"Of course I don't believe a word of it," Sola Naberrie is saying, her whole face briny and inflamed from crying. "The way Padmé spoke of you... I know the Jedi would never betray the Republic. But it's all over the holonet now. They are calling you enemies of the state!"

She is holding the newborn boy in her arms, feeding him from a silver phial of nutri-laiche while his sister sleeps fitfully curled in a hovering bassinet, having already drunk her fill. While the agony of her loss still rings raw through the Force, the infants' soothing presence has helped Sola regain some of her composure.

"The Chancellor wishes to eliminate all opposition," says the man who is, at least notionally, called Anakin. "Reports of a Jedi coup are... exaggerated. But they offer him a convenient pretense to have them destroyed."

Obi Wan keeps some distance, watching this exchange from the hall. His gaze wanders over the sumptuously painted walls, a satiny blue lacquer under swirling gold lief, before snagging upon a small graven mirror. He starts at the sight of his own reflection, momentarily convinced he is being accosted by some stranger. And in a way, he is.

The man staring back at him is haggard, and sweaty, and covered with soot, but it's nothing a shower wouldn't cure. Beneath the grime, his copper hair and beard are neatly trimmed, his skin rosy and smooth, his features kind and affable, and even boyish. He feels a flush of vertigo. He finds he does not recognize this dapper young gentleman at all, and his heart seizes in disbelief to think that this fellow was ever himself.

He had had little need for a mirror, after all, in his desert hovel. Along with the rest of the galaxy, he had forgotten this man's face.

I- I was beautiful, he thinks dumbly.

He breathes, watching the stranger's chest rise and fall. Every movement of the stranger's muscles and ligaments is so smooth, and decisive, and satisfying. He became intimately aware of the power and grace of this form the moment he found himself inside of it. But he was not at all prepared for its loveliness.

I didn't know. Never thought much of myself back then. No one ever told me. I didn't know I was-

From childhood, he had been trained to view his body as a tool, a weapon, an 'instrument of the Force.' He was its steward, its wielder, but never its owner. It was never his to take pride in, his to enjoy. He had thanked the Force daily for blessing him with such a resilient, healthy, useful form. It had never even occurred to him to search his own image for beauty.

But now- He is not so naïve anymore. Two decades in the Outer Rim could not fail to teach him the value in which flesh is held, as well as its price. Those who find themselves owned by others, he has learned, take little comfort in the notion that all beings are the property of the Force.

He flexes his hands, silently claiming this, this lovely vessel, as his very own. To refuse sovereignty over this body as the Jedi taught him to do, to abdicate personal ownership, would be an insult to those who are denied such rights. This, the slaves of Tatooine have taught him- A greater lesson about the meaning of freedom than the vaunted Guardians of the Old Republic ever could.

He feels a surge of sadness. The Jedi may have been wrong about a great many things, but they certainly didn't deserve what they got- What they are getting now, he shudders. It's the beginning of the end, all over again.

"What will you do?" Sola is asking, as if to lend voice to his turbulent thoughts. "Where will you go? And what about the children?"

"My children," Vader pronounces, "will accompany me, of course. Wherever I decide to go."

"But surely, they would be safer-"

"Palpatine would easily find them among their mothers' wealthy, famous relatives."

"But-" she sputters. "What would he want with them? They are not Jedi. They have done nothing!"

"The Force is strong with them. He will want them for his own purposes. They cannot remain here."

"I don't know." She is cradling the boy close, shaking her head. "It doesn't seem safe. You must speak with my parents-"

"I am their father!" Vader snaps. "I will decide what is to be done with them."

At this, Obi Wan takes a step towards them, ready to intervene if necessary.

"Of course," Sola flinches. "I meant no disrespect. But you can hardly take a pair of newborn infants on the run with you! I know my parents can help-"

"I am perfectly capable of protecting them on my own!" Vader gnars. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself, before continuing stiffly. "I appreciate that your intentions towards me are good, but you and your family can be of no help against Darth Sidious."

"Against who?" she frowns.

The erstwhile Sith lord sighs, trundling his hands in frustration. "I grow weary of this foolishness. This is not a negotiation." He raises his natural hand in a subtle, sweeping gesture. "You will do as I say," he commands.

"I will... do as you say?" she mimics, confused.

"You will hand my children over to me. You will remain in this room, and wait for your parents to return. And when they do, you will explain to them that Master Kenobi and I have gone away, and that they should not attempt to contact us. Perhaps someday, when the galaxy is as I wish it to be, you will see your niece and nephew again. Until then, we must bid you farewell."

And as he says, so it is, for once.

When they step out into the cool, violet night, the hovering bassinet gliding through the air before them, Darth Vader or Anakin Skywalker is moved to link arms with the Jedi master, holding him close as they walk along the garden path, out of sheer gladness.

"Well?" he grins. "My first order of business, accomplished without violence. Am I not satisfying your terms?"

"Thus far. But I'm a bit worried about what you plan to do now," says Kenobi, raising an eyebrow sharply, though his mood seems vastly improved. He gives Vader's arm a gentle squeeze, and it's- oh- The Sith gasps, unprepared for the warm, pleasurable tinging that washes through him at this. The only thing better than touching is having his touches returned.

"More-" he swoons, turning his face into Kenobi's shoulder.

"Not here. We have to keep moving." Then, after a moment: "Continue to meet my 'terms,' and I promise you, there will be more."

"I shall hold you to it, old man," he breathes.

Playing house with Obi Wan Kenobi? There's no way this is actually happening, but it's the sweetest dream he can remember. Gazing down into the bassinet, he feels impossibly, deliriously happy. We'll be a family, that crazed, hungry, child-like part of his mind wants to say. You, and me, and Luke, and Leia. That's what their mother named them. Luke and-

"No-!" he screams, recoiling from the other man as though burned. "It's impossible!"

"What's wrong?"

"Leia-! Not that Leia-!" he cries. But the Force confirms his intuition. He cannot un-know the truth. "Not Princess Leia! Why didn't you tell me?!"

"It hadn't exactly... come up," Kenobi blinks.

"Oh gods, no!" Vader is pacing back and forth in distress. The Princess. Of course. Hidden from him all this time, in plain sight. It's remarkable that he himself still hasn't learned any guile, with all the masters he's ever had being so clever and deceitful. "I knew her-" he chokes, eyes bulging with horror.

"Yes, I suppose you did, after a fashion."

"No! You don't understand-!" he sobs dryly. "I hurt her-!" The baby girl in front of them is still, her eyes closed in sleep- But all he can see is a young woman, her chocolate eyes lined with kohl and glittering with defiance. Her agony explodes across the Force as he drives the probe into her, but still she grits her teeth, and doesn't even scream.

"Do your worst, Vader!" she spits, spattering his red lenses. "I will never betray the Alliance!" Her head lolls back, mouth foaming, as she seizes with pain. "Billions know my name, you fool. Kill me now, and see how many of the oppressed rise up to fill my place!" She laughs the mad, mirthless laugh of a zealot.

And suddenly darkness, like a crackle of plasma, fills his senses- But how? His master is nowhere near the Death Star.

His heart freezes in realization. It is the Princess. It is her fear, her pain. Her power which shakes the walls and stains the air.

"She knew the location of the rebel base," he is mouthing in anguish. "I- I tortured her!" His vision is swimming with bright specks, like drunken stars. "But she- She didn't reveal anything. She was- so strong. My daughter-" he gasps. "Padmé's daughter. So beautiful, so strong. And I hurt her-!" He sways on his feet.

And then there are hands gripping his forearms, steadying him. Kenobi's breath is warm, their faces close.

"But in this time, that hasn't happened yet," the Jedi is saying. "And it never has to. You can make the choice, right now, never to hurt her."

Vader nods convulsively. He should have recognized the Princess as his offspring before, when he sensed in her that uncanny echo of his own power, his own rage. He can see her now, her dark eyes turned a poisonous Sith-yellow, her rosy mouth an unforgiving line, a gnarled, corpse-like hand petting her long, silky hair-

"No-" he sobs. "Please, no-" Shaking this vision from his head, he takes a moment to recover himself, and looks up with new resolve. "The Emperor will covet her power," he says soberly. "But he must never be allowed to get his hands on her- On either of my children. He would- ruin them."

"I agree completely," says Kenobi, his eyes crinkling poignantly. "Our purpose is the same." He lays his hands on Vader's shoulders, and he is so close, so warm, all flesh-

"He is coming for us," Vader rasps. "Even now, I can sense his intensions." Every cell in his body longs to pull Kenobi to the ground, and roll him around in a bed of wildflowers, kissing his white throat until dawn. But instead:

"We must go."

They are making their way through the dense forest which sets the Lake Country of Naboo apart from the somewhat less exclusive real estate on the other side. It is here, in a secluded clearing, where they have parked the skiff. A ship, of course, is no good without a destination in mind. And they haven't yet decided where to go.

"You," Vader gasps, stopping in his tracks as they cross the line of trees. "I should have known!" he berates himself. "I should have sensed you so close." But then again, he has never met any other being so adept at clouding the Force and concealing their presence.

"It's quite understandable, my young apprentice," the Dark Lord is saying, as he emerges from behind the skiff, a black shroud covering all but his claw-like hands and withered mouth. "I'm sure your mind was occupied with... other things," he sneers. He gazes rapaciously into the bassinet, as he lifts the hood away from his terrible face. "Twins, I see. Congratulations, my boy. But... where is your lovely wife?"

"Dead," Vader spits, positioning himself protectively in front of the children. Obi Wan moves to stand beside him, gloriously resolute and calm in a way that makes Vader's heart seize with fondness.

"And yet Kenobi is... still alive, it seems." Palpatine shakes his head in false pity. "I suppose he must have made some appeal to your feelingsfor him? I was afraid something like this would happen," he sighs. "I should have known not to give you so much responsibility all at once." He steps forward, into the flood lights of the skiff. His gray, wormlike skin looks damp and shiny in the forest atmosphere. "You see now, that for all his piety and pretended wisdom, your precious Jedi master could not save your wife. If you had simply slain him, and come to me, she might still be alive. But alas, you allowed him to lead you astray, yet again. I don't think I even need to punish you," he says, in a mockery of that indulgent, grandfatherly tone which won Anakin over as a child. "I trust you've learned your lesson. In fact," he smiles wickedly, "kill him now, in front of me, and all shall be forgiven."

Vader barks with laughter, and remains standing where he is.

"Very well," Palpatine scowls, his yellow eyes igniting with sudden rage. "If you are truly so useless that you cannot complete such a simple task, I suppose I'll have to do it for you!" He bares his teeth, unleashing a wave of lightning in the Jedi's direction, but Vader dives to intercept it, absorbing the power with his bare natural hand.

"You should not have come here," he hisses. "I am going to destroy you."

"You test my patience, my apprentice!" the Dark Lord snaps. "I am being extremely lenient. Do not give me cause to change my mind!"

Vader throws his head back, howling with deranged laughter, hot tongues of blue-violet energy licking around his fingertips. "You fool!" he cries. "You think I still belong to you? Never! Never again!" He lunges with his one good hand, unleashing a hail of lighting which almost knocks the old man off his feet.

"What-?" the wrinkled Sith chokes, his yellow gaze lifting in indignation and... fear.

"I don't need you anymore!" Vader is carrying on, mad, joyful, sonorous laughter ringing forth from him like a shower of bells. He throws his arms up, as if addressing the night sky and heaven itself. "Look at me! Look at how beautiful I am!" He runs his own hands sensuously over his face and through his tangled hair, as if he can hardly believe that this body is his. "It makes your mouth water, doesn't it, you filthy old hag? Look, yes. But you cannot touch. No, never again!"

He draws the Force to himself, moaning orgastically as it floods him with power like never before. His flesh tingles all over, so young, so alive, every cell a golden pearl of energy exploding with strength. Palpatine is hunched before him, pathetic in his confusion, his desperate mind reaching for the darkness in search of some weapon or shield.

"Now die!" Vader gasps, with a froth of giggles.

He doesn't even draw his lightsaber- he just surges forward and tears the old man's head from his body with his bare hands, like a hunk of wet clay. A geyser of blood rains over him, and he glories in it, tasting it, licking his lips as it pours over his chest and face. The Dark Lord's body falls to the ground like a sack of yams, inert and misshapen.

Vader gurgles and spits, his mouth filling with saliva as he laughs and laughs. "Look on me!" he screams to the headless corpse at his feet. "Fear me! I am the last of the Sith!" The ground vibrates beneath him, his power rattling the whole forest like a quake. He can do anything now, and no one in the galaxy can stop him. His pulse is racing, his mind spinning with possibilities-

Until a single sound pierces his consciousness. The girl-child, Leia, is crying.

He turns around, his tunic soaked with blood, and holds the gorgon's head up by its wispy hair.

The children! Padmé's children. Now that he can do anything, what will he do with them? Will you corrupt them, ruin them, mocks one of the voices in his soul, just as you yourself were corrupted, ruined? He squeezes his eyes shut, a memory of the Princess' pain echoing through his mind like a scream down a long corridor. He doesn't want that at all, he thinks, panicking. He doesn't want to hurt his children. But he doesn't know what to do. He looks around wildly, as if searching for some tool in his mechanic's kit.

He needs help. He needs guidance. He needs... Master.

He looks up to see Kenobi, his hands extended as if to mollify a wild beast, a look of terror on his face.

"Anakin, please-" he implores.

"No," says Vader, advancing on the Jedi. "Don't beg me, Master. Command me."

As the blood-soaked demon approaches him, Obi Wan struggles for breath.

"Palpatine failed," Vader smiles, tossing the severed head aside with a kind of playful disgust. "Now, it is your turn. Do you have what it takes to control me?"

"Anakin-"

"Keep in mind, I am the 'Chosen One.'" he tilts his head prettily, rolling his eyes. "To control me is to control the galaxy. So, the stakes are quite high." He hums merrily. "I could kill you right now, without too much trouble, couldn't I?"

"Undoubtedly," Obi Wan swallows.

"Well, don't just beg for your life like a cretin. Command me. Make me submit to you. Why should I call you 'Master,' instead of him?" He indicates the severed head, rolled gaping-neck-hole-up on the ground.

Obi Wan looks down, gathering courage, at his own finely formed hands. "Because I have what you need," he says, quietly. "I can do something for you that he never could." Growing bolder, he takes a step forward, though his senses recoil from the powerful stench of blood. "I can love you," he murmurs. With a trembling hand, he tucks a fugitive lock of hair behind the dark one's ear. "Even now, after everything... I can still summon some love for you," he says, as if awed by himself. Wrapping his arms around Vader's neck, he pulls him into a brutal, iron-flavored kiss, until they are both drenched in the same blood and sweat.

"You are helpless against that," Obi Wan mouths.

And it's true. Vader had intended to make Kenobi work for it, to put up more of a fight, but he finds he can't. The overwhelming feeling of softwarmtender against his skin smashes his control in an instant.

"Oh, yes," he gasps, his knees threatening to give way beneath him as the Jedi strokes his hair, his shoulders, the back of his neck. "It's so good. Please more, it's so good-!" Almost any physical pain he can withstand- But pleasure devastates him. It's just been so long, so long since anything has felt good at all. It doesn't take much to reduce him to whimpering incoherence.

"Shh..." Obi Wan hushes, kissing his brow.

Several minutes pass in this way, simply holding each other, gently swaying in the still night air. And the Force pulses and resonates around them, Jedi and Sith, embracing one another, stained red with the salty syrup of life and death, for this, at last, is balance.

"My children," Vader sighs at length, tucking his head under Obi Wan's chin. "You will help me care for them, won't you, Master? My beautiful children."

"Your children are a gift," Obi Wan smiles, sadly. "A new hope for the galaxy. You should be very proud of them," he says, reaching surreptitiously inside his sleeve. "But you cannot be trusted with them," he breathes into Vader's ear, as he uncaps the glass tube of teal liquid, its needle primed to deliver a powerful sedative...

...and plunges it directly into Vader's neck.