"What am I going to do?" he asked in a low voice, his eyes closed as she worked.
Mara froze at the question. "What?"
"With the mirror--what am I going to do with it?"
She relaxed slightly, relieved, momentarily afraid that he had been asking a much bigger question.
His face didn't change, but she heard the momentary lightness in his voice. "How exactly am I going to make good my escape with a mirror, short of it having a lightsaber welded to it?"
Mara smiled, rinsing the cloth again to continue, the water shot through with red. "Well, it just so happens that the only one I have is just like that."
He smiled just slightly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Thank you."
"For what?"
He didn't answer. He didn't need to; they both knew exactly what he was thanking her for.
Mara turned away, more confused than ever. She wouldn't do this; she wouldn't give him false hope. "It makes no difference. He'll still break you."
"I know." There was utter desolation in those words, spoken so quietly.
Hearing it, Mara almost offered that Palpatine was afraid, but bit it back; no false hope. "Then just give him what he wants. Do as he asks."
He shook his head. "That's not enough."
She knew it was true. Palpatine had to destroy him completely, take him to pieces and rebuild him. Nothing less would suffice.
They remained still in the blanketing silence of the freezing room, the mist of their breath intermingling. She had no idea what to say, but realized that even this didn't matter; he didn't need her to speak--they both knew that any solace offered would be a lie anyway. She needed only to be there--that was comfort enough in this moment. She glanced up at him.
Hunched forward to ease the pain in his ribs, hooded, bruised eyes staring at the floor, blood on his skin, in his clothes, in his hair, he looked like he was already beaten.
Perhaps he was.
Her heart ached; burned in her chest. She couldn't do this--it was just too hard. She wanted to turn and run from the cell, never to come back, never to have to deal with this churning mass of emotions. But she couldn't move. She was anchored to him somehow, hearing his pain and his despair as clearly as she heard the Emperor's confident superiority. But while that connection had always been sharp and invasive, the grate of steel against steel, this felt so comfortable and natural and sincere.
And soon it would be gone; the momentary whisper of a hint of a possibility, ripped violently away from her. It was too cruel. Palpatine would bask in its irony.
Would she know? Would she sense the moment when his soul shattered?
She couldn't do this; she couldn't stay and watch him fall, tumble away into Darkness. But she couldn't help him. She couldn't help him. She couldn't go against her master. The conflict made her eyes well with tears and she blinked them away, angry at herself for being so torn.
"I can't," she managed to whisper, rising quickly, wishing to put some distance between them. She walked hastily to the door without looking back, palming the comm for exit, wishing the guards were quicker. Sensing all the while his quiet, resigned acceptance.
Even now he didn't judge her.
.
.
Luke didn't look up as she left; couldn't bring himself to watch as his last anchor to humanity fled, torn by conflicting emotions and divided loyalties, pushing through the half-open door in her haste to be gone.
Moved by compassion, he didn't have the heart to stop her.
.
.
.
Mara walked briskly down the corridor, eyes blurred with unshed tears; confusion, anxiety, disquiet...connection? Glancing up, she started in surprise to see Palpatine standing at the far end of the corridor, twelve Royal Guard standing to straight attention nearby. The dense black of his heavy robes stood in stark contrast to the featureless white walls.
Absolutely still, in an almost meditative state, he oozed power, dark and brooding.
Did he know? Did he know what had just happened? Had he waited here, using the Force to eavesdrop, to be sure that Mara wouldn't fail him?
That was a cruel test. She strode toward him, emboldened by indignation, taking a breath to speak--
He motioned slightly with his hand, a strangely distracting movement which broke Mara's train of thought, enabling him to speak first. "I have a task for your special talents, Mara. You should leave today. Go and make ready; I will speak with you later."
Then he was gone without looking back, his thoughts clearly on Skywalker. Mara was left alone in the empty corridor, wondering whether the test had truly been for her, or whether she had been a pawn in a larger game--a final twist of the knife in his captive Jedi; one further opportunity to clarify how utterly alone he was here.
A cold shiver ran down her spine, which she blamed on the frigid air of these levels, far below ground. It occurred to her momentarily to wonder whether, if she had been anywhere other than in the Emperor's Palace, she might have let Skywalker go back there; might have closed her eyes, turned away and whispered, 'Run!'.
She walked quickly down the corridor, eager to be gone. It made no difference if she stayed any more. Soon, perhaps today, the Jedi would be gone too; if not in body, then certainly in mind and soul. She should let him go--he was, in truth, already lost. He just wouldn't admit it. But her master would change that, as he changed everything else to suit his desires.
How had she ever thought anything could come of this? What had she thought could possibly happen?
Her master was right--compassion was a crippling weakness.
.
.
.
.
.
Luke sat quietly on the floor as the Emperor entered the gloomy room, his powerful presence in the Force in direct contrast to his wizened frame. As he passed, his heavy black robes caught against Luke's face momentarily, enveloping him in their suffocating blackness, like being submerged in deep water. Lost in a darkness all his own, he didn't react.
Maybe he just didn't care anymore.
He ached so much that it had become impossible to separate out any individual injury. They blurred into one single pain so intense that simply to move induced a spasm which sliced through his whole body, so severe that it blotted out any reaction, freezing him to tense stillness as he waited out the blinding burst.
In a strange way, the beatings no longer hurt--or rather, they hurt like hell, but the pain was already so great that it could no longer be exceeded, save for the actual moment that it was inflicted. And he had learned...learned that pain could be, if not ignored, then in some way tolerated. That he could function to some extent around it. And if not, then it was possible to simply exist, and wait.
Exist--the distant memory surfaced, of his father telling him that sometimes this was the greatest victory of all; simply to exist. At the time he had dismissed it--now...he understood. Understood what a triumph it could be, simply to keep sane for one more day.
His head ached from trying to concentrate, trying to keep track from hour to hour, simply trying to mark the passage of time.
Or was it the drugs, which kept him subdued but offered no rest? He vaguely remembered thinking that long ago; that Palpatine had a drug, that it was self-replicating, working despite Luke bringing the Force to bear on it. Was that right? He didn't care anymore. He didn't care what Palpatine thought of that fact.
Was that important?
He looked at the old man, at the goading, self-congratulating smile on his lips and in his spiteful yellow eyes, and knew that Palpatine was listening to his thoughts. Was that important?
He no longer cared.