Hey all! Thank you all so much for the feedback on the last chapter and part 1! I wish I could reply to all the anonymous reviews individually, ugh, but the only way to do that would be the author's notes and that would take up a ton of space, so here's a great big general thank you to everybody! :)
Sorry for the wait; I had to sort out part 2 in my mind. The first few chapters are planned, but this is all I have written so far. In either case, I hope you enjoy the update.
Imperial Center glittered like jewelry in the dull night. The fog had temporarily lifted, but now it was descending into the city once more, pelting the skyscrapers with rain. The damp chill sank through one's skin and into one's bones, and it clasped one's heart and almost seemed to suffocate it. In a penthouse apartment high in the skyline, the rain started to wet the ground of an open veranda. Typically the shield around the landing pad area would prevent this from happening, but the shield had been forcibly disabled. The wind picked up, whipping the white curtains that hung from the pillars. One pillar close to the landing pad had a crimson pool of liquid that began to dull in color as the water mixed with it. The pool led to a bloody trail, smeared into the smooth polished tile floor. The trail led indoors, where Senator Padmé Amidala was dragging herself across the floor, paler than the white curtains in her veranda.
Letting out a moan of pain and a sob that had nothing to do with her wound, she reached for her comlink. When she activated it, though, she could barely speak, and she received no reply. Lying in a crumpled bleeding heap, Padmé tried again, finally gasping, "Qui-Gon—"
The other end was silent. Sobbing once more, Padmé clambered further into her apartment, reaching her bedroom. Her goal was to get to the refresher where a med pack lay patiently awaiting her, though what it could actually do to help was beyond her comprehension. As she reached her arm out and grasped anything available, she froze from the pain and shock and once more let out a handful of sobs before coughing fiercely, spitting up some blood. Her right hand clawed desperately, grabbing the blanket on her bed and tearing it from the furniture. The blanket fell to the ground uselessly and with a crash a duffel bag and a box fell as well. The contents of the bag spilled everywhere, and the senator glanced at the box dully for a second and then immediately recognized it. This made her cry all the more.
The room began to spin. Her abdomen was on fire. Her heart was in shreds. She was running out of time.
"Obi-Wan…" she sobbed pleadingly as if he could hear her, as if she were four years old again and lost in the woods of her mountainous home, as if Obi-Wan would come out of nowhere and rescue her like he had back then. But no one came. There was only the sound of her own grief, of her heaving coughs that brought forth more blood. There was only the warmth staining her abdomen and the cold metal of the blaster that had shot her sitting by that empty pillar on the veranda…
Reaching for some flimsiplast, Padmé grabbed the box and pulled it towards her. She had no energy left to drag her entire body to the refresher. She tried to prop herself up against the bed but fell with a yell of pain. Gripping the flimsiplast fiercely, she began to write, 'Éothen, get this to my brother.' However, her world started to spin, and she grew lightheaded. The pain started to dull strangely, and she could only write 'Éothen' on the flimsiplast before it stuck firmly to the box and she crumpled to the floor, weakly whispering the name of her Jedi protector over the comlink one last time.
The Galaxies Opera House was filled to the brim tonight. It was an anticipated opening event for one of his favorite ballets, Squid Lake. Though many laws denied non-Humans a handful of rights, he'd always allowed the Mon Calamari Ballet Company to perform without any sort of restriction. They executed everything with such grace, such precision, and such passion.
Emperor Palpatine, Dark Lord of the Sith, smiled and leaned back in his seat. He had his private box all to himself, but he was awaiting company. It had been seven days since Amidala's death and he was still enjoying the aftermath. The funeral, broadcasted all over HoloNet three days ago, had been sensational, filled with longer-than-necessary eulogies and speeches and dramatic sobs of woe from her family. It had been delicious; he'd had to work quite hard to not smile as he'd made a speech to the public concerning the alarming and outrageous attack on the senator. He was rather proud of his eulogy, too – he hadn't attended the funeral personally (he'd been sorely tempted to, just to see the looks on her family's faces, and it would have been such a wonderful opportunity for his apprentice as well, but the boy wasn't ready), and so he'd sent an underling in his stead with the speech. It was filled with the typical drivel and it incited the people's just rage against the horrific Rebel Alliance, the terrorists who had committed the grisly act.
After the funeral, Palpatine had summoned his apprentice, along with Tarkin. His main reason for bringing the grand moff into the matter was simply for practicality's sake; his apprentice, Darth Vader, had spent the four days between Amidala's murder and funeral ravaging the underbelly of Imperial Center. The Force had cried out with rage, with instability, with so much death that Palpatine had shuddered with pleasure; Vader was going on a killing rampage on the denizens of the underworld, and the repercussions through the Force added to the Darkness, swallowing their lives whole. The fierce burning anger within his apprentice had come and gone in quick bursts, though, and it had been like an unstable volcano that had no rhyme or reason to its eruption. As such, though Palpatine enjoyed the boy's murderous mood greatly, he'd insisted on having Tarkin nearby for the audience to ensure Vader was stable enough to follow the given orders; Palpatine had sent him on a tour with Death Squadron to handle a small uprising in the Outer Rim. He'd figured it would be milder than the last time Vader had been sent off to battle, and it would still serve its purpose in centering him. He also figured he'd let Vader do a flyby of Wild Space to satisfy the boy since he suspected the Jedi enclave was there, but that wasn't a priority at the moment.
He still recalled that audience vividly. Vader and Tarkin had entered the throne room and the grand moff had immediately genuflected. Though Vader would always do the same, he hadn't done so that time. He'd remained standing. He'd stared at his master, his eyes sharp and filled with such vehemence and yearning all at once. The look had demanded attention, had practically screamed look what I've done for you. Show me something in return. After years of unending devotion, years of dedicating his entire existence to his master, Darth Vader was beginning to grow indignant. He was beginning to grow resentful. Angry. Enraged.
It had been wonderful. But at the same time… it had been… unexpectedly odd.
Unlocking Vader's emotions had been one of the main goals of Palpatine's little mock opera between Amidala and his apprentice. He'd succeeded. But it was… curious that he didn't like having all that hatred aimed at him. It was expected, of course, and was a part of the vast and rich tradition of the Sith dynasty; all apprentices loathed their masters and craved their power. Vader still had no ambition, but Palpatine had grown accustomed to that over the years. He wasn't sure he wanted the model Sith apprentice in that regard, though – Vader's power could be unleashed through his emotions, but that didn't mean Palpatine wanted it unleashed on him. He needed to redirect that anger to where it rightfully belonged. He was still certain Vader's loyalty was unquestionable, but if that rage festered long enough, circumstances could change in an undesirable manner.
Vader's loyalty. It was so odd to think that Palpatine had finally figured out the boy's motivations. After all these years the Sith Master had been convinced Vader's reason for obedience was simply as emotionless as the boy himself: he'd been obedient because he was raised to be obedient. Nothing more. Palpatine had long since realized it had been more than that, but he'd never been able to decipher what it was until lately. He was quite astonished at the result.
Love. The boy loved him, and just like his mother had done everything in her power for her precious son, Vader did everything in his power for his precious father. The boy really had inherited too much from his mother. But was it too much? Love was… love was a weakness, it was true, but in this case, it was an extremely exploitable weakness that Palpatine had no desire in eradicating from his apprentice. He just… hadn't been expecting it.
In either case, ensuring the boy's other emotions weren't aimed at his master was part of his purpose in inviting Darth Vader to the ballet tonight. The other… well he had to ensure his apprentice wasn't descending into any sort of instability that would make him useless. That was the last thing the emperor needed, after all. He had to ensure Vader was still able to work.
And that was the only reason he had any concern for the boy's mental state. Absolutely the only reason.
Then he sensed it. The Darkness inside of him shifted hungrily and licked its lips as the air filled with soul devouring disdain. The ballet vanished in a tidal wave of loathing and such emptiness, as if a black hole had appeared in the opera house and was sucking up the entire planet. The Force gravitated towards this black hole, swirling around it and then tearing away from it in pulsating waves. Palpatine closed his eyes and drank in the power that flowed from his apprentice. It was such a satisfying notion to at last sense the boy's emotions come forth.
The room seemed to shift as if the air itself were bending away from his apprentice as the boy entered. The environment grew so cold Palpatine felt it in his bones, but he was accustomed to the coldness of the Dark Side. This, however, wasn't Vader's emotions coming forth, but him trying to shove them down once more. Palpatine turned to look at the boy as he approached. He wondered if perhaps Vader would once again show disrespect, but the boy only hesitated for a millisecond to bow, and even then the hesitation was no doubt due to his internal war.
Palpatine motioned to the seat beside him, and Vader eyed it for a moment, the Force flickering with confusion, before he sat. The Sith Master let silence hang between them, returning his gaze to the ballet. A few of the dancers leapt from one suspended water bubble to another with a flourish, and the water particles that were disrupted were held still for a few seconds before recollecting into the bubbles. The music swelled as the main female lead appeared, and the audience applauded approvingly.
The Force rippled with uncertainty and uneasiness. Impatience, anger, and worry stretched out and latched around Palpatine's mind, lungs, throat, heart, gut, anything it could claw into. He glanced once again at his apprentice to see the boy shifting restlessly, looking a little paler than usual. He drank in the anxiety and decided to amuse himself. "Give a smile for the HoloNet reporters, Lord Vader. They're all around us, you know."
A smile! Asking Darth Vader to smile had to be the funniest thing he'd asked anyone to do in years. The Sith apprentice glanced at him, his tumultuous emotions silenced temporarily by dull bewilderment. Vader's blue eyes examined his master. Those eyes… it was intriguing and strange at the same time to look at them. The boy had gotten them from his father, and they held the same kind of cold intensity to them. It was like looking into the mirror of his younger self, but Palpatine had never had the emotional repression Vader utilized. In either case, the apprentice was still trying to figure something out, but he eventually furrowed his brow slightly and gazed over at the audience, his eyes searching out the aforementioned reporters. Palpatine didn't have to look far to notice a few craning their necks to see who had entered the emperor's private box. For all of his expertise in the military, after all, Darth Vader had yet to really make any public appearances apart from debriefings, and even then HoloNet had never caught him on camera.
Vader eventually locked eyes with his master and then once more looked at the reporters. The corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly and then he immediately either gave up on the endeavor or thought he'd done the job adequately enough. He looked to Palpatine, his face returning to its usual calm expression.
The amusement wavered a little. The boy would learn to truly smile someday when Palpatine had taught him how to enjoy the suffering of others as he did… when the boy finally learned how to enjoy anything.
"I heard you handled the dissident uprising well," he remarked, finally getting to the point.
Vader continued to gaze at him intently, awaiting orders, but through the Force Palpatine sensed pride and relief swell within the boy. The apprentice trembled a little in response, his fingers tightening on the armrests as he tried to bottle everything up as usual. No, no, foolish boy, don't do that.
The audience applauded once again at some well executed technique. Palpatine took Vader's clenched fist into his own hand and rested it on his armrest. The move surprised both of them, but the emperor recovered first. "I have some news for you, my apprentice; the Chommell Sector has elected a new senator. I would like for you to investigate him. You may work with Intelligence as needed, of course."
Vader's stiff grip tightened even more and he roughly pulled his hand away from his master. Then he took a deep breath as if to calm himself from the surge of pain that made him react in such a manner, and he bowed his head, too caught up in the chaos inside of him to reply out loud. Honestly the job Palpatine was assigning him was something Intelligence could easily handle on its own, but Palpatine wanted to keep that wound open so he could ensure it healed the way he wanted it to.
"I can sense your anger, Lord Vader," he noted, and his apprentice stiffened. "It would be wise to realize who is truly responsible for your situation." He received no reply. He didn't expect one, but he let his previous statement hang in the air for a while before he continued. "Senator Amidala betrayed you and the Empire. She betrayed me. Everything you're enduring is a consequence of her decision. Embrace it, and hold onto it. Remember her foolishness whenever you enter battle, recall her deception whenever you must manipulate an enemy. Unleash your emotions."
Palpatine felt his breath get punched out of him as Vader shook his head fiercely and the Force sent out a pressure wave that was almost noticeable to those who weren't attuned to it. The lights flickered just a hair, and a few droplets from the suspended water leaked to the floor. Hm. Perhaps this wasn't the best place to tell the boy to do this.
Sighing, the emperor leaned back in his seat. "Enjoy the ballet, my apprentice."
Returning his attention to the show in front of him, Palpatine was about to join the applause over a well executed maneuver when he sensed Vader's tumultuous emotions once more. Glancing at his apprentice, he saw the boy shifting uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes glazed as he was lost in thought. Judging by the anguish and the brief image of a veranda in his mind's eye, the emperor assumed the boy was reliving the night he murdered Amidala. He was tempted to leave the boy be and simply let him brood on the matter, and he even enjoyed feeling the apprentice's pitiful attempts to reel himself in. For a good part of the show that was what the emperor did, but eventually it began to grate on his nerves, and he wasn't quite sure why; this kind of torture from anyone else would be entertaining. Perhaps it was simply because he'd told Vader to enjoy the ballet and not think about that; it was spoiling Palpatine's own enjoyment of the show, after all.
He tried directing the boy's mind elsewhere. "Watch the lead, Lord Vader; he's about to seal the fate of the female protagonist."
The young Sith apprentice's gaze fell upon the person in question and he sat still briefly. Finally. Sometimes dealing with the boy's problems was like having to babysit a youngling, and it was beginning to grow tiresome.
For a good portion of the climax Vader and Palpatine both watched the ballet in content silence, but eventually the boy's restlessness returned. Looking briefly at his apprentice, Palpatine asked, "When was the last time you walked?"
Darth Vader had many different rituals that usually helped him cope with his emotions, and Palpatine knew that his morning walk was the most important one. It typically served as a good gauge as to how he was handling matters.
"Yesterday, Master."
The Sith Master nodded suspiciously. He had a feeling Vader wasn't being entirely honest; the boy had probably walked, but it might not have held its usual helpfulness. He also noted that the boy hadn't walked today, and he'd had no reason to skip it. Still, he wasn't going to guide Vader through this like a toddler; he would wait and see how his apprentice handled the matter on his own. Palpatine had given him enough help between bringing him here and sending him on a mission to focus him. Now he would leave him and let him either swim in the torrents of his inner conflict or drown in them.
Palpatine was going to let Vader remain for the rest of the show, but when the boy once more began shifting uncomfortably in his seat, the man finally grew tired of it. Waving his hand irritably, the emperor returned his attention to the ballet as he dismissed Vader, finally putting the boy out of his mind for the night.
The Drunken Dewback Cantina was nice and warm compared to the chilly, humid temperature outside. The room seemed to swim in the heat, the image shifting as if he were underwater. He wasn't quite sure if that was because of the smells and sights or if it was simply his wound. In either case, he directed his attention down to his data pad once more.
He'd been slipping in and out of consciousness for the past few days, mainly due to the concussion he'd received after slamming his head into the duracrete. His arms dealer friend had ensured he hadn't died, but that was about it; the man was busy with his own work. He'd basically had to take care of himself.
Well it didn't matter. He was better now, for the most part. Besides, he'd had Okima'yak hack into the security feeds of the sector that held his interest, and he'd finally gotten the visual contact that he'd wanted.
"Got you," he muttered with a fierce smile as he watched the Intelligence agent walk calmly through a crowd.
"Almusian Brek?"
Al jumped and slammed the data pad onto the table. He looked up, his hand reaching for his blaster, and he saw a tall sinewy Human male with a large nose, broad shoulders, long greying hair tied away from his face, and kind blue eyes. The man held up his hands to pacify him. "It's all right. Obi-Wan and Siri sent me. They gave me your comm. frequency but you never answered. You have everyone very worried."
He was still suspicious. "Who are you?"
"I'm the sage friend Senator Organa called."
Al felt electricity shoot through his body. This man was a Jedi?! Well… stang. He hadn't been expecting that. This was incredibly weird and amazing all at once. Relief flooded him, and he finally moved his hand away from his blaster. "It's good to hear you got here in one piece. Sorry I had everybody worried, but I had a bit of a run-in with some not-so-pleasant people."
"I can see that," the Jedi replied, nodding towards Al's head. Al winced. He'd forgotten he'd chipped one of his cranial horns when he'd fallen, and that probably was quite noticeable to everyone else. He was certainly aware of it; his horn was continuously throbbing, and stemming the bleeding had taken a while. "When was this run-in? Why haven't you answered your comlink since then?"
Al sighed. "It was a few days ago, but I was… a little out of it since then. Today's the first day I've been up and around, but my, uh… buddy destroyed my comlink. Said it was better that way so nobody could trace me or him while I recovered."
The Jedi raised an eyebrow. "Your buddy?"
"Long story," Al shook his head and then winced as his temples throbbed slightly in response. "Point is I've finally found the agent I was looking for."
"The one who chased you?"
"No, I don't know who she was," Al replied. "I've been looking for this guy since the final recess. If you could help me track him down, I'm sure your, uh, persuasiveness could help me make my point to him."
The Jedi's brow furrowed a little, and his muscles tensed slightly. He crossed his arms. "I can't help you with that, I'm afraid. I should be looking after one of your friends, but she insisted I find you. Is there anywhere safe I can take you so you can rest and recover more fully?"
Siri had insisted he find Al? That was sweet, but strange; Siri herself would have just looked for him, with Obi-Wan no doubt following her and griping about how it was probably one her brasher and less thought out plans. "Is everything okay back on the home front…?"
"Siri was attacked." He immediately explained, sitting across from Al. "This morning. She's fine, and she and Obi-Wan have safely left Coruscant. It was Padmé who sent me."
The smuggler gaped at him. Siri had been attacked?! What the hell had led to that?! Everybody had been worrying about Padmé for krif's sake! Oh shavit… "The baby? Is the baby…?"
"As I said, she is fine," the Jedi reiterated. "The youngling is as well."
Al felt himself sag with relief, and he gripped the table for support. Then he tensed as the realization hit him. "Wait, Siri was attacked, and Padmé's just… on her own right now?"
The Jedi sighed. "She was quite insistent. You look like you still need to recover a bit, so I can get you somewhere safe, but apart from that I must return to the senator."
Al felt a little disappointed that he wouldn't have a Jedi assisting him with the agent, but at the same time he absolutely agreed that the man needed to get back to Padmé. He certainly wasn't going to go hide in some hovel like he had been for the past few days, though… he supposed if the Jedi could escort him to his ship he could monitor the agent from there and find out where the guy lived. Reluctantly, Al said, "If you could get me to my ship, I'd appreciate it. Intelligence is kind of hunting for me, and… I'm a little unsure on my feet right now."
The Jedi glanced at his chronometer. "How far is your ship?" Al gave him directions to the area where he'd landed the Invariant Beauty, and the Jedi smiled and stood. "Then we should be on our way."
Al nodded, slipping out of the booth and grabbing his data pad. The two exited the cantina silently, and Al stumbled a little as the change in temperature left him a little dizzy and nauseous. He felt a steadying hand on his shoulder, and he noticed the Jedi was watching him with some concern. Shaking his head, he told the man, "I'm fine."
The Jedi took small, slow steps so Al could keep up, and their pace ensured that his world didn't spin too much, but after what felt like an eternity, they turned into an alley and the Jedi paused. Al glanced at him and saw his expression had changed from its usual calm demeanor. His brow was furrowed, his eyes sharp and alert, and his body was tense with anticipation. "What's the matter?"
The Jedi reached for his comlink as if to call someone in a hurry and then he froze and immediately activated his lightsaber, shouting, "Down!" Al flinched, backing away until he hit the alley wall and then the word registered and he slipped down to the ground just as blaster fire rang through the alley, which was immediately deflected by the man's lightsaber. Al jumped, startled, and grabbed his blaster, looking for a place to use for cover. Grabbing some garbage and piling it up, he looked around frantically and quickly caught sight of at least half a dozen people aiming their weapons towards him and the Jedi. They had to be with that female agent who had attacked him – there was no way this was a gang and there would be no other reason for a group of people to attack them.
Al groaned as he felt his headache intensify, but he still managed to knock a few Imperials down. The Jedi took care of the rest, carefully deflecting their fire back at them and not getting close enough to take them out with his blade. As soon as the men were down, he deactivated his blade and grabbed Al by the arm, running out of the alley. The smuggler complied without a fuss; the Imperials might have back-up nearby, after all. However, the running was making his world spin even more, and he nearly fell over as they took a sharp turn down another alley. The Jedi quickly steadied him and then pulled him in another direction, and Al hated himself for being so useless.
Eventually Al figured they'd outrun their adversary, but the Jedi once again froze, and it started all over again. This time Al was prepared and immediately started to fire in the direction the Jedi turned; this was actually amusing and helpful all at once, having a bad-guy detector right beside him.
His mood sobered quickly when he almost took a blaster bolt to the shoulder. Okay, he should probably save the jokes for later. It was actually rather odd; normally Al panicked when he had Imperials chasing him. He supposed it was the concussion.
Another round of killing Imperials left Al a little exhausted, but the Jedi looked even more wary of something. Glancing at him nervously, he asked, "What is it? More Imps coming?"
The Jedi was silent for a moment and then he shook his head. "They're gone. But…"
Al waited for a few seconds, growing steadily more concerned as the Jedi remained silent. Eventually, the Jedi said, "Follow me. Quickly!"
The Jedi immediately ran in the opposite direction of Al's ship, causing the smuggler to hasten after him, stammering questions that couldn't quite reach his lips since he quickly became winded. The Jedi occasionally paused to help Al catch up, but he barely wasted any time on the matter. Al didn't want him to; if he sensed some kind of danger or emergency, he needed to worry about that, not him.
The two ran for a while, and Al started to recognize the scenery. They were heading up, and the area resembled Padmé's part of town.
Al had a really bad feeling about this.
The Jedi started to pick up his pace, and he rushed ahead. When he turned to help Al keep up, the smuggler quickly shook his head, ignoring the ensuing dizziness. "Just go—if you're going where I think you're going I can get there on my own!"
He nodded and ran, disappearing into the night. Al finally stopped, leaning against the wall and catching his breath. He sincerely hoped that whatever had the Jedi upset didn't involve Padmé, but considering where they were, he had a sinking suspicion it did. This couldn't be good.
A wave of nausea overcame Al temporarily and he bent forward, fighting it. Slowly, he started to make his way towards 500 Republica. After what felt like an eternity, during which time he basically thought about nothing but trying to ensure he didn't pass out, Al finally reached the apartment.
And then he froze in place.
500 Republica was abuzz with activity. Police speeders were everywhere, people were peeking out of their apartments and balconies to figure out what was happening, and, most notably, there were some Intelligence agents there. Slinking into the shadows, Al looked around frantically, both searching for the Jedi and the center of the activity. He continued looking up to see more speeders until he finally saw where they were grouping. The veranda was barely visible in the cloudy sky, but he recognized it nonetheless. Padmé's apartment. They were all going to Padmé's apartment.
"No…" he muttered, and then he jumped when the Jedi seemingly materialized alongside him in the alley. "Did you—?"
The man shook his head. "They were here when I arrived."
"What do we do?" Al asked worriedly.
The Jedi sighed heavily, his eyes dull and his face dark with pain and sadness. "There's nothing we can do now. I already listened to the reports being given; this is a crime scene. The officers are saying there's been a murder."
Al felt his heart sink, and he finally let the nausea take over. Nearly collapsing, he leaned over and vomited. The Jedi held him steady with strong hands, and eventually, when he was finished, he felt the man pull him further into the alley.
"There's somewhere we need to go," he told him. "If I can get you to your ship, do you think you can pilot us there?"
Al gasped for air, but he nodded nonetheless. This was a nightmare. He couldn't believe it. How could Padmé…? She was… oh shavit. This was a genuine nightmare.
He didn't even want to think about how this would hit Obi-Wan and Siri.
"Almusian?"
Al jumped, startled out of his musings when he heard his name. Turning, he saw the Jedi that had helped him, Qui-Gon Jinn, standing in the distance. The two were in a small clearing by a babbling brook that was adjacent to the training grounds for the Jedi enclave. Ghanu'jivo, the moon where the enclave was located, consisted mainly of forested mountains with a temperate climate. There were a few tropical islands, but they were mostly uninhabited. In fact, that's how the Jedi had found the moon: completely uninhabited. It had been the perfect place for them to hide, particularly since it was in Wild Space.
It was strange being here. Al hadn't seen or heard anything about the Jedi since the Clone Wars. He felt like he'd gone back in time, yet he felt like he was amongst people who had even more to lose than the Alliance. In a sense, they really were in greater danger, and he felt almost suicidal being here with them, but the Jedi were strong and could defend themselves… for the most part. He shuddered as he thought about what would happen if someone like Darth Vader arrived with an armada.
Turning his attention to Qui-Gon, Al acknowledged him. "Yes?"
"I wasn't expecting you out here," the Jedi noted. "Are you alright?"
Al sighed. "I… haven't really been alright since Padmé's death. I just… I feel like we should have busted in there and done something; I don't know what, though. Like if we'd interfered with the Imps' work she'd still somehow be alive."
Qui-Gon paused a moment and his gaze softened. "It hurts to lose the ones you care for, but you cannot linger on her death. Pondering what if situations that can never come to pass will only cloud your judgment."
It was beyond bizarre getting such guidance – back in the day it used to be a joke; whenever someone would give sage advice to someone else, the person would always laugh and accuse the other of being a Jedi. Al had done so many times to fellow criminals. To actually be the recipient of advice from a Jedi… well, he didn't know how to deal with it. He just shrugged and offered a smile in return.
Honestly, his real reason for being out here was to get some fresh air and speak to Obi-Wan and Siri. Qui-Gon had directed him to Ghanu'jivo on that fateful night over a week ago, and the Jedi had led him to the enclave and handed him over to the healers. While Al had rested, Qui-Gon had made contact with Obi-Wan and Siri, but Al was fairly certain they'd already heard of what had happened through HoloNet – the news had broken pretty quickly. The fact that the Empire had pegged it on the Rebels made Al's blood boil… and it scared him. To think they could just fabricate such a lie and the entire galaxy just ate it up… Palpatine didn't even have to try to get the idiots of the galaxy to listen to him. Did he ever have to try?
He heard rustling leaves, and he noted that Qui-Gon had already turned to face whoever was arriving. Two figures appeared in the shade, and once they entered the clearing Al recognized them as Obi-Wan and Siri. The two looked as if they'd aged a decade over the past seven days. They looked weary, but they still radiated strength. It was odd seeing them in Jedi attire; they almost looked foreign.
When Siri saw Al she smiled and rushed over to him, giving him a hug. "How's your head?"
"Fine now," Al replied, a little winded by the hold. It had only been three days since their arrival on Ghanu'jivo, but the couple had been training rigorously, and Siri's arm strength had already increased substantially. "How's training?"
Siri pulled away, looking slightly annoyed, but she shrugged it off. "So far so good."
Al glanced at Obi-Wan, who remained in the entrance of the clearing. He looked far calmer than Al had ever seen him, but he also looked… remote. It was almost as if there was an invisible barrier between them. "You holding up, Obi-Wan?"
The man smiled, rubbing his growing beard. "We're all managing. I'm glad to see you're better."
"Glad to be feeling better," Al remarked truthfully before getting to the point. "Anyway, I've been looking for you two. I had to tell you something."
"What's wrong?" Siri asked, her brow furrowing.
Al hesitated a moment. Siri's and Obi-Wan's temperaments had grown more extreme over the past few days; Obi-Wan had become more unflappable, and Siri had become more protective. She would probably flip her lid when he told her. "I'm… going back to Imperial Center."
As predicted, Siri's eyebrows rose sharply. However, she didn't immediately tear him into pieces. She tried a different approach, speaking to him in a condescending manner as her muscles tensed. "Al… you do remember that you're a wanted man by Imperial Intelligence, right?"
Al sighed. He wasn't sure whether this approach was better or worse. He figured it was Siri attempting to show that famous Jedi calm. "I remember. But I… I can't not go back. I found out where the agent lives, so now's my chance to get to him."
"You're still trying to find that operative?" Obi-Wan asked, crossing his arms and watching Al sternly.
He tried to plead his case. "Look, I know that Kelathik isn't a problem for you two anymore, but I can't just let this go." Glancing at Qui-Gon guiltily, he faced his friends once more and said, "I was the reason Padmé was unprotected. I can't let her… her death be in vain. I have to find this guy. Besides, the Alliance needs all the help it can get, and if I can blackmail him and maybe get an inside man in Intelligence, that would be a huge benefit."
He felt his chest tighten. He hadn't spoken about Padmé's death or his guilt over it, so it was… uncomfortable to bring it up for the first time with her family.
There was silence for what felt like an hour, and it looked like Qui-Gon was about to ease his worries, but Obi-Wan spoke first. "Al, it wasn't your fault. I'm fairly certain you didn't plan on being attacked."
Al had to laugh at that. "No, I hadn't… and I don't plan on that happening now, either. But I have to do this."
Siri looked like she wanted to argue, but instead she grabbed Al firmly by the upper arms and looked him in the eye. "You'd better come back in one piece or so help me I'll go to Imperial Center and tear the entire infrastructure down myself."
"I believe it," the smuggler muttered, a little unnerved by the conviction in her eyes. He was relieved when her expression softened and she smiled, releasing him. Then he saw her grow concerned and it was his turn to smile. "I'll be fine, Siri. I promise."
"Somebody else said that," she sighed, looking away. "Take care of yourself."
Al looked at Siri and then Obi-Wan. He wasn't quite sure how to say goodbye without it feeling so, for lack of a better word, final. He wasn't particularly happy about returning to the heart of enemy territory, but he knew he had to do this. Sighing, he placed his hand on Siri's shoulder, gave her another reassuring smile and then walked towards the path that led back to the main enclave and the landing pads. He paused when he reached Obi-Wan. "I'll see you soon, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan was tense, but he offered a small smile and nodded. "I would say don't run into trouble, but that's a moot point considering your mission… so just don't get yourself killed. Can you manage that?"
Al laughed. "I hope so."
His friend's smile faltered a little, but his tone was still eerily calm when he said, "Be safe."
"May the Force be with you," Qui-Gon bowed slightly in a farewell gesture.
Blast, that really did feel final. Al gave a shaky smile to the Jedi Master and then nodded to Obi-Wan and Siri one more time before departing.
Obi-Wan watched him go, his mind filled with so many scenarios of what could go wrong. He knew he wasn't supposed to linger on such situations, but at the moment he couldn't really help it. It was just too soon after… he sighed. He should be able to say it—he had to accept it—but he didn't think he would be able to for quite some time. It was already bad enough that they'd left Naboo on bad terms with his family; he'd essentially broken ties with them forever. Nothing was right anymore.
Through the Force he felt Al's presence grow dimmer as he walked farther away from them. Taking a calming breath, he faced Siri and Qui-Gon once more.
"We completed the other exercises," he told their teacher, pushing the issue of Al's safety aside. There was nothing more he could do about that, so he just let it go – he supposed that meant he released it to the Force, but he wasn't quite sure he'd been managing to do that yet.
Qui-Gon nodded. "Good. The only remaining matter for today, then, is to meditate."
Obi-Wan glanced at Siri automatically; of all the teachings they had learned over the past three days, meditation was the one she liked the least. To her it was a waste of time; quieting one's mind to simply feel the Force didn't make sense to her. She could feel it all the time; why sit around and just… do nothing? To Obi-Wan, however, it was a blessing; he needed the quiet, the stillness, the sense that life still went on after his sister's death. It hurt, but it helped so much, too. His world had stopped the day she'd died; coming to the enclave had reminded him that the galaxy still needed him. It gave him purpose. Things still seemed to be moving too fast, and when they meditated it was the only time everything finally slowed down.
Unfortunately, it also brought up bad memories. The last time they'd meditated Obi-Wan had painstakingly relived the initial moments after he and Siri had learned about Padmé's death. The two had just arrived on Salkende, and the warlord herself had met with them and relayed the news. Obi-Wan and Siri had already known something was wrong; they'd felt it on the way, and they'd been trying to call Padmé the instant they exited hyperspace. The news had… stunned them. It had been like waking from a nightmare only to realize that it was actually reality. Adelig had offered for them to stay on Salkende as long as they needed, but Obi-Wan had immediately said they needed to go back to Imperial Center, at which point Qui-Gon had contacted them. He'd told them of the commotion at Padmé's apartment, and Obi-Wan and Siri debated whether the Empire would even give Padmé's body to their family. Going to Naboo had been the next best option, both to maintain the status quo publicly and to console the family. Honestly it had all been a numb blur after that. In either case, the last meditative session didn't end well after replaying that memory.
As they sat in the clearing and closed their eyes, Obi-Wan tried to push all thought out of his mind. He simply listened to the babbling brook and felt the sun warm his skin. He relaxed his muscles, sore from the exercises he'd been doing all day, and he listened intently as the Force began to whisper to him. He felt the familiar presence of his wife, and, now that he had some training, he felt the tiny life growing within her. It was his favorite part of entering meditation, and he smiled. Eventually he sank deeper into the Force, slipping easily into it, unaware of his wife shifting uncomfortably as she struggled to join him. Qui-Gon's calming, steady presence guided him. He recalled the man's instructions on what to do.
Clear your mind of all thoughts. Submerge yourself deeply into the Force. Then focus your attention on the goal of the meditation.
What was the goal today? Qui-Gon normally gave little prompts, images or suggestions in his mind, but he could never quite translate them. It felt more like a strange sensation that he couldn't really pinpoint, or sometimes it startled him out of his meditation entirely. His mind apparently was quite open to perusal by Force users, leaving him uncomfortable, and he'd been trying his best to learn how to create mental shields from such intrusions. Qui-Gon had been helping him with that as well; the man had been invaluable to both Obi-Wan and Siri. He found himself feeling at ease in the Jedi Master's presence; Qui-Gon was like a steady rock amidst the torrential storm of Obi-Wan's life.
A brief image of Naboo passed through his thoughts, and Obi-Wan flinched. This was something that had been happening for most of their meditative sessions: Qui-Gon insisted that they learn to release their loss to the Force, and that meant they had to face it. The couple had been avoiding the matter of Padmé's fate in their own ways; Siri had put all her effort into training while Obi-Wan had expounded all his energy on simply not falling apart. Siri distracted herself while Obi-Wan built an internal fortress. Somehow they both got by, and when one faltered the other helped. It had been a good system, but they both knew it wouldn't last.
Qui-Gon sent another prompting image, and a memory came forth unbeckoned.
The house was silent except for the quiet sobs emitting from his mother. Sola had long since cried all the tears she could possibly cry. Ryoo still didn't quite understand, so she sat in the corner quietly, looking around the room with scared eyes. Darred sat by his wife, his hand on her shoulder. His father had been standing by the window gazing out into the yard ever since they'd gotten home from the funeral. Her body had only been cremated a few hours ago. The house felt so hollow, so empty.
Siri took a deep breath and broke the silence. "At least she died doing her duty."
The dynamic of the room changed in a heartbeat. Obi-Wan looked at Siri, shocked, wondering why she would make such a remark. Sola, however, nearly exploded in anger. "Her duty?! Is that all you care about?! Is that all any of you three cared about?! Look what her duty did to her! Why did you ever introduce Padmé to the Rebels?!"
Obi-Wan opened his mouth to diffuse the tense situation, but Siri interrupted him. "We did it because it was the right thing to do! We're actually accomplishing something instead of staying home and pretending life's fine while the Empire continues to kill innocent people!"
Obi-Wan didn't know what to say or do. This situation was quickly spiraling out of control, and both women's words were tearing into him.
"Her death is your fault!" Sola yelled, shooting to her feet.
"Sola—" their mother tried to appease her, but neither Sola nor Siri would listen to anyone.
"No, her death is all of your fault," Siri suddenly hissed back with vehemence, her face stormy. Obi-Wan gaped at her; what was she saying?! This made no sense, this came out of nowhere – Siri had been angry at the situation, but just a few seconds ago she had shown no indication of any of this pent up rage against the family. "Every single person who sits on their asteroids and does nothing has her blood on their hands. Seeing as all of you do just that, then you're far more responsible for her death than Obi-Wan and me."
His parents stared in horror and anger for a moment before suddenly siding with Sola. Everything fell apart from there, and by the end of it Obi-Wan was defending his wife from baseless accusations, Ryoo was crying, and Darred finally suggested they all just leave the house and calm down. Obi-Wan and Siri had complied, but unlike the other members of the family, they never returned home after they departed.
The meditation ended abruptly as Obi-Wan felt the pain of the argument grasp at his heart. He had a distinct feeling that argument would be the last time he'd ever see his family. He had no reason to go back to them, honestly; now that he was fully involved with the Alliance it would only get them hurt by association, and he was fairly certain they were ready to disown both him and Siri after that fiasco, anyway. He still held a little resentment towards Siri for starting the fight, but he knew she'd simply been lashing out. They all had been. But he couldn't focus on anything after reliving that memory, and he definitely didn't want to think about Padmé's loss after just remembering that he'd lost the rest of his family as well.
Siri still had her eyes closed, and her brow was furrowed deeply in concentration. Qui-Gon looked as peaceful as ever, and Obi-Wan sighed quietly, trying to reenter the meditation when Siri suddenly opened her eyes and stood.
"You know, we can sort out the whole funeral thing without your prompting," she remarked in a subdued voice.
"You must learn to let go of your attachment to her," Qui-Gon explained as he flawlessly emerged from meditation. "You both must learn to let go. Attachment is a path to the Dark Side."
"How is loving someone a path to being evil?" Siri snapped, suddenly full of emotion.
"Love itself is not the problem," Qui-Gon shook his head. "It's the desire to not lose the ones you love. The desire to hold on, the obsession over a person or place or thing. That is attachment."
"So we have to forget Padmé ever existed? Now that she's dead she doesn't matter anymore?" Siri rebutted. Before Qui-Gon could reply, she said, "This is ridiculous. I'm going back to the main compound."
Obi-Wan was tempted to call after her, but he just let her go. He wasn't sure which side to pick, honestly; he understood what Qui-Gon was saying, but he also understood Siri's sentiment. The Jedi seemed to move on from their losses awfully quickly; it was almost inhuman. He didn't know how anybody could be that unattached to anything or anyone. It was no wonder they took initiates in as younglings; it had to be impossible to live the perfect Jedi life after living a normal one. Pushing the musings aside, he looked apologetically at Qui-Gon, but the Jedi only looked slightly exasperated.
"I'll check on her," he said, heading towards the compound.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon called after him. Obi-Wan turned and looked at him questioningly. "Do not lose yourself in your attempt to be strong for others. Siri is at least diffusing her emotions in the only way she knows how; bottling them up is far more dangerous."
He felt his chest tighten slightly, but he offered a reassuring smile. He'd been improving on his usual calm façade, especially after he'd learned how to latch onto the Force for strength. He tipped his head with poise, almost as if he were the Padawan he would have been if the Empire had never come to be. "I understand, Master."
With that he sensed out his wife and found her in the woods off the trail to the compound. She was pacing back and forth, her arms crossed tightly. Once he'd found her, though, he didn't know what to say or do. He didn't have the clout or experience to echo Qui-Gon's words, but he didn't really have any other argument. He didn't have to say anything, though; Siri sensed him and sighed heavily.
"I'm sorry, Obi," she muttered, leaning against a tree.
"It's fine," he finally replied, walking towards her.
Siri barked out an empty laugh. "No, it's not. None of this is fine. I got you practically excommunicated from your family, and I haven't been a huge help lately…"
Obi-Wan felt that same twinge of anger at her mentioning the incident, but he shoved it down with the simple logical argument that nobody could have helped the fallout that had occurred.
"I just…" she continued. "I wanted to make sure they were safe. It was a convenient way to do it, and I was kind of pissed off anyway… I didn't quite mean to sound as harsh as I did."
Obi-Wan looked at her curiously. "You did that on purpose?"
"If the Empire saw that you'd separated from your family, they wouldn't be important anymore. They'd be safe." His wife looked at him, her face flushed and her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She hadn't cried at all throughout everything that had happened, and he wanted to hit himself for realizing she was finally just letting herself fall apart. He also wanted to tell her off for not letting him in on her little plan until now, though.
"You could have told me that before all hell broke loose, you know," he finally sighed.
Siri let out a broken chuckle and shook her head, unable to speak. Obi-Wan walked over and held her, and the two slid down the tree to sit on the grass as Siri's sobs echoed around them.
It was a warm breezy evening, so the balcony door was open to let in some night air. It entered the large living room, sweeping past the two chairs in the corner and making some flimsiplast rustle a bit. In the center of the room, furnished with a center table, two comfortable chairs, and a couch, Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin sat perusing a data pad saturated with information. Most of it talked about his oversector, which was at a record low for Rebel activity due to the recent events. He also noted with some interest that there was a sudden increase in people enlisting in the military; Amidala had been a public symbol of youth in the senate, and whether she had intended it or not, she had become a bit of a celebrity amongst casual HoloNet viewers. Her fate had upset many loyal Imperial citizens, and the fact that the Rebels were supposedly responsible for it had incited the people's wrath.
A small smile of amusement played at the governor's lips as he thought of the senator, but then he pushed his mind to other matters. He wouldn't let himself enjoy that victory until he was no longer on Imperial Center, and therefore no longer in Palpatine's domain.
After recent events, there had been a few distinct changes in the Chommell Sector. Representative Naberrie and his wife resigned and disappeared after the funeral. Tarkin wasn't surprised; there was a rumor that there had been a falling out between the representative and his family, so it was likely there had been a disagreement over his and Amidala's involvement in the Alliance. Intelligence had yet to act on anything, and Tarkin supposed they wouldn't really do much to the family since it was highly unlikely that they would know anything; also, since there had been an argument it was equally unlikely that Naberrie would have any contact with his family at this point, so they couldn't really be used as bait. It didn't matter; the Alliance was basically in pieces anyway, and Salkende had been quiet, so they were no longer a threat.
One note in particular caught Tarkin's interest as he leaned further into the cushions of his sofa. His spy had sent probes to search for the Rebel who had been in contact with the Naberrie family. The probes had located the man at a cantina in the lower levels, and the new aide had been with him. In response, the spy had programmed the droids to call an attack squad; she could authorize such a maneuver since the Rebel had injured her, so he was a threat to Intelligence. However, they had lost contact with the squad, and when Intelligence had found their bodies and pieced together what little information they could based on surveillance, it looked like one of the Rebels had been armed with a lightsaber; a Jedi had been on Imperial Center. It was highly unlikely that either party was still on the planet after the Naberrie clan left, which was frustrating. Tarkin couldn't believe that a Jedi had managed to infiltrate the heart of the Empire. How had he managed to get onto the planet without being discovered? Which person was the Jedi? The aide or the spy? Considering how the aide had put up a fight with Tarkin's spy, it was likely that he was the Jedi. This complicated matters, but at the same time it didn't. The Jedi hadn't interfered with anything important, and he was likely gone now, though Intelligence was making a very thorough investigation to ensure that.
Shaking his head, the grand moff sighed and plopped the data pad on the couch beside him. The most irritating information of all, of course, was that he still hadn't been in any kind of meaningful contact with Darth Vader since before the boy's assignment to kill Amidala. He'd seen Vader a few days ago when they'd both been summoned to the throne room, but they hadn't spoken, and Palpatine had sent Vader running off to the Outer Rim to deal with some petty uprising that a task force could have handled. The emperor was again wasting resources, it seemed, though in this case it might have been an attempt to steady the nearly shattered Sith apprentice.
Reports indicated that Vader had just returned tonight, and Tarkin was ready to pounce on the opportunity, but the emperor had yet again interfered by calling the young Sith to the ballet. It was probably to receive a report, but it was irksome nonetheless; he was chomping at the bit to finally get the boy under his own control. Vader was quickly becoming a hot topic amongst the powerful members of society after he'd defeated the Jedi, and the last thing Tarkin needed was competition. He needed to act quickly. The time was ripe; the Rebels weren't a concern anymore, so internal threats were quickly making themselves known since people were no longer distracted by the Alliance.
Growing restless just thinking about it, the grand moff stood, straightened his tunic, and exited his quarters. He took a quick lift ride to Vader's floor and paused in front of the boy's door. It was unlikely that Vader was home yet, but the grand moff could wait for him inside; he had the access codes to the apartment, anyway. After a moment's hesitation, Tarkin unlocked the door and entered the apartment, flicking the lights on.
While Tarkin's apartment had a small foyer that led directly into the living room, Vader's apartment began as a perpendicular hallway. To the left was the kitchen and breakfast room, both of which were rarely used, and to the right was a marble staircase that led up to the bedroom, training room, and office while continuing past the stairs led to the den. His boots clicked on the polished tile floor as Tarkin entered the den, glancing around. Vader's apartment was always pristine; the two couches facing each other on the left didn't have anything on them and looked like they hadn't been used, and the table between them was barren apart from a decorative piece. To the right of the room was another sofa facing the wall, where an inset wall-sized shelf set was laden with data chips, code cylinders, and basically anything that Vader wasn't using at the current moment. A HoloNet receiver sat in the center of it. Two of the walls were covered with windows, giving a panoramic view of the city, and a large balcony was also attached.
The apartment looked disused. It was expected since Vader had been gone for a few days, but it seemed as if he hadn't been there in weeks. Looking left at the two sofas facing each other, Tarkin saw the standalone full sized mirror that Vader often used every morning to ensure he was presentable for the day. He recalled the boy staring at the mirror as the HoloNet receiver behind him loudly babbled endlessly about Amidala's funeral. Looking at the space between that area and the large couch facing the wall on the right, Tarkin recalled when Vader had been sitting there with his lightsaber in pieces. Honestly, that had probably been the last time Vader had really been in this apartment: just before he left for the Jedi fleet.
The gentle hissing sound of a door opening caught his attention, and Tarkin turned around to face the hallway once more. He saw Darth Vader enter, looking tired. The Sith Lord didn't seem to notice the grand moff, who cleared his throat to ensure he didn't startle him. It was odd; Vader always sensed Tarkin, so he felt almost silly announcing his presence to the man.
The Sith apprentice glanced in Tarkin's direction and he slowly walked towards him, waiting expectantly for an explanation.
"I presume your mission went well," Tarkin began, examining him. His face looked thin, he had dark circles under his eyes, and he stood stiffly. This wasn't the calm and powerful Sith Lord he was used to seeing, but honestly, lately this was the boy's common appearance.
Vader nodded.
"Good," the grand moff remarked carelessly, getting to the important point. "You and I have much to discuss about your political training, milord. The emperor has authorized that I teach you what I know so your next interaction with senators might yield better results."
He knew the remark would sting, but the point had to be made. Vader didn't even flinch, but he looked even more tired. The grand moff wasn't really going to wait for an acknowledgement since the most he would probably get would be another acquiescent nod, but the Sith Lord spoke. "Leave."
Leave? Oh no, he wasn't leaving yet. Palpatine had been hogging all of Vader's free time, and Tarkin was just as entitled to the Sith as the emperor was. The boy owed him that much after everything he'd done for him, and it was time he started making up for it. It was time Tarkin started utilizing the Empire's most powerful weapon, and it was time both the grand moff and the apprentice freed themselves of the emperor. "Milord, we should plan accordingly. I want to meet with you tomorrow, and—"
"I said get out!" Vader suddenly yelled, his eyes flashing.
Tarkin stared at the man, dumbfounded and just a tad nervous. The Sith had never yelled at him. Never. Raising his hands slightly to appease the apprentice, Tarkin offered a small bow and left the apartment, returning to his own residence. He blew out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and slowly sank into one of his sofas once more.
This whole ordeal had taken far more of a toll on Vader than Tarkin had realized, though he really shouldn't be surprised, and he was silently cursing himself for that. Still, he couldn't just let the idiot brood about it – they had work to do. He was shaken enough to not push the matter, though; he didn't like being at the receiving end of Vader's power and wrath. His wrath – blast, this really was starting to get a little out of hand. Obviously the boy had been hiding those emotions for whatever reason, but now they were appearing and it was almost as if Vader himself didn't know how to deal with them. That was likely the case, but Tarkin wasn't entirely sure. He didn't need this right now – he didn't need Vader turning on him. It wasn't supposed to be like that.
Sighing heavily, Tarkin stood and paced his apartment. When he passed his door, he noticed movement on the small view screen that allowed him to see outside his quarters. Pausing, he looked more closely and saw that Vader was standing at the doorway and looked like he was about to knock. Tarkin hesitated, not really wanting to face the apprentice after his outburst, but he saw the genuine concern and growing panic on the boy's face. Vader also hesitated, his hand hovering just in front of the door, and then he shook his head, closed his eyes, and stepped away. Had he come to apologize? No wonder he was pausing; to apologize would show weakness, and Tarkin knew the boy wouldn't do that. Turning away from the door, Darth Vader headed back to the lift, slowly at first, but then steadily gaining purpose and increasing his pace.
Even more dumbfounded, Tarkin stood still, pondering the matter. He was touched and surprised that Vader had even bothered attempting to apologize. He supposed he should be grateful too; it meant the man didn't view him as an enemy. That was the last thing he needed, after all.
Blasted Palpatine. None of this would even be an issue if he hadn't ordered Vader to kill Amidala. It was ironic that this now annoyed Tarkin considering he'd been pressing for Vader to do the deed for quite some time.
The grand moff turned away from the door, slowly making his way to his bedchamber, when he paused. He really should check on Vader, but he wasn't quite sure what to do. The man had wanted to apologize, so that indicated he regretted his outburst, but there really wasn't much to say. Besides, he might be more inclined to listen to Tarkin if the two didn't reconcile until tomorrow. Still, he looked unhealthy, and Tarkin had a sinking suspicion he wouldn't get the rest he so obviously needed. Anyway, if he spoke to the man he might find out what Palpatine had wanted at the ballet, and that could be useful.
Turning around, Tarkin briskly exited his apartment and headed to Vader's quarters once more. He knocked, but he received no reply. Was Vader asleep? He hesitated for a moment, but then he entered without permission.
A sound came from upstairs, and Tarkin immediately recognized it. Retching. Someone was getting ill. His stomach immediately knotted, and he felt his upper lip curl in distaste; Tarkin could handle a lot of things, but a sick person was not one of them. He stepped backwards towards the door, but then he shook his head. If that idiot was sick he should probably check on him.
Slowly walking up the spiral stairs with dread, Tarkin shuddered as he heard the boy retch again. How long had he been sick? Was he even ill at all, or was this due to his emotional and mental state? The latter seemed more likely, and as Tarkin came to that conclusion he hastened his steps.
Once he reached the upper floor, Tarkin turned left, heading towards the large bedroom. A small training room was accessible just beside it on the right wall, but Tarkin walked by it without a second glance. The bedroom was empty, but the sound of vomiting was coming from the adjoining refresher. Bracing himself, Tarkin walked towards the fresher, peeking in.
Darth Vader was sitting on the floor, his torso draped over the toilet as he gasped for air between retches. As the grand moff watched him heave and cough again, he felt queasy himself, not wanting to see or hear this. Still, the sight also moved him with a little pity, though he was reticent to get near the boy at the moment.
Eventually, Vader's coughs subsided and he simply sat there, panting. Tarkin pulled out a handkerchief and walked to him, kneeling beside him. He offered the handkerchief, which Vader took wordlessly. The boy was paler than before, and he was trembling. The lights flickered, and Tarkin looked at them uncertainly before glancing once more at the Sith apprentice. The conclusion he came to left him feeling nervous.
"You can't control it," he said softly, and Vader shuddered, giving him the answer he needed.
This was not his day. Taking a steadying breath, Tarkin stood, ignoring the slight stiffness in his joints, and he backed out of the fresher, glancing around. Walking to the bed, he pulled the thick comforter out a little bit and fluffed the pillows before glancing into the fresher once more. Vader had backed away from the toilet and was now curled in a ball on the floor, clutching the handkerchief tightly. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his breathing was erratic. He wasn't sick. He was falling apart.
Slowly, the grand moff reentered the refresher, flushed the toilet (without looking at the contents, thankfully), and knelt down by the boy, pulling at his arm. "Come on, milord."
He couldn't lift the boy; he wasn't strong enough to handle his weight. He needed him to get up on his own. Vader obeyed, albeit slowly, and he stood. Tarkin guided him towards his bed and watched as the Sith sat on the exposed mattress. Folding his arms, the grand moff gave him a stern look, one he hadn't utilized since Vader was a youngling. "I'll see you in the morning in the dining hall. You and I are going out tomorrow, and I'll help you with this problem of yours. Just get some rest."
Vader swallowed and nodded, not looking him in the eye. He glanced down at the handkerchief, as if he wanted to return it, and Tarkin hastily held his hand up to stop him. "Keep it." As if he wanted that thing back now after the Sith had wiped his filthy mouth on it.
Sighing, Tarkin walked towards the exit and paused in the doorway, his hand on the light switch. Vader noticed his scrutiny and sighed, kicking off his boots and removing his utility belt, plopping it on the nightstand. The Sith curled up on the bed, pulling the comforter around him tightly. His eyes locked with Tarkin's. They were bloodshot, desperately tired, and scared. The boy was scared. He was being bombarded by these emotions that he'd apparently repressed and he didn't know what to do.
The grand moff nodded firmly to him, as if that would somehow indicate that they'd get through this. And they would get through this; he'd help the boy get his head on straight, and together they'd finish off the emperor. After that everything would be far more orderly than it was now.
For a millisecond he wondered if he should tell the boy about his plans, about his actions as of late, but… no. Neither party was ready for that. Still, he was going to be up late trying to sort this new mess out.
Tarkin turned off the light and left the apartment.