Luke opened his mouth to speak, but their minds were still connected with gossamer strands; he did not need to. His fist connected with hard transparisteel and bruised; pain bloomed through his muscles, fingers wriggling, and he staggered back again.

The world was blurry, overlapping, cacophonous. Pain bubbled along his skin until Vader threw up shields; was that was he felt like, all day every day? He could hear the grinding of his father's respirator through his father's jaw through his father's ears; it was loud, right there, and his father could hear it all the time, constantly. It was horrendous. Leia's senses were more familiar to his own—there was no bloody film over everything—but he could still watch himself in both his reflection in the transparisteel, superimposed over that scientist's horrified face, and his shaking back as he slammed his hand into the glass again.

Hissing. Billowing. The blinking yellow number nipping at the corner of his—his friend's—his father's vision told him the gas was flooding back in. Confusion spiked above and below him. Reports of what was happening were spreading, but the scientists and soldiers who lived on Arikan IX were still remarkably calm. He felt a vicious promise well up in him at that realisation; that was not him. That was his father's bitterness. He was going to have revenge.

The gas kept pouring in, and with three Force-sensitives' awareness crammed into one, it was electrified. He watched it float through the air towards him, watched himself breathe it in, like neon particles of danger, danger, danger in the sixth sense they all shared. They raced through his system, his bloodstream, his brain—and he stopped them.

Leia was doing the same. It was simple, once you knew where they were, and once you knew where you were. They were so small. Insignificant. She and Luke met eyes and his human brain, not accustomed to searing suns where there were usually candles, ached at the double vision of his own face staring back at him alongside hers. But it wasn't another illusion, as unreal as it seemed; it was real, he knew it was real, he was here. And other than a base full of scientists and troopers, that transparisteel wall was the only thing between them and getting out.

What was one wall to three Force-wielders, working as one?

They knew what he was thinking perhaps even before he did, and when he slammed his hand against the glass a third time, a torrent of force slammed with it. Fury and frustration fuelled his fist; it connected with enough force to fell an army, as their power moved between and through him. Their trust in him was humbling.

His anger fell. He blinked, and his own vision was clearest now, with only the faintest pink tinge to show his father's, a slight blurriness to show Leia's. He might talk to her about needing spectacles; the datapads she stared at couldn't be good for her…

When he withdrew his fist, calmly and methodically, he had to pick out shavings of transparisteel. Blood beaded across his knuckles then christened the floor as he flicked the shards away. The stench stung his nose. The pain was a distant buzz, fading into the background along with Vader's injuries, Leia's bruises from captivity, the agonising pounding in his head.

Cracks webbed out from where he'd made contact, a red smear marking the centre of the web, like a heart lashing blood through arteries that grew and grew. A loud creaking heralded every new, jagged line. The view through the glass gave way to clear, unimpeded sights a millimetre wide, growing wider. He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath.

Someone gasped. Multiple soldiers were gathering in the corridor outside the cell, now. Scientists stared at the growing cracks in the glass that kept them distant, their immaculate white coats blending in with the indifferent white shells the troopers called armour. Everyone raised their blasters.

When the glass shattered outwards, it wasn't by conscious thought. But they shoved it out in unison anyway, and the sharp edges mauled the troopers who'd pushed to the front faster than they could scream.

Vader jumped out first. Troopers fell like dolls, their heads cracked together, their spines snapped against walls. No one choked. There was no time for that. The scientists who'd been staring turned heel and fled, the blast doors slamming shut behind them. They didn't matter for now. The troopers were falling upon them in waves, flinching every time they faced Vader and dying for their hesitation. Luke grimaced.

Most troopers did not sign up to die by Darth Vader's hand, despite his reputation for killing officers. If Horne's ones were so eager to, it seemed that reports of Horne's small fiefdom were to be believed.

The background blur in his vision tilted and he glanced to the side, where Leia was turning away from the battle. Vader was taking them all on his own, blaster shots flying into the ceiling like the ultimate antithesis to a waterfall, and Leia was taking advantage of the chaos to…

He smiled.

A few troopers noticed what she was doing and ran to stop her, but Luke tackled one from the side, rolling with him, then slamming his helmet against the floor until he stopped moving. His blaster was hot and heavy in his grip but shot like a star—the troopers who'd stormed past, with their backs to him, never saw their deaths coming. Leia slammed her hands against the entry pads of each of the cells, fingers flying across the numbers as the Force guided her motions, and shaking Rebel after shaking Rebel from her squad toppled out. There were only about five, most of them able to walk after a few, huddled, chaotic minutes as clean oxygen pumped through them, but she glanced at him with her hands on their backs and they understood each other.

They needed to get them out of here. There were more troopers coming.

"Let's get to the lifts!" he shouted, shooting back into the crowd of troopers as they tumbled in from across the floor, his father turning to face them. The lifts were just around the corner, the turbolift there and waiting. He shuffled them in but they didn't move, sending dull, distrustful stares at his Imperial uniform.

"I'm a double agent," he bit out. "I'm not going to drop us all hundreds of floors to kill us." Their distrust did not fall, but they glanced at Leia, and at her nod they stepped into the turbolift. Leia stepped in as well, Luke ran an eye over the floors, jabbing his finger forward to select the floor his shuttle was on—

There was an indecipherable roar. Pain lashed through his awareness. Leia bent over double; she felt it too.

"Luke," she said, but Luke was already running.

He shot before he looked, and unleashed crimson rain into the sea of white shells. His father was hunched over, something dark and sticky erupting over his shoulder, before he dragged himself back upright with a bellow and swept out his hand. Bolts melted against the armourweave of his cape, but his cape was melting too, until he seemed to be a figure of tar, a candle dripping into oblivion, surrounded by stacks of fragile porcelain.

Porcelain that turned to stare at Luke and paid the price for neglecting their target. He mowed down a path to Vader himself, but the ones firing at him screamed.

Their deaths seemed… slower… than the others had been.

But it didn't matter; Luke was in the throng of them, and they were shooting at him but falling to friendly fire, and he was dragging his father out of there, around the corridor, to the lift—

The doors were dark and closed.

They had left him behind.

Luke's heart didn't have a chance to sink before Leia shouted, "In here!" He snapped his head around; a turbolift farther down the hall, its doors open and light spilling out, beckoned him. They both ran for it, diving inside as the next wave of soldiers came around the corner, and Leia stopped holding the button to keep the door open. They closed, slowly but smoothly—and they made it in just in time, the doors crunching on the weave of Vader's cape. Vader took it in hand and, before Luke's shocked eyes, ripped it clean in half. The lost half waved between the lift's metal jaws like a pirate's flag.

They started moving.

A sigh of relief puttered out of Luke's lungs. He slumped against the wall, exchanged a glance with Leia—then suddenly was aware once again of the metaphysical pain jabbing at his metaphysical shoulder. He stared at his father.

"Your arm?" he ventured.

Vader stared at him. "You came back for me."

Luke ignored it. He could still hear his own voice, trembling. You leave me behind. Luke hadn't. Leia hadn't. "Is your arm alright?"

"It is adequate."

"That's a lie," Luke and Leia said simultaneously. Vader grunted.

But he let Luke yank the scrap of cape out of the doors to tie around his bicep tightly enough to stop the bleeding, and they all stood in the turbolift and stared at each other for a good few minutes as they kept moving up.

"I think I know where they took our transports and ships that we were using," Leia said, "so I sent my squad up to find them. It'll be easier to escape if they're dividing their forces between two parties."

"They will still be waiting for us wherever this turbolift comes out."

"I disabled the holocam the moment I got in, so they can't watch us. They don't know what floor we're going to."

"Then they will try it in different ways," Vader said darkly.

Luke frowned, glancing at him. The effects of the mind merge were starting to wear off now, so he didn't understand everyone's racing thoughts nearly as intuitively anymore; he was back and settled into his own. Probably a good thing, before his head exploded. Force-touched or not, there were limits to what his brain could handle.

But he could still ask, "Like what?"

The turbolift thumping to a halt answered his question.

"Oh," he said. There was the distant sound of doors scraping, reverberating through metal, and then… wheeeee.

Something thunked as it landed on the metal roof above their heads.

"They will be coming for us in the turbolift," Vader said darkly.

"Thanks for mentioning that earlier."

"Silence, Princess. We will still be able to escape. We must simply get out of this box and climb back into the building."

"We're in a lift shaft. There's nothing beyond those doors except a metal wall."

"No." Luke glanced up, and around. "He means that we go up. For evacuation regulations, all lift shafts have to have ladders built into the sides in between the rails. We climb."

"And fight the soldiers climbing down that shaft to finish us off?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful." Leia nodded. He'd have expected her to look white by now, but she was grim-faced. She was brave. Luke admired her so much. "Give me your blaster."

He gave her the blaster.

Vader rose to his feet and pounded his fist against the exit panel in the ceiling of the turbolift. It bent, then buckled, then blew off after a few hits, to clatter against the metal walls of the shaft. They hastily stepped back from the opening and waited with bated breath.

No noise. No shots fired down at them. Just silence. Those troopers were still descending with their forest of grappling cables, one at a time, but they weren't attacking yet.

Leia hoisted the blaster, positioned herself underneath the gap, and Luke threw her up. Her boots landed on the ceiling of the turbolift with a thud, and she wasted no time firing up at them. Now there were shouts of alarm. There was at least one scream and horrible crack as a trooper died and fell from their cable to land at Leia's feet, but before long they were returning fire—just not with blasters.

Vader flung Luke up through the opening and he landed in a crouch, staring up. Out of instinct, he saw a small metal ball flying for his head and caught it before it knocked him out. A few others toppled around him, bouncing on the top of the turbolift.

He glanced at it in his hand, then glanced up at Leia. She was already climbing, already a few metres above him on the dents and grooves that served as a ladder on the side of the lift.

"What is it?" she called back. She'd hooked up a strand of spare cable stolen from the corpse on the lift top and was using it to brace herself against the ladder while she shot. The acoustics in the shaft were excellent for screaming.

Luke glanced at the sphere in his hand. "It's a detonator."

"What? Then throw it back at them! Don't hold—"

The Force was building around him; he couldn't have let go if he'd wanted. It did not register this explosive as a threat at all.

It told him about his father, leaping up to land, heavy-footed, on the lift behind him.

It told him about the soldiers still hanging above, and the showers of fire and death melting the metal sides of the shaft.

It told him about every death around him, crackling with wasted potential.

But this detonator was not a threat.

"—it."

They all hissed and released at once. Tiny explosions, not enough to hurt him even if he was holding it. It was minimal. It was nothing.

Except for the changing colours in his vision. He scrunched his eyes shut, the sudden cacophony piercing his brain like a needle.

"Luke!"

He took in a few deep breaths and opened his eyes. Wind gushed around him; he was on his balcony on Coruscant, staring down into the pits of the planet. There was no blue flare around the railings, no shields for the eye to see, but he knew from experience that they would be there to catch him if he fell past the balcony. He could easily turn them off if he wanted—even if last time, Palpatine had heard about it.

No stars shimmered above him—the light pollution wouldn't allow it—but the city lights cackled below. He could smell smoke from the kitchens a few levels down from here and wondered what they were cooking for Palpatine's banquets today. It would be delicious, but he'd rather die than sit through another one of those petty power plays.

A bang. The handful of birds that Luke encouraged to live on the rooves of his quarters started, then took off into the city with a flurry of colourful wings. Luke looked around but saw nothing. Perhaps a speeder had crashed and exploded, somewhere in the hurrying traffic lanes below.

So far below…

"Luke?"

He didn't realise he'd taken a step forward until he turned around and his back pressed into the balcony railings. The ring that was the Imperial cog pattern poked the bruises against his back, but he ignored it. "Hello, Father. Back from your mission?"

"No," Vader said. "And neither are you."

Luke blinked. "What?"

"Climb," came the order, so loud it shook his teeth in his jaw. "Now."

Then Luke was flying.

Off the balcony, over the railings, into the smoky night sky. Nothing but blackness above. Nothing but blackness below. His scream was swallowed by the twilight until—

Something told him to grab it. The Force, running through him. He seized it with greedy hands, uncaring if Palpatine could sense it, uncaring if Palpatine could reach through their twisted bond to read his mind like a book. The Force blared an order at him, and he obeyed.

Grab it.

There was a shimmer. A gleam. A star—and it was right in front of him. He grabbed for it, knowing full well that its light was hundreds of thousands of years old, a million parsecs away.

He grabbed metal.

There was nothing he could do to process it. He could feel metal where there was none: a metal rung, a ladder to the stars, and he needed to hold on. His father was watching him, shouting something, before his voice was superseded by the wind in his head and he was falling, except he wasn't, because he was still holding onto that metal rung, and it was steady.

Another gleam of light. Another star. He did not know how he knew to reach for it, but it was firm underneath him. It dragged him up. His back hurt—why did it hurt? When had he last seen Palpatine? He couldn't remember—but he kept pulling himself up. Another star. Another step.

And when he looked up, the stars started falling.

He flinched back instinctively, watched them carve apart reality as they fell, red and bright, dropped by angels that fluttered overhead. Darkness of the night gave way to the black of a bottomless shaft, before his head ached and reality stitched itself together again.

Keep climbing.

There was no star above him but he fumbled for one anyway and it blossomed, hard and gleaming, in his hand. The shower of red stars erupted again; he grunted, shoved back, sent them tumbling and sparkling off him without so much as singeing his pyjamas. His uniform. Whichever of the flickering images stayed.

He climbed. He climbed some more. He looked down at the bottomless fall beneath him. There was someone below, there was—

"Father?" Why had he come? Why would he follow Luke into the stars?

"Keep going, Luke," Vader grunted. When Luke's sweaty hands slipped, Vader reached up to catch him, and push him back. He held him steady while Luke found his feet again. "Can you sense Leia?"

"Leia?" Why did Vader know about Leia? Why did reality keep crumbling into a cold, narrow passage? Why…?

The Force poked him at the back of his mind. His father reached out and Luke shied away.

"Trust me," Vader intoned. "You did it once before. I know who you are and what you have done. Trust me. Keep climbing. You know where you are."

He had never jumped off of that balcony. He knew, deep down, that he never would. He had a job to do, and a place to do it in, and that was not here.

The image of Coruscant at night was so much nicer than a turbolift shaft on Arikan IX that the illusion did not crumble entirely. But he knew it was false. He knew where he was. He knew who he was.

Vader climbed until he was level with Luke. "Keep hanging on. Keep climbing. I'm here."

Luke glanced at his father, then smiled.

And climbed.

Faster. Faster. The stars dissolved into blurs, then beams, of silver under his hands as he leapt from rung to rung, instinct and insight guiding him to land every time. Leia was with him now, climbing above him in their astronomical tunnel, and she did not waste time glancing down but he could feel her concern. The bangs kept coming. Bang, bang, bang. There were no longer any birds fluttering around him.

He kept climbing.

He was flying. He was soaring above Coruscant, above the Imperial Palace, above Palpatine and the pain he doled out like pennies. As he watched them, the scarlet stars swerved and thinned, even sputtered back to where they had come from, and as their source grew lower and Luke grew higher, he could look one of the angels dead in the eye. Clothed in brilliant white, hanging from vines, holding out a box with shaking hands, five red stars still shivering inside it.

Luke leapt.

Leia shouted. Vader shouted. But Luke leapt from the ladder to the angel, scrambled for control. There was a scream, wrestling, but Luke got their blaster away from them and shot them point blank. As they fell, he watched them go, and took in a deep breath.

He looked out over the cityscape of Coruscant. It was beautiful, in its own dense, grimy, smoky sort of way. The patterns of light and dark were mesmerising.

Then he let it fall away.

He was in the shaft. The gas was still rising, he was still sweating, but it was gone. The Force was with him; he could feel the trooper-angels, Leia, his father, and he knew where he was. And there were only a handful of troopers left.

They fell quickly. Blasterfire. Poor balance. Vader yanking at them with the Force. They all fell, and Luke continued to rise.

He gripped the cable, tied it into his belt. Glanced down at Vader, then up at Leia. After a few experimental tugs, the cable lifted him, dropped him, and at whatever speed he wanted.

He coasted down to his father and held out a hand.

"Come on," he said. "There's an easier way to the top."

Vader gave him a curious look. But he latched himself onto the cable as well, then Luke, grunting, pulled on the controls. They soared upwards to where the nearest doors into the shaft were creaking open under Leia's determined administrations, and the light from the corridor outside strengthened like sunrise.

They tumbled out one by agonising one, no other troopers in sight.

"They'll be on a higher floor," Leia said. "We need to—"

"I think that was all the soldiers they had," Luke said. "This is a small operation. Horne only had a small budget. That was all the security he could afford."

"Pretty decent security."

"Three of us got through it."

"But we're Force-sensitive."

"And therein lies Horne's problem," Vader said.

"What?" Luke glanced at him.

His father ignored his enquiry, striding forwards. His pitiful scrap of a cape flapped behind him like a half-hearted wave. "Go to the ship. Escape. I will hunt down Horne and ensure he can do no more harm."

"What? No!" Leia stepped in front of him and was nearly bowled over, staggering back. "You can't kill him."

"If this is the sort of morality Rebels espouse, it is little wonder your operation is so ineffective."

"He's the number one expert on this drug," Leia insisted. Luke caught on to what she was going for.

"He's needed in order to find a cure or antidote for it," he said.

Vader shook his head. "There will be no need."

"Because you're going to use it?" Leia's lip curled in disdain. "Of course you are. You're a monster. Torturing people is what you do."

"I am going to bombard this base from orbit until nothing remains. There will be nothing left."

"And the knowledge that this drug exists will still be out there," Luke said. "Other people who knew about this project will still come looking. It's been invented; it will be weaponised again. We need to find an antidote. We need to capture Horne."

"Go to the ship," Vader demanded. He looked Luke up and down. "You are still sick. I will not have you further hurt."

"It's a bit late for that, Father." He met his gaze levelly, and let the words sink in. "I'm coming."

Vader looked at him again, intensely, like he could see through to his bones and hammering heart. Then he strode forwards and two moments later, he was holding Luke.

Luke buried his face in his shoulder and let himself sag, let himself wrap his arms around him. No tears pricked his eyes, but his shoulders tensed, then eased, as something melted in him nonetheless.

"I am so proud of you," Vader told him. "Even if it should not have happened like this."

Luke did have tears in his eyes, now. He whispered, "Thank you."

Then he drew back, though his father tried to hold onto him for longer, his grip firm and yearning around his wrist.

"Besides," Luke said. "I assume Horne has your lightsaber."

"That lightsaber is hardly my life."

"You still shouldn't leave it in his hands."

Vader peered up, as if he could spot Horne through the ceiling and the many floors between them. "I do not intend to."

Surprisingly, he was not hard to find. They weren't either—Luke had just noticed that band around his bicep, which fluttered and tightened occasionally, like when he was having his blood pressure taken. He imagined it was similar to that. He felt watched, acutely, and knew that whatever data the band was taking from his arm was beep, beep, beeping to every computer in the building.

But, easy to track down or not, no one bothered them. Perhaps that had been all the troopers they had. Perhaps the others were laying an ambush. They reached the doors to Horne's office, the very first place Luke had been taken on his inspection, and paused. As they did, Luke took the chance to finally tear the armband off, stomping its circuits into the floor. It buzzed sadly.

When they threw open the door, it was to Horne hunched over his desk, his back to them.

At the sound of the door, he froze. Turned his head to look around, and fixed his eyes on Luke. "Ah." His gaze moved down. "Where is your armband?"

"Destroyed."

His face creased. "What? No—it hadn't transmitted the last of its data. I need—"

"To come with us." Leia stepped forwards, pointing her blaster at him. It was set to stun. "Now."

The look he gave Leia was utterly impressed. "Young lady, I need to analyse these results in a lab. I need to consult with my team. I do not have time to go with you."

"You tortured us," Luke bit out, "and you think you have a choice here? Move. Now."

"I am not a soldier, Agent Skywalker."

"No. You're a prisoner. Move."

He gave a bitter little smile. "We are all prisoners. Except you. You have escaped. How?"

"How did we escape? I assume you caught that on video."

"You overcame the drug most easily. I need to find out how." He bent back over his desk again—fiddling with the monitor, he realised—and ran his eyes over the string of numbers it spat out.

"You could have just asked one of us how it might have worked. I can tell you that."

Horne raised an eyebrow without looking at him. "Can you, Agent Skywalker?"

"Did you know that people trained in the Force can clear drugs from their system, as well as connect with other beings' minds?"

Horne stiffened. "No," he said. "I did not. Fascinating. So this superpower of yours is beneficial in the identification of illusions?"

"Yeah, you could say that." Luke glanced back at his father. He was impressed that he hadn't moved yet—he was hanging back, despite how he vibrated with rage, watching Luke handle this—but that could only last so long. This could only last so long. "You said you studied Force-sensitivity. You were on the team to measure children's midichlorian count to identify us. Have you ever spoken with a trained Force-user before?"

"Why is this relevant?" Horne looked irritated. "I spoke to a Jedi, once. I was on a weapons development team during the Clone Wars. He spoke of the Force most nonsensically; there was nothing useful to get out of him. Nothing I could run studies on."

"The Jedi dedicated their existence to studying the Force," Vader said finally. "I have dedicated my life to using it. We understand it far better than you ever could."

"Then provide me with facts, not fancies."

Vader's fist snapped shut. Horne's eyes bulged, his hands fluttering for his throat. He heaved for air, his muscles crumpling and contrasting with every desperate gasp.

"I can kill you without touching you. This is a fact," Vader said. Then he looked at Luke. "Whether your instruments and archives can account for it or not."

"I—"

Vader let go. Horne collapsed to his knees, eyes streaming.

"We should kill him," Vader said, one last time. Not an order anymore, but an offer.

"No. I hate him, but he knows more about this drug than anyone." Luke knelt down in front of Horne, meeting him in his pale, terrified eyes, then gently took his hands and bound them in a pair of cuffs he'd taken off some troopers earlier. "The Rebel scientists could use his point of view."

Leia finally pulled the trigger. Horne slumped right over Luke's shoulder; Luke grimaced as he dragged himself to his feet. Vader came to help, and threw Horne over his back like a sack.

"Now let us make for the ship," he said. They were back to orders, then. "We must go."

The ship took off without opposition. They'd checked the logs to confirm that the escaped Rebels had indeed stolen a ship themselves and made it to hyperspace, so Leia came with them without a fuss, even if the moment they left Arikan IX she and Vader were side eyeing each other like two rancors unsure who the deadliest would prove to be. Leia grabbed a medical kit, took out one of the sedatives, and unloaded the dose into Horne's neck to keep him asleep, while Luke steered them to a clear space to jump.

"Where do you want us to drop you off?" he called to Leia.

She re-entered the cockpit and shot Vader another look. "Nar Shaddaa," she said. "That's where a contingent of Rebels will meet me. You should come with me."

Vader tensed. "He is not going anywhere."

"I don't think that's your choice, Vader."

"Nor is it yours."

"I know. I was posing the suggestion to him." She locked gazes with Luke again and smiled. "Nar Shaddaa. It's a day and a half's flight, I know. I'll keep first watch on Horne."

Luke nodded. "Also—here."

She tilted her head in question. Luke reached for a ruined pocket of his uniform and pulled out the datachip he'd come here to collect, what felt like an age ago. Leia's gaze lit up when he handed it to her. "It might be a bit beaten up, but I downloaded everything I could from their systems to it."

"When?" Vader stared at him.

"During the initial briefing."

His father kept staring.

Leia smiled to herself, then slipped into the back of the shuttle, leaving Luke to punch in the coordinates while his father loomed.

"You cannot go with the Rebels."

Luke swallowed. "It's not like I can go back to Palpatine, is it? Even if you orbitally bombard that place like you promised, other scientists know I'm a Rebel and the truth will get out no matter how I manage to hide it. Palpatine already treats me like a rag doll—he'll kill me if he learns of this."

"You do not have to go back to Palpatine."

Luke scoffed, but finishing inputting the coordinates, and sat back to watch the navicomputer whirr. "If that was true, I'd have left for another, distant corner of the Empire a long time ago."

"You could come with me."

"You've never extended that invitation before."

"The risks of you staying have never outweighed the risks of you being in an active warzone before."

Luke sat up, just as they were flung into hyperspace. There was a new implication in those words that had him considering it as he watched his father in his peripheral vision.

"I'm not coming back to the Empire. I don't want to."

"I am still displeased about you being a Rebel. I do not approve. This is ridiculous, Luke."

"That's not what you said before."

"You were in pain, before. I understood, but I did not—do not—approve."

"I have not asked for your approval, Father."

Vader sat upright in his position in the co-pilot's seat, like his spine had been replaced by a flagpole at those words.

"Perhaps that is what worries me."

Still, the lack of anger was baffling. Luke wondered at it—at what, specifically, had spooked his father so badly that he was keeping it all locked in an icy cage. He didn't understand.

So he asked.

"Why aren't you angrier at me? I kept this a secret from you for a reason."

Vader looked at him like it was obvious. It wasn't obvious to Luke. "I am angry. But I am not blameless. You have been forced to grow up on your own, when I did not notice, and if I was so neglectful I cannot resent you for the unknown man you have become to survive. But you are my son. You cannot be a Rebel."

"Denial of what I'm telling you isn't going to get you anywhere, Father. You're going to have to deal with this."

"Come back with me. Join me in planning my coup, so you can be safe from Palpatine. You need not be my secret keeper. I want to keep you safe."

"That's not what I want anymore. I want more—I want people like Horne and their projects to stop being supported, for a start. And the Empire always has people like Horne. So I want the Empire gone, too. Every fingerprint of Palpatine's evil wiped away."

"The Empire is not inherently evil. You do not understand."

"You're right." Luke stood from the console and walked towards the door. "I don't. I don't think I ever will."

"Let me explain it, then."

Luke paused. He pivoted on the balls of his feet, to look back at his father. "Explain it?"

Vader fisted his hands, then relaxed them again. "Tell me your problems with the Empire, and I will fix them. We can fix them."

"No, we can't."

"Yes, we can. We have to. I won't—" Vader paused. He glanced out of the viewport, at the streaks of stars beyond it. "I won't lose you. Not any more than I already have."

Luke hesitated. "Then come with me."

Vader reared back. "Luke—"

"Come with me. Join the Rebellion with me. I know that I'm right. You extended the invitation to me, so I'm extending it to you: come with me. Fight with me."

"I cannot fight for the Rebels. I cannot even fathom why you would want to, let alone why you think I would."

"Let me explain it, then," Luke shot back.

Silence dropped.

Luke's eyes tracked the navicomputer. Its flashing blue lights were soothing.

He took a breath. "It's thirty-six standard hours to Nar Shaddaa. You have that amount of time to make me understand your point of view. And I have that amount of time to make you understand mine. Then we either drop Leia and Horne off there, then leave, or I go and you leave, or we both go. Or another option we haven't thought of yet."

Vader stared at him silently, until Luke wanted to squirm. Then he stood up, came up to him until he towered over Luke, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I accept," he said.

Luke nodded. "Then let's go back there and sit down."

"No."

Luke huffed. "Father…"

"First you are going to sleep." The grip on his shoulder shifted, then steered him towards the back. "Organa is watching Horne. I will watch the cockpit. And you, finally, will rest." He paused. "If you have nightmares again, tell me. I will protect you from them."

Luke didn't know if that meant literally or figuratively, but… he was touched, either way.

"I'll get some rest," he conceded. He did feel achingly tired. It was such a familiar feeling now that it was far too easy to ignore.

"Good."

"And when I come back…"

He stepped back, making eye contact with his father, and held his hand as it dropped from his shoulder. He squeezed it momentarily, then let go.

The door hissed open.

"You're going to tell me your point of view."

Thanks for reading!