Thank you to everyone for your replies, and your input on choosing my new story. I feel confident about A Pair of Renegades, partially because it's only five or six long posts, and also because I've given it a lot of thought. Since By Your Side also got some support, I will have to give greater thought as to what I would do with it.
Hope everyone is doing well. It's crunch time for many of us college kids, as we say hello to finals. I've got two papers, a Chinese oral, and an exam, so if you don't hear from me till late May, that's why. That, or the swine virus. I live in NYC, and here things like that spread like - well - like a virus in a city of teaming masses who all use public transportation. I'm not worried: I survived the SARS epidemic in Taiwan back in '03. One day, it's just gonna be me and the cockroaches. Hope they're Star Wars fans.
This post turned out a lot gloomier than I intended, and manages to touch on a number of issues that relate back to real life that I never intented. Still, the last post was just so damned cheerful! Besides, it still manages to have a feel-good quality to it. Enjoy.
Sixteen years after Rebirth of the Light
Normally, he would have griped about his attire. The pants had been starched and pressed, the shirt ironed to perfection. Han felt like someone had taken a brush to his hide and scrubbed him raw. But the weight of the medal on his breast and the bars he pinned to his collar were solemn reminders that he was not dressing for himself today.
The clicking of his polished boots followed after him through the tiled hallways of the Alderaanian palace. The sharp sound nipped at his heels, marching Han through the same hallways he had shuffled through not a year before. The occasional comrade-in-arms he encountered along the way gave a respectful nod.
He approached the lavish main quarters of the palace with great trepidation. The large ornate doors stood before him.
Old insecurities reared their heads. He wasn't worthy of this, didn't want to bear the weight of this or any responsibility on his shoulders, would just let them down. The anxious fluttering in his stomach told him to turn back now, to let this go. It wasn't worth the pain that was sure to come later.
But Han knew it was too late for that. For one thing, the Force sensitives behind the doors already knew he was here. And everyone was expecting him.
And, this wasn't about him. Solo was here in place of those couldn't be, and turning back now would be a great disservice. There was only the choice of carrying this burden proudly.
He palmed the door.
The room beyond was full of the smiling faces he had grown to love.
"Han, you look wonderful!" Padme rushed forward, pulling the young man into a gentle embrace. She smelled of sunlight and warm fuzzy things, just like a maternal figure should. But she was gone from his arms a moment later, brushing at his uniform. "Oh dear, you just look so handsome, I don't want to ruin it."
"No harm done, your Ladyship." Just being in her presence made Han feel better, and he found himself not having to force a smile.
Padme huffed. "Didn't I ask you to stop calling me that?"
"Yes, your Ladyship."
"Would it do any good if I ordered you to stop?"
That old, lopsided grin appeared. "Not a chance, your Ladyship."
"Mom, are you going to hog the guest of honor all night?" The question earned another huff from the woman, but she stepped aside to allow the rest of the room's occupants to join in welcoming home their young hero.
The twins were there, of course: temperamental Leia who had grown into quite the beauty in his absence, and crystal-eyed Luke, with his knowing stare. The kid was a real enigma. Sometimes Han thought his friend didn't have a care in the world. Then Luke would "see" something, as the others put it, and sink into a depression so deep Han was sure he'd never find his way back out again. But old Luke, he was a fighter.
Leia's hug was awkward in a way that it hadn't been there before. She seemed more conscious of the fact she was a young woman, no longer the angelic urchin who dolled up in her mother's lipstick and left sloppy kiss marks on his cheeks.
Luke offered his hand first, but neither of the young men could resist a hug.
"Hey there, kid. What's this I hear about you going off mission and taking on an entire Imp squadron all by yourself?"
Luke blushed. "You know me, Han."
"Yeah, I do. In trouble any chance you get."
"It must run in the family," Anakin commented as he came forward to offer his greeting.
Han hadn't been too sure where he stood with Skywalker when they had first met. Actually, they had had their first encounter when Anakin was still lugging around the mechanical coffin the Emperor had built to supposedly keep his then-apprentice alive. They hadn't officially met until Padme had brought her husband to meet the young captain who had accompanied her on the Jedi mission to Urteau. There had been a brief stand-off – Han didn't deal so well with authority figures and Anakin didn't appreciate impertinence – but a combination of his children's adulation of the one-time smuggler and Han's natural mechanical abilities had eventually won him Skywalker's admiration.
After that there was Sabe and Mara, the welcome if exasperating reception by the droids, and a woof from Chewie. The Wookie stood in the back, towering over everyone. The two had had their reunion earlier, in a more private setting.
Only Obi-wan remained seated. He offered a solemn nod that Han returned with a heavy heart.
The group had spared no expense in the celebration. As the family parted to make way for him, Han felt his heart expand upon seeing the effort they had put into this night.
These quarters were usually reserved for private soirees by the Alderaanian senator. Rich fabrics, warm tones and plush furniture made up the majority of the décor, with the occasional priceless art piece on display. Tonight, the room was filled not with cool sophistication, but bright laughter and welcome ease. The seats had all been turned to form a haphazard and overlapping circle, with short tables bulging with food and drinks in the middle. The sounds of a Corellian jazz band and dimmed lighting provided an intimate atmosphere.
"It took a lot of effort," Sabe confided to him as Han was practically dragged into the circle, "but we managed to convince Padme that balloons and streamers weren't the best choice."
Mara had a glass of the bubbly waiting for him. "The good stuff is in the back," she whispered as she handed him the glass. "Corellian whiskey, or Alderaanian ale?"
"Save it for another time, sweetheart." Han winked at the red-head, even as he longed to take her up on that offer. He could use a good strong drink right about now. But the medal hanging over his heart was a dead weight, a solid reminder of the honor due the souls he carried with him.
"A toast! To our former Captain Solo!"
Han turned to meet Leia's gaze. He was amazed once again at how much she had changed. The dress she wore was more befitting a lady of the Imperial court, and not a Jedi apprentice in her mid-teens. Its dark red fabric hugged her budding figure.
His gaze traveled down her body only once, and briefly, but when he looked back into her face, Han could see an eager challenge in her dark eyes.
He wondered again where the innocent girl had gone, and where the scruffy imp that had been his younger self had disappeared to.
"To the General!" Voices rang out around the room as his family raised their glasses in his honor. Even Threepio raised a hand in salute, and Artoo gave a high-pitched whistle.
"Yep, General of a Special Ops Task Force, that's me." Han replied, shaking his head. He would never have thought one mission could turn him into an officer of the rebel fleet.
It had been a simple assignment. A rebel cell on a mid-rim planet had needed supplies. And though he occasionally tagged along with Anakin and Sabe on their insane undercover missions, or acted as Padme's personal transportation, Han was still listed as a smuggler hired by the Alliance.
He'd taken the job, leaving Chewie back at the fleet to assist the mechanics on the schematics for the new A-wings. The plan had been to meet up with Aly-anya Lainsa, Obi-wan's youngest sister and leader of the rebel cell on her homeplanet, and drop off the goods.
Han had arrived on planet to find a Star Destroyer in space – that was becoming a pattern – the cell dispersed, and the streets of the main city filled with stormtroopers. The Imps were doing their usual thing, parading around with their superiority complexes, barking orders and killing those slow to comply.
Wasn't long before Lainsa made contact with him. She was bright and sassy, and above all, had guts. She was convinced they could retake the planet without calling in the fleet for reinforcements. All they needed was the manpower. And Han had figured out where to get it, by calling in the aid of the underground element, the ruffians and lowlifes. That was where Han's charm came in handy. It had been a long time since he'd been on the Nal Hutta streets, but he could still talk the talk. Before long, they had a ragtag band of renegades, armed with the supplied he'd brought. The cities had erupted into street warfare, spilling out into the countryside when the urban battlegrounds could no longer contain the volatile masses. When it was over, bodies had littered the scorched earth.
But they'd won. And because his ploy had worked, High Command had given him an official rank, a task force to lead, and this medal.
"Who would have ever believed it?"
"I did, cub." Chewie barked, landing a heavy paw on his charge's shoulder.
Solo felt like he had a krayt dragon trying to claw its way out of his stomach.
"I am only sorry that I was not there to see your moment of triumph. You have come of age in a difficult time, but you have done it with honor. I do not have the gift of the Force, so I can't see what lies ahead for you," the Wookie gave the young man a shake, "but I know you will meet all future challenges with the bravery that has earned you that medal."
It was one of the longest speeches Han had ever heard his life-long friend make. And as touching as it was, all he could think was how strange it was that the one person who knew him the best couldn't see that this was killing him.
"To the General!" Chewie roared, dismissing all decorum and Han's pristine attire to fling his arms around the new officer and lift him up into the air.
"To the General!" The others toasted.
And that was how the evening went. The family gathered around to eat and drink and laugh and talk. They told stories about what had happened in Han's absence.
Luke had gotten into a dogfight with an entire squadron while on a mission. His training and inherited piloting skills alone had saved him. The lecture he had received from his master had been harsh.
"You are entirely too reckless," Anakin reprimanded him again with the shake of a finger.
"Are you saying that as my master or as my father?"
"Both. I don't know what possessed me to think I could possibly manage the responsibility of your training. We are far too much alike."
Luke just grinned.
Having pushed their way into the mid-rim, the Alliance was well within familiar territory, and many of the former-Republic planets were now in support of the rebellion. There was no longer a need for someone to manage the relations between the organization and its supporters, so Padme was once again out of a job. But there was plenty that needed to be done.
"I'm thinking of starting a program to track and reunite families divided by the Clone Wars and now the Civil War. It's similar to some of the projects I worked on before becoming Queen of Naboo and supported while working with the Senate. Something that will really do some good."
"You really think you'll have any luck with that?" Han inquired.
She reached an arm around each of her children and hugged them close. Luke allowed it, but Leia squirmed away after a moment, blushing and not looking in Han's direction.
"I was lucky enough to be reunited with my family," Padme replied. "I want that for others. You know you and Mara will always have a place with us, but wouldn't it be wonderful if we could find your birth families?"
Han shrugged. "My parents are probably dead anyway."
"And sometimes," and voice that hadn't spoken yet tonight interjected, "it might be best to leave well enough alone."
There was no accusation in the words, but Han felt himself cringe anyway. The others had fallen silent in response to Obi-wan's comment, and the festive atmosphere seemed to have died a sudden and hard death.
"Forgive me," the older Jedi said, closing his eyes with a weary sigh. "I did not mean to interrupt."
"No problem," Han snapped, "you got a point, after all." He rose to his feet, ignoring the hands reaching to pull him back into the comfort of the plush seating and familial warmth. Passing his glass to Threepio, he turned and headed for the balcony. "Don't mind me. Just gonna get some air."
The balcony lent itself to a magnificent view. Alderaan didn't allow lights after a certain hour, so the night was bright with stars. The half-crescent moon hung low over the snow-capped mountains in the distance. His breath rolled out as curling wisps of fog.
Too bad Han was shaking so hard he couldn't enjoy it.
The chill wasn't in his body; it wasn't cold enough for that. It originated from someplace else, someplace inside him, where his internal organs had cut loose from their various tubes and begun to bounce around. He had the feeling he was going to be sick, but his stomach wasn't in the right place, and there was a weight on his chest, but his lungs worked just fine.
He was falling through empty air, with nothing below him but more space. It wasn't the exhilarating free-fall through space, but rather a gut-wrenching, nightmarish plunge that he had no way to abort.
Then there was a gentle weight on his shoulders, and a voice in his ear.
"Here, put this on."
Han wrapped the dark, coarse fabric of the Jedi cloak tighter around himself. "Thanks."
"Any time." Anakin stood for a moment, hand clasped behind his back. He stared out at the same scenery, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. "Obi-wan did not mean to cause you further pain."
"Man's got a right to grieve, and a right to be angry."
"He is not angry with you, Han."
The newly appointed general scoffed, attempting to appear dismissive. Foolish, to put up a show in front of a Force user, but he still had some pride.
"It's my fault."
"No, it wasn't. Han, you have a great deal of talent, and courage. You are strong, and you give others around you the strength to endure. You may not realize it yet, but you have the power to inspire others, just as you did when you called those criminals to arms."
"Yeah, great idea that was."
"The plan had flaws, yes. Certainly no military academy in the galaxy will ever teach your particular brand of battle strategy."
The attempt at humor fell flat, and they lapsed into silence.
At last, the Jedi turned back to him. Skywalker looked concerned, and not a little frustrated. Compassion he had plenty of, but not patience.
"Tell me what you're thinking."
Solo breathed out into the cool darkness, watching his breath swirl. "I should have known better."
Anakin was quiet, waiting.
"Lainsa ordered me to arm them. The smugglers and the criminals and the ruffians we coached into joining us. I should have known that once we routed the Imperials they would turn on us."
"You think you traded one evil for another."
"And got Lainsa killed in the process."
"That was not your doing. It was not your fault, Han."
"Like hell it wasn't." He wanted to scream, wanted to tear into Skywalker knowing the man could beat him down, was capable of making him suffer. But Han was suddenly so tired, he could barely force the words. "I recruited those people. I inspired them, like you said. We retook the planet, and then they wrestled with us for control. People got killed, innocent people. How's that any better than what the Imps did?"
With a shaking hand, he reached up and clasped the medal pinned to his tunic.
"And then High Command goes and gives me this. Like I'm some kind of hero. Like just because that planet is now back in the Alliance, the people I got killed don't count any more. Like Lainsa doesn't count any more. What's that Hutt spit?"
"It is," Anakin replied solemnly, staring off at the distant mountains, "the life of a hero."
"I don't want any damned part of it."
The Jedi was quiet a moment longer, just standing and letting his breath curl in the cool of the evening. He didn't seem to notice the lack of his cloak. Feeling detached, Han silently wondered at the man who stood beside him, and the role he played. From hero to villain back to hero, Skywalker had the full range of experience. How miserable Solo was in comparison; he couldn't even endure this single failure, let alone even consider facing the things Anakin had.
"It may not be my honor to be your mentor," the older man finally spoke, "but may I offer some advice?"
"Couldn't hurt."
"Be proud, Han. You did your best, and that is all anyone, including you, can ask of yourself. You cannot save everyone, Han. Believe me, I've tried." Anakin paused, turned to look at him. In the dark of night without benefit of lights, Han could not see his eyes. They were pitch black holes in the Jedi's face, depthless and wise. "You have earned this title and this medal. The only one whose opinion matters who does or ever will consider you unworthy of them is yourself. For what it may be worth, I am proud of you."
Old instincts rose up to counteract the sudden lump blocking his throat. "Wow," Han managed, "where did you get that? Picked it out of the 'empty platitudes' section at the holocards store?"
Anakin remained silent.
Han bit down on his lip. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. It's just that I feel – ah, forget it."
He slung the cloak off his shoulders and held it out. Time to be tough, to brace against the cold as best he could. He would go inside and face all those people so pleased at the thought of him being a hero. He'd smile for their sake, and then gratefully retreat to his quarters where sleep would take him to blissful oblivion.
"You feel," Anakin remarked, "like you failed. And not just the rebel cell or the innocent people on that planet. Not just Lainsa. But the people you care about. You feel that you failed Chewbacca, and Padme. The twins, and Obi-wan. You feel like you let us down."
Han's bottom lip trembled. That hadn't happened since the cave in on Urteau, when Padme had lovingly brushed aside the dust and grit from his face. He had known then that he would do anything for her, and for her family. They were brave, they were righteous. And most importantly, they truly cared.
"Yeah," he whispered miserably. "I failed."
Anakin continued to stare at him from out of the darkness. He stood there, apparently thinking, till Han's arm grew tired and he lowered the cloak.
"You're right," the Jedi said at last. The emotional onslaught must have shown on his face, because Skywalker held up a hand before Han could manage a bitter retort. "You are right that, in comparison to knowing that people are dead – regardless of your efforts to save them – my words do seem hollow. I wish I could tell you that this feeling will go away. I wish someone had told me the same once. But it won't. Best you can hope for is the next time – and there will undoubtedly be a next time – the memory of that feeling will be what you need to do what you can to save whomever you can."
They were not exactly words of comfort, but Han could feel the weight on his chest lifting, solid ground forming under his feet again.
He opened his mouth to say – he didn't know what. A thousand things came to mind. A snarky retort. A plea for something more. Maybe to ask about Anakin's own experiences, maybe offer something of himself to this man with whom he had no clearly defined relationship, but whom he respected nonetheless. Could he force anything past the ache and the relief? To know he wasn't alone, that this unwanted burden was shared between the two of them…
"What are you two talking about out here?"
Han turned, the moment dissolving into the night.
Padme stood silhouetted in the now-open doorway. Behind her, Han could hear laughter and music. He would have to go back in and face that. But suddenly it wasn't so daunting, or unwelcome. Maybe he would even get the chance to speak with Kenobi.
"Hyperdrives," Anakin answered for them.
"Aha," his wife replied. "Just as I expected. Well, don't stay out much longer, or you'll catch cold."
"Yes, dear."
She was gone a moment later, leaving the door half open. Han wasn't fooled for a moment she believed her husband.
He turned back to Skywalker. "Thank you."
Anakin nodded. "Will you come back inside?"
"Gimme a minute?"
The Jedi nodded and then followed his wife through the door. Han was left alone in the quiet.
He reached up and fingered the bars on his collar, designating his new rank. His fingers trailed down to the medal. Then, one by one, he undid the clasps on his tunic. It fell open to reveal the white, stiff shirt underneath. It wasn't much of a change in his attire, but it felt less constraining somehow. After tonight, he would never wear the medal again. He didn't need to wear it for those who had died.
He would honor them as best he could.
With a deep breath, Han turned and went back inside.
Haha! Even when I'm writing from another character's point of view, I still end up writing about Anakin or Obi-wan, or both. I tried to write the narrative voice similar to Han's, such as his description of Vader in the suit.
Caslia
