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Ouch.
That was the first coherent thought Luke formed upon waking. It hammered insistently at his skull until he let it in, and with it every ache and pain that had apparently accumulated overnight. A lingering burn in his calves, his core cramped and sore — the thin mattress of the camping cot had done him no favors. All the days of carrying his pack over punishing mountainous terrain must be catching up with him.
Luke levered himself onto his elbows. A jaw-cracking yawn halted the progress he was making in getting up; he let it move through is body, arching his back, popping joints, tensing and then relaxing protesting muscles from his shoulders to his toes. That cursed pack sat slumped in a corner of his tent, in much the same way he wished he could slump back down into his blankets.
But there would be no time for that. He held an inexplicable certainty that Vader did not tolerate indulgences such as sleeping in. Especially not when there was a mission objective. In the four days they had been on this planet, Luke hadn't seen him sleep once — just another of the many mysteries surrounding the man that was his father.
One last minute to bask in the comfort of a morning dawning bright and mild, and then it was time to get moving. A brief smile touched his lips. Rough camping and weariness aside, something told him this was going to be a good day. The Force hummed its agreement.
Only when he finally shifted to to get up did Luke have his first sense that something was off: the feeling of something warm and tacky on his thighs. The smile vanished, dragged down by a sinking feeling of suspicion.
No, no… not now, not out here…!
With stiff fingers he peeled the blanket back — and froze.
"Damn it!"
His suspicion: confirmed. The evidence: bleeding through his shorts, into his mattress, and smeared across his legs as he'd moved in his sleep during the night. A complete mess. He glowered at his lap as if the force of his displeasure alone could alter the mortifying scene before him. It did not.
"…fuck this." He groaned and let his head drop into his hands. A full week early! That would be his luck! In two days' time Luke would be back on base, where this would've been a mere inconvenience. Manageable and annoying, same as it was every month. But way out here — in the middle of nowhere, and with Vader — the matter had become decidedly more complicated.
How to sort himself out and still retain his dignity? He blew out a deep sigh as he considered his options. At least he had some spare changes of clothing, but how was he going to wash his laundry? Or himself, for that matter.
Finding a water source wasn't the issue. As children of the desert, neither Luke nor Vader spurned the gift of water when it was available. And so they'd made camp near a creek. The problem was sneaking out of camp and over to the creek without being seen. Maybe, if the Force was on Luke's side, Vader would still be meditating at this hour or perhaps off scouting the route ahead, and he would have a few minutes of privacy.
The Force was not on Luke's side.
He ripped the blanket away, shucked off his shorts and pulled on a clean pair, and had made it all of two steps when a shadow darkened the entrance to his tent. That was all the warning he got before Vader invited himself inside.
"Hey—!"
"Good, you are awake. We should break camp soon and — Luke."
Vader froze. Luke froze. The blanket Luke was desperately trying to recall with the Force froze.
In the small space of the tent, the conspicuous bloodstain on the sheets was impossible to conceal.
Vader recovered his wits first. He flung the blanket to the ground and advanced, step by step, until Luke was forced to crane his neck back. Heat flooded his face, and he knew there was nothing he could do to hide his blush nor quiet the frantic hammering of his pulse, but still he set his jaw and tried to return Vader's steady gaze.
"Why," he boomed, "did you not tell me that you are—" Luke squeezed his eyes shut; forced himself to inhale deeply, exhale slowly. Here it comes… "—injured?"
The mounting panic came to a screeching halt. That was not what he'd expected him to say. His eyes snapped up to Vader's. "…injured?" he echoed.
Vader leaned forward a bit, gesturing at the bloodstained sheet. "You are bleeding," he observed in a flat tone. With a flick of his other hand, Luke's pack rustled until the medi-kit wriggled free. Vader snatched it out of the air and cracked it open. "How bad is it?"
Oh, Force. There's no way… "It's—" Luke exhaled a disbelieving laugh. "It's not…"
Searing anger spiked in the Force, and Luke snapped his mouth shut. "Do not attempt to deceive me, child," Vader hissed. "That would be most unwise."
The warning settled like a weight upon his heart. The hot flush of embarrassment drained abruptly away to leave a deep chill in its wake. Deception. Was that what his father would think? After all, the Empire was not a tolerant entity… and Vader was its chief enforcer. How could Luke possibly expect him to understand? Their unlikely alliance still felt too much like an uneasy truce, at times. Tenuous and fragile. That Vader had accepted Luke's refusal to embrace the Dark side or renounce his allegiance to the Alliance was more than he'd dared hope. Would it be too much to hope that his father could accept him in this as well?
"Explain."
"There's really nothing to explain," Luke muttered, folding his arms and glancing away.
Vader jabbed a finger at him. "So you may believe. But I can sense turmoil within you and I know that you are hiding something." A thought seemed to strike Vader, and on its heels a venomous fury blackened the Force around them with cold, hostile intent. "Did somebody hurt you?" His voice dropped low. The Force screamed danger — but not to Luke. "Do not hide their identity from me. I will hunt them to the ends of the galaxy if need be, and they will pay—"
"No!" Luke interjected. "Nothing like that!" He scrubbed a hand over his face and sent a fervent plea into the universe to be anywhere but here and having this conversation. "I'm fine. I swear — it's nothing."
"That," Vader pointed back toward the stain Luke was intensely trying to ignore, "does not look like nothing."
"Oh for the love of — I'm not going to drop dead, alright?"
"From blood loss? No," came Vader's sharp reply. "But did you even seek proper treatment for your injury? How long ago did it occur?" With each question he leaned in closer and closer until his face was scant inches from Luke's. There was no room to back up; Luke could only lean away. "I forbid you to be so careless with your well-being!"
Oh. Looking past all of his aggression and anger, it was clear to Luke now. Concern. And any other time that realization might have been warm and gratifying: the fulfillment of an impossible childhood fantasy… that his father was out there somewhere, alive, and cared about him.
But right now his concern was entirely misplaced, and there was no way he could tell him so.
The Force was punishing him. That was the only logical conclusion as to why he'd been put in this awkward, excruciating situation. The Force itself was pointing and laughing at him. Luke let out a slow breath. One more try, for his dignity. "It really isn't what you think," he said, beyond caring about the desperate edge that had crept into his voice. "Just drop it. Please."
Vader shook his head. "I cannot do that. Now," he brandished the first aid kit once more, "I would prefer your cooperation — but I do not require it. It is your choice."
Luke scowled. Some choice. The moment he woke with blood on his sheets he knew, deep down, he couldn't fly under the radar this time. But for his own body to betray him like this…!
It wasn't that he was ashamed of who he was, but he wasn't naive. As a Rebel, destroyer of the Death Star, and a Jedi, he knew he lived in the crosshairs of the Empire. Another target on his back was the last thing he needed. But beyond that… he just had too much work to do, too many other things to worry about in his day-to-day besides the particulars of his body. Every day he lived and worked among dozens of species with a variety of different biologies. Most days, he tried not to dwell on the fact that he had some unique features and needs that other guys in the barracks didn't — and most days he was successful. So it was particularly jarring to have to say it aloud now.
To Darth Vader of all people.
But Luke was not one to back down. "Alright, fine. I'll tell you what's going on," he sighed. Vader crossed his arms, said nothing, and waited. The silence that followed was somehow worse than the earlier interrogation. He took a steadying breath, willed his churning stomach to settle, and fixed his gaze somewhere over Vader's right shoulder. "It's just… that time of the month. That's all."
A beat of silence stretched too long. Luke risked a sideways glance at Vader in a vain attempt to gauge his reaction. Nothing. He was quickly losing the fight against fidgeting when finally — Vader tilted forward a fraction, as if trying to hear better. "…Excuse me?"
"That time of the month!" he snapped, and immediately winced at his own sharpness. Suns above, but am I going to have to spell it out for him? "You know…" he continued in a more measured voice. "Shark week. Time for an oil change. Red squadron has landed in the hangar."
"Are you referring to a menstrual cycle?"
"Yeah. I am."
There, he'd said it. It was out of his hands now and all he could do was wait and accept whatever his father's reaction would be. He wasn't sure what he'd expected. Spontaneous combustion? Orbital annihilation? A tentative touch of their bond revealed only bemusement as Vader puzzled through the information he'd been given — then confusion gave way to sudden understanding.
Luke fled behind his own mental shields. Now he knows. Had the Force itself jolted at the moment of realization, or was that only the lurching of Luke's stomach?
"So, um…" his voice sounded small against the silence, "do you have any… questions?"
"Yes."
Luke swallowed and gave a tight nod. That was fair. It was a good sign, even. Vader hadn't visibly reacted in any way that could give Luke insight to what he was thinking or feeling. He was still towering over Luke a step too close for comfort, helmet tilted to study him in a way that made him feel like some green recruit that was failing an inspection. But he was at least willing to ask questions. "Alright," he said at length. "Go ahead."
"Why did you withhold this information from me?" Displeasure crackled in the force around Vader. His order from earlier — do not attempt to deceive me — echoed in Luke's mind, and his heart sank even as he braced himself to respond. But before he could, Vader continued. "I do not stock such supplies in my field kit. Had I known you might have need of them, then I would have done so and ensured we were both more prepared." He turned away with a burst of static that might have been the vocoder's best attempt at a huff and tossed Luke's medi-kit back toward his pack.
Luke blinked. For several crawling seconds he was at war with himself, caught between the genuine well-meaning behind that sentiment and the bizarre — and frankly uncomfortable — mental image of Darth Vader holding a box of tampons. "Merciless suns…" he muttered as he sank back onto the cot. "Nope. That's not — I've got that covered actually, thanks." Then, "Your only hang up with…" he hesitated, gesturing vaguely at himself, "…is logistics? Seriously?"
"Adequate preparation accounts for half of a mission's success," Vader intoned.
Luke lowered his mental shields by fractions until he could once again sense his father's feelings through their link. He didn't expect to find Vader's own shields lowered as well — an uncharacteristic display of openness from the reserved Sith. There was none of the judgment Luke had feared, nor anger nor disgust, only relief and exasperation layered over a faint sense of surprise. Not unlike Luke's own churning feelings, which were quickly being overtaken by pure and heady relief.
The moment was broken by a sudden wave of sharp pain and Luke winced, withdrawing from their link. Now that he was reasonably certain this conversation wasn't going to stab him in the heart… the feeling of being stabbed in the guts demanded acknowledgement. After all, that's what had started this whole mess.
"Mmph…" he curled in on himself, one fist twisting into the sheets as the wave of pain crested and broke, finally receding into a dull but persistent throb. When he straightened again, a hypospray rested on a black-gloved palm, extended in silent offering. Luke stared at it for a few seconds, then flicked his eyes up to Vader's. "What…?"
"It will help."
Luke nodded and accepted the slim hypospray. Without further hesitation he depressed it at the side of his neck. The soothing sensation of the painkiller began to work its magic, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Within seconds the worst of his aches were already ebbing away.
Which left the uncomfortable sensation of dried blood on skin, of stiff fabric still clutched in his grip. Another sigh, this one of resignation. Luke stood, pulling the sheet the rest of the way off the cot as he did so. "I'm going to step outside real quick to… take care of this." He gestured at the sheet.
Vader backed up a couple of paces, allowing Luke to squeeze past with his bundle of laundry. He ducked out of the claustrophobic tent and into the fresh morning air. The planet's sun had fully peaked over the horizon by now, the sky lightening to a bright clear violet.
Though their excursion to the rumored Jedi ruins — the reason for their mission to this planet — had ultimately been a bust, the Force was strong in this forest. It swirled around him now, blithe and buoyant. "And you said it was going to be a good day," Luke muttered.
He trudged through the campsite, down a shallow slope, and finally to the nearby creek's edge. It didn't take long to scrub his bedding and clothing clean. It took even less time to give himself a quick wash as well, and all too soon it was time to head back to camp.
But he was tempted to linger there in the pleasant waters of the mountain creek. Here, among stone and water and wood, it was so easy to just be. The forest would not comment on his cycles. The creek did not have any expectations to subvert. Nothing about him could surprise these ancient mountains.
A questioning tap against his mind pulled Luke back to himself. It was time to head back to camp.
When he reached his tent, he pushed aside the flap and — "Oh!" — found Vader was waiting right where he'd left him.
"Our discussion was not over," Vader said before he'd even stepped all the way through. "I do not understand why you have been so reluctant to clear up this simple misunderstanding. The turbulence within you — it is disproportionate to the situation at hand."
Luke paused to level a flat look at Vader. "Disproportionate."
"There is no reason to be embarrassed."
Too late. He buried his face in his hands. "No… this is the single most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me in my life, actually."
"It is natural—"
"If the Force had any mercy," Luke cut in, "a sarlacc pit would open beneath me this instant and swallow me whole."
"Do not be dramatic," Vader chided.
Luke did not dignify that with a response. He would have been content to remain like that for the foreseeable future — hiding on this planet, in his tent, his face in his hands — but for the unmistakable sense of amusement rolling off Vader. "Now this is funny to you?" he snipped, raising his head to glare. "Because… if you think that I'm some sort of joke, then—"
"I do not. Peace, child." Vader held up a hand in a placating gesture. Luke, halfway to stalking out of the tent, eased back in. "I was only recalling a conversation…" He hesitated, turning half away, then added, "…from a long time ago."
"Oh." Curiosity overcame Luke's indignation. "Yeah?" he hedged. "What about?"
That sense of amusement lingered, but it had faded to something faint now and become sharp about the edges with some painful melancholy — as was often the case when they strayed too close to the past. There were many sore subjects between them but Luke had learned quickly that his father's past was the ultimate off-limits topic, and he had come to accept that the glaciers of Hoth were more likely to thaw before Vader's own reticence.
Luke stepped back to the bare cot and lowered himself onto its edge, waiting. The steady kish-whoosh… kish-whoosh… of Vader's mechanical breathing was the only sound between them for many cycles.
"Before you were born…" Vader began. Luke leaned forward. The respirator cycled two more times before he continued. "I had thought you would be a girl. But… your mother—" he broke off for another moment. "She was certain she was having a boy."
Luke exhaled an amused huff. "…I guess you were both right, in a way."
"No," Vader shook his head, and Luke got the impression of a wry smile. "In this matter — and in most others — she was correct."
Luke's lips twitched in a smile of his own. "You're taking this… really well."
"You feared I would not."
"Well, yeah." Luke glanced away, unable to quite look Vader in the mask. "I know I'm not always what you… expected. Or wanted, even," he added quietly.
"Luke. Look at me." The fierce command in his father's voice compelled Luke to comply. He dragged his eyes back to him. The dark lenses of the death-head mask were blank as ever, but to his core he could feel the blazing intensity of the gaze boring into his soul. "Listen to me very carefully," Vader began once he was satisfied he was paying close attention. "You were always wanted. From the very day I learned that — that your mother was expecting." Luke politely ignored the way his voice hitched. "That was… the second happiest day of my life."
"Second?" Luke huffed a shaky laugh. "What was the first?"
"The day I learned you had not died before birth."
The solemn words hung in the air between them. There was a pressure building behind Luke's eyes, hot and prickling; he swiped a hand across his face and did not acknowledge that his fingers came away damp. Vader's hand twitched, hesitant, then he reached forward to rest it on Luke's shoulder. "You are free to determine your own path in life. That freedom is a precious thing. I expect only one thing of you: use it." Luke nodded mutely. Vader's fingers squeezed his shoulder once before withdrawing. "You have done well so far, young one."
"My path sure seems to be… unorthodox," Luke said, once he trusted himself to speak again.
Vader made a noncommittal hum. "You are hardly the first to transcend gender."
"Really?" Luke looked back up at his father with wide eyes. "I—I haven't. Known anyone else like me, I mean." He shrugged and looked away again, trying not to broadcast the pang of deep loneliness that surfaced with that admission.
Vader sensed it anyway. Another moment passed, weighted with deliberation, before he spoke. "I served with someone like you once. A clone trooper."
"Oh… wow," Luke breathed, shaking his head. "A clone? That had to be hard." For all that he struggled to fit in with his peers, at least he wasn't under pressure to conform to an exact template. That thought alone sent a shiver down his spine. "Can you… tell me about her?"
"She was a fine and dedicated soldier," Vader said. "I did not know her well," he admitted after a long moment, "but the name given to her by her brothers — the other clones — was Sister."
Sister. That name alone carried so much joy, so much love that Luke's own heart ached with it. Ached for it. For another time, another place, where it could've been so simple. "Do you know if she ever…" he paused, uncertain how to verbalize the tangle of doubts fighting to be expressed. Did she also feel different? Alone? Alienated? Like she had to prove herself? Like it would kill her if she had to run from herself forever? Like she had to hide anyway? "…worried?" he settled on.
"I cannot claim to know her mind," Vader replied. "But we spoke of it once. She worried that the Jedi would not be so understanding."
"Oh." Far from reassuring, the words filled Luke with a rush of something hot and bitter. He ducked his head. "Is this — is this wrong, then? For a Jedi?"
"No." A gentle touch brushed against his mind as a leather-clad hand brushed against his cheek, tilting his head back up. "Her anxieties were ultimately misplaced, as are yours. The Jedi had… many faults," the Force around Vader quivered in the way it always did when he mentioned the Jedi, "but this was not among them," he conceded. "Though it does not matter what the Order said was or was not appropriate for Jedi." The hand moved from Luke's cheek to run through his hair. With each pass of fingers through the strands, he felt himself relax further into the touch. "There is no wrong way to be, my son," Vader rumbled. "And there is no wrong way to be my son."
A hot tear streaked down Luke's cheek, and he didn't bother to wipe it away. This sure wasn't how he'd imagined it, in the rare moments he'd indulged daydreams of unconditional acceptance. But after a lifetime of building his identity around an impossible image of a mythical father, and then fighting to remain true to himself against the myth made man — there was an old knot in his soul, woven tight and deep, now loosened by those simple words. He knew there was still so much to overcome. The fight was not yet won, the future remained yet uncertain.
But his father accepted him for who he was. Loved him, no matter what. The certainty of this truth rippled through the Force, clear and undeniable. And within the Force, two signatures linked in mutual orbits like binary suns: one dim and slowly growing brighter, like rays breaking through heavy cloud cover; the other, shining radiant and luminous enough for the both of them.