fic: a handful of dust [han, in wartime, for selonbrody]
This is written forselonbrody over at my fic request meme--there are still a few letters left for anyone who's interested in requesting a drabble.
Title: a handful of dust
Author: albumsontheside
Characters: Han Solo
Timeline: can be read at any time in the series, but leans towards Imperial!Han
Word Count: 250
Summary: Sometimes you wonder about the ethics of war, but it’s all you’ve ever known, and picking apart your identity simply isn’t healthy. You should know. You did it when they told you to skin the Wookie, and look where that got you.
Prompt: perennial Han Solo
This is the tragedy of war: its timelessness. The battles are different, sure, but it’s the same fucking thing: you gird your courage on like it's some kind of armour (a slippery thing, made of synthskin) and adjust your headset and idly tap your fingers on the trigger like it's nothing but normal. Your thumbs don’t shake anymore. Your palms don’t sweat every time you shoot. They used to. You miss it sometimes.
(Sometimes you wonder about the ethics of war, but it’s all you’ve ever known, and picking apart your identity simply isn’t healthy. You should know. You did it when they told you to skin the Wookie, and look where that got you.)
You stare down the oncoming fighters. Take your aim. Wait. (And this, this is the best part, of course, because you won’t need to torture yourself wondering if he’s got a familykidslife back on NabooAlderaanCorellia because you'll win-you'll always do, unless you think you will, and then you'll end up dead-and because-and this is the beauty of it-you know you can look him up in the database before the others do when you return, and you know you can say, yeah, I think I got Red Five, and Red Five is nothing but his name. It’s your face they’ll never find out.)
“Set target vectors. And fire.”
You never bother to reply. You’ve got nothing to say. You just fire.
Title: a handful of dust
Author: albumsontheside
Characters: Han Solo
Timeline: can be read at any time in the series, but leans towards Imperial!Han
Word Count: 250
Summary: Sometimes you wonder about the ethics of war, but it’s all you’ve ever known, and picking apart your identity simply isn’t healthy. You should know. You did it when they told you to skin the Wookie, and look where that got you.
Prompt: perennial Han Solo
This is the tragedy of war: its timelessness. The battles are different, sure, but it’s the same fucking thing: you gird your courage on like it's some kind of armour (a slippery thing, made of synthskin) and adjust your headset and idly tap your fingers on the trigger like it's nothing but normal. Your thumbs don’t shake anymore. Your palms don’t sweat every time you shoot. They used to. You miss it sometimes.
(Sometimes you wonder about the ethics of war, but it’s all you’ve ever known, and picking apart your identity simply isn’t healthy. You should know. You did it when they told you to skin the Wookie, and look where that got you.)
You stare down the oncoming fighters. Take your aim. Wait. (And this, this is the best part, of course, because you won’t need to torture yourself wondering if he’s got a familykidslife back on NabooAlderaanCorellia because you'll win-you'll always do, unless you think you will, and then you'll end up dead-and because-and this is the beauty of it-you know you can look him up in the database before the others do when you return, and you know you can say, yeah, I think I got Red Five, and Red Five is nothing but his name. It’s your face they’ll never find out.)
“Set target vectors. And fire.”
You never bother to reply. You’ve got nothing to say. You just fire.