AN:
Many thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing this story. Also, many thanks to Kazlynh and Kataja for beta reading the chapters (any remaining mistakes are my own) and to Blank101 for being kind enough to read over this chapter.
All previous disclaimers still apply...
Downfall:
The Open Door
Part One
Luke had no idea how much time had passed since Vader had stood by the bunk he was strapped to. He had lost all sense of time, all sense of day or night, of minute or hour. Each instant bled into the next with nothing to define it, nothing that gave him any sense of passing moments, nothing that would consign it to his memory and give him an understanding of when this was.
There was pain of course, the constant gnawing agony of his injured arm, the throbbing of his cheek bone, the sharp stabbing pain of injured ribs as he drew in and then exhaled each breath. There was the beeping of the medical equipment around him as they monitored his vital signs, fed him fluids through the intravenous line that was inserted into the back of his remaining hand and took waste from him through the catheter that was threaded into his body.
There was the searing heat, the exquisite agony that burned through his body with each new dose of the drug that caused his body to jerk and convulse and that somehow kept the Force from him.
There was the light that burned his eyes when he opened them and so he lay with them closed and stared at the red of the inside of his eyelids.
There was his own breathing: sometimes slow and laboured as he fought against the pain; other times quick and fast, punctuated with soft grunts when the anguish of his amputated arm became too much to bear.
There were also the soft whispers of cloth and skin in the moments when his frustration and despair came to a head and he thrashed futilely against the bonds that tied him down.
These were the sounds of his life now, the only things that defined his existence… and he focused on them so that he would not hear the inner workings of his mind, the murmurs and whispers of his most insidious thoughts.
But nothing could drown the sense of horror and hopelessness that purled slowly through him, cool and chilling, sinister.
"Dagobah."
Vader's voice reverberated.
"Dagobah."
He had betrayed Master Yoda.
At some point he had succumbed to the interrogation, surrendered to the torture, and had given Vader what he wanted.
He couldn't remember the exact moment: that minute point in time. He couldn't remember saying the word; couldn't remember Yoda's location passing his lips.
He could recall Vader coming into the cell; he remembered being on the floor pinned under the Dark Lord, the agony as his prosthetic hand was ripped from his body. He remembered the drug, remembered the scorching heat of it, the fire as is it seared through his veins and convulsed his body and the sudden stillness that it left in its wake as the Force was stolen from him.
There was the bar he was secured too, the droid, the blows to his face. The...
...girl in the background watching. The girl he had...
"I live nearby; you'll be safe... for a while anyway. It is warm and dry, you can eat, rest."
... trusted.
The meal she had cooked for him was the last food he had eaten.
The bed he had lain on with her was the last comfort his body had known.
Her hands; their softness, their caresses as their bodies had joined was the last time anyone had touched him tenderly, gently.
"It's okay, it's okay...I'm here. I'm with you... you're safe."
His brow knitted, the dressing on his fore head puckering, as a whisper of a memory traced across his mind, the sensation of someone being with him, of soothing him, giving comfort and reassurance after the torture.
Her voice.
A dream?
Wishful thinking that someone here, in this place, could care?
A swell of pain rippled along his arm. He arched against his bonds, grimacing and crying out as it surged in waves along the limb.
He laughed as he cried: a rough, humourless self-depreciating sound.
They fed him medicines: but not painkillers.
No-one here cared… least of all the man who claimed to be his father.
"Dagobah."
How long had it been now?
How long since Vader had said the word and then left him alone?
Had Yoda known what was coming?
Had the old Jedi sensed it all, seen it through the Force?
Would he have time to escape before Vader descended?
Did Yoda even have means of escape?
"Much anger in him, like his father."
Father.
"I am your father!"
Vader.
He remembered calling Vader "father," remembered trying to taunt him and being beaten for it. He remembered...
"Powerful Jedi was he, powerful Jedi..."
Could it true?
And had Yoda known?
Hidden it from him.
Had Ben?
His aunt and uncle?
Had his entire life been a lie, a series of lies, as his sire's identity had been twisted and stolen from him?
But stolen by whom?
A navigator.
A Jedi Knight.
A Sith Lord.
His head rolled on the metallic bunk and he groaned just to hear something new, just to have something else on which to focus to stop the tumbling of his mind.
How had they known of Yoda?
How had they known to ask that of him?
And did it matter?
He had betrayed his master.
He had pointed Vader...
...my father...
... in the right direction.
How long had it been? How many minutes, hours or days had it been since Vader had stood by his side and informed him of his treachery?
Was it over now?
Was Yoda dead?
Had the last of the Jedi been killed?
Because of him, because of him...
...because he wasn't strong enough.
"Dagobah."
When had he told?
He couldn't remember, couldn't string his memories together. If he remembered he might understand, he might know what had driven him to betray his master, he might know what it was that had forced the name of the planet from his lips.
If only...
The red of the lights shining through his eye lids suddenly dimmed and he heard the door of the cell slashed open.
Luke bit back a cry of alarm, opened his eyes and through tired tears watched as guards and medics stepped down into his cell.
He lay helpless as the catheters were removed, as the intravenous lines were withdrawn and the sensors and dressings torn from him. The medics stood aside. Black-clad guards stepped to his side and released the binders, sliding him from the bunk, dropping him on the floor in a heap of weak and useless limbs.
The bunk and the medical monitors disappeared into various recesses in the wall.
Breathing heavily, he lay watching as the medics left without a word and the guards took up positions either side of the open door.
He swallowed, gagging dryly, as Vader's bulk filled the opening and stepped down into the cell. The Dark Lord stood still, helmet tilted down, regarding him for long seconds. It was only when Vader moved that Luke realised that his father was carrying something; a small stick, a bundle of cloth...
No...
The stick clattered to the floor beside him, followed by Yoda's robes and Luke closed his eyes in horror and grief.
No...
He hitched in a rough breath, unable to fight the guilt and desolation that blanketed him.
"He died knowing you had betrayed him," Vader intoned. "He died knowing you were with me."
Luke opened his eyes, stared up at the hulk of the man standing over him. Anger stirred within him. Through worn vocal cords he forced out. "I... am... not... with you."
"You will be," he was told with some certainty.
Luke pushed himself against the wall, struggled to sit up, goaded by Vader's words, by his growing fury. "I'll...die... first."
There was a smile in Vader's words, conviction and conceit. "That is not an option."
Luke hung his head, fighting his fear, his weakness, using his grief and rage and spiking adrenalin to give him strength. He placed his palm against the wall and waited.
Vader turned from him and headed for the open door gesturing the guards towards Luke.
Through his fringe of dirty, bloodied, hair Luke watched a guard step toward him with a loaded hypospray.
He waited until the guard was one step away. Then he cried out, using all of his remaining strength to push against the wall and threw himself to his feet, catching the guard off balance. He snatched the hypospray and lunged unsteadily for Vader's back.
It was a small weapon, it was insignificant, but it was all he had to make his point.
The Dark Lord whirled around and caught Luke's wrist, twisting it, forcing the syringe from his hand and Luke experienced a flash of horror, a terrifying thought that Vader would snap this wrist and remove this hand as he had done with his prosthetic.
Instead, Vader released him and in the same instance backhanded him across the face. Luke was thrown backward, landing hard, sprawled on his back, the breath knocked from him.
Luke gasped, lurching in a pant of air. He was given no time to draw another. A guard kicked him viciously in the ribs. He grunted, curling onto his side to protect his still-healing body as the other guard drew his baton…
This was the price he would have to pay for his defiance. He had known it the moment he had decided to try.
Lost under a storm of blows he could do nothing to defend himself except tuck his injured arm close to his body and his left arm over his head and accept every strike, every punch and kick.
"Enough."
Vader's voice cut through his cries and the beating immediately stopped. Luke gasped trying to catch his breath, trying to fight his new injuries. He was given little time to recover. Gloved hands turned him onto his back, grabbed his arm and turned it to expose the dark line of veins just under the skin.
Luke knew he should try to pull away. He knew he should continue to fight. He knew he should try to summon the Force and push the man away… but the Force had been kept from him by a drug he didn't understand. His strength was gone: stolen by the beating and the torture; from lying immobile, bound to a table; and by the grief and guilt of being presented with the evidence of his betrayal...
He didn't fight as they pressed the hypospray to his skin and injected him with its contents.
He stared up at his father as coldness flashed through his bloodstream. "I... will always... fight you."
"And you will always lose."
Luke swallowed, felt the cell tilt, felt a rush as his senses imploded and he fell into peaceful, painless oblivion.
ooOOoo
He came to in darkness: a blackness so absolute that at first he thought he was still unconscious. He lay still, staring into nothing, drawing in one shallow breath after another until he realised that he could feel the stiffness in his body and limbs, he could hear his breathing, feel the pain as his rib cage rose and fell.
He swallowed: then smiled at the sensation of his throat working.
He was awake.
He blinked, opened his eyes wide, trying to clear his vision but everything remained dark. Without thinking he lifted his right arm and cried out at the pain that lanced through the limb. He arched against it, pulled his legs in as the agony of his injury forced the breath from him.
He gasped in air as the pain lessened, tapering down from unbearable to a dull, aching throb.
He was definitely awake.
Carefully, and with some effort and stiffness, he turned onto his back to stared through the darkness toward the ceiling above him, wondering if that was such a good idea given the bank of lights he knew were housed there. If they decided to turn them on he would be blinded.
He mentally shrugged, did it really matter anymore?
What did he need his sight for now anyway?
To watch Vader step down into the cell with his guards?
To watch the droid approach and hover over him?
To stare at walls that never changed.
He lifted his left arm, rubbed at his eyes, waved his hand in front of his face and could see nothing.
Did it really matter?
He might already be blinded.
The lights might be burning brightly and he just couldn't see them anymore.
"Your eyes can deceive you, don't trust them."
Luke lay still, listening to the silence unsure if the voice he had heard was merely a memory or if he truly had heard Obi-Wan. His lips twitched in an almost smile; hope stirring for the first time since his capture.
"Be...n?"
His voice was a whisper, raspy and dry. It didn't sound like him, it sounded foreign and strange and he wondered, briefly, if his vocal cords had been permanently damaged by the screams that Vader had wrung from him.
Did it matter?
"B...en?" He tried again, peering into the darkness.
"Your eyes can deceive you, don't trust them."
Was the voice in his head? Was he hearing it or wishing it?
"Ben?" He heard desperation replace hope as the Force lay silent, dormant and denied him.
"Stretch out with your feelings."
He groped in his mind, sending his thoughts outward, reaching for the Force, grasping in the stillness for some sign, some hint that his senses, his powers, were returning.
But all was silent and quiet. The only senses he had were his body's own.
He could hear his own laboured breathing, taste the bitterness of an unwashed mouth, smell the acrid stench of his unwashed body, see the darkness that surrounded him and feel the pattern of the floor grating beneath him pressing into his back.
There was nothing else, nothing that...
But there was something.
He grunted, bit back pain, as he slowly and carefully manoeuvred himself into a sitting position and leaned his back against the cool wall. He cocked his head and listened, laid his left palm against the floor.
Something had changed.
Something was missing.
There was no low, almost inaudible, drone of a ship's engines. There was no infinitesimal vibration, rippling through the walls and floor.
The gravity was dense, heavier than a vessel's.
He was no longer on Vader's ship.
He was on solid ground, a planet.
They had moved him while he had been sedated.
Anxiety roiled in his belly and he peered into the barrier of pure blackness trying to make out the walls and contours of his new prison, but without the Force he was truly blinded.
Luke rested his head against the unyielding wall behind him wondering how long he had been here, how long he had been in captivity, and how long it would be before Vader...
... his father...
... returned to torment him.
"He died knowing you were with me."
His head dropped, shame rattling through him.
He had betrayed his master.
ooOOoo
Luke's eyes snapped open.
There had been a sound, a light whisper of movement that had been enough to drive him from his light slumber.
He lay still, heart beating, watching the darkness, listening to the silence of his holding cell, waiting for the sound to repeat.
He licked his dry and cracked lips as the minutes ticked slowly past and the surge of adrenalin that had flooded his body slowly ebbed away as nothing happened.
The sound did not repeat.
The cell remained in darkness.
The door, wherever it was, stayed shut.
He dropped his left arm across his face, across his eyes, closing them off from the perpetual night.
He was beginning to imagine things now, was starting to lose it.
Which is what they wanted.
Beaten, broken and starved of food, water and contact with other beings he would soon crave company, would prefer the feel of his father's fists, his father's questioning, the blinding light to this dark silence, this solitude.
How long had it been?
It felt like weeks, but it could only have been a few days since he had been moved here. His thirst burned his mouth, his throat was so dry that it hurt to swallow. He knew what dehydration could do, knew what was ahead of him if they refused him water.
His head pounded, his limbs tingled with pins and needles, his injured arm throbbed, fatigue dragged at him and he could hear his own rapid breathing, his thudding heart as it worked harder against his decreasing blood volume.
Soon he may become delirious and confused.
The sound...
The whisper of sound could be the start of hallucinations.
He laughed, the sound desiccated, barely a cough. Hallucinations could make a welcome change to this silent, dark monotony.
They may break up his thoughts and banish his guilt as he slipped into unconsciousness.
He had once over heard his aunt Beru mention to Owen that dying of dehydration was supposed to be peaceful.
Peaceful would be good.
Eyes shut against the weight of his arm Luke began to drift, began to feel lightheaded as sleep lured him down into a different darkness.
He smiled, his lips cracking and bleeding...
...and was jerked awake again as something brushed softly against the bare skin of his chest.
He pulled back with a reflexive cry, jarring his right elbow on the floor and sending waves of agony undulating down the remnants of his forearm. He rolled on the grating beneath him, hit the wall and lay there panting with pain and frightened expectation.
Again, nothing.
Nothing but the blackness and the silence.
His hand was shaking as he rubbed it over his face. This had to be another method of breaking him down, of bringing him to the point of cracking until he was deemed ready for another round of interrogation.
He had to fight, he had to resist. He had to be stronger and not allow another lapse...
"...Dagobah..."
...that could result in another loss.
He hoped his Master had died quickly, like Ben, and had not lingered in pain in the mud and rain.
He...
A rustle of cloth, a footstep
Luke sat upright, ignoring the pain of his healing injuries. He sat with his back to the wall, eyes peering into the impenetrable darkness that cloaked him and fought the urge to draw his legs in, to cocoon himself against whatever may be in the cell along with him.
Once more he instinctively reached out with the Force and again he felt nothing, blocked from the power he had learned to use on impulse.
Anguish, frustration and fright tore a dry sob from him, his chest heaved, the heel of his remaining hand pressed against the centre of his forehead re-opening the healing cut and allowing thick dark blood to slowly well and slide down his face.
No...
He drew in a breath, tried to slow his hammering heart.
No, he would not do this. He would not allow them to get to him, to affect him so. He was stronger than this, he was...
...alone in the dark...
...a Commander in the Alliance, he was a Jedi Knight. He was...
...lost...
... resilient, he had been through a lot since leaving Tatooine and this was just one more thing. He would get through this, he...
"You poor boy."
Luke started at the voice. Blinking, he realised there was a robed and hooded figure standing above him, silhouetted against a dim light filtering from an open doorway to his left. Luke squinted up at the figure, confusion rattling through him.
When had the door opened? When had the man stepped through?
Luke didn't know what to do: didn't know how to react. He sat on the floor, staring fuzzily at the figure, waiting for the man to move.
He didn't need to wait long.
The hood turned to the open portal and the soft, dry voice whispered. "Raise the lights, not too bright, and bring water and sustenance for our young guest."
"At once, Majesty," a woman's voice answered tightly, perfunctory.
Majesty!
Luke forced himself to look away as the lights within his holding cell activated for the first time. He closed his eyes as the illumination grew, closed his eyes against the stark and bare grey of his prison, against the very presence of the man in the cell with him.
The Emperor.
"It is you and your abilities the Emperor wants," Obi-Wan had warned him on Dagobah. "That is why your friends are made to suffer."
There was a rustle of fabric by his side and Luke flinched as the robes brushed against his bare feet. There was more movement and he had the distinct impression that the Emperor of the known galaxy had just crouched to the floor in front of him.
Even without the Force he knew he was being scrutinised, weighed and judged. His heart drummed beneath his ribs, driven by anxiety and dehydration. He felt sick, light headed.
"Hmmm," the Emperor commented, reminding Luke of Yoda, of the noise the little Jedi master made when he was displeased with his apprentice's efforts. "You may open your eyes, boy."
Luke tried to swallow, gagged dryly, kept his face turned from the man sitting on his heals near him and gradually opened his eyes. The light level was low, but still it burned his tearless eyes. He slowly blinked, eyelids scraping across the surface of his corneas.
A thin, pale hand reached out and touched his chin. Luke instinctively jerked his head away. There was a chuckle of amusement.
"You recoil from my touch, but not from your father's fists."
Luke had no answer for him, knew that even if he could think of the words that his voice would betray him.
Again the hand reached for him, again he pulled away, but the cold fingers closed around his chin and, with some pressure, pulled his head around until the dark cowl was in his eye line. The Emperor's face was hidden, shielded from him by the hood.
Again there was humour as his chin was released. "So, Lord Vader has not yet beaten the rebellion from you."
There was a scrape of boots at the doorway and Palpatine turned and took a carton of water and a small package from the small, slight woman behind him. Luke rubbed at his eyes, trying to focus on the figure, seeing dark clothes and red hair.
Her!
"You may leave," the Emperor stated as the woman hesitated, her eyes flickering to Luke.
Luke thought he saw uncertainty in the green irises, he thought he saw doubt as she dragged her eyes away from him.
"I am perfectly safe here," her master assured her.
Mara tipped her head in a bow and backed out of the room with her eyes to the floor, leaving the door open at the Emperor's back.
Luke's eyes glanced to the water, his dry tongue wiping across parched lips as he watched a bead of condensation run slowly down the outside of the carton. Palpatine cracked open the cap and held it out towards him.
"Take this," he invited. "Drink."
Body burning with need, Luke hesitated, wondering what he would have to sacrifice for the water. Wondering what Palpatine would ask of him, for surely it was not being freely given.
The robed figure leaned in, one thin hand curling around the back of his neck, titling his head, the other setting the bottle's rim against his lips. Instinct screamed at him to drink, to open his mouth and allow the cool liquid to quench his thirst, but pride and fear held him back.
"Come, boy," the voice whispered from the depths of the cowl, again it was laced with humour. "This is not the time for a battle of wills."
His tone suggested that time may come.
Nevertheless Luke parted his lips and a trickle of water washed into his mouth. It was cool, soothing and the most delicious thing that he had ever tasted. He swallowed as Palpatine took the bottle away, lifted Luke's hand and pressed the cool, wet surface of the bottle into his palm.
Luke tried to raise the container to his lips, but his hand shook violently, spilling the precious liquid over his bruised torso. Palpatine bent close once more and took Luke's hand in his own guiding the bottle back to Luke's mouth. He helped steady him, helped him drink in small sips, until the water was done.
The Emperor took the empty bottle from him and placed it on the floor before lifting the small package. He tore open the wrapping and slid out an emergency ration bar. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger he offered it to the boy who watched him with a mixture of hunger and suspicion.
"I am told that it has been some time since you last ate," Palpatine said, hood tilting downward as he looked at the ration bar he was offering. "These would not be my first choice to break a fast, but the medics assure me that they contain all the nutrients your body needs without being too heavy for a stomach that has not held food for several days."
Ration bars had never been Luke's first choice of meal either, but the brown, pasty looking stick of food in the Emperor's hand suddenly looked as appetizing as a barbequed bantha steak. He slowly drew in a breath, looked behind the Emperor at the open door and the shadows that moved in the corridor beyond, and he wondered briefly if she was still there, then he glanced at the ration bar once more.
Then it was in his hand and he was biting and chewing with a hunger he had never known before. Too soon it was gone, swallowed with barely a taste. He found himself staring, with a mixture of humiliation and driving hunger, at the packet lying on the floor next the crouching monarch.
Palpatine chuckled once more, picked up the packet and pulled himself to his feet. He took a step away from his sitting prisoner denying further sustenance. He was silent, looking down at the boy on the floor.
The seconds and minutes dragged.
Luke glanced away from the scrutiny, embarrassed by his weakness.
"Do you know why your father treats you thus?" Palpatine asked, breaking the cloying quiet.
The question was unexpected and it shook Luke more than he cared, he shut his eyes, memories of his interrogation under his father too strong, too violent, flooding his mind.
"The Emperor has demanded that you be questioned."
"Y... you..." he rasped, surprised that he had found the strength to reply, dismayed that he had.
"Me?" Palpatine sounded surprised, a clawed hand touching the clasp of his robes. "You think I had something to do with your father's actions?"
Luke swallowed, took a breath against the pains of his body, feeling his stomach clench against the food and water he had swallowed. "Y..you... or...dered... h...him."
"Oh, my dear boy, you are mistaken," there was pity in Palpatine's voice, pity and compassion. It surprised Luke, it confused him. This was not what he had expected from his father's master. "I merely requested that Lord Vader question you about your Jedi master. I did not request..." he gestured at Luke with a hand, gestured at his physical condition. "...this."
Stepping closer Palpatine crouched once more, touching Luke's bruised face with a pale, cold finger. The digits traced through the congealing blood from the open cut on his brow. "I'm afraid your father's choices of methods were not my doing." He stood, turned away. "I ask again, child, do you know why your father treats you thus?"
Luke glanced away, unable to answer.
The silence dragged.
"Shall I tell you?"
Luke couldn't help himself, couldn't stop his eyes being drawn up to the darkened cowl and the Emperor's hidden face.
"You offend him," he was told. "You, his own blood, are just another Rebel, another traitor to be beaten down and destroyed."
"No..." The word was out before he could stop it.
"You think not?" There was still that tinge of humour, a softly mocking tone. "You were taken by the Jedi, stolen at birth and your father thought you dead. He did not raise you; he has had no investment in you. You are strangers to one another, there is no attachment.
"Here," Palpatine gestured at the four stark walls that surrounded them. "You are a possession, nothing more."
Luke swallowed, hearing truth but wanting to deny it. "No..."
"Hmm, still 'no,'" Palpatine fell quiet once more, giving Luke time to contemplate his words, then he turned away, took a step toward the door before stopping and turning to Luke once more. "You think that Lord Vader's offer on Bespin was made out of devotion for you?"
Luke's head jerked up in surprise, staring again at Palpatine's hidden face.
"Oh... yes, he told me what he had proposed, explained that he hoped to appease you by offering you something that you have always longed for... your father."
"Come with me, and we can rule the galaxy as father and son."
Luke closed his eyes against the memories of Cloud City, of backing away from Vader as the Dark Lord spoke, entreating him with promises of power before delivering the awful truth.
"He does not care for you. He is not capable. He is driven purely by his desire to serve me, his passion for power and the Dark Side of the Force."
Luke remained silent as the Emperor walked away, afraid to speak, not knowing what he could say anyway. He was a prisoner here, captive and powerless. There was nothing he could say, or do, which would make a difference or change his status.
Again Palpatine stopped, one foot on the step just inside the open door. "And yet," he continued as though something had just occurred to him. "Lord Vader is a jealous man. He will not kill you; you are his son, his blood... his possession.
No, he will not kill you, he will not allow you to die, he will keep you..."
A pale hand waved to the four blank walls of the cell and Luke's eyes followed the gesture as Palpatine finished his sentence and stepped through the door. The door slammed shut, the lights went out and Luke was left alone in the dark with the echo of the Emperor's last word.
"...here."
tbc...
