A quick note: This fic is set loosely before/around the start of season 3 of Rebels. In terms of time and the ages of the characters, this might be ever-so-slightly off, and this fic will not conform to canon continuity 100%, but I will do my best to stick as close to it as possible. (I will also do my best to make it so you don't have to have seen Rebels to understand what's going on.)

Since the Inquisitors weren't seen in Rebels after season 2, and (as far as I'm aware) there's no explanation for that in canon, I made one up. Whether or not the Inquisitors were disbanded and/or executed in canon is currently a matter of opinion, but that is the explanation I use in this fic, because it's the one that adds to the story the most.

Leia left the next morning, before eight to make sure Luke could be there to send her off. He had to dash to the Archives immediately after her ship left atmosphere, but he hugged her tightly before they both left.

"Good luck," he said into her ear. She could hear the sudden break in his voice, feel it in the way he hugged her tighter. "I'll miss you so much."

They had never been on separate planets before.

The knowledge that they were about to be punched her in the gut. She squeezed him back just as tightly, burying her face in his shoulder so that no one saw her cry. "I'll miss you too. And I'll comm you as often as I'm able to."

"I'll answer every time," Luke promised, "even if Horada murders me for it."

She snorted, then stepped back from him. He smiled at her, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

I love you, he said into her mind.

I love you too.

She gave him one last attempt at a smile, then forced herself to turn her back on him and walk up to her father.

After a moment's hesitation, she hugged him too. The hard planes and angles of the suit dug into her, but his head came to cup the back of her head and she relaxed.

A sound spat out of his vocoder that was half-laugh, half-sigh, then he rested his hand on her shoulder and looked down at her.

"I'm sure you will do well," he said, "and remember what I said. We will talk about it in more detail once you return."

Leia swallowed, wondering about the wisdom of saying that here, on a landing platform the Emperor was no doubt watching, but she didn't want to draw attention to it.

So she bowed slightly, accompanied by a perfunctory, "Yes, Father," then started up the ramp of the ship.

It was an old smuggler's ship, one which had been named the Hidden Star when she'd bought it for this mission and she hadn't seen fit to change it. Its controls were decent, it handled quickly, flew faster than someone could expect for its size and make—and it had shields to make a Star Destroyer envious.

But most of all: it was nondescript. She could disappear in this ship, go anywhere in the galaxy and no one would ever find her again.

She glanced out the viewport while she strapped herself into the cockpit. Well, no one could find her but Luke.

She doubted she could ever fully manage to hide from him—if only because she wouldn't be able to bear it.

She shook the thought away.

Taking hold of the controls, she breathed in deeply then punched the sequence to start up. Within a minute everything was whirring contentedly, ready to touch off the ground and fly into the starlit sky. She glanced out of the viewport to lock eyes with her family once more—Luke gave a small wave, while Vader stood stoic—then took off, Coruscant's grey and white surface rapidly falling away beneath her.

She'd broken atmosphere within minutes, Coruscanti security scanning her transponder, spotting the Imperial insignia and falling over to acquiesce. She paused, then stared at the navicomputer.

Her father had told her to stop investigating Padmé Amidala. That there was nothing to be found but treachery and pain. But she had nowhere else to start.

There was a reason Amidala had never been found before.

She grimaced, automatically running a finger along the ruthless bun on the back of her head. She tugged a lock of hair free and twisted it, a nervous habit she'd thought she'd managed to break. Now she found herself revisiting it, and she couldn't say why.

Another moment of hesitation, fingers trembling. . . then she punched in the coordinates for Naboo.

Her gaze lingered on the sparkling planet as the navicomputer calculated them. It felt as conflicted as ever, the chiaroscuro of the light and the dark as familiar to her as her own soul. And her brother's—they were both dark, Palpatine and Vader wouldn't accept anything otherwise, but when Luke smiled she thought she'd go blind.

She tapped against that brilliant light once more, then withdrew and pushed up her mental shields. It didn't help; she could still feel him, always there, always supporting her.

Then the navicomputer finished its calculations, she jumped to hyperspace, the parsecs stretched behind her, and Luke vanished as quickly as the stars did.

She swallowed, fighting the urge to cry. The bond was still there, just dormant and strained. She could still feel him, somewhat, but. . .

But. . .

She stared at the swirl of hyperspace.

For the first time in her life, she was alone.

Luke's head was starting to hurt again. He automatically reached for Leia to grumble—she would tell him to get a grip, as she always did, but as always it would have felt good to vent—only for her distant sense in the Force to abruptly bring him back to reality.

His mood soured, and he slammed the datapads he'd been carrying down on the table with perhaps more force than necessary. He felt several people around him bristle through the Force, but they didn't dare to object. Out of favour or not, he was still Lord Vader's son, and the Emperor's personal agent.

Good. He didn't want to deal with anyone right now.

He switched on the first datapad, and grimaced when he read the title of the file. He glanced around. He was allowed to take his lunch breaks whenever, right? Maybe he could leave this for now, then come back later—

A touch of cold glee through the Force, and he stiffened.

No. No, no, oh Force no. He was still touchy from Leia's departure and his conversation with his father from last night; he really didn't want to talk to her on top of that—

It didn't matter. The Sixth Sister strode through the doors and zeroed in on him anyway.

She smirked. Luke scowled.

Horada was already on her feet, snapping at the Sixth Sister to dispense of her lightsaber. Luke had no doubt it would be almost satisfying seeing her have the same argument he'd had the previous day, but he couldn't hear it from here. He had to make do with imagining it.

She approached a few minutes later, sans lightsaber, and crossed her arms over her chest. "Look at you," she commented, her visor sliding open, "working a desk job. Can't say I ever imagined you here. But I guess, after that abysmal performance in the throne room. . ."

His ire rose, choking him. He forced it back down again.

Horada would kill him if he tore up the room.

His pride, anger, hatred made a storm in his chest.

"Not going to reply? You got nothing to say for yourself?"

"On the contrary," he bit back, smoothly, quietly. The Sixth Sister kept drawing annoyed glances for her loud tone; he couldn't afford to be seen on the same level as her, or he'd never get out of here.

The Emperor had sent him here to learn obedience. Even if he spent his waking hours faking and faking and faking it, that started with keeping himself subdued.

It started with keeping himself controlled.

What had his father said?

You control your emotions, use them to access the dark side. They cannot control you.

"I," he continued, "am focusing. Our Emperor has given me a job, and I intend to complete it." He lifted his chin to look her straight in the eye. A single curl of red hair had escaped from under the helmet; he watched her eye twitch as it tickled. That slight imperfection was what gave him the courage to purr— "Unlike you and your brethren, who seem incapable of hunting the Rebels as ordered."

She flinched back at that, a snarl rising to her lips. That sort of quiet venom was odd coming from him, he knew; usually, that was his father's job.

His idolised father. The executioner.

More of his words from the previous night came to mind. I wouldn't change anything about you for the galaxy.

How could his father be the monster so many people feared?

He knew how—he knew exactly how. He admired him for it, planned to follow in his footsteps.

He supposed the question was: How could his father be evil?

"We are doing as well as can be expected in hunting them," the Sixth Sister spat. "Your father did nothing but alienate the military and Lothal's administration against us, no doubt in an attempt at sabotage—"

"Actually, I think that's just what he does." Was that where the executioner accusations came from? The people in question had failed in their duty to protect the Empire; the punishments Vader doled out were nothing but just—

The way Luke's punishment had been?

This is not justice, Leia had said.

He remembered too what the Emperor had said: Mercy fosters loyalty.

Those punished deserved what they got. His father was sure about that, so Luke was as well. Did that mean he deserved what he got? Did Leia?

It didn't matter, Luke realised. It didn't matter, because he wanted to kill the Emperor anyway.

This is not justice.

"Exactly!" the Sixth Sister snapped. "That's what he does, that's what you and your sister do: you make bigger problems trying to solve problems, then leave the rest of us to clear them up!"

"We just foiled a mass uprising on Kuat," Luke reminded her. There was nothing overtly threatening in his voice, but her face hardened nonetheless. "And you are calling us incompetent?"

She opened her mouth, sneer already fixed in place, clearly ready to say Yes, I am, you—

But she paused.

She closed her mouth.

Because at the end of the day, Luke and Leia had bathed the system in blood in order to do it, but they had done it.

And at the end of the day, she clearly understood that the Inquisitors never did.

They were incompetent. But not for lack of skill.

No. They were too fond of self-sabotage.

Lesser than Sith, greater than Jedi. Always reaching higher. And if you had to tear down a colleague to climb to the top. . . undo everything they'd been working on only to have to work on it yourself. . .

Luke was surprised the Sixth Sister had the honesty to admit it to herself.

And he was even more surprised at what happened next.

She pulled up a chair and sat opposite him, tapping her foot. He glared at her, confused and all the more resentful for it.

A muscle feathered in her jaw.

Finally, she said, "You're not assigned to this Rebel cell."

"No," he said. "I've never had the pleasure of interacting with Phoenix Squadron." He was starting to see where she was going with this, and he didn't know what to think.

She tried again, "You're a competent agent." Her face twisted as she said so, like she had a bad taste in her mouth.

He laughed a little, gesturing to where he was seated, the stack of datapads he still had to process. "Clearly. That's why I'm down here, and not doing the Emperor's bidding in a more specialised manner."

The joke missed her entirely. She barked a laugh, but there was no amusement in it. Luke doubted any of the Inquisitors even knew what amusement was.

She fell silent again for several tense seconds, and he took the opportunity to study her.

It was a risky move. Even if he wasn't assigned to this mission, there was no guarantee he wouldn't just take the results and use them to get himself back into the Emperor's favour. He was already considering it.

This was the Imperial Court, after all. Backstabbing was mandatory.

But she surprised him once more when she swallowed her pride—and her misgivings—and asked, "Would you, by any chance, help me with the investigation?" There was only a little derision in her voice.

The question was on his lips before he was even thinking. "What's in it for me?"

She paused, then tried, "You can regain the Emperor's favour."

"If I could regain the Emperor's favour by hunting Rebels I would never have fallen out of it."

"What about by looking past your personal opinions to cooperate with someone," she pressed, "for the good of the Empire?"

Luke paused, considering it.

That would certainly exhibit the control and obedience Palpatine wanted. Or rather, not quite obedience: more the surrender of himself, his wants and desires, to serve his master's interests. It was a step in the direction Palpatine wanted, albeit a small one.

"It won't work," he lied. "If you tell him and share credit with me, it defeats the purpose of proving that you can operate with any level of competency yourself. And you don't need anything else working against you in that area." She stiffened, opening her mouth— "So, what's in it for me?"

Palpatine would find out about the cooperation whether she told him or not—he had eyes and ears everywhere. But she didn't have to know that. If he could get something else out of the deal. . .

The Sixth Sister was silent. She knew there was nothing else she could give him.

Then Luke thought: Mercy fosters loyalty.

If he did it as a favour and demanded she repay him later, she could simply refuse. The Inquisitors had no honour; that was another reason his father despised them. He would get nothing out of it.

But if it seemed like he was doing it as a favour out of the goodness of his heart. . . that might gain sympathy, or some misplaced idea of loyalty. It might gain him and his family an ally as they went ahead.

And if it didn't, then Luke had nothing to lose, anyway.

"Alright," he said. "I'll do it."

Her head jerked up, mouth falling open. "You will?" He tried not to smirk at her incredulity. "Why?"

"Out of the goodness of my heart," he drawled. She clearly didn't believe it. Not for a second. But the fact was that he was doing it, without any material gain.

She was smart enough to recognise that.

He leaned forward. "So," he asked, "what is it you want me to do?"

She swallowed, then said, "I heard rumours that the Inquisitorius were to be disbanded, maybe executed, if we don't succeed in this mission before someone else does." She met his gaze steadily. "And I also heard that Governor Pryce is pushing to get Thrawn on the case."

Luke had heard both rumours as well, but he hadn't put them together until now. "And even if your death is your master's will, you want to fight it?"

She bristled at that—and there, again, was the unconditional, unending, almost slavish loyalty he'd spoken to his father about—but he hadn't hit too far off the mark. The Sixth Sister was Palpatine's creature through and through, as his father had spoken to him about. . . but she didn't want to die.

And—

"I know the Inquisitorius are worth our salt," she insisted, gripping the edge of the desk and digging her nails into the wood. "And my master has been wrong before—I'm certain that he's wrong here. If we can show him that, convince him that this is a better road. . ."

Luke said nothing for a moment, letting her trail off herself.

"Alright," he said, "but what do you want me to do?"

"Get Thrawn off the case." The response was immediate. "I don't care how. Discredit him, discredit Pryce, discredit Eli kriffing Vanto if you have to, but keep him off of it."

"Thrawn's a tactical genius. I'm sure that if he gets involved, it will be over quickly—"

"For us as well as them," she snapped. "You know that. You said you'd help me, Luke"—they both jarred at the unwanted familiarity of her using his given name; this was what having no last name left him with—"so help me."

They kept eye contact for a few more moments before he broke it.

"I'll try," he said around the lump in his throat. Fallen from grace as he was, he wasn't even sure he could achieve this. "I don't know how successful I'll be," he admitted, "but I will try. I promise you that."

A breath hissed out of her. It wasn't quite relief—more a slackening of tension—but it was no doubt the closest she ever got.

"And I'll gather all the information Leia and I collected on Phoenix Squadron as well," he added. It wasn't like they were using it. "I'll get that to you as soon as possible." Entirely out of the goodness of my heart.

"I thought you said you'd never interacted with that cell."

"It pays to be prepared."

She pinched her lips together, then nodded. "Thank you."

He was taken aback by the earnestness in the words. "Don't thank me yet," he said. He glanced at Horada. "Now, you should probably go, or I'll fall behind and won't be able to help you."

"Alright."

She got to her feet.

For a moment she lingered, looking like she was going to say something else—

Then Luke beat her to it. "Oh, and Sixth Sister?"

She flicked her gaze to his.

"As long as we're doing each other favours," he drew out the words, slowly and clearly, "don't mention what happened in the throne room again."

Her brows creased briefly, then cleared. She smirked as she affected a mock bow—much more cheerful than the one she gave his father—and drawled, "As you wish."

He didn't contain his laugh as she made for the exit. Nor did he bother listening to her haggle for the return of her lightsaber, and instead reached for the next datapad. Then he paused.

He glanced up just as the door slid shut behind her.

He was in the Imperial Archives. They'd had detailed information on Senator Amidala; he had no doubt they would have detailed information on Thrawn and Governor Pryce when he looked.

He had to wonder. . .

Sure enough, there was a file on the Inquisitorius. He opened it, then opened the folder about the individual Inquisitors. He skim-read the document about the Grand Inquisitor, dead over a year by now. Funny, he mused, the Pau'an's failure to deal with these Rebel Jedi and subsequent death might well have been the beginning of the end for his organisation.

He made to close the whole thing, when one file caught his attention.

Acquisitions.

He paused.

I would have found you all the sooner, his father had said.

Against his better judgement, perhaps, he clicked open the page.

It was a list. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, long. Names, dates, designations. The First Sister, the Second Sister, the First Brother, the Third Sister, the Second Brother. . .

His eyes skipped down the list. These were the Inquisitors. The dates of original acquisition, the home planets the infants had been acquired from—and the names their blood relatives had given them.

The world slowed.

Every one of them had had a name, he realised. Every single child had had a name, a family to love it enough to give it one. And the Empire he so loved had. . . stolen that away, to be replaced by a number. Palpatine had stolen it away.

His father had stolen it away?

I would have found you all the sooner.

Had— had he found Luke and Leia like this, as well? When their mother—because Padmé Amidala had to have been their mother, he was convinced of it—had 'betrayed him', had she run off with them, as well?

Had Luke had a name when Vader found him?

Had his father stolen it from him as well?

He didn't know what to think anymore.

His eyes blurred, then cleared again when he blinked. The names on the screen danced back into focus, and he found himself fixating on the first line that jumped out at him.

The designation read the Sixth Sister.

And the name next to it read, Mara Jade.