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

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.

"That's just what was he was programmed to do," Luke murmurs, leaning his head back so he's watching the ceiling.

The galaxy's probably big enough that there's someone out there who's had an easier go of it than they have, but surely just about everyone was affected by the Empire. By some wrongdoers, somewhere. That's why the Alliance had been so determined to topple the corrupt government, and...that's why the Jedi exist. A light in the Dark; a blade to defend the innocent. No, a shield -- protective, not destructive. Luke's taken destruction for the greater good too far as it is.

"If we never meet another Emperor's Hand, it'll be too soon. It was bad enough when he only had two of them."

A terrible, exhausted joke, but at least it's an attempt at humor, even if it's more for Han's sake than anything else.

Any shot is one Han will take at the moment, though he's too tired to laugh. Instead he sinks back further, wonders if he ought to get up and check on Leia and Chewie.

"Maybe the rest of them'll get tired of being hands. They can be..." At a loss, he scrubs his face for a moment with both hands, as if he can wake himself up that way. "They can be Emperor's Feet or something."

The Emperor's Feet. Luke makes a choked sound that would've been a laugh before this battle.

"I've seen his feet. I wouldn't wish that on anyone, no matter how horrible they are."

This isn't strictly true; he saw the Emperor's shoes for a good few seconds there, but there's no way such an evil, ugly old man would have nice feet.

He shakes his head. What part of that makes sense?

"You should go check on Leia," he suggests. It's less that he can tell Han thought about it and more just that he feels like Han's been away from Leia long enough. She still needs him. "Save her from Threepio's questions about grammar."

There's something like a chuckle from Han as he sits there, head tossed back, staring at the ceiling. Moving will be hard, but Luke is right, and Leia needs him. Probably more than him, but he has what he has.

"Yeah," and the annoyed groan he makes when he stands says more about his current state than words could convey. Tired and sore and exhausted in every way a human can be exhausted. Once he's up, though, Han isn't risking sitting back down.

He just points at Luke.

"Finish that."

Han all but radiates the exhaustion he's tried so hard to keep at bay, and it'll be good for him to be around Leia for his own sake too -- and maybe even get some rest.

Luke doesn't roll his eyes at the command, but he raises his eyebrows like he's seriously considering it. He even takes another bite to appease his friend before he leaves, offering a mock salute with what's left of the rations. They'll get eaten, probably, before (despite his earlier thoughts) he falls asleep on that couch. In any case, he's not leaving this nook any time soon.

He won't have to, but Luke does have to get off the Falcon eventually.

Then it's over a month before Han notices someone making inquiries about Mindor. What happened, timelines, wheres and whens and hows. What Luke was doing. What Luke was responsible for.

The kind of questions that are part of official investigations and court martials.

"Luke!" Han is not trying to be subtle about getting Luke to answer the door, which might become a problem as far as investigations go but he doesn't much care how anything he does looks to what he assumes is the New Republic's Internal Affairs department. "C'mon, kid, it's me!"

Oddly, he felt a little better after hiring Geptun. Or maybe it isn't that odd. The insistence, upon his and everyone else's arrival back to Alliance headquarters, that Mindor had overall been a military success and yet another victory from reliable General Skywalker -- despite the colossal losses, despite all the death -- has been driving Luke crazy. He'd been expecting some accountability, something. Anything but being reassured that he'd done the best he could and that people still think he's a hero. That Blackhole being repulsed for (hopefully) good made all that suffering not be in vain.

A hero. He hates it.

But none of that is on the mind with Han at his door, shouting through it like the building's about to burn down and Luke hasn't caught on yet. He answers the door in a hurry, alarmed and preemptively exasperated.

"What is 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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