Missing and Presumed Dead

Isolation

Vader wasn't sure how long it had been since that terrible day on the Executor, when he'd failed to save his daughter.

Days?

Weeks?

Months?

He wasn't sure it mattered. He knew three things for certain.

First, he was on Xizor's ship. Or one of his ships. He knew because the cell was not standard Imperial: there wasn't a difference between any of the cells aboard any Star Destroyer or Imperial facility. They were all gray and white, with concrete slabs for furniture, and blinding lights above.

This cell was dark and what he thought might have been brown. There was no furniture. Only chains, chains that kept him tethered to the wall, chains that could turn on an electric current at the touch of a button, a button just out of reach. A button Xizor left there just to taunt him, to remind him that he couldn't access the Force enough to even call it over to him so he could destroy it.

It wasn't enough of an electric current to kill him. If it became too difficult to breathe, Xizor made sure to summon med droids to fix him before starting all over again.

He hated him. He hated his master for leaving him in Xizor's hands.

The second thing he knew came because of interrogation. Xizor only had one thing he wanted to know.

"Where is he?" he'd ask as Vader struggled for breath, struggled to even think past the convulsions and pain in his muscles. "Where is your son? I'd love to have him as a personal guest."

If Xizor was asking about Luke, that meant that he was still free. Xizor, and more importantly, the Emperor didn't know where he was. It was possible the galaxy still thought Luke was dead.

So no matter what the Prince said, Vader's only response was, "My son is dead."

It became a mantra. My son is dead. My son is dead. My son is dead. He'd say it as often and as loudly as possible. He'd make himself believe it, if only to protect his boy.

It was all he had left. Leia...Leia...

He tried not to think of her Sith gold eyes. He tried not to think of their inevitable confrontation. Or who might be there to try to stop them, to get in the way...

Could he even do it? Fight his own daughter? He'd fought Luke before, but now, after everything...

The idea made him sick.

But he knew his Master. He knew Leia wouldn't be able to hold up against him for long. And he couldn't even expect a rescue attempt for either of them soon. Not with Luke in the condition he was in.

No. He and Leia were likely doomed. But in the meantime, he had one child he could protect, and he'd do it, even if it meant endless pain.

Because the third thing he knew was that if Xizor got his hands on Luke before the Emperor did...he wouldn't lose another child to being brainwashed as his enemy.

Xizor would kill him.

Slowly.

He'd probably make him watch.

The thought was enough to keep him going.

"Where is Luke Skywalker?"

Wheezing breath in, wheezing breath out.

"My son is dead."

_______________________________________

Two weeks. Two, long, agonizing weeks that felt more like two years.