An AU story, at the time of ANH - what would
have happened if Biggs hadn't jumped ship and had mouthed off at the
wrong moment about Luke's piloting skills?
A little
sooner this time :) Please R&R. Also, please excuse any mistakes;
this has yet to be beta-read, but I guessed you would want it up
sooner rather than later. I'll update it when it's been checked.
Cheers.
Mina
Chapter Nine
"Keep
the compress down."
Biggs nodded numbly as he shifted
his knee against the metal bunk, leaning further over the inert form
as he pressed both hands down with his full weight over the gauze.
Blood was starting to come through the between the tight webbing,
making his fingers stick to the fabric. He found himself biting his
lip, hands shifting to get better coverage over the wound in Luke's
side as the Dark Lord shoved past him hard.
Vader attacked
the top compartment above the bunk, spilling field first-aid kits as
he unlocked it, searching. The black cloak smothered Biggs as Vader
leant over his head to get at the synthflesh and adrenaline, and the
salty sting of saline on his skin told him at least one of the de-hyd
packs had burst when the compartment emptied itself.
Who
would have thought it, Biggs Darklighter working at Darth Vaders side
to save his son?
His hands slipped off the gauze and he
leaned harder onto the wound, pushing against the heavy beat of
Luke's heart trying to empty the small body. Wet, black cloth covered
his vision and he was choking in the Siths presence, his mind not
entirely sure what was happening anymore. Because this
couldn't be happening.
I've got to be dreaming. That could
never be real! That was Luke's voice, giddy with the
nine-year-old's adrenaline rush; threading the Needle for that first
time, denying what couldn't have been more obvious if they'd put it
in lights over Tosche Station.
Maybe his was another sort of
denial; maybe it was desperation taken the form of voices in his
head. Or maybe he really was just living out a surreal dream
sequence. A Nightmare sequence.
One of those special
kinds of dreams where you never wake up. It's called reality, I
think. It wears a black cloak and mask and calls itself 'father'.
The cloth receded as Vader came back with the patches,
the shots; the meagre emergency kit the Empire kept for her
disposable troops.
"Lift your hands."
Biggs
did so, quietly noting the troubled tone of the voice to which he was
strangely becoming accustomed. Vader removed the bloody gauze from
the wound in Luke's side and more blood, even more despite the thick
train on sand and shuttle deck, started to spill before he could get
the new compress down. Biggs's hands pressed down harder as Vader
retreated, trying to avoid the deep blue of what had to be broken
ribs, knowing if he pressed those in the wrong place... well it was a
lot harder to stop internal bleeding than external.
With the
practiced ease of someone accustomed to administering interrogation
drugs, which Biggs himself could testify to, Vader injected a shot
into the thick vein in Luke's arm.
Blue eyes flickered,
unseeing, and that was all.
"Lord Vader?" The
tentative, nervous tones of the stormtrooper somehow didn't fit their
image. "Should we - "
Vader interrupted him before
time could be wasted on pointless speech. Time was everything here.
"Get us back to the Devastator. Have a second crew pick up
Kenobi's body and - No." Biggs didn't think he'd ever heard the
Dark Lord contradict himself, or rescind an order. "Stop and
pick him up here. Quickly. Keep a guard on him at all times."
The small form had begun to thrash a little, lips moving but
saying nothing. A black gloved hand reached past Biggs' sand-grazed
cheek and rested on Luke's forehead. Stars... he was almost gentle.
Again, Biggs fought not to let his hands slip down onto the
broken ribs. Again, he tried to think of something more they could do
for Luke. He knew little of first aid, only able to draw upon what a
harsh life on Tatooine and the Academy had tutored him in. And pilots
didn't need to know too much; if you were shot down, you died;
anything else was rare. Why learn what happens when you fall two
hundred metres down a Tatooine cliff? Why learn how to stop bleeding
whilst trying to be gentle on cracked ribs?
The black-clad
fingers strayed across Luke's temples and he quieted a little,
fingers grasping the edge of the bunk.
"And have another
group strip Kenobi's house." Vader continued over the whine of
repulsors kicking the shuttle off Tatooine's scorched ground. They
were good - they had taken the Dark Lord at his word.
Get
a move on! Blood had again begun to form around the gauze and
Biggs founding himself fighting trembling arm muscles and frustration
about equally. They couldn't put sythflesh on this - the blood would
force it away before it bonded to the skin, already slick and sticky.
He gave Vader a look that conveyed his concern that the boy
would simply bleed out on them, here on the small med bunk. The look
Vader returned to him showed complete understanding and empathy with
Bigg's own turbulent feelings, despite the mask.
Never, not
even in the darkest corners of the nightmares his teenage mind had
conjured, had he ever envisaged having an empathy with Darth
Vader.
He looked over at the large dark form next to him as
Vader hastily patched the smaller grazes to prevent compounding the
problem. As he placed a cold snap-pack against the angry black streak
on Luke's shoulder, Biggs suddenly felt completely disconcerted, as
if the deck had started to tilt under him. He was staring at the
Vader, but it was like he couldn't focus on the Dark Lord. The man
was clear to see, knelt next to him with a proximity that was
choking, but his understanding of him was completely askew.
You
just called him a man, too.
The realisation was
like the storms that sometimes raged on this planet; unpredicted,
relentless, and almost mocking. The Sith was defying classification
right now, man or Dark Lord or simply... what...? A father? He didn't
know how he was supposed to think or feel about that, but when he
looked down at the forlorn form of his friend all he felt was pity,
for them both.
What did that mean? His ability to
think those things through to any kind of conclusion was like too
little moisture over too much planet and the means for collecting it
into something resembling a coherent explanation eluded him.
He
pressed harder.
"Can't you..." He didn't know how
to describe it and, more than that, his throat was as dry as
parchment from a Raiders tomb. "Use your... "
Sith-magic?
Vader understood anyway. "I cannot
bring together skin that no longer exists." He said, and there
was something in his tone. Bitterness? Was that bitterness? Would the
Dark Lord ever stop defying his two dimensional, unemotional,
mindless killer's image?
The ship jolted a little as she made
a quick stop-and-bounce off the cliff top, troopers in his periphery
hauling the inert body of that crazy old wizard up the ramp even as
the ground receded swiftly below them. Soon even the red streaks of
blood were no longer visible. They really had taken Vader at his
word. Wind whistled around the cabin, hot and frozen and as confused
as Bigg's thoughts, before the ramp shut.
Hands pressed down
on the gauze, he wondered if gaining understanding was worth what
he'd lost.
Oh yes, he understood now; understood that Luke
was Vader's hidden, unbeknownst son. The truth that had been playing
hide-and-seek with him for the past month had been thrust
bloodied-face-first into his comprehension.
But that didn't
mean he understood Vader any better, and it meant he
understood Luke a little less. And himself... well he wasn't
even sure it was him kneeling here by the bunk, hands a disgusting
crimson with his friends blood.
They had to do something to
stop this.
Even as he acknowledged the thought, he saw Vader
take his hands from the gauze, again removing it, and press black
gloves against the flow.
What good is that going to
do? You can't stop a herd of dewbacks with a single stun panel.
He
barely realised his cheeks were hot with annoyance and concern. Had
the Dark Lord been anyone else, he probably would have snapped at
him. As it was, he managed a confused glare. Then, slowly, the wound
began to cease spilling blood over Vader's large hands. Biggs stared,
uncomprehending, until Vader removed his hands and revealed the
sythflesh underneath, a little crimson around the edges but firm over
the wound. He'd patched the cut forcefully with the uniform skin
patch, holding tattered skin together like breached hull plates
sealed with hope and duct tape.
Sith-magic? And you just
called him a man?
Biggs rocked back on his heels as the
light of Tatooine was replaced by the starlight both he and the
unconscious boy on the bunk had dreamed so long of touching.
---
Vader turned momentarily from the two
Tatooine youths to look out the cockpit viewport, Devastator growing
rapidly as the pilots spared no speed to obey their commander. Good.
Darklighter was sat back on the grated deck, looking stunned.
He was staring at the blood on his hands and Vader recognised the
signs of a first combat experience. This must have shaken him, even
more so given he had just helped stabilise his best
friend.
'Stabilise' is a little over optimistic, don't you
think?
For not the first nor the last time, Vader cursed
his stupidity for not bringing a medic with the crew. He had never
thought this would be anything more than a quick retrieval mission,
and look at the disorganised, bloody mess it had turned into.
Luke
stirred again, clearly in pain though not conscious enough to tell
anyone. The wound in his side was no longer bleeding, which left only
broken bones and that hit to the temple to deal with. He again
brushed his son's mind with the Force, pushing away the pain with the
ease of twenty years of practice. The simple stim patches that came
with the paltry med kit were not enough, and he knew it. Combat
experience and the Force combined to scream loudly in his ears that
he had to get to real medical help, and soon.
He continued to
brush the pain away from the tow-headed boy on the bunk. And...
somehow it didn't displease him that he had to touch Luke's mind this
much. It was so vibrant, so potent... Again he tried to push away the
emotional link; again he was bulldozered by his feelings.
The
shuttle rocked as it broke through the magnetic shield of the
Devastator's main docking bay and Vader moved to stand and take the
boy in his arms and rush him, run with him even, to the
infirmary.
No; stop. Think.
Lord Darth Vader,
running from a shuttle with a bloody Tatooine youth in his arms,
troopers dragging an aged, cloaked man behind him, would attract more
than a little attention. And hadn't he been trying to keep this
discreet? He had to stop; to think. What possible reason did he have
for bringing this farmboy back from the surface in such a mad
rush?
You can pretend they know where the droids are. You
need to interrogate them. You need them alive.
"Commander,"
He turned swiftly to the trooper as the repulsors whined and died.
"Take Kenobi down to the detention centre, keep him unconscious.
Drug him." He moved to lift Luke into his arms again, then
realised that no matter who he pretended his son was, he should never
be seen carrying him.
And yet...
He was saved the
indecision when an emergency med unit burst up the boarding ramp in a
bustle of med packs and paramedics uniforms. Wisely, Darklighter
moved, or rather stumbled, out of their way as they pushed quickly to
Luke's side. Some medical jargon passed quickly between them before
lifting him to a stretcher under a net of monitors and saline drip
feeds.
Vader had to force his legs to walk down the ramp
ahead of them; somehow he managed not to look backwards as they
hustled behind him.
But he never relinquished his connection
to Luke in the Force; still fascinated, still absorbed by the
presence, still flicking back to the nine year old kid feeling the
enticing, vibrant presence of another Force presence in the venerable
Qui-Gon.
His palm touched the panel for the turbolift doorway
and left a red handprint on the release. He didn't notice. Inside,
the medic crew hastily assembled behind him, ever aware of Darth
Vader's infinitely higher status despite the situation. The lift
rose, stopped, and deposited them on the level of the main medical
wing. Only one stop - sensible to rush injured troopers from dock to
bacta. He stepped aside as they reached to main doors and the medic
crew rushed past without a second look, calling out more technical
jargon at the medic stationed within. Belatedly, Vader realised he
had neglected Darklighter. If the boy had managed to keep his wits
together and realised he was unguarded
Either he hadn't
or he was as devoted to his friend as he claimed, because he rushed
past Vader and after the medics, a shaking red hand raking fingers
through his hair. Vader's hand snapped out and hauled him backwards
from the door.
"Let them do their job." He warned.
Biggs looked between him and the medical bay and blinked,
forcibly relaxing tight muscles. Vader had a little more trouble
obeying his own order.
---
"My Lord?"
Vader turned from his inspection of the starscape to his aide
as he walked through the entranceway, steps as neat as his uniforms
creases.
"What is it, Jir?" He asked into the
relative darkness of his quarters main chamber.
Daine Jir
stepped a little into the light before speaking again. "We have
reports from the surface that the droids jettisoned by the Princess
have been found."
Princess Organa. Once again, he
had forgotten his current 'mission' when swamped by more... personal
problems. Once again, he was reminding himself to get a grip on the
situation.
"Good, have them collected and brought here."
"Should I have their memories wiped?" The Aide
inclined his head formally and Vader knew this was an opinion, not a
question.
"No, have them brought to me. We will
ascertain that theirs is the only copy of the plans."
Jir opened his mouth to speak, but presumably he saw Vader's
barely contained knife-edge frustration and took it for impatience.
He closed it again and bowed. "Yes, My Lord. The Emperor
requests that you contact him immediately."
That threw
Vader. What did Palpatine want; why contact him now? Unless... No.
There was no way he could know. Vader had been thoroughly meticulous
in clearing up all possible clues to Luke's identity in the past
few hours whilst he swam in the bacta tank. He had even gone as far
as to remove all stormtroopers witness to... well, any of that
debacle and randomly reassigned them after a few mental suggestions.
It was fortunate troopers had weak minds considering the number that
had amounted to.
So what was left...?
Daine Jir
for one. He realised the man was waiting for a reply, head
inclined even further to one side, studying him.
"Very
good. Have the rebel prisoners revealed anything?"
There
was a slight twitch of the lips at the change of subject, but nothing
more. "No, My Lord. Nothing we didn't already have on file."
As to be expected. "Understood. Dismissed." Vader
turned back to the viewport and Tatooine turning at Devastators feet,
knowing Jir had left by the smooth hiss of hydraulics in the
doorframe. Tatooine. Home. Luke's home and... well, his home. It
didn't matter how you tried to run away from it, how far you climbed
or how fast, your home always pulled you back with a tug on the
heartstrings. Tatooine - that place he'd lived his childhood in
slavery and where Obi-Wan had chosen to hide his son, and then kill
him.
Now Obi-Wan Kenobi lay sedated below decks. For a Jedi
that wouldn't mean too much, but with Vader as mental guardian there
was really very little danger. Twenty years of hunting Jedi had told
him something of their weaknesses, and this particular Jedi he knew
all too well. The man was old, sick, and nowhere near up to facing
his wrath. As they had seen out in the Dune Sea.
As much as
was possible, Vader let a shallow breath sigh through the breather,
feeling images of that cliff top rush through his brain again.
A
quick retrieval mission indeed.
---
As expected, Vader stepped slowly into the room and
didn't speak as the door shut. He didn't bother to bring the lights
up.
Any normal prisoner under the personal scrutiny of Lord
Darth Vader would have begun squirming by now. Obi-Wan just sat on
the hard pallet and stared sadly at the thing that had
replaced one of his best friends. Two decades on that dustball: two
decades since his last meeting with Vader. He didn't appear to have
changed much, nor to have lost his fighting skill; the sting of an
amputated right hand was testament to that.
"Obi-Wan."
Vader was struggling not to spit the name. "I knew you were
foolish, but this is beyond even your usual incompetence."
Kenobi
didn't feel much like disagreeing with him. He avoided the obvious
question. "We do what we have to, Vader." He tried to keep
regret from his voice and succeeded, mostly. Vader stepped forward
until the red light played like fire over his helmet, matching the
anger clear in his stance. Obi-Wan remained seated.
"Even
when it means murdering children?"
Obi-Wan smirked at
that. Was Vader going to try to lecture him on methods? "I'm
sure you have plenty of experience with that." Even on Tatooine
he had heard the stories, and of course before his hiding he had been
witness to far too many of Vader's achievements.
"Even
after two decades, you still don't understand." Vader shook his
head disgustedly. "You are as blind to the truth as ever."
Ah,
here it was. Completely predictable. The old argument the old
difference of opinion on the most fundamental aspects of the Force.
Obi-Wan knew Vader was mired in the dark side; beyond redemption.
Vader knew exactly what he was doing, he probably even knew those
things were wrong, but the thing was that he didn't care,
because Darth Vader was incapable of caring. Obi-Wan had
solidified that idea into an absolute truth on their last encounter,
and knew nothing could change that.
Anakin was gone.
Anakin was dead. Darth Vader had killed him. But to Vader, the Dark
Side doesn't destroy, it restructured. The Jedi knew better,
and Anakin had known better than to try to defeat the Dark Side from
within. Maybe he was even still clinging to that hope. Or rather,
Vader was. Anakin was dead. How many times had Obi-Wan repeated that
to himself in the last twenty years until he could accept it?
"And
you are as grounded in your own naïve perspective as ever,
Darth." His voice was calmer than Vader's had been. "I
couldn't let you have the boy."
He had failed Anakin
terribly. And the cost of that - the cost was stood in front of him
now and dared to think itself a father. That was a twisted
perspective even Obi-Wan would never be able to see; not after
witnessing it all in graphic, bloody detail.
"The boy?
So emotionless, Obi-Wan. Why not kill him as soon as he was born if
he means so little?" Vader rumbled, stepping closer.
"I
think you know the answer to that, Vader." Go on, Darth.
Admit that I cared for Anakin enough to risking letting his son live.
Doesn't that go against everything you've told yourself in these
long, lonely twenty years? There was nothing but silence and
Obi-Wan carried on, "You don't need my instruction
anymore."
"At least you have realised something, old
man." His hands clenched in anger and Kenobi knew the memories
that were playing through what remained of that twisted mind.
"I
have. I realised Anakin would never have wanted Luke to fall into
your hands." Obi-Wan gazed into the mask but it was unreadable.
The expression in Vader's voice was clear, though. "He
is my son."
The emotion shocked Obi-Wan,
the deep throaty rasp disturbing something in the old Jedi Master.
"He is Anakin's son." Vader growled in frustration
at that. "You have no claim to him, Vader. You killed any link
to him."
Obi-Wan watched the dark mask as Vader turned
fractionally away from him. Anakin no longer existed: he knew that,
had learnt it years ago. But... if that were true, why did Vader
appear to care so much about what happened to Luke? How could he
claim a connection to him when he absolved himself from the boys
father? It meant... well, it meant he acknowledged who he had been.
But that was impossible. Everything Obi-Wan had told himself for the
past twenty years went against it; the dark, black figure that stood
in front of him now, more machine than it was man, couldnt bear
any connection to Anakin. Probably it was just lust for ownership
over Anakin's son.
Then why did he suddenly feel so uncertain
of his convictions?
"You presume too much, Obi-Wan."
A jolt of adrenaline rushed through him at that and suddenly
a dark world turned murky grey around Obi-Wan. Had he just said...
no. He had simply meant... what? What else could he mean other than
that he still claimed a part of Anakin as himself? Obi-Wan's breath
caught in his throat and he was glad Vader continued and saved him
from having to answer.
"Anakin is dead, but he is
mine."
"Are you wallowing in contradictions as well
as lies now?" Obi-Wan asked. That had sounded far too much like
back tracking. Was this a chance to save his student? Was Anakin
still screaming for release under that suffocating armour? Did he
even want help? The idea that there could still be a chance for
Anakin was a withered hope given new breath. But was it the phoenix
or just ashes stirring in the wind of Obi-Wans
desperation?
Adrenaline was shooting through him and for a
minute Kenobi thought Vader's intense gazed hummed, but it was only
the blood rushing in his ears.
"It is not a
contradiction. He is mine now."
You old fool, it's
only ownership he's after. To control the last link to the man he
destroyed.
The thought mocked him for a moment before
running back to the dark confines of the cell. He suddenly felt a
very deep pity for Luke, and a deeper regret at not hitting the
activation panel sooner and preventing this. Compassion had always
been his weakness, as it had been when he had prevented Vader from
dying along with Anakin so many years ago now. And yet again there
was a price, but this time it would be Luke who paid. Luke Skywalker,
so completely innocent of his Destiny, so strong and ready to be
moulded.
"Will he live?"
The words were out
before he could stop them, and Vader turned to him, stance heavy with
indignation. "Yes." It was not a statement of fact, but of
intent, and Obi-Wan heard it, those thoughts of the possibility that
he was wrong about Vader skittering back into the light before he
shoved them away. He couldn't allow himself to wallow in foolish
hopes that could never be true.
But& if Vader totally
shunned Anakin, it meant giving the boy up, which he plainly did not
want. And if he wanted Luke... he had to take Anakin as well. That
had to hurt. Either way he lost something, and he had never known
Vader not get what he wanted.
"You cannot win,
Darth."
Vader misinterpreted his words. "So all the
Jedi I have destroyed told me. And now there is no one to stop me.
The Rebellion is all but crushed, Kenobi." He couldn't help but
gloat, Ben saw. So unlike Anakin. Those earlier thoughts had to have
been wrong. "We have recaptured the Death Star plans, and I'm
sure the Princess will be most co-operative in giving me the location
of the Rebel base."
Ben found his eyes closing in horror,
and was thankful when Vader clearly took it as despair at having the
rebellion destroyed, and not at the realisation that he had both
children now. But... he obviously didn't know. Even though she
was likely to suffer interrogation, Leia was probably in a far better
position than her twin.
Interrogation...
His
eyes opened, red in the cell light. "And now you would like to
exact some revenge on me?"
He clearly saw it in Vader's
stance but the Dark Lord slowly shook his head. "Yes, but not
that way." He had leaned in close to his old Master and Kenobi
had no doubts about the Sith's anger; this close to him it was as
potent as Bantha stench in the Tatooine noon.
"You're
going to train Luke? And then parade him in front of me?" Even
his normally calm voice sounded sickened, though not nearly as much
as his thoughts.
"Yes."
"And what will
the Emperor say to this, do you think? There can only ever be two..."
The sarcasm was uncharacteristic of Obi-Wan Kenobi, but then if Darth
Vader was going to start defying his character by claiming a part of
Anakin, why shouldn't he? He had the small satisfaction of a pause in
the breathing masks hiss. Obi-Wan managed a small smile. "Do you
really think he'll chose a sick old man in an iron mask over a young,
extremely strong and pliable child? What do you suppose he'll do to
Luke to turn him?"
He left the question hanging in the
air as Vader's head snapped up. Don't want your toy taken off you?
Or don't want your son hurt? Obi-Wan was no longer sure at all.
Vader turned on his heel and headed for the cell door, having
no answer and clearly disturbed by the question. "If that is his
destiny."
The door shut to silence and complete darkness
again as Obi-Wan let Vader consider those words.
---
In
the medical wing aboard the Devastator, Darth Vader slowly,
cautiously approached the main bay. Devastator hummed through
hyperspace at full speed, throwing herself towards a reunion with the
now-operational Death Star. The ship almost appeared eager to get
back to that metal monstrosity, but her Commander was not. Vader
disliked the very idea of a Death Star intently, and disliked
Palpatine's weakness for brawn over brains even more. As a Senator,
as Chancellor, he had appeared devious and clever. As an Emperor he
was increasingly appearing as an ailing old man with too much power.
Vader didn't know if Palpatine knew of these growing feelings
of disrespect, and he hoped his Master hadn't felt them blossom in
the past month. He was really not looking forward to conversing with
that 'old man'. It was perverse that someone so frail and
vulnerable-looking could be so deadly at times. Would Luke feel the
sting of his anger if he revealed the boys presence?
Vader
looked into the main bay, to the darkness that indicated it was the
middle of the night by Coruscant time. A little illumination came
from the banks of monitors in the bay, and the pale blue light above
his son's bed.
His son. It was rolling of the tongue so easily
now. He barely even marvelled to think it. He didn't want to consider
not having a need for it in the future.
No, Darth Vader, Dark
Lord of the Sith and some-time brutal killing machine, did not fancy
calling Palpatine. Perhaps that was why he insisted that the
Devastator stay at her current speed and not drop out of hyperspace
to make a quick call to Coruscant.
In the cool air of the med
bay, Luke shivered under a net of breathing apparatus and monitor
wires. It was a cruel imitation of his father's own, rather more
permanent, condition and it was not lost on Darth Vader.
A
coverlet concealed tanned skin, although it would probably be pale
from the blood loss and the swim in bacta. It had barely been a day,
after all. Luke would need a lot more time to recover yet, but
soon... soon he would be conscious. Another day; perhaps less. The
eagerness in his heart both concerned and thrilled him and as Luke
shivered again in the cold, Vader suddenly had a very
un-Dark-Lord-like urge to comfort him, remembering all those years
ago when he had left Tatooine and realised just how cold space is.
But... he couldn't. He couldn't go forward and hug the child
(young man really... but still his child.) Couldn't try and
comfort him. Because that would be another step down a road he wasn't
sure he was ready to take. When there was no danger he could fight,
no intent to lay action against, Vader was left with a truth as cold
as the med bay to a Tatooine native: the boy was Anakin's son.
And yet here he was; Darth Vader, who had tried so hard to
eradicate that man, seizing this child as his own with little
hesitation or thought for the consequences to himself. Consequences
to Luke, yes; consequences to Vader, no. And to Anakin...
He
didn't like to consider that particular line of thought too closely.
And yet, now he had to; there was little choice but to decide
whether Anakin still had a role in this or not, and the implications
of that. What would happen if he took this further and confessed to
boy that he was his father? Hadn't he longed to do that on Tatooine,
hadn't 'something' screamed at him to tell Luke? But that would be an
admission of... what? Guilt? Hope? His previous existence as Anakin
Skywalker?
Could he do that?
He didn't know. He
didn't like to ask.
Luke mumbled something in his sleep,
tossing like he was fighting a nightmare, and Vader nearly, nearly
stepped forwards through the med bay door.
But he didn't. He
turned on his heel and walked hastily from the room, running from an
ugly past trying to sneak into the present.
Mina.