When Vader came down the stairs from his chamber the next day, he was surprised to find the entire kitchen sparkling clean, a dish of rolls on the counter. Next to the dish was a note. I found a book full of instructions on making food. I didn't know what else to do, so I made these for you. I cleaned up afterwards too. Please don't be angry, I don't know what else to do with myself.

Vader stared at the note a moment longer, wondering how the slave boy had even learned to write, before taking a roll. Feeling a tiny bit warmer to the slave, he started down a hall to his hanger. His master had given him some time off as an additional 'gift' with the slave. At least one of those could be made use of.

When he entered, there was something amiss. He couldn't quite put his finger on it until he noticed a soft tune issuing from one of his ships.

He chose here? What made him choose here for his home? Vader thought, searching for the sound. To his surprise, the boy wasn't curled up on one of the Empire issue luxury seats, but happily polishing an ancient junker. As Vader approached, the hum became a series of nonsense sounds.

He walked up behind the boy as stealthily as he could before snarling, "What do you think you're doing?"

The slave leapt, then spun to face him. Immediately, he shrank back against the ship.

"I asked you what you're doing!"

The boy's hands began to shake, "I was just cleaning up a little more. If I'm going to spend my whole life here, I thought I might as well work on making it tidy. I mean, not that you do a bad job of that. I just thought I might as well make it beautiful, like my old home never was."

Vader reluctantly accepted that the boy's idea was one he could easily live with. "You may continue to do that, but I never want to find you in here again. This is the one room I don't want you ever entering again."

The boy nodded vigorously, "Yes, Sir. I'm sorry." With a final little bow, the child turned and started to walk away.

"Wait!" Vader called after him.

The boy stopped, looking back, confused. "Yes?"

"How did you learn to write?" Vader asked. He didn't want to gratify the boy by asking questions that implied that he'd done something impressive, but he couldn't resist. How had a tortured child who was never allowed near humans learned to write?

But, to Vader's surprise, the child, looked at his feet, and his voice softened and became frightened. "It was the graffiti on the walls."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The torture droids always mocked me. They would play clips of happy families and other wonderful things and remind me how I would never have that. How I would never be loved. And then they would torture me physically and leave. That was how I learned to speak. Then there was the graffiti other prisoners had left on the walls. I learned which form of hurting applied to which word. Then I learned the sounds. I was moved to a cell once where someone had scratched most of their life into the floor, and I learned to really read from that."

"None of that would give you the knowledge required to read a recipe."

"I just searched the kitchen until I found the right series of letters on an ingredient." The slave explained softly.

Vader resisted an urge to compliment the boy, and shoved him off in the direction of the exit to the hanger. "Go. And run this time."

The boy ran off, as he had been told.

Vader turned his attention to the now-sparkling ship. He decided that, as long as it was clean, he might as well finish his work on it and treat it against rust. As he worked, he found himself singing softly, as the boy had done.

Where had he learned to sing? How had such a badly hurt child learned such a happy sound? He thought it must have been the clips the droids had showed him. Perhaps they had showed him choirs. Perhaps family holidays. Maybe even parents attending a child's school concert. There were many things that involved music that they could have honestly said he would never have.

He wondered what had given the boy the idea to clean. Of all the things he could have done with his time, he had chosen cleaning. Most slaves, left to their own devices, would have tried to make life harder for their masters, not easier. Yet, that had been the boy's thought. He had wanted beauty in his life.

Suddenly it occurred to Vader that every word in the boy's vocabulary must have been derived from his torture. The kind words would have been in the clips, and Vader was certain that the droids had been happy to teach him their reverse forms. A clip telling a hurting child that they were beautiful would have undoubtedly led to the slave being called hideous. Someone being told they were loved would have caused the boy to be told he was hated. But what had the opposite of family been?

At last, Vader pushed the engine block back into the ship, closing it up. He stood back, then walked around it, taking it in from every angle. It certainly looked much better now. Then he got into the driver's seat and gunned the engines. They gave a satisfying roar and it lifted.

Vader flew it to another hanger. He loved fixing the ships, it reminded him of better times, when he wouldn't have been able to fix them any other way, but he had nothing to do with them afterwards. He would have happily sold them, but he knew his master would say that it was unbecoming for a Sith to be selling second hand vessels. So a pileup of repaired ships gathered in a series of hangers across his castle.

He walked back to the kitchen, looking for another roll and found the young slave sitting silently at the table, nibbling on a roll. Vader took another for himself and snarled at the child to run.

Obediently, the boy leapt to his feet and took off. Vader watched him go before sitting down to eat. In a way, he wished he hadn't chased the boy off. He did get lonely occasionally, of course. But if he allowed the boy the luxury of communication, he would want to continue to be awarded it at all times. No, the only right course of action was to chase the boy away. If he was consistent with the boy, perhaps the child would eventually learn.

However, he sensed the boy's eyes on him again, and turned to see the child leaning around a corner from where he sat on the floor, and knew that the boy would take longer to learn his lesson.

"I thought I explained to you not to be near me."

The boy didn't bother to defend himself.

"You may consider yesterday as your warning," Vader said, lifting the boy off the ground. "I told you not to come near me, but we have met twice already today. It's barely noon." He started to beat the child. "I hope, for your sake, that we do not encounter one another again."

The slave nodded tremulously. "Please let me go. I promise, I'll leave you alone."

"Not so fast, idiot boy. Did it ever occur to you that I don't want you?"

"You said so yesterday," the boy moaned.

Vader threw the boy to the floor, where he landed on his knees, shaking.

"Don't interrupt me when I'm speaking!" He shouted at the boy.

The slave nodded silently.

"Idiot, worthless, pathetic-"

"Luke," the boy interrupted.

Vader was too surprised to take the opportunity to drive home his last point about interrupting. He looked down at the boy. "What was that?" He snapped.

"Please call me Luke."

"Why?"

"It's my name."

"Nonsense, you've never been allowed near another human, you said so yourself."

"They couldn't help that I was born to someone. It's the kindest thing I remember. The only word I ever knew her to speak."

"What are you talking about, idiot boy?" Vader snarled.

"Luke. Please, call me Luke. My mother gave me my name just before the Empire came."

"You claim to remember your birth?" Vader asked, torn between laughter and anger that the boy was brave enough to speak.

"I remember my mother saying my name. I don't remember seeing anything. I only remember her naming me, and then-" he faltered, "Then I remember the screaming starting."

Vader stared at the boy. Could he really, genuinely remember his birth? Or was all this the creation of a tortured mind? Had one of the clips the droids had showed him early on involved a mother naming her newborn son? And, in a galaxy consumed by pain and loneliness, had the boy latched onto the thought of being the one who had been named in the clip?

"I can just barely remember her hand on my face. All my life, it's been the closest I've ever come to being safe in one of the family clips. I don't know why I can't see anything when I close my eyes and think about it. All I know is her voice naming me. Then she starts to scream and cry. Then I'm torn from the arms of whoever held me, and after that… that's when the torture began."

Vader was appalled at the thought of anyone torturing a newborn baby, but he knew that it was something his master might well have done. He saw the frightened, crying child kneeling before him and thought that it wasn't unlikely, from the way he acted, that torture literally had been his entire life.

"Go, boy. Go back to whatever rat's nest you've made yourself. I'll leave you alone for the rest of the day."

The boy started to stand up, then stumbled. Vader noticed that one of his ankles was twisted. It had probably happened when Vader threw him down. Then Luke began to limp away, deep into the unused chambers of the castle.