[ She would have said something. Maybe not early on, she might not have betrayed it if Ben shared it in confidence-- and maybe to spare Han's ego, because isn't that the sort of thing a boy should tell his father? But after everything-- if she'd had any hint, any lead, any scrap of information that might have meant something it would have spilled out. They shared everything so fully, at first, in that flood of grief; and then they followed different trails until they lost sight of one another, more or less, and it just seemed simpler to stay that way.
He misses her as much as he ever has. But he knows what she sees when she looks at him. So apart they stay. ]
I think-- well, I don't know, [ he admits. Isn't that the problem? They never knew him well enough, in the end. ] But like I said, he was serious. Maybe he didn't want to say anything until he knew more about you.
[ Not that it would have mattered. They would have tried to find her. In those happier days they would have welcomed her with open arms, and under the circumstances Han obviously knows he'd have gotten along well with his presumptive daughter-in-law. But it's easy to imagine the Ben he remembers being cautious- wanting to understand before he took a step. Ben, who did so well at so many things and struggled to contain his frustration when he didn't. Maybe he just wanted to be less of an awkward screwup than his old man, whose first encounter with his wife ended up being chased down a trash chute.
There's all that bantha fodder about avoiding attachment the old Jedi used to prattle about, and sometimes Han wonders if maybe Ben took that to heart. He's not sure how; not when Luke radiated love for his family like a blue star. But he doesn't know. Can't know. ]
no subject
Not to me. Or Leia, I don't think.
[ She would have said something. Maybe not early on, she might not have betrayed it if Ben shared it in confidence-- and maybe to spare Han's ego, because isn't that the sort of thing a boy should tell his father? But after everything-- if she'd had any hint, any lead, any scrap of information that might have meant something it would have spilled out. They shared everything so fully, at first, in that flood of grief; and then they followed different trails until they lost sight of one another, more or less, and it just seemed simpler to stay that way.
He misses her as much as he ever has. But he knows what she sees when she looks at him. So apart they stay. ]
I think-- well, I don't know, [ he admits. Isn't that the problem? They never knew him well enough, in the end. ] But like I said, he was serious. Maybe he didn't want to say anything until he knew more about you.
[ Not that it would have mattered. They would have tried to find her. In those happier days they would have welcomed her with open arms, and under the circumstances Han obviously knows he'd have gotten along well with his presumptive daughter-in-law. But it's easy to imagine the Ben he remembers being cautious- wanting to understand before he took a step. Ben, who did so well at so many things and struggled to contain his frustration when he didn't.
Maybe he just wanted to be less of an awkward screwup than his old man, whose first encounter with his wife ended up being chased down a trash chute.There's all that bantha fodder about avoiding attachment the old Jedi used to prattle about, and sometimes Han wonders if maybe Ben took that to heart. He's not sure how; not when Luke radiated love for his family like a blue star. But he doesn't know. Can't know. ]