As promised, this chapter is a few days early. Please enjoy.

Forewarning, there are some parts that are very, very hard to read. But I can't tell you what they are because it'll ruin the moment(s). So...read at your own risk, and I apologize if some pieces make you uncomfortable.

It felt like hours, but it was probably only a few minutes. Thirty standard minutes, give or take. It could've been more—felt like more—but Vader wasn't sure.

He did know one thing with absolute certainty, however: he was still in the same position, stoic, still—kneeling—before his master.

And he'd never hated it as much as he did this day.

Because he should've been elsewhere—with his daughter and Bail, finding out who hired Jabba's crew, killing them, ending them—yet here he was, genuflecting. Prostrating himself before a wrinkled and cloaked—practically crippled—old man.

The Emperor.

His Emperor—his master.

The one who had claimed that Padmé had been a lost cause. That he, with all his talents and supreme skill—even though he had promised, he had promised—couldn't save her. Couldn't pick up the struggling pieces of her lifeform and stitch them back together…

Vader twitched.

He couldn't ignore Bail's questions. They lingered and circled and pitter-pattered across each brain cell, annoying his psyche to no end…

Why don't you ask about him about how he tried to save her, when she wasn't even there. Why don't you ask him about Leia, when he didn't even know that she'd been born. Why don't you ask him why he lied to you—used you—

Each word—each circling sentence—bothered him. Distracted him. And it was all made worse by the Force.

Because Bail's words, memories, and confessions—kriff, anything he'd said or done, no matter the content or context—rang true. Loudly. Infuriatingly. And Vader didn't understand why he hadn't questioned any of it before...

Had Sidious even seen Padmé on Mustafar, alive and breathing? Had he really evaluated her health or touched her with his cold and withered hands? Had he smelled her perfume or felt her fear—her anguish—as he administered whatever failure of a healing technique he claimed to know?

Had he? Could he?

Because according to Bail, she'd been taken to Polis Masa immediately after his battle with Obi-Wan. She'd been stolen away from the fiery shores of that treacherous lava planet and taken to a medical bay, where she gave birth to Leia—beautiful, strong, healthy Leia, who Sidious had never once mentioned, had never once sensed—before slowly slipping away. And all while muttering about how she'd seen her husband's light—

Had faith in him.

Hope for him.

Never once, giving up on him.

Never once…

…betraying him.

Everything was twisting about in his head, like two serpents engaged in the worst battle he'd ever seen or felt. They bit, squirmed, and dripped venom; destroyed everything and anything they could. And each one vied to come out on top, each one demanded his belief—his trust.

But only one had ever earned that right, before—Sidious.

And he had to believe—had to believe—that Bail's words, memories, and confessions were lies. Just well-thought, well-rehearsed, and well-meddled with fabrications told specifically to sow doubt and destruction between him and his master. And it was impressive; each lie had been well-placed and molded together to be utilized now—right now—when Vader was before his longtime friend and confidant, kneeling and alone.

Awaiting instruction.

It was…easy to recognize that Bail's fabrications didn't matter. Vader knew where his loyalties laid, and he had the foresight to recognize that he'd made this same choice once before, so very long ago. He'd made this choice and stuck with it. Publically. Violently. For years. And a piece of him knew it would be child's play to cripple Bail's words until they submitted underneath Sith might.

But still…

The thought of Padmé's final panting breaths and words hung heavy on his mind—hung heavy on his heart—and it angered him. Pushed him steadily over the edge.

He quickly found himself self-loathing, second-guessing, and glowering at the floor. Clenching his knee, but never looking up.

He suddenly wanted to leave—wanted to return to Leia—and he tired of Sidious's petty games.

"What is thy bidding, my master?"

Strange.

Those words had never sounded so…wrong before. So horribly, irreversibly wrong. And Bail's voice from so long ago rang in his ears…

If you would've kept her, she would've become another one of the Emperor's slaves.

Was…was that what he was? A slave?

No.

Something bright and slightly annoying—the Light Side of the Force from Leia's touch—answered. Yes. And he swiped at it until it flitted away.

The annoyance was gone, but it still fluttered deep in his heart. Because he hadn't…he hadn't seen it that way before. Palpatine and Sidious—one and the same, but referred to as separate entities for the sake of the galaxy's wellbeing—had always called him a friend. Had always cherished his loyalty and showed him the mysteries of his art.

Yes, the Emperor had slaves. More slaves than one man should ever own. But Vader had never considered himself one of them. He'd never been held to their standards and never debased himself like they had.

And yet—

Master.

Slave.

He shook his head, remembering. Knowing…

He'd been one before—before the Jedi had freed him from his shackles and explosive chip—so he knew what it looked like. Knew what it entailed even though his prior master hadn't been nearly as cruel as the others on Tatooine (Watto usually left him alone as long as he did his chores—cleaned the shop and fixed all of the tech and droids that they serviced). And he'd once vowed to never slip into it again, vowed to save all those entangled in it until he could eventually destroy it, completely. Mercilessly.

But still, he hadn't recognized it when it was shoved so blatantly in front of him…

On him.

Kneeling on the ground, before his teacher's—no, master's—throne. Appearing vulnerable and weakened as Sidious looked down and sneered.

"Lord Vader, my friend."

Had it always sounded like that? So condescending and insulting? Perhaps. But maybe it was because he was listening for it, listening to the slightest sneer or quiver and overthinking what it meant. But even if he was, he knew one thing: it wasn't the first time Sidious had used that tone; he'd heard it time and time again, thinking it to be something completely different, something completely not there.

Friend.

No—

Slave.

And Vader suddenly had a feeling that if kept his daughter—his world—close, she would hear it, too...

Sidious drawled, "Something most interesting has happened."

Vader said nothing, just stewed and shielded and feigned intrigue. Because he was still thinking. Lost in Bail's traitorous words. Lost within his own head. Slowly tripping. Slowly seeing…

…the truth. The real truth—Bail's truth.

A frown spread across Sidious's face, stretching his crinkled skin until it pooled unpleasantly above his lips. He reached out without moving and Vader felt a wretched probe attack one of his many shields. It barreled and assaulted and finally broke through—just barely, because that's all Vader would allow, that's all he could allow as his thoughts filtered through treason—and finally retracted when it got what it wanted.

Sidious steepled his fingers underneath his shriveled nose. "You're distracted, my friend," he said, still frowning. "And you've been away." A pause. "For what purpose?"

Vader looked up, but refused to respond. He let that known with a threatening flicker in the dark.

"Ah," Sidious said, smiling now. "So cryptic, as usual." Another pause. "Well. While you were away—" Not doing your job was very much implied. "—a threat has unveiled itself."

Still, nothing. Still, smiling.

"I'm afraid he or she has caused some disastrous inconveniences." Another pause. "Though, we should recover soon enough, assuming you're done with…whatever you were doing."

Vader was not, and he never would be. Leia would be his new passion, his new focus. But he kept that thought hidden away from Sidious's second probe.

"What is thy bidding?" he ground out as he bolstered his shields. Again.

The probe retreated and Sidious's smile grew and grew until it nearly cleaved his face in two. "Always so impatient," he said, tutting.

Silence descended.

Then, "It seems somebody has attacked and killed my good friend Jabba the Hutt."

Vader tensed.

Sidious noticed—Vader felt it—but continued like he hadn't. "They also killed everybody in his little…hovel. I'm told no one was spared, not even the slaves or defenseless musicians. It's quite a horrible predicament for the Empire, considering the Hutt's vast knowledge of the galaxy's seedy underbelly. And let's not forget their extensive network of shipping routes connecting the Outer Rim."

Silence.

Sidious glared. Anger whirled off him in frothy waves, but it wasn't directed at anybody in the room; it coiled out and beyond, searching the deep abyss of space before retracting. "And the Rebels have already started to take advantage of the situation. They're moving in on our territory in droves, targeting specific locations first, to make their insignificant impact last."

His wrinkled face softened. Slightly. "Though, I'm sure we should be able to squelch them quickly enough." A pause. A crinkle of an almost non-existent brow; a telltale sign of a direct order. "Lord Vader, I want you to go to the Outer Rim and secure the Empire's might. Bribe who you must, kill those not worth saving, but get it done. Now."

"Yes, my master." Vader stood and turned. He strode across the room at his usual pace, eager to return to Leia and thankful that his audience had been short and without much strife—

Until Sidious hummed out a sigh, unlike him.

Vader stopped, slightly intrigued, and turned.

Sidious smiled. Again. His golden eyes glittered with knowledge that only he knew. "It's such a shame to hear about Jabba's untimely passing," he said, waving one pressed sleeve through the air before resting it on the armrest of his throne, "especially since I'd just hired him to find something for me. Something that I'm sure you would've very much appreciated."

Vader stiffened. Stopped breathing.

He.

Had.

What?

"But I suppose she's dead, too. So it's of no consequence, like it didn't even happen." Sidious stretched out with his hand, then the Force, searching, tearing, ripping. "Unless," he said, standing, concentrating. "Unless you're hiding something from me. Someone, perhaps? Hmm?"

Lightning filled the void between master and slave. Sidious had known where he had been. Had known what he had done and who he had rescued, and he was punishing him for his actions, punishing him for his silent disobedience the same way a master disciplined a defiant slave.

Crackle-crack-crackle!

Vader tried to avoid the blow, but wasn't fast enough to evade the unpredictable arcs of raw energy flying free from Sidious's fingertips. The lightning struck true and burned. It raced up and down his body, searing through artificial nerves and frying electronic mechanisms. It sent his limbs into an uncontrollable uproar as they tried to combat the spider-webbed trails of light with useless swipes and kicks.

After a full minute of brutality, his prosthetics eventually stopped flailing and he fell to his knees with an extra loud thunk. The energy had disappeared, but tiny traces continued deep into his prosthetics; they twitched minutely against his will and the effort to subdue them proved more exhausting than helpful. He eventually stopped trying to fight them and simply dealt with the inconsistent spasms, instead.

Vader looked up.

Sidious's eyes didn't look gold anymore. They looked a sickly yellow. A merciless yellow. "Stealing her from Jabba? Killing that wretched slug and his patrons and disrupting my rule in the Outer Rim? How could you be so stupid?!"

Another arc, this one just as wild and wicked as before.

But this time, Vader was ready, he was prepared. He withdrew his saber with still-twitching fingers and stabbed the air. He just barely caught the chirping tendrils within the hum of his blade and went to one convulsing knee as he fought against them.

Lightning still neared. Steady. Dangerous. And Sidious screamed, "Everything happens in this galaxy because I allow it! I own it!" Then sent another bolt—then two— careening across the room.

Vader slashed and slashed, but some of the electricity evaded his twitch-filled defenses and poured through. It rippled through his suit and clamped things that weren't meant to clamp; it sprung and leapt and activated mechanisms even though he hadn't prompted them—

His mechanical limbs flailed once more, useless, until something was triggered. Everything suddenly stopped and—

He screamed—in pain, in agony—as lightning ripped through every nerve, muscle, and bone in his body.

Sidious laughed as he had his fun. "Now—"

One final tendril raced up Vader's flesh, burning long-destroyed skin beneath leather and metal. It sent horrible scents into his mask until it nearly suffocated him. Smothered him. Then the filter mercifully activated and he gasped, gagged.

The smog in his helmet cleared, but he could still smell scorched skin and fried electronics, evidence of Sidious's punishment, of the damage done to his suit and body.

"—you will bring me the girl and we will evaluate her usefulness."

Vader didn't move. Couldn't move. But he knew he had to, because he couldn't disobey his master, couldn't retaliate in the slightest.

He stood. Slowly.

And Bail's voice once again assaulted his psyche…

We only did it to protect her…From you. From the Emperor. From anybody who wanted to use her.

He managed to steal a clean breath.

Use her.

And he knew he couldn't submit to Sidious's demands.

He…couldn't allow Sidious to have her. Couldn't allow Leia to be manipulated or used. Couldn't allow her to experience the same pain he had suffered from—and was suffering in. He wanted to protect her, cherish her. Love her. Give her a future filled with smiles and affection. Filled with all the things she loved and dared to dream about.

His leather-covered fists clenched. Tight.

He'd made a decision.

"No," he snapped, resolute. Standing firm. "No. I will not."

Sidious cackled—at what, Vader didn't know—and threw another bolt.

Vader was prepared for it—was expecting it. He used the Force to steady his spasming limbs and reached out and caught the wicked burst in the palm of his hand. Then he sent it flying to the window on the other side of the room.

The blood red curtains lit up like a celebratory flame on Empire Day—the day Padmé'd died, Leia's birthday—and flooded the room with a sickening haze.

Sidious stood on his daises, regal and unmoving, but still chuckling. Still filling the air with his mindless chitter. "It's a shame, my friend," he said, eyes slit and watering from laughter and smoke, "such a shame that you've finally shown where your true loyalties lie. But—" There was a pause, so deliberate and menacing that for once Vader almost found himself begging for his master's froggy voice to assault the smoky air, "—it doesn't matter. She's already here. Already waiting…"

No.

The doors behind Sidious's daises erupted, and a blob of red, blue, and white marched in. Imperial guards, Bail, and Leia—the latter of which were struggling under the grip of several thoroughly-armored bodies. They punched and kicked and reached for one another; Leia was crying, Bail was shouting. Cursing. And they both paused when they were thrown before Sidious's throne.

"Y-your Majesty." Bail bowed his head and reached for Leia at the same time. He pulled her close and she burrowed into his shirt and jacket. His hands fidgeted against her back—he was scared, terrified—and it was clear that he didn't understand why he and his daughter had been so violently summoned. His eyes searched the floor, then swiped left and right before catching Vader's gaze.

Confusion and dread rippled off him in thick waves, and Sidious smiled.

"What a delightful treat," Sidious drawled as he returned to his throne. He sat and steepled his fingers across his mouth. Looked down on Bail and the cowering child in the man's arms. Then his eyes glittered that sickening yellow hue that meant no mercy. At Bail. At Leia.

The Imperial Troopers returned to their posts outside the room, and Vader's limbs twitched against his will as he tried to step toward his daughter. Sidious's gaze darted to him for a second, and he found himself unable to move. Frozen still via the Force and a myriad of malfunctioning electronic components.

He fumed. And tried his damnedest to fight against Sidious's control.

But he wasn't strong enough in his lightning-weakened state and couldn't move. Couldn't even lurch a measly inch forward. And after several failed attempts, he reigned himself in and tried to fix whatever he could while his master's attention drew elsewhere. To Bail. To Leia.

Sidious smiled. "Well, well, well," he said. "Princess Leia." A pause. "It took me a while to find you…but here you are."

Leia whimpered and dug deeper into her adoptive father's shirt. Bail clenched her back harder and harder, pressing her tighter and tighter against his front. His fists still shook. His body still quivered.

"So," Bail's voice was a trembling whine and he looked up with tears in his red-rimmed, brown eyes. "It-it was y-you. All this time…it was you." There was a pause. A horrified, reflexive pause. "Why?"

A chuckle. "You've been a decent father, Senator. A caring, protective, nurturing father…but that didn't suit my needs. Not anymore, at least."

"What?"

"You see—" Sidious's steepled fingers broke away from his face and he stretched out one wrinkled hand. He pulled without getting up—

And ripped Leia from Bail's grasp.

"Leia!"

Leia screamed a high-pitched, breathy wail, and Bail stumbled to his feet, stretching for her, reaching for her. He couldn't get close, and she flailed in midair, tiny arms and legs fighting everything and nothing as she struggled against Sidious's practiced, Force-strengthened hold.

"Leia!"

She writhed, but wasn't technically in pain. She was still panicked, though, was still crying. And she grasped hold of their bond and let her panic known, loud and clear. Help! Help! Help!

Vader was trying. He was. He was! But no matter what he did, no matter how he did it, it wasn't fast enough—didn't do enough. His fingers remained still. His arms and legs remained locked. But he wouldn't give up—couldn't give up. And after milliseconds that felt like hours, he finally managed to clench one fist.

He clenched tighter and tighter and reached. For Leia. For Bail.

But Sidious was there.

He was there and smiling and waiting. And Vader's feeble attempt to help his daughter and her adoptive father went up in smoke as he was violently pushed away both mentally and physically.

Leia shrieked, "Papa!"

And when Vader looked up, he expected to see Bail in pain, in agony…but he wasn't.

It took Vader a few moments to realize that Leia's panic hadn't been directed at him, but for him, and he could do nothing but stare.

She'd called him…Papa.

She'd called Padmé…Mama.

She knew. She knew.

He hadn't told her, but she'd found out anyway. He hadn't told her, but she'd felt it ring true in their bond and connected the pieces on her own.

Sidious chuckled and pulled Leia closer. He used the Force to mute her screams and continued his speech like nothing had happened. "You see," he said, still laughing, still chittering, "your father had done such a good job raising you, that you didn't know the dark. You didn't know pain or fear or loss. And now—" A pause. "—now, you do."

He reached out with one withered hand and pinched Leia's jaw between his thumb and forefinger. Smiled. "And that's what I needed, my sweet. I needed you to experience all those things. I needed you to embrace the darkness deep within. So I hired Jabba's crew to take you. To hurt you. Just a little bit, of course. Just a tad. And it all worked so well."

His yellow eyes narrowed and his hold tightened. Tears ran down Leia's face and pain rippled through the Force, screaming. No! No! NO!

"Even after your pathetic father got my apprentice involved, you succumbed to the dark." Leia's lips opened and she tried to cry, but no sounds came out. "I'm so proud of you, my sweet. So, so proud."

"Let go of her!"

Sidious's eyes flicked to Bail. He sneered. "You've finally exhausted your usefulness, Senator."

A withered hand soared high and lightning crackled through the air with sickening chirps. Bail twisted and thrashed as it poured through him—screaming as it raced through his muscles, skin, and bones—then collapsed to the floor in a haphazard heap before becoming unnaturally still. Life drained out of him. Life shriveled away from him and into the Force—

And Leia finally got a word out. "Daddy!"

Her gift responded and the darkness drew close, so thick and powerful and raw. It wrapped around Bail and managed to sustain him, then lashed out at Sidious and struck true.

Sidious cackled, "Yes, my sweet! YES!" while he batted Leia's invisible tendrils away like they were nothing.

He'd been attacked, but his smile remained bright and maddening. "Such power!" he said with a laugh. "Such talent! So raw!"

He cupped Leia's face with two hands and she lashed out, again and again, to no avail. He took every untrained attack in stride until he grew annoyed, then retaliated.

A probe raced across the small stretch between them and Leia's eyes widened in horror until they clenched tight as she fought against him. She flailed and screeched, then fell cryptically silent and unmoving.

Vader screamed, "Leia!"

Sidious's eyes flicked to him, feral and delighted. He dropped Leia onto the ground with an unceremonious thump and stood. "Your betrayal was foretold to me, you know," he said. Like it mattered, like anything mattered beyond Leia being alive and breathing. Still conscious.

Sidious took a calm step, hands sprawled overtop his waist like he was trying to seek balance as he descended the stairs. "I saw your betrayal play out the very moment Kenobi bested you in combat. It was inevitable, unavoidable. Be it with your sniveling daughter…or pesky son."

Son?

"Ah, so Organa didn't tell you." How could that smile keep growing? "Congratulations, my friend. You're a father, twice over. Of twins, to be exact."

Twins?

Padmé'd been carrying twins?

"But they weaken you, Lord Vader. The twins—your wife. They weaken you, make you soft and malleable and distract you from our goal."

Another tread. "So I thought it best to eliminate those distractions. First, with Amidala. Then, with your children."

He had…what?

"People don't just slip away," Sidious drawled, waving one cloaked arm. "They die from their wounds…or succumb to the will of others. My will, usually."

"What're you—" Vader couldn't help but pant. "What're you saying?"

Sidious couldn't have…

He couldn't have!

Not after everything Vader had done. Not after everything he'd thrown away for him.

Padmé was the only reason why he'd submitted to the dark. The only reason he'd slaughtered his brethren and laid waste to their temples. The only reason he continued to embrace the darkness, to live in its life-sucking clutches.

Bail's voice assaulted him. Destroyed him over and over and over again…

You mean when a solitary man manipulated you and turned you against everything you held dear—everyone you held dear? Forced you to believe he was your only friend—that you were all alone when you clearly weren't—then slay all that you had loved and all that you might hope to love?

Why…hadn't he…seen…?

Sidious's smile dimmed. His eyes grew a more merciless yellow. "I killed your wife. I split up your pathetic brats and tore them away from you."

Time stood still and Vader couldn't breathe. Nothing made sense. Nothing made sense. Everything toiled through his head in sporadic bursts and he could only come up with one word: "How?"

Sidious frowned and took another step down the stairs. "Did you think I showed you everything I knew? I told you that Darth Plagueis was able to create life." Another step. "So I expanded on that and learned how to take it—"

Vader lurched forward with all the strength he could muster. Snarled, "No!" And swiped out his arms despite their mechanical hindrance.

Sidious didn't even flinch backward. No, he smiled once more, then tutted. "Always so impatient, my friend. Always so weak. But it's okay," he said, "because you won't be around for much longer."

"No!"

It was all he could say. All he could think. Every word that came out of Sidious's mouth stabbed him clean through, and all he wanted to do was stand and throttle the poor excuse of a man. Mercilessly. Violently. Until Sidious's lifeform slipped into the Force he cherished so much.

"And don't worry." Sidious turned and glanced at Leia's prone body. "She won't remember this. Any of this," he said. "I'll rip her apart and take away her memories of you and her adoptive parents. Then put her back together, making sure to leave the hate. Making sure to leave the fear and a semblance of loss that she'll never quite understand. And over time, she'll make an excellent pupil. The perfect apprentice. My one true heir."

Sidious started circling, the same way a predator stalked and intimidated its prey. "And when the time is right, I'll send her to wherever Kenobi and her brother are hiding. I'll have her eliminate them, as she is destined to do. Then send her for Yoda, wherever he might be…" He stopped. "But first—"

He laughed. Then—

Lightning.

So much lightning that it was inescapable. Unavoidable.

Vader could've flinched backward, forward, left, or right, but still, it would've been there. Still, it would've barreled down and poured through him—ripped through him.

He couldn't help it—he screamed. Loud and deep and filled with so much pain and rage and unbridled hate.

Lightning drenched every component of his suit. It flowed through every mechanism and shorted each one out. But it wasn't done there. It lingered and amplified, then poured through each piece of him—again and again—until everything started exploding.

First, his right leg went up in a shower of splintering sparks, metal, and durasteel armor. It sounded like a bomb had gone off—looked like a bomb had gone off—and shrapnel flew out in every direction, coating the walls, floor, and his torso with pinpricked-sized gears, nuts, and bolts. Then his left leg followed suite, and more metal went careening across the room.

His left arm started vibrating, warning him that it was next. He flung it around and tried to aim it toward Sidious, but the man merely smirked and watched it explode. Metal springs, rods, and fasteners halted in midair via the Force, and Sidious prepared himself for Vader's final limb to explode, next.

It shuddered with warning, then—

It stopped.

And Sidious gasped.

Choking, wheezing, sputtering. His once-smiling mouth wretched open with shock and awe, and he turned, shaking.

And there—right there—was Leia, scrambling onto her feet, arms stretched and grasping. Face scrunched together and concentrating.

Sidious gurgled, then lightning crashed down all around.

Leia released her invisible hold with a painful wail and brought her twitching arms over her face for protection. Then she tugged on their bond—Papa! Papa! Papa!—and cried as electricity surged through her body.

Sidious's attack grew strong and vicious—unrelenting—and he snarled, "You little—"

But he didn't get to finish.

Vader only had one arm left, but he put every single ounce of concentration and focus into it. It moved via the Force and wrapped around his side. It clenched his lightsaber…activated it.

Swiped—

And hurdled through Sidious's waist with a wet-sounding swish.

Surprise. Pain. Rage.

Emotions exploded through the Force in uncontrollable bursts, and Sidious lurched forward like nothing had happened…

But something very obviously had, because the moment he tried to take a step, his lower half didn't move. His upper half, however, did.

It tumbled off his legs with a squelch and pooled on the floor in an uncoordinated mound. Then his legs fell, unbalanced and unsteady, and he scrambled helplessly on the floor, dying. Panicking.

He managed to crawl until upright, then unleashed his fury.

Lightning blazed blue from his fingertips and fell all around. On Vader. On Leia. On Bail, even unconscious. And both father and daughter shrieked. In pain. In agony.

Vader wanted to close his eyes—wanted to drift away—but Leia's screams held him steady. Leia's screams helped him focus.

He couldn't reach out his arm as lightning arced down and destroyed it, but he could still stretch out with the Force.

And stretch…he did.

But not to Sidious. And not to Leia, either.

He grasped for Bail and squeezed on the man's conscious. He willed him to wake up—demanded he stand—and Bail stirred with a terrified jolt, writhing in pain as slivers of lightning attacked his legs.

He heard Leia's shrieks and wriggled to his knees. Dug into his coat and fumbled amid the chaos. And eventually—after far too many seconds wasted—he drew what Vader had wanted him to draw—his blaster.

He aimed, and—

Ptcheew! Ptcheew!

It all stopped.

No more lightning. No more pain. No more screaming.

Sidious collapsed to the floor, not dying, but dead from two smoking holes in his chest and head. And everybody slumped, breathless and weak. Debilitated and hoarse.

All of Vader's limbs were destroyed, but he wriggled across the floor with the stumps that remained. He crawled and crawled and only had one thing on his mind—Leia. Leia. Leia—but she wasn't responding.

His panic grew—Leia! Leia! Leia!—and only increased when Bail beat him there.

Because Bail gasped as he knelt. Tears prickled his eyes as he fell to the floor, cradling her close. He rocked her back and forth, gasping. Crying.

And Vader needed to keep going. He had to see. Had to see.

The stairs proved painful, but he ascended them anyway, torso shaking, mind reeling.

He got close, saw what Bail had seen…and cried.

Leia was so small in Bail's arms. So small and hurt and…and not breathing. And Vader wished he had a single arm left so he could hold her. Touch her. Cradle her like the father he desperately wanted to be…

She'd called him…Papa.

She'd called him Papa.

And suddenly, the only thing he wanted…was to see her with his own eyes.

"B-Bail." His natural voice echoed in his helmet, strangled and soft, but Bail heard him and looked at him with red-rimmed, tear-sodden eyes. "B-Bail…" He couldn't gesture. Could barely form the proper words. "Please…"

There was no Force bond. No way to properly articulate what he wanted. But Bail seemed to understand and his gaze flicked from his mask to his destroyed limbs. "That'll kill you," he said, croaking out the words between tears.

Vader's containment suit was already destroyed, limbs shredded off in thick chunks long, long ago. Even the control panel on his chest was disabled, shorted out and exploded during one of Sidious's many attacks. It was only a matter of time before Coruscant's airborne bacteria would feast on his raw, decaying flesh and finally finish him off.

He didn't want to die that way. Didn't want to die alone and panicking and in pain. And if he had an option, he would've rather died with Leia draped over whatever was left of him. Holding her, clutching her however he could as his lifeform slipped into the Force.

"B-Bail…please…"

Bail hesitated, then gently laid Leia onto the ground and reached forward. Clutched onto Vader's helmet and released the seal.

Compressed air whirled out, and Vader took his first natural breath in years. It hurt, but it didn't matter. Whatever was left of his body hurt. What was one more spurt of pain amid so much else?

Despite the agony of even the smallest movements, he wriggled the final few inches to his daughter and looked at her with his own eyes for the first and last time.

Brown hair. Curly and nearly untamable, like her mother's. So soft and shiny and bouncy to anyone who could touch it…now dead and unmoving. Frazzled with electricity and unable to grow—unable to live.

Pale skin. Supple and youthful and once filled with a glow that made her look just like an angel…now clammy and ghostly. Destroyed and severely burned in some places. Nearly gone in others. Never to heal, never to scar.

Lips like his, somewhat narrow yet plump, slightly parted…but silent. Still and unmoving. Never to call his name or utter another word.

Deep-set eyes accentuated with heavenly brown irises. Once bright and filled with joy and light, now dull and fixated. Staring at nothing and everything. Motionless. Forevermore.

Even in death, Leia was beautiful. A perfect matrimony of him and his angel in miniature form, and he couldn't help the tears that poured down his face. Couldn't help the pain and rage and grief that poured through the Force in sickening waves, undoubtedly pushing Bail back and making him ill.

Leia was gone. After everything they'd done, after everything she'd been through. She was gone. Still. Unable to live whatever life she'd dared dreamed about. Unable to do whatever she was truly destined to do.

And soon, Vader would join her.

His breaths became rasps. His head felt heavy.

He pressed his face against Leia's—against his daughter's pale, unmoving cheek—and closed his eyes.

It wouldn't be long. Would probably only take a few more moments. And he felt himself slipping away…

Slipping far, far away.

Into the dark. Into the dreary, painless nothingness of death—

Before it all stopped.

There was…a light. Something bright and airy and pure. It flickered and flitted and was hard to grasp—hard to reach. But it steadied after a few swipes and bounced with warmth. It felt so…good. And Vader didn't know what to do with it other than search it with a few careful probes.

His dark tendrils latched, its brightness dimmed. It sputtered and threatened to go out and Vader released it before it completely died.

He didn't know what to do with it. Every little touch—every little jostle—threatened to destroy it. Threatened to suffocate it. And he found himself lost and confused. Not understanding its purpose or presence.

He'd only been with it for a few moments and he wanted give up. He didn't know what it was or why he was bothering with it, so he shifted away from it. But the very moment he did, it stretched out and touched him.

It felt like happiness, long lost. Like his angel's sweet kisses and deep embraces. Like the feel of her skin on his and the sound of her voice. It smelled like the flowery scent of her favorite perfume and tasted like chocolate and fruit borne from her lips. It was refreshing. Like a cool glass of water after a hot day. It was comforting. Like fresh milk poured by his mother and served with a heartwarming smile.

It felt like…love.

And he knew what it was.

"Padmé?" He wasn't sure if he'd said her name aloud or just in his head. It didn't matter, though, because the moment he said it—

She appeared.

As did his mother. As did so many others he'd lost or killed through his many years as a Jedi and Sith.

They were all waiting for him. All ready for him. And he wanted nothing more than to join them. Nothing more than to be embraced by them.

He took a careful step forward, toward Padmé, his angel, but the moment he got close—

She stopped him.

"You're not ready." There were tears in her eyes and he wanted to brush them away. He wanted to cradle her and love her and feel her. But she shrunk back and let her tears fall. "You're not ready."

She said it over and over again, crying. Sobbing.

Vader reached out and tried to brush against her. But each time he did, she withered away with a flinch. Unsure of him. Afraid of him.

"Padmé—"

"She needs you," Padmé whispered as tears flooded her cheeks. "They need you."

She turned and the too-bright abyss erupted in screams. Padmé's screams from so long ago, when she was dying, breathless and weak. When Sidious was stealing her life as she birthed it anew.

"Leia…" Her voice was strained and soft, but so hopeful and proud. "…Luke."

Twins. She'd been carrying twins. A boy and a girl.

And Vader felt more happiness in one instant than he'd had in more than six years—no, his entire life.

Padmé smiled when she felt it. Nodded when he amplified it. Then pressed her weaved fingers against his chest and let something pour out.

Light. So much light that it nearly blinded him.

People started disappearing all around and he shrunk back on instinct. Unsure and not ready. But eventually, he succumbed. Because it was her. Because it was for her. Because it was for Leia, his daughter and…and Luke, his son—wherever he may be.

"Angel." He could feel her slipping away. He could feel her becoming dimmer and dimmer as she pushed herself and everybody else inside, smothering the dark deep inside him.

"There's light inside you, Anakin." Her voice grew strangled with each word. "My light. Your mother's light. All of your friends' light. And…" She paused. "And Leia's light, too." Her lips pressed against his and he closed his eyes, enjoying the moment. Savoring her taste and smell and feel.

They stayed that way for a while. Stayed that way until she was practically gone. And with her last few seconds, she pressed her lips against his ear and whispered, "Use it, Ani. Save her…"

Anakin opened his eyes—his real, human, blue eyes—and took a breath with his strangled lungs.

He jerked back at the sensation of being alive. Jerked back at the thought of their sacrifice—their gift of a few extra moments in the living realm. But he couldn't reflect on it now, couldn't thank them now…because Leia was still beneath him, still chilly and unmoving.

He scrambled overtop her. Pressed his cheek against hers once more—

And pushed.

Light leapt into her body. It leapt into her heart and lungs and soul. It lingered and questioned why it was there, then caught onto something thought lost and exploded into the supernova that was his daughter.

Bail couldn't feel it—Leia's light, Leia's life—and continued crying overtop her waist, head burrowed into the white fabric of her nightdress with hands that kept wringing, wringing, wringing. Until—

Movement.

Not from Bail or Anakin, but from Leia.

And everything suddenly stopped.

Bail stopped crying, Anakin stopped breathing, and Leia—sweet, strong, beautiful Leia—opened her magnificent brown eyes and whispered, "Papa." Then, "Daddy."

She smiled, so pure and bright and full of life, and Bail and Anakin both wept overtop her—for her. Happiness abounded, thick and plenty, then slowly slipped into dread when Anakin felt the telltale flickers of Imperial Troopers looming dangerously close from beyond the room.

He looked up, knowing what needed to be done next. "Bail."

Bail looked at him with red-rimmed eyes and smiled. "Anakin."

There wasn't time for…whatever this was, and Anakin knew it. He felt it, and made sure Bail felt it, too.

Bail's smile fluttered away. "Anakin?"

"You need to take her." It was all he could think. All he could do. Soldiers were coming in droves and he could feel their lifeforms near closer and closer.

They had to get Leia out of the room. Had to rush her to safety, wherever it may be. And if it meant that he needed to stay behind so she could flee with her adoptive father…then it had to be done.

"You need to take her," he repeated as he struggled upright without limbs. "Take her and go. Go home. Go to the Rebellion. Go anywhere but here."

"But…Anakin—"

"Go, Bail. Go now."

The troopers were already so close and getting closer, and Anakin reached out with the Light Side of the Force and barred their entry, desperate to give Bail however long he needed to escape.

Bail collected Leia in his arms. Held her close and looked up. "You can come along, Anakin."

"No, Bail. I can't."

Couldn't he see? Couldn't he see that Leia would only be in more pain if he kept her close?

He'd barely known her a week and so much had happened. Kidnapped, tortured, exposed to mass murder—participated in one—stolen again, then tortured again. Since the moment they'd met—kriff, since the moment he'd had his first vision of her—she'd been dripping with pain, regret, and sorrow. Frightened, scared, and tempted by the darkness he used to keep near.

And if she stayed with him—if he kept her like he longed to do—she'd keep seeing it. Keep being exposed to it.

"Papa?" Her voice was sweet but scared and she tumbled out of Bail's arms. She reached out through their bond and steadily probed, silently questioned.

His shields had gone down long ago, and she felt his longing and regret and wanted to soothe his conscious. Help him through his troubles.

It made his decision harder. So, so much harder.

"I will always keep you safe," he promised with a smile. "And right now, you're safer with Bail than with me."

Her eyes scrunched together, not understanding. So unsure and desperate to help him. So he leaned down as best as he could and brushed his lips against her forehead. Kissed her brow and poured every ounce of love he possibly could through their bond.

"I love you."

Her arms wrapped around his neck and her lips sought his cheek. She pecked, sloppy and trembling and frightened, but still so anxious to help in whatever way she could. "I love you, too."

He didn't want the moment to end. He didn't want to let go. He just wanted to hold her forever and ever, no matter what happened around them. No matter if the palace crumbled overtop them. But he knew he had to let go. So he looked at Bail with as much confidence as he could muster…and nodded.

"Leia." Bail's arms wrapped around her waist and pried her off. He shuffled her around and managed to stand, then looked down and around, unsure where to go, unsure what to do.

"There's a ship behind that door." Anakin nudged his chin in its general direction, panting as high lungs struggled to function. "It's the Emperor's emergency vessel, which means you'll be able to get off Coruscant without being questioned or stopped."

Bail looked and nodded. "And you, Anakin? What about you?"

He laughed even though it hurt, brittle and broken. "Earlier today, you asked me if Leia could prosper in the Emperor's Empire."

Bail hesitated, then nodded.

"In its present state, she can't. She can't find happiness or light or love. And she certainly can't find hope." He took a breath. It felt like there was fire in his chest, like his entire body was suddenly against him. But there was light in his veins, so pure and bright and loving, and he didn't care how much it hurt because he had to keep going. For her. For his daughter. "I want to change it, Bail. For Leia. For Padmé. And for my…son."

"Luke," Bail whispered as tears prickled his eyes. "His name is Luke."

Luke…

Padmé'd said his name. Had said Luke needed him, too. And Anakin smiled as he tasted his son's name on his tongue. "Luke," he said. "For Luke."

"It wasn't my secret to tell, Anakin," Bail said, scrambling forward with Leia clasped tight in his arms. "You…you must understand."

He did. He really, really did. "It's okay." He meant every word. "I'll change things…and I'll find him—bring him back to me."

He wanted to believe he would. That he could. But he knew he wouldn't last. His wife's gift was already flitting away and he was already struggling so much. Already withering away thanks to Sidious's merciless attacks.

It wouldn't be long, now. Wouldn't be long until he collapsed onto the floor next to the halved corpse that had taken so much from him. He knew it…Bail knew it…

"Anakin—"

"Thank you, Bail." The fire in his lungs spread, fast and vicious, making him wince as he tried to suppress it. "But you must go," he panted. "Now."

There wasn't time for another pause. Wasn't time for another nod. And Bail didn't hesitate after somebody banged on the nearest door, threatening entry.

He sprinted across the room and to the door Anakin had gestured to. Disappeared behind it and prepared the ship for departure.

It whirled but didn't leave, and Anakin pulled himself up as best he could and looked at the silent chaos around him. The still-burning curtains, the Emperor's withered body cleaved in two, the lightning-blackened scorch marks and pinpricked-sized metal shrapnel scattered all about. Then him, sitting in the middle of it.

No limbs. Barely a body.

But he needed to be creative with what he had left so Bail had enough time to leave.

Chin up and to the side. He felt more troopers barreling through the halls, footsteps akin to a thunderous roar. Then—

Every door opened at once and several dozen poured through. They had their blasters aimed and ready upon entry, but paused to gaze about. They all stepped forward and stared. At the Emperor. At the mess. Then finally…at him.

They edged closer, but had already missed their chance…

The first wave went down with a few uncoordinated gasps and shrieks, knocked out cold in their bucket-headed armor as they clattered to the floor. Their guns skidded across the cracked marble, alerting the next wave that something had gone horribly, horribly wrong upon their predecessors' entry.

Anakin prepared himself once more—why wasn't Bail leaving?—and lifted his chin. Focused—

Then immediately brought it down.

There were too many in this wave. Too many…to stand a chance. Force-user or not—Anakin Skywalker or not—nobody would be able to survive the wave that poured through.

Tens, then hundreds.

All with footsteps that sounded like the crackle of pyre-blazing flames against his eardrums.

These troopers didn't take a moment to inspect the chaos. Didn't take a moment to check on their beloved Emperor. They just aimed and—

Ptcheew! Ptcheew! Ptcheew! Ptcheew!

Tens—hundreds—of bolts. But none of them were aimed…at him. None of them even hit him.

He'd been expecting pain, he'd been expecting torment. All from him, all from him. But it came from the soldiers, instead. They shrieked—screamed—as blasts rained down like hellfire, drenching the Force with their terror, agony, and souls.

Anakin…didn't understand. But when something plowed through the wall—the wall Bail was behind, the wall the Emperor's ship was behind—he knew. He knew.

The Emperor's emergency shuttle slid through the wall's wreckage, still firing, still plowing. Pillars dissolved, soldiers fell, and Anakin merely stared as the ship landed, crushing the few men that had miraculously evaded the merciless assault.

"What're you—"

He wheezed, lungs collapsing, and couldn't finish as Bail jumped out and sprinted through the soldiers he'd slain, paling with every step. He grabbed what was left of Anakin's arm. Pulled—

And managed to drag him down the stairs and into the shuttle with strength and determination that Anakin didn't know he had.

"What're you—"

Another round of coughs and sputters, unable to breathe, unable to think or speak or move. Everything hurt, and he felt his body crumpling from the strain, deteriorating at an alarming rate despite the bright hot light that still poured through his veins.

He closed his eyes—that felt nice—and felt the steel floor rumble below—that felt nice, too. And he welcomed the steadily-creeping nothingness. Expected the sweet embrace of his angel's loving arms.

But something was there. A voice—a scream. A touch, almost desperate and definitely clenching. "Hold on, Anakin!"

But he didn't want to anymore. Didn't want to hold on or keep living. Keep feeling pain all around him and deep within.

He heard the ungodly rasp of a respirator and hated the thought of it. Detested the sound of it.

But then there was something else. Another voice, this one a whisper. Another touch, this one so small and filled with love. "Papa…"

And he'd do anything for her. Anything at all…

…even if it meant being bound to a respirator. Again. Even if it meant delaying an everlasting eternity with his angel. Again.

Because she called him Papa.

She called him—

Papa.

Today is my 4th wedding anniversary and my love language is "words of affirmation." So spread the love, give me your grief, and let me know what you thought as a whole.

Also, keep in mind that I left the ending very, very open-ended; enough so that I've decided create a short, Luke-centered sequel of about two or three chapters. Because of the way FF works, I think I'll just tack it onto this story when I'm ready to post it. So be sure to alert or favorite this piece if you enjoyed it, that way you won't miss the second bit.

All I ask is for a little bit of time to complete my outline and type everything up. Just like with this story, I'd like to have everything done before posting the first chapter, that way I won't get lost or distracted along the way. So, once I finish crocheting my COVID-19 afghan, expect some Luke-loving fluff, Anakin angst, and the Obi-Wan confrontation we all need...and deserve.