As Darth Vader's personal shuttle came in for a landing atop the Kyzeron Royal Auction House, the glowing green digits on the chronometer above the exit ramp shifted from 1600 hours to 0100 hours. Vader noted the quiet beep that followed, marking the change from Coruscant Standard to Onderon time, with a displeased frown. They were slightly behind schedule – something he would not have allowed to happen had he been the one in the pilot's seat.

It was still an alien thing to him, to be in a ship smaller than a corvette and not flying it himself, but his Master had many times lectured him on the importance of a curated self-image. The right hand of Emperor Serenno was above all sentients but one – outside the command structure and often the law. He would not fly a ship unless he was flying it into battle.

And Vader wished he were flying into battle now. The dark side churned hotly in his veins, demanding to be slaked. But Vader's Master expected him to leave Zakhan Noreino and his underlings alive and unspoiled, no matter how much trouble they gave him. Ever since he could remember Vader had lived to serve – even before he'd joined the Sith and become fully himself.

Leaving the pilot to finish powering down the ship, Vader motioned to one of his Elite honor guard. The man activated the ramp, and, with Vader in the lead, the group strode from the ship to meet their small, hastily assembled welcoming party. Night had long since fallen over the city and the jungles surrounding it – courtesy of the long journey and time difference – and the night shift of the investigative team was barely a skeleton crew.

"Lord Vader, we did not anticipate your arrival till tomorrow," a Human officer with dark skin at the front of the procession spluttered. His already lacking self-assuredness flaked away like old paint when Vader drew near, and he tried to make up for it with compliments. "This is an unexpected pleasure. I am honored by your presence."

Vader eyed the vibrant rank insignia above the man's left breast. Imperial uniforms were a boring, lifeless grey, but the contrast quickly drew the eye to the collection of squares and made determining an officer's place in the command structure that much simpler. This man was a lieutenant from the Imperial garrison in Kyzeron, and, based on a specific series of blue squares along the bottom of the insignia, also a member of the recently instituted ISB.

"I have neither the time nor the need for your pleasantries, Lieutenant," Vader said finally. He was taken aback by the deeper, harsher voice echoing his own before he remembered the voice modulator on his suit – yet another thing about this life he was still getting used to. "Send word to the one in command of the Imperial garrison here – Major General Akani Acesto. She is to report to me at once."

"She is... taking some much needed rest, my lord. We have limited personnel available, and these, including the major general, have been pulling triple shifts."

Nerves were loosening the lieutenant's tongue more than was permissible around a superior. Vader knew his modulator would project even the slightest rumble in his vocal chords, so he bit back a rising growl halfway. Under normal circumstances, this kind of insolent backtalk would've gotten the man killed.

Vader smiled faintly beneath his helmet. No, this lieutenant and his nerves could be useful if Vader applied sufficient pressure – insurance he'd still learn of details being downplayed or concealed by the garrison for the sake of appearances. A talkative, weak-willed lieutenant in his pocket would be a valuable asset.

And Master Tyranus thinks I'm not subtle enough, Vader thought. He let a few more of his booming modulator-augmented breaths elapse before addressing the man again. "Do you have the necessary clearance to serve me in her place?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Good. Then walk me through the path the instigator took." The more facts Vader could put behind his probes into the Force, the more specific answers he was likely to find. The dark side did not flow in one without drive and a direction.

The lieutenant's eyes bulged. He'd finally realized what he'd gotten himself into by insisting his superior not be summoned. His anxiety rose in the Force like sparks from an open flame, and Vader smiled in satisfaction.

"Yes, sir," he said at last, and motioned for the storm troopers and lesser officer that had accompanied him to return to their posts. Vader did the same. He had no use for an honor guard here, a curated self-image be damned. They already had their orders to lend their skills and strength to finding the Jedi in other ways.

The man led him to a corner of the roof, the one the reports said the riot's suspected instigator had leapt from to join the fighting below. The plaza was lit with enormous floodlights, bathing the corpses of troopers, slavers and slaves alike in a cold white light.

Vader tensed reflexively despite his mask, bracing himself for the heavy stench of decay in a hot climate. It was smell he'd grown up with, one that hadn't completely left him even after fourteen years.

"What is your name?"

Vader didn't realized he'd spoken aloud – had barely registered the thoughts that fuelled the question as more than mental background noise – until the lieutenant gave him a hesitant non-answer. "Uh... my lord?"

You own yourself. You name yourself. You who are called Darth Vader by your Master, you are a person and your name is–

The clarity of the dark side devolved into a howling sandstorm of emotion and memory. Vader clawed uselessly for mental handholds before he remembered his teachings, channeling his anger and loss and fear to sharpen his focus.

He'd asked the name so he knew whom to blame if the man's poor conduct eventually caused his lightsaber to... slip. That was all. Vader had not named himself. He lived to serve his Master and to bring peace to the Empire they'd built from the corrupt remnants of the old regime. His place as his Master's right hand gave him power, and power was all that mattered.

Calmness returned, the eye of the storm in his soul – the right storm, the one without sand to sting him, the one he could mold to his will – around which the dark side thundered. He hissed in relief, a sound that emerged from the modulator like an especially long breath. "I asked you a question."

"Darred Rehin. I suppose you already know my rank."

"I do," Vader said shortly, and tore himself back to the present. Dooku's pet Agent Kallus was constantly nipping at Vader's heels, vying for his master's favor. If Vader wanted to maintain the power he sought, he had to complete his task here – and complete it properly. "What is known about the instigator?"

"Very little, my lord. Blood samples that matched dozens of the dead were found on a cloak and vibroblade with a Gotal corpse by the private boxes. But to preserve the attendees' anonymity, very few cams are installed there."

"And you have discounted the Gotal as the instigator?"

"Yes, my lord. His death was consistent with use of the Force: a crushed larynx with no signs of bruising on the surface."

How strange to hear a death by ways of the Force discussed so clinically. If only Rehin understood the true power of the Force, the intoxicating rush one felt to choke an enemy's throat from afar or dangle them from an unseen noose. The dark side was adrenaline and armament and incentive all at once, pushing Vader to go forth and accomplish the most sacred act of creation through destruction...

Rehin tugged at his collar, looking uncomfortable. Vader realized then that he'd tapped into the Force, caught up in his fantasy, and latched onto the closest living thing to fulfill it. He broke the connection, irked by his lack of control.

If there was one thing he'd learned from the Emperor, there was no point in making a useful tool squirm unnecessarily. He had to remember that.

"If they were indeed a Jedi, they were doing a poor job of hiding it. Witnesses conflict on their appearance, but we still found some partial fingerprints on the blade," Rehin finished weakly. Vader hadn't been squeezing at his neck hard enough to cause more than a little tightness, but the man's unease permeated the Force.

Vader inhaled deeply and drew the Force to him, looking past the carnage to get a sense of the hand that had orchestrated it. Precious little information came willingly, but when he dug deeper, as ever, the Force yielded and bent to his whims.

Blue holographic markers traced an approximation of the assailant's path through the troops and masters on the defensive, and the rioting slaves attacking them. Vader zeroed in on the dead from the first category. Along the shining path they bore broken necks or a stab wounds. It was difficult to find a pattern in the way those bodies had fallen, but with the slow confirmation of the Force, he could tell it was the work of a fighter well accustomed to facing several opponents at once.

The blind rage of the slaves (a rage as old as the ancient mothers, as old as Vader's earliest ancestors) hung over the plaza, but there was something else, something familiar beneath it that Vader was overlooking.

"That was not the intent."

"Pardon?"

Vader ignored him. The Force swirled around him more agitatedly now, though whether to harry him or delay him, he couldn't tell. He looked again at the scene before him, pushing for the answer.

"No sign of tampering was found in the slaves' trackers or elsewhere in their bodies," Vader mused aloud. "That means a Force wielder rallied hundreds of slaves in the minutes between the death of Barriss Offee and the start of the riot."

"Is such a thing possible, my lord?"

"You do not know the power of the Force."

Rehin lowered his gaze, chastened. "Yes, my lord."

"Combat is not the only art in which Jedi are proficient." Vader crossed his arms and balled his hands into fists to keep himself from fidgeting. His heart ticked in his ribs like an armed thermal detonator. "The instigator was not trying to hide anything more than their identity. They wanted to be seen, to have their rage felt..."

Rage. Rage was not the Jedi way, which meant–

The stab wound or the broken neck. That was efficient, systematic fighting, the kind that resulted when stopping to toy with an opponent or to disarm them was out of the question. It was just the way Vader himself would've done it, had he been working towards a specific goal.

It came to him in a flash. So was the rest. Every step of the way, the mystery Force wielder had been using the same tactics he'd favored since before he became Darth Vader. He reached into the Force and felt an echo of himself, of the Jedi he no longer was, teetering on the fine line that cordoned the dark side off from the light. That was as good as solid proof.

Even as the flame of victory burned bright within him, Vader felt the Force thrum uncertainly. There was more he wasn't seeing yet: the instigator's identity, their connection to Offee, how they had come to be at the auction, the meaning of the run fight rebel mantra. It chafed at him, but it also drove him – and this was the direction he needed to bring the Force wielder into the Empire's clutches.

No. Not his and his Master's clutches. His alone. He couldn't allow a fallen Jedi so like him, the first he'd even found like him in the year he'd been training under Darth Tyranus, to slip through his grasp. They held far too much promise for that.

"Wake Major General Acesto," he barked, making Rehin jump, "and send for Zakhan Noreino. The Lord Imperator and I must discuss the nature of the trap we'll need to ensnare our prey. The instigator is indeed a Jedi, and on the point of falling. I want them alive!"

The muted thud of living flesh hitting a hard surface snapped Ahsoka from sleep in the space between one heartbeat and the next.

During the war, waking quickly had sometimes meant the difference between life and death, and she had the reflexes to prove it – but eleven months in chains had taught her different lessons altogether. She gave no outward sign of regaining consciousness, lying still and breathing evenly and keeping her eyes shut.

Listen. Her montrals didn't pick up vibrations suggesting someone was near.

Inhale. Her sensitive nose caught and identified the soft herbal smell of her sheets, and the sharper ones of the cleaner and wax the villa's servants used for the floors. Then there was the scent of her own body, a warm, richer smell masked and perfumed by the same soap Lux used.

Feel. Confident no one was in the room, Ahsoka stretched out with the senses she'd been gifted with at birth, the ones that went beyond the physical, searching for Elite auras or anything else that would signal danger.

The Force was almost oppressively heavy when she reached into it, thick with... something. It was the shadow of a presence, or an event that was happening far from the villa. She'd felt something similar in a dream as she slept, and while it made her stomach turn, it was too far away to be an immediate threat.

"No... no, please, spare her! She won't cross you again, I promise. She didn't know. Please, I'm begging you!"

That was Lux's voice.

Ahsoka cast the sheets aside and sprang from her bed, opening the door with the Force – thankfully it was a proper door that slid into the wall, not one of those weird ones they kept in the villa for their historical value – and darting through.

Her heart raced as she ran down the hall to Lux's rooms. She'd been wrong about that shadow being far away; she must have been. There was someone she couldn't sense threatening Lux, maybe even holding a hostage to get him to comply.

No. She needed him alive, needed him to complete her mission, needed his sunshine to help keep her sane–

Ahsoka unlocked his door with a wave of her hand. The shades weren't drawn, and the light of Onderon's moons dazzled her dilated eyes. It would cost her precious seconds to shift out of dark vision, so she shut them, relying on the Force to see as she raced through his sitting room to the bedroom beyond.

She fell into a ready position as she skidded inside, forming shields ahead of her to catch blaster fire or slow a blade and–

The room was empty of all sentient life except Lux, who was writhing on the carpet beside his bed against the blankets twisted up around his legs. His aura was brittle with fear, and his eyes stared blankly ahead at something that was not there.

"Dooku, you monster," he gasped, and Ahsoka understood. He was caught in a nightmare – one so vivid his thrashing had pulled him off the bed. She took a deep breath and released it, willing the battle-ready tension in her body to leave her as the air left her lungs. Lux was safe. All was well.

She turned to go, probing the Force ahead of her to make sure no one had seen her mad dash down the corridor. Lux went tense in his sleep, and she glanced back to make sure he hadn't awoken and spotted her either.

"Mother, don't you die on me too," he said in a whisper so heartbroken and lost something in her chest twinged in empathy. "Just hold on while I get a medic. Please, I can't go on alone."

Anakin wake up you have to wake up please I need you we all need you so you have to wake up before the Elites fire on–

The skin on her back prickled – a phantom of the stun blast that had sapped her strength and conscious awareness, and stolen away the last precious piece she'd had of Anakin Skywalker. Ahsoka gritted her teeth. The memory was still an open wound, and she took no pleasure reliving it as often as she did in her dreams.

She strode back over to Lux, crouching down and putting the tips of her fingers on his temples. Her old friends and family in the Republic, and even the slaves like Ashalla she'd met since being captured, had found it within themselves to comfort her regardless of their own suffering. Ahsoka could do the same for Lux.

"I am one with the Force," she said, sinking into a deep meditation, "and the Force is with me."

The ancient words of power streamed into her, filling her, seeking the purpose of her summons and a direction in which to flow. She laid her mind bare to prove her intent was selfless, and the Force sang in approval. The energy she'd drawn into herself followed the alliance she and Lux had made (the bond of fellowship between them was strong, stronger perhaps than it had a right to be so soon), bridging their minds together and channeling her calm into him.

"I am one with the Force and the Force is with me."

Lux's mind moved in waves as fierce and rough as those that had crashed to shore on their walk by the Inland Sea the day before. But, at her behest, the waters began to calm. His lips stirred, mouthing the words along with her.

"I am one with the Force and the Force is with me." This time they spoke in tandem, and Lux's voice rose to match her volume. "I am one with the Force and the Force is with me. I am one with the Force–"

Lux sucked in a breath, and his eyes snapped open. There was no time to flee; thinking quickly, Ahsoka began stroking his hair, purging any hint of surprise from her expression until it was soft and soothing.

"Alynna?" He still sounded half-asleep. That was a relief.

She drew one hand down over the side of his face. "Hush. You were having a nightmare, Lux, but it's all right. You're safe now."

Lux leaned into her touch, shutting his eyes. "Mmh-hm..."

"Go back to sleep, okay? I'll see you in the morning."

Lux's hands came up to stop her as she draw away. His eyes met hers with a little more focus. "My name."

"What?"

"You said my name, not some silly title." He smiled sleepily, holding onto her fingers like her touch was the most precious thing in the galaxy. "I like it."

Ahsoka felt her face soften in genuine warmth. "Yeah? I'll keep that in mind, but I doubt you'll remember any of this in the morning."

"Stay here. I'll remember if I see you, and... I want to remember."

Lux's aura brightened with hope beneath his haze of drowsiness like a flower blooming in a morning mist. Silently cursing her lack of backbone, Ahsoka nodded and dragged another pillow and blanket down for herself. The carpet was more than plush enough to suit her, and trying to get Lux back into bed now would probably shake the last of the sleep from him.

Lux curled into her side the second she was settled. It's just a one-time thing, she promised herself, taking a deep breath and pushing away a strange feeling gathering in the pit of her stomach. He'd do the same for me – hell, he already has. This is good. These are the kinds of things that make people trust each other.

She froze when he shifted, slinging an arm over her stomach, and somehow fit his face into the tiny space on her shoulder between her lek and her pillow. His breath tickled the sensitive teal stripes, and she bit her lip to keep from rousing him with her laughter.

"It's safe, with you," he mumbled, his eyes fluttering shut, and all conscious awareness but that one little spark of emotional security left him.

She slipped away once he was sleeping deeply enough he wouldn't miss her, but the warmth of his body and the serene glow of his aura in the Force stayed with her through the chill of the hallway and the cool embrace of the sheets on her bed.

It was only as she herself was dozing off that she remembered trust goes both ways. But by then, of course, it was too late to wonder if that meant she might be caught in the same maneuvers she was using on Lux. Perhaps she was already.

At his Master's behest, Vader has come to Onderon to investigate the missing rogue Jedi – and made some startling discoveries. Is Ahsoka really as close to falling to the dark side as Vader believes? More pressingly, might he eventually connect the strange kinship he feels with his quarry to his old bond with Ahsoka? What does he know about her fate – and what does she know about his? How did she really avoid being stripped of her midichlorians, as Barriss was, despite having gone through the same procedure? Only time will tell...

Me writing this chapter:

Because yes, while I tried to make it ambiguous and suggestive since that's always more interesting, the person who bears the title of Darth Vader in this fic once went by the name Anakin Skywalker. Ahsoka... may be in trouble. Just a little.

But getting in Vader's headspace this chapter was a real challenge, and it went through many revisions before I was finally happy with it. It has been a LONG time since I had to write Vader's mental voice, and I've only written him at this age in a handful of fanfics. It's a strange in-between place where he's still got a lot of Anakin's mannerisms in him, and I wanted to express the contradicting identities. 

Vader clenches his hands to keep from fidgeting like he did in the flashback, and he gets frustrated easily, much like the Anakin of old. But he's also more punctual (when it serves him to be), and, thanks to Dooku's teachings, more politically minded... even if his version of subtle isn't actually all that innovative or discrete. (I even made my own evil version of the TCW still from above to give us a sense of the duality each chapter!)

His voice is also a mix of both, since I thought pure Vader would be too like Dooku, and I didn't want them to sound the same even if they share some views. Vader is also young, and his fall happened much differently (and perhaps less concretely) here than it did in canon. It was a struggle to write speech patterns that could sound equally like OT Vader if he was feeling slightly less eloquent and more inclined toward contractions than usual, or TCW Anakin if he was feeling the opposite.

As for the second half of the chapter... well, there's not much to be said, but I WOULD like to make a case for Lux's emotional state. While he's cold and formal when we first met him in TCW, I think that's just a nice blend of edgy teen and traumatized teen – completely understandable, honestly.

By the second time we meet him, he's lost both parents to violence, and been deeply hurt by the galaxy around him. But despite that, he has hope. He finds reason to trust in people, because he wants to change things. Even though she told him not to, because he doesn't have the best judgment at times (cough cough DEATH WATCH) now he's starting to trust Ahsoka. She's something good, and fresh, and special, and he won't let go if he can help it. And considering how much she enjoys his sunshine, she may start to feel the same soon.

Happy Labor Day weekend to those of you who celebrate it. I'll talk to you guys in the next chapter!