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Han needs the sleep. When he finally does collapse, which he predicts will happen in a few hours or whenever Chewie decides to lock him in his bunk. Now, though, there's still the fading thrum of adrenaline and hunger pangs to keep him conscious. Or maybe that last part was guilt, some small thread of it like that terrible black crystal hair Luke kept pulling out of himself, creeping around his stomach.

"Hey," is all the warning Luke gets before Han unceremoniously sits on his feet, then stands to move them and sit back down again with them resting against his arm. "You're still awake, right? I've got food."

He hoped Luke was still awake. He'd feel even worse if he woke the poor kid up again after a day like this. Days. Maybe longer, it certainly felt like they'd been going back and forth from darkness to light for a month's worth of days, Han couldn't even tell anymore, but he hoped it warranted a long vacation for all of them.

It's hard to imagine sleeping after everything Luke saw and did on Mindor, but he knows how ridiculous that is; he's as exhausted as anyone else, and sooner or later his body's going to demand the rest. It's not such a frightening prospect as it might be after being buried in that meltmassif tomb. Even though it's dark in this small room, there's the occasional blip and click and flash of light as odd bits of machinery run, and there's a deeper whirr coming from the engine and hyperdrive and all the circuitry keeping the Falcon flying, and bright lights that filter through the frame of the entrance. Chewie's growling echoes faintly through the hallways as much as conversation from Threepio, Han, and Leia -- and less faint is their glowing presences in the Force. There's nothing empty in regular old darkness. Even Darkness isn't empty or meaningless; that'd just been the lie spun by Cronal's black hole.

He's managed to doze a little by the time Han sits on his feet, but that actually earns a short-lived smile into the couch's fabric as he lifts his legs a little to make all that moving around easier for Han. He'd kicked his boots off before lying down, but it occurs to him that it probably didn't do much to spare the couch considering how filthy his flight suit and the rest of him is. Oh, well.

"I'm still awake. I'm not hungry."

He wasn't worried too much about the cleanliness of the couch. This was the Millennium Falcon, not the Queen of Empire, and he could always get a new couch.

Luke, on the other hand... They couldn't get a new him. As elated as Han was to not be dead, to not have Luke and Leia dead, too, the thought of how close it had been is still sobering.

"I lost my appetite about a hundred times today, and I managed. You still need to eat."

What he's nudging Luke with now isn't much, just one of many ration packets they'd been transferred at the rendezvous point before starting the long limp back to the Republic. Still, Han feels responsible. As much as he's refined the art of shifting blame to where he feels blame is due, some things were his fault. Not entirely, not all of it, but part. There was more going on that needed attention, but making sure Luke didn't suffer from malnutrition was about the only part Han felt equipped to address.

Luke frowns but nods, wriggling around for a moment so he can flop over onto his back -- hopefully without accidentally kicking his friend in the face or anything. Once that's done with, he takes the ration packet from Han and arches an eyebrow at him.

"Did you get fifty thousand people killed that I don't know about?"

Any misplaced kicks are soundly ignored. Han just looks over at Luke, eyes narrowed just enough to be disapproving but not enough to look angry.

"You need to start counting the number that didn't die, kid. You'll go crazy otherwise."

Which is true. Maybe more for Luke than for Han. Luke who can feel it more keenly because of that kreffing Force and the weight of Jedi responsibility. Sitting next to him, Han feels wholly inadequate, but he does have some more experience with the guilt of getting people killed, so at least he can fake authority on the subject.

He rips open the packet and takes an unenthusiastic bite, chewing slowly. He can follow Han's logic, but it doesn't seem like enough. Is that really acceptable reasoning for a Jedi?

Speaking with the Melters had helped him to understand a lot of things, shake off the despair that Blackhole had infected him with. The light in the Force didn't just exist; human lives burn brightly no matter who they belong to, illuminating the Dark and suffusing it with meaning. The realization had saved him from being consumed by the darkness and given him both the confidence and ability to overcome Blackhole's....well, black hole.

But it also made all those agonizing, slow deaths that rattled the Force like a landslide hurt that much more.

"That's not how it's supposed to work," he murmurs after swallowing. "There were some innocent people I killed myself, did you know that? With my own hands. Because I didn't know about the deadman interlock. After all those TIEs, I still didn't think about that possibility."

There's a lot Han doesn't know about what happened, a lot he doesn't particularly want to know. He knows enough, he knows what would've happened to him and Leia if they'd been left to die in that crypt, and it's something he'll have nightmares about for a few years, he bets.

That and sitting with Leia waiting for the sun to rise.

But, it's back to blame and fault and that, at least, Han can work with.

"I don't think Jedi are supposed to know everything," he starts, because it's true. If Luke knew everything, Han figures it would be just as debilitating as death. "And you aren't the one that put those in there."

There's a part of Luke that fervently wishes Han and Leia had never followed him here. He has plenty of guesses why they did, of course, and it's hard to say what would've happened if they and the Republic cavalry hadn't shown up.

But Cronal would never have gotten his hands on Leia if she hadn't; and even if Luke doesn't know exactly everything she and Han went through before that, he knows it's all experiences he'd rather they were spared.

"Nick said the same thing," he says finally, tone indicating what he thinks of that assessment. "But that doesn't change anything for them. Or the team I brought here, for that matter."

He's hated command since Bakura, but never guessed how spectacularly terrible he'd turn out at it. He can actually sympathize with Gaeriel Captison's first impression of him now.

"Sith alchemy. I thought it had to be a joke."

Edited 2015-08-19 03:10 (UTC)

As if they wouldn't have followed, wouldn't have tried to help him when he was in danger. They were all alive, anyway, and nightmares weren't anything new to them this late in the game.

Han sits for a moment, quiet.

"I never should've talked you into this."

This was supposed to be Han's command as a general, not Luke's. The request to get Luke on board was more a bet, a challenge they never figured Han would complete. Though who knows what would've happened if Han had been in command of this mission. Something tells him he would've died, along with everyone else under his command and on that base, and maybe Luke and Leia too if they were foolish enough to come after him.

Like the Skywalker twins wouldn't come running at the first indication Han might be in serious danger. They'd lost him for a year already once, and that was enough to last several lifetimes.

"Blackhole set the trap for a Skywalker," Luke reminds him with a look as sharp as his voice. "For me. If not here, he would've done the same thing somewhere else, no matter what my rank was or what I was doing."

And besides that, Han is hardly personally responsible for Luke accepting the rank of general. Plenty of people wanted him to take it, to keep him the military where they all felt like they needed him. He'd agreed, despite his reservations, and that's his own decision to take responsibility for.

(They would've come for him, he knows, though he still doesn't fully believe it. Finds it hard to grasp, even now, that they came for him on Tatooine, after he'd been ready to die as long as Leia had gotten out of there alive, as long as Luke didn't get caught in Vader's damned trap.)

It's always traps, isn't it? To catch a Jedi, dangle some almost-dead people in front of him, give him something to save, and then watch him walk onto kriffing meltmassif like the tacky paper they put up by the garbage bins in Corellia to catch the flies.

"Then why are you blaming yourself? For being somebody he wanted to trap?" And he barely reigns in the annoyance in his voice, but there's a thin thread of it woven in there no matter what.

Deftly avoiding that Han is blaming himself for his part in whatever this was, the way he'd blamed himself for Bespin and Jabba's Palace and kest, when would they get a month to be left alone?

Han's annoyance is easier to deal with than his concern, somehow. Luke can rise to sparks of anger better than anything else right now. But the answer is hard to articulate, seems to get stuck in his throat like so many stone crystals just earlier. He's never been claustrophobic, but Mindor gave him a lot of good reasons to start.

"Because there was a better way," he snaps. "There's always a better way."

Whether he can think of one or not. And the worst part is that he can't, which just seems to make it all worse. A small act of mercy had saved not only Nick (and Kar, later) but also himself, but it hadn't done much good for all those other people under Blackhole's control. He'd meant to save them, not himself, if it had to be one or the other.

Edited 2015-08-20 02:43 (UTC)

"Yeah, just because it exists doesn't mean you can get to it," and Han twists just enough so he can prop his elbows up on the back and arm of the couch in a mockery of casual posture.

Han has spent many, many years rationalizing things. Why he did them, why he didn't do something else, telling himself he'd done his best with the options he'd been given. It makes it a little hard to swallow Luke's effortless righteousness about the subject. Luke has never conned a family out of their money, or snuck into someone's home to rob them blind, or watched his only link to family torture an animal, or fostered a good working relationship with a Hutt.

In hindsight, his rationalizations have changed to accepting that those things needed to happen. They had purpose, because they put him where he needed to be for them, and if where he needs to be right now is sitting here, annoyed with Luke's penchant for self-sacrifice that uncomfortably mirror's Han's own, then so be it.

Han is absolutely right, and normally it wouldn't be this hard to accept. But Luke's found himself clinging desperately to the idea that there had to be another way everything could've gone, somehow, because he's afraid of the alternative. To say that all of those deaths were essentially unavoidable, that those people could never have survived no matter what anyone did sounds too close to all those whispers in the Dark. He might've cast off that despair he'd been infected with but he's still afraid of being pushed right back over that edge.

After a moment, he asks, "Did Leia tell you anything about the Dark?"

That question is enough to kill Han's annoyance and rationalizations. Suddenly, he's helpless again, watching her seize and beg for light.

He doesn't look at Luke when he says, "She said it was dark, where she was. That she couldn't remember anything, but that I was there."

Han isn't entirely sure how any of that worked, doesn't let himself find comfort with some romantic explanation of its proof of her love for him or whatever kreffing excuse he can think for it. Not yet, not until they're a little further away from that sunrise.

That description makes him nod. Leia's light had been radiant, resplendent, and it makes sense that even at the end of the universe she'd been able to hold onto her love. That Blackhole hadn't been able to touch that crucial part of her.

"It's as dark as dark can be," he says, voice flat. "And then some." He opens his mouth as though to add to that, then starts guiltily and looks over at Han. "You can probably imagine it."

He hadn't even thought of it, all that time in the underground together with Han. But the whole experience must've come uncomfortably close to his time in the carbonite, especially the way he'd been left after Blackhole took Leia.

"And the entire time, there's the urging to just let go and sleep. That everything is pointless, and everything is meaningless, and everything is empty. Life, duty, honor, love -- that none of it really exists. Struggling against that is useless." He sighs, slouching down further against the couch arm. "So there has to have been another way. I need to believe that, otherwise..."

Edited 2015-08-20 21:38 (UTC)

Han, actually, would bet that he can't. Not really. For all that he's reminded of the carbonite, that had been different. The consciousness was so vague and foggy he couldn't remember time passing or, really, thinking about anything at all. Just that strange, restless sensation of awareness you get just before falling asleep or just after waking up.

Dark, yes. Dark, meltmassif dark, crystal hairs and despair Dark, the thing Luke is describing, no. Still, it makes him think of the girl on the Trader's Luck. The one that opted for explosive decompression rather than wait for Shrike to make good on the promise to repair her face. Maybe she could've imagined it.

"Otherwise," and Han sounds very tired, but is looking right at Luke, "you're afraid he'd be right."

Luke sighs and pulls his hands over his face slowly, as if he could push those memories out of his own head.

"I know he wasn't," he says, slightly muffled. "I learned a lot, talking to the Melters. But I'm still afraid."

For a long moment, Han doesn't say anything. He's not entirely sure what to say to that, though he has a feeling nothing will be adequate. Not really, not to a Jedi who has probably heard more platitudes about fear and loss than should rightfully exist in the universe.

"You're not the only one."

Luke may qualify as the Only in a few arenas, but 'person that's afraid' is not one of them.

Luke doesn't drop his hands until Han speaks, trying to remember all of Yoda's lessons all over again -- about the quiet, peaceful place every Jedi can (should) be able to reach no matter what's going around or inside of them. It's not as difficult as it could be; he'd found it after Leia and Han were back inside the Falcon, while holding Kar Vastor's hand and flooding Blackhole's shadow network with light. He'd been calm then, self-assured in the knowledge that he was going to put an end to things just like he'd meant to all along.

The hard part is never putting an end to things; it's having to live with how you did.

He sits up, bringing his feet to the cool metal ground, and reaches out for a hug.

The movement isn't much of a surprise. Both of them need something like this, on more levels than he can count, but Han is more accustomed to clapping Luke on the back to celebrate a victory. Walking, arms around each other's shoulders, on to the next battle.

Still, Han isn't a stranger to this. His arms are solid and his grip is firm, and he doesn't hesitate in reciprocation. They don't have time for that, not the way their lives go.

"Good to have you back, Luke."

There's a moment of quiet, then, before Han continues with, "Though if you slam a hatch in my face again, we're gonna have a problem."

It feels as natural to hold onto Han as it had on Endor, coming back from the second Death Star. Maybe there's something about those particularly close, nasty shaves with death that makes it seem stupid not to just hang onto the people you care about; or maybe they just make the proximity to someone else alive that much more reassuring. For the reminder, just as Kar had needed, that death hasn't stretched its fingers everywhere, around everyone.

Besides, the only person who gives better hugs than Han is Leia, who's presumably (hopefully) getting some rest after her ordeal.

Luke laughs, shaking his head a little, at that attempt at humor. "No promises. You could try listening better next time, though."

Death may not have them in its grip, but it was still around. Lingering nearby, the kind of thing that catches up with them enough to grab at their heels but never quite drag them down.

Though maybe it did toss them around a little. Or a lot. Han squeezes, then pulls back enough to look Luke in the eye.

"When you're telling me to leave you behind? Not a chance, kid."

Luke draws back in turn, hands dropping back to his sides. He shakes his head, a wry smile working its way onto his face.

"I had a plan. You’re supposed to be Leia's bodyguard."

"What do you think she'd do to me if I left you behind?"

Nothing good, for the record, and probably something that would incapacitate him enough to keep him from being anyone's bodyguard.

PICK YOUR POISON
PIC PROMPTS / TFLN / RANDOM SCENARIO
HAN SOLO velocities	BETTY MCRAE bombsheller	RIVER TAM subsulcus	RIVER TAM (AU) comprehender
SIMON TAM vest	BRIA THAREN exulted	NADINE CROSS bridaled	GU JUN-PYO toddler
available on special request: veronica sawyer, benjamin linus, imani, maria deluca, mushu, poseidon, niccolò machiavelli, malik al-sayf, chloe

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