Luke would have to pry the admission word by word from Vader's mouth, but he was feeling more alert the next morning after having a proper rest overnight. He hadn't slept that long or that serenely in ages—since the last time he'd been in Luke's presence, in fact.
It put him in a marginally better mood. He could tell Piett, at the very least, noticed it when he met him upon his return to the Executor; the man's shields were as impeccable as always, face impassive, but he was slightly more relaxed in Vader's presence than he would be if he could tell Vader was angry.
"The investigators are in the briefing room, my lord," he supplied promptly, without Vader even needing to ask. "They await your arrival to begin."
"Good. Return to the bridge, captain, and ensure this warship continues to run smoothly. It would not do to appear disorganised here."
Piett swallowed, hearing the threat for was it was... and also the warning. The man had not signed up for the politics of the Imperial military, but he was adapting quickly. "Understood, my lord. Will—" He paused. "Have you any idea how long we may be stationed here?"
The thought left a sour taste in his mouth; he'd only been back for a day and he was already having to consider leaving Luke again.
"I do not, captain. It depends on the whims of the Emperor where the Executor is needed, and it depends on how fast this thief is caught if I am required to go with you." Hopefully it won't be soon.
Piett nodded. Vader knew he'd heard what he didn't say—the man had been around for a long time, after all, enjoying Vader's personal recommendation. He certainly remembered the days when Vader had had to constantly tote Luke around on the Executor, too young to be left to his own devices—especially if Palpatine was anywhere nearby—and he was too shrewd not to notice that Vader was always in a better mood after talking to him.
And there was the thing with the bracelets. Blast those bracelets.
Vader ground his teeth together and decided he'd better get on with the briefing. "Dismissed, captain."
Piett went, all too gladly.
The briefing room was a fairly long walk away, but everything was a fairly long walk away on the Executor. Turbolifts only went so far.
When Vader arrived, the officers sitting around the conference table in the centre were slouching in their chairs, engaged in lazy conversation of veiled disgust and grandstanding. Such asininity ceased the moment his presence was known.
They scrambled to attention. One man scrambled a little too hard and sent his datapads scattering.
"Lord Vader!"
"I trust," Vader drawled, anger already drawing him close, "that you are prepared, gentlemen?"
The man who'd scattered the datapads grabbed a few then sat back in his chair, hastily assembled pile clutched to his chest. His rank bar identified him as the representative of the Coruscanti Police Force; Vader thought he looked vaguely familiar.
"Sergeant Regor," Vader greeted, plucking the name out of the man's mind. He didn't bother remembering the likes of people like him, but it was a suitable intimidation tactic.
He noticed a datapad he'd forgotten on the floor and lifted it with the Force to set it down neatly on top of his stack.
"It has been quite some time."
"Indeed, my lord." He licked his lips nervously, choosing to watch his spider-like hands twitch rather than meet the eye plates on Vader's mask.
"I trust my son has not engaged in any reckless, dangerous stunts while I was away?"
Because this had been one of the men who'd tried to arrest Luke instead of the assassin, Vader was starting to remember. Evidently not one Vader had strangled, but one who certainly remembered the fate of his co-workers.
"No, my lord."
"Good," Vader purred. He knew it was a lie—he didn't think Luke knew how to fly in a way that wasn't reckless or dangerous—but it was good that the police had got the message of the consequences of risking his son. It would decrease the chance of anything like that assassination attempt happening again.
He spun round sharply, secretly enjoying the way his cape snapped at his heels, and clasped his hands behind his back. He did not take the unusually large seat at the head of the oblong table; all officers who dealt with him by now should know he preferred to stand. Something about having him looming over their heads kept their tongues still and their reports brief.
"Well, then. Begin."
The officers exchanged nervous looks. The one on Regor's right—one of the Executor's officers, lieutenant, likely assigned as his personal aide for this mission—nodded encouragingly. The other officers, all various officials from areas on the planet Angel had struck, studiously avoided his gaze.
"Yes, my lord," Regor got out, then had to swallow several times, hand coming up to massage his throat. At this rate, Vader would not even need to execute him if he found the report lacking.
Then he began.
"The string of burglaries we've had in the last six months include targets of high economic or military value, such as Governor Pryce's Coruscant residence, the BlasTech factories and Sienar's offices. Tentative footage we have from all three of these examples show a humanoid figure in black, but it's a blurry image, from a distance, and it's often difficult to make out the thief—who the denizens of Coruscant have nicknamed Angel—from the background. Nevertheless, the fact that these attacks have been consistent, as well as consistently ambitious, in a way that no one-off burglaries have been seen to be on planet for years, we consider it safe to assume that either they're being carried out by the same person, or the same organisation. A team seems more likely—especially when one accounts for how the person contacts the Rebellion, as well as sending them the stolen items."
"I see." Vader hooked his thumbs into his belt. "Why have you not caught him before?"
"My—" Regor swallowed again—that was starting to get annoying. "My lord, I don't—"
"This is one thief—or team, as you have speculated. One entity. They are invading with embarrassing ease some of the most well-protected safe houses on the planet. How have you picked up nothing with which to catch them?"
"They are doing it with embarrassing ease, my lord," the lieutenant interrupted, eyes averted in respect but her voice firm. "They are good at what they do—they leave behind no traces. No fingerprints, no blood samples, no hairs. Even if they did, we have no guarantee that their information would be in the records. The lower levels of Coruscant—"
Vader waved his hand. "I am aware of what they are like." They rivalled Mos Eisley for a haven of scum and villainy. His distaste from the previous night at the thought Luke would willingly go there resurfaced with a surprising zeal.
"Exactly," Regor jumped back on the bandwagon. "We have a planet with a population of more than a trillion to police; we have no way of tracking down this thief without catching them in the act, then interrogating them for all they know."
"I doubt that, sergeant," Vader intoned. "I am sure I have ways, if you do not. Tell me everything you know about them, then I shall be taking over this investigation. Clearly you do not have the competence to carry it out."
Regor nodded quickly. "Yes, my lord." He lifted his datapad again and read, "Interviews, undercover and otherwise, with the populace show that the general consensus is that Angel is military-trained, due to the distinctive academy accent heard by several listeners who suspected that the figure was the notorious thief—"
Vader couldn't listen to this absurd drivel anymore. They were the Imperial Navy; they did not put stock in hearsay and speculation. He flung out his hand and the datapad landed in it neatly. He scanned the rest of the text himself.
...such interviews also indicate that Angel is often followed around by wild tooka cats...
The datapad crumpled on itself.
"My son had a phase where he desperately wanted a tooka cat as a pet," he drawled to Regor, taking a spiteful pleasure in the way he stiffened. "Would you care to investigate him?"
Regor couldn't shake his head fast enough. "No, my lord—"
"Then I cannot see any reason why such inane gossip should make its way into an official report as evidence. Clearly, taking over this operation is a necessity."
Vader checked the chrono in the corner of his vision. It was Palpatine's precious parade in a few hours; while he was sure he wouldn't be late—it could not begin without him—he still wanted some time to brief Luke on exactly how to deal with the Emperor before attending.
"Listen to the rest of this idiocy," he snapped at the lieutenant, who flinched but saluted. "Summarise it in a report and send it to me. I have the patience to sit through it no longer."
He tossed the wrecked datapad aside, screen black, and strode out of the room.
Vader sat through the parade stiffly, bored and tense, well aware that his master knew that—and was revelling in it.
It did not help his mood.
To be fair, nor did the fact that Luke very clearly didn't want to be here either—and that his son was one treacherous twitch of the lips away from pouting—did not help either. He was on Coruscant to spend time with his son, but stewing in equal misery at a parade that was a punishment for Vader's impudence was not what he'd had in mind.
"So, Lord Vader," Palpatine chimed in to ask, leaning over the arm of his seat to peer up at him in what he was sure was supposed to be a grandfatherly way.
Vader did not buy it for one minute.
"How goes your search for this Angel? Yesterday you seemed quite anxious to find them."
Vader ground his teeth. "It has barely begun, master, but rest assured that we will find them soon. It is only a matter of time before they slip up—I have already started considering traps to be laid"—he hadn't, but it was a good lie—"and people to target who may know of their identity—"
"Well then, clearly I have put the right man on the case." He lifted his arm to pat his elbow. Vader nearly scoffed. "I wish you luck in your search, my friend. Not that I think you'll need it, but after our lovely conversation last night I requested the police send me reports on their findings, and I confess to finding them quite disheartening. Angel. Being followed around by wild tookas." He affected a light voice. "I assume you'll correct such inefficiency and incompetence in the police department, won't you?"
"Indeed I will." He was almost looking forward to it.
"But I have faith in you regardless. I'm sure you'll find this wild tooka," he said the words with disdain, "very soon. After all, I know you're anxious to get off Coruscant soon and return to your regular duties. You never were fond of this place."
Vader swallowed. He didn't dare contradict him, but that was fine: Palpatine did it himself.
"Oh, but of course. You wish to be here for your son. Perfectly understandable." Finally—finally—Palpatine dropped his arm from Vader's elbow. "Especially after what we discussed last night. If the boy is going so far as to fraternise with the Senator of Alderaan, he clearly needs your guidance. Perhaps even both of us would be needed to teach him the maturity he will need in order to ascend to the Sith."
Vader really hoped not. He didn't want his son anywhere near him—and he knew Luke shared the sentiment.
"Fortunately," Palpatine continued, and Vader did not like that tone in his voice, "it seems that an opportunity has presented itself."
Frowning, Vader turned to look at Luke, where he was gesturing... and froze.
Luke could feel Palpatine's intent gaze on the back of his neck.
The parade went past below him. From their perch up in the balcony, it seemed to be more a sea of black and white and the occasionally bloody spot of red sprinkled among them. His father was behind him, head bowed with His Imperial Wrinkliness as they discussed whatever was on the Sith agenda today; their presence—and the usual lecture his father had given him beforehand about propriety—was the only thing that stopped him from putting his chin in his hand, elbow on the balcony rail.
He was on holocam. He needed to be an example to the galaxy for Imperial poise and order.
His father had actually said that.
The parade was nothing new. Nothing he hadn't been made to attend many, many times in his life—his father won a lot of campaigns—and they'd been maybe the thing he missed least at the academy.
He still didn't like it.
He was so busy stewing in how much he disliked it that he didn't notice her until she was at his elbow.
"Luke."
He jumped so much he had to brace himself against the balustrade. He spun around, caught a glimpse of red hair, and rolled his eyes.
"You nearly made me fall off the balcony."
Mara's eyes glittered. "At least if you fell into the parade, it'd be more entertaining than this is."
"Glad you find my suffering amusing."
"Good. Because I do." She cast a glance back at his father and a smirk tugged at her lips even as she lowered her voice. "So, the lord of grumpiness is back on planet."
"Excuse you, that is my father you are talking about."
"You're right. Forgive me." She cleared her throat. "The lord of sunshine and rainbows is back on planet?"
"No."
"The lord of kittens and akk pups?"
"Absolutely not."
"The lord of hugs?"
Luke hesitated.
"You're kidding."
"He hugs sometimes."
Mara stared at him. "No."
"It's true."
"Maybe so, but I refuse to believe it. I could do without any world-shattering concepts today."
Luke smiled. "I'll try not to drive you back to the Rebellion with my insanity." She'd been on her mission there for months on end, he knew—she'd returned to Coruscant around the same time he had.
He didn't miss the way she tensed.
"You do that," she drawled to make up with it. "But I'm supposed to be here to chat up that moff over there, find out what he knows about things he shouldn't know anything about, so I'll have to leave you to sulk about the parade in peace."
"I was not sulking," Luke said mutinously, even as he felt a pang of regret in his chest at her sudden departure. It was always like this with Mara: they would chat, tease each other, banter... then he'd say something wrong and she'd slink away.
Force, but it was weird.
She tossed him one last razor smile that didn't quite meet her eyes, and he watched her back retreat away down the balcony.
"An opportunity?" Vader growled. He watched the mingling of joy and regret in Luke's smile as she turned away and had the overwhelming urge to shout at the boy, here and now.
"Indeed, Lord Vader. Jade is a skilled agent, intelligent, Force-sensitive and reliably loyal to us. It would be infinitely preferably if Luke were to get attached to Jade instead of," Palpatine said her name with a sneer, "Organa."
I think Luke has more than enough love in his heart for two people, Vader thought, romantic or not. He didn't voice it.
Palpatine would see it as a weakness to be stripped away.
Vader did not want Luke's love to be stripped away from him.
"Jade is indeed skilled," Palpatine mused aloud. "Perhaps I shall assign her to help you hunt down this wild tooka of yours, eh?" Vader would like nothing less. "She would be a great help there—you know she recently returned from a mission to Sullust, to crush a major Rebel cell there?"
Vader shook his head on autopilot.
Palpatine sighed. "Ah, well. Consider what I propose, my friend. The boy is young and naive. Not to say he isn't a credit to you; he is clearly very intelligent, and powerful"—his voice caught on the word; his greed was palpable and Vader's rush of fear equally so—"but he just as clearly needs guidance, before he goes astray."
So you've said.
"'Clearly,'" Vader echoed dully.
Palpatine smiled. "Clearly."
It was on the flight home that Vader actually said, "You have spent much time here in the last year."
Luke cast him a wary look, before glancing back to the airlanes—as the only person Vader would ever consent to fly him anywhere, he'd sat in the pilot's seat with vigour and refused to budge—and responding, "Yes...?"
"You have spent this time considering what it is you wish to do with your life."
"Yes...?" He was smiling now, Vader noticed with some irritation. The moment he tried to be tactful, to approach a potentially sensitive topic carefully and imitate the loathsomely eloquent politicians he so hated, his son laughed at him.
"Don't be a hypocrite, Father," Luke chided lightly. "Get to the point."
Vader rolled his eyes. "What conclusions have you drawn?" he bit out. "Was that direct enough for you?"
"Was it direct enough for you, is the question."
"No, the question is the one I asked you. Which you did not answer."
Luke grumbled, "You spend too much time around politicians."
And Vader couldn't resist— "So do you, son."
He watched Luke's brow furrow... then clear as he groaned loudly. Had he not been shooting through midair in an airlane with a five thousand level drop beneath them, he looked like he would have beat his head against the console. "We are not talking about Leia again. You wanted to know about what conclusions I drew?"
Vader sat back, smirking under the mask. And so Luke pushed them back onto topic himself. Best to pretend Vader had done that on purpose.
"I... don't know," he admitted.
"Son, it has been six months."
"I know!" The speeder took a dip with the vehemence in his voice and in his gesture; he smoothly pulled them back on course. "I... don't know. I want to go to Skystrike. Or Prefsbelt. I want to fly..."
"But?" Vader prodded.
"But there are other ideas," Luke admitted. "And... I was thinking about what Palpatine said. Or, what you said Palpatine said. If I stayed on Coruscant, trained as an officer..."
Cold, cold horror pooled in the bottom of Vader's stomach. "You are not actually considering that?"
Luke fidgeted. "I could rise up the ranks quicker. Make more of a difference than if I was just flying—make big decisions that save lives, not just point and shoot." He paused, then added, quieter, "Stay next to you in an official capacity, once I've finished training."
That had been exactly Palpatine's argument, Vader registered dully—why was it so apparently obvious that Vader wanted Luke by his side? That wasn't very appropriate for a Sith.
"You can do that as a pilot, anyway. I can appoint you to the Executor—I'll teach you command. No one will dare—"
"Father," Luke sounded frustrated and a tiny bit droll, with just made Vader's hackles rise. "I love you too, but that's called nepotism."
He pointedly ignored the first part of the sentence. "You," he said, shaking his finger in Luke's face, "have been watching too many your mother's speeches."
"Yup." They swerved round a large crane and shot in the direction of the penthouse. "I was thinking about foregoing the military entirely and becoming a politician."
"Luke—"
"'The advantages of the rich and powerful over the rest of our citizens have only led to a decrease in the genius our nations can produce,'" Luke quoted, his accent slipping into something a little more Nubian, with the same arched syllables she'd used in all her speeches, "'and the nepotism begins to show its ugly results when people gain positions through connections rather than any actual skill—"
"It's not nepotism if the candidate in question is of genuine ability," Vader snapped back. Luke reminded him of her enough as it was; he didn't need this on top of it.
"Father." Luke's tone was firm. "I want to get places on my own merits, not just because you're my father. I had enough of those accusations at the academy to last a lifetime."
Vader started at that. "Who accused you of such a thing?"
"It's nothing."
"Clearly, it's not. Luke, if anyone is foolish enough to doubt your intelligence and competence and value to the galaxy—"
"You're missing the point."
"You have no point," Vader accused him, sitting back where he sat and crossing his arms, for all that Luke couldn't turn his head to look at him. "You are passionate about flying. You are not passionate about becoming an officer." He said the word with disgust. "You seek to stay on Coruscant and study to be one because you feel like it is what you should do, not what you want to do."
Luke flinched.
For a moment he looked so lost—so miserable—that Vader regretted bringing it up at all. Whatever Luke wasn't telling him about this absurd idea, there was clearly a good reason for it.
Nevertheless, he opened his mouth to interrogate him further—
—only for their penthouse to come into sight and all words to die on his tongue.
There was an unfamiliar speeder parked on their landing pad. Jade was standing right next to it.
"What," he hissed out, "is she doing here?"
Luke glanced ahead to where he was looking. Vader sensed—and disapproved of—the spike of excitement he sensed from him when he recognised her but Luke just shrugged. "Dunno."
"You are the one who has apparently become friends with her of late—"
"Oh, look," Luke said, and accelerated so they arrived at the landing pad and settling down slightly faster than was legal. "We're here."
"Luke—"
Jade had already approached. Luke practically leapt out of the car, smiling broadly at her—Vader narrowed his eyes at him—but she just nodded at him and zeroed her gaze in on Vader.
Luke got the hint.
"I'll be inside," he told his father. Vader sensed his disappointment, but ignored it—suddenly very aware of what Palpatine had said to him earlier.
Jade watched Luke retreat inside before she opened her mouth, but Vader beat her to it.
"Let me guess," he rumbled, hooking his thumbs in his belt, "you have been assigned to help me catch Angel." He said all the words with disgust, but Angel in particular.
Jade smiled—a little bitterly, he thought. She did not glance to where Luke had vanished to. "Yes. I have. I'll be patrolling in Imperial City tonight—if any alarms go off, or anything suspicious happens, I'll be there. Particularly around the palace."
Vader, irritated that he was having this conversation at all, just waved a hand and made to follow Luke indoors. "Be sure to report to me if you find something interesting," he drawled, his tone making it clear what he thought of that.
She probably bristled. He didn't know. And he didn't care.
Luke was not wondering was Mara was doing talking to his father. And he didn't ask his father, either, so he doubted he would ever know, and he was perfectly fine with that.
What he was not perfectly fine with was his father lowering himself onto the sofa opposite Luke in the living room and demanding, "When did you begin fraternising with Mara Jade?"
"Fraternising?"
"Answer the question, Luke."
He rolled his eyes. "She had that months-long mission in the Rebellion. Came back to Coruscant around the same time I did. I ran into her when I'd been summoned to the Palace to talk to O— to Palpatine. She was hanging around, seemed a little morose, and I had to wait to be admitted anyway so I started up some small talk. Neither of us were all that well-oriented in the planet, not used to it. I guess we bonded over that."
"Bonded." He said the word like it was a pet name for some slimy reptilian creature that had spat venom in his eye.
"Yeah." Luke raised a belligerent eyebrow, pointedly kicked off his shoes, swung his feet up and planted them on the cushion next to Vader. "Bonded."
His father made a noise that may have been a snort, may have been a whimper of despair. "I don't suppose she is one of the friends you made whom you know I would never approve of."
"Heh. One of them."
He made that noise again, but there was something calculating in the way he said, "You ought to know that Palpatine approves."
Luke stiffened.
If Palpatine approved of anything he did, he was doing the thing wrong.
His father did not miss his reaction. He continued slyly, "Certainly more than he approves of Organa."
Luke closed his eyes. "I despise you."
"I have only your best interests at heart, son."
"By trying to taint all my friendships with the implication that romance has to be involved?" he shot back. "They're my friends, Father, and I won't stop being friends with them just because you don't approve, or because you're worried about how it might look. You've never cared about public opinion before. You're nothing but a hypocrite if you want me to start caring about it now."
He shut his mouth with a snap, breathing heavily. His father seemed just as surprised by his outburst as he was.
He worked his mouth a little more, then—
"You've been away," he finished quietly. "You've been away and— and I've learnt to live my life for myself, on my own. Not for you or Palpatine or the rest of the galaxy. I'm sorry if that's not okay with you, but I'm going to keep doing it."
His father was quiet for a long time, the regular rasp of his respirator looming in the silence. Then he reached out, took Luke's chin between his thumb and forefinger, and tilted his head up to look at him. Luke could feel his gaze roaming over his face.
"You have been watching far too many of your mother's speeches," he said.
Laughter bubbled in Luke's throat; the grip on his chin fell away and he tilted his head down bashfully. "I had to learn something eventually."
"And indeed you have." The hand moved to his shoulder and squeezed it, lightly. "You're so much like her. I should expect it by now."
The hand dropped. "But... very well," he conceded. "I will respect your wishes and keep my commentary on who you choose to befriend to myself." He added, a little humorously, "It is not as though I can police it when I am away, anyway."
Luke smiled. "Thank you, Father. I... I do care about your opinion."
"I know, son. But I have been known to be wrong before. I should trust your judgement more." His hand came back to his face, where Luke pressed his cheek into his palm before the hand fell again.
It didn't stay away for long, though. Luke was marginally surprised when Vader reached for him to gently pull him against his chest, wrapping his arms round his torso.
Despite what he'd said to Mara, it was rare for his father to hug him. He eagerly hugged him back, resting his head against his chest plate.
"You are no longer a child." There was something a little wistful in his tone.
"No," Luke agreed, eyes sliding closed at the sudden pang of guilt he felt. "I'm not."
It was that evening, when his father was deep in meditation and about to sleep, that Luke snuck out.
The guilt had been building all evening, a queasiness in his stomach, but he crushed it; ignored it.
He'd told him: he couldn't live his life around what other people thought of him. Not Palpatine, not Leia. Not even his father. He had to do what he thought was right.
So he laced up his boots, strapped on the belt and slipped into one of the—unmonitored—secret passages.
He had a promise to keep.
