Story Challenge #5: 30th September 2003
Write one scene—just one—which showcases what you love about Luke. No time limit, but don't overthink it.

Religions
A SW ficlet by Morgan D.
Insert scene for The Truce at Bakura by Kathy Tyers

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Gaeriel Captison's words formed an insistent, irritating — and yet seductive — chant in Han's mind as he watched the medic examine Luke's fatigued body. The Bakuran politician could be incredibly dense, couldn't she? Of course she had never met anyone remotely like Luke Skywalker. There wasn't anyone like him anywhere in the entire universe. Han was sure of that. Sometimes he thought of that as a blessing. Other times, as a curse.

Right now... he couldn't make up his mind.

"Your immune system is remarkable, sir," observed the medic with no small amount of awe. "You should be dead by now."

"But he's not," Han grunted. "Let's keep him this way, all right?"

"Like I said before, my political sympathies are neutral," the medic assured him.

Oddly, Han wasn't worried about that. But keeping an eye on the Imperial physician sounded like a nice, plausible excuse to be there, standing at the foot of the bunk, staring at Luke, without giving away that he was... well... standing there and staring at Luke. Seeing the kid breathe and move and gaze absently at the ceiling. Making sure Luke was alive and okay, hopefully without looking like he cared more than a mere friend should.

The medic pressed his hands on the inner side of his patient's right thigh, winning a painful grimace from Luke and a jealous glare from Han. "You've wrenched this leg badly, you should stay off your feet for a couple of days."

"I'll try," the Jedi murmured.

"To be honest with you, I would be in tears and begging for painkillers if I were in your condition."

Han rolled his eyes. Yeah, yeah, Luke was super-powerful, super-tough, super-fast, super-agile, super-super... So what? Luke was not a spacecraft engine whose quality you could measure by listing its performance features. None of that had anything to do with what made that young man so unique.

"I wouldn't refuse a painkiller," Luke admitted, causing Han to worry. The kid had been keen on using his Jedi techniques to suppress aching and discomfort lately; if he was accepting chemical help, the pain must be atrocious.

However, the expression in his face was peaceful, serene. He wouldn't bother the people around him with his suffering, wouldn't burden anyone with his anguish or distress. Han had once mistaken that for an ingenuous attempt to look tough and manly, but there was so much more to it. Luke seemed to genuinely believe that everything else had to come before his own health and safety, that his comfort would always have to wait until the rest of the galaxy was safe, that there wasn't time to acknowledge his own torment if there was some other person to be taken care of too. Which would already be bad enough even if Luke didn't spend most of his time awake — and possibly a good part of his time asleep too — searching for worlds to protect and for people to help.

"Han?"

"Yeah?"

Luke's eyelids were just a bit puffed and reddened, giving away the brief weeping of minutes ago. "Dev. His body. We have to..."

"We'll take care of that, junior," Han soothed him. Even the dead had to come first. Even the untrustworthy enemies, the merciless killers, the heinous bastards had to come first, because there might always be some tiny, infinitesimal chance they could be redeemed. Darth Vader and Dev Sibwarra... Han suspected those were only the first names of a long list to come. If both had died in the process of saving their souls, that wouldn't discourage the young Jedi; on the contrary, it would only serve to make him fight harder next time.

Han couldn't help an ominous feeling about the path Luke had chosen. Few dreams could be less pragmatic. Any creature with a grain of intelligence and logic would say Luke was setting himself up for a succession of disappointments, betrayals and huge frustrations. And the kid certainly knew that; it just didn't seem to matter much. He would go to any lengths to do what he believed to be right, would spare himself no sacrifices if it meant building a better life for any stranger that dropped by. It was infuriating!

What a relief that there was nobody else like Luke; the universe was unlikely to withstand two of him, and Han didn't think he would be able to tolerate seeing more of that aggravating, unmitigated selflessness running around.

On the other hand, the Corellian pilot had lived hours of sheer dread today, as the rough battle had time and again promised to separate him forever from that lovely source of concern and delight that was the blond youngster. If that flame were put out, it could not be replaced.

"I've done what I could," said the medic, standing up. "What he really needs is a few soakings in a bacta tank..."

"I'll make sure he gets them when we get home," Han smirked, noticing the irked frown curving Luke's eyebrows.

"Give him two of these if he feels pain. I'll leave you two alone now."

Solo accepted the small vial — filled halfway up with white capsules —, scowling at the medic's phrasing. That made it sound as if Han were frantic to be alone with his lover and... well, maybe he wanted to be alone with Luke, and maybe he was slightly frantic about it. But they were not lovers. Not anymore. That point should be very clear, unmistakable, unarguable.

After all, what was the point of repeating that to himself every day if that damn medic just needed to say some casual words to shake his resolve?

"Han? I don't think I've thanked you for coming after me..."

"Aren't we past that yet?"

"I don't know. You were still counting when we left Tatooine."

Han shrugged, sitting near him on the edge of the bunk. "Leia did most of the job on this one. She could tell where you were, and how you were. I'll give you that, this Jedi rubbish can be handy at times."

Luke's only reply was a half smile that faded all too soon.

It bothered Han immensely that people would praise the young man for his powers or for his strength. Sometimes it felt too much like they were saying, 'We like you because you can do anything and put up with everything, so keep doing that, okay?' As if Luke needed that kind of encouragement. At least the Captison girl, if too dense to realise what she was giving away, had been smart enough to see past the façade of fortitude and had offered him a shoulder to cry on. So very thoughtful of her. Han couldn't decide between thanking her or wringing her neck.

But that wasn't very fair, was it? Han had been the first to move on. He was with Leia now, so what right did he have to antagonise her brother's suitors? Luke had taken their breaking up graciously, had been supportive of Han's new relationship, had gone out of his way to show them his approval and friendship... in other words, he had been typically Luke.

Why couldn't Han be the same? Why couldn't he be happy to see Luke interested in someone else? Could he deny the relief he felt that the flirtation with Captison had died before blooming into something serious? Could he deny the fear he had felt that the Jedi would decide not to go back to Endor with them but stay back in Bakura with her?

"She believes in the Cosmic Balance," Luke said suddenly.

He didn't have to say whom he was talking about, and that only served to enrage Han even more. "For each depth there's a height and vice-versa, is that it?"

"In a nutshell, I guess so."

"Hokey religions," Han grinned stiffly.

"One that could bring me some comfort," the young Jedi pointed out.

"That's what religions are for, isn't it?"

"Do you think that because they bring us comfort they're necessarily a lie?"

"The fact that people usually only look for religion when they need comfort makes me somewhat suspicious, yes. Call it 'wishful thinking' instead of a 'lie', if you want to be more diplomatic."

"I doubt Leia would endorse that attempt at diplomacy of yours..."

"Why would anyone want to make a diplomat out of me?" Han groaned. "So, tell me. Did Captison try to convert you?"

"No. She just told me the Cosmos balances."

"Hm. And what kind of balance did she say the Cosmos will bring to you?"

"Joy."

Han gritted his teeth. 'Joy' was not a word to be uttered through a sorrow-aching throat or with tear-gleaming eyes.

"Joy in the future, for the losses of the present," Luke explained, forcing some composure into his voice. "It is a comforting thought, but... I'm afraid the Cosmos has already given me balance."

"In what way?"

"For each of my greatest victories, a great loss."

So true. The old men Kenobi, the first lover Darklighter, so many pilots of the Rogue Group... his hand, his innocence, his father... Pain bleeding incessantly from such a young heart that barely had time to scar before being stabbed again... pain bleeding secretly behind a gentle face that would smile pleasantly to his friends and politely to his enemies. And now, when he still endured his solitary mourning for the man known as Lord Vader, the pretty politician with mismatched eyes showed up to catch his attention, only to choose her own lifestyle and sense of duty over him. Idiotic, unforgivably moronic girl. "You deserve more. You deserve better."

"The Cosmos owes me nothing," Luke whispered.

"I'd say it owes you a big deal," Han countered with a snort. "Your victories affect the entire galaxy, while your losses are all personal... That's hardly fair."

"Better this way than the other way around, don't you think?" The grin on the younger man's lips didn't reach his eyes. "That's how things are. I shouldn't complain."

"Or maybe you shouldn't be so accepting of all the crappy hands the Cosmos deals you."

"I've never played sabacc much, but usually the players that complain the most are the ones with the best cards."

Han wanted to wipe that philosophical grin from Luke's face with a punch. Or a kiss. "You will be all right, kid."

"I know. In the end I'm always all right, aren't I?"

"No."

Luke eyed him with unconcealed surprise.

"No," Han repeated, resting his hand on Luke's, very gently. "No, you're not all right very often. But you will be."

"That's what Gaeriel told me."

Hypocrite. Promising the kid joy but refusing to give him any. Gaeriel Captison was a damn hypocrite, and an imbecile.

"And so am I," Han hissed under his breath.

"What did you say?"

His eyes met Luke's, whose startling blue of his teens had been fading into pale grey over the last few years. So much had happened... Shouldn't that all be water under the bridge now?

"Nothing."

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