Thanks to ILDV, wavingthroughawindow, and Kondoru for reviewing.
Kondoru: Yeah, the thought of what the Force ghosts must think of Ben was what inspired me to write the chapter. I hope you liked it!
wavingthroughawindow: Thank you so much! I really hope Kylo doesn't actually blow up Leia's ship in TLJ as well, if only because Leia does not deserve this shit. It would be awful for after all she's suffered for her to be killed by her own son. I hope you like this chapter!
ILDV: Thank you!
This chapter was inspired by that Vader's line in ANH: "You weren't on any mercy mission this time." And then I got thinking about what other time he was referring to, and why he sounded so bitter when he was saying it. It's set in the same universe as Misbegots and Queens, and therefore has a backstory that is vague and doesn't really make any sense.
Essentially, all you need to know to understand it is: Vader's sentence included providing his skill set for the New Republic when they needed it, and now he's sent into the lower levels of Coruscant on one of those "mercy missions", with Leia as an 'escort'. Awkward conversation ensues.
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars.
The lower levels of Coruscant were, as per usual, grimy, dark and filled with clutter. Leia, used to moving through (and living in) such conditions from her time with the Alliance, didn't bat an eyelash at it - nor did her. . . companion. . . so much as flinch. Then again, he'd likely seen worse as well.
She sent him a surreptitious glance, clutching her glowrod tighter in her hand. An onlooker might assume than he was wearing the deep hood and swathes of thick, dark cloth to protect himself from the potentially harmful conditions found down here - the same could be said of the breathing mask attached. But Leia had the privilege of knowing exactly who the person next to her was, and why, precisely, they were here.
Vader - so sorry, Anakin - was serving his sentence.
It had been an obscure and jumbled mix of events that saved her biological sire from execution. There was the fact he'd technically defected to the Rebel Alliance before the Galactic Civil War ended, ostensibly because his found out his wife and children were still alive, and therefore executing him would've been in bad taste. There was the fact that the New Republic was doing its best to adhere to its anti-Empire 'No Death Penalties' slogan. There was also the fact that he'd had both a member of High Command, a Jedi, and a sort-of-Jedi-but-more-an-Alliance-poster-boy-than-anything-else rooting for him.
Honestly, Leia would've expected this from Luke. He was optimistic to a fault.
Obi-Wan Kenobi? There she might have anticipated more scepticism, but she didn't really know the man, and the two men been best friends once upon a time - maybe lingering feelings of camaraderie were clouding his judgement.
But Senator Ami- Pad- her mother? The Rebellion Leader? She had thought she would at least be a little more practical on the matter - enough to not let herself be ruled by sentiment.
Leia knew that sounded somewhat heartless, but. . . He was a monster! A murderer, a traitor! Padmé Amidala herself had very nearly suffered fatal asphyxiation at his hands! And yet they were wasting precious resources on his treatment and the precautions required to prevent any. . . mishaps. . . regarding both his security and the security of the Rebellion?
Allowing her anger to take over in a rare moment of emotion, she kicked violently at a scrap of junk that had apparently been tossed down here at one point. It was covered with soot and resembled nothing more than a large grey barnacle, but when her foot connected with it the thing leapt to its feet, attempted some sort of attack on the offending limb, then scuttled away.
Leia jumped back, her lips curling into a snarl. She stumbled momentarily before a hard, unyielding grip clutched her left bicep and she stiffened. For one horrifying instant there was the sense of hard durasteel round her arms, Governor Tarkin's pretentious voice drawling you may fire when ready and the vibrations of the largest battle station ever seen beneath her feet as it prepared to fire-
"Let go of me." The words were a hiss - like air out of a slit tyre. The grip released her hastily.
She jerked out of it with equal haste, stumbled slightly again as she regained her balance, and shot Vader a glare as he moved to help her again. She didn't stop glowering even as she bent down to inspect her foot.
"Don't touch me," she warned Vader as she noticed him fidget in her peripheral vision. "Don't you ever touch me, you piece of-"
She didn't finish the sentence; she couldn't come up with an insult bad enough. Not because he didn't deserve to take it; he deserved far, far less than what he'd been given. Besides, he'd probably heard his fair share of insults as it was. . .
"Whatever you were about to say, Your Highness, I have heard worse."
She resumed glowering up at him - up, because apparently, despite the new suit they'd had made for him that was closer to the average height of Anakin Skywalker, he was still an incredibly tall man. "Don't read my mind."
She couldn't see his face with much clarity due to the hood and the breathing mask, but she got the sense that his mouth tugged into a reluctant smirk. "I assure you, Princess, that I'm not reading your mind." The words were spoken slowly; he was likely used to speaking like that to allow the vocoder to pick them up. But without the vocoder to enunciate them, they sounded thin and reedy. That didn't mean Leia missed the undercurrent of pride as he said, "Your shielding is impeccable."
She decided to ask Luke what that meant later - no way was she asking him.
Satisfied that the. . . thing. . . hadn't managed to injure her in any way, she marched onwards - petty, perhaps, since Vader was still struggling to adapt to his new prosthetics, but it wasn't like he deserved respect from her.
He didn't complain, just lengthened his own strides to match hers. Soon enough she was aware of his presence at her back once more and she was tempted to kick something again. She didn't; it had hurt the first time.
She didn't even know what she was doing down here. Okay, that was a lie - she knew exactly what she was doing here: Babysitting Vader. Or rather, escorting him.
Part of his greatly reduced sentence at his trial had been what constitutes to "community service": apparently his, Obi-Wan's and Luke's particular skill set was needed at the moment to clear up some of the. . . wilder. . . aspects of Palpatine's reign, and there were certain situations the New Republic didn't want to send their trophy Jedi into.
Namely, hunting down the rare, dangerous animals that had apparently been released into the lower levels of Coruscant.
Not that that was directly Palpatine's fault, but the criminal underworld had thrived under the Empire, and it was no doubt some sort of immoral smuggler who'd gotten them onto Coruscant in the first place without realising that. . . well. They were dangerous.
That they would end up turning up to slaughter several citizens of the galaxy before vanishing into the cesspit that was the very bowels of the city.
In theory, only one of Jedi-like skills would survive this sort of challenge. But naturally, everyone had been very opposed to sending the Master and his padawan in the literal depths of Hell, and some bright spark (General Madine, if Leia's suspicions were correct) had proposed Vader for the job.
Another of Leia's suspicions was that the person had done so in an attempt to get Vader killed, and thereby off the New Republic's hands. If this was true, then that person was surely kicking themselves the moment Mon Mothma suggested Leia be his escort. Because as much as losing Vader would increase morale for the Rebellion, losing Leia would decrease it just as much, if not more.
Why, exactly, she had to be the one to accompany him was over her head - likely one of Mon's many machinations; the woman was as socially savvy as one could get. But Leia hadn't been able to back down, not after the well-timed, sneering comment from one of their Imperial defectors that it was doubtful a princess could hold her own in a firefight.
That had lead to a few discussions that were somewhat. . . aggressive.
And in the end, Leia's pride had demanded she take on this mission. Or perhaps she hadn't done it because of what an ignorant Imperial had said to her, but simply as a way to get back out in the field again. After all, she had been locked up in peace talks and negotiations ever since the Emperor's death; she needed to do something, needed to move, or she'd go crazy. Besides, she'd been here before. She knew what to do.
Then again, that particular experience was partially what made it so uncomfortable to be down here alongside. . . present company.
She glanced sideways again at him and swallowed harshly. She didn't want to think about last time.
However, it appeared the universe (or maybe the Force) didn't intend for her to forget about that day particularly soon, because after her foot hit a scrap of debris she hadn't previously noticed and she stumbled again, Vader commented in a tone one could almost call blithe: "You went into levels lower than this last time, did you not? How well did you fare down there?"
She shot him a glance that could have tunnelled all the way through Coruscant's duracrete cityscape and out the other side. "Yes." Her tone was clipped, but it was true: on her previous visit she'd gone lower, much lower. They were only around Level 400 at the moment; six years ago, Vader had run into her and her team on Level 237.
She hoped silence would fall again - it would make them more likely to catch these predators they were supposed to be wandering around searching for, anyway - but apparently the (former) Sith Lord wouldn't stand for that. Instead, he asked, "What was it you were doing down here again?"
"We were clearing up the community," she countered sharply. It was the story she'd given him then, and since she was a Princess of a Core World, and the daughter of an esteemed Senator, Vader hadn't been able to arrest her outright or question her any further - not without damning evidence that she was genuinely breaking the law. And she'd refused to provide that.
She'd been an eighteen-year-old girl on one of her first missions for a Rebel cell her father wasn't directly involved in - she'd been afraid and cold and alone in a team that knew each other far better than she'd known them. Their leader - Captain Andor, she believed his name was; he'd been a member of Rogue One, hadn't he? - had been brusque and gruff, and wasn't much prone to sympathy except in extreme situations.
But he'd been a good leader, understanding enough that when Darth Vader arrived and starting questioning them, he'd let the girl who'd trained as a junior legislator in the Senate, the one with diplomatic immunity, do all the talking.
They'd escaped without injury - mostly. One of their members had been Force choked for a few moments for looking at the Dark Lord in the wrong way. But they'd ultimately kept their lives, which was more than Leia had been hoping for since the moment she heard the first rasp of that chilling respirator, even if they'd had to abandon their task.
"Ah, yes," Vader replied. She glanced at him, but he was looking straight ahead. He sounded almost amused. "Your mercy mission."
The specific choice of words brought Leia back to the Tantive IV rocking beneath her feet, the sickening thud of Captain Antilles's body hitting the wall, a black finger wagging in her face and the rumbled words you weren't on any mercy mission this time.
This time.
This time. . .
She'd wondered about those words later, in her cell - at least, the rational part of her brain not occupied with fortifying herself against interrogation had. They had never made sense: She'd had minimal contact with Vader before being caught red-handed as a Rebel operative, and they'd certainly never been on the terms where they would discuss mercy missions. So why would Vader, who was generally so blunt and brutal with his speech, choose those words?
"You were referring to that event, that day after Scarif?" It seemed. . . odd. . . that he'd remembered it. "That wasn't a mercy mission."
"Oh, I know perfectly well that you and your Rebel friends were attempting to find a way into the Imperial Palace via Coruscant's underbelly, Princess." Vader sounded vaguely irritated - but also smug? Leia didn't understand this man at all. "Don't think that just because I was unable to take the daughter of a well-respected noble family into custody I wasn't aware of your doings."
"Technically, you couldn't have legally done so anyway: you had no proof of your suspicions."
"Princess." Here he sighed, and seemed to take great pleasure in the action. It made Leia wonder: Had he been able to sigh before? Had his respirator let him? "You were all bruised and bloody. Mercy missions don't tend to contain violence. It was obvious, even to an imbecile, that you were not all you said you w-" He was cut off by a crashing sound from up ahead.
Leia raised her glowrod. "It appears our quarry has come to us."
Vader didn't bother to finish his sentence - he was instantly focused on the task at hand. "Indeed."
It was only when they'd wiped out at least two of the creatures stalking the city that they declared themselves worn out, and began the arduous trek back to the surface. Leia was finding herself too short of breath to talk much, and apparently Vader felt the same, because they were largely silent on the duration of the trip.
Just before they reached the first vestiges of civilisation, though, he looked her over, taking in the scratches and the contusions and the slight limp she'd obtained sometime during the melee.
He said dryly, "It seems I was mistaken. Perhaps mercy missions do contain some modicum of violence."
Leia stifled a laugh, then wondered at the fact that she'd laughed at something he'd said.