Being a father was never a matter Anakin ever anticipated in his life. Being a grandfather may as well have been a complete fantasy that he could have laughed about with his Clone troopers. It was ironic how both had occurred.

After being brought out of the dark by his son, Anakin had never felt more lost in his entire life. For once, peace had dispelled the darkness he had grown so fond of—the darkness that had come to define his very essence. Now he had settled into an idyllic existence in spite of everything he had done in the past. How was a monster like him granted such a life?

Anakin could never quiet understand it. No matter how many times Luke tried to explain it to him—the Force had given him a new path in life. But what was he even to do?

Apparently, babysit. Leia was significantly more reluctant to allow Anakin to come anywhere near her children, regardless of the fact that they were clearly fond of him. Han had, unexpectedly, persuaded her to permit her father to at least babysit for a few hours at the very least, rather than having Luke do it constantly.

Hell, it took a while for the New Republic to grant him freedom after having none his whole life. Of course, Luke was one of the few of preached for it, and Anakin couldn't thank his son enough for what he had done. The guilt still plagued him, but Anakin knew it was a little price to pay for what he had done to countless. No longer wearing a helmet or his armour felt...odd. But then again so had the countless surgeries he had gone through.

So here Anakin was, seated outside, admiring the views of clear valleys and rustling trees above. Until a small tug on his sleeve drew his attention. There you were, one small hand grasping his sleeve and the other pointing to a cluster of crayons and papers you had scribbled on.

It took him a few seconds to decipher what you wanted from him.

"...You want me to colour with you?"

This was definitely not something Anakin was used to. But it's not something he would oppose either.