Chapter summary: Without a Memory Box, Luke struggles to keep his worries and feelings quiet; revenge is all he wants to focus on. Waiting in Cloud City, Darth Vader shares the same problems.
# # #
Theoretically the beating of his heart was regulated mechanically and never changed except when Palpatine indulged in neurotherapy (electrocution). But he could tell differences in its rhythm when he was calm (angry), battle-stressed (aroused), in pain (agony), and how it beat now, apprehensive and excited (afraid). Luke was nearly in his grasp, and his fingers flexed, anticipating their literal grip around his child's arm as he pulled him against his chest and welcomed him as son and savior. He didn't need to be told when Luke's ship cut through Bespin's atmosphere. The boy's Light was a bright beam that transcended time and space. It had become so glaringly brilliant that Palpatine, desperately cringing away from the Light, could sense it parsecs away.
His mechanical heart swelled with pride and eagerness. For more than two decades he'd waited for a chance to free himself, to shape the galaxy as he wanted it: at peace, slaves freed, his foes cut down— everyone who'd demeaned and degraded and dismissed him, dead. Once he had Luke by his side, there would be no one to stop them, not even his aging Master. He would force Sidious to his knees, bring him down as he had been brought down and forced to continue a life of servitude filled with near-madness and rage and excruciating grief that had never healed because he picked at it continuously, reopening the wounds and reveling in his despair and frustration.
Luke needed to understand pain. It would strengthen and prepare him for when the Emperor took him. Vader didn't want Sidious to have Luke, but given the strength of his Light, it needed them both to turn the boy. If Luke's Darkness did not equal his father's, they would fail. He had to make his son understand that by falling to the Dark Side, he would win.
There was, however, the possibility that Luke might refuse him. It would be foolish, but he remembered how Anakin Skywalker had behaved when faced with difficult choices— he would leap without thought for the consequences.
So, just like Anakin, General of the Republic, he had a backup. Plan B.
"Sedate the Wookiee," he ordered and waited outside the room until it was done.
# # #
It was a quick glimpse: Imperials, Leia, Chewie, and a man with a mustache and a blue cape that made him hesitate because for a split-second he thought it was Biggs. Because he hesitated, he lost the advantage of surprise and couldn't fire without hurting them.
He should've taken the time to go back to the barracks and recover his Memory Box before they evacuated the Hoth base. If he had it, Biggs's Memory would be safely tucked inside and wouldn't be intruding now.
He'd intended to come here to save his friends, but he didn't go after them. He was certain they were safe, and there was something more important here. Someone. Vader. He could feel the Sith's presence. It was a Dark blanket, thick and heavy, smothering him, but it was loose somehow, unraveling like a ball of cream yarn that Aunt Beru used to—
Stop thinking! How did people without Memory Boxes get through each day? Memories swamped him, distracting him from Now.
He picked up the end of the yarn— thread! It's not her yarn, it's just a thread!- and tugged. It's a trap, Leia had called, and he knew that was true. But the trap was for Vader, not for him. Vader didn't know what he was inviting by luring the vengeful son of Anakin Skywalker into his web.
His lips tightened. Vader's web. He was a venomous spider, casting threads of silk from his fingertips, enticing innocent victims into his trap. But Luke was no innocent victim. He was the son of a great Jedi, strong in the Force, and he'd sliced off Vader's head in the Cave.
And instead of Vader's face, he'd seen his own. Suddenly that made sense. He had destroyed Vader so only Luke was left to wear the helmet.
Wait.
No.
Why would that make sense? Why would I have dead eyes and be wearing a Sith's cracked helmet with smoke curling around my face like there was a fire burning in my head?
No. That was wrong.
Maybe the Cave had been the real trap, a Vision sent from Vader to tempt him, make him confused and angry for a reason he didn't understand, a reason that transcended the retribution he was destined to take from his father's killer.
He betrayed and murdered your father.
Why had that happened? On Dagobah he'd had a Vision: Vader at his mercy with a lightsaber at his throat, begging to live, and Luke would make Vader tell him. Make him explain. Why did you turn to Evil? Why did you kill my father? How could you kill your friends? They were your family!
He looked over his shoulder.
Did I just kill Leia and Chewie?
Are they being taken to their deaths? Where's Han? Is he already dead?
Too many worries, too many thoughts, too many. Clear your mind.
He focused on the silk thread as it unraveled and led him forward.
But he could still see the Vision: his lightsaber pointed at Vader's throat.
# # #
He knew his son was close, but it startled him when Luke appeared suddenly. He knew the boy's vital statistics, his height and weight, the color of his eyes and hair. He'd seen his Memories; he'd seen holos taken surreptitiously by his private spies: the flash of teeth in his smile, the way his Skywalker eyes widened with surprise, the way he looked down when he was embarrassed or pleased. Luke wore his emotions on his sleeve; Vader had seen him happy and sad and hurt and angry. He'd also seen him as intensely determined as he was at this moment, with a grim expression that looked too adult for his child's face.
He reached out with his mind, feeling for the boy's surface thoughts.
…carbon-freezing chamber? Oh, then it was Han I saw! Vader had him frozen!
…orange, the color of fire. Of course, it makes sense now. It was the Future I saw in my Box, not a Memory! Here is where Vader burns.
Shuddering, he withdrew. Never. He would never burn again. No matter what he had to do, he would never again feel flames incinerating his flesh, carving brutally into his spine and over his head. Never again would he have to smell his own cremation. Never again would he know the endlessly revolving torment of debridement that ripped him apart like woven cloth and patched him back together like his mother's quilt. With his son at his side, he would never again feel the savagery of the Emperor's Lightning burning through his flesh and muscle and bone like the fires of Mustafar. With his son's help, he would learn to heal.
Never again. No matter what it took. No matter what he had to sacrifice.
He stepped into the light.
# # #
You are not a Jedi yet.
Your training, you must complete your training!
I don't want to lose you the way I lost your father.
Betrayed and Murdered.
Vader's lightsaber was at Luke's throat. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. His Vision had been wrong. Reversed. Maybe all his Visions had been wrong.
"Don't let yourself be destroyed as Obi-Wan did."
How DARE you? Rage filled him and he reacted, batting away the saber, scrambling to his feet, swinging wildly, forgetting every dueling style he'd begun to learn as he flailed at the personification of Evil, wanting to kill—
Vader scream-snarled-shouted. Before Luke could process the sound that meant he'd managed to strike Sith flesh, he felt a sharp pain and heard another scream.
He clutched his hand— his wrist— to his chest, balancing, crawling, trying to get away from the Monster that Vader had become (always was, he betrayed and murdered—). Then he was Nowhere, with Nothing below him, but he kept going. One hand was enough to save him, one hand swinging him away, his body hunching against a gale, one hand clinging to cold steel, one hand reaching—
Vader held out his hand.
Luke stared at it.
Vader spoke.
I am your—
No.
No. That wasn't true. That was….
"Search your feelings."
No. But….
The Cave. The helmet. Luke's face. Yoda's face. Yoda's fear. Obi-Wan's fear.
"You know it to be true."
Why didn't you tell me? Why did you let HIM tell me? Why didn't I know? I had the right to KNOW!
"Join me."
…as Father and Son….
Impossible. Possible.
It wasn't true. It was true.
Behind the mask, Anakin Skywalker.
Betrayed.
"Luke."
Murdered.
He was out of time. Too many thoughts. He had no choice. Lie/Truth.
Why didn't you tell me?
He let go.
# # #
The Millennium Falcon winked out— of existence, as far Vader was concerned. The galaxy had infinite hiding places. It was possible he would never find his son again. It was possible that he would spend his life in slavery until Sidious decided to wink him out of existence.
My son, my son….
He grieved and it came easily because grief had been part of him since the first time he lost someone he loved. And now he'd lost his only child who might be captured by Palpatine and would never willingly come to him unless—
Unless something came of Plan B.
# # #
Luke (Father!) Son
Come with me
Ben, why didn't you tell me?
Betrayed and murdered
No, he's alive. He changed, but he's alive.
Why did you lie?
He only changed, that's all. He changed.
Jedi lie.
Yoda lied. Ben lied. Anakin Skywalker lied every day that he pretended to be a Jedi.
Darth Vader told me the truth.
Luke blinked. The Falcon shuddered. They were free for now, if hyperspace could be called freedom instead of a psychedelic prison.
"It's all right, I'm fine." He wasn't, of course. His hand could be replaced, but this Memory was too big to fit into any new Box he might build. This Memory was forever. Maybe he wouldn't bother to build a new Box. Maybe it was pointless. Maybe it was a stupid, useless tradition.
Darth Vader is Anakin Skywalker. Or Anakin Skywalker is Darth Vader. Which one came first?
It was Han who'd told him the chicken or the egg riddle. It had seemed obvious to him at first, that the eggs had come from snakes and eventually the hatchlings had evolved into chickens. But saying that in the barracks had caused a long, rowdy argument full of laughter, and too many ideas meant his answer was no longer clear and his confidence was shaken.
My father is Anakin Skywalker. He's dead.
My father is Darth Vader. He's alive.
My father is alive.
Jedi lie.
He thought they'd always tell the truth, but now he knew. They were no better than anyone else, no more honest or fair. He'd thought the Force made them special. Made him special. He thought that he would always be true and just, as they were. They told him it was his Destiny to fight for the galaxy's freedom. Yoda told him. Ben told him. Even Vader told him.
Yoda and Ben didn't want me to go. They wanted to stop me from leaving to save my friends.
Or so I thought. Turns out they wanted to stop me from learning the truth.
That my father is alive.
Chewie growled quizzically, and Luke looked over at him. The Wookiee held a wooden Memory Box in his hand.
"You made a new one?" He struggled to smile. "Good work."
/No, not mine. I found it in my ammo pouch./ He offered it to Luke who took it in his hand.
Carved desert driftwood worn smooth over years. The rendered pictures were simple but jagged as if made by the small hands of a child struggling with a dull knife. It reminded him of his own Memory Box lost in the fire.
It reminds me…. His breath caught in his throat.
Reflexively, he raised his right hand to open it.
It wasn't there. His father had it. His father had taken his hand and held out his own in exchange.
/Pup…./ Chewie reached over and loosened the lid. It fit tightly as if it hadn't been opened in years. It smelled musty and felt heavy with Memories, old ones, faded over time.
It felt like Grandma Shmi's Memory Box.
Luke's heart flip-flopped.
Anakin Skywalker.