Chapter Text
When Ben was six he drew his mother a picture. He drew a lot of pictures. There wasn’t much else to do all day while his mother sat at her long table by the window and talked in a heated voice to the other adults about troop movements, alliances, and other things he didn’t really understand. He was old enough to know that his mother was doing Something Very Important, but beyond that he was lost. Still, it made him feel important too just to sit on the floor in that high-ceiling, marble-floored room with her while she talked and even yelled about empires and republics.
Sometimes he played games on his datapad. Or, if he was very bored, he would try to pick up the things on the table without moving from his spot on the floor, although he didn’t do that very often ever since the time he lost his concentration and accidentally spilled a glass of water all over Senator Leth. His mother had yelled at him for that one and made him apologize, and then he had to go sit outside in the hall until she was done talking.
Mostly he drew pictures. Pictures of ships. Sometimes pictures animals or of people he knew, or the towering spires of the city he could see out the big window. If he drew a good one, his mother would smile and ruffle his hair and show it to his father, who would stick it up on a wall in the Falcon. He was pretty sure this picture was going up on the wall. He’d put a lot of work into it.
When the adults take a break, Senator Leth shooting dark looks at Ben as he slithers out of the room, he shows his mother what he’s been working on. Her face is buried in her hands, but when he approaches her she smiles and pulls him up onto her lap, leaning her chin on his shoulder.
“What’d you draw today, baby?”
“There’s you and dad,” he says, showing her the two figures holding hands.
“And who’s that?” she asks playfully, pointing to the smaller figure beside them, who was wearing the same outfit as the picture of Han.
“Me,” Ben grins.
“How about this one?” She moves her finger to another figure. This one has two different colored hands sticking out from under his shapeless black clothes.
“That’s Uncle Luke.”
“Oh, I see. Very nice,” Ben can feel her smiling, and he knows he’s done well.
“I’m not done yet. I’m gonna draw his lightsaber too.”
“Let me guess… this one must be Chewie,” Leia says, half-laughing at the giant brown blob next to the picture of Luke.
“Yep,” Ben says, giggling.
“Who’s this?” She moves to the other side of the picture, pointing to a large figure in a long cape standing beside the drawing of Ben. The face and body are completely colored in black.
“That’s the man who watches me sleep.”
“What?”
Ben doesn’t notice the cold note of fear in her voice. He continues on, “I haven’t seen him in a while. He used to come a lot. He watches you sometimes too. And Uncle Luke. I think he takes care of us.”
His mother takes the paper out of his hands gently and sets it on the table, pushing it to arm’s length like there’s something wrong with it. She is afraid. He can feel it knifing through the air around her, prickling his skin. Afraid and angry. With him?
“What’s wrong?” A fearful whine is creeping into his voice. “You’re mad, why are you mad?”
“Ben, listen,” she is squeezing him around the middle and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. Her fear feels like it’s smothering him, clinging to him like a heavy blanket and she’s still angry-
“What did I do?” he interrupts, voice shrill. He squirms on her lap, pushing at her and trying to wriggle out of the circle of her arms, to get away from the battering feelings of panic and violation and not my son you stay away from my son-
“You didn’t do anything- stop it,” she holds him more tightly while he whines and struggles. She shushes him, “You didn’t do anything wrong, Ben. It’s not you. I’m not mad at you. Listen to me, I’m not mad at you. Calm down.”
Slowly the storm of emotions subsides and Ben feels like he can breathe again. Leia waits until he calms and stops trying to climb out of her lap to continue. “Ben, if you ever see that man again, you come tell me. Do you understand? Don’t talk to him. Don’t draw him again. Okay?”
He snuffles and nods in agreement, because what else can he do, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of a hand.
And even though his mother said he didn’t do anything wrong, the picture was taken away. Folded up and put somewhere no one could look at it. He never even got to finish coloring Uncle Luke’s lightsaber. His mother smiles and asks him to do another picture, maybe one of the Falcon, but her smile is a brittle thing and even though he normally likes drawing his father’s ship, he doesn’t do it just out of spite. He sits in his corner of the room while the adults finish talking, his face still warm and sticky from tears, and breaks all of his colors one at a time. He doesn’t want to draw anymore.
Later that night, Ben will lie awake with his pillow over his ears, trying to drown out the angry sounds and the waves of emotions coming from the next room. His mother is upset again, and his father is angry. His father’s anger is different from his mothers. It makes the air tense and brittle. He cannot feel Uncle Luke’s emotions through the comm,, but he can hear his voice, exchanging low, urgent words with his parents.
It’s the first time Ben has ever heard the name Vader.