Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Star Wars.

Thanks to darthluna01. Her story "Don't Make Me Kill You" inspired this one.


"There we go, Luke…just breathe for me." Dr. Kenobi held his stethoscope up to sixteen-year-old Luke Skywalker's chest. Luke tried to breathe, but ended up in a coughing fit. Dr. Kenobi helped him with a drink of water before completing his listen to the young man's chest. Then he asked Luke to turn over onto his stomach. "I'm going to take a listen to your lungs. Could you cough again for me, Luke?" He put his stethoscope up to Luke's back, and Luke gave out a horrible deep cough.

In the corner of her brother's bedroom, Luke's twin Leia Skywalker was biting her nails. "Is he okay, Dr. Kenobi?"

"Your brother is going to be just fine, Leia," Dr. Kenobi smiled, taking his stethoscope out of his ears and tucking Luke back into bed. "Right after he recovers from bronchitis."

"I have bronchitis?" Luke asked tiredly. He'd been up all night coughing, and soon after the sun was up, his father had called Dr. Kenobi, who lived right next door, to come take a look at him before he went to his office to see his regular patients. Dr. Kenobi, an old family friend, had obliged.

"Yes, dear boy, it's a simple case of bronchitis. You have all the symptoms. Coughing, fever, weakness, muscle pain…not to mention your lungs sound awful. Not to worry, though; you'll recover in a few days with bedrest."

"Can he take anything for it?" Leia hated to see her brother so miserable.

"He seems to have a viral infection, because his fever isn't that high, so the only thing that will help him is cough syrup. That, and some Tylenol to lower the fever." A clammy Luke nodded and took another sip of water.

"I'll see what we have in the bathroom, Luke," Leia told her brother, heading towards their shared bathroom.

"I must go out and speak to your father. Leia, is he in the kitchen?"

"Reading the paper and pretending to drink coffee," Leia confirmed from the hallway.


The main reason that Luke and Leia Skywalker could never have normal social lives was because of their father. His legal name was Anakin Skywalker, but insisted upon everyone calling him Darth Vader. He wore a black suit, spoke though a respirator, and worked at a vice president at EmpireCorp, a robotics company with a CEO that scared the hell out of local politicians.

Every morning, Darth Vader sat at the Skywalkers' kitchen table, read the paper, and pretended to drink coffee. He filled his favorite EmpireCorp coffee mug half-full, placed it in front of him, and read. Sometimes, he placed his hand on the mug's handle, to give the impression that he was actually drinking it. But he never did.

Luke and Leia Skywalker suspected that their father had some sort of feeding tube in his black suit, but never asked. It took until Luke was twelve to learn that no, his father hadn't been born in the black suit, but had started wearing it after some kind of accident. Nevertheless, Darth Vader pretended to drink coffee because it made him look normal. Aside from reading the paper, it was probably the only normal thing he did.

The twins' mother was gone. She had died when Luke and Leia were toddlers. Somehow, Darth Vader had raised his kids by himself, although with a lot of grumbling, complaining, and threatening. Once, when Leia was having a sleepover for her birthday, Darth Vader had threatened to kill Luke for forgetting his chores. One of Leia's friends had been so startled she'd spilled a bottle of nail polish all over the Skywalkers' living room carpet, which caused Darth Vader to threaten Leia's life for making such a mess, even though she hadn't been the one responsible.

Needless to say, neither Luke nor Leia had ever had friends over again.

"Kenobi! Pour yourself a cup of coffee!" Vader said, speaking through his respirator and he pulled out a chair for his neighbor. "How's my boy? Will he be all right?"

"Luke has a case of viral bronchitis, which means that antibiotics won't help," Kenobi told Luke's father. "He needs to take cough syrup and stay home from school until his cough and fever are under control. He also needs someone to stay with him during the day; if he develops breathing trouble, he should be taken to the emergency room."

A sigh from Darth Vader. "I guess I'll have to call the kids' aunt. I have that blasted meeting with the new buyers today. Why the hell do I still keep this job? Why don't they promote some poor minion and make me the president, so I can earn millions while doing nothing?" He turned toward the stairs. "LEIA! Leia, you'll be late for school! Don't make me kill you!"

"What about Luke, Dad?" Leia thundered into the kitchen, her backpack already strapped to her back, holding a bottle of cough syrup in one hand.

"I'll take care of your brother. He'll be fine." Darth Vader took the cough syrup from Leia and shooed her out the door to school.

"I really should get going," Dr. Kenobi apologized to Darth Vader. "Good luck with your meeting."


Luke was upset. He wanted his father to stay home and take care of him. Never could he remember his father actually taking care of him when he was sick; he always had to do something for stupid EmpireCorp. Instead, he sent Aunt Beru to look after Luke or Leia when they were ill.

But Luke liked his Aunt Beru. She lived on a farm with Uncle Owen, and usually came bringing hot cereal, chicken soup, or fresh-squeezed orange juice, along with tender loving care. She was the caring mother Luke wished he had. Uncle Owen wasn't so bad, either.

Half an hour after Luke's father left for work, giving Luke a goodbye hug and get-well wishes, Aunt Beru arrived. "Luke!" she called. "Luke, it's me, sweetheart!"

Aunt Beru opened the door to her nephew's room and saw him huddled in bed. "Hi, honey. Your father called and told me you were home sick today. I'm so sorry you have bronchitis." She held out a plastic cup with a dosage of cough syrup. "I also brought you some throat lozenges; they're in the kitchen for you. Have you had anything to eat?"

Luke took his cough syrup and shook his head.

"Well, then, I'll make you some oatmeal. Here, honey, sit up in bed a little more…your lungs will drain better. That's it. Oh, look, your water glass is almost empty! You need some tea with honey, it's better for your throat."

Luke never got to eat his oatmeal. After a night of coughing fits, the cough syrup soothed his throat enough to let him sleep.


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