Recovering from Bespin, a feverish Luke Skywalker lets slip his parentage, but what will the Alliance do with the son of Darth Vader? Their mistake proves monumental and delivers Luke into the hands of his worst nightmare. Destiny goes into an about turn where there's only one person who can save Luke from the darkside - his father. Recovering from Bespin, a feverish Luke Skywalker lets slip his parentage, but what will the Alliance do with the son of Darth Vader? Their mistake proves monumental and delivers Luke into the hands of his worst nightmare. Destiny goes into an about turn where there's only one person who can save Luke from the darkside - his father.

C h a p t e r E i g h t

"That is not going to work," Leia snapped her head around, neat ends of her bobbed hair sweeping out angrily. In the half-light of the Falcon's cockpit, Vader regarded her impatiently as she stormed forwards, lithe frame boiling with frustration.

"Leia, we don't have-"

"Don't call me that. And don't tell me we're running out of time; I know." Her flash of anger dissolved into the gut-wrenching images of her nightmares, into her stomach turning small, tight little cartwheels at that feeling she couldn't even name. She knew; knew time was slipping through their fingers, black gloved and porcelain white equally. It burned like misery but cried like despair... and there was more. Little fleeting glimpses of darkness that scolded when she got too close and cries that shook her until she was screaming. She knew.

The hiss of the respirator filled the air and she snapped back to the present, to her waking problems. "Jabba won't buy it."

In a tight black ship-suit and dark hair to her chin, she was a little macabre image of the Dark Lord stood in the deepest shadows. In the frustrated balling of his fists and the impatient clipped tone of his voice he was her panicked sense of failure given form. Neither seemed to notice.

"You have an alternate plan?" His breath hissed, biting as hard as the sand storm winds against the Falcon's hull.

She fought the frustration that bustled its way into her mind, "Yes. You're Darth Vader. I would have thought you had some bargaining power, with the whole Imperial fleet in your fist. I'm sure Jabba would be more than willing to listen." Sarcasm had crept into her voice. But that was okay, it made it into his too, both of them releasing anxiety born from the disturbing half-glimpses of a shrouded future onto each other. And that shroud felt very much like it belonged in nowhere but a morgue.

"I'm sure." His voice was dipped in reactor acid. "I'm also certain Palpatine would also wonder at my intervention in smugglers business."

She stalked closer, up to the dark mask. Right up to those blank eyes that betrayed nothing. "What does it matter what Palpatine thinks?" she hissed.

Vader said nothing and she felt suspicion wriggle its way into the light. She shivered. "Unless..." Her head snapped upwards, but she wasn't seeing. She was remembering. "You think Palpatine is involved in this."

The Emperor was involved? It would be just like one of his twisted little plans to make us all think Luke is dead...

But, no. He wouldn't be just involved in some cruel hoax, would he? He-

She shook her head and turned from him thoughtfully, trembling. "No. You think Palpatine has Luke."

There was a silence. A silence bleaker and colder than those twilight wastes beyond the viewport.

"It would make sense."

She looked up at the voice that had trembled oh-so slightly, and she searched for something like fear, something like disgust, something like the emotions ripping through her own body.

"Why?"

"Because I cannot touch him, and yet he is sending to you. Only Palpatine has the power necessary for that. Because he wants him destroyed or..."

"Or...?"

Her voice caught and she backed away from Vader until she sank into the pilot's chair, pushing it around to face her new ally.

She flinched at that thought – ally – but there was no other description. Leia Organa was helping Darth Vader; the man who had destroyed her family, her home, her cause and her friend. Yes; he had destroyed Luke on Bespin. Father or not, he had shattered Luke there. She could not allow herself to see compassion here, could not allow herself to imagine he could be subject to the true feelings of a father. There was nothing to this but a convenient pact between sometime-enemies who each needed the help of the other.

Which left the obvious question; what would happen to Luke if they found him? Was he better off where he was now?

NO!

The word screamed through her, rippling her muscles in little waves of disgust and confusion as it passed. It was not something she could understand, but it smacked of the truth.

"Or...?" she repeated. There had been no answer.

"Or turned."

Her eyes closed and shut out the visage of a concerned Darth Vader. She could not allow foolish hopes to interfere with her perceptions right now. "Turned?"

"To the Darkside of the Force. Like his father."

Her jaw set in a determination which was, to Vader, strangely familiar. "He won't," she said, eyes blazing with the only light in the cockpit.

The was a silence that dragged between them, "You speak out of ignorance. We are wasting time."

She jumped back to her feet, unable to control the need to move and fight. "Then demand Jabba turns Han over to you!"

"Foolish girl." He turned from her angrily and she had the insane urge to offer comfort to his obvious frustration at the delay. "If I do that, Palpatine will know I suspect something is wrong. He will hide Luke, banish him to some hole where we will never find him until... it is too late for him."

She whirled on him. "And just why do you care about that?" She felt her animosity flair but, well, it had been a long time coming.

He faltered better than she could have hoped for. His voice shook the air. "What do you mean?"

She sprang through the opening he offered by the question, determinate and indignant. "You! You hardly want his welfare!" she spat, muscles coiled even though she would never have been foolish enough to attack him physically.

"I never wanted him hurt. I-"

"Hypocrite!" She was almost shouting now, anger bursting. Yes he was her ally, yes she was cooperating with him, but no she didn't have to like who he was, or what he'd done. "You hurt him! You cut off his hand, beat him, shattered him." Her voice came in little shivering waves of remembrance; that sad despondent face with those wide blue eyes. "When we pulled him off Cloud City I thought we'd never get through to him. Some father – one who beats his child into submission. And what did you want, anyway? Not to kill him, no – but what were you going to do with him?"

Her fists rested in the natural curve of her hips as she glowered with the force of supernovae. The Dark Lord sighed wearily. "I was... to take him to Palpatine."

She blanched, but hadn't she expected this? Why else wouldn't he have killed the last of the Jedi? "You wanted to turn him, too." She spat. "You hypocritical, heartless bastard. You-"

She hadn't realised it, but she was pointing a shaking finger at Vader as if it was a blaster, firing again and again with biting little comments against his intentions. He reached out and grabbed that hand, silencing her with the shock. "You know nothing Princess." His voice was dangerous; rarely had she heard him so angry and it made her shake before she could control her rebelling muscles. "I did not wish for him to be hurt."

"Hurt? Hurt? You have no idea what's happening to him right now. I do. I-"

"Your lack of imagination surprises me. I do know. You broadcast your nightmares so strongly any Force-sensitive within a hundred kilometres must be having sleepless nights," he hissed, hand tightening around her wrist.

She blinked hard, struggling to see him – really see him – in the dim light. "I... I do?"

"Yes." She heard it now – Despair. Pain. Horror. He had seen those dreams, lived them with her in the few short days they had worked together on a plan into Jabba's Palace. Suddenly his sometimes aloof quietness, quite uncharacteristic of the Darth Vader she knew and hated, was explained. He felt his son's pain, as did she.

Leia Organa - Princess, Senator, Rebel no more - laid a trembling hand on his in apology. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"But you are quite right. I hurt Luke."

Her head snapped up but her hand remained on his sleeve. She wasn't even certain what had been in that deep voice. Was it regret? Shame? Perhaps he was just passive. "You did." There was blame, hatred, pain in her own voice, but not as vehement as she might have expected. It was... unnerving. She had to ask. "Do you... regret it?"

The room cooled a little further, icy in the Tatooine night. There was no answer and she waited, willing to let the silence continue until he broke it. This was his call; he had to answer her if they were to work together.

"It was necessary."

That was no answer. That was neither regret nor pride. It was... somewhere inbetween. He was somewhere inbetween. She looked curiously, without fear, at the man responsible for so much loss in her life and had the perverse feeling that she might have actually gained something.

He looked at her hand on his own and she snatched it away as if burned, thrilled and disgusted by the connection they were forming in little over a day. I formed a connection to him in under a day on the Death Star, too.

The reminder of Vader's true nature was a rude awakening and she stalked past him for the corridor. His gaze followed her, curious about her suddenly chilly attitude. "Of course." Her voice was as cold as hyperwash. A change of subject was definitely needed. "Your agents should be in place soon. We should be ready to move."

He obviously heard the disapproval, the doubts. They could have used the might of the imperial Navy to crush Jabba, but they didn't. Yes, his reasons were solid for not doing so, for not alerting Palpatine if he indeed... 'had' Luke. She shivered violently at the memories; the dark, smothering presence she sometimes felt could quite easily be their despised Emperor.

"They already are. That is what I came to talk to you about."

And not to argue over the plan, again? Well, I'm still not convinced. She let him see her doubts in the grim frown of disapproval she gave him. He ignored it.

"This must look like your operation, and yours alone. Otherwise, any rescue of Luke will be in jeopardy."

That little word, so innocent – rescue – brought this situation back to her. For Vader to defy Palpatine, to plot against him... it was tantamount to treason.

She walked in neat little determinate steps, "But it will take more time to set up our own covers. Why don't we use the bounty hunter idea? I could deliver Chewie-"

The rumbling cough behind her made her turn on her heel and glare in defiance, hands suddenly on her hips, little jagged edges of her new hair pointing accusingly. "What?"

He followed her into the light, padded corridor. "He will see straight through that. Chewbacca would never allow himself to be captured by someone so... little."

She glowered and the air burned in bruised pride. "Fine."

She whisked around again and grabbed her dancer's outfit from an overhead locker, tossing it onto the holotable as she stalked through, his heavy footfalls behind her all the way. Chewie and Lando looked up from their game as their figures suddenly swam in lycra and black sequins.

"Lando? It's show time." The defiance in her voice was harking back to her regal nature, pride surfacing from the Dark Lord's comments.

Behind her she could have sworn she heard him mutter "There's something else here... something I'm missing..." as he studied the little fireball gather her disguise with strength of purpose and self.

She turned towards him, eyebrows arching for the ceiling, "Ready?"

"Absolutely, your highness."

She stormed for the entrance ramp, a thunderstorm of anxiety and determination.

* * * *


A week later and Leia swung her hips in little rhythmic circles, fingers playing with the air in synchrony to the other two dancers, hair plastering across ruby-coloured lips.

Yes, it should have been demeaning for the former Princess to dance like this for a Hutt, to swing her body enticingly for the grotesque slug, but she somehow knew that their original plan of her feigning being a bounty hunter would have fallen flat and who knew what would have come of that?

She turned her arms through the air, the music allowing her to use the curves of her body in a way no Royal Aunt had taught her. Still, Leia could dance. The Princess of Alderaan hardly would hardly not know how to dance, prepared for dancing at the many royal functions by her patient tutors. Except that dancing had not been quite like this.

She didn't have the height, but she had the lithe body and the control, and her determination to see this through made up for the rest. In fact, Jabba seemed to appreciate her enough to place her amongst his most favoured dancers. That was doubled edged – it got her closer to the slug, meant her story was believed, but it also meant she was actually exciting the Hutt. Fortunately, there was no time for retching at that idea.

She swung in a half circle with the others, dancing from her waist to the music as Jabba rocked bulbous and swollen on his platform. She batted smoky eyelids accordingly and hid her distaste behind years of training in subterfuge in the Alliance. The outfit hugged her as close as lubricant on bare skin and she had learnt there was nothing to be done about the leers of the denizens except ignore them and silently promised them a long, slow death when they finally sprang their attack. She had suffered worse than this. She could last a little longer.

Jabba bellowed approvingly as the trio of dancers swept low, giving full cleavage. Hardened Alliance soldier or not, this was still nauseating. She wondered darkly if Vader had thought up this cover just to take the Princess down a notch or two.

Well, he could wish again. Yes, it was humiliating, but she kept a hold on her pride, on her feisty defiance. And he couldn't knock back the Princess, because Leia wasn't sure she existed anymore. No more than she was sure whether or not the Dark Lord Darth Vader existed any more. She hid the frown that thought begged for and concentrated on the routine.

Another swirl of lithe hips, another clap from Jabba.

I hope you get a very painful death, Jabba. Let's see how well you dance with a lightsaber strapped to your tongue...

Perhaps the worst thing was that as she moved her body in intricate little numbers for the Hutt whilst wearing disturbingly little except the slashed body suit, the man she would truly love to be doing this for was hanging, face contorted in frozen pain, a bare few metres away.

After several excruciating minutes, the music stopped and the pawing of drunken courtesans began. Strange, it was much like the Imperial court, except here the mauling was physical and not mental. Still, she knew which she preferred. A sour little smile sent one drunken bith scuttling away.

Anytime now...

Lando passed across the floor, face half-hidden by his disguise and gave a brief little nod to get ready. Soon.

Now if she could just stay innocuous and make her way over to Han's frozen form... She pressed deep into an alcove, pushing the tangles of hair from her cheeks and watching the staggering crowd. Soon, it had to be soon.

"You're new here, aren't you?"

She whirled to the voice, sickly sweet and dripping in tannin. The black-haired older woman's smile was much more genuine than her voice.

"Yeah, a couple of days."

The other nodded knowingly and Leia felt her brow wrinkling with confusion. She had found few of the dancers were talkers, and she much preferred it that way.

As she stepped out of the alcove, a stray hand from a passing rodian slipped down her thigh and she resisted the urge to push it away violently, preferably with a large blaster hole in its chest. It didn't take well to her brushing it off and wrapped a green-skinned hand around her wrist as it yanked her towards it. Panic flared momentarily as it breathed in her skin drunkenly before speaking a language she couldn't understand.

She tried to pry herself free but it tightened and she was sure she'd scream at those sucker-covered fingers as they plucked at her skin. Somebody get me out of here!

A sharp hiss in the same language got the aliens attention as black-haired woman snapped at it. It fell backwards as if stunned and replied, slurring, before winding a staggering path for the bar.

Leia shuck the dark cloud of anger and disgust from her feelings, trying to calm herself. She rubbed ruefully at her bruised wrist and momentary loss of composure. "Thanks," she murmured.

"No problem. Sometimes you gotta be real firm." The smile held no mirth.

"Yeah..."

Leia tried to look around without being suspicious, skin tingling in expectation... soon. It was going to be soon. If Vader would only hurry up and get her out of here!!

"Where you from?" The woman asked, trying to be conversational. The smoke drifted in little binding tendrils around them, emphasising that these two dancers were not here for the company and that idle conversation seemed a little... pointless. Still, she couldn't get out of it now without appearing suspicious.

"Alderaan." Well, why not? Princess Leia wasn't the only girl from there.

Usually, when she told people that, when she revealed who she was, there was an apologetic mumble, perhaps even sincere expressions of regret. This woman simply laughed.

Leia glowered at her even as movement stirred at the back of the crowd. Where was... ? There. A figure moved in the shadows, little blinking lights in his hands.

"Well, at least you don't have to worry about citizen taxes anymore." The woman chuckled and shook long, fluid hair over her shoulder. Leia might have turned then and glowered, maybe even bitten with well-sharpened verbal-teeth. But something caught the dancer's eye and she hurriedly stepped backwards. "Oh..."

Leia whirled, sudden dread worming in her gut. The world spun slowly and as she faced the dais again something clicked around her throat. The solid snap made her jump in sudden fear, not certain whether it came from the ominous low chuckle from the dais or from the quick, knowing glances that passed between the remaining dancers, backing away. Her hands flew to the collar all the favoured dancers wore, and the chain that had been snapped onto it. "What?!?" She asked, more than a little alarmed.

The gamorrean grunted at her and, frustrated at her inability to understand, at her anxiety and confusion, she turned back to the black-haired woman in askance. She had quickly scuttled away, nowhere to be seen. Leia was forced to turn back at a tug on her collar, world falling apart to panic. The guard pulled her over towards Jabba, and he leered appreciatively at her moves of defiance.

What does he want? What is this? Why did they all back off-

Sudden understanding rose with the smoke and fear as the music began to build again. Jabba wanted a private dance.

This wasn't part of the plan!! They needed Leia to slip out and unfreeze Han whilst Lando and Chewie confused the drunken pirates with gas grenades; whilst Vader befuddled the minds of anyone not suitably inebriated.

She struggled weakly. "No... no!"

Suddenly, she wished Vader had listened to her, that he had been made a visible presence in their plan. The look in Jabba's glassy eye was truly disturbed and her arm muscles fought against the guard's pull.

The guard handed the end of a long leash to his Hutt master and Jabba leered more.

Then she did something she had not done in a long time; Leia panicked. She tugged on it and it was tugged back twice as hard, almost sending her sprawling.

But she needed to be free! Lando had already set the charges – they could go off any minute.

Her eyes were blinded by the smoke in the room and the music built further, enveloping her. Maybe... maybe if she ignored the Hutt in front of her, ignored the crowd, she could do this and not get killed for being unentertaining.

The world swirled with the alien melody, with the smoke and alcohol and the leering eyes of Jabba. And she knew she had to dance as the crescendo built.

Stowing her pleas for freedom in that place she had visited many times before - when Alderaan died, when Vader tortured her, when Han was lost - she began to dance. She let her hips flow in a rhythm of their own, let her lips pout and her hands play with the chain. It was disgusting, but what else was she supposed to do?

Leia pushed blindly past the panic and hoped the music would stop in time to be released from the slug. She spun on her naked heel, glancing under the rope, scanning the room for Lando. She didn't see him anywhere.

As she came back around, still dancing, Jabba pulling her steadily closer, she flicked the chain. She meant it as defiance but it only excited him more and he started reeling her in, tongue rubbing against fat lips. She glanced around; no Lando; no Chewie. Where were they?!?

//Somebody get me out of here!//

She thought she saw something, eerie and unreal, from the corner of her eye and far in the periphery, like a dark cloak flickering momentarily. She snapped her around head to it. Nothing. Now she was seeing things. Still there was a feeling... like acknowledgment. The chin snapped her head forwards and she was pulled back to the present.

The tongue flicked out again and disgust poured off her as she growled in defiance, snatching back at the chain. The anger, and disgust burst past her disguise and showed fully on her face. She summoned up her strength and spat at the Hutt.

That was a mistake.

Jabba's mood suddenly soured, expression going black and she saw his fist hammer down on the dais, bellowing in indignation. She screeched – No! - but it was too late.

The room cheered in expectation and her feet skidded along the floor before the ground beneath her feet opened and she was falling.

Darkness swallowed her as there was a thunderous crack above her head. The air sang with the sour smell of ozone. Explosions burst across the air in plumes of toxic smoke and cries of confusion. The lights above her winked out as she hit the bottom and rolled to her feet on sandy ground, dust grinding into her naked knee. The chain tangled her arms together and she rushed through an adrenaline haze to untangle herself.

Cries from above drifted down to her as the diversion was launched – smoke bombs blinding the occupants of the throne room; Vader's agents moving through the crowd, killing them; Lando and Chewie going after the reinforcements - but with no Leia to free Han. She looked up at the distant forms above her, the rumbling of the dais closing off the hole she had dropped through.

Desperation took her voice and she leapt to shaky, bruised feet, "No!!" she cried, clawing at the slick stone walls, fingers scraping on the hard surface. "No! Lando! Chewie!" Her fingers grasped for purchase on the walls but the dais covered the hole completely, leaving total and absolute darkness.

It smothered her, so like the darkness in her nightmares. She expected groping hands to take her from the corners, expected raking bleached fingers to smother her sense, snake around her, possess her.

But Destiny had a different fate in mind for Leia Organa from that of her brother's.

There was a ravenous roar behind her. She fell in shock and frozen horror back to the ground, landing and tripping on the debris on the floor. Her fingers clawed in the dirt as she tried to stand in pitch black. It bit into her hands as she searched for a weapon, anything she could use to defend herself. She found nothing except jagged little splinters that dug beneath her fingernails.

Leia turned around as the creature made its approach, and saw the shining yellow eyes fix on her as the faint outline of a huge, scabbed creature appeared from an opening doorway. She scrambled backwards, sucked in breath at the realisation of just how big it really was. And screamed.