...I think the updating schedule's gonna go out the window from here on out. I'll update whenever I can.
And, uh, let me know what you think of this chapter? Turns out that I find heists very hard to write.
Luke had three speeders Han had bought for him on the black market, all of questionable quality but relatively cheap. He'd been working on them in rotation in the shelter so that was where he headed first, to pick one up. That was a trip he could make more or less by foot, albeit with a few precarious climbs and jumps, but his home to the Imperial Palace—the shelter to the Imperial Palace, certainly not.
The palace was the home of the richest, most influential person in the galaxy. Its architecture resembled that: built on top of the Jedi Temple, on top of what Luke had heard (from eavesdropping) was supposed to be a Sith shrine, Palpatine had had any walkways that connected the structure to the surroundings buildings demolished. The space they'd afforded to keep the traffic back—create a quiet Coruscant never otherwise had—was as much of a statement of wealth and importance as any of the gaudy baubles that bedecked the palace corridors. For the first few thousand levels down, the palace was an island.
Which meant he'd have to go dangerously far down, or fly there.
Luke decided he'd rather fly.
He'd tinkered with the speeder and was reasonably sure it was quiet, with minor energy emissions. And he wasn't going to take it near the upper levels. He was going to take it to the ruins of the Jedi Temple underneath then make his way up from there.
He'd spent time there when he was very little and overly fond of running away from his father into the palace. He could wind his way through the maze of tunnels and out the top. It'd be fine.
But before he managed to do that, he sensed something.
He was, more than anything, trying to keep his presence in the Force to a minimum; he didn't want His Royal Ugliness (as Han would say) inadvertently sensing him and bringing down all that Imperial wrath upon his head. But he recognised that presence and cursed fluently.
His father hadn't volunteered information about what Mara had wanted to speak to him about.
Luke would have to presume it was this.
Her speeder was a quiet thing too, lurking around just in the shadows at the base of the palace. Luke landed a few levels below her and cursed—fluently—as her speeder began to move down and across, in a leisurely diagonal pattern towards him.
She'd spotted his approach. There was no doubt about it: she was on the lookout for Angel, or whoever she expected to be stupid enough to break into the palace, and she'd spotted him.
Shavit.
Luke fumbled for the controls.
He had a choice to make.
He could shoot off into the night here and now, and return to the palace later. But if she gave chase, there was a good chance her speeder—expensive and official and not questionably rebuilt for stealth rather than speed—could catch up to his, and he wasn't certain he could lose her in the starscrapers. She was newly returned to Coruscant, by a few months, but then so was he; while both of them would have no doubt familiarised themselves with the surrounding area, neither of them had the intimate understanding just yet that might give them the edge.
So the other option was... to keep going?
She knew where he was—or rather, she knew roughly where he was, and there weren't many ideal places to hide a speeder here. She'd enter the tunnel a little bit and find it immediately.
Unless she wasn't in a state to find him at all.
Dead was certainly not an option. Luke would rather let Leia live without her precious holocron before he killed anybody, let alone... Mara.
Unconscious...?
Could he—
In the end, it wasn't up to him.
He spent so much time deliberating that the decision was made for him.
Mara was bringing her speeder to halt in front of the opening he'd used. It hovered there in midair and the fact that she didn't find anywhere to set it down was telling; she just swung her legs over the side and leapt onto the solid ground, lightsaber thumping against her hip.
Luke was so kriffed.
She called out, her voice smoother than it ever was when she spoke to him, and the two syllables of that stupid alias were drawn out hauntingly, lasting entirely too long: "Angel..."
His hand went to his nose. The full-face mask was in place, solidly, covering both his features and the bright hair that could so easily give him away. The black suit he wore was padded to make him look bulkier than he was; he hoped it would disguise him enough that she didn't recognise him. At all.
Because that would be awkward.
He flexed his hands, the dark gloves shifting with the movement. He was fine. All black. Just his eyes and a sliver of his lips exposed.
So long as he kept far enough back, away from where Coruscant's too-many satellites washed the sky with light...
She was in the entrance now and that light spilled the faintest grey shadow onto the dusty floor. She stood poised, stance open, but her hand hovered a little too close to her hips for his liking.
"Angel..." she called out again, like one might call for a favoured kitten. She unhooked the lightsaber from her belt and lit it, adding to the light an uncomfortable crimson. It made her hair glow oddly. "I know you're there; I can sense you."
A lie. The Force, even ignored as it was, rang with it. She was just trying to unnerve her opponent with her occult powers. He was pretty sure he'd been the one to suggest that tactic to her.
She couldn't sense him, but she had seen him go in, so she did know he was there. So, really, the point was moot.
He crept further back, away from the range of that lightsaber's bloody gaze. His hand rested on the wall, brushed it. It brushed a corner.
The shadows seemed thicker, on his left.
His heart leapt into his throat.
He ran his hand further along, risking the whisper it made as the dust stirred; sure enough, there was another corridor just leading off this one. All he had to do was creep down it...
...and wait for her to creep past.
He didn't dare to breathe. His lungs burned.
Slowly, she continued to come forward. Her footsteps skittered away down the corridor. Echoed.
"Come out, little angel, and maybe your judgement will be merciful," she crooned. The sudden jerk—sudden swing—of her lightsaber nearly made him gasp out loud, but he restrained himself.
He watched her eyes glint and narrow. So. She'd wanted to startle her quarry.
She prowled further forwards.
"Lord Vader is always in need of a new assassin," she continued. "Or thief, or whatever you are. Stars know Rebels aren't exactly concerned about the moral way to do things, so I'm sure you wouldn't object to a little more variation in your dirty work?"
Three steps. Two steps. One step.
She walked right past him, the corridor's odd design working in his favour.
"Just come out, don't fight, and come with me willingly. We can come to some agree—"
He struck.
Night-soft padded footsteps, shields tight enough she didn't notice him until he was on top of her, the Force's warning a fraction of a second too late. He seized her wrist.
She cried out.
He winced but held on—twisted it, until it was on the verge of snapping and her fingers finally lost purchase on the saber. It clattered to the floor; he kicked it away.
She threw her head back.
It connected with his face with a crack, but he turned his head at the last moment. Pain rang across his cheekbone but he was already turning, twisting to avoid the kick she aimed at his instep, seizing her left elbow before it buried itself in his guts.
She had a bond with Palpatine, he realised. If she managed to get a message through to him—warned him there was an intruder in the palace—
She roared in frustration and spun, glaring; she threw a punch at him; he blocked it.
Then he seized her by the shoulders and shoved her into the wall.
She shouted out in pain, her fury incandescent. It rushed out at him all at once and he was painfully reminded that while he daren't use the Force, she had no such qualms.
The wall hurt when he was thrown into it.
But he came right back, got up despite the fact his back felt like he'd been used as a battering ram, just in time to see her summon her lightsaber back to hand and swing it.
He dived to the side, rolled to land on his feet, then leapt again when it crashed into the wall right where it would have diced his intestines into worms. The saber sheared a piece of stone clear out of the wall and he took the moment of distraction as it fell to kick out at her torso.
Arms still trying to yank the saber back, she took the hit hard. She went flying down the corridor, arm automatically coming to cradle her side.
It'd be black and blue in the morning, Luke thought grimly, but then she was up again and—
He dodged her kick and swiped at her legs while she was off balance, forcing her to pivot to avoid—and then he lunged.
She gave a startled cry as he pulled her against him, one arm going around her waist, the other around her neck. He pressed his eyes shut, begged forgiveness in his head, and squeezed.
A gargled scream ripped its way out of her throat; she stopped trying to elbow him and started clawing at his arm, but the jumpsuit cloth was thick and her nails could find no purchase. She wheezed, struggled; his breath caught, but he kept squeezing...
Then, just when he got worried he was going to kill her, he touched the Force just long enough to touch her darkening, terror-stricken mind and demand SLEEP.
She still struggled.
He poured more of his will into it—he'd barely been trained, he'd need to ask how to do this again—and maybe it was his desperation the Force responded to, or maybe it was his innate power his father and the Emperor were so smitten with.
SLEEP, he said, and this time she slept.
His— they had said that the target wasn't expected to wake up for hours after that. If all went well, Luke would be out of here in less than two. He'd make sure that palace security was contacted to come get her then, as well; he'd be out of here in a hurry, anyway.
It would be fine.
She would be fine.
He took several more deep breaths and headed up into the palace proper.
The palace itself was much, much harder to sneak around. But Luke had studied the blueprints to this place for years—his father had drilled him on every emergency procedure just in case anything should go wrong—and he knew which windows had alarms on them. Which didn't.
Which were close to Palpatine's private Sith vault, and which weren't.
The vault was in the lower floors of the palace, surrounded by layers and layers of security should anyone want to enter. He kept all sorts of oddities there: Sith artefacts; remnants of the Sith Empire; remnants of the Jedi Temple, even, for whenever he was in the mood to gloat. (He was always in the mood to gloat.) Luke hoped Leia's holocron would be there.
He couldn't go through the official way—it was guarded by the red guards day and night, all hours, and there was no way to get in without a royal invitation and escort. But.
But.
It was next to a ballroom. Which was next to one of Palpatine's many unused guestrooms. Which was next to the office of a senator who was blissfully unaware of how close she sat to a horde of some of the darkest ideas sentient beings had ever thought up.
And that senator's office turned out to be right above the exit to one of the secret tunnels that still connected new to old.
Angel to demon.
It was even darker and more stifling here in the palace than it had been in a bastion of death like the temple.
But Luke had nicked Mara's lightsaber for the time being and the walls were not built to withstand one of those, as poorly wielded as it was.
Maybe Luke should try convincing his father to teach him lightsaber skills. It's not Sith training, he'd say, just a precaution in case someone (that someone probably being one of Palpatine's minions, like dearest Mara) tried to swing at him with a lightsaber and lop his head off...
But in the end, he was through the rooms soon enough. Once he stood in the guest room, he felt around the corner and planted a charge in a very, very specific place.
He'd been in Palpatine's precious vault before—the old man was fond of gloating, especially when Luke had been alone on Coruscant in the last few months. It spanned levels in the palace, some of its rooms more vital and heavily protected than others, each with a new layer of security to get through.
Thankfully, Luke thought he knew exactly where this holocron would be: in the junk section.
That was unfair. It was hardly a junk section. It was where the miscellaneous things went, usually to do with the Jedi; things he couldn't fit into his neat shelves of Sith lore and Jedi hypocrisy but that he liked to keep around to showcase his own power.
It was also at the very bottom, with the weakest security (as far as weak security went), and Luke knew that the... dark side energies in the room—or something like that—had started to cause some degradation in the surrounding walls.
And Luke had a lightsaber. The walls had cortosis lining. He also had a few explosives on him.
He stuck the thermal detonator on the wall and sheltered behind the bed in the guestroom. Five, four, three, two, one—
An ear-splitting BOOM. The wall shattered.
He coughed a little in the shower of plaster and metal left behind, but gripped the lightsaber again and glanced behind him.
It'd been a fairly small explosion—only blasted a hole barely big enough for him to clamber through. The noise might tip off the red guards, but then, it came from the direction of the vault, and any red guard knew what sort of stuff went on in the vault. It wasn't like its contents were benign.
Or even necessarily dormant.
Anyway. Luke was heading in there, and no Imperial guard would be there soon enough to stop him.
He pried his way through the hole and stepped into the musty darkness of the adjoining room, blinking for a moment as his eyes adjusted in the darkness. Then he glanced around.
The place was lit by a pale blue glow—the shelf of holocrons on the far side of the room. It contrasted sharply with the bloody glow of Mara's lightsaber and Luke decided he distinctly liked the blue more; the red cast... odd, shivering shadows on some of the occupants of the nearer shelves.
Luke's gaze was drawn to one. It was draped in cobwebs, but he could make out the slashed portrait of a pale woman's face, a mechanical foot and a double-bladed lightsaber.
He swallowed—he felt cold—and moved on.
The holocrons... there were dozens of them. He wondered what the Rebellion could do with so many like this, what their fledgling Jedi could become, if he just seized the opportunity to take them...
No. That was asking for trouble. He wouldn't be able to get out of here again with holocrons spilling from his pack like a trail of glowing breadcrumbs. He just needed the one Leia wanted.
He called the image back to mind, then pulled the holo from his bag. He wasted precious minutes, listening closely in case anyone had heard that explosion, as he compared them one by one.
Then he found it.
Just a little above his reach; there were no chairs here for him to stand on.
He glanced around, despite the fact he knew that there were no eyes here to see what he was about to do—and nor was seeing in a physical sense the thing he should be worrying about.
He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Reached out...
And the holocron flew into his hand.
He caught it hastily, glancing around even if he'd been quick, even if he knew no one had spotted him. He clenched his hand around it.
This was Leia's holocron.
Now, he thought grimly, he just needed to get out of here.
He crept out of the room again, back through the ballroom, the guestroom, back through his neatly carved corridor of escape hatches. It was in that poor senator's office that he heard motion outside.
He crept up to the door and pressed his ear against it.
Voices.
Troopers.
"Scan the area," the bored, mechanical tones of a commander clipped out. "They heard a tremor, again, and in light of these recent Angel attacks"—the scepticism and disgust was palpable—"they want us to check it out. One of you, check every room in the corridor; you, stand guard, make sure nobody comes this way. I'm sure we'll be told it's a false alarm, soon."
"Yes, sir," the troopers replied. They sounded just as exasperated.
"Get to it."
Blast it, Luke mouthed. Blast it, blast it, blast it—
The passage down to the Jedi Temple was in that corridor. A few seconds' walk away, but he couldn't make it because of two damned troopers...
Could he knock them out with the Force? The way he had Mara?
He brushed the Force, touched it as lightly as possible, and recoiled.
Palpatine was nearby.
His father was nearby.
For all that it was the middle of the night.
He certainly could not use the Force.
Which meant... the window?
He crept over to it and glanced out. Nope. Absolutely not.
There was a lock with an alarm on it. And that was without him even considering the fathomless drop and the lack of handholds.
Which only left...
Luke's gaze slid up. He fought the urge to groan.
Then he climbed onto the desk to inspect the vent.
Luke wished this could be the first time he'd ever crawled through a ventilation system. It was not. Being Angel really had its drawbacks, sometimes.
That being said, he was a person uniquely qualified to comment on the quality of various air ducts, and he had to admit that the Imperial Palace's were stellar. Not a fleck of dust in sight. It almost made the sound that echoed through them as he crawled—the words that were utterly heart-stopping on their own—that much clearer.
"...I am not here because of Luke. I am here because of Angel."
Luke froze.
There was a patch of light up ahead. Luke nearly scrambled to situate himself over it and peer down into the room beyond.
It was... an office, Luke registered. More than that, it was Palpatine's office, near the hub of the Imperial Palace.
Blast it. He'd taken a wrong turn.
Palpatine leaned back in his ornate chair, steepled his fingers and watched Vader over his desk like some parody of a benevolent godfather.
His father stood opposite, on the other side of that desk, breath rasping with all the looming presence and fatal finality it always held.
But it was obvious who was in charge, here.
"I do not believe that for a moment, Vader," Palpatine said, eyes narrowed. "You do not care about Coruscant. You have frequently expressed the opinion that the targets of this Angel deserved it, for their arrogance and petty ambitions. This is the only time in the last eighteen years you have ever been excited to return to our capital, my friend, and it is entirely because you want to be near your son."
His father was still. For the longest time, Luke thought he'd deny it.
He didn't. He didn't say anything at all.
Palpatine waved his hand. "Very well. Continue this charade if you so insist—let people believe this petty Angel is a threat. It could not be further from the truth." Luke felt slightly offended.
Palpatine leaned forward. "But there cannot be seen to be weakness in my empire, Lord Vader. Your son must not appear foolish, indecisive or even so much as publicly express disagreement with you. If that means you must remain on Coruscant until the fickle boy has made up his mind, then so be it. So long as he does not choose unwisely."
Luke bristled.
His father bristled even more. And he actually showed it.
"I suppose," he drawled, lifting his head in that gesture of safe defiance he so often directed at Palpatine, "your suggestion that he stay on Coruscant is the only wise choice?"
"On the contrary, my friend. I am an old man, and I understand that there may have been options I have not considered." Luke doubted it; the Emperor bragged about his foresight often enough that the concept of something happening he hadn't predicted probably haunted his nightmares. "It is simply the wisest at this moment in time."
"And why is that?" Vader demanded. "Why are you so desperate to keep him on Coruscant?"
Palpatine sighed.
He moved his hands to rest lightly on the arms of his chair, then peered at Vader intently.
"I want to train him," he said.
Luke forced himself not to gasp.
He'd known that was the ultimate aim, but...
Palpatine continued, "I know that as per our agreement we said that he would not be trained until ready, but I have been observing him these past few months and he is, quite frankly, much more intelligent than he allows people to see. And while I'm sure that his reluctance to own that and revel in his borne superiority, as a wielder of the Force and heir to our empire, does exhibit his... immaturity, while I'm sure that his ideas about the galaxy and his priorities are skewed—his association with Organa is proof enough of that..."
Palpatine smiled. His fingertips sparked blue.
"That's nothing some attentive training from myself can't solve."
Luke swallowed and—almost against his will—looked at his father.
He was standing stock still.
"You want," he said finally, "to train my son as a Sith."
"Of course. You and I both know what massive potential he has. Wouldn't it be wonderful for it to be fulfilled instead of wasted, for him to join you as leader of the galaxy. As I said of the officers' academy, he could be assigned to serve under you even more quickly; if he also spends those years under my tutelage, he could assist you in every capacity as well.
"You know as well as I do that the rule of two is archaic and outdated. And with another Sith Lord in our midst, the Rebellion would be crushed."
Luke shoved his hand into his mouth to keep from screaming. His eyes were riveted to Palpatine's face.
Having to kneel in front of him... on the receiving end of his lightning... feeling the cold, oily touch of his mind against his, violating it... calling him master...
He felt nothing short of revulsion.
His father did not seem all too pleased either—thank the stars. He folded his arms. "I have my doubts about this, master."
"Evidently," Palpatine said. His voice had turned cold. "But I assure you, there is nothing to worry yourself about. The boy needs discipline—discipline you, clearly, are unable or unwilling to provide. You are too attached to him, Lord Vader, don't try to deny it, and it clouds your judgement. It would be better for everyone involved if you were to... keep your distance."
Luke wanted to rage. He wanted to scream.
His father was distant enough as it was because of this... hobgoblin. He didn't need or want him increasing that distance, dragging Luke away from the only family he'd ever known...
"Besides, my friend. He is so much like his mother—and he has been spending so much time with the likes of Organa lately. If you allow this to continue on as it has, if you allow him free reign... Organa may adopt Kenobi's job, and young Skywalker may well betray you."
The room was drenched in cold. Luke caught his breath, ice crystallising on the air in front of him.
His father's fists were clenched, his shoulder so, so tense.
What did that mean?
Luke's mother had been senator and queen; he'd spoken to her family on Naboo plenty of times; she'd died at the end of the Clone Wars under an attack of the Force, his aunt suspecting Palpatine to be at fault.
And Luke... he had betrayed his father, he supposed, though every inch of him rebelled against the thought; he'd betrayed the Empire at the very least. But why the comparison to his mother?
"And if he does?" Palpatine continued. "You have a clear idea on what the consequences might be—for him and for you."
Luke had no idea at all.
What the blazes was—
Palpatine sighed. "But ah, my friend," he conceded, standing from his seat, "you may be right. My foresight is... clouded, where the boy is concerned; perhaps we should consult something else on the matter? I have a number of items meant to enhance one's ability to see the future in my vault." He rounded the table to gesture Vader towards the door, walking like a frail old man—an illusion that couldn't be further from the truth. "Perhaps one of them will hold the answers you seek?"
Luke waited with bated breath for the door to hiss shut, then he scampered back through the vents.
He'd taken a wrong turn, clearly, so he retraced his steps, doubled back, as fast as he dared...
He'd just entered the ruins of the Jedi Temple when he felt the dark side go supernova.
Palpatine had discovered his theft.
Well then, Luke thought, tiptoeing past Mara, re-depositing her lightsaber and regaining his speeder. It was time he got out of here, then.
He got home safely and destroyed the speeder, cannibalising it for spare parts. His father was still at the palace—and angry, if Luke's tentative probe was anything to go by—so he took his time settling in, washing all the dust and grime and bits of shattered wall off of him with a real water shower before drying his hair and rolling into bed.
But he couldn't sleep.
He tossed and turned, Coruscant's bright, crowded sky shining through his blinds a little, and even when he tried to use an eye mask to block the light he couldn't sleep. It wasn't the light that was bothering him.
The holocron sat in that secret compartment under his bed he'd hollowed out as a kid. (He was pretty sure his father knew about said compartment, but had read too many parenting guides on respecting boundaries and secrets, so he doubted he'd ever come looking in there.) It burned its way into his brain.
Finally, Luke rolled out of bed and crouched on the floor again, despite his tired—and aching; Mara hadn't held back—body's protests. He reached for the holocron.
Something about this...
He grimaced. Checked no one was paying attention to the Force right now. Then he dared to open it.
The blue-tinted image of a young man not much older than Luke sprung up and he froze.
"...keeping your saber moving is key to deflecting the fire of multiple adversaries. Fluid motion: one into the next, and so on. I've made some... adjustments to the classic Form IV techniques that I think you'll find work well against droids and other ranged attackers. Here—I'll show you. One, two, three, four..."
The figure lit his lightsaber—blue, Luke could tell, eyes wide, even if it would've looked blue anyway—and demonstrated the form Luke's father had outlined to him once, very briefly.
Was outlining to him again, apparently.
"...again. One, two, three, four, pivot."
He'd only ever seen one picture of Anakin Skywalker before he'd become Darth Vader.
But...
But...
He was sure.
As sure as he was of anything, he was sure of this. The inflections in the vocoder-less voice, the subtleties to the way he moved, the slight head tilt... Luke knew his father better than anyone else in the galaxy, and his father was staring at him out of this holocron.
"...five, six..."
He clenched his fists, eyes riveted to it.
It didn't occur to him to think what in the worlds Leia would want with this holocron.
All he could think was that suddenly, despite everything, he didn't want to give it up.
"...practise these exercises mindfully, and you'll see improvement, I promise."
The image flickered out.
Luke stared, the image of that glowing shape blurring in his tears.
He hit replay.
"...keeping your saber moving..."
He closed his eyes.
He suddenly felt as tired as— well, as if he'd robbed the Imperial Palace and made it out alive.
The Senate gardens were beautiful the next morning, but Luke was too tired to care.
They were always beautiful anyway. And he could just feel his father's attention on him, all the way over from where he stood on the Executor making even more forays into this Angel investigation that still made Luke want to scream when he thought about it.
The holocron was heavy in his bag.
You said you'd leave me to my own judgement on this, he snapped finally, when his father's scrutiny grew too much for him to bear.
There was a moment of silence, Vader's doubt, and Luke could just hear Palpatine's poisonous words from the previous night—words he wasn't supposed to know about!—racing through his head. About Luke's immaturity, or whatever it had been.
Stop spying on me, Luke reiterated in a far more grumbling tone. I know you don't approve.
Very well, Vader conceded. Even chuckled, a little. I apologise. And you don't need to fear my anger or disapproval, Luke, he added in a tone which radiated concern. I am proud of you nonetheless.
I know, he replied, and decided not to explain that the fear had nothing to do with his father's opinion on Leia—more with his father's opinion on the holocron burning a hole in his bag.
The holocron he had made.
Leia finally turned up and he smiled at her, trying to hide his jitteriness.
It didn't work.
"Are you alright?" she asked. He didn't reply—just gestured in the direction of the path and they started walking.
"Fine," he said, giving her a wan smile. "Just... tired. I had difficulty sleeping last night."
Her eyebrows shot up. Even he, as relatively untrained as he was, could sense her excitement. "I see," she said carefully, her politician's face cracking a little under the force of her smile. "Were you eventually successful?"
They looped around a tall tree with feathery leaves before he replied, taking the moment the foliage blocked the holocams to reach into his bag and slip the holocron into hers. "I'm here, aren't I?"
She grinned wider.
You're an angel, Luke, she said.
Now that joke's just bad taste.
"I'm glad," she said aloud, ignoring his rebuttal and squeezing his arm a little too tightly. "You know how much I worry about you."
He rolled his eyes. "My health is not in decline, I can assure you that."
"Good." She gave him a hard shove and laughed when he nearly stumbled into something he was pretty sure was an uncomfortably large venomous flower from Felucia.
Finally, they reached the bench that was their usual meeting—well, talking—point, where they could be sure that no holocams could pick up their words, if only their actions. Where they could sense anyone's approach before they entered earshot.
Once they'd sat down, Leia murmured, "You know, I felt something in the Force yesterday..."
"Yes, that was me. Yes, I had to knock someone out with that trick you taught me. And yes, I was too short to get to the holocron and had to summon it to hand."
"That's not what I was going to say," she said, giving him a look. No one could give looks as effectively as Leia could. "It's dangerous to use the Force here—Palpatine will sense it and snap you up for one of his disciples in an instant, I don't care who your father is. I didn't teach you it just so you could get yourself killed."
"Leia," he took her hands, patted them, then dropped them again. She rolled her eyes—again. "I'll be fine. It's not implausible that I'd have managed to figure it out at the Academy on my own."
Two pursed lips, and Luke couldn't help but think that was exactly the face of concentration she'd made when she was sixteen and trying to grind down his mental shields as practise.
"Especially with my father teaching me," he added.
Leia frowned. "But you said your father's not supposed to be teaching you. If Palpatine gets too interested—"
"I think it's too late for that."
She narrowed her eyes. "What are you not telling me?"
"I just overheard some stuff while I was in the... you know, last night," he said. He squirmed slightly; despite how much he trusted her, intrinsically... he didn't want to share that with her.
She disliked his father enough as it was. Any sign of conflict or abandonment or... whatever that passive defiance he'd ended up with yesterday was, and she'd pounce.
"I don't want to talk about it right now; it's not important yet. Why did you want the holocron?" He was genuinely curious.
She narrowed her eyes. "Are you trying to change the subject?"
"Obviously."
She sighed. "Alright. I..."
She swallowed.
"You don't have to tell me if—"
"No, I should. I trust you. And you're the one who risked everything to get it despite its..." She gave a nervous laugh, as far as anything Leia Organa did could be described as nervous. "...lack of tactical value, shall we say. My master wanted it back—wanted to show me it."
This was getting more and more confusing by the minute.
"Your master?" he asked. The word—again—brought up too many memories of his father's relationship with his master. Of what he'd overheard the previous night—and who he might have to call master, soon enough. "Like, a Jedi...?"
"Yes. No." She wrinkled her nose. "She's technically not a Jedi, but she's the one who taught me everything I taught you. It's not important here. But when I first turned eighteen, she and my father told me that my father—my biological father, that is—was a Jedi."
Luke barely blinked; it was hardly a surprise to him. She was strong in the Force, as he'd had cause to find out when she'd slowly begun to teach him the light side techniques she knew, and Luke himself was the child of a forbidden Jedi romance. Why wouldn't anyone else be?
But still, something didn't add up...
"She said that she'd had a holocron of him, but that it was stolen from her when Vader attacked the base she'd been staying on." She smiled a little, patting her bag...
...and Luke froze.
"Thanks for stealing it back for me. You have no idea how much this means."
Leia—
That holocron—
What?
He blinked.
Leia's father was h—
Leia was his—
His thoughts had ground to a halt.
"Anytime," he said.
The familiar platitude felt both more hollow and more meaningful now.
