Vader hears them stop just outside the door. He has been floating between waking and sleeping, too tired to be fully conscious, yet too pained to truly rest. The Darkness refuses to sustain him, its strength suddenly growing inexplicably stingy. Despite his weakness, his heart rate begins to accelerate impatiently as he hears a small boy's voice. Though Vader has only a vague sense of him in the Force, he feels the warm glow of his strength seeping through the shields Kenobi has no doubt cast around him.
The boy is a blazing star of potential, and he finds himself growing frustrated by their hesitance.
He can only hear snatches of their conversation, but he is just able to make out Kenobi's admonition to the child "…father…very sick…frightening…loves you…very much."
As much as their dawdling outside his door annoys him, the fact that Obi-Wan would care to help him save face in front of the boy surprises him. He would think the old Jedi would do all in his power to inoculate the impressionable child against his influence. But then again, it seems the past few days have been nothing if not surprising.
Obi-Wan is right about one thing. His visage, masked or otherwise, is most certainly frightening to a small child. With one trembling servo, he pulls the blanket draped beside his pallet over his raw flesh; the fabric burns and scrapes over his nerves, but it is no worse than what he usually feels within his suit. At the very least, he can save the boy from seeing the most hideous of his injuries.
As they enter the room, his heart beats so loudly he thinks it might burst. The first thing he sees is a small head of white-blond hair, bleached beneath the twin suns. It is buried in the hip of Obi-Wan's robes, small white fingers clenching the fabric.
A lump forms in his throat as the boy looks shyly at him, fear and hesitance rooting him to the spot.
The boy should not fear him! Should not cower from him in the embrace of the man who had maimed his father! Suddenly, meeting him does not seem like such a good idea. To the mind of a child, how must this look? How can he even begin to explain that the Jedi to whom the boy now clung had stolen him away from his father? A father who had sacrificed everything to save him!
"Come here, Luke. Let me…look at you." He speaks the words with as much force and command as he can muster without the strength of the vocoder.
The boy freezes.
"Come." He repeats more forcefully.
The boy's eyes turn fully to look at him for the first time and then go wide with horrified fascination as he stares at the rebreather attached to his face.
"Go on." Obi-Wan says quietly. Even so Vader shoots him a warning glance. Kenobi should know by now that his interference will not be tolerated.
With shuffling steps, the boy—Luke, he reminds himself—peels himself from Obi-Wan's side and comes toward him. He is so achingly small and bears a strong resemblance to himself at the same age.
He is perfect. A miracle. If he were able, he would cry with joy.
"Hello, sir." The boy says quietly, his face tilted toward the ground as he looks up through long lashes.
He suddenly wishes he had something to give the boy. It is all too much and not enough at the same time. This is not how the boy should be meeting him. He should never have had to meet him. He should have always known him. He was the son of a queen and of the Emperor's second. He should have been raised in royalty, not the rags of this backwater world!
"Are you really my father?"
"Yes."
The boy swallows. The silence is almost palpable. Obi-Wan watches with the tenseness of one ready to spring to defense at any moment.
"Have you come to live with us?"
Vader blinks slowly, the question throwing him off-balance. He had not really considered what he would do once he had actually found the children he had only just learned had survived.
The Emperor had cast him out to live or die; he knows his Master waits for him to crawl back like the dog he is. Some small part of him rears back in indignation, knowing that only punishment awaits as payment for his weakness; if he is not careful, that same punishment will await Luke as well. Even so, the boy's question demands an answer, and it is imperative the child become aware of his place in the Empire his father has built.
Obi-Wan opens his mouth to say something, but quickly shuts it as soon as he sees the murderous look on Anakin's face.
"No. Once I am…better. You will come…with me…to my castle." It is a half-formed thought, but the only one that comes to him—it was, after all, becoming increasingly difficult to measure his words. The mere effort of raising his head to look at the boy is exhausting.
Luke's eyebrows raise in sudden alarm, as do those of Obi-Wan Kenobi. "But what about Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen…?!" He asked anxiously. "They need my help with the harvest!"
Vader is growing frustrated. What child prefers the sands of Tatooine to the majesty of a castle?
"I am your, father, Luke…You will come with me!"
The boy is backing away from him now. His small face scrunched up in distress. Obi-Wan steps forward and reaches out a comforting hand for the boy's shoulder, but before he can even touch him, Luke's lip begins to tremble, his small voice rising to a tearful shriek.
"No! I won't go with you! I don't know you, and I don't want to!"
"Luke, that's enough…!" Obi-Wan interrupts, surely more out of fear for the boy's safety than anything else. But it is too late. The boy's tirade will not be stopped.
"You're ugly and mean, and you don't even know me—!"
The words plunge like a knife in his heart.
With tears running down his face, Luke turns away from Vader's stricken body, his small form sprinting from the dark storeroom as Obi-Wan calls after him.
"Luke, wait…!" He cries as he follows after the child, who has now run sobbing up the steps. Obi-Wan feels waves of despair crashing over him, but he cannot tell if it comes from the younger or the elder Skywalker. All he knows is that both of his charges are hurting, and it is, at least partially, his fault.
He should have known that meeting would be a painful one. It was necessary. But he supposed he should have better prepared the boy about asking such delicate questions.
"Luke…!" He calls out as he hears a door slam. But there is no reply.
The boy has retreated to his room, and Obi-Wan has a feeling he will not be leaving it for some time. There is a sobbing noise from beyond the threshold as the boy weeps and refuses to answer Ben's knocking upon his door.
As Obi-Wan turns from the child's door in defeat, he sees Beru's weathered face lined with concern as she comes down the hallway.
"What happened….?!"
With a sigh, Obi-Wan recounts the disastrous meeting, fully prepared to incur her wrath as well. Instead, she only shakes her head and tells him that he was a fool for thinking it could have gone any better.
"They both need time, Ben." She tells him, squeezing his arm in an act of comfort she does not know how desperately he needs. "We need time. And Anakin needs to learn how to interact with his son. It's not like he's probably had much practice with children."
He nods at the wisdom of her words and takes a breath. The air here is very fresh and clear. Tattooine can be a beautiful place. A part of him knows he has missed it.
"I'll talk to Luke when he calms down…in the meantime, why don't I make you some food? I haven't seen you eat a morsel since you got here."
She's right. He hasn't eaten. He's been sustaining himself on ration bars and an over-reliance on the strength of the Light. But even he has grown tired.
"I really—I really shouldn't leave Anakin alone…" He says at last.
"That's alright. I'll bring something down." She says gently, patting his arm. "Why don't you go sit with him?"
He smiles wanly. But it is a real smile.
The door opens and closes as the weary footfalls of Obi-Wan Kenobi draw closer to his bed. The chair beside him creaks under the old Jedi's weight as he drops heavily into it. For once, he cannot bring himself to care.
Neither says a word. Neither needs to.
To his own surprise, the boy's words have not angered him. They have only left him with a raw and aching sense of despair. He finds his own gaze fixed listlessly on the wall. The pain of his wounds is nothing but white noise in the landscape of the world. His son has rejected him. In the most honest and brutal of terms, and the Force, both Light and Dark, has fallen silent around him. It is as if, it too, has abandoned him at last.
He is not sure what he had expected. But he had…he had hoped it would have gone better than this.
"My daughter…Obi-Wan…where is she?"
He hears the Jedi take a sharp breath. He thinks perhaps Obi-Wan will refuse to answer, but after a moment, he clears his throat.
"She is…she is on Alderaan. The Princess. Leia Organa."
His heart drops, whatever remaining hope shatters. The girl Reva Sevander had kidnapped. The bait with which he had drawn Obi-Wan from hiding. He hadn't known…How hadn't he known…?!
Even without Bail Organa's influence, after all she has suffered at the hands of his Inquisitors, she will not be any more welcoming than his son.
"Is this…what you wanted…to prove…Obi-Wan? That I am…I am truly alone."
There is no venom in the words. Obi-Wan does not respond. But then, again, what could he say?
They stay that way for several minutes, the anguish coursing through his soul thrumming like a drum with the beat of his heart…until, suddenly, there is a hand-shaped warmth on his bicep.
"Don't...touch me..." he rasps. But, true to form, the stubborn old Jedi doesn't listen, and Vader finds that he doesn't care enough to fight. Instead, his eyes grow damp as he stares at the growing shadows and thinks of old and near-forgotten memories until the meditations of his mind blend seamlessly into fever dreams.
The door creaks as Beru enters and Obi-Wan glances toward her. She has brought a tray of jerky and desert succulents, along with a finger of water rations. A ghost of a smile glances on her face as she greets him with an inclination of her head.
Though his back aches from leaning forward for so long, he has not withdrawn his hand from Vader's bicep since placing it there nearly an hour before.
At some point, Vader had drifted off into unconsciousness, and he had moved to retrieve the appendage. However, at the loss of Ben's touch, Anakin had turned over his head and given a mourning cry that had rent the old man's heart.
And so, he had remained in that position until the present moment.
As Beru steps forward, she places the tray on the boxes stacked beside Ben, her eyes turning with a sort of heartbroken curiosity toward Obi-Wan's patient.
"Poor Anakin…" she says softly, her gaze sweeping over him.
Obi-Wan can only nod politely in agreement.
"Who did this to him, Ben?" She whispers.
Obi-Wan's jaw clenches, and he swallows hard.
"Which part?"
He is ever mindful that at any point, Vader might wake and lash out if he hears what he has to say. But even so, Beru deserves the truth.
"…he did this to himself…" Ben tells her, gesturing toward his bandaged middle. "But the rest of this…" he makes a sweeping movement. "…I did this." He chokes on the words, and suddenly, there are tears running down his face.
He had not expected to cry, but the weight of it hits him all over again.
Beru looks at him with horror, and he cannot help but hang his head in shame. He had not wanted to do it. Anakin had left him no choice. But even so, every night, he hears those screams...
"How could you…?!" She hisses. "…Your own student! He adored you!"
Her accusations are nothing he has not said to himself a thousand times over.
"Anakin joined the Emperor before he was…like this. I do not know why. Maybe it was power. Maybe it was idealism. Whatever it was, he almost killed Luke's pregnant mother. And he would have killed me, if I hadn't…if I hadn't—"
Ben is weeping openly now, as quietly as he is able. It is foolish to waste water on Tattooine, but he cannot help himself. "I did not mean—I did not want him to suffer like this."
Beru's face softens at his sudden loss of composure.
"Oh, Ben…Ben…I'm sorry…I didn't know."
Before he quite knows it, she is leaning over him, wrapping her arms around him. On pure instinct, he leans into her embrace, inhaling the scent of her linens and the warmth of her touch. It has been years since a living being has embraced him with compassion.
"Shhh…it's alright…you don't need to say anything else," Beru whispers, her strong arms squeezing him tightly. "…eat some food, get some rest. Owen is going into town to get antibiotics for Anakin in the morning. We're going to make this right, Ben. I promise."
As she turns and leaves, he hopes beyond hope that she is right.
His fever is spiking again as he floats in a sea of delirium, the abscess in his abdomen swelling painfully with a mounting infection. The memory of the boy's rejection pulses like a chasm in his chest, its pain punctuated in flares of red as the agony of Obi-Wan's soul invades his fever dreams. It occurs to him vaguely that their bond should have been severed long before, but that thought is nothing but a fleeting observation quickly forgotten.
He is aware of the old man's hand on what remains of his arm, and through that simple contact, he senses a raging storm of guilt, regret, and remorse.
When they had been bonded as Master and Padawan, Obi-Wan had always been the perfect Jedi. A sea of calm with little variation in his moods. This feels…this feels more like himself. Deep and dark and pained.
It feels perverse.
He stays that way for what seems like an eternity, floating closer to consciousness as pained thoughts, both his own and the Jedi's, filter into his mind.
As he thinks of Luke's excruciatingly horrified face, the spiky tendril of the Darkside, of his Master, suddenly tears into his mind like a fish-hook, tugging and pulling with brutal calculation.
Lord Vader...you have been hiding... the familiar voice simpers with unspoken promises of violence
He reacts instantly, shielding himself with the Force from his Master, but as he exerts the sum total of his strength, it's as if something in his core snaps.
Something is very wrong! He feels…strange...
Vader's eyes fly open, and then—
Obi-Wan, help me!
Obi-Wan senses the tide of illness swelling inside Anakin, festering with alarming rapidity. It is as though the walls of a great city have fallen under siege. The blow of his son's rejection seems to have broken him. His Force presence has gone from a howling gale to barely a whisper of a breeze and his reluctant tolerance of Obi-Wan's touch is a testament to his listlessness.
Much to his own anguish, Ben can do nothing for him but stay at his side.
All of a sudden, Ben flinches as Anakin's eyes snap open, and he finds himself staring into yellow eyes that look up at him with excruciation that, for once, does not seem to have anything to do with him. Anakin's lips move frantically as if speaking, but his voice is almost inaudible. Ben leans forward, catching snatches of a word that sounds like "emperor," but he is not making sense…!
"E-emper...ror...wants...he...w-wants..."
Obi-Wan only has a moment of warning from the Force before, to his horror, Anakin's eyes roll back, and his body begins to jerk.
"Owen! Beru!" He screams as he acts quickly to grab the metal limbs in an attempt to prevent further injury. Waves of power ripple through the room as bursts of scattered emotions explode from Anakin's fragmenting consciousness.
Items in the storeroom clatter to the floor as the strength of the cybernetics collide painfully with Ben's shoulders and the Jedi calls upon the Force to contain Vader's bursts of emotion. Though Obi-Wan does not notice their arrival, at some point, the Lars enter the room and move to aid Obi-Wan in holding down the cyborg's thrashing body.
He seizes for what seems like an eternity, mouth-frothing as the rebreather is torn from his face.
With Beru and Owen aiding in clinging to his limbs, Obi-Wan tries to hold shut the hole in his abdomen, but as blood and infection soak through the bandages, he knows it has been a lost cause.
When, at last, the violent shaking subsides, Anakin goes limp and looks for all the world as if he is dead. Even so, Obi-Wan's frantic hand finds a heart jumping wildly within his chest. Thank the Force: he is only unconscious.
It is only then that Kenobi turns as he hears a small noise in the doorway. To his dismay, there stands Luke, drawn by the commotion, his face a mask of unadulterated terror. The boy has seen everything.
Author's Note: Let me know if this wasn't long enough.