Summary: Thirty-odd years after the second Death Star was destroyed, Darth Sidious is drawn back to the land of the living.

Author's Note: Set in the same universe as Counting Days - this follows the same timeline, except it's from Sidious' perspective. It is also more condensed - Sidious tends to take 'the long view' of things.

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There are no coincidences.

It had taken over five decades of natural - hah! - life for the words of his old fool of a Master to sink in, for him to truly absorb their implications.

And it was beautiful.

The jagged edges of Anakin's conflict had sliced into his senses, even as the smell of his own flesh burning and melting filled his nostrils, and a glorious corona of raw Dark Side energy obscured his vision. Windu, his focus narrowed down to holding him in the inevitable standoff – a weakness of the Jedi's version of Vaapad – completely ignored the oncoming storm.

Sideous saw it, dropped his guard, screamed for help, and the last of Anakin Skywalker's Light was snuffed out.

He shivered at the memory of the beauty, the raw pleasure of Vader's absolute submission.

His realization had come from what had doubtlessly seemed needlessly self-indulgent to his ascetic Apprentice. Sideous had made of point of following Anakin Skywalker's development, first as a discontented Padawan that seethed with frustrated lust and unchecked terror, and later as a Jedi who flat-out refused to acknowledge his own Darkness. And was inevitably consumed by it.

However, as his years as Emperor began to wear on him, he began, in his (annoyingly infrequent) sessions of deep meditation, to ponder the series of events that had drawn his Apprentice to him.

In the grand scheme of things, his victory on that front had been almost too easy. He smiled at the memory. Decades of preparation and playing both sides of a galactic civil war against each other had been both enjoyable and fulfilling - pull the strings, watch them dance - and yet nothing had made the Dark Side rumble with dark contentment as the moment that Vader kneeled at his feet.

And yet the way that Vader had come to him…If the Trade Federation attack (one of his very favorite plans) had not driven Padme Amidala and the Jedi to Tatooine, had the Jedi visited a different junk shop for parts, had Qui-Gon Jinn not sacrificed the mother for the sake of the son…

Coincidences.

And thus he was not surprised at all when a searing Force presence jolted him out of his decades-long slumber in the belly of the Gorgon. He'd been aware, on some level, that his last set of meat puppets was in danger. Even when his resources were, for all intents and purposes, unlimited, he never put one on until he was certain of at least an hour of safety. Thus he had not Risen to assist the crew of the Gorgon when the Dreadnaught went down in the Battle of Jakku, and had instead diverted the ship's remaining energy and the life force of the crew to shielding his remaining seven clones. He had not accepted defeat, had instead imbued the tanks with his presence.

And waited.

And then the presence…He followed the light down, and shuddered as his awareness flooded with the sensations of the flesh. The fluid in the cloning tank had long since grown cold, but the feeling…he'd forgotten…

He opened his eyes slowly. The room was pitch black except for a piercing flare of a cutting torch coming through a wall. He bit down on the rebreather, sucked in air, and reached for the controls with the Force. The tank unceremoniously dumped him onto the deck. He lay still, blinking weakly, his underdeveloped limbs not obeying his commands. The torch shut off, and there was a grunt, and then a clank as the metal broke apart. The light, the presence drew nearer on soft, cautious feet. The half-forgotten stench of filthy human filled his nostrils. Light stung his eyes, and he made a quiet noise.

A mumbled apology, and then a gentle red light, carefully shielded by a small hand.

A rough shadow leaned over him. Huge, dark eyes ran over his face, took in his wasted nakedness with shock.

"Are – are you all right?" It was a quiet voice. The scared voice of a girl. A girl whose presence was a that of a young star. Her face was close enough to touch.

He reached out with the Force.

"He-help me…Please…"