pleased with the way everything had turned out. He accompanied General Dodonna into a room that was obviously his private quarters. Luke looked around. The small chamber wasn't impressive in itself, but there were medals and holotapes and other things that seemed really interesting, like strange, barbed poles (weapons?) and something that looked a lot like colored manes of hair hanging from a wide strip of leather. Luke wrinkled his nose at that one.
"Unhook this for me, son."
The last word so distracted him that for a moment he didn't understand what Dodonna wanted. Then he realized it was that darned collar. It fastened somehow onto the back of the tunic. He fumbled with it, fantasizing that this was his father's silvered hair and that it was Anakin who'd just called him 'son'. "There you go, sir." Yes, that was something he could say to his father. There-you-go-sir. Except he might've said There-you-go-Dad.
"Thank you. My fingers aren't as supple as they used to be. Old age, I'm afraid."
"Oh, you're not old, sir! And I'm sure your fingers are just fine!" Stupid, Skywalker. That was definitely not what Anakin Skywalker, the brilliant conversationalist, would have said.
"How old are you?"
"Eighteen, sir," he replied, flustered by the attention.
"Ah. Your father was only a few years older than that when I first met him. Tall."
"Pardon, sir?" He hadn't quite caught that last bit.
"Tall. Anakin was very tall. You may go. Good night."
Tall and go. He felt a moment's confusion. He was being dismissed, and his father was tall. "Thank you, sir. Good night, sir."
He paused in the corridor outside Dodonna's room, considering. Anakin Skywalker was-- no, had been-- tall. How tall was tall? Taller than him, of course-- who wasn't? But how tall? Taller than Dodonna? Taller than Ben? Not that Ben was so tall. Han was sort of tall. Taller than Han? Taller than CHEWIE? Luke chuckled to himself. Nobody was THAT tall.
He glanced at the chron on his wrist. Seven rings of a Sith bell, he'd missed dinner! With a sigh, he headed for the kitchen. They'd feed him if he looked pitiful enough. He knew how to do it-- it was a look that had always worked with Aunt Beru. Usually it had won him an extra dessert.
Luke picked up his pace. Now wasn't the time to think about Aunt Beru.
It became an easy habit and a pleasant one. With little else to do, Luke made an effort to be available when Dodonna needed something, and Dodonna grew to need those somethings more and more often. Luke knew a few of the other pilots made fun of him, and some of the staff officers thought he was just a dumb kid, but he didn't care, he was used to that. The wonderful stories about his father made the teasing worthwhile. Dodonna doled them out as rewards for his little labors, a short anecdote here, a joke there-- his father had been quite a prankster! Like the time he'd used the Force to loosen all the bolts that held Dodonna's small landscooter together-- so when Dodonna sat on it, it fell apart! Luke wasn't certain if he believed that particular story, but disagreeing with a general wouldn't be very smart on the part of somebody who didn't even have a rank yet.
His favorite story was when the general told him what his father looked like, that Anakin was-- had been, why couldn't he remember that?-- very tall (maybe there was hope for him yet!) and broad-shouldered, with hair a shade darker and a few centimeters shorter than his own, blue eyes like his, and-- yes!-- handsome. Like you, Dodonna had added with a smile.
Some evenings, not often, he'd be invited back to the general's room to help with his collar. And every once in awhile, after he'd helped with the collar, the general would tell him to sit down and then there'd be a long story. As the weeks passed, the stories grew longer, and Luke often found himself sitting on the floor at Dodonna's feet, totally enthralled by the tales.
It was like opening a tiny box and finding a huge treasure that kept pouring out. He was charmed by stories about Anakin's other friends, his daredevil piloting, how he learned to use the Force, and teasers about the romances that made Skywalker infamous (which made Luke frown a little-- what about his mother?). His preferred stories were the revelations about the scoundrel in Anakin. The little acts of mischief, the playful teasing, the unconventional games he'd played-- including amorous ones. Those last were just hinted at, and Luke wanted to hear more. He wasn't stupid; he knew the General found him attractive and that the hint of erotic tales was a come-on. He wasn't sure how he felt about Dodonna's attentions, but he did know that he had to hear every story, so one quiet evening, when he'd stayed longer than usual, he finally asked about them.
Dodonna reached out and stroked his hair languidly-- just the way Anakin would have done it, Luke imagined, flirting from under his lashes. "I think you're too young to hear those stories," the general replied with a chuckle.
"No, I'm not!" Luke answered indignantly, his eyes snapping open. "You said he was my age then."
"Close to it. But I don't believe you're quite as mature as Anakin was."
He wanted to argue but, from the stories he'd heard, Dodonna was probably correct in his assessment. "I'm getting older," Luke offered hesitantly.
"Indeed you are." Jan Dodonna's hand slipped from his hair to curve around his face and cup his chin. "You're almost an adult."
There was a funny quivering in his stomach and his breathing fluttered. It reminded him of the time with Camie that had been great fun until Fixer found them and-- Well, he didn't want to remember what happened then. And it reminded him of the other times, too, like he and Biggs sneaking off every chance they got because they were so hungry for the feel of each other. Or the way he trembled at night, listening to his fellow pilots, alone in their bunks, trying to be quiet and not succeeding, whispering names of people unknown to him. It reminded him of the feelings he'd lived with since Biggs had left for the academy, the ones that he tried not to think about.
So he knew there was a seduction underway, but Dodonna was old, old enough to be his grandfather, for Sith's sake, and not especially attractive. But, like a mountain, he was here and ready to be climbed. And it was flattering, almost a giddy sensation, this unspoken power over a grownup. Besides, how often did he get the chance for sex anymore? At the pace he was going, he'd be an old man and dead before he had sex again.
Still, he needed more time to decide, and his thoughts had reminded him of another question. "How did my father die?"
The stroking motion ceased. "Did no one ever tell you?"
"Ben Kenobi said--" Luke drew a deep breath and recited the words he'd repeated to himself so often they were memorized: "Darth-Vader-who-was-a-pupil-of-his-before-he-turned-to-Evil-betrayed-and-murdered-my-father."
Silence grew as he waited for an affirmation. The hand resumed its caresses through his hair, and he pushed against it. He'd never had a pet-- Uncle Owen said pets used up precious resources-- but Biggs's family had a syrrit that loved to be scratched. In fact, now that he considered it, he was as shameless as Binte in seeking out human contact. Luke blushed and drew back several centimeters.
"If that's what Kenobi told you, then it must be true, son. Now, are you certain you want to hear an intimate story about your father?"
He tried to appear cool and sophisticated under the hand that again reached for him, running through his hair and sweeping over his cheek, but his entire body shook. Would his father have touched him like this? He didn't think so, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hold onto the fantasy that Dodonna was anything like Anakin Skywalker. Anyway, considering the circumstances, that particular fantasy was getting a little confused. Maybe it was time to file that one and pull up another illusion from his personal data bank. "Yes," Luke said finally, knowing that he consented to more than a story.
"Very well. Your father's best friend-- do you remember his name?"
"Sennis Dreamchaser." Which sounded like a made-up name if he'd ever heard one, but he wasn't about to argue it right now.
"Mm-hmm. Sennis and Anakin had been friends for years. One day Sennis met a beautiful woman. Her name was Morgane. She had long blonde hair and huge blue eyes-- very much like yours. Sennis fell in love with her. Sexually, they were perfectly matched, and Sennis found himself free to do things with Morgane that he had only dreamed about with other women. Morgane was different from the others. She was willing and eager to try the exotic and the wicked. She fulfilled Sennis's lusts with pleasures beyond imaginings."
Luke sighed with the effort of trying to imagine those pleasures for himself. Someday... General Dodonna shifted his legs and patted the seat next to him. "Come sit by me, boy. My neck is sore from looking down at you."
Giving him an excuse. He felt very warm, wondering if he really appeared to be that naive, like he didn't know what was happening. But he still wasn't sure what he wanted; he only knew that if he stopped now, he'd never be certain. After a few agonizing seconds of consideration, he rose from the floor and sank into the deep cushions. He offered no pretense of remaining distant; he leaned against Dodonna and heard a hiss of pleased triumph issue from the older man. The shoulder was secure and comfortable, and his uneasiness ebbed.
"Anakin was jealous, but of which of them he wasn't sure. Morgane was beautiful and he desired her greatly--he dreamed about her often. And, although Sennis was his best friend, they'd never touched each other in the way friends sometimes do, and Anakin wondered what it would feel like."
The full beard brushed against his face, scratchier than Biggs's moustache. "He did?" Silly Anakin-- it would feel like Biggs. Teeth nibbled on his ear lobe, and he nearly squeaked, biting back a giggle. To distract himself, Luke nervously touched his lips to the white cloud. Was this what kissing a Wookiee would be like? He wondered if Han and Chewie had ever... probably not.
"Yes. Anakin was a man of great curiosity. He enjoyed trying new things, experimenting. He was brave and daring, a true hero. You're very much like him."
"You think so?" All apprehension vanished as his limbs turned to jelly. His stomach spasmed when a hand slid along his thighs. Fingers touched him there, and he jumped involuntarily. Then the fingers began to move, lulling him with a soft, kneading motion, and he began to relax. He could fall asleep, if only-- if only-- "Then what?" he mumbled thickly, scarcely recognizing his voice. All on its own, his arm slid between the sofa and Dodonna's waist.
"Anakin went to Sennis and confessed his feelings. He wanted to make love to the woman Sennis had claimed. And, just as urgently, he wanted to make love with Sennis, his dearest friend, his trusted companion."
His heart started to beat too fast. He didn't think he liked this story; he didn't want to hear what happened next. Nothing happened. Nothing, because his father... what? His father was better than he was? His father wouldn't have experimented with his best friend? "I don't-- "
Dodonna silenced him by covering his mouth-- with his mouth. Automatically, Luke parted his lips to receive the exploring tongue. It was a long, warm, sensual kiss, and it not only sucked the breath from him, it also seemed to take all his reasoning skills with it. Still, he was able to note that he was sliding back willingly on the cushions, and it felt good, very good, but--
There was something wrong. He wasn't quite sure what it was-- maybe because this hadn't been his idea. Maybe because he didn't really know General Dodonna-- Sith-hell, he didn't even know the general's first name! And Dodonna was nothing like Biggs. Biggs wouldn't have liked an old man touching him this way.
But Biggs was dead, he'd died shouting Wait! So if he claimed reluctance, would his sudden attack of scruples be unfair to Dodonna? The old guy probably didn't get many chances like this. Maybe he should just keep his eyes closed and pretend these were Biggs's hands, ignoring the simple fact that the flesh was dry and wrinkled, nothing like the smooth softness of youth.
But Anakin Skywalker never would have done it with Dodonna, either out of pity or desire. Anakin Skywalker had only let the best people touch him, the clever, the fascinating, the brave, the beautiful-- only the people he had really liked. Luke's mother. His best friend, maybe.
... wait!... WAIT!
Biggs? He freed his mouth and turned his head away, his fingers clenching in the heavy fabric of the uniform jacket. "I don't like this story. I don't want this," he mumbled.
Dodonna laughed. "Your father did."
Luke caught his breath. "What?"
The laughter came again, low and mocking. Making fun of him? "Surely you saw through my little falsehood."
"I don't-- "
"The name of Anakin's friend was not Sennis. It was Jan. Jan Dodonna. And I intend to know you as intimately as I did your father and mother. From your parents I learned how to play a Skywalker's body. I can share those pleasures with you."
His father and his mother-- ?
"Liar!" Lust and grief found an outlet in a fierce, raging fury that erupted from his gut, its hot anger blinding him. A second later he was free, fallen to the floor-- falling, he was always falling-- and Dodonna doubled over, holding his midsection, groaning in pain. "You liar! That's not true! You never touched my father! I don't believe you even knew my father! And that wasn't my mother! Liar-- liar-- LIAR!"
He was free; now was the time to run-- or to kill-- but either course would lead him away from the answers he wanted. So he leaped to his feet, shoving his palm against Dodonna's chest when the man tried to rise. "You tell me the truth! Now."
It took a few minutes for the general to recover. Luke used them to force calm into his heart, struggling to control this outburst before it controlled him. "Tell me the truth," he repeated more quietly. Wait.
Jan Dodonna finally looked up with wary eyes, but he leaned gingerly against the sofa back in a manner that was almost insolent. "You're quite right. I never knew your father at all."
He couldn't move, though he wanted to run and hide from the shock, to sob on Biggs's shoulder like a child. All those stories were lies? This man never knew his father, no one knew his father, all those precious tales, the ones that made him laugh, the ones he dreamed about over and over, acted out in his heart, his father' stories-- lies? Luke released an unsteady sigh. "Why? How could you tell me those things? Why did you lie to me?"
Laughter flowed over him like sand in a windstorm. Dodonna relaxed, exuding an air of assurance. His amusement softened into chuckles. "Why do you think, Luke? Did you truly believe that I invested so much time in you because I enjoyed your company?"
The general looked at him as if he expected an answer. Luke shook his head-- though, yes, he had believed that.
"Foolish boy. You're a clumsy, ignorant, countrified boor-- but beautiful. I hoped you would be an adequate sex partner. Unfortunately, I was wrong. Whatever second-rate sexual experience you've had-- " Dodonna paused, tossing him a glance that radiated ennui. "-- you didn't learn anything from it. Why don't you come back and see me in a few years."
His skin was burning, so hot he wanted to tear off his clothes and fling himself into a tub filled with ice. Luke shook his head again. "You bastard!" he finally spit out, but no words could adequately condemn this man. No one had ever spoken to him this way! He fumbled with the door lever.
"Luke."
Despite his anger, he couldn't resist listening. He leaned his forehead against the edge of the door, inhaling the rush of cool air from the corridor.
"The next time you want to buy information, be sure you understand the price."
Humiliation washed over him. Thoroughly frustrated, he fled the general's room, his thoughts in turmoil.
... not his father, not his mother, not his father's stories, all lies, clumsy-- yes, ignorant-- yes, countrified-- yes, boor-- probably. No good at sex-- blessed Sith, what if he had gone ahead with Dodonna? What if the general had said that to him afterward? Would it have been true? Was it true?
And how dare Dodonna do those things that felt so good--and then stop! Luke slammed his fist against a door that swung open for him. His first time-- at least, with an adult-- and Dodonna ruined it, took away his chance, spoiled it with that stupid lying story. Damn the man!
And damn the memory of Anakin Skywalker for interfering.
And damn you too, Biggs!
Wait...
Luke stopped at the entry to the pilots' dormitory and leaned against the wall. It was late, past lights out, if he came in now they would all know-- or guess. What a fool he'd been. Dodonna was right in that, too! He gasped for air, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Those were not tears-- he wouldn't break down for anyone, ever-- least of all over an old man he barely knew! A man whose opinions were worthless, whose words were all lies.
He headed for the hanger bay. He couldn't take out his x-wing, but being in its presence would give him comfort. It always did. Maybe he was just smarter around machines than around people. Machines sure as hell were kinder.
The bay was very quiet. For a long time, he sat on the floor under the wing of his fighter. His thoughts wandered, confused and unhappy. If only his father was here... He couldn't help but glance at the Falcon. Its ramp was down which meant that Han was in residence. Luke hesitated, wondering if he should keep this humiliation to himself. But even though Han teased him, Han would listen and wouldn't repeat it. Besides, Han knew so much. And he needed to talk to someone.
"Hello! Anybody home?" he called from halfway up the ramp. He didn't want to burst in. He didn't do that anymore since one time when Han had a woman up there, and he'd gone running in and embarrassed all three of them. Or at least two of them-- Han had laughed.
Had Dodonna and his father and his mother ever... ?
Impossible.
"Come on up, kid."
He felt an enormous relief, then an even bigger relief when it became evident that his friend was alone. It would be mortifying enough to repeat this to one person. "Where's Chewie?"
"He had a date." Han winked. He had his boots off and was polishing them, which surprised Luke. He hadn't really thought of Han taking care of his clothes like that. "Why the long face?"
"I don't-- " It was foolish to be evasive. Luke swallowed. He wandered around the small rec area, trailing his fingers along the smooth surface of the gaming table. "It's General Dodonna. He... "
Han grunted. "Finally hit on you?"
"How did you know?" he demanded, feeling a blush heat his cheeks again.
"Kid... " Han sighed and let the boot drop to the floor. He picked up the second one. "Why else would he be so interested in you?"
There was a curious twisting sensation in his chest. "Right," he said bitterly. "Certainly not for my brilliant conversation or pleasant company."
"Is that what he said?" The brown head shook. "Look, be realistic. He's an old man, he's got nothing in common with you except your father. He was quite happy to have you listening to his stories-- he probably hasn't had that much attention in years. And it could have gone on that way indefinitely, but I'm willing to bet the Falcon that you bumbled into a situation where you set yourself up and made yourself available. Maybe even came on to him. Right?"
Luke flinched. This wasn't exactly what he wanted or expected from Han-- how had the brash Corellian sensed the truth? "I guess," he said slowly. "I was flattered and... I wanted to... thank him. For the stories. And I wanted... " Somebody to hold on to.
Somebody to be Biggs for a little while.
He surveyed Han curiously, assessing the Corellian's potential.
"You were ready to trade yourself for a few stories about your dad, then you got scared and backed off and he got mad." The cloth swept across the boot in a single, finishing flourish, and Han leaned against the wall, smiling slightly at him. "Does that about summarize it?"
"Yeah. He said I was stupid and clumsy... I don't remember what else. And he said-- " Luke gnawed on his lower lip. "He said he never knew my father. That he made up all the stories."
"Oh." Han sighed. "I suppose that bothers you more than the other." He paused, waiting for a confirmation. "Luke... He said he lied about knowing your father. If he's a liar, that could be a lie too. Which one are you going to believe? He was in the Clone Wars. He could have easily known your dad."
Several thoughts ran through his mind: The stories could be true then. He really could have a piece of his father to keep in his heart.
But that would mean the last story was true, too, and he didn't want it to be. Anakin Skywalker had been special. He never would have had a person like Jan Dodonna for a best friend, let alone let that man... touch him. And if Dodonna had been what he said, would he really have tried to seduce his best friend's son? And his mother... would Anakin have stolen her from his friend? Or hadn't they loved each other? Was Luke Skywalker just a child of their lust? Or... was it certain that he was Anakin's child and not Dodonna's? If the latter was possible, then he'd almost--
Luke pushed the thought away.
If there was a line that neatly divided truth from lies, he couldn't find it. Maybe it was a matter of belief. Maybe he could believe all the stories but the last one. Maybe he could erase the bad memories and keep the good ones. Wasn't that how people survived? He nodded to Han. "Thanks for listening."
As much as he instinctively trusted his new friend, he couldn't tell Han the rest. No one would ever know that about his father, he would tell them nothing. And, somehow, he'd make certain that Dodonna never spoke of it again. If he went back to the general and explained--
Explained what? He should apologize. Luke Skywalker was not the only injured party in this ugly episode. He'd known what Dodonna wanted and encouraged that desire, and not just because he wanted to hear about his father. He'd craved the general's need for him. It was exciting; no adult had ever wanted him that way. As for the sex act itself-- well, didn't it feel the same no matter who your partner was-- or wasn't? Maybe it would always be like that. Maybe it was only girls who felt things like love and passion, because that hadn't been love he'd felt for Biggs. No way. With Biggs it had been liking. Biggs was just his best friend. That was different from being his lover.
... But he could've told Biggs everything Dodonna said.
Why did it hurt so much when he let himself think about Biggs?
Han would tell him that if it hurt to think, then quit thinking.
So, think about this: If he swallowed his pride and apologized to Dodonna, maybe the general would tell him the truth about Anakin Skywalker. Now that he had physical distance between Dodonna's desires and his own hunger, he could feel that there had been both facts and lies in the stories.
There were other things he wanted to ask Han, but that would make him sound even more...countrified. He looked up. Han was watching him. "I'll... being going now. Good night."
"Night, kid. Hey-- don't let this get to you."
Luke swayed for a moment in the doorway, overwhelmed by a deathly tiredness. He looked briefly over his shoulder, wondering if there would be anything more. If Han would say something or maybe even... "Yeah. G'night," he repeated, appalled to hear that his voice trembled. He hurried down the ramp before he made a fool of himself for the second time in one evening.
And then he was standing in the docking bay with nowhere to sleep and Biggs's warning echoing through his mind.
Wait.
Biggs understood his price.
Luke changed after that. It was as if he could absorb blow after blow and remain the same; then one thing would happen and it would change him. He's always been that way.
Never again did I see the youthful buoyancy or that wide-eyed, artless expression that always made me want to grin at him. I didn't know how Dodonna-- or his stories-- could have caused such a change in Luke-- I hadn't known him long enough to be certain. I only knew that I missed the total adoration he used to fling at unsuspecting people-- when it happened, it was as though you were in the center of a brief, blinding nova from a sun that was quite happy about its destruction. He did it to me, to Chewie, to Leia, Dodonna... then he stopped.
Oh, it's not that Luke was sad or even unhappy. He was just different. Quieter, more subdued, reserved. It's funny, though-- he never really lost his trust in people, never withdrew the way many others would have. The way I did. For Luke, it was as if, after trusting someone and being hurt, the worst had happened. He knew he'd lived through it and could live through it again. I think that's what I've always admired the most in him, that trust he gives with his whole heart.
For a moment, just before he left the Falcon, he looked at me with the oddest expression, and I thought maybe he needed something more. But he didn't ask. Now, sometimes, I wonder if I should have taken him to bed then, if that's what he wanted, if that's what he needed. But I didn't, so I guess I'll never know. Later, though, other things happened. I remember once in--
But that's another story, and it's getting late. Remind me to tell you about it some other time.
End