A/N: a shootout to the guest who said they nearly didn't start reading this fic because it seemed boring HAHAHA you made me laugh and you made me happy, I'm glad you're here as well :)
I'd also like to thank user anet.f who said I didn't need to write Luke if I didn't want to. I really appreciated it, but I really am doing my best not to neglect his character, considering that this is supposed to be a story about Leia, Luke and Padmé, and not just, you know, Leia sksksksks.
That said, I hope the focus on Luke on this chapter does him some justice :)
When Luke Skywalker slipped into consciousness again, it was too bright and everything hurt.
His eyes burned the moment he opened them, threatening to jump out of his skull. Like a flick, a headache ignited as a promise that he was still alive — although he wasn't that keen on that specific promise. He'd much rather different sorts of pledges, like a soft kiss on the lips, or holding hands with a person he loved, or the sweet comfort of a hug in the dead of the night.
A headache was, if anything, an inconvenience. It only added suffering to a night that already wasn't very pleasant.
He blinked several times, trying to both scare his aches away and allure the memories of what exactly had happened. Everything was blank, he was dizzy and didn't recognize the room he was in. All he noticed was that everything felt wrong, and he had a bad feeling about it.
"Somebody is awake at last."
There was a voice — the voice of someone he didn't recognize, and Luke frowned. He tried to move, to get his aching body working and get out of that mess before something worse happened, only to realize his hands were tied by a binder, stealing him of any chance he might have had of knocking his captor down.
In light of everything, he realized, it could be worse — however, there was still too much potential for things to go catastrophically wrong.
And, of course, that thought alone was an open door for bad things. He should have known better.
A slight nudge to his ribs, and abruptly, he was pulled into a sitting position, his back against the wall. At least he could see the face of his captors now; he found two Imperial officers staring at him with mischievous faces. Man, he didn't have a good feeling about it at all.
"Hello," Luke said, a bit naively. At least, that was the impression he tried to give, as he shifted around to comfortably sit within his restraints, while studying both the environment and the people in front of him. "Nice evening for a walk, don't you think?"
Luke looked around himself; he must still have been somewhere inside the Jedi Temple, there wouldn't have been the time to move him — and that room definitely didn't assemble an Imperial prison hold. Above all, he had too many good feelings about the place, like the Force had once been strong there. Like the Force was whispering into his ears. Unfortunately, that feeling didn't transcend to the Imps staring at him. They weren't stormtroopers, and given their insignias, Luke concluded they were high ranking officers — well, he thought so; he wasn't good with that stuff and his head was dizzy anyway. Leia would know it; she was good with politics and memorizing rankings and just about everything. He understood that her memory and perception probably resulted from years of diplomatic and royal training, but it drove him insane.
Unconsciously, he grimaced to himself. He would most likely die if he didn't come up with something real fast and Leia would never know what happened to him. Like everybody else, he had let her down, and he hated himself for it.
He spared her a thought, but didn't reach for her in the Force. He dreaded to disturb her; Leia had already done so much for him, he didn't think it was fair to ask her for more.
Besides, there was still a chance he could get out of this. A remote one, but any chance was better than nothing.
The officer apparently in charge kneeled in front of him; it was the same who had first addressed him. "And now, we will discuss what the rebellion is planning."
Luke swallowed hard, but didn't allow his facial traits to shift. "The rebellion? I'm not part of the rebellion, I wouldn't be able to help."
"You're lying."
"I'm not! I swear," Luke squinted his eyes in order to read the name on his uniform, "Officer Cabrini."
Cabrini clicked his tongue in disappointment. "I'll give you one more chance."
Luke remained unfazed, waiting for whatever would happen next. Cabrini made a motion for the other official, who went by the name of Fedor, and Fedor brought up a lightsaber with such a delegacy it was nearly poetic.
There it was, Luke damned himself. His one chance of escaping, resting on the enemy's hands. Considering the big picture, things had just gotten worse.
"Would you like to explain to me how the little nobody that you claim to be would have such a polite weapon on your possession?"
"It's a family heirloom," Luke spoke without thinking, watching with hypnotized eyes the lightsaber hilt swinging in Fedor's hand. That story was printed on his soul. "It belonged to my father, but he died before I was born. That's the only thing I have left of him, so I carry it with me, wherever I go, as a way of honoring him and having him with me."
Sure, he had lost his father's lightsaber during his battle with Vader, and built a new one from scratch. That was merely a detail, though, a detail that did not concern them.
Cabrini looked at him with shame. "Is that your story?"
"Yes," Luke responded automatically.
"And why should I believe you?"
Luke stared at him with big eyes. "Well… Why wouldn't you?"
"Well," Cabrini gave him a face, "Here's what I think: you're a rebel spy undercover, invading the Jedi Temple in the middle of the night hoping not to get caught. Your mission is to assess the weakest points of the Temple and report back to the Rebellion, and tomorrow there will be thousands of rebel ships looming over the Temple, ready to take the Imps down."
Luke's expression didn't as much as flinch, safe for the flicker of fear that flashed through his eyes. "That seems like a very elaborate plan."
Cabrini gave him his evilest smile. "Would you like to know what else corroborates to my theory, over yours?"
The young Jedi hummed, waiting.
"The fact that our little rebel spy looks exactly like Luke Skywalker, the sworn enemy of the Empire."
Luke prayed his body language didn't betray him at the mention of his name. He wasn't so sure.
"Luke Skywalker? No no no, I'm definitely not that guy," his voice became higher pitched, "We look nothing alike!"
Cabrini clicked his tongue several times, while Fedor chuckled soundless behind him. "Now, the question is, what should we do to you, Mister Skywalker? Are you more profitable alive… or dead?"
This time, Luke swallowed hard. He focused all his physical strength to try and break the metal binders apart; they didn't flinch.
"Either way, we can't lose," Fedor spoke for the first time, "We bring him in alive, we become the most respectable officers in the Empire. We gain morale and we ascend. We bring his head in, the Empire will pay us an absurd amount of money, for killing the killer of our Lord, and we'll never have to work again. Luke Skywalker came to us as a gift from the stars."
A single drop of sweat emerged in Luke's forehead. Potentially, everything was about to get even worse. "Listen, I'm sure—"
There was a smack to the back of his head to silence him. If his headache was already killing him, now it was nearly insufferable.
"Here's what we're going to do," Cabrini leaned so close that Luke could feel this bad breath over the skin of his face. "You are going to tell us everything we want to know about the Rebellion, and we will let you live. Sure, we'll turn you to the Empire, but being alive for the rest of your life inside a prison is better than being dead."
Luke bent forward until their foreheads were almost touching. "I will die before I tell you anything."
Cabrini smiled wickedly, standing back up at last, "We'll see about that."
Indecorously, Luke leaned back against the wall, not showing a single care. He had meant his words; he would die before he ever consciously betrayed the Rebellion, and — he would never, consciously or not, betray his sister.
He heard Leia's voice inside his head, telling him that his life was more important, that the Rebellion would survive either way. He ignored it; there were a few occasions, even if rarely, that he knew better than Leia. This was one of them.
Well — maybe she was right, but Luke wouldn't be able to bear the guilt of it. He wouldn't be able to look at her eyes again and tell her he had betrayed her, betrayed the cause that she had given her life for. She had always been strong, it was time he learned something from her.
"What I can't understand," Cabrini carried, slamming his closed fist against the open palm of his other hand, "Why would the rebellion send you, their hero, in a fool's errand. Are you so dispensable or doesn't the rebellion recognize your worth?"
"In the grand scheme of things, everything and everyone is dispensable," Luke began to philosophize. Maybe, if he stalled long enough, a miracle would happen and the situation would work in his favor.
After all, he had learned the greatest life lesson with Han — never let odds come in your way.
Cabrini pinched the Jedi's nose gently; Luke felt like sneezing. "Aren't you the clever one."
"I'm just an average mind," Luke shrugged, wrinkling his nose as if to get rid of the sensation of the imperial's finger there.
Cabrini laughed, and slowly picked up a pace around Luke, back and forth, back and forth. "Now, Luke, if you don't start telling us what we want to know, we'll have to move on to ulterior means, and nobody wants to harm your pretty face. Luke."
A shiver ran down his spine; exteriorly, however, he remained perfectly cool. "I'm not scared of you, or your threats. I have suffered at the hands of the Emperor's rage and survived to tell the story. I assure you, you are nothing more than a nuisance compared to him."
"You underestimate us, Mr Skywalker," Fedor denounced, perfectly still beyond Cabrini. "If you refuse to help us out, we'll have you begging for mercy by the end of the night."
Luke raised one of his brows, thinking of all the possible scenarios that would probably cause him to indeed beg for mercy. Anakin dying on his arms aboard the second Death Star. The prospect of anything ever happening to Padmé that would steal her from him. Han's all but dead body frozen in carbonite. Leia chained to a disgusting crime lord as if she were a piece of meat... Yes, for sure, he himself didn't make it to the list.
"I'll take my chances."
Crossing his arms, Cabrini offered yet another twisted smile, "Suit yourself."
Fedor, at last, began a slow pacing towards the young Jedi, casually hitting the hilt of the lightsaber on his hand. Before, Luke thought he would play the role of the good officer; now, he wasn't so sure there was a good officer at all.
"I was wondering, what does the Rebellion want with the Jedi Temple?" Fedor prompted, "There's nothing but dust here."
Luke merely shrugged. Truth be told — he wouldn't know. Even if the High Council had any plans for taking back the Jedi Temple, he wasn't part of the High Council, therefore he would only learn of it immediately before a possible attack in which he would be asked to take part, or immediately after, once all the action had already happened.
The bad part of it all — neither of the two imperial officers was Force sensitive; they wouldn't be able to know that Luke was telling the truth. On that aspect.
"And then I realized," Fedor raised his index finger in the air, like the most ingenious comprehension had just come to him. "The Rebellion wants nothing with the Jedi Temple. This building… It's irrelevant, for whatever they're planning. However, a Jedi would take a lot of interest in the home of his ancestors."
Cabrini nearly jumped in joy once the realization came to him as well. "The Rebellion doesn't know you're here. Luke Skywalker has come here on his own volition, and nobody will know what happened to him. Poor young Skywalker, disappearing without a single trace. Suffering the same fate as the Jedi that came before him."
Closing his eyes, Luke sent a silent prayer to Leia. He didn't know if she would be able to hear him, but she was the only one with any prospect of hearing him. He didn't do it so she would panic and go after him in the middle of the night, but because he didn't want her to spend the rest of her life worrying about what had happened to him; if he had died or if he had simply walked out on her.
He sent her one last message of love, and stopped thinking about her at all.
"Which brings us to the question," Fedor carried on, "Why are you here?"
Luke pressed his lips together, remaining in silence.
In the absence of an answer, Fedor kneeled in front of him, directly over his legs. "If I were you, I'd start talking before things get nasty on your side."
In an act of pure disdain, Luke raised his bound hands and rested them behind his own head. "This is war. Neither side is innocent, they're both nasty."
What the officers did not know was that he used his new stance as a disguise to properly search the room again, looking for any object at all, that he could aid with the Force and use as a weapon. To his dismay, the room was bare of anything other than the three human beings there.
"We know that. You, particularly, have too much blood on your hands. You killed Darth Vader, okay. You killed Emperor Palpatine, okay. Two figures of power, with whom you didn't morally agree. That's understandable. However, how are you going to justify the millions of lost life aboard the first Death Star in its destruction? You pulled the trigger, Skywalker, you're responsible for all those innocent workers who only wanted to put some food on their family's table, to feed their starving children. How are you going to explain to all those little kids that you killed their fathers? The fathers that they worshiped, that were their everything. How will you explain to their wives that the loss of their loved ones was no more than a consequence of war? That their husbands' lives didn't matter at all?"
Luke wasn't sure of what took over him; was it his rage for being accused of those atrocities, or was it his guilt for knowing he had too much blood on his hands in the course of four years of war — he couldn't tell, and neither did it matter, as it was already too late. Before he could stop to think, before he could realize his actions, Luke Skywalker stole the upper hand and urged his knee up, hitting Fedor between the legs with all the force he still had.
Fedor yelled instantaneously at the suddenness of the blow, his hands unconsciously holding tight to his wounded area. He fell to his side, while making grims of pain, the lightsaber being dropped to the floor and rolling a few inches away from the Imperial.
This was it, this was his chance. Of course, it was a chance that came to him completely as a work of fate — he really hadn't considered such an outcome — but it was all he needed. Luke turned to the lightsaber and reached for the Force inside of him when—
A loud blaster shot echoed through the room, and tears prickled Luke's eyes. He barely had the chances to process the events that took place before he found himself with both his hands strongly pressing against the wound in his thigh, trying to stanch all the bleeding.
In the corner of the room, a very infuriated Cabrini stood tall with the blaster on his hand. All his previous smirks disappeared from his expression, and he looked like he was ready to kill.
"Son of a bitch," Fedor mumbled under his breath, finally regaining most of his composure and stretching his body forward to gain possession of the lightsaber once more. He fumed with rage, and if it weren't for the big picture, he would have easily killed Luke Skywalker right there.
"I hope this suits you a lesson," Cabrini said, walking towards Luke again. "This was merely a demonstration of what we can do if you dare to play with us. Next time, you won't be so lucky."
Although Luke heard him perfectly, he was too busy chewing on his inner cheeks in order to keep from crying out to come up with any witty remarks.
Having reclaimed the movement from his legs, Fedor dared to approach Luke once more. He grabbed the Jedi's face and forced Luke to look at him. "Now, we are going to talk."
Luke's entire body was trembling, including his head. He fought his every urge to spit on Fedor's face, as nothing good would come out of it.
"You see, the only reason I can think that a Jedi would break into the Jedi temple is so they would want to try to restore the Jedi Order. However, why would the last Jedi want to restore the Jedi Order if the Jedi stand no more? Unless, of course, you have found someone, another Jedi, or a person that you wish to train to become a Jedi. Why don't you share that with us, Skywalker?"
It hadn't been an invitation, and once again Luke's thoughts betrayed him when he remembered Leia. At least, this time, there were no Sith Lords around to steal his thoughts.
He tried to judge which kind of probing was worse: Vader intruding his mind or Officer Fedor poking the blaster wound on his leg with his finger and causing him to at last yell in excruciating pain. Naturally, he wouldn't recommend either.
Cabrini started laughing again at his discomfort, an act that only encouraged Fedor to dig his finger deeper into Luke's flesh. "Who," a pause, "Are," a pause, "They?"
Luke grinded his teeth, trying to control his pain. By now, tears freely streamed down his cheeks and there was no avail to attempt to stop them. "I won't tell you anything."
"Don't be stupid, Skywalker! You're in pain, I can end your pain. All you need to do is tell us their name," Fedor insisted, his hand perfectly lodged on Luke's leg. "Who are they?"
The Jedi breathed in a long breath, and leaned back against the wall. With his eyes closed, he sought refuge within the Force. With the perfect picture of Leia in his mind, he found solace in the memory of her, and of his mother, and shut everything out. Nothing would strike him again.
"Skywalker. Skywalker!" Fedor screamed his name over and over again, becoming infuriated that there was no response from the prisoner. Cabrini approached his peer with an open palm, and Fedor handed him the lightsaber.
Cabrini came nearer Luke's body, and with a single swing, he hit Luke's forehead with the lightsaber hilt, so powerfully that the Jedi cried a huff and his body fell to the ground with a thud.
That was the last thing that happened before the sound of shots deafened the room into an agonizing silence.
Leia couldn't describe the feeling inside — when she saw the act of violence inflicted upon her brother, she shot to kill.
She saw their bodies fall to the ground, lifeless, and didn't spare a second thought about it.
Much like her, Padmé didn't pay much attention to them as she rushed to Luke's side, helping his fallen body back up. The mother felt her eyes prinkling with tears as she saw his beaten figure, and cupped his face with both her hands just to make sure he was still alive.
Luke's breathing was heavy and loud, while two stains of blood streamed from the just acquired wound in his forehead. His eyes were shut tightly, but it didn't matter, because he didn't need his sight to sense the distressed woman standing in front of him.
"Mother."
"You're alive," Padmé allowed herself one last moment of emotion, before kicking back into action. Looking down, she saw the wound on his leg, and tore the fabric of her own shirt in straps to wrap around his thigh. It was far from the best immediate emergency care, but it would have to do until they were safely out of the Temple. "Keys! Get me the keys!"
It was a matter of seconds until the keys to the binders around Luke's wrists were shoved onto her face — by Han, nonetheless! Padmé would have expected Leia to be a little more interested in the well-being of her brother, and although that wasn't the proper time to dwell on that, she wondered what was stopping the young girl.
"How…" the young Jedi's voice was powerless, so unlike his usual demeanor. "How did you find me?"
"Leia," Padmé said simply, shooting the daughter a quick gaze — Leia stood still by the entrance, presumably on guard so they wouldn't be caught off guard. However, it would seem that she did it poorly, as there was too much distraction written over her face. Except—Padmé couldn't pinpoint the reasons behind her diversion. Sighing, she returned her attention to Luke, "Can you stand?"
"I think," he replied gravelly, accepting the masculine shoulder that was crammed under his arm to help him stand. He appreciated Han's effort — after all, the act of standing remained too far away from walking. And the lack of physical work allowed him the smallest opening for his mind to realize before the pain of standing kicked in, "Leia?!"
"Leia," Han intruded in a means to shut him up. He had one arm around Luke's waist, while carrying the entirety of his body weight — and Luke was heavier than he thought. Han was beginning to question how he would be able to bring the fallen Jedi all the way back to the Falcon. "Please tell me you can walk."
The moment Luke attempted to lean on his wounded leg, he winced in pain; his flesh was burning. At the notion, Padmé slipped under Luke's still free arm, copying the same stance as Han; it was nearly pathetic the way they stood there, with an overly tall Han and a too small Padmé trying to wriggle Luke in between.
At least it's not Leia, Han thought to himself, grimacing with the simple vision of Leia and her several inches shorter than Padmé trying to help.
Too bad he didn't spare a simple thinking to his next comment, "Can't you use the Force to fly or something?"
That only gained him a pointed glare from both Luke and Padmé.
"That's not how the Force works…"
"That's not how the Force works!"
They said it at the same time, with completely different tones. Han feigned a look of offense, reminded in that moment that Leia must have inherited her anger and lack of patience from Padmé.
"It was just a suggestion," he mumbled, taking the first steps with Luke thrown over him. He hadn't expected Padmé's attempt to make too much a difference, considering their difference in height, but it was slightly easier to carry him now. "Come on."
They took small but quick steps towards Leia, who silently peeked outside the hall from where they had emerged, with her blaster held high. She heard them approaching, and made a quick motion with her hand that they could proceed.
"Wait!" Luke yelled a muffled scream, once they passed the portal. "My lightsaber—Did you grab my lightsaber?"
Although he didn't direct his question at anyone, Han assumed it was aimed at him. "Your lightsaber? I didn't see your lightsaber."
With the little movement he had, Luke shifted his body back towards the small room. "We must go back, then! My lightsaber is there with them! I saw it."
Han resisted the urge to roll his eyes at him and his failed attempt to get Han and Padmé magically walking back inside. "Fine. I'll go back and look for it."
"What—are you insane, Han?" Padmé howled at him, looking like she was ready to slap him. "I can't support Luke on my own! Leia will go."
In particular, Han didn't welcome the suggestion. He didn't doubt that Leia could take care of herself, especially in a room of dead men; however, she could barely bring herself to be near him, the person she loved, ever since Jabba, let alone two male imperials. The outcome to that — it had every potential to be disastrous.
Too late, though, as Leia rushed past him without ceremony. He was doomed to patiently wait for her return, while twisting his head back so he could try and see her in an angle that would most likely lead to neck pain in the following morning.
Leia held her blaster close to her chest as she entered the room of Luke's imprisonment once more. It was an irrational act, she knew as much, but she'd rather be ready to shoot in case anything should stagger her.
As she approached the bodies, the smell of burned flesh bothered her to the point she pressed her hand to her nose. With a quick gaze around them, she sighed when she failed to spot the goddamn lightsaber, which meant only one thing — she would have to go through their dead bodies.
She kneeled next to the nearer body, wishing a second too late that she had tried to sense where exactly the lightsaber was located. Forcing herself to focus at the task on her hand, she searched the pockets of his pants with her heart thudding fast in her chest.
The taste of bile invaded her mouth, and she required a few seconds to stabilize herself. She then searched inside his coat, and her hand became drenched with blood from the open shot in the middle of his chest. She forced herself to breathe once again before coming to the conclusion that the lightsaber wasn't there.
Cussing to herself, Leia crawled to the next body. It laid on its stomach, so she had to use part of her strength to roll him over. With repudiation and damp eyes, she slipped her hands under the dead body and pushed it aside. The first relief of that troubled night came at the sight of the delicate hilt that had somehow slipped under his body after she had shot him down.
Leia grabbed the lightsaber and secured it tightly on her fist, glad to finally leave that room of living nightmares.
"Let's go," she demanded once she returned to them, not bothering to look at any of them — especially Han. Now definitely wasn't the time for him to go all worried and mushy on her; they had all the time in the galaxy for that once they were safe.
Neither would she admit that if she dared to think about her feelings in the middle of a mission, she might not be able to control herself enough to stop.
So, Leia led the way, double checking every hall and every passage from where they had come. On their way in, they had run into so many stormtroopers guarding the Temple, most who were luckily too distracted with their idle task of guarding a place filled with nothing but ghost stories; however, Han had been forced to stun one or two as they passed through.
Now, as they carried a wounded Luke, luck wasn't much on their side. They lost the dexterity of before, and Luke's soft cries surely got in the way of their tactical silence. Therefore, when they reached the first major hall, Leia instantaneously knew they had made it to a dead end as chatting stormtroopers marched in zigzags.
"We can't get through," Leia announced in a low voice, looking down at the floor so she wouldn't have to look at them. The quartet lurked in the shadows, behind a big infrastructural pillar, just before the turn that would put them directly in sight with the stormtroopers. "We need a new route."
"There are several space docks across the temple," Han said, "We might have better luck finding a closer one and com Chewie to pick us up there."
Chewbacca had stayed behind with the ship, as he was their only way out of there. Of course, the Wookie hadn't much enjoyed the idea of being left behind, howling several sounds of disagreement — he had a life duty to them, therefore he absolutely needed to go to make sure everything went smoothly. Han argued that someone needed to stay with the Falcon, and reasoned that the Wookie wouldn't want to leave either mother or sister stressing behind without any insight of the situation. Reluctantly, Chewbacca agreed.
Now, Han wasn't so sure he had made the right choice. He'd gladly leave Padmé behind — or Leia, even, if he didn't fear for his life so much — if it meant the Wookie would spare them the effort of carrying Luke and do all the work himself on a whim.
"Alright," there was a plan, it was a start. Leia's head shifted towards the other woman. "Padmé, care to help?"
Padmé was unsure of how to respond to that simple remark and the cynicism hidden behind Leia's tone. "I—How can I help?"
"Well, you're the only one of us who's ever been to the Jedi Temple," Leia pointed out the obvious, and the darkness might have hidden the annoyance on her face, but not on her voice.
"It's been over twenty years since I've last been here," Padmé argued, the weight of Luke appending over her finally starting to crush her. "It doesn't help that everything is dark! I have no idea where we are."
"You can figure it out as we go," Han grunted, attempting to turn on his heels when Luke suddenly became heavier over him. "Luke. Luke!"
Alerted to her brother abruptly slipping into unconsciousness, Leia rushed to him. For the first time in their acquaintance, they stood at the same eye level, and she raised her palm to give his cheek several little slaps. When that didn't work, Leia allowed her cool façade to kick into her as she found the gunshot wound on his leg and pressed her fingers strongly to it.
Like magic, Luke awoke with a hiss. He barely had the chance to acknowledge his physical pain before Leia grabbed both his cheeks between her thumb and index and compressed his own lips, forcing him to look at her. "You could have a concussion. Don't fall asleep."
With her so angrily threatening him like that, he wouldn't dare. He nodded, so she could feel his consent on the palm of her hands, and she finally let go of him.
Without any further bickering, they headed back, trying their luck with a different turn. And then another, and another, and another. Not having much of a choice, Leia allowed Padmé to call the shots, even when her instincts sometimes told her to go the opposite way.
Nobody dared to say out loud that they were most likely walking in circles, but the thought lingered on everybody's mind, and Luke relying on Padmé and Han didn't help with the unspoken tension in the air.
Until a loud blast in the distance reverberated through the halls of the Temple and the ground beneath their feet trembled.
The sound that followed it was nearly deafening.
"What…" Luke whispered, realizing they had stopped all but breathing, anticipation of what would come next. "What was that?"
"The Rebellion," Leia spoke with conviction, in the same monotone as her brother. Once the initial surprise wore over her, she raised her head high. "We need to leave now. Things are about to get messy."
Han quickly gazed around himself, trying to think of another way out — and his greatest plan of the year came to him. "Come on. I have an idea."
They were so desperate that they followed his lead without any protest.
When Leia realized what was his plan, she mentally promised herself not to tease him about his average stupid ideas for at least three days.
"Leia, can you," Han prompted, and didn't need to finish his sentence before she followed through with it.
The plan was too simple: there was a large, fancy window facing Coruscant's horizon, and Leia shot through it, shattering its detailed stained glass to pieces. As she did, Han pulled out his comlink and reached for Chewbacca, telling him the general coordinates to their location, and for the Wookie to be on the lookout for the green lightsaber that Leia wielded outside the window as to signalize.
A few sets of bombs went off until Chewbacca's arrival, and each of them added another layer of stiffness over the prospect of a hoard of stormtroopers coming on their way.
The sight of the Millennium Falcon lowering itself from the skies and opening it's ramp towards the window was a heaven sent. Leia used the lightsaber hilt to get rid of the few shards that were still attached to the apron, and hoped she had succeeded as she started to climb the window that was higher than her shoulders.
She learned that she indeed hadn't been triumphant when a shard cut through the palm of her hand — however, adrenaline didn't allow her to properly feel the extension of the laceration. Still, she appropriated from her new viewpoint to properly clean off the remaining glass out of the way for the three that were still to come. Minding the gap between the window and the ramp — a gap miles and miles up from the ground — she carefully calculated her leap and jumped over.
Leia impatiently waited as Padmé climbed over as well, and both ladies helped retrieve an injured Luke that Han forced up the window. His body collapsed onto the ramp with a bang, while shivers of anxiety ran through Leia and Padmé over the prospect of him falling off to his death.
He didn't, and the queen and the princess nearly dragged his body inside the Falcon. Leia spared a single glance behind, and was relieved to see Han following close behind them.
"Alright, Chewie, let's go!" Han yelled to the interiors of the spaceship, and learned it hadn't been in vain when a Wookie squawk responded. He hit the switch to shut the ramp, and ran inside after the other three humans.
He found Luke lying over the cot, with Padmé carefully tending to him, while Leia fumbled through the cabinet looking for the medical kit. Surprisingly, Luke resembled far more alert once he had reached safety, and Han assumed some of it came from the innate fear of getting scolded for disappearing without telling anyone.
He couldn't tell about Padmé, but Han didn't doubt that Leia had a lot to say — it was only a matter of time until she leashed out.
For now, though, their silence was worse than any potential yelling.
A little bit too angrily, Leia threw the medical kit over the table, giving Padmé all the grounds to work on the Jedi. Unaware of her hostility, Padmé found a bacta patch and gently placed it over Luke's thigh. He would still need proper medical care once they returned to the rebel base, but it would hold him up until their arrival.
"How are you feeling, Luke?" Padmé asked with her most tender voice, while sitting on the edge of the cot. She had her hand running through his golden hair locks, as if to certify that he was actually there.
"I've been better," he said lightly, with a soundless chuckle, trying to soften the atmosphere. However, he couldn't tell whether it had worked, considering he was still too scared to look at his sister.
Meanwhile, Han could only stare at her; Leia leaned against the wall, her face written with the anger directed at her brother's stupidity. Han asked in a whisper, so only she could hear, "Are you okay?"
"Yes," her response came so quickly that it felt automatic. He didn't even think she had properly heard him; her brain had simply been conditioned to reply to that specific question always with the same answer.
"You're…" he swallowed roughly, attentive to her stance. "You're bleeding."
Leia unconsciously looked down to her hand, noticing the mess of blood in her palm. She stared at it intensely, mesmerized by the flow of blood as well as the pain it brought her. Then, all too quickly, she stroked her hand against the fabric of her shirt, both to hide it and to clean it — her blouse was already drenched with the blood of her brother and the blood of imperial officers; it barely made a difference.
"Leia—"
Unaware of the faint discussion happening right next to him, Luke gathered all that was left of his strength to say, "You said that Leia found me…?"
He was desperate for answers, and it was clear that his pondering had been directed at his sister. Padmé unintentionally gazed at her daughter, and Leia suddenly grew uncomfortable with the three sets of eyes so blatantly staring at her, even when she made a point of not looking at them at all. She counted to ten, praying that her anger would subside, or that they would realize they were bothering her and leave her aside. When neither of those things happened, she'd simply had enough and stormed out of the room, without a single explanation, heading towards Han's private bunk.
The way the three of them followed her exit with their eyes would be comical under any other circumstances. They still stared at the void of her absence when Luke dared, "Did I say something wrong?"
There were moments, very rarely, that Han felt like punching Luke. "Yeah, you did," he accused, not bothering to provide an explanation as he left to go after Leia.
Luke tried to raise his body, as if to go after the two of them, but Padmé held him back with her arm. "Don't. You're wounded, you need to take it easy until we get you patched up."
Without much of a choice, he lied back down. "What's wrong with Leia? How did she find me?"
Padmé breathed out heavily, reminiscing with sorrow everything that had happened before they found Luke. "Leia found you with aid from the Force. She wasn't prepared for it, she wasn't ready for it. It was raw, and it was cruel, and it nearly took everything from her. I'm sure you've had your reasons for disappearing like that, but, Luke… You owe her one hell of an apology."
Just like that, Luke suddenly looked very small. The guilt of his actions started to weigh on him, and in a moment of pure selfishness, he tried to reach to his sister, only to learn she had completely shut herself from him. The notion that she was purposely avoiding him hurt him even more.
He brought his hand to his head, wincing when he touched the cut on his forehead. "You think she'll ever speak to me again?"
Padmé snickered gently at his pondering. "Of course, Luke."
Nodding, he closed his eyes, but didn't allow himself to fall asleep.
Han waited a few minutes outside his own personal cabin, where he knew Leia to have gone. He was doing his best to give her all the space that she needed, however, standing there with only the worry for her well-being in his mind proved to be the most arduous task.
Only when he absolutely couldn't hold himself back anymore that he dared to open the door and come in. He found her in the refresher, meticulously washing her hands from the stained blood. The blouse she had been wearing had been tossed to the floor, and she stood there in her bra only.
She hadn't noticed his entrance, so focused she had been on the red water going down the drain. Dreading to make her uncomfortable, Han opened the first drawer he saw and pulled one of his old shirts from there, fumbling with it on his hands as he walked up to her.
Spotting him in the corner of her eyes, Leia tried to feign a smile — whether she succeeded, she couldn't be certain. With their newfound proximity, Han noticed the splashes of water over her face, so he grabbed the towel from the rack and gently wept the droplets from her cheeks and forehead.
"I'm fine, Han," she promised him, at least shutting off the faucet. The cut on her hand no longer bled, and she accepted the tee he offered her with the wounded hand as if to prove a point.
"I know," he agreed, too used to having the same conversation over and over again. He gave her the courtesy of looking away as she slipped the shirt over her head, then invited her to join him in bed with a simple gesture.
Han sat on the edge of the mattress, trying to encourage her to lie down, only to be met with her usual reluctance. "Come on, Han. We'll soon be back at the base, I can't rest as of now."
He offered her a pointed look, and it was mostly his annoyance that led her to lie down with her head on his lap. He said, "We have what, about twenty minutes. You can take a quick nap."
Leia snorted at his suggestion — oh, how good did it sound. "I'd rather not get a glimpse of what I could have only to be stolen from it in twenty minutes."
He smiled sadly at her, rubbing his thumbs lovingly against her pale cheeks while being swallowed by the black holes of her eyes. "It's been an exhaustive day."
She exhaled exaggeratedly, as if to say, tell me about it. Remaining silent, she took in his offer and snuggled closer to him, until she was curled up in a fetal position over his lap. She grabbed the fabric of his shirt, ensuring herself with a sense of security and constancy.
He carried on stroking his hands against the skin of her arm; habitually, like something he would gladly do for the rest of his life. "I know that you're fine, but I was really worried about you today. First, you were nearly forced to use the Force to find Luke. Then, call it your instincts all you want, but I know you also relied on the Force to wander through the Jedi Temple and locate Luke so easily. And Leia, I saw your face when you shot those imperials down, and when you had to search their dead bodies… It wasn't nice, Leia, and you can't convince me otherwise."
Turning on her side, she hid her face against his belly. "It… It wasn't."
For the first time, he stopped caressing her skin; although she had yet to deny his touch, he would rather play it safe. Instead, he waited in silence for her to say anything.
"When I saw them hurting Luke, I… I don't know what kicked into me. I was so enraged that a human being would inflict so much pain into another human that I became what I dreaded the most: I became them."
"That's far from the truth, Leia," Han reasoned, wishing he could look at her face. "You stood up for someone who was getting unfairly hurt. You stood up for injustice. That's… That's something to be proud of, not ashamed of."
"I can't be proud of having killed someone, Han," she said softly, "That's not who I am."
"Nobody is arguing against that, sweetheart."
He missed the point completely — she was. "I am glad that they are dead, Han, and I hate myself for it. Luke's my little brother, it's my duty to protect him from harm, from harmful people, and I…"
All things considered, at least she was speaking of her brother again, rather than to silently aim her rage at him for the troubles he had caused. To Han, that was a start. "This is war, Leia, and… You've killed people before. It has never bothered you before."
Not bothering her before was an understatement. She wasn't proud of having taken anybody's life — except, of course, Jabba the Hutt; she had liberated her spirits with his death, and she wouldn't apologize for it — but like Han had said, they were in the middle of war. It was either shoot or be shot at.
"I never had to go through their bodies before. Or see their faces. Or have my hands stained with their blood," she confessed, "It feels… personal. To have them taken from their sons and daughters, just like my parents were taken from me."
"Don't humanize the very people who would mercilessly kill innocent people. An entire planet that wasn't involved in the War," Han reasoned, praying that she would, for once, listen to him. "Your actions are justified, especially if it came to choosing between them and your brother."
"I know," she said heavily — she did know that; sometimes, she couldn't understand herself. "I guess… Having to fiddle with their bodies to look for Luke's lightsaber wasn't… comfortable. I felt like going sick. I don't like feeling like this."
"It won't be like this forever," Han assured her, understanding her discomfort to have its roots in what had happened at Jabba's palace, because of him. But then again, what did he know about it? He didn't know what exactly had happened, neither had he even undergone some sort of invasion like she had. "You are very strong, Leia."
Unsure of how to respond to something she didn't quite believe in, Leia found it safer to change the subject. "Lie down next to me. Please?"
Like she'd even need to ask—Han raised her from his lap for the single second it took him to rest by her side. They were tossed in the middle of the bed, her on her back to him, him with his hands kept to himself until she grabbed his arms and wrapped them around her own waist.
"We must have about fifteen minutes until we reach the rebel base," she estimated, "It's the perfect time for us to simply… coexist."
Following her lead, he snuggled her closer and buried his nose amidst her messy hair.