'Luke… help me… take this mask off.'
'But you'll die.'
'Nothing… can stop that now. Just for once… let me look on you with my own eyes.'
He watched as his son's hands reached out for his face, hovering mere inches above his mask—and then slowly pulled away.
'No, Father. There has to be another way. I know it.'
He closed his eyes, and let the darkness fall.
When Anakin opened his eyes again, the memory was all but gone. Instead of the Death Star's dark interior, he was now back in the small, brightly lit room, staring at the black orb-shaped pod in front of him. His meditation chamber.
Together with other medical equipment required for Anakin to function, it had been recently installed inside the secure facility that would serve as his home for the next twelve months. The Republic had gone to great lengths to provide him with a well-equipped living space, even approving his request for a mechanical workshop and a training room among other things; and yet, still, it was a prison in everything but name. As of now, Anakin could only leave the premises by himself in order to participate in the official Senate meetings, which were only somewhat less tedious than the bureaucratic gatherings he was forced to attend under Palpatine's rule.
Anakin found it beneath him to pretend that he at all cared about the New Republic, or the naïve, idealistic values it claimed it would strive to represent. But he did care about what kind of world his children would go on to live in. And with the little borrowed time that he had left, he could at least try to make sure the Republic would not fail them the same way it had once failed him.
His ways to do so, admittedly, were rather limited. Aside from acting as an advisor and being paraded around as the face of the 'reformed' Empire, Anakin couldn't influence what was happening around him through more direct or preferable methods. Initially, he had volunteered to join the ranks of the newly formed Rangers—a starfighter squadron tasked with scouting the reaches of the New Republic and beyond—only to be declined to his expected disappointment. Nor would they allow him to be sent as a battle unit to small-scale hotspots, perhaps in fear of reawakening what they thought to be his now-dormant bloodlust. In the future, however, he was promised to be granted the right to travel to other planets alongside trusted Republic representatives, provided there would be no transgressions from his side up to that point.
In other words, as long as the caged beast remained on its best behavior, its masters would be generous enough to reward it by extending the leash.
Under his mask, Anakin scowled, scar tissue stretching painfully.
The irony of his current predicament was indeed not lost on him. In fact, there was rarely a moment when he wasn't actively aware of it. Once again in his life, he found himself reduced to a mere asset; a tool to be disposed of once it outlived its usefulness.
Not that he deserved anything different.
Anakin's fingers tightened around his upper arms, digging deeper into flesh.
Trying to rein in his roiling anger, he made an effort to remind himself that there was little sense in brooding over this now. After all, it was him who had proposed the arrangement in the first place. He should not forget his reasons for doing so.
Drawn from his thoughts, Anakin heard the sliding doors hiss behind him, and felt a warm, familiar presence enter the room. Speaking of reasons.
"Father."
Spoken out loud, the word seemed to subdue his rage. It always did, he'd come to notice.
"Son," he acknowledged back.
Luke walked up closer to Anakin's side. With some interest he eyed the orb-shaped pod, and Anakin felt a small flicker of surprise coming from him.
"It's not as large as I imagined," he admitted after a pause.
"It is a mobile chamber, designed to be dismantled and reassembled with ease. Stationary models allow for more interior space, although the difference is not all that significant."
"I see."
Silence then fell between them, which had quickly turned into the awkward sort. Luke clasped his hands in front of him and glanced at Anakin, who still stood with his arms folded over his chest as he kept staring at the meditation pod.
Interesting how some choices seemed to be that much less difficult when one was presented with them in the face of certain death.
Still, today would not be the time for doubts and reservations. Today, it wasn't only about Luke fulfilling what had once been the last wish of a dying man, but also about Anakin upholding his end of the deal. By asking Luke to remove his mask back then, he had given him an unspoken promise—a promise that his son would find out what was hidden underneath. And he would see to it that this promise was fulfilled.
Anakin took a few steps forward and made a waving gesture with his hand, activating the chamber's opening mechanism. With a low humming sound, the black orb seemed to crack open in the middle as its upper half began rising to the ceiling, revealing the blindingly white interior with a cushioned seat at the center. When the mechanism stopped moving, Anakin approached the chamber and stepped past its jagged walls. Sinking into the seat, he then shifted his attention to Luke still lingering outside the pod, almost unsure of something.
After a few more moments, Luke finally walked inside the chamber and stood next to Anakin, who then realized belatedly what must have been bothering his son. His seat wasn't large enough to accommodate them both at the same time, nor was there sufficient room on the floor around it. Seeing only one possible solution, he looked at Luke who glanced back at him hesitantly, as if asking for his permission. Anakin gave his son a nod which seemed to make him relax, and watched as Luke lowered himself sideways onto his lap. Sitting on his leg, he was now at the same eye level as Anakin, and the latter took some time to process what he was feeling right now. The sensation was definitely strange, if not awkward, yet he couldn't say he found it entirely uncomfortable; and some part of him wondered briefly if feeling the weight of his children against his lap was another one of those countless things he'd missed by not being a father to them all those years ago.
The upper half of the chamber was once again in motion as it descended around them and interlocked with the lower hemisphere, sealing the pod. Anakin was about to reach out and activate the mechanism that would help him remove his helmet, before remembering there was no need for it right now. Once again nodding at Luke, he watched as his son's hands moved around his head, clasping at the edges of his helm. As Luke pulled it up, there was a hiss signaling that his suit had been depressurized. A moment later, Anakin felt a rush of air against his skin as the mask got peeled off carefully from his face, and squinted when the world suddenly lost its dim red tint. Blinking rapidly, he waited for his rheumy eyes to adjust to the bright light and his lungs to manual breathing, as the blurry image of his son's face slowly came into focus.
After all these years, Anakin still had no clear idea of what he actually looked like without the mask—not that he'd ever desired to find out. He knew his skin was sickly pale, deprived of sunlight for more than two decades, scarred and covered in scabs. Knew his visage was nothing more than a grotesque facsimile of what an actual human face was supposed to look like, as he would sometimes catch its vague reflection in the glass from inside a bacta tank. And he knew his eyes had used to be two yellow lights glowing with hatred, staring at him from that same reflection, trying to burn through whatever had been left of his soul.
At first, Anakin had loathed his new form, just like he'd loathed everything else about himself. And yet, with time he'd come to embrace and accept it, as he'd discovered that his transformation had made it that much easier for him to pretend he hadn't been the same man with wavy golden hair and piercing blue eyes whose image would still linger in the deepest recesses of his mind. But no matter how he felt about his appearance, Anakin knew it must have been repulsive to look at; and now, as he studied his son's face and signature, he expected to see horror, disgust, and—worst of all—pity.
But what he saw in Luke instead was a mild, momentary surprise—followed by calm acceptance. That acceptance then morphed into something much more joyous; a silent celebration of uncovering another part of Anakin's true self. Rather than pity, Luke offered him sympathy and reassurance, too delighted at the simple fact of finally seeing his father for anything else to matter. Relieved of a weight he didn't know had been there, Anakin now could focus on his own feelings as he looked at his son, and felt the scar tissue around his lips stretch into a smile.
He'd already guessed Luke's hair must have been light, and his eyes blue—but was still amazed to see that be the case. Apart from that, he could make out other hints of himself in Luke's features, which only amazed him further—for it was incredible to consider that he'd had part in creating something so good and pure. His son was, without a doubt, a grown man, stronger and wiser than Anakin himself could ever hope to be; and yet there was something innately childlike about his appearance, an innocent kindness that often got lost too soon and too fast once confronted with the cruel reality. And Luke was all that much more worthy of admiration for not letting that happen.
As Anakin kept marveling at his son, he let himself be overwhelmed by a warm, all-powerful feeling that he had once refused to acknowledge for so long—an intense adoration that seemed to find its way into every part of his being.
But this was not at all like his burning romantic passion for Padmé. Nor did it resemble his fierce brotherly affection for Obi-Wan and Ahsoka.
This must have been what Shmi Skywalker had felt, smiling as she'd looked at another innocent, kind boy with sun-bleached hair and sky-blue eyes.
Was this what every parent felt towards their child?
The thought astonished Anakin, piercing him to his very core; an entirely new notion that was amazing to him in its simplicity as he took a few moments to acknowledge it in full. It was as though he finally touched upon something that'd been hidden from him in plain sight, discovering he had a deep, profound connection with everyone who'd ever fathered a child—sharing the same joy of parenthood as billions of others throughout the entire galaxy.
And then, amidst the wonder and amazement, a horrifying realization slowly crept up on him.
How many families, then, would never feel this joy again, destroyed and torn apart by his armies?
How many children would never get to grow up, their lives cut short by his blade?
How many parents would never see their children look at them the same way Luke was looking at him now, all because of him?
It hurt so much. It hurt more than the lightning piercing every cell of his mangled body. More than the fire eating away at his flesh.
All of that was nothing compared to the agony now swelling in Anakin's chest as he gazed into his son's clear, kind, loving eyes.
He deserved none of this love, and never would; but he did deserve every last bit of pain that it caused him.
Unable to bear the look of those eyes for a second longer, Anakin hung his head slowly, covering his face with his large gloved hand. Distraught, his mind was now trying anxiously to find a way to deal with this disarray of feelings—to restore the familiar order of things as he had known it for so long.
If only Luke hated him! Everything would be so easy then; so simple. Everything would finally make sense. He did not know what to do with his son's love, but he would be able to handle and understand his hatred.
Perhaps there still was a chance for this. Perhaps if Luke learned of Anakin's darkest, most heinous deeds, then he would finally start looking at his father with loathing and contempt, just as he should have been all that time. His sister had already been wise to do so, and Luke would do well to follow her example.
Perhaps everything could still be made right.
The thought soothed him, and he was finally able to relax, sinking a bit deeper into the padded cushions of his seat. This in turn seemed to calm Luke, his forehead no longer creased with worry at the sudden change in his father's mood.
For a brief second Anakin allowed himself to drink in the gentle expression on his son's face, making sure it would linger in his memory. He knew that it would break his heart to see these soft features become distorted by loathing and hatred, their youth and innocence all but drained away; but it was in Luke's best interests, he told himself.
It was necessary.
As Anakin made up his mind, Luke reached out and placed his hand on the black shoulder armor, not yet understanding the cause of his father's brief distress but wishing to comfort him nonetheless.
"It's alright, Father," Luke reassured him with a gentle earnestness, almost making Anakin believe these words. "I'm here."
"You shouldn't be."
There was surprise on his son's face—both at the frailty of Anakin's real voice and the meaning of his words—which then gave way to determination. "We've been over this," Luke said softly but firmly. "I know—"
"You know nothing," Anakin snapped, cutting him off. "A fraction of what I have done."
Luke opened his mouth, about to say something, but then closed it, allowing the expectant silence to speak for himself. After studying his son for a few more moments, Anakin took as much of a deep breath as his lungs would let him, lowered his eyes, and began recollecting.
Back when he'd deliberately pushed his old memories away, they'd always found a way to seep into the cracks of his mental walls, grinding against his mind like sand against bare skin. But once he'd stopped trying to block them out, Anakin found himself suffering from the opposite problem as he discovered how difficult it actually was to remember most of the events from earlier in his life.
And yet, much like the scars on his flesh, some moments had stayed forever burned into his consciousness—down to the smallest detail. Whenever he was alone, he would feel their incessant presence in the back of his head, haunting, preying on him; and sometimes, when he closed his eyes, they would make themselves known through flashing images and distant sounds.
And the moment he would now speak of was one of these.
"On the night the Republic fell, I led the attack on the Jedi Temple. My task was to destroy all the Jedi I would find inside, whom I then believed to be traitors to the state."
Unaccustomed to talking without the vocoder, Anakin took a pause to catch his breath while watching his son's reaction. Behind Luke's outward calm, there was uneasy wariness, growing tension—and, most importantly, there was the barest tinge of incipient fear.
Good.
He pressed on further, each word ground out with grim inevitability.
"All the Jedi. Masters. Padawans."
Anakin paused, before allowing the final word to fall between them.
"Younglings."
He felt a burst of feelings in Luke, too caught up in his confession to discern what they were right away.
"They asked me what to do. They believed I would protect them. They trusted me." His voice was now a low hiss, shaking with contempt as he went on. "I paid no heed to their cries of mercy. I watched life drain from their eyes as their bodies fell down to the floor, one after the other, until none were left."
Luke stared at him, wide-eyed, face pale; an echo of the expressions Anakin was now seeing in his mind, awoken by the memory.
"They were not the last children to die by my hand."
As he finished, Anakin kept his stare fixed on Luke and proceeded to study both his face and signature for emotions, anxious to see the one he was looking for.
Shock. Fear. Sorrow. Pity.
But...
"There's no hatred in you," he muttered, barely moving his lips.
Confused, Anakin kept looking at his son, trying to understand why something he'd been so sure to see wasn't there. Could it be that Luke decided to conceal some part of his emotions, for whatever reason? Or, perhaps, his reaction was simply delayed, and the meaning of Anakin's words was yet to settle in? But before he was able to decide on what to do or say next, Luke finally spoke up again.
"Do you regret it?"
The absurdity of the question startled Anakin out of his confusion. If he had been anyone other than himself, he would have laughed; but the ability to do so, even in mockery, had been long lost to him.
What didn't he regret in his ruined, wretched, pathetic life?
Then, suddenly, the question turned from rhetorical to genuine, and he found himself wondering...
What didn't he regret?
Having children of his own, probably. After all, he had called them his blessing once (and would do so again, however many times needed). And yet, at the same time, he knew they would've been better off never being born in the first place. Instead, they were doomed to live with their father's crimes looming above them for the rest of their days, his sins forever weighing heavy on their souls.
For a second he thought that he didn't regret being master to Ahsoka. Even back then, he'd always known he'd done a good job of teaching her. But had she become padawan to any other Jedi, she would've been spared the pain of finding out what her master had turned into. Even dying in the Purge would have probably been a mercy compared to the years of emotional anguish, still tormenting her to this day, all because of him.
Trying to think in broader terms, he supposed he didn't regret his service as a general, bringing relief to war-ridden worlds—even if that war had been nothing more than an intricate puppet show. But what had it all mattered? He had given those worlds hope for a brighter, peaceful future, only for it to be taken away by the reign of terror he'd himself helped establish.
One after the other, memories kept flashing in his mind—places, people, names, voices. But no matter what events he recalled, no matter how hard he tried, Anakin Skywalker couldn't find in his life anything that he didn't regret.
And then, just as he was about to give up, there was a spark. A glimmer of light; a whisper in the Force.
He had saved Luke, hadn't he?
It had been a good thing. It'd proved that there was still good in him, a scrap of worth to be salvaged in the wreckage, and he remembered the momentary euphoria he'd felt at the revelation.
Yes. He didn't regret the act of saving Luke.
If only he'd died afterwards so that they all could've been spared his presence—
"Father?"
Anakin flinched at the sound of his son's voice, realizing he still hadn't answered the question.
Momentarily, he entertained the thought of lying to Luke, knowing that it would probably serve the goal he was trying to achieve. And yet, much to his surprise, he found that even under these circumstances the mere idea of being dishonest with his son evoked in him a feeling of deep aversion.
Of course, he'd told Luke plenty of lies before—but at that point in time he himself had believed them to be true, no matter how shaky his convictions might have been. From his side, it'd been an act of deliberate deception just as much as a desperate attempt to retain confidence in his own delusions by forcing them onto Luke.
But intentionally feeding his son untruths?
No. He couldn't do that.
And with that, he made up his mind.
"Yes. I do regret it. I… I always have."
Only after the words had left his mouth, was he able to comprehend the extent to which they were true.
The Dark Side might have twisted his perception of right and wrong, but right and wrong were not the same as good and evil. Even after turning, he'd never lost the ability to distinguish between the two, and thus had been well aware of the monstrous nature of his actions as he'd kept on killing, torturing and terrorizing. Never, even for one second, had he believed that any of his deeds had been good—but he had convinced himself that they'd been necessary.
Good had been nothing compared to necessary. The seeds of that belief had first taken root in Anakin Skywalker during his youth, but as Vader it had become his saving mantra, his sole principle which had defined and given direction to his existence. And yet, even then, he had never been able to fully silence the voice of his deep buried conscience as it had whispered to him of guilt and regret.
But, now that Luke knew this, he surely must as well understand that none of it could serve as an excuse for his father's actions. He would be rational enough to realize that even if some part of Anakin had always regretted his choices, ultimately, that regret did nothing to absolve him of his own responsibility for making them.
With that thought calming him, Anakin glanced back at his son, ready for Luke's contempt and disdain—but not for what came next.
"Then what would hating you accomplish?" Luke asked. "It won't bring those children back. Nothing will ever bring them back." His face hardened. "What you did was… abhorrent. I cannot deny it, and I won't. And I…" He swallowed. "I will be thinking about it for a while. But…"
Luke paused, gathering his thoughts. Then, he took a deep breath, and his features once again softened.
"If I hated you for this, it wouldn't make anything better. It wouldn't restore justice, it would… it would only spread more misery instead."
Silence then fell between them as Anakin struggled to process what he had just heard.
Luke… didn't hate him?
Once again confronted with the impossible notion, he suddenly could no longer find it in himself to defy it; and Anakin felt his grip on reality slipping.
Perhaps it was all a vision of some sort, he thought; a trick of his inflamed mind. Any second now, he would hear his admiral's voice on the comm, calling Lord Vader to the bridge and causing the image of his son to break into pieces and disappear, replaced by the crushing emptiness of reality.
But it never happened.
Luke was still here.
He was here, and he was real.
His son.
Their son.
Slowly, timidly, Anakin lifted his hand in front of Luke. For a few seconds he let it hover in the air before completing the motion and cupping the side of his son's face, his thumb resting on Luke's cheek. A sharp jolt ran through him when Luke closed his eyes and tilted his head, leaning into the touch.
Anakin drew a loud, ragged breath as he struggled to steady his respiration without the assistance of the mask.
How could this be happening? How could his son allow himself to be cradled by his father's hand, the same hand that had crushed windpipes, shattered bones and commanded for atrocities to be committed?
After what he had just confessed to, no less?
His bewilderment, strong as it was, proved to be short-lived. As he kept his gaze fixed on Luke, admiration once again began to rise in his chest, eventually giving way to blessed awe.
Truly, there was nothing from him in the boy. It must have been all Padmé and Shmi; their boundless strength, kindness and compassion manifesting in Luke and living on through him. An eternal light, shining through generations; too bright to be simply lost in time.
Anakin's free hand twitched, overwhelmed with a desperate need to hold this light closer, to protect it from ever being extinguished; but he had barely started raising his other arm before it fell back at his side, seized by sudden terror. He found himself fearing that by getting too close, he would somehow taint this pure goodness, marring its impeccable sheen.
But you already have, echoed in his mind as his eyes darted to Luke's right hand, clad in a black glove so much like his own.
A wave of disgust then washed over him, all of his senses screaming at him to get away from his son, to stop touching him, lest he caused even more harm; and yet, at the same time, he couldn't bring himself to move his palm even an inch away from Luke's face.
He hated himself for this. Hated himself for being so weak and selfish. For having been granted this goodness, and for clinging to it as if he had any right to.
Just as he hadn't deserved anything or anyone good in his life before, he didn't deserve Luke.
"I don't deserve you," Anakin rasped out, his thoughts bursting to the surface.
Still resting against his father's hand, Luke's eyes slowly slid open, his downward gaze somewhat unfocused. He blinked a couple of times, as if to shake off the drowsiness that'd seemed to start enveloping him. Then, once again, their blue eyes locked, and Anakin felt all the air being knocked out of his ruined lungs.
"It's not about deserving or not deserving, Father. Don't you understand? Even though you might not deserve it, I'm still here. I choose to accept you, and that's not going to change. And you… you can either reject it, or accept it, too. And that's all there is to it."
Anakin's first instinct was to deny every word of what Luke had said. To dismiss his claims as naïve drivel, foolish nonsense of a deluded child; to rebut and twist and throw them back in his face with unwavering brutality, if that was what it would take to show Luke just how mistaken he'd been and drive him away from his monster of a father, unworthy of being loved.
He knew it would hurt his son, would destroy something in Luke's soul that would likely never be repaired—but what other option was there? It was the only way to set things right! It was necessary!
And yet, he couldn't do it—for every word he'd heard Luke say rang true in the Force.
Stunned, Anakin stared at his son; a realization slowly dawning upon him.
Had the truth been so simple this whole time?
Could he be the one who'd been mistaken?
Each of his questions was met with a gentle nudge from the Force, urging Anakin to once again tap into his memories; and he did so with a newfound clarity.
He thought back to Padmé, and Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka, at last peering beyond the hurt brought about by merely thinking their names—only to see now, more clearly than ever, that they had all loved him. Despite his deepest flaws, despite his worst misdeeds, they'd still accepted him and given him their pure, selfless, unconditional love. And after longing for that love ever since his childhood, he'd thrown it away at a moment's notice, and then he'd destroyed them in all the ways that had mattered, only to try to convince himself that their love had never existed in the first place.
Is that what he was doing again?
Had he truly learned nothing?
As soon as the words were uttered in his mind, something raw and scorching erupted from the lowest depths of his soul; a silent scream turned a desperate roar.
No.
No!
Luke would not be destroyed because of him repeating his mistakes. He could not let that happen.
He would not let that happen.
Vanquishing all other emotions, an overpowering sense of peace came over him, and it was in this moment that he—finally—knew what he had to do.
Raising his free hand, Anakin placed it firmly on his son's shoulder. His other hand, still on Luke's cheek, shifted to the back of the head. Pressing against it lightly, Anakin leaned forward as Luke mirrored the movement. Carefully, he held his son closer to his chest, and they closed their eyes, resting against each other in serene tranquility.
"Yes," he whispered. "I accept."
The Force around him burst with happiness and gratitude as Anakin allowed it to fill every corner of his heart, joining in his son's delight; and he didn't need to see Luke's face to know that he was smiling.
The pain in his chest was still there. Perhaps he wasn't ready for it to be gone. Perhaps it would never be gone.
But as long as there was also room for his son's love, he knew he could live with the pain.