This coincides with The Truth Chapter 79: Reunion (read the chapter first).

Thanks to Courtesy Trefflin for asking what Vader was thinking. I wanted to know too. It appears that Luke brings out the 'Anakin' in Vader… Anakin with all his erratic, neurotic, delusional thoughts. Can we say 'obsessed'?

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Agitation was irrational, possibly even preposterous. Further, he was as nervous as a mouse trapped in a herd of banthas. He was the Dark Lord of the Sith, he could face Palpatine with little more than mild trepidation. But now he was anxiously anticipating his son's arrival— his son, a child, a not-so-harmless little human whose life he controlled. Should control. Should direct and nurture. Luke should have always been with him. Their lives should have been immeasurably better. (Although if the Emperor had trained Luke, he would be ready now to kill his father and take his place.)

Instead Luke was sunnier than the twin orbs above Tatooine. Irrepressible, persistent (annoyingly so at times) and he unnerved Vader in almost the same way Padme had unnerved Anakin. Padme with her dark eyes and heart-rending gaze that could be loving or quizzical, Luke with crystal eyes that saw through his mask. All his masks.

And already his offspring was shouting in his head: Can you come here? Pleeeese? No, he would not be so easily manipulated (at least not in front of his troops). Clenching his fists, he called on patience as he waited with an anticipation that tightened like a band around his chest.

Luke probably wouldn't like Vjun. It wasn't a pleasant place for anyone, let alone a youth who was used to running freely. He smiled slightly at the memory of sharing Luke's adventures in the jungle. Jumping and climbing with him, joyous, loving that moment, sharing as they should have shared in a life together… as they would have without Obi-Wan's attack or Palpatine's interference. So many variables, any of which could have changed the course of his life (their lives).

But consider: if Luke hadn't been a youthful reprobate, a drinker, a drug user, struggling against his inherited tendency to self-immolate, if he hadn't requested a blood test, if Captain Jovay hadn't realized his identity— was it Fate, the Force, or simply serendipity?

He felt the blinding presence before he heard the cry "Daaaad!" and held out one arm (only to prevent a collision) as a speeding meteor of a boy hurled itself against him in a way that anyone else would have died for… though no one else could have gotten so close.

They bantered with words, gently, meaninglessly, until Luke asked, "Don't you miss sunshine?" and he couldn't disguise his laughter. Not any longer, he was tempted to say, but he didn't want to give his son even more power over him. (If, indeed, that was possible.)

Luke was like his own mother; Shmi had given him endless, unqualified love. Obi-Wan had tried to love him, until he decided to destroy Anakin Skywalker for the sin of disappointing him. Padme had loved him no matter what he did— murdering the tribal Tuskens, even killing the younglings at the temple— until she betrayed him with Obi-Wan for politics!

Politics. The Republic or the Empire. Palpatine or the Senate. For these things, his body was sacrificed. He, Darth Vader, could have been the most powerful Sith ever, more powerful than any Jedi. He could have been ruling the galaxy, changing it for the betterment of all. Instead he was imprisoned in this suit, and the only comforts he had now were his strength and his son.

Luke. Who had no political allegiance. Alliance, Empire… they didn't matter to him. He supported his friends no matter their beliefs, but his ultimate loyalty was to his father, and Vader had finally accepted that. For whatever extraordinary reason, Luke loved him without reservation. Luke knew who he was, what he was, and accepted the totality of him— except for the things that Vader didn't accept. The suit. Palpatine. Together they could rid his life of the second, but the first…? Luke was so determined that Vader didn't have the will to reject his son's insistence. The boy needed to know the facts, but he didn't want Luke to see the medical procedures that revealed the extent of his destroyed body. He didn't want Luke to see his vulnerabilities. He wanted to remain perfect (invisible) in the eyes of his child.

And his hesitancy was exactly the reason he'd invited Luke— because of the boy's peculiar persistence that would force him into these admissions, that would render him free of making such life-altering decisions for himself. He had spent seventeen years in this suit; he was used to the pain that was ever present, to the discomfort that had become comfortable, to the power he could harness that was still less than the strength that had once vibrated through his unblemished body.

Perhaps it was not the best parenting to declare NO, then allow Luke to disobey and do as he pleased, but it suited them both. Ani, tolerating bad behavior condones bad behavior, his mother had said, though it had taken him many years to fully understand what she meant, and understanding didn't bring compliance. However, she had not known her grandson. Luke did not exhibit bad behavior, so that rule didn't apply to him. His son had overcome his youthful indiscretions to turn into a perfect teenager who still needed his father. (Who would always need him, if Vader had his way.) (And Vader would have his way.)

Luke was chattering and it washed over him comfortably, except for 'my friend Wes'. Who was this Wes person? He had holos and biographies of all the Red Squad members, so he knew the basics: Wes Janson, native of Tanaab, crack pilot, lieutenant, 26 years old, much too old to be a friend for his son. He wondered at the man's motives. So far, Janson and Luke had seemingly bonded over wardrobes, which was harmless enough despite the small dent to Vader's finances. (Meaningless, really, when he could confiscate whatever goods and properties he desired.) He did, however, believe that he needed to monitor this friendship more closely to ensure that Janson didn't take advantage of his naive son in any way.

"Do you feel all right? Because you don't feel all right to me."

This was the moment he had planned yet dreaded. He could always change his mind later, but for now he shared some of the processes and the knowledge that Palpatine kept him maimed. As he expected, Luke leaped at the opportunity to help, exactly what Vader did/didn't want. Padme would have done the same for him, but her soft eyes would have held compassion; Luke's gaze was determined and optimistic. He might have new ideas and if not, at least his companionship would be a distraction during the procedures.

He hoped his son was pleased with the rooms. Vader waited, arms folded as Luke explored the Dark Lord's personal quarters. It was comfortable enough; he didn't need much for himself, but he'd had some furniture added that he thought his son would enjoy.

Luke went immediately to his desk and sat in the big chair, looking even smaller than his actual size. He wondered if the boy had been an especially tiny toddler. Briefly, he regretted having the Larses killed before examining their wretched hovel more thoroughly. Perhaps there had been holos— although it was more likely they hadn't the credits to spend taking snaps of a child not their own. A child they woefully and criminally neglected.

He wondered about Luke's friend, the Darklighter boy who had been given credit for the Death Star's destruction. Would that family have any holos that included Luke? He would track them down and find out. If they did, the snaps rightly belonged to him, and he would have them.

Those thoughts were pushed aside, and he couldn't repress a smile as his open-mouthed son shuffled through the holos. Luke loved looking at himself; his eyes widened at the snap of him in his "Sithly" black and brown garb. He bit his lip and looked between Vader and the holos several times. Luke was pleased...a bit dismayed, but Vader could feel delight flare across their bond, even as the boy protested that the spy should be arrested for the crime of taking holos. He nearly laughed at Luke's assertion that he would scowl and not cooperate with the snaps— as if, as his son might say. As if Luke wouldn't preen and be proud and dressed impeccably every time he stepped out of his barracks in the future. Really, he should install a recorder in the barracks to watch him select and reject clothing… a good idea, as it would also alleviate the need to be in Luke's head as often as he was. (Although it wasn't such a terrible place to be.) He liked (adored) the boy, but Luke's thoughts were often disordered and even erratic. The child needed to learn to think with discipline.

Sometimes Luke was charming. A boy who slept with Darth Vader's image under his pillow. His heart pump twinged a little— undoubtedly because it was time for its scheduled maintenance, not because of the picture in his mind: Luke, asleep, long lashes brushing childish cheeks, lips parted, breathing softly, one hand under the pillow to touch the beaten poster of his father that he'd rescued from its destiny as a target for Rebel darts.

Possibly with a plushie clutched in his arms. (Why hadn't he thought to buy a plushie?)

His son was beautiful. He and Padme had created a miracle. She should have been here to see their child. Would have been here if not for Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, who had interfered in his life beyond repair. Who had turned Padme against him. His mentor and his brother who had crippled him. His master who had been stingy with praise but eager with criticism.

Did he praise Luke enough? Because the way the boy had changed since Vader recovered him on Tatooine was remarkable. How hard he worked at everything— really, he needed to tell his son how amazing he was. At some point.

Watching Luke made him wish he had a human hand(s) so he could feel the texture of that fair hair. He'd never paid much attention to his own hair; he would comb it once in the morning (when he remembered) and that was that. Padme's hair was thick and smooth like satin; he could unwrap her elaborate styles and twist the strands around his wrists like binders and pretend he was her prisoner. Luke's hair looked more like his had been, unruly, not quite curly, although Luke was careful to keep his hair neatly combed and styled. It needed a trim. He would send Luke back to the salon on Corellia (while he monitored) before he returned him to the Alliance. It would be good for the enemy to see Luke appearing happy and well-groomed under his father's tutelage.

He should have sent the boy to university rather than to the Rebellion. A small (but academically strong) school where Luke could study, work, socialize and shop, just as he did now. In that milieu, it would be safer and easier to maintain contact with him. He should ask Luke what he would like to study.

And now Luke wanted white— correction, sandy— boots (because 'my friend Wes' said no to white). Certainly not, he would never be allowed to order for himself. Darth Vader was quite pleased to be the middle man for his son. He would give Luke anything— and was prepared to do that on this trip, although he feared the boy would not appreciate one of the 'gifts'. However, Luke needed to be pushed to make a choice and affirm his dedication to the Dark or the Light— those sides of the Force that Luke did not believe in. Maybe he was correct; maybe he was Grey like Mace Windu had been. A Jedi with a temper….

That sounded familiar. He gestured to illuminate the holographic display that changed the room into a starry universe and bathed in his son's delighted surprise. If there was any way to modify his suit (he had no hope that it could be eliminated) perhaps Luke could find it without alerting Palpatine. His son was a visionary who had inherited his father's ingenious and innovative ways of finding solutions.

And sometimes his impetuous ways. The boy was definitely his father's son. Vader tilted his head to look at the boy who felt his smile and returned it. Then Luke leaned back and studied the galaxy that revolved around him, having no idea how absolutely true that was.