With all the speed of a Toydarian snail, the small group of ships glided along in the black emptiness of space. They were a motley assortment of vessels, their crew as varied as the equipment. Humans, Sullustans, Gand, Mon Calamarians, and several other species populated the ships. Their numbers were few, but their crews were still fresh with the thrill of their recent victory. Deep, blackened scars of carbon marked most of them. Some were being towed, some repaired in transit, some reduced to scrap, bits still floating in orbit over the forest moon of Endor.

It had been three months since the destruction of the second Death Star, but the Rebel fleet was still in a shambles. They had paid for their victory with many lives. Enemy ships had been destroyed, prisoners taken. Most of these had been dropped off at various Rebel bases to save on material expenditures. Aboard the Liberty, there was only one left.

Fifty-one...fifty-two...fifty-three...fifty-four...

In the quiet and solitude of a small eight by ten cell, the prisoner was doing push-ups. He counted each one in his mind, forcing himself to do as many as possible.

The fact that he was doing them with his one remaining arm- which happened to be mechanical -wasn't even an issue. Muscles taut, lungs burning from the unaccustomed exertion, Anakin Skywalker finally let himself drop back to the floor, pulling air into the opening in his trachea as quickly as the oxygen machine would allow.

He could have done this with the suit. The thought didn't even cross his mind as he focused on breathing.

It had been nearly five long months since Anakin had thrown off the moniker of Darth Vader. With it he had also been blessed to escape from that torturous suit and mask. There had been a price to pay. His strength was no longer augmented and most senses had been cut in half, if not lost entirely. Of course, most of these had been lost due to the injuries on Mustafar, but the suit had more than compensated for them. To Anakin, the loss of certain things was welcomed. Nothing could undo the atrocities he had committed as Darth Vader, but any good that could be done was done quickly and gladly.

Anakin caught his breath and rose slowly from the floor, his bare metal feet making a light clanking noise on the composite. He breathed slowly as he turned and sat heavily on the cot, lightly tugging his lightweight shirt to cool his torso. His skin had been so badly damaged that he couldn't even sweat anymore. That made the sort of heavy workouts he had once done impossible. He paused for a moment to adjust the oxygen hose before pulling in his knees to meditate. The hungry growling of his stomach reminded him of the untouched lunch tray in the corner.

After twenty three years of living on Med-Paste and intravenous solutions, Anakin's stomach had not taken kindly to the introduction of real food again. He was consistently ill for two days before speaking to the medic about it. As a result, Anakin had been put on a bland diet of thin grain cereal, vitamins, and liquid protein supplements. It looked and smelled like baby food, but it didn't make him sick. In the last two months a cultured milk product, mushy orange root vegetable, and boiled, unseasoned white meat had been added to his diet. It was nice to have something to actually chew on, but Anakin still felt rather like an infant who had to be fed. It was humiliating when his medic had offered to cut his meat for him and tie a napkin around his neck. Anakin didn't complain, but his mouth still watered when the aroma of roast meat and seasoned vegetables wafted through the open door at mealtimes. He remembered the smell and taste of grilled shaak flank and sometimes dreamed of such a meal.

Even with all the difficulties Anakin had been left with due to his injuries, he considered himself fortunate. The Rebellion had been merciful. Often, especially after the battle of Endor, one or another of the Rebel leaders would come in to talk. The conversation always ended with an offer of something to make him a little more comfortable. Anakin graciously declined most of these things. He was, after all, still a prisoner.

Anakin's breathing and heart rate slowed as he immersed himself in the peace and calm of the Light side of the Force. Meditation was done thrice daily. It helped ease the pervading sense of guilt in his heart and the heaviness of his soul. Luke said his father was too hard on himself, but to that, Anakin only shrugged.

A slight smile rose at the corners of Anakin's mouth upon thinking of his son. In spite of everything, Luke had completely forgiven his father. The two of them visited as much as was allowed, speaking for hours about the current doings in the galaxy and other more pleasant matters. A current favorite topic of Anakin's was hearing about some of the reckless stunts Luke had pulled as a youngster on Tatooine. It made him feel more a part of his son's life and gave them a way to relate. In turn Anakin had told Luke of his childhood. Luke most enjoyed the description of podracing and often spoke of wanting to try it. At that Anakin had frowned and related how dangerous such a thing was. Flying starfighters in combat was enough danger for anyone.

It was amazing just how many things Luke and Anakin had in common. They both enjoyed tinkering, flying, and anything involving speed and danger. They even shared their eye color.

A familiar presence in the hall made Anakin drop out of his meditation and direct his thoughts to the door. His mood dropped when he sensed Lt. Sal, the lead medic in the brig. He was probably coming to collect the lunch tray. Anakin frowned. Already? There wasn't a chronometer in his cell. What time is it?

The door slid open, admitting the nervous man with red hair and freckles. He paused for a minute, as he always did when coming to see Anakin, and then walked in. Even without the suit, this prisoner made him uneasy.

Anakin knew that part of it was due to his appearance. He was a very startling person to look at. Though his pale skin had gained some color in the last few months, it was still a sickly shade somewhere between pink and gray, mottled with thick scars and discolorations. Both legs from the knee down were mechanical, as was his left arm. And, of course, there was the oxygen hose in his throat, connected to a small, lightweight oxygen pump he wore on his back during the day. Anakin knew he looked positively frightening, and everyone was too kind to say so. The only one who had no reaction to seeing him was Luke. Everyone else flinched and tried to look somewhere else.

"All right. Time for your medication," said Sal. His voice drifted off upon seeing the full lunch tray. The medic frowned. "Haven't you eaten yet?"

Anakin sighed and rose from his cot. His ears were useless, but he had grown quite skilled at lip-reading. "No," he admitted in his quiet, raspy voice.

Sal grimaced. "Are you ill again?"

"I'm not hungry."

The medic sighed in annoyance. "I know you don't like it, but that's what Too-One-Be has cleared for you to eat. Come on. It has to taste better that stuff you were eating."

Anakin lifted the bald curves where his eyebrows had once been in irony. "Not that I can taste much of anything." That much was true. Even his taste buds had been damaged by the volcano. Now the taste of anything was diminished by approximately half. Had he been allowed to, he would have added more salt to his food.

Sal crossed his arms. "The Rebellion doesn't want you wasting away, and frankly, neither do I. You're the easiest prisoner I've ever dealt with. Besides, I don't want to get chewed out by your son," he added in a low tone.

Anakin managed a slight smile at that. Luke was almost as protective of his father as his father was of him. If Anakin was uncomfortable, Luke let the powers that be know about it. Anakin was fairly sure Luke had even resorted to a Jedi mind trick to get Anakin the small set of tools now in his cell. I don't want Luke to worry, so I'll eat. "All right." He sat down at the table and picked up a fork, going for the meat first. To his annoyance it was cut into very small pieces. Are they afraid I've going to choke? Of course no knives were allowed in the brig, but Anakin had learned to use the Force to compensate for his missing left arm.

Midway through his meal, Anakin stopped and turned to look at Sal, who was standing nearby with his arms still crossed. "Is there something else?"

Sal pursed his lips. "Just making sure you don't cheat. I'm not allowed to leave until you've taken your medication, and you can't take it on an empty stomach."

Anakin grimaced. The medical droid had put him on three different medicines to further heal his scarred body, and none of them tasted very good. The worst was the Bactade, a form of bacta taken internally. The flavor was sickeningly sweet, even for him, and lingered in his mouth the rest of the day. As obedient as Anakin now was, he had not lost all of his stubbornness. Several times he had stealthily dumped the Bactade down the refresher. Then Sal had caught him in the act. Now the medic stayed put until the prisoner took his medicine.

Anakin swallowed the last bite of boiled grain and went for the cup of cultured milk, the only part of the meal he actually enjoyed. It came in several fruit flavors. There was no fresh fruit aboard the Liberty, even in the officers' mess, and it was what Anakin missed the most. He finished off the pudding-like substance in minutes. "All right. I might as well get it over with," he said, pushing back the tray.

"Ah-ah. You're not finished yet," said Sal, pointing out the mound of mashed orange tubers.

Poodoo. Anakin frowned. He'd never been crazy about vegetables, and with the loss of so many taste buds, they were blander than ever. He might have been more enthusiastic if the tubers weren't mashed to the consistency of Med-Paste. "No, thank you. I'm full."

Sal shook his head. "Too-One-Be's trying to keep you healthy, in case you hadn't noticed, and those vegetables are the best thing for you."

Anakin closed his eyes and cracked an amused smile at the situation. "I am a prisoner of the Rebel Alliance...one most would be quite happy to starve or otherwise torture...and here you are telling me to eat my vegetables."

Sal smirked. "What? You'd rather eat the vitamin paste?"

Oh, no...not that. Anakin nearly gagged at the thought of the stuff and turned back to his plate. Wordlessly he picked up a forkful of the tubers and shoved them into his mouth, swallowing quickly.

"That's better. Now hurry up and finish. I heard Rogue Squadron is coming in."

"They are?" Anakin's heart lifted quickly. Luke and the other Rogues had been off on a reconnaissance mission for the past week and were consequently out of contact. He'd missed his son and wanted to hear what had happened. He ate the tubers quickly and took the first gulp of Bactade. "Will I be able to see my son?"

"You should," nodded Sal. "That is, as soon as your appointment is through."

Anakin's shoulders fell. Twice a month, Too-One-Be did a through exam to check on his progress. While he was comfortable with the surgeon, the fact that it might delay seeing Luke was a disappointment. No grudges, he reminded himself firmly. No complaining. Accept your situation and move on. Sadly Anakin nodded and drank the rest of his medicine.

Sal noticed Anakin's downcast expression and took back the empty dispensers. With as frightening as Anakin was, he was still human. He did have feelings, and nowhere were these more apparent than where it concerned Luke. "Come on. The sooner we leave, the sooner you can come back and see him."

Yes...to see my son... Anakin nodded and rose from his cot. "Well then, shall we go?"