Three years since the Battle of Yavin. Three years since he had decided to fix his miserable life and work for the other side. Three years since he had met Leia and Han and decided to forget everything. Three years since he had gone from demon-spawn to hero – so they thought.
Truth be told, inside he felt like the wretched, dark little thing he was…but this life, one of lies and unceasing hatred under the guise of sheer determination, was better than his previous pitiful, submissive existence.
He tried not to let his true self shine through. He could not change his nature, try as he might. They all seemed to know. They could feel something frightful in his aura. He tried to blend in, but he was not one of them. He would befriend them, but they would not meet his gaze. Han and Leia saw through him, but accepted it. Still, there was something hollow about their friendship.
Most people assumed that it was the war that had hardened him. They knew vaguely that he had once been an Imperial, but his carefully fabricated story stated that he was only a defector from the Imperial Flight Academy, one of the Alliance's most abundant sources of traitors. Nothing remotely dangerous. He was no Darth Vader – insert mirthless laugh there.
There were times when he would find the façade incredibly difficult to maintain. Sometimes, all he wanted to be was his loathsome self – but there was no room for that on the Light Side. How twisted and wrong would that be? So he let the dark feelings fester inside him, buried too deep to be acted on. Like sweeping rubbish under the carpet.
There was perhaps only one thing he regretted – no, wrong word…All odds indicated that he would never see her again. The only thing to placate him was knowing that somewhere out there, somebody loved him.
Their relationship had not been a typical romance – no flowers nor tender words by candlelight nor even rosy, warm feelings. It was a different, desperate love. Intense and passionate, forbidden, therefore secretive, threaded with longing, it was almost painful. Often, one would return to Coruscant and fall into the other's embrace. Few words would be exchanged, for they were of little use.
What a great shock it would later be to see her again. It was one of Hoth's more vicious nights – frigid even in comparison to the usual. Han, Chewie and Leia had retreated to the Falcon; the heating was much better in there. Han and Leia. It took no genius to see the spark – or sexual tension – between the two. It was only a matter of time before they would come to see it for themselves.
He, on the other hand, was going through yet another bout of insomnia, and the cold certainly did not help it. He had gone down to the (glacial) hangar bay to work on his X-Wing. He loved this ship more than he had his modified TIE or the various other ships he had spent his meager free time messing around with. Probably because this one was his own.
Working on ships had a calming effect; it was likely the ease with which things could be put right. Things were so straightforward. Not a mind game in sight. He hit his head hard when he saw the waterfall of red hair cascading over the unseen edge of the fighter.
Dropping the fusioncutter, he let out a colorful stream of words and crawled out from beneath the ship. She was sitting casually on the fighter's nose, legs crossed, arms folded. He blinked.
"Wha…Mara? Is that you?"
"No, the Emperor." Her tone was acrid but there was a twinkle in her bright eyes. How could she remain unchanged when he withered away to a blackened shell of his long gone old self? It had to be part of her charm. Snarky by nature, she could be made more so by few things. Why of all times had she picked this moment for a surprise visit?
"Why are you here?"
"To see you." He felt himself break out in a grin.
"Really?" She smirked at that.
"No."
"Why, then?" He asked, bemused. Suddenly, she was serious again.
"I need you to come with me. To come back." Need you, not want you. He bristled.
"Why?" Like a broken message cube.
"Because the Emperor – your father – wants you back. He's had enough of your rebellion." A derisive snort escaped him. What a way to put it. It was when his anger was not shown that it was the most potent.
"Wants me back, does he? Wants his little slave back. What makes you think that I'm inclined to come with you? And why did he send you, of all people? To spite me? Does he think that your presence will make me docile as a kitling? I'm sorry, but that is not going to work. Tell him to try something else."
"You have to come with me. If you don't…"
"Then what? He'll slap your hands and make you clean his 'fresher? Force, I don't know him enough to know if he even uses one." It was amazing how quickly her facial expression could shift to one of despair.
"No, you don't understand. He told me that if I come back without you, he will have…someone killed."
"Someone?"
'I'm sorry…I don't want to hurt you. It was just so lonely without you; you were gone for so long. And he understands everything about me; he loves me so much…I can't help what I feel. He will never hurt me." And you will. You already have.
"I'm so sorry."
"You sadistic little whore…I'll do it. If it makes you happy."
oOo
He is back at the Empire's dark heart. For the moment. Until they yet again send him to his potential death. He steps onto the deserted landing pad – empty because few are authorized to land here. His connection to the Emperor's new pawn has granted him some benefits.
He walks to his quarters – also courtesy of Leia. The door slides open, revealing a spacious, tastefully furnished but barren apartment. The fact that it has not been lived in is apparent. He does not feel the need to personalize anything, no even to make it just a little less orderly. Instead, he sprawls onto the bed.
He has barely closed his eyes when the comm. beeps. Who would want to call him? Why would Leia take an interest in him? Amusing as it is for her to torment him. Groggily, he sits up and walks to the annoying device. Flicking it on, he sees a vaguely familiar face.
Female. Curly brown hair; hazel eyes; olive skin tone; high cheekbones. He should know her; he has seen much of her over the past three years. He says nothing.
"Hello, it's me – Renn –"
"What do you want?"
"No need to snap at me. I'm just calling to check on you, to find out how you're doing; I know none of this has been easy."
"I am not your responsibility. Might I enquire how you found me, considering that you were not to know my name?"
"Oh, don't tell me that you believed any of that. I could have found out at any time, though I don't believe I was encouraged to do so. I have connections. But I'm not calling to tell you my life story."
"I'm afraid you're wasting your time."
"I figured that you would say that. In that case, just know that you can call me any time you want to rant at someone. Until next time."
"Goodbye."
With that, her face disappears and she finally leaves him alone. Silly woman. Surely she does not believe that he would willingly speak to her. No, I am certainly not alright. Thank you for asking.