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'Master. Master.'

Palpatine awoke slowly to Vader's black mask hovering over him. It somehow looked concerned, despite having no expression.

'What happened?', he tried but the words came out slurred and unwieldy in his foul-tasting mouth.

'You just dropped your lightsaber fighting me, clutched your head and were out like a light. That was five days ago. The healers agree it was a stroke.'

'You... what?'

'Did I call for the healers instead of say killing you outright?'

'Yes.'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'It's no honour and no fun to kill you when you're sick and weakened, Master.'

'I should fry you for that,' tried Sidious, only it came out completely unrecognisable to his own ears. He tried to lift his hands but only the left came up, weak and shaky, and when he called the Sith lightning, nothing came.

Vader still understood.

'What you should is rest, and take stock of what you can and can't do. Then practice what you cannot, starting small. There is record of Republic Jedi losing control of the Force following brain injury and they mostly all recovered. Granted, none of them were nearly your age unless you count nonhuman species, but I shall venture none were as stubborn as you are, Master.'

Chapter Text

Vader is a blessedly, annoyingly devoted caretaker. He hovers. Come mealtimes, he helps Palpatine sit up, holding him upright with that powerful but surprisingly gentle robotic arm as he spoons gloopy but fine-tasting soup with care into the older Sith's mouth, urging him to eat to regain his strength.

'The indignity,' tries Sheev, and it comes out slurred gibberish again, and Vader again understands.

'It's only passing, Master. You rebuilt me after I was burned by Obi-Wan, I shall help you rebuild control of your body.'

Palpatine at some point breaks down in frustration and cries, weeping and cursing incoherently and Vader again understands, sitting silent beside the Emperor, stroking his back with hands that should by no right be so gentle, were not designed to be gentle, until the old man runs out of tears and quiets down and then Vader helps him up and gives him a cup of water to sip, or rather holds him up and holds the cup to his lips.

'You will be better in no time, Master. You shall see.'

In no time means weeks, months of being unable to speak, walk, use the Force or move his right hand, of the dreadful indignity of relieving himself in diapers, of being at the mercy of healers and nurses and meddroids and Vader of all creatures. Vader who was supposed to have no mercy.

Vader who has somehow decided Palpatine was all he has, therefore Palpatine must live. Vader who is always there, supporting Sheev when he first stands up, following his shaky first steps since the injury. Vader who brings him a feather and asks him to levitate it, just the tiniest amount of Force manipulation required, Vader who encourages him to eat by himself once he can hold and lift a spoon, Vader who reteaches him to hold a stylus and datapad, Vader who offers him a lightsaber and duels him in slow motion, taking ample breaks to rest the old man's shaking muscles, reteaching him to fight like he was a youngling again. And slowly Palpatine is starting to feel himself again. Sith Lightning comes on command, and walking comes easily once more, and the grip of his right hand is precise and strong, and his speech fluent and clear. It seems his convalescence has come to an end.

'And now, Lord Vader, you will pay the price for betraying the ancient laws of the Sith – you shall be electrocuted until I decide you have had enough.'

'I see you have recovered, My Master,' is all the warning Palpatine gets before Vader's lightsaber snap-hisses into life.