Okay, it's late and I'm very tired and this was rushed and probably riddled with errors, but,, here it is, anyway. I, as always, dislike writing heists XD


Luke was going to change the Empire from the inside. He'd decided that. But that didn't mean he was going to stop crippling and sabotaging it from the outside as well.

The cells were in the very belly of the Palace, directly underneath the throne room, a few floors down. Now he thought about it, that probably had something to do with the dark side, with Palpatine wanting to corrupt the Jedi Temple further, with him revelling in the pain and suffering that occurred on his orders—but Luke didn't want to dwell too much on that. It was depressing.

He'd been wrong, he realised as he glanced over his schematics for the Palace—his father had given them to him a few years ago, to familiarise himself with in case of attack. The cells were deep in the bowels of the building, but they weren't miles away from Palpatine's secret vault, the one he'd already breached once. If he wanted to, he could use the turbolift shaft to get a straight shot up or down, free the prisoners, then shoot up there, or get the sabers, then shimmy down...

No. That wouldn't work. Luke knew he was skilled—and he knew exactly how skilled. If he got in and out of Palpatine's vault—with was doubtful in the first place; that had not been a part of the Palace protection updates he'd been privy to, since they were meant to be private vaults after all—he wouldn't do it without triggering alarms. Nor would he be able to save the senator without triggering alarms.

If the Palace was on lockdown, he'd barely be able to escape—let alone carry out another heist, and let alone with Hyadum in tow.

The routes he'd used to get in the Palace before would be compromised—Mara had known them, and she would ensure they were being patrolled.

Thankfully, the lower levels of the Jedi Temple—the levels so low they'd barely been touched since it was a Sith shrine, long before the Jedi in the later days of the Republic—were labyrinthine. No one could patrol them all. But Luke knew a lot of them.

So he slipped into the Palace through another old forgotten alley, and then he was in an old, forgotten corridor, dark and dank with dust.

He turned one corner then another, then another—and there. A gaping black square in front of him. The turbolift.

He tapped at his wrist, the comlink strapped to it. It projected a 3D blue map of this part of the Palace. He traced his route with his finger; yes, this was the shaft he needed.

It would be dangerous. The shaft went down—well. It went down until it hit the mountain on the surface of Coruscant that the Palace was built on top of. If he fell...

He didn't want to think about that.

It was an active turbolift, as well; he'd have to be careful not to get hit by the lift itself. He'd have to be insanely careful.

This plan was made.

But he knew he'd pull it off well—so long as he didn't try to hit two ships with one torpedo.


Vader was thrumming with rage.

He had worked on Senator Hyadum for hours, his fury chanting a song in the Force. She had given him nothing.

Nothing.

Luke's life could depend on this. Those assassins she'd been working with, their plan, could still be at large. They wanted to hurt Luke and they still could.

But she had given him only useless, pathetic pleas for innocence. And her accomplices remained unknown, unnamed and unfound.

He'd stormed there immediately after that meeting, his fear over that fact that Luke was with Palpatine sharpening the Force into a glass knife around him, ready to cut and shatter. But though it had broken upon Hyadum, she had not broken upon it—and now...

He clenched his fists as he marched through the corridors of the Executor, just returned from quelling a minor uprising on Corellia that afternoon. He was planning on making the arrangements to have her moved here; while he was sure the Palace interrogators were considered skilled, he would rather it be his own people who worked on here, constantly, until she gave answers. It was his son at stake.

"Lord Vader!" a voice barked. Captain Piett was approaching; Vader turned to give him his attention, annoyance and irritation spiking.

"Yes, Captain?" Piett looked nervous, but resolute; considering the fact that what he reported had little to do with his actual navy duties, Vader suspected he'd been put up to it by one officer or another.

"ISB would like to know if it's only Hyadum you wish transferred? There are others in the block who they think could benefit from being moved—"

"Such as whom, Captain?"

Piett swallowed, looking supremely awkward.

"A boy, son of a significant member of the military; the senator herself; a Twi'lek man suspected of having interacted with Angel—"

"Bring them all, then, yes." Vader had little patience for the farce that was this investigation; anything that could possibly help was worth a try.

"Very good, my lord."

"Dismissed."

Piett relaxed out of his to-attention stance and made to tride back down the hall; Vader watched him go a few paces. He looked... very tense.

"Piett," he said, "wait."


The Palace corridors were swarming, which was problematic; a man in a black mask was extremely recognisable, but so was Luke's bare face, by now. He couldn't take the main corridors—not that he'd want to—and even the side corridors were busier than he'd like. It had been one thing to listen to the statistics of the increased security, their rotations, their locations, and quite another thing to actually bypass it all.

At least one observation he'd made to himself during that meeting still held true.

They had not clocked that Angel knew and used the vents, yet.

And, he complained in his mind as he leapt from the floor of the side corridor to drag himself in, coughing at the dust, for good reason.

What madman would crawl through them willingly, after all?

The Force thrummed beside him like a live wire. It sparked every time a person came near, which was handy, but it set his teeth on edge, every inch of him taut and tense. Though perhaps that, too, was a good thing; this was not a good time for him to let down his guard.

It was dangerous to use the Force this close to Palpatine, this suspiciously, especially after he'd already tried to invade his mind that day. But Palpatine had better things to do—though, come to think of it, Luke couldn't name any; torture innocent children?—than examine the Force all day every day, especially in the middle of the night. He was probably asleep.

So when Luke reached the detention level and crawled up to a slit in the side of the vent, peering out at the officers standing and chatting in the control centre... he grasped the Force.

Flexed it.

And then he reached for where he knew the power generator for this floor was.

It conveniently malfunctioned.

"What—?" someone down there—a gruff, older man with a Core accent—said as everything went dark. "Ugh, is the power out again?"

Luke smiled.

Palpatine's security renovations—fewer doors, more people, more terminals to scan security passes with, more holocams—were extensive. Once they were fully implemented, Luke was never breaking into the Palace again. But until then, that much rewiring and rebuilding was causing glitches.

The extra guards might be a pain to dodge. But this, he could turn to his advantage.

"Looks like it's the whole level that's out," a woman called from the door. There was a general smattering of grumbling and irritation; Luke sensed it loud and clear as he took each of their consciousnesses in his palm...

And snuffed them.

They dropped where they stood, out cold. Luke focused and the screws in the vent he hovered above began to twist, unwinding themselves, until they clattered to the floor with the grate.

Luke dropped down after them, as silent as he could, despite the fact he'd already made a racket, and moved quickly towards the cells.

Frequent power outages or not—Hyadum was an important prisoner. Someone would be sent to reinforce the security here. It was a matter of minutes before they arrived; longer, once they got through the doors that were locked without power.

At least with the holocams out of action, as well, they'd have no idea something was wrong until they got in.

Luke was living on borrowed time.

He crept down the corridor, squinting through the red emergency lighting that had flared into existence, bouncing off the stark, forbidding grey walls. There were only a few cells on this level—the ones usually reserved for Rebel agitators of a higher, more concerning security breach, unless some Moff or lord or another had commandeered them for a specific investigation. The other Rebels were in the floor below, political opponents above...

Luke sensed someone in the cell immediately to his left and jammed the button to open it, his heart hammering in his head. Borrowed time... borrowed time...

Then the cell door opened, the occupant stared at him, and Luke froze.


Piett immediately stood to attention again. "My lord?"

"You appear tense," Vader observed, hooking his thumbs into his belt. Then he amended, "More so than usual. What is it?" The Force drummed in his ears.

Piett swallowed. "It's... nothing, my lord, a personal thing of my friend's—"

"And yet it has to do with Hyadum and her cellmates?"

Piett made to dismiss it again, then immediately thought better of it and simply said— "The boy, the defector. Zevulon Veers. He is General Veers's son. I... feel for my friend."

Vader froze.

"General Veers's," he said softly, "son?"

"Yes, my lord."

Vader... took a moment to process that. He thought, maybe, that he remembered the boy—he'd met him at that open day at the Academy, and begrudgingly admitted that he didn't disapprove of this friend of Luke's.

A loyal Imperial cadet. A loyal son.

Caught in the midst of Rebellion.

How... how would he feel if that was Luke? A sudden fear gripped Vader's heart, tightly. Zevulon had been friends with Luke, they'd spoken mere hours or days ago—what if he'd infected Luke's mind with this propaganda? What if—

No.

Vader knew Luke. Vader trusted Luke. His son would not betray him.

And when he heard about his friend... he would be devastated.

To defect from an empire the moment his friend because its prince? What sort of a person was Zevulon?

How would Luke react? This would break his heart.

"My..." he tried; he'd been silent for so long that Piett started. "My sincerest condolences to General Veers. This cannot be easy for him."

If Piett was surprised at the sentiment, he did not show it. "It's not. I will pass the message along." Then he paused. "Is... is Luke..."

"I do not know. I am aware they were friends; I will speak to him first thing tomorrow." He unhooked his thumbs from his belt. "I will go to deal with young Zevulon and Hyadum myself, now."

Because Zevulon... was an Imperial who'd turned traitor. He was an academy student. He'd been on Coruscant for several months now.

Was he Angel?

If he was—had it been his own father by whom he'd finally been caught?

Piett had the grace to nod. "Yes, my lord."


Zev. The name rose to Luke's lips and he smothered it immediately; he was in disguise. He was in disguise—he couldn't let him recognise him.

Not until they were out of the Palace for sure.

Zev looked terrible. His dark hair was all in disarray, his eyes wide, skin sickly pale—pale, that was, except for the bruise and black eye that consumed half his face like an indigo thunder cloud clinging to his left cheek. Dried blood flecked his nose.

He stared at him. Zev stared back.

He rasped, "Who the hell are you?"

Luke thanked all the stars for his black balaclava, his suit which disguised the shape of his figure somewhat.

What did he say? What did he do?

He wasn't about to just leave Zev there.

"I'm here to get you out," was all he said instead—drawing on all the times he'd changed his voice effectively, deepening it significantly.

Zev narrowed his eyes—but he looked scared. "Well, Mr. Here-To-Get-You-Out—"

"Are you coming?" Luke snapped. "Or what?"

"Answer my question," Zev continued stubbornly. Luke cursed his friend. "Who are you?"

Luke just backed away towards the next cell he could sense someone in, tossing over his shoulder, "Who do you think?"

Zev breathed, "Angel," and followed.

Luke jabbed the next door. This wasn't Hyadum either, he noticed; it was a Twi'lek man pacing nervously, lekku twitching, who turned his face up to Luke—

And grinned broadly.

"You again," he murmured. "You— you shouldn't have come." He looked no less happy for it.

Luke remembered him, now. The Twi'lek he'd met last week, coming back from that handoff with Han, when he'd first realised just how much of a reputation he truly had.

"I came," he said, somewhat awkwardly.

When he hit the next cell, finally, it was Hyadum.

She blinked at him once, twice. Her eyes were silver and glistening. And puffy. "You—"

"Yeah," Luke said. "We've established that." Then she was out too.

The three prisoners... blinked at each other, solidly, for several moments before nodding and turning to Luke.

Luke... didn't know what to do. When he'd agreed to rescue a person who'd been plotting to kill him, it didn't seem like he'd fully registered the fact he'd have to talk to people, in the mask.

The Twi'lek was looking at him oddly—abruptly, Luke remembered that he'd used his usual voice when they'd met before. He swallowed and hoped he wouldn't say anything.

"Senator Hyadum," was all he said to Hyadum. This... yeah. That was awkward. "Zevulon Veers." Zev looked thoroughly freaked out by the fact Angel knew his name. "And I don't know your name," he finished to the Twi'lek. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"Jem Taalla," the Twi'lek said proudly.

"Nice to meet you."

Zev bit out, "This is the detention level of the Imperial Palace, not a state function, Angel. Are we going to stand here forever?"

"No," Luke said. "We're going to wait for the power to start to come back. All the exit doors are locked until then, don't worry, and it will take a while." The fact that the doors to the cells were on a separate control and power system to the rest of the floor, for security reasons, was an advantage in this case.

"You can't get through a locked door?" Hyadum burst out. "Once the power comes back so will the Imperials, surely?"

Yes. That was the difficult part.

"I... was expecting only Hyadum," Luke admitted. "The escape plan was made with her in mind. I didn't expect Veers, of all people, to defect—"

"You don't know me," Zev snapped, tense, even as Hyadum glared at him—

"You're related to General Veers?"

"And I didn't expect to see you again, Taalla."

"Please just call me Jem."

"Alright." He surveyed them.

He had so many questions.

He knew why Hyadum was there. In hindsight, if he stopped to think about it, he could probably figure out when and why Zev had defected. And Jem... if he was on the floor for political prisoners, or for a specific project, it was probably because the Imps had found out that he'd run into Angel—heard their voice, seen them work.

But still. Three people to save, rather than one.

"This," Luke said, as the light began to flicker in the way that meant the power was beginning to come back on, "is going to be a tight squeeze."


"You know?" Zev grumbled as they crawled through the vents. With the power back on, the air conditioning had started up again as well, and that made enough noise to cover their whispers. "This is a lot less glamorous than I imagined when I heard about the master thief named Angel."

Luke had to laugh, and he sensed Zev tense up behind him as the sound of it. "I'm a glorified burglar," he teased. "The Rebellion gave me a name and I'll use it."

"Hm." Zev didn't sound convinced. "So no golden wings? No halo of light? No flying?"

"I have fabric on my crawling suit which means I can sort of glide, I suppose." It was only really useful when he was falling; it slowed the fall, somewhat, even before he used the Force. "But no, no halo. Not even any gold costuming. And no wings." Luke smirked to himself. "I can't walk the skies."

Zev hmphed again. "Do I know you?"

"I know you." Luke was enjoying this. "The same way I know Hyadum, or Jem, or His Wrinkly Majesty, Palpatine himself. I know you all, Zevulon Veers." Being dramatic, the way Angel demanded, was fun.

Zev huffed, but there was amusement—and even a flash of recognition—there now. "You're your own unique brand of cryptic, aren't you?"

Honestly, Luke had just been channelling his father, in those weird, ominous moments he started talking about destiny—but he wasn't about to tell Zev that.

"How much farther?" Hyadum asked weakly. Luke... hadn't failed to notice that she was pretty out of it, leaning on Jem a lot of the time, though she glared down through the grates in the vents as though the troopers marching past would self-combust if only she hated them enough. Her pain was an open wound in the Force—Luke ached at the thought of what his father must have done to her, even before he considered Vader's rage at the supposed assassination attempt...

Distantly, an alarm began to blare.

It set Luke's teeth on edge: their time was officially up.

"Crawl faster," he said.


Vader reached the Palace to find the detention level Hyadum and Zevulon were on in total disarray.

"What," he thundered, striding in, "is the meaning of all of this?"

At least five guards and interrogation officers flinched at the sound of his booming voice. Good. The lights were flickering in the way that meant they were just coming back on. He'd thought that Palpatine's guard's improvement to the Palace security had been foolish; this, he suspected before even hearing what they had to say for themselves, would prove him right.

"My lord..." a woman began, then trailed off. He cast the Force out like a net to reel back in—jus for the contents of this level. There was no one in the cells.

There was no one in the cells.

"Where," he thundered, "is Hyadum? Where is Veers!?"

That same woman—a dark haired human with a pale, pinched face—swallowed. "They... escaped, sir."

"Escaped?" Vader's voice promised death.

"I don't know what happened, not exactly," she continued stubbornly. "One minute, the power was out and we were irritated... then I was waking up on the floor from where I'd been unconscious, and the prisoners were gone."

"Gone."

He... remembered this. Recognised this.

"Gone," she confirmed.

"And no gas or stun bolts caused you to fall unconscious?"

She shook her head. "No, my lord. We just became infinitely weary, then we were waking up again."

Angel had knocked out the guards at Falynn's residence, too. They were Force-sensitive, after all—why not use that to their advantage, to remove opponents without killing them? (Personally, Vader would have just killed them, but that was a difference of opinion he shared with Luke, let alone Angel.)

Which meant... which must mean...

Vader growled. After the sound faded, there was silence—only broken by a chorus of snapped necks and the ominous hissing of his own breath.

Angel had stepped in to foil his plans. Again.

Angel had spirited away the woman whose secret threatened Luke's life, the boy whose defection might shed some light on why, and what was coming for Luke—the boy whose treason would break his son's heart.

So he knew that Zevulon was not Angel—Angel had rescued him, after all. But he knew no more.

He stormed out of the detention level, leaving the officers' corpses lying on the floor behind him.


Luke was so tense he was about to vibrate out of his own skin, but— "And we're out."

Hyadum, Zev and Jem clambered into his speeder, with one last nervous glance back at the dark, abandoned corridors he'd come in through, and they took of stealthily.

All was awkwardly silent for an age, but eventually—when the Imperial Palace was long out of sight—Zev said, "This is not how I thought my day would be going."

"Did you expect to be on a Rebel base by now? You will be soon." Leia had sent Han to ferry Hyadum off planet the way he did with the valuables—Luke was pretty sure he'd be able to convince him to take the other two. What would happen if he didn't, after all?

Zev sighed. "I guess that speeder I was working on wasn't silent enough."

Luke raised his eyebrows.

Oh, Zev was onto him, if he was fishing with references like that.

He didn't fall for it. "I'm sorry to hear that." But... "Your father handed you in?"

"Yes," Zev replied bitterly. Jem and Hyadum were giving him sympathetic looks and Luke could sense his resentment of it all. "I was hoping he wouldn't, but... I knew he would."

Luke swallowed.

That... hit a little too close to home.

When his father found out he was Angel? What... how would he react?

Vader loved Luke. He would burn the galaxy for him—Luke knew that. He wanted what was best for Luke, always, and he did everything in his power to keep Luke safe, secure and happy.

But... his father had poured his blood, sweat, tears and most of his limbs into the Empire. Even if he didn't love it, not the way he loved Luke... he was deadly, utterly loyal to it.

He would not betray it. He would not accept Luke betraying it.

So what would he do?

Turn him in?

Turn him back, somehow, by any means necessary?

Vader liked having Luke near to him. He loved him. He didn't want him unhappy.

...but he'd sent Luke away.

For years.

Luke had begged and screamed not to go. He'd tried to run away, when he was eleven, so he wouldn't have to. He'd not made a secret how miserable he'd been there, as Darth Vader's son, until he'd met Zev, ad Leia, and he'd found his place.

But his father had not budged. It was more important that Luke be raised to be loyal to and serve the Empire. It was more important that Vader not be distracted by a young child any longer, especially as Luke grew into a teenager, so Vader could properly dedicated himself to the Empire.

To the Emperor.

To Palpatine.

Just the way Palpatine had wanted from his apprentice since the start—something that Luke had got in the way of.

So... if it came down to it.

If Vader found out.

Would he continue to protect Luke?

He was hoping he would.

But he knew he wouldn't.


They reached the tooka shelter soon enough. Luke flew to the platform and stopped it, tumbling out of the speeder before it had even truly powered down. His mask nearly slipped; he fixed it before anything was betrayed, and smirked at Zev, who was watching him do so with an intent gaze.

"Here we are," Luke said, and led the three of them into the large main room of the shelter. Zev was looking around uncomfortably, Jem was looking around curiously, and Hyadum was looking at Luke.

"Thank you," she murmured to him. Luke... didn't know how he felt about this woman, this woman who'd been forced into but tried to kill him, so he stayed quiet at first. "I... have not said much. I did not want you to speak more than necessary, for security reasons, and also I did not want to speak." She shivered. Pity eclipsed resentment, in his heart, and he felt for her. "But thank you for coming for me, Angel."

He was quiet for a moment, then reached out slowly. When she didn't flinch back or object, he rested it lightly on her shoulder.

"I heard what you attempted to do," he said. "I... well. I am glad you failed." She stiffened. "But you did not deserve this. And I am sorry, from the bottom of my heart, for what Vader did to you, and that I could not save you sooner. But you are safe now. They'll protect you."

She bowed her head and nodded. He dropped his hand from her shoulder and turned.

"Kid!" Han stampeded into the room, trumpeting his presence. Luke resisted a smile. "is this— huh." He stared at Jem. "I thought Her Highnessness said the senator was a woman."

"I am," Hyadum said loudly, drawing Han's gaze to her.

Luke said, "There were three prisoners on that detention level. I brought them all."

"Are they all coming?" Han shifted. "Smuggling a fugitive's one thing, but three—"

"Is the sort of thing Leia pays you for. Unless you'd rather take it up with her?" Luke shot back, not unamused.

Han laughed. "Nah, point taken. Let's not go pissing off Her Worship."

"That would be wise."

"Now, Luke," Han said, "are you gonna introduce them?"

Zev gasped.

Luke cringed.

Cringed, but... laughed to himself, as he turned around.

"I'll let you get to know each other once you're in space, I think," Luke said, then turned to meet the storm.

Zev was glaring at him with utter indignation. "Luke!?"

He stalked forwards, until he was standing right in front of him, staring.

Luke tilted his head in challenge.

Zev's hand snapped up. Luke didn't stop him as he tore the mask from his face and glowered. "Luke!?"

Luke started laughing—then stopped, again, when...

He could sense Hyadum's horror.

"You—" Zev was still spluttering. "You complete sleemo—"

"Hey." Luke grabbed his shoulders to spin him towards Han and said in his normal voice, "save the name calling for later. You need to get to the Rebel base."

"You— we are not done here! You're Angel!? All this time!? When I was telling you about my doubts about the Empire you were the infamous thief—"

"Evidently."

"You—!"

"You're the Imperial prince," Hyadum said. Her voice was dull.

Jem had been curious but nonplussed by Zev's reaction; now, his eyes blew wide.

"I—" Luke couldn't really name the colour Hyadum was turning right now, but he was fairly sure it wasn't healthy for Pantorans to be. She got out, choking on her own horror, "I tried to—"

"You failed," he said simply. It... well. It was forgiveness, if only out of necessity; he didn't really want to hate her for the rest of his life. It didn't make what she'd done alright. He just hoped she re-evaluated next time.

She spluttered and opened her mouth again, glaring now, the shock and horrible irony of it catching up to her—

—but Luke had to turn away.

"I need to go," he said. "I need to be home before sunrise."

"Or your father will notice?" Zev challenged. Luke ignored him—and tried not to wince as Hyadum mouthed your father, turning an even sicklier shade of not-blue.

"Han will take care of you," was all he said, with a smirk in Han's direction. "Or, Han won't. But Chewie will."

"Hey, kid—"

"Luke—"

Luke turned to meet Zev's eyes.

"Thank you," his friend said, earnestly. "And... good luck."

Luke knew it wasn't just for his more angelic endeavours.

He inclined his head, pulled his mask back onto his face, and left.


When Vader returned home again that morning to check on Luke, it was... with worry. With apprehension.

With shame.

He was failing to protect his son.

Luke was fast asleep, the covers pulled right up to his chin, dead to the world. His light hair fell, fluffy, across his forehead and his face was relaxed in unconsciousness.

He was so small. So precious. So breakable.

Vader couldn't bear to watch any longer.

He shut the door behind him, as quietly as he could, and strode down the corridor, his fears chasing him with every step.