SUMMARY: Anakin Skywalker's Memories haunt Vader's thoughts as he struggles to decide whether his loyalties lie with his Master or his son. Luke tries to remain confident about his faith in his father.

NOTE: This is canon to the Original Trilogy only (no matter how badly I REALLY want to incorporate the Kenobi and Ahsoka series.) The quotes (including the chapter title) are taken from the scripts of TPM, AotC and RotJ. The scripts are online and contain original scenes that were not used or shortened.

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In the 1994 film based on Mary Shelley's novel, Frankenstein's monster says: "I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other."

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"A small Rebel force has penetrated the shield and landed on Endor."

How strange, Master, that you can't feel Luke. My son's Light shines clear and unsullied, filled with more purity than mine ever had. Of course my feelings are clear, my Master. He will join me. Together we will destroy you and bring an end to the horrors you have wrought. The horrors I have wrought in your name.

"His compassion for you will be his undoing. He will come to you and then you will bring him before me."

Compassion.

His mind barely remembered the concept. Or when anyone had felt it for him.

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"The Emperor has been expecting you."

"I know, Father."

His compassion for you will be his undoing.

Compassion has no place in my life. None. It is a weakness long dead. He should not feel it for me, yet he calls me 'Father'. The name falls off his lips as if he's been saying it all his life.

But Anakin Skywalker is gone and no one can bring him back. The name has no meaning. He is only a Memory, a hero from the past, one who believed in truth and justice and was bitterly disappointed. One who felt compassion for his troops, for his padawan, for his friends — fool that he was.

"You've only forgotten," his son assured with youthful naïveté as if words alone could rewind time.

He ignited the boy's lightsaber and was transported back to the triumphant moment when he completed his own blade, remembering what he felt then: pride, of course, but also joy because he was finally a true member of his Jedi family.

That feeling lasted for years before it was anesthetized by deceit and detachment.

"Indeed, you are powerful, as the Emperor has foreseen." His Master saw everything and manipulated everyone, even the Apprentice who should have been his heir but became his servant. His slave.

He wants Luke to take my place.

"Come with me." Luke's gaze was unblinking and intent.

Child, he chastised silently. Voice manipulation only works on the weak-minded. My mind is not weak, for all its chaos and furies and uncertainties.

"Obi-Wan once thought as you do," which was not what he'd meant to say. It wasn't even a Memory; Obi-Wan had not thought that on Mustafar, not when he'd materialized on the ship's ramp like an avenger, ready to kill the padawan he had raised from a frightened, eager child.

If there had been a sign, a bending, a flash of understanding—

But there had been no recognition for the justice he'd already administered. Obi-Wan didn't understand that Jedi had become the enemy, that what he'd done in the Temple was no different from when they'd fought back-to-back in battle. Obi-Wan should have stood with him.

The Jedi died so Padmé would live.

Obi-Wan and Ahsoka and Padmé had known him better than anyone, yet they hadn't known him at all. The absurd idea that he could expect more from this idealistic child was an impossible conceit.

"Search your feelings, Father. You can't do this. I feel the conflict within you. Let go of your hate."

Let go? Easy words spoken by one who had never felt hatred swelling inside him, inflating like a balloon, bigger and bigger until there was no room for anything else, not even a heart.

Almost no room. But standing in front of him, eyes pleading so earnestly, was the Memory of their unborn child, hidden forever, safe and mourned inside Anakin Skywalker's Memory Box. Protected from his fears that she would die in childbirth.

And the baby?

I don't know.

In another time or circumstance, his tears could flow. But he was decades beyond such a ludicrous display. "It is too late for me, Son."

Luke didn't blink, but the glow in his eyes began to fade. "Then my father is truly dead."

Anakin Skywalker died before you were born. But I am here. I am your father.

You still have me.

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In another time or circumstance, Luke could have admired the pristine landing bay and the sleek maneuvers of white-armored platoons. But the Emperor's presence clouded everything, a miasma that hung heavy over the bay like the wet air of Dagobah.

They paused in an empty corridor near a lift – empty because everyone who approached made abrupt destination changes when they saw Darth Vader standing with a prisoner destined to be tortured.

My father believes he is dead inside. I have to believe that he's lost in the past somewhere, waiting to be found. I must believe he will stand with me against Palpatine. He's a Jedi. He just needs to remember.

"Ben kept a Memory Box," he murmured, clarifying "Obi-Wan," when the helmet tilted.

"Ben!?" Vader huffed. After a beat: "What was in it?"

"I didn't look."

"That was wise. It was likely a record of his betrayals," Vader snapped. "You would have been disillusioned about your master."

Who knew a Sith Lord could be snarky? "He was your master too."

Vader chose to ignore the reminder. "But you looked in mine."

The statement was flat, but he heard apprehension behind it. "Uh…no."

"What do you mean NO?" The filtered voice rumbled low and fearsome. "I risked everything to give you my— his Memory Box so you would understand and join me."

"Oh." Luke's head bent. "I didn't know that was why. I thought… I thought you just wanted to share your life with me."

"So you thought that and still didn't look in it?" There was anger and annoyance, but also something that felt like bewilderment. Or worse, hurt.

Luke winced. "I… it was private. I know!" he defended when he sensed the mental snort of disgust. "But that's our tradition! Anyway, I'm here now."

"Why? Why did you come? If you didn't look at the Memories, why?"

"I came because…." Luke paused, trying to separate reasons from emotions. Did I think I could save him from the Emperor? Or from himself? Did I want to understand what happened so I wouldn't become him? Or did I just want my father?

The last idea felt closest to the truth. Still, the answer that came from his heart was simpler. "For the same reason you came for Grandma Shmi."

The big form shook, and it seemed like walls around them trembled too.

"You came because…. I don't…."

"She was your mother." Luke stared at the dark lenses, trying to penetrate their shield. "The Desert teaches that it's our Sacred Duty to bring family home. But was that your only reason?"

What about love? Do you remember love, Father? Can you still feel it?

His father didn't respond.

"When I was growing up I didn't have anything of you, except what Aunt Beru told me about the day you brought your mother home. I don't know the whole story because Uncle Owen made her stop when she said you looked at Grandpa Cliegg like you wanted to kill him."

Black gauntleted fists clenched.

"She said it was the only time she met you. You were already a Jedi, tall and handsome and very, very young. You were guarding a woman of some importance."

"Padmé." His voice was so low that Luke strained to hear. "Your mother."

Mother? He was afraid to breathe in case he interrupted his father's Memory, but Vader only added: "We must not keep the Emperor waiting," and gestured for Luke to enter the lift ahead of him.

He was the one shaking now, because he felt sick with grief and worry and full of questions that might never be answered because his father was going to turn him over to the Emperor to be killed or changed forever.

It was his Sacred Duty to bring family home, and it was more than duty. All his life he had loved his absent father. Now his father needed belief and love to find his true self again.

The good man who was your father.

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"Your friends up there on the Sanctuary Moon are walking into a trap. As is your Rebel fleet."

Compassion. It made Luke vulnerable. Though it wasn't visible, he felt fear race through the youngster. "It is pointless to resist, my son."

Luke barely masked a gasp and his eyes flicked toward him for the briefest second.

Be resigned. Everyone will die. Your friends. Your cause. But only you matter, and you can live.

"The hate is swelling in you now. Take your Jedi weapon."

Though the destruction will be Palpatine's doing, you will feel guilt. You will believe that you could have stopped him, but you cannot. You will either die or bend your head and kneel to him as I do.

"Give in to your anger."

Everyone I cherished died. My friends. My cause. My Angel. But I lived.

I killed them all. No one could stop me. I couldn't stop myself. I didn't want to.

I only wanted Padmé. And the galaxy, with her at my side. But the Jedi never would have accepted our rule, and thus they sealed their own fates.

"You, like your father, are now mine."

I am not your slave.

"Take your weapon! Strike me down!"

Dark anger flared in reaction to his son's attack, and he blocked the green blade. It was instinctive; he couldn't disobey his Master, he couldn't let Luke kill the man who'd guided him since he was a child. It didn't matter how evil Sidious was. Their futures were tied together, and only power mattered because power was all they had.

Anakin Skywalker had wanted power too. But for a long time he had wanted something different.

"Let the hate flow through you."

It's not hate that drives Luke.

"I will not fight you, Father."

I can't kill my own child.

"Your thoughts betray you."

I know. I bury them deep, but I cannot hide them forever.

"You cannot hide forever, Luke."

You can. Hide in the shadows and survive as I have. Turn, and the day will come when we will conquer Sidious together. The Darkness will make you strong enough to face anything and accept everything.

Except…

…a sister?

Obi-Wan had hidden two children from him! He could feel Luke's love for her, if he could channel that love into anger—

But—

Padmé! We have twins!

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Leia!

The Emperor and Vader would not have her. They would not twist her and turn her into a monster for their selfish purposes.

Anger like he'd never felt in his life unleashed itself, overriding all his senses. He was blinded and could see nothing but an illuminated sliver of red and he struck at it over and over and over, trying to put out its flame, mania surging through his veins like an infection. He was so powerful, more powerful than his enemy, more powerful than Vader, more powerful than—

"Good! Your hate has made you powerful. Now, fulfill your destiny and take your father's place at my side!"

Destiny.

Here, finally, was his Vision. He stood strong, exhilarated with his victory, the tip of his lightsaber quivering a hair's-breadth from Darth Vader's throat. This was his moment, his decision. He'd won, he could vanquish the monster. He could have it all. The galaxy is mine.

Your hate has made you powerful.

His Vision faltered. He saw his father's face, tormented with agony that wasn't physical. They were together, here, at the moment two decades earlier when young Anakin Skywalker decided his future.

He looked at Vader's hand. His own hand. His father's hand. He saw a bloody arm lying on the floor of the cantina.

Everything was replaceable, every limb, every organ. Everything, even entire skeletons.

He is more machine now—

No. Anakin Skywalker was not a collection of parts easily repaired or replaced. He was not a droid. He was more than a machine.

He's a man. He's a Jedi. He is Anakin Skywalker.

He's my father.

Luke cast aside his lightsaber.

"You've failed, Your Highness. I am a Jedi like my father before me."

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I dreamed I was a Jedi Knight.

Had he been born in the Republic… but it's too late for him now.

But it's what I want.

I'm going to miss you so much, Mom.

Don't be afraid, Ani.

I'm not afraid.

Jedi don't have nightmares.

She's dead, son. Accept it.

I'm so proud of you, Ani.

Be brave, and don't look back.

Sometimes there are things no one can fix. You're not all-powerful, Ani.

Someday I will be.

Someday.

Someday I was screaming on a steel table.

No one freed me. I can't free myself.

Sidious will fry the brain of Anakin's son and clamp him to a steel table where he will scream forever.

In your anger, you killed her.

I'm a Jedi. I know I'm better than this.

Oh, Ani, you'll always be that little boy I knew on Tatooine.

His compassion for you will be his undoing.

I loved you, Anakin!

Fire growls and rips my flesh until there is nothing left to devour. I have no hope…

…until I feel a gentle touch on my forehead. Padmé! She's run across cinders to save me. She's all right, she's safe. She loves me.

Padmé…?

He saves me to enslave me.

I beg the Force to give me everything.

The Force takes everything away.

I beg the Jedi to save her.

The Jedi avert their eyes.

The Jedi died so Padmé would live.

She died.

Through a mirror of agony and shock, Luke's gaze locked with his and he saw his own face, scarred and twisted. He saw his son's face, aged, bitter, lost. He saw the Past. He saw the Future.

His compassion will be his undoing.

I understand, Father.

Luke forgave everything. Luke didn't need a Memory Box to see love that knew no boundaries and despair that eradicated the ashes left behind.

Luke never saw the doubts, the disintegration, the slow Fall, because he hadn't opened Anakin's Memory Box.

Luke only saw the Anakin he wanted to see, and he loved that Anakin. His father. His family.

You're still Anakin Skywalker. You've only forgotten.

His family.

All that remains of Padmé and Anakin is suffering.

Someday I will be all-powerful.

Someday….

Home was always where my mom was.

My Sacred Duty.

Electric shockwaves torched him, coursing through steel and bones, killing him finally as it had been killing him for decades. Sidious would not be here to repair him again. And again. And again.

The Emperor would die so his child would live.

The child crawled to him and cradled him like a baby.

My son.

Only now, at the end, did he understand. Home was where family waited for his return, asking no questions, offering neither blame nor praise. Mom… Padmé… my son. Now, finally, he could die, free and at peace.

Or as much peace as he could ever have.

Luke took him home.

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NOTE: Also, I'll be adding an epilogue because… well, the Memory Box. :)