Chapter Text
They brought Luke in while Vader stood facing the viewport in the quarters he'd prepared specially for his son, mesmerised by the eternal spin of the distant stars. He could sense the two troopers who escorted him, their minds dull and apathetic as dolls', but he could barely sense his son; Obi-Wan must have trained the boy vigorously, to grant him shields like that. And Luke must be gifted, to uphold it.
"Before you spit accusations at me," he began, slowly, then turned to regard him. He looked… older than his age, but then so had Obi-Wan when Vader had duelled him, so had the Lars couple, in the hologram on their execution order. The desert and its stresses aged one quickly, and he was not surprised that his son—his son!—had had to rise to the challenge just as well as everyone else. He'd watched what little footage he'd obtained of the medal ceremony on Yavin, watched Luke's broad, beaming smile and seen his youth in his face then, even as he celebrated a feat that would be marvellous for men twice his age. "I wish to explain.
"I doubt that Kenobi ever told you the truth about your father," he said, studying Luke's face closely. There was no obvious resemblance to himself or Padmé at a first glance, but if he looked… yes, he could see the resemblance there, something about the shape of his eyes and the arrogance that seemed very Skywalker, or the slyness that seemed very Amidala. He'd got his father's height, it seemed—or perhaps Vader simply hoped; he was seated now, and he'd been taller than the Princess at that ceremony, but she was tiny—yet apparently his mother's courage, as he had the strength and audacity even now, to raise a belligerent, indignant eyebrow and open his mouth to—
"Silence. I will explain everything, so long as you stay silent." Vader returned to the viewport to pace, grimacing under his mask, the gesture tugging on the scars on his face. How to explain all of this? His son deserved to hear it, undoubtedly deserved to hear it, but Vader was not the politician of the family and he had no wit about him with which to attempt it. "I… I knew your mother. She was… very dear to me."
Luke choked on air, then, staring. "You— you knew my mother? I don't even know who my mother was!"
Vader set his jaw. Yes. Yes, this would hurt, but it needed to be said.
"I knew your mother, and I loved your mother. And when I learned that she was with child… that was the happiest moment of my life. She loved you so much, would've given anything to you. And— and your father—"
He bowed his head. "I was the same. I loved you so much, my son, my child. And in my love, and my desperation to keep that love, I made decisions that led to everything falling apart. That is one of my greatest regrets, and the moment I heard your name, and knew who you were—what you'd achieved, what you are capable of—I was in no doubt. I have lived all these years without you, my son. I know you only have hatred and vitriol to throw at me now, but please know this. There is nothing I want more in the world than for you to stand by my side."
Luke was still choking on air. "You—" he said. "You're my father?"
"Yes, my son."
"You're—" He took a deep breath, a bitter smile coming to his face. "My father is dead. I know that. You can't convince me otherwise." He eyed Vader's suit, the respirator, and Vader knew what he was thinking but he said nothing about it.
"I know that Kenobi's lies have driven a thick wedge between us, but—"
"I barely knew Ben Kenobi."
"Then that is only good, and he has not corrupted you to his foolish ways. Following him would've only got you killed, as it did him."
"You killed him, didn't you?" That raised eyebrow again. Vader felt like this was Padmé reincarnate, judging him all over again.
"I did. He deserved it, and his foolish ways led him there. There is nothing I will not do to prevent the same fate from befalling you, my son."
"Now, let me get this clear. You're—" He stared, and guffawed. "You're my father?"
"Yes," Vader said, irritated. Was it not evident he was serious? "Yes, Luke, I—"
"Wait."
He frowned.
He stared.
"Luke?"
"Yes." Vader was growing impatient. "Luke Skywalker, my son, son of Anakin Skywalker—"
"That ain't me." Luke—whoever this was—gave a cocky grin. "I think you're looking for my friend."
Vader stared.
"My name is Han Solo."
There had been two heroes at that medal ceremony, Vader remembered. This man, and… someone else.
Well, he thought, staring at Solo's unabashed grin. Shavit.