Day 16: Always

Summary: Twelve-year-old Luke has been captured and being held for ransom against his father, Darth Vader.

Luke squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to stop the tears that were forming. He wasn't going to cry. Not in front of these terrorist scum. He was the son of Darth Vader. He was a fighter. A duelist. A pilot. A citizen of the mighty Galactic Empire. He was . . .

Scared.

His father wasn't going to pay a ransom. He didn't negotiate with enemies of the Empire. Even if Vader did accept the bargain for Luke . . . He could easily imagine standing in front of Vader, who would tower over the small twelve-year-old and with his thumbs looped into his belt as his helmet tilted down. Luke swore he could already feel the waves of disappointment and disdain that would soon be followed by anger and punishment.

Vader was a harsh commander and an equally harsh father. He always pushed Luke to do it again, but faster, harder, more and more and more.

"I know you can do it," Vader growled when Luke would fail to live up to his high expectations. "Do it again."

And again.

And again . . .

These terrorists had made a mistake in taking Luke. Vader didn't care or at least care enough. There was no parental warmth from that man. Luke's days were a series of never-ending lessons taught by cold droids, meals all alone at a table, and training with his father in either the ways of the Force, fighting, or piloting with an occasional lesson in ship mechanics.

Holidays aren't celebrated in the Vader household. Luke didn't even know how old his father was much less when his birthday was. For his own birthday, Luke would get a very small cake and a present, usually, something practical like the hydrospanner he got last year or a biography holobook on some queen of Naboo when he turned ten. He didn't get toys or go on vacations, though he had seen a lot of the galaxy from the viewport of his father's star destroyers.

Vader only seemed to act the part of a father. Otherwise, he was cold and distant, and Luke knew he would not be paying the massive amount of credits the terrorists had demanded.

Luke watched the terrorists; they were getting impatient and antsy. Should they send another message? It would be the fourth one they sent, and Vader had only responded to the second one. He said that they should release his son and he might be merciful and grant them a quick death. The terrorists had only laughed. Vader wasn't going to find them. They were out in the middle of nowhere.

Except that he did, and Luke was the only one who felt it as Vader exited hyperspace dangerously close.

The Force grew cold and thick and Luke struggled to keep his breathing even. His father was here. Darth Vader was here. And he was angry. Very, very angry.

Luke squeezed his eyes, and a small tear escaped and ran down his cheek.

His father had come. Why? What was going to happen to him? Luke had never been punished too harshly. Usually, he was confined to his rooms or given chores, but he knew his father. He had witnessed him kill without thought or mercy for anything that had displeased him.

What would Vader think of him? He hadn't been able to fight off the terrorists as they took him. He should have been able to. He should have used the Force to push them off or choke them or something. But he froze. All that training, and he had frozen.

A sharp inky coldness slithered into the spaceship until it found Luke. It wound itself tightly around him, and he let out a small yelp. Only one terrorist gave him a look, but quickly dismissed it and looked away.

How was Vader arriving? In a Star Destroyer? Would he blast the whole ship to pieces? Or perhaps he was coming in his fighter? Rip the ship apart piece by piece? Regardless, no one beside Luke seemed to know of Vader's fast approach. No alarms went off. No comms chimed. The terrorists were relaxed and joking.

Even when Luke was sure Vader was now on the ship, there was nothing. No reactions as the dark maelstrom that was Darth Vader's force presence slowly but surely made its way directly towards them. Luke wished his arms weren't bound behind his back. Then he could wipe his face off and make it look like he had been brave instead of crying.

His heart was pounding in his chest as he watched the door as any moment now, any second, it would open. It felt like his heart was going to explode. It was growing colder and the air felt thick. He shivered and his teeth chattered.

The door slid open rather anticlimactically.

Two terrorists looked over when they heard the door unlatch and quietly slide open, and all of them looked over as they heard the first of the rhythmic breaths. There were two breaths, two moments of stunned silence before the chaos erupted. The terrorists went for their blasters, but the one was already dangling in the air choking. The first blast was knocked aside with a snap-hiss as Vader's red lightsaber ignited.

Darth Vader walked casually forward. No bolts appeared to hit him but bounced back into some of the terrorists who fell over dead. Those who did not were slashed apart by a lightsaber or choked with the Force. Far too quickly it ended and all that was left standing was Vader with his lightsaber lit as he looked down at the dead men.

His saber slid back into its hilt and his helmet turned to look directly at Luke, who felt his father's eyes on him. He looked down unable to even look at his father. He felt his cheeks grow hot and his eyes started to water.

Do not cry. Do not cry.

Black boots came to a stop in front of him, and he watched as the cape settled around them. With each breath of Vader's respirator, hairs on the back of Luke's neck stood on end. He felt smooth leather against his cheek. He flinched and tried to pull away, but his father was too fast and strong. Vader gripped Luke's chin and lifted it up so Luke had to look at him.

The mask was the same as always. Black with red lenses. Sharp angular lines. If he looked close enough, Luke would be able to make out his reflection.

Vader's thumb ran across Luke's cheek. Luke flinched as the thumb pressed against a large bruise that had formed from when he had been back-handed.

"Their deaths were far too quick," Vader rumbled.

A tear rolled down Luke's cheek and his lip trembled, and thankfully Vader's hand withdrew. With a flick of a gloved finger, the binders around Luke's wrist opened. Luke rubbed his sore and raw wrists with unsteady hands.

"Come," Vader demanded.

Luke nodded and stood up. His body ached and screamed at him. Wounds flared up that had eased while he was sitting. Vader had already turned around and was walking towards the door. Luke took one step and pain tore up his leg. He cried out and fell to the floor. He couldn't stop the tears as his twisted ankle throbbed.

This was pathetic. He was pathetic. His father must be ashamed. He just wanted to curl up and disappear.

Large hands grabbed him. His father had returned. What would he do? Shake him? Choke him?

Instead, Vader cradled Luke to his chest.

Luke looked up at his father with bleary eyes. All he could do was blink in hopes it would clear his vision, and he could make sense of what was happening. The mask was tilted down; Vader was looking at him. Then without a word, Vader looked away and walked out of the room.

Was he . . . carrying Luke out?

"Fa- father . . ."

Vader didn't stop, but he did look down at him.

"Why did you come?" It was barely more than a whisper half obscured by the sound of the respirator.

"Of course, I would come," Vader said. "I will always come, Luke."

The trembling stopped as Luke's vision cleared. He could just make out eyes behind the lenses, but then Vader looked away. Luke let his head rest against his father's shoulder. His father's words repeated in his mind.

He would always come.

Always.