Vader's life normally revolved around the Empire. Reading reports, commanding troops, making political decisions—everything was done for the purpose of advancing Imperial goals.
Now, however, after having given his son a few bowls of porridge, Vader could see that his life had begun to revolve around meals. He looked forward to the next meal—dinnertime—and found himself unusually irritated by everything he normally took great pride in doing. Conversely, that which tended to spark his anger was now scarcely spared a second thought.
One thing to be grateful for was the fact that Emperor Palpatine was off-planet, though Vader knew he could keep news of his son from his master for only so long. Still, he had a few agents working to make sure that information concerning the boy was imparted only when he was ready. Of course, the fact that the Emperor was waiting so long to contact Vader about the death of the Falleen crimelord meant he was likely stewing in his displeasure and hoping that Vader would be cowering in fear. Yet such an emotion did not even touch his mind. All of his thoughts were consumed by the boy.
When it was time for dinner, Vader entered the boy's room with a bowl of porridge that had been lightly flavored. Though he had been told to do everything gradually, he found himself wanting to make large changes. He wished he could put a veritable feast out for the boy's enjoyment. But there would be time enough for that later.
Vader set the bowl down on the floor and moved away from it. He was closer to it than he had been the last time, yet he knew he needed to continue to keep his distance.
The boy came forward and grabbed the bowl. Then he backed away slowly. "I am good, yes," he said to himself. He picked up the spoon from the bowl, looking at it curiously, and then he set the spoon aside and began to eat with his fingers. He paused and looked at his fingers and then the bowl in surprise, recognizing the difference in flavor from before. Then his blue eyes rose and rested upon Vader. "G-good," he said in reference to the food, and then he cowered, as if Vader were going to hit him.
Beneath his mask, a twinge of a smile crossed Vader's face. "I am glad. It is sweetened porridge. I will bring different kinds of food as your stomach grows more accustomed to eating new things. Would you like a bit of toast?"
The boy's wide blue eyes looked down at the porridge and then up at Vader. He obviously was not used to being spoken to directly, yet Vader could feel there was already a connection arising between them. Perhaps Vader had never felt the pangs of starvation, but he had been through fire, and he knew what it was like to feel lonely.
At last, the boy gave a slight nod and cringed at his own bravery.
Vader left the room and returned a few minutes later with a small piece of toast. He set the plate on the ground and put some distance between it and him.
The boy went toward the plate somewhat eagerly, staring down at the toasted bread. He reached out with bony fingers to grasp it, and then, eyes on Vader, he put it in his mouth.
It was not as if he were nibbling on the toast so much as just trying to taste it. He brought it out of his mouth several times to stare down at it, mystified by the fact that he was able to experience such a different texture from what he was accustomed to. His tongue slid around the edges of it, and though it quickly turned soggy, still he seemed fascinated by it.
Vader watched him, fighting back his rage against Xizor once more. When he had killed the Falleen, it had not been enough to soothe his howling soul. Intent on removing his son from Xizor's home as quickly as possible, he had used the Force to knock the boy out, and then he had torn a tapestry off a wall nearby to cover him with it. Those in Xizor's employ whom he had passed while carrying the boy down the hallways had simply watched him with uneasy eyes. They did not challenge him. Perhaps they welcomed the Falleen's death. The part of him that was filled with rage had wanted to kill them all, but something had stayed his hand.
Shifting in place, he studied the boy, noting the slightness of his frame and the emaciated look on his face. But what kept drawing his attention was the boy's eyes.
When Vader had first seen his son, he had scarcely known the boy was even human. But when studying the boy's eyes, he wondered how he could have ever been mistaken. Despite the fear that had become a part of his existence, there was a strange glint of life in the boy's eyes. That, more than anything, gave Vader the hope that he could help his son move past the mental scars Xizor had afflicted. It was a vitality that could not be repressed.
While the boy was still severely skinny and likely would be for a while, Vader did not need to despair. They were making progress. And his son's bright soul would see him through this, if nothing else.
That night, the boy's Force sense screamed at Vader.
The nightmare was a chaotic barrage of anger and fear and hatred, like a Dark Side storm focused inward upon one unfortunate target. Vader—who never moved at a pace greater than a brisk walk—actually rushed to the boy's room, worried at what he might find.
But when he went inside, the boy was no longer sleeping. Even caught in the midst of a nightmare, the boy's body had been trained to react to even the slightest noise, and the sound of the door jolted him awake.
Caught in a hazy delirium, the boy hunkered down in the corner, wailing, "I will be good! I will be good!" The emotions that had been tormenting him in his sleep only seemed to grow in intensity.
"Do not fear me," Vader said, but that only caused the boy's cries to grow louder.
Vader began to reach out to the Dark Side to soothe him, only to falter. The Dark Side was not meant to comfort. The Dark Side would only feed the boy's negative emotions.
Hesitantly, Vader tried to think of the calm dunes of Tatooine . . . of the crystalline waterfalls of Naboo and the tranquil forests of Kashyyyk. He reached for serenity and then touched the boy's Force sense, trying to soothe away the fear. Vader's hold on the Light Side was shaky—considering all the anger he felt toward the wretched Xizor, it was a surprise he was able to touch the Light Side at all—but at last the boy began to relax.
The boy tried to fight it—he was obviously unaccustomed to letting his guard down in front of anyone—but he finally slumped on the floor and went to sleep.
Vader stood there staring at the sleeping boy for perhaps half an hour, studying his dark blonde hair and thin form once more. He certainly resembled a human being more than he had when Vader had first come across him, but that alone was not enough. Though Darth Vader was one of the last people in the universe to soothe anyone—it was far more likely that he would strike terror into someone's heart—he found himself wanting to do just that with this child. He wanted to show him that there were worlds of wonders and a life beyond being beaten and starved and locked in darkness. He wanted . . . he wanted to be a good father.
The sound of his respirator filled the small room, as if mocking him, reminding him of just how ill-suited he was for the role before him. His conversation with Dr. Akeso came back to mind. Was he really what the boy needed?
Vader thought of the void in his life once his mother had died. It was a void he had tried to fill with hate and anger and bloodshed. What would have happened if his mother had remained in his life—if she had left Tatooine with him and gone on to keep him grounded? How would his life had changed?
As he stared at the boy, he knew he could not let him go. He would remain by the boy's side and serve as that constant which was desperately needed.
He could do nothing less for his son.