This was written for the Ao3 2021 Luke and Vader Summer Exchange for Scuddington.
NOTE: Note: Time Skips are preceded by ellipses … …
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"Perhaps you are not as strong as the Emperor thought." He activated the switch that released carbonite gas into the pit. Young Skywalker was his now, the offspring he'd been chasing for three years, the Force-powerful son who would free him from Palpatine. His son, who might even—
No. He would not acknowledge a treacherous emotion that should have been obliterated decades ago.
The edges of his helmet obstructed his vision, but he caught sight of a sudden movement— Luke!— and then an impenetrable cloud, thick and cold, blasted against him. The vents protecting his respirator were overwhelmed, and he clawed at them fruitlessly, trying to clear the fog. But with his balance lost, he staggered and fell off the platform, landing hard, hearing the crack of his helmet as it—
… … "Daddy? Daddy, you okay? Daddy! Wake up!"
With a groan, he struggled upright, feeling the tiny hands of his son pat his head anxiously. Luke managed to touch him by bending dangerously far over the lip of the pit. "I'm fine. Luke, hush, I'm all right. Get back from the edge."
The child obeyed and sat down hard on the metal flooring. "'Kay! I wuz scared. You din' wake up but I coulda got you out, y'know. I c'n save you."
"I know you can." Luke believed so earnestly that he could do things well beyond the strength and skill of a four-year-old. He tried to use his thumb to wipe the dirt off his son's cheek but tears smudged it. "You're crying. I'm sorry I scared you."
"You shou' be more ca'eful." Luke repeated the familiar chastisement, sniffling but appearing smug that for once he wasn't on the receiving end.
He hung his head to hide his smile. "Yes, Son, I promise I will be."
Luke's fair eyebrows drew together, his forehead wrinkling. "Daddy… where wou' I go?"
"What do you mean?" What was the boy thinking? Was he worried that— Oh. That his father might disappear like his mother had? The question and its answer terrified him. He couldn't leave Luke. The boy wouldn't survive.
Palpatine would find him.
"You will never have to go anywhere because I'll always be here to take care of you." Anakin clambered up from the belly of the old freighter and perched on the rim again. "Hand me the electro-wrench. The smallest one with the red grip."
He waited patiently while his little helper rummaged through the tool kit until he found the requested tool. "Izzit a'mos' fixed?"
"Almost."
"Then c'n we fwy?"
"Yes. We will fly. Maybe tomorrow." He leaned over— more carefully this time— to finish adjusting the rehabilitated hyperdrive. The fix was good; it would hold together long enough to transport them in the direction of the Outer Rim, as far from Coruscant as they could get.
"I wanna see!" Luke demanded, and Anakin tossed the wrench back into the kit and pulled his son onto his lap, holding him securely.
"There." He pointed. "I replaced that coupling. See the new piece, how shiny it is?"
"Uh-huh, shiny wike sta's! C'n we go see sta's?" Luke squealed. "I wanna see all of 'em! Fa-fa away sta's!"
"It would take a hundred million years to see all the stars, but I promise we'll see as many as we can." His grip tightened and he kissed the top of the small head tenderly, then leaned his cheek against it. "I'm sorry we have to leave home. We may never come back here."
"Home iz wi' you, Daddy," Luke said simply. He gestured outside to the clay hut that crouched in the midday sun. "This's jus' a place for awhi'."
"A place for awhile," he repeated, musing. That was a good description of the history of their lives. Since Padmé died, father and son had moved from one 'place for awhile' to another as Anakin searched for temporary work and struggled to create a semi-stable environment for his son. This had been their longest stop, two months, and he'd hoped they could stay longer.
He had done his best to keep them anonymous, but yesterday in town Luke had used the Force and word would get around. Keeping them out of Palpatine's clutches had been surprisingly easy as long as they'd stayed quiet and isolated. He'd counseled Luke on the dangers of displaying his abilities, but the child was too young to understand completely.
"C'n we make bwead again at the new pwace?" His son put his thumb in his mouth. Anakin pulled it out.
"Of course. And we will make bread that tastes better than thumbs." As he had so often, he imagined Luke in a real home where he could have homemade bread every day, toys, a soft bed, children to play with. If Padmé had lived—
"Wuv you, Daddy!" Luke's expression softened, and Anakin knew he sensed his father's regret.
"Love you, Son."
"I know!" Luke tugged his sleeve. "C'n we wace?"
"Race? Back inside?" He jumped up and dashed down the ramp, holding the child under his arm, tickling his ribs until Luke squirmed and shrieked with giggles. "I definitely will win because you can't laugh and run at the same time!"
"C'n so! Lemme down! Eat my dust, Daddy!"
"I never should have taught you that, smarty pants!" Laughing, he followed his clumsily sprinting toddler. The hut was—
… … Gone. "Luke? Luke, where are you?"
Panic clawed at his throat when there was no reply. "Luke? Answer me! Where are you?"
Hide 'n' seek! You'll never find me! his son crowed in his head.
Anakin heaved a gasp of relief. "You cannot hide forever, Luke. It's almost meal time."
He felt a flicker of interest.
"I made your favorite," he added temptingly. "Goopy casserole."
Find me first!
Anakin sighed. For a six-year-old, Luke was very determined. "Your thoughts betray you, young one. I know exactly where you are."
Pointedly, he looked up. His son liked to jump much too high, and now Luke released his handgrip to hang by his knees from the upper conduits. "Impressive." He kept the fear he felt out of his voice. "Most impressive! Now grab hold again and climb down from there." Anakin put up his arms just in case, and Luke let himself fall, dropping exactly into them. "You shouldn't let go like that! What if I hadn't caught you?"
"You always catch me!" Luke squirmed. "Put me down! I'm not a baby!"
"You are a baby." Anakin swung Luke over his shoulders and spun him around twice before landing him on his feet. "You are my baby and you always will be. Even when you're a hundred million years old!"
"Fine! Then you're my baby too. F'rever!"
"Yes." Like a stream that barely whispered through a glade before vanishing into the forest, he felt a trace of sadness. Luke was growing up too fast, and he was using the Force inadvertently. He needed to be trained more intensively despite the risk. But not yet, because he heard another whisper that was closing in on them. They had little time, only days, before they had to move on. If Padmé had lived, maybe they could have bargained with Palpatine. Their freedom at the expense of his pledge of fealty. She and Luke could have hidden far away. His broken heart would have been a small price to pay in exchange for his family's safety.
If Padmé had lived.
"Love you, Daddy!" Luke's expression softened, and Anakin knew he sensed his father's sorrow.
"Love you, Son." He stroked the blonde strands that were growing too long. "After I trim your hair, where shall we go?"
Happiness faded. "Already? But it's so pretty here. Lots of trees and…." The boy straightened. "He's going to find out where we are soon, isn't he? Will we ever be able to stay in one place?"
"Yes," he vowed with an assurance he didn't feel. "One day we will find a place where we will be safe forever."
"Okay." Luke nodded, and his lips struggled to smile. "Let's have the gloopy now. I'm starving!"
… … "Of course he was. Kids are always hungry." Her fists balled on her hips as she studied him. "I should know, I have three of my own as you can see. How old is he?"
"Eight." Anakin watched Luke splashing in the fountain with three larger Lasat kids. Remember not to use the Force, he reminded automatically. "Thank you for the use of your facility. I've finished repairs, so we'll be on our way." He hesitated. "I saw some small nerfhide pieces out back next to the trash. Are they scrap?"
"They are indeed. They're yours if you want them." Her gaze dropped to his boots. One toe was almost poked through, and the uppers were worn and cracked. He was glad she couldn't see the condition of the soles. "I've been cleaning out the kids' closet, getting rid of old clothes and shoes and the like. Might fit your boy. Worth trying anyway. Maybe take a few things of my ex's as long as you're here, save me from having to burn 'em."
He was years past feeling embarrassment for accepting charity and nodded. "Thanks. We don't always— We can't always stop to—" His face warmed. Not as unashamed as he'd thought, then.
"I understand. It's a tough galaxy to make a decent living, especially when you have a kid to keep safe. Seems like you've done that. He looks happy."
"Yes. He's my baby." Even when he's a hundred million years old. A smile curved his lips as he studied his son. Luke was shorter than other children his age, and Anakin hoped it was because he'd inherited Padmé's build, not because the boy was malnourished despite his best efforts to procure nutritious food. No, Luke was slight but not thin, and his skin was tanned and flushed with exertion, his eyes bright with excitement. He disengaged from the others and ran over.
"Thanks for lunch, Miz Mimm, it was really good! And I liked playing with your kids."
"You're welcome…young one." She hesitated, waiting to hear his name, but Luke was well trained. They never called themselves 'Skywalker' or even used first names if that could be avoided. It had become a game, making up new names on the fly, then forgetting them— and occasionally being reminded by their temporary acquaintances. He despaired of ever being able to give his son a normal life.
"I'll bundle up some things to take with you. The leather, too. And maybe a few sandwiches for a growing boy and his good-looking father." She smiled widely at him before addressing his son. "I have some cookies ready to come out of the oven. I'll pack a few of those if your father agrees."
"Yes!" Luke bounced excitedly. "Yes, Daddy, please, please can I have one now?"
He couldn't say no in the face of his child's eagerness. "Just one."
"Okay!" Luke giggled. "She thinks you're cute!" he stage-whispered. "Me too! Love you, Daddy!" The child's expression softened, and Anakin knew he sensed his father's bemusement.
"Love you, Son." He watched as his boy ran into the house. "Don't eat more than one or you'll make yourself sick."
… …The wet towel was hot in minutes. Anakin peeled it from Luke's forehead and despaired. Luke never got sick, yet here he was with a fever that made him shiver. His face contorted as he tried to shift in the bunk but couldn't manage.
"Daddy…." Luke hadn't called him that for nearly a year, but this illness had pummeled at his alleged maturity.
Anakin retrieved another chilled towel from the cooler. It had been three days since his son had begun feeling unwell, and he had worsened progressively to the point where Anakin had thought the unthinkable. No. He would not lose Luke. He would never lose Luke. Such a loss would be the end of both of them.
Another warning buzzer sounded and he risked using the Force to shut it off. The ship was malfunctioning again but he didn't want to leave Luke's side to work on it. Now they were adrift in empty space, off the trade routes, nowhere near any medical facilities. It was a stupid, obscure passage, he shouldn't have taken it— but he never dreamed that diversion would endanger his son's life.
"…'m so cold. Blanket…."
"You can't have another blanket, Son. You have a fever. Drink this." He cupped his hand behind Luke's head to lift it enough to hold the canteen to his mouth.
Luke drank a few sips, choking a little until Anakin took the water away. "Good," he praised, grateful that the boy didn't throw up the water like he had everything else. "I'm going to make some broth. Do you think you can keep it down?"
Luke made a face. "Blech." With Anakin's help, he managed to roll onto his side, eyes closing again. "I'm dying."
Unexpectedly, the declaration was a relief to him. "You are not. The fact that you can think and speak rationally tells me you're recovering." But his son's cheeks were still flushed and his forehead was warm to the touch.
Anakin reached for a second cloth and dipped it into the basin of cold water. He wrung it out and wiped his child's face and throat, then pushed aside the pajama closure and smoothed the coolness across Luke's chest. His boy was so small, so thin. What if he wasn't strong enough to fight off an illness? He was only twelve and helpless. He depended on his father, and Anakin didn't know how to fix this.
"Don' worry," Luke whispered, his voice hoarse with fever. One hand fumbled, reaching for him, and Anakin clasped the sweaty palm.
"I'm your father. It's my job to worry. I have nothing else to do except worry about my baby. Even when my baby is a hundred million years old."
Was that the beginning of a smile he saw? Encouraged, he urged: "Have more water, little one."
"Uhhhh…." Luke turned his head away. The pillowcase was stained with sweat. "Not baby."
"Yes, my baby. Please, Son. Just a little." He raised Luke's head again and held the flask to his mouth. Two spoonfuls went in before Luke coughed. Anakin dipped his finger into the water and rubbed it across the parched lips. He put the cup aside and reached for his own pillow. He pulled his son's head against his chest and switched pillows, tossing the old one in the direction of the wash recycler. "Here you go. Lie back. It's nice and cool."
Luke sighed. "Mommy…?" he murmured, his gaze drifting until it fixed on the closed hatch, and he smiled weakly. "Angel…."
Anakin nearly turned around, but resisted the impulse. She was gone and always would be, although there had been times over the years when he'd wondered if Luke's vision could pierce the veil of death.
He bit his lip. For a very long while they'd been so alone. He wished they didn't have to run, that they could settle down in one place and he could find someone to help raise Luke. Someone who would see how bright and perfect his son was. Someone who would never be his Angel, but would offer companionship to him and mothering to his child.
Luke's hand moved and landed limply on Anakin's knee. He covered it with his fingers and raised his other hand to his boy's forehead. Was it only his imagination that it didn't feel as hot as it had been over the last few hours?
Blue eyes were bleary and reddened. "…still good in him… gotta save you…."
"What?" He had no idea what that meant, but this was not the time to badger his son with questions. "Rest."
"'Sirsty…." Luke's eyes closed, and his cheeks didn't appear as flushed. He gulped from the canteen Anakin offered again, retched but kept the water down.
"Take it easy." Maybe they were over the worst part. If he was brave enough to leave Luke alone for short periods, he could go below deck and fix whatever the hell was wrong with the ship. Then they could run for port and take a room where Luke could finish recuperating, and they could both have a few good meals before they resumed their endless flight from Palpatine.
He heard a whisper. "Love you, Daddy." Luke's expression softened, and Anakin knew he sensed his father's anguish.
"Love you, Son."
… … "Yes, again! Afterwards! Because I'm still hungry!"
Excited shouts from the grandstand nearly drowned out his son's words. "You're growing up too fast," Anakin complained, as if words alone could stop the process. "It was like your stomach doubled in size on your fifteenth birthday. When I was your age, I wanted to eat constantly, and you're the same way!'
"Good thing we're not rich or we'd be spending all our creds on feeding me." Luke flashed him a grin. "Anyway, low weight matters in the race, and I've got you beat that way. Which one of us gets the top prize today?"
"Not the first prize," he reminded. "I know you could, but we can't risk it."
"Fine. Second then." Luke sighed, but brightened again immediately. "You'll be third!"
"Maybe. Or maybe I'll best you," Anakin teased.
"Best me? Hah!" The shaggy mop of blonde hair vanished under the helmet. "I can out-race you with my eyes closed."
"Perhaps. But please keep them open. I want my baby to remain in one piece."
"Dad! Somebody might hear you!" Luke scolded before surrendering to the inevitable. "I know, I know, even when I'm a hundred million years old." He straddled the bike, then paused. "Do you think Mom is watching us today?"
"I don't know." His faith in his memories of her had deteriorated over the years. Sometimes it seemed like Padmé had been a beautiful dream he'd had for too short a time. If not for his son he would sleep again, this time permanently, and find his love within that dream. "If by some unlikely miracle she could, she would be cheering us on despite her worry." Anakin fastened his own helmet.
Bright blue eyes cast down. "Oh."
His son's disappointment pained him.
But Luke continued gamely, "I'm positive that she can see us right now. Remember, no one is ever really gone."
Anakin stared at him. "Where did you hear that?"
"From you." His son tilted his head. "Or…wasn't it you?"
"I don't remember ever saying that." It sounded like Yoda. Or maybe Obi-Wan. Someone from a past so distant he couldn't reach it. Or perhaps it was someone from a future that he might never know. "The universe is a wondrous place, Luke, with more mysteries than can ever be solved."
"Yeah. I guess it doesn't matter who said it first, because I said it now. Love you, Dad!" Luke's expression softened, and Anakin knew he sensed his father's melancholy.
"Love you, Son."
"I know! And if Mom is wa— Dad, look out!"
The edges of his helmet obstructed his vision, but he caught sight of a sudden uncontrolled movement, heard screams— I have to save you!— and then a blast slammed into him.
… … He groaned. "My head…." His voice sounded strange, and his breathing…. What was wrong with him?
He forced his eyes open. Everything was tinted red, and tiny digital readings marched across his vision. He was…
Darth Vader.
His memory righted itself. He was Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith. This was Cloud City. His son was encased in carbonite.
But no… Luke Skywalker was standing in front of him, arms akimbo, watching closely, appearing not much older than his 15-year-old self.
No. That was wrong. That had only been a dream.
Luke Skywalker.
Luke.
Vader realized he was on the floor, propped against narrow railings. Automatically he twisted, reaching for his lightsaber.
It wasn't there.
"I have it," the boy said, gesturing but making no move to heft the blade. It was hooked to his belt next to the other, the one that had been lost in the nightmare of Mustafar.
Not so lost then. While he was in flames, Kenobi had taken time to retrieve the saber and keep it for Luke. Why?
"Because they want me to kill you." The boy— young man now, really— answered his unspoken question. "Ben Kenobi and Yoda."
Yoda! He should have known. Subterfuge and distant goals were the Jedi way. "Then why didn't you? I was unconscious. You should have taken advantage of my weakness. It is your destiny to defeat me and take my place at the Emperor's side."
"I intended to. Kill you, I mean. That's why I came here." The youth frowned. "Because Ben told me you murdered my father, Anakin Skywalker. And now I know that was a lie because here he… here you are."
"No, I…. Why do you think such foolishness? I am a Sith Lord." His legs refused his command to move, and he couldn't regain his footing, leaving him uncertain and vulnerable. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Apparently for a lifetime." Sorrow and joy mixed together in the gaze. "Our lifetime. You were more than unconscious. I thought you were dazed… asleep, sort of. In a trance? And maybe I was, too. But… you saw what I saw, didn't you?"
"I saw nothing." It was an awkwardly defensive retort. They shared the same blood, they were linked in the Force. One of them— or perhaps both— had generated an impossible life out of the ether.
"You did! They were your dreams." The accusation— question?— was accompanied by a frustrated, aborted gesture of one hand. "I saw Anakin Skywalker. My father."
"No, I am Darth Vader and I am your father."
"I know… Father." With a fluid movement, Luke dropped beside him, head bending as he examined Vader's legs with a firm touch. "Or should I call you 'Dad'? One and the same. Anyway, I unclogged your respirator and started to make a few adjustments to your left knee joint. You banged it up pretty good when you went down. Let me finish."
Dad…. Vader closed his eyes for a moment before reaching out to touch Luke's face.
The boy jerked away automatically, then stopped and relaxed, allowing the caress. Did he understand that Vader only had the glove? That he had no hands? That he would never be able to feel his son's skin, that only sensor readings would tell him if his child was feverish or chilled?
He supposed it didn't matter. He would never have those opportunities outside of fantasies. It was too late… even their dreams had passed them by. All that was left were hard, irreversible facts. He was Vader, here to collect his son and turn him over to the Emperor. Anakin Skywalker was dead.
Luke shook his head, but no words were spoken as he removed a red-handled spanner from the tool pouch on his belt and continued his work. Vader knew the calibrations were simple and Luke was taking far longer than he needed, obviously stalling. Waiting.
Expecting… what?
He searched for words that would stake his claim to Vader's son, but found a question instead. "What did you see?"
One shoulder shrugged and his son's eyes remained focused on the spanner in his hand. He loosened a screw and tightened it again. "Us traveling on a ship. We would play a lot. You'd throw me in the air and catch me and shout 'ZOOM ZOOM' and tell me I was flying. When I was really little, we would have tickle fights— until one time when I laughed so hard, I wet my pants."
Vader chuckled involuntarily. For a moment he could almost—
No. That was impossible.
Luke grimaced and looked away and cleared his throat. "It wasn't— Never mind. Anyway, we met a lot of different people on a lot of planets. But we were in space most of the time. We lived in a couple houses. Had a tent, camped out often. We'd lie outside looking at the stars and you'd point out the ones we'd been to. You'd describe the constellations and whisper stories about them until I fell asleep and you had to carry me back to the tent." He grinned. "I suppose you carried me because that's where I'd wake up."
A night sky littered with brilliant pinpoints. His son, breathing softly beside him, blonde hair glowing like it was a star itself.
"When I was sick, you took care of me." The youth's grin faded and his features became serene, nearly tender. "You showed me how to forage for food and find shelter when there were no supplies to build anything. Once someone gave us cookies, the best cookies I ever had in my life. When I was older, we worked on farms sometimes, harvesting crops. Farmers fed us and let us eat some of what we picked. You taught me to cook, and I was good at it— better than you! Then we raced, competed in contests with loaned speeders mostly. You wouldn't let me try podracing. We used our winnings to buy fuel for the junky old ship we kept patching together. We…."
"What?" He was suddenly terrified that the boy would stop talking.
But it shouldn't matter because none of this had happened. It was all an impossible fantasy.
Impossibly beautiful. Rich with memories that were different yet so close to his own dreams.
"What did you see? The same things? Tell me," Luke urged in a soft voice.
And he did, everything he could remember, every moment of fifteen years before his dream ended, as if he had to catalog them, share them before they vanished like sand in the wind. The laughter, the fear, the questions, the running, the crushing blows of fleeing, time after time, after they'd just settled in a home.
The good people they met. The bad people. The names… oh, the many names they'd invented! But mostly he talked about the devotion between father and son. Skywalkers. Luke and… Anakin.
"I've always dreamed about you and…." Luke was quiet for several seconds, rubbing his arms. "She said there was still good in you. I didn't know what she meant then, because you were always good to me in my dreams."
His body stiffened, his throat tightening. "Who?" But he knew. "Your mother. Padmé."
"Oh…. Padmé? Padmé," Luke repeated in wonderment. "I never knew her name."
How was that possible? He had said it many times.
In his dreams.
In his dreams she had died peacefully, not by his hand, not with eyes grown huge with fear.
"Padmé…." Luke's expression softened, and Anakin knew he sensed his father's grief. "I guess she meant… now. That you're still good inside. If she believes that, I do too."
Should he agree? Should he deny? He didn't know what to feel, so he felt nothing.
Tried to feel nothing.
Luke's smile was sad. "We were always looking for somewhere we'd be safe."
"Did we ever find it?"
The eyes lifted to stare directly into his lenses, and Luke's voice was strained. "Not yet, I guess. Are we still looking?"
The question took his breath away and his respirator stumbled, his breaths shallow, maybe still blocked. He searched desperately for a response and could only think of one, and it was a stupid impulse— but he couldn't stop himself.
"Come wi—"
"Come with me," Luke blurted simultaneously.
He shifted his legs. "Where would we go?" It was impossible, really. There was nowhere they could—
But hadn't Anakin Skywalker always achieved the impossible?
The boy watched him closely. "Before you… woke up, I guess… you said we were searching for the Valley of the Jedi. Did you ever find it?"
"It's on Ruusan. But…." He hesitated. "I do not know if you would like it."
Luke's smile was as sweet and knowing as Padmé's had been. Even through his lenses, the vision blinded him like a sun in the night.
"You mean it's a place you would like? Are you sure it's not the Valley of the Sith?"
Was his son teasing him? He noted that Luke had stopped pretending to work on his knee. "I haven't been there, I only know the legends. Palpatine has searched it, hoping to find us there."
"In our dream, you mean."
Our dream. "No. I mean— I suppose it was. But he's been interested in it for the last few years. I don't know why."
"Maybe he dreams too." Luke studied him as though he could read his intentions— and probably he could. Luke had always been able to feel his emotions.
"It's not too late to have that life, Fa— Dad. We can have a better life where we don't have to run from him or fight each other. We can defeat Palpatine together. I know you want that. I can feel you want it. You've always wanted it."
He wished he could keep his eyes and his mind shuttered. Keep the dreams close and ignore the ugly reality. "That is not possible, though I would rather have had a life with you than all the Empire's power."
"Power is meaningless without love." Luke shifted into a squat and rocked back on his heels. "I think I just learned that. How did you…. I mean, did you create that dream and share it with me? If it was a dream. It seemed so real. How were you able to do that?"
"You'll find I'm full of surprises." Anakin bent his knees and tucked his feet beneath a bulk that felt suddenly alien. "But I do not believe it was all my creation."
His son jumped up immediately and helped him to rise, knowing it was unnecessary but doing it anyway. They looked at each other.
"You're taller than you look in the vids."
"You're exactly the size I imagined."
"Imagined?" Luke snorted. "I know you've researched everything about me."
"Of course. You're still my—" Fear of rejection crushed his words. He could not take the chance. He refused to risk losing what he'd just found.
"Baby?" Luke's smile grew wider and wider as if he couldn't control his face. "Even when I'm a hundred million years old?"
He couldn't breathe.
Mercifully, his son didn't demand a response. "C'mon, tell me. How did you make the dream? Do you think I can learn how to do that even though I'm not a Jedi yet?"
"I could try knocking you unconscious as you did to me," he huffed, hiding his thrill of relief. "Perhaps that would bring about a vision."
"Oh, very funny! Never mind!" Luke offered an arm to steady him. "Everything feel okay? At first your helmet looked like it was cracked and I was worried, but it's only scratched."
"My knee feels better than it has in years. You did a good job." He hesitated. "You saved me."
"Didn't I always say I would? Maybe I can work on the other leg, too. I mean, if…." Luke ducked his head. "I guess you taught me mechanics. In some universe anyway. Do you think we were really there? Or are there other Lukes and Anakins floating around? Maybe we were looking into another dimension. Maybe we— they— have the life we were meant to have. Maybe we can go there and start our lives over. Do you think that could happen?"
"The universe is a wondrous place, Luke, with more mysteries than can ever be solved." His thoughts faltered when his son's surprise reverberated through him.
"You've said that to me before."
He shook his head, not with denial but in wonderment. "It appears that the boundary dividing illusion and the corporeal world is a tenuous one."
"Always in motion is the future."
He looked sharply at Luke. "Are you quoting Yoda? The Jedi who told you to kill me?"
"I guess. Hey, did you used to think he was dead? He's not, at least not yet. And Ben Kenobi is a ghost. Well, yeah, I suppose you know that since you killed him. Still, maybe they would help us."
"Help us? Them?" he mocked, but his son nodded seriously. "Luke… what you saw— the father you saw in your dreams— He is not me. I do not look and feel like he did. I was burned. My face is scarred and ruined, my limbs are gone. Artificial organs keep my circulation moving, lung implants breathe for me, even my brain synapses— Son, I am more machine than man." He shook his head. "Nothing I say can prepare you for my appearance. You will not recognize the true me, inside or outside."
With uncanny accuracy, Luke looked directly into his eyes and smiled. A sense of peace, like waves lapping along a sandy seashore, flowed from him. "Dad, I recognized you on the steps, but I didn't understand what I was feeling. If I had, I wouldn't have drawn my blade."
He looked to the side, to the stairs where he'd met his son minutes— hours?— ago. "Impossible. You could not have recognized me. Even my heart and my soul have changed. I was never the Jedi I should have been. I never felt believed the way the others did." His fingers brushed Luke's arm. "I will never be able to give you your dreams."
"Our dreams," the boy corrected. "You don't have to give me anything, Dad. Let go of your fear. We've always been together somehow. So let's make a new reality and get out of here." Luke gave another one-sided shrug that reminded Anakin of himself. "You can't fit in the x-wing with me." He looked expectantly at his father.
Perhaps his helmet was cracked and rational thought had leaked away because his brain had become an empty reservoir into which all manner of strange ideas were pouring. Possibilities, plans— even hope— and they were crowding out his ruined life, leaving no room for a Sith Lord. "You are persistent, Son." And impetuous responses had always worked best for him, hadn't they? He thumbed his com. "Lieutenant, have my shuttle ready to depart. I will pilot and escort the prisoner myself."
Luke cocked his head, but didn't object.
"I will need to put binders on you. For the sake of appearances."
"Just don't lock them."
"I won't. But return my lightsaber."
"As if you couldn't have gotten it back any time you wanted," Luke scoffed. "All right, but I'm not surrendering mine."
"I would expect no less from my son. Anakin Skywalker's son," he corrected softly.
Anakin's son faltered. "I thought… you denied that name. You said it no longer had any meaning for you."
It was Anakin's turn to tilt his head. "I don't remember ever saying that." Nonetheless there was an odd familiarity to it.
Luke nodded slowly, his face tightening, appearing far older than he was. "It must have been a different dream then. You know… once I dreamed you said we would travel to all the stars."
"Yes." It seemed that an enchantment had been cast in front of him, and he dared to grasp it. "What else do you dream about, Luke?"
The boy looked at his hands. "A lot of things. Mom. That she's watching me. That she knows what I'm doing. That she's looking after me… after us." He shook his head. The blonde strands were far too long. "I believe she sees us now, because no one is ever really gone. She's happy we're finally together."
A sob strangled in his scorched throat. "I…know." He touched the hair that he supposed must feel like the long-forgotten softness of silk. "You need a haircut."
A sweet smile tilted the corners of the mouth, and Luke held out his hands. "Oh no, not a chance! So cuff me, Dad, before I change my mind and run away because you would never catch me. You know you can't beat me in a race!"
Anakin smiled inside the helmet. "Eat my dust, Son."
Luke hesitated, the atmosphere around him changing, emotions swirling in ways that were from another life. Emotions that Anakin had felt, too, and had pushed down for as long as he could remember. Tentative, anticipatory, afraid yet hopeful.
He didn't have to think. The words… how did he suddenly have the courage to say them first?
"Love you, Son."
His grownup child looked aside, blinking. When he turned back, his eyes were swimming with tears but dazzling happiness radiated across his face. His expression softened, and Anakin knew he sensed his father's love.
"Love you, Dad."
Yes. His son had always understood every emotion that roiled inside him. Every hope they had never been able to share, every feeling that fused them together at last, father and son. Luke could feel them all.
And he could feel.
Anakin.
After so long.
He was not afraid to feel.
He hoped Luke understood that he could change. Was already changing. And he hoped, most of all, his son accepted that their love was pure and true, and it set the shadows in Anakin's mind alight. It shone into the dark places and brought life back to the dead.
Because somehow he knew, they both knew— had always known— that their dreams were meant to begin now, in this enchanted time, and not end for a hundred million years.
