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Luke Skywalker learns early on not to be selfish. As soon as he is old enough he helps around the farm instead of doing the things he’d rather be doing, like playing with his model starships or building sandcastles. The years when harvests are bad he accepts that sometimes there is not much as much food as his awkwardly growing body would like and he doesn’t ask for more, not after the first time when Uncle Owen got mad. He does not run away to join the Academy or do something else more exciting than trying to coax life out of this stubborn wasteland of a planet, which would be absolutely anything including becoming a tax agent. He complains and he chafes and he aches and he watches the suns set like if he stares hard enough someone will come swooping over the horizon and take him away but he doesn’t leave.
The castles always crumble apart, anyway. You can’t even build fake things out of Tatooine sand.
When he has to face his father at the end of it all, he does not let the self-immolating fury win. It’s easy to hurt. It’s easy to kill. It’s easy to end things. But it’s selfish. And Luke Skywalker has learnt not to be selfish, long before he ever knew of the Jedi Code. It is Uncle Owen’s sharp voice as much as it is Obi-Wan’s that keeps him centred.
You want things, and those things come to pass, or they do not, or they come to pass in a different way than you expect, or they are taken away from you, and it hurts.
**
Luke hates Han Solo just a little as soon as he sees him in the Cantina. He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t – who doesn’t give himself to anything or anyone. Luke guesses it’s the adventure, and he gets that. He really gets that. But he has seen the burnt bodies of his aunt and his uncle who did nothing wrong, nothing wrong at all, except try to live quiet and profitable lives, and men like Han Solo still think that they are the centre of the universe. Solo occupies his body and the space around it arrogantly, like he knows everything. No one knows everything.
Regardless, Luke’s heart becomes a panicked and singing thing, just at the sight of him.
There is sand in Luke’s boots and his head still hurts from being knocked over. Han shifts and grins and bargains and grins and stretches. Luke’s irritation settles in the pulse of his neck, twitching and fluttering and making him sweat.
**
‘Do you think a princess and a guy like me…?’
And at this moment, Luke could – Luke could reach out, and, and he could put his hand on the solid curve of Han’s shoulder, run his thumb hard over the leather of his vest as though it was the tight muscle underneath, and he could say something like: “What about a guy like you and a guy like me, Han?”
And Han Solo’s eyebrows would fly up, and Luke doesn’t even know what would happen then.
Oh, it’s useless. Luke couldn’t say smooth stuff like that, anyhow.
“No,” he says violently, feeling very young. There’s a sentence he could say after that and he knows it doesn’t have to be smooth, it just has to be true. But it sits unformed in his brain, mewing like a desert cat.
Han laughs benevolent and careless. Luke feels like Tatooine’s two suns are burning up in his chest.
**
A few days or maybe a few weeks after the Battle of Yavin Han and Luke sit in the Millennium Falcon with some booze that Han obtains via methods Luke chooses not to ask about. They get really, really, really drunk. So drunk it all blurs together. So drunk that Luke remembers it only in flashes – Han’s bright eyes, his big hands. He slings an arm around Han’s shoulder at some point.
“Geez, kid,” Han’s voice comes weak with laughter. “You’re really something, you know that? Really something.”
“You’re more, Han Solo,” Luke says slowly, feeling the words form in his mouth then leave, and shatters into hilarity, glittering.
“Whaddya mean? What’s so funny?” Han grabs at his hair, pushes gently at his face. Big big hands in his hair and on his skin. Luke sways away from Han and then back in towards him. Leans his head into where shoulder meets neck.
“Y’know, kid, I think you might just have changed my life,” Han goes on. “I think nothing’s ever gonna be the same again, thanks to you.”
Luke doesn’t say a thing, he just smiles and ducks his head and settles. Settles into the headache that’s coming, the thick dark sleep. Bright lights on the control panels and the brightest burning lights of Han’s eyes but it’s still all so dark. He settles for what this is, even if it’s not everything he thinks about at night.
**
The next day there’s a meeting and people are shuffling into the room with precision and alertness. Including Han and Luke. They are very precise. Very alert. Leia raises an eyebrow at the bags under their eyes. “Rough night, boys?” she says dryly.
Luke winces.
“You should hear the crap this lightweight starts coming out with when you get some Corellian brandy into him,” Han mumbles.
Luke could not agree more.
**
Everything he thinks about at night: the thoughts fade away with time, but violently return one night on Hoth as he is shivering in his bunk. Briefly, darkly, flushing. Han’s fingers on his jaw, in his mouth. His face, his lips under Han’s fingers, Han under his clothes, Han under his skin, snowsuits peeled away to reveal the arch and sweat and dysrhythmia of flesh.
But Luke has been regarding that particular – slant, you could put it like that, in the way he thinks of Han Solo as a kind of inconvenient fever for a long time. Hoth’s icy clime is good at cooling his skin and mind. He gets older and broader and more scarred. Every day, every mission, every patrol he knows more and he reacts quicker and yet somehow he thinks and feels slower. There’s a thundercloud hovering. Something big is coming, bigger than all of them. It has a way of muffling impulses that used to consume his brain and blood and hands. He rolls over; goes to sleep.
He’s looking over weapon schematics in Leia’s cold, clean cube of an office when she comes in behind him, puts one small hand on his shoulder. “You’re in my chair, Luke,” she says affectionately.
He puts the datapad down, spins the chair around and smiles up at her. “Well, if you stopped running around terrifying the generals and did some of your paperwork, maybe…”
“Luke, that’s hardly fair! It’s not terror, it’s healthy respect.”
“Yes, very healthy.”
“Positively thriving.” She grins, small and sharp. Luke loves her like he’s never loved anyone.
Han Solo ambles in the door uninvited, ruffles Luke’s hair. Luke bats him away. “Thought I heard the dulcet tones of my two favourite overachievers in here. Hey, anyone want caf?”
“Did I say you could enter my office, General Solo?” Leia snaps.
“I’d like some caf, Han,” Luke says.
“You can get me some too,” Leia adds haughtily.
“Can I, now?” Han arches an eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest in the way that indicates he’s settling in for an argument, or a lengthy come-on, or both. “But that would mean I have to come back in here and further defile your sacred space with my unworthy presence, Your Worshipfulness.”
“Haven’t you got work to be doing, Solo?”
Luke watches them, flexes his freezing fingers to keep them warm. His world expanded out from Tatooine to an entire galaxy, but here and now it shrinks back down to the three of them, this chilled box of a workspace, their heated voices clashing like crossfire, their careless touch.
**
In the survival shelter Luke is barely there, but he’s just conscious enough through the pain and the cold to recognise that there may be some kind of importance in the way Han is still hanging around even with a bounty on his head, and the way Han has fought his way through a blizzard to save his life.
“So what’s your excuse this time, huh?”
“Huh? For what?”
“For coming out after me. I guess you can’t claim it’s the money this time.”
Han pauses for a moment. The storm rages on. “Well. I’ll figure something out, Luke.” His frozen fingers brush Luke’s temple in a gesture that might be affectionate or it might be accidental. There is salty blood in Luke’s mouth and he can barely move, or he’d repay Han’s touch with his own.
It is here, at this point, that Luke realises that Han cares for him just as much, in his own way. He’s not just hanging around him to get at the Princess or avoid his past or whatever else. It’s a slow and heavy thought, although that could be attributed to the hypothermia and the blood loss. Not that it will do either of them any good if they die here.
**
They don’t die. They continue to not die, quite successfully, and then Han gets one up on Luke by not just avoiding death, but also bringing more life into the world while he’s at it.
Luke doesn’t know much about this heterosexual nuclear family stuff, and doubts he ever will, but it’s fairly obvious to him that Leia did all the hard work in the process. A beautiful result, though, and Han is already predictably terrified and overprotective.
“Hello, Ben,” he says to the blinking, squalling life in his arms. A medical droid scurries past them. “Do you know who I am?”
“Probably the only lifeform in the galaxy who doesn’t,” Han says. Luke ignores him.
“I’m your Uncle Luke,” he continues steadily. Ben Solo opens his eyes which are very focused and very far away and very much like Han’s in colour, and Luke feels a vague thrum of some emotion he can’t quite identify.
“You did a great job on this one, guys,” Luke says, adjusting Ben so he’s held against his shoulder. Ben hiccups.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Luke.” Leia looks tired and beautiful and proud. She comes up close, drops a kiss on Ben’s head.
“Yeah, me too, kid.” Han’s hand lands heavy and square on the shoulder that isn’t occupied by an infant. There’s a faint tremble in his voice. Look at all they are now.
Here it is. Here is what they were fighting for, a future where no one has to die and all they have to do is grow old and love each other. The fate of the galaxy is as wobbly and unformed and unpredictable as the baby he is holding, but Luke is determined to believe that it’ll be all right. He watched a lot of things burn before he got this happy ending. He’ll not let it go easy.
**
Luke stands in the vast, echoing space of the docking bay, and watches Han clatter his way down the steps of the Millenium Falcon. His stride is the same as it was. Grey hair starting to show. New lines around his eyes. Chewbacca behind him, a large and indistinct shape in the doorway.
For a moment, Luke is immobile, and then he rushes forward like he is nineteen again, drawing Han into his arms. “Han,” he shouts, unnecessarily, because there couldn’t be much less space between them if they tried. “Han, it’s been years.”
Han pulls back from the hug and smiles with his whole face. “Not even two, kid, I know your world revolves around me but dial it back a little.”
“Oh, shut up,” Luke says affectionately, not sure what to do with his hands that want to keep touching Han because it has been so long. So long! Then there is a rush of fur and wailing and Chewbacca is hugging him in the brutal way that he does.
“Good to see you too, Chewie,” he says, when he can breathe. “What are you doing here, Han? I only got your message a few hours ago, word’s already made it out amongst the students.”
“Not here to stay,” Han shrugs fluidly, “just passing through.”
“Passing through to where? What are you up to?”
Han clears his throat. “Business.”
Luke gets a trill of unease. Han hasn’t been on a smuggling run in years.
“…problem with Leia?” he tries. Han looks down and away, shrugs again and makes a noise half defeated and half irritated.
“Problem with Ben?” Luke tries again. He gets no real answer. “Look,” he snaps, “you haven’t got something illegal in that ship, have you? This is a Jedi Temple, Han, you know I can’t – ”
“No, no, no,” Han talks over and around him, putting a hand on the small of Luke’s back and steering them away from the ship as if it’s his home base and not Luke’s. It’s good, having Han next to him again, pushing him around. “Nothing in there, you can check the whole damn ship yourself if you want. No, I just wanted to stop by and see an old friend. One that I happen to miss from time to time.”
“Alright, Han, you can be as sweet as you like, but you gotta tell me what’s going on.” Luke keeps his stern teacher’s voice, but he slings an arm around Han’s shoulders anyway, because not much changes, not at the core of things.
**
The shadows under Han’s eyes become deeper in Luke’s room with the lumen globe dimmed down.
“It’s – you weren’t wrong, Luke.” He stops, then starts again. “It’s Ben.”
Luke shifts in his seat. The table between them is empty except for one potted plant and one unlit candle. It feels impersonal. For a second Luke is reminded vividly of the Cantina, him leaning forward to catch Han’s words and unsure what to think of him, but these walls are smooth and belong entirely to him and they are getting old and Han no longer looks like he knows everything. This small, ascetic, deeply shadowed space, and the two of them alone. Something in him is hurting under the weight of years.
“He’s talking a lot about Darth – about Anakin,” Han goes on.
An exhale, to hide the sick mix of fear and sadness that rises. The plague, the rot of worry. Luke knew this would happen, sooner or later. “That’s natural, isn’t it? It can’t be easy for Ben, coming to terms with who his grandfather was and what he did.”
“Yeah, maker knows it wasn’t a smooth ride for you and Leia,” Han says. “But this is different. He’s talking about him like. Like he’s a god or something. I don’t know how to say it, Luke. But I feel like – Leia and I feel like maybe we can’t keep him on the right path by ourselves. He can make things happen exactly how he wants them to, he’s getting older and stronger. I don’t know how to calm him down any more and Leia’s going half out of her mind. He needs your influence.”
“Me?”
Han smiles, crookedly. “You forgave your father when no one else would, Luke. It’s your thing. You do Light better than anyone else.”
Luke leans back in his chair, looks up at the corner of the room. “So you want me to take Ben on, teach him? Train him in the ways of the Force? He’s a bit old for that.”
“You were, what, twenty-one when you started!” Han cries out. “Come on, Luke, he needs it. He needs you.”
And look at this, now Han is the one on the other side of the table, asking for help. Maybe they need a band in here to liven it up a little.
“I was nineteen, actually.”
“Are you gonna make me say it, Skywalker? Don’t be stubborn.”
Luke flicks his gaze down to Han and smiles. “Say what, Solo?”
“I need you, all right?” Han reaches forward and takes Luke’s hand in both of his own. Luke looks at their grasp with mild surprise. Not much gets to him anymore, but this is a deliberate and tender touch like the way Han held his hand during the sandstorm on Tatooine. “I need you, and Leia needs you, and Ben needs you, and we’re all looking to you now, kid.”
Luke blinks at him.
“Come on,” Han says in the low voice he uses when he wants something. Luke’s much more immune to it than he was when he was nineteen, but he still puts his free hand on Han’s forearm.
“I’ll do it, Han,” he says earnestly. “There’s always room for more students here.”
Han’s eyes soften. “Oh, I owe you one, Luke,” he says reverently, and Luke feels a very un-Jedi like swell of love. The room’s too small and Han’s expression is too real – he stands up abruptly and says they’d better go and see what Chewie’s up to.
“Hey, Han,” he says later that night, watching the stars spin above them through the glass roof.
“Yeah?”
“I missed you too.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Chewbacca grunts in agreement.
**
Later. Years later. Older, older, old, and salt on his skin. Freezing air of Ahch-To. He has failed Ben Solo. Ben Solo has become Kylo Ren. He is alone. He is searching. Same with Luke. But Luke's managed to avoid killing innocents in the process, which is something his angry little former student has consistently failed.
The fitful dark of the ocean rolls, and a wave breaks against the rocks –
and on a bridge somewhere in space Han Solo dies, lightsabre through his chest –
and Luke staggers, just a little.
“Han,” he says, even though there is no one to hear him.
Earth and air and sea spin around him, slow and thoughtful. In the Mos Eisley Cantina, Han Solo is leaning backwards in his seat, arrogant and brown-eyed, sweating and bargaining in the hot fugue state of Tatooine. And on Yavin’s moon Han Solo is asking Luke Skywalker to come away with him instead of killing himself trying to destroy a Death Star, and by that Han Solo is trying to say that he does not want Luke Skywalker to die. But what if Luke Skywalker does not want Han Solo to die? And here they are. And on Hoth, Han Solo’s touch on the side of Luke’s face is cold and rough and everything is smelling of ice and Tauntaun guts and human blood. And on Tatooine again they are in a sandstorm and Han does not let Luke’s hand go as he walks away, a trailing touch of fingers through the stinging air. And on Endor he has one arm around Luke’s sister and the other around Luke himself, and there are fireworks in the sky and woodsmoke in every breath they take.
In the galaxy, Han Solo is living, and then he is not.
Leia, Luke thinks. He can feel her crying. His sister’s tears dripping through the stars and the spray of the ocean on his weathered cheek.
He reaches out to her. He doesn’t know if she’ll hear or understand, but he has to try to let her know: Leia, Leia, it’s killing me too. Leia, I’m so sorry I’m so far away. Leia, I would hold you if I could.
**
Night comes, one singular sun sets, and there is the bright scatter of the universe above.
What can a Jedi do but accept? He knows this. He has lost enough people in his life to even realise the truth of it. Still – still.
Irrationally, he thinks: why couldn’t you have come back and said goodbye, Han? Just one goodbye?
**
Luke senses her before he sees her, struggling up the steps. He has been hollowed, dark with pain, but this girl's force lances through it all. And then it clicks, and then he thinks: oh.
**
On Endor, Luke is walking away from the burning pyre of his father, the jungle’s thick dark secrets around him, the flames behind him, Han Solo and Leia Organa before him. He is young but he feels ancient. His stride is purposeful but his bones, his muscles, his skin, feel rigid and weak. Here between the past and the future he is very alone and he has nothing to say to himself.
But as he comes into view of the bonfire – the one for life, not the one for death – and the celebration, Han catches his eye, shouts and beckons him nearer, and then Leia sees him too. He pauses for a second. There is Chewbacca, C3PO and R2D2, Lando. It is only then that Luke realises how frightened he’s been. For years.
He keeps walking towards his friends, feeling the drumming earth against the soles of his feet. The tug of the galaxy in his hair. The dead and the living, pressing in close.