Palpatine could strip away every other belief, every friend, every hope, until all that Luke had left was himself. But he still knew what was right and what was wrong.
"Well?" The Sith's breath whispered against Luke's skin, eyes burning with wicked glee.
He would not use Darkness to fight Darkness. He would die first.
Then die. Just end this. Why are you prolonging it? How many more times do you want to wake in this room?
What are you waiting for? No one is coming for you, no one even cares anymore.
How easy it would be to provoke this twisted, bitter creature beyond reason. Easier than living, easier than fighting the Darkness which crept unbidden into every reckless thought now, igniting them with addictive power.
A win by default.
A short laugh escaped him at that, which spattered Palpatine's pale skin with dark blood, so close was his face.
Luke met the Emperor's eyes, suddenly very sure, his expression hard and alive, never more so than in this moment--
Closing his eyes he brought this head down, bone connecting with bone.
Palpatine reeled back and in that moment Luke felt a surge of elation at having caused injury to the one who had caused so much to him, at having drawn blood from the creature who had bled him dry for so long, even knowing what it would cost...
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To be continued...
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Chapter 18
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
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Leia stepped onto the busy flight deck, eyes searching the familiar flight-suits, looking for the blue amongst the orange--for Han's flash of brown hair. He was leaning on his A-Wing, clearly having some heated disagreement with the technician, helmet held loose by the straps in his hand, making Leia fear he would swing it in a roundhouse at the tech's head any minute.
She stepped round the back of the tech to catch his eye. He glanced up, then back to the tech. "And I'm sayin' it's pulling. There's a fault in the shear."
He'd been informally flying with the A-Wings for several weeks now and had settled in without a hitch, re-acquainting himself with snub-fighters reassuringly quickly, with Chewie joining the same flight group as a tech--they were, as always, inseparable. Leia wasn't quite sure whether it was his close involvement in the day-to-day survival of the Alliance now that he had no Falcon to retreat to, or whether he just couldn't go more than a few days without flying something, but it was good to see him so involved. It was good to see that heart of gold.
The thought came instantly to mind that Luke had always had such faith in him, in his good heart. Just as quickly, she pushed it away.
"I checked the shear last time she came in," the tech maintained, holding his own. Tempers were always high with the flight crews--hours were long and staff were short. "There's nothing wrong with the shear."
"Well then it's the mix. Something's making her pull. I got the stick at two o'clock just to make her fly in a straight line."
"Fine," the tech said, exasperated. "I'll pull the assembly. You wanna take another ship?"
"No, I can handle her for now. Just do it when I get back." In a fit of guilt, he added, "Give me a shout when you're ready--I'll come help, okay?"
The tech nodded, mollified, and Han patted him on the shoulder as he passed to, walk quickly up to Leia, winking. "Hey, doll. Come to give me a goodbye kiss? I could get used to that."
"The Bothans have something," Leia said uneasily, as she always was when it came to Luke.
They'd pretty much learned that the only way to deal with this was agree to disagree and mention it as little as possible, which was becoming easier and easier now, the whole disturbing incident beginning to blow over. Except not for Han. Or Chewie, she suspected, though he kept quiet.
Leia handed her reader over to Han, who glanced at it, jaw tightening. The information had come in from the Bothan spy network, which had a close working relationship with the Alliance. It listed that their own spies in the Imperial Palace had seen a document fragment to the fact that an Agent named The Wolf had been withdrawn from active service, along with a request that all files pertaining to that name were deleted. It didn't list why, or give any clue as to who he was, only that he had been recalled from service.
Han read it without comment and handed it back to her. "Fine. Gotta go."
"Han." She reached out to take his sleeve. "Tell me you're not still going."
Han frowned, half-turning. "What?"
Leia set her head on one side. "To get him out. I know you're planning something."
Han pursed his lips, but said nothing. Leia sighed. "At least wait--wait a few more weeks. See if the Bothans can turn up a DNA key."
"I can't keep waiting, Leia--I can't just keep waiting. I waited because you asked me, because you said they'd find proof. But they haven't."
"What more do--"
"That's not proof, Leia. What if this is all just some game that Palpatine's playing, huh? What if you're wrong?" There was no challenge to his voice, just genuine, heartfelt concern.
"Why would they do that, Han?" Leia asked, and he glanced down, having no answer. She sighed. "What if we're right? What if we're right, and you go back and face him?"
"Well then at least I'll know. Then I'll believe it."
"I don't think that will be much consolation when you're in an Imperial detention center. To you or to me."
His eyes lifted to her and Leia felt a flush on her cheeks at saying it out loud, but held her ground, for his sake. She knew how much he wanted to go after Luke--knew that she was the only thing which had held him back again and again...believed absolutely that she was right to do so. "Just a little longer. Please?"
He rolled his head to the side and she knew he'd wait...this time.
"I gotta go," he said, stepping up onto the A-Wing's footwell and swinging into the cramped cockpit without meeting her eyes.
Leia stepped back as the engines flared, Han's fighter the last to leave the hanger. One of these times, Leia wondered...would he just not come back?
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Mara felt an unfamiliar twinge of emotion as she entered the dark, cold cell where Skywalker lay crumpled in a heap exactly where she had left him, his shallow breath misting in the frigid air. Laying the med-kit on the floor she gestured to the detention-center guard holding a bowl of water and a cloth to enter. He looked around the empty room in confusion before turning questioning eyes to Mara.
"Lay it there," she said simply, gesturing to the floor in front of Skywalker.
Keeping a wary distance from the unconscious man, the guard laid the bowl down in careful silence before pushing it a little closer at arms-length and walking quickly from the room.
Mara scowled at him as she took out an antidote ampoule and loaded the syringe. Was he afraid of Skywalker? If he wanted someone to fear, he should look to the Emperor. Luke wouldn't... She paused mid-thought as the implications of this hit her.
Why was she defending him?
Why was this affecting her so much, despite her every barrier?
She had watched without emotion as her master had taken out his wrath like this on others. Many times. She had willingly hunted down and delivered his enemies to him, knowing that she took them, helpless and horrified, to a terrible death. The Emperor was hardly known for his mercy.
So what was different now? Why had this man crept under and around all her barriers?