Luke stared out at the vast galaxy of stars, peppered with fading convoys and ships. His new hand still shuddered with the phantom pain that plagued him, a reminder of what Darth Vader had done – and what Darth Vader had told him. His thoughts drifted away from the Dark Lord, away from his father.

Leia was at his side, an angelic image of white, not knowing the fate that had bound him. His love was strong for her, though it seemed to have faded from the thoughts of romantic fantasy. But as his eyes met her face, solemn and concerned, Luke's thoughts drifted back to their first meeting, only three years before.

She had looked very much the same, still robed in white. But something had changed in her face, something was no longer the same. The confidence had drained from her face, the hard lines of the sassy princess becoming weary scars of the constant battle. She looked no longer in revenge, but sorrow. Luke's mind thought of old Kenobi, encountering the destroyed Alderaan.

Leia was an orphan, just like him. Though she couldn't be much different in age then him, he guessed, she too was without family, all alone in the endless path of space. As hard as Luke tried to push the memories of Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen from his mind, it only became more difficult for him to deny. The only parents he knew, the only ones he wanted to know, were dead. A lump grew in his throat, shivering at the thought of his real father now.

His squeeze on Leia's shoulder tightened, wishing he could tell her everything. The only comfort he could offer her was the silent gesture. Her solace to him was more vocal, turning to him with sorrow in her eyes.

"We have to win this," she whispered, and Luke nodded, his thoughts elsewhere. But the words rang in his ears, the most obvious statement now seeming so difficult. They had to win, for Han, for Alderaan, for his aunt and uncle, for Obi-Wan. He had always believed that they'd win the war, that good would triumph over darkness.

Luke had even toyed with his own daydreams of beating Vader himself. Now the triumph was removed as he wondered if he could ever slay his own father. Vader, the darkness he had fought for three long years, was his father. His father! He wondered silently why Ben and Yoda hadn't told him, feeling betrayed and very alone. Only Leia – she had been the one source of warmth he'd found.

Why couldn't he tell her what had happened, the horrors he'd faced and survived? But then, Luke questioned if he really had survived. Suffering only the loss of his hand and a number of bruises, there was no doubt that the med-droid had passed him off with a clean bill of health. Something inside of Luke Skywalker died that day, fragments of his soul were chipping off with every struggle.

And now, Darth Vader had implanted himself within Luke's own soul. Even now, the labored breathing echoed inside of him like a hollow drum, a constant reminder of his presence. A shadow of discomfort swept across him, his blue eyes now looking far away.

Leia gently nudged Luke on the shoulder, breaking his fixed trance. "Luke?" Her voice was sweet with innocence and concern. "Are you all right?" He blinked off thoughts of Vader and returned a slight smile to Leia, looking intensely up at him.

"Yeah," he replied with a tone that denied his words. "I'm okay, thanks Leia." He took her hands, milky and smooth, in his, one burnt by the blistering suns of Tatooine and blistering winds, the other, little more than mechanics. "I've been concerned about you," he said softly.

Her head bowed in slight embarrassment, lips twitching into a smile. "You need to be concerned about yourself, now, Luke," she said gently.

His tan skin wrinkled around the eyes at he smiled at her. "But Leia, you don't always have to be so strong for all of us," he offered. "What about you? You can't be strong all the time, can you?" The look in his eyes was intently questioning, filled with the same hurt that he'd battled.

"I can," she responded smoothly, "because I know I have to. We're going to save Han, and you're going to kill Vader, Luke. You have to, just as well as I have to fight for all that I've lost." Her dark brown eyes flashed up at him, glassy with moisture. "We're going to win this, Luke, and we'll win it together."

Together.

His eyes turned cold, again thinking about Vader's words. I am your father. Leia, such a shining beacon had told him that he must kill Vader. Obi-Wan and Yoda depended on the same thing. Too many Jedi had died in their cause, how many at Anakin Skywalker's hand, he did not wish to know. Luke nodded numbly, thinking heavily.

"I have to go see-," Leia began, but let her voice trail away, realizing that her duties were again coming before a friend. "I have to go," she repeated, less sure of herself, and squeezed Luke's hand gently.

Luke smiled as best he could, and stroked her cheek with his real hand. "I understand, Leia." With a kiss on the cheek, Leia brushed a loose strand of his blonde hair from his face and turned to leave.

She, adorned with the colors of an angel, strode away, not giving Luke a second glance. It was almost like a vision of heaven, the one thing Luke admired for her strength, courage, and beauty. In her radiating white, Leia looked to be the counter of all the darkness he fought, now implanted within himself. But as his eyes drifted again to the empty hall of space, he saw the real portrait of perfection in his future – written in the stars.

Author's Note:

Portrait of Perfection was written as a piece to reflect a very difficult time in Luke Skywalker's life: realizing who he truly was. I was inspired by the poignant ending to Empire Strikes Back, and by an Internet friend who wanted to read a Luke-centric vignette.