Naboo Rose

by Girlbender875

AU. Padmé, her adopted brother Obi-Wan, and her sister-in-law Siri walk a tightrope teetering between their roles as Rebels in the Imperial Senate and execution. To keep prying eyes off of their covert operations, Padmé must woo the most emotionless man the Empire has known: Darth Vader. This sends everyone into a world of intrigue, power plays, whirlwind romance, and more.

27. Out of Commission

Hm, these updates are coming way faster than I expect, lol. Also, lately I've been obsessed with the Myers-Briggs personality test and I don't know why, but it's made me want to see what kind of personality types my characters are. What do you guys think?

Ahem, anyway, enjoy the chapter - its length ought to excite you at the least.

---

Warmth enveloped him. He felt life surging through his veins, pulsating repeatedly. He heard whispers in his mind. He saw tendrils of decisions, of lives, form webs all around him. What was once a luminescent portrait, like dew drops on a silk web, was now a dingy and cold mass of mistakes, complications, and emotional turmoil. The Force was empty and frigid like a dead, barren forest in wintertime. But every winter came to an end, and spring would always triumphantly return.

The Light always won in the end.

Even in winter there was light; though the sun didn't shine for as long, and though the leaves were fallen from the trees, life continued. The Dark Side would try as hard as possible to beat life out of the galaxy, to suppress it in its cold embrace, but the galaxy would always fight back. And the Jedi would always lead it in the battle.

The web around him shuddered. Bonds snapped with such intensity it was like being punched in the face.

Mace Windu opened his eyes. The Force cried out and grew colder. Bright lives were snuffed out. He got a headache.

Something happened to Kota.

As if on cue, his comlink chimed. Windu activated it, his brow furrowed in concern. "Windu."

"General, we received notification from Gen. Kota's fleet that Death Squadron had engaged them, but we've heard nothing from them since. Should we send out a signal?"

Mace felt the pit of his stomach grow cold as if the Darkness had seeped inside his own body. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, and once again wrapped the warmth of the Light Side around him. He wouldn't risk it; he couldn't let the Sith win. "No. We should return to Ghanu'jivo; the other Jedi must be protected."

"Yes, sir."

Mace sighed heavily as he put the comlink on the floor beside him. He felt the weight of Kota's and Marek's deaths press firmly upon him as if the Force had thrown a boulder at him. The universe around him shifted. He closed his eyes, focusing keenly. Their deaths were saddening and disheartening, but he wouldn't let it affect his decision; if the two had fallen, Mace had to ensure any information about the Jedi remained safe. He had no way of contacting the Alliance since the Jedi had remained distant from both Empire and Rebels alike for their own safety.

Taking a deep breath, Mace tried to figure out the new scheme of things. He had a special ability to detect crucial connections in the Force between people or their decisions; he called them shatter points. Everyone contributed to the web of life that he saw in his mind, but some had more strings attached; some affected the web more than others. The loss of Kota and his Padawan tore at the fabric of this web, but it was quickly reforming. Mace focused intently, letting the Force give him insight into what happened. He found the trace pieces that were left left, the small influences from the two lost Jedi. It was hazy, and the Dark Side was making it difficult to ascertain anything, but that in itself answered his question. It must have been Darth Vader.

That Sith apprentice was more dangerous than any of them had suspected. Even Mace had to admit he'd been a little too proud in thinking that an apprentice was a lesser job for a Jedi of lower rank. He hadn't thought himself above the task so much as he simply thought that he'd be needed elsewhere for more important matters while other capable Jedi handled the issue. Apparently he'd been wrong. They all had been wrong. He felt frustration fill him as he knew that mistake had cost those two their lives and the lives of their soldiers. Even after all these years, the Jedi were still too cocky.

There is no emotion, there is peace.

Mace sighed, letting the mantra of the Code fill his mind. He had to calm down. He had to learn from the mistake, but he couldn't let it overpower him. He still needed to return to Ghanu'jivo where the other Jedi were hiding, but he couldn't leave the Rebels in such a dire situation; the entire reason they'd chosen now to attack the Empire was because the Rebels were falling apart. Nevertheless, since they'd never made themselves known to anyone, they also had no means of contacting the Alliance.

Well, almost no means.

Grabbing his comlink once more, Mace entered an encrypted channel, one he hadn't used in several years. It was typically only reserved for emergencies; the recipient visited Ghanu'jivo enough that it wasn't necessary to use the comlink anyway.

He heard a distinct click as the person on the other end answered. The person was silent, but Mace expected it. "Kota and his Padawan are dead."

There was a pause, and then a heavy sigh was heard from the other person.

"Have you heard from Organa?" Mace asked, giving the person little time to mourn.

"He requested my help," the other person replied.

"With the Alliance's war effort?"

"No. He remembers the stipulations of our agreement. It's more of our traditional role."

Mace caught the meaning. "Protection? You're not going to Alderaan, are you?"

There was amusement in the other's tone. "A little closer to the Core than that."

Mace closed his eyes and rubbed his face harshly in an attempt to release his irritation. "And you're actually going?"

"It's necessary."

"While you're there, then, ascertain the Alliance's status. Get me in contact with Organa."

"Yes, Master."

The other person ended the connection and Mace sighed once more, leaning against the wall. This wasn't how they had planned it, but they'd have to make do. Kota and Marek would be honored and remembered back home and then they'd formulate a new strategy.

Home. He'd just called that moon home. Blast it he'd been in exile too long. Images of the Jedi Temple passed fleetingly through his mind, tempting him to fall into a brooding mood, but he firmly pushed them out. He'd had twenty-one years to mourn what had happened. It was no longer time to sit around and bemoan their situation. It was time to rectify it.

---

Qui-Gon Jinn gazed out at hyperspace musingly. The tall man was sitting cross legged mainly to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling of the ship. He brushed some stray graying hair out of his face and pondered the situation in which the Force had placed him.

Master Windu's news explained the sudden tear in the Force that he'd sensed. Though it was difficult to tell anything about the galaxy these days due to the shroud of the Dark Side, every Jedi could still sense the loss of their own. He had no doubt the emperor had felt it as well – as soon as a Jedi became active their bright aura in the Force burned through anything. Kota and his Padawan were probably obvious to find for a Sith, but as Qui-Gon understood it, that had been the point; they'd wanted to attract the apprentice to them. It had been their task to eliminate him.

Qui-Gon reviewed information about the apprentice. He'd collected what little could be known about the Sith since he was told that the person he was to protect, Senator Padmé Amidala, was being watched by Darth Vader. He'd known about the apprentice long before this new assignment, but he figured he might be able to dig up more information. HoloNet was surprisingly devoid of anything useful, however, and Qui-Gon unfortunately had no connections to hack into Imperial Intelligence. From what he could ascertain, the Sith apprentice had first appeared in the public scene about nine years ago, and he had always been working with the military to quench any kind of uprisings. He was powerful, capable, ruthless, and efficient. And now that he'd killed Rahm and Galen, it was also apparent that he was quite adept at handling Force users. Qui-Gon wondered how he managed to get the training to fight Jedi so well; did Palpatine invest so much time in him? Why had Palpatine chosen Vader specifically? Where had Vader come from? Was he a lost Jedi initiate? His origins seemed like an insignificant matter, but they could be key to understanding him, especially if Qui-Gon were to run into him on Imperial Center. This mission would certainly be challenging, but it was also an irony; Palpatine had been the one to hide in plain sight for decades, and now it was Qui-Gon's turn.

All he knew was that Senator Organa had contacted him and told him that Senator Amidala was in danger. He'd told him to make contact with her upon his arrival. She supposedly would have important paperwork that would make him pass as some sort of aide so he could follow her in the senate building without raising suspicion. Qui-Gon had to confess that he didn't know much about Amidala before the assignment; his main priority had been on Imperial threats prior to this point and he therefore didn't concern himself much with the senate apart from those members who openly aided the Empire. When he did look up information on her, though, he took a distinct interest in her family.

A very long time ago, back in the day when black acrid smoke still billowed from the Jedi Temple, he'd heard the names Obi-Wan and Siri. They were Jedi hopefuls, younglings caught in the chaos and terror of the purges. Qui-Gon had helped them escape. He'd had to separate with them; Obi-Wan had gone with a smuggler who had been aiding them, while Siri had gone with Shaak Ti. Qui-Gon took several other younglings, but he never forgot any of their faces, especially Kenobi's. The boy had clung to him, crying, terrified. Qui-Gon had hated himself in the moment it took for him to tear the boy from himself and give him to the smuggler. He'd thought he'd never see the boy again.

How in the blazes had Kenobi and Tachi gotten so prominent? Did they know of their heritage? Were they trained? He doubted the last possibility; they would have gone to Ghanu'jivo and Shaak would have taken care of them. Besides, it would take serious discipline to hide their training right under Palpatine's nose. Qui-Gon was still wondering whether he himself would be able to accomplish the feat.

He had to prepare himself. Pushing all thoughts out of his mind, he immersed himself into the Force and awaited his arrival on Coruscant.

---

The cool night air made Obi-Wan shiver. He glanced at Siri worriedly and saw her trembling as well. Taking off his cloak, he wrapped it around her, garnering an irritated look.

"I'm not made of glass, you know," she said. "I won't just suddenly shatter on you."

"I know," Obi-Wan replied. Honestly, she was made of more durable material than he was… but he couldn't help but worry. It was just in his nature. Besides, despite her protest, she didn't offer the cloak back to him, so she was genuinely cold.

Bustling crowds jostled the two of them as they approached a cantina. Obi-Wan glanced around subtly to ensure for the millionth time that they weren't followed. Ever since lunch he'd been nervous, though he wouldn't admit it to Siri; she had enough concerns, and it was obvious she was doing the same, anyway.

By this point Obi-Wan had at least finally processed all the news he'd received over the past few days. Siri was Force sensitive. It made sense. It was a miracle that neither of them had been discovered, but after spending several days on Imperial Center fully aware of his ability, after standing right in front of Darth Vader and realizing that he sensed nothing, Obi-Wan was finally starting to ease his concern over the matter. No, his and his wife's gift in the Force wouldn't be noticed. The baby, on the other hand… that was an entirely different matter. They wouldn't have prenatal checks for a very long time assuming the pregnancy began when Obi-Wan thought it had, so they at least had time, but that didn't account for much. Al was still looking for the agent who had ordered Kelathik serum for his own devices, and Obi-Wan wasn't even sure Al would be able to find the concoction on his own. He shouldn't doubt the man's abilities; Al was a brilliant smuggler. It was just that… lately everything that could possibly go wrong had been going wrong. He was expecting that to continue for a while.

Obi-Wan wasn't a particularly superstitious person, but sometimes the universe seemed to want to prove him wrong. If he really did believe in luck, he'd say the Alliance had the worst luck in the history of creation. But there was no such thing as luck, and any situation could be tipped in one direction or the other – after all, Organa had escaped in one piece and it seemed like the Empire had no trail to follow in that regard. Padmé was safe.

He should amend that thought. She was safe from outside threats. She was still quite dangerous to herself at the moment.

Obi-Wan and Siri entered the cantina and sat in a booth. The Drunken Dewback Cantina was known as a cesspool of scum and villainy. Anyone who wanted a job or was offering one would be in the area. No one ever asked questions, and the place was the best kept secret on all of Imperial Center, so Imperials never bothered with it. Obi-Wan and Siri had often met Al and Kuna here.

Kuna. To think this had all started with that poor Rodian. Obi-Wan hoped his family was alright; he'd been so caught up in the repercussions of the man's death that he'd barely given any thought to those outside of the Alliance who were associated with him.

Kuna. Padmé. Vader. Siri. The baby. Al. Organa. Mothma. Dantooine. Yavin 4. Salkende. Everything had just fallen on them at once. Although he'd managed to sort everything out over the past few days, just looking at the bigger picture almost made his head spin. The room certainly did; he grew dizzy and closed his eyes, centering himself. He had to be the sturdy rock for everyone else at this point; he'd already come to the conclusion that Padmé had lost her senses and Siri would soon start to follow as her hormones got the best of her, though he was still more inclined to trust Siri than Padmé at this point. Nevertheless, Siri had quite the temper without hormones, so he couldn't imagine that would improve as time passed.

"Hey lovebirds!"

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and saw Al approaching. Blast it, he'd felt Al approaching. Up to this point he'd only noticeably detected Siri through the Force. Had he always been able to sense Al? How many others could he sense? Could he use the Force to find Padmé?

It was probably best not to attempt that here.

"You owe us dinner," Siri immediately remarked with a small smile.

Al grew confused. "How's that?"

"When you made us pay for your lunch yesterday." She reminded him.

Al pouted. "But… I just… my money…"

Obi-Wan sighed. "We'll pay for dinner."

Siri grumbled under her breath, but she didn't argue. Heaven only knew how much Al had to pay to silence or enlist any partner who had aided in the prison break; Obi-Wan wasn't going to add to that.

Al sat across from them and handed drinks to them. Siri glanced at hers questioningly, but both she and Obi-Wan quickly deduced that it was water. Obi-Wan on the other hand, was given a Twi'lek Fizz, and he was more than happy to gulp down its contents. Even he had his limits to the amount of stress he could bear, after all, and while he knew he had to be the one to care for everyone else, he also knew this would probably be his last chance to unwind for a long time.

"So," Al began dramatically, clapping his hands. "You want the good news or the better news?"

Obi-Wan and Siri immediately exchanged curious glances. Good news? "I'd almost forgotten there was such a thing."

"Our friend is safe and at home," Al immediately explained with an enormous grin. "Took kriffing forever to get in contact with his buddies, but we managed."

"Did they manage to move into their new home without a problem?"

Al tipped back and forth in an uncertain gesture. "Well, they're still house hunting, but no one's hounding them, at least."

Obi-Wan felt his gut clench a little but he pushed the anxiety aside. At least they were safe. He needed to count any tidbit of good news as a victory.

"Also, about that sage guy," Al continued, immediately catching Obi-Wan's attention. "Apparently our friend called some weird guru and he's coming tomorrow. Friend said that he left a care package for the guy with Padmé, but I'm not sure if it got to her in the craziness."

"There was an encrypted data chip from him," Siri offered. "That's probably it."

"Where is it?" Obi-Wan asked.

"I left it on Padmé's desk. She should have it now."

It almost seemed like things were turning in their favor, but Obi-Wan was far from ready to admit it.

"Any luck finding the agent?" Siri asked. "Or getting Kelathik serum?"

Al sighed, his chipper attitude diminishing somewhat. "I've got a lead on the guy, but I haven't laid eyes on him yet. I think I've narrowed his living space down to a sector, which is pretty good considering I had to scour an entire planet. As for Kelathik… it's a work in progress. My buddy on Nar Shaddaa is trying to find the dealer, but we're not having much luck in that department. It's okay, though – it's my top priority now, I promise."

Obi-Wan felt Siri tense beside him. He took a deep breath and another generous sip from his drink. With that Jedi protector coming things could potentially improve – the protector might know how to hide the child from the Empire.

Blast it. Would he have to explain Padmé's emotional situation to the protector? That wouldn't go well. Honestly, he still needed to talk to Padmé herself about it; his last few attempts hadn't really gone well, and… he would say it would be better to leave it alone as he normally did, but the more time she spent alone the worse it seemed to get. He just couldn't fathom it. He understood that Padmé had such a gentle and caring nature that she always wanted to help people, but she was also an intelligent woman; she should be able to recognize Darth Vader as the obvious threat that he was.

Again he wondered what in the blazes had happened on Naboo. How did so much change in the course of two weeks?

Was Padmé actually right?

As Siri and Al started an animated conversation about his search for the agent, Obi-Wan settled further into his seat and contemplated the matter. What if Padmé was right? Could Vader somehow be an asset? It didn't seem likely; in fact it seemed nearly ludicrous just to imagine. Obi-Wan knew that he was best at analyzing people's emotions and their decisions when he himself wasn't involved in the situation. He knew that since this involved Padmé and put her in such a dangerous situation, it was part of the reason he couldn't quite fathom what was happening. Her emotions seemed spastic, obtrusive, abrupt – he couldn't explain any of that.

His love for Siri had been steady, and he could see the logical progression as their relationship had evolved. He knew the catalyst had been their adventure with the first Rebel they'd ever met. He understood Siri, her complexities, her simplicities, everything. But Padmé… he should be able to understand his younger sister, but he could never wrap his mind around her fix it persona. Intellectually she knew she couldn't save everyone, yet she still had her pathetic life forms that she had to help. It just… didn't make sense. This new charity case of hers, this love of hers… he couldn't fathom it. He shouldn't be surprised – love was a difficult emotion to understand, and the expression love is blind was quite true in this instance, but… but…

Blast it, if Padmé could at least articulate why this had happened it would be something. Perhaps what bothered Obi-Wan the most was that she refused to explain why she felt the way she did. She wasn't foolish enough to simply fall for Vader's trap when he asked for her help – there had to be another reason. She'd said it was too private – why hadn't she just told him?

I understand loving someone, Padmé, he thought, as if he were having a conversation with her right now. But not like this. Not him. Tell me why it has to be him. What did he say or do that convinced you he's "not as bad as we thought"? Are your emotions simply getting in the way of logic? Or are you right?

Obi-Wan sipped at his drink as Siri and Al continued to talk and he resolved to discuss the matter with Padmé tomorrow after the senate session. He would make this right somehow.

---

The large room was cold, formal, and uninviting. The furniture was designed to look similar to familiar architecture, but it didn't quite capture its essence – it was still too foreign. The air freshener irritated his nostrils, but if he left the apartment the stink of chemically filtered "clean" air would only give him a headache. The chilly moisture made his arm ache.

Gazing out the enormous curved window of Senator Tlenden's apartment, Éothen marveled at the view. He'd seen gorgeous starry skies, but he'd never seen a city match it. Also, did these people ever sleep? The traffic was still insane out there and there were only two hours left until midnight.

The typically harsh lighting of the room had been dimmed considerably, and light blue sconces bathed the room in a gentle glow. A holographic fire crackled in the background. Everything about Imperial Center was so pristine, but so very fake. It reflected its government quite well, honestly.

Éothen sighed heavily and leaned back into the sofa. A sharp sensation shot through his left arm, making him wince.

"Still bothering you, huh?"

Éothen glanced at Erwyna. She'd been staring at the holographic fire in silence for a few minutes while Tlenden paced at the window. He hadn't been very happy with either of them for their stunt last night, but Éothen had been quite adamant in defending his actions; it was ludicrous that Tlenden did nothing active to aid the Rebels. He didn't even have to get directly involved, for Mother's sake – he could just help somehow. He was far from the war back home – what else did he have to do, anyway? It wasn't like the senate was actually useful; to have a bunch of loud mouthed imbeciles in one room was beyond asinine.

He abruptly remembered that Erwyna had asked a question, and he just shrugged. That made his arm hurt again. Blast it.

"If you hadn't gone running off last night your arm would be almost healed by now," Tlenden remarked, sounding annoyed.

"I've been leaving it be since then," Éothen replied stubbornly. He rolled his eyes towards Erwyna, who smirked and returned her gaze to the hologram.

"Your mother sent you here to rest," Tlenden said notably.

"I always relax best when doing something I enjoy." Éothen smiled serenely at the senator. He shouldn't be irritating the man so much – Káern's decision to ally with Éothen's family had saved them. Still, Káern was a politician, and Éothen had very little patience for their sort, especially if it was all they'd ever done. He supposed somebody had to do it, but that didn't mean he liked them for it.

Well, maybe except for Amidala. She was at least decent. Okay, fine, she was a lot more than decent, but that was beside the point at the moment.

"Éothen, stop playing around with me," Káern warned. He stopped pacing and walked around the sofa to face Éothen. "That was foolish and dangerous."

"So you stated last night," Éothen pointed out a little tiredly. "I understand your concern, Káern, but—"

"But you don't regret your decision," he interrupted, crossing his arms and sighing. "How do you expect me to follow your mother's orders if you don't listen to me?"

"You never specifically said don't break Organa out of prison." Éothen smiled.

"I'll be sure to write a list of things you can and cannot do," Tlenden replied dully.

Erwyna continued to gaze at the hologram, but an amused smile crossed her face.

"I promise I won't cause any more trouble." Éothen said sincerely. "The immediate concern is handled."

"The immediate concern is you, not Senator Organa."

Éothen grew even more exhausted. He was a little tired of being everybody's immediately concern. Nevertheless, he didn't say anything; it was his duty to do this, and his family was far more important than just him.

But he'd most certainly voice his displeasure to Erwyna if Tlenden ever decided to go to bed.

"So what's the plan, then?" he finally asked to move the conversation along.

"Have you heard of the Dalja Clan?"

Éothen wracked his memory for the name. "I think…?"

Káern looked exasperated. "You should know them – they're the second largest clan and they own a little less of Jord than my family."

Suddenly the name clicked. Éothen grew annoyed. "They're also the people who said they'd sit and watch how things played out. They still haven't done anything."

"If you marry the leader's daughter that would change things."

Éothen grew even more irritated. "I won't marry someone from that clan. They've done nothing to help us."

"Perhaps someone from one of Ønske's allies," Erwyna suggested softly, still gazing intently at the holographic fire.

As Tlenden prattled on about the importance of making good connections and how Éothen's marriage could be an apt opportunity to do so, Éothen found himself tuning the man out. If Káern wanted to make good connections, then he should realize that Éothen would only choose someone who would benefit his clan – those who carried their own weight, who were willing to fight for what they believed in. Eventually he moaned, rubbing his left arm dramatically. "Please, Káern, can we save this discussion for the morning?"

Tlenden's face immediately softened, and he sighed in resignation. "You can't keep pushing this off."

"I'm not," Éothen argued halfheartedly. Honestly he wasn't trying to push it off – he hadn't been keen on coming to Imperial Center in the first place and was more than ready to take on the burden that had been handed to him. But he just wanted to get to the marrying part already – the planning and politics were beyond him. He was raised to be a warrior and a man of honor; as long as his wife understood that and was capable of handling the other matters, and as long as his parents thought she was suitable, he was more than happy to just say yes and be done with it.

"Far," Erwyna looked at Tlenden, addressing him respectfully by his status in his clan; she was a distant relative of his, after all. "I'm sure the commander will be more than happy to discuss the matter with you after the senate session tomorrow."

Éothen was about to agree when he recalled the opera he'd be invited to watch. Hm. Should he tell Tlenden about that?

Nah.

"Very well," Tlenden acquiesced to Erwyna. Then he walked over to Éothen and placed his hand on Éothen's head between his montrals. The sensation was odd, making his hollow montrals tingle with a soft buzz, but he knew it was just Káern trying to be reassuring. "Rest well, Perillinen."

At that the senator left. As soon as he went upstairs Éothen and Erwyna both burst into action, standing and talking at once in their more comfortable dialect of Iohtu.

"I thought he'd never go to bed—"

"The nerve of even suggesting that worthless clan—"

"Is your arm really hurting?" Erwyna asked.

Éothen was about to shrug again when he remembered what the result was last time. Instead he waved his right hand. "A little, but it's not awful." Then he smiled slyly at her. "Will you massage me if I say it hurts more?"

Erwyna rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure. Come closer and I'll throw you down the stairs. Will that work?"

"So violent, tsk, tsk," Éothen shook his head disapprovingly.

"Scared?"

"Petrified."

"So what was the deal with the senator, anyway?" Erwyna asked, sitting once more.

"What about her?"

Erwyna rolled her eyes. "You invited her to lunch, remember?"

Éothen barked out a laugh. "You heard me invite her? It's rude to eavesdrop."

"I figured you'd say something stupid to her," Erwyna shrugged.

Éothen grew annoyed. "Stupid?"

"You boys all say the same dumb pick-up lines," Erwyna shook her head. "It's just sad. I've told you how to get a lady's attention, but you don't listen to me."

Éothen laughed a little. "It's not like that."

"Uh huh."

"It's not." He insisted. Honestly, it really wasn't – sure, the senator was gorgeous, and he wouldn't mind, but this wasn't another war torn town the army happened to be passing through. He couldn't just hook up with any old thankful loose young thing awaiting the soldiers. Besides, he was SpecForces now – they made an oath to dedicate their entire mind, body, and spirit to their work. The only reason Éothen was allowed to marry was because of his clan's dire circumstances.

But if he had the choice… well. It was complicated, that was all.

"So why'd you ask her to lunch, then?"

That was a loaded question. "I don't know. She's pretty."

Erwyna laughed loudly. "Ah, the height of intelligence. You're living proof that men need women to ensure they don't kill themselves by their own stupidity."

"Care to demonstrate your womanly ways?" he flirted harmlessly, flashing a smile. This was typical for both of them; honestly, it was typical for any soldier. It was just how they coped. They always had to put on a veneer of civility around those outside their circle; civilians just never understood things the way they did. They didn't see the things Éothen and Erwyna saw.

"You couldn't handle me," Erwyna replied seductively and then pushed her previous agenda. "So you went to lunch with her 'cause she's pretty?"

"She looked stressed," he reasoned honestly. "I was too. We just broke somebody out of a prison."

"So how'd it go?"

"She was kind of out of it."

"Aw, you didn't catch her fancy?"

"Come on," Éothen chuckled. "No senator would dare look at a soldier that way; Mother forbid the press catch wind of it. I just figured I'd cheer her up."

"And she's pretty."

"And she's pretty," he added innocently. "What, I've never seen a foreign woman before. Her Basic has a nice accent to it. She's got a nice voice. And damn. That body."

Erwyna sighed heavily. "Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. What's your future wife going to do with you?"

Éothen eyed her suggestively and twitched his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I shouldn't have opened my mouth on that one," she laughed. "So that was it, then? Just lunch to cheer up a pretty foreigner?"

"She invited me to the opera," he said, suddenly growing a little confused. Sure, Amidala was a nice lady and easy on the eyes, but he hadn't expected her to take interest in him. He'd been sincere at lunch, but she was a politician; he knew she was only indulging him. Using him. He didn't care; it didn't affect his life back at home, and it was always nice to rant to a harmless stranger. Still, he'd be lying if he hadn't enjoyed himself. Even if she was faking, she at least made people feel nice while she did it. And who knew – maybe she wasn't faking, and maybe she actually did enjoy being around him like he did with her. But that wasn't likely – Éothen knew politicians were all the same. Even Káern. The only trustworthy people were the ones who'd actually been on the battlefield, who'd actually experienced the repercussions of the decisions politicians made. The day a politician hit the battlefield would be the day he respected him or her, and while Amidala had shown she was capable of doing so, she hadn't taken the initiative for it – Éothen had offered and she'd accepted. Honor dictated he should offer, anyway. She was a step above the others, particularly since she came from Naboo, but that didn't make her at his level just yet. He'd definitely be willing to give her the chance to prove otherwise, though, but that chance wasn't likely to occur.

"The opera? Oooh, fancy." Erwyna swooned mockingly. "What are you going to wear?"

Éothen paused. Well, shavit. What was he going to wear? "Would my formal uniform work?"

Erwyna shrugged. "Hell if I know. It's not like soldiers actually go anywhere like that. This place is for the delicate folk, not us. You should ask Tlenden."

Éothen shook his head violently. "Hell no, I'm not telling him."

Erwyna grew annoyed. "I assume that means I have to cover for you?"

Éothen dashed over to her and snatched her into a hug with his right arm. "I'll love you forever."

"I'm not doing it."

"I'll find hot men to give you massages."

"Maybe."

"And they won't be wearing anything."

"Deal."

Éothen chuckled. "We're going to a special hell when we die."

"It's inevitable." She agreed with a smile. "It'll probably be nicer than the one reserved for these people, though."

She gestured around the area. Éothen added his silent agreement to her before he wandered towards the window. "I wonder what it's like living a constant haze of arrogance and ignorance," he thought aloud, looking outside.

Erwyna snickered.

"Seriously, though," Éothen pressed on, watching traffic go by. "Everybody here, they just live in their own little bubble. I bet you nobody in this apartment could tell you anything about people in the next building. Or the lower buildings. Especially the lower buildings."

"To be fair, we don't really care for anything outside of Salkende."

"Yeah, but that's because we've got real issues on Salkende." Éothen replied. "What issues do cloud dwellers have?"

"Getting thrown in jail, apparently."

"Yeah, and enlisting foreigners to help bust them out because they're incapable of doing it themselves."

"So why are you going to the opera if you think so little of her?"

"It's not her," Éothen shook his head. "It's just all of them."

"You like her, don't you?"

Éothen pondered the matter. "Yeah, I guess. But that doesn't mean much here."

"So why's she taking you to the opera?"

"Publicity?" Éothen shrugged, and then winced again as his arm screamed in protest.

"I could come along as security. I'm sure there are handsome men out there who I can sing with."

Éothen snorted in an attempt to hide a laugh. "Steamy songs backstage, mm-mmm… can I watch?"

"Pff, like you haven't seen it before?"

"The setting's different," he offered with a smirk.

"I don't think your senator friend would approve."

Éothen sighed dramatically. "What am I going to do? I'll be bound to a chair and forced to watch bellowing people wearing so much makeup they could spontaneously combust."

Erwyna crossed her arms and watched him shrewdly. "You're going to fall asleep during the opera, aren't you?"

Éothen smiled sheepishly. "Probably."

---

Al watched his breath exit his mouth and form a cloud of mist in the thick, moist air. He'd left the Drunken Dewback about an hour ago and was prowling the streets in search of some sort of clue for the Intelligence agent. The sooner he found that guy, the sooner he could ensure Obi-Wan and Siri's youngling was safe.

Their youngling. Al couldn't believe it. Siri was pregnant.

It was silly to think that it wouldn't eventually happen, but after everything else that had been going on, that had been the last news Almusian would have expected to hear. It made his insides squirm and made him jittery with nervous energy. The small window of time they originally were given just shrank significantly, and they were relying on him to handle the matter.

Thinking about them starting a family briefly made him recall his own family. Before he'd fallen into crime he'd lived happily with his parents and two siblings on his homeworld of Gleeshra, but after he'd finally given up on any legal way of life he'd dissociated himself from them for their own safety. He hadn't seen his family in a decade. Stars, he missed them.

Turning sharply, Al squeezed between people in the crowd. It was almost midnight, but the crowds still weren't thinning. It reminded him of Nar Shaddaa, though at least here it smelled infinitely nicer, and though the lower sections were still pretty dirty they weren't anywhere near as bad as the city-moon. This place was still a daunting maze, though, and while he'd narrowed down the agent's location to a sector, that still left him with hundreds of floors filled with shops, apartments, schools, churches, temples, shrines, shelters, restaurants, businesses, and anything else under the artificial sunlight. And all he had was a physical description and an alias that had only succeeded in telling him at which spaceport the man had arrived.

It didn't matter. He had to find the agent for Obi-Wan and Siri's sakes. He had to find him for their baby.

Over the past few years that Al had gotten to know Obi-Wan and Siri, they'd become very close friends, and after Kuna's death they were practically the closest connections he had. He wasn't going to let them down now. The real question was what the blazes he would do with the agent after he found him. He obviously would blackmail him with what he knew, but how would he get Kelathik serum? What would he tell the agent to do? He figured he'd start by asking who the agent got it from; then he could have his contact on Nar Shaddaa track the person. Al would find the dealer, find her source, and start peddling the stuff on his own; he wouldn't risk having a middle man for Obi-Wan and Siri.

Turning down an alley that was a shortcut to the next street, Al glanced around dully to ensure the locals didn't cause him trouble; he was steadily climbing the levels, so the crime rate would decrease, but he was still fairly low in the city. There were plenty of poor and desperate people around here. He felt bad for them, but priorities were priorities – if Al felt guilty over every poor sod he saw he would've given up his life of crime as soon as he'd started it. He supposed that made him cold hearted, but he preferred to think of it as his logical side – he couldn't save everyone, and even if he did, they'd only be replaced by other—

Wait, what was that?

Pausing a millisecond, Al stiffened and then resumed his walk. He thought he heard someone behind him. Eventually he tossed a cautious glance over his shoulder. No one was there. Was he imagining things? He hadn't had that much to drink, and what little he did have was wearing off by now. Maybe it had been one of the people sleeping in the alley?

Quickening his pace, Al hastily entered a busy street once more, feeling the safety of the crowd engulf him. His blaster hand remained tense and hovered just over his weapon, which was hidden under his coat. As the hairs on his body stood up he felt his breath quicken and he constantly looked everywhere to ensure no one was following him. Had he picked up a tail at the cantina? Was it just a thug? What was going on?

Growing even more anxious, Al eventually started to trot through the crowd, and when he glanced back he saw someone matching his pace. Shavit. This person obviously didn't care if he or she was noticed, which meant it wasn't just about gathering information. Since they were still in the lower levels, Al could easily be picked off without anyone batting an eye. Al weaved in and out of groups of people. He was still being followed. He passed through several markets and even slipped through a club or two. He was still being followed, and this new parasite was gaining on him.

No sense in being subtle now. Breaking out into a full run, Al shoved his way passed people, knocking some over and nearly tripping over an enormous Trandoshan's foot. He once again looked behind him. A figure was chasing him. Feeling his adrenaline skyrocket, Al continued to run as fast as he could through the streets as the people around him remained oblivious. If he could reach the nearest taxi pad or bus stop maybe he could snatch a ride and get away. He didn't know how or why, but his follower's lack of concern over being spotted was indication that Al was probably marked.

Sithspit. He was marked. How could he have forgotten what had happened before he'd left for the final recess?

Al started muttering every swear word he knew between gasps of air. Eventually he saw another relatively abandoned alley and squeezed into it, finding the nearest dumpster to use as cover. As soon as he entered it he dove for the dumpster, rolling behind it and pulling out his blaster just as his pursuer arrived and opened fire.

The shot was loud and rang in his ears, slamming into the ground where he'd been a few seconds ago. It diffused rapidly in an electrical burst and didn't leave much of a mark on the pavement – a stun bolt. Somebody wanted him alive. That couldn't be good.

Hazarding a glance around the dumpster Al caught sight of a female humanoid, though whether she was Human or not he couldn't tell in the split second he got to examine her. He quickly ducked behind the dumpster again as another shot hit the area. He heard her approaching, so he shot blindly once and then looked before shooting again. She quickly dodged the attack and retreated to the edge of the alley so she could hide behind the wall of the building. The large crowds outside the alley were either oblivious to the firefight or so used to it that they were unperturbed.

The two continued to exchange weapon fire for a few seconds before part of the dumpster melted from being hit too much. Al flinched and jumped back a bit as hot metal chunks flew towards his face. Yelping, he quickly shoved off whatever landed on his skin. In that time another bolt singed his arm, and he felt the effects make the arm go numb and limp. Swearing, he fired blindly several times while running towards the other end of the alley.

He reached the other side and rushed into the open once more, using the crowd as a cover. His pursuer ran after him, but she was smart enough to not fire into the mob. Almusian ducked between people to keep himself out of sight, gasping for air, but the effects of his arm wound threw him off balance. He started bumping into people left and right, garnering angry scowls and interjections, and everything started to grow blurry. Panicking he pushed his body harder and reached for his comlink, calling any frequency that would respond; he'd been on Imperial Center enough to make a few illegal buddies here – it was the sensible thing to do in his line of work. Heaven willing, he'd be able to find those associates before his pursuer found him.

Al groaned as he bumped into someone else and it sent him tumbling to the ground. He slammed headfirst into the duracrete. Some people jostled him, others walked around him, and a few stopped to gawk or ask if he was okay. He heard the fast footsteps of his pursuer and he tried to reorient himself and leap to his feet once more. The world was spinning and he felt woozy and tired and panicked all at once. Warm liquid began to puddle around his head where he'd fallen—was he bleeding? His legs twitched in an effort to get moving once more, and he staggered to a standing position, nearly toppling on some of the bystanders who'd stopped. He felt the ghost of fingers behind him grasp at his collar and he whirled around and shoved his attacker away with his good arm. Definitely a Human; small build, black hair, black eyes, black clothes, black blurs—wait, no, that was just the—wait—

Blast it, focus!

Al stumbled away from her and half ran, half tripped as quickly as he could. He heard her gaining on him once more and he looked around desperately for some kind of help or cover or something when he noticed people were starting to avoid him altogether – they realized what was going on and didn't want to get caught in the middle of it. Feeling isolated and alone amidst hundreds of people, Al grew cold and finally felt his legs give out under him. His pursuer was right behind him.

BANG.

Al jumped but didn't quite register the sound. He heard a person shout out and then felt hands dig into his arms and roughly pull him up. "You okay? Al? Al!"

That voice sounded familiar…

Al glanced around blearily and he caught sight of a familiar face – the man was an arms dealer who Al had worked for in the past. What was he doing here? Looking back at his attacker he saw her laying on the ground, smoke tendrils emitting from a blaster wound in her chest. As Al felt his associate drag him away from the scene of the crime he saw the woman twitching; she wasn't dead. Pointing to her with his good arm he tried to note that she was still alive; she was probably wearing some kind of blaster-proof mesh. However, he couldn't articulate anything by that point, and he was roughly dragged through alleys, streets, and turbolifts for an eternity before he ended up in some dingy looking shop.

"Al what the hell were you doing?"

Al mumbled a reply, but he finally started to lose consciousness… until he was smacked soundly on the face. That made his head hurt a million times more.

"Ouch!" he snapped, coming back to awareness.

"What the hell happened?"

"I dunno!" Al slurred, trying to regain his balance. "Stun bolt… crazy lady… head… bad stuff…"

His partner sighed heavily. "No kidding. Look, go lay down on the cot in the back. We'll sort this out later. You need to lay low for a while; you're stuck with me for the next few days."

Al mumbled a protest as he was tossed into the back room. "Gotta find… crazy… no… Kela…th…"

"Shut up and sleep it off," his associate replied before closing the door, and then everything faded into black.

---

Padmé sat on her bed, small pieces of the shoto strewn all over the blanket. The half completed hilt was in her hands, warm from constant contact. She was almost finished with the crystal chamber according to the readout, and she was engrossed in her work.

She still hadn't decided what she'd say to Vader upon his return. She wasn't sure when he'd be coming back, but she still hoped it wasn't for a little while. How was she going to go about this? She'd promised full honesty – she'd done it on the hopes of finally getting some information out of him, but it had to go both ways; she couldn't hide her allegiance to the Alliance. So what in the blazes was she going to do? How was she going to convince him in the span of one conversation that it was okay to be a Rebel? There was absolutely no way she could convince him that the emperor wouldn't mind, so that wasn't even an option… was it? Even if she did somehow convince Vader that Palpatine would be fine with it, she had little doubt that he'd go to the emperor and ask just to be sure.

From the way Vader had described her back in Thecine it seemed like she was more of a pet project, but she knew she meant more than that to him. He wanted to trust her, but his pragmatism wouldn't allow for it. His indoctrination wouldn't allow for it. He'd gone out of his way to show he cared, whether it was through hugging her in the senate building, giving her a shoto to make, allowing her to drag him around the Lake Country, or allowing her to handle the rebellious slaves on CC4. He did care about her. And she cared about him.

So why couldn't it just be that simple?

"Why am I even asking myself that?" she muttered, plopping the half finished hilt on her bed. She'd been going in circles ever since she found out about Mon's execution. She wasn't sure she'd ever be ready for Vader's return.

Sighing she looked at the data pad. Two chips were inserted; one contained the manual that Vader had provided for the shoto and the other was some kind of profile for an imaginary aide from Bail. She presumed it had to do with the Jedi protector they'd be getting. Honestly, she'd completely forgotten about the Jedi; she'd assumed Bail never got word to the person, so she'd been prepared for the usual: relying on herself, Obi-Wan, Siri, and Al. It was kind of reassuring thinking that a Jedi would be arriving, but Padmé wasn't sure how he or she would help the situation, particularly if Padmé and Vader started meeting often. Frankly it only seemed to make matters worse.

She also had a tab open for opera showings. She'd just bought two tickets for Cemran tomorrow night. It had been almost surreal ordering the tickets; it seemed extraordinary to be doing something so normal, almost as if it were a luxury. Padmé suddenly felt like a foreigner in a sea of people who lived everyday lives, and she felt all the lonelier for it. It felt like it was just her against the Empire.

Padmé paused as she heard Obi-Wan and Siri returning. Glancing at the chronometer she was surprised to see it was one in the morning. Quickly putting away the shoto pieces (she figured it wouldn't be a good thing for them to see), Padmé entered the den and saw them removing their cloaks. They both looked exhausted.

"Where've you two been?" she asked hesitantly. She didn't want to bring up their argument from yesterday, but she still was worried.

"We were meeting with Al, remember?" Siri said dully, sluggishly heading towards her room.

"Yes, but you never said where or for what." Padmé noted, glancing at Obi-Wan.

"Kelathik serum," Obi-Wan answered. "And the agent. He's not had much luck on either account."

"He's got a lead," Siri argued groggily from her bedroom.

"Oh right," Obi-Wan gave a ghost of a smile. He looked worse than Padmé felt; his skin was pale and he had dark circles under his eyes.

"We can talk about it in the morning," Padmé suggested as she observed him. He needed rest.

"I'd like to talk, yes," Obi-Wan muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Padmé suddenly felt tired too. She didn't want to argue anymore. Why couldn't he just let it go? "Sure, just go to bed."

As her brother did as she said, Padmé slowly trudged back to her own room. Closing the door she slipped under the blanket and lay awake for another hour, unable to sleep but too tired to think straight or do anything. Eventually, though, she finally slipped into unconsciousness.

---

Honestly, she would complain about her headache but that seemed to be a constant thing now.

Siri grumbled as the alarm mercilessly compounded her pain. She reached blindly to turn it off when it suddenly stopped. Growling, she kicked the blanket off the bed and looked over to tell Obi-Wan to get up, but he was gone. Slowly dressing in one of her handmaiden gowns, Siri carelessly tied her blonde hair out of her face and entered the den to see him sitting on the couch with a cup of caffa in his hand. His eyes were closed as if he was concentrating on something, but the fact that his grip on his cup was steadily slipping indicated he was just falling asleep.

"Obi." She said.

Her husband immediately opened his eyes with a startled jolt and he sighed, squeezing them shut once more. "Is Padmé ready?"

Ready? What time was it? Siri glanced at her chronometer and was shocked to see that it was about the time they'd be leaving rather than getting up. How many alarms did she sleep through?

Blast it all, how was she going to eat?

"I packed some breakfast for you, don't worry," Obi-Wan mumbled.

Siri glanced at him. Had she said that out loud? Or had he sensed it? Or did he just know her that well?

Oh to hell with it all. She didn't care.

"Morning," Padmé said as she entered the den from the kitchen. Apparently she was just finishing her breakfast.

"Did I miss the fun?" Siri asked as she helped Obi-Wan stand. Had he already told her about the Jedi?

"Fun?" Padmé questioned.

"No, I was attempting to collect my thoughts," Obi-Wan replied slowly, his brow furrowed as he took another sip of caffa.

"We can talk on the way, then," Siri remarked, motioning towards the door. "Where's my food?"

Obi-Wan wordlessly picked up a small bag and held it for her to see. "I'll drive. You eat."

Siri smirked as she took the food. It had been a while since Obi-Wan had driven the speeder, and he often preferred not to drive at all on Imperial Center; he hated the traffic. This would at least provide her with some entertainment as she ate.

The three exited the apartment and hopped into the speeder, entering the morning traffic. The sky was a bland pink with clouds already covering most of the sunlight; another dull, rainy day. Blast it all she hated the wet season.

"Padmé, you recall that Senator Organa was going to send us a Jedi protector?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Yes," she replied evenly.

"He should be arriving today."

Siri munched on her breakfast nonchalantly, barely listening. She'd forgotten the Jedi was showing up today, but at the moment she was too exhausted to care about much of anything. The food was at least helping her headache, though.

"Do you know when?"

"No. Al also mentioned that the senator sent information about his cover identity. Siri said she left it on your desk."

"Yes, I looked it over." Padmé replied. "Apparently he's going to be an aide."

Siri perked up immediately. "Oh, so I get to order him around? This should be fun."

Obi-Wan smiled gently, garnering some amusement from the remark. The three sat in silence for a time, and as they did so Siri pondered the matter. Thinking about the Jedi protector blatantly reminded her of their actual mission on Imperial Center; ever since they'd gotten back they'd been cleaning up disasters rather than actually gathering any sort of valuable information for the Rebels, but she wasn't sure what kind of information they could gather right now. Their best hope was Al; if he found the agent then maybe they could help the Alliance that way. Honestly, though, her biggest priority was the baby.

Speaking of all the disasters they'd had to handle, though… "Hey, I was thinking maybe we could all go out to eat together after today's session."

Obi-Wan and Padmé glanced at her in unison. Siri shrugged. "It'd give us something to do apart from running around meeting Rebels and killing Imperials. As much fun as that is, I figure it'd be nice to sit down long enough to breathe and eat something apart from cantina food or sandwiches."

The other two continued to stare at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. Siri rolled her eyes. Did they not think she was terrified too? Stressed? Bone tired? For heaven's sake, she was the one carrying the baby. She expected Padmé to get caught up in the insanity of everything occurring; it's what she always did. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, typically had enough wherewithals to… oh, who was she kidding? He got caught up in everything as well. Siri was the only one who realized that they needed a sanity break.

"I can't," Padmé eventually said.

If this had something to do with Vader… "Why not?"

"I'm going to the opera."

Obi-Wan and Siri both looked at her in confusion. "What?"

"I invited Éothen to the opera yesterday. We're going tonight." She explained sincerely. "I'm actually… kind of looking forward to it."

Siri was baffled. Was Padmé trying to convince Salkende to help through Éothen? Was she trying to figure out if he'd keep her secret about the prison breakout? Was she trying to get to know him? When did this happen? She knew Padmé had gone to lunch with him, but… this was just… Siri shook her head. Too much. This was all too much.

"When's the opera?"

"1800."

Obi-Wan exhaled slowly. Something was frustrating him. Siri was tempted to ask, but she figured it had to do with Padmé, so she'd wait until lunch.

The trio eventually arrived at the senate building without much of a fuss. Obi-Wan and Padmé went to their separate offices and Siri found Cordé and Ieru. As she reviewed the agenda for the day and any incomplete business from yesterday, she noticed Ieru winced as she received a data pad. "You okay?"

Ieru nodded. "I fell last night. Got a bad bruise from it."

Siri watched her for a little while longer, but she seemed like she'd be able to handle the day's work just fine, so she let it drop. Once the morning session began she busied herself and tried not to think too much about everything going on; it was doing wonders for her headache.

About an hour before lunch, Siri was standing in the foyer of the Chommell Sector offices glossing over some information when someone entered. Looking up expecting to see a handmaiden, she was surprised to see a tall man with a sturdy build, large nose, intelligent light blue eyes, shoulder length brown hair, and a graying moustache and beard. His gaze immediately fell upon her and she felt electricity shoot through her. Her heart rate increased and she took a small step back from him as if the energy he exuded would burn her, but at the same time a gentle peace fell upon her as he smiled.

"Siri Naberrie?" he asked in a softly accented voice.

"Yes," she answered slowly, trying to regain her composure. "Who are you?"

"I'm the new aide."

Son of a Hutt, is that what a Jedi felt like in the Force? But if she could sense it, couldn't Vader?

Vader. Right. She said she'd investigate where he was. Great, something else to do.

He's staring at you. Say something. "Uh… right. Right, the new aide. I remember. You… what's your name?"

He smiled. "I have a few names."

What? Oh. Oh. "Uh, there's a care package for you. I'll get it."

Siri hastily entered Padmé's office and closed the door behind her, taking several deep breaths to calm down. She'd never dreamed of meeting a Jedi, but now that one was standing right in front of her it was the strangest feeling in the universe. She needed to get her head on straight. Grabbing the data chip provided by Bail, Siri reentered the foyer and inserted it into a data pad, accessing the information. "Okay. So you're Lymen? Lymen D'jen?"

"Yes, that's me." He answered with a graceful tip of his head. He was so poised. Everything he did looked like the simplest yet most dignified act.

"Nice to meet you," she bowed slightly, not wanting to take her eyes off him. She noticed that the Jedi was examining her intently, and she asked, "Is… something wrong?"

"Not at all," he replied. "I trust we can speak freely?"

Siri nodded. "I'm the only one here right now. The other handmaidens are in the arena with everybody else at the moment."

He nodded and then immediately went to business. "What's the situation?"

Ah, yes. How could she possibly explain that Darth Vader had killed Sabé and was keeping a keen eye on Padmé, and that Padmé herself had fallen in love with him, and that they'd broken Bail out of prison, and that she and Obi-Wan were Force sensitive, and that she was pregnant, and… Siri's headache returned and she held back a moan.

The Jedi sat on a sofa and motioned to a seat across from it. Siri slowly walked to the seat, grateful for a chance to sit. "I'm not sure where Vader is right now, but I know Padmé's not safe. He killed one of the other handmaidens."

The Jedi nodded again, listening. Siri watched him for a few seconds more and shifted uncomfortably, suddenly wanting to burst – she just wanted to say everything, but this wasn't the place. They'd be lucky to get out the essential details before somebody showed up.

"It's all right," he eventually said calmly, and his very presence seemed to soothe her rattled nerves like Obi-Wan normally would if he himself weren't such a wreck at the moment. "We can discuss this further over dinner. I'm going to get acquainted with my new work setting. In the meantime, don't worry."

Siri nodded obediently and closed her eyes, lowering her head in an attempt to actually listen to his advice. The Jedi stood, making her rise as well out of courtesy. He placed a hand on her shoulder, gave her one more smile, and departed.

---

Obi-Wan and Padmé exited the senate arena in silence. The morning session hadn't been particularly eventful; honestly, none of the sessions had been eventful at this point. The Empire seemed to be in a temporary lull, or at least it was giving that impression to the senate. Perhaps they were on to them, or perhaps they had all the resources and sanctions they needed at the moment. He wasn't sure. The emperor hadn't made an appearance since the start of the new year, so no new laws or regulations had been made yet.

Glancing at Padmé, Obi-Wan pondered how he'd talk to her if she always had something to do. And what was this new situation with Éothen all about? Was she trying a different avenue to get Salkende to join the Alliance? After almost three weeks of tedious debating that always ended with the same conclusion, Obi-Wan was growing doubtful they'd ever be able to reach a satisfactory agreement, but he wouldn't deter Padmé from trying. He just wished she could go to the opera another night so they could actually discuss matters. He did have lunch, though, but it didn't count for much; the amount of time they'd have was minimal, and they had to choose a good location to speak frankly. Even the restaurant where Siri and Obi-Wan often met with Al wasn't safe for Padmé; she was too recognizable. Obi-Wan was just a representative; the media didn't care about representatives unless they brought some kind of scandal, but senators were always a hot topic. The only reason the media couldn't snatch Padmé in her usual lunch place was because it was so close to the senate building that security kept them out.

Obi-Wan was tempted to ask Siri to bring lunch for him and Padmé so they could speak in her office where there were no listening devices, but he didn't want to make his wife do that. So he was stuck.

The two reached the Chommell Sector offices. Padmé immediately went to her office and busied herself with paperwork. Siri approached her and handed her a data pad, stating that she had several meetings scheduled. Well, there went any chance of speaking to her during lunchtime.

As soon as Siri relayed the information she left Padmé's office, closed the door, and grabbed Obi-Wan's arm. "Let's go to lunch."

Something had her jittery. If he couldn't tell from her instant insistence that they head out, he could tell from her body language. She was restless, and her eyes glistened with so many words that she wanted to convey. Nodding, he took a moment to drop his things off at his desk and accompanied his wife to their usual table at the outdoor restaurant where they always ate.

"Our new aide is here." She immediately said as soon as they'd sat down.

Obi-Wan crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. He still wasn't sure if this was good or bad news anymore. The possibility of meeting a Jedi was quite intriguing, and the hope that he could handle Vader was reassuring, but the situation with Padmé… "Who is it?"

"His name is Lymen D'jen," Siri explained with a nonchalant wave and a tilt of her head that indicated she was using his cover identity. "He looks perfect for the job. He's so… so… calm. It's just what we need."

Siri seemed to like him a lot. That was good, at least; she couldn't read people as well as Obi-Wan, but it took a lot to impress her. But why hadn't Obi-Wan run into him yet? "Where is he now?"

"I don't know," she replied. "He said he needed to familiarize himself with his new work space. He'll speak with us at the end of the day."

The end of the day? So he wouldn't be able to meet Padmé? "I presume he'll rendezvous in the office?"

"Most likely."

Obi-Wan contemplated the matter and sighed. If he could just sort things out with Padmé first, that would make his life infinitely easier right now. By the stars she was impossible sometimes – so rash.

"Obi?"

Obi-Wan looked at his wife once more and offered a reassuring smile. She was watching him intently.

"Obi, what's wrong?" she asked. "It's not the usual."

Blast it, sometimes he wished he could hide things from Siri. Whenever he had an issue, she'd always bring it up, and she was always blunt – he couldn't dance around the issue when she'd pound it into submission and toss it right in his face.

"I was hoping I'd have a chance to talk to Padmé." He explained, nodding to a waitress to get her attention.

"Is it about her stalker?"

Stalker. An apt name for the guy who was going to kill all of them as soon as he gathered enough information. How much did he know? And where was he, anyway? Obi-Wan hadn't seen him since Naboo, but if Vader was supposed to be gathering information, he should be interacting with Padmé a bit more; he'd been silent as the grave since their return. There was no way Padmé was secretly meeting with him, especially after the stunt she pulled the other day… so what was he up to?

"Yes and no," he replied carefully. "It's just about her."

"You mean her latest activities?" Siri leaned back in her seat, her wonder about the Jedi quickly fading. "Yeah, that's got me confused too. What's she doing with Éothen?"

"I don't know, but I suppose we won't find out until after the opera."

Siri looked annoyed, but she quickly pushed the subject aside. "In the meantime we can focus on the aide. You think he can help with our biggest dilemma?"

"I hope so," Obi-Wan muttered. Earlier he'd worried about the Jedi being noticed by Vader, but considering the Imperial hadn't been spotted and Obi-Wan and Siri hadn't been noticed—and they weren't trained to hide themselves from Force users—he was inclined to think they were safer with the Jedi than without.

It would certainly be interesting when he met him.

---

The rain started at noon. Tarkin was a little surprised at the intensity of it; the people of Imperial Center were extremely sensitive to changes in the usual perfect sunny day, so they always called half the year the wet season because meteorologists and meteotechnologists always had to allow for the moisture in the atmosphere to come back down, but the precipitation was often only a short drizzle every day. For it to be consistently raining so heavily was a little surprising and more than irritating. He couldn't wait for the dry season to come.

Glossing over information concerning his oversector, Tarkin allowed himself a respite to skim through activities in other corners of the galaxy. He took particular interest in one report that stated that prior to his battle with the Jedi Darth Vader had ordered a fleet to go to Alderaan and declare martial law. Smiling, Tarkin nodded to himself. It was a smart move. The boy was more than naïve in politics, but he was brilliant in the military.

Another report caught his attention and delighted him even more; Vader was due to return just about now. Glancing at the indicated hangar, Tarkin walked briskly to the location. It was actually an unexpectedly helpful and entertaining notion that Vader's return coincided with that contact's capture – Tarkin was eager to see Vader interrogate him, especially since the young Sith had originally been the one to have him followed. Tarkin had yet to hear from his spy, though, which could be a potential problem; nevertheless, he also hadn't received any kind of report yet, so he'd reserve his judgment for later.

Entering the hangar, Tarkin eagerly awaited the young Sith's arrival. He'd finally start the boy's training, and he'd finally get to begin his game with Amidala. He wasn't sure which would be more entertaining, but he did his best to prevent too much excitement – it was far more helpful to be pragmatic about the matter than to happily declare he'd already won and was in control. Emotionalism would do him no good at the moment.

In the distance he could clearly make out a military shuttle heading towards the palace. Walking slowly towards the entrance to the hangar, he waited patiently as the shuttle entered and landed. Judging from the pilot's ability, it wasn't actually Vader in the cockpit, which was a little odd; Vader always insisted on flying.

The landing ramp lowered and all was still for a few seconds. Tarkin approached slowly, eager to hear the news of Vader's victory. The report already claimed he'd won, but hearing it frankly from the man himself was far more assuring.

Although it was difficult to hear much over the sound of the shuttle's heat exhaust hissing out, Tarkin's ears picked up on the sound of shuffling feet. Eventually a silhouette appeared in the entrance ramp. Judging from its dimensions it was most likely Vader.

Tipping his head in acknowledgement, Tarkin was about to ask about the success of his mission when the man finally stepped into the dull afternoon light. Vader's skin was paler than the clouds in the sky, and his gait was off. He was stiff, and there was a subtle but present sheen of sweat on his forehead. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw was clenched, and he was noticeably breathing sporadically.

"Milord?" Tarkin immediately was at his side. "What happened?"

"I must make my report." Vader answered. His voice didn't hold the same manic or frantic quality that it had held the last time Tarkin had seen him disembark a shuttle looking like a complete wreck. That was at least something. So this wasn't an emotional or mental issue, then? Tarkin racked his mind for what the Intelligence report had said, but for the life of him he couldn't remember anything being mentioned about Vader sustaining injuries.

As the young Sith nearly limped off the ramp, Tarkin hovered close beside him. "Milord—"

Vader's eyes fell upon the grand moff, and they hardened. Tarkin grew silent; it wasn't often that Vader demanded silence from him, but he still remembered the look. The boy probably didn't want any interruption to his meeting with the emperor. Had something gone wrong, or was he just eager to get it over with? Tarkin wasn't sure. He wouldn't leave the boy's side, though.

The two slowly walked to the turbolift, and as soon as they entered, Vader reached his left arm towards the panel. Come to think of it, he hadn't moved his right arm at all. Tarkin was bursting at the seams with a million different questions, but he didn't speak. Vader closed his eyes for the duration of time they were in the lift, and he seemed to be putting all his weight on his right leg. As Tarkin examined the boy's face more closely, he detected a slight amount of swelling around his nose and one of his eyes, and there was a small cut above the same eye.

When the lift reached its destination, Vader stood still for a millisecond and took a ragged breath to compose himself – or brace himself. Tarkin wasn't sure. He pondered just grabbing the apprentice's left arm and making Vader lean on him, but he knew the Sith would shun any attempt at help – he didn't tolerate showing any kind of weakness.

The young Sith walked uncertainly towards the throne room, and the Red Guard quickly opened the doors for him. Tarkin waited outside for a few seconds before grabbing his comlink and heading back to the lift. He was going to call the admiral and figure out what in the blazes had happened.

---

Vader was injured.

As soon as the apprentice entered the room Palpatine sensed it. He saw it. An observer would assume he sustained a leg injury and probably an arm injury and they were causing him pain, but there was more to it. Palpatine probed the Force and felt the bruises on the boy's life presence – a particularly bad one stained his stomach, and now that he looked closely, Vader was carefully avoiding putting a lot of pressure on his lower left abdomen. That was probably what was causing him all that pain. And yes, there was pain – so much pain. If the boy wasn't so well trained he'd be on the floor screaming right now. These injuries were not only bad, they were life threatening.

At the same time, though, Palpatine could sense determination from the boy, and the Force was so infused with utter satisfaction that he could practically taste it. The boy had succeeded; he'd killed the Jedi, and he'd restored balance in his mind.

Well, for now. Palpatine could still sense the underlying tension. There were plenty of unresolved issues to handle, and he intended to exploit them. But… not now.

Just as soon as Vader started to kneel so delicately it was practically painful to watch, Palpatine rose to his feet. The boy had often been injured, and Palpatine had taught him to never show such weaknesses to anyone – instead he'd taught him to simply take care of the matter himself and be done with it. Frustration boiled through him as he wondered why Vader would allow himself to be this injured and to not immediately go to the medical wing and just solve the issue. His obsession with fixing his mistakes surpassed his logic, and that was a bad habit that Palpatine would not allow to continue.

"You're hurt." He remarked tersely.

Vader, who was still kneeling, glanced up at him. Palpatine poked delicately into the Force, testing the water – normally he'd try to tear through to the heart of the matter, but Vader had mental shields that were stronger than the most durable substances in the galaxy. There was no point in forcing himself into the boy's mind, and there was even less point in openly making it known that he was probing him. Besides, the boy's emotions always come out in turbulent waves – it didn't take an expert to pick up on them. It did take an expert to figure out their cause, though. At the moment the satisfaction from earlier vanished, but the boy was still guarded; he let no emotions leak out.

"I handled most of the immediate threats, Master. It's not a concern."

Palpatine took a calming breath. The boy's voice was tight; he had no reason to lie about his treatment, but Palpatine suspected that Vader had only glossed over the wounds instead of actually treated them.

"The Jedi are dead, Master," Vader continued, and the excitement in his tone was evident. "Their fleet has been destroyed. I've been reviewing the information in their computers and I might have a general location for where they launched."

Vader was going to continue when Palpatine held up a hand to silence him. For a millisecond he questioned his own action, and he debated just letting the boy continue his report. However, the millisecond passed uninterrupted, and he quickly prioritized matters. A dead apprentice was a useless apprentice. The fool really had no sense of self-preservation; all that mattered was serving Palpatine.

Well blast it, he had the right idea but—Palpatine sighed. The boy still had a lot to learn.

As Vader awaited permission to speak, Palpatine approached him slowly. He'd been spending much time lately musing about the boy's motives, his development, and his actions. He'd always taught the boy to be methodical, but he'd insisted on using passion as a fuel. Palpatine had wondered when the change had happened, what had just clicked in Vader's mind and made him into what he was now. He suspected Tarkin might have had something to do with it; the man shared Palpatine's pragmatism, but he didn't share the drive to use powerful emotions as weapons. But even Tarkin wasn't the same as Vader.

Did the boy's mother ever act like this?

Ah, wait, she had. In a sense. Though Palpatine had held no concern for her whatsoever, he did recall that she had always been able to control her emotions impeccably. It had actually impressed him. Perhaps the boy took too much after her. But even she had a sense of self preservation, at least to a point; she'd do anything for her son, but—

Palpatine stopped. It hit him, right then. It hit him. He locked eyes with Vader as his apprentice kneeled patiently, and that odd little feeling that always resided in the back of Palpatine's mind where Vader was concerned diffused his anger in a heartbeat.

A dead apprentice was a useless apprentice. But he was more than that. Palpatine just… didn't want him dead.

Motioning for the boy to stand, he watched as Vader took a subtle breath to prepare himself for the enormous pain he was about to feel. Palpatine felt him clutch softly at the Force as a youngling would slowly reach for something in a manner that would avoid attention. He was still trying to hide the severity of his wounds from Palpatine. His apprentice rose slowly and stiffly, but it was too little effort for such serious injuries – as soon as the boy was nearly standing straight the pain shot through him so harshly Palpatine felt it in his gut. Vader flinched and nearly lost his balance, and in that moment the world slowed.

It would make sense to let him fall. It would be a good lesson. The boy needed to learn from his own stupidity. The landing would hurt, no doubt making the injuries worse, and it might just knock some sense into him.

Palpatine reached out and caught him.

Vader gasped for air, sweating profusely now. He tensed his muscles and hastily struggled to stand on his own so Palpatine wouldn't have to help him. The emperor tightened his grip to prevent that, and the boy immediately winced. Flicking the Force, Palpatine opened the throne room doors while helping his apprentice stay on his feet. The Red Guard immediately entered. Palpatine didn't have to say a word; as soon as they saw that Vader had sustained some kind of injury they were out the door again. He could vaguely sense one of them head for the lift to get a gurney when Palpatine saw Tarkin nonchalantly waiting in the corner with that very item.

"Need a stretcher?" he asked the guard calmly.

Palpatine's attention returned to his apprentice when Vader softly said his name and tried to push away from him. "Be silent."

His voice held a bite to it, and he was reasonably annoyed at the boy for causing him so much headache, but he didn't feel nearly as angry as he should have. Instead he just felt… resigned. And perhaps slightly worried, though he wouldn't admit that to himself let alone anyone else.

"Learn from this mistake," he instructed as the guards drew near with the stretcher. "Don't let it ever happen again."

Vader continued to struggle against Palpatine's grip until the stretcher was directly behind him, and then Palpatine finally released the boy. The apprentice unceremoniously stumbled a little and tried to regain his balance, but Palpatine motioned irritably to the stretcher, brooking no argument. His apprentice obediently sat, but it took another glare to make the boy lie down. Young fool; didn't he realize the seriousness of the situation?

As the guards hastily guided the stretcher towards the lift, the emperor followed. Tarkin did as well. Before Palpatine could prompt him, the grand moff said, "The medical bay already knows. They're prepared for his arrival."

The Sith Master said nothing, but he offered a nod of approval. Tarkin always fulfilled his duty as the boy's protector. Not that the man was harmless, of course, but that was another matter for another time.

"Exactly how did you handle the 'immediate threats,' Lord Vader?" Palpatine asked curtly as they waited in the lift.

Vader, who had been steadily slipping into unconsciousness, grew alert once more. Tarkin frowned disapprovingly. The boy mumbled, "I… disinfected… treated… wrapped up…"

"The doctors will handle the rest, milord," Tarkin interrupted. "Just rest."

Palpatine turned his attention to the grand moff. "You seemed to already be aware of his injuries."

Tarkin nodded. "I contacted the admiral, sire. He told me the troops witnessed Lord Vader being stabbed by the Jedi. From what the admiral observed there were also injuries to his shoulder and leg, but he wasn't sure what else. When I reported this to the medical bay, they said he would no doubt need surgery."

The lift slowed as it reached its destination. The Force shuddered and grew soft and muffled as Vader steadily slipped into unconsciousness. Palpatine sent a surge of energy to the boy, making him awaken with a jolt; Palpatine may have prioritized the boy's well-being over the mission, but that didn't mean he wouldn't drive the lesson home. Vader would stay awake until they gave him anesthesia; he would feel every ounce of pain until his master said otherwise.

The Red Guard pulled the stretcher into the medical bay where practically an army of health care providers and droids were waiting. As soon as they were in sight the doctors, nurses, technicians, and droids were surrounding the stretcher after curt nods to Palpatine and a mask was placed over Vader's face.

Palpatine and Tarkin stood in silence as Vader was taken to an operating room. Eventually Palpatine sighed and turned to leave. Looking at Tarkin, he said, "Inform me when he is out of surgery."

Tarkin bowed. "Of course, Majesty."

Palpatine departed, heading back to the lift. He had much to consider, and he preferred to not be in the palace while Vader's presence in the Force trembled with pain. Perhaps a night at the opera would be a nice change of pace.