Ahsoka awoke the morning after the gala to a muffled curse, and something that looked like a half-folded shirt being thrown out of the walk-in closet in the general direction of a suitcase by the couch. Last-minute packing frenzy, she'd guess. Smiling, she called, "You missed – aim two feet to the left on the next throw!"

Lux stuck his head back into the bedroom, wincing when he realized she was still in bed. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry. I'm just–"

"In a rush because you spent too much time doing your makeup before the gala last night," Ahsoka listed, ticking it off on one finger as she sat up, "and you'd had too much to drink by the time you got back to finish packing afterward."

"Come on, I wasn't that drunk." Lux pouted at her, and she had to smile.

"And I wasn't awake, but thank you for confirming my theory."

Sensing he'd been outmaneuvered, Lux rolled his eyes playfully, but beneath it he was all smiles. "Good morning," he said, and disappeared back into the closet.

Ahsoka allowed herself a short laugh and pushed the sheets off her legs. Her lekku warmed a little when she realized her knee-length sleeping tunic had ridden nearly up to her waist. She and Lux slept on opposite sides of the room, true, but that still could've ended badly.

Or well, the part of Ahsoka's mind still tangled in Lux's arms on the veranda whispered. She scrubbed a hand over her face, groaning, but she couldn't banish the image entirely. Old military habits were hard to break, and she usually bunked down for the night in pants or leggings – clothes she could get up and fight in. She wasn't so wanton as to forgo underwear, but she also knew she rarely lay still as she slept. She'd known perfectly well what Lux risked seeing in changing her attire last night.

"When's breakfast?" she asked, clawing for a distraction.

"I was waiting for you to wake up," Lux's voice floated from the next room. "I'll ring for it in a minute."

"Right."

Lux's only reply was another swear and the sound of cabinets opening and being slammed shut. If Ahsoka had to guess, he couldn't find whatever it was he was looking for, and that gave her an opportunity for an early start on the day's work.

She made for the small, easy-to-access armoire against one wall Lux had emptied of his favorite clothes to make room for hers. Then, grabbing the first fresh tunic and pair of leggings in sight, she stole back across the room to retrieve her transmitter from its hiding place beneath the sculpture. A few silent steps later, and she was safely sequestered in the refresher – and away from any prying eyes.

Ahsoka booted the transmitter up as she dressed, and when she turned back to it, she found a message on the EF-4 band waiting for her. There were only really two people in the Rebellion Ahsoka spoke with regularly nowadays, and now that Rex had just left on a mission, that left only one real alternative. It was probably only a status report on the Rebellion's effort to probe Imperial defenses around Onderon in the Japrael sector – Bail Organa had promised to forward whatever information came his way – but after the last conversation she'd had with him...

She grimaced and swiped a finger over the screen, scrolling down to the rest of her inbox. All the other messages had been sent on standard, Empire-approved frequencies: updates from Kesh Turaak and the other miners on their smuggling operations, an update on Mira and Ephraim Bridger's efforts to get off the planet in case a loophole was found to get slaves off Onderon covertly... and a short, text-only message from Ludda.

That's a little less menacing, Ahsoka thought. Best to start off small. Sticking her toothbrush in her mouth, she tapped on the message and began to read. 

The instructions your contact sent for doctoring our transmitters have proved invaluable. With luck, this will allow us to expand our operations to other cities and towns on a larger scale no matter what other communications lockdowns the Empire and the Great Houses see fit to throw at us.

If you say the word, I'll have my people based outside of Kyzeron begin searching for individuals who might prove sympathetic to your cause. But I leave that decision up to you. Your network is still gaining ground, and who answers to whom still undecided. So long as your mobility remains a concern, concessions will have to be made, but my offer for your tracker still stands.

Your ally,

Ludda

Ahsoka had to grin at that. She programmed the device's holoproj to generate a keyboard, and she was nearly done writing to Ludda that Lux had passed their test and that she'd soon be free without any outside help when a thought struck her.

She wasn't being smart about this.

Lux had promised her he'd free her, and she believed him. She trusted him. But while he knew a lot about who she was as a person and what she believed in, he didn't know anything about her history – and it didn't take Jedi senses to know there was a lot about the Republic and the Separatists he was still processing.

If she wanted to keep him by her side – as a friend, as a comrade, as whatever other possibilities presented themselves – she needed to tell him the truth. And she had a sinking feeling the worst would happen when she told him the whole story about Padmé's contact with diplomatic immunity, about the way she'd intended to use him and had used him soon after meeting him, about the network she was trying to build to steal profits right out from under his family's noses.

That knowledge could break him, break this... thing that was pushing up through the soil between them, delicate vines snaking around their bodies to draw them closer together. And that terrified her.

If she took Ludda's offer and left now, she'd leave Lux heartbroken, but with enough beautiful memories to carry him until he found he found as good of a spouse to marry as he could from among the Great Houses – as his father wanted him to. She could rip the bacta patch off, and it would sting her like hell, but a healed wound needed to breathe. Despite the pain, it would always be grateful to the one who had given it space to grow strong again.

"Alynna?"

Ahsoka turned toward the sound. Lux was closer now. From the change in volume, she'd guess he'd left the walk-in closet and was wandering the bedroom.

But now that she thought about it, she felt... better, these days. She seldom flashed back to long-ago defeats in her dreams, and it had been weeks since her last real panic attack. Of course, things were still difficult; with the Rebellion so far away and her own network still so new, sometimes it felt like she stood alone against an entire galaxy's worth of enemies. But she'd been a lost planet who'd found refuge in falling into Lux's orbit. If she left, would she be able to take his sunshine with her?

Her closeness with him felt so right, so natural. It couldn't be artificial, and it couldn't be wrong. Despite all the past mistakes she still had to atone for, last night she'd felt in her soul, with deep senses she still didn't fully understand, that she was on the right path. She had to stay.

Ahsoka deleted her half-written message. Then, wrapping the transmitter in her sleeping tunic to conceal it, she walked back into the bedroom.

Lux lit up when he saw her, and gestured proudly at his suitcase. "I found it."

"Found what?"

"My parka. It's Alderaan's winter right now, did you know that?"

"I didn't," she lied. Rex had sent her holos of the snow a few days before, when they'd spent most of Onderon's night talking. Her smile slipped.

Lux's brow knotted. "What is it?"

Ahsoka put her arms around him and pressed her face into his chest instead of answering, careful to keep the transmitter away from his body. Even cloth-padded as it was, one wrong moved risked exposing it.

"I'm just... going to miss you."

Lux huffed out a quiet laugh and hugged her tight. "Oh, is that all?"

"Yes?"

"You don't sound so sure," he pressed. He loosened his grip just enough to tilt her face up and examine it. This close to him, the traces of dark makeup still clinging to his eyelids and lashes were much more pronounced.

"You're really going for the messy morning-after makeup look, huh?"

"Maybe I just felt like unleashing my inner angst-riddled teenager today," Lux said, fanning a melodramatic hand to his forehead.

Ahsoka pushed on his chest with both hands. "You're twenty. Act your age."

"Very well, an angst-riddled twenty-year-old it is." His mocking grin faded into something softer, and his hands settled on her back. "Will you miss me? Truly?"

She nodded once, sidling closer again.

Lux tilted her face up again with two fingers – such a light, tender touch that Ahsoka very nearly melted into it. "Can I kiss you?" he whispered, fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes away from her lips.

Ahsoka nodded a second time, and tipped his head down. His mouth was a blessing on hers, all soft curves and steady, affectionate pressure. He never once stopped smiling, and he was positively grinning when she drew back again.

Ahsoka's eyelids drifted shut, and she smiled in turn. This is nice, she thought.

"Really?"

"I... didn't mean to say that out loud," she backtracked.

"It's fine," he reassured, preening. "More than fine. Besides, it makes me think: I don't know about you, but I suspect you and I and alcohol don't mix."

"Oh?"

"Last night is the second time we've had something to drink and tried to eat each other's faces off." His tone of voice was drifting aimlessly somewhere between serious and joking. Ahsoka couldn't quite place it. "Please correct me if I'm wrong, but it seemed like a lot less devouring goes on when we're not under the influence."

"Charming visual, but I'll have you know I was completely sober at the time," she quipped. Ahsoka nearly added that she'd almost asked him to devour something other than her mouth, but that was going much too far to prove a point. She flushed.

"Just making an observation." He tempered a nonchalant shrug with a teasing smile. "If it wasn't the alcohol, then who taught you to make out? A rancor?"

Ahsoka grinned, showing him her sharp Togruta canines. "Maybe."

Lux chuckled, but there was tension to him that hadn't been there before. Ahsoka bit back a frown. There was something here she'd missed.

Oh. His voice hadn't been drifting at all, had it? He was making sure she didn't just feel the need to carry on what they'd started while largely under the influence of some strong alcohol. He was giving her an out, if she needed it – even going so far as to dress it up as a joke to let himself down gently.

"Hey, if this is some convoluted way of asking if I'm having second thoughts, put that idea out of your mind right now. I'm okay with what happened last night on that veranda. More than okay. We still need to talk about it, but, I'm... just, very okay with it. Yeah," she finished lamely.

"Well, let me ring for breakfast, and we can do just that, but with pastries."

"Healthy," Ahsoka commented.

"For our emotional states, yes, absolutely. In fact–"

A pointed knock from the next-door sitting room over drew their attention. Ahsoka extricated herself from Lux's arms, taking advantage of the distraction to put her sleeping tunic back in the armoire. She could move the transmitter later.

Dakharen ducked his head down in a quick approximation of a bow when Lux answered the door. "Forgive the intrusion, my Lord, but if the ship doesn't leave in ten minutes, you won't have adequate time to prepare for Queen Breha's reception. Are you finished packing?"

"Yes. I just need to close my suitcase and grab a datapad for the flight."

"Good, that's very good..." Dakharen wrung his hands together. "I was quite surprised when you wanted to take charge of the task yourself."

"It's easier, this way. I know exactly where everything is, should I need to grab something in a hurry," Lux said, with a smile that was just a fraction too bright.

That was right. Ahsoka had never had a chance to tell him Dakharen was more amenable to Zakhan Noreino's schemes than Lux knew. She had no way to contact him while he was away short of calling Bail Organa and asking him to pass Lux the comm – which came with a plethora of other problems – but maybe she could steal another moment alone with Lux before he left.

"Oh, Dakharen, if you wouldn't mind taking my suitcase to the shuttle for me while I grab that datapad, I'll be right behind you."

Lux motioned meaningfully toward his office, and Dakharen inclined his head. "Certainly, my Lord." Then, ambling over to the suitcase, he up the clasps and left the room with it tucked safely under his arm.

"Lux, I don't think you can trust him anymore."

"I figured as much."

"What? Did you already know he follows your father's orders?"

Lux's brows rose a fraction. "Not... that part, no, but it makes sense. Last night tipped me off to a few things, actually."

"Well, uh... great. But hey, just watch yourself around him, okay?"

"I will. When I get back, I'd appreciate it if we could compare notes."

"We'll talk about it." Ahsoka put a hand on his arm and stroked it softly through his sleeve, drawing him back to the present. "And the rest of last night, too."

His smile returned at that, and after a few moments' silence he murmured, "I'm going to miss you, too."

Then, almost without deliberating, so naturally she felt her lekku grow hot again, he put a hand on her shoulder to keep her in place and kissed her forehead. The touch was deeply intimate, almost more so than a kiss on the mouth, but... it was more comfortable, somehow. It made Ahsoka's fingertips tingle.

"I'll see you in a week," Ahsoka managed to say.

Lux took her hands and bent to kiss them, one after the other. He flashed her one last smile as he straightened and turned away. In a daze, she watched him dip into the office before finally leaving the suite. Only then did she wake up completely, remember how little time to miss him she actually had. There was lots of work to do.

The quiet, empty space between the stars was an unnatural riot of red and blue lasers, with the occasional spark of red blooming into a rainbow blast as a starfighter was hit and scattered into atoms. Everywhere glowed the turquoise shimmer of engines burning off their fuel in thousands of races to pursue or escape enemy craft.

Beneath it all, the grey, pockmarked face of the Death Star waited amidst its court of Geonosian moons, the inner workings of the weapon's giant radar dish staring up at the battling ships like a lifeless prosthetic on a specialist's table.

Watching fighter formations devolve into chaos then reform then devolve again behind the support-slashed transparisteel of a TIE fighter viewport, Vader felt very much like a spider eyeing prey through the lines of its web. His hands lay still over the dead, unlit controls, stalled until some sign from the battle a hundred klicks away made them snap into motion.

But what was the sign?

A squadron of Y-wings – antiquated by Imperial reckoning, but reliable and sturdy to the eyes of one who'd fought in them – thundered past, then rippled down after their commander as the lead ship dove abruptly for the surface of the station.

There. This was what he'd been looking for, and his hands lurched into action to compensate before the opportunity was lost. Now all Vader had to do was... was...

He felt the vision slipping away from him. He grabbed at it, distorting the Force until it bent to his will, but it was too late. He could splash at the surface of the water all he wanted, but the image of the battle had submerged and sunk beyond his reach, taking the long-awaited insight he'd been about to gain with it.

Vader took a series of deep breaths to calm himself before he grew so angry his rage scorched precious details from his short-term memory. Then, settling back into a lighter meditation, he called what he'd seen back to his cognitive forefront.

The Y-wings and... yes, there were Z-95 Headhunters mixed into the fray, too – those suggested the Rebellion, or a third party who'd scavenged a lot of old Clone Wars battlefields. He hadn't seen any larger ships, Venators and frigates and the like, but his ability to deviate beyond what the self in the vision was experiencing and reacting to was limited; they'd probably been hunkered out of his line of sight. Z-95s were versatile, but unlike Y-wings, they weren't equipped with hyperdrives. Unless the Rebellion had somehow scraped up the credits for a retrofit – which Vader highly doubted – they needed carriers to get them to and from launch points.

That presented another question: why attack at all? Members of his Master's inner circles liked to look down on the Rebellion, belittling it as a handful of tired old politicians and officers too stubborn and short-sighted to embrace change. Vader agreed with the stubbornness part of the assessment, but not the rest. The Rebellion was the sum of the former GAR, plus a solid backing of old Council of Neutral Systems worlds – a fact the Emperor's sycophants seemed eager to forget. They also conveniently overlooked how it snuck more loyal worlds out of the Imperial machine every day, swaying them with false promises of a better future. Even displaced, undersupplied, and underfunded, the Rebellion was fast becoming too great a force to dismiss so casually.

The Rebellion wasn't led by stupid people. Vader would know; in another life, he'd fought alongside many of them. If they had learned of Project Stardust as his vision implied, they wouldn't throw the tens of thousands of lives required for this kind of offensive away merely to test the station's defences. They'd have a reason for taking such risks – a specific target to hit.

Vader didn't know what that was, but he was sure the operative aboard the station so skillfully sending those unexplained transmissions was involved.

With another deep breath, Vader anchored himself to the present moment, rising up out of the shallow eddies in the Force he'd immersed himself in to sharpen his memory and his perception. He had to come up with a plan of action before this precious advantage was lost. Vader knew better than anyone that ignoring visions of the future could cost lives.

But that was years ago, now, and he had a job to do. He had no time to get bogged down with past mistakes.

Vader's head whipped up when his computer console beeped a particular pattern. Hope flowered in his chest, a forbidden feeling but a spark of euphoria after weeks of chasing ghosts. He snapped into action, crossing his quarters in a few exoskeleton-enhanced bounds until he could wrench the screen upward.

He'd expected building a program cataloguing and clearing every outgoing transmission from the Death Star would be futile. With the amount of comm traffic leaving the station to comb through, he'd only learn of anomalous messages hours or even days after they were sent – and he wasn't likely to get the timestamps he really needed to catch the interloper out of it, either. But he'd integrated the code into the comm towers' base programming with the aid of a few strategically placed dataspikes just the same. It had been something to add to his progress reports to the Emperor, even when he was mostly convinced his quarry had already left the station.

Perhaps I was wrong, Vader thought as he scrolled down to the message his program had pinpointed and flagged for his inspection. I might still have a chance.

There – an encrypted message with no officer's ID attached. That meant–

The size of the file ticked down by ten percent.

"Kriff," Vader swore, throwing himself into the seat before the console and calling up a holographic keypad. Grabbing the nearest code cylinder and shoving it into the reader to authenticate himself, he tapped into the comm towers directly.

Another ten percent. Well, if his opponent wanted to challenge him to a battle of slicing capabilities, deleting versus saving, Vader would rise to meet it.

With bated breath, Vader flitted back and forth through the network of comm towers until he found the backup folder the five-minute message had been saved to. Another ten percent gone, twenty – and he still had to clone and move the message to safety once he'd locked onto it. Damnation, he was going to lose it.

Vader cut his momentary flash of fear off at the root, letting the dark side rise up in his veins, filling him, fuelling him. With a growl, he forced his fingers to move faster across the keypad. He refused to let this opportunity escape him.

Another ten percent. Vader smacked the icon to authorize the transfer of the archived message to his console, whispering a prayer to an old goddess he no longer believed in, and it was done. He had only half the message, and it was fragmented and degrading, but he had it.

And, better still, in scrubbing the message from the comm towers, Vader's opponent had first had to decrypt the code keeping himself and the other computer specialists on the Death Star from listening in. Most of the intelligible speech was gone beyond his reach, but a few fragments at the very beginning were clear – or as clear as they could be, running through voice synthesizers as they were:

"–seem... oddly calm for a spy who was nearly found out by the Empire."

"My immediate superiors and subordinates are well within my means. It was the arrival of Darth Vader that troubled me."

The first speaker – the recipient, Vader assumed – blew out a breath between their teeth. "I was under the impression he–"

That was everything Vader had, but it was enough – and it made such sense it was a wonder Vader hadn't noticed it before. The infiltrator didn't fear capture from their fellow officers aboard the Death Star. It was Vader himself, his reputation for cruelty and quick results, that struck terror in his opponent's heart.

Vader's presence on the station was why the spy had been so quiet lately.

Dark satisfaction turned around on itself in the pit of his stomach, curling up like a sated animal after a large meal. Vader didn't pause to let himself enjoy it. He flung himself to his feet and only just remembered to fetch and fasten a cape around his shoulders before he left his quarters. The beginnings of a plan were condensing and solidifying in his mind, and he didn't have a second to lose.

Hangar 2038 was much as he remembered it. Nearest of all the hangars to the overbridge, it was spacious and austere – just the thing to properly welcome and accommodate highly ranking dignitaries in the Emperor's favor. Vader's personal shuttle, as was to be expected, occupied the central berth. Also to be expected, its young pilot – Alesh Kinta was her name, Vader had since learned – stayed with it at all times in case her passenger should need to make a sudden departure.

Ensign Kinta had annoyed Vader at first, but he couldn't bemoan competence, and she was far too frightened of him to stray even an inch from regulation. Fear was malleable; it would keep her from betraying him to the first person to offer her wealth or a fast promotion in exchange for spying on him. And that was valuable.

"How many emergency oxygen tanks are aboard?" he demanded as he stormed up the ramp and into the ship.

Kinta started, dropping a spanner jerkily into her tool bag and rising to stand to attention. The panel she'd been holding up to expose the wires beneath banged shut, and she winced. "Uh... the usual complement of six, my Lord."

"Tell the quartermaster we're missing some and requisition two more in my name. You may make up whatever story about the persnickety Lord Vader and his high standards you wish, provided you get them."

"As you wish, Lord Vader, but..." Why? she didn't ask – this one was much too careful for a move like that – but the look on her face posed the question for her. Well, lucky for her, Vader was feeling charitable today.

"I foresee an extended period with minimal life support, and access to vac suits aboard the station is closely monitored," he offered. "I also need to build a jetpack that can operate without atmosphere to convert into fuel."

Kinta looked even more confused, but all she said was, "Very good, my Lord."

"Dismissed."

She saluted and scurried off. Vader waited a few minutes before following, the strap of Kinta's tool bag clasped in one gloved hand. First he'd raid the station's nearest weapons locker. Then he'd pay a visit to the maintenance facility and find a few busted droids to scrap for parts. Somewhere along the line he'd also have to comm his Master and tell him what he was planning, but Vader wasn't worried.

He had much to report, and the Emperor was sure to be pleased.

With promises to discuss what happened the night before and where they stand, Lux and Ahsoka are parting ways for a week – an interval that will give Lux some extra time to brace himself for the demands of Kyzeron living, and Ahsoka a chance to grow her network of contacts among the Amavikkas and in the Rebellion. Will she find a middle ground between her desires and her duty in regards to Bail Organa's job offer as a Rebel informant? With Vader tipped off to the possibility of an attack on the station, the Rebellion may need her more than she ever suspects. And on the topic of Vader, just what is he planning? Only time will tell...

This chapter was a delight to write, and it's probably as close to filler as I'll ever come in this story – the connective tissue between more critical pieces of the story that gives them a full range of motion. I initially considered skipping right into the action, but I thought it was important that Ahsoka and Lux established to each other that what happened at the gala wasn't just the result of high spirits or overdoing it on the booze. It's important for them to be if not on the same page then on the same chapter before I tear it all down. There are three main arcs to this fanfic, and we're fast hurtling toward the big climactic moment of the second one.

Oh, did you hear something? I don't know what you're talking about, I didn't say anything...

Next chapter we'll dive back into the not-too-distant past, and catch up on Ahsoka, Anakin, and Obi-Wan's investigation into Chancellor Palpatine's death – and perhaps finally start to get some answers. Talk to you all then!

When Anakin pushed open the secret door into the basement of Chancellor Palpatine's manor, the air was so charged with fear even a person blind and deaf to the mysteries of the Force would sense it.

"Master...?" he began, looking back at Obi-Wan over his shoulder. His old teacher nodded, looking troubled.

In the same heartbeat, Anakin felt Ahsoka's mental shields go up through their bond, locking any Force wielder but himself and Obi-Wan out of her mind. A glance at her from the corner of his eye brought back a small frame that was all balanced posture and battle-ready muscles. Pride briefly rose up through Anakin's unease before it was overtaken again – but it wasn't completely overcome.

I wish I'd bet money against Obi-Wan's estimate. She'll definitely make full Knight before nineteen, he thought, and nearly smiled.

"I sense it too," Ahsoka murmured, drawing Anakin back to the present, and scampered on ahead. Anakin and Obi-Wan slowed their pace on reflex, falling back on what was by now an old rhythm for their trio: letting Ahsoka act as vanguard with her speed and precision while Anakin waited to dive in with the heavy artillery and cause some damage. Obi-Wan came last, covering the rear and ready to smooth things over, should Knight or Padawan get drawn too far into the heat of battle.

A soft pulse in Ahsoka's aura signalled the all-clear, but Anakin wasn't going to drop his guard just yet – and, by the feel of things, neither was Obi-Wan. Their caution was rewarded when, a few seconds later, Ahsoka came skidding back down the hallway, her big blue eyes dark with worry.

"A reassessment may be in order," she said. Anakin tensed. That was one of the first code phrases and gestures they'd developed for tense situations when they didn't want anyone to know what they were planning: Expect trouble.