AN: Thanks as always for reading and reviewing!
"Change"
By EsmeAmelia
Chapter 7
There was Han Solo.
Kylo Ren paced up and down the bridge like a caged reek, refusing to acknowledge Han Solo's presence at the end. The man he called Dad in another life looked pathetic as always: crumpled on the floor, his artificial breathing giving that wheezing sound. So far Han Solo hadn't spoken, but his gaze never left his son.
He wasn't really here, Kylo kept telling himself. He would awaken soon and Han Solo would vanish.
"Son . . ." the raspy voice called out as best it could.
Kylo wasn't going to acknowledge the voice. He just kept pacing up and down, up and down the bridge, his hands in his pockets. He didn't know if this dream had given him his real hands back or if he had his artificial ones, but he wasn't eager to find out.
Just a few more minute and he would wake up . . .
A few more minutes . . .
Han Solo kept staring at him as if expecting him to say something. Well there was nothing to be said. Kylo turned away from his father, pacing back up the bridge.
"Ben . . . are you doin' okay?"
With that, Kylo whirled around, shooting a glare at the disabled man. "What kind of question is that?"
Han Solo glanced down at his left hand – his left hand. Colored and textured like flesh despite having been sliced off. With a growl, Kylo took his hands out of his pockets and sure enough, they were the discarded droid hands he had in the waking world.
"You're right," Han Solo muttered as he gradually looked back up, "that was a stupid question." Now he was staring at Kylo's artificial hands. "Things aren't okay for you."
Kylo snarled, thinking again of kicking Han Solo back into the abyss as he held up one of his robotic hands. "Do you see this? Do you see what your niece did?"
Han Solo kept staring at Kylo's hand as if trying to penetrate through it. "Yeah Ben, I see."
"And that's all you have to say?"
The old man's eyes still wouldn't leave the hand. "I dunno what else to say, son."
"Did you send your niece to see me?"
With a swallow, Han Solo finally looked Kylo in the eye. "Rey came to see you?"
Kylo growled. "Don't – play – stupid!"
"I'm serious, Ben, I had no idea she came to see you."
Once again Kylo held up his artificial hands. "She's proud of this, do you know that?"
"Ben . . ."
"DON'T CALL ME THAT!"
Han Solo swallowed again as he shifted himself to a sitting position, though the machine in his chest still pulled him slightly forward. "Son," he said, patting the floor beside him with his artificial hand, metal striking metal, "why don't you come sit down? I dunno how long we got before we wake up . . . maybe we could talk some."
"We've talked plenty!"
The old man once again looked at Kylo's sorry excuses for hands – maybe he was trying to memorize them for when he woke up. "I never thanked you."
"For what?" Kylo spat.
"You know for what," Han Solo mumbled. "I know you're ashamed of it, I know you think you were weak, I know you wish I was dead . . . but thank you."
Kylo whirled around, turning his back to his father, though he didn't resume his pacing.
"I know it sucks to be in prison," the old man continued, "but . . . I sent you something. You should be gettin' it today."
Again Kylo refused to acknowledge his father.
"You don't have to say anything, son." Han Solo just kept speaking as if he liked hearing his pathetic rasp of a voice. "I know you're goin' through hell."
Kylo wished he could make himself deaf for this dream so he wouldn't hear his father's next words.
"I still love you, Ben . . ."
Those words. Again they pounded in his head, causing actual pain. He gripped his temples, gritting his teeth, feeling a scream forming in his throat.
His body toppled over.
And fell into the abyss.
. . .
The scream in Kylo's throat materialized as he woke up – long, loud, savage, only fading when he realized he was back in his prison bed, far from Han Solo. Once that realization sunk in, his breath came in and out in long, dry heaves as his every blink sent him back to the bridge where Han Solo was supposed to die.
With trembling nerves, he rolled over, seeing the dinner tray resting on the small ledge that passed for a shelf – it must have come through the chute while he was asleep. It took several moments to motivate his body to actually get up and several more moments to stumble across his cell to the food.
A tiny datapad lay among the meager meal, giving Kylo a distorted reflection of himself in its screen. For a moment he thought he could use it to send a message to Snoke, but then he realized that the guards must have already thoroughly searched it – it certainly wouldn't have any HoloNet connections.
"I sent you something . . ."
Kylo's teeth ground together. His first thought was to throw the datapad across the room, then he wished he had his lightsaber so he could slice it in half. Then something – perhaps a morbid bit of curiosity – compelled him to play whatever recording was on it.
Of course Han Solo appeared on the screen – decades younger, hair brown, face unwrinkled, bearing that obnoxious grin of his.
"Hey kiddo!" Han Solo shouted. "Well, your mommy and I just found out you're a boy. And . . . wow, it's a bit weird. You kinda feel more real now that you're a he instead of an it." He gave a quick, nervous-sounding chuckle. "Well, we still got a few months before you're born, but I can't stop thinkin' about you. Your mommy squealed today when your image came up on the screen – and she never squeals. Actually . . . I might've squealed too." He chuckled again. "Your image was so blurry, but we could still pick out your head, your fingers, your cute little toes."
Kylo's mechanical fingers pressed down on the screen.
"I dunno what your name's gonna be yet," the recording continued. "Your mommy's pretty hesitant about 'Han Solo Junior,' but we'll see."
Kylo growled.
Han Solo was grinning again. "But no matter what we end up namin' you, I'm proud of you, son. You're still in your mommy's belly and I'm already proud of you. However old you get, I'll always be proud of you. Can't wait to meet you, son."
With that, a savage scream pushed its way out of Kylo's throat and he smashed the datapad against the wall. Once, twice, three times, harder and harder every time, the screams still pushing themselves out as Han Solo's voice crinkled and faded and the datapad was reduced to a pile of broken pieces and sparking circuitry.
Finally the screams faded. The broken datapad slid out of Kylo's hands and to the floor, where it kept sparking and popping. After several heaving breaths, Kylo too slid to the floor, sinking to his knees, leaning forward as if he were about to vomit. He clutched his chest, his artificial hands squeezing his sides and bringing pain.
Two tears escaped his eyes.
. . .
Han woke up feeling like he wanted to yawn, though of course he couldn't. Still, his mouth opened regardless of the fact that no air came in. Ben . . . the bridge . . .
Did they share a dream again?
"Hey sweetheart," Leia's voice said.
His eyes slowly opened, revealing not only Leia, but also Doctor Graynar, both hovering over him with expectant eyes.
"Did you sleep well?" the doctor asked with one of her "doctor smiles."
"Guess so," Han mumbled, carefully rubbing his eyes with his unyielding fingers.
"Good," said Doctor Graynar. "Because I have someone I want you to meet."
In stepped a young woman – younger than Doctor Graynar, possibly only a few years older than Ben – with thick brown curls embracing her shoulders and a smile similar to Graynar's.
"This is Doctor Omha Vert," said Doctor Graynar. "She's going to be your counselor."