Anakin blinked, and without transition realised he was in a completely different place. It was much brighter, but somehow his eyes didn't have to adapt, and unlike anything he'd ever known, so much he couldn't know how to describe it. It was... nondescript was the most apt way to put it; the air felt temperate, the ground neither warm nor cold, the landscape flat, with the horizon all around him.

What struck him most was that it felt at all.

He looked down with wonder at his flesh hands, rubbed them on his free face, ran them through his hair. It was stunning, overwhelming; he supposed there should be elation too, but he didn't think he would ever be capable of such an emotion again.

He didn't deserve this. He had never imagined such an afterlife, for he supposed that was what it was; he'd always pictured his consciousness dissolving into oblivion, which would have been far more fitting for a wretched being such as he was.

The only solace was that if he was here, then it meant his mother and Padmé must have found peace, too; then Luke –

He didn't know if it was the sound of softly, barely audible shuffling feet next to him, or just the feeling of a presence in the Force that made him rise his head; but he did, and it took his breath away.

(His natural, organic breath.)

There he was. His wonderful, beautiful, brave, kind and undeserved son. Anakin's breath caught in his throat once more, drinking in the sight while thinking he shouldn't have the right to lay eyes on him at all.

Luke looked as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The scars on his face had disappeared, and his head was tilted to the side, a small smile on his lips and soft melancholy in his eyes. He wore the light robes of the Jedi of old, and all his being suffused peace. Not contented and performed peace like the inhabitants of the Temple had sported at all times, but the relieved and joyful kind that came after the end of great suffering.

The robes suited him, Anakin thought, more than anyone he'd ever seen.

He wanted to fall on his knees, to beg him for forgiveness, to send him back to his friends and the life he'd so cruelly torn from him. But Luke seemed to have caught on his thought before he moved, for he held out a hand with an alarmed look, then reached out to take Anakin's hands in his own.

"Father, please," he said, and Anakin's heart tightened at the haunting memory the words awakened. "Don't. It's all right. It's all over now."

Luke's hands were warm, both of them were warm, and Anakin could do nothing but clasp them in his own.

"Luke..." he whispered, but he was unable to say anything else. What words could express the extent of his guilt? What empty platitudes could he offer one he'd so grievously wronged?

"You came back," Luke said, his smile so blinding Anakin wanted to look away from it. "You came back to me. That's all I ever wanted."

"But much too late," Anakin cut him off. "How can you ever forgive me after everything I've done to you? How do you not hate me?"

"I'd already forgiven you," Luke answered, his voice grave and serious. His words should have been a balm on Anakin's soul; instead they just wounded him more, ashamed of the unwarranted faith his son was placing in him. "I came to save you. I knew the risks when I surrendered. I am just glad I was right about you."

Anakin wanted to say more, to push him away, to explain all the reasons he shouldn't be so trusting – for it had lost him, for trust in Anakin had always been his loved ones' downfall. But Luke pulled back before he could with a glance backwards, and Anakin mourned the loss of his touch.

"I'm not the only one who's happy to see you. I imagine you'll be glad to reunite with them," he said, looking at the ground.

Anakin's heart missed a beat when he recognised the two silhouettes walking closer. Padmé and his mother were wearing the same loving smiles as they looked at him, as they extended their arms towards him, and he wanted nothing more than to run into their embrace.

But something held him back. He glanced at Luke once more. The young man was still smiling, but he seemed more subdued as he watched the two women approach with something like wistful longing in his eyes.

All of a sudden Anakin understood. Luke's desperation to save him, his insistence to make Anakin leave the shell of Vader, the pride when he declared himself a Jedi like his father before him, his incomprehensible forgiveness and joy at seeing him here, when by all reason he should have despised him.

What use were guilt and remorse, if all they did was hurt his son even more?

He stepped forward and took Luke in his arms, as he'd longed to do ever since discovering his existence, ever since he'd first learnt he lived in his mother's womb. Luke seemed startled but soon hugged him back with great strength, holding on to him as tightly as he could.

Anakin closed his eyes, awed and overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotions that crashed over him like a tide. He could feel Luke's body, so warm and solid in his arms, could smell his hair under his nose. He laid a kiss on the top of his head, felt Luke hold him tighter in response, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Anakin felt his heart about to burst.

"My son," he whispered. "My dear, dear son. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You were so brave."

The words kept tumbling from his lips now that they had began, all the words of apology and comfort and love he'd held back before. He stroke the back of Luke's head and ran his fingers through his hair, revelling in this closeness, in Luke's miraculous presence. His son had broken down, his body shaking in great sobs in his embrace; there were tears running down Anakin's cheeks, too.

Never, even in his wildest dreams, had he ever dared hope for something like this.

Two other pairs of arms came around them, adding their warmth to the reunion. Anakin closed his eyes, melted in the embrace of the two most important women in his life, his child in his arms.

He felt complete and peaceful at last.