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Hands: ROTJ - Anakin and Luke
The cumbersome suit and mask that had shielded him from the galaxy for so long felt unbearable. Its sound receptors perfectly captured his son's tortured cries and Luke's request for help. Twenty-four years ago he'd heard similar cries. Twenty-four years ago he'd done whatever seemed to offer the most hope, even if it meant destruction and darkness, a decision that eventually killed everything he'd loved and doomed him to a life of loneliness.
Palpatine had guided him to those decisions.
She had asked him to be himself, to be Anakin.
Now his son asked the same thing, his words echoing hers: Father, help me! Please! Anakin, help me!
He looked between his master and his son.
Between the man who had deceived not only him but the whole galaxy, the man who'd orchestrated catastrophe after catastrophe, who sat there feeding fear and quiet desperation disguised as hope into Anakin's heart and his son, his son who looked so much like he had but echoed his mother.
Come away with me, help me raise our child, leave everything else behind while we still can.
Father, help me! Please!
And there was no contest.
Anakin's hands seized hold of the Emperor and lifted him up, moved the bolts away from his son, and hurled the deceiver down the unfinished shaft that led to the center of the station. The electricity sizzled the suit and shorted out its systems. He fell to his knees. The suit began to fail as Darth Vader began to die and Anakin Skywalker began to live once again, even for a short while.
Anakin felt pressure on the suit around his shoulders and his son eased him away from the shaft and back towards safety. The boy glowed with the Force, with goodness, with love. He supported Anakin as Anakin wheezed and struggled to regain his strength.
Luke gazed into his eyes and Anakin hated the eyepieces that obscured his view. He wanted Luke to see his eyes, to see what he felt. Luke's hand moved to Anakin's and his flesh fingers twined with Anakin's mechanical gloved ones.
And for the first time in twenty-four long, lonely years, Anakin Skywalker held someone's hand: his son's.