Departing Yavin was the happiest he'd ever felt leaving anywhere in his entire life. Well… maybe not the happiest, but at least number two. Or three. Or one. And when the Executor came into view, it was positively, without a doubt, the best ship he'd ever seen. Except maybe for Yahoo.
"It may not be much," he told Yahoo, "but it's home."
In his imagination, Yahoo exclaimed: It may not be MUCH?! At least, he hoped it was Yahoo and not his father chiming in. He could feel that Vader was very aware of his location and impending arrival—and maybe even excited.
A couple TIEs swooped around to guide him in (as if he needed help!) (well, okay, admittedly he needed direction, he couldn't even see from one end of the ship to the other when he was this close) and he set Yahoo down in the small landing bay that he suspected was Vader's private hangar because of an assortment of a few unique ships. Maybe that could be their hobby when they were finally free— designing new ships. "See, Yahoo? You don't have to be in that ginormous hangar we were in last time. This is our almost-private space."
He tucked Darth Fluffy in the bag with his other most precious possessions, and checked his appearance in the mirror, tugging the hood down just so. He was getting the knack of wearing it so his face was totally hidden, but he could see enough of people to identify them. Although it didn't take much to identify the escort that approached him when he disembarked: he of the highly polished (and slightly pigeon-toed) boots and bad complexion, Daine Jir. Really, would it kill his dad to send the guy to a spa?
"Sir," Jir said.
"Commander," Luke said, deciding decorum was probably the Order of the Day on the Executor.
"I will escort you to his lordship's office."
He could have sworn that Jir almost said his excellency's office, but that was probably his imagination. At any rate, it was the end of their scintillating conversation.
As he expected, his dad's office wasn't far from the hangar, both for convenience and a fast getaway. Luke curled his fist tightly around the handle of his carryall in an effort to stop it from trembling. His heart was pounding. He was nervous and excited and happy and most of all— relieved. He was back with his dad who would take care of everything— No, scratch that. It was the other way around. Luke was here to take care of his dad.
The office looked a lot better than when he'd last seen it, bomb-damaged and undergoing reconstruction. The new desk was huge and appeared to be made of solid obsidian (Dad, tell me it's not from Mustafar!), blacker than space and glowing warmly under narrow bars of recessed lights in the ceiling and walls. The edges were trimmed with green malachite anchored with strips of gold. Pretty fancy… but not, he supposed, too fancy for the emperor-in-waiting.
Jir left them alone, and Luke stood silently in front of the desk, having difficulty breathing evenly. He wanted to grin and throw himself at his dad. However, Vader was obviously in Sith Father mode, so he waited.
Sith Father rose and approached, the magnificent cloak swirling and making swish-swish sounds as it grazed his boots. Black filled his vision, and the rhythmic breathing was moving more sedately than his heart. Just when he thought he couldn't keep still for one second longer, he saw a glove raise.
The forefinger rested under his chin and lifted his face slowly. Luke kept his eyes downcast, aware they were playing some sort of game. He didn't know the rules, but knew enough to remain motionless even though his lips were beginning to quiver.
The thumb rubbed the corner of his twitching mouth as he fought a losing battle, not fully able to contain his grin. "Ah," Darth Vader said. "I see they have brought me the correct son. For a moment I was worried I had been given an imposter."
His eyes widened, but he kept his gaze fixed down on the gauntlet. "You are mistaken, milord. I'm actually the incorrect son."
"That is also true." The voice lightened, and Luke knew it was time to smile widely at the man behind the mask that had become so familiar and beloved.
"Hi, Dad. I'm home." Automatically his arms slipped around his father's waist, and Vader pulled him close, squeezing tightly.
"I am glad you're here."
"Where else would I be?" He bent his neck to nuzzle his head against the bottom edge of his dad's helmet, feeling completely relaxed.
"I was talking to my new hair."
He choked on a giggle. "You're awful," he protested happily.
"I know." The big hands pushed off his hood and ruffled said hair, then cupped his cheeks to study his face. "However, I am also happy to see you. Correction: I am happy to feel you."
"Yeah," he agreed. "But also to see me because I look fine."
"Hmm. I suppose you'll have to do. Now go to your room, my vain young one. Remove your armor and report to me."
"Sir, yessir! If I can find my way back," he joked before heading to the door that linked his suite to his father's.
It took almost a full minute to get off all the pieces of that pesky armor. He left everything heaped on his sofa and rushed back, calling: "Okay, now I can hug properly!"
His dad wasn't in the office. "Hide and seek, here I come!" He raced through to the treatment room and crashed headlong into TwoOneBee. "Two! Hi! Sorry!"
"Oh! Oh!" The droid almost lost his balance but recovered quickly, still balancing a tray of supplies in one hand. "Really! How careless! And that's 'Prince TwoOneBee' to you!"
Oh boy. His father was right about Two being out of sorts. "Hey, it's me—Luke! We're friends, remember? You said I could call you 'Two'."
The droid sighed heavily, and Luke wondered whose idea it had been to program human emotions into it. Unless…. No, droids weren't capable of learning emotions. Maybe Two was just mimicking behaviors he'd seen.
"I do remember you, Luke. My memory banks are neither short-term nor faulty. However, I did not recognize you at the moment you attempted to mow me down and damage my appendages."
"Sorry," he repeated meekly. "I'm looking for my… Lord Vader. He was in his office."
"Given the limited number of rooms in this suite, I do not believe such haste is required. Unless this is an emergency?"
"Uh, no, it's not. How are you doing? You seem stressed."
"Do I?" The steel head cocked to one side and the eye-lights flickered. "Interesting. I suppose I am what you humans call 'stressed' if by that you mean that my entire purpose and authority have been put into question by an influx of unwelcome medical workers who erroneously believe that they are more qualified and efficient than I."
Well. "I'm sure they don't think that, Two. Anyway, they're only here temporarily."
"Yes. Thankfully they will be disposed of when their mission is completed. Now if you will move out of my way, I still have duties, however insignificant, to attend."
He'd never been intimidated by a droid (at least one without weapons) but Two was a formidable presence who could probably keep even Darth Vader in line. And amused, as the droid's continued existence evidenced. It occurred to him that his dad's medical team included a smart-mouth doctor, too. Maybe that sort of humor was the only form of mental relief for his dad during his horrible treatments. Luke bit his lip.
His dad's private room was in darkness except for a projection of the rotating galaxy on the ceiling. Vader was lounging on one end of the sofa instead of in his favorite chair, which Luke decided was an invitation so he dropped next to him and leaned his head on the silky, cloaked shoulder.
"Now we just need a bonfire."
"Mmm, perhaps not the wisest idea for shipboard camping. Unless we wish to imitate a rainstorm by initiating the fire retardant system."
He lifted his dad's arm and draped it around him. "It's cuddle time. That's better." Fingers squeezed his bicep lightly. "So what's up? Why did you change the date for your surgery?"
"I thought it prudent to move up the entire timeline after the Andres debacle. That came too close to alerting Sidious."
Great, now it was The Andres Debacle. "Sorry about that."
Vader shrugged. "It worked out."
Not for everybody. "Did you find out any more about his friend on Coruscant?"
"That is immaterial. We will talk about you."
Normally that would be his favorite topic, but now it sounded like an evasion. He pitied the poor woman who'd decided that doing midichlorian research with Dr. Andres was a good idea. "No, this is your time. Let's talk about you."
"We will. However, first we will talk about what you will be doing while you are here."
"Taking care of you!" he teased. "Bringing you soup. Wiping your forehead. Changing your dressings? Tucking you in? Reading you stories?"
"I will not be an invalid, Son. I anticipate recovery from the surgeries to take less than two days. Possibly only one day with the help of the Force and our combined powers of healing."
"Oh. Good!" He tried to nestle closer, but Vader's armor was a solid wall. "What do you want me to do for the rest of the time?"
"You, young man—" His Lordship shook him off, stood abruptly, and pointed his finger at Luke. "—have not been studying. What happened to your educational tapes?"
He clicked his tongue. "Nothing happened to them! They're fine. They're at the base."
"Those rebels are a bad influence on you. You have neglected your—"
"Oh, c'mon!" he protested. "I've been working on the physical stuff! Lightsabers and combat and climbing— I've worked hard!"
"Indeed you have, and I am proud of your progress in those areas." Vader waited, but Luke refused to acknowledge such paltry praise.
His father stared at him for a long moment. "However, your diction is a disgrace. Even you have acknowledged it. You cannot command respect or expect the Alliance Council to take our plan with the gravity it deserves when your words are so casual and filled with colloquialisms."
He hated when he couldn't argue. Everything his dad said was true. "I suppose I could take elocution lessons."
"Congratulations on a short but fairly well-constructed sentence using a new word."
"Oh, honestly! Now you're just picking on me!"
"I am, with good reason. Come," Vader said, and Luke followed him back to his office, grumbling under his breath. "Your thoughts are intuitive, but you have not learned to pause and consider before you speak."
"Whatever."
The door to the corridor slid open, and Captain Gallia appeared. "Milord."
"Captain Gallia," Vader said, just in case Luke had lost his memory. "You have experience in explaining complicated matters to people who are not familiar with a particular genre or concept. Can you teach my son how to speak?"
"Of course, milord," the Chiss acknowledged. "What would you like him to say?"
Very funny. Luke frowned.
"There are certain words he must eliminate from his vocabulary. For example: stuff, okay, right, yeah, whatever, you know, yes-but, um, fine, really, and welllll…." Vader drew out the last word so long that he sounded exactly like Luke. On the positive side at least that meant his dad listened to him.
"Yes, sir."
"Rehearse his presentation to the Alliance Council. His youth must be viewed as secondary to his…"
Luke leaned forward as he waited for his dad to continue. Hah! NOW who's lost for words?
"...intelligence and natural charisma."
That's better! Luke nodded approvingly.
"An impressive and conservative appearance will add credibility to his statements. He must be impeccably dressed and his hair cut in military fashion."
Impeccably dressed? he exclaimed in silent indignation. When am I not— Whoa, wait a minute! What's 'military fashion'?! It had better not be what I think it is!
"Yes, milord. Shall I oversee the cut and wardrobe choices also?"
Seriously! What did this guy know about fashion?! He'd never seen Gallia out of uniform!
I would hope not.
Luke folded his arms. Ha-ha, you're a real clown tonight.
"That will not be necessary, Captain. I will supervise those issues. Beginning tomorrow, schedule elocution and rehearsal sessions with him that will not conflict with my plans. Coordinate the times with Captain LeKauf. That is all. Thank you."
Gallia clutched his heart and almost fainted at the 'thank you'. Well...okay, he didn't, but Luke reckoned those were not words Imperial officers heard very often from His Imperial Lordship.
"Happy now?" Luke muttered when they were alone again.
"Not quite. Report to TwoOneBee for repair of your damaged hand, then go to bed. Tomorrow morning we will talk with a stylist about hair."
Geez.
"Tell Captain Gallia to add 'geez' to your list of prohibited words."
"Just cut off my tongue, why don't you?"
"I would never commit such a drastic act. It would be more reasonable to simply sew your mouth closed on certain occasions."
"It's a good thing I have a sense of humor." Luke pretended to glower. "And a good thing that you do too!"
"What makes you think I have a sense of humor?"
Honestly! He had the most exhausting father in the universe! Still, he stood on tiptoe and kissed the helmet good night and was satisfied to receive a disbelieving snort in return from Sith Father.
# # #
"There are a few important considerations," Lim Shalan said, tucking a wide-tooth comb into the pocket of his blue embroidered smock that looked like it should be going to a party instead of a salon. "The hair should be colored after it has been removed to avoid any unpleasant incidents with roots. Have you reviewed the color panels I gave you, my lord?"
"I've selected a few. Luke, I would appreciate your input." As a fellow style maven.
Sure, NOW you appreciate me! It felt weird to be talking about his hair color with his dad, but he reminded himself that his hair wasn't actually his for much longer. He leaned over Sith Father's shoulder and looked at the screen. "Hmm," he murmured doubtfully. "Don't you think Naboo Sunset is awfully...bright?"
"I am considering it as a highlight to Glorious Autumn." Vader dragged the highlight over the image of a rotating mannequin head.
Manikin Anakin!
His dad sighed under his breath.
"Yeah, I— I mean, yes, I like that. What about a few streaks of Tatooine Dunes? As a salute, you know." Crap. He'd said 'you know'. Sorry.
I don't expect immediate verbal miracles. "No. What would you think of a hint of Bohemian Moonlight at my temples?"
"What, the silver? No, it's almost gray! You're too young for gray." It never hurt to curry a little favor.
"My lord— lords— the color can be easily changed if you don't care for the results. Shall we start with Glorious Autumn and feather in Naboo Sunset?" Shalan asked.
Luke looked at his dad who nodded. "Yes."
"Very good. And now, young lord, would you like to make a choice of follicle colors?"
"What? My follicles have to be colored?" He felt a little queasy. Would that mean sticking needles in his head?
"It's not a requirement. You can keep your natural hair color if you wish. Whatever it is." The Naboolian sniffed. "However, you may choose any color. Or multiple colors. Or colors that change as the hair grows out. There are colors that glow in the dark, neon colors, colors that—"
"He will keep his natural color. It is blonde."
"With obvious enhancement— I beg your pardon," the stylist apologized when he saw the looks they gave him. Or at least he saw Luke's look. But it wasn't difficult to interpret that particular protective tilt of his dad's helmet. "I meant that environmental factors often have a negative impact on naturally blonde shades, and enhancement is required to maintain a semblance of authenticity."
Luke wasn't sure if he'd been insulted or not. His color was enhanced, so he couldn't snap a defense.
"If you will proceed this way, young lord, we will begin the styling."
"You mean— the cut? Right now?"
"The sooner you have it cut, the sooner it will grow out," his father reassured.
Huh. Maybe that meant in two weeks he'd be back at the base with a decent length. "How short are you going to cut it?"
"Oh, it will all be sheared off," the Naboolian said cheerfully. "Then we will shave your head. It's always best to start afresh, that's my motto! Off we go!"
Oh. Oh. Luke closed his eyes and followed the stylist by listening to his footsteps. Plus his dad directed him with a hand on his shoulder. "I know this is painful, Son, but bear up."
When he opened his eyes again, they were in what looked more like a barber shop than a salon. Well, it was an Imperial ship, not a spa. Pity. "I don't want one of those military cuts. They always look like books were smashed on their heads!"
"That style allows a cap to sit properly," Shalan said with what sounded like piety. "It is a most efficient and appropriate fashion that is easily maintained."
"I'm not wearing a cap! My head is going to be naked!"
I'm glad I reserved this time slot for you alone, his father said. If officers were here, your behavior would be embarrassing to me.
Well yeah but geez whatever really— all you do is criticize me!
The strangled laugh was heard only in his head. I want you to be and look the best possible, Son, because I love you.
Luke sighed, deflated. Uh-huh. Fine. Let's get this over with because from now on, it's all about you. And I'll be sure to criticize you so YOU can be the best possible! "Get on with it," he ordered, but grimaced when he saw only scissors and clippers arranged on the counter in front of him.
# # #
"I look like a baby," he complained later when they were alone again. He ran his hand over the fuzz. At least it felt better than it looked. Sort of velvety actually.
"You do. Or a fluffy. It's adorable." His father's voice was unexpectedly gentle, maybe even fond. "Your head has a delicate shape. Very aristocratic."
"Oh." He turned from side to side, studying himself in the mirror. "My eyes look bigger," he admitted reluctantly.
"Without hair distracting from their startling color and intensity," Vader agreed.
"I guess it's okay." Aristocratic. "I suppose I'll have to wear some sort of hat now and then or I'll be cold."
"Perhaps an elegant headpiece is in order."
Immediately he thought of the pictures he'd seen of Padme. "Yes! Maybe like a big crescent moon! And sparkly!"
"We will discuss that later. Now, my little aristocrat, shall we take advantage of this time and spend an hour in lightsaber practice? Before the surgery, I wish to exercise my skills and also see how you have progressed."
"Yeah, that sounds like fun! And when we're done, we can come back here and see how your hair color turned out."
"When we're done, you have a lesson with Captain Gallia."
Luke sighed. "And when I'm done with that, we're talking about your surgery. Specifics! You have to tell me exactly what they're doing and what to expect. As nursemaid to the original Mr. High Maintenance, I need to know how much work I'll have to do."
Making his dad laugh was almost better than hugging.
Almost.