Sorry for the extra long wait, exams + MCAT studying + national drama + family drama = not conducive environment for writing lol. Here's a lengthy update to appease you. ;)
She glanced at herself in the mirror, sighing heavily. The last time she'd worn a Naboo pilot outfit had been the first day of her tenure as senator; they'd planned on an assassination attempt, which had surprisingly never happened upon her arrival from Naboo.
It was sadly amusing that things hadn't changed.
Padmé grabbed her blaster and slipped it into the holster on her thigh. She glanced at her luggage, her mind wandering. Siri had warned her that Fjesky, the capital of Salkende, was frigid and in the middle of winter, so Padmé had packed accordingly. She figured she'd have to wrap herself up in a massive cloak as soon as she landed the fighter.
Sighing, the simple thoughts faded quickly, eliminating the little peace of mind she'd found herself in for the past few minutes. Instead, she gazed worriedly at her comlink. It had been over an hour since Qui-Gon had left to search for Al. Had something gone wrong? Why was it taking so long?
"Calm down, Padmé," she whispered to herself, closing her eyes. Imperial Center was massive; it would honestly be a miracle if Qui-Gon could even find Al.
Her stomach churned. She hoped he was okay.
A loud sound caught her attention, and she quickly recognized it as a speeder engine. Confused, she wondered if perhaps Qui-Gon had acquired a speeder to bring Al back, but that seemed highly unlikely. That realization made her hair stand up all over her body, and her heartrate rose. Padmé trotted silently towards the veranda where the noise was the loudest. Once she drew nearer, she slowed her pace, carefully walking in the shadows. Was it an assassin?
Padmé paused in the entranceway, trying to register who was there and why. Her hand slowly slipped to her blaster. The speeder was generic, so that didn't tell her anything. The driver stood and stepped onto the veranda.
It was Vader.
Gods. Oh gods. It was him. He was standing there on her veranda—how did he even get through the shield? What was he doing here at this hour of the morning? What would he think when he saw her awake and dressed in a pilot's outfit? Padmé felt her heart skip a beat. She hadn't been expecting to see him before she went to Salkende – honestly she'd been wondering if she'd ever see him again at all.
Oh gods, what should she do?
"Lord Vader?" she whispered.
Something was obviously wrong. Vader looked pale and stiff, and he swallowed heavily as soon as she spoke. His lips twitched as if he wanted to say something, and then he shook his head lightly.
How did he get here? What was he doing here? Why did he come now of all times? Did he just get back from that mission, that horrific mission where he'd killed those Jedi, where he'd destroyed the Rebel Alliance's best hope? Padmé felt anger course through her at the thought, but also worry and heart stopping fear. Everything about Vader's demeanor screamed something was wrong.
"What… what are you doing here?" she asked softly, trying to keep herself from sounding as terrified as she felt. She hated this feeling. She hated it. She shouldn't have to be scared of Vader. None of this should have happened.
Was he here just to talk? Was this simply him returning from his mission as if nothing had changed, as if he still didn't understand common etiquette rules like not calling on someone at three in the morning? Somehow she doubted it, and that doubt was petrifying.
Why was he here?
Vader hadn't moved, hadn't answered her question, seemingly frozen in place. He hadn't spoken at all, and while that wasn't entirely unsurprising, it was starting to grow disconcerting considering his behavior. He looked like he'd seen a ghost, like some world shattering realization had hit him. He looked sick.
"Milord?" she prompted, dread filling her.
Another eternity passed as they stared at each other. Vader looked on the precipice of speaking, and then he would close his mouth again, his eyes wide, his brow twitching, sweat glistening on his forehead. She'd never seen him this worked up. It made her insides crawl.
Finally, though, he spoke. "Padmé."
Just hearing him say her name made her heart beat faster. She leaned against the wall a little and couldn't help but smile sadly. Gods above she wished things were different. She wished so hard that she could just run to him and hug him without him flinching away, she wished she didn't have to worry about an engagement to another man, she wished Vader wasn't backing the Empire… Padmé felt tears sting in her eyes, and she trembled from the desperation of her thoughts, the despair of realizing that things were far too screwed up now.
"It's… it's so good to see you," she choked out truthfully. Despite the ominous concern over why he was here, she was just… she couldn't even describe how wonderful and terrible it was for him to be standing there in that moment. She'd wanted nothing more than to talk to him, to be with him, to help him… but now it just complicated matters. She didn't care. "Gods, it's good to see you."
Vader looked stricken at her reaction, his eyebrows coming together in worry, his mouth opening slightly as if he wanted to speak or was just panting for air. His stance shifted, one foot moving forward and then back in an uncertain gesture.
"Did you just get back?" she asked, wondering if he even knew what had transpired on Imperial Center since he'd left, wondering if his only motive in coming was simply to get those honest conversations she'd promised before he'd taken his fleet to destroy the Jedi.
His worried expression morphed into what looked like mild confusion. Padmé felt a small smile play at her lips as she realized she still knew how to read him despite the days he'd been gone. Vader shook his head.
So he'd been on Imperial Center for a while, then. The dread started to return, the confusion and worry seeped back into her. There was no reason for him to be here at this hour of the morning unless he was confronting her about Éothen. There couldn't be any other explanation.
Padmé looked him over again as he stood there silently. He was wearing all black as usual, but his lightsaber was curiously absent. She supposed it was because he'd just come to talk. But… he was awfully pale. What was wrong with him? Was he okay? Did this really have to do with Éothen at all, or had he come for help?
"Milord?" she prompted yet again, growing worried.
Vader still didn't say anything. Instead he looked her over and his eyes glazed once more. He shifted in place again, and he took a shaky breath through his nose. He shook his head once more.
Padmé took a hesitant step towards him, growing even more concerned. This action seemed to startle Vader somehow, and he took a step away from her only to run into a pillar behind him. He was visibly trembling.
What should she say? What should she do? It was obvious she was the one who had to lead the conversation even though he was the one who had barged in. With mild amusement, she realized this was just like Naboo.
"I'm…" Padmé closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to ascertain what was bothering him, to ascertain why he was here. "I'm happy to see you, but this is really unexpected. It's almost three in the morning. What are you doing here?"
Vader bit his lip, his eyes tearing into hers. There was terror and uncertainty in them. There was instability and hurt. Padmé grew even more perplexed.
"I…" he stammered, his voice barely audible.
Padmé approached him, nearly eliminating the space between them. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"
Vader's breathing grew erratic, and his palms pressed against the pillar behind him as if that would make her get away. She knew he wasn't entirely comfortable with proximity, but she'd thought they'd eliminated that for the most part back at Varykino. What was so wrong that he was acting in this way?
"Why?" he suddenly asked.
Padmé blinked, somewhat confused, but a small part of her knew what he was asking. "Why what?"
Vader's expression twitched for a second, and then he swallowed and attempted to look calm, though he was still practically plastered to the pillar. "You promised honesty."
Padmé paused in her approach. She'd been right in her suspicion; this had to do with Éothen. Her stomach churned, and she took a hesitant step away, but now Vader took a large step towards her, towering over her.
"So why did you choose the Alliance?" he asked, his voice deepening.
He was glaring at her now, and she felt fear chill her blood. She didn't know how to explain this, how to articulate her own plight and frustration and how he'd played into it and made things worse. Why had he killed those Jedi?! Why had he made things the way they were, why had he forced her hand?! The tears returned in full force, and Padmé shook her head. Yes, she'd promised him honesty. She'd give him that much. She couldn't hold it in any longer anyway, it hurt too damn much. "Vader, I… I can't live with the Empire the way it is. Why can't you see that what's happening in the galaxy is wrong? Why can't you see that I… I want to be with you, but I can't… I can't obey Palpatine. I can't. He's wrong. He's sick, cruel, evil… he's a dictator and I… Vader, I can't be an Imperial!"
She paused, overwhelmed with a million different feelings. Vader remained silent, his eyes having softened, but he was rigid as stone. Padmé continued before he could interrupt her because she had to say this. "But… that doesn't mean I don't want to be with you. I love you."
Her words cut into him like a knife. He immediately flinched, his eyes widening, and he backed away from her towards the pillar. Vader apparently had forgotten the pillar was there since he nearly slammed into it, and then he started to slide towards the floor. Padmé couldn't even decipher the expression on his face, the strange mix of horror, shock, hurt, surprise, sadness, terror… but she could tell he was hurting more than she could imagine, and she immediately rushed to him. Vader pressed himself further into the pillar to avoid her touch, but it didn't deter her. She placed her hands on his arms to help steady him, but instead her touch seemed to melt him, and he nearly collapsed on her. His weight caught her by surprise, but she held on hard enough that the two didn't fall to the ground so much as sit abruptly. She pulled him closer to her, hugging him as she had back on Naboo. He didn't pull away. Instead, he was trembling.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, rocking him slowly as her own emotions spilled over again. She knew what she'd said had to hurt. Palpatine was Vader's life; for her to say she couldn't follow the man was basically to say she couldn't be with Vader, and they both knew it. "I'm so, so sorry, Vader. I love you. I love you so much. But I can't be an Imperial. I can't."
Padmé heard his raspy breath grow softer and then he pushed her away. Padmé gazed at him, unsure what sort of reaction she would get.
She certainly hadn't expected what followed.
Vader's eyes fell to her lips, and in an instant he pulled her towards him, kissing her. Padmé gasped slightly, completely blindsided by such an out of character action, but she only let the surprise control her for a second. By some miracle Vader was finally admitting his feelings for her, acknowledging that he had feelings, and… gods above, she just wanted to live in this moment forever. Padmé returned the kiss in full, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly and inching close to him, her heartrate skyrocketing. In one blissful moment the two of them forgot their roles in the galaxy and their opposing factions, and in one blissful moment Padmé pretended that nothing had changed since Naboo, that they could just be together without anything getting in their way.
Stirrings in her heart and mind that she'd never fully felt before started to make themselves known. The strange giddy sensations she'd experienced when they'd been physically close on Naboo started to return, but now there was nothing giddy about it so much as fiery. Vader, however, pushed himself from her, far enough that they could look into each other's eyes.
"I love you too," he panted, winded by the kiss.
Padmé's mind was bereft of any thought but to be with him. She felt his left hand slip down her side and she shuddered, shifting towards him, not caring about Qui-Gon or her departure schedule or anything of the like. She gazed at his lips and neck longingly as his hand settled on her thigh, and she exhaled heavily, creeping ever closer.
When her mouth was just centimeters from his, when her entire mind and body were focused on just loving him, he spoke, and his voice was suddenly so different. It was cold, but it trembled, like thin ice in the wind, ready to crack. "I love you… but I loved him first."
Fire erupted in her gut as a loud noise echoed in the room, and Padmé gasped, pain shooting through her. She automatically recoiled from the force of the impact, looking down at her abdomen to see blood and smoke. Her eyes trailed to his hand, which was releasing her own blaster. It clattered to the floor loudly, and Padmé felt herself slumping to the ground beside it. Vader stood, never looking her in the eye.
What—he—why—
Padmé gasped again, the pain preventing her from even breathing properly, the shock and horror and hurt of what he'd just done tearing her insides more than the blaster wound. The blaster wound. She'd been shot. He'd shot her.
She heard the sound of boots clicking on the polished floor, but they sounded so far away now. Everything sounded far away. The only loud constant noise banging in her mind was her heartbeat. She coughed heavily, shaking from head to foot.
A speeder's engines fired up, and the next thing she knew, he was gone.
Padmé burst into tears, collapsing on the bed in her makeshift cell. She couldn't do this. She couldn't keep reliving that moment, but every time she closed her eyes it was all she ever saw, especially after her conversation with Tarkin. The heart stopping pain of knowing that Darth Vader had tried to kill her was overwhelming, and as if that weren't enough she now had to worry about the safety of her family.
Her situation a few weeks ago just before the senate recess seemed downright harmless in comparison.
She couldn't do this. She couldn't see Vader again, couldn't stand to look at him, to interact with him… she couldn't do this. But at the same time she wanted to burst out of this room and hunt him down, to corner him and just get straight to the point, to ask why he did that, to… she didn't even know. She didn't know anymore.
Attempting to control herself, Padmé placed her hand over her eyes, breathing deeply through her nose and then through her mouth. She couldn't do this, but she had to do it. She had to figure out a way to escape, she had to find Vader on her own turf on her own terms. She had to protect her family, to return to the Alliance.
Breathe, Padmé. Just breathe.
Finally calming, Padmé tried to think logically once more about her situation. If she was under the watch of Tarkin's wife, then it was obvious she was somewhere owned by the Tarkin family, which likely indicated she was on his homeworld. If she recalled correctly, that was… was…
"Dammit!" Padmé swore, leaping to her feet and regretting it as her abdomen screamed in protest. Groaning, she slowly sat on the bed once more, but her frustration still boiled over, preventing her from thinking straight. She had to remember that man's homeworld, it would tell her where the blazes she was!
Wilhuff Tarkin was the grand moff of an oversector… which one? The Bright Jewel was the most notable, but she didn't think that was him, at least not anymore…
Drawing a blank, Padmé shook her head violently, moving to the next subject so she wouldn't continue to brood. Family. Her family. She had to find them. Were they still on Naboo and simply under surveillance? Were Obi-Wan and Siri on Naboo, or had they returned to Imperial Center? Were they still working for the Alliance? It was highly likely. She had to find out more, and the only way she would do that would be to get out of this cell, which she could supposedly do if she could fool the droid into thinking she was healthy. She basically was healed, anyway; she had pain in her abdomen from too much movement, and yes, as the droid had noted her diet had been affected by the injury, and she tired easily, but she still had essentially recovered as best as possible.
The medical droid was currently sitting in the corner, deactivated. As Padmé had discovered when the droid had first turned off, the door leading out of the room was only capable of being opened from the outside, much to her chagrin. She knew the only way out was to convince the droid she was fine, and then she presumed it would transmit that information to her captors.
Rising, Padmé walked over to the medical droid. Looking for the switch, she found it and turned it on. Emdee's photoreceptors shone immediately and it looked at her.
"Are you in need of assistance?" it asked.
"I'm fine. That's what I wanted to talk about, actually," Padmé replied. "I was told that I'm to be here as a… servant. If I'm to do that I need to leave this room."
"You are not to leave the room until you are fully recovered," the droid said automatically.
Padmé refrained from rolling her eyes. "I am fully recovered. Any scan of my vitals and the wound will tell you that."
"You still had signs of lethargy during the last check-up."
"That was this morning," Padmé waved a dismissive hand. "I've rested since then."
Allowing the droid to rise and grab whatever probes and scanners it needed, Padmé sat on the bed patiently. After looking her over, the droid reviewed the data. Her patience started to wear thin after a few minutes, though, especially as she started to think about all the things she had to do and figure out before any actual progress could be made.
"Well?" she eventually prompted somewhat irritably.
"I will speak to the superiors." Emdee finally answered, bringing Padmé some relief.
The medical droid walked to the corner of the room and typed a message into a data pad. After another minute of tense silence, the droid looked back at Padmé.
"You will be authorized to leave the room tomorrow morning."
Padmé gritted her teeth. Tomorrow wasn't soon enough. "I'm ready now."
"The orders state that—"
"Fine! Fine." Padmé interrupted, frustrated. She eyed the droid as it placed the data pad in a compartment she hadn't noticed before. She saw a lock on the opening to the compartment; as soon as that droid closed the door, she wouldn't be able to access it.
She had to do something. She couldn't wait until tomorrow, not with the little knowledge she had. But she couldn't do anything too irrational or she'd get her family killed. She needed information, she needed leverage, and she needed allies. How could she get that in her situation?
Did the other members of the household know she was a prisoner, or were they going to be under the impression she was a servant? It was highly likely it was the former simply because if Padmé let it slip who she was and the word spread, her family wouldn't be the only ones killed. But there couldn't be that many people in this house that actually knew the truth, because the more people who knew, the more likely the secret would get out anyway, right?
The droid started to close the compartment door. Padmé felt her entire body tense, desperate with the need to snatch any source of information she could get. Rising to her feet, she attempted to distract the droid. "I have a question."
The Emdee droid paused, the compartment door halfway closed. Padmé eyed the switch on the back of the droid's head, wishing desperately that she could turn it off. Having the Force would be a great thing right now, she thought ruefully, recalling all the times Vader could do things without even having to be near the objects he manipulated.
Blast, thinking about Vader hurt. Padmé shook her head subtly and tried to think of something she could say to maintain the droid's attention. "I… I know you're only programmed to tell me about my medical situation. Did you have access to my official medical files so you knew my history?"
"I had all the necessary access," the droid replied, still motionless. However, Padmé took the opportunity to walk towards it as casually as possible.
"So you know I'm allergic to… to certain pain medications?" Padmé said, quickly running out of ideas; she wasn't exactly a medical expert, so she didn't quite know what to say to really catch the droid's attention.
The droid was silent for a millisecond, processing her statement and sifting through data. "Your medical history stated you had no known allergies."
Padmé continued to close the gap between herself and Emdee. "I know I had a reaction to some pain medication… it was recent, so it probably wasn't put on the record yet…"
She finally was close enough to reach the droid, and she thought for a second whether she should actually go through with this, how she could explain what was about to happen. She couldn't be playing anything too risky immediately, but this wasn't a huge danger…
Padmé was about to reach over and flip the deactivation switch on the droid when one more thought occurred to her, stopping her in her tracks. "Is this room monitored?"
"I am unable to answer your question. What was the name of the painkiller that you took?"
Sithspit. She'd almost assaulted the medical droid for all the security feeds to see. She had to stop panicking, she had to think. Feeling the disappointment and anger weigh her down immensely, Padmé sighed heavily and took a step back, shaking her head and closing her eyes. "I don't remember. It wasn't a bad reaction and I haven't had any problems now, so I guess it isn't a big deal."
"Very well," the droid replied, closing the compartment door. Padmé felt her heart grow heavy just listening to the lock click. "I will continue to recharge unless you need further assistance."
"No, I'm… I'm fine." She muttered dejectedly, wandering back to the bed and sitting.
Time seemed to slow as Padmé stared blankly at her hands on her lap. She wondered what her family was doing right now. She couldn't imagine the pain they must have felt when they thought she'd died. It made her heart clench just to think about it. She tried to remain positive, tried to think about all the good things that could be happening. Ryoo could be running around the house squealing in delight, playing with some toy or another, while Sola and Darred watched on with amusement and love. Perhaps Mom and Dad were there to watch as well, probably feeling grateful that the little rascal had plenty of people with whom she could diffuse her energy. Perhaps Obi-Wan and Siri were there on an extended leave, not worrying about the Empire or the Alliance or anything at all.
The baby. Padmé gasped. How was their baby? Siri was safe, right? Or did Tarkin's spies have her in their sight as well? They had tried to hurt her before…
A click sounded. Padmé jumped. The door to the bedroom hissed open, making her stand quickly. Was it Tarkin again?
A sturdily built attractive woman with black hair tied in a bun entered. Her blue eyes were cold and sharp, her posture rigid. Padmé had never seen this woman, but she drank in the image before her, absorbing whatever information she could. The woman was dressed warmly and elaborately, wearing a long sleeved lavender dress that flowed to her ankles with fur lining the rim. Wherever they were, it was likely winter. Like that helps me pinpoint the location, Padmé sighed internally. The only other notable aspect to the woman's appearance was some intricate calligraphy on her forehead, but Padmé didn't know anything about its origins or meaning.
"Amidala," the woman acknowledged. Her accent sounded nearly identical to Grand Moff Tarkin's, only confirming Padmé's suspicion that they were on the man's homeworld (if she could just remember what his homeworld was!). "I hear you are on the mend, so I came to ensure you are quite aware of your situation."
Padmé sensed the snobbery and patronizing tone immediately. This woman was reveling in the power she had over her. The senator bristled but said nothing, waiting for this jailor to tell her more, eager to learn more.
"I am Lady Tarkin," she introduced herself with authority, trying to intimidate Padmé. "I am the head of this house, and I am your mistress. Starting tomorrow, you are no longer my prisoner but my slave. If you take one step out of line, I will ensure your family is executed."
Charming. This woman was even worse than her husband. "Why are you doing this?"
Lady Tarkin raised an eyebrow somewhat irritably.
Padmé elaborated. "Why are you risking your life for your husband's plotting? If Emperor Palpatine finds out he kept me alive against orders, he'll kill you."
Lady Tarkin smiled, her eyes narrowing in sinister delight at some knowledge Padmé didn't possess. "I fear nothing, slave. Soon I will be head of the Empire itself. Your pathetic attempts to sway me to your side will do you no good. From now on you will not speak unless spoken to, is that understood?"
Some sarcastic part of Padmé was tempted to ask if she was allowed to acknowledge the woman's orders, but she figured it was best to keep her mouth shut on the matter. She nodded.
"In the morning you will be escorted to your new quarters so this will be refurbished to its original state. You've sullied this room enough," the woman continued brusquely. "You will be given your assigned duties there. Pray you impress me, slave, or I may find other uses for you."
Padmé wasn't quite sure she wanted to know what that meant. Still, at least she would be speaking to someone other than Lady Tarkin, which was a relief. She still hadn't ascertained much, though. How could she pry without speaking?
Wait.
Bowing slightly to appease the woman before she already started to break the rules, she asked in a quiet, hesitant voice, "Mistress, please, may I ask one question?"
She heard the fabric of the woman's dress rustle as she moved, but she wasn't quite sure what she was doing. Probably assuming some affronted pose.
"I thought I told you not to speak unless spoken to."
Padmé bit back a sigh. She supposed she'd have to try harder. Slowly sinking to her hands and knees, she petitioned in what she hoped sounded like a pleading tone rather than an exasperated one. "I beg you, my mistress, grant me this one favor and I will do everything you say. I promise it's pertinent."
Lady Tarkin huffed, annoyed. "Very well."
"How shall I address you if I am to introduce you to anyone? I wouldn't want to embarrass or mistreat my mistress in any way."
"My proper address is Lady Aliema of House Tarkin of Eriadu," Lady Tarkin answered, slightly less ruffled than before. Padmé didn't have to hide her smile since she was practically prostrate on the ground, and she felt her heartrate rise with the thrill of finally getting what she needed. "But you will never introduce me to anyone, slave, so you will only call me mistress or Lady Tarkin."
Padmé bowed more deeply. "Yes, Mistress."
Waiting for no other acknowledgement, the woman left. Padmé sighed heavily, relieved, happy, and planning what to do next. She slowly sat on her knees, thinking about what Lady Tarkin had said. Eriadu. That was where she was. She didn't know much about the planet, but she knew it was in the Seswenna Oversector, which had to be Tarkin's jurisdiction. It was in the Outer Rim along a main trade route, the Hydian Way. She could work with that knowledge. She could figure something out.
Content, Padmé rose and climbed into bed, planning for the days to come.
Nights on Imperial Center were a bizarre paradox to Erwyna. Back on Salkende (and she expected this was the case on most worlds, as it was obviously the case on Hoth), nighttime was distinctly darker than daytime, but on Imperial Center, it never changed depending on how deep into the city one was. Neon lights from advertisements, buildings, street lights, headlights from speeders… her eyes hurt just standing outside. Worst of all it made her feel extremely exposed, and she didn't like that at all. Darkness was not how criminals hid here; they instead used camouflage. They blended into the literal sea of people. That meant Erwyna had to as well, which left her wearing foreign clothes and feeling a distinct ache in her arm since she'd decided to not wear her sling. Then again, she had aches and pains everywhere that were lingering from her fight with Vader.
Blast, just thinking about that Imperial irritated her. She could have gotten everything she'd needed from him if she'd just stayed for the interrogation.
Shaking her head, Erwyna blew out a sigh and turned down an alley that was at least a little darker than the rest of the street. A few denizens roamed near her, but none paid her any mind. Eventually Erwyna caught sight of a figure standing a fair distance away wearing a cloak with the hood drawn. She approached the figure slowly.
"Oki?" she asked hesitantly, her hand slipping to her blaster pistol.
The figure turned and revealed a pale man with freckles, a large nose, soft blue eyes, ginger hair, and an obviously nervous demeanor. Erwyna recalled that Brek had said the man was new to spying in general and was slightly jumpy; it had been the main reason she'd wanted to avoid dealing with him.
To his credit, he at least sounded calm from what she could distinguish through his heavy accent, whatever it was. "That's me."
Erwyna nodded, stepping closer. "I need your help getting into Intelligence."
Any semblance of calm in Odeki Rubar's voice vanished as he nearly squeaked, "You want what?! You—you said Capt. Brek sent you—I—he never said I'd—"
"Shut up and listen," Erwyna interrupted, growing steadily more annoyed, having no patience for that sort of behavior while on a mission. "I'll give you my end goal and you can suggest how we get it, okay? I need information on Amidala's murder. Intelligence was at her apartment that night – I need to know why. You can either get me inside to do that or you can bring the information to me."
"That's—that's a closed case, I can't get information—"
"Then get me inside."
Rubar gawked at her. "How am I supposed to do that? I can't—I can't do this, do you have any idea how much trouble I'm in already—I—the emperor is dead—I—"
Erwyna took a calming breath as the man continued to splutter. "Look, you can say I'm a tech or something. This isn't immediate; come up with a reason. I'll have to think over a few things too. Come up with a plan. You can do that much, right?"
The man watched her with dread, but he closed his mouth and nodded.
"Good. I'll contact you later, then." Erwyna nodded and left without giving him a chance to respond.
How was she going to go about doing this? Assuming that guy got her inside—which with the way he acted would take a miracle—she wasn't a hacker. Okima'yak wanted nothing to do with this anymore, and Erwyna had no other contacts on Imperial Center.
A thought occurred to her and she paused, slightly exasperated. She'd have to get Éothen involved; there were members of their squad who were tech savvy, who could get her the data spikes she needed or even go in instead of her. She would have to drag the whole squad over to Imperial Center.
Like that won't attract attention, she thought irritably as she looked for a slightly more deserted area to make the call. It was a feat in itself to find a plot of land on this planet that wasn't occupied by at least five other people, but she eventually managed and pulled out her comlink, keying in for Éothen.
"Äkkuvétem." Éothen answered in their native tongue, Iohtu. Erwyna debated talking to him in that dialect, but if Intelligence was listening in it would be pretty identifiable. Instead, she switched to Syngen, the primary language for Salkende; everyone on the planet spoke it, so it would make Erwyna sound more like a tourist and less like someone speaking purposely in code.
"You wouldn't believe the lighting on Imperial Center – I swear my eyes are irradiated," she remarked.
Éothen seemed to catch that her chosen language was purposeful, and he casually replied, "Well I did tell you that place was terrible for your health."
"I like being unhealthy," Erwyna quipped, trying to find the right words to relay what she needed. "So do other people. Hey, you remember that gift from your girlfriend? I found out where she got it from, and I'm sure she'd love to tell you all about it if you drag the crew over here."
Éothen was silent for a long time, so long Erwyna started mentally begging him to react normally. Eventually she heard him clear his throat. "Yeah… she's sneaky, I'm glad you found her source. Does she know you caught her?"
"No," Erwyna immediately answered. "I figured you'd want to be around for that."
"And the crew?"
"Yeah, it'll be a family reunion!" Get the squad and haul asteroid over here, genius, come on!
Éothen blew out a shaky breath. "You sure do have a way of surprising people."
"I like shaking things up," Erwyna said, smirking and cutting the connection. She knew the point had been made. Now all that was left was remaining innocuous at Tlenden's apartment until Éothen and the squad arrived. That would certainly be interesting.
The chill of Hoth sat heavily in the base as a snowstorm blew through the area, but Shaak Ti barely noticed it as she meditated in her chamber. The Force these days had been as tumultuous as the planet's weather, but she could always close herself off to the effects others had on it. In this particular instance she was simply trying to calm herself from several shocking discoveries she'd made in the data pad left to her by Master Windu.
Her meditation, however, was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Sensing the familiar presence of Qui-Gon, Shaak opened her eyes and bade him enter.
She stood and faced him as he approached and bowed, and she asked, "What have you learned?"
"Darth Vader was in love with the late Senator Amidala," Qui-Gon explained, immediately catching Shaak's interest. "His love for her is what compelled him to obey Obi-Wan's command, what allows Obi-Wan to speak with him at all. My Padawan has been attempting to establish a rapport with Vader since that realization. From what I've seen it's… slow in the making, but it is a possibility."
Shaak mulled over the matter. Considering Qui-Gon's original mission before all of this had been to protect Amidala from the threat Vader had presented, it seemed beyond bizarre that the Sith Lord had been in love with her. Unless, of course, that was the reason she had needed protecting; Sith were quite aggressive and possessive, after all.
"Despite this, there is an underlying problem that still persists," Qui-Gon continued. "Vader is Amidala's murderer. He killed her by order of the emperor. I'm fairly certain that in itself proves that he would do anything for the emperor."
"Crime of passion?" Shaak offered.
Qui-Gon shook his head. "He didn't kill her for any reason except that he was ordered to. Obi-Wan said that Vader is greatly upset by what he did."
"Why would he have such loyalty?" Shaak questioned, even more stunned by this new tidbit of information. "Sith are known for betrayal."
"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed, looking pensive. Shaak wasn't sure she liked whatever conclusion he was coming to. "According to the late senator herself, Vader was brainwashed from his youth to obey his master. I believe he simply doesn't know any better."
"He's been exposed enough to the rest of the galaxy to know something apart from his brainwashing," Shaak argued, raising her brow to make her point. "Don't pity him for that, Qui-Gon. This doesn't diminish the threat he presents."
"But it does prove that he is not a firm practitioner of the Dark Side, simply its slave."
"All Sith are slaves to the Dark Side," Shaak corrected him. "It's only in their own delusion that they are in charge."
The two were silent for a moment, and Shaak pondered the issue. The Rebels were still trying to lick their wounds after the battle, and with Tarkin as the new emperor regent the Empire was once more a great threat. The Alliance was scrambling for supplies and troops, and Viceroy Organa was petitioning to Salkende for more aid. The Rebels couldn't survive another confrontation with the Empire, not right now; Vader was their best hope.
"Has Kenobi been able to learn anything about the Empire?" she asked.
Qui-Gon shook his head. "He attempted to interrogate Vader the other day, but he didn't acquire anything of particular value to the Alliance."
"That's his priority, then," Shaak immediately said. "With Tarkin at the helm of the Empire it won't be long before we engage them in combat once more. We need every advantage we can get."
Qui-Gon shifted, slightly frustrated. "This will take time, Master."
"We don't have time, Qui-Gon," Shaak reminded him firmly. "We don't have time to save Vader, just the Alliance. Get what you can out of him."
Although he looked far from happy about the matter, Qui-Gon didn't argue. Instead, he tipped his head in his typical irritated form of respect and swiftly left the room. Shaak sighed. They all had enough to worry about without attempting an impossible venture like saving an already destroyed mind. Qui-Gon had to realize that. He had to let go.
Tarkin's estate had a plethora of rooms, most of which were empty unless Lady Tarkin was entertaining guests, but the newly appointed emperor regent did take pleasure in one room in particular. The sitting room in the east wing was relatively small to other rooms in the estate, but it was also typically the source of calm and quiet in the entire home. Tarkin could come here to sit and think, and even his wife respected the space. Occasionally the two bonded over one of the few things they both enjoyed: live music.
A string player plucked and strummed her instrument from her place across the sitting room while Tarkin and his wife sat in separate chairs simply listening. The piece of music was calm, as it always had to be in this room, and a fire crackled in the fireplace off to the side, keeping the winter chill at bay. Tarkin enjoyed the moment, feeling like he'd found an oasis in the hurricane of events that had occurred and were still to come.
As the musician finished her piece, the couple applauded her and after some remarks about her good technique and a reply that they were gracious hosts, the woman departed. At that point, Tarkin finally decided to discuss the matter of the senator, having already heard that his wife had spoken to her, which he immediately mentioned.
His wife smiled smugly. "No need to worry, dearest; I have everything under control. The traitor is already bowing to me."
Tarkin eyed his wife, debating whether her arrogance or stupidity irritated him more. He suddenly missed the earlier moment when they were just listening to music. "She is slippery, Aliema. Do not be fooled. It would be better to just keep her in a cell."
"There is nothing to be concerned about. Our estate isn't designed to be a prison, and many people come through here; keeping her in a cell would be too noticeable. I will handle everything," his wife insisted in a somewhat soothing tone, as if Tarkin's warning were based on unfounded fears. It made the emperor regent bristle; if there was one thing that irked him more than anything else, it was being spoken down to.
"Senator Amidala is a stubborn woman," he said firmly, making his point clear. "If she is already submitting to you, then she is playing you."
His wife's face flushed and she shifted in her seat. "I will break her, Wilhuff, just as I do any other slave."
"She'd better be obedient by the time I return," he warned.
His wife smiled. "She'll be ready for you."
Sighing slightly, Tarkin turned his attention to the fire. His mind wandered to other affairs, to Grand Moff Rhaegon, to Vader. He hoped there was still something left to salvage; he figured the boy would be cheered by Amidala's presence, but only so long as the woman behaved. Tarkin didn't want to have to tear the senator away from Vader again, not if he could help it, but that was entirely upon Amidala herself; so long as she behaved, she and Vader could be together. Tarkin nearly laughed at the thought of it; he imagined if Amidala finally did prove she was willing to work with him, he would grant her an estate of her own on some obscure but pleasant colony, and he would have her remain there, waiting for Vader whenever the boy didn't have pressing matters. She would be Vader's stability, his release.
"Wilhuff?"
Tarkin gazed at his wife, slightly irritated by the interruption to his musings.
"When will it be ours?" she asked in a hushed tone, excited and greedy all at once.
The throne? Not for a while, not with all the in-fighting with which he would have to contend, with which he was contending. "Soon, Aliema. We'll have it soon."
"And Vader?"
His agitation grew. "Let me worry about Vader. You worry about the senator."
His wife watched him for a moment longer, intense and hungry all at once, and then she exhaled slowly, leaning back in her seat and looking at the fire. The flames illuminated her face and reflected in her eyes, making them glow. Tarkin followed her gaze, and the two contemplated the future. Many decisions would have to be made once he returned to Imperial Center, once he received a report from Intelligence, from his spy, so he enjoyed the quiet while it lasted.
Obi-Wan grunted as he fell to the ground once more. He and Siri had been training all day, and his body was starting to tremble from the effort of sparring for hours.
Siri, on the other hand, was having entirely too much fun. "Come on, Obi, the only way you'll improve is by trying again."
"Thank you for the advice, Siri," he remarked grumpily as he stood. "I wasn't aware of that."
Siri raised an eyebrow with a smirk. "Careful, Jedi, you're supposed to watch your temper."
Obi-Wan had to laugh at hearing that come from her of all people. "Naturally. Forgive me."
Siri raised her blade, the blue glow reflecting on her eyes. Her face grew determined, and she took a stance that indicated she was ready for another round. Obi-Wan sighed, ignoring his sore muscles, and he too assumed a similar posture. The two had been practicing one of the Jedi's many fighting forms, Shii Cho, and though Siri was eager to learn all seven of the lightsaber techniques, Obi-Wan was far more intent on simply feeling comfortable with one; Siri had trained to be a fighter as part of her handmaiden duties, but Obi-Wan had not been so fortunate, so while she blazed a trail through the katas, Obi-Wan felt like he was barely keeping up with other Padawans just entering training. If he were younger it would be slightly embarrassing, but honestly it was just worrying that he could barely defend himself with a lightsaber when the threat of the Empire loomed over all of them.
When the threat of the Empire was in a cell in their base.
"You have very little training." Darth Vader's voice echoed in Obi-Wan's mind, chilling him slightly, but at the same time, it didn't seem like the man was in any condition to cause too much trouble… and for the life of him, Obi-Wan still couldn't figure out why Tarkin's ascension to power bothered Vader so much. He didn't know what could possibly compel the Sith to react the way he had, not if he and the grand moff had been close. Perhaps they were actually rivals?
He hadn't told anyone about Vader's reaction to Tarkin's rise to power simply because he hadn't had the time—the base had been abuzz with activity as soon as the news had spread. Should he mention it now? There was no reason to hide it, but he didn't see it being entirely useful information, either. He would wait until he had more.
Oh, dear. He'd forgotten to get the Sith some food yesterday… or today for that matter.
Obi-Wan yelped as Siri's blade burned his upper arm. Siri deactivated her lightsaber, looking exasperated. "Obi-Wan, you have to be more mindful than this."
"Perhaps a short break," he suggested as he rubbed his arm, wincing at the slight pain.
Siri sighed, not happy with the prospect, but she didn't argue. Obi-Wan sat on a crate and she soon joined him.
"How are your meditation sessions?" he asked conversationally, allowing his mind to relax from the stressful prospect of thinking about anything related to Vader.
"Well enough," Siri replied. "You'll be surprised to know that I no longer dread it."
Obi-Wan looked at her, raising his eyebrows mildly.
Siri shrugged, gazing at the other Padawans training. "It's… hit or miss. I understand the concept behind it, and I see some importance to sensing out the climate through the Force… but I just can't wrap my mind around sitting still for such a long time without having any specific purpose to it. Qui-Gon has told me that meditation can be used to help figure something out, to help pinpoint a disturbance in the Force, and in that capacity I think it's perfectly sound… but just meditating for its own sake? I guess if you've got the right temperament for it, have at it, but… not me, and certainly not in wartime."
"Have you found a purpose for your own meditation, then?"
Siri shifted, uncomfortable. "I don't know. I thought maybe pondering the situation with Vader would be a good idea, let me get some of the emotion out that way… sometimes it helps, sometimes it makes it worse. Every time I think about him I get hit with some new realization, with some different feeling, and just when I think I've got it figured out everything falls apart again."
"You're not the only one," Obi-Wan muttered.
"Is Qui-Gon still fawning over him?" Siri asked, the displeasure evident in her voice.
Before Obi-Wan could reply, the couple sensed their master's approach, and they stood and bowed to him. Though Obi-Wan still couldn't quite decipher everything through the Force, the mixture of the Jedi Master's body language and tension in the Force indicated he wasn't happy about something.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Tarkin's ascension to power has accelerated plans and heightened concerns," Qui-Gon explained. "Obi-Wan, you must obtain some information from Vader concerning Imperial strategy and holdings. We have to know what to expect, who will attack us."
Obi-Wan remained silent for a moment, taking in what his master had just said. He practically felt whiplash at how quickly the situation had just changed; information had always been the goal, but it was supposed to be slow and steady, subtle, gentle. Now they wanted him to act like the Rebels who had originally caused the uproar?
"He can't work a miracle for you," Siri replied, surprising Obi-Wan. She of all people wanted the Sith Lord to reveal all his secrets, she was far more interested in what Vader could offer the Alliance. Obi-Wan supposed she'd taken to heart his remark about the Sith Lord's stubbornness. "If Vader won't speak, then he won't speak."
"I will try to get what I can, Master," Obi-Wan grudgingly said before his wife could argue further. He appreciated her defending him, but he could sense the urgency of the matter. Besides, his conversation with Vader yesterday had ended on a good note… with tired optimism, Obi-Wan supposed that maybe he could actually get something out of him today. He bowed, and Siri did so at the same time, following him out of the hangar before Qui-Gon could say anything else.
"Obi-Wan, you said yourself this would take time," she remarked as they walked briskly through the hall.
"There's not much I can do on the matter," he said halfheartedly. "No one else can speak to him. I have to try."
"You did try to interrogate him," Siri reminded him. "He tried to barter with you instead."
Stopping to face her, Obi-Wan finally just sighed and said, "There isn't another option, Siri."
Siri watched him with concern. She wasn't happy about this turn of events. Honestly, neither was Obi-Wan, but his own happiness wasn't exactly important or pertinent to the mission. "Don't push him too hard."
Obi-Wan nodded, giving a small smile, and then the couple went their separate ways, leaving the Jedi to ponder the confrontation to come. After yesterday's incident with Vader he felt slightly more comfortable around the Sith, but that didn't mean he would have the upper hand in a situation like this. Perhaps he could mention something about Tarkin? He didn't think he could actually fool Vader into admitting something, but maybe he could use the man's emotions against him; it was growing steadily more obvious that Vader wasn't entirely adept at controlling them.
As Obi-Wan neared the cell, he reached into the Force, testing the climate. Vader didn't seem volatile today; in fact, the Force was strangely still. Was he calm like he'd been before Obi-Wan had delivered the news yesterday?
Entering the cell, Obi-Wan quickly got his answer. Vader was lying on the floor, his eyes half closed as if he were in that same stupor he'd been in a few days ago. Obi-Wan grew confused for a moment, but the man's mood was explained when he noticed the bluish tint to his lips and fingers. His pale skin glistened with sweat, and his breathing was shallow. He wasn't despairing anything, he was sick.
Something about Vader's prone position alarmed Obi-Wan more than it should have. Adrenaline surged through Obi-Wan in a heartbeat, and instead of calling for the guards he rushed over to the Sith, getting on his knees. Grabbing Vader's hands, Obi-Wan flinched at how cold they were. At the touch, however, Vader's eyes opened fully, and he looked at Obi-Wan silently.
"What's wrong?" Obi-Wan asked helplessly; he was no doctor, he had no clue what had caused this. "Does anything hurt? How are you feeling?"
Vader remained silent, watching Obi-Wan steadily, even stubbornly. Irritation coursed through the Jedi.
"Blast it, Vader, this isn't an inquiry," he shook his head, squeezing the man's hands. "I'm asking for your sake, not mine."
When the Sith still refused to speak, Obi-Wan sighed heavily and shifted his hands to grip Vader's wrists. Obi-Wan stood, pulling the Sith up with him to test how steady he was on his feet. Vader swayed a little, but he remained upright. That would have to be good enough.
"I'll be right back," he informed him and then rushed out of the cell, his mind whirling. He had to get Vader to the medical bay, but there was no way he'd let him out of his cell without some sort of restraints. Getting the guards' attention, he asked for some three-hand binders (seeing as there were some species with three hands, the Alliance did have a few such binders in supply). When the guards handed him the cuffs, he then ordered them to alert the medical bay that he would be taking Vader to them.
"What?" one guard questioned incredulously. "The stipulation was that we would let you in, not allow you let him out. You cant take him out of his cell."
"I can and I will." Obi-Wan said firmly, not brooking any argument. He had no time for argument. "That's an order, soldier."
The guard looked even more incredulous and slightly angry, but it dawned upon her that as a Jedi Padawan, Obi-Wan actually was a commander, a thought that rarely crossed his mind until it was necessary, like now. Although being an authority figure was nothing new, being a ranked member of the military was an odd feeling. Seeing the soldier salute him, albeit grudgingly, was a strange sight, though Obi-Wan quickly brushed it aside as he returned to the cell.
Vader thankfully was still standing, and it seemed like he certainly had his wits about him. He was leaning against the wall, watching Obi-Wan with his brow slightly furrowed in confusion and suspicion.
"I already said I won't tell you anything," he spoke softly, his eyes hardening.
"And I already said this has nothing to do with that," Obi-Wan remarked. "Now hold out your hands."
Looking even more baffled, Vader did so, and he watched Obi-Wan cuff both wrists and then put his own wrist in the third cuff. The Sith then looked at him questioningly.
"We're going to the medical bay," Obi-Wan explained.
If it was possible, the apprentice looked even more bemused.
"I'm fairly certain there isn't much to be confused about," Obi-Wan noted, pulling the Sith towards the exit. "We're going to the medical bay. Is there something vague in that statement that you don't understand?"
"Why?"
"You do enjoy asking that, don't you?" Obi-Wan sighed. "I explained my reasoning yesterday."
Vader stopped dead in his tracks, nearly yanking Obi-Wan's arm out of joint. Groaning, Obi-Wan faced the Sith, but Vader didn't speak. He only stared at him, his eyes hard, the Force tightly wound around him.
"What part of my explanation is unclear?" Obi-Wan asked slowly, steadily losing his patience.
"You care."
Obi-Wan blinked. "What?"
"You act like you care. But you don't."
"I don't act like I care?"
"You don't care."
Obi-Wan stared at him. He wasn't quite sure what Vader wanted him to say or do next. Refute him? Obi-Wan wasn't heartless, but… but this was Padmé's murderer, this was a Sith Lord, this was his mark. He pitied the man, yes, but he didn't care for him. But a part of him felt guilty for admitting that, and he knew he would feel a thousand times worse if he actually said it aloud. Vader's bluntness cut right to the heart of the matter, demanding to know why Obi-Wan was helping if he was really being honest. He was essentially asking, if you're not concerned about interrogating me, why are you concerned about my health at all?
Well, blast it, he'd thought he had explained this; he was being charitable. That didn't necessarily mean he had to feel charitable, too. That, apparently, was Qui-Gon's job. Obi-Wan didn't really have much hope in Vader's redemption, just pity for what he'd endured.
The Jedi Padawan sighed. "I… you're a person, Vader. That's reason enough to help."
Darth Vader flinched as if he'd been smacked. He looked stupefied, baffling Obi-Wan. Was that response really so shocking? Stars, the boy really was deprived of anything good or sane in his life. In either case, Obi-Wan pushed the pang of guilt and sadness in his chest aside and pulled the Sith down the hallway since he was seemingly subdued. As they continued to walk down the (thankfully) empty corridor, Obi-Wan remarked mildly, "I suppose you get your walk, after all."
Vader watched him somewhat glumly. "You ruined it."
Obi-Wan almost laughed at his expression, but he held it in and simply gave an amused smile and dryly said, "I suppose you preferred a lightsaber in your hand and corpses everywhere."
Vader sighed, looking at his feet.
The rest of the trip was uneventful, though Obi-Wan belatedly realized this was probably the closest he'd seen Vader acting somewhat normal. Maybe he should let the man stay sick if it meant he acted like a sentient being.
The med bay was packed with soldiers and Jedi, all standing at the ready. Two doctors flanked a bed, scanners in their hands. As soon as Obi-Wan and Vader entered, one soldier uncuffed Obi-Wan from the binders and two Jedi grabbed Vader by the arms and dragged him to the physicians.
Qui-Gon, who was among the Jedi present, approached Obi-Wan. "What happened?"
"He's sick," he explained and then added, "I wasn't able to question him."
He felt like he should be more apologetic about that, but he was oddly satisfied. The more he watched Vader the more he realized he was just as sick of this game as the Sith Lord was. Vader wouldn't admit anything about the Empire, and Obi-Wan didn't want to keep trying to drag information out of him. He knew that it was important for the Alliance, but he also knew that Vader just wouldn't be their source of Intel, not with the way he was now. They hadn't had enough time.
Blast it, why was he contradicting himself so much? He'd told Siri barely ten minutes ago that he would at least attempt to question Vader, and now… well he supposed he wasn't contradicting himself so much as being honest with himself at this point.
A thought occurred to him, though, and he looked at his master. "I would like to speak with him alone once they're finished with the initial treatment."
Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. "You think it will help that he's here instead of in a cell?"
"Perhaps," he replied noncommittally. The change of setting probably wouldn't make a huge difference to Vader, but Obi-Wan would rather talk to him here where the man was physically more comfortable.
Qui-Gon nodded in acknowledgement and walked over to the Jedi and soldiers. The doctors were still scanning Vader, and one of them was prepping his arm for an IV while a nurse brought some thin gloves for his hands. Obi-Wan supposed they would passively warm him rather than actively so his skin wouldn't sustain any more injury; at least he'd heard that was how one treated hypothermia.
Wandering to another part of the medical bay, Obi-Wan sat and meditated, pondering what he should do next. He wanted to speak to Vader simply for the sake of speaking with him. He wasn't quite sure what he'd say, but it would at least be a start. If he couldn't interrogate him, he could at least continue with his other objective in establishing a rapport. Vader's earlier remark indicated that he wasn't fooled by Obi-Wan's actions, but again, just thinking that made him feel guilty. Was he simply doing this to appease himself? He supposed. But it would no doubt do some benefit for Vader, too.
Eventually Qui-Gon found him and said everyone had left (or, more likely, they were waiting outside with their blasters and lightsabers in their hands). Nodding, Obi-Wan made his way over to the Sith Lord, who was sitting on a bed gazing around the empty room with slight suspicion. As soon as Vader laid eyes on Obi-Wan his expression grew icy, and the Force mirrored it.
"No need to raise your defenses," Obi-Wan sighed, recognizing the maneuver now. "I'm just here to talk."
"You talked earlier."
Obi-Wan quipped, "I do believe people are capable of having more than one conversation a day, even if that is your own personal record."
Vader opened his mouth to reply, and then he furrowed his brow and closed it again. Obi-Wan chuckled, garnering amusement from the reaction; it didn't take much to confuse him, did it?
"I had an idea, actually," Obi-Wan said slowly, walking to a chair beside the bed and sitting in it. "Seeing as you're so fixated on interrogations, I propose that you question me."
If it was possible, the boy's bemusement grew.
"Well it would certainly allow you to ask any query you may have," Obi-Wan shrugged nonchalantly.
"Why?"
"Of course you start with your favorite question," Obi-Wan commented dryly.
Vader's gaze grew stubborn. Obi-Wan sighed.
"I'm not sure how many other ways I can answer," he finally said. "You don't seem to hear me."
"I thought you would understand."
"Understand what?"
"You're a soldier now. You're a Jedi." Vader gestured irritably. "It's your job to break me. You're terrible at it."
Obi-Wan gave him probably the most discombobulated expression possible. "I'm… not sure how that pertains to anything I just said."
"That's the point." Vader emphasized.
"Well, as I recall, you said you weren't going to tell me anything."
"So you just gave up."
"I saw no reason to continue."
Vader furrowed his brow further, seemingly unable to comprehend his explanation.
"You're not Human." The Sith Lord finally said.
Obi-Wan blanched. "What?"
Vader blinked. Then he blinked again. "It's genetic, isn't it?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Padmé sometimes didn't hear me either. Never mind, you're adopted."
What? "Vader, you're speaking nonsense."
"Well so are you!"
"How am I speaking nonsense?"
"Nobody is that incompetent at their job. If they are, they die. You haven't gotten yourself killed yet."
"I'm not incompetent," Obi-Wan replied a little irritably. "I decided it was in both our interests to stop the charade. There was no point in interrogating you."
"The Rebels need information."
"Yes, desperately, but you won't give it."
Vader shook his head.
"So there's no point in continuing down that venture."
"You—you can't just give up."
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "You want me to push you?"
"You're supposed to push me."
Obi-Wan finally let himself laugh. "You've been waiting to say this for a while, haven't you?"
Vader crossed his arms, annoyed.
"By the stars, I must admit that you are the strangest person I've ever met," Obi-Wan observed.
The Imperial's irritation immediately vanished, giving way to confusion once more. Then defensiveness. Then anger again. And then he looked away.
Obi-Wan blinked, completely baffled. Shaking his head, he steered the conversation back to its original point. "So. What do you want to ask?"
"I don't want anything."
Obi-Wan didn't believe that for a second. "All you've ever done is question what I do, and now you're telling me you don't have a single thing to ask me?"
Vader was silent for a long time. Obi-Wan almost gave up on getting anything out of him when he finally did pose a question. "Do you hate me?"
It was odd hearing such a question couched in sincere curiosity. The Sith Lord wasn't tempting Obi-Wan to hate him, nor was he begrudging him. He just wanted to know.
Obi-Wan looked him in the eye. "No."
Before Vader could say anything Obi-Wan added, "And since you will no doubt ask why, I'll explain it: a Jedi does not give in to his emotions, especially darker ones like hatred. It only leads to more conflict, more pain. It only leads to the Dark Side."
"So… you don't hate because you're not supposed to." Vader surmised slowly.
"I choose not to. I've seen what hatred does to people."
Vader furrowed his brow. "What does it do?"
Obi-Wan felt dumbstruck. He knew by this point he shouldn't be surprised that Vader wasn't a normal Sith Lord—far from it, honestly—but hatred was the hallmark of the Sith, practically the hallmark of the Empire. "Don't tell me you've never hated anyone. It consumes you, you should know that."
"It serves as a drive," Vader remarked thoughtfully, as if he were just considering it for the first time. The Sith exhaled shakily, and the Force finally gave its first indication to his emotions, slipping up just slightly and making Obi-Wan's gut clench. He didn't know what the sensation was, but it vanished quickly enough as Vader closed his eyes in concentration, attempting to control himself.
"Temporary drive," Obi-Wan stressed, wondering why he was even teaching this man about it, marveling at the indescribable irony of a Jedi explaining how hatred works to a Sith. "And whatever benefit it gives you in motivation, it quickly overpowers it with irrational thought. Hatred serves no purpose."
"Is there a way to harness hatred without being illogical?"
Obi-Wan would have laughed at such a question if it had come from anyone else. Instead, Vader was watching him intently, sincerely, a completely blank slate when it came to just about anything, for lack of a better word, natural. Obi-Wan's chest clenched far more than it should have, and some strange wave of sympathy, protectiveness, and confusion washed over him. Eventually, he answered, "No."
The two sat in silence for a long time after this, but Obi-Wan remained patient, curious to see what Vader would ask next. After pondering the matter, the Sith Lord asked, "Why did you tell me to stop?"
Obi-Wan stared at him, confused. "When did I…?"
"During the interrogation."
Oh. Oh. Obi-Wan looked away, not entirely sure how to explain himself. At the time he'd simply listened to the Force and reacted. He supposed that was reasonable enough, but he knew Vader would want more. Sighing, he shook his head. He couldn't provide more, so he'd just tell him what he did know. "I… reacted. The Force was trying to tell me something, and I wasn't sure what it was, so I simply… listened."
"You control the Force, not the other way around." Vader immediately said firmly, attempting to destroy Obi-Wan's explanation entirely, demanding a better one.
Here Obi-Wan hesitated. He was still learning the basics of the Jedi beliefs; he couldn't get into a debate about the nature of the Force with Vader when Jedi Masters weren't exactly experts on the subject. He still tried, though. "The Force does speak to you. It's how you can sense danger, how you can detect disturbances. It isn't completely passive."
"The Force is noisy because of people. It doesn't have a voice."
"The Jedi teach that people become one with the Force when they die," Obi-Wan offered shakily, not quite sure he himself believed it. "Wouldn't that count as giving it a voice?"
Vader's eyes darkened. "I don't sense him whenever I access the Force. The Jedi are wrong."
Sense him? Palpatine. He was talking about Palpatine. Obi-Wan shifted in his seat, not quite nervous, but most certainly cautious. They'd never openly addressed the issue of the emperor since Obi-Wan knew it was Vader's biggest trigger. He hadn't wanted to set the man off before… could he bring up the issue now? Had it been long enough? Had they at least established that they could talk comfortably with each other?
Obi-Wan decided to play it safe. "Honestly, I don't know what happens to those who die, Vader. It's a mystery to the living."
"You don't come back." Vader remarked softly, his tone laced with frustration and pain.
Watching the Sith Lord stirred some sort of emotion in Obi-Wan, and he said, "There are many who believe there's an entirely new and different life after death. A better world, a better place. Perhaps everyone goes there."
"What happens when you die in that life?"
"I'm fairly certain the idea is that you don't."
"Then what's the purpose of this life?"
Obi-Wan smiled gently. "That is a question philosophers have been trying to answer since the dawn of sentient species. Until we can get a definitive answer we just make the most of it."
Vader shook his head, his eyebrows coming together in contemplation.
Obi-Wan took a deep breath. "Did you never discuss this with the emperor?"
Darth Vader immediately snapped his attention back to the Jedi. His body went rigid, and the air felt tense as if the Force were being pulled in so many directions it would snap. Obi-Wan winced slightly, but he maintained firm eye contact with the Sith.
"What I discussed with the emperor is none of your concern," Vader remarked, his tone stony and cold.
"I won't force you to speak on the matter," Obi-Wan appeased him, though they both knew the Jedi Padawan wouldn't be able to force Vader to do anything. "But… if you ever want to talk, I'm here to listen."
Vader's eyes softened, and he gazed intently at Obi-Wan, desperately searching for something. Knowing what the boy would ask, he explained, "Because I do care."
And he really meant it; for the first time, Obi-Wan did find it within himself to care a little for the lost, shattered, destructive mess that was Darth Vader.
Let me know if Obi-Wan's feeling consistent and realistic; I struggle a lot with his character, sadly. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. :)
And since I'm a musician, more musical fun! In memory of our dear departed Papa Palps, I highly recommend one of his favorite pieces of music, The Lark Ascending. Just youtube the title and you should be able to find it just fine! If you want to listen to what the Tarkin couple was listening to (or, more accurately, what I was listening to while I wrote that POV), then search for Spring River Flower Moon Night on youtube.