Recovery was not fast.
It never had been, it never felt quick, even when it was rushed, and he was back on the battlefield within the week. And certainly not as he sat uselessly in the Alliance's hospital for weeks on end.
But Luke would accept nothing less. His son sat with him for long hours, shared his room while he himself had recovered from the Emperor's attack, and he still smiled sadly, and kissed his father's forehead before leaving to take care of Rebel business each day.
Light streamed in the window, and Luke kept him supplied with various small robotics projects to keep him busy, but it was still mind-numbingly boring. He'd been reading, too, glorified storybooks that Luke liked, as thick as exhaustive war reports, but not as important. They were fine. He had one resting on his stomach now, even as he watched the trees outside, and tried to calculate the time.
It had been Luke who had suggested they not keep a clock in his room, since it only made it easier for him to try to count the hours. In keeping with his son's suggestion, he had intentionally not calculated the hour based on the shadows, but they were still short, and he knew it would be a long time before the boy came back.
His fingertips traced the familiar lines of the datapad, the synthskin skipping over its topography. He was still getting used to everything his son had provided him with, the better prosthetics, the integrated life support, the time…
It was all so enormously kind, and so outside of what he deserved. He thought Luke must have known that, but he was still too sweet and gentle to mention it, if he did.
The Alliance, too, was being unreasonably kind.
Padmé's friends made excuses about the way he had been raised, how Palpatine had manipulated him. He heard, again and again, that given his past, he could not be held responsible for his actions, and it was beginning to make him truly angry. He should be held responsible, he wanted to yell, he was a monster, and it had not been Palpatine at his shoulder, forcing him to kill half the people he laid eyes on.
But they believed Luke. He exhaled, trying to let the anger out with the breath, trying to imagine that his freer breathing represented a newfound ability to release his feelings, as he'd always been meant to.
They believed Luke, and if Luke had taken the angle that he hadn't wanted to do the things he had done…
It wasn't entirely inaccurate.
He reached up to run a hand through his hair in his frustration, and found it absent. He was slipping into old mannerisms. Things he had done when he had first been Anakin Skywalker.
He chuckled to himself.
When he had had hair.
The hand fell back to his lap, and he looked at it in silence. It was marked with traits he didn't remember having, but that had been added for the sake of realism. Realism to all but the owner of the hand, he supposed. An unblemished hand would have looked odd, they'd reasoned, and they'd peppered it with imaginary imperfections, veins and scars and birthmarks. The aesthetic appearance did not matter to him. What mattered was that he could feel Luke's hands, and touch him without concern about arcing, or catching delicate human flesh in sharp mechanics.
Luke seemed to enjoy it. He seemed to like climbing up onto Vader's bed, tucking himself under an arm, and reading or working, telling his father about his day, or dozing off in Anakin's warmth. He insisted on helping his father with salves, rubbing the healing creams into Anakin's shoulders, his scalp, his face.
He insisted it was because the first time Anakin had tried to do it himself, he'd given himself a black eye. (On top of everything else, Luke had teased.)
He'd had more luck with treating his son than himself. After a few days of insisting his father was in too bad a state to even try to help, Luke had suffered himself to be treated by his father, rather than the droids. Anakin had spent a pleasant afternoon with his son lying over his lap in a half-sulk, while he carefully applied medicine to Luke's healing burns. Luke had given up on his sulk after an hour or so, and had moved to be able to look up at his father, despite Anakin's complaints, and chatted happily for the rest of the day.
He was a good child. An incredible child.
He hadn't seen nearly as much of his daughter, but he was unconcerned about that. Leia was more willful than her brother, and even though she had accepted his affection once, their history was more cemented, and he could feel that it took her hours to recuperate after her visits. She came when she was able to do so, when she felt confident that she could bear it.
The door clicked, and he looked up sharply, suddenly realizing that it had been his daughter's presence that drew his attention to her.
He pushed himself up, leaning forwards to see her as soon as possible, and when she stepped inside, and saw him waiting, she smiled.
"Hello, Father."
"Hello, Leia."
She pulled off her boots, and left them on the tray by the door, before approaching him, and giving him a quick hug, like her brother would have done.
"What brings you to me, today?" he asked lightly, taking her hand as she seated herself on his bed.
"Nothing in particular."
He could sense that it wasn't the full answer, that something must have occurred to merit a visit, but he did not insist. She would tell him in her own time, if she wanted him to know, and if she did not, then it was not for him to demand that she do so.
"Have any major systems joined you?" he asked.
Talk of the ongoing struggle was easier than trying to relate to her, or apologize for his crimes. The future, Luke had assured him, was something they shared, something on which they could agree.
"A few," she nodded, and as she bent her head, Vader saw a hint of dark circles under her eyes, hidden by makeup.
"Have you been sleeping?" he asked, delicately stepping over a line, daring to inquire about her health.
She yawned, and some foundation came off on her sleeve when she raised it to cover her mouth. "Some."
When she lowered her arm, Anakin couldn't hold back a laugh. "Acne?"
She turned scarlet, and quickly raised her hand again to hide what had been revealed by the brush across her face. "I don't -,"
"It's stress," he said, sitting up again, and carefully touching her face, investigating the angry pimples, cautiously touching her skin to get a good look. "You need to be getting more sleep."
Now that there was physical evidence of her stress, it was easy for him to feel her exhaustion, the many things that weighed on her mind. She was still young, like Luke, and unlike Luke, he could tell that she had not been addressing the effect that the war was having on her.
Force knew his damaged skin had done its very best to break out in the early days of the Empire.
"As if I have time," she muttered, pushing her sleeve across her face again, and revealing another swath of patchy skin.
"And yet you've found time to come to see me," he said dryly, reaching for a cloth, and the cup of water at his bedside, and passing them to her. "Give it a chance to air out."
She gave him a half-hearted stink eye, and wet the cloth, before dragging it roughly across her face, removing some of the makeup, and further revealing the state of her acne.
"Force, child," he said, taking the cloth from her, and continuing to dab at her face, while she sat still and long-suffering.
"Luke's not doing much better," she muttered defensively.
"Luke has been coming down to go to bed at a regular time, and if he cannot sleep, it is not for lack of trying."
The water was not fully effective to remove the layers of makeup, and he set it aside, opening his mouth to command her to go and find some proper makeup remover, just as she dove at his chest, wrapping her arms around his back, and clinging tightly.
"Woah," he murmured to her, gently stroking her back as she clung. At her touch, he could feel the exhaustion in her bones, that she was too thin, the fabric of even her tailored dress hanging a little loose. "Shh, princess…"
"I don't want to be envious of Luke," she croaked, and he felt her take the first breath of tears, and shifted to be able to more comfortably hold her, using the Force to move aside the book he had been reading. "It's not his stupid fault that he's so trusting."
"And this does not represent trust?" he asked.
"I'm trying," she said, "To feel like he must."
"Ah," he agreed.
He had held her while she cried once before, but then it had been in cruelty. Now, he cradled her, tried to hold her as he would a newborn, trying out its lungs for the first time. She was smaller than Luke, and as she lay against him, he could physically feel that, but whenever she stood, he felt that she was taller than himself, nearly to the degree that she could crush him under her heel.
"Is there anything I could do to make it easier?" he offered, pulling his blanket over her from the foot of the bed, leaving his feet cold, but his daughter safely swaddled.
He felt her tentative Force presence reach out to his. It was dull, untrained, patchy with her preconceptions of the Force, and what it could and couldn't be, and he accepted it like a diamond in the rough. It was beautiful, like her brother's clearer presence. It was unbreakable and natural, everything perfect about his daughter, even if some perfection was misplaced, and darkened the effect…
It must have been why he had not sensed her sooner, why she had remained hidden from him.
She must have known so little of the burden of her family.
Still, he accepted the gem, cradling it against himself as he held her body. Lovingly, his presence gently brushed away what was not the Force, allowing it back to her being, what there was of Leia that was not her powers.
"We could train you, if you wanted," he offered. It wasn't exactly what he wanted; he wanted her to remain free of their burden, so she could follow in her mother's footsteps, but it was selfish to demand she follow a dead woman, if she wanted to join her living family.
"Maybe one day," she said. "Right now, I don't have time…"
She sounded so deeply, deeply sad and tired.
"I wanted you to help me with some… administrative stuff," she mumbled, "But now I think I just want to be held."
"Show me," he asked, removing one arm from her shoulders, allowing her to sit.
She barely moved, only rifled in a deep pocket, and removed a datadrive.
"I know Luke gave you a 'pad."
Anakin smiled, slowly shifting, putting the bed fully upright, and adjusting Leia so she could still snuggle against him, even as he set the datapad on her back. "That he did."
Leia groaned flatly as she slipped to the mattress, and he shook his head, pressing his pillow under her head, and feeling her let out a long, low groan in response.
"Feeling pathetic, are we?" he asked cautiously, unsure if she would dislike the implication.
"Extremely."
He chuckled, beginning to read the paperwork she'd given him, his free hand rubbing slow circles on her shoulder, and felt her breathing slow as she relaxed into his comforts.
As the shadows stretched over the pair of them, he worked through several files, putting them in front of her to skim and sign, before settling into reading reports aloud to her. Eventually, a medic came, and ordered him to drink some opalescent medication if he intended to keep speaking, and he did as he was told, glad that the man had not commented about the general lying across his stomach, half asleep.
"'S enough," Leia mumbled finally, and he looked down at her. Her eyes had finally drooped closed altogether, and he felt a little prickle of pride that she'd been able to stay conscious through even as many dry reports as she had. "M' gonna go t' bed."
She made a valiant attempt at pushing herself upright, but her hands slipped, and she was deposited back onto her father's lap.
"Perhaps you should stay," he suggested, curling some hairs that had come loose of her braids around his fingertips. "Comm your brother, and ask if you could take his cot, for tonight."
She slowly opened her eyes again, looking at the other bed.
"'S a long way away," she complained.
He laughed, pulling her legs out of the way, and using the Force to clip the spare cot to the side of his, as Luke had done at first, before deciding to spare each of them the other's restlessness.
"Is that better?"
"'M not moving."
"I'm not asking you to," he assured, flicking his blanket back off her to another moan of protest, before soothing her by covering her with her own blanket.
"'E's gonna stay, too," she warned, forcing her eyes open enough to meet her father's.
"Luke?" he asked. "You are not the only warriors, Princess. I have shared accommodations with more than my own children, in the past."
He set the datapad aside on a bedside table, careful not to shunt off the plant Luke had brought him.
"Kay," she whispered, and he smiled, lowering the bars on the side of each bed, making the middle a feasible place to rest, and carefully manoeuvring his tired daughter to rest parallel to himself, ensuring that both beds were at the same height.
"You know you are as welcome to visit as your brother," he said, working to arrange her comfortably next to him, only to quickly have his shoulder reclaimed as a pillow, and find himself wrapping his arm around the girl he'd thought would never forgive him.
"I know," she whispered, and he felt the rough diamond of her presence press against his again, saw in its clarity the fear she still felt of him.
"My brave little girl," he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Get your sleep, now."
She nodded sleepily, and he closed his eyes, resting his chin in her hair, and caressing her presence slowly, lulling her into sleep. He thought briefly of how surprised Luke would be to see his sister participating comfortably in physical contact with him, but dismissed the thought. For now, he was not acting for Luke's benefit. His son could make what he wished of the sight, right now, Leia was the one whose comfort he was prioritizing.
Hours later, his son entered, smiled briefly at his sister, and came around for a kiss goodnight before crawling into bed as well.
Anakin lay still, watching over his children as Luke snuggled up to Leia, resting his head against her spine, looping an arm over her. She grunted, and shifted, and he brushed his presence against her mind, barely grazing her presence, soothing her until she fell still again in her brother's arm. He watched as Luke yawned, and observed in silent awe as Luke seemed to throw their bond wide, accepting his sister's tiredness into himself, and falling asleep almost immediately at its intensity.
Their bond was still glowing brightly, pulsing with their combined heartbeats, and Anakin finally closed his eyes, tucking his head down to Leia's. Anxiously, he reached out to them, to the supernova where their presences combined, and found that it was easy to swirl closer, to be drawn into their beauty and light, to feel his soul lifted by their gentleness.
For the first time since Padmé's death, he could feel his family as a singular unit, complete and happy, and when he woke to find that Leia had already left, and Luke was starting to pull on his boots, he felt strangely reassured that they would both return. That this bond, finally, would last.