Day 7: Skeleton

Summary: Vader has come to Tatooine and found something extremely precious.

Darth Vader stepped up to the crib. It was made of mismatched metal probably found in a junkyard, but it was sound and well built. To his surprise the baby was awake. It was wrapped up in a soft white swaddle blanket to keep it warm and snug in the cold of the desert night. It kicked its legs, wiggled, and cooed.

Vader thought his heart had melted when he first saw the baby, his baby, but now it was truly liquid. How could this small precious thing be alive? He slowly lowered his hand, but stopped just above the baby. Both of his hands were now prosthetics and gloved. He wouldn't be able to feel his baby, at least not here, but perhaps back on his ship.

His hand came down and with one fingertip he brushed the baby's light blonde hair to the side. The baby wiggled, but didn't whine or cry out in fear. Gently, slowly, and a bit cautiously, Vader pulled at the swaddle. Two chubby little arms popped up. At once the small hands reached for Vader.

He was completely still as a small hand wrapped around his index finger.

His prosthetics barely registered the pressure, but he could see it through the red-tint of his lenses. The baby was holding his finger. His baby. His son.

They stayed like that for a long while. Vader didn't dare move. He didn't want this to end, but eventually, the baby let go. The little one continued to wiggle and coo. He would look elsewhere, but his eyes would always return back to Vader. Back to his father.

Behind his mask, Vader was smiling.

Very, very slowly, he slipped his hands under the baby. He paused and tensed up waiting for the crying to start, but there was still none. So he picked up the baby and gently cradled him in his arms. The baby cooed and waved his little arms a bit, but his big blue eyes, Vader knew they had to be blue, never left Vader. Vader's smile had never left his face either.

"Hello there," Vader said. He had turned the volume of his vocoder down. It wasn't the impressive deep bass it usually was; it was softer. "Hi, Luke."

Luke? That was the name they had called him. The kidnappers and thieves and that traitor. But . . . Luke . . . that was the name . . . she had picked out . . . the name she had wanted for their little boy . . . It couldn't be a coincidence. She must have lived long enough to name him. She must have. (Or had she shared such an intimate thought with . . . him? Had she truly betrayed her devoted husband for him?)

For a moment Vader's temper flared. He wouldn't have it. He would not have his son have such a name.

The baby whined. His small little face scrunched up.

"It is ok, baby," Vader said, attempting to soothe the baby. "It is ok. I am here. D-"

He paused. What did he want to be called? What should his son know him as? Dad? Father? Dada? But he already knew.

"Daddy is here," he finished. "Daddy is here, Luke."

Yes, Luke. Luke was this baby's name. It was the name she had wanted.

Luke wiggled and yawned. He blinked a few times then yawned again. He was nodding off to sleep. Vader shifted the baby into the crook on his left arm, so his right hand could tuck the small arms back into the blanket. Or at least that's what he tried to do. Luckily, baby Luke didn't pull them out as instead his eyes drooped shut as he fell asleep.

Vader stood still for long minutes as he marveled at his son. He could not get over how he was holding his child, the child he thought lost and dead. Luke was alive! And together with his father- no wait. His daddy. Yes, his daddy. Luke was together with his daddy.

His daddy who would hold and protect him. Who would make sure he was raised as the little prince he was, not as some poor desert boy. No, Luke would not have the same childhood as the Skywalker who came before him.

Vader longed to give a gentle kiss on his son's forehead. Wished to smell the baby smell. But for now, he would have to settle for his little baby asleep in his arms, a beautiful and wonderful miracle in itself. He walked slowly out of the bedroom and into the courtyard of the homestead. He carefully walked up the steps mindful not to jostle the sleeping bundle.

The baby seemed to flinch a little when Vader stepped outside. Was it too cold? Was there wind? He should hurry to his shuttle, but not too fast. He didn't want to wake the baby.

He took care to step over the two charred skeletons who laid on the desert sands clawing their way towards the entrance. As if in their last moments they were still trying to get inside to the precious treasure hidden within. At the very least, they did get a small nod of approval from Vader for their loyalty to his son, and if they were going to die, at least they did so honorably trying to protect the baby. Perhaps he should order some troops to bury them next to the other family graves . . .

He paused as he looked over at the headstones. At his mother's final resting place. What was with this wretched place? It had claimed and stolen his mother, and it was where his stolen son had been brought. Vader looked down. He would make sure his little Luke would never set foot here again. This planet would be nothing more than a random name on a list of poor pathetic planets. Nothing more than a passing thought.

He continued on to the shuttle, but there was a slight hitch in his step as he looked at the third corpse. The wind had blown the large brown robe over the body and there was very little to see. That person did not deserve any more of Vader's attention. He would order the troopers to leave that corpse alone. Let the scavengers feast on his flesh, the sun bleach his bones, and the sand claim it.

Vader looked back down at the baby. A perfect, precious wonderful child. No more would he think of skeletons in the sand. His attention would now be completely on his son.