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When Minah had accepted her undercover mission, she hadn’t expected it to be quite so boring. 

Perhaps boring was the wrong word.

Since infiltrating the ISB headquarters, she’d certainly seen a side of the Imperials she’d never seen before. The tales she’d heard from other rebels had made them sound like animals, without a sliver of compassion, but the bureaucracy and business-like efficiency was eerily similar to how the Alliance conducted their investigations. It had been a rather jarring sensation to view the officers as people, instead of the monsters she’d heard about for the last several years. 

Being sent to the Imperial City, and straight to the centre of the Empire had been daunting, to say the least. Minah had expected horrible sub-level dungeons and evil officers, with a constant symphony of screaming rebel spies, tortured in their cells. High command had scared her within an inch of her life when they’d first briefed her on what she’d be faced with. Soldiers who survived their time in Imperial hands were rarely the same upon returning to the Alliance. It was all too common to find somebody dead in their bunk, unable to live with the memory. But Minah knew they needed a source of information. Someone unassuming, adaptive, with a good record. The Alliance had recruited her straight out of the academy, and now she was finally doing her part. 

Still, though. Being an assistant to Lieutenant Ryne was far more mind-numbing than she’d first assumed. Out of all the other ISB personnel, Ryne wasn’t particularly sadistic or an overall stickler. He treated her fairly, though her position as an Ensign made it very clear that he was her superior, in every way. She spoke when spoken to, made herself scarce when ordered, and was quick to follow out any and every order he barked.

“Burke,” Ryne called, and Minah hastily turned from her computer monitor, standing to attention. 

“At ease,” Ryne said, waving a hand in dismissal. He was a paunchy man with a face that was always slightly red, and his features may have been fatherly, if it weren’t for his sharp black uniform and Imperial emblem emblazoned on the chest and arm. 

“We’ve got a destroyer unloading in orbit.” Ryne said after a moment, brushing miniscule lint from his shoulder. “A shuttle’s coming down with a prisoner transfer.” 

“Yes, Sir.” Minah replied. It had gotten easier to keep stoic and calm, though at his words her heart began to race. 

“So we’ll be up to our ears in reports, and we can’t afford to fall behind. I need you to get a start on the transfer papers whilst I speak with the Commanding Officer over the com. Seems like a high-up rebel’s been caught.” 

“I’ll get to it, Sir.” Minah said, her voice steady. She made sure she sounded casual but respectful when she asked: “Anybody we’d know?” 

Ryne chuffed. “It’s no Mothma or Organa, or we’d have a squadron of blasted X-wings coming down from orbit to rescue them. I’m sure we’ll see when they get here, Ensign.” 

A pit opened up in Minah’s stomach, but she snapped to attention once more with a salute. “Understood, Sir. I’ll get a start on those reports.” 

Minah ended up having to re-write several sentences as she waited for the shuttle to dock in the hangar upstairs. She tried her best to keep a lid on her inner turmoil, biting the inside of her cheek until it bled. The ominous talk with her commanding officer, and the overall tense atmosphere was rendering her near-hysterical. She felt ridiculous, trying desperately to maintain her cool, aloof persona as Ensign Burke, not Minah, the rebel. 

 A group of stormtroopers were milling around her desk, waiting to escort the ISB crew up to complete the prison transfer, and they were making her jumpy as she tried to plod through her report papers. No names, merely numbers were assigned to the prisoners, as per protocol. She had no clue who was being transferred, and the lack of knowledge was killing her. 

There had been Rebel interrogations since she had come to Imperial City, of course, but usually High Command gave her a warning beforehand, to stay out of sight, lest some soldier recognise her and declare her a traitor. Unlike the horror stories told around the base, most cells were completely sound-proofed, with no screams for help coming through the walls to haunt her. If she thought rather hard about it, she could imagine that they were having a polite conversation, and not torturing her comrades whilst she sat on the other side, helpless.  With the troopers blocking the door, and the louder than usual hub-bub in the halls, Minah felt trapped like a cornered animal.

But then her lunch break came around unexpectedly, and Minah spent a shaky twenty minutes mechanically eating her food. She half-listened to the other Ensigns and assistants making guesses on the identities of the Rebel Commander, categorising every word for the report she’dl send to the Alliance later on. By the time she returned to her desk, the troopers were gone, and across the hall she could see that a cell was closed and occupied. 

“Burke,” Her terminal buzzed sometime later, and Ryne’s voice came through the built-in speaker. “Bring a cup of caf to Cell 0401, please.” 

“Yes, Sir.” She replied, hastily standing from her desk and adjusting her hat as it went slightly askew at her sudden movement. One of Ryne’s eccentricities was that he refused to drink droid-made drinks, claiming they never got the cream to caf ratio right. Going through the motions in the small staff room was oddly soothing, and Minah tried her best to prime her mind. Her job here was to collect information, stay undetected, and report to the Alliance. Perhaps they were unaware one of their own had been caught. She had to find out who had been compromised, and get a message to her handler. She could do this. She had to - the Empire needed to be taken apart, disambled like a faulty droid. Minah had a part to play, and she’d do the best she could. 

The caf maker beeped its completion, breaking Minah out of her reverie. 

Come on, Burke. You’ve got this. 

Steaming mug in hand, Minah navigated the hall carefully, avoiding a potential spilling disaster after an over-eager trooper almost knocked her to the floor. The cell was guarded by two more stormtroopers, who turned and pressed in the access code. 

She’d been in the cells a couple of times, though only once when there had been an occupant. The day had haunted her, seeing a Rodian, half naked and bruised, curled up miserably on the durasteel bunk, shivering in the aftershocks of a thorough interrogation. Other times she had gone in to re-calibrate the torture droids and make sure the cell floors were clean for an inspection. The sight before her almost made her stumble, but by the will of the force, Minah remained standing ram-rod straight and expectant. 

Lieutenant Ryne and another officer Minah vaguely recognised were stood off to the side, murmuring between themselves with their arms folded. It almost looked as though they were observing an abstract work of art, and the thought made her stomach roll unpleasantly. 

“Ah,” Ryne said, turning at her arrival. “Thank you for that.” 

He took the cup from her hands, taking a small sip and humming in appreciation. He certainly looked more tired than he had that morning. 

Minah tried determinedly not to look at the man who was twitching in the medical-like chair at the centre of the room. Instead she looked at the officer beside her Lieutenant. A Commander, if she recalled correctly. The other assistants called her the Punisher. Ruthless, an Imperial fanatic. She was tall and imposing, her hair cropped short beneath her hat. She was watching the rebel spy with an expression Minah had seen on smug, overfed Loth-cats. 

“Ensign,” Ryne said after a moment, placing his mug down on a steel trolley, stocked with a myriad of sinister looking tools that glinted beneath the lights. “Have you met Commander Harrison?” 

“No, Sir.” She gave the Commander a tight nod, not quite trusting herself to salute without shaking. “Pleased to meet you, Commander.” 

“Ensign Burke.” Harrison acknowledged. Her voice was dry and the two words were strangely dragged out, as though she were delivering a punch line of some unheard joke. “I’ve heard all about you.” 

“Thank you, Sir.” 

The man in the chair convulsed and gave a throaty groan. 

“Not very talkative, this one.” Harrison said, rolling on the balls of her feet. “I have every confidence that he’ll warm up soon.” 

Minah looked to Ryne uncertainly, unsure whether to reply, and he gave her a miniscule nod. 

“Of course, Sir.” Minah said, trying her best not to fidget and keep at parade-rest. “No rebel is a match for the Empire.” 

Harrison blinked slowly, and once again the image of a spoilt loth-cat sprang to mind. But then she gave her a small smile, more of a tug of the lip, and Minah felt herself relax slightly. 

“Ryne tells me you haven’t had much experience with interrogating prisoners.” 

Minah twitched involuntarily, and Harrison’s beady eyes tracked the movement. The smile was no longer comforting. 

“No, Sir.” 

“Come.” Harrison stepped forward, reaching out and gripping her firmly by her shoulder. “Have a go.” 

Minah felt herself be dragged around to the tray of tools. In her panic, she could hardly focus on the array of medical blades, capped needles and vials, spread out clinically before her. 

Instead, her eyes fixated on the hand, cuffed to the chair before them. Masculine, human, and clenched into a pale fist. Unwillingly her eyes travelled up, to the stained orange flight-suit, and to the slackened face of a friend. Before she could stop herself, Minah let out a shuddering gasp. 

Most of the rebels knew Commander Kodah. He wasn’t as prolific as Mothma or Organa, but if you were a soldier, you knew all about Kodah. He led a squadron of fighters, and was brave and strong and smart, everything Minah strived to be. They’d met several times on base before she’d shipped out for Coruscant. Enough for him to recognise her face, hidden behind the Imperial uniform. Her stomach felt like it had opened, like an air lock. 

Commander Kodah’s eyes opened at the sound, dilated and bloodshot. They stared at each other for only a moment, but it felt like a lifetime. She became vaguely aware that Harrison was still talking, gesturing to the tray, but she heard none of it. 

Please don’t recognise me please don’t recognise me please don’t recognise me please- 

Kodah’s face morphed. The pain was wrung out, like a wet dish rag, and he summoned a weak, drug-addled smile. A glob of blood weakly oozed from his nose, washed pink and watery. His teeth were stained from it, but he didn’t seem to notice. 

“Minah, eh? We’ll make a rebel of you yet.” 

“Hand me that bolt, Minah-”

“You said you were from Corellia, Minah?” 

For the first time since she’d gone undercover in ISB, Minah thought: Why the kriff did I use my own name? 

“Minah.” Kodah murmured deliriously. “Oh, Minah. We’re in a bit of trouble, aren’t we?” 

She felt the exact moment her blood froze in her veins. 

The cell was silent for several seconds. 

“Oh, shavit,” Kodah said, eyes falling closed again. “I didn’t mean to say that…” 

“Rebel scum, I knew it, I knew there was something off about you-” Ryne snarled, reaching forward to wrench her away with a roughness that made her yelp. He turned her around, looking like a feral animal, red bursting across his face. Dimly, she noted that he’d burst a capillary in his nose, and it was spreading down the bridge. 

He heaved, and with a grunt, spat straight in her face. The saliva was hot, searing her skin where it found purchase. 

“Commander,” He said, and Minah felt herself sob, all her training and facade falling to pieces as he shook her so roughly that her teeth rattled. There was no build up to her crying; suddenly she was completely lost to her terror.

 “Ready another cell for the traitor.” 

The wave of happiness that made Luke pause had yet to get old.

He sat up in the darkness of his room, disrupting the stuffed toys and pillows and sending them bouncing to the floor. For several moments he sat waiting in anticipation, fingers clenching on the heavy fabric of his comforter, datapad forgotten. The softness and extravagance was still new and strange, and for a moment he fixated on the furry feeling under his palms. All this, for him! It was still amazing. 

But Luke wouldn’t mind living in a storage cupboard if it meant he could see his father. The light shining from beneath his door was shadowed, and he heard the thrum of the respirator and heavy stomp of footsteps. A nightmare for many, Luke thought.. But for him, it was the best part of his week.

“You’re home!” Luke cried when the door swished open, unable to help himself. He knew his father was not soft and huggable the way Aunt Beru was, and he didn’t always like to cuddle or be close to him physically. But Luke could his father’s mind brush up upon his own, cool and tightly wound, and as deep and black as a pit. It was like an embrace, even if there were no arms around him. 

Since his father had taken him from Tatooine, he had communicated with him without talking. Luke still didn’t understand how he did it, and when he had asked he’d been given vague answers that left him more confused than before. Still, Luke was just happy to have his father in his life. The sensation in his mind was always pleasant, and he didn’t want to make it stop anytime soon.  

His father raised a hand to stop Luke from jumping from the bed.

 “I am.” He replied, closing the door behind him. With another wave of his hand Luke’s night light illuminated the room softly, reflecting off of Vader’s helmet and armour with blue and green glints. 

“I missed you.” Luke said, leaning back into his pillows as his father approached. 

“It has only been a week.” 

“Feels longer.” 

“I know.” 

A leather-gloved hand pushed on his chest gently until he was fully reclined back into the bed, and then tugged at the blanket until it sat beneath his chin. Vader took a seat to the side, hand lingering for a moment over his son’s heart. 

“Have you behaved in my absence?” He asked.

“Oh, yes!” Luke replied, almost going to sit up in his eagerness, before remembering that he had been tucked in tightly. “I saw you on the holonet this morning, is it true what they’re saying about Onderon?” 

He felt his father’s mood twinge at the word, and mentally kicked himself for bringing up the news network that Lord Vader seemed to frequently star in, despite his attempts to remain a shadow of the Empire. He never really understood what any of it meant, but had perked up at seeing him on the ‘net and paid attention.

“Do not concern yourself with such things.” Vader said after a moment, and Luke closed his eyes as he felt that dark, oil-slick presence pulsate in irritation. 

“I am not upset.” Vader ran a hand over Luke’s forehead, pushing back his hair briefly, and pulling back when Luke tried to smooth it back down. “It has merely been a trying campaign.” 

“But you’re home now, right?” Luke said, trying his best not to sound too eager and clingy. “For a while?” 

“I have obligations in Imperial City for the next week.” Vader replied. “I will be busy, but we will find time to spend together, if you wish.” 

“Of course I wish!” Luke said before he can help himself, and shut his mouth quickly, half-expecting to be berated for his excitement. But his father merely nodded, adjusting the comforter once more. A trilling sound interrupted any remains of the conversation left to unfold. 

“I will see you in the morning, Son.” Vader said, standing to his full height. “Sleep well.” 

“You’re going back to work?” Luke asked with a frown, though his stomach felt warm and happy at the thought of the day ahead. 

“I am needed at ISB.” Vader replied shortly, not looking up from his com-link. “Get to sleep.” 

“Yes, father.” Luke said. He loved saying that word. It would never get old. 

Once his father left, the door shutting behind him, Luke stared at the slowly revolving light on his set of drawers. 

The novelty of living in the Imperial City had yet to wear off, and despite having Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen only a com-call away, (and he would be seeing them for a holiday soon), he still felt lonely sometimes.

His room was far too big, and Vader was always busy, often off-planet. He wasn’t used to having nobody there waiting for him in the morning, or sleeping in the next room, in case he had a nightmare. Luke still dreamt of that horrible day in the medical centre, how he had been hurt, poked and prodded, until he couldn’t even speak. There were only droids and stormtroopers patrolling the halls in Vader’s big, empty house, when he woke up scared and in need of comfort. He didn’t want to bother his father when he was busy working up on his star destroyer. He was nearly fourteen. He had to let such childish things go. 

Luke felt silly all of a sudden, in his big bed with all of his toys. Here he was, lamenting as though he were living a life of poverty and pain. Since his father had found him, every want and whim had been paid for with barely a blink of an eye. He knew Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen’s farm had been refurbished, and they would never want for anything again. Which was odd, because Vader went all quiet and angry whenever Luke brought them up. There were a lot of things that his father did that Luke didn’t understand. 

In the dark of his room, Luke laid back with a sigh, face rubbing against the felt of a stuffed toy. He was too old for all of it really, but he loved every toy that was sent to him, or bought in by the droids. Whenever he tried to thank his father, he never really acknowledged it, but Luke was grateful all the same.

It was such a shame that his father was always so busy. He knew that he was second in command to the Emperor, but Luke hardly knew what he did. All he knew was he worked to protect everybody who lived under the Empire, from the rebels, who sought to bring about disorder and chaos. When Luke had asked to come with him to his star destroyer, Vader had told him that it was no place for children. He was fighting in a war after all, and there was always danger, whenever he left the city. That particular conversation had kept Luke up for days. Even now, Vader could be fighting, barely escaping from Rebel soldiers, using his laser sword to save the day. 

As Luke pondered, he thought about the strange connection they had formed, on the day in the medical centre. He still wasn’t quite sure how he had managed to reach out to him, but he had. Through all of the pain and confusion, his father had been like a guiding light, saving him. Familiar, as if they had known eachother forever. His father felt cold and strange, - almost hidden. But after a long campaign he always greeted Luke first with his mind, probing and protective. Luke reached out now, only partly aware that he was doing so. He had tried to do so several times whilst his father was away, but had only felt the barren silence of the empty house. It was difficult to describe, but his father simply felt brighter, stronger, than other people. On the rare occasion that Luke was around other living beings, such as his tutor, or a stormtrooper, they only felt dim in comparison. He had never noticed he could sense people that way, until he’d met his father. 

To his surprise, Luke felt something stirring as he probed outwards. It was like stretching down a dark empty hallway, only this time, somebody was in it. The connection waned, and Luke fumbled, biting his lip in concentration. After a moment, the feeling returned, and Luke swore he heard the mechanical breathing of his father. He was so close! Now, he could check on Vader, just like he checked on him. 

Luke could definitely hear the distinctive whoosh of his father’s mask. He sat up eagerly, the glinting dancing of his night-light fading away. 

There he was! He recognised the dark furrow of his father’s mind, coiled and slick and cool. But instead of the controlled warmth he was used to, there was a horrible, pungent cloud of smoking anger, making Luke twitch back against his covers. His father was angry, furious, dark and seething in a way Luke had never felt before. 

He shouldn’t have tried to reach for him! Luke hadn’t thought about how much it would upset his father; he’d only been trying to say hello, but he’d quickly mentally reared back, feeling like he’d stumbled right into a kryt dragon. 

The air around him suddenly felt cold, and the sound of breathing got louder. The brief surge of euphoria had been quickly doused, and now Luke could only feel one thing.

Fear. 

And then Luke was no longer in his big comfortable bed. He was in the medical chair, like in Anchorhead. Restraints held him down, and his heart was hammering in his chest. The sting of the needle, a memory he’d tried to forget, stung in the crook of his elbow.

Desperately, Luke tried to pull away. He must have somehow fallen asleep trying to connect with his father. He could wake up from the familiar nightmare. Any moment now, he’d hear Commander Oswald’s haunting voice, see his sneering, scarred face. He looked around, expecting him to appear.

There was the thump of heavy footsteps. And, to his horror, Luke did not see Oswald. He saw his father, leering down at him, cold and furious. 

The entire ISB office seemed to have taken a simultaneous break, cleared out entirely by the time Vader arrived. Only the Lieutenant and Commander who had stumbled across the spy were there to greet him, waiting anxiously in the cell corridor. Vader dismissed them with a wave of his hand. He had already read over the spy’s meagre personal file, knowing that most of it was surely fabricated. 

“Continue interrogation with Commander Kodah.” He said, wasting no time on niceties. He pressed the access button leading to the spy’s adjacent cell. “Disturb me at your own peril.” 

“Yes, my Lord.” Vader watched them both stumble away, his irritation climbing steadily as the cell door before opened with a swoosh. 

The girl before him was far younger and smaller than he had expected. She had already been restrained, but per his orders, she remained untouched. For a moment, they both watched each other. Usually, this was where the frantic tears and bargaining began, or simply a struggle to escape from the cell. But the girl, Burke, he recalled, kept silent, eyes wide but unwavering. 

“A bit overkill,” Burke said, her voice gravelly but steady. “To send you, isn’t it?” 

“Clearly your superiors are incompetent, if you have gone undetected for so long.” Vader replied. The dark side had already begun to sing around him, feeding off of his annoyance, shifting into anger. 

Burke snorted, leaning back into a would-be nonchalant slouch, if not for the restraints keeping her upright. “You don’t know the half of it.” 

The door slid shut behind him. 

“Then perhaps you will enlighten me.”  With a flick of his hand, Vader turned on the interrogation droid, which quietly hummed to life on its charging station, priming for use. Burke tried to turn her head at the sound, but was too restricted to see. 

“I’m not afraid to die.” Burke bit out, rattled at the eerie hum of the droid. “So you may as well just kill me.” 

“Let us not get ahead of ourselves.” Vader replied. He stepped forward fully, feeling her fear in the force around them like damp humidity, pulsing as she took in his monstrous form. 

“First, you will tell me how long you have been working for the Rebellion, and who your handler is.” 

“No.” Burke said, raising her chin stubbornly. “So just get it over with. I’m not telling you anything.” 

“We shall see.” Vader said, feeling his impatience spike. 

In truth, Vader was eager to leave ISB and return to his home. A strange sensation that he still was not used to. 

 He had left Luke to his own devices for far too long, and now he was stuck once more, jumping through bureaucratic hurdles and dealing with a case a droid could handle. His thoughts strayed momentarily, to his son curled up and sleeping, oblivious to what Vader was currently about to do.

 For a second he thought he could feel Luke’s warm, sweet presence brushing up on him, but he knew he was just imagining things. 

It was a shame that he could not teach Luke the ways of the force. Luke was certainly strong enough to shoulder the weight of a fully-fledged telepathic bond. He knew Luke enjoyed feeling his presence whenever they were reunited, though he always sensed a slight confusion, as though Luke wasn’t fully sure that it was real. But he had been ordered by his master to leave him ignorant to his power until the time came for him to learn what was his birthright, as heir of the Sith. In due time, Luke would carry on his legacy. Until then, he could hold onto the childish innocence Vader never had. A compromise he agreed to wholeheartedly. 

Such thoughts were unbecoming of a Sith. Especially a Sith who was about to live up to his infamous reputation as a fearsome and effective interrogator. 

The droid levitated off of it’s dock at Vader’s force command, hovering until it was in Burke’s line of vision. 

“What is that?” She said, finally sounding shaken. She feebly tried to shift in her restraints. “What is that thing?” 

Vader said nothing, merely checked that the injection was primed for use. He watched as the girl tried to thrash away, the droid beeping as it missed twice. Vader reached out with the force, holding her arm down harshly against the arm rests. With a wail of horror, Burke watched as the needle sunk into her skin. 

“Well, of course!” The girl said, her voice going up an octave in hysteria, a common initial reaction to the drug. “Lord Vader has to depend on a droid to do all the dirty work. You know, I’ve heard all the stories, and I really expected better-”

Vader felt his hold on his control and patience finally snap. The dark side pulsated with his power as he soundly backhanded her across her face, leaving her gasping, chin jutted into her shoulder. 

He felt her recoil, the spike in her terror. There was a strange echo, and an odd sensation at the back of his mind, as though he were feeling the reverberation of pain. His mottled skin beneath his helmet almost stung, though he knew it didn’t. There weren't enough nerves left on his face to weather such a sensation. 

Mediation, and time spent with his son would rectify his malaise. He just had to break this spy, and then Vader could return to where he was needed most. 

The skin stretched over her cheek had cracked and was crisscrossed with a grid of blood. The smug expression on her face had slipped away to a pathetic attempt of bravery, but Vader was having none of it. With his gloved hand, he grabbed her chin, hearing through his audio implants as her heart rate picked up in fear. 

“I will not ask you again. Who is your handler?” 

“Get off me,” She said weakly, trying in vain to shift her head out of his deathly grip. “I’m not telling you anything.” 

Vader could see already that her eyes were beginning to glaze over and droop, a sign that the drugs were taking effect. He let go after a moment, stepping back and letting his respirator work for several seconds. 

“If you will not give me the information I seek then I will take it.” Vader said. The girl looked up at him in horror, but Vader had already mentally sank into the force, reaching out to touch her mind. 

The Rebel Alliance had seemed to catch onto his tactics of extracting information. He wasn’t surprised to find several mental blocks in place in the Ensign’s mind, flimsy and pathetic. On a day when he was more in control, Vader would merely use the delirium induced by the drugs to suggest that they tell him everything they knew, which usually worked. But it was late and Vader was tired and eager to leave. The audacity of the spy’s nonchalance had annoyed him far more than usual, and he ripped through each barrier with barely restrained brutality. 

The girl grunted, shifting in her seat. She had lost all colour in her face, but still she resisted, gritting her teeth against the assault in her mind. 

“Stupid girl,” Vader snarled, hands clenching at his sides. The Ensign’s breath became rasping and ragged as he gripped at her throat with the force. “You will submit.” 

Her mind was a mess, swirling and haphazard in her panic. Vader saw fleeting memories; the murky air of Corellian shipyards, the wasted, sunken faces of her parents. He saw flashes of the Imperial academy, of a teaching assistant sneaking a Rebel manifesto in a darkened corridor. Vader catalogued the face for later reference, plowing on mercilessly. Distantly he could hear the girl’s unintelligible gasps of pain, but he ignored them all.

He snagged onto a memory of Commander Kodah, the Rebel in the cell next door, crouched down beneath his X-wing, talking happily over his shoulder. Weakly, the Ensign’s mind tried to bat him away, guarding the thoughts she wished to be unseen. He pushed on, feeling his anger peaking once more as she attempted to deny him, attempted to further drag out this ridiculous escapade…

For a moment he saw the stern faces of Mothma and Organa in a briefing room, but the memory warped and faded away, replaced with a pattern of blue and green. Vader snarled, and the girl howled, throwing her head back. Her nose had begun to bleed from the strain, and her face was wet with tears and drool. 

“Stop!” She cried, gasping out in agony. “Stop, please!” 

Vader ignored the plea, and with the force he invaded the spy’s mind once more. He was so close to reaching the information, he just needed to push aside the infernal flashing of blue and green… 

And then Vader felt something entirely different, and gut-wrenchingly familiar. 

“Stop…” Burke whispered, hoarse and desperate. “Father, stop…” 

Luke’s force presence pulsated with pain and confusion, as though he were in the room. Vader reached out to assure him that it was alright, mind reeling as the pieces fell into place. He’d felt a brief brush of Luke’s signature before, but had thought he had imagined it. Now he knew that his son had somehow bore witness to the spy’s interrogation. 

He was too young, too untrained to successfully project and reach Vader from his home on the other side of the city. Luke must have latched onto the spy’s weak mind, and become an unwilling voyeur. 

Vader’s heart would be pounding if his suit did not regulate it’s every beat. He looked down at his hands, hands that had just tortured and hurt. Despite their metal appendages, they were shaking. 

“This interrogation is over.” He barked, already turning and making for the door. 

The house was silent when Vader stormed through the hangar and up to his personal floor. He must have beaten some type of record in his frantic speeder ride back to his accommodation, almost taking out several  pilots as he desperately tried to reach Luke through the force. His son’s force presence had curled up like a wounded tooka, alive but unresponsive. 

“Luke?” Vader called as he reached the hallway, almost breaking out into a sprint. He caught sight of the star shaped stickers, stuck to Luke’s bedroom door, glowing in the dark, and his heart gave a sickening lurch. He almost ripped it out of the wall as it slid open far too slowly. 

Luke’s room was much as he’d left it. The blue and green night light swirled patterns of galloping banthas and dewbacks still slowly rotating, casting moving shadows off each wall. The sight of it made him feel ill.

 For a moment Vader was filled with a rush of panic as he saw that the bed was empty, covers ripped carelessly aside, the assortment of toys thrown askew. But then Vader heard the soft sobs, and knew that Luke had not fled. 

“Son?” Vader said, trying his best to keep his voice as calm and soothing as he could with his vocoder. The sobbing abated for a moment, then picked up again, harder than before. 

“Luke,” Vader dropped to his knees, ignoring the pain - pain well deserved, - as his servos and prosthetics dug into his charred flesh. “Could you come out?” 

Luke mumbled something, sniffling. The sound cut Vader like a blade. He reached out and pulled away the overhanging cover, bending as low as he could get. 

His son stared back at him, face shining with tears. He had a bundle of toys clutched in his arms, and to Vader’s horror he could see the darkened patch on his cheek of a forming bruise. A bruise he had put there.

“Would you like to stay under there?” Vader asked after several moments of a stand-off. Luke wiped his nose on the back of his hand, nodding his head. 

“I’m sorry,” Luke mumbled, voice wavering. “I just missed you, and tried to reach out to feel you. But then I got stuck.” 

It was as Vader suspected. His son had inadvertently connected to the spy’s vulnerable mind, and due to Vader’s stupidity, he’d felt every blow and hit the Ensign had. 

“This isn’t your fault, Luke.” Vader said quickly. He slowly raised his hand, the same hand he had struck out with, and leant forward. He waited, terrified and expecting his son to flinch. 

“It’s mine.” Vader said. Hesitantly, as though comforting a frightened animal, he shifted to lay down awkwardly, hand brushing the sleeve of Luke’s pyjamas. 

“Son, there are things I have not told you. Things that you deserve to know. It was selfish of me not to explain our bond, our link, and for that I am sorry. If you’d like, I will tell you anything you wish to know.”

“I know that lady was a Rebel.” Luke said, voice slightly more steady. “And I know you fight for the Empire. I just don’t understand how I could feel it all. I thought at first, you were mad at me for trying to use our,” He paused to sniff. “Our link.” 

“Of course not,” Vader said. He almost told Luke that he would never hurt him, but that would be a lie. He had already done so, after having him in his life for less than a year. So typical that he would take the only good, pure thing in his life and corrupt it. “I should have sensed that you were there, but I was distracted.” 

Luke watched him for several moments, as if processing the words. Vader could feel Luke’s force signature gradually unwinding, tentative as a newborn bantha cub. 

“Doesn’t it hurt for you to lay like that?” Luke asked finally. 

“It is of no consequence.” Vader replied automatically, and although he was already sore from holding such a position, he would lay on the floor, surrounded by toys and flashing lights, for an eternity if he had to.

He’d probably even cartwheel if he thought it would make Luke happy. 

But Luke was shuffling forward, and Vader rolled back and awkwardly stood, holding out a hand and pulling his son out and up onto his feet. 

“I’m sorry,” Luke whispered, looking firmly down at the floor. “You’re only here for a week and I already ruined it.” 

“Luke,” Vader said, placing both of his hands on his shoulders. “Do not ever apologise for this incident. It was entirely my fault. I cannot ever begin to apologise enough.”

A head full of blonde hair bumped his chest plate, and Vader remembered the first time he’d held his son in such a way. He’d been trembling and shaken back then too, and Vader had felt out of place and clumsy, in awe of the wonderful life he had had a hand in creating. Not much had changed.

“Come here.” Vader said, holding him close. A relief he hadn’t known he would feel ensconced by him when he felt Luke’s force presence tentatively unfurl, and Vader quickly embraced it in his own, as though he could undo all the pain he had inflicted. 

His sweet son. Too forgiving for his own good. Definitely an inheritance from his mother.

Vader held him tighter. 

“Now,” Vader said a few minutes later, stepping back and sitting on the end of the unmade bed. Luke sat down next to him, feet swinging gently as he turned to listen. Vader paused as he considered how to proceed. 

He’d trained younglings before, and had his own Padawan during the Clone Wars. But he could not undergo the pain of training as a detached Master again. He’d already shown that keeping emotionally distant was not his strong point. Luke watched him earnestly, a blue bantha slowly moving across his face. 

“I can not promise to answer every question you have,” Vader continued finally, recalling his promise to the Emperor to keep Luke untrained. This was a necessity. He couldn't bare the thought of his son hurting like this again. “And I will only teach the basics, so that this may never happen again.” 

“Alright,” Luke said softly. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then laid his head on the hard line of Vader’s shoulder. 

Vader almost told him to sit up straight and listen, but he found that the words would not form. Instead, he trained his eyes on the flickering night light before him, and began to tell his son of the legacy he would inherit. 

Their link glowed, and Vader basked, undeserving, in Luke's pure, unflinching light.