Mind Tricks
by Corellian Blue
(first published 2003, revised 2016, 2020)
Warnings: language; mental health issues; suicide attempt
IV
Luke threw another log on the fire, triggering flames and sparks to curl up towards the sky. The falakik were cold, the remaining skewers of meat that had been saved for Han now sat on the plate, congealing in their juices.
Leia checked her wrist chrono again. Han had entered the Falcon nearly an hour ago, and it was obvious he wasn't returning. His absence from the group was noticeable. Luke, Lando and Chewbacca were trying their best to keep up the banter that had started the evening, but the ambience between them lacked informality and spontaneity, and the humour was forced and strained. Over the last year, the four of them had never spent time together in such a relaxed setting. It was apparent to Leia that the entity that drew them together was the same one missing from the celebrations: Han.
Leia wasn't enjoying herself; she knew the others knew she wasn't enjoying herself. The itch from her healing skin was doing nothing for her mood, and the only reason why she hadn't already checked on Han was because she didn't want it to look as though she was mothering him. She decided things had gone beyond appearances. Glancing at Luke, and without a further word or hesitation, she rose and climbed the freighter's ramp.
As she'd hadn't seen Han in the cockpit from outside, Leia knew he wasn't there. She suspected he would be in his cabin, but giving him the benefit of the doubt, she detoured through the main hold before heading there. The hatch to his cabin was closed. Leia knocked gently before entering.
Han was on the bunk, fully clothed, the mud from his boots soiling the covers. Stepping over the gun-rig that had been carelessly left on the deck, Leia moved towards his side. He seemed unnaturally still, starkly lit by the harsh cabin lighting, the colour of his face pale and wan. Leia thought he was simply resting and hadn't heard her enter. Then she saw the hypo-infuser clutched in the hand that lay across his body. There was a moment of blind panic before she spotted the rise and fall of his chest: he was breathing—Of course, he is breathing! Adrenaline and relief washed over her as she scolded herself for soaring into a ridiculous over-reaction.
Collecting the empty infuser from his hand, Leia read from the hypo's label that it had contained a potent sedative. Han would be unconscious until at least the morning. There was a possibility of his airway becoming obstructed if she left him on his back in a soporific state and dressed in his fatigues, he also looked uncomfortable.
She removed Han's boots and socks, unclipped his belt, and unfastened the front of his shirt and his trousers. She placed his arm furthest away from herself out from his body, then draped his other across his chest. She bent the leg closest to her at the knee, placed his foot directly on the bunk. Supporting his head and neck, she gently rolled him away from herself into a first aid recovery position. She finished by tucking his hand under his chin to stop his head from tilting and potentially blocking his airway.
Her heart was still racing as she placed the used infuser next to the medpack. It wasn't like Han to resort to medication to put himself to sleep. She was more used to seeing him down a few beers or whiskey to relax. That was before the carbonite.
It wasn't surprising that he had resorted to a sedative. The only time he'd slept free from nightmares was when he was on the spice derivative. He had clearly felt he needed the tranquilliser.
Remembering the drofic she'd brought back for him, Leia retrieved the individually sealed capsules from a pocket and placed them on the desk next to the open medpack. She noticed discarded wrappings and other used items from the pack, and moved back to Han, searching him for signs of injury. The hand resting under his chin drew her eye to the patch of synthflesh, and she wondered how she'd managed to miss seeing it earlier.
Leia brushed the hair from Han's forehead, grateful that the wound didn't appear large or serious, but intensely curious about the cause.
Her mind was suddenly flooded with an horrific image: Han pushing the muzzle of his blaster up under his chin, closing his eyes and pulling the trigger.
She instinctively recoiled from him, withdrawing her hand from his head as if she had been burnt, stared at him anxiously.
Her love and concern for him quickly forced away the vision, and just as quickly she rested her hand on his shoulder, annoyed that her over-active imagination and smothering concern for him were eliciting her melodramatic, uncharacteristic responses. She had no extra-sensory cognitive ability, no special perception skills that would allow her to divine what had happened caused his injury.
The Force runs strong in my family.
Luke had told her that on the night he'd revealed he was her brother. But that didn't mean she had the same abilities as Luke.
You're wrong, Leia. You have that power. In time, you'll learn to use it as I have.
Use it the way Anakin Skywalker used it? Leia thought bitterly. The way Vader used it?
Han wouldn't attempt to take his own life. He was too strong and resilient to do that. He loved her too much. And if her vision was correct, how could he now be lying stretched out on his bunk? Why was he still alive?
Leia covered him with a spare blanket from the closet, kissed his cheek before reluctantly pulling away from him.
"Sleep well," she whispered.
Before dimming the light to night-mode, Leia picked up the gun-rig and laid it out on the desk. She looked at him one more time and closed the hatch to the cabin.
Leia initially intended returning outside to spend the rest of the evening with her friends, however by the time she made it around to the main hold, she felt as exhausted as she suspected Han was. It was tempting to go back to his cabin, snuggle up next to him like she first had on the long, slow flight to Bespin. But she didn't want to disturb him. Rubbing at the bandage around her arm, she headed to the other place on the Falcon that she loved, apart from Han's cabin, the pilot's seat in the cockpit. Han's seat.
Leia settled into the seat, tucking her legs up underneath herself and recalling the way Han usually half-fell into this chair with casual elegance. She felt connected to her lover here, imagined that she could feel the gentle sleep rhythm that enfolded him. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, allowing her fantasy to take flight. In her mind, she was able to discern the cadence of his breathing, the beat of his heart, the patterns of his brainwaves. She imagined there was something distinctly 'Han' in what she could sense; something that identified the synchronised electrical impulses as being generated by the neurons in his mind. At yet, even in her imagination, she knew there was something not right about Han. Her thoughts circled back to the cause of his problems: carbonite.
The soft fall of bootsteps drew Leia back to the reality of the cockpit. She opened her eyes and looked over her shoulder as Luke entered through the hatchway. He gave her a small smile in response to her frown and took a seat in Chewbacca's seat.
"What did you want to talk to me about?" Luke asked quietly.
Leia's brow crinkled into a scowl. She had wanted to talk to her brother about how they might be able to help Han, but as he was leaving for Dagobah, she felt less inclined to discuss her concerns, especially as it appeared Luke didn't think likewise. There were other things she also wanted to talk to him about. Personal things that a brother and sister should share. But that would no doubt lead to discussing other matters she couldn't—wouldn't—deal with. Not now. Perhaps not ever.
"I'm worried about Han," Leia told him.
Luke said nothing, yet his eyes encouraged Leia to continue.
"He hasn't been the same since…" It was ridiculous, but she couldn't even say the name of the place where the nightmare had begun. Bespin… "He hasn't fully recovered from the effects of the carbonite. Or Vader's torture."
Luke raised an eyebrow at her use of the name Vader but said nothing.
Incredulous at his lack of response, Leia asked, "You haven't noticed?"
Luke shrugged. "Perhaps I'm cutting Han some slack. Giving him time to find his feet again."
"And you're saying I'm not?"
Much to her annoyance, Luke smiled pleasantly. "You're closer to Han than anyone, Leia. If you're worried about him, then your concerns are justified. You should trust your feelings and intuition."
Leia's eyes narrowed, suspicious that Luke had agreed with her too quickly. But his face was open, honest, expectant, and she continued without further questioning his motives.
"I need to help Han," she explained. "And I want you to help me."
"Isn't the medication working?"
Although Leia had discretely dispensed the drofic to Han, it did not surprise her that Luke knew about the medication. Much to her irritation, the young Jedi—her brother—seemed to know a lot about everything lately.
"The drofic has helped, but it only relieves the symptoms. It doesn't solve the problem. And I don't want Han to be on drugs for the rest of his life."
"You might have to accept that as a possibility," Luke told her.
Leia folded her arms across her chest. "I don't have to accept anything. Not if there's some way of helping him."
Luke only pursed his lips and nodded. Leia wondered if he was oblivious to her animosity or merely ignoring it to further annoy her.
"What do you think is wrong with Han?" he finally asked.
Frustrated, she dropped her arms and leaned towards her brother. "I'm not a psych counsellor, Luke. I don't know exactly what's wrong with Han. The doctor suggested he could suffer from post-traumatic stress, but how do I know if that's what this is." Especially if Han won't talk to me about it. "What if it's something else? But we need to know what's wrong before we can fix it. That's why I need your help."
A level of modesty washed over Luke. "I don't know if I can be of much help, Leia. My master taught me some pain-blocking and basic healing techniques. These allow me to cope with pain and stress and accelerate the healing processes."
Leia smiled. This was what she wanted to hear. Something positive.
"But I've only used them on myself," Luke continued. "I've never tried applying the Force on another being to heal them. I don't even know if I can."
"Why not?" Leia reasoned, struggling to remain calm. "Surely the principles are the same."
"The Force doesn't work on principles, Leia. It's something you feel. It guides you, and—"
"But you could still try it on Han," she interrupted.
Luke's face twitched uncomfortably. "I could. But I don't think it would work on him." He hurried to explain himself before she could interrupt again. "Han's too strong-willed, strong-minded. I wouldn't want to fight him or enforce my will on him. Besides, for any healing to be successful, he'd have to want to let me in."
Leia closed her mouth before she put her foot in it and said something she might regret. Luke was right. Han would not be receptive to anyone prodding around in his sub-conscious. She wasn't even sure the Corellian believed in the Force, despite having been exposed to Luke's 'mumbo jumbo' for the last few years.
"You might be able to do it, though."
Leia met her brother's sparkling eyes. "I might be able to do what?"
Luke's grin widened. "Han would let you in. He trusts you. He wouldn't fight you."
Leia pulled an indifferent face. "Maybe."
"What do you mean, 'maybe'?" he admonished. "There's no 'maybe' about it."
"So what if he would let me in," she shot back defensively. "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to control the Force—"
"You don't control the Force, Leia," Luke interrupted.
Deliberately ignoring the correction, Leia continued, "Even if I did how to con—use the Force, I don't know how to help Han. That's your department."
"It could be your department too," he encouraged.
Leia shook her head. "No, it couldn't."
He offered, "I could show you what to do."
She sat back in the seat, mouth open, hands open as she gestured at his suggestion. "How could you show me what to do when you said you didn't know what to do?"
Luke paused and Leia became uncomfortably aware that she was saying anything to deny that she might have Force skills.
"What did you do to help you get over the loss of Alderaan?" her brother eventually asked.
Leia bristled and the hair on the back of her neck rose. "I haven't."
Luke stared at her, disbelieving but at the same time contrite. "You know what I mean. As I recall, about six months after the Battle of Yavin you had a breakdown."
Leia averted her eyes.
Luke continued, "You came through that, Leia. What did you do?"
Leia didn't like talking about the destruction of her homeworld, let alone dissecting how she managed to cope with it. She thought she had been discrete about her psychological condition after Alderaan, throwing herself into the Rebel Alliance, working long, hard hours, going to bed fatigued, too tired to even think straight. Anything to put off any emotional reaction she had. Until one morning, she had been unable to get out of her bunk. Physically incapable of rising, she had called in sick.
The first psych counsellor Leia had seen had been useless. He had wanted her to talk incessantly about how she felt, encouraging her to openly weep and rage.
The second counsellor had been more effective but even then, Leia had picked and chosen the therapy elements she thought would be most useful to her. She had used a combination of meditation, relaxation and focusing exercises, concentrating on her incoming thoughts and feelings and accepting but not reacting to them.
Considering it now from a distance, Leia recognised that she had instinctively sought out the Force, channelling it and allowing it to heal herself. But that didn't make her feel confident that she could do something similar for Han. She didn't even know where to begin.
"Let me show you a few techniques to help heal your arm," Luke suggested. "That can't hurt, can it?"
Leia pressed her lips together tightly, remained silent.
Luke took her silence as acceptance and pressed on. "I can show you how to enter Han's mind, providing he lets you in. Then if or when you feel comfortable, you could always try applying the same healing techniques on Han." He shrugged. "Who knows. They might work."
Who knows?! she silently yelled at him. You should know! You're the fucking Jedi!
Luke flinched and she knew he had heard her. But his reaction was enough to shame her for her aggressive response, calm her emotions and force her to apply a semblance of logic to the situation.
She chewed on the inside of her mouth. Maybe Luke's suggestion wasn't that ridiculous. If she did have some latent Force ability, she may at least be able to speed up the healing of her blaster wound and stave off one aggravation. As it was, the itch from the synthflesh was driving her crazy.
Leia closed her eyes at the inappropriate description she had chosen. She owed it to Han to at least try what Luke was offering. It seemed to be the only hope she had.
And if it didn't work? The worst that could happen is she would still have a sore arm for a few days to come.
Leia returned her gaze to her brother. Luke was watching her intently, the corner of his mouth turning up into a hopeful half-smile.
"All right," she agreed. "Where do we start?"