Chapter Text
The next day, Firmus could all but forget about his predicament for a while. Max was back to his usual shift after his illness, and having him nearby managed to relax Firmus significantly. They didn't even talk much, but he liked to think that his friend was always aware of him, noting the particularly useless officers they would complain about together later in the day.
Assuming they survived Vader.
It actually felt normal. As Firmus had worried, it was like nothing had ever happened when Vader was back in the suit. He was currently standing by the viewport as he always did, staring out into space with his hands clasped behind his back, resemblant of a statue. It was so easy to forget the man beneath, see only the dark contraption that had killed so many. It was almost enough for Firmus to fear him again.
Almost .
He could remember the man though, the way he had leaned against the wall when he was trying to be casual, or the way he'd glared at the drink he probably shouldn't have had. The way the light danced in his eyes.
Firmus shouldn't have been thinking about this at work.
He nodded to the officer he had been talking to and turned, tilting his head up as he walked to his superior.
“Admiral.”
“Milord.” Firmus cleared his throat softly.
“I presume there were no further sightings of the rebel?” It was odd to hear the vocoder, and not the subtleties of his natural voice, yet his tone was familiar.
“There were not. We scanned the region for a few days but came up with nothing, sir.” Some instinct in Firmus made him scared, suddenly, of failure. He knew what Vader had done to his predecessors. Anything related to Skywalker’s capture should’ve been dangerous territory to step in, and he found that his voice tried to shake a little.
But the man just nodded. He didn't look away from the viewport. Firmus took a moment to realise it was a dismissal. He returned to his duties, heart fluttering nervously- and for the life of him he couldn't determine why.
It wasn't long after that that he managed to catch a moment with Veers, who seemed in good spirits. They chatted about nothing in particular for a few minutes- the ship remained in orbit of Imperial Centre and there was little for either of them to do- merely enjoying each other's company. Max would only have short hours for a while, both because of his illness and the relaxed atmosphere on board. Despite a bit of nervousness at Vader’s return, everyone was working efficiently as normal. Everything was going well.
“I trust you’re recovering well, General.” Someone interrupted their conversation, just a minor officer whose name Firmus hadn't bothered to learn- likely a direct subordinate of his friend's.
“I am, thank you.” Max replied absently- a friend then, not too close, but a friend. The officer nodded and moved on.
“I am pleased to see you well again.” A new voice came. Firmus nearly jumped out of his skin: Vader was able to hold his breath now, allowing him to sneak up on- and scare the living shit out of- his officers far more easily. As far as Firmus could tell, it amused him.
“I am… honoured you noticed, milord.” Max replied, voice far stiffer than it had been a moment ago.
Great. That wasn't too creepy. The idiot wasn't even supposed to have been on board the ship for a week, he wasn't going to help the rumours of his supernatural abilities.
Unfortunately, he then turned to Firmus.
“Mind your thoughts, Admiral.” Vader inclined his head. He didn't seem as physically expressive as he had been… before. It was an interesting development, that he'd so quickly grown used to people seeing his face again. Before Firmus knew what was happening, there was a gloved hand on his shoulder. It was far warmer than it had any right to be.
He may have gulped.
Part of him still thought that death was upon him, though. Firmus couldn't remember seeing Vader ever touch anyone unless he was actively killing them. He stiffened, and the Commander must’ve felt it because he removed the hand, and Firmus heard the swish of fabric and perhaps slightly-faster-than-usual breathing as he moved off.
“What was that about?” Max asked quietly, looking at him with well masked concern. Firmus let himself turn and watch Vader leave. The man had quickly returned to his earlier position by the viewport; had he just come over to talk to them?
“I’m not sure.” He replied to his friend, honestly. “I think he’s often clearer when he feels upset, though.”
“Clearer.” Veers said flatly. Firmus couldn't help but chuckle at that, though a deep part of him was disturbed at how difficult it was to connect Vader’s mask to the man he’d gotten to know over the last few days.
-
It was around mid evening by the time Luke had docked his X-Wing and made his way to the mess for dinner.
After spending a few days with Yoda, the Jedi had given him the basics of the first few lightsaber forms to practice and sent him on his way. Luke had work to do, and Yoda had insinuated that he had too… though Luke wasn't sure what he occupied himself with on that cursed planet. He wondered if he'd ever get to the level of Jedi that he could know such secrets*.
As he sat down on the edge of a crammed bench, apologetic for his intrusion, Luke began to notice the strange looks.
Now, he didn't know every single rebel, obviously. Not even many within the fleet outside of the elite and outside of his personal group of friends (who were also mostly elite, thanks to his friendship with Leia), but he himself was known by almost everyone. As the only Jedi left in the alliance, the son of a man who had been celebrated as a hero throughout the Clone Wars, and the pilot who had blown up the death star, he was quite famous in the rebellion. And, unfortunately, that extended to the rest of the galaxy as well.
He didn't usually mind his notoriety: most of the people he interacted with seemed excited to talk to him or to genuinely care for him as both a symbol and a person. He had met several people who had stories to tell of his father, which he had been eternally grateful for. Before Bespin, at least.
In the rebel fleet, he had always been welcome wherever he went.
Today, he was being looked at. And not with admiration, or fondness from the older rebels, but suspicion. He could feel it in the force, clear as day. Luke wouldn't say they were hostile, but as he sat down the conversations around him got a little bit quieter, the men sitting a little more stiffly. He frowned internally, but decided not to pry, just smiling confusedly at them and eating his meal silently.
Luke figured that something must’ve gone wrong while he'd been away. The harsh reality of being a rebel was that you lost people, sometimes in large groups. The others were always touchy when something like that happened, as he and Leia had been after the loss of Han.
The temporary loss. We will get him back, if it's the last thing we do. They had already been drawing up plans on how to infiltrate Jabba’s palace and free their friend. As far as anyone knew he was still in carbonite.
When he had finished his meal, Luke returned to his quarters to use the ‘fresher. He managed to take a sonic shower and shave, leaving him just fresh enough to go and find Leia. They may have been in some tougher situations together, but it didn't hurt to look presentable, though a proper wash would have to wait until they were planetside.
He found his friend in a large, open lounge area reserved for senior officials. Leia was reclined as casually as Luke saw her, sipping a drink and scrolling on a datapad. She wore a relatively simple, but regal, off white outfit that looked practical and comfortable.
She shouldn't have noticed Luke’s approach, but she looked up the second he entered the room, eyes lighting up with joy. Luke felt himself crack a smile and hurried over to her, pulling her into a tight embrace when she stood up to greet him, which she joyfully returned.
“It feels like you’ve been gone a year, Luke!” She scolded playfully, stepping back, “It's been more than a little dull around here the past few days. Mostly.” She seemed to falter slightly, as though remembering something. Luke grimaced, sitting opposite her as she returned to her earlier position (looking a bit more dignified this time).
“Something happened while I was gone? I was being avoided in the mess.” He wrung his hands before him, but gratefully accepted the glass of water brought to him by a protocol droid. Leia averted her gaze.
“It's just a silly rumour, Luke, I wouldn't bother yourself with it.” She smiled sadly at him.
“A rumour?” It wasn't at all what he'd been expecting. What kind of rumour could warrant such a reaction? Luke couldn't think of anything he'd done recently that might be controversial, as nobody had blamed him for what had happened to Han. And… nobody could know what he'd discovered on Bespin. He hadn't even confronted Yoda about it. “You have to tell me now.” He continued belatedly, with an innocent smile.
“I don't know. It's probably better if I don't. I don't believe it could be true, and I don't want to upset you after…” Bespin. She didn't say. “Anyway, it doesn't make any sense. Everyone will forget about it in a few days.” She sipped her drink before continuing, which was a mistake, as it allowed Luke to speak.
“Well if it's only a stupid rumour then can't I be curious?” He said lightly, though his heart thumped in his chest. Leia ‘knew’ that his father had been killed by Vader, and that Luke had confronted Vader on Bespin, and if this rumour truly had something to do with that… he felt he should know.
Leia seemed to sense that he didn't want to drop it as she put her glass down. She met his eyes, her concern for him obvious, and let out a final sigh of defeat.
“Alright, Luke. There was a line in a recent report from our spy on the Executor. And…” Oh kriff. That was Vader’s flagship. “And she mentioned that someone who looked a lot like Anakin Skywalker was spotted dining with the Fleet Admiral. And since she's such a good spy- she did sneak onto the Executor after all- everyone's taking her word for it. They think Anakin survived and hid his identity, that he's been working with the Empire the whole time, and that last week you might have snuck off to join him and spy for us.” She paused and looked at him guiltily. Luke had to admit he had trouble processing. It was clear that his father had for some reason gone wandering around without his suit on. He hadn't thought it possible, but he truly knew next to nothing about Vader’s medical condition. But for the rebels to turn on him like that…
“It's just a small faction.” Leia said, answering his thoughts, “But their paranoia has infected most of the fleet over an impossible rumour. We both know what happens to Jedi found by the Empire, and all of high command knows you were on Dagobah.”
She was right, Luke knew. It was most likely that nothing would come of this… but if he was honest he was more concerned about what his father was actually up to. As he’d reflected on with Yoda, there had been a change in him recently. Perhaps it had something to do with his lacking the suit.
“It's alright Leia. As you say, I’m sure it'll blow over the more I can prove myself to the rebellion.” He replied to his friend, sipping at his water. She smiled in sympathetic relief,
“I’m sorry you have to deal with this. I wouldn't want your father’s legacy sullied.” She said. Luke tried and failed not to blanch. The blood rushed from his face, and he curled in on himself a bit, wishing suddenly that he had dropped it. Leia definitely noticed his reaction, he could feel it in the force, but she knew not to pry. Luke cursed himself internally for being completely unable to hide his emotions.
“How was Dagobah then?” She said softly. Luke gave her a relieved glance, and began to tell her about Yoda and Jedi training. And life in the swamp, which he stressed that she should never try for herself. She laughed, and eventually they came round to talking about Han. They were going to send Lando in to spy on Jabba and give them more intel, then they could work more people in over time so as to not draw suspicion. Luke saw how much Leia missed him. He was close with Han himself, but he hadn't been there in the days before Bespin, where he sensed that something had changed between Leia and the smuggler. She looked hopelessly lost when she spoke about him, with a spark of determination in her eyes when she planned their infiltration. As long as Han was alive, there was hope. And even if he wasn't, Luke knew his friend wouldn't stop until she'd seen his body with her own eyes.
A worse man than Luke may have seen his absence as an opportunity, but if anything it made him more excited for Han’s return. He would admit he'd had a small crush on Leia when they'd first met, but as he’d gotten to know her it had blossomed into a strong friendship, and he'd only persisted in his admiration to annoy Han.
They were getting somewhere in their planning, and as they spoke it almost looked like their goal was in sight. Luke could've sworn he saw hope shining in Leia’s eyes.
-
Curiosity. Luke gently pressed against his bond with his father. He was still hesitant to contact him, but after their last conversation he couldn't help but feel hopelessly fond. He could almost forget who he was talking to, and imagine that his father had come by to see him like he’d imagined as a child. Today, the response was almost immediate.
‘Luke? What is it?’ Vader used the same voice he had last time they’d spoken. His natural one, Luke thought. It was much higher than his vocoder, and instinctively Luke found it comforting. He wondered (loudly) if it had something to do with his suit being off.
‘How did you find out about that?’ His father asked. He didn't sound defensive, but nervous. Luke paused. He didn't want to give away rebellion secrets: no matter what his father was like around him, he knew he wouldn't hesitate to kill all of his friends at the first chance he got. Resignation. He sent.
‘ It was just a rumour that got out, I don't know how. But I figured that if someone had seen Anakin Skywalker on your flagship…’ He hoped he hadn't been too obvious, but he supposed Vader likely knew that there were rebel spies on his ship.
‘ Your friends are safe, Luke. I was in the mess, I could not identify them.’ Well that answered that. His father sighed in his mind. ‘I wasn't sure whether or not to tell you, but I’ll admit I have been feeling… odd, lately.’ He hesitated, and perhaps unwillingly sent apprehension across the bond.
Encouragement. Luke responded firmly. He had a very un jedi-like surge of excitement.
‘The force healed me.’ His father admitted. It sounded like he was confessing something immense. Luke had no idea how severe his father’s injuries were, only that Obi-Wan had described him as more machine than man. He had assumed he had issues with breathing too. Vader seemed to pick up on this, as he hesitantly elaborated, ‘I couldn't have survived taking the suit off, before.’ His tone implied that he didn't want to share more, which Luke could understand. He still wasn't entirely sure how to respond, but he sent a notion of comfort over the bond, hoping it was adequate. His father sent back fond amusement , which made Luke smile.
As before, they both kept the bond open for a while longer, simply enjoying each other's company. Vader’s attention eventually drifted away, and when he was gone, Luke found that he missed it.
-
Anakin had been cautious about spending too much time in the officer’s lounge, for fear of being recognised, but apparently it was too late for that now. He would just have to hope nobody noticed his face in the dim lighting. He’d at least been covering up the scar on his temple, for all the good that it did.
He found Firmus and Veers- to his irritation- seated not far from the bar. The two of them had already been drinking for a while, and neither seemed to care when he sat down next to Firmus, holding another sugary cocktail. It had been a few days since he'd “returned” to the ship, and everything had gone smoothly so far. He was able to let himself relax, and found that he enjoyed what his routine had become. This was only the second time he'd tried to drink alcohol though, so again he didn't plan on joining the other two in their inebriation.
“Naberrie.” Veers greeted him, “How did you get in here?” Anakin felt his baffled amusement in the force, so he smiled and replied,
“I have my ways, sir .” Which was probably appropriate, considering his use of a mind trick- extending to all of the guards this time. Veers raised an eyebrow and sat up to regard him.
“Mysterious. It's ok, I won't tell the guards. Firmus was expecting you.”
He was? Anakin had mentioned that he might come earlier that day, but nothing concrete. He smiled, turning to face the Admiral. Firmus spoke, his awkwardness so clear in the force that Anakin thought he was deliberately casting it,
“Hello, Ani.”
Anakin blushed deeply, something he hadn't done since he was nineteen trying to impress Padmé for the first time. His brain seemed to short circuit before he remembered that he'd said that was his name. Of course Firmus should call him that. He wasn't shortening his actual name. Piett would never do that, he was far too professional.
“Firmus.” Anakin said, once he’d gotten his racing thoughts under control. He hoped the shadows would hide his blush. What’s wrong with me? I’m supposed to be a sith lord.
“How’s your evening been?” Small talk. Excellent. They hadn't spoken properly in almost a week, and that was all he could think to say.
“Fine. I need to enjoy these days where I don't have much to do.” He gestured to his drink.
“I would need one too with your Commander breathing down my neck all day.” Anakin said teasingly, which paid off because Firmus gave him the closest thing to a death glare he dared.
“It was more in anticipation of your arrival, actually.” He said smoothly. Anakin found himself laughing hard enough to confuse Veers, who seemed to realise that he’d missed the joke and looked on with narrowed eyes. When was the last time he’d been able to laugh?
“I didn't realise I worked you up quite that much.” He murmured, trying to wrestle his grin into a smirk. Firmus met his eyes and smiled back, warmly, shaking his head in laughter.
“Would it be juvenile of me to tell you to ‘get a room’, Firmus?” Veers interrupted flatly. Anakin turned to give him a stern glare before remembering that he didn't actually have any authority here- if he wanted to keep his identity a secret, that was. It didn't seem right to tell Veers what he was insinuating.
“It would, Max, yes.” Firmus replied cooly. “I’m going to excuse myself for a moment.” He nodded to each of them and got up, presumably to go to the bathroom. Anakin watched him go, and found himself hoping the man wasn't too unnerved.
“Sorry.” He glanced up to see Veers had spoken. “I imagine it's complicated? Or maybe I shouldn't intrude. You're still getting to know each other.” He sat back and sipped his drink.
“It's alright, General. He's still cautious about this, and I think it's best to wait and see what happens… Sorry, did you say…? We’ve known each other for years, sir.” Anakin narrowed his eyes. Perhaps Veers had merely forgotten. Any alternative was unacceptable.
“Of course. I must’ve misspoken.” Veers said, deliberately slow. He seemed to mull over something, and Vader felt his anticipation in the force.
“Say, has anyone ever told you how much you look like Anakin Skywalker?” The General met his eyes carefully. He knew. Wonderful.
After a moment to consider his words, Vader supposed it would be beneficial to both of them if he dropped all pretence now. Veers wasn't stupid, and he wouldn't be fooled if he’d gotten this far.
“They haven't needed to, General Veers.” He responded icily. “And most would do well not to notice at all.” Vader let himself glare at the man, and almost wanted him to make the other connection, just to see the horror on his face.
“If you’ve been allowed in the Empire for this long, General , then I wish you no harm.” Veers told him. “I figured that, with your closeness to Firmus, you were allowed to be here. I understand why you have kept quiet, I just wanted to be sure I was right.”
Anakin’s name hadn't been dirtied with the fall of the republic, not like the other Jedis’ had. Officially, the Hero With No Fear had died defending the Emperor from the Jedi coup, still a hero, but safely removed from relevance so his fame could be replaced with Vader’s.
“I would like to know why you have appeared only now, though.” Veers finished.
“I have been otherwise occupied for the last years, but there is no longer a need for me in that mission for the Empire.” Anakin said quietly.
“Which was?” Veers asked him. Anakin paused.
“Hunting Jedi.” Mostly truth.
“Why weren't you with the other Inquisitors, then?”
“I am far above their level, and more loyal to the Empire. I was taking part in undercover, confidential missions.” Still relatively true, except for,
“I wasn't aware that the Empire did undercover missions. Or that they were your… style… General Skywalker.” Veers’ voice was lighter now, less scrutinising and more curious. He believed he’d discovered something big, but Anakin was winging it.
“Hence the confidentiality.” He said, “And I am no longer a general, General.”
“What are you, exactly?” Veers asked.
“As far as you're concerned, a mechanic.” Anakin said. He didn't trust Veers quite the way he trusted Firmus, and doubted he ever would, but he could allow himself to drop hints. Purely for his own amusement. Veers smiled, the force singing with his satisfaction.
With his characteristically perfect timing, Firmus chose that moment to return. He looked a lot more composed than he had before, and sat back down just within touching distance of Anakin. His eyes flickered back and forth over his friends, and he seemed to realise that they’d had a conversation.
“Is everything alright, Ani?” He asked. Anakin was more prepared for the use of his name that time, and began to nod, though Veers interrupted.
“You don't have to call him that, Firmus, I know who he is.” The assurance in his tone and the casual, smug posture didn't seem to make sense to Firmus, knowing who Anakin really was.
“He knows that I am Anakin Skywalker.” Anakin corrected, far more timidly than he'd have liked. As far as he knew, Firmus hadn't known… who he’d been before… up until this point. Despite thinking of himself with the name his mother gave him, Anakin was hesitant to acknowledge his connection to the Jedi knight the rest of the galaxy had seen, much less out loud. He saw Firmus’ face flash briefly with shock, then understanding, before he regained his composure.
“I see.” He said, “I really don't give you enough credit sometimes, Max.”
Veers smiled warmly, then something else seemed to occur to him, which hadn't ended well for Anakin last time. He sensed what Veers was going to say right as he did,
“That does make sense. It's because Lu-”
“ Do not mention his name. ” Anakin practically spat, so forcefully that Veers flinched back, scanning his face in horror and confusion. After a moment he relaxed.
“I’m sorry. My son defected too, you know.” His voice was soft. Anakin knew that he meant no harm, but he truthfully didn't give a fuck about Veers’ family or personal life. The general knowing his own secrets was one thing, but a mention of Luke was too far. He had to restrain himself from verbally- or physically- assaulting the officer, and averted his eyes.
To find a hand reaching hesitantly to his wrist. Firmus met his eyes, and Anakin flinched minutely as the other man gently gripped his forearm.
“You’ve had a long day.” He said, “may I take you back to your quarters, Ani, before you bite my friend’s head off? Get me another drink, Max, I won't be long.” Before Anakin could protest, Firmus had dragged him to his feet, and they exited the lounge together, the Admiral leading him like a lost child.
Ani. The audacity of this man…
At least Firmus had stopped tiptoeing around him.
“I should’ve expected that to happen at some point.” Anakin said bluntly.
“I’m honestly surprised I didn't figure it out myself.” Firmus replied, then remembered himself, letting go of Anakin’s arm. “I apologise for my tone, milord, I’m not entirely sober.”
“Oh it's alright Firmus, I honestly like you better a little loosened up.” He let himself smile for a second as Firmus turned bright red, then he turned and sighed. “I want you to know that I’m not actually… him. Well I was, I just…” he trailed off, unable to articulate his true feelings. Firmus seemed to get the gist, because he nodded, and looked up to meet Anakin’s eyes.
“Are you alright?” He said simply. He didn't need to mention Luke for Anakin to know what he meant.
“I will be.” Anakin replied, voice soft.
“Good. I believe you because your eyes aren't yellow anymore.” Firmus smiled.
“Yellow?” Anakin asked, frowning. He remembered the last time he’d seen his reflection… he’d certainly had sith eyes, but he hadn't thought about it since. That was the only time he’d seen them. He didn't know how they worked… but he supposed they must appear when he tapped into the dark side, or generally when he was angry. It hadn't occurred to him that they might change. “Sorry, I shouldn't have gotten that upset.” He watched Firmus take a step closer to him and take his hands in his own in a comforting gesture.
“It's alright, milord.” He said. The honorific sounded… fond, more than anything. Anakin found himself squeezing the man’s hands. They’d never really touched before, but he found it felt right. After a moment, Firmus said,
“I thought you said you lost your left arm?” He was cautious, knowing it might be a dangerous topic. Anakin squeezed tighter with his right, in reassurance.
“I did,” he said quietly, “When I got put in the suit. I lost this one a lot earlier. I was only nineteen; I can hardly remember when it was flesh.”
“You lost all of your limbs? ” Firmus asked, horrified.
“Mm.” Anakin said. Firmus moved both of his hands to Anakin’s right, and ran his fingers over the thick leather glove, feeling the metal digits beneath.
“No synthskin?” He asked.
“No. It wasn't around back in the Clone Wars, not like it is now, anyway.” He paused, voice softening, “I can show you someday, if you’d like?” He didn't mean to sound quite so nervous.
Firmus, still holding his hand, looked up to meet his eyes again.
“I’d like that.” He said.
Then, gently, as though he were lifting a shattered pane of glass, he turned Anakin’s hand over so the palm faced downwards, and curled the fingers into a loose fist. He raised the arm, and cautiously pressed his lips to the knuckle, eyes only flickering downward for a moment, before he released if carefully. There was a wary, but hopeful, expression in his eyes.
Anakin breathed heavily, feeling a rush of fondness and slight arousal at the action. And he hadn't even been able to truly feel it- leading to a sudden craving for warm skin against his own. He stepped forward, just as hesitant, and his hands found Firmus’ waist. He gripped him gently, and Firmus raised his hands to Anakin’s shoulders, then the back of his neck. Fingers threaded through his hair and he was pulled downwards into a surprisingly gentle kiss.
The sensation was almost too much, after having nothing like it for so long. But only almost. Anakin revelled in the warmth and tenderness of the touch, the pleasant firmness of the grip on his hair. Anakin tightened his right hand on Firmus’ waist, his left travelling up his back to embrace him. He moved his lips only slightly, applying enough pressure to make his desire obvious, but not using his tongue, as much as he suddenly wanted to. Firmus caught his bottom lip between his own, and scraped his teeth against him just the slightest amount. Anakin may have made an embarrassing noise, though little more than a sigh. They lingered like that for a moment, just enjoying the closeness, sharing breath.
When they finally stepped back, Anakin knew he couldn't hide the flush on his cheeks in the harsh lighting of the hallway. Thankfully nobody else was around at this hour.
“Thankyou…” was all Anakin could think to say, returning his left hand to Firmus’ waist, before dropping both to his hips.
“Thank you, milord.” Firmus responded, his lips curling into a smile.
-
“ LUKE!!!”
“Luke get up, please, you have to go-”
He’d returned from Dagobah almost a week ago, and after that first night had been left relatively alone, most of the rumours dying down after a day or so.
Everything had seemed to go back to normal.
There were hands shaking him roughly. He squinted in the dim light and could make out a face… he recognised…
“Leia?”
Eyes practically still shut, he managed to prop himself up on an elbow.
“What's wrong?” He croaked.
From what he could tell, her skin looked even paler than usual, and a tear streamed down her bare face. She raised a blindingly bright image in her hands. A holo?
The symbol of the Empire fuzzed and crackled for a moment, before giving way to an image of a figure in a dark cloak standing on a pedestal, hunched over with a hungry glint in his eye that Luke could see even with the poor quality.
“You have to go.” Leia said, panicked, as the Emperor began to speak.
-
Vader turned, surprised, as the doors to his quarters hissed open.
He’d been planning to leave soon anyway; his suit was on, though he wasn't wearing the mask yet. He stepped behind his meditation chamber to be safe, but was unsurprised when Piett walked through the door.
“Admiral?”
Firmus looked haunted (even more so than he usually managed to) as he stepped up to his usual position. Exactly where he’d first found Vader curled up on the floor.
“I’m so sorry, milord.” He rasped, folding his hands behind his back and standing up straight. Vader cocked his head… surely he wasn't talking about… he’d thought they’d long since gotten past these apologies and concern for propriety. But no, he sensed that something else was on the Admiral’s mind.
“What is it?” He walked closer, standing just close enough for it to be an invitation. If Firmus chose to read it that way. The man seemed to know what he intended, but didn't move. He’d averted his eyes.
“He… he wants to speak to you.” He said, voice uncharacteristically wavering. Vader frowned, then flinched back as he caught the meaning.
“He? My Master?” Had he been wearing his helmet, it probably would’ve sounded intimidating, as though daring anybody to question his terminology. In reality, his voice broke.
If he was lucky, Sidious would simply want to talk about the new plan of his he’d been hinting at. That would be all. There was no way he could know…
But Luke knew. And Sidious’ spies were far better hidden than the rebel ones were.
He inhaled shakily. This was not good timing, he had been stalling, not allowing himself to plan, but now his advantage was lost. He would recover from whatever punishment Sidious bestowed on him- he always had before- and he couldn't do much worse than restore him to his previous state.
Vader forced himself not to feel nauseated at the thought of Sidious mutilating his perfect body, taking away his limbs again and replacing them with metal. Perhaps he wouldn't go that far. Perhaps he'd opt for a simpler kill switch, one that kept his apprentice in peak physical form with a tiny bomb embedded in his spine, like he’d had as a child.
“Lord Vader?”
Perhaps Sidious would taunt him with it, wave it in his face or drop it accidentally, give it to whoever he wanted left alive like Anakin was nothing more than a dangerous dog on a leash.
“Vader.” He snapped his gaze up, and Piett moved out of his space, studying him intently. He knew his eyes were yellow again, just from the expression. Good. Perhaps his master could be fooled into thinking he had only furthered his torment. Vader wrapped the dark side around him like a cloak and pulled his helmet and mask to his hands with the force, like he did with weapons. He put them on and turned to Piett, taking a deep breath through the respirator.
“I will see him now, you may return to the bridge, Admiral.” His voice was deep and harsh in his ears.
“Would you wish to discuss the meeting later, milord?” Piett asked. Vader thought bitterly that he had allowed the man to get far more comfortable.
“ You may return to the bridge, Admiral.” He snapped, turning away with a flourish of his cape.
-
“What is thy bidding, my master?” Darth Vader spoke robotically even without the vocoder. He knelt heavily on one knee, the even significantly reduced weight of the suit straining his legs painfully.
The large, imposing hooded figure loomed over him, and despite his own averted eyes Vader felt those sickly yellow irises boring into him.
Few things made him feel so small.
“I feel there is something you neglected to tell me, my boy.”
No no no nonono-
Vader took in his feeling of revulsion and turned it into rage.
Because Sidious had not called him that since… since before. And that meant he knew.
It wasn't that he had entirely dropped the grandfatherly act he’d put on around Vader since he was a child, but since his turn he had been ‘my friend’ at best. Only when he was angry was he called ‘apprentice’, but never the term ‘boy’. Not anymore.
“What do you wish to know, my master?” He said carefully. He didn't want to overtly lie, but he couldn't give anything away either.
“Only why you still wear that dreadful mask, my boy, when you don't need it anymore.”
Dreadful, like he hadn't designed it for that very purpose. He tried to wrangle his emotions into a calm coldness, by no means peaceful, but less distressing to him. He longed to take out his fury on the objects around him, but Sidious hated it when he did that.
“I simply thought it better to hide my identity, my master.” He said. A half truth, one of many he was finding himself telling these days.
“There is no need for such things here.” Sidious crooned. “Let me see your face.”
That was probably when Vader started shaking, though looking back he wouldn't have been able to pinpoint it.
Unable to protest, he raised stiff, trembling hands to the clasp of his helmet. It seemed like an age as he took it off and carefully rested it on the floor. Through the lenses of his mask, Sidious’ ruined skin looked sickly pale and grey. Vader carefully removed it. Watching the black plastisteel pull away from his face in such a setting felt unbelievably wrong. He fixed his eyes on what was suddenly a very interesting spot on the floor. A tuft of hair fell over his eye.
“Look at me.” Sidious said softly. It was the same way he’d spoken when Vader had been having his surgery after Mustafar. When he’d been awake for two weeks in excruciating pain.
Suddenly, he was very glad that his breathing no longer echoed throughout the room, as it had become rapid and shallow. He forced himself to raise his chin and meet his master's eyes. There was a hot tear running down his cheek.
He remembered when he hadn't been able to cry.
He vividly remembered the shock in Windu’s eyes when Anakin had lunged at him, screaming, and cut off his sword hand.
He remembered the last time Sidious had said Anakin’s name, telling him he was good and had made the right decision.
Now, Sidious’ face creased into a disgusting smile.
“Oh my boy. I had missed how beautiful you are.”
Vader’s only movement was the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He still hadn't looked in the mirror. But he knew he was not beautiful. He was not truly Anakin, whatever he called himself. He could not truly be whole again.
He felt the featherlight touch of a withered, cold hand on his cheek, only fleeting. It was just the force, but a wave of nausea overcame him for a moment.
He remembered the first time Sidious had said his name, telling him to rise and do his new duty. As he had ever since.
“Speak, my apprentice.” He sounded disgustingly fond. He got the same pleasure toying with Vader that Vader did snapping the necks of the incompetent. He could rarely claim a moral high ground, but in this situation it was almost appropriate.
“Master?” He rasped without emotion. “What do you want me to say?” He cleared his throat, already knowing the answer.
“I only want to hear your voice, my dear boy.” He said, predictably. “I forget how young you are, sometimes. I’ve known you for so long.” Thirty six years. Since I was nine.
“I will admit I feel it myself.” Vader said, raising his left arm. “I had forgotten how this felt.” He tested each of his fingers in turn, still marveling at the dexterity. He had forced his breathing to slow, but still felt a pang in his chest with each inhale.
“Your skills in altering the suit impress me, Lord Vader.” Sidious said, “But I must admit that doing so was pointless.”
Pointless.
Vader lowered his hand and looked up at his master.
“How so?” He said darkly. There was a sharp crack beside him. He flinched and whipped around to see his mask lying in two pieces, warning lights flashing on the interior display.
For a moment he could only stare at it in disbelief. He dropped to both knees.
“It simply wasn't necessary anymore, my boy. Everyone would much rather see your face.”
Vader barely heard him, his eyes trained on the shattered plastisteel before him. It might be fixable, but it would take all day, and how would he get out of this heavily guarded chamber?
There was another crack, and what remained crumpled into a twisted ball. He snapped his head back around to glare at his master, all pretences dropped. He was quietly glad that Sidious could see his naked rage and hatred and… it only made the sith lord smile in satisfaction. With an undignified stumble, Vader got to his feet and turned his back on his master.
“I take it you will be absent when I inform the public of your recovery?” Sidious purred. Vader didn't bother glancing back at him as he burst from the chamber prematurely, striding furiously if only to get as far away from the projection of his master as possible.
“My lord?” A stormtrooper guard asked, surprised, as he stalked past without his mask on.
It was the last mistake the stormtrooper ever made. There were several satisfying snapping sounds, followed by the thunk of bodies hitting the floor. Vader barely twitched his fingers. Further down the hallway, several minor officers practically ran in the opposite direction, fleeing the sound of groaning metal as Vader crumpled the durasteel walls like they were paper, like Sidious had done to his hard work.
He had other, unmodified masks, but he would take far too long to alter them like he had the first one. Besides, there was little that could undo the damage of walking through the most populated part of the ship where everyone could see his face.
Everything he had done, everything he could do, it was all useless. He was useless. Whatever he tried, Sidious would continue to toy with him like a pet, promising him glory that would never come.
He killed everyone who even remotely stood in his way, leaving a trail of bodies all the way back to his quarters. He left one of his own guards alive, just so he could pass on the message that under no circumstances was Lord Vader to be disturbed.
-
Firmus knew something was wrong when the bridge erupted into chaos.
He turned slowly to the sound of shouting, demanding medical attention and technicians to fix the blast doors.
Ah. Seems like Vader has left his meeting.
He had liked to think that the Commander’s temper had reduced slightly in the last two weeks, but he imagined that facing the Emperor was just as bad as suffering physical pain. The nearest casualty was being carried away on a stretcher, lying limp with his head at an unnatural angle. Firmus paused as he was carried past. He was usually unfazed by death, but he felt quite guilty knowing that these victims were innocent. They had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He watched the body leave for the morgue, struggling not to imagine himself in that position.
He might well be, soon.
“Firmus? Where are you going?” A firm voice came from behind him. He turned to see Maximilian Veers staring at him with clear distress. Firmus turned to him, stricken.
“I have to… see Anakin.” He stuttered. It was a half truth. “Make sure he didn't get in the way.” Veers’ gaze darkened, and he took a half step forwards.
“You’ll die, Firmus. It happens to all of his Admirals eventually.”
“What?” He blinked.
“I saw him just now. You never even thought to tell me that it was Darth Vader I was half insulting at dinner? Do you want me dead??” He looked genuinely furious. “I was talking about him, for fucks sake.” He closed his eyes and took a breath. “Firmus, I can't let you do this. You're the best Admiral we’ve ever had, and I can't begin to imagine what he would be like without you around. Not to mention that you're my best friend.” Firmus shifted, but Max didn't move to stop him. He stood with his hands behind his back, eyeing him intensely.
“I won't die, Max.” Firmus said softly.
“Do you want me to write that on your coffin??” Veers snarled.
They glared at each other for what felt like an eternity.
Max sighed.
“Just go, Firmus. I’m not going to say goodbye to you, because then you won't come back.” He turned away and walked back to the bridge without looking back.
Firmus stood still, stunned.
Then he bolted down the corridor, following the trail of dented durasteel and dead stormtroopers to Vader’s quarters. The lone guard outside stepped in front of him, and Firmus suddenly envied Vader’s ability to throw people with his mind.
“Move.” He barked. “I need to report to Lord Vader immediately.” He glared daggers into the man, despite his shorter stature.
“Lord Vader told me himself that he wasn't to be disturbed under any circumstances.” The stormtrooper replied. “I’m sorry sir.”
“I don't care.” Snapped Firmus. “Let me pass and I’ll make sure that you live.”
The trooper hesitated for just a moment.
“Very well sir, though I doubt you’ll be alive to do so, with all due respect.”
Firmus laughed humourlessly and walked through the door, coming to the larger blast doors to the room that contained the meditation chamber.
He knew, of course, that Veers and the stormtrooper were probably right. Vader would likely snap his neck the moment those doors opened. Just like he’d done to all of his predecessors.
Firmus Piett found that, for the first time since being promoted, he wasn't scared of what Vader would do to him. Stars, but he doubted Ozzel had gotten to kiss the man first.
The doors slid open, and the first thing Firmus noted was that the room was completely unrecognisable. He’d seen Vader break things before, but this…
His meditation chamber seemed to be beyond repair. All that remained was the mount, and the shattered shell. There was a chair on its side embedded in the wall, and scraps of black fabric everywhere. It looked like a scavenger had gotten into a food cache.
The lights had fallen from the ceiling, ripped and hanging by a cord, flickering on and off repeatedly. There were buttons and frayed wires in disarray everywhere. Firmus was convinced for a moment that he'd be electrocuted before Vader could even start to choke him.
It took a few minutes for Firmus to spot him. He was in a position much like Firmus had found him that first day, curled up in a ball. The difference was that everything around him was now crumpling.
His clothes were tattered, reduced to a black vest and leggings that Firmus assumed he’d been wearing under the destroyed suit, and even they were covered in holes. His right arm was on full display, the striking gold glinting in the light. This intrigued Firmus- he had subconsciously expected it to be a crude black metal, not this delicate work. He remembered how it had felt holding his waist.
Eventually, he had to make his presence known, though he had no doubt that Vader was deliberately ignoring him.
“Milord?” He said, softly as he could. It didn't help, as Vader’s sickly yellow eyes darted up to meet his own.
He looked terrible. Well, as terrible as he could. He had dark circles under his eyes, making the bloodshot yellow stand out brightly on his otherwise pale skin. His face was creased in concentration; his hair limp and sweaty.
“I had thought I said no interruptions. No matter the circumstances.” He spoke weakly, but his tone was laced with threat.
“I had hoped I was more than just a circumstance to you.” Firmus said. It seemed harsh, but he knew he couldn't just leave. Vader stood up sharply, his eyes trained dangerously on the admiral.
“You shouldn't want that.” He rasped. “Everyone close to me dies.” There was another sound of groaning metal, and a snap as a leg of his worktable shattered, leaving the whole surface shaking dangerously.
“If I had been scared of that, I wouldn't have followed you down here, milord.” Firmus said, voice surprisingly steady. “I only wanted to… see you.” The rest went unsaid. He had come to care far too deeply for his Commander.
As soon as he thought it, Vader stalked forward another step, balling his hands into fists.
“You don't care for me.” He whispered. Then louder,
“YOU DO NOT CARE FOR ME . YOU CARE FOR SOME ECHO OF HIM, BUT HE ISN’T HERE, HE NEVER WAS!” The other leg of his worktable broke, and the contents slid to the floor, clattering and breaking like a pile of bones. Vader lunged forward, glaring deeply into Firmus’ eyes as his own, pupils narrowed to specks, seemed to flicker in rage. Firmus didn't flinch, despite every instinct within him screaming to turn and run.
“ANAKIN SKYWALKER HAS BEEN DROWNING FOR TWENTY YEARS.” Vader screamed in his face, “THE FACT THAT HE CAME UP FOR ONE LAST BREATH DOESN’T CHANGE HIS FATE.” He was so close that Firmus could practically taste the salt of his sweat and tears. His humanity. He met the wild, sickly yellow of Vader’s eyes and inhaled deeply, shakily.
“You haven't become a different person just because you're upset, milord.” He said firmly.
Vader lurched away, pacing back and forth around the ruins of his meditation chamber. The sound of his heavy boots echoed throughout the room.
“I am not UPSET.” He snarled. “I am a Sith Lord and I must destroy my Master to take his place, something he was too weak to accomplish.” He continued to pace, resemblant of a caged animal. It took Firmus a moment to catch his meaning.
“Being a Sith means that you’re a different person?” He asked gently. He didn't really know what a Sith was, but he thought he'd heard Vader say the word before. It was like an anti-Jedi religious order, as far as he could tell. And he still barely knew what a Jedi was.
“Yes.” He said, then paused, seeming to remember something. “No. Not inherently. It means we use the dark side of the force rather than the light.” He punctuated his sentence by ripping another light from the ceiling. Firmus let himself flinch away from it.
“And what makes you use the dark side?” He asked. He felt that he was moving into dangerous territory, but if this was how he would get through to Vader, so be it.
“ The torment I am put through by my master. He feeds my rage, and my hate. ” Vader’s voice was tight with fury. It sounded an awful lot to Firmus like being upset.
“If you want him gone so badly, why do you subscribe to his beliefs?” He asked, “Why do you define yourself only as what he did to you, if you truly want to break away?”
Vader stopped his pacing and whipped around to glare down into Firmus’ eyes.
“Get out.” He said, voice choked. “Get out or I will kill you.”
It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Firmus could've sworn his eyes looked different. They had turned from hot flames to sharp chips of ice, which he wasn't sure was an improvement. He thought that in this moment, perhaps the blue wasn't a good thing.
“I don't think you’d kill me.” He said, and found that he was telling the truth.
Without warning, Vader lunged forward and closed the hard, cold fingers of his mechanical hand around Firmus’ throat.
Famous last words. His mind managed to supply. Again, Vader’s face was inches from his own, and Firmus could make out the lines of sweat trickling down his temple, each eyelash rimming his eyes, which were definitely yellow again. Firmus felt the sharp joints of his fingers digging harshly into his skin.
“Get. Out.” He said again, his breath hot against Firmus’ face. Firmus shook his head minutely.
“ GET OUT!!!! I’LL KILL YOU!!!!” He began to squeeze with his metal hand, an unbreakable grip so harsh that Firmus thought it would break his skin. After a moment he saw spots in his vision, and felt lightheaded. The blood supply to his brain must’ve been affected…
He didn't plead, didn't beg, he just met Vader’s eyes and held his gaze.
“You… won’t…”
Vader’s face twisted and more tears fell from his eyes. He bit his lip as though he was trying not to sob.
“I will,” his voice was hoarse. “I killed her…”
Her?
Oh. Luke’s mother.
Firmus had no idea how close they’d been… but clearly Vader regretted… regretted…
It was becoming hard to think.
“You only… have to… drop… me…”
His lips moved, but he wasn't sure if any sound actually came out. His vision was fading, and he felt a brief spike of panic.
The hand tightened around his throat.
Then let go.
Firmus dropped to his knees, then crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath, though it wasn't the lack of air that had nearly killed him.
“Well… done…” he found himself saying, barely aware of it. Then a sudden, unnatural wave of exhaustion overcame him.
When he came to, his head was resting somewhere warm and dark. Vader’s lap, he realised after a moment. He turned and looked up to see the man staring straight ahead at the wall.
“Are you alright, milord?”
Vader looked down at him, head moving quickly. His eyes were blue again, but he’d clearly been crying. After a moment, he hadn't spoken.
“Did you put me to sleep?” Firmus asked. He started to roll over so he could sit up, but a hand firmly clasped his shoulder, so he relented and rested his head on Vader’s lap again, looking up.
“I didn't mean to.” He said quietly. “You were only out for a minute, but I thought at first…” he took a deep breath, tentatively lifting his other hand- the mechanical one- to lightly rest on Firmus’ cheek. “I thought I’d done it again.”
His tone was light and fragile, so much so that Firmus was afraid to break it. However, some things needed to be said.
“You hurt… Luke’s mother?” He asked softly.
Vader sighed, his hand firmly clasping Firmus’ shoulder, like he was clinging to a lifeline. He closed his eyes as though pained.
“She was my wife. She came to confront me… shortly after the empire was formed and,” he opened his eyes, taking a shaky breath, “She betrayed me. She brought a jedi to kill me, and I choked her because of it and she collapsed. I got my injuries in the battle with the Jedi, and afterwards my master told me I’d killed her, and the child she was pregnant with.” He seemed to have pulled Firmus closer to him without realising, because he seemed surprised when he looked back down and noticed him.
“That's not what happened though.” Firmus said with a frown, “The child lived, you know that. He could have been lying the whole time.”
Vader genuinely seemed not to have considered this.
“Can I sit up, please?”
He only held him tighter.
“I didn't think he would have lied. Even the Emperor isn't omnipotent, despite what he’d like to think. They must’ve been able to cut the child out.”
“Or she delivered him.” Firmus struggled out of his grip, leaving only a hand resting on his shoulder as he sat opposite the Commander. “Was she dead when you choked her?”
“I don't know.” Vader said. “I didn't think so, at the time, but everything was so clouded…” he seemed to stare at nothing again. Firmus reached up and held onto his arm. Very tentatively, as Vader had to him, he reached out and rested his palm lightly on the man’s cheek. His eyes refocused, but he looked away from Firmus guiltily.
“Come with me, out of this room. It's a mess.” Firmus told him. “You can clean yourself up, and then we’ll talk about this.” He ran his thumb under Vader’s eye, wiping away his last tears. “Will you?” He asked gently, like he was comforting a child. Vader nodded once.
Firmus climbed to his feet, testing his legs gingerly. They were fine, if a little shaky. He kept his hand around Vader’s wrist- the flesh one- and pulled him up.
-
“This isn't the way to my room.”
After finding a hooded cloak to hide Vader’s face, Firmus had led him through the thankfully empty halls back to the barracks.
“We aren't going to your room.” He responded, “Mine is closer, and I’m not leaving you on your own now. As the Admiral of this ship, it is in my best interest to preserve both it and its staff.” He ran his thumb over Vader’s knuckle.
“Okay.” He said.
When they reached Firmus’ quarters, he unlocked the door and led Vader through to the bathroom.
“Have a shower.” He told him, “And don't break anything.”
-
Vader stepped out of the shower, his bare feet warm against the tiles.
He shouldn't have been able to shower, to feel the floor or even flex his toes.
He looked up, into the mirror straight ahead, and saw Anakin Skywalker staring back at him.
He was older, sure, his face slightly lined and his hair darker and flecked with grey, but the face was not the scarred, deformed monstrosity he had internalised. His eyes were blue-grey, not pale yellow.
It was simultaneously the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and the most repulsive.
Oh, my boy. I had missed how beautiful you are…
Everyone would much rather see your face…
He turned away sharply, pulling a robe from the door and only tying it loosely at the waist. It was a bit short on him, but what the kriff, he had to get away from that mirror.
Piett was leaning against the wall to the bedroom, much as he had, that night last week. He smiled when he saw Vader.
“You look better now. Not that you looked bad before, of course, come and lie down.”
He didn't question it, just walked past him and turned to sit on the edge of the bed.
“I… thanks.”
Piett cocked his head.
“I have a duty, Milord.” He said, teasingly.
“ Milord.” Vader mocked.
Piett’s answering smile was brighter than all the stars in the galaxy.
“Go to bed. I need to go back to work, and I’ll be less worried about you killing more people if you're asleep.”
Vader lay back and rolled over, not bothering to get under the covers. The mattress was a lot nicer than the one he’d been using.
“Only if you kiss me first.” He mumbled.
I had missed how beautiful you are…
“If you want to.” He added hastily. “After I…”
You're breaking my heart…
The bed dipped beside him, and there was a hand on his shoulder, tugging. He rolled over obligingly.
“I followed you unquestioningly, Lord Vader, when I knew all too well of the way you killed your officers, and innocents, to get things done, and little more. The moment I got promoted I was as good as dead. My life belongs to you, and I am okay with that. The fact that you didn't kill me today means far more than the fact that you almost did.” His eyes glinted with sincerity, and he raised a hand to take off his officer’s cap. Then he leaned in and their lips met.
Vader put his hand on the back of Firmus’ neck, intending to pull him closer and deepen the kiss, but the Admiral pulled away just an inch.
“I still have to go to work.” He told him.
“You don't. I’m your boss.”
“We had a deal, you're going to sleep.”
Vader pulled his head down and kissed him again, a little harder. He nipped Firmus’ bottom lip, then let go.
“To work, then.” He murmured into the other man’s mouth. Then he rolled over, crawling under the covers and resting his head on the pillow.
“I will see you this evening, Milord.” Firmus said, standing up off the bed. Vader turned around, frowning.
“Is it not evening? I'm tired.”
“Yet you’ve still managed to have a long day.” Then softer, “Get some rest, Anakin.”
-
Max was staring at him like he’d seen a ghost.
“I did tell you I wouldn't die.” Firmus told him. He didn't say quite how close he'd come.
“I didn't believe you, I was trying to be optimistic. What did you do with him?” The two of them walked up the bridge to stand by the Viewport. The other officers who had been present during Vader’s… tantrum… were also staring incredulously at him.
“I kissed him goodnight, quite literally. He’s asleep in my bed.” He said softly, so only Max could hear. The man blinked incredulously at him.
“You are a brilliant man, Firmus.”
“I try my best.” He smiled warmly at him. They both turned to gaze out of the viewport, where the lights of Imperial Center shone below. The planet was an astonishing sight, and the Empire’s claim on it solidified their presence in the galaxy.
Footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned, Veers in tow.
“Admiral, I apologise for the interruption, but you have an incoming call from the Emperor himself. I believe it's a live broadcast.”