A/N: Just a reminder, Syl Elgrin and Anto Cadev are OCs.

Enjoy Part Two of Two!

Chapter Summary: Vader gets a wake up call in regards to Luke. Meanwhile, Syl Elgrin's days are numbered.

Chapter 8: Revenge (Part 2)

Vader was brooding. No, not brooding. Vader didn't brood. He was...contemplating. Staring unseeingly at the white walls of his hyperbaric chamber, he contemplated his son. Why must he be so stubborn? So insolent? Surely Luke hadn't inherited these traits from him? They must originate from her.

He quickly ground the direction his thoughts were going to dust. He would not think of her. He could not think of her—not without a miasma of agony, bitter contrition, and anger. It shouldn't shock him that Luke wanted to know about his mother, yet he had been blindsided by his son's inquiry concerning her.

They had expressed civil—dare he say pleasant—greetings that morning. There had been talk of how to proceed with Luke's training as well as when they could next spend time working on ships in the hangar. Everything was proceeding amicably enough. Then Luke had gone quiet. Vader had sensed heightened nervousness from him, though he'd tried to shield it.

"Who is my mother?" Luke had asked.

Wholly unprepared for such a question, Vader had gazed at his son blankly. It took him a few seconds to process the plaintive query, and when he did his heart—what was left of it—clenched violently. Angered and hurt, Vader had rebuked him. From there, the entire conversation had gone into the trash compactor.

He regretted his treatment of his son. Before that morning's incident, Vader had been meticulous about refraining from hurting his son. Bespin had been...an error. Force would not endear his son to him or gain him his loyalty. He needed to use gentler methods, which had so far been effective. He couldn't allow himself to harm Luke again. Seeing his face twist into fear just as her's had on Mustafar was more than he could bear. If only the boy would learn not to push him. If Luke had backed down when Vader had told him the first time, he wouldn't have lashed out in such a manner.

He's your son, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. He shouldn't have to worry about being strangled if he triggers your temper—accidentally or otherwise.

Soft knocking against the shields around his mind kept him from examining that thought in greater detail. His son was trying to gain his attention. Vader was irritated and leery all in one; he was still broodi—contemplating, and he hadn't quite calmed down from their earlier argument. He wanted to make sure he was collected enough not to start throttling his son again. If Luke was attempting to harass Vader about her again...

I do not wish to be disturbed, he admonished, taking care to keep his shields raised.

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

Vader frowned, scars stinging at the motion. Luke's mind-voice didn't sound like it usually did. It was frail, tremulous. He stretched out to feel his son's mood. There was fear, which was fast morphing into panic, and an undercurrent of bewilderment. Vader didn't answer in words, but he sent a silent question.

The food. Something was wrong with the food. Luke's reply was immediately followed by sharp pain, rushing like a flood from his son's side of the bond.

Vader re-donned his mask and helmet faster than he ever had before. He barely waited for the hyperbaric chamber to open all the way before he was ducking through, bumping the top of his helmet on the way out. Something was terribly wrong with Luke, and concepts such as dignity and waiting for doors to finish opening couldn't have been further from his mind. He reached out to his son again, attempting to determine why he was in distress. Along with the intense pain, nausea also bombarded him, nearly making him stumble. Luke's Force presence, normally akin to staring at both Tatooine's suns, was dim—like a small, dying candle in the middle of a cavernous pitch black room. Even as Vader watched, it grew dimmer.

His quarters were right next to Luke's, but the time it took for him to come bursting into his son's sitting room (it couldn't have been more than thirty seconds) still felt intolerably long to Vader. The scene before him would never leave him for as long as he lived.

Luke was lying on the floor, limbs askew. He was pale—so, so pale—translucent almost, and he was shivering. Next to him, the carpet was stained with an ominous, unknown substance—was that blood?

"Luke!"

His son's name ripped from his throat before he consciously realized his mouth had opened. Galvanized out of his stunned horror, Vader crossed the room in two strides, practically falling to his knees beside Luke. Absentmindedly, he pushed a button on his comm to summon a medic. Up close, Vader could see that Luke was sweating, even though he trembled as though he was cold. His lips had an alarming blue-ish tint to them. Vader's hands hovered over Luke for a moment, unsure where to place them, almost afraid to touch.

Luke's eyes, which had previously been closed, slid open. They were glassy and pain-filled. His lost expression compelled Vader to gently cradle the side of his son's face, and his other hand landed lightly on Luke's shoulder.

"Luke," he called. Vader needed to get his attention. He needed to keep Luke awake. Unfocused eyes came to rest on Vader's mask.

"Father," he rasped, wincing and coughing.

"Do not speak!" Vader cringed internally. That had come out much harsher than he intended. Indeed, Luke flinched slightly. "Save your strength," he continued as softly as the vocoder would allow. "The medic will arrive shortly."

His son hummed his assent and didn't try speaking again. Time passed in which Vader wondered where in Sith hell the medic was and occupied himself with anxiously observing Luke's Force presence. For one terrible moment, it flickered out. Before Vader could launch into a rage-filled panic, the light flickered back. But it was so very weak.

At last, the medic entered Luke's quarters, and Vader resisted the temptation to murder the man for taking so long. If he did that, he would have to summon another medic, and Luke would be kept from medical intervention even longer.

"Help him!" Vader snapped.

The medic scurried over and began scanning Luke. The scanner pinged and the man's eyes widened in response. "He's been poisoned, my Lord."

Poisoned. His blood burned and pounded through his body as his fury rose to devastating heights. Someone had dared to harm his son? To attempt to murder him? Vader tamped down on his ire viciously. He could not afford anger right now. He would find and punish—most severely—those responsible later. Luke needed him.

"Do we have access to an antidote?" Vader demanded.

"I'll need to stabilize him before we can move him," the medic replied, injecting a hypospray into Luke's upper arm as he spoke, "but then it is only a matter of purging the poison from his system. There is no antidote for this—" Vader stiffened and the medic hastily continued "—but we caught the poison's progression in time. It won't do permanent damage. If he'd been left like this much longer, I'm afraid he would've been beyond help."

Vader barely prevented a shudder from wracking his body. He refused to think of the what-ifs. Luke was being stabilized and he would recover. A thread of worry still lingered, but Vader tried to ignore it. His son would be fine. He moved to stand, in order to give the medic more room to work, but was halted by a clumsy hand reaching up to brush against his arm. Luke was looking at him with half-lidded eyes.

"Stay," he pleaded.

"The medic needs room to attend you, Luke."

"Please," Luke whispered, feebly gripping the sleeve covering Vader's arm.

He couldn't deny his son, not after that close call. Not when he looked so vulnerable. He settled back down and clasped his son's hand, unable to take his gaze off Luke's face as the medic moved around, working to get Luke ready for transportation.

Vader thought about the argument they'd had that morning—about Luke's mother. It struck him that his son could have died without ever knowing his mother's name. New guilt, in addition to the regret he already felt for Force choking Luke, washed over him. The boy deserved to know more about her.

"Your mother," he said, hoping the vocoder disguised how shaky his voice was. Luke blinked up at him, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. "Her name...her name was Padmé."

Luke beamed at him. It was the first true smile Vader had seen from his son since he'd brought him to his side a two weeks ago.

"We will speak more of her later, young one," Vader promised. And he meant it. It would be painful—for both of them—but it was time Luke knew. She—Padmé—should be remembered.

Sending his contentment of this over the bond, Luke closed his eyes. Vader pushed away his anxiousness. Luke would live, he consoled himself. Whoever did this to his son would not.

"What did you do?" Anto hissed, cornering him in a deserted hallway.

Syl smirked. "I don't know what you mean."

"I didn't think you were idiotic enough to actually go through with it!"

"I told you," Syl said irritably, "Skywalker needed to face justice. Besides, no one knows it was me."

Anto grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. "You moron! Your plan failed. Skywalker lived, and now Lord Vader's hunting down the person who's responsible like an angered krayt dragon."

"Skywalker's alive?" Syl squawked. "How? I got my hands on the nastiest poison I could find. There wasn't even an antidote!"

"I think you're missing the point here!"

"What do you mean?"

"Lord Vader. Is. Going. To. Kill. You."

Syl scoffed. "Why would Lord Vader care whether a rebel lived or died?"

"I don't know, but the man is on a kriffing rampage. He's killed four people since yesterday!"

"What?" Syl paled, finally catching on that this was very bad. Yesterday was the day Syl had poisoned Skywalker's lunch.

"Just watch your back." Anto patted him on the shoulder and began walking off. "Like you said, no one will know it was you."

He was left alone in the corridor, nervous sweat beading on his forehead.

Syl tried to go through his day as normally as possible, but Anto's words from earlier kept circling his mind. He was skittish and jumped at the slightest noises. Anytime someone came up to talk to him, he wondered if this was it. If someone had found out that he had poisoned Skywalker. He didn't regret doing it; Syl hated him. But he didn't want to die either.

It was a relief to enter his quarters at the end of his shift. The night cycle would be starting soon, and he was eager to lose himself in the oblivion of sleep. Syl sighed in satisfaction and slid under the standard Imperial sheets on his standard Imperial bed. Due to some glitch in the system, he was lucky enough not to have a roommate. He was sure this error would be rectified soon, but for now he enjoyed the solitude.

Syl was just starting to drift off when heavy footsteps from out in the hallway jerked him to full wakefulness. He had just enough time to wonder what was going on before his door slid open and the hulking form of Darth Vader stormed into his room. His voice and breath caught in his throat, and it was all he could do to leap out of bed and snap to attention.

"Ensign Elgrin," Lord Vader thundered. He didn't sound pleased at all.

"Y-yes, my Lord?" Syl squeaked.

"Do you know what you have done?" Lord Vader snarled.

"My Lord?" Syl questioned, shaking where he stood in his sleep clothes. There was no way Lord Vader could know…

Lord Vader stepped forward menacingly and Syl backed up in terror. "Do not pretend you are ignorant. It was you who poisoned Skywalker."

Syl froze. How did he—?

"There is holofootage of you tampering with his meal."

While 95% of his mind was freaking out, the other 5% was wondering how he could be so stupid. Why hadn't he thought to wipe the holofootage? Syl was suddenly filled with a burst of courage, or maybe it was just suicidal resignation.

"Skywalker deserves to die!" he yelled. "He killed my father!"

Syl choked and scrabbled at his throat, short of breath. An invisible grip lifted him into the air.

"Do you know who Skywalker is?" Lord Vader asked, ominously calm.

"A...rebel," Syl gargled.

"Yes," Lord Vader conceded. "And he is my son."

Eyes wide, vision going dark, Syl gasped, "Why...are you...telling me this?"

"Because you will not be able to share it with anyone."

There was a sickening crack and Syl Elgrin knew no more.

A/N: Just a heads up, college classes have resumed, and I'm taking a lot of reading and writing courses this semester. Unfortunately, this means I likely won't have much - if any - time to work on new chapters. Updates will probably be nonexistent for the next few months or so.

In the meantime, thank you for all your support.