Palpatine stopped short, staring in consternation around his bedecked living room. "What's all this?"
Five-Standard-year-old Anakin bounced slightly, his eyes gleaming, as seven-year-old Maul stood uncomfortably beside him. "We decorated for Winter Fete! Do you like it?"
Palpatine turned a stern glare tinged with disgust on his older ward. "This is the kind of ridiculousness I expect from Anakin, but you should know better."
Maul hung his head in shame. "Sorry, Master," he muttered unhappily.
Anakin's look of excitement turned into a tiny ferocious scowl, incongruous on his fat little face. "It was my idea!" he proclaimed boldly. "Maul said you wouldn't like it, but..." his scowl faltered "how could anyone not like Winter Fete? Please, Father, just one year?" His big blue eyes pleaded up at his Master, and Palpatine reached up to massage away the burgeoning headache he could feel gleefully gathering behind his eyebrows.
After a minute he groaned, his usual glibness fleeing and leaving him unable to form a proper response. After another minute of speechlessness, he turned away and went into the kitchen to fix himself a cup of tea, leaving the boys standing forlornly in the living room. Sometimes he was certain Anakin would be the death of him.
That night, after both of his apprentices were asleep in bed (finally,) well-fortified by yet more tea and another fragrant steaming cup in his hand, he wandered out to the living room. In the dimness of night, the gaudily-decorated tree took on a softer look, illuminated only by itself, almost charming. The Sith-Lord Senator studied it, deeply breathing the steam of his calming brew. He had never participated in Winter Fete as a child – had always loathed the holiday, with its eyesore decorations and multitudes of pretentious, condescending guests, each his inferior down to the last being, the requirement to always be polite and consume overly sweet, overly seasoned food before watching as other children opened gifts of pathetic trinkets and toys.
But as he stood before this silly (although oddly refreshing-smelling) tree, decorated by two boys not yet nearly dark enough to be anywhere even close to proper Sith apprentices, it occurred to him that maybe Winter Fete was yet another thing Cosinga did wrong – took, and twisted, and warped, and took away from his son and his family. Maybe… maybe Palpatine could do it better. Do it right, for his boys. After all, giving them gifts now was only giving them something he could take away later for their training… it only had to be one year… it could be educational items… He could be better, he was better, than his forebear, and here was his chance to prove it. It didn't invalidate him as a Sith, just validated his superiority over the pathetic man who sired him. That's all. That was the only reason he was sitting down to the terminal to go Winter Fete shopping for toys and wrapping paper and bows and maybe a few ornaments. It wasn't because he loved his boys or was soft. It wasn't. And the soft Winter Fete music he turned on was just to provide the proper ambiance, to help get him in the proper mood. That's all.
Merry Christmas, all! Confession time: this was actually written mid-October, since that's when I start getting Christmas fever. And we all know what it's like when the plot bunny appears… those things are ruthless taskmasters. I gave up my napping time for this but… worth it. XD :D Merry Christmas!