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"No," Luke says.
Leia looks like she’s ready to go another round with him. Arms crossed, frayed ends coming out from her braided hair. Beaten by the Empire yet again, but never broken.
Unlike him.
Very softly she says, “Luke, we need you.”
What she’s trying to do is wrangle him into the psych assessment for the pilots—“the baseline” as it’s colloquially called. He’s lying on a bed with his brand new hand that still feels like an invasive object stuck to his skin, and she’s trying desperately to get him back on his feet and back working for the Rebellion. Possibly because that’s exactly what she would do in his situation. Probably because the fact he doesn’t want to indicates that there is something seriously wrong.
And there is something seriously wrong, something so wrong that even thinking about it makes Luke start to shake uncontrollably all over again.
“No,” he repeats. He won’t look at her. But he crosses his unsteady arms against his chest in a mimicry of her strength to show that he means it.
He hears her sigh. “You’re staying here in medbay tonight for observation. If the medics give you the go ahead tomorrow…you’re free to go.” A pause. “But I do have to ground you until further notice if you’re refusing the baseline.”
He nods. He just wants her gone now.
And then the moment she’s gone all he wants is for her to come back.
He resists the urge to look at his hand again. He lies down. He rolls onto his side. He tries not to think.
And then that voice, that voice that he now knows is his father’s now, that makes him feel sick inside just hearing says, Luke…Luke…
“Go away,” Luke says aloud. He’ll look deranged if they’ve got a holo recording in here. He doesn’t care. He presses his hands to his ears. “Leave me alone.”
Luke…my son…
“No one’s son,” he hisses. “I’m no one’s son.”
He doesn’t know how long he repeats that. But he does know that he repeats it until he manages to fall into a fitful sleep.
He dreams that night that for some terrible reason he does agree to do the baseline. He sits in front of a medic in some sort of nondescript room that looks like nothing and does the word associations. “Tatooine?”
“Hot.”
“Home?”
“Not Tatooine.”
Luke means it as a joke. The medic doesn’t laugh. “Father?”
Luke can’t help but flinch. “Dead.”
It’s what he hated in the past. It’s what he now wishes were true.
“X-wing?”
“Freedom.”
“Rebellion?”
“Hope.”
“Father?”
“You already asked me that.”
The medic just blinks at him. “You have to answer.”
“Slave.” Luke winces as he says it. That was the word he thought of the first time he did a baseline, right after the Death Star. His father was born a slave, and Luke has always wondered just how much that defined him.
Luke wondered that even as his father told him the awful truth on Bespin.
“Empire?”
“Evil.”
“Stormtroopers?”
“White.”
“Father?”
“Why do you keep asking me this?”
“You need to answer.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I need you to answer, Commander.”
The problem is that there’s too many answers. Murderer. Monster. Machine. None of them quite fit and yet all of them frighteningly do.
“Let’s move on,” the medic says abruptly. “What happened on Bespin?”
Luke shakes his head. This isn’t the way that a baseline goes. They do those ridiculous prospective scenarios first. He should protest, but the words are sticking in his throat for some reason. He’s having trouble thinking right now. “Nothing happened on Bespin.”
“Well, you lost your hand.”
Yes, he lost his hand. “That’s all.”
“Is it?” The medic’s looking him over now, probing him. “You wouldn’t be hiding something from the Rebellion, would you?”
Luke shakes his head again. He’s never been good at lying. He hates lying. And yet everything in his life seems like it’s been a lie.
The medic folds his hands on the table. Smiles. “This Rebellion contains the only people in the galaxy who care about you. They’re the kind of friends you’ve always wished you’d had. How do you think they would feel if they knew the sort of secret you were carrying?”
Luke rises up from where he’s sitting but there’s no door in this room, no escape. Just his medic chattering incessantly on and on and on.
“The truth is that you were never good enough for the Rebellion and now you know exactly why. Your blood is poisoned with the evil of that man.”
“No!” Luke says. He claws at the wall desperately. He feels like he can’t breathe. “No, that’s not true. I’m nothing like—I’m not like him.”
“Your father?”
“Leave me alone!” With no escape Luke just tries to put in distance, like he did on Bespin, staggering away to what little space he can find. He backs himself into a corner and buries his head in his hands.
The man starts to shake him roughly. “They’ll find out eventually, you know. You can’t keep this secret forever.”
“Leave me alone!”
“Your father is the most hated man in the entire galaxy, and they’ll hate you just the same when they find out.”
“Leave me alone!”
“Er, sir?”
Luke startles awake. He’s in no baseline, he’s in his room in the medbay, and it’s a completely innocent medic who’s shaking him awake and giving him a dubious look while doing so. Which makes Luke worry about exactly what she heard while he was asleep. “Wedge Antilles is here to see you. Should I send him away?”
“No,” Luke says, perhaps a little too loudly and quickly. But he doesn’t want to be left alone with his thoughts (or his father) for another second. “I want to see him.”
The medic leaves. A few moments later Wedge comes in and drags over a chair. Luke immediately feels himself relax. Wedge is sensible. He has a way of talking that makes everything appear straightforward and simple. It’s exactly what Luke needs.
“Hey, Luke,” Wedge says, sitting down. “Sorry that I didn’t see you yesterday. They had me out on patrol.”
“It’s all right,” Luke says and it is. Everyone in the Rebellion is always so very busy. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course. And…well, I had to come here to medbay anyway.”
Right. Wedge has some sort of arrangement with command that he’s allowed to fly and not do baselines in exchange for…whatever they do to him here. Therapy? Medication? It’s not really Luke’s business, just the part that he isn’t grounded, but he also knows Wedge had some sort of breakdown a few years ago that led to this.
Wedge shifts in his seat. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He’s looking at his hand, Luke realizes, and Luke feels his stomach tighten at the indirect mention of Bespin. “Not really,” he murmurs.
He thinks that Wedge will push, the way that the medics and Leia have been pushing, but Wedge just nods and says, “You don’t have to.”
If only everyone could let things go so easily.
“I’m sorry for running off like that after Hoth,” Luke murmurs. He doesn’t want to talk about this, but he does feel like this is the one thing he should clear up. “It wasn’t intentional. It just sort of…happened.”
Wedge lets out a sighs and rubs his face with a hand. “You shouldn’t have done that, so don’t think for a second you should have, but…I have also gotten very used to your spur of the moment ideas and I’d be surprised if the rest of the Rebellion hasn’t.”
“Hey!” Luke, as always, has trouble telling whether Wedge is teasing or complimenting him. To be fair, though, he has that trouble with almost everybody.
“I’m just glad you’re safe,” Wedge continues. “Especially after—” He abruptly stops, shakes his head, looks away.
See, if Luke were a normal human being (as he has been increasingly wishing that he was), this would be the end of it. A normal person can see Wedge and tell that he is obviously upset about what happened on Hoth. But Luke is not a normal human being, and in fact his abilities in the Force have only been steadily increasing over the past three years. So he, on the other hand, can tell that Wedge is in the sort of searing pain that he shows to no one, a sort of pain that bleeds into the Force and wraps around Luke in a suffocating embrace. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last. There have been times when they’ve gone on disastrously bad missions as Rogue Squadron that Luke can’t even stand to be near Wedge afterwards because the Force around him is just ringing with pain, even as he’s pretending everything’s fine.
Sometimes Luke has wondered if he should say something about this, but he hardly imagines that calling Wedge into his office and saying, Hey, I can tell when you’re distressed through the Force, and it’s kind of distracting and also kind of concerning so could you like maybe not do that would probably help no one.
In this case, though, Wedge’s pain isn’t too sharp. More like an ache, a large bruise that is only just beginning to heal. Luke doesn’t have to guess what it’s specifically about. “Wedge, I…saw what happened to Hobbie on Hoth. I’m so sorry.”
Wedge shrugs, almost winces. “We’re pilots. Hobbie always knew the risks.”
Luke really wishes he wouldn’t just shrug this off. He knew how close they were, that they defected from the Empire together. Wedge feels every loss, but this isn’t some sort of cadet that joined the Rebellion last week. “That doesn’t make it all right.”
Wedge shrugs again. “Hobbie always used to say he was going to die before me. I guess he was right.”
Wedge looks at the floor, eyes glazing. The distress in the Force starts to sharpen.
Luke resists the urge to snap at him. “It’ll be all right,” he murmurs. And then on impulse he reaches out his hand to touch his.
His mechanical hand, he realizes a nanosecond too late.
Wedge notices, Luke can sense that through the Force, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He looks up and smiles and says, “I’m sorry, I’m the one who’s supposed to be cheering you up.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. But I can make it a little bit better. They’re going to let you out today, right?”
“They should,” Luke says, both cautious and curious.
“Then come to my quarters tonight. I’ve got the Yavin holovid.”
“Wait, really?”
Wedge nods enthusiastically.
For completely bizarre and unknown reasons, both he and Wedge have gotten into watching Imperial propaganda holovids as a way to unwind in the rare moments they have time of their own, mercilessly picking apart everything from the acting to the filming to the ridiculous message to the Empire’s clearly increasing desperation. Usually the night ends with both of them rolling around laughing and having the time of their life. Luke has no idea why they find this so fun. If anything, they should probably be offended and horrified and saddened by the things that the Empire comes up with about them and the galaxy. But perhaps this is a prime case of deciding to laugh instead of cry.
(A few of the holovids are even begrudgingly kind of good. Carida’s Finest is a film that practically all the pilots in the Rebellion have seen and swear by despite the fact that it’s about a group of cadets who become friends as they make their way through Carida Academy. And sure, it’s clearly a recruitment tool and filled with all the prejudices of the Empire, but it’s also, somewhat unfortunately, really fun. Luke can’t even count the times he’s seen his fellow rebels recreate the singing synthesizer scene during a celebration.)
This holovid, the Yavin holovid—apparently titled formally as Rebel Treachery on the Fourth Moon of Yavin!—has been one they’ve been wanting to track down for months, mostly because it’s likely to contain bizarre portraits of themselves.
And now Wedge has it. “The moment they let me out of here I’ll go straight to your quarters. You have the time?”
“Oh, I’ll make the time.” Wedge grins. “I can’t wait for this.”
How ridiculous that the thing to make Luke finally feel better after Bespin is an Imperial propaganda holovid.
He’ll take it.
A few hours—and yet another physical examination—later, the medics finally tell him that he’s free to go.
“You sure I can’t convince you to take a baseline,” Leia offers like it’s tantalizing.
Luke shakes his head. They move out of the medbay into one of the wider corridors. Luke notices that at the foot of the hallway someone has splashed across in searing paint, REBELLIONS ARE BUILT ON HOPE BUT A BLASTER DOESN’T HURT.
He turns to Leia and cocks his head.
“Don’t look at me,” Leia huffs. “Apparently somebody has gotten it into their head to vandalize our ship. We’re looking into it.”
“At least it adds a little colour.”
“There doesn’t need to be colour. There needs to be a wall that won’t distract anybody in case we’re attacked.”
“Well, I kinda like it.”
“Of course you would,” she mutters.
He is surprised at how quickly irritation flares within him at this remark. He shoves it down. He says, “So do you know the way to Wedge’s quarters?”
“Luke!” Wedge says the moment he knocks at the door. “Come on in!”
Wedge’s quarters are a mess which is unusual for him—he must’ve been kept pretty busy since arriving here. Luke picks his way through the detritus to sit beside Wedge on the floor.
“Before I forget.” Wedge offers him a container filled with hot chocolate. Luke immediately snatches it up. He knows it’s ridiculous that he’s an adult and he still can’t stomach caf, but he’s too happy right now to care.
“Thanks, Wedge,” Luke says, and he thinks he means it about more than just the hot chocolate. Wedge is a good friend, maybe even one of his very best friends, someone he trusts almost completely.
What would he think of you if he knew who your father was? some voice whispers in the back of his head. Luke winces and shoves it aside.
“No problem,” Wedge says, eyes completely focused on the mess before them. He keeps looking at things and then tossing them aside.
“So not judging but why is your room a mess?”
“Been busy.” He nearly beams Luke in the head with a datapad.
“Uh huh. So did you see someone’s been painting messages on the walls?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard command’s pissed about it. Somebody’s been marking up some of the droids, too. Maybe it’s the same person?” Wedge tosses several other things of unidentifiable purpose. “Okay, where is it? I swear I had it here. Is it—” Wedge plugs in a datachip and something flickers into being. Not a holovid, just a staticky and older image.
It’s a holo of a man that Luke feels like he vaguely recognizes. Young. Dark hair and eyes. Not in a uniform.
“He was a part of Rogue One,” Luke realizes. As much as it guilts him to say, he doesn’t really know their names beyond Jyn Erso. “Adnor, right?”
“Andor,” Wedge corrects. “His name was Cassian Andor.”
Wedge snaps the holo off, pockets the datachip. Wedge is acting nonchalant about this, but Luke can sense in the Force that seeing that face has moved him far more than he’s letting on. Luke can’t quite discern what he’s feeling. Not distress. Sadness? Regret?
“Here we go,” Wedge says, plugging in the Yavin holovid so that it finally starts to play.
They have a good night. The holovid is as ridiculous as they’d hoped it would be. It follows the story of a fictional TIE fighter commander who is (of course) human and male and light-skinned. He very nobly fights for the Empire and is horrified when he hears of the atrocities that the rebels commit.
(“Notice how the music swells poignantly at this point,” Wedge says. “Very subtle.”)
He is then transferred to the Grand Imperial Station (to which the rebels sneeringly and wrongly refer to as the Death Star, but the Empire definitely never called it that!). Speaking of which, here come in a few rebel characters who are shown to be plotting evilly in a dank little lair, uncaring of the civilian lives they put in harm’s way.
“Hey look, that’s me,” Wedge says, pointing out an ugly dark-haired man with a stereotypical Corellian accent in a shabby attempt of the orange jumpsuit that the real Rebel pilots wear. Wedge tilts his head as the man laughs about his smuggling profits and the number of death marks he has on various worlds. “Wait, are they conflating me with Han?”
“I think maybe they just imagine all Corellians are smugglers,” Luke suggests.
“Hmm. I would expect the Empire to repeat that outdated stereotype.”
“Didn’t you once tell me that you were a smuggler?”
“That was for, like, two weeks. A month, tops.”
“Didn’t you once tell me that you smuggled spice off Kessel?”
“Not hearing any of this! Oh look, here’s you.”
Yes, it does indeed appear that this is supposed to be Luke, who is portrayed by a squinty-eyed dark-haired man who’s about twenty years too old. He’s frequently depicted as conniving and sinister, wanting to bring back the order of the Jedi simply so that he can use them to influence the masses.
“Would it kill them to at least try to replicate our appearances?” Wedge says. “I mean, they are trying to track us down, right? You’d think they’d use this opportunity to their advantage.”
“Why do that when they can portray us as ugly? Because everybody knows that evil people are inherently ugly.”
“Oh, yes, indeed. Very helpful of life to just imbue bad people with ugliness.”
“And make every single good person the epitome of attractiveness.”
They sort of handwave the destruction of Alderaan (vaguely implying that it’s somehow the rebels’ fault despite this never being explained how they would have the technology to do this when they live in their dank cave). Interestingly enough, Darth Vader doesn’t make an appearance in this holovid, probably because he’s terrifying and the Empire’s still trying to pretend that he’s a myth. Honestly Luke is glad. He can make fun of most of this, but he isn’t sure if he could handle an appearance of his newly found father so lightly.
Tarkin is there, though. Portrayed like a kindly father to his men and much more attractive (of course). Luke cheers with Wedge as the battle finally begins and the rebels must (inevitably) win. Their main TIE fighter commander is portrayed dying nobly in order to stop them even as all is lost. The music swells, he and Wedge are laughing, end credits.
All in all it’s a good night, thoroughly distracting. And it’s only later, when Luke is back in his assigned bunk, that he thinks again about why Wedge would have that holo of Cassian Andor.
The next morning when Luke walks to Leia’s makeshift office, there’s a new slogan plastered on a new wall: WE’RE ALL SLAVES TO THE EMPIRE.
Luke looks away, tries to ignore the sick feeling that turns inside of him. He’s heard other Rebels say words to that effect. And maybe in their own way they’re right. None of them have been treated well by the Empire.
But still. It’s one thing to say such a thing. It’s another to come from a planet where slavery is a reality he saw every single day of his life. A reality he saw every single day of his life and knew that his father, his family, had once been a part of.
Whatever. What does it matter? It’s not anything he hasn’t heard a thousand times before.
But anything to do with his father is so close to the surface right now.
“Luke,” Leia says, looking up from her desk. He still finds it odd seeing her all proper and professional, though he supposes others must have felt the same when he was commander of Rogue Squadron. “You look…nice.”
A lie. Luke looks terrible. He’d spent about an hour trying to find something to wear when seeing himself in his old flight suit sent him into a panic, and he’s lost that old jacket of Han’s that he’d freaking loved. So instead he found something nondescript and black and put that on instead. Which only makes him look paler and sicker and the hollows in his eyes look larger, but at least he isn’t currently panicking when he sees himself in reflection.
“Thanks.”
“So what are you doing here?” Leia continues. And then, hopeful, “Ready to do your baseline?”
“Uh, no.” Luke crosses his arms. “I wanted to ask if you ever met Cassian Andor.”
Leia frowns. “Yes. Once, I think. But he was a little before my time.” She pauses, and he can see that slight look of concern come into her eyes, the one she’s been wearing since they left Bespin. “May I ask why this sudden new interest in the crew of Rogue One?”
Luke guiltily checks to make sure the door is closed. He murmurs, “Wedge has a holo of Andor.”
“He does?” Leia seems as surprised as Luke felt the first time he saw it.
“Do you know if Cassian and Wedge ever knew each other?”
“Not that I know of, though they were both on Yavin at the same time. Why did Wedge show it to you?”
“Well, er, he didn’t really mean to show it to me. We were looking for a holovid.”
“I see.”
“Do you think maybe you could drop Andor’s name in a conversation with Wedge so that I could see his reaction?”
“Luke.” Leia sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m not going to bring up a dead operative’s name in conversation just so that you can satisfy your curiosity. I think you should let this go.”
Luke clenches his hands. “No.”
“And why not?”
Because it’s one thing in his life that he can think about that isn’t his father and how he’s going to kill everyone he loves and force Luke to the dark side. “Because it’s a mystery. Aren’t you curious?”
“Why don’t you just ask Wedge?”
“You know he won’t tell me anything. And I don’t want him to tell me anything he doesn’t want to. But…I guess I just thought there might be something you could dig up for me to find out more.”
She blinks at him. “So you wanted me to pull strings for you?”
“I didn’t mean it exactly like—”
“Hmm,” is all she says. She pushes several pieces of flimsi and a datapad aside. “So, if I may ask, when do you plan on doing your baseline?”
His irritation from yesterday smolders and then lights aflame once more. “Maybe I don’t ever plan on doing it.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“And what if I do mean it, Leia? What if I really do mean it? What if I can’t do any of this anymore?”
What if I’m not the same person anymore? is what he’s thinking but doesn’t say.
This is the most he’s said to anyone about Bespin.
“Luke…” She sighs, and he thinks this is it. She’s going to tell him he can’t stay in the Rebellion, not like this. But what she says is, “This isn’t really about the baseline. You know that, right? Things are…tense with you right now. Command doesn’t like that you up and left without notice. And beyond that, I don’t think that you should be left to your own devices after what’s happened. But…I’m sorry if I’ve been pushing you on this. If you promise me that you’ll think on this, I’ll let it go for now.”
He knows that this is better than he could’ve hoped for, that she needs every soldier she can in this war. “I will,” he says.
She nods, looks at her endless amount of work. “I do know what it’s like to face Vader,” she says in that almost gentle voice she seems to have only for him.
She’s trying to be comforting, but it only makes him feel guilty, knowing that it’s his father who’s hurt her like this, hurt everyone in the Rebellion like this.
They’ve already talked about far too much here, and this just breaks Luke’s fragile resolve further. He sucks in a breath. “Leia…I don’t…I don’t deserve you being so kind to me.”
“Luke.” She gets up from her desk, reaches out to his shoulder. “You’re the kindest man I know. Whatever do you mean that you don’t deserve kindness?”
“I—”
He doesn’t get any further than that because right at that moment a voice thrums in his head, Luke…Luke…
Oh no.
No, no, no.
“Luke, are you all right?” He can see, vaguely, that Leia is peering at him with sudden concern.
“Fine,” he bites out. He uncrosses and recrosses his arms.
Luke…
Father, he snaps across the Force bond, I’m a little busy at the moment so could you maybe not talk to me right now?
His father seems inordinately pleased about something. Possibly the fact that Luke has actually responded after studiously ignoring him since he’s returned to the Rebellion. Though his father sounds disdainful when he replies, Helping that traitorous rebellion of yours, no doubt.
“Are you sure?” Leia says.
“Yes!” Luke says, unsure who he’s responding to. He rubs his head. “I’m just getting a bad headache all of a sudden.” Father, I would appreciate it if you bothered me later.
“Maybe you should go back to medbay.”
“I’m fine,” Luke hisses. His father seems noncommittal but his presence mostly retreats.
Luke takes in a deep breath, trying not to let panic take hold. How is he going to function when his father can contact him whenever he wants? There must be a way to shut this off, but if there is he doesn’t know it and neither Kenobi or Yoda saw fit to offer him one.
Right. Because they didn’t even want him going to Bespin in the first place.
Leia is rubbing circles into his back. He doesn’t know when but he’s sunk into the chair in front of her desk. “I’m all right,” he finally murmurs. “Sorry about that.”
She nods her head. Hopefully she thinks he’s still dealing with the residual effects of his hand.
He shakes his head at any more questions (which she thankfully doesn’t pursue), and then he decides to retreat back to his quarters.
On the way out she places something in his hands. A datachip.
She says, “I probably shouldn’t be doing this, but when field operatives die their files become at least partially declassified. That contains as much of Cassian Andor’s record as your clearance is allowed to see. Maybe you’ll find something in there that will satisfy your curiosity.”
He smiles. “Thanks, Leia.”
She looks on the verge of lecturing him again. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t.”
“Just be careful, Luke. Everyone’s got secrets they don’t want someone else digging around in.”
Luke nods. As if he could forget.
He finds a spare battered datapad. Plugs in the datachip. Loads it up.
Well. Leia wasn’t lying when she said this still had redacted stuff in it. Luke would guess that maybe as much as half or more of this is redacted. A lot of Andor’s training for some reason is redacted. Even his birthplace is redacted. Why would someone’s homeworld be classified information?
What isn’t redacted is that final mission he went on for the plans of the Death Star, which tells a stark story from beginning to end of survival. It makes a shiver run down Luke’s spine. How close they came to annihilation.
He notes the name of Davits Draven as the man who recruited Andor into the Rebellion. That rings a bell. Luke remembers Draven as a scowling sort of man who oddly reminded him of Uncle Owen and who seemed to not like anybody (and especially not him) during the first year that Luke was a part of the Rebellion. Like a lot of command, he was abruptly killed during the massacre at Mako-Ta.
Though now that Luke thinks on it, a hazy memory is starting to form of Wedge having received a medal from Draven. This was a little bit after Yavin. Luke can’t remember for the life of him how Wedge got that medal.
Is now a good time, Luke?
Said slightly sarcastically. Or thought slightly sarcastically through the Force. Whichever.
It is at least a better time. Luke is lying out on his bunk, alone. Though he’s not going to come right out and say that. Father, can we at least agree on one thing? You cannot just interrupt me when I’m speaking to other people. It’s rude and it makes me look like I’m losing my mind.
Don’t you mean traitors from your so-called rebellion? I have no inclination to help you towards your insidious goals. You should stop this foolishness immediately and return to me.
Luke suppresses a sigh. During late nights when Luke couldn’t sleep before Bespin, he’d sometimes liked to fantasize miraculous scenarios in which his father would appear alive and well and make his way back to Luke. And Luke had always liked to imagine how it would feel to have his father with him, how he’d be so happy to see Luke grown, how pleased he’d be to know that Luke had joined the Rebellion and fought against the Empire with all his might, how curious he’d be to know all of Luke’s likes and dislikes.
But no. His real father, it turns out, has a frightening sense of possession when it comes to Luke. He tells him what to do, what to think, without any consideration that Luke might just have a will of his own. And beyond that being frightening, Luke just finds it plain irritating. Well, maybe I don’t want to return to you. I think I made that pretty clear on Bespin.
So you did, Vader says shortly. Easier to think of him as just Vader. But in time you will come to see the error of your ways and return to me.
Luke mentally debates the merits of continuing this conversation. He wants to scream at this man. He wants to ask him a thousand questions on his past. A tiny, most terrible part of Luke still does want to return and rule the galaxy with him, a part that Luke is horrified by and wants to pretend isn’t happening.
Luke instead inquires, What do you know about Davits Draven?
If his father finds this an utterly bizarre change in conversation he doesn’t mention it. Draven, he says, the sound rippling across the Force. A fool of a man. Though feeling his anger at the end of his life was quite…satisfying.
Luke suppresses a shudder. He actually hadn’t known prior to this that Draven had been killed by Vader. Great. Just another victim to add to the long list of people his father has brutally murdered.
What about Cassian Andor? He knows with absolute certainty that his father didn’t technically murder this man, and maybe he holds some sort of interesting clue about him.
He had too brief a death for the crimes he committed.
Okay, enough asking Vader about dead men of the Rebellion, this is just getting gruesome.
For a moment Luke is nearly tempted to ask about Wedge, but then he realizes talking about someone living in the Rebellion might not be a great idea for a few reasons. He lowers the datapad and plunges back further into his life.
Can I ask about my grandmother? He adds quickly, I saw her grave on the farm.
Vader’s presence is usually so heavy and impressive, filled with tendrils of anger and hatred and other negative things that Luke does not care to discover or name. But he feels something twinge through the Force from his father at this. Something lighter. You may, his father finally says.
Luke is already starting to regret this line of inquiry. But he’s far too curious to stop. What was she like?
She was…a good woman. The perfect mother.
Luke has trouble with this, reconciling this description with that grave post with this cruel man. But his father was a child once. He had a mother just like anyone else. He wasn’t always this horrible machine. Luke says, I wish I could have met her.
You would have liked her. His father’s emotions seem to intensify. You should have never ended up with the Lars family on Tatooine.
It’s fine, Luke says. This feels like a dangerous topic for both of them. They treated me like I was blood. They loved me.
They did not love you enough.
As compared to what, his father? Yeah, he’s been real loving since Luke has been in contact with him. Well, they were my family and the Empire killed them.
Luke knows it’s not a good thing to say the moment he sends it springing through the Force. He cringes, almost half expecting Vader to lash out at him.
But his father doesn’t respond in the moment. And when he does, it’s almost quiet: That was not a place for you to grow up, Luke.
A moment ago Luke would have been irritated by this, but he thinks he understands what his father is trying to say here. And then Luke starts to feel a little guilty. Of course his father has bad memories of that place.
I think, Luke says carefully, gently, that I was treated better than you were.
You might be right about that. But I also know that the children of…freed slaves are still not treated the same as freeborns on Tatooine.
Yes, Luke had noticed that. He’d endured the taunts, the whispers, the looks all because they knew his grandmother and father had once been a part of the slave caste. But that is nothing compared to what his father must have gone through.
And yet, how could his father have endured all of that and still decide to do the same to others on a much larger scale?
Luke doesn’t understand, and he’s not in any sort of capacity to understand right now. But even if there is nothing redeemable about this man right now, Luke still feels the need to comfort about the past. I think there are always people in life who will try to treat you worse if they can get away with it, no matter where you’re born in the galaxy. At least growing up on Tatooine taught me who my friends were, who to trust, exactly how hard life can be for other people in the galaxy.
His father makes a rumbling sort of sound through the Force that could in a different circumstance almost be construed as laughter. You sound like your mother when you talk like that.
My mother? Luke says, his heart beating slightly faster. Since knowing who his father is, Luke’s been having nauseating imaginings of how his mother fits into all of this—if she was some poor creature forced to be with and abused by this monster, or if she was some nameless face he assaulted simply to pass the time. Luke hardly dares to hope, but this sounds as if his parents did actually know each other, as if father…Luke doesn’t want to say harbours affection, but something very close to it. She was like me?
Something shifts in the Force. Yes, his father finally says. She had very insistent and incorrect notions that there was good in the galaxy.
What was she like? Luke says, questions now flooding him. Where was she from? What was her name? How did you meet?
His father says nothing for a very long time. I don’t think we should speak about this now, young one.
And then, for the first time since this strange bond has formed between them on Bespin, his father is the one who chooses to break off the connection.
Luke lies there for a long moment. He finds himself almost surprised that he misses the presence of his father.
That night Luke has a dream that he doesn’t fully remember of being back on Bespin and losing his hand all over again. He awakens feeling restless, with a shooting pain running through his lost limb.
Any warmth he feels towards his father is gone.
The new message their resident vandal has splattered across the walls as Luke walks to medbay for his physical therapy appointment is: THE HOLONET PLAYS AN IMPERIAL SONG IT’S THE DEVIL THAT YOU KNOW.
They’re always busy in medbay so Luke has to sit and wait in one of the plasteel chairs nearer to the corridor. Across from him, for some reason, is Wes clutching a bloodied hand. “What happened?”
Wes says, “Would you believe that I had a freakish door mishap?”
“No.”
“Oh. Would you believe that somebody for no reason at all accidentally slammed a hydrospanner on it?”
“No.”
“It was a prank gone wrong.”
“That I believe.” It occurs to Luke that of all the people he knows, Wes is a prime suspect for writing those messages across the walls. “You seen what somebody’s been writing in the corridors?”
“Yeah. Who hasn’t? Wish I’d thought of that.” A good deflection if Wes is indeed the one who’s doing it. He nods at Luke. “So why are you here?” Luke can sense that he pieces it together the moment after he says it. “Never mind. It was a stupid thing to say.”
“It’s fine,” Luke says, even though it isn’t. But he doesn’t blame Wes.
Wes leans forward, blood spattering on the floor. “Look, I know this is none of my business, but maybe you should consider talking to Wedge. He hurt his leg pretty bad before you came to the Rebellion. He might be able to give you some advice.”
Luke nods. He’s heard this story before. Wedge even still walks with a slight limp sometimes and complains that his leg aches on certain days.
Is it better or worse to keep a weakened limb rather than have a mechanical one that works better but is not the same?
He pushes that thought aside. He looks at Wes. He remembers that Wes is one of the few pilots left who was with the Rebellion before the Death Star.
Luke knows that he’ll have to be careful on how he goes about this. Wes and Wedge are close to each other, and Wes is apt to tell Wedge anything he thinks is strange. “You know, I’ve been thinking about Rogue One lately,” Luke finally says. “Did you know any of them?”
Wes shakes his head. “Not really, sorry.” He leans back. “But Wedge knew Cassian.”
Luke’s heart starts skipping beats. “He did?” he says in what he hopes is a completely normal voice.
“Oh, yeah. They shared the same quarters on Yavin.”
They shared the same quarters on Yavin? Well then no wonder Wedge reacted the way he did about Andor’s holo. Though that still doesn’t explain why or how Wedge and Draven apparently knew each other.
Luke remembers suddenly that it was Wedge’s quarters he was assigned to the one and only night he spent at the base on Yavin, and it was almost certainly Andor’s old bunk that he slept in. He tries to remember Wedge’s reaction to him being there, but Luke can’t remember anything. In truth, he was dealing with too much himself at the time. And he didn’t know there was a secret that he needed to be probing for.
“They were friends?” Luke asks, still trying to sound innocently curious.
Wes shrugs his shoulders. “I can’t really say. I was actually pretty new to the Rebellion myself at the time. Hobbie said Cassian was, and I quote, ‘an asshole.’ He didn’t seem all that friendly to me, but…” Wes uncharacteristically hesitates. “You know, there was something. Right after Scarif I found Wedge and told him that the entirety of Rogue One had been lost, and he did not react well to that. He wasn’t, like, openly upset, but you know how he gets.”
Luke does. Burying all his feelings down and sending them ringing out through the Force.
“I dunno. Makes me think Cassian wasn’t always an asshole if Wedge reacted like that.” Wes pauses. “Don’t talk about this with Wedge right now, though. He’s dealing with enough after Hobbie.”
Right. Luke shouldn’t be prying. Wedge has enough to deal with. They all have enough to deal with.
“Skywalker?”
Still on edge, Luke shoots up from his chair before following the medic down the hall.
What follows is not fun. The medic asks him how he’s doing. Luke explains that there’s still that sensation of delay when he uses his new hand (which is normal at this stage), that he’s still having the shooting pains through his arm (which is normal at this stage), and that he still sometimes feels like he can sense his old hand (which is normal at this stage). The medic helps him work through several physical exercises to make the transition smoother and lessen the pain faster.
The medic says, “I realize this is a difficult transition for you to make, but one day this hand is going to feel just like a flesh and blood one. Perhaps even better.”
Luke somehow doubts that. He touches this hand that doesn’t feel like it’s a part of his body and wonders how anything can replace flesh and blood.
Though he is willing to admit that he might be just a little biased towards machines.
An hour later he goes to the mess and ignores all friendly inquires and sits alone to eat what essentially looks like paste. He uses his hand that doesn’t feel like his and which he swears he can hear gears whirring and clicking to lift up his spoon.
He doesn’t want to do this. He isn’t sure what this he’s referring to. Any of it, really. He isn’t happy. And that’s a problem because everyone in this rebellion expects him to be happy. Because he was so happy before, the happy little farm boy who’d never been to space—which was a ridiculous sort of part, but one that he was readily willing to play. But the problem with a role like that is that once he’s unhappy, everyone notices. And all anyone wants to do after that is make him happy again.
Except maybe he’s never going to be happy again.
Luke.
Hello, Father. Luke is irritated at how natural that’s beginning to sound in his head.
Are you busy?
I’m eating. Which doesn’t exactly answer his question and which Luke doesn’t exactly mean to answer it. What are you doing right now? Using the Force to choke one of your subordinates?
Luke feels like Vader’s purposefully trying to ignore this jab. I’m meditating. Which is something you should learn to do every day.
I meditate. Luke hasn’t really meditated since leaving Dagobah.
Of course you do.
It’s the casual way he says it that sparks anger inside of Luke. Because this is exactly the kind of way he always imagined his father from his fantasies would behave. Well, maybe I would feel relaxed enough to meditate if you hadn’t sliced off my hand and left me trying to deal with a new one.
Your bitterness over your hand will solve nothing. Either use it to fuel the dark side or let it go.
That is infuriatingly helpful advice from the man Luke absolutely hates. Look, can we not do this right now? I’m not in a good mood.
Son, it seems that you are very rarely ever in a good mood, but I can’t imagine anything productive will be brought about by this current conversation so I will leave you alone for now.
His father’s presence withdraws. Luke sits there disgruntled at having gotten exactly what he wanted.
Wedge. Cassian. Draven.
It occurs to Luke how easy all this would be if so many of their number weren’t dead. If Luke is having trouble deducing just this, then how much else of their history has been irretrievably lost?
Thanks in no small part to his father.
It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?
After eating Luke decides his curiosity will not rest so up he stands and walks towards Leia’s office.
He’s about five steps away when he hears crashing, screaming, and meowing.
When he walks in, Leia’s office happens to be in complete and utter disarray. Leia is standing atop her chair while Wedge is crashing into every single object conceivable, arms outstretched in front of him.
“Get him, Wedge!” Leia directs admirably from the chair. “Don’t let him get away!”
“I got him!” Wedge says, raising what appears to be a very angry looking loth-cat triumphantly. But then the loth-cat turns its face to Wedge and starts growling ominously. That’s about all the warning Wedge gets before the claws come out and the loth-cat sinks them very happily into his flesh.
Wedge tries to grapple on for a moment more before he loses his grip entirely and shouts what Luke must presume is an obscenity in…something. Corellian? Luke didn’t know Wedge spoke Corellian. He actually didn’t know anyone still spoke Corellian. Luke kind of likes it, though. Wedge’s voice almost seems to get deeper, and even if it is an obscenity it sounds very pretty.
It takes Luke a moment to realize that the loth-cat is bounding over in his direction. It curls its tail as it comes to a stop right at his feet. It’s actually a beautiful cat, pure white with glittering blue eyes. Luke leans down. He’s always loved animals, and he doesn’t (usually) share the horror that so many others in the Rebellion seem to have of wild creatures after the sorts of things he’s seen on Tatooine.
“Hey, little guy,” he says. He tries to come off soothing through the Force. The loth-cat is docile as he picks him up into his arms, snuggling in closer and purring into the core of his heart.
He looks up to see both Wedge and Leia staring at him, heads tilted.
“Huh,” Wedge says. “So is that a Luke thing or a Force thing?”
“Both, I think,” Leia says, stepping off her chair.
Wedge takes a step closer and tentatively strokes the loth-cat’s head. The loth-cat seems disgruntled by his presence but makes an executive decision to stay purring in Luke’s arms.
“Oh Wedge, you’re bleeding,” Luke says as he sees the long bloody scratch going up his arm.
“Ah, it’s fine.” Wedge barely looks at it. “I’ve gotten worse at the controls of my X-wing.”
“So was that Corellian?” Luke has to ask.
“What? Oh, maybe.” Wedge looks unusually flustered. “Sorry, a bit of a habit.”
“Don’t recall you doing that as a pilot,” Luke jokes.
“Well, not with my comm on to you, Rogue Leader.”
“And hopefully you’re not doing that as Lieutenant Commander,” Leia puts in.
“Wait, Lieutenant Commander?” Luke queries, looking between the two of them.
“I was promoted after Hoth,” Wedge explains. “I’m the leader of—well, we’re calling it Red Squadron again. It was all very sudden,” he adds, perhaps sensing Luke’s distress at this.
“Things are still in flux after Hoth,” Leia says quietly, and Luke can catch her implication there. That he can be the leader of Rogue Squadron again if he wants.
But no. Luke doesn’t want that, and it’s not only about the baseline anymore. He knows Wedge deserves this. Wedge has been standing in the shadows far too long for a myriad of reasons, and he’s never going to take the command position of the squadron that he in all honesty deserves far more than Luke unless someone pushes him into it. He deserves to be here. He fits here. And Luke…
Luke doesn’t. Not anymore. Not like he used to. And it’s not anyone’s fault, but it’s like the entire Rebellion moved on. Because they did have to move on. Because they didn’t know if he was alive or dead and they needed someone to lead.
And the worse part is that Luke has no to blame for this situation except for himself.
“Congratulations,” he says to Wedge and he means that truly. “I’d shake your hand, but, well…”
“You’ve got a loth-cat.” Wedge smiles, then he winces a little as he rubs his arm. “Sorry, I should probably go.” In Leia’s direction, “I’ll have that report on your desk by tomorrow.”
“That’s fine,” Leia says, sitting back down behind her desk.
“So,” Luke asks once Wedge is gone, “where did the cat come from?”
“I wish I knew,” Leia grumbles. “Just appeared. I’ll have someone do a check around the ship. See if someone’s missing their feral pet.”
“Does that mean…” Luke takes a step forward. “…that I could keep him for now?” The cat purrs in assent.
“If you want to keep that hideous creature as a pet then be my guest.” She shuffles a few things on her desk. “So what did you need?”
He glances at the door again and then says, “In that information you gave me, I saw that Draven recruited Andor into the Rebellion. Did you know that?”
“Vaguely. Maybe. Why?”
“Well, I seem to recall Draven gave Wedge a medal for some reason. Do you remember what that was about?”
“Sort of,” she says slowly. “It wasn’t really something either Wedge or Draven liked to talk about from what I recall, and the files for that mission got lost in the mess of Vrogas Vas. You know what it’s like.” She waves her hand. Then her eyes sharpen. “You know, now that you mention it, Draven did gift something to Wedge in his will.”
“He did?” Luke squeezes his new pet a little too tightly and the loth-cat gives him a look that says they’re friends right now but the claws could still come out if he doesn’t learn to behave himself.
“Yeah, it was a bottle of Corellian whiskey. As you may imagine, Draven didn’t have all that many possessions to distribute. It seems a little odd that one of those chosen few was Wedge.”
Luke strokes the cat in his arms and ponders this. “I just don’t see how anyone could get close to Draven.”
“Oh, he had his moments. But he was a good man, Luke. It’s a shame you never got to know him better.”
Leia’s eyes go distant. Luke thinks it best to take his leave.
It’s late when Wedge knocks on his door, asks if he can come in.
“Of course,” Luke says. He sits up on the bed. The loth-cat (he hasn’t come up with a name yet because it might already have a name and he might not even get to keep it) hops off the bed and gives a sort of growl in Wedge’s direction.
“Hey,” Luke says. “None of that. Wedge is our friend. We like Wedge.”
The cat makes a noncommittal noise.
Wedge says, “I’ll keep my distance. You keeping it as some sort of pet?”
“Something like that.”
“Hmm. You’re braver man than I am.”
Wedge sits next to him on the bunk. He keeps looking down at his feet and back at Luke. “So Wes told me he saw you. At medbay.”
“Oh?” Luke says, growing nervous.
“Yeah. He said, um, that you might want to talk to me about, you know, your hand.” He adds quickly, “If I’m intruding, you just say so and I’ll drop this.”
“Oh,” Luke says, relaxing a little. “No, you’re not intruding. I guess he just thought with your leg you might be able to give some advice.”
“Yeah. Look, Wes means well, but I know that losing a limb and hurting a limb are two very different things and I’m not trying to conflate that.”
No, he’s just being a good friend. “How do you deal with the pain?” Luke asks quietly.
Wedge looks away. “Not…not all that well at first. Physical therapy helped. Mostly I just try to ignore it when it flares up now.” He snorts. “I realize that isn’t a good answer.”
It isn’t, but Luke wasn’t expecting something magical. “How did it happen, anyway?” he queries, curious. “If I can ask.”
“You can, but I’m not sure I can share too much. I was sort of on a mission for Fulcrum and a lot of the details are still classified.”
Fulcrum. Cassian used to be a Fulcrum.
Wedge. Cassian. Draven.
“Wedge,” Luke says before he can stop himself, “did you used to be a spy?”
Wedge just looks at him, eyes wide, and then he bursts into a wave of laughter. He looks away and then looks at Luke again and then starts laughing harder. Luke has rarely ever seen him so gleeful, not even during their ridiculous nights of watching Imperial propaganda.
“You…” Wedge finally chokes out. “You think I used to be a spy? Do I seem like I would make a good spy to you?”
“Not really,” Luke admits, suddenly feeling very foolish.
“A spy…” Wedge mutters. He’s wiping tears from his eyes. “Luke Skywalker thinks I’m a spy. Why…what made you think that?”
He’s still smiling but there’s a serious tone creeping into his voice.
“Well,” Luke says nervously. Oh no. “Well, you just said you were on a classified mission for Fulcrum.”
“Yeah, but the Fulcrums provided a lot of intel back then for everybody. And a lot of things were classified back then.”
Oh. Luke hadn’t known that. “Well, um, I guess when you accidentally showed me that holo of Andor. I. Um. Sort of wondered. Too.”
Wedge goes completely cold. “Why would that make you wonder if I was a spy?” he says, all mirth gone from his voice. Oh no.
Luke squeezes his eyes shut.
He has never been good at lying.
“Um, well, I guess I also sort of did some digging after you accidentally showed me that holo of him.”
“Luke, you did what?” Luke opens his eyes to see Wedge standing in the small room, eyes bright with anger. Oh no. Oh no.
“I’m sorry,” Luke says immediately. He pulls his legs to his chest. This was such a terrible idea. He realizes that now. He always realizes that afterwards. “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. I was just curious. I just wanted to know why you had that holo of him.”
“And what have you found out exactly?” Wedge says in his preternaturally calm voice that means he’s absolutely furious.
“I don’t know. Just that you both shared a room on Yavin, and that you were upset after he died, and that you and Draven knew each other, and that Draven gave you a bottle of Corellian whiskey when he died.” Which all sounds incredibly invasive now that Luke says it out loud. “I’m sorry,” he offers again when Wedge says nothing.
Wedge still says nothing. But he’s pacing the room and snapping his fingers rapidly which is a quirk of habit he has always done in moments of extreme stress. And, of course, the Force is ringing with his emotions. But it’s not anger Luke senses. Mostly he just seems hurt, like Luke has trespassed through something he shouldn’t have.
“Cassian and I were lovers,” Wedge says softly.
Oh no.
He stops pacing, looks right at Luke. He says in a clipped voice, “It was over by the time Scarif happened. Draven knew. He didn’t like me at first, and I didn’t like him, but after Cassian died we tried to get along better. I didn’t agree with everything he did, but he was a good man.” An echo of what had Leia said not even a few hours ago. Wedge almost seems amused. “Never thought I’d say that.” But then any humour vanishes. “When he died he was the last person left who knew what had happened between me and Cassian. Until you, I guess.”
“I’m so sorry,” Luke says desperately. “I didn’t know. I didn’t realize. I wouldn’t have done any of this if I’d known.” It seems so obvious now. Luke wishes he could have seen that.
“Why didn’t you just ask me?” And the worst part about this is that Wedge still isn’t angry. Luke wishes he was. He wishes Wedge would just yell at him, pour out his anger. Anything would be better than seeing Wedge looking as broken as this.
“I thought you wouldn’t tell me.” Luke thinks he should at least be honest at the end.
“I see.” Wedge turns towards the door. Luke can hardly tell him to stay.
Wedge says, just when he’s at the threshold, “I would’ve told you, you know. If you’d asked. I wouldn’t have told most people, but you…” He sighs. “I trust you. But I guess you don’t trust me.”
And then he leaves, like he was never there at all.
Luke stands. Somewhere in this room that cat of his is growling.
He can’t stay in his room and he can’t stay still. So he goes out into the corridors and begins to walk. It’s late, but even still there are people moving all over the place on this forsaken ship.
He needs to be alone. He can’t handle this. Everything is collapsing, and it isn’t just about Wedge. Wedge is only a part of it, and the fact that Luke doesn’t have his hand anymore is only a part of it, and the fact that he isn’t the leader of Rogue Squadron anymore is only a part of it, and the fact that his father is the fucking Dark Lord of the Sith is only a part of it.
But maybe that isn’t just a part of it.
He needs to be alone. But where can he go on a ship so crowded? He thinks flittingly of going to his X-wing, but he knows that’s a bad idea when an X-wing can be flown anywhere.
Like back to his father.
So he just keeps walking and walking and walking on this wretched ship that doesn’t have a single space where he can just breathe.
He glances to his right and sees one of the airlocks. And it’s impulse that makes him reach forward, press the button to open it, scramble inside.
He’s breathing rapidly now, arms pulled tightly across himself, leaning against the door, squeezing his eyes shut.
He won’t look at the other button, the one that’s inside this cramped little space, the one that will cause everything in this room to open up into space and drift away, the one that would make him forget about everything.
This isn’t…he isn’t back on Bespin. He isn’t desperate. And even back then, when he did that, when he jumped off that platform into what should have been certain death, it wasn’t about wanting to die, it was about the fact that he needed some way—any way—to escape.
And if he had died, well, maybe it wouldn’t have bothered him too much. Because at least then he wouldn’t have had to deal with this nightmare that’s existed since the moment Vader told him what he never wanted to hear.
Luke, his father’s voice says inside his head, like a siren only he can hear.
Speak of the devil.
Go away! he snaps through the Force.
It’s only now that Luke realizes he’s crying.
Luke, you are upset.
Oh, so Vader is now simply stating the obvious now, is he? And why do you think that this is, huh? What do you think could possibly be causing that? I’ve already told you to leave me alone!
I don’t think that would be advisable.
This only serves to spiral his anger. Oh, of course not. Why would you? After all, I’m at my weakest here, aren’t I. I’m perfect to manipulate in this moment.
That is not the reason why.
No, it’s not, Luke agrees bitterly. It’s because I’m your son. I’m some sort of possession that for once in your life you can’t have and yet still want.
Luke, that is not why—
Maybe I’m not particularly interested in learning the reason why.
It’s because I love you.
Luke draws in a shaky breath, tears blurring his vision.
I love you, his father says, seeming to almost be admitting this as much to himself as he is to Luke. Your existence is miraculous to me. And if I want something for you, it’s because I know that it is best for you.
Luke has never fully prodded at that connection between himself and his father, has shrunk from it at every opportunity, but in this moment Luke presses himself into it. And, yes, there are things about him that are so heavy and impressive, filled with tendrils of anger and hatred and other negative things that Luke does not care to discover or name. But there, underneath all of that, is this tiniest, slenderest thread of unselfish love. Luke has no idea how a Sith Lord can possibly experience love, but it is there, plain and stark for him to see.
And this leads him to another heady realization: there is still goodness inside his father. Ever since Bespin, all Luke has been thinking about is how evil and unredeemable his father is. And here, right here, is the evidence that Luke should have been looking for all along.
Luke couldn’t stop the tears from coming now even if he wanted to. Why? he cries into the Force bond between them. He is a child seeking comfort. Why didn’t you try to find me?
I didn’t know you were alive, Luke. I thought you’d died with your mother. I would have torn the galaxy apart looking for you. I’ll tear the galaxy apart now looking for you.
Luke lets out a sob. It shouldn’t make him happy, but it does. His whole life he has felt so alone in this galaxy. He is no one—some kid from the Outer Rim, the son of a man who was a part of the slave caste, a rebel on the edge of existence that the Empire would gladly see dead.
The son of the man who rules the galaxy.
Father, he says, and for once that word does not send a recoil through his belly. I don’t know how I feel about all of this yet, but…thank you.
Everything will be all right, Luke, his father says. Luke realizes only now that his father’s presence around him is an attempt at being soothing. You will see. Soon you will be back with me and everything will be as it should be.
No, Luke realizes as his tears begin to slow. That’s never going to happen.
He is going to bring his father back home.
The next day, Luke agrees to do his baseline.
Splattered across the walls today is EVERY MOMENT WE FIGHT IS ANOTHER MOMENT THE EMPIRE CAN NEVER TAKE BACK.
He sits in front of a medic in a room not unlike that of his nightmare. And when the medic says, “Tatooine?” Luke says, “Home.”
And when the medic says, “Father?” Luke says with the slightest amount of regret, “Blood.”
The scenarios are easy enough—yes, he would still help his friends even if they had betrayed him; yes, he would still fight for a cause even if it had flaws—before they get to the debriefing.
“Why did you deviate from flying to the rendezvous point?”
It’s a good question. “I know I should’ve informed somebody, but it all happened so fast. I know it seems ridiculous, but I could feel that place calling to me through the Force, and I knew I had to get there sooner rather than later.”
“Some people might see your leaving as a dereliction of your post.”
Luke can only nod. “I know. And I accept whatever punishment the Rebellion might need to place on me.”
The medic writes something in his datapad. “And then you went to Bespin. Why?”
Luke looks down at his hands. “I knew my friends were in trouble. I knew I needed to save them.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Not all of them,” Luke whispers.
“You sparred with Vader. How did you manage to get away?”
The question that Luke had once thought might break him.
He says, “I jumped.”
“Did you know where you were going to land?”
“No.”
“Were you suicidal?”
Medics always ask such blunt questions. Compared to the Empire that always likes to hide its horror, and the rest of the Rebellion which is too traumatized from all its seen to speak, it’s frighteningly jarring. “All I knew was that I needed to get away. I was on a ledge. It was a choice between Vader and certain death or jumping and uncertain death.”
The medic nods. “Vader frightened you, didn’t he?”
Luke says softly, “At the time, yes.”
“You passed,” Leia says to him later when he’s in her office. “Did rather well, too. Though you’ve always done well on your baselines.”
A part of Luke still feels like a fraud for not having been entirely truthful during the assessment. But the rest of him is almost proud at how well he’s done, how far he’s come since first returning from Bespin.
She puts the datapad down on the desk. “Well, I suppose you’ll be wanting back command of Rogue—er, Red—Squadron. We’ll have to talk to Wedge about it. It’ll be a bit of a transition for him, but—”
“I’m not going back to Rogue Squadron.” This, at least, is an easy choice.
Leia frowns. “But you did the baseline.”
“I know, but…” Luke sighs. “I can’t be a pilot. Not anymore. That part of my life is over now. And it’s time for me to complete my training as a Jedi.”
It’s not what he fully wants, but it is what needs to happen. He’s a Jedi now. Like his father before him.
And he will fight to protect this galaxy like nothing else.
He expects a protest from Leia, or at least some dismay, but she just nods her head at this response. “I understand. We all take positions in this war that we’d rather not.”
Of course they do. Sometimes it’s so easy for him to forget how much she chafes against a life like this.
“Leia,” he says quietly, “we have all seen the sacrifices you’ve made for the Rebellion. I have never forgotten that.”
She looks at him, eyes filled with a depth of sorrow she almost never shows. “Thank you,” she murmurs. She looks down at her hands. “I don’t blame you for what happened on Bespin, you know. For what happened to…”
Somehow, once again, she has so correctly deduced what’s happening in his mind. He has always wondered if she has some sort of connection to the Force. He reads almost nothing from her, no emotion, and yet…
He nearly screamed through the Force for someone to help him on Bespin, and somehow she knew.
“We’ll get him back,” he promises. Let her keep her secrets for now. Force knows she has enough of her life on display.
For the first time since Bespin, he meditates.
The next day he wakes up and stretches, and then he reaches out for the first time through the Force bond between him and his father. Good morning, Father!
Good morning…Luke. His father seems a little unclear on what to do about this new and happy Luke.
Luke laughs. How are you on this fine day? I hope you’re doing well. I happen to be doing perfectly. And I’m not even a morning person!
I do not have an opinion on my mental state of being. It is irrelevant.
Oh, Father, please. Everyone’s feelings are important!
Hmm. You are a very odd creature, Luke.
I know, Luke says, becoming serious. But I’m your son. And I want you to be happy. And one day, I want you to realize that the dark side is wrong. I’ve seen that spark of goodness in you now. I know you can go back.
Luke, that is not going to happen—
Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you later!
And then Luke shuts off the bond.
The message on the wall for today is, THEY’RE NEVER GONNA FIND OUT WHO’S DOING THIS.
He goes into the mess to eat and decides to greet all his friends who he’s so far been ignoring. They’re all happy to see that he’s doing better, and they all ask how the hand is doing, and he says it still hurts but it’s sort of wizard when you think about it because it can move faster than a flesh and blood hand, and they’re all happy because he is happy. And that is enough.
After he eats, he braces himself and then walks over to Wedge’s quarters. “Can I come in?”
Wedge nods. His quarters are only slightly bigger than Luke’s and they’re still somewhat a mess.
“I’m sorry,” Luke says immediately. Best to get this out of the way first. “I know that doesn’t make everything better, but I am sorry that I went behind your back. It was wrong.”
Wedge nods. Then half of his mouth curls. “Don’t think that what you did was right, but it had me thinking about how Cassian did something similar once.”
He did? But Luke knows he shouldn’t pry any more than he already has. He takes a few steps forward until he’s sitting next to Wedge on his bunk. He clenches his hands and says, “I thought maybe I could tell you a secret. To make it up to you.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“But I want to. My father…” he sighs. “Before my father left Tatooine, he was a slave. And I’ve always felt ashamed about that fact, but I realize now I shouldn’t be.”
Wedge gives no visible reaction to this, though Luke can sense he’s surprised and upset by the revelation. “Don’t ever be ashamed of that, Luke. I can’t understand what that’s like, but I only admire you more now, not less.”
Luke smiles, even if it’s still a bit cracked with pain. “I wanted to leave that part of me behind, but I realize now that just because you try to leave something behind doesn’t mean it’s actually left you.” He shifts in a little closer to Wedge. “Can I ask you one thing about Cassian?”
“Anything.”
Luke feels like he doesn’t deserve that trust so readily given again. “When we named Rogue Squadron…that must have hurt.”
That day will forever be seared into Luke’s memory. Seeing the Rebellion decimated at Mako-Ta, seeing friends and fellow rebels killed without even being able to fight back, all done by the man he now knows is his father.
And then, that moment, when he’d managed to fly free out of the hangar, form up his ragtag squadron behind him.
You know, Wedge, if we’re acting like Jyn Erso, I have to disagree. It is time for sentiment.
“It did,” Wedge says quietly. “But it was good, too. It felt right. And I think it’s like you said: we can’t just leave the past behind.”
They look at each other. “Can we still be friends?” Luke slips out.
“We’re always friends.”
“Good,” Luke says. He doesn’t know how to describe this. “I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t want to speak to me anymore. You’re my best friend.”
“I’m glad to hear it. But you sure Han and Leia aren’t your best friends?”
Wedge is teasing, but Luke can sense something more serious beneath the surface. And he’s right. Han and Leia are Luke’s best friends. But Wedge…
“You’re different,” Luke says. They’re so close together now. “I feel like I could tell you anything and you’d listen. You’re always there for me. And when I look at you…”
Luke doesn’t know how it happens, but he leans forward and just kisses him. He kisses Wedge Antilles who welcomed him into Red Squadron, who’s saved his life more times than he can count, who’s never been jealous of the fact that Luke has blown right past him and gotten all the credit for things that were usually a joint effort. He loves Wedge. He is in love with Wedge, and he’s only just realizing this right now, and oh wow, Wedge is a really great kisser, and all Luke wants to do right now is jump onto his lap, and—
He pulls back. Looks up at Wedge who’s staring back at him in confusion.
Luke stands and giggles nervously and says, “I’m sorry. I have no idea where that came from. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“It’s okay,” Wedge says, and he’s standing too, and he has this very calming voice.
“I should go,” Luke says immediately.
“Luke, I think we should talk about this.”
“I’m going!” Luke says, because he has no idea what’s just happened and—
And he just kissed Wedge.
It is instinctual that he rushes into Leia’s office. But before he can even get anything out she says, “You can keep the cat.”
“What?” he says, dumbfounded.
“The loth-cat,” she repeats. “We couldn’t find anyone who owned it on here, or even knew anything about it. I’ve got no idea how it got aboard.” She adds, “Maybe it’s some sort of special Force cat that’s here to teach you something.”
He thinks she’s teasing him but he does actually consider it for a moment. Then he shakes it off. “I just kissed Wedge!”
“Oh?” she says, as if this isn’t very exciting.
“Leia, I just kissed my best friend!”
“Not going to lie, I sort of thought you two were already sleeping together and so does half the Rebellion.”
“What?” Luke says, once again dumbfounded.
“Yeah, all those nights you two were ‘watching’ Imperial propaganda. Sort of thought that was a euphemism for something.”
“There was no euphemism for anything!”
“Oh. Well, that’s disappointing.”
“Leia, I just kissed Wedge! What do I do? I didn’t realize I felt anything for him before this, and now we’ve kissed, and now I don’t know what to do, and he was a really great kisser by the way, and what if he’s not into men?” He remembers Cassian. “Never mind, I’ve proved conclusively that he is into men.”
“Luke,” Leia cuts in, “you need to calm down. And then you need to go back and find Wedge and tell him everything you just told me.”
“But what if—”
“No. You go and tell him now. Trust me. You don’t get a second chance on something like this.” Her eyes grow distant, and he knows she’s right. And he knows if nothing else he has to do this for her.
“I’ll find him,” he promises and rushes to the door. Then he stops, spins around, and rushes back to give her a hug. “Thanks, Leia,” he says seriously. “What would I ever do without you?”
“Not much, I imagine,” she says under breath as he rushes back to the doorway.
He decides to ignore that. “I like your hair, by the way! It looks very nice!”
He runs back out into the hallway, returns to Wedge’s quarters, but he isn’t there. He moves on, looking through every nook and cranny on the ship. Somehow that ridiculous cat of his has caught up with him and circles him as he goes to the one place he knows Wedge has to end up eventually: the hangar.
Wes is there, fiddling with something on his ship. “Luke. How ya doing?”
“Great. Hey, where’s Wedge?”
“Out on patrol. He should be back in a few minutes.”
A few minutes. Only a few minutes.
“Nice cat,” Wes says, looking down.
“Thanks,” Luke says, watching the ships coming in. “Did you see there was a new message painted on the walls today?”
“Yup. They’re never gonna find out who did it.”
Luke tilts his head and opens his mouth to say something when in comes Wedge’s familiar X-wing and then a moment later Wedge himself who looks weary and sharp and perfect. The cat bounds ahead of Luke, starts purring as it moves between Wedge’s legs. Wedge looks down in puzzlement and then looks up as Luke gets closer.
Wedge says, “Luke.”
Luke says, “Wedge.”
And before Luke even knows what he’s doing he’s kissing him again. He hears Wes give an exclamation that sounds halfway between surprise and amusement, he hears others start to chatter too, but in this moment he doesn’t care. He only wants Wedge.
He pulls back. “Wedge, I like you. I love you, even. I don’t how long either of us have, or what’s going to happen next, but I want to spend the time I have left with you.”
“Luke,” Wedge says, and it’s strange that only now Luke can sense the level of affection Wedge has for him, that he realizes Wedge has had for years, “you’re all over the place, but yes.” He adds seriously, “But, Luke, I know the Jedi aren’t supposed to have attachments.”
“I don’t care about that,” Luke says and he doesn’t. He may have to become a Jedi whether he wants to or not, but he is going to do this his way. He jumps into Wedge’s arms and kisses him again. “The only thing I want is you.”
“Well,” Wedge says, grinning. “I think I can accept those terms.”
Luke looks at him and thinks that everything in his life is a lie, that everything is far more complicated than he could ever imagine. But he’ll take it. He is the last of the Jedi, and his father is Darth Vader, and his hand is gone, and they still have to track down Han, and Wedge could die at any time, and they are nothing but a scattered band of frightened people trying to fight an impossible enemy. But Luke is happy. He is the happy farmboy who’s in way over his head. And that’s a sort of part he thinks he’s readily willing to play.