Denial: "What-if" for The Trial of Darth Vader

Anakin's Prison Cell: 2 days later

Anakin refuses to take care of himself in any way. There is no meditation, no exercise, no intake of food, liquid, or medicine, and certainly no rest. The only sounds in the cell are the rhythmic rasps of Anakin's breathing, and the continuous mumbles of two words: "Luke" and "Leia".

*******

A lone figure lay horizontal in its cot, tears streaming down the wet, cracked face. In front of him was the cold glow of a hologram, casting its blue light onto the dark surroundings.

The darkness used to comfort him. Now, he felt alone than ever.

The holorecording flickered off for a few moments, then replayed. A few more tears seeped out and lingered next to the swollen eyes, ultimately falling onto the floor. For the millionth time, a trembling metal hand reached out at the blue dashes of light, disrupting and distorting the image.

My precious children.

Metal fingers flexed, jutting forwards, protruding into the projection. He tried so hard to touch their coffins, to feel the smooth, shining material; but in the end, all he touched was the still air inside a lonely cell. He hadn't been there, he had not said a final goodbye. He should have. He could have.

I'm so sorry. Please, forgive me. I'm so sorry.

Another tear wormed its way to the corner of his eye and threatened to jump out from the protection of the edges of his eyelids.

The images in the hologram shifted; the coffins were being lowered into the soil.

Splat.

Another drop of salty liquid fell onto the ground.

***

Through the small safety-glass window on the metal door, Sgt. Sal frowned at his prisoner. The inmate's health was rapidly declining, and his obsession with the funeral clip did not make his deteriorating condition any better.

Anakin's tool set had not been touched at all, nor his tray of food and drink. Both lay in their separate corners of the cell. The man was lying, crumpled on his cot, starting the recording once more as his body involuntarily shook. The disheveled blanket and rags that he rested under trembled and shifted along with him.

Sgt. Sal sighed, took Anakin's newest tray of food, then opened the door and stepped into the cell. He adjusted the lighting inside, turning it to a dim level just so he could see better without hurting the other man's eyes.

There was a swishing of fabric, then a phantom-like voice,

"Luke?"

Anakin had sat up, though with his wavering arm, he was most likely going to collapse soon. The pitiable man was staring at Sal, wide-eyed, with tears still trickling down his face. Sal quickly set the food tray onto the table, then rushed to help the elder man into a sitting position.

"Li-light- h-headed..." Anakin weakly leaned on Sal as the sergeant carefully tucked the blanket tighter around his prisoner. The former Sith lord seemed to have muttered something mellow under his breath, but the voice was so low, Sal could not hear a single syllable. He closely examined the man; his blue eyes sank further into his face, and his cheekbones were more pronounced. The man's shoulders sagged, but his eyes were wide with excitement and love.

"Luke?" The man repeated, a little louder this time, trying to amplify his voice to make sure his 'son' could hear. He huddled closer to Sal, trying to give his warmth to the younger man as compensation to his frail body being unable to properly greet him. A smirk appeared on his terribly dry lips, which ruptured, leaking a small trickle of blood.