A contentious Luke is still incensed and furious about Vader's criticisms the night before. Vader gives him an unexpected and unwanted 'gift'.

(Warning: some PTSD)

# # #

He struggled into the armorweave bodyglove— just the pants— and jumped up and down in front of the 'fresher mirror, trying to get them up to his waist. His dad was still in his suite, but once he left Luke figured he could use the dressing room to check his full appearance. Really, the bodyglove wasn't all that revealing, was it?

His purple Deep Space Sprite shirt seemed a good, inappropriate choice to annoy his dad, and he felt the need to piss off Darth Vader today. And to show him that his son was independent and not mediocre, at least not when it came to fashion.

Wes's scarf wrapped around his shoulders (not his neck, he wasn't making that mistake again) and tied at his waist, leaving long tails dragging on the floor. He clipped his lightsaber to it. Black wrap boots almost finished the look, but something was missing.

Meet me in the private hangar.

Be there in ten. He felt his father leave his quarters. In his own 'fresher, Luke took the pot of gold sparkles and painted the hair that he brushed down over his forehead. Yeah. He could use more jewelry, but the thin bracelet was all he had. However, he rolled up his t-shirt sleeves to show off his muscles and his TIE tattoo. That was the best he could do with his limited resources. He needed more tattoos. Or metal arm bands for his biceps.

After a quick check in Vader's dressing room— only the mirror, though he really wanted to snoop in the drawers— he headed to the hangar to confront his father. He had a lot to say to Lord Vader. Maybe it would be wiser to pretend to be his dad's Imaginary Friend.

Vader was sitting on a bench working on the underbelly of the fancy ship and didn't look up. Luke marched over and stood, hands on his hips, waiting.

His father finally glanced at him, looked away, then did a double-take.

Luke waited.

Vader said, "Begin the installation of the inertial compensator." He nudged a toolbox with his boot.

"Fine." Luke frowned. "How do you like my clothes?"

His father's gaze began at the top of his sparkly head and traveled down to his feet. "The boots are wrong."

"What?" Of all the responses he'd expected, this wasn't one of them. "What's wrong with them?"

"If you're not going to wear pants—"

"I'm wearing pants!"

"—over the bodyglove, you should wear thigh boots to distract from your… look."

He couldn't think of a response. Maybe he should have lingered a little longer at the mirror.

"I'll order some later when I put in your request for the 'sandy' boots."

Luke sat on the floor. "Oh. Uh… okay, thanks." He glanced at the helmet as he picked through the toolbox. "So… I've been thinking."

"That's not surprising."

"It's not supposed to be surprising. I think a lot."

"I know you do. Hand me the fusion cutter."

He found it and slapped it into the outstretched glove. "Anyway… there's a holoshow I've been watching—"

"Holovision will rot your brain."

"Can I finish?! Anyway, it shows families that get some… you know… therapy."

Sparks shot from the cutter and reflected on the black armor. "Are they injured?"

"Sort of. Can I do that?"

"Not without a face shield."

"You didn't tell me to bring a face shield. No armor, you said."

"I know what I said. You don't need a fusion cutter or a face shield or armor to work on an inertial compensator."

Luke sighed. "Fine. Anyway, I was thinking that we could do that."

"Do what?"

He pursed his lips. "Lord Vader, I believe your son is trying to suggest that you and he try couples therapy."

His dad's shoulders shook a little. Was he laughing? "Couples therapy?"

"Perhaps he means family therapy."

Vader looked at him. "Who are you?"

"Surely, My Lord, you have not forgotten me already." Luke smiled sweetly. "I am the Imaginary Friend you use to criticize your son."

The fusion cutter was snapped off and returned to the toolbox. "Luke, speak to me directly."

Fine! He managed not to say that word because he just knew his dad would criticize it. "You were out of line last night. The things you said hurt me."

Vader turned on the bench to face him. "It is unfortunate that you were hurt. However, I said nothing that wasn't true."

"You just did it again!" Angry tears started to fill his eyes, but he blinked them back. "If you think that, then you don't know me at all! I work really hard! I study and I practice and I work all day! You're just like Commander Narra! You don't appreciate what I do! And you're worse than him— he never called me mediocre!"

"Nor did I. I said that you are content with mediocrity, which is quite a different thing."

"It's not different at all!" He swiveled around and stared at the ship, refusing to look at Darth Vader.

"I meant that you are content with a minor occupation, being a mechanic when you should be on the Command Staff. Or the Alliance Council. At the very least, you should be a squadron leader. You do not have ambition for a better life. You aren't concerned with bringing peace to the galaxy."

Luke sighed. "You just don't understand how the real world works. I'm a kid, I have no experience, the Alliance isn't gonna let me—"

"You are a powerful Force user, whether you call yourself Jedi, Sith, or nothing at all. If they don't respect you it's because you haven't proved your usefulness. Instead you disobey commands and commit impetuous…well, actually, I approve of most of your impulsivity. However, they do not, and if you wish to advance in the Alliance, you must at least pretend to obey their petty rules until you are in a position to ignore them."

"Whose side are you on anyway?"

"I am on my side. There is little difference between the Empire and the Alliance. They are both entities that wish to rule the galaxy."

"Not them! I mean, are you on my side or their side?" He yanked a spanner out of the toolbox, then slammed it on the deck.

"Treat your tools with respect."

"Treat your son with respect!" he snapped. "Your son should be more important than a spanner!"

Vader shook his head. "Obviously I made an error in sending you to hide with the Rebels. You need to go to university. Perhaps there you will learn discipline and a useful career, so you can have purpose to your life in the event you refuse to join your powers to mine."

"Shavit! Will you just listen to me?"

"I will, if you say something understandable."

He wanted to scream. "You said I don't make decisions! That I always take the easy way! I don't! I killed that spy— do you think that was easy for me?"

"Wasn't it?"

Luke hesitated. "Well… yeah. But it was the wrong thing to do. I didn't think about it at the time. I was acting like you."

"Now you will blame me for your actions?"

He stood and kicked at the toolbox, knocking it over and spilling out the contents. "I hate you! And I think you hate me too! You don't even like me!"

Vader didn't move from the bench. "You're behaving like a child throwing a tantrum. You're seventeen. At your age—"

"I know how old I am! And at my age, you were in Jedi training, you had people to teach you! For all the good it did!"

"Exactly what are you inferring?"

"I don't know." It made him angry that he couldn't find the words to describe what he was feeling. "You're a pain in the ass."

"Believe me, I have been called much worse." Now his father stood. "Do you want to prove to me that you can make a decision? That you won't take the easy route?"

Krit. "What do you have in mind?" he asked warily. "I'm not going to kill somebody if that's what you want."

Vader studied him. "How you administer discipline will be your decision. Are you wearing your lightsaber under that ridiculous mess of fabric?"

"Yes! And it's not a mess, it's the scarf my friend Wes gave me!"

"Ah, your friend Wes. He seems to be a strong influence on you. I believe I need to make his acquaintance."

"Like hell!" Luke snarled. "You leave him and all my friends alone!"

But he was talking to Vader's back. Still angry, he stalked after his father and followed him into the lift. They didn't speak.

# # #

And they still weren't speaking until they arrived at their destination which, Luke saw with trepidation, was the detention cells he'd seen the previous day. "Who's in there?"

Vader led him to a small office occupied by a single officer. "Leave us," he said, and the officer obeyed.

"Don't you ever say please?" Luke mumbled, wanting to put off whatever was about to happen.

His father grasped his shoulder and pulled him forward. There was a bank of monitors showing the cells, all empty except for one where four men in fatigues were seated around a table playing cards.

"You want me to see if they cheat?"

"Sit down." Vader shoved him into the chair in front of the screen. "It took me two weeks to track them from their stations around the galaxy and bring them here. You may do whatever you wish with them."

"I don't want to do anything with your prisoners," Luke snapped. "It's not my business." He tried to stand, but the grip on his shoulder kept him in place. He sighed. "What did they do anyway?"

The fingers tightened. "Six years ago they were stationed together in Mos Eisley."

"So?" It took a few seconds to understand what Vader was saying. And then he didn't believe it. Six years ago… he was eleven and….

… pretty little thing… .

"What? No!" Luke jumped to his feet, instinctively shoving his father so hard that Vader stumbled into the opposite wall. "You— They're not—" He couldn't spit out words between his harsh gasps. He looked at the prisoners. He couldn't hear them, but he could see that they were so casually laughing, so casually—

"What is wrong with you?" he demanded. "You're sick! Why would you do this to me? How dare you? Why the fuck are you always butting in my life? Stop listening to me when I don't know it! Stop— just STOP! Leave me alone! I don't want—"

Vader grabbed both his shoulders. "You stop. Look at me."

Luke shook his head. "I hate you. I hate you! I didn't want you to know! I didn't tell you! Why can't you leave me alone! I didn't— I don't— Why? Why? When? How did—?"

"Empire Day. I blocked our connection to protect it from Sidious, but later— You were so upset when you told your friends, I couldn't shut out your pain, I wanted—"

"You wanted! It's always about what you want!" His anger wasn't rational and he knew it. But he didn't want to look at those men, those stormtroopers who threw him in the garbage, who did things to him that he never wanted his father to know.

He sobbed with rage and frustration and butted his head against his father's chest, pounding his fists against the immovable wall of solid black armor.

"I wanted to kill them," Vader rumbled ferociously. "I wanted to tear them apart piece by piece and wring the blood from their bodies. But I wanted you to know— to finally know that you are safe, that you could stop looking at every stormtrooper in the galaxy and wondering if that was one of them." Vader's arms were like bars, trapping him so he couldn't move. "I want you to feel safe."

He was so angry, so mad at his father, but he loved him and he understood that his dad thought he'd done the right thing, but it was a terrible thing. He struggled against the embrace. "You should've told me… warned me… not just find… like this. Them."

"I'm sorry." The words sounded awkward. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I… never mean to hurt you. I just do. I hurt people."

No, you mean it. When you hurt, you mean it. Luke didn't know if any answer would be true enough or good enough. His father was so… damaged… maybe he could never be repaired no matter how much Luke wanted it. Even if Vader… Anakin… wanted it.

And Vader didn't want to change. He couldn't, or he wouldn't be the monster that he was.

Luke turned his head without releasing the death grip he had clenched in the edges of his father's cape. He wanted to be free, but he didn't want to let go. Over his shoulder, he saw the card game had finished. Two of the men were arguing, one was pacing, one was glaring into the camera.

"I want to talk to them. I want to tell them—"

"No. Just kill them. Or if you cannot, I will." The cape swiped across his eyes and cheeks, wiping away his tears. Then Vader held it to his nose. "Blow."

Against his will, Luke laughed once at the memory, but it turned into a single sob and he rested his face against the cool armor of the pauldron, his fury blowing away like a passing storm, hardening into something else. Resolve.

"Telling them how they changed your life will only reward them. They will gloat. My investigators learned that they acted as a pack on Tatooine. You weren't their only victim. When they were reassigned, they committed crimes individually. They don't deserve to live." A shudder ran through his father. "If they had killed you— I never would have known—"

"I almost died," Luke whispered. "I was so cold. It got dark and the night was so cold…."

"I know. The desert is cold when the suns set. If someone hadn't found you…."

"Kenobi," Luke said.

"What?"

"Ben Kenobi found me. I remembered. He found me and wrapped me in his cloak and took me to the med center. I never saw him again."

His father's respirator breathed. The man didn't move.

Luke listened to the breathing for a few minutes. Eventually he lifted his head. "I got sparkles on your armor. 'M sorry." He tried to wipe them off.

Vader's hand went behind Luke's head and pulled it back against his suit. "It doesn't matter."

Luke clenched his fists. "I don't want to kill them. You neither. You don't kill them either."

The big hand stroked his hair. "Prison then. For life. They will never be free, and they will never hurt you or anyone else again."

"Promise? I don't want you to kill them."

"Promise. My word of honor."

"Okay, but..." Luke shrugged off the hand and turned his head. He wanted to study their faces, to see if there were any signs, if they looked different from other people. If evil changed people….

But they looked like everyone else. His father was the only evil person who looked different. The only one who had changed. But his father's change was a mask, armored and false. These men….

"I'm going in there." He unclipped his lightsaber, unwound Wes's scarf, and handed them both to his father. "You said I take the easy way, that I avoid unpleasant decisions. Not this time."

Vader stepped closer to him, blocking the door. "Luke—"

"I'm not using the Force." He looked directly into his father's eyes behind the mask. "I'm going to beat the kriff out of them and teach you to have some respect for my hard work and my accomplishments. I'm gonna teach you to respect me."

The iron mountain didn't move. "And," Luke added, "don't interfere! I want to do this myself. Promise you won't interfere."

"I will make no such promise." Vader folded his arms. "However, I will not intervene unless I determine that you are in danger of grave injury or death. Which is exactly what you would do if our situations were reversed."

True. He gave a slight nod, then stared until the dark helmet tilted and his father moved aside. Luke closed his eyes and centered himself, willing away the anger and grief. Punishment, not revenge. There was a difference. Four troopers against one combat-trained teenager… in this case, it would be a fair fight.

All four men looked when he entered the holding cell. "Well, what do we have here?" a snowy-haired oldster said. "They sent us a gift to pass the time."

"How thoughtful." A second man, hair dark as night, studied his crystal-studded shirt, his hair— full of whatever gold sparkles hadn't smeared onto Darth Vader's armor. "This'll be fun." And Luke thought that voice sounded familiar. In his mind he heard it say: ...who cares… just dump him....

Now that same voice added: "Just like old times, boys!" But the two men at the table didn't reply; they watched him cautiously.

"Exactly," Luke said softly. "It's a reunion. But this isn't Mos Eisley, you don't have your weapons and your armor, and I'm not eleven years old anymore." He raised both hands and beckoned. "Come and get me."

# # #

His father's beautiful cape was taking a beating today. Now it was wiping away the blood from Luke's cut lip. "You're going to have a black eye if we don't get bacta on it right away."

"I don't care. I won it." He stood motionless, watching, in front of the screen as his father cleaned his face. Four men lay either unconscious or dazed in the room, ready to be picked up and hauled to prison… but they were alive. He hadn't taken them for dead and dumped them in the garbage. He hadn't done any of the things they had done to him.

He hadn't even killed them.

"You are correct. As you vowed, you beat the kriff out of them."

"Yeah." Most of it hadn't been difficult. He'd used the same moves that had been successful with the men in the Yavin jungle. Allowed one to 'sneak' behind him and pin his arms back, then used that one's body to support him while he kicked both feet into the chest of the second one. "Broke a few ribs there, I think."

"Indeed."

The second one had propelled into the third one, rendering him incapable for a few precious moments. He flipped the first one over his head— too bad there was no log for him to land on— but he hit his head on the floor and knocked himself out, sprawling on top of the third man who decided that surrender was wiser than fighting. "Probably a concussion."

"No broken neck," his father agreed, using a clean portion of his cape to wipe across a cut on Luke's forehead.

"I don't know how I got that."

"He was wearing a ring in complete violation of military protocol."

The grandfatherly trooper had been the most persistent and experienced and had walloped Luke a few times and even knocked him to the floor. Which was when Luke kicked as hard as he could and caught the guy in… well, in his precious area. That was when his father declared the fight over and hauled him out of the room.

He grinned, but just a little because his mouth hurt. "Can we go outside?" Luke asked, suddenly weary as his adrenaline plummeted. "I need to breathe. If it's not dripping acid out there."

"Come."

He didn't give the viewscreen another glance as he followed his father out of the room and across the wide expanse of a hangar. They took a different lift this time and Luke sighed involuntarily. He was tired, body and heart. He needed something, but he didn't know what it was.

Maybe it was a father. Maybe just someone who cared. He hoped they were the same person.

The doors slid open to fresh air. It wasn't raining for a change, though he didn't know if the shield was still in place and didn't bother to ask. Head down, chin tucked into Wes's scarf, he simply followed until his father stopped and gently pushed him onto a bench.

"We must take care that an impudent young one doesn't fall over the edge."

Luke supposed his dad was trying to be funny. "He'll only fall if an impudent father pushes him."

There was no answer. He leaned back and looked up at the castle. They were at the top of the tower, with a thin shaft rising above them. Communications, maybe? Or the shield transmitters?

"Purely decorative," Vader said, seeing him stare upward, "except for the detonator missiles. The spire was constructed to attract enemies and lure them into the shield with the promise of destroying a communication array."

Luke didn't answer. Distracted, his gaze was drawn down to water that he could see in the near distance. "Is that a lake?"

"An ocean. Full of acid unfortunately. But there are sea creatures that thrive in it, proving that no matter how hostile the environment, life survives."

Maybe they were both thinking of Vader's suit. Luke looked down at his father's gloved hand that rested next to his leg. It moved slightly and turned palm up in invitation. He ignored it.

"I've never been in big water."

There was a short silence. "So you can't swim."

"Obviously not." Luke shot him a quick glance. "Can you?"

"Used to. Now I can't. Not in this armor. I'd sink. I'd need the Force to get out."

"Oh." He swiped his hand across his mouth. A smear of blood appeared on his wrist.

"Your friend," Vader said.

Luke tensed, waiting for him to say something about Wes.

"The one who was credited with the Death Star shot. Darklighter."

"Biggs." He sighed. "What about him?"

"Did his… family… take many holos? Or snaps?"

"I don't know," he answered crossly. "What does it matter? It's too late to make a 'wanted' poster if that's what you're thinking. Biggs is dead."

"I know." Vader brought the hem of his cloak to Luke's mouth and he tolerated the nursing. "I just thought they might have snaps of you. When you were a child. Do you know where they are hiding now?"

Luke jerked his head away and glared at his father. "Why? So you can steal their snaps? Krit, Father, leave them alone! They lost their favorite son, just leave them alone." Why did Vader's thoughts have to be so weird and disjointed? Sometimes it seemed like he only thought about what he wanted. Even when he thought about Luke.

The silence between them lengthened. It wasn't a peaceful silence; it was tense and rigid and was reflected in their stiff postures. A large tail rose from the water in the distance. It was so far away, the fish must have been huge. He watched the froth subside after the tail vanished.

"I had forgotten," Vader said, "what it is like to be young and vulnerable to criticism. I remember that I often felt unfairly judged. It made me angry."

"Everything makes you angry." But Luke shrugged. "Me too, I guess. You're the one person I want to be proud of me but you…."

"I am proud of you. You're strong and determined. Clever. Full of mischief. I am proud to call you my son."

Better, but not good enough. "I'm never going to be a Sith, you know," he said, finally acknowledging what he'd felt for awhile now.

"I know."

"Are you disappointed?"

"Yes. But you must do what you think is right."

"Yeah, well, that's the trick, isn't it? Figuring out what's right." Luke nibbled at his lower lip. "Probably not a Jedi either."

His dad shrugged. "You don't need a label."

"That's what I say!" Slightly surprised that his dad remembered, he nodded with approval.

"You could become an anonymous hero—"

"Wearing a special costume!"

"Freeing slaves."

"Fighting evil— Well." He gave his father a Look. "Maybe not all evil."

"Thank you," his dad said dryly. "Let's get you cleaned up and bacta'd. And you need to change clothes. There is blood on your shirt."

"WHAT?" Luke looked down, pulling out his beloved purple tee and checking it. "Where? This is my favorite shirt!"

"Just a little here by the neck. Don't fret. The cleaners will remove the blood."

"I don't fret," he mumbled resentfully. "And even if they can't get it clean, I want it back! It's my favorite."

"So you have said. And this time, wear the entire bodyglove, a clean one… with clothing on top."

"What'd'ya mean, 'a clean one'? I only have—"

"Luke, there's a drawer full of bodygloves, haven't you looked? I'm surprised that going through everything wasn't your first action."

"Blee blee blee. I'm not a snoop!" Although he really would like to see what else his dad kept in his dressing room.

"It's your quarters, everything in it belongs to you."

"Yeah? Well, maybe I can take the bed back with me. It's more comfortable than my bunk."

"Whatever you wish." Vader's voice was as smooth as his movement as he took Luke's elbow and steered him back inside.

"I want to talk later," Luke said abruptly. "Tonight. When I can see your face."

He could feel his father flinch behind the mask. Vader inclined his head. "Very well. Now I have some work to finish. You may stay in your quarters or in the hangar. If you venture outside of those areas, wear your complete armor."

"I don't know what you're afraid of." He frowned. "I just proved I can take care of myself. And this is your base with your troops."

"And you are my only child."

Well… maybe. But if Leia was really his sister, she had the Organas and that made her lucky. He didn't want to subject her to this mess of a father.

Besides, they'd probably kill each other.

# # #