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“When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it.” - Caitlyn Siehl
His first clue should have been the odd flare of anxiety that would not settle that morning. Anakin Skywalker had been rife with it, no stranger to a knotted stomach and sweaty palms. Vader, however, is no longer Anakin. He does not get random bouts of anxiety.
His second clue should have been the Force brushing against his senses. Not a warning, not an omen, a promise perhaps.
It comes to a head when he enters the holding cell of the rebel who managed the luckiest known shot in the galaxy. His Death Star, his Master’s plans, all the people on board, brilliant minds he’d yet to use- gone. The rebel does not cower at his entrance, instead he perks up. Smiles at Vader with the audacity to project his eager, if not outright happy feelings through the Force. Either this boy is not the true red five pilot he has been searching for or his demeanor is supposed to serve as a distraction for something.
Before he can speak the rebel does.
“Hi.”
The boy says it softly as if he is a skiddish animal the child does not wish to frighten. Something about it alights goosebumps along the back of his neck. The Force thrums louder. He cannot decipher the message.
“My name is Luke Skywalker. I’m fairly certain you are my father if I’m right about your true identity being Anakin Skywalker.”
The planets stop. The air is sucked out of his chest, his heart beats so loud his respirator almost throws a fit, and his palms feel the burn of lava once more. The Force confirms it. It leads him through disbelief, curiosity, rage, and acceptance quickly. He still feels as if his knees might go out any second though that would be fine. He should be on his knees begging for his son’s forgiveness and worshiping at the altar of what Padme had given him. Her final gift.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” It’s his own blue eyes that stare into his mask, but it’s Padme’s concerned sweetness that colors them. “I know it’s a lot, but it’s true. I was adopted by your step brother Owen and his wife Beru. Obi-Wan Kenobi set it up after my mother died.”
He stumbles towards his son. Luke should be tearing him apart for what he did to Padme. But his son is an Angel through and through and leaves him unharmed. The boy rises from his cot to meet his embrace. He hasn’t been tender with someone in so long, his new body only meant to receive and dish out pain, but he is careful with Luke- with his baby. He cradles the boy’s head to his chest plate running his fingers as lightly as he can through blonde locks. His other hand runs up and down his back. His is small, but he has muscle to him. He smells like honey, a fresh spring day, and love. He smells like love. He smells like Padme’s love. His hiccuping cry translates as static through the vocoder.
“You’re trembling.” Luke whispers.
“Luke… Son…” All he can do is cry the acknowledgment. His son had survived. Had he not been the one to kill his wife as he had been told? She had lived long enough to birth their little one. And how little he was, sweet and precious, perfect like a doll. A dream come true. A nightmare that his mother wasn’t around to take part in it.
“Mine.” He growls. He holds Luke tighter.
“Yours.” The boy wiggles until Vader’s hand lets him tilt up his chin. He beams at his father. “Yours.” He repeats.
‘I’m yours, but you’re mine too.’ Luke pushes into his head.
Shock once again rattles his system. His son is talented in the Force. Of course he shouldn’t be surprised given who he is and used to be, but his little one teems with power now that he notices it. He runs his hands slowly down Luke’s sides enjoying the feeling of his son’s warm skin. He has to get the boy new clothes. The garish orange catastrophe he wore was too rough, too greasy for his beautiful skin. He pats around his hips looking for the lightsaber he suspects he’ll find. The muscles, his calmness, his well thought out speech, and his energy adds up to Kenobi having taken him as a padawan. Vader hopes it to be false, desperately hopes it to be untrue, yet there is no denying his son has followed in his footsteps of becoming a Jedi.
Another surprise greets him. On his darling’s left hip is his old saber. He’d recognize the hilt anywhere. On his right hip is the boy’s own.
His head is getting dizzy again. He wants to be out of this room, away from this wretched ship. He needs a moment to breathe. His machinery keeps his heart pumping, but he isn’t getting any air. Luke places his cuff bound hands on his chest.
“Come back to me Father.”
He does as his little one instructs. He forces himself to feel his lungs working and clears his mind until all he can feel is Luke’s light. And how light it is. It’s akin to being burned alive again, a white hot, searing star burning from how close it is though instead of pain it’s incredible warmth, not meant to hurt. It is glorious.
“Are you with me?” His prince asks, pretty eyes searching his mask.
“Yes.” He rasps back. The vocoder makes it sound steady when it is anything but.
“Good.” Another smile. He made his child smile. He made his child smile. He made the son he thought long dead smile. He did that. He made- “Is there somewhere else we can talk? This cell is sort of drafty.”
He uncuffs his son, rubs his wrists for a moment, and sweeps him up. His boy is startled, but the thought of not being allowed to touch his baby during the walk to his private quarters is enough to turn his stomach into knots. He needs this. His baby needs this. He read in one of the parenting books Padme bought that children, newborns especially, required skin to skin contact. This is the first time he’s touched his son.
‘I’m here. It’s alright. Daddy’s here.’ He sends through the Force. Luke stops his wriggling protests at being manhandled.
“I know. It’s okay dad.”
Luke is an Angel. His voice soothes over Vader’s aching heart and pieces it back together. Luke rests his eyes snuggling into his neck trusting Vader to keep his word of bringing him somewhere better.
“These are daddy’s rooms. They are yours as well while your own rooms are under construction.”
Luke’s head picks up. “My rooms?”
“Of course. I won’t have my son without a home.”
He sets Luke down carefully making sure the boy has his legs under him steady. His darling’s eyes resemble a moon with how incredulously he takes in his new surroundings. Luke trails his fingers delicately over the fine couch fabric and over the artful model ships he has on display. He should buy Luke a castle. On a planet with water so he has a large moat, no sand in sight. A nice luxurious home that he can hole his prince in to protect from the galaxy.
“I appreciate that.”
He wishes, not for the first time, to go back and make a different decision. To listen to Obi-Wan, to listen to Padme. Her family is still alive. Vader knows they would welcome Luke gladly, but he can’t bear to part with him especially not so soon after finding him, thus his selfish streak continues.
He pushes Luke to the couch being mindful of his strength. He understands the old saying of a bull in a china shop. He sits next to his son vaguely embarrassed that his suit does not allow him graceful movements such as resting. He covers it by pulling his darling into his lap unwillingly to be apart from him.
After Luke settles he has to ask: “How did you know?”
“I grew up hearing stories about you. Everyone I talked to spoke about you with such admiration and love, it was hard to accept that you had died a spice smuggler as I was told. I wandered for a while after I left home just asking about you. I had this amazing trail of stories that suddenly stopped. Where Anakin Skywalker ended Darth Vader began. I couldn’t believe it at first. I wanted it to be a lie, but the Force doesn’t lie.”
Intelligent. His little star shine is so clever.
“Anakin Skywalker is no more. That name means nothing to me.” Vader asserts.
“I am the son of Anakin. If you say he doesn’t matter does that mean I also don’t matter to you?”
It’s a low blow and they both know it. Vader has a creeping suspicion where this is headed.
He grips Luke’s chin and tilts his head up. “Never say that again. You are everything to me. I would tear the galaxy apart for you. I will end Palpatine’s reign for you.”
“If you love me then there is still good in you. My mother’s final words to Kenobi were that belief. That you are good and can be saved.” Luke kisses his mask. “Daddy I can save you. Please. Let me try.”
He practically blows a fuse at that. So much to unpack- his little sweetness kissed him, his beloved Padme’s last words were about him, she died believing in him, Luke thinks he can be saved, his words imply he will stick around to carry out his foolhardy mission. He is a rotted walking corpse not fit for the adoration his child bestows upon him.
“When is a monster not a monster?”
Luke surprises him yet again. He does not know the answer, but that too is alright because his little one does.
“When you love him.”