Author's Notes: I never intended for this to be more than a one-shot. But as I like happy endings, this story has always prickled at my conscience. While it works best as a one-shot, I finally decided to add to it. Please note: 1) I'm only adding about 10,000 words (six small chapters plus a short epilogue). It's not meant to be a long story, as I don't have the time for that. It's more about moments in time that build up to something. 2) The ending is not like my normal endings. But it is a happy ending of sorts . . . and it is in keeping with the story that was my original inspiration for this fic. 3) I did not have the time to do a lot of research for realism's sake, so if that is something you want, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. 4) Thank you for reading!
"With your permission, Lord Vader, I would like to speak candidly . . . and with no fear of negative repercussions. I am well aware of what happens to those under your service who displease you."
"You may feel free to speak freely, Dr. Akeso. When it comes to the boy, you may always be honest with me, provided you continue to have his best interests at heart. But I expect everything between us to remain strictly confidential. There may be . . . pressure from other areas for you to divulge information on his mental and physical state. I would prefer any forceful supplicants to be redirected to me."
"Loath though I am to become caught up in the midst of an Imperial power struggle, I do feel genuine concern for Luke, and I know that if I don't help him, you may be hard-pressed to find someone else who will. As a psychiatric professional, my ethics dictate that I keep all patient information confidential, and I shall endeavor to abide by them. Yet I would strongly suggest that you provide information on Luke to your . . . superior . . . as soon as possible to avoid any unnecessary complications."
"I understand."
"All right. Now, back to Luke himself. As you know, he has undergone an intensely traumatic experience. I am perhaps more suited to handle such a situation than most since my specialty is war trauma, yet I am accustomed to treating adults, not children. Still, I do have a thirty-year-old son, and while it has been some time since he was young enough to be called a child, I do believe I can bring my maternal knowledge to bear in this situation."
"I have confidence in your abilities, Dr. Akeso. I would not be speaking with you otherwise."
"I must admit that I am hesitant to provide my recommendation, as I fear it is one that you do not wish to hear, Lord Vader. Given your vocation and . . . proclivities . . . I believe it would be best for Luke to be placed into a psychiatric institution. In such a facility, he could become accustomed to integration into society in a much slower fashion. After a little time passed, he could then be placed in a stable and . . . well . . . loving home. That's what he needs."
Darth Vader turned his head, looking away from the woman to give himself some time to think. The psychiatrist was quite skilled at what she did; that was the only reason Palpatine would ever have a woman stationed in the Imperial Palace in the first place. And what she had said about her credentials was true. She specialized in treating soldiers traumatized by war, not children who had faced unthinkable abuse. Still, any advice she gave was likely to be sound, and he could not take it lightly.
Yet Vader found himself wanting to reject her suggestion. The boy was his son. And a son was meant to be with his father. Vader could not just abandon him to another family, even if they could give him what Vader could not . . . a stable and loving home, just as the psychiatrist had said he needed.
"The boy must stay with me, Dr. Akeso," he said at last, bringing his helmet-covered gaze to her once more.
The woman pulled her datapad up to her chest. With her narrowed eyes and gray-streaked hair, she reminded him of a feral cat. "Why do you care, Lord Vader?" she asked him.
He clenched his fists at his sides, yet he could not bring himself to speak. Why did he care?
When a minute had passed without him saying anything, she prompted him, "Remember, Lord Vader, everything shared between us is confidential, and anything you can tell me may be important to the boy's treatment. Did you know Luke's family?"
"That is not—" Vader clenched his fists and changed what he was going to say. She was right. He had to be open with her. "I am his father."
The look of surprise on her face could not be mistaken. Yet she quickly schooled her features and returned to her formal air of professionalism. "The bonds of blood are not enough, my lord. Luke needs examples of love, not hate. He will never trust you if he sees you killing your subordinates and barking orders left and right as if they were death threats."
Vader did not bother correcting the mental image she had painted—Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, did not bark orders—yet he took her meaning very well. "I once slaughtered an entire village of humanoids for killing my mother, Dr. Akeso," he said. "The men, the women, the children—"
"That is exactly why you should not take Luke," she interrupted.
"No," he said. "That is exactly why I should keep the boy. He is family. We are meant to be together."
Later that morning, the boy was transported to Vader's suite in the Imperial Palace. A room had been prepared for him, and it contained a small bed and a dresser. There was also an empty closet and an attached refresher. Vader was aware that it might be a very long time before the 'fresher was used; until then, he would have the floor near the boy's bed tended to frequently by a cleaning droid.
Dr. Akeso had made a number of recommendations for the boy's lifestyle, including dim lighting, bland food, and extreme patience. Furthermore, since the boy was accustomed to nakedness, he was to be allowed to remain in such a state until further advances were made with his psychological well-being. But all changes, the psychiatrist had stressed, were to be gradual, purposeful, and slow.
Vader's personal physician had said the same thing. Vader had taken the boy immediately to the infirmary in the Imperial Palace after leaving Xizor's Palace. He trusted his personal physician feed the Emperor only the information that Vader deemed acceptable, so he had had no qualms about taking the boy to him.
The doctor had seen to his charge with a staff of droids, administering fluids and nutrients in carefully calculated doses. The boy was also given a careful sponge bath, and what remained of his teeth had been removed and replaced with artificial ones. Vader had also given his son's measurements to a tailor, though it could be some time before the boy felt comfortable enough to wear any clothes.
And then finally, after a few weeks of medical treatment, Vader had seen to the sedated boy's removal from the infirmary. Now, Vader merely had to wait for the tranquilizer to wear off.
At last, it happened. The boy's eyes opened, took in his new surroundings, and then rested upon Vader. With a noise somewhere between a hiss and a growl, he leaped off the bed and backed into a corner. He started whimpering, as if in pain, and Vader recalled that his physician had said movement might be painful for the boy for a while. Though the Imperial Palace infirmary had some of the best medical equipment money could buy, starvation was not a disease that could be wiped away with a dose of medicine.
"I will be good," the boy cried out plaintively, cowering down.
Vader flinched despite himself. How could anyone have treated a child so abominably?
With some effort, he reined in his temper and gave a simple gesture, drawing the boy's eyes downward.
There was a small bowl with a spoon and a little bit of watery porridge on the floor a few feet away from Vader, and the boy looked at it. It was likely cold by now, but it had been infused with important nutrients, and Vader knew that the boy's last concern was the temperature of his food.
Vader stood immobile for a moment, watching the boy, and then he began to talk. For what was not the first time, he cursed the sound of his respirator, which seemed especially loud in the sparsely decorated room.
"The bowl has porridge in it," he told the boy. "It should be light on your stomach, but I imagine it will taste much better than whatever gruel Xizor's men have been feeding you."
As he spoke, the boy—who was finally starting to resemble one, if primarily due to the fact that he was no longer covered in his own excrement—watched him warily, hunkering down to make himself as small as possible.
Vader knew his form was tall and imposing, and so, despite his hesitation, he took a few steps backward and then knelt on the floor. "I will not harm you. You must eat your food."
The boy looked at him, his bearing still that of a frightened animal. He glanced around the room, as if to attempt escape, but then he returned his eyes to the bowl. Though the lighting in the room was somewhat dim, the boy seemed to have no difficulties in seeing the porridge.
Finally, eyes darting back and forth between the bowl and Vader, the boy scuttled forward and grabbed the bowl before returning to the corner with a bit of a warning growl.
The boy watched Vader for a moment before flinging the spoon aside and putting his fingers into the food. He held the rim up to his mouth and quickly shoveled the contents of the bowl into his mouth with his hand before sliding the bowl forward across the floor.
The boy's eyes flicked toward the door, and it was obvious he was expecting Vader to leave the room with the bowl. To him, Vader was just another bringer of food. Only time could change his perception.
"Do you want more?" Vader asked, reaching down to pick up the bowl. Ordinarily, he would use the Force for such a task, but he had no desire to frighten his son.
Wide eyes watched his movements warily.
Vader, not having actually expected a response, dipped his head slightly. "I will get you more."
He left the room briefly to put a little more porridge in the bowl, adding some watered-down milk to it. Perhaps it was still too soon to be doing solids at all—his physician had seemed to think that might very well be the case—but Vader could not help but believe that surely even something like this would be enough to start to chip away at the psychological barriers that the boy had drawn up around himself. Vader would have to start with small kindnesses at first . . . though he still felt enraged at the thought that palpable food was to be considered a kindness for his son. Even as a slave on Tatooine, Vader had always had plenty to eat.
When Vader returned to the room, the boy, who had been looking at the bed, scampered into the corner.
Vader set the bowl down and stepped away from it, but he kept closer to it than he had been the first time. He knew he could not offer much food—it all had to be gradual—but he wished he could simply pile item after item of food on the floor for his son's consumption. He hated that the boy was skin and bones. If Vader had only known that Padmé had borne a child before she died, he could have saved the boy from such a wretched fate. Why had the child been hidden from him?
Even as the question occurred to him, he knew the answer. It was because he was steeped in the Dark Side. He should not have had a parental bone left in his body. Yet as he gazed down on his son, he felt something well up within him. He felt protective toward this child, and nothing else seemed to matter.
The boy moved forward cautiously, like an akk dog approaching an unusual-smelling object, and he picked up the bowl, his eyes on Vader the entire time. Then he walked backward and returned to his corner, where he started to eat the food slowly, still staring at Vader.
Hesitantly, Vader reached out with the Force to touch the boy's mind. But what met him was a maelstrom of emotions and chaotic thoughts, and he quickly backed off.
"I took care of the one who held you captive," Vader said softly. "You will never be kicked again. And when you want food, it will be provided. All your needs will be tended to." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I know your name is Luke Skywalker. I don't know what happened to you, but I promise I will protect you from anyone who tries to hurt you."
The boy finally looked away from him and rested his eyes on the bowl of food he was holding. "I am good, yes," he said to himself. "A new bringer of light. I will show him I am good."
Before he met his son, Vader had not been certain he had a heart anymore, but now he knew he must have, because he could feel it breaking.