Author's Note: Sorry for the delay! I really wanted to do a good job on this chapter, and then company suddenly decided to come visit, and then work on top of that -- anyway, it's here now. Hope you enjoy -- and please don't forget to review!
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Luke recognized Leia's mystery man immediately – it was glaringly obvious through the Force.
Leia, however, wasn't trained to use the Force.
"Ah . . . hi," she began, the fury radiating off the man making her nervous. "I'm --"
Her words were cut off when she and Luke were slammed into the wall behind them by a Force-created gale. Her eyes widened as they slid down the wall, and she huddled against her brother on the cold, hard floor.
"Vader," she whispered, frightened.
In response, the holocube Luke had admired so much earlier that day flew at them, shattering on the wall above their heads. Glass rained down on them, the sharp sides catching in their hair and clothes as the small pieces of colour fell around them. The twins looked up at their father with horror and fear.
He advanced on them, his anger and their position on the floor making him seem even larger than he normally was.
Datapads danced wilding in the air, then dived into the floor at their feet, sending shards of metal and plastic into Luke and Leia's faces. They shied back, only to come up against the wall again.
Using the Force, Vader hauled hem to their feet and pinned them painfully against the cold stone of the wall. "How dare you," he hissed, his harsh, scarred rasp of a voice made even harder by the strength of his rage.
He moved to Luke first, coming so close that Luke could practically taste his fury. "You're a fool, boy," he spat. "You want to know Anakin Skywalker so badly – but he wasn't worth knowing. You want to be like him – but there was nothing to like. He was weak, foolish, idealistic – stupid enough and desperate enough to blindly accept the opinions and orders of others without question. And you're just the same. Too dazzled by the lights to realize it's just a show without substance. Too brainwashed by an idiot of a Jedi Master to think about all the inconsistencies and problems that appear in his teachings rather than all the cute little mind games he promises to teach you. You're not worth my time."
Vader paused to catch his breath, but he was hardly finished. Keeping Luke helplessly dangling from the wall, his throat not quite closed but making it difficult to suck air into his lungs, he turned to Leia. He grasped her chin in strong, unforgiving metal fingers as his eyes bore into hers. She forced herself to meet his gaze, but his will was overpowering, and eventually she was forced to look away. When she did, he gave a disdainful snarl and released her face in a violent movement that sent her head to the side and into the wall.
"Stupid child," he growled. "Didn't Daddy Organa ever teach you not to meddle in other people's business? I suppose not – he was never one for turning the other cheek himself; why should I expect him to have raised you any differently?"
"Leave him out of this," Leia ordered, her voice wavering.
Vader narrowed his eyes. "Always trying to intervene somewhere, whether or not it was needed. Force-forsaken bastard. I'm glad to be rid of him."
He backed up, pacing back and forth. "You are an infuriating mixture of him and your mother, little Princess. I have a feeling that it's only a matter of time before you meet their fate. And when you do . . . I only hope I'm there to see it."
He fell back, his breathing ragged, and Jix stepped up behind him as he blinked and shook his head, as if to ward off sudden light-headedness, looking concerned and ready to support his boss if he happened to collapse.
Just then, the door opened to reveal Polor, who was carrying a pile of black armour. "You're late," the doctor admonished.
Vader stared at him, enraged.
Polor stared calmly back.
Vader sighed and nodded, looking slightly sheepish, amazingly enough. "Very well." His gaze turned hard again as he glared over at his two children. "I am not finished with you. We will continue our little . . . chat . . . once Polor is satisfied that I am not on the verge of dying."
"More's the pity," Leia shot back under her breath. Luke winced.
Vader heard, but Polor had a surprisingly soothing aura for someone who was not Force-sensitive, and he had managed to take the edge off Vader's anger. The Sith Lord settled for slamming their heads into the wall hard enough to make them see stars for several minutes. By the time they regained their vision and clear minds, they were slumped on the floor, watching the bottom of Vader's cloak sweep majestically out of the small, dusty room, followed by Jix, Han and Polor.
All alone once again, Leia looked into her brother's pain-filled eyes and began to cry.
The guards Vader sent to escort them back to their rooms found them curled around each other, sobbing as if tomorrow would never come.
"It was really scary," Han stage-whispered into the comlink. "I mean, seriously, Chewie. I've never seen him like that before."
It was an invasion of his privacy, part of his past he is not willing to share – with them, with you, or anyone else. It is understandable he is angry.
"But if he didn't want anyone to find out about it, why didn't he destroy the evidence when he first got it, instead of hanging on to it?"
I don't know. Maybe he has more of a heart than you give him credit for having.
"Did you just use the words heart and Darth Vader in the same sentence?"
Chewie snorted. Be reasonable, Han. He's human. Humans form attachments. And sometimes, those attachments are hard to sever, especially when they come with good memories.
"Still . . . it's so unlike him."
But can you honestly say that you know him well enough to judge him on that?
Han opened his mouth, then closed it again without saying anything.
Leia sat sullenly on her bed, Luke beside her, clutching her brother's hand for dear life. Neither twin had bothered to clean up since Vader's outburst in the Memory Room, as Leia was beginning to call it in her head. It was hard enough to sit here and wait for Vader to come back.
When he finally did, he was still encased in his fearsome black armour, but the presence of the suit did nothing to lessen the aura of sheer power and rage that rolled of him in waves. Although, a small part of her mind noticed distinctly, he did seem to have regained something resembling rationality.
"Your punishment is as follows," the rumbling thunder that exited the vocalizer said. "Each morning, you will undergo training in usage of the Force with myself and the Emperor's Hand. In the afternoon, you will join the staff in their duties, doing whatever they tell you to do. Evenings will be dedicated to lessons in history, philosophy, deportment, and Force theory with Doctor Polor and the Emperor's Hand. At the end of the day, you will be locked in solitary confinement cells for the night. At no time during the day are you to speak to each other; you are not to question orders, you are not to misinterpret or forget about any order you are given. Your basic needs will be met – do not worry about that. Am I making myself clear?"
His children nodded silently. Vader turned and strode from the room. Behind him, guards grabbed the twins arms and led them down the stairs to the solitary confinement cells for the first night of their punishment.
Leia ran the brush through her hair. It wasn't a very good brush; it tore her hair as much as it untangled it. A few stray pieces stuck to her tear-stained cheeks; she shoved them aside and nearly broke down into tears again when they didn't move as far as she wanted them to.
She wasn't allowed to talk to Luke! That, more than anything, was the worst part of their punishment. He was her rock, her sanity in this whole insane mess. What was she going to do if she had to keep everything bottled up inside her head and heart?
A piece of glass fell out of her hair and bounced slightly on the hard duracrete floor. She blinked down at the colourful piece.
Oh. The holocube. Right.
She bent down to retrieve the piece, then straightened up, cupping it in her hand.
And nearly dropped it again.
Of all the pieces of glass that could get caught in her hair, she would end up stuck with the one that depicted her father's round, childish face, perfectly framed with sandy blonde hair and Luke's bright blue eyes.
She burst into tears again and sank down onto the floor, clenching the piece tightly in her fist, as if she could shatter the image using the strength of her grip alone.
The piece held, and she didn't notice as it cut into her palm, spilling her own blood between her fingers as she cried.
