(A/N: This chapter was revised at the very end for those of you who may have just read.)

Chapter Six:

He wasn't happy. Not at all. Hazael would have taken his fury out on the runt of a boy if he was conscious, but the worthless child was still sleeping. Despite his promise to his medic friend, Hazael had removed the sedative shortly after the doctor had left, so the child and he had been able to have a nice... talk. One in which Hazael had assured the boy what awaited him on at the end of his multi-day hiatus from his chores.

Unfortunately, there were three more days to go... which meant that Hazael would have to postpone his planned trip to Coruscant. All because his slave had to get sick on the job.

Hazael paced agitatedly, thinking of how he would have to rearrange a lot of things... but on the flip side, this allowed him to make a personal trek to his mines. It also gave him more time to prepare his plans for the boy and his family.

Hazael considered and then made up his mind. He would go to the mines, and take a tour of his facility to make sure everything was running as smoothly as his second in command assured him it was.

He grinned to think of the look on Thew's face when Hazael showed up out of the blue.

In a much better mood, Hazael pounded on the door to his slave's room, announcing his arrival. The child woke groggily, his eyes slightly bleary. Hazael snorted with disgust and bent close, smirking when the child shied away fearfully.

"I am going away for a few days, Runt. However, I expect you to do something while I am gone. The good doctor said you can't be worked... well, I say you can be. He won't know, and nobody..." he leered threateningly over the child to sell his point, "is going to tell him, right?"

The child swallowed visibly, shaking his head, and Hazael looked him over. "You start back on your routine tomorrow. If I come back in two days time to find you haven't cleaned this house properly, you will regret it, do you understand?"

The slave boy nodded silently, and Hazael straightened. "I will leave you unchained for these two days and set a timer onto your door. It will unlock to let you out in the morning, and you will be back in here at night. Understand?"

Luke dipped his head, and Hazael turned to leave. "See you in forty-eight hours."

00000

It was now well into the evening, and both their children were at last asleep. Anakin entered the master bedroom to find his wife, dressed in her nightgown standing before one of the large windows. She had her arms wrapped loosely about her, and her gaze held a faraway look he had seen many times in the first year after their beloved Luke's death.

Anakin sensed her distress, her sorrow, and sympathized. He felt the same way after all.

Removing his tunic and boots, Anakin moved over to Padmé and tucked a stray chocolate curl behind her ear. After a moment, he spoke softly. "Are you alright?"

Padmé didn't answer right away, and Anakin didn't really expect her to. He knew her well enough to know when not to push her too far. She wasn't ignoring him, Anakin knew. She was just processing before she spoke; it was one way Padmé coped with reality.

Fully ready to wait, but wishing to offer support nonetheless, Anakin remained at her side, quiet and patient. It was quite some time before Padmé turned to him, and when she spoke, it was with the tone of someone afraid to hope but wishing desperately to do so.

"Anakin..." Padmé hesitated, and he turned to her, remaining open and receptive. "What are we supposed to do about this? I don't know how to feel about Leia having these dreams... especially the nightmares."

Anakin nodded slowly. "I don't either."

Padmé continued in the same voice. "Ani... is there any chance... that we were wrong? I mean... we held Luke's l-lifeless body!" Her voice cracked, but she plunged onward, determined. "We buried him... the doctors checked him... but..."

Padmé broke off, turning around and Anakin saw tears now slipping down her face. He stepped closer once again and tenderly wiped at the moisture.

"You wonder if we misread something. Were we wrong somehow?" He finished for her. Her eyes sought out his and she nodded before he continued. "I've wondered that too since Leia told us. But I don't see what we could have missed: we had the body, doctors confirmed the cause of death, his DNA matched, I just... I can't make sense of why Leia is dreaming of Luke."

Padmé bit her lip. "Unless it's not him. What if, in her young, hurting state, Leia somehow unknowingly created this little boy to replace Luke?" Padmé sighed, harried. "I don't know: we're grasping at straws, Anakin, we really are."

Her husband reached up to clasp her biceps gently. "I know. It's possible your theory could be correct. It makes sense if you think about it. But I don't see how we could have been wrong."

Padmé suddenly grasped his face, leaning in to stare into his eyes with a fervor that might have taken him aback any other time. "Tell me these aren't visions, Anakin... tell me Luke is dead... really dead..."

Anakin's heart cracked, and he closed his eyes briefly. "I... I don't know what these dreams are stemming from, truthfully, but how could Luke not be dead? What further proof do we need, Padmé?"

Padmé pulled back. "Then why does the Force allow us to be tortured so? Why can't Leia get the peace she so desperately needs? And why the nightmares?"

Anakin pulled his frazzled wife close to his heart, kissing her head while his eyes leaked now too. "I wish I knew... but I don't have any concrete answers Padmé. I wish I did, but I don't."

Padmé clung to him, and together they wept until Anakin picked her up and carried her to the bed. He laid her down and then settled in next to her. Gently, Anakin tugged his wife close to him, urging her to snuggle with him, her head to his chest. Padmé gave in willingly, and once they were nestled together he pulled the sheets over them.

"No matter what, we will love the children we still have, and do our best to move on despite Luke's loss," Anakin murmured. "But we can't keep letting this weigh us down so much. I don't mean to sound cruel, but... we have to let Luke go at some point." He was saying the words, but Anakin didn't truly feel them.

"...I'm not ready to let him go," Padmé whimpered.

Anakin's throat closed, and he admitted to his own hypocrisy. "Neither am I."

00000

Luke stood in Hazael's room, cleaning supplies in hand. His attention, however, was on the hidden room he knew was beyond the far wall. Luke had cleaned this house top to bottom every day of his life since he was five; he knew it intimately despite Hazael's attempts to keep his slave as uneducated as possible.

It was impossible to deep clean a house like he did daily and not learn its secrets. Luke knew of the woman Hazael kept, and he knew full well what her sole purpose was. He may have only been ten, but he wasn't stupid.

There had been times during Luke's morning deep cleans that Hazael had put his slave woman to use, and Luke had been the unwilling witness. He had heard things, seen them on accidental occasion, and he had tried each time not to be sick.

Not only that, but Luke had heard her through the vents some nights— their rooms were connected by a length of ventilation, he had discovered the first night he'd heard her— weeping in her solitude, speaking as if to some deity about why she was made to suffer like she was. Luke had listened in, feeling slightly guilty about eavesdropping, but really having no choice. He hadn't had the heart to answer her, though he had listened all the same. And... he understood her pain.

But unlike Luke, she wasn't completely trapped here.

By some miracle she had never been chipped, and after his dream of Kalira, Luke had determined to help this woman, not wanting her to share Kalira's fate. He knew full well what he would be doing to himself by helping her escape, but Luke was resolute... and yet the larger part of him was numb to it. Hazael punished him for anything and everything, and no one cared about the worthless pile of bones wasting away within the walls of Hazael's house.

And if he somehow found motivation to try deceiving his master, Luke could play this to his advantage if he was careful. Even if Hazael didn't buy his story, the woman in the hidden room would be long gone by the time Hazael found out she was missing.

Decided, Luke set his supplies down and moved to Hazael's dresser. Knowing the man kept a secret stash of credits there, Luke took enough to get the woman food, shelter, and passage offworld and then pulled out a pair of Hazael's clothes to give her.

After that he stuffed them in an empty bread bag from the kitchen and returned to the master bedroom. Manipulating a particular item on the man's bookshelf, Luke opened her door and waited for it to open fully.

The woman was sitting stiffly on her bed, yet when she saw not her tormentor but a thin, starved child she gaped. "Who are you?"

"I am no one," Luke answered without emotion. "Get up."

She did as he asked, and Luke motioned for her to follow him, though he tossed her a second set of Hazael's clothes. She caught them and stared, perplexed at the items. "What are these for?"

Luke lifted a brow. "To wear. There isn't any women's clothing here, so this is what you have available."

Her frown deepened. "What's going on?"

"Put them on!" Luke snapped, surprising even himself, and she was so taken aback that she obeyed. Once she was dressed Luke began walking, forcing her to follow. They traversed the house, and the woman looked around often.

"Where is Hazael?" she asked suspiciously.

"At the mines," Luke replied flatly.

"Oh," she murmured. "What are the mines?"

"A place far worse than this if you can believe it," Luke whispered. And he meant it. He had it hard here, it was true, but at least he had a clean room to sleep in, didn't have to fear for the safety of his family if he didn't work, and he hadn't been forced to live underground where no one would care or know if he died.

No, I just live in a room no one knows exists... and no one cares that I exist so why should I try reaching out? Luke thought morbidly.

They got to the front door and Luke opened it. Without warning, he grabbed the woman's wrist and pulled her to the opening. He shoved the bag into her grasp and then pushed her out into the open air.

"Go, be free."

She stopped dead. "What?"

"You heard me." Luke turned away from her, reaching for the door. "You don't have a chip, so you can't be killed for leaving. Go home, go somewhere else, I don't care."

She stared at him long and hard. "You're a slave here too... aren't you?"

Luke didn't answer, wondering how she couldn't figure that out by looking at his collar.

"Come with me," she said earnestly. "I can't just leave you here."

"Yes you can," Luke replied sourly. "And I can't leave. I have this collar, so he'd just activate it when he sees I left."

She eyed the device. "There must be a way to deactivate that thing."

"Hazael has the only way that isn't lethal," Luke sighed in annoyance. "Get out of here!"

She hesitated still. "You must have family somewhere, maybe I could..."

"I don't want anything to do with my family!" Luke growled, though a lone tear worked itself free of his control, telling a very different story. He turned his face away. "I know you mean well, but I am not wanted or loved by anyone, so it would be a waste of time. Why bother them when they don't want anything to do with me either? I will never be free of Hazael, I will never be worth anything, and I will never be loved and wanted."

The woman stepped forward as if to argue, mouth open, and Luke glared. Stepping up too, Luke turned her sharply around and shoved her roughly away.

"I said go! Get out of here, and don't you dare come back!"

He shut the door on her protests, heart pounding in fear of his master's retribution despite his earlier conviction. But Luke would not let this woman suffer the same fate as the only person who ever loved him.

Luke closed his eyes and sank to a sitting position against the wall, crying silently as he accepted yet again his lot in life. He was the lowest of the low, and his reason for existing was to be a punching bag and slave for his owner.

It didn't matter if some tiny sliver of his innocent self actually did want something to do with his family. The rest of him didn't. They had abandoned him, given him up, replaced him, and left him to rot.

They didn't want or love him.

Luke eventually wiped at his face, shoved his troubles to the back of his mind and returned to work, making sure to hide all evidence of the woman's escape.