Vader was often angry. He often took action in the heat of hate and rage. Yet even when he did so, he always felt as if he was in control. He was unaccustomed to the feeling that he was racing against time.
He knew that he would have to tell his master about his son, yet there was something about this brief period before that happened which seemed almost . . . precious to him. He had not cared about another living being since the death of his wife. He had not even known he was capable of such a thing.
He found that his preoccupation with his son affected more than simply his duties; it also affected others' perception of him. Many of the Imperial officers and members of Palpatine's court with whom Vader came into contact appeared to be giving him strange looks. In spite of all the rage he felt toward the dead Falleen, he had not been as quick to anger lately. All the things that had previously caused his rage to well up within him now seemed so petty. These feelings grew by the day. Everything was now wrapped up in the boy.
Every night, he would soothe his son, enabling him to sleep more restfully. Every day, he would take Artoo with him to feed the boy and show him holograms. He mentally cursed the responsibilities that kept him from spending as much time as he would like in the boy's quarters, yet after a week, he unexpectedly found that he had actually made some progress.
Vader had brought in a bowl of food, and he was about to place it on the floor. But before he did so, the boy started to move forward slowly on all fours. Vader froze and watched as his son finally stood up in front of him and reached out to take the bowl.
Trying to keep an unexpected tremble from shaking his hand, Vader relinquished the bowl.
The boy made a slight noise in his throat as he took it, and he said, "Th-thank you." And then he dropped to the ground and scurried away, as if fearful of his own bravery.
As someone who had not said "thank you" in years without meaning it sarcastically, Vader was floored. He had never realized that such a simple phrase could be so meaningful.
"Yes," the boy said to himself, unaware of his father's shock, "the bringer of light is good. Yes. Yes."
Vader might have chuckled at the irony if he had not felt so disgusted at the thought of just why his son was in such a condition. Death had been too easy a punishment for Xizor, and Vader hated his rashness.
It was true that Vader had been slowly increasing the brightness in the room, and now it was close to full brightness. As a result, he really was a bringer of light. Yet it should never have been that way. He was supposed to be a lord of darkness. Once, he had taken pride in that. Now, however, he scarcely knew what to think.
"The Emperor will return to the Palace soon," Vader said, speaking in a calm voice. "I cannot hide you much longer."
The boy looked over at him, his bright eyes blinking in a gaunt face, and Vader was not sure how much he could understand.
Yet that did not stop him from telling him, "I will still protect you. I promise." And he meant it, with every part of what remained of his heart.
The boy's eyes flickered over to Artoo, who was humming softly, and Vader inclined his head in understanding. "Would you like to see the stars again?"
The boy simply looked at him.
"Show him the stars, Artoo," Vader instructed, reaching out to the Force to dim the lights.
The stars sprang up around them, and the boy stared up at them with what looked like wonder.
At last, the Emperor returned to Coruscant, and Vader made plans to see him. An hour before he was due to leave, he stared down at his son, who had been sedated and was resting on the bed. A droid waited nearby to give the boy a sponge bath, but Vader hesitated to go. He was strangely nervous about the upcoming meeting, though it had nothing to do with a fear of the Emperor's wrath.
He reached out to brush some of the hair from the boy's eyes. This was the only time he was able to touch him—when the boy was sedated—and even then, the gloves on his hands would always separate him from the full human connection he so strongly desired. His choices in life had brought him to this, where the machine always seemed greater than the man.
That was why he should give the boy up. The boy deserved to be with someone who could love him . . . someone who had a full heart to give him.
Yet as he stared down at the boy, watching the slight rise and fall of his chest, he knew he could never let him go.
Vader went to the throne room, where Palpatine awaited him. It would have been much easier to meet elsewhere, yet the Emperor had a great love of ceremony. It was a way of intimidating people and ensuring they were kept in their places. That was what he was doing with Vader now. At least, that was what he was attempting to do.
Save for the Emperor's guards, the throne room was empty. Vader walked forward across the great stretch of room, and when at last he stood at the bottom of the steps before the large throne where his master sat, he knelt on the floor and bowed his head.
There was a long pause, the silence broken only by the rhythmic sound of Vader's respirator. And then, finally, Palpatine said, "Rise, Lord Vader."
Vader did as he was told and stared upward at the Emperor, allowing himself to take in the obvious curve of displeasure to the man's lip and the angry glint in his eyes.
"I have been waiting to hear just why you found it necessary to kill Prince Xizor against my explicit orders," said Palpatine in a low voice. There was a warning there—the Emperor absolutely hated having his orders contradicted. Fortunately, Vader's excuse was a solid one.
"I have found a boy," Vader said, keeping his own voice neutral. "He is the child of Anakin Skywalker."
The surprise on the Emperor's face was unmistakable. There was also a flash of something not unlike fear. "The son of Skywalker?"
"Yes. Prince Xizor was holding him in reprehensible conditions. The boy was covered in his own filth and practically starved to death. Xizor was avenging himself upon me with this ultimate of provocations. I had no choice but to kill him. As for the boy . . . he has been utterly scarred by the experience."
Palpatine looked down at him impassively, and Vader could only wonder at the thoughts going through his master's head. At last, however, Palpatine spoke, and he did so with a carefulness that was not his normal wont. "Perhaps the boy should be . . . eliminated."
A rush of panic swept through Vader, and for once, he was glad for the helmet which obscured his face. It was all he could to keep from speaking in a rush. He had to hide his eagerness. "If the boy could push past his psychological difficulties, my master, then he could be a powerful ally."
For the space of five breaths, Palpatine said nothing. Suspicion was etched in his face, yet he finally agreed: "Very well. We shall keep an eye on the boy's progress. I expect you to keep me updated."
"Yes, my master."
"I have a mission for you in a week. I need you to investigate suspected Rebel activity on Kashyyyk."
Vader nodded and attempted to listen as the Emperor went into further detail, but his mind was back in his suite with the boy.
When he left the Emperor to go see his son, he found that the boy was still on the bed. After a moment's thought, he took the boy in his arms for the purpose of putting him on the floor. The boy had not yet slept in the bed, and Vader did not want to cause a great shock to his system.
Before he let go of the boy, however, he marveled at the feel of him in his arms. He was still stunned by the thought that he was a father. He worried over the fragility of the being in his arms, over the future that awaited him . . . . And he wondered—was this something that all fathers experienced?
Vader gripped the boy tighter and reached out with the Force to touch his mind. He had tried to avoid doing so as much as he could since he did not know how much the boy was aware of his Force sense, yet he was glad to find that the boy's mind was less of a hurricane. By no means was the boy's mental state fully healed, yet there was no doubt that there had been a progression toward the better.
Vader was unsure how long he remained like that, holding the boy, his own heart full yet aching, but at last the boy seemed to begin stirring and whimpering in his arms. Gently, Vader lowered his son to the floor and backed away, his boots clicking against the floor as he did so.
It took a few minutes, but at last the boy woke up. He blinked and looked around. Upon seeing Vader, he flinched, but he did not back away.
Vader felt the urge to smile. He glanced at the 'fresher and back at the boy, his mind churning. He had not addressed its existence out loud yet, trying to give the boy time, but he figured now he might as well at least note its presence.
"You do not need to urinate and defecate on the floor," he told the boy quietly, making sure his tone was devoid of censure. "You can use the refresher unit. You can also take sonic showers."
The boy stared at him, and while it was clear that he was listening, Vader was more interested in the fact that the boy seemed to comprehend what was said.
"The clothes in the closet are also yours," Vader told him. "They might be a little big right now, but you can wear them whenever you'd like. You can also sleep on the bed. There is no need to sleep on the floor."
Those vivid crystalline eyes watched him for a moment, taking in his words, and then they moved to the door. "Artoo?" the boy asked.
And then Vader did smile to himself. The boy was showing more interest in his environment. That was progress indeed.
"I will bring the droid again soon. Do not worry."
The next day, Vader went into the boy's quarters with Artoo and a breakfast of eggs, toast with jam, and fruit. The boy, Vader was pleased to see, actually seemed happy to see the droid.
"Artoo," the boy said to himself, tilting his head.
The droid whistled, and the boy's face seemed to soften.
The boy got to his feet, and though he remained hunched over, he walked unsteadily toward Vader instead of crawling. He took the plate of food offered by Vader and then backed away and sat on the floor with it.
Rather than immediately discard all the eating utensils as he normally did, the boy grabbed a fork and held it clumsily, staring at it for a few seconds. He glanced up at Vader, as if for approval, and then he tried to cut his eggs with it.
Vader simply watched. The boy's hand was less clawlike now, but he had not had to do anything requiring fine motor skills in a long while. Yet he managed—if a bit messily—to eat the eggs using the fork.
And then Vader caught the hint of a smile, and the ragged remains of his heart were flooded with warmth. Everything he had been doing before all seemed to pale in comparison to this simple act. What was happening to him, Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, second-hand man to the Galactic Emperor?
He tried to call once more on the anger that had always served him so well, to bring back the angry hulk of a man that he had been since that fateful day on Mustafar—yet even though he tried to grasp at the Dark Side, it kept slipping away from his fingers.
The boy at last finished his meal, and Vader saw the ghost of a prideful smile cross the boy's face. Yet that was nothing compared to the smile hidden beneath Darth Vader's helmet.