ghost fucking soap so hard and so good he passes out but he utterly panics about it
he thinks he must’ve ignored soap asking to stop; was it pain that made him pass out? how bad could it have been to make him pass out when he’s been shot and kept going? should he bring him to medical? he’ll never touch him again, he’ll never so much as look at him again; he’ll ask for a transfer- fuck that, a dishonourable discharge. there’s no coming back from this
he spirals, guilt chasing hatred chasing despair chasing fear, until soap finally wakes back up
soap's still floating, loose-limbed and buzzing; fucked so thoroughly out of his head that it takes him a while to notice ghost isn't in bed with him anymore. he frowns, lifting a heavy head off the pillow and freezes. ghost's on the other side of the room, curled up tight in the corner as far away from soap as he could get without leaving him alone
(he would've left, would've made sure soap never had to see his face again and be reminded of what he did to him, of the monster he’d let into his bed- but he couldn't just leave him unconscious; what if he didn't wake up, he had to make sure he was safe first even if he'll rightfully hate him forever when he does wake up)
soap's voice when he calls out to him makes him flinch, his head burying deeper in his knees. cold worry chases the bliss from his blood and soap pushes himself up but his shaking arms can't hold his weight
the sound of him collapsing back onto the bed makes ghost rear up, his panic growing and soap's heart breaks at his red rimmed eyes
it takes a long time for soap to coax him back to the bed, countless loops of, "sweetheart, please, come here, what happened? it's okay, everything’s going to be okay.”
(and how ghost’s self-hatred grows hearing soap comforting him; hearing the concern and love in his voice when he doesn’t deserve a drop of it)
it takes even longer for ghost to believe soap when he says that he passed out because he felt so good; that he never asked ghost to stop, never wanted him to stop. that he trusts him more than anything and knows he'd rather die than ever hurt him, especially like that
“you’re not a monster, love,” he promises, soft with conviction and it’s as much a surrender as a relief when he collapses into his lap and lets him hold him close
ghost believes johnny but he still can't bring himself to be intimate with him for a while; that fear still haunting him, but soap doesn't hold it against him, doesn't complain about ghost's perceived "step back" in their relationship
hell, ghost seems to hate it more than he does; he misses being with soap, misses the connection, the closeness they shared, the safety and quiet he found in his embrace, but he's always trusted soap more than he trusts himself
soap doesn't let him be consumed by his fear or worse, sabotage them and turn it into a punishment; doesn't let him even get through the suggestion of switching because he knows how much he hates it and he won’t let him twist something as good and pure as their physical love into something self-harming
instead, he brings them back to the basics, working through the steps to get ghost comfortable with intimacy again, to get him to trust himself again; spends happy months just grinding and exchanging handjobs like when their relationship first started
and it's a happy day for them both when soap finally falls apart on his cock once again, anxiety the farthest thing from ghost's mind when his arms are wrapped so tightly around him, kissing a smile against his lips
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The boy stops in his tracks. “I know you,” he says, tilting his head curiously. He’s not tall, but he’s regal nonetheless, dressed all in white. Something about him makes Leia’s hair stand on end, and although she hides it she feels a stirring in her own chest. I know you like I know my own soul, she thinks wildly, and wonders where it came from. Has she gone insane?
“That’s nice,” she says, and shoots him anyway.
He deflects it in a flash of light, a glowing blue laser sword appearing in his hand like magic. She’s only seen one of those before, and it’s Vader’s. If this boy is anything like Vader, she realizes, she’s in deep shit.
She’s smart enough to know when she’s outmatched. Leia makes the tactical decision to run for her life.
Later, as she’s getting the hell out of there, she wonders why he didn’t try to stop her.
She remembers being young and tugging on her mothers skirts, demanding to know why their guest was so sad. “Does he not like it here?” She’d asked, and then, trembling, because Kenobi always seemed saddest around her. “Is it…because of me?”
“Oh, Leia,” her mother sighed, lifting her into her arms. “It’s not that, I promise.”
“Then what is it?”
“Master Kenobi lost a child under his care, years ago.” Breha’s eyes grew deeper, darker. “It was not his fault, but he blames himself. You remind him of that child, that’s all.”
Leia had quieted at that, contemplative.
The next time she’d seen Master Kenobi, she had given him a hug. He didn’t seem to know what to do with that, so she resolved to give him more of them. “He’s lonely,” she’d told her mother. “No one should be lonely.”
Looking at Obi-Wan Kenobi now, the memory seemed so far away. He’d aged thirty years in the ten it had been.
He looks, Leia thinks with a small twinge of regret, very lonely.
“Leia,” he greets. “It’s been a long time.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Leia sees a glint of white.
Kenobi freezes in his tracks. “Luke?” He whispers, and through the distance Leia can hear it as if he’d been speaking directly into her ear.
Master Kenobi lost a child under his care, her mother whispers in her head. He blames himself.
In an instant, Leia understands everything.
Kenobi is still staring at the boy he’d lost so long ago when Vader cuts him down.
Later, as she’s pacing around on the Falcon to Han muttering darkly about Princesses and supernatural abilities, she rememberers the way the boy collapsed, as if all his strings had been cut. Vader was too occupied with him to even look at her as she shot at him desperately.
Luke. She hates him more than she hates herself.
“They know where you are,” he hisses frantically. “They’re coming for you. You have to run.”
“Wait!” Leia quickly pulls up their sonar. Nothing yet, but it would explain the distant queasiness she’d felt since they’d landed. She tended to trust her gut. “How do you know? How much time do we have?”
“Not important, and not enough,” he says. “I have to go, and so do you. You need to leave yesterday.”
“How do I know I can trust you? I don’t even know who you are.”
He pauses. “Call me Skywalker.”
“That’s not an answer, Skywalker.”
“Yes it is.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but there are faint voices on the other end, drawing nearer.
“Shit,” Skywalker mutters. “I have to go. I’ll be in contact, okay? Don’t ever tell me where you are, or where you’re heading. Vader and Palpatine aren’t shy about reading minds. Just leave as soon as you can, and figure out the rest.”
“But—“
It’s too late. The comm has disconnected.
She stares down at it, disbelieving. How would the Empire know they’re here? Why should she trust a stranger who somehow got her personal comm code?
Gut feeling or not, on paper this was a perfect location. Supplied, armored, and most importantly, extremely well hidden. There was no real reason to think it would possibly be found out.
It’s probably a trap. Almost definitely a trap.
Han sticks his head in the door, a sour look on his face. “Hey Princess, can you tell these idiots—“
She makes a decision then and there.
“We’re leaving.”
“What?”
“We’re evacuating, effective immediately.” She pushes past him, and he follows so close he’s nearly stepping on her heel.
“Why? I think it’s pretty cozy here. Actual sunlight doesn’t hurt, either.”
“Apparently too cozy.” She grabs the first person she sees, a pilot who stares at her with wide eyes. “Emergency evacuation. Spread the word to pack everything you can and leave, I’ll let you know where we’re headed when we’re in orbit.”
He salutes and scurries off.
“Woah, hey now.” Han snatches at her elbow until she turns around to face him. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a new informant. He told me the Empire knows we’re here. They’re coming for us.”
“And you trust this person because…”
“I don’t have a choice,” she snaps. Someone runs past them, holding three packs filled to the brim with rations. “It’s either he’s lying and we’re not in danger, or he’s telling the truth and we’re going to die if we don’t listen. It’s not exactly hard math.”
It could be a trap of course, but he hadn’t suggested any sort of direction or destination to follow, and Leia wasn’t inclined to share. Especially not after his tidbit about Vader and Palpatine reading minds.
He squints at her. “That’s not it.”
“What?”
“I don’t believe you,” he insists. He’s so infuriating. Leia doesn’t know why she hasn’t kicked him out yet.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do, and you’re either gonna tell me why, or find a different transport when we head out of here.”
“Who said I was riding on your hunk of junk?” She demands. She actually was planning on going with them, since the Falcon has more than enough room for all the supplies that can’t fit in the other ships and none of the trustworthiness of the other pilots, but Han doesn’t need to know that.
“Well?”
Damn him. Damn him for knowing how to read her. She doesn’t know when she let that happen.
“I feel it,” she admits, defeated. “Something tells me he’s trustworthy. We’ll wait and see if it’s right.”
He studies her. She holds her head high, but inside she’s jittery at the scrutiny. They don’t have time for this.
“Yeah, all right,” Han finally says.
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” He rolls his eyes, like she’s not acting absolutely insane by putting all her trust in a random man she’s never even met. “Now come on, Princess, weren’t you the one who said we had to hurry?”
What is it about this man that makes it impossible to tell whether she wants to punch him or drag him into the nearest supply closet? They don’t have time to find out.
“So there’s good news and bad news.”
“Bad news first,” she demands.
“They know there’s a mole.”
“Shit.” Of course they know, how could they not? She should have been more careful, less obvious about the correlation of their movements with the Empire’s plans. “The good news?”
“They’ve tasked me with hunting down this ‘pathetic rebel spy,’” Skywalker says, humor in his voice. “That should buy me some time.”
Leia can’t quite stop the snort she lets out. “Seriously?”
“Yep. You’re speaking to a professional mole-hunter, here.”
“Well congratulations on the promotion, Skywalker.”
“Thank you,” he says grandly. Then, quieter, “It won’t last, Princess. They’ll find out eventually.”
“I know. Just hang in there, it will be over soon.”
“Will it?” He asks, suddenly sounding very young. She realizes that she has no idea how old he is. She doesn’t know anything about the man who has saved them more times than she cared to admit, and the idea rattles her until they sign off.
Later, she looks up the name Skywalker in their archives. There are a few results, but only one sticks out.
Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight and hero of the Clone Wars. Killed at the hands of Darth Vader. There are gossip articles too, speculations on his relationship with the pregnant Senator Padmé Amidala, who died around the same time Skywalker did. The baby, it seems, died with her.
Unless he didn’t.
It’s ridiculous. It’s impossible. The idea is so ludicrous that Leia almost rejects it entirely.
But it makes sense. By the Maker, it makes sense.
The child of Anakin Skywalker, it seems, would be a powerful Force user indeed. Powerful enough for Kenobi to take the baby and run. Powerful enough for the Emperor to want him for his own gain. Powerful enough to send Vader after Kenobi and take the boy himself.
Maybe even powerful enough to shield his mind from Vader and Palpatine’s intrusions.
Powerful enough to hide the fact that he’s a spy.
Leia sinks into her chair, covering her face as she laughs.
Maybe Luke isn’t so bad after all.
“No, no, no,” she mutters, digging through the smoking wreckage of the TIE fighter. “Don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.”
“Princess…” Han lays a hand on her shoulder that she immediately shrugs off.
“No, he’s not dead. He’s not. Luke!”
A faint cough answers her, and she’s so relieved to hear it she could cry. Behind her, Han starts bellowing for a medic and, “Some damn help here, do you expect us to move all this ourselves?”
“Luke, it’s me,” she sobs. “It’s Leia. You’re at the Rebel Base. You’re safe.”
More coughing, and there’s a worrying rasp to his voice when he says, “You know…my name?”
“I figured it out.”
“Smart.” This time, the coughing is so bad Leia and Han both wince.
“Shit, kid,” Han says, moving another piece of rubble. “Don’t talk. We’re gonna get you out of here, all right?”
“Stand back,” Luke chokes out.
“What?”
“Stand back. Please.”
Han protests, but something in Leia knows they should listen to him. She drags him back, and motions everyone else to fall back with them. They do, albeit reluctantly.
“Clear,” she calls, hoping Luke can hear her.
The TIE explodes.
“Fuck!” Han goes back in, Leia on his heels with the terrifying feeling that she’d just allowed Luke to die, before they both stop in their tracks. Around them, the broken pieces of the TIE are floating.
And curled up in the middle is a man dressed all in white.
“Luke!” She pushes past Han to start dragging him out, and after another moment of staring around them, he helps her.
As soon as they get clear, the pieces fall to the ground with a clatter. Luke falls limp with them.
Han is still looking at the TIE. “Can you do that?” He asks quietly.
Leia pauses her examination of the unconscious man in front of her to glare at him. “Is that what you’re most concerned with right now? Really?”
“Excuse me for asking, Princess!”
“It’s white,” Luke grumbles, pulling at his hospital gown bitterly. “I hate wearing white.”
“Should I be offended?”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t even. You look great and you know it. I just feel like I never left.”
“Well,” she says gingerly. “I guess it’s a good thing you got sick of it. If we went around in matching outfits all the time, people might think we’re twins.”
He snorts. “Yeah, right.”
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