Set two weeks after the Battle of Yavin
Luke had to be fresh in the morning. It was his first patrol as commander, but he couldn't sleep.
He tried, rolling into different positions every few minutes, keeping his eyes closed so as not to see the chrono, trying to keep his head empty, but even under his lids there was more than darkness.
Finally, he gave up. He got out of bed, and thought to go for a walk. He hadn't felt like putting his boots on, and the walk didn't help because he got more awake in the process. The ground had these little nettles he didn't see that got stuck in the bottom of his feet, and he had to stop to pull them out.
He decided the Millennium Falcon was a good place to go when you couldn't sleep. It was the only thing really familiar to him anymore, which was strange or sad, but nice too. Nice to have something, at least. He thought it might help him get sleepy. That's what Luke hoped for, anyway.
Sure enough, her captain was up. Luke could see the red of the bloodstripe along dark pants when he looked underneath past the belly of the ship, and heard the sounds of a pneumatic tool. That was one of the things that made the freighter so familiar, he thought: the noise of repairs. The ship was in a constant state of flux. The Falcon was a work in progress. Much like her captain.
He grinned to himself. Maybe that's what made him sleepy. Being with Han was exhausting.
Ah, but that was just a bad joke. See, he was tired. That wasn't fair, and he felt badly for thinking it. Han was, well, something, but exhausting wasn't really the word.
So what was he? Leia might come up with frustrating, but again, Luke saw that was how Han made another feel; it was a reaction to him.
Interesting. He thought he should know, though. He should be able to answer his own question. Only two weeks since Ben hired Han in the Tatooine cantina and this felt like a delicate time, a now or never. A transitionary period, where Luke moved away from the Death Star to this... settled life, so different than Tatooine but again so much the same. Wake up, work, go to bed.
Maybe that's what kept him awake. The Death Star and the quick moments before and after- they were so far from the routine. Even the jawa sale, which was routine; his uncle was looking forward to it-
Well, it had wound up far beyond what anyone expected.
He walked around over to where Han was. At least the docking areas were cleared of growth. The ground was hard under his bare feet, but smooth. It had been cleared for landings. Han's back was to him, and Luke wasn't sure what to call him. Was he still a smuggler, or could he say he was a friend?
Han's shirt- dingy white or cream; Luke had never been good at color names- was untucked and Han's feet were also bare. He wasn't wearing his vest or even the blaster, which was noteworthy. He looked similar to Luke, like a man got out of bed.
"Hey, Han, what're you doing?"
Han whirled, pointing the pneumatic drill at him like it was a blaster. "You scared me, kid." He didn't look startled, only irritated.
See, Luke thought. Work in progress. Han admitted to being startled. "Sorry."
Han turned back to his project. Luke noticed a few things on the ground- bolts and spacers, a roll of wire. Han had tucked snippers into his waistband and a small hydrospanner rested over an ear.
"You should be asleep," Han said rather gruffly, arms extended to reach a control panel.
"You're right," Luke said. "So should you."
Han grunted. "Finally enjoyin' a minute to myself."
"So you decided to take the ship apart in that minute? Don't you leave soon?"
Han frowned. "The Princess has been pestering me all day about the mission. And this needed doin'. Or no mission."
"Ah," Luke understood. He had noticed Leia spent most of the day around the Falcon. "I'm glad you don't use any of those made-up titles when you talk about her. Makes me think you like her."
"Still haven't decided," Han moved his head so Luke could see the quick waggle of his brows and Luke grinned. On the Death Star, when Han and Leia first met, there was hostility and respect between them, Luke often caught in the middle. It hadn't quite settled yet.
"I bet she was poring over all those details," Luke said. He wondered if Leia had always been so in need of control or if it was new, since the destruction of her homeworld.
"Yeah."
Luke sat down on the ground and began checking his feet for nettle splinters. "They cleared the land for metal ships but not for people to walk on," he bemoaned.
"Think the idea is to wear shoes," Han said.
Luke smiled. "That makes sense. And there I was, jealous of a ship. Can I come in for a drink?" he asked.
Han sighed. He'd gotten more than he bargained for when he took the job from the old man, Luke's- whatever he was. Han wasn't clear on it. Mentor was his best guess. But also Luke and Ben had been... neighbors, possibly.
The extra payment was a deserved bonus. He didn't particularly care about nor need the hero's medal. He hadn't decided yet on the Princess and the farm boy Jedi. They weren't part of the bargain but they sure acted like it.
"What do you think this is, a commissary?" Han grumbled, looking at the parts on the ground. Then he picked up a rag to wipe his hands. "It's my stores. How you gonna replace it?"
Luke made a pretense of patting a pocket. "I didn't bring my credits. I'm just out for a walk."
"Try sayin' please, that might work."
"Please. May I have a drink?"
"That's better. Nice to see you got taught some manners on Tatooine."
"Nice to know Corellians heard of manners." Luke followed Han all the way into the tiny galley of the Falcon and made himself at home, opening the cooler to see what was in there.
"No booze," Han pulled a bottle of ale from Luke's hand and put it back in the cooler. He shut the door. "You need something like warm milk. I don't have any of that blue stuff you like. Or any color milk, for that matter. Want some tea?"
"Sure," Luke accepted. He watched Han scoop the small, dried leaves into a reusable filter.
Tea was Chewie's drink, Luke had learned, Han's copilot. There were four large bags, what Luke had been told were different flavors, crammed into a cabinet.
"On Tatooine, we drink booze," Luke told Han. "Any time of day. It stores well. The bantha milk is available, but you use it the day you buy it. It doesn't keep. Spoils." He made a face. "Nothing worse than spoiled bantha milk."
Han, busy with the tea, was listening. Something was funny to him, for he sort of smiled.
"The planet's too hot," Luke went on explaining. Probably needlessly, since Han worked for Jabba the Hutt and probably spent a good deal of time on Tatooine. "Coolers can't maintain a temp beyond a certain point. Not cold enough for milk. And water was expensive, as you know."
Han nodded, waiting for the water boil. "You already lectured me about moisture farming." This was something he had picked up on long ago, how a planet shaped the style of life a human led. A human raised on Corellia was very different from one raised on Tatooine.
"Booze was stocked where I'm from," he offered, though he didn't know why. "You drank it when you were ready to relax."
"Oh, I drank it when I got up. Seriously, booze to us was like water to you right now."
Han found the image of a young sleepy-eyed Luke emerging from his bed, ready to do the farm chores, and downing an ale before breakfast highly amusing. "I was wonderin' how you hold your liquor so well. You about drank Antilles under the table the other night."
Luke felt himself beam at the observation. Stupid thing to be proud of, but there it was.
They moved into the lounge and had a seat at the dejarik table. "It don't give a good night's sleep, though, and that's what you need," Han told him.
Luke nodded into his tea. He wasn't going to argue. He had fallen asleep many times on a belly full of ale and didn't think it had affected him the least bit. But he loved tea.
The beverage was new to him. The little bits of dried flower and leaves, faintly aromatic, fascinated him. The way they colored the water: hues of brown and yellows, still transparent. The way the steam was hot and wet under his nose, and how the mug's warmth went into his hands, but not like on Tatooine, where he wouldn't be able to hold something the suns touched first.
"Does it work, the warm milk?" he asked Han. "Make you sleepy?"
Han made a disdainful shrug. "I don't know. Think I read it. I don't have trouble sleeping."
Luke played with his tea and wondered if Han was lying. Luke guessed his own thoughts were keeping him up too, but he dealt with them his own way and certainly didn't ask for help.
Han was older. Five, ten years; Luke couldn't tell. In some ways not by much but in others a lifetime. Maybe that's all Luke needed to get a good night's sleep. Some time. Distance, age, whatever.
"I was thinking of Tatooine, matter of fact," he said.
Han was noncommittal. "Hmm."
Luke kept the liquid in his mouth a while, tasting a bitterness that was his own. He swallowed finally. "How I left." He dared lift his eyes to Han's face and found it guarded by the mug but the hazel eyes were looking at him.
Han raised his brows a bit. "In a hurry," he understood.
"Yeah." Luke went back to the tea. That was true, and the part Han knew. Luke and Ben had arrived at the docking bay, unbeknownst to them followed by troopers. Before Han even got on board they opened fire.
Trigger happy. No questions. Nothing. Just open fire.
He hoped that's what happened to his aunt and uncle. Better than-
This was the kind of stuff that kept Luke awake. What he tried to get away from by sharing a cup of tea with Han, who was still just the smuggler captain when Luke first boarded the Falcon.
Better than what Luke... found. His insides clenched. He hadn't been nauseous then but he was now. Getting shot was... quicker. It was better. Easier for Luke to think about. Not as sickening.
What if the troopers dropped Han, Luke wondered now. What would have happened.
Chewie- Luke didn't know this then, but he did now- Chewie, who was already on board, would have run out to... to be with Han. Luke didn't know how else to put it. For the troopers would have dropped Han fairly quickly. It wouldn't be a matter of saving his life. There were... he crinkled his brow. Six of them? Eight? Four? His memory gave him only the white armor and the beams of blaster bolts. So Chewie would suffer the same fate. Maybe Han would have nailed a trooper before they got him. Chewie would get a few, too. But troopers always had reinforcements, so the stream of bolts would never stop.
Sadly, Luke thought now, he wouldn't have helped, wouldn't have dashed out there, yelling to Ben, "We've got to do something!"
This bothered him, and one eyebrow lowered as a frown. Ben, cautious and alert, would not have helped either. He would have said, "We have to go. Now!" and Luke would obediently go to the cockpit and prove to Ben that he wasn't such a bad pilot. The Falcon would lift off, rising above the dead figures of Han and Chewie, and Luke would be a little upset, but only in the way that a line of corpses was gathering behind him and how he was too scared to admit he was scared.
He would help now; he knew that. And in that moment Han most definitely was categorized as a friend. It felt good to know Luke would find more than ship when he came to the Falcon.
"Think I shouldn't have?" Luke asked now.
"What? Hurried, or left," Han said.
"I don't know." Luke was glum. "Both, maybe."
"Well," Han threaded his fingers and cracked the knuckles of both hands. "Look at it this way. Where would you be if you hadn't?"
"Dead." Luke was pretty sure. But-
"There was another hurry," he told Han. Mumbled it, couldn't look at him. "I went home. Because of the droids."
"Thought they were with you."
"They were."
Han scratched his cheek. "I'm confused, kid."
Han hadn't heard much of the whole story. Neither Luke nor Leia really felt like talking about it. "Leia dispatched them, before she got captured."
"Right, I knew that. She put the stolen plans in R2 and sent them to you."
"No. Sent them in an escape pod. I really am a farmer. Or that's all I am. I wasn't with the rebellion. She was trying to reach Ben Kenobi." Luke drank tea and thought what a different direction things would have taken. "She was close."
"You're saying you being here is an accident?" Han almost choked on his tea.
Luke nodded. "Or destiny, only no one said anything to me about it until now. My uncle thought he was just buying some farm droids."
"Oh. Shit," Han said. Luke wanted to talk, but Han didn't need to hear the ending of the story. He'd seen it happen already too many times. No wonder the kid was conflicted. Leia, too. She was willing to maker her own sacrifices, playing secret agent Princess games, but she never wanted to sacrifice others. Not if it could be helped.
And Han realized for the first time how the Death Star truly needed to be destroyed; how precarious the galaxy sat in her Emperor's hands. It was a powerful feeling, and it gave him the sudden impulse of tracking down the Princess and apologizing to her for being such an ass.
He'd always thought- it was a distant philosophy; he wasn't a thinker, not like Luke and the Princess. But life was- he winced to himself; he sure wasn't a thinker; it was a shabby way to put it, but- life was a gamble. A game. You won and you lost and if you didn't play nothing happened.
Han declined to be dealt a hand a long time ago.
Luke was still talking.
"And R2 kept beeping about Ben, so I-" Luke still found the story exhausting. And anyway this was the part where he'd been foolish, stupid, inept and it was hard to admit. He'd let the droid talk him into removing the restraining bolt and the the droid ran away. It was also the part that maybe had saved his life.
"I went to check," he continued. "Found Ben. And later he and I found- The Empire had attacked the sandcrawler. Killed all the jawa we bought the droids from. I realized the sale could be traced."
"Fuck."
Luke appreciated Han's grimness. "So I went home-"
Han put up a hand. "I got it. You don't have to say it."
Luke finished his story. "And then I hurried back to Ben."
"After you went home."
"Yeah." There were a whole bunch of details he could have filled in for Han but it made him sick to even think of them. Han didn't seem to need to know, though. There was enough unsaid to give him the picture.
Han got up and reached into a different cabinet than what the tea leaves were stored in. He brought out a brown glass bottle, and poured a couple of splashes into Luke's tea. It was a dark orange liquid.
"What's this?" Luke stuck his nose inside the mug.
"Corellians also drink to forget. It's cognac. Good stuff." He watched Luke sample the tea with the added cognac. "The glass is brown to protect it from light. One liquor you may not drink on a planet with two suns."
"No," Luke agreed after a swallow. The delicate balance of the tea was gone. It was overshadowed by biting, citric sweetness. He waited a moment for the huskiness in his throat to pass. "I guess you need a lot to forget," he smiled sadly. "It didn't work."
"It ain't magic, kid," Han snorted. "You become a drunk for that."
"I don't want to," Luke said.
"Smart. The Empire got there too?" Han went back to the story. "Your home?"
"Yeah. And I- I hurried back to Ben."
"Well," Han said again. He crooked one side of his mouth up and squinted an eye. Trying to find an excuse for Luke, which Luke appreciated. He waited. "Probably- there was still danger. For you. Right? That was the troopers in the docking bay. Trying to get to the droid."
"Yeah. I should't have hurried. I should have... not stayed, but. Man upped. Manned up."
"Finished," Han said.
"Right."
"There was another hurry you're forgetting," Han pointed out.
Luke lifted his chin. "There was?"
"Yeah. On the Death Star."
Luke had to think about it. He'd felt desperate almost the whole time on the Death Star, which was similar to panicked hurrying. "You mean Ben."
Han nodded.
"But," for some reason this hurry was a lot clearer to Luke, the reasons for it too. Leia had consoled him about that one. She said there wasn't anything he could have done. He didn't want to bring her this hurry. He didnt want to add another detail to the guilt she already felt. "We were on the Death Star," he emphasized, jabbing a finger tip on a chess square. "There were troopers all around! Darth Vader-"
Han took a swig from the bottle. "I don't think it was that different."
"Wasn't it, though?" Luke frowned. "I mean, my aunt and uncle-"
"You feel bad about the Death Star hurry? You think the old man Ben would resent you dashing off like you did?"
"No," Luke answered slowly. "I don't think so." Ben didn't; Luke knew that for a fact.
"Pretty sure your aunt and uncle would want to see you away, too."
"Well, yeah."
"So what are you keeping me up for?"
Luke gazed at Han. It still surprised him, how rough he could be. "You're saying I shouldn't feel terrible about it. But I do. Wasn't there something I could do?"
Han was shaking his head. "I don't know, kid."
"It makes me sick. It makes me not like the person I was."
"One way to fix that. Go back."
"Go back?" Luke repeated thoughtfully.
"Yeah. It was your home?" Han made a shrugging motion with his mouth. "It'll keep. It'll wait."
Luke drank tea. The idea was intriguing. Hopeful. He could return the man he was now. "It's going to have to. I won't get leave for something like that for a while."
"Tell yourself you'll do it, someday, and you won't feel as bad."
"I will do it," Luke promised. The promise was a bit like the cognac; it didn't completely dissolve the horror. He'd been weak, he thought. He was a different man now. There wouldn't be anymore hurries.
His aunt and uncle were probably relieved Luke wasn't at home when- when it happened. So there was that. And the idea of a funeral, even if it was a couple of years late, would settle a restless spirit. Including his own.
He still felt like shit, but it was better. He thought he might be able to sleep now. "What do you use the cognac for?"
"Huh?"
"When you drink it. What are you trying to forget?"
Han's eyes darkened. "I forget," he said stonily.
Luke grinned at him. "Leia should be here. Since we're talking about haunting memories."
"If there's one person should be asleep, it's her," Han stated.
"She's probably not."
"Nope. Probably going to come..." Han glanced at his chrono, "in an hour and bug me about something. After she thinks I've had enough time to sleep."
Luke grinned. "Thanks for the tea," he told Han.
Han shrugged. "Sure."
"Can I borrow your boots? There's spiky thorn things in the grass. I'm sleepy and don't want to think about cleaning my feet."
"Borrow a bunk, huh?"
"Well, alright. Thanks. But I'll still have to deal with the spiky thorn things in the morning."
"See?" Han said, not pointing at anything but acting almost victorious. "That's exactly it."
"What's it?" Luke said.
"Dealing. Either you sit in the grass and you pull them out, or you do it in the morning. The point is, spiky things are always there."
"Yeah." Was Han giving him an analogy for life? "Unless you wear shoes."
"Well, sure," Han waved shoes away. "But that's boring."
"Not sure that's a downside," Luke considered. "More comfortable, though."
"True." Han looked down at his own bare feet and wiggled his toes. "Maybe I'll try it."
Luke grinned again and slid his cup over to Han for him to clean up. He saw Han look at it and thought twice. But then he stood, having decided to leave the cup with Han.
Yes, on Tatooine he was spoiled and let his aunt look after him. She wanted to, and even though she was dead he let her have this moment, because she had loved him and wanted him to live.
And too, he had a feeling Han wasn't in the practice of looking after someone. It was something he should get used to.