Epilogue or The Devils

In which they live happily ever after (until the devils come out)…

Senator Palpatine did not believe in luck. He could not, having spent his entire life trying to elevate his status, to demonstrate that even someone like him, an angry boy from the filthiest block of the city, could become someone -if he had the right guidance and the guts to do what it took.

Palpatine took a sip of his drink, throwing a pleased glance to the three-hundred page project lying on his desk. The Death Star: his absolute masterpiece, the coronation of an entire career. Of course, public opinion could not know, not yet. Not that he feared the masses; no, the masses were always extreme in their feelings and were almost too easy to manipulate. He was one of them, after all; he was not part of the corrupts, of the riches, of all those people that had made them feel like shit all their lives –with their good manners, their sophisticated accents, their beauty, their perfection. No, he was one of them and he had done it; he had entered that closed circle that was power. He had showed them that they could, too. He understood their feelings. Masses craved even the mere illusion of power. The masses, the good, naïve folk who would vote for him in a month or so, would love his little project about a new arm. People didn't care about rights, or about laws or budget regulation; they lived their insignificant lives, justifying their petty crimes, a little ashamed, a little proud of their ability to "fuck the system". And at the same time, they loved when someone like him could show them that their country, their dear home-planet, was powerful. They would love him for that. And they would love his request to strengthen his leadership and to enlarge the chancellorship's power; finally -they would comment- finally someone with the guts to act, instead of just talking like all the other privileged politicians. But that would have to wait. The Death Star, too, would have to wait. Time was not mature enough; his opponents were still too strong, even if they were starting to crack under his growing power in the Senate and among the people. He had to wait, and experience had thought him nothing but the unexpected virtue of patience.

Things were starting to move, thought. He had gotten the unexpected but welcomed support of Diplomat Naberrie; the man had a lot of acquaintances in the finance and in the industry and, most important of all, the Diplomat was a respected man. Naberrie's support had opened him a lot of doors in the upper-class circles, and had given him the possibility to find the money to fund his electoral campaign. He had made the good Diplomat's daughter his own protegée –just in case daddy decided that he did not like Palpatine's ideas anymore, it was always good to have a hostage. Then, he had finally succeeded in gaining another ally among the very people that hated him the most; intellectuals. Professor Dooku had agreed to silently run a preliminary review of this little project of his. He had courted the old Professor for months, attentively dosing flattery and power game. And then, one day, Dooku had chosen his side. He was tired, he had said. Tired of the growing corruption within the Republic, tired of its slow and intricate bureaucracy. He agreed with Palpatine and he believed he would do good to the Planet. And, Palpatine considered, he also wanted his good share of recognition, money and power. People are never too greedy.

Dooku had been the first one to suggest Skywalker. At first, the boy was just a good excuse to irritate Kenobi. An unbalanced boy, Dooku has said; raw, unfocused, aggressive. Talented, yes, but with no elegance. He could be useful to distract Kenobi however; Palpatine knew that the young Professor was doing his little private investigation on him. He could almost feel the distrust Kenobi felt towards him; a distrust that was made explicit in his articles. Not that those articles could cost him the elections, of course not. But Kenobi was a good-looking man, idealistic and respected among professors and researchers; he was the academics' golden boy. Kenobi could do him damage, and approaching his puppy had just been too tempting. But then he had met Skywalker and had understood how much useful the boy could prove; he was unfocused, yes. But he was one of the masses, like Palpatine himself; he would not recognize any loyalty to some stupid law. His own aggressiveness, that Dooku despised so much, could become the perfect tool for Palpatine's plan. The boy would have gladly helped him "to fix the galaxy", especially if that meant to destroy all the people that angered him so much. The privileged ones. And the boy could focus when it was about mechanics. Palpatine had set his eyes on Anakin Skywalker and, sooner or later, he would have been able to have him. And, at the same time, he could distract Kenobi. Kenobi and his little research, his obsession for him. When will you finally put all the pieces together, Obi-Wan? When will you discover my little, dirty, secret? Palpatine gritted his teeth, considering how stupid he had been; he had left too many traces and someone had been able to follow them. Back then he was not so powerful and the big public didn't know him. He had been too impatient, too eager to start with his plan that he had become careless. And he had been caught by an annoying professor who seemed sure he could correct all the world's evils. He had had to act; he had had to have him killed, even if it was a risky move. He didn't know back then that he was some kind of spiritual master and guidance for the young Kenobi. He didn't know that killing Qui-Gon Jinn would have made Obi-Wan Kenobi his worst enemy.

But then, destiny had played a hand in his favor. Skywalker and lady Naberrie had decided to leave the planet for a little trip in the valley of bad memories and could turn out to be a real tragedy. But the two kids had been smarter than anticipated and –surprise, surprise- Obi-Wan Kenobi had come to him, begging him to take the puppy home. Obi-Wan Kenobi, the honest, perfect, Obi-Wan Kenobi had lied and used a political connection to pursue his own interests. What would the press think? What would his dear colleagues think if they knew? A word from Palpatine and he was ruined. Kenobi's word would have simply lost its power. Kenobi had already lost all his power over him; to protect Skywalker.

Palpatine smiled to himself, finishing his drink. Poor Kenobi, he would be devastated when the moment would finally present itself. Skywalker will fall he considered, licking unconsciously his lips, and Kenobi will be broken.

Anakin opened lazily his eyes, not really wanting to get up. He smiled, seeing a mass of dark brown hair on his chest. Padmé was still sound asleep. Anakin stretched to reach his phone, trying not to wake his girlfriend up. A quarter to eight, he considered, grateful to discover that he could just close his eyes again and doze off a little more.

"Ani?" a sleepy voice called. He didn't answer, but placed instead some light kisses on the girl's head.

"Mmm" she moaned appreciatively. He smiled and moved a little to gain access to her neck and collarbone, leaving a trace of kisses on her. She laughed and moaned again.

"You know, I should have really married you…" she commented happily, her body shivering under his attentions.

"If I recall correctly" said Anakin, each kiss more passionate and eager "You were the one who proposed, so I should be the one who gets to say yes…"

She opened her mouth to answer, but his lips had found her breasts.

"W-whatever" she said. A moment later, his mouth captured hers.

Everything was just perfect.

Three years later.

Anakin forced himself to take a deep breath, and then another and another one. He was on the verge of utter panic. He was panting but he couldn't hear the sound of his heavy breaths; he could only hear the pumping sound of his racing heart in his ears, and feel his entire body electric with adrenaline. He looked down at himself, almost unconsciously. His heart skipped a beat and then started to pump blood in his veins even faster.

He was covered in blood. Panic, real, true panic finally exploded in his head, while he fought the urge to vomit, suddenly conscious of the thickness in the air.

Hi guys! :) this is the end! But stay tuned, because there is sequel: "Same, old, in-between stories"! The last part was actually an anticipation of the new story which, as you may have guessed, will be darker and a little more problematic for our protagonists –but it will start with some more humorous, lighter chapters, as Same Old Love Story.

I thank you all a lot. Seriously. I really appreciate your support and suggestions –which I always take into consideration :) So, yeah, keep to fav, follow or review (reviews make me happy :D) and give a chance to the next story if you liked this one :)

Thank you again!