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Luke hated medbays.
Doesn’t everyone? Leia had asked dryly.
No. She didn’t get it. Sure, no one liked being in a medbay ’cause it meant something was wrong with you, and yeah, all the sterile white got old fast, and 2B units weren’t exactly programmed to be any fun.
But that wasn’t what he meant.
He grew up on Tatooine, right on the border of the Jundland wastelands. Before he joined up, he could remember going to a medbay exactly twice in his entire life. Once when Aunt Beru was so sick he’d thought she was actually about to die, and once when he crashed his skyhopper so badly he’d broken an arm and a leg and a rib. The rest of the time, moisture farmers took care of themselves. They couldn’t afford medbays and if you needed one, it was probably too far away to do you any good anyway.
It was different with the Rebels. Now they wanted him seen by a medic for every little thing. Sick? No flying until medical clears you, Commander. Blaster burn? Better get that looked at, Sir. Concussion? Don’t you even think about it, Luke, or I swear I will have you demoted.
He’d be the first to admit he wasn’t exactly a model patient. He just wasn’t used to it. And it was all overkill anyway. Especially when they were in the middle of a galactic war.
Then Bespin happened.
Officially, Luke was confined to the medbay for a minimum of two days after his prosthetic was reattached. They needed to make sure his body didn’t reject it. They told him he could stay longer if he wanted. Nothing to be embarrassed about if he was still in shock. Losing a limb was more than just physical, they said. There was also, they said, the possibility of battle shock—a unique form of shock that lasted longer. In fact, it could last a lifetime.
Luke didn’t want to hear any of it.
Are you certain, Sir?
Yeah. I’m all right.
As soon as he’d written and submitted his report (in which he redacted only one key piece of information), he was asking to be released. He’d wasted enough time in recovery already, and he had a million things to do. His X-wing needed work and he had to check in with his squad and apologize to Wedge for basically going AWOL, and Leia said she’d stall for him as long as she could, but he was unavoidably aware that he needed to check in with Command and try to convince them he hadn’t been AWOL.
And lying in a sterile white room doing none of that left him with nothing to think about except the nightmare of Vader stalking him through space.
So the second the two days were up, he changed from the loose, flimsy med tunic and into standard fatigues.
And promptly had to sit down again as a wave of lightheadedness washed over him.
Okay.
Luke waited until the room settled. His next coherent thought was that it was a good thing there wasn’t a med droid or medic around. His left hand gripped the edge of the gurney. His right hand still didn’t feel like his own. It kept snagging on his clothes and now it felt…tingly, like someone had cut off his circulation.
Was a prosthetic supposed to be tingly?
Deep breaths.
He curled his right arm protectively against his body. Stood up. Waited. He felt a little…off. Sort of…hollow? His heart was beating too…not too fast, exactly, but too hard. It felt bad.
But nothing was wrong, right? The two days were up. His prosthetic was working perfectly. His other injuries had already been healed with bacta. And the only reason the med droids gave for staying past the two days was shock.
Luke was plenty familiar with shock. Shock was for coming home to find home torched by stormtroopers and seeing Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru turned into corpses. Shock was for watching people like Obi-Wan and Biggs and Dax die right in front of him.
This wasn’t shock. Or battle shock. Or anything. It couldn’t be. He was a Jedi. He was the only Jedi. He had to face Vader again. It was his destiny. And if he couldn’t handle it, no one could.
So it was a good thing nothing was wrong.
A few more deep breaths, and he told himself he felt better. He walked to the door, opened it.
Two Rebels were running down the hallway.
The sudden rapid movement made him flinch back. He gripped the doorframe left-handed for support. Okay. He was just startled. That was normal. That would pass.
He considered reaching into the Force for calm. But it sort of felt like the Force had set him up. Dream of the stars, dream of a greater destiny, dream of being a Jedi like your father before you, go to an awful swamp planet and get pushed beyond your limits because that’s what it’ll take to kill Vader…ha. Yeah, right. He felt like a droid, trying with everything he had to be the best he could be, only to find out his maker had programmed him with all the wrong information.
On purpose.
But anyway, he didn’t need the Force right now. He was just jumpy. But he was with the Rebels. There were no threats here. He just needed to relax and stop being so dramatic.
He could only imagine what Han would say if he could see him….
That was a bad thought. He shoved it away.
“Sir?”
A young maintenance tech was standing right in front of him, datapad in her hand, looking up at him with concern.
He blinked. Realized he had no idea how long he’d been standing there, clutching the doorframe like that.
“Um,” the maintenance tech said. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Luke answered automatically. “Yeah, I’m all right. I was just…”
What was he doing?
“My X-wing,” he blurted out. “We were in a swamp. It got me to Bespin but it needs maintenance.”
The tech consulted her datapad. “Isn’t it still on Bespin?”
Luke let out a Hutteese curse he normally wouldn’t say out loud. He imagined Aunt Beru chewing him out for it. But how did he get here, then? It was all…blurry….
“Sir?” There was new urgency in the tech’s voice. “I think you should sit down.”
His eyes had closed without his permission. He opened them, saw the worry all over her face. Maybe…maybe she was right….
Her datapad disappeared into a pocket and then she was steering him around. She was about as small as Leia and it occurred to him that he might actually crush her if he fell so he tried very hard to stay upright until they reached the gurney.
He sat, elbows on his knees, tipping forward to rest his head in his hands—
“No, back,” she said firmly. Hands on his shoulders guided him backwards until his head settled against the cushion. “That’s better, Sir.”
Then she hit the button to summon the med droids.
Luke groaned.
She flashed him a quick, small smile. “I know. I hate them too.”
“You’re a traitor,” he mumbled.
“What if I talk to someone about getting your X-wing for you?”
“Really?” He started to sit up in excitement; she anticipated him with hands on his shoulders again; he took the hint and lied back down. “That would…make you not a traitor.”
“Very good, Sir.” She saluted.
Then the med droids arrived and she had to duck out into the hallway
One blood draw and five standard hours later, one of the 2B units was informing him that all his levels looked relatively normal.
Was that good news? It probably was? But it triggered a sharp, tight feeling in his chest. “So why do I feel like this? Are you saying it’s all in my head?”
The 2B looked solemnly at him. “As we told you before, Sir, losing a limb is more than merely physical. However, I am not an expert in human psychology. I cannot give you more information than that.”
Fine. “Can I go, then?” They hadn’t made him change out of his fatigues, so at least there was that.
“Physically, you are cleared,” the 2B said in exactly the same tone it had used to clear him before, “but there is no cause for embarrassment if you are still in shock—”
“Yeah, I get it, thanks.” He made a point to get up slowly. Started with both feet firmly on the ground. No jumping up, no moving too fast. See? He was fine.
Now what?
With the tech’s promise to see about getting his X-wing ringing in his ears, he moved on to his next objective: find Rogue Squadron.
This time, he made it into the hallway without incident. This time, he was braced for the occasional Rebel to come sprinting past. Sometimes they greeted him by name or with a nod; occasionally they asked how he was; more often they were too focused on their goal and did not acknowledge him in the least. He was fine with that.
The hollow feeling in his legs persisted. He tried to ignore it.
Some asking around led him to a lounge where half of his squad was in the middle of a rowdy sabaac game. But as soon as Luke stood in the doorway, Wedge Antilles was on his feet, game abandoned. “Boss!”
Luke had never heard that tone in his voice or seen that expression on his face: a fierce clash of anger and relief. Wedge came to stand directly in front of him, arms folded over his chest. Luke was keenly aware of the rest of the Rogues hanging back, watching to see how their commander responded to their second-in-command.
“Hi, Wedge,” Luke said quietly.
“You were supposed to meet everyone at the rendezvous. That was some detour you took.”
“It’s hard to explain.”
“Try,” Wedge said flatly.
The last thing Luke wanted right now was to talk about anything related to the Force or Obi-Wan. But he owed his squad an explanation. “I…I saw a Jedi. He told me to—he told me where I needed to go to get more training.” Betrayed though he felt by Yoda, he wasn’t about to give away the Master’s location.
Wedge’s eyes widened. “That’s where you’ve been this whole time? Jedi training?”
And there was a tone and an expression worse than anger: awe. The rest of the Rogues were on their feet now, pressing close to surround him.
“Yeah,” Luke mumbled uncomfortably, eyes on the floor. He kept his right arm against his chest, not trusting that the Rogues wouldn’t jostle him. “It wasn’t much fun.”
“What’d you learn?” Zev asked eagerly.
That I’m a lousy Jedi. “How to be more in tune with the Force. Try to be, anyway.”
“Push me across the room with the Force!” Wes ordered.
“No, guys, c’mon—”
“Can you use the Force to choke me?” Wes asked. The others laughed raucously while Luke recoiled. “I’m just saying, Vader can do it!”
“Are you ready to fight him?” Wedge asked seriously.
Luke took a step backwards. With everyone standing so close, he couldn’t get enough air.
Suddenly, Wedge was running interference, shooing the rest of the Rogues away, ordering them back to their sabaac game. Before Luke really knew what was happening, an arm around his shoulders steered him out of the lounge, down the hallway, and around a series of corners until they were alone.
Then Wedge stopped them. “Talk to me. What happened?”
Luke just stared back at him. The words wouldn’t come.
Wedge lowered his voice. “This Jedi. Did he…do…something to you?”
“What?” The question was so ridiculous, Luke managed a startled laugh.
Wedge raised his hands. “It’s a fair question! You disappear on us and come back looking like you’ve seen a ghost, and the only thing you’ll say is that you had some kinda Jedi training. What am I supposed to think?” His mouth formed a grim line. “You know we’ll take care of him if we have to, right? Just say the word.”
The thought of Yoda fending off all of Rogue Squadron at once made Luke laugh again, more sincerely this time. “Thanks, Wedge. That, uh…won’t be necessary. It’s not his fault, anyway. Not really.”
Yoda had tried to warn him. In his own, cryptic way. And Luke could be bitter all he wanted about how cryptic the warning was, but if he was honest, a clearer warning wouldn’t have made a difference. Nothing could’ve stopped Luke from taking off, determined to be the hero, so sure he was ready.
Wedge’s eyes narrowed. “What isn’t?”
“What?”
“What is it that isn’t his fault?”
For a long time, Luke just stood there, shifting his weight uneasily from foot to foot. Wedge was his friend. Besides Leia, Han, and Chewie, Wedge was his best friend. They were the only two survivors of what had once been Red Squadron, and they trusted each other with their lives. There was no one else Luke would rather have as second-in-command of the Rogues.
But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Wedge wasn’t just his friend. And the trust between them wasn’t just based on feelings and good intentions. Luke was Wedge’s superior officer and the trust between them was based on experience and competence. Luke could rely on Wedge to keep his head even in the worst firefights and to outfly any TIE-fighter. And Wedge? He could rely on Luke to call the right shots…and to never break down. Even when their missions failed. Even when they lost a Rogue.
Luke breathed in slowly.
I ditched my Jedi training against orders and tried to rescue Han and Leia from Vader because he was torturing them just to get to me and not only did I completely fail at rescuing them and now we might never see Han again, but Vader thrashed me at every turn and chopped off my hand and I lost my lightsaber and did you know he’s my father and everything I’ve ever believed about myself is a lie and now—
What now?
Now I want to lock myself in a supply closet somewhere and never come out because that’s better than letting everyone down again.
Luke exhaled without saying a word of any of that.
Wedge was still waiting. It was remarkable, really. The Rogues weren’t exactly known for their patience.
All Luke could do was extend his right hand, finally letting the fingers uncurl.
Wedge raised his eyebrows. “What?”
“Listen,” Luke said stiffly, curling and uncurling his fingers again.
It was faint, but their little strip of hallway was silent except for their breathing…and the whirring of mechanical joints.
Wedge’s eyes widened. “Is that…”
“Yeah.” Luke pulled the hand back to his chest. Looking at it too long was nauseating. “Good news,” he said with a forced smile. “If you lose a limb for the Rebellion, they won’t take the replacement out of your pay.”
“What pay?” Wedge asked, automatically completing his half of the old joke between them. But he was frowning. “Seriously, what happened?”
Luke dropped his gaze to the floor. “I fought Vader.”
He felt Wedge’s amazement. Awe, even. And then horror. “You lost?”
Those two words hurt about as bad as losing his hand.
You lost.
Luke tried to answer. No sound came out.
You lost.
He cleared his throat, tried again, managed a quiet: “Yeah.”
Wedge let out a long breath. “Shavit, Luke.”
Luke backed up two paces until he hit the wall. He couldn’t stop staring at the floor.
“Are you okay?”
The question was so soft, so gentle, a very small part of Luke wanted to cry. Instead, he whispered, “I’m all right.”
Wedge had the Rogues well in hand, so Luke advanced straight to his next objective: explaining his disappearance to Alliance High Command.
He stood at attention, careful not to lock his knees. His stomach was twisted into knots as he glanced from one face to another. All their features, human and alien, were severe. The only exception was Leia. He looked at her and saw pain in her eyes. Maybe she could feel his pain as clearly as she had somehow heard his voice.
He was stumbling through his explanation. It sounded unbelievable, even to him. A dead Jedi Master appeared in a hypothermic haze and told him to go to a planet he’d never heard of before. Apparently no one had heard of it before. Fey’lya the Bothan made a point of pulling up a planetary chart on his datapad, clearly not believing a word Luke said.
“But you were planning to meet at the rendezvous point?” Mon Mothma asked, brow pinched.
Luke nodded quickly. Once a base was discovered by Imperials, it was standard practice for the Rebels to scatter, reconvening individually at the rendezvous point over several days. As long as everyone understood that his diversion to Dagobah fit within those parameters…well, mostly…he should be fine.
“When?” Mon Mothma asked.
“I…I couldn’t give you a specific timeline,” Luke admitted. “My Jedi Master made it clear I’ve left my training incomplete.”
“So you are expected to return to him?”
“…Eventually.”
Fey’lya cleared his throat and shook out his snowy fur. “What exactly are you being trained for? As I understand it, the Jedi of old could spend their time doing anything from leading troops to meditating in a field. Is this Master of yours actually teaching you anything to help our cause?”
Luke stiffened. “I don’t know,” he snapped. “Do you think defeating Darth Vader will help our cause?”
As soon as the words were out, he wanted to take them back. It wasn’t like him to be so biting. And if he was honest, the true target of his anger was not Fey’lya but Yoda. When would Yoda have told him Vader was his father? Only after Vader was dead by Luke’s blade?
Fey’lya sniffed. “Your report indicated it was Vader who took your hand.”
Luke’s anger clenched in his stomach. He spoke through gritted teeth. “As I said. My training was incomplete.”
“He survived,” Mon Mothma pointed out calmly. “That’s more than most can say after encountering Vader.”
Fey’lya glared in disdain. “His own report shows he only survived because Lord Vader chose to spare his life in an effort to…what was it?” He consulted a datapad. “Recruit him?”
The other Alliance leaders exchanged glances.
It didn’t work! Luke wanted to shout. He bit his tongue instead.
Mon Mothma made a decision. “We can assign command of Rogue Squadron to Antilles. That will clear you to complete your training.”
Right. It made sense. It was what he would have asked for himself, if he’d thought of it.
But it felt like a demotion.
It felt like: You weren’t good enough.
He shoved those feelings aside. “Thank you. Just, what about Captain Solo?”
Leia’s face went suddenly impassive.
Mon Mothma raised her eyebrows. “You’re volunteering for the rescue mission?”
There were so many reasons he could give: Han was his friend; they’d saved each other’s lives over and over; if he didn’t go, quitting his training really would have been utterly pointless.
What he said was, “He’s being held by Jabba the Hutt. I’m from Tatooine. I’m the best resource you’ve got when it comes to the Hutts.”
Fey’lya tilted his head with an expression Luke wanted to believe was sincere, but… “Are you quite sure you’re ready for more missions?”
Luke bristled. “I was cleared from medical—”
“You’re pale and shaking,” Fey’lya said dryly, as if commenting on the weather, “and have you already damaged your cybernetic hand?”
Luke realized that at some point during this confrontation, his precise military stance had deteriorated and his right hand had once again curled up against his ribs. “It…” It doesn’t feel like mine. “It’s not damaged. It just…” It makes me think of my father. “I need to get used to it.”
Mon Mothma pursed her lips. “Losing a limb is a traumatic experience, Skywalker. It’s perfectly understandable that—”
“I’m fine!”
She blinked at his interruption.
Luke swallowed hard. Beru’s upbringing almost made him apologize. But apologizing would just draw more attention to the outburst.
“As I was saying,” Mon Mothma continued coolly, “it’s perfectly understandable that you need more time. For now, I don’t feel comfortable committing you to a mission as dangerous as going against the Hutts.”
So there it was. Luke’s throat tightened. He wasn’t good enough. His eyes stung. He hadn’t saved Leia and he couldn’t save Han and he was too reckless and stupid to be a Jedi and maybe he didn’t even want to be a Jedi anymore if being a Jedi meant killing his father, but where did that leave him?
What did that leave him?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
He stared at the floor, unable to bear meeting Leia’s eyes. It was awful enough feeling her gaze on him.
“Perhaps,” Mon Mothma said, “if you are recovered by the time we put Solo’s rescue team together, we can revisit the possibility of your participation.”
Her tone was kind but condescending. She didn’t believe her own words. It was the tone Beru used when he was a kid. Yes, Luke, I’m sure one day you’ll be a starpilot.
He kept his head lowered. “Yes, ma’am.”
He had a new objective now: get out of this room before he actually did start crying.
And there was really nothing more to say. A few more comments were exchanged by council members, nothing that required his involvement beyond a nod. Then the meeting adjourned. Luke turned on his heel and got out of there as fast as he could without looking like he was desperate to leave.
It was no good. Leia caught him in the hallway. She didn’t say a word, just leaned in with her arms out.
He couldn’t withstand a hug right now. His left hand came up, keeping her at bay. “The medics, they gave me exercises for my hand,” he said. “I’ll be ready when it’s time to go to Tatooine. I will.”
Her eyes searched his face. It was unnerving, how perceptive she could be. “It’s okay if you’re not. I’ll understand. And so will Han.”
He just shook his head.
She came closer, one half-step at a time, like she was afraid he’d push her away. “Listen, Luke, I know what it’s like to feel like everything is on your shoulders. Like you’re the only one you can trust to do any good. But it’s not true. The whole Alliance is fighting with you.” She paused, smiled a little. “And there’s always the Force, right?”
She had no idea. Luke looked up at the ceiling before she saw his lack of faith in his eyes. “Yeah.”
She touched his shoulder. Nothing more, like she knew he wouldn’t allow any further comfort. “Are you okay?”
He kept his eyes on the ceiling. “Yeah. I’m all right.”