What hadn't crossed my mind when I agreed to coming to Anikin's play is that many of the parents of Anikin's schoolmates are old friends and wingmates of mine, or at least people I'd known long ago. When I'd been someone else entirely. I didn't say goodbye to anyone but Han and Leia, and I've wondered absently from time to time what explanation, if any, my ex-wife furnished for my sudden departure. There could be a lot of questions tonight, the well-meaning but badly timed or placed sort, the sort that could threaten to send me over the edge in an inopportune setting. Great.

I draw a deep breath, looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. Be all of that as it may, I can't let Anikin down. He doesn't know what an evil person I can be–he looks at me with eyes like the sky over Tatooine and it's almost as if he sees me as pure as himself. I can't break that. Not yet–he's too young.

All that I can do is try to look my best and stick close to Leia. She has such a way with words, and I'm sure she'll be able to diplomatically handle the most uncomfortable of encounters.

As of late, I try hard to cut back on the spice before visiting the kids, but I feel drowsy and listless and distracted without it, so before leaving I drink a lot of caf. I smile ironically to myself. Replacing one drug with another. That's healthy. That'll fix me right up.

I did my laundry and hung some things up for a change, instead of throwing them on the floor, so they'd look nice for tonight. I wear a soft grey tunic with a high collar and a wrap front, black pants and boots. I always have eye drops with me–reddened eyes are a tell-tale sign of being spiced, withdrawn, sleep deprived, or just generally stressed, all of which I experience frequently. I use some, blinking it away as I again regard my reflection, willing my eyes to clear. At least the circles under my eyes seem lighter. I've been eating the leftovers from the omelet ingredients which Han left, and I think actually getting some nourishment for a change is helping. But you can't expect too much of a change all at once, I suppose.

I grab my leather flight jacket and my leather gloves, and I'm out the door. I take a cab to the Palace so I don't have to walk in the freezing late-winter rain. After how much effort went into actually looking presentable tonight, I can't arrive soaking wet.

It's sunset. I've always liked sunset. Parents are standing under an awning before the school entrance, talking about their children. I pay the driver and hurry to join my family, wary of the rain and the faces in the crowd that I dare not even glance at, because we may recognize one another. I pop up my collar and make my way to Han, Leia, and Ben near the door. One thing that has astounded me every time I've seen them is that they all seem happy I'm there–after what I've done, I expect malice. Han and I grasp arms for a moment, smiling, more comfortable with each other for the time we spent together. Ben jumps into my arms and holds me tight. Leia looks at me with a wistful, warm smile, her red tunic bringing out her flushed cheeks. I briefly consider hugging her, but my throat tightens at the thought, and all I do is return her smile. It will take a miracle for us to be comfortable with each other again.

I've never seen a children's play, but I suppose the exaggerated and yet completely emotionless acting is typical of such a thing. Anikin plays his part boldly and over enthusiastically, portraying the sort of mythical hero I'd spent most of my youth and childhood wishing I was. Actually, it's so cute, it's ridiculous. It's absurdly hilarious. I spend most of the play suppressing laughter, and find Leia, seated to my right, in the same state. We lock eyes, smiling.

I glance back to Anikin, and again to Leia. He's ours. Mine and hers. Our mistake, our miracle... It's the most perplexing feeling in the world, to know you've created a life with the woman sitting beside you, a woman you had not seen in seven years, and yet here you both are. And said life is on a stage before you, slaying a dragon. I smile again, first as the beginnings of a laugh, and then more softly, tenderly, as I watch the stage lights dance in her eyes. Her hand sits on the armrest between us, and I brush it with my own, so lightly I can hardly feel it. I don't need to say anything. She knows.

The play ends with wild applause from the very proud audience. We stand to leave, gathering our jackets, Han running of to gather the little star from backstage, Ben gushing about how great his brother was. That's when I hear, "Luke? Luke Skywalker, is that you?"

I freeze. That's Wedge's voice. As soon as I can move, I scan the isle between rows of seats for him. I have to at least say hello–it would be weird if I didn't. Besides, we were good friends once, and he had nothing to do with my leaving. As long as he doesn't ask any inappropriate questions, it shouldn't be too bad, right? And there he is, anxiously happy hazel-green eyes locked on me. I smile without realizing it, and grasp arms with him as soon as he's in reach.

"It is you," he says, sounding satisfied and confused.

I nod. "It's been a long time, Wedge."

"I'll say. What–six, seven years? Man. How are you?"

Loaded question number one. Take it in stride. I shrug. "I've...been worse, that's for sure." I look him over. Besides putting on a little weight, very little, he's the same boy I used to fly with. Back during the Revolution, the other pilots would jokingly accuse Wedge of not owning any clothes except flight suits–it was all we ever saw him in. The green tunic and Corrilian blood-stripe pants he's now wearing are nowhere near a flight suit, but still very Wedge. He looks a little like a dad. "You've hardly changed at all."

He smiles. "You think so? Right after the war, Luke, I got married and had a kid. Right away. I'm a family man now–does that sound like the old me?"

The old Wedge was afraid of girls, I remember with a smile, but very fond of them–almost to the point of poetry and flowers. "Why not?" I ask. "You were always the romantic type." I think of Anikin on the playground. "My son thinks the worlds of your daughter."

"I know–and my daughter thinks the worlds of your son. I think we'll probably have mutual grandkids someday."

"Sounds good."

Leia comes up behind me, Ben in hand. "Hello, Wedge."

He nods to her. "Hi, Leia. You look great."

She smiles, laying her free hand on her belly. "That's a lie. I'm as big as a bantha–but thank you."

"It's true. Hey, Luke, how long are you going to be around?"

I shrug. I hadn't thought about it like that. "Indefinitely. I think...I might be back to stay." I catch a hopeful smile from Leia at that.

"Really? Great. Give me a call sometime, will you? Leia knows my comm signal."

I nod. "Sure."

He leaves, filtering out of he small school theater with the rest of the crowd. I watch him go, and don't turn around until I feel a small hand on my shoulder, the pressure caring and reassuring. It's Leia. "See," she says, "that wasn't so bad."

"No," I murmur, surprised at how easy it had, in fact been. "It wasn't."

Anikin rides on my back on the walk to the apartment. Han tries to take him, and though Han really is probably twice as strong as I am, and a sleeping seven-year-old isn't exactly light, I insist that I don't mind the weight. Besides, before dropping off, he made me promise that I'd carry him the whole way back. So I will.

He doesn't stir until he's in his bed, and then he only opens his eyes long enough for me and Leia to help him into his sleep clothes, then crawls drowsily under his covers , asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. I push his bangs away as I had the other night and kiss his forehead carefully. I love him. More than I'll ever begin to understand. "Goodnight, Anikin," I whisper.

Leia smiles tenderly at me. I return it. We leave the room together.

"I'm sorry I ever doubted him," I whisper, closing the door behind us softly. "He's...everything I hoped he'd be–and nothing I feared." I look deep into her eyes, needing her to know that right now, I'm all right. Maybe I will be from now on. "I only wish I'd never left."

"Don't say that," she pleads. "Don't have regrets–you can't change what happened. Just let it go."

It sounds so easy. So very easy. But being here with her, looking into her eyes, having just put our son to bed together, I know that there is one regret I will always have. Hurting her.

I think about leaving, but when Leia sits on the couch I realize that if I'm ever going to finally talk to her about everything, then now, when I'm in a good mood, is probably the best time. I sit beside her, not knowing what to say or how to explain my move, my sudden desire to be close to her. She speaks first and saves me the trouble, beginning with what almost sounds like an "oof." "The baby just kicked my ribs," she explains, shifting to find a more comfortable position.

"Are you all right?" I ask, though I know she is. After all, I've done the father thing before. I remember Ben kicking a lot.

She nods. "I'm fine–she's just running out of room in there. The medds think that she'll be early, like the boys."

I nod. At my best guess, she's just short of eight months, which means only a few more weeks to go. I've been dying to know something, and this seems like a good time to ask. "Leia?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

"What was it like...when Anikin was born?"

Her eyes widen momentarily, surprised at my uncharacteristic concern. "Well..." She hesitates a long time, rubbing her stomach thoughtfully, maybe nervously. "It was hard. I mean, it was an easy birth. Short. But without you there..." She shakes her head. My chest clenches with guilt. "I was scared," she continues. She looks into my eyes, measuring how much she should trust me, I'd guess. "I didn't want to see him at first," she admits softly, her eyes becoming glassy. I want to hold her so badly and tell her it's all right–I don't blame her for not wanting him. I didn't before, either. "I was afraid of him, too. Of what he might be. But Han went to the nursery, and when he came back, he said Anikin was fine, and he looked just like you...so...I asked for him to be brought to me. He made me miss you more, but...since the first time I saw him, I couldn't help but love him."

I nod. Me, too.

I look deep into her dark eyes again, feeling emotions all too familiar, fishing for things to say.

I don't get a chance to say anything because we are interrupted by the sound of hurrying little feet coming down to corridor from the bedrooms. It's Anikin. I hardly get a look at him before he crawls into my lap, whining something about not liking to be alone, and how I should have stayed with him. He throws his arms around my neck and nestles his head on my shoulder. Bemused, unused to this sort of desperate affection from anyone, all I can do is exchange glances with Leia and hold the boy on my lap. She smiles in the same timid, fond way she has at me of late, as if she isn't sure it will be well received. All of my years of solitude have made me forget how to respond to a child's hugs and a lover's smile, so, with a deep breath and a reminder to myself to take things in little steps, I enfold Anikin in my arms and rock him gently until he falls asleep again.

"Do you think he's asleep?" Leia whispers eventually.

"I think so," I reply.

Her smile brightens into a genuine one. "Did you hear him whine? He is your spitting image."

"Thanks," I whisper, not taking offence but instead joining Leia's game good-naturedly. "What about when Ben gets all high-and-mighty, Princess? He's your spitting image."

She laughs softly. For a moment, I almost feel as if we're married again, or at least good friends, feeling safe within the presence of each other. I nuzzle my son's soft, fair hair, happy to have him in my arms, and I breathe the first content sigh I have in as long as I can remember, closing my eyes. "How did we do it, Leia?"

"Anikin?"

I nod. My eyes still closed, I feel her fingers touch mine, and our hands close around each other's tightly. My soul aches but I have to feel her hand in mine, to hold our son in my lap, to bask in the stillness this happiness has given to me.

I open my eyes and meet hers, then trail my line of sight down her velvet-draped arm to our intertwined fingers.

The aching happiness is disrupted suddenly by the sight of a very faint pinkish-white line slashing across Leia's wrist at an angle.

I let go of her hand and turn her wrist over to see the underside and the scar that cuts across it. A scar I have seen the likes of before. I know what it means. It looks like she tried to take her own life.

She pulls her had away just a quickly as I had turned it over, clearly shaken and embarrassed. Drawing a shuddering but brave breath, she says, "Go put Anikin in his bed, and I'll explain."

I nod obediently and pick him up as I rise, carry him to his room. As I tuck him in he doesn't stir–his breathing doesn't even change. Satisfied that he'll stay asleep, I hurry back to Leia.

She's pulled her sleeves back over her wrists, the way they were before, and I realize suddenly that every time I've seen her she's worn long, knuckle-dusting sleeves, like mine. I sit softly beside her, remembering the gentleness that she used to love so much about me, and take her hesitant hands in mine. I turn them slowly until they're underside-up, push back her sleeves one at a time. Sure enough, there's one on each wrist, silver-pink as an older scar, the echo of a clean slice across her white skin. I shake my head in disbelief. Not Leia. Leia would never do something like this–she's too strong, too brave, too dedicated to her family and her cause to give up. She's not me.

"When?" I murmur hoarsely, my mouth dry. "Why?"

Leia draws her hands away, trembling, wiping tears from her eyes as she speaks. Yet the tears do not sound in her voice–she has better control than that. "I should think the 'why' would be fairly obvious. The same reason you're always spiced. I just...couldn't deal with it anymore."

I'm not always spiced–I'm not now. And I almost say so, but instead I look deep into her eyes, trying to tell her without words how sorry I am. I don't have any words for it. "When?" I ask again.

She shakes her head, her frightened breathing betraying the evenness of her voice. "Don't hate me for this, Luke. You'd have done the same if you'd been in my place–"

"I don't hate you–"

"You don't understand. I did it late in my pregnancy with Anikin. I don't know what I wanted to happen, but I thought I'd probably either die or miscarry. I didn't want him, and it was too late for an abortion...I was desperate." She closes her eyes, and more tears stream down her cheeks.

I can't bear to see her cry.

On a sudden impulse, I gather her into my arms and hold her tightly, more tightly than I have anyone in years, letting her cry on my shoulder. She stops holding back, and cries openly, and I don't mind that she's soaking the shoulder of my tunic. "How can I possibly hate you for that, Leia," I whisper gently in her ear, "after everything I've done to you?"

"You didn't try to kill Anikin," she snaps between sobs.

"You did it out of desperation. I understand. I would have done the same in your place. I don't blame you at all." I smile softly, smoothing the long dark hair I used to love to twine my fingers in. "He's here now, Leia. And he's wonderful. Don't worry about it–it turned out fine."

She draws away, her eyes sad and confused, the skin around them blotchy from crying. I wipe her cheeks gently. "I want to show you something," I whisper. I pull away a little more and push back the sleeves of my tunic, revealing the scars that mark my wrists, just like hers.

She gasps and looks at them a long time, finally regarding me in disbelief. "But...you were always so...hopeful. You used to think that there was always a brighter side, and you never gave up. I used to think that you might be able to save the galaxy on hope alone..."

I shake my head sadly. "No. It was too much. I did it a few months after Endor–probably about the same time as you did–but someone found me. I've tried again since–not by slitting my wrists, but with...well...drugs...I've overdosed so many times that I think some of the meds at MedCenter know my name...but I think the first time was the only time I honestly wanted it to work. Every time since, I've gotten scared and called MedCenter's emergency comm."

"Who was it that found you?" asks Leia, when she could have asked any number of things.

"A friend I had at the time, before I...got in too deep. Back when I was trying to go on with things. Back when I thought it would be easy. I guess this is proof that it wasn't. Did Han find you?" I ask, trying to keep the disdain from my voice. I feel better about him in general, but the thought of him picking up the pieces Leia's heart for her after I left still bothers me.

She nods. "And he took care of me afterwards. He's never mentioned it again since it happened, but I think he's always understood–about us, I mean."

I was about to ask her what she meant, but I look down at our hands clasping one another's needfully, and I think I know. "I'm so sorry, Leia," I breathe, and for the first time, I mean it with all of my heart. I can see now, I think, why Ben never said anything to me about Leia until it was too late. Because we needed each other, and the moment we lost that, we lost the ability to carry on. "I didn't know I'd caused you all that pain–"

She shakes her head, bringing up a hand to cup my cheek. "There isn't anything either of us could have done differently–please don't have regrets, Luke."

I can feel tears welling up in my eyes; I nuzzle her hand. I do have regrets. I regret almost everything I've ever done. What could possibly redeem a man from that?

I remember Vader's dying words, wondering what he meant, and perhaps beginning to understand for the first time. His love for me had made him save my life in spite of how we hated each other, all we'd done to hurt each other. He still loved me. And maybe now my love for Leia...

I blink, realizing what I'm thinking, feeling. My love for Leia?

My love...?

Oh, gods...oh, no...

Drawing my hands away, my breathing speeds up and I begin to make up excuses and explanations in my head for what had just happened. I didn't mean it that way, I insist to myself. I either meant the love we used to have, or...or...

I squeeze my eyes shut in resignation. Who am I kidding?

I look into Leia's eyes, her worried, dark, beautiful eyes. How can she sit there with me? Doesn't she know what's going on inside me? All these fucked-up feelings and backwards thoughts, confusing me and making me want things I can't, under any circumstances, have. I'm just like my father, only better controlled, and the tiniest slip of anger could send me spiraling into the dark side to the point that it would be dangerous not only for me, as it is now, but those around me. I'm capable of hurting people, killing people, making them go insane, raping people. It's all happened before. My soul is poisoned. I'm not the Luke she once loved, and the part of me that still loves her is quite possibly the sickest part.

I rise. "I should go," I murmur.

"Why?" she asks.

"Leia," I implore her, "Please. Just let me."

She doesn't speak, doesn't nod, just gives me a resigned look. Without another word, I grab my coat and run out the door. I don't intend to ever come back. It's for the best.