"Father and Son"

By EsmeAmelia

AN: Thanks as always to the readers and reviewers!

Chapter 29

Coruscant

The ship Vader stole from the Rebels was clumsy, but it at least got him to Coruscant. He landed on one of the many docking platforms outside the Emperor's headquarters, formerly the building that housed the Imperial Senate. His metal legs trembled slightly as he stepped onto the platform. Had the Emperor already heard about the Death Star's destruction? If not, how would Vader ever tell him? But then again, did it really matter? Whether or not Palaptine already knew, no matter what method of revealing the news Vader might try, the Emperor would not take it lightly.

He found his master in his office, seated in one of the many thronelike chairs he had throughout the building, his hood pulled down over his eyes. By instinct, Vader immediately kneeled down, bowing his head in reverence.

"Good day, Lord Vader," Palpatine said in his gruff, eerie voice.

"Good day, my master," Vader greeted back, keeping his head bowed.

Palpatine slowly, elegantly rose from his seat and started inching toward his apprentice. "You may rise."

Vader stood up, but kept his head bowed, unwilling to face his master's glare.

"You come alone," Palpatine said. "Where are your troops?" His tone was surprisingly neutral, as if he were merely humoring his apprentice and it was all good fun.

Vader found himself unable to say anything. He stared down at the floor, unable to see much of anything through the red-tinted lenses of his mask. That was what he wanted. He had no desire to see the Emperor's scowling face right now, especially after he delivered the news. The Force was clouded around him, making it impossible for Vader to tell whether or not he already knew of the Death Star's destruction.

"Your troops," Palpatine repeated. "Where are they, Lord Vader?"

Vader felt thankful for his damaged lungs – otherwise his master would surely hear him holding his breath in dread. "Master," he began, "I regret to inform you that the Rebels attacked the Death Star."

He suddenly looked up, seeing Palpatine hooking his fingers, as if working through a plan. "Oh, did they? Well what happened?"

"They . . . destroyed it, Master." Vader forced the words out, once more grateful that he could no longer breathe on his own, grateful that his breath couldn't betray his feelings with unwelcome heaves or gasps.

Palpatine glared at his apprentice, but he showed no hint of surprise. "Yes . . . I know. And you were the only survivor, am I right?"

"I did what I could, Master."

Palpatine's scarred, wrinkled face scrunched. "Well obviously you didn't do enough."

"I am sorry, my master." Vader bowed again, as if that would remedy their losses.

"The Rebels now believe they can defeat us all," Palpatine said in his low, hissing voice. "This small victory has made them . . . arrogant."

"What do you wish to do about the Death Star's destruction, my master?" Vader's question was cold, detached, dispassionate, concealing the questions he truly wanted to ask. The Death Star was nothing to him – at least nothing when compared to the people who destroyed it, the people he had long thought dead.

"It will not be a concern for long," the Emperor said, something that resembled a smile pushing its way through his heavily deformed cheeks.

"What do you mean?"

Palpatine turned and began hobbling back to his throne. "When building a weapon this powerful, it is to be expected that it will be attacked." He sat down, one hand on each arm, a dignified, royal stance. "So what are you to do about that?"

"Provide a strong defense," Vader said, hoping his voice wasn't betraying his puzzlement.

"Yes," said Palpatine, appearing to be staring into the distance. "But what do you do when that defense is penetrated?"

Vader was silent, unable to find an answer, unable to figure out what his master wanted him to say.

"You start again," the Emperor said simply and plainly. "And fortunately for you, we already have started again. You needn't worry about your own failure this time."

His failure. As if it was his fault the Death Star was destroyed. As if Palpatine knew of his impulsive endeavor to protect his son, even though Han was fighting for the enemy. Perhaps it was his fault. If it weren't for that moment of distraction, he would have been able to kill Luke and prevent the destruction.

But the thought made him ill, even though he didn't know for certain that Luke was his son. He suddenly realized that he couldn't have blasted Luke even if Han wasn't around, even if there was nothing to distract him from the task at hand. Something, a twitch in the Force, a second of hesitation, a momentary stilling of his hands, would have stopped him, even if he never knew that the boy was his son.

"While you were supervising the final phases of the Death Star's construction," Palpatine continued, "my other men began construction on another one. A backup, if you will." He grinned wickedly. "When completed, this one will be bigger, stronger, and more powerful than the first."

Vader barely remembered to bow. "How clever, my master."

"Yes," Palpatine murmured, seemingly to himself. He clasped his hands together and leaned forward. "And now, Lord Vader, I sense something is troubling you."

He did know. Vader concentrated on keeping his mechanical limbs from trembling. He sank back down to his knee, awaiting the harsh lecture that was sure to follow. Why hadn't he shielded his feelings from the Emperor? Of course, it probably wouldn't work anyway – he was sure Palpatine could penetrate a Force shield if he wanted to.

"Get up," Palpatine ordered, his influence giving Vader no other option but to obey him, though his head remained bowed. Always submissive, always yielding to his master, that was his life.

"Something is troubling you," Palpatine repeated, as cold and casual as if he were reciting a fact from an archive. "There's no sense in keeping it from me."

Vader was silent for several moments before he spoke. "Master . . ." he forced himself to say, "nineteen years ago you told me my son was dead."

"Yes . . ." Palpatine said knowingly, stroking the arm of his throne. "And which son would you be referring to – the one you adopted or the one who was born without your knowledge?"

Vader felt cold, dazed, as if the life were being drained out of him.

"Oh yes, I know," the Emperor continued. "I know that your offspring are serving the enemy. I have no doubt that the young Rebel who destroyed the Death Star is the son of Anakin Skywalker – and the older Rebel who assisted him, why that would be Skywalker's adopted child."

How Vader wished that he could react in a human way. If only he were allowed to tremble, to gasp, to sigh, to do something. What little blood that still flowed was racing through his veins, as if the lack of a fully-functioning heart was confusing it. When was the last time he'd heard his previous name, anyway? He probably hadn't heard it since he was put in the suit . . . he'd almost forgotten what it was. Anakin Skywalker . . . the name sounded alien, unreal, like something from a long-ago dream, something that had never actually belonged to him.

"You told me they were dead," he repeated.

"As far as you're concerned, they are dead," the Emperor hissed. "They have been taught to despise you and all associated with you. Should they ever get the chance, they will kill you without a second thought."

His children would kill him. Once more Vader felt that burning anger at Obi-Wan. What more could his old master take from him? He found himself imagining the idiot laughing at him from whatever afterlife he'd ended up in, relishing in the suffering he'd caused his former padawan.

"The Force is with the younger one," Vader said quickly. "If he could be turned, he would make a powerful ally."

"Yeeessss . . ." Palpatine slurred, ". . . should he join us, he could be valuable . . ." He stared at his apprentice. "Can it be done?"

"He will join us or die, Master." Vader bowed once again before staring back at his master as best he could through the wretched lenses in his mask. "And what about the older one?" He avoided saying his sons' names, avoided uttering a confirmation that the life he left behind actually existed. Han . . . the very word was too painful to hear, too painful to even think about, yet always creeping around in his mind, even before he discovered that his son was alive.

Palpatine leaned back in his seat. "He is of no use to us. Should the opportunity arise, you must kill him."