Luke was in and out of bacta for days, weeks, his father hovering by his side the whole time and reassuring him, reiterating how proud he was. Luke received datapads of reports, if he was interested in them; baskets of (thoroughly vetted) goods from Imperial well-wishers wanting to kiss up to the new prince; smaller, more personal gifts from the troopers and officers he'd been around his whole life, who wanted to congratulate him and let him know how proud they were too. It was sweet, heart-warming, everything he'd ever wanted… until he thought too hard on what he'd actually done.

And that was when the doubt set it.

He was out of bacta for the last time, drifting in and out of consciousness, lying with his leg propped up in a medbay bed. His father sat in a heavy chair on his right, with the makeshift desk he'd had moved next to Luke's bed so he could keep up with work while he kept his son company, and—with those unpleasant thoughts crowding his mind—Luke croaked out, "What are you doing?"

Vader's stylus stilled on the datapad. "Necessary bureaucracy," he said dismissively. "Why, would you like me to do something for you?" The eagerness in his voice was not faked—Luke had to wonder how much his father had missed him, in the years he'd been infiltrating the Rebellion, and if that played as much a part in his insistence to constantly be around Luke as his worry did.

Luke shook his head. "No. I'm just… curious."

"Well." He could hear the soft smile in his voice. "This particular piece of bureaucracy is what to do with the Rebel leaders' home planets. Naturally, Alderaan is already destroyed by Tarkin and Palpatine's arrogance, so Organa, Dodonna and Rieekan, and several others, need fear no repercussions. But Chandrila was edging toward rebellion before the Rebels' defeat, so we could easily make an example of them; that, or Mon Cala…"

He trailed off. "Luke, are you alright?"

Ah.

Luke wasn't as good at hiding his flinch as he thought.

"My arm and leg still really hurt," he lied. "I just… shifted, slightly, for a moment, and it aggravated them."

Vader said, "Luke, it has been a long time. But I am still able to tell when you are lying."

Luke let out a breath. "Oh."

"What is it that is truly troubling you? You cried on the day of our victory—I remember. It was not wholly to do with your injury, was it?"

Luke swallowed.

Then he admitted, "No. It wasn't."

Vader put his datapad aside. "Tell me what is wrong."

Luke opened his mouth.

Closed it again.

Hesitated.

Did— did he want to admit this to his father? Did he want to do this?

Yes, he finally decided.

He had no secrets from his father.

None at all.

"I…" he got out. "While I was with the Rebels… I learned something," he said. "And I…"

"I see." Vader fixed him with a look. "You grew to have sympathy for them."

Luke cringed, but nodded. "I— I love you, I'm not a traitor, I did everything you told me—"

"I know, Luke," Vader said calmly. "I know that you are no traitor. I love you too."

Luke took a deep breath and bowed his head. "I don't want you to destroy Chandrila," he whispered. "Or impose sanctions, or bombard them. I— Leia was my friend, in the end, and I had to betray her, but—"

"You would consider her a friend? Son, she is a terrorist."

"I know that!" Luke automatically made to rake his hands through his hair and cried out when one of his arms was still in pain. "I know, but— but—"

"But you have a heart the size of your mother's," Vader finished, lifting a hand to his face to trace the scar there, "and about as much common sense as your father."

Luke, at last, nodded meekly. A weight rolled off his shoulders.

He'd told his father of his doubts. He'd confessed to it—and his father did not hate him. Did not think he was a traitor at all.

"Of course you are no traitor, Luke," Vader reassured him. "You are a hero. You are loyal to the Empire. I would never want a son who follows orders blindly, obeys without question. You will doubt the Empire, you will consider the Rebellion's merit, and then you will understand why what we do is just. This will only make you stronger." He reached over to squeeze Luke's shoulder; Luke leaned into the touch. "Have no fear, my son."

Luke swallowed, and closed his eyes so that the tears didn't fall.

"Take this time to think over it," he said. "Remind yourself what the Empire does, the good we perpetuate, rather than what we do to our deserving enemies. You have spent so long receiving Rebel propaganda, and still you remained loyal, with only a few doubts; I am sure you will consolidate your beliefs soon." He patted his hand. "Use your recovery to peruse the datapads I sent you, familiarise yourself with the new Empire we have built. You will be able to wear your white uniform again soon, and take the command you were born for."

"And…" Luke didn't dare to hope, so he just said, "Thank you, Father."

But Vader knew what he'd been about to ask. "I will not punish Chandrila or Mon Cala," he agreed. "I will use it as a threat, but I will not act on it. For you."

Luke relaxed, and smiled.

"When you have come around to the idea again, you can do it yourself," Vader promised. "It will be a fitting act for the new prince."

Suddenly, Luke felt even colder than before.