~Late Night Convos on the Falcon With Corellian Whisky: Part 1~

The excitement burned out quickly. A day after the celebrating, the base returned to normal, which was fine with Luke. He needed to think.

Sitting alone in an empty mess hall, Luke stirred his food absentmindedly, his thoughts far far away. While it was late here on Yavin IV, at home, Aunt Beru would be calling him and his uncle to dinner after a long day's work on the moisture farm. Although it was only a few days ago, the memory felt so old.

And then there was Biggs. He finally caught up with him, and now he was gone forever. He was going to tell him everything, the whole adventure, and fight the Empire alongside him in their X-Wings. He never got the chance.

He remembered the day Biggs revealed that he was dropping out of the Imperial Academy and joining the Rebel Alliance. That moment planted a seed of doubt in the young man's mind. He didn't care for the politics, he just wanted to get off Tatooine. Biggs caused him to look at the whole picture. Now he was a hero in the Rebellion and his childhood friend was a martyr.

A hero for blowing up the Death Star. At first, Luke was ecstatic and relieved. The airstrike had saved everyone on Yavin IV. After the excitement died did Luke begin to realize what he had done. He had been on that space station. He had seen how many people worked there. He wondered how many of them had families. He wondered how many of them were like Luke: they joined the Empire for the thrill.

His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps. He raised his head to find his smuggler friend enter the mess hall. A startled look crossed Solo's face.

"Hey, kid. What are you doing up this late?"

Luke paused in stirring his cold, untouched food with his fork. "It's not late on Tatooine."

"Ah. Jet lag."

The younger man nodded. "Why are you up?"

Han shrugged. "Couldn't sleep. Was just taking a walk around the base." He eyed Luke's full tray. "What have you been doing?"

"Thinking."

"About?"

Luke smiled halfheartedly. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Is that how we're gonna play it?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Han gestured him to follow. "Come on, kid."

The young Jedi quickly dumped his food and tray and rushed to catch up. "Where are we going?"

"To the Falcon. I feel more comfortable there than in this huge, empty mess."

The walk to Solo's ship was a short and silent one. They didn't pass by anyone except for the night deck officer, who sent them a weary nod before returning to his datapad.

The Millennium Falcon was quiet and peaceful aside from the faint snoring originating from the back of the ship. The familiar hum of life from the Falcon was absent in her slumber. At least some of them were getting proper sleep, Luke thought with envy.

He sat on the crescent couch, arms folded over the holotable while Han grabbed something that sounded like glass from a cupboard.

"What's the age of responsibility on Tatooine?" Han asked as he set down two glasses and a bottle of booze. Not that he really cared if Luke was of drinking age. On Corellia, the age of responsibility was seventeen, so he wasn't particularly worried.

"Unsurprisingly, Tatooine doesn't really have one. Jabba never cared enough about his human subjects to give us one. My uncle kind of implied when I was twelve that I was old enough to have more of the responsibility on the farm, but neither he or Aunt Beru ever let me drink."

"So you haven't had alcohol before?" The space pirate looked a bit worried.

Luke smirked mischievously. "Just because they didn't let me doesn't mean I haven't drunk it behind their backs."

Satisfied, Han opened the bottle and began to pour. "Good because Corellian whisky is strong stuff."

"You know," Luke began thoughtfully as he watched the dark amber liquid flow. "There's a rumor on Tatooine that Corellia wants to get the entire galaxy drunk then rob it blind."

The Corellian grinned with amusement. "That's an ancient and false rumor. Besides, I wouldn't get you drunk unless you were looking to get drunk."

Luke shook his head. "No. I'm not trying to forget. I'm remembering."

Han screwed the cap back on the bottle and handed Luke a glass. "You know brooding isn't healthy either, Luke." He took a sip.

"I don't know what else to do," he replied, frustrated. "I was never able to get closure. I didn't get the chance to mourn my aunt and uncle, but at least I could bury their bodies unlike Ben and Biggs."

The smuggler's eyebrows furrowed. "Who was Biggs?"

"Biggs Darklighter was my childhood friend. He left the Imperial Academy to join the Rebel Alliance. He died in the trench run."

Han didn't say anything. What could he say? Instead, he gazed at him with dark brown eyes deep with pity. Luke stared into his glass to hide his flushing cheeks. He didn't ask for pity, but maybe he earned it. If someone lost his last remaining family, his mentor and his best friend all in the span of a few days, he would have Luke's pity, too.

"I think you deserve a sip, kid," said Han a bit awkwardly as he tipped back his own glass again.

The Corellian whisky had a woody and spicy flavor, which burned the back of his throat. He closed his eyes and swallowed with a grimace as he set his glass down with a dull tap. Han was smirking at him.

"That's some strong stuff."

"I told you. Feel better yet?"

"Almost," Luke admitted. He glared suspiciously at the brown booze. It couldn't have loosened his tongue with one sip already, right?

"There's something else?"

"Yeah." He took another sip, prepared this time. "I destroyed the Death Star."

"With our help."

Luke smiled. "Yeah. Without you guys, I would be Bantha fodder."

"But shouldn't that make you feel good? You blew up a planet-killing weapon that was prepared to blow the Alliance to kingdom-come."

"I did at first. Then I realized how many lives I took by blowing up an entire space station." He shifted the glass in his hands absentmindedly. "Remember Ben said how he could feel the death of Alderaan? The billions of lives that were lost in the blink of an eye?"

Han nodded, seeming to understand where the Force-sensitive was leading to.

"I didn't feel it then. I'm especially glad I can't now. Relieved even. I don't think I could live with the guilt if I did."

"I think you could and can."

Luke glanced up, curious. "What makes you say that?"

"'Cause I know you. You're hopeful, Luke, and optimistic. It's infuriating at times, but it's what a lot of people need in this day and age. You would realize that what you did saved hundreds of lives here, including Leia's. And not only here, you saved the next billions of lives that would have found themselves on the Empire's hit list. It was a heroic deed, Luke. They gave you a Medal of Bravery and everything."

Luke smirked. "When did you get so good at this sort of thing?"

"I've heard a fair share of the princess' motivational speeches over the last few days."

"And lectures."

The smuggler grimaced into his glass. "Feel better now, kid?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Han."

"No problem. I was told the best way to have a conversation was over a drink." He winked and tipped his glass.

Luke glared at the offensive bottle. "I'm not drunk."

"I know."

Smiling, Luke picked up his drink again. "I hear that Corellians are not as easily impaired by alcohol as the rest of the human race. How do you do it?"

Han's eyes glittered over the rim of his glass. "Wouldn't you like to know?"