Stand up

You've got to manage

I won't sympathize

Anymore

And if you complain once more

You'll meet an army of me

You're all right

There's nothing wrong

Self sufficiency please!

And get to work

-'Army of Me', Bjork-

"You wished to speak with me, Emperor?"

Djana dropped into a low, graceful bow before the shriveled irritant that she was forced to acknowledge as her owner. He cackled softly, his yellow eyes taking in the form and figure of his most favorite plaything. Palpatine knew well how much she loathed him, how she shuddered when he touched her, how a little piece of her soul died every time he compelled her to perform increasingly vile and demeaning acts for his gratification. He knew, and it positively delighted him to see her in such misery.

"Djana Eleison. It has been too many days, my dear. Too many indeed. Perhaps I shall grace you with my company this night." He watched her carefully, hoping for some sign of revulsion that he could have her beaten for.

"Whatever my Emperor wishes of me, I will do." Djana said, but in her mind she thought only 'You make me want to vomit.'

Of course he read her thoughts, and it amused him. The last time she'd actually been sick in his presence, he'd caused a Red Guard to torment her with a nerve displacer for a full hour. But her will had hardened since then, and he knew he would have to find more subtle ways to draw out the agony that he so enjoyed.

He beckoned to her, and without hesitation she moved forward to kneel at his feet. He petted the top of her head, and she kept still. Her steel colored eyes bored into him like knives, and her hatred was a rich elixir that he relished.

"Sweet, sweet Djana. Are you amenable to the training that I have commissioned for you? Ready to join my assassins and provide some true aid to the Empire you claim to love?"

"I am more than ready, my Lord. It is a high honor to serve you."

"Open your mouth, dear lovely Djana." Palpatine purred, and Djana obediently accepted the grape he lightly slid over her tongue. Inside, she was ready to destroy him where he sat. Outwardly, she forced her face to remain neutral.

'Remember the light saber, remember the feeling of the Sith Lord's hand over your wrist...' she could not help but think in her misery, and she had to use all of her will to shut her mind down before the Emperor saw into her desires. He paused suddenly, about to feed her another grape, and looked very hard into her eyes for a moment.

Surely he could not have read what he thought he had. His pomposity caused him to ignore the fleeting image of Djana naked in the arms of his puppet Sith. It was quite obviously ridiculous.

"Djana, I think that it would not be at all inappropriate for you to stand up and remove your clothing. We have all afternoon to delight in one another." he hissed mockingly, and Djana rose to her feet, closing her mind, shutting out the pain...

Hours. Hours or days or years, it no longer mattered. She lay in a fog of sorrows with her face buried in her arms some time later on the floor of her room, in the same position the Red Guards had left her when they dragged her bleeding body from the Emperor's chambers earlier that evening. He's seen her shudder at one awful, best-forgotten point, and that slight movement had sent him into a fury. So the Guards had held her down and done things to her that no living creature should have to endure, and now she lay on her stomach in the darkness and could not weep because the pain was far too great. She wanted to crawl into her bed and pull the covers up over herself, hiding her body from the mocking light that danced on the walls, reflections of the sunset. Or perhaps pull herself into the bathtub and let the water fill her lungs, let the darkness close over her and around her and move through her in a cleansing wave. She could almost see that in her mind's eye – the water lifting her sweaty hair and washing away her tears, drawing out the terrible abomination of the Emperor's seed from her aching body, gentling the bruises and the cuts and the burns, making her whole and beautiful for once in her life before the end came.

Djana raised her head an inch, looking toward the corner of the room where the bath stood. Only a few dozen feet. Only a little ground to cross and then she could be finished. Forget Palpatine. Forget the pipe-dream of becoming a Sith and defeating him. Forget the beautiful nightmare of Darth Vader, forget his deep voice and rigidly controlled mannerisms. Forget the feeling of his closeness, even though she would never be allowed to touch him…

Another few feet and she would be there. The trail of smeared blood on the carpet behind her was a snail's passage of gore. Inch by inch, she moved closer to a watery release.

Would it hurt?

No more than life hurt, she supposed. Perhaps it would be a little like being born. Pain, fear, and then something new….something brand new and fresh with all the possibilities intact again.

A lopsided smile crossed her features, drawn down at one corner by a jagged cut. Tears filled her eyes, and they were not tears of sorrow for the first time in many years. Djana Eleison was about to seek her liberation in the bottom of a porcelain bathtub.

Up to the edge, then her fingers found the lip of the tub and she pulled herself into a standing position, ignoring the pain in her legs and the sudden crunch in her right arm. She toppled into the cold white womb and lay still for a time, listening to the sound of her breath against her ear. Just one more push, and this would all be at an end. She had never wanted anything this much in her life. A few moments of fear. Just a few more. And what would that be, after so many years of fear?

She reached out and touched the controls for the bath and warm, fragrant water began to run into it from a dozen little concealed holes. The liquid stung like anything for a moment, causing Djana to let out a little half-sob which sounded terribly loud in the amplification of the tub. The water level rose to cover her bleeding body like a warm blanket. In a few more seconds it would be over her head, and then all she would have to do was breathe…

"Stop." He said. Of course he said it then, and of course the water suddenly stopped pouring down around her. Djana felt the black tidal wave of agony break loose in her chest, and she broke down into wracking sobs. A push of adrenaline, born of the knowledge that they wouldn't let her die, pumped through her chest.

Djana leaned on her broken arm and pushed herself up, ignoring the pain. And she attacked him. Attacked a Sith Lord in her own bedroom. Attacked him with all the hate he ever wanted her to feel.

"NO! NO! NO! I WANT YOU TO DIE! I WANT YOU BOTH TO DIE! WHY WON'T YOU DIE?!" she screamed at him, and grabbed a heavy marble statue from beside the bath and hurled it at him. Vader gestured languidly, deflecting the projectile. Djana was not finished. She grabbed the soap dish, the towel bar, a pair of her shoes, the cast iron door stop….grabbed and hurled, threw anything and everything she could at him, sobbing and screaming like a woman gone mad. For indeed, this is what she was. Her only escape would be denied her, this bastard had seen to that.

And he hadn't even protected her from Palpatine.

There was nothing left to throw, and exhaustion crept into her stomach and reminded her that she was grievously injured. Still weeping brokenly, Djana clutched at the wall to keep from sinking to her knees in front of him. Pure hate burned in her eyes, blurred by the tears.

And Vader saw it.

"Yes, Mistress Eleison. Yes, that is it. Give in to the hate that you feel, let it fill you and bring you strength. Let it flow through you!" he moved forward, a ravenous wolf closing the distance to a cowering rabbit, but Djana did not look away.

"I hate you."

"Use it."

"I hate the Emperor. I will kill him as soon as I have an opportunity to do so. I will never allow him to touch me again. EVER!"

Vader was right in front of her, towering over her, his battle armor smooth and beautiful. She could see her own reflection in its polished surface, a weeping bloodied woman with wild eyes, and she struck out at that reflection with her hand before she could stop herself. The blow felt cathartic, and she hit him again. And then she could not stop. Though her hands did absolutely nothing to him, found no softness or yield in the armored plane of his chest, she struck again and again with her fists, breaking open the skin of her knuckles, injuring her broken arm further, smearing blood across this man who has seen rivers of it before.

The miracle, the amazing thing was that he did nothing to stop her. He did not move or speak, merely allowed her to vent her anger upon him as though he were the patient father of a small child having a temper tantrum.

After a time the blows became weaker, little patty-cake slaps that tapered off into nothing. Her weeping continued, but there were no more tears. And Lord Vader gestured to the velvet couch and drew it over, pushing her down to lay upon it. He did not sit, merely stood over her like a statue.

"Unfocused rage is damaging."

"I do not care!"

"It will not further your training."

"Then kill me!"

"Mistress Eleison," he leaned down, looking intently at her through the darkly tinted portals of his mask, "You will not be permitted to die. Your only escape is through this training. Your only way out…is through me."

"I will never allow him to touch me again! I swear it upon my own blood! I swear it!"

Vader did not move, but his entire manner suddenly seemed to go very still. He lowered his voice to little more than a soft rumble, and spoke every word with great care.

"You are a slave, Djana. It is not your place to allow or disallow anything. If you wish to gain your freedom, you must listen to me. I will grant you aide. Take this chance. You will not be offered another."

"Do you know what it means, to hate your master? To hate him so deeply that it seems like a living thing, your hate, a hungry living thing that is always hungry and always pacing within your ribcage?! I hate the man whom I must obey! Do you know what it is, to hate the person that you are bound to in servitude?!"

"Yes." Vader said simply.

Djana fell silent instantly, as though he'd put a hand over her mouth. They regarded one another, and some of the fire left her eyes. But the pain remained. She was in such pain, and so angry.

"You hate him too."

The Sith Lord did not respond, not even to incline his head. He did not need to.

After a short time, Vader withdrew the healing serum he'd used on her hand earlier ad uncapped the bottle. He knelt by the sofa, a dark angel of death above a dying soul, and tipped a little of the fluid onto his gloves hand. Just a touch of it on her lip, her forehead, her cheek. Djana closed her eyes and discovered suddenly that she was almost glad of the injuries, for they gave him an excuse to touch her. Whatever caused this intimate act of compassion was well worth the agony. But there were places on her body that were far more injured, and she did not expect him to dab the restorative there.

And yet he did. Wordlessly and clinically and without acknowledging the impropriety of every contact of glove to flesh, he mended her. There was no Force used here. Only the quiet click of the bottle against his armored chest every so often. When he had finished, he recapped it and set it aside, then rose to his feet.

"Rest. You will have need of it. We leave in the morning."

Djana watched him leave, stunned and grateful to her very core. The painkillers tingled, cooling the burning in her damaged flesh. Quite suddenly, exhaustion overtook her, and her eyes closed against her will. In her troubled dreams, she did not find the hands of the Emperor on her. She felt instead the cold, oddly gentle touch of Lord Vader. Healing what their Master had done to her. Hate binding them together just as love bound a wedded couple.