beware: this story is a hot mess! I originally wrote this when I was 15 & never got to finish rewriting it. one day I will.
❛ Does it ever drive you crazy just how fast the night changes? ❜
In which a Rebel intelligence officer's life changes in an...
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Elara perched on the edge of a bunk in the Millennium Falcon's main hold, jacket haphazardly discarded behind her. Her arm ached, no, burned, from the bolt that grazed her. She pressed a piece of dampened cloth against it, wincing as the disinfectant did its job on her scorched skin.
The cloth slipped from her fingers, clattering softly to the floor. She froze for a moment, jaw tight, trying to steady her shaking hand.
"Do you need help?"
She looked up to see Luke standing a few feet away, his blue eyes scanning her with concern.
"I'm fine," she whispered.
"That doesn't look fine." He stepped closer.
"I can handle it," she insisted, reaching again for the cloth, but the sting flared sharply, and she flinched her arm backward, jaw clenching. The movement was clearly too much.
Luke sat on the bunk, "Here. Let me help."
"I can—" Elara glanced back at her arm, then to the cloth in the floor, "Okay."
His touch was gentle as he pressed a fresh cloth damp with disinfectant against her arm. The sting made her flinch again, and she gripped the edge of the bunk, squeezing shut her eyes that watered from the sting.
He murmured, "You're doing fine," as he lifted the cloth, discarding it next to him.
"Nice shot back there," she quipped, trying to distract herself, "at that fighter."
Luke smiled faintly. "Thanks. But... I really should thank you. For saving my life back there."
Silence briefly filled the hold again as he rustled through the first aid supplies until he found a strip of non adherent gauze specifically designed for burns.
"You really know your stuff, Skywalker."
Luke gave a small shrug, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Well... I've had some practice. Back home."
"Oh?" Elara asked, curiosity lacing her tone as she watched him gently place the gauze over her arm.
"I grew up on a moisture farm," he said, glancing away briefly, "so, I've dealt with my fair share of burns."
She watched as he next grabbed a roll of medical tape, curiously. "And how exactly does a farm boy end up breaking people out of Imperial prisons with Obi Wan Kenobi?"
"It's a long story," he wrapped a layer of the tape around her arm, "but I always kind of knew of old Ben. My uncle said he was just a crazy old man. Wouldn't let me near him."
"What changed?" She asked softly.
He was silent for a moment, almost hesitant, "The Empire," He tore the tape free and pressed it down against her skin, smoothing gently with his thumb until it lay flat, "It started with the droids. We bought them off of some Jawas, and R2, he showed me part of a message for Ben. I didn't know what it meant, and... when I asked, he ran off, looking for him. I went after R2, and that's when Ben found us."
