Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership over Star Wars or any/all affiliated characters, places, events, etc. Heck, if it were all mine, why would I be writing a fanfic?
Summary: Set directly after ANH. Luke suddenly finds himself the hero of the Rebellion, but in a few moments that he is alone the sorrow of loss catches up with him. One-shot.
Edited 7/6/05 -- I altered a few sections that were a bit awkward, and I also corrected a few spelling mistakes.
A Moment of Silence
The Death Star was destroyed.
Luke could still hardly believe it, though it had been he himself who had launched the proton torpedoes that destroyed the terrible weapon. As soon as he had landed back at the base, there had been cheers and congratulations and hugs from everyone, friends and strangers alike. Suddenly, young Skywalker was the hero of the Rebellion.
Of course, Han Solo was just as admired, but the story of how Luke had managed to accurately hit the thermal exhaust port without a targeting computer was still being passed from mouth to mouth, retold and exaggerated as it went along. Luke had a feeling that by the end of the day, story was going to be quite disproportional to what actually had happened.
He shook his head to himself as he grabbed a towel from the rack. Drying off his hair, he grinned to himself, remembering how C-3PO had subtly but firmly admonished him for being in such a state, all dirty and smelling like... Well, what else could you expect after falling down a garbage chute? And Luke had had no time to clean himself up afterwards, between being chased by stormtroopers andthe attack on the Death Star.
Only Threepio could still worry about appearances after all that had happened that day.
That day...
Luke's smile faded as he sat down on his small bed in the room that had been given him. No more than a day had passed since he had met up with Ben Kenobi on that fateful morning -- this morning, he reminded himself. So much had happened since then; it felt like forever had passed.
In a way, all eternity probably had passed him by. He had gained so much, but lost even more, all the space of so short a time.
Luke glanced at his lightsaber -- his father's lightsaber -- lying on a desk across the room from him. He could still hear Ben's voice as the old man had first taken the weapon out of its box that morning.
"Your father wanted you to have this when you were old enough, but your uncle wouldn't allow it. He feared you'd follow old Obi-Wan on some damn fool idealistic crusade like your father did."
Luke felt a smile forming, but his facial muscles wouldn't respond as he thought of old Ben and his uncle...and his aunt.
Luke ran a hand through his still damp hair, the towel lying limply on his knee.
Though he had often wanted to get away from Tatooine, the desert planet was still his home. Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru had been like parents to him... No, they had been parents to him, they'd been his father and mother in all but the biological sense. Uncle Owen was sometimes a little gruff, but he had loved Luke as much as Aunt Beru had, if not more. And Luke loved both of them.
He bit his lip, lowering his head as he felt his heart ache. He'd tried to lock all those emotions away when he had set out with Ben for Mos Eisley, knowing that there was no going back and it'd be better to move on. But how could he let go of all the years of his life, living with his aunt and uncle, flourishing in their loving care?
Luke remembered all the times he had wished he lived somewhere else, wished that he wasn't there on the moisture farm. Now, he would give almost anything to have one more day with Owen and Beru, just one more chance for that peaceful life. One more chance at it. This time, he'd let them know how much he appreciated all they'd done; he'd tell them how much he loved them; he'd apologize for all the times he'd been ungrateful and rash; all the times he'd walked away from the pained expression on Aunt Beru's face as she tried not to cry.
Luke clenched his fist tightly as he fought the urge to cry himself.
His family had been taken away from him, and the cut was still raw and painful. He remembered a nearer time, just hours -- minutes? -- ago as he had shot down all those stormtroopers on the Death Star, feeling a twisted joy as he sought his revenge for the death of his aunt and uncle.
But now, he knew that it wasn't enough. It would never be. He didn't want revenge. All the death and destruction couldn't bring back what he wanted the most. It couldn't bring back Owen and Beru.
He remembered firing those proton torpedoes, and the rush of adrenaline that had filled him as he saw them enter the exhaust port, the fierce elation that surged through him, making him dizzy and lightheaded as the Death Star blew up, exploded into a billion fragments of charred carbon.
That wasn't enough either, now as he contemplated quietly in the solitude of his room. His actions had saved thousands of star systems, released billions of lives from the terror of the Empire's ultimate weapon. He had saved all of them, the rebellion, all those lives... All those nameless faces, all those voices telling him of their gratitude.
He saved them. Him, Luke Skywalker.
And yet, he had been unable to save the ones he loved from destruction.
Luke clutched at the towel in his lap, feeling his muscles tremble as he strained against the tough fiber of the soft cloth.
Uncle Owen, Aunt Beru. His family.
And Ben Kenobi. His friend. His mentor. That source of unshakable power and wisdom.
Luke had heard his voice in the Death Star, and again in his x-wing as he had sought to destroy that same battle station. He was sure of it, though how, he didn't know. He supposed it had to do with Ben's strong connection to the Force. But he wasn't sure. Ben had never taught him about that. There were a lot of things the old Jedi never taught him about.
So many things,that Ben never had the chance to tell him.
Luke still remembered that sensation of falling as he saw Darth Vader strike down the old man. Suddenly, his world had tilted. The floor dropped from under him, and he felt as though he was falling, falling into an endless void. Dimly he remembered bringing up his blaster and firing at the stormtroopers as black despair consumed him.
Ben was gone.
And even now, though Luke had heard his voice, he knew that Ben was never coming back. His spirit remained -- if that was what the voice was -- but it would never be the same again.
Thinking back now, Luke wasn't sure how he managed to pull himself together to assist in the assault against the Death Star. He supposed that his feeling just went numb for a while, after all the pain and turmoil he had been through.
But it was over now. His feelings were back to normal -- and the first thing it had chosen to fling at him was the terrible losses he had experienced that day.
Luke took a deep breath...and felt a pain in his fingers. He looked down and saw that he was still clutching the towel. He let go quickly, berating himself for being so stupid. Now to top it all off, his hands were cramped.
He glanced at a clock on the wall. Twenty minutes to the time Leia had told him to meet her, for a briefing. He wondered what it was about. She had been grinning when she told him, so he assumed it was nothing bad. Maybe it was just about some sort of ceremony to further inflate his heroism. As if that needed any more help.
All the same, he had better get dressed. He had completely forgotten, and so had donned a robe after his shower, thinking to lie down for a while. Now he went to the small wardrobe built into the wall and opened it, wondering what he should wear. Something simple, he decided, simple but nothing too casual, as he didn't want to insult Leia or her little meeting.
The first thing he saw as he opened the wardrobe was the orange pressure suit hanging to one side.
He froze. Something was rattling in his brain, in a corner where certain thoughts were struggling to get to the front so he could think them over properly. But Luke knew what those thoughts were, and he hadn't wanted to think about them. Not yet. Not now, when it was all still so near and raw.
The sight of the suit had provided the break in his concentration that allowed those thoughts to invade his thinking.
Luke gripped the door of the wardrobe tightly.
Today. It all came down to today.
After all that time of separation from his friend, Luke had met up again with Biggs -- against all odds -- at the rebel base on the moon of Yavin. When Biggs had left for the academy, and Luke had been forced to stay behind on the farm, the two boys promised each other they would meet again one day. But promises were one thing, reality another. Luke and Biggs knew the odds of ever seeing each other again were slim.
So when Biggs had called out to him in the hangar earlier, Luke had felt his heart lift tremendously, and there was an uncontained joy as he saw his friend's familiar face. He could still feel a tendril of that elation now, if he concentrated. Biggs hadn't changed a bit since he'd left. Sure, he was a little leaner, but it was the same Biggs that Luke had known on Tatooine.
Luke remembered their conversation in the hangar, Biggs' voice burned into his memory like scars.
"Hey, Biggs, I told you I'd make it someday."
"It'll be like old times, Luke. They'll never stop us."
Their words had been cocky and optimistic. Biggs promised to listen to all of Luke's stories when they got back.
When they got back.
But Biggs never came back.
Luke swallowed a lump in his throat as he remembered that chilling moment, racing across the Death Star toward his target. Biggs had been right behind him, his voice coming through the connection so loud and close, so real.
Then, an explosion as Biggs' x-wing was obliterated...
Luke squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to remember his friend's frantic voice in those last moments.
"Hurry up, Luke! Hurry!"
Luke hadn't been fast enough. He couldn't do anything. The enemy took Biggs down. It was over in a moment, but in the silence afterward as only static came over the connection, Luke felt as though he was suspended in eternity. He couldn't register that Biggs was...was...gone. Dead. It all seemed like dream. Only minutes ago, Biggs had been talking with him in the hangar at their joyful reunion. Only minutes ago, Biggs had been right there beside him.
"I wish you're here, Biggs," he whispered to himself, hearing his voice break slightly. "You promised to hear all my stories when we came back. You promised."
The ache in Luke's heart was eating him alive. He stood before the wardrobe, standing stockstill as he stared at the suit hanging before him, fighting his pain and willing himself not to cry for today.
One day.
That was all, it was so short a time. And he had lost all of them. Uncle Owen, Aunt Beru, Ben Kenobi, and Biggs.
Luke knew there would be scars in his heart for the rest of his life. He knew he would remember this day forever. Not because the Death Star had been destroyed. Not because he became a hero.
No. Because of all that he had lost. His family, his friends.
Luke finally pulled his eyes away from the suit hanging there and grabbed a shirt and a pair of khaki pants. What would Leia tell him, he wondered, trying to distract himself. Would she feel it necessary to remind him again that he was a hero? Would she tell him of some ridiculous ceremony that would take place to honor him?
Luke didn't feel like a hero. He didn't want to be one. He didn't want some ceremony, he didn't want all those admiring glances.
What he wanted, no one could give to him. He wanted them back, he wanted them to be alive and well, to be there beside him, laughing and smiling. He wanted to see Aunt Beru's kind eyes, her tender smile as she hugged him tightly in that motherly way. He wanted to hear Uncle Owen's strong voice, wanted to see his usually stern expression break into a crooked smile. He wanted to see Ben with his purposeful stride, his tone soft but sincere as he spoke. He wanted to see Biggs standing beside him, clapping his shoulder as he smiled and said, "So, Luke, let's hear your stories, eh?"
Luke closed his eyes.
He wanted the impossible.
-- fin --