Sickness is something every human being goes through once in their life, whether it is a physical illness, or a mental illness. But in the case of Darth Vader, both come into play.
His body, sickened by fire; his mind sickened by grief; his very soul and heart thwarted by guilt. Some say this is what makes Vader so very horrifying for the people of the universe. But for some, the Dark Lord brought a form of peace. Like Claev Fosan.
She was a very young child when Vader encountered her; only twelve years old. She was also very sick.
The Empire was celebrating the victory of a particularly nasty battle, when they Republic had been forced to bomb an important city and blast out the buildings to uncover people. Unfortunately, the consequences had been more than severe. The smoke from the explosions had been blown west, to the small towns and farms. There, children worked with many types of machines that lit on fire if in the wrong type of weather and temperature. Children all over the planet's farms had been seriously and critically injured, but Claev was one of the worst.
Her breath could not come normally, without her having to cough to exhale properly. She was deathly pale, feverish, and hallucinating. Fragments of the shearing machine had embedded themselves in her side, and with the surgical team busy with other cases, Claev could only shiver on her cot and wait, bleeding steadily onto the cloth that bound her side together. Her eyes were closed, her skin raw and her blond hair matted by dirt and smoke, then plastered to her forehead. She was in obvious, excruciating pain.
Darth Vader could not keep himself away from a place so packed with pain. His Jedi instinct may have been diminished, but it could never truly be vanquished. So he entered the fray of the hospital with a silence that was only broken with his breathing. He was stunned to see so many injured people like this, but he was pleased to see the families of the injured ones with them, watching over them. All except for Claev's, who lay alone as Death began to engulf her.
The Dark Lord made his way to her. He knew she was dying; The Force was pulling her gently away from this world. But, he did not wish for her to die alone. He reached out a glove and took her small hand, and she gripped it like a vice. He was surprised by her strength, for a twelve year old. She opened her eyes and looked toward the man who was holding her to the world, but blindness was what met the masked gaze. Claev's breathing hitched in pain and she gasped a rattling breath. He skin was hot, but every movement pained her immensely. She settled herself by simply allowing her head to rest on the cool pillow under it, and concentrate on not hurting her side too much.
Vader watched this silent child with sadness. His own child would have been thirteen about now, had he not murdered his pregnant wife so long ago. And this girl had no parents. Only the Sith Lord saw her eyes flash open and heard he cry of pain when a lung collapsed and her breathing became so painful she started to hyperventilate. Vader relaxed her and gently coaxed her life out of her. He gave her relief from her wounds, her violent coughing. As he departed from her bedside, he touched the child's forehead, wishing her a funeral she deserved.
It never did happen.