I Can Fix Him (Or Die Trying)

by Nettlepuffbomb

Summary:

Firmus Piett has finished a relatively easy day as Fleet Admiral, now all he needs to do is give his evening report to Vader. He hasn't done anything wrong, so surely he'll be fine, right?

What he isn't expecting is to find a strange man wearing Vader's armour curled up on the floor, clutching his flesh and blood left hand like it's a lifeline

Notes:

Self indulgent fun for me while I'm working on my other fic, The Curse of Attachment. I'll do both at the same time, but this will be shorter and simpler!

Enjoy some Pieder nonsense.

Chapter 1: Waking up

Firmus found that, for the first time since he’d been promoted, he wasn't scared of what the day would bring.

That may have been an overstatement- he was certainly scared. Everyone who worked as close to Lord Vader as he had to be, of course, but he found that his fear had reduced to a healthy, motivating fear, rather than a blood curdling, inability to sleep kind of fear that it had been when he’d first been made Fleet Admiral.

 

It had been almost a month. This was normal for him now, and it seemed his subconscious brain had been resigned to that fact.

 

So, Admiral Firmus Piett of the SSD Executor- or the Lady, as the crew called her- went about his day as he always did.

He ate breakfast in the mess with Max Veers, refusing to notice the kind glint in his friend's eyes when he noticed how relaxed Firmus was, and spent his shift on the bridge, giving orders and answering holo calls from other officers.

 

It was an uneventful day with nothing to report. There was no notable rebel activity and no significant news he had to deal with.

 

All of this allowed him to relax, just slightly, before his last duty of the day.

 

He was ninety nine percent confident that there was nothing Lord Vader would have reason to kill him over.

The last one percent was just his aforementioned healthy fear. Vader’s moods were never predictable, no matter how smoothly the day had gone for everyone else.

 

Piett keenly felt his collar brushing his neck for a moment.

 

But it would be fine. He would report to Lord Vader, and after he was dismissed he would go to mess and laugh about it with Max, and then he would go to bed and pray to the force that tomorrow would be exactly the same.

 

-

 

Don’t get me wrong. The force is not a sentient being, and certainly doesn't form clear replies to the thoughts of (relatively) insignificant mortals. Even if it did, the chances it would be paying attention to Piett at that moment are very small. With… what was going on next door, particularly.

 

However, if the force just happened to be paying attention to Firmus Piett at that moment, and just happened to be sentient and form a clear reply to his thoughts, it would’ve said:

 

“Don’t write today off quite so quickly, Firmus.”

 

-

 

Darth Vader found that, for the first time since he had been reborn, he hadn't been dragged from his meditation by a crescendo of pain that had been building for hours.

He didn't really notice at first: he had practically been asleep, though he’d never have admitted it. After he’d retired from the bridge at around what would be midday on Coruscant below, he’d taken a few hours to meditate in his quarters. It was the closest he could get to relaxation. Immediately after Bespin he had been deeply wreathed in the dark side, and when he had learned of Luke’s survival he had been deeply conflicted, and now… it had all faded just enough for him to nearly relax.

 

As the Sith Lord came back to his senses, he braced himself for his raw, damaged throat to burn as he breathed- even with the purified air in his meditation chamber, it hurt- and was surprised when he found that it didn't.

 

He hadn't even opened his eyes yet, but he found himself gently clearing his throat, hardly a thought going into it. It still didn't really hurt, and finally he was awake enough to be incredibly confused.

 

He would often wake up sobbing, pleading to no one for the pain to let up for just one second before he re-immersed himself in the dark side of the force and used it to his advantage. He didn't like to think of those moments of weakness, but it was very rare that they would spare him.

 

He could breathe. Well enough that is wasn't hurting him at all.

 

Maybe a little too much. He was getting light headed from all the oxygen. Usually his damaged lungs couldn't take enough in for it to be a problem.

 

Frowning, he opened his eyes, reached for the controls of the pod and lurched forwards a bit too far. His arm felt abnormally light. Was something wrong with the prosthetic? He squinted down at the black glove and tried to move his fingers. They shot about far too quickly, with a dexterity he had all but forgotten was possible.

Vader again reached for the controls of the pressurised chamber, more carefully this time, and sat still as the air returned to normal and his mask lowered from above. He hesitated for a moment as it descended, taking a couple of experimental breaths of unfiltered air.

 

After a moment his lightheadedness receded.

 

Barely thinking about it, Vader ducked to avoid the helmet, lifting his strangely light right arm to catch it. He was used to its weight, but for some reason it felt wrong.

 

Along with his clearer head, Vader’s vision sharpened as he looked down at what had been his face for the last twenty or so years.

 

He dropped it on the floor like it was a hot coal- not that that should matter to him.

 

At that, he was struck with another thought, and reached to rip off his left glove. He was a little clumsy, still unused to the dexterity in his hand, but…

He took a sharp breath in.

 

As far as he could tell… and feel… his left hand was flesh and blood. His right was still responding how he'd expect, aside from the additional sensitivity. Still prosthetic, then.

 

He allowed himself to have the realisation in a clear moment, as he stared with too-keen eyes at his unscarred, flesh and blood fingers.

 

He was healed.

 

Instinctively, he knew this was the force’s doing. Even logically it was the only conclusion one could come to.

 

Vader didn't want to question it, so he didn't.

 

He also failed to notice the way he slid from the chair in his meditation chamber to collapse into a fetal position on the floor, his limbs unco-ordinated, and the way his breath shook and his lip trembled.

He failed to notice the tears of shock rolling down his face until the door to his private chambers opened.

 

-

 

Firmus stepped forward a few paces with his hands clasped behind his back, cleared his throat to address his commander, and- his gaze drifted to an unfamiliar man curled up on the floor, crying.

 

What the fuck?

 

He faltered, the tight reign he kept on his thoughts when speaking to Lord Vader gone slack, his usually unflappable expression crumbled.

 

Firmus had only seen the back of Vader’s head before, on a few occasions, and never more than that. He knew that he was indeed human, that he was bald and badly scarred, and that he needed his mask to breathe.

 

The man on the floor was, according to that description, not Lord Vader.

 

The breaths were close to sobbing gasps, but they were certainly breaths. The man didn't seem ill in any way, aside from being upset. He had a full head of dark blond hair with only a few noticeable greys, and he was clutching his left hand like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline.

The only thing that gave the Admiral a pause was that he was definitely wearing Vader’s armour.

 

“Um…” Firmus said. Because what the fuck else was he supposed to say?

 

The man's eyes snapped up, fixing the Admiral with an intense yellow glare that he felt in his very bones. Maybe it was Lord Vader after all.

 

For a moment, they just stared at each other- Firmus feeling perhaps more than a healthy amount of fear, and the strange man (Vader?) looking straight into his soul with a defensive rage.

 

Firmus cleared his throat again, as softly as he could. The other man coughed quietly.

 

“Admiral.” It was ground out slowly, perhaps experimentally, and though the voice was unfamiliar, Firmus would know that tone anywhere. It had haunted his dreams for a month.

 

“My Lord.” He did not squeak. He could rescue the situation. He wasn't dead yet, and he technically hadn't done anything wrong.

As long as he chose his next words very, very carefully.

“Are you… alright, sir?” That time it might have been a squeak.

 

Firmus felt numb, then. He forced away all of his fear and just lifted his chin. He would rather face death with grace than cowardice.

 

Because of this, he was infinitely surprised when his question got a response.

 

“I don't know, Admiral.” Vader said quietly. His voice was hoarse but strong. As he looked up at Firmus, his face seemed oddly familiar, but he couldn't place it.

 

“I just came to give the report, sir. I didn't mean to intrude I can, I can come back.” Firmus swallowed. Unfortunately, Vader didn't dismiss him.

 

“Something is happening, Admiral.” The Supreme Commander eventually said. “The force is telling me not to kill you, that you are… important, somehow.” His pale yellow eyes unfocused for a moment, before he blinked a few times and stared Firmus in the face again. Firmus hadn’t even known Vader could feel emotion that wasn't anger, but he was still terrifying, even curled up crying on the floor.

 

But… it didn't seem that he was going to die. His numbness faded away just enough for him to take a deep, shaky breath.

“Thank you, my Lord.” He said, unsure how to continue. Vader had lowered his gaze again, closing his eyes and resting his face in the crook of his arm. It was a terribly human posture, and Firmus couldn't help the pang of sympathy that blossomed in his chest. It was certainly an… odd cocktail of emotions he was feeling.

 

To add to his confusion, when Vader looked up again, his eyes were blue-grey, and they shone with something like resolve.

 

“You have my favour, Admiral Piett. And I feel you understand that it is something hard won, and easily lost.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully.

“You will help me through this, but I will not hesitate to kill you if you say a word to anyone. Do you understand, Admiral?”

His voice was smooth, nothing like the harsh boom of the vocoder Firmus was used to. But the quiet threat in his tone was somehow worse.

 

“Of course, milord.” He said.

 

After a moment, Vader nodded. He carefully reached up behind him and gripped the edge of his chair, leaning heavily on it as he pulled himself to his feet. Firmus was unsure what to do, so he watched quietly, attempting to clear his head of thoughts once more.

 

Once he had propped himself up sufficiently, Vader gestured towards an object on the floor that Firmus hadn't noticed earlier.

 

“Pick that up, and bring it to the back of the room. I’ll need to work on it so I can wear it without… side effects.” He said carefully.

 

As he drew closer, Firmus realised it was his helmet. He didn't show his hesitancy to touch it, but some instinct told him no, wrong, drop it the moment he picked it up. He took it over to behind the meditation chamber, where he found a small desk littered with what looked to him like spare parts and tools. He didn't let himself linger, placing the helmet down before returning to his Commander.

 

Vader had made it to the side of the room, leaning on the wall but upright. Firmus stood dutifully in front of him.

 

“Do I need to explain what has happened to me, Admiral?” Vader asked. If Firmus hadn't known better, he would've thought the man was forcing himself to sound firm. He thought through his response before answering,

 

“It is my understanding that you had… a serious medical condition, milord.” He winced internally, hoping that his phrasing wouldn't offend the Commander.

To his relief, it didn't seem to. The man nodded once, then almost curiously ran a hand through his hair.

 

“The force has healed me for a reason, Admiral.” He said. “I intend to find out what that is, and I could use someone's help. Better my second in command than anyone else. Do you agree, Piett?” He turned to look Firmus right in the eye. Even when they were the more natural blue, they were awfully piercing.

 

“Of course, sir.” He said quickly. “Whatever you require.” He thought briefly that he was supposed to be a fleet admiral, of the largest ship in the galaxy, at that, he shouldn't be reduced to a personal assistant. He buried the idea quickly before Vader could pick up on it.

After a moment, he asked,

“You’re going to hide this from the rest of the crew, sir?”

Vader seemed to consider for a second before nodding again.

 

“I could use it to my advantage in the future. And if I may be honest, Piett, I would rather hide this development from the Emperor.” He looked meaningfully at the other man, but Firmus dipped his head respectfully. He had always been more loyal to Vader than to the Emperor, even before his promotion. There was something about Vader’s straightforwardness, no matter how cruel, that had always appealed to him over Palpatine’s political manipulation.

 

Firmus took a moment to assess Vader’s state, then. The man was still wearing his armour, but it seemed to hinder him- even without how recognisable it was- and Firmus wasn't sure whether he'd be able to stand on his own.

 

“Can I get you some clothes, milord? Or a cane?” He asked cautiously. It would make the most sense, and if Vader hadn’t killed him already he doubted he was going to now. The Supreme Commander seemed to know this, for he nodded his assent without hesitation.

 

“I would appreciate that, Admiral. Get me some plain clothes as well as an Imperial uniform. Inform the bridge that I am indisposed, we can discuss more when you have returned.”

 

-

 

By the time Piett returned, Vader had figured out how to use his legs again. It had been a few hours, and he was nothing if not persistent. He’d also managed to remove some of the heavier parts of the suit, as well as deactivate the panelling on his chest. It was a miracle none of it had stabbed into him, honestly, but the force had its ways. All of the metal in his body seemed to have mysteriously vanished.

 

The strangest change was how relaxed he felt. After the initial stress of realising what had happened to him, Anakin had felt oddly confident that he had control of the situation. He found that he trusted his Admiral to stay quiet, and retain respect for him (he refused to think about how he must've looked when the man had first walked in), but he could easily be dealt with if he ever broke that trust.

 

He’d only briefly touched the force, and though it was undoubtedly the dark side he was reaching for, he found it more difficult to summon the same power from it that he had before, with the constant pain and hopelessness of his physical condition easily fueling his anger. He wasn't as unnerved by the development as he probably should've been. Instead, he decided to shelve it for now, and focus on dealing with his immediate needs.

 

Piett had brought him several styles of clothing, clearly terrified that Vader would be unsatisfied by them. The man was hovering nearby, and Vader found a sick amusement in thoroughly inspecting the clothes, as though he wouldn't throw on anything given to him.

When he was satisfied, he turned to the Admiral.

 

“You informed the bridge of my absence?” Vader was still unused to his own voice. He found that he needed to deliberately speak forcefully, to mimic how his vocoder had sounded, where before he had been able to speak however he wanted without fear of his tone being off. Admittedly, it had made conversation difficult; most of his officers were terrified enough of him already.

 

“I have, milord.” Piett replied. “Though I wasn't sure how long it would be before you're able to make a public appearance again.” The Admiral seemed a lot more collected than he had earlier; Anakin suspected he’d spent some of the time away splashing his face with cold water, and he didn't blame him. Better that the man was in a position to remain professional, no matter the situation.

 

“It shouldn't take more than a week for me to rework the whole suit.” He responded. “I need it to appear functional, but not actually do anything to me. I imagine it would make me sick in this state.” He wasn't sure these were things he would normally admit to an officer, but Piett probably deserved it at this point. Besides, there was no reason for Vader to be quite as defensive of his medical condition as he had before. He didn't see how information of it could be used against him immediately, especially not by Piett.

“But,” he added, “don't give them a definite number. Maybe tell them I have left for Imperial Center. The Emperor could keep me there for any amount of time.” He didn't tell Piett that he was actually far less familiar with the functions of his suit than he should've been. It wasn't like he could take it off to tinker with it when it was actively keeping him alive. Though, if the quality of his prosthetics had been anything to go by, he could guess that much of the technology was sub-par.

 

“I will, sir.” Piett replied. “Do you need anything else?”

Vader stood up. For the first time (perhaps ever), he noticed how tired the man looked. He had no idea what time it was, and he wasn't sure if Piett had eaten or not. He hadn't worried so much about the condition of his officers when he had been bitter at how poor his own was.

 

“Not immediately.” He said, perhaps too softly for his persona. “Get some rest and return to me in the morning. Your duties on the bridge can wait, we are only orbiting Co…” he winced, “Coruscant.” He hadn't slipped up like that in a while. If Piett noticed, or cared, he didn't show it. Vader didn't bother correcting himself.

“You are dismissed, Admiral.” He finished.

 

He could spend the night scoping the mechanics of his suit. By morning he would have drawn up a plan for altering it, and then he would have a better estimate of how long it would take him. As Piett left, he took the clothes he had left and dressed himself. He’d picked out a black suit, as he’d always preferred. It wasn't particularly formal, but clearly something that would be worn by an officer when they were off duty. He suspected these were a common sight down in the living quarters. Everyone he interacted with wore a uniform, of course. He wouldn't really know.

 

He hadn't felt quite as disconnected from everyone else as he did now.

He was entirely a different station to everyone else on the ship, and even then had different requirements due to his condition. Other high ranking imperials, close in station to himself, likely retired with their officers at the end of the day in a less formal setting. Vader had never had that. He didn't eat or drink. Didn't even sleep.

He would have to now, he realised. He’d probably have to go to Mess at some point tomorrow lest he starve or dehydrate. And… he had nowhere to sleep, really, in his own quarters. He could try using the meditation chamber, but without its necessity it wasn't quite as appealing as it had been before. The suit had regulated everything, from his hydration levels to temperature. It had done more than manage his injuries. A lot of that would have to be manual now. He forced himself to stop the train of thought before he overwhelmed himself. He could likely sneak into the living quarters and find an unoccupied room. He was powerful enough in the force that he could ensure nobody else noticed.

 

All of this, he told himself, is tomorrow's problem. You can last until morning, Anakin.

 

Excellent. Another problem that had slipped into his mind without him noticing. Well, it hadn't actually been long since the Emperor had contacted him. He- Vader - had plenty of time to collect himself.

 

A mirror would probably help with that. From what he could tell, his clothes were presentable enough- he hadn't dressed himself in over twenty years, but it wasn't the most difficult thing to relearn- but he had no idea what his face and hair looked like. He hadn't even seen his reflection in as long as he could remember: it wasn't the sort of thing that he had wanted to torment himself with. His face was completely restored, as far as he could tell, and people were going to actually be looking at it.

 

What if someone recognised him? He had been incredibly famous towards the end of the Clone Wars, and he was well aware that he had been an object of desire for many. A quick press of his fingers to his temple confirmed that he still had his very obvious scar, and he knew his hair was much longer than Imperial regulation. He didn't have the tools to cut it right now, and- in a sudden moment of vanity- he really didn't want to. He cursed his sentimentality as he remembered how much effort he’d put into growing it out after he'd been knighted.

 

This was, the part of him that was definitely still Darth Vader said, a pathetic sign of weakness.

 

Maybe just for his own safety, Anakin Skywalker needed to go back to sleep.

 

-

 

The next morning in the Mess Hall, Firmus was genuinely unsure whether or not he'd dreamed of the events of last night.

But he knew he'd definitely had to report to Vader, and if he ignored the frankly strange events he remembered, he had no recollection of how the meeting had gone.

 

He really wanted Veers’ company right now, but the man had apologetically commed him last night, explaining that he'd fallen ill and likely wouldn't be able to make it out of bed tomorrow. Firmus wondered idly if the ship would even function without himself, Veers or Vader on the bridge.

 

Assuming he hadn't imagined the events of last night.

 

Firmus sighed loudly and looked at the pathetic bowl of oats that he’d barely touched. He wasn't sure he had the energy to choke it down, and that was after his third cup of caf.

It was going to be an interesting day.

 

His morning did not improve when he heard the stool next to him slide out from under the table.

It took him a moment to acknowledge the man. He half assumed it was Max, well enough to get up after all, and didn't really pay attention until the last voice he had wanted to hear right then spoke in his ear,

 

“You're a very competent Admiral, but I do apologise if this is the toll it takes on you, Piett.”

 

What, in the Emperor’s shrivelled ballsack of a face, is he doing here?

 

Vader, Piett had assumed, always ate in his own quarters, undisturbed by the rest of the Executor’s lowly staff.

 

“I am… sorry… for scaring you, Admiral. I wasn't sure where else to sit without drawing attention.” The Supreme Commander continued. He sounded far more relaxed than yesterday, and Firmus doubted he would've recognised the man if he hadn't heard his voice last night.

“Do you always eat without company?” Vader added.

 

Firmus finally turned to look at him. The man was a respectful few feet away from him, and appeared to have a bowl of gruel similar to the Admiral’s own. He wasn't sure why, when there was such a large range of options. Perhaps he just wasn't very hungry, like Firmus himself.

 

“Milord. It's not a problem, I just wasn't expecting your company.” He paused, “To answer your question, no, my… usual companion… is ill. I was under the impression that you did eat alone though, sir.” He hoped he didn't sound too challenging. Then again, Vader likely sensed his curiosity.

 

The Supreme Commander merely looked amused. It was odd, seeing his expressions, but at least it helped Firmus guess his mood.

 

Vader was wearing a uniform, as many of the officers were, just the standard grey of a fairly low ranking imperial. Firmus had left him the option for one of a higher rank, but he supposed it would draw too much unwanted attention. Indeed, Vader had neatly tucked his long hair under the cap. It wouldn't hold up under scrutiny, but it wasn't obvious enough that people would notice.

 

He hadn't yet replied to the admiral, and after a moment Firmus realised he'd been staring. He snapped his gaze back to Vader’s face, only to find himself looking at the man’s smirking lips.

 

What is wrong with me?

 

“I haven't eaten solid food in over twenty years, Piett.” He said softly.

 

Firmus wasn't sure how to respond to that. It seemed Vader's injuries had been a lot worse than he’d thought.

 

“My apologies, sir.” He said weakly, averting his eyes. Some small part of him noted that this was unfortunate. The soggy oats were not a very pleasant sight compared to Vader’s face. Which still looked oddly familiar, now that he thought of it.

 

“That is alright, Admiral.” The Supreme Commander said. “I’m not sure if my stomach will be able to take it, even now.”

 

As he spoke, Vader cautiously brought the spoon to his lips and swallowed. He paused for a moment, and Firmus eyes him worriedly.

 

“You eat this voluntarily?” Vader said suddenly, frowning at his bowl. He’d actually slipped out of the clipped, formal tone he usually used. Firmus thought he heard an outer-rim accent, but it was probably his imagination.

 

“I wasn't awfully hungry, sir.” He replied, “Would you like me to find you something more to your liking?” He suddenly felt incredibly self conscious as Vader glanced at him curiously.

 

“It's alright, Admiral. I am more than capable of getting my own food. Besides, I think it would be odd if the Fleet Admiral was seen getting food for a man nobody has seen…” Vader stumbled over the last few words. He was recognisable, then. That was probably why he had seemed familiar to Firmus. It must’ve been during the clone wars: Vader had been with the empire since the beginning, but he didn't look old enough to have had much prevalence before that.

He was younger than Firmus would've expected, actually. If anything, he looked younger than the Admiral himself, but Firmus suspected his random healing had helped with that.

He wondered if it was okay to ask.

 

“You're right, Milord. I was wondering, if you're going to be around places like this, if you have a cover story?” Maybe a less direct question would get him answers. To his satisfaction, Vader answered,

 

“It's probably best if I don't talk to too many people face to face. Particularly if they're old enough to recognise me.

That is a good point though, I doubt I’ll be able to entirely avoid it.” He looked meaningfully at Firmus, who finally gave in to his thoughts,

 

“Why would they recognise you, Milord?” He tried to sound casual but formal, but Vader seemed genuinely surprised.

 

“Are you saying you don't, Admiral? I would’ve thought you did, with the way you were ogling me.” He sounded vaguely hopeful, not cocky, as the words would coming from anyone else. Firmus felt himself pale. 

 

“No Milord. I must admit you look slightly familiar to me, but I grew up in the outer rim and I was slightly removed from the goings on in the Republic.” He said quickly.

Ogling. He wasn't even sure he should've mentioned his background, or the Republic, to the man who was practically second in command of the whole Empire, but he seemed to have rescued himself from further scrutiny.

Vader sat back, satisfied.

 

“Good.” He said simply, and did not elaborate.

He turned back to his meal, eating quite quickly. Firmus presumed he must be hungry, if he hadn't had any of the nutrients his suit would've supplied since at least yesterday afternoon.

 

Strangely, he felt that his own appetite had returned. Perhaps his conversation with Vader had broken the ice enough for his nervousness to reduce.

 

He excused himself and returned with some bread and meat. All of it had likely been frozen, but it didn't taste nearly as bad as the gruel. He ate quickly and neatly next to Vader, refusing to dwell on the strangeness of the situation. Or that the silence between the two of them was actually quite companionable.

 

When they had both finished, Vader having given up after half the bowl, claiming that it was a ‘good enough start’, Firmus turned his attention to what the rest of the day would hold.

 

“Will you need my assistance this morning, Milord?” He asked.

 

Vader pursed his lips, as though he hadn't considered.

 

“I have eaten now. I’ll likely spend the rest of the day working on the suit. You are free to return to the bridge, Admiral, but I will likely join you again this evening.” He turned to face Firmus, “I will… try to think of a cover story before then, in case we are joined by your companion.” He emphasised the last word, and Firmus realised he hadn't actually specified who he often ate with. Vader should know, if this was to be a common occurrence.

 

“It would be my pleasure, Milord. I doubt that General Veers will be well enough to eat tonight, but I will keep you informed on his status.” He hoped that was satisfactory. Vader nodded his approval, and rose.

 

“I will see you later then, Admiral.” He had an optimistic tone that Firmus couldn't have imagined hearing from the man before. He could've sworn there was a genuine smile on Vader’s lips as he glanced his way, before leaving.

 

“Of course, sir.” Firmus called after him. He stacked their plates and carried them away, deep in thought.

 

-

 

Anakin grinned. The wires in the helmet were tiny and muddled, clearly designed to be impossible for him to pick apart with his clumsy metal fingers, but his flesh hand (slightly singed as it was, he had forgotten to be careful) easily unwound the tangle of tiny wires that really could've been grouped together in one. Half of the functions weren't even necessary, and could've been a lot more concise. He had feared as much, but his anger at realising how complete his… his slavery had been was overwhelmed by a fierce satisfaction at being able to bypass the safeguards and completely rewire the suit to his liking. He didn't even need to be changing half the features he was now tampering with, that controlled his vision, but he was having more fun than he’d had in years. Even when he’d been trapped in the suit he'd found solace in tinkering, yet he was able to lose himself for hours working this efficiently. He felt almost giddy with it. At this rate, he’d easily finish the suit and have some time to play around before the week was up.

 

Vader was growling at him, from some corner of his mind, telling him there was no way he’d be able to access the dark side like this. There was no way he’d be able to fool Sidious.

 

Anakin found that, at this moment, he didn't particularly care. He’d been in a good mood all day, and he was never in a good mood. The part of him that was Vader had cautiously stepped back to let him enjoy it.

 

It was around midday on Coruscant below when he was interrupted.

 

There was a very hesitant whisper in his mind, but it dragged him out of his stupor faster than a ship from hyperspace.

 

‘ Father?’

 

Anakin dropped the piece of panelling he was holding and exhaled, immediately reaching into the force.

He could do this much, unaffiliated with dark or light, simply sensing his surroundings, and the connections in his mind.

 

He felt the ice cold, durasteel strong chain that linked him to Sidious. This one was less a mutual bond and more like… shackles. He avoided it, very careful not to alert his master lest he blow his cover. The next strongest one was tattered and broken, yet it stubbornly refused to vacate the spot it had held for almost as long as Vader could remember. Even with Obi-Wan dead, there was a web-thin line that connected them. He avoided this bond too. It felt like tears and sizzling flesh. Even with his very brief attention, it screamed words of betrayal at him in a language he refused to understand.

He skimmed over a few weaker ones.  One that had been broken once, reforged, then ripped fiercely from him a second time. Other barely noticeable training bonds with long dead Inquisitors, and finally…

A new one. It was tentative and fresh, and it was the only bond that didn't reek of suffering. Not entirely, anyway.

 

‘Luke?’ He asked, hopeful. His son hadn't communicated with him since that day immediately after Bespin, when they’d both acknowledged their connection for the first time. It had been a few weeks, and Vader had tried to talk to him again, without success. Perhaps Luke had sensed the change in him. It worried Vader a bit: the more people that knew, the more danger they were all in. Especially if one of them was a half trained force sensitive. Vader had spent twenty years shielding from Sidious- but his son wouldn't be able to keep a youngling out. The last scrap of respect Vader had for Luke’s privacy was all that had kept him from tearing into his mind.

 

The next thing he sensed was a very hesitant feeling across the bond, suspicious curiosity?

 

‘You sound different, Father.’

 

Vader supposed he probably did. He’d deliberately used the vocoder’s voice when talking to Luke before, for familiarity. Hearing his natural voice- as he used with others- would probably only confuse his son further. As, apparently, it had done now.

 

‘Yes…’ was all he could think to send back, with encouragement. He would let Luke control this conversation.

 

‘...What happened?’ Luke asked bluntly.

 

Vader sent back amusement, be patient, as he tried to find words.

 

‘The force… seems to have a plan for me.’ He said, altering his voice to sound more like the vocoder, then back again. Perhaps Luke could catch his meaning.

 

‘Speak basic. You said yourself that I am not a Jedi yet.’ Apparently not, then.

 

‘I am not sure you are ready to know this, Luke.’ Vader said gently, using his own voice.

 

‘You feel lighter.’ Luke told him, ‘Say, do you still want me to join you in the dark side?’ He felt a wave of immense satisfaction from his son.

 

Kriff. He’d been caught.

 

Anakin was many things, but a good liar was not one of them. And maybe he did want Luke to join him in the dark side, but it really wasn't something he wanted to think about, much less discuss, at this moment. He sent Luke reluctance, drop it.

 

‘Drop it? That's not an emotion.’ His son seemed to laugh at him. Hesitant joy.

 

Gratitude, Vader sent. He really didn't deserve Luke. Especially after… what he'd done to him.

 

‘I don't know how long this will last, my son. I can't let it last for too long, or he will know.’ He probably shouldn't have told Luke that much. He didn't exactly trust the boy’s judgment when it came to decision making, not after Bespin.

Boy? Anakin thought, You were a general at his age .

But Luke was still so much younger than he’d been, in so many ways.

 

Regret. Luke sent back. Grief. The latter was quiet, as though he hadn't meant for it to slip through.

 

Anakin paused before replying. He eventually decided not to say anything, instead sending a vague notion of comfort.

The two of them lingered at their respective ends of the bond for quite a while. Neither spoke, and Vader went back to tinkering with his armour. At some point, so subtle that he barely noticed it, Luke sent over love.

Chapter 2: Moving Forward

Summary:

This chapter, Vaderkin tries to balance his sith lordness with an unexpected fondness for his Admiral, while Piett starts to warm to him (and his ass in those trousers).

Notes:

Honestly I'm blown away by how many people liked the first chapter. I hope you all enjoy this one too! This one is a collection of fluffy scenes (mostly) that move the story to a point where the next chapter will be more plot heavy and intense- that said, this is mostly crack, so not too intense.

Anyway! The pieder is moving along in this one. I am not used to writing romances from scratch (when the characters don't have an established personal relationship already) so hopefully it feels natural enough.

Despite Piett’s promise, neither he nor Vader had any warning before they were joined by Veers the next morning.

 

The man was clearly still ill, but it made sense that he would need to eat something every now and then to keep his strength up- something Vader had rediscovered for himself over the last couple of days.

He’d managed to find sleeping quarters, but they were completely empty of anything he might actually need. He would have to ask Piett later, as, to his horror, it was becoming obvious that he hadn't shaved in a while. Or showered.

 

He refused to be embarrassed. It wasn't that bad. Just… not quite up to military standard.

 

Piett hadn't commented- not that Vader would expect him to dare- and he probably looked fine compared to the state of Veers. The man was still in bedclothes, and didn't look pleased to see a stranger sitting next to his friend. Vader found it quite amusing that this was the same man that he saw on the bridge most days without a spot on his uniform.

He was less amused at the way Piett glanced at him, panicked. They had still failed to discuss a cover story, and it seemed that they would need one sooner than either of them had hoped.

After a moment of deliberating, Vader murmured,

 

“I’ll come up with something, if he asks.” He’d been undercover before. Just… not for a long time, and with varying success. That was probably more than Piett, who was scared that eating oats would offend him, could say.

 

He did ask. Immediately. Before Vader had even managed to gather his thoughts, the man slumped down opposite Piett and said,

 

“Who is this?” He sounded far more alert than Vader had hoped.

 

“I’m just a mechanic, sir.” He said, attempting to force some respect into his voice. “I knew…” kriff, what was the Admiral’s first name again? “Firmus, here,” (that was unfortunate) “when we were younger. He invited me to catch up. He certainly has risen through the ranks.” He tried to sound impressed, and let some of his natural outer-rim accent slip into his voice. Piett had said he’d grown up there, hadn't he?

Vader thought he barely scraped by on both accounts: Veers radiated uninterested acceptance in the force before he turned to his friend and started complaining about his ailment and laughing about how everyone was coping without him.

 

Vader managed to tune it out for about five minutes, before, naturally, the conversation turned to him.

 

“I heard Lord Vader is absent, too. Down on Imperial Center? Do you know why?”

 

Piett seemed to go stiffer than he already had been, which was impressive. Vader almost felt bad for the man.

 

“Yes, I… believe he has an audience with the Emperor.” He said. “He should be back by the end of the week.”

 

Veers sighed dramatically, slumping forward in defeat.

“Trust me to get sick the one week I could’ve had without him breathing down my neck every five minutes.”

Vader couldn't help but turn an icy glare on the man for his tone. Perhaps he should've pretended to be someone more important.

 

“Max!” Piett exclaimed, horrified.

Veers glanced up at Vader, confused, then turned back to his friend.

 

“Is it really as bad as they say, working with him?” Vader ‘wondered idly’. He didn't have a particular reason for his question, but he was nothing if not cruel.

“Though,” he continued, “that might be too much information for a lowly mechanic such as myself.” He hoped he didn't sound too sarcastic.

 

Veers shrugged.

“It’s worse when something has gone seriously wrong, but the Lord definitely has a certain… presence.” He said. “Have you seen him?”

 

“I haven't yet, he left shortly after I was transferred here.” Vader said. He was actually impressed with the General’s assessment of him. He hadn't been overtly rude, though perhaps he had picked up on Piett’s apprehension. Veers nodded,

 

“I didn't catch your name.” He said politely.

Oh no.

 

Instinctively, Anakin would’ve cobbled together the names of people he knew, but those names were often attached to large bounties, these days, no thanks to him.

 

“My apologies,” he said softly, “it’s Naberrie.” That wasn't even a lie, not really. It was still far removed enough from her… public image not to cause him a problem, and the pang of guilt that came with it wasn't so immediate.

 

He still didn't deserve to use it.

 

“Ani Naberrie.” He continued, unable to come up with anything better. He didn't emphasise the first name; with luck, Veers would ignore it.

 

“Ani. It's good to meet you, I’m Max Veers. I apologise for my presentation, I usually try to look a bit better than this.” He smiled. Vader tried to keep his wince small: he’d hated being called that, even before his fall. Only Watto, his mother and Padmé had done it with any consistency. He supposed this was what he got for not thinking of a name earlier.

 

“That's alright, sir. I hope you feel better soon, hopefully before Lord Vader gets back.” He let himself smile politely, but kept his posture stiff. He had to keep up the facade, but was in no mood to get too friendly with his officers. The ones that didn't know who he was, anyway.

 

-

 

Vader left shortly after that, and Firmus internally breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“He's an odd fellow, isn't he?” Max observed, a small smile on his lips. He had been sipping at a cup of cheap tea for the better part of an hour, making little progress.

 

“Yes,” Firmus agreed, glad to be able to speak freely, “But he's nice once you get to know him. I think he’s still stressed from his last job- I don't think it was very kind to him.” A partial truth. He didn't like lying to his friend, but he was grateful that- like himself- Veers didn't seem to recognise Vader’s face.

 

He was very deliberately avoiding trying to figure out who he was.

 

“Did you get him his place here?” Veers’ question snapped him out of his thoughts. “You clearly know him quite well.”

 

Curse Vader for getting him into this predicament.

 

“Not that well.” Firmus amended. He desperately wanted to allude to Max that Vader wasn't who he pretended, but he knew he’d likely get his neck snapped if he did even that.

“I didn’t.” He continued, “I wasn't in contact with him much before he was stationed on The Lady.”

He hoped that Max could tell he wanted to shut down the conversation from his tone.

 

“Do you want to get to know him better then, Firmus?” Max asked innocently.

 

It took Firmus a few seconds to figure out what he meant. A few seconds that he should’ve spent preparing an appropriate response. Something like a casual ‘oh, not like that,’ or similar.

But because he spent the time catching up with the conversation, Piett completely lost his composure and spluttered,

 

“What?? No!”, turning an impressive shade of red as he did so, like he was a teenager with a crush and not a man in his forties in command of the most important ship in the galaxy.

 

Predictably, his friend grinned conspiratorially at him.

“You don't have to be ashamed: I can see why. He's a nicer sight than most of us on this ship.”

 

Firmus had to stop himself protesting, because he realised that it was probably better to let Max think this than anything more dangerous.

Nonetheless, he couldn't wait to see the expression on Max’s face when Firmus eventually told him that he was talking about Darth Vader. Assuming he would make it that far.

 

Oddly, he didn't feel scared of Vader himself so much as the situation with the Emperor, and the unpredictable path forwards. In a way he’d have never expected, he and Vader were in this together, and he intended to get them both out of it intact.

 

Then again, that was a bit of a dramatic admission for this time in the morning. Firmus nodded at Max just to indulge him, then they went back to talking about work.

Max had to leave after only a few more minutes- he was clearly quite ill, and Firmus pitied the man.

He did have other people to talk to, but with Vader around he wasn't sure he wanted them nosing into his business, as they liked to do. Thankfully he had enough authority to dismiss them.

 

Firmus returned to his duties that day feeling relaxed. Once again, he felt he knew where he stood with his superior, even if it was much closer than before, and aside from that the days orbiting Imperial Center were uneventful. He didn't even feel as tired as usual.

 

Around midday, however, he received a transmission from a small base in the outer rim- the far edges of the Empire’s reach- claiming reports of rebel activity. He had it put through, only listening with half an ear.

Every day, there were many reports from people claiming to have found Luke Skywalker, and most were quickly debunked. Other rebel sightings were usually passed onto ships less significant than the Executor, to be dealt with by lesser squadrons- Vader himself only cared for information about large rebel bases, and sightings of Skywalker or the rebel leaders.

 

Firmus found his thoughts wandering to Bespin. With Skywalker’s escape he was lucky that Vader had spared him, though with recent events he reasoned that the man’s patience might extend further than he had first realised.

The fact that Ozzel had been standing next to him may have skewed his perspective.

 

And.. he hadn't liked Ozzel. No one had, really. Maybe Vader had simply felt the same and been able to do something about it?

Firmus felt bad speculating about his Commander, the man who had seemed detached and inhuman to him for as long as he… or anyone, could remember. But he was realising now that Vader was just as human as the rest of them. Stars, how had he felt? Entirely removed from even those closest in rank to him, answering only to the Emperor. Just seeing the man’s face had upended everything Firmus thought he’d known about the man: how many times had he made sarcastic quips without anyone realising? Or spoken with genuine concern and sympathy? Several times in the last two days, Firmus had felt that Vader had actually… cared… about what he had to say. Had they all been missing this?

 

It was dangerous to humanise him too much. Firmus knew as much as anyone what Vader had been doing for as long as anyone had known of him. He didn't hold back, and no matter Firmus’ own perspective on it, Ozzel’s execution was proof of that.

And Firmus’ predecessor was only the latest of Vader’s victims. He didn't like to think about it, but the man had killed every single person who had held Firmus’ current position, for mistakes far less than letting Vader’s most prized target escape.

 

Without meaning to, Firmus realised that perhaps it was because Vader didn't blame him .

It wasn't something he’d have considered previously, but he'd seen the Commander in tears, seen him desperately trying to come up with a cover story. If he could feel everything that came with those actions, Firmus thought he must feel some kind of guilt with it.

 

Half an hour later, he had no confirmation that the sighting of Skywalker had been false.

The description was from a scan of a lone X wing headed towards a few barely inhabited systems that were yet to be identified. The base had someone attempting to follow the ship. Firmus sent them orders to track discreetly: the X Wing could be headed towards a rebel base.

 

Another ten minutes, and scans confirmed the ship to be Skywalker’s. A new one he’d only been spotted in once before.

 

When he heard this, Firmus cursed and exited the bridge, heading for a nearby meeting room he knew would be empty. When he arrived he moved to comm his superior immediately, praying Vader would recognise his urgency.

There were a few beeps, then some static.

 

“Admiral. You know I am occupied.” Firmus didn't know why, but he felt an odd thrill hearing Vader’s unfiltered voice through the comm. His intonation was familiar, but there was a new texture to the way he spoke that some childish part of Firmus enjoyed. Perhaps it made him feel important, knowing that he was the only person who was allowed to hear this.

 

“My apologies, milord.” He continued, ever professional. “I wanted to inform you that there has been a confirmed sighting of Skywalker in the outer rim. Details of his exact location are currently being transmitted.” He hoped his suspicions were correct, and that the status of this rebel was somehow personal enough to Vader that he wouldn't mind being disturbed.

 

There was a pregnant pause before Vader replied.

 

“Tell them to track him, if they are able. Assuming the sighting was Imperial?” Firmus tried hard not to think about how threatened he would've felt by the statement, had he not heard the Commander’s faintly curious tone.

 

“It was, Milord.” He confirmed.

 

“Good. Tell them to track him with as much detail as possible, but under no circumstances are they to engage. They are to let him go no matter their position: I will not tolerate his capture.” He paused to take a breath, possibly just out of habit, “Do you understand, Admiral?”

 

“Yes Milord.” Firmus confirmed.

The Commander hung up without another word.

 

Firmus returned to the bridge to pass on Vader’s instructions. He refused to linger on quite how strange they were.

 

Why in the stars would Vader want to avoid Skywalker’s capture, after hunting for him for so long? He’d seemed more concerned about that than actually discovering his location.

Firmus transmitted the co-ordinates anyway, lost in thought.

Maybe Vader simply didn't want something else to deal with while he was working on the suit.

 

The rest of the day, the whole bridge staff worked in a confused silence. When Firmus had to report to Vader that they had lost Skywalker far from any system, the man had hardly seemed to care.

 

-

 

Firmus returned to his quarters that evening feeling even more exhausted than usual.

Vader hadn't shown for dinner, to his relief, but Max had, and he was pleased to see his friend looking a lot better for his days of rest. Thankfully, he hadn't brought up ‘Ani’ again. Hopefully he’d be able to return to the bridge soon, and Firmus’ days wouldn't feel quite as bland. As Max had said, it would be nice to work together without a certain commander looming over their shoulders at any given moment.

 

With that in mind, he settled into his bed- not really expecting to sleep but nonetheless grateful for the peace and quiet.

It was around ten minutes before he heard the buzz alerting him to someone approaching his quarters. And, because nobody came into his quarters at this time of night, especially uninvited, it meant something was going on.

 

He didn't even have the energy to sigh, but he did give himself about half a minute before he forced himself to roll out of bed and put his feet under him, suddenly wishing that he had his old, standard sized rooms that came without (what felt like) a ten mile trek to the front door.

 

To Vader’s credit, he had the decency to look, if not apologetic, then like he at least knew he was disturbing the Admiral. And he seemed to be as tired as Firmus felt.

 

“Yes, Milord?” He asked, with all the irritated exhaustion of the blunt ‘What’ he had been planning to snap at whichever messenger had been sent to him.

 

“I apologise for disturbing you, Piett.” Vader said, not sounding particularly apologetic. “Do you have a razor? Or an actual shower?” He spoke flatly, like it was a normal demand to make.

 

“What.” Firmus said.

 

“I seem.. I may have.” Vader paused, then sighed in defeat. “The room I had snuck into only has a sonic. I had meant to look for better, but I didn't realise how late it was, so please, Admiral, let me use your bathroom. I know you actually have one, I checked.” He looked like he was irritated that he even had to explain himself.

 

“Do you not have one?” Firmus asked absentmindedly, only half aware that he really shouldn't be using this tone with his superior.

 

“No.” His tone suggested no room for elaboration. He still hovered by the door though, waiting for permission to enter, which was more than Firmus would've expected of him.

He stepped back and nodded towards the door to the bathroom, which was thankfully away from the room he slept in. Vader swept by, not bothering to berate him for his tone, and Firmus hobbled back to bed. He probably ought to have waited, but he couldn't find the energy to care. Maybe it would humble Vader a little bit, he thought with amusement.

 

-

 

Vader knew all too well that he had a reputation to uphold, but he didn't really feel like punishing Piett for his attitude when he’d barged into his quarters in the middle of the night. Besides, he couldn't help but feel a strange fondness for the man. His professionalism had finally cracked, and it had been oddly comforting. For a moment he had been reminded of the days before, when every other person he’d spoken to had been annoyed with him for some reason or another. Perhaps he should actually improve his behaviour, rather than striking the fear of the force into anyone who opposed him.

 

Despite the slight awkwardness, he was glad to have finally washed. He felt better, and thought he probably looked better too, though he didn't examine his face extensively. Now that he had a mirror, he was oddly hesitant. He only used it to shave, refusing to step back and take in his whole reflection. Perhaps he just wasn't ready for what he would see. Better to remember the glimpses he’d caught of his angry scars and tired eyes: that was still who he was , even if he looked different outwardly. It was dangerous to think otherwise.

He turned, wearing a long black robe he had acquired earlier that day, and moved to exit the room. He still felt bad for infiltrating Piett’s quarters, though he wouldn't admit it. As he walked back towards the door, he glanced behind him, curious: the Admiral’s rooms were fairly open, likely due to how private they were, and there was no real door to his bedroom.

Anakin wasn't entirely sure why he peered in, but he regretted as soon as he realised that the man was staring back at him. He almost flinched, and didn't move for a moment, feeling again like he was invading Piett’s privacy quite significantly. He should leave and not say anything. He knew he wasn't wanted here… and yet.

 

“I hadn't meant to keep you awake.” He found himself saying. He was relatively far away, and spoke softly, but the room was large, and silent. His voice sounded louder than he had intended.

 

“You didn't, Milord.” Came the reply. “I have trouble sleeping anyway, it's no problem.” Piett sat up. He didn't seem nearly as irritated as he had earlier, to Anakin’s relief. He did look tired though, and it aged him. He was likely under a lot of stress, and not sleeping couldn't help.

Some emotion he didn't recognise bubbled up in Anakin’s chest, and he found himself replying.

 

“I never slept well, either. When I… did sleep. The force liked to haunt me when I was resting.” He forced images of his loved ones from his mind. Of his mother, and his wife.

“I’m sorry to disturb you anyway,” he continued, “I still made you get up.”

 

“You are my superior, sir, I have an obligation.” Piett replied dutifully, ignoring his initial admission.

 

“As an Admiral, not a personal assistant.” Anakin said.

He felt a flicker of surprise from the other man in the force, though he couldn't imagine why.

 

“If that is your wish, Milord.” He said, hesitantly. “Besides, these are rather unique circumstances.” He was perched on the edge of his bed now, and Anakin realised he’d stepped closer himself, at some point.

 

“You have to stop that.” He snapped, without thinking. Piett stiffened.

 

“Stop… stop what, Milord?” He croaked out. Anakin sighed loudly.

 

“ That. It's the middle of the night and I’ve burst into your room and you're still grovelling to me like you're hoping I’ll give you a boon.” Rex never would've stood for this, and Anakin realised that he liked having someone to challenge, and push against. Usually he found that in the incompetent excuses for officers that the Empire dumped in his lap, but Piett was too good at his job. He wasn't entirely comfortable- his current state proved that- but he never let it show in his work.

“I very much respect you, Ad- Firmus.” He found himself saying. “And I respect your opinion. You are intelligent and informed, and I would appreciate you speaking openly with me. Especially if we are alone.” He spoke with his usual formality, but allowed all of his exhaustion and self consciousness to show in his voice. Piett cocked his head slowly, as though considering his response.

 

“If that is the case,” he said, “then I must admit you seem agitated, my Lord.”

Anakin started, but the force rang with Piett’s genuine concern. The other man didn't seem irritated, as far as he could tell, not anymore. Anakin would've thought his mood was obvious, but upon reflection… Piett had no idea just how extensive his injuries had been. He hadn't known that Anakin hadn't slept, or eaten, or used a fresher in twenty years, and his reluctance to share details hadn't helped the situation.

He decided, truly this time, that the Admiral deserved to know the extent of the situation. He knew he had no intention of using it against him, and though it scared him, he had to admit that he did trust the man to an extent.

 

“Twenty three years ago, I was betrayed by some people very close to me.” Anakin began. He had to admit to himself that he was beginning to question his perspective on the matter, but he had no wish to voice that right now. “I got into a bad… fight, with one of them, and I lost my left arm and both my legs.”

Piett didn't make a sound, but when Anakin glanced over at him, he was white as a sheet. Telling the story of his injuries didn't upset himself quite as much as he'd anticipated, especially with the context omitted, but Piett, who hadn't known what to expect, looked mortified.

“I was set on fire. Not deliberately, but with no limbs there was obviously not much I could do about it. He saw me burning and left me to die. ” He couldn't help the bitterness in his tone at that. His memories weren't perfect, blinded by rage and pain as he had been, but he would never forget how his heart had seemed to rip from his chest as Obi-Wan had turned away, to be replaced with something cold that hadn’t left him since.

“My skin was ruined. I had to have regular surgery to prevent any infection from killing me.” He left out quite how traumatic those surgeries had been. He didn't need pity, just for Piett to be on the same page. “I inhaled so much hot smoke that my lungs were destroyed, and I could not breathe outside of a pressurised chamber. Many of my other organs were damaged, but I do not know exactly why. Nonetheless, they would've failed had I not been in the suit or on life support.”

 

He didn't like to linger on quite how bad his injuries had been, having preferred to ignore them and simply embrace the pain, in the past. And truthfully, even he didn't know the extent or details of his condition. He was barely coming to terms with the fact that it was behind him now, as far as he knew, and he could begin to investigate without any immediate effect on his health.

Instead of upsetting himself further, he turned to his Admiral to see what he would do. As far as he could tell, Piett was still… processing. The man stared at him with wide eyes, as though he’d seen a ghost. Anakin would’ve found it amusing, without context.

 

“It's over now, at least.” He continued, mildly. He wasn't sure if that was true, if he were honest: the force could probably take away what it had given him. To preserve his last scraps of sanity, Anakin preferred not to contemplate that.

 

“That… explains a lot of your behaviour, Milord.” Piett choked out.

 

Anakin wasn't sure what he'd been expecting the Admiral to say, but it wasn't that. The man continued to surprise him.

To his great relief, there was no wave of pity in the force, like there had been on the very rare occasions in the past when others had learned of his condition, or the time Obi-Wan had seen his face again, so many years ago.

Piett looked like he wanted to say more, but Anakin spoke before he could.

 

“Do you understand why the Emperor cannot know of my improved health? It is… a major change, and I don't know how he would react.”

 

At that, Piett seemed to snap out of his trance, and he nodded.

“That is very useful to know, sir.” He said softly.

 

“I’m sorry to spring all of this on you in the middle of the night.” Anakin said again. “I will leave, if you’d prefer.”

Tired as he was, he found that he didn't want to, but he was also very aware that he might just be throwing himself at the first person he’d had any remotely normal interaction with for half his life.

Throwing myself at him, is that what I’m doing? He thought, slightly disturbed… and perhaps intrigued (which disturbed him further)… by the notion.

 

“You can stay if you’d like, sir.” Piett said. “I wasn't planning to get much sleep, if I’m honest.”

Anakin wondered what would happen if he did stay. What they would do, and what it might lead to. As much as he found comfort in talking to the Admiral, he felt that he had probably dumped a lot on the man already. And he wasn't sure how much deeper he wanted to go, given what he had said.

 

“You should, though.” He murmured. “Get some sleep.” To his surprise, he actually cared that he did.

 

“It's not a problem, Milord, I was going to stay up and work anyway, if I’m honest.” As he spoke, Piett’s force signature radiated a dangerous curiosity.

Vader paused for just a moment, giving him a once over. He wondered just how often the man ‘stayed up to work’, noting the deep bags under his eyes, and the excess grey in his hair. He was only in his early forties.

 

“I really think you should get some rest.” He said again, firmly. Then he let himself smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I’m too hungry to miss breakfast as well as dinner.”

 

As he turned and left the room, he found Piett’s force signature and, gently as he could, pushed him into a deep, peaceful sleep.

 

-

 

“Distracted, I sense you are.”

 

“Hmm?” Luke asked, distractedly. He’d been trying to convince Master Yoda to teach him some lightsaber forms over the last week, with little success. As much as Yoda liked to tell him that size mattered not, it did create a slight problem when Luke tried to translate certain stances and moves. He’d managed some approximation of Shii-Cho, but Yoda seemed unsatisfied with all of his attempts, and the master had eventually just given up trying to teach him. He kept giving vague advice like ‘The force will guide you’, but the calculated strikes he’d seen from Ben and his father seemed to say otherwise.

His father.

Luke had spent the first week after Bespin curled up in his bunk on the falcon, refusing to speak. The others had put it down to the loss of his arm, and Han’s capture, and left it at that, but he knew Leia suspected something else was going on.

He hadn't spoken to her about it.

 

Now, on Dagobah, he was once again reeling from his most recent conversation with his father. The few times Luke had encountered him in the force, he had seemed impossibly cold, the kind where you couldn't actually tell which extreme of temperature it was. He’d been like a dark, terrible glacier, hiding all kinds of terrifying things beneath the ice.

The cold was by no means gone, but it had become more like a storm- a swirling vortex kept up by immediate, tumultuous emotions.

Despite the temperature, Luke was reminded of the sandstorms of Tatooine.

Though, on the very edges of that storm, it felt more like a cool, refreshing breeze.

 

The change had sent him to seek answers from Yoda. Despite Luke’s feelings of betrayal from him and Obi-Wan, he thought that they were his best chance at discovering what he was to do with his father. As he’d realised that he actually wanted to help him. Despite everything, he still cared, and he would not kill his own father.

That didn't mean he could tell his mentors any of this, despite their probing questions.

 

“There is something on your mind, I sense, young Luke.” Yoda continued, snapping him back to the present.

“Clear, your mind must be, if you are to use the force as a Jedi.”

Luke opened his eyes and turned to him. They were both sat cross legged on the floor, and Yoda was right that Luke was failing to meditate. He’d been told it was an issue he'd inherited from his father, and he didn't know how to feel about that.

 

“You're right, master Yoda, I’m sorry. I’ll try harder to concentrate.”

He realised his mistake too late, and he could've sworn he saw a deeply mischievous expression on Yoda’s face.

 

-

 

Vader had never found the sound of his own breathing to be so obnoxiously loud before.

It had been nearly a week, and the suit was pretty much finished, altered to be accustomed to his needs. Much of what had been life support was now only cosmetic, giving the appearance that it was still fully functional. Much of the excess weight of the machinery had been removed, and he’d actually taken the time to try and make it more comfortable to wear, as far as he could. Though a part of him was worried that so much of his connection to the dark side had come from his pain and helplessness, he had found that said worry was easier to control and channel.

Hopefully it would be enough to fool the Emperor, when the time came.

 

He had put his helmet on for the first time since he’d been healed, just as a test. He didn't particularly enjoy wearing it, as it felt like he was returning to the nightmare his life had been before, but at least it was more comfortable now.

He’d reduced the red haze over his vision by adding extra coloured filters underneath, maintaining the appearance of the slightly tinted lenses, and it was definitely an improvement, despite his lack of peripheral vision. Before, he’d had sensors that helped with this, but they'd been too unwieldy to wire in a way that made the transmissions less… invasive. Parts of the helmet had connected directly to his brain, though he wasn't sure why it was needed. His head, as far as he knew from the brief glimpses he had caught over the years, hadn't been as severely damaged as other parts of his body, and though his vision had been weakened, it wasn't to the point where he couldn't see well enough on his own.

He truthfully preferred not to speculate on Sidious’ reasoning. He feared what he would discover.

Anyway, the biggest relief was that he could breathe on his own. He’d left in parts of the air filters, which would be advantageous in some situations, but aside from that had only left in the infamous hiss of his breathing. He worried slightly that the different patterns would be noticeable- he would have to be careful not to exert himself too much where people would notice- but he supposed he could alter it if it became a problem.

The rest of the suit barely functioned as it had at all, but he’d left in the temperature regulating system (he didn't want to know what would happen if he was stuck in the thick black suit all day without it), and the lights on the chest panel, though the rest of it was emptied of any machinery and practically obsolete.

He hadn't been able to change the fabric, as he didn't have the material, but it irritated his healed skin less than it had anyway, and he was able to wear clothes underneath now. The only real change he'd made was the size, as his prosthetic legs had been significantly longer than his natural ones. He’d managed to make the soles of his boots thicker to compensate for some of the lost height, but he couldn't fully recover it without it looking strange. He was tall anyway, and supposed that he would still loom over most people. It was a sacrifice he would have to make.

 

He took the helmet off, satisfied that it was as good as he could get it, and stowed it away in the glorified closet he’d been hiding it in. Nobody really went into his quarters, as far as he knew, and he’d long since shut down the droids Sidious planted to spy on him; still, it was better to be safe.

 

He left his quarters in the early evening, intending to make his way to the officer’s lounge where he knew Piett would be. He would have to give the man an update on his situation, and it was likely that he could ‘return’ to the ship tomorrow. It wouldn't be abnormal, his staff knew to expect the unexpected with him.

There was a group of stormtroopers standing guard at the entrance to his private quarters, and he cursed his timing. Their shift wouldn't be over for another hour, when he usually snuck out to the Mess (privately, he knew he should probably have better guards, but he was loath to waste his elite, and it wasn't like he couldn't defend himself). He hoped, for now, that these men were as weak minded as most of their kind.

 

Vader opened the door, and the troopers startled to see someone coming out from behind them, when their superior was supposed to be planetside. They took an embarrassingly long time to react, turning to level their blasters at him. Vader was vaguely amused knowing that he could kill them all with a flick of his wrist, even without drawing the lightsaber at his hip.

 

“Freeze.” One of them said, sounding mildly confused.

Vader glared icily at him.

 

“You will forget I was here and return to your duties.” He snarled, punctuating his words with a wave of compulsion in the force.

 

“I will forget you were here and return to my duties.” The trooper replied, returning to stand stiffly by the door. Vader smiled in grim satisfaction. Mind tricks had never been his strong suit, and he was out of practice, but there was something to be said for toying with fools.

 

“He’s a jedi, blast him!” Shouted one of the others. Vader flinched, confused, then realised that the other four had all been unaffected by his trick.

Great, he’d made an error most padawans would snicker at.

Nonetheless, he easily dodged the first bolt and slammed all four troopers into the walls, blasters pinned to their sides. He raised both hands and curled his fingers into claws, the metal of his right creaking as he did so.

He let the men choke for a moment, even releasing their hands. Every single one of them dropped their blaster and began to claw at their throats. He couldn't help the harsh smile on his lips, and revelled in his power over them before letting them drop to the floor, gasping.

He moved a bit of the way down the corridor before turning back to see the troopers groaning on the floor, some looking up at him but none reaching for their blasters.

 

“You will forget I was here and return to your duties.” He practically growled. He didn't bother to use a trick of the force this time.

 

“Yes… Lord Vader…” one of them croaked, slowly rising to his hands and knees.

Vader scoffed and carried on down the corridor, adjusting his collar.

 

He had commed Piett, so when he arrived at the lounge the man was waiting outside for him. Technically someone of the station he was pretending to be shouldn't be allowed inside, but everyone just assumed he was because he was with the Admiral, no choking required. Piett actually seemed happy to see him, which was saying a lot because the short morning shift was the closest thing the man ever got to a day off.

The man had seemed to warm to Vader over the last few days. They hadn't spoken directly of what Vader had told him about his injuries, for which he was glad, but he suspected it was the cause for their shift in dynamic; they hadn't spoken quite so extensively again, with Vader actually finding himself an appropriate place to sleep, and a razor.

 

The two of them settled into a corner, resting on couches in the dim lighting. There were other groups in there, but they were far enough away that they were unlikely to be disturbed.

“I’ve finished the suit.” Vader began. “It likely isn't my finest work, but it will suit our purposes well enough. If you have the time tonight, you can inform the bridge of my return tomorrow. That isn't an order, though.”

Piett nodded.

“I will try. To clarify, you’ve been down on Imperial Center to see the Emperor? I’m not sure it’s necessary to go into much more detail than that.” He didn’t use a title or honourific, but it greatly amused Vader to see the effort that took him. It was best not to, where others could overhear.

“That will suffice. It will discourage further questioning, though I doubt that is likely.” He wrung his fingers and leaned back into his chair, enjoying the sensation he hadn’t felt in quite some time.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a minute or two, before Piett asked,

 

“What about the Emperor?” He spoke softly, but there was a seriousness to his voice that had Vader turning to regard him.

“If he finds out? I will have to deal with him.” He said bitterly. “I’m not sure how he will react at the moment, I’ll have to think on it.” He didn’t want to do that at the moment: his master was something he would have to deal with when he’d settled into his position on the Executor again. In truth, Vader hadn’t had immediate plans to turn against Sidious, but his condition had changed that: it gave him an opportunity he couldn’t pass up on. As was the way of the sith, he had always had to take over eventually, as he’d promised Padmé they could all those years ago. Now, once again, he was more powerful than the Emperor, and he could destroy him.

Piett nodded, satisfied, and sat back again. The Admiral seemed to be watching him curiously. A thought occurred to Vader. He let his eyes drift to the bar, where a few others were gathered, then back to Piett.

“Can I get you a drink, Admiral?” He asked, letting a smile ghost his features. It would give him an excuse to stay here, and maybe they would skip going to the mess tonight. It wasn’t that early, anyway.

 

-

 

And so Darth Vader had gone off to get him a drink. Firmus had requested whiskey, which the other man had laughed about, for some reason. Maybe he had just looked like he needed it.

He certainly felt like he needed it.

 

Vader returned with his whiskey, and what looked to be a cocktail Firmus didn’t recognise for himself. He was eyeing it with something like suspicion, and before he could stop himself, Firmus had to blurt,

“When.. was the last time you drank alcohol?”

Vader’s admission from a few nights ago had certainly stuck with him. Firmus wasn’t so much concerned about the injuries themselves, more that the condition he had been living in sounded a lot like medical malpractice to him. Firmus wasn’t an idiot- he knew what went on in the Empire he served- but the fact that Vader himself was treated like that…

Firmus had never really considered why the man had worn the suit. He’d known it was for life support, but he’d always thought it was primarily to aid some breathing condition, or perhaps that Vader wasn’t human and had different needs. But it sounded more like a cage, from how Vader had described it. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

 

“I don’t actually remember.” The Supreme Commander replied to him. He seemed to have relaxed now, his voice carrying less of the stiff, formal tone Firmus had always associated with him, and more of what he swore was an outer rim accent. Not Axxilian, like Firmus’ own was sometimes, but softer, as though he hadn’t used it in a long time. Firmus liked it, maybe just because it humanised him more. It suited him.

“I feel like I need it, though.” He continued, stirring his drink idly before taking a cautious sip.

 

“Be careful.” Firmus told him, because it made sense. Vader regarded the drink again, holding it carefully in his right hand, which he always wore a leather glove over, even when his left was bare. Firmus sipped his own whiskey, pausing to appreciate the earthy flavour- which was better than what he normally had on board- before asking, “Is it alright?”

Vader pursed his lips, as though deciding.

“Yes.” He eventually said, “I don’t think it’s very strong, but that’s probably a good thing.” He looked up, the soft, warm lighting catching his eyes. It gave them a purple tint. “How’s yours?” Firmus barely realised he was staring. The skin of Vader’s cheek looked golden, like he truly wasn’t human. It cast deep shadows that made his features look quite striking, more so than they were already.

 

“Very nice, thank you. The flavour is incredible.” He absently picked up his glass to take another sip, but realised he’d finished it. Oops.

Vader chuckled.

“Honestly I didn’t realise whiskey had much of a flavour. Do I need to get you another one?”

 

Twenty three years… Vader can’t have been much older than twenty when he’d been injured, Firmus thought with horror. He couldn’t quite tell how old he was now, but there was no way he was older than forty five or six (it was strange, Firmus had always assumed he was far older than that). Given the situation, Firmus couldn’t judge him for his lack of whiskey knowledge.

“You don’t have to-” He started to reply, but Vader was already getting up. He glided back across the room like a wraith.

 

Now, Firmus had never felt much attraction towards anyone. Not really women, not really men, and he’d never had any lasting relationships before. But something about the elegant, yet dangerous way Vader walked back to the bar, in the clothes Firmus had picked for him…

Oh stars. He hadn't even had enough alcohol to blame that. Which meant he probably did need more.

Ok, it wouldn’t be a problem, couldn’t be a problem. Tomorrow, Vader would be wearing his suit again, be back on the bridge, and it would be like nothing had ever happened. Would he still visit Firmus? Surely he’d still eat in the mess, but without having to report on his suit, perhaps he would sit elsewhere. It shouldn’t have mattered to Firmus: he was a Fleet Admiral, and Vader was the Supreme Commander of the Empire’s entire military. Then again, every other imperial had friends, and a family, and a life inside and outside of the Empire, including Firmus. Vader was something of a special case in that regard. The way his injuries had been handled… and the resulting impact on his mental state, Firmus guessed, had isolated him. Maybe that didn’t have to be the case anymore. Despite everything, he liked Vader, on a personal level. Beneath his brutal exterior was a man just like any other, and though Firmus doubted anyone would believe him, he thought it was a good one.*

 

-

 

Firmus looked awfully refined drinking whiskey. It felt like the kind of thing Obi-Wan would’ve done, and Anakin would’ve teased him about. He didn’t think he’d actually seen Obi-Wan drink whiskey, but it still seemed like something he would do. Unlike his old master, Firmus didn’t patronise him for not sharing his tastes. He seemed quietly respectful of Anakin, though he no longer addressed him only with honourifics. He didn’t address him at all, now that he thought of it. Perhaps he should tell the man his name- though there was a high chance he would regret it later.

As he sipped, Anakin wasn’t sure how he’d gone so long without sugar, though it reminded him uncomfortably of Padmé. The two of them had, during the few moments they’d managed to steal together, shared drinks like these- hers just as sugary as his. He wasn’t even sure what was in it, but he liked the sweetness. The familiarity for once didn’t make him angry. Just sad.

 

It was odd to compare Firmus to Padmé, but Anakin couldn’t help himself. There wasn’t even anything to compare: one had been a beautiful young senator, a former queen, and… had never really stopped treating Anakin like a little boy. The other was an elite in a system Padmé would’ve (no, had) hated. They were both highly intelligent, probably more so than Anakin himself, he supposed. But what Anakin found he felt (to his mild surprise) for Firmus was more of a kinship, or respect and fondness, than the breathless admiration of his youth. He knew the man was often exasperated with him, though he hid it well, but he found something here that he had missed in his past relationships of all kinds.

Notes:

*It should be noted that Firmus Piett is, also, a high ranking imperial officer. He isn’t the worst of them, by any means, but he has his own fair share of blood on his hands. I point this out because his, and (though it goes without saying) Vader’s perceptions of morality might be ever so slightly skewed. What Piett is doing here is looking lovingly past all of the genocides and seeing a pretty man buying him nice drinks. Not to say Anakin isn’t that too. Why do you think I’m writing this, have you seen him?

It should be known that I had great fun writing the stormtrooper scene.

Chapter 3: The drowning man | I can fix him

Summary:

Piett finds out some things about Vader, who struggles with his temper. Their situation is compromised.
Meanwhile, Luke receives some bad news.

Notes:

CONTENT WARNING:
This chapter is a little angstier than the previous two, and contains:
- Mentions of physical torture
- Mentions of (non sexual) grooming, and attempted grooming
- Physical assault
This is mainly a crack/ fluffy fic, and there is little to no unresolved angst at the end of this, and I tried not to go into too much graphic detail about the aforementioned events.

IF YOU WANT TO AVOID THESE THEMES, SKIP THE FOLLOWING SCENES (contains spoilers for the chapter)
Vader's conversation with Sidious- "what is thy bidding.." to "under no circumstances was Lord Vader to be disturbed"
Piett and Vader's confrontation- "Vader stopped his pacing" to "When he came to..."
BOTH WILL BE SUMMARISED IN THE END NOTES

Thanks so much for the support on the last two chapters! I especially love receiving comments of all sizes. I don't know if I've said this before but my knowledge of Star Wars is not infinite and if I've gotten anything wrong I would rather it was overlooked than pointed out! This hasn't happened to me but just in case- I'm here to have fun rather than create a wiki page <3

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.”

Notes:

*He was running out of pickle jars to keep Qui-Gon occupied with
If you skipped the scenes with CWs:
- Palpatine revealed that he knew about Anakin's condition, likely from a spy. He forces Vader to remove his helmet and destroys it, leaving him to leave in a panic, kill the guards and destroy parts of the ship.
- Vader choked Firmus with his metal hand, and revealed that he hurt Padme similarly. Firmus tells him he can choose not to kill him, and he drops him before putting to sleep for about a minute.