I don't own Start Wars.
oooooooooo
The adrenaline started wearing off right about the time the searing orange flames of the funeral pyre began to recede into embers, glowing, flickering, graying, and ultimately cooling into ash, dust in the breeze, lifting into the air, dispersing into nothingness. Its absence left a hole, a pit in his stomach that felt vaguely like hunger or longing, but familiar- a feeling he had, in recent years of repeated exposure, come to recognize as grief. It was tempting to lean into the yawing nothingness and let it swallow him whole, but he resisted, feeling that if he did so, he might not be able to claw his way back. He ached, body and heart. To try to parse the two out and separate which was which would call for introspection. He couldn't. Better to close off the pain and deal with it later. Whenever that would be.
After some time, when the embers had grown cold, melted slag, a black scar on the forest floor, its story known only to him, the cold settled in his bones, damp and aching, and he realized it had grown dark. The sounds of the nocturnal creatures of the forest seemed to increase in volume and proximity. The dark brooding of the forest pressed in on him.
He had been sitting on the ground, his back to a large dead tree, the loamy smell of the damp earth in his nostrils, felt that he could sit forever, be swallowed up by the forest itself, disappear.
But duty called him back. The need to avoid being still for too long, lest that dreaded introspection push itself to the forefront of his mind. Somewhere, not far from here, there was a celebration going on. In the vast black sky, streaked with layers upon millions of stars overhead, unpolluted by the artificial light of cities and civilization planetside, there was one star conspicuously absent, its dispersing remains like the glittering embers of the funeral pyre, splashed across the velvet backdrop, cooling into gray dust. They had won. He should feel exuberant, giddy, elated. But the hole threatened to swallow him utterly and completely.
ooooooooooooo
There was music, the bass boom of hide drums struck with such force that it seemed to shake the entire tree around which the hut was built. Han, who had probably had too much local alcohol to drink, and who was never one to appreciate heights, resisted the impulse to grab onto something stable-a stray branch, a railing, one of his companions-with every throb of the drum, seeming to threaten to spill them a hundred feet below to the forest floor.
He leaned forward to Leia, speaking loudly near her ear to be heard over the din. "Let's leave this party."
Leia had been crouched near a chattering Ewok, her long hair, draped over her shoulder, held in one hand to stay out of the way. She wore Han's jacket over her homespun dress-a gift from the Ewoks-to ward off the creeping cold of the forest night, having long since shed her battle fatigues and parka. She nodded and smiled at whatever the Ewok was saying, then twisted back to Han. "What was that?"
"I said let's get out of here." Han's gaze shifted across the rough-hewn tree hut, its construction and materials belying its size. On this side alone, the deck could easily hold Luke's X-Wing. Lando was talking to Chewie, clearly getting a little tipsy himself. Goldenrod was still basking in the afterglow of his newfound status as deity. Pilots, ground troops, Ewoks, they were all clearly enjoying themselves. The only person he hadn't seen yet was-
A shout went up from one of the Rogues. "Skywalker's here!" And a cheer from several of them, followed by a sloshing toast of more berry wine. At the rickety wooden stair entry, Luke emerged, head, then shoulders, a black shadow in the night. He mustered a smile for the Rogues, moved slowly through their group, clapping shoulders. Someone handed him a carafe.
Han felt his shoulders relax a bit and looked down to see if Leia felt the same. She was smiling, moving toward her brother. Luke met her halfway, swept her into an embrace. Leia said something to him and he nodded.
Han closed in, clapped his friend on the shoulder. "You made it out, Kid!"
Luke nodded, eyes not quite meeting his. "I'm glad you're both okay." Han opened his mouth to speak, but Luke, perhaps sensing the direction his friend's questions were about to go, twisted away. "Some party. Lando and Chewie alright?" He answered his own question by catching sight of the two friends across the way, and lifting his gloved hand to give a sort of half-nod, half-salute.
Leia appraised her brother for a moment as Han growled something about his ship and never letting it into Lando's hands again. "Are you sure you're okay, Luke?" she asked.
Han refocused on the younger man, on his black tunic, tattered with...scorch marks? It was hard to tell in the half light.
"Your face…" Leia began, reaching up a hand. Han saw several silvery purple lines across across the younger man's forehead and cheek. He opened his mouth to ask what had happened, but Luke jerked slightly, away from Leia's touch.
"Here," he said to Han, pushing the wine carafe toward him. "I don't think I can drink this right now." Han looked down and caught sight of his friend's left hand, ungloved and covered in what appeared to be red energy burns Or was that a trick of the firelight? He blinked and Luke was already three steps away from him, walking toward Artoo. He was moving stiffly, tired. That much was obvious. But they were all tired. If Han stopped moving, he felt fairly certain he would be asleep in moments.
Han looked down again at Leia, who was frowning. "Should I go after him?" she wondered aloud.
Han considered. Whatever had happened up there with Luke and Vader, they were going to have to drag it out of him. This didn't seem to be the time. "He'll be all right," he told her. "Give him some space." His eyes tracked his friend, catching the brooding expression before the dark figure seemed to melt into the shadows.
ooooooooooooo
Eventually the party seemed to sort of collapse in on itself. Somehow, the music and the drums and the singing eventually ceased and crude sleeping pallets materialized, scattered around the three large decks of the main tree. The floor was littered with the bodies of soldiers, pilots and Ewoks, passed out from exhaustion and drunken revelry. Though Han would have prefered to return to the familiarity of his ship to sleep, Leia said something about finding Luke and he followed her.
It would seem that Luke did not want to be found, but Leia was persistent, leading a somewhat nauseous Han up yet another set of unsteady wooden steps, farther into the heights of the great tree, the flicker of torches closer to the ground winking dizzyingly below.
"Hello, Leia." The voice in the corner was quiet, but certainly not asleep. Somehow Luke had commandeered his own little corner of the Ewok village, away from the chaos. Luke was sitting, under a blanket-or was it a cloak?-his back to the massive tree. For a moment, the voice sounded dark, almost angry and then the tone dispersed. "There are extra pallets here."
Han caught a flash of something unrecognizable across Luke's face as he leaned forwards out of the shadows. Chagrin, maybe? "If you two would like to be alone, I can go."
Han snorted. "If we were looking for a place to be alone, we'd be on the Falcon by now."
Leia laughed, embarrassed, pulling Han's jacket tighter around her shoulders. "Luke, we were looking for you."
Without waiting for further invitation, Solo flopped down onto the empty pallet nearest him. "Long day, Kid. You should get some rest."
There was a tired sigh. His friend turned his gaze up though the branches at the silver streak of stars overhead, impossible in their beauty, if one really stopped to look at them. "I don't think I can sleep."
Han grunted. "Tomorrow's going to be an even longer day full of red tape." He knew they'd all be called to Home One for a debriefing. Most of the wounded had already been transported from groundside as soon as the debris from the Death Star had stopped raining down and the medical frigate had come out of hyperspace. But there was still a lot to attend to. Peripheral scout troops needed to round up any remaining nests of Imperials, there was equipment to be scavenged, memorial services to those who had fallen…
When Leia spoke, her voice was quiet, perhaps sensing the touchiness of the topic. "Madine and Rieekan will want to know," she began, "in the debriefing. What happened on the Death Star."
Luke looked at her, expression unchanging, the starlight and dim glow of the lantern at the top of the stairs casting his face in shadow. "They're both dead," he said quietly.
Han pushed up on one elbow, studying the Jedi, his expression openly incredulous. "Both Vader and Palpatine? You're sure?"
Luke nodded.
Han felt more than saw Leia relax. She sank down next to him on the pallet, tension bleeding out of her limbs, a shaking laugh escaping her. "Luke, that's-that's wonderful!"
"You're sure?" Han asked again. "I mean, it's not like-"
"I was there, Han," Luke reminded him, exasperation seeping into his voice.
"-they could have escaped before the Death Star blew-I mean, look at you-you got out somehow-"
"They're dead," Luke said firmly. Han snapped his mouth shut. "Vader killed Palpatine. I saw it with my own eyes. Vader died from his injuries. I was there. I managed to make it to a shuttle before the whole Death Star blew." He paused, remembering. "Barely."
Han let a low whistle. They'd really lobbed the head of the Empire. He never thought he'd personally live to see the day. Somehow Luke had… "Wait, what did you do? Why would Vader have wanted to kill Palpatine?"
Luke shifted. He was silent.
Leia leaned forward, suddenly compassionate, as though she knew something about Luke that Han did not. She touched Luke's hand, the gloved one, but Luke freed it and tucked it under the blanket. "I knew there was still good in him," he hissed. His voice sounded angry, or was it sad?
"And you were right," Leia stated. It wasn't a question, but her expression was one of askance, almost as though she wanted a word of reassurance. But Luke didn't move.
Han looked between the two. He felt like he was listening to only half a conversation. "Luke?" Leia's voice sounded strained. Her brow furrowed in the shadows.
Luke only nodded.
"Wait a minute," Han interjected. "Good in who? Good in Vader?" He felt incredulous, even more so when neither Luke nor Leia reacted. "Does someone want to explain what you're talking about?"
"No," said Luke quietly, with a sigh. "I don't want to explain. Not right now." He eyed the pallet nearest him and moved, rather crawled to it, falling heavily into the rough mattress, his back to Han and Leia.
ooooooooooooo
Sometime in the night, Leia woke, probably from the cold. Or was it a sound? On the pallet next to her, Han was asleep. Beyond him was a distant shadow she could only barely make out as Luke. She thought he was shivering.
Her comlink, the sound that awoke her, sounded again. She shifted and dug it out of the pocket of Han's jacket, completely twisted around her in sleep. It was Threepio. She checked her chrono: Still a few hours before dawn.
Not wanted to wake the others-though the way Han was snoring, she doubted a full-scale AT-AT attack would wake him at this point-she rolled to her feet and padded to the stairs before answering the insistent beep. "Yes?"
"Oh Princess Leia," Threepio sounded apologetic. "I am trying to locate Master Luke."
Leia narrowed her eyes. Luke needed rest. What in the universe could be plaguing the droid that could not at least wait until dawn? "What's wrong?"
"Well, an unfortunate situation has come up involving the Ewok chief and some discarded artillery. I know the Ewoks really have no experience with advanced weaponry, but really, someone should have taken the time to-"
"Threepio, what is wrong?" Leia interjected. "Why do you need Luke?"
It took a few more frustrating minutes to pull the entire story from the droid. The Ewok chief had accidentally discharged a weapon-one of several bulky Imperial 720s, piled near the entrance to the bunker when they'd taken prisoners-severely wounding himself. The Alliance medic had tried to dress the wound, but the Ewok elders refused to let him come near. They were in a panic, insisting that Threepio use his "powers" to heal the Ewok. The droid was a loss. And, it appeared, this was angering the village elders by the minute.
Leia turned to see the sleeping form of Luke, unsure if this meritted waking him. But before she had decided, the figure on the pallet stirred, sat up slowly, and hoarsely answered her unasked question. "Tell Threepio I'll come."
oooooooooo
They both made their somewhat perilous way down the gantry of rough-hewn steps, down until they were nearly level with the ground. A dark-furred Ewok met them at the entrance to the main hut, pressing a talisman of some sort of boar's tooth strung on a bit of tattered leather into Luke's hand as they entered. Luke could make out See-Threepio's dented gleam in the low firelight. The droid was seated in a place of honor on a dais, gesturing stiff-limbed as he spoke, eyes like twin moons in the dark. Luke felt some measure of trepidation as he entered. He was bone-weary. It was generous of Leia to think she was helping him get more sleep by not waking him, but sleep had not come that night, only twisted images of the day's events, mocking him, taunting him. Luke came now, out of compassion for the Ewok chief, who had been forced to fight a war that was not his; and out of pity for the golden droid ahead of him, a strange victim to circumstance. The situation seemed almost comical in its ridiculousness, but instead Luke felt inexplicably sad.
Luke had very limited practice with healing, and suspected it was not one of his strengths. He feared there would be nothing he could do for the chief, nothing good that could come of his facing the Force right now, so soon after touching the darkness, as we was.
Leia followed silently behind. The furry creatures, adorned in their crude jewelry and leather bibs that indicated their status, parted on either side for Luke and Leia to walk through. The chief lay on a low pallet on the floor, looking, by all appearances, dead.
Luke stepped forward and knelt next to the creature. His hand felt carefully for the wound, the matted blood, the crude bandage that had been used to bind the wound. There was a pitiful moan from the creature. Luke felt its pain, did what he could to relieve it through the Force, awkwardly showed the unconscious creature the way into a rudimentary healing trance. It was long minutes until he rocked back on his heels. Threepio was speaking to the Ewok elders again, complete with gesticulations. Then Leia said something to the droid that Luke was unable to catch. Luke opened his mouth to say something when a sudden arc of pain lanced through his head and chest, exploding a white light behind his eyes. With an involuntary gasp, he arched forward, the boar's tooth talisman dropping with a thunk to the floor.
In a moment, his vision cleared again and the pain was gone as quickly as it has come. He shakily drew a breath. His hand fumbled for the bit of tooth and leather along the dirty grit of the rough wood slats-It would not do to offend his hosts by seeming to have discarded it on the ground-and straightened, pressing to his feet. Only then, did he see that, though the elders were still humming and mumbling to themselves, Leia and Threepio had stopped talking, gazes fixed on him, Leia's expression etched in mild alarm.
Luke drew another cautious breath and stepped toward the dais. "I've done what little I can for him," he said quietly, catching his hand against the makeshift throne, leaning heavily, hoping no one noticed. "He's in a healing trance."
Threepio hesitated, then turned to translate this bit of news to the elders.
"Keep him comfortable, let him rest," Luke murmured. Threepio relayed this. "It may take several days."
There was a low murmuring in the crowd. Was it approval? Luke wasn't quite sure. It seemed the room around him had tilted and gravity was pulling him in a different direction. Suddenly the effort to stay upright required all his concentration.
Leia stepped toward him, touching his arm in concern. "What was that? Are you okay?"
Luke nodded. "We should go."
"I think," she chewed her lip, "we should call the medic, let him look at you."
Luke shook his head, the action sending stars sparking through his vision. "Let the medic rest, Leia. It'll keep until morning." He took her hand. "Come on, let's go."
oooooooooo
Leia awoke suddenly, from dreams of stark, labyrinthine corridors with no exit, the hissing of Darth Vader's breathing behind her, coming closer, knowing she was about to feel the iron weight of his black gauntlet grasping her shoulder, yanking her back, pronouncing to her with finality that, though she'd spent her whole life revering Bail Organa as the only father figure she'd ever known, it was actually he, Vader, who was her-
With a jolt, her eyes snapped open. For a moment she could not remember where she was, and then memory tumbled back on her. Endor.
It was mid-morning, judging by the slant of the sun, the warmth of its rays peering through the conifer branches, an almost ethereal mist rising from the forest floor below. She was on the pallet next to Han's, though his was empty. She flitted her eyes to where she had left Luke in the dark pre-dawn hours, but he was also no longer there. She frowned, leaning back to the rough mattress. She hadn't realized she would sleep in like this, not with so much to do. She felt a little annoyed that the others had not thought to wake her.
Leia sat up gingerly, noticing for the first time the throb in her arm left over from the healing blaster burn, the persistent itch of the synthflesh covering it, the ache in all her muscles that told her she'd more than slightly overdone it yesterday.
She pushed to her feet, running through a mental checklist, adjusting the rough linen dress she still wore and digging her comlink out of the pocket of Han's jacket. She wondered if the spacer wanted it back anytime soon. It was tatty, but comfortable, and surprisingly warm. And it smelled like him.
She was needed aboard Home One by 1600 hours. She hoped to be able to get there in time to freshen up and look slightly more presentable than she was now. Han had mentioned a repair to the Falcon and something about reconnaissance and something else to do with the prisoners, although she couldn't remember details of his timeline he'd rattled off to her. She hoped Luke would, as she had urged him to do last night, take an early flight up to Medical and get his injuries checked out. But, knowing him, she would have to ride him about that too. One more thing to add to the burgeoning to-do list in her head. Through it all, she had the feeling that if she kept moving, the black-gloved hand from her nightmare would not be able to catch her, to whirl her around, make her face the reality. The truth, Luke had called it. She clenched her fist. She would not call it that.
She flicked her comlink on. There were messages from Ackbar and Mon Mothma. None from Threepio, which was a relief. Hopefully the Ewok chief was recovering and the village elders were placated. Taking a deep breath, she started down the stairs.
oooooooooo
"I said, the cell bolts were for the right side," Han growled to Chewie, who was head down in a nest of red and black wires under the console in the Falcon's cockpit. "See, if you put it on the left, everything's switched-see?-okay-" he slapped a panel, then jabbed a finger in the Wookiee's direction. "No-that doesn't work!"
"Han!" It was Lando's voice, the owner of which poked his head into the cockpit. "Can you spare Luke for a second? I need to get these Swoops into cargo."
"Sure," Han grunted, gesturing vaguely. "He's in the gunner cockpit. I think." He jabbed his finger in Chewie's direction again. "This had better be fixed in an hour," he threatened, ignoring the indignant wuffle of the Wookie's response.
He followed Lando out. "I think the main hold can fit three or four. Five might be pushing it."
Lando, clad in a white silk shirt and black trousers, somehow looked as if he'd had a restful night's sleep and a personal valet instead of partying drunk into the wee hours of the morning in a glorified treehouse. "Well, some of them are in pieces. Rieekan thinks they can be repaired-but he hasn't seen them yet. Jez doesn't seem to think half of them are worth the effort to salvage."
Han nudged an open crate aside with his foot. "Luke could probably take a look at them. Luke-" They stopped short in the galley. Luke was emerging from the gunner well, a grimace on his features as he straightened up.
"Hi, Luke," Lando greeted him and then stopped short as Luke gained his feet. The young man was disheveled, still clad in his black tunic, a tear in the right shoulder. The burns on his face and hand had darkened into a purple/red. "What in black holes happened to you?" Lando blurted.
Luke brushed a little self-consciously at his clothes. "Hi to you too, Lando."
Han laughed mirthlessly. "We can't all be as debonair as you, my friend," he told Lando. "Even Luke has his bad days." He made a pointed look at Luke. "Lando needs help with the swoops. You free?"
Luke nodded, running a hand through his tangled hair.
Han turned on his heel, back toward the cockpit, grabbing his comlink. Leia would kill him if he didn't give her a wake up call by now. "We're getting out of here no later than 1300," he told them. "So load fast."
He headed back to the cockpit. Chewie was whuffing up a blue streak, still tangled in a nest of wires. There was a flash and an angry bark of pain.
"Well, be careful, you big carpet," Han snapped. He lifted his comlink to call Leia, eyes scanning the fern-laden forest floor through the viewport, past the landing pad. Rows of confiscated Imperial speeders were lying haphazardly at the edge, awaiting a verdict on whether or not they were salvageable and could be used. The Alliance wasted nothing. "Hi, sweetheart. Did you get your beauty sleep?"
Leia's reply sounded vaguely irritated. Something about one of the Ewoks and Threepio being in some sort of trouble again. Han's eyes tracked Luke and Lando through the viewport as they approached the nearest speeder, Luke crouching to see something on the underside, out of view.
"What's that about Luke?" He hadn't been listening. Leia's sigh could be heard through the comm.
"He needs to see a medic and get those burns looked at." She played the part of the overprotective sister well. But then, she always had.
"He looks like Hell," Han agreed. "Me'n Chewie will drag him over there in a little bit." Self-preservation had never been the Kid's strong suit. Come to think of it, maybe it was a Skywalker trait.
Leia began with something else about the prisoner transport. "Yeah," Han waved his hand dismissively, eyeing Chewie's progress. "Landing pads two and three. Two transports have already left." A movement out the viewport caught his eye. Han frowned and turned. "I've got to go," he told Leia.
Lando and Luke had been lifting a heavy carton of equipment toward the Falcon's cargo hold. Han narrowed his eyes. It looked as though Luke had dropped his side of the container. He was leaning over it, as though getting his bearings. Then without warning, Luke crumpled over, lifeless, to the ground.
oooooooooo
Leia was walking directly across the clearing to a waiting ground speeder, already feeling the warmth of the mid-day sun's rays heat her hair and skin. Mon Mothma wanted her at the bunker-"Someone with a little diplomacy training", as she'd put it-to negotiate the prisoner transit process with one of the Imperial commanding officers. No sense in needlessly escalating the tension. She felt a little underdressed for the situation, though she was already changed back into her battle fatigues and was repinning her long hair as she walked.
Her comlink trilled again. Biting back another comment of irritation, she pulled it out, saw that it was Han.
"Yes?"
"Sweetheart, how quick can you make it to the Falcon?" There was something in his voice that sent a shiver down her spine.
"Why, what's wrong?"
"It's Luke. He collapsed. I think he's had a seizure of some sort."
She went cold.
"He's conscious now and medic's on his way now-"
"I'll be right there," Leia cut him off. She quickened her pace to a jog. Wes Jansen was sitting at the speeder. "Change of plans," she told him. "I need to be to the Falcon right now."
Jansen frowned. "Something wrong?"
"It's Luke." She swung her legs nimbly over the side of the speeder. "Go, go," she urged, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache pressing on the inside of her skull as the speeder shot forward, a blur of green ferns and ancient, mammoth trees. She'd known something was wrong last night. And that incident that morning, with the chief. She'd felt it in her gut. Oh why did he have to be so stubborn? Why couldn't he have just listened to her for a change? He was clearly more hurt than he'd let on. Something bad had happened up there on the Death Star. And she didn't have any idea what it was.
It seemed to take hours for the speeder to reach the landing pad. She dug her nails into her palm, silently urging Jansen to go faster.
"Is the Boss sick?" Jansen asking over the whipping wind, his brow furrowed, not taking his eyes off the rushing scenery. The transport was moving fast, even for a hotshot pilot like him.
Leia shook her head. "I don't know exactly." She swept the blowing hair off her face, gripped the cheap, plastene seat cover with both hands. "But something's wrong."
The open clearing that made up the rudimentary Imperial spaceport came into view, the unassuming shape of the Millenium Falcon on the far edge of the landing pad. They pulled in front of the open ramp, she noting with relief that another speeder was already there, which meant the medic had arrived before she had.
She was out of the speeder before it had even stopped, charging up the ramp and straight to the Falcon's small med-bay. As she ran through the familiar corridors, she heard Han's voice, speaking loudly, almost shouting.
"I don't care what you have to do-we need to be off the ground!" Chewie's bark in reply. "Then pull them," Han snapped. "We can splice them in later!" He came charging around the corner and nearly slammed into Leia.
"There you are!"
"Where is he?"
Han hooked his thumb to the right. "Medic's with him." Leia charged forward without missing a beat. "I swear," Han muttered behind her. "Brother or not, one day I'm going to kill him."
She pulled up short of the door, palmed it open. The medic, a slight man with gray at his temples, was kneeling next to the bunk, a med-kit open at the floor. Lando was standing as unobtrusively out of the way as he could, arms folded, frowning. Luke was lying on the bunk, eyes tracking the medic's movements, and then, with some delay, the entrance of Han and Leia. In full light, the burns on his face stood out in stark contrast to the gray, waxy tone of his skin.
The medic rocked on his heels, turned to Han. "The last medical transport left half an hour ago. There isn't another one on the roster."
Han brushed it aside. "The Falcon will be ready to leave in fifteen minutes. Just tell us what we need to do."
The medic nodded shortly, turning back to Luke. He held a small light first to Luke's right eye, then the left. With a noticeable delay, Luke flinched away. "Luke?" The medic said in a louder voice. He lifted Luke's ungloved hand. "How did you get these burns?"
Luke blinked slowly, his lips compressed. "The Force," he mumbled. "...Lightning."
The medic frowned. "Lightning?" he repeated. Again the slow blink. Leia wondered with cold dread what her brother was talking about.
The medic pushed the sleeve of Luke's tunic up to his elbow, revealing a red spider web of burns on Luke's arm. He indicated to Han. "Help me get this off him." Han sprang forward as the medic began undoing the buttons of Luke's tunic, and with Han's help, carefully easing his arms out of the sleeves.
"Kreth, Luke!" Han swore. Then Leia saw-the same marks that marred his hands and face covered his entire torso, angry red and purple burns.
Gently, Han and the medic eased the Jedi back to the bunk. The medic was shaking his head, examining the burns. "I don't have the equipment to treat this here," he said in a low voice. Then to Han, "You understand that he needs to be in Medical right away." Han nodded. Then to Luke, "Luke, are you in any pain?"
Luke fixed puzzled eyes on the medic, seeming to not understand the question.
"Luke, can you hear me?" A slow nod. Then Luke closed his eyes, as if the effort to remain awake was simply too much. "Luke?"
The medic sat back of his heels again and reached for something in his med-kit. "I'm going to give him a half dose of-" he broke off when the bunk began shaking. Luke suddenly began convulsing, limbs flopping like a rag doll's, eyes rolled back into his head. The medic dropped the vial of medication and twisted back, seizing Luke's arms to keep him from falling from the bunk. Han sprang forward to help, carefully holding the young man, aware of his other injuries. Leia stood rooted to the spot, her mind frozen, feeling helpless.
Gradually the seizing ceased and Luke calmed.
The medic reached one hand to his kit again and grabbed a different vial of medication, his eyes flitting to Leia. "Call medical now. Tell them you're on your way and to be ready for you." Luke's eyes remained closed. Leia stared, not sure if he was breathing. "Go!"
She snapped into action, reaching for her comlink again. Han nodded to Lando. "Tell Chewie to power her up, now." Lando sprang into gear, brushing past Leia out the corridor.
Over the tinny voice of the medical transport receiving line, she kept her ear to the conversation between Han and the medic. Luke's eyes remained closed.
"...severe electrical burns," she caught before the low hum of the ship drowned out the voices. Han was nodding, running a hand through his hair as he looked back at Luke. As the medic was packing his kit, Leia turned away to be heard over the thrum of the ship.
"Yes," she answered into the comlink for the the third time. "Docking bay four. I understand.
Bay four," she breathed to Han as he rushed past her, squeezing her hand tightly as he brushed by.
"Got it."
Leia returned to the med bunk. The medic was standing, looking very weary. "I gave him some painkillers, and a low-dose anti-convulsive. I'll leave this with you," he pressed the vial into her hand. "If he seizes agan, two mills, left arm." Leia nodded numbly. The low whine of the ship escalated in pitch. "Keep an eye on him," the medic told her. "I'll show myself out."
She nodded again, mumbled a thank you, and he was gone.
"Leia?" Han's voice came over the comm.
"We're ready," she answered. She reached for the coarse blanket stored in the compartment above the medical bed, tucked it carefully around her brother, still lying as worryingly still as death, his breath shallow and soundless. She found the straps to secure Luke's still form into the bunk, fastened them, then backed up to the jump seat nearest the bunk and strapped in.
With a somewhat worrying shudder, the Falcon lifted off. She felt the vertical lift and then the kick of the sublight engines, jerking her against her restraints.
Next to her Luke stirred. She reached for his hand. He opened his eyes.
"Leia?"
She pressed her lips together. "I'm here, Luke."
He looked as though he was trying to rise, to sit up. She soothed him back down, fussing again with the blanket. "Just rest. It's going to be okay."
"What happened?" His eyes looked clearer now, more coherent.
She shushed him. "I'm not sure-but we're getting you to the medical frigate. Everything will be all right."
oooooooooo
They made it to bay four in what must have been record time. The medics and droids swarmed the ship like tiny insects. Luke was lifted, protesting-as now he felt a little more in his right mind again, and a little foolish for causing such a fuss- onto a repulsor stretcher and spirited back down the ramp, surrounded by orderlies.
Leia stared after them, adrenaline slowly receding, before reminding her legs to work.
"He's going to be okay," Han's voice cut into her thoughts, making her jump. The Correllian stepped through the door of the small bunk room, took her by both arms. She blinked. Nodded.
"Come on," he took her hand and she followed him through the corridor, down the ramp into the now near-empty docking bay.
Chewie was standing near the entry, almost as if standing guard, old habits dying hard. He whuffed something unintelligable to Han.
"Yeah," Han considered, looking down the corridor where the medical entourage had disappeared. "See what you can do with it. The dish might have to wait a bit."
The Wookiee stepped toward them with another mournful utterance. One hairy paw landed on Leia's shoulder, the other on Han's. Han lifted it away, looked at Leia. "Don't worry pal. We'll keep a close eye on him. Keep you posted." He wriggled free of the Wookiee's hairy embrace. "Come on, Leia."
oooooooooo
They were not able to see Luke. A Mon Calamari in a white medical jumpsuit had appeared timidly in the corridor, and without answering any of their questions, furloughed them into a waiting area. Han had looked dubious. If he was going to have to wait, he'd much rather do it from the comfort and safety of his ship. For a long moment, he looked as though he might refuse, but after a second glance at Leia, he seemed to bite back whatever argument was on the tip of his tongue and acquiesce to follow the medic.
They were led into a stark white room, scattered with various forms of seating, spanned by a long, rectangular viewport, showing the small Endor moon serenely green and blue below. The door behind them closed.
Leia stepped in, sank into one of the chairs, and stared out to space. Only yesterday, the Death Star had been here. The Emperor, Vader….Luke…. She swallowed back the thought.
"Want something to eat?" Han was holding the door open to a small refrigeration unit, well-stocked with supplies.
Leia frowned, opened her mouth to ask him how he could think of food at a time like this, before in the next moment she remembered she'd been subsisting on ration bars alone for several days, couldn't remember the last time she'd actually eaten something that required refrigeration, and anyway, what was that old adage? A soldier eats when he can and sleeps when he can, because he doesn't know when he'll get the opportunity again.
She nodded slowly. "What….. do we have?"
Han crouched down, grunted about better supplies on the Falcon and pulled out a strange-looking vegetable puree. He looked at it dubiously and handed it to her. "Guess when you're the Rebel Alliance, you can't be too picky."
Leia wrinkled her nose and handed it back. "Maybe later."
Han laughed, took it back, dug for a utensil and started eating it himself.
He sat down across from her, took a good look at her face. "Hey….are you okay?"
She nodded, suddenly feel tears stinging her eyes. This was not the time for this.
Han looked uncomfortable, like he couldn't decide whether he should flee or hold her. After a few moments' hesitation, seeming to opt for the latter, he laid the container of puree aside and stood up to sit next to her on the small white sofa. He gathered her in his arms. Leia leaned in, let Han fold her into his embrace. He was warm and smelled faintly of engine grease.
They sat there for some time, not speaking. Leia shut her eyes. She was tired. Tired of this whole stupid war. Tired of losing friends and love ones, tired of running. Tired of ration bars. Yes, they had won, but there would always be more. More to do, more battles to fight, more friends to lose. She wanted to sleep, to will it all away.
Presently, Han pushed back and held her again at arm's-length again. "Do you know what happened to him up there? Did he talk to you at all?"
Leia stiffened. She didn't know all of it, but the part she did know….it wasn't her story to tell. Except it kind of was now.
Don't go there.
She shook her head. This was the last thing she wanted on her mind right now. Vader and fathers and brothers…. She leaned her forehead into Han's shoulder. "No," she said into his shirt. "I know he didn't expect to make it out alive. He said as much before he left to turn himself in to Vader."
There was silence. The even hum of the ship at sublight gently throbbing through the bones of the Alliance vessel. The low, honey brown lighting of the waiting room, designed to feel homey, comforting.
"You know more than that." It wasn't a question. Han didn't try to meet her eyes again. "There's something else."
She shook her head, gazing with sudden interest at the floor. Sometimes the Corellian could be surprisingly, uncomfortably intuitive. "I….You have to talk to him."
Han made an exasperated noise. "Talk to him?" he demanded. "A little hard when he's out of commission, dontcha think?"
Leia straightened, adjusted her hair away from her face, the crown of braids, turning her gaze again to the viewport. "I don't want to talk about this right now."
Han threw up his hands. "Why have I never noticed the family resemblance until this moment?" He looked angry. She knew he wasn't, not really. Just worried. "Both of you being mysterious and half-conversations…." he trailed off. "Something's changed. Something's different about him…. And about you. I've noticed it….I dunno," he shrugged. "Since you rescued me from carbonite."
Leia sat back, suddenly seeing Han with a little more insight. The Corellian cared deeply. And so much had happened since Bespin, so much that he'd missed. So much of it she hadn't even understood herself. Not until the night in the Ewok village when Luke confided to her that Vader was his….
She shook her head. Then it had all come together. His strange behavior, his melancholy, the months of him being almost a shell of the person she had known.
Still, it was not her story to tell. She didn't know the implications to him or the Alliance if Luke were to reveal his parentage. Didn't know the implications to her, now that she knew that Luke was her brother…
She searched for the words for an explanation. There were too many layers of grief to explain to Han. After Bespin, the nights she'd spent crying, in the darkness, alone, unable to sleep, imagining Han encased in that cold, unforgiving metal alloy, at the mercy of his enemies, living death-she powerless to save him; of Luke, his youthful optimism shattered by the reality of his encounter with Darth Vader, of the days following that she spent by his side imploring him to simply eat something, to act alive, to come back to her, for she did not think she could bear it if she'd lost them both.
"Luke's hand," she said slowly, realizing belatedly that Han probably didn't know, hadn't been told. Luke almost certainly wouldn't have said anything. That had been the catalyst. That, and the crushing bit of information about his parentage the dark lord had allowed to Luke during their duel. "He fought Vader at Cloud City when he came to try to rescue us, after….they took you away. Vader cut off his hand."
She pursed her lips, saw Han pale, slack-jawed, sag against the sofa. She felt sorry for the matter-of-fact way she delivered the blow. "He fell...somehow ended underneath Cloud City. We found him. Got to him before Vader did." She stilled at the memory, still raw, aching. "It's a prosthetic. The right one."
Han was silent.
"That's when Luke changed," Leia finished quietly. "He hasn't been the same." And looked at him cautiously, wondering at his reaction. "I...take it no one told you yet."
Solo shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, shut it again.
oooooooooo
The world was fog, wrapped in cotton wool, booming voices, lights too bright. There were faces, frowning, speaking much too loud. The words sounded as gibberish, unintelligible. There were shadows of other people. Many people, then no one. Beeping of machinery, tiny red lights. The black mask of Darth Vader, the coarse robes of old Ben, the swampy, rotting smell of Dagobah's green mud, the stinging sand and blast of heat of Tattooine's late-afternoon sandstorms, the blue numbing slick of an ice cave, the hollow click of footsteps in the Death Star throne room. He felt nothing, he felt pain. He cried, he was was mute. His limbs felt detached, floating; they felt heavy, weighted. He was suffocating, he was drowning, he was burning in a bright funeral pyre, he was being consumed by bright hot tendrils of lightning, then he was flying, zero G, soaring headlong over verdant green forests, the sun on his skin.
And then he woke.
Somehow, in that time, Luke had lost four standard days. That was what Han told him later anyway.
He found he was lying flat on a narrow, white bed. Without moving more than his eyes, he could see he was wearing a beige tunic, an IV dripping something clear into his arm. He cautiously turned his head, which ached furiously, to follow the tube to the blinking red light on the IV stand.
The walls were flat, hospital white, a window to the next room just in his peripheral vision. There was a chair to the right of the bed, white plastene, draped with a familiar-looking jacket.
His thoughts drifted, trying to grasp at memories that could give him a clue to what was going on. But there was nothing. Even the jacket-black with pockets, worn, somehow utterly familiar, but he couldn't place it.
With an exaggerated amount of effort, he lifted his head from the pillow, to see if he could get a better view of the window, perhaps a clue from the room beyond. He immediately regretted it. Silver sparks exploded in his vision and shot a stab of hot pain through his temples, skittering down his spine in miniature jolts of electricity.
Electricity.
The memory escaped again.
Don't move. It seemed the best option if he wanted to avoid a repeat of that experience.
He was thirsty. His mouth, he realized, was incredibly dry. Gradually, his eyes focused on a small table, at the foot of the bed, near the chair. There was a small pitcher that appeared to contain water. Of course, four feet might be a mile if he was to keep still. Perhaps if he used the Force to-but no, he didn't dare try-
The door to the small room suddenly slid open, startling Luke out of his thoughts. A burnished silver droid rolled in, looking, once again, familiar. "Hello Commander." It's voice was devoid of much inflection, booming uncomfortably in Luke's ears. "It is gratifying to see you so well."
Luke wanted to make a comment about looks being deceiving, but his voice refused to cooperate. Before he could make another concerted effort, a second unnaturally-loud voice echoed from the corridor beyond. "...It's about time! Tell Leia to get down here."
Han Solo appeared at the door, his expression directed at Luke and awash in relief. "Kid!" He cried, beaming.
Luke cringed as the sound reverberated through his skull.
Han frowned, edged past the droid, to the chair. It was his jacket draped there, Luke realized, belatedly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to give you a headache there," Han added in a more subdued voice. He patted his friend anxiously on the arm. "You're awake. We were worried."
"Massive skeletal calcification and seizure activity due to exposure to electrical energy fields," the droid began, not dialing down the volume of its voice at all, as it readjusted a medication on the IV pole, "took a great deal more recovery time than was anticipated. But treatment is complete, sir." It bent slightly to regard Luke. "Are you in any pain, sir?"
With some effort, Luke wet his lips to try again. "Yes….I," he tried again, eyes flying to the pitcher on the table. "Water."
Han straightened immediately. "Water? Here," He hefted the pitcher. "Here, can you sit up?"
Luke shut his eyes, didn't move.
"Would you like a painkiller, sir?"
A Jedi knight should know how to deal with pain. Wasn't it part of the job description? Hadn't Yoda given him countless lessons on the art of the healing trance, on pain control? A painkiller seemed like an easy way out, a cop-out. At the very least, Luke should view this as an opportunity to practice what he'd been taught.
"Two-Onebee, he needs a straw or something." Han's voice again. "Where…?"
Luke was aware of Han brushing past the droid again, out of the room. The droid turned again to Luke.
"Sir?"
The effort to open his eyes again seemed too great. Memory was flooding back in on Luke now. Energy fields. He'd been on the Death Star. The Emperor. Blue white lightning raining down, blinding him, drilling him to the floor with such strength and surprising white-hot pain that he had crumpled beneath it. Luke's conviction that there really had been good in his father, if only he could dig deep enough. His father's voice. You were right about me.
The funeral pyre in the forest. Vader was dead. Luke's father, the man he'd dreamed about his whole life, really and truly dead this time; a murderer who had only just redeemed himself. Redeemed only to Luke.
Voices blurred in his head again, a babbling mixture of the mechanical drone of the droid and Han's insistent clip, not quite angry. Worried, maybe?
Luke dragged his eyes open for a second time. He had no idea how long he'd been out. The droid was no longer in the room.
"He gave you a pain killer," Han announced from the chair. "That help?"
Cautiously, Luke turned his head. The stars in his vision were gone, leaving only a slight ache that settled into the back of his neck. "Yes," was all he could muster again. He should have tried to block the pain himself, with the Force. But he'd been too weak to do even that.
"Here….water," Han stood to Luke's side with a glass and a straw. "Let's see if we can sit you up a little bit." He adjusted a button on the bed, outside of Luke's vision, and mechanically, the bed began to tilt. Reflexively, Luke grabbed for something to hold on to as the room begin to spin.
"Easy there," Han gripped his shoulder. "You're okay. Here," then the straw was at Luke's cracked, dry lips. He managed a swallow, then two.
The door hissed open, startling Luke for the second time. He silently cursed himself for his inattention. Some Jedi….
Leia entered, her face cautiously expectant. "Luke!" She breathed, her eyes taking in his appearance. "You're awake!"
Luke managed a faint smile, kept the falling sensation at bay under the onslaught of her earnest embrace, shrank back into the bed as she stepped back, appraising him carefully.
"Are you comfortable? Do you hurt anywhere?"
He made to answer. His vision was graying, ears ringing. He lifted his hand, trying to indicate the bed's controls, the need to be horizontal before he passed out again. Belatedly, Han sprang into action, lowering the bed. "That better?"
Luke nodded, his vision beginning to clear.
"Where are we?" he managed, after another moment. His voice cracked with disuse. The question came out more of a whisper. He opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling again.
In the corner of his vision, Han looked in askance towards Leia, who spoke. "We're…. aboard the medical frigate, en route to the Amrita system."
Luke frowned. "Hyperspace?" He strained his ears, wondering if he could detect the familiar bass thrum of the ship's bones that indicated the ship was at lightspeed. How come they had left Endor so suddenly? Had something been wrong?
Leia straightened as if sensing his question. "Everything's fine, Luke. We pulled out of Endor as planned." She hesitated. "The Alliance…." She glanced at Han again. "The Alliance High Command wants to speak with you. They need that debriefing….as soon as you're able."
Han shot her a daggered look. "Tell Command to back off a minute," he muttered, turning out of Luke's range of vision and lowering his voice. "He's in no condition to-"
"They can come here, so you don't have to leave your bed," she finished, smiling brightly. Something in her eyes told Luke she was not happy about this either.
Luke tried to swallow again. "I…" He glimpsed Han's face like thunder and it was directed toward Leia. He wondered why those two couldn't just get along for a minute. They loved each other, he knew. Didn't he know that? Was there something on Endor that gave him some indication? The memory skittered away before he could turn it over. "I can't remember…." He wet his lips and tried again. "I don't..."
Han and Leia exchanged glances. Luke studied their expressions, their sense in the Force.
"It's urgent….isn't it?"
Leia nodded. "This mission on Amrita depends of the intelligence that assures them the Emperor and Vader are both dead. They need to hear it from you before they proceed."
Luke sighed, gathering the Force around him for strength. It may be well to get this over with. "Help me….sit up."
Han sprang forward again. "Kid…"
Black spots curled at Luke's vision again. He did his best to dispel them with the Force as the bed was pushing to a sitting position again. He eyed Leia. "I assume….they're here, aren't they?" He took a steadying breath. "In the Medcenter?"
"Yes, Luke….but just rest. They can come to your room." Her dark eyes were swimming in self-reproach. "You don't need to get up." But Luke was already trying to move to the edge of the bed. His vision swam.
The idea that he would be flat on his back to answer questions fired at him by Madine and Cracken repulsed him, though he was not sure why. They had clearly been waiting for some time for a moment to speak with him.
Will you tell?
He shoved the thought from his mind. "Get me a repulsor chair," he gasped. "I will meet them in the lounge."
"Kid, this is crazy," Han protested, his voice booming at normal volume again, glaring at Leia. "You just woke up. Take it easy."
Luke ground his teeth, willing his muscles to hold him upright. "Get that chair," he gritted.
By the time Leia reappeared with the repulsor chair, Luke was sitting on the edge of the bed, his bare feet feeling the sting of the cold deck, sending a shiver through his frame. He knew he was gray-faced and sweating, and he drew the Force around him again, ignoring Han's studying expression.
His legs refused to support him. It took both Han and Two-Onebee to move him to the chair, Luke's vision graying out completely. The painkiller was suddenly less effective than it had been fifteen minutes ago. He reached for calm, tried to center himself, to clear his vision, ease the stabbing headache behind his eyes. "My boots," he told Han. "Get me my boots and my lightsaber."
Han hesitated, clearly wondering how these two items were relevant. "Your lightsaber is on the Falcon, in the hold...for safekeeping."
Luke leaned forward, trying to shake the stars from his vision. He could feel Han's baffled sense at why Luke would want his weapon, right now. It was too complex to explain. "Just get it," he gasped to Han.
Solo threw up his hands, tossed another daggered glare at Leia, and stormed out.
Leia stood helplessly by, her fingers twitching on his shoulder, unsure what to do.
"Are the boots really necessary…?" she began, but then got a glimpse of Luke's expression and broke off. "Here," she bent down. "I'll help you get them on."
oooooooooo
By the time Han had returned from the Falcon with Luke's lightsaber, they were already halfway down the corridor, Leia, Two-Onebee, the IV pole, and Luke in the repulsor chair, his head sunk down into his hand. Two-Onebee had protested his patient's move, but Luke had ignored it completely, so it tottered after him instead.
"Here," Han growled to Luke, pushing the lightsaber toward the Jedi's other hand. Luke's fingers, resting in his lap, curled around the weapon, but otherwise he did not move, did not look up. He was breathing heavily, his skin waxen, a sheen of perspiration reflecting the dull light of the corridor.
Han sighed noisily. "This is not going to impress anyone, Kid." He threw another glare in Leia's direction, wishing she hadn't pushed him like this. High Command to go to Hoth, for all he cared. They could have the decency to leave the Kid alone for a few more hours. And Luke...he didn't know what the Kid's problem was, why he was so touchy. Maybe it was as Leia had said, something to do with Vader, how he'd changed so much after Bespin. Maybe he thought boots and a lightsaber would go a long way to convincing Command that he was a Jedi, grown up now, capable of following through with the demise of Vader and Palpatine.
They entered the lounge, Cracken, Madine and Mon Mothma rising to their feet as the door hissed open. Mon Mothma's dark brows were furrowed in concern, her eyes tracking Luke. Madine's expression was stony.
"Commander Skywalker," he greeted through stiff lips. "Thank you for taking the time to speak with us so soon after your injuries."
Luke straightened, raising his head, piercing eyes looking straight ahead to Madine. Han could see how much effort the Jedi was pouring into looking like he wasn't just half-dead not more than an hour ago. "General."
Madine's eyes flicked to Two-Onebee. "The droid will wait outside."
"Sir," the robot's arms flailed. "I can assure you my programming-"
Madine fixed his eyes on the droid. "Outside."
"Yes sir," the droid acquiesced. He turned to Luke. "If you need anything, sir, I will be monitoring your-"
"Thank you," Luke cut him off, waving his hand slightly in dismissal.
The droid left in silence and the door hissed shut behind him. Han was frankly surprised he was still in the room for the debriefing. Being a newly minted General seemed to have some perks to the job. He slowly took a seat as the others did, positioning himself as close to Luke as possible.
"You'll forgive us for this pressing meeting," Mon Mothma was speaking, as much to Leia and Han as Luke, her tones measured, her brow creased slightly. "Our mission to Amrita depends on a crucial piece of information."
Madine pressed to his feet again. Han almost had the feeling the General was pacing, felt the need to tower over the others. Asserting his authority? Han wondered quietly. The General leveled a finger at Luke, seemed to decide that the action was too aggressive and dropped his hand, fingers flexing. "Commander, will you please verify your location from the point in time the Imperial shuttle landed on Endor to the point the Death Star was destroyed?"
It occured to Han that Madine was nervous. Rather, threatened. Han didn't know the man well, but knew that he had defected from the upper echelons of Imperial command. He hadn't struck Solo as the nervous type. But something about him now made him seem edgy, rattled somehow.
And if Han had seen it, Luke surely had. The Jedi seemed to rally, grow taller in the repulsor chair, so that, though his expression was tight with barely suppressed pain and perspiration stood out on his forehead, he seemed to command a presence that even Madine, with his posturing, could not accomplish.
Luke held his lightsaber on his knee, chin high, looking in turn to each member of High Command, faint burn marks from the lightning still visible against waxen skin, "I surrendered to Lord Vader at the Imperial base on Endor, near the landing pad, approximately twelve standard hours after our shuttle landed on the moon."
Madine arched his eyebrows. "Surrendered? To Lord Vader?" His face hardened, eyes like flint, mouth set. "That could be construed as an act of treason, deserting your comrades in battle-"
"Why did you surrender to Vader?" Mothma's voice cut in smoothly, casting Madine a sidelong glance. Her auburn hair reflected back the stark white light of the lounge task lighting.
Luke blinked, raised his hand to rub the bridge of his nose. Something about the action made it occur to Han that Luke was about to tell only part of the truth.
"I knew he would take me to the Emperor," Luke told them, his voice clear for the first time. "I went to face him. To kill him, if necessary."
Madine scoffed, a short, choked laugh. "The arrogance…!" He sputtered, looking to Cracken for support. The other man was expressionless, staring at Luke. "You? Face the Emperor? You're barely more than a boy. The Emperor has killed hundreds, just like you. The risk you put your team in by-"
"I was jeopardizing my team by remaining with them," Luke cut him off. "Vader could track my presence through the Force." His eyes flickered to Cracken, then back to Madine. "The intelligence we were given said nothing of Vader being near Endor at the time we planned to sabotage the shield generator."
Luke's eyes were cold steel, ice. Han felt a chill crawl down his spine. The Kid had changed. Something had rattled him, something that had taken the optimistic teenager and replaced it with a brittle edge, cynical, almost dangerous. "I was aware of my duty to the team, General," Luke finished into the silence. "It was not a decision I made lightly."
It was Mon Mothma who cleared her throat. "What do you mean that Vader could track your presence?" she asked, her brow furrowed.
The expression on her face was of one who suddenly saw Luke as more liability than asset. A cold knot settled in Han's stomach.
Luke swallowed. "Force sensitive individuals can sense other Force sensitive individuals. He-" The Jedi hesitated. "He has been actively searching for me…. since…"
Bespin, Han thought.
"Yavin and the Death Star," Cracken supplied.
Luke's shoulders relaxed slightly. Safer territory. He only nodded.
"Did the Emperor die?" Mon Mothma asked quietly, bringing the debriefing back to its main point, her glacial tone cutting into the tension. "Do you know for sure?"
Luke broke his gaze from Madine and it was though a marionette's strings had been snapped. He raised his hand to his temple and Han could see the faint tremor of his hand, the effort that was required to keep this up. "He's dead. Both he and Vader are dead."
There was silence. Madine still stood, almost battle stance. "How? You killed them?" His tone was plaintive. The question seemed to catch Luke off-guard, almost as if the young Jedi had expected to lean into the verbal battle to the end, and instead Madine had sidestepped, enough to topple Luke's composure.
Luke hesitated. "No. I... refused to join Palpatine as he had offered. Vader...offered too, wanted me to help overthrow the Emperor, but…." His sharp blue eyes caught Madine's, pointedly to the General's suspicions about where Luke's true loyalties lay. "I refused."
Luke seemed to indicate his current condition as evidence, the beige Med Center tunic, the repulsor chair, the faint scars still left after the bacta. "Palpatine tried to kill me." His eyes dropped to the floor. "This made Vader….angry enough to fight Palpatine. To...kill Palpatine. Vader killed the Emperor. And died from his injuries. They killed each other."
There was silence.
"And you made it off the Death Star, how?" It was the first time Cracken had spoken, his voice even, faintly gravelly.
"I made it to a shuttle," Luke answered. "In the chaos, that was the easy part. I made it out of the docking bay just ahead of the Death Star explosion."
Silence again. Madine turned to Cracken and Mothma, eyebrows arched, as if to ask if they had further questions. Han slid his gaze across to Leia, who had sat white-knuckled and silent, watching Madine. From the corner of his eye, Luke seemed to deflate from the exertion of the debriefing, sliding down into the repulsor chair, aware that he was no longer fixed under Madine's gaze.
Something in Luke's words suddenly sent another chill down Han's spine. This made Vader….angry enough to fight Palpatine. To kill Palpatine.
Why would Vader be outraged at Palpatine enough to kill him? Over Luke?
The second thought occurred on the heels of the first. Vader had set a trap in Bespin, specifically for Luke. All that trouble just for one Rebel. Something wasn't quite adding up. Instinctively Han felt if they remained in the lounge too much longer, Madine would start to put it together too. And if Luke's behaviour was any indication…. And Leia's, for that matter, he realized, casting a quick glance in her direction, this was something Madine did not need to know.
Han stood quickly. "Well, if this meeting is adjourned," he began, turning to Luke, "I think the Commander needs to return to the med bay."
Leia looked up at him, tucked away a smile at the Correllian's lack of subtlety.
"Of course," Mon Mothma rose to her feet, approaching Luke. "The Alliance is indebted to you, Commander." She offered her hand. Luke took it. "We welcome your presence in our midst as the last Jedi."
"Thank you, Mon." Luke's expression was unreadable. It seemed such a paltry token of gratitude to offer the man who had nearly gotten himself killed taking down the Empire's number one and number two guys.
Before the Alliance leader could say more, Han commandeered the handles of the repulsorlift chair and steered Luke to the exit.
"Leia?" Mothma's voice called to the princess behind him. "A word with you for a moment?" Han didn't stay to hear what came next. He caught Leia's eye as he brushed past her. Her expression was guarded, closed off. She could take care of herself in this one.
Two-Onebee had to scramble to keep up with Han as he headed almost full tilt back down the corridor the way they'd come.
Han eyed Luke, now curled over in a hunch, visibly trembling. No longer required to keep up a strong persona for his audience, he looked worse than ever. "You okay Kid?"
"I will be." Luke's voice was muffled, head down.
"What was Madine's problem back there?" Solo growled, mostly to keep his friend talking. "He doesn't like you much, does he?"
Luke shook his head, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. "Given the circumstances…." Luke trailed off. "I guess I can't fault him too much."
"I can," Solo retorted. "Look, he might not care for Jedi that much, okay that's obvious, but he basically accused you of treason back there."
Luke didn't answer.
"You took down the Emperor…"
Luke lifted his head. "Vader did that-" he corrected.
"And another thing," Han cut in, ignoring the correction. They arrived at Luke's room, Solo slapping the control panel, the door snapping open with a hiss and guiding Luke's chair through. The low lights of the small room were a stark contrast to the harsh lighting of the corridor. Solo lowered his voice. "There's one thing I still don't get and that's why. Why would Vader want to kill Palpatine? To keep him from killing you? Why would he care? What are you to him? Last I checked, you had a price on your head, and he was chasing you around the galaxy to pay you back for destroying his precious Death Star."
Luke went still, his eyes distant. Han glanced down, freshly worried. Perhaps he shouldn't be railing on the Kid like this, so soon. Two-Onebee had warned that the seizures could return for several days to weeks, that he shouldn't be under stress. Goodness knew, that debriefing was enough stress for the day. Han didn't need to add to it with his questions.
"Sir," the Two-Onebee glided through the door after them, arm flailing to Luke's forehead. "My sensors indicate…"
"Help me get him into bed," Han grunted to the droid. "Luke, can you stand?"
Numbly, Luke slid his feet to the floor. Han swung his friend's arm over his shoulder. "Ready?" He lifted the Jedi, stumbled slightly as Luke's legs buckled beneath him, dropping his full weight on Han. They both dropped heavily to the bed. Han ducked out from under Luke's arm and eased him back on the pillows. A stray memory clicked: High in the Ewok village tree, Luke's expression a mixture of defiance and sadness. I knew there was good in him. Good in Vader. That's what the young man had meant.
And yet he'd failed to mention this in the debriefing.
Luke's waxen features stood out in stark contrast to the white linens, the fine scars from the lightning still faintly visible, even after the bacta. He was still, eyes shut, his breathing ragged. Two One-Bee clucked over his patient for a moment, which Luke tolerated. With instructions to call if he needed anything, the droid left.
"Sorry, Kid," Han murmured when the door had closed. He knew he hadn't been helping. When Leia had told him he'd have to ask Luke, he should have realized it would take a long, long time to pry any information from the Jedi. This wasn't the time or place.
He reached for the blanket, tucked it around Luke's shoulders. Right now, his friend needed rest, needed to recover. "Want to lose the boots?" He asked, arching his eyebrows.
Luke nodded slightly, but didn't move, brow furrowed. After a moment Solo reached over and took the Kid's boots off himself. "Your lightsaber?"
"I'll keep it….with me," the Jedi mumbled.
Solo chewed his lip. "Suit yourself." He set the weapon carefully on the table near the pitcher of water and eyed Luke again. "I'll let you alone, Spare you the third degree questioning til later."
One last glance at the Jedi, at the creased expression that was probably the only indicator that the young man was in pain, but determined not to voice it, Han grabbed his jacket and was about to make for the door when Luke's quiet voice stopped him cold.
"It doesn't….make sense. Unless you know the complete truth."
The Kid's eyes were still closed. Han arched his eyebrows again. Moved to sit carefully in the chair instead. Maybe the Kid was ready to talk after all. "Oh?" he asked casually. "You didn't tell them the complete truth?"
Luke blinked at the smuggler. "Can you blame me, really?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe if you tell me what we're talking abo-"
"My father, Han," Luke cut through quietly. His voice broke into a brief, humorless laugh, his eyes shutting again, no mirth on his features. "The man was my father. All those years dreaming about a heroic figure who happened to be a navigator, a Jedi Knight for the Old Republic….all that time, he was alive...he was…." The Jedi trailed off, swallowing hard.
Han blinked. Was he talking about Vader? Vader was Luke's father? Who had fed the Kid this load of Bantha crap? Had the Dark Lord somehow brainwashed Luke during his encounter at Bespin?
"What are you talking about, Kid?"
"Did Leia tell you?" Luke asked.
Solo shook his head incredulously, but kept his voice even, low enough not to be heard. "Vader is your father?" His voice came out a harsh whisper. On instinct, he glanced to the door, then to the ceiling, as if his eyes would be able to catch hidden surveillance equipment. "Did he tell you this?"
Luke nodded, looking miserable. "Yes," he whispered.
Luke, the needy orphan who had longed for a father figure more than he had wanted anything in his whole life and Darth Vader had the gall to step into that void and twist that primal need into a way to try to...what? Rattle him? Control him?
How long had Luke known? Was this what Leia had said had changed him on Bespin? Of course, this would have torn the Kid apart. Of course he would believe a lie like this, even if it was spread by a Sith Lord. Han snorted in disbelief. "Kid-did you tell him you weren't born yesterday? That's a low blow-but you know it's not true…."
Luke's eyes shut again. A very real expression of pain crossed his features. "It is true, Han."
"No Luke, listen to me-it's not. He's playing mind games with you. Vader is no more your father than Jabba the Hutt is my little, uglier brother." Han was rewarded with a faint almost-smile from his friend. "He lied to you, Kid. You have to snap out of it."
Luke didn't answer. In the thick silence, he shut his eyes again, bereft of any energy to argue. Clearly Han hadn't changed his mind.
Solo turned this new information over in his mind. Vader was Luke's father. Impossible. Wasn't it? Han swallowed thickly, piecing it together. The price on Luke's head after the destruction of the Death star, seemingly out of proportion to the criminal the Empire was pursuing; Bespin, the trap set purposefully by Vader for Luke, using his friends as bait, knowing the young man would come; Luke leaving in the heat of battle on Endor to confront Vader; that Vader had apparently saved Luke from the Emperor's violent attack, losing his own life in the process. I knew there was good in him.
There was good in Vader? Somehow, the knowledge that he had a son had turned a vicious, evil being, more machine than man into a father who could actually turn on his superior to save that son's life? That seemed far-fetched. And a tremendous gamble on Luke's part, if that was the reason the Kid had gone to face Vader. But then, Luke had always been reckless.
"It's true, Han," Luke whispered. "I didn't want to believe it either, for a long time." The Jedi opened his eyes, blue eyes just as piercing as they had been when he was staring down Madine.
Han opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. If this were true, what would this news do to the Alliance, to its image and reputation? Hells, what would news of this development do to Luke? To his position in the Alliance, which already was tenuous enough with an unusually jumpy High Command. What had it done to him already?
Leia had told him, back at the Falcon, that it was not her story to tell.
Then Leia already knew. Of course, he realized-her reaction in the debriefing. And then another thought on the heels of the first: That Leia was Luke's sister. Vader was her-
"You see why I didn't tell them," Luke cut into his thoughts. "I was there. He turned back to the good side. He redeemed himself. But Leia….." He trailed off.
"And the Alliance," Han finished for him. Luke nodded.
"They're not ready for this."
Han blew out a breath of air he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. "Boy, Kid," he ran a hand over his face. "You're sure do know how to top 'em."
Luke was frowning, eyeing the smuggler. He'd known what Vader had done to Han. Solo could see in the young Jedi's eyes, the invitation to Han to disavow their friendship, to turn on him, accuse him of using his Force powers the way Vader and the Emperor had, to accuse him of what Luke seemed to fear the most: turning to the Dark Side. "I don't...blame you if…"
"If I hate your guts about now?" Han raised his eyebrows. Luke nodded. "Because of who your father is?" Luke nodded again.
Han blew out another breath. "Stars Kid, what kind of a friend do you think I am?"
Luke's frown eased, blue eyes studying the Corellian carefully.
"I mean…. Vader was no saint. He damaged my ship, terrorized Leia, tortured me…. but he got you too. Put a price on your head." He hesitated. "Leia told me about your hand. I mean," he gestured helplessly, "what kind of a father cuts off his own kid's hand?"
Luke's right hand closed onto fist, as if, on cue, he was remembering, his expression darkening. He sighed, dark humor replacing the look of pain on his features. "A very messed up one."
Han grimaced. "Sorry, Kid." It seemed he was making this worse. "What I'm trying to say is…" He gestured helplessly, eloquence escaping him. What were the right words to say to someone who'd just admitted to bring the offspring of their mortal enemy? Well, gee…
"It's not your fault, Luke."
Luke was silent, expression unreadable.
"I mean," Han blundered on. "You're not him."
"No?" Luke arched his eyebrows, almost as a challenge. That was what had changed in Luke, Han decided. A streak of cynicism that hadn't been there before. "I may be tainted by association." By blood, certainly.
The Corellian frowned. "No. You're you. You've been knocked around a bit, sure, but you're still the same person."
"I have the potential to become everything Darth Vader was," Luke said softly. "Doesn't that scare the hell out of you?" He pursed his lips. "It does me."
And there it was: Luke's worst fear. It wasn't even the fact that his childhood dream had been smashed by a brutal, cold reality. The terror was what he had the potential to become, that he was destined for the Dark Side, that it was in his blood.
Solo didn't know what to say. He fidgeted with his hands, his eyes going to the lightsaber resting on the small table. He didn't know anything about all this Jedi business. The old man Kenobi had seemed crazy-even Luke seemed crazy at times. He certainly couldn't lend any authority to allay Luke's fears. He cleared his throat. "You seem….like the same person." A little world weary, maybe. "I mean, I didn't see you Force choke Madine back there."
The faint color drained from Luke's face, and he seemed to sink further into the depths of the medical bed.
"Aww, Kid," Han kicked himself for saying the wrong thing again. "That's not what I meant." This shadow would hang over Luke for the rest of his life, Solo realized in the awkward silence that followed. Vader's legacy would forever color everything Luke did, everything he stood for. Anyone who didn't know him-kreth, even some that did-would assume the worst, most base of him. That was an awfully heavy burden to place on one person's shoulders.
"Hey Kid, I think of it this way." He was still talking, in spite of putting his foot in his mouth. Why was he still talking? "The higher you reach, the greater the possibility for catastrophic failure, I suppose. I guess this is a decision you made when you decided to make this your life's path." He indicated the lightsaber. "I'm no believer in destiny. I think we each make our choices."
"I'm skating the edge at times," Luke mumbled. "Right on the edge of an abyss."
Solo stared at the Kid's face. "Not if you have friends to hold on to you. You won't fall."
Luke's eyes met his. It seemed a weight was being lifted off him, one that had been there a very long time. Then he nodded, almost as if to reassure himself, his features easing into an expression of relief. His friend had not disowned him; did not think he was Vader incarnate. His eyes closed again. "Thanks, Han," he whispered. Then Han was aware of the Luke's palpable exhaustion, that his friend was drifting.
He stood to go, meaning it this time.
"I think," he began, "Two-Onebee will have my hide if I don't let you rest." He patted Luke's shoulder. "We can talk some more later."
"Bye," Luke mumbled. His hand caught Han's sleeve as the Corellian brushed past again.. "Don't...tell this to anyone. Not yet. Please."
Solo shook his head, freeing his hand, patting Luke's shoulder again. "Of course I wouldn't." He could take this secret to the grave if it was necessary to spare Luke and Leia some pain. "Get some sleep, buddy."
Fin.