A/N: So work ate me again. My sincere apologies for the long absence. This story is not abandoned. I will finish it. Much love to all of you that stuck around for it!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Mary owns Mary.
"Dammit," I muttered with feeling. "We were wrong."
He glanced over his shoulder, latching his belt back into place. "Were we?"
"Yeah. I thought this would get all the tension out of the way between us. That way you could go back to being the evil overlord Imp-dick and I could go back to hating you right and proper."
I blinked. Blinked again. Shook my head, and would have slammed myself bodily into the nearest wall—repeatedly—to banish those memories. Instead, the feeling of his shoulders slick with sweat filled my palms, the taste of his skin taking center stage on my lips. It didn't matter that I had been his prisoner at the time we'd done the nasty, or that he'd tortured me until I'd nearly died. It… didn't matter, honestly. Because he'd stopped shy of doing his worst (or best, depending on what side of this event you were on) torturing to get information out of me.
I knew that now. After undergoing Lorana's oh-so (not) tender mercies, I knew for a fact that Nadonnis had done the bare minimum in the Hurt Department in order to keep us both from being under the headman's axe (Clarification: Him under the axe for going easy on me, and me being under the axe because when the hell WASN'T I these days?). Then he'd done his damndest to protect me from Vader and Tarkin and Motti, the three Stooges of DeathStarLand.
Not that he'd been totally successful there, either. Mostly (okay, 100%) due to my inability to keep my mouth shut. Seriously, I should watch what I say around Curly… I mean Vader. Poking him until he turned my brains to jelly wasn't one of my brightest moments. But Nahdonnis had done his best. He really had, even if I couldn't see it at the time.
He was a good man. He didn't deserve what happened to him.
Because something had to have happened to him. Because he wasn't looking at me.
Not that I could blame him (completely). I sure as shit didn't resemble the woman that cast the big L-O-V-E spell on his dumbass. That woman had waist-length, bone straight, white-blonde hair with a mind of its own. Hair that clung to his hand and uniform rank bar and stars knew what else when left to its own devices. That woman wore jeans and (sob!) red retro Converse shoes and a Mal Reynold's T-shirt claiming "I AIM TO MISBEHAVE."
The woman before him—the ME before him—was dressed with floor length red synth-silk royalty. Perfectly manicured fingernails, ruby red lips, honey-blonde hair that curled around her bare shoulders in all the right ways. I mean, for crying out loud, there was a vault's worth of red rubies on my person: circlet around my forehead, bracelets, belt (yes, belt. Honestly, who the freak wears rubies at their waist? Scratch that. Who the freak lets ME wear rubies at my waist? Aren't they afraid of me banging into things, snagging seat fabric, scratching a hole into the glass-like whatever-it-is that separates us from hard vacuum while staring into space? Reckless, I tell you. The whole lot of them!) and so forth.
The bottom line was this: I looked like I belonged there with Thrass and Thrawn and Lorana. I looked… Sith.
I was nothing like the girl that he'd almost risked it all to prove was innocent. Except I wasn't innocent then, and with the amount of blood on my hands thanks to this stupid war, I sure as hell wasn't now.
Stars, I was never a Disney Princess. I was the wicked step-sister, the one watching the handsome prince walk right past her in his search for a Cinderella that never existed.
"Good," DadVader was saying, shattering my spell of memories. "See to it that he finds his way here."
Huh? He? Oh, shit. Luke! He was talking about Luke. The other other handsome prince that mistakenly thought I was his Cinderella. Somewhere between last night and now, he'd apparently rigged a TARDIS to his X-Wing to make in across the butt-load of parsecs that separated Bespin and Dagobah. It wasn't like the two planets were neighbors or anything.
"Very good, my Lord," Praji inclined his head in a bow/salute, spinning in military perfection to go back the way he came.
His eyes tracked over me, and that's when it happened. That's when I knew.
There was the slightest hesitation. A blink… and a tender, bittersweet flicker of recognition in those polished sapphires he called eyes. It was the look you give someone when you spy them in a crowded room, and think, 'huh, she looks like someone I used to know. Someone I liked.' It only lasted a moment, and Force or no Force, I knew what that shadow was that ate the tenderness in that gaze. It was the same shadow that haunted me for years after my internship in Anthropology, after accidently unearthing that mass unmarked grave in Eastern Europe.
It was the shadow of loss.
I changed my mind. Lorana hadn't messed with his mind. The bitch hadn't had to. She'd simply told him that I died, most likely on the Death Star. From that brief moment of recognition, I knew that he'd mourned me, truly and honestly mourned me.
We may not have had true love, but dammit, we'd had something that could have been real given enough time.
I know you're still in my brain, Wicked Sith-Mother, I snarled. And so help me, if you tell me to feed this pain into my dark side, I'm going to feed YOUR dark side to… to…
To what, my apprentice? Bitch-and-Tall smirked.
I'm working on it, dammit. I snapped back in annoyance. Shesh, don't you have better things to do—poison some apples, kidnap some babies, or making coma-inducing spinning wheels—than sit around and wait for my snappy comebacks? Lazy! Needless to say, it's going to be bad. Really bad. And painful, too. Don't forget painful.
Observe my quaking with terror, she deadpanned with a slight smile. And this line of thought isn't feeding your Dark Side… how?
It was a fair point, and one that would have sent me into a sneaky hate spiral in an instant. Except that I'd learned some things in my time with Master Yoda. I was ready for it.
Master Yoda would tell me to—
Her eyes blazed for the briefest of moments, so brief that I doubt Lord Jackhole and Blue Dragon noticed. I noticed, and was woman enough to admit that I wasn't ready for the sudden rage. It was hard not to notice when our brains were joined at the proverbial hip, and her mental landscape took on all the qualities of magma. I fought not to put a hand to my face, to see if the flesh there was blackened or something.
I am your master, apprentice, her voice boomed across my mind. You belong to me.
Oh, goodie. I'd found her hot button. Irrational, unexplainable and utter hatred for Yoda: check!
Lack of self-control (or self-preservation) that made me press that button until I ground it into the dust: check check check checkcheckcheckcheck!
Awwww I purred (when my head stopped spinning from the echo of her wrath, that is). Now who's feeding their Dark Side?
Yeah, yeah, I know what you're about to say. It isn't wise to poke a volcano during an eruption. But this volcano had just taken a giant ash-filled dump on my heart. Test of loyalty or no test, screw it—her—I mean.
You ungrateful little brat—
Eat shit and die. You told him I was dead, didn't you? What kind of a horrible person does that to someone?
What does it matter? He does not factor into our plans.
Really, she just asked that? This time I didn't stop my hand from going to my face, from rubbing the bridge of my nose the way Thrass did almost every time I opened my mouth. We were going to have to go over this again!
God, how many times do I have to explain this crap to you guys? People aren't freaking made of plastic. You can't break one and say 'oops, guess I need a new one.' You can't just keep lying to everyone, either. Why do you think people hate Uncle Palpy so much? Aside from the 'murder all the Jedi' stint, and the 'hey, let's enslave anything not human' bit, this whole rebellion is happening due to crap like this exact situation!
Your short-sightedness betrays your ignorance. One person is insignificant next to—
ONE PERSON IS EVERYTHING! I shouted so hard and so loud that I was openly glaring at her, hands fisted at my sides and my feet damn near stomping in a perfect Princess tantrum. And don't you dare try to tell me that one person is insignificant next to the power of the Force, because that's bullshit. Master Yoda taught me that and I bet he taught that to you, too. Probably why you're so angry right now.
Her rage rose up on great plumbs of smoke, great plumbs of acidic, choking, life-stealing smoke. It vented all over me until I was drowning in it. In rage so hot it was cold, my insides blistering in response. There was a brief moment when I considered apologizing. Okay, make that groveling on my belly and crawling across the ground in sniveling submission, really. But as long as Praji was in my line of sight, as long as I could feel the blood of those men I'd led into combat and who'd died under my command dripping off my hands, I wasn't going to yield.
She could boil me like a head of cabbage and I'd keep standing.
One person is insignificant when compared to the scope of our plans. DO NOT forget, apprentice, that you had a hand in designing those plans.
Oh, don't get all self-righteous on me. I know how much blood is on my hands, and if you bothered to listen to a thing I said, you'd realize my plans are a lot like Thrawn's. Blood is a big expense, doll face. Spend it lightly, not like you're Paris Hilton after a season of the Simple Life!
She didn't bother trying to sort through enough mental images to figure out who Paris was or what was so mind-boggling about a blonde rich girl trying to do menial labor and then whining about it. Dammit. That was usually my saving grace in these moments. Apparently I wasn't the only one prepared for mental onslaughts that I didn't like.
Yes, she hissed back. You are very much like Thrawn, perhaps in ways you will never understand. That is why Commander Praji is a non-entity to us, Aurora. You will not undo nearly a year's worth of work simply because you think you love that man.
I don't love him. Even to my own ears—errr, thoughts—that sounded weak. I could have, though, and you took that choice away from me and from him.
She snorted, both physically and mentally. He does not seem bothered by your absence. The promotion to Lord Vader's Chief of Staff and subsequent engagement to Grand Admiral Grant's youngest daughter must have softened the sting of your loss.
I froze. Like, literally, my brain and mouth and body and heart just stopped working for a very long moment. No, he couldn't have… He was supposed to go on to become… to become… My heart sank. He was to go on to take down a major rebel cell on the planet Kaikielius, and pave the way for Operation: Shadow Hand. One of the last acts the Emperor did before gallivanting off to Endor was to promote him to Governor-General of that world in recognition of his service.
No to mention the political connections. Stars above, the books never really specified what those political connections were. Everyone just assumed that it had to do with being a scion of the prominent Praji Family. Marriage to a Grand Admiral's daughter was one hell of a stepping stone in the Imperial Court, probably large enough to bring Nahdonnis to Palpatine's personal attention.
I felt sick, the fire draining out of me. I could take him, I realized, and prevent all that from happening. I could be selfish for once and demand that Thrawn give him to me. Take him as my boytoy or something. It would be a very Sith-like thing to do… and prove that I was really Lorana's apprentice. Wasn't that what she'd done to Thrass all those years ago? Stole him from his destiny to die as a great hero and thrust him into a slice of the GFFA his own people thought was too crazy for major contact?
If you want him… Lorana continued, an almost sing-song chant in her voice.
No, I whispered, a tear sliding down my face. No, let him go.
The magma beneath my feet cooled, and I could suddenly see the real world around me again. Captain Needa was pushing his way through the ring of guards, Leia on his arm. And speaking of arms, Thrawn's were tightly wrapped around my waist, his glowing red gaze drifting between myself and Lorana and back again, a contemplative look on his handsome face.
I turned in that grip, reaching up to cup his face in my hands. Gently, so gently, I brought his lips down to mine. Tingles of sensation exploded across my body, lust and desire and the knowledge that any night with this man would forever ruin me for anyone else. Except that I'd already had one of those nights, and it wasn't with him. That night had happened on the first Death Star, in a cramped cell, with the man who was little more than a massive blur through the carbonite fumes as he left.
He returned the kiss, of course. And a teeny-tiny part of me whispered that he wasn't so bad a consolation prize, now was he?
"Do you love me?" I whispered against his lips. "No, don't answer now, but think about it. Really think about it. Because I've seen our future together, lover. And you better know the answer to that before we leave Bespin. You better be damn certain you want to walk this path, because God knows I can't do this alone, and I just gave up everything I never knew I wanted to walk it."
The glow in those red eyes intensified for a brief moment, as if giving the oft-spoken command of 'we will speak later.' The way his hands tightened almost painfully on my waist certainly gave that impression. But for once the throng of Imperial lackeys worked in my favor, and he let go—with his hands at least. Those eyes bored into the back of my head as Leia joined us.
I didn't have to fake any sympathy or tears. She threw herself into my open arms, and together we sobbed. Just like we had on Hoth when Han had gone after Wedge in that black cold night. Only this time we were huddled together inside a ring of Imperial officers instead of rags and furs. And this time we knew Han wasn't coming back.
"It never gets easier," Lorana mused aloud, looking down upon us with something akin to sympathy, the sudden rage that had nearly boiled me inside my own skin gone as quickly as it came. "The sacrifices we make are never easy, and the expense of the blood is never enough to balance the scales when Justice is weighed. We are Sith, and such sacrifices only bring us strength. Through strength, we gain power. Through power, we gain victory. Through victory, our chains are broken."
"The Force shall set me free," I muttered on reflex through my tears, through the passion of my loss.
"Yes, my apprentice."
"Yes, my daughters," VaderDad rumbled, reaching down towards us. Gloved fingers curled under each of our chins, lifting slightly so that Leia and I stared up into the mask of our father. "The last sacrifice has been made and your loyalties to me proven. Soon, very soon, our victory will be complete."
We passed our tests.
Funny how that phrase was the one that ricocheted around in my head like a loose bullet, shredding all other thoughts and leaving emotional debris of numbness and muted loss in its wake. Leia had sacrificed Han. I had sacrificed Nahdonnis. Our prize was the approval of our father, the heart-felt (believe it or not) joining of us as a real family. After all, he'd sacrificed Padme in the name of his power, so why not let his daughters do the same? Yet one would think that he'd want more for his children—adopted or otherwise—than to follow in his own jacked-up footsteps.
I rolled my eyes. I was learning that Earth values, much like its pop culture, held less water than Miley Cyrus's hopes of ever outliving that MTV Video Award performance.
The lift doors opened, and Leia and Darth Daddy exited, one turning to the right and the other to the left. A small entourage awaited my not-sister, attendants and bodyguards and whatnot, all ready to serve the Imperial Princess. A core group of officers and generals awaited Darth Daddy, and I did my utmost to keep my face blank as Praji stood among that waiting throng.
His eyes flicked in my direction, though, and the same wash of bittersweet turned the granite to… to whatever the opposite of rocks were. Jesus, did I have to make all the comparisons around here? I was grieving, for star's sake. The least anyone could do was fill in their own sarcasm here. It's not like I had a corner market on the crap in this universe.
I held that gaze until the lift doors closed. He wasn't mine. I wasn't even mine, my own person that is.
My own set of flunkies waited for me a few floors away, and the thought of that made me groan. Trust me, servants are more trouble than they are worth. It's like surrounding yourself with frienemies on a constant basis. You never knew when one of those traitors was going to up and sell your secrets to the highest bidder. And they were always underfoot, too, like traveling with a pack of five-year-olds hopped up on sugar. You just couldn't get away from them!
I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to forestall the coming headache. Trying even more to not notice how Nahdonnis managed to sweep a glance in my direction, again making with that bittersweet light in his eyes, before turning his attention back to Lord Vader.
Yeah, that wasn't a punch in the gut at all. Riiiiggghhht.
Thankfully the lift doors closed soon after that. Unthankfully, it locked me in with the first half of my own retinue. That being Veers, Needa, and three other douche canoes that I didn't recognize. Probably hand-selected by Bitch-n-Tall. Apparently Vader trusted me more than she did. Or something like that. Sue me for not being in the mood for generous sarcasm, not after I'd just ripped out my own heart and served it up to the Dark Side on a silver platter.
Beside me, Veers cleared his throat.
"What?" I barked.
He shot me a level look, and then indicated the control panel with a sweep of his eyes. Oh, right. I was officially 'official' now on Team Darkside. That meant I called the shots for my slice of this nightmare.
Yeah, that headache was coming on with the force of a wrecking ball (every pun intended).
"Dammit," I muttered, not surprised in the slightest when no one flinched. Apparently right now I was displaying all the moodiness of Lord Vader and these men were used to pretending they didn't see it. "Fine, fine. You—" I snapped my fingers at Needa. "What docking bay is the shuttle in again?"
Captain Needa stood a full attention. "Platform 7, my lady. The Avenger awaits your command."
Oh, right. That was the other thing I forgot to mention. My consolation prize for giving up Nahdonnis in exchange for the All Vader Superpass was my own Star Destroyer. The Avenger and her crew were mine now, my own personal flagship. I had my own General and my own Captain, and my own crew of at least thirty-seven thousand people. That made thirty-seven thousand and two lives I could potentially end. That was a lot of potential blood on my hands.
Potentially.
Stars, I hated that word.
"Peachy," I snarled, rubbing my temples this time. "Take me there. I want to blow something up."
Oh don't give me that look. If I was a Skywalker now, the least I could do was benefit from it. Cue the Paris Hilton impersonation starting—NOW!
I couldn't tell if Needa flinched at that command or grinned. I wasn't up to caring at that moment.
"What about your belongings, Highness?" Veers commented, staring straight ahead as the lift started to move. "Do you not wish to take those items with you?"
"Don't I have droids or something to pack for me?"
Veers kept his face carefully neutral, so I knew he was holding back.
"What? Dammit, man, don't make me dig for details."
"Under normal circumstances, yes, Highness, you would have servant droids."
"But…" I prompted.
"Your current personal droid has seen fit to dismantle and/or destroy any other droids I sent to your rooms."
Current personal droi… Oh, hell on heels, I'd forgotten about Rido. I groaned anew, rubbing my whole face. "And how many protocol droids has he destroyed so far."
"Five," Veers said without missing a beat. "I believe the phrase 'punch to the head' was uttered each time he destroyed one."
Okay, I almost snerked at that. He was so my droid. "How long do I have before the Avenger has to meet up with the Conquest? That's the ship that Dad gave Leia, right?"
Behind me, one of the three unnamed faces blanched and went pale. Probably at my referring to Vader as Dad.
Veers gave me yet another of those patient and fatherly looks, one that all but screamed that we were having a long talk regarding protocol and personal behavior the moment he got me alone. "Yes, Highness. Princess Leia is on her way to board the Conquest as soon as Captain Solo is loaded into the cargo hold."
For the second time that day, I froze. Or rather my brain froze after it pieced together something I should have been paying attention to and (spoiler alert!) I hadn't. I'd been so caught up in Praji presence and Lorana's little melt down over Yoda, that I'd lost track of the other dickhole in the room. The one that wasn't present at Dad or Leia's side when we'd left the carbonite chamber.
I whirled on Veers so quickly he had to take a step back or eat my hair. "Was that made common knowledge? Or more to the point, was Fett in the room when those arrangements over Han were made?"
Captain Needa cleared his throat tentatively. "Yes, Highness."
Oh no…. no no no no… "Pray tell me that Fett's already departed this place after Dad paid him a really nice sum of credits."
Veers frowned thoughtfully. "The bounty hunter was instructed to meet with you on the Avenger, my lady, to settle the account of his services."
"Stop!" I shouted, not at him but at the lift. "Someone make this thing stop right now or I'll cut my way out of it."
Veers hit the emergency stop button almost before I'd given the command. Possibly because he knew my skills with a lightsaber weren't exactly perfect and I'd cut them all down before I'd made a dent in the lift.
Oh son of a bitch! Son of a BITCH why hadn't I seen this coming?!
"Fett isn't on the Avenger," I snapped, whirling to face my General for the second time. "Don't you see? I've offended him, him and his stupid Mandalorian honor. He's going after Leia and Han. We have to stop him!"
All around me blasters appeared and went on full alert while Veers muttered into a comlink. Captain Needa gently but firmly pushed me aside and jabbed at the lift controls, sending us in a different direction. And me? I stood in the center of a ring of fighting men, my lightsaber clutched helplessly in one hand, and WWTD (What Would Thrawn Do).
I squared my shoulders, swallowed the need to flail in abject panicky terror, and pretended to be the simmering pissed off Sith Lord they all expected of me.