Chapter Text
Falling, that's all he could feel the immense cold of it all, the sickening weightlessness of his stomach and organs floating around as he dropped. Crashing down into the ventilation shaft. Crawling limply, wounded and pathetic. He dared not look down if he didn’t look at the stump of his wrist, maybe the hand would grow back. Maybe it wasn’t real if he didn’t look, didn’t acknowledge it, maybe it wouldn't be real.
Luke's life was repeating in his mind, not in flashes. In dull thuds, the beat of his heart in his ears and mouth. Dull thuds of memory.
Thud
‘I’m Luke Skywalker, I’m here to rescue you.’
And then she called me short
Thud
‘An elegant weapon for a more civilised age.’
Ben, please, I need you.
Thud
‘All wings report in’
If I survived that, I can survive this
Thud
‘You’re all clear kid, now let’s blow this thing and go home.’
I saved them at Yavin. Why wouldn’t I do it here?
His breathing hitched, his eyes were heavy, he was tired, so tired. He tried to save them. He tried to save his friends: Han, Leia, Chewy and the Droids. The floor below opened, and he could feel the cold harshness of the air high above Bespin.
Thud
‘Do or do not, there is no try.’
Why didn’t you stop me from leaving
Thud
‘A young Jedi named Darth Vader betrayed and murdered your father.”
Why did you lie to me
Thud
‘No, I Am Your Father.’
Luke gasped as if he had been drowning, pulling himself upright. The cold air stung his face and eyes, his wrist burned, and he reached to grab hold of the antenna he hung from, hoping his hand would be there to grab hold of it. But it was not; his hand would never be there again.
Somebody had to be out there, anybody. He reached out: Ben, Leia, Han and Yoda, hoping anyone could hear him. Even Vader. If he were his father, he wouldn’t let him die, surely. Anakin Skywalker would not let him die. He could feel Vader; he was cold and massive, all encompassing. Drawing him in. It felt wrong, it, that feeling wasn’t safety, it felt like Luke was slipping deeper into water, feeling it flowing over all of him, creeping closer to his mouth and nose.
He fought it, gripping the antenna till his knuckles were white and the cold metal burned his hand.
He thought he heard Leia, somehow, she was near him, he could sense her, it was her smile, he couldn’t see her, but he could see that. She was coming to save him, her, Han, and Chewy. Luke thought about whatever witty remark Han would make about his hand. It was a happy thought.
Leia’s smile grew clearer in his mind as the trum of the Falcon’s engines approached. Luke relaxed, allowing himself to be held, saved. The battle was over, and he survived Vader. It wasn’t Han, though, or Chewy. Why wasn’t Han there to save him, he thought as he was brought inside the ship, the warmth bringing feeling back to his body. He could feel his face again and his lips, and the bitter screaming pain in his wrist.
Dropping down into a cot on the Falcon, Luke lay there. He could feel Leia sitting next to him, watching him. He could feel her gently moving the blanket, her hand tracing down his arm before stopping at his wrist; he could sense her pity, her sadness, but there was also loss. Luke could feel her grieving. Where was Han?
Luke moved to sit up but slipped trying to prop himself up with a hand that wasn’t there.
“Please rest, I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Leia whispered, getting up and heading back to the cockpit. In that moment, her voice was calm and warm, like his Aunt’s when sandstorms would roll in from the dune sea and she’d have to hold a terrified young farmboy in her arms. The voice of someone scared but doing their best to be brave for others.
Luke collapsed; he felt as if the bed would swallow him, and the blanket was smothering him. He threw it off half with his hand, half through the force. It slammed against the wall with an unnatural heaviness.
He was freezing, and sweat dripped down his face like ice water. His lungs weren't big enough to breathe all the air he needed, gulping and gasping for more; he felt like he was drowning again.
‘Luke.’
It was Vader, Luke could hear his machine voice, cold, heavy in his mind.
‘Son.’
Luke grew colder. What if he were my father? Maybe we could destroy the emperor. His thoughts raced. ‘Father?’ he reached back, mentally stepping into the cold. Towards Vader. Going to him. His friends, the rebellion, everyone was bloodied, they’d lost so much recently, what if this was the way to win, what if together with Vader he could destroy the emperor and save them all.
‘It is your destiny,’
The voice was clearer now, and his breathing echoed around the Falcon's medbay. The room was too small to contain it; it clung to the walls, pressing against them, clawing at the ceiling, mechanical inhale after scratching exhale. The breathing, the voice, the cold of his skin and the pain in his arm, crushing him, the room was shrinking, yet the door was so far away.
‘Together we can rule the galaxy as father and son.’
The words burned in his head, and pain shot through his temples and eyes; his skull was being crushed. He never wanted that. Not to rule and never with him. He saw Vader’s blade taking his hand, he saw the cell Leia was trapped in, and her grief over Alderann, watching him kill Ben, the fire and the charred bodies of his family and his home.
‘I’ll never join you,’
He spoke in weak defiance, pushing himself to his feet, knowing if he got out of that room, if he got to his friends, he’d be safe.
‘It is the only way.’
As Vader spoke, the ship rocked under fire, the crack of laser bolts striking the hull. The room span echoing with Vader’s breathing and Luke's screams of pain, Leia telling him it was all a trap and another voice, it was Han, Han in agony. Cursing defiance in his stubborn way. Luke limped to the door of the medbay; every step took all his strength, the cold darkness of Vader holding him like an anchor.
R2 chirped and beeped and rushed to Luke’s side like a crutch, helping him slowly move from the medbay, out of the cold, out from Vader. The breathing grew distant, ragged and angrier.
‘Then you have doomed them.’
He walked towards the cockpit towards the warmth of his friends. R2 beeped and chirped, and Leia helped Luke to a chair. He lay in it exhausted.
‘Ben, why didn’t you tell me?’ he whispered before passing out.
He awoke later again on his back, lying there watching a medical droid prod and twist and finish the electronics of a new hand. It felt odd watching it happen, seeing himself be probed, unable to feel it while the new artificial nerves were still being wired in. Leia sat beside him.
“We need to talk,” he said, her hand gently moving his fringe to look at the bruising around his face.
“About Han?” Luke responded, twitching as his nerves suddenly recognised the new appendage being plumed in. Leia frowned. Her body tightened, stiffened. She talked as if she were still in committee meetings in the Senate, trying to speak without betraying feeling. “He was taken, a bounty hunter one who’s been after him since you two met, I assume.” It was factual like an after-action report given by Dodonna. “We’re trying to track him down. Lando is seeing if there are any leads left with his people on Bespin, but it’s not too hopeful.” she took a paus for breath and relaxed a little her shoulder sank and she looked at him, she had been looking at him before but it felt as if she was just looking forward and Luke happened to be in the way, now she was looking at him. “He. He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. We all fell into a trap. He was confident till the last that you’d come for me.” She looked out of the medbay window at the stars.
It was quiet without him; people seemed to talk less. Fewer stories were shared, and there was less laughter. Luke missed how, at any point, there could be some teasing remark coming his way. He caught himself filling in the gap Han had left. In a moment of loneliness, calling himself ‘kid’, he hated it when Han did it; he was only a handful of years older. Or trying to exchange adventures with other rebels before realising his the only ones of note were now missing one of the major characters, he shelved those stories, replaced them, but there's only so many times you can retell the same stories about Tatooine. Luke tried to spend time with Chewy; he couldn’t imagine how he felt; however, that too was often little more than a game of sabacc or holochess with polite but shallow conversation.
Luke never quite got used to his new hand. Obviously, he was thankful for it, but it never felt right. He worried it never would; it was always slightly uncanny, the skin was slightly too pale and too perfect. It always looked slightly fake, but the worst was how cold it was. A hand is normally warm; it has blood rushing through it. Luke’s had coolant and wires running through it. It was cold. He hated how, when he would reach for someone or touch them, they’d flinch slightly under the cold. He struggled relearning how much force to apply to hold something without crushing it or it slipping from his hand. It made him feel false, a lesser version of himself.
His lightsaber compounded this loss of self; it was gone, fell to the heart of Bespin. Something he was gifted, his one link to Anakin Skywalker. To the legacy of heroism, Ben told him about. It was gone, and even that legacy was in tatters as well. Could Vader have been honest? Was he really Anakin? If so, then how could the man Ben told him of be twisted into that monster?
Luke found himself utterly disillusioned. It was a feeling many shared. The rebellion was limping. Echo base was lost. Commander Solo is missing. The alliance scattered, evading a constantly tightening grip of the imperial fleet prowling the galaxy, hunting for them, searching for the blood trail its wounded enemy was leaving behind. People looked to Luke for guidance. He was a hero, the poster boy, a farmboy from some backwater who destroyed the imperial super weapon. But he didn’t feel like one. He got himself stranded out in the Ice on Hoth, he abandoned his friends after the battle to go run off into some swamp. He let his best friend be kidnapped. He lost his father’s final gift to him and nearly got himself killed. Maybe Yavin was a fluke, maybe he wasn’t anything worth celebrating.
He felt like that in his dark moments. When meditating, he would feel those thoughts rise up within him like a tide, cold and wet and heavy, crashing against him, soaking into his clothes, weighing on him. He struggled to push past them; he’d fight them, try to rise above this swell. But they’d creep back in. He'd hear Han’s voice or Ben’s, maybe the smile of his best friend or watch Leia laugh and how her eyes sparkle when she does. And the tide would retreat and he’d rise again. Only for the room to suddenly chill with a hiss and creak, the room would shrink again, and the breathing would start. From behind, it always came from behind. How could he sneak up on him? How did he inhabit every shadow, every darkness, like he was made of it? Luke would be frozen, and a cold metal hand would grip his shoulder.
Son
Crashing down to the floor along with some of the smaller items that Luke would levitate during meditation, Luke lay panting. While R2 awoke with a concerned chirp and immediately began scanning the room.
“Hey buddy, it’s ok…just a bad dream.” Luke panted.
Luke got up, and from the narrow cupboard he had in his cabin aboard the Dignity, he pulled out a ratty poncho, the sandy browns and beige of his home. The fabric was worn soft at the edges where he would hold fidget. It even smelled slightly of his Aunt’s kitchen still. Luke threw it on and quietly left his room, heading to the mess. R2 followed along next to him, Luke's hand resting on his domed head as they walked.
The ships’ crew was a skeleton crew as is, a quarter of the usual number, where either buried in the snow on hoth or had escaped to other ships or hideouts during the evacuation.
Luke suspected most rebel ships would be in a similar situation. There wasn’t really time to properly get to your ship; you just boarded what you could. It made the sterile white halls even colder. The Dignity was a perfectly fine ship, a Nebulon B. Luke never really thought much of the frigates; He found them a bit ugly, weird and knobby. Wedge and he got into a fairly heated debate once on the ugliest ships in the alliance fleet. Luke championing the cause the the Nebulon and Wedge bemoaning the complete dullness of the Dreadnaught class. He made a begrudging apology to the ship after making it to the medbay aboard. It turns out the ship was trying to make it to Sullust to rendezvous with a squadron of ships that had gathered there to regroup. When the Falcon had found it. The Captain, a Rodian named Tsoobo Farr, had filled Leia and Luke in on orders from fleet command.
“It’s rough. But you knew that,” he sighed. “A small number of the transports that left Echo base were caught later, some were destroyed, and others made blind jumps. No one has been able to make contact with General Rieekan yet. We took the long route to Sullust, hoping to pick up a signal of any survivors. Thankfully, we found you. No one else,” he tapped his fingers across the arm of his chair. “We nearly got caught ourselves by an imperial patrol group. I suppose they're trying to catch anyone looking for survivors or trying to get back to Echo. Smart of them. Can’t fault them for being smart, I suppose.”
The Captain was tired; you didn’t need Jedi senses to feel it. The news of Commander Solo’s loss didn’t help the mood much.
There was a small handful of people in the mess hall. Luke waved a polite greeting but didn’t much fancy conversation.
He sat with a warm drink just thinking. He desperately wanted to feel like himself. People looked at him and saw Commander Skywalker, Red five, Rogue Leader. A war hero.
‘My father was supposedly a war hero’, he thought to himself before cold, choking thoughts of Vader’s breathing circled in the far corner of the room. Luke gripped his poncho tighter, and they dissipated.
“You know how long till we reach Sullust?” Luke said down to his mechanical friend. Hoping that reuniting with a rebel force would give him back his sense of purpose. A chance to do something to make up for his failings.
The astromech let out three slow pips.
“..oh… Thanks, buddy.”
The room moved quietly around him, different rebels going about their duties, chatting, having briefings. Trying to carry on as normal. No one really talked much about the sorry state of things. I guess everyone shared in the delusion that if they didn’t mention how dangerously close the failure of the rebellion sat, then it wasn’t really the situation.
Eventually, Luke was taken out of his dissociation by a voice. “Commander Skywalker. Do you have a moment?” he looked up, blinking. There was a rebel pilot in front of him; he looked young. Though Luke supposed he couldn’t be more than a few years younger than him, maybe life had just been kind to him so far. His flight suit was neat, and the helmet he held by its chinstrap like a bag was decorated with silver stars and what looked like slightly crude depictions of Thranta.
‘Oh, from Alderann.’ Luke thought, remembering Leia telling him about growing up watching Thranta in the sky above the palace. Perhaps life wasn’t so kind.
“Of course, how can I help?” Luke said, managing a polite smile.
“Just wanted to say thank you. For Yavin, my family was on Alderaan when it happened. I didn’t hear about it for a while. I was in an imperial academy on Caridia, they suppressed the news. Thank you for um. Thank you for making sure they could never do that to anyone else's home.” There was a brief pause the pilot seemed to be catching his breath after talking. “Oh my name's Jop, it’s really an honour to meet you. I heard you were on the ship after we passed Bespin.” Jop offered Luke his hand. Luke took it with his and watched the pilot’s eyes dart down.
‘Blasted fake hand.’ Luke thought watching the pilot’s presumed reaction to the odd temperature.
“I only did what anyone would do. There were lots of pilots that day. Any and all of them would have done the job if I failed.” Luke smiled
Jop sat opposite Luke. “But you didn’t fail, so I’m thankful and I’d be equally thankful to whoever destroyed that machine. If you hadn’t, you gave the galaxy hope in a moment where the empire seemed insurmountable. You made me realise there was another choice. I defected, I ran from the academy, two friends and I and we stole a ship and went to Alderaan’s grave. We sought out the rebellion. We came to fight, we wanted to be and do more than serve the empire, keep our heads down and march to its beat because that seemed the only possibility.” Jop was talking quickly again you could feel he was racing to finish his sentences before he ran out of air.
“Now I get to fight to try and make sure someone else in the galaxy knows they have a choice. Every time I leave the hangar, I hope maybe someone somewhere sees my ship and decides they want to bet it all on freedom. Like I did when I heard about yours.”
Luke took a sip from his drink, which had long since gone cold.
“Thank you. That means a lot.” Luke said, still trying to process everything he was just told.
“So what do you fly?” he asked, trying to move the conversation. To somewhere a bit less heavy as he mulled over everything Jop had said.
The two would sit and discuss being a starship pilot at length. Luke felt slightly himself again for the first time, getting to ramble about the minor tweaks he made to his X-wing…the X-wing he now realised was left abandoned on Bespin. That stung a bit, but it felt good just talking about small things.
The conversation went long enough, Luke realised he was telling stories of adventures again, stories about him and his best friends, and they didn’t sting. Han’s name didn’t catch in his throat; his impressions of Han didn’t feel mournful. They felt celebratory.
Eventually, Jop had to leave, some duty or other he had to fill. Luke thanked him for his company and his deeply honest conversation.
The Jedi made his way back to his quarters, hoping once they reached the rendezvous near Sullust, he could be behind the controls of a fighter again. He was desperate to feel useful. Get a mission or two in fly patrol around a group, lead a strike on some backwater garrison, anything.
Luke felt real again for a moment, like a person, not a propagandist piece. It was a nice feeling. Having someone just talk to you. It made him realise there was someone else who might need that.
He found Leia doing what she always did when he was upset, keeping busy. Organising reading out reports, patrol fighters had made, anything. He knocked on the door and leaned against it. “May I join you?”
“Yeah, of course, sorry,” the princess responded, putting data pads away and turning to face her visitor.
Luke could see how her wrists were still slightly red and blistered from the restraints she had been made to wear on Bespin. She was hurting inside more than out; the empire had tortured her before with what she could manage, she still had scars from that tiny cell on the Death Star. But it was Han who was agonising her. Luke could sense it; he never tried to sense people's feelings, their emotions. He found it a sort of invasion, believing that if people wanted to confide in him, they would. But Leia’s thoughts were always so clear to him. Maybe because she felt so much, cared so much was so passionate that she couldn’t help but be a beacon.
“Any word from anyone about where he might be?” Luke asked, sitting on the edge of the little cabin bed and floating Leia over a chair.
“I’ve asked Crix and alliance intelligence to try and find whatever they can, but chains of command are a bit scattered at the moment.” She paused and sat. “Also, he just owed a lot of people a lot of money.” Managing a small smile, “There's a long list of people who’d want him hanging on the mantel. Some alliance commanders even.” It was true that there were definitely some in the rebel high command who found Han immensely difficult to work with. Though the chances of walking into Mon Mothma’s office and finding Solo leaning against the wall as a decorative piece were pretty slim.
There was a slow metallic plodding from the door, and the shining form of 3PO stood in the entryway holding a dining tray. “Oh, master Luke, how good it is to see you. I trust you're feeling much better and your injuries have healed,” he placed the tray down on a desk. “If I had known there would have been company I would have brought two trays. I’ll be back in a moment.” Luke smiled at Leia, who took the tray and examined what the galley had prepared. “Don't worry, Threepio. I’ve already eaten.”
The droid nodded, “Will that be all, Mistress Leia?”
“Yes, Threepio, thank you very much,” Leia answered, taking a sip from her drink.
“Artoo is in the hangar bay, I believe, if you want to go see him,” Luke added as the protocol droid shuffled down the corridor. Greeting people as he went, many of the crew found the golden droid a curious amusement. Protocol droids were always slightly odd, but few had met one so neurotic.
“How have you been sleeping?” Leia asked, getting up and closing the cabin door.
“Oh, you know the cots are never the most comfortable, but anything beats echo or trying to sleep in a cockpit,” Luke answered, smiling. He knew that’s not what she was asking. He could feel her worry, and he was desperately trying to dodge it.
“Please be honest with me, how have your nightmares been. I remember how they were after Tatooine, then Obi-Wan died after the Death Star. After the wampa. I want to know you’re ok. You and Chewie are the closest thing to family I have left.” Luke hated how she looked when she was serious; her eyes were stern but caring. You knew you could trust her and that you were safe. She would have truly made the most amazing senator just like her father if the galaxy had been different or just kinder.
The Jedi found himself trying to come up with ways to avoid the conversation they were barreling towards.
“They’ve been ok, I mean, we’ve all gone through trauma. We all have before as well. I’ll get over it soon enough, don’t worry.”
Leia was unconvinced she could always see through him; it was so annoying at times. “You’ve not been yourself for days, you barely talk to anyone, I hardly see you at all outside of occasionally tinkering in the hangar bay, Threepio says Artoo knows you aren’t sleeping. That your vitals are all out of whack,” she leans in, talking softly, her voice so soothing, something about an Alderanian accent. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but just don’t tell me lies, Luke.”
“They aren’t nightmares, they feel too real to be. I think it’s closer to a vision. Always the same, always Vader,” Luke said, looking down at his hand.
“It would be back on Cloud City in the dark, you can’t see or hear anything, the air is temperatureless, there’s nothing to sense around you but him. He’s there, you know, he’s very, and he’s coming for you. Slowly, never fast, he didn’t need to move fast; he’s unyielding. No matter where I go, where I hide, he comes for me.” Luke gasped. “You know he’s near; he taunts me.” The room was growing cold again. Creaking in Luke's mind.
“I’d have my lightsaber, but if I ignite, I’d be seen if he finds me, I’m dead.” The lights flickered.
Was this real? He thought.
Where was Leia?
Why am I so cold?
Search your feelings, you know it to be true.
The hiss of a lightsaber, a grunt of exertion, a flash of red. Luke threw out his hand and pushed.
He came to having thrown the desk across Leia’s cabin.
“Luke!” Her hand held his, closing it gently, and she cupped his face. “It’s ok, it’s me. You're safe.” Luke looked up at her eyes wide, panting. “Did I hurt you?”
Leia was calm. Wrapping a blanket over his shoulders. “You could never hurt me. I don’t think you could hurt someone if you tried. You’re too kind to.” She sat next to him, looking at the overturned desk and the tray of food splattered against the wall.
“Every night?”
“Most.”
“Talk to me next time, come and find me.”
“I will.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise you.”
She got up and moved to the desk, Luke righted it from the bed, the least he could do for making the mess.
“Still sleep with Artoo scanning the room? We are safe here. This ship is technically registered as an aid vessel. Not even the most trigger happy imperial officer would bother with inspecting us.”
Luke got up from the bed.
“No sit, rest.” Leia ordered,” The war hero Jedi knight did as he was told.
“I know that, I know logically he can’t be there. He’s a two meter tall metal man that breathes like an overheating Nerf. We’d know if he was here. But just nowhere feels like I can be far enough away from him; I feel like he can always sense me. I can always feel him. Somewhere out there. I know he’s searching for me.” he stared out the little cabin window. “I feel like I endanger everyone around me, you and hand, were used as bait for me. What if the whole rebellion is put in more danger by my being embedded within it? If I left, went off by myself, I could draw Vader away,”
Leia leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’d sooner take my chances escaping Vader with you again than I would fighting the whole empire without you. You aren’t going anywhere, Luke. Besides, it would mean splitting up the droids, and I don’t think they could manage that.”
Luke smiled and wrapped an arm around his friend, pulling the blanket to cover her as well.
“Can I stay here for a bit?”
“Take all the time you need,” she responded, hugging him.