AN: Some friends show up, and there's some not-so-friendly reunions.
A warning for this chapter. There's a dream-sequence with some extremely graphic violence and body horror that might be upsetting for some. It's pretty clear when the dream sequence starts, the character is shown to sleeping quarters and the following section will be the body-horror one.
Please stay safe and have caution when reading this bit.
Months passed, and there came the time to attack the Death Star and end the Empire, once and for all. But of course, like all these kinds of matters, it is not so easy. For the fight is like one with wooden swords against durasteel walls.
On the horizon, he can see the Rebel fleet. Two X-Wings pull up alongside him, another one gliding behind him.
He could best them, probably. Even now, the Force sings through his veins, and he can feel the swells of confusion and apprehension from the pilots. He could win.
But he won't try. He's here on official business, to bargain for his life, in exchange for everything he knows. He comes to them, a defecting Lieutenant Commander, who hacked and stole access codes for stations up to the Admiral, then escaped from the Harbinger, the ship he was stationed on. Here, he will laugh, and say I guess I was their Harbinger, right? Too humorous to be a higher ranking officer, but just humorous enough to be a Lieutenant Commander.
Then he'll calm down and get to seriousness, and say something vaguely like oh yeah, I have this oxygen support system and breathing tube because they nearly killed me when I stopped at an outpost. Who knew they were looking for me?
And it's here that some of his hacking and his spy networks will come in handy, because a Wanted Person holo got circulated in a few of the Empire controlled Mid Rim planets, along with a bounty. He made an appearance there, just to cause a little chaos in one of the small markets, stealing a ship and flying back to his one man fighter, stationed in a small port, before making his escape.
Witnesses, validation for his story, and more reason for the higher ups to believe him.
If anyone from Wobani or Coruscant is with the fleet and recognizes him, he'll shrug one shoulder and say I was just trying to do the right thing. I've done a lot of bad, and I want to make up for it. If they ask for a blood test, he'll try a Force Suggestion. It won't be good, but maybe it will be enough. After all, if Obi-Wan can do it, so can he.
The last problem is if anyone recognizes him from before the war. His shields are clamped down, so his Force signature is unrecognizable, and neither Leia nor Luke know what his face looks like. All evidence of his fights, all interviews on the Holonet with him have been scrubbed clean thanks to his time with the Empire.
And there is the promise that memories warp over time, and twenty years is enough to guarantee that anyone who might remember him would no longer recognize him. If they mention it? Yeah! My mom said the same thing growing up. I used to pretend I was him to get girls. It's how I met my wife, actually!
"Guess I was their Harbinger, right?" he cracks, and Willard's face remains stony and unimpressed. He lets his smile fade, and coughs awkwardly. "Uh, well, anyways, I got this oxygen support system because the Empire got the drop on me when I stopped by for a refuel on Garos-" The Force shifts in recognition around Willard. Got him. "and blasted me pretty good. I got lucky to make it to an outpost with a hospital and they outfitted me with this."
General Willard seems to take this in. "I see. So, how long had you intended to join the Rebellion?"
And here, he lets himself droop, looking at his hands. "I," he says, and hesitates. "General, I'm not a good man. I'll be honest with you, I never intended to join the Rebellion. I didn't think- It feels like I'd be asking for a second chance, and I'm not sure I deserve that. But, I wanted to help make things right, and I thought this would be the best way to do that. Besides, it will take every able hand to topple an empire, right?"
Willard nods, and there is something like approval in his eyes. "Very well. Due to security reasons, we will have to monitor you while you are here. We can't trust you until we know your allegiances are confirmed."
He looks properly contrite and resigned. "I figured as much. If the Emperor were to get any plants, that would be devastating."
Willard pauses, then lowers his voice. "I will be honest with you. If the information on this drive you've given us is good and helps us strengthen our position, the time you will be watched will drop drastically."
He cracks a grin at that. "Good to hear."
"What did you say your name was, again?" Willard asks.
"Jinn Shryne. But, you can call me Ben."
"I am sorry about this," his guard is saying as he's trying to eat lunch. "but, you know, precautions, and all that," she says.
He shrugs. "You do what you must. The food's much better than what the Empire gave me, so I won't complain." While he still has to keep up some level of an act, the need to be so casual, so… lax with his words is no longer there.
His guard grunts, and goes back to eating her own food. "So," she says between bites, because of course it's an interrogation. "where are you from?"
"I, ah, I'm from a Rim World planet. A little nowhere dustball."
"So you've dealt with the Hutts?"
He grumbles under his breath. "Like most Rim Worlds have, unfortunately, yes."
"Did you hear their big kingpin Jabba is dead?"
He goes still. "Is he now," he says, carefully as he can.
"Yeah," his guard is rambling, shoveling food into her mouth. "Our bounty hunter checked it out and confirmed, he's definitely dead. Got decapitated, though the upper management's keeping it on the hush-hush who they think did it. Don't think they're a threat."
"I suppose the best we can do is hope," he says, running through panic scenarios in his mind.
How in nine kriffing sith hells did he forget that he hired Boba to watch after Leia and Luke. Boba had seen him before, Boba had known him before. He would have to keep his Force senses heightened, and use all the abilities he knew of in order to protect himself and keep his identity secret.
He sighs.
No different from the war, then.
Across from him, his guard stiffens. "Commander," she says, half rising out of her seat.
A harsh sigh from behind him, and then-
"You don't have to try and snap to attention every time I enter a room, Rui," Leia's voice comes, and he can feel the blood drain from his face, feel the way his stomach lurches with apprehension and fear.
"Go on, Rui, I want to speak with the defector."
Rui nods and grabs her bowl and gives a half sheepish, half awkward wave to him as she walks away, and Leia settles in to take her place.
This close, untainted by the red haze of the mask, he curses himself for not noticing the same dark hue of her eyes, the same curve of her jaw. This close, she's unmistakably Padmé's daughter.
"What," she says, irritation and amusements mixing in equal parts in her voice. "never seen a woman before?"
He blinks, startled. "No we- I, sorry. You just. Look like someone I knew once."
Leia quirks a smile. "Is that so?"
He busies himself with eating, scarfing down food, and biting back the feeling of euphoria at just being able to actually eat.
Leia clears her throat, and folds her hands on the table in front of him. "I was here, actually to speak with you about what you knew. About the Empire."
He nods, and looks back to his food. "Yeah, I. I am not the best person to ask about all that. I don't know all of what I got on the drives, but I am certain it's important things."
"You're certain it's important things. How useful."
He snickers. "Your parents ought to be proud of you, with a no-nonsense attitude like that."
Leia's eyes snap to his. "I suppose they would be. If they were alive."
He drops his spoon. "Sithspit, I-" he wrestles down the guilt and shame and horror rising in his veins. "I, I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry for bringing it up. I forgot you-"
"You forgot that I lost my family in a strike that the Empire ordered against my homeworld? An organization you were a part of at the time?" Leia snaps.
He straightens, meeting her gaze squarely. "That's a large part of why I defected. I was there. And it was wrong. And I stood by, and didn't do anything."
Bail and Breha's faces flicker at the edges of his vision.
Funny. Real funny.
Leia's expression twists. "Oh really, now. You wanted to, but you just couldn't."
He glares. "I didn't say I was a good person, Princess. And I won't say it was right, either. I was a fool. And now I have to live with that, and atone for that. Maybe if I do, I can face my children, really face them."
Leia gives him an assessing once over. "You have children?"
"Yeah."
"A spouse?"
The fingers of his right hand twitch. "She. Passed."
Leia looks away. "I am sorry for your loss. Who is caring for your children?"
His right hand twitches again. "Friends and family. Or at least, they were, last time I checked. I don't… by now they are old enough to take care of themselves."
"So you're just leaving them?" Leia asks. "You abandon your children, you abandon the Empire? It seems to me all you do is run."
He stares at her, before breaking off into a helpless laugh. "Force, you are so much like your-" He bites down on his lip until he tastes copper.
Leia's eyes are wide, her expression bewildered. "Like who?" she demands. "Ben, tell me. Like who?!"
He can't meet her eyes. He can't meet those searching, wide, brown eyes. "You," he rasps at long last, his throat constricting. "You remind me of your mother."
Leia breathes in, sharp and sudden. "Breha?"
He shakes his head, and she goes quiet, so, so quiet. "You knew my birth mother."
"I was one of her guards, once," he manages to get out, and his right hand trembles, trembles, trembles.
"And my father?" she demands again, and the Force constricts tight around her, her fury and rage and pain and frustration ringing through like the plunked string of a harp.
His throat goes dry.
She knows.
He clears his throat and closes his eyes. "Your father was a fool, your Highness," he whispers. "He never deserved her, and he sure as hell wouldn't have deserved you either. And-" His voice cracks. "And your mother knew it, too. But she loved him anyways, and I don't. Know how."
"How do you know this?" Leia asks, and despite her bravado, her voice is fragile, fragmenting.
"Your mother… she confided a great deal in me."
Leia's gaze hardens then. "And yet, you were with the Empire, and tore apart my new family."
"I thought it would protect my family," he shouts, anger burning through his veins, and he's barely noticed he's standing, his palms slammed flat against the table.
Several heads from nearby tables turn to face them, and under the weight of the guilt and their gazes, he sits back down, his voice dropping to a weak whisper. "I was wrong. So wrong. But I thought… I thought," he swallows. "I thought I was doing what was best for my family."
Silence.
Leia stands, and smooths her hands down the front of her shirt, before looking back up and making eye contact. "Well, at least you have come to see reason."
He nods, holding her gaze. "Perhaps. Perhaps when this is all over. When I have paid my penance and done my time. Perhaps then, I will be able to see my children, face to face."
Leia gives him an odd, considering look. "Well, I wish you luck, then."
It's enough, he tells himself later. It's enough.
"Oh," Leia says, pausing before she leaves, turning back just enough to glance at him. "You should know, since you are a defector. We have a former Jedi who is joining us. You will have to be interrogated by her at some point, if she is so willing."
The floor drops out beneath him.
Sithspit.
Later, he stares at his reflection in the mirror until the edges of his vision blurs, and his knuckles are white where they grip at the sink. His hair is long, curling and ragged in a way that it's maybe never been. The sides of his head are sheared short to compensate for the gnarling scar that tracks along the side of his skull. But, faint and delicate, like a breaking promise, the thin silvery scar traces along the ridge of his right brow, slipping down along his cheekbone, and dip in his chin still marks his jaw.
The corner of his lips curl up, and that, too, is something striking and familiar.
"How in nine hells has no one recognized me yet? Did we really scrub all trace of me from people's memories so well?"
Then again, most people don't except a dead man to be walking among them, and most people don't bother to look past the scars.
He won't question it.
"Here are your sleeping quarters. You understand you're going to be bunking with several of our soldiers in case that you are an Imperial plant."
He nods, shifting on his feet as he looks at the door. "I expected as much. That's alright. I am grateful just to have a place to sleep that isn't a cell."
His guard nods. "Just be careful and quiet when you enter, most of the occupants are already asleep. The free bunk is yours to take"
"As you say," he says softly, and then steps through the door as it hisses open.
The room is white, stretching on forever, the floors blending into the walls, the space hollow. His footsteps echo with every step he takes.
In the center of the room, a woman stands, her back to him, long hair tumbling down her back, her dress deep, deep red, the ends of it melting into blood against the pristine white floors.
He takes a step forward and she turns.
"Pad-" Her name dies on his lips as she faces him fully.
Like an ugly wreath, a ring of blackened bruises rose around her neck, and her eyes are bloodied, the sclera red, blood pooling in tears down her face.
"Anakin," she says, and her voice is hoarse, scraping out like a death rattle, and she extends one arm. Her fingers are crooked, bent backwards and out of place. "Anakin, dance with me," she says.
His voice is clogged in his throat. "I. Padmé."
She gestures with her hand, and her neck lolls dangerously to the side. "Anakin. Dance with me."
He takes her hand, and he can feel the way her bones shudder and crack under his touch.
"Don't look so scared," she says, and as she smiles, there is blood in her teeth. "You certainly weren't afraid to kill me. I'd think dancing would be a bit easier."
There is something too horrified to be fear choking his lungs, but even in death, he can't resist her, can't deny her. Gingerly, more gently than he's ever moved in his life, he places his other hand on her waist, and she smiles and leans in close.
She smells like the burn of sulfur, the rot of decay, and the acrid heat of Mustafar, the way it burns against the roof of his mouth in his nightmares.
Padmé hums, almost happy and rests her head against his chest.
He thinks vaguely, in all his dreams, his nightmares, it has never, ever been this bad.
"Why'd you do it, Anakin?" she asks, and her voice is deceptively light. "Kill children, turn against the Jedi, kill me? Please, Anakin, this has got to be good."
"Padmé," he starts, then stops, because really, there is nothing he can say. There is nothing to justify the crimes he has committed against her, the sins he has wrought. "I- I can't. There's nothing I can-"
"You're right, for once," she says, smiling again, and there's blood dripping from her lips down her chin. "There is nothing you can do to atone for this. You know," she looks away, giggling. "it's so funny to me, that you think maybe, one day, you can look Leia, our little girl, in the eyes, and say you're sorry for torturing her. You think she will forgive you? Oh, Anakin, you are too funny."
He closes his eyes, ignoring the way her bones groan beneath his feather-light touch, as if his very presence is fracturing them. "I don't expect that."
Padme breathes out, and the cloying smoke of the lava fires hisses from her mouth. "Oh, Anakin. Let me help you. Let me show you how you can atone."
"Yes," he breathes. "Yes, of course. Anything, Padmé, anything-"
Her hands close around his throat, delicate as flower petals, unrelenting as bands of iron.
She tightens her grip, and he drops to his knees before her, helpless to resist, and helpless to even try.
"Shh, shhh, Ani. It's okay. It'll all be over soon. It'll all be over soon."
"Padmé. I'm- I'm so sorry. Padmé, I'm so sorry." There are tears burning his eyes, and vision is choking away from him, fading, tunneling away, and all he can see if the bouquet of bruises, rosy and bloody around her neck.
She smiles once, bloodstained and beautiful, and then his vision goes black.
He wakes gasping, shuddering, tears drying tracks down his face, his oxygen tube askew and his breathing ragged.
"P-Padmé," he stumbles out of his bunk, falling to his knees besides his oxygen case, the air shuddering weak into his lungs. "Padmé, he rasps, his hands shaking as he tries to fix the cord, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm-"
"Let me help you with that," the rumbling baritone of a man's voice comes, and suddenly there are hands in his vision, hands that are worn from battle and scarred.
The oxygen tube rights, and the hands withdraw, and there's just the calm, easy rumble of the man's voice. "Take it easy, there. Just breathe. Your panicking woke me up, and I couldn't just let you suffer. Breathe, friend. Just take deep breaths."
The man doesn't touch him, and he doesn't think he's ever been thankful.
"Thanks," he rasps out, after a while, when his breathing's steadied, and he looks up, and-
The hard set line of clone trooper's brow stares back, the thick hair of his beard greyed over from faster aging.
He blinks. "Rex?" he whispers, his voice so weak, so fragile, breaking into pieces in the quiet around them.
Rex's eyes go wide. "C-Commander?" he whispers back. "Is that really…"
He lets out a noise that's maybe a sob, or a sigh, or the sound someone makes when finally coming home, and throws his arms around Rex.
Rex stutters out a noise that's shock or surprise, and wraps his arms around him. "Commander, I can't- I can't believe you- we thought you were- I looked. I hoped- but here, after all this time, you're really-"
"Rex," he chokes out. "God, Rex, I didn't know, I thought you-"
Rex snorts. "As if. Commander, you're still here. This galaxy can't get rid of us old guns so easy,"
He sighs out a laugh, the apprehension and the anxiety of the nightmare, the past weeks, the months, the years easing off his shoulders, if only for just a moment.
"By the way, you'll never believe who I found a while back. We've been travelling together now, and she's here at the base."
He blinks. "Oh?" His voice comes out high and squeaking.
"Your old Padawan. Ahsoka. She's here."
Sithspit.
Talk about a fast update. Hope you all enjoy this one! As always, your reviews keep me posting! A huge thanks to everyone who's reviewed the past chapters, and please let me know what you thought!