After his miserable defeat at the battle of Yavin, Vader senses that he has reached a crossroads. A crashed TIE and a damaged suit put him in a peculiar situation.

A/N: AU directly after ANH. Mild Vader/Ahsoka, if you choose to see it that way. I really wanted to try my hand at a story where Vader is forced to go suitless.

.o.o.o.o.o.

Chapter 1

It seemed that the whole planet of Arda was flat, wet marshes.

It was difficult to tell from the atmosphere, and from the cockpit of a burning TIE fighter, but once submerged, it became clear. Or not. It became a tomb of mud. It wasn't enough to to put out the fire, however. The flames still raged, fed by copious amounts of fuel that leaked from perforated tanks.

The force of the impact had left him unconscious for several minutes and in that time, the fire had consumed everything. He was dazed as he came to, staring at a wall of orange flames and a dashboard of melting flight instruments. His mind was blank as he heaved his bulky frame from the twisted metal and the enveloping inferno.

The suit was damaged. Irreparably so. It was built to withstand heat, to a certain degree. It could endure small spurts of flame resulting from explosions in the vacuum of space, but this heat was far too much. The sensors and the controls were fried and the mechanical respirations had ceased, leaving him trapped and unable to draw in air.

After he'd crawled clear of the wreckage, he forced the helmet from his head and drew in his first real breath of atmospheric air in nearly two decades. Making the change from automated breathing to self-breathing was always an awkward transition, even in the hyperbaric chamber. For him, the effort of taking a single breath was a voluntary action that required thought, much like trying to move an arm or a leg. The Force could aid him, but even that would eventually become taxing.

Arda's atmosphere was heavy with moisture. Vader was relieved to see that his modified TIE still came equipped with a standard emergency supply pack, which contained oxygen. He fitted the mask over his face and immediately reclined back into the mud to await the return his strength. He could feel the near freezing wetness of the ground below seeping into the patchy hair on the back of his head. Indeed hair. He could still grow it in some places, and there hadn't been much time in the weeks before the battle of Yavin to sit down and shave it all off. His face as well was covered in a mess of stubble that was thick on one side and thin on the other, where the scarring was heavier.

He raised his arms up towards the misty sky so that he could view them with his less than perfect vision. The prosthetics were undamaged, but the leather of his suit had burned away, leaving most of the metal exposed. Fortunately, the synthetic under-pieces of the suit remained to preserve his modesty and cover what flesh he had left. His hands inspected his torso, and while he was certain that nothing was broken or bleeding, he would certainly be bruised and aching once the adrenaline left his system. He yanked the remaining wires from his body, seeing as they were now useless. He gagged mightily as he pulled up the feeding tube and winced as the metal of his fingertips gripped sensitive skin while removing the catheter.

It seemed that, for as long as it would take him to find his way back to Coruscant, he would be forced to exist in his natural state, pathetic and sub-human as it was. The unlucky men eventually sent to retrieve him would be in for the shock of their lives, just before they came to an untimely end.

The flames burned down to nothing and night settled over the crash site, casting all into darkness. The numbness of recent events was finally dissipating and Vader was able to think clearly.

The Death Star was no more.

His master's pride and joy, the project that had been decades in the making had been destroyed on its first real mission. What had gone so horribly wrong to cause this? It was true that Vader had foreseen something of this nature, and had cautioned Tarkin against believing the structure was invincible, but even he wouldn't have guessed that it could be taken down with a single shot. A single shot, by a single fighter.

The rebellion had grown strong, Vader realized. They had elevated themselves from terrorists to a force to be reckoned with. It had been folly to ignore their growing numbers for so long, to turn a blind eye to their festering ideology. Perhaps there was his only true error. General Tagge had warned them all, warned them of a possibility of a weakness to be exploited and spoken aloud Vader's true fears in that conference room on the Death Star. They had all simply written off his remarks as paranoia and a lack of understanding of naval warfare.

His master would be livid. Vader would take the fall for all of it as soon as he dragged his broken body all the way back to Imperial Center. Tarkin... Motti... Tagge... Yularen... they were all dead. Vader alone had survived and Vader alone would have to shoulder those deaths, and more importantly the destruction of the superweapon.

"Your sad devotion to that ancient religion has not helped you conjure up the stolen datatapes, or given you clairvoyance enough to find the rebel's hidden fortr-"

These had been Admiral Motti's snide remarks in the conference room, laying bare all of Vader's ongoing failures and fueling recent insecurities pertaining to the Force.

Vader had been in command of the operation to retrieve the stolen data. His bloodlust, his drive to locate the rebellion's main base had overshadowed the idea that the security of the Death Star could become compromised. He'd allowed the princess to escape in order to see where she would lead them. He'd made that choice. He'd located the seat of the rebellion's high command in the Yavin system, but it had cost the Empire its most precious weapon.

Palpatine would consider it a poor trade, certainly in light of the fact that the remaining Imperial presence in the Yavin system would be insufficient to stop the rebels from fleeing their base and going to ground once again. Vader had made more than a single strategic error, and he would pay the price.

In addition, if his master were to discover details of the pilot who fired that shot, Vader again would be held accountable. Vader had been outwitted by another pilot. A Force-sensitive pilot. He was certain that he'd felt it in the trench. The Force was like a pool of calm water and the disturbances were like ripples, felt more keenly the closer one was to the source. Whoever this pilot was, he'd only been given the most basic training. The presence had been rough and unrefined, but he was dangerous, and he was already working for the enemy. Vader's mission since the formation of the Empire had been to eradicate the Jedi, and by extension, all Force-users of the galaxy- an impossible mission- but one that he'd been tasked with regardless.

This had begun with Obi-Wan. Vader was certain. The Force was quiet and still, now, but it was the sort of quiet and stillness pervaded before a vicious sandstorm. It curled its tendrils around him, filled with portent and prophesy. He was... frightened. The actions that Obi-Wan had taken during their duel on board the Death Star had him reeling in confusion and terror. Perhaps Vader had been living in the past to think that Obi-Wan would respond to his taunts in kind. What he'd received instead were bizarre, cryptic statements that hinted at something bigger, something that went beyond their own history and personal squabbles.

"If you strike me down then I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine."

What had he meant with those words? And then to just surrender himself to Vader's blade...leaving no corpse whatsoever. It bothered Vader that there were things yet unexplained when it came to the Force. He had assumed, that under Palpatine's tutelage, that he would become knowledgeable in the more mystic aspects of the Force, and gain access to powers unimaginable.

None of that had come to pass. Palpatine hoarded his secrets, dispensing only enough to hold Vader's interest and keep him in thrall.

It had begun to rain. Droplets fell onto his bare face, cold and wet. He wondered if he should be angry at all that had transpired, but laying under the cover of the misty night in the wastes of Arda, he could summon precious little emotion. There was only resignation. He was tired and he wanted to shut his eyes for a while.

.o.o.o.o.

The next morning, Vader awoke to white mist, and stinging cold on the bare skin of his face. He did not feel rested in the slightest. He'd spent the night in a healing trance to ensure that he would remain breathing and remain warm. This day, he would have to make a bid for civilization. He had only solid rations that he was unsure if his stomach would accept, and his oxygen would soon be running low.

He destroyed what was left of his TIE, leaving it impossible to identify, and buried his helmet and suit controls somewhere deep under the muck a good distance away. Until he could tell the story himself, no one would find out just who had crashed a TIE fighter in the marshes of Arda. The effort of it had left him dizzy and light-headed. Exertion of any sort was dangerous with his lowered breathing capacity. He packed what little he could, and began to wade through the mud toward where he could see higher, and preferably dryer ground far in the distance.

TIE pilots were trained never to leave their crashed ships. Their best hope of survival was that a rescue team would pick them up. The average TIE did not have lightspeed capabilities, and any ship sent to recover one would know exactly where to look.

No one would be looking for Vader, though. He'd used the seconds before the explosion to program a jump in his TIE Advanced to the next star system in order to get clear in time. They'd search the wreckage of the Death Star for him and proclaim him MIA or KIA.

He was a walking dead man, for multiple reasons, and that should not have been so comforting or so freeing.

By the end of the day, he'd reached a dank, rotting city on the edge of a muddy lake that stretched to the horizon. He'd barely seen it through the thick mist, but fortunately the noise of aircraft overhead alerted him to its proximity, and the mist had parted in reluctance.

There was a cantina at the edge of town and Vader found that he was drawn in by the smell. It certainly must be pungent if even his nose could pick it up. It didn't exactly smell good, but it smelled edible, and he was finding that he was hungry, and the day's hike and the effort to breathe had taken his last reserves of strength.

"We don't serve droids," came the yell from the barkeep, who was wiping his glass in the back. Presumably, he had only taken a short glance at Vader, seen the gleaming prosthetics and made an assumption.

"Do I look like a droid to you?" This was what he would have responded with, were he in his suit with his functioning vocoder. Unfortunately, he was aware that his real voice was raspy and weak and couldn't possibly include the tone he'd intended for that statement. Instead he remained silent, shoulders drooping slightly as he was forced to come to terms with his own helplessness.

"Right then," the barkeep said after realizing that Vader was comprised of slightly more flesh than he'd first thought. Vader stalked to the bar and collapsed onto a stool, eyeing a pot of meaty stew bubbling on a burner within the open kitchen door. He'd lived a great deal of his life attending state functions with only the most luxurious of foods being served, yet the first solid meal he was contemplating was little more than hot grease.

The barman was in his face in a second, looking at him with unbridled disgust.

"My god, you've got to be the ugliest thing I've ever seen," he said, unashamed. Vader thought that was ironic, since the species native to the planet, of which the barman was a prime specimen, was among the more hideous of the humanoids, in his humble opinion. The man was covered in sagging, grey skin that surely camouflaged itself against the surrounding muddy plains.

He wondered if he should be offended. It had been so long since someone had commented on his appearance in a negative way that he was unsure how to react. Should he lash out and kill the man? It seemed a bit drastic and it would certainly cause a scene. His eyes made a quick tour of the cantina, taking notice of a group of spacers in the far corner arguing over their pints, as well as two, younger twilek women were giggling drunkenly to themselves at the other end of the bar. His hand, which had slid toward where his lightsaber hung fell limply back to his side. He would have to kill them all, he knew, though after that he would then have to contend with the local law enforcement once they were alerted. He did not have the energy.

He could hear the wheeze of his own breathing and was hit once again by a wave of exhaustion. There was a stack of loose credits in his emergency pack. He placed them on the bar, marveling how he hadn't had real money in his hands in two decades. He removed the oxygen mask to speak.

"Fortunately, my credits are still good," he bit out in a terribly hoarse whisper. The barman slid the credits over to himself but didn't take his small, shifty eyes off of Vader.

"Don't get Imperials out this way too often."

"Good," Vader wheezed. The man was fishing for information. He didn't know anything beyond the fact that Vader was paying him with Imperial credits, which wasn't all that strange, even as far out as they were.

"Where'd you come from?"

"Space."

"There's a big battle that took place in space not too far from here, over near Yavin. You know anything about that?"

"Good scavenging." He managed to cough out, more exhausted with each word. If he was to lie low and find a way to recover his strength, he might as well construct a character for himself. Such were the games of his Jedi days. As Vader, he'd had little need of them, but he certainly remembered how they were played.

"We don't want none of what you're selling in this town, stranger. Eat your meal and be on your way." A bowl of stew and a ball of hard bread were dropped down in front of him.

The first few mouthfuls of the questionable stew came right back up, and Vader wasn't sure if it was due to the taste or due to the fact that his esophagus hadn't had to do any real work in all the time of the Empire's existence. He was able to force it all down eventually though, and even enjoy the feelings associated with eating something real and hot on a cold, wet day. These were old sensations, but he found that they added a layer of... dimension to life, and he'd... well, he'd sort of missed it.

He was sure he'd be singing a different tune when he ran out of supplemental oxygen, however.

The temperature in the room dropped when the doors behind Vader burst open again. He didn't turn to look, but he could feel the person enter, stepping from the wet wind outside. The chill Vader experienced wasn't at all physical, however. His veins seemed to run with ice and he went rigid in his chair. Time slowed to an agonizing degree. Seconds passed with the infinite extending between them. Somewhere within the moment, Vader had finally called his lightsaber to him. He held it in an ironclad grip, hidden beneath the bar he was sat at.

"Ashla! It's good to see you're still around. What will you have today?" the barman inquired, oblivious to the silent stand-off.

"Oh, the usual," she answered, falsely cheery, though her body remained tense. There was a small pause, "Actually, why don't you make that two," she added. The man went to work filling up two glasses of a milky liquid and set them down on the bar. The woman approached to take the drinks, finally entering into Vader's line of sight, but her refused to turn to her. He felt her slide out the barstool near him, leaving an empty one in between them.

"There you go, Ashla. Anything else?"

"Just you, handsome," she purred, and the barman laughed.

"I think my wife would have something to say about that," he said, becoming jovial. Perhaps he would have had more to say, but Vader felt the push of a Force persuasion tingling in the ether. The barman realized he suddenly had something important to do in the kitchen and left them alone.

Several minutes of silence passed, heavy and oppressive. He waited for her to say something, because eventually the moment would have to be broken. The subject would have to be breached. Was he trapped in one of his nightmares? Meeting again like this seemed impossible otherwise.

There was a noise of a glass sliding over the wooden surface of the bar. An offering of peace, if only temporary. She pushed the glass until it clinked against the little finger of his prosthetic. He had a vision of himself snatching her arm in that moment, hauling her up to face him and watching the expression in her eyes as he drove his lightsaber into her flesh.

Wishful thinking. She wouldn't die so easily.

"I'd say you're looking well, but it would be a lie," she opened, "It's rice wine, by the way. Too sweet for you, probably. We never had the opportunity to have a drink together. I was too young, and you..." she let out a small laugh, "It was the one thing you weren't willing to bend the rules on... and it would make me so angry. I always wished that you would treat me like an adult."

"What are you doing here?" he rasped, cutting her off before she could relay more excruciating memories. Would she not speak of their last encounter? Would she simply pretend that it had never occurred?

"I belong in these cantinas," she explained, "You, on the other hand..." she let the sentence trail. "I actually never thought we'd meet again. Certainly never in a place like this, but.."

The Force is mysterious like that... was the unspoken part.

She lapsed into silence. He felt the Force coalesce around her and he inspected it for murderous intent, but it seemed to have drained away, leaving only despair.

"You declared me your enemy," he reminded her. Surely she could see the physical advantage she currently had over him. What cruel mistress the Force was to have led to him one of the only people who would recognize him like this... and who had the necessary skills to end him. Should he be worried? The Force spoke no warnings.

"That hasn't changed."

"Then why waste your breath? It is pointless to drag this out any further," he growled. He had yet to release his lightsaber, and his fingers gripped it tighter once again, under the bar and out of sight. At their last meeting, before their duel, he'd offered her the chance to stand at his side again and she had refused him. She'd fought him to protect those worthless rebel friends of hers, as if their bond had meant nothing. "I offer you mercy and cooperation and you deny me."

"Yet you send your Inquisitors after me."

"It is the new order of things. Join me or die."

"That's a lousy choice."

Vader's left fist clenched on the table. It made no sense to him. She'd left the Jedi long before the fall, had had even less patience than he with the pious and arrogant teachings. The Jedi had wronged her and he had killed them. Why was he not a hero in her eyes? Why could she not join him now? Couldn't she see that was the only way he could offer her any protection? Palpatine would not allow rogue Force users in his new galaxy.

"You'll always be my hero," she said quietly. Had he thought it so loudly? The remark distracted him for a moment before he was able to lock away the emotions it had conjured.

"But you'd rather keep company with rebels and separatists," he accused bitterly. Finally, he took his glass in hand, deciding that there was no reason he wouldn't be able to metabolize the contents. He knocked it back in a few gulps, grimacing with the burn in his throat. "Perhaps I should offer my congratulations for the rebellion's victory at Yavin."

"I... no longer count myself among them," she admitted eventually. The words hung between them for a while, a new development to take into consideration. Vader's silence urged her to explain "In the beginning I thought... I don't know what I thought. That I could make a difference, maybe. But then I realized that I didn't want to relive the Clone Wars. I think the Jedi had it right, you know? About staying out of conflict. The whole time I was there they were wanting me to lead... and to fight... and to make judgments, just because I could use the Force. There's something not right about that, wouldn't you agree?"

He agreed, in a way, insofar as gods were not meant to interfere in the realms of mortals, but he would never relinquish his own power no matter how wrong it could be considered. He'd earned it and it was his right. The Jedi had been weak, and their attitudes toward conflict would have served them better if they'd remained peaceful monks. They lacked to will to dominate and to take control, and it had been their downfall.

"Obi-Wan," she said in a tiny voice, "I felt... in the Force... Can you tell me what-"

"He is dead," Vader answered harshly, feeling no need to soften the blow, "I killed him."

She nodded, a stiff jerk of the head, and then swallowed thickly, as if he had just confirmed her worse fears. Suddenly her walls began to crumble. The mental shields that she had fortified so meticulously seemed to collapse under their own weight as she fought to rein in her devastation.

Surely she wouldn't...

Vader felt her resolve break even before she brought her hands up to her face to stem the flow of oncoming tears.

Disgusting. That she could still feel something for that callous, manipulative Jedi meant that she would not be pulled to his cause and was not worth his time. It was paranoia that kept him in his stool, however. Perhaps this was all an act and she was just waiting for the moment he turned his back on her. It would be a non-issue were he at full strength and safely encased in his protective suit, but at the moment he was acutely aware of how vulnerable he was. If he could barely catch his breath while walking then how would he manage a duel?

"How have things come to this?" she sobbed, breath hitching, "We were a family!"

No, Vader thought acerbically, I had a family, and Obi-Wan took them from me. May his mind rot in a Force purgatory for all eternity.

He glanced to her finally. She'd hardly changed at all since their duel on Malachor. She wore a roughspun white cloak with the hood pulled over her head. Vader had no concept of what passed for beauty within the Togruta race, but she was pleasing even to his damaged eyes. She was in her prime now, far from the gangly kid she'd been under his tutelage. It seemed almost wasteful that he would eventually have to kill her.

The barman chose that moment to emerge from the kitchen once again. He took one look at Ahsoka's reddened eyes and turned a glare on Vader. Ahsoka immediately reached up to grab a cold, metal arm. Vader was hit with a barrage of furious emotions. How dare she touch him? How dare she claim such familiarity? He stopped short of flinging her across the room and merely shrugged from her grip.

"Rigil, this is my old friend. We grew up together and haven't spoken in many years," Ahsoka explained in a weary voice.

"Ah, is that so? Well, good for you," the barman said with a tinge of awkwardness, probably remembering his rude comments to Vader earlier. "Why don't you have another one on the house?" He turned away for a moment and then set down two new glasses down in front of them. They remained untouched and the barman went to fill an order at the other end of the room.

Ahsoka placed something on the bar with a loud thud. When she removed her hand, Vader saw that it was a pair of lightsaber hilts. Her own. She downed her new drink with impressive speed and slammed the empty glass on counter beside them.

"Go on, then," she said in a voice barely more than a whisper, "If you can kill him then you should have no problem killing me. Do it, I've already made my peace."

Anger flared anew in him. Were he in her position, he would not have hesitated to attack a disadvantaged adversary. Emotion, stubborn pride, former friendships- these things did not win wars. They were not practical. As ever, his former apprentice thought more with her heart than with sense.

It was insulting, this attempt to provoke the ghost of his former self. He was beyond grief and guilt and the virtues she espoused, and she was arrogant to think of herself as morally superior. She wished to martyr herself, it seemed, and he would have none of it.

"Pathetic," Vader remarked, collecting up the cylinders in his fist. They were small, built for tiny, dexterous hands. She'd changed the crystals, but everything else was how he remembered them.

"I can't kill you and I won't join you. What else is left for me to do?" she said, very calm now, "By your own logic, I must die." He could feel her dark glare, even as he continued to turn the saber hilts over in his palm, inspecting the scuffs in the metal and the grime that had gathered on the grips.

"You are weak, and unfit to carry such noble weapons," he decided, and clipped them to his belt. He'd be a fool not to take them now, when they were being freely offered. A fresh wave of exhaustion came over him, as well as a slow-developing nausea. Speech was tiresome and it was causing him to become light-headed after every sentence spoken. His situation was rapidly worsening, and he needed to be gone from this place so that he might begin finding his way back to Imperial space.

He realized suddenly that the Force had not in fact conjured Ahsoka to serve as another hurdle to overcome. The Force had delivered her to Arda for his benefit. He could use her. Use her and discard her when necessary. After all, if she was willing to offer up her life, then what else might she be willing to offer up?

Vader eyed his own drink. This time he didn't hesitate to gulp down the contents. She'd been right. It was too sweet. "You must have a ship here," he coughed when he emerged.

"I might," Ahsoka replied elusively, "What's it to you?"

"I require transport off this planet."

.o.o.o.o.o.

It was raining. The heavy clouds had seen fit to finally start their bombing run. It was a light rain, however. Ahsoka had been on Arda for a few weeks now, and she knew just how bad the rains could get.

It had been the Force that told her to come here, whispering in her ear like an old lover. The Force was the only cause, the only master that she still served. These endless wars of the physical realm, they were draining and tedious. It had broken her to finally realize that they would never cease. It wasn't her fight any longer.

The battle of Yavin had come as a surprise, and to learn through Arda's patchy holo reception that the rebellion had delivered such a mortal blow to the Empire was even more shocking. She had originally assumed that the battle was the reason the Force had brought her here to Yavin's neighboring system, but now...

She'd felt his presence in the cantina, frayed and intermittent, as if alternating between wanting to stay hidden and desperately needing to draw on the connection for survival. She hadn't had a plan in her mind when walking through the doors, only that she must confront him. To see him without the suit was a shock she'd been unprepared for. It was easy to hate the black-cloaked atrocity, but not the man within.

She'd been defeated even before she'd spoken her first words to him.

They left the cantina together and after only a block or so, the man behind her fell to his hands and knees in the muddy gutter in order to heave up the contents of his stomach. She was left to wonder at his situation. Clearly, he had become stranded in this system following the battle. Was there no one looking for him? What had become of his life support apparatus? To finally see him up close on Malachor, she'd been appalled to realize just how much that suit did for him. He should be dead. His life was artificial.

At one time she might have attempted to lighten the mood with a snide remark, eager to tease him about an inability to hold his liquor. Somehow she didn't think he'd take it in stride. There was no humor in this situation, only sadness.

She barely recognized him anymore. He was covered in injuries, some old and some new. He'd once been so vibrant and alive and... happy. Now, he was monstrous, more machine than man, dead inside. He'd killed so many now, and Obi-Wan's death stung the most. The galaxy had become such a hellish place with the rise of the Empire. Comrades, bothers, friends all murdered by those once trusted above all else.

He wanted her to be outraged over Obi-Wan's fate. It was the reason he'd boasted of the murder, dangling it in font of her face and attempting to provoke a fight. She could muster up the feeling, she was sure, but to claim such moral superiority would only make her a hypocrite. It had been she who drew her blade first on Malachor, with an intent to slay Vader in order to avenge Anakin. The difference was only that she'd been unsuccessful in her own attempt at vengeance, whereas Vader had been able to put a decisive end to whatever feud had developed between him and Obi-Wan.

She did not know what had occurred between them, and she was terrified to ask, terrified that such information would change her view of both men forever.

But there was still something. Something buried, lurking in the depths of Vader's soul that was recognizable. Without it, she would never have sensed his presence and would never have followed him into that cantina. She wondered if she appeared as changed to him as he did to her. The were both broken- her spirit, his body. It was so odd- being here with him like this. It was as if the Force had somehow drawn them together, had given them this brief moment in their lives to make what amends they could. She would be a fool to squander such a gift.

She bent down next to him with a caution that she never would have needed during the days he had been her master. Slowly, she took his arm and placed it around her shoulders so that she could help him stand. He held the oxygen mask to his face as he stumbled along at her side, and she could see the reader on the bottle pointing its needle at empty.

By the time they had finally reached her junky freighter on its landing pad the storm had worsened. Inside the freighter it was dry, but it smelled old and musty. The lighting was dim and flickering, but Ahsoka could see as she laid Vader onto the spare cot that his scarred lips had turned blue. He was visibly struggling to breathe.

She was able to locate another tank of oxygen in her own emergency supplies, but only that one. It would not last long. She bit her lip. What should she do?

"Stay," came the barely audible whisper. It was almost drowned out by the sound of the rain beating down on the shuttle's exterior. Her heart gave a wrench, and she tried to analyze that single word for hidden meanings. Surely she wouldn't have found him out here... only to lose him now.

The metal of his fingers was cold and slick as she held them in her own, taking a seat on the floor aside the cot.

"I won't leave you," she told him.

.o.o.o.o.o.

Despite Vader's claim that he was in need of a ride, he did not ask her to take him anywhere the next day. Nor the day after that. She suspected he'd caught a bit of a chill out in the rain and cold and he did nothing but sleep.

She got wise after the first night, after she witnessed him stop breathing several times. The muscles he needed to force air in and out of his lungs were weak and atrophied. Being on oxygen helped, but only due to the fact that what little he could breathe was at least more concentrated. He could not sustain himself indefinitely.

She sourced parts from a dealer and a junkyard and a medical station manned by unsuspecting droids. The pieces of her project were spread out on the floor in front of her when he finally woke.

"What... are you doing?" he said through labored gasps.

"Building you a device to help you breathe."

"Don't bother," his head fell back onto the cot, "Take me to the spaceport on Felucia. There's an Imperial garrison there."

"Then this might be a bad time to tell you that I'm short a working hyperdrive."

"Fix it," he hissed.

"I... uh, don't know how."

The only indicator of his annoyance was his slow blinking. In truth, the problem with the hyperdrive was a simple fix, but it would require hours of work in taking the unit apart and reassembling it. She could do it herself, but he would do it better, and much quicker, if only she could get him in working order once again.

He didn't even need her to take him to Felucia. Not really. Arda was a backwater planet if there ever was one, but it still had holo access. The population had comlinks and long-range communications and the system was considered neutral territory. He could simply head to a government building and make a call, so why didn't he demand that instead?

Maybe it was something as simple as pride. Maybe Darth Vader, supreme commander of the Empire's military might didn't want to have to call and arrange a pickup. Perhaps he'd rather march up to the Imperial garrison on Felucia on his own two feet and never have to explain the awkwardness of the situation he currently found himself in.

Her old master had been like that. Always about saving face.

He remained awake and spent the next few hours watching her work in total silence, never even offering a single tip, though she knew he must have plenty. Still, he sat up for her and allowed her to thread the thin tubes into his nose and throat, so he must have been satisfied with its construction. It was a small machine, and very quiet, with only the barest hiss in its compressions. He could wear it on his belt if he wanted.

She stepped back to admire her work, hands on her hips.

"There. Good as new." She felt she should say it because it was something that might normally be said after such work, but as she looked at him, she really saw him. He was beginning to waste away on his broad frame. The patches of hair on his scalp and on his chin were prematurely white, every single limb was metal and machinery, and every inch of remaining skin was covered in burn scars. His yellow eyes seemed to shine in the dim light as he watched her.

Who was she trying to kid? Nothing about him was good as new. Nothing about them was good as new. And it never would be.

.o.o.o.o.o.

The rain dulled their senses, making them exist in a groggy dream. It was hypnotizing to watch it come down outside the freighter's ramp. Together, they pulled out the hyperdrive and began to disassemble it, but the process was slow, sapped of any real urgency by the weather around them. A few times, Ahsoka found her mind drifting and she just stared out beyond the landing pad into the grey-white mist.

Meals were taken at the same cantina where she'd found him. She'd already been a regular, and she'd been friendly with the Ardan owner, Rigil, and several of the other common patrons. However, with Vader at her side she found she could no longer indulge in small talk with them. His sour presence caused strangers and friends alike to attempt to minimize interaction time.

She took it in stride. Though her own style was to try and make friends wherever she went, she knew she was only using them. Eventually she would have moved along, Vader or no, and they would just become more memories to fade into the background of her life.

They sat at a booth in the back, Ahsoka with her boots on the table aside her plate, and Vader across from her, attempting to connect to the holonet with an old device. The reception remained only static. Ahsoka's head lolled against the torn, moldy cushion as she turned her head to him. He'd made more of an attempt at blending in, donning a brimmed hat to hide the scars along his scalp and a long, mud-splattered poncho matching those worn by the locals. Frayed gloves with a few of the fingers missing covered most of the metal of his hands and a dirty bandanna was pulled across the bridge of his nose, hiding the lower part of his face.

What was going on? This was insanity. She shouldn't be here with him. Nothing would come of it. It was plain indulgence on her part and it was dangerous. She could probably take him out. For the Jedi, for the rebellion, for the murders he'd committed. But she was a flawed, selfish individual, despite how hard the Jedi had worked to drum that out of her. She wanted to continue in this denial. She wanted to play pretend, for whatever it was worth, and for however long as he would let her.

She watched his hands fumble with the holo receiver, trying and failing to put a tiny screw back into its place.

Maybe, just maybe, if she wished hard enough, they could go back in time to happier days.

.o.o.o.o.o.

He was stalling. He realized this on the sixth day, after he'd woken on the same cot and stared at the ceiling of the freighter yet again. In the hold, the same parts were still scattered around the skeleton of the hyperdrive, nearly no progress made from the previous day.

Why?

It was beyond the desire to shirk responsibility. He would accept it. He would face his punishment. He would continue his quest to rid the galaxy of Jedi and rebels alike. He'd no desire to run away, and yet he was still here days after he could have already been on Felucia.

There was a numbness that had settled upon him, born from the haze and the rain that drenched this sorry planet. It made him feel that he existed in a dream. Her presence did nothing to help. How easily she could make him forget his duties and succumb to the disease of nostalgia.

It all just seemed so pointless quite suddenly. The Empire, the rebels, the galaxy itself. What difference would it really make if Darth Vader simply... never returned?

He was slumped heavily against the wall of the hold, a hydrospanner clutched loosely in his hand. Something fell onto his lap.

"What is this?" he asked as Ahsoka entered the area.

"You can't see a thing. No wonder I've been doing most of the work," she explained. He held up the optical aid in order to inspect it. He had to hold it very close in order to get a good look. She dumped a few more into his lap- an assortment of goggles, flex lenses, and eyeshields all with some component of magnification and all in various sorts of disrepair. Had she picked them from the garbage? He supposed the life of a warrior monk with no affiliations was a rather creditless one.

A pair of tinted eyeshields were the best match. He found he no longer had to squint while they were on, and the shading they provided reminded him of what it had looked like from the inside of his helmet. It was blessingly familiar. He twirled the hydrospanner in his hand and bent over some of the smaller panels that he'd been avoiding. He could feel Ahsoka's smug grin before she disappeared into the cockpit.

.o.o.o.o.o.

He fixed the holo receiver the next day, and Ahsoka was treated to an endless stream of programs reporting current events while they sat in the cantina. She listened to the spun stories at half attention, having decided long ago that most of what came out of the dedicated media stations was fabricated or sensationalized, and what wasn't didn't matter anyway. It was why she'd let the device fall into disrepair, why she never bothered to connect via her ship.

"...the tragic loss of the orbital station in the Yavin system, where millions of soldiers lost their lives. The day will indeed go down in history as one of the darkest in Imperial history..."

"Would you turn that down? I'm fairly certain that Arda is a planet where Imperials get taken out into back alleys and beaten within an inch of their lives," she told him, picking dirt out from beneath her nails. He ignored her, toggling to another channel.

"...construction of the Tarkin memorial has begun in Imperial Center. Governer Tarkin lost his life during the battle for Yavin, but his legacy will live on. In this segment we will explore the man and his achievements while in service to the Empire..."

She snickered, unable to help herself, taking unexplained glee in hearing of Tarkin's death. Good riddance. Justice, for what his battle station had reportedly done to Alderaan, though that too was now blamed on the rebellion. Justice, for when he'd sentenced her to execution all those years ago for a crime she had never committed.

Vader glared at her. The channel changed again.

"... reports from Imperial Center say that the Lord Darth Vader has returned to the palace, still recovering from injuries he sustained in the battle. He remains in critical condition."the footage cut to an image of Vader's usual shuttle landing in the palace's main hangar, but of course, there was no footage of the man himself.

"Huh, so that's how they're playing it," she said aloud.

"Enough of your inane comments," he snapped.

It made sense. The Empire didn't want to proclaim him dead when some amount of uncertainty still existed, but they needed an explanation as to why no one had seen him since Yavin, and an easy way to kill him off should it finally become necessary. How much time would have to pass before they decided to announce a state funeral? How much time did he have to return?

The holonews anchor was still droning away, though on a different subject:

"...that the faction of rebels who claim to have orchestrated the attack on the Death Star call themselves the Alliance to Restore the Republic. They have taken to the holonet in order to broadcast their message of hate. Among their number is the rebel pilot allegedly responsible for the lethal shot to the reactor, a man going by the name of Luke Skywalker..."

She looked up suddenly. The sound of that name was like the bite of a lightsaber against bare skin. Vader as well had gone deathly still, all attention on the holo. The moment was suspended in time, everything else forgotten.

Was it only a coincidence? It had to be. It was just a name, and the galaxy was a big place. It shouldn't matter to her anyway. Anakin Skywalker was dead and buried, and he'd had no living family back on Tatooine. He'd said so himself, and Obi-Wan had corroborated this in another, unrelated conversation.

"He dares!" Vader spat, suddenly outraged. Clearly, he thought the name to be something deliberate. There was a clap of thunder outside. The holo device fizzed into static and they lost precious moments of the report, but eventually it came back into focus.

"...by the Emperor's declaration that no efforts will be spared in the hunt for Luke Skywalker."

The device hurled itself across the room and shattered to pieces against the opposite wall. Vader had already stomped out the doors of the cantina, leaving them swinging in his wake. The cantina's other guests had looked up from their drinks at the commotion and were now focused on Ahsoka. She laughed nervously.

"Charming guy, that friend of yours, Ashla," Rigil scowled from behind his counter, breaking the tension. She pasted a sheepish smile on her face, and offered profuse apologies as she went to pick up Vader's mess. "He's the wrong sort, Ashla. I can tell. You're much too good for him. Much too young and pretty."

Her brow twitched after realizing the conclusion he'd drawn. Though she supposed it would be easier to let other people think that way about their relationship.

"He's just a little lost Rigil," she replied, "But then again, so am I."

.o.o.o.o.o.o.

He sat just inside the ramp on Ahsoka's rickety folding chair. Tools and parts still remained untouched from their earlier work, but he would see it finished tonight. There would be no more delays. His elbows rested on his knees and his fingers were intertwined before his face as he brooded.

A new layer had been added to the mystery and intrigue. There was a pilot within the rebellion who was skilled enough to outmaneuver even Darth Vader himself. The pilot was Force-sensitive with abilities to at least alter the trajectory of a proton torpedo while in combat and under enemy guns. And he had the audacity to call himself "Skywalker."

Vader glanced to the scattered tools. He should get the hyperdrive fixed, get to Felucia, and use the Empire's network of spies to track down this impostor and show him his egregious error. Palpatine would want the pilot too. He'd want him brought before the throne, he'd want to make an example of him.

Who had trained him? Was it Kenobi? Was it Ahsoka?

Not Ahsoka. He'd sensed her shock at the holo's announcement as well. It had been genuine. She hadn't expected to hear that name ever again. Kenobi then. Where had he been all of these years if not in hiding and training a padawan? It was almost a shame he was dead. There were so many questions left unanswered.

"If you strike me down then I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine."

Were those words in reference to this... Skywalker?

Ahsoka climbed the ramp of the shuttle. Vader listened to her footsteps draw closer and heard the whisper of fabric as she shed her wet cloak.

"There is rebel pilot daring enough to take the name of a dead Jedi and wear it like a badge of honor." Vader opened. Surely, she was as curious as he was. Did she know anything? Had she ever heard of this pilot or come in contact with him?

"So what?" said Ahsoka. "It's not like you're using it. Maybe he'll prove worthy of it."

He stood, metal fingers clinking as they formed fists. He thought about throwing her back against the wall with the Force. He thought about lifting her in a Force choke and demanding that she com her rebel friends, handing over all information pertaining to this pilot.

Could he overcome her? His breathing had been stabilized, but she was no easy opponent. And such a violent action would surely break this uneasy truce they'd fallen into. Perhaps she'd have no qualms with letting him kill her, as she'd previously stated, but he knew that forcing her to betray her rebel acquaintances was another matter entirely.

She knew what he was thinking. She held her ground, staring him in the eyes and waiting to see what action he'd take. He became hyperaware of the placement of his lightsaber, and hers as well, clipped right beside his own. She had no defense.

He bent and retrieved a tool, slinking away toward the mess of hyperdrive components. He didn't need her. Once he was back in his suit, once he was back on Coruscant, he'd have command of the Empire's entire intelligence apparatus, and an entire starfleet to enact his will.

.o.o.o.o.o.

"Your hyperdive is operational," Vader announced as he strode into the cockpit the next morning. Ahsoka was seated in the pilot's seat, staring at a screen of scrolling information. She was bent forward in concentration, finger pressed to her lip in thought. She didn't even acknowledge him and he felt a stab of impatience. He marched over to her, standing behind the back of the chair in a menacing fashion.

"Ahsoka. Start the take-off sequence. Set our destination as the Imperial garrison on Felucia," he ordered her.

It was as if she hadn't heard him.

"This is a holonet site used by bounty hunters," she explained calmly, "I've been checking it periodically to see if someone has placed a recent bounty on you, because... well it will mean that you've been missing long enough to hack off the Empire." She raised a finger and tapped the screen as she spoke, underlining a name.

He had no time for this. He didn't care.

"There's nothing on you, at least nothing new, but someone's gone and put a bounty on Luke Skywalker's head for ten million credits."

It was an enormous sum of money for a single man.

"They want him alive, too," Ahsoka added. She looked to him with a question in her gaze. He could guess what it was. They both knew it was the Empire's money. Palpatine's, to be specific. Of course it would be nothing official, there'd be proxy after proxy, but the important fact was that Palpatine wanted Luke Skywalker for himself. And he wanted him alive.

The screen shut off as Ahsoka began to power up the ship. The overhead lights dimmed and were replaced with the running lights, flooding the cockpit with the gloomy dark of a typically rainy, Ardan morning. Ahsoka made a small noise in her throat when he continued to stand behind her.

"The navigator's chair is there," she said, gesturing to the other station in the cockpit and giving him a pointed look. "Those jump coordinates won't program themselves."

He met her stare.

Five minutes later she was seated in the navigator's chair, muttering foul curses under her breath as she punched in the numbers. Vader settled into the pilot's seat, removing the hat from his head and pushing the cloth from his face to reveal scarred lips curled in the barest hint of a smile. He was where he belonged, flexing his fingers around the controls and attempting to get an early feel for the ship's maneuverability. It would be a difficult flight out of Arda's atmosphere, with the massive storm cloud swirling threateningly above them, but that, of course was where the fun began.

.o.o.o.o.o.

The journey to Felucia was relatively short. When Ahsoka was assured of their course and there remained little else to do in the cockpit, she left to visit the small fresher. Being so long in Arda's wet, clammy atmosphere had left her feeling as though she could never get fully clean. She'd begun to wonder if mold had crept into unwanted places, and of course the mud had never missed an opportunity to smear onto clothing and underneath fingernails. Daily showering had not been a part of the Ardan culture and so she had not bothered with it herself, even though the rainfall had allowed her to keep the water tanks full.

She wasn't all that sure what she would encounter on Felucia. It had been many years since she'd seen it last. However, it would pay to not smell like the wrong end of a bantha. She lost herself in the act of grooming, spending long moments in front of the mirror, frowning at her loss of muscle tone, and the less than adequate length of her montrals. She'd barely stepped into the water shower when she felt the reversion to realspace.

Immediately, there was a cacophony of alarms. Something connected with the ship and caused it to lurch violently.

"You've got to be kidding me," Ahsoka said to herself, spitting a mouthful of water. She grabbed her towel and stumbled her way into the cockpit, leaving a wet trail behind her. Vader had both hands on the flight controls, calm and focused even as laser fire streaked across the forward viewscreen.

"What is going on?! I swear, I leave you piloting alone for minutes and you find a way to-"

"We've come out of hyperspace into the middle of a skirmish," Vader explained, straining to make his weak voice loud enough for her to hear over the alarms. He reached up to kill the proximity warnings. "It was not I who programmed the jump, or else we would have stayed in the civilian shipping lane, and been well clear of this."

"Well excuse me for assuming that you would prefer a more direct route," Ahsoka growled, sliding back into her station, "Next time, you can do it yourself." Laser fire clipped the freighter, hurling them into a spin.

"Get the shields up!" he barked.

"I'm on it!"

The ship stabilized and Vader rocketed them away from the thick of the fight. Ahsoka activated the transponder, hoping that the nearby fighters would back off once they realized her freighter wasn't part of the battle. However, she wasn't certain she was up to date on the frequency she ought to be using.

"This craft has only a single laser cannon? You disappoint me," Vader rasped.

"What?! You're not actually thinking of using it, are you?!" Ahsoka said, betraying her anxiety. The ship cut a wide turn and the planet Felucia took form in the viewscreen. Covered in dense jungle, even from their distance she could only see yellow and green below the atmosphere. There were two star destroyers in orbit, prowling like territorial animals. Red cannon fire erupted from the turbo lasers intermittently and TIEs swarmed from the bays. Vader brought them around again and the rest of the battle took form, showing x-wing fighters launching from a massive Mon-Cal cruiser, with a rebel frigate and a blockade runner also in attendance.

"The rebellion will have consolidated their forces around Yavin, in order to evacuate their people and dismantle their own base. This is likely a distraction. Still, it is bold. They are severely outgunned."

"Aren't they always? Anyway, I did not come here to fight," Ahsoka told him sternly, "Power down the gun and get us in atmosphere. I said that I'd see you to the surface, nothing more."

"There has been a change of plan. My star destroyer, the ISD Devastator is in orbit. We will dock with it instead."

"Absolutely not. Do you think I'm an idiot?" Ahsoka retorted. He stared at her from the corner of his eye for a few seconds before his lips twitched, betraying some amusement.

"I will see to it that you are allowed to leave. You have my word."

"Your word isn't worth what it used to be worth," she hissed.

"I have stayed my hand thus far, and I've given you no reason to distrust me," he pointed out, "If you wish to be rid of me, this is the simplest and most covert way to do it. I can alter the logs so that this freighter never docked at all."

Ahsoka glanced to Vader's profile, studying him for any hint of deceit. She saw that a lock of hair at the center of his widow's peak had grown long enough to begin to curl, making him appear just slightly more human. He'd had ample time to kill her while they were on Arda, and therefore it made little sense for him to double-cross her now.

She realized with a stab of pain that their time together was winding down. How would she say good-bye to him again? How could she leave him? How could she go back to hating him?

She shook her head roughly, feeling greedy and ungrateful. The Force had granted her this time with him. It was her job to cherish it and remember it, not to demand more.

"Fine! Let's get this over with," she huffed, slumping back into her seat. He turned to her, intending to say more, but he broke off with a scowl and quickly looked away.

"You are indecent."

She looked down at herself, seeing that her towel had fallen open.

"It's nothing you haven't seen before."

"Ahsoka," he barked in warning. She had a number of snide remarks to make on his prudishness, or on the fact that Obi-Wan wouldn't have been nearly so embarrassed, or that the Jedi council was dead, and so couldn't punish him for peaking, but she wasn't that child anymore, and he was not that man.

And perhaps she wasn't so much of a treat to look at anymore anyway. Certain things weren't as... perky as they used to be.

"Don't do anything until I get back," she said, standing from her seat. She tossed the wet towel in his direction as she left the cockpit, and had the pleasure of hearing him make a disgusted sound while extricating himself.

They were steadily powering toward the closer of the two star destroyers when Ahsoka returned. Their nearness would have attracted the attention of the Devastator's crew by now, and sure enough, there was a light blinking on her coms panel when she retook her seat.

"We're being hailed," she told Vader before opening the channel.

"Freighter Little One. This is the ISD Devastator," came the voice of a young officer, "You are entering restricted space during an ongoing military operation. You are ordered to reroute."

Ahsoka wondered at their next move. Would they wait out the battle before docking? It seemed logical. She was about to ask Vader when he unmuted his own coms in order to respond to the man. He put a hand to his throat in order to better steady his voice, and when he spoke he left out his usual booming authority.

"Devastator, this is the Freighter, Little One, requesting permission to dock," Vader said hoarsely, "I have clearance codes for docking bay 6A." He didn't want to give away his identity. Not yet at least, or perhaps not to this lowly officer, she surmised.

"Negative, Little One. Docking permissions for non-military shuttles are currently suspended," came the drawling answer of the officer at the other end of the line. She watched Vader's eyes narrow in anger or annoyance. Clearly, he was very used to getting his way. He spoke again, this time shedding all pretenses and false politeness from his tone.

"Devastator, I wish to enact security protocol two-two-xesh-osk. Acknowledge." There was com silence for several seconds while they waited tensely for a response.

"Please repeat that code, Little One." said a new, slightly more authoritative voice. Vader obliged and the channel fell to silence once more. Clearly, there was some measure of confusion at the other end. Eventually, there was a pip that let them know the line was undergoing a transfer. A third voice came on the line, sounding very impatient.

"Civilian freighter, this is Captain Montferrat of the ISD Devastator. Who am I speaking with?" In preparation, Vader cleared his throat as best he could, but it did him little good in the end.

"You are speaking with Darth Vader, Captain. Verification code: seven-three-seven-seven-five-nine," he rasped. There was a long pause, but then the captain's voice came back, this time much less confident.

"I... am sorry, sir, but your voiceprint does not match what we have on file," the captain informed them, clearly torn over a desire to appease a potential superior and the need to follow protocol.

"Why do you think that is, Captain?" Vader asked, low and threatening as his damaged vocal cords would allow.

"I... must order you to heave to and submit to a boarding party... sir." It was clear that Captain Montferrat had yet to encounter a situation of this nature in his military career. Ahsoka watched Vader's yellow eyes harden at the news. His jaw worked in annoyance as he contemplated his response.

"Very well, Captain. Be sure to send the right men," he hissed. He had eased up on the throttle. The Devastator filled their viewscreen now. It blocked Felucia's star entirely and they sat adrift in shadow, with the battle now only distant streaks of light.

"This has the potential to go very wrong for me, Vader," Ahsoka growled, now with the idea of a boarding party to fret over. Should she hide? Would they search the ship? Should she direct their attention elsewhere with the Force?

"I should think it an easy skill for a Force user to remain unseen in the eyes of a few stormtroopers," he said coolly.

"Better to not have to risk it at all."

"I have faith in you."

The freighter was directed outside the flight corridors and placed into standby mode. Eventually, a shuttle docked with them, and several troopers filed out of the airlock, wearing the blue pauldrons of the 501st. They passed Ahsoka in the corridor without even a glance and met Vader in the cockpit.

He stood calmly, hands clasped behind his back as the men encircled him. Though he was shabby and wild-looking, covered in scars, with four metal limbs and dressed in a frayed, mud-splattered poncho, he oozed dominance and intimidation.

Did these troopers know what they were looking at?

"Sir," the commanding trooper approached hesitantly, a device in hand. "We've been tasked with acquiring your biometric data in order to verify your identity. Will you submit to a retinal scan?" Vader nodded, hand going to remove the lenses from his face and reveal his bright, yellow eyes. He allowed the man to step closer, holding the device up. After a brief moment, it let out a small beep.

"If you would care to remain aboard this ship, the Devastator will tractor you in. Welcome back, Lord Vader."

They took their leave, retreating back into their shuttle and detaching. The tractor beam engaged once the shuttle had cleared, pulling the freighter into the Devastator's maw. Ahsoka watched with silent dread as they entered the hangar's shields. It had been so long since she'd been on a republic cruiser. She remembered them perfectly. Only this wasn't a republic cruiser. They were called star destroyers now.

"I will see to it that the freighter is refueled." Vader said to her after he's stepped up beside her to join in staring out of the front viewport. "Do not exit this ship. For any reason. If you do, I cannot guarantee that there will be no record of you once you are gone. Once the refueling is complete, you will have clearance to leave."

"So... I guess this is good-bye." She said quietly, crossing her arms in a self-soothing manner. She knew better than to think that she would receive any sort of thank you, any sort of feeling at all, and she only tortured herself by holding out for it. A wry smile formed on her lips as she awaited his response. He cocked his head to the side for a moment, as if considering.

"Your hand," he said eventually. She blinked a few times before complying, holding out her right palm facing upward. He placed two slender cylinders in it- her lightsabers, newly rewired and carefully cleaned. He curled her fingers around them tightly before letting his own metal digits fall away, a facsimile of the time he'd held her padawan beads in his hands and she had walked away from the Jedi Order.

This weapon is your life.

She remembered the words, passed down through several generations of Jedi- and one of those little wisdoms that was unique to their line. He had not said them, and nor had he spoken them through the Force, but she knew they were on the tip of his tongue regardless.

The ship jolted beneath their feet with the landing, forcing them apart so that they might better steady themselves. He swept past her and made for the lowering ramp. She followed him out of the cockpit and stood just within the shadow of the interior, eager to remain out of sight. He paused before descending, head turning toward her just slightly.

The hesitation passed just as quickly as it came and he continued down onto the hangar floor with confident strides. There was no honor guard stood outside for his arrival, and perhaps that had been by his command. The hangar was buzzing with activity as the battle continued to rage out in space. Pilots and techs and troopers went about their various duties, and no one seemed to pay any mind to the dirty vagabond disembarking in their midst.

She watched him long after he had disappeared into the commotion. Any minute, she thought, a squad of stormtroopers would surround her ship and take her into custody. She would be dragged into the detention center, tortured into submission and forced to reveal all that she knew of the rebellion's inner workings. Even after her game of pretend had played out, she was still not naive enough to believe she'd gotten through to him on any level.

Then there was an audible click that let her know a nozzle had been inserted into her fuel tank, followed by the unmistakable sound of rushing liquid. In the cockpit, her coms crackled to life. The voice of a docking bay officer calmly informed her of her spot in the queue. It all seemed so surreal. She continued to stand in the darkness of the unlit corridor for several, drawn-out seconds. Eventually she shook herself out of her stupor and pressed the button to raise the ramp once again. It creaked upward and fitted into place with a sharp hiss. She drifted back to the cockpit and finally took up the pilot's seat for herself, sighing wistfully.

Perhaps... not all hope was lost for the galaxy, or for the man called Darth Vader.

.o.o.o.o.o.