Hello! My apologies for the delay in getting this chapter out. Some things seem to write themselves while others take a lot of wrestling and they're still not exactly right. At any rate, enjoy, and feedback is always welcome. -T.
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"What are you doing here?"
Vader had entered the small hospital room, pushing the privacy curtain aside angrily, glaring. The intruder was seated on the small sofa, dismantled holdout blaster set neatly in pieces on the tray table in front of her, calmly polishing the barrel with an oiled cloth.
She glared but remained seated, green eyes burning fire into his faceplate. "Palpatine ordered me here. Take it up with him."
The Emperor had taken his leave shortly after arriving, his threat to have Skywalker killed, should he not fully recover, explicit. Vader hadn't known, but should have expected, that Palpatine would install a trusted agent to be his eyes and ears in his absence.
It had been six standard days since the Emperor had stood in this room, his gnarled hand resting against the boy's chest, searching for a spark, some vestige of life within. That he'd left soon after had been some form of relief for Vader, an opportunity to stand in that room alone; to berate himself for his own part in injuring the boy.
To indulge in the what-ifs had this story developed differently: What if he hadn't been so careless with the lightsaber and avoided cutting off his son's hand? What if he had sensed the sniper earlier and killed him before he was able to fire? What if he'd had the presence of mind to halt the boy's fall, to keep him from injuring himself? What if he'd never lost the boy to begin with? What if Kenobi hadn't stolen him away and given him to strangers to raise? Would he have been able to bypass the animosity and hatred for Vader that his son had exhibited at Third Moon?
Now this woman had invaded this silent space between father and son.
"Get out," he hissed. "You are not to be here."
Mara Jade glared coldly. She wasn't afraid of Vader, much to the dark lord's irritation. "That," she said flatly, "you will have to take up with the Emperor."
"You can make your reports from the medic station," Vader gestured, ignoring her implied threat, knowing that this exchange would make it into her report to Palpatine. "There you can see everything that goes on, if that is what you want. But you will not sit here in this room with him and impede his recovery with your presence."
She glared. He glared. Neither moved.
The standoff was broken when the door opened and the young medic strode in. "Ah, excuse me," he stammered when he realized he'd stumbled in on a situation. "I can come back…."
"Medic," Vader rumbled, turning to face the retreating man. "Treat Skywalker. Jade was just leaving."
Another ice-cold glare in his direction and the woman crouched to reassemble the pieces of her blaster, and stormed past the two men.
From the corner of his vision, Vader could see her taking a seat at the medic station, still glaring.
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The room was hardly more than an oversized utility closet, windowless, low-ceilinged, smelling of dank tarpaulins and industrial fertilizer, dimly lit by three bare glow rods wired to the ceiling, casting everyone's faces in shadow.
The ten men and women, plus Han, Leia, and Chewie, stood close, some sitting on a dry spot on the ground, but most turned shoulder-to-shoulder, arms folded, grim faces turned toward Leia.
"I know most of you don't know what this assignment is about," she was saying, hands clasped behind her back, meeting each of their eyes in turn, "except that it has something to do with Luke."
Heads nodded. Word of Luke's capture had gotten around, of course, so everyone knew - hoped - this was about a rescue mission, but the details were secret from everyone except Han and Leia.
Each of the people present had been chosen based on their loyalty to Luke: friends, squadron-mates, aquaintances. The ones Han didn't know personally had come highly recommended by one of the others. To High Command's credit, whether it was prodded by Rieekan's guilty conscience, or Leia's dogmatic persistence, each of the soldiers had been released from their previously-assigned duties to serve on this special-ops team.
"This may or may not be common knowledge," Leia continued, "but nearly two weeks ago, Luke was injured and captured by Darth Vader." Command had tried to keep it from being common knowledge. Still, there was a nervous rumble of conversation at her words.
"What may not be common knowledge," Leia cut in over the talking, "is the reason Vader was after him in the first place."
"Because he was the one who fired the shot on the Death Star," piped Dack, the younger member of the team.
She shot him a look. "No. That's not the real reason."
The room quieted to a dead silence. They were listening now. "The thing I am about to tell you is listed as Top Secret to High Command." Leia looked them each in the eyes. "It does not leave this room. I am not actually permitted to divulge this information to you, but I will not allow you to endanger your life or the lives of the rest of us without knowing the complete truth." She took a deep breath.
"Darth Vader has a son."
No one stirred, eyes locked on the Princess. "That son did not know who his father was, and had been told he was long-dead. The son had never met his father. But once Vader realized his son was alive, he wanted him back." Her voice lowered. "He issued a price on his head, and tore up the galaxy to find him. What we witnessed on Third Moon was the result of Vader's relentless hunt for his son, in spite of our best efforts to keep the son safe."
Leia took another deep breath. Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Luke Skywalker... is Darth Vader's son."
The room was deathly still. Then, as if in slow motion, it erupted into chaos.
Han stood still and looked into the faces of each of the soldiers, at the expressions of shock on their faces, some outraged, most jaws agape in disbelief. He saw Wedge, standing near the door, mouth turned into a frown. Antilles nodded to him, and Han nodded back.
"There's more," the Princess announced over the noise, her voice cutting in. The room fell to silence once again. "Part of the issue with this as a special ops mission is that High Command is not in...agreement….over what to do with Luke. Some have voted to use any means necessary to keep him away from Vader." Her tone turned bitter. "No matter his demonstrated loyalty to the Alliance and," she gestured to all of them, "his friends, many would rather see him dead than in Vader's hands."
Another angry murmur, the soldiers' eyes dark in the shadows, boots shifting.
Leia spread her hands, keeping their attention. "So you see, why it is of utmost importance that you understand what you are getting yourself into. We are mounting an operation to rescue Luke from Vader and the Emperor. With this information, if you feel you absolutely cannot proceed with the full intention to do everything in your power to bring him back alive and unharmed, then," she gestured to the door, "there is the exit."
She waited. The silence stretched out for an uncomfortable span. No one moved.
Hobbie cleared his throat. "If I may say so, Princess," he began, glancing around at the others for their approval. "Hopefully I speak for everyone here when I say there is no other friend I'd rather risk my life for than Luke."
There were nods, murmurs of approval. Solo glanced around, feeling surprise, and a stirring of hope.
Leia's expression looked cautiously optimistic. "So you're all in, then?"
A resounding chorus of yesses filled the room.
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When it happened, Vader was on the bridge, hands clasped behind his back, only half-listening as Captain Piett detailed the repairs to the lower quadrant bay shields - a problem that he had been alerted to at 0730, which would be completed on schedule, at least, by 1600. Vader hadn't needed to discuss this in person, it was true, but he had needed to leave the med bay for a time; had walked, in fact, the entire distance to the Main Bridge when Piett had commed his aide.
"My Lord," Piett stood at attention. "Admiral Ozzel wishes to speak to you about the scheduled offensive on Terett in forty-eight hours. The Executor is still on the docket."
Vader shifted. Terett would have to be handled by the Arturus. He would not bring the Executor into battle, even if it was a staged one. "Captain Tukklor will oversee Terett."
Piett hadn't stayed alive this long in his position to question Vader's instructions, though his expression flickered before he nodded curtly.
"You think that unwise, Captain?" Vader baited, tetchy and he knew it.
"No sir," Piett answered quickly. "I will inform the Admiral."
Vader leveled a gloved finger at the captain. "Do so," he replied. "If Ozzell has - "
He broke off suddenly as a sudden sensation bloomed in his chest - light, supernova, almost painful in its intensity - scarcely aware he'd stopped speaking, and that Piett stood, awaiting orders, confusion forming on his brow.
Vader whirled, full-speed, from the bridge.
He stormed through the corridor, past Jade, eyeing him steadily from her self-assigned post. He could sense the medic and two others already in the room, as he barrelled through the door, his eye plates immediately adjusting to the low light.
The medical personnel glanced his way quickly, parting unconsciously for their superior, as Vader stepped to the foot of the bed, his gloved hand grasping for the boy's leg, set in the polymer cast, draped with the white coverlet. The steady pips of the life support equipment were the only sound in the room.
A glance to the head of the angled bed showed Luke, head still covered in a wide bandage, though the ventilator tube was gone, his forehead under the bandage creased to a frown.
His eyes were open, and he blinked slowly.
"He is awake," Vader rumbled, momentarily awed to see an expression, some sort of awareness, to feel the burning of the Force that was his son's presence after so much stillness.
The medic nodded curtly, at the head of the bed with a small scanner, turning back to the boy. "Luke?" he asked in a clear voice. "Luke, can you hear me?"
The boy didn't act as though he'd heard, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, his blinking becoming more rapid, face creasing as though he was in pain.
Vader stepped to his son's side, laid a hand on his injured arm. "Luke."
Suddenly Luke jerked as if struck, arching upward with a gasp, flailing away from Vader's touch. The medic sprang forward, seizing Luke's left arm just as the boy was pawing at the IV at his wrist, flinging the other man backwards with seeming inhuman strength that belied his frail appearance.
Vader seized Luke's left arm to keep him from injuring himself further, peripherally aware of the medic behind him, his sense shocked as he picked himself up from the floor. Brain-injured patients didn't normally emerge from a coma in this manner. The medic would need to adjust his expectations if he were to continue to care for Vader's son.
"Calm, Luke," Vader urged, placing a gloved hand against the boy's temple. "You are safe. Be still."
Luke jerked against the pressure of the black gauntlet, pushing outward with the Force, this time with an unintelligible cry, eyes still focused in the distance, his expression dissolving into pain, or rage, Vader couldn't tell; the white hot supernova that was his sense in the Force blinding the dark lord to the details.
"Luke?" It was the medic, on his feet again, his eyes on the figure on the bed, even as his assistant handed him a loaded hypo. "I need you to cooperate. Listen to me. Luke?"
The boy was still staring at the ceiling, the battle he was fighting in his own head.
"Luke?" The medic was snapping his fingers in front of the boy's face now, insistent. "I need you to look at me."
Slowly, his son dropped his pinched gaze, unseeing, just past the medic, hypo in hand; the assistants, jaws agape; and Vader, still leaning over him. The dark lord could feel under his hand, which was still resting firmly on Luke's right arm, the boy trembling with tension.
"Luke," the medic repeated, his tone deliberate, eyes flashing to one of the readouts as it sounded a low tone. "I need to know if you can hear me. Nod if you can understand what I'm saying."
The boy's eyes focused now on Vader's blank eye plates, suddenly cognizant. He seemed to not realize the medic was snapping his fingers impatiently in front of his face.
"Luke?"
"Calm," Vader whispered into the Force, toward that blinding, brilliant presence. He became aware that the men behind him were frozen still, waiting, expectant. The dark lord reached out to his son, projected as much serenity to the boy as he was capable, felt the walls and shields Luke had thrown up automatically, instinctively.
The boy's gaze, still fixed on Vader, lost some of its intensity, his breathing slowing.
"Luke?" the medic asked again, palming his hand-held scanner this time and aiming it at the patient.
Luke's eyes drifted closed, the trembling muscles of his arm going slack, the wash of brilliance dimming in Vader's mind, dispersing again out to the blackness of space.
The dark lord turned this time to the medic, carefully releasing his hold on the boy's arm. "This is a good sign, yes?" he asked.
The medic nodded, glancing up from the readout on the scanner, an expression that was not so much a smile as an expression of relief easing the lines on his youthful face. "Yes sir, I believe so."
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The call came two standard days later during the morning dispatches. Vader had already tired of the drone of Ozzel's voice, and had noted the disturbance in the Force, gaining his feet suddenly, to the puzzlement of the officers seated at the glossy black conference table.
"What is it?" he rumbled when the com in his suit pinged, stepping past the still-standing figure of the Admiral, past the single guard at the door.
The blast doors hissed shut behind him. The tense voice was that of the medic. "My lord, we have a situation."
It was the work of very few minutes to make it to the level of the Medbay and meet with a scene of barely-controlled chaos.
Jade was no longer at her post, though the two stormtroopers still stood guard at the door. The privacy drape was drawn over the plasteel walls, sharp voices snapping within.
Vader entered the room to see the bed empty, Jade standing battle-stance a few feet away, focused on the floor to the side of the bed, her small blaster in her palm; the medic to her right, empty hands tensed to his side. The medic's eyes flicked to the dark lord, relief flooding his expression.
"Lord Vader."
Luke was on the floor, half-sitting against the bed and the bulkhead, clad in a loosely fitted medical gown, his bandaged right arm clutched to his chest. He'd pulled the IV, yanked off the cardiac patches. A trickle of blood smeared down his wrist. He was gazing up at Mara's blaster, eyes focused, narrowed, face tight.
"It looks like your patient is already trying to go on the lam," Jade commented tightly, eyes steady on Skywalker as she readjusted her grip on the blaster.
Vader took a step forward, eyeing his son. Whatever it was that he'd attempted appeared to be all that he had strength to try. "What do you think you are doing?"
Luke jerked in surprised at the voice, as though he had not detected the dark lord's presence, his face suddenly incredibly guarded. The bacta wraps had healed the blaster burn on his shoulder, and the bone knitters had finished repairing his broken leg, the medic having removed the polymer cast the night before. The boy had not woken since that one incident two days before.
"Hopefully he hasn't rebroken the bone," the medic was muttering nervously now, standing right behind Vader, eyeing Luke's leg, fresh out of the polymer cast. "He really shouldn't move yet. The skull fracture…."
The dark lord stepped forward, waving back Jade and her blaster. "Allow me to help you, son." Luke may have been able to launch himself from the bed, but it didn't appear as though he was physically capable of much else.
Luke flinched away at Vader's touch. The dark lord could feel the push of the Force against him, almost forcing him into a backstep. The indulgence with which he was prepared to treat the boy turned into a flash of anger and, without thinking, he pushed back, knocking the boy weakly against the wall. Luke cried out, whether out of pain or frustration, he could not tell, crumpling down onto the floor to his right side, maimed arm still crushed against him.
"My lord," the medic's voice was alarmed as Luke fell. "He is still healing. Permanent brain damage will ensue if he is - "
Vader turned his back on the man as he scooped the now-unresisting Luke into his arms, laying him back on the bed. Luke's eyes were closed, his face still in a grimace, breathing harsh in Vader's ears. "He will learn his lessons one way or the other," he snapped.
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"So you're letting Vargas stay?" Han asked her, coming down the ramp of the small, nondescript transport shuttle. Its engine had been modified, and hidden nests of weaponry would not make it totally useless in a pitched battle, but still, Solo already felt like a sitting pittin and they hadn't even made it off the ground yet.
Leia was at the bottom of the ramp, speaking quickly to a fuel tech, her arms folded in a way Solo could tell was nervous.
She bit her lip and turned to him. She was wearing a white shipsuit and calf-high boots, her hair pulled into plaits that twisted around her head. There were dark circles under her eyes that spoke of little sleep and nights up worrying. "Yes," she sighed. "His skills in digital forgery are really unmatched. There is no one else who could replace him." She met his eyes. "Tell me it's the wrong choice."
Han shook his head. He had spent his own late nights, pulling together weaponry, supplies, mapping out the routes for once they were on-planet. They were already haggard and they hadn't even begun the mission. "I don't know, sweetheart. We'll keep an eye on him so any rate."
She nodded, turning away to see Artoo Detoo trundling across the hangar, followed closely by his counterpart.
Han sighed loudly. "You did not tell me Goldenrod was coming on this trip."
Leia plastered a fixed smile on her face for Threepio, who was waving wildly in her direction and hollering "woohoo, Princess Leia!" in a very odd fashion for a machine. "He's not," she muttered through clenched teeth. "Only he doesn't know it yet."
Artoo beeped amiably as he swiveled his dome to Han and the Princess, as if he were asking permission to board, then trundled up the ramp.
"I am so gratified to know that we are going to rescue Master Luke," the golden droid was rambling to the princess, taking a tottering step toward the ramp. "His welfare in the care of the Empire is most assuredly uncertain, considering - "
"Where do you think you're going," Han growled, stepping into the droid's path.
Threepio halted awkwardly, regarded the obstacle in front of him. "Excuse me, Captain Solo, but I need to get past."
"You're not coming, Threepio."
The droid expressed surprise as a whole-body motion, his arms coming up, bent at jointed elbows. "What do you mean?" His voice sounded scandalized. "Artoo and I work as a team or not at all. In all my years, I never - "
Solo turned his back on the protocol droid and let Leia deal him. "There simply isn't enough room," she explained diplomatically as Han went back up the ramp.
Chewie met him at the top. "Are we all set?" Han asked. An affirmative growl. "Everyone on board?" the Wookiee nodded.
Solo ambled into the cockpit, took his seat, stared blankly at the control panel for a few moments. Rescuing Luke was going to be a long shot, he knew that. But here he was, sticking his neck out for the kid, because...what else could he do? They at least had to try.
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Luke was sitting up in bed. Progress, Vader thought with satisfaction to himself, as he entered the room. The lights were dialed up slightly now - a warm brown that dispensed with much of the gloom. The boy was wearing a gray medical tunic, the light coverlet draped neatly over his lap. The surgery to repair his hand had been successful, and now the medical droid stationed at his side was attempting to place a utensil in the hand, instructing the boy how to grasp it with his fingers, directing it to an open container of pureed fruit mash on the nearby tray table.
Luke was intent on the utensil for a moment, eyes flicking up to regard Vader without recognition. His fingers grasped the item, but then inexplicably bent the metal before the Two-one Bee could pry the hand loose.
"Let's try that again, sir," the droid said patiently, handing the boy a new utensil. Luke studiously ignored the other occupant in the room, this time grasping the utensil with much less force. The droid guided the boy's hand to the bowl. Vader watched as he dipped the utensil, and brought it forward. Before the puree made it very far from the bowl, the utensil dropped from Luke's fingers, clattering against the table, splashing fruit mash everywhere.
A sigh of frustration from Luke, his eyes flickering to the spilled food. The droid spun his servos to snag a cloth with a fine-jointed appendage. "We will try again, sir," it intoned, wiping the puree from the table and the front of the boy's tunic.
"Allow me," Vader rumbled, stepping to the side of the bed. "I will help you, son."
Luke was forced to regard the dark lord now, Vader's dark bulk filling his vision, gloved hand retrieving the dropped utensil. The boy stared up at him, disbelieving, perhaps mistrustful, but certainly not intimidated.
"No," he whispered, his eyes darkening in anger. His voice was a rasp, leftover from the effects of being on the ventilator, a frown narrowed on his features. He pulled his right hand back under the blanket, turned his head away from his father, staring blankly at the sight the narrow viewport offered him, the empty blackness beyond. The boy's mental shields were firmly in place.
Vader fought to quell the anger rising in his gut. He'd told himself there would not be a repeat of the last time he'd lashed out. He had no wish to injure the boy further. If the young man could at least resist being so stubborn. "Luke," he rumbled, drawing on a well of patience he'd never tried to access before. "You must regain your strength."
Luke was silent for a moment, not moving.
"Sir, let's try this again," the droid repeated, lifting the container of puree as a way to pull the boy's attention back to the matter at hand. Luke ignored it, instead turning his head to lock eyes with Vader and lifting his right hand from underneath the coverlet.
"Do you think…after all this," his speech was slow, as if he was having trouble remembering how to form the words. Luke's eyes went to the artificial hand, the latest in state-of-the-art prosthetics. "...That I will simply...forgive you?"
Vader was silent. He hadn't thought about it in those terms. He told himself that the boy's feelings were not of particularly high importance to him. Luke was his son, and he was injured. Palpatine was impatiently waiting for the boy to be turned over to him...or for Vader to follow through with the young man's execution - which, of course, was unthinkable. Vader would do everything in his power to restore Luke's strength, to give him the highest probability of success against the aged Sith Lord... and the opportunity to join Vader on the Imperial throne.
Luke was still gazing at the artificial hand, flexing his fingers, eyeing it like an alien object. The boy must know that he would have not received as high a caliber replacement if he'd been with the Rebellion. "Is all this," he swallowed, bringing his eyes up to Vader's mask, "because you think...you can buy me?"
Vader's eyes narrowed darkly. "That is not my intention," he defended. "You are my son. I insist you have the very best medical care."
There was a long pause. The boy appeared to be tiring, processing the words at only half the speed, his gaze dropping to his lap, to the artificial hand, engineered to look exactly like the flesh and blood one. Finally he brought his eyes back up to meet Vader's, his expression challenging, bordering on hostile. "Why?"
The dark lord stepped forward, his back gauntlet curling into a fist. "I wish you to join the Empire, son," he declared, feeling passionately that the boy would want to link forces with him once he realized where true power lay. "You must be in top form when we arrive on Imperial Center to meet the Emperor."
The slight color drained from Luke's face. Perhaps he had not realized he was to have an imminent meeting with the Emperor of the galaxy. Vader ignored this and continued. "You will understand the true nature of the Force and the power of the dark side. But the Emperor is an exacting master. Much will be expected of you."
The boy sagged back against the pillows, his breathing becoming more labored, forlorn gaze trailing back to the viewport, his voice a faint whisper. "Why can't you just let me go?"