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Chapter Text

Firmus found that, for the first time since he’d been promoted, he wasn't scared of what the day would bring.

That may have been an overstatement- he was certainly scared. Everyone who worked as close to Lord Vader as he had to be, of course, but he found that his fear had reduced to a healthy, motivating fear, rather than a blood curdling, inability to sleep kind of fear that it had been when he’d first been made Fleet Admiral.

It had been almost a month. This was normal for him now, and it seemed his subconscious brain had been resigned to that fact.

So, Admiral Firmus Piett of the SSD Executor- or the Lady, as the crew called her- went about his day as he always did.

He ate breakfast in the mess with Max Veers, refusing to notice the kind glint in his friend's eyes when he noticed how relaxed Firmus was, and spent his shift on the bridge, giving orders and answering holo calls from other officers.

It was an uneventful day with nothing to report. There was no notable rebel activity and no significant news he had to deal with.

All of this allowed him to relax, just slightly, before his last duty of the day.

He was ninety nine percent confident that there was nothing Lord Vader would have reason to kill him over.

The last one percent was just his aforementioned healthy fear. Vader’s moods were never predictable, no matter how smoothly the day had gone for everyone else.

Piett keenly felt his collar brushing his neck for a moment.

But it would be fine. He would report to Lord Vader, and after he was dismissed he would go to mess and laugh about it with Max, and then he would go to bed and pray to the force that tomorrow would be exactly the same.

-

Don’t get me wrong. The force is not a sentient being, and certainly doesn't form clear replies to the thoughts of (relatively) insignificant mortals. Even if it did, the chances it would be paying attention to Piett at that moment are very small. With… what was going on next door, particularly.

However, if the force just happened to be paying attention to Firmus Piett at that moment, and just happened to be sentient and form a clear reply to his thoughts, it would’ve said:

“Don’t write today off quite so quickly, Firmus.”

-

Darth Vader found that, for the first time since he had been reborn, he hadn't been dragged from his meditation by a crescendo of pain that had been building for hours.

He didn't really notice at first: he had practically been asleep, though he’d never have admitted it. After he’d retired from the bridge at around what would be midday on Coruscant below, he’d taken a few hours to meditate in his quarters. It was the closest he could get to relaxation. Immediately after Bespin he had been deeply wreathed in the dark side, and when he had learned of Luke’s survival he had been deeply conflicted, and now… it had all faded just enough for him to nearly relax.

As the Sith Lord came back to his senses, he braced himself for his raw, damaged throat to burn as he breathed- even with the purified air in his meditation chamber, it hurt- and was surprised when he found that it didn't.

He hadn't even opened his eyes yet, but he found himself gently clearing his throat, hardly a thought going into it. It still didn't really hurt, and finally he was awake enough to be incredibly confused.

He would often wake up sobbing, pleading to no one for the pain to let up for just one second before he re-immersed himself in the dark side of the force and used it to his advantage. He didn't like to think of those moments of weakness, but it was very rare that they would spare him.

He could breathe. Well enough that is wasn't hurting him at all.

Maybe a little too much. He was getting light headed from all the oxygen. Usually his damaged lungs couldn't take enough in for it to be a problem.

Frowning, he opened his eyes, reached for the controls of the pod and lurched forwards a bit too far. His arm felt abnormally light. Was something wrong with the prosthetic? He squinted down at the black glove and tried to move his fingers. They shot about far too quickly, with a dexterity he had all but forgotten was possible.

Vader again reached for the controls of the pressurised chamber, more carefully this time, and sat still as the air returned to normal and his mask lowered from above. He hesitated for a moment as it descended, taking a couple of experimental breaths of unfiltered air.

After a moment his lightheadedness receded.

Barely thinking about it, Vader ducked to avoid the helmet, lifting his strangely light right arm to catch it. He was used to its weight, but for some reason it felt wrong.

Along with his clearer head, Vader’s vision sharpened as he looked down at what had been his face for the last twenty or so years.

He dropped it on the floor like it was a hot coal- not that that should matter to him.

At that, he was struck with another thought, and reached to rip off his left glove. He was a little clumsy, still unused to the dexterity in his hand, but…

He took a sharp breath in.

As far as he could tell… and feel… his left hand was flesh and blood. His right was still responding how he'd expect, aside from the additional sensitivity. Still prosthetic, then.

He allowed himself to have the realisation in a clear moment, as he stared with too-keen eyes at his unscarred, flesh and blood fingers.

He was healed.

Instinctively, he knew this was the force’s doing. Even logically it was the only conclusion one could come to.

Vader didn't want to question it, so he didn't.

He also failed to notice the way he slid from the chair in his meditation chamber to collapse into a fetal position on the floor, his limbs unco-ordinated, and the way his breath shook and his lip trembled.

He failed to notice the tears of shock rolling down his face until the door to his private chambers opened.

-

Firmus stepped forward a few paces with his hands clasped behind his back, cleared his throat to address his commander, and- his gaze drifted to an unfamiliar man curled up on the floor, crying.

What the fuck?

He faltered, the tight reign he kept on his thoughts when speaking to Lord Vader gone slack, his usually unflappable expression crumbled.

Firmus had only seen the back of Vader’s head before, on a few occasions, and never more than that. He knew that he was indeed human, that he was bald and badly scarred, and that he needed his mask to breathe.

The man on the floor was, according to that description, not Lord Vader.

The breaths were close to sobbing gasps, but they were certainly breaths. The man didn't seem ill in any way, aside from being upset. He had a full head of dark blond hair with only a few noticeable greys, and he was clutching his left hand like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline.

The only thing that gave the Admiral a pause was that he was definitely wearing Vader’s armour.

“Um…” Firmus said. Because what the fuck else was he supposed to say?

The man's eyes snapped up, fixing the Admiral with an intense yellow glare that he felt in his very bones. Maybe it was Lord Vader after all.

For a moment, they just stared at each other- Firmus feeling perhaps more than a healthy amount of fear, and the strange man (Vader?) looking straight into his soul with a defensive rage.

Firmus cleared his throat again, as softly as he could. The other man coughed quietly.

“Admiral.” It was ground out slowly, perhaps experimentally, and though the voice was unfamiliar, Firmus would know that tone anywhere. It had haunted his dreams for a month.

“My Lord.” He did not squeak. He could rescue the situation. He wasn't dead yet, and he technically hadn't done anything wrong.

As long as he chose his next words very, very carefully.

“Are you… alright, sir?” That time it might have been a squeak.

Firmus felt numb, then. He forced away all of his fear and just lifted his chin. He would rather face death with grace than cowardice.

Because of this, he was infinitely surprised when his question got a response.

“I don't know, Admiral.” Vader said quietly. His voice was hoarse but strong. As he looked up at Firmus, his face seemed oddly familiar, but he couldn't place it.

“I just came to give the report, sir. I didn't mean to intrude I can, I can come back.” Firmus swallowed. Unfortunately, Vader didn't dismiss him.

“Something is happening, Admiral.” The Supreme Commander eventually said. “The force is telling me not to kill you, that you are… important, somehow.” His pale yellow eyes unfocused for a moment, before he blinked a few times and stared Firmus in the face again. Firmus hadn’t even known Vader could feel emotion that wasn't anger, but he was still terrifying, even curled up crying on the floor.

But… it didn't seem that he was going to die. His numbness faded away just enough for him to take a deep, shaky breath.

“Thank you, my Lord.” He said, unsure how to continue. Vader had lowered his gaze again, closing his eyes and resting his face in the crook of his arm. It was a terribly human posture, and Firmus couldn't help the pang of sympathy that blossomed in his chest. It was certainly an… odd cocktail of emotions he was feeling.

To add to his confusion, when Vader looked up again, his eyes were blue-grey, and they shone with something like resolve.

“You have my favour, Admiral Piett. And I feel you understand that it is something hard won, and easily lost.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully.

“You will help me through this, but I will not hesitate to kill you if you say a word to anyone. Do you understand, Admiral?”

His voice was smooth, nothing like the harsh boom of the vocoder Firmus was used to. But the quiet threat in his tone was somehow worse.

“Of course, milord.” He said.

After a moment, Vader nodded. He carefully reached up behind him and gripped the edge of his chair, leaning heavily on it as he pulled himself to his feet. Firmus was unsure what to do, so he watched quietly, attempting to clear his head of thoughts once more.

Once he had propped himself up sufficiently, Vader gestured towards an object on the floor that Firmus hadn't noticed earlier.

“Pick that up, and bring it to the back of the room. I’ll need to work on it so I can wear it without… side effects.” He said carefully.

As he drew closer, Firmus realised it was his helmet. He didn't show his hesitancy to touch it, but some instinct told him no, wrong, drop it the moment he picked it up. He took it over to behind the meditation chamber, where he found a small desk littered with what looked to him like spare parts and tools. He didn't let himself linger, placing the helmet down before returning to his Commander.

Vader had made it to the side of the room, leaning on the wall but upright. Firmus stood dutifully in front of him.

“Do I need to explain what has happened to me, Admiral?” Vader asked. If Firmus hadn't known better, he would've thought the man was forcing himself to sound firm. He thought through his response before answering,

“It is my understanding that you had… a serious medical condition, milord.” He winced internally, hoping that his phrasing wouldn't offend the Commander.

To his relief, it didn't seem to. The man nodded once, then almost curiously ran a hand through his hair.

“The force has healed me for a reason, Admiral.” He said. “I intend to find out what that is, and I could use someone's help. Better my second in command than anyone else. Do you agree, Piett?” He turned to look Firmus right in the eye. Even when they were the more natural blue, they were awfully piercing.

“Of course, sir.” He said quickly. “Whatever you require.” He thought briefly that he was supposed to be a fleet admiral, of the largest ship in the galaxy, at that, he shouldn't be reduced to a personal assistant. He buried the idea quickly before Vader could pick up on it.

After a moment, he asked,

“You’re going to hide this from the rest of the crew, sir?”

Vader seemed to consider for a second before nodding again.

“I could use it to my advantage in the future. And if I may be honest, Piett, I would rather hide this development from the Emperor.” He looked meaningfully at the other man, but Firmus dipped his head respectfully. He had always been more loyal to Vader than to the Emperor, even before his promotion. There was something about Vader’s straightforwardness, no matter how cruel, that had always appealed to him over Palpatine’s political manipulation.

Firmus took a moment to assess Vader’s state, then. The man was still wearing his armour, but it seemed to hinder him- even without how recognisable it was- and Firmus wasn't sure whether he'd be able to stand on his own.

“Can I get you some clothes, milord? Or a cane?” He asked cautiously. It would make the most sense, and if Vader hadn’t killed him already he doubted he was going to now. The Supreme Commander seemed to know this, for he nodded his assent without hesitation.

“I would appreciate that, Admiral. Get me some plain clothes as well as an Imperial uniform. Inform the bridge that I am indisposed, we can discuss more when you have returned.”

-

By the time Piett returned, Vader had figured out how to use his legs again. It had been a few hours, and he was nothing if not persistent. He’d also managed to remove some of the heavier parts of the suit, as well as deactivate the panelling on his chest. It was a miracle none of it had stabbed into him, honestly, but the force had its ways. All of the metal in his body seemed to have mysteriously vanished.

The strangest change was how relaxed he felt. After the initial stress of realising what had happened to him, Anakin had felt oddly confident that he had control of the situation. He found that he trusted his Admiral to stay quiet, and retain respect for him (he refused to think about how he must've looked when the man had first walked in), but he could easily be dealt with if he ever broke that trust.

He’d only briefly touched the force, and though it was undoubtedly the dark side he was reaching for, he found it more difficult to summon the same power from it that he had before, with the constant pain and hopelessness of his physical condition easily fueling his anger. He wasn't as unnerved by the development as he probably should've been. Instead, he decided to shelve it for now, and focus on dealing with his immediate needs.

Piett had brought him several styles of clothing, clearly terrified that Vader would be unsatisfied by them. The man was hovering nearby, and Vader found a sick amusement in thoroughly inspecting the clothes, as though he wouldn't throw on anything given to him.

When he was satisfied, he turned to the Admiral.

“You informed the bridge of my absence?” Vader was still unused to his own voice. He found that he needed to deliberately speak forcefully, to mimic how his vocoder had sounded, where before he had been able to speak however he wanted without fear of his tone being off. Admittedly, it had made conversation difficult; most of his officers were terrified enough of him already.

“I have, milord.” Piett replied. “Though I wasn't sure how long it would be before you're able to make a public appearance again.” The Admiral seemed a lot more collected than he had earlier; Anakin suspected he’d spent some of the time away splashing his face with cold water, and he didn't blame him. Better that the man was in a position to remain professional, no matter the situation.

“It shouldn't take more than a week for me to rework the whole suit.” He responded. “I need it to appear functional, but not actually do anything to me. I imagine it would make me sick in this state.” He wasn't sure these were things he would normally admit to an officer, but Piett probably deserved it at this point. Besides, there was no reason for Vader to be quite as defensive of his medical condition as he had before. He didn't see how information of it could be used against him immediately, especially not by Piett.

“But,” he added, “don't give them a definite number. Maybe tell them I have left for Imperial Center. The Emperor could keep me there for any amount of time.” He didn't tell Piett that he was actually far less familiar with the functions of his suit than he should've been. It wasn't like he could take it off to tinker with it when it was actively keeping him alive. Though, if the quality of his prosthetics had been anything to go by, he could guess that much of the technology was sub-par.

“I will, sir.” Piett replied. “Do you need anything else?”

Vader stood up. For the first time (perhaps ever), he noticed how tired the man looked. He had no idea what time it was, and he wasn't sure if Piett had eaten or not. He hadn't worried so much about the condition of his officers when he had been bitter at how poor his own was.

“Not immediately.” He said, perhaps too softly for his persona. “Get some rest and return to me in the morning. Your duties on the bridge can wait, we are only orbiting Co…” he winced, “Coruscant.” He hadn't slipped up like that in a while. If Piett noticed, or cared, he didn't show it. Vader didn't bother correcting himself.

“You are dismissed, Admiral.” He finished.

He could spend the night scoping the mechanics of his suit. By morning he would have drawn up a plan for altering it, and then he would have a better estimate of how long it would take him. As Piett left, he took the clothes he had left and dressed himself. He’d picked out a black suit, as he’d always preferred. It wasn't particularly formal, but clearly something that would be worn by an officer when they were off duty. He suspected these were a common sight down in the living quarters. Everyone he interacted with wore a uniform, of course. He wouldn't really know.

He hadn't felt quite as disconnected from everyone else as he did now.

He was entirely a different station to everyone else on the ship, and even then had different requirements due to his condition. Other high ranking imperials, close in station to himself, likely retired with their officers at the end of the day in a less formal setting. Vader had never had that. He didn't eat or drink. Didn't even sleep.

He would have to now, he realised. He’d probably have to go to Mess at some point tomorrow lest he starve or dehydrate. And… he had nowhere to sleep, really, in his own quarters. He could try using the meditation chamber, but without its necessity it wasn't quite as appealing as it had been before. The suit had regulated everything, from his hydration levels to temperature. It had done more than manage his injuries. A lot of that would have to be manual now. He forced himself to stop the train of thought before he overwhelmed himself. He could likely sneak into the living quarters and find an unoccupied room. He was powerful enough in the force that he could ensure nobody else noticed.

All of this, he told himself, is tomorrow's problem. You can last until morning, Anakin.

Excellent. Another problem that had slipped into his mind without him noticing. Well, it hadn't actually been long since the Emperor had contacted him. He- Vader - had plenty of time to collect himself.

A mirror would probably help with that. From what he could tell, his clothes were presentable enough- he hadn't dressed himself in over twenty years, but it wasn't the most difficult thing to relearn- but he had no idea what his face and hair looked like. He hadn't even seen his reflection in as long as he could remember: it wasn't the sort of thing that he had wanted to torment himself with. His face was completely restored, as far as he could tell, and people were going to actually be looking at it.

What if someone recognised him? He had been incredibly famous towards the end of the Clone Wars, and he was well aware that he had been an object of desire for many. A quick press of his fingers to his temple confirmed that he still had his very obvious scar, and he knew his hair was much longer than Imperial regulation. He didn't have the tools to cut it right now, and- in a sudden moment of vanity- he really didn't want to. He cursed his sentimentality as he remembered how much effort he’d put into growing it out after he'd been knighted.

This was, the part of him that was definitely still Darth Vader said, a pathetic sign of weakness.

Maybe just for his own safety, Anakin Skywalker needed to go back to sleep.

-

The next morning in the Mess Hall, Firmus was genuinely unsure whether or not he'd dreamed of the events of last night.

But he knew he'd definitely had to report to Vader, and if he ignored the frankly strange events he remembered, he had no recollection of how the meeting had gone.

He really wanted Veers’ company right now, but the man had apologetically commed him last night, explaining that he'd fallen ill and likely wouldn't be able to make it out of bed tomorrow. Firmus wondered idly if the ship would even function without himself, Veers or Vader on the bridge.

Assuming he hadn't imagined the events of last night.

Firmus sighed loudly and looked at the pathetic bowl of oats that he’d barely touched. He wasn't sure he had the energy to choke it down, and that was after his third cup of caf.

It was going to be an interesting day.

His morning did not improve when he heard the stool next to him slide out from under the table.

It took him a moment to acknowledge the man. He half assumed it was Max, well enough to get up after all, and didn't really pay attention until the last voice he had wanted to hear right then spoke in his ear,

“You're a very competent Admiral, but I do apologise if this is the toll it takes on you, Piett.”

What, in the Emperor’s shrivelled ballsack of a face, is he doing here?

Vader, Piett had assumed, always ate in his own quarters, undisturbed by the rest of the Executor’s lowly staff.

“I am… sorry… for scaring you, Admiral. I wasn't sure where else to sit without drawing attention.” The Supreme Commander continued. He sounded far more relaxed than yesterday, and Firmus doubted he would've recognised the man if he hadn't heard his voice last night.

“Do you always eat without company?” Vader added.

Firmus finally turned to look at him. The man was a respectful few feet away from him, and appeared to have a bowl of gruel similar to the Admiral’s own. He wasn't sure why, when there was such a large range of options. Perhaps he just wasn't very hungry, like Firmus himself.

“Milord. It's not a problem, I just wasn't expecting your company.” He paused, “To answer your question, no, my… usual companion… is ill. I was under the impression that you did eat alone though, sir.” He hoped he didn't sound too challenging. Then again, Vader likely sensed his curiosity.

The Supreme Commander merely looked amused. It was odd, seeing his expressions, but at least it helped Firmus guess his mood.

Vader was wearing a uniform, as many of the officers were, just the standard grey of a fairly low ranking imperial. Firmus had left him the option for one of a higher rank, but he supposed it would draw too much unwanted attention. Indeed, Vader had neatly tucked his long hair under the cap. It wouldn't hold up under scrutiny, but it wasn't obvious enough that people would notice.

He hadn't yet replied to the admiral, and after a moment Firmus realised he'd been staring. He snapped his gaze back to Vader’s face, only to find himself looking at the man’s smirking lips.

What is wrong with me?

“I haven't eaten solid food in over twenty years, Piett.” He said softly.

Firmus wasn't sure how to respond to that. It seemed Vader's injuries had been a lot worse than he’d thought.

“My apologies, sir.” He said weakly, averting his eyes. Some small part of him noted that this was unfortunate. The soggy oats were not a very pleasant sight compared to Vader’s face. Which still looked oddly familiar, now that he thought of it.

“That is alright, Admiral.” The Supreme Commander said. “I’m not sure if my stomach will be able to take it, even now.”

As he spoke, Vader cautiously brought the spoon to his lips and swallowed. He paused for a moment, and Firmus eyes him worriedly.

“You eat this voluntarily?” Vader said suddenly, frowning at his bowl. He’d actually slipped out of the clipped, formal tone he usually used. Firmus thought he heard an outer-rim accent, but it was probably his imagination.

“I wasn't awfully hungry, sir.” He replied, “Would you like me to find you something more to your liking?” He suddenly felt incredibly self conscious as Vader glanced at him curiously.

“It's alright, Admiral. I am more than capable of getting my own food. Besides, I think it would be odd if the Fleet Admiral was seen getting food for a man nobody has seen…” Vader stumbled over the last few words. He was recognisable, then. That was probably why he had seemed familiar to Firmus. It must’ve been during the clone wars: Vader had been with the empire since the beginning, but he didn't look old enough to have had much prevalence before that.

He was younger than Firmus would've expected, actually. If anything, he looked younger than the Admiral himself, but Firmus suspected his random healing had helped with that.

He wondered if it was okay to ask.

“You're right, Milord. I was wondering, if you're going to be around places like this, if you have a cover story?” Maybe a less direct question would get him answers. To his satisfaction, Vader answered,

“It's probably best if I don't talk to too many people face to face. Particularly if they're old enough to recognise me.

That is a good point though, I doubt I’ll be able to entirely avoid it.” He looked meaningfully at Firmus, who finally gave in to his thoughts,

“Why would they recognise you, Milord?” He tried to sound casual but formal, but Vader seemed genuinely surprised.

“Are you saying you don't, Admiral? I would’ve thought you did, with the way you were ogling me.” He sounded vaguely hopeful, not cocky, as the words would coming from anyone else. Firmus felt himself pale. 

“No Milord. I must admit you look slightly familiar to me, but I grew up in the outer rim and I was slightly removed from the goings on in the Republic.” He said quickly.

Ogling. He wasn't even sure he should've mentioned his background, or the Republic, to the man who was practically second in command of the whole Empire, but he seemed to have rescued himself from further scrutiny.

Vader sat back, satisfied.

“Good.” He said simply, and did not elaborate.

He turned back to his meal, eating quite quickly. Firmus presumed he must be hungry, if he hadn't had any of the nutrients his suit would've supplied since at least yesterday afternoon.

Strangely, he felt that his own appetite had returned. Perhaps his conversation with Vader had broken the ice enough for his nervousness to reduce.

He excused himself and returned with some bread and meat. All of it had likely been frozen, but it didn't taste nearly as bad as the gruel. He ate quickly and neatly next to Vader, refusing to dwell on the strangeness of the situation. Or that the silence between the two of them was actually quite companionable.

When they had both finished, Vader having given up after half the bowl, claiming that it was a ‘good enough start’, Firmus turned his attention to what the rest of the day would hold.

“Will you need my assistance this morning, Milord?” He asked.

Vader pursed his lips, as though he hadn't considered.

“I have eaten now. I’ll likely spend the rest of the day working on the suit. You are free to return to the bridge, Admiral, but I will likely join you again this evening.” He turned to face Firmus, “I will… try to think of a cover story before then, in case we are joined by your companion.” He emphasised the last word, and Firmus realised he hadn't actually specified who he often ate with. Vader should know, if this was to be a common occurrence.

“It would be my pleasure, Milord. I doubt that General Veers will be well enough to eat tonight, but I will keep you informed on his status.” He hoped that was satisfactory. Vader nodded his approval, and rose.

“I will see you later then, Admiral.” He had an optimistic tone that Firmus couldn't have imagined hearing from the man before. He could've sworn there was a genuine smile on Vader’s lips as he glanced his way, before leaving.

“Of course, sir.” Firmus called after him. He stacked their plates and carried them away, deep in thought.

-

Anakin grinned. The wires in the helmet were tiny and muddled, clearly designed to be impossible for him to pick apart with his clumsy metal fingers, but his flesh hand (slightly singed as it was, he had forgotten to be careful) easily unwound the tangle of tiny wires that really could've been grouped together in one. Half of the functions weren't even necessary, and could've been a lot more concise. He had feared as much, but his anger at realising how complete his… his slavery had been was overwhelmed by a fierce satisfaction at being able to bypass the safeguards and completely rewire the suit to his liking. He didn't even need to be changing half the features he was now tampering with, that controlled his vision, but he was having more fun than he’d had in years. Even when he’d been trapped in the suit he'd found solace in tinkering, yet he was able to lose himself for hours working this efficiently. He felt almost giddy with it. At this rate, he’d easily finish the suit and have some time to play around before the week was up.

Vader was growling at him, from some corner of his mind, telling him there was no way he’d be able to access the dark side like this. There was no way he’d be able to fool Sidious.

Anakin found that, at this moment, he didn't particularly care. He’d been in a good mood all day, and he was never in a good mood. The part of him that was Vader had cautiously stepped back to let him enjoy it.

It was around midday on Coruscant below when he was interrupted.

There was a very hesitant whisper in his mind, but it dragged him out of his stupor faster than a ship from hyperspace.

‘ Father?’

Anakin dropped the piece of panelling he was holding and exhaled, immediately reaching into the force.

He could do this much, unaffiliated with dark or light, simply sensing his surroundings, and the connections in his mind.

He felt the ice cold, durasteel strong chain that linked him to Sidious. This one was less a mutual bond and more like… shackles. He avoided it, very careful not to alert his master lest he blow his cover. The next strongest one was tattered and broken, yet it stubbornly refused to vacate the spot it had held for almost as long as Vader could remember. Even with Obi-Wan dead, there was a web-thin line that connected them. He avoided this bond too. It felt like tears and sizzling flesh. Even with his very brief attention, it screamed words of betrayal at him in a language he refused to understand.

He skimmed over a few weaker ones.  One that had been broken once, reforged, then ripped fiercely from him a second time. Other barely noticeable training bonds with long dead Inquisitors, and finally…

A new one. It was tentative and fresh, and it was the only bond that didn't reek of suffering. Not entirely, anyway.

‘Luke?’ He asked, hopeful. His son hadn't communicated with him since that day immediately after Bespin, when they’d both acknowledged their connection for the first time. It had been a few weeks, and Vader had tried to talk to him again, without success. Perhaps Luke had sensed the change in him. It worried Vader a bit: the more people that knew, the more danger they were all in. Especially if one of them was a half trained force sensitive. Vader had spent twenty years shielding from Sidious- but his son wouldn't be able to keep a youngling out. The last scrap of respect Vader had for Luke’s privacy was all that had kept him from tearing into his mind.

The next thing he sensed was a very hesitant feeling across the bond, suspicious curiosity?

‘You sound different, Father.’

Vader supposed he probably did. He’d deliberately used the vocoder’s voice when talking to Luke before, for familiarity. Hearing his natural voice- as he used with others- would probably only confuse his son further. As, apparently, it had done now.

‘Yes…’ was all he could think to send back, with encouragement. He would let Luke control this conversation.

‘...What happened?’ Luke asked bluntly.

Vader sent back amusement, be patient, as he tried to find words.

‘The force… seems to have a plan for me.’ He said, altering his voice to sound more like the vocoder, then back again. Perhaps Luke could catch his meaning.

‘Speak basic. You said yourself that I am not a Jedi yet.’ Apparently not, then.

‘I am not sure you are ready to know this, Luke.’ Vader said gently, using his own voice.

‘You feel lighter.’ Luke told him, ‘Say, do you still want me to join you in the dark side?’ He felt a wave of immense satisfaction from his son.

Kriff. He’d been caught.

Anakin was many things, but a good liar was not one of them. And maybe he did want Luke to join him in the dark side, but it really wasn't something he wanted to think about, much less discuss, at this moment. He sent Luke reluctance, drop it.

‘Drop it? That's not an emotion.’ His son seemed to laugh at him. Hesitant joy.

Gratitude, Vader sent. He really didn't deserve Luke. Especially after… what he'd done to him.

‘I don't know how long this will last, my son. I can't let it last for too long, or he will know.’ He probably shouldn't have told Luke that much. He didn't exactly trust the boy’s judgment when it came to decision making, not after Bespin.

Boy? Anakin thought, You were a general at his age .

But Luke was still so much younger than he’d been, in so many ways.

Regret. Luke sent back. Grief. The latter was quiet, as though he hadn't meant for it to slip through.

Anakin paused before replying. He eventually decided not to say anything, instead sending a vague notion of comfort.

The two of them lingered at their respective ends of the bond for quite a while. Neither spoke, and Vader went back to tinkering with his armour. At some point, so subtle that he barely noticed it, Luke sent over love.

Chapter Text

Despite Piett’s promise, neither he nor Vader had any warning before they were joined by Veers the next morning.

The man was clearly still ill, but it made sense that he would need to eat something every now and then to keep his strength up- something Vader had rediscovered for himself over the last couple of days.

He’d managed to find sleeping quarters, but they were completely empty of anything he might actually need. He would have to ask Piett later, as, to his horror, it was becoming obvious that he hadn't shaved in a while. Or showered.

He refused to be embarrassed. It wasn't that bad. Just… not quite up to military standard.

Piett hadn't commented- not that Vader would expect him to dare- and he probably looked fine compared to the state of Veers. The man was still in bedclothes, and didn't look pleased to see a stranger sitting next to his friend. Vader found it quite amusing that this was the same man that he saw on the bridge most days without a spot on his uniform.

He was less amused at the way Piett glanced at him, panicked. They had still failed to discuss a cover story, and it seemed that they would need one sooner than either of them had hoped.

After a moment of deliberating, Vader murmured,

“I’ll come up with something, if he asks.” He’d been undercover before. Just… not for a long time, and with varying success. That was probably more than Piett, who was scared that eating oats would offend him, could say.

He did ask. Immediately. Before Vader had even managed to gather his thoughts, the man slumped down opposite Piett and said,

“Who is this?” He sounded far more alert than Vader had hoped.

“I’m just a mechanic, sir.” He said, attempting to force some respect into his voice. “I knew…” kriff, what was the Admiral’s first name again? “Firmus, here,” (that was unfortunate) “when we were younger. He invited me to catch up. He certainly has risen through the ranks.” He tried to sound impressed, and let some of his natural outer-rim accent slip into his voice. Piett had said he’d grown up there, hadn't he?

Vader thought he barely scraped by on both accounts: Veers radiated uninterested acceptance in the force before he turned to his friend and started complaining about his ailment and laughing about how everyone was coping without him.

Vader managed to tune it out for about five minutes, before, naturally, the conversation turned to him.

“I heard Lord Vader is absent, too. Down on Imperial Center? Do you know why?”

Piett seemed to go stiffer than he already had been, which was impressive. Vader almost felt bad for the man.

“Yes, I… believe he has an audience with the Emperor.” He said. “He should be back by the end of the week.”

Veers sighed dramatically, slumping forward in defeat.

“Trust me to get sick the one week I could’ve had without him breathing down my neck every five minutes.”

Vader couldn't help but turn an icy glare on the man for his tone. Perhaps he should've pretended to be someone more important.

“Max!” Piett exclaimed, horrified.

Veers glanced up at Vader, confused, then turned back to his friend.

“Is it really as bad as they say, working with him?” Vader ‘wondered idly’. He didn't have a particular reason for his question, but he was nothing if not cruel.

“Though,” he continued, “that might be too much information for a lowly mechanic such as myself.” He hoped he didn't sound too sarcastic.

Veers shrugged.

“It’s worse when something has gone seriously wrong, but the Lord definitely has a certain… presence.” He said. “Have you seen him?”

“I haven't yet, he left shortly after I was transferred here.” Vader said. He was actually impressed with the General’s assessment of him. He hadn't been overtly rude, though perhaps he had picked up on Piett’s apprehension. Veers nodded,

“I didn't catch your name.” He said politely.

Oh no.

Instinctively, Anakin would’ve cobbled together the names of people he knew, but those names were often attached to large bounties, these days, no thanks to him.

“My apologies,” he said softly, “it’s Naberrie.” That wasn't even a lie, not really. It was still far removed enough from her… public image not to cause him a problem, and the pang of guilt that came with it wasn't so immediate.

He still didn't deserve to use it.

“Ani Naberrie.” He continued, unable to come up with anything better. He didn't emphasise the first name; with luck, Veers would ignore it.

“Ani. It's good to meet you, I’m Max Veers. I apologise for my presentation, I usually try to look a bit better than this.” He smiled. Vader tried to keep his wince small: he’d hated being called that, even before his fall. Only Watto, his mother and Padmé had done it with any consistency. He supposed this was what he got for not thinking of a name earlier.

“That's alright, sir. I hope you feel better soon, hopefully before Lord Vader gets back.” He let himself smile politely, but kept his posture stiff. He had to keep up the facade, but was in no mood to get too friendly with his officers. The ones that didn't know who he was, anyway.

-

Vader left shortly after that, and Firmus internally breathed a sigh of relief.

“He's an odd fellow, isn't he?” Max observed, a small smile on his lips. He had been sipping at a cup of cheap tea for the better part of an hour, making little progress.

“Yes,” Firmus agreed, glad to be able to speak freely, “But he's nice once you get to know him. I think he’s still stressed from his last job- I don't think it was very kind to him.” A partial truth. He didn't like lying to his friend, but he was grateful that- like himself- Veers didn't seem to recognise Vader’s face.

He was very deliberately avoiding trying to figure out who he was.

“Did you get him his place here?” Veers’ question snapped him out of his thoughts. “You clearly know him quite well.”

Curse Vader for getting him into this predicament.

“Not that well.” Firmus amended. He desperately wanted to allude to Max that Vader wasn't who he pretended, but he knew he’d likely get his neck snapped if he did even that.

“I didn’t.” He continued, “I wasn't in contact with him much before he was stationed on The Lady.”

He hoped that Max could tell he wanted to shut down the conversation from his tone.

“Do you want to get to know him better then, Firmus?” Max asked innocently.

It took Firmus a few seconds to figure out what he meant. A few seconds that he should’ve spent preparing an appropriate response. Something like a casual ‘oh, not like that,’ or similar.

But because he spent the time catching up with the conversation, Piett completely lost his composure and spluttered,

“What?? No!”, turning an impressive shade of red as he did so, like he was a teenager with a crush and not a man in his forties in command of the most important ship in the galaxy.

Predictably, his friend grinned conspiratorially at him.

“You don't have to be ashamed: I can see why. He's a nicer sight than most of us on this ship.”

Firmus had to stop himself protesting, because he realised that it was probably better to let Max think this than anything more dangerous.

Nonetheless, he couldn't wait to see the expression on Max’s face when Firmus eventually told him that he was talking about Darth Vader. Assuming he would make it that far.

Oddly, he didn't feel scared of Vader himself so much as the situation with the Emperor, and the unpredictable path forwards. In a way he’d have never expected, he and Vader were in this together, and he intended to get them both out of it intact.

Then again, that was a bit of a dramatic admission for this time in the morning. Firmus nodded at Max just to indulge him, then they went back to talking about work.

Max had to leave after only a few more minutes- he was clearly quite ill, and Firmus pitied the man.

He did have other people to talk to, but with Vader around he wasn't sure he wanted them nosing into his business, as they liked to do. Thankfully he had enough authority to dismiss them.

Firmus returned to his duties that day feeling relaxed. Once again, he felt he knew where he stood with his superior, even if it was much closer than before, and aside from that the days orbiting Imperial Center were uneventful. He didn't even feel as tired as usual.

Around midday, however, he received a transmission from a small base in the outer rim- the far edges of the Empire’s reach- claiming reports of rebel activity. He had it put through, only listening with half an ear.

Every day, there were many reports from people claiming to have found Luke Skywalker, and most were quickly debunked. Other rebel sightings were usually passed onto ships less significant than the Executor, to be dealt with by lesser squadrons- Vader himself only cared for information about large rebel bases, and sightings of Skywalker or the rebel leaders.

Firmus found his thoughts wandering to Bespin. With Skywalker’s escape he was lucky that Vader had spared him, though with recent events he reasoned that the man’s patience might extend further than he had first realised.

The fact that Ozzel had been standing next to him may have skewed his perspective.

And.. he hadn't liked Ozzel. No one had, really. Maybe Vader had simply felt the same and been able to do something about it?

Firmus felt bad speculating about his Commander, the man who had seemed detached and inhuman to him for as long as he… or anyone, could remember. But he was realising now that Vader was just as human as the rest of them. Stars, how had he felt? Entirely removed from even those closest in rank to him, answering only to the Emperor. Just seeing the man’s face had upended everything Firmus thought he’d known about the man: how many times had he made sarcastic quips without anyone realising? Or spoken with genuine concern and sympathy? Several times in the last two days, Firmus had felt that Vader had actually… cared… about what he had to say. Had they all been missing this?

It was dangerous to humanise him too much. Firmus knew as much as anyone what Vader had been doing for as long as anyone had known of him. He didn't hold back, and no matter Firmus’ own perspective on it, Ozzel’s execution was proof of that.

And Firmus’ predecessor was only the latest of Vader’s victims. He didn't like to think about it, but the man had killed every single person who had held Firmus’ current position, for mistakes far less than letting Vader’s most prized target escape.

Without meaning to, Firmus realised that perhaps it was because Vader didn't blame him .

It wasn't something he’d have considered previously, but he'd seen the Commander in tears, seen him desperately trying to come up with a cover story. If he could feel everything that came with those actions, Firmus thought he must feel some kind of guilt with it.

Half an hour later, he had no confirmation that the sighting of Skywalker had been false.

The description was from a scan of a lone X wing headed towards a few barely inhabited systems that were yet to be identified. The base had someone attempting to follow the ship. Firmus sent them orders to track discreetly: the X Wing could be headed towards a rebel base.

Another ten minutes, and scans confirmed the ship to be Skywalker’s. A new one he’d only been spotted in once before.

When he heard this, Firmus cursed and exited the bridge, heading for a nearby meeting room he knew would be empty. When he arrived he moved to comm his superior immediately, praying Vader would recognise his urgency.

There were a few beeps, then some static.

“Admiral. You know I am occupied.” Firmus didn't know why, but he felt an odd thrill hearing Vader’s unfiltered voice through the comm. His intonation was familiar, but there was a new texture to the way he spoke that some childish part of Firmus enjoyed. Perhaps it made him feel important, knowing that he was the only person who was allowed to hear this.

“My apologies, milord.” He continued, ever professional. “I wanted to inform you that there has been a confirmed sighting of Skywalker in the outer rim. Details of his exact location are currently being transmitted.” He hoped his suspicions were correct, and that the status of this rebel was somehow personal enough to Vader that he wouldn't mind being disturbed.

There was a pregnant pause before Vader replied.

“Tell them to track him, if they are able. Assuming the sighting was Imperial?” Firmus tried hard not to think about how threatened he would've felt by the statement, had he not heard the Commander’s faintly curious tone.

“It was, Milord.” He confirmed.

“Good. Tell them to track him with as much detail as possible, but under no circumstances are they to engage. They are to let him go no matter their position: I will not tolerate his capture.” He paused to take a breath, possibly just out of habit, “Do you understand, Admiral?”

“Yes Milord.” Firmus confirmed.

The Commander hung up without another word.

Firmus returned to the bridge to pass on Vader’s instructions. He refused to linger on quite how strange they were.

Why in the stars would Vader want to avoid Skywalker’s capture, after hunting for him for so long? He’d seemed more concerned about that than actually discovering his location.

Firmus transmitted the co-ordinates anyway, lost in thought.

Maybe Vader simply didn't want something else to deal with while he was working on the suit.

The rest of the day, the whole bridge staff worked in a confused silence. When Firmus had to report to Vader that they had lost Skywalker far from any system, the man had hardly seemed to care.

-

Firmus returned to his quarters that evening feeling even more exhausted than usual.

Vader hadn't shown for dinner, to his relief, but Max had, and he was pleased to see his friend looking a lot better for his days of rest. Thankfully, he hadn't brought up ‘Ani’ again. Hopefully he’d be able to return to the bridge soon, and Firmus’ days wouldn't feel quite as bland. As Max had said, it would be nice to work together without a certain commander looming over their shoulders at any given moment.

With that in mind, he settled into his bed- not really expecting to sleep but nonetheless grateful for the peace and quiet.

It was around ten minutes before he heard the buzz alerting him to someone approaching his quarters. And, because nobody came into his quarters at this time of night, especially uninvited, it meant something was going on.

He didn't even have the energy to sigh, but he did give himself about half a minute before he forced himself to roll out of bed and put his feet under him, suddenly wishing that he had his old, standard sized rooms that came without (what felt like) a ten mile trek to the front door.

To Vader’s credit, he had the decency to look, if not apologetic, then like he at least knew he was disturbing the Admiral. And he seemed to be as tired as Firmus felt.

“Yes, Milord?” He asked, with all the irritated exhaustion of the blunt ‘What’ he had been planning to snap at whichever messenger had been sent to him.

“I apologise for disturbing you, Piett.” Vader said, not sounding particularly apologetic. “Do you have a razor? Or an actual shower?” He spoke flatly, like it was a normal demand to make.

“What.” Firmus said.

“I seem.. I may have.” Vader paused, then sighed in defeat. “The room I had snuck into only has a sonic. I had meant to look for better, but I didn't realise how late it was, so please, Admiral, let me use your bathroom. I know you actually have one, I checked.” He looked like he was irritated that he even had to explain himself.

“Do you not have one?” Firmus asked absentmindedly, only half aware that he really shouldn't be using this tone with his superior.

“No.” His tone suggested no room for elaboration. He still hovered by the door though, waiting for permission to enter, which was more than Firmus would've expected of him.

He stepped back and nodded towards the door to the bathroom, which was thankfully away from the room he slept in. Vader swept by, not bothering to berate him for his tone, and Firmus hobbled back to bed. He probably ought to have waited, but he couldn't find the energy to care. Maybe it would humble Vader a little bit, he thought with amusement.

-

Vader knew all too well that he had a reputation to uphold, but he didn't really feel like punishing Piett for his attitude when he’d barged into his quarters in the middle of the night. Besides, he couldn't help but feel a strange fondness for the man. His professionalism had finally cracked, and it had been oddly comforting. For a moment he had been reminded of the days before, when every other person he’d spoken to had been annoyed with him for some reason or another. Perhaps he should actually improve his behaviour, rather than striking the fear of the force into anyone who opposed him.

Despite the slight awkwardness, he was glad to have finally washed. He felt better, and thought he probably looked better too, though he didn't examine his face extensively. Now that he had a mirror, he was oddly hesitant. He only used it to shave, refusing to step back and take in his whole reflection. Perhaps he just wasn't ready for what he would see. Better to remember the glimpses he’d caught of his angry scars and tired eyes: that was still who he was , even if he looked different outwardly. It was dangerous to think otherwise.

He turned, wearing a long black robe he had acquired earlier that day, and moved to exit the room. He still felt bad for infiltrating Piett’s quarters, though he wouldn't admit it. As he walked back towards the door, he glanced behind him, curious: the Admiral’s rooms were fairly open, likely due to how private they were, and there was no real door to his bedroom.

Anakin wasn't entirely sure why he peered in, but he regretted as soon as he realised that the man was staring back at him. He almost flinched, and didn't move for a moment, feeling again like he was invading Piett’s privacy quite significantly. He should leave and not say anything. He knew he wasn't wanted here… and yet.

“I hadn't meant to keep you awake.” He found himself saying. He was relatively far away, and spoke softly, but the room was large, and silent. His voice sounded louder than he had intended.

“You didn't, Milord.” Came the reply. “I have trouble sleeping anyway, it's no problem.” Piett sat up. He didn't seem nearly as irritated as he had earlier, to Anakin’s relief. He did look tired though, and it aged him. He was likely under a lot of stress, and not sleeping couldn't help.

Some emotion he didn't recognise bubbled up in Anakin’s chest, and he found himself replying.

“I never slept well, either. When I… did sleep. The force liked to haunt me when I was resting.” He forced images of his loved ones from his mind. Of his mother, and his wife.

“I’m sorry to disturb you anyway,” he continued, “I still made you get up.”

“You are my superior, sir, I have an obligation.” Piett replied dutifully, ignoring his initial admission.

“As an Admiral, not a personal assistant.” Anakin said.

He felt a flicker of surprise from the other man in the force, though he couldn't imagine why.

“If that is your wish, Milord.” He said, hesitantly. “Besides, these are rather unique circumstances.” He was perched on the edge of his bed now, and Anakin realised he’d stepped closer himself, at some point.

“You have to stop that.” He snapped, without thinking. Piett stiffened.

“Stop… stop what, Milord?” He croaked out. Anakin sighed loudly.

“ That. It's the middle of the night and I’ve burst into your room and you're still grovelling to me like you're hoping I’ll give you a boon.” Rex never would've stood for this, and Anakin realised that he liked having someone to challenge, and push against. Usually he found that in the incompetent excuses for officers that the Empire dumped in his lap, but Piett was too good at his job. He wasn't entirely comfortable- his current state proved that- but he never let it show in his work.

“I very much respect you, Ad- Firmus.” He found himself saying. “And I respect your opinion. You are intelligent and informed, and I would appreciate you speaking openly with me. Especially if we are alone.” He spoke with his usual formality, but allowed all of his exhaustion and self consciousness to show in his voice. Piett cocked his head slowly, as though considering his response.

“If that is the case,” he said, “then I must admit you seem agitated, my Lord.”

Anakin started, but the force rang with Piett’s genuine concern. The other man didn't seem irritated, as far as he could tell, not anymore. Anakin would've thought his mood was obvious, but upon reflection… Piett had no idea just how extensive his injuries had been. He hadn't known that Anakin hadn't slept, or eaten, or used a fresher in twenty years, and his reluctance to share details hadn't helped the situation.

He decided, truly this time, that the Admiral deserved to know the extent of the situation. He knew he had no intention of using it against him, and though it scared him, he had to admit that he did trust the man to an extent.

“Twenty three years ago, I was betrayed by some people very close to me.” Anakin began. He had to admit to himself that he was beginning to question his perspective on the matter, but he had no wish to voice that right now. “I got into a bad… fight, with one of them, and I lost my left arm and both my legs.”

Piett didn't make a sound, but when Anakin glanced over at him, he was white as a sheet. Telling the story of his injuries didn't upset himself quite as much as he'd anticipated, especially with the context omitted, but Piett, who hadn't known what to expect, looked mortified.

“I was set on fire. Not deliberately, but with no limbs there was obviously not much I could do about it. He saw me burning and left me to die. ” He couldn't help the bitterness in his tone at that. His memories weren't perfect, blinded by rage and pain as he had been, but he would never forget how his heart had seemed to rip from his chest as Obi-Wan had turned away, to be replaced with something cold that hadn’t left him since.

“My skin was ruined. I had to have regular surgery to prevent any infection from killing me.” He left out quite how traumatic those surgeries had been. He didn't need pity, just for Piett to be on the same page. “I inhaled so much hot smoke that my lungs were destroyed, and I could not breathe outside of a pressurised chamber. Many of my other organs were damaged, but I do not know exactly why. Nonetheless, they would've failed had I not been in the suit or on life support.”

He didn't like to linger on quite how bad his injuries had been, having preferred to ignore them and simply embrace the pain, in the past. And truthfully, even he didn't know the extent or details of his condition. He was barely coming to terms with the fact that it was behind him now, as far as he knew, and he could begin to investigate without any immediate effect on his health.

Instead of upsetting himself further, he turned to his Admiral to see what he would do. As far as he could tell, Piett was still… processing. The man stared at him with wide eyes, as though he’d seen a ghost. Anakin would’ve found it amusing, without context.

“It's over now, at least.” He continued, mildly. He wasn't sure if that was true, if he were honest: the force could probably take away what it had given him. To preserve his last scraps of sanity, Anakin preferred not to contemplate that.

“That… explains a lot of your behaviour, Milord.” Piett choked out.

Anakin wasn't sure what he'd been expecting the Admiral to say, but it wasn't that. The man continued to surprise him.

To his great relief, there was no wave of pity in the force, like there had been on the very rare occasions in the past when others had learned of his condition, or the time Obi-Wan had seen his face again, so many years ago.

Piett looked like he wanted to say more, but Anakin spoke before he could.

“Do you understand why the Emperor cannot know of my improved health? It is… a major change, and I don't know how he would react.”

At that, Piett seemed to snap out of his trance, and he nodded.

“That is very useful to know, sir.” He said softly.

“I’m sorry to spring all of this on you in the middle of the night.” Anakin said again. “I will leave, if you’d prefer.”

Tired as he was, he found that he didn't want to, but he was also very aware that he might just be throwing himself at the first person he’d had any remotely normal interaction with for half his life.

Throwing myself at him, is that what I’m doing? He thought, slightly disturbed… and perhaps intrigued (which disturbed him further)… by the notion.

“You can stay if you’d like, sir.” Piett said. “I wasn't planning to get much sleep, if I’m honest.”

Anakin wondered what would happen if he did stay. What they would do, and what it might lead to. As much as he found comfort in talking to the Admiral, he felt that he had probably dumped a lot on the man already. And he wasn't sure how much deeper he wanted to go, given what he had said.

“You should, though.” He murmured. “Get some sleep.” To his surprise, he actually cared that he did.

“It's not a problem, Milord, I was going to stay up and work anyway, if I’m honest.” As he spoke, Piett’s force signature radiated a dangerous curiosity.

Vader paused for just a moment, giving him a once over. He wondered just how often the man ‘stayed up to work’, noting the deep bags under his eyes, and the excess grey in his hair. He was only in his early forties.

“I really think you should get some rest.” He said again, firmly. Then he let himself smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I’m too hungry to miss breakfast as well as dinner.”

As he turned and left the room, he found Piett’s force signature and, gently as he could, pushed him into a deep, peaceful sleep.

-

“Distracted, I sense you are.”

“Hmm?” Luke asked, distractedly. He’d been trying to convince Master Yoda to teach him some lightsaber forms over the last week, with little success. As much as Yoda liked to tell him that size mattered not, it did create a slight problem when Luke tried to translate certain stances and moves. He’d managed some approximation of Shii-Cho, but Yoda seemed unsatisfied with all of his attempts, and the master had eventually just given up trying to teach him. He kept giving vague advice like ‘The force will guide you’, but the calculated strikes he’d seen from Ben and his father seemed to say otherwise.

His father.

Luke had spent the first week after Bespin curled up in his bunk on the falcon, refusing to speak. The others had put it down to the loss of his arm, and Han’s capture, and left it at that, but he knew Leia suspected something else was going on.

He hadn't spoken to her about it.

Now, on Dagobah, he was once again reeling from his most recent conversation with his father. The few times Luke had encountered him in the force, he had seemed impossibly cold, the kind where you couldn't actually tell which extreme of temperature it was. He’d been like a dark, terrible glacier, hiding all kinds of terrifying things beneath the ice.

The cold was by no means gone, but it had become more like a storm- a swirling vortex kept up by immediate, tumultuous emotions.

Despite the temperature, Luke was reminded of the sandstorms of Tatooine.

Though, on the very edges of that storm, it felt more like a cool, refreshing breeze.

The change had sent him to seek answers from Yoda. Despite Luke’s feelings of betrayal from him and Obi-Wan, he thought that they were his best chance at discovering what he was to do with his father. As he’d realised that he actually wanted to help him. Despite everything, he still cared, and he would not kill his own father.

That didn't mean he could tell his mentors any of this, despite their probing questions.

“There is something on your mind, I sense, young Luke.” Yoda continued, snapping him back to the present.

“Clear, your mind must be, if you are to use the force as a Jedi.”

Luke opened his eyes and turned to him. They were both sat cross legged on the floor, and Yoda was right that Luke was failing to meditate. He’d been told it was an issue he'd inherited from his father, and he didn't know how to feel about that.

“You're right, master Yoda, I’m sorry. I’ll try harder to concentrate.”

He realised his mistake too late, and he could've sworn he saw a deeply mischievous expression on Yoda’s face.

-

Vader had never found the sound of his own breathing to be so obnoxiously loud before.

It had been nearly a week, and the suit was pretty much finished, altered to be accustomed to his needs. Much of what had been life support was now only cosmetic, giving the appearance that it was still fully functional. Much of the excess weight of the machinery had been removed, and he’d actually taken the time to try and make it more comfortable to wear, as far as he could. Though a part of him was worried that so much of his connection to the dark side had come from his pain and helplessness, he had found that said worry was easier to control and channel.

Hopefully it would be enough to fool the Emperor, when the time came.

He had put his helmet on for the first time since he’d been healed, just as a test. He didn't particularly enjoy wearing it, as it felt like he was returning to the nightmare his life had been before, but at least it was more comfortable now.

He’d reduced the red haze over his vision by adding extra coloured filters underneath, maintaining the appearance of the slightly tinted lenses, and it was definitely an improvement, despite his lack of peripheral vision. Before, he’d had sensors that helped with this, but they'd been too unwieldy to wire in a way that made the transmissions less… invasive. Parts of the helmet had connected directly to his brain, though he wasn't sure why it was needed. His head, as far as he knew from the brief glimpses he had caught over the years, hadn't been as severely damaged as other parts of his body, and though his vision had been weakened, it wasn't to the point where he couldn't see well enough on his own.

He truthfully preferred not to speculate on Sidious’ reasoning. He feared what he would discover.

Anyway, the biggest relief was that he could breathe on his own. He’d left in parts of the air filters, which would be advantageous in some situations, but aside from that had only left in the infamous hiss of his breathing. He worried slightly that the different patterns would be noticeable- he would have to be careful not to exert himself too much where people would notice- but he supposed he could alter it if it became a problem.

The rest of the suit barely functioned as it had at all, but he’d left in the temperature regulating system (he didn't want to know what would happen if he was stuck in the thick black suit all day without it), and the lights on the chest panel, though the rest of it was emptied of any machinery and practically obsolete.

He hadn't been able to change the fabric, as he didn't have the material, but it irritated his healed skin less than it had anyway, and he was able to wear clothes underneath now. The only real change he'd made was the size, as his prosthetic legs had been significantly longer than his natural ones. He’d managed to make the soles of his boots thicker to compensate for some of the lost height, but he couldn't fully recover it without it looking strange. He was tall anyway, and supposed that he would still loom over most people. It was a sacrifice he would have to make.

He took the helmet off, satisfied that it was as good as he could get it, and stowed it away in the glorified closet he’d been hiding it in. Nobody really went into his quarters, as far as he knew, and he’d long since shut down the droids Sidious planted to spy on him; still, it was better to be safe.

He left his quarters in the early evening, intending to make his way to the officer’s lounge where he knew Piett would be. He would have to give the man an update on his situation, and it was likely that he could ‘return’ to the ship tomorrow. It wouldn't be abnormal, his staff knew to expect the unexpected with him.

There was a group of stormtroopers standing guard at the entrance to his private quarters, and he cursed his timing. Their shift wouldn't be over for another hour, when he usually snuck out to the Mess (privately, he knew he should probably have better guards, but he was loath to waste his elite, and it wasn't like he couldn't defend himself). He hoped, for now, that these men were as weak minded as most of their kind.

Vader opened the door, and the troopers startled to see someone coming out from behind them, when their superior was supposed to be planetside. They took an embarrassingly long time to react, turning to level their blasters at him. Vader was vaguely amused knowing that he could kill them all with a flick of his wrist, even without drawing the lightsaber at his hip.

“Freeze.” One of them said, sounding mildly confused.

Vader glared icily at him.

“You will forget I was here and return to your duties.” He snarled, punctuating his words with a wave of compulsion in the force.

“I will forget you were here and return to my duties.” The trooper replied, returning to stand stiffly by the door. Vader smiled in grim satisfaction. Mind tricks had never been his strong suit, and he was out of practice, but there was something to be said for toying with fools.

“He’s a jedi, blast him!” Shouted one of the others. Vader flinched, confused, then realised that the other four had all been unaffected by his trick.

Great, he’d made an error most padawans would snicker at.

Nonetheless, he easily dodged the first bolt and slammed all four troopers into the walls, blasters pinned to their sides. He raised both hands and curled his fingers into claws, the metal of his right creaking as he did so.

He let the men choke for a moment, even releasing their hands. Every single one of them dropped their blaster and began to claw at their throats. He couldn't help the harsh smile on his lips, and revelled in his power over them before letting them drop to the floor, gasping.

He moved a bit of the way down the corridor before turning back to see the troopers groaning on the floor, some looking up at him but none reaching for their blasters.

“You will forget I was here and return to your duties.” He practically growled. He didn't bother to use a trick of the force this time.

“Yes… Lord Vader…” one of them croaked, slowly rising to his hands and knees.

Vader scoffed and carried on down the corridor, adjusting his collar.

He had commed Piett, so when he arrived at the lounge the man was waiting outside for him. Technically someone of the station he was pretending to be shouldn't be allowed inside, but everyone just assumed he was because he was with the Admiral, no choking required. Piett actually seemed happy to see him, which was saying a lot because the short morning shift was the closest thing the man ever got to a day off.

The man had seemed to warm to Vader over the last few days. They hadn't spoken directly of what Vader had told him about his injuries, for which he was glad, but he suspected it was the cause for their shift in dynamic; they hadn't spoken quite so extensively again, with Vader actually finding himself an appropriate place to sleep, and a razor.

The two of them settled into a corner, resting on couches in the dim lighting. There were other groups in there, but they were far enough away that they were unlikely to be disturbed.

“I’ve finished the suit.” Vader began. “It likely isn't my finest work, but it will suit our purposes well enough. If you have the time tonight, you can inform the bridge of my return tomorrow. That isn't an order, though.”

Piett nodded.

“I will try. To clarify, you’ve been down on Imperial Center to see the Emperor? I’m not sure it’s necessary to go into much more detail than that.” He didn’t use a title or honourific, but it greatly amused Vader to see the effort that took him. It was best not to, where others could overhear.

“That will suffice. It will discourage further questioning, though I doubt that is likely.” He wrung his fingers and leaned back into his chair, enjoying the sensation he hadn’t felt in quite some time.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a minute or two, before Piett asked,

“What about the Emperor?” He spoke softly, but there was a seriousness to his voice that had Vader turning to regard him.

“If he finds out? I will have to deal with him.” He said bitterly. “I’m not sure how he will react at the moment, I’ll have to think on it.” He didn’t want to do that at the moment: his master was something he would have to deal with when he’d settled into his position on the Executor again. In truth, Vader hadn’t had immediate plans to turn against Sidious, but his condition had changed that: it gave him an opportunity he couldn’t pass up on. As was the way of the sith, he had always had to take over eventually, as he’d promised Padmé they could all those years ago. Now, once again, he was more powerful than the Emperor, and he could destroy him.

Piett nodded, satisfied, and sat back again. The Admiral seemed to be watching him curiously. A thought occurred to Vader. He let his eyes drift to the bar, where a few others were gathered, then back to Piett.

“Can I get you a drink, Admiral?” He asked, letting a smile ghost his features. It would give him an excuse to stay here, and maybe they would skip going to the mess tonight. It wasn’t that early, anyway.

-

And so Darth Vader had gone off to get him a drink. Firmus had requested whiskey, which the other man had laughed about, for some reason. Maybe he had just looked like he needed it.

He certainly felt like he needed it.

Vader returned with his whiskey, and what looked to be a cocktail Firmus didn’t recognise for himself. He was eyeing it with something like suspicion, and before he could stop himself, Firmus had to blurt,

“When.. was the last time you drank alcohol?”

Vader’s admission from a few nights ago had certainly stuck with him. Firmus wasn’t so much concerned about the injuries themselves, more that the condition he had been living in sounded a lot like medical malpractice to him. Firmus wasn’t an idiot- he knew what went on in the Empire he served- but the fact that Vader himself was treated like that…

Firmus had never really considered why the man had worn the suit. He’d known it was for life support, but he’d always thought it was primarily to aid some breathing condition, or perhaps that Vader wasn’t human and had different needs. But it sounded more like a cage, from how Vader had described it. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

“I don’t actually remember.” The Supreme Commander replied to him. He seemed to have relaxed now, his voice carrying less of the stiff, formal tone Firmus had always associated with him, and more of what he swore was an outer rim accent. Not Axxilian, like Firmus’ own was sometimes, but softer, as though he hadn’t used it in a long time. Firmus liked it, maybe just because it humanised him more. It suited him.

“I feel like I need it, though.” He continued, stirring his drink idly before taking a cautious sip.

“Be careful.” Firmus told him, because it made sense. Vader regarded the drink again, holding it carefully in his right hand, which he always wore a leather glove over, even when his left was bare. Firmus sipped his own whiskey, pausing to appreciate the earthy flavour- which was better than what he normally had on board- before asking, “Is it alright?”

Vader pursed his lips, as though deciding.

“Yes.” He eventually said, “I don’t think it’s very strong, but that’s probably a good thing.” He looked up, the soft, warm lighting catching his eyes. It gave them a purple tint. “How’s yours?” Firmus barely realised he was staring. The skin of Vader’s cheek looked golden, like he truly wasn’t human. It cast deep shadows that made his features look quite striking, more so than they were already.

“Very nice, thank you. The flavour is incredible.” He absently picked up his glass to take another sip, but realised he’d finished it. Oops.

Vader chuckled.

“Honestly I didn’t realise whiskey had much of a flavour. Do I need to get you another one?”

Twenty three years… Vader can’t have been much older than twenty when he’d been injured, Firmus thought with horror. He couldn’t quite tell how old he was now, but there was no way he was older than forty five or six (it was strange, Firmus had always assumed he was far older than that). Given the situation, Firmus couldn’t judge him for his lack of whiskey knowledge.

“You don’t have to-” He started to reply, but Vader was already getting up. He glided back across the room like a wraith.

Now, Firmus had never felt much attraction towards anyone. Not really women, not really men, and he’d never had any lasting relationships before. But something about the elegant, yet dangerous way Vader walked back to the bar, in the clothes Firmus had picked for him…

Oh stars. He hadn't even had enough alcohol to blame that. Which meant he probably did need more.

Ok, it wouldn’t be a problem, couldn’t be a problem. Tomorrow, Vader would be wearing his suit again, be back on the bridge, and it would be like nothing had ever happened. Would he still visit Firmus? Surely he’d still eat in the mess, but without having to report on his suit, perhaps he would sit elsewhere. It shouldn’t have mattered to Firmus: he was a Fleet Admiral, and Vader was the Supreme Commander of the Empire’s entire military. Then again, every other imperial had friends, and a family, and a life inside and outside of the Empire, including Firmus. Vader was something of a special case in that regard. The way his injuries had been handled… and the resulting impact on his mental state, Firmus guessed, had isolated him. Maybe that didn’t have to be the case anymore. Despite everything, he liked Vader, on a personal level. Beneath his brutal exterior was a man just like any other, and though Firmus doubted anyone would believe him, he thought it was a good one.*

-

Firmus looked awfully refined drinking whiskey. It felt like the kind of thing Obi-Wan would’ve done, and Anakin would’ve teased him about. He didn’t think he’d actually seen Obi-Wan drink whiskey, but it still seemed like something he would do. Unlike his old master, Firmus didn’t patronise him for not sharing his tastes. He seemed quietly respectful of Anakin, though he no longer addressed him only with honourifics. He didn’t address him at all, now that he thought of it. Perhaps he should tell the man his name- though there was a high chance he would regret it later.

As he sipped, Anakin wasn’t sure how he’d gone so long without sugar, though it reminded him uncomfortably of Padmé. The two of them had, during the few moments they’d managed to steal together, shared drinks like these- hers just as sugary as his. He wasn’t even sure what was in it, but he liked the sweetness. The familiarity for once didn’t make him angry. Just sad.

It was odd to compare Firmus to Padmé, but Anakin couldn’t help himself. There wasn’t even anything to compare: one had been a beautiful young senator, a former queen, and… had never really stopped treating Anakin like a little boy. The other was an elite in a system Padmé would’ve (no, had) hated. They were both highly intelligent, probably more so than Anakin himself, he supposed. But what Anakin found he felt (to his mild surprise) for Firmus was more of a kinship, or respect and fondness, than the breathless admiration of his youth. He knew the man was often exasperated with him, though he hid it well, but he found something here that he had missed in his past relationships of all kinds.

Chapter Text

The next day, Firmus could all but forget about his predicament for a while. Max was back to his usual shift after his illness, and having him nearby managed to relax Firmus significantly. They didn't even talk much, but he liked to think that his friend was always aware of him, noting the particularly useless officers they would complain about together later in the day.

Assuming they survived Vader.

It actually felt normal. As Firmus had worried, it was like nothing had ever happened when Vader was back in the suit. He was currently standing by the viewport as he always did, staring out into space with his hands clasped behind his back, resemblant of a statue. It was so easy to forget the man beneath, see only the dark contraption that had killed so many. It was almost enough for Firmus to fear him again.

Almost .

He could remember the man though, the way he had leaned against the wall when he was trying to be casual, or the way he'd glared at the drink he probably shouldn't have had. The way the light danced in his eyes.

Firmus shouldn't have been thinking about this at work.

He nodded to the officer he had been talking to and turned, tilting his head up as he walked to his superior.

“Admiral.”

“Milord.” Firmus cleared his throat softly.

“I presume there were no further sightings of the rebel?” It was odd to hear the vocoder, and not the subtleties of his natural voice, yet his tone was familiar.

“There were not. We scanned the region for a few days but came up with nothing, sir.” Some instinct in Firmus made him scared, suddenly, of failure. He knew what Vader had done to his predecessors. Anything related to Skywalker’s capture should’ve been dangerous territory to step in, and he found that his voice tried to shake a little.

But the man just nodded. He didn't look away from the viewport. Firmus took a moment to realise it was a dismissal. He returned to his duties, heart fluttering nervously- and for the life of him he couldn't determine why.

It wasn't long after that that he managed to catch a moment with Veers, who seemed in good spirits. They chatted about nothing in particular for a few minutes- the ship remained in orbit of Imperial Centre and there was little for either of them to do- merely enjoying each other's company. Max would only have short hours for a while, both because of his illness and the relaxed atmosphere on board. Despite a bit of nervousness at Vader’s return, everyone was working efficiently as normal. Everything was going well.

“I trust you’re recovering well, General.” Someone interrupted their conversation, just a minor officer whose name Firmus hadn't bothered to learn- likely a direct subordinate of his friend's.

“I am, thank you.” Max replied absently- a friend then, not too close, but a friend. The officer nodded and moved on.

“I am pleased to see you well again.” A new voice came. Firmus nearly jumped out of his skin: Vader was able to hold his breath now, allowing him to sneak up on- and scare the living shit out of- his officers far more easily. As far as Firmus could tell, it amused him.

“I am… honoured you noticed, milord.” Max replied, voice far stiffer than it had been a moment ago.

Great. That wasn't too creepy. The idiot wasn't even supposed to have been on board the ship for a week, he wasn't going to help the rumours of his supernatural abilities.

Unfortunately, he then turned to Firmus.

“Mind your thoughts, Admiral.” Vader inclined his head. He didn't seem as physically expressive as he had been… before. It was an interesting development, that he'd so quickly grown used to people seeing his face again. Before Firmus knew what was happening, there was a gloved hand on his shoulder. It was far warmer than it had any right to be.

He may have gulped.

Part of him still thought that death was upon him, though. Firmus couldn't remember seeing Vader ever touch anyone unless he was actively killing them. He stiffened, and the Commander must’ve felt it because he removed the hand, and Firmus heard the swish of fabric and perhaps slightly-faster-than-usual breathing as he moved off.

“What was that about?” Max asked quietly, looking at him with well masked concern. Firmus let himself turn and watch Vader leave. The man had quickly returned to his earlier position by the viewport; had he just come over to talk to them?

“I’m not sure.” He replied to his friend, honestly. “I think he’s often clearer when he feels upset, though.”

“Clearer.” Veers said flatly. Firmus couldn't help but chuckle at that, though a deep part of him was disturbed at how difficult it was to connect Vader’s mask to the man he’d gotten to know over the last few days.

-

It was around mid evening by the time Luke had docked his X-Wing and made his way to the mess for dinner.

After spending a few days with Yoda, the Jedi had given him the basics of the first few lightsaber forms to practice and sent him on his way. Luke had work to do, and Yoda had insinuated that he had too… though Luke wasn't sure what he occupied himself with on that cursed planet. He wondered if he'd ever get to the level of Jedi that he could know such secrets*.

As he sat down on the edge of a crammed bench, apologetic for his intrusion, Luke began to notice the strange looks.

Now, he didn't know every single rebel, obviously. Not even many within the fleet outside of the elite and outside of his personal group of friends (who were also mostly elite, thanks to his friendship with Leia), but he himself was known by almost everyone. As the only Jedi left in the alliance, the son of a man who had been celebrated as a hero throughout the Clone Wars, and the pilot who had blown up the death star, he was quite famous in the rebellion. And, unfortunately, that extended to the rest of the galaxy as well.

He didn't usually mind his notoriety: most of the people he interacted with seemed excited to talk to him or to genuinely care for him as both a symbol and a person. He had met several people who had stories to tell of his father, which he had been eternally grateful for. Before Bespin, at least.

In the rebel fleet, he had always been welcome wherever he went.

Today, he was being looked at. And not with admiration, or fondness from the older rebels, but suspicion. He could feel it in the force, clear as day. Luke wouldn't say they were hostile, but as he sat down the conversations around him got a little bit quieter, the men sitting a little more stiffly. He frowned internally, but decided not to pry, just smiling confusedly at them and eating his meal silently.

Luke figured that something must’ve gone wrong while he'd been away. The harsh reality of being a rebel was that you lost people, sometimes in large groups. The others were always touchy when something like that happened, as he and Leia had been after the loss of Han.

The temporary loss. We will get him back, if it's the last thing we do. They had already been drawing up plans on how to infiltrate Jabba’s palace and free their friend. As far as anyone knew he was still in carbonite.

When he had finished his meal, Luke returned to his quarters to use the ‘fresher. He managed to take a sonic shower and shave, leaving him just fresh enough to go and find Leia. They may have been in some tougher situations together, but it didn't hurt to look presentable, though a proper wash would have to wait until they were planetside.

He found his friend in a large, open lounge area reserved for senior officials. Leia was reclined as casually as Luke saw her, sipping a drink and scrolling on a datapad. She wore a relatively simple, but regal, off white outfit that looked practical and comfortable.

She shouldn't have noticed Luke’s approach, but she looked up the second he entered the room, eyes lighting up with joy. Luke felt himself crack a smile and hurried over to her, pulling her into a tight embrace when she stood up to greet him, which she joyfully returned.

“It feels like you’ve been gone a year, Luke!” She scolded playfully, stepping back, “It's been more than a little dull around here the past few days. Mostly.” She seemed to falter slightly, as though remembering something. Luke grimaced, sitting opposite her as she returned to her earlier position (looking a bit more dignified this time).

“Something happened while I was gone? I was being avoided in the mess.” He wrung his hands before him, but gratefully accepted the glass of water brought to him by a protocol droid. Leia averted her gaze.

“It's just a silly rumour, Luke, I wouldn't bother yourself with it.” She smiled sadly at him.

“A rumour?” It wasn't at all what he'd been expecting. What kind of rumour could warrant such a reaction? Luke couldn't think of anything he'd done recently that might be controversial, as nobody had blamed him for what had happened to Han. And… nobody could know what he'd discovered on Bespin. He hadn't even confronted Yoda about it. “You have to tell me now.” He continued belatedly, with an innocent smile.

“I don't know. It's probably better if I don't. I don't believe it could be true, and I don't want to upset you after…” Bespin. She didn't say. “Anyway, it doesn't make any sense. Everyone will forget about it in a few days.” She sipped her drink before continuing, which was a mistake, as it allowed Luke to speak.

“Well if it's only a stupid rumour then can't I be curious?” He said lightly, though his heart thumped in his chest. Leia ‘knew’ that his father had been killed by Vader, and that Luke had confronted Vader on Bespin, and if this rumour truly had something to do with that… he felt he should know.

Leia seemed to sense that he didn't want to drop it as she put her glass down. She met his eyes, her concern for him obvious, and let out a final sigh of defeat.

“Alright, Luke. There was a line in a recent report from our spy on the Executor. And…” Oh kriff. That was Vader’s flagship. “And she mentioned that someone who looked a lot like Anakin Skywalker was spotted dining with the Fleet Admiral. And since she's such a good spy- she did sneak onto the Executor after all- everyone's taking her word for it. They think Anakin survived and hid his identity, that he's been working with the Empire the whole time, and that last week you might have snuck off to join him and spy for us.” She paused and looked at him guiltily. Luke had to admit he had trouble processing. It was clear that his father had for some reason gone wandering around without his suit on. He hadn't thought it possible, but he truly knew next to nothing about Vader’s medical condition. But for the rebels to turn on him like that…

“It's just a small faction.” Leia said, answering his thoughts, “But their paranoia has infected most of the fleet over an impossible rumour. We both know what happens to Jedi found by the Empire, and all of high command knows you were on Dagobah.”

She was right, Luke knew. It was most likely that nothing would come of this… but if he was honest he was more concerned about what his father was actually up to. As he’d reflected on with Yoda, there had been a change in him recently. Perhaps it had something to do with his lacking the suit.

“It's alright Leia. As you say, I’m sure it'll blow over the more I can prove myself to the rebellion.” He replied to his friend, sipping at his water. She smiled in sympathetic relief,

“I’m sorry you have to deal with this. I wouldn't want your father’s legacy sullied.” She said. Luke tried and failed not to blanch. The blood rushed from his face, and he curled in on himself a bit, wishing suddenly that he had dropped it. Leia definitely noticed his reaction, he could feel it in the force, but she knew not to pry. Luke cursed himself internally for being completely unable to hide his emotions.

“How was Dagobah then?” She said softly. Luke gave her a relieved glance, and began to tell her about Yoda and Jedi training. And life in the swamp, which he stressed that she should never try for herself. She laughed, and eventually they came round to talking about Han. They were going to send Lando in to spy on Jabba and give them more intel, then they could work more people in over time so as to not draw suspicion. Luke saw how much Leia missed him. He was close with Han himself, but he hadn't been there in the days before Bespin, where he sensed that something had changed between Leia and the smuggler. She looked hopelessly lost when she spoke about him, with a spark of determination in her eyes when she planned their infiltration. As long as Han was alive, there was hope. And even if he wasn't, Luke knew his friend wouldn't stop until she'd seen his body with her own eyes.

A worse man than Luke may have seen his absence as an opportunity, but if anything it made him more excited for Han’s return. He would admit he'd had a small crush on Leia when they'd first met, but as he’d gotten to know her it had blossomed into a strong friendship, and he'd only persisted in his admiration to annoy Han.

They were getting somewhere in their planning, and as they spoke it almost looked like their goal was in sight. Luke could've sworn he saw hope shining in Leia’s eyes.

-

Curiosity. Luke gently pressed against his bond with his father. He was still hesitant to contact him, but after their last conversation he couldn't help but feel hopelessly fond. He could almost forget who he was talking to, and imagine that his father had come by to see him like he’d imagined as a child. Today, the response was almost immediate.

‘Luke? What is it?’ Vader used the same voice he had last time they’d spoken. His natural one, Luke thought. It was much higher than his vocoder, and instinctively Luke found it comforting. He wondered (loudly) if it had something to do with his suit being off.

‘How did you find out about that?’ His father asked. He didn't sound defensive, but nervous. Luke paused. He didn't want to give away rebellion secrets: no matter what his father was like around him, he knew he wouldn't hesitate to kill all of his friends at the first chance he got. Resignation. He sent.

‘ It was just a rumour that got out, I don't know how. But I figured that if someone had seen Anakin Skywalker on your flagship…’ He hoped he hadn't been too obvious, but he supposed Vader likely knew that there were rebel spies on his ship.

‘ Your friends are safe, Luke. I was in the mess, I could not identify them.’ Well that answered that. His father sighed in his mind. ‘I wasn't sure whether or not to tell you, but I’ll admit I have been feeling… odd, lately.’ He hesitated, and perhaps unwillingly sent apprehension across the bond.

Encouragement. Luke responded firmly. He had a very un jedi-like surge of excitement.

‘The force healed me.’ His father admitted. It sounded like he was confessing something immense. Luke had no idea how severe his father’s injuries were, only that Obi-Wan had described him as more machine than man. He had assumed he had issues with breathing too. Vader seemed to pick up on this, as he hesitantly elaborated, ‘I couldn't have survived taking the suit off, before.’ His tone implied that he didn't want to share more, which Luke could understand. He still wasn't entirely sure how to respond, but he sent a notion of comfort over the bond, hoping it was adequate. His father sent back fond amusement , which made Luke smile.

As before, they both kept the bond open for a while longer, simply enjoying each other's company. Vader’s attention eventually drifted away, and when he was gone, Luke found that he missed it.

-

Anakin had been cautious about spending too much time in the officer’s lounge, for fear of being recognised, but apparently it was too late for that now. He would just have to hope nobody noticed his face in the dim lighting. He’d at least been covering up the scar on his temple, for all the good that it did.

He found Firmus and Veers- to his irritation- seated not far from the bar. The two of them had already been drinking for a while, and neither seemed to care when he sat down next to Firmus, holding another sugary cocktail. It had been a few days since he'd “returned” to the ship, and everything had gone smoothly so far. He was able to let himself relax, and found that he enjoyed what his routine had become. This was only the second time he'd tried to drink alcohol though, so again he didn't plan on joining the other two in their inebriation.

“Naberrie.” Veers greeted him, “How did you get in here?” Anakin felt his baffled amusement in the force, so he smiled and replied,

“I have my ways, sir .” Which was probably appropriate, considering his use of a mind trick- extending to all of the guards this time. Veers raised an eyebrow and sat up to regard him.

“Mysterious. It's ok, I won't tell the guards. Firmus was expecting you.”

He was? Anakin had mentioned that he might come earlier that day, but nothing concrete. He smiled, turning to face the Admiral. Firmus spoke, his awkwardness so clear in the force that Anakin thought he was deliberately casting it,

“Hello, Ani.”

Anakin blushed deeply, something he hadn't done since he was nineteen trying to impress Padmé for the first time. His brain seemed to short circuit before he remembered that he'd said that was his name. Of course Firmus should call him that. He wasn't shortening his actual name. Piett would never do that, he was far too professional.

“Firmus.” Anakin said, once he’d gotten his racing thoughts under control. He hoped the shadows would hide his blush. What’s wrong with me? I’m supposed to be a sith lord.

“How’s your evening been?” Small talk. Excellent. They hadn't spoken properly in almost a week, and that was all he could think to say.

“Fine. I need to enjoy these days where I don't have much to do.” He gestured to his drink.

“I would need one too with your Commander breathing down my neck all day.” Anakin said teasingly, which paid off because Firmus gave him the closest thing to a death glare he dared.

“It was more in anticipation of your arrival, actually.” He said smoothly. Anakin found himself laughing hard enough to confuse Veers, who seemed to realise that he’d missed the joke and looked on with narrowed eyes. When was the last time he’d been able to laugh?

“I didn't realise I worked you up quite that much.” He murmured, trying to wrestle his grin into a smirk. Firmus met his eyes and smiled back, warmly, shaking his head in laughter.

“Would it be juvenile of me to tell you to ‘get a room’, Firmus?” Veers interrupted flatly. Anakin turned to give him a stern glare before remembering that he didn't actually have any authority here- if he wanted to keep his identity a secret, that was. It didn't seem right to tell Veers what he was insinuating.

“It would, Max, yes.” Firmus replied cooly. “I’m going to excuse myself for a moment.” He nodded to each of them and got up, presumably to go to the bathroom. Anakin watched him go, and found himself hoping the man wasn't too unnerved.

“Sorry.” He glanced up to see Veers had spoken. “I imagine it's complicated? Or maybe I shouldn't intrude. You're still getting to know each other.” He sat back and sipped his drink.

“It's alright, General. He's still cautious about this, and I think it's best to wait and see what happens… Sorry, did you say…? We’ve known each other for years, sir.” Anakin narrowed his eyes. Perhaps Veers had merely forgotten. Any alternative was unacceptable.

“Of course. I must’ve misspoken.” Veers said, deliberately slow. He seemed to mull over something, and Vader felt his anticipation in the force.

“Say, has anyone ever told you how much you look like Anakin Skywalker?” The General met his eyes carefully. He knew. Wonderful.

After a moment to consider his words, Vader supposed it would be beneficial to both of them if he dropped all pretence now. Veers wasn't stupid, and he wouldn't be fooled if he’d gotten this far.

“They haven't needed to, General Veers.” He responded icily. “And most would do well not to notice at all.” Vader let himself glare at the man, and almost wanted him to make the other connection, just to see the horror on his face.

“If you’ve been allowed in the Empire for this long, General , then I wish you no harm.” Veers told him. “I figured that, with your closeness to Firmus, you were allowed to be here. I understand why you have kept quiet, I just wanted to be sure I was right.”

Anakin’s name hadn't been dirtied with the fall of the republic, not like the other Jedis’ had. Officially, the Hero With No Fear had died defending the Emperor from the Jedi coup, still a hero, but safely removed from relevance so his fame could be replaced with Vader’s.

“I would like to know why you have appeared only now, though.” Veers finished.

“I have been otherwise occupied for the last years, but there is no longer a need for me in that mission for the Empire.” Anakin said quietly.

“Which was?” Veers asked him. Anakin paused.

“Hunting Jedi.” Mostly truth.

“Why weren't you with the other Inquisitors, then?”

“I am far above their level, and more loyal to the Empire. I was taking part in undercover, confidential missions.” Still relatively true, except for,

“I wasn't aware that the Empire did undercover missions. Or that they were your… style… General Skywalker.” Veers’ voice was lighter now, less scrutinising and more curious. He believed he’d discovered something big, but Anakin was winging it.

“Hence the confidentiality.” He said, “And I am no longer a general, General.”

“What are you, exactly?” Veers asked.

“As far as you're concerned, a mechanic.” Anakin said. He didn't trust Veers quite the way he trusted Firmus, and doubted he ever would, but he could allow himself to drop hints. Purely for his own amusement. Veers smiled, the force singing with his satisfaction.

With his characteristically perfect timing, Firmus chose that moment to return. He looked a lot more composed than he had before, and sat back down just within touching distance of Anakin. His eyes flickered back and forth over his friends, and he seemed to realise that they’d had a conversation.

“Is everything alright, Ani?” He asked. Anakin was more prepared for the use of his name that time, and began to nod, though Veers interrupted.

“You don't have to call him that, Firmus, I know who he is.” The assurance in his tone and the casual, smug posture didn't seem to make sense to Firmus, knowing who Anakin really was.

“He knows that I am Anakin Skywalker.” Anakin corrected, far more timidly than he'd have liked. As far as he knew, Firmus hadn't known… who he’d been before… up until this point. Despite thinking of himself with the name his mother gave him, Anakin was hesitant to acknowledge his connection to the Jedi knight the rest of the galaxy had seen, much less out loud. He saw Firmus’ face flash briefly with shock, then understanding, before he regained his composure.

“I see.” He said, “I really don't give you enough credit sometimes, Max.”

Veers smiled warmly, then something else seemed to occur to him, which hadn't ended well for Anakin last time. He sensed what Veers was going to say right as he did,

“That does make sense. It's because Lu-”

“ Do not mention his name. ” Anakin practically spat, so forcefully that Veers flinched back, scanning his face in horror and confusion. After a moment he relaxed.

“I’m sorry. My son defected too, you know.” His voice was soft. Anakin knew that he meant no harm, but he truthfully didn't give a fuck about Veers’ family or personal life. The general knowing his own secrets was one thing, but a mention of Luke was too far. He had to restrain himself from verbally- or physically- assaulting the officer, and averted his eyes.

To find a hand reaching hesitantly to his wrist. Firmus met his eyes, and Anakin flinched minutely as the other man gently gripped his forearm.

“You’ve had a long day.” He said, “may I take you back to your quarters, Ani, before you bite my friend’s head off? Get me another drink, Max, I won't be long.” Before Anakin could protest, Firmus had dragged him to his feet, and they exited the lounge together, the Admiral leading him like a lost child.

Ani. The audacity of this man…

At least Firmus had stopped tiptoeing around him.

“I should’ve expected that to happen at some point.” Anakin said bluntly.

“I’m honestly surprised I didn't figure it out myself.” Firmus replied, then remembered himself, letting go of Anakin’s arm. “I apologise for my tone, milord, I’m not entirely sober.”

“Oh it's alright Firmus, I honestly like you better a little loosened up.” He let himself smile for a second as Firmus turned bright red, then he turned and sighed. “I want you to know that I’m not actually… him. Well I was, I just…” he trailed off, unable to articulate his true feelings. Firmus seemed to get the gist, because he nodded, and looked up to meet Anakin’s eyes.

“Are you alright?” He said simply. He didn't need to mention Luke for Anakin to know what he meant.

“I will be.” Anakin replied, voice soft.

“Good. I believe you because your eyes aren't yellow anymore.” Firmus smiled.

“Yellow?” Anakin asked, frowning. He remembered the last time he’d seen his reflection… he’d certainly had sith eyes, but he hadn't thought about it since. That was the only time he’d seen them. He didn't know how they worked… but he supposed they must appear when he tapped into the dark side, or generally when he was angry. It hadn't occurred to him that they might change. “Sorry, I shouldn't have gotten that upset.” He watched Firmus take a step closer to him and take his hands in his own in a comforting gesture.

“It's alright, milord.” He said. The honorific sounded… fond, more than anything. Anakin found himself squeezing the man’s hands. They’d never really touched before, but he found it felt right. After a moment, Firmus said,

“I thought you said you lost your left arm?” He was cautious, knowing it might be a dangerous topic. Anakin squeezed tighter with his right, in reassurance.

“I did,” he said quietly, “When I got put in the suit. I lost this one a lot earlier. I was only nineteen; I can hardly remember when it was flesh.”

“You lost all of your limbs? ” Firmus asked, horrified.

“Mm.” Anakin said. Firmus moved both of his hands to Anakin’s right, and ran his fingers over the thick leather glove, feeling the metal digits beneath.

“No synthskin?” He asked.

“No. It wasn't around back in the Clone Wars, not like it is now, anyway.” He paused, voice softening, “I can show you someday, if you’d like?” He didn't mean to sound quite so nervous.

Firmus, still holding his hand, looked up to meet his eyes again.

“I’d like that.” He said.

Then, gently, as though he were lifting a shattered pane of glass, he turned Anakin’s hand over so the palm faced downwards, and curled the fingers into a loose fist. He raised the arm, and cautiously pressed his lips to the knuckle, eyes only flickering downward for a moment, before he released if carefully. There was a wary, but hopeful, expression in his eyes.

Anakin breathed heavily, feeling a rush of fondness and slight arousal at the action. And he hadn't even been able to truly feel it- leading to a sudden craving for warm skin against his own. He stepped forward, just as hesitant, and his hands found Firmus’ waist. He gripped him gently, and Firmus raised his hands to Anakin’s shoulders, then the back of his neck. Fingers threaded through his hair and he was pulled downwards into a surprisingly gentle kiss.

The sensation was almost too much, after having nothing like it for so long. But only almost. Anakin revelled in the warmth and tenderness of the touch, the pleasant firmness of the grip on his hair. Anakin tightened his right hand on Firmus’ waist, his left travelling up his back to embrace him. He moved his lips only slightly, applying enough pressure to make his desire obvious, but not using his tongue, as much as he suddenly wanted to. Firmus caught his bottom lip between his own, and scraped his teeth against him just the slightest amount. Anakin may have made an embarrassing noise, though little more than a sigh. They lingered like that for a moment, just enjoying the closeness, sharing breath.

When they finally stepped back, Anakin knew he couldn't hide the flush on his cheeks in the harsh lighting of the hallway. Thankfully nobody else was around at this hour.

“Thankyou…” was all Anakin could think to say, returning his left hand to Firmus’ waist, before dropping both to his hips.

“Thank you, milord.” Firmus responded, his lips curling into a smile.

-

“ LUKE!!!”

“Luke get up, please, you have to go-”

He’d returned from Dagobah almost a week ago, and after that first night had been left relatively alone, most of the rumours dying down after a day or so.

Everything had seemed to go back to normal.

There were hands shaking him roughly. He squinted in the dim light and could make out a face… he recognised…

“Leia?”

Eyes practically still shut, he managed to prop himself up on an elbow.

“What's wrong?” He croaked.

From what he could tell, her skin looked even paler than usual, and a tear streamed down her bare face. She raised a blindingly bright image in her hands. A holo?

The symbol of the Empire fuzzed and crackled for a moment, before giving way to an image of a figure in a dark cloak standing on a pedestal, hunched over with a hungry glint in his eye that Luke could see even with the poor quality.

“You have to go.” Leia said, panicked, as the Emperor began to speak.

-

Vader turned, surprised, as the doors to his quarters hissed open.

He’d been planning to leave soon anyway; his suit was on, though he wasn't wearing the mask yet. He stepped behind his meditation chamber to be safe, but was unsurprised when Piett walked through the door.

“Admiral?”

Firmus looked haunted (even more so than he usually managed to) as he stepped up to his usual position. Exactly where he’d first found Vader curled up on the floor.

“I’m so sorry, milord.” He rasped, folding his hands behind his back and standing up straight. Vader cocked his head… surely he wasn't talking about… he’d thought they’d long since gotten past these apologies and concern for propriety. But no, he sensed that something else was on the Admiral’s mind.

“What is it?” He walked closer, standing just close enough for it to be an invitation. If Firmus chose to read it that way. The man seemed to know what he intended, but didn't move. He’d averted his eyes.

“He… he wants to speak to you.” He said, voice uncharacteristically wavering. Vader frowned, then flinched back as he caught the meaning.

“He? My Master?” Had he been wearing his helmet, it probably would’ve sounded intimidating, as though daring anybody to question his terminology. In reality, his voice broke.

If he was lucky, Sidious would simply want to talk about the new plan of his he’d been hinting at. That would be all. There was no way he could know…

But Luke knew. And Sidious’ spies were far better hidden than the rebel ones were.

He inhaled shakily. This was not good timing, he had been stalling, not allowing himself to plan, but now his advantage was lost. He would recover from whatever punishment Sidious bestowed on him- he always had before- and he couldn't do much worse than restore him to his previous state.

Vader forced himself not to feel nauseated at the thought of Sidious mutilating his perfect body, taking away his limbs again and replacing them with metal. Perhaps he wouldn't go that far. Perhaps he'd opt for a simpler kill switch, one that kept his apprentice in peak physical form with a tiny bomb embedded in his spine, like he’d had as a child.

“Lord Vader?”

Perhaps Sidious would taunt him with it, wave it in his face or drop it accidentally, give it to whoever he wanted left alive like Anakin was nothing more than a dangerous dog on a leash.

“Vader.” He snapped his gaze up, and Piett moved out of his space, studying him intently. He knew his eyes were yellow again, just from the expression. Good. Perhaps his master could be fooled into thinking he had only furthered his torment. Vader wrapped the dark side around him like a cloak and pulled his helmet and mask to his hands with the force, like he did with weapons. He put them on and turned to Piett, taking a deep breath through the respirator.

“I will see him now, you may return to the bridge, Admiral.” His voice was deep and harsh in his ears.

“Would you wish to discuss the meeting later, milord?” Piett asked. Vader thought bitterly that he had allowed the man to get far more comfortable.

“ You may return to the bridge, Admiral.” He snapped, turning away with a flourish of his cape.

-

“What is thy bidding, my master?” Darth Vader spoke robotically even without the vocoder. He knelt heavily on one knee, the even significantly reduced weight of the suit straining his legs painfully.

The large, imposing hooded figure loomed over him, and despite his own averted eyes Vader felt those sickly yellow irises boring into him.

Few things made him feel so small.

“I feel there is something you neglected to tell me, my boy.”

No no no nonono-

Vader took in his feeling of revulsion and turned it into rage.

Because Sidious had not called him that since… since before. And that meant he knew.

It wasn't that he had entirely dropped the grandfatherly act he’d put on around Vader since he was a child, but since his turn he had been ‘my friend’ at best. Only when he was angry was he called ‘apprentice’, but never the term ‘boy’. Not anymore.

“What do you wish to know, my master?” He said carefully. He didn't want to overtly lie, but he couldn't give anything away either.

“Only why you still wear that dreadful mask, my boy, when you don't need it anymore.”

Dreadful, like he hadn't designed it for that very purpose. He tried to wrangle his emotions into a calm coldness, by no means peaceful, but less distressing to him. He longed to take out his fury on the objects around him, but Sidious hated it when he did that.

“I simply thought it better to hide my identity, my master.” He said. A half truth, one of many he was finding himself telling these days.

“There is no need for such things here.” Sidious crooned. “Let me see your face.”

That was probably when Vader started shaking, though looking back he wouldn't have been able to pinpoint it.

Unable to protest, he raised stiff, trembling hands to the clasp of his helmet. It seemed like an age as he took it off and carefully rested it on the floor. Through the lenses of his mask, Sidious’ ruined skin looked sickly pale and grey. Vader carefully removed it. Watching the black plastisteel pull away from his face in such a setting felt unbelievably wrong. He fixed his eyes on what was suddenly a very interesting spot on the floor. A tuft of hair fell over his eye.

“Look at me.” Sidious said softly. It was the same way he’d spoken when Vader had been having his surgery after Mustafar. When he’d been awake for two weeks in excruciating pain.

Suddenly, he was very glad that his breathing no longer echoed throughout the room, as it had become rapid and shallow. He forced himself to raise his chin and meet his master's eyes. There was a hot tear running down his cheek.

He remembered when he hadn't been able to cry.

He vividly remembered the shock in Windu’s eyes when Anakin had lunged at him, screaming, and cut off his sword hand.

He remembered the last time Sidious had said Anakin’s name, telling him he was good and had made the right decision.

Now, Sidious’ face creased into a disgusting smile.

“Oh my boy. I had missed how beautiful you are.”

Vader’s only movement was the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He still hadn't looked in the mirror. But he knew he was not beautiful. He was not truly Anakin, whatever he called himself. He could not truly be whole again.

He felt the featherlight touch of a withered, cold hand on his cheek, only fleeting. It was just the force, but a wave of nausea overcame him for a moment.

He remembered the first time Sidious had said his name, telling him to rise and do his new duty. As he had ever since.

“Speak, my apprentice.” He sounded disgustingly fond. He got the same pleasure toying with Vader that Vader did snapping the necks of the incompetent. He could rarely claim a moral high ground, but in this situation it was almost appropriate.

“Master?” He rasped without emotion. “What do you want me to say?” He cleared his throat, already knowing the answer.

“I only want to hear your voice, my dear boy.” He said, predictably. “I forget how young you are, sometimes. I’ve known you for so long.” Thirty six years. Since I was nine.

“I will admit I feel it myself.” Vader said, raising his left arm. “I had forgotten how this felt.” He tested each of his fingers in turn, still marveling at the dexterity. He had forced his breathing to slow, but still felt a pang in his chest with each inhale.

“Your skills in altering the suit impress me, Lord Vader.” Sidious said, “But I must admit that doing so was pointless.”

Pointless.

Vader lowered his hand and looked up at his master.

“How so?” He said darkly. There was a sharp crack beside him. He flinched and whipped around to see his mask lying in two pieces, warning lights flashing on the interior display.

For a moment he could only stare at it in disbelief. He dropped to both knees.

“It simply wasn't necessary anymore, my boy. Everyone would much rather see your face.”

Vader barely heard him, his eyes trained on the shattered plastisteel before him. It might be fixable, but it would take all day, and how would he get out of this heavily guarded chamber?

There was another crack, and what remained crumpled into a twisted ball. He snapped his head back around to glare at his master, all pretences dropped. He was quietly glad that Sidious could see his naked rage and hatred and… it only made the sith lord smile in satisfaction. With an undignified stumble, Vader got to his feet and turned his back on his master.

“I take it you will be absent when I inform the public of your recovery?” Sidious purred. Vader didn't bother glancing back at him as he burst from the chamber prematurely, striding furiously if only to get as far away from the projection of his master as possible.

“My lord?” A stormtrooper guard asked, surprised, as he stalked past without his mask on.

It was the last mistake the stormtrooper ever made. There were several satisfying snapping sounds, followed by the thunk of bodies hitting the floor. Vader barely twitched his fingers. Further down the hallway, several minor officers practically ran in the opposite direction, fleeing the sound of groaning metal as Vader crumpled the durasteel walls like they were paper, like Sidious had done to his hard work.

He had other, unmodified masks, but he would take far too long to alter them like he had the first one. Besides, there was little that could undo the damage of walking through the most populated part of the ship where everyone could see his face.

Everything he had done, everything he could do, it was all useless. He was useless. Whatever he tried, Sidious would continue to toy with him like a pet, promising him glory that would never come.

He killed everyone who even remotely stood in his way, leaving a trail of bodies all the way back to his quarters. He left one of his own guards alive, just so he could pass on the message that under no circumstances was Lord Vader to be disturbed.

-

Firmus knew something was wrong when the bridge erupted into chaos.

He turned slowly to the sound of shouting, demanding medical attention and technicians to fix the blast doors.

Ah. Seems like Vader has left his meeting.

He had liked to think that the Commander’s temper had reduced slightly in the last two weeks, but he imagined that facing the Emperor was just as bad as suffering physical pain. The nearest casualty was being carried away on a stretcher, lying limp with his head at an unnatural angle. Firmus paused as he was carried past. He was usually unfazed by death, but he felt quite guilty knowing that these victims were innocent. They had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He watched the body leave for the morgue, struggling not to imagine himself in that position.

He might well be, soon.

“Firmus? Where are you going?” A firm voice came from behind him. He turned to see Maximilian Veers staring at him with clear distress. Firmus turned to him, stricken.

“I have to… see Anakin.” He stuttered. It was a half truth. “Make sure he didn't get in the way.” Veers’ gaze darkened, and he took a half step forwards.

“You’ll die, Firmus. It happens to all of his Admirals eventually.”

“What?” He blinked.

“I saw him just now. You never even thought to tell me that it was Darth Vader I was half insulting at dinner? Do you want me dead??” He looked genuinely furious. “I was talking about him, for fucks sake.” He closed his eyes and took a breath. “Firmus, I can't let you do this. You're the best Admiral we’ve ever had, and I can't begin to imagine what he would be like without you around. Not to mention that you're my best friend.” Firmus shifted, but Max didn't move to stop him. He stood with his hands behind his back, eyeing him intensely.

“I won't die, Max.” Firmus said softly.

“Do you want me to write that on your coffin??” Veers snarled.

They glared at each other for what felt like an eternity.

Max sighed.

“Just go, Firmus. I’m not going to say goodbye to you, because then you won't come back.” He turned away and walked back to the bridge without looking back. 

Firmus stood still, stunned.

Then he bolted down the corridor, following the trail of dented durasteel and dead stormtroopers to Vader’s quarters. The lone guard outside stepped in front of him, and Firmus suddenly envied Vader’s ability to throw people with his mind.

“Move.” He barked. “I need to report to Lord Vader immediately.” He glared daggers into the man, despite his shorter stature.

“Lord Vader told me himself that he wasn't to be disturbed under any circumstances.” The stormtrooper replied. “I’m sorry sir.”

“I don't care.” Snapped Firmus. “Let me pass and I’ll make sure that you live.”

The trooper hesitated for just a moment.

“Very well sir, though I doubt you’ll be alive to do so, with all due respect.”

Firmus laughed humourlessly and walked through the door, coming to the larger blast doors to the room that contained the meditation chamber.

He knew, of course, that Veers and the stormtrooper were probably right. Vader would likely snap his neck the moment those doors opened. Just like he’d done to all of his predecessors.

Firmus Piett found that, for the first time since being promoted, he wasn't scared of what Vader would do to him. Stars, but he doubted Ozzel had gotten to kiss the man first.

The doors slid open, and the first thing Firmus noted was that the room was completely unrecognisable. He’d seen Vader break things before, but this…

His meditation chamber seemed to be beyond repair. All that remained was the mount, and the shattered shell. There was a chair on its side embedded in the wall, and scraps of black fabric everywhere. It looked like a scavenger had gotten into a food cache.

The lights had fallen from the ceiling, ripped and hanging by a cord, flickering on and off repeatedly. There were buttons and frayed wires in disarray everywhere. Firmus was convinced for a moment that he'd be electrocuted before Vader could even start to choke him.

It took a few minutes for Firmus to spot him. He was in a position much like Firmus had found him that first day, curled up in a ball. The difference was that everything around him was now crumpling.

His clothes were tattered, reduced to a black vest and leggings that Firmus assumed he’d been wearing under the destroyed suit, and even they were covered in holes. His right arm was on full display, the striking gold glinting in the light. This intrigued Firmus- he had subconsciously expected it to be a crude black metal, not this delicate work. He remembered how it had felt holding his waist.

Eventually, he had to make his presence known, though he had no doubt that Vader was deliberately ignoring him.

“Milord?” He said, softly as he could. It didn't help, as Vader’s sickly yellow eyes darted up to meet his own.

He looked terrible. Well, as terrible as he could. He had dark circles under his eyes, making the bloodshot yellow stand out brightly on his otherwise pale skin. His face was creased in concentration; his hair limp and sweaty.

“I had thought I said no interruptions. No matter the circumstances.” He spoke weakly, but his tone was laced with threat.

“I had hoped I was more than just a circumstance to you.” Firmus said. It seemed harsh, but he knew he couldn't just leave. Vader stood up sharply, his eyes trained dangerously on the admiral.

“You shouldn't want that.” He rasped. “Everyone close to me dies.” There was another sound of groaning metal, and a snap as a leg of his worktable shattered, leaving the whole surface shaking dangerously.

“If I had been scared of that, I wouldn't have followed you down here, milord.” Firmus said, voice surprisingly steady. “I only wanted to… see you.” The rest went unsaid. He had come to care far too deeply for his Commander.

As soon as he thought it, Vader stalked forward another step, balling his hands into fists.

“You don't care for me.” He whispered. Then louder,

“YOU DO NOT CARE FOR ME . YOU CARE FOR SOME ECHO OF HIM, BUT HE ISN’T HERE, HE NEVER WAS!” The other leg of his worktable broke, and the contents slid to the floor, clattering and breaking like a pile of bones. Vader lunged forward, glaring deeply into Firmus’ eyes as his own, pupils narrowed to specks, seemed to flicker in rage. Firmus didn't flinch, despite every instinct within him screaming to turn and run.

“ANAKIN SKYWALKER HAS BEEN DROWNING FOR TWENTY YEARS.” Vader screamed in his face, “THE FACT THAT HE CAME UP FOR ONE LAST BREATH DOESN’T CHANGE HIS FATE.” He was so close that Firmus could practically taste the salt of his sweat and tears. His humanity. He met the wild, sickly yellow of Vader’s eyes and inhaled deeply, shakily.

“You haven't become a different person just because you're upset, milord.” He said firmly.

Vader lurched away, pacing back and forth around the ruins of his meditation chamber. The sound of his heavy boots echoed throughout the room.

“I am not UPSET.” He snarled. “I am a Sith Lord and I must destroy my Master to take his place, something he was too weak to accomplish.” He continued to pace, resemblant of a caged animal. It took Firmus a moment to catch his meaning.

“Being a Sith means that you’re a different person?” He asked gently. He didn't really know what a Sith was, but he thought he'd heard Vader say the word before. It was like an anti-Jedi religious order, as far as he could tell. And he still barely knew what a Jedi was.

“Yes.” He said, then paused, seeming to remember something. “No. Not inherently. It means we use the dark side of the force rather than the light.” He punctuated his sentence by ripping another light from the ceiling. Firmus let himself flinch away from it.

“And what makes you use the dark side?” He asked. He felt that he was moving into dangerous territory, but if this was how he would get through to Vader, so be it.

“ The torment I am put through by my master. He feeds my rage, and my hate. ” Vader’s voice was tight with fury. It sounded an awful lot to Firmus like being upset.

“If you want him gone so badly, why do you subscribe to his beliefs?” He asked, “Why do you define yourself only as what he did to you, if you truly want to break away?”

Vader stopped his pacing and whipped around to glare down into Firmus’ eyes.

“Get out.” He said, voice choked. “Get out or I will kill you.”

It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Firmus could've sworn his eyes looked different. They had turned from hot flames to sharp chips of ice, which he wasn't sure was an improvement. He thought that in this moment, perhaps the blue wasn't a good thing.

“I don't think you’d kill me.” He said, and found that he was telling the truth.

Without warning, Vader lunged forward and closed the hard, cold fingers of his mechanical hand around Firmus’ throat.

Famous last words. His mind managed to supply. Again, Vader’s face was inches from his own, and Firmus could make out the lines of sweat trickling down his temple, each eyelash rimming his eyes, which were definitely yellow again. Firmus felt the sharp joints of his fingers digging harshly into his skin.

“Get. Out.” He said again, his breath hot against Firmus’ face. Firmus shook his head minutely.

“ GET OUT!!!! I’LL KILL YOU!!!!” He began to squeeze with his metal hand, an unbreakable grip so harsh that Firmus thought it would break his skin. After a moment he saw spots in his vision, and felt lightheaded. The blood supply to his brain must’ve been affected…

He didn't plead, didn't beg, he just met Vader’s eyes and held his gaze.

“You… won’t…”

Vader’s face twisted and more tears fell from his eyes. He bit his lip as though he was trying not to sob.

“I will,” his voice was hoarse. “I killed her…”

Her?

Oh. Luke’s mother.

Firmus had no idea how close they’d been… but clearly Vader regretted… regretted…

It was becoming hard to think.

“You only… have to… drop… me…”

His lips moved, but he wasn't sure if any sound actually came out. His vision was fading, and he felt a brief spike of panic.

The hand tightened around his throat.

Then let go.

Firmus dropped to his knees, then crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath, though it wasn't the lack of air that had nearly killed him.

“Well… done…” he found himself saying, barely aware of it. Then a sudden, unnatural wave of exhaustion overcame him.

When he came to, his head was resting somewhere warm and dark. Vader’s lap, he realised after a moment. He turned and looked up to see the man staring straight ahead at the wall.

“Are you alright, milord?”

Vader looked down at him, head moving quickly. His eyes were blue again, but he’d clearly been crying. After a moment, he hadn't spoken.

“Did you put me to sleep?” Firmus asked. He started to roll over so he could sit up, but a hand firmly clasped his shoulder, so he relented and rested his head on Vader’s lap again, looking up.

“I didn't mean to.” He said quietly. “You were only out for a minute, but I thought at first…” he took a deep breath, tentatively lifting his other hand- the mechanical one- to lightly rest on Firmus’ cheek. “I thought I’d done it again.”

His tone was light and fragile, so much so that Firmus was afraid to break it. However, some things needed to be said.

“You hurt… Luke’s mother?” He asked softly.

Vader sighed, his hand firmly clasping Firmus’ shoulder, like he was clinging to a lifeline. He closed his eyes as though pained.

“She was my wife. She came to confront me… shortly after the empire was formed and,” he opened his eyes, taking a shaky breath, “She betrayed me. She brought a jedi to kill me, and I choked her because of it and she collapsed. I got my injuries in the battle with the Jedi, and afterwards my master told me I’d killed her, and the child she was pregnant with.” He seemed to have pulled Firmus closer to him without realising, because he seemed surprised when he looked back down and noticed him.

“That's not what happened though.” Firmus said with a frown, “The child lived, you know that. He could have been lying the whole time.”

Vader genuinely seemed not to have considered this.

“Can I sit up, please?”

He only held him tighter.

“I didn't think he would have lied. Even the Emperor isn't omnipotent, despite what he’d like to think. They must’ve been able to cut the child out.”

“Or she delivered him.” Firmus struggled out of his grip, leaving only a hand resting on his shoulder as he sat opposite the Commander. “Was she dead when you choked her?”

“I don't know.” Vader said. “I didn't think so, at the time, but everything was so clouded…” he seemed to stare at nothing again. Firmus reached up and held onto his arm. Very tentatively, as Vader had to him, he reached out and rested his palm lightly on the man’s cheek. His eyes refocused, but he looked away from Firmus guiltily.

“Come with me, out of this room. It's a mess.” Firmus told him. “You can clean yourself up, and then we’ll talk about this.” He ran his thumb under Vader’s eye, wiping away his last tears. “Will you?” He asked gently, like he was comforting a child. Vader nodded once.

Firmus climbed to his feet, testing his legs gingerly. They were fine, if a little shaky. He kept his hand around Vader’s wrist- the flesh one- and pulled him up.

-

“This isn't the way to my room.”

After finding a hooded cloak to hide Vader’s face, Firmus had led him through the thankfully empty halls back to the barracks.

“We aren't going to your room.” He responded, “Mine is closer, and I’m not leaving you on your own now. As the Admiral of this ship, it is in my best interest to preserve both it and its staff.” He ran his thumb over Vader’s knuckle.

“Okay.” He said.

When they reached Firmus’ quarters, he unlocked the door and led Vader through to the bathroom.

“Have a shower.” He told him, “And don't break anything.”

-

Vader stepped out of the shower, his bare feet warm against the tiles.

He shouldn't have been able to shower, to feel the floor or even flex his toes.

He looked up, into the mirror straight ahead, and saw Anakin Skywalker staring back at him.

He was older, sure, his face slightly lined and his hair darker and flecked with grey, but the face was not the scarred, deformed monstrosity he had internalised. His eyes were blue-grey, not pale yellow. 

It was simultaneously the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and the most repulsive.

Oh, my boy. I had missed how beautiful you are…

Everyone would much rather see your face…

He turned away sharply, pulling a robe from the door and only tying it loosely at the waist. It was a bit short on him, but what the kriff, he had to get away from that mirror.

Piett was leaning against the wall to the bedroom, much as he had, that night last week. He smiled when he saw Vader.

“You look better now. Not that you looked bad before, of course, come and lie down.”

He didn't question it, just walked past him and turned to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I… thanks.”

Piett cocked his head.

“I have a duty, Milord.” He said, teasingly.

“ Milord.” Vader mocked.

Piett’s answering smile was brighter than all the stars in the galaxy.

“Go to bed. I need to go back to work, and I’ll be less worried about you killing more people if you're asleep.”

Vader lay back and rolled over, not bothering to get under the covers. The mattress was a lot nicer than the one he’d been using.

“Only if you kiss me first.” He mumbled.

I had missed how beautiful you are…

“If you want to.” He added hastily. “After I…”

You're breaking my heart…

The bed dipped beside him, and there was a hand on his shoulder, tugging. He rolled over obligingly.

“I followed you unquestioningly, Lord Vader, when I knew all too well of the way you killed your officers, and innocents, to get things done, and little more. The moment I got promoted I was as good as dead. My life belongs to you, and I am okay with that. The fact that you didn't kill me today means far more than the fact that you almost did.” His eyes glinted with sincerity, and he raised a hand to take off his officer’s cap. Then he leaned in and their lips met.

Vader put his hand on the back of Firmus’ neck, intending to pull him closer and deepen the kiss, but the Admiral pulled away just an inch.

“I still have to go to work.” He told him.

“You don't. I’m your boss.”

“We had a deal, you're going to sleep.”

Vader pulled his head down and kissed him again, a little harder. He nipped Firmus’ bottom lip, then let go.

“To work, then.” He murmured into the other man’s mouth. Then he rolled over, crawling under the covers and resting his head on the pillow.

“I will see you this evening, Milord.” Firmus said, standing up off the bed. Vader turned around, frowning.

“Is it not evening? I'm tired.”

“Yet you’ve still managed to have a long day.” Then softer, “Get some rest, Anakin.”

-

Max was staring at him like he’d seen a ghost.

“I did tell you I wouldn't die.” Firmus told him. He didn't say quite how close he'd come.

“I didn't believe you, I was trying to be optimistic. What did you do with him?” The two of them walked up the bridge to stand by the Viewport. The other officers who had been present during Vader’s… tantrum… were also staring incredulously at him.

“I kissed him goodnight, quite literally. He’s asleep in my bed.” He said softly, so only Max could hear. The man blinked incredulously at him.

“You are a brilliant man, Firmus.”

“I try my best.” He smiled warmly at him. They both turned to gaze out of the viewport, where the lights of Imperial Center shone below. The planet was an astonishing sight, and the Empire’s claim on it solidified their presence in the galaxy.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned, Veers in tow.

“Admiral, I apologise for the interruption, but you have an incoming call from the Emperor himself. I believe it's a live broadcast.”

Chapter Text

“Citizens of the Empire.”

The emperor PALPATINE addresses a crowd on IMPERIAL CENTER. He stands on a podium surrounded by guards, the symbol of the EMPIRE illuminated behind him.

“It is with sincerity that I express my personal gratitude towards my dear friend Lord Vader, for his transparency and service to our Greater Good.”

The crowd cheers, many looking curious or concerned.

“Recently the identity of one of our most proficient and vital spies, the now former Rebel Luke Skywalker, was brought to my attention after he was turned on by the Rebellion and almost executed by our own forces. Despite his crimes, he has done a great service for our Empire and is officially pardoned of them all. His intel on the Rebel whereabouts and activities has saved many lives across the Galaxy, more than enough to compensate for those lost at his hands.”

The crowd gasps in shock almost collectively.

“His recognition and safety have only been possible due to the actions of his father, Darth Vader, formerly known as Anakin Skywalker. His choice to come forward to protect one of our greatest agents is the most noble in our history, given his past secrecy.”

-

Palpatine kept talking, but the high ranking staff of the Lady had all but tuned him out.

“That isn't what happened, is it?” An older woman with severe features and short hair asked, her arms folded across her chest. “We all saw the boy running away from that meeting with his tail between his legs.”

Firmus had to turn and blink at her incredulously, even as someone else chuckled their agreement.

“Excuse me?” He said coldly. She straightened, looking down at him (Firmus found himself cursing his short frame). “I will not tolerate any disrespect towards our superior officer.”

Thankfully, a quick glance around the room told him that many people shared his horror. The woman seemed to notice this, and she dipped her head to him apologetically.

“It won't happen again, Admiral.” She said evenly. He narrowed his eyes at her. She was old enough that seeing that Vader was barely in his forties was probably enough to knock her estimation of him down. He trusted the Commander would rectify that if he found out, though he prayed for her sake that he didn't.

“Anyway,” he said, “you aren't wrong in your assumption that the Emperor is being dishonest. If I had to guess I would say he is punishing Lord Vader for something. I should probably ask his opinion on this.” Though he didn't think it was a wise idea, given how he had reacted earlier.

“Tomorrow.” Veers said, giving him a worried look.

“Yes.” He agreed quietly.

They all turned back to the broadcast, but the Emperor was now just talking about trade routes and things on Imperial Center that the crew of the Lady didn't usually bother themselves with. The twenty or so of them just glanced nervously at each other until, about half an hour later, it was finally done.

Someone sighed loudly in relief as the recording stopped, turned to static, then went silent.

“Don't relax yet. He’ll call us personally in just a moment.” Firmus said. He subconsciously adjusted his collar, and the others stood neatly nearby.

The Emperor didn't make them wait, and ten minutes passed before he called again. Firmus picked up dutifully, and dropped to one knee.

“Milord.” He greeted, hoping his tension wasn't audible.

“You may rise, Admiral Piett.” The Emperor told him. Firmus did so. “I have instructions for you and Lord Vader, where is he?” Straight to the point then; he didn't seem to be in a good mood.

“He is resting, milord. He won't answer his comlink.” Firmus said. He didn't dare lie to the man, but the truth of Vader’s status would have to be tortured out of him.

“Fetch him immediately. I am displeased with this delay.” Firmus audibly gulped,

“He is… not in a very good mood, milord.” He said. “I will be able to report to him this evening, if it is important.” He found himself wincing as the Emperor’s eyes narrowed visibly.

“Then send someone disposable.” He snapped. “Do not test my patience.” Firmus blinked and nodded quickly,

“It's alright, Milord, I’ll go myself if you’ll excuse me.”

“Fine. Be quick, you are dismissed.”

Firmus turned and hurried away, sighing deeply the moment he left the room.

-

He found Vader sitting against the headboard, fiddling with some device Firmus didn't recognise- or know where he'd got it from. He looked up as the Admiral entered, eyes narrowed. Firmus’ thoughts raced as he tried to figure out how to break the news to him. He knew he wouldn't be happy… he’d have to be gentle about it. And pray that he didn't have the same reaction he'd had only hours ago.

“What does he want now?” Vader asked, putting down his device, which had wires sticking out and looked like it could set the bedsheets on fire if left unattended.

“I’m sorry, the Emperor- wait, what?” Firmus asked, processing what he’d heard.

“I can feel your anxiety from halfway across the ship, Firmus, and I saw that there was a broadcast on the holonet.” Vader explained, resting his chin on his hand.

Feel my what?

Vader’s strange force powers made Firmus question his understanding of the universe if he thought about them for too long, so he tended not to. He wrung his hands.

“I thought you were sleeping.” He said instead.

“I had a half-hour nap, but I had trouble staying asleep. I wasn't as exhausted as I’d thought.” He explained idly.  He’d gotten dressed- Firmus saw- and wore a loose dark grey vest and pants, with a black fabric belt.

“The Emperor has instructions for us, and he specifically requested your presence as fast as possible.” Firmus said apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

Vader sighed, resigned, and rolled out of the bed to slip on some shoes. He paused when he eyed the hooded cloak he’d used to sneak to Firmus’ quarters.

“I’ll be less conspicuous without, won't I? I’ll just have to hope there aren't many people between here and the meeting hall.” He stood out anyway, with his long hair and abnormal clothing, but they didn't have enough time to fetch him a uniform.

“I think you're right. Would you like a cap, at least?” Firmus asked. Vader gave him a blank look,

“If people are going to stare at me, Admiral, I would rather not look utterly ridiculous when they did.” He said, slipping into the stiff, formal tone Firmus had always associated with his suit. He laughed, meeting his eyes.

“Very well then.” Softer, he added, “will you be alright?”

Vader dropped his gaze, seeming to fall into thought. For once, Firmus wished he shared his powers to pick up on emotions.

“Yes,” he said, after a moment, “I doubt he’ll address me directly again. In an unprofessional sense, that is.” He moved towards the door, Firmus following him quickly.

“And if he does?” He dared ask.

“I’ll have to deal with it.”

-

“I am glad you deigned to join us, Lord Vader.” The Emperor said bitterly, glaring from under his hood. Vader had remained at the back of the chamber, where his face was relatively shadowed. The other officers had awkwardly turned away, probably scared of offending him by staring for too long. He waited a fraction of a second too long before he finally replied,

“I am sorry to keep you waiting, my Master.” He spoke in that stiff, deep, accentless tone so different from the voice Firmus found he’d grown fond of. The Emperor didn't respond directly, but the next thing he said was very pointed,

“I will make this briefing short, to ensure we are able to remain on schedule.”

Firmus, now again the focus of his attention, nodded respectfully. The Emperor continued, “For too long now, the Executor has been orbiting Imperial Centre, awaiting orders; I feel it is an inefficient use of the Empire’s resources.” He let his words hang for a moment. So they would be leaving for some task or another- that was acceptable. Usually the Emperor's errands involved less violence and difficult situations than Vader’s, which the crew seemed to appreciate. “Therefore, I am entrusting you all to oversee a project I have been working on for quite some time, but now feel that those working on it need some encouragement.” Firmus was no force sensitive, but he had the sudden feeling that everyone in the room was hyper aware of Vader’s presence in that moment. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard the man grunt.

The Emperor didn't speak for a moment, and Firmus wondered if he was supposed to ask. He was saved from the moment becoming too awkward, suddenly feeling a presence at his side.

“How might we assist you, my Master?” Vader’s voice was perhaps slightly too dry to be polite, the venom barely concealed. He stood only inches from Firmus, who didn't dare look at him. He focused hard on his feeling of concern, hoping Vader would pick up on it and try to relax.

“The construction of the second Death Star is underway, and I would like it to be operational within the year. We now have the materials and infrastructure for a swift project, unlike when we began the construction of the first one. It will be larger, and more powerful. Do you understand, Lord Vader?” He was more collected than before, but still sounded impatient.

Another Death Star? The first one had been an extravagance, Firmus had thought. He loved the Lady greatly, partially for her size and firepower, but the huge space station had been several- unnecessary- steps beyond that. And with its destruction had become the greatest waste of time, money and men in the history of the galaxy. Yet now the emperor was building a second. Why? The fleet of Star Destroyers was plenty to prove the Empire’s might, and far more efficient.

If Vader was surprised, he didn't show it.

“Of course, my Master. What are the co-ordinates?” He asked evenly.

“I will send them to the ship. You are going to Endor, the Death Star is orbiting a forested moon, where we are building a shield generator. I will also ensure you have the schedule I need following. I trust you will enforce it.”

“Of course, my Lord.” Firmus spoke this time, and Vader nodded his agreement.

“Very well,” the Emperor said, “that would be all. And Lord Vader, do ensure you are present when I have requested you in the future?” Before anyone could reply, he ended the call.

Firmus tried to focus on his feeling of concern again: he was afraid to speak aloud in the room of officers, but more so that Vader would lose himself again. He almost sighed audibly in relief when the Commander spoke calmly,

“We will set course for Endor when the co-ordinates are through. I have no reason to linger here and upset the Emperor further.” He glanced down at Firmus, who nodded.

“I agree, milord.” He paused, “Did you… know? About the second Death Star?” He tried to keep a casual tone, but heard nervous shuffling behind him. Vader regarded him for a moment before responding,

“I knew there were plans. I had assumed that they had been scrapped after the destruction of the first.” He admitted, “but I was wrong. I expect the Emperor plans something bigger that we are not privy to at this time.” Firmus was slightly surprised at the depth of his answer. Had he asked Vader something like that a few weeks ago, he would’ve been given a curt yes or no, followed by the man leaving quickly. Vader must’ve picked up on this, as Firmus thought he caught his lip twitch slightly upward. “Are there any further questions?” He addressed the whole room this time, and Firmus glanced around to see a lot of wide eyes and shaking heads. He caught Veers giving him a curious stare, but Firmus couldn't figure out what he was trying to convey. Taking in the resounding no, Vader dipped his head and turned to leave. Firmus found himself trailing him hesitantly, but figured- as Vader left- that he ought to give further instructions. The man seemed to have regained his composure, and could find his way back to Firmus’ room or his own.

He turned back to the gathered officers, who were watching him, looking slightly relieved: Firmus wasn't without authority, but he was proud not to strike the same fear into these people as Vader did.

“You are to return to your posts and ensure the communications from the Emperor are intercepted. Only when we enter hyperspace may you retire for the night.” He received several nods and ‘yes, sir’s before the officers began to file out. A minute later and only Veers remained. When the doors closed behind the others, Firmus turned to him curiously.

“It was strange, seeing him like that.” Max said. “But you knew the whole time.” He didn't seem accusing, which was something at least, but he certainly looked like he wanted an explanation. Firmus sighed,

“I’m sorry I didn't tell you, or at least hint to you. It was bad of me.” He met his friend's eyes, hoping to show his sincerity.

“You're right,” Veers said, “It was, but you had your reasons. Upsetting Lord Vader is certainly more dangerous than upsetting me, and I don't envy your position.” He stepped closer and straightened, an act of respect. “He hasn't killed either of us yet, so it can't be that bad.” He smiled slightly, and walked past Firmus to the door before he could think of a reply. He turned and let him go, waiting for a moment, then leaving himself.

-

“I would like to think they won't believe him over you, considering what this Rebellion is about, but I’d rather be safe.” Leia faced him, her face apologetic, as Luke lingered at the bottom of the ladder to get into the X-wing. After watching the Emperor’s broadcast, they had snuck to the hanger, deciding that it would be safest if Luke escaped while Leia stayed to clear his name. He was scared of incriminating himself further, but he wouldn't be able to bear the looks on his friends faces if they believed he had betrayed them. Besides, this gave him an excuse to investigate something that had had him curious for a few days…

“It's alright, Leia, I’ll manage.” He said solemnly, then, “I’ll miss you, are you sure you're okay here?” He stepped forward slightly, and she smiled sadly, then plunged forward into his grip, ignoring the grease on his jumpsuit. They held each other for a moment, her face buried in his shoulder as he clasped her slight frame. When she finally pulled away, she met his eyes confidently.

“I’ll be fine, Luke. I’ve been playing this game far longer than you have.” He felt his lips quirk into a smile.

“I’ll see you soon, I hope.” He found himself brushing affectionately against her force presence. It was brighter than many others he’d felt, but he had assumed it was their connection. Nonetheless, she seemed to notice, because her smile widened as he turned and clambered into his X-Wing, R2 already secure.

Leia didn't leave as he started to power up the ship, and he shouted,

“Bye!” As it lifted off the ground. She stepped back, waving, and only turned to leave when he excited the hanger.

“Well buddy, we’ve escaped, for better or worse.” He said softly to R2, though he was unsure if the astromech would pick up on it. “It's a shame that was only the easy part. Now, we're going to have to be very accurate with these co-ordinates.”

Luke found that his hand was shaking as he reached to punch them in. R2 let out a mournful whistle. Luke’s binary wasn't great, but he thought it translated to something along the lines of “We’re kriffed.”

He found himself nodding.

“I think you're right, little guy, this is probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”

The X-Wing shot into hyperspace.

-

Hours after the meeting with the Emperor, Firmus was finally confident that the Lady was ready to leave Imperial Center. It would be a several day trip, and he’d had to ensure the ship had all the supplies it would need, then cancel any shipments scheduled for after they'd departed. After that he’d had to wait for the news to spread across the ship and make sure everyone was in the right place before he could actually carry out the Emperor’s instructions. Not everything had to go through him, but anything major, no matter how dull, made its way to the bridge somehow.

After watching the long string of ships dock or leave the Super Star Destroyer, he had made his way back to his quarters, exhausted, to find Vader sitting at his table with a platter of food. It looked like he'd picked at it, but there was plenty left.

“I meant to wait for you, I apologise.” He said softly.

“That's okay,” Firmus replied, frowning, “it's almost midnight, how did you even get that food?” He sat down around two feet away, and took his cap off, then rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. “Sorry, I appreciate it, really, I’m just,”

“Tired. That's probably my fault, this is the least I could do- I just called the kitchen staff and they were quite keen to do as I asked.” He looked haunted as he spoke, and Firmus realised after a moment that he kept glancing at his neck. He stiffened,

“Is it obvious? I’ve been on the bridge all day-” he trailed off as Vader looked away. “I told you, it's alright. I know what to expect from you, good and bad.” He didn't bother sugarcoating it. He wouldn't deny that Vader’s mood swings and violent outbursts were problematic, especially in personal relationships, but it certainly hadn't caught him unawares. He found that he wanted to try and help him, but it was probably best to improve their situation in general first. The Emperor was too much of a threat.

Even as he mused to himself, the man seemed to relax a little, and Firmus wondered if he could pick up on any of it.

“It’s only obvious if you're looking for it.” He said quietly. “I’m sorry.” He shifted the tray of food towards Firmus, who noted that there were lots of small rolls and salads that he tended to favour.

“Have you eaten enough?” He asked as he began to pick at them. Vader was tall, and Firmus thought that he probably needed a lot more than it looked like he'd taken.

“I’m not very hungry.” He admitted. He leaned forward to rest his chin in his hand, and stared intently at the tray. To Firmus’ surprise, one of the small rolls began to float steadily into the air. Vader laughed slightly at his expression, and dropped it into his hand, proceeding to nibble the end.

They ate in silence for a while, which eventually became comfortable, and Firmus found that he was quite hungry. When he'd finished, Vader was watching him curiously, still sitting at his table. Logically, Firmus should get ready for bed, but he wasn't sure if…

“I’ll go, if you would prefer.” Vader said. Firmus had started to stand up, so for once he could look down at him. He felt a pang of affection at the slightly timid expression on his face, and couldn't help but crack a smile. Somewhere along the line he had begun to think of the mass murderer as sweet.

“Please stay, milord, if it makes you more comfortable.” He said, partly unsure if it would be responsible of him to send Vader away when he was being so vulnerable. He feared that he could easily snap. Something in the man’s expression gave him a pause though. He looked suddenly unsure. “Is there a problem?” Firmus asked. Vader looked away.

“I don't want to force myself on you again. You can turn me away, Firmus.” He stood up, and they stood on opposite sides of the table, Vader closer to the door.

“Then let me rephrase.” Firmus said, “I would rather you stayed, unless you have an objection, and I will tell you if I ever don't,” Anakin. He found he wanted to say, but after his outburst earlier he wasn't sure how that would be received. He had whispered it as he was leaving, but that hadn't seemed quite as risky. His affirmation seemed to work, as Vader smiled slightly.

“I would like that.” He said. “And, you can call me whatever you want.”

Firmus flushed slightly, he should remember that Vader could pick up on his thoughts.

“Do you want me to?” He asked carefully, clasping his hands behind his back. Vader seemed to consider, shuffling a bit.

“I want to see how it sounds.” He admitted, “I suppose I’d tell you to stop if I didn't like it. It's not even… a sith thing. I knew one before me who still used his given name; the Sith name is like a title.” His voice picked up as he spoke, which made Firmus optimistic. “Well, only for some. I haven't spoken to many in depth- I usually tried to kill them when we met… before.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “My point is, I haven't been called by my old name for a very long time, by my own choice.”

That last comment made Firmus curious, but he didn't want to pry.

“So, you’re ok if I call you Anakin, unless you say otherwise.” He clarified. He thought he saw Vader flinch at the name, but he nodded firmly. Firmus smiled, “why don't you come into the bedroom and relax then, Anakin?” He said, and thought he saw him blush.

“Yes.” He said, and Firmus led him in to lie down before turning back to clean up in the bathroom. Vader got up to clean his teeth while he was showering, which was comfortingly domestic. As he had been a lot lately, he could easily forget who he was sharing space with.

When he was done, he loitered in the door longer than he needed to. The Commander of the Death Squadron and entire Imperial Army had slumped in his bed, one eye cracked open, watching him curiously.

“Come here? I want to sleep next to you.” He sounded less romantic and more like a child scared of the dark.

Firmus couldn't help a fond smile as he padded over and sat down next to him.

“You can, as long as you try and relax a little.” He said softly. He slipped under the covers and lay on his side, propped up to watch Anakin, who was already half asleep. Or, pretending to be half asleep, because he used it to roll over so his back was against Firmus, who started, but gently raised his arm to drape it cautiously over his side, his hand resting on his abdomen.

“Maybe I can consider it.” Anakin mumbled, as Firmus tucked his other arm between his shoulder and neck, loosely touching his chest. He did relax then, melting into Firmus like he was made of liquid. Firmus lay awake for a while, just enjoying holding him as he listened to his breathing slow into the gentle rhythm of sleep, like a mockery of the sound his respirator had made. He pressed his lips into the crown of his head, feeling the messy curls against his chin.

That was how he fell asleep, and perhaps it was his long day, or perhaps it was the warmth against his skin, but he slept better than he had in a long time.

-

Anakin woke up unfortunately early, to the sound of a commlink buzzing on the desk. He ignored it initially, screwing his eyes shut and focused on the weight of Firmus’ hand around his waist that had only by will of the force stayed there all night. He had always enjoyed it when Padmé had held him, and he hadn't realised how much he'd missed it until he'd felt some broken part of him click back into place last night.

The comm buzzed again, and he grunted, reluctantly opening his eyes. He flipped onto his other side. Firmus had also turned, and was staring at the desk in irritation, which Anakin felt clearly in the force. It was quite sweet how hard he tried to maintain his composure, even when he hadn't woken up properly (some darker part of him very desperately wanted to see what he looked like when he lost it entirely).

Firmus started to get up, but Anakin placed a firm hand on his shoulder and willed the comm to fly over to them, landing right between them. Firmus turned back over, and sighed in relief.

“Just a messed up shipment, probably. Nothing urgent.” He picked it up, sitting against the headboard at an angle that let Anakin see his lean chest, dusted with hair and wow did he need a cold shower. He lay back down and stared at the ceiling as Firmus spoke to the attendant.

“Admiral, there is an unauthorised ship in the hangar, it must've snuck on in the seconds before we jumped.” They sounded very concerned, and Firmus frowned,

“Why do I need to be informed of this?” He asked, “Surely the vessel can be dealt with without my intervention at this hour.” His voice was flat with irritation. Anakin heard the attendant speak to someone else before replying,

“It's, um, an X-Wing, sir.”

“Fuck.” Anakin said, sitting up. Firmus glanced at him in alarm, so he took a deep breath for the Admiral’s sake.

“I apologise for that, sir, Lord Vader is merely concerned. Do you recognise the ship?” They both already knew.

“We, um, believe it to be Luke Skywalker’s, Admiral.”

Anakin’s metal hand creaked as he clenched his fist.

“He is to be found.” Firmus told them stiffly, “And taken to a holding cell. I have received no confirmation from Lord Vader that he is anything other than an enemy. Do not harm him, though.” He added quickly. Anakin gave him a grateful glance. He didn't need a repeat of Bespin. Why was his son here, though? After the Emperor’s broadcast he would've thought anywhere else would be safer. How did Luke even know about the Executor? He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Firmus put his comm aside and turned to Anakin,

“Are you alright?” He asked gently. Like Vader was some wounded animal he was afraid to poke- no. Like he genuinely cared. Anakin exhaled.

“I need to find him myself.” He said. “He was foolish for coming here.”

He thought to nudge at their force bond. Perhaps annoyance wasn't the first thing he should've sent, because his son’s mental barriers slammed shut.

Anakin grunted in frustration and rolled out of bed, throwing on the loose black shirt and pants he’d worn yesterday, as well as some practical boots and a thicker glove for his arm.

“Anakin, are you sure you want to face him when you're in a bad mood?” Firmus asked lightly.

“I’m always in a bad mood.” Anakin said flatly, but threw a smile over his shoulder.

“Should I tell the bridge you’ll be late?” Why did Anakin always end up with people so disturbingly organised? He supposed it was Firmus’ entire job, to give him credit.

“I’m not going to the bridge today.” He said, “I need to relax, as you put it.” He stalked to the door, Firmus stumbling to follow him.

“By hunting your own son? You aren't exactly known for your stealth.” Anakin chuckled,

“I'm sure it'll all come back to me. You go back to bed, I’ll deal with this.” Firmus looked skeptical, but Anakin slipped through the door, and only let himself yawn when he was out of sight.

-

Luke’s fascination with Vader had easily been explained by their notorious encounter at Bespin. His asking around, finding out about Vader’s flagship, where it was, none of it was questioned. He supposed it probably would be now, but there was nothing he could do about that. He’d have to just trust his friend. She always knew what to do.

Still, he was impressed that he’d managed to come out of hyperspace and dive into the hangar only seconds before the Executor jumped. He didn't know where it was going, but he’d been able to receive word that it was and calculated his jump perfectly. Probably better to be away from Imperial Centre anyway.

He hadn't expected his cover to last long, and barely an hour after he’d docked he felt his father pushing angrily at their bond. No going back to the ship now, he’d have to sneak around with R2 until he was inevitably caught. Given the current situation, there was a chance he could've handed himself in without being harmed, but he didn't trust low ranking imperials as far as he could throw them.

When he’d spotted them investigating his ship, he’d ducked inside a large crate with R2, and they’d hidden behind the clutter at the back. His only plan currently was to stay here until it got uncomfortable. He probably had a few hours.

Unfortunately, it had only been two before he heard movement dangerously close to where he was hiding. It sounded like someone running across one of the crates nearby. That… wasn't typical stormtrooper behaviour. Luke picked his way out of the clutter, waving at R2 to stay behind, and crept up to the entrance to his crate, looking up cautiously, hyperaware that whoever was up there would probably see him first. The thumping paused for a moment, and Luke slipped into a shadow between two crates, where he’d hopefully be harder to spot. He’d discarded his bright orange jumpsuit in his ship, and now wore only black thermals. The thumping got closer again, and he ducked into a corner, breathing heavily. He wanted to catch a glimpse without being seen himself…

They must’ve danced around each other for around half an hour before the other person got bored and dropped down behind Luke as he moved into the shadow of a new crate. He almost yelped, but stopped himself, spinning around with a hand on his lightsaber.

“This is getting boring. You aren't quite as skilled as you’d like to think, boy.” The man glared down at him. He wore what looked like a less formal version of an imperial uniform, and had long hair and a scar over one eye. Luke had never seen him before in his life.

He dropped into a crouch (only making the taller man loom over him further) and drew his lightsaber, though didn't ignite it.

“I am not going to hurt you Luke, I- wait. You do not recognise me?” Realisation, then amusement, dawned on his face. Luke thought he was about forty, but he couldn't really tell. He wasn't following imperial protocol, and didn't seem particularly threatening, aside from his general demeanour.

“No, sorry.” Luke said, stupidly, “I take it you aren't supposed to be here either?” He slowly moved his lightsaber back to his belt.

Then he realised. Exactly the moment that he felt an amused nudge on his force bond with his father.

“Kriff.” He muttered. “I’d hoped to avoid you a little longer than that.”

Darth Vader, or Anakin Skywalker depending on his mood, laughed in satisfaction at the expression Luke must’ve had on his face. When he’d stopped, his expression softened slightly, and he regarded his son for the first time without those dreadful red lenses.

“Father.” Luke said softly. He looked at his face. Despite his age, he was more handsome than Luke, with slightly softer features and darker hair with curls. He had blue eyes similar to Luke’s own, and the force sang with confidence that this man was truly his father. He hadn't been sure, immediately after Bespin, but any lingering doubts were now gone.

“Why are you here, Luke?” His father asked, stepping back to regard him in turn.

My mother must’ve been short, Luke thought with some irritation.

“I couldn't stay with the rebellion.” He said weakly, “It was too dangerous, and I thought that here at least… We were both dealing with it. I hoped that you might protect me if I was here. But. I will not join you, I haven't changed my mind.” He looked away.

“This is among one of the more irresponsible things I’ve known you to do.” His father said. “It's a relief that your assumption was correct. I will protect you.” He started to walk past Luke, who had to marvel slightly at hearing the voice that had played in his head in person. Something occurred to him then, and he paused in turning to follow him.

“You didn't actually tell anyone I was loyal to the Empire, did you?” His father looked back at him.

“Why would you think that?” He seemed relatively unconcerned, which Luke supposed was good.

“Didn't you see the broadcast?” He asked. He’d assumed it had reached everyone, let alone one of the people it concerned.

“I don't have time for such things. I know it blew my cover and for some reason pardoned you, but not that I had done that.” They began to walk towards the exit, and Luke winced as blasters immediately trained on them. He ducked back into the gap as they began to fire, but to his surprise the flashes of light stopped in midair. Luke slowly peeled himself away from the crate, stepping forward shakily with his hand on the hilt of his weapon. His father held his hands up, eyes shining with fury. Again, Luke cringed back. Somehow he recognised that expression. His father made a strange gesture, and one of the troopers flew forwards, stumbling to a halt before him.

“I was under the impression that you were not to cause harm.” He snapped. The trooper, on his knees, looked up pathetically,

“Lord Vader, we thought he was armed, I’m sorry, milord.” Even through the helmet’s filter he sounded like his voice was shaking.

“His life is worth more than yours. I would appreciate it if you followed Admiral Piett’s orders in the future, besides, he is pardoned of his crimes against the Empire.” Luke actually found that he wanted to protest for the stormtrooper, but he wasn't keen to fight with his father already. He cautiously walked over to loiter instinctively behind him, almost disturbed at how comfortable he felt under his protection. “Do not fail me again.” Vader finished, characteristically, before turning and walking away, gesturing for Luke to follow.

"Wait," Luke said, remembering poor R2 stuck in the crate*, "Can I get my droid?" He glanced behind him at the stack of boxes, then back to his father, who pinched his nose and sighed.

"Yes, but please be quick."

Luke bolted back into the maze of boxes, and to his relief he was easily able to track down the astromech. He gave the droid a gesture to follow him, and thankfully it did without hesitation, as though sensing his urgency. They made their way back out to where his father was waiting anxiously. The man relaxed visibly when he emerged. Then cocked his head.

"Artoo?" he said, surprised, then straightened as he remembered the stormtroopers watching them. Luke glanced between them. His father... recognised R2? He'd obviously known the droid had worked for the rebellion, but if he'd worked for the republic before that... The moment they were in the hallway, away from prying ears, His father whipped around and dropped to one knee, placing a hand almost reverently on R2's dome. The droid squealed furiously at him. Luke thought he picked up the words 'left' and 'betrayed'. At least he wasn't wrong. His father looked up at him with naked curiosity, far cry from his usual threatening demeanour.

"Where did you get this droid?" He asked, ads R2 continued to let out a barrage of angry beeps. "He belonged to me during the Clone Wars; I got him from... nevermind, how did you come across him?" he looked almost nervous as he stood back up, eyes flickering down to R2 after a particularly savage insult.

"It's a long story." Luke said cautiously, which his father nodded in acceptance of. "But he's mine now, I suppose." He smiled fondly as R2- not fond of being ignored- began to rock back and forth. He squealed again, and Luke didn't understand, but his father actually startled-

"Take that back right now, or you are spare parts, droid." His tone was cold, as though he'd been disrespected by a foolish junior officer. R2 laughed and bumped into the back of his leg.

-

“What now?” His son asked him. The two of them had made their way to a secluded meeting room, after depositing R2 somewhere safe, where they were to wait for Piett and Veers. Anakin hadn't fancied going to the more central parts of the ship where eyes would be on him.

“I think our situation has become a lot more urgent.” He replied softly. He had sat down, staring out the viewport and all too aware of Luke’s eyes on him. He wasn't sure he liked the scrutiny, but he would rather his son saw him like this than as the inhuman mask that he had worn for so long.

He ought to tell his son the truth of his intentions. He half planned to, but…

“Can I trust you, Luke?” He didn't turn to face his son, simply fixated on the hypnotic swirl of hyperspace. He still felt his surprise in the force, though.

“I, I’m loyal to the rebellion, father, I’m sorry.” He said, his voice so remorseful that Vader felt a strange urge to gather his grown son into his arms and hold him until he wasn't sad anymore. “But, beyond that, I want to help you.” His tone softened, and he tugged at their bond. Anakin turned to look at him, finally.

“It's not the rebellion I’m worried about.” He told him quietly. He clasped his hands together, still marvelling at the sensation of the leather against his sensitive skin. He’d forgotten how to feel anything but pain. “A lot has changed for me. I can't describe to you how much, but the Emperor could bring it all crashing down in seconds.”

Concern, Luke sent through the bond, his facial expression matching. Curiosity.

“Last time you were going to bring me to him, turn me to the dark side.” He said it like it was nothing. Anakin almost physically cringed at the words.

“That's what I’m talking about.” He forced himself to say. “I didn't have a choice, it was that or he’d have made me kill you. I didn't want you to die.” The excuse sounded weak to his ears, and he sent the acknowledgment of this down the force bond. Nothing could undo the damage he’d done to his son. Apologies could not restore lost limbs.

Apparently, the force could. But he’d think about that another time.

“You're scared.” Luke said, seeming to only now realise this, “Of him.” He blinked curiously, and Anakin really couldn't let him know the extent of what had happened to him, so he just nodded.

“I’m going to kill him soon.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, Luke just staring in mild shock.

“I know you said… but I won't join you. I can't help you unless you understand that I will always be a Jedi.”

Anakin nodded again,

“I understand that, but now I’m strong enough that it doesn't matter, I can save you without that.” He found himself smiling deeply, excitedly. “You won’t have to hide anymore, and I can rule, and I can save you.” It was true, he was powerful again. Over the last weeks he’d managed to regain control of the dark side, and his episode yesterday had only strengthened its presence in his body. He could defeat Sidious once and for all, without subjecting his son to his own fate.

Luke didn't look enthusiastic, but he didn't say anything either.

Firmus and Veers chose that moment to enter. Veers radiated nervousness in the force, but he hid it well, taking a seat nearer to Luke and as far away from Anakin as he could manage without being impolite. He began to smile in (threatening) amusement at him, but Firmus spoke- likely noticing- before he could make the general squirm further,

“Milord.” He said flatly. Anakin turned to look at him, admiring his professionalism before he replied,

“Admiral. I believe it is overdue that we have a discussion.” He addressed the other two as well, only one of which having an idea of what he was about to say, “About what to do with Sidious. The Emperor.” He paused, letting his small audience process what he was saying.

“Also, Luke, this is Firmus Piett, the Admiral of the ship, and that is General Veers. Admiral, this is Luke, my son.”

None of them were surprised, but Veers and Luke especially seemed apprehensive about the whole situation. Anakin had been hesitant to involve Veers, but Firmus trusted him and he would be a valuable close ally. He already knew everything, anyway.

“Are you sure you are ready to take him on, Milord?” Firmus asked softly, but respectfully.

“I do not have a choice.” Anakin replied. “I want to strike the moment he thinks he can trust me, as we’re dutifully carrying out this errand.” He tapped his fingers on the table, sneering in distaste. He didn't particularly care for the construction of another battle station, not when the first one had lasted about as long as a youngling fighting Yoda.

“Where are we going?” Luke suddenly asked, seeming to have regained his confidence. Anakin heard Firmus shuffle uncomfortably behind him.

Was it a good idea to tell Luke about the death star? He had personally destroyed the first one, and he wasn't sure how he'd react. Though…what truly was the danger here? The only way Luke could sabotage them was somehow report what they were doing to the Emperor, and he severely doubted that news of the man's plans would encourage that. Anakin sighed, relenting.

“To the forest moon of Endor. There is a significant construction project that the Emperor has commissioned in the area and I am to oversee it personally.” He nudged at his bond, hoping to hint at what he was about to say. “He’s building… another one.”

Luke blinked in alarm, this time catching his meaning quickly.

“A Death Star?” He murmured. Anakin nodded gently. His son slumped forward, burying his face in his hands, defeated. It took him an awkward moment to remember where he was, and he sat up sharply.

“Milord, excuse me, but, you're going to kill the Emperor??” Veers had apparently watched the whole exchange open mouthed.

“Yes.” Anakin said simply. “He has been using me for his own gain since I was a teenager. He wishes to do the same to my son, and that is unacceptable.” As he spoke, his voice filled with venom. “Does that answer your question, General?” Veers had paled, and he began to nod, but paused.

“You're doing this for your family? For yourself?” He asked quietly.

“I am.” Anakin admitted. “The good of the Empire was Sidious’ concern, not mine. I simply carry out his bidding.” He glanced at his son, who had an unreadable expression. “My child is my first priority.” It was true. It always had been, even with the person it had led him to become. He didn't expect Veers to squirm in the force at that. It only lasted a moment, but the man seemed disgusted with himself for some reason.

“We need a plan.” Firmus said sternly. So there was something up with Veers. Anakin filed that away for later.

“Yes.” He agreed, “We can't come up with anything solid with the information we have now. But we can make a start. Does anyone have any contribution they'd like to make before I inevitably do all of this myself?” Both Veers and Luke looked some mixture of confused and concerned at his joke, but it had probably been easy to miss his past sarcasm with the vocoder. Firmus shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“Can Commander Skywalker help directly?” He asked, referring to Luke by his title in the rebellion. Which was confusingly similar to Vader’s in the Empire.

“I will have to see. He will certainly be of some use, especially because Sidious likely doesn't know he is here.” Anakin said. “I will have to see how far along your training is.” He mused to Luke. Only a few weeks ago he had done just that, and the results hadn't been promising. But Luke already had a new lightsaber- one Anakin assumed he'd built himself. He may have improved drastically in such a short time. He thought he'd seen him at least fall into a stance of Form I when he’d surprised him, which was better than the Formless swinging from Bespin.

“I think I can help.” Luke said. “I don't want to get in the way though.” Oh, how naive he had been, and how quickly it had changed. Anakin certainly regretted… humbling… him in the way that he had, but it had knocked a bit of sense into the boy.

“We’ll need to make the most of you- you're the only surprise we have now, and Sidious likely underestimates your abilities. I will continue to train you until we carry out the plan. You will be a good diversion while I overpower him.” He needed practice too- he’d barely had time for katas since his healing.

“What do you think he wants with me? He must’ve mentioned me in the speech for a reason.” Luke said, furrowing his brow. He was right, it was a good place to start.

“He must've wanted to drive a wedge between you and the rebellion.” Firmus suggested. “It would weaken their image, and make you vulnerable to manipulation, if you were forcefully separated from them. Or if they hurt you.” Anakin blinked at him in admiration.

“Yes. That would leave Luke alone and open to manipulation by the Emperor. But why? I had presumed he’d want Luke to replace me, but now that my physical condition has improved I could be useful to him again.”

“Unless he suspects your plans?” Firmus asked. He looked worried, but Anakin shook his head,

“No. He would’ve waved that in my face yesterday if he'd known. It's what he always does.” It was a strange choice. Perhaps Sidious wanted someone younger? Or maybe Vader had failed him too many times. That was the most logical explanation.

“Why can't he use both of you?” Veers asked softly. He still looked uncharacteristically quiet.

“It's a Sith thing. The master can only ever have one apprentice at a time, or there is competition and the order collapses.” Nobody seemed to know what to say to that, but even Anakin recognised that it was silly. It wasn't like he'd joined the sith because he agreed with their beliefs. “I think it's safe to assume that he will attempt to turn Luke to the dark side, either to replace me, or make me stronger in it by watching him suffer.” He found himself clenching his metal fist, a habit for when he was trying not to destroy anything. “And I think destroying the rebellion will be part of that.” He mused.

“What are we to do about the rebellion, Milord?” Firmus asked him. “It is a factor that we have no control over.” Luke spoke up,

“I think my friend is trying to convince them that I’m innocent.” He said. “Hopefully they’ll trust me enough that we could get their help.” He added- to the three high ranking Imperial officers. Anakin was certainly suspicious of the rebellion, but he nodded. It would be idiotic to ignore such a significant force.

“I suspect Sidious is trying to set a trap for them.” He said. “We will have to tread carefully until we know more. Luke- do you have a way of contacting them?” He nodded,

“I have Leia’s… my friend’s… well, I have Leia’s private comm, she has a lot of influence with the high ranking members, and I know plenty of pilots who will help me.” Luke didn't give too many details, which was smart of him.

“You will tell Organa and Mothma that if they do not conspire with me, their pathetic fleet will be crushed.” Anakin said. He didn't put much force behind the words.

“I’m not sure they’ll take that seriously, considering the luck you’ve had so far.” Luke told him. Anakin raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but after a moment found himself smiling.

“Surely it is only with your help that they have proved so slippery. Besides, I meant to imply that the Emperor has plans for them, but you don't need to specify that…” he sat up and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I think we should get the rebels to destroy the Death Star.” Firmus said quietly. “Depending on how close it is to completion.” Anakin glanced at him, surprised. Veers, however, was nodding in agreement.

“Apologies if it's off topic, milord, but we were talking about this. The whole project is a huge waste of money, and after what happened to the first one, I believe it's best to stop it before too much effort is wasted on it.” He seemed confident in this.

“We can't do it too early though.” Firmus said, “Or he might just start again. Though we won't know how much has been done until we get there.” He was right, Anakin thought. The first Death Star had been problem enough, but building another was simply idiotic. He was suddenly very glad he'd gotten the help of people with a broader perspective than he: it had been a while since he’d stopped caring about what actually happened to the Empire and its people. Perhaps he ought to start.

-

Leia stepped down from her podium, and found that she was hopeful.

The feelings on Luke were more mixed than she'd feared. Many were ready to call him a traitor, or at least to reassess their opinions of him knowing that Vader was his father, but those who had known Luke and looked up to him were confident that he was loyal, and in her for defending him. It eased her stress just minutely, which was enough, for the moment, to stop her completely breaking down.

Vader was Luke’s father.

But… it wasn't just that. It was that Luke hadn't trusted her enough to tell her. They’d grown so close after losing Han, and now she felt she’d failed him somehow. He’d been so broken after Bespin and she hadn't thought to ask, properly, if he was okay.

Leia took a deep breath.

Now isn't the time for this, she thought, I have to talk to Mon. She tried to compose herself as she walked down the corridor; blame the exhaustion for her heavy breathing. She seemed to block out the world as she strode, the hallways beginning to fill with people leaving her meeting. She had to get to Mon.

Someone tapped her shoulder.

“Excuse me? Milady?”

It was a formal tone, and as she turned around she saw a young man with short hair blinking nervously at her.

“What is it?” She asked, perhaps more harshly than she should have. The boy (he was probably older than her) didn't flinch, but stood up straighter.

“My Lady, I just wanted to thank you.” He clasped his hands before him, “What you said about Commander Skywalker not being defined by his father’s actions, it's just…” he trailed off, seeming to rethink what he was saying. “It was very thoughtful, is all.”

Well, she was glad that her words had struck home, and there was something about the boy that struck her as uncommon in the rebellion. His tone wasn't reminiscent of any slang or dialect from a backwater planet, like many of the younger rebels would speak. She frowned.

“You were raised Imperial, weren't you?” He nodded, looking sheepish.

“Yes… I just... I believe in the cause, I really do- hell, being so close to all the action in the Empire taught me that better than anything. But I never felt like people really trusted me here, or that I was welcome.” He averted his eyes, “I do now. Even though this has nothing really to do with me.” He seemed hesitant to talk about himself, but Leia felt a pang of sympathy hearing him. Of course there were spies in the rebellion, and it was hard to fully trust anyone. But targeting some people because they seemed more likely to be spies was hardly fair, in her opinion. If anything they seemed less suspicious: it was always better for a spy to be unassuming.

“You are always welcome.” She told him. “And don't be afraid to be open about it- in my experience it helps you connect.” She smiled, and raised a hand to his shoulder, which was more silly than comforting, since he was so much taller than her. “You’ll find yourself more comfortable soon. What's your name?” He smiled back at her, seeming genuinely warmed by her words,

“Zevulon.” He murmured, then pursed his lips, “Zevulon Veers.”

Ah. That explained his nervousness. Maximilian Veers- presumably his father- was very high ranking in the Imperial navy, and had been responsible for the deaths of many in the alliance. He was greatly feared among them, only a few steps below Vader himself. She saw why Luke’s situation brought the boy comfort.

“Well I’m glad I could help you, Zevulon.” She told him with a smile, gently removing her hand from his shoulder. He smiled, dipped his head and turned to leave.

Leia, feeling slightly less overwhelmed, continued on her way to visit Mon.

-

Maximilian Veers sat in his room with the lights off, holding a small painting in his clammy, shaking hands.

He hadn't cried when his son had left.

He had yelled, and swore, both at Zevulon and at nobody, and then he had shown up on the bridge the next day because he cared about the Empire more than his own son.

The Empire. The deeply flawed organisation that he and Firmus had criticised for as long as they'd known each other, yet cared for all the same. The Empire that he was about to help practically overthrow, or at least help in a coup to change who was in charge. He knew it wasn't perfect, but he’d always believed in its ability to bring about a greater good.

According to its second in command, it was run by a man who cared only for personal gain, and for his sadistic desire to play people against each other.

Even without that, if Darth Vader himself would drop his care for the Empire to help a son he barely knew, what kind of man was Max?

He looked down at the painting. His bright eyed, gap-toothed five year old in his arms, hugging his neck and staring up with pure childish joy.

The paper was dimpled with tears.

-

The second Death Star looked like a skeleton. In Firmus’ estimation it looked like it had been in progress for about a year, but he couldn't be sure. It was… eye opening… that Anakin hadn't been told until now. He couldn't help but feel betrayed by the Emperor.

Anakin though. They’d been sharing his rooms for a few days now, and although they hadn't done anything, Firmus wasn't sure now if he'd be able to sleep without the contact. Even thinking about him made his heart swell with affection. He didn't think he'd ever felt this for anyone. It was oddly exhilarating.

“It concerns me that the laser looks so much closer to completion than the rest of it.” Firmus turned slightly to see Anakin step up to the viewport beside him, much closer than was proper. He found himself wanting to step back into his warmth. “Sidious is focusing on getting the weapon operational.”

They had just come out of hyperspace, and it was early morning, a few days after they had left Coruscant. Firmus should’ve known better than to assume the Commander couldn't sense that he’d gotten up.

“It could be a good thing, if we want to destroy it. The weapon is the hardest part to replace, but there are fewer people on board.” He mused. “And I doubt it could be fully operational with just a framework to support it.”

Anakin nodded. The two of them stood in silence for a moment.

“Are you going to be on the bridge today?” Firmus asked softly, glancing up at… his partner, he supposed. It looked like it was going that way. Anakin was nothing if not devoted, which he smiled to think of. He sighed.

“I suppose I have to, don't I? I'm still not sure how much to tell the rest of the crew.” He fidgeted, running his flesh fingers along the skeletal structure of his mechanical ones. There was something else too, Firmus knew. He was hesitant to show his face in such an official setting. He’d been having fun terrifying the chefs every night and messing with stormtroopers, but letting any officers see him in a lit room was different.

He tried to think loudly, thoroughly embracing his emotions so that Anakin could pick up on them.

“You're getting good at that.” He noted, sounding impressed. “You might be a little bit force sensitive, I haven't known anyone who isn't to project themselves like that in the force before. Not intentionally, anyway.” Force sensitive, him?

“I’ve never choked anyone with my mind before.” He said dryly. Anakin laughed,

“I doubt you would if you could: you're far too polite. I’ve just been at war too long.” He paused, “And yes. I am slightly worried about going on the bridge. Mostly that people will recognise me, which is silly, because they already know who I am.” His voice softened as he spoke, and he gazed out at the Death Star once again. “I almost… I don't want to have to be the fool I was when I was twenty. But I don't feel like the person I have been since I fell, not anymore.” Firmus clasped his mechanical hand, running his fingers over the exposed knuckles. The metal was smooth and warm. Anakin took a breath.

“Can you feel this?” Firmus asked him. He wasn't sure how the sensors worked- he seemed to be able to grab things without looking just fine, but he wasn't sure if it was the arm or the force.

“Not in the same way as I would if it was flesh, but my brain registers it, yes.” He said, “It's a bit like if someone was braiding your hair or something, but I don't know if you’d know about that.” He laughed. Firmus nodded in consideration, manipulating the fingers in his own. Anakin didn't resist in any way.

“You are a different person now.” Firmus told him, “You’ve been through a lot, and it's changed the way you act. I think everybody does as they age- me included. It's just that you’ve had more extreme, life changing moments than most people, instead of letting it happen over time.” He thought back to when he’d joined the Imperial ranks, and when he’d risen to Fleet Admiral. Both had certainly changed him, and he'd always recognised that. But Anakin had linked those moments to his identity, or been encouraged to, it sounded like. He'd had a life very different to anyone Firmus had met, but he thought he could figure out how it had changed him.

“That's… very insightful.” Anakin said, likely responding to both his words and his thoughts. “You could be a mind-healer.”

“Oh no, I could never.” Firmus laughed, “Dealing with one of you is enough.”

Anakin elbowed him in the side, which felt a bit like being prodded with a crowbar. Firmus probably deserved it for that comment.

“Will you come back to bed?” Anakin asked him. “We technically have a few hours before we have to be on the bridge.”

“Neither of us are going to be able to sleep.” Firmus said flatly, but he turned back towards the bed anyway.

“I never said anything about sleeping…” Came the sly response. Firmus started, turning to meet his eyes.

“Really?” He asked, like he was a child being taken to a theme park or something. Anakin cackled, and Firmus rolled his eyes, sitting back on the mattress and crossing his arms.

A moment later the bed dipped beside him, and he was being pulled down to lie on his back. Anakin climbed on top of him, straddling him with unfairly long legs. Firmus felt heat rush to his face as he was kissed filthily, Anakin licking into his mouth like he was trying to eat him.

Firmus raised his hands to tangle them in his hair and hooked one leg over his partner's, pulling him down against him fully.

“Don't do that.” Anakin mumbled, pulling away for a moment, “I’m going to crush you.” Firmus unashamedly reached down to place his hands on his hips, pushing Anakin down while lifting his own at the same time, so they ground against each other in a way that made Anakin whimper softly.

“That's what I was hoping for.” Firmus told him.

-

A few hours later, they stood at the blast doors, side by side. Anakin wore fitted black clothes with loose sleeves and the armourweave cape he’d worn with his suit. He wore leather gloves, the one on his right hand thicker and longer, and tall black boots. Firmus had even convinced him to comb his hair. To his relief, the man had calmed down a lot after they’d spent some time together, and he seemed more grounded now. He’d popped by to check on Luke, who had slept in an empty room near where Anakin had stayed before joining Firmus. Anakin had ordered people to repair his old quarters, fixing everything he’d broken and giving him a proper bed and bathroom, as well as converting some adjacent rooms into an area for Luke, but it would probably take a few weeks for everything to be ready.

Now, he had a more immediate task to worry about.

Anakin waved his hand and the blast doors opened. Everyone on the bridge stood to attention as the two of them entered, but it was impossible to ignore the way everyone stared at Anakin.

Vader’s identity, and even what he had looked like, had long been something speculated by the officers, but nobody had ever spoken openly or tried hard to figure it out: it was too dangerous. Even to Firmus it seemed surreal that Anakin would walk out like this. In truth, it only made him more proud. As he walked down the bridge, he didn't tell anyone to return to their stations, and even the room of non force-sensitives felt that their Commander was going to speak.

Anakin was silent until he reached the end of the bridge. Firmus kept beside him the whole time, until he turned back to face the room, eyes like chips of ice.

“We will be orbiting the forest moon of Endor with the second Death Star for the foreseeable future.” He began, as usual using his harsh, formal tone. “I am to oversee its construction personally, and I have orders to see that it is completed ahead of schedule.” There were several nods from around the room. One- Firmus noted- came from the older woman who had seemed skeptical of him a few days ago. He felt a rush of pride at the crew’s loyalty. He just prayed that it would remain intact after what Anakin said next.

“However, while I intend to carry out these orders, I would like to make something else clear.” Firmus swore he could feel the anticipation thrumming through the gathering. “The announcement made by the Emperor last week regarding my son and I was untrue. It is clear to me that he has no regard for my input in his personal schemes, and the fact that I have only now been informed of the second Death Star proves this further.”  There were several surprised expressions across the room, others looking hungrily curious. “I trust that the crew of the Lady is capable of monitoring his movements and reporting them back to me, as I intend to figure out exactly what he has planned, and ensure that only good comes out of it for the Empire.” That last part was a lie, but Firmus raised his chin nonetheless. Even if Anakin was prioritising the safety of his son, Firmus himself cared enough about the Empire that he would not allow its fate to be ignored.

The crew seemed remarkably unfazed that they were being asked to spy on the Emperor himself. Several officers even saluted. They were fairly old, and could likely remember Anakin’s exploits in the clone wars. Firmus glanced up at his Commander, at his Partner, and thought he saw a slight smile ghost his lips.

Chapter Text

Anakin took a deep breath and gripped the wooden pole tightly in his mechanical hand. It didn't quite have the weight or energy of a real saber, but when he’d tried to practice using his own, the results had been… unexpected.

That was a problem for another day. For now, the stick would have to do.

Anakin dropped into a light crouch, his weight perfectly balanced, which had taken him several sessions to perfect again. He’d had to compensate for the weight of his limbs before. He held the pole in. Firm grip to one side, then lunged forwards without warning, pivoting on his right foot and springing upwards into the air, far higher than any non force-sensitive could manage. He flipped twice, flourishing his stick before landing neatly in his starting position. He used his momentum to lunge forwards into a spin, slashing down sharply at an invisible enemy before rolling forwards, jumping, and flipping again to land on one of the support beams for the viewport. Panting, he grinned wickedly. Ataru had never been his preferred fighting style, but he found joy in making the most of his restored body, going through motions he hadn't been able to do for more than twenty years. He’d still been working mainly on refining his own style to account for his smaller size and greater dexterity, modelling it off Djem So as he always had, but Ataru required a particularly strong connection to the force and technical movements of the body that made it such an enjoyable warmup. He was expecting Luke in about half an hour. He’d spent the two months helping the boy improve his own techniques, and he was- to Anakin’s great annoyance- becoming awfully good at Soresu. Curiously, however, he didn't seem to want to follow any form when they actually sparred. He used a combination of several at once to be unpredictable, and it actually worked very well. Anakin himself was adept at switching between forms as he fought, but he’d never managed the blend of all of them that Luke could pull off. He still made mistakes, his technique nowhere near as refined after a couple of years as Anakin’s was after a lifetime, but he was incredibly promising. His optimism reminded Anakin of Ahsoka, he thought with a pang of guilt.

Having caught his breath, he dropped straight down from the beam and landed on the mat with a roll, standing up to spin again and flourish his stick. He ended up on one knee, holding it before him in both hands, where he waited a second before leaping up, into a backflip this time, then landing and falling back into a routine of pivots, sidesteps and rolls. After ten minutes he was sweating heavily, his hair- which he still hadn't cut- plastered to the back of his neck. It was long enough to tie back now, which was something he ought to do before it got in his face during a fight. It would be quite unimpressive if he was slain in a duel because his hair restricted his vision, but he couldn't help but enjoy it after spending so long with his hair follicles damaged beyond repair, his scalp bald and scarred.

He padded back to where he stored his equipment, muscles aching pleasantly, and leant the stick against the wall before dropping into a sequence of stretches. He’d have recovered enough to spar properly with Luke when he arrived, but not enough that he’d be at full strength. It made the fight more interesting for both of them.

“I’ll never get tired of watching you do that. It's incredible.”

Anakin actually jumped, and glanced up at Firmus, surprised.

“You were asleep.” He informed him, dropping to sit cross legged on the floor. “I don't even want to know how you figured out how to sneak up on me like that.” Firmus placed a hand on his head and ruffled his hair, to which Anakin scowled, “That's disgusting, I’m all sweaty.”

“It's not like you were rolling in the mud, it's not that unsanitary.” Firmus replied. He wasn't wearing his uniform, which was rare. Instead he had on baggy black trousers and a dark grey shirt, with a brown belt, boots and jacket. Anakin supposed there wasn't much for him- either of them really- to do until their meeting later. He didn't have to wear a uniform all the time.

“That looks nice on you.” He said. Firmus smiled,

“I’ve had it sitting around for ages, and Max was angry that I never wore anything other than my uniform, even in the evenings.” He explained.

“I agree.” Anakin said, “You look far too old and serious wearing grey all the time.” Firmus scoffed at him,

“I am old and serious, Anakin. And I haven't seen you wear anything other than black, ever.” Anakin met his eyes,

“I don't think I’d have been feared quite so much if my life support suit was ‘yellow as the suns.” He said flatly. Firmus glared at him, and he laughed quietly. After a moment,

“Where are you from?” The question took Anakin off guard.

“Hm?”

“Sorry, it's just, you have an outer-rim accent, and that phrase isn't one I’ve heard before. I’ve been meaning to ask: I’d always assumed you were from a core world before I heard your voice, and if you were a jedi…” he trailed off.

“I was a slave on Tatooine until I was nine, with my mother.” Anakin said. He had no reason to hide that, despite the fact that he’d too often failed to remember it.

“A slave??” Firmus asked, surprised. Anakin knew he was from Axxila himself, which was in the outer rim and probably had slavery almost as rampant as on his own home planet. He supposed he appeared very far from that now, though.

“Yes. I was won in a bet by a jedi when he discovered I was force sensitive.” He said. Looking back, the Jedi hadn't lived up to his expectations from the beginning, yes- perhaps he had been a naive child- but he remembered clearly the expression on Qui-Gon’s face when he’d told him that his mother would have to remain on Tatooine. “I was free, technically, but it wasn't like I could leave. I’ve always called someone master.” He said grimly.

“Anakin.” Firmus whispered. He actually blushed- he didn't think he’d ever get tired of hearing his name on Firmus’ lips. He looked up dutifully as the man knelt down and rested a hand on his shoulder. Anakin leaned forwards into the embrace. Despite his bad memories, he felt peaceful and safe. “We're going to change that, aren't we? Very soon, I promise.”

“Soon.” Anakin repeated, as he was drawn into a kiss. He was conscious that he was getting sweat on Firmus’ clothes, but the other man didn't seem to care. He enjoyed the warmth of his skin, and his breath against his own. He let himself be held for a few minutes, long past caring that the force was lighter around him than it had been in as long as he could remember. He'd moved his hands to Firmus’ waist, trailing his mechanical fingers up and down his spine, while Firmus had a hand on the back of his neck, and one on his ribcage, when the door opened.

“Oh!”

Anakin lurched away from Firmus and fell, rather undignified, onto his backside. He probably went white as a sheet at the sight of his son standing in the doorway, head cocked curiously to the side.

“I’m sorry I interrupted.” He said, but Anakin felt his intense amusement in the force.

“It's ok.” He said mildly. “You are supposed to be here, I’d lost track of the time.” He sprang to his feet, and Firmus stood up beside him, looking composed. Because of course he did.

“It's ok: I thought I’d noticed something between you two, if you don't mind me saying.” He walked up to them, wearing dark clothes that made Anakin snicker to himself.

“Yes. It's quite new, I would've told you otherwise.” He said, still feeling slightly embarrassed. “We’ve only been, well, together, since the days before you arrived.” It was strange that he could talk about his relationship, that he didn't have to lie and hide. It was like a weight coming off his shoulders, and his heart warmed as his son’s face lit up.

“Well, I’m sorry I didn't know you were my mother, Admiral.” Luke said to Firmus. The three of them burst into laughter, so hard that Anakin’s stomach started to hurt. He couldn't remember the last time he’d laughed like this.

Joy. Luke sent down the bond.

-

Vader had sent the rebels a peace offering.

Obviously, they didn't trust him. They could never trust him, but after months of work, Leia had gotten them to trust Luke again. And Luke, for some insane reason, trusted Vader. Leia couldn't imagine what it must be like, to have him as a father. She did genuinely believe that he cared for Luke: the fact that her friend was okay was evidence enough, but she couldn't for the life of her place her mental image of the creature who had tortured her in a family setting.

It was worse, somehow, to know that he was a man. And not an evil one, just a broken one who had betrayed everyone he’d loved. He wasn't a weapon, he hadn't always been like this, he was just ruined and twisted. And, apparently, willing to work with the rebellion.

The peace offering emerged from the room he’d been recovering in, his hair wet from a shower and freshly combed back. He was wearing tinted glasses- apparently his eyes were sensitive after the carbonite- and he was wrapped in a fluffy white robe. Leia ran to him, and before he even realised what was going on she’d flung her arms around his waist and buried her head in her chest.

“Leia!” Han realised. He rested his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away to look at her face, his own split by a huge grin. He laughed, his cool, detached persona completely disregarded as he pulled her against him again, pressing his lips to the crown of her head.

“I missed you.” She said, unable to stop herself laughing in her joy, “I love you, Han.”

He froze, letting go of her.

“Ya do?” He said, looking completely shocked for a moment. She huffed and punched him lightly in the chest. “Alright, alright.” He lamented. “You can't start hitt’n me already, I’m sick, Leia.” His sly smirk was back, and she smiled warmly at him in response.

Did she trust Vader? No, of course not. But he cared about Luke. And that would have to be enough.

-

“A star destroyer.” Firmus repeated flatly. The ensign nodded, cringing, as he rested his face in his palm with a sigh. “So that's it. He does nothing for two months, then comes here with no warning.”

“I mean, we can't be sure, Admiral, but…”

“Yeah.” Firmus said. “And I have to tell Lord Vader.” He had no fear that Anakin would hurt him, and he didn't mind comforting him when he was in a mood, but to be the cause of said mood… he didn't like it. Which was probably a problem. His only small comfort was that he might be saving someone else’s neck, quite literally.

As if on cue, Anakin walked in with Max and Luke- who was still completely unused to imperial meetings and didn't know how to act, something Firmus found amusing compared to the calm, collected figure of his father. In private, obviously, they were both the complete opposite.

Anakin immediately registered the expression on his face, and raised an eyebrow.

“News?” He was getting a lot more comfortable with showing his face, which Firmus was proud of him for. He nodded and sighed.

“You ought to sit down, Milord.” The ensign, still hovering at Firmus’ shoulder, audibly gulped and shuffled away a few inches. Anakin sat, staring at him with a flat expression. Veers and a few other officers turned towards him in respect. Some were still filing into the room, creeping around Vader like he was a bomb ready to explode. Firmus waited for everyone to get settled before he spoke.

“Emperor Palpatine has been spotted boarding a star destroyer with his personal shuttle on it. He is leaving Coruscant and we have reason to believe he will come here.” He didn't bother trying to disguise it with his usual polite tone. They were all in the same boat here. The silence wasn't even long enough to be awkward, but it still felt like an eternity before Anakin said anything. He’d closed his eyes and furrowed his brow.

“So we have a couple of days, at least.” He said. “I suspect longer, because he usually gives me some warning.” He opened his eyes. They were blue, to Firmus’ relief, but he didn't exactly look happy.

“We aren't ready.” Firmus said.

“No. We aren't.” Anakin agreed, letting bite into his tone. They both sat back.

“Admiral Piett, Lord Vader, if I may?” Someone asked. Firmus saw an officer he may have recognised staring hopefully at him. He was in charge of… communications, perhaps? He really needed to get better at remembering names. Firmus nodded at him to speak.

“I have just received a transmission.” He said. “From the rebel alliance.” Everyone leaned forwards simultaneously, so much so that it was almost comical.

“Well?” Anakin said after a moment, “What does it say?” He folded his arms over his chest, as he often did. Half the room seemed to straighten at that, as though remembering who he was.

“It says that they will open communications with us, and they have agreed to meet with you in neutral space, Lord Vader.” The officer actually smiled, though he looked like he was trying to contain it.

Anakin raised his eyebrows, appearing surprised.

“So the deal with Solo worked.” He mused, “That's excellent. Tell Mothma that she may set the terms and the location, though I need the meeting within three days, before the Emperor arrives. If she attempts to harm me or my men I will not hesitate to destroy the entire fleet.” Luke looked slightly alarmed at that, and Firmus genuinely couldn't tell whether he was being serious. He wouldn't be surprised either way. The officer nodded slowly, giving Firmus a questioning glance. “Do I have to write it myself, officer?” Anakin asked. The officer shook his head and began to type. “Thank you, inform me when they reply. Somebody prepare my shuttle for departure in case I need to leave immediately.” He paused as someone got up and fled the room. “Excellent. Anything else?” He scanned the room. Firmus shook his head.

“How is the progress on the Death Star, Milord?” There were several nods at that.

“It's fine, we’re ahead of schedule like the Emperor asked, as far as I can tell. The only problem is that I think they're withholding information from me on the Emperor’s behalf. Which means I can't transmit the plans to the rebellion and be sure they're accurate. The last thing I want is for Mothma to think I’m tricking her.” Firmus nodded in agreement.

“Perhaps you should show her what you can find and tell her the truth. It might get her to trust you more.” He suggested.

“Perhaps.” Anakin said, “I might need more than that, but it will have to do.”

Firmus knew he wasn't looking forward to the meeting, and had offered to come with him when they'd first come up with the idea. Obviously, he had to stay here with the ship. The Lady couldn't go on without either of them. Anakin had already resolved that he would only bring Luke, to which Firmus had kissed him gently, like he was fragile, and told him to take care like the hopeless romantic he had never been before this…

He was in a meeting. He had more important things to think about. He could focus on his lover when all of this was over.

-

‘All of this’ proved to just be the meeting, because the moment the other officers were out of sight, Firmus found himself enveloped by a strong pair of arms, and a soft cheek resting on his head like he was a pillow.

“Can I at least have my cap back, Anakin?” He asked flatly. There was a warm puff of breath down the back of his neck in response.

“He’s coming.” Anakin mumbled into his hair. “I don’t want him to.” He pulled Firmus close against him, and despite the fact that they were in the open, Firmus let himself enjoy the warmth.

“I know, darling,” he said softly, “You're going to be alright.” He didn't know how truthful that was, and Anakin could probably sense as much, but he seemed to appreciate it anyway, nuzzling into the crown of Firmus’ head.

“I’m going to kill him.” He said, with the same tenderness one would use to say ‘I love you’. Firmus reached up and squeezed Anakin’s flesh hand, which was resting on his ribcage.

“I know you are.” He said. “You’ll do fine, you’ve had plenty of practice.” Anakin chuckled.

“I want to just skip to the part when he's gone.” His voice lost its humour, and Firmus felt him kiss the back of his head. He managed to maneuver himself out of his grasp, and turned around to meet his eyes. They were their natural blue, a deep, duller colour than many Firmus had seen. He found them beautiful.

“I know.” He said, reaching to hold his waist. “Me as well.” They stood for a moment, just sharing space and holding each other, like they were the only ones in the world.

It only took a minute for Anakin to relax into his grasp and place his hand on Firmus’ wrist, stroking his skin with his thumb.

“I like it when you hold me.” He whispered.

At first it had surprised Firmus how vulnerable he was. He never closed himself off emotionally, and- although sometimes it took a gentle prompt- he would always tell Firmus the truth. Eventually Firmus had realised it was because he hadn't even had the opportunity to do so in twenty years; not to be vulnerable, and not to be human.

“I like holding you.” Firmus responded. A thought crossed his mind, and he couldn't help but voice it, though he was stepping into dangerous territory, “You're… sweet.” Anakin looked skeptically at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Me?” He stared at Firmus like he was being utterly ridiculous. Which he was.

“I won't take it back.” Firmus told him. “You're a lot more cuddly than I expected.” Anakin stepped closer to him, so they were practically touching, and Firmus had to crane his neck to look up at him. “And now you're proving my point.”

“You… expected?” Anakin repeated slowly, though Firmus could hear the teasing edge to his voice.

“Would have expected.” He said curtly, feeling his face heat. “I was not harboring any deranged fantasies about you before you stepped out of my shower in only a bathrobe.” Anakin laughed and kissed his hair.

“You're sweet.” He informed him gently. And of course it sounded far less ridiculous coming from him. In response, Firmus squeezed his waist with one hand and dropped the other lower, pulling him against him by his backside.

“Shut up.” He mumbled as Anakin huffed with laughter.*

-

“You have nothing to worry about.” His father reassured him. He had a slight smile and his tone was genuine, but Luke still turned away. “Luke…”

“Father, promising to kill my friends if they don't trust me is not reassuring.” He felt slightly guilty at the bitterness in his tone, and the genuine confusion on his father's face didn't help.

“Luke, your safety is-”

“Your priority.” Luke said. “But it isn't mine; I’m sorry, father.” There were things bigger than him. There was the rebellion, the jedi, the future of the galaxy. His father was still too engrossed in the dark side to see that, and Luke felt helpless to get him out of that state. Now, his father went silent, but regarded him with worry.

A day after the meeting, their shuttle was currently being beamed up into a small hangar of what Luke recognised as an older rebel ship, but one still well armed. Clearly Mon and Leia wanted as few casualties as possible if something went wrong with Vader. Or when something went wrong with Vader, as far as they were concerned. Luke trusted and loved his father, but he couldn't speak for the rebels.

“Are you going to be alright, Father?” He asked after a moment. Anakin met his eyes, looking surprised.

“Why wouldn't I be?” He said, far too quickly. Luke frowned.

“They’ll recognise you, won't they? Some of them at least.” He said. His father hesitated, before sighing and brushing his long hair away from his face.

“As far as they are concerned, Anakin Skywalker is dead.” He said quietly. Luke clasped his hands together, one of them with its artificial senses under the glove.

“And as far as you're concerned?” He asked. He sent encouragement down the bond. His father sometimes forgot that he wasn't a child, and didn't tell him the whole truth of things.

“I don't know, really.” He admitted, then paused, seeming to reflect on something. Luke felt it in the bond, but couldn't tell what he was thinking of. “Perhaps he's just changed beyond recognition. That doesn't mean he's gone, though.” He smiled sadly. This time, Luke returned it. When Luke had first gotten aboard the Executor- or the Lady, as it was called- his father had refused to acknowledge that the two names he went by belonged to the same man. He hadn't mentioned it for a while, and recently it had appeared that his perspective on the matter had changed. Luke suspected that Admiral Piett had something to do with it.

“Y’know I never thought it would be like this.” His father said suddenly, his tatooinian accent more evident in his voice than usual.

“What?” Luke asked, struck suddenly by how similar their voices could be at times like this. Luke’s accent was stronger, but it was definitely similar, though they were from different regions.

“I… when I found out I was going to be a father,” He said softly, “I imagined raising you on a lovely planet somewhere, leaving the Jedi, watching you grow.” It sounded like his voice was going to break. “And it's my fault that it never happened. I see that now. I find it difficult to accept that I am the person who was supposed to have it.” He sounded small, but held Luke’s eyes as he spoke, the blue mirroring his own.

“Father.” He whispered, still smiling slightly.

He was going to say more, but there was a loud BANG. And then a groan of metal above them. They both jumped and glanced up, but Luke relaxed after a moment.

“It's just the ship. It's a pretty old model.” He said. Then, at Vader’s unimpressed glare, “Hey, you can't expect the rebellion to have the same unlimited funding and manpower as the empire.”

Their shuttle began to shake a little as it emerged into the hangar- light shining through the viewport.

“Yet another reason why we are superior.” Anakin said softly, but Luke heard the teasing edge to his voice as he turned to glare at him. They both stood up, wearing smart clothes that looked halfway between imperial uniforms and Jedi robes, though they didn't match each other. The shuttle set down on the floor with a creak of metal, and the two of them stepped up to where the boarding ramp would soon descend. Luke stood slightly behind and to the right, unwilling to present himself as an enemy in the way his father had to.

“For the record,” he said as the ramp began to move, “I was apparently a nightmare of a child. I don't know if you’d have enjoyed dealing with me.”

“Luke.” Anakin said dryly, clasping his hands behind his back as they were illuminated by the light of the hangar.

-

They were greeted by Mon Mothma, who- wearing flowing white as always- stood in a similar position to Vader in his layers of dark black and brown. He looked like a black hole sucking in all of the light as he strode to meet her, Luke shadowing him cautiously, glancing at the assembled crowds for any sight of his friends. He quickly spotted Leia near the front, looking at him with an unreadable expression. He met her eyes and twitched his lips slightly, feeling his heart lift when he noticed Han next to her, openly smiling.

He was drawn away from his friends when his father stopped in front of him. Luke turned to see Mon Mothma only a few feet away, her chin raised, unintimidated by Vader’s greater height.

“Mothma.” He greeted coldly, though without overt hostility. Any trace of his accent was gone. She tilted her head as though suspicious.

“If you would be so kind as to accompany me, Lord Vader.” She said, betraying no emotion. “Alone.” She added, glancing at Luke. Vader sneered, failing to mask his displeasure, but responded smoothly,

“Of course.” He did not use any title, likely a nod to his failure to recognise the rebellion. Luke hoped he'd be able to reign himself in enough to negotiate with the rebel leaders.

As the two departed, accompanied by many guards encircling his father, Luke found himself alone in a room of people that he’d run from two months ago.

It was only a moment before someone rammed into him; forcefully clinging to him as he stumbled back and-

“Are you alright?” Leia asked, looking up at him, brown eyes huge. Luke paused to survey the room. Han stood a little way back with Chewie and Lando, and a boy about Luke’s age he didn't recognise. He saw Wedge not too far back with the other pilots in his squadron, and many others unfamiliar to Luke.

All of them were smiling at him.

“Yes,” he found himself saying to Leia, not taking his eyes off the gathering, “Yes I’m alright.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, letting himself crack a smile. Everyone surged closer, clapping him on the back and cursing the Emperor’s name. Nearby, the men searching the shuttle wheeled R2 out, and after singeing their fingers with bolts of electricity the droid rolled over with an excited squeal, knocking affectionately into Luke’s leg.

He didn't regret his time on the Lady, but it wasn't his home. Not like this was.

-

“We received your transmission of the plans.” Mothma continued, and Anakin nodded absently. He’d managed to send what he'd accumulated that morning. “They should be useful in helping us destroy it.” She looked genuinely grateful, which was… more than he’d expected.

“I apologise that they are incomplete. As I said, the Emperor is hiding things from me. I am glad they are of some use, and you can trust that your fleet will have the full defence of my own.” He doubted she really trusted him, but what little alliance they had would have to be enough. He was surprised when her brow creased,

“They looked complete enough, to me. There were details on the main reactor and the deflector shields that we have confirmed to be accurate.” Confirmed by spies they had in lower ranks, he knew. Those unable to get full plans themselves but more than capable of confirming details that could be falsified. However, it was Anakin’s turn to be confused. He crossed his arms,

“I was unable to get detailed reports of those areas.” He said. “I’d assumed they were weak spots due to the secrecy surrounding them, but I don't think I collected enough to be useful.” He met her eyes, and they seemed to come to a mutual realisation. “Can I see the plans you were sent?” She looked hesitant. “I will not touch them, but I organised the files myself, I’ll be able to tell if there is a difference.” She waited a moment longer before nodding, making a gesture to one of the guards in the corner of the room, who scurried away.

“You really think the plans were tampered with? Who would replace yours with better, more accurate plans without telling you?” Oh. He saw what she was hinting at.

“If I didn't want you to have the plans, I wouldn't allow you to keep them.” He said. The only way for her to know for sure was for her to wait and see if the plans were still there when he left. He just had to hope she trusted him enough for that. She had every reason not to.

When the attendant returned with the plans, a full holomap of the second Death Star, it was immediately clear that it was not what Anakin had transmitted that morning. He could only stare at it in shock, marvelling at each of the details carefully labelled, and found he was able to zoom in on even the most irrelevant areas to see a full plan. The incomplete parts were all red, while what had been built was in blue. It appeared that the weapon mechanisms were pretty much finished, as Anakin had suspected, though it certainly wasn't yet operational. How such things hadn't been put in yet were beyond him, looking closely. He spent minutes inspecting it but there was no logical explanation. He had been a mechanic since he'd been able to pick up a wrench, and the space station was only a huge star fighter really. From the way it was designed, the weapon should really be operational by now.

“They're holding back on these very specific areas.” He said. “Perhaps the materials are delicate, or expensive, and they want to wait?” This brought a series of slow nods. “The important thing is that this is far beyond anything I transmitted myself. But it matches up perfectly to what I did have.”

“Does it matter who sent it?” Someone asked. Anakin glanced up to see an elderly clone meeting his eyes with a strangely pained expression, “As long as we're able to destroy it?” He nodded thoughtfully, though something about it still nagged at his mind.

“It means we ought to proceed with extra caution.” Mothma said, “Though we were likely to do that anyway.” She glanced at the guards towering over Anakin’s chair. He met her gaze unwaveringly. “You said the Emperor would be here in six days, correct?” She asked him.

“Yes,” he said with a nod, “He informed me last night that he would be arriving to inspect the Death Star in a week. We have little time to plan properly, but I suspect those will help.” He nodded towards the plans. “I will transmit anything new I discover, but I don't know if it will be of this much help. I can attempt to investigate the origins of this, if you would like?”

“That would be very helpful, Lord Vader.” She said, “I am grateful for any intelligence you can offer.” She sat back, tucking her near auburn hair behind an ear.

“I believe we are done here, then.” Anakin said, “You have saved our attack strategy for the end of the week? In a couple of days you can comm me with the finer details: I left you with a private link.”

“I have it, thank you.” She said, then cleared her throat and addressed the rest of the room, “In that case, I will dismiss the meeting. There is an entourage to escort you back to your shuttle, Lord Vader.” She stood, bowing slightly to the assembly (deliberately turned away from Anakin) before turning to leave.

The others started to rise, Anakin included, and he dutifully followed his guards towards the exit. As he did so, there was an overwhelming surge of longing in the force. The kind of raw emotion not emitted by a force sensitive, so strong that Anakin could instantly detect that it was directed at him.

He turned back, eyeing the assembly. Plenty of the rebel elite were watching him, some curious, some older ones with pure betrayal in their gaze. Only one of them looked at him with true sadness. It was the clone who had spoken to him earlier.

He had a fluffy white beard, neatly groomed, and a scar on his bald head indicating that his inhibitor chip had been removed. He watched Anakin with amber-brown eyes that were achingly familiar. He had no real way of telling the identity of the clone, but he got such a sense of familiarity in the force that he actually echoed the emotions being directed towards him.

The clone, noticing Anakin’s eyes on him, stepped forwards cautiously. It seemed like an age before he reached him, and another before he spoke.

“General?” The voice was gruff, strong, and broken in a way Anakin had never heard before.

He had no real way of telling the identity of the clone, but…

He still knew.

“I thought you died, Rex.” He whispered, staring at him with wide eyes. “I… I found a crash site… I thought Ahsoka might’ve made it but…” he took a breath. He was supposed to be Darth Vader while he was here. He couldn't afford to show this weakness. He couldn't afford not to blink the tears from his eyes. Rex clearly thought the same, but he looked so hurt.

“We thought you died, too.” He said with a coldness Anakin had never heard from any clone, much less him, before.

“I did, in a way.” He replied, no weight behind the words. He found himself dragging the thumb of his left hand across his fingers, noting the warmth of flesh beneath his gloves.

“No.” Rex said, with such force that Anakin flinched. “You didn't.” He spun around to leave, and Anakin found it increasingly hard to blink away his tears. He thought his former Captain would just leave him like that, but before he moved off Rex paused.

“I hope I’ll see you soon, Anakin.”

Anakin met his eyes as he looked back, then truly did walk away. He took another breath and turned to follow his guards. It had been easier when he'd been able to deny his guilt. He supposed that Luke and Firmus were to blame for the fact that he couldn't anymore.

He found Luke waiting by his shuttle, a nervous expression on his face. Anakin knew what he was going to say before he announced it, his friends standing by with wide eyes.

“It's safe for me to stay here now, Father. I’m sorry to leave you.” His earnest expression filled Anakin with warmth, and he lifted his arm to rest it gently on Luke’s shoulder.

“You aren't leaving me.” He assured him. “We’ll be together when all of this is over- besides, it's probably best for you to be away when the Emperor arrives on Endor.” Luke nodded, smiling.

“Give Admiral Piett my regards.” He stepped back towards his friends, as Anakin sent him an impression of an eye roll down the bond, keeping his face carefully impartial.

Amusement, Luke sent him, which Anakin mirrored. He held the feeling close as he stepped back into the comforting darkness of the shuttle.

-

The week passed in a flash, and before Anakin knew it he was blinking awake in a cold sweat, eyes burning and throat raw from screaming. His flesh hand shook violently and all he felt was the pain of burning before he was even fully conscious.

“Ani,” that was Padmé’s voice in his head, “You're a good person don't do this!” Harsher, desperate, laced with tears, “I love you.” She was cut off by the sound of gasping and choking and Anakin felt himself gag and shudder. “I love you.” Softer this time, calm, “I love you, it's alright.”

It wasn't. He’d killed her. Or hurt her, at the very least.

“Anakin.” That wasn't her voice any longer. It was a man, whispering softly to him as he shook. He clenched his fist, digging his nails into his palm and taking deep, shaking breaths.

After a minute he was aware of something warm and soft under his cheek, rising and falling. A hand carding through his hair.

“I woke you.” Anakin whispered, “I’m sorry.” He nuzzled into Firmus’s belly, which was just soft enough to be perfect.

“You didn't.” The Admiral said, “I couldn't sleep anyway. You’ve saved me from hours of unimaginable boredom; it's like we were made for each other.” He dropped a hand down to stroke the smooth skin of Anakin’s cheek, who immediately leaned into the touch.

“What time is it?” He asked him, “I often get bad dreams if Sidious is near. The force hates him.” He took another deep breath and wrapped his arms around Firmus.

“Only a few hours past midnight.” Came the response, “He won't be here yet. And even if he is, you don't have to meet with him until almost midday.”

Anakin looked up to meet Firmus’ hazel-brown eyes, illuminated by the faint light of the stars coming through the viewport. He hardly looked real with his face outlined in silver like this.

“You're beautiful.” He informed him hoarsely. Firmus raised an eyebrow,

“You don't have to pretend that, Anakin. I'm nothing compared to you, and probably everyone else you've ever been with.”

Anakin wasn't having any of that. He rolled away, onto his side, and tugged Firmus against his chest so he could hold him properly.

“I cheated.” He said, “You wouldn't have wanted to touch me with a ten foot pole before I was healed; trust me- I looked like meat scraps you’d leave out for a scavenger.” He wished Firmus was tuned enough with the force that he could send him an image to prove his point, but for his partner’s mental health it was probably lucky he couldn't. “And. I have only been with one other person- my wife. And she was an angel, so she doesn't count.”

“Therefore I’m beautiful?” Firmus didn't sound… entirely convinced by Anakin’s logic.

Anakin didn't argue further, only wrapped his arms and legs around his lover and pulled him into a gentle kiss.

“Thanks for waking me up.” He said into his mouth, pausing to suck on his bottom lip until he was satisfied it was swollen and red. Firmus grunted and reached around to hold the back of his head, curling his fingers into his hair. Despite keeping his own short, he seemed to like the fact that Anakin didn't. He’d decided to grow it out some more and see how he liked it.

“I have to go to work in a few hours.” Firmus said, “Try not to bite me where everyone can see?”

“You're mine though.” Anakin told him, giving Firmus a dry look as he was pulled away from his mouth.

“Mmhmm.” The long suffering Admiral replied, staring intently at Anakin with a hooded expression that made him bite his lip to stop himself making a noise.

Some Sith Lord you are, said the part of him that was Vader. “I’m yours.” Firmus said dryly, and before Anakin realised what was going on, his wrists were being held over his head, and he was being kissed deeply, knees pressing into his hips on either side in a way that made him feel wonderfully secure.

“You are.” Anakin agreed, a possessive edge to his tone as he was practically pinned in place, obediently greeting the tongue in his mouth with his own.

It wasn't long before all memories of his nightmare had faded into the distance.

-

He still felt the ghost of Firmus’ hands on him as he knelt on the cold floor of the Death Star’s hangar. The ceiling arched so far above that he couldn't see it in his peripheral vision, and was confronted only with the infinity of space, and a shuttle.

Anakin wore no mask; no armour. Just the dark, twisted version of Jedi robes he’d been able to assemble. Suitable for the traitorous fraud he was. He had never felt so naked.

He barely registered the ramp lowering to hit the hangar floor, the Emperor’s crimson guards standing to attention on either side, paving the way for the Dark Lord to meet his most loyal subject.

All he could register were the footsteps. Relatively light, with the illusion of frailty, swathed in dark fabric that Anakin could only think of as comforting and enveloping. His heart raced like a prey animal caught in a trap. The memories of Firmus’ warmth around him, or his son's kind smile… they could only do so much when faced with this darkness, but it would have to be enough.

That, and his hidden weapon.

“You may rise, my dear boy.” Came the cold voice, a mockery of something fatherly. Anakin had to stifle a cringe, but slowly rose to his feet. He couldn't hide his weakness, but he could weaponise it. He had learned that from Sidious, if nothing else.

“What would you like me to show you, my Master?” Anakin asked, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. He turned to walk beside Sidious, as he often did, hands clasped behind his back. He would suffer the humiliation, for now, of acting like a leashed dog.

“Nothing, my boy. I was hoping to show something to you, actually.”

This wouldn't be good.

“And what would that be, my Master?” He asked, having to carefully control his voice. The vocoder had done well to hide the dryness of his remarks.

“Just walk with me.” Sidious told him. His voice was painfully smooth. Predatory. Still, Anakin did as he asked. The time to strike would come when they were alone; even he couldn't fight off a whole hangar of Stormtroopers. Not without injuring himself, at least.

-

The back entrance to the Imperial outpost was better defended than Luke would've liked. He crouched nearby, hand resting on R2’s dome, binoculars on his eyes. The other rebels were assembled in the ditch behind him- a small party consisting of himself, Han and Chewie, Leia, Rex, and Zevulon Veers. And C3PO, but Luke wasn't really sure whose idea that had been.

Luke ducked back down behind the log, turning to face his friends.

“We’re going to have to create some kind of distraction.” He said, lowering his binoculars as R2 whistled agreement. “Perhaps lure them away on their speederbikes.” He looked to the others for advice.

“What?” Han said, “You think they're gonna fall for a rock thrown in the wrong direction? They were trained by the Empire.” He looked mildly unimpressed for a moment, then had a very obvious moment of revelation. “They were trained by the Empire!” He exclaimed, loud enough that Leia slapped a hand over his mouth. He gave her a smug sideye.

“Of course they’ll fall for it.” Said the resident, far superior to the storm troopers, clone trooper. Luke glanced between them flatly.

“Do you really think that's gonna work?” He asked, skeptical.

“According to my calculations,” began 3PO, unhelpfully, “The odds that the average human falls for such a simple trick are-” there was an echoing metallic clang. Then a curse. Luke glared flatly at the shrugging figure of Han, who was pointedly looking away from the befuddled protocol droid.

“I think it might be the best chance we have, kid.” He said, voice tight with pain as he continued to shake his hand.

“Right.” Luke said. He turned back to look at the troopers. “Well, who wants to try it? I can't say I trust Han’s chances if I’m honest.”

“You sound like your father.” Rex noted quietly, seemingly just to make everyone uncomfortable. Luke was intrigued, but he’d have to interrogate the clone later. They had a job to do.

“I’ll do it, if you want.” It was Zev who had spoken. He looked nervous, but resolved. Luke shrugged,

“Sure, that works. Scream if you need hel-”

“HEY! STOP HIM!!”

Luke flinched so violently that he almost fell off his perch, head snapping around as he tried to see who had spotted him. The others looked similarly alarmed, yet after a moment it was obvious that they weren't being arrested or shot at.

With great caution, Luke turned back to peer over the log he was hiding behind. R2 cooed in warning, but Luke ignored him for now. The troopers were pointing at something away from them, at their speeder bikes, from the look of things.

There was a revving sound, and more shouts. The troopers sprinted away from the door, leaving only two behind. Four of them hopped on bikes to chase after the one that had left.

“Well,” Han said in astonishment, “Looks like we aren't going to need your distraction after all, new kid.” He slightly emphasised the word ‘new’, just to reassure Luke that he was still ‘kid’.

“Did anyone see what that was?” Luke asked, trying to peer through the trees.

“I caught a glimpse.” Leia said incredulously, “It looked a bit like a tiny wookie.” Han raised an eyebrow at her.

“That's interesting.” He noted, as Chewie moaned in protest. Luke couldn't understand him very well, but Han rolled his eyes. “She’s just describing it, Chewie. You don't need to get so insulted.”

As they spoke, the hum of the speeder bikes faded into the distance.

“Luke, do you think you can sneak up on them?” Leia asked him.

“I can try. I’ll have to take out their comlinks before they can send a distress signal.” His hand fell to the lightsaber on his hip, its grip now intimately familiar to him. She nodded,

“Alright, the rest of us can keep watch and warn you if anything goes wrong. Han, Chewie, maybe you two could wait somewhere to shoot down any troopers that return?” Han nodded; he and the wookie quickly vanished into the undergrowth. Zev, Rex and the droids waited nearby as Leia stood and placed a hand on Luke’s shoulder.

“Be careful.” She told him. “I’ll see you later.” He smiled warmly and raised his prosthetic hand to squeeze her arm reassuringly. He had synth skin with better fake nerves than his father did, and he could pick up on the warmth of her flesh.

“Good luck.” He told her. She pulled away and returned his smile.

Without wasting any time, Luke vaulted over the log and dropped behind a fern on the other side, crawling lightly just on the edge of the forest, before the patch the empire had cleared out. He wished his father had been able to place troopers here, too, but he was already doing enough. He didn't have control over such tiny factors.

The troopers on the door were still peering cautiously into the forest after the (sentient, Luke assumed) that had taken the bike. He crept in from the opposite direction, stalking as carefully as he could as he emerged into the open. He tried to calm his force presence, though he knew the troopers weren't sensitive. There was a chance they’d be affected by the stillness and not look his way.

When he reached the outpost, he dropped down behind the wall, out of view of the guards. He should be able to take two of them. They weren't expecting him, and he was better armed than they. He stopped to catch his breath, then, in one smooth movement, attacked.

Luke spun around the corner with a single step, drawing and igniting his lightsaber just in time to slash the comlink on the wrist of one of the troopers, then taking the end off his blaster in the same blow. The other raised his own, and Luke deflected the blast into the wall before kicking him in the stomach to knock him down. The man grunted and started to raise his wrist to his mouth, but Luke stamped on his hand and held his blade close to fry the wiring. He snatched the intact blaster away with the force, and pointed it at the still recovering first trooper, holding his crackling green blade to the throat of the second.

“You will open the door.” He Commanded to the one still standing up.

“I will open the door.” The man repeated, standing up to do so. Luke exhaled with relief and revelled in the quiet. No noise saved for the hum of his sword and the rustling of the leaves.

On second thought, the leaves shouldn't be rustling that much. Luke- still hyperaware of the movements of the troopers- looked up to survey the edge of the trees. He saw flashes of movement, and relaxed when he saw familiar camouflaged uniforms and green hats.

“You were supposed to watch for the others!” He called, relaxing and turning his attention back to the imps.

“Skywalker?” Responded an unfamiliar voice. Luke looked up to see a group of rebels he didn't recognise, save a couple he’d almost certainly seen in the Mess.

“Oh, sorry.” He said, but gestured with his head, “Some help?!”

The leader, a dark skinned human man with elaborate tattoos on his neck, threw him a thumbs up, and the company made their ways over, right as the trooper got the door open and turned back with his hands above his head. He was immediately apprehended by two rebels, who checked him for weapons and held up blasters to his head. Luke let the other one up, for similar treatment. There were no guards immediately on the other side of the door, and the group crept inside, weapons raised.

-

“Everything seems to be on target. As the shields are taken down, we’ll jump: we're only around two minutes away.” Came Mothma’s voice through the comlink. Firmus pressed the record button,

“Excellent. Our fleet is in position ready to cut off anyone travelling between the station and the moon.” He stood on the Executor’s bridge, staring out at the framework of the Death Star. “Have you heard anything from the team on the ground?” Firmus had redistributed troops as much as possible to allow for the rebels to break in, without it being obvious that he’d done so.

“I have.” Mothma responded, “They have successfully infiltrated the base. With luck the shields will be down in half an hour.” He turned to Max, lowering the comlink for a moment. They shared an exasperated look: neither had a way to contact the ground team directly, and going through the Rebel leaders was… time consuming.

Firmus returned to pacing the bridge- earning him a tease from Max about how much like Vader he was becoming. The Death Star was like a terrible cloud on the edge of his vision, and he almost felt sick thinking about its destruction. There were loyal imperials aboard that station, all doing their jobs with no idea what was about to go down.

But at the same time…

He felt worse, thinking about what would happen if the Death Star was operational. Sometimes it was worth the sacrifices.

On schedule, the rebel fleet dropped out of hyperspace. Firmus- for the benefit of any spies- feigned surprise and began to bark orders to deploy the TIES, and turn the star destroyer towards the rebel fighters: there was already a squadron of Y-Wings streaking towards the space station. Were the shields down? He hadn’t heard anything, but it didn't matter. He had a show to put on for the Emperor.

Before long there was a cloud of TIE fighters ‘intercepting’ the rebels. All of the pilots were loyal to himself and Vader and knew not to actually hit them, but they were certainly skilled enough to pretend. (Admittedly, it wasn’t much of a stretch for all the shots to miss the rebels. Firmus wouldn’t be surprised if they accidentally scored a hit). He watched a squadron of TIEs chase the Y-wings closely, weaving between their ranks and isolating a few, but allowing the others to evade them and get away. Firmus was no pilot himself, but he admired the skillful flips and maneuvers on both sides as they engaged in a false dance, drawing ever closer to the Death Star. That was when the X-Wings entered the game. He knew that Luke was on the ground team, but the boy’s talent was no rarity among the rebels. Whoever was commanding them was clearly clever; their formation a good choice had the battle been real. The group split, ‘firing’ on the TIE squadron and forcing them to retreat and allow some of the Y-Wings to escape. They flew as individuals then, unpredictable to the point that four of them managed to escape and rejoin their squadron. The remainders circled back towards the rebel fleet, still pursued by the TIEs.

Firmus’ comm began to buzz, and he dropped his hand to it, aware that it was his official Imperial one and not the personal one he’d given to Mon Mothma.

“This is the SSD Executor.” He said carefully. The admiral of another ISD responded, identifying himself.

“We’re orbiting the Death Star on the other side, but we’ve deployed a squadron of TIEs to come around and provide aid.” The man said. He sounded young, but that didn’t necessarily mean inexperience. He suspected it was the ISD that had been carrying the Empire, the only one outside of his own fleet that was here, to his knowledge.

“Appreciated.” Firmus responded, “If you circle around to your left you should be able to cut off the X-Wings; they’ll be trapped between our own squadron and yours.” It was the truth, but it was well known he wasn’t a fool. Misguiding the other TIEs would lead to suspicion, especially with Vader’s current reputation among the Imperials. Since the Emperor’s announcement he hadn’t been considered overly trustworthy. Besides, Firmus had been vague enough that he could allow the rebel pilots plenty of room to escape. The other Imperial acknowledged him and ended the call. Firmus immediately switched back to the rebel comlink.

“Fleet Admiral Piett? This is Admiral Ackbar.” came the answering voice- Mon Cal by the sound of it.

“Thank you Admiral, this is he.” Firmus responded, feeling oddly proud of himself for using the rebel’s title. “A second Star Destroyer has deployed TIEs and they will be shooting on the rebels for real, please inform the pilots?” As he spoke, the new TIEs came into view of the Lady, and Firmus noted something, “They appear to have red paint on their wings, whilst ours do not, Admiral. Tell the pilots so they know who is trying to kill them.” Some caution made its way into his voice.

“Thank you Admiral.” Ackbar responded.

Firmus returned the comm to his side and stood, as Anakin often did, by the viewport to watch the battle. He had to resist the urge to fold his arms across his chest. The rebels evaded the new TIEs successfully, dipping to avoid them as they fell into formation with the squadron from the Lady. He could only hope that the shields would soon go down.

-

Anakin stood beside his master, watching the battle with his arms folded across his chest. The X and Y-Wings skillfully avoided the TIEs, nothing hitting them critically but also keeping them away from the Death Star. It was an impressive display, and he sent a silent thanks to Firmus in the back of his mind, hidden from Sidious.

“We appear to be holding them off well.” He noted calmly, “My admiral is doing a good job.” He didn’t take his eyes off the fighters. The Executor herself was out of his line of sight, but he could see the rebel command ships clearly from where he stood.

“Indeed.” Sidious agreed, and Anakin could’ve sworn he heard some dryness in that tone, though he refused to worry. “Everything is proceeding, unfortunately, as anticipated…” He trailed off lightly, and though he didn’t look at Anakin, there were greasy tendrils probing his mind in the force. He’d had to envelop himself in the dark side to fool his master, and he knew his eyes burned gold, but deep down… there were things beyond his plans that he couldn’t let Sidious see.

“Unfortunately, master?” Anakin said with a frown, the word catching in his mind. “This is an opportunity for us to crush the rebellion once and for all.” He looked down at the Emperor now, though he couldn’t see his face beneath the hood. Anakin had been wearing one too before he’d been asked- to his immense discomfort- to remove it. “I suppose it would be preferable to wait to show them the might of the Death Star.” He admitted, feeling his master’s satisfaction in the force at his response. “Poetic, that they’d be destroyed by the very thing they thought they had defeated.” Vader had no care for poetry, but he knew Sidious appreciated it. The Emperor liked it when his favourite toy pandered to his interests. The cloak of the dark side became a little more solid, a little more real, around his mind.

“Yes…” Sidious drawled, “Preferable… you are observant, my son.” The satisfaction in his voice made Anakin wary. It was hard not to display physically the tension he felt in his mind.

The two of them returned to watching the battle in deathly silence, Sidious pawing at the shields in Anakin’s mind, testing their strength. Anakin was too powerful for him to break them down, but the brush felt like a threat… a warning.

Anakin’s comlink began to vibrate, so suddenly that he almost jumped.

“What?” He said shakily, not bothering to check who it was.

“Milord, the Death Star’s shield generator on Endor has been compromised.” Came a familiar voice, laced with false panic. A great calming weight seemed to descend on Anakin’s chest as he recognised Firmus’ tone. Good. This was all part of the plan.

“The rebels, Admiral?” He asked, conscious of Sidious next to him. Even from here he felt Firmus’ realisation in the force.

“Ah, yes, Milord, we believe so.” The man said.

“I see. Send some of the 501st down to deal with them, however many you think necessary.” He instructed. There were no traitors to him in Vader’s Fist.

“As you wish, Milord.” Firmus said. Anakin heard him shouting orders over his shoulder, and felt an uninvited pang of affection. The Emperor, to his relief, didn’t sense it.

“Thank you Admiral.” I love you. He tried to make it obvious enough in his tone without the Emperor realising. Firmus seemed to linger on the other end for a moment before hanging up, and again, Anakin was alone. He wouldn’t see the Admiral again until this was over, assuming he came out victorious.

“You seem awfully unconcerned, my friend.” Sidious told him, and Anakin drew in a breath.

“I have the best men.” He said simply. “They know the price of failure.” The fighters continued to weave around each other, several Y-Wings breaking away for the now undefended Death Star. Anakin let himself wince as he saw what he hoped was an enemy TIE explode.

“And yet there have been no rebel casualties.” Sidious said, a dangerous smoothness to his tone that set off alarm bells in Anakin’s head. “Clearly some people do not know the price of failure, don’t you think?” The Emperor turned to face him, and Anakin saw that his gnarled, wrinkled face was twisted into a snarl. He let the dark side rage around him in challenge, and cursed the fact that his master could see even the tiniest of expressions on his face. He knows. He knows, somehow. I wasn’t careful enough.

“You can trust that I will… discipline them.” He said, mulling over each word. He knows. 

“Ah.” Sidious replied, adopting a twisted caricature of his usual fatherly tone as he smiled at Anakin with rotting yellow teeth. “There is no need for that, my friend. I will punish them myself.”

Silence, for a beat. Just enough to make Anakin hesitate, reconsider, stumble.

The distinctive beep of a button on a comlink.

A bright beam of green light, blinding them both momentarily, but Anakin still felt the lives ripped away into the force, before his vision cleared and he saw the explosion. The rebel mothership was gone, a second command ship already steering away.

The Death Star was operational. And Anakin was a fool.

-

Leia and the others had rejoined them just in time to cover their retreat, firing on the officers and Stormtroopers that tried to cut them off. Luke deflected blaster bolts back at the Imps best he could, his saber flashing back and forth in the enclosed space. The others had made it to the door, and as soon as he was able Luke turned and sprinted back out into the woods. There was a battle raging around them, the little bear things they’d seen earlier fighting the Imperials with a ferocity Luke could admire. He spotted Rex firing at some troopers, the rebels he’d encountered earlier with him. Thankfully, the fight was drawing to a close. It looked like a third group of rebels had, with the help of the natives, arrived to cover their operation. The Imperials were unprepared, and the battle was over quickly.

When their position was secure, he was approached by Leia, who knelt beside him with a large stick in hand.

“What? It was helpful getting through the forest with.” She told him when she noticed him staring at it. “The Ewoks gave it to me.” Smiling, she nodded towards one of the native bear things.

“Huh.” Luke said, unable to contain a teasing smile. “Well it's nice to know you can still make friends in my absence.” She elbowed him, which he deserved, and they both laughed softly.

Laughter which was cut off by a cry of alarm and the sound of blasterfire.

Luke jumped to his feet, drawing his lightsaber and glancing around for signs of threat. He spotted Rex on the edge of the clearing, holding a blaster to a stormtrooper's head. The trooper raised his hands quickly, taking half a step back. Luke came closer to try to hear the conversation, but by the time he got there it was over. Rex had cautiously lowered his blaster.

“They’re… Vader’s Fist, the 501st.” He told Luke, some strange emotion in his accented voice. “Your father sent them to help.”

There was only a small group, Luke noticed, peering past the two of them into the trees. And all of them had their hands held up in surrender.

Luke, obviously, was used to their presence. But it was odd to see the two groups intermingle. It wasn't the same as a staged space battle. Here everyone was face to face, using their voices and hands to talk, rather than vague formations and commands. Despite everyone appearing cautious, the stormtroopers entered the clearing and joined the rebels in building fortifications.

“They’re going to openly fight the Empire?” Leia asked him. Luke frowned,

“I don't know, maybe. They could take their helmets off, I suppose.”

“Wise.” Leia said flatly, her amusement flaring in the force. Luke met it with his own, and she seemed to notice, for they started laughing again.

What stopped them this time was a flash, then a clear beam of green light in the sky above. Luke returned his hand to his ‘saber instinctively, and narrowed his eyes against the glare.

“What was that?” Someone asked, voice laced with alarm. Luke watched in horror as something clearly exploded in the sky. They were too far away to see what.

“The rebellion doesn't have a weapon like that!” Someone else exclaimed, right as a third added,

“It looks like a ship exploded…” the rebels were again on edge, and many stepped away from the stormtroopers, who appeared equally confused.

“I had no knowledge of this.” The lead one said to Rex, who looked torn. Luke had never seen such pain in his eyes before, and a strong feeling of dread settled over him.

“Command? This is Leia Organa. What is going on?” He heard his friend speaking behind him, and turned to step up to her.

“Leia.” Came the disturbed voice of Mon Mothma through the comm. “One of our command ships was destroyed.”

Even the sounds of the forest seemed to fall silent around them. Several more rebels had approached, and everyone seemed to be holding their breath.

“By the Death Star.” Mon continued. “It is operational.” Luke had never heard the woman sound quite so unnerved, and that was all he could think before the words sank in.

“So Vader betrayed us?” Someone said;

Luke felt his breath hitch. It couldn't be true, his father would never have done for him what he had… just to trap the rebels. There would've been a much easier way. He wasn't a liar, Luke knew.

“No.” He murmured. “He would never have.”

“Well the plans didn't show us this, traitor.” Someone snarled. It was the man with the tattooed neck. Luke stumbled back, eyes darting around nervously as the rebels turned to look at him. Leia stared at him, pained. He felt her trust in him in the force, which grounded him slightly.

“I didn't know.” He said quietly, “And I’m sure my father didn't, either.” He raised his chin to meet the eyes of the man who he’d risked his life defending only minutes ago. “I blew up the first Death Star, why would I betray you?” That was clearly the wrong choice of words, because someone snapped,

“That makes you the perfect spy! Thinking we’d never question your loyalty?”

Luke stepped back again, further from the  approaching rebels. He didn't touch his lightsaber, he couldn't afford to appear threatening even for the purposes of self defence.

The stormtroopers, too, had started to gather around behind him, also being eyed suspiciously by the rebels. They, and the alliance, had no qualms about resting their hands on their blasters.

There were a few moments when nobody drew or fired.

There is no emotion, there is peace.

The old Jedi mantra echoed unwarranted in Luke’s mind.

He met the eyes of the rebel with the tattooed neck, who had first spoken against him, hoping to find some indecision. There was none.

He turned to Leia and Han, who both looked on with naked horror, powerless to save him.

A blaster shot echoed in the clearing.

Luke whirled around to see a stormtrooper collapse to his knees, a rebel standing with her blaster waving around wildly.

He felt sick, for the brief moment before he stopped himself feeling anything at all.

The clearing erupted into chaos, the 501st firing at the alliance with abandon, and the rebels gleefully firing back. Luke- in the chaos- escaped into the ranks of stormtroopers, praying none of them would confuse him for their enemy. He’d been forced onto the empire’s side now.

He felt the blaster bolts on him in the force, and managed to evade any that came his way, though as far as he could tell only a few rebels were chasing him. His escape was not especially dignified: he spent a lot of time trying to avoid roots and tackling the uneven ground as well as the lasers shooting at his head. At one point he was forced to drop to one knee and ignite his lightsaber, deflecting a couple of bolts into the ground and away from his body, and his friends. He ran clumsily through the forest, but his force enhanced movements were still nimbler than the unassisted ones of his pursuers. When he was far enough from the clearing, it was easier to dodge the blasterfire, and he could stretch out with the force to look for a means of escape. There was nothing in his immediate vicinity but… there. Half a mile away, two speederbikes abandoned in the ewok chase were resting by a log. His path was quite clear as far as he could tell.

Luke changed direction, further enveloping himself in the force as he bounded through the trees, vaulting confidently over logs now and ducking under branches he didn't even see. The woods weren't as thick as they had been though, and the rebels weren't as far behind as he’d like. They refused to give up the pursuit.

When he found the bikes, it took him too long to get it started. The better looking one was spluttering quite a bit. The two had clearly been in a minor collision.

By the time he managed to get it going, he was already having to duck to avoid bolts.

Luke rested his feet in the stirrups and leaned forward, forced to steer back the way he’d come to avoid the foliage in the area. The rebels fired, hitting his bike enough to slow it down. Luke cursed under his breath as the engine coughed. It kept going, for now, but it didn't help that he was unable to fire back. He didn't want to hurt his friends, and he could understand why he looked guilty. He couldn't help but wonder what had actually happened. He was certain that his father hadn't known, which meant the Emperor must’ve fired the death star himself. Either way… Anakin’s constant insistence that the Death Star wasn't operational would not help his situation. Or Luke’s.

Another engine spluttered to life behind him. Luke cursed again in a rather un Jedi-like fashion, kicking his speeder like it was an eopie as though that'd make it go faster. He weaved through the trees at a painful pace (at least he didn't have to worry about crashing) and clutched his lightsaber in hand in case he needed to jump off and start deflecting. The other speeder came at him with a gentle purr, and Luke cursed himself for picking the one he had. This one may have looked less damaged, but that could be deceiving. He changed gear and the bike lurched forwards unhealthily, rounding an outcropping of rocks and shooting off into the forest. The other one was gaining on him, but at least he would soon be far enough away that he would have only one rebel to deal with-

His speeder died, slowing down and drifting to a halt. He was no longer able to steer it and jumped clear just a moment before it crashed into a tree, rolling onto the ground underneath a log. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he wouldn't be noticed.

He wasn't lucky. Luke had barely caught his breath before the other speeder slowed to a halt right above him, and the rebel dropped neatly to the ground, gripping his blaster in a stance reminiscent of a stormtrooper’s. Luke rested his thumb over the ignition of his lightsaber, ready to press down at any moment. His breath hitched as the man drew closer, and he braced himself to deflect a bolt-

“Luke! Quick, come with me.” Came an urgent stage whisper from the rebel, who had spotted him.

Luke squinted, attempting to work out who it was, before he realised he ought to reach out in the force.

“Zev?” He knew him only from their co-operation earlier that day, but he’d gotten to know the man’s father fairly well over the last months. If they were anything alike, he would be safe with Zevulon.

Luke rolled out from under the log and picked himself up, glancing around the forest before coming to face Zev.

“I’m lucky you managed to get that speeder first,” he noted, shuddering at the idea of having to fight someone on his own side.

“Yeah. I’m sorry, this was the least I could do.” Came the reply. He had a formality that spoke of his upbringing in the Empire- something Luke himself certainly lacked. “Take my speeder bike- I’ll say I crashed and you got away. There’s an imperial base a few miles out that way-” he pointed. “I was sent here before I even knew the Death Star was being built.” His voice grew quiet with something like embarrassment, and Luke couldn't help but clasp him on the shoulder.

“Zev, I’m Darth Vader’s son. I can't judge you for your imperial connections. All of your help is very much appreciated.” He smiled at the other man, feeling strangely mature. Even with the discipline he’d learned from Jedi training, he still felt young around his friends. Zev returned his smile, and nodded his respect. He knelt in the dust and began to smear foliage and dirt onto his clothes, soon appearing as though he’d fallen from his speeder. Luke hurried over to the second one that he’d abandoned and hopped on. Despite the twisted metal it came to life a lot faster than the one he’d taken earlier.

Before long, he was streaking away through the forest, leaving the battle far behind, his hands shaking almost imperceptibly where they clutched the handles.

-

“You should find this beautiful.” Sidious said darkly, rounding on his former apprentice with another barrage of lightning as Anakin collapsed to his knees, screwing shut his eyes. “But no. You are weak, Skywalker.” Despite his cruel words, he seemed to revel in the pain he was inflicting on the man he’d pretended to care for for twenty five… no, longer… for thirty five years, or more. “You are weak, and you are oh so predictable…” his tone snapped from a snarl to a low warble every few words, leaving Anakin confused through the pain and flashing in his vision.

“You don't… deserve… my loyalty…” Anakin ground out, biting down on his lip as he tried to speak. He barely felt it with the force lightning coursing through his body. He felt helpless again, like he was back in that prison of a suit. Perhaps he'd have to be, after this.

His grip on the force was slack as he wrestled with the pain, and he couldn't even use it to lash out and break anything in his fury.

Anakin didn't give up though, as anyone else would have.

If there was one thing Sidious had prepared him for; taught him, over the years, it was to fight through pain.

So, groaning and shaking, hair plastered to his skin with sweat, Anakin didn't give up trying to reach the force.

-

“Lord Vader, please, come in.” Firmus gasped. “Lord Vader?” His voice had grown steadily hoarser over the minutes he’d been talking into his comm, to no avail.

The death star had fired on the rebels, and now the X and Y-Wings had turned on the TIEs deployed by the Executor. The battle, so carefully controlled, had erupted into chaos, and Firmus’ own troops were at risk.

“Anakin.” He murmured into his comm, desperately. Nobody was near him, and he felt useless. He had a horrible feeling that something was happening, had happened, to his lover.

The Emperor had outplayed them all.

-

Luke was being led to the Emperor in cuffs.

He hadn't been sure whether the Imperials would see him as friend or foe, but these were clearly loyal to the Emperor, and if things were going as he suspected, even loyalty to Vader was likely worth being arrested over.

But he’d risked it, knowing that he’d get where he needed to be either way.

When he reached the entrance to the Emperor’s quarters, he was greeted by the crimson guard themselves, and escorted into the chambers, where Darth Sidious sat on his throne, his apprentice slumped on the floor at his feet.

“Father!” Luke exclaimed, ignoring the guards jabbing him with their staffs. “What have you done to him?” He let darkness creep into his voice as he stalked- accompanied- closer to the Emperor.

“Leave us.” Sidious said flatly, dismissing his attendants. Luke stood up straight as they left, finding- partially to his own surprise- that he wasn't scared. He only felt an overwhelming desire to save his father, and fix the conflict.

“What have you done to him?” Luke repeated, letting a controlled fury lace his words.

“Lord Vader is simply taking a moment to remember where his loyalties lie.” Sidious purred. “He had disappointed me, but surely, his young, disciplined son could never do such a thing.” The old man clasped his hands before him in a careful, tender motion. He was making an offer, Luke realised, as a pair of pale yellow eyes bored into his own from the shadows of the hood.

“I’ll never join you.” He scoffed. “And you cannot turn my father again.” He used the force to drop his cuffs to the ground, and moved a hand to his lightsaber, which had curiously not been taken from him.

“Turn?” Sidious said, sounding genuinely surprised. “Your father still used the dark side, my boy.” He spoke to Luke like he was trying to explain something difficult to a young child.

“I know.” Luke said, frowning. “I meant to your side.” He felt his mouth twist into a sneer. “I’m in no mood for your games.” He drew and ignited his blade, the green casting long shadows in the corners of the room.

“Ah. But you wish to defeat the darkness, do you not?” Came the response, slow and considerate.

“Of which you are the source.” Luke responded, knowing full well where this conversation was going. He stepped forward carefully, his lightsaber humming with the movement.

“You may strike me down, Luke, but the darkness will be ever present as long as your dear father is still alive.” He intoned it as though it was, to him, an unfortunate reality. “You have seen it, I’m sure. He doesn't care about the good of the galaxy, only your safety. Such selfishness is certainly of the dark side. Something that, in sparing him, you share.” Sidious rose from his chair, stepping without a glance over Anakin’s stirring form.

“D… don’t…” Luke heard him try to choke out words, and he felt a pang of horror at the weakness in his father’s voice. He’d assumed he was unconscious, but it seemed he was just too weak to move.

Don’t listen to him… came a frail voice in his head, from his bond with his father. Luke glanced sorrowfully down at him, but…

He had nothing to say to Sidious. Because the Sith Lord was right. His logic was sound, and Luke had no answer for him. Anakin didn’t care about the galaxy. His only interest was in his son, and perhaps in Firmus. Luke had never bothered to confront him about it, but now he realised that it was perhaps his greatest mistake.

And yet.

He would never kill his own father. They would have to deal with this later, even if Sidious had a point.

Luke couldn't afford to listen to his enemy now. He could only lunge forward with his lightsaber, falling into his own echo of the traditional forms, and hope for the best.

-

Leia, Han, Chewie, and the droids swept into the imperial base, searching dead officers for comlinks so she could contact the Executor’s admiral. None seemed to have the appropriate links, and she was getting desperate. The bodies were all those of minor officers and stormtroopers. They were running out of time.

Many of the 501st had retreated, confused, and only firing when fired upon. It made Leia feel for them, that they were only men doing their jobs. Likely for a pittance. They were only a tiny part of the problem, nowhere near as problematic as the higher ups, as Vader’s betrayal showed. Of both the Empire and the Rebellion, though her trust in Luke told her the latter wasn't true. Hence, the comlinks.

“Hey Leia!” Han called to her. His use of her name suggested that he was genuinely panicked. “I think I found something!” She dropped- with some disgust- the wrist of the stormtrooper she’d been inspecting and hurried over to him, peering around him and resting a hand on his shoulder. He held a slightly charred comlink, but the lights were blinking.

“Do you think this man was in charge?” Leia asked, glancing down at the corpse. It was face down and she couldn't see a plaque, but she didn’t fancy moving it herself for something so trivial. Han shrugged and handed her the comm, and she tuned it to what she’d memorised as Admiral Piett’s personal frequency, praying this officer had access.

There was a moment of silence.

Then static, then,

“This is Fleet Admiral Piett of the SSD Executor.” The voice was cautious, and Leia thought he sounded slightly panicked. She let out an audible sigh of relief.

“Admiral, this is Leia Organa, what's going on up there?” He echoed her sigh,

“You’re on the ground team?”

“Yes.”

“Thank the stars.” Any semblance of professionalism left his voice, “The death star fired on the rebel fleet; I didn't know anything about it, but I’ve lost contact with command. What's going on down there?”

“The rebels are firing on the stormtroopers. They chased Luke off but I think he escaped, have you heard from him?”

“No, sorry.” That was alright. Leia assumed he’d gotten to the death star somehow… which would only be a problem if the rebels managed to get past the TIE blockade.

“What do we do?” She asked him, almost forgetting who she was talking to and merely seeking hope.

For a beat, there was silence, and Leia could hear the background noise of the Executor’s bridge.

Then,

“Can you contact Mon Mothma?”

-

Sidious was a better duelist than Luke would've expected. He’d had no idea what to anticipate, and even his cather hadn't seemed to know, but it soon became clear that he wouldn't be able to win in a test of hand to hand combat.

He didn't recognise the form Sidious used, but it was quick and voracious, with Luke reeling to keep up. He couldn't focus on sticking to a form himself, but went on the defensive into something loosely resembling soresu. He could deflect most of the Emperor’s blows, and dodge the rest. For now.

Sidious cackled as he fought, clearly drunk on the power of the darkside, but still focused enough that Luke couldn't take advantage of it. Luke was forced to step back then dart forward, repositioning so he could put himself between the Emperor and his father, who was whimpering in pain and drifting in and out of consciousness.

Sidious adjusted his grip on his lightsaber. It was simpler than the others Luke had seen, a sleek, plain silver with a smooth design, unlike the harsher edges on the other blades Luke had seen. There was no obvious grip. The red blade that extended from it, however, was a sight all too familiar. Sidious darted forward with a hiss of delight, feinting one way before swiping from the other. Luke was prepared, whipping his own emerald blade up to greet it and driving forward as they sizzled together. Sidious may have been strong in the force, and knowledgeable in dueling, but here Luke’s youth and fitness prevailed. His greater weight and raw strength drove the emperor back, and their lightsabers separated. Luke quickly struck down at Sidious’ legs, but had to abort his strike as the red blade came straight for his head. He pivoted to intercept it, batting the saber away at an angle and repositioning to hit the next strike with greater force. From here he could finally go on the offensive, attacking the Emperor with a flurry of forceful blows. The old man cringed back, but recovered far quicker than Luke would’ve liked, snarling as he kicked at him with an unexpectedly heavy boot. Luke tried to avoid it, and barely saw the lightsaber strike coming to his face before it was too late. He leaped back just in time, wincing at the smell of burning hair that clogged his nose. He slid backwards, unfortunately giving Sidious an opening to dive forward and attack him again. Luke held his blade up and met the other with a glancing blow, just enough to redirect it away from him.

That was the second close call. He knew, then, that he couldn't keep this up forever.

-

“Anakin, it's been almost six months, surely you're used to it by now?” The disappointed voice of his master came over his shoulder, and Anakin couldn't help but roll his eyes in irritation. Obi-Wan couldn't possibly know what it was like to adjust to a prosthetic limb. Typical, that he would berate me for this, too. The furious thoughts swirled in Anakin’s mind as he turned to face his master, glancing down at the shattered plate as he did so.

“It wasn't even my hand, master.” He hissed, “I just…” he paused. What had happened? He’d just… come to. And the thankfully empty plate had shattered on the ground. “I don't know.” He murmured to himself. He met Obi-Wan’s eyes, and he couldn't explain it, but the man who had been his master until only weeks ago looked… awfully young. He couldn't be more than thirty five.

“Are you alright, Anakin?” Obi-Wan stepped closer to him, eyeing his hands curiously. Anakin flexed the mechanical one, flickering his fingers in a complex sequence he used to make sure everything was in working order. His master noticed. “When did you figure out how to do that?” He reached out to inspect the metallic digits, but some instinctive part of Anakin flinched back, eyes darting wildly between his hand and Kenobi’s eyes.

“I didn't think you noticed such things.” He observed, stepping cautiously back and feeling the plate crunch beneath his heel. “You never noticed.” He felt his lip curl downwards and shake with emotion. He saw Obi-Wan’s eyes widen.

“Anakin.” His voice cracked halfway through the word. No… it changed, got older, gruffer. Suddenly the man facing him had darker hair laced with silver, and was hunched over, his beard longer and scruffier, though uncared for.

“Anakin is gone.” He was told by his former friend, brother, apprentice, voice warped almost beyond recognition by a lightsaber-damaged vocoder. “I am what remains.” Darth Vader had to hold back a wince as, for the first time in years he felt wind brush his scarred, sensitive skin. “What do you want, Obi-Wan?” The air hurt his throat, damaged by flames so long ago. He was as old as Kenobi had seemed just seconds ago, now.

“Anakin…” Kenobi repeated, like a quiet prayer.

Vader was starting to feel light headed now. He would be alright without his mask working for a time, but it wouldn't be comfortable.

“WHAT?” He snapped, no longer bothering to condemn Kenobi’s use of the name.

“Anakin…”

-

Sidious’s blade sliced through his right hand, fraying the wires and sending an electric shock reminiscent of what his father still felt the effects of down his arm. Luke gasped and shook his stump frantically, diving to catch his falling lightsaber hilt in the other hand. He ignited it just in time to stop a strike to his body, twisting back to readjust. He was right handed, and now his right hand was out of commission.

Sidious let out a low, satisfied laugh as Luke inhaled sharply, his arm overstimulated by the confused electrical currents that he couldn't shut off.

“I can feel your anger.” He drawled, “Your pain in the force, young Skywalker.” He spoke as though he was describing something delicious he’d eaten for dinner. “Embrace it.” The voice deepened, grew richer, “Use it to kill me. Strike me down.” Luke watched with wide, scared eyes.

I could. It would be so easy.

Sidious extinguished his blade and stepped back, arms out.

“You wish to, Luke. Give in. I can sense it.”

Bolts of electricity flickered on the edge of Luke's damaged circuits.

“I shouldn't.” He said.

-

“I remember, Obi-Wan. Please, talk to me.” Anakin felt exhausted, though he'd stood still for the entire sequence, as Kenobi flickered from the young man who had raised Anakin to the hermit he’d slain on the first Death Star.

Now, he seemed ageless, as they stood in the world between worlds.

“Did I die?” Anakin tried again. His own form had been changing, too. He wore the clothes he’d had in the physical world, but his body was still scarred and hairless, his limbs crude mockeries of his original mechanical arm. He could breathe, but it hurt.

“No.” Obi-Wan said, the first straight answer he’d gotten from him. Anakin started, hopeful.

“Then why am I here?” He winced at how the words ground in his throat. “Why am I…?” He trailed off, gesturing to his body.

“You tell me.” Kenobi replied, his voice even and wise. “We manifest here the way we see ourselves. You may have healed physically, but you haven't internalised it.” He brought his hand up, much as he had in the first vision, and touched Anakin’s wrist. This time, he didn't resist, but sighed sadly.

“I am a Sith, Obi-Wan. That is done, and cannot be changed.” He met his old master’s eyes, “I have to save my son.” He pulled his arm away from Kenobi and turned to look out across the shifting nothingness.

“The Emperor is trying to turn him as we speak.” Kenobi said behind him.

Anakin had suspected this. He grimaced, but turned back to Obi-Wan, words grating at his throat.

“As long as he is not trying to kill him, we have time.” His voice, he noticed, was hoarse and irritated. Perhaps he was getting worse. Soon he would need the suit to remain functional, but he wasn't sure if that was true here.

“Ah.” Obi-Wan said, “So you want to save your son. But you are not concerned with saving Luke.”

They both fell silent,

“Just as you felt for Padmé.” He continued.

Anakin snapped around, furious,

“Do not invoke her name.” He reached for his hip, but no lightsaber swung there.

“I’m right, though.” Obi-Wan said, reaching for his own belt, where there was a weapon. Anakin stiffened as he raised the weapon towards him. It was Anakin’s, with the distinctive grip. “If I ignite this, what colour is it going to be?” Obi-Wan watched him curiously, brushing his thumb over the ignition but not turning it on. “You can't use the dark side forever, Anakin. You have to save the ones you love from yourself, more than anything.”

-

“So you’re saying you trust the Emperor more than your own?” Firmus snapped, “My men are dying down there and you refuse to co-operate because we were caught off guard.” He paced the bridge furiously, snapping the occasional command at his inferiors as they desperately tried to move the Lady out of the line of fire. Their shields were being ruthlessly targeted, and soon they would be entirely vulnerable. Firmus had already shot several X-Wings out of the sky in retaliation, but he was reluctant to do more if it could be avoided.

“Half of rebel command is lost, Piett,” Mothma returned, a rare cold fury in her voice, “You tricked us into this, threw us right into the Emperor’s palm to be crushed. I don't see why you're denying it.” Firmus clenched his fist at his side,

“Because I’m telling the truth! I will not have more casualties, on either side, if it is avoidable. You claim to be better than the Empire but still resort to violence at the first opportunity!” He cut himself off, taking a deep breath and turning to watch out of the viewport. He watched a TIE fighter get blown out of the sky on a mission that shouldn't have had any casualties; a U wing turn too slow and skim the side of the Death Star, exploding only seconds later.

Mon sighed.

“Tell the TIEs to retreat, and I’ll tell the ground team to stand down.” She sounded exhausted suddenly, exactly how Firmus felt.

“Fine.” He said, “But I have one more condition.” Right as the words left his mouth, alarms started to blare, and he spun around. “WHAT? WHAT’S HAPPENING??” People rushed around, panicked, and too his horror Firmus felt the ship began to tilt towards the Death Star. They can't have lost power… he hadn't even noticed the shields go down! People scrambled to and fro, Firmus unable to do anything but watch in horror as the Lady was caught in the Station’s gravitational pull. As he struggled to think, there was a voice from his comlink, barely audible over the chaos.

“Of course, what is it?”

-

Anakin, even unconscious as he was, felt Firmus’ panic in the force.

If something happens to him…

Obi-Wan was still regarding him, a gentle sadness in his eyes. Despite his extended hand, Anakin knew that in his old master’s eyes he was beyond saving.

Why?

It was because, up until this moment, Anakin hadn't wanted to be saved. Hadn't seen the value in the person he was. And the people his loved ones were.

In that sense, Obi-Wan was right.

But he was also very very wrong.

“Blue.”

-

Luke pressed forwards with a flurry of blows, ruthlessly striking Sidious repeatedly with his saber, moving faster than anyone should've been able to. The Emperor was unable to keep up with his rage-filled barrage, but he seemed to revel in his own defeat, yellow teeth flashing in a smile. It only enraged Luke further, and he ducked into a roll- breaking the Djem-So like pattern he had fallen into for a more frantic style resembling Ataru. He came up on Sidious’ blind side, and the Sith Lord whipped around to barely catch his blade with his own. Luke didn't miss a beat. He drove forward, using his momentum to aim a heavy downwards strike at Sidious’ head, sliding his blade off his opponent's and springing into a flip that took him over the walkway they were on and onto the railing of a higher section.

He extinguished his blade and glared down at the Emperor. Surely the man knew he was beaten. Surely he'd stand down. It was only a matter of time before Luke… gave in. He was getting tired. He couldn't keep the fight up forever. Though he was technically winning now, Sidious truly had the upper hand.

His newfound strength let him ignore the pain in his mangled right hand, his muscles, his heart.

But it was what Sidious wanted.

As he considered, the Emperor dove not for Luke, but the structure that held up the platform he was standing on. Luke was already plummeting before he realised what was going on, and ignited his sword again, lunging into a renewed attack.

It was over quickly this time. Luke, with a well placed kick, swiped the Emperor’s feet out from under him and struck his hand with the hilt of his lightsaber. Sidious’ own clattered to the floor, blade retreating back into the hilt.

“You are beaten, Sidious.” Luke said, out of breath. “Give in, and you will face justice at the hands of the alliance.” It was a futile hope that the man would agree. Luke still said the words. He could hope, if nothing else.

Then the lightning struck him.

He yelled, doubling over in pain and moving just fast enough to hold his saber up and kick Sidious’ out of reach. Not all of the lightning was absorbed, but it was enough that Luke could just about concentrate. He had to stop this, stop his pain, kill Sidious, triumph over the sith, stop his pain, kill Sidious, stop his pain-

He groaned in agony, knees growing weak as he raised his blade to strike. He felt himself breathing heavily, letting out gasping sobs as he swung-

-Only for his lightsaber to hit another. A clean, blue blade held by a surprisingly steady hand. Luke barely caught his father’s eyes- clear blue but narrowed in pain- before he stumbled back, falling to the floor with the agonising tail end of the lightning. It was ending… because… out of the corner of his eye…

A severed head rolled across the walkway.

Everything went dark.

-

The two sides were at peace, and that would have to do.

Firmus’ life didn't flash before his eyes, nor did he freeze in fear as the Lady tipped downwards towards the Death Star. What had been in front of him was now below him, thanks to her gravity settings. Even as they failed, and Firmus went down, towards the surface of the space station, the drop seemed awfully long.

But the Lady was taking her nose dive. Firmus had stopped the infighting, and that would have to do.

He closed his eyes.

The Lady froze in her plummet. Firmus had fallen to one knee, he and the others on the bridge huddled at their malfunctioning stations, all terrified. Firmus would’ve preferred to stand at the front of the bridge, but for all his desired dignity, splatting on the viewport hadn't seemed worth it.

He saw Max among the officers gathered, and the old woman who had insulted Anakin when he’d first shown his face in the meeting with the Emperor. Firmus didn't even know her name.

All three, and (most of) the Ensigns present had accepted their fates with a quiet resignation. But now they seemed to come to life, some peering curiously out from behind the desks. Nothing had visibly changed, as far as Firmus could tell, but the Death Star’s surface was no closer. In fact, the Executor seemed to almost be vibrating, like an over exerted muscle trying desperately to remain in place. Or like they were in a tractor beam- but that was impossible. There were none big enough (save for on the Death Star) to affect the Lady. She was bigger than any other star ship in the galaxy.

Firmus Piett couldn't quite put his finger on it, at the time, but deep down, there was a part of him that knew exactly what had happened.

The Lady began to move, without any power and barely functioning, away from the Death Star. As though it had been shoved just hard enough to drift away from the gravitational pull, safely back into open space.

-

Leia and the others stood huddled in the clearing. After receiving orders to stand down, the others had reluctantly stepped back. The 501st had retreated some way into the forest to lick their wounds, suspicious and angry but with only a few losses and injuries.

Had Leia not acted sooner, it could've been catastrophic.

She’d heard from Mon and the rest of command that negotiations with Admiral Piett had been successful, and that in space, too, the conflict between the Alliance and Vader’s forces had ended. Which had left a clear path for what they were all watching now.

As the Death Star exploded in the sky, Leia felt her chest tighten in fear.

Despite all she’d done for the Alliance, she knew she’d never forgive herself if Luke hadn't made it out.

Chapter Text

Leia looked up as the visitor entered her office, and spun gently on her chair to face them.

The stranger wore a black robe with a large hood that didn't quite conceal the distinctively non-human shape of their head, and the elegant and fitted clothes they wore beneath.

They faced each other for a moment, almost sizing each other up, though not in a hostile manner. Leia straightened where she sat as she was addressed.

“Chancellor Leia Organa.” Definitely female, the voice was bright and clear, though not overly formal. “I’m pleased to finally meet you.” The head dipped in respect before the woman straightened and clasped her hands behind her back.

“And I you,” Leia responded. She liked how her title sounded. Chancellor. She’d chosen to keep her last name despite marrying Han a year ago… and other revelations, in honour of her father Bail. “I’ve heard much about you, Fulcrum. Please, sit.”

Fulcrum did so, gracefully dropping into the chair in a movement that reminded Leia of Luke.

“You don't have to call me that.” Fulcrum said, “Our struggle against the Empire is thankfully over. It's Ahsoka Tano.” As she spoke, she reached up and pulled her hood away from her face, revealing coppery skin with striking white markings, her lek- intricately striped- resting over her shoulders. She was smiling cautiously.

“Ahsoka Tano.” Leia repeated, returning the smile. “Speaking of the Empire’s collapse, the person you wanted to speak to should be along in a moment, but as usual he has failed to be on time. He is enthusiastic to talk to you, trust me.” Ahsoka chuckled, and as if on cue there were footsteps in the hallway, slightly too heavy to be someone walking. Leia, feeling comfortable, allowed her polite politician’s mask to drop as she glared flatly at her brother.

“I’m sorry!” Luke protested as he ran into the room, “In my defence I was practicing some very important katas.” Her brother. She remembered when he had told her, having been visited by the force ghost of Obi-Wan Kenobi, seeming very much awkward. Yes, she remembered with disgust when she had considered him an… alternative to Han. Thankfully, she had chosen the correct option, but it would've been nice of Kenobi to tell them earlier. She had known him since she was ten, yet he’d never thought to bring it up. She noted with some discomfort that blaming one's mistakes on Obi-Wan seemed to run in the family.

Luke nodded to Ahsoka, stiffening as though he’d just noticed her, and sat down in the third available chair, quickly replacing his solemn Jedi expression.

Ahsoka seemed to find this amusing, as she regarded him closely.

“Am I allowed to tell you you remind me of your father?” She asked carefully. It was public knowledge that Leia was of the same lineage, but it seemed Ahsoka was aware of her refusal to accept it publicly. Luke, however, brightened at the comparison.

“Did you know him well?” He asked, tipping his head slightly.

“I ought to have introduced myself first.” She replied, “I’m Ahsoka Tano; Anakin was my master and one of my closest friends.” Her voice grew soft as she reflected, “Did he never tell you about me?” Some of the playfulness returned.

“Oh!” Luke said, “He did, yes. He used to roll his eyes and compare me to you when I got my stance wrong.” They both burst into laughter, and Leia considered reprimanding Luke for his words before she joined them.

“Anyway,” Ahsoka eventually said, “I’m glad you managed to reach me, I would be happy to help you in your proposal.” She clasped her hands together, drumming her fingers against the desk. “As one of the last surviving members of the Order I would be happy to give advice.”

“Thankyou,” Luke said, “I had heard that there were issues with the old ways, but without any first hand experience I couldn't know how to avoid repeating the same mistakes. I know that blindly following the code can't be the answer.” He pursued his lips, looking down at his gloved right hand.

“No.” Ahsoka agreed, “The fact that you take these things into consideration gives me hope though. I have a gift for you.”

A gift? Leia wondered what that could possibly mean. Ahsoka appeared pleased by Luke’s intentions to re-establish the Jedi Order, and with luck she would join it herself.

Ahsoka reached into a pocket and pulled out a holodisk, placing it on the table. Luke and Leia leaned in, curious. The togruta activated it, and a list of names and co-ordinates appeared. From all over the galaxy, by the looks of it.

“Force sensitives I’ve managed to track down over the last few years.” Ahsoka explained. “There are only a few that escaped the Emperor, but they range in age from three to twenty nine. Not all of them would be suitable, or even want to be Jedi, but… it's a start to rebuilding the order. If you wanted to investigate.” She smiled, slightly sadly, as she shut off the holodisk and slid it over to Luke. “Destroy that, when you're finished with it. The last thing I’d want would be to put people at risk.” He nodded eagerly, pocketing the disk.

“I have something for you, too.” He said. “I thought you might want to investigate for yourself when we're done here.” He pulled out a small strip of parchment, very old fashioned. Ahsoka took it and frowned. Leia couldn't see the contents from where she sat, but she would’ve bet her life that it was a very specific set of co-ordinates.

“Is it dangerous?” She asked slowly, meeting Luke’s eyes.

“No,” he replied, smiling warmly, “Not anymore.”

-

Despite what Luke had told her, Ahsoka was still… apprehensive as she landed her freighter outside the settlement. It seemed innocent enough, a not quite sprawling city on one of several inhabited moons in the area. This was the largest, and she’d been told that this was the capital of the civilisation.

The catch was that it was populated almost entirely by ex-imperials who hadn't wanted to join the New Republic. A type that Ahsoka still had to be especially wary of in her travels in recent years. Many disliked non-humans, not to mention Jedi, and seeing the stormtroopers approaching her ship almost made her reconsider.

But this group was the true heart of the Empire, all that remained, and all that the Republic allowed. It was so small that Ahsoka hadn't heard of it until Luke had explained. Apparently they spent their time ‘peacekeeping’ in the outer rim, usually organising poorer civilisations and the like. Or ending illegal operations. Ahsoka wasn't entirely convinced that their methods were better than previously, but she tried to be optimistic.

Of course, that didn't mean she was about to leave her lightsabers on the ship.

Ahsoka had landed on a flat looking stretch of grassland outside the city. The grey buildings rose high in the plains, which were edged by dense conifer forests that reminded Ahsoka of her homeworld. It was beautiful, for an imperial settlement.

She managed to get about halfway to the City Gates before she was approached by a squadron of troopers. They had their hands on their blasters, but didn't raise them at her. An improvement on their usual attitude, she supposed, raising her hands in a gesture of surrender. She had her hood up, but it didn't disguise the fact that she wasn't human. They didn't seem surprised or hostile about this, to her relief.

“State your name and business.” The lead trooper said, “And why you don't have a designated hangar bay.”

Should she lie? She wasn't sure, but figured she could handle a few Stormtroopers if it all went to shit. She had her sabers, after all, resting comfortably at her hips.

“Ahsoka Tano,” she said, “I was sent by Luke Skywalker of the New Republic. It's personal business, I’m not expected.” She cautiously lowered her hands when they didn't react. The lead trooper nodded, then gestured towards the gates.

“Come with us.” He said, “We’ll take you to The Lady.”

The Lady? That was a strange name for… anything. She didn't think he was talking about a person, but couldn't be sure.

She followed without complaint, very aware of the troopers gathering around her. She could still fight her way out, but she was instinctively uncomfortable at the situation. It would be fine. With luck, she would be released soon enough.

As they made their way through the town, Ahsoka realised- to her delight- that it wasn't at all what she'd expected. This was obviously the City Centre, where a lot of high ranking officials worked, yet the streets were crawling with people of all ages. She saw several full families making their ways about, and even some nonhumans making their ways between the diners, banks and offices. There were separate groups of twi’leks laughing and making their ways deeper into the city centre. And at the end of the street…

She hadn't spotted it from outside, but past the towering buildings on the perimeter, the city rested in the shadow of the largest star destroyer Ahsoka had ever seen, dwarfing the Venators she had been familiar with in the Clone Wars, and even the Imperial Star Destroyers that had been, and still were, a relatively common sight in the galaxy. She’d heard of the Super Star Destroyer, but she hadn't known what had happened to it, and had never seen it.

Not until now, anyway.

Now she knew what the troopers had meant by ‘The Lady’.

They continued to lead her to the Star Destroyer, growing ever larger until they finally reached a very permanent looking set of stairs that led up to what had once been the main hangar. It appeared that the ship never left the city, but it was clearly well cared for. The hangar turned entrance hall was decorated finely, no longer the plain durasteel that had been common when Palpatine had been in power. There were staff wearing Imperial uniforms hurrying about, and Ahsoka was left among them to wait to be seen. She found herself nervous. No longer worried for her life, but another, more normal kind.

It wasn't long before a young man hurried up to her, wearing what appeared to be a stylised officer’s uniform, his hair poking out awkwardly from under his cap (Ahsoka had always been secretly fascinated by those).

“Hello?” Her voice was curious as he seemed to fumble for words.

“Hi.” He said, “Sorry, I was never very good at this part, my superior is busy so she sent me to greet you. I’m Zevulon Veers, I was told Luke sent you?” He straightened up, putting on a friendly but professional smile.

“Ahsoka Tano.” She greeted, standing up from her couch in the waiting area, “Do you know Luke well?” He clasped her hand warmly, and nodded.

“I worked with him a bit towards the end of the Empire. I didn't know him super well, but we were both rebels.” He released her hand and turned to one of the hall’s many exits. “Follow me, there are important people waiting for you.” He spoke dutifully, but with a slight smile. Ahsoka followed a few feet behind him, and they entered a comfortably lit corridor leading to an elevator shaft.

“What made you rejoin the empire?” She asked as they approached. Zevulon tapped a few buttons then turned back to her with a shrug.

“It's not what it used to be. When I was growing up, I used to think the Empire was more like this, and when I was old enough to know otherwise… It was just too much. And I left.” He grimaced to speak of it, but it was clearly a healed wound. He seemed happy in his new position. In fact, the expression on his face reminded Ahsoka of…

“Something similar happened to me when I was a young teenager.” She said softly. “I left the Jedi order after they blamed me for a crime I didn't commit. It… strained my relationship with a close friend of mine.” Hopefully not forever, if all went well today.

“You were a Jedi? I should've known, you move like Luke does.” He smiled, and they fell into silence for a moment. The elevator stopped, and the doors opened into a corridor that looked like personal quarters. Ahsoka took a deep breath. “You know, my relationship with my father never quite recovered.” Zevulon said softly. “Did it get better with your friend, in the end?” He looked incredibly hopeful. Ahsoka found that she couldn't reply, only turned her head slowly to look at the doors up ahead. The answer to Zevulon’s question was on the other side. He followed her gaze and blinked in understanding, “Oh.” The word was flat, and he fell silent again. Ahsoka met the young man’s eyes and squeezed his shoulder.

“Thankyou for bringing me here.” She said, “And good luck with your father.”

The doors opened, and she left him there.

-

“The mission was largely a success, milord…” The commander rambled on with his report for another five minutes.

Despite Anakin renouncing the ways of the Sith, he had not forgotten how to pull his ‘don’t speak to me directly or I’ll choke you to death’ pose. According to Obi-Wan he’d mastered it as a young child. The advantages were that he could completely ignore whatever was being said and worry about the things his comm was telling him.

Someone by the name of Ahsoka Tano is here to see you, sir-

He was fucked. What was he going to say? He hadn't seen Ahsoka since… he’d rather not think about that right now. Should he leave the meeting and go to her now? Or make her wait? What if she left?

Someone else had started speaking, but Anakin couldn't bring himself to pay attention. He rose from his seat abruptly, not bothering to explain himself as he swept out of the room. They could send him any relevant details later. He didn't answer to anyone anymore.

The trip to his quarters was simultaneously far too short and far too long. It seemed like an age before he was seated at the small table near the viewport- which actually had a view now that they were on a planet. He could see quite far out across the city.

He tried to relax, leaning forward to inspect his mechanical hand. It was fine, obviously, but he could take the outer plating off and flip it over to make it black or gold, or a pattern of the two. He’d had it replaced with a more modern one shortly after Endor, and it was the vainest thing he'd ever done. It had felt almost like cheating, to have something that could feel things so naturally. He’d had to adjust to it in the same way his left had adjusted to being flesh again. He had refused synth skin. He hadn't had a right arm since he was nineteen, and its loss wasn't as devastating as the others had been. He'd hated it at first, but now it seemed important somehow. It was part of him. And he needed to catch blaster bolts somehow- if it had healed he’d probably have lost it again due to carelessness.

Ahsoka entered the room right as he was cursing a plate that didn't seem to fit right. He actually jumped, and watched her silently.

She had aged gracefully, even since he’d last seen her. It wasn't like he'd gotten a good look at her then, anyway. It had been another fifteen years again. And he’d thought she'd died…

She was tall and lean as she had always been, looking predatory as her species traditionally was. Her montrals had grown elegantly, and her face was slightly lined, but not dramatically so. She had a new quiet maturity to her that Anakin himself probably lacked.

“Hello, Snips.” He found himself saying, abandoning the work he was doing on his hand to sit up and gesture her over.

“Anakin.” She said, voice tense but… hopeful, he thought. She was closed off in the force, so he let his own emotions flow freely towards her. It might make her feel more comfortable. “You look… the same.” As he once had, not as he had the last time they'd met, he hoped.

“You look old.” He said softly. Then gave a small smile. The weight of everything that had happened lay between them. But Anakin saw it, and he accepted it. If she couldn't look past it, he wouldn't blame her. Instead, she nervously met his eyes.

“You're going to think I’m crazy for this.” Already, he felt more comfortable with her than he had any right to.

“What?” He asked. Unable to stand it any longer, he reached for the plate and jammed it into his hand, smiling in satisfaction as it finally clicked into place. He flexed his fingers, clenching and unclenching a fist, then turned back to her. He noticed Ahsoka’s gaze lingering on his neck, where his burn scar forked upwards like lightning and vanished beneath his tunic.

“I was talking to Luke.” She said, moving to pull out a chair and sit opposite him. “He reminds me of you, actually.” Her voice grew very small for a moment. “We haven't gotten to any specifics yet, but we had an idea of creating something more… formal… again.” She looked down, her hands tapping rhythms on her knees. “And he suggested you get involved, or have some input, at least.” He wasn't sure whether she sent it willingly or not, but he keenly felt Nervous Hope in the force.

“How so?” Anakin asked, though he had a small suspicion he knew what she was talking about.

“It would be a bit like what you have here, only…”

“Jedi.” He finished for her. She nodded. “I don't know, Ahsoka. If I got involved in the New Republic they'd probably execute me.” He turned to stare out the window.

“Don't say that,” she said, “Leia would never allow it.”

“You forget that it's a democracy.” He said, putting mock-distaste into his voice.

“Anakin.” She said, exasperated.

“Relax, Snips, I don't think it's my place to mind anymore.” He turned back to her and eyed her for a minute, long enough that she looked like she was about to speak again.

“Can I hug you?” He said suddenly.

Ahsoka paused, taken aback, and Anakin wondered if he'd crossed a line. But then she surged across the space between them and pulled him fiercely against her. He stood up, and she buried her face in his shoulder. They hadn't hugged much, even during the war, and Anakin decided there and then that that was one thing that needed to change about the Order.

“I missed you so much.” She mumbled into his clothes. “I thought you were dead.” He could just about rest his chin between her montrals, though she'd gotten nearly tall enough that he couldn't.

“Honestly, I thought I was dead too.” He murmured in response. She held him tighter, like she couldn't believe he was real.

“So, do you think you’ll consider it?” She asked. He frowned,

“I really don't know. Maybe? I like my life here, so it couldn't be all the time.” He thought of everything he'd built; everything he had now. He wouldn't give it up, that he was sure of. “I remember too well what the Order did to you. To us.” He sighed.

“That's why we need to change it.” She said, “You wouldn't have to be there all the time, but think about it, you’d still be the most powerful Jedi Master, possibly ever.”

“Yoda will be turning in his grave.” He thought for a moment, Jedi Master. After all this time. “I’ll think about it. I’ll contact you or Luke when I’ve made my decision.” He broke the embrace, pulling away to gaze warmly at his former padawan. “Thankyou for coming here, you're always welcome for as long as you like.” He was relieved that she didn't hate him, mostly. And incredibly proud of her.

“I’ll see you soon.” She said, smiling. “Oh, and congratulations on being a grandfather. You're officially old.” With that, she left the room, leaving a lingering sense of Peace behind.

-

“Well? Are you going to do it?” Firmus asked, eating another mouthful of stew. It was nice, pleasantly spiced.

Anakin leaned back, the light of the fire making his skin turn a godlike gold. He raised an eyebrow at Firmus,

“You don't seem too torn up about it. Coruscant is like a week away through the hyperlanes.” He broke open a piece of bread and dipped it in Firmus’ stew. The two of them were eating at a campfire in a small patch of woodland near The Lady’s resting place. It was the only natural copse of trees for miles, so they'd decided to leave it in the city centre. It was a simple, cosy activity. One that both of them enjoyed occasionally. And Firmus had just gotten back from a project in the Outer Rim, which was reason enough to celebrate.

“You’d still spend more time here overall.” Firmus said, “And you could line up your trips with mine.” He batted Anakin’s hand away as he tried to reach for the stew again. “Go and eat some bugs or something. You like bugs.”

Anakin considered for a moment.

“That makes sense, yeah.”

“The bugs? Or the timing?”

“The timing. You never want to kiss me after I’ve eaten bugs.” He had a point there.

“I can't imagine why.” Firmus muttered. A moment later, despite futilely reaching for his stew, he was pulled against his partner, his head falling on his shoulder while Anakin’s left arm curled around him. “You’d get to spend more time with your family, too.” He added, “Especially with the baby on the way.” Anakin had been overjoyed when Leia had told him she was pregnant. Mostly because she had trusted him enough to do so. She still refused to acknowledge that Anakin was her father, but had explained that he deserved to hear the news from her.

Now, he rested his head on Firmus’, who somehow knew he was smiling.

“You're right. I suppose… it would be good.”

“And you could quit if it got too much.”

“Yes.”

They sat for a few minutes, just enjoying one another's warmth, before someone entered the clearing awkwardly.

“Oh! Firmus, you're back- I’m so sorry Lord Skywalker.” Zevulon Veers lingered on the treeline, and Firmus leaned away from Anakin to sit up.

“Are you alright, Zev?” He asked,

“I was looking for my father. Do you know where he is?” He kept eyeing Anakin nervously, but the man didn't acknowledge him, taking the opportunity to steal more of Firmus’ meal.

Firmus pursed his lips. Max had been… off… since Endor. Firmus had hoped that his son coming back would've snapped him out of it, but the older Veers had barely spoken to him. Firmus suspected that his worldview had been shaken by the collapse of the Empire. He had begun to blame himself for what had happened between him and Zev, rather than putting it down to teenage rebellion. The fact that Anakin and Luke were so close… didn't help. Firmus had tried to talk to his friend about it, but he was shut off at every opportunity.

“He's supposed to be meeting us here soon, but I don't know if he'll actually come.” He said. “Why don't you sit down and have some bread while we wait?”

Zev didn't seem convinced, but he nodded and sat a safe distance from Anakin- not that such a thing really existed- and reached for a crumbly bun. Anakin, having eaten most of Firmus’ stew, unashamedly draped himself over the other man’s lap, his ever longer hair spilling across the grass as he turned to watch the fire.

“How was your mission?” Zev asked Firmus, sitting cross legged a few feet away.

“It was productive, thank you. Negotiations with the Hutts are going very well, and we’ve managed to free and rehome a few more slaves.” He responded, resting his hand on Anakin’s head affectionately. “It's been slow progress, but I think it's going well now. Bringing peace and order to the galaxy, and all.”

“If they disagree, I will fly to Nal Hutta and destroy them myself.” Anakin added, helpfully. Zev’s wide eyes flickered to him for a moment, then suddenly snapped up to the trees. He froze, so suddenly that Anakin rolled over to peer in the same direction. A small party of officers veered off the path to greet them, carrying food baskets and settling down a short distance away, conversing heartily with each other. And among them…

“Glad you could make it, Max.” Anakin called, and Veers emerged cautiously from the trees, looking down at Firmus with irritation. Which he wasn't really sure what he'd done to deserve. He looked up at his friend and met his eyes, trying to ask are you alright? through his expression, without putting him on the spot.

“Fine, thanks.” Anakin said dryly, though his words were somewhat lost over the friendly chatter behind them. Firmus pinched him on the shoulder for good measure.

Max didn't notice the exchange, simply walked past and sat opposite his son, on the far side of the fire.

There was a moment of silence. Max reached for some bread and stew, while Firmus busied himself with stroking Anakin’s hair, twisting the curls around his fingers and tucking them behind his lover’s ears. The burn scar from the Emperor’s lightning cut through the softer hairs on his neck. At least Anakin was an effective distraction. It was easy to get lost in studying him, even as other people approached, laughing, to gather around the fire. A group of ex-imperials, wearing whatever they liked and laughing with each other, comfortable in their places in the world. Firmus traced the puckered skin of Anakin’s scar. He remembered vividly when the death star had exploded, and he’d fretted for the hours it took for the shuttle to board the Executor, Luke practically carrying his father, who was bleeding and barely able to walk. It had taken weeks for him to recover fully, and Firmus would never forget the first time he’d been able to sleep beside him since the fall of the empire, neither worried about what the next day would bring.

“It wasn't all that dramatic.” Anakin said to him, “You spent most of the night complaining that you’d have to change the sheets because I was getting bacta on them.” They both laughed softly.

“You nearly died.” Firmus argued, “No matter how we acted at the time I think it was fairly dramatic.” He met Anakin’s eyes.

“I’ve had worse.” He said, “I doubt you’d have wanted to touch me at all when my skin was all like this. Just… chalkier.” He reached his flesh hand up to brush the scar. Firmus knew it extended all down his right arm to where it was replaced with metal- the Emperor’s lightning had damaged the prosthetic so much that it had dramatically scarred the skin.

“I would have.” He said softly, “However you look, you're a good person at heart, and if I’d known that I would still care for you as I do.” Anakin grunted,

“You don't have to say that.” Yet the softness of his tone told Firmus that he genuinely appreciated it.

“You know I’m telling the truth.” He told him, “The most important thing to me is that you aren't in pain anymore. Physical or mental.” It wasn't entirely accurate: Anakin still had nightmares, and after living as he had it was impossible to fully recover. Despite that, it was always better to have painful memories than a painful present, Firmus thought. He saw Anakin smile slightly. At his words or his thoughts, he couldn't tell.

“Oh!” He said suddenly, in a loud whisper. He met Firmus’ eyes then glanced over towards the fire. “Look at that.” Firmus followed his gaze, and his face was immediately split by a wide grin. He tried to hide it, with little success.

Zev was sitting next to Max, and they were laughing and sharing food. It looked like Zev was dramatically telling a story, and his father was giggling (something even Firmus had never seen him do) in a way that made it look like his cheeks were hurting.

Don’t stare at them too obviously. Firmus thought at Anakin, as loud as he could. His partner turned back to him, still smiling, and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not force-deaf like you. You don't need to shout. I can tell what you're thinking halfway across the galaxy.”

“Don't call me that. You yourself said I was a little bit force sensitive.” Firmus argued.

“Actually… you're right. Let me try something.” Anakin trying something was never a good thing, but Firmus nodded obligingly.

A moment later… there was a tugging. It was faint enough that he wouldn't have noticed it if he wasn't looking, but some part of his mind he’d never felt before… he got a faint sense that someone was calling his name. That Anakin was calling his name. The presence noticed his attention and flared with Glee, then vanished. Firmus saw Anakin smiling at him.

“It's not uncommon to have a low sensitivity like that. I doubt you could've felt that if anyone less powerful than me had tried. And I was basically screaming. I probably just sent that to every force sensitive in the galaxy.” He rolled over smugly, and Firmus got the sense that it was because he was proud of his own power, rather than Firmus’.

“You were very… bright.” He said. “And cold. I could barely look at you… metaphorically, I mean.”

“So I’ve been told.” Anakin said, “I think it used to annoy the Jedi, especially the more experienced ones. I was always so much more powerful than them, even without training.” He didn't seem to be gloating anymore, just stating a fact. Firmus raised an eyebrow.

“Really? Why?” He’d known Anakin was powerful, but he’d kind of assumed that of all Jedi.

“I’m The Chosen One.” He said. “That's why they let me into the order so late. There was some prophecy about me, that I would bring balance to the force. I didn't really think about it until I was older, and I came across a lot of… stories about me. What I was supposed to be.” His eyes grew distant. “I suppose I have brought balance, in the end. The Sith are gone, and the Jedi are reformed. Or will be, soon.” He looked back at Firmus, and smiled again. “You know, I think that’s why the force healed me. So I could meet you. It was thinking of you that allowed me to renounce the dark side, and act without selfishness.” Firmus had heard that before… but. He’d never thought of it like that. That he could be so important, in the grand scheme of things.

“Why you?” He asked eventually, “Why us?” His head was spinning with all of this information, but it didn't seem particularly out of place to Anakin, as far as he could tell.

“I suppose the force created me for that purpose.” Anakin said, shrugging. Firmus… wasn't convinced by that. He did believe in the force- hell, he’d felt it first hand- but perhaps not to that extent. “Oh,” Anakin said, “Not like that. I was literally created by the force. I didn't have a father.”

“WHAT?” Firmus forgot for a moment that there were other people nearby, and several of them looked over, including Max and Zev. He blushed and waited for them to look away before continuing, “Is that even possible?” He'd noticed that his partner had never mentioned his father before, but he'd assumed he just hadn't been around. It wasn't uncommon, in the outer rim. Anakin just shrugged,

“It's sort of normal for me. Besides, plenty of species don't need males to reproduce.”

“Not humans.” Firmus said, quieter this time. “Are you even human?” He made it clear that he was curious, and a bit surprised, rather than horrified.

“I think so.” Anakin said.

“You think so.” Firmus replied, flatly. “Are you a god or something?” Anakin laughed at that,

“I’m not sure. I did meet some once, though. It… didn't exactly end well.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“For the gods?” Firmus asked.

“For anyone.” Anakin replied dryly. “Though,” he continued, “If I am a god, then force help the galaxy.” He laughed, and when he met Firmus’ eyes again he couldn't help but return the smile.

Firmus found that, as it had been since the empire had fallen, he wasn't scared of what the future would bring.

That may have been an overstatement- he was certainly scared. Anyone who had just found out that their partner of five years was probably a god had to be, of course, but he found that his fear had reduced to a healthy, motivating fear, rather than a blood curdling, inability to sleep kind of fear that it had been before all of this had gone down.

It had been a long enough time that this- being Anakin’s antics- was normal for him now. And it seemed that his subconscious brain had been resigned to that fact.

So, Admiral Firmus Piett of the entire Imperial Fleet- reduced to barely a dozen active Star Destroyers by now- let the fire warm his face, held his lover tight against him, and felt the joy radiating outwards from the gathered people. All of this allowed him to relax- fully, now- before he and Anakin were able to retreat back to their quarters. They would enjoy the night together, and then the rest of their lives.