coolhandluke | Ahch-To, Baby

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Ahch-To, Baby

There were a lot of things Luke hadn't asked himself in the years since arriving on Ach-To. Some because he didn't want to know--or imagine--the answers. Some because there was no reason to borrow more trouble than he already had, and the litany of regrets was already long enough. Some because, well, they just weren't thinks that Luke Skywalker ever thought of.

Like the fact that he looked like some old Jedi hermit, complete with beard and unkempt hair and dingy robes. It hadn't exactly been part of the plan, but then, there hadn't been anyone to comment, or even a mirror.

That was the outside, however. Inside, something in Luke had died long ago, stopping in its tracks. Meeting himself, he would have assumed wisdom and calm, if a little eccentricity. But that hadn't been why Luke had come here, and it hadn't been what he'd found. No, it wasn't the Jedi Master who had retreated. It was the scared farm-boy, who'd flown too high and been brought crashing to ground. It was Luke from Tatooine, who had tried to be Master Skywalker, the hero, and failed.

That was what he'd been running from. That expectation, and his failure at it. That, and the disaster he knew his presence would bring to what was left of what he and the Rebellion had built, if Ben knew where he was. Better, he'd thought, to close himself off and shut down before he hurt anyone else. By his own hand, or by leading Kylo Ren to exact revenge.

It was not so simple a thing, however, to die. Unwilling to take any more lives, including his own, he lingered. Unwilling to open himself up to the Force, he nevertheless existed within it, his body sustained by it as much as by the food he caught. For awhile it seemed that he would just continue, in a sort of limbo of his own making, unwilling to make a move that would upset the galaxy even further than his presence already had.

Until she came.

Rey held a mirror up to him, one he wasn't always willing to gaze into but one from which it was impossible to escape--not least because she simply wouldn't go away. At first resentful, he quickly became resigned.

And then, suddenly, he became expectant. Not hopeful--he would not go so far as to say that--but there came a morning when he realized he would be disappointed to find her gone, given up. Despite his fear, despite his warnings, he wanted her to persist.

Maybe because he hadn't. And as much shame as he felt over that fact, the shame was at least an emotion. And as much as he'd tried to suppress those over the past years, the irritation at her arrival had begun to wear away at his resolve like grains of sand until emotions he'd thought long buried began to unearth themselves.

The truth was, Luke Skywalker was every bit the mess he looked. And yet, the longer she stayed, the less he could find it within himself to resent it. He'd been too long alone, and too long waiting. It only stood to reason that he'd bend to the first wind that came.

Wasn't how this had all started, to begin with?

The sun had barely risen when he took position, waiting outside the hut she'd claimed, unwilling to seem too eager but having to quash a small stirring of impatience, just the same. Warnings not to get too close, too attached, flickered in his mind's eye like a glitched holovid. But Luke had never once detached from anything--and if going to the most remote location he could find hadn't done it, he didn't know that it was worth trying, anymore.

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Still unable to look at him, Rey shook her head, still feeling ashamed at how quickly her thoughts had gone someplace morbid. She didn't want to do that to Luke; he'd had enough unnecessary guilt weighing him down, and they'd finally begun to make some headway in their complicated feelings for one another. Laying out Han's death right in front of him was grossly unfair.

She eventually realized that his hand was on her shoulder, and she reached up to place her hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I don't want to do that to you," she murmured softly.

It took her a moment before she could finally let out a shaky breath, getting rid of the remnants of the nasty shock of reliving Han's death all over again, and she opened her eyes, fixing Luke with a small, sad smile. "It is a lot. And I'd rather focus on Han's life than... than on anything else. So since you have more stories to tell about that than I do, I should be the one asking you for stories. When you're ready, of course."

He lowered their joined hands to sit between them, watching her face as she chased the pain from her expression, and his heart welled up at the knowledge that she loved Han, perhaps not as he had but it was been real and true and deep. And that, too, was something they had in common, though without overlap.

He suddenly missed Han with a ferocity that took him by surprise. Like everything else, the newly-awakened emotional muscles were sore and overly sensitive. But there was an odd salve in having Rey here, in knowing there was someone--aside from Leia, of course, whom it hurt even more to think about--who knew.

"I wouldn't know where to start," he confessed, smiling slightly through the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He shook his head. "I haven't thought about those days in... a long time. I wish I could have seen you together." He huffs a breath that's almost a laugh. "You know, when we met in a cantina in Mos Eisley, I thought he was the cockiest, most arrogant son of a bitch I'd ever met. Though..." He bites his lip. "The bar wasn't that high, back then."

Edited 2018-07-06 19:52 (UTC)

Rey could see the sadness Luke was trying to hide, his eyes more expressive than he seemed to realize. It made a lump form in her throat, and she hated that she'd managed to bring the conversation back to something that was so clearly painful for both of them.

Her feelings towards Han were that much more upsetting because they'd only been half-formed, because she'd thought she'd have ages to flesh them out and fully rationalize them. The fact that he'd been so abruptly taken away from her just left a painful void in her heart, even larger than the one that he could have filled had he lived. She couldn't imagine the sort of hole she'd ripped into Luke's heart by reminding him of his lost friend.

So his candid remark about Han earned an unexpected laugh out of Rey, and she hoped to lift his spirits by keeping the talk light. "Oh, he was easily the cockiest, most arrogant person I'd ever met, too. And my bar was set pretty high."

She glanced down, giving Luke's hand a gentle squeeze as she murmured, "He was the one who told me that all the stories I'd heard about you and the Force were true. Somehow, I'm not sure I would have believed it if he hadn't been the one to tell me."

However worried she might have been about ripping a hole in his heart, there was no way around it. You couldn't rip a bandage like this off without taking a lot of skin, and everything about Luke now was more raw than either of them could know. And however painful, sharing the memory of his best friend was better than not doing so.

He raised an eyebrow at her words.

"That's a change," he murmured wryly. "I can't even count how many times he called me delusional and too big for my britches. When we met? He didn't even believe in the Force, let alone believe a starry-eyed teenager could possibly have anything to do with it."

"... but he learned better, didn't he?"

Rey met his eyes again, that small, sad smile still on her face as she remembered those first few moments when she'd realized she really was talking to Han Solo and that the legendary Luke Skywalker had been more than a legend. She never would have guessed that be sitting with Luke not too long afterwards, holding his hand and helping him cope with the loss of the first legend she'd ever met in person.

"He got to see you go from a naive teenager to a real Jedi. I wish I could have seen that, too."

Luke pulled a face. "I don't," he said. "I'm pretty sure I annoyed literally everyone I met. You wouldn't have liked me." He said it easily, though, not a reprimand to either, though perhaps a reflection on his own self-esteem. "Although," he mused a moment later, "I was better looking, back then. If you went for wide-eyed blonds."

He smiled at her.

"Han was... difficult, at times. But I hadn't known him a day before I knew he wasn't going to turn his back on me. Ever. There was just something about him, waiting to come out. A need to be part of something bigger, despite himself."

She would have argued with his claim that she wouldn't have liked him, though she couldn't help another surprised little laugh at his assessment of his young self's appearance. "I would have liked to have seen that, too," she told him lightly. "If only to see how you think it could have possibly been an improvement over how handsome you are now."

Rey glanced down, then, her free hand moving to absently trail her fingers along his hand she held clasped in hers.

"... he always was, I think. It seemed like Han was always part of something bigger than just himself. And going back to the Resistance now, after all this time, had been his way of doing something for himself. For his family."

Luke threw her a look as she insisted on his now being handsome--he'd never been that much of a looker, in his estimation, and even without a mirror he was certain being an old hermit had not improved anything. But he passed over it, for now, because it made him feel warm inside in a way he hadn't in, oh... Well, long enough that it shouldn't be compared to Rey's own age, for example.

"None of us were ever much good at that," he said softly. "Family, I mean. Oh, we all tried, in our ways. Perhaps our curse is that we try too hard." He forced a smile, trying to lighten the mood again. He wanted to know how Han had died, wanted to know if it had been, in some way, worth it.

But not yet.

"I'm glad he met you," he said instead. "I'm glad you were there, to give him hope. I'm sure you did. I'm sure he was glad to have known you."

Rey's opinions of attractiveness might not be worth much; she'd grown up on a planet where humans were a minority and she'd likened her "boss" to a blobfish, so physical appearances had never really mattered so much as someone's personality. That was why BB-8 was adorable, and Kylo Ren was a repulsive monster. And why Luke, despite his obvious signs of age and isolation, was among one of the better-looking people she'd ever seen, given their time spent together.

She thought over what Luke said about family, only to be taken by surprise when he claimed to have been happy that Han had met her. In her mind, meeting her had in some ways guaranteed Han's death, since he'd only been on Starkiller to rescue her. But the thought of saying as much to Luke made her feel queasy, and so she passed over it as best as she could.

"I don't... know that I gave him much of anything," she admitted softly. "Except maybe for some... direction." And considering where that direction had led him, she couldn't help that single, dry laugh that came out as she continued to avoid eye contact. "So in the end, I don't think I had the great impact on him that you seem to think I did. But if nothing else... he got to see his son one last time, so there's that."

She didn't know how she felt about that, considering what kind of monster his son had turned out to be, but... she would always assume that it was better for a parent to be reunited with his child before dying, regardless of the circumstances.

It wouldn't have mattered, that Han was there to save Rey. That he'd died doing so, that he wouldn't have been there if not for her, did not factor into his emotions. He had been there because that was how things had gone down. He had been there because the Force had willed it--though this, Luke was no longer certain he believed.

But however Han had come to be on Starkiller Base (whatever that was), it was just another in a long line of situations where anyone might have been killed, and his time had come.

"You're wrong," he said softly, squeezing both her hands in both of his and meaning it so much that he forgot about the metal of one of them. "No. Look at me, Rey. Whatever happened, whatever you're not telling me, you couldn't have made Han do anything Han didn't want. So any part you think you played in what happened?" He tilted his head. "He put himself there. If he needed your direction to get there, then that was what he was looking for. Not something you imposed against his will. Believe me. There is no doubt in my mind that he wouldn't trade having known you for anything."

The squeeze to her hands took her by surprise, particularly the metallic firmness of one of the grips, and she looked up at Luke despite herself. There was a part of her that kept trying to blame herself for what had happened to Han, just as there had been a smaller but no less insistent part of her that wondered if she'd been abandoned on Jakku due to some fault of her own, but Luke seemed to believe that Han was too hard-headed for that to be the case. And really? Despite having only known Han for such a short amount of time, Rey could definitely see that.

But it was his last remark that caught her completely off-guard. The fact that Luke could claim so earnestly that Han - that anyone - would have placed enough value on her to have been glad to have known her despite everything that happened... she had no idea what to make of that, nor of the sting of tears that she felt threatening the corners of her eyes.

She didn't want to cry, not in front of Luke, not when they'd already both wasted so much time tip-toeing around their words and wondering if they'd said the wrong thing at any point. But when it felt as though she might not be able to help it, she leaned in, resting her head against his shoulder and biting hard at her lower lip to keep the worst of it back.

After a few long moments, she managed to take a long, slow breath that helped to clear her head a little, and she gently slipped her hands out of his so she could embrace him properly, hands lightly moving up along his arms and towards his shoulders. "Thank you," she murmured quietly. "I don't think I realized how much I needed to hear that until you said it. I know it's not my fault, but... I wish I could have done something. I could have done something. But... not even the Force can help us change the past, can it?"

"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.

There had almost been some sort of dim hope that Luke would tell her that yes, there actually was some way that the Force can change the past. She would have even been happy if it had been less in a practical sense and more some sort of long-winded philosophy that was meant to make those who believed in the Force feel comfort and solace, especially when looking back at past mistakes. But Luke wasn't really one for inspiring platitudes, and so Rey couldn't exactly be disappointed by not receiving any.

If nothing else... it was nice. Leia might have seen Luke as some sort of bastion of hope, but really, his own past had given him the insight to be a realist. The Resistance needed realism every bit as much as it needed hope. People could always hope for the best, but it could be devastating if it wasn't tempered by a healthy dose of pragmatism.

Rey was content to simply lean against him in silence for a few moments, but eventually she noticed the way he bowed his head, and she pulled back just enough to look at him, one hand winning over her hesitation and gently cupping his face, wanting him to look up at her again.

"That's why we have to look towards the future," she told him softly. "That's all any of us have any control over."

Her words did not have the intended effect. Instead of hope, they only ran along lines Luke was already tracking, about how visions of the future had condemned him to create its ruin. He did not fight her hand, meeting her eyes, but his own were full of sorrow, and as he forced himself to meet her gaze a tear began to fall.

"Oh, Rey," he sighed. "If only I could believe that anymore."

It was one thing for her to cry. She'd come to understand that despite her hardiness, despite the fact that she'd been self-sufficient for most of her life, she really was just a child in the face of something much bigger than herself, something that she was only barely beginning to understand. But Luke-.... For Luke to be moved to tears....

She'd said something wrong. She must have. Nothing else could account for that tear that she was hastily but gently brushing away with her thumb. "You can," she whispered insistently. "You have to. You can't just stay still and stagnant and wait for death. I know that's what you said you'd wanted, but... that can't be the case now. Can it?"

He stared at her, at once wanting to be swept up in her youthful energy and wanting to shield her from all that he was and represented.

"You don't understand," he said softly. "I don't want to die. I want to have... lived a different life. The future I saw... the future I feared is the one that has come to pass. I made this happen. The things you fought to get here, the things you've seen... that's what happened to the future I hoped for."

"And there's still a future ahead of us," she insisted. "Luke... you're not dead yet. That means your story isn't over. It might not have gone the way you thought it might, but that doesn't mean that you close the book entirely."

She cupped his face again with one hand, voice soft but stern. "You still have the power to live any kind of life you choose, to help turn the galaxy into something safe and beautiful for everyone living in it. I believe in you, Luke. Even if you don't."

"I believed that too, once," he said, edges of his vision blurry. "I was going to help rebuild the galaxy, create a haven for those who, like me, had a power within them they didn't know how to use. Instead, I built a trap, and baited it with my own nephew. So tell me, Rey, how I can reverse that now? With all you've seen, with what you know despite not knowing the whole of it, can you truly see a way out, for me?"

"You can't change the past; we've said as much already," she told him, voice thin. "There's no reversing. You just keep going forward. And if you can't find the way, maybe you just need someone to hold your hand and help you through. Someone like me."

He let his face fall slightly, cheek into her palm, a strangely intimate gesture he wasn't thinking about but could not help.

"All right," he said softly. "Keep telling me that." There would come a day that she knew the whole truth, about him and Kylo Ren. And she would look on him with all the horror and disgust he'd expected. But for now, he could not fight it. He would bask in the glow of her hope, for a little bit.

And maybe, just maybe, he could quell his fear of her power, and his. If he could just get through more than an hour without freaking out about the past, present, or future.

So much for his vaunted Jedi mastery.

"I will," she told him, only a touch of dryness in her voice. Her thumb stroked gently along his cheek as she managed a small smile, trying to be as comforting and supportive as she could. It wasn't easy, given that she had very little experience with being on the receiving end of either of those things herself, but... it looked as though Luke might be so isolated that he wouldn't be able to tell that she was a bit rough around the edges.

"I'll keep telling you that until you believe it. And I'll hold your hand the entire time. I promise, Luke."

He chuckled, beard scratching along her fingers. Touch-starved and unaware, he was almost cat-like in his gentle refusal to resist the touch. "I don't think that's why you came here, is it? I'm sorry."

He really didn't give off the impression of a grizzled old man that he liked to think he did, not when he was chuckling and all but nuzzling against her hand. Of course, she wasn't about to tell him so.

"I came here to bring you back with me," she pointed out. "Now that I've actually met you, I just have that much more reason to want to keep you close by."

Luke snorted, shaking his head, but his rebuke was gentler than before. "I still think you're crazy," he said, but his mood seemed to have lifted. He reached up to grab her hand. "But I suppose I ought to be teaching you. We've talked about reaching out through the Force, connecting. But what does that mean to you?"

She was glad to see that Luke was in a better mood, and she breathed a little more easily as a result, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. His question, though, made her remember what they'd originally been doing, and why she'd asked to learn more about it, and Rey tried not to think too hard about Kylo Ren, not after she and Luke finally seemed to be on better terms.

"Communicating?" she replied simply. "Just... being able to see and hear another person despite distance and not knowing exactly where they are?"

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