Objects in Motion
by Cyranothe2nd
Rating: PG
Timeline: This fic occurs between ESB and RotJ.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars.

A/n: You guys, I am SO SORRY that this update has taken me so long. Between college and applying to grad school I am just overwhelmed and this got placed on the back burner for way too long. I can only hope that the wait has been worth it.

The story up until now: Darth Vader investigates a planet with a mysterious Force signature but his shuttle suddenly loses power, causing him to crash. Sensing Vader's distress, Luke decided to rush to his aid, only to find the Executor waiting for him when he leaves hyperspace. Luke attempts evasive maneuvers but it forced into the atmosphere, where his X-Wing mysteriously loses power and he has to bring it down on the planet's surface. Father and son both awake to find themselves in the other person's body. Vader-in-Luke's-body is promptly arrested by an Imperial repair crew, while Luke is left to deal with the cumbersomeness of Vader's body. Eventually, the end up on the Executor, where an Imperial spy surveys their movements and reports back to the Emperor. Incensed at Vader's apparent subterfuge, Palpatine decides to meet the Executor and deal with father and son personally. Vader apprehends and mentally tortures the spy until he confesses and the violence in the Force causes Luke to lapse into unconsciousness. While comatose, strange voices in the Force show him a troubling memory of his father's and he wakes, horrified and frightened.

Chapter Nine-Inclination

Luke walked through the cold gray halls of the Super Star Destroyer in a daze. Officers snapped salutes as he passed. Privates stopped speaking to each other mid-word, their faces sliding into stiff masks as he approached, bodies straightening into rigid attention. Their fear beat at his mind and pulled at his heart. So many people feared Vader—the Emperor's Enforcer, the durasteel fist of the Empire. He'd heard the stories: Jedi slaughtered, cities laid to waste, even whole planets destroyed. He had thought he knew what his father was capable of.

But he didn't. Not at all.

He felt stupid. Ridiculously naïve. Ben tried to warn him that Vader could not be saved, but he hadn't believed. Or maybe he hadn't wanted to believe. But seeing the children in the Jedi Temple, turning to Anakin to save them, and then murdered; these were the actions of a monster. The killing of children was beyond reprehensible. It was unthinkable. Unconscionable. And, behind the sickening horror and shock Luke felt at the act itself, was the terrible question: How could a father who loved his own child do such a thing? The answer that came back was bone deep. He couldn't.

Luke had always harbored the foolish hope that his father had loved him once. That he had been wanted and cared for, if only for a little while before his father had turned. But the vicious act he had just witnessed stripped him of any illusions he may have had. No father who loved his own child could murder innocent children in cold blood like that. It just wasn't possible.

Luke felt a wave of nausea roll through him and he quickened his pace. There were few private places he knew of on this ship and only one that had a lock that might keep Vader out. He rounded a corner, almost barreling into a surprised lieutenant. The man stammered an apology and Luke scrambled past him, nearly losing his balance in his haste to get away. Finally, he reached Vader's own quarters, keyed in the passcode and stepped inside. The doors slid shut behind him and he deactivated the keypad, setting the lock to voice-activation only.

Luke? Speak to me. He heard his father pleading. Somehow Vader had caught up to him and Luke could feel his presence clearly on the other side of the door. How many times in his boyhood had he wished for that voice to speak to him? Even after the horrible events of Bespin, he'd still wanted to hear it, to understand. He'd wanted to be loved.

Now his father's voice filled him with revulsion.

Luke shrank away from the door, feeling panic rising within him. What if Vader found a way inside? It was his ship. Of course he would know a way to override the lock on his own quarters. Luke felt his terror spike at the thought of being confronted with his father now, so soon after the horrible revelation of his actions at the Jedi Temple. He had to get away from the contaminating Dark, had to get away from the voice of the murderer who was his father. He felt suffocated by the air being forced into his lungs. The sussurating breaths of the air-processor came too slow and each pause between breaths was an eternity. The weight of the armor on his torso made him feel like his chest was caving in and the constant stream of data from the mask's optical sensors made his head ache. He couldn't stand this. It was too much—the pain, both physical and psychic, overwhelmed him, filling him with the need to escape. Panic clawed at his throat, threatening to choke him.

Luke, listen to me, Vader's voice intruded upon his consciousness again. Luke fought to shut it out but he was too emotional to focus his mind and Vader was much too strong. You can get out of the mask for a little while. But you must go inside my meditation chamber.

Don't come in here. Go away! Luke mentally shouted back.

I shall give you a few minutes. But then, we must talk.

Luke could feel Vader's presence slide away. Luke felt absurdly grateful for the brief respite. It was more than he thought the Dark Lord would give him. Luke surveyed the room. There, in the far corner, was a solid black sphere. At his approach, the pod broke in half, the upper part retracting into the ceiling and opening a space both wide and long enough for him to walk through. A throne-like chair sat in the center of the small space, surrounded by computer banks and facing a wide communication screen. Luke hesitated at the opening to the chamber, wondering if this was some sort of trick. What if Vader simply locked him inside and turned him over to the Emperor?

After a few seconds of indecision, Luke's claustrophobia won over his mistrust and he entered the chamber. The upper half of the sphere dropped down and sealed the pod with a hiss. The room was tiny, scarsely wide enough for him to stand in between the computer banks that lined the walls and the enormous chair that took up the center. Luke sat down gingerly, wondering what taking off the mask would entail. Luke heard another hiss as streams of gas shot up from underfloor vents. Luke noticed a small, lighted panel on the arm of his chair. After a few moments, the upper display turned from red to green and a mechanical arm dropped from the ceiling and began to remove his helmet. Luke could feel the tickle of air against his scalp as the outer helmet was stripped away. The arm retracted and returned, removing the front part of the mask. Luke closed his eyes against the sudden assault of light and opened them again slowly, blinking in the feeble light. The respirator was stripped off next and Luke took a deep breath, finally filling his lungs to capacity with the crisp, cold air of the chamber.

"Well, this isn't so bad," Luke said and was shocked to hear the rasp of his own voice after the basso rumble that he'd become used to. He spoke aloud again, listening to the hoarse, wheezing, true voice of his father. It was strange. Luke had always assumed that the vocoder was used only to amplify the sound of Vader's voice. But now he realized that it also served to create a suitably terrifying voice to match the Dark Lord's frightening exterior. It struck Luke suddenly how very vulnerable Vader really was. He depended on a piece of machinery for his very existence. He could not breathe and could barely speak or see outside of the mask and helmet he wore. The life support suit was cumbersome, heavy and ungainly. In the few days that he had worn it, Luke had come to admire his father's ability to move gracefully, despite it's bulk. And then there were the other discomforts he was forced to endure—the constant pain where mechanical limbs met flesh and the itch of synthskin over existing nerve and muscle. And there was the fact that the limbs themselves were sluggish and slow to respond. His legs felt like tree trunks attached to the ground and his arms moved jerkily and only with conscious effort.

This is not living, Luke thought. Something of the despair his father must have felt after being incapacitated washed over him. So much lost. What was Anakin Skywalker like before his injury, before his life was devastated by hatred and pain? Luke thought again of the swift, decisive strokes of his father's lightsaber as it cut down a dozen children in the Jedi Temple and wondered what that grace and power would have been like, used for good. He remembered Obi-Wan's words: He was a cunning warrior...and a good friend.

Luke sighed, shifting his bulk in the oversized chair. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glint of something and turned slightly to see what it was. And froze.

There, mounted on the wall in a recessed cavity, was a palm-sized mirror. And in it, he could could see the upper quarter of his father's pale face, including one perfect, pale blue eye. Look stared into it, seeing it widen with his own surprise. Blue, like his own—the same color exactly. As a child he'd noticed that he didn't look like his aunt and uncle. Beru had deep brown eyes, rich and warm, like Leia's. Uncle Owen's eyes were gray, the color of still water in a bowl. But his were bright blue, like the blazing sky at noon. He used to daydream of his freighter pilot father striding off a ship's ramp at Anchorhead. He'd survey the children that gathered to watch the ships land and take off and he'd see Luke and know, just by the color of his eyes, that he was his-Anakin Skywalker's-son.

Luke felt his heart constrict. His childhood dreams seemed foolish now that he knew the reality. He turned the chair slightly, just enough to see both eyes in the mirror, and he examined them for signs of regret. Could his father be saved from the Dark? Was there anything there worth saving? But the eyes only stared impassively back and Luke shook his head and looked away. Maybe there wasn't. Maybe Obi-Wan was right and all that remained of Anakin Skywalker was metal and circuitry.

Luke drew in a deep breath, feeling the weight of the despair he'd been trying to hold off since Bespin. He leaned forward, careful not to overbalance, and placed his face in his hands. The feel of leather gloves against his skin was a shock after being so long behind a mask and he was surprised to feel tears on his cheeks. Surprised too that his father still had the ability to cry when he had lost so much else.

Luke turned again towards the mirror and this time he looked into the face there—really looked at it. He was pale, as he would be from being sequestered from sunlight for so long. Deep scars radiated from the crown of his bare head. The flesh of his left cheek was knotted with scar tissue and his mouth was almost obscured by a heavy, electrostud collar and the vocoder box that served as his voice. The only thing that was untouched were his eyes, now overflowing with tears.

It didn't make sense. Why would there be a mirror in this chamber? Did Vader have some perverse need to survey the damage done to him? Or did he need to look into his own eyes to remind himself that he was still human?

Yes, Luke felt a nudge at his mind. You understand! A thousand jubilant voices in the Force spoke to him.

Understand what? Luke questioned bitterly. That my father's a monster? Yeah, I understand that just fine.

No! Foolish boy! The last word echoed as a chorus of voices took it up-- Boy, boy boy boy.

What, then? What do you want from me? Luke felt his anger finally break through the surface and he shouted in frustration at the voices who were the cause of all his problems. It was they that had shown him what his father was truly capable of. It was they that had switched their bodies to begin with.

To help, the voices said. Not to harm. Only through experience can one truly understand. Luke felt the Force stir, gather itself. The cacophony of voices solidified, braiding into one. Do not despair, it said.

And suddenly his mind was flooded with images of his father sitting in this very spot, staring at himself in the small glass, choking on regret. Hundreds upon hundreds of days lined up together, filled with anguish, the pain of longing, the knowledge that every mistake was his fault. If only he had trusted her more. If only he hadn't allowed his rage to make him forget the one good think he'd ever known. If he'd only loved her like she'd deserved to be loved. He would have never lost his friend, his child, his wife.

Padme.

The name broke over Luke's mind like a blazing sun. Warmth flooded him suddenly, banishing his previous anger and despair. He felt the Dark emotions seep away, replaced by the soothing embrace of the Light. My mother, he thought. He loved my mother. He loved me.

Yes, the Force-voice answered. Now you understand. Luke felt the massive weight of their consciousness begin to recede.

Wait! Who are you? He flung out but they were already gone. Luke looked into the mirror once last time, into eyes like his own. He reached out to the Force and the Light poured over him, steadying him, strengthening his resolve. He knew now what he had to do.

A few minutes later, he emerged from the meditation pod, masked and helmeted. He found Vader sitting cross-legged on the floor outside in a meditation pose. His eyes snapped open and he stood in one fluid motion as Luke approached. "We have a problem," Vader said. "The Emperor will be here in less than three hours."

Luke smiled beneath the helmet. "Well then, we'd better be ready to meet him."