Bloodmarrow 8

Author's Note: I had to do more research to discover how Luke would feel after the transplant, as I just didn't want to say he felt 'lousy'. Everyone give a big round of applause to Dani who has helped provide me with information on Luke's medicine as well as the side affects from it - as well as general info on how people feel right after surgery. Without Dani's help this chapter wouldn't be as it is. Hope the wait was worthwhile. The crew estimate in this chapter was partly based on the fact that a regular Imperial-class Star Destroyer carries 9700 stormtroopers (I rounded that up to 10,000 and then added another 10,000 for the crew that actually runs the ship). Since a Super Star Destroyer is eight times larger, I multiplied the total number (crew and stormtroopers) by eight. It's the best I could do…

Many hours later Darth Vader woke up from his nap feeling refreshed and energized. He blinked his eyes and stared up at the white tile ceiling high overhead. Each square had little black dots on it or so it seemed. Loud beeping could be heard from the medical machinery that monitored his health and it reminded him that he was in Sick Bay. He immediately remembered that he had donated his bone marrow to Luke and his heart went out to the boy.

/My son…/

He didn't remember if he had dreamed while he had slept or not, but if he had, he was sure Luke had been in it. At the moment the young man was the most important person in his life and he wished with all his might that he would make a full recovery. A new sound made its way into his conscious thought. Soft footsteps were nearing and Vader's blue eyes shifted to the door of his private room. He supposed it could just be nurses making the rounds or perhaps seeing to new patients. Just because someone else wasn't fatally wounded didn't mean Sick Bay stood empty. With crew totaling over 160,000 including all the stormtroopers and Tie pilots, Sick Bay were kept busy doing routine medical exams. Then there were the assorted normal injuries that trickled in throughout the day and night: accidental burns from equipment shorting out, stomachaches, the ever-popular insomnia, carelessness and so forth. The footsteps went passed Vader's door and the Sith Lord sighed. He very much wanted to know how Luke was progressing. The not knowing was slowly driving him into a mild state of panic. It was far easier to accept his own injuries than his son's. It just felt natural for him to cuddle the boy and try to protect him from the vast arrays of hurt the galaxy could inflict on him. Realizing he had a unique tool in his position, he decided to make use of it.

Closing his eyes, Vader willed himself to relax. He eased his breathing and quieted his mind the best he could. From earlier in the day, he knew Luke was nearby, possibly in the next room over. Since he was already familiar with the boy's Force signature and a simple bond had formed between the two of them it was just a matter of reaching out. Vader did that, sending his senses right through the wall as if it didn't exist. The spark of light that was Luke called him like a bit of iron to a magnet and he rushed towards it eagerly. Within seconds he was there, right inside the boy. The first thing that assaulted his senses was an overwhelming tide of nausea and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to start retching himself. His stomach bubbled and boiled like a pot left on the stove too long and Vader strongly reminded himself that the feeling was not his own. Gripping his own stomach with an iron clad fist, he willed it back to where it belonged and the feeling passed, although it left him slightly queasy. Luke was conscious and apparently unaware of his presence, the boy's mind sleepy and caught in a haze. He apparently was aware of where he was but lacked the will to try and do anything, not that he could do anything. The lethargic feeling reminded Vader of the flu he had once suffered as a young Padawan at the Jedi Temple. His mind had felt sluggish like a badly tuned airspeeder and he just lazed in bed all day, dozing on and off while feeling miserable. His normally sharp mind had felt full of cotton and his head had hurt in a strange way. What Luke was feeling was similar but without the achy head bit. Not wishing to startle his sick son with a mental communication, he pulled back and departed.

Once his mind was safely back in his own body, Vader opened his eyes again and stared up at the ceiling. He felt partly relieved that Luke was apparently awake, even though he was not exactly his normal out-going self. Surely that was a good sign? He had survived the initial transplant and was still alive.

/Yet he feels so miserable…/

A bit of guilt chewed at Vader's mind. He was the one that had ordered the surgical procedure that had made Luke feel so terrible. To lie there and feel like you're going to throw up, that's no bed of flowers. It was one of the worst things a person could feel. Of course, getting burned topped the list of worst experiences. For sheer pain and misery, nothing beat a burn. But he didn't want to think about his own past now. Luke was his first concern and even though he had visited him mentally just a minute ago, he wanted to see him in person. He needed to verify with his own eyes that Luke was really alive. It was childish, yes, but the need was there all the same. It what came of being a parent he supposed. Yet this need had always burned within him; the desire for a family to call his own.

/I must ascertain my condition first…/

Turning his mind inward, he scanned over his own body with the Jedi techniques he had learned as a boy. Unlike normal humans, he could actually see inside himself and tell how his body was functioning. The false nausea had completely passed now and his old injuries stood out like black char marks on a field of pale blue. There was a new injury and it glowed a fiery red. This, of course, was where Dr. Corrigan had removed his bone marrow. Yet the wound was small and not all that serious. Concentrating his will and gathering the Force around him like a blanket, he attempted to heal the spot as best he could. Some Jedi had been gifted with healing, but it had never been one of his strong suits. He had been much better at the physical side of things: piloting, fencing, levitating, Force-Jumping and magically breaking his fall from incredible heights. Several times he'd almost given his poor Master heart attacks by leaping out of airspeeders thousands of feet up in the air with nothing underneath. Yet he had landed as softly as a feather and had never been harmed by his rash acts. In fact, he had enjoyed them. Concentrating harder, he willed the flesh to heal itself; the cells to knit back together into a smooth whole. He reasoned that since this was a small, minor wound compared to his other health problems; he should be able to heal it. He gripped the Force harder, his body trembling slightly from the effort he was producing. His heart rate soared and his breathing increased, even though he was supposed to be in a calm meditation during this. He was rapidly growing frustrated, his mood edgy. The Force wasn't obeying his commands!

"No!" Disgruntled, Vader's eyes flew up and he collapsed in his bed; a sheen of sweat coating his body. His mood was dark like an approaching thunderhead and his blue eyes reflecting this, the color darker than normal. "Why can't I heal it? It's not like my other ones…"

His old injuries were major and although he had attempted to heal those as well in the past, he could understand it. This, however, was small. And he was the most powerful Jedi, wasn't he? Palpatine had told him so.

/Of course, Palpatine can't fix his own body either, apparently…./

The Emperor looked horrible. His skin was rotten and decayed, often falling off in bits and pieces. In his greed for power, the old man channeled so much raw power through himself that it was actually wrecking his own health and would undoubtedly kill him one of these days. Yet Palpatine was unconcerned with his looks. He was the ruler of the galaxy and that was all that mattered to him. Perhaps he had never even tried to heal himself. Dark energy was not conductive to healing anyway, only destroying. Personally, Vader thought it was the Sith Lightning that made the Emperor look like a living corpse. He himself had never called on that blue lightning and he never would. The Emperor called on it far too often and used it just because he could. That, in Vader's opinion, was stupid. It was abusing the Force, being wasteful. It was like levitating an object to you when you could easily stand up and walk across the room to get it yourself. During a battle it was OK, but not in everyday situations. Dooku had used the Sith Lightning and he had never looked that way. But then, Count Dooku had been trained as a Jedi and he was frugal.

Deciding he'd have to do things the old fashioned way, Vader cautiously placed his palms flat on the bed and slowly pushed himself upright into a sitting position. During this, he was mindful of the slightest bit of pain he might feel. If he wanted to see Luke today, he'd have to get out of bed. When no stabs of pain surged through him, he breathed slightly easier. He felt a bit of tenderness in the area where the needle had been inserted, but that was to be expected. Still, it wasn't bad and he quickly dismissed it from his mind. His mouth felt dry and parched, more so than usual. Could it be he had been snoring during his nap? Glancing towards the table next to his bed, he spotted a tall glass of water and he reached for it. Sipping the room temperature water, he realized he felt oddly naked sitting here. It wasn't often that he was out of his suit of armor and mask when he wasn't in his private quarters. The idea that just anyone could walk into his room and see his face, well, that brought up a wild myriad of feelings. Chief among them was fear, unease and nervousness.

/Of course, they would not recognize me…/

If he were to go visit Luke like this, would the boy even recognize him? Of course, Luke was a bit out of it at the moment, apparently.

/Still, I would like to see him…/

The door to his room opened just then and Dr. Corrigan strolled in, a data padd under his arm. The man's eyes registered the fact that the Sith Lord was sitting up and a brief smile played across his lips. "Feeling better today, are we?"

"Yes, I am." Vader admitted. "I would like to go see Luke if that's possible."

"I think we can manage that." Dr. Corrigan replied as his eyes studied the readout on the monitoring medical equipment. Each moving line or beep meant something to the doctor, although it looked like a bunch of gibberish to anyone else. "In fact, it's good that you visit him. Patients that get visitors have a much better chance of recovering, as someone cares about them. It's a proven fact. But there's a few things you need to understand first."

Vader focused all of his attention on the doctor, knowing that the information would be vital to Luke's health. "Yes, I'm listening."

"First of all, people that just had a transplant are very susceptible to getting sick." Dr. Corrigan leaned against the nearby wall as he talked, his eyes on Vader's face. "You see, his immune system isn't working right now, so any little bug could kill him. I mean anything, even the common cold. So we must be extremely careful when we go visit him. You'll need to wear a facemask that'll cover your nose and mouth, as those are prime places for bugs to hang out. I have a field set up around him for protection, but it's best to not take unnecessary chances. The old reliable ways are best."

Vader nodded his understanding. "The field is like an energy barrier, am I correct?"

Dr. Corrigan smiled. "That's right, it is. It's similar to the shields the ship uses down in the landing bays or in the detention deck. But these are designed to keep virus and bacteria that may be floating in the air away from the sick patient. It's standard procedure these days. You'll also have to wear special gloves and slippers."

"But I have mechanical hands…" Vader reminded the doctor, holding one of them up. The light reflected off the smooth gold surfaces, creating white highlights. Although they had more advanced prosthetics these days, he had never found the time to upgrade his. Rumor was the new ones they days could actually feel things, just like a real hand.

"It doesn't matter." Corrigan explained as he held up his own hands. "All day you touch countless things with your hands. All sorts of germs and dirt collect on them, even if you wash them. Stop and think how many things you touch in a day and how many people have touched it before you, how many sneezed on it, coughed on it? What sicknesses do those people have? You just can't know so you need to wear these gloves. Now later, once you're back in your suit and helmet, you can forgo the facemask but you'll still need to put the gloves and slippers on. They can go on right over your own boots and black gloves. I know it's a hassle but you need to do it each and every time you visit your son. If you don't, you run the risk of him getting sick. Don't rely on the medical field in his room."

Vader bowed his head slightly in respect and understanding. When he was in his suit, he had his own self-contained air supply. That's why he wouldn't need the facemask. "I do not wish to play sabacc with my son's life. I will do as you say."

"Good." Dr. Corrigan smiled again, pleased that the Sith Lord was taking him seriously. "Now, you need to prepare yourself. Your son is not looking at his best right now, obviously. So don't be surprised. He's feeling lousy and he's probably not in a good mood. He's also on several medications or what's more commonly called an immuno suppressant cocktail. The first drug, called Cylclosporin, stops his body from attacking the bone marrow you donated. Normally a person's body attacks any foreign invader and we need to stop that from happening. The body does this through white blood cells. If you ever read about the immune system you should understand this. The white blood cells attack the invader and hopefully destroy it. Normally that's good but not in cases of transplants. The second drug is called Azathioprine and it suppresses the white blood cells. The last drug in the cocktail is Prednisone. It's an anti-inflammatory and also helps the body accept the bone marrow. You with me so far?"

The Sith Lord sighed but nodded his head yet again. It was alarming to hear his poor son was on so many drugs but there was no help for it. The drugs were there to help Luke make a recovery. And no drug was perfect. Each had its own side-affects, some worse than others. "Yes, I understand."

Vader moved his bare droid feet to the ground and sat on the edge of the bed. Accepting the special slippers, he slid each one over his metal feet. Once that was done, he pulled the gloves on and then the facemask. Silently he followed the doctor out of the room he had been in, the pale blue hospital gown reaching to his thighs. The gown was cool and drafty, the material too thin compared to his leather and metal suit. Still, he had little time to reflect on this as his mind was focused on Luke. He was unsure what he should expect to see; yet the doctor had told him to prepare himself. His nerves jumping slightly, he followed Corrigan into Luke's room.

Luke rested in bed in a slightly propped up position, the bed raised slightly. An i.v. stood next to his bed, the long plastic tube carrying some liquid down to his arm. The needle was secured in place with a bit of medical tape. A soft blue haze of energy surrounded the bed, the medical field Corrigan had mentioned earlier. It was transparent, however, and he could see his son just fine. Luke's face was pale and drops of sweat marred his forehead, yet Vader could see chills running all through his body. A slightly greenish tinge was visible and he could see Luke swallow reflectively as he fought the nausea. His face also appeared covered in a slight sheen of grease and what appeared to be a pimple had already formed on his chin.

/My poor son! How he suffers!./

"Luke, I am here…" Vader said through the facemask, hoping his words would come out clearly. They did and he waited for a response, his heart thudding in his chest. He had been forced to bring his portable respirator with him, so at the moment he and Luke were not that different; each hooked up to medical machinery. The thin facemask clung to his lips and cheekbones, the feeling strange and unfamiliar. He was so used to wearing his black breath mask that any change felt bizarre. With each outward breath he took, the thin material fluttered against his lips, tickling him. It actually was annoying and the urge to rip it off was strong. Still, he knew he couldn't do that no matter what. The last thing he wanted was for his tormented son to suffer more on his account. No, Luke's needs had to come before his own.

Slowly, Luke turned his head slightly, his blue eyes focusing on Vader. His gaze looked slightly drugged, which wasn't surprising. Then confusion surfaced in his eyes and face. "Father? Is that you?"

"Yes, Luke." Vader replied, his spirit rising slightly as Luke had guessed who he was. But then, who else did the boy know on the Star Destroyer?

"I feel miserable…" Luke admitted honestly. He closed his tired eyes for a moment, resting them. His body was being assaulted by all types of things, it seemed and he didn't like it one bit. "I think the cure is worst than that disease…"

"I know it must seem that way, Luke." Vader intoned, his heart broken by seeing Luke so ill. He watched as Luke pulled the light sheet up closer to his chin, his thin body being raked by shivering. "But this will pass. It'll be for the best in the end. You'll see…"

"You don't know how I feel." Luke muttered sadly.

"Yes, I do." Vader softly said as he gazed down at the young man. "I had a terrible flu once years ago and I felt very similar to what you're feeling now. My head banged with the beat of a pod engine, chills swept through my bones and every few minutes I felt like tossing up the broth Obi-Wan had fed me. My nosed was stuffed up so badly I had to breathe through my mouth and my throat was on fire. Swallowing anything, even the wet broth, was like eating crushed glass. I felt groggy and couldn't think straight, either."

Luke moaned in response.

"I should let you rest." Vader finally said, feeling the boy's agony through the weak link they shared. He didn't want to tire Luke out too much, especially so soon after the transplant. But Luke now knew he was here and hadn't forgotten about him. "I'll come back and visit you soon."

"All right…" Luke groaned, his eyes still closed as more beads of sweat appeared on his brow. "I'm … I'm glad that you came."

Taking a final glance at the sick boy, Vader followed the doctor out of the room. Once outside, he removed the slippers, gloves and the facemask, disposing them in a trash can. Each one could only be used once. Pausing, the Sith Lord reflected on what he had seen. All in all, he supposed Luke didn't look too bad, although he knew appearances could be deceiving. It may look like the flu but it was much more serious. The transplant could refuse to take and Luke could still die. It was probably a miracle that he was talking at all…

/At least the white streak in his hair has not grown…/

Remembering about Obi-Wan, Vader turned to Dr. Corrigan. "I'd like to see the Jedi now."

"Very well." Dr. Corrigan led him to the next room over and opened the door, motioning him to go in with his arm. "When you're done, you should return to your room and rest a bit. So far you're not having any reaction to the procedure, but I'd like to keep you another day to play it safe."

"Did you find any matching donors for him yet?" Vader asked almost fearfully.

"Well, the computer is running through the crew but with 160,000 people aboard it takes a long time. Also, you must remember that the HLA factor is not a thing normally kept in a person's medical file, like the blood type is. So we've been actually bringing likely crewmembers in and testing them I'm afraid…" Dr. Corrigan himself wasn't satisfied with the answer he gave but what could he do? "We're doing it as quickly as we can and I have most of my staff working on it around the clock."

At this bit of news, Vader's heart skipped a beat. It didn't sound good at all and his hope sank down into a deep pit.

"These sort of procedures often rely heavily on relatives, siblings. You must understand that to find a total stranger who's HLA matches your own…" Dr. Corrigan waved his hands in a helpless way, deep sorrow on his face. "We'll keep looking, of course. We may get lucky."

/It's like looking for the one silver credit among a mountain of copper ones…/

Still, Vader attempted to keep his hopes up. He had to think positively. What other choice was there? He was unsure what to expect, as the disease must have progressed while he had been sleeping. Would Obi-Wan have some sort of streaks in his hair by now? Would other things have developed? And more importantly, what state of mind were his old friend and mentor in? Last he had seen the Jedi, he had been quite shaken by the white hairs growing from his palms. Deciding that perhaps in was best to check his mood first through their bond, he sent his senses through the door. If he was expecting depression and gloominess, he got a real shock.

Confidence radiated out from Obi-Wan; a confidence he had never felt in his Master before. Although most Jedi were sure of themselves, like Maser Windu, Obi-Wan had never been one of them. He had always felt he had been too young and ill prepared to have an apprentice, being little more than a Padawan himself. The apprenticeship had been forced on him by a dying man's words and Obi-Wan had felt obligated to keep that promise. More often that not during Anakin's training, Obi-Wan had remained silent when the younger man made mistakes. This often put both of them in dangerous situations. It wasn't that Obi-Wan meant to do it, he just wasn't sure if he should mention it or not. His fear of making a mistake and possibly looking stupid or foolish kept him silent. Then there was the fact that he and Anakin were very different types of people. During Obi-Wan's training, he had often discovered his own mistakes in time and so that approach worked fine. But Anakin was not Obi-Wan. Yet the only way Obi-Wan knew to train the boy was the way Qui-Gon had trained him. To do something different training wise had not occurred to the new Jedi nor would it be welcome. He had thought if it worked on him, why not on Anakin? As time passed, the two grew more and more distant to each other; the close and rewarding bond other Masters and Apprentices shared never forming between the two of them.

Another factor was that in normal cases Jedi were allowed to pick their own Padawan. Time was allowed for them to study the Younglings and get to know them. After several years of conversations with the Younglings, a Jedi normally picked someone who suited his or her personality; someone similar to themselves in temperament. This prevented the problem Obi-Wan had with training Anakin. Anakin required a deeper relationship that Obi-Wan could give him. The boy, used to expressing his feelings freely and seeing nothing wrong with that, had thought Obi-Wan cold and standoffish. He couldn't understand why the Jedi wouldn't share his feelings and thoughts with him. Over time, Anakin decided it meant that Obi-Wan didn't really care about him or that nothing he ever did was good enough for his Master. The truth, however, was that Obi-Wan found sharing his feelings with others difficult to do. It was embarrassing and made him nervous, so he kept putting it off. Often he'd decide that he'd praise Anakin for a job well done but it never seemed to be the right moment. Something else always came up and then too much time had passed, so the boy never received his praise.

And now to feel his former Master radiating confidence, well, it was troubling. Taking a deep breath, Vader palmed the door open and stepped into the room. He spotted the Jedi right away, standing in front of a small mirror and combing his hair. The Sith Lord had no idea where he had gotten the mirror from as the rooms in Sick Bay normally didn't have them, yet a mirror hung on the wall.

/Perhaps he used a Jedi mind trick to get it…/

"Hello, Anakin." Obi-Wan said as he turned to face the Sith Lord, two reddish streaks going through his white hair. A weak smile appeared on his lips as he studied his former apprentice. Obi-Wan's face looked smoother and younger, his skin free of blemishes caused by Tatooine's dry air and age. "So, how are you feeling? You don't look too good, you know. It must be a real pain dragging that respirator around with you. Wouldn't you like to be free of it? I think I could help you there…"

To be continued…

Not sure if I need a Disclaimer for using the names of medicine in the story. If so, it's not mine. It belongs to some medical company I'm sure. Just borrowing it for the story!