Since this is an AU story, I will warn you right now that I reserve the right to kill off any main characters at a whim - wherever the plot of this story takes me. Because I'm still not sure how this will end. Buckle up for the ride. Also, if you don't like blood, read the next chapter cautiously. Thanks for all the reviews! -T.
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Darth Vader swept into the small hospital room, flanked by two of his officers, tense in the silence. The room was lined with four stormtroopers, standing with weapons ready, blank polished gazes staring straight ahead; a disheveled middle-aged man seated on a chair between them, eyes bloodshot, face set in a stern expression, clothes rumpled.
"You are the doctor?" Vader rumbled, all pretenses aside. The man's steely gray eyes met Vader's obsidian mask. He did not flinch.
"I am."
"What is your name?"
The man's face remained impassive. "Dr. Vincint Padduk, sir."
"Did you have any indication of the identity of your patient?"
The man pursed his lips. "Not at first," he answered warily. "But I eventually pieced it together, right about the time he escaped."
"Escaped how?" Vader demanded, impatient. His son had been almost within his grasp. He had been so close. That bright flare of his Force presence felt like a supernova from this proximity when the star destroyer entered the system.
But now the Millennium Falcon had escaped to light-speed, that light had dimmed to a diffuse echo, indistinct and untrackable. Heads would roll for this, there was no question. He had only to find out the identity of the responsible party.
Padduk didn't flinch, but a muscle in his cheek twitched. "His accomplice - I believe Skywalker called him Han - broke him out. I tried to stop him. The patient was in no condition to leave the medical center, but the other man stunned me."
Vader considered. "You were unarmed at the time."
"I was."
The dark lord dropped his gaze from the doctor in the chair and clasped his gloved hands behind his back. "Why was Skywalker being treated in your medical center?"
"Gort Fever," Padduk answered, his tone taking on a new level of confidence in speaking on a topic of his field of expertise. "A very serious viral hemorrhagic fever. His friend brought him here. At first it was not clear Skywalker would survive the night."
Vader turned to the doctor again. "You treated him." It was not a question.
Padduk nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."
The dark lord thought again of his son, of the strange disturbing sense he had gotten from him down on the planet, distracted and in pain. That same sense, albeit dimmer, bothered him now, though he did not know why. Was the boy out of danger or still ill? The TIE fighter pilots he'd interrogated had both stated emphatically that they'd seen Solo and Skywalker running to the Millennium Falcon, which would indicate the boy was in improved health.
"You saved his life." Again, it was not a question.
Padduk nodded once. "He likely would have died in the night without medical aid."
The hiss of Vader's vocoder was the only sound in the room for several moments before he turned on Padduk again. "Would you say Skywalker is now out of danger from this fever?" He asked.
Padduk frowned, seemingly confused by the line of questioning. Perhaps he wondered why the dark lord would care. "I don't know," he said honestly. "If it were my recommendation, he should not have left the medcenter. Sometimes patients continue to recover, sometimes they relapse within a few days. The mortality rate is usually very high."
Vader stared at Padduk a long moment. The boy was still in danger, then. If the Force was willing, his son would be one of the ones strong enough to pull through the illness. If Vader had anything to do with it, he would find the boy before it was too late, though now the trail had grown cold.
He clenched a fist again. The pilots of the TIE squadron he had sent down to destroy the Millennium Falcon before his son had a chance to board had already been executed for their failure.
He turned to leave the room, indicating to one of his officers. Padduk had attempted to save his son's life. Vader, in turn would release him. "This man is to go free."
There was an audible sigh of relief from the man behind him.
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Luke drifted. He was lying on the curved narrow bench in the galley, half asleep, half-awake, his ears tuned to the sounds of Han and Chewie bustling through the ship. It would probably be more comfortable in the bunkroom, but he didn't want to go in there, lie in the dark. In truth, he hadn't wanted to be alone, had curled up in the corner, knees to chest, the blanket Han had given him still clutched around his shoulders - since he was cold - and leaned his head back to the bulkhead.
Han had urged him to lie down on the bunk instead, mumbling something about a rough day and how he still shouldn't be up yet. But there was something in his eyes. And in his sense in the Force. Luke felt like his friend was keeping something back. When he'd asked outright, Solo had evaded, changed the subject. If Luke weren't so tired, he would have pressed for information, but it was too much effort, so he curled into the bench, eventually sliding down to lie on his side and let his eyes slip closed.
He felt almost afraid to do this. Darth Vader's black death mask floated up into his vision, and Luke felt those blank polished eyes bore holes into his. Tell me where you are, my son and I will find you.
Luke slammed barriers down, his breath hitching.
A soft growl from Chewie and Luke's eyes flew open again, the death mask disappearing, the bass voice dying down to a whisper he could ignore. The wookiee set a metal bowl on the floor next to him, clean and freshly washed.
Luke felt the heat of embarrassment rise to his face again. He didn't need anyone to clean up after him - that had been above and beyond the call of duty. He wanted to say something, but could think of nothing, could not muster the strength to offer a reassuring smile. He just blinked at the wookiee, who patted him on the shoulder with a heavy paw.
Luke gazed after Chewbacca as he departed. His fever was returning. That's what Han had said in a concerned voice before trying to hook up the saline and inject another anti-viral. Luke didn't know if the medicine was helping or not. His whole body ached, so much so, that it was hard to exactly pinpoint the nausea and sharp pain beneath his ribs that felt new. After he'd thrown up, Han made him tell him where he hurt, which wasn't anywhere specific, really, and had raided the medkit for more ampoules of pain meds.
Now Luke didn't really hurt anywhere at all, except when his stomach was spasming miserably when he was vomiting into that damn bowl. The amount of bright red blood that came up was startling. A small part of Luke's mind told him he should probably worry about this new development, but his brain felt addled, and he was oh-so-tired. It was easier not to think about it. Maybe that was a side-effect of the pain medicine, he didn't know.
He shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around him. Against his better judgement, he let his eyes close again, prepared to stare into those obsidian eyes again. But instead he drifted into silent darkness.
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Vader sat in his meditation chamber aboard the Executor. He'd left strict instructions that he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. He sat in the brittle silence, his eyes closed, casting his mind out to his son.
Luke.
He had an impression of a ship, of voices speaking in low tones, of alarmed companions and the boy's feverish pain, before suddenly the connection broke, as if struck down; the boy using the last of his addled strength to block his father, to retreat the darkness and hide.
Tell me where you are.
But he was met with a wall of silence.
Vader clenched his gauntleted fist in a wave of helpless rage. It was not a familiar feeling, nor a welcome one. The boy would apparently be pig-headed and stubborn enough to hide from his father, even when he clearly needed medical treatment, and knew full-well the Empire possessed the most advanced facilities available. Instead, the child would run away in a sorry excuse for a ship with his smuggler friend, putting his own life at unnecessary risk simply because of...what? His pride? His fear?
A slow creeping agitation wormed it way under the dark lord's shields as he continued to cast out for Luke's presence and found it more distant, fading.
Was it possible, as the doctor on Cattairn had said, that the boy's illness would kill him? Would that explain the strange sense of translucency that seemed to accompany the boy's indistinct presence?
Once again, the cold sense of helpless, possessive fury descended on Darth Vader. How could it be that he had come so close to having the boy in his possession, to this - possibly losing him forever, like sand slipping through his fingers?
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They were little more than an hour out from realspace. Solo sat next to Luke on the bench, patting his shoulder as the kid coughed violently, shaking against the force of the effort, a spray of crimson splattering across the front of his tunic. When the kid finally sagged back, like a marionette whose strings had been snapped, face pressed against the plastene seat, his glassy blue eyes met Solo's, but he didn't speak.
Neither did Han as he carefully took the damp cloth in his hand and dabbed the blood from Luke's face. His skin felt alarmingly hot to the touch again.
Solo reached out for the glass of water on the Dejarik table, held the straw to Luke's lips. The kid took a small sip, sagged back and shut his eyes.
Han replaced the glass, leaned his own head tiredly back against the wall. The Princess had sent a message-a short list of safe places with Medcenters. All were at least a 3-day hyperspace jump. Too far to be any good, if they could even help the kid once they got there. Padduk had said once the vomiting started, there wasn't much time left.
He wondered to himself how he would break the news of the kid's death to Leia. A two-line message seemed cruel and empty, even for the emotionally detached smuggler he claimed to be. But who was he kidding anymore? Han was no longer emotionally detached.
Next to him, Luke choked another cough. Han straightened, snagged the bowl on the floor, held it up for the kid. Luke half-turned, vomited, spitting blood into the bowl, his body shuddering. Han patted Luke's back with his free hand, muttering, "it's okay, you're okay," set the bowl back on the floor with a grimace once Luke had finished.
"Chewie?" he called into the sudden silence. The wookiee appeared a minute later to fulfill his self-appointed duty of cleaning up after the kid.
It wasn't fair, really. Luke didn't deserve this. It was a really rotten way to die. It was really rotten that he had outrun the Empire and the Alliance, not to mention a couple of bounty hunters, only to be effectively felled by a 3-inch- long slug.
Han eyed the kid again. He didn't know what they'd do once they reached Dagobah. He'd asked Luke what he'd thought they'd find there, and Luke had shrugged and vaguely said something about a guy named Yoda.
Not that any of that mattered now.
Luke was still for a spell and Han found himself drifting. He hadn't meant to sleep, but the last few days had been relentless, and suddenly the exhaustion pulled him under without his express consent. Weird half-dreams floated before his eyes, repeating images of he and Luke running across that meadow, dappled sunlight, trying to reach the Falcon's ramp, only for it to move farther and farther away from them. Suddenly one of the TIEs hit their mark and the ship exploded in a ball of flame -
Solo jerked awake.
The explosion of his dream was really the sound of the proximity alarm. They were approaching Dagobah.
Quickly he glanced down at Luke, who was stirring, patted the kid's shoulder. "We're just about there," he mumbled, gaining his feet. "I'm going to take us out of hyperspace."
As he turned to go, Luke snagged his sleeve, blue eyes feverishly bright and too large on his gaunt features. "I want to come," his voice came out as a whisper Solo stained to hear.
"To the cockpit?" Han frowned, surprised.
Luke nodded.
Solo was shaking his head. "Kid, you - "
He broke off. Luke was already straining to sit up. Han swore softly to himself. "Chewie!" He shouted, catching Luke's shoulders as the young man curled forward, boosting him to a semi-sitting position. "Take us out of hyperspace."
An affirmative roar from the wookiee.
Han surveyed the kid. "Can you stand?" he asked doubtfully, wondering exactly how they were going to make it all the way to the cockpit.
Luke just nodded again, fumbling with the blanket, dropping his feet to the floor.
The rapid deceleration of the ship coming out of hyperspace nearly knocked them both to the deck, but Han caught his balance, caught Luke. "Come on, kid," he grunted, throwing Luke's arm over his shoulder.
He pulled the kid to his feet, Luke's head falling against Han's shoulder, breath hot against his neck.
They tottered forward, shuffled a few unsteady steps forward. Luke started to cough.
Solo cursed, let go of Luke, and stepped back to snag the bowl. Luke weaved precariously, Solo catching his arm before he fell. "I've got ya."
"Unngh," Luke grunted, before a hitch in his breathing and he started to choke. Han didn't look at the blood, just grabbed the back of Luke's head and leaned him to the bowl, holding the shaking young man upright as he gagged.
A distressed growl from Chewie down the corridor, and suddenly the wookiee was there, scooping Luke into his arms.
"He wants to see it," Han told him, nodding to the cockpit.
Chewie barked back. There was not much to see - just an ordinary planet devoid of civilization, but teeming with life.
Han sighed. "Wonderful. Our favorite kind of tourist trap."
He followed the wookiee down the corridor. They entered the cockpit, Chewie propping Luke gingerly in the co-pilot's seat.
"Well, there it is," Han murmured, nonplussed. "Dagobah."
Luke fixed bright, glassy eyes on the scene before him, the blue planet and cotton cloud cover. His lips moved soundlessly.
Han took the controls, brought the ship in. "You're in charge, kid," he told Luke. "Tell us where to find this Yoda."
He felt the kid's eyes on him, turned to meet Luke's gaze. Now the younger man's nose was bleeding, a smear of dark blood running down his lip. Luke turned his gaze back to the viewport, forehead creased with concentration. "The bigger continent," he whispered. "The southern peninsula."
Han brought the ship down, through the layers of cloud cover.
"Okay…." He began, his instruments clamoring for attention. Now they were flying over trees, large bogs, just one giant sea of swampy green. "Where do we land?"
Luke's gaze was fixed on the viewport. "Up ahead," he gestured, wiping at the nosebleed with the back of his hand, smearing the blood garishly across his face, choking back another cough.
The topography seemed mostly flat, with large rolling hills in the distance. Now the cloud cover became thick enough that Han could no longer see reliably, slowing their pace to a near-crawl, his eyes dependent upon his instruments.
"There," Luke's whispered voice took on a new urgency, even as he began to cough again. "Set down here."
"Here?" Solo echoed, eyeing his scopes frantically for an indication of suitable terrain. His visibility was at near-zero at this point.
"Yes," Luke choked out, curling forward with a grimace, coughing again.
Han's eyes flashed to the kid, but he kept his hands on the controls. "You okay?" He asked, for lack of anything better to say. Luke looked like he was in pain. The ampoule of painkiller Solo had last dosed him with should be good for a few more hours. In any case, he couldn't give him another dose for a while.
Luke didn't answer, head down, his white knuckles gripping two fistfuls of crash webbing. He nodded feebly, his breathing shallow.
"Okay, well hang on." The Falcon swept in, a soup of thick clouds whiting out all visibility. Chewie rumbled a question, but Han didn't answer. His hands gripped the controls.
Suddenly his instrumentation went haywire.
Everything on his screens went blank. He struck the console with his fist, which sometimes worked to bring the Falcon's sometimes temperamental programs back online, but nothing happened. "I've lost all instruments!" He cried in surprise. They were flying blind.
Luke glanced up sharply, his eyes on Han. Chewie rumbled in alarm, lurching to his feet and swatting at several controls overhead. Nothing happened.
A numbing sense of panic crept under Han's collarbone. Without his scopes or vicinity markers, with no visibility, they were going to crash if they tried to land. "Sorry, kid, we can't land like this," he grunted, pulling up on the stick to take the ship further into the atmosphere.
Only nothing happened.
They were still going down.
Solo pulled up again on the stick, that sense of alarm under his collarbone blossoming into full dread as the ship began its infinitesimal shift toward the planet. Chewie howled.
"It's no good," Solo ground out tightly, still wrestling with the controls. Nothing was working. His eyes darted to the two other passengers. "Strap in tight - this is not going to be pretty."
"Han," Luke said sharply, still grimacing as he straightened from his hunched position in the copilot's seat, lifting his eyes to his friend. "I can land the ship."
Solo hadn't meant the scoffing laugh to come out of his mouth the way it did. He hadn't meant to hurt the kid. It was just the ludicrousness of the situation, with the ship, and Luke…. "This is not the time for delusions of grandeur, kid," he snapped, pulling up on the stick again. The ship responded slightly, leveling out for a moment.
"It's not delusions - " Luke broke off with another hacking cough, wiping his sleeve across his mouth. "I can land the ship."
Han reappraised the younger man. Luke seemed to grow taller in his seat, his eyes steely with determination, his face streaked with dried blood, as if he'd been in a bar fight.
It wasn't like any of them were going to survive this less worse for wear if Solo piloted. Fine. If flying the ship was the kid's dying wish, what did it matter to Solo?
"Okay, kid," he growled out loud. "Take over."
Luke sprang into action, his speed belying his fragile appearance. His hands flew over the controls, flipped half a dozen switches. They were still careening at a sharp angle toward the planet's surface. Then suddenly the kid had the gall to close his eyes.
Han opened his mouth to protest, but remembered it was a distinct possibility they were all going to die anyway, and besides the scopes were dead, so what did it matter if Luke flew with his eyes opened or closed?
Then he felt it - the ship beginning to level out.
Solo felt his jaw drop, his gaze flitting to the instrument panel - still dead - and back to Luke. He didn't speak, didn't dare break Luke's concentration over whatever he was doing - and the way the kid's features were strained, this was taking a lot - just gripped the edge of the console with bloodless fingers.
He could feel the Falcon slowing. Luke's hand slapped at the landing gear and Solo could hear the struts engage.
The thick clouds in front of them cleared for just a moment and Han could see the approaching boggy ground.
With nothing more than a gentle thump, they landed.
Chewie roared his relief. A disbelieving grin on his face, Solo went to slap the kid on the shoulder. Luke's eyes cracked open, a hesitant smile coming to his features.
"That was incredible, kid," Han crowed.
Luke swallowed, nodded, choked back another cough.
Solo gained his feet and offered a hand up to Luke. "Think you can stand up? We'll go check this place out."
Luke nodded again, undoing the crash webbing and pushing himself up from the console with trembling arms. Han caught his upper arm and pulled him to his feet, Luke leaning most of his weight on Han to stay upright.
"You okay, or do you want to wait it out on the ship while me and Chewie go?" Solo asked as they shuffled forward, Chewie ducking out of the cockpit ahead of them.
Luke shook his head. "I want to come," he said tightly. "I have to see Yo - "
He broke off in an explosion of coughing, doubling over with such suddenness that Solo nearly let him drop to the deck. This time the blood was no mere splatter on the boy's tunic. It was everywhere. For once Solo didn't care if the kid messed up his ship. His eyes were on Luke, crumpling weakly to kneel on the floor, his shoulders shuddering in an attempt to gasp for air.
"Chewie!" Solo snapped, his heart clenching as he dropped to Luke's side. "A little help here!"
The wookiee was there in an instant, the forgotten basin in his hands, hairy paws padding at the kid, knelt to Luke's other side as the young man kept coughing and vomiting.
Ham swallowed nervously. That was a lot of blood. He didn't want the kid to die - bleed out right here in the cockpit - before he had a chance to meet this Yoda of his. He didn't want the kid to die, period. I guess we don't always get what we want.
After a few minutes, the spell subsided. Han carefully eased Luke down to lie on his back. The kid's eyes were tightly shut, a grimace of pain on his features, arms clenched rigidly over his stomach. Chewie procured a rag or a cloth from somewhere, mopping uselessly at the blood on Luke's tunic. Luke's breathing was a harsh rasp in the silence. The kid raised a bloody fist to grasp Han's sleeve, pull the Correllian weakly down to whisper something.
Solo shook his head. "I - I can't understand, kid. What?"
His voice was a ragged whisper. "He's here."
Han shook his head again, not understanding, wondering for a panicked moment if they were talking about Vader again. "Who's here?"
"Yoda. Outside...the ship."
Wondering how in the stars Luke could possibly know that, Han frowned, gaze darting to Chewie. The wookiee growled something about going to see, and gained his feet.
Han and Luke sat in silence, Han patting the kid's hair in a useless gesture of comfort. Luke's skin felt uncomfortably hot to the touch. "I…." he tried to think of the right thing to say. "This is a lousy way to go, kid," he choked. His eyes stung. Damn, he would not cry.
Luke's glassy blue eyes met Han's. His face was streaked with tears of pain and still more bright red blood. Solo knew the kid understood what he was trying to say.
Stars, this was going to kill the Princess.
"'s okay, Han," Luke whispered. His eyes were fluttering, like he was fighting to keep them open, to stay awake and aware. In the distance, down the corridor, Solo heard the growl of the wookiee. Someone was with him.
A rhythmic tapping on the deckplates, and a strange voice, twisted syntax.
Han turned to regard the newcomer, realizing even sitting, he was eye-level with a strange green elfin creature, pointy ears and gray wisps of hair on his wrinkled head. A three-clawed hand grasped a small, gnarled cane.
On the floor at Han's side, Luke's eyes snapped open and he struggled to lift his head, to regard the small creature, his mouth forming words soundlessly.
The creature regarded Luke - collapsed amidst the carnage in the cockpit, his face paper-white, blood everywhere - and its face eased into an expression of compassion.
"Hello Young Skywalker. Been expecting you, I have."
"Yoda," Luke whispered. Then his eyes did drift close, his head sinking back down to the deckplates, the breath going out of him in a long, final sigh.