AUTHOR'S NOTE -- Those who have read this story previously on the Luke/Vader Writers website will notice this chapter is new. It was written after the story was complete, in response to a writing challenge in which writers submitted a story that included Luke, Vader, a Father's Day type holiday, something squishy, and the phrase "I swear I will not kill anyone." Warning -- high mush content.
Chapter XVII -- The Gift
Luke rolled carefully off the hide-a-bed in Austin's living room, swinging his legs down over the edge. Another day on Earth. What wonders would the planet and its people have in store for him today? He was quite enjoying his stay here, for while his life had always been full of surprises, the surprises on Earth were normally not as dangerous as... oh, say a three-meter wampa ice monster or a moon-sized battle station.
His first surprise of the day was the sensation of something cold and squishy between the toes of his right foot as he started to get out of bed.
/Ewww./ He winced and looked down. A bowl of soggy brown matter dotted with what appeared to be dried berries sat on the floor just beside his bed. Beside that, Trapper lay on the floor, still in his "Jurassic Park" pajamas, scribbling something down on a yellow legal pad.
"What's this stuff?" Luke asked, lifting his foot.
"Oh, it's Raisin Bran," Trapper replied without looking up. "I like to add the milk and let it get nice and mushy before I eat it."
"I see. And what's it doing by my bed?"
He looked over, and his eyes got big when he saw what had happened. "Oops! Don't move, or you'll get it in the carpet and Dad'll kill me! I'll get you a washcloth!"
Trapper grabbed the bowl and ran out of the room. Luke took advantage of his absence to sneak a glance at the pad. It was difficult to decipher the boy's hastily scrawled handwriting, but he could just make out the title -- "Life as a Geek."
"Here," Trapper told him, handing him a damp rag. In his other arm he cradled two more bowls of Raisin Bran. He handed one to Luke and set the other down farther away from the bed, then returned to his writing.
"What are you up to?" asked Luke, wiping the gunk from his foot.
"It's my dad's Father's Day present," he replied nonchalantly. "I'm going to write his column for him so he doesn't have to spazz out later 'cause of writer's block."
"Father's Day?"
"Come on, don't tell me they don't have Father's Day on Tatooine!"
"Not as long as I've lived there. The Republic might have had a father-oriented holiday, but the Empire got rid of most of the Republic holidays when it came into power. All we have left are Life Day, New Year's Day, Imperial Inception Day, and the Emperor's birthday."
Trapper made a sour face. "Who'd wanna celebrate HIS birthday? Didn't he get tired of birthdays fifty years ago?"
Luke laughed.
Trapper tossed his pencil aside. "There, done. Now to type it out before Dad gets up." He stood up and went to the computer.
Father's Day, eh? Luke thought on that as he changed into jeans and a dark blue Spiderman T-shirt, both loaners from Cody. So Earth people were to honor their fathers today. If only he'd had a little advance warning! He could have prepared something for his own paternal parent.
He thought back on his conversation with Vader yesterday. That had been the single most incredible day of his life -- being truly reunited with his father. He had been right. Anakin lived on inside the shell of Vader and wanted desperately to emerge. But while their heartfelt discussion had managed to crack that shell, it would take much more effort on both their parts to strip it away entirely.
Trapper grumbled and slammed down on the backspace key, evidently not pleased with how a particular section had come out. At least Luke wasn't the only one having problems with Father's Day gifts.
He reached under the sofa and pulled out his duffel bag, an item Fett had retrieved from his X-wing for him. Was there something in here that would work? He upended the bag over his bed, its contents landing in a chaotic jumble. Pulling out his lightsaber, flight suit, and Jedi clothes, he set them aside and sorted through the rest.
"Hey, how do you spell 'midi-chlorians?'" asked Trapper.
"Huh? Oh, M-I-D-I-dash-C-H-L-O-R-I-A-N-S."
"Thanks."
Luke picked up his blaster, examined it, then threw it aside. A survival pack and medkit were similarly rejected. Handful of Imperial credits -- no good on Earth, and besides, there were far too few for even a public pay-comm call, much less anything of significant value. His medal for destroying the Death Star -- too personal to Luke. A datapad containing a Mon Calamari fantasy novel -- was Vader even into reading? He hadn't a clue.
At last he lifted the last item. A carved, polished chunk of jappor, a semi-precious stone from Tatooine, hung from an eopi-leather cord, and on either side of the stone were glistening hematite beads about the size of Earth peas, each painted with tiny gold symbols in a language he didn't understand.
He didn't know where it had come from, only that he'd owned it all his life. When he'd asked Uncle Owen about its origins, the stern man had gruffly changed the subject. Aunt Beru had been much kinder about the question but had only given the vague answer "It was a gift from a relative." Luke had felt curiously attached to the piece and had worn it often, despite teasing from the other farm kids who had jeered that jewelry was for girls.
Perhaps, he thought idly, his father would appreciate the gift. Maybe he'd like an artifact that reminded him of his homeworld.
"Mornin', Luke," Austin mumbled, shuffling down the stairs in his bathrobe and pajama bottoms. "What're you up to, Trapper?"
Trapper flung his arms over the monitor to hide the text. "Nothing."
Austin cracked a smile. "Look at that. Nine years old and already got a porn problem."
"Do not!" Trapper protested.
"Then why won't you let me see the screen?"
He backed away from the computer. "Uh... I wrote a column for you, Dad. Happy Father's Day."
Austin and Luke both read the column, which began: "Hi, I'm Trapper, Austin's son. I'm nine and I'm a Star Wars fanatic too. You've probably heard of me. Well, because today is Father's Day I'm going to write 'Life as a Geek' for my dad this week. And this week we're going to talk about why the ending of 'Return of the Jedi' really sucks!"
The column was a surprisingly well-written argument against Anakin's death at the end of the film. Despite a number of spelling and mechanical errors, Austin was obviously pleased.
"It's perfect, son," he told him. "I'll send it to my editor right away!" He swept Trapper up in an enormous hug.
Luke gave a sad smile as he watched the display of affection. How he'd missed having a father when he was young.
"Don't pout, Luke," Austin teased. "Here, I'll hug you too." And he nearly squeezed the breath out of him with a crushing embrace.
"Oof!"
"Better?" asked Austin.
"Yeah," he grunted, rubbing his sides. "Hey, can I get a ride once you're dressed?"
"Sure thing. Where ya off to?"
He ran a thumb over the aged jappor snippet. "The Churches'. It's Father's Day, and I need to see my father."
***
Vader chastised himself for oversleeping as he made his way down the stairs toward the den. This Earth life was far too comfortable, and he was growing lax in his daily routine. He would have to push himself harder to compensate for this lapse.
The basement of the Churches' home, a combination laundry room and storage area, was plenty big for a practice session with his lightsaber. Too bad he hadn't any dueling droids or a holographic target. But Diana had specified what items down here were junk and which were off limits, so he was free to construct his own training area.
He raised his lightsaber to his brow in a salute, ignited it, and went into a deep lunge, slicing the legs out from under an imaginary opponent. Whirling, he went through a series of fencing motions before ending with a forward thrust that punched through the chest of a broken dress-making mannequin. Then he yanked the weapon free and swiped to either side as if warding off blaster fire.
Now for a challenge. First he picked up two old tennis balls and threw them at the ceiling. Then he tossed the saber into the air, executed a back flip, and caught the weapon in midair. Before his feet hit the ground he had chopped the first ball in half. His boots struck the concrete floor seconds before the pieces of both balls landed, the second one having been cut while the saber had been out of his hands.
Finally he closed his eyes, visualizing the image of a Jedi before him, saber drawn for battle. He exchanged blows with his shadow-opponent, drawing on techniques from both the Jedi Order and his Sith training, occasionally inventing new moves or blending different styles. A competent fighter used what he knew; a superior warrior could use that knowledge to create something new and better.
Then it happened. As he was about to deliver the killing blow, the Emperor's face superimposed itself over the image of the Jedi.
He hesitated, neglecting to strike out, but he had already made his forward lunge and couldn't check his momentum. He tripped over a box of books and tumbled head over heels into a pile of tent poles. His lightsaber skidded away, the automatic safety kicking in to deactivate the blade.
For a moment he just lay there, too startled to feel embarrassed. Where had that come from? Fantasizing about killing his master! Sure, he hated the deranged dictator, but he'd never entertained the notion of murdering him.
With a grunt he extracted himself from the heap, then picked up his weapon and clipped it to his belt. Ever since his discussion with Luke he'd been in constant conflict with himself. Did he really want to take Luke's offer and join the Alliance? Would they even accept him? And did he even want to change sides? The prospect terrified him. He'd been immersed in darkness so long that the mere notion of going back to the light
was painful.
From upstairs came a loud clatter. He moved to ascend the stairs and investigate, then paused, one foot still raised to mount the steps. He hadn't finished his required drills...
A totally alien sound emerged from his throat. It took him a moment to figure out it was amused laughter. Here he was, thousands of light years from Imperial Center, and he was still sticking so rigidly to the daily schedule the Emperor had drawn up for him! Well, the Emperor wasn't here to enforce it, was he? He was free to end his drills whenever he wanted or even skip them entirely. He grinned rebelliously and climbed the stairs, relishing his newly realized freedom.
Rachel was in the kitchen, wiping up orange juice with a wad of paper towels. The juice pitcher -- plastic, fortunately -- lay on the floor, its contents sprayed across the kitchen as if a lubricating droid had suffered an electronic seizure. She looked up at him and grinned mischievously.
"I dropped it," she announced.
"I noticed." He bent down to help her clean up. "What are you doing up this early?"
"I got up to make Daddy breakfast in bed," she said proudly. "I made him a present too."
"A present?" He gathered the paper towels in a ball and tossed them in the trash bin. "What's the occasion?"
"What's that mean?"
"What's the special day?"
She leaned toward him and whispered. "It's Father's Day. I hope Daddy likes his book. I made it all by myself, except Mommy wrote the words." She turned toward the table and carefully removed a tray containing a slightly overdone piece of toast, a cup of yogurt, a muffin, a glass of juice, a flower snitched from the garden, and the handmade book titled simply "My Daddy."
"Do you need help?" asked Vader.
"Nuh-uh." Then she reconsidered. "You can open the door. Mommy locks it sometimes."
He strode toward the door, listened a moment to ensure nothing unfit for children's eyes was going on, and nudged it open. Then he moved away and leaned against the wall to think while Rachel tiptoed in and yelled "Surprise, Daddy!"
"What is it, Rachel -- oh, how sweet!"
"You did this all by yourself? Wow, you're getting so big!"
Vader listened to the happy chatter a moment, oddly wistful. The closest thing he had ever had to a father had been his old Master, Obi-wan Kenobi, and he had killed him. At the time that murder had brought him a sadistically sweet feeling of satisfaction. Now, however, he regretted it deeply. How could he destroy his friend so easily?
/Luke/ he thought suddenly. /He was Luke's master too. Stars, doesn't Luke hate me for that? Doesn't he hate me for ANYTHING I've done to him?/
He already had that answer, of course. Luke hated Vader, not his father. But couldn't the boy accept that the two were one and the same?
Abruptly he entered the bedroom. Rachel was seated on the bed between Conrad and Diana, and they were all chuckling over her book.
"I need to borrow a car," he said shortly.
Conrad glanced up. "Uh... no offense meant, Lord Vader..."
"Just Vader."
"No offense meant, Vader, but I've seen you drive. I don't really want either car involved in an accident, especially with an uninsured driver..."
"I swear I will not kill anyone," Vader promised, holding up his hands. "I will be careful."
Conrad dug around in the junk on his nightstand. "We've got church today, so we'll need the van available. Will the old Toyota do?"
Vader nodded and caught the keys Conrad tossed to him. Quickly he made his way to the front door. Was Luke still at the Powers' house, or would he be in town?
Question answered. When he opened the door, his son was standing there, hand poised to press the doorbell.
"Luke?"
"Hello, Father. Uh, sorry to spook you. Can I come in?"
Vader motioned for him to enter. "I was about to come meet you. There are things we must discuss."
***
The Church family had just departed for their morning church services, leaving Luke and Vader alone in the house. They sat at the kitchen table, not talking, mulling over how to begin their conversation.
"I had an entire speech planned before you showed up," Vader said at last. "Now that you're here, I have forgotten it."
"I'm sorry," Luke replied. "Was it a good speech?"
Vader shrugged. "It seemed so at the time. Now I'm not sure."
Luke slid the box in his hand across the table toward him. "This is for you. A Father's Day gift."
He shook his head and pushed it back. "I am not deserving of this. Owen was more of a father to you than I. You should honor his memory instead of chasing ghosts."
Luke pushed it at Vader again. "No, Father. I love my uncle and aunt and always will. But in calling Owen my father I deny my birthright. I deny my Jedi heritage. But most of all, I deny you a second chance."
A sour chuckle. "And you honestly think I deserve that second chance?" He slid the box to Luke again.
"Let's not go through this again," Luke said firmly, sliding the gift toward Vader. "You are my father. I am your son. You told me yourself. Yoda told me. Ben finally 'fessed up and told me. Stang, I can even go get a DNA test to prove it if you want! You're all I have left of a family. Don't reject me now, please."
Vader lifted the box as if to throw it at Luke, then set it down with a clap. "You don't give up easy, do you?"
Luke smirked. "Must be the infamous Skywalker stubborn streak."
"Uproariously funny, Luke," Vader replied sarcastically, opening the box and removing a wad of tissue. "If your Force talents were equal to your wit..."
When he never finished the remark Luke wondered if he'd made a mistake. Did Vader think the gift inappropriate, insulting, or just plain weird? After all, few people gave jewelry to a Dark Lord.
Vader lifted the necklace, the leather cording draped over his fingers. He handled it with such reverence -- tenderness, even -- that Luke took back his previous thought.
"Where did you get this?" he demanded quietly.
"I've had it since... as long as I can remember."
The lenses of Vader's mask locked with Luke's eyes. "Luke, you saw 'The Phantom Menace.' Remember on the Queen's shuttle, right after we'd left Tatooine?"
Luke suddenly understood. He remembered that scene, when the boy who would become Darth Vader had given a gift to the girl who would become his wife, a stone carving on a leather cord, a token to remember him by.
A token that, save the beads, was identical to the one Vader held.
"I made the carving for your mother when I was a boy," Vader went on, voice rough. "On our wedding day she wore it beneath her veil, and a Gungan craftsman added the beads." He touched one bead with his thumb. "The writing on this one is High Gungan for 'strength,' with the symbol on the reverse meaning 'magician.' It was the
closest word their language had for 'Jedi.'" His thumb moved to caress the other bead. "This one reads 'royalty' on one side, 'beauty' on the other. These beads were meant to symbolize us and our union."
"My mother... gave that to me?" Luke asked, stunned.
"It's the only way it could have... fallen into your hands," Vader replied, a catch in his voice. "I never thought I'd see it again... not after she... died..." His voice trailed off with what sounded like a sob, and his head bowed down as his shoulders quaked with emotion.
Luke moved to his father's side, placing a supportive arm around his father's shoulders as he wept. "I'm sorry, Father. I didn't mean to bring back distressing memories."
Vader's empty hand came up to rest on Luke's. "You have no... reason... to be sorry. Any memories I carry... are my own doing." His head straightened as he struggled to regain composure. "I haven't cried like that in too many years."
Luke tightened his embrace. He understood. These were healing tears, as if they cleansed out an infection. The crack in Vader's shell was widening, and more of Anakin was emerging.
"When this is all over," Luke declared, "I want to hear all about my mother."
"We can discuss her anytime you wish," Vader promised. He gently laid the necklace in its box and closed the lid. "I thank you for the gift, son. It means so much to me." He stood. "And now, seeing as it's Father's Day, I would like to do something to honor my own father. Why don't you accompany me?"
"Your father?" Luke's brow furrowed. "But I thought you had no father."
***
The lightsaber looked as well-cared for as it had four years ago, when its previous owner had wielded it in battle one last time. Someone had painstakingly polished and filed away unsightly scratches, refastened the loosening grips, and cleaned out the circuits, leaving it in prime condition. Luke knew if he were to activate it, a rich
shimmering beam of azure would spring forth. But he only cradled the weapon in one hand, amazed that he was seeing it again.
"Obi-wan was my father, in a sense," Vader explained, taking the weapon from Luke. "He was genuinely concerned for my well-being, enough to warn and chastise me when he saw me going astray. He loved me enough to come after me and fight me one last time in an effort to bring me back to the light. And he loved me enough to allow me to kill him rather than strike me down. I was too blind, too self-centered, to recognize
such actions as loving, but now I see he had no desire to harm me.
"After you fled the Death Star with Han and the princess I burned his robes, but found I couldn't bring myself to destroy his lightsaber. I kept it with me at all times, hoping I'd soon work up the courage to dispose of it. But I never did."
Luke and Vader stood in a tiny clearing deep in the White Deer Forest. It was an unusually cool day for June, and a gentle breeze stirred the trees so they swayed against the smoky-gray sky. A scant fifty kilometers away, the sound of a watercraft cruising around White Deer Lake added its hum to the sighing of the wind.
"He deserves a proper funeral," Luke murmured. "Will you deliver the eulogy?"
"I would be honored."
Luke knelt before the tiny hole he had dug and placed in it the stand-in for Obi-wan's body -- an action figure they had secured at Wal-mart on the way here, then tenderly wrapped in cloth and put in an old jewelry box. Then he patted dirt over the "grave" and gently ran his hand over the makeshift gravestone. Vader had located a
suitably sized and colored rock, used his lightsaber to slice the front so it was smooth as marble, and utilized a laser drill from the supplies in Luke's X-wing to carve words into its surface. The marker read "Obi-wan Kenobi -- Jedi Knight, Mentor, Father, Friend."
"Obi-wan Kenobi, Knight in the service of the Jedi Order, has been laid to rest," Vader intoned, using the traditional blessing he had heard at many Jedi funerals, among them those of Qui-gon Jinn, Yaddle, and Yarael Poof. "In life he was a servant of the Force, but in death he is one with it. May those who called him student, master, comrade, or friend not mourn, for he has found a more noble calling than the material world permits. There is no death; there is the Force."
The two of them raised their own lightsabers to their foreheads in salute, then turned and went back to the clearing where the X-wing, TIE, and Slave sat. In the old times the Jedi Order would dismantle a fallen Jedi's weapon for parts or give it to a Padawan learner until he built his own weapon. But Luke and Vader felt taking Obi-wan's lightsaber apart would profane his memory. Vader would keep it until they left the planet.
They found Boba Fett kneeling by the Slave, whispering in an unknown tongue. When he finished and saw them approach he stood and nodded in greeting.
"Thinking about your father?" asked Luke.
Fett nodded again. "Honoring his memory by saying a prayer to the good spirits. It IS Father's Day, after all."
"Come back to town with us," Vader offered. "It's a long walk. And as long as we're on Earth, we may as well stick together."
The Sith Apprentice, bounty hunter, and Jedi Knight walked side by side toward Conrad's Toyota, lost in their own private thoughts, in a rare moment of cease-fire.
Chapter XVII -- The Gift
Luke rolled carefully off the hide-a-bed in Austin's living room, swinging his legs down over the edge. Another day on Earth. What wonders would the planet and its people have in store for him today? He was quite enjoying his stay here, for while his life had always been full of surprises, the surprises on Earth were normally not as dangerous as... oh, say a three-meter wampa ice monster or a moon-sized battle station.
His first surprise of the day was the sensation of something cold and squishy between the toes of his right foot as he started to get out of bed.
/Ewww./ He winced and looked down. A bowl of soggy brown matter dotted with what appeared to be dried berries sat on the floor just beside his bed. Beside that, Trapper lay on the floor, still in his "Jurassic Park" pajamas, scribbling something down on a yellow legal pad.
"What's this stuff?" Luke asked, lifting his foot.
"Oh, it's Raisin Bran," Trapper replied without looking up. "I like to add the milk and let it get nice and mushy before I eat it."
"I see. And what's it doing by my bed?"
He looked over, and his eyes got big when he saw what had happened. "Oops! Don't move, or you'll get it in the carpet and Dad'll kill me! I'll get you a washcloth!"
Trapper grabbed the bowl and ran out of the room. Luke took advantage of his absence to sneak a glance at the pad. It was difficult to decipher the boy's hastily scrawled handwriting, but he could just make out the title -- "Life as a Geek."
"Here," Trapper told him, handing him a damp rag. In his other arm he cradled two more bowls of Raisin Bran. He handed one to Luke and set the other down farther away from the bed, then returned to his writing.
"What are you up to?" asked Luke, wiping the gunk from his foot.
"It's my dad's Father's Day present," he replied nonchalantly. "I'm going to write his column for him so he doesn't have to spazz out later 'cause of writer's block."
"Father's Day?"
"Come on, don't tell me they don't have Father's Day on Tatooine!"
"Not as long as I've lived there. The Republic might have had a father-oriented holiday, but the Empire got rid of most of the Republic holidays when it came into power. All we have left are Life Day, New Year's Day, Imperial Inception Day, and the Emperor's birthday."
Trapper made a sour face. "Who'd wanna celebrate HIS birthday? Didn't he get tired of birthdays fifty years ago?"
Luke laughed.
Trapper tossed his pencil aside. "There, done. Now to type it out before Dad gets up." He stood up and went to the computer.
Father's Day, eh? Luke thought on that as he changed into jeans and a dark blue Spiderman T-shirt, both loaners from Cody. So Earth people were to honor their fathers today. If only he'd had a little advance warning! He could have prepared something for his own paternal parent.
He thought back on his conversation with Vader yesterday. That had been the single most incredible day of his life -- being truly reunited with his father. He had been right. Anakin lived on inside the shell of Vader and wanted desperately to emerge. But while their heartfelt discussion had managed to crack that shell, it would take much more effort on both their parts to strip it away entirely.
Trapper grumbled and slammed down on the backspace key, evidently not pleased with how a particular section had come out. At least Luke wasn't the only one having problems with Father's Day gifts.
He reached under the sofa and pulled out his duffel bag, an item Fett had retrieved from his X-wing for him. Was there something in here that would work? He upended the bag over his bed, its contents landing in a chaotic jumble. Pulling out his lightsaber, flight suit, and Jedi clothes, he set them aside and sorted through the rest.
"Hey, how do you spell 'midi-chlorians?'" asked Trapper.
"Huh? Oh, M-I-D-I-dash-C-H-L-O-R-I-A-N-S."
"Thanks."
Luke picked up his blaster, examined it, then threw it aside. A survival pack and medkit were similarly rejected. Handful of Imperial credits -- no good on Earth, and besides, there were far too few for even a public pay-comm call, much less anything of significant value. His medal for destroying the Death Star -- too personal to Luke. A datapad containing a Mon Calamari fantasy novel -- was Vader even into reading? He hadn't a clue.
At last he lifted the last item. A carved, polished chunk of jappor, a semi-precious stone from Tatooine, hung from an eopi-leather cord, and on either side of the stone were glistening hematite beads about the size of Earth peas, each painted with tiny gold symbols in a language he didn't understand.
He didn't know where it had come from, only that he'd owned it all his life. When he'd asked Uncle Owen about its origins, the stern man had gruffly changed the subject. Aunt Beru had been much kinder about the question but had only given the vague answer "It was a gift from a relative." Luke had felt curiously attached to the piece and had worn it often, despite teasing from the other farm kids who had jeered that jewelry was for girls.
Perhaps, he thought idly, his father would appreciate the gift. Maybe he'd like an artifact that reminded him of his homeworld.
"Mornin', Luke," Austin mumbled, shuffling down the stairs in his bathrobe and pajama bottoms. "What're you up to, Trapper?"
Trapper flung his arms over the monitor to hide the text. "Nothing."
Austin cracked a smile. "Look at that. Nine years old and already got a porn problem."
"Do not!" Trapper protested.
"Then why won't you let me see the screen?"
He backed away from the computer. "Uh... I wrote a column for you, Dad. Happy Father's Day."
Austin and Luke both read the column, which began: "Hi, I'm Trapper, Austin's son. I'm nine and I'm a Star Wars fanatic too. You've probably heard of me. Well, because today is Father's Day I'm going to write 'Life as a Geek' for my dad this week. And this week we're going to talk about why the ending of 'Return of the Jedi' really sucks!"
The column was a surprisingly well-written argument against Anakin's death at the end of the film. Despite a number of spelling and mechanical errors, Austin was obviously pleased.
"It's perfect, son," he told him. "I'll send it to my editor right away!" He swept Trapper up in an enormous hug.
Luke gave a sad smile as he watched the display of affection. How he'd missed having a father when he was young.
"Don't pout, Luke," Austin teased. "Here, I'll hug you too." And he nearly squeezed the breath out of him with a crushing embrace.
"Oof!"
"Better?" asked Austin.
"Yeah," he grunted, rubbing his sides. "Hey, can I get a ride once you're dressed?"
"Sure thing. Where ya off to?"
He ran a thumb over the aged jappor snippet. "The Churches'. It's Father's Day, and I need to see my father."
***
Vader chastised himself for oversleeping as he made his way down the stairs toward the den. This Earth life was far too comfortable, and he was growing lax in his daily routine. He would have to push himself harder to compensate for this lapse.
The basement of the Churches' home, a combination laundry room and storage area, was plenty big for a practice session with his lightsaber. Too bad he hadn't any dueling droids or a holographic target. But Diana had specified what items down here were junk and which were off limits, so he was free to construct his own training area.
He raised his lightsaber to his brow in a salute, ignited it, and went into a deep lunge, slicing the legs out from under an imaginary opponent. Whirling, he went through a series of fencing motions before ending with a forward thrust that punched through the chest of a broken dress-making mannequin. Then he yanked the weapon free and swiped to either side as if warding off blaster fire.
Now for a challenge. First he picked up two old tennis balls and threw them at the ceiling. Then he tossed the saber into the air, executed a back flip, and caught the weapon in midair. Before his feet hit the ground he had chopped the first ball in half. His boots struck the concrete floor seconds before the pieces of both balls landed, the second one having been cut while the saber had been out of his hands.
Finally he closed his eyes, visualizing the image of a Jedi before him, saber drawn for battle. He exchanged blows with his shadow-opponent, drawing on techniques from both the Jedi Order and his Sith training, occasionally inventing new moves or blending different styles. A competent fighter used what he knew; a superior warrior could use that knowledge to create something new and better.
Then it happened. As he was about to deliver the killing blow, the Emperor's face superimposed itself over the image of the Jedi.
He hesitated, neglecting to strike out, but he had already made his forward lunge and couldn't check his momentum. He tripped over a box of books and tumbled head over heels into a pile of tent poles. His lightsaber skidded away, the automatic safety kicking in to deactivate the blade.
For a moment he just lay there, too startled to feel embarrassed. Where had that come from? Fantasizing about killing his master! Sure, he hated the deranged dictator, but he'd never entertained the notion of murdering him.
With a grunt he extracted himself from the heap, then picked up his weapon and clipped it to his belt. Ever since his discussion with Luke he'd been in constant conflict with himself. Did he really want to take Luke's offer and join the Alliance? Would they even accept him? And did he even want to change sides? The prospect terrified him. He'd been immersed in darkness so long that the mere notion of going back to the light
was painful.
From upstairs came a loud clatter. He moved to ascend the stairs and investigate, then paused, one foot still raised to mount the steps. He hadn't finished his required drills...
A totally alien sound emerged from his throat. It took him a moment to figure out it was amused laughter. Here he was, thousands of light years from Imperial Center, and he was still sticking so rigidly to the daily schedule the Emperor had drawn up for him! Well, the Emperor wasn't here to enforce it, was he? He was free to end his drills whenever he wanted or even skip them entirely. He grinned rebelliously and climbed the stairs, relishing his newly realized freedom.
Rachel was in the kitchen, wiping up orange juice with a wad of paper towels. The juice pitcher -- plastic, fortunately -- lay on the floor, its contents sprayed across the kitchen as if a lubricating droid had suffered an electronic seizure. She looked up at him and grinned mischievously.
"I dropped it," she announced.
"I noticed." He bent down to help her clean up. "What are you doing up this early?"
"I got up to make Daddy breakfast in bed," she said proudly. "I made him a present too."
"A present?" He gathered the paper towels in a ball and tossed them in the trash bin. "What's the occasion?"
"What's that mean?"
"What's the special day?"
She leaned toward him and whispered. "It's Father's Day. I hope Daddy likes his book. I made it all by myself, except Mommy wrote the words." She turned toward the table and carefully removed a tray containing a slightly overdone piece of toast, a cup of yogurt, a muffin, a glass of juice, a flower snitched from the garden, and the handmade book titled simply "My Daddy."
"Do you need help?" asked Vader.
"Nuh-uh." Then she reconsidered. "You can open the door. Mommy locks it sometimes."
He strode toward the door, listened a moment to ensure nothing unfit for children's eyes was going on, and nudged it open. Then he moved away and leaned against the wall to think while Rachel tiptoed in and yelled "Surprise, Daddy!"
"What is it, Rachel -- oh, how sweet!"
"You did this all by yourself? Wow, you're getting so big!"
Vader listened to the happy chatter a moment, oddly wistful. The closest thing he had ever had to a father had been his old Master, Obi-wan Kenobi, and he had killed him. At the time that murder had brought him a sadistically sweet feeling of satisfaction. Now, however, he regretted it deeply. How could he destroy his friend so easily?
/Luke/ he thought suddenly. /He was Luke's master too. Stars, doesn't Luke hate me for that? Doesn't he hate me for ANYTHING I've done to him?/
He already had that answer, of course. Luke hated Vader, not his father. But couldn't the boy accept that the two were one and the same?
Abruptly he entered the bedroom. Rachel was seated on the bed between Conrad and Diana, and they were all chuckling over her book.
"I need to borrow a car," he said shortly.
Conrad glanced up. "Uh... no offense meant, Lord Vader..."
"Just Vader."
"No offense meant, Vader, but I've seen you drive. I don't really want either car involved in an accident, especially with an uninsured driver..."
"I swear I will not kill anyone," Vader promised, holding up his hands. "I will be careful."
Conrad dug around in the junk on his nightstand. "We've got church today, so we'll need the van available. Will the old Toyota do?"
Vader nodded and caught the keys Conrad tossed to him. Quickly he made his way to the front door. Was Luke still at the Powers' house, or would he be in town?
Question answered. When he opened the door, his son was standing there, hand poised to press the doorbell.
"Luke?"
"Hello, Father. Uh, sorry to spook you. Can I come in?"
Vader motioned for him to enter. "I was about to come meet you. There are things we must discuss."
***
The Church family had just departed for their morning church services, leaving Luke and Vader alone in the house. They sat at the kitchen table, not talking, mulling over how to begin their conversation.
"I had an entire speech planned before you showed up," Vader said at last. "Now that you're here, I have forgotten it."
"I'm sorry," Luke replied. "Was it a good speech?"
Vader shrugged. "It seemed so at the time. Now I'm not sure."
Luke slid the box in his hand across the table toward him. "This is for you. A Father's Day gift."
He shook his head and pushed it back. "I am not deserving of this. Owen was more of a father to you than I. You should honor his memory instead of chasing ghosts."
Luke pushed it at Vader again. "No, Father. I love my uncle and aunt and always will. But in calling Owen my father I deny my birthright. I deny my Jedi heritage. But most of all, I deny you a second chance."
A sour chuckle. "And you honestly think I deserve that second chance?" He slid the box to Luke again.
"Let's not go through this again," Luke said firmly, sliding the gift toward Vader. "You are my father. I am your son. You told me yourself. Yoda told me. Ben finally 'fessed up and told me. Stang, I can even go get a DNA test to prove it if you want! You're all I have left of a family. Don't reject me now, please."
Vader lifted the box as if to throw it at Luke, then set it down with a clap. "You don't give up easy, do you?"
Luke smirked. "Must be the infamous Skywalker stubborn streak."
"Uproariously funny, Luke," Vader replied sarcastically, opening the box and removing a wad of tissue. "If your Force talents were equal to your wit..."
When he never finished the remark Luke wondered if he'd made a mistake. Did Vader think the gift inappropriate, insulting, or just plain weird? After all, few people gave jewelry to a Dark Lord.
Vader lifted the necklace, the leather cording draped over his fingers. He handled it with such reverence -- tenderness, even -- that Luke took back his previous thought.
"Where did you get this?" he demanded quietly.
"I've had it since... as long as I can remember."
The lenses of Vader's mask locked with Luke's eyes. "Luke, you saw 'The Phantom Menace.' Remember on the Queen's shuttle, right after we'd left Tatooine?"
Luke suddenly understood. He remembered that scene, when the boy who would become Darth Vader had given a gift to the girl who would become his wife, a stone carving on a leather cord, a token to remember him by.
A token that, save the beads, was identical to the one Vader held.
"I made the carving for your mother when I was a boy," Vader went on, voice rough. "On our wedding day she wore it beneath her veil, and a Gungan craftsman added the beads." He touched one bead with his thumb. "The writing on this one is High Gungan for 'strength,' with the symbol on the reverse meaning 'magician.' It was the
closest word their language had for 'Jedi.'" His thumb moved to caress the other bead. "This one reads 'royalty' on one side, 'beauty' on the other. These beads were meant to symbolize us and our union."
"My mother... gave that to me?" Luke asked, stunned.
"It's the only way it could have... fallen into your hands," Vader replied, a catch in his voice. "I never thought I'd see it again... not after she... died..." His voice trailed off with what sounded like a sob, and his head bowed down as his shoulders quaked with emotion.
Luke moved to his father's side, placing a supportive arm around his father's shoulders as he wept. "I'm sorry, Father. I didn't mean to bring back distressing memories."
Vader's empty hand came up to rest on Luke's. "You have no... reason... to be sorry. Any memories I carry... are my own doing." His head straightened as he struggled to regain composure. "I haven't cried like that in too many years."
Luke tightened his embrace. He understood. These were healing tears, as if they cleansed out an infection. The crack in Vader's shell was widening, and more of Anakin was emerging.
"When this is all over," Luke declared, "I want to hear all about my mother."
"We can discuss her anytime you wish," Vader promised. He gently laid the necklace in its box and closed the lid. "I thank you for the gift, son. It means so much to me." He stood. "And now, seeing as it's Father's Day, I would like to do something to honor my own father. Why don't you accompany me?"
"Your father?" Luke's brow furrowed. "But I thought you had no father."
***
The lightsaber looked as well-cared for as it had four years ago, when its previous owner had wielded it in battle one last time. Someone had painstakingly polished and filed away unsightly scratches, refastened the loosening grips, and cleaned out the circuits, leaving it in prime condition. Luke knew if he were to activate it, a rich
shimmering beam of azure would spring forth. But he only cradled the weapon in one hand, amazed that he was seeing it again.
"Obi-wan was my father, in a sense," Vader explained, taking the weapon from Luke. "He was genuinely concerned for my well-being, enough to warn and chastise me when he saw me going astray. He loved me enough to come after me and fight me one last time in an effort to bring me back to the light. And he loved me enough to allow me to kill him rather than strike me down. I was too blind, too self-centered, to recognize
such actions as loving, but now I see he had no desire to harm me.
"After you fled the Death Star with Han and the princess I burned his robes, but found I couldn't bring myself to destroy his lightsaber. I kept it with me at all times, hoping I'd soon work up the courage to dispose of it. But I never did."
Luke and Vader stood in a tiny clearing deep in the White Deer Forest. It was an unusually cool day for June, and a gentle breeze stirred the trees so they swayed against the smoky-gray sky. A scant fifty kilometers away, the sound of a watercraft cruising around White Deer Lake added its hum to the sighing of the wind.
"He deserves a proper funeral," Luke murmured. "Will you deliver the eulogy?"
"I would be honored."
Luke knelt before the tiny hole he had dug and placed in it the stand-in for Obi-wan's body -- an action figure they had secured at Wal-mart on the way here, then tenderly wrapped in cloth and put in an old jewelry box. Then he patted dirt over the "grave" and gently ran his hand over the makeshift gravestone. Vader had located a
suitably sized and colored rock, used his lightsaber to slice the front so it was smooth as marble, and utilized a laser drill from the supplies in Luke's X-wing to carve words into its surface. The marker read "Obi-wan Kenobi -- Jedi Knight, Mentor, Father, Friend."
"Obi-wan Kenobi, Knight in the service of the Jedi Order, has been laid to rest," Vader intoned, using the traditional blessing he had heard at many Jedi funerals, among them those of Qui-gon Jinn, Yaddle, and Yarael Poof. "In life he was a servant of the Force, but in death he is one with it. May those who called him student, master, comrade, or friend not mourn, for he has found a more noble calling than the material world permits. There is no death; there is the Force."
The two of them raised their own lightsabers to their foreheads in salute, then turned and went back to the clearing where the X-wing, TIE, and Slave sat. In the old times the Jedi Order would dismantle a fallen Jedi's weapon for parts or give it to a Padawan learner until he built his own weapon. But Luke and Vader felt taking Obi-wan's lightsaber apart would profane his memory. Vader would keep it until they left the planet.
They found Boba Fett kneeling by the Slave, whispering in an unknown tongue. When he finished and saw them approach he stood and nodded in greeting.
"Thinking about your father?" asked Luke.
Fett nodded again. "Honoring his memory by saying a prayer to the good spirits. It IS Father's Day, after all."
"Come back to town with us," Vader offered. "It's a long walk. And as long as we're on Earth, we may as well stick together."
The Sith Apprentice, bounty hunter, and Jedi Knight walked side by side toward Conrad's Toyota, lost in their own private thoughts, in a rare moment of cease-fire.