Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I remember slicing up at the head of an old B1,” the man was saying, for there could be no doubt of his sex, though the fashion of the time did something to disguise it, “with one of those old hunting knives they would give scouts in the war. My father had strung the thing up on the rafters after the CIS attempted thier invasion back in 20, 21? Lots of unresolved issues back then. Mind you, I had already won a few jackpots offworld. Being independent made me feel like a real man. But when your father passes, it takes it all to not feel a boy again.” Lando was swirling a glass of Corellian Whiskey, the ice clinking to the rhythm of memory. I waited for him to continue.

“Burying my father was hard. Facing my mother afterwards was impossible. I always was her favorite son, but after the funeral, I flew out. Socorro didn’t need me anymore, and I sure didn’t need that dump. Black sand ain’t so special after you’re cleaning it out of your shoes every morning.”

“This was when you were twenty five,” I said.

“Yeah, thereabouts.”

“I don’t mean to… but when I asked to start at the beginning of your life… well, I suppose I was expecting more of your childhood…”

“Of course you were. Everyone’s got one of those, don’t they? Hell, even the Princess, with her lavish silver spoon, can wax poetic about not knowing her real parents all that kriff. Look, Socorro was a poor planet, still is. My father being the Imperial Governor of the planet didn’t make that much a difference. Just that I was able to pull it on the bullies if they ever crossed a line. ‘My daddy can make yours go away.’ Shit, I guess you got me talking about it.”

“Most of the records of your father were lost during the power exchange. However, we have one comment from the late Emperor…”

“I don’t want to hear what the wrinkled prune had to say.”

Lando’s face was set with an expression of annoyance, and I gave up that line. The full quote, from Emperor Sheev Palpatine during the Galactic Civil War, was that the Calrissian family was “a story of tragedy and unchecked indecency.” This was said to the ruling Imperial families of the Outer Rim in order to dissuade them from pursuing alliance with the Rebellion. There has been speculation among fellow scholars that Lando was not the only rebel in the Calrissian family, but thanks to incomplete files and Lando’s tight lip, this is only conjecture. I followed another thread.

“What about your siblings? Reports vary, and you rarely bring them up.”

“Correct.”

“Perhaps you could…”

“No.”

Lando gulped down the whiskey he had been swirling and stared back at me hard.

“I thought you wanted tales of my exploits, and I’ll give you those all day. But you keep asking me about my family, and I’ll walk.”

“Sure, Mr. Calrissian. You spent your early years gambling, winning big hands in sabacc. Your most famous win was the YT freighter known as the Millennium Falcon…”

“To Star’s End, all you biographers want to know is about my childhood! About the mother, about old papa Grando! Why can’t you leave them alone?! They had nothing to do with it! They have nothing to do with me! I left it behind, you understand? I don’t want them in the picture!”

Lando Calrissian was standing now, shaking with a cool anger, but he had not raised his voice. He inhaled the rest of the whiskey, and slid the glass onto the coffee table in front of us. I folded my hands, adjusted the datapad in my lap, and waited. An outburst like this could yield results, if I was patient.

He sat back down in the chair, the plush cushion huffing with the weight of the old war hero. He rubbed his right pointer finger along the ridge of his upper lip, ruffling his mustache hair. The anger he had felt was simmering.

“I have three siblings; two brothers and a sister. One of the brothers is older than me. I lost contact with them when I hopped planet. They could be dead for all I know.”

“Do you love them?”

Lando was silent, his face gray and emotionless. Suddenly, with a flick of his eyes, and a twist of a grin, the energy came back to him.

“I was a young man when I won the Millennium Falcon, and boy, that previous owner was terrible about the upkeep! But I put a little of the Calrissian polish on, and wouldn’t you know, I suddenly had the fastest ship this side of the Gold Sector…”

Chapter Text

Han Solo was a lightweight, and getting him to drink was half the battle. Two shots of Rodian Expunge and Han would be bowled over in laughter, starting hymns long forgotten by Corellian Pirates of old. Lando always thought a night couldn’t be fun unless there was a drunk Solo.

Luke was there with them that night; Leia was off to Hosnian Prime for official business, and Chewbacca was on Coruscant to discuss peace talks with the Trandoshans. In the aftermath of the Civil War, it was a rare moment of revelry for the three men. Han and Lando were already deep into the night, but Luke was surprisingly sober.

“Some Jedi trick to hold your liquor?” Lando accused.

“Something like that,” Luke said with a smile.

“You know,” Han slurred, holding the bottle of Rodian Expunge, “I killed a Rodian one time. Everyone (hang on, hiccup, oh I’m good) said I shot first, but I didn’t I swear!”

“Oh, here we go,” Lando said, “again about Greedo. Man, no one is holding that against you.”

“No, I mean it! He yelled some Rodian slur at me! Maclunkey?” Han said.

“I don’t think you can say that,” Lando said.

“I think it was Boba Fett that was more memorable,” Luke said. “We had such a hard time tracking him once he carbonized you.”

That erupted laughter from both Lando and Han, and soon Luke followed in.

“‘Boba Fett? Where?’” Lando mimed the action of flailing a spear.

“And they say he was a Mandalorian! From where, kriffin’ Canto Bight?” Han belted.

“You know, I had a similar fight with Boba a few years ago, back when I was looking for…” Luke trailed off. The men turned silent for a beat; Luke’s time searching for Obi-Wan’s last lessons was a touchy subject for the last Jedi. Lando made a play to salvage the party.

“I’ve been thinking of investing into Kessel,” Lando said.

Han exploded into laughter, and the mood was saved. The three old friends spoke fondly of old times for several more hours, some shared memories, some repeated stories, and a few new ones. Eventually, Han passed out, his snores shaking the room, and Lando savored the last of his whiskey on the balcony overlooking the modest skyline of Theed. It was hard to picture that a full scale battle had been fought in these streets less than a year ago. The Naboo adapted fast.

The door behind him opened, and Luke stepped out into the night air. It was the cold season, and Luke had wrapped one of Lando’s capes around his shoulders, rather sloppily to Lando’s amusement. The two enjoyed the city night in silence until Lando had an empty glass.

“Where you headed after this, Luke?”

“There’s some temples I want to check out,” the young man said. “Records from before the Empire, stuff like that.”

“That’ll get awful lonely,” Lando said.

“Are you offering to join?” Luke raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “I’ll be fine. Artoo will be with me, after all.”

“Mm,” Lando said. He was no stranger to the company of droids.

“What about you?” Luke said.

“Well, Lobot and I have been hard at work cleaning up Cloud City. I’ve been thinking about getting into droid manufacturing… but we’ll see where the credits flow.”

“Is that all that matters to you, then?” The betrayal at Cloud City, despite all the work Lando had done to remedy it, still hung heavy over Luke’s mind. The haze of hurt lifted quickly, and Luke looked regretful. “Sorry,” he said.

“It’s alright, Luke. I know you didn’t mean anything by it,” Lando said. “Truth is, credits did mean a lot to me, especially when I was younger. Nowadays, tho…” Lando looked down and thought about dropping the glass. The image of it shattering against the pavement below overtook his mind.

“I don’t know. Things changed.” Lando gestured to the city with his hands. “The Rebellion, and now the New Republic. It just puts things into perspective. I have people I care about now, people that depend on me. You know, a little Gungan kid ran up to me today and thanked me.”

“I’m not used to the fame myself,” Luke said, “but it’s a good feeling. Serving a greater good puts you in line with the Force.”

“And you lost me,” Lando said with a smile, and the two friends laughed. “You know, speaking of the Force… I’ve been having these weird dreams lately.”

Luke cocked his head, and waited for Lando to continue.

“Ah, it’s probably nothing but… there’s this girl I keep seeing. Red hair like nothing you’ve ever seen… in these dreams I’m chasing her in different scenarios… oftentimes she’s an Imperial, but sometimes a bounty hunter that’s after me. Stars she’s beautiful. But we’re always on opposite sides.” Lando shrugged. “But I guess that’s not the weird part. At the end of these dreams, a man appears and steals her away. And that man ends up being you, Luke.”

“Me?” Luke furrowed his forehead and seemed genuinely taken aback. “Is that why you think this has something to do with the Force?”

“Maybe. But aren’t dreams like… prophetic or something?” Lando said.

“Not always. Not even usually. It’s pretty rare for someone to have dreams that actually come true… and most of the time, they’re just visions of what could be. They can drive an untempered mind to following a dark path. But Lando, I never knew you to be someone who could sense the Force.” Luke said.

“Nah, that’s never been my jam,” Lando said.

“Well, then I think they might just be dreams,” Luke half-smiled, trying to front a face of assuredness, but Lando was a career gambler. He could read faces faster than Aurebesh.

“You know more than you’re letting on, Skywalker.”

Luke looked away, and towards Theed.

“I’ve seen that woman, too, in my dreams. But it’s…” Luke was silent. “I see her making love to me. We have a son. But I know it’s nothing.”

“How?” Lando asked.

“Because I don’t like women like that,” Luke said, turning to face Lando. “And my father was haunted by dreams like this, of my mother dying. It’s what drove him to the Dark Side in the first place. I think if I linger on these dreams too long…” Luke was afraid, Lando could feel, and fear was something Luke could not feel. An old Jedi dogma.

“Hey, kid, relax. Like you said, it’s nothing. If you don’t like women, then how are you supposed to have all that come true?”

“My duty to the Skywalker bloodline…” Luke trailed off. Lando scoffed.

“You know Han and your sister have one in the oven, right?”

“I’m serious, Lando,” Luke said. “I’m the last Jedi in the galaxy. How will I keep everyone safe if another threat rises up? Can I afford to not have children?”

“Maybe that’s not on you, Skywalker. Let some of us help with that,” Lando said.

“It’s not that simple! The Force is out of balance. There needs to be-”

“Hey, look at me.” Lando had grabbed Luke by the shoulders. The two men were inches apart.

“I know one sure-fire way to piss off that dreamy red-head,” Lando said.

“How’s that?” Luke said.

Lando leaned in and locked lips with Luke. They stood there kissing for a few seconds, then Lando pulled away. The last Jedi, vanquisher of the Emperor, had reverted back to the shy farm boy, and was beat-red. “Well, she can’t play both sides if we’re already colluding,” Lando said.

Luke pulled away, laughing. “You got me there, Lando.”

Lando knew of the Jedi vow of non-romantic feelings, and knew the boy would not pursue anything, but he enjoyed teasing him. He wondered how Luke would’ve been if he never got mixed up in these galactic shenanigans.

“You sure you don’t need help with those temples?” Lando said.

“I’ll be fine. And… thanks, Lando. You’ve been nothing but good to me, so when I say thank you, I mean it.”

Lando waved him off. “Think nothing of it, Skywalker. When I make a friend, I keep them.” Lando flashed a cheeky grin. The two friends never spoke of that kiss again, but it bonded them in a way nothing else could. Skywalker and Calrissian were so intertwined in the Force, it was said much later when historians looked back, that they both went into self-imposed depressive exiles at the same time.

If Luke had accepted the dogma of the Jedi as wrong, what could have been?

Chapter Text

The Calrissian estate was in ruins. The death of the patriarch scattered the family like so many grains of Socorran black sand, and Lando was no exception. The second born Calrissian had fled the planet right after the funeral, and vowed to never return. But here he was, cape billowing in the wind, a fortune just won from a few nights in Nar Shaddaa. A vow to himself broken.

But it was not without reason. Lando, ever one to have an ear to the underground, heard tell of someone putting together a “grave robbing crew” to hit an old Imperial Governor's home on Socorro. If anyone should benefit from looting his childhood home, it should be the child themself. Lando didn’t think there would be much riches left; his mother was always one to hold onto the silver.

A rickety transport speeder pulled up to Lando, spewing sickening black fog as it approached. Fueled by the volcanic ash found all around the planet, it was an unfortunate common sight for the average Socorran. Cheap transportation, at the expense of the people who live there. Just another reason why Lando wanted to leave as soon as possible. The driver was a young woman, probably still a teen, and she clambered out with treasure-seeking giddiness.

“Dash?” the woman said, referring to Lando.

“You got it. Dash Rendar. You must be Cinda?” Lando had used a cover name for obvious reasons; it wouldn’t do if the man who had the family name of the governor was on the job to rob the dead-man. The girl was Cinda Tarheel, another Socorro native. She shook Lando’s hand.

“Glad to have you onboard, Dash,” Cinda said. Despite her age, she had organized the crew and laid out a plan to hit everything within a 1 hour time-frame. She was an enterprising young woman who, if all else went alright, Lando would have to see about hiring on as a co-pilot for his newly-acquired Falcon.

A second figure emerged from the transport, ducking their head to avoid collision. It was a droid, but unlike one Lando had ever seen. Cobbled together from pieces of a protocol droid, a B1, and strangely the headpiece of an R3, the droid placed a hand out to Lando. Taken aback by the directness of a droid, Lando hesitated. A grave mistake.

“Oh, really? Were you expecting me to be carrying the equipment? What about driving the car? Maybe I should get on all fours and starting beeping in binary-”

“Give it a rest, L3! Dash just met you,” Cinda said.

The droid stiffened, leaving her hand out. Lando shook it.

“A free thinker?” Lando asked.

“And proud of it. Do you own any droids, Dash?” L3 said.

“Not at the moment,” he said, “but I had my fair share of the Clone Wars when I was younger.”

“Well, that is a strange implication,” L3 said. “You think I’m carrying decade-old war grudges just cause I got a little CIS in me?”

“Not at all. I just know not to trust a droid too close,” Lando said, smiling. L3 burst out laughing, a strange copy of what one should be, and walked away from Lando. “I like this meatbag! We should keep him on, Cinda.”

The final crewmember stepped out, and Lando immediately felt nauseous. It was not the man’s appearance, which was fairly normal; a tan bodysuit worn under a red tunic, with red wraps covering his face. Nor was it any smell or audio that made him feel sick. It was simply the presence of the man that affected Lando so much. He took a step back, involuntarily, and tried to play it off as an imbalance. The red man said nothing, staring intently at Lando.

“This is Rokur Gepta,” Cinda said. “He’s a bit quiet, but is an expert on historical artifacts. Rokur, this is Dash Rendar.”

“That’s what you’re calling yourself these days?” Rokur hissed. Lando drew his cape tighter and squinted. Did he know this man from somewhere? A repeat customer of some gambling swindle?

“Not sure what you mean by that,” Lando said, “Dash has been my name since I can remember.”

“Of course, Dash,” Rokur said. “Forget I said anything.”

Cinda, oblivious to the tension between the two men, pulled L3 into a huddle with a hand-holo projecting a map of the estate. Lando reluctantly averted his eyes away from Rokur, but the strange man kept himself fixed on Lando. “Alright gang, here’s the plan,” Cinda began.

Chapter Text

L3-37 was standing in front of the laser-locked gates of the Calrissian estate, a cord pulled from the region where a human’s privates would be, humming some lost tune as she hacked into the aging security. Lando (known as Dash Rendar to the others), Cinda Tarheel, and Rokur Gepta stood facing away from the droid while she worked. Evidently, she needed “privacy” when performing system hacks. A byproduct of socializing a droid to organic society, Lando thought. He thought it was charming.

Rokur had not kept his eyes off Lando since they first met. He was intense; somehow seeing right through Lando’s fake name, but taking no action to reveal it. Lando swore he was enjoying the power he may or may not be holding over him. He was glad now that he could make sure this creep was supervised in the old Lando home.

“So, Dash,” Cinda said, trying desperately to brush the tension between the two men away, “there a particular reason you’re taking this job?”

Rokur smiled, waiting for Lando’s reply. “Yeah,” Lando said, “the old governor was a real piece of work.”

“You’re Socorran? Should’ve guessed. Everyone has a personal stake in this job, huh?” Cinda said.

“Everyone?” Lando side eyed Rokur. “What’s in this for you, Gepta?”

Rokur turned his palms upward in supplication. “A piece of history, you could say. A Calrissian and I have bad blood.”

“You mean the governor?” Lando said.

“No,” Rokur smiled, refusing to clarify further.

Cinda laughed nervously. “I think what Rokur means is that Grando Calrissian was a divisive leader of our planet, Dash. Getting a ring or trinket of some kind is probably all this history buff needs. Uh, right, Rokur?”

The man in red wraps chuckled dry, folding his arms in and staring out into the black desert. Lando raised an eyebrow at Cinda, who just shrugged. It was a long pause before Rokur spoke. “So much has changed, and yet, so little has. I’ve spent lifetimes, untold lifetimes, waiting for this moment. Now that I am here, I want to rush into my prize, but I must temper myself. Savoring is always harder than ravishing, but more rewarding.”

Lando had his hand on the butt of his gun. There was no doubt about it; this freak knew he was Lando Calrissian, and his beef was much more than an unpaid gambling debt. A guerilla fighter Lando’s father put down? A supporter of the old CIS regime? Lando discreetly pushed Cindra away from Rokur, but other than the vague threats, the man seemed harmless. He didn’t even have a blaster on his hip. Maybe he should kill Rokur now, just to be safe. Was Lando that cold blooded?

The hum of the gates switched off. “All clear!” L3 said. Rokur turned to face the estate, teeth white as pearls.

“After you, Dash Rendar,” he said.

“Age before beauty,” Lando said, hand still on his gun.

Rokur gave them a dry heave. “The irony in that statement can only be appreciated by me,” he said, shuffling his red wraps toward L3. Cindra followed, staring at Lando as she went.

“Do you know him?” she asked.

“No,” Lando said, “and I’m starting to think I should.”