Previously: Leia almost died. Piett is having a bad day.

In this chapter: True confessions of Darth Vader, the sequel.

Vader POV

The door to Luke's quarters slid open. It was dark.

Vader stepped into the room, door shutting behind him.

Something hit him, the Force giving no warning, and Vader's shoulder slammed into the wall.

Something hit his legs, and the reinforced metal of his prothesis gave a whining screech as they slid out from under him.

Vader fell to the floor. His armor made a rather alarming cracking sound as his rear hit the ground, hard.

Once the shock of the sudden attack registered, Vader raised his hand and sent a wave of Force out.

In the darkness, things slammed against the walls; including one thing that let out a grunt of pain.

His mask finally adjusted to the low light and revealed the chaos of Luke's room.

Anything fragile was broken into shards; the metal table and chairs were warped beyond use. There were dents in the dura-steel walls.

Vader's head snapped over as he heard a low growl.

Luke had been pushed against the wall along with the broken and twisted remnants of his quarters. Twisted and dented, Vader realized with dawning surprise, by Luke.

Vader made an effort to rise, but the servos in his legs had been damaged and it would take a generous use of the Force to get him on his feet again.

"You monster," Luke snarled, leaning against the wall in a mockery of Vader's ignominious position.

Vader bristled. It wasn't like he had never been called a monster before, quite frequently, really, but to hear his son call him that was galling.

"You killed her."

Vader froze, his anger dissipating into shocked horror.

So, the boy knew about his mother as well.

"Yes," Vader said at last, the word scraping through him.

"Did she do something to deserve it?" Luke asked, his voice mocking and furious.

"No," Vader said, bowing his head.

"Then why?" Luke asked, his voice breaking.

"I didn't mean to," Vader said, the vocoder barely picking up the whispered words.

Items in the room shook.

"You didn't kriffing mean to?!"

"I-I wasn't thinking. I didn't… I let her go. She was alive when I let her go."

Luke laughed. It was terrifying.

"So, that makes a difference? You let her go before you killed her completely."

Vader couldn't respond.

"So, what you're saying is you let her suffer, suffocate, instead of even giving her a merciful death."

Vader flinched and his guilt flowed over him in new waves. He had never thought of it like that. How long had she suffered? He left her in pain. His angel.

"I-I'm sorry," Vader said, heart clenching as he realized he had apologized twice today. He hadn't honestly apologized since…

"Kriff you. Kriff you and your apologies," Luke screamed, standing.

"You killed her! You killed my family! You killed my father!"

Vader felt like he had his feet kicked out from under him again.

"I what?" Vader asked. He was so confused. This was his child, his son, and he knew about his mother but didn't know that he was his father and…

"Anakin Skywalker! My father! Or don't you even remember him?"

"Anakin Skywalker is not dead?" Vader asked, told, not sure if that was exactly true.

If this was his son, and his son was Luke Skywalker; didn't that mean he had to be Anakin Skywalker? But he is Darth Vader. He can't be both. He can't…

Luke jerked and hit the wall behind him.

"You… You know where he is. You didn't kill him. You KEPT him?!"

"In a way," Vader said slowly, still trying to untangle himself from himself.

Luke turned his face to the wall and let out a heartbroken sob.

"All this time, burning under the two suns, begging the cold moons to bring my father back, to have my father rescue me. All this time."

Two suns. No, his son did not grow up on Tatooine. His son was not a slave. Surely, Kenobi would at least protect him from that. Surely, Vader had not lost his son (rescue me, Luke had said) to slavery.

Vader's mind stuttered and then he pulled himself back. No, he had seen the boy's mind. He was not a slave. Never a slave.

"How much of him is left?" Luke asked brokenly.

I don't know, Vader wanted to say. He knew there was something of Anakin left; something that loved his children. Something that was not hatred and revenge and the Dark Side. But how much?

"Some. It is hard to tell how much," Vader said at last.

Luke stopped breathing.

"How much did you take?" Luke asked, staring down at his missing hand.

Vader wheezed out a surprised laugh. That was the question, wasn't it?

"One arm was already gone," Vader said, his voice distant, reliving old, painful memories. Anakin was another person, another life. Nothing about him mattered. (Padme, his children)

Luke inhaled sharply.

"The other three limbs were cut off. It was his fault. He was foolish and underestimated his enemy."

The room trembled; small fragments starting to swirl in the air, buzzing like angry insects.

"He burned. The smell of melting skin, hair, smoke from burning flesh blazing down your lungs…" Vader breathed, the sound of the omnipresent hoo-burr reminding him that Darth Vader survived.

There was the screech of metal snapping and a chair leg went flying, impaling the tattered remains of the couch.

"He lived through that?" Luke asked, his voice tight.

"The Emperor kept his body alive," Vader said, putting a hand over his blinking chest-piece.

Things crashed to the ground, including his son. Luke was crouched low, his face buried in his chest, his breathing too fast.

Vader carefully used the Force to heft himself to his feet. He was unpracticed in using such delicacy with the Force.

He looked over at Luke, his son, who was just a panting shadow against a darker wall.

Part of him felt something close to pity, another felt disgusted by the boy's weakness.

"I'll find him," Luke said, "I'll save him."

The boy looked up, yellow eyes burning through the dark.

"And then I will destroy all of you."

Notes:

I started a Princess Bride: Star Wars Edition. Just fyi