A/N: This was getting long, so I broke it up into two parts. Part Two will be posted within a few days.

Syl Elgrin and Anto Cadev are OCs that I made up.

Chapter Summary: A member of Vader's crew wants to make sure Luke Skywalker suffers the appropriate consequences for his actions with the Rebellion.

Chapter 7: Revenge (Part 1)

Luke Skywalker. The terrorist responsible for destroying the Death Star. His father had been stationed on the Death Star. Luke Skywalker had murdered his father. He should be locked up in a cell. He should be interrogated within an inch of his life for any and all Rebel intel he may possess. He should be executed painfully and publicly.

Ensign Syl Elgrin snorted bitterly and knocked back his third shot of Corellian ale. He welcomed the sensation of the alcohol burning down his throat, and he gestured with his index finger for the bartender to refill his glass.

When news of Lord Vader capturing Skywalker had reached him, Syl had felt a vicious spike of satisfaction. Finally, the Rebel scum would face the consequences of his actions. Yet, to Syl's intense irritation, instead of being brought to justice for his crimes, it seemed that Skywalker was being treated more like an honored guest aboard the Executor. According to ship gossip, Lord Vader and Skywalker were nigh inseparable. Skywalker apparently occupied the previously unused quarters in Lord Vader's private wing of the ship. Skywalker had been seen walking about the ship completely unrestrained. One outrageous rumor, reported by a gaggle of stormtroopers, suggested that Lord Vader and Skywalker spent time together in Lord Vader's private hangar bay working on broken ships.

Syl ground his teeth and downed another shot.

"Careful there, Elgrin." Ensign Anto Cadev plopped down beside him at the bar. "Aren't you on-duty in five hours? Don't think you want to be caught drunk during your shift."

"Leave me alone, Cadev," Syl snapped.

"Alright, jeez." Anto raised his hands in surrender. "Who put bantha poodoo in your jawa juice?"

"Skywalker," Syl growled.

"What about him?"

"Why hasn't Lord Vader put him in his place?"

Anto shrugged, unconcerned. "No idea. It's not our place to question Lord Vader. He knows what he's doing."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure he does," Syl intoned sarcastically. "That's why I heard Skywalker laughed at him yesterday on the bridge, like he told a joke or something. Who laughs at Lord Vader and lives?"

"Don't tell me you actually believe those ridiculous rumors going around," Anto demanded. "There's no way any of it's true."

"How do you know it's not true?"

"Like you said, there's no way anyone could get away with laughing at Lord Vader. Besides, have you seen any of these interactions for yourself?"

"Well, no," Syl admitted. "But it's not like we get around the ship all that often. We work in the mess hall, Anto."

"Touché."

"Whether any of it's real or not, if Lord Vader doesn't do something about Skywalker soon, I will."

"Syl…"

"No, Anto! Don't tell me to 'be careful.'" Syl jabbed a finger against Anto's chest. "That sithspawn has to pay for what he did to my father!"

Anto shook his head in disapproval and smacked Syl's finger away. "You're going to get yourself killed."

"Not if nobody knows it was me."

"I would know it was you!"

"Just don't tell anyone."

Anto groaned in frustration. "How would you even pull it off?"

Syl sat back, stumped. How could he kill Skywalker without anyone finding out it was him? Just then, the door to the kitchen slid open and a silver protocol droid stepped through carrying a food tray.

"Skywalker has to get food somehow, doesn't he?" Syl asked.

"Yeah…" Anto said slowly. "So?"

A slow smirk spread across Syl's face. "It would be a shame if someone tampered with it."

It had been two weeks since his father caught him, and so far nothing had gone like Luke thought it would. After Bespin, he didn't know what to expect. Would Vader be angry at Luke's rejection? Would he take him straight to the Emperor? Was the offer to kill the Emperor together still open? There were so many unanswered questions and unknowns. Luke hadn't been ready to meet his father so soon after Cloud City.

The Force, apparently, disagreed. Not three months post-Bespin, Luke had been sent on a supply run. Vader had shown up and his team, which included Leia, had been captured. Luke had managed to bargain with Vader—he would go with him if Vader let his friends go. His father had agreed, Leia had protested vehemently, and Luke had found himself restrained with a pair of binders and in a shuttle bound for the Executor.

Luke expected to be lead to a cell. Instead, Vader brought him to quarters that resided in Vader's private wing. His rooms were large, with a 'fresher, a sitting room, and a bedroom, but they weren't overly lavish. Vader's own quarters were right next to his.

At first, their interactions had been stilted and filled with tension. Luke didn't know where he stood with his father, and Vader obviously had no idea how to approach his son. More often than not, their attempts at conversation would end in shouting matches and one of them storming off.

After two weeks, they were getting better. Luke had agreed to help Vader destroy the Emperor, and in return Vader had agreed to stop pestering Luke about the dark side. They had come to a shaky truce, but they did still have disagreements occasionally.

Like now, for example.

"Father, please! You at least have to tell me her name."

The temperature dropped significantly and his father's presence darkened.

"I do not have to do anything!" Vader's finger came awfully close to poking him in the eye. "Your mother is not up for discussion, and that is final!"

Luke finally felt his temper snap. Abandoning all self-preservation skills and common sense, he knocked his father's finger away from his face and took an angry step forward. "Did you not love her?" he demanded. "Was she just some fling? Why won't you tell me? I deserve to know!"

Cold invisible fingers wrapped around his throat and squeezed. Luke's eyes widened and his mouth opened, gasping for air that wouldn't come. As quickly as the pressure came, it disappeared. Luke dragged in a breath and watched his father take a stumbling step backward. He could feel Vader's regret and remorse. But all he said was, "Do not ever speak to me in such a manner again."

He turned on his heel and strode out of Luke's quarters, cape flaring behind him.

Luke stood in shock for a few moments after the door slid closed. Then he registered his shaky legs, and he sat—more like fell—down on the ground, burying his head in his knees. He felt his eyes burn and he blinked rapidly; he didn't want to cry. Luke rested there for awhile, trying to calm his agitated heart and keep himself from bursting into tears.

That was the first time Vader had…Since Bespin, his father hadn't laid a hand on him. Luke could tell he'd been making a conscious effort not to harm him whenever his temper rose. It would seem he had finally pushed Vader too far.

Luke gritted his teeth and furiously wiped away a tear that had escaped. All he wanted was to know about his mother. Just a name would be enough for now. Didn't he have the right to know his own mother's name?

His door slid open and Luke shot to his feet. If his father had returned…

It was just a protocol droid. It walked up to him and offered him the tray in its arms. "It is lunchtime, sir."

Glancing at the chrono on the wall, Luke was surprised to see that it was indeed only lunchtime. It felt like days had passed instead of just the morning. In fact, he was already tired. He supposed arguing with one's father and then being Force choked would suck the energy right out of a person.

He took the tray with a nod. "Thank you," Luke said.

"You are welcome, sir," the droid responded in a dull monotone voice. It left a second later.

Luke sighed and set the tray on the coffee table. He sat down on the couch and removed the lid. It looked like the normal officer's soup. There was also a piece of bread and a few slices of jogan fruit along with a glass of water. He wasn't especially hungry at the moment, but Luke hated the thought of wasting food. He dug in. The food tasted fine as usual, although the soup was a little more bitter than it had been. He felt a vague feeling of anxiety, which only grew with every bite he took. Luke brushed it off as lingering fear and stress from the earlier argument.

The feeling of anxiety blared into full-on warning bells the moment he finished the soup. His mouth suddenly felt dry and he drained the glass of water in seconds. The liquid did nothing. Luke stood to go get more water...and immediately doubled over as pain shot through his stomach like tiny vibroblades. He fell to his knees and vomit burned a trail up his esophagus and spewed from his mouth. Luke was alarmed to see blood in the sick on the carpet.

He attempted to stand again, but the room twirled lazily around him. He blinked. When he next opened his eyes, he found himself lying sprawled on the floor next to the puddle of vomit. He felt hot and cold, like he was burning under the suns of Tatooine and then being submerged in the snow on Hoth.

This was very bad. He needed help. His commlink was...too far away. Maybe with the Force...The Force! He didn't need a commlink. Luke could contact his father without one. Luke grasped tremulously at the Force, following the link that connected him to Vader. His father's mind was locked down tight, shielded with a duracreet shroud. Luke pounded on it with all the strength he could muster—which wasn't much. Vader felt it anyway, and the shroud closed tighter.

I do not wish to be disturbed.

Father, I...I don't...something's wrong.

Concern. Questioning.

The food. Something was wrong with the food.

Pain spiked through his stomach again and he cried out, his contact with his father wavering. The shields around Vader's mind flew wide open and he brushed Luke's mind. Alarm. Panic. Anger. He could feel all of these emotions and more come from his father, even as Vader's presence started rapidly moving in Luke's direction. He was coming. His father was coming. Help was coming...