A little bit of fluff to lighten up... basically the entire rest of my fics XD
Happy Landings: Vader's own men shoot him down over Devaron, and he has to cooperate with a young shuttle pilot to save both their lives.
Vader was the best starpilot in the galaxy. He hated flying in a ship—excluding, of course, massive ships like the Devastator—which he himself was not piloting, and yet as a lord of the Empire he was expected to do precisely that.
At least the ensign piloting this shuttle was decent, he thought begrudgingly: they'd taken off with barely a whisper, and even now the flight was incredibly smooth. It meant Vader was, irritatingly enough, not spending his time judging the little ensign's abilities, but was able to focus on the task at hand:
Finding Kenobi.
The leather of his gloves creaked as he clenched his fists, pacing the length of the shuttle's seating area. The ensign had had the nerve to read out the standard safety precautions at the start of the flight, but Vader was not about to sit down and strap in; if this flight was as smooth as the pilot intended it to be, he would not need it.
Kenobi was here—on Devaron. He'd been sighted scouting out the Temple of Eedit, and if he was arrogant enough to stick around even after his run in with those stormtroopers, Vader would finally have his revenge.
But he had limited time. Palpatine had demanded his presence back on Coruscant—a captured Jedi padawan was there, awaiting interrogation, and his presence was required—so he only had one standard day to search Devaron for his treacherous former master. Less, if this damned pilot wouldn't fly faster—
The shuttle rocked.
A burst of static unleashed from his vocoder. Blast standing around, blast the assigned pilot; if he couldn't so much as fly in a straight line down to the temple—
Vader marched to the cockpit, flung open the door, and stared.
Half the viewport was eclipsed by Devaron's green surface, its cities nestled in the forest like glittering earthbound stars. The other half...
"My lord!" the ensign shouted distractedly, his young voice cracking. The shuttle lurched and dived out of the way impressively well for such an unwieldy thing. "Our escorts are firing on us!"
And so they were.
Six TIEs, at first flying peacefully beside the helpless lambda shuttle as its obligatory escort, in order to defend it.
Now...
"Then these traitors will die," Vader boomed, and reached out with the Force even as he heard a crash, a shatter and the shuttle started keening loudly.
Two TIEs fireballed where they flew. Vader smiled grimly.
"My lord, they took out the hyperdrive and the landing gear; we can't escape."
"They are nothing."
"They are going to kill us! We have no weapons, minimal shields—"
"Shut your whining and focus on flying, boy." He itched to strangle him where he sat, but he couldn't fly and destroy them with the Force at once. "I will handle this."
"My lord...?"
Four TIEs left. The boy yelped as a shot smashed into the right wing, the ship shuddered, but he kept them flying. They were approaching atmosphere—all Vader had to do was take out these idiotic TIEs, then use the Imperial garrison to gain another mode of transport to the temple, then to the Devastator.
Four TIEs. Two of them outright firing, two circling like predators lest the shuttle escape. One of those firing diving in for a shot at the underbelly—
Vader yanked the pilot's sights off course—right into its wingman. It exploded.
"We're about to enter atmo, my lord—the shields don't have enough juice to survive the entrance and then we'll be vulnerable, and if we lose any more shields before entrance—"
"Leave that to me, and fly." But the boy was right. These shields could barely take another hit, and if they went down before atmo...
These TIEs had to be destroyed by then, or they'd be sitting ducks.
In his sudden surge of anger, he destroyed one more. Two left...
"Entering in five—"
Another swooped in, rattling shots across their back. Vader gritted his teeth—
"Four, three..."
The other lashed out: a horrendous groan, then another sheet of metal blasted away—
"Two..."
The first TIE whipped right back around for a killing blow.
"One—"
And Vader sent that massive sheet of metal careening straight forwards.
It sheared the TIE's wing clean away and it spun—and its shot went wide. Both TIEs went up in flames, just as all three ships hit atmo and plummeted.
The TIEs burned to a crisp in moments.
Vader allowed himself a smirk of satisfaction. "Head for the Temple of Eedit as planned," he ordered.
"My lord!?" The boy's face was pale and slick with sweat, eyes too large in their sockets. "We're crashing."
"If you cannot safely land a mere lambda shuttle—"
"I can land it," he snapped through gritted teeth. "But there isn't enough open space to land it safely for klicks, and we've lost most of our controls."
"You didn't avoid enough of their shots?"
"I kept this slug from being utterly annihilated. You didn't destroy them fast enough."
Vader growled, raising his hand—the insolence—
Then they dropped, the wing clipped a tree, the Force billowed around them and they spun out of control.
There was a strange moment then, like a piece of the galaxy had fallen out of time. Vader blinked, and found himself staring up at the dull, grey ceiling of... the passenger compartment. His head rang, but he didn't think it was that bad. The helmet had to be good for something.
The ship was... swaying underneath him. He grunted and tried to push himself upright; collapsed again. His right arm wasn't responding to signals.
He tried again, with his left, and staggered to his feet. The ship shifted.
"Careful!" the boy said. Vader peered forwards, through the open door to the cockpit, to where he was still seated in the pilot's chair "Slowly get over here and strap yourself in," then he added, muttering, "like I told you to do at the start of the flight."
"How dare you—"
The boy snorted, and had the nerve to be amused. "Kill me for it later. Right now we're in a situation."
Vader crept forwards, distrustful of every step, until he slumped into the co-pilot's seat beside the boy. "Our situation is that you crashed the shuttle, boy."
"I saved your life, Lord Vader, a little gratitude wouldn't be amiss."
"And I saved yours, young one." He eyed the controls distastefully. Barely anything was lit up, and where it was, it was red. "An action I now find myself deeply regretting."
The boy sighed. "You did," he conceded. "Thank you, Lord Vader, for saving my life."
He peered out the viewport. Vader had no idea what he was looking at; it was thick with leaves. They'd crashed into a tree. "Now, please indulge me and put on your crash webbing, or this might throw you across the ship again and the first time certainly didn't do you any favours."
Vader glared at his non-functional arm. "Ensign, what are you about to do?"
"Is your crash webbing on?"
"I asked you a question, boy."
"And I asked you one, my lord. We're stuck in a tree, about to tumble out—do you have your crash webbing on?"
The sheer nerve. Vader would kill him there and then if he wouldn't have to wrestle his body out of the pilot's chair. "Yes." He followed the instruction. "It is on."
"Great!"
The boy hit a button. The light next to it flashed red, then they plummeted.
Fortunately enough, they fell straight down—relatively—branches snapping and crunching underneath them, the nose of the shuttle burying itself in the undergrowth. The boy exhaled sharply, but Vader, respirator still rasping, felt no difference.
"Wasn't that better?" the boy drawled, and made to unbuckle himself. "I think we're on solid ground now—by my estimates, we're about twenty klicks from the temple."
A wry smile—a challenging smile. "I landed near it as best I could. You're free to kill me now."
Vader considered it, but— "You have performed adequately, if disrespectfully. I will kill you when you make a mistake."
The boy snorted. "Adequately? I appreciate it. So." He stood up, and headed back to the passenger compartment. The doors had crumpled open, letting in some of Devaron's crimson sunlight. Vader freed himself from the webbing and made to follow.
After a few minutes of clambering, they emerged into a forest clearing. Vader raised his non-existent eyebrows at the damage they'd left in their wake. Snapped branches, crushed bushes, a few small fires burning merrily. He pinched them out with the Force.
"So what now?" the boy asked finally, and Vader took the opportunity to study him properly. He was short, with shaggy blond hair cut short in some semblance of a military cut, darkened by not enough time spent under natural light. There was a small cut by his ear, weeping blood down the side of his face; his pale eyes were clear and steady though he trembled slightly as he walked.
"Do you not have your own plan, young one?" he asked, amused despite himself. It was rare that someone talked back to him; now that they were out of immediate danger, it was less irritating.
The boy shrugged. "I don't even know what we're here for, my lord. I am yours to command."
He... was lying.
The realisation hit Vader harder than the crash had, and suddenly he remembered something about the crash itself, the way the Force had wrapped itself around them...
The boy's head jerked up. "Someone's coming," he said.
Vader cursed himself for his distraction. He was right; there was the distant sound of speeder bikes, and he should've sensed those presences far sooner.
"Good," he clipped out. "I am sure it is the local Imperial garrison, come to investigate the crash. I will report what has happened here, then commandeer two of their bikes, so that we may investigate the temple."
"We?" The boy blinked, shifting where he stood. "You want me to come to this... temple? I'm sure I can stay at the garrison."
"No. You will be coming." If this boy did have the Force, Vader did not trust him out of his sight. If he was trained, even less. "You have endeared yourself to me as competent. Your help may be invaluable."
The boy ducked his head, cheeks glowing. Vader was surprised at the... joy he sensed at that praise—perhaps this was no Jedi padawan, after all. Perhaps he was merely a Force-sensitive pilot, loyal to his lord and his Empire.
"Very well, my lord."
"Hush." He narrowed his eyes at the speeder bikes, the squad of stormtroopers, when they stopped in the glade—narrowed his eyes at the fear he could sense in them. The resolve.
He frowned. What were they resolved to do?
"Trooper," he snapped at the commander, striding forwards. His cape flapped in the wind; it caught on a crushed bush. He didn't stop, just kept powering forwards until something gave; he hoped it wasn't the cape. He hoped he still looked suitably intimidating. "My shuttle was shot down by traitors, but I am still intent on achieving my aim on Devaron. I require two of your speeder bikes."
Then, inexplicably, the troopers raised their blasters.
Trained on him.
"Stay where you are, Lord Vader!" the commander ordered.
He froze. His ire shook the bushes, rattled the trees, and he could see those blasters shaking.
"What," he growled, "is the meaning of this?"
"You are hereby under arrest in the name of the Empire, for charges of treason and sedition."
"Treason?" The commander gulped as Vader stalked closer, and his blaster crumpled in his grip. "I am not the one committing treason here, commander."
"I am under orders to capture and, if necessary, execute you."
Vader had enemies. Political opponents. Of course he did. But he'd never thought that even Tagge or Tarkin would have the nerve to order this.
"You may try," he promised, and lit his lightsaber with his left hand..
They opened fire.
There weren't many of them at all: about twenty, and Vader was insulted that they'd ever think they could succeed.
The first volley of shots was deflected back instantly, and two troopers went down with deadly precision. Vader snarled as they fanned out, circling him; he couldn't target them when some were behind, some in front, he had to split his focus—
Shots rang out, but they were the wrong timbre for the troopers' blasters; when Vader turned, he saw the boy had narrowed his eyes and taken shelter behind a fallen log, blond tuft of hair sticking up. He smiled grimly to himself; smart boy.
A few troopers took pot shots at him, and he distracted the stragglers well. But the ones in front...
Vader swung his lightsaber.
He caught barrages on his blade and sent them careening back, to impale in the bodies of the firers; he strode into arm's range of the commander and seized him by the throat, chucked him violently to the side; his men shot, and shot harder, but he carved a swathe clean through them and then—
He snorted.
Twelve troopers, against him. Pathetic.
But there was still blasterfire, and a stray bolt struck the armorweave of his cape; it hissed as the fabric melted. He turned—there was the boy, still firing, two troopers resolutely ignoring him in hopes of taking out the small fry—
A wave of the Force and they collapsed to the ground, unmoving.
The boy staggered to his feet again, clutching his blaster tightly. It was a standard issue blaster, the type that all members of the Imperial Navy carried at any given moment; he wondered why he was so surprised that he had it.
"Thanks," the boy said, glancing down at the dead troopers. His face was an odd shade, one that it should not be, but Vader couldn't discern it through the mask. He grimaced and looked away, eyeing the commander and his men. "Guess you didn't need me at all."
"I did not," Vader confirmed. "However, you were more help than hindrance. My right arm in non-functional—you were correct in that that crash did me no favours. It would have taken effort to handle the extra troopers were they not distracted."
"Heh. And that wasn't effort?"
Vader tried not to smile. "That was barely a training session."
The boy's mouth quirked upwards in a grin, one he quickly smothered. "Thank you," he said again. "I think you saved my life."
"I did. They knew their lives were forfeit for attacking me anyway, so I suspect those stragglers were intent on taking you with them."
"Charming. But thank you." He clipped his blaster to his side. "I— I'm Luke." He tried another smile. "By the way."
Vader blinked. "Ensign Luke?" he drawled to cover up how... odd this felt. Having a decent conversation with someone, especially someone so disrespectful—and yet also the feeling that this was exactly what he should be doing.
"Ensign Luke Lars," the boy elaborated, and Vader frowned.
"You are lying."
The boy—Luke—froze. Then he tried to laugh. "I don't know what you mean, my lord, my name is—"
"Not Luke Lars. I can sense that through the Force, young one, and I know enough to understand that this is a lie you are wilfully keeping from me, not a misunderstanding. Which leaves me curious as to what your real name is." He let some of his ire at the situation as a whole leak into his voice, let the temperature plummet, as he stalked forwards. Luke was a great deal shorter than him; he looked incredibly small when Vader stopped right in front of him, and stared down, his mask reflected in each of his irises. "Boy."
Luke was silent for a moment, narrowing his eyes and regarding him almost challengingly. For a moment, Vader anticipated demanding it more forcefully, intensely... then he opened his mouth.
"Luke Skywalker, my lord," he said.
And Vader froze.
Luke Skywalker.
Luke Skywalker.
Luke—
"How old are you?" Vader whispered, although he knew, although there was no way not to know, although...
"Nineteen, my lord."
"...very young, for such an esteemed piloting job on the Devastator," he observed dully. Buying time.
Nineteen. Of course. It had been nineteen years— "Who put you up to being my pilot?"
"I volunteered." Luke—his son? His son—shifted awkwardly, but never looked away. "I wanted to see Devaron, even if it meant flying with you, my lord. I've never seen a forest before."
"And how do you find it?" was all Vader could think of to say. There was nothing more inane, nothing more worthless, because suddenly everything of worth had come rushing back and—
Luke grimaced, that expression reminding him so much of Padmé for a moment, with Anakin's petulance, the little scrunch of the nose and the furrow between his brows, and kicked a pinecone. Or something like that. "So far? Not a fan."
Vader snorted softly. "Indeed," he said stiffly. "I can see why."
And he just kept staring.
Luke— Luke had Padmé's nose. His chin. His eyes, her stature...
"Who was your father, young one?" he asked abruptly.
Luke blinked, but answered dutifully, a faint smile curling his lips—of pride? Of amusement?—as he said, "Anakin Skywalker." A pause, then he added humorously, "My uncle said he was a navigator on a spice freighter."
"A navigator—" Ire roared back to life in his chest and everything suddenly clicked, like not only had the last jigsaw piece fitted into place in his mind but been rammed into place by the Force and the truth and his own emotions; this... boy, this tiny boy who'd saved his life twice in the last hour already and whose life he'd saved in return...
...was...
...Padmé's... son?
Was his son.
And he stared, the leather of his gloves creaking in their fists, the trees around them trembling...
"Your uncle—" he began.
"My lord, I think there'll be more troopers coming after them," Luke said, glancing away from his father to glance at the troopers' bodies, entirely unaware of the storm he'd just unleashed. Vader would hunt down whoever had stolen his child from him, whoever had given the order for those TIEs to fire on a ship his son was flying, whoever was conspiring against Vader to steal his one last shred of happiness from him— "Should— should we leave?"
Vader paused.
Anger would not help here. It could not help here. He had a son to protect.
"Yes," he said decisively, and strode back to the wreckage of the shuttle. "I will obtain the standard medical kit this shuttle should be equipped with, and then you will receive treatment for that injury."
"Injury?" Luke reached up to lightly brush his fingers along the side of his head; they came away red, and he snorted. "It's nothing. It only hurts a little bit."
"Nevertheless, it shall be treated."
Luke didn't seem to bother objecting beyond that, possibly because he could tell it was futile, but he gave Vader's lightsaber a long, hard look as he clipped it to his belt—then transferred his gaze to Vader's non-functional right arm. "Do you want me to look at that?"
Vader jerked. Stiffened. "What?"
"If it's important that my head wound be treated, I bet it's important that you get your arm fixed." Luke played with the end of the black sleeves of his jumpsuit, shifting awkwardly where he stood. Even standing on a slightly raised lump of grass, he was dwarfed by Vader. "There's a toolkit on board the lambda shuttle as well, in the cockpit. If you want, I can take a look at your arm—unless you want to do it yourself, but it might be more difficult with one hand." He frowned at him.
Vader... didn't know how to take this.
Didn't know how to describe what he was feeling, beyond simply touched.
This wasn't pity. Vader would be enraged if it was, but... This was compassion, and practicality, and Padmé would be so proud of their son.
"Very well," he said finally. "I will re-enter the shuttle and find the kits we require. You wait by that tree." He pointed to a large, undamaged tree on the other side of the glade.
Luke frowned. "Are you sure, my lord? I'm smaller—I may find it easier to get in, and you would be better at defending us if more troopers arrive while I'm in there."
Well. It appeared that although his sass levels were much lower outside of life-threatening situations, his son was still intent on talking back.
"I am sure," Vader said. He didn't know what specific damage the shuttle had taken during the attack and crash, and he did not trust it not to explode—over by the tree, Luke ought to be out of immediate range. "Do as I say, young one."
"I'm not young," Luke shot back, but marched over there almost sulkily. Sulkily.
Teenagers, Vader thought to himself, and then he thought that might have been the most ridiculous thing he'd thought in this entire situation.
He got the kit and they got away quickly—they may not have had the chance to commandeer the troopers' speeder bikes, but they could certainly steal them from the dead. Luke shot right ahead of Vader, who—despite his likewise penchant for going fast—was forced to lag behind. They would shelter in the temple, he decided, and deal with the injuries and the inconveniences there, but it meant that he didn't dare fly too quickly, with only one arm in usable condition. If he fell off or crashed, that would not be a favourable impression to leave on a son who hopefully, right now, considered him to be the greatest pilot in the galaxy.
The Temple of Eedit's two towers—one shorter and squatter, one taller and thinner—loomed suddenly ahead of them and Vader both beamed and sighed inwardly as Luke let out a whoop. The boy was ridiculously animated, unheard of for Imperial service—and how had he come into Imperial service, had he signed up to be a fighter pilot and been demoted to shuttle pilot, had he gone through the academy, had Luke Lars with his unknown but supernova Force-sensitivity wowed his instructors with terrific flying? Had he been taught protocol at all, or had it just failed to leave its mark on him?—but Vader found himself... oddly enjoying it.
As a slave, he'd had friends, but excitement had usually been overshadowed by fear.
As a Jedi, he'd never got along with the other padawans, so although there were occasionally expressions of excitement from the younger Jedi among their elders' restraint, he'd never felt a part of them.
But Luke's simple joy at just riding a speeder bike as fast as it could go, through the trees and the undergrowth, was something that cracked open his chest and sent warmth flooding in. He remembered that feeling. He knew it well.
Luke skidded his bike to a halt right in the middle of the courtyard in front of the temple, staring up at it. The towers, as well as the courtyard itself, were... shattered. It wasn't a temple anymore; it was merely the ruins of one.
Vader saw disappointment crease his son's face as he came to a more stately stop, and just barely restrained from placing a hand on his shoulder.
"This temple was attacked by a rogue Sith during the Clone Wars, and taken over," he said, gaze on Luke rather than the broken grandeur before them. The corners of Luke's mouth pinched, his brow furrowing ever so slightly, but Vader thought nothing of it. "After the Jedi rebellion was quashed, the temple was bombarded from orbit. Hence the damage." He gestured around—at the courtyard whose mosaic pattern was now impossible to discern through the blast marks, at the temple itself.
Luke asked quietly, "Why?"
Vader frowned. "Why what?"
"Why bombard it? It had history—and it wasn't a threat to anyone, standing empty."
"It was necessary to send a message," Vader informed him, perhaps a little more curtly than he'd intended, but... if he was reading Luke's Force presence correctly, his son was sensing the pain Savage Opress had left in his wake when he'd attacked this temple. The pain left over from other battles, when this was a key GAR base on the planet. Luke needed to snap out of it; too much compassion would get him killed. "Now, stand back from that door. I will get us inside—though it will provide us with minimal shelter, due to the damage, it is far better than nothing."
"What was your initial aim in coming here?" Luke asked, stepping back obediently. Good. He could follow some orders.
"Hunting a Jedi," Vader said. "A Jedi I have a personal vendetta against." He raised his hand, felt the folds of the dark side cocoon around him, flooding him with cold and oozing, glittering power. He did not notice Luke shiver, or glance away in disgust. "Now, ensure you stay back."
And then he slammed all of that power against the door.
It didn't budge.
Muttering a curse too quiet for his vocoder to interpret, he stepped forwards and tried again.
Nothing happened. The door—heavy stone, sooty from years-old shots but not much weathered or broken—rattled where it stood, but did not open.
"My lord?" Luke asked, stepping forwards again. He made to mount the broken steps up, and Vader almost growled for him to get away, to stop putting himself in danger, but— He stopped himself.
The boy approached, frowning at the door, then... pushed it.
It swung open.
Vader stared, appalled and insulted. Then he stared at his son.
He'd noticed some whisper of the Force, but whether that was on the temple's part or Luke's...
Luke vanished inside. Vader cursed again, and ducked in after him.
They walked through room after room. Vader pointedly kept his gaze forwards, save for when he glanced at Luke, but his son had no such reservations: he openly gawked at the statues within, pocked by blasterfire and lightsaber swings; the murals and mosaics, marred and charred; the empty, nondescript rooms which some part of Luke must have registered had once belonged to people now dead and gone, as he withdrew to Vader's side, then, hugging himself as though against a sudden chill.
Vader... did not mind, per se. He was glad that Luke seemed to automatically gravitate to him as a safe haven.
"It is getting dark," Vader announced finally after they'd wandered for a bit. "You should rest, young one. I salvaged some ration bars from the survival kit; they should suffice to feed you for tonight."
"We need to find a place to set up camp, first," Luke said, peering into yet another room. It was dark and dusty; he saw nothing. "I... I don't wanna—"
Sleep in the bedroom of a dead Jedi or clone. Vader supposed there was nothing to fault there.
"Ahead." Vader pointed, simply, to a room further ahead. It would have been an entrance chamber, or a central chamber, or something; all that mattered was that it was large enough to not be too unnerving to Luke, and still had (most of) its ceiling. They headed in one of the alcoves in the corner, full of dust and dirt that Vader did his best to clear away with the Force, and then Luke finally sat down and consented to let his father treat the cut on his head.
"It's already stopped bleeding," he said, a little irritated, but more amused. Vader felt a pang of offence at that but didn't respond.
"Nonetheless," he insisted fiercely, "it must be looked at." He lurched forwards with the swab in his left hand, only for Luke to put a gentle hand on his right arm.
Vader froze. It... it was the upper arm, the flesh part, and he was suddenly viscerally aware of how long it'd been since a person who wasn't a droid had touched him gently.
"Your arm still isn't functional. My lord," Luke added, almost as an afterthought. Vader found he didn't mind the disintegration of deference. "May I...?"
Vader stared at the boy for a moment. It was late, but... they had a glowrod, from one of the emergency kits. And the boy didn't look ready to sleep anyway.
"You may," he conceded, and watched with a painful sort of fascination as the boy got to work.
He was meticulous, intelligent and efficient. He'd clearly worked on a prosthetic arm before, but possibly a newer model, and all the questions he asked were detailed and in depth. Vader couldn't take his eyes off the intent look on his face, the way his tongue stuck out ever so slightly, the whole time.
"You seem... experienced, young one," he tried.
Luke snorted. "I'm several hours older than I was the last time you called me that, and I'm still not young."
You are, Vader thought, but didn't push the point. He let the silence press his question.
Luke lifted his right hand, passing the screwdriver into his left, and fiddled with something at his wrist.
When a compartment popped open to reveal wires, Vader stared.
"What—" he asked, sudden fury contorting his face. "Who—"
Luke shrugged. "It was an accident. My uncle saved up to get me the hand."
"It is far from the best quality hand possible, Luke."
"Yeah well." He shrugged again, closing the compartment, and went straight back to working. "It was all we could afford, and it serves me well enough.
The moment they got back to the Devastator, Vader swore, he would see about getting the boy a better one.
"There," Luke said at last, sitting back and placing his tool back into the kit. "Does that work now?"
Vader tested the arm—it did. Slowly, at first, and then more smoothly. He would have to tweak it himself a bit, but... "It is perfect, young one. Thank you."
Luke flushed a little, and glanced down.
Vader continued, hoping to see him smile— "You are an extremely talented mechanic as well as pilot, I see."
There it was; when Luke smiled, it was so, so bright. Vader basked it in.
Then it winked out, snuffed out by concern, and Luke asked, "Why do you think those TIEs and those troopers wanted to kill you?"
Vader was silent for a moment.
"If you don't mind me asking, that is. My lord."
Vader smiled a little. "No, Luke. It is a pertinent question." He glanced back towards the entrance of the temple—back towards the glade they'd crashed in, now populated with bodies. "However, if we are to engage in this conversation, I order you to eat something while we do."
Luke raised his eyebrows, pulled out a ration bar, pointedly bit into it, and choked.
"Is it not to your liking?"
"These things are never to my liking," Luke grumbled, eyeing it uncharitably. But he scoffed the rest of it down, and went straight for another. "Now why do you think those TIEs and those troopers wanted to kill you?"
Vader tried to keep his voice gentle as he spoke, but the vocoder was not designed to be gentle; it boomed, even as he wanted to soothe. "I have a great many enemies. I have no doubt that some of the more higher ranking ones attempted to infiltrate the Devastator and carry out a poorly thought out assassination attempt in order to keep me out of the way."
Luke's eyes were wide. He chewed for several moments, swallowed, grimaced, then leaned back against the pale wall and said, "But... wouldn't they be Imperials? Why would they want to get rid of you?"
"They feel that in my absence they could achieve greater power." If it were not so irreverent a gesture, Vader would have shrugged. "Perhaps they disagree with my actions and opinions on how the Empire should be run. Perhaps they resent that I wield more control and prestige than them. Or perhaps I have merely led to the downfall of a person they feel attached to, and they wish for revenge."
Luke shivered. Strange; it was not particularly cold here, and Vader was trying to keep his darkness contained. "Why would they want revenge? And why would they kill you over any of that?"
"The Imperial hierarchy, much like the bureaucracy of the Republic that preceded it, is full of complacent fools who wish to preserve their own power and prestige over being effectual, and will often sink to such means in order to do it. Bribing several TIE pilots to fire on me would not have been an issue." Though... he was concerned about that. The Devastator was his safe haven, his base. His pilots were loyal and true and the planetary authorities ought to be terrified of him. So if anyone could infiltrate it all so effectively that he was stranded on Devaron... that was a grave cause for concern. "And perhaps they are angry that I killed a relative of theirs, promoted to serve under my authority through family connections rather than competence, and were summarily executed for their idiocy and their tendency towards espionage."
Luke blinked.
Lowered his ration bar for a second.
Then he lifted it again and continued eating.
"...okay."
Vader studied him. "Are you alright, young one?"
"I'm fine."
He frowned. "The Force allows me to detect when someone is lying to me. I do not suggest you try it."
"I know— that is, I won't."
Vader narrowed his eyes, but Luke did not meet them.
Instead, he ducked his head and pulled something out of his sleeve—on a second glance, it appeared to be... a comlink.
"I found this on the speeder bike I was riding," the boy said, tossing it to him. Vader caught it with the Force, holding it in midair, rotating it and staring like it might explode in his face. "It's one of the troopers'—it can't contact the Devastator, it doesn't have the range for that, but I was thinking that looking through its messaging history could reveal something about why those troopers attacked us."
"And you did not think to mention it sooner, young one?" Vader asked without any bite. He just took the comm in his palm and started flicking through the messages.
Luke, irreverent as it was, did shrug. "I forgot."
Vader huffed. He wasn't sure if it was a laugh or a sigh, but it felt good.
"Get some sleep," he ordered. "You are in as comfortable a position as possible, there, and I need to meditate. I will investigate this myself."
Luke frowned, shooting him a look Vader couldn't read. "You're sure?"
"I am sure."
"Well," Luke said. "Alright." And then he settled down and slept.
Vader did not. He adopted his meditation position, pulling on the energies of the dark side, feeling them bolster him, fuel him... then sensed Luke twitch and gasp uncomfortably in his sleep.
Vader paused.
Luke was... clearly somewhat proficient in the Force. For whatever reason. But he did not know the dark side; it was alien to him, and while Vader would be sure to teach him the meaning of true power in time... perhaps not tonight.
Tonight, he should rest.
So Vader ceased his meditation, and instead just tinkered with the comlink.
He thought about the situation deeply the whole time he did. TIEs wanting to see Vader dead. A boy, thought long perished, turning up alive and powerful. Luke's odd behaviour; this whole odd circumstance.
When the red sun started to rise, he finally found the recording he was looking for. And it explained everything he'd already guessed at.
A small hologram of a man materialised before him in the growing brightness. It was not a man he recognised, but his badge denoted him as a corporal, his face pale and pinched.
"Lord Vader has been marked for treason and execution," he said sternly, addressing... whoever had been leading this squad, whoever had been in that squad. "However, due to publicity reasons, he cannot be seen to be publicly executed, as that could only fan the fires of rebellion. Instead, six TIE fighters were tasked with shooting down his shuttle. Your squad is ordered to investigate the wreckage; the odds of him having survived are low, but if he has, then you must use any means necessary, without risking exposing this mission by calling for reinforcements, to finish the job.
"I understand that you may fear to be committing treason by partaking in this," the man finished, lifting his chin. There was a look of dead resolve in his eye. "But I assure you. This sentence comes down from His Majesty, the Emperor Palpatine himself, and we shall serve our Emperor with all the loyalty that we would have shown Lord Vader, his primary hand, in any other circumstance."
The hologram winked out.
Vader sat there, staring, for a moment.
It had been Palpatine.
Of course it had been Palpatine.
There were no other enemies who it could have been.
He clenched his fist, and the comlink crumpled in his grip. He had given everything to that man, sacrificed all he had left to his master after he'd failed to save Padmé and Obi-Wan had left him to burn, and now he cast him aside?
Why?
The image came suddenly, of the Invisible Hand, of an elderly gentleman's terrified face lit in red and blue as the light scissored his head from his shoulders.
He clenched his fists even tighter. Sidious, he supposed, had a history of scheming like this.
What younger, more powerful apprentice had he found this time?
It didn't matter.
It didn't matter, because through this whole affair Vader had found something far greater—someone far more valuable. And together, once trained, they would be unstoppable.
He sensed his gaze and turned to him.
"I know you are a Jedi, my son," he said softly.
Luke, eyes flickering from the shattered comlink to Vader's mask and back, asked, "Palpatine wanted you dead?"
"He did. He must have found an apprentice he preferred to me. But it is of no concern. We will defeat them both with ease."
"I suppose I wouldn't be opposed to that." Luke sat up fully, then, and rubbed the rest of the sleep from his eyes, smiling a little wryly. "Though I won't become a Sith."
"You do not understand—"
"I understand enough that I know that is not what I want for myself, Father." Despite the situation, despite the fury he was trying so hard to keep control of, something in Vader thrilled at the address.
"You knew the whole time?" he asked. He'd suspected, as he meditated, but...
"I wouldn't have talked back to any Sith Lord."
Conversely enough, Vader both laughed and groaned at that, the leather in his gloves straining as they clenched ever tighter. "I could have killed you."
"But you didn't. And I trusted the Force to tell you not to."
"The Force—" He snorted. At least the boy had a healthy appreciation for it and its power, but— "Why would you infiltrate my ship if you did not want to risk being caught and trained as a Sith?"
"It wasn't planned. It was meant to be a temporary spy position, then Luke Lars got transferred and there I was on the Devastator."
"And you did not approach me?"
Luke scoffed. "And say what? Hi, I'm your long lost son, a Rebel Jedi who kinda got into a sticky situation while I was trying to infiltrate a base of yours, do you mind giving me transport back to the Rebel base I won't let you know anything about?"
"I—" He growled. "You should have approached me."
"And I did. When I volunteered for this mission."
"You nearly died. Why did you want to come to Devaron?"
"Because I told him to."
Vader jerked back in shock; was on his feet in an instant, lightsaber flying into his hand and—
An aged Obi-Wan Kenobi stood in the doorway.
"Kenobi." Vader stared for half a heartbeat before he roared, lightsaber slashing to life in his hand—
"He did tell me to," Luke said, shooting to his feet; by the time Vader was advancing, he stood between them, hand outstretched. "Father, please, no—"
"So," he snarled, "it was Kenobi who stole you from me and trained you as a Jedi?"
Obi-Wan had the nerve to raise his arrogant chin. "I was fulfilling Padmé's final wish," he said haughtily. "She wished to keep Luke and— Luke safe from you and the Emperor, trained, and I never wanted him to fall into the hands of—"
"Of his father?" Vader seethed. He stalked forwards more, but Luke was still in the way, still standing there, and then—
Obi-Wan tossed the boy something, there was a snap-hiss, and a bright blue blade leapt out of Luke's hands.
Vader stared.
That... that was his...
"I don't want to fight you, Father," Luke said pleadingly, but adopted a ready stance nonetheless.
"Nor I you, son," Vader shot back, his voice wrapping around the last word, intensely, possessively— "But Kenobi—"
"I wanted you both here," Obi-Wan said calmly. Force, his speech patterns hadn't changed a bit, as clipped and aloof and wry as ever. "I knew that Palpatine was going to order you killed—and the reason why is pertinent to Luke as well."
Obi-Wan raised a single eyebrow at Vader and his lightsaber—the way he refused to step forwards and engage in a fight, even if it meant finally taking Obi-Wan's life, if he would have to fight his newfound son. "We are going to have to work together, in light of recent events, or we will all lose everything."
"You stand to lose much more," Vader hissed.
Obi-Wan sighed. "I came to Devaron to draw you here, and asked Luke to accompany you so that we could have this conversation," he said, voice... forcibly staying level. "You must listen to me."
"The way you always listened to me!?"
"This isn't about us, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, and Vader saw red— "This is about Leia."
That name meant absolutely nothing to Vader. Nothing to him at all.
Nothing, except that Luke started as if he'd been shot, turning to stare at Obi-Wan. Worry drenched the Force.
"Leia?" he asked quietly.
Obi-Wan nodded.
"Who is Leia?" Vader snapped, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that that... was one of the name Padmé had been dead set on, if she'd had a girl.
That thought was only consolidated when Luke said, "My sister."
Vader swallowed.
So. If Luke had survived Mustafar, then... Padmé must have as well. Just as Vader had sensed, so many years ago. And for Luke to have a sister... if she was a sister by blood and not adoption...
Had Padmé found somebody else?
Had she found another lover, one who wouldn't try to kill her in his rage, and had another child—
"My twin sister," Luke finished, and Vader both stiffened and relaxed.
A daughter.
He— he had a daughter—
Luke turned back to Obi-Wan. "What happened to her, Ben?"
"She was captured." Obi-Wan's mouth was a grim line. "By the Inquisitors. They took her straight to Palpatine—I suspect that he realised who she was, realised what she was capable of, and—"
"Realised he'd found another apprentice," Vader said with dawning realisation, "to rival me."
Obi-Wan nodded. "One who would not betray him."
"Leia would never serve him."
"But he believes she will. And he will not let up until she does."
Luke squared his shoulders. "Then we'll have to rescue her."
"Yes," Vader said, "we will."
His son looked up at him with large, unblinking eyes, then deactivated his lightsaber. "You have to cooperate."
"I will."
"You will?"
"Believe me, young one," Vader said, and even the vocoder couldn't hide the way his voice cracked as he looked between Obi-Wan and Luke, "I will."
"...good," Luke said uncertainly. "Then we— we should go and rescue her."
"I have a ship that we can use to get off of Devaron," Obi-Wan said, "and we can find the Rebellion from there. They will help us; Luke and Leia are their heroes."
The Rebellion are fools, Vader wanted to snap. Once they'd murdered Palpatine and seized the throne, his family would rule. He was sure he'd be able to convince Luke of that on the way there.
But until then, he decided, he would have to play nice.
He would not lose the son he'd just spent several hours protecting. He could kill Kenobi later.
"So you're going to help us?" Luke asked hopefully, staring at him.
And Vader thought about the snarky pilot who'd helped him save both their lives as they plummeted. The boy who'd tried to help him fend off the troopers and only endangered himself. The son who'd blushed and felt pride when the man he knew was his father had complimented him, even if his father had known nothing about that at the time.
Luke was his son. Leia—whoever she was, whatever she was like—was his daughter.
And Palpatine was going to pay.
"Of course," he said, and that was that.