How Time Passes
a Star Wars story
by Hermione Eveningfall
"Huh-KESHHUH!" Mark Hamill groaned miserably, turning over in bed early one Monday morning. He had been feeling ill for the past couple of days with a cold that turned into a full-blown flu the previous night. Mark weakly reached over to the nightstand and pulled out a couple of tissues from the box, listening to the traditional sounds of his family as they prepared for school and work.
Though he was certainly grateful for this little vacation Marilou insisted on, he would rather not be in bed with a fever of one hundred and two. He gave his nose a strong blow, his head throbbing afterwards. Just as he finished, he heard footsteps making their way up the steps, and Marilou peeped her head through the door.
"Well good morning," she chuckled, and made her way over to the bed, carrying a glass of juice in her hand. "How are you feeling?" she felt his forehead, clucking her tongue. "Mmm, you still have a pretty high fever."
Mark coughed, grateful for the cool liquid as it seeped down his sore throat. "Terrible," he croaked. "Can't you just kill me now and get it over with?" he struggled to sit up.
"Oh shush." She kissed his cheek. "Chelsea has nothing planned after school today, so she'll come right home and help take care of you until the rest of us get back. Is that satisfactory?"
Mark started to respond, only broke into another fit of coughing. The last thing he wanted was for his daughter to catch what he had, but the idea of spending a bit of time alone with his little girl was something he never turned down. Well, Chelsea was no longer "little"...she'd recently turned seventeen, and was blossoming into a young woman.
"That's just fine," he whispered.
"I wish I could stay home and take care of you myself," Marilou soothed, accepting the glass once he finished with it, and set it on the nightstand. "But unfortunately we're a bit under-staffed right now, so they need everyone they can get."
Mark nodded, his breath catching in his throat as another sneeze prepared to escape. "HuhESHHHUH!" he flopped back against the fluffy pillows, the room spinning.
"Bless you!" she glanced over her shoulder as Chelsea peeked in, her schoolbag on her back. "I'll be right there, honey," she insisted.
"I'll be home around three, Dad," Chelsea chirped, and Mark gave her a weak wave, smiling softly.
"It's safe to come and give him a hug," Marilou chuckled, and Chelsea did just that, accepting a kiss on the forehead from her father.
"I'll probably be sleeping when you get back," he whispered, and she squeezed his hand, nodding.
"That's okay. I'll probably have a lot of homework, anyway." She pecked a kiss on his cheek, and Marilou tucked Mark in, frowning at his shivers. "Try and stay warm," she encouraged, and lead Chelsea out of the room. Mark watched them leave from the corner of his eye, pulling the blankets as close to his neck as possible. He ached everywhere, so moving the slightest bit was extremely uncomfortable. The thought of actually getting out of bed was almost ludicrous at this point.
Once the main door to the house opened and closed, the house became silent. Almost too quiet, in Mark's opinion. He lay very still, gazing through the crack in the curtains. A small trickle of sunlight filtered through, making ripples on the rug. He groaned softly, turning away from it, and faced the opposite wall. As much as the idea of sleeping for several hours in peace and quiet intruiged him, he could not bring himself to drift off. He was so stuffed up, that it made it difficult to breathe, and anytime he'd just start to close his eyes, the coughing and sneezing would begin.
A couple of hours later, Mark eventually decided an attempt to drag himself downstairs and curl up on the couch in front of the television. Coughing, he struggled upright again, carefully sliding his feet over the side of the bed. He practically stumbled over to where his robe hung on a hook by the bathroom door, and was suddenly overcome with a wave of nausea.
Two minutes later, he was hunched over the toilet, retching, and feeling absolutely miserable. When he finally recovered from the sudden attack, he quickly flushed the toilet and rinsed his mouth out with a glass of water. Gazing at his reflection in the mirror, it was frightening to see his face so pale and sunken. The dark circles under his eyes, however, were not too unusual a feature. Dad, you really need to find a new career, Nathan told him one night, practically having to catch his father as he nearly fell through the door. Well, Mark was certain he didn't want to do or be anything else but an actor...still, Nathan was right. The long hours and the quick hustle and bustle of a film set was quite stressful.
Mark splashed some cool water on his face, taking a deep breath. It was only one thirty, so he would still be alone for at least two more hours. He dried himself off, and, finally wrapping the robe around his body, made his way downstairs.
The living room was already too bright, and he had to shield his eyes as he shuffled wearily over to the couch. He took the remote from the coffee table, flipping on the television, and gazed blankly at the flashing light and color before his eyes. "HuhKESHHHUH!" he snapped forward, groaning, and shivered. "HehKSHHHH!" he sighed, turning his gaze towards the desk by the window, and smiled a little at the framed photographs of his family. The formal wedding photo of himself and Marilou caught his eye first, and he cocked his head to one side. "1978," he murmered under his breath, and then turned towards the television again.
1978 was the year that changed his life, the year the first "Star Wars" film was released. He felt his heart racing as the memories of his days filming "A New Hope", "the Empire Strikes Back" and "Return of the Jedi" flooded through his mind. The cast and crew of the "Star Wars" never expected the first in the trilogy to become as famous as it had, and even now, Mark was still in awe.
He didn't keep in too close of contact with his co-stars Harrison Ford and Carrie Fisher, though he occasionally read about their own careers and how successful they'd become. Not that Mark hadn't become successful in his own right, but publicity wise, the crowds seemed to focus more closely on Harrison.
Mark thought for a moment, struggling off of the couch, and decided to pull out the newly released set of DVD's, and gazed at the image of Darth Vader on the cover. "Only when I'm sick as a dog do I resort to re-watching myself," he croaked, popping the Episode IV DVD into the player, and curled back up on the couch to set it up. He let his head rest on the arm rest, and found himself drifing off almost instantly.
1975--Tunisia
Mark sat on one of the desert rocks in his Luke Skywalker costume, watching as George Lucas prepared the actors for the upcoming scene. Sir Alec Guiness glanced up at him, dressed in his familiar set of brown robes, and waved politely. The dry heat was intense, and Mark felt sweat pouring down his cheeks. He sighed softly and wiped his forehead, eventually hopping down when George ordered him to come over.
Anthony Daniels stood in his Threepio costume, sipping from a paper cup of water, while Kenny Baker waddled aimlessly in the Artoo Detoo suit. Without a word, Sir Alec gave Mark a glass of water, seeming too sense how thirsty he was, and nodded. Mark drank it all down gratefully, realizing his hands were trembling. He seriously hoped they would not be filming for too long in this area, because the weather was unbearable. How he longed for the comforts of an air conditioned studio, but he knew they wouldn't be getting that for at least several hours yet.
"Now remember," George told the actors in his quiet voice, "Do the scene again, but this time, faster, and more intense."
Mark and Sir Alec gave each other knowing smiles, and parted ways. The cameramen and women moved out, to give Mark, Anthony and Kenny room to act.
Click
Mark's eyes fluttered open at th sound of the front door opening, and found that he had slept through a good portion of the film. The battle for the destruction Death Star was currently playing, and he groaned softly. The light in the living room made his eyes ache, and he felt icy cold. "Dad?"
Chelsea dropped her backpack by the stairs, and removed her light, denim jacket. She heard the sound of the Star Wars DVD playing in the distance, and shook her head with a smile. It was very rare that her father ever played the trilogy, so no doubt he was sick. "I'm home," she added, making her way into the living room. She found him lying on the couch, shivering uncontrollably under a quilt.
"Chelse," he whispered, as she quickly knelt down beside him, bundling the blanket more tightly around his body. She reached up to feel his forehead, and her eyes widened.
"Wow, Dad, you're really burning up!"
He broke into a series of coughs, which sent chills through her spine. She wasn't all that familiar with being a caretaker, but she did remember her mother caring for her on countless occasions. "I'll be right back," she promised, planting a small kiss on his sweaty cheek. She dashed into the kitchen, finding a clean wash cloth. After soaking it and squeezing out the excess drops, she dashed back into the living room, and folded it over her father's forehead.
"How was your day, honey?" Mark managed to croak, turning over onto his back so the compress could have more balance. She sat down in the empty space between the edge of the couch and her father's stomach, and began rubbing his hands to warm them up.
"Boring as usual. I had a test in math, but I'm not sure how I did. I studied," she added, when he started to speak, and he laughed.
"You read my mind," he whispered. "Well, math doesn't come easily to everybody, so as long as you tried, you know I'll be proud of you."
Chelsea beamed, turning her attention to the television. "So," she added. "You really must be feeling pretty awful, huh?" she motioned with her thumb to the screen, and Mark managed another laugh. He rubbed his nose with his free hand, which resulted in yet another urge to sneeze.
"Can you grab a tissue for me?" he asked, and she grabbed the box from the coffee table, pulling one out and handing it to him.
"Huh...eh...HuhESHHHHH! YeSHHHHH!" he gave his nose a strong blow, though it only helped to relieve the congestion somewhat.
"Bless you!" Chelsea exclaimed. "Been sneezing a lot?"
Mark nodded. "Pretty much all day." He sniffled. "And to answer your question, yes, I do feel pretty lousy. But much better now that you're here." He rubbed her arm comfortingly. "I miss my little girl."
Chelsea blushed. "I love you, Dad." She sighed. "You know, Nathan was lucky...he got to spend a lot of time with you on the Star Wars set. I wish I did. I love hearing the stories you told us, especially the one about Harrison threatening to put a chain saw to the Millenium Falcon." She giggled, and heard the familiar "Yeeehooo!" cheer of Han Solo, as he snuck up behind the enemy fighters and surprised the New Republic with his sudden arrival.
Mark squeezed her hand. "Well, even though Nathan was present during the filming of Empire and Return of the Jedi, he was too young to really remember what went on. You have to keep that in prespective, honey." He could hear his voice in his mind, however, shouting in horror at Harrison after running into the studio, to find the actor nearly loosing his mind.
A very loud, rumbling noise filled Mark's ears as he sat talking to Carrie in the make up room. The two actors glanced over their shoulders in surprise, and Carrie covered her mouth with her hand. "That isn't a chain saw I hear, is it?" she asked, and before she could blink, Mark hopped down, and bolted as fast as he could into the main part of the studio.
Harrison Ford stood a few feet away from the enormous space craft, wearing a pair of protective goggles and holding the saw high in both hands. "Once and for all, it's going down!" he shouted viciously, and moved for the ship.
"Stop, Harrison, stop!" Mark grabbed his co-star's shoulder, pulling him back, but being mindful of the weapon. "What the hell are you doing?" he added, when Harrison gave him a menacing look.
"Don't try to stop me, kid," Harrison snarled. "I've had it up to here with George and his nonsense. Let me at it, dammit!"
Mark reached over Harrison's shoulders, pulling the cord on the saw that turned it off. At that moment, Carrie caught up to them, her mouth hanging open in complete shock. "What the hell is going on?" she asked, just as Mark managed to wrench the saw from Harrison's hands, setting it on the ground, and shaking the older man.
"Snap out of it!" he ordered, and Harrison blinked, as though he'd just realized Mark and Carrie's presence.
"Kid?" he asked, and Carrie took a timid step towards him.
"It's been a really long week, Harrison. We're all extremely tired. But sawing the Falcon to pieces won't help," she soothed, taking his arm. "Good thing George didn't come in and see you, or there wouldn't be a Han Solo."
"Wouldn't mind so much," Harrison muttered, allowing the two to usher him away.
Chelsea realized her father drifted off again when she looked back down, and sighed softly. "Get some sleep, Dad." She gave him another kiss, and he merely stirred, coughing again.
"Chelsea?" he croaked, and she jumped as she started to walk away from the couch.
"Huh?" she turned, waiting to hear what would follow next.
"I love you," he whispered, and she felt her heart melt. She quickly dashed back over to the couch, embracing her father as tightly as she could without hurting him.
"I love you too, Dad." She buried her face in his chest, just as she used to do when she was a little girl. He held her for a moment, gazing up at the white ceiling. "Let me know if you need anything, okay?" she added, once she finally released her grip. "I'll be in the kitchen doing homework."
He gave her hand a small squeeze, and as she stood up again, she noticed his face crinkling again. "Bless you, Dad," she laughed, quickly offering him a tissue.
"HuhESHHHH!" he groaned, pulling the blanket closer to his neck.
"Thank you," he croaked, and she skipped away into the kitchen. He took one more look at the television screen, watching as the parade sequence appeared. It had been such a long time since he'd filmed the trilogy, and it was almost amazing to know that the end of the newly created prequel trilogy would be debuting that May. "How time passes," he muttered, closing his eyes, and falling back to sleep.
I unfortunately do not own Mark Hamill or his family. This is merely written for pure enjoyment, and I have absolutely no contact with the Hamills, nor do I know if this incident actually occurred. It is just something I am doing because I am an obsessed fan, so there!