Chapter Text
Darth Vader paced in a soundproof green room behind the stage of The Maury Wars Show, scowling occasionally at the fake brick facade. He was. Not. Happy. In his memory, the Emperor’s grimy-toothed leer played on repeat.
“You’ve been slipping my old friend,” the Emperor drawled, indolently playing with a wine glass as he slouched on his sinister swivel throne. ‘If you can’t kill some half-trained padawan on Lothal and his would-be apprentice, maybe I should give you a mission you can complete.”
Vader knew he should not talk back, but even after fifteen years of servitude his mouth still got ahead of him sometimes, “The Grand Inquisitor failed. It is not my fault he was weak.”
The Emperor threw his wineglass at Vader’s feet, where it shattered. “And I left you to manage the Grand Inquisitor,” he shouted in a rage, “therefore his death is also your fault. Go on! Say something else witless!”
Vader was silent.
The Emperor calmed down. He floated over a new glass of wine from the waiting hands of a red guardsman. “Starting tomorrow you’re at the disposal of COMPNOR. Yes Vader, you’re going to be doing public relations for the next two weeks. I can feel your anger and I find it delightful. Do whatever they say, and try not to leave too many bodies behind you, hmmmm?”
Vader’s failed attempt at darkside meditation was interrupted as the door suddenly slid open. A quaking production assistant stood at the threshold. The young Zeltron woman cleared her throat. “We’re ready for you, my lord.”
“Finally.” Vader huffed, striding past the underling. “Let us get the circus done with.”
“Wait! My lord!” The PA cried and ran to keep up.
Vader turned a corner and was stopped by a palm to his face at the threshold of the set. A balding Pantoran with a blinking headset and eyes glued to a datapad said, bored, “Mic check?”
“I...one second!” The huffing PA began pawing at Vader’s belt, then patted down his suit until she reached the annoying little microphone they’d attached to his collar plate upon his arrival. “Check!”
The Pantoran looked up. Their eyes caught on Vader’s belt. “Is that a lightsaber? Oh my. We’re going to have to ask you to leave that with us.”
“No.” Vader refused flatly.
The Pantoran tapped their headset, distracted. “I’m afraid it’s standard policy. No weapons on set.”
Vader put a hand on his lightsaber preemptively. “What you are asking for is impossible.”
“Honored guest, it’s not a request. There’s been incidents. Sherri, take the weapon from our guest please. Now. He’s on in five...four...”
“Umm.” The shaking Zeltron PA reached for Vader’s belt. Vader snapped his mental fingers around her throat, but was struck by another sudden flashback of the Emperor’s voice.
‘I don’t care Vader, you will comply with COMPNOR. A Maury Show? What’s that? Just don’t kill anyone on live holofeed. Or backstage. Nothing messy that leaves witnesses.’
“Three...two…” the Pantoran droned.
Vader unclipped his lightsaber and shoved it at the PA. He stormed past the drivelling fools and into the dazzling hot light.
“One, go!” The Pantoran stage manager called belatedly behind him.
Vader’s red optics whirred as they filtered out the excruciating glare and adjusted to the new setting. There were two boys sitting on the stage, one with dark hair and one with pale hair. For some reason, Senator Pooja Nabberie was sitting in the chair closest to Vader, looking aghast with a deer-in-the-headlights expression. Vader glanced up, and saw Padme’s picture on a screen behind a thin bespectacled man suffering the pinched skin of too much cosmetic surgery. Maury.
Vader’s ire rose. He brought his finger up to point with a warning growl. “What is the -”
“Luke Lars, meet your real biological father...the supreme commander of the Empire...Darth Vader!” The man exclaimed dramatically, waving a manila envelope and a piece of flimsi.
Pooja Nabberie shot to her feet as the audience exploded with a roar of surprise.
Darth Vader took a step back. “...What?”
The screen behind Maury changed. Padme’s picture slid over to make room for a split screen with a live closeup of Vader’s reaction.
“Congratulations, Darth Vader.” Maury’s spectacles glinted under the stage lights. “You are the father!”
Vader’s mind went blank. Improbably, the first thought that formed was, ‘which one? There are two of them up there.’
Obviously it was the boy with light hair. Now that the words were said, the Force practically sang the truth back to Vader along with the thunderous audience applause. The boy with light hair had a glow that could not be faked.
“But how…” Vader trailed off. Another Force signature in the room caught his attention.
“We would love to know the same thing!” said Maury, pointing to the empty chair between Pooja and the pale-haired boy. “Please, come take a seat.”
“YOU!” Vader roared and whirled to face the Force signature behind the glaring stage lights instead. “ Kenobi! ”
A man in a brown cloak crouching on a catwalk above the live studio audience stood up. He pulled out his lightsaber and ignited it, blue light revealing wispy white hair and a trim beard under his oversized hood.
“Yes, me !” The man agreed. He leaped and landed on the seat below him as bystanders screamed and dove to the side. “The boy will never be yours, Darth!”
Vader reached for his own lightsaber and cursed when his fingers brushed empty air. He would ensure that that damn PA and her supervisor were dead by the end of the day.
Kenobi charged the stage. Vader levitated the empty chair next to his son and hurled it at Kenobi with the Force. Kenobi sliced it in two, and Vader followed with another chair ripped from behind Pooja Naberrie’s fleeing feet. Kenobi sent it hurling back and it shattered against a holoscreen still tracking Vader in closeup.
“Ah, we will be right back...after a quick break!” Maury shouted into a camera, supported on one shoulder by Luke Lars’ friend as they ran for cover.