Naboo Rose

by Girlbender875

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

47. Breakout

So. This chapter is slightly long. But you guys seem to like long chapters and I couldn't find a good way to divide it up, so here it is. (I really need to learn how to be succinct ugh). Also, please forgive any typos, I'm sure I missed some. On the plus side, if you felt like the pacing had been sluggish, that is definitely no longer the case. Enjoy!

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Darth Vader isn't here.

Obi-Wan's eyes opened in an instant. The room felt unusually warm, his heart beat quickly as if he'd just run a kilometer, and his head ached. Slightly dazed by his abrupt transition to wakefulness, he blinked several times and gazed at his wife. Siri furrowed her brow in her sleep, sensing her husband's distress, but was too exhausted to be bothered by it just yet. Obi-Wan quickly took a deep breath to calm himself. Where had all that come from?

Darth Vader isn't here.

The thought went through his mind once more, and then its meaning finally registered.

Eyes widening, Obi-Wan slipped out of the bed, hopping lightly onto the ground and ignoring his aching back. The sleep mat that would have served as Vader's bed was still rolled neatly in the corner, and the young man's presence in the Force was practically nonexistent. Hastily putting some boots on, Obi-Wan threw a robe over himself and exited the dorm. The lounge was empty, confirming what he essentially already knew at that point.

"Blast," he muttered, gazing around helplessly.

Obi-Wan spent the next minute or so wandering the entire building, wondering if somehow he could figure out where Vader might be. Where could he have vanished off to? Obi-Wan had little worry over him meeting with Imperials; it was fairly obvious he didn't care about rejoining the Empire. He'd killed stormtroopers for heaven's sake. So where would he go? He wasn't in danger, was he?

When Obi-Wan eventually started to calm his thoughts, he tried sitting in the lounge and meditating, focusing on finding Vader through the Force. He'd meditated a few times in the early hours of the morning on Hoth and had appreciated the sense of peace from being surrounded by those whose minds were at ease with slumber, and this time was no different; it also made it far easier to find the one relatively close mind that was not at peace in the slightest.

There you are. Opening his eyes, Obi-Wan hastily made his way outside. The morning was muggy, dew clinging to the grass as the sun started to blearily pierce through the haze that had settled in the night. Obi-Wan could barely see the next building, but the Force burned through the fog, immediately pointing the way to his target.

Even at a distance, he could see Vader was slouched and dragging his feet. The differences in the Force were far subtler, but Obi-Wan had been around the young man enough to start to notice them. His usual ice cold demeanor, like frigid air on a breezeless night, fluctuated a little, making Obi-Wan's head throb one moment and his stomach clench in the next. As Vader drew nearer he tried to close his mind off, and the air was sucked out of Obi-Wan's lungs, but he took a deep breath and immediately got to the point. "I told you not to leave the building."

Whether Vader heard him or not was unclear, but the Sith did pause, indicating it was likely. However, he didn't comment. Instead, his hands fiddled with his trousers, and he simply watched Obi-Wan tiredly.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" Obi-Wan asked, exasperated, confused, and weary all at once. Obi-Wan was pretty certain he knew the answer, but did Vader himself know? He knew Vader probably couldn't answer him, but he at least wanted to try and pose the question so the man might actually consider it.

Predictably, Vader said nothing. Unpredictably, he sank to his knees right in front of Obi-Wan. Startled, the Jedi stepped toward him before hesitating.

"Walking isn't working," Vader remarked dully, staring at the dew.

What did walking have to do with any of this, anyway?

And then it hit him. Coping. It was a coping mechanism. With as many issues as Vader had, it was no doubt he probably had plenty of those.

Filled with uncertainty, Obi-Wan simply watched the young man. He was no master of reassurances, after all. But he supposed he couldn't just leave him sitting here moping… especially when he noted the scrapes on the man's hands. "Where did you get those?"

Vader was mute. Obi-Wan sighed heavily. Taking a deep breath, the Jedi slowly knelt in front of the Sith. "Look at me."

The young man did as he was told, hollow eyes gazing into Obi-Wan's. Seeing the amount of confusion and despair in them made the Jedi tremble for a moment.

"You can't keep doing this," Obi-Wan said softly, grabbing the young man's wrists and turning his hands so his palms faced upward. They were caked with dry blood and slightly swollen.

Vader's gaze went down to his hands, and he tried to pull them away. Obi-Wan held tighter, making the young man glance at him in confusion.

"You don't have to keep doing this," Obi-Wan continued, trying to figure out what he himself was saying let alone what he wanted to convey to Vader. He didn't see a need for the boy to keep wallowing in despair like this. It wouldn't do him any good. It wouldn't do any of them any good. But with as much as Vader had been through, would simply saying that really help? That's all he wanted to do. He just wanted to help.

"Neither of them would want this," Obi-Wan remarked, locking eyes with Vader once more. "They wouldn't want you hurting yourself."

"I didn't hurt myself," Vader snapped, finally yanking his hands out of Obi-Wan's grip, causing his palms to start bleeding again. "You don't know what he would want."

"I know what Padmé would want," Obi-Wan said, his voice growing firmer as his frustration grew. How in the blazes had Padmé not lost her mind on Varykino with as stubborn as this boy was?

Hearing her name made Vader flinch, and he shot to his feet. Obi-Wan slowly stood, mildly wondering to himself why he wasn't more nervous about the Sith's rattled state. Perhaps he was just used to the man's mood swings now.

They stood in silence for a long time. Force only knew what Vader was contemplating, but Obi-Wan was wondering how he would convince the young man to come inside, get his hands bandaged, and go to bed. It had probably been a few days since he'd slept without being drugged. Perhaps even weeks. How long had it been since Palpatine's death? Obi-Wan didn't even know anymore. It felt like a lifetime ago by now.

Mentioning Padmé seemed a helpful tactic, so he employed it once more. "She wouldn't want you to be hurt. Come inside and let me clean your hands up."

Vader hesitated, swallowing. His eyes were wide, his face pale. The Force fluttered, the ice cracking and floating at the surface of an angry ocean. Obi-Wan steadied himself, and as he focused, he could sense Vader calming as well.

"Could you do it?"

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, surprised the man had even spoken and confused about his question. "Of course I can clean them. It's not the first time I've had to treat one of your wounds."

The Force rippled more violently, and Vader's brow furrowed. "Could you do it?"

This didn't have to do with his hands. "Vader, what are you talking about?"

"You've… you're better. Moved on. Unaffected. You could do it."

What? "I could do what?"

"You could kill her."

Obi-Wan felt his jaw drop. "What?"

"Just look at you!" Vader motioned sharply in his direction, starting to pace. "You can talk about it like it's nothing—you can talk about her like it doesn't matter that someone you love is dead! Like it doesn't matter that a part of your being is gone, that your reason for existence—"

He froze, panting for air. Obi-Wan stared at him. Vader's words cut deep into the Jedi, and he felt an old wound trying to reopen. He slammed down on any thoughts or emotions that tried to tear out of him. His mouth became a thin line. Vader seemed to detect the distinct change in his demeanor, and he turned away.

"You apologized for killing her," Obi-Wan said curtly. "That would imply that you knew it hurt. That would imply that you knew it did affect me. What sort of assumption led you to think I don't care about my own sister?"

The Sith Lord said nothing, balling his fists. Blood dripped lazily from his fingers.

"You're selfish," Obi-Wan remarked, his tone growing even sharper. "You don't understand anything outside of your own little world, outside of your training. You're incapable of thinking beyond your upbringing, and it's limiting you, destroying you. Don't you dare pretend to know how the rest of us think, how the rest of us feel."

The Force snapped, and Vader whirled around, his face flushing. "I understand how the world works—it's you who does not. Duty and obedience dictate everything, power and efficiency are what prove one's worth."

"So you're worthless, then?" Obi-Wan surmised darkly. "You failed your master, therefore proving that you are utterly useless."

In an instant all the color drained from Vader's face. Obi-Wan felt his chest clench, and he was immediately filled with regret. The Sith Lord took two hasty steps away.

"Vader—" Obi-Wan called to stop him, reaching a hand out.

The young man shook his head, taking another step away from him. His words had cut straight to his core, likely echoing his own thoughts. Obi-Wan grew slightly alarmed and took a hasty step towards the Sith, ignoring his retreat and grabbing his wrist.

"I'm sorry," he whispered sincerely. "I—I'm sorry. Her death does affect me. I try to move on, but sometimes my emotions still get the best of me. It's something I'm still working on. We all have moments of weakness, moments where we snap and say things we don't mean to. You're not worthless, Vader."

Darth Vader continued to watch him with slightly wide eyes, his body tense and his brow furrowed. He swallowed, but the color didn't return to his cheeks. Obi-Wan felt sick through the Force, empty and hurt and twisted in a million different directions. He felt lost.

Taking a deep breath he let it all go. "You're not worthless. You never will be. Padmé believed that and so do I."

The Force rippled, and Obi-Wan felt the ice in his soul melt a little. He closed his eyes and pulled Vader slightly closer, opening them and smiling reassuringly. "Come. Let's walk."

The Sith's forehead creased as he drew his brows together in hesitancy and mild bewilderment. Obi-Wan didn't bother to explain himself. He just followed the Force's gentle pull, and he knew that walking was what seemed to help the man. Pity and compassion motivated him, understanding made him care about the boy, and Obi-Wan felt incredibly guilty for hurting Vader, for practically agreeing with the man's own inner demons.

The pair walked in silence, stepping softly in the dewy courtyards between the buildings. The moisture clung to Obi-Wan, but it wasn't hot enough to be uncomfortable yet. Darth Vader was silent, and the Force still felt tumultuous, but as they continued it grew steadily hazier, even dull. Vader's mind started to blend with the others, losing focus. Obi-Wan wasn't sure if that was how he normally was on his walks, but it at least seemed better than how he'd been just moments prior. Obi-Wan himself was simply trying to focus on what he would do next and how he would juggle hiding from the Empire with taking care of Vader with taking care of Siri with trying to get back to the Alliance. He was still debating whether he should try to get back to the Alliance.

The Alliance had said they'd give him a week to get information or they would kill Vader. Obi-Wan tensed slightly just thinking about it. No, he wouldn't have that. But he wasn't going to interrogate Vader. This wasn't about that anymore. But how could he still aid the cause, still fight the Empire, if his desire to care for the young lost Sith contradicted with his duty to help the Rebels?

Duty and obedience dictate everything. Obi-Wan nearly scoffed just listening to the boy's words in his mind. If that were the case, Vader was as good as dead. As if the Jedi Padawan would sink to that level, as if he would put a false sense of obligation before someone's life. Obi-Wan had joined the Alliance to help eliminate the disease that was the Empire; he'd instinctively known the galaxy was suffocating under the hold of the Dark Side. But the emperor was now dead, and the only practitioner of the Dark Side and all around threat to the Rebels was with him now and needed help, not harm. Would the Jedi call this an attachment? Was his concern for Vader blinding him to the bigger picture? Perhaps… but the alternative was no better; attempting to interrogate Vader would yield no result, and then the boy would die at the end of the week.

Eventually the haze started to lift, the Force lit up with conscious beings, and the heat started to get stifling. Obi-Wan paused, and he had to stop Vader from continuing to walk away from him. "Come on. Let's go inside."

The Sith didn't argue, his presence in the Force still muted, and the two made their way back to their temporary residence. As they entered from the opposite side Obi-Wan had originally exited, they reached their floor on the other end of the hall. The hall was flanked by two lounges, but the one that was farther from them had a HoloNet receiver, making it far more traveled than the one closer to them. As they entered the hall from the stairway, the HoloNet receiver was on the news and the lounge was filled with the residents. Obi-Wan sensed Siri and saw her standing in the back, her arms crossed. She locked eyes with him and her gaze shifted to Vader before looking back at Obi-Wan questioningly. What happened?

Obi-Wan smiled. Don't worry about it.

His wife raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue, resuming her original position. Obi-Wan guided Vader down the hall, passing a few neighbors along the way, before finally reaching their own room on the right. He slowed as they approached the door, noticing a blue skinned Nautolan woman standing just in front of it looking like she was about to knock.

"Can I help you?" Obi-Wan asked, prodding the Force suspiciously, but he felt nothing threatening.

The Nautolan jumped. "Oh! Are you Ben Kenobi?"

"Yes," he answered, his body tensing slightly, but he noted that Vader didn't seem bothered by the stranger, and he took some comfort in that; if the Sith Lord had detected a threat he would have acted on it by now, whether Obi-Wan liked it or not. He'd learned that much about the man, at least.

"I'm Dr. Alinep, the obstetrician you requested," she introduced herself with a nod of her head and a small, tired smile.

Oh. Most of his suspicion melted, and Obi-Wan bowed in greeting. "Thank you for coming. My wife is in the lounge at the moment; if you're willing to wait I'll send her over, but I will be a little delayed in returning. I have to take care of—of Sheev first."

Blast it was strange calling Vader that. And it just felt wrong – Obi-Wan wasn't sure if Siri had been trying to insult Vader or make him feel a little better by giving him his master's name as an alias.

The physician's large eyes seemed to focus on Vader, and she immediately noticed his hands. "What happened? I can help clean up his hands if you like."

"I don't require assistance." Vader immediately said, his tone cold. His face grew stony, and the Force froze. He wouldn't show weakness in front of someone he didn't know. Obi-Wan had the general idea that Vader wasn't in the habit of showing weakness to anyone, really – he supposed it was a compliment, then, that the Sith would be so unsure around him.

"I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn't want to waste your time with something so trivial," Obi-Wan brushed her off, turning towards the lounge once more. He wouldn't leave the doctor and Vader alone together, so it was better to just bring him along to retrieve Siri. "Just give me a moment."

Heading back to the lounge, Obi-Wan motioned to Siri, who walked over to them.

"I was just seeing what the news had to say about yesterday's fiasco," she muttered, throwing Vader a pointed look before returning her attention to her husband. "Looks like they think it was just due to unrest, but it's got people on edge and the Imperial forces aren't very happy, either. I didn't expect there to be much of an Imperial presence here, though – this place is a refugee center for those who want to get away from the Empire."

"It's hard to find a place where there aren't Imperials," Obi-Wan remarked in response. "With as many refugees as this planet gets on a daily basis, it's fairly easy to hide from the Empire even if there are stormtroopers patrolling the streets. Besides, there aren't many of them from what I saw. In either case, there's an obstetrician waiting to look you over."

Siri blinked, having forgotten about the request for a doctor. Then she sighed and looked at Vader. "Aren't they going to want medical records? This isn't a good idea."

"It's a refugee center, Siri, and they already know we were unable to get our paperwork," Obi-Wan pointed out. "It'll be fine."

Siri smirked. "You're agreeing with our local lunatic?"

Vader stiffened at the title bestowed upon him. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, somewhat amused, and only tipped his head in response with a smile. The trio silently returned to the other end of the hall and Siri and the physician introduced themselves as Obi-Wan unlocked the door and let Siri and Dr. Alinep enter first. He then took Vader to the shared refresher and watched the Sith rinse his hands with warm water before toweling it dry. He supposed he could ask the physician for some bacta, at least.

As the two returned to the room, Obi-Wan saw Siri sitting on the bed talking to the doctor, having apparently finished the imaging. Vader followed him like a shadow, silent, poised, and looking almost normal if it weren't for the occasional twitch of his hands or facial muscles.

"Ben, she was just telling me why she's on Ferrasco," Siri remarked, getting Obi-Wan's attention. "Apparently she's a refugee as well."

"I'm sorry to hear it," Obi-Wan sighed. "The Empire has affected far too many."

"It's all right," Dr. Alinep replied, her expression distant. "I was a different woman back then. Arrogant. I was the best in my field and I knew it, and I extorted the rich for it. It also kept me alive during the early years of the Empire. I took pride in it… until I made myself too indispensable. But in either case, I'm here now and far humbler."

"Too indispensable?" Siri asked, her curiosity piqued.

The doctor sighed. "I was called on by… by the emperor himself."

Obi-Wan and Siri nearly gawked at her. Vader stiffened. "The emperor?"

"He had a slave who was pregnant," the doctor explained. "I thought maybe she was a breeder slave, but it would be strange to call in the best obstetrician in the galaxy for that. I figured there was more to it, but I wasn't stupid enough to ask questions. I just took care of her. She was… different from anyone I'd ever met. She was filled with this indescribable sense of worth and dignity, like no matter what position she was in she would never break for anyone. I was amazed at how she could be that way when she was owned by the worst man in the galaxy. Her strength of character was… unbelievable. And she was always so kind to me.

"As the pregnancy progressed I started getting suspicious, especially when I was told to do a midichlorian count without looking at the results; they were only for the emperor. Things only got worse when the slaves looking after the mother changed constantly. I knew they weren't just switching them out—they were killing them. This baby was special. And then I overheard the conversation with—with that moff and… and I knew this was going to be my last case if I didn't find a way to get out of there."

"They were going to kill you?" Obi-Wan questioned.

The doctor nodded. "As soon as the baby was born, as soon as I made sure he was healthy, they were going to kill me. I suspect they were going to kill the mother too. The only one that seemed to matter was the child. I felt so bad for that mother. I wanted to get her out of there, but there was nothing I could do… nothing. So I just try to be as kind as she was, and I remember her. That's all I can do."

"You don't know what happened?" Siri asked.

"Oh I was there for the birth—I didn't have much of a chance to escape before that," the doctor sighed. "He was fine. Healthy, beautiful little boy. His mother's face just lit up when she saw him; I could tell he was the most amazing thing she'd ever seen. Made me feel sick to my stomach thinking what they were going to do to her. But I couldn't do anything. I just could save myself. I took some tests on the baby and said I would get the results to them in a minute. Left the baby with the insane amounts of security there and I ran—I ran as fast and as hard as I could. Nearly got shot for my troubles, but I got out of there, and I was living like filth for the next decade of my life before I finally started rebuilding my identity, my career, everything. I stayed in the Outer Rim, but I eventually found my way here so I could help those in similar situations. I suspect the mother's long gone, probably died that day."

Obi-Wan glanced at Vader curiously. Did he know anything about this? He probably would have been around to witness it, assuming this wasn't some sick experiment of Palpatine's. Unless…

No. No. No, no, no, no, no.

"Do you… do you know if the father was…?" Obi-Wan asked hesitantly, wondering if the doctor would catch his meaning since he couldn't even stomach finishing the question.

The obstetrician sighed again, her expression grim. "I suspect he was. It would explain the secrecy, the emperor's interest… everything, really."

Obi-Wan felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He looked at Vader again. The Sith had gone completely rigid, and the Force groaned a low warning.

"What was her name?" Siri asked softly, not quite catching on to Obi-Wan's epiphany just yet.

"Shmi Skywalker," Dr. Alinep answered. "She named her boy Anakin. I can't imagine what the emperor did to him, where he is now… if he's even alive. But I pray he's alive; his mother would've wanted that."

"You don't know what she wanted," Vader snapped, and the air felt electric as he stepped towards the physician. "Finish your work and leave."

Siri stared at Vader as Obi-Wan's realization hit her, and dawning comprehension and horror colored her expression. Obi-Wan tried to catch his breath, and he pulled Vader away as he said, "Forgive him, he—gets upset easily. I'm sorry to have dredged up such terrible memories. Getting back to matters now, is the baby alright? And Mya?"

Dr. Alinep blinked, a little taken aback at Vader's action, and she faced Obi-Wan. "S-she's fine. Mya and your baby are perfectly healthy. I told her to get some rest, though, because it looks like her body's seen some stress. I gave her some multivitamins. I'll be back to check up on you in a few weeks if you're still in this area."

Obi-Wan bowed. "Thank you very much. We greatly appreciate it."

The doctor nodded, glancing once more at Vader before bidding them a good day and leaving. As the door closed behind her, the room was filled with silence.

Eventually Siri spoke first. "So that's your real name, then: Anakin."

"My name is Darth Vader," the Imperial immediately said, his tone sharp, but it held no threat to it. Through the Force there was an undercurrent of desperation.

"Palpatine was your father," Obi-Wan finally said, unable to not state what had been screaming in his mind ever since he'd realized it. "Your father."

His father! If Obi-Wan had known nothing else about Vader, just knowing that would explain his demented behavior and personality completely. This was beyond sickening – it was one thing to know that a Sith Master had raised a youngling through brutality and relentless training, molding him into a weapon devoid of life and emotion—he could at least fathom that. Sith Lords were despicable. But for that child to be his own… it was… it was disgusting.

Obi-Wan thought of all the happy memories he had with his family. He wasn't even their biological son and they had raised him with such love and care. He felt physically ill just pondering what Palpatine had done. His gut filled with an ugly emotion that he rarely felt: hatred.

Obi-Wan exited the room, needing to breathe, unable to stand right beside Darth Vader and fathom that. He shouldn't have been so surprised, honestly – after everything he'd learned, it was actually a logical conclusion if one was insane enough to make the leap and assume Palpatine had ever fathered anyone.

He was his father. He killed his mother. The more Obi-Wan thought about it, the more another realization settled in… Vader knew everything. He knew Palpatine had killed his mother. And he still loved him, despite that, despite everything.

Obi-Wan leaned against the wall, fighting another wave of nausea. It hit him all the harder now that he himself was a father. As soon as that thought crossed his mind, as soon as he had the idea of doing to his unborn child and Siri what Palpatine had done to Vader and Shmi, Obi-Wan balled his fists and gritted his teeth, completely oblivious to the windows nearby steadily cracking as the Force thickened with emotion.

He was happy Palpatine was dead. He couldn't be happier. If there was one person who deserved to burn in hell for all eternity, it was that monster.

His bond to Siri was searing hot. She felt the exact same way, though she was still trying to register everything. But then Obi-Wan started to breathe again, and he slowly released the tension in his body. The Force cooled, his calmness seeped into his wife and soothed her, and he recited the code in his mind. After all, there was no reason to hold onto any hatred about the matter – Palpatine was, thankfully, dead and could no longer hurt his son. All they could do now was help Vader.

Help Anakin. Obi-Wan knew that the first thing that would change was that man's name – he would not hold onto a title bestowed upon him by that Sith.

In the room, Siri had come to the same resolution. "Your name can't be Darth Vader anymore. We're in hiding."

"You said my alias was Sheev."

"We're changing it."

"You can't change it, it's already on record."

"People have other names. Nicknames. Better names. Their actual names." Siri emphasized, getting off the bed and standing right in front of the young man, trembling from head to foot at the sheer amount of rage and disgust coursing through her, though her bond with Obi-Wan was steadily helping her calm herself. "Your name is Anakin."

"You can't do this," Vader said quietly, his voice a mix of fear and anger. "You won't change my name."

"We can and we will," Siri insisted firmly. "So get used to it, Anakin."

The window shattered, making Siri jump. Vader stormed out of the room, but her reflexes were fast enough now that she followed him and prevented him from leaving. The raucous caught Obi-Wan's attention, as well as a few of their immediate neighbors. A teenage Devaronian girl exited the room across from them, holding an infant as a toddler hid behind her legs, and a Cathar male exited from the room adjacent to them.

"What happened?" the Cathar asked.

"Our window broke," Siri answered, wanting to quickly diffuse the situation and get back to the original issue. "Not quite sure what happened. It was an accident of some sort."

"Is everyone okay?" he glanced around at the group.

"Yes, thank you," Siri nodded with a strained smile. She appreciated his concern but she had more pressing matters to worry about right now, particularly since Vader took her temporary distraction as an opportunity to shove passed her. Thankfully, Obi-Wan stepped in his way.

The Cathar seemed to notice the tense atmosphere, but he didn't question it, retreating to his room. The Devaronian looked more uncertain, however, but any remark she may have made was drowned out when the infant in her arms started to cry. She looked at the child in a panic, embarrassed that she was inadvertently causing an even greater raucous, and she mumbled an apology, hurrying to her room with the toddler in tow.

"What actually happened?" Obi-Wan asked Siri and Vader.

Siri sighed and gave him a pointed look. Take a guess.

"Get out of my way," Vader warned.

Siri was about to speak when Obi-Wan stepped aside. She gawked at her husband as Vader disappeared into the stairwell. "What are you doing?"

"Not starting a fight," Obi-Wan answered. "Don't push him."

"So we're going to let him throw a temper tantrum and storm off?" Siri rebutted, waving her arm to emphasize her point.

"We all need to calm down," Obi-Wan said firmly. "Our emotions are influencing our actions, and the last thing we need to do is antagonize him."

Siri tried to argue her point, but his words made too much sense. Biting her tongue, she sighed. Fine, she shouldn't push him. But they couldn't lose track of him either. "Are you going to follow him?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "Perhaps you can figure out how to resolve our window issue?"

Siri ran a hand through her hair somewhat exasperatedly. "Yes, I'll handle it."

Leaving his wife to that task, Obi-Wan hastened down the stairs in an attempt to keep up with Vader. He caught sight of the man making his way through a crowd of refugees who were entering the area. Picking up his pace, he caught up with him. "Anakin—"

Vader whirled on him. "I said don't call me that."

"Well I can't call you anything else out here," he muttered just loud enough for the young man to hear.

Vader clenched his jaw, unable to argue against that point. Instead, he lowered his own voice as well. "You don't have that right. You—you can't do that. My name is Darth Vader, and nothing else."

Why was this upsetting him so much? He'd been fine with an alias earlier. Granted, it was his father's name—his father, his mind screamed again, and he shoved that thought away—so he probably didn't mind it, but… he knew the importance of an alias. Why was he suddenly so insistent on only being called Vader? What was actually fueling this? Was he just upset that they now knew his parentage? If that were the case, it would seem more likely that Vader would be just upset in general, not vehement about this particular subject.

"Why does this bother you so much?" Obi-Wan asked.

"It—it doesn't—I'm fine."

Obi-Wan stared at him. Really? He wasn't sure if Vader's emotionalism was making him moronic or the man just assumed Obi-Wan was dumb enough to believe him. Or he just had no other defense.

It's all I have left.

Obi-Wan jumped, startled by the stray thought. The voice wasn't his own, the emotion wasn't his own… but it wasn't Siri, either. Where had…? Had that been Vader? Had he just heard Vader's thoughts?

When had a bond developed between them?!

Obi-Wan pushed the temporary astonishment aside and instead contemplated the words. All he had left? What did he mean? In terms of identity, remembrance, possessions?

It's all I have left.

Palpatine. It was all he had left from Palpatine. It was all he had left of himself.

Obi-Wan took a small step towards him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "He gave you your training, your skills, your life. He gave you everything you have. But your mother gave you life too… and that name."

"She doesn't matter. She served her purpose." Vader's voice trembled here, and the Force quivered with him.

"Is that really all you can think she is? Just a means to—" Obi-Wan stopped himself, knowing what the answer would be. Of course Shmi Skywalker was just a means to an end. That's exactly what Anakin Skywalker thought he was, so why wouldn't he assume his mother was the same way?

How the blazes could he help this boy?

"That doctor knows nothing," Vader snapped, looking elsewhere, not even noticing Obi-Wan anymore. "She—she can't know. That's—she knows nothing. Shmi did her duty. That's all."

What was he getting at? Why was he suddenly ranting about this? What assumptions was Vader accusing the doctor of? Obi-Wan thought back to the man's initial biting remark towards the poor woman, and it echoed the remark Vader had made to Obi-Wan earlier in the morning. Apparently he grew upset when others said what they thought his parents would wish for him. Obi-Wan could see how that might bother Vader when it concerned Palpatine, but why would it bother him when it concerned his mother, for whom he apparently cared little?

Unless of course that was just the issue: Vader didn't care for his mother because he'd taught himself that she hadn't cared for him.

Obi-Wan blew out a shaky breath. That was likely the issue at hand, but he wasn't sure how to resolve that at the moment. He just knew he had to find a way to calm Vader. It had steadily grown more apparent over their time together that since Vader had convinced himself he had no emotions, he also had no way of controlling them when they came forth. It was so odd how the man had such an instinct for coping mechanisms like walking without even realizing why he had them. But Obi-Wan was nearly convinced now that a part of him knew, a part of him realized that this was wrong, that his views were incorrect and self-destructive. So how could he bring that part forward without causing Vader to completely melt down?

Vader was a blunt man. Obi-Wan tried for the same tactic. "You don't know if she did or didn't care, but judging from the account of someone who had actually interacted with her, it seems likely she did indeed love you. Use your mind, young one – the lies you've fed yourself over the years are just that: lies. You have to realize that."

"Master—"

"Is gone," Obi-Wan emphasized. "And if he were still around, even you can't argue with the fact that he wouldn't want you wallowing in despair, tearing yourself to pieces. You have to accept the truth."

"What is the truth?" Vader snapped, walking towards Obi-Wan and towering over him. "What makes you an expert at it, anyway?"

"What made Palpatine an expert at it?" Obi-Wan continued calmly, knowing he would win this argument and maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to calm the boy.

He could practically hear the words because he's Master trying to escape Vader's lips, but he could tell even Vader himself was starting to doubt his faith in those words. He was starting to see the lack of logic behind them, the utter childishness in them.

Vader's anger melted in a heartbeat, and he blew out a shaky breath, burying his face in his hand and swaying dangerously. Obi-Wan grabbed him by the arms and steadied him, wondering if his argument had finally reached Vader or if the Sith's mood had just shifted radically to avoid the subject.

"I… I don't…" Vader mumbled brokenly.

After repeating himself for nearly a few minutes, Obi-Wan let it go for the man's sake. "It's okay. Let's just go back. You need to rest."

Turning, Obi-Wan slowly guided the shaky young man back to their building and room. The glass had been cleaned up, and Siri had closed the blinds over the area where the window should be. Judging by the breeze the window itself was still missing. Nevertheless, Obi-Wan didn't comment; he simply guided Vader towards the bed and then backed away so the Sith wouldn't feel like he was being watched. Siri and Obi-Wan slowly inched towards the doorway as Vader climbed up to it without prompting, collapsing and passing out nearly immediately. The couple stood silently, unable to articulate how this new discovery left them feeling, though Obi-Wan was at least trying to settle the raging emotions, and his mind whirled as to how he would handle this issue when Vader awoke.

Beside him, Siri took a deep breath through her nose, releasing her emotions at last as she crossed her arms and watched Vader with soft eyes. "Palpatine was a bastard."

Obi-Wan sighed and headed towards the hall. "Yes. Yes, he was."

---

The familiar smell of crisp cold air filled his nostrils and made his heart clench. Éothen wasn't sure if home comforted him now or was somehow worse than Imperial Center. Sighing, he shoved the thought out of his mind. He had work to do and he was damn well going to make sure he got it done.

Entering the official residence of the warlord, Éothen immediately sought out his mother. When he found her, she was speaking to a Jedi (at least Éothen assumed he was a Jedi, given the fact that he had a lightsaber). She noticed her son's entrance, and though under normal circumstances she would simply continue her conversation and force Éothen to wait, she seemed to sense his urgency.

"Excuse me, Master Jinn," she said with a tip of her head. The Jedi bowed, waiting. His mother approached him, guiding him into a side area and whispering, "Éothen, what happened? You left for Imperial Center in such a hurry."

Éothen swallowed. It had been long enough. He could say it. "Erwyna had been investigating the nature of my fiancée's murder. She discovered… she discovered that she's still alive. We went to Imperial Center to help her learn more, but Imperial Intelligence killed… killed them all."

Dammit, why was his voice shaking? Get it together!

His mother's eyes widened as she tried to process everything she'd just heard. Before she could speak, though, he cleared his throat and continued, "She's being held prisoner on Eriadu. She made contact with a representative, who told me and Tlenden. I'm going to get her. I need your permission to assemble a team."

"Éothen…" his mother muttered, shocked, concerned, and confused all at once. Her sharp eyes examined his face, and Éothen felt all the more agitated by it. His mother wasn't necessarily a warrior; her ascension to warlord had been due to the loss of every other member of the family. Nevertheless, when it came to her son, she was aggressive, demanding, and far too perceptive, and right now, Éothen really didn't need that. He just needed her to say yes.

"I need permission, Triarkka," Éothen repeated, using his mother's title to emphasize his point.

His mother clenched her jaw. He knew that look. This shouldn't even be a debate.

"Intelligence doesn't know about our involvement," he explained hastily, even angrily. Each second he lost was a missed opportunity, it increased his likelihood of failing, and he would not have that. "That gives us an advantage, one that we have to use – I don't know how long she'll be staying at Eriadu. I have to leave now."

"Eriadu is a planet, Éothen," his mother said tersely. "We don't have time for you to search an entire planet."

"The emperor regent is holding her prisoner. She must be in some place he owns." Éothen argued. Why was she fighting him on this?!

"You're expecting me to let you run off to some foreign world you know nothing about with barely enough information to find her when you're in this state of mind?" his mother crossed her arms.

"This is a clan matter," Éothen emphasized. He knew that would eliminate any rebuttal she had; if there was one thing that dominated all other matters, it was the clan. He knew that; he'd grown up with that philosophy, he'd watched it hollow out his mother and father as the war had progressed.

His mother bit her lip, obviously frustrated and worried. After a few tense moments, she sighed and looked away before eventually turning her eyes towards him once more. She stepped closer, her voice low, even threatening. "You have my permission, but only under these circumstances: you will take another SpecForce team and you will take a guide – someone more traveled than you, someone who can get you in and out of there without being detected and without being connected to Salkende. We do not need the Empire breathing down our necks right now, not when we're housing half the Rebel Alliance. You do that, and you can go. But be swift – bring her home, and we can focus on the issue at hand. Is that understood?"

Éothen nodded. "Yes, Triarkka."

As he turned to leave, his mother grabbed him by the shoulder and made him face her once more. Her eyes had softened, and her brow had furrowed. "I'm sorry, Éothen."

Mother above. Don't start. Please, don't start. He bit his tongue and nodded again, hastily retreating. He couldn't stop and allow himself to react. He still had a mission to accomplish. And his mother needn't worry – he knew exactly who would pilot him to Eriadu.

Surely that smuggler had to be somewhere in this mess of Rebels now residing in Fjesky.

---

"Son of a Hutt…"

Al groaned, leaning back against the pilot's chair aboard his ship. Blast he was hungry, on top of everything else that was bothering him; he'd spent all the money Siri had given him on parts, but now he just realized he was out of food as well.

The Invariant Beauty was quiet. Too quiet. Creepily quiet. It meant her engines were finally running normally, but it also indicated that he was lacking three other passengers. Al swore again.

On Ferrasco all hell had broken loose. According to the local news it was possibly due to civil unrest from housing so many refugees. Al wasn't sure, and he honestly didn't care what had caused it; he'd seen plenty of hell holes, so civil unrest was nothing new to him. What he did care about was the fact that the place had practically been shut down since then; he couldn't contact anyone. He'd spent all day searching with no luck, and had eventually resigned himself to buying the necessary accoutrements to repair the Beauty; he'd figured he could at least have the ship ready to go when he found them.

But he still hadn't found them. And it had been twenty-four hours. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't search an entire planet, particularly one as chaotic and packed as this one. Blast, it would take him years just to sort through all the people in the capital let alone the entire planet. He couldn't contact them because of the lockdown. He couldn't contact the Alliance because of the lockdown.

Salkende was only a few systems away. He was in the same sector; Ferrasco was part of the Tsograda Sector.

Al swore a third time. This didn't feel right. He couldn't just leave them on Ferrasco, especially since they had Darth Vader.

Darth Vader. What a lunatic. And Obi-Wan and Siri were stuck with him. Stars, this was bad. This was really bad. What the blazes could he do?

Al got to his feet and paced, ignoring his growling stomach. He had no way of contacting them, and he had no means to find them. But the Rebels were only a few planets away, and they could send a team to retrieve them… if they were still around to be retrieved by the time Al got to them.

Well if that was his best option, then what was he waiting for? He couldn't waste time! But… it just felt wrong leaving Ferrasco without them.

Al blew out a sigh, dragging his feet back to the pilot's chair. He wasn't leaving them; he was getting help. They needed help.

"Hang in there, guys," Al muttered as he fired up the engines.

The takeoff was thankfully smooth and the hyperspace trip short, barely half an hour. Al spent the entire time wringing his hands. He hated this. He wished he could just find them on Ferrasco himself, but he had no contacts there. His console signaled the exit from hyperspace and he saw Salkende race into view. Heading for the capital, Fjesky, Al tried not to push his ship too much after all the beating she'd taken; he'd fixed her hastily, good enough to get him where he needed to go, but also still on the brink of malfunctioning if he did too much at once. He really needed to make time to just fix her without worrying about a million other things.

Al quickly established contact with the spaceport and landed the Beauty. From here it should be straightforward. Grabbing his comlink, he input a Rebel frequency as he nearly jogged out of his ship. "Qui-Gon, it's Al, do you read me?"

"Almusian," Qui-Gon's voice was tinged with surprise and relief. "It's good to hear from you. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Al immediately answered. "I need your help. It's about Obi-Wan and Siri."

There was a pause as Qui-Gon reacted in whatever way a Jedi would react. Al wouldn't know, this was audio only, but he supposed it meant standing there, blinking, and looking generally unfazed. That seemed to be the typical Jedi thing to do. "You know what happened to them? We've had no contact from them since we left Hoth."

"They're on Ferrasco," Al explained. "I took them there because the ship was damaged. Vader's with them. I got separated from them, the place is on lockdown by the local forces, I didn't know what to do—"

"Calm yourself," Qui-Gon interrupted, though he didn't sound nearly as calm as usual, either; more like he was trying to keep up with everything Al was saying. "How long have they been on Ferrasco? Why is the planet on lockdown?"

"Somebody fired on a stormtrooper, caused a huge raucous," Al waved a dismissive hand as he neared spaceport exit and froze in place as the cold slammed into him. Blast, he did not miss that – Firro, the capital of Ferrasco, was practically a tropical climate, and Al found himself desperately wishing he was back there right now. "It didn't have anything to do with them, but they're stuck now because of it. I got separated from them, I have no clue where they are. That was twenty-four hours ago. We need to send help, get a team together—we need to find them!"

"I know, Almusian," Qui-Gon said reassuringly. "I will assemble a few operatives."

"Operatives?!" Al repeated, staring at his comlink. "They've got Darth Vader with them, you need to send Jedi!"

"A majority of the Jedi went to the other rendezvous point, Ghanu'jivo," Qui-Gon replied. "We're still trying to account for everyone here. I cannot spare more than one or two agents."

"Why can't you go?"

"I'm in charge of the Rebel cell here. I can't leave."

Al squeezed his comlink and bit back a groan of frustration. He shouldn't get angry – an agent was better than nothing. But still… "Fine. Fine. How do you want to do this, send them my way, or what?"

"Captain."

Al jumped, looking up to see the half-Human, half-Togruta Salkenden son of the warlord. "Uh, hey, just a second."

"This can't wait," Éothen said. His body was tense, his face dark. Something was wrong.

Like Al hadn't had enough bad news already.

"I'll call you back, Qui-Gon, just please get someone to me so I can get back." Al hastily said as he cut the connection. "What's the matter?"

"We require your assistance," Éothen stated bluntly as Salkenden soldiers walked up behind him.

Al shifted uncomfortably. "My assistance? Look, I've got a situation—"

"The Rebel Alliance is here on my world. The warlord is providing help, we are protecting you." Éothen interrupted, his voice lowering. It wasn't quite a threat, but it was certainly a stern reminder. Al felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "All I ask is you help us in return. It's an emergency, and I'm fairly certain you're invested in this mission as well."

"Mission?" What was he talking about?

"May we speak privately aboard your ship?"

Al sighed. "Quickly."

The group returned to the Beauty and Al reluctantly let Éothen aboard, though he requested the troops stay outside; he didn't need an entourage, and he still wasn't sure he'd have time to deal with whatever issue the man had.

Éothen turned to face him. "Padmé's alive."

Al stared at him. Then he opened his mouth. Then he furrowed his brow. Then he said, "Is this some kind of a sick joke?"

"She's alive," Éothen repeated. "Believe it. We need to rescue her. She's being held on Eriadu by the emperor regent."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, wait." Al took a step away as if to breathe some air that wasn't infested with such insane ideas. "First, you of all people should know she's dead, you attended her funeral. Second, how the hell would you even know all this? And, and—have you completely lost your mind? The Rebel Alliance is fleeing from the Empire, Darth Vader's on the loose in Imperial territory, I have better things to—are you insane?"

A very, very tiny part of Al supposed he shouldn't be so rude to someone of such high stature on whom the Alliance was depending, but the idea of using Padmé as some sort of joke was infuriating and sickening. And Al had far too many other concerns to put up with this guy getting hysterical over heaven only knew what.

"It isn't a joke. I'm not lying. She is alive, and you will help us." Éothen said, his voice growing even darker, his orange-brown complexion flushing in frustration.

"Really?" Al started to pace. "So we all hallucinated what happened?"

"The Empire set her up, they set us all up!" Éothen finally snapped. "I lost my team just learning about this!"

Al stared at him. And stared. And stared.

No. Hell no. This… what? What? But… why? How? She… she was…

Padmé's alive?!

"How did you…?" Al tried to ask, but he still wasn't sure his brain would register the simple fact that Padmé Amidala was somehow not dead. Images of that night flashed through his mind, the cacophony of sounds and panic and his head throbbing and Qui-Gon's somber expression. Qui-Gon thought she was dead – surely a Jedi couldn't be wrong about that, right?

"My second-in-command, Erwyna," Éothen said, his voice suddenly quiet. "She investigated the matter."

And it clicked. Lt. Erwyna had asked Al about Padmé's murder, about who she could contact to learn more. That had been ages ago, hadn't it? It had been immediately after Vader's capture, after Palpatine's death. Al hadn't really thought anything of it.

Holy stars above. She… she…

Al shook his head, unable to speak, gaping at the man.

"We need to leave now," Éothen stressed. "I don't know how much longer she'll be held there."

There? There? Where? What? They were—what? "We're—we're rescuing her?"

"Yes," Éothen said, exasperated. "Let's go. I'm bringing my troops aboard. Set a course for Eriadu."

Padmé. They were—they were rescuing Padmé. Because she wasn't dead. She—she—

Al shook his head and backed away even further. Think, blast it, think! "Right. Right. I'll… I'll do that."

The more he moved, the more his thoughts started to congeal into something half sane. As Al heard Éothen's soldiers walk up the ramp, as he sat in the pilot's chair in the cockpit, he recognized he was out of breath and his heart was racing. He heard the thought Padmé's not dead over and over and it really started to sink in.

They'd… they'd thought she was dead. Why wasn't she dead? Why hadn't Qui-Gon sensed it? What was Tarkin doing to her? Obi-Wan and Siri… oh heaven. Obi-Wan and Siri.

Obi-Wan and Siri.

Darth Vader.

Al gasped, his hands trembling.

"We're all aboard, let's go." Éothen said from the lounge.

Go. Go. They needed to go. They needed to go now. Al jumped, grabbing the steering yoke and flinching when the ship didn't respond. Of course it wouldn't; he'd shut everything off. Think, blast it, one thing at a time…

Turning the engines on, Al waited for what felt like an eternity as each second steadily made him more frantic. Come on, power up!

As soon as the engines were humming, Al immediately lifted the Beauty into the air. They exited the atmosphere in a heartbeat, and his fingers moved so quickly over the keyboard that he mistyped the coordinates for Eriadu at least three times before stopping, breathing, and slowly entering in the correct ones. Then he activated the hyperdrive, and the Beauty disappeared from the Salkenden sky.

We're coming, Padmé. We're coming.

---

"You're doing it wrong."

Siri huffed. "I am not, thank you very much."

"Siri, that isn't how you cook that."

"Since when did you become a master chef?" Siri shot back with a raised eyebrow.

Obi-Wan sighed. The couple stood in the kitchen that was shared by their entire building. After ensuring Vader had gone to bed, the two had decided a walk would help clear their minds, and hunger had quickly necessitated a trip to the market. Obi-Wan thankfully still had some money, and the two managed to buy some snacks and enough food to make a decent meal for themselves.

"You're not supposed to fry them," Obi-Wan insisted, trying to push past his wife and grab the bowl filled with raw meat and spices in her hands. "You need to roll it up into balls and put it in the oven."

Siri dodged his attempt. "I'm not frying these, you shaak, I'm frying the vegetables."

Obi-Wan gazed at her in mild horror. "Siri the last time you tried to sauté vegetables you nearly burned the kitchen down."

His wife gave him a dirty look. "I'll admit stews are my specialty, but I thought of the meal so I am going to cook it."

"Do bear in mind that finding another residence will be difficult."

"I'm not burning the blasted building down!"

Obi-Wan sighed, giving up. Sitting at the only small table in the tiny kitchen, he watched his wife prepare the food before turning his attention elsewhere. He still wondered where Al was and if he was okay, but he didn't dwell on it for too long; worrying about that wouldn't do him any good in this situation, not unless he could actually do something to help find Al. He tried directing his thoughts elsewhere, and his stomach churned uncomfortably when he thought of the people who were injured or—gods forbid—killed by Vader's escapade yesterday morning. Perhaps he shouldn't think about that, either.

Of course then there was the unavoidable train of thought about Vader himself. Obi-Wan shook off a shudder. No. He'd thought enough about that.

"Hey, you remember how much muuka leaf I'm supposed to put in this?"

Looking at his wife, he shrugged. "Mother was liberal with the spices."

Siri sighed, muttering about how that wasn't entirely helpful. Obi-Wan smiled and watched her work. She was trying to cook a Naberrie favorite, consisting of meat rolled into balls, baked, and served on soft, fresh spiced bread with vegetables. Just smelling it made Obi-Wan reminisce about his younger years on Naboo, and he felt his heart ache, but he pushed past the pain and enjoyed the happiness the memories brought; it had been long enough, the time for mourning was gone. Besides, they had enough matters to worry about.

…Such as that smell of something burning. "Siri, how long has that been cooking?"

"It hasn't been that long," Siri remarked, crossing her arms somewhat irritably. "You have such little faith in me, Obi-Wan."

"I still have a distinct memory of seeing flames from the frying pan the last time you cooked something."

"I misunderstood your request last time."

"How can you misunderstand please sauté the vegetables for me?"

"I thought you wanted me to just put it on the stove, not mind it too!"

Obi-Wan sighed heavily.

Eventually the dinner was prepared, but the small kitchen was in high demand by other residents, so the couple opted for eating in the lounge on their floor. It was right by their room, and they didn't want to disturb Vader, so it seemed ideal.

It also happened to receive a bit of attention; the Devaronian teenager who lived just across from their room wandered out, carrying the infant from earlier and followed by the toddler who had accompanied her. Another youngling, a girl, was also with them.

Obi-Wan smiled kindly. "Hello there."

The teenager grinned shyly. "Hi. That smells really good."

When the couple simply smiled politely in return, unsure if the girl was asking for some or just making a remark, she shifted awkwardly. "Sorry. My—my name's Isona. I just… wanted to say hi."

Obi-Wan looked the girl over. She appeared relatively healthy, if a bit undernourished, and most certainly exhausted. An empty echo emitted from her in the Force, and, though he'd never actively sensed it before, Obi-Wan recognized it for loneliness.

"Isona's a pretty name," Siri remarked. "Who's the entourage?"

Isona jumped. "Oh! This… these are my siblings. We… our parents died in an Imperial attack. I've been taking care of everyone since then."

"You brought your family to Ferrasco?" Obi-Wan asked, a little surprised.

The girl nodded. "We've been here for a few months."

"I'm so sorry about your parents," Siri said. "We've lost loved ones to the Empire as well."

The girl's face darkened. "I hate the Empire. I hate it and everyone in it."

"Hate is what made the Empire," Obi-Wan sighed. "Don't be like them. Focus on more important matters; you're doing an incredible job taking care of your family."

Isona suddenly pouted. "No I'm not. I… I don't know how to take care of—"

She cut herself off, seemingly remembering that her siblings were standing just beside her. Not that the toddler or infant would care, Obi-Wan could imagine, but he suspected she wanted to save face for her sister, who looked around seven or eight. Siri seemed to sense it too, but any remark was interrupted when the baby started to cry. Isona looked tiredly at her baby brother and tried to comfort him. Obi-Wan sensed an overwhelming amount of pity from Siri, and she stood.

"Hey, why don't you let me look after your brother for a little while, even just a few minutes," she suggested. "You look like you could use a nap. Or food. Or both."

Isona watched Siri somewhat uncertainly. It was obvious she wasn't sure leaving her baby brother in the care of a stranger was a good idea. Obi-Wan couldn't blame her. But the girl had started the conversation, obviously looking for help and attention. He didn't say anything, leaving the choice to her. Eventually she smiled. "A nap would be nice… but I couldn't. I mean… can you hold him for a few minutes? I can get some formula ready for him, and put Meeko down for his nap."

The toddler looked grumpy at the prospect. Obi-Wan chuckled.

"Of course," Siri said, reaching her arms out and taking the crying child. Isona smiled gratefully and led her siblings back to their small room. Obi-Wan watched his wife start to pace around the room, trying to soothe the youngling until he could be fed. Witnessing her hold the infant and hush him softly filled Obi-Wan with warmth, and he had to smile at the sight. In a handful of months they would be doing that with their own child… though he didn't quite look forward to being awoken at unholy hours by a screaming infant. But no matter; it was part of bundle of joy, stress, and wonder.

Siri noticed his scrutiny and shrugged with a gentle smile. "Figured I'd start practicing."

Obi-Wan had to laugh at that. The Force shifted as he did so, though, and he turned his attention towards the hallway just in time to feel everything grow chilly. The door to the couple's room opened and Vader entered the hall, taking two steps to his right to enter the lounge. He gazed at Siri and the infant, sleepiness washing away from his face and being replaced by bemusement. He certainly looked far calmer than before, and Obi-Wan tested the waters with a neutral question.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked a little loudly to be heard over the baby as his cries intensified.

Vader—Anakin—tipped his head. Then he looked at the baby again. Obi-Wan followed his gaze and noted that Siri was having a little difficulty trying to calm the child.

"Use the Force," Vader said, noting her frustration. "You can put it to sleep."

"It is a he, you shaak," Siri remarked, temporarily ignoring the child to give the man an exasperated look. Then she registered his words. "Wait, you can do that?"

Anakin nodded, approaching her and the youngling as if to demonstrate. "You have to be careful, though; the younger the subject, the more likely you could cause damage or put them into a coma."

Obi-Wan jolted. "A coma?!"

Siri immediately took three steps away from the young man, clutching the youngling close to her. "We don't need you killing any younglings, blast it! Besides, you don't put a crying baby to sleep unless you're sure nothing else is wrong; crying is how they communicate."

Vader blinked, his nose scrunching slightly, as if to say well that's an odd way to communicate.

Wait, did Obi-Wan just…? The Jedi sighed.

"So what's he saying?" Vader asked.

"He's probably hungry," Siri remarked. "Particularly since his sister said something about food."

"So feed him."

"I don't have any formula," Siri rolled her eyes. "His sister's getting that."

"You have breasts."

Obi-Wan stared at Vader, shocked and flustered. Did he just say that?! "Anakin!"

The young man gazed at him, his features darkening for a second before innocent confusion appeared. Obi-Wan groaned and put his face in his hand. The boy's lack of tact was beyond astounding.

The bond to Siri sang with irritation. "I'm. Not. Lactating. You. Moron."

"But you're a woman."

"What do you think we do, just press a switch and it comes out?" Siri snapped. "You don't start lactating until after you give birth!"

Obi-Wan groaned yet again. Were they really having this discussion right now?

"Then what are nursemaids?"

"As fascinating as this conversation is, surely we can discuss something else," Obi-Wan interrupted.

"Do you have food?" Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan's frustration melted slightly, and he glanced back at their empty plates, somewhat guilty that they hadn't made any for him. Honestly, they hadn't thought about it – they were both a little emotionally drained from recent events, and any thought concerning Darth Vader had been about his parentage, not his current needs. Obi-Wan sighed, irritated with himself for being so careless.

"We bought snacks. They're in the fridge downstairs," Siri told him. "Should be in a bag with Obi's name on it."

Vader nodded and left, heading downstairs. Once he vanished, Siri sighed audibly. "Can you believe that guy? One minute he's freaking out about his name and his parents and the next he's telling me to breastfeed somebody else's kid."

Obi-Wan did his best to disguise a laugh for a cough.

"At least he seems calmer," Siri remarked, gazing off into the distance. "How long before his next mood swing?"

Obi-Wan was going to comment when he realized he had addressed Vader as Anakin and the man hadn't protested. Perhaps he'd soured for a moment, but he'd brushed past it fairly quickly. Was that a sign that he'd accepted it? Or he'd just not deemed it a good time to argue the point? Glancing back at the baby once more, Obi-Wan felt nauseous, some inherent protectiveness washing over him at the thought of what had happened to that man.

The Devaronian girl reappeared with formula and an apologetic smile. "Sorry, he really doesn't stop crying when he's hungry."

Siri laughed. "I noticed. It's okay, he's just very insistent."

After handing the youngling back to the teenager, Obi-Wan and Siri watched her go to her room. The silence was broken a second later when Obi-Wan sensed Vader returning and heard the door to the stairwell opening. The young man walked into the hallway, heeding the Jedi no mind, munching on something and holding a bowl with something that suspiciously did not look like any of the snacks Obi-Wan and Siri had bought.

"Is that ice cream?" Siri asked.

Anakin paused and looked up at her. Then he nodded.

"We didn't buy ice cream," Obi-Wan remarked. "Where did you get that?"

"I found it in the fridge."

Siri gawked at him. "You stole somebody's ice cream?"

"It's chocolate." The young man said, as if that were self-explanatory.

"What is your point?"

Anakin stared at her, his face blank. Eventually he returned his attention to his ice cream, as if remembering it would melt if he didn't hasten his efforts to inhale as much as possible.

"You can't steal from someone," Siri emphasized, walking towards him.

Obi-Wan wasn't quite sure what to do. Siri was absolutely right, but he was more concerned with what had compelled Vader to steal ice cream of all things. The young man didn't do things needlessly.

"Can't implies impossibility."

"Do I really need to—for Force's sake—here, let me put this in simple terms a youngling would understand: It's wrong. Don't do it."

"They won't notice a few missing scoops."

"That's not the point, blast it!"

Despite having stolen someone's food, Obi-Wan was pleasantly surprised to see Vader acting as close to normal as was possible for the young man. He half wondered if this was the side Padmé had seen the most of on Varykino.

Probably.

Still, they couldn't allow Anakin to run around causing mayhem wherever he pleased just because it allowed him to act somewhat normal by his standards. If they were going to be laying low, they couldn't attract attention to themselves. He needed a distraction.

Obi-Wan pondered it. Yes, a distraction, just as he'd attempted to do an eternity ago when he'd first tried establishing a rapport with Vader. It was risky, though; this area was heavily populated…

"Then what is the point?"

"The point is you're not supposed to steal."

"Why?"

Siri groaned.

"Why don't you teach us?" Obi-Wan asked.

Vader blinked. "Teach you how to steal?"

"No," Obi-Wan shook his head with a smile. "You were talking earlier about using the Force to calm a youngling. How do you do that? What other techniques do you know?"

Siri looked at him incredulously, but any argument was stopped when he gave her a pointed look. Play along.

She sighed heavily. "Honestly, learning how to put people to sleep might be pretty useful."

Vader hesitated. The change in conversation suddenly made him uneasy. His gaze drifted between Obi-Wan and Siri, his spoon in midair between the bowl and his mouth. He seemed to be debating something, confused by something, desiring something. Emotion glittered in his eyes, his mouth became a thin line, his brow furrowed, and then he looked down at his ice cream contemplatively. It was strange seeing him debate the matter so much when he'd so willingly offered to demonstrate a technique just minutes ago.

"Why do you want to learn from me?" he eventually asked quietly.

"Well you are far more knowledgeable about using the Force than we are," Obi-Wan pointed out, watching him carefully.

"Yet you claim to be an expert on life."

He sighed. He should've known Vader wouldn't let the day's earlier events drop that easily. "I have more experience in some matters, and you have more experience in others. It isn't that uncommon, you know."

His rationale seemed to be making headway in the young man's mind, but Anakin still looked reluctant.

"What's stopping you?" Siri asked.

"Nothing. Let's go." He immediately said, heading to the stairway. Obi-Wan and Siri hastened after him, exchanging looks. What was that all about?

The Jedi followed Vader for what felt like an eternity as he wound them through streets, alleys, and eventually to the edge of the city. They went to an abandoned forested area that was covered from view by large rocks and trees on all sides. Obi-Wan half wondered why they didn't go to a beach; most of the outskirts of the city consisted of beaches.

Here, Anakin paused. He turned towards them, ready to speak, when he abruptly looked at the bowl of ice cream that still sat in his hand, somehow forgotten until this moment. His blue eyes twinkled as he examined the now liquefied chocolate, and his shoulders sagged minutely.

Was he pouting over melted ice cream?

"We'll buy you some," Siri said before Obi-Wan could comment.

Vader's head snapped up, and he examined Siri curiously before shaking his head and plopping the bowl on the ground. Obi-Wan felt him gather the Force, but he caught his lightsaber before the man could summon it. "What are you doing?"

"You want to learn. Using your lightsabers is the most important thing you can learn right now."

"How about some Force tricks instead?" Siri suggested. We don't want you cutting anyone to pieces, thanks.

Anakin watched them for a second, and then took a deep breath. The Force cried in warning, and Obi-Wan and Siri both jumped back to dodge what they suspected was a lunge. Instead, they were tossed into the air, tumbling in different directions. Obi-Wan immediately grew dizzy and his adrenaline surged, preventing him from thinking properly for an instant. He hit the ground hard. Leaping to his feet, he looked for his wife and found her crouching, having landed better than him.

Before either spouse could speak, Vader landed between them picking Obi-Wan up with the Force and preparing to toss him at his wife. Obi-Wan gasped and tried to concentrate on not floating, but that didn't seem to make a difference. Siri went directly for the Sith, trying to push him with the Force as he had just done to them, but Vader planted his feet into the ground, barely budging. Obi-Wan flailed a little bit, feeling completely helpless, but then he focused on his wife instead of Vader, calling to her through the Force. She locked eyes with him and the two instinctively knew what to do, both attempting to throw Vader with the Force. With their combined efforts they managed to knock the Sith off his feet, and Obi-Wan fell in an unceremonious heap.

Siri immediately took advantage of the moment, charging towards Vader and preparing to pin him down, but he tossed her away, though she flipped and landed on her feet. As she was twisting in the air, Obi-Wan drew his lightsaber.

Vader gave him an indignant look. "You said Force tricks."

Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "Yes, we said teach us Force tricks, not please try to kill us."

"You two worked together to knock me down. That was good thinking. You need to continue with that. It's obvious you have some combat training, but very little Jedi training."

Obi-Wan sighed again, deactivating his blade. "Yes, Jedi training. Do bear in mind that we are Jedi, and this training should therefore not be tailored to Sith."

"I didn't strangle either of you. Or electrocute you. Or torture you."

Siri walked up to them, panting and brushing some dirt off her tunic. "That's a typical training session for you?"

He nodded. Obi-Wan and Siri exchanged long-suffering looks. Before they could comment, though, Anakin was on his feet once more. "You have to continue training, and I insist we use sabers. Siri will go first."

"Siri is pregnant," Obi-Wan emphasized, not wanting the young man to get too carried away.

"Exactly. That's why she needs to learn more than you do. No one else can protect that baby."

The Jedi paused, oddly touched by his remark. Even stranger was that Obi-Wan noticed a subtle shift that had occurred in Anakin since they'd arrived. Initially he'd been reluctant but relatively neutral to assisting them. Now he was downright eager.

He liked this.

Obi-Wan smiled to himself, taking note for later. "All right, then. Take my saber."

As he handed the hilt to Anakin, Obi-Wan was surprised to notice Siri didn't argue. Perhaps she'd seen the change as well. Obi-Wan backed away, watching as Anakin ignited the blade, his piercing blue eyes glowing in its light. They were firm, determined, but not so cold as they normally were. Siri took an opening stance, a fierce smile on her face. Her energy seemed to seep into Anakin as well, and he nearly bounced in place before charging forward. Siri parried him, though the force of his blow pushed her off balance temporarily. Anakin pressed the attack, and he started to instruct Siri as he intensified his barrage. Eventually he slammed the hilt into Siri's hand, making her flinch, and he paused as the blue blade hummed at her exposed neck. Obi-Wan took a step forward, alarmed, but Anakin pulled away.

"Again."

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, stepping away once more. He watched the two of them spar for what felt like an eternity. As more time passed, Anakin spoke even less, eventually letting the fight speak for itself. He was fast—unbelievably fast, unnervingly fast. Obi-Wan shuddered at the thought of being his enemy. He was certainly glad Siri's idea on Ilum never came to pass; he wouldn't want to be fighting Vader, killing Vader—

Ilum. The vision on Ilum.

Obi-Wan slowly unfolded his crossed arms, the realization slamming into him.

You won't take my apprentice away from me!

Obi-Wan gasped. That… had that actually been a vision? Had it already been fulfilled, then? Palpatine was dead after all. Or did it mean something more?

Well, it didn't matter what the vision said or meant. Obi-Wan would ensure it meant something more. He was not going to let Anakin remain under Palpatine's control – it was beyond obvious the emperor's influence was still choking the life out of him. Obi-Wan had to find a way to stop that, a way to make Anakin open his eyes and actually see the galaxy for what it really was for the first time in his life… to see himself for what and who he really was.

"Stop, stop, blast it!"

Obi-Wan snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of his wife's voice. Automatically he reached into the Force, but she wasn't hurt, just absolutely exhausted.

"We can't stop. You still have to improve."

"Running me ragged won't do anything," Siri argued, panting for air.

"Let her rest." Obi-Wan insisted, walking towards him. "I'll train with you."

Obi-Wan was nearly floored by the young man's reaction: worry flitted across his face. Worry. However temporary it was, something bothered Vader enough that he watched Siri with concern, but he didn't voice it; instead he sighed and tossed Obi-Wan's lightsaber back to him before the Jedi could say anything. He then summoned Siri's from her loose grip, activating it. Without saying a word, he immediately charged towards Obi-Wan, who barely had time to activate his own blade before holding it in a parry as Vader nearly brought both blades into Obi-Wan's shoulder. His back screamed in protest.

Anakin looked down on him with determined eyes. He looked like he hadn't broken a sweat training with Siri. He looked downright menacing. The Force swirled around him intensely, and Obi-Wan felt it swell as the young man prepared to push forward. Obi-Wan deactivated his blade entirely, letting himself drop to the ground as Anakin lost his balance. He dodged the blade and kicked out, and Anakin grunted as his feet made contact with the man's gut. However, it also left Obi-Wan completely vulnerable to counterattack, and Anakin's blade was at his throat in a heartbeat.

"You had the right idea," Vader remarked as he tried to regain his breath. "But you didn't follow through with it. The first rule is self-preservation. You're no good to anyone if you're dead."

"Yes, I'm fairly aware of that," Obi-Wan replied sarcastically, his voice a little strained as the blade mildly singed his skin. "Do you mind?"

Vader flicked the blade just a hair, and Obi-Wan felt his skin burn. He yelped, trying to get away from the young man, but Vader had already backed away from him.

"Hey!" Siri called out. "What the hell was that for?"

"Learn and don't make that mistake again," Vader ordered. "Now get up."

Anger and protectiveness flared over his bond with his wife, and Obi-Wan glanced at Siri to calm her. She watched him with determined eyes, not quite willing to back down.

"We appreciate you helping us," she said. "But hurting Obi-Wan won't teach him anything."

Vader shot her a bemused look. "How do people learn anything?"

Obi-Wan shook off the chill that ran down his spine. "Mistakes in life can hurt emotionally as well as physically, but sometimes it doesn't take pain to learn a lesson, Anakin."

Vader snorted, raising his blade once more. His eyes burned brighter than the lightsaber itself. He was starting to itch for a fight. Obi-Wan watched him uneasily; he couldn't take the man in a real fight. Was it prudent to encourage sparring when he was like this? Attempting to diffuse the situation a little, he prodded the Force first. Anakin was filled with energy, eager to continue training, and a part of him felt… odd. Like a part of him was bleeding somehow. Obi-Wan couldn't quite pinpoint it.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Anakin stiffened. "Don't ask that."

Obi-Wan sighed. "Don't avoid the question."

Siri watched the two men warily.

"We're here to train, nothing else," Anakin eventually said, his voice deeper than before. The Force moved ominously, but not quite threateningly. Not yet.

Obi-Wan paused a moment. He didn't used to push matters like this. He used to let people sort out their own problems, let them reach out first. Padmé's murder had taught him to not be so passive. He wasn't going to ignore any issue Anakin was hiding.

"Something's bothering you," he said. "What is it?"

"You're not listening."

"That's not it." Obi-Wan crossed his arms, ignoring the stinging on his neck and back.

Vader shifted uncertainly, looking at the ground.

Then the Force snapped and he immediately sprang into action. Obi-Wan reactivated his blade fast enough to parry the attack, but it knocked him to the ground nonetheless. Siri leapt forward Force pushing Vader to the side with far more strength than Obi-Wan expected.

Vader landed neatly on his feet about a meter away, unperturbed by the attack but still flustered by something else. "You are weapons. You must think like you're weapons. You're nothing more. As soon as a fight begins, as soon as your blade comes to life, nothing exists outside of the battle. You do not pause to see if someone's bothered, you do not try to talk to your enemy. You kill them. You are weapons."

Obi-Wan and Siri exchanged looks once more. Sighing, Obi-Wan rose as his wife assisted him. "No. We're not. And neither are you. We're people, and so are our enemies. When a fight begins, we focus, but we never lose sight of who and what we are. Our concern is with survival, with protection, with defeating the enemy in the least damaging manner possible."

Anakin stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "What do those Jedi teach you people?"

"That isn't just Jedi philosophy, it's my philosophy," Obi-Wan said firmly.

"No wonder the Rebels are losing," Vader muttered.

"We're not losing," Siri countered. "Have you ever thought about why, despite all the beatings the Alliance has taken, we're still around being the biggest thorn in the Empire's side? Have you ever wondered how we managed to grow from small cells stirring up trouble for local Imperial forces to the people who managed to take down the head of the Empire? Your ideas are more flawed than ours."

Vader's eyes narrowed dangerously, the Force stirring with darkness, but Siri continued before he could jump to conclusions or react. "I'm not insulting your father. I'm saying you both underestimated us, which implies we might be doing something better than you. Surely your logic can deduce that?"

"We're saying that we fight for freedom and for life," Obi-Wan explained. "We remember our humanity and we remember the personhood of everyone around us: those we protect and those we fight."

"That doesn't make any sense." Anakin shook his head, sounding agitated.

"If that makes us weak, then why are we winning the way we are?"

"You're not winning, the Empire overran Hoth."

"And yet you came with us."

"I had to."

"Why?"

"Why do you care?" he asked, the edge leaving his tone.

Siri looked at Obi-Wan confusedly, recalling his recounting of previous conversations with the young man. Haven't you explained that to him before?

Obi-Wan sighed. He had… to an extent. It had been far more generic, less concerned specifically with Vader himself. With Anakin. Perhaps he could better answer the question now, with the understanding he had about the man. "We care because you deserve a better life than the one you've lived. You deserve to live. And you haven't done that."

Something clicked in Anakin's mind, and he immediately grew somber. Then he sighed heavily and shook his head. "You need to train. Let's continue."

He hadn't reached him. Or somehow his words had been interpreted incorrectly. Obi-Wan wanted to try again, to insist he was sincere in wanting to help him – what ulterior motive did Vader suspect of him?

"You take things too literally," Siri sighed, walking towards Anakin. "Obi-Wan's very formal in his wording, you have to learn how to dissect it. What he's saying is he's fond of you."

Obi-Wan blanched. What—he—he hadn't—

Oh. Well, he supposed she was right.

When had that happened?

"Probably due to your fairly amusing naiveté," Siri answered her husband's internal question, smirking at both men. "For heaven's sake, he was saying he was worried about you, that he wanted to look out for you… I'm tempted to start calling him Mother Bird."

Irritation flooded him. Really, Siri?

Anakin eyed her a little confusedly, his eyebrows knitted together slightly. Suspicion wafted through the Force, mixed with uncertainty, but the fabric of the Force itself trembled, on the edge of something if they just said the right words.

But what words? What was he suspicious about? How could Obi-Wan unlock his trust? An idea struck him, but he was hesitant to enact it; he himself hadn't decided whether it was good to do, let alone good to bring up with Darth Vader of all people. Nevertheless, he felt the Force nudge him, the words wanting to spill out of him. He hesitated for a moment, still debating the matter, but something in Anakin's eyes caught his attention, filled him with some urgency that said if he didn't speak his peace now, he wouldn't have another chance.

"Anakin, we… appreciate your help. I have a question to ask you."

Anakin watched him, his expression denoting he was open to being questioned, but he still seemed guarded, like a timid animal in the edge of shadow tentatively wondering if could step forward towards a welcoming hand.

"Do you know of any good places to hide from the Empire?"

The Force shifted tumultuously, filled with alarm from Siri and utter confusion from Anakin. This was not a question either of them had been expecting.

Anakin took a small step back, his face covered partially in the shade of the trees. His eyes glittered, narrowing ever so slightly as he tensed. "I won't tell you anything."

"I'm not asking for the Rebels' sake." Obi-Wan immediately shook his head, knowing why the man was reacting in that way. "They've already found good areas. I'm asking for us… I'm not entirely sure we're returning to the Alliance."

Obi, what are you doing?!

Obi-Wan ignored his wife's thought, taking a steadying breath. "They're… uncomfortable with holding you prisoner. I don't want you getting hurt."

The Force trembled. So did Anakin. But then it closed off suddenly, jarringly. Anakin walked to Siri, his gaze fixed on Obi-Wan, his face guarded, his eyes wide, before eventually turning his attention to her.

"You have to focus on his mind. Grab the Force and calm it. Slow your heartrate, silence your thoughts, and will him to rest. The better connection you have with him, the easier it will be."

Obi-Wan and Siri both stared at him confusedly for a second before Siri caught on. Instead of asking why he abruptly had changed the subject, she read something in the young man's eyes in some strange moment of clarity and just nodded, facing Obi-Wan and reaching her hand out.

"Siri, what are you—" Obi-Wan was about to say when he was suddenly overcome with grogginess. Moaning, he collapsed to his hands and knees and tried to glare at her irritably and tell her to not do that, but the forest was spinning and his eyelids were suddenly incredibly heavy.

"Just like that." Anakin said, sounding far more satisfied.

Siri watched her husband, sensing his status through the Force. Despite his sudden collapse, he was healthy, just suddenly influenced by the Force to calm down. She hadn't even tried that hard; Vader must have helped as well. She looked at the young man and raised an eyebrow. This had to be the oddest conversation of her life, the oddest situation of her life. She'd been tempted to push the matter, to continue the previous conversation, but she saw the instability in Vader's eyes – he couldn't take much more of that train of thought, so there was no point in lingering on the subject. Even Siri could note when to stop pushing the matter.

And it was fairly amusing watching Obi-Wan basically pass out and snore on the ground.

Her heart fluttered with worry, though, at how easily she had slipped into the conversation and clarified matters for Vader. How voluntarily she'd done so. She'd been arguing with him a minute ago, telling him he was wrong and the Alliance knew what they were doing, and now she was… she didn't know. All she did know was that they were playing with fire. Vader was still a loose turbolaser, just not quite as reactive as before.

"Keep practicing," Vader said.

"Oh, I think he's had enough fun," Siri remarked, releasing her grip on the Force and slowly sensing Obi-Wan return to consciousness.

Groaning groggily, Obi-Wan shook his head and rubbed his eyes before glaring at both of them. "I'm glad you two are getting along so well. Perhaps next time you won't conspire against me?"

Siri smiled a little shakily and helped her husband stand. They were both exhausted now, emotionally more than anything else. She wasn't very attuned to Vader through the Force, but she could fairly easily tell he felt the same way.

"Well, I've had enough training for one night," Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "Let's go back."

The Force hung heavily, and Vader's shoulders sagged while the rest of him tensed. "We should continue training."

"No," Obi-Wan said sternly before taking another breath and smiling. "We all need a break. Take your time coming back, but you'd better be there by midnight."

Siri and Vader both stared at Obi-Wan. What?

"You don't have walk with us, Anakin. I trust you." Obi-Wan said with a smile, offering an arm to Siri.

Siri didn't even bother trying to argue the point. They'd both said enough crazy things this evening. Sighing, she reached out to the Force, summoning her lightsaber from Vader, and then she held her husband's arm and the two departed.

Once they were far enough away from Vader, Siri broached the subject. "Why did you mention not returning to the Alliance? That had been a possibility, not a certainty."

"Siri, if we can't help him in time, the Alliance will only kill him," Obi-Wan said, gazing in the distance. "I won't let that happen."

Siri sighed. She'd been somewhat joking when she'd remarked Obi-Wan had grown fond of Vader, but she supposed it really was true. She didn't know what to make of it.

Obi-Wan's grip on her arm tightened, and she sensed amusement trickle through their bond. "You're growing fond of him too, you know."

Siri jumped. "I am not."

"Well, you did offer to buy him ice cream."

Siri froze in place, jerking Obi-Wan's arm. "Blast it, that doesn't mean anything."

Obi-Wan smiled knowingly.

"Just shut up." Siri snapped, twisting her arm out of her husband's grip. "Let's just go buy the blasted ice cream."

---

Padmé sighed as she cleaned the floor in one of the sitting rooms. The longer she waited, the more anxious she got; what if Rekk somehow hadn't gotten to Tlenden, or worse, what if Tlenden did nothing about it?

How much longer would she have to wait? Should she try to make a move of her own? She couldn't risk that – her family was in too precarious a situation.

It didn't help that Lady Tarkin was growing ever more suspicious about Crix. She was asking constantly now, and Numa was running out of excuses. In fact, Padmé was fairly certain Numa was being interrogated about it once more at this very moment.

Padmé herself had searched at any available moment, but she had found neither Crix nor the teenager who had paired herself with him. She would have figured that by now they would have shown up. She couldn't even imagine what had happened. Did they escape? That was extremely unlikely given Crix's lack of hope in general. So where were they?

Sighing heavily, Padmé leaned forward slightly to relieve pressure from her knees; she'd been crouching and scrubbing the floor for the past hour. As she took a deep breath, she heard someone scream. Startled, she leapt to her feet, and her stomach clenched as she recognized Numa's voice and heard indiscernible shouts from Lady Tarkin.

What could she do? She knew that hag was torturing Numa for information now. Could Padmé fabricate some kind of story about Crix to save the poor woman? How would she back it up with evidence? Her heartrate increased as Numa screamed all the more, and she hated herself for standing here, paralyzed and unable to come up with a solution.

As Padmé debated the matter, she felt odd, like something had changed in the room. Looking around, she was momentarily distracted from her panic over Numa. Darker. The room was darker. That's what was different. Why was it darker?

Numa's screaming stopped. Had Lady Tarkin finished torturing her? Padmé turned to look down the hall and somehow check on her, but when she did so, she noticed why it was darker.

The sun was eclipsed by star destroyers.

Her mouth dropping open, Padmé slowly walked towards the window, confused and filled with dread at the sight. Why were there destroyers here? There was no reason to bring a fleet to Eriadu; it was perfectly under Imperial control and was nowhere near any conflict that Padmé knew of. Or… had news of her survival reached the Rebels, and Tarkin was taking precautions? What had happened? Was her family still safe?

Feeling frantic, Padmé rushed down the hall towards the area where Numa had been screaming. She came across the woman sitting on the ground, staring outside as well. Lady Tarkin had apparently left the room.

"Are you okay?" Padmé asked, crouching down beside her.

"I'm fine," Numa shook her head. "But what's going on?"

"I don't know."

"This can't be good," Numa said worriedly. "Lady Tarkin looked terrified."

Padmé blanched. What? "Terrified? Why would she be terrified of destroyers?"

Wait… had word reached the Imperial Senate? Was this their retaliation to Tarkin's supposed treachery? Did they even have the authority to make a move like this?

A droid entered the room and tapped Padmé on the shoulder. When she turned to glance at it, confused, it held out a small box. Padmé stared at it quizzically – what was this all about? She turned to look outside once more but didn't see much activity, so she helped Numa stand and then took the box from the droid. As Numa walked slowly towards the window, Padmé opened the box.

Her shoto was inside.

Padmé stared at it, her eyes widening. Numa made some sort of remark, but it fell on deaf ears as the Twi'lek left the room. The world seemed to fade around her, swirling and growing darker as the sight of the weapon brought a million memories, emotions, and thoughts to her mind.

How had this gotten here? Who had sent it? Had Obi-Wan sent it? She had given it to him. How did he manage to get it to her? So was that Imperial fleet outside actually because of the Rebels? Had the Alliance managed to land troops on Eriadu? Were they coming to get her? What was the plan?

First things first. Taking the shoto, Padmé glanced around nervously and tiptoed to a closet, hiding herself inside. She pushed any objects away so the blade wouldn't ignite anything, and then she activated it. The distinctive snap-hiss was music to her ears, wrenching forward so many feelings that she started to cry silently.

Naboo. Varykino. Vader.

Gasping, she steadied herself and then slowly brought the blade to her neck, where it quickly sliced through the slave collar she wore. She heard it clang loudly as it fell to the floor, and she felt like she'd just had ten kilograms lifted from her shoulders. Smiling, she let out a small laugh and gazed at the blade in wonder.

Then she heard noise outside the closet, and she quickly deactivated the blade, sinking further into the tiny room. It sounded like Lady Tarkin's voice, and she did indeed sound terrified, as Numa had indicated.

"Get me in contact with the emperor regent, now! Tell him Rhaegon's fleet has arrived!"

"Milady, we can't get through; they're jamming our communications," a droid informed her.

Rhaegon? Who was Rhaegon? What was this all about? Did this actually have nothing to do with the Alliance? Who had sent the shoto, then? Or was Rhaegon a new ally of theirs?

"Get security outside, now!" the woman hissed.

Padmé bit her lip, holding her breath in an attempt to keep as quiet as possible. It was obvious there was a battle brewing, and she had to get herself and the other slaves out of there… but she couldn't move until Lady Tarkin left the room, which, after a few tense moments, she eventually did.

Exhaling quietly, Padmé slinked towards the door and slowly peeked out. The room was empty. She slipped out and snuck down the hall, running quickly but silently, trying to get to the slave quarters downstairs. As she passed another window she looked outside – what if these destroyers sent fighters? They would annihilate this place and everyone in it. Surely that wasn't their prerogative if they were with the Alliance, if they were here to rescue her.

Padmé nearly made it all the way to the slave quarters without a problem, but she ran into one of the few guards on his way outside. Gasping, she tried to hide the shoto, but he already seemed to notice she was missing her slave collar. He reached for his blaster. Padmé charged, knocking him to the ground and slamming the hilt against his forehead, leaving him unconscious. Gasping for air as her adrenaline surged, Padmé dragged the man out of the hall and into the nearest closet, pulling his comlink and holder from his wrist and slipping it onto hers. She left the channel open to listen to the chatter.

"South entrance is clear, still nothing. East is clear too. North, come in."

Silence.

"Northern entrance, is the perimeter clear?"

Padmé bit her lip. Had the guard she'd just knocked out been the northern guard? Things were about to escalate faster than she'd wanted. She ran as hard as she could, reaching the stairway that led to the slave quarters.

"Sir, we don't have contact with the norther perimeter. We're sending a team."

Padmé nearly tripped down the last few stairs as she entered the kitchen. All the slaves were there, and they turned their attention to her worriedly. Apparently Numa had gathered everyone downstairs, which had been a smart move. Padmé turned the comlink off temporarily so she could speak.

"We need to leave. Now." She immediately said. "I don't know what's going on, but it looks like Lady Tarkin is in danger, which could mean we all are."

"Leave? How the blazes are we supposed to do that?" one slave asked.

Padmé held the shoto for them to see. "I can cut through the slave collars. Then we can escape."

"What about the guards?"

"They're busy outside. Besides," Padmé explained, holding up her wrist. "I can listen in to everything they have to say."

Numa entered the kitchen from the slave quarters, having heard Padmé's voice. She nodded. "Get us out of these things."

Padmé hastened forward, putting her finger to her lips to indicate their silence as she activated the blade and then keyed the comlink on once more.

"—update on the northern perimeter?"

"I've still heard nothing. We lost contact with three more guards."

Padmé paused in cutting one of the collars. Three more? This wasn't her fault, then. Was the estate under attack? Shaking her head, she continued her work until all the slaves were free from their collars. Numa smirked and motioned for everyone to follow her.

"Sir, we've got a shuttle incoming!"

Everyone looked at each other nervously before Numa started to lead them once more. Padmé felt dread course through her, but she trembled with anticipation.

Once they reached the top of the stairs, Numa stopped abruptly. Worried, Padmé pushed her way to the front to see Lady Tarkin herself standing in front of them, looking as surprised to see them as they were to see her. However, her shock quickly morphed into rage, and Padmé noticed with great alarm that she was armed.

"You dare defy me!" she shrieked, grabbing her blaster.

"Run!" Padmé shouted, charging forward and activating her shoto.

Seeing the weapon startled the woman considerably, but she still fired, though her fear made her miss. Padmé dove forward, swinging the blade, but it barely singed the woman; she hadn't adjusted to this saber's length, still used to Vader's own weapon.

Padmé shook off the memories that came with the thought – she didn't have time for that right now. Instead she took another leap forward, grunting as she swung the blade once more, and it finally landed a hit, cutting cleanly through Lady Tarkin's wrist. Padmé gasped, just as startled as Tarkin – she remembered Vader's blade slicing through people, but she'd thought it would take more force.

Lady Tarkin screamed, falling to her knees and cradling her now severed right hand. Padmé felt nauseous as the smell of burnt flesh permeated the air, but this wasn't the time to pause. Instead she backed away from the scene and ran out of the room. The slaves had long since left. She was on her own now.

"Padmé!"

She froze. She knew that voice. Turning, Padmé saw a Togruta-Human hybrid standing in the hall, a massive assault cannon in his hands. He eyed her with fierce determination.

"Éothen," she breathed.

Éothen's lips tightened for a moment as he took a deep breath, and then he nodded. "Let's get out of here."

Padmé deactivated the shoto and ran to him as he led the way out. "What's going on?"

"Apparently there's still a lot of Imperial infighting," Éothen explained, his sharp eyes constantly scanning the area for enemies. He paused as they reached a corner, and Padmé heard blaster fire and engines; the exit to the courtyard had to be close. "We got through the fleet, but getting back to our ship is going to be interesting if they land ground troops."

As they turned the corner, Padmé hesitated an instant as she took in the sight before her. The courtyard was dusted with light, powdery snow and dark grey rubble. A fire was beginning to spread from where some sort of grenade had blown up part of the wall, disrupting the ray shield that would normally protect the entrance. A handful of corpses littered the area. This was the northern side of the estate.

"Perillinen, we've got an Imp shuttle coming in! It's armed and likely bearing troops!" someone Padmé didn't recognize shouted from the courtyard.

Éothen nodded. "Fall back. We've got what we came for."

Perillinen. If Padmé wasn't mistaken, that was Éothen's title. So her rescuers were all Salkendens. Rekk had gotten to Tlenden, and Salkende had responded to her cry for help.

Padmé coughed against the smoke as the two dashed across the courtyard, reaching the perimeter quickly. She grabbed a blaster from a fallen guard as they approached a team of Salkendens that awaited them, and they quickly led the retreat into the surrounding forest as snow began to fall.

Éothen's comlink emitted static, and then a voice spoke. "Hurry up, our window of opportunity's fading fast with all these Imps around!"

Padmé felt her heart skip a beat. "Al?!"

A moment passed and then Al replied over the comlink. "P-Padmé?! Is—is that you?! Are you okay?!"

Padmé felt tears burn in her eyes. "Yes, yes, I'm fine, I'm fine! I'm okay!"

Oh how wonderful it felt to say that, to tell the ones she cared about that she was alive. How amazing it was to hear Al's voice, to know that the Alliance was waiting for her.

"We've just left the estate's perimeter, but they're landing troops," Éothen spoke into his comlink, ignoring the conversation. "You'll have to meet us before the stormtroopers catch up. They'll probably want to know why we were attacking the estate."

"Their presence helped divide security, though," another squad member noted.

"Yeah, but they're going to make escaping damn near impossible if we don't leave now," Éothen said through clenched teeth. "Track my signal and get over here."

"On it!" Al replied.

A tree nearby splintered as blaster fire slammed into it, making Padmé jump. The squad members immediately dove for cover, one of them grabbing her. Padmé grunted, slamming into the frigid dirt and scrambling to stay hidden behind a rock. The team members started to return fire upon the stormtroopers who were now chasing them. Padmé bit her lip, looking at the shoto and blaster. She had nowhere to put the shoto, dressed in servant's clothes, and so she placed it on the ground and peeked over the rock in order to get a good shot.

There was only a handful of stormtroopers right now, and they were quickly being taken out by the Salkendens, but if there were a few now, there would be a full squad soon. Padmé felt a shiver run down her spine as she took aim; despite all the things she had done for the Alliance, she'd never been in open combat with the Empire. Seeing those skull-like helmets face her down with a blaster was unsettling.

Éothen made a motion to his squad, and they nodded, one of them grabbing Padmé by the arm and whispering, "Keep going!"

Startled, Padmé didn't manage to fire the shot, but another Salkenden took the trooper down. The team formed up so that Padmé was kept in the center while the rest covered her. Éothen led the way. The sound of TIE fighters screamed through the air, and Padmé swallowed, not daring to look up. The trees at least protected them from view from above, so there was no way the Empire could tell where they were.

As the cold air scraped at her lungs, Padmé gripped the blaster and shoto firmly as another sound pierced the sky: familiar engines. The sound of freedom.

The Invariant Beauty.

Padmé found herself laughing in relief as she saw it hover just above the tree line. Éothen motioned towards the trees, and the team started to climb. Padmé glanced warily at the branches, wondering how she would manage to get up there while carrying all her weapons.

"Drop the blaster," Éothen said as he shouldered his assault cannon. "I'll take the shoto."

Listening to him, Padmé handed the shoto over and followed the others. She cringed as the skin on her hands slowly started to get scraped off in the endeavor, and her abdominal wound, though healed, still ached against everything that was happening. Her arms and legs felt too weak for this venture, which was likely due to being bedridden for so long. Padmé felt her entire body tremble and she grew all the more anxious as everyone else climbed higher whiel she barely held onto the first branch.

Thankfully, one of the team members noticed her plight and reached down, helping her climb. After what felt like an eternity, the Beauty's lowered ramp came into view. A few of the Salkendens managed to get on and then reached out for her. Padmé grasped their hands and felt them pull her over, her feet temporarily leaving the branches and hovering in midair, making her stomach do somersaults. She gasped as she hit the landing ramp, quickly rushing into the ship.

"Everybody on?" Al shouted from the cockpit.

"Go!" Éothen ordered as he boarded last.

The ramp came up and the ship accelerated, nearly knocking everyone off their feet. Padmé crawled over to the sofa, strapping in as Éothen went to the cockpit. Gods it was good to see this ship. She felt weightless with joy as she looked around the small lounge, taking in the familiar sights of the table, the long math equations written on the wall, the doorway to Al's bedroom, the cockpit, and the kitchenette… she smiled. She was free.

"Hang on!" Al yelled, and the ship jerked to the right, making Padmé and the others who were on the couch lunge forward. The safety straps knocked the wind out of her. The ship shuddered, and Padmé heard Al swear before throwing everyone in another direction. "Padmé, I need you up here!"

Jumping slightly at being addressed, Padmé quickly unstrapped and practically crawled to the cockpit, keeping herself low to the ground so she was less likely to fall. Éothen stood at the entrance, watching her before brushing by. His gaze looked far different than Padmé remembered, but she couldn't place what it was. She pushed the thought of her mind, though; now wasn't the time. Lunging forward, she grabbed the copilot's chair and strapped in as Éothen took her place in the lounge.

Al was gritting his teeth, muttering curses seamlessly under his breath. The viewport showed destroyers in the distance. Padmé felt her skin crawl. "What do you need, Al?"

"Man the turret in case the fighters get too close," Al ordered. "They weren't expecting anyone to escape, but that doesn't mean they can't get to us in time."

"Who are they?" Padmé asked.

"Grand Moff Rhaegon's people," Al answered. "He said Tarkin was a traitor for claiming to be emperor regent. From what I hear, almost half the Empire agrees with him. I just didn't realize he'd take Tarkin's homeworld."

"It would make quite the statement," Padmé muttered as she ensured the targeting system was functioning properly. If Rhaegon could take over Tarkin's homeworld, it would make Tarkin look incredibly weak. People would flock to Rhaegon in a heartbeat. That was good in that it took power away from Tarkin, but Padmé knew nothing about Rhaegon, so she wasn't sure it was much of an improvement.

Blast, there were a lot of things to keep track of. So much had changed since she'd been captured. And speaking of which…

"Is my family alright?" Padmé asked, looking at Al.

"They're fine," he said hastily as he flipped the ship in another direction, making Padmé stomach do a somersault. She clutched the console in front of her, but while her body was tense with adrenaline, her mind was singing with relief; her family was okay.

Al quickly input coordinates into the navicomputer and punched a button on the console. Padmé heard the hyperdrive scream to life. The stars grew long, and space faded into the kaleidoscope of hyperspace. Padmé leaned heavily into her seat, immensely relieved. Both Al and Padmé just sat there, catching their breath, before she finally looked at the Zabrak smuggler.

"It's so good to see you," she said softly, feeling tears brim in her eyes once more.

Al let out a laugh that sounded almost disbelieving. "Good? Good? Are you kidding me, Padmé? It's a miracle to see you. I thought—we all thought you were dead."

Padmé felt her chest clench at the thought of it – she couldn't imagine what her family and friends had endured. "What's happened while I was gone?"

Al laughed again, even louder. "Uh, well, a hell of a lot. Obi-Wan and Siri left spying behind; they're training to be Jedi now. They cut ties with Naboo entirely, haven't been home since your—your, eh, funeral…"

"They did what?" Padmé interrupted, standing. "What about my parents? My sister?"

"I don't know," Al shook his head. "I figure they're fine, though. Why wouldn't they be?"

"Tarkin said he'd kill them if I did anything," Padmé remarked, growing slightly frantic.

"Kill them? But—but I didn't—" Al stammered, looking nervous and uncertain as to what to do. "I—I don't know, Padmé. I figure Obi-Wan and Siri broke connection with them to protect them, so—so they should be fine. I mean, surely the Alliance would've noticed something was up."

"We have to go to Naboo," Padmé immediately said.

Al shook his head. "Hold on, Padmé, we can't do that right now. I haven't even told you everything that's happened yet. Besides, if Rhaegon takes over Eriadu, Tarkin won't know anything about you for a while. He can't make assumptions."

Padmé sighed heavily, slowly sitting. Al shifted, trying to figure out where he should start. "So… Obi-Wan and Siri are Jedi Padawans now. That means students, by the way. And… wait, do you know Palpatine's dead?"

Padmé smiled. "We did just discuss how Tarkin is the emperor regent."

Al blinked, and then he chuckled sheepishly, obviously frazzled. "Right. Right. Uh, so yeah, Palpatine's dead."

"And… and Vader?" Padmé asked hesitantly.

Al stiffened, and his expression was bizarre. He looked at her with some mixed form of pity, concern, and judgement. Padmé grew both confused and uneasy under his gaze.

"How could you love that guy, Padmé?"

Padmé felt her heart nearly stop. What sort of question was that? How did Al of all people know that she loved—she had loved him? And why was he saying it when Éothen was just outside?

"W-what?" was all she could say, her world spinning.

"We captured Darth Vader," Al explained, and Padmé felt her eyebrows shoot to the ceiling. "We interrogated him. Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan of all people had to interrogate him. He started learning more about Vader, and—and he—I mean, I don't know what to say about it, the guy's a lunatic, but he'd helped, and—now they're stuck on Ferrasco—"

"Al, what are you talking about? Obi-Wan interrogated Vader?" Padmé was on her feet again, feeling panicked. What had happened? Had Vader hurt Obi-Wan or vice versa?

"Vader had listened to him, kind of took orders from him," Al waved his hand, his brow furrowed as if he himself still didn't quite understand it. "Obi-Wan was the only one Vader would talk to. So the Rebels and Jedi had Obi-Wan deal with him all the time. But—but things got—got weird. I mean, Vader didn't care for anyone and almost killed Obi-Wan, but then he… I don't know. I think Obi-Wan might give him a little too much credit."

Padmé wasn't sure if she should feel hopeful or terrified. Al's wording indicated that Vader and Obi-Wan had had a rough start, but they were somehow getting along now. "Are we going to them?"

Oh how she wanted to see Obi-Wan. But she wasn't sure what she'd do if she saw Vader as well.

"No," Al sighed heavily. "The Empire attacked our base. We barely got out. I had to leave Obi-Wan, Siri, and Vader behind on Ferrasco, a refugee world. It's close to Salkende, but I can't access them right now; the planet's on lockdown."

"Lockdown? The Empire attacked? What?"

Al sighed again. "Okay, I'll just try to start from the beginning again. I just—I just need a minute to sort this out in my head."

Padmé nodded mutely, too frantic to string a coherent sentence together. Obi-Wan and Siri were with Vader alone? Were they his prisoners? Or the other way around? What were they doing on Ferrasco? Why did Al have to leave them behind? Wait, if he'd left them behind, then surely Vader hadn't been hostile, right? Or was that why he'd left them behind? No, surely not, Al would never do that. But how…?

She shook her head, sitting down as her world began to spin. This was too much information at once.

As Al fought to figure out what he would say, Éothen entered the cockpit. "Are you hurt?"

Padmé jumped, startled. "No, no I'm fine. T-thank you. Thank you so much for saving me."

And she truly meant it. She would have never gotten out of there if it weren't for him, if it weren't for Salkende. She owed him so much.

She owed him too much. Padmé felt her insides crawl a little. She wasn't sure why this was bothering her so much; she'd been fairly resigned to her fate before all this insanity had occurred. Éothen had obviously invested a great amount of time and effort into saving her, and she highly doubted it was just because it was the honorable thing to do. And his eyes still seemed so different than what they were when she'd last spoken to him.

"Are… are you alright?" she asked hesitantly.

Éothen's mouth became a thin line. He took a slow breath and took a step away from her. "I'm well, thank you. It's… good to see you. I'm glad you're alive."

The statement seemed very formal, which wasn't too surprising since they hadn't known each other that well anyway, but Padmé still knew there was an underlying current of something in his voice. Éothen had changed somehow. She glanced at Al, wondering if he knew, but Al was watching Éothen a little warily.

"If you require anything, I'll be with my men," Éothen eventually said, disappearing.

As soon as he was gone, Padmé looked at Al with a quizzical expression.

Al shook his head, saying quietly, "He said he'd lost his whole team to learn you were still alive. I'd be careful around him if I were you."

He'd… lost his team because of her? Padmé looked at her lap, feeling as if the weight that had lifted from her upon her escape had returned tenfold. How many people would have to die because of her?!

"We've got a long flight before we reach Salkende," Al remarked. "I'll tell you everything. Let's just… start from your funeral."

Padmé sighed and nodded, somehow feeling worse now than she did before escaping.

---

The nightlife on Firro, the capital of Ferrasco, was fairly active, the city aglow from restaurants, clubs, theaters, and other such establishments. People walked to and fro, enjoying themselves. The warm ocean breeze blew through the streets, playing with people's clothes and hair.

A piece of litter flew into the air, unnoticed by anyone until it landed unceremoniously on a teenager's shin, though he didn't seem to register it. He was too lost in his own mind, wandering in silence and solitude. His eyes glittered with so many thoughts, his face ranging in expression from deadpan to wonder to confusion to worry to hurt. His hands twitched, occasionally playing with his trousers, but mostly hanging limply at his sides as if he didn't even remember they were there.

Words that were foreign to him played in his mind. Words that were familiar tore into him. Images, faces, feelings… he shook his head, clenching his fists and continuing his walk.

The young man continued this trek for nearly an hour, barely paying others any mind. Most avoided him, getting an uneasy feeling as he passed. Eventually he wound up in an abandoned park.

Or perhaps not so abandoned. Pausing, the man seemed to detect something, his eyes glittering in recognition. He turned slowly, his face steeling into its usual neutral expression. Then he walked towards a fountain where a lone petite figure sat, watching him intently. The woman stood as the teenager approached her.

Cipher 8 smiled and tipped her head. "Lord Vader."