Chapter Text
Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine, The darkest of Siths, the shadow puppeteer of the Republic, the architect of War and the future Emperor of the galaxy, was not having a good day.
No, scratch that; he hadn't had a good day in weeks. Weeks!
It had started with minor annoyances. Fatigue, aches. A sudden reliance on tea; like some kind of aging Jedi librarian. He dismissed it initially as stress, then as lack of sleep, then when that didn't change anything, as the unfortunate result of dealing with Anakin’s endless emotional turmoil. The child had so much emotions, what did he need it all for?
But then the symptoms worsened.
Pain in his chest. Dizziness. Headaches so intense he briefly considered executing half his staff for speaking too loudly.
And yet, he had ignored it. Because Palpatine, Darth kriffing Sidious, did not get sick. Something as pathetic as illness did not get him, never could, never would. Except, apparently, it did. Which was why, in the middle of a strategy meeting with Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi, Palpatine found himself struggling to focus. His vision blurred. The room tilted slightly. What in the….what was going on…..
Anakin was speaking somewhere far away--something about war efforts, or diplomacy, or whatever in the Sith hells Jedi cared about these days--and Palpatine tried to listen, he really truly did this time but every word was beginning to sound like distant underwater garbling.
''--and then Master Yoda suggested...''
''Chancellor?''
A new voice, this one crisp, measured, and so utterly irritatingly concerned that Palpatine immediately loathed it with the knowledge of who it belonged to.
Kenobi.
Kriffing Kenobi.
His vision swam, a rolling haze of gold and blue. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, loud and erratic.
''Chancellor, are you--''
Palpatine managed to lift a hand, cutting him off. ''F-Fine,'' he slurred. ''Simply…tired.''
Kenobi’s brow furrowed, his expression shifting into one of those infuriatingly noble Jedi frowns. ''You don’t look well,'' he observed needlessly as if anyone had asked him.
Palpatine gritted his teeth. ''I am quite--'' And then, without warning, the room tilted violently, the world lurched, and Sheev Palpatine collapsed. The last thing he heard was Anakin’s startled shout. And what he could have sworn was Kenobi’s exasperated sigh.
Bastard.
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Palpatine awoke to beeping.
Beeping and a headache so violent it could kill a lesser man. But he was no lesser man. He was the man. So he was fine, he'd surrive.
His first thought however was not off that fact but rather the glee in which he would execute the medical droids. His second thought; why was he in a medical bay? And his third thought, as the memories slammed into him like a pod-racer at full speed; 'Oh. oh, no.' His eyes snapped open, and bright sterile white greeted him. The hum of medical equipment whirring around him in the purest form of annoyance. Not to mention the fact that jammed down his throat was a blasted breathing tube.
A breathing tube, him? The Chancellor of the Republic, with a breathing tube down his throat like he was some old, ailing man in need of assistance! Like he was some Jedi! Unacceptable. 'I am going to obliterate whoever is responsible for this indignity,' he sneered to himself, yanking the tube out with a vicious gag, sucking in air like some of those wild animals he'd seen come up from air after having drowned them as a form of experiment. The monitors beeped in alarm, and within seconds, a medical droid hovered in.
Finally something to take his anger out on-----
''Oh, thank the Force, he’s awake!''
Palpatine froze.
That voice……
That obnoxiously cheerful, irritatingly relieved voice.
His brows pinched as he breathed through his nose in exasperation. Exhausted and tired he forced himself to school his features into a semblance of welcoming. And not a moment too soon for a second later Anakin Skywalker burst into the room, followed by; because of course life refused to take kindness to him, Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Palpatine considered immediately faking unconsciousness again.
Instead, he exhaled sharply through his nose once more. ''Anakin, my boy,'' he rasped, his throat burning. ''And Kenobi too of course.''
Anakin beamed.
Kenobi… smirked, sipping his tea.
It was the smirk that sent a shiver of true, undeniable dread down Palpatine’s spine. Why was the man smirking? What did he know? And now that he was finally thinking, how had he, the Palpatine ended up here, in this medical area of some sort? How many people had seen what he did not remember? What was making Kenobi so happy? He simply had to know. He had to strangle it out of him and find out. He----
Anakin surged forward like an overeager Nexu cub. ''Chancellor, you scared us! You’ve been in a coma for two weeks!''
Palpatine stared at him.
No, absolutely not. That could not be. Impossible.
''Two weeks?'' he repeated numbly.
Anakin nodded enthusiastically, throwing himself on the edge of the bed and almost getting himself electrocuted for his trouble. Thankfully Palpatine held back the instinct to barbeque those who got on his nerves, this time.
''Yeah! We thought...well, Master Obi-Wan said you’d be fine, but still, it was--''
''Did he now?''
''He did!''
Why couldn't the brat stop beaming like the sun, it was hurting his eyes kriff damn it!
Waving a hand impatiently, Palpatine brushed the whole situation off like the expert he was. ''I have no time for sentimentality,'' he said, keeping his voice apologetic and friendly, perfect. ''I assume my government--''
''You mean Bail’s government?''
Palpatine felt the blood drain from his face, because what! His head snapped toward Kenobi, who was far too relaxed, arms crossed over his chest, expression entirely too smug for a Jedi. Was that even legal for their kind?
''...What?'' He rasped, desperately in need of water and quickly slapping it away when the droid unhelpfully tried to hand it to him. Anakin frowned in disappointment at that and Palpatine quickly patted the metal scrap of a nuisance on the head in an effort to a peace the idiot even as his world fell apart around him. This seemed to work for Skywalker was once again looking at him with concern. Palpatine wanted to scream.
Louder when Kenobi answered with ''Oh,'' tilting his head and pulling the white porcelain cup away from his face to properly look at him. ''You didn’t know? Chancellor Organa has been leading the Senate in your stead.''
''....''
''What?!''
Chancellor Org---he couldn't even finish the sentence in his head with how revolting it was.
''Master Obi-Wan and Senator Amidala thought it best,'' Anakin chimed in then, unhelpfully, stupid and ignorant as ever. Why had he chosen him again as an apprentice? Right, right, the murder-genocidal tendencies. Of course. He really was not of sound mind at the moment if he'd forgotten that crucial part. ''Since you were unconscious and, well…'' The kid hesitated, glancing at Kenobi for help. Kenobi, of course, was all too happy to provide said unneeded help.
''You’re not exactly in… peak condition,'' he said smoothly.
Palpatine could feel his own eye twitching. ''This is temporary,'' he snapped, forcing himself to sit up despite his frail, aching body. ''I will resume my duties at once.''
Anakin’s face softened with something truly abhorrent then.
Pity.
He wanted to vomit.
''Chancellor,'' Anakin said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. 'Get that thing off me,' he wanted to scream, he did not do that. That would have been foolish and Palpatine was no fool, so he let it be, forcing himself to relax under it. ''You need to focus on getting better.'' Instead he stared, unblinkingly because how had this become his life. He'd been a rising Empower just minutes ago; well according to these buffoons two weeks ago but still----''You’re still sick,'' his unknowing apprentice continued, as if this wasn’t already horrifyingly clear. ''The doctors say it’s a rare degenerative disease.''
The room swayed.
''No cure yet,'' Anakin added, frowning. ''But--''
The Sith Lord barely heard him. His mind reeling. His powerful, unstoppable, galaxy-conquering body had betrayed him? Him?! A disease the moron had said. A mere, common disease. Not war. Not battle. Not some grand, dramatic duel to the death. Just… illness. A fate pathetic enough for the weak. For the helpless. For Jedi!
Not him, never him! Palpatine felt sick. This couldn't be happening. He hadn't killed enough people. He hadn't eliminated the Jedi. He hadn't finished up his bucket list. He was meant to live forever! And now he would die, he would die and none would be the wiser because what did he have to show for his measly life? His ledger was all but spotless.
But then just as all hope felt lost; a light.
Expression brightening from the sickeningly sweet sadness, Anakin sat up straight and reached for his hand to cradle between his own. Disgusting, but Palpatine didn't pull away…. Loathe as he was to admit it, it did provide some semblance of comfort. Distantly through his panic he could have sworn he heard Kenobi snort but when his eyes snapped over to him the man's face was blank. Hm, maybe he'd imagined it. He was startled back to awareness when Anakin's comfort squeeze become just on this side of painful. ''But there’s hope!'' He was saying, swaying their fingers back and forth. And..... with that, an old memory resurfaced, all of a sudden, without warning, out of the blue. An old grainy memory of an elderly woman, laughing, wind sweeping her hair, eyes crinkling and weathered lips smiling as she swung their linked hands back and forth. He squashed the scene like a bug, yanking his hand back as if burned. Skywalker didn't seem to notice, carrying on in excitement. ''Master Obi-Wan thinks he might’ve found something!''
Palpatine’s head snapped up. ''A cure?''
The kid nodded enthusiastically. ''Yes! Master Obi-Wan’s been looking into it personally.''
The Chancellor, felt a flicker of something strange then. Relief? Hope? Gratitude? Until he remembered who was responsible.''…Kenobi?'' he croaked, feeling the need to burn a planet to the ground and maybe murder some more of Kenobi's loved ones. Kenobi tilted his head, smiling pleasantly. ''You sound surprised.''
Palpatine had never, in his entire miserable existence, wanted to strangle a Jedi more than he did in that moment. But, he refrained. This was for the greater evil. He would not act irrationally. He would tolerate Kenobi for now. Because he would survive. And when he did…when he was in the clear, he would burn everything to the ground. Kenobi would be the last so he could witness the devastation he'd caused. Yes, that was perfect, utterly perfect. He let his imaginations run wild, warming him from the inside out.
''Thank you Kenobi,'' he smiled, feeling himself being eased back into bed by his lackey. ''I appreciate this more than you know.''
''Not at all,'' Kenobi answered still sipping away at that likely cold disgusting tea now. ''Not at all. It's the least I can do.''
Oh what a kriffing bastard.