"No," Luke said, on a shuddering breath. "It can't."
I wish I could have done something.
How many times had he caught himself thinking that? How many times had he berated himself for alternately giving himself too much and too little credit? And was this the Skywalker curse, to realize too little, too late, where they'd gone wrong? Would Ben figure it out only at the end, too? And what, then, was the point of this endless cycle?
The Force was supposed to help them see the future, to shape it. But it hadn't worked that way, for him. Giving into his impulses had worked, at first. Oh, it had won him this new hand, and maybe it hadn't saved Han and Leia on Bespin. But it had shown him the truth. But that night with Ben Solo... that had shown him the future, yes, but only because Luke had been unable to avoid making it happen himself.
Stars. What was he doing? Rey's hands on his shoulders were both an anchor and a conduit, holding him here in the present but arousing so many feelings he wasn't sure which was in ascendance in any given moment. Grief over Han, regret over Ben, shame over a life seemingly wasted, reluctant joy and wonder at the touch of another, it was all too much, and he bowed his head, unable to look at her.
Afraid at what would come out, if he did. Afraid it would not go back in, where he'd been able to hide from it.
no subject
I wish I could have done something.
How many times had he caught himself thinking that? How many times had he berated himself for alternately giving himself too much and too little credit? And was this the Skywalker curse, to realize too little, too late, where they'd gone wrong? Would Ben figure it out only at the end, too? And what, then, was the point of this endless cycle?
The Force was supposed to help them see the future, to shape it. But it hadn't worked that way, for him. Giving into his impulses had worked, at first. Oh, it had won him this new hand, and maybe it hadn't saved Han and Leia on Bespin. But it had shown him the truth. But that night with Ben Solo... that had shown him the future, yes, but only because Luke had been unable to avoid making it happen himself.
Stars. What was he doing? Rey's hands on his shoulders were both an anchor and a conduit, holding him here in the present but arousing so many feelings he wasn't sure which was in ascendance in any given moment. Grief over Han, regret over Ben, shame over a life seemingly wasted, reluctant joy and wonder at the touch of another, it was all too much, and he bowed his head, unable to look at her.
Afraid at what would come out, if he did. Afraid it would not go back in, where he'd been able to hide from it.