Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Done for the Angstober writing challenges. I did not do all the prompts, but enjoy the ones I did do. Obviously, angst ahead.

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2. Again

Darth Vader has ripped himself back in time in an attempt to save Padme's life. 

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3. Rotten Touch

Three years ago the Republic fell and Shmi woke up from her years-long comma with both happening at the hands of her son, Anakin. But now Anakin carries a new name, and Shmi is surrounded by zealous people who follow a new religion. 

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4. False Hope

Luke, a TIE-fighter pilot in the Imperial Navy, has new transfer orders that place him on the SSD Devastator. He can't help but wonder if this is because of his own talent or due to something, or someone, else.

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5. Do Better

Anakin Skywalker, famous general of the Rebellion, goes to visit his twins on Tatooine only to learn they have run away.

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6. Curled Up

During the day, Luke is a slave in a Hutt's palace. During the night, he is hunted by dragon in his dreams.

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7. You Just Don't Get It

Padme has left the world of politics behind to be a stay-at-home mother, but a senator approaches her for help. This only creates tension between Padme and her husband.

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Chapter Text

Burning red light flooded his vision. He winced and tried to close his eyes, but he couldn't keep them close. The light was too bright. It hurt! It ached! And the light grew and completely consumed him. It burned his skin, his mouth, his throat. His every cell and atom.

His lungs burned as they tightened and squeezed all the air out of him. But they wouldn't inflate. He squirmed and thrashed about. He couldn't feel or see his limbs, but he thrashed as his heart frantically pounded in his chest.

Each thump echoed deep and deathened him; it shook his body. Each bone vibrated and muscle tightened in time with the beats. And it was starting to go faster. And faster.

His body buzzed violently as heart rate went up.

All he heard was the pounding. Molten lava was racing through every nerve. All there was was pain. It was an impossible agony to describe. He thought he knew pain. Thought he had felt the worst of it. But that was all but a flicker to the maelstrom that claimed him now. Each neuron screamed and he could no longer sense his body. He couldn't tell one pain from the next. It all blended together. It could have come from his head or his toes. It was all the same. All excruciating.

And his heart kept going faster and faster until it reached its peak.

This was the end. He was already past the event horizon. He would finally die.

And yet, there was nothing. Everything was gone and all that was left was him was nothing more than a ball of consciousness. His physical self was simply gone. Where he should have felt his fingers or cheeks; there was nothing. All he had was himself and his thoughts.

A flicker.

A change.

Red. Wind. Hot. Flesh. Hair. The touch of fabric against his skin. There was a distant rumbling noise.

He became aware of his body and limbs. They were stiff and tight and ached as he stood with his hand outstretched and his fingers curled.

"No!" a voice shouted.

"Let her go, Anakin."

Then there she was.

Padme.

Her face twisted in fear as her hands grabbed her throat. She gasped and gargled as she struggled for breath. She shook her head.

"No," she said breathlessly.

"Let her go," Obi-Wan said. Each word was thick and staccato.

His gloved hand jerked open and she fell to the ground.

"Padme!" he cried.

She laid there in a motionless heap.

"Anakin."

His head snapped away from her, his beloved, to Obi-Wan. The Jedi was tense. His jaw clenched as he glared at his former padawan.

He moved first; his body lurched forward.

Then came the searing anger.

"Obi-Wan!" he screamed.

His lightsaber was lit and he swung. Obi-Wan's hand had already been lingering next to his hilt, and he was able to get his own saber lit and up to block the blow.

He gritted his teeth as he let go of his restraints. The Forced flooded into him cold and searing. It laced through him like blades. To the power he collected, he hung tightly to it and bent it to his will.

His eyes turned yellow as he screamed in rage as he attacked Obi-Wan.

This time– This time he would not lose. He was the master now. He was a dark lord of the Sith. He was–

Flicker

A memory. His skin blackened as the fire danced on his flesh. His prosthetic hand, now nothing more than a metal skeleton, curled into the sandy lava rocks.

Then it was gone. It was there and then gone in a heartbeat. But it was enough.

Black anger exploded through him. He screamed as he launched his next attack. And his next and the next. He blocked and parried and slashed and stabbed and sawed and dismembered as pure molten hate stormed inside of him.

He stood over the corpse fighting to catch his breath. His lightsaber was still ignited, but it pointed at the ground.

He had done it. Obi-Wan was dead.

Obi-Wan was dead.

Obi-Wan . . . was dead.

Dead.

He had not vanished into thin air. He lay in bloody pieces at his feet.

A surge of victorious endorphins rushed through him. He had done it! He had won! He was the better!

It ended abruptly with a sudden sharp gasp. The air caught in his chest as he whirled around.

Padme.

She laid in a lifeless heap.

No!

He ran to her and scooped her into his arms.

She had to live! That was what he came back for!

He ran up the loading ramp of her ship. C-3PO waddled behind him rambling nonstop about his concern for Padme. R2-D2 beeped furiously at him. Hyperspace whirled around them.

"Anakin!" she cried.

She reached up a shaking hand from the birthing table.

"Padme," he said mournfully.

He took her hand in both of his and squeezed it gently.

Then her red face twisted in pain as another contraction hit. She screamed and he felt her pain reverberate in the Force.

The baby cried. It was small, pinky, and wet.

"Luke," Padme said. Her voice was weak and breathless.

He smiled. It was small and only stayed on his face for a moment before it fell.

Of course. She had named him.

Then came the second baby. He just learned there were twins as the droids did their first scans of her.

"Leia," she said. Her voice was weaker than before.

Leia? Like the princess of Alderaan?

The thought was pushed out his mind as he saw her body going weak. His mouth opened into a silent cry.

"Anakin," she said between heavy breaths.

"Padme," he whispered. His eyes burned and his chin wobbled.

"There is still good in you."

And then she died.

Her last words ran over and over in his mind.

There is still good in you. There is still good in you.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered! She was gone! She was dead! He had failed to save her! He had been here this time! He was right next to her! This wasn't how this was supposed to go! He was going to save her!

But she was gone.

She was gone!

No!

No! No! No!

He couldn't do this again. He couldn't keep going. Not without her. There was no point in a second life if she was not there. Not when he had been so close.

He was a fool!

He cursed himself with every word he knew.

He was useless! A useless fool! How had he failed so miserably? What had gone wrong?

Obi-Wan had–

Obi-Wan!

He had been distracted by Obi-Wan! He had been so foolish to be caught up in his thirst for revenge. Obi-Wan was dead, yes, but he started to feel that same hollow feeling he had after the first time he had killed the Jedi. It brought him no satisfaction.

Obi-Wan was dead, but Padme was gone.

And without her nothing else mattered.

He grit his teeth and snarled.

He would not accept this. He could save her! He had the power!

He closed his eyes and reached out into the Force. He stretched and stretched. He strained as he pushed himself on. There was a sharp ache that felt thinner and thinner, but he didn't stop. He kept pushing, because it was there at the very edge of his limit. A limit no one else had been ever reached.

But he hadn't found it yet. It was out there. He just had to give it a bit more. Just a. Bit. More. Fear squeezed his heart. Where was it? It wasn't there. What if he couldn't find it? What would he–

There it was. Right there. Right as he was at the point he would be no more.

Power swirled inside of him. A power like none other. A power over space and time. A power to let him do it

Again.

Chapter Text

Shmi Skywalker sat patiently as the attendants dressed her in an all-white flowing dress. The fabric was smooth and soft, made from the finest silk the galaxy could make. Ivory bangles were slipped onto her wrist. Inlaid in the ivory were curves and swirls of gold and radiant glimmerstone. The stones were naturally luminescent, but only for a short time after breaking open a geode. The stones in her jewelry never faded as they were constantly replaced.

Her hair was braided into several intricate plaits that gathered at the back of her head. The top of her head was kept smooth and flat to allow her outfit's hood to rest easily on her head. Her skin was treated with lotions and oils. The hard calluses on her hands had gone soft and smooth over the months of pampering. Her nails were kept simple but lacquered. Lastly, she slipped her feet into small soft slippers.

"Everything is ready, Holy Mother," a young attendant said with her eyes downcast.

Shmi sighed and nodded. An attendant gently laid the transparent hood on her hair. Shmi slowly stood. The attendants gracefully fell to their knees and bowed their heads. She bit her lip to prevent an exasperated sigh from coming out. She had stopped fighting against such nonsense. Originally she had snapped and yelled at the attendants. She was just a woman, a former slave, she didn't need the bowing and the groveling. But no matter what, she couldn't convince anyone to stop.

She ran her hands down her long skirt and walked forward. The underdress was light and airy, but over that were layers of robes that trailed behind her in a long train. It was too much. Everything was too much. And she was already getting a headache and the singing hadn't started yet.

Though as soon as she left her quarters, the signing did start. She groaned and didn't hide it this time.

"Oh the light does shine from the darkness.

The Mother does bring the light.

Pure and holy, she brings the light."

She tuned it out as she kept walking. Luckily, the signing soon faded as she made her way through the large hallways of the Home of God. Large marble columns rose from porcelain tiled floors with velvet rugs. Tables made from Rylothian cherry wood were adorned with towering fresh bouquets. Tepasi silk draped from the large windows. Suncatchers hung on thin gold chains made from Honsian glass and Lexrul crystals and caught the natural light. They casted glittering refractions across the hall.

It was dazzling.

Shmi once thought she had seen every luxury in a Hutt's palace, but the decadence of this place made a Hutt's palace look destitute. Everything was the best, the finest, the rarest. No detail was too small. The fixtures on the walls and door handles were made from rare metal ores only mined in one sector and could only be welded using one specific technique. Not even the tissue in the refresher was mundane. It was made from the young buds of the cottonelle plant when they were at their softest. But since they were still young, they did not provide much product. Thus many plants had to be harvested to create even a simple roll of tissue.

And it wasn't just the materials of the palace or her clothes. It was also the people. There were thirty-six attendants of the Holy Mother. Thank the stars they did not work all at once as they rotated in shifts. Usually there were around twelve hovering around her or nearby. That didn't account for the hairdresser, the chauffeur, the masseuse, the nail technician, the esthetician, the stylist, the tailor, and the chefs. There were also the servants who silently moved about with bowed heads.

Then there were the guards.

They were everywhere and always watching. There were the stormtroopers,who were made up from men who enlisted into God's army. Who felt the call. Only the worthy and loyal were allowed to serve God directly in his home. They had the menial jobs of standing at attention or doing the patrols.

Above them were the Vod, the holy brothers. Clones. There had been a great war, as Shmi was told, and the clones were manufactured to be soldiers for the Galactic Republic. But when that fell, they chose God. They took to one knee and bowed their heads and swore to him, and God named them his brothers. They were the elite of the holy army.

They also wore plastoid armor. It was a similar make to the stormtroopers, but the Vod often had painted their armor. The color reflected their battalion and the markings were unique to each brother. Stormtroopers were not allowed such expression. Only the Vod were worthy of such.

And exhaustively there were even an even more elite group known as the Seraphim. Their armor was truly all white down to the visors, the under armor, and even the blasters they carried. These were the honored, the truly loyal and faithful. The ones above all others. They guarded God's family.

Two of them walked behind Shmi. Despite the armor, they moved gracefully on either side of her long train. Behind them was a trailing procession of aids and six stormtroopers.

It was too much. It was all too much.

The fancy marble and stupid silks. The silly refresher tissue. And the people. So many people. Too many people. There was no need for all of this. It was too much. Too excessive.

Shmi was not quiet about these thoughts. She had voiced them a lot, frequently, and loudly. There might be some changes here and there though usually they were superficial.

For God was a stubborn man. For that was what he was. A man. Barely man. A boy. Her boy. He was her son.

Anakin Skywalker.

That was what she called him. Anakin. The name she had given him as mothers do. She refused to call him anything else. Not Vader, a name he had chosen from himself, and definitely not God. What utter nonsense that was.

She was on the hunt for him now as she made her way through the palace. He should be somewhere around here if his schedule, the one she was given access to, was to be believed. She had come to a large room where several hallways intersected and branched off. Stormtroopers bowed deeply to her as she passed and droids gave her a wide berth.

And there he was.

God.

Anakin.

He was coming from a different hallway towards her, though he hadn't noticed her yet. He was in a deep conversation with a man that walked by his side and wore the all too familiar gray uniform of a military officer. Shmi clenched her jaw as she mentally prepared herself.

But Anakin's eyes suddenly snapped directly to her. His eyebrows rose in surprise and a small smile formed on his lips. He turned to the military officer and dismissed him. The man gave a deep bow before turning sharply on his heels and walking back the direction he had come. Anakin hadn't spared him a second look as he jogged over with his smile widening.

His clothes were simple and all black. Tabbarbs crossed his chest and were kept with a large belt from which a silver and black lightsaber hilt hung. A long black cape billowed behind him. His long hair fell in waves and curls around his face.

"Mom," he said as he reached her. "What are you doing here?"

Shmi did not look, but she heard the rustle of cloth as her attendants behind her lowered themselves to the ground and placed their foreheads to the ground. The six stormtroopers would only take a knee, while the two Seraphim guards would only bow their heads.

Anakin ignored them all. His full attention was her.

Walking at a brisk pace behind Anakin were two of his personal guards. They were the other half of the Seraphim and wore all black. The Angels of Death. The deathtroopers. They stopped a few paces behind Anakin and bowed their heads towards her.

"I am looking for you," she said.

Anakin's head tilted ever so slightly.

"You could have just sent a comm," he said.

Would you have come? She wanted to ask. Even if he did, it would not be as soon as she wanted. She took a deep breath and sighed as pushed down the words she wanted to say.

She stepped forward, grabbed his arm, and looped it through hers.

"I wanted to take a walk with you," she said.

She had to crane her head to look up at him. How tall he had become. Where was the small boy he had once been?

His warm smile never faded from his face as he was genuinely happy to see her. He always was.

There was a subtle glance over his shoulder, but his gaze sharpened and for a fraction of a moment, his smile fell. That was all that was needed to signal to the procession to stay behind. As they walked away, only the four guards followed several steps behind.

Anakin matched his mother's pace, and they walked slowly and silently through the halls which had become completely empty. The guards were gone from their posts; the droids had disappeared.

She led them through a pair of glass-paned doors that led to a large terrace. The guards took positions by the door and did not follow them out. It was a favorite spot of Shmi's. It was out of the way and it was almost always empty. The tall palace provided cool shade as they walked to the edge where there was a stone railing.

She pulled at her hood and threw it to the ground. She undid the laces and buttons of her outer robes and tossed them to the side until she only wore her undress. She placed both hands on the railing and took a deep breath. She stayed like that for a long moment enjoying the soft sounds of nature. The gentle rustle of leaves in the wind. The distant calls of birds. The chirps of insects.

"It's so full of life here," Shmi said with her eyes still closed.

"Yes," Anakin said. His voice was soft.

"So different from the desert."

Anakin chuckled. "Very different."

"I do miss it though."

"The desert?" he asked.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. He looked at her incredulously with one eyebrow raised.

"Yes," she said. "The desert."

She looked out at massive fields of waving green grass and wildflowers. In the distance hills rolled into small mountains. Naboo was a beautiful planet. She had seen holos of such places, but it had always felt unreal. Such places surely didn't really exist. The galaxy, especially through the point-of-view of a slave, was a dirty place.

She understood why Anakin liked this place and made it his home.

"What do you miss?" Anakin asked. "The sand?"

"Yes."

He scoffed. "You must be joking."

"No." She closed her eyes and imagined it. "I miss the sound as wind swept it across the dunes, and lying on a warm dune in the fading light of the suns. The sand would still hold onto the heat as the air chilled around you."

"And then you would return home and sand was everywhere," he replied dryly. "In your shoes, your clothes, your hair, your crevices." She glared up at him. "Everywhere."

He turned his head away from her and stared out at the fields.

"Is this what you wanted to talk about? How you miss Tatooine?"

There was a bitterness creeping into his voice. His neck was tight and shoulders were up. He did not like thinking of Tatooine. He had few good memories of the planet.

"I said I wanted to walk, not talk."

He looked back at her with a flat stare that said 'really?' She sheepishly grinned up at him. They knew each other too well. It was true. She did want to talk to him, as she usually did when they came out here.

"I wanted to talk about Padme," Shmi said.

His eyes narrowed, and he clenched his jaw. He shifted on his feet until he found a solid stance.

"I think it would be nice if you took her somewhere just the two of you."

Anakin blinked. Then he blinked again.

He had not been expecting this topic.

"What?" he asked.

"When was the last time you two spent time alone? Truly alone?"

His eyes grew distant as he looked into his memories.

"It's been a long time," he said slowly. "A long time."

Shmi nodded. "You don't even have to go off planet. Naboo surely has some nice secret little corners. I'm sure she would like it as long as it was just the two of you."

"Would she?" he asked. His brows furrowed.

The tension between Anakin and his wife Padme was thick and suffocating. She loathed what he had done, what he had become. Their private conversations frequently became arguments. They put on fake smiles and played nice around others, especially around their children.

"Yes," Shmi replied confidently. "She loves you." His worried expression hadn't changed. "She truly does, Ani."

She reached out and placed her hand against his arm.

He looked down. "I know," he said softly. He looked back up. "I love her too. I love her so much."

"Then spend some time with her. Just her. Jobal and I will watch the twins."

He sighed. "I will think on it," he half-grumbled.

"You should try talking to Padme about it," she said, and gave his arm a squeeze and let go. "Now you should come and see the children."

"I'm quite busy, Mom," he said.

"Is that so?" she said. She knew that. She had seen his schedule. And he knew that she knew. "They've been asking about you all morning. You didn't come see them yesterday. They miss you."

He let out a long sigh and said nothing as he looped his arm with hers. She smiled triumphantly as she led them back inside. She may not be able to win any large battles with her son, but she was quite good with the smaller ones.

Anakin had a large heart. The ones he loved, he loved deeply and worried about them constantly. As a young child he had been obsessed with bettering their lives, and especially making things easier for her.

The halls were still eerily empty, though Shmi preferred it like that. As she approached the holy family's quarters there was no blasted singing, which she was very grateful for. There was an invisible threshold the guards stopped at and let them continue on alone.

This wing of the palace was the most secure. Durasteel lined the inside of the walls. Planters and statues housed turrets or ray shields. Blasters could drop from the ceiling. Shmi had once found the blueprints of the palace digging through the internal files on the local holonet.

Soon there was the sound of small bare feet slapping against the floor as two little three-year old children ran towards them at full speed. Anakin stepped away, fell to knee, and opened his arms wide.

"Daddy!" the twins yelled as they jumped the last two feet into their father's arms.

He wrapped his arms around them and hugged them tightly as they peppered his cheek with kisses. He tried his best to return them.

A large smile grew on Shmi's face seeing them together. This was when she saw her Anakin the best. When he still felt the same as the young boy she knew him as. Not the cold arrogant God, but her son who dug through piles of scrap to build her a droid.

"And what have you two been up to?" he asked.

"Playing!" Luke said.

"Playing!" Leia echoed.

"Playing?" Anakin asked. His eyes sparkled.

"Can you play with us?" Leia asked.

"For a little bit," Anakin said as gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. She giggled.

Anakin stood up and the twins bounced around him. They grabbed at his gloved hands and started pulling him towards the large sitting room that served as their play area. Shmi followed from several paces behind.

"There's a nexu, Daddy!" Luke said.

"A nexu! How did you escape?" Anakin asked. His voice was full of exaggerated concern.

"We flew!" Leia said as she jumped up and down.

"You flew? To where?"

"To a ship!"

"A pirate ship!"

"Pirates?" Anakin asked.

Shmi's foot caught on something or she simply misstepped, but she tumbled forward. She flailed as she tried to keep her balance. She stumbled forward into a small table. She grunted as the edge of the table dug deep into her side. The thin tall flower vase toppled over and shattered onto the floor. She took a step back and pressed her hand against her sore side where she had hit the table.

"Grammy! Grammy!" the twins cried.

"I'm ok," she said.

"Mom!" Anakin said as he rushed over to her side. "Are you ok? What happened?"

"I tripped. That's all."

His face was full of concern. She gave him a quick smile before she turned her attention to the children and shooed them away from the broken glass. She had only gone about ten steps before her knees gave way and she fell.

Strong hands caught her.

"Mom!" Anakin yelled, but his voice sounded distant and muffled.

The last thing she was aware of was her son holding her in his arms and pulling her tight to him before the world became black.

She awoke to her room full of late afternoon light and groaned as she recalled what had happened.

"Your grace!" a feminine voice said concerned yet excited. "You're awake."

One of her attendants rushed to her bedside. She was a human woman older than Shmi with pale skin and graying hair.

"My Lord will be very pleased to hear you are awake," she said while furiously typing into her datapad.

She was most likely sending a message to Anakin, or someone in close proximity to him. The message sent, the assistant put the pad aside.

"Are you feeling alright, my lady? Do you need anything?" the woman asked.

"Water," Shmi said as she sat up.

A few more attendants entered the room, and one gave her a glass of water from some mineral spring or from a distant glacier. Not that Shmi cared. Water was water to her. She enjoyed it regardless of the source.

A doctor soon came and lectured her on her health and to take care of herself.

"You're still a bit fragile," the doctor said. They were a genderless humanoid species with blue scaly skin and black inky eyes. "You need to take it easy."

"It's been three years," Shmi said.

"You could be seeing the side effects for the rest of your life," the doctor said.

Six years ago she was living on Tatooine out on the dune sea when her husband's moisture farm was attacked by Tusken raiders. Her memories of the event were hazy. She was kept in their camp for a month. She had no idea how she lasted that long, but somehow she did.

And that is when Anakin found her. Bloody. Bruised. Barely alive.

She fell into a coma for three years. During which the galaxy exploded into a conflict. A massive war took place.

Anakin was the one to end it. He was their savior. He brought peace and security. He revealed the lies of the supreme chancellor, of the senate and the Jedi.

Or so the silly songs and holonet propaganda said.

But there was truth to them. Something had happened to Anakin. Something had changed.

He claimed he simply saw the truth now. The truth of the galaxy and the Force. He could see it. See the truth. See how it all worked. And manipulate it to his will.

He could heal war ravaged lands and make the crops grow. Clear the pollution of crashed warships from the waters. Heal the sick. Bring down battalions of droids single handedly. Rain ruin onto an entire planet. Tweak a start to make it go supernova.

He did not give himself the name God. It was the people who crowned him with such a title. Alas, he took the role easily.

It had been three years since his ascension, as the gospel called it. Three years since he ended the wear. Three years since he woke Shmi from her coma.

The sun was below the horizon, but its light still hung in the sky when Padme brought the twins to her room. They were fresh from the bath with damp hair and had their pajamas on. They dashed across her room and climbed onto her bed.

"Gentle!" Padme called out.

The two attendants quietly bowed and left the moment Padme entered. She was adamantly against any of the religious zealots, as she called them, being around her children. This was one of her many arguments with her husband, and one of the few she had won. Shmi wasn't clear on the exact details, but she knew the winning point was Padme wanted the twins to have a normal childhood. Anakin agreed.

The twins crawled over to Shmi, wrapped their arms around her, and went limp against her side.

"Grammy, you feel better?" Leia asked.

"Yes, I do," Shmi said as she kissed the top of their heads.

"You look good," Padme said as she stood at the side of the bed.

Her hair hung in loose curls and she wore a simple dress with a robe on top.

"So do you," Shmi said as she noted the dark bags that had been under Padme's eyes this morning were gone.

She had been suffering from a bad migraine and had gone to rest in her room. That was what had motivated Shmi to seek out her son. Perhaps some time away from the palace would do Padme some good, and some time together might do them both some good.

"I always feel good after some rest," Padme said. "You should get some more rest too. Luke, Leia. Say goodnight to grammy."

"Night, grammy!"

"Night night, grammy!"

After a few more hugs and kisses, the twins bounded off with their mother and Shmi fell back asleep. She awoke well into the night. A dark silhouette sat in front of the window. His face illuminated in blue light from the datapad he held.

"Ani?" Shmi asked as she sat up. "What are you doing? Are you working?"

His head snapped up and he looked at her for a long moment. He placed the datapad down and walked over to her with silent steps. He was dressed for bed in silk sleep pants and nothing else. He sat on the edge of her bed and took her hand in his flesh one.

"How are you feeling?"

"I am feeling fine," she said. "Truly I am. If it weren't for the doctor's orders, I would be up and about."

"I'm glad you're feeling better." Anakin squeezed her hand. "But Mom, you need to tell me if you're not feeling well."

"I was fine," she said honestly. "I just tripped and then . . . I don't know. Low blood sugar. Anemia. Something came over me."

Even in the dim light, she could see his face creased in heavy concern.

"That's the part I'm worried about," he said in a very soft voice heavy with emotion. It was rare he revealed himself so openly. He liked to keep this part of him tucked away and hide it behind smiles. "What if that had happened and I wasn't there?"

"It will be alright," she said soothingly. She reached out with her free hand and stroked his hair. He leaned in closer.

His golden eyes had a subtle glow to them. She met his gaze and stared into those eyes that were so different from the blue eyes of his youth. Now he had the eyes of a god. It felt like the very suns were behind those eyes.

"I can't lose you again," he said. His voice was tight and strained.

He was always so dramatic and thinking the worst.

"You didn't lose me. I'm right here," she said.

He squeezed her hand again.

"You're here because of my powers," he said. "Because I saved you. I don't know if I can do it a second time."

"God himself doesn't know?" she teased.

He let out a soft groan.

"Anakin, it's ok. You don't have to worry so much. I've had a good life."

He jerked away.

"A good life?" he asked. Annoyance and disgust laced his words. "Mom, you were a slave for most of it!"

"Yes. And the most wonderful thing happened when I was a slave. I had you."

The venom inside of him started to leave. His shoulders lowered as he relaxed.

"And I'm no longer a slave. I get to be here with you and spend time with my lovely grandbabies. It is a good life."

She spread her arms wide and he eagerly accepted the invitation. He leaned over and laced her arms around her as she wrapped her arms around his large back. He buried his head into the crook of her neck.

"I love you," she whispered. "No matter what. I love you. I always will."

"I love you too, Mom," he whispered back.

Shmi sat down at a table on her favorite terrace. Anakin had been away for a few weeks tending to the galaxy, so the attendants were not as fussy with the pomp and circumstance of her leaving the holy family quarters. She wore plain but comfortable clothes made from soft cotton.

The weather was sunny but cool. There had been storms the past few days and it had finally cleared. Padme, her parents, and Shmi had taken the twins outside this morning. The children were thrilled to be outside, and the adults were happy they got to run off their energy. But Shmi had decided to spend some time by herself in the afternoon and had come here to enjoy lunch.

Only one attendant was with her. The rest she had shooed away. The guards had moved out of sight, but no doubt were keeping a close watch. The young woman was a Twi'lek with a beautiful shade of pink skin. She wore the normal light colored neutral clothes that many wore in the palace. She was putting out plates of food and drinks onto the table from a hovercraft a serving droid had brought out.

There were some finger sandwiches, a salad of fresh leaves and vegetables, warm bread with herb butter, sliced fruit on skewers, and a cup of steaming soup.

"What is your name?" Shmi asked.

The attendant jumped.

"Oh! I'm Elsinta, Your Holiness."

"Please, no need for the formalities," Shmi said.

"Oh, I could not be so bold and casual with the Holy Mother."

"Of course you can. Have a seat."

Elsinta glanced at the empty seat across from Shmi.

"I could never dream–"

Shmi waved her hand, cutting Elinsta off.

"Sit down. I could use the company."

Elinsta's cheeks had turned red. Her eyes darted from the seat to Shmi and back to the seat.

"Go ahead," Shmi said, waving at the chair. "Sit down."

Slowly, cautiously, Elinsta sat down.

"Have some food," Shmi said as she picked up one of the sandwiches.

"You honor me too much, Your Grace. I shoudn't– I can't!"

"Why not? There is plenty of food."

"I . . . I mean . . . This . . . "

"Calm down. Breathe. I am just a person. The same as you."

"Oh, by the heavens! You are the Holy Mother! The one who birthed our Lord!"

Shmi fought back a groan. It was so hard to talk to them.

"The Holy Mother commands you to eat," Shmi said playfully.

Elinsta blinked. Then she blinked again. Her eyes grew watery.

"This is . . . such a honor, my lady. Such an honor." Her words wavered with thick emotion.

She picked up a fruit skewer and pulled off a slice of mula fruit. She brought it up to her mouth and took a very small bite.

Shmi sighed.

This wasn't her first attempt at trying to normalize herself with Anakin's followers. And like this time, she had failed. Elinsta was too ingrained into the religion. Any who worked here were considered truly devout.

"Are you comfortable here?" Shmi asked.

"Of course I am, my lady!" Elinsta was very enthusiastic.

"You are paid well? Your lodgings are nice?"

"Oh, very much so, my lady! My Lord Vader is most gracious."

Shmi nodded and pulled the cup of soup closer.

"May I ask, why do you believe in him?"

"Because He saved us." Elinsta's eyes sparkled. She clasped her hands in front of her. "He saved me. My planet had been invaded by the Separatist droids. Our fields had been burned down and salted, our homes flattened. And then he came. My Lord. Surrounded by a golden light. He and his brothers destroyed the droids and brought not just peace but aid as well. We were given shipments of food, materials to rebuild, and followers came to help us. I heard their songs and prayers as they passed out meals or cleaned up debris. I knew their word was true, and I wanted to be like them. So I converted and devoted myself to my Lord. I never imagined my faith would be recognized by the Lord directly and be able to serve him and his most honorable family."

Shmi quietly ate her soup. It was a similar tale she had heard from the other attendants. They all talked about how Anakin had come to their poor planet, some ravaged by war while others by corporate or political greed, and eased their suffering.

"It is an honor to have you serve them," Anakin said from behind them.

Elinsta squeaked, jumped out of her chair, and fell to the ground. Shmi looked over her shoulder to see Anakin walking over. He smiled as he saw Elinsta prostrate before him. A shiver ran down Shmi's spine. Her son enjoyed this.

He took the now empty seat across from Shmi.

"You may stand," he said. His voice was deeper when he talked to his followers. More authoritative.

"I– I– I beg your forgiveness, My Lord! I have forgotten myself! I have been foolish! Please have mercy on me!"

"Have you sinned, my child?" he asked.

"Anakin," Shmi said. She let her disapproval be clearly heard.

"I'm only teasing," he said. "You are forgiven, child. Stand."

Elinsta slowly stood up. She kept her head bowed and eyes downcast. She shivered with nerves.

"Bring me a drink," Anakin said.

Elinsta scurried off; Anakin looked at his mother.

"What?" he asked.

She didn't like the authoritativeness and the dismissiveness. It was too much like a slave master. She had talked to him about this before. It never went well, and she was no in the mood for an argument with him at the moment.

"I didn't know you'd be back today," Shmi said, keeping her tone light.

"I'm not really back. I'll be heading back out tomorrow."

She sighed disappointed though it was to be expected. He did this often. He would go off into the galaxy to help restore it or deal with conflict. But he would always come back even if just for a day to see his family. To make sure everything was ok. He didn't like being away from his family for long periods of time.

"You should be spending time with the twins," Shmi chided.

"They're napping," he said.

Even God knew better than to wake toddlers from their nap early.

Elinsta returned with a tray with a pot of caf, Anakin's preferred drink, and cups. Shmi looked out towards the fields and wiped her nose absentmindedly. It was a lovely day. Once the twins woke up, she would suggest Anakin go out with them. Perhaps they could collect wildflowers and hunt for bugs. Both of which the twins loved to do especially with their father.

Elinsta gasped. Shmi turned expecting to see a cup overflowing with caf or a tipped over plate. Instead, Elinsta was looking right at Shmi. Anakin followed Elinsta's gaze. His eyes widened as he looked at his mother.

"Mom!" he shouted as he jumped up.

Shmi wiped at her nose again and glanced down at her hand. It was smeared with blood. She watched as blood dripped onto the table.

Anakin had made it around the table and grabbed her shoulders.

"I'm fine, Ani," she said. She glanced around for a napkin. "Just a nosebleed."

"Mom," Anakin said. He squeezed her shoulders.

She looked at him. His face had gone white and he looked . . . afraid. She raised her clean hand to give him a gentle pat on his face. There he was worrying too much again. But her hand only made it half way up. Dozens of black dots flickered in vision. Anakin's face blurred in and out of focus. She fell forward, but her son caught her.

Strong arms lowered her to the cool ground. Anakin hovered above her, brushing the hair from her face.

"I'm here," he said. His voice sounded so far away. "I'll save you."

He looked over his shoulders and told Elinsta to come over. She hurried over asking how she could help. What could she do?

Anakin's hand shot out and grabbed her arm. She yelped in pain and tried to pull away, but he held tight. Then she gasped and a shudder ran through her. Her vibrant pink skin started to dull and turn gray. Dark bags formed under her eyes and cheeks became sunken in. Her lips turned dry. Her eyes rolled into her head, Anakin let her arm go, and she collapsed.

He turned his attention fully to Shmi, completely ignoring the fallen woman. He placed his hand, the same one that had just grabbed Elinsta, and placed it flat against her chest. Warm blossomed under his touch. It spread through her body. Her breathing slowed and became even as her body relaxed.

She closed her eyes; she felt good. Comfortable. Her aches and pains were gone. She didn't even know she had them. Her muscles eased.

Voices. There were voices around her.

Anakin. One of them was Anakin.

"I need another sacrifice."

It was his voice. Anakin's. But it sounded so different. So deep and dark.

"Right away, My Lord," a different voice said.

Hands. Arms. She was being held. Lifted. Carried. What was going on?

Shmi awoke in her room. It was well into the afternoon. Hours must have passed.

Two attendants hurried over and fussed over her. She tried to dismiss them. She felt fine; she was just tired. The doctor came and checked on her. Again they gave the same speech that she needed to take care of herself and be careful.

Anakin, Padme, and the twins came next. The grandbabies cuddled up to her and gave her kisses. They sang a song for her while they clapped their hands. They then got distracted by birds in the window and ran over to see them.

Anakin approached. "How are you feeling?" he asked as he placed his flesh hand against her forehead as if checking for a temperature.

"I feel fine," Shmi answered honestly. "What happened?"

"You fainted," Anakin said.

Shmi furrowed her brows. Had she? She brought her hand up to her nose. There had been blood.

"I had a nosebleed," she said.

"Yes, and then you fainted. I'm glad I was there. I caught you."

She looked up at her son.

"What happened to that girl?"

"Girl?"

"The attendant? She was giving you a drink . . . She . . . She fell. Didn't she?"

Anakin tilted his head. "The attendant? Her? Oh yes, she fainted too. She just didn't know what to do seeing the Holy Mother in such a state."

"No," Shmi said. Anakin's eyes narrowed. "That isn't what happened. You called her over and grabbed her."

Anakin leaned over and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I was calming her down," he said. "Before she started to panic. You shouldn't worry about such things. You need to focus on your health." He straightened up. "Luke. Leia," he called. "Come say goodnight to Grammy. She needs her rest."

The twins skipped over, and after another round of kisses and hugs they all left leaving Shmi with her thoughts.

Her memory of what had happened wasn't that clear, but she was sure she remembered it right. Elinsta wasn't panicking or about to panic. Anakin had called her over. He had grabbed her. She fell when he let go. What had happened?

Night fell and Shmi's thoughts still circled around and around when the door slid open with a soft swoosh. Padme came in alone. The two attendants that had been hovering in the back of the room quickly and quietly excused themselves. Padme sat on the edge of the bed.

"You look well," Padme said.

"I feel fine," Shmi said. "I don't know what came over me."

There was always a sadness to Padme, and it was especially prevalent when the twins weren't around. Shmi had never pressed the matter with her believing it was just the state of things that depressed her. Padme had been a politician and was invested in the galaxy's state of affairs. She hated what it had become and the role her husband played in it. She didn't like the changes in Anakin. Shmi had overheard a conversation or two where Padme softly pleaded to Anakin to step away from all of this. They could take the twins and their family live a quiet life all together.

Padme was quiet for a long moment as she stared out the window. The sadness was on full display on her face.

"You saw it, didn't you?" she said. Her voice was soft.

"Saw what?"

Padme looked at Shmi. Her brows were creased and she frowned.

"What Anakin does to keep you alive," she said.

Shmi blinked. She blinked again.

"Wh– what? What are you– What do you mean? Keep me alive? What are you talking about?"

The sadness creased Padme's face even more.

"He never wanted you to know, for you to see it."

"See what? What is going on?" Shmi asked. Her heart rate was rising as her worry grew.

"Shmi. You . . . You didn't fall into a coma six years ago. You died."

"I– what?"

"I was there. I saw Anakin bring back your lifeless body from the Tusken camp. I was there when he buried you in the sand."

"Padme, that's impossible," Shmi said. Her voice was strained as her throat felt tight. "I'm . . . I'm not dead. I'm alive."

"Yes, you are. Anakin brought you back."

"He can't do that. That's . . . that's too much!"

"He can. He did," Padme said. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "He brought you back to life the same way he did it to me."

Shmi's mouth fell open. Words died on her tongue.

"I died, Shmi. I died in childbirth, but Anakin couldn't accept that. So he . . . he changed. Became God." That word was bitter on her tongue. "And he brought back the dead. You and me."

Shmi reached out her hand and Padme took it.

"We're not supposed to be here," Padme said. Her voice cracked with emotion. "We're . . . supposed to be dead. It's unnatural, and the galaxy or the Force or Shiraya herself is trying to fix it. But Anakin won't let us go."

Her eyes were watery and tears threatened to fall.

Padme continued, "You can't heal from nothing. There is a price. Life for life."

"No," Shmi said as realization dawned on her. "No."

Padme glanced down, unable to meet her gaze.

"That's why he plays God. Well, one of the reasons. He needs loyal subjects who are willing to give up their life."

"No," Shmi said again. Her voice had grown hard.

Padme looked back up. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

I need another sacrifice.

That was what Anakin had said. That was what he had called Elinsta. A sacrifice.

"Anakin would not–"

"Yes," Padme interrupted. "He would. He . . . He can't let go."

Shmi shivered as Padme continued to explain. Anakin's frequent trips back home whenever he was away was to perform a healing session for both Padme and Shmi. It had to be done with regularity or they would start to fall ill.

Yes, Shmi could see it now. Every time she had felt bad, Anakin was there, and afterward she felt good. Normal. Even now, after her episode earlier today, she felt fine.

I need another sacrifice.

Bile rose in her throat. She gagged but forced it down.

"Oh stars," she said as she leaned over. "Oh stars. He kills them and . . . and . . . gives their life to us . . . Stars. How many?" Tears ran down her face as she looked up at Padme. "How many has he killed?"

"I don't know," Padme whispered. "He usually does it when we're asleep."

"I . . . I can't do this," Shmi said. "I . . ."

Padme squeezed Shmi's hand and looked down at it.

"You can't dissuade him," she said. "I've tried. Oh moons, I've tried Shmi. So many times. I yelled. I begged. Pleaded. Screamed. Cried. All he would say is that he was sorry. He couldn't let me die. He couldn't live without me. He needed me. The children needed me."

Shmi saw it now. The sadness in Padme. The bitterness. The wedge that was between her and Anakin. This was the root of it.

And she knew what Padme said was true. Anakin was not letting either one of them go. Shmi could try as Padme had. She could talk to her son and try to persuade him to . . . to let her go. To let her die. But he would never accept that.

He had already gone too far. He had become God for this. It wasn't for the sake of the galaxy or his own arrogance. He had done it to save the ones he loved. He encouraged the myth and pageantry around him because he needed a steady supply of sacrifices. And he wasn't too cruel to simply snatch people off the streets. But if they came to him willingly as pilgrims? Ready to serve their God and give their life to a greater cause?

The tears were heavy and her body shook with sobs. Padme wrapped her arms around her and held her.

They both cried. What else could they do? There was no way to persuade Anakin to stop. No way to stop it themselves. All they could do was keep living with Anakin's rotten touch.

Chapter Text

Luke stared at his new transfer orders on his datapad. The rest of his squad chatted excitedly around him as they looked at their own datapads.

"Did you get a promotion, Commander?" someone asked Luke.

"Doesn't look like it," someone else said in a hushed tone.

"Transfer orders," Luke said. His voice was flat.

"Transfer? To where?"

"Is it somewhere bad? Like the Conqueror?"

"Conqueror isn't bad. A mate of mine was stationed there after the academy. Now the Malice is a ship you don't want to be on. It's often stationed around Ylix."

"Where the kriff is that?"

"Exactly."

Someone walked over to Luke and leaned over his shoulder to peer down at the orders.

"Shit! The Devastator!"

Several of the others cursed as they all rushed over. Someone took Luke's datapad to take a look at the orders themselves.

"Is it the black squadron?"

"Doesn't say."

"To be determined."

"That's weird."

"But any squad on the Devastator has to be good!"

"I'm so jealous. I would accept being a janitor on that ship."

"You would suck balls as a janitor, Telev."

The voices faded into white noise as Luke's mind raced. Why the Devastator? A lump had formed in his throat making it hard to swallow. The skin on the back of his neck prickled. He knew who was responsible. He just didn't know why.

A mouse droid led him through the long corridors of the SSD Devastator, head of Death Squadron, home of the 501st, Darth Vader's personal fleet. There was not another fleet in the Imperial navy that matched it. It was known as the best and it recruited the best. It was an honor to serve on any of the ships, but Devastator held the most prestigious spot.

If one wanted action and glory, this was the fleet to serve on. There was that minor chance of death at the hands of the Supreme Commander, but such things were usually reserved for the high-ranking officers. Or so the rumors went.

The droid had led him up into the senior officers quarters. The droid beeped as they came to a large set of double doors. Luke pressed the door panel release button, and the doors slid open with a soft swoosh. The droid chirped then performed a large U-turn. It had completed its job; it was off to the next one.

Luke stepped into the personal office of Darth Vader, who stood next to a large desk with five officers around him. Luke noted the rank badges. One was the fleet admiral, another was a captain, two senior lieutenants, and a commodore. They were talking about reports from the ISB of confirmed Rebel activities and how to move not just this fleet but others as well.

No one had noticed him nor acknowledged, and that was fine. He stood in parade rest with his hands clasped behind his back and stared at the large form of Darth Vader. He was just as the holonet portrayed him. Tall. Dressed in black with shoulder armor. His black mask shined under the sharp lights embedded in the wall. His breathing hissed in and out in a steady rhythm.

The mask snapped up and Luke could feel the eyes behind those dark red lenses focusing on him. The officers turned to notice him. Luke snapped to attention and saluted.

"You have your orders," Vader said in a deep voice.

"Yes, my lord," said the admiral.

The others quickly copied him. They all gave a short bow and walked out. The admiral completely ignored Luke, while the others gave him curious looks. But soon they were gone and the door shut behind them.

"Lieutenant-Commander Naberrie," Vader said.

"Lord Vader," Luke said with a slight bob of his head.

The silence started to stretch, filled only with Vader's mechanical breathing.

"You have done well," Vader finally said.

"Thank you, sir."

"You have been promoted to senior lieutenant and will serve as my aid."

"What? Your aid?"

"Is there something wrong with that?"

"Kriff that. I don't want it."

All sense of military decorum fled out of Luke.

"Is that how you speak to your father?"

"Oh. Is that what we're doing now? Being father and son?"

"I would hope so," Vader said. "Considering your crude language would not be acceptable in front of a senior officer."

"I fucking know that," Luke snapped.

The hairs on the back of Luke's neck stood on end as Vader's gaze intensified. Perhaps he narrowed his eyes, but Luke couldn't tell what was happening behind those lenses.

"Court martial me or ground me," he added. "Pick whatever role you're going for. Father or supreme commander."

"You are testing my patience," Vader grumbled.

"As any child should," Luke added. "But I don't want to be your aid. I refuse."

"It is too late for that, my son. The paperwork has already been completed."

"Then demote me. Transfer me. Whatever." Luke waved a hand in the air.

"Why do you not want this position?"

"Because . . ." Luke glanced out the viewport to the stars beyond. "It's boring."

Vader glanced over his shoulder to follow Luke's gaze.

"You would rather be a fighter pilot?" Vader asked.

"Yes." The answer came quickly and confidently. "I don't want to schedule your appointments and then call admirals to give them some lame excuse why you couldn't bother with their meetings. Or do endless paperwork of all the officers you kill off if they mildly annoy you. Find some bootlicker to do it."

"What do you hope to achieve as a fighter pilot, Luke?" Vader's voice was even and calm. "There is very little upper mobility along that path usually due to the high casualty rates."

Why did he care now? Luke asked himself.

"I have no dreams of grandeur, father," he said out loud. "I don't want to stand on the sidelines from the bridges of star destroyers or play sycophant to the emperor or his cronies. I like being out there." He waved to the viewport, to the stars.

"I understand that call far too well, but it will pass. We are not ones to live in the shadows or amongst the crowd."

"And being your aid will allow me to step into the spotlight?"

Luke folded his arms across his chest.

"It will only be for a short time."

"And then what? I get promoted to captain? I get to command my own ship? Until I eventually move to admiral?"

"Then you will defect."

Luke's arms fell to his side. His jaw went slack as he just blinked at his father.

"W–what?" he asked.

"You are to use your position as a senior lieutenant and my aid to gather information. Once you have a decent amount of data, you are to buy your way into the Rebellion."

"Why? Why would you want that? Do you mean for me to be a spy?"

"You will be far too obvious for that. The Rebellion will be too suspicious of you for you to gain any useful knowledge that I don't get from the other spies."

"Then what is the purpose? Is there something you want me to leak to them? Or . . . or . . . are you trying to piss someone off like Tarkin or Krennic? Or perhaps you're making a play for the–"

"Your mother."

The galaxy stopped spinning. The air squeezed out of Luke's lungs.

"My mother?" Luke whispered. The words were foreign to him. The topic of his mother was a taboo subject with his father. "My mother?" he said again, louder and clearer. "My mother?" This time his words were laced with anger. "What does she have to do with the Rebellion? She's dead!"

"She is not," Vader said. There was an oddness to his voice. A stillness.

"What?"

"It was all faked. Her death. Her funeral. Her tomb is empty. I have checked it myself."

Luke didn't even know his mother had a tomb.

Vader continued, "She is alive and part of the Rebellion. And yes, I know it is her. Spies have been able to collect DNA samples. It has been confirmed."

Luke had no words. His mother was some vague concept to him. Now she was real. Alive. He could feel the definitiveness in his father's words. The heavy truth of it. Yes. His mother was alive.

"I need to know," Vader said, "why she did this. Why did she fake her death? Why has she hidden herself away?"

Why did she leave me?

The words were left unsaid.

"Can't you . . . I don't know, ask her yourself?" Luke asked.

"I have . . . tried."

"What does that mean?"

"A different approach is needed. That is where you come in."

"You think she'll talk to me?"

"Yes."

Luke glanced to the side and ran a hand through his hair.

"See yourself to your quarters," Vader said. "You get to work tomorrow."

Then Vader left, and Luke was alone in his large office.

The silence of a spaceship filled his ears. There was the hum of air through the vents, the soft low thrum of the engines, and the faint buzz of the lights.

He slowly walked over to the large viewport that took up the entire back wall. He welcomed the sound of his boots scraping against the smooth metal floor. He placed his hand against the transparisteel. It was cold.

His thoughts spun viciously in his head. His mother was alive? She had been all this time? He understood his father's frustration and obsession. He himself wanted answers to those questions, too.

And so many more.

Dozens of questions burst into being.

Who was she? What was she like? Why had she fallen in love with Darth Vader? Was it even love? It had to be love, right?

Why . . . why had she faked her death? Why did she leave Luke with Vader? Why did she never reveal herself to her son? Did she even care about him?

His heart grew tight and heavy. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the glass.

Why was he surprised by this?

It was nothing new to him to have a parent who didn't care.

Darth Vader had always been an absent father. He was away for long periods of time. When he was around, it was awkward and stiff. Neither knew how to act around the other. Luckily, as Luke grew older, Vader became more distant. Even when he was home, the two barely interacted.

There was no hesitation in Vader when he gave his approval for Luke to enroll in the military academy. All he said was, "Very well." Luke was gone in the next season without a word from his father.

There were no visits home during school breaks or messages asking about how he was doing. That was fine with him. He didn't need his father, didn't want him. As far as the galaxy knew, Luke was a nobody. He wasn't Darth Vader's son. He didn't carry his name or the weight of expectation and scrutiny that came with it.

He made his own way. Forged his own path. Made his own friends. His achievements were his own. He was a top pilot in his graduating class. He quickly soared to squad commander.

All without his father.

And he didn't need his father now.

Or so he told himself.

But he knew. He tried to hide it. Tried to lie to himself about it. But it was there deep down inside of him an embarrassing truth.

He wanted his father's approval.

There had been a part of him that had been elated by these new orders. Finally, his father had recognized him. His father . . . wanted him . . . Maybe not in any familial way. But Luke was a damn fine pilot and to be recognized by Darth Vader was a high compliment.

But no. Of course that was not the case.

The promotion and transfer orders had nothing to do with Luke's skills. It was because Vader wanted something, and Luke was the only useful pawn he had.

Vader hadn't mentioned an exit strategy or what happened after he left the Rebellion. Would he even be welcomed back to the Empire? Would he be labeled a traitor? Had Vader even given any thought to that at all? Or was he solely focused on getting the answers he wanted damn the repercussions?

Was this . . . was this all there was to Luke's life?

To be used whenever he was needed then tossed away and forgotten about when he had no use?

To all nine Corellian hells with that.

Luke clenched his jaws as his fingers curled against the glass.

He would play his part as Darth Vader's aid. He could collect information for the Rebellion. Luke glanced over his shoulder at his father's desk and the work terminal there. His father must have unlimited security clearance. What secrets did the Empire hold close to its heart? There had to be some dirty skeletons in the closet. And what would the Rebellion do with that knowledge?

Yes. He would buy his way into the Rebellion. Perhaps, he would meet his mother and ask her his questions. But then he would turn and watch this blasted Empire burn for the only thing his father had given him: false hope.

Chapter Text

The sand crunched under Anakin's boots as he hopped out of the beat-up speeder. The suns were high in the sky, and the heat was close to unbearable. However, he didn't head inside. He chose to head over to the graves.

He knelt in front of one and placed his hand on it.

"Hey Mom," he said in a soft voice. His throat grew tight. He didn't know what else he should say. That he missed her? That he still grieved her after all this time? That he loved her? He hoped he made her proud? Yet, none of those words could form.

He squeezed the stone, stood up, and gave the grave a long look before turning towards the homestead and heading down inside. It was quiet and empty. The occupants must be out attending to the farm or errands.

Anakin made his way into the garage. It was oddly clean. He had expected to find speeder and skyhopper parts littered about, but everything was neatly put away with the counters and work stations scrubbed clean.

He chuckled to himself. Beru must have made the twins clean up. How long would this last? Probably not long. Had the two gotten into trouble? His children could be troublemakers.

Anakin grew restless. Usually he would have tinkered with whatever project was left out in the garage, but didn't feel like making a mess when it was so tidy. He eventually found himself back outside checking on one of the moisture vaporators. It was in decent working order and just needed some cleaning and fresh oil.

He was cleaning himself up in the refresher when he heard a speeder approaching. In the Force he could tell it was only one person. Owen? No, it didn't quite feel like him. It wasn't the twins. They were unmistakable.

His suspicion was correct when Beru walked down the steps into the sunken courtyard. She stopped on the last one as she noticed him.

"Anakin!" she gasped.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you," he said cheerfully.

No smile climbed on her face. Instead she nervously glanced around.

"Is Padme here?"

"No," he said slowly. His own smile faded. "Just me."

Beru nodded and made her way to the kitchen through the dining room. He followed her and stopped in the doorway. She got out two glasses and filled them with cold blue milk. There was a very slight tremor to her hands.

"Is . . . everything ok?" Anakin asked.

There was a tightness growing in his chest.

Beru placed both hands flat on the counter and took a deep breath.

"What's wrong?" he asked. He opened himself up to the Force, but sensed nothing and no one. Despite that, he had a bad feeling. "Did something happen? Are the twins alright? Owen?"

She finally turned to face him. Her brows were creased in worry and sorrow. Goosebumps ran up Anakin's flesh arm.

"Where are the twins?" he asked. When she didn't respond right away, he snapped at her. "Where are they?"

"I don't know," she said.

"What . . . what do you mean you don't know? Did– did someone take them? Do you know who?"

"They ran away."

Anakin's mouth hung open. Words dried up on his tongue as he wrapped his mind around what she had said.

"Ran away?" he finally asked. "How do you know that's what happened? Are you sure they weren't taken?"

"They left a message," Beru said. She sounded very tired.

She walked past him back into the courtyard and entered her bedroom with Anakin right on her heels. The room was dark and lit only by the bright sunlight coming in through the open door. She walked over to her dresser, picked up a holodisc, and held it out to him. He took it in his gloved prosthetic hand.

He looked at it for a long moment before he finally pressed play. A blue hologram started to play. Luke and Leia stood side by side just how Anakin remembered them. Luke was dressed in his desert tunic and his blond hair windswept. Leia wore a poncho with her hair braided into a bun behind her head. They both looked so serious. So old.

Pain stabbed Anakin's heart. His children were no longer children; they were adults. Nineteen.

"Uncle Owen, Aunt Beru," Luke said. "By the time you're seeing this, Leia and I will be gone on a ship taking us off planet. I know you're going to worry about us, and neither of us wanted to cause you any grief. But we can't stay."

"We're not kids," Leia jumped in. "I know you think we are. I know our parents think we are, but we're not. And we're tired of everyone treating us like it. Tired of living our lives hiding away and being told to just wait. Just wait a little bit more. Mom and Dad and the Rebellion will finally win against the Empire."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"And when is that even going to happen? This thing has been going on for our entire lives. Who knows when it's going to end. I'm not waiting around here until it does."

"We want to see the galaxy," Luke said. There was a hopeful smile on his face, but then it fell. "We know Mom and Dad aren't going to be happy about this. Please, show them this message when you can. We left on our accord. There's no evil scheme. We weren't discovered by agents of the Empire."

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. Leia looked over at him and squeezed his arm.

"We can't keep hiding," she said. "We understand the dangers if anyone finds out who we are, or who our parents are. But that's a risk we're willing to take. We . . . We can't live our lives here. We love you. We really do. We're thankful for everything you have done, and we'll be back to visit. But we've got to go. I think you two always knew that."

Luke chuckled. "You tried your best to keep us here, but please don't feel guilty about this. This isn't your fault. As you always said Aunt Beru, 'You're Skywalkers. You yearn for the stars.'"

The twins shared a look with each other, both smiling, before they looked back at the camera.

"I love you," Luke said.

"I love you, too," Leia added.

The hologram blinked away. Anakin stared at the disc in his hand for a long time.

"We tried to stop them," Beru said, snapping him out of his daze. He blinked and looked up at her. "Tracked them to Mos Eisley. Luke sold the speeder, and they got passage off planet with some smuggler. But we don't know where they went."

Anakin turned around and stepped back into the bright daylight of the courtyard. He closed his eyes as he titled his head up to the suns.

What was he going to do?

Mos Eisley, a wretched hive of scum and villiany, was annoyingly the obvious place for two teenage runaways from Anchorhead to go to. A headache had formed between Anakin's eyes and behind his temples. He slipped on a long, light brown, leather spacer jacket. He tied his long hair back, and slipped on the plastoid helmet. Face-obscuring helmets were in fashion among bounty hunters, and luckily, this was a place for them.

Anakin fit in seamlessly. No one gave him a second look, especially with a blaster hanging off his belt. He would rather have his lightsaber at his side, but that would be too telling. He wasn't just a criminal of the Empire, but he also had an astronomically high bounty on his head that would have this whole planet chasing after him.

He didn't need that.

What he needed right now was to find his children and keep them safe. If it was ever revealed that Anakin Skywalker, the great general of the Rebellion, had children then they would be hunted down. Anakin's chest grew tight thinking about that. He never wanted his life for his children. He wanted them to have a normal childhood, and the best he could and Padme could offer was a moisture farm on Tatooine.

That had never been the long term goal. He and Padme had spent long hours laying in bed next to each other talking about their dreams. How one day they would take the twins to Naboo and live near her family.

But that was what it always was.

One day.

One day they would defeat the Empire. One day they would restore the republic. One day it would be safe. One day.

Nineteen years later, that day had never come, and Luke and Leia were done waiting.

Anakin sighed.

He understood where his twins were coming from. He would have hated it as well. But this was not a safe galaxy for them, especially as long as Sheev Palpatine was alive. If he knew about Luke and Leia, he would do anything to get his claws on them. He already hungered after any strong Force sensitive youths. He was searching for an apprentice, but had yet to properly secure one often due to Anakin's interference. The children of Anakin Skywalker would be perfect. Not only were they strong in the Force, but Palpatine would take great delight in twisting them into his weapons to use against the Rebellion and their parents.

Anakin's hands curled into fists.

He would never allow that.

He had been manipulated and groomed. He could not bear to have that happen to his children. He had to find them.

He didn't make his way to any guild halls or bars. Instead, he went to the business district. Even scum needed mechanics or tailors now and then. He walked into a laundry and went straight to the older middle aged woman who stood behind the counter. She gave him a quick glance over and noted he had no clothes to be washed.

"What do ya need?" she asked.

"The suns are hot," he said in Huttese. His voice came out modulated through a vocoder. "You have good shade and water."

She tilted her head back and took a closer look at him.

"You a native?" she asked.

"Mos Espa."

"What do you need?" she said in basic.

"Information," he said. He pulled out a folded piece of flimsi paper and slid it across to her. "Whatever you've got, I'll take."

He then placed a few credits on the counter.

"Come back tomorrow," she said as she took them.

He nodded and left.

He would get better information from that woman than if he had gone to an information broker or bounty hunter. The old women of Tatooine knew everything, and if they didn't, they had connections to find out.

He didn't make his way back to his ship. Instead, he made several other stops as he fully played the part of a spacer stopping over in Mos Eisley. He didn't think anyone was watching him, but he long ago learned caution.

After a few hours, he finally trudged up the landing ramp of his ship. It was an old HWK-290 light freighter. It looked the part of a banged-up ship that had seen better days, but that was only the shell. He had spent many long hours between Alliance missions modifying the ship.

R2-D2 welcomed him back with a few beeps and asked if he had learned anything. Anakin just patted his dome and shuffled past him into the cockpit. He slumped into the pilot's chair. R2 rolled in after him and let out a sad hum.

The suns began to set and the sky darkened. Finally, Anakin looked at his faithful droid.

"Patch me through." It was all he needed to say.

Once R2 had a secure connection, he opened the call and projected Padme's face.

"Anakin," she said cheerfully. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon."

He should have been in Owen's garage working on projects with his children until the late hours of the night.

"Yeah," he half-mumbled. "How are you? How are things?"

His tongue was thick and heavy and his throat tight. Talking was hard.

She talked about various matters; he nodded along.

"The task force should be up and running by next week," she said. "I think it will do some good, and give Kle'nek something to do. Mon will just be happy to have them out of the high council's hair. There's also been a report of a cargo pilot on Jedha who defected. The Empire is on the hunt for him."

She paused. Her brows furrowed as she examined her husband.

"Is everything all right?" she asked. "You've been really silent."

He opened his mouth to lie. He wanted to tell her everything was fine. There was nothing to worry about. But instead a silence stretched between them.

"Anakin?" she asked. Her tone was more forceful and sharp. "What's wrong?"

He still couldn't say it. The silence continued.

"Are the twins all right? Owen? Beru? What's wrong? What has happened?"

"They're gone," he said.

"Who? Who's gone?"

"Luke and Leia."

"Gone? Gone where?"

"We don't know. They . . . they ran away. Left a message."

"Ran away? Ran away! They ran away!" Padme shouted. "To where?"

"Off planet," he said. "With a smuggler. I'm in Mos Eisley tracking them down and waiting on information on the pilot."

Padme sucked in a sharp breath. "They left the planet? Anakin . . . they could be anywhere."

"I know," he said. "I know."

Anakin had a long sleepless night. Patience was not his strong point, and he ached to do something. He had examined his ship three times. It was well oiled, clean, and stocked. All the bolts were tightened. All the wires were secure. The systems ran smoothly. He had even gone to a local bathhouse and paid for a shower. A sonic one as they overcharged on water far too much. He had meditated, or well tried to at least. Ran through his lightsaber katas two times before he grew bored of that.

But now he had the information from the old woman. He now could do something.

He still didn't know where his children were, but he knew all about who they had left with.

Han Solo, a smuggler who worked for Jabba the Hutt. He had spaced a shipment of spice to avoid Imperial detection, and Jabba wanted his credits for the lost cargo. A lot of credits. Solo was desperate for jobs. It was not surprising he had taken the twins' offer to go off planet.

Anakin sighed in frustration. It wasn't the worst situation, but it wasn't the best either.

R2 beeped an affirmative that he had connected with Solo's comm frequency and was attempting a call. Anakin sat in the pilot chair hunched over with his hands on his knees as he stared at the droid intently.

R2 beeped again and projected a blue hologram of a scruffy-looking smuggler. He smiled far too arrogantly.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

Even his cock voice was annoying. Anakin wanted to punch him.

"Are you Han Solo?" he asked.

"Yes."

"You were recently at Mos Eisley and took on two passengers."

Solo's face fell as he narrowed his eyes. Well, at least he was quick on the uptake.

"I don't talk about other jobs," he grumbled. He lifted his hand to turn off the call.

"Luke and Leia!" Anakin shouted. Solo's hand froze. "They're my children. I'm looking for them."

Solo lowered his hand and looked at Anakin. Really look at him.

"They ran away from home and I . . . I need to know they're fine. I need–"

"Need to know what?" snapped a new voice.

Relief instantly flooded through Anakin hearing it.

Leia pushed Solo aside as she glared at the hologram. She was dressed in her desert tunic with her hair up in a braided bun.

"Leia," Anakin said. "Oh, thank the Force. You're safe." She huffed and folded her arms across her chest. "Is your brother there?"

"I'm here!" Luke called.

He came into view over Solo's shoulder. Solo glanced at Luke then back at Anakin.

"Where are you?" Anakin asked.

"Somewhere," Leia said, still glaring daggers.

"Don't take that tone with me," Anakin snapped. "You two have no idea what danger you could be in."

In the background there was a growling voice of a Wookie. It must be Solo's copilot, Chewbacca.

"Yeah, it kind of does," Solo answered, but none of the Skywalkers were giving him any attention.

"We know of the danger," Luke said.

"No. You don't," Anakin growled.

"So what?" Leia asked. "We go back to Tatooine and just waste our life away there? Forever hiding? Becoming moisture farmers?"

"That's nothing wrong with that," Anakin said. As soon as the words were out, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Both twins scowled. He let out a frustrated sigh. "Just tell me where you are and I'll come get you."

"And then what?" Luke asked. "You can take us back, but we're not going to stay."

"We'll just run away again," Leia confirmed.

Why were they making things so difficult?

"Fine. Not Tatooine," Anakin said.

The twins shared a look with each other. Leia looked back at her father and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?" she said. "Then where?"

Would he take them to the Alliance? He was tempted. Padme was there and at least they could come at these two as a pair. He wished she was here now. She was much better at this type of thing than he was.

"Somewhere," Anakin said as he waved his hands in the air.

"Not to Mom?" Luke asked.

"Is that what you want? To–" Anakin glanced at Solo, whose head was tilted as he stared at Anakin.

"Do what you and Mom do?" Luke finished for him.

Anakin didn't want that. He did not want this life for his children. They should not know war like he did. He and Padme fought so hard, sacrificed so much, so they didn't have to have that burden. He thought of Ahsoka, and her stolen childhood, and all the Jedi padawans.

No. Luke and Leia should not live through that.

"Is your dad Anakin Skywalker?" Solo asked, breaking the tension. Everyone looked at him. "Like the rebel general? He looks just like him."

Anakin fought back a groan as the twins shared a slightly panicked look.

"We know what we're doing," Leia said, snapping her attention back to her father. "We have it all under control."

"Do you?" Anakin asked, shooting a pointed glare at Solo.

"I really think it is him," Solo continued, completely ignoring the family drama.

"Yes, we do," Leia said. She leaned over and pressed the button to end the call.

The hologram blinked off.

"Kriff," Anakin cursed as leaned back in his seat. "That did not go well."

"Maybe you should have agreed to take them to Yavin," R2 beeped. Anakin glared at him. "At least Padme would be there. You could use the backup."

"Yes, she would be much better at this, but I don't want to expose them to any of this. And . . . I can't risk it. Palpatine can't learn about them. He's got spies everywhere."

"At least you'll actually know where the children are and can try to protect them, unlike now."

"Well, that's the next step then."

"What?"

"Finding out where they are."

"How are you going to do that? That call wasn't traceable."

"Set course to Antham Prime," Anakin said. His adrenaline had run out, and now he felt tired. "We'll ask the Ante."

Anakin had never liked undercover work, but he had gotten better at it due to necessity. He was the galaxy's most wanted man, and couldn't walk around carelessly. Padme had delighted in teaching him her many arts of make-up and fashion. He was taught how to alter his voice and change his walk.

He wished he could just wear a full-cover helmet everywhere, but that wasn't always possible. So he carefully applied cosmetics to his face. He covered his scar and contoured his face so it looked softer and more rounded. He put on fake eyebrows that were bigger and bushier and a matching mustache that itched. He tucked his hair into a cap, pulled on a black wig, and slicked back the hair with gel.

Then he started to get dressed. He slipped into a padded bodysuit. It would make him look heavier and rounder hiding his athletic build. He slipped on some clothes that Padme said made him look like he was "trying too hard to appear rich, but actually wasn't." Whatever that meant. He thought they were nice rich clothes, but he didn't know much about fashion. He slipped on three gold rings and sprayed himself with some cologne.

In the mirror, a middle aged man with greasy hair stared back at him.

"You look stupid," R2 said.

"Thanks," Anakin said as he pulled on his collar trying it either laying flat or sticking up.

"But you don't look like you, so I guess that's the point."

"It is. Now let's go."

The two exited the ship into a large docking bay. Ships of various makes sat in neat rows as maintenance droids moved about. There were a few organic staff members with datapads lingering about. Anakin nodded to the closest one and headed towards the lifts.

The Spire was a floating city that catered to holidays for the ultra-rich. It had it all: fine dining, chic fashion boutiques, plays, concerts, dance halls, clubs, spas, massive swimming pools, sport arenas, and much more. And like any decadent place, it had a dark underside. The lower levels of the city were filled with gambling dens, and that is where he headed.

It was always packed. The rich came down here to try their luck and enjoy the novelty of mingling with lowlifes. The lowlifes desperately sought the credits the rich carried. No one seemed to notice Anakin and R2 as they made their way through the crowded halls and rooms. A few called out to him to entice him into friendly games of chance where he might win big, but he only waved them away.

He kept a calm demeanor. He walked at a casual pace stopping now and then to watch a game of holochess or glance at a display screen advertisement. His face looked curious, but underneath it he was squirming. He hated this. Despite the layers of disguise, he felt naked. He had no weapons with his lightsaber hidden inside R2. If it came to a fight, his mobility was limited due to the padding.

But he continued. This was all nothing more than a slight discomfort. He could do this, especially if it was for Luke and Leia.

Finally, he came to a den with bright orange lights in the shape of stars. It was here he found the Ante tucked away in a back room.

"Welcome, Anakin Skywalker," he said.

"The Ante," Anakin greeted.

The Ante was a Givin, a species that looked like a Pau'an skeleton. Their heads were skull-like with elongated black holes for the eyes, two slits for the nose, and a lipless mouth. The pale skin was stretched tight showing off all the ridges and curves of the actual skull underneath.

He was an infochant, a very good and discrete one, that Anakin had worked with for years.

"I'm not surprised to see you," the Ante said. His voice creaky and dry. "Especially with what happened on Jedha."

What had happened on Jedha? Anakin asked himself.

"Here for information on Eadu?"

"No," Anakin said. He made a mental note to check in with Padme after this.

"I do have a lot of information about some particularly elusive individuals."

"That's what I'm hoping for."

Anakin pulled out a small data chip, placed it on the Ante's desk, and slid it over to him with one finger. The Ante picked it up and inserted it into his work station behind him.

Anakin said, "Han Solo. Smuggler. Flies a Corellian YT-1300 light freighter, the Millennium Falcon. Was recently on Tatooine in Mos Eisley. I want to know where he is now."

"Not your typical request."

Anakin didn't answer. He didn't want to give any information away, but knew being silent was also doing that. The Ante was neutral in the galactic conflict and worked for the best pay, and Anakin didn't doubt the Givin had a large file on him. He wondered how many people had paid for that information as he was after all an elusive individual. What would the Ante charge for information on Luke and Leia?

Anakin's heart squeezed. It was best not to think about that.

"Without a tracker on the ship," the Ante said, "it's impossible to properly locate."

"That's not the answer I'm paying for," Anakin growled. "And I know you're better than that."

"That I am," the Ante said as he slid the data chip back across the table. "Han Solo has taken a new job. You'll find the information there."

Anakin fished out a credit chip card from his pocket and tossed it on the desk. The Ante picked it up and inserted it into a reader on his work station.

"Always a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Skywalker," he said.

Anakin picked up the data chip and left.

He called Padme as soon as he got back to his ship.

She was tired and it showed on her face even through the blue hologram. She often wore a mask and kept a brave front up, but it fell when it was just the two of them.

He sat in his pilot chair hunched over with his elbows on his thighs. His hands were pressed against the sides of his head as his thoughts spun after hearing her report. He had only been gone a few days, but so much had happened.

"Anakin, we need you back here," Padme said.

"I know," he replied. He couldn't hide the exhaustion in his voice.

"Cassian and his team are on their way to Yavin," she continued.

He looked at her. Her hair hung in loose curls still damp from her shower. There were dark bags under her eyes.

"I've got a lead on the twins," he said. "As soon as I finish this call, I'm heading to get them and then I'll come back. We will all come back."

"Fucking all nine hells," Anakin cursed as he marched up the loading ramp of his ship with R2 right behind him.

He had missed Solo and the twins by hours. That blasted YT freighter was faster than it looked, which he had to grudgingly respect. But he still hated it. He wasted a few hours having R2 slice into the local port's security to find where Solo had docked. Then they had to dig through the holos to make sure the twins didn't disembark.

They had not; they were still with the smuggler.

Luckily, the Ante's information was good so far. Which it should be considering how much he paid for it. Solo had taken on a cargo and had two drop off points. Anakin would not make it to the first one in time. Solo had too much of a lead on him. There was a chance Solo would stop at the port for a bit or the twins would leave him, but Anakin could meet Solo at the second drop off point.

He had a good feeling that the twins would stay with Solo. He would intercept them on Alderaan.

R2 let out a sudden thrill of beeps.

"Incoming emergency call from Padme," he said.

"Connect," Anakin said without hesitation.

He had just sat down in the cockpit and had started to warm the ship up.

"Voice only," R2 said right as the call connected.

"Anakin?" Padme said. Her voice was tight.

"Yes. What's wrong?"

"You need to get back to Tatooine. Now."

"Tatooine? What? Why? Are the twins there?"

"No. It's Princess Winter."

Bail's daughter?

"The Alliance engaged the Empire over Scarif."

"What? Scarif? Who agreed on that?" Anakin demanded.

"Cassian's team went rogue to find the plans of the planet killer by infiltrating Scarif with a stolen shuttle. Raddus joined and the rest of the fleet was scrambled to provide support."

"You've got to be kidding me!"

"It worked."

"It did?"

"At a great price," Padme said solemnly. A chill ran down Anakin's spine. "The planet killer was unleashed on Scarif."

The Empire would attack its own planet? How many Imperials, no people, were stationed there? How much data was stored there? They did all this to prevent some plans from being stolen?

Force!

Anakin hated being out of the loop. He was missing big pieces of what had happened.

Padme continued, "The plans were successfully transmitted to the fleet before the Death Squadron came. Many did not manage to escape."

"But the plans did," he noted.

"Barely. Princess Winter has them on the Tantive IV, but it's damaged from the battle. And, Anakin, it's on its way to Tatooine."

He sucked in a sharp breath.

"They think I'm there," he said.

"Yes."

He didn't know how the princess knew he was there. His visits to the twins were a well kept secret even amongst the high command. Very few knew where he and Padme went, and even fewer knew the reason.

Did Bail know? He must have known that was where Anakin had gone, but not that he was no longer there. Only Padme knew that.

"Can you make it there?" Padme asked.

"Yes, but . . ."

"But?"

"The twins."

Silence.

It stretched.

Until finally Padme spoke only a single word. "Anakin."

"I know."

That single word had said so much. Her pain and conflict, the very same he felt.

"I know what to do," he said. "I've got to go."

"May the Force be with you," she said. Her voice was so soft.

The call disconnected.

The ship was warmed up and Anakin piloted it out of the port into the sky. R2 was quiet but his photoreceptor zoomed in and out on him as he waited to put in the hyperspace jump coordinates.

Alderaan or Tatooine.

Alderaan or Tatooine.

His children or the Alliance?

Did he really have a choice?

Yes. He did. He had always had a choice, but had always chosen the Alliance. But that was because it was for his children! He was trying to make this galaxy a better place! For them!

Yet Luke and Leia were right. They were grown up now. How much longer was it going to take to bring the Empire down?

Anakin did not have the answer.

His heart felt heavy as the atmosphere thinned to the blackness of space.

Nineteen years. It had been nineteen years since the Empire formed. The twins were nineteen years old. How much of that had he spent with his children? How much with the Alliance? Not enough and too much.

They were right. They couldn't live their entire lives hiding. They were becoming their own people. They wanted to see the stars, something he himself had dreamt of as a child. How could he hold them back?

But still he ached and feared for them. This was a brutal and twisted place. It was also a very dangerous place for two very strong Force-sensitives. He had never told them about the Sith. They were too young, too precious, and he didn't want to ruin their innocence.

He thought he and Padme had it all under control. Now they had barely anything in control.

But he did have a choice.

Alderaan or Tatooine.

He could do both. It was possible. He could get to Tatooine, get the plans, and then get to Alderaan. It wouldn't be ideal. He had planned to get to Alderaan and research Solo's client. Then determine the best ports he might stop at and slice into their surveillance. That way Anakin could be there shortly after he landed.

But he wouldn't have time for all that if he went to Tatooine. As it stood, he would just make it to Alderaan at the same time as Solo. That was as long as there weren't any hold-ups on Tatooine, which if the Empire was hunting down the Tantive and Princess Winter, there might be.

But his job wasn't to save the princess. His job was to get the plans. Winter and her crew knew this. It was part of being a rebel. Ready to sacrifice yourself for the greater good.

How much had Anakin sacrificed of himself for the greater good? How much more would he give?

R2 let out an inquisitive beep. The ship was ready to make a jump, but he still needed to know which location they were going to.

But he knew. They both knew which one Anakin would pick. The only real conflict was with the grief and shame in Anakin.

"Set the course," Anakin said solemnly. He didn't even look at the droid; he kept looking ahead out the window.

He couldn't continue like this. Something had to change. Not just his relationship with Luke and Leia, but also with how the Alliance was fighting. This war, if one could even call it that, couldn't keep on like this. The Alliance would never win. They needed to start being bold and offensive. They needed to start winning.

Yes. For both this galaxy and his family he would do better.

Chapter Text

Luke curled up in his corner of the room. Despite the sweltering heat of the two suns that baked the palace all day, these lower levels were always dark and cold. He had no blanket and his clothes were meant to keep him cool, not warm. So he shivered against the stone walls and the hard dirt-packed floor.

He wasn't the only one. The other slaves, all children like himself, in the room also curled themselves up into tight balls in an attempt to keep warm. Very few huddled together.

Luke closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He smelled the earth, his own sweat, and the stink. He imagined this room with the other slaves curled into tight balls, and slowly pushed it out of his mind. Then he imagined the next room and the next. He went room by room of the palace and pushed them out of his mind until it was just him.

He was surrounded by nothing but a night sky. There were no stone walls or cold dirt. No palace. No slaves. No masters. No desert. No suns. Just the sky and the stars.

He was in the Place where he came to in his sleep. He had stumbled upon it long ago back when he still lived with his aunt and uncle. That sharp sadness always came when he thought of them. If he wasn't in this Place, tears might burn in his eyes and threaten to spill. He missed them deeply.

He couldn't help but wonder if it was the Dragon's fault they had died.

Somewhere in this Place was the Dragon, a huge black beast that swallowed the stars. The stars it ate never filled it, so it was constantly hunting and Luke would make a fine meal.

It had been an accident the first time he had brushed against it. He was too young to notice that the Place at the time had no stars and didn't know the danger of staying away from it. So he brushed against the darkness, and it stirred. It started to take the shape of a large beast with a long neck with spikes that went up to a horned head. Two burning suns appeared in the head and the black slits instantly narrowed on the small boy.

A primal fear took hold of him, and his body took control before his mind had registered what he was doing. He fled. As fast as he could through this Place. There was no running or flying. It was just moving. The Dragon roared and chased after him, but somehow Luke escaped.

He was scared. He had cried and slept in his aunt and uncle's bed for a week, too afraid to sleep. Too afraid he might go back to the Place and the Dragon would be there. But the next time he went there was no Dragon. And the time after that and the time after that.

He came to relax. It was as his aunt said, a nightmare. Nothing more.

Until he accidentally brushed against the Dragon a second time. He knew it was real.

He tried to tell his aunt and uncle. He tried to explain. They didn't believe him. It was just a nightmare, and it would pass in time.

Luke tried to avoid going to the Place, but he found himself there when he went to sleep. And the Dragon would be waiting. It slithered through the darkness eating the stars. Its neck swerved this way and that looking, hunting. Luke tried to hide as best he could in such a place, but the Dragon would sniff him out.

So all he could do was run away and find a new hiding spot.

Then one night the Dragon had him cornered. A mighty tail slashed out of the darkness and into Luke. It knocked him off balance, and the Dragon curled around him. A large clawed paw slammed down next to Luke. The eye slits narrowed onto Luke as the nostrils flared as the Dragon took in his scent.

Luke squeezed his eyes shut. This was it. He was going to be eaten. What would happen to his real body? What would his aunt and uncle find in the morning? Would he simply be gone?

The snout approached, the mouth opened, and Luke eyed the large teeth. Warm breath huffed against his face.

He was suddenly jerked away and he woke up. He was in his room in the real world. But something was wrong. There were shouts. Noises. He slipped from his bed. His sleep clothes stuck to his sweaty skin. He let the door slide open just an inch and orange light blinded him. He blinked as his vision adjusted until he saw the flames.

The Dragon.

It had found him. Found his home. It truly was real.

So he did what he always did. He ran. He ran out of his room, through the courtyard, up the stairs, and out into the desert. The flames chased and seared him. His eyes and lungs stung. He fell to his knees in the cold sand outside as his body shook with violent coughs. He looked at the fire and smoke rising up from the courtyard expecting the Dragon's head to rise up. For those yellow eyes to narrow on him once again.

But Luke fell unconscious before that could happen.

He had been found by the slavers and taken here to the palace of a Hutt. He was told he was lucky to be alive. The fire had killed his family. It was most likely those horrid Tusken raiders they said.

There had been no raiders. Luke was sure. It had to be the Dragon.

Despite the threat, Luke now came to the Place willingly. It was his only escape; his only moment of peace.

After a few short hours, he was kicked awake by one of the older kids and marched up several flights of stairs to the stables. He then started his daily tasks of cleaning out the poop and dirty hay from the banthas and other cattle. He then hulled heavy buckets of water and feed. Only then was he allowed his first glass of water and a small nutrients bar.

Then he went into the kitchens where he worked alongside a few of the other kids. They washed the dishes with soaps that made their eyes water and sting. They tied dirty strips of clothes around their faces to avoid getting the fumes in their mouths as it would burn their throats and tongues. Their skin would turn red and raw. The ones who had been dishwashing for weeks or months would have their fingernails fall off or their thin-blistered-skin hands would bleed.

If they finished within an hour, they would be allowed a second glass of water. If they did not meet that demand, then they moved on to their next chores. Luke went to the droid pit, a large massive room filled with piles of metal junk and droids in various stages of dismemberment. There were large workstations for the older slaves to work on maintenance on the droids, but Luke was still too small to do that work though he knew he could. He tried to explain that to one of the slave masters. He had helped his uncle all the time back home, but he had only been kicked then whipped several times. His tunic had been ripped open and his back bloodied.

He didn't bring it up again. Instead he silently accepted any job they gave him. He was forced to dig through the piles looking for a certain cog or screw or had to strip wires of their outer casing. He was made to clean out the old dried out oil from the joints of droids and apply new coatings. He got scratched up from exposed and ragged metal edges. Oil became crusted under his fingernails and in the folds of his skin where his joints met. Soap was a commodity and none of the children had any of it.

He was given water at midday with another nutrients bar. The afternoon chores were whatever needed to be done. If their Hutt master got a shipment of weapons and ammunition, they might be sorting, cleaning, and reboxing it. He could be made to run errands up and down the many floors of the palace or endlessly sweep the floors of sand. He sometimes had to help in the laundry room with the large deafening cleaning machines spinning linens. He had been made to scrub the refreshers and toilets, oil the leather armor of the Gamorrean guards, clean the slime and spit off of the Hutt's spice smoking pipes, or worst of all, looking for any womp rat nests in the vents or droid service ducts.

His dinner was yet another glass of water and nutrients bar, unless the masters felt gracious. They might get a bowl of cold lumpy porridge. And then there was more work. There was always work. And if he lagged behind on any of it, the masters would notice and kick, punch, or whip him. Twice Luke had been tased in the stomach with a shock stick. If he was too good the other children would notice and beat him up or pee on him after he went to sleep.

"Fucking Wormie," a large kid said.

He had grabbed Luke's shoulders and slammed him against a rough stone wall in the slave levels of the palace.

"What did I say?" he barked. Spit splashed against Luke's face. "What did I say?"

"D– don't touch the–" Luke said as he winced in pain as the other boy's fingers dug into his skin.

"The fucking bucket! It's fucking mine!"

One hand let go of Luke's shoulder and slammed into Luke's cheek.

"You got that?" he shouted then punched Luke again. "Huh, Wormie? Do you?"

"Y– yes," Luke said. His words coming out muffled through a swollen and bloodied lip.

The other boy slammed his knee into Luke's gut then grabbed a fistful of Luke's hair and threw him to the ground. Luke landed on the hard sandy floor without catching himself. He curled up as the boy kicked him a few times before finally leaving him alone.

Luke's eyes stung with emotion, but no tears came. He had no water to waste on such a thing. So he curled up in a tight ball, closed his eyes, and imagined the world around him disappearing room by room until he was back in the Place.

Despite the danger, this Place was comforting. The stars were beautiful as they filled the sky above him. They twinkled in unknown constellations. He was glad they were still there. That the Dragon hadn't eaten all of them yet, but he supposed in time the Dragon would. Then there would be only darkness.

His heart grew heavy at such a thought, and he curled up tighter and shivered. The floor was cold and Luke's thin and tattered tunic offered no warmth for his bony body. He missed his bed back on the farm. He missed the farm. He used to hate the chores his aunt and uncle made him do, but he would do anything to be back there with them again. He missed them. He missed his uncle's hugs and his aunt's soft kisses on his head. He missed their stories and their laughs.

He . . . He hated it in the Hutt's palace. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to grow up here and do maintenance in the droid pit. He wanted to go home, but there was no home. Not any more. Not ever.

There was just the palace and the Place.

Luke shivered in the cold. He prayed for sleep to take him soon so he could escape for a few precious hours.

His breath caught in his chest as he heard the rustle of leather wings.

The Dragon.

He looked around the black starry sky of the Place. The Dragon could be hard to spot at times as he blended in with the darkness. Luke turned his head and the Dragon was there. Not far off. Its snout was up in the air sniffing.

Luke had to move. He had to get up and go. Flee. Hide.

But he was tired.

So tired.

And cold, and hungry, and thirsty.

He couldn't do this anymore.

Let the Dragon come and burn this place down.

Luke paused. He replayed those words.

Let the Dragon burn this place down.

Luke was quiet for a long moment.

Burn this place down. Burn this horrible, terrible, awful place down.

He slowly uncurled himself and looked directly at the Dragon, who had not noticed still sniffed and searched for him, but had yet to zero in. Slowly, cautiously, Luke eased toward it, afraid that at any moment the Dragon would's head would snap towards him and its mouth would open. Yet that did not happen.

The closer he got, he realized just how massive the beast was. Its head towered far above him. It was easily several stories into the air. And then he was before it. Only an arm's length away, and yet the Dragon had not sensed him. It furiously sniffed the air.

Luke raised his hands and reached out towards the scaly paw. He hesitated only an inch above it. He recalled the blinding orange light that had poured into his room that night. He remembered running through the flames and coughing so hard he passed out.

He . . . He shouldn't do this.

The Dragon moved. Luke's hand brushed against the scales.

The Dragon jumped. It landed with a thunderous noise causing the Place around Luke to shake violently. He fell to his hands and knees. A large paw landed beside him, and large claws slowly circled around him. However, the Dragon did not close its grip on Luke, but he was confined. Trapped.

Luke sat down. The adrenaline rush was fading out of him and suddenly felt so tired. He looked up to see large glowing golden eyes staring at him. Oddly the pupils were large and round. Not slits.

They stayed like that for a long time. Just staring at one another, until Luke was too tired to even sit up. He laid down and rested his head on his arm. His eyelids grew heavy and he could no longer keep them open. So he closed his eyes.

Darth Vader felt a disturbance in the Force. A small blip. A hiccup. But it was there.

It was a Force sensitive child. Young and naive. Projecting its presence completely unaware of what it was doing.

It had to be found and either made to serve the Empire or be destroyed. There was no other path it could take.

It had been such a brief and unexpected encounter, Vader did not know where to start looking. However, he was patient. He knew in time the child would make another mistake, so he stayed vigilant.

There were a few more blips as the child echoed in the Force. Still too small and faint to discern a location until one day the child's presence was suddenly there. Bright and burning in the Force. Vader reached out and zeroed in.

The child was strong. Very strong. Anger boiled inside of Vader as he gritted his teeth. This child could not live. It was too much of a threat or possibly competition, which Vader never allowed either thing to blossom.

He may not be able to find the child's physical location, but he could reach him in the Force. The child was unguarded and all it would take would be a good grip and a simple squeeze to end its life. So Vader stretched himself and grasped the child.

Fear. The child had sensed the Sith. It could feel the danger.

Vader tightened his grip and–

"Anakin. You're breaking my heart," a voice from memory said.

He froze.

Why? Why had he thought of that now? Why her voice at that moment?

He refocused on the child–

"Anakin."

She was there again.

He flinched. He snatched his presence back to his body letting the child free.

What had happened?

Why did that nightmare torment him so? He hated it. He hated it. He hated it.

He hated himself most of all. It was his fault. He had lost control. He had killed her. It was him.

He hated himself.

And now this child had reopened old wounds. It had to be found and terminated. When Vader had a moment free from his duties, he meditated and searched the Force for the blasted thing. It knew it was being hunted now and had become a slippery nuisance.

It constantly plagued his thoughts. This child. This nobody. An insignificant worm. And yet, Vader could not escape it. Could not escape her voice. Why did he hear it when he thought of the child?

He had to find it. He had to stop this.

He couldn't bear to hear her pleas. To hear her heart breaking. To know it was her last moment. Because of him. It was all him. He had done it. He had killed her, and she was gone.

"Anakin."

Her voice rang in his mind over and over and over.

The child. This was all the child's fault. He did not know why. He did not care. But he knew how to end it. He had to end the child. If only he could find the blasted thing. If only . . .

If only . . .

If only she and their child lived. He hadn't just killed her but the unborn babe she carried. He had lost them both.

Was this punishment? To be haunted by a child that should have been his? That was her child.

"Anakin." Her voice came again.

"What do you want from me?" he asked the nothingness.

There was no reply.

Suddenly, exhaustion took over Vader. His anger-fueled adrenaline had run out. He felt empty and hollow.

He dragged himself to his bacta tank. He had lost the ability to properly sleep with his injuries on Mustafar. The best he could do was to either meditate in his hyperbolic chamber or in bacta. For now he wished to be free of his suit, and the tank was the only way to do that.

Once submerged, he closed his eyes and allowed his consciousness to drift. He did his best to empty his mind, but the pain was always there. And with that so was the anger, the hatred, and deep under that the grief. But he could lessen it for a brief moment.

In the darkness, small little pricks of light started to appear one by one and then by the dozens, hundreds, thousands, until an entire galaxy of stars surrounded him. Since he was a boy, he had always enjoyed the stars. They were beautiful.

"Anakin."

It was her voice, but it wasn't the pained and betrayed call. It was soft. A murmur of love as they both rested their heads on the pillows and morning light came in through the windows. Fresh grief blossomed in his heart.

He missed her. Oh, how he missed her.

He turned towards the direction of the call and felt her there. It was a whisper. A single thread of a once great tapestry. But it was her.

Vader followed it eager to have any part of her if it was just an echo still going long after its source was gone. He thought it would grow weaker and fade away, but instead it became stronger. He wound his way through the stars until at last he came to a large bright sun. The echo was coming from it.

What was it? Why did he feel his wife here?

He gently reached out and touched it. Warmth flooded through him. And for a brief moment, a beat of his wretched heart, he saw her. Her hair was down in loose curls and she smiled at him. That unbelievable smile.

"Padme," he said. It was his voice. His old voice. Before the toxic lava fumes had burned away his vocal cords and had been replaced for a vocoder.

And then she was gone.

If he was capable of crying, he would have. The emotion still ran through him. He felt the sting of ghost tears in his closed eyes.

And yet. Her presence still lingered here with this yellow star. It was so odd. Why was she here? Where was this? This wasn't just a manifestation in the Force. This was connected to something in the physical world.

He touched it.

He felt her. Her silky curls. Her laugh. And felt himself. His old self. A man with blue eyes with a smile.

And he felt the child. Their child.

The realization hit Vader. That was what this was! This was their child! His child! The child Padme had carried lived!

That was the echo of Padme he felt. A part of her still lived. It was still out there.

But where? Where!

A cold stone fell in his stomach as he recognized this presence.

This was the child. The one he hunted. The strong Force presence. The one that plagued him with his wife's cries.

The sun winked away. It was gone. Only a fading warmth remained where it had once been. The child had pulled its presence to itself.

Vader opened his eyes and donned his suit. His hunt took on a new purpose and intensity. He would find his child.

But it remained just as frustrating as it had before. He would catch glimpses of the child's presence on the Force, but it was always fleeting.

Until one day the child came to him. It was unexpected and took him by surprise. A soft brush against his presence. He instantly reached out and surrounded the child. It was afraid, but did not flee. They simply stayed still.

What was happening? Did the child know? That this was its father?

"Where are you?" he asked, but felt his words did not carry in this Place.

Vader stretched out with the Force and into the stars. He stretched system after system until he came to one in the outer rim. One he was familiar with that had binary stars.

Tatooine.

His child was on Tatooine?

Why there of all places?

He wanted answers.

But the child's presence faded away.

Vader returned himself back to his body. He knew where the child was and he wasted no time in making his way there.

He did not know how he would find the child on the planet once he arrived, but once he exited hyperspace he was able to sense it. It was faint, but it was enough to lead him to a Hutt's palace.

He stood before it in the dying light of the suns as the wind blew the sand.

He gritted his teeth and curled his hands into tight fists. The leather of his gloves creaked.

What was his child doing here? This was no place for a child, except for a slave.

The rocks under Vader's feet cracked.

This could not be. His child, his freeborn child, a slave?

He freed his lightsaber from his belt and marched towards the door. His other hand snapped up and the massive door crunched up on itself. His fist closed, and the door screeched as it ripped out of the frame and into a ball. It was flung into the sands. An alarm sounded followed by shouts and blaster fire. The guards were the first to face Vader's wrath.

His anger only grew as he followed the child's presence lower and lower into the palace down into the slave levels. He let the slaves live, but not the fleeing slave masters. He snapped their necks with the Force, impaled or beheaded them with his saber, or sliced them into pieces.

The presence was strong; the child was near. Children, all slaves, fled as he approached, but none were the one he sought. The presence was stationary. Wherever the child was, it was not moving.

Vader tightened his grip on his saber. His mask swerved from side to side as he searched the poorly lit and dirty rooms.

Where? Where was his child? Where were they?

Then he saw a small form huddled into a ball against a far wall. He hurried over to it, stopped, and stared.

It was a child. Small. Filthy. The hair was matted and caked in dirt. The tattered and stained clothes hung off a far-too-thin boney frame.

The lightsaber hissed back into the hilt as Vader lowered himself down to one knee. The child shivered, and Vader placed a gloved hand on their back. They flinched and curled up tighter.

"Child," Vader said. When they didn't respond, he repeated, "Child."

They lifted their head and large swollen eyes looked up at him. Their face had a large bruise on one side and a few scratches.

A roar erupted deep inside of Vader.

"You're . . . you're here . . ." The child said with a shaking, dry voice.

"Yes, I am."

They looked Vader up and down.

"Are you going to eat me now?"

"Eat . . . eat you?"

"You're the Dragon."

What was the child talking about? A dragon? Eat him?

His suit did give him an imposing figure. It could be quite frightening to a child.

"I am not a dragon," Vader said.

The child blinked. "Yes, you are." They were so certain.

If Vader could sigh, he would. Instead, he closed his eyes to calm himself. His anger raged behind internal walls demanding to be let loose. It demanded blood, especially after seeing the state of his child. He would let himself go, but not yet. First, he needed to secure the child and his anger would do him no favors here.

He opened his eyes but did not find himself in the rocky underlevels of the palace. Instead, he was back in the Force in a large star-filled galaxy. The yellow sun was next to him. His child must have pulled him here. He was strong in the Force. Very strong.

Then Vader noticed the clawed feet under him. He glanced around and found his head was attached to a long neck. His body was serpentine with large leathery wings–

A dragon.

He was a dragon.

He looked back at the little sun next to him.

"Is this how you see me?" he asked. "As a dragon?"

"Yes," the sun said.

Vader let out a snort. "If I am a dragon, then so are you, little one."

Vader projected into the Force and changed how he saw the child. No longer was it a bobbing yellow star, but a small dragon with golden scales and blue eyes. They gasped as they looked at themselves. They turned in circles as they tried to get a good look at the wings and tail.

"See?" Vader said. "You are the same as me."

The little dragon looked up at him. Confusion was thick in the air.

Vader slowly lowered his head and gently touched the very tip of his snout to the child's.

"I am your father," Vader said. "You are my child."

"But– but," they said.

They didn't understand. Not completely, and not yet. But they would.

They both returned to the physical world. Vader unlatched his cloak and wrapped it around the small form. He gently lifted the child up and held him tightly in his arms. Those big large eyes looked up at him. They were scared, but there was a smaller glimmer of hope too.

In a Place filled with stars, a small little dragon lay in a tight little ball. Vader carefully circled around them. He would protect his child. They would be safe. This life was now behind them. He lowered himself down, with the child in the middle, and curled up.

Chapter Text

The sun was starting to reach its peak in the Coruscant sky. The twins sat side by side in their double hover stroller eating their snack of small blue cheese puffs and apple slices. They had started to get cranky, and the snacks were not a long term solution. This peace would only be temporary, but Padme hoped it would last until they were back home.

She grabbed the handle and pushed the stroller down the promenade. Chic boutiques, high-end stores, exclusive clubs, and award-winning restaurants lined both sides. The middle was lined in large thick trees that offered lots of shade but had to cost a fortune to maintain. Well-dressed people slowly walked and checked the displays in the store fronts with a few carrying shopping bags, and shiny, new, top-of-the-line droids either followed their owners or went about their own tasks.

Padme had enjoyed her morning so far. She had gotten a bite to eat and a good caf at a cafe then broswed a few shops. She only bought a handful of items, yet still enjoyed pursuing the stores. The twins had held up really well with no major outbursts or tantrums. So far. Nap time was approaching, and the twins' good mood was fading.

She didn't linger in front of any shops as made her way directly down the promenade to a speeder loading platform and signaled for her driver to come on her comm. She stepped around the stroller to check on the twins. Their hands were sticky with blue cheese dust, but they were still content.

She smiled. How could she not? She dearly loved her precious little children.

"Senator Amidala?"

Her smile faded as a tightness formed in her chest. She straightened up and turned towards the approaching human man. He wore a well tailored outfit in dark grays. She did not recognize him.

"It is you," he said as he came to a stop.

"And you are?" Padme asked.

"I'm Sim Ty'lore, senator of the Pengalan system." He bobbed his head.

Pengalan was in the inner rim. It was a well off system with strong trade in agriculture, but its politicians were more passive and quiet on the galactic stage.

Padme raised her hand as she started to dismiss him.

"I'm sorry, but–"

"I just need a moment of your time," Sim said. He spoke fast. "There is a vote regarding the tariffs on the Parlemian Trade Route. This unfairly targets certain systems."

"I'm not a senator any more," she said sternly.

"I know." He leaned in closer, unphased. He waved his hands in front of him as he spoke. "But some systems can't afford these tariffs. They are struggling as it is with little aid from the Empire."

"I understand," she said as she held up her hand in front of her warding him off from coming closer. "I really do. But I can't help you."

Her list of contacts of political allies had long since been deleted. The few she still kept in contact with were her close friends, and even then she kept up a strict no-politics talk when she was around them.

The tightness in her chest was getting worse.

"But maybe if you ask your husband if he could just–"

She jerked away and grabbed the handle of the stroller. Her heart ached in pain as her chest squeezed.

"I cannot help you," she said.

She marched away to the waiting speeder.

Nap time had come and gone, and the twins were playing on the carpeted floor surrounded by brightly-colored and softly-rounded plastoid toys. Padme sat at a table nearby watching them as she ate a light snack of crackers and freshly sliced veggies. She turned as she heard heavy boots approaching. Anakin smiled the moment her eyes landed on him.

She smiled back. It was not as strong as his.

He was dressed in all black robes with the tabards on top being made of Vylum leather. She noted the lack of any shoulder armor and cape. The glove on his left hand was gone leaving his flesh hand bare.

He had come home early from work and did not plan on going back out.

She bit the inside of her mouth.

"Hello, my love," he said as he sat down next to her. He eyed her food, but did not eat.

"You're home early," she said, keeping her voice light and casual.

"My schedule changed leaving my afternoon free."

"Do you have any plans?"

"I just want to spend time with you and the twins."

They both turned their attention to the children, who still played. Yet she turned back to him when he gave a very soft chuckle. He was looking at her with a soft adoring expression. A smile had grown on her face when she looked at Luke and Leia, and Anakin had noticed it. Her cheeks burned red; he chuckled louder.

"How was your morning?" he asked. "Did you do a lot of shopping?"

Padme tried to swallow, but a lump had formed in her throat. The shopping trip had been an impromptu thing, and she had never told him about it. But he kept constant surveillance on her. She knew that, and he knew that she knew that. Yet, they never talked about it.

"I bought the twins a few things and some sandals for myself."

Anakin's gaze had traveled to the twins. A smile genuinely grew on his face. Most likely one that had matched Padme's a moment earlier.

"I stopped at a nice little cafe. Had a good croissant and nuna jam. Then we came home and took a nap."

"We?"

He turned towards her with an eyebrow raised and a teasing smirk.

"Yes," she said. "I took a small one."

She had laid in the bed, but hadn't slept. She had gone to hide away in her room knowing there were no security holocams there.

He reached out to her plate, picked up a pink grape, and popped it into his mouth.

"Tell me," he said slowly and in a lower tone, "what did you and Senator Ty'lore talk about?"

The hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end. A chill ran through her.

"He was telling me about a vote," she said as calmly and evenly as she could and looked directly at him.

"And?"

"I told him I was no longer a senator. I then left."

She kept her gaze on his eyes.

If he already knew she had met with the senator, then he also knew the conversation hadn't been long.

He smiled. Her skin crawled seeing it. It was not the warm welcome, the playing smirk, or adoring look he had given the children. There was something twisted about it.

"I am glad that you are no longer a senator."

His words felt oily and gross, thick with hidden meaning.

She gave a small nod.

"I get to be home with the twins," she said. She had pitched her tone ever so slightly higher. She wanted to convey happiness.

"Is that all you talked about?" Though he spoke calmly, his words felt like a hiss.

"Yes. The driver had arrived, and I wanted to get back before one of the twins had a meltdown."

He kept her gaze for a moment longer before he looked back at the twins. The venom in his face started to fade.

Padme walked up to a large window in Bail's large penthouse apartment. Outside the sky was dark and laced with traffic. There was also a very impressive view of the Senate building.

"Enjoying your evening?" Bail Organa asked.

She turned to face the senator of Alderaan. He handed her an iced drink.

"It's been lovely," she said, taking a sip. It was a spiced fruit tea.

She looked past him at the various guests who talked in small groups scattered across the large sitting room.

"How are the twins?" he asked as he stepped up next to her. They both turned their attention out the window.

"They're doing great," she said.

A silence fell between them. Neither had it in them to continue with pretend small talk.

After a long moment, he took a deep breath and said in a low voice, "Senator Ty'lore was found dead this morning."

She sucked in a small surprised breath. She forced herself to slowly let it out. To keep calm and act casual.

"He spoke to me about the tariff vote. In public." She kept her voice low too.

Bail was a seasoned politician. He didn't react. His face muscles didn't even twitch.

She did not know the relationship between Bail and Sim Ty'lore. Sim had not been a close ally of Bail's when she was at the Senate, but things had drastically changed over the past two years.

Somewhere behind them a guest laughed.

Bail's face transformed. He smiled warmly and held up his glass to her.

"I hope you continue to enjoy yourself, my friend." His tone went back to a normal volume.

"I hope to do so," she said, matching his farce.

Anakin walked in during the middle of dinner. The twins squealed happily seeing him, and he walked straight over to them and gave them both a kiss on the head. He sat down across from Padme and a serving droid soon brought him a plate of still-steaming food.

He was still dressed for work with his shoulder armor and cape on. He must have rushed home to make it in time for dinner.

She looked down at her food and poked at it with her fork.

"Full?" he asked when he noticed.

She placed her fork and down and stared right at him. "I've lost my appetite," she said. Her words were short.

He placed his fork down and raised his head as his eyes narrowed on her. The duel had started.

"Why are you angry at me?" he asked.

Out of the corner of her eye she kept tabs on Luke and Leia, who were still happily eating their meal and oblivious to the tension between their parents.

"Do you really not know?" she asked. Her words were full of bite.

The corners of his mouth turned down.

"No," he said. "You'll have to enlighten me."

She let out a loud disgusted sigh.

"Does killing people have such little significance to you? Have you grown numb to your death toll?"

"Killing people is my job," he growled.

"And look how good you've gotten at it," she hissed softly.

"I am making this galaxy peaceful and safe," he hissed back.

"Mama?" Luke asked.

Without hesitation, she was looking at her son. Her face had gone soft.

"Yes?" she asked in a pleasant and calm voice.

He looked from her to Anakin and back to her.

"Keep eating, Luke," Anakin said. The tone was reassuring and soothing. His shoulders were relaxed, his eyebrows were up and round, and a small smile tugged on his lips.

Leia waved a handful of peas as to say "Look! I'm eating!"

"Good job, Leia," Anakin praised her.

She gave him a big smile.

"Sim Ty'lore," Padme snapped at her husband.

His gaze slid back to her.

"Senator of the Pengalan system."

He raised an eyebrow.

She could not believe he was making her spell this out for him.

"He talked to me at the shopping promenade."

His eyebrows rose in recognition, and the tension fell as he picked his fork back up.

"Ah, him," Anakin said. He took a bite of his food, chewed, and swallowed. "I didn't kill him."

"You think you're absolved because you didn't personally do it?"

His face was darkening in annoyance.

"I didn't do it," he said. "I had no involvement. I didn't even know he was dead until you just mentioned it."

"Do you really expect me to believe you hold no responsibility?"

"Whether I do or not, he is already dead. What does it matter?"

Unsaid words sunk into her.

What are you going to do about it? You're not a senator. Your life does not involve politics any more. This death, this person, this stranger, should not affect you in any way.

Her hands curled into balls.

"Do you believe me so petty?" he asked. "To kill such a fool?"

"I don't know," she snapped. "He wasn't the first person who died shortly after talking with me."

"Talking to you is not a crime, but being a traitor of the Empire is."

The crime of being a traitor was loosely defined and very much up to interpretation. No one really looked too closely at the cases of those who were labeled as traitors out of fear for being labeled as one themselves. Simple dissent could be twisted into criminal charges.

Padme did not know if they were true traitors or not. Regardless, they probably would still be alive as long as they didn't approach her. Because the moment they did, they were brought to the attention of Lord Vader.

Very few survived such scrutiny. She wondered how Bail and Mon did it.

"I really had nothing to do," he said, drawing her out of her thoughts.

"Truly?" she asked doubtfully.

"You think he wasn't on the Empire's shit list already? Especially with the lies he used to try and garner sympathy."

She clenched her teeth.

Was it lies? Or did it just go against the Empire's best interest?

He suddenly stood up and picked up a small soft rag. He wiped Leia's face and hands down and picked her up.

"This is no longer the Republic," he said. His voice wasn't as low and sharp. He was looking fondly at his daughter. "The rotten pieces of corruption are being cut out to make way for a new galaxy. A peaceful one." He gave Leia a kiss on the cheek.

"Is it peace?" she asked. "Or just terrified submission?"

He put Leia down and glared at her.

"And what would you have? A return to the Republic? To a government that only benefits the elite and wealthy?"

"There were problems with the Republic," she said tersely. "But it was democratic and–"

He waved his hand ending the conversation. His attention was turning towards the children. He picked up the rag and stepped over to Luke. But he paused and glared at her.

"The Empire is good, Padme. You just don't get it."