Part II

Before she knew it she was standing in front of the thick doors guarding her Master's chambers, her hand hovering, frozen, above the keypad.

"Athara?" She barely reacted when Luke called her name, not quite so far gone that she hadn't sensed him following her the instant she'd swept from the Command Centre.

As he came to a stop beside her, a hand coming to rest gently on the small of her back, she inhaled deeply, forcing herself to relax, thankful when her Farmboy brushed his consciousness against hers and letting her draw from his calm. Finally managing to get her riotous emotions back under control, she flexed her fingers and punched in her override code.

As Ifan had promised, a faint beep of acceptance sounded and with a clunk and a deep, low whir, the doors slid open.

It was just as she remembered it; dark, seemingly boundless until the dim lights began to flicker to life, lifting the dark room out of pitch-darkness into shadow. On its raised dais her Master's Medical Unit stood, stark and imposing as always in the centre of the room.

Even the air smelled the same; artificial, faintly metallic and even a little bitter with the cloying scent of bacta clinging around the edges as it wafted into the corridor.

But there was an added layer this time. A faint, almost undetectable staleness. As though the room itself knew it was now obsolete. It hung in the air too, giving the faint sense of abandonment to the chamber even though every surface gleamed dully, perfectly maintained, as though it had just been used and was ready for its patient to walk through the door at any moment.

It was a sense powerful enough that Athara nearly turned, almost expecting her Master to be striding down the corridor toward her.

Her vision began to blur as her breath caught painfully in her chest.

She hastily swiped the moisture from her lashes as she stepped into the chamber.

Step by aching step, she walked deeper into the chamber, her eyes reluctantly scanning the familiar sparse furnishings and the almost industrial looking equipment arrayed around the room. Her lungs burned. She sucked in a lungful of air, having barely realized she'd been holding her breath. Almost without consciously meaning to, she had already reached the Medical Unit, her weight already settled on one leg as the other was preparing to take the first step up onto the dais where it sat.

But she felt frozen, not quite able to make that final step. For some reason, the sense was growing deep down in the pit of her gut that, if she stepped into the Unit, it would somehow make it real.

Her Master was gone.

But yet he wasn't. She forced herself to focus on that thought. He was not gone, not forever. He was one with the Force. She'd seen him on the Forest Moon of Endor. She'd even spoken to him on Naboo! The anxious, clenching grief trying to take hold of her eased at the memory. Vader was gone, but her Master was not.

Her foot landed on the first step.

It still hurt—there were a lot of memories tied to these chambers—but mercifully she found the pain dulled by the repeating assurance echoing through her mind: he's not truly gone.

She turned back to Luke where he'd been cautiously following her into the chamber, giving her time to sort through her feelings.

"It feels...different." At the sound of her soft comment, the young Jedi glanced up to her from surveying the chamber around them. With a few steps he was at her side, his gentle hand landing on her shoulder before slowly curling around her. Gratefully she leaned into the comforting embrace. He let out a loaded breath, his eyes once again slipping away to look around the gloomy chamber.

"Wait a minute...this...this stuff is...medical equipment," Luke murmured, his voice betraying his astonishment at the realization. Athara sighed, knowing full well there was little point in keeping those secrets anymore. At least not with Luke.

"This place was little more than a well-hidden hospital, Luke," she admitted sadly as he came to a stop beside her, her low murmur nevertheless echoing around the cavernous room. Luke sighed heavily, turning away slightly to further take in their surroundings, his gaze sharper now that he knew the purpose of the chamber. She could sense the moment when it hit him just how damaged his father's body must have been for him to need such equipment in his personal chambers.

"You're still keeping his secrets," he commented softly, unable to quite hide the hurt in his voice. Athara tried to pull away, but his gentle hold didn't let up. "Why didn't you just tell me? He was my Father; you can trust me." There was no real accusation, but Athara heard it anyway.

"I can't help it, Luke. I've been keeping his secrets a long time," she said, feeling impossibly tired in that moment. "It's instinct more than anything, anymore." Luke turned back to her, a frown creasing his brow. After a long moment he sighed heavily, his arm tightening around her.

"I'm sorry, Athara. I...forget sometimes just how necessary it was." She forced a smile for him. But it was hard.

"It's okay. You're right," she admitted after a moment, pulling away to face the Medical Unit again. Taking a deep breath she climbed the couple steps, hesitating only for a split-second before stepping into the Unit itself. As she paced around the confined space, her hand rose nearly of its own accord to run along the back of the throne-like chair situated in the Unit's centre. She looked down at it for a long moment. It was the only part of the Init—the entire room even—that did not look in pristine, nearly untouched condition. The seat and back were worn from bearing the weight of its cybernetically-repaired occupant for years upon years, the antiseptic surface dulled and indented from long use. She sighed herself, her fingers inadvertently tightening on the sparsely cushioned back.

She remembered the first time her Master had brought her here, the first time she'd seen the Medical Unit; she could still remember the feel of how wide her eyes had gotten at the sight of the ominous-looking structure that dominated the room; how her stomach had flipped uncomfortably at the realization that her Master needed the specially appointed chamber to survive. As she glanced around the consoles, she absently recalled and reviewed the functions and processes for each one, the memory of her Master's voice in her ear and his hand on her shoulder as he taught her what each panel and console was responsible for and how and when to activate their specific programs and subprograms. She just couldn't turn the memories off, it seemed. No more than she could turn off the impulse to keep her Master's secrets. But that impulse, at least, she was learning to work past.

Especially for the sake of the man waiting patiently at the bottom of the dais.

She looked up at Luke, who watched her carefully. "I trust you more than I've ever trusted anyone, even him," she said softly, gesturing absently to her Master's chair. Luke smiled warmly up at her, cautiously stepping up onto the dais. He didn't step into the Unit though. She could sense that he didn't feel ready to do it, not having only just realized what the presence of such facilities meant.

But as she looked back down to the seat, something caught her eye. Skirting around the chair Athara approached the console on the opposite side of the Unit, her hand already lifting as she moved.

She very nearly couldn't bring herself to touch the familiar lightsaber where it sat, obviously waiting for her. Just outside the Unit Luke frowned, unsure of what had caught her attention.

"What is it?"

"My lightsaber," she murmured absently in response, turning back to her Farmboy. Luke's frown cleared as understanding and sympathy took its place. "He kept it."

"Of course he did," he said softly. "He loved you, Athara. No one could ever doubt that." She looked up to him, her vision once again beginning to blur. He smiled sadly, but there was no reproach or jealousy to the expression. A faint, hitching breath escaped her as she hastily dashed away the tears beginning to escape. She forced in a deep, controlled breath, struggling again to rein in her feelings. Longing and a stabbing sense of 'missing' ached in her chest.

"I just wish I could talk to him again," she finally said, her voice thick and wavering with emotion, looking around the Unit before her blue-grey eyes dropped back to her old lightsaber—the one he'd taken from her on Bespin. "Part of me had hoped..."

"That he'd be here?" She looked up to Luke. She had. Until he'd said it aloud, she hadn't entirely realized it, but she had. She'd been hoping that he might appear to her here. That she'd be able to talk to him again the way she had in the garden on Naboo.

"He won't come back here." Athara and Luke turned at the voice; familiar to Athara, unfamiliar to Luke.

"Master Qui-gon!" The younger Jedi's eyes widened at Athara's exclamation, realizing who the ghostly Jedi was the instant he'd sensed her comfort at seeing him. With a faint, albeit reserved smile, the older Jedi nodded his greeting to his pupil before elaborating.

"Anakin will not come back here. Even now that he is one with the Force and he has made his peace with the past, this place holds too many bad memories." Qui-gon paused, looking around the chamber with a distant, thoughtful expression on his face. Athara stepped out of the Medical Unit to stand at Luke's side, looking down to where Qui-gon had come to stand at the bottom of the dais. "It's here, on this planet, that saw what was left of Anakin supplanted by Vader." Athara frowned.

"How so?" she asked tentatively. Qui-gon's sad smile grew sadder. Athara's stomach dropped. "His injuries...his attack on Padmé...it really did all happen here. On Mustafar." It was Luke's turn to frown, the uneasy expression overtaking the one of curiosity Qui-gon's appearance had inspired. "I'd never known for sure." Qui-gon nodded, glancing to Luke. Athara felt sick.

"Yes. It's here on Mustafar where Anakin finished his evolution into Darth Vader as the Galaxy—as you both—knew him. The unspeakable acts that preserved his life may have been performed on Coruscant under Palpatine's watchful eye, but it was here on Mustafar that he threatened the lives of those he had once cared for more than his own life. It was here that my apprentice faced and defeated Anakin, though he couldn't bring himself to destroy the man who had once been his brother. It was here that Vader consumed Anakin completely."

"He nearly killed my mother here?" Athara reached out to Luke, her heart aching at the pained way his voice shook. His hand tightened almost painfully around hers as she laced her fingers with his. Slowly Qui-gon nodded. Luke's breath hitched.

Athara, though, was suddenly fighting back a sudden rush of rage and sorrow at the very idea.

"That monster!" Luke's gaze jerked to Athara in shock and confusion at her sudden furious outburst, his eyes wide. Qui-gon sighed heavily, his sorrow and understanding clear on his face.

"Athara? Vader—" But she barely paid any mind to her Farmboy's bewildered objection, not even realizing he'd misunderstood the focus of her sudden fury, her gaze snapping to her ghostly mentor. Qui-gon, however, knew exactly what had sparked her temper. He fixed her with a stern look.

"Calm yourself, Athara," he cautioned firmly, sympathy nevertheless clear in his eyes. Athara's eyes flashed, barely registering what he'd said.

"He insisted Vader's Fortress had to be here! He knew! He had to know what happened here! How being here would keep ripping at those wounds every second he was forced to linger here! That wretched, evil, Hutt-sucking—"

"Athara!" Athara's jaw snapped shut at Luke's exclamation, her teeth clenching so tightly that they began to ache. Her anger began to ease...but only just. Her lightsaber dug painfully into her fist as her hand clenched tighter around the weapon.

"Don't let your anger control you," Qui-gon added almost gently. Forcefully Athara wrenched her temper back under control, forcing back the rage threatening to overwhelm her. As her fury cooled with each deep breath, shame poured in to take its place. She hadn't let herself lose control like that in a long time. She pulled her hand from Luke's, regret tugging at her as she realized she must have been hurting him, her grip had tightened so. As her deep breaths began to grow ragged with self-reproach and the sorrow her anger had swept past, Athara's arms wrapped tightly around her torso, hugging herself tightly as she struggled to let go of her anger. It grew easier as Luke's consciousness brushed against hers, but it didn't quite help as much as it usually did. Luke was far too unsettled and emotional himself. It was a lot to take in. Though in worse shape emotionally than he was in that instant, she still couldn't help but reach back to him through the Force, silently offering what support she could. He looked up to her at the gesture, a wan smile curling his lips.

"Yes, Palpatine knew precisely what he was doing when he ordered this facility to be constructed here," Qui-gon confirmed softly when he was sure Athara had sufficiently calmed herself. "It was a calculated move, intended to keep Vader firmly in his thrall and blinded by his guilt and grief. What was left of Anakin couldn't face the things he'd done," the Force-spirit explained softly, "and so Vader turned to his rage and to the Emperor." Athara shuddered.

"I'd always known he hated this place," she finally said, her voice pained and threaded with guilt, "but I never even thought to wonder why...I just assumed it was because he hated being reminded just how badly his body was damaged. That he hated how much he needed this place just to survive. Even after I started to suspect it was here that his injuries..." She looked up to her ghostly mentor.

"I never seriously considered that there was so much more to it than that."

Qui-gon just smiled sadly. "And if you had, Vader might have felt the need to push you away." She couldn't help but admit he had a point. Had she pressed? Vader would have shut her out. Had she pressed hard enough? Considering the sheer potency of the pain and grief and guilt he'd had festering deep down? Her persistence, had she chosen to apply it to Vader's history of bad feeling toward the planet his Fortress was on, would not only have been incredibly painful to him, but potentially incredibly dangerous. 'Pushing away,' was indeed a mild way of putting what her Master might have done.

But that didn't make her feel any better about it.

"I still wish I'd known," she said softly. She felt Qui-gon's presence brush sympathetically against her mind before it faded. She didn't even have to look up to know he'd left to give them some space. Her fingers traced absently over the lightsaber hilt in her hands. She looked up to Luke.

The young Jedi was staring at the Medical Unit with sightless eyes, a troubled look plain on his familiar features. Athara sighed heavily, looking back to the Unit herself. Her chest clenched. She hooked the lightsaber to her belt.

Stepping forward she reached out to her Farmboy, her hand lifting to rub across his back as the other rose to trail her fingers along his jaw. Gently she turned his face to her. After a moment his vibrant eyes focused, his attention returning to the chamber and to her. Tentatively, she smiled up at him in what she hoped was sympathy and understanding, knowing even without having to reach for the Force how conflicted and troubled he was by what he had learned since coming to his father's Fortress. Far more conflicted than he was letting on. Sure enough, when she reached out with the Force she was met with a wave of hurt and grief and disbelief that was trying to eat at him, wearing at the inner calm she had come to rely on from him.

After a moment of studying his handsome, distressed features, her hand having stilled against his cheek, she pulled him closer so that their foreheads touched. At the contact he began to relax, the tension and the sorrow beginning to seep from his frame as his eyes slid shut. She only began to relax herself when his arm came up to wrap around her waist, returning her embrace.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her fingers resuming their caress. He hummed softly at the gesture before opening his eyes to fix her with a searching look.

"What for?"

"I should have told you what I knew. It was—it was too much to spring on you all at once." Her eyes widened at the low, disbelieving chuckle that escaped him. He pulled back slightly, his brow furrowing as he eyed her with disbelief.

"As compared to other revelations that I've received in the past?" A faint chuckle of her own escaped at his skeptical but somehow teasing tone. Leaning into him, she tucked her head against his neck, her cheek coming to rest against his collarbone. She could feel more than hear him sigh as his own hand—his cybernetic one, part of her realized soberly—began to rub lightly across her back.

"I suppose you're right about that," she finally ceded.

They stood like that for a few moments longer, Athara simply holding Luke and letting him hold her as he silently worked through the emotions that had been heaped upon him since entering her Master's private chambers.

"It's...it's more than you not telling me," he finally said softly, his breath stirring flyaway strands of her hair. Inadvertently she tensed, knowing he could feel the remorse and regret beginning to well in her chest at his words. He sighed. "Really, Athara. I do understand, and I can't hold it against you," he assured her. "I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me a little, but that's not...it's just...it's just that I didn't know. He was my Father. I feel like I should know more about him. I just...don't. I don't know him. I don't know all that much about him. About his life, especially after he turned. I only know the stories of Darth Vader.

"That's what bothers me." Athara fought back the tears suddenly prickling at the corners of her eyes. Pulling back, she met his sad gaze. Her hand lifting again to cup his cheek, she leaned up to place a soft kiss against his lips. Then she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug, one he gratefully surrendered to.

"Then let me tell you about him," she whispered. Luke tensed, anticipation and an almost incredulous hope blooming within him. As he pulled away to meet her gaze there was no masking the yearning in his eyes. When he finally spoke, there was an emotional tremor in his voice.

"Okay."

A/N: Thanks for Reading!

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