Luke was still shaking with rage when the stormtroopers who'd escorted them out of the hangar deposited them in a set of nondescript officers' quarters. Biggs glanced sideways at him, wondering how the hell he addressed this. He'd spent so long trying to get here, he had no idea how to handle it once he had.

"How did he know we were coming?" Luke bit out.

He was next to the ladder that led to the top bunk, his left hand gripping a rung so tightly his tendons strained. His other hand ran through his hair, occasionally closing in a fist and yanking, as if the physical pain would snap Luke out of this nightmare.

"He— no. Forget that. He must have a spy in the Rebellion, but we'll have to puzzle that out once we've escaped." He closed his eyes and took a breath. "There's a stormtrooper outside the door right now. I might be able to get the door open, then you could try to wrestle them to the ground—"

"How'd you know there's a stormtrooper outside?" Biggs hadn't expected to have to deal with Luke trying to escape once Vader had captured him.

"I can sense him."

"Alright. Alright. And how would you get the door—"

"Han's been teaching me some tricks."

Of course he had.

Luke cast him a look. "Come on. We can't just sit here."

Luke never could sit still. Biggs shook his head. "I don't know how you're planning to get us out of this, Luke."

"Well, I don't either, not yet, but—" He cut himself off. "Vader's coming."

Biggs had noticed it was getting colder in the bunkroom, but it wasn't until Luke said that that he put it together. He swallowed. It was time, then.

"I hate him so much," Luke burst out. His face was gleaming with sweat, Biggs noticed abruptly. His shoulders were shaking, still. Rage and fear and it couldn't just be fear for himself. Guilt panged in his gut. "How did he catch us? Who told him where we were going?"

The door hissed open, and Vader stepped inside.

Biggs swallowed, then licked his lips. He glanced up at Vader, who suddenly seemed much larger than he had in his memories, then back at Luke, who seemed insubstantial as a dusty beam of light. His stomach seized. Vader's gaze snapped to Luke, almost hungrily, but Biggs stepped between them in an abrupt, useless urge to defend Luke for at least a little while longer.

"I did," he admitted—quietly enough that he irrationally hoped no one would acknowledge it.

Luke's gaze had immediately cut to Vader, anger already contorting his face, but Vader's overwhelming presence didn't quite disguise what Biggs had said. A moment later, he whipped his head towards him. "What—"

"Agent Darklighter," Vader boomed. "I will speak with you outside."

Luke's jaw drop was audible. Biggs bit down on his nausea, turned his back on him and, with a "Yes, my lord," he left before he had to answer to this.

"Biggs?" Luke asked. His hand brushed Biggs's back and burned like a speeder left out in the noonday suns. Biggs flinched, and Luke yanked it back with another tiny gasp. But when the door shut—and locked—behind him and Vader, Biggs heard it again, muffled: "BIGGS!"

Vader looked down at him. "Come. We will debrief elsewhere."

Biggs nodded, because it wasn't like he could do anything else, and just followed Vader down the hallway. They were higher on the ship than he had realised, and as they passed a viewport, he realised they must be just above the bridge. It wasn't hard after that to guess where Vader was taking him: his private wing of the ship started just around the corner from the quarters the troopers had shoved Luke and Biggs in, and Vader's code cylinder let them through.

Vader stopped, finally, in a large room that hosted his hyperbaric chamber. Biggs had made many reports to him while he was standing here, but he hadn't been here in person since… since he'd first been assigned the mission to spy on the Rebellion.

"Your speed in carrying out your mission left much to be desired," Vader bit out. "But you have succeeded, at last. Explain to me all that has happened."

"Yes, my lord." There wasn't much to explain; he'd spent the majority of the last two weeks waiting, panicking, and then acted less than a few hours before. But he tried to make it sound planned—like he'd been switching with other pilots to keep Luke in his sights, to build a precedent for it, and that he'd killed Koroban at a calculated moment.

Vader listened the whole time. He did not move. He did not nod. Biggs forced down his nerves, ignored the cold, and finished with a salute.

"Through your incompetence in leaving a witness alive, you have ensured you can never return to the Rebellion," Vader observed. "You should have killed him too."

Biggs swallowed. He considered lying, but— "There was the risk that they would be found. I was not going to alienate Luke further by killing his close friend."

"And was that for practical reasons or for personal reasons, Agent Darklighter?"

Biggs's words dried in his throat.

But Vader didn't wait for his self-flagellation. "You are fortunate, then, that I do not require you to return to the Rebellion. You will never go back. Instead, you will assume a new role."

At least that sounded promising. Biggs had indeed feared that Vader would send him away from Luke the moment he had Luke in his grasp, but at least he knew that Luke wasn't being further radicalised by the Rebels. "Anything, my lord. As a pilot—"

"You will not be a pilot."

His heart sank again.

"You will stay here and serve as my son's bodyguard. Ensure that no harm comes to him—through his own actions or others'—and ensure that he does not escape."

Biggs blinked, but kept his head on, kept his face blank. A son? Had Biggs impressed Vader that much with his haphazard, stitched-together plan? If Vader had a son who'd been kept so thoroughly a secret, it was a secret many must have died for.

"Yes, my lord," he said, mind whirring. Was he adopted? This likely wouldn't be the most interesting job, and he'd have to brush up on his hand-to-hand combat, but—

"You will not be the only security. Stormtroopers will take care of physical threats." Biggs bristled for a moment. "You will be the familiar face that helps him… adjust." That sounded like a threat. "And oversees his mental wellbeing. To ensure he does not attempt to escape."

Biggs had to blink a few more times before all of that clicked into place. This time, he couldn't stop his mouth from dropping open, but he managed not to exclaim or stare. Vader ignored it.

"As the Devastator currently lacks more suitable quarters and secrecy from the Emperor is paramount, you will remain in your current bunkroom. When needed or called on, I will come to collect you both or send an officer to do so. But you will not allow Luke to enter a room without your knowledge. You must be with him, always, if I am to rely on you."

Biggs nodded, swallowing at some of the implications of that. "Yes, my lord."

Vader paused and looked at him, hard. "Within reason."

Biggs relaxed, but that hard stare remained.

"Until now, his safety has been the only reason you have ever defied my orders." Vader levelled a finger at Biggs, close enough it seemed to be pointing straight at his throat. "Ensure that remains the case."

He nodded. His shoulders were so stiff he thought his muscles would cramp any moment. "Yes, my lord."

"Then come." Vader turned and strode for the door without bothering to ensure that Biggs was following. "He must learn the truth, or he may escape before the cycle is out."

Biggs wondered if he'd hallucinated the sliver of pride in his voice.

Vader left Biggs standing outside with the stormtroopers while he stepped in to talk to Luke. Biggs was silently grateful he didn't have to witness that scene. The "Biggs?" he heard just as the door opened and Vader stepped in, followed by the angry roar and what sounded like a thud, was enough. The door shut, silencing their argument, and Biggs sagged against the wall opposite.

The two stormtroopers standing guard looked him over then looked away. He gave them a curt nod.

The urge to sag against the wall was strong, but Biggs shook his head and pushed himself upright again. Vader could come out at any moment; he couldn't let himself seem like he was slacking, even if he desperately wanted to. What had he stumbled into? No—what had he been a part of, this whole time?

Luke was Vader's son?

It would explain why Vader had been so angry to learn that Biggs had kept the secret from him. And why he'd cooled down so quickly when he realised it was to protect Luke—why he wanted Biggs to keep protecting Luke so fiercely. But where had that come from? Luke's father was dead. Vader had killed him.

According to Kenobi.

Biggs stared at the floor. So, Kenobi had lied. That shouldn't be a surprise: it was one of the first things any Imperial ever learnt about Jedi, if they did end up learning about them. The Jedi were evil and manipulative, and they lied. But this Jedi had been Old Ben. He'd pottered around Anchorhead in his dirty, dusty robes and snuck children pieces of fruit when they were hungry. He'd rescued Windy and Luke from krayt dragons in a sandstorm.

…he'd rescued Luke from krayt dragons in a sandstorm. Windy had been collateral.

It was always Luke he'd smiled at first, when they were messing around in the market. Owen had always dragged Luke away.

Had he been grooming Luke to grow up into the Jedi he wanted the whole time? Had he always intended to manipulate him into killing his own father? Was that why Owen had hated him so much, had tried to keep him away?

Biggs suddenly regretted, with intensity, how he used to scorn Owen. He'd thought Owen had just been another father figure trying to hold their child back. He'd always been inventing lies to keep Luke on the farm, just like Biggs's father did, except Luke was a better person than Biggs and the Larses had less money than the Darklighters, so the lies worked. Biggs had thought Owen just wanted to keep Luke stranded on Tatooine out of spite.

Well, Luke wasn't on Tatooine anymore. The moment Owen was gone, the Jedi had done this.

Biggs wished he could apologise.

There was a shout and another thump. Biggs snapped his head up to see the door to the room rattle, then still again. He grimaced, shifting, just as the stormtroopers did.

"Sounds dramatic," he tried to comment. They ignored him.

Luke was Vader's son.

How had Owen ended up with him in the first place? The answer there was probably the Jedi, too. Biggs ground his teeth.

Would this, at least, endear Vader to Luke? Ben had lied to him. And it was pretty obviously with the aim of turning him against his true father and the Empire he fought for. Luke would be able to see that, surely. They'd both grown up on Tatooine. They both knew what a lawless world could look like, when the reigning Hutts didn't care except to exploit you, and there was no order of which to speak. He might be an optimist, but he knew that there was evil in this galaxy, like the Jedi, and people like Vader and other soldiers of the Empire were needed to stamp them out.

The way those stormtroopers had lit Luke's family on fire.

Had they been the evil in this galaxy? Biggs pictured Beru, her bun loose after a day working on the farm, slowly taking Luke's fingers in hers to trace Aurebesh letters on their crackly old datapad. The spectral taste of her blue milk cheese hovered on his tongue, before it soured with disgust.

Biggs leaned a little harder against the wall, lifted the heels of his hands to his face, and pressed his eyes. Held them there for five, four, three, two, one. Then he exhaled and looked up again.

They would figure this out. Biggs would figure this out—Luke trusted him to, so he would have to. The Empire would be everything they needed, because it had offered Biggs everything so far, and surely it could not stop now?

It didn't even matter what they would figure out. Vader always got his way. No matter what. Whether that was a good or bad thing was irrelevant—but it was a good thing. It had to be.

No wonder Luke was such a good pilot.

No wonder Ben had wanted to brainwash him so badly.

No wonder the Rebellion had appointed him as a leader.

And no wonder Biggs had immediately grown so loyal to Vader. He reminded him of his best friend. He was everything Luke could—and would, Biggs told himself sternly—become.

After a few more minutes, the door flew open, and Vader breezed out. Biggs looked up, but that mask was inscrutable and gave nothing away. He walked as intentionally and aggressively as ever; if he was storming away in anger, or simply had something else to attend to, Biggs couldn't tell.

But the tilt of his helmet left no misinterpretation. Before Luke could try to follow, Biggs slipped into the door and let the stormtroopers lock it behind him. The bunkroom really was tiny, now that Biggs had seen the room which held Vader's hyperbaric chamber and glimpsed his wider quarters, and he wondered if that was why he had been so rankled that he didn't have more appropriate quarters in which to keep his son and heir.

The and heir section was tacked on automatically in his brain. Biggs scowled. It was something his father would say.

Despite the diminutive room size, Luke was pacing valiantly, his hands moving like droids gone haywire. Biggs had a moment's relief as Luke's back was turned to him—then the door slammed, he spun around, and looked Biggs in the eye. He was crying.

Biggs's throat closed.

Luke raised a finger to point at him. "You're an Imperial?"

His pointing finger, too, was so much like Vader.

"You knew that," Biggs said slowly. He sat on the bottom bunk, keeping distance between them, but trying to find a way to show that he was calm. Peaceful. "I told you—"

"You told me you were defecting. You told me you were a Rebel."

"That's what I told everyone. I was a spy. Vader wanted his own eyes and ears in the Rebellion."

Luke looked at him in disgust. Disgust was worse than anger. It made Biggs shrivel. "I was so happy to see you when I got there."

Peace was a lie.

"I was horrified to see you!" Biggs snapped. "Yavin was about to be destroyed! My mission was about to be over, the Rebellion gone. I could go back to being a pilot with no remorse, and maybe go back to Tatooine to visit you occasionally until you went to the Academy and joined the Empire as well! It was hell to see you show up—I thought you were gonna die!"

"I didn't," Luke bit out.

"I know that now!" Biggs bent over, hands raking through his hair, chest heaving. "You destroyed the Death Star and made everything so much more complicated! You forced me to stay with the Rebellion I was desperate to leave! I was stuck there because of you. But I didn't care, because you were still alive!"

"You knew I always wanted to join the Rebellion. I told you that. When you came back to Tatooine, talking about the Rand Ecliptic—was that a lie?"

"Yes." Biggs deflated. "I had to lie to everyone about it. I had to sell it."

"You didn't have to lie to me!"

"Yes, I did, I knew you were interested in the Rebellion, you've got a mouth bigger than a meteor, and I—" He cut himself off.

It didn't matter: Luke caught what he had been about to say. "You couldn't trust me?" He laughed. "You couldn't trust me?"

Biggs couldn't answer that.

"What did you think would happen? Did you think I'd go through the same brainwashing that you did if I went to the Academy?"

Biggs opened then closed his mouth again. "It's not brainwashing," he tried. Yes, he'd had his mind changed by it, but that had been natural and necessary. His own naïve fancies about the Rebellion had been childish yearnings to grow out of.

But what was he supposed to say to Luke about that? Calling him childish—

"Not brainwashing," Luke said, sounding uncannily like Captain Solo. His eyes narrowed. "Right. So, you've always been like this?"

Biggs fidgeted. Luke was a kriffing mind reader, wasn't he? Not as good as his father, or he'd have clocked Biggs long before this, but good enough that apparently, now the truth was laid bare in front of him, he could look deeper. He could fillet his soul with a glance and he had the nerve to glower at and judge him for what he found.

Biggs let him glower. It was far worse when he sighed.

"Is it childish to trust someone, Biggs?" he asked.

Yes. It was. That was what Tatooine taught. They could get up again if they fell, they could keep going, they could gracefully brush it off, but the desert was harsh and cruel.

"You should have known that," he said.

"You should have been better."

Biggs surged to his feet. "This has been for you!" he shouted. "You're the Death Star pilot. Do you know the bounty on your head? Do you know how much I've worried? Vader told me to give him your name, and I refused. I wasn't going to let him hunt you down, kill you…"

"Then what changed?"

"I—" He took a breath. "Vader wanted to train you. He said he knew you were a Jedi, but he didn't want to hurt you."

"And you trusted him?"

"He's my commander! I serve him!"

"He killed my father—"

"He is your father."

Luke narrowed his eyes at him. "Yeah, as I just found out. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know." Something had been building in the air then, something with murderous intent, and Biggs nearly cried from relief when it bled away. "I learned when he took me out of the room just now. I didn't know before. But I trusted that if he said he wouldn't, he wouldn't hurt you."

"And that's why you betrayed me?" Luke's fists clenched. "I came back for you."

"What?"

"I could've escaped. I'm a better pilot than you, I was a better pilot than all of them, and you know it." He pointed at the wall. "I could have jumped. I could have escaped. But I didn't."

"I know."

"I tried to rescue you."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have."

Luke looked at him, mouth opening and closing. Biggs waited for him to agree, but he didn't. Even when he was this angry. He just let out another stifled cry and turned away.

"I wanted to protect you," Biggs said. "The Rebels kept putting targets on your back—"

"I know you wanted to protect me," Luke replied tightly. "It was kriffing annoying in the Rebellion. Here, it's…" He trailed off.

"I love you," Biggs said.

Luke huffed his disgust. "I know that."

They stared at each other for a while, Luke's gaze unwavering. That was odd. Luke was forceful, but he was restless. If he was trying so hard to stay focused on Biggs—specifically, on his anger at Biggs…

"I'm sure your father loves you too," he tried.

Luke's glare rivalled the suns, and its intensity proved Biggs's suspicion right. "That's none of—"

"I trust him. He's a good leader. The Jedi stole you from him. He's your father, and you should—"

"He was the one in charge of looking for the droids, remember?"

Biggs went cold. He sat back down on the bunk, hard. "I remember."

"Vader didn't kill my father." He took a breath. "But he did kill my family."

"That…" He didn't know what to say to that. "That's what happens in war." He cringed immediately after the words left his mouth.

"'That's what happens in war'?"

"What is wrong with you, Luke?" Biggs shouted. "Your father is a great man. You hate the Empire, but you'll see that—he's powerful and loyal and—" Luke's glare was difficult to think under. "I wish I had a father like him!"

Someone who was prepared to protect. To teach. Someone who did their duty.

Luke scoffed. "You already do."

Biggs was on his feet before he knew it. Luke was smaller than him, but it was harder than he had expected to slam him against the wall by his collar; he was stronger than the last time they'd wrestled. He pushed back with vitriolic force, both of them panting, but Biggs still managed to pin him against the gunmetal grey wall.

"Don't," he said, breathless. "Don't you…"

Luke headbutted him. Biggs cried out, reaching for his nose. Blood tangled in his moustache. Luke took the chance to wriggle out from his grip and back away, hands up for a fight. Biggs raised his fists in return.

After a moment, staring at each other, they both stopped and lowered them.

Biggs was his bodyguard. What was he doing?

He sat back down on the lower bunk. This would be his bunk anyway: he'd have to be able to tell and act quickly if Luke was trying to make a break for it. Luke would be on the top bunk, which had always been his preference at sleepovers so that might mollify him—a thought that Biggs entertained for half a second before realising how kriffing stupid it was.

He wanted to leave. He wanted to punch a pillow, or let Luke punch a pillow, or separate so either of them could blow off steam. There was a chasm between them.

And yet, when Luke climbed the ladder to lie in his bunk, staring at the ceiling, they were less than a metre apart.

Biggs nursed his nose until it stopped bleeding. Then he lay down on his own bunk, not bothering to take his shoes off yet, and listened to Luke calm his breathing. He lifted his hand, so his fingers brushed the underside of the bunk, the slats that separated them. But that was as far as he could reach.