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When it came to Darth Vader, there was no shortage of stories to be told by the collective peoples of the galaxy and especially in the Rebellion.
Hell, the dark specter was a legend no matter where one went or who one spoke to, for good or bad. And wasn’t that the oddest thing to ever be conceived of – that there were actually people in the galaxy that liked Darth Vader. And, granted, 'liked' was mostly subjective because it wasn’t as if anyone knew anything about his background or even who he was before he just popped into existence with the rise of the Empire. In that category, the Sith Lord was a complete mystery and from what he understood, the people who were loyal to the Empire liked Vader as the figurehead that they knew him as. He represented the will of the Emperor and safety in the galaxy. But outside of those people, Luke had recently heard rumors that there was an entire planet that literally worshipped Darth Vader because of whatever incredible feat he’d showcased there and privately, Luke couldn’t help but wonder what the hell he’d done to inspire an entire religion in his name.
He also wondered what it would be like to talk to people who viewed the man who was his father in such a light. And damn it… but he was curious, okay?
He was curious.
But it wasn’t as if he went around expressing that very dangerous curiosity to anyone. Luke wasn’t completely stupid.
The people of the Empire, which Luke did not support, were not the people of the Rebellion. They didn’t share the 'Vader-Means-Security-For-The-Empire' mentality. In the Rebellion, the stories were quite a bit different and prior to a few months ago were ones that Luke had accepted wholly as truth and even enjoyed listening to. What better way to stay motivated to fight the good fight then to offer reasons to be blame the other side for everything that was wrong with anything and everything and give yourself reasons to be righteously angry at the people you were raging war against?
But lately, whenever the subject of Vader came up in conversation, Luke found himself slinking away, feigning all sorts of reasons to get out of having to listen to what people had to say about him. It wasn’t that they were wrong (but were they?) but now he was… torn. Torn between the shame, knowing that Darth Vader had done so much damage and caused so much pain to so many people and that he was apparently a byproduct of that man. Luke couldn’t bring himself to imagine the reactions of those he cared about if they knew who he was related to. It hurt to hear what they had to say about his father and it hurt to know that what he was hearing was probably and most likely true.
(If that’s the truth than who am I? What am I?)
He was torn between anger, wondering what the hell and why didn’t they tell me and wanting to demand to Ben or Yoda what gave them the right to hide this from him? He was torn between wanting to and honestly believing that there had to be more to this somehow. If Anakin was so highly revered and remembered as a hero and a good, kind man then surely some part of him still existed in the person that was Darth Vader? Surely there was more to this Fall then he had been told or understood.
Surely it mattered somehow.
And yet… how could it possibly matter?
Vader had hurt people and he’d hurt so many people that Luke personally loved. He didn’t know how to separate the desire to understand from the ultimate truth of what Vader had done.
The Rebellion hated Vader and Luke was a member of the Rebellion but he could no longer confidently stand completely against him and that knowledge, which he tucked away deep inside where no one would ever know, was confusing the hell out of him.
The stories and propaganda went that Darth Vader was an unstoppable one man army, complete with no conceivable weaknesses to exploit or take advantage of. He was cold and ruthless, filled with nothing but anger and hate, a dog to the Emperor, a murderer to the nth degree, Hellspawn of the most literal sense, and the absolute bane of the Rebellion’s existence. The propaganda writers of said Rebellion were immensely dedicated to making the Emperors Enforcer out to be an unfeeling droid who cared about nothing and no one.
It was a lot to deal with.
But his own personal crisis of identity aside, Luke wondered, somewhat hysterically, what those propaganda writers would think and say if they could see Darth Vader now.
If they could feel the emotions that Luke could feel raging in the Force around him.
Because Vader was anything but unfeeling.
Angry… hell yes. Hateful… there was a kriffing lot of hate in the man too. Luke wouldn’t deny those things – couldn’t even if the childish part of him wished it weren’t so.
And prior to today, Luke would have agreed that Vader had no weaknesses that anyone could possibly exploit… it wasn’t as if he seemed to care about anyone, didn’t have friends or any known associates and wasn’t close to anyone except maybe the Emperor and since he had wanted Luke’s help in destroying him, Luke would argue that they probably weren’t actually all that close. There was definitely some bantha shit going down on Coruscant if Vader, the Emperor’s right hand guy, disagreed with his way of ruling the galaxy to the point of wanting to kill him and fix the whole mess himself.
It was safe to say that being in the know about Darth Vader’s treasonous murder plots was an eye-opening perspective.
And if Bespin had never happened and if he’d heard about the plot from anyone else in the galaxy… Luke would have said that Vader had nothing and no one to lose by trying.
Except… now Luke was beginning to think that maybe he was Vader’s one and only soft spot.
And geez, wasn’t that just beyond terrifying to think about?
But… it must be at least a little true, Luke reasoned, trying to keep his breathing steady and calm even as his heart was pounding rapidly in his chest. Because there was a complex storm of emotions coming from that man, a surprising mix of protective rage, regret, love?, and even hurt where Luke was concerned.
And perhaps even more telling… Vader... that ruthless, unstoppable, one man army had actually halted his solo attack on a kriffing Hutt fortress the very second Luke’s life was threatened.
He’d been on Nar Shaddaa for two weeks.
He’d been enslaved by a Hutt for two weeks, implanted with a transmitter chip, and was for all intents and purposes, an arena slave – forced to fight for his life for the entertainment of a crowd. It made his stomach sick to think despite the fact that Grakkus had made it perfectly clear that this was temporary – he was simply waiting for Luke’s final opponent to arrive from Mustafar. He planned for Luke, the last known Jedi in the galaxy, to die in that fight.
Luke hadn’t been paying much attention, trying desperately not to get brutalized in his 'training session' with Grakkus’ magna guards when the screaming started. It came from beyond the walls of the arena, and there was the sound of blaster fire and heavy things being thrown around and into walls. Screams were periodically broken off and the closer and closer the screaming and yelling got, the clearer the familiar sound of a lightsaber thrumming as it was swung through the air became. At Grakkus’ command, (because he wanted to watch the 'training' today, his disgusting guffaws and orders to switch things up occasionally breaking up the monotony of being thrown around and stunned), the magna guards ceased their attack and turned to face the doorway. Luke felt the magnacuffs around his wrists vibrate as they were activated and forced him into a kneeling position on the ground.
He hated himself for feeling was almost grateful for the reprieve – sore and tired, dripping with sweat and blood, and completely out of breath as he was.
Feeling fairly confident that he knew who had arrived, Luke still couldn’t hold back his flinch when the thick durasteel doors that were the only way in or out of the arena flew open with such terrifying force that they caused the walls of the building to literally shake.
Glancing over his shoulder, sweat dripping down his face, Luke watched with a strange duality of emotions inside him as Darth Vader strode through the ruined doors, a smoking trail of destruction and bodies barely visible behind him.
“Lord Vader –" Grakkus stammered, instantly beginning to choke as Vader raised a clenched fist, all the while moving purposely towards Luke.
“You filthy worm,” Vader hissed, and Luke felt something dark and powerful curl around him with the utmost possessiveness. The air was alight with venomous rage. “How dare you – "
“I – ack – will – kill – him!” The Hutt choked out, gesturing wildly towards Luke. “…detonator – " the massive slug drew in a desperate gasp of air, his whole body heaving as Vader suddenly and abruptly released his hold, freezing in place.
Luke closed his eyes, swallowing thickly and feeling as if icy water had been thrown over him with the threat.
“There… is a detonator,” Grakkus panted quickly, his metal legs clinking as he shifted uneasily. “The Jedi has one. If you kill me, I’ll make sure he dies and not even your power can stop it.”
“You dare to threaten me?”
Grakkus’ presence in the Force vibrated with nervous, terrified energy as he fought to keep some semblance of control. He had one card to play and he was playing it. And honestly… if Luke wasn’t morally opposed to granting a Hutt any sort of credit or good will, and if he weren’t the card in question, he’d be almost impressed. Because if nothing else, no one could deny it was getting him results. They would be short-lived results, Luke was quite certain of that… but they were results nonetheless.
“No! But let’s – let’s just not be hasty, Lord Vader. We can come to an arrangement – ”
“Where is the detonator?”
Luke swallowed again, feeling sweat dripping down the back of his neck.
So that was what it sounded like when his father was really angry.
And… and for some insane reason, instead of slinking away in abject terror as one should do at the sound of their imminent death, Grakkus… actually seemed to be emboldened by it and he drew himself up, looking about as regal as an overgrown slug with the body physique of a floppy couch cushion possibly could, snapping his fingers to signal the magna guards that he wanted Luke returned to him.
Vader’s Force presence, which at this point was blacker than tar and pissed as hell, curled around him just a little tighter. The magnacuffs around his wrists broke abruptly and Luke fell backwards on his butt with the sudden lack of pressure holding him down. Needing no further prompting to move and do it now, Luke quickly scrambled backwards towards Vader, his heart skipping a beat in his chest when an electrostaff crackled to life somewhere nearby. Maybe he was crazy also but when it was between Vader and a Hutt, Luke would pick Vader each and every time.
He didn’t stop his mad scramble until he felt his back bump into Vader’s knee and only then did Luke look away from the magna guards - there were at least fifteen of them now, compared to the earlier three - advancing towards him and hesitantly glance up at his father instead.
Force, he was tall – a veritable nightmare of man, even when he wasn’t radiating the intense desire to slaughter everyone in sight. The dark side was so heavy and oppressive in the area immediately surrounding him; a thick churning mass of rage and pain that writhed furiously in the Force like something only barely being kept in check. It felt alive and it was thrumming in tune with Vader’s anger, feeding off of it and being created by it alike. It felt like he was sitting next to a bomb that was about to explode.
Luke shoved down the instinctive spike of terror that that stupid visual caused – because it wasn’t as if he needed another gut wrenching reminder that the only reason he was in this situation at all was because there was a literal bomb implanted inside of him.
He was distracted from his own rising panic when, for the briefest moment, there was a strange, inexplicable fleeting sense of something that felt a lot like kindness and… and reassurance flickering warmly through that strange, largely unexplored bond that tied him and Vader together. It reminded him of when he was little and how Aunt Beru would cup his cheek with her hand and tell him quiet stories to put him to sleep after a nightmare. That he felt something so similar from Vader was… it was… he didn’t know what it meant or if it should mean anything at all. But… the feeling faded only when Grakkus spoke once again and Vader’s attention shifted fully to what was being said.
“That slave is my property, Lord Vader.” Grakkus declared imperiously from his perch overlooking the empty arena. Unbelievably and true to egotistical form, the disgusting sleemo was actually getting a sick amount of amusement from making the furious Sith Lord look up at him. As a method of suicide, Luke didn’t need the Force to tell him that it was going to be successful. “But I am not unreasonable. I – I seem to recall that you have a sizable bounty placed on his head. If you want him then you can pay for him – ”
“I’m not your slave!” Luke snapped even before Vader could, momentarily putting his fear and pain aside as rage and anger and deep humiliation threatened to undo him completely. Because there was nothing – absolutely nothing – that Luke could possibly conceive of that was more terrible then being claimed as property in front of the man that was his father and saying nothing to the contrary. Darth Vader or Anakin Skywalker, it didn’t matter because there wasn’t a difference (there just couldn’t be), and if that was the hill Luke died on, then so be it. “I don’t belong to anyone, least of all you!”
Grakkus continued as if Luke had said absolutely nothing. “– and then, and only then will the boys’ detonator be given to you. I only require proof of payment and then the transfer can take place on board one of your shuttles with one of my representatives. There is no reason for this to be ugly.”
Cowardly piece of bantha shit, Luke thought furiously. It was a weak, desperate ploy to try and save his own hide and if Luke had to do it himself, he would make sure it wouldn’t work. He could feel his face heating up at the thought of anyone – but especially his father – paying for him.
Vader’s lightsaber ignited once again with a hiss and a hum and Luke was forced to turn his head to the side, protecting his face from the sparks that exploded from the first two magna guards being cut down for daring to tread too close. They crumpled to the ground in smoking pieces and without even skipping a beat, Vader smoothly stepped into a defensive stance directly in front of him, shielding Luke from the others with his own body, even as a handful of them began fold inwards on themselves, being crushed or squeezed by some terrible pressure and others were violently thrown backwards into the walls of the arena.
“There will be no transaction,” Vader said lowly, his own disgust at the idea thickening the air. He raised his free hand, curling it into a tight fist again and might have felt darkly amused by Grakkus’ large, bulbous eyes nearly popping out of their sockets as he began to choke if he weren’t so angry. “I want that detonator now.”
Sue him for perhaps being less than what a Jedi should be but considering the circumstances Luke thought he could be forgiven when he felt nothing except righteously entertained by the sight of that massive piece of scum wiggling like a worm on a hook by his fathers hand.
If there was any real justice in the galaxy, surely this had to be it.
The past two weeks had been absolute hell… but the sting of humiliation and shame at being in this situation in the first place was soothed in part by the very abrupt but welcome knowledge, even if he still had no kriffing clue what to do with it, that, no matter what side of the war they were technically on, and regardless of whether or not Luke had or would continue to reject him, Vader… Vader loved him – fiercely, and without reservation – and there wasn’t a reality that could be conceived of where he would let this offense against his only child slide.
If nothing else, at least they seemed to share a mutual hatred for Hutt's and slavers.
“Ack -" Grakkus choked, his massive maw gasping for air in the most disgusting sort of way. His metal legs were clinking madly underneath him as he squirmed, trying desperately to escape. “You – you should be thanking me! I’ve saved you the trouble of having to catch the little brat yourself!”
“It will be a cold day on Mustafar before I extend my gratitude to a cowardly worm like you,” Vader bit out darkly, the temperature dropping from cold to freezing on Hoth with the slight towards Luke. “Especially one so stupid and foolish as to think he could get away with enslaving my son.”
Luke didn’t think that there were words in any language that he knew of, which could accurately describe the sheer, unadulterated horror that that unexpected revelation caused. He didn’t know what Grakkus had thought – obviously, he’d known, as most people in the galaxy knew, that Vader wanted Luke alive and was willing to exploit that to his advantage as much as he could – but whatever and whoever he thought he’d been threatening… it wasn’t that.
Grakkus was going to die.
Painfully.
Horrifically.
And he knew it.
“Kill – him!” He cried out, wheezing and desperate… but also angry. Coward he might be, Luke thought, his heart still racing, but if Grakkus was going to die, he was determined that Vader wouldn’t get what he came for. The magna guards sprang to life, rushing them even as Grakkus continued to choke and squirm. “Activate – ack – " he bucked wildly, and Luke watched in utter amazement and horror as one of his eyes exploded in a mess of gore and blood. “ – chip number 9…2 – "
Just then, a commlink crackled to life from somewhere on his father’s suit and to Luke’s faint surprise, the not-so welcome, but still familiar voice of Kreel the Gamemaster came through.
“The detonator has been secured, my Lord Vader. Skywalker is in the clear.”
There wasn’t time to process the fact that that bastard Kreel apparently took orders from his father or even to feel relieved that he wasn’t in any danger of dying via implanted slave bomb before the lights of the arena began to flicker and spark as any and all reservations that Vader had had about ripping everyone responsible for this to shreds disappeared in the span of half a second.
Then he moved.
Luke couldn’t decide between feeling offended or relieved to realize just how much restraint Vader had been exercising during their previous encounters. The remaining magna guards, which one on one, had thrown Luke around like a ragdoll during his 'training' sessions were cut down within seconds. His fathers movements were precise and lethal, and not a single swing of his lightsaber was wasted energy. Blaster fire was deflected back at those sentient guards brave enough to think they maybe had a chance with almost nonchalant ease, screams of pain echoing around them and when every possible threat to Luke was dealt with, he then quickly leapt up towards Grakkus with the intent of making him suffer.
Luke couldn’t bring himself to care.
Too sore and hurt to really get up, he crawled forwards, he turned his attention away from the massacre and reached for the nearest destroyed droid, grabbing one of the broken shards of metal, still hot from the incredible heat of the lightsaber – he hesitated just long enough to check that it was sharp before he stabbed it into the meat of his left thigh and pulled, cutting a gash the length of his index finger into it.
The pain, the blood, all of it was irrelevant. All that mattered was the aching, desperate desire to get it out and he tossed the makeshift knife to the side and plunged his fingers into the wound without hesitation, gritting his teeth as he searched for the offensive piece of technology sitting inside him.
If Luke was going to be taken to the Executor after this was over, then he wasn’t going to go with a slave chip implanted in him.
It took a few seconds before he felt his fingertips brush against something round and smooth and slippery as hell. He managed to get a solid grip on it and pulled it out, revealing the bloody transmitter, no bigger than his thumb and complete with a tiny green blinking light, indicating that his whereabouts were within designated parameters.
It was such a small thing – and he’d seen far too many of them on Tatooine since his aunt and uncle were part of the Underground operation to assist and free slaves. So small and yet so dangerous. It had stolen his freedom these past weeks and kept him compliant to the will of a slug. The suppressant drugs he’d been given had kept the Force largely out of his control but even with it, all he’d known how to do was find out where they’d implanted the bomb inside him. It was the only time he’d felt grateful that his hand had been cut off – he’d gotten so used to feeling the odd, lifeless there-but-not-there void of something where it was supposed to be and it had helped him realize that the transmitter inside him gave off a similar there-but-not-there feeling. Knowing where it was hadn’t done much for him though. Luke hadn’t dared to try and turn the damn thing off, the Force too slippery to try. He was afraid that he’d do the exact opposite of what he wanted on accident. And it wasn’t as if he was given access to anything sharp enough to cut it out on his own until just now.
Luke felt his eyes blur with tears, feeling hot with anger and hurt all over again. Because this... this was never supposed to happen. His family was supposed to be free. That was supposed to be his legacy to keep. It had been his charge since he was old enough to understand what slavery was and where he’d come from. And he’d failed. Failed and disgraced himself and his father and his grandmother and it was too much to handle.
He wasn’t sure how to come to terms with all that had happened. He was absolutely positive he’d have a breakdown about it when this was all over and as crazy as it was, while he inexplicably loved his father, he still wasn’t certain that life with him (because today was changing everything – he could feel their paths intertwining in the Force but couldn’t see the ending) wasn’t trading one form of slavery for another. And that didn’t feel right but Luke was too tired and weak and hungry to care – no matter what the Force whispered to him right now, the general uncertainty of his situation just made him uneasy and afraid.
They’d have to figure it out later.
But at least he did know what to do with the damn chip.
“Father,” Luke finally spoke, lifting his head and coughing weakly. Busy, distracted, and vengeful as he currently was, inflicting as much pain on Grakkus as he could, Vader still heard him and paused, quickly turning to look at him. A brief soundless question pulsed along their bond. Luke lifted his hand to show the bloody transmitter chip in between his fingers and inclined his head towards the still-alive-but-not-for-long Grakkus. The questioning pulse cleared with grim, satisfied understanding. “Make him choke on it.”
There were no other words necessary between them and Luke simply threw the chip in Vader’s direction and felt him snatch it out of the air with the Force.
With ruthless cruelty, his father stabbed his lightsaber into the Hutt’s disgusting hide (and Luke belatedly realized that he’d had been being sliced into pieces by degrees), ignoring the garbled screams of pain and suffering that accompanied it, and forced Luke’s chip inside.
“Enjoy Hell,” Vader rumbled darkly, the Force tingling unpleasantly with his anger, before he turned, leaving Grakkus a broken but alive mess on his platform, and leaping back to the ground. Luke barely had time to blink before his father was back by his side, wrapping a firm but gentle hand around his bicep and pulling him up to his unsteady feet. Luke hissed, shifted his weight to his good leg and allowed Vader to wrap an arm around his waist and support most of his weight.
He was surprised with the deliberate and thoughtful consideration his father showed as they quickly made their way towards the back of the arena - out of range of the bomb.
“Sergeant Kreel,” Vader barked suddenly, turning to look back at Grakkus once they were a reasonable distance away. “Activate the transmitter chip. Now.”
“As you wish, Lord Vader.”
There was a faint whimper of something before Grakkus exploded in a well deserved viscera of blood and gore, and his platform of high and mightiness with him.
“E chu ta, sleemo.” Luke spat, clinging a little tighter to his father when he accidently placed weight on his injured leg.
After a lifetime of watching and hearing about slaves being killed through the same, cruel method, and after experiencing the terror of having one implanted in himself firsthand, Luke decided that this was really the only fitting execution for a slaver. This, or the Sarlac pit on Tatooine.
There was a moment of silence – a moment of hesitation in the Force, as neither of them seemed to know what to do now before Vader finally spoke, sounding uncertain and treading cautiously.
“Luke – are you alright?”
Coming from the man who’d cut his hand off, Luke thought his faint surprise that that was the first question he asked was justified. But he was tired and most importantly, he was free. His father had come… and that… that meant something to him.
“No,” he answered quietly, his anger beginning to ebb as he stared at what remained of Grakkus, his anger and adrenaline fading as the constant fear of dying slowly began to dissipate. This nightmare was finally over but, “No, not really.” To his horror, Luke felt his eyes blur with tears once again. He tried to wipe them away and realized his hand was shaking.
Vader lifted his free hand up to Luke’s face, tilting his chin up with his fingers. He was surprisingly gentle about it and for some reason, something inside Luke broke a little more.
“I’m sorry – I’m so sorry,” he choked out, unable to meet the eyes that he could feel watching him behind those red lenses. “I didn’t mean to – I mean, I… I couldn’t escape and everything – it happened so quickly and I’m so sorry, Father. I’m so sorry – "
The blackness of the Force – of his father’s Force presence, quieted down to something that was muted and patient. Warmth pulsed along their bond, soothing and calm, with brief, little taps of knowing understanding accompanying it.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Vader rumbled, his voice firm and with a faintly commanding air, as if his words were law and he refused to accept or hear anything else. “And I was not led to believe that you came to be in this situation willingly.”
Luke shook his head slightly, more tears slipping down his cheeks as his eyes flickered back to exploded remains of what could have might have would have been him had his father not come to retrieve him. “No,” he agreed, voice quivering. “Never.”
“Then you are not at fault.”
“But –"
“You. Are. Not. To. Blame.” Vader repeated firmly, cutting him off. Lifting Luke’s chin again, he redirected his gaze, forcing Luke to look at him. “Do you understand me?” He demanded and for a moment, he was so reminiscent of Uncle Owen when he was trying to drill a point into Luke’s rebellious teenage head that Luke couldn’t help but be stunned.
He’d almost forgotten what it was like to have a… a parental figure.
Finally, he nodded. “Yes, sir.” Luke sniffed wetly, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand.
“Good.” Vader said with an air of satisfaction. After a slightly awkward moment, the fingers under his chin were lifted and Luke winced as his father brushed up against the nasty bruise on his temple, from where Grakkus had first knocked him out. The last he’d seen it, it was a stunning color mash of a variety of black and blue and purples.
“He – he knocked me out,” Luke tried to explain. “I – he made me open something. Holocrons? I think that’s what they were called but I don’t really understand – he said I was the last Jedi and that since I was in Hutta town that I was… I was….” he swallowed, unable to finish the sentence. “When I woke up… they’d already implanted the transmitter.”
He could feel Vader’s anger spiking in the Force, though it thankfully wasn’t directed at him. Without needing to say anything to each other, they both collectively turned, Vader still mostly supporting his weight, and started making their way out.
It was a somewhat slow process – Luke was hurting and the burn from the gash in his leg made it difficult to walk, even with help. Vader also hadn’t been merciful when he’d been making his way inside and the complex was a disaster. He was forced to sweep bodies and debris out of their way as they walked.
“What brought you here?”
Luke glanced up at Vader for a moment, sensing that the question was an honest one.
“I… I just wanted my lightsaber back,” he admitted quietly, shrugging but baffled at the surrealness of the conversation. Despite everything that had happened last time they'd seen each other... it was so normal. He wondered if it would last very long. “I made a new one. But a thief stole it from me since Grakkus… I don’t know, I guess he collected Jedi stuff. It’s… it’s a green one this time.” he tacked on at the end, suddenly, almost shyly wondering if Vader would approve of his work and then if he’d even see it again at all.
There was a thoughtful pause between them and then, “The color suits you.” Then, as if sensing Luke’s confusion about the comment, Vader elaborated. “The color of a kyber crystal is thought to be determined by the nature of its wielder. Before the days of the Empire, green lightsabers were associated with those Jedi who were considered strong in the Force. They were bold but adaptable, and terribly clever, among many other things.”
And again, despite everything, Luke felt a small thrill of pleasure sweep through him at what could only have been intended as a compliment.
When they finally reached the frame where the doors leading to the outside had once been, Luke paused, hesitating though he wasn't entirely sure why.
“I did try to find the blue one,” he confessed and maybe feeling the tiniest spike of hope and relief between them in response. “After… well, after – I went back for it. I wanted it back. But… there just wasn’t enough time.”
It was about as close to an... an actual peace offering as Luke knew how to give and he could only hope that his father would understand what he wasn’t saying aloud. That despite their contentious history - despite the trauma of Bespin and loss of his hand and everything in between... Luke still wanted something from him. To know him, to talk to him, to maybe even give him a chance. To let him know that Luke's vision of Anakin Skywalker hadn't completely disappeared with his lightsaber.
“My lightsabers have a history of getting lost through various… unfortunate… and sometimes ridiculous situations. It stands to reason that that one would be no different than the others.” Vader allowed after a moment, his voice, though still modulated… almost light enough to tease. Tired and burnt out as he was, it still made Luke smile.
“Maybe… you know, before you burn this place to the ground… can I have mine back?” He asked cautiously, but hopefully.
This time, Vader sent a clear sense of amusement at him.
“I will retrieve it for you,” he reassured, silently urging him to move again. With a slight hopping walk on Luke’s part, they finally stepped outside where there was a black Imperial shuttle waiting, guarded by several stormtroopers. “But you are going to wait here. I have no desire to see you back in there.”
“I don’t want to go back in there,” Luke said quickly, shuddering at the very thought. Then he paused and brushed some sweaty locks of hair out of his eyes as he remembered something. “But there were others. Slaves – being made to fight.” He swallowed, that hollow, hurt, and helpless anger returning all too easily. It felt like grime clinging to his skin, making him feel dirty and used. Force, he wanted to take a shower. “There were a lot of us – “
“I will make sure that they are all freed,” Vader promised, and for some reason his words echoed oddly, as if he were remembering something that had been said long ago. Luke couldn’t help but wonder what it was but the thought – or maybe memory – was blurry to him. Shaking himself slightly, Vader drew himself up as one of the stormtroopers approached. Luke was carefully passed off to him at Vader’s command, hanging off his shoulder. He belatedly realized that his pantleg was soaked with blood and that he was feeling dizzy - whether from pain or shock or just plain relief, he couldn't say.
“Order a squadron to come down and comb through the building for any remaining slavers. Do not let him escape,” he pointed a finger at Luke, more for show than anything else. “And see to it that his injuries are looked at.” Was the firm order, his tone booking no room for argument. Vader looked back at Luke. “Try to behave while I am gone.” He said pointedly, before turning and striding back towards the building.
Luke opened his mouth to protest that remark but what came out instead surprised even him.
“Thank you.”
Luke licked his lips, getting the sense of pure shock from the man even as he froze. But… with the Force gently encouraging him, he continued, feeling like this needed to be said. “For coming to get me. Thank you.”
Vader hesitated for only a moment longer, feeling confused and uneasy and something else that felt suspiciously affectionate, before their bond was slammed shut and he quickly continued forwards and disappeared inside to find Luke’s lightsaber.
“Come on, kid,” the trooper supporting him spoke suddenly. He also felt confused as hell, which was understandable. Luke doubted that it was very often that a rebel ‘prisoner’ thanked Lord Vader for coming to get them. “I got orders to follow.”
He nodded distractedly, honestly ready to be anywhere that wasn’t here. The trooper assisted him into the shuttle and sat him down in one of the seats. Another trooper, who introduced himself as Kix, began to look at his leg and gave him a shot of antibiotics and then applied a tourniquet for the bleeding, stating that the medical bay on board the Executor would have it healed in a jiffy. He then took Luke’s pulse and blood pressure, made a dissatisfied huffing sound, and promptly shoved a bottle of something at him and told him to drink it.
It was sweet and cool and tasted better than anything he’d had in the last two weeks. He finished it off with a slightly clearer head and then dropped back against the chair in complete exhaustion. He closed his eyes, letting Kix do whatever he wanted because he was frankly too tired and in too much pain to really protest.
He tiredly wondered what would happen now and he really, honestly didn't know.
Just as he was beginning to doze, wanting to stay awake until his father returned but needing to at least rest his eyes for a bit, he heard a quiet whisper in his mind.
I have your lightsaber, Vader said softly, as if he didn’t want to disturb him too much. Luke idly wondered how much he was able to monitor what Luke was doing when they were this close to each other. It is... very well made.
Thank you, Luke responded, feeling touched and faintly pleased with the praise.
There was a slight sense of hesitation before Vader spoke once again. You do not have to thank me, he said quietly, and he wasn’t talking about just now. Getting their children out of trouble is what fathers are for.