Chapter Text
Once again, Darth Sidious found himself without an apprentice.
It was a...frustrating turn of events, certainly. Sidious had been, overall, pleased with Infernalis, who had exceeded Specter’s potential in nearly every way.
But it was not an insurmountable difficulty. Never again would he be caught in the same embarrassing position he’d found himself in after Skywalker had failed to behave as predicted. There were two candidates for Infernalis’ successor that Sidious had a particular eye on; he would make a selection within the next few days, and his new apprentice would be in place and active within a year or two. But he could meditate on their specific qualifications later; there were other matters that also drew his attention in the meantime.
First, Luke Naberrie--the boy had come on one of his regularly scheduled visits to the Palace. And there had been... currents, swirling around him. Sidious was still trying to divine their meaning.
The boy wasn’t precisely Force-null, but he was of such limited sensitivity that he might as well be--such things varied among different beings, and different species, of course, but the boy wasn’t so connected to the Force as to be taught how to use it in any meaningful way. Similar to a Human child, born with only one finger, being taught how to grasp things. It could be done, of course, and such a child might achieve things, but could never compare to a being with the correct number of appendages for its species. Not really worth the effort.
But the currents were there nonetheless. And they were enough to make Sidious take a closer look and, while he saw no further ability in the boy than he had before--if nothing else, his limitations proved that he wasn’t Amidala’s biological son; no son of Skywalker would be so weak --and the faint disturbance had, for the most part, settled…
Questions remained. Questions he lacked the necessary intimate knowledge of the boy to answer.
But his child had taken the boy as her companion. And he had long since taught her how to keep track of little details that might add up to something he would want to know. Whether or not she had managed to put the pattern together herself.
True, if she had seen something and failed to inform him, he would have to deal with her accordingly; but it was just as possible that she was too inexperienced, or that the way he’d arranged her training and education had led her to notice the signs, but not necessarily to divine their meaning. After all, he hardly gave her every piece of context he himself was working with; and a ten-year-old, even a well-trained ten-year-old, even his ten-year-old, could only do so much.
But her observations, added to his own, should be enough. That was, after all, why he had created her in the first place.
He summoned her early the next morning, when she was perhaps not fully awake and off-kilter.
She presented herself almost immediately, put together and calm. Afraid, of course--she had long since learned to fear him as she should--and wary, but not off-balance.
Not yet.
Good.
Composure under stress made her a better tool, after all. Assuming her answers here satisfied him, of course.
“The Naberrie boy,” he said.
Her heartrate ticked up a notch, he thought; certainly her fear spiked, though there were few outward signs of it other than her hands tightening a little, gripping her skirt. “Yes, Father?”
“He is unusual, is he not?”
“Unusual?”
“When he came yesterday. There was something...different.”
Her eyes flickered a little, and he could sense her mind whirling--she was hiding something from him.
Hm. That could not be allowed to continue, of course; though it wasn’t particularly unexpected. Even Maul had occasionally indulged in petty defiances at her age, and Sidious had kept his wayward apprentice on, in some ways, a shorter leash than his daughter.
After all, Maul had been a weapon--a dagger--to be aimed and deployed when necessary. While certainly well-crafted, he didn’t require more than the bare minimum of independent thought, and even that much only in very limited areas. But the girl was something subtler, and more versatile--a set of shears, perhaps, meant to cut and reshape the fabric of the galaxy at Sidious’ direction; she therefore needed a more flexible mind. So, while he kept her close and allowed her less physical freedom than Maul had had, she had more room within her own thoughts than his first apprentice had ever been allowed.
Still. She could not be allowed to defy him. To lie to him.
She would learn.
“He was...upset,” she said. “He’d been approached about running for office, in Theed, and…”
Yes, yes, he was aware of that. Yet more evidence that his history as a war orphan prior to his adoption wasn’t a lie--Sidious had considered the possibility, given the boy’s vague resemblance to Anakin Skywalker--in how quickly he’d refused. Neither Amidala nor Skywalker had ever been one to shy away from positions of leadership, even as children. And it was hardly a surprise that two blond, blue-eyed Human preteen boys looked alike. Such children were often largely interchangeable, unless one had major scars or other distinctive features--or a certain spark --which the other lacked.
“And that’s all,” he said.
The girl swallowed, her tension becoming more visible. “That’s all he told me.”
“And what have you seen?” he said, mildly. “What have you sensed?”
“Nothing I shouldn’t,” she said, a hair too quickly.
“Answer me, child.”
“I…” She trailed off.
Sidious waited.
She took a deep, slightly shaky breath.
“Luke is…” she hesitated. “He’s...he’s normal. Except for being his mother’s son and his...his kindness, he’s too kind for his own good...apart from that, he’s ordinary.”
Sidious considered the child, tasting her words and the air--she was still deceiving him, that much was clear. Holding something back. There was something here that she did not want him to know.
He reached out and grabbed her chin, pulling her eyes up to meet his, and peeling back the shields she’d built around her private thoughts. She’d taken to putting up multiple layers--a clever conceit, particularly for a ten-year-old, but hardly enough to concern him.
...ah. There it was.
She knew that, if he had suspicions about the Naberrie boy, and she failed to allay them, she would lose her companion. And she didn’t want him to see how much that mattered to her. Because she knew that that alone might be enough to deprive her of the boy, regardless.
A simple, desperate, childish deception. Almost disappointing, in some ways--while he never intended to give her a true base from which to challenge his authority, it might be amusing to see her try. Even if that would deprive him of his asset in the end.
But, more to the point, it explained her behavior, and the reticence he sensed in her. He saw no evidence that she would ever dare to lie to him about something more serious than that--about something real --even now, when she was at an age to test her limits.
Still.
He summoned lighting, watched her jerk as it poured through her.
“Again,” he said. “Tell me what you saw.”
“N-nothing,” she said. “Luke is...Luke is ordinary.”
“Again.”
It took her a minute to find the breath to answer. “He’s just...he’s just an ordinary boy. He’s not like...me.”
“No,” Sidious said, and smiled. “He is not.” He let go of her face and she slumped to one side, trembling. “So, why are you taking such trouble to deceive me?”
“I...I’m not…”
He lashed out again, and this time she yelped.
“What are you hiding?” He had to repeat himself, which of course meant shocking her again, with more force.
“Locks,” she finally said, and the truth of it rang in the Force; the images swirling in her shivering mind. “H-he’s...I...I asked him to t-teach me to...to p-pick locks, I…”
Really. Once again, he was somewhat disappointed.
True, he had never arranged for her to learn such skills--and, much like her defensive shielding and other petty preteen defiances, it was coming right up to the edge of what he’d permitted, but not-- quite --crossing. She was to be versatile, and clever--and confine herself to the realm he had set out for her. Shears, rather than a dagger. And he had made sure she was aware of the consequences of stepping outside her established boundaries.
But lockpicking…
He shocked her again, and then turned away.
The greater concern, really, was not her reason for seeking out such lessons, or even her reason for hiding the lessons themselves from him. Petty, and to be corrected, of course, but somewhat expected for a ten-year-old learning to stretch her wings and test how far she could fly.
Of course, he held her jesses, and she would do well to remember that.
The greater concern was that she had asked the Naberrie boy.
And, even more than that, the fact that she was more focused on concealing the boy’s involvement in her semi-illicit activities than the activities themselves.
But that was, perhaps, at least in part the result of his choices. And Darth Sidious was willing to acknowledge and correct his own errors--he would not have gotten where he was without some level of self-awareness and ability to adjust his plans when necessary, after all.
He had, for ten years, kept the child isolated--with few contacts outside of public events, himself and the guards he assigned to her, and, yes, the Naberrie boy; largely to practice spycraft and learn what she could about his mother’s activities.
And that, perhaps, had been a mistake.
Clearly, the girl wasn’t like him, and able to avoid latching on to children in her age range when they were placed in her orbit. With affection. With some kind of emotional need. As something more than useful tools. Whatever else she may have inherited from him, that ability to avoid such petty entanglements was a trait that, unfortunately, had passed her by.
A pity.
Then again, he did not want to lose his conduit into Amidala’s household, so he did not--yet--intend to cut her off from the boy entirely. But the situation could not continue as it was.
So, he would need to provide another companion. One that he controlled. There were a few candidates that came to mind immediately--potential Inquisitors, or those he had selected for a new program; adapting some of the training he’d given his daughter to create more combat-ready Force-adept spies. A middle ground, between what Tyranus had done with Ventress and what he was doing with his daughter.
He thought he might call them Hands.
Yes, placing one of those in his daughter’s company would solve several problems at once.
“Get up.”
Shaking, she hauled herself first to her knees; then slowly, unsteadily, to her feet.
He watched her for a long moment; her ragged breaths the only sound in the room. “Do not attempt to deceive me again.”
“No, Father,” she said.
“Go.”
She bowed and then stumbled away, the door sliding shut behind her with a faint hiss.
Sidious returned to his throne and settled in it, mulling over what he’d learned.
His daughter’s minor defiance was a small annoyance, one he could easily remedy in the coming weeks.
The Naberrie boy, on the other hand was potentially something of a problem--not a great one, perhaps, despite what the currents had hinted; but just like his adoptive mother, likely to grow into being a vexing thorn in Sidious’ side for years to come. But he was still, for now, useful enough to stay alive, and not so much of a threat to murder. As an information source, for one thing, and…
The girl had been right. Luke Naberrie was nothing like her. Their temperaments and training had shaped them into entirely different beings.
Except that, as Sidious could foresee, any true attempt the boy made against him would certainly be entertaining to watch--and, of course, overcome.
Even if the boy was shy of true power for now, unlike his adoptive mother...oh, yes. This was a career that Sidious would watch with great interest.
But for now, just like the dilemma of Infernalis’ replacement, Sidious put the children out of his mind. They were still young. Time enough to deal with them later. For now, there were intrigues in the Senate, petty localized rebellions, treason of varying severity among his Moffs and military commanders...
Darth Sidious turned his mind to other, more pressing matters; confident that, as with all such prior setbacks, the disappointments of this week were nothing but minor blemishes on his overall triumph.
After all, an entire galaxy still lay at his feet, awaiting his command.
Exactly as it should be.
He smiled.
It had been a long day, but it was over now. The paperwork in Padme’s study could wait until tomorrow, and she didn’t expect to hear from Bail for at least another day or two.
But it had been a good day--she and Mon had gotten a few test pieces of legislation into the right committees. Padme didn’t expect any of them to pass, of course, but there were signals that needed to be sent to their allies.
The amendment Mon had tacked onto a massive, complicated, barely-enforceable tax bill, on the other hand, probably would slip through the cracks, and while they couldn’t tap those funds directly, it would provide extra cover for the illicit accounts she’d been setting up over the years, where they actually could get funds.
Half of her day today, in fact, had been spent on that kind of work--shifting some of those funds around to one of the black market contacts she and her handmaidens had cultivated over the past few years. It was kind of exciting, or it would have been if the situation weren’t what it was.
But, all of that was behind her, until she got movement or responses from her various colleagues. And that meant a private dinner with Luke--something she tried to manage at least two or three times a week, no matter how busy the rest of her schedule was.
Still, every moment she got to spend with her son was special. Especially since he was growing up, in some ways faster than she liked. They wouldn’t have nights like this forever. She had every intention to treasure them while they lasted.
Tonight, though, Luke was unusually quiet, which worried her a little.
Not the kind of near-sulky quiet she’d seen from him and been so concerned about lately; that had mostly gone away after his talk with Sabe the other night. In fact, the last time they’d talked, when she’d called to check in between meetings, he’d gone on a mile a minute about the different flight schools he was looking at.
No, this was just--quiet.
“Everything all right, Lulu?” she asked.
He jumped. “Yeah, sorry,” he said. “Just thinking.”
“About anything in particular?” He had gone to the Palace earlier, maybe… “Did something happen with the princess?”
“No, nothing like that,” he said. “Just...thinking.”
“All right, you don’t have to tell me,” she said. “As long as you’re being careful.”
“I am,” he promised.
“Good,” she said, and smiled. “So, there’s a school holiday coming up in a couple weeks--I might be able to take a few days off, and we can go somewhere special. I know you’ve mostly been looking into flight schools, but if there’s anywhere in particular you want to go…”
He blinked, and then smiled back. “That’d be great. Um. I’ll think about it?”
“Right,” she said. “Obviously, we won’t go if your grades aren’t good enough, but…”
He rolled his eyes, and she was relieved he was acting a little more normal. “My grades are fine, Mom, you’ve seen all my report cards. Oh, hey, there’s that new adventure park that just opened up on--where was it, that moon in the Ejrit system?”
“I’ll look it up,” she said. “Although, when you say ‘adventure park,’ what exactly does that--”
She was interrupted when her comm chimed.
“What happened to no comms at the table?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in a near-perfect imitation of Sabe. Or maybe Obi-Wan. The two of them were good at that kind of mild, loving judgement.
“Oh, hush,” she said, smiling at him, then checked to see who it was.
...huh.
“Mom?”
Bail should--unless Padme had completely lost track of the time, Bail should still be on Crait for another eighteen hours. So, unless the comm system at the base was a lot better than they were expecting, she probably shouldn’t be getting a call from his personal frequency.
Unless something really important had happened. Or he was trying to establish a new pattern, for when they were able to call back and forth. But they usually discussed that sort of thing first.
“Just a sec, sweetheart,” she said, and accepted the call.
It was voice only, which was probably more secure.
And, yes, this was a private dinner, but one of her handmaidens was always close at hand--tonight, Elle was on duty; Padme gave her a quick hand signal to activate the right protections on their end. Just in case.
“Padme, I’m glad I caught you,” Bail said. His voice sounded a little grainier than usual. Maybe passing through an extra filter?
‘I’m glad I caught you’ meant it wasn’t a true emergency, at least. Part of a very simple code, one they’d worked out years ago for unplanned, maybe-unsecure communications. It wasn’t quite an ‘all clear,’ but...well, he wouldn’t be calling from Crait unless it was important.
So, what’s going on? Testing the system? We do call each other often enough that this one won’t raise any red flags, as long as the system encryptions are in place correctly.
“Luke and I were just finishing up dinner,” she said. “What’s on your mind?”
More code, of course. ‘What’s on your mind’ meant ‘are you in trouble;’ referencing specific projects would send other signals; and so on.
She thought about getting up from the table, but--well, she hadn’t said anything Luke shouldn’t hear yet, and Bail would tell her if it was going to go there.
There were a few clicks on the line, and then Bail’s voice got a little sharper. “Nothing in particular, I just wanted to follow up about the Greystone Industries proposal.”
And that meant, ‘I’m now able to talk freely on my end, what about you?’
She glanced over at Elle, who nodded once.
“I’m clear, too, Bail. What’s going on?”
“I’ve been advised to keep this call under five minutes,” he said. “And I’m sorry, it has to be voice-only. The communications officer on duty wanted to keep the data levels minimal, but…”
“You haven’t actually answered my question,” she pointed out.
“Right, sorry,” he said. “You said Luke was with you?”
Padme put the comm on speaker after another quick, silent confirmation from Elle.
“I’m here, Uncle Bail,” he said.
“Good,” Bail said. There was a faint sound in the background on his end, like a door sliding open, and then faint conversation in the background which cut off.
“Senator?”
Padme’s heart skipped a beat, because she’d recognize that voice anywhere. Across the table from her, Luke jumped a little, surprised, then got up, grinning, and practically dove over the table to get closer to the speaker.
“Dad?!”
“Ani!”
“Wait--wh--”
“Five minutes,” Bail reminded them. “Closer to four now--I’m sorry I didn’t tell you ahead of time, General, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get through. I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case--”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Leia!”
“Mom? Luke? Is that--are you guys really there?”
A thousand thoughts flew through Padme’s mind--a part of her; the part that had gotten used to looking for the worst-case scenario over the past thirteen years, was even a little afraid. Making a call like this was risky, and if Bail thought it was worth it, maybe...maybe there was another reason, beyond just--giving them another chance to talk. Another reunion, even if it was just slightly-distorted voices on a heavily encrypted line.
She firmly shoved those thoughts into the back of her mind. Don’t be ridiculous. This is a good thing. You have enough to worry about without making up problems that aren’t even there. Besides, Anakin and Leia were--they sounded fine. Ani seemed a little tired, maybe, but…
“We’re really here, sweetheart,” she said. “It’s--it’s so good to hear your voices.”
“Yeah,” Anakin said. “Yeah, it’s been...it’s been a couple weeks since we’ve picked up any letters, and…”
“We just got a few the other day, right, Lulu?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m still reading through mine, but we got them. Are you okay? Is everything okay? How are you? I miss you.”
“I miss you, too, sunshine,” Anakin said. “And everything’s--fine. We’re all fine. Right, princess?”
“We’re okay,” Leia said. “It’s been kind of a weird couple of days, but we’re good now.”
“Weird how?” Padme asked.
Anakin didn’t answer right away. “...well, you’ll probably officially find out soon, but--Infernalis. He caught up with us, but--we’re fine, I promise, and he’s not. He’s...he’s dead.”
A few of their precious seconds ticked away in silence, before Padme found her voice.
“That’s--and you’re okay?”
“It’s nothing like last time, Mom, I promise,” Leia said. “More like Maridun, I think? Probably not even that bad, but that’s closer.”
Which still wasn’t great-- Padme hadn’t been there, but she’d heard the story. But it wasn’t--the important thing was, Anakin was conscious and coherent and...and she wasn’t going to lose him. And he hadn’t lost any more pieces of himself.
“Wait, how did--when did Ahsoka tell that story?” Anakin asked. “Or did Rex…?”
“Ages ago, Dad,” Leia said; Padme could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “And, no, Uncle Rex is innocent. Aunt ‘Soka’s the one who tells me stories, whenever I ask, you should know that by now.”
Luke gave Padme a slightly confused look.
“I’ll tell you later, Lulu,” she said. “Although I think Ahsoka probably tells the story best.”
Anakin sighed, and Padme bit back giggles that were half slightly giddy relief that they were all okay, that Infernalis was no longer a threat-- and who will replace him worry about that later --and her husband wasn’t too badly hurt; and half just...picturing the affronted look on his face.
Well, darling, if you don’t want your teenaged children to tease you, you probably shouldn’t have done so many stupid, reckless things back in the day. ...although I think teenagers will find a way…still, you do kind of make it easy for them.
As for whether Padme herself had any room to talk...that was another conversation for another time.
“I really am fine,” Anakin said, softly, cutting through those only-semi-rational thoughts. “Really. I promise.”
“I believe you,” she said; wishing she had his hand to squeeze, or kiss, or offer him... something tactile. He had always liked that. So had she.
She remembered running her hand through his hair, back during the War, every time he came back to her--feeling the change in texture as he grew it out.
She wondered what it felt like now.
“Good,” he said, then cleared his throat. “So, what about you guys? Anything interesting going on, or…?”
“Nothing like--that,” she assured him. “The usual Senate business, mostly.”
“Right, there was that...that one bill you were telling me about that was real, something about importing livestock into other systems? Did that go the way you wanted?”
That had been a couple months ago, but she was pleased that he remembered. Especially since it was kind of a boring subject--one of the most boring bills she’d written this year, in fact--but an important one. And it mattered to her, the few times she was able to use her position for what it was supposed to be--writing and passing legislation that would benefit the galaxy. Rather than all the duplicity she and her friends and allies spent most of their time doing instead.
“It did pass,” she said. “More narrowly than I would like, and there were some annoying amendments, but I got what I wanted out of it.”
“I’m glad,” Anakin said. “And, I mean, of course you did, you’re the best at this.”
She laughed. “Thank you, darling.”
“What about you, sunshine?” Anakin asked. “Anything new going on?”
“I’m going to flight school!” he said.
“That’s great! I mean, I wish I could--nevermind, that’s great. Which one, do you know? I think I know who most of the teachers are, if you want tips on the ones that’ll teach you the fun stuff.”
“Ani.”
“What? The fun stuff is really useful when you need to evade TIE fighters.”
Padme opened her mouth to comment that, while, yes, that was important and she knew she couldn’t protect her son forever--
But Luke cut her off. “I don’t know which school yet,” he said. “There’s a couple I’m looking at, but the next session doesn’t start for a couple months so hopefully we can talk in letters and stuff? I know you’re the best and...and I really wanna know what you think.”
“Of course,” Anakin said. “But, you know, one of these days, you’re gonna show me up. And honestly I’m kinda looking forward to it.”
Beside her, Luke flushed, but he was wearing one of the biggest smiles Padme had seen from him in ages. She reached over and hugged him, sideways, and he leaned into her.
“Next time we see each other, maybe we can race or something?” Luke said.
“Sure,” Anakin said, then took a breath. “...on a very straight course. And then you can show me some tricks out in the open.”
“Yeah!”
Padme couldn’t help but roll her eyes a little--in some ways, Luke was very much his father’s son--but their enthusiasm was adorable.
Still, they didn’t have much time, and Padme wanted to hear from her daughter, too.
“Leia?” she asked. “What about you? I know you said in your last letter that you and Ahsoka were working on some more complicated techniques?”
“We are,” Leia said. “She keeps throwing different stuff at me. And Dad and Uncle Obi-Wan, too.”
“Best way to learn, princess,” Anakin said; Padme could just picture him leaning over to ruffle Leia’s hair, maybe plant a kiss on top of her head.
She wished she could see it, but--well, they had this. They were hearing each other, at least.
“Yeah, I know,” Leia said. “But the really big news is--I built my lightsaber!”
Padme had a split second to be so proud of her daughter for holding that in as long as she had--because that kind of news would have been hard enough to keep from blurting out at the first opportunity for an adult, let alone a thirteen-year-old who had inherited a lot of her parents’ impetuosity--before Luke was off and running with his reaction.
“That’s amazing! What color is it? Was it hard? Is it like Aunt Ahsoka’s, or more like Dad’s or Uncle Obi-Wan’s, or…?”
“It’s...well, it's...like mine, I think,” Leia said. “And it’s turquoise, it’s so cool, I can’t wait to show you. Both of you.”
“We’ll get a chance,” Padme said. “I can’t wait, either. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”
“Thanks,” Leia said; and Padme didn’t need to see her face to know she was smiling.
“I’m sorry,” Bail’s voice cut in--and for the first time in a very long time, Padme was genuinely upset to hear it. “I’m sorry, but I think our time’s almost up.”
“It’s--already?” Anakin said. “But we just--” He sighed. “Right.”
“It’s...it’s all right,” Padme said. “We made it work this time, right?”
“True,” he said. “That’s true. So we’ll probably manage again. At some point.”
“And we’ll have letters until then,” Leia put in.
“And...and someday we’ll all be back together for real,” Luke said. “Right?”
“Yes, of course, Lulu,” Padme said. She wished--she remembered, years ago, reaching out and touching holographic fingers, and even if it wasn’t real…
She cleared her throat.
“I know it...it seems like a long time away,” she added. “But we’ll get there. I know we will.”
“We will,” Anakin agreed, softly. “I love you. Both of you. So much.”
“Me too,” Leia said.
“Yeah,” Luke said. “Love you both.”
“I love you,” Padme said. “And it’s not forever.”
“No,” Anakin said. His voice wasn’t... quite cracking, but she knew him well enough to know he was close.
“Til then,” she said.
“Til then,” he echoed.
And then the comm went silent.
For a long moment, she and Luke just sat there, suspended, and then he curled closer into her, hugging her tight.
“I’m glad you’re here, Mom,” he said. “I love you.”
“Me, too,” she said, hugging him again and holding him close.
He sniffed a little, and then let go, but still stayed close.
“...you know what,” she said. “There’s that chocolate cake in the kitchen. I think we both need that, what do you say?” It was technically for a dinner party she had planned for later in the week with some Senators who were very much not her allies, but she could substitute a different dessert. Her son was way more important than playing politics.
He nodded. “Cake sounds good. And ice cream?”
“Always,” she said, and ruffled his hair.
Which got his thirteen-year-old dignity to reassert itself; he rolled his eyes and ran his own hands over it, trying to fix it. “Mom…”
She smiled, and stood up. “Come on, Lulu. Cake and ice cream. All right?”
“Yeah,” he said.
It didn’t--it didn’t bring Anakin and Leia any closer, and it couldn’t compete with even the echo of their voices, but it was comfort, and it was something she and Luke could share together.
‘Til then, Anakin’s voice echoed in her heart.
They had each other, and simple joys, and the love of those who weren’t gone, just--far away.
That would be enough, that would see them through, until the next letter, the next call, the next reunion.
Until their entire family could be together again.