Han Solo awoke with unusually sharp clarity the morning after the Alliance's victory at Endor. The air was warm, the sheets beneath him were soft, the woman at his side was utterly breathtaking. And then, too, he'd imbibed entirely too much alcohol last night, which should have meant a thoroughly awful awakening.
But his eyes flew open, lightning fast and without the drowsy spell of early morning. He stared at the hull above him, completely aware of his surroundings and the events of the last few days. His rescue, the signing of his commission, the defeat of the Emperor.
The revelations.
Oh, hell, he thought. The revelations.
He turned his head and looked at Leia. Eyes closed, hair a mess, breathing deeply. She would probably insist that she looked terrible but he adored this newfound intimacy. After three years of seeing her unassailable resiliency and perfect control, her humanity humbled and amused him. Who else saw this woman in such complete disarray? Not a damn soul.
He paused.
Who else had seen the devastation of last night? The emotional fallout of discovering the rotted trunk at the center of the Skywalker family tree?
Han blinked and sat up, careful not to wake Leia. He swung his legs over the side of his bunk and stood, turning once to make sure she still slept peacefully. His chest clenched, thinking of her pain the night before and the pain she would feel when she opened her eyes. And he thought with some degree of wonder that he needed to deal with his own emotional shit before she awoke and needed him to be calm and stable. For her.
He threw on a pair of pants and left the cabin, wiping a hand over his face as the hatch breezed shut. The Falcon's deckplates were pleasantly warm against his feet—it was so much easier to tread barefoot on the ship when they were planetside—and he ambled to the galley, intent on a cup of caf. Hell if he knew how to do any emotional processing without caffeine.
He entered the galley, flipped on the caf machine and turned to survey the state of his ship. And there, quietly sitting at the navigation console and nursing his own mug of caf, was Luke Skywalker.
"Good morning," Luke said with a short nod.
Han frowned. "Morning, kid. What are you doing here?"
Han didn't know much about Jedi. If Luke's behavior since Han's release from carbonite was any example, the farmboy was supposed to be moping around by himself somewhere contemplating the nature of the universe, not sitting on the Falcon with a cold cup of caf. Last night Han had told him that he and Leia would be turning in here; the kid knew there was a good chance he would encounter one or both of them.
Luke smiled and opened his hands. "Caf," he said.
"Seems a little too normal for a Jedi," Han pointed out. "Don't you have an existential crisis to have or something?"
He said it in a teasing tone, but, honestly, Han wasn't sure that he was really teasing. Luke confused him now. His eyes had too much in them, his priorities seemed unfathomable, and how the fuck was he Leia's twin brother? How? Nothing about the kid made sense to him anymore.
Luke shrugged. "Caf first, crisis second."
Han eyed him, then turned to the caf machine and retrieved his own mug, planting himself at the holochess table. He hunched over his mug, bare torso leaning into the steam curling from his caf. "Good to know that some things never change."
Quiet settled on them and Han's mind whirled. He'd come out here for some distance from the children of Darth Vader, to work through his shock and confusion without either of them witnessing it.
Sometimes Luke had the worst timing.
"How is Leia?" Luke asked into the silence.
Han didn't look up. He wrapped his hands around his mug and felt the first chill sweep over him. Why hadn't he put on a shirt?
"She's sleeping."
"And before that? How was she?" Luke asked.
Han looked up sharply, the first flare of anger running through his chest. "You're her brother, Luke, not her priest."
Luke's face instantly reddened, embarrassment obvious in the way his eyes widened and then fell. "I never said I was," he said.
Han waved him off, aware that he had jumped to conclusions about Luke's intent. The depths of Han's distrust of this new Jedi-Luke were hitting him hard this morning.
"Sorry," Han muttered, turning his face back down to the caf. "We're all a little jumpy, I guess."
"You can say that again," Luke said. "I couldn't sleep at all last night. I kind of just wandered around the village, thinking."
Han nodded, lifting his mug to his lips and thinking that he'd had the same thought this morning. If Leia hadn't needed him last night, he might have done the same.
"It's a lot to think about," he said over the lip of his mug. "I've had some shocks in my life, but you two take the prize."
Luke laughed quietly. "Leia as my sister isn't that far-fetched for me. But the other one…."
He trailed off and Han grimaced. His whole plan to work through his thoughts about the other one had been shot to hell and he was a little pissed about it. He'd already managed to jump all over Luke once this morning, He didn't want to do it again.
At the very least, this Jedi had once been his friend, his little brother. Whatever he was now—and Han really didn't know what he was anymore—Luke deserved more consideration than the blind distrust that Han was spouting at the moment.
"I don't think it's a good idea to talk about the other one right now," Han said.
Luke looked up and held Han's gaze, the sincerity in those blue eyes so real that Han frowned and had to look down again.
"We'll have to deal with it eventually," Luke said.
"Not this morning," Han shot back, voice rising. "Not now."
"Why not?"
Han's unresolved, blistering anger raged against Luke's honest question, white hot against his better nature. "Why not?" he bellowed. "Why not? Because he fucking tortured her, Luke! Because he strapped me to a scan grid and lopped off your hand! Why the hell should we have to deal with it now? Can't we take a break from all this shit?"
Luke blinked but didn't respond. Han scoffed and looked away, fingers gripping his mug and shoulders tight, anger running up and down his spine like electrical pulses. This was why he wanted to be alone when this happened. This was why he didn't want anybody to see his deep, dark anger. It wasn't fair to Luke to yell at him about his biological father any more than it was fair to leave Leia alone to her despair last night.
And as much anger as Han felt about these revelations, wouldn't Luke have more of a right to it than Han did? Shouldn't it be Luke raging to him?
But rage wasn't logical. Feelings weren't logical. And Han was desperate to lead the path of destruction away from Leia, so Luke's number was up.
"She's broken, Luke," he said, quieter now. "She's a wreck."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Luke nod.
Han wasn't done. "How the hell is she supposed to deal with that? This morning, tomorrow, ever? That she's related to that monster, that evil son of a bitch? How?"
"I don't know," Luke said.
Han threw up his hands. "That's great, kid. That solves it all, thanks."
Luke took a sip of his caf, eyeing Han carefully. Han knew he looked insane, eyes wide and voice heavy, but he couldn't seem to control his actions. Luke had opened up this box and he was damn well going to take whatever he got out of it. Han didn't have any say in the matter anymore.
"Leia is going to have to deal with it. And you are going to have to deal with it," Luke said after a moment.
"Me?" Han laughed, bitterness loud. "I'm fine. I can handle anything."
"Han," Luke said, his eyes kind but far too insightful for Han's taste, "you're allowed to be angry, too."
"I'm fine," he repeated.
"Sure. That's why you're yelling at me first thing in the morning? Because you're fine?"
Han scowled. "I'm not the one—"
"You are," Luke said. "You have to deal with this just like we do. It's not simply about helping Leia. You have your own issues with him. And I think you know that."
Han sat back against the bench, his words gone. Of all the places to strike him, Luke had sure picked the one that inflicted the most damage. He was angry. He was full of anger at the unfairness of it all, at the sick way fate or the Force or the gods made good people like Luke and Leia into traumatized pawns. He was angry that this huge victory was tarnished for them all, that he wasn't still lying next to a happy, fulfilled Leia. He was angry that Luke had given the bastard a proper funeral, that Leia hadn't been able to get a few blaster bolts in the armor, that Han himself hadn't been able to express any of his own anger. He was angry that Leia was already talking about a press conference to reveal her paternity, that she had mentioned the Alderaanian diaspora, that she wondered if she should resign her position in High Command.
He was angry that the new life he wanted with the woman he loved now involved Darth fucking Vader.
Han looked at Luke, at Leia's twin brother, at the last Jedi in the galaxy and said the only truth he really knew. "She doesn't need me angry."
Luke pressed his lips together. "Not angry, no," he agreed. "But she might need you to be honest with her."
Careful not to misinterpret Luke's words again, Han glared at him. "I am honest with her," he said. "She knows I'm pissed about this whole thing."
"Good. Tell her again," Luke said. "Over and over again until she really understands. She doesn't need your pity."
Han rolled his eyes. "You a therapist now?"
Luke grinned. "Just a brother, apparently. And someone who wishes he had what Leia has right now."
Han's heart seized again, a cold sadness gripping his lungs. He hadn't really considered Luke's isolationism, so focused on Leia as he was.
"You got us, kid. We may all be fucked up, but at least we're fucked up together."
Luke's grin turned genuine, honest. "Thanks, Han," he said, standing and walking his empty mug into the galley. Then he turned and retreated down the Falcon's ring corridor, his footsteps loud down the boarding ramp.
Han tapped the rim of his mug with a finger, thinking about Luke, about Leia, about the consequences of their parentage and the tough road ahead of them all. After a few minutes' reflection, he stood from the holochess table and moved back to his cabin, caf mug empty and waiting behind him.
