This was written for the tumblr prompt I received over a year ago, before the Kenobi series came out:
I know it's probably not going to happen, but I would LOVE it if in the Kenobi series Vader comes across kid Luke. Like neither of them are aware who the other is, but they end up having a brief exchange (maybe kid Luke is admiring Vader's ship and Vader despite being a touch annoyed by the ray of sunshine that is Luke, is somewhat amused how this kid is a) not afraid of him and b) shares his love for ships.
Naturally having watched the show it did not go that way! So instead this is a vague "what if", predicated on... idk, Vader coming to Tatooine to find Obi-Wan? Baby Luke is the important bit, not plot.
"Wow."
Vader turned at the tiny word, more an exhalation than a sigh, and nearly took a step back when he saw a child darting across the sands to where he'd landed his TIE Advanced. The presence he'd felt—though, admittedly, not the pitch of voice—had meant Vader had expected an older, larger person to be the originator, but no matter. It just meant it was easier for Vader to flick his wrist and send the child flying.
He tumbled head over heels, landing in the sand with a flump. That didn't faze him, though. Vader was trying to survey the desert from the outcropping he'd landed his TIE near to, and this child apparently had no respect for the gravitas of the moment. He got up and ran at the TIE again.
"I've never seen one in person! How fast does it go?"
"That is none of your concern. Get out of my sight and leave me be."
The boy ignored him. "What're the specs like? I've built the smaller toy versions before, and Uncle Owen lets me tinker with the speeder with him, but this is life-sized!" He marched up to the TIE and peered through its viewport, squinting at it. The eye-shaped viewport seemed to squint back. "What model is it? I like tracking TIE fighters, but I've never seen this one before—"
"That is because it is custom." Vader's tone was flat. "It has not yet been approved for mass construction. Which means you should not touch it and leave me be."
"But I saw you fly in! It's so smooth and fast! Why wouldn't it be produced—"
"Because it is built to have shields, and it is not worth mass-producing models with shields. TIE pilots are expected to fly better than that. If you intend on bothering me"—where had this child even come from? Playing in the canyons wasn't exactly encouraged behaviour on Tatooine—"inform me as to where I can find Obi-Wan Kenobi. Reports indicate he is hiding on this planet."
"Obi-Wan?" the boy asked, frowning. He reached out in awe and plastered his hand on the smooth curve of the TIE's wing.
"Do not touch that."
"I don't know an Obi-Wan Kenobi—"
"Then you are useless to me. Remove your hand from my ship before I remove it from your body entirely."
The boy huffed. What oceans of insolence did he possess to have so little fear of him? "The speeder broke down," he whined. "Uncle Owen's down there tryna fix it, but he won't let me help after I spilled the grease, and I'm bored—"
"I am not here to entertain you." Vader turned sharply when he realised that the boy's hand—which was, indeed, still covered in the grease he'd apparently spilled—had left a tiny, insolent handprint on the wing. He marched up and tried to wipe it off; it was unbefitting. The grease just smeared. "Begone."
"My name's Luke, by the way. Who're you?"
"I have no interest in your name."
"But—"
This was useless. Vader could hardly sense Kenobi with this background chatter; he would have to find another spot from which to scour the planet through the Force, until he left no rock's shadow uninspected. Waving his hand again and sending the child flip-flopping through the sand, he climbed back into the cockpit and roared into the horizon.
He pretended not to hear—or sense—the child's whooping delight as he did.
The Rebels had evacuated the base. Vader knew that before he got there: knew that he would not find his son in there, or any of his allies. Nonetheless, perhaps they would have left something behind. Perhaps he could glean their next steps, and find his son that way, if he tried.
That was how he found himself standing in the hangar. Most of the ships had gone—that was how the Rebels had evacuated, of course—but not all of them. Some people had been on other transports. Luke, for one, had been on the Falcon when the warning came, and apparently Solo had not wasted time in the escape.
So, Luke's X-wing stood in the empty hangar, the kill badge for the Death Star displayed proudly on its side.
Vader's breathing was incapable of hitching, but his chest felt tight as he circled it. This was the ship he had nearly shot down over Yavin, not knowing its significance. He could feel the joy and passion Luke had poured into it, its upkeep—the sheer delight of flight—and how much he cared. Vader's gaze lingered on the shields: they were particularly well-maintained, which soothed him. Dogfights were dangerous, and Luke…
Vader glanced over the ship again. He would bring this back to the Executor. It might have… information… for him.
It was on his third circle of it that he noticed the handprint. Several, in fact, but this one was the clearest. A hand covered in grease had rested on the nose of the X-wing for a moment, happily and lovingly, and the print it had left behind gleamed in the dim light.
Vader reached up to rest his own hand, so much larger, on top of it. It smeared the print, and grease came away on his glove.
Still, he held it there. When he tried to picture Luke as a child, with small, chubby hands for his father to hold, an image of a blond, Tatooinian boy flashed to mind immediately. He didn't know where from. He never would: Luke's childhood was lost to him.
But his future wasn't. Vader lifted his hand from the print and, own glove covered in grease, planted his own mark beside Luke's.
Their future was ripe for the taking.