A/N : Here's a sequel to my previous fic ('Polar Opposites'). The characters might get OOC and the plot might not be overly consistent, but here you go. (Edit: I re-read it. It's crap. REALLY.)

Vader's POV

Vader sat in the yacht's cockpit, contemplating the complete and utter mess he was in and giving himself over to profuse mental cursing as he strove to pick the sand out of his finger gears. It appeared the blasted thing had found its way inside the hinges, rubbing unpleasantly against the components and producing a shrill, grinding sound at every. Single. Movement. Had he not known better, he would be wondering how the kriffing darn thing had gotten inside his kriffing darn gloves. But he damn well knew: it was coarse and rough and irritating and it got everywhere. Especially when you had the brilliant idea to stay outside repairing the ship in the middle of a sandstorm because you thought the suit would at least keep it out. But no. It didn't. Sand was vicious. And to think that Aphra found it 'fun' to collect it, put it in test tubes and bring it inside the ship for analysis… What a gross thing to do. At first he failed to see the point of such a ridiculous pastime, but now he just told himself that it was always wise to know your 'ennemy'. Be it sand or that sleazy scumbag of a scientist who had driven them into hiding and was now this close to plunging the Empire back into chaos. But then what was new?

Vader sighed, producing a low, raucous sound. He was tired. Tired of Cylo, tired of the Rebels, and tired of that bloody karking sand. He dwelled on memories of the night before. Oh yes, he was the 'Chosen One'. The Force's favorite plaything. And well, the Force had a tendency to throw its toys around.

It had been but a month since the ceasefire was agreed upon and more thorough negotiations were, slowly but surely, coming to a term. Not that it had been easy. Vader had been 'forced' to yield some ground on the subject of the Imperial Senate, and had enacted its restoration. Its authority would be limited and Vader would have the last word in most matters, so it wouldn't be too much of a hindrance. Still, that didn't stop him from loathing his own weakness and acceptance of compromise. But such was the result of his alliance with the Rebels – no matter how much he wanted to alter the deal – and, therefore, the price to pay for the survival of his loved ones. So he had held countless meetings, listened to pointless complaints and almost fallen asleep in sheer boredom as Rebel dignitaries kept bickering in front of him. And to top it all, Luke being the stubborn child that he was, Vader still had no apprentice. And there he thought war was exhausting.

Vader turned to his side as he pondered these thoughts, causing Aphra to stir and sigh in her sleep, yet somehow managing not to wake her up. He wasn't exactly a comfortable makeshift pillow, and that she could sleep so soundly despite the wheezing sound of his respirator truly was a wonder. The same could not be said of him. The simple fact that he was lying in – or rather, on – an actual bed, in an actual room and with Aphra cozily snuggled against him, was both strange and overwhelming. He brushed a lock out of her face and wordlessly gazed upon her. She was beautiful. Even in sleep she carried this keen, playful spark that his dark red lenses could not filter away. It had been a long time since he had felt so contented. And yet… it brought back… well, memories. Memories he treasured and would not, could not let go, but memories tainted by guilt and the oppressive, suffocating fear that it might all happen again. Which was irrational. It wouldn't. He knew that. And yet the thought kept plaguing him, lingering in his mind, droning in his ears like a funeral march. He didn't deserve another chance, and yet he had been given one. Why? Why was the Force being kind to him, when all it had ever done was take? The Force was never, ever kind. And he should be worried that it was pretending to be.

Suddenly, an unusual Force-wave surged through the air, warning him of an upcoming danger, and he heard some hushed voices whispering behind the door.

"Shhhhh… Prep your blasters and be quiet. Cylo said Vader would kill us given the chance."

And Cylo was right. He nudged Aphra awake and gestured to the blaster she kept next to her, then walked straight to the door and unhooked his lightsaber.

"He was correct," Vader stated as the door slowly came open to reveal a short, stocky man in mandalorian armor, followed by a shabby, motley group of pirates and mercenaries. Before any more words could be exchanged, blaster shots were fired and Vader slashed through the squad while Aphra opened fire and swore at the intruders. "It's four in the kriffin' morning! Four. You know that you slimeballs?" Vader heard a wookie roar furiously behind him and turned to see him collapse on the floor. "You're welcome, boss."

He sliced through the last of his assailants and lowered his lightsaber, when a shadowy figure came striding his way from the other end of the dimly lit corridor. Cylo.

'Oh well," the figure sighed. "If you want something done you've got to do it yourself." Did Cylo truly think he could threaten him? And what did he want with him? Revenge? As if sensing his thoughts, the scientist spoke again. "It's not personal. As I told you before, I'm not programmed to hold petty grudges. But what do you think will happen when the galaxy finds out the Rebels murdered you in your sleep? You see, here's the thing: peace is bad for progress. Science needs test subjects, and war provides lab rats. Not that you're ignorant of this… "

"Enough!" Vader roared, shooting his hand out to choke the man. But Cylo only laughed at him.

"Oh, your tricks won't work on me, Vader. Besides, why bother? You can kill my body, but I cannot be destroyed. You, on the other hand…" with that, Cylo pressed a button on his forearm and tens of spherical drones came flying their way. Vader fended off the shots and Aphra opened fire, but there were too many for them both. Vader ignited his comlink to call for reinforcements.

"Call your troops all you want, Vader. They won't help you. Especially with this new toxin I'm testing in the barracks. Quite effective, I must say."

After a minute or so they were both cornered on the balcony. Aphra suddenly grabbed his comlink and pressed the call button while he kept deviating the lasers that seemed to be raining on them.

"Triple-Zero! Start the engines and pick us up! "

"Mistress Aphra, are you certain that…"

"Just do it! Now!"

The spherical droids kept coming their way, forcing them to step back until they hit the railing. They couldn't hold much longer. They had only one option…

He abruptly pulled Aphra to him and jumped over the balustrade, plummeting into the streets of Coruscant.

"Are you out of your kriffing mind?!" she yelled.

He used the Force to slow them down as they came near a sleek chrome surface.

"No, I'm not," he said with assurance as the ship scooped them up. They carefully crept towards the side of the yacht and plopped onto the access ramp.

"Phew…" Aphra sighed as she reached the cockpit and sat in the pilot's chair. "What do we do now?"

"Cylo said he couldn't be destroyed. That was inaccurate."

Aphra raised an eyebrow and waited for the rest of the answer as she guided the ship out of the atmosphere.

"Cylo can be killed, but he has memory banks and a personality map that can load into a new body after his death. If we are to defeat Cylo, we must find this system and destroy it."

"Well," Aphra said, " I've never heard of such a thing being tested on humans before, but I sure as hell know a guy who does that for droids."

"Where is he?"

"Last time I checked he was leaving Coruscant to settle on some dead outpost on Jakku…"

"Then that is our next stop."

Aphra simply nodded and started entering the coordinates.

Before the computer was done charting the course, a green laser beam hit the front of the ship. In the bat of an eye, Cylo's drones were flocking their way and giving the chase.

"Oh, I have a bad feeling about this…" Aphra said as she dodged another shot. She sent the ship spinning forward and avoided most of the gunfire, then activated the deflector shields and looped the loop backwards to get behind their attackers, firing all she could and inflicting heavy damage on the droid swarm.

"Impressive," Vader commented as she took two more drones down with one single shot.

"It's called talent, sweetheart."

Really? Although this kind of cocky answer was undoubtedly part of Aphra's roguish charm, he couldn't help but roll his eyes at her choice of words. 'Sweetheart' was not exactly what you'd call a two-meter armored Sith Lord, be it ironically or not. But well, Aphra being Aphra, he guessed he shouldn't be surprised…

The yacht was now ready for the hyperspace jump and Aphra pulled the lever, brushing against a small asteroid in the process.

"Talent indeed," Vader replied wryly.

"Ah, don't worry… it's just the hyperdrive."

"JUST the hyperdrive?" Vader barked.

"Relax. We still have enough power to reach Jakku and then we can make the repairs, alright?"

Keep calm, he told himself. Keep calm. Just keep calm. This ship was all he had kept from Padme, and anyone who so much as scratched the paint would become acquainted with his lightsaber. But Aphra wasn't just 'anyone', and, odd as it may sound, he wouldn't touch a single hair of her head. Thus, he forced himself to calm down and slowly unclenched his fists.

"So…" she continued with a disarmingly sheepish half-smile, "if you're okay with that I'm just gonna… go back to sleep, hm?"

She left the cockpit and Vader sat huffily in the pilot's seat, and stayed there until they had landed.

And that was how they ended up on that sand-beaten dustball.