Vader's Baby
Summary: Vader finds his one-month old son on Tatooine after killing Obi-Wan Kenobi.
The baby seemed to be screaming louder. For something so small and young, its screams were loud and piercing. That baby was laying on a changing table in a fresh diaper. Its little hands were balled up and waving in the air. The small feet were squirming with each wail. The baby's round cheeks were red. The brilliant blue eyes were red and full of tears.
Darth Vader stood motionless at the edge of the changing table simply staring down at the baby. His baby. His son, who was only a month old. It was such a small amount of time, and yet . . . A month ago Darth Vader was a different man. He went by a different name. He had a different life. He looked different. He had a family. A wife. A baby on the way . . .
A month was too much time. It was a whole month that been stolen. It was only month, but that month was this baby's whole life so far. And if Vader hadn't hunted down Obi-Wan, how much more time would have been lost? How much longer would this baby not know his father? His only family?
But now Obi-Wan was dead and Vader had his son. Tatooine didn't have the best in childcare items, but the new Sith was able to procure at the least the necessary items. A crib, a changing table, and baby supplies. And now it was just father and son. A son who was screaming at the top of his lungs.
"Baby is fine," the TDL nanny droid had said. Vader had also found it on Tatooine. It was an old model and in need of repairs. But at the moment Vader just needed someone or something that could help him take care of his son. "Baby has been changed. Baby has been fed," the droid stated. "Baby is fine."
"Then why is he crying?" Vader growled.
"Baby needs to be soothed," the droid responded matter-of-factly. It had little in terms of a personality program. The droid went to reach down to pick up the baby, but Vader stopped it.
"Don't," he said. "You are dismissed. I will handle this."
The droid paused, but then straightened up and promptly left the room leaving Vader alone with his son. The baby was still crying and wailing. Vader could do this. He could sooth his baby. He was a father. Yes . . . a father . . . Thinking of himself like that only brought a fresh stab of pain into his heart for it made him think of Padmé.
She should be here. Alive. She should be the one to collect the baby into her arms. She would know just what to do. He could see her gently rocking the baby with a loving soft smile on her face as she looked down at it. Possibly she would hum a Nubian lullaby that her mother had once sung to her.
The baby let out a fresh string of screams. They seemed more intense. Stronger. Vader could feel them. He wasn't sure if perhaps it was just his nerves, or if the baby was projecting into the Force. It was interesting to sense the baby's emotions. They were so unformed, but also so intense and raw. It was hard to pinpoint exactly which emotion it was. Fear. Cold. Sadness. Discomfort. Loneliness.
Slowly Vader's arms started to move. One large black leather gloved hand came to rest on the baby's head. He gently slipped it under the small head. Padmé's voice floated through him.
"You have to support the head," she teased when she had given an impromptu baby holding lesson. The baby was a medium piece of fruit wrapped in a towel. He could still hear her giggles as the fruit slipped out of the towel and rolled on the floor after he had held it wrong. He remembered her smooth hands positioning his arms into the proper position to hold the baby just as he was doing now.
He had eased the crying baby into his arms and was slowly bringing the child to his chest. The baby continued to wiggle and wail. What should he do? Rock the baby? He didn't think humming or singing from his modulated voice would sooth the child. Vader slowly turned around and glanced around the rather empty room. There was just the crib and a set of drawers. Perhaps if he walked something would come to mind.
He walked to the viewport. The blue streaks of hyperspace whirled outside as the starship traveled back to Coruscant. In the viewport's reflection, Vader could make out the baby's form. It stood out sharply against the darkness of the life support suit. Vader shifted the baby so he was now more upright. Then Vader turned and walked back over to the changing table.
He just felt so useless and restless. He started to pace back and forth in the small room. He should be able to do this! To calm his son down. And yet the baby still cried. What was he doing wrong? Why wasn't the baby calming down? Was it him? Was he not good enough? Strong enough? Was it this horrible life support suit? It wasn't soft or warm. His breathing sharply sounded evenly. Perhaps the sound grated on the baby's tender ears. Perhaps it was simply Vader himself that was upsetting the child.
Again Vader found himself at the viewport. He should just put the baby down and call the nanny droid back in. His son shouldn't be wailing this much. He didn't need to be so miserable. Again Vader caught the reflection in the transparisteel. The baby was being held upright against Vader's chest. One of Vader's hands rested against the baby's head. The other hand against the back while the baby's weight rested on the arm.
The baby was quiet. There were no screams. Since when had it stopped? In fact the little one's eyes were closed. He breathed evenly.
Vader had . . . done it . . . He had . . . soothed the baby! His baby!
Gently and slowly he tightened his hold on the child. He bowed his head down. How he desperately wished to be able to kiss the forehead of this sleeping baby. To smell it's gentle baby smell. To feel the soft hair. So much had been taken from Vader. So much had been stolen.
But at least he had this. This child. This small wonderful miraculous baby. The one amazing thing that had come out so beautiful and perfect despite the heat and chaos the baby had been born into it.
The Tatooine couple whom Obi-Wan had given the baby to had called the child a name. A name Vader wasn't even sure where it had originated from. Had Obi-Wan named Vader's son? The Lars? Or perhaps . . . had she named him? That at least in her final moments, mother and son had been together. Vader hoped it had been peaceful. He hoped she died holding her son to her chest like Vader did now. That at least as this baby's life started and hers ended, it was filled with love.
That was when Vader knew that she had named him. She had to. The name fit. It was perfect. He took his eyes off the reflection and looked down at the baby.
"Luke," he said.