Chapter 6
His body dragged in shallow, agonizing breath after breath.
One word, over and over. Clearer with each exhale.
"Luke!"
His eyelids fluttered, sticky with what he didn't think was sleep, but something near that. Unfocused colors conjoined and separated above him.
"Luke, can you hear us?"
The colors became humans, the humans became his friends.
And the scenario tugged at him as familiar, just as ammonia assaulted his nose and memory.
Except this time he couldn't move, and he couldn't breathe well, and the pain went so deep that there was no anger.
Luke choked on his sobs. "Force, make it stop, it hurts."
He took a fistful of whoever's clothes were closer and squeezed.
Luke sat hours later in a Rebel frigate's medical bay, quietly tracking the echoes of doctors that circled his room, speaking in low voices.
Epileptic. Seizures. Tonic-clonic.
Test results gathered in thick stacks of flimsi around the foot of his medical bed.
The ship thrummed around him, a lullaby that fell on deaf ears.
"Mr. Skywalker is recovering nicely," a doctor said, hands up to placate Han, Leia, and Chewie, all standing just outside his curtained medical capsule. "Our team here is already working on compiling data."
Another doctor agreed, then cleared her throat. "We'll be running more tests, studying old tests, comparing past results and current symptoms. Your prior testing facility's results came back abnormal, which proves the theory that Mr. Skywalker's injuries were minor at first, or less severe, at least. And as each seizure progressed, the injures worsened. For example, the fracture in his arm might have only been hairline nearer the initial accident."
"How many seizures has he had?" Leia's voice was a breath.
"Could be three. Could be far more than that. Could be closer to seven."
Luke's stomach clenched, his throat went tight.
"Seven?" Han said.
"It would explain why Mr. Skywalker is consistently exhausted—seizures during the night."
Chewie howled, protesting his vigilance in the night watch; Han spun in a circle, hands whipping through his frantic-looking hair.
"Listen here, you cowards, hide behind your doctor-lingo for as long as you'd like, but until you fix my friend, you can't expect me to just sit here and wait for the next seizure to hit. I…I can't…" Han seemed to shrink in size, melting until he reached Leia's arms. She pulled him in and held him there, swaying.
Luke turned his face away.
"I can't watch that again, Leia." Luke heard Han whisper into his sister's hair.
A timer on his left chimed softly, and he felt a rush of coolness in his veins, making him lightheaded.
As his eyelids grew heavy, he heard a nearly-silent sob.
He didn't think it was all bad, then, that he slowly drifted away.
Luke woke again to Leia's sunny smile, her hand over his heavy, injured arm, her beautiful face over his broken one.
"How do you feel?"
Luke rolled his shoulders. "Sore."
Luke's vision felt blurry, smeared of sorts, as if someone had taken a brush and dabbed away all the harsh lines around him. His tongue pushed against his teeth, his breath sour. Luke couldn't remember the last time he had eaten, but either way he felt nausea creeping and churning in his stomach, making it hard to swallow.
"What am I on?" he croaked.
Luke rolled his shoulders again, feeling the weight of his now heavier hand—the small bandages that use to wrap it were now replaced with a full-onset plaster cast—and the pull of the stitches up his side and neck. He knew what pain reliever felt like. The side effects were not even close to what he was feeling.
Reach inside yourself, he felt Obi-Wan prod in his mind. Find out.
"Pain reliever."
"Anything else?" Luke croaked.
"Hm?"
"Did they give me anything else?"
Leia fiddled with his gown sleeve, softening its creases with her slender fingers. She was thinking, he could tell, about how much to tell him. "It might be the anti-seizure medication."
Luke nodded mutely, shifting in bed so that he was sitting upright, his legs swung over the edge of the bed, facing his sister.
"I saw Ben. That last time… I saw him in the forest. He was right in front of me, telling me something. I-I can't remember what, but…"
Leia placed her hands over her eyes, pressing. He could hear her exhale slowly. "I knew it. I knew you were closer than they were telling me."
Luke frowned.
"You saw Ben. Does that mean you…you…" Leia let her sentence hang.
You died?
He could hear it, that unsaid word.
"No, no! No, it was before. Before everything, before the s-seizure—" Force that felt awful on his tongue—"—he was here. Right in front of me. Like… a Force ghost. I've seen them before."
"You've seen them before," Leia repeated, voice strained.
"You think I'm crazy."
"I think you're sick, Luke. And that your medication is talking."
"I'm talking."
"Luke—"
"No, Leia, listen to me. Ben and Yoda said to me…" He grimaced, trying to remember their words. Ben, and Yoda…they said…
Leia stood. "I was supposed to tell the doctors when you woke up."
She left, wiping her eyes. Luke followed her movements, as she dimmed the lights and closed the door. If his head wasn't so clogged he would be able to tell what she was thinking.
She didn't believe him. He knew she didn't. It broke him apart.
The door swung open again, this time with a small nurse holding an array of bottles and a tray of food.
"Mr. Skywalker," he said curtly. "It about time you eat something. Does anything sound good?" He motioned to the plain broth, the thin slices of bread, and for Force's sake green gelatin.
"I'm not sure I can stomach anything just yet." Just looking at the food made him sick. "Thank you, though."
He frowned. "You'll have to eat something before you take your allotted evening dosages. Two for inflammation, one for pain relief, and one carbamazepine. All with food."
Luke swallowed whatever was creeping up his throat. "Right. Okay."
The nurse pulled up the side table, setting the tray and the pills down neatly. "I'll tell your friends the same thing in case you fall back asleep or forget. There's no shame in that."
Luke nodded, tried for a smile. His face felt cramped, and he remembered his fractured eye socket and jaw. He wondered if his whole face was purple at this point.
The door closed before he registered the nurse leaving, and was opening again to let Han in.
"Hey, hotshot," Han said softly.
"Hi, Han."
Han lingered, looking at Luke's face for a long moment before he sat heavily next to the food and the medications, which he wrinkled his nose at.
"I've gotta eat this somehow," Luke said helplessly, poking the green goo at watching his reflection ripple.
"We've done harder things, right?"
We. Han had developed the habit of saying we some time during their flight out from Jabba's Palace.
"Yeah, I guess so." Luke picked up the spoon, dipping it experimentally in the broth that still was rimmed with steam.
"'Atta boy."
Han talked as Luke struggled to sip—about how drunk the fighter pilots got, about the Ewoks and C-3PO, of Lando being Lando and starting a questionable game of cards half way through the festivities.
Luke pushed the bowl away after the twelfth or so story. Han looked worried.
"Hey, kiddo, you've got to—"
"I can't."
Han seemed about to argue but took it back, placed the bowl to the side and gave Luke's shoulder a squeeze. "You did good, Luke. Proud 'a you."
Luke gave a thumbs up as the bowl was replaced with a cup of water. He picked up the little, white, round pill and frowned. Carbamazepine. Anti-seizure medication. The medication talking.
Han nudged his hand. "Just get it over with, buddy."
Luke swallowed it, feeling its painful trail all the way down.
Then the second, third, fourth.
"Not too bad, hotshot," Han joked. "Of course, I've had more years of practice, but not bad."
Luke gave him a shove, his hard casted thumping against Han's collarbone. His smile didn't hurt any less, but it felt more real.
"When's the last time you went home, Han?" Luke asked once Han had stopped laughing. "C'mon, don't tell me you've just hung around Mon Motha's for the last two weeks."
Han waved away Luke's concern. "I've showered if that's what you're asking. You try smelling pretty when you hang around a Wookiee all day."
"You know what I mean." Luke looked him sincerely in the eye. "Get some sleep, Han. I know you need some. Bring Leia with you."
"What're you hinting at, pal?" A wink. Luke smiled again.
"I just mean I'll be fine here for a night. Chewie needs sleep, you need sleep, Leia needs sleep. R2 can stay if that makes you feel better. Just…I don't want you all running yourself to the ground because of my…" That word, seizures. "…me."
Han pointed a finger directly at his nose. "Listen here. We're here because we want to be. Not because we have to be or feel guilty about it. With all that we've been through together…heh." Han cleared his throat. Luke didn't fail to notice the 'we' again. "We're gonna get through this. Together. One day at a time, hotshot."
"I know. One day at a time. Just… take the nights off?"
"Don't do those Jedi mind tricks on me."
But Luke knew he had gotten to him.
"We'll be back tomorrow morning, okay? Don't do anything stupid and make a nurse call us if you need us. And if you change or mind, or if Leia chews me out, we're coming back and never leaving again, okay?" Han said as he pulled on his jacket. Luke nodded.
"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. Sleep."
"Maybe." Another wink. Luke rolled his eyes.
"She's my sister. And I don't want to know."
Han gave a salute before trudging down the hallway.
Luke took two deep breaths. Then, shakily, Luke pulled himself up and out of bed, dragging his heavy braced foot. The room instantly froze around him, seeping into his bones.
The 'fresher wasn't any warmer, as he dropped to his knees on the tile, pulled himself up to the toilet and vomited broth and stomach acid.
No alarms went off. The time spent slowly dissecting each machine around him with careful Force probes as his limited energy allowed, slowly taking them apart from the inside as carefully as a bomb expert, made sure of that.
Alone, shivering, with a heart rhythm like an undisciplined firing squad, Luke retched.