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Chapter Text

“I’m a person and my name is Anakin.” The line startled Vader out of the silent stupor that the Senate session had lulled him into. Not many knew that the feared Darth Vader usually spent these hours, on the rare occasions his Master forced him to attend, in deep meditation- the single good use of the mask. But that sentence, spoken with such conviction so long ago, had seemingly come to him unbidden. Taking a moment to concentrate on the Senate around him, he could hear a vague discussion of the use of the old Clone Troopers and how a new bill for conscription was being voted in to decrease the expenditure of having to keep replacing the clones. Senator Organa was likening the behaviour as using them as slaves.

“I’m a person and my name is Anakin.” He had been so sure of that, of the one thing that he could claim was his own in those days and he internally growled at the thought. As if he had moved so far away from that, now that he was enslaved to a new Master. Besides, he couldn’t understand how Bail could claim such things- he hadn’t spoken out for the clones during the Clone Wars preceding the empire. He was as much of a hypocrite as the other politicians- at least P-she had had the courage to deny Clone Troopers as guards throughout her life. Pain sparked through him, the empty hole where his heart had been pulsing with agony as it had in the six years since his angel had been ripped away from him. By his own hands no less.

Vader sank back into the Dark Side, wrapping the anger and self-loathing around him and falling back into the meditative trance that he settled into before. Perhaps the Force would have some clarification for why that thought had run through his mind at that moment.

“What’s your name?” It was his voice from before, without the vocoder and seemingly so young. This was before, before everything had gone wrong and the world had fallen apart in war.

“CT-7567.” He remembered frowning at that.

“No, what’s your name not your designation?” he had asked, or rather demanded. The gash that was his mother’s death was still so fresh and that tone, that rattled off a length of numbers was a reminder too many of the life that he could have saved her from. That he had left her behind in. And a reminder that these men had as much of a choice in this war, this world, as he did. He could remember the startled look on the other man’s face- it was obvious that no one had treated them as anything other than objects of war.

“We don’t have names sir,” was the curt reply he had gotten, and his younger self had narrowed his eyes at that.

“I don’t believe you. I order men under me not things. Not numbers.” He had barely stopped himself from hissing ‘not slave numbers’. This took the Captain back before he grinned.

“Rex, sir. I like to call myself Rex.”

He pulled himself violently from that particular memory. He did not need reminding of those few loyal soldiers who had fled the moment Order 66 had been carried out. He vaguely remembered a flitting order, ensuring that they would not be affected by the chips in their head as he had once been… there was a tug on his consciousness, forcing him away from thinking too hard on that thought. There was a dangerous truth there, one his master would not let him grasp. This farce of a Senate was ending, and Vader took this moment to turn away, to leave before the Force could try to extricate more reminders of his chains.

“Lord Vader?” Vader stiffened, noting that he was not the only one to have left the meeting early. She must have run from her pod to have caught up with him. “May I have a moment?” He turned, glad once more for the mask that hid him from truly facing her. From facing the reality that they now lived in. Senator Naberrie stared back, her hair only a few shades lighter than her sister’s, face so familiar that the agony became like the lava he had once near drowned in.

“Senator Naberrie?” he asked, calm as only a Sith Lord could be, vocoder conveying no inflection. She stepped forward, bold as her sister, and looped an arm through his, startling him.

“What did you think?” she asked, not missing a beat as they moved further away from the political stage.

“I am merely an observer,” Vader said, wondering what her angle was. “The Emperor has no interest in the continued façade of the Senate.”

“I wasn’t asking for the Master’s opinion,” Naberrie stated, using not Coruscanti but the Amatakkan word for ‘slave master’ to describe the Emperor. Vader could not stop the flinch at her words. “I was asking for yours.”

“The clones were loyal soldiers, but the chips have made them little more than disposable fodder.” No matter how much the chip strained, it could not keep the disgust from his voice or the vocoder. Vader found himself surprised- not even her pleas had been able to do that.

“My thoughts exactly.” She sounded a little too satisfied. “It is also curious that Organa thinks to speak out for them now, rather than when they were simply slaves of the Republic.” Another nail she had hit on the head, another flinch. This was most unlike him. Had he not been training himself to be nothing more than ice cold fire, to feel nothing but the burning hatred and anger of a true Sith? Where was she pulling these feelings from? Had she been sent by the Force? Or the Jedi? Or perhaps… That is impossible he hissed to the stupid, sentimental remains of Anakin Skywalker, still burning in the inferno.

“A trouble to put towards him no?” Vader asked, confused. What did this woman want? Naberrie merely hummed in agreement and Vader realised she was leading them towards the Naboo quarter, where she would be housed. It was at that moment that they came across the man himself, on his way to the Alderaani quarter, situated next to those of the Naberries, supposedly as allies. From the way the Senator stiffened and clutched his arm slightly tighter, that was nothing more than talk.

“Senator Organa,” she said coolly, dipping her head in greeting. Organa had stopped completely, frozen in the doorway, staring at the pair. At Naberrie’s words, he unfroze however, bowing his head only just low enough.

“Lord Vader,” he said, sounding like he was forcing the words out. “Sola. What a surprise.” It sounded more like he considered himself in a nightmare.

“To find myself returning to my family?” she asked, a note of sarcasm in her voice. Organa twitched but she ignored him. “Lord Vader was most gracious to escort me home and join us for dinner.” Vader spared her a glance, wondering how she imagined that would come about. If it was a ploy to get rid of Organa, it certainly worked as he paled instantly, gibbering something as he stared at them. He rushed as quickly as he could past them, head down. Vader vaguely wondered what had him in such a hurry before Naberrie was walking forwards once again, dragging him along with her. He nearly stumbled, before regaining his footing, suppressing the pain from the poorly constructed prosthetics.

Vader had not visited the Naboo quarter since it was formed under the Empire. Had P… she lived, it was more than likely she would have been housed here and forcibly removed from her apartment in 500 Republica, much like how Organa had been relocated. It was decorated much like Varykino was, the property that was now technically Vader’s on Naboo: he had not returned since the wedding. Fresh roses gave the air a pleasant aroma that even he could smell through the mask, the walls painted a soft beige. The final room Naberrie led him into was sparsely decorated, although the floor was littered with toys surrounding a small wiggling figure sat on the floor. Tiny fists shook towards them, waving a stuffed bantha in their direction, unfazed by the sound of Vader’s breathing. Naberrie stepped forward as the handmaiden subtly left, cooing to the child as she swept them up into her arms. Vader stood silent, wondering what she thought she would gain from this other than to unintentionally rub in the fact that she had a living breathing child, while his own were dead and gone.

“This is Milè,” Naberrie said, walking back towards him- an odd occurrence in itself. Most people kept their children as far away from him as possible. “She was… something of a surprise.” Vader raised an eyebrow behind the mask, unimpressed as a tiny fist swung the toy at him.

“Your offspring is of no interest to me,” Vader said, somehow eliciting a giggle from this tiny being. She had a dark crop of curls on her head, the Naberrie brown eyes. Perhaps his own daughter would have… Vader squashed the thought, drawing on the Dark Side. Curious brown eyes blinked, and hands stretched out again.

“Play!” the tiny girl demanded, and Vader stared. Naberrie was clearly hiding a smile as the demented little thing shouted it out again. “Play!”

“Ah, if you wouldn’t mind?” Naberrie asked as her comm beeped. “I have to take this.” And suddenly, Vader found his arms full of the delightful thing. Milè apparently didn’t care, far more satisfied in attempting to press the buttons on the control panel attached to his chest. Fending off too-curious fingers seemed to keep her entertained for the length of time it took the Senator to take the call. Naberrie returned, hidden amusement at his lack of ability to prevent this cretin of a daughter from keeping her distance.

“You should teach her not to stick her fingers where they are not wanted. She might find some of them missing.” Naberrie raised an eyebrow as she took the child back.

“She’s one. To her, they’re big shiny brightly coloured buttons, that she really needs to press. Surely even Lord Vader can understand that?” Vader did not appreciate the teasing note in her voice but before he could say a word, the Force appeared to hit him hard enough for him to stumble.

“Master! Master! What are you…?!”

“Council room is cleansed. Moving on to Sector 2…”

“Traitor!” The teenager’s face flashed before his eyes, anger mixed in with grief at watching her Creche mates die. But he didn’t… he couldn’t… She had been friends with Ahsoka! But his hands moved without his knowledge and suddenly her face was split by a huge gash, nearly killing her on the spot. Luckily, she had leaned far enough back that it didn’t cleave her face to two, but she overbalanced, toppling over, and he heaved with all his effort against the orders ringing in his head. “Do not hesitate!” shouted the voice in his head. “No!” screamed his conscious. For a moment, that control broke, as it had earlier, as it had mere moments ago. His lightsabre hovered over her.

“Go!” the remnants of Anakin Skywalker screamed. “GO! The cupboard… Fountains… Younglings…”

“Do not hesitate,” that evil croak whispered, even as she stared up and he fought, but there was only so far one could push themselves before the body or mind broke. Tears streaming, he could barely see as he screamed it at her again, nearly dropping his lightsabre at the pain in his head. When he glanced up again, ready to continue his mission, the Padawan was gone and his tears were dry…

She was there, begging him to go with her and everything in him wanted to say yes, but there was a figure there, one who had lied to him before…

He was awake to the dreadful breaths of the breather, amplified by the vocoder, and his angel was dead, his children were gone, and it was all his fault…

“Lord Vader?” The quiet inquiry somehow broke through the chaos and Vader found himself on his knees, child fascinated with the flashing lights, firing off several alarms within the suit as he caught his breath. Except, for the first time in a year, the suit felt suffocating, felt like it was strangling him from the inside out. Vaguely, he was aware of things rattling, the windows cracking, toys being flung about the room, but he couldn’t concentrate on it. The Force, along with something else, had ripped through programming installed by the Emperor and there was nothing he could do…

“Play.” The tiny voice cut through the panic where Sola could not, a small shining light in the Force. A tiny hand tapped the mask, no longer concentrating on the control box. Vader… blinked. Milè gave him a cheeky grin, eyes sparkling as he gently acknowledged her back in the Force, wondering how this girl was currently running under the Emperor’s nose. “Play.” It appeared to be the only word she knew, but, somehow, she was able to convey more through that single word than all the Senators had merely an hour earlier. “Play.”

“Yes…” Va- no, Anakin panted, grounding himself from the claustrophobia and allowing the girl to grab a single, gloved prosthetic. “I will play with you.”

Milè had been tucked into bed and asleep before Sola explained the overwhelming Force presence that surrounded him right now. The Emperor would most likely have felt the disturbance and Anakin had done his best to use his own, currently very confused and mixed, Force-Signature to hide that of the child’s. In covering that light, he had vaguely noted another shining light, far brighter than Milè, and older, and he had absent-mindedly done the same for them too. The Dark side and the Light crashed together in his hand, making it pound, although there was little he could do about it. The suit was not equipped for headaches and to be honest, he was used to the pain by now. The explanation was simply explained by a deceptively innocent-looking device that he recognised from blueprints he had made himself.

“We had to get someone to adjust the calibration, and some remnants of the 501^st who weren’t caught up in Order 66 to finally get it to work. Ryoo’s been using it along the slave runs.” An action that touched Anakin’s decaying and burnt heart, re-lit some embers that had been snuffed out by the Jedi. That the Naberrie family had remembered a fact told to them in passing and not only planned something but carried through with it was more meaningful than anything the Jedi Council had ever done for him. And it was done, not because he was any prophesised ‘Chosen One’ but because he was just… him. Because he was Anakin and ‘Uncle Ani’ to Sola’s children when he had had the time. It made the truth harder to face.

“How did you know it would work?” Anakin was exhausted and feeling honestly empty, merely able to just study the chip inhibitor in his hands. Sola shrugged, cradling a cup of tea in her hands.

“We didn’t but we… suspected. Mother always said there’s a difference between the atrocities of a madman and those of a broken man.” And how very like his Master- force him to follow down a path that he might have had second thoughts about, prevented him from breaking the conditioning before hurting Pa- her and then forcing him to live with the consequences. “Vader never seemed particularly concerned as to what regime he worked under. And unlike others in the Senate, I never saw a machine.” But I was. I am. I am nothing but a mere puppet for Palpatine to use to create fear among the Senate and force them to work under his thumb voluntarily. Sola frowned and Anakin wondered how she could read him under the mask.

“Why would you allow me anywhere near her?” Anakin asked, pulling the anger towards Palpatine around them, a perfect storm of the Dark Side in answer to the probing he could feel from his Master. “I am a slave. To Palpatine and to the Dark Side.” It whispered to him even now, calling to him, trying to drag him down a path that he had heard since his mother’s death. One he had used several times over.

“If that were true, we would not be having this conversation,” Sola snapped, her similar face showing a familiar frustration. “If you were a complete slave to that chip and the codes that the Jedi Order gave Palpatine, Sho and her young friends would never have made it out of the Temple alive.” Anakin twitched, remembering once again the young Padawan the Force had shown him.

“I don’t remember doing that. I don’t remember anything that happened at the Temple.” An admission that Vader had never thought twice about but that Anakin had repressed, still remembering those small Younglings in the Council Room, the ones that had become victims that night. He didn’t know how many he had ‘saved’, if any at all.

“So that’s it? You’re going to just give up?” There was a challenge in Sola’s voice and Anakin sighed, the noise unable to be produced by the vocoder.

“What do you suggest that I do? No one will accept the help of Darth Vader, the Emperor’s Right Hand and Anakin Skywalker, the Hero Without Fear is dead, if he ever existed.” That bleak, empty feeling threatened to crush him and there was a tiny whimper from the next room. Anakin drew back from the tiny, precious light that was Milè, doing his best to keep his own crippling depression away from her innocence. It only worked halfway since it woke her up. He could hear her sniffling and a tiny plaintive wail echoed from the other room and he flinched. “My apologies.” Sola blinked and then gave him a calculating look. She then got up, most likely to deal with her child. Anakin would have used that moment to leave, had Sola not re-entered the room and dumped Milè, blankets and all, on his lap. The small toddler wiggled around, tiny hand tapping his helmet once again, supposedly where his nose would be.

“Play?” she asked in a wobbly voice and the Force swelled with a tiny light’s concern under the blanket he had laid over it. She wasn’t old enough or developed enough to convey anything properly, but somehow, she was concerned about him. This small, innocent baby had more faith in him than anyone had the right to be, completely and honestly, simply because he had reached out to her. Because, somehow, at some basic level, she understood the shield he had built around her mind against the Dark Force she had been feeling.

“You know, she’s never been this calm since we landed three months ago. The first week I took her to three doctors who all told me she was fine, just being fussy. And then you appeared on screen and she was fascinated. She sits in front of the holo and shouts ‘Play’ at it. I think she just… knew,” Sola explained, watching him carefully. Anakin awkwardly bounced the toddler, confused and amazed at this privilege he was being shown.

“I… She is Force Sensitive,” Anakin admitted. “My orders are to turn all children with potential over to the Emperor. Had I realised earlier, that is where she would have ended up.”

“Then it’s a good thing I distracted you isn’t it?” The teasing note was back, but Sola had yet to relax yet. Milè, comforted that Anakin wasn’t dying or something as extreme as that, had curled up in his lap, one hand gripping his finger, the other the stuffed bantha. Anakin merely hummed, a noise confused by the vocoder once again, as he considered, still captured by this small life that, somehow, even when he was still chained to the Emperor, had had some form of belief in him.

“I cannot promise my help to any Rebel manoeuvres.” Sola snorted then and relaxed slowly, returning to her tea.

“Good thing I’m not involved in any. Well,” she paused and then smirked, her face darker than her sisters ever was under the same expression. “not any sanctioned by Organa anyhow. He was most put out.” Anakin tilted his head, curious despite himself. Sola shrugged and took a sip of tea. “He’s been organising many of the Rebel movements, supposedly in my sister’s memory. He was upset when we argued against it. After all, Padme always favoured working peacefully over violence, even if she would get her hands dirty from time to time.” Anakin snorted, despite the agony of hearing his angel’s name.

“I highly doubt Organa is involved on the ground.” Sola laughed at that and Anakin turned away. Despite this moment, how could he work with her, knowing what he had done? “Sola… Your sister…” Sola paused, her posture tense. “I don’t know what happened. The chip inhibited my questioning what Sidious told me but… I do know I hurt her.” The admission near killed him to say out loud, would surely turn her away but it had to be said. “There is nothing I can do to atone for that.” Sola pursed her lips, concern written on her face before she stood up, comm in hand.

“We never knew what happened to Padme. I asked Organa because he met up with Kenobi that night, at Polis Massa, and he claimed you killed her. I couldn’t believe it. I’d seen how you treated her, how much you adored her. So, I did some digging.” She paused and then clicked it on, bringing up a holo of a young girl, similar to what he imagined Milè would look like in several years’ time. “Strangely, that same day, Organa had adopted this little girl, Leia.” Anakin felt his heart stop, his breath caught in his throat. Even Milè paused, staring with wide eyes at the holo. Leia. Leirishya. It couldn’t be possible. “We also got in contact with your step-brother, who had himself acquired a baby nephew. Luke.” Anakin could do nothing but sit and stare. In your anger, you killed her. Those had been the words he had been told. The words he had gone by for six years. He knew Organa had a daughter, a six-year-old little girl he did everything to keep out of the spotlight. He had lived with the belief that he killed the child along with her but if what Sola was saying was true…

Rage. That was the first emotion that came back, bitter and familiar. Pure and unadulterated rage, at his Master, at his previous Master, at the world for stealing his children from him. Milè gave a small whimper, clinging closer to him, scared by this rage that he couldn’t contain. Sola stood her ground, despite the clattering of her cutlery, her teacup smashed and leaking on the floor, her face grim. The Naberries had never seen him in a true rage before in person, merely over the holonet but he supposed that they could guess. By her expression, she agreed with how he felt, however.

“They will pay,” he growled, the Dark Side strong around him, but ensuring the tiny light in his lap was safe and that he didn’t smother his daughter, only some rooms over.

“Of course,” Sola said, face grim. “Unfortunately, we can’t move now.” And as much as it angered Anakin, as much as it brought Vader back to the foreground, he knew she spoke the truth. To steal his daughter back, to claim Luke, would only bring Palpatine’s attention to them. Put them into the very same danger he had tried and failed to keep Padme from. No, they were safer where they were- Anakin had learnt those bitter lessons well. Besides, what child would want anything to do with him? Be sired by the most feared man in all the galaxy? Before the familiar bleak outlook could fall over him again, Sola suddenly gripped his hand that was not occupied by her child’s. “We will get them back,” she said, just as fierce as her sister. “I promise you, we shall.” Anakin did his best to push it back, for once trying to work through the anger. That Sola was validating his rage was a new feeling- he was so used to the usual Jedi platitudes to ‘release it to the Force’ or his current Master’s insistence to use it that having it not only be valid, but capable of prioritising more than just raw untamed feelings was… new. Freeing. Taking as deep a breath as he could, he nodded, considering this.

“What is our first move?” Sola grinned at the question, although her face was sad.

“We get you to our doctor.” 

Chapter Text

Doctor Villes was an ex-slave Togruta woman, sat in hiding within the Naberrie quarters and pretending that she had no knowledge of her Force presence. When Senator Naberrie had requested she ‘overlook’ the recovery of her brother-in-law, she had not been expecting her to dump Vader on her doorstep. She had also not expected the extent of his injuries. While she wished she could run a full diagnostic (without his constant blocking of her Force presence, although she was certain he was more amused than annoyed that she had tried), she had to work with what the machines told her and his personal account: all of which horrified her. How this man had pulled through with such a terrible recovery period was beyond her. It was no wonder that he was so messed up in the head too.

First thing to go was the chip.

That procedure, to be done before he even left the office that first day, under the guise of ‘dinner’ was more difficult than she had planned. The fact that Vader was unable to breathe properly unless within a hyperbaric chamber was worrying- the first realisation that the suit served more than just intimidation. She had taken a deep breath and debated the pros and cons of wearing a mask herself and flooding the room with pure oxygen or feeding him it herself. She finally opted for the second option despite her worries for her patient’s mental state. He would be under for the entire time and wouldn’t be able to enjoy the feeling of not being stuck in the suit constantly- a bonus for his mental state- but would make it harder for her. But since the chip was so directly connected to his brain- a more common occurrence than people thought- she needed full access to his head without anything in the way. The fact that Vader made it out like it didn’t matter either way only worried her more about his mental health but comforted herself on the thought of one step at a time.

Thankfully, despite the shock of what Vader truly looked like behind the mask, the procedure was a success. That the Jedi Council of old had merely turned the detonator off and given over all codes to the Senate and, therefore the Chancellor, made her furious. How dare they prioritise indoctrination over their new charge’s safety? How could they sleep at night knowing that this slave boy was still property, no matter how many times one was told they were free? A man with a chip was still a slave and, from the odd sounds the confused vocoder made as Vader stared down at the tiny chip in his hands once he was awake again, it was something that he knew too. She had quietly asked Sola if becoming a Jedi was a different form of slavery, a question that appeared to alarm the Senator. That Vader was quite willing to waltz back under the thumb of his master, in the guise of still being his slave, spoke of his mental fortitude and had led her to wonder how different the two situations were. From Sola’s horrified expression, it was something the Senator had not considered before either.

Villes decided that, before she met with her new patient again, she was going to develop a plan of action and discuss it with him. While she would love to work on his mental state, she was neither a psychiatrist nor a mind healer, so decided to postpone that to a later date and merely prescribe time with Milè instead. The little girl seemed to be very perceptive of Vader’s moods. So, she decided that first to work on was the deplorable state his lungs were in, then move on to improving those truly awful prosthetics. There was no reason for them to be so painful or disjointed- a fact he ought to know considering he had informed her he lost his right arm prior to the incident that put him in the suit. When questioned on how well it worked after all these years, he had simply replied “better than the others.” That an older prosthetic worked better than the others, after all the advances made during the Clone Wars, was unforgiveable. The burnt skin, while inconvenient for how it had to be constantly sloughed off and regrown in a bacta tank, was not life-threatening, nor it did affect his movement. In the grand scheme of things, unless it was truly infected, Vader had claimed it was the least painful area. If she could get his lungs working properly, then hopefully less time in the suit would mean that, with contact with fresh air, his body could build up some resistance and reduce the amount of bacta time required before they went in for any cosmetic changes. Vader had argued against this but Villes had told him not to be silly. It was just one more thing to work on. His eyes and hearing would need work, but she decided that she would call in a specialist later for those, one that she could trust. By that time, she would no longer be working with the suit hopefully.

The discussion with Vader over these changes appeared to leave him stunned, a full week after their initial meeting.

“Is something wrong with the plan, my Lord?” she asked, wondering what was wrong. Had she prioritised the wrong things? Was he not pleased with the work she planned to do? Had the suit become a coping mechanism? Oh, she hadn’t planned for that, what if it was his way of punishing himself? What if-

“I do not need to be in this suit?” That was not the question she was expecting, neither was the small almost vulnerable tone of voice. Villes blinked and then nodded.

“Of course not. The leaps forward in medical technology means that we can repair or replace your lungs. Admittedly, one is worse than the other and beyond saving, however I believe the other still has some viable working tissue and can be patched up that the need for a mask and rebreather would be completely superfluous. Of course, if you wish to continue your deception we will need a machine to mimic the sound of the vocoder-“

“I can do that,” Vader said, sounding like he was grabbing for the first piece of information that made sense. It made her wonder, once again, how old he was. She nodded before continuing.

“Now, the prosthetics are a mess to be perfectly honest with you. My specialism is actually in that area and the ones you have been equipped with are practically ancient. You were right to say that the right arm is the most functional- the rest appear to have been made from scrap and metal. If one was to be cynical, I would say that they were designed to hurt and hinder you.” Vader snorted, a rather undignified sound when translated through the vocoder, scrambled as it was.

“That would not surprise me. The Emperor has always been vindictive.” She couldn’t argue with him there.

“As for the burns, well those are relatively easy to fix. In fact, I would say most of the cosmetic issues are. If you would allow me, I would like to take same tissues samples during the work on your lungs and we’ll be able to grow some proper skin grafts for you. Time out of the suit will help with the melatonin in your skin and may even stimulate some of the hair follicles to begin growing again although don’t quote me on that.” If she had been able to see through the mask, she was sure that Vader had his eyebrows, or at least what was left of them, raised in surprise. She shrugged. “Most of the time you probably aren’t growing any because the burn scars are too thick, or it’s being pulled off during your time in the bacta tanks because it’s not able to scab over within the suit. I’m not saying it will all grow back, but since the scarring to the top of your head and upper face is thinner than the rest of you, there’s a chance some of it will grow back. We can use some of this to create hair grafts and transplants. And don’t tell me you have no hair, I’ve seen inside that mask and had to shave some growth off to get to the chip.” She had sensed the denial in him and he sat back, almost like a scolded child.

“How long will these procedures take?” Villes paused, considering.

“The longer ones will be the most severe, so probably the early ones. Not only will the surgery be long, but so will the recovery period. For your lungs, I want to make sure they’re fully functional all the time and can keep up with your hectic schedule, so I would say three months for that. Say a similar length of time for each prosthetic.”

“Each?” Vader sounded distinctly displeased. Villes sighed.

“Theoretically, we could do them all at once, but recovery would be far longer and may be a shock to your system too much. I don’t see any reason to replace the right arm if it’s still fully functional, and I recommend working on the legs first since they are the main hinderance to your dexterity, and so we could do both at the same time, but I would estimate recovery to be four to six months instead. Is that viable?” she asked, and Vader considered for a moment.

“Keep the estimate to four for both legs and shorten the arm to two. I remember the steps from the right arm.” Villes pursed her lips, not wanting to agree, but supposed that he would know best. After all, this would only happen after the surgery on his lungs and she had put such a long recovery period in for that in case any, very likely, complications arose, and they had to replace both. So, to save time she simply nodded.

“For the operation on your lungs, would you prefer an organic or inorganic transplant?” Villes asked, placing down Vader’s preferences in her notes. There was a flash of confusion in the Force.

“I wasn’t aware that was a choice.” Villes internally cursed the shoddy job done to keep this man alive once again but kept that to herself. She would root them out in the end.

“Well, it’s more a question of choice. Your body will more readily accept organic material, but the poisons ingested from the initial injuries and further deterioration from each bacta tank bath may cause the new organs to shut down and we’d be back to square one. We’ll be working on cleansing the lungs and body of those at the same time of course, however an inorganic lung wouldn’t be prone to those problems.”

“Try the organic first. Enough of me is machine as it is.” Villes gave him an encouraging smile, noting that down too. She’d do her best, but she wasn’t hopeful. The suit had been doing nothing for six years at attempting to flush those toxins out of his system, the initial skin grafts kept rotting off causing infections to the burn scars that were on what was left of him, only exacerbating the situation further. Only the monthly bacta dunkings and occasional antibiotic injections had been preventing the toxins from outright killing Vader. This was going to be a real test of her medical skills, but she was determined. There was no reason for Vader to be enslaved by his body any more than he ought to be enslaved to the Emperor.

“Very well, I believe that’s enough for today. Let me know when you’ll be able to find the time for these operations and where. My medical base is fully operational anywhere except the middle of a jungle planet.” That was only half a joke as they had found out once. Vader nodded.

“Of course.” He stood and went to leave but paused at the door. “And it is Anakin, Doctor Villes.”

It took near six months for Anakin to find a suitable excuse for the first of the many upcoming surgeries. Luckily for them, Organa’s fledging Rebellion was stepping up it’s game, causing more and more issues for the Emperor and antagonising him enough, that he felt the need to send his slave out to eradicate them. That, however, caused a new problem- who to trust to ensure Vader’s ‘disappearance’ would be kept a secret? The crew of the Vengeance were incredibly loyal to Vader, but there was no telling who was also under the Emperor’s employ, who might be a hiding agent. That was, until Vader suddenly tracked down a few leftover clones, one of which being a certain Commander Cody. A few nifty chip inhibitors and some surgeries later, they were free of their bonds and ready to do whatever they could to help Vader atone for their sins.

Like him, they felt the need to do something, anything to right the wrongs forced on them by Palpatine. They also managed to root out a few loyal and willing members of the Imperial Navy, including one Sergeant Piett and Lieutenant Veers.

As Villes expected, the surgeries on Anakin’s lungs were long and complicated. The week-long induced coma became two as the replaced right lung became infected from leftover toxins and she nearly lost him on the operating table when implementing the new, inorganic lung, that would help get rid of those last few toxins. They did, however, get lucky in that the left lung, which had not been as damaged, managed to pull through although not without severe surgery to mend some of the wounds in it. At the same time, she took several skin and hair grafts and implemented a small vocal implant within Anakin’s neck that would help the burnt vocal cords and enhance rather than replace them.

It would be interesting to hear what he actually sounded like.

Three, exhausting weeks later and one bacta tank dousing to get rid of the rotting grafts that the Emperor liked to give him, and Anakin awoke to a tired but proud Villes and smiling Sola.

“You, my friend, are either extremely lucky or incredibly unlucky,” Villes said ruefully, checking over his charts and the many monitors he was hooked up to. “I haven’t decided yet.” One tired charred eyebrow rose above startlingly blue eyes.

“How am I lucky?” Villes wasn’t sure who was more surprised- her or Anakin at the sound of his voice, scratchy and slightly mechanic as it was. She hid hers though with a grin while Sola gasped in delight.

“It’s been three weeks since we put you under. The right lung unfortunately did not survive through the transplant, so we had to replace the organic with an inorganic one. And as you can hear, we also gave you a voice-box implant to help the burnt vocal cords, although I don’t believe in ones which replace the voice so yours just helps your own vocal cords along.” Blue eyes stared at her and she would pretend she didn’t see the slight wet sheen in them. It had probably been some time since anyone had heard Anakin as himself.

One step at a time.

Anakin recovered fairly well, all things considered. In fact, he turned out to be one of those frustrating patients that, once they started to feel even remotely better, refused to stay in bed. That was, until she got so fed up with him putting his recovery back that she simply removed his prosthetic legs and gave him some mechanical parts to fiddle with. Anakin was clearly displeased by this but stayed quiet when she berated him for acting like a child- the pout was amusing though. Sola visited often, usually bringing Milè with her, Anakin being aided in seeing and hearing her with the aid of glasses and aids. If the toddler was bothered by his appearance at all, she didn’t show it, happy to be read stories by her new uncle. The Force was always lighter whenever she was around. Sola also brought holo pictures with her, many depicting a woman that could only be her sister and one of what seemed to be a wedding between her and a rather dashing young man with shaggy dark blonde hair. Villes may have asked for a copy despite the fact that Anakin never turned it back on- it was always good to have a reference point. Much of the hair grafts were bleached of colour and she was curious as to whether any would grow back into its original colour or just be aged.

When Villes was satisfied that Anakin was healed sufficiently that his temperament would not set him back, she returned the prosthetics along with a firm warning that he would follow all instructions. Apparently, he had learnt something, since he followed through, allowing her fellow specialist to help him adjust to the new lungs. The difference that it made was apparent quickly- Anakin’s stamina was soon surpassing what Villes had expected, adapting to the use of them nicely. There was a month left of the designated time and Villes decided that he would need some work on his hearing since he was doing so well. So, she called in a favour and soon, a surgery or two later, and with two weeks’ worth of time left, Anakin had some hearing back. His eyes would be left for later.

Doubly useful was that he wasn’t recognised by her friend. The name and story she gave him was Ani Naberrie, the Senator’s brother-in-law who had been in a terrible motoring accident, his vehicle having caught on fire, causing the destruction of his limbs and the deterioration of his hearing. Having heard that, Anakin had raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. His presence in the Force was far lighter than when he had arrived but the moment he was to leave, modified suit (and hadn’t that been a trial, getting his digestive system to work properly again, and strict orders to keep to his diet and regimen) and mask in hand, he wrapped himself in that cold fire she now recognised as the Dark Side. However, she could feel that bright spark underneath the storm.

She didn’t know when she would see him again, but she was looking forward to it.