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Another Route - Part 5


“Mother?” Leia asked cautiously as she stepped inside Amidala’s room, hearing the sounds of weeping within it.

“Leia?” Padmé’s choked voice asked. “Is that you?”

Leia stepped forward swiftly and saw her mother sitting on her cot, a strange piece of carved wood in her hands. Her face was tear-streaked and eyes swollen. Biting her lip, Leia sat beside her mother and took the woman in her arms. “What is it, Mother?” she asked gently. She didn’t need to ask—Vader, or Anakin—whatever he was calling himself—had done something.

“My beautiful girl,” Padmé whispered. “I love you, my darling girl, I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Mother,” said Leia, concerned. “Please tell me what happened.”

“I can’t bear it, Leia,” Padmé whispered. “I can’t bear to know that my Anakin was Vader. That he did all of those things.”

Leia tensed. How could she presume to comfort her mother when she tried to push the thought of him—her father—as far out of her mind as possible? “I don’t have an answer, Mother,” she said at last. “I’m sorry.”

“Is it wrong to love him still?” Padmé asked, separating herself from her daughter and looking in her eyes. “Is it horrible of me?”

“No…” Leia responded slowly. “Forgiveness is never a bad thing.”

Padmé hung her head. “But I haven’t forgiven him, Leia. Everything he did—all those murders—what he did to you—”

A flash of understanding hit Leia. “You cannot forgive him for that,” she said firmly. “Those are not offenses against you, Mother. You can only forgive him for what he did to you personally.” She swallowed. “The same way that only I can forgive him for what he did to me.”

“You mean… You have?” Padmé asked, her eyes shining in hope.

Leia turned away, biting her lip, and felt her mother sag in her arms. “I’m not ready to,” she said finally. “But him—you’ve known him for a lot longer,” she said lamely. “That’s all I can say.”

“My darling child,” Padmé said again. She wiped her eyes quickly. “I’ve been crying like a lovesick girl,” she said with a watery smile. “And at my age.”

“This… This has been a shock for all of us,” said Leia stiffly. “It will take us time.”

Padmé sighed. “I’m sorry, Leia, that I didn’t tell you about Luke. Or Ani.”

“I understand why,” Leia told her. “I’m not angry.”

“Thank you,” said Padmé quietly.

“Maybe you should get some rest,” Leia offered. “I can make sure that no one disturbs you.”

“No,” her mother said. “I’m not tired in the least. I’m going back to Ani’s room,” she said firmly.

“Mother, you’ve hardly left his side—”

“He’s my husband, Leia,” Padmé said pointedly. “I want to be near him.” She peered more closely at her daughter. “And why don’t you go and spend some time with that smuggler of yours?” she teased.

Leia flushed. “Han isn’t a smuggler any more—”

Padmé laughed. “I’d imagine that he would be happy to listen to you,” she suggested. “Talk to him. He can help. He’s a good man.”

“Oh?” Leia asked with a smile on her face.

“I trust your father and brother’s judgement,” Padmé laughed, and froze. “Well, your father’s judgement of Han, at least.” Leia was still uncomfortable with the mention of Anakin, and Padmé could tell. “Just go on, Leia,” she said to her daughter gently.

Leia looked at her for a long moment before finally nodding. “All right,” she said, standing and extending a hand to her mother, who took it and stood. “I’ll see you in a while,” Leia promised, turning and leaving the room just as Terzé—no longer clothed in armor, but wearing the standard Rebel fatigues—stepped inside.

“My lady,” he greeted her. “I’ve done the usual security checks, and everything has been—”e stopped at Padmé’s raised hand. “What is it, my lady?”

“I want you to be an eighteen-year-old young man,” said Padmé quietly, striding over to him and placing her hand on his cheek. “I have taken your life and used you selfishly, Terzé.”

He shook his head emphatically. “No, my lady, not at all. It has always been an honor and a pleasure serving you.”

She smiled kindly at him. “You are a good man, Terzé,” she said to him. “Your mother would be so proud of who you have become. But I want you to be a young, carefree Rebel pilot who dreams of his love and is free of worries.”

Terzé looked confused. “My lady… I don’t understand…”

“I am releasing you from your duties, Terzé,” said Amidala formally. “You have served me long and honorably, and for that I am eternally grateful. But the time has come for you to take charge of your life.”

Terzé looked at her silently for a moment. “Do not ever hesitate to ask me to do anything, however large or however trivial,” he said at last. “I will forever be at your service, my lady.”

“I know, my friend,” said Padmé with a small smile. “And I yours.” She moved forward and embraced the young man. “Thank you for everything you have done, Terzé.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he replied, stepping back from her. “Master Skywalker is waiting,” he said with a smile.

“Do you feel all right, Father?” Luke asked as they returned to his room.

Anakin glanced up. “I’m fine, Luke,” he replied. “But that that incident occurred is another reason that I need to get to Bain. If I am so easily incapacitated—”

“I know,” Luke interjected. “I just don’t think that anyone wants to see you in that suit,” he admitted. “Including me.”

Anakin sighed. “I understand. I hate it as much as you do, Luke, but I can’t do anything to change it.”

“You’ve tried healing with the Force, Father?” Luke asked earnestly.

“Of course. Nothing works,” Anakin said. “The Force doesn’t re-grow lost limbs, Luke, and apparently not lung tissue, either.”

“There has to be an answer,” Luke said, frowning, as they stepped inside the room.

“There is. But Master Windu has decided to withhold it,” said Anakin, carefully keeping his bitterness from his tone.

“I made the arrangements to take the Rescuer back to Bain,” Luke told his father after a moment. “And after that, we’ll go to Dagobah.”

“Dagobah?”

“Yes,” said Luke with a small smile. “That is where Master Yoda lives. Where I trained, for a little while.”

“Yoda is the last person I want to see,” Anakin said darkly. “And I’m sure he feels the same way.”

“Father,” Luke said reproachfully. “Your trial—”

“I know, I know. But Yoda has never liked me,” Anakin admitted. “He refused to allow me into the Order until he decided I was too dangerous to remain untrained.” He eyes darkened momentarily. “He always made me feel inadequate. I was, of course, but…”

“Stop it,” Luke said firmly. “I don’t want to hear it. You have to forgive yourself sooner or later, Father, and right now the Rebellion and your family needs you to stop wallowing in guilt.” Anakin stared at his son in surprise and Luke continued. “I’ve forgiven myself for killing Dase,” he said. “It was difficult, but not impossible. If you can renounce the Dark Side, Father, you can forgive yourself.”

Anakin stayed silent, pondering Luke’s words. “You’re right, of course,” he said finally, sitting back down on his bed. “But it is more difficult than it sounds, Luke. You killed one person. I have killed…” he shuddered. “Thousands.”

Luke shook his head sadly and sat by his father. “I’m more a murderer than you, Father,” he said quietly. “Remember the Death Star?” Anakin froze. “It took me a long time to get past my guilt,” Luke said softly. “Especially since I used the Dark Side at the time. I was angry at you.”

Neither said anything for a few long moments. “I am sorry for killing your friend,” Anakin said finally.

“He was a Rebel pilot,” said Luke. “He knew what he was getting into.”

“Still…”

“I forgive you,” said Luke gently. “We will be leaving tomorrow morning. You have a hearing with the High Command this afternoon. I think you should rest until then. I’ll wake you up.”

Sighing, Anakin climbed back into his bed. “Thank you, Luke,” he said a moment later.

“You’re welcome, Father.”

He was burning burning the flames they were eating him they were melting the leather the metal on his belt it hurt he was screaming he couldn’t feel his legs they were gone they hurt he hurt the fire it was on his face he couldn’t see he couldn’t breathe his lungs were on fire burning a fire in his lungs he was choking gasping screaming in his ears could only hear the flames they were in his hair he was grabbing the sand it was hot trying to get away from the lava the fire just hold on if he could hold on it would stop he was screaming but he didn’t have any air he was suffocating he couldn’t breathe his lungs were burning he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe

“ANI! Ani, wake up, wake up!” a hysterical voice roused him, brought him back from the pain.

An oxygen mask was over his mouth and air was forced into his lungs. Anakin opened his eyes, nauseated, pale, and sweaty. “Padmé?” he rasped, looking around wildly. He fought the urge to vomit and flung his arm out, searching for his wife.

He dimly registered a warm hand on his mechanical one. “Ani, what happened? What were you dreaming?”

He turned his head to see Padmé holding his hand to her cheek, her cheeks tearstained. “Father, are you all right?” he heard Luke’s voice, full of concern.

He hadn’t had that dream in seventeen years.

That dream was why he had stopped sleeping, why he had resorted to his meditation pod instead of the horrors of the night.

He shuddered violently and retched, but nothing came up. “Ani, please…” Padmé begged him. “What was it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he whispered, concentrating on breathing. “Please don’t ask.”

Padmé said nothing for a few moments. “I won’t,” she told him gently. “I won’t ask if it’s painful for you.”

“Padmé…” Anakin began, confused. “I thought… I thought you were angry with me,” he said lamely.

She smiled tearfully at him. “Angry, yes. But that doesn’t stop me from loving you, Anakin. Or staying at your side.”

Anakin felt a rush of relief. He could do anything—he could handle any pain—if she was with him. “Thank you,” he told her.

“You have your hearing in a few moments, my love,” she told him. “We need to get down to the audience chamber.”

Anakin sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He still felt weak, but his nausea had faded somewhat. “Let’s go, then,” he said, pretending to be light-hearted. In reality, this trial was almost as bad as the Jedi Council’s.

“Are you sure you don’t need to rest for a few more moments?” Padmé asked worriedly. “We don’t have to be there right away. We can explain what the problem was to the High Command—”

“Tell them that we’re late because Darth Vader had a nightmare?” Anakin asked dryly. “That’ll go over well.”

“Oh, stop it, Ani,” Padmé told him. She frowned. “You know that you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know,” Anakin said quietly, subdued. “I love you, Padmé.”

“I love you too, my Jedi protector,” she teased.

“I will always protect you,” he said fiercely. “I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

“Anakin,” she said gently. “You must learn to let me go,” she said. “If you do not, then you are merely repeating history.”

He stared at her, mouth open. “Padmé… I…”

“Shh,” she said comfortingly. “Let’s go.” She took his arm and linked it with hers. “If you’re all right, we shouldn’t keep them waiting. Especially since I still have to pack for Bain.”

“You’re coming with me?” he said in surprise.

“Of course. Luke and I are both coming. I wanted Leia to come as well, but she has pressing duties with the Alliance,” said Padmé off-handedly. “And I want to see this little world of yours.”

He smiled slightly. “I never used it much.”

“Luke told me that you two went there once,” Padmé prompted.

“Yes. We stayed for about 3 weeks,” Anakin remembered. “It was a nice reprieve from duties.”

“Who will command the Imperial Navy now that you’re no longer there?” Padmé asked.

“Has anything been said about my disappearance?” he inquired. “Has the Emperor made a statement?”

“No,” said Padmé. “I’ve been watching the news. No mention at all, just to say that the Executor is off-duty for the moment.”

“Then he’s waiting for me to return,” said Anakin disgustedly. “Or looking for another way to get Luke.”

“Ani… Don’t let him…” Padmé gasped. “I’ll die—if he gets Luke—”

“I will not let that happen,” said Anakin tightly. “Do not worry.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “I couldn’t bear it… to lose the two men I love most to that monster…”

Anakin flinched but she said nothing. “Will you enter the room with me?” he asked.

She smiled at his nervousness. “Yes. But as Padmé Naberrie, not Lady Amidala.”

“Do they know that you’re my wife?”

“I expect that Mothma told them,” Padmé replied. “Go on,” she told him once he stopped at the proper door.

“Very well,” Anakin replied, pulling a cool mask over his features, making them as unreadable as if he still wore a durasteel mask. Padmé released his arm and stepped slightly away from him. He straightened and with a wave of his hand, the door slid open and he stepped forward, Padmé following him to his left.

To all appearances, he was supremely self-confident and carried himself just in the way that they were all accustomed to seeing, despite the oxygen case that he carried. “Darth Vader,” a cold voice rang out.

Anakin stopped in the center and clasped his hands behind his back, making eye contact with Mon Mothma, who had spoken. He gave a short bow. “Lady Mothma,” he replied, calling on the Force to project his voice and remove some of the hoarseness.

“Also known as Anakin Skywalker,” she continued. “You are here to be judged fit or unfit to join the Rebel Alliance. If found unfit, you are to remove yourself from this base immediately with a contingent of guards under the code of honor not to reveal any knowledge that you have learned here. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Anakin replied coolly.

“You hereby swear to speak only in truths and to answer any question we ask?”

“Any question within reasonable limits,” he replied. “I reserve the right to withhold personal information.”

“Did you give that right to your prisoners, Vader?” someone hissed. Anakin made no move that indicated that he heard. Padmé stepped back into the shadows to observe, her face drawn now that she no longer put on a supportive face for her husband.

“State your full rank and titles, Lord Vader,” Mothma commanded.

“Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith. Supreme Commander of the Imperial Military. Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker, Member of the Jedi Council. Colonel in the Army of the Republic,” he responded swiftly. “Former Apprentice to Darth Sidious, also known as the Emperor Palpatine. Former Supreme Councilor to aforesaid Emperor.”

“Please give a brief description of your duty as the Commander of the Military.”

“I made all major decisions on the placement of ships, the deployment of ships, and I directed all major military operations. I was also the commander of the Intelligence network and it was often my duty to personally oversee the interrogations of high-profile prisoners.”

“Such as?” someone asked coldly.

“Captain Wedge Antilles,” he began. “Brose Va’ara. General Ki’ith Riskel. Princess Leia Organa.” His eyes roved the crowd and settled on his newfound daughter, who flinched as her name had been called.

“And do Brose Va’ara and General Riskel still live?” Admiral Ackbar inquired.

“Unfortunately, no. They were executed for treason,” Anakin replied, carefully keeping his emotion from his voice.

Someone in the room let out a heavy sigh, while another shouted, “Murderer!”

“That’s enough,” Mothma said sharply. “We are not here to discuss Colonel Skywalker’s past actions. We are here to discuss whether he shall become a member of the Rebel Alliance.”

“You’re going to let Darth Vader into the Alliance? Are you mad?” someone called out.

“Colonel Skywalker was tortured by the Emperor,” said Mothma quietly. “He has as much cause as anyone to seek revenge.”

“It is not revenge that I am looking for, Lady Mothma,” said Anakin quietly. “I have a duty as a Jedi Knight to the people of the Galaxy. A duty that I have forgotten for the past eighteen years—one that requires me to do all in my power to restore freedom. I hold myself to that cause.”

“He also has a duty as the Chosen One,” said Padmé boldly, walking from the shadows. “Anakin Skywalker is the man prophesied to destroy the Sith. He can only do so if he has an organization backing him.”

“Destroy the Sith?” someone called out incredulously. “He is a Sith! You heard him, just now—‘Dark Lord of the Sith!’”

“A prophesy?” General Madine asked warily.

“Explain, Colonel,” said Mothma wearily. “What prophesy are you talking about?”

Anakin bit his lip slightly—that was a topic he wished to forget. “At the end of the Sith Wars,” he began. “There was a powerful Jedi Master who, in his dying moments, had a vision. This vision was recorded and shared by several other Jedi, and foretells of a man born of a woman and of the Force—the so-called ‘Son of the Suns.’ His purpose in life would be to destroy the Sith forever and to thereby reinstate balance to the Force.”

There was silence for a few moments. “And you believe that you’re this ‘son of the suns?’” Admiral Ackbar asked disbelief. “What is there that proves it?”

“He had no father,” Padmé stepped in, sensing her husband’s discomfort. “And he was born as a slave on Tatooine, a planet in a binary system.”

“So a man ran out on his mother,” said someone else caustically. “That doesn’t prove anything, Lady Amidala.”

“A slave?” someone else asked in surprise.

Anakin’s eyes flashed and he tensed at the mention of his mother. Padmé stepped up and put a gentle hand on his forearm. “That is what I thought as well, when I met her,” she said gently. “But Shmi Skywalker was a woman of honor. There is also the fact that Anakin had the highest midi-chlorian count in the history of the galaxy.”

“Really,” said someone dubiously. “Then why hasn’t he destroyed the Sith already?”

“I was injured,” Anakin said coolly. “Which reduced my power.”

“Then how do you expect to defeat the Sith now?” Mothma asked curiously.

“The Force will find a way,” said Anakin quietly. “But I am not here to discuss a prophecy. I have resources that I am willing to donate to the Rebellion. You would be a fool to refuse them.”

“Such as?” Ackbar asked curiously.

“In addition to my obvious knowledge about the inner workings of the Imperial Military,” he began, “I also have a private fleet of highly modified, prototype cruisers, snub fighters, and shuttles, including three prototype Star Destroyers manned by crews loyal to myself.”

There was a collective intake of breath around them. “Such an addition to our fleet…” someone began, softening.

“How can you expect us to believe that you have truly renounced the Dark Side, Colonel Skywalker?” A cold voice asked. Anakin closed his eyes briefly, recognizing both his daughter’s voice and her Force-signature, which blazed with mistrust and, underneath the surface, disgust and hope. He looked up to see Leia staring at him. “As far as I know, no man or woman who has joined the Sith or become a Dark Jedi has ever returned. You are widely regarded as one of the so-called greatest Siths in history. Why should we believe that you’ve returned to the Light?”

“Nothing I will say will prove or disprove my loyalty, Princess Leia,” Anakin returned calmly. “I do not expect forgiveness nor do I believe that I deserve your trust, inclusion, or loyalty. I am here only to offer my services in the hope that my sincerity is recognized. Should you decide to refuse them, that is, of course, your prerogative. I do not hold any claim to authority as a Jedi Knight in this arena.”

“It is my understanding that you underwent a trial officiated by the Jedi Council, Colonel Skywalker,” Leia continued ruthlessly. “Please tell the High Command the general consensus of your judges and give a description of the charges held against you.”

Anakin bowed his head. She had been there, of course. She knew exactly what to say. “It was not a complete trial, considering that not all of the Council members were present, but—”

“Wait a minute,” said someone, confused. “All of the Jedi are dead. How did they give him a trial?”

“Upon death, Jedi become one with the Force,” Anakin supplied. “With training, they can learn to manifest themselves in a visible form and retain their personality, memories, and appearances.”

“So we could receive council from them?” Mothma asked in surprise.

“I am afraid that only trained Force-sensitives have that ability, Lady Mothma,” said Anakin quietly.

“Very well,” said someone else. “Answer the Princess’s question, Vader.”

Anakin mentally sighed. “The charges leveled against me were that of murder, betrayal of the Jedi Order to which I had pledged myself, and betrayal of the Republic.”

“How many counts of murder?”

“I don’t know,” Anakin said, and for the first time in the hearing, his voice went a little softer.

“Give us a rough estimate,” someone else asked. “Or is it too many to count?”

“Is this necessary?” Padmé stepped in coldly. “I do not believe that the purpose of this hearing is to judge Colonel Skywalker’s past actions, but rather to ascertain his loyalty and trustworthiness to the cause of the Rebel Alliance. As a member of the Jedi Order, The Jedi Council will judge his crimes rightfully and with complete comprehension of them. The High Command, however informed, could not possibly make a righteous and just decision.”

“You will forgive us if we find your judgement to be biased, Lady Amidala,” said Mothma warningly. “I believe that Princess Leia’s question is legitimate. Regardless of his present loyalties, Colonel Skywalker has committed thousands of heinous crimes. If the High Command is to accept him as a member of the Alliance, there remains the issue of integration. There are very few people, if any, who will not resent the idea of working alongside Darth Vader.”

“I understand,” said Anakin.

“And there remains the issue of your customary clothing,” Mothma continued. “I do not believe that it will be appropriate for you to wear—”

“With all due respect, Madam Mothma,” said Anakin quietly. “I don’t think that anyone hates that suit more than I do.

“Good!” she said. “Then ceasing use will be—”

“Unfortunately,” he interrupted her again, “It is a life-support suit,” he explained. “It allows me to live without portable oxygen.”

Mothma frowned. “Could you not receive cloned lungs, if they’re the problem?”

“No,” he said uncomfortably.

“Explain.”

“I would prefer not to discuss my medical situation, regardless of the level of interest and long-standing speculation that it may have generated,” Anakin said coldly. “I reserve the right to personal privacy.”

Mothma crossed her arms. “When it influences the ease of your integration if you are to be accepted, Colonel Skywalker, I believe it is important enough to inform us.”

“No,” Anakin said tightly. “It is my personal business.”

“Ani, just tell her,” Padmé told him softly, moving forward to touch his arm.

“It is my business,” he repeated darkly, sounding for the first time like Vader. Padmé jumped away as though he’d slapped her, and Anakin slumped. “I’m sorry,” he told her quietly.

She nodded in wordless acceptance of his apology. “Very well,” said Mothma finally. “This hearing is adjourned. Once the High Command has come to a decision, we will inform you,” she told Anakin. “Dismissed.”

Anakin gave a curt bow and turned, striding out of the hall with his impossible long strides. Once he was outside, he leaned against the wall, and Padmé could tell that he was exhausted. “Are you all right, Ani?” she asked him worriedly.

“I’m fine. Why did you have to bring that stupid prophecy, Padmé?” he asked in a pained voice.

“Anakin, you have avoided that your entire life,” she replied firmly, stepping away from him. “You buried it as a padawan, striving for Obi-Wan’s approval. You ignored it as a Jedi Knight, and you completely erased it from your memory as a Sith. It is your duty! You must accept it!”

“But I can’t do it!” he shouted suddenly, sliding to the floor. “Padmé, I can’t!”

She knelt beside him. “Anakin…”

“I threw it away,” he spat. “I had the chance already, Padmé. I threw it away.” He lifted his arms in disgust and ripped off the gloves. “Look at me! Look!”

She turned her eyes away.

“Did you know that Obi-Wan told Luke that I was ‘more machine than man?’” he questioned bitterly. “When Luke ran away to Tatooine, and Obi-Wan found him and tried to convince him that I was unsalvageable. When I found him again—that was all that was in his mind as he looked at me. More machine than man? He’s right. I am a monster—even if I hadn’t done all of those things. I am practically a droid.”

Padmé glared at him suddenly and slapped him. “Stop that!” she told him harshly.

He stared at her in complete surprise as blood trickled down his cheek. Her nail had barely grazed his skin, but with no exposure to anything other than cleaning agents, his skin was fragile.

“Stop beating yourself up in guilt, and stop wallowing in self-pity,” she said coldly, standing and holding out her hand for him to stand as well. “Your arms and legs are hardly what makes someone human,” she said. “And you’re not a monster and certainly not a droid. I won’t have you talk this way, Anakin. I refuse.”

He nodded his head silently hand took her hand, wincing when his uncovered prosthetic touched her skin. She gave no indication that she noticed and just took a small piece of cloth from her pocket and dabbed his cheek. “I’m sorry for hitting you.”

“I’ve done worse.”

She shot a warning glance at him and he sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she told him next. “I don’t need to hear it and I don’t want to.”

“Padmé…”

“You are the Chosen One, Anakin,” she said softly. “Accept it.”

He looked at her for a long while and finally nodded.

“Then let’s go to your room,” she said briskly. “We’ll have Two-One Bee look at that cut.”

“We have declared you unfit to be a member of the Alliance,” said Mothma firmly.

“I understand,” Anakin said emotionlessly.

“Please remove yourself from Mustafar base as soon as you are able. We hold you to your oath of confidentiality,” she continued. If Mothma noticed his flinch at the name of the planet, she didn’t say anything. “Thank you for your interest and support of the Alliance. We hope that there will be no ill will between yourself and the Alliance.”

“On the contrary,” said Anakin quietly. “I still intend on making my donation of 500 million credits to the Alliance, and I regret that I was unable to give my knowledge to you as well as my private resources.”

“Well…” Mothma said, dry-mouthed. “We appreciate the donation very much. Thank you for your generosity.”

“Ma’am,” Anakin said, bowing slightly and turning to leave.

“If I may inquire, Master Jedi,” said Mothma. “Where do you plan on going?”

“I plan on temporarily returning to my world,” he told her. “I have no plans beyond then.”

“I see,” she said finally. “Good luck.”

“There is no luck,” he said with a small smile. “Only the will of the Force. We shall meet again, my lady, and until then, may the Force be with you.”

“And with you, Master Jedi,” said Mothma quietly as he left the room.

“500 million credits?” someone whispered.

“Solo.”

Han whipped around to see Vader—Anakin, he reminded himself harshly—standing, the breather in hand. He looked a lot better than he had before, Han recognized, and seemed to have weird calm about him. “Look,” he began nervously. “I didn’t ask the kid to stay with me,” he began. “He didn’t have to be a smuggler—” He broke off as he saw Anakin laughing quietly. “That’s not why you’re here?”

Anakin shook his head. “No. I am here to thank you for caring for Luke. You have been a good friend to him.”

Han grinned uncomfortably. “He took care of me more than I did ‘im, actually.”

“Regardless. I appreciate your loyalty,” he said, his eyes roving past Han to look at the ship. “You’re modifying the left sublight engine?” he asked, interested. “I recommend adjusting the bracing and running a direct line to the hyperdrive. Then you could add a second transformer to the other sublight and you’d be able to get more power.”

Han stared at him, mouth open, and then grabbed his datapad, jotting down the notes. “Where’d you come up with that?” he asked. “That’s brilliant!”

“I have always enjoyed building flying machines,” Anakin explained. “I’m sure you could tell when you visited Bain.”

“Yeah!” Han exclaimed. “You have an original Naboo cruiser. I’ve always wanted to check out the shield generators on those—they’re supposed to be the best.”

“They are,” Anakin confirmed. “I used the technology for my personal star destroyers,” he explained. “The generators cannot be harmed from an outside attack.”

“What about the shields themselves, though?” Han questioned.

“They’re a proton force field,” Anakin told him. “They repel objects of a certain magnetism. If hit directly, they can destroy the object. It’s similar to the technology of a lightsaber.”

“Wow,” said Han, impressed.

“This is an impressive ship,” said Anakin, standing and craning his head to look at the Falcon’s underbelly. “Though I’d wager that the wiring is a mess.”

“Thanks,” said Han, gratified. “It’s nice to hear someone actually appreciate her. And yeah, the wiring’s a bit screwed,” he admitted. “Sometimes I did it, sometimes Chewie did it.”

“I see,” said Anakin, walking over and inspecting a part. “I have a request of you, Captain Solo,” he said formally.

“Yeah?”

“I am leaving the Rescuer here as a token of my goodwill,” Anakin said. “I require a ride to Bain.”

“And you want me to give it?” Han finished. “Sure. Is Luke coming?”

“Yes. And Lady Amidala.”

Han went violently red. “Leia’s mother,” he said softly. “I forgot. You’re, uh, Leia’s dad, right?”

“Biologically,” Anakin said truthfully. “But I executed her adoptive father, a man named Bail Organa. He was once a friend of mine.”

Han winced. “Right. But…uh… I guess I need your permission, if I’m to…” he trailed off, looking at Anakin hopefully.

“If you’re to, ‘what?’” Anakin asked, amused.

“Well, me and Leia… I’ve known her for a while…” Han said uncomfortably.

“Are you asking for my permission to court the daughter that you have known longer than I have?” Anakin questioned.

“Well… yeah…” Han mumbled.

“You saved my life, Captain Solo,” said Anakin. “I will grant you that privilege. It’s the least I can do.”

“Great!” said Han, relieved. “And do you think I could have a look at that Naboo shield generator while we’re on Bain?”

“I think that I can arrange it.”

“Luke!” Padmé called out to her son as she left her husband’s empty room.

The blond-haired youth whipped around. “What is it, Lady Ami--Mother?”

“Do not feel pressured to call me ‘mother,’ Luke,” Padmé said gently. “I was only wondering if you knew where Anakin has gone.”

“You mean he’s not in there?” Luke asked in surprise. “I left him in there a few hours ago.”

Padmé furrowed her brow. “Do you think something is wrong?” she asked nervously. “Maybe someone attacked him, like in the mess hall, or maybe he’s locked in some room--”

“I would know if something had happened to him, Mother,” Luke reassured her. “Let me look for a moment,” he said, and closed his eyes, reaching out with the Force to feel his father’s presence. After a second he opened them again. “He’s in the hangar,” he said with some surprise.

“We have to leave late in the sleep cycle tomorrow, so I think he should rest. Maybe you could help him?” Padmé asked hopefully. “I don’t want to him to have nightmares. The Force knows that he's had enough of those,” she said bitterly.

“Only if his guard is down,” Luke admitted. “He’ll meditate, most likely. That’s what he normally does.”

“I see,” said Padmé as she took her son’s arm and walked down the hall towards the main hangar.

“Can you tell me what he used to be like?” Luke asked suddenly. “Before everything went bad?”

Padmé sighed. “He was one of the most famous Jedi Knights in the galaxy,” she remembered. “He and Obi-Wan pulled off some amazing missions together. Besides Master Windu and Yoda, of course, they were considered to be the best. Anakin was—and still is, to my understanding—the best star pilot in the galaxy.”

“But what was he like? Besides all that?” Luke pressed. “When he wasn’t being the famous Jedi Knight?”

Padmé let out a fond smile. “He always made me laugh,” she reminisced. “He played jokes on people. The younglings loved him—he was like a big brother to them. A hero.” She stopped, obviously remembering his betrayal of the children, but continued. “He was very excited when I told him of my pregnancy,” she told Luke, who grinned. “He was so thrilled about becoming a father.”

“Really?”

Padmé nodded. “He wanted to tell the Jedi Order about us, to reveal our marriage so that we wouldn’t have to hide, but I stopped him. He wanted so badly for everyone to know that we were going to have a baby. Well, babies. But we didn’t know that at the time.”

“What if he hadn’t turned?” Luke asked quietly. “What if Palpatine hadn’t gotten to him?”

Padmé smiled sadly. “It’s never good to dwell on lives that never were, Luke,” she told him gently. “We must focus on the present. This is our situation; we must learn from it, adapt to it, and change it as best we can.”

“That sounds like Jedi wisdom,” Luke said, raising his eyebrow.

“It is,” Padmé admitted. “I’ve spent my share of time around Jedi to know how they think.”

“Here’s the hangar,” said Luke, flicking his finger and opening the door. “Father should be over there somewhere,” he told her, pointing to the far left. “I’ll walk you.”

They walked over and, to their surprise, found Han, Chewie, and Anakin arguing about the dismantled hyperdrive that lay on a worktable.

“No, I’m telling you, if you use a split cable it’ll go faster,” Anakin persisted. “Trust me.”

“I’ve never used a split cable and I don’t intend to now,” Han retorted hotly. “They’re dodgy. I had a buddy of mine who said that his shorted out all the time!”

“Then it was faulty,” Anakin returned. “Split cables are perfectly fine, as long as you install it correctly with the proper connectors.”

“No,” Han said stubbornly. “It doesn’t need to go to both sublights. And if it does then I’ll run two separate lines.”

“But then the connection speed won’t be as good!” Anakin protested. “If you do a split cable, that’s eliminated and you’ve got a split second difference!” They both paused to listen to Chewie’s annoyed roar.

“Chewie! How could you say that? You’re supposed to be on my side!” Han gaped. “Traitor!”

“He’s not a traitor, just smart,” said Anakin smugly, leaning back and crossing his arms. “It’s two out of three, Solo. A split cable is the best choice.”

“Well it’s my ship,” Han grumbled. “I don’t trust split cables.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “Your friend probably got it off of the black market. I’ve got high-quality ones and some connectors that’ll make quick work of it.”

Padmé and Luke exchanged amused glances. “I haven’t seen you smile that much in two decades,” said Padmé, making their presence known. “My vote goes with Anakin, Captain Solo. I’ve known him long enough to recognize that he understands starships.”

“Great,” Han mumbled.

“I was looking for you but you weren’t in your room,” said Padmé, turning to her husband, who still looked pleased about his victory. “I should have known that you’d be in here, getting your hands dirty in engine grease.”

Anakin shrugged, still looking relaxed. “Father, when do you want to leave?” Luke questioned.

Anakin smiled slightly. “Depends on Han. Looks like he’s our ride.”

“Really?” Luke asked delightedly.

Han nodded. “He begged me, so I couldn’t say no.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “More like I said aloud what you were thinking.”

“Hey!” Han protested. “I don’t like you readin’ my mind!”

“I didn’t,” Anakin returned, laughing. “But you just confirmed my point.”

Han closed his mouth abruptly. “I figure we can leave in the morning,” he said. “We’ve got a while ‘fore we get to Bain, anyhow.”

“Oh, Master Luke! Master Luke, I have been wondering where you are!”

They all turned to see C-3PO waddling down the steps. “Captain Solo seemed to have accidentally locked me in a spare parts locker, I’ve only just got out!” he explained.

“Threepio?” Anakin said in surprise.

“I’m sorry, sir, do I know you?” The golden droid inquired.

“You know him?” Han questioned.

“Han, you locked him up?” Luke asked reprovingly. The smuggler grinned and shrugged. “I had to do something. He wouldn’t shut up—Cutie said this, Cutie said that.”

“Cutie?” Padmé asked curiously.

“Cutie, as in my protocol droid on Bain?” asked Anakin. “By the way, Luke, I should never let you name my droids, ever again,” he said darkly, looking at his son, who grinned. “Do you know how ridiculous it sounds to comm my droid ‘Cutie’ when I’m on a transport back to Bain with a squadron of stormtroopers?”

“I thought it was nice,” said Luke innocently, while Han laughed.

Anakin stood, taking care not to upset his portable oxygen. “Threepio, you don’t remember me?” he asked.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir—”

“Anakin Skywalker,” he said, interrupting the droid.

“I apologize,” Threepio said. “But I have had at least one memory wipe, sir—”

“Oh,” Anakin said in understanding. “Then access Pattern Code 347, and recall Basic 1.”

A strange buzzing came from Threepio’s head for a moment and his photoreceptors shut off for a split second. “Oh, my Maker! Master Anakin, I haven’t seen you in almost eighteen years!” The droid said prissily. “What happened to you, Maker? You look terrible!”

“Thanks,” Anakin said wryly.

“Hold on a second!” Han shouted. “You made Threepio?”

“Yes. When I was nine,” said Anakin. “He was a gift for my mother.”

“You built him?” Han repeated. “As in, assembled, wired, put together?”

Anakin nodded. “Why is that so surprising?”

Han shook his head as if trying to clear it. “But why?”

“He was a gift,” Anakin said, shrugging. “It was my first experience with personality circuits. Before that, I’d just worked on astromechs and transmechs, which don’t really have personalities. Artoo excepting, of course.”

“You know Artoo too?” Han said in surprise.

“Oh course,” Anakin confirmed. “He was mine for a long time.”

Han wiped his forehead and massaged his temples. “First, you’re the famous podracer, then you built the most annoying droid in the galaxy… Got any other secrets you’d like to share with the club?”

“Now that you mention it, I did invent the hyperdrive,” Anakin teased.

“Really?” Han’s eyes went wide, and Luke burst out into laughter.

“He’s kidding, Han.”

“Right,” said Han, reddening. “I was jus’ playin’ along.”

“It’s good for you to do this,” said Padmé, smiling at her husband.

“A nice distraction,” he said, sighing and leaning back into his chair. “It’s been a while since I’ve actually worked on a ship.”

“What are we going to do? About the Alliance, I mean?” Padmé asked worriedly. “I didn’t expect them to refuse you.”

“I did,” Anakin told her. “But I can read their minds, so…”

“Anakin,” Padmé said sternly. “You shouldn’t—”

“They were directed at me!” Anakin protested. “It’s not like I was probing their minds or anything. They would’ve felt that.”

Han let out a groan. “I forgot you were into that Jedi stuff too,” he muttered.

Anakin glanced sidelong at him. “A little,” he told him seriously.

Han rolled his eyes. “Shaddup.”

“Mother! I was looking for you,” said a new voice. They turned to see Leia jogging up to them. Her face tightened when she saw Anakin, and his smile dimmed and the crow’s feet around his eyes reappeared. He set down the tool he was holding and turned away from her.

Padmé noticed their reactions with a frown. “What is it, darling?”

“You’re leaving with him?” Leia said, not hedging at all. She placed her hands on her hips. “We need you here. You’re supposed to officially join the High Command tomorrow.”

“That can wait,” said Padmé serenely.

“Mother, you have a responsibility to the Alliance,” Leia said hotly. “You can’t just leave because your husband returns from the dead. You’re safer here.”

Padmé crossed her arms. “I am safest wherever Anakin is,” she said coolly. “I will go with him, Leia. I don’t want to hear anything else about it.”

“Oh, yes, because he can take care of himself,” said Leia scathingly. “‘Let’s go jump into a pit of lava!’”

Anakin flinched and Luke stepped forward. “That is not what happened,” said Luke tightly, crossing his arms. “Leia, you need to stop this. I thought you were okay with everything. You did cover for him.”

“Stop what?” she returned. “I may have covered for you, but I’m the only one here who realizes that he’s Darth Vader. Even if he has left the Dark Side, that doesn’t make everything okay.” She turned her eyes to Anakin. “You’re still a murderer,” she said darkly. “And I’m the only one who bothers to remember it!”

Anakin cringed but said nothing. “Stop it,” Padmé said coldly.

“Leia… He has changed,” Han said quietly, standing.

She whirled on him. “Great, you too, Han? You’ve joined the Darth Vader fan club as well? Splendid!”

“That’s enough,” said Anakin quietly, standing to his full height. “Your quarrel is with me, not them. Don’t jeopardize your relationships with others because you’re angry with me.”

“Angry? Angry is hardly the word I would choose,” said Leia coldly. “Disgusted. Disbelieving. Ashamed.”

“Leia Organa—” Padmé began tightly, but stopped at Anakin’s raised hand.

“I deserve all of it, Princess,” he said quietly. “But don’t hurt other people because of your feelings for me.”

“What do you mean, ‘hurt other people?’” she asked suspiciously.

“Your mother. Your brother,” he told her gently. “Walk with me for a few minutes.”

“The last thing I want is to be near you,” Leia said. “I want you to leave as soon as possible and I don’t ever want to see you again. I don’t care that you donated money to the Alliance. I don’t care that Mother thinks you’re some kind of hero, that Luke worships you. I hate you! You might be my biological parent, but you murdered my real father. I’ll never forgive you.”

“Your anger achieves nothing, Princess,” said Anakin, though it was apparent that her words had hurt him.

She glared at him. “But your anger sure accomplished a lot, didn’t it? Because of you, all the Jedi are dead. You should die because of that.”

“If that is what you truly believe, I accept your judgement,” he said calmly. He lifted the portable oxygen case out to her. “Take it from me, if you believe that I should die.”

She stared at him, her mouth open in surprise. “Anakin,” Padmé said nervously. “Anakin, I—”

“I trust her judgment,” Anakin repeated. “She is her mother’s daughter.”

Leia bit her lip and her arms fell limp at her hands. She bowed her head. “You shouldn’t die,” she mumbled.

“I disagree,” he told her quietly. “But I thank you for the confidence.”

She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. “The day you killed my father, I swore to kill you. I swore to destroy the Empire.”

“I swore to save Padmé’s life at any cost,” he returned gently. “I swore to do anything to keep her safe. I ended up losing my soul. I ended up murdering thousands. Do not follow my path, my daughter. Let go of your hate. Let go of your anger. Both are paths to the Dark Side.”

She stepped back from him. “I’m sorry.”

“It is not you who needs to apologize, Princess,” said Anakin. “I have caused you a great deal of pain. I only hope that some day, you will find it in you to forgive me.”

She nodded silently and turned to Padmé. “Mother, have a safe journey,” she said quietly. “I look forward to your return.”

“Thank you, Leia,” said Padmé gently, giving her daughter an embrace. “Don’t worry.”

Leia smiled weakly and turned, walking quickly out of the hangar. Anakin sank into his chair. “Do you think she will…?”

“One day,” Padmé said confidently. “One day she will, Anakin.”

“Are you ready, Father?” Luke stepped inside Anakin’s room to see his father carefully wrapping his belt around his waist.

“Yes,” Anakin said, fingering the loop where a lightsaber was meant to hang. He stared at the wall wistfully.

“I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that,” said Luke suddenly, moving forward to unclip his lightsaber from his belt. “This is yours, Father. Thank you for letting me borrow it.”

Anakin mouth dropped open. “You never made your own?” he said with some surprise.

Luke shook his head. “You were going to teach me, remember?”

Anakin smiled. “I still will, if you would like. I have the materials.”

“Really?” Luke asked eagerly. “Great! Then you should take yours back.” He handed the metallic cylinder out to his father who accepted it almost reverently.

Anakin fingered the delicate grip that he had spent a week constructing, wishing for the trillionth time that he could feel it under his thumb. “Thank you,” he whispered, gripping it with both hands and raising it. “When we get to Bain we should practice. I would like to see how your technique has improved.”

“Not by much,” Luke admitted. “Yoda focused on mental exercises rather than combat.”

“Yoda would,” Anakin said cryptically as he eased the lightsaber onto the belt. “Thank you, Luke,” he repeated. “A Jedi’s lightsaber—the one that he builds—is an extension of his arm, of his will, and is part of the Jedi’s connection with the Force. As Palpatine’s apprentice, he gifted me with a lightsaber rather than allow me to build my own. It was another method of control,” he explained. “The same way I used to take your lightsaber aboard the Executor. If you had built your weapon, I would never have been able to take it from you.”

“Really?” Luke asked, surprised.

Anakin nodded. “Let’s go. Your mother and Solo will be waiting.”

“Have we received clearance?” Anakin asked once he and Luke arrived at the hangar, where Han, Chewie, Padmé, and the droids were already waiting.

“Yes,” said Padmé. “I went to them. They were a bit surprised to hear that Captain Solo and I were both leaving,” she said with a small smile.

“You may return to the base as soon as you can,” said Anakin immediately. “I’m not going to keep you from your duty.”

“Nonsense, Ani,” said Padmé. “I want to be wherever you are. We’ve spent too long apart.”

“I agree,” he told her quietly. “Is the ship on the landing pad?”

Han nodded. “I put her out there a while ago.”

“Then let’s go,” said Anakin, and Padmé took his hand discreetly, lacing her fingers with his. He glanced down and his lips quirked in a half smile.

The doors slid open to reveal the landing pad and Anakin looked up.

He froze.

Mustafar.

With a soft cry he fell to the ground, trembling. “Ani!” Padmé asked worriedly. “Ani, are you all right?”

It was as though he didn’t hear her—all he could hear was the sound of flames in his hears, the smell of burning flesh—his flesh—the taste of acrid smoke eating away at his trachea, burning his lungs. Obi-Wan’s face flashed before his eyes.

“You were the Chosen One, Anakin! You were supposed to destroy the Sith, not join them! Bring balance to the Force, not leave it in Darkness!”

The searing pain at his legs and arm as they were cut away, as he fell with a sickening thud to the bank, began to slide down, so close to the molten lava. As the remains of his limbs ignited, as the flames crawled up his skin, as he clawed futilely at the bank, trying desperately to climb up.

“I HATE YOU!”

His eyes were burning, stinging; Obi-Wan’s face above him was blurry. “You were my brother, Anakin! I loved you!”

“ANAKIN!”

For a brief moment he opened his eyes to see Padmé’s face swimming above his. “Padmé…” he gasped.

“You’re going down a path I can’t follow!”

“You’re breaking my heart!”

His fingers, clenched as they drew the breath from her lungs, as they crushed her trachea—her hands clawing at her neck, her eyes wide and terrified. “An-i!” she gasped, but there was no sound as he slowly took her life away from her in his anger and hurt betrayal.

“Let her go, Anakin!”

With a moan, Anakin stood from his spot on the landing pad and stumbled away from the group, ignoring the cries of his son and his wife. He had to get there; he had to see the place the physical reality of Darth Vader had been born. Unthinkingly, he leapt across the cables and the thin supports on which he and Obi-Wan had fought so long ago, the lava swimming beneath them. The Force propelled his body further than Luke could follow and it perfected his balance as he leapt onto a repulsordrift.

The fumes of the lava rose up to greet him and he had to actively stop himself from vomiting at the nausea they awakened in him. Even with the oxygen, they made breathing difficult. He felt a shadow of the pain in his lungs but he ignored it, single-mindedly knowing that he just had to get there, he had to get to that place.

The Force was strong on the side of the bank. Without his own volition, he leapt across the flames and the flow, landing at the peak of the bank.

His eyes played tricks on him, he knew, because he could see the faint outline of himself, eighteen years earlier, slipping down. He could see Obi-Wan crying out to him, trying to make him understand.

Why hadn’t he listened? Why had he allowed himself to become so blinded by pain and rage that he couldn’t see that Obi-Wan was trying desperately to bring him back from the brink of Darkness? Why had he allowed his fear to cloud his judgement, his morals? Why had he let Palpatine manipulate him into destroying the Jedi? Into murdering the younglings?

He fell to his knees at the top of the bank and held his face in his hands. He was struggling for breath—the breather wasn’t made for this environment—but he couldn’t care less at the moment. He had to understand. He had to comprehend this place—what this place had created.

Here, the monster—in the physical and mental sense—that he became was created.

It was here that Anakin had ceased to be a man. Here that he had become more machine than man, twisted and evil, as Obi-Wan had called him. Here that he had been rendered dependent on machines to keep him alive—here that his unceasing rage had been assured.

Fear.

Aggression.

Hate.

All are paths to the Dark Side.

Paths that he would never take again regardless of the cost. He would never again succumb to the fury that had warmed him and reassured him as a Sith.

“Father!”

Anakin slowly got to his feet as Luke leapt from a repulsordrift to land by his side. “This is where it happened?” Luke asked in sudden understanding.

Anakin nodded. “Yes.” His voice was a whisper, his breathing ragged.

“Are you all right?” Luke asked, concerned.

Anakin forcefully repressed the shadows of pain that crossed into his psyche. “I am,” he responded finally. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“It’s okay,” said Luke, taking his arm. “This isn’t healthy,” he told his father.

“I know,” Anakin admitted as he started coughing. Once he had managed to stop, he rasped, “I just had to see it.”

“I understand,” said Luke, and Anakin knew that his son did understand. Had he not lived it along with his father?

Above them, the Falcon suddenly descended and the boarding ramp was lowered. “Let’s go, Father,” said Luke gently. Together, they climbed aboard.

“Do not ever scare me like that again, Anakin Skywalker.”

They looked up to see Padmé’s white face as she glared at her husband, hands on her hips. “I’m sorry, Padmé,” Anakin told her quietly. “I won’t.” He coughed twice and she immediately went to him.

“I’m not mad,” she said gently. “But that was stupid. Do you want to destroy what’s left of your lungs?”

“No,” Anakin said, sitting beside her as Luke went up to join Han and Chewie in the cockpit. “I wasn’t close enough for the fumes to combust,” he told her.

“So it was good for you then,” she said sarcastically. “Wonderful.”

“I’m fine, Padmé,” he told her as she forcefully pressed an oxygen mask over his face. “I have put it behind me.”

Her eyes widened in understanding. “I’m glad,” she told him honestly.

“Me too,” he told her, leaning back against the comfortable couch that was part of the Falcon’s lounge.

She leaned down and rested her cheek on his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I love you,” she told him, her words muffled by the several layers that were his Jedi robes.

“I love you too. What are you doing?” he asked her, reaching down and placing a hand on her back.

“As soon as you put that horrid suit on I won’t be able to touch you,” she explained, and Anakin felt a stab of guilt and regret shoot through him before it disappeared into the Force.

“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I wish it was otherwise.”

“I know you do,” she said, looking up at him. “You more than anyone, probably. But I still hate it.”

“You hate what it represents,” he told her. “When you look at me, you will see Darth Vader.”

“No,” she began hollowly. “I know you’re Anakin—”

“Padmé,” he said reprovingly.

She sighed. “You’re right. I will see Vader, even though I know it’s you. But I’ve spent the last eighteen years hating whoever was behind that mask, Ani. It’s deeply imbedded.”

“I understand,” he told her calmly, bypassing his regret. “I promise that I will do all that I can to get rid of it, Padmé.”

“I know,” she said, resting her head on his chest once more. “If feels nice to do this,” she told him tiredly. “It’s been so long.”

“I’m a little different.”

“Not where it counts,” she returned. “Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter,” she quoted.

He said nothing for a long time.

Two days later, the calm, serene environment that hyperspace created disintegrated quickly. As soon as they exited the hyperjump, Anakin tensed, just as Han called from the cockpit, “Hey, your lordship!” he said nervously.

“What is it?” Padmé asked worriedly as she followed Anakin’s movements into the cramped cockpit.

The site of a familiar, 8-kilometer long, coal-black spearhead that hung over Bain answered her question. “What are we gonna do?” Han asked anxiously.

“They must be here on the Emperor’s orders,” said Anakin finally. “They’re going to try and get us in a Tractor beam.”

“How do you know?” Han asked.

Anakin stared at him. “That’s my ship,” he said as though it was obvious. “I designed their strategies. The Emperor doesn’t know what ship we’ll arrive on, so they have orders to detain all approaching ships.”

“Does that mean they’re aware of your defection?” asked Padmé interestedly. “There’s been nothing on the news, Ani. That kind of information would be quick to leak, even from the best crew.”

“I don’t know,” Anakin admitted. “Solo, pull left,” he said quickly.

Han did as he was told, but the damage was done. “I can’t!”

“Kreth,” Anakin muttered. “I should have taken the controls.”

“No way,” Han said instantly. “I don’t let anyone else pilot my ship.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “Arm yourselves,” he said finally. “They aren’t going to recognize me. Padmé,” he said, turning to his wife. “I’m going to have to be Darth Vader for a while.”

She paled. “I understand,” she told him, biting her lip.

“Luke,” Anakin told his son. “Watch over her,” he commanded. Luke nodded just as the Falcon descended into the cargo bay of the Executor’s hangar.

A voice on the comm called, “Millennium Falcon, lower your boarding ramp immediately and prepare for a search and seizure.”

“Negative, Captain Best,” said Anakin, who had called on the Force to make his voice deeper and richer, though it still sounded nothing like the vocoder. “This is Darth Vader,” he continued. “Inform Admiral Piett of my arrival at once.”

“I think that I would know my own superior’s voice, unidentified man,” said the man. “Lord Vader will be most seriously displeased when he gets word of someone’s impersonation of him.” Padmé frowned and glanced towards her husband, just as he concentrated as though looking at a far-off point, and raised his gloved hand, flexing it slightly.

The entire party paled as sudden sputtering and choking echoed across the comm. Anakin’s arm dropped and his eyes lost the glaze of focus. “Understood, Lord Vader,” said the man’s voice shakily, hoarse and raw.

Padmé stared at her husband. “What did you do?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.

“I did what Darth Vader would do, my love,” said Anakin quietly. “I didn’t hurt him, though. Just scared him.”

“Scared me too,” Han muttered to himself. “I didn’t think the rumors were true.”

“I wish that they were just rumors,” Anakin admitted. “I had… a low tolerance for incompetence.”

Padmé winced. “Ani…”

“I cannot change the past, Padmé,” Anakin said firmly. “What’s done is done. All that remains is to accept it.” He grinned. “Plus, they aren’t going to shoot us down, now.”

She nodded silently and followed her husband out of the ship, Luke at her side and Han and Chewie behind them.

As expected, the admiral waited for them, looking nervous. Anakin stalked up to him. “Piett,” he growled. “On whose orders is my ship here?”

Piett blanched. “My… My lord?” he asked doubtfully, his eyes caught by the horrific scarring and the oxygen that Anakin carried at his side. His glance drifted to the lightsaber at Anakin’s belt.

“Yes, Admiral,” Anakin replied coldly, once more drawing on the Force to support his voice. “Answer my question.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest in a familiar posture he know the Admiral would recognize.

Piett straightened. “The Emperor’s orders, my lord,” he explained. “We are supposed to deliver anyone that comes to this system to him personally..”

“It is my system,” Anakin said darkly. “I do not appreciate being caught on a Tractor beam while I am attempting to return to it.”

“My orders, Lord Vader,” Piett said nervously. “From the Emperor…”

“I understand that, Admiral,” Anakin said, annoyed.

His eyes narrowed as a sudden flash of precognition hit him, just as Piett said miserably, “I have orders to detain anyone attempting to enter the system.” He raised his hand and a squadron of stormtroopers marched forward. “Including yourself, seeing as you’re a passenger,” he mumbled, terrified out of his wits.

Anakin’s first instinct was to send the stormtroopers flying into the wall and forcibly make Piett do as he was told. He gave a mental sigh. He was a Jedi, not a Sith. The Dark Side was ever tempting—he had to resist it. He settled for a sharp question. “You would take your own commander into custody, Piett?”

Piett turned his eyes away and a horrible sense of foreboding swamped Anakin’s senses.

Oh, no.

He whipped around and used the Force to shove Luke, Padmé, Han and Chewie back up the boarding ramp and shouted, mentally and physically, “RUN!”

Padmé’s eyes widened and she did as she was told, just as Chewie scooped her up and leapt inside the Falcon, Han following him just as Luke flew backwards, seemingly out of his control. Luke cried out, “Father!” just as hit his head sharply on the ground and lost consciousness.

The presence that had been hidden from him appeared quite suddenly. Nauseated, Anakin turned slowly to see a contingent of Royal Guards flanking the shrunken, hooded form of Darth Sidious as he walked slowly towards Anakin as the Millennium Falcon lifted into the air. Anakin used the Force to push the ship past the force-field that kept the hangar bay separate from space, but it was suspended, stopped, by a power summoned by the single shriveled hand that had emerged from Sidious’ robes.

“Ah,” Palpatine said, his horrible voice. “Your lovely wife. She lives. I suspected as much. How… fortunate.”

“Release them,” Anakin said in a cold voice, his hand resting on his lightsaber and ignoring the barb.

“It would be so easy to end what you began, my former apprentice,” Palpatine hissed. “I could even use your method. A little squeeze—your pretty little Amidala is gone.”

Anakin raised his hand—the other compromised by the portable oxygen—and raised the most powerful Force-shield around the Falcon that he could create. “No. You stole her from me once, Palpatine. It will not happen again.”

“Don’t be foolish, Skywalker,” Palpatine snarled. “You cannot defeat me.”

“Your overconfidence is your weakness,” Anakin responded as he released his apprehension and fear for Padmé into the Force before it had a chance to settle in his heart. He swallowed as his gaze drifted to his son, lying still on the floor. “Let Luke go,” he commanded, dry-mouthed.

“My new apprentice? He may have evaded me once, Skywalker, but it was only a matter of time before your son was mine. I will not relinquish him.”

“He will never be your apprentice,” Anakin spat. “He will not turn.”

“Why? Is his loyalty to the Jedi as famed as was Anakin Skywalker’s?” Palpatine asked mockingly. “I did not have as much time to prepare him as I did you, of course, and you had to go and ruin your potential as soon as you finally did become mine, but he will turn. I have foreseen it.”

Anakin didn’t let himself hear the taunts. Palpatine was only attempting to provoke him into using the Dark Side—and if he did that, there was no turning back. This was his second chance. His only chance. “I am the Chosen One,” he told Sidious firmly. “And Luke is my son. He will not turn.”

“The ‘Chosen One,’” Sidious spat disgustedly. “Jedi nonsense. You will not defeat me. You cannot. You will die, Skywalker.”

“You underestimate the power of the Force,” said Anakin, not allowing himself the shred of doubt that grew within his breast. He wasn’t powerful enough to defeat his former master, he knew, but if he could just distract the Emperor long enough for Luke to escape—for the Falcon to get off of the Executor—

“The Jedi are weak fools,” Sidious said in a disgusted tone. “They grasp pretty tricks and mystic drivel, blind to the truth that only the Dark Side lends power.” He focused his amber gaze on his former apprentice. “You will not interfere with your son any longer, Anakin Skywalker. The time has come for you to die.” The red-robed guards marched forward to surround Luke, the Emperor, and Anakin.

Anakin ignored the guards and raised his lightsaber with his right hand. His eyes narrowed. “You cannot kill me,” he snarled.

“Oh, it’s simple enough,” Palpatine croaked, lifting his hand. Suddenly, the portable oxygen ripped itself from Anakin’s hand and a stab of panic swept through him—he had forgotten about it, forgotten that he was dependent on it. The tubes pulled from his nose and it suddenly felt as though a pillow was pressed against his face and he gasped for air, willing his lungs to work—just this once. He fell to his knees, his lightsaber still clenched in his fists.

“There,” Sidious hissed. “Your men get to watch you die the same way you disposed of so many under your command. Fitting, isn’t it?”

Anakin lifted his eyes to meet the Sith’s. The familiar sensations of suffocation and panic had settled in, but he pushed them to the back of his mind, focusing on the job at hand. “He won’t turn,” he gasped, his voice coming out as a weak whisper.

Palpatine let out a long slow laugh as Anakin’s strength dwindled. “He will. And at last, the Jedi will be no more!”

NO! Anakin screamed mentally as his awareness faded from him. I can’t have failed so easily! Pulling on all his strength, he got slowly to his feet and swayed, fighting unconsciousness and reaching out to steady himself, only to find that there was no such support near himt

“Stubborn to the last,” Palpatine said, shaking his head in mock chastisement. “If you insist.” He raised his hands, and Anakin realized what he was going to do just as the Force-lightning poured out from the Sith’s fingers. He tried desperately to raise his lightsaber to block the attack, but he had no energy—it was all he could do to stay conscious, to fight the suffocation. Anakin, your lightsaber! A desperate voice cried out in his mind. Obi-Wan? Anakin wondered dumbly, teetering on the brink of passing out. The Force-lightning seemed to move in slow motion—he could see it streaking towards him, he knew that it would kill him, but he couldn’t move. His vision began to fade. ANAKIN! FIGHT IT! Obi-Wan’s voice shouted. Master… Anakin managed weakly.

YOU MUST BREATHE, ANAKIN! Obi-Wan was terrified, frantic.

Can’t… can’t… Help me, Master!

Suddenly, unexplainable, unimaginable power surged through limbs that were no longer there and gave him strength. In a fraction of a second, he raised his lightsaber to block the streams of Force-lightning, but as the Dark energy hit the blade, it propelled him backwards across the hangar bay, sending his body crashing into various crates. A shrill scream—whether it was aloud or in his head, he couldn’t be sure—pierced Anakin’s consciousness as the power ebbed from him, taking with it his consciousness and leaving him in pain. ANI! NOOOOOO! And then there was nothing.

“Get that one,” Palpatine commanded to his guards. The hangar was silent. “Don’t let that ship leave. I will deal with its occupants personally,” he added to the Admiral—Pott? Pattel?—whose face was pale and sweaty. He was loyal to Vader, then. Strange. He would have to be disposed of soon. But right now, the man needed to keep control of the ship while Palpatine prepared the son of Skywalker. He allowed himself a smile. At last, he had his apprentice.

Padmé sprinted out of the Millennium Falcon’s lounge, paying no heed to Han’s startled cry or Chewie’s roar. They had watched it all, locked inside the ship, as Palpatine slowly killed her husband and stole her son. The instant Anakin had hit the crates, the Falcon had slipped, somehow, in the air, and Han had retaken the controls and brought the ship to the landing pad.

Now, Padmé ran down the boarding ramp and thrust past the squadron of storm troopers headed towards her husband. Despite her limited Force-sensitivity, she couldn’t tell if Anakin was alive. Ignoring the surprised shouts at her sudden appearance, Padmé finally reached her husband’s broken body.

His lips were tinged blue and he was unconscious. Padmé let out a cry and buried her face in his shoulder. “Anakin! Ani, can you hear me?”

Several cuts on his face were bleeding. Padmé hastily wiped away the blood and listened for a heartbeat. It was the same—steady and strong. Padmé’s lip curled. A pacemaker.

“Excuse me, ma’am—”

Padmé looked up to see a very pale officer staring at her. Padmé wiped away her tears. “He needs help.”

“The Emperor has decreed—”

“I DON’T CARE!” Padmé screamed. “THAT BASTARD HAS TAKEN EVERYTHING FROM ME! HE TOOK MY SON! I WON’T ALLOW HIM TO TAKE MY HUSBAND AWAY!”

Piett—as his identification indicated, took a step back. “Husband?” he asked dumbly, staring at Padmé’s tear-streaked face and then at Vader’s unmoving form.

“Yes,” Padmé said quietly, her energy spent. “Please help him. You must.” She glanced down at Anakin and quickly took his lightsaber—deactivated—from his clenched fist and hooked it to her own belt.

Piett stared at her for a moment. “Sir?” A stormtrooper asked him warily.

Admiral Firmus Piett had served under Darth Vader since his graduation from the Imperial Military Academy. He had grown to appreciate the man—his efficiency, his sense of honor, duty, and self, and his bravery in the field, regardless of his ruthless methods.

And here, Vader lay in front of him, a human man with a wife begging Piett to help her husband. Her husband. A father. The man that lay in front of him could have been a simple soldier. And with that realization, Piett made a decision.

“Pick him up,” he ordered sharply. “Gently. He probably has multiple fractures. “Take him to the medbay.”

“No!” Padmé said quickly. “To the Falcon!”

Piett glanced at her. “Of course. I will lower the shields and give you five minutes to enter hyperspace before sending TIEs after you.” Padmé stared at him and nodded, just as the storm troopers did as they were told and lifted up Anakin’s body. “Quickly,” Piett added, feeling oddly calm despite the fact that he was consciously and fully disobeying the orders that came from the Emperor himself.

“And Luke? Can you help him?” Padmé asked him desperately. “Luke, my son, Palpatine took him!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but this is all I can do,” said Piett, and he was truly sorry as he accompanied Padmé to the boarding ramp. He turned to her. “Tell him,” he began hesitantly, “That I was proud to serve under him. That I hope I died a death that would make him proud as one of his soldiers, and that I did all I could to help his family.”

Padmé stared at him and what she had asked this Imperial officer to do finally sank in. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He nodded. “My pleasure, Lady Vader.”

She flinched. “Skywalker,” she corrected quietly. “My husband’s name is Anakin Skywalker. He is a Jedi Knight of the Old Republic.”

If she registered the faint surprise in his eyes she said nothing. “Move quickly, Madam Skywalker,” he told her a second later. “Farewell.”

She bit her lip. “Thank you,” she repeated at last, climbing the boarding ramp and watching Piett straighten his shoulders and call a calm mask over his features. Once onboard, she whipped around to see Chewie bending carefully over Anakin’s limp body, pressing an oxygen mask to his face. “Chewie, what do you know about…?” Padmé asked hopefully. The wookiee roared mournfully and gently lifted the Jedi’s gloved hands to lay at his side. His chest rose and fell shallowly. “I don’t know that much about medicine, either,” Padmé admitted. “My skills lay in politics, but it seems that Palpatine was far more skillful than I…” she trailed off and closed her eyes tightly.

Palpatine had Luke.

Despite her efforts to hold back her sobs, one escaped her and immediately Chewbacca enveloped her in a comforting hug. “He’s my baby,” Padmé whispered. “What if… What if Palpatine turns him? What if he turns into something horrible like Anakin did? I couldn’t bear it, Chewie, I couldn’t!”

The ship lurched as they rose into the air and Han emerged in the room, looking pale as he took Chewie’s place. “How’s he doin?’” he questioned Padmé uncomfortably as the older woman wiped away her tears.

“Not good,” Padmé whispered. “He’s still unconscious.”

“He’s not one for staying out of trouble, is he?” Han said quietly, moving past the former queen of Naboo to examine Anakin’s motionless frame. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know,” Padmé said heavily. “Should we go back to Home One?”

“Without the fleet that he promised and short a Jedi?” Han asked quietly. “I dunno if they’d be so glad to help him out then. And plus, we don’t know how long his body can hold out. Mustafar’s a long way from Bain,” he told Padmé.

“How do you know that it’s that bad?” Padmé asked, horrified.

“I’m guessin’ that those crates weren’t exactly soft,” said Han. “And he fell a long way.”

Padmé went very pale. “Where can we go? The Falcon is recognizable, Han. Plus, you two both have bounties on your heads. What place do we know that is remote enough to hide from the Emperor and has what we need to heal him?”

Han sank into a chair. “I dunno,” he admitted. “He had a lot of medical equipment on Bain,” he offered.

“But the officer told us to go into hyperspace,” said Padmé unhappily.

“That’s our only option for now, your ladyship,” said Han firmly. “I checked the coordinates. His fortress or whatever is located on the other side of the planet that’s visible.”

“But if they decide to do a planetary bombardment…”

Han slumped. “We’ve got to take that chance. “An oxygen mask isn’t probably what he needs,” he said, motioning to Anakin, who still lay limp on the cot.

Padmé bit her lip. “Then let’s go. You know how to get in?”

Han nodded. “Luke told the Jedi droids last time not to hurt me, so…”

Padmé’s eyes turned to her husband and she reached out for his hand, uncaring that it was cybernetic. She touched it to her cheek and released a shuddering breath. “Ani… Come back to me, Ani…”

“Felt a great disturbance in the Force, I have,” said Yoda as he sat in a tree, seemingly to no one. “In the hands of Sidious, young Skywalker now is.”

“It’s my fault,” and anguished voice said, and the glowing form of Obi-Wan Kenobi glimmered brightly as he appeared over a branch. “Anakin could not fight him. He was trying so hard, but he couldn’t breathe. It’s all my fault.”

“For despair and guilt, no place there is,” Yoda chastised the dead Jedi. “Hope, we must, that young Skywalker does not Fall.”

“But Anakin is the Chosen One,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “And he almost died because of me today. Our hope for the Balance to be restored to the Force almost died with him, all because of me. He would have died if I hadn’t helped him. If I hadn’t left him to burn... Surely you can see this, Master Yoda!”

“See that Anakin has returned, I do,” Yoda acknowledged, ignoring Obi-Wan’s self-guilt. “Much fear in him still, but control it, he does now. No hate in him, no anger. Purpose.”

“Does the rest of the Council see it that way?” Obi-Wan asked doubtfully. “Mace Windu seemed quite happy to condemn him.”

“The first victim of Vader, Master Windu was,” Yoda reminded Obi-Wan. “Told you, has he not?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan admitted.

“Meditate, I must,” Yoda said at last.

“Very well, Master Yoda,” he said, fading back into the Force. “I will do all I can.”

“Chewie, get him,” Han told the wookiee as they touched down. As promised, the Executor had done nothing, and as soon as they left sight, they had assumed that they had gone into hyperspace rather than their intended destination to begin with.

“Gently,” Padmé instructed brokenly as the enormous alien bent down and lifted Anakin’s body.

“Quick,” Han said impatiently as he went down the boarding ramp into the pouring rain. Padmé followed him and Threepio and Artoo came down after her, leaving Chewie last. They all moved as fast as they could after Han, who easily remembered where the entrance had been. As the sheer cliff face rose up in front of him, ebony black, Padmé hissed in surprise.

They all broke into a jog once in the hallway, Threepio calling out shouts of protest. “Oh, no…” Han murmured as they drew to the silver durasteel door that had no keypad. “Luke opened this with the Force,” he muttered. “How do we get in?”

“No!” Padmé cried out. “We have to get in!” She looked to the corners of each door, searching for some kind of technology to open it, but there was nothing.

“Artoo says that he could plug into a jack,” Threepio offered helpfully.

“There aren’t any!” Padmé shouted, gesturing wildly to the corridor. She whipped around. “OBI-WAN!” she called out. “Open the door!”

There was nothing. “Lady Amidala…” Han began uncomfortably.

“OPEN THE DOOR!” she screamed.

It opened and she turned around, mouth agape. “I… How…?”

Han stared at her. “You can do it too?”

“No,” said Padmé, bewildered. “I can’t.”

“Pad… Padmé…” It was the barest hint of a whisper.

She froze and then turned to Chewie. Anakin’s arm was limp, having fallen from Chewie’s grasp, but his eyes were half-open. “Opened it,” he whispered.

Her eyes filled with tears. “Ani, are you okay?”

“Luke?” he rasped. “Where’s Luke?”

Padmé choked back a sob. “Sidious.”

Anakin closed his eyes. “No…”

“We should get inside,” said Han. “The door did open.”

Padmé grasped her husband’s hand for a moment and then stepped aside to walk though the door. Her breath left her as she entered the grand room. “Where do we go?”

“Master Vader!”

They all looked up to see a protocol droid walking quickly towards him. “His medical facility has been prepared,” the droid said. “We saw him on the security holo-cams.”

“Then why didn’t you open the door?” Padmé growled.

“It’s not connected to any technology,” the droid explained. “So that only Lord Vader or young Luke Vader can enter.”

A muscle in Padmé’s jaw twitched at the mention of her son’s name, and at the fact that ‘Vader’ was tacked on the end. “Where is the medical facility?”

“Follow me,” said the droid, turning and walked down the long hallway. Chewie strode past and Anakin, still only half-conscious, opened the door. “Place him on the table, please,” said the droid as several others, including a 2-1B unit, emerged from the shadows. Padmé stared, horrified, at the hi-tech medcenter, at the Bacta tank and prosthetic station—the medical nightmare that was Anakin’s life. No longer was he the handsome, healthy Jedi Knight of her memories. Chewie gently lowered Anakin’s lengthy frame onto the operating table.

“Padmé…” he whispered, flinging out his arm. She clasped his hand and brought it to her chest.

“I’m here, my love,” she told him quietly.

“Increasing oxygen pressurization in ten seconds,” said a droid calmly.

“No,” said Anakin firmly, wincing in pain as he adjusted his position on the table. “I want her to stay.”

“Master Vader—”

“I’ll leave, Ani,” said Padmé. “I just want you to be taken care of.”

“Cutie,” he called hoarsely. “Adjust the doors to be opened manually.”

“Yes, Master Vader,” said the silver protocol droid at once.

“Padmé… Go to the third room on the right,” he whispered. “Promise.”

She nodded, mystified. “I will.”

“I love you.”

“I know,” she returned with a small smile. She bent down and kissed his forehead. “I’ll be back soon, Anakin.”

He nodded and then relaxed, closing his eyes. Padmé, Han and Chewie stepped back and left the room, the silver door closing behind them. Padmé let out a heavy sigh and Chewie enveloped her in a hug. Han hung back uncomfortably. “I should comm Home One and let them know what happened,” he said finally.

Padmé nodded wordlessly. “That’s fine.”

“Are you gonna be alright?” Han asked nervously.

Padmé shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“We can order some food from Cutie,” Han told her. “Let’s do that. When was the last time you ate?”

“I don’t know,” she repeated heavily, turning to go to the third door on the right. What was there that Anakin wanted her to see? What could possibly have any meaning for her from his life as Vader?

“Where are you goin’?”

Padmé palmed the door open and her mouth dropped open in shock.

Naboo.

She stepped inside the room as if entering a holy shrine. It was as though she was entering the Lake Country—Varykino, the place that she and Anakin had been married. On the floor, there were platforms that she supposed were for meditation, though what Luke had told her—that he spent nights in his meditation pod—indicated that he had never used the room. Tears sprung to her eyes and she sat down, staring at her beautiful home that Palpatine had ravaged. In the distance, though it was incorrect, Theed rose above waterfalls and mountains. On the furthest wall, grazing shaaks stood in a field and, so small she barely noticed, were two people painted lying in the grass.

Hardly daring to believe, she moved closer and saw that one of the figures was a blond-haired young man dressed in black Jedi robes and the other was a curly-haired woman in a dress, held in his arms. They both were smiling.

She sank back onto the platform. Things had progressed so quickly from that time… The Republic had begun to grow corrupt, yes, and the Jedi would soon start losing numbers once the Clone Wars began, but to see herself and Anakin, whole and unblemished and happy, was almost more than her heart could bear.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, staring at the beautiful mural, but when the door opened behind her, she expected it to be Han, not the light caress of the Force that was her husband. “Anakin, you shouldn’t be up,” she scolded, turning to face her husband.

She froze. He wasn’t wearing the helmet or mask, but the reality of seeing Anakin within the suit, complete with the armor and life-support control panel, shocked her. “You have been here for almost three hours,” he told her gently, and she saw that he carried an oxygen case instead of wearing the mask. She recognized the fleeting expression of slight hurt at her startled gasp at his appearance, and felt a stab of guilt.

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly.

“I’m fine. No fractures, just bruising. Have you been here the entire time?”

“I hadn’t realized that I was here for so long,” she told him, moving over on the platform as indication for him to sit beside her. He did so, the robes gracefully falling about him in elegant folds. “It’s beautiful, Ani. Did you come here often?”

“No,” he told her quietly. “It pained me to remember. Anytime I even thought of Naboo… I remembered that it was my fault that you were dead. That I had killed you.”

She frowned and leaned on his shoulder, reaching out to take his gloved hand. “Would it have changed things, if he hadn’t lied to you?”

He sat silent for a moment. “You would have hated what I became,” he said finally. “I would not have been able to face you.”

“When did you heal?” she questioned, glancing up to his face.

“It was about eight months after the duel that I had healed fully,” he told her softly. “Three weeks before Palpatine deemed that I was functional, and sent me out to hunt the Jedi.”

“Three weeks?” she said in surprise.

He said nothing at her wince. “You should eat something,” he said at last.

“All right,” she said quietly, accepting his help to stand and feeling dwarfed by his impressive height. She didn’t remember him being so tall.

“Palpatine added two inches to my legs,” he told her, inferring her train of thought. “To make me more imposing.”

“It worked,” she told him weakly, her head coming to his chest plate. “I hate it, Ani,” she told him firmly, staring at the control panel and the one flashing light. The others were dull. “I hate it.”

“I know.”

“Why must you wear it? Can’t something be done?” she asked desperately. “Like Mothma said, you could receive cloned lungs!”

He frowned. “Padmé, you don’t understand everything,” he told her gently. “Trust me. It isn’t just my lungs that are the problem.”

She bit her lip. Then teach me this,” she said, tapping her finger on the box.

“Padmé… I don’t think…” he protested, moving away from her.

“Anakin,” she said firmly, crossing her arms. “If something happens to you, I need to know how to fix it.”

His eyes drooped. “All right,” he told her, taking her hand. “I was going to put the mask on in my chambers, but I’ll show you what to do.” He led her out of the room and down the hallway once more. He sensed her discomfort as they entered the medical facilities that were his rooms but said nothing and just walked to the table where Vader’s mask and helmet lay.

Padmé bit her lip. “I… isn’t there something else you can wear?” she asked hopefully.

He glanced at her. “Not on such short notice.” Her face fell. “Padmé, I’ll do it,” he said finally. “You don’t have to. Don’t worry.”

“No,” she said at once, reaching over and picking up the durasteel mask with trembling fingers. She stared at it for a moment, at the opaque eye lenses, the triangular intake vent. She swallowed, and he sat down.

“It has to be done quickly,” he told her finally. “There are clasps on the rim of the mask that will seal to the suit,” he told her, lifting a finger and running it along the edge to show her where the seals were. “The helmet completes the sealing process,” he explained, lifting it and turning it around so that she could see the rounded portion that corresponded with the mask. “It sits low, just above the view-screens and covers the sides of the mask.”

“I understand,” she said, dry-mouthed. She held it up, halfway to his face, and then dropped her arms, tears stinging her eyes. “I don’t want you to wear it,” she whispered, biting her lip. She set the mask down on the table and turning back to face him. “I want to see your face,” she told him, lifting up her hand to lovingly touch his cheek. He closed his eyes and let out a soft breath. “I love everything, Ani,” she told him, tracing his scars. She leaned forward, and before he could react, pressed her lips to his, despite the breathing apparatus and vocoder at his chin. He gasped against her lips and his eyes flew open in surprise before he settled into the kiss. Reluctantly, she pulled away. “We should hurry,” she told him sadly.

He nodded, still surprised, and took her hand in his. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it. “For when I can’t,” he said softly.

She bit back tears and lifted the mask once more to his face. Taking a deep breath, she reached forward and removed the oxygen tubes from his nose and set them on the table. She lifted the mask upwards and set it over the vocoder and breathing apparatus, hearing the clicks and hiss of pressurized air as the mask became part of the suit. She reached for the helmet next, lifting it over his head. She hesitated, and then drew her fingers across his scalp as a last caress. He started, and she smiled before setting the helmet into place. She waited a second, and then the respirator drew in a breath. She frowned, recognizing the breathing as he exhaled. “Thank you,” he said, and she jumped at the too-deep mechanized voice.

“You’re welcome, Ani,” she said in a troubled tone as she stared into the lenses, behind which, her beloved’s eyes watched her.

“The control panel,” he began. “The flashing white light is my heartbeat,” he told her, and she directed her attention to it. “The two buttons beside it are for manual override. If something happens that it’s too slow or too fast, you can speed it up or slow it down until the light flashes red. That’s when it’s dangerous,” he told her.

She nodded to show that she understood. “The three other lights—green, red, and white—are for my respiration. They should always be solid,” he told her. “If the green one starts flashing, then the respiration rate needs to be increased manually. If the red one starts flashing, then it needs to be slowed. If the white one flashes, then the system is failing and my body isn’t getting enough oxygen.”

“What do I do if that happens?” Padmé managed weakly.

“There is nothing that can be done, save to get the mask off,” he told her seriously. “If any of the buttons are pressed accidentally, the system thinks that I’ve decided to handle it all manually and waits for commands. There are two switches on the side,” he said, lifting his finger to touch the right-hand side of the control box. “The top one is to permanently—at least, until the system is shut down—control my respiration and pulse manually. The bottom one is what you switch if some buttons are pressed accidentally. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“The fourth light are my neural patterns,” he continued. “But you don’t need to know anything about that. The same with the belt attachments.”

“And that’s all?”

“Yes.” And with that, they both stood and looked at each other for a moment, the mechanized breathing going all the while. “It’s still me, Padmé,” he told her finally, as reassuringly as his mechanically modulated voice could portray. “I’m still here.”

“I know,” she said, forcing a smile to look at him before her gaze clouded over. He looked at her, motionless, until she turned away. “I should get something to eat. You were right.”

“Come with me,” he commanded, taking her arm.

She flinched and he pulled away immediately. Even with the mask, she could tell that she had hurt him and her eyes filled with tears. “Anakin,” she whispered, moving to him and placing her head on his shoulder and her arms around the small of his back. “I love you, I do.”

He rested his arms around her waist. “I hate it when you cry,” he said finally. “I love you, Padmé, and even though I don’t understand it, I know that you love me. I’m just sorry that I became Vader, that I’m the reason you hate this suit.” She didn’t reply, just closed her eyes tightly. “We don’t have much time, my love,” he said at last, and she disentangled herself from him and he wiped her cheeks with the pad of his gloved thumb.

“You’re right,” she said. “What are we going to do?”

“You’re going to get some food before we do anything,” he said firmly. “And then we will go from there.” He took her arm and led her out into the hallway.

“Where are Han and Chewie?” Padmé asked curiously. “They seem to know their way around.”

The helmet tilted toward her. “They came here with Luke before traveling to Palpatine’s palace to rescue me,” he explained. “They’re in Luke’s room.”

“Luke’s room?” Padmé asked eagerly. “Where?”

Anakin lifted a finger and pointed towards one of the doors, which opened. Padmé flew inside and stared at her son’s room that he had used only for a short time. She bit her lip, ignoring Han and Chewie, who sat at his table eating.

She walked to his bed and sat down, almost reverently. She reached out a hand and touched the pillow, on which there was still an indentation of his head.

Her beautiful boy, her darling son.

Taken from her once, when he was just an infant, and again now—taken from her by the same monster that had taken her husband and transformed him into the creature that she had loathed for the majority of her adult life.

Her breath caught in a sob and she buried her face in her hands. Why had this happened? Why had Luke been taken from them? Could not Anakin have done something more? Could Han and Chewie and somehow overrode Anakin’s Force control of the Falcon and saved him?

Anakin could have done something, she realized. HE could have stayed in the Light those years ago and he would have remained whole—he could have defeated Palpatine, if not for his own weaknesses.

The revelation caused her to sob anew. “Padmé?” The deep voice was Vader’s, the menacing breathing was Vader’s. Vader, the monster who had destroyed her husband for so long. Padmé looked up tearfully. “This is your fault!” she shouted at him, uncaring that her words were likely hurting him. “If you had just believed me and Obi-Wan, this wouldn’t have happened! If you hadn’t idolized that—that creature because he nurtured your ego, Luke would be with us, and Palpatine dead!”

It was completely silent in the room except for Vader’s mechanized breaths. He stood stock-still, and Han and Chewie both stared, openmouthed, at the two figures. “Padmé, you’re right, but—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Vader,” Padmé said, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t want to hear excuses.”

After a moment, Vader turned jerkily around and left the room and the tension slowly decreased. Padmé sunk onto the bed and stared at her feet. “What have I done?” she whispered, more to herself than to Han or Chewie.

“Lady,” said Han uncomfortably, moving over to her. “You gotta eat something. Food’ll make ya feel better.”

Wearily, she accepted a glass of some beverage and a piece of bread. “Thank you, Han,” she said quietly.

Vader unthinkingly stalked to his training room, his lightsaber somehow finding its way into his hand. He was reeling from Padmé’s accusations—They hurt, her words, but what hurt more is that they were true.

If not for his weakness, Luke would be here with them. He would not have seen his aunt and uncle murdered before his eyes, he would not have met the Emperor, and he would not have begun a path to the Dark Side the day that he killed a trainee in a fit of loyalty-provoked anger. If not for his weakness, Leia would not have seen her father killed and would not have been tortured. If not for his weakness, Padmé would be living like the queen she was with her family at her side, not running like a hunted fugitive. If not for his weakness, those he loved would be alive. His family would be whole and unhurt. The Jedi Order would be thriving. Obi-Wan would be with him, probably training Luke as his padawan.

Everything was his fault. Luke’s soul was in jeopardy because he hadn’t been strong enough.

With a cry of rage that was distorted through the mask, he activated all of the dueling droids in the corner of his room and let loose. His saber whirled in complicated patterns and his frustration and not being flexible enough to perform some of the more difficult forms fed his self-loathing.

If not for his stupidity, he wouldn’t be an inhuman monster, a sickening blend of man and machine that went against all rules of nature. If not for his failures…

Behind his mask, he shut his eyes tightly, relying on the Force to show him what he needed to do. The energy flowed through him, giving him speed and almost precognition for where the droids would strike.

Padmé hated him.

The words echoed in his mind, taunting him. For all her claims to the contrary, she hated him. And she had good reason. He hated himself. The only person who didn’t hate him was now in the