Title: PIECES OF AIR
Author: deaka
Characters: Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Leia Organa, Wedge Antilles, other
Setting: A few months prior to Empire Strikes Back
Keywords: Hurt/Comfort, friendship, short story
Summary: Luke finds that healing isn't always straightforward
Pain.
Pain was all Luke knew the instant he woke: pain red-hot and blinding, filling the universe, destroying everything in its wake. Or so it felt.
It took a few minutes for the pain to subside to a level that was, if not exactly manageable, less all-consuming. Luke clenched his teeth, waiting for his vision to clear.
He wore a helmet. He was in a vehicle. Not an X-Wing. Probably an airspeeder, one of the T-47s. He must have landed badly. The viewscreen was cracked, the controls and the front of the ship buckled. There was snow outside. The face-shield on his helmet was cracked.
What else? It felt like there was blood on his face. Numbness – right arm. Burning pain in his stomach. Pain in his legs, unable to move them. The front of the ship had buckled around his legs; he was trapped.
Luke tried to move the lower half of his body, testing whether he could free his legs. The small cockpit was cramped, even more so than usual, bent and buckled by the force of impact. His body was wedged tight. Pain made him haze out for a moment; movement hurt, a lot. That wasn't good.
There was a sound behind him as the pain subsided again. Not the groan of stressed metal; a human sound, harsh breathing. He abruptly remembered: T-47s were routinely manned by a pilot and a gunner.
He licked his lips, tasted blood. "Pag?" His voice was a croak, barely audible. Luke focused on making it clearer. "Pag, you with me?"
There was a faint sound from behind, a catch in that breathing. "Right… here," came a slow, slow reply. Luke could hear how much it was costing the other man to speak.
"How you doing?"
"Not… so good."
"Hold on." Luke blinked, trying to focus on the buckled controls swimming before the cracked visor of his helmet. There was a light blinking on the comm controls. "Distress signal's activated… they'll find us soon."
"… hope you're right."
So did Luke. Given the condition the panel was in, there was no telling whether the signal was actually working. He had to believe it was, though. He tried to find the words to reassure Pag, but couldn't gather enough strength to speak again.
"… mander?" He was suddenly aware of Pag's voice, barely audible against the sound of wind outside the fuselage of the ship. "…thought… left me …"
"Sorry," Luke muttered. He must have drifted; how long had he been out? Not good. He had to keep track of time.
He realised he was shivering. Even in bulky cold-weather wear, the temperature was well below freezing. " …'s cold," he said. Blinking at the ruined controls, he tried to locate the environmental systems. His fingers, clad in heavy gloves, wouldn't seem to obey his instructions at first, but he finally managed to hit the button for warmth. Nothing happened. "… systems's not working," he said aloud.
" 'm warm," Pag said, his voice faint.
"Pag?" Luke blinked, alarm forcing him to increased awareness. "Stay with me."
There was no reply. Luke said, "Pag!"
"…yeah, yeah." The other man's voice was hard to hear. "I'm here."
Luke knew he should try to talk, do something to keep them both alert. He tried to think of something to say. His brain didn't want to cooperate either; his thoughts kept blanking out. He didn't know Pag all that well. The man had been with the Rogues a few months. Luke couldn't even remember where he'd come from. Did he have a family somewhere? He tried to focus enough to ask, but he was so tired, and then he forgot the question.
"… can't feel anymore…"
Luke blinked, for a moment unable to remember where he was, who was speaking, why he hurt so much. "What?" he said, or tried to. His tongue and lips felt swollen, numb, strange. Why was it so cold?
"Can't feel anything," the other man said.
"I…" Luke looked around, bewildered. He tried to lift his hand, but it wouldn't move. His other hand moved, but instead of meeting his forehead, met some kind of visor. Cracked visor… helmet…
"…don't think 's good you keep dropping out like that," Pag was saying.
Pag. Luke shifted, trying to move his legs, but they were still trapped fast. Pain bloomed again, in his stomach, his chest, his arm, through his legs, and it was all he could do to breathe.
"… think they're coming?" Pag said. "…don't think I've got much longer."
The wind was stronger. It whistled through the splintered viewscreen. There was snow on Luke's thick grey jacket now, snow spread across the buckled controls. Not so long ago, he'd been unable to imagine snow. Now he was dying in it. Was it worth it? Maybe he should have stayed back on Tatooine.
Luke thought of the endless, stifling sameness of those days. No. At least this way, he'd been able to live a little of the life he'd dreamed about. He'd seen what the stars looked like from space, from other worlds. Fought for something more worthwhile than a day's worth of moisture from arid sand.
"Come on, Pag," he managed to say. "Got a few more hits for the Empire in us. Right?"
There was an odd sound from behind, a choked laugh. "Yeah," Pag said. After a while, he spoke again. "… a few ladies on base I'd like to get to know a bit better, too."
Luke breathed a laugh. "That's the way."
Luke could barely feel anything anymore. How many hours had passed? Or was it minutes? It didn't take long for the temperature to drop.
He was jerked back to awareness suddenly. There was something unfamiliar inside of him, something fragile tearing, a teetering on the edge of something huge and deep.
"Pag?" Luke said, the word slurring from his lips. "Pag?"
There was no response. The wind whirled and howled. Luke had never heard anything sound so desolate. "Pag!"
Nothing. Luke tried to move again, focusing all his strength on his lower body, gritting his teeth against the pain that flared to double, triple-strength in his stomach. His vision filled with grey blotches. He couldn't feel his legs anymore.
Still he couldn't budge the buckled metal that trapped him. He took a breath, focused as well as he could, and tried to reach for the Force as Ben had shown him. Pain instantly blossomed in his head, and he saw sharp red lines like blood and fire across the inside of his eyelids. He must have blacked out for a moment: he came back to awareness slumped across the ruined controls of the speeder.
"No," he said. "No!" He clenched his teeth. The Force felt even further away this time, but Luke pushed with all his might, spurred by the agony searing itself across his eyelids, reached and reached, until his awareness was filled with red desperate fury.
Holding tenuously to that power by sheer force of will, he concentrated on the buckled controls that wedged his legs into place, on the metal that had once formed the intact nose of the speeder. Awareness of its entirety filled him: each point of stress, each fracture and crack down to the smallest fissure in the hull. His head already felt like it was about to burst, but Luke pushed his will forward, grasping that twisted mass of metal and applying all the pressure he could to move it.
Instantly it was as though a thousand heated knives burst against his mind; the pain before had been nothing next to the agony that felt ready to split his temples now. The Force slipped away and Luke slumped forward over the controls.
He came to awareness with blood trickling from his nose. He could barely feel anything at all, and couldn't gather the energy to move. He lay against the hardness of the controls, knobs pressing into his face, and watching snow drift outside the window.
He thought he saw shapes in the whiteness. He thought he saw Beru's face, then his uncle's, and thought of what they might think to see him here.
Maybe you were right, Uncle Owen, he thought. Maybe I should have stayed on Tatooine. But you'd never have believed there could be so much snow in one place, huh?
After a while he thought he saw other shapes in the white. They were bulky shapes, human-like but unnatural that walked bent here and there. He couldn't make out features. They made him think of Tusken Raiders, with their strange shape, but that was absurd. Raiders couldn't be here… wherever he was. He knew, but it slipped away from him.
Uncle Owen always said you'd be surprised where they turned up. Owen had been afraid of few things, but he was afraid of Sandpeople.
What was he thinking?
Sandpeople, that was what those shapes were. If there were Sandpeople, he had to be on Tatooine, and the snow was not snow but sand. Sand was everywhere, and he was cold, but now he was hot.
He thought he saw a face. It looked like Han's. Then there was pain, and more pain, and Luke decided that he'd had enough.
"I've got you, kid," said the Han-Tusken-thing. "I've got you."
Luke believed him. He let go, and there was blessed darkness, free of pain.
Luke woke in a bed, his mind full of vague half-memories, pain and movement and people and voices and, oddly, a sensation of being submerged, all mixed in with nightmares of drowning. He shivered, though it wasn't cold anymore.
There was a white ceiling above. Luke blinked at it, wondering where he was and why he couldn't quite summon the energy to find out. What he really wanted, he thought, was to sleep. There was a bright rectangular light fixed in the ceiling, and another beside it.
He wasn't in pain, though his body recalled recent pain by way of a dull, wide-spread ache. His legs felt strange. His fingers and toes and face felt odd and raw.
A face came into view. Leia. Luke thought about how beautiful she looked, even with dark circles under her brown eyes. She said something about him being awake, and asked how he felt.
Luke went to answer, but his mouth didn't seem to want to work properly.
Leia said something else, but Luke was drifting. I thought I'd never see you again, he thought, watching the way her lips moved. I thought I'd never see anyone again.
I love you, he added to the thought. But I don't think I'll ever tell you that.
It felt as though he was on the brink of something there, something that could be important, but it was gone before he could catch it.
"…your airspeeder went down in a valley to the north," Leia was saying. Luke heard the words, but they had no meaning to him. "We were able to track you from your last known location, and a team was sent to get you out. We didn't know…"
Luke let the words wash over him like water. After a while, he slept.
It was night when he woke again, and the lights above were dimmed. He blinked in the semi-darkness. He didn't feel so lost this time, but there was still a great deal of confusion in his memories.
He thought he was alone in the dimness at first, but as he lay there, he became aware of a sense of life in the room, an awareness of another person there. His head hurt dully; Luke closed his eyes and tried to focus on pushing the pain away.
He opened them again. Han was sitting across the room, his chair tilted on its back legs, his booted feet propped on an empty bed identical to the one Luke was in. He had something in his hands; it looked like a pack of flimsi-cards many of the pilots in Luke's squadron carried with them for long flights when the view of space got too monotonous. Luke didn't carry a pack himself; they weren't exactly regulation, but he tended to turn a blind eye, as did many of the other commanders.
He stared Han for a while, his thoughts oddly sluggish. The other man's hands moved deftly, his eyes running over the cards, flicking from one to the next. Just like Han: always shifting from one thing to the next, his mind moving all the time, weighing people, judging balances and risk.
It seemed so fragile, Luke thought. The games they played, building who they were, what they believed, in the middle of a war where it could all be gone in an instant and all that would be left were memories, so flimsy and forlorn.
Han felt his gaze, maybe, for he looked up from his game, a frown creasing his forehead. His eyes fell on Luke and he lifted his feet from the bed, abandoning the flimsy-cards. "Hey," he said. "Leia said you were awake earlier."
Luke closed his eyes. His head still hurt, and his strange moment of insight was gone.
Han said something about how they'd found the airspeeder, something about it being half-buried in snow and rock, something about Luke being lucky.
Luke licked his lips, remembered doing the same in the airspeeder, remembered the cold and the coppery taste of blood. "Pag?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.
"The gunner?" Han hesitated. His face was partly lit in the dimness, and Luke saw the moment of uncertainty in his features, the rawness of unhidden concern. Luke shut his eyes. "He didn't make it," Han said, but Luke already knew. "Sorry, Luke."
"I…" It was hard to speak; Luke's throat hurt, his mouth was dry. "I know. I heard him die behind me." He went to continue, but couldn't; the words weren't there. He turned his face away.
There was a long silence. Han spoke into it eventually. "It was a close call for you, too."
Luke said nothing. He could hear Pag's ragged breathing, harsh over the desolate sound of the wind. Could feel the pain in his own body, the cold, the way it ate at him, seeped into body and his mind.
Pag's breathing, in and out.
The snow, falling through the broken viewscreen, drifting lightly to rest on the twisted controls, melting against smeared blood.
Pag's breathing.
He couldn't even remember what the man looked like before they left.
There was an odd sound. Luke realised it was him. Tears were on his cheeks, burning in his throat, searing his chest. Each sob sent waves of pain throughout his body. Luke didn't know if Han could hear him.
It didn't matter. He closed his eyes, hearing silence in his memory.
"... grounded all the airspeeders in the fleet for the time being. It's brought the survey missions to a halt, and Base Command aren't too happy, but General Rieekan is insisting."
Luke shook his head in frustration. "All I remember is the controls locking up, and even that's not very clear. It's all a haze."
Wedge, sitting in a chair by Luke's bed, gave him a sympathetic look. Luke didn't like the look much. Too many people had been wearing it around him since he woke up; it made him itch in a way he couldn't define. "It'll come back in time."
"That's not good enough. We don't have time." Luke glared at the foot of his bed. His legs were aching again. The med droid said it might be weeks before he would be fully recovered. He hadn't even been allowed out of bed yet and he'd been awake, on and off, for three days. "I remember being in the mess hall that morning. After that it's all a blank, except for – for random flashes, flashes that don't tell me anything. I remember walking towards the speeder, thinking about my helmet feeling tight, I remember thinking about those manoeuvres we were doing last week as I went over that ice field we used, I remember–" swearing panicked engines spluttering sick plummeting whirling white pain red hot cold "– that's it. That's all I remember."
His hands, clenched around the white bedsheets, were shaking. He felt cold, even though the med bay was kept at steady room temperature. He really hated snow, he'd decided. Really hated it.
"That's not unexpected, Luke," Wedge said. The carefulness of his tone told Luke that Wedge had seen the shaking too. "You sustained pretty severe trauma back there."
"Don't placate me, Wedge." Luke recognised the tone of voice. He'd used it himself on occasion, knew the lines. It's not your fault, soldier. Just concentrate on getting well.
"Sorry. You know it's true, though."
Luke shook his head, dismissing the issue. "When are they retrieving… the speeder?" The body, he thought, but it was too hard to say. Was that callous, or just cowardly?
"They got it yesterday morning – it had been buried in the storm. Techs are going over it as we speak. They'll find out what went wrong."
"It was supposed to be a routine patrol."
"Yeah. It was."
Luke stared at nothing. "Did Pag have a family?"
Wedge hesitated. "I don't know. I didn't know him very well."
Luke closed his eyes, then opened them. "Find out for me, Wedge?"
"I'll do what I can."
"He shouldn't have died like that" Luke was shivering again. He clenched his fists to hide the weakness.
Wedge stood. "I should go," he said. He put a hand on Luke's shoulder briefly, uncertainly. "Get some rest, Luke. We need our commander back."
Luke managed a nod, but didn't look at Wedge. The other man left, the door hissing closed behind him.
Leia came to see him with news that they'd discovered what had gone wrong with the speeder. Ice had formed in the drive units and under the controls, causing the malfunction that made the vehicle lose power.
"It's not your fault in any way," Leia said, a hand on his medtunic-clad arm. Luke wondered if she'd been talking to Wedge. "You understand that, don't you? You couldn't have done anything. It's a miracle that you managed to land it in more or less one piece. In the hands of a lesser pilot, it would have been destroyed on impact."
Luke forced a smile that he didn't begin to feel. "Thank you."
Leia looked at him with a faint frown. "That's not an answer."
He was saved from responding by Han's entrance. The smuggler was dressed in bulky snow gear, as though he'd only just come in from outside. Luke was grateful for once for Han's characteristic bluster; it deflected Leia's attention from him for a while.
"Hey, kid." Han greeted him, nodded at Leia. "Princess. Surprised to find you here."
"What does that mean?" Leia was instantly righteous indignation embodied; Luke would ordinarily have marvelled at the abrupt shift in emotional temperature, but couldn't bring himself to pay attention to their bickering now.
"Nothing." Han took his usual seat on the other side of the room, propping his chair back, boots on the bed, unravelling the bulky jacket. "How you doing, Luke?"
"Fine." He didn't like the insistence on it not being his fault. The fact was, he was flying the airspeeder when it crashed. If he'd – maybe changed the angle of descent, somehow slowed the plummet, done something – Pag might still be alive instead of lying in the morgue a few rooms away, another victim of the war. A needless, pointless victim – such a stupid death.
Leia had stood and crossed to where Han sat. "What are you talking about?" she demanded, in a slightly-lowered voice Luke probably wasn't supposed to hear.
Han shrugged again. "Like I said, princess. Nothing."
"Look, you – you. I care just as much about Luke's welfare as you do—"
Everyone in the Rebellion accepted the risk of their own death. Everyone had lost friends. Some had lost lovers. Everyone dealt with it differently. Luke had had friends die before – good friends, people he cared about. Biggs. Ben Kenobi. Even his aunt and uncle.
Thosewere deaths he hadn't been able to do anything about. Biggs and Ben had been gone in an instant. His aunt and uncle had died when he wasn't there.
He didn't have to deal with this in any of those cases. He didn't have to face the knowledge that it could have been him, maybe should have been him, not them, that died.
No. Not like this. Not like knowing it had been him who crashed the ship, futzed the landing, wasn't good enough, and someone else was dead because of it while he languished here in a comfortable medbay, healing at his supposed leisure.
Tears were burning in Luke's eyes again, stinging. It was driving him crazy, this weakness. He pushed back the covers of the bed. His head throbbed as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, but he ignored it. His legs ached almost instantly. He remembered the pain and the immobility trapped in the cold in the speeder and fear tried to worm through his stomach; he thrust it down.
The ache in his legs intensified as he began to lean weight on them in preparation to rise. He ignored that also. There was a ledge beside his bed. He grabbed it and began to pull himself up.
"All I'm saying is that I didn't see you—what do you think you're doing?" Han broke off his argument with Leia on the other side of the room. "You're not supposed to be doing that."
Leia spun around. "Luke?"
Han strode over as Luke pulled himself the rest of the way up. The nerves in his legs were on fire. His knees buckled, but Han grabbed his elbow. Luke jerked away and almost lost his anchoring grip on the ledge. "I want to stand," he said.
"You're not supposed to be out of bed, Luke. The med droid—" Leia was reaching for him, her eyes wide with concern.
"I don't care what the med droid says." Luke pulled away from her, and Han, taking another step, forcing through the pain. It hurt, but he was standing under his own power. Luke took another step, away from the ledge that had been supporting his weight. Leia and Han were both silent now, watching him with concern.
It didn't matter. He still felt completely empty. Pag was still dead.
Luke slumped back against the wall. His legs gave out, and he slid down, coming down hard on the cold floor. He drew his knees up, ignoring the pain now burning in his muscles, and lowered his head into his arms.
He felt Leia sit on one side, her hand light and warm on his arm. Han sat on his other side, his shoulder solid against Luke's.
They stayed that way, neither Han nor Leia moving or speaking until Luke finally raised his head. Then they helped him up, supporting him either side, back into the bed.
"Give me some space," Luke said, not looking at either of them. "Please." He felt bone-weary, knew he was being ungrateful, a bad friend, unable to find it in himself to care.
Leia and Han left. Luke rolled onto his side and stared at the wall, trying not to think.
The med droid had Luke work on exercises over the next few days, strengthening his legs. He was trying to focus on walking without the assistance of the handrails the droid had provided when Wedge came by again.
"I asked around," Wedge said. "Pag had a brother in the Imperial navy. Ex-wife and kid on Chandrila, hadn't been in contact with either in a long time. Worried about Imperial reprisals for them, maybe. They've been notified."
Luke frowned as he willed his legs to carry his weight. The pain was more bearable now. "Thank you," he said.
"No debt," Wedge said. "How are you doing?"
"All right. How's the squadron?"
"Fine. We've been testing the alterations the techs have made to the speeders."
"Oh?" Luke glanced up. "How's that going?"
"Good so far. None of the minor hitches we noticed before. Nor the major ones." Wedge's gaze flicked to Luke's legs, and away. "Base Operations are talking about using native animals for ground patrols. Those weird-looking things – tauntauns. They're pretty easy to tame, apparently."
"Bet the troops love that idea."
Wedge shrugged. "We'll get used to it."
Luke grimaced. "I'm starting to wish I'd never suggested Hoth as a base."
"It's a good location," Wedge began to say, but Luke waved it off.
"Forget it." Luke concentrated on his next step.
"Looks like the therapy's going well," Wedge said after a while. "Any idea when you'll be back in the air?"
Luke looked at him, eyebrows raised. "What's the matter? Not enjoying being boss?"
Wedge sighed. "Temporarily is okay. I'm looking forward to having my old call sign back, though. Being Rogue Leader isn't my cup of stim."
Luke smiled. It felt a little strange, but it was genuine. "Stop being so good at it, then."
Wedge shook his head. "Just hurry up and get better."
"Sure thing, Boss."
Wedge glared at him. Luke was smiling when the other man left.
He was released from the med bay a few days later, restricted to light duties only, no flying. That meant paperwork – flying a desk, the Rogues called it, a fate worse than death. That didn't seem quite so funny now.
It was good to be out of the infirmary, at least. He'd worked hard to get back up to scratch, spending hours exercising until his legs didn't threaten to dump him on the floor at every second step.
He still was less steady than he liked, forced to walk at a slower pace that usual, and with a slight limp the med droid said would vanish. His legs still ached quite severely, but he kept that to himself, not wanting to be further confined to sick bay. The med droid wasn't going to return him to full duty for at least a week as it was.
Luke spent his first day reading over the reports that had accumulated on his desk in the time he'd been incapacitated. He found it unnervingly hard to concentrate. His legs began burn after sitting for too long, and Luke had to get up. The air felt cold, despite the heavy cold-weather gear he wore.
Leia came in late in the afternoon. He saw her white-booted feet stop in the doorway. "Luke?"
"Down here," he said.
The feet came forward, then disappeared as Leia came around his desk. She looked pale, her dark hair held back in neat braids. "What are you doing down there?"
Luke shrugged, not quite looking at her. "More comfortable."
Leia crouched next to him. "Are your legs hurting?"
"It's fine," Luke said.
She looked at him dubiously, but, unusually for her, didn't pursue the matter. "What are you working on?"
Luke lifted the datapad he held in his lap. "Reports. Paperwork waits for no man."
"Or woman," Leia said with a smile.
Luke tilted his head in acknowledgement.
"Luke," Leia said after a while, hesitantly, "I wanted to talk to you about your wingmate. The man who died."
"Pag," Luke said shortly. He suddenly felt even colder.
"Yes," Leia said. "You know they held a service for him."
There was a silence. Luke said, "No, I didn't."
"It was in that first week. You were in and out of consciousness."
"I see."
"I'm sorry, Luke – "
"It doesn't matter. I didn't know him very well, anyway. We weren't friends."
"Luke, what happened to him wasn't your fault."
Luke shook his head, not looking at her. He wanted to get up, walk away, but didn't trust his legs to let him stand, and didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of her. "I don't want to talk about it."
Leia was silent a long time. "All right," she said. "If you change your mind…"
"Yes. Thank you."
"All right," Leia said again. She paused again, then said, "I should go, unless you want me to stay."
Luke didn't look at her, said nothing. She rose and left.
Luke had a nightmare about the crash that night. They'd started in the med bay, and always ended in Luke waking, gasping, shivering with lingering cold. He couldn't remember the details of the dreams any more than he could remember specific details from the crash itself except in random, confused flashes. Somehow that lack of remembering made it worse, not better. He felt as though if he could just remember what was in the dreams, they might stop.
He motionless in the darkness after he woke. His legs ached furiously, his heart was still beating rapidly in his chest, and he thought for a while he was going to be sick.
He turned on his side. His room felt cold, and very empty. The silence, broken only by his ragged breathing, was eerie. It was too much like the silence as he bled alone in that tiny broken cockpit, a dead man behind him, wind seething outside.
Luke clenched his teeth to stop them chattering, and closed his eyes.
There was a briefing about the new arrangements for transport in the morning. Luke slouched at the back, bleary and in pain. His leg was bothering him this morning: perhaps he had lain badly on it in addition to the nightmares last night.
Afterwards there was meeting of squadron commanders and fleet command. Luke attended with Wedge, who was still acting commander for engagements until Luke was cleared for full duty. They sat with the leader of one of the other squadrons, Nakari Cata, a woman about Luke's age from Agamar.
"So when are you back in the air?" she asked him.
Luke shrugged. "Soon, I hope."
She shook her head sympathetically. "I was grounded for a while last year. Nearly drove me crazy."
"Oh, well, there's plenty of paperwork to keep me busy." Luke glanced at Wedge. "My executive officer is great that way. Leaves me all the good stuff."
Nakari laughed. Wedge held up his hands. "Hey, I'm only a lowly lieutenant. I'm not qualified for that paperwork stuff. I leave that to the commanders."
"Yeah, thanks for that," Luke said dryly.
"Boys, boys," Nakari said, with a shake of her head.
"You offering to help, Commander Cata?" Luke asked.
"I'll stick to my own if it's all the same to you, Commander Skywalker."
"Dash the poor man's hopes, Nakari," Wedge said.
"He'll live," she said, resting a hand lightly on Luke's shoulder as she stood. "See you later, boys."
Luke stared after her. "Speaking of paperwork," he said.
"See you later, boss," Wedge said. "Drills to organise."
"Traitor," Luke muttered as he left.
He had a checkup later in the week. The med droid was tied up with another patient when he arrived, so he had to wait for a human medic. Luke gave him vague answers, not enjoying being back in the confines of the med bay.
"All right," said the medic when he was finally through. He marked something on his clipboard. "Looks like you're about physically fit to fly again, Commander."
Luke blinked at him. "What?"
"You're cleared to go back in the air."
"Already?"
"You've made a remarkable recovery, Commander. Faster than we expected."
"What about my leg?"
"Well, I wouldn't recommend any long hyperspace jumps for the time being. We'll ease you back with atmospheric flight to start with…" The man looked up and caught Luke's expression. "Is there a problem?"
"No." Luke frowned.
The medic made another note, then said, "I'm only saying you're physically capable to start going up again. No one's going to force you out until you feelready."
"No, it's just – I'm surprised," Luke said. He paused, and blurted, "I didn't think I'd be cleared until my legs stopped hurting."
"You said they weren't." The medic frowned at him.
"They're not, not all the time. But I get shooting pains, especially in my left leg, if I sit or stand for too long."
"You didn't mention this before."
"I forgot."
"How often does this pain come? Once a day?"
"More than that. Every few hours. Depends what I'm doing."
The medic frowned further. "Maybe that assessment was premature. I'll give you some meds for the pain, and I'd like you to report back here for exercises. We'll consider your flight readiness again in a couple of days."
Luke walked back from the med bay via the hangars. He hadn't been there yet, a lapse that hadn't seemed odd until now. A few people greeted him; he nodded back absently.
The reconditioned airspeeders were there, techs and pilots milling around them. Snowspeeders, most of the base had taken to calling them. They looked exactly the same to Luke, the new heating units in the drive compartments hidden under the metal casing of the engine. Exactly the same.
Luke watched a pilot prep for launch, a ball of cold and pain growing in his chest.
"Something I can help you with, Commander?" One of the techs came up behind Luke, and he started.
"Just checking out the recon work." He attempted a smile.
"Looks good, doesn't it, sir? Nothing to worry about with the work we've done on these babies. They'll fly smooth as a whistle."
"Looks great." Luke stepped back, turned, and walked away.
Wedge was waiting when Luke got back to his office. "How'd you go with the medic?"
Luke looked away. "No joy."
It was hard to sleep at night. Luke's discomfort rose as he lay in the dark, and he dreaded falling asleep and dreaming. Inevitably when he did sleep, the nightmares came, and he woke bathed in sweat, his leg aching, his heart pounding.
He went back to the med bay a few days later and reported the pain was still there. The med droid marked something down, advised him to continue exercising his legs, and told him to come back a few days later.
Nakari sat across from him in the mess hall as he ate a late evening meal alone. "You look wrecked," she said.
"Thanks," Luke replied wryly.
"You know what I mean."
Luke rubbed his forehead. "I haven't been sleeping well."
"Yeah?" She tilted her head.
"Yeah," Luke said. He watched the way she moved her hands as she lifted food to her mouth. She wasn't beautiful, but her dark hair was soft around her face, and her eyes were warm. She was a good pilot, a very good one. He admired that.
She smiled, and he wondered if she was aware of the way he was looking at her. He felt his face warm, and glanced away. "It's funny," she said, "how we deal with death. Often it makes us want to reaffirm life more than ever."
"I suppose so," Luke said.
"That's not a bad thing," she said, her voice quiet, her eyes warm.
Luke said nothing. She smiled, and stood. "See you round, Luke."
Luke closed his eyes. He suddenly, desperately wanted to feel warmth for a change.
Wind howled somewhere outside the base, barely audible under the buzz of conversation in the hall. Luke shivered, and rose, heading for the door Nakari had exiting through.
There was checkup scheduled for the next day. Luke didn't go. He had paperwork to do, he thought, and chose to ignore the edge of bitterness in his own thoughts.
Wedge was off with Rogue Squadron on a mission, escort duty for a supply run through potentially hostile territory. Luke sat in his office, imagining Wedge and the rest of the pilots out there in their X-wings, fingers dancing over the controls, the sureness of flight.
He headed to the mess hall for a late meal in the evening. Nakari entered after he'd found a seat and made as though to join him at his table, but Han appeared out of nowhere to take the chair opposite Luke. "Sorry, sweetheart," he said, with a smirk in Nakari's direction, "seat's taken."
Nakari shrugged, unconcerned, and went to sit with her squadron mates.
"Han," Luke said warily. "What are you doing?"
"Sorry, kid," Han said, sounding anything but. "If you were anyone else, I'd say go for it. I know you, though. It won't work. You'll just end up feeling worse."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't." Han surveyed the mess hall, turned up his lip as he often did when faced with Rebels en masse, and stood. "Let's take a walk."
"I'm eating."
"C'mon." Han helpfully grabbed Luke's arm, pulled him up, and led the way towards the west end of the hall, where a thick doors closed on an exterior exit. Han pulled a couple of thick cold-weather jackets from the storage compartment by the door, threw one in Luke's general direction, and palmed open the heavy doors.
Luke pulled on the jacket reluctantly. It was slightly large for him, the sleeves touching his knuckles, the gloves too bulky for his fingers. The air outside was frigid. Luke crossed his arms, blowing out sharply at the shock of the cold. "So," he said.
"So," Han echoed.
The stood in the protected lee of the entranceway, out of the powdery snow that piled up beyond the line of the roof. Luke hadn't been outside since his recovery. The bitter cold brought back some unpleasant memories, more intense than he liked. Luke concentrated on keeping his breathing even, and sank down into a crouch.
Han leaned against the duracrete wall, looking over the snow-covered plain spread before them. "Taken one of the snowspeeders for a spin yet?" he asked.
"You know I've haven't been cleared."
"That didn't stop you from walking when you decided you were ready," Han said.
"That's different."
"How?" Han was watching him. "Come on, spill. How is that different?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Oh. It's different, but it doesn't matter how."
Luke didn't reply. Han crouched, poking at the powdery snow with his gloved finger. "There's nothing wrong with being scared to go back up."
"That has nothing do with it."
"Really?" Han glanced at him and shrugged. "If I'd nearly been killed because my ship didn't work like it was supposed to, I'd be thinking twice about going out again. Be stupid not to."
"I haven't been cleared to fly. It has nothing to do with whether I'm afraid to."
"Why haven't you been cleared?" Han rubbed his gloved fingers together.
"Because my leg hurts."
"You seem to be walking on it okay. You've even lost that limp you had."
"What, am I lying?" Luke came to his feet angrily. "It still hurts."
"Yeah. Maybe you should be thinking about why it hurts."
Luke stared at Han, while Han crouched, still looking at something off in the snow and the ice. Luke turned away, closed his eyes. Against the darkness of his squeezed-shut eyelids, he saw the fire and smoke of the falling airspeeder that plagued his nightmares, the coldness and the helplessness, his ragged breathing, the silence from behind.
"There's nothing shameful in that, you know," Han said. "I'm just saying."
Luke breathed, in and out, until he could trust his voice. He turned, pressing his gloved fingers to the hard duracrete wall. "I tried to use the Force," he said. "I tried to use the Force to free myself so that I could get to Pag. It didn't work. I couldn't do it." His hand became a fist, knuckles pressing against the wall until he could feel the cold roughness of the duracrete through the thick glove. "I couldn't do anything. He died while I listened. I can't get that out of my head."
"Yeah," Han said. "I know." There was a long silence, then Luke heard a rustle of fabric as Han stood. "That's it, too. All I can say. I know."
"What am I supposed to do, Han?"
"I don't know. Just… don't hide, okay? Don't push people away. Keep… doing your thing, I guess." Han's hand fell on Luke's shoulder, squeezed, then dropped away. "You could try talking to Leia. She's pretty smart, you know." He was thoughtfully silent for a moment, and then added, "Don't tell her I said that."
Luke closed his eyes. "Maybe I will talk to her." He turned. "Thanks."
Han shrugged and looked away. That meant the awkwardness factor was making him uncomfortable: Luke knew how to read the signs. "No charge."
Luke frowned. "Speaking of Leia, what was going on with the two of you?"
Han looked suddenly embarrassed. "Nothing. Just… a misunderstanding."
"Oh?"
"I… may have jumped to conclusions."
"Really? Doesn't sound like you at all."
"Yeah, you're a real funny guy." Han scowled.
Luke smiled and turned, looking at the desolate white of the snow field. His breath fogged before his face. It had begun to snow, flakes drifting lightly on the wind. Luke closed his eyes.
"You coming in?" Han said behind him.
"Yeah," Luke said. "I'm coming in."
Luke went to the hangars the next day. There was only a skeleton staff on duty, techs and a few troops on watch, none of whom stopped him as he walked slowly through.
He went to his X-wing, standing alone in the middle of the empty bay where Rogue flight decked. He ran his fingers over the fuselage of the fighter. He flown her so many times she was like an extension of his body. He'd come to trust her, as strange as it sounded. He trusted her not to let him down, to fly straight and true and give him her best.
He missed flying, Luke realised. Missed it so much it hurt, even while the thought of being up in the air again made his stomach churn.
Luke spread his hand against the cool metal of his X-wing's hull, leaned his forehead forward, and breathed.
He went to Leia's office that night. It was late when he finally made it, but he was unsurprised to find her still there.
She looked up at his tap on the metal of the doorway. Her eyes were shadowed in the soft light, making her appear weary. Her hair was tied back loosely.
"Can I talk to you?" he asked.
She looked surprised for a moment. "Of course," she said.
Luke stepped in. "Han suggested I come to you."
Leia set aside her datapad. "What's wrong?"
Luke paused. "Walk with me?" He indicated the corridor with a tilt of his head.
She hesitated in turn. "All right." She pulled on a jacket, and they stepped out into the shadowed corridor. They had the icy hallway more or less to themselves; most of the base had long since retired for the night.
Walking more or less at random, they left the administration area, passing through the darkened living areas, towards the docking bays. Luke put his hands in the pockets of his jacket as they walked. Leia crossed her arms over her bulky coat.
He began to talk, starting in the middle, telling her about the Force, how he'd tried to use it, how it had seemed to abandon him, how much that had shaken him. Leia watched him, her eyes on his face, listening without speaking. Somehow he found himself telling her about the guilt he felt over Pag's death, the cold that never seemed to leave wherever he was, the doubts about his piloting ability that he'd barely even acknowledged to himself.
He swallowed when the flow of words finally stopped, and rubbed his face with his hand. His eyes were burning, but dry.
"You were powerless," Leia said. They had ended up in a part of the base that was rarely used, even in the daytime; the air felt hushed and empty, as though they were alone on the planet.
"Yes," Luke said. It came out as a sigh. "Utterly."
"Pag was a willing recruit," Leia said, after a while. "Maybe he would have chosen to die differently if he had the choice. Maybe not. The malfunction was caused by ice in the drives. You couldn't stop it from happening. Maybe you could have landed differently, and maybe it would have killed you both. Maybe it would have killed you, and left Pag alive. Maybe you both would have lived. There's no way to know. You did your best."
"It wasn't enough. He still died."
"Maybe. It was still the best you could do, though."
Luke frowned at her, then sighed and sank down on a crate, looking at his boots.
"Sometimes," Leia said, "there is nothing you can do. Sometimes you're powerless."
Luke looked up at her. "I don't like that," he said.
She smiled, without humour. "No one does."
Luke said nothing. Leia drew a breath, leaning back against the opposite wall. "As for the Force," she said, "you were injured, badly. It's no wonder your ability to handle the Force failed. That doesn't mean that it will fail next time." She frowned at him. "I don't know that much about the Force, but it sounds like a matter of faith. Faith isn't about believing the best only when the best happens. You have to find a way to work around the disappointments, too. You have to believe in the Force, and in yourself."
Luke frowned, then sighed. "I don't know that much about the Force either," he admitted. "Maybe you're right."
Leia looked at him in silence for a while, as Luke stared at his boots. Then she pushed off the wall, crossing to put a hand on his. "I know you'll recover from this in time, Luke. You're strong, and your faith is stronger. I admire that about you, you know. A lot of people do."
To hear that from Leia, Leia who was forced to stand and watch while her home was blown to nothing, was something else. Luke shook his head. "It doesn't feel that way. It… really doesn't."
"No," she said sadly. "It probably doesn't, right now."
Luke looked at her, and forced a smile. "How'd you get so wise, anyway?"
Leia didn't return the smile. "The hard way."
Luke hated seeing that pain in her eyes, though it was often there. He stood and hugged her. She put her arms around him. He didn't think she was a person who hugged easily most of the time – she was more like Han than either of them realised, in that respect – but she held Luke tightly now, and let him hold her.
For a while it didn't matter who they were, princess or fighter pilot, Jedi or leader. There was pain and loss and hope and faith, and there was the two of them, and the endless silent halls of ice.
That was enough.
Luke found for the first time since the crash, he didn't feel cold.
Luke took a snowspeeder up a few days later. It felt strange to be running through the pre-flight checks again. He hadn't been out of a cockpit for such an extended period since he was twelve or thirteen. It was like… being forced by injury not to use a particular limb, Luke decided, and then learning all over again how naturally the use of that limb came to every day life.
There were a few extra buttons for the heaters that had been installed in the drive units and cockpit controls. A tech leaning over the edge of the cockpit explained their use in the flight sequence, then leapt back down easily.
"Good luck, Commander," she called, essaying a lazy salute in the style of some of the Mid-Rim worlds. "You'll find she flies a lot more smoothly."
Luke gave her a nod, and muttered, "I certainly hope so."
He lowered the viewscreen and adjusted the position of his helmet. "You're clear to go, Commander Skywalker," reported a voice through the speaker on his helmet.
"Copy that, Flight."
Luke ran the flight sequence, drew a breath, closed his eyes and opened them. All systems were in the green. He lifted off.
He didn't breathe easily again until he had reached optimum bearing, cruising high above the whites and greys of the ground below. The snow looked deceptively beautiful from such a height, glittering in the light of the sun.
Luke watched for a while, and felt something ease. "Clear skies, Pag," he whispered. "Clear skies."
Flying felt as natural as it had the first time he'd climbed behind the controls of a Skyhopper as a boy back on Tatooine. As natural and free as breathing, or even more natural than that. Luke took his ship lower to the ground, skimming over hills of ice, dialling back the inertial dampeners so that he could feel the speed, the twists and the turns, the smoothness of the ship's responses.
He drew a breath. "Here goes," he murmured to no one. Consciously relaxing, Luke reached for the Force as he hadn't since the day of the crash. It was there as soon as he opened himself, as though waiting for him: it felt clean and sparkling, as beautiful as the ice and snow skimming past below, with none of the latent harshness or cold.
Luke laughed in relief and pulled the speeder up into a joyful swing.
He wasn't completely healed, maybe, but he was on his way, and now he felt he'd actually get there. In time, it would be right again.
At one with the sky and his ship and the Force, Luke Skywalker felt whole.
Han was waiting when he docked, standing watch as Luke swung down and pulled off his helmet. "How's the leg?" he asked.
Luke ran a hand through helmet-flattened hair. "The leg is fine," he said.
Han grinned, and surprised Luke by grasping his hand and pulling him into a rough one-armed hug. "That's good to hear." He released Luke, stepping back. "How about some lunch?"
"Sounds good to me."
"Might even run into that pretty girlfriend of yours, huh?"
"I told you she's a colleague, Han …"
Luke followed, still clad in his flight gear, as Han headed toward the mess hall.
-end-