Chapter 30: Ludi Stulti
Obi-Wan cautiously entered the chambers, his senses sharpened to the discord rippling through the Force. The room was dim, save for the cold glow of the holo-map before Vader, who stood at his command desk. His helmet and cloak were conspicuously absent, his shoulders stiff as though carrying an unbearable weight. A glass of whiskey hung loosely in his hand, the liquid amber glinting in the muted light.
The pungent scent of Corellian whiskey hit Obi-Wan's nose as he moved closer, his heart sinking. Blast! Anakin's penchant for avoiding emotions he couldn't control was problematic enough—but drinking? That rarely ended well.
"I presume the call did not go well," Vader rumbled, his back still turned.
Obi-Wan paused a few steps away, gauging the tension in the room. "Not particularly," he admitted.
The laboured rasp of Vader's breathing mingled with the clink of glass against the desk as he poured another drink. His free hand clenched into a fist, the tension radiating off him palpable. He offered the glass without looking. "Whiskey?"
Obi-Wan raised a hand in mock surrender, forcing a weak smile. "No... no thank you. I'm trying to cut back."
"Suit yourself," Vader grunted, downing the drink in one swallow. The glass hit the desk with a dull thud, the gesture as harsh as the invisible storm raging around him.
Obi-Wan let his eyes wander the room, his breath catching when he noticed Syrennè's absence. Relief flickered through him, brief but intense. Perhaps this was not what he feared. Yet the thought wouldn't settle, and his concern deepened. "Where is your apprentice?"
"I sent her away," Vader said curtly, his voice devoid of emotion.
Obi-Wan scrutinized him carefully, but Vader had already turned his attention back to the holo-map. He hammered at the controls, his movements methodical, each press of his fingers carrying the weight of restrained fury. The map flared to life, focusing on the Yavin system. Obi-Wan watched as Vader zoomed in with unnerving precision, his intent clear when the call sign NDB-DA1 appeared at the map's centre.
The Dark Angel.
Obi-Wan exhaled slowly, forcing calm into his voice. "I see," he murmured, moving closer to stand beside him. His gaze fell on the sleek outline of Padmé's ship, its distinctive arrowhead shape unmistakable. His gut twisted. Yavin. Bail's base. The realization struck like a physical blow.
She had given Anakin—no, Vader—exactly what he needed to dismantle the rebellion. Resources. Motivation.
"You've been tracking her?" Obi-Wan's voice was quieter now, heavy with dread.
The temperature in the room seemed to plummet as anger rolled off Vader in cold, suffocating waves. It resonated across their Force bond, a dark and menacing hum that left Obi-Wan's muscles taut with unease. Vader poured himself another drink, the motion deliberate, almost unnervingly calm. He drained it in one smooth swallow before setting the glass down with a growl.
"Indeed."
The venom in that single word sent a chill down Obi-Wan's spine. He studied Vader carefully. The man before him felt less like the reckless, impassioned Anakin Skywalker he once knew and more like a predator sharpened to a razor's edge by darkness. More Vader—No, more Darth Sidious—than he'd ever imagined possible.
Oh, Padmé, Obi-wan thought, watching the calculating Sith, feeling the chill of his Dark Side presence gradually seep into his blood. What have you done?
• • •
"So what's the plan?" asked Caleb.
Still processing what she had just learned, Padmé scanned the room. Bail aimlessly paced the kitchenette. Ahsoka was watching him pace. Ferus stared at the floor, deep in thought, and stroking his chin, while Caleb was looking expectantly between them all, waiting for someone to answer his question.
Bail's wife, Breha, had been kidnapped. The Alderaanian queen was presently being held for ransom by bounty hunters who had infiltrated and locked down the upper levels of their home. And despite their increased numbers, the palace security hadn't stood a chance. Now, if Bail ever wanted to see his wife again, it appeared he had no choice but to make good on their ransom demands.
But the bounty hunters didn't want credits or ships. They wanted Padmé. They had called it "an exchange". Bail was to surrender Padmé to the bounty hunters, so they could take her back to Coruscant—to the Empire; to Palpatine—and in return he would get his home and wife back, unharmed and safe.
"Further questioning..." Bail ranted in protest, shaking his fist. "Further questioning." He abruptly halted in the kitchenette and spun to face the group, his dark, troubled eyes fixed on Padmé. "You know that's the same thing Vader said when he came to collect Senator Zar?"
"Bail..." Padmé said, trying to comfort him. "I'm not Fang Zar. They're not going to—"
"He's dead, Padmé!" Bail heatedly interrupted, cutting her off. "Fang Zar is dead. Vader murdered him, remember?"
"Vader?" asked Ahsoka. She looked between Padmé and Bail curiously. "Who is Vader?"
Slack jawed, Ferus met her stare. "You've seriously never heard of Darth Vader?"
Ahsoka folded her arms. "No. Should I have?"
"He's been on the HoloNet more than once," Ferus added. He dramatically gestured with his hands. "Seven feet tall. Dressed in all black. Wears a helmet?"
Ahsoka narrowed her gaze at the former Jedi. "I don't watch the HoloNet."
Padmé opened her mouth to speak when Bail cut her off again.
"Darth Vader is a Sith Lord working for the Emperor," Bail explained. Again, he was staring at her, and again, her stomach twisted under his scrutiny. He continued "His sole purpose for the past eleven months has been to hunt down and eliminate all Jedi survivors. And after what he said the other day in the Senate grand vocational hall, I wouldn't put it past him to do something like this."
Of course he would blame Anakin for this. He always made everything about Anakin. "You are jumping to conclusions, Bail," Padmé said. "Just because Vader asked how Breha was doing does not mean he is the one responsible for her kidnapping."
Bail crossed his arms and glared at her. He was angry. The angriest she had ever seen him. "Really, Padmé?" he argued. "Again you defend him? After everything he's done?"
"I am not defending him," Padmé countered, failing to keep her own emotions in check. "I am saying one action does not equate to the other."
They locked stares with each other, the weight of their anger silencing the room. It was as if Bail was challenging her to say something further on the matter, daring her to continue, and she bit her tongue, fearing the next words to come out of her mouth.
"Bail," Ahsoka said, breaking the tension, "I know you're upset, but—"
He raised a hand to silence the Togruta. "Could you excuse us a moment?"
"Bail, please," implored Ahsoka.
"Excuse us for a moment," reiterated Bail, the emphasis on "excuse us" leaving no room for question. He then looked to Padmé. "Senator, a moment in private, if you don't mind."
Heart racing now, Padmé nodded stiffly and followed the Alderaanian Senator from the kitchenette to his private bedchambers. He waited for her to enter, closed the door, and spun to face her head on, a flash of anger burning in his eyes.
"What are you doing here, Padmé?" demanded Bail. "And be honest."
Her own anger rose to the challenge, and Padmé didn't bother to temper it. It was time to have this out once and for all. "If I recall correctly, it was you who begged me to come."
"Fierfek, Padmé!" Bail cursed. He paced. "Breha is in danger and I am running out of time. After more than ten years of friendship, I think I have earned the truth."
Raising a brow, Padmé crossed her arms and watched the man pace. Inside her swollen abdomen, the life growing within somersaulted and kicked in protest, the cold discomfort further fuelling her fury. "Oh, and what truth might that be?"
Bail halted mid stride and faced the door. He ran his hand through his hair, took three slow and measured breaths, his entire body heaving with effort. The dark aura surrounding him gradually lifted as he noticeably calmed down. There was a long moment of silence, a heaving sigh, then "I know who Vader is, Padmé—or rather, who he used to be. I know you do too. And if you are here to spy on my rebellion in order to help him take us down... then I guess... I am going to have to deal with that when I get to it."
The sound of heartbreak and defeat in Bail's voice was devastating, and as angry as she was, Padmé couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Taking a deep breath, she sat on the edge of his bed and traced her finger around the obsidian crystals adorning her wrist com. Still not completely convinced she was about to do the right thing, Padmé kept her gaze fixed to the wrist com. "He doesn't care about the rebellion."
Another long moment of silence. Finally, Bail turned from the door. "Have you... spoken with him recently?"
Padmé nodded. "Yes."
"Stang." Bail shook his head in disbelief and turned away again. He paced back and forth ahead of her, shaking his head. "That explains how they knew where to find me."
"You still believe he is responsible for Breha's kidnapping, don't you?" Padmé asked.
"Prove me wrong, Padmé," yelled Bail, spinning to face her again. "Go ahead. Call him. Ask him. No, better yet, you can answer my kriffing question. What are you doing here?"
Stunned into silence, Padmé stared at him. Obi-wan was right. She shouldn't have come here. This whole exercise had been one giant mistake. But, she could still fix this.
"Clearly, I have made a mistake," Padmé stated, all niceties erased from her voice. She rose from the bed and strode for the door.
"Padmé, wait!" Bail called, chasing after her from the bedroom. "Please!"
She didn't stop to say goodbye. Didn't acknowledge Ahsoka and the other two Jedi as she stormed between them and through the kitchenette for the sitting area. And didn't stop to look back when she reached the main door, opened it, then left.
• • •
"I must say, I was surprised to see Eeth Koth still alive," Obi-wan said, watching the helmetless Sith gulp down what must have been his fifth consecutive whiskey.
Vader grunted, reached again for the bottle. "There's still time."
Disapproving, Obi-wan shook his head. "Anakin..."
Vader glowered at him mid-pour, amber smouldering in his eyes. "Lecture me, and I will finish the job."
"I'm not trying to lecture you," Obi-wan said, keeping his cool. "But... I was hoping we could talk."
"About what?" Vader asked, replacing the lid on the bottle. He picked up the newly refilled glass but made no move to drink it.
"Well, about this morning, actually. About what happened between you and Palpatine."
Vader huffed. "You're not going to let it go, are you?" he asked, his words slurring. He rolled his eyes and swallowed the whiskey.
"No, I'm not." Obi-wan stepped closer, rested his hand upon the Sith's armoured shoulder. "And deep down, I don't think you want me to."
Vader lowered his gaze to his desk, set the glass down. "What makes you think that?"
"You are broadcasting your emotions. I can feel your insecurity, your anger... and your despair." Obi-wan heaved a sigh. "It's as if you are not even trying to shield them from me."
Vader clenched his hand into a fist upon the desk. "Do you feel my desire to not discuss it?" he hissed.
"I do," Obi-wan agreed. "But I also sense the emptiness in that desire — the fear that is driving it."
A low, rumbling growl rattled between them. Vader shrugged out from under his touch and moved away, turned his back to both Obi-wan and the desk. His legs were unsteady and he swayed in place. He rasped a shallow, ragged breath and stared straight ahead.
"I have little memory of this morning," Vader mumbled. "He was preparing me for the ritual. I remember the Force ... screaming at me ... purple serum injected into my arm ... blood ... raging panic ... calling out to you. Then... I was on my ship."
Concerned, Obi-wan fingered his moustache. It sounded like Palpatine had blocked or erased that part of Anakin's memory, and he had a sneaking suspicion he knew why. "What ritual was he preparing you for?" he asked.
Vader stiffened. "He has been trying to manifest a dyad between us."
Oh, not good. Obi-wan swallowed and tried to recall what little he had read about the dyad in the Jedi Temple archives. If successful, a dyad would likely bind Anakin to Palpatine in such an intimate and concrete way, that not even his thoughts or feelings would be safe. They would, for all intents and purposes, become One in the Force, completely inseparable. And that thought alone was terrifying.
"I admit, I don't know a great deal about Force dyads, Anakin," Obi-wan said contemplatively, "but I was under the impression they required representation from both sides of the Force to form the union. Sith to Sith hardly fits within the scope of that logic."
Suddenly, it dawned on him. The black tentacles Palpatine had been commanding to wrap around Anakin in the vision—or whatever that had been, he still didn't fully understand it. The way Anakin's lingering connection to the Light had flickered and dimmed under Palpatine's attack, as if something or someone had been bleeding him dry. What Padmé had said to him earlier during their call, that something wonderful had happened between her and Anakin last night and it had given her hope. It all pointed to one thing.
"You drew on the Light last night for Padmé, didn't you?" Obi-wan asked, quietly confident he had solved the mystery.
Vader whirled in place and jabbed his gloved finger. "A mistake I have no intention of repeating."
Obi-wan raised his hands placatingly. "Easy, Anakin. Follow me on this. I think I'm on to something."
"Fine..." Vader growled. He crossed his arms beneath the flashing box on his chest. "Continue."
"You experimented with the Light last night with Padmé, correct?"
"We already established that."
"Yes... well, with you being so strong in the Force, every deviation you make has a ripple effect," Obi-wan explained. "I felt it from here myself. Of course, I am long accustomed to your unorthodox methods and—"
"Get to the point!" Vader barked. He'd always hated waiting. It was nice to see some parts of him hadn't changed.
Obi-wan smiled. "Right, where was I? Oh, yes, the ripple effect. Anyway, if I felt it, you can guarantee Palpatine did." Energised by the plausibility of his deduction, Obi-wan paced the short length of the rug. "So, if what I read in the archives is accurate, and Palpatine deduced both sides of the Force needed to be present to create the dyad, then it would explain why he chose this morning to conduct the ritual. He was attempting to draw your residual connection to the Light to the surface in order to consume it."
"If that is indeed the case, why did he fail?" asked Vader.
"Simple," Obi-wan said matter-of-factly. "He wasn't expecting me to intervene."
Vader gave him a quizzical look. "You?" His tone bordered accusatory.
Obi-wan nodded. "Yes, Anakin. After you called to me, I reached along our Force-bond and was somehow sucked into your vision ... your ritual. Don't ask me to explain. I don't fully understand yet. But I severed the connection between you and Palpatine by hacking at the tentacles with my lightsaber."
Clearly confused, Vader grunted and shook his head. "I don't remember any of this."
"Yes, and I believe he may have erased that part of your memory," Obi-wan explained. "And I don't want to upset you, but I think I know why."
"Why?"
"Because while your beloved Master was digging around inside your head, he uncovered the truth..." Fully expecting Vader to lash out at what he was about to say, Obi-wan hesitated, prepared himself for the worst.
"What truth?" Vader demanded. "Spit it out, Obi-wan."
Obi-wan swallowed, watched the Sith intently. "About Luke and Leia, Anakin. I think he knows you are hiding them."
He had been right to be cautious. Enraged, Vader roared and hurled the empty glass across the room. The glass hit the wall beside his bedchamber door and smashed, spraying wet shards into the air around them. And before Obi-wan had the chance to react, Vader cried out again and grabbed at his ribs.
The room shook and the lights began to flicker. Something was wrong. Anakin wasn't just angry, he was in pain. Perhaps he should try to calm him down before he went and did something rash. Tentative, and allowing his feelings of concern to flow between them along their bond, Obi-wan called to him, "Anakin?"
Hyperventilating, Vader whirled on him. Wildfire blazed in his eyes, and he had one hand pressed to his ribs, while the other was tightly clenched and trembling at his knee.
"Easy, old friend," Obi-wan said comfortingly, slowly edging closer. "This is why I am here, remember?"
But the Sith's attention was unfocused. His fitful gaze shifted around the room, as if he were looking for something or someone to break. Obi-wan could feel his anger, an extreme cold surging through him like a blizzard, the chill so crippling he feared he might freeze. He pushed through it, closed the last metre between him and Vader, and called out to him again. "Anakin, you are not alone," Obi-wan said.
Close enough now to hear the strained wheeze in his brother's breathing, Obi-wan took a risk and reached up to place both hands upon his shaking armoured shoulders, sent wave after wave of calming energy toward him through the Force. Vader's hunting gaze eventually found him, and for a moment, he stilled.
"I promise, we will work through this together," Obi-wan whispered. "You and me. Just like old times."
"Like... old... times," Vader robotically repeated between breaths, blinking slowly. A heartbeat later, he screwed up his face, moaned and buckled forward.
Vader jerked and fought to pull from his touch, but Obi-wan held him steady. He could feel Anakin's pain like it was his own; a violent burning throb radiating through every inch of his body. It was no wonder he was starting to panic. "What has he done to you?" Obi-wan asked, quickly grabbing for one gloved hand as the other slipped loose.
Eyes squeezed shut and still struggling to free himself, Vader shook his head and snarled. "Let go!" He yanked his hand up, shoved at Obi-wan, then lost his balance and staggered backwards.
Amidst the chaos, Vader's wrist-com went off, but both men ignored it. They continued to struggle, Vader pushing and resisting, Obi-wan following and battling to hold on. They tripped and fell together. Landed side by side on the rug before the bedroom door. Then, with another pained groan, Vader curled into the foetal position and grabbed at his head.
Shuffling into position alongside the Sith, Obi-wan held him down. His heart was pounding, each beat coming so hard and fast he could barely breathe. Again the wrist-com trilled, and he slammed his hand on Vader's to stop him from answering it. "Leave it," Obi-wan said. "Whatever it is, it can wait."
"Master!"
Obi-wan glanced up at the panicked cry, saw Syrennè racing toward them from the secret passage. He didn't hesitate. Still on his knees beside Vader, he thrust his hand out and Force-pushed the girl back, catapulting her across the room into the wall.
A sudden, overwhelming urge to protect his fallen brother surged through Obi-wan. He sprang to his feet, activated his lightsaber with piercing snap-hiss, and shifted into stance. When Syrennè was back on her feet, he growled, "Come any closer, and you will regret it."
"He's in pain," pleaded Syrennè. "Let me help him!"
"You have done enough," Obi-wan scolded. "If you truly want to help, go wake up Aleria."
Another feminine voice called out. "There's no need. Sabé and I are already awake." The red-headed doctor and Padmé's handmaiden were walking in from the main corridor.
"It sounds like a kriffing war zone in here," Aleria added as she and Sabé rounded the sofa. The very instant the doctor spotted Vader on the floor behind Obi-wan, she rushed over.
Hearing groaning, Obi-wan holstered his lightsaber and turned to see the armoured Sith struggling to push himself up. He dropped to one knee and offered his hand, helped pull him to his feet. Once Vader was upright, he groaned and staggered, his hand pressed to his forehead.
"Take him into the bedroom, Obi-wan," Aleria instructed, now standing beside them. "I'll see if I have anything left to help him."
With a nod, Obi-wan draped Vader's arm over his shoulder, guiding him slowly into his bedchambers, ignoring the chirping communicator still beeping on the dark lord's wrist.
• • •
Cradling her fresh mug of tea, Padmé stood before her assembled protectors, pilot, and handmaidens gathered together in her sitting room. They were discussing their imminent departure, outlining the many challenges preventing their sudden and impromptu exit from the rebel base.
But Padmé was distracted. Her mind far too busy elsewhere to focus on the precise details of their important conversation. She'd called Anakin four times. And four times he'd failed to answer. After assuring Obi-wan she would contact her troubled Sith husband the very instant she was finished with Bail and his entourage, she had assumed Obi-wan would have relayed that intention and had Anakin ready to accept her call. Yet, despite that arrangement, he still hadn't answered, and it was increasingly difficult to not get caught up in all the possible why's and what ifs. And as much as it pained her to admit, she realised, Anakin as a Sith had become completely unpredictable – and the more she pondered that realisation, the more unnerving it became.
"The rebel mechanics are working on the ship's engines as we speak," Captain Sloane said, the young pilot's statement abruptly interrupting Padmé's train of thought. "They estimate Dark Angel to be ready by first light."
"Approximately six hours from now," said Commander Bly, checking his wrist-chrono. He and his men were diligently standing guard at the entrance, her husband's loyal troopers ever dutiful in upholding their Supreme Commander's orders. "That means us versus three Jedi and the rebel military armed forces stationed at this base. Not to mention Rex and Wolffe."
"Providing Senator Organa actually raises the alarm," Dormé added. Her handmaiden looked to Padmé for guidance.
"My lady," Bly called to Padmé from the door, his thick brows knotted in concern, "I don't suppose you have made contact with Lord Vader yet?"
Padmé shook her head. "I am afraid not, Commander."
"Have you tried General Kenobi?" asked Bly. "Or even Commander Appo?"
"Not as yet," Padmé replied. Suddenly irritated, she lost interest in her tea and tipped the now cold brew into the sink. "However, I do not perceive matters to be as dire as you make them out to be, Commander. Senator Organa is an old friend of mine, and I know how deeply he values our friendship. I do not foresee him acting rashly."
Bly didn't seem pleased with her response. She could feel his anger rising with each passing second. "With all due respect, Lady Vader, Senator Organa is one of the principal founding members of this rebellion. He is harbouring three Jedi fugitives and amassing a grand army against us. He is not to be trusted."
"Your concern is noted, Commander," Padmé stiffly countered, dismissing any further input he may have on the matter. "However, being I am the one in command of this operation, we will hold our position until—"
The security door bell rang. Suddenly on high alert, Bly and his men whirled to face the exit, their DC-17's aimed at the door. "Who goes there?" Bly called out.
"Padmé. It's me, Ahsoka," the voice echoed from the other side. "Can I come in? Please, I only want to talk."
• • •
Sat on the sofa outside Vader's bedchamber, Obi-wan waited for what felt like hours, uneasy, restless, wanting to give the good doctor space to work, yet eager to get inside and see Anakin. Syrennè was on the seat opposite, her fingers fidgeting, her dark side Force presence singing with urgency and the need to move.
Obi-wan sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, he knew. But he would find no sleep today. Not now, not with the dark and heavy shroud slinking surreptitiously around him through the Force. Ever since Anakin had returned from Coruscant, it felt like someone was watching him. A malevolent presence hovering somewhere close, yet also in the distance, and every so often he could have sworn he'd heard a cackle. Though whether that cackle had come from the dark side spectre of Darth Malgus still lingering around Syrennè, or from his own imagination, he couldn't say. Perhaps the cackle was just another symptom of his ever growing fatigue.
"You should have let me help him," Syrennè said, acid dripping from her tone. "My master would be sleeping by now."
"My dear, if he had wanted your help, he would not have sent you away," Obi-wan comented drily.
Syrennè leapt from her seat, her fists clenched. "He doesn't know what he wants!" the girl declared. She spun to face Obi-wan and stabbed at the air with her finger. "And neither do you!"
He was too tired for this. Obi-wan knew what Anakin wanted. His former padawan wanted... well, what he had always wanted; Padmé. Not that his love-struck sixteen-year-old apprentice would ever hear it. "Perhaps not," Obi-wan said. "But I do know the romantic feelings you have for your Master are not reciprocated."
"Yeah? Well, give it time," Syrennè muttered. The young apprentice moved to stand before the transparisteel balcony doors and gazed outside. "The longer his beloved wife is away playing the rebel, the more time she gives me to get closer to him."
Obi-wan was about to say something more when the door opened and Aleria stepped out. Present conversation forgotten for the time being, he rose from his seat. "How is he?" Obi-wan asked.
Aleria looked concerned. "I have given him something for the headache, but it doesn't appear to be working. Whatever is causing his pain is not muscular, or skeletal," she said. The doctor held out a small vial and handed it to Obi-wan. "I found this in his auto-med unit."
Obi-wan took the offered vial and studied it. The liquid inside was different to what Anakin had previously shown him. It was thick, and viscous, and judging by the vibrant purple hue it looked suspiciously irradiated. He raised a brow at the doctor. "What is it?"
"Another of the Emperor's sorcerous concoctions I suspect," Aleria muttered, crossing her arms and frowning. "I am going to run it through the lab to see how it compares to the original formula." She sighed, looked back to Vader through the bedroom door and shook her head. "I have drained, flushed and deactivated the injectors in his suit, and administered a healing drip to hopefully clean it out of his system. But it will still be another hour or two before we see any results."
"Can I see him now?" Obi-wan asked, following the doctor's gaze to the bedroom.
The redhead doctor shrugged. "He's been asking for you," she said. "He also asked for you to bring in his helmet. His com has been going non-stop since he sat on the bed."
"Thank you, doctor," Obi-wan said. Then, with a respectful nod, he retrieved Vader's headgear from the sofa and left to join him.
• • •
Ahsoka walked past Commander Bly into Padmé's private quarters, her crystalline blue, Togrutan eyes focused like sharpened pinpricks on the gathered crew and handmaidens. From the moment she stepped inside, it was clear she was on edge. She soon found Padmé waiting by the kitchenette and frowned.
"Looks like I am late to the party," Ahsoka said sardonically, stopping in the middle of the sitting area to cross her arms.
"Nothing quite that jovial, I'm afraid," Padmé solemnly responded. She gestured to her bedchamber and started toward it. "Come, Ahsoka. We can talk in here."
Padmé led the Togruta into her bedroom and closed the door. The instant Ahsoka spotted the half packed bag lying open on the bed, she froze.
"Wait! You're leaving?" asked Ahsoka, spinning to face her.
Padmé nodded in confirmation. "Yes."
"But, what about Bail and Breha? Surely you're not going to run off and leave him to deal with this alone, are you?"
"He has three Jedi to help him, Ahsoka," Padmé said, walking around the foot of the bed to continue packing the few items she had brought with her back into the bag. "I would hardly call that alone." She pulled a spare pair of leggings from the dresser, folded them, and placed them neatly with the others.
"It's because of Obi-wan, isn't it?" Ahsoka accused, watching her pack, getting angrier by the second. "He's told you to stay out of it, hasn't he? Of course, he has. Would it be too much to ask for him to actually help for a change?"
Certain statements, sounds, and smells always dredged up memories of her recent trauma—this statement was one of them. Her heart pounded, panic surging through her veins. Ignoring the Togruta's angered jibe was near impossible, but Padmé forced herself toward the refresher. Each step felt like wading through quicksand. Reaching for her beauty and hygiene products, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes, wide with terror, were locked onto the image staring back. She fought to focus on the simple, vital act of breathing, as if her very life depended on it.
In, and then... out.
In, and then... out.
After a shaky struggle to regain her composure, Padmé emerged from the refresher, gripping her train case tightly. She began packing her clothes with trembling hands when Ahsoka's question pierced the silence.
"Obi-wan is the father, isn't he?"
The air in the room thickened. Padmé's breath hitched, her heart thundering in her chest. She stumbled back from the bed, eyes wide with horror, fixated on her husband's former padawan. A familiar, ghostly whisper invaded her thoughts.
Anakin is the father, isn't he?
Memories assaulted her—angry shouts, molten lava, the burning hellscape of Mustafar. Obi-wan's silhouette on the boarding ramp…
LIAR! You brought him here to kill me!
Anakin's dark, gloved hand closing around her throat, the suffocating fear as she pleaded for his forgiveness...
"Padmé..." a voice, gentle yet urgent, cut through the dark fog of her mind. A hand gripped her shoulder, shaking her back from the memory. "Padmé, are you alright?"
Padmé's trembling hand slowly lowered from her neck as she came back to the present. Ahsoka's grip on her shoulder was the only thing anchoring her to reality.
"Padmé?" Ahsoka whispered, her voice devoid of anger, now laced with concern. "What happened to you?"
"Nothing," Padmé lied, desperately trying to shake off the haunting memories. "It... it was nothing. Don't worry about it."
Ahsoka's eyes remained filled with worry. "I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you," she said softly.
"You didn't," Padmé insisted, though her voice was unconvincing. She pulled away from Ahsoka's touch and resumed packing. "I'm fine."
The silence that followed was thick with unease. Padmé's hands shook as she zipped up the bag and placed it by the door. Turning around, she found Ahsoka still watching her intently. Padmé raised an eyebrow. "What is it?" she asked.
Ahsoka's smile was sad, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "You miss him, don't you?"
Padmé's throat tightened. "Every day, Ahsoka."
The words were truer than she wished to admit. She missed Anakin deeply. The Anakin she once knew, the man she married. His presence now was a painful reminder of what he had become under Palpatine's influence. Driven by an overwhelming need to connect, Padmé traced her finger over the wrist-com, contemplating whether to call him or Obi-wan if he didn't answer.
"I am truly sorry for upsetting you, Padmé. And I apologize for getting angry," Ahsoka said, moving closer, gently touching Padmé's arm. "It's just... it's been hard, being alone for so long. I was scared. I didn't want to lose you again."
Padmé's heart ached with a familiar pain, reminiscent of Anakin's fear of loss. For a fleeting moment, she considered taking Ahsoka with her to Dromund Kaas. But the thought was quickly dismissed—it was too dangerous. She and Anakin needed time to address their issues, without further complications.
"You won't lose me, Ahsoka," Padmé reassured, squeezing the Togruta's hand. "Here, take my com frequency. When this business with Bail and Breha is settled, you can contact me, and we can catch up."
Ahsoka's smile was bittersweet, a tear escaping down her cheek. She nodded. "I would like that." Brushing away the tear, she turned to leave but hesitated at the door, glancing back. "We have a plan to rescue Breha. If you change your mind, we're not leaving until mid-morning."
"If I change my mind, you'll be the first to know," Padmé said. "Goodbye, Ahsoka. And may the Force be with you."
• • •
When Aleria said Vader had been asking for him, Obi-wan had expected at least some degree of conversation. But the instant he'd set foot inside the bedroom he soon realised that was not the case. Vader's comlink was running hot, and it seemed the calls coming through were consuming his attention. He'd handed Vader his headgear then curtly excused himself, retreating to his private fresher to use the facilities.
"What do you mean the ship has just left the port?" Vader's booming, robotic voice echoed from behind the door.
Obi-wan splashed his face with water, then grabbed a towel from the rail and dabbed it dry, all the while listening to the conversation going on between Vader and the freighter Captain in his bedroom. To say he was unhappy would be the understatement of the century. Force help the poor soul on the other end of the call.
"My apologies for the delay, Lord Vader. But we had to wait for the proper clearance," the Captain said, his voice shaking.
Vader snarled, his rage barely contained. "I gave you clearance four hours ago, Captain."
"Yes, my lord. I understand. But, apparently, the command escort had to await clearance from higher up," replied the Captain. "Port control said she'd been grounded, sir. Something about restricted access hyperlanes, and highly classified military ports."
A deep, rattling growl echoed from behind the door. "The Perlemian trade route is not restricted," corrected Vader. "How high was the clearance required?"
"The... the very top, Lord Vader," the Captain stammered. "As high as it gets."
Oh dear, not good, Obi-wan thought to himself, staring blankly at his reflection in the mirror. So, Palpatine was playing more mind games by the sounds of it. That was not going to go down well. Especially not with the foul mood Anakin was in. He tuned out from eavesdropping and hung up the towel. Kriff, the dark shadows under his eyes were huge, he really ought to get more sleep. One day, hopefully, he told himself. Then, he ran his hands through his hair, did his best to neaten it and went to leave. Just as he reached for the door Obi-wan's com chirped and he pulled it from his tabard.
It was Padmé. He supposed he'd better answer, she could very well be in trouble. "Kenobi," he answered, then suffocated a yawn.
"Obi-wan! Thank Shiraya you answered," Padmé said. She sounded relieved.
"I don't think Shiraya had much to do with it," he replied drily. The yawn crept out before he could stop it. "Is everything alright?"
Padmé seemed to hesitate. "Yes... and no. Is Anakin there with you?"
Obi-wan rolled his eyes. He was far too tired for back and forth right now. "Yes, he's in the bedroom. Why, what's happened?"
"I've called four times and he hasn't answered," said Padmé. "I was... getting worried."
"He's fine," Obi-wan muttered. "I don't know what else you want me to say, Padmé. I can't make him answer. He won't talk to you over the com. He said if you want to talk, you can come here."
A gentle sigh came across the com. "I am coming back. You were right, Obi-wan. It was a mistake for me to come here."
Finally, Obi-wan thought. "Are you in danger? Do you need me to—"
"No, Obi-wan. I'm not in danger," Padmé interrupted. "Well, not yet anyway."
So, something had happened, she just didn't want to tell him. Obi-wan's mind wandered at the thought. Just how bad was it? And how much trouble was Padmé truly in?
Obi-wan let out a weary sigh. "So, what precisely is the problem?"
Again Padmé hesitated. "Bounty hunters are holding Breha for ransom," she eventually said, her voice hushed. "Bail is beside himself. He believes Anakin is behind it."
"Oh, for goodness sakes, Padmé," Obi-wan cursed.
There was no way he saw this conversation ending well. If Anakin was behind the kidnapping of Bail's wife, and let's face it, his peculiar behaviour this morning definitely suggested it was a possibility, Padmé questioning him would only further agitate him. He would see it as Padmé taking Bail's side.
Conversely, if he wasn't behind it, he would view her question as an accusation. A betrayal.
Obi-wan pressed his fingers into his eye sockets and shook his head. "You aren't calling to question him about it, are you?" he asked, his tone carried more exhaustion than he'd intended. "You may not like the answer. And be warned, Anakin is in no mood for delicacy."
"No," Padmé said, though her answer was unconvincing. "I want to apologise for leaving him. For not listening and going with Bail against your wishes."
Why did he get the feeling she was only saying that to appease him? To persuade him into taking the com to Anakin? Obi-wan sighed. "Padmé, if you are lying to me..." he started but couldn't bring himself to finish.
"Please, Obi-wan," Padmé pleaded. "I really need to speak with him."
"Fine..." Obi-wan muttered, irritated. "But this is the last time, Padmé. I am not a marriage counsellor."
• • •
Obi-wan opened the fresher door and returned to the bedroom.
Inside, Vader was pacing beside the bed, back in his helmet and mask, his dripline removed and dangling from the bag. He was restless, his long stride rigid, and swinging fist clenched. He was on another call, consumed by the conversation, his anger transformed to cold calculation... or was that a flicker of hope he sensed?
"Anakin, I have—" Obi-wan called, trying to get his attention, but before he could finish a black-gloved hand shot up, palm open and fingers extended in Obi-wan's direction. A sudden tightness squeezed at his throat, silenced his voice.
"You are certain the message was received?" Vader said into the com.
The voice that answered sounded familiar, suspiciously similar to one of the Clone troopers. "Oh, he understood alright," the voice replied. "I expect to hear back within two hours. Then I will provide terms and location."
Obi-wan fought to break the stranglehold Vader had around his throat, but despite his best efforts, it wouldn't budge. It's not that it hurt, exactly, more that he knew Padmé's call was still open on his com and she could no doubt hear everything being said. It very much sounded like Anakin was in fact responsible for the kidnapping, and if he didn't stop talking he was going to dig himself into one giant hole he wouldn't be able to climb out of.
"Anakin!" Obi-wan tried again.
Blast! Still nothing. Not so much as a kriffing whisper. To make matters worse, Padmé was calling to him as well.
"Obi-wan, can you hear me?" Padmé's voice came from the com. "What's going on?"
ANAKIN! Obi-wan yelled to Vader across their Force-bond. Don't say another—
The pressure squeezing his throat tightened. And, now he was choking.
"Good work, Bounty hunter," Vader said, obviously not hearing Padmé from the other side of the room and ignoring Obi-wan's repeated attempts to communicate. "You may proceed with the exchange. Inform me the moment you have the package."
"As you wish," replied the bounty hunter.
Vader snapped the comlink shut, released the choke-hold from Obi-wan's neck, whirled around and yelled at him. "WHAT?"
With a croak and a cough Obi-wan ignored his outburst and quickly checked to see if Padmé was still on the call...
Obi-wan closed his comlink. He glared at Vader across the room and yelled in frustration. "You idiot! You ignorant, arrogant, stupid IDIOT!"