bottleneck | ▌│█║▌║▌║ open post ║▌║▌║█│▌

(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.

"Good to know you're more afraid of my sister than you are of me."

Not, strictly speaking, that he can really blame Han.

"Hopefully I'll never have to do anything like that again, anyway."

But he doesn't sound overly optimistic. Maybe he really ought to work on his plans, with what a pattern it's become since Endor.

Well, Leia is terrifying when she wants to be. And Han isn't exactly fond of the idea of how she'd react to something happening to Luke. Just the potential of something happening is enough to send them both on wild tears through the galaxy to make sure he's safe.

If something had happened, something permanent, he's not sure what they'd do.

"Yeah, that'd be nice."

Maybe they'll also get a vacation and a nice chunk of hazard pay, too.

Luke slouches back against that couch arm with his legs still dangling off the side, and fishes that forgotten ration packet from where he'd almost sat on it. He's still not that hungry but takes a few bites of it anyway, if only to please Han before he inevitably remembers that's what he came here for in the first place.

"The Melters won't be troubling anyone anymore," he says eventually. "Or maybe I should say no one will be troubling them. Least of all Blackhole."

Han wasn't xenophobic. He'd grown up around all kinds of sentient species, made it a point to learn as much as he could about the cultures and languages, how to deal with them all...

Still, there is a very definite relief in his posture when Luke says the Melters won't be troubling anyone.

"Good," to both parts, and to Luke eating more of his kesting rations. "I figure they're nice enough when they're not..." There, he gestures vaguely to indicate encasing you in blackness or leaving you in a pit or being controlled by a megalomaniac nihilist.

"They were just looking for light," he responds, as if that actually explains anything. "They've got more than they'll ever need now."

The Force will keep them sated, free of Blackhole's hold. As for Cronal...he'll be more than busy enough with Kar Vastor, Nick, and Aeona on his tail, without all that precious meltmassif to control and hurt people.

Han figures Luke means the deadly sun they all left behind and nods, solemn. Though, he remembers how Leia had kept talking about light, how she'd shaken and like a fool he'd gone around turning all the lights in the Falcon up as high as they could go.

Maybe it was exhaustion catching up with him, but he was finding it more and more difficult to wrap his head around everything that had just happened, and all the implications.

"Personally, I think I could use a little more, but I think I blew a few resistors for the light circuits back there," is all he can think to say as he sinks back into the couch.

It'll probably be some time before any of them can wrap their heads around everything that happened at Mindor. Luke's been falling in and out of numb shock since the crash landing and it reclaims him now, winding around all of his negativity and tamping it down.

But there's an uptick to his lips at Han's answer, a brief smile that flits across his expression. There's something about that simple, pragmatic response that's funny and just so Han that he doesn't know why he didn't expect it.

"Maybe you should ask Threepio to take a look at them."

Brief smiles aren't a lot, but Han will take what he can get at this point to assure himself Luke isn't going to quietly fall apart the second he leaves the room.

He makes a noise that sounds like half a laugh but mostly just tired annoyance as he settles back into the seat. Probably something he shouldn't do yet, because it'll only make it that much harder to get back up later.

"He's too busy gossiping with Artoo about I don't even know what."

"Poor old Threepio. They've both been through a lot too."

Threepio might complain about his lot in life about every day of it, but he's never failed to help them when he can or follow them right into the next dangerous situation, no matter what it is. The droids are as loyal as they come -- and then some.

"Artoo's probably filling him in on what happened groundside."

Who hasn't been through a lot at this point? Han figures there's someone out there in the galaxy, completely oblivious to everything else going on and completely unaffected, but it's very difficult to picture just what that would be like.

"I don't know," and he gestures in vague dismissiveness that has no real direction, because he's too tired now to move enough to indicate one.

"I heard Goldenrod start asking about syntax and got out of there as fast as I could."

Loyal though they may be (and are, even Han can admit that), there was a time and place to care about the intricacies of their little relationship, and trying to recuperate after this particular battle might go down in history as the worst time for it.

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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