Well, friends, this is the final chapter. I want to thank all you lovely reviewers for taking the time to comment. Your thoughtful observations gave me insight into many of the inner workings of the characters. Your encouragement pushed me to keep writing. Thank you to everyone who followed and favorited this story. Like I said before, the plot got away from me and became much longer and more convoluted than I originally had in mind. True to its nature, I have now realized there is probably a sequel in here somewhere. This story has left us with more questions than answers, I think. What say you, readers? Are you up for a sequel, or are we too exhausted? (or is it just me? I may need a little break, lol!) Enjoy this final chapter and thanks for joining me for the ride. -T.
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In the end it was Han who pulled him up, stumbling with weakness, muttering something about "damned reinforcements". Luke hardly heard, following Solo, who had his wrist clamped in an iron grip, as if he thought Luke might run back to Vader's side and declare to the soonest arriving stormtrooper, his fealty to the dark lord.
He wouldn't do that.
Would he? He almost laughed at the ludicrousness of the thought.
"Come on, kid," Han snapped, not unkindly. His voice sounded far away, like it was underwater. Luke blinked at him, trying to focus his eyes. His friend had split into two: two Hans frowning back at him, speaking more words that mumbled strangely in the echo chamber that was his skull.
They needed to get out of there, before Vader's troops arrived. He said as much to Solo, who muttered something along the lines of "no kidding" before pulling him toward the burned out wreckage Leia's explosives had left.
Suddenly the Princess was behind them, her voice snappy, urgent. Luke half turned, dismayed at the way the world tilted sharply under his movement. Leia too sounded like she was coming from underwater.
Han found a swoop that was still in one piece. How had he known this was here? Luke wondered foggily, leaning heavily against the machinery as Solo gunned it to life. "Come on!"
Luke managed awkwardly to mount the speeder behind his friend, watching as a pair of Leias slipped on much more gracefully in front of the smuggler. Three people could fit on one swoop? he marveled distantly, even as Solo shot the speeder away like a burned Mynock and Luke nearly lost his hold on Solo's soot-stained linen shirt.
"Hang on back there!" Han snapped a warning to Luke, his voice louder in Luke's ears than the sudden whipping of the wind.
Luke gritted his teeth and willed his fingers to stay locked on the fistful of fabric. The muscles in his arms and hands were beginning to spasm uncontrollably, even as he tried to reach to the Force for an extra measure of strength.
He had no reserves left. His battle with the Emperor - the Emperor's attacks - the explosion - his internal battle over how to leave his father - had taken everything out of him. What parts of his body did not seem to register outright pain, seemed numb, as if he would float away.
"I'm…" he tried over the wind, his face practically buried in Han's shoulder. His mouth felt full of cotton wool, his numbed fingers slipping. Falling.
I'm falling.
But he couldn't say it, couldn't get his lips to form the words.
He had left his father back there, stretched out on the scarred duracrete. He'd left the man alive to hunt him another day, to terrorize the Alliance for another season, to prolong and build the Empire.
Luke was a coward.
Because aside from everything Luke wished could happen between a son and his newly-found father, the status quo had not changed. Likely it never would. And now his own actions would prolong this miserable war.
Would Leia ever forgive him?
The speeder had stopped now. Luke tried to look up to see what was happening - where they were - but every movement of his head sent the world spinning.
In front of him, Solo dismounted the swoop, and Luke nearly fell with him. The smuggler tightened his hand painfully around Luke's upper arm, snapping more underwater words, and Luke could only stare, frowning, trying and failing to decipher what was being said.
Now Solo was scowling at Luke - was it concern or anger - Luke suddenly had lost his ability to decipher facial expressions. They needed to run. His legs moved as though they were no longer attached. The churn of water in his ears was growing louder, washing out all other sound. He stumbled behind Han, the world careening. They were in a building - how did they get here? - and now a small, enclosed space - a turbolift? - his vision blacking. Where were the stormtroopers come to drag him back to his father?
Not only was he a coward, but he was a traitor. A traitor to the Alliance, to the cause he had so fervently believed in. When the moment of decision had been upon him, Luke had shown definitively that blood ties were stronger than conviction. He'd left Vader alive. In the end he'd become what Alliance Command already believed him to be: a liability.
Yoda would be disappointed when he told him. He was a failure of a Jedi. He'd failed at his appointed task: to be a guardian and protector to the many. He'd selfishly fought for the one: himself. He'd allowed his father to live when he should have completed his duty and killed the man.
There was a ship. A ship? Han and Leia were pulling him toward it, the wind searing over the high tower of a rooftop landing pad. How did we get here?
He stumbled down against one of the landing struts, the wind mixing with the churning water sound in his ears, drowning out the colorful string of curse words coming from Solo. Was Han trying to hotwire the thing? He should help, provide cover. Those stormtroopers would be coming any minute. But instead, he sagged back against the strut, insensible for a moment, until Leia seized his arm, her voice sharp with alarm.
How did he regain his feet? Perhaps he crawled to the open landing ramp. By the time Solo was there, heaving him upright, Luke's vision was nothing but gray specks, rapidly filling in the spaces where he could see out - a white ship's ramp, the wide, streamlined cockpit, nerf-hide seat soft like velvet under his hand that caught it for support.
Then the gray filled up his vision, like sand being poured over the top of his head, suffocating, bringing a final, claustrophobic sort of blackness.
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"The medical droid is with him. He's resting."
Han nodded curtly, his eyes scanning the instrument display board out of habit, more than from a real need to see what was happening. They were safely in hyperspace, the stolen rich kid's yacht fortunately equipped with the most advanced medical equipment - short of a bacta tank - available, and a set of Imperial codes that allowed them passage past the quasi-military blockade waiting just in-system. That, or the Emperor's death had already sowed so much confusion among his troops, that a single luxury yacht casually departing the system was already beneath their notice. Either way, they were safely at lightspeed.
"Good. Find out anything?"
"The droid is still running diagnostics," Leia shook her head carefully, following his gaze to the instrument panel, perhaps remembering, as Han was, the arcing blue fire that had leapt from Palpatine's fingertips to skitter over the kid's lightsaber, of the massive explosion that had erupted from the Emperor's hands as Leia had plunged the lightsaber through the Sith Lord's back. It probably really shouldn't have been a surprise, then, considering, when the kid had crumpled down into a cold faint from where he'd been standing at the back of the cockpit, just as Solo had ordered him to strap in.
"I'll check on him again in a minute." Leia's voice was quiet, still on edge, after all that had happened; still thick with self-reprimand, as if she'd forgotten already the role she'd just played in saving all of their lives. "Hopefully we can treat him on board."
Solo nodded again, studying her. With shipboard facilities like those, he could dare to hope too. He wasn't in the mood for a repeat experience trying to sneak the kid into a planet-side Medcenter. "You should sit down."
Her eyes flashed, indignant for a moment, but there was no fire left - no energy to fight. That was too bad, Han reflected soberly. He liked her best that way: mildly hostile for no apparent reason. Maybe that was why he constantly tried to annoy her.
But not now. He could see the fragility just under the surface; brittle grief on the verge of cracking. He reached a hand out to her, almost surprised when she took it, allowing him to guide her to the copilot's seat. "He'll be okay," he murmured. "Time to rest."
She shot him a sidelong glance, resistant to the suggestion. "We should get that cut on your head looked at."
"My…?" he frowned, reaching a hand up gingerly to the gash, his hand coming away sticky with blood. He'd nearly forgotten it was there. "It's fine."
She scowled at him. "It's still bleeding."
It was causing a moon-sized headache as well, but Solo thought not to mention it. He could pop a few pain pills and ignore it. He was sure the medikit on the ship would be fully equipped. "It's fine," he grunted again.
Leia opened her mouth, as if to argue further, but instead she sagged back into the chair, clearly spent.
"You should get some rest," Solo repeated. "I haven't checked the cabin back there, but if the cockpit's anything to go by, I'd bet on some comfortable sleeping arrangements."
He didn't even add any snark to that last comment. The Princess ignored him, her eyes going now to the navicomputer, scanning the display, evading his suggestion, unappreciative of his lack of insinuation. "Where are we headed? You know we can't stay on this ship for long. Whoever owns it will be looking for it."
"Yeah," Solo frowned at the display, noting the ETA for the Kabr system in four hours. Many of the more modern ships contained internal homing devices in case they were stolen or missing. He wasn't sure if this one had the same, but it wasn't worth the risk to find out. "It's too bad - it's a nice ship."
"Did you com Chewie?"
Han nodded again, remembering the deafening howl of relief from the Wookiee on hearing Han's voice, knowing they were safe. "Yeah. He should be there in six."
The Princess chewed her lip. "Okay," she murmured. "Then we will head back to base to sort this out."
Solo peered at her, suddenly understanding. That was what was bothering her. "You think Command will have changed its mind?" he asked. The Alliance Command may have agreed under duress to allocate resources to getting Luke out of Vader's and Palpatine's clutches, but that did not necessarily equate to welcoming the kid back into their ranks with open arms.
Leia knew it. Her expression was tight. She didn't meet his eyes. "That's what I'm going to work on."
"Does Luke have any say in what happens?"
Her dark eyes flashed again. "Why wouldn't he want anything other than to come back to the Alliance?" she asked tersely. "His whole life is there - everyone he knows, the cause he believes in."
"They tried to kill him," Solo pointed out mildly. "That puts a damper on things."
She sat forward now, earnest in her expression. "The actions of an extreme minority within the Alliance do not speak for the entire organization. We can change this from within. Luke just took down Palpatine and Vader. That has to count for something in terms of their view of his trustworthiness and character. The Alliance needs his skills and leadership. They cannot afford - "
"Princess," Solo cut in. Leia stopped her speech short, stared at him, perhaps surprised into the silence by the gravity of his expression. "You don't have to convince me of Luke's trustworthiness. Of course I agree with everything you've said. But there's something else you need to know."
Her brows knit together in a frown. "What is it?"
Solo cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Vader, when we left him lying there in the street…." He set his jaw, knowing she wasn't going to like this one bit. "He wasn't dead."
She seemed to not register his words for a long moment, before opening her mouth, stammering, "What are you talking about? He was dead. I saw him. Luke said he was dead."
"Luke...was wrong."
"Wrong? What do you mean?" Her studying expression again. "Was he mistaken or…." Realization set in that dark gaze, "he lied?" She shook her head, confused, momentarily unmoored. "No...Why would he lie about that?"
"Vader was alive," Han repeated. "At least when Luke was kneeling over him. It was the kid..." he swallowed, feeling guilty at sharing this information with her, knowing how she'd react, and knowing instinctively that Luke wouldn't want to be the one to tell her. "It was the kid who called the Imperial reinforcements."
Her mouth gaped open, betrayal burning in her eyes, words clearly eluding her. She glanced back through the cockpit, to the corridor where she'd left Luke, unconscious, in the care of the medical droid. "Why?" she whispered finally, eyes brimming. "Why? When we were that close? He let him live?"
Think about it," Han retorted, a little sharper than he meant to. "Love him or hate him, Vader is the kid's father. Did you or anyone else think that he would actually kill his own father?"
Leia swallowed thickly, dropping her gaze, realization flooding her eyes, followed by shame at being so quick to direct her anger at Luke. Han knew she wouldn't blame the kid - not really. Still, her shoulders slumped in a sort of exhaustion that could not be explained by anything other than resounding defeat. "That's it, then," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the even hum of the ship's drive. "Vader's still out there. We're back to square one."
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The Falcon met them just outside the Kabr system, more or less on-schedule.
Luke sat in the small lounge of the stolen ship, leaning into the empty comfort of one of the three overstuffed chairs, having snuck in here to fend off the ministrations of the ship-board med droid. He could hear Han and Leia bickering from the hold.
He shut his eyes, and tried not to overhear their heated conversation, but it was kind of difficult in such a small ship. They were arguing about him.
Luke sighed, shifting carefully in his seat to find a more comfortable position. The med droid had dosed him with painkillers, a stimulant, and who knew what else. He'd gone into a Jedi healing trance for a couple hours, which had helped. He felt a thousand times better than he had a few hours ago, which enabled him to now think his situation through with a clear head.
He knew what he needed to do.
He'd told Han and Leia as much. He ached with the grief that he knew he'd only really start to feel in the coming days and months, when his new reality began to settle around him in its permanence. And yet, he knew it was what he had to do.
I can't return to the Alliance.
He'd told them both, and watched for reaction to play across their faces, to see the outrage or the disappointment. There was neither. Han's expression was grim, his mouth set in a thin line; Leia's was troubled - lost - as if she was functioning on too little sleep to fully register what he'd just said. Probably she was, Luke thought.
Neither of them had asked why. Perhaps that was the most troubling of all. It was as though they knew there was really no other solution.
And that was the part that felt like a punch to the solar plexus. The realization that he saw mirrored on their faces: that message, intercepted from Palpatine and Vader all those months ago had irreparably changed the course of Luke's life. It had set him on a path that took him away. He could not go back. There was no undoing the actions and the reactions of those around him.
There was no undoing who his father was, no unknowing the truth.
That old familiar anger crept under Luke's collar, the loss of control of his own life - his own destiny. That feeling of betrayal - by everyone: Ben, for lying; the Alliance for distrusting him and casting him off, Vader for no longer being Anakin Skywalker, for not being the father Luke had wanted - needed - and even Leia, for her anger, tucked away where she thought no one would notice; bitter disappointment that Luke hadn't killed Vader.
Forcibly, he pushed it back, casting out for peace. Though the anger was still there, it lessened, no longer throbbing in his temples with every beat of his heart. He released it into the void, just as he had on Coruscant, when he'd reached out to his father.
Let go.
He didn't want to feel helpless rage anymore, no longer wanted to stand at the edge of that yawing pit beckoning him to lash out and seek his revenge on everyone who had used him. He wanted to forgive. The trouble was, he was not exactly sure how.
The arguing had stopped. Luke realized it was because of the Falcon's arrival, Chewie's anxious howling echoing over the com speakers.
Luke allowed himself a small smile as he carefully gained his feet, walking toward the cockpit, toward the sound of that familiar voice, toward that of Han's, snapping something defensive about his ship, overlaid by Leia's, giving her two cents.
He would miss this. Desperately.
He stepped into the cockpit, settling carefully into the chair behind the copilot's seat. The familiar half-moon of a battered freighter filled the viewport. "We'll get the tether and come across," Han barked into the com. "We're gonna leave this baby here to drift."
Chewie's questioning roar filled the small space.
"I already told you, pal," Han growled impatiently. "The Womuat system. It's a long story. I'll tell you on the way."
The smuggler snapped off the com unit, and half-turned his chair to throw a grin in Luke's direction. "It was next on our list of somewhat-uninhabited planets. You know," he shrugged, "until everything went to hell."
Luke nodded, and tried to smile back, feeling inexplicably sad. In an hour, three hours, five, this would all be gone. Han and Leia and Chewie would be headed back to the Alliance base, while Luke would be somewhere on a planet he'd never heard of, struggling mightily to forget he'd ever left Tatooine, destroyed a Death Star, become a Jedi Knight, or found his long-lost father.
"No poison vines or disease-spreading slugs - I checked," Solo added with a wink. "No swamps, mud, acid rain. I mean, this planet is practically paradise next to the places we've been lately."
"Is that meant to reassure him?" Leia asked, eyebrows raised. "The bar was set pretty low." She turned to give Luke a smile of her own, reaching her hand out to him, the depth of meaning in her eyes overwhelming her capacity for words.
Luke grasped it, tightening his fingers over hers. "I promise I'll write," he tried to quip, returning the smile.
She laughed lightly. "You'd better."
He ached. Already, he ached with the loss. The loss of Leia, Han, and Chewie, of his friendships, of his purpose as part of the Rebel Alliance, of idolizing his dead, heroic Jedi father, of knowing who the hell he even was.
And yet, he needed time to think, to sit still, to process it all. Not just the past few hours and days, but the past few years. He needed to decide who he was and what he stood for.
Because he didn't know anymore.
He could no longer be the happy-go-lucky hotshot pilot who had gotten a lucky shot at the Death Star. The universe was no longer so black and white, but a sea of gray. There was a dark side to everything, really: to Vader, to the Alliance…to himself. His father was extraordinarily flawed. And so was Luke.
All he knew at his moment was that he could no longer stomach the thought of any of it - the fighting or killing, his connection to his father, nor the connection that relationship afforded Luke to the Empire.
It seemed Luke's place in life was more tenuous than ever. Assuming Darth Vader had lived, he would be crowned the new Emperor. As Vader's son, Luke knew he could have a position in the Empire if he so chose. Not that he ever wanted to be a part of the Empire, of course. The fact was only relevant in the way it complicated his other relationships.
He could not return to the Alliance. His relation to Vader, his Jedi abilities, the actions of High Command all had effectively driven him away. Even seeing through with the demise of Emperor Palpatine would not ensure his trustworthiness to people who only saw him as Vader's spawn - a tool of coercion to use on the dark lord. It would be too dangerous. Someone would still be out to kill him, kidnap him, use him as a tool to get what they wanted. He would certainly not be welcome.
He had to assume, since Luke had gotten Vader what he desired most, that the dark lord might be content and stop pursuing him so relentlessly. Surely Vader, who could not fathom the utility in showing any degree of love for his son, would not want to tear the galaxy apart to find Luke just to be with him.
No, Vader had what he wanted: power, an empire. Luke, on the other hand, didn't know what he wanted anymore.
Was he a pacifist? Or did he simply want to avoid being placed in direct conflict with his father?
He didn't know. He had wanted to save Vader - bring him back to the good side, find the small kernel of good he felt from the Sith Lord and drag it out to the light.
The truth was, Luke had realized, too late to change course: he couldn't save anybody. Vader, in the end, would make his choices.
And Luke would make his.
Han's voice, snapping into the com again, tore him out of his scattered train of thought. Leia released his hand, turning to crane her head to see. The Falcon's bulk drifted like a bumbling weather balloon over the dunes on Tatooine, bobbing as if on a gentle sea, its umbilical tether extending slowly to their ship. "Easy there, pal. Just a little to your right."
They stood, as the umbilical attachment locked into place with a muffled clang. "Any souvenirs you want to take as a token of this trip?" Han asked, turning to them, a wicked gleam shining in his eyes.
Luke knew the smuggler was only half joking. Solo was already planning on lifting the medical droid and the ship's entire supply of alcohol. He forced a laugh. "You're taking enough for the three of us."
Solo laughed in return, slinging one arm over Leia's shoulder and dropping the other around Luke's. They walked together to the hatch, toward an unknown future.
This was right, thought Luke. It was right to be here, right now, with the two of them, laughing like teenagers over a harmless prank, momentarily carefree, the weight of the galaxy lifting for a few minutes off their shoulders. He stole a quick glance at both of them - each still grinning - and memorized this moment, shored it away for all the future times when loneliness and isolation would try to get the better of him. This was the memory he would hold, tucked carefully away like the tiny scene in the spherical snow-globe Aunt Beru had kept on her knick-knack shelf; fragile, untouchable.
The thought gave him courage. Luke set his jaw as the hatch swung open and they donned their O2 breathers, stepping into the half-vacuum of the collapsible tunnel, Chewie's distant roar of greeting sounding small and tinny in their ears.
Luke set forward, the translucent membrane under his feet the only thing between him and the wide-open galaxy. He would dream new dreams, find peace somehow in an anonymous existence on a new planet.
He was walking toward a new life; a brave, brand-new beginning.
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THE END
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