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Chapter 22: ... as the truth finally spills



Darth Vader lay exhausted, weakened, and most of all, confused. He heard his son's voice as though from far away, as though a memory.

"I will never kill the ones I love." Love? Vader had known love, once- had known it twice. His tired mind, worn out from battle of both body and spirit, was too vulnerable to his memories.

Memories of warmth, of soft embraces and tender kisses, now inconceivable. He hadn't felt organic matter in over two decades. He couldn't possibly remember it, could he?

His mind swarmed with dizzying ideas of the past. He knew color, then, and the melodious tones of human voices. Vader had known light, and comfort, and the happiness he had when surrounded by love.

Love? This boy, who had defeated him so soundly, professed love for him. Was this love, then, to defeat? To maim, to attack, to kill?

No. The boy had turned away, casting away his glowing weapon and sparing Vader's life. And now-

Vader heard screaming, and felt as though he was on fire again. His head slowly stopped spinning, and he gathered his bearings, trying to locate the source of that intense pain.

Through crimson-filtered eyes, he saw a bright glow surrounding his son, emanating from Palpatine. He recognized the form of the light, in streaks of jagged lightning.

Palpatine was attacking his son.

His son who had spared his life.



Luke writhed under the assault of the Emperor's electricity, his already sore throat being torn by screeches that were ripped from him involuntarily. He squeezed his eyes shut, in a desperate attempt to ignore it, to ignore the pain, to ignore the memories that surfaced with it.

It hadn't felt nearly this bad the first time- either the Sith had gone easy on him, or his power had increased thousandfold. But it didn't matter- the only thing that mattered was the pain the pain and the memories-

And the fact that his barriers had been completely stripped away, exposing his mind, his heart, his soul to Palpatine.

Recollections of the Emperor's violation of his body, the way he used the Force to increase the slam into Luke's anus, accompanied the lightning and the physical pain to bring his spirit into unimaginable agony. Palpatine noticed this, now, and changed tactic.

Luke arched his back as he felt a phantom phallus enter his rectum at blinding speed, his vision going from blue blurs of lightning to white nothingness of pain. He felt nothing but pain, nothing but the shame and the fear and the morbid hope that he would die soon- to be free of the anguish.

His father didn't deserve to see this.



Vader struggled to his feet, his mechanical limbs creaking at the effort, as he felt his son's despair swirling around him in uncontrolled waves. Something was familiar about the sense- but he had no idea what. He just knew he hated it, hated Palpatine who was attacking his son.

Luke's mind was wide open, unable to conceal his deepest secrets. He saw them now, raging before his closed eyes as they came forth unbidden. The physical pain forced his mind upon the memories of his rape, of the time when he had become victim to Palpatine's lust.

This was lust, now, Palpatine's unholy desire to conquer and dominate, to bring pain in any form. Luke knew that his longing for his father went far beyond this painful emotion. He cried out for his father both with his voice and with his soul, seeking release from this endless slaughter of his spirit. He was breaking. His heart was breaking. Only his father could save his heart.

Vader's mind was assailed by mental imagery, delirious pain-twisted memories from the deepest recesses of his son's mind. He staggered under the weight of the thoughts, as they tore into his own mind. Luke wasn't even trying to reach him- it was an automatic reflex of a son for his father- a man for his lover.

Darth Vader sensed the boy's need now, more than ever, and it was a need for mercy, for compassion, for Vader's black heart to protect him.

Luke had been hurt. In the dark corners of Vader's mind, he recalled-

A flash of blue light, and the same agony, sent through his link with Luke, as he sat in the Council chambers, crying for Padme`-

He remembered her name, now, after so long of trying to forget.

Luke had taken him from Padme`.

But that wasn't true. Luke was all he had of Padme`!

He knew why someone had once said that they loved Padme` more because of Luke.

Vader knew, because that person... was him.

And he had betrayed Padme`. Padme` who had protected Luke, who had not hated Luke even when learning the truth.

Within his heart, the piece of him that remembered Padme` told him, 'She would understand your love for him.'

That piece of himself that was... Anakin.

Vader recalled that name, now, spoken through soft lips, through the lips of his mother, his mentors, Padme`-

And Luke.

Luke loved the part of Vader that loved Luke.

Luke's pain was slowing, ceasing, and he clutched his sides, curling into a protective fetal position. Palpatine's voice rushed through his ears like a sandstorm, abrasive and deadly.

"Only now do you understand the folly of love. All love is has always been lust, greed, fear of loss."

Luke knew this to be false. He had to believe in the purity of true love.

"And now, young Jedi, you foolish boy... you will die."

The physical pain accelerated, throwing Luke's mind into fits of uncontrollable flashes of memory. He recalled the shame at his violation, the regret of knowingly hiding the truth from Anakin, the suspicious, disgusted look in Leia's eyes as he allowed himself to know the full truth-

And Vader saw the memories as well- saw the Princess's shock at Luke's words, felt the remorse of Luke's untruth, felt-

Palpatine's lust for the one Anakin loved.

Palpatine raping his son.

Palpatine had lied to him- had misguided Vader with half-truths of Luke's betrayal. Luke had hidden the truth- but Palpatine had twisted it. He had told Vader that the boy only lusted for Vader.

But Palpatine was the one who knew no love, only lust.

And it was and had been turned upon his son- his beloved son.

Anakin Skywalker lunged, lifting the Emperor with an arm and a stump. Lightning whirled around Anakin, now, tearing into mechanical systems and what was left of his body, but Anakin ignored it, ignored the crushing pain of his "Master's" attack as the slave turned on the owner.

He didn't care anymore, if Luke wanted to own him, to possess his soul- it was infinitely better than Palpatine.

Luke slowly opened his dry, blurred eyes, to find Palpatine being carried to the edge of the shaft by-

His father.

His father loved him- Luke could feel it clearly, surrounding Luke with a subconscious blanket of warmth and comfort. His heart, erratic from the electrical assault, soared to see his father heave Palpatine over the edge.

His father saved him. His father loved him.

Crawling to the edge of the chasm, he reached for his father, embracing him desperately. His hand sought out his father's remaining hand, and tears spilled down his face.

Anakin wheezed, or rather his respirator wheezed, and he gave a mental sigh. It would all be over soon. He belonged to no one but Luke, now- belonged to him heart and soul. He had given everything for Luke.

He became aware of his body being pulled away from the dangerous ledge, although he could feel very little. He felt with the Force, now, and reached out with it to embrace Luke as solidly as he could. His strength was failing- his body's systems were failing.

Luke knew they didn't have much time, but he lay there, his father in his arms, for what seemed like a blissful eternity.

He had given his heart to his father fully, and received his father's heart in return.

The respirator struggled to maintain its rhythm, and the Death Star rocked with an explosion.

Neither would survive if Luke didn't act quickly. Rising to his feet, he heaved his father's heavy body to lean on his weary shoulder.

Luke had to save his father's life- he couldn't imagine life without him.

They had to move immediately.

Thank you all so much for your feedback! Without you, this story might have faded away, or worse... I might have still been afraid of this pairing. It comforts me to see others out there with an interest in the phenomenon that is Luke/Anakin slash.

This chapter- the epilogue- goes out to all of you, and to everyone who has ever fallen in love. May the Force be with you all!



Epilogue: The stars balance once more...



Luke focused on his feet, his father, and nothing else. He was having a hard enough time as it was to maintain his footing, with the sagging deadweight of machinery and flesh that he supported on his shoulders- but it was worth it.

It would be worth it, to save Anakin.

A shuttle lay unattended as troops, officers, and crew of all kinds swarmed around, hunting for an escape. Luke supposed that this shuttle must have belonged to either the Emperor or Vader themself- otherwise it would have been taken already. He hauled his father further, further-

But his strength gave way only a few meters away, and his father tumbled to the deck. Desperately, Luke gripped the man's wrists, dragging the massive cyborg the final few meters. Panting for breath, he rested as he lay Anakin upon the ramp.

Anakin's respirator gave off a mere whisper of the powerful hissing that had first terrified, then entranced Luke. He sat up, slowly, for one final request.

"Luke... help me take... this mask off."

Take it off? It was unthinkable! Luke couldn't strip his father of his only means of living. "But you'll die!"

Anakin gazed through blood-lenses at this boy, his son, who had finally made a man out of Anakin. Sadly, he returned, "Nothing can stop that now. Please... I need to see... your blue eyes... once more."

Luke realized with a start that Anakin must have been living in a world without color. How could he deny this wish, from his one and only father? Tears welled up in his eyes as he nodded, and pulled the ebony helmet slowly, carefully, off from the framework of his father's mask, which he then disconnected and set reverently aside.

The face that he revealed was worn, tired, and deathly pale. Great scars ran along the crest of the bald scalp, and across Anakin's left cheek, to pass by the torn ear. There were no eyebrows...

But those blue eyes, sparkling with tears and love, sent Luke's heart into a helpless upward spiral of elation.

Anakin saw his son gaze over his face, with a terrified, sympathetic stare. Those eyes- Anakin remembered for the first time in over two decades what blue looked like- shone with unshed sorrow, and Anakin's guilt increased. His guilt for his crimes, his guilt at harming his son and beloved, was now accompanied by the guilt of his hideous appearance.

Trying to cover up his shame with words, Anakin murmured weakly, "I'm sorry... that you have to see me... this ugly."

Luke's heart broke to hear Anakin defame himself like this. Shaking his head in protest, he whispered, "You're more beautiful than ever." Before Anakin could waste his remaining breath on more words, Luke continued, "You know the truth, but you still love me anyway."

"I always loved you, Luke... I just didn't realize... that to hate... is an even greater sin... than to love."

"That's what I told Leia."

"Your sister?... Yes... Luke... you were right... about me, and everything... Tell your sister... you were... right..."

Luke watched as his father's eyes slid closed, and in despair, he called out, "Father... I won't leave you!"

But it was too late. With a sigh escaping those broken lips, Anakin Skywalker- Luke's father, and Luke's lover- passed into the Force.

If Luke were only slightly younger, he would have wailed in grief. If he hadn't learned from his father's mistakes, he would have shouted out to the Universe about the injustice of it all.

But as it was, he merely hung his head, and sobbed.



This is how it feels to be Leia Organa, of the victorious Alliance to Restore the Republic:

You sense it before it actually occurs, and you glance upward at the fireball that had been the Death Star. Ewoks and Rebels alike cheer in uncontrollable joy, but your happiness is muted.

Your brother- the Jedi- did survive, but the other-

Your worst enemy is dead.

You would be as happy as anyone in this situation- but there's a gaping wound in your heart- no, in Luke's heart. You wish, for a moment, that Luke didn't love Vader, but realize that in the end... it wasn't Vader Luke loved.

It was a different man- with the same life, the same memories, the same body as Vader- but a completely different soul.

Instead, you wish that Luke could have his lover.

Han, next to you and binding your wounded arm, notices your change of mood, and, being Han, automatically moves to reassure you. "I'm sure Luke got off that thing all right."

"He did... I can feel it." And you do feel that Luke is safe... but he is definitely not all right. You close your eyes, for a moment, to try to block out his anguish.

Han- dear, sweet, stupid Han- asks, bluntly but without bitterness, "You love him... don't you?"

You stare for a moment, before answering, "Well, yes."

"All right." Han responds quickly. "I understand." You have a feeling he doesn't. "When he gets back... I won't get in the way."

You gape for a moment, wondering how dumb the Corellian could be, before sighing, shaking your head, and stating, "No, it's not like that at all." You prepare yourself for this admission- knowing it is the easiest of many to come. "He's my brother."

His vapid expression is priceless, before his hazel eyes finally light up with actual understanding. He smiles, and somehow, it helps take your mind off of your brother- and his breaking heart.



This is how it feels to be Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight:

You're just now landing on the forest moon, far away from the celebrations in the Ewok village, having set the autopilot to take the longest, slowest route from the Death Star to Endor. You had tried to use a healing trance on your aching injuries, but made little progress.

You can't get your mind off of Anakin.

As you touch down, you return to the back of the shuttle, where your father's still form lies, his mask and helmet returned for dignity. Your heart catches in your throat, and you kneel beside the remains of your beloved father, gathering his head to your pounding heart. Tears flow freely, and streak the battle dust off of the once gleaming helmet as they fall.

You want to remain here forever, sheltered in your sorrow, but you can't.

Forcing yourself to regain some form of composure, you stand shakily, and lift the body into your arms. It seems lighter, now, then it did while dragging it into the shuttle.

Perhaps, like Obi-Wan and Yoda, your father's organic remains disappeared.

But it doesn't matter. You haul the mechanical corpse out of the shuttle, and lay it respectfully on the ground nearby. Stroking the ridges of the mask, you linger more, kissing the helmet tenderly, longingly, desperately.

There is no response, but you do not expect any.

Rising to your unsteady feet, you find a fallen log and begin to slice it into manageable pieces with your lightsaber. Carefully, you construct a platform of kindling and logs.

You use the Force to gracefully lift your father's body atop the pyre.

Your eyes will not stop watering- you shouldn't have to be doing this, to be sending the one you love into the Cosmos, to be saying goodbye so soon after falling so deeply in love. You can't help but cry- you may be a Jedi, but you are still a man- still a man in love.

With the Force, you light a long stick ablaze, and set it to the pyre. Standing back, you watch as your hopes, your dreams, your faith, and your heart all burn away to follow Anakin into the Force.



This is how it feels to be Anakin Skywalker, again, at last:

You are drifting, dozing, one with the universe, and yet apart. You feel your self, but nothing else.

But you become aware of great pain, swelling agony of loss and despair, and you slowly open your eyes. The universe is dark, and yet it is nothing but light. Raising your hands to see them, you find them oddly glowing, and shimmering as though the air is heated, distorting your vision into a mirage.

Out of fear, you realize that you're not breathing. You gasp, and are shocked by your ability to do so. Your lungs contract, and your chest heaves, naturally.

Only now do you realize that you stare at two flesh hands instead of any mechanicals.

You come to realize that you are a specter, a ghost, an apparition, given form by the Force. In a daze, you seek out the source of that unbearable anguish. Your eyes come into focus, although the warping of your vision remains, and, as though from a great distance, you see-

Luke.

Luke, on his knees before a massive pile of flames, his face in his hands as his shoulders quake in giant sobs. You lurch forward, now, and find that you are mere meters away.

His weeping breaks your heart.

You want to reach for him, to reassure him, to be there for him, but you cannot, and you know you cannot, for if you could, you would have the courage to, wouldn't you?

You stand there, helplessly gazing at your grieving son, and you want to cry but can't. You want to leave, but you're transfixed. You want to die, but you're already dead.

Your hand slowly, involuntarily, lifts towards the sobbing boy- man, really- and you watch as it approaches that golden hair. You want to touch him, but you don't dare, for you've always been afraid of losing people, and now you're afraid that you won't be able to let go of this boy if you touch him.

A whisper sounds in your ears, a soft rushing of voices from your ancient past, and you listen, mesmerized by the noise. They speak to you only once, and you don't believe what they say.

"Be with him, for he needs you."

And then, ghost-hands press against your shoulder blades, and you are falling-



Luke crashed to the ground, although at first he thought he had collapsed from sorrow and pain. Only after he realized that he was having trouble breathing due to a heavy mass on his back did he come to know he had been knocked down.

Shocked by the abrupt fall, Luke's eyes stopped watering, and he lay there, his breath shallow from the pressure which pinned him to the ground, his mind murky from exhaustion, grief, and the stun of being knocked to the ground.

Whatever was on him was warm, and heavy, and... alive.

Anakin took in a deep breath of forest air, smoky from the still-burning remains of the pyre, and slowly realized where he was.

He was on top of Luke, whose sobs had quieted. The Force was even less heavy than before. Anakin closed his eyes, and tried to still his pounding heart. These sensations- lost for twenty years- of the chill of the night air, the breeze in his long hair... the feeling of a warm body in his arms.

Luke's soul knew the truth long before his mind did, and he began relaxing without knowing why, or how, or who lay atop him, pressing heavily, strong arms loosely around his shoulders. He released a few more wracking sobs, before his brains caught up to his heart.

It was Anakin.

Anakin moved first, although Luke really didn't have much of a choice in the matter, being pinned to the forest floor by a man significantly larger than him. Anakin slid off of Luke, and stared at his hands, soft, smooth... alive.

Luke sat up as though in a trance, his lip quivering, as his eyes slowly came to rest upon the astonished, flawless face of Anakin Skywalker.

Eyes of the morning sky met, and they gazed at each other for an eternity, before Luke timidly raised his gloved hand to caress the smooth cheek of his father.

Real. Solid matter met his fingers, and he gasped in joy. Tears came to both of their eyes, now, and they drank in each other's happiness desperately, lonely no more. Anakin was stunned into silence by the sheer enormity of the senses that he had been denied for so many years. Luke was speechless from the overwhelming sense of hope that filled his heart.

They fell together, in an embrace that crossed time, crossed destiny, and bound their hearts together for once and for all. They lay there, silently linking their hearts, thinking of nothing but each other.

The universe could wait. The Skywalkers were, for the first time, fully focused on the here and now.

They would face their future later- together, as father and son... and as true loves.



**** THE END ****



But there will be a sequel.

Feedback, please! I need to know your impressions, how you feel I characterized, how well I kept continuity, etc!

CREDITS:

A giant thank you to all of the fans who have made this fic ever so much more worthwhile. Thank you doubly for reviewing!

Major thanks to Pink Floyd, who I did not properly credit earlier for being "Pynque Phloide." I don't own Pink Floyd, either- just some discs.

And a very special thanks to George Lucas.