the crimefighting AU, without any crimefighting
another expanded promptfic, for ladyhadhafang:
title: but thou didst not leave his soul in hell
verse: the crimefighting AU (Luke and Vader's Endor conversation goes a little differently); prompt: we would all be fools to pray for justice
Palpatine had sensed Luke as a vague disturbance in the Force. Vader, though, sensed not a ripple but a presence, burning high above the ordinary hum of galactic life. Soon enough, the sense of his son's existence became a sense of Luke, himself, emerging from the chaos of the Force. By Hoth, that personality had taken on a distinct shape.
From this distance, Vader could not read his son's thoughts, and he could not say he knew him particularly well. But he knew him. He knew that Luke's service to the Rebellion was fueled more by attachment to his friends than youthful principles, just as-
Luke was driven by loyalty. If his friends were endangered, he would risk anything for them.
Very well.
Later, as he left Bespin, Vader managed to reach out to Luke, his son's brief reply echoing oddly in his mind. He could sense Luke more clearly than ever-and then he receded into the far reaches of space.
Yet in the months that followed, Vader felt his son's presence growing not only stronger but closer, Luke's mind reaching towards him and then swinging away, into a morass of bewildered confusion. It was probable that Luke had become almost as familiar with Vader's mind as Vader was with Luke's.
Now, Vader glanced at his son, strolling fearlessly beside him. He mentally upgraded the odds to “almost certain.” They'd only met once, and now it seemed more than theft-a twisted miscarriage of nature.
“Come with me,” Luke said. He looked little like the boy he had been at Cloud City, still less like his mother, yet for a moment, Vader could not help but see her face superimposed over Luke’s scarred one, hear her begging, Come away with me.
Help me raise our child.
He had failed her. She had died--not at his hand, Palpatine had obviously lied about that, but Vader had not saved her, and others had snatched their child out of her dead arms. He had failed her in this, too--what was likely the last request she had ever made of him.
“Obi-Wan,” he said, “once thought as you do.”
“Obi-Wan.” Luke tilted his head to the side, considering his lightsaber in Vader’s hand. “Really?”
No. No, he would never have given up his weapon. It was Padmé who showed up unarmed.
“Search your feelings, Father. I feel the conflict within you,” Padmé’s son was saying, as Obi-Wan had not, as Padmé herself had never had the power to.
Almost, he said there is no conflict. But Luke would know it for a lie. He simply didn’t realize that there were points beyond which one could never turn back. Even if it were possible to break Palpatine’s grip --even if there were any point to abandoning the Dark Side--Vader could never leave the Empire for the justice of an unforgiving galaxy. Luke’s rebellion would ask no questions, offer only a swift death, and perhaps he deserved no better.
You have come too late for me, child.
“We can leave,” Luke was saying, urgency running beneath his level tone.
“Even you cannot think your Rebel friends--” Vader stopped, looking at Luke’s strained face. He could see his own beneath the reconstructed bones, even more easily than Padmé’s, hear his own desperation in Luke’s voice. Not the desperation of join me, but of I can’t let her die.
Luke had said nothing about leaving for the Rebellion. He had not even pressed him very hard to leave the Emperor or the Dark Side. And not far away, a Rebel fleet had gathered. Still more Rebels had slipped onto the surface of the moon. Luke was not merely making some misguided attempt to save Vader's soul. He was trying to get him off the Death Star. Trying to save his life.
“Of course you couldn’t go to the Rebellion,” Luke said, a little impatiently. Yet he had given every indication that he meant Vader to go with him.
“You intend to leave the Rebellion.”
“I have already left the Rebellion,” said Luke, “by coming here. Father, if we get off the Death Star, we’ll be fine. We can go home. I hate it, but it’s easy to hide there--two more cyborgs won’t be anything unusual. We can figure out what to do after that.”
“Tatooine?” Vader suspected that even his crimes were nothing to those of half the population of their home planet. Few hoped for justice there, and none expected it.
There were masters still on Tatooine, but none of them his own. No Palpatine--at least for a time, if he did not die today. The Empire but a distant rumour. His child who had shown not the slightest trace of obedience, just the unconditional loyalty Vader had always given but rarely received. There would be nothing there, except him, and his son, and a planet full of slavers.
I dreamed I freed the slaves.
Vader waved his hands at Luke’s shackles and tossed his lightsaber at him.
“Follow me,” he said.
title: but thou didst not leave his soul in hell
verse: the crimefighting AU (Luke and Vader's Endor conversation goes a little differently); prompt: we would all be fools to pray for justice
Palpatine had sensed Luke as a vague disturbance in the Force. Vader, though, sensed not a ripple but a presence, burning high above the ordinary hum of galactic life. Soon enough, the sense of his son's existence became a sense of Luke, himself, emerging from the chaos of the Force. By Hoth, that personality had taken on a distinct shape.
From this distance, Vader could not read his son's thoughts, and he could not say he knew him particularly well. But he knew him. He knew that Luke's service to the Rebellion was fueled more by attachment to his friends than youthful principles, just as-
Luke was driven by loyalty. If his friends were endangered, he would risk anything for them.
Very well.
Later, as he left Bespin, Vader managed to reach out to Luke, his son's brief reply echoing oddly in his mind. He could sense Luke more clearly than ever-and then he receded into the far reaches of space.
Yet in the months that followed, Vader felt his son's presence growing not only stronger but closer, Luke's mind reaching towards him and then swinging away, into a morass of bewildered confusion. It was probable that Luke had become almost as familiar with Vader's mind as Vader was with Luke's.
Now, Vader glanced at his son, strolling fearlessly beside him. He mentally upgraded the odds to “almost certain.” They'd only met once, and now it seemed more than theft-a twisted miscarriage of nature.
“Come with me,” Luke said. He looked little like the boy he had been at Cloud City, still less like his mother, yet for a moment, Vader could not help but see her face superimposed over Luke’s scarred one, hear her begging, Come away with me.
Help me raise our child.
He had failed her. She had died--not at his hand, Palpatine had obviously lied about that, but Vader had not saved her, and others had snatched their child out of her dead arms. He had failed her in this, too--what was likely the last request she had ever made of him.
“Obi-Wan,” he said, “once thought as you do.”
“Obi-Wan.” Luke tilted his head to the side, considering his lightsaber in Vader’s hand. “Really?”
No. No, he would never have given up his weapon. It was Padmé who showed up unarmed.
“Search your feelings, Father. I feel the conflict within you,” Padmé’s son was saying, as Obi-Wan had not, as Padmé herself had never had the power to.
Almost, he said there is no conflict. But Luke would know it for a lie. He simply didn’t realize that there were points beyond which one could never turn back. Even if it were possible to break Palpatine’s grip --even if there were any point to abandoning the Dark Side--Vader could never leave the Empire for the justice of an unforgiving galaxy. Luke’s rebellion would ask no questions, offer only a swift death, and perhaps he deserved no better.
You have come too late for me, child.
“We can leave,” Luke was saying, urgency running beneath his level tone.
“Even you cannot think your Rebel friends--” Vader stopped, looking at Luke’s strained face. He could see his own beneath the reconstructed bones, even more easily than Padmé’s, hear his own desperation in Luke’s voice. Not the desperation of join me, but of I can’t let her die.
Luke had said nothing about leaving for the Rebellion. He had not even pressed him very hard to leave the Emperor or the Dark Side. And not far away, a Rebel fleet had gathered. Still more Rebels had slipped onto the surface of the moon. Luke was not merely making some misguided attempt to save Vader's soul. He was trying to get him off the Death Star. Trying to save his life.
“Of course you couldn’t go to the Rebellion,” Luke said, a little impatiently. Yet he had given every indication that he meant Vader to go with him.
“You intend to leave the Rebellion.”
“I have already left the Rebellion,” said Luke, “by coming here. Father, if we get off the Death Star, we’ll be fine. We can go home. I hate it, but it’s easy to hide there--two more cyborgs won’t be anything unusual. We can figure out what to do after that.”
“Tatooine?” Vader suspected that even his crimes were nothing to those of half the population of their home planet. Few hoped for justice there, and none expected it.
There were masters still on Tatooine, but none of them his own. No Palpatine--at least for a time, if he did not die today. The Empire but a distant rumour. His child who had shown not the slightest trace of obedience, just the unconditional loyalty Vader had always given but rarely received. There would be nothing there, except him, and his son, and a planet full of slavers.
I dreamed I freed the slaves.
Vader waved his hands at Luke’s shackles and tossed his lightsaber at him.
“Follow me,” he said.