Chapter 3: Darth Vader, For Frag's Sake!
For the next few days—or maybe weeks—Anakin drifted in and out of sleep; his body was healing itself through the Force from whatever it was that he had suffered. Sometimes when he awoke, he was alone, sometimes Luke was there, but always he could sense the other's presence nearby. Often, fragments of nightmare would invade his dreams—flashes of death and pain—but they always fled almost immediately, driven away by the glory that was Luke.
Some things Anakin wished he could remember: Luke was clearly important to him. Other things, the nightmare flashes, he was glad to forget. But something told him that in order to remember the good, he must deal with the bad as well. Not now, though; there would be time later, once his body was strong again.
At times he thought he sensed another presence near him—weaker than Luke, yet still strong in the Force. He could not be sure, though, as Luke was so powerful it was impossible to focus on anyone else and he never actually saw anyone but Luke. No one else was ever in his room, at least not while he was awake.
One morning, when he awoke, Anakin decided that he had been lying in bed for long enough. Luke was not there, but he should be strong enough to get up on his own. This, however, was not as easy as he thought it would be.
First, he tried to sit up. As his head and shoulders rose, though, a wave of dizziness washed over him and he fell back. With a groan, he put his hands to his head, and met the unyielding surface of a metal...something. "What the—?" He explored the contours of the mask that completely covered his face, marveling at the workmanship, and wondering how he had missed noticing that it was there. Somehow, it felt normal, familiar; yet at the same time, he had no real memory of why he would be wearing such a thing. Feeling for the edges, he discovered that it wrapped around the back of his head too, making a complete helmet.
"Father?" Anakin had been so focused that he hadn't heard the door open. Luke entered the room and asked, "Are you all right? Were you trying to sit up?" He closed the door behind him and stood by the bedside. "How are you feeling today?"
His hands still on the mask, Anakin asked, "What is this? Why am I wearing this?" It was much easier to speak now; his voice was clear and his throat no longer hurt.
Luke sat down on the edge of the mattress. "It's a breathing mask. I'm hopeful that I can help you to heal your lungs enough that you will eventually no longer need it."
"Is there a part of me that wasn't injured?" Anakin meant the question to be humourous, but the mask caused it to come out sounding flat and unemotional.
Luke caught the humour though, and laughed gently. Sometimes it seemed the young man could read his mind. At times like this, he'd almost think Luke was related to him—and he called him "Father." How much time had he lost? It felt like days, or maybe weeks, but what if it was years? He remembered no family save his stepbrother, his stepfather, and his mother… A wave of grief and pain washed over him, and he would have doubled over if he'd been upright. He could hear Luke's worried voice through the roaring in his ears, but all he could see was the dead: his mother, the sandpeople who had killed her, hundreds of faceless Jedi, and others, so many others, bodies stretching for as far as he could see. "I killed them. I killed them all. They're dead; every single one of them. Not just the men, but the women and children too…"
A blaze of light rushed through his soul, washing away the images of death and bringing him back to the present. Luke was leaning over with his hands on Anakin's shoulders, his face inches from Anakin's mask. "Father!" he called. "Anakin Skywalker!"
With an effort, Anakin focused on Luke. "Was that—? Did I—? No. No." He shook his head and tried to sit up again, but Luke easily held him down. Letting his body go limp, he met Luke's eyes. Trying to distract himself from the horror in his mind, he asked, "Why do you call me 'Father'?"
Releasing him and sitting back, Luke replied, "Because you are my father."
Stunned, Anakin studied Luke's face. Now that he was looking for it, he could see Padmé in Luke, and himself as well. He raised his hand to touch his son's face, tears filling his eyes. "Did you know," he whispered, "they said I was to bring balance to the Force?" His fingers trembled, and Luke took them between his hands and gently squeezed. "Maybe they meant you."
Leia fell to her knees in the mud and grass, her arms wrapped around her middle. Han ran to her side, going to one knee beside her. Tears were streaming down her face as she rocked back and forth sobbing.
"Leia?" He put a hand on her arm. "What is it? What's wrong?"
She reached out blindly and he took her hand. She held on as if she was drowning and he had tossed her a rope. "So much pain," she whispered. "So much pain."
Although it was uncomfortably hot, she was shivering. "Leia? What's wrong?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know." She was squeezing his hand so hard it hurt, but he kept silent. She needed him, and he would not disappoint her again.
Just as suddenly as it began, the fit left her, and she released his hand to wipe her eyes. He surreptitiously flexed his fingers to regain feeling, marveling at her strength.
"Luke told me that I am Force sensitive, but I've never experienced anything like that. Not even when Alderaan was destroyed." Her voice broke. "Either my senses are getting sharper, or that was very close." She met his eyes. "Luke," she whispered. And they were on their feet, running.