Day 15: Cold

Summary: Continuing the AU from the previous three. (Sorry, but not sorry.) Luke struggles to deal with the aftermath of having his hand cut off by his sister.

Luke wasn't just cold, he was freezing. He couldn't feel the tips of his fingers or toes, and his body shook with violent shivering.

He had never been cold like this all of his life even when his family took vacations to snowy planets and he and Leia would play outside for hours. Even space had never felt this cold.

His teeth chattered as he pulled layers of blankets closer to him. He had a bedsheet, a comforter, two blankets, and then a large thick furry blanket the servants had provided when he asked for more. Perhaps he should ask for a heated blanket, but would it make any difference? The heat was already turned up in his room.

Yet regardless of all that he was cold, and he knew that coldness was coming from within himself.

It had started the very moment he had heard his father was missing. A chill had run down his spine as a heavy weight landed in his stomach. He had been naive at first, as they all had been, in hoping this hadn't been intentional despite all the signs that Anakin Skywalker had left on his own. Surely he had been coerced or blackmailed or threatened or something! His father wouldn't have left on his own! Why would he?

Anakin was an amazing father. Not to belittle Padme, but she was the Empress and running the Empire kept her busy. Anakin was a stay-at-home dad. He had never taken up an official position within the Empire though Padme had offered several times. He was just happy to be with his children and adore them, and his children adored him back.

Anakin taught them how to use the Force and fight with lightsabers. How to build droids and fix a ship and to fly it. And when one of the twins had decided to pursue their own hobbies, Anakin was always supportive.

Anakin Skywalker was like the sun. Happy. Warm. Light. And without him . . . Luke's life dulled. All of their lives dulled. And the coldness set in.

It grew worse as the reports and evidence started to come in. Anakin hadn't just left, he had defected and joined the Rebels.

Why? Why would he do that?

They were all heartbroken, and they wanted to know why. What had they done? Why would he leave them and join their enemies?

"You will be known as Darth Vader," his mother had said proudly when he swore himself to her. "I shall give you command of a fleet. Find your father. Bring him home."

He swore he would.

And he wasn't alone. Leia chose the path of becoming an Inquisitor and soon stole the title of Grand Inquisitor.

"We'll find him," Leia had told him.

But as time went on, Luke grew colder. His stomach turned to ice as he watched the test shot of the Death Star on Jeddah and later on Scarif. His lungs froze watching Alderaan blow up. But his heart iced over as he recognized his father's Force signature in an X-Wing flying along a trench on the Death Star, which would later deliver the destructive blow.

There was no mistake. Anakin had joined the Rebellion . . . He had chosen them over his own family!

No!

They would fix this! They would!

Luke would find him and talk some sense into his father. They would return home and their light and warmth would be there. And everything would be back to the way it was.

But it wasn't the way it was. Anakin was back. Luke was back. Leia was back. They were all back, and it was the coldest Luke had ever been.

Especially his right hand. It was nothing but ice. So cold he couldn't even feel it. He flexed his new prosthetic fingers. He knew it was made of wire and synthskin, but all he could feel was ice at the end of his wrist. It felt like soon that ice would crawl down his arm and claim every bit of him until he was cold and dead.

He was only vaguely aware of the passing of time. His mother came in the evenings to coax him out of bed with warm tea and hot soup. She would wrap him up in fresh warm blankets and have a hot bath drawn for him. She would sit next to him on the small sofa in his room and hold him and say all the sweet words a mother should say.

She was proud of him. He did the right thing. She loved him. Everything would be alright.

There was a warmth to her that he would lean in towards and greedily soak up, wanting to chase away the chill. But it was always fleeting. It always had been like that with her. The warmth left with her unlike Anakin. Luke's father was warm, large, and bright. His warmth lingered long after he left a room.

When Anakin had left, Luke often found himself in the spots his father spent time in. Anakin's workshop, the hangar, his bedroom, and the living room. Luke could still hear the faint echoes of his father's laughter and feel the barely-there warmth.

But now the palace was cold even with Anakin in it again. Luke could sense his father. He was near. So very near. But it was odd. Luke had chased after his father for three years, and now that he was back home, it felt foreign. And worse of all, despite how bright Anakin made things, he hadn't chased off the cold.

Luke awoke shivering and unsure of the time but the sky outside his windows were dark. He was going to pull his covers to him and go back to sleep, but stopped when noticed the dark hair at the edge of his bed. He slowly pushed himself up.

"Leia?" His voice wavered.

She didn't move. Didn't flinch.

She sat on the floor next with her back against the side of his bed and her arms wrapped around her knees.

"Leia?" he asked again.

Nothing.

He moved closer to the edge of the bed, reached out to her, and . . . stopped as he looked at his hand. His fake hand. The one she had cut off. The one that was so cold. He withdrew it back to the covers.

He didn't know what to say. He wasn't even sure what he felt about what she had done. Anger? Grief? They stayed like that for a long time. Both quiet and unmoving. Both painfully aware of the other.

Luke moved to the other side of his bed.

"Hey, come in," he said as he lifted the covers up. Leia looked over her shoulder. "Comfier in here."

She blinked and waited a long moment before she slowly got up and crawled into the bed. They laid side by side looking at each other. Dark bags were under her eyes and she looked thin and pale.

"Luke. I . . ."

"You don't have to say anything. It's ok, Leia. I forgive you."

She blinked. There was a tremble to her lips. Was she going to cry? He rolled over to his back in case she did that way he wouldn't be watching.

"I understand," he said.

And he did. He wasn't sure when he had realized it, perhaps at this very moment, but he understood her. She was like him. Lost and adrift without the steady presence of their father, and they just wanted things to be right. She was angry with him for joining the Rebellion and fighting against the Empire. Against them . . .

And then she had walked on that conversation between Luke and Anakin. What all had she heard? But he knew the fear that had pierced her heart. She had already lost her father and now she was going to lose her brother, her twin and other half as well. And the anger overtook her.

Searing, burning, cold anger that completely blinded her at the moment, but now . . .

Now she was as hollow and cold as he was desperately seeking warmth.