Chapter 11: Father

The room was dark, as such rooms were inclined to be, made light and warm through the running of towering machines instead of floating bulbs. Now, with the machines asleep, their basest functions humming in the darkness, the room felt empty and cold and ominous.

Vader trembled in the sensation, delight running hot through him. After so many years, he was finally going to finish this chase. He was a hunter who had long sought an elusive prey, and after bitter failure and close calls dropped short, he had learned what to expect from his prey and now need only stand and wait for it to walk into his hands,

It would have all felt anti-climactic if he did not have so much more planned beyond this single encounter.

The taste of his own ambition, of goals derived from his own wants and built for his own needs, was something the dark lord had not realized he missed. Twenty years. Twenty years as pet to Palpatine had made him forget what it was to want, to plan, to organize, and now the sweet taste of it was almost too much to bear. His nerves felt like fire, even the cybernetic ones, and for the first time in a very long time, Darth Vader, a thing held together by wire and steel, felt very much alive.

He felt the boy long before Luke stepped foot on the city and followed him as he crept through the looping levels. Felt him rise in the lift, too far. Vader reached out with the gentlest nudge of the Force, tinkering with the dated electrical panel for the lift so that it read the floors wrong and opened not on residential floor 8, but a few lower, where he knew his prisoners would soon be crossing.

xxxx

The lift came to a bit of a jerky halt, as though it had been surprised by the arrival of their designated floor, before the doors slid open with a soft woosh, revealing yet another monotone hallway alight with the glow of a late afternoon sun.

R2 whistled a worried sound, his sensors not quite agreeing with the display on the lift's screen, and Luke cast the droid a quick glance of acknowledgement. His own 'sensors', extended to feel anything of concern in the Force, tingled with warning. Something was off - more off - and it turned his caution up to 11. Still, he wasn't going to get answers hovering in the lift, so, with a bracing sigh, Luke drew his blaster, stepped out the door and started down the hall.

It was quiet, empty – abandoned, really - so he had plenty of warning when the sound of heavy boots echoed in the pathways ahead. Darting into a narrow alcove created by a pillar, he pressed himself into the hiding space, grateful that his fatigues were nearly the same eggshell as the wall. The footsteps drew closer, the echo fading as the source overtook it.

An unfamiliar figure in even more unfamiliar armor swaggered across first, armed to the teeth, and exuding a powerful wave of smug satisfaction. The reason why came shortly after; a platform, hovering on repulsorlifts and pushed by a duo of imperial officers, passed next and while Luke could make out nothing from his distance, save that it existed, the warning in the Force whined louder.

As the troopers vanished from sight, Luke scurried toward their shadows, heart hammering with fear…but whatever he thought might be there, whatever fears made his eyes nearly bulge from their sockets, he did not see as the troopers rounded a corner away from him. He paused, careful not to even breathe in the silence that crept back into the corridor, then, finally, with the warning no quieter in his veins, he let out a tense breath and lowered his weapon.

He nearly jumped from his skin when his fresh, fragile reprieve was broken by the unsubtle beep and whistle and whirr and bloop as R2 rounded the corner and literally crashed into legs with all the urgency of untrained puppy. The sound reverberated along the walls and Luke did his best to hush the droid, but whatever he felt the need to say, R2 was not to be quieted.

"Wha -" the word was choked off by the wail of blaster fire and Luke dove back against the wall as the unfamiliar man let loose a series of powerful blasts that scorched and sparked on the wall.

It seemed an age before the blasting stopped and Luke was proud of his resolve that he did not curl into a ball as debris and sparks whizzed by his head, still smoking and hot. In the silence that followed, Luke barely dared breathe. There was no way those shots went unnoticed and apparently that was enough to the strange man who gave no more attack and slipped back on his original path.

After a moment - in which he decidedly did not question the sanity of his decisions thus far - Luke peeled away from the wall and raced down the hallway the armored man came from, grateful and hating the dim lighting and shadows that stretched over this path. The Force was almost deafening now, and it took everything he had to slam his mind shut against its anguished cry. So, he had no warning when rounding the next corner ran him headlong into a procession of imperial officers, troopers and…Leia!

He whipped back, just barely avoiding a blaster bolt aimed for his head and pressed back around the corner, firing return blasts in the breaths between those that came to him.

Beyond them, he could see Leia, 3PO and Chewie being not-so-gently pushed ahead, and more importantly he could hear Leia screaming his name. The familiarity of it was so jarring, so cold, that he nearly knocked him from his feet, and it took more minutes than he had to spare for his mind to register what she was saying.

"Luke! Luke! Don't! It's a trap! It's a trap!"

The rest of the warning - if there was really any more that needed saying after that - was cut off as the soldiers manhandled her into a passageway and a door slid shut behind them.

Of course it was a trap. That was painfully obvious. But how? He came only because of his visions…was it possible to manipulate the Force like that - to send falsities or half-truths through its undulating waves? Not for the first time did he bitterly wish he had stayed on Dagobah just a few days longer. There really was so much more he needed to learn…

But that was done with. He was here now and clearly Leia and the others needed his help. Trap or not, he came to do something and that was precisely what he planned to do.

Calming his once again racing heart with slow, deep breaths, Luke let the Force slip back into his consciousness. The wail eased away as he narrowed his focus, feeling blindly for something else pulling, willfully, at the living power. He knew before he really knew what he was looking for. Like with many things over the past years, he just knew.

Vader. This was a trap set by Vader for him and he was going to answer it with dignity.

There.

Like a child tugging at a string, Luke felt the Force being almost playfully jerked away from him, in a winding line that he felt more than saw.

It didn't go far but he still chased it at a jog, into the dark maintenance access path, through the tight corners, up the half-lift, and - the room was dark, but the Force was clear. Even before the voice came - "The Force is with you, young Skywalker" - from the far platform behind him Luke knew he was here.

Vader stood like a beacon in the Force, twisted and burning, the Force around him an abused and mutilated thing with tendrils that constantly dragged more into its sticky, torturous web.

"But you are not a Jedi yet."

Luke felt the tendrils sense him, sniff him out and he knew they tasted his fear. But he hoped they also choked on his determination. He climbed the steps slowly, calmly, channeling Ben in his every move, and slipped the (useless?) blaster back in the holster on his belt. Vader did nothing, not even turning his head as the boy drew closer. That confidence was a weapon all its own; Luke refused to be cut by it. He remembered Leia's cries, Chewie's frustratingly helpless barks - where had Han been? - and used his resolve as a shield. Teeth grinding, hands flexed…then he drew it.

The old saber hummed to life in his hands. It never felt fully right and, even after his training, it still felt off, but it was oh so much better than the blaster. The crystal inside fed from and re-energized his connection to the Force and the leather and metal hilt reminded him of an old hut on a dusty planet. It centered him, so he meant it when his eyes met black, ready.

He didn't flinch when Vader drew his own blade, languorously as though it was a chore, and let it rest in just one hand. He didn't stay down when the dark lord literally threw his strike back at him. And more importantly, he didn't let success give him a big head as he parried and thrust and danced with the Sith Lord across the platform, not even when Vader, for just a moment, used two hands to push the boy back.

"You've learned much, young one."

Was he…impressed? That grated on the boy more than he cared to admit. "You'll find I'm full of surprises." Luke lunged forward, parried, dropped and swung and swung and swung, dropping one hand - was it tactic or conceit? - and matching Vader's blows…until he wasn't and in a simple twisting move, the blade was wrenched from his grip and clattered, deactivated, to the grates below.

Coldness swept through Luke in its absence, and though he was quick to quell the icy fear, it wasn't fast enough. He flinched when Vader stepped closer, and in his already precarious stance - crouched on the balls of his feet - it took nothing for Vader to kick him, kick him, down the steps.

The Force trilled another warning and Luke listened. This fight - if he was to be so generous to call it that - was wrong. Vader wasn't trying to win, and he wasn't just playing with him…the Sith was leading him somewhere. Letting Luke be blinded by the challenge before him so that he was unaware of the one…where? He didn't sense anyone else in the room and there wasn't much of the room he couldn't see. But he knew there was…something.

There wasn't time to think on it, though. Vader leapt down the stairs behind him and it was all Luke could do to roll back on his feet to get out of the way.

"Your destiny lies with me, Skywalker," Vader continued in the same cursed monotone. "Obi-Wan knew it to be true."

Luke would have laughed if the situation wasn't so dire - the man wasn't even trying good lies anymore. Instead, he just shook his head, breathing out a soft "no" while his senses still tried to suss out the hidden danger. Then he heard it. The whine of a door opening - behind him. He couldn't risk turning to look but felt the opening. He let himself fall - there was little other choice - and braced as he slammed into the metal floor of the narrow cavity. He barely had time to hiss out his pain before the Force trilled again and he saw something click open amongst the pipes around him. He didn't wait, eyes skyward, and Forced himself straight up into the tangle of wires over 40 feet above.

Vader didn't see; he still gloated over the filling pit. It would have worked in Luke's favor but the blaster on his hip clanged against the machinery drawing the Sith's eyes to him as he scrambled out of reach.

"Impressive."

Okay, now Luke knew he meant it. The warbling Force around him even shimmered a bit with…pride?

Vader swung at him, but Luke shimmied up and over, flipping out of the way.

"Most impressive."

Luke didn't take time to revel in his escape; the moment his feet touched ground, he hands twisted one of the spewing hoses toward Vader and the force and carbonite(!) shooting from it knocked the dark Lord back. Luke Forced his saber to his side again and raised it just in time to meet Vader's far more serious blow.

Guess the games are over.

"Obi-Wan has taught you well; you have control of your fear," Vader's tone was different - as much as it could be anyway. Condescension was replaced with excitement. Hunger. And that weirdly confusing pride. "Now, release your anger," he continued as their blades sung. "Only your hatred can destroy me." His swings came with more ferocity, and while they were by no means harmless, Luke sensed something behind them that he would later understand as a challenge. Vader wanted to see what he could do, what he had learned beyond this. Maybe, even, the dark Lord was having fun.

Whatever this meant, Luke found no comfort in it. Vader gripped the saber with both hands now, and his swings and thrusts and parries were heavy, beating Luke back despite his best efforts. But they were still slow. Vader's heavy body made a formidable force, but it was clunky. Luke waited, watching the Sith's feet and posture, careful not to lose too much more ground, and then, when Vader tipped forward just a bit too much, off balance in his eagerness to attack, Luke countered.

The blue blade arced as Luke drove it down against Vader's. The impact wasn't enough to dislodge his hold, but it was just enough to rock the metal man and Luke took advantage of the minute sway, kicking Vader back into a dark drop.

The red of Vader's saber vanished, and the quiet blackness swallowed up his presence. For a moment, Luke actually thought it was over. His body was already tired, his limbs stiff, his adrenaline no longer enough to fuel his muscles. He needed it to be over…

Clipping the saber to his belt, blade deactivated, Luke inhaled slowly, and with a prayer to whatever existed in the silent void, followed a safer path into the dark. At his steps, an access tunnel came alive, clear white light illuminating every inch…which really only made things worse when he leapt from it, into a dark, silent junction.

But Vader was here. He felt it before he saw him, and he drew the saber once more in response.

The Sith moved with a different purpose now, his steps slow and stalking, the Force twitching more rapidly around him like a cat's tail. Luke could not help but watch him defensively. In comparison, his own power felt like wet paper.

Vader stepped forward again and Luke felt, belatedly, a tendril of the Force whip behind him. He barely had enough time to slice the massive pipe before Vader was on him, beating him back without mercy.

Luke knew he was losing, even before Vader started literally throwing the room at him, heavy conduits and control boxes, wires and pipes pelting from all angles. He felt muscles bruise, bones fracture, consciousness - as one slammed the side of his head - swim in a hazy, grey light, but Vader did not let up, and it was all Luke could do to swing wildly in his general direction and hope for the best.

Vader batted away the boy's attempts with polished ease as he advanced on Luke, tasting the blood in the water. The whirlwind sent sparks flying and several crashed into others, but he did not slow.

Luke was powerful, Vader noted. Even exhausted as he was, by instinct alone, the boy was pulling the Force to him, raising it like a shield and protecting himself from more threatening blows. His training - brief and basic - had unlocked only a portion of what Luke was capable of and Vader nearly salivated at the potential thrumming in the figure before him.

But before he could mold it, he had to break it. He to show Luke what true power, true mastery, was like…only then did he stand a chance to bring him to the Dark Side.

Another crash as Luke's desperate swing made contact with a chunk of control console sending it barreling through the window beside him. Instantly, the crack became a hole and the hole a vacuum as pressure and artificial gravity within combatted with the raw world outside. Even Vader had little control over the sweep that dragged the room outwards, and he had no hope of stopping Luke's dazed tumble over the edge.

Attention…this is Lando Calrissian. The Empire has taken control of the city…

The message played loud over the quiet, nearly empty streets of the upper level, a warning far too late to be anything other than hilarious. Small clusters of white patrolled at a leisurely pace and the few citizens brave or defiant enough to go beyond their homes scurried like rats from door to door.

Blood and bodies and overturned market stands still littered many of the pathways and Vicenious made no rush of ordering the troopers to clean it up. The stink of the defeat was an intoxicant to the woman's senses, still buzzing with adrenaline unfulfilled. Quelling the riots and pockets of descension that followed her announcement had been easy, the attack coming with more than enough surprise that even those armed and trained enough to put up a fight were caught too unawares to stand a chance. Too easy for the corner of her mind that still threatened to break through at any moment.

It had grown stronger, during the takeover, bolstered by something new in the Force. It was possible to ignore it when she bathed the streets in rebel scum, but now, as she sat perched on a high balcony, hands still and mind free to wander, it pummeled against her walls, desperate for attention.

Well…she refused to be afraid her own mind.

With no preamble, she dove into the Force, letting it stream over and through her and into the little corners of her existence to hear what it was trying to say. Almost all at once, she felt it, the something – someone – blaze into existence before her, pulling on the Force with desperate grasps.

Her lips curled as she recognized it. Skywalker. So, Vader had managed to draw the boy here after all and just in time. In the few short months since she last felt the fledgling at Hoth, he had grown stronger. Hardly a skilled warrior, but his skill with the Force was no longer a subconscious act. He willed it now, bent and pushed it to his whims. Had Vader continued to fail any longer, he would be more than a pesky thorn.

Realization turned her smirk sour.

Vader's plan…had worked. Was working.

She couldn't make out details, but it was enough to feel the strands of Vader's boredom turn to pride turn to cautious optimism. Enough to feel Luke nearly slip into the ever-present wave of the Force as his own fire burned down to little more than flickering match. It seemed, she couldn't help but think, that Vader was finally going to get this right. The thought twisted something in her she couldn't quite identify. But she knew when - if - he did, her taming this tourist trap city would do nothing to keep her lit in their master's eye. And her father…her father would be so perfectly poised to snatch back everything she already claimed as hers.

The structures around her trembled dangerously as she struggled to rein in the sudden desire to interfere and the Force gurgled as she throttled it into obedience. She had her pride, for one, but also was the simple fact that if she did…Sidious would know. She would be a disappointment and, if she was lucky, he would punish her for her arrogance…instead of disregarding her as he so often did with Vader.

She was better than Vader…

So, instead, she just watched - as best she could - drinking up all the Force would tell her with fear so terrifyingly palpable that even the wind seemed to peel away from her.

Leia's stomach flipped and twisted as their small group raced from their captors. Lando did not run - at best his jaunty step could have been called a jog - and he did so with a careful confidence that set the pace for everyone. Behind him, armed with an imperial blaster, Leia did her best to maintain the same calm the administrator exuded, but something in her - around her - tilted and churned with more anxiety than she could credit to this harrowing chase.

She nearly leapt from her skin when the familiar sound of R2-D2's whistles rang through the halls, the little droid meeting them at an intersection between corridors. She only spared him a glance, however, her thoughts momentarily flinging toward Luke - the something in her jerked askew again - before refocusing on the matter of Han. Luke…Luke was complex thing she didn't have the brain power to address right now.

Ahead, Lando followed the curving walls to a door so smooth and complimentary to the décor she would have missed it if it wasn't sliding open as they approached. Beyond, the glow of sunset and the snap of Bespin's high winds played over the long walkway to a landing strip and, at its end, unbothered by the rain of lasers pelting its hull, Boba Fett's ship, rose and peeled away into the sky.

Leia's world tilted again and this time she knew it had nothing to do with the something inside her. As the ship rose up and out of clear sight, she felt that everything in her was snatched away with the ship and left raw and bleeding on the gangway.

It took a few moments that felt like years before she moved again, stumbling back towards the door, the heat of blaster fire spurring her onward, and jolting her mind to action. They still had the Falcon…

Her eyes raked over Lando, the hatred and mistrust of the man still a flame in her chest, and the thought wavered. Did they?

It seemed he was thinking the same, chewing on his bottom lip between shots. His eyes met hers and he only gave a terse nod before they were off again. The bay for the Falcon wasn't far; technically it was just below them, but the trick was reaching the nearest lift, sprinting through the halls there and back, pausing only to spray of rain of fire at the troopers chasing their tail.

Even when they did reach it, Lando's code failed instantly at the nearest door, sending them around for one R2 could hack without frying his poor circuits.

It was valuable time Leia did not appreciate wasting. With every passing second, she could feel - literally feel - Fett's ship getting farther away. It was like a thread connected them and it was growing more and more lax as the distance grew.

The mechanical bay door opening with a hiss could not have come fast enough.

The room was abandoned, Lando's warning probably sending the crew scattering for safety, and in the center, steaming from a recent performance check, sat the Falcon.

The old ship hardly looked any better, Leia thought as the hurried up the ramp, and again she glanced sidelong at Lando, plainly doubtful.

His only response was to step to the side as she made for the pilot's seat. Beside her, Chewie ran through the ignition sequence with quick, familiar hands. "If we push her," Lando dared say over her shoulder, "we should be able to catch up before that bounty hunter gets far enough to jump to hyperspace."

Neither pilot gave him the courtesy of a response as the ship peeled away from the platform. Almost all their focus was the control panel, Chewie managing the job of two and Leia desperate to keep her hands from shaking as they carried the ship up and away from the quickly following TIE fighters.

Too much felt wrong, she tried not to think. It felt wrong that Han wasn't here, shouting through coms at her flying even though it was perfectly fine. It felt very wrong that in his place was the very man who was responsible for his absence. It felt even more wrong that…that…? She couldn't place the last one, the something in her too vague and churning to make sense of. But it was wrong, too…wrong and painful…

The ship rocked violently as it took a blaster hit, successfully wrenching her focus back to the task at hand. The TIEs were better built for speed and three of them converged on the Falcon without mercy. Their shots fizzled over of the shields, but the blasts were close and each one knocked the cargo ship just enough off course that they lost valuable microseconds of speed adjusting back.

With a quick change in tactic, Chewie looped the ship up and around, riding with the blasts instead of against them when they hit, fuzzy hands flying over the controls. Leia's steady fingers felt woefully useless monitoring output, radar, shield power and other numbers that played little into the aerial dance.

But it was fine, she rationed, and in minutes it was proven true. The quick, unorthodox movements left the fighters scrambling for the lost ship and the glittering horizon welcomed their undeterred pursuit.

A pursuit that no longer mattered. Her eyes scanned the radar again, stomach lurching against its readings. Fett's ship – Slave One – as the ID tag had read across the screen, no longer showed up. Even as Chewie steered them in a wide arc back the direction they first intended, it did not reappear.

The escape from Vader's forces had lost them Han.

In a moment of agony-induced delirium, Luke's mind flashed back to a limp, severed arm in a pub on Tatooine and the wild, wordless howl that followed. It was a sound that haunted his nightmares for days after and, he realized now, that the bloodcurdling wail had not encompassed even a quarter of the pain a lightsaber wound could bring.

The white-hot burning ran jagged along icy shock up his arm, into his shoulder and like an explosion, rocked his whole body, robbing every muscle of strength and dropping him to the floor. His nerves twitched wildly, sparking cables still reaching out for the hand that was now lost in the vastness below.

It made it very hard to focus on his fear, even as he dragged his trembling, battered, bloody, ash-strewn frame back along the narrow catwalk extension and saw death looming over him with a black skull mask.

When concentration found him again, he made out the sound of Vader's voice, monologuing some manipulative plea, he was sure. The words filtered in and out of his mind before he could quite recognize their meaning, but, as he pulled himself to standing as far from the dark lord as was possible, he caught the last few and his lips curled in disgust.

"I'll never join you," he spat.

"If you only knew the power of the dark side," Vader pressed and Luke heard the way he emphasized 'power'. He'd heard that same purr of bone-deep satisfaction and utter seduction from death stick addicts in the slums of Toshe Station and disgust deepened his frown.

Vader seemed to sigh, dropping his extended hand, and continued, with weighted words. "Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father…"

"He told me enough," Luke shot back, refusing to step into the trap. "He told me you killed him."

"No." A beat. "I am your father."

If everything inside him wasn't already wavering dangerously, the words have sent his world into a tailspin, the Force contracting and shattering around him. As it was, they still drained the color from his face, the coordination from his limbs, the resolve from his heart. He could only force out a choked "no" that quickly spiraled into another...and another...each more and more pleading as he felt himself know it even as he tried so hard to deny it. "That's not true!"

His eyes never left Vader, but it was to himself, to the Force which hummed with truth, that he directed his cry. "That's impossible!" The sound of his blood - Vader's blood - rushing in his ears blocked out whatever else the dark lord was saying, and even his own cries which continued to pour in denial from his lips. Consciousness begged to leave the nightmare and Luke so, so very much wanted to give in.

He let his gaze drift over and down, to the cold blackness, and felt it call to him. The dark side needed to end...Obi-wan had lied to him and trained a future little master of evil...

well...he would show them both.

He dragged his eyes back up to Vader, the first flickers of resolution in them and without another word, he let go his tenuous grip and fell.

All at once, the fury which twisted her face into a savage scowl, leveled three houses on the ground below, and shimmered in the air as translucent, red flames, collapsed into giddy relief as the Force thrummed with the echoes of Luke's determined resolve. She couldn't see it, the fall that sucked him away from Vader, but she felt it and the dark lord's almost clumsy, belated Force grip which caught nothing but air.

Undiluted elation tore into the void left by Vicenious' anger, and it ran so thoroughly through her veins that she couldn't help the wild fit of laughter that barked out of her nor the way she kicked and squealed like a child. Vader's failure had always brought her some joy, but this was something else entirely. He lost! Lost when he had everything arranged so he had no choice but to win!

The glee bubbled up and over again, tickling out another convulsing fit.

Luke had denied Vader's trap and, even as her father marched to his ship to enact his weak, final attempt, she knew - they both knew - he had wasted his best chance. No matter what happened now, Skywalker was forever beyond them.

Her grin faltered, abruptly, the realization sweeping through her joy with a cold grip, dragging with it a fierce disappointment and bone-deep longing. Rapidly, her laughter turned bitter and hysteric as her senses flung inward and she felt the walls collapse, the feelings trample loose.

The flashes came next: suns which roasted her flesh; cacophonous cheering and jeering and the whine of motors; iced peaks stabbing a cobalt sky; shadows playfully jostling her in a crowd; comradery; loneliness; love; pain…

Her nerves snapped into fire and every old bruise and scar - healed or not - burned in fresh awareness across her body and mind and her laughs turned to wails.

The feelings raged about her, vengeful for their captivity, and the overwhelming loss of control of her own senses dragged the part of mind that was still hers deep into the Force. For the second time in her life, the woman now called Vicenious struggled against her own unmaking in the presence that bound the universe.

Imperial Palace was dim as early morning crested slowly over the horizon. In his sprawling quarters, Sidious stood and breathed deeply, inhaling the fading scent of his apprentices' raging emotions. Both Vader and Vicenious stood upon the edge of blade, teetering toward failure. And in their loss, he foresaw an opening toward his own. It was thin, but present nonetheless, and Sidious was nothing, after all these years, if not triply careful.

Minutely he turned his uncovered face toward Bespin, the deep wrinkles and scars that marred it seeming like trenches in the shadows of the room.

Vicenious' dip into psychosis he soothed easily, an order to return so strong even her subconscious state not dare refuse it. He felt her gather again on the physical plane, though shame and fear were still rife within her.

But Vader was an entirely different beast. Sidious was not blind to the rift that was spreading ever wider between them; it was neither new nor unexpected - this was the way of the Sith after all. He had hoped the distraction of a usurper would be enough to prolong his position, but the Force was playing an entirely different game. As Anakin surfaced in Vader, Sidious felt not the greed for power which for so long drove the man, but a craving for revenge.

Revenge was difficult to predict and, like a Flytrap, could wait ages before striking out at its prey. It would not do to leave Vader with such notions.

With a small exhale, he drew his far-flung sight back to the present, his eyes opening slowly. Already, his mind churned with solutions, and he examined each in the flow of the Force, their outcomes and pitfalls. There were none without risk, but he had plenty he could afford to lose in lieu of the greater purpose.

The void the Falcon left as it ripped his son away into hyperspace was a raw, gaping wound in Vader's defenses. He had allowed himself hope and the Force responded as it always did. Luke's voice, plaintive, fearful, sad, whispering father into the link between them still echoed in his ears, pulsing the single word with each beat of his heart. It drummed the wound wider and deeper, a disease of longing for which he thought he long ago found the cure.

It dragged forth old memories, too, the spiteful thing. Other voices that said so much in a single word. Other losses he had been too weak to withstand.

That was it, wasn't it, he thought to the drumming word. It was reminding him of his weakness. Why he was puppet to Sidious' whims and not yet master himself. Why everything he desired slipped through his grip like oil.

Anakin Skywalker was weakness.

And in prideful want he had let the weakness back in.

Wakened by the realization, anger flooded into the dark lord, the Force of it bowing and creasing the walls of his quarters. His own mechanics threatened to crumple under the pressure and in shame-fueled masochism, Vader considered welcoming it. The agony of his broken body begging for life, a pitiful thing groaning and mewling at its master's feet.

Just like Mustafar, his memory purred. Like Obi-Wan…like Sidious. You bow to everyone stronger than you and there are just. so. many.

Father. Luke's voice thundered now, deafening, confident. Even crushed by the weight of the truth, the boy had been strong enough in his own will to defy everything. His failing health, his limited power, his instincts to survive.

Was even his own son too much for him?

No, he answered himself almost immediately, his Force growing still. Not yet.

But he had been powerful. Vader – and Anakin – needed that power. Needed it as he had needed such strength his entire life. It was where the two converged.

Balance struck through his anger, and the tremors in the room (and hall and parts of the hull) quieted. He would not, could not, release the want that was so deeply ingrained in his heart. But he would no longer fight it. Whatever it took, he would bring Luke to his side. Everything depended on it.

The blazing speed of hyperspace had never felt more like a snail's crawl for how long it seemed to take the Avenger to finally reach Coruscant. The ride had been agonizing for everyone, as Vicenious' barely subdued power flooded pain and loss through the ship. Brunson had pushed the beast of Destroyer to its top speeds, dangerous as they blazed the commonly used trail, but necessary if any of the crew were to survive the arrival. The Sith was a mess, she had noted when the woman returned.

It was an understatement. Vicenious was broken. Every inch of her hurt and, in her mind, she felt the Force prying its way around the balm Sidious placed upon her. It was only on Corusant, in the shadow of Imperial Palace, that she felt his full, unlimited power restrain the memories.

Yet, despite the block holding out the rest, flashes of what had already permeated her mind continued to play on repeat behind her eyes. As before, they were mostly incoherent, snatches of still life or faces blurred in time. But there were three, three that showed with vivid clarity and carried the most pain when they came. The homeless princess, the fledgling Jedi, and an old man with playful eyes.

The princess accompanied her across the Imperial Courtyard, at home in the imported blossoms. The old man shadowed her step as she crossed the pillared entryway. But the Jedi, the Jedi only came back when she reached the top spire and kneeled before Sidious' throne. Luke stood behind the Sith Master, cobalt eyes sparkling as they watched her.

"Bespin is yours, my lord." She choked out around the pressure he was Forced to use against her weakness. It was a comforting pain.

"As I expected of you, my apprentice."

Vicenious dipped her head lower - forehead nearly touching the ground – humbly accepting the praise.

"A poor use of your skill," he continued, rising, and slowly descending the steps. "But a necessary one. Calrissian had grown too bold, and his arrogance was a threat to our future."

He paused as he reached the final step, inches from his student. "I only wish our success did not cause you such suffering." He knelt, hand gently caressing her cheek and raising her face to meet his.

In her eyes, he saw her conflict, her disaster and his choice solidified. Yes…this was the only way that would work.

She restrained all urges to crawl into him and curl up in his lap, though she allowed herself the pleasure of leaning into his touch. It was more than calming – it was the only thing that felt right. "I am willing to suffer if it means your greatness, Master."

"Yes, I know." He pulled his hand away and Vicenious hated that she crawled a step to chase it. "It is why I need you to do something only you can do. But for that," Sidious breathed, "I need you to remember."

Suddenly, Sidious snatched away his protections, tearing with it the last vestiges of her crumbling walls and let the dam of her past surge free. The memories hit Vicenious like a thousand bolts, the density enough that she was sure she would be crushed under its weight before even beginning to understand what was happening.

The Force did not forget; every moment lived in its waves as fresh as if it only just occurred, and Sidious did not let even single event go astray, forcing her relive each second in hyperspeed. He could not afford it, though he was careful. Even as he shattered the barrier to let the truth pour into her, he ground deeper every lonesome moment, every dejection, rejection, failure or scolding, the honest negativity of her past now an acid that ate away at the love and devotion Ariala once held dear.

Tatooine became a prison, Ben became her jailer, Alderaan a lesson in love misplaced. There was nothing, the memories whispered to her, but pain and lies.

And then, it came to him, Sidious saw, and he reminded her of his kindness. The void he filled when she had nothing. How he built her back up, gave her purpose and home and family.

Bolstered as they were, the recollection that raced through Vicenious - reducing her to a wailing, writhing figure on his throne room floor - was, truly, enough to kill her; of that Sidious had no doubt. The mind – even one built to harness the Force – was not designed to bear such manipulation. But if she lived, the thing that rose in her place would finally be strong enough for his plans.

To be continued…