I

"No true Sith can ever really care about another." – Palpatine (Darth Plagueis)

Chapter Ten

The young Jedi took a while to come to, his blue eyes flickering open and shut several times. Raising his shaggy head, he squinted into the emergency beacon's light and blankly asked, "Chancellor…?"

Palpatine turned the light down. The Force having drained him of his energy, it was all too easy to fall into the role of subdued politician. "Sorry, my boy," his own voice sounded parched, a peculiar effect when he was soaking wet. "Are you all right? You've been out for a while."

Anakin was recovering his wits now, straightening up. As he did, he scowled in pain. "Blast! I think my shoulder got turned. What happened to me?" He strained to study his own injury, and Palpatine turned the light to help him.

"It seems the assassins decided to bring down the house before the show even finished."

Anakin grinned in the faint light. "So no encore?" It was amazing how fast this Jedi could bounce back from near-certain death.

Palpatine would have shuddered if it did not hurt. "Bless us, I hope not!"

Anakin's smile faded. "I think my shoulder will make it. Not so sure about my head. Feels like a couple Reeks stampeded through. I would know…" He noticed his belt tied to the chair and stared questioningly, finally untying it and putting it around his waist again. Then he looked for his lightsaber, but of course it was nowhere to be found. Anakin rose to a low and cautious crouch and moved down the tilted box to the door, boots scraping over the shredded floor, peering over the frame into the darkness below. "Can I borrow that, sir?' he beckoned to the light.

Palpatine tossed it obligingly. Catching it with ease, Anakin studied the view and sighed. 100 meters, the Chancellor thought flippantly before asking, "So…how does it look?"

Anakin grimaced. "I'd say, oh, about 100 or so meters to go. We're not going that route."

Force! He scowled.

Anakin turned quickly. "What did you say, Chancellor?"

Palpatine grimaced, barely able to hide his frustration with himself. Had he said that out loud? Surely not. But Anakin was staring at him, waiting for an answer. So he pulled a look of embarrassment across his face. "I said 'Force.' You appear to be finally having an influence on my choice of words, Anakin."

Anakin flushed. "Obi-Wan would kill me if he knew you learned that from me. He hates it when I use 'Force' like that. Thinks it's disrespectful. I can see him now: 'Anakin, now you've gone and done it. You've corrupted the leader of the free worlds.'" Even now, far from the stifling presence of his former master and half-mocking, he still sounded like a chastened Padawan.

"I sincerely doubt that," Palpatine smiled faintly. "But soon, you'll have me not only swearing like a Jedi but trying to leap great distances and saving the galaxy." He twisted it into a mild joke, not entirely-faked pain leaking through his voice, trying to force back a very real cough.

Anakin became concerned. "You've done far more world-saving than I, Chancellor. You are the glue that holds our Republic together."

The irony made Palpatine chuckle out loud. He quickly turned it into a self-deprecating laugh, which turned of its own accord into another bout of coughing. Anakin grew alarmed. He slid up the floor, crawling over towards the older man. Something in the metal groaned in protest. "How are you, sir? Let me see to you." Anakin was moving more fluidly now, his injuries nearly forgotten as he arrived at the side of his old friend, hovering over him and putting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Palpatine was disconcerted by the look in Skywalker's eyes. Something he had rarely seen honestly and fully directed at him, and this time he was not certain of its meaning. Concern: a powerful emotion with a thousand possible motivations behind it. He had utilized it many times in his quest for sympathy and support, in his mission to control those around him. But to use it without an ulterior motive…what a waste of effort.

Anakin evidently disagreed, asking, "What happened? Were you knocked out? Did you hit your head? How do you feel?" His voice rose with each question.

"Briefly," Palpatine managed to squeeze in. What had brought on such a wave of consideration almost bordering on panic? The hand on his shoulder was trembling. The light in Anakin's hand turned on his face, and he reflectively slammed his eyes shut against the painful brightness.

"I'm sorry, sir! How many fingers do you see?" Anakin was serious, swiveling the light away to his own hand and holding up his two first fingers. It was surreal. Something buzzed in the Chancellor's mind. He mentally pushed back and was met with a wave of pain. Too soon.

"Two, Anakin…" he sighed as he looked, reaching out and pushing the fingers down. "I'll be all right. I just…I'm just shaken from the fall. And…my word, boy. You missed quite a revelation." He gritted his teeth as Skywalker insisted on invading his personal space, laying the beacon on the floor and gently feeling along Palpatine's skull and neck. The Light of the Force flowing over him as Anakin searched for wounds was sickening.

Anakin mistook the dim glint of his teeth for an expression of pain and apologized, "I'm sorry Chancellor, but you might be hurt worse than you think, if you're in shock. What do you mean, a revelation?" He pressed down Palpatine's sleeves as he spoke, all business in his attempt to distract his unwilling patient.

"It seems someone wished us dead, Anakin," Palpatine said quietly, grunting when the boy brushed up against the tender place where the needle had struck him. Anakin looked up in surprise at his words, just missing the pain his touch brought. Skywalker had no need to know of the needle, so Palpatine seized his chance to redirect the conversation. "Or me, at least. My aide, Sly Moore…she was not the loyal companion she appeared to be."

Anakin's eyes flared with anger, and he froze in place. The anger was shocking in its sudden appearance and washed over the chancellor like a healing balm, smashing the Light Side out of its path. "She attacked you?" He slammed his metal fist into the ground next to them. "She betrayed you! Unbelievable, ungrateful little –"

"Anakin," Palpatine offered a mild rebuke, but he latched on to the feelings pouring from the Jedi. He…hates her? For attacking us…no…attacking me. How interesting. He's come along even further thanks to the incident with Dooku. I can use this nauseating attachment. "I admit, I was not expecting this." So soon, anyway. "She was…but now how could this be? She was using the powers of a Jedi."

"That can't be right," Anakin jerked back in alarm, yet his brilliant blue eyes filled with curiosity. "She has never been trained as a Jedi. We had to do a background check on her, when…" He clamped his mouth shut as some directive of the Jedi Council came to mind.

Palpatine was darkly amused. He could guess without the Dark Side what the Jedi suspected, that Sly Moore was indeed the Dark Lord. Trust it to the Jedi to assume the most dangerous looking one is the worst. "I don't have a wide range of experiences battling such fighters such as you, but her methods were of like kind. She wiped out many of my guards with little resistance." He looked away and took a deep breath. For some inexplicable reason, the next words were difficult to say. He worked his mouth before managing, "As it is, I'm lucky to be alive." True enough, from a certain point of view…

Anakin struggled to control his anger, finally letting it slide away in the face of his growing concern for his mentor. He moved his hand to the Chancellor's left leg, and Palpatine bit back an authentic groan when Anakin reached his shin. "Easy, Anakin," he gasped. "I took some damage down there, I'm afraid. Both legs…"

Skywalker's face pinched up as though the injuries were his own, jerking his hand away. "Oh sir, I'm sorry! I should have been there for you. How bad is it? I'm not a healer. I was never good at this sort of thing!" He was getting overwrought again. "If Obi-wan were here –"

Thank the Force he was not! "No, Anakin! You have done so much already. You were unconscious. Very little gets accomplished in that state, even for the Hero With No Fear." Anakin took a ragged deep breath, and they sat in companionable silence. Anakin was obviously relieved at Palpatine's words, as though he were excused from some thought-unpardonable crime. He can never do enough, or so he thinks. And the Jedi are most helpful in drawing out this sense of inadequacy.

Finally, Anakin leaned back on his heels, balancing easily and looking strangely comfortable amidst the damage, barely visible in the dim glow of the emergency lights. The alarms were still going off, the metal still groaning and shifting. He peered at Palpatine for a long moment, as if deciding. "You saw her fighting. Do you think she was the Sith Lord?"

How would I have known if she were? "No," he said instead, and was shocked. He had not meant to say that!

Anakin did not notice his abrupt consternation and kept pressing. "Why not? You said she was using the Force."

Again the answer came without warning and without his mind's permission. "She was not skilled enough." What are you saying! Stop now! How would a Force-blind Chancellor rate a Sith's skill? I don't "know" anything about this. Anakin was offering an inquisitive stare, and Palpatine scratched at his brain for an excuse."I mean to say, I would think…a Sith Lord…would have been harder to defeat."

Anakin mused, "Yeah, you're probably right. I was out of it, so I didn't see her fall. Maybe she got away. Or maybe she fell down there." He motioned at the door and the blackness beyond, but his mind was starting to ask questions, to fill in the dark gaps of his memory, and Palpatine became concerned. Too many more questions about Sly and he would be in jeopardy for certain.

Anakin was talking again. "What happened anyway? Why are we so tilted? Did she try to collapse the opera house too? Why are we so wet?" He patted at his soaked shirt in disgust.

Palpatine actually had to struggle to keep his mouth shut when Anakin asked his questions. I am not going to be the one to tell him we are meters from plunging to the bottom of Coruscant. I have said too much already. Feign sleep! "I…" he trailed off, allowing his eyes to close and his shoulders to slump with exhaustion. To his irritation, he heard the Jedi move close again and gently touch his shoulder.

"Sir? Sir! You can't sleep yet, Excellency," Anakin sounded half terrified. "You have to wait until the medics get here! Talk to me, sir! It won't be long now."

Palpatine roused himself slowly, confused and becoming highly uncomfortable with the effect of the drug. It was unlike anything he had experienced before, seizing his usually adroit mind and opening it to suggestion. Each question asked came across as a direct command. A dreamlike state, almost. It threatened his control of the situation, and it threatened him. He almost snarled, but remembered himself and only sighed. "I'm just trying to rest, Anakin," he murmured wearily. "I won't sleep, you have the word of a Chancellor on that…"

Anakin grinned through his strong fear. "Ah, ah. But you're a politician, sir, and Obi-Wan has taught me too well." He patted Palpatine's good shoulder, more out of nervous energy than true cheerfulness. The boy was worried about him. Anakin began to rummage around on the floor, searching for the emergency beacon. He found it and raised it up. "Here, sir, I know this might hurt, but I should take a look at your eyes and check you for a concussion. Look up here, Chancellor."

Palpatine lifted his head, unthinking, obeying. Anakin leaned in close and shined the light into his face. The Chancellor flinched at the sudden brightness, but not nearly as much as Anakin flinched in return. The Chosen One dropped the beacon and fell back on his knees with a gasp. There was naked fear in the boy's eyes.

Force! Palpatine thought fiercely, once again, and tensed for the coming storm.

xxxxxx

Anakin was just recovering from one of the worst frights of his life, from the idea that his friend and mentor and closest thing to a father he still had was seriously injured, perhaps dying. Palpatine had looked so frail and small lying on that rubble when Anakin first saw him, a broken shadow barely visible, and it had thrown into his mind the horrific image of his mother. On her back, broken, bleeding, dying…murdered. The fear was the same black dragon that coiled tightly around his chest, making it hard to breathe.

The heart-stopping fear had been replaced by pulse-pounding anger when he learned that the slime ball Sly Moore had attempted to murder Palpatine. His nightmare seemed to be starting over again, this time with a father instead of a mother. It was as though the universe seemed determine to orphan him of his dearest friends and family. He could only rage back, helpless, until Palpatine had talked him around. Good, patient, longsuffering Palpatine.

After the star-bright anger had come the shame and self-loathing. He had been too late to save his mother, and tonight he had been near useless when Palpatine most needed him. It was a miracle the older man was alive, if Sly Moore was really a Sith. He was always too late to save those he loved. It was a nightmare on a recycling pattern.

Palpatine might not be aware of how much he meant to Anakin, as he was an extremely busy man, but the young Jedi was desperate for attachment. And when Palpatine cancelled a meeting or played the absent card in the Senate, all to meet and talk with Anakin, a former slave of Tatooine…well, it felt wonderful. It felt as though he mattered, as though he were a person and not an unfeeling Force machine like the Jedi seemed to think. There was a connection between the two that gave Anakin something to fight for. He had nearly been too late on Grievous' command ship, and Anakin had vowed, never again.

Well, he messed up again, unable to stop Palpatine from being hurt, and unable to heal his obvious pain. Anakin was no good at healing, never had been. How could he be expected to muster so much positive energy when his loved ones were in agony?

That had been the worst of his worries. At least until now.

Now, Anakin clutched at the sides of his head and groaned softly. This was all still a nightmare! It had to be! His mentor and father figure could not be staring back at him with the sickly yellow eyes of a Sith Lord! But last he had known, Palpatine had no cross-species family history. There was only one logical explanation.

"You!" he gasped out. Black swirled at the edge of his vision, little flashes of light dancing in bright, mocking circles. "You can't be!"

"Anakin?" Palpatine was drawing back against the rubble, thin hands rising up cautiously, yellow eyes no longer brightly glowing in the light but still gleaming faintly. How had he not seen before?

It was all making sense now! Too much sense, the pieces falling into place with dreadful clarity: Sly Moore's attack, the Guards swept away like children instead of the deadly warriors they were, Sly Moore's own disappearance, the current state of the opera house, Palpatine's survival even when his Jedi protector was down, his knowledge of Sith Lords… Anakin could not breathe!

Palpatine was the Sith Lord! His friend was the Sith Lord! The one who was bringing Anakin's Republic to its knees, the one who was running both sides of the war…

"Anakin? What's wrong?" Palpatine sounded concerned.

That mild voice! Those gleaming yellow eyes! The deceit! The betrayal! Anakin let out a wordless roar of rage and lashed out, unthinking and instinctual. His metallic fist smashed into the Chancellor's large nose, breaking it with a sharp snap and releasing a fresh spray of blood. Palpatine let out a surprised and shrill cry, his head snapping back with the force of the blow.

His hands came up to cover his nose, and he stared up at Anakin, unmoving, frozen in place. The Chosen One saw a hint of fear in that nearly hidden amber gaze, and the fear suddenly made Anakin aware of what he had done. He was frozen now as well, studying the bright red blood that dripped over Palpatine's hands, blood that covered his own hand. This was his friend! This was his worst enemy!

Palpatine made a tender swipe at his nose, breathing heavily through his mouth. His face held no clear expression, but his eyes were alight with a foreign fire.

"You'd like to kill me, wouldn't you?" he asked at last in a low, curious voice, watching Anakin, following his hand closely, tensing for another potential strike. Anakin thought it entirely unreal, the way the yellow eyes – so long a pale and concerned fatherly blue – came alive with a dark awareness. Eyes that knew pain intimately and reveled in it. He saw very little of the man who had always listened to him, always taken him into confidence, never breaking the bond of trust between them. Now he saw a wild animal cowering behind the face of his dear friend.

It was infuriating! "I would…I would like to kill you!" he snarled.

"I know you would," Palpatine hesitated. "I've not been…entirely honest with you."

"You haven't?" Anakin growled, flexing his hands in anger. "I thought you were! You were the only one who I thought I could trust! And now!" His mind flashed back over the many years of their companionship, the laughter, the tears, the encouragement and the lack of judgment. Was it all a lie? Every part of it? He had to know.

"Did you ever really care about me?" the pressure building in him was agony, a large sob of rage and betrayal bubbling up in his chest as he reached out and shook the older man roughly by the shoulders, ignoring the other's wince of pain.

"Yes," Palpatine hissed softly, surprise and frustration flashing in quick succession across his bloodied face. "Yes…"

The uncharacteristic combination convinced Anakin that Palpatine was speaking the truth, but he was only more confused by the revelation. He had thought the world could tip no further. Sith did not care about the people around them. They only used them like stepladders to personal gain.

But Palpatine's barely audible "yes" had driven the fiery rage out of him like a punch to the abdomen. In a moment, he was again seeing the frail form of his mentor. Palpatine cared. About him. Was it only because Anakin was powerful, or was it something more? "Why are you doing all this? Why are you destroying everything?"

Palpatine set his jaw and looked as if he would not answer, but he lost his inner battle and reflected quietly, "My master once said, 'Decay has no cure. It has to be eradicated by the flames of a cleansing fire.' That is what I am trying to do Anakin. All that I have done… has been to attain a higher purpose. The Republic has fallen too far to be saved, and so it must be rebuilt from the cornerstones."

His master. Palpatine was a Sith who once had a Master. The thought was ludicrous. "It's fallen because you made it fall!" Anakin accused, the bite in his voice bitter and sharp.

"No…" Palpatine protested. "No…it fell, long before I came. Its destiny was already written. It has become corrupt and inefficient. Anakin, it needs firm guidance. For the good of everyone in this galaxy, the Republic must fall."

"And you just happen to be here to pick the pieces up and tuck them away," Anakin snapped. In truth, however, Palpatine's words struck too close to home. How many times had Anakin wondered about the same thing? He remembered the argument on Naboo with Padme. If it works, he recalled: the idea of one man to bring order back to a chaotic universe.

But this was not theory! This was a man, who was his friend, who was the Sith Lord, who was currently in a position to gain unending political power. This was a man who ordered thousands of clone troopers to their deaths every week. This was a man who sat by him and comforted him when his mother was long buried under the sand and the wound still fresh as ever. This was a man who turned on his apprentice in seconds, ordering his beheading with as much regret as a Rancor chews its dinner. This was a man who treated him as a responsible, capable, respectable adult.

Who was this man? Did he dare find out?

xxxxxxx

It had been hard not to retaliate, so hard, when Anakin struck him. But a soft warning from the distant Dark Side told Sidious to hold his place, to allow a hint of fear to leak into his eyes. Fear would shock the boy, because deadly Sith did not fear Jedi, and so it had. Anakin had seen the fear and, consequently, the Chancellor and not the Sith Lord.

Said Sith Lord realized the importance of the mentor-façade, and he began to concentrate on willing away the dark thoughts that still drifted through him and caused the yellow tinting. To aide the process, he focused on his brutally honest answer. Yes, he did care about the boy. More than he should, and more than he had ever intended. He had gotten too close as the Chancellor, forgotten his planned future in the quiet moments of camaraderie, in the admiration of such a powerful ally. It had happened before, and he thought the lesson had been learned. Apparently not. I have focused on the present again, Plagueis.

But even this weakness on his part could be used to his advantage and the wellbeing of the Master Plan. His answer had stopped Anakin in his tracks, turning his righteous anger into confusion. It was far too soon to tell which way Anakin would turn. This whole evening had come too soon. The future lay just beyond his exhausted reach.

On one hand, he had the Chosen One, the warrior meant to bring balance to the Force. Now, Sidious intended that balance to be the rise of the Dark Side, to snuff out the centuries-long stranglehold of the dogmatic Jedi. But Anakin had been told countless times that he would destroy the Sith. Both Sidious and the Jedi had chosen Anakin for their standard bearer. What would he choose? And how could Chancellor Palpatine influence this premature choice?

By being himself. Subtlety was the best approach, a refusal to enter the gladiator ring, a refusal to provide a clear target. Anakin could not hate him yet. He was not rooted deeply enough to the Dark Side. Sidious thought back to the conversation before the Opera House had devolved into madness, the words that had been on his lips before Anakin stopped him. The subtlety of love…Padme…There had to be a way. Padme was still the key.

But it seemed that the Dark Side had forgiven him for his abuse of power, because at last he could hear the near shouts of the specialist SAR Troopers.

SAR (Search And Rescue). I figure they'd have something like that for natural and unnatural disaster areas. Hope you enjoyed this extra long chapter, almost 4k. It was quite a ride, and they're not quite safe yet.

If you get a chance, feel free to check out my newest 2-part story on the time Anakin and Palpatine first met, a sort of missing scene from Darth Plagueis/Phantom Menace.

Chandlia: Thank you! That's pretty funny. I didn't know about what his clone did. I guess you found out if his eyes were still glowing…and so did poor Anakin. I'm glad you enjoyed the art too, and I hope this isn't too bad of a cliffhanger.

xpig-in-the-skyx: Thank you kindly, I have a lot of fun trying to get into his mind. It's rather disturbing sometimes, though.

Darth Mihi: Thanks! As you can see, Sly managed to make Palpatine talk, a little. He's fighting it with everything he's got. No straight out killing. For Anakin, it would be similar to turning on Padme (which he did once he was far enough into the Dark Side though…dundundun). I'd be glad to check out your chapter. Let me know when it's up.

GL: Thanks for reviewing! I'm not sure where she would come in. I personally love the Star Wars Clone Wars series, but I was always under the impression she was long gone by the time Episode 3 rolled around.