It Doesn't Even Matter


A/N::: It's very short. Sorry, but you can only milk these things so far before you're wondering just when they're going to lose their grip...

He wished he hadn't even begun to fight. That he had never attempted to rescue the princess. That he'd never agreed to come with Ben, or buy those droids, or even gotten out of bed the day they were to go into Mos Eisley to purchase them.

What did it matter to him if a doomed rebellion failed just a few days earlier? How had the Empire hurt him, before those 'droids had come? Hadn't he, just three years before, being dying to go to Carida and become a pilot in the service of the Empire?

And could he even blame the Empire for what they had done to regain those plans? They were to-secret military plans, after all, and how were those troopers supposed to know that Owen and Beru weren't members of the organization that had stolen them and were not bent on its destruction? Wasn't it best to shoot first and ask questions later?

He'd been aching to join the Academy three years ago, before. Why couldn't he still? Did he have to remember all that a crazy green frog and an insane old desert-dweller and a silly Alderaanian princess had told him about the Empire and what they deemed to be evil? Was the Empire really so evil? Was this dark side that called to sweetly to him really so horrible? Could the thing that could save him then, in that moment, really be so bad?

The pain was still raw in his wrist as he looked up at the helmet that masked the man who claimed to be his father. Would it really be so wrong to join him, to join something that he could change for the betterment of all the beings in the galaxy? Couldn't he join him and save his friends from the horrors of life in Jabba's court?

But then he lost his grip and it didn't matter anymore.