"The Visit"
Disclaimer: Wow, by the time that I finally got around to posting a Star Wars fanfic, it's now property of Disney as well as George Lucas. Go figure.
Note: Comments and constructive criticism are appreciated. The more specific, the better!
Luke's face was ruddy with tears as he wailed. Padmé rocked him gently, murmuring nonsense to him, but to no avail. While her daughter slept peacefully in the next room, her son had woken up crying, for no apparent reason it seemed, as she had already fed and changed him before tucking him and Leia into bed. His cries had reverberated throughout the tiny room that he shared with his sister, so she had carried him to her bedroom.
Wiping tears from his cheeks, she wondered what the cause of his distress was. He was little more than a newborn, was he old enough to have a nightmare? Padmé's brow wrinkled. Like his father...
She knew that she was running a risk by raising both of the twins herself. Obi-Wan had advised that the twins be raised separately: Leia by Bail and Breha and Luke by Owen and Beru. She knew that such an idea was sensible, and yet she still refused. She had tried to phrase her objections logically, pointing out that Bail was considered by many to be an enemy of the Empire and that Tatooine was known by the Emperor to be Anakin's home planet. But deep down, she knew that there was nothing rational about keeping the twins with her. It was a selfish, primitive need, one for which she tried to atone by doing her best to conceal them. If that meant constantly moving from one planet to the other, then she would do so. Even if a small, nagging voice within her muttered that it would be better for the children if they had a permanent place to call home.
Her weary eyes surveyed her bedroom. Small, cramped, and bare of decoration, it resembled a cell. Any holos of her children were concealed within her drawers, along with the Rebel schematics that she'd been working on. A blaster was hidden under her pillow in case of emergency. Her luggage case was tucked under her bed, ready for reloading should her location be discovered. Even the makeshift crib that her children shared was disposable. A far cry from the warm, painted nursery in Naboo that she had envisioned while she was pregnant.
It doesn't matter, they're with me, she told herself. They're with their mother. I won't be a stranger to them.
But some nights were more difficult than others.
Luke continued to bawl and she rocked him harder. "Shh," she whispered. "It's all right, Luke, it's going to be all right..."
Luke pressed his red, crinkled face into her bosom, and she squeezed him. "It's all right, my baby, you're okay, it's going to be okay." His cries vibrated through her skin, and he kissed his forehead. "We're going to be okay."
Cool air brushed the side of her ear, but Padmé ignored it. Perhaps she'd left the window open before going to bed.
"Sleep, Luke, go to sleep," she crooned. His fingers curled around a lock of her hair and clutched tight. Her lips parted into a smile that felt more like a grimace. "No, Luke." She began to pry his fingers loose. "Remember? Don't grab Mommy's hair."
Luke's cry of protest echoed through her chest. His fingers wiggled towards her hair again, but she tapped his hand away and held it. "Stop it, Luke," she said. "Remember? It hurts Mommy when you pull." He whined, squirming out of her grasp.
Abruptly, Luke stopped flailing. His face swiveled away from her chest, his cheeks swollen with drying tears. His round eyes stared upward.
Padmé sighed in relief. "Are you ready to go to sleep now?" Luke didn't answer and she realized that he wasn't looking up at her.
The whirring of a respirator rasped in her ear.
Every nerve in her body pulsed. Her arms tightening around Luke, Padmé slowly turned.
Darth Vader stood in her bedroom.
Blood drained from her face and froze into a deep, cold pit in her stomach. Countless words flew to her lips, but slammed into the rigid gate of her locked jaw. Luke's soft hair brushed against her arm and she was struck by the thought of how fragile he was, how soft, how tender. How utterly vulnerable he now seemed.
How she seemed.
Darth Vader stood motionless in her bedroom, silent except for the ghastly repetition of his respirator.
How did he get in? A fleeting look revealed her window as the culprit.
Padmé swallowed. Was he here to take her to prison? But if so, why was he alone? Normally, his stormtroopers accompanied him, didn't they?
Luke shifted in her arms and a jolt of guilt shot through Padmé as she saw that indecipherable helmet dip to follow Luke's head.
Luke. Horror finally sank into her skin. Force, he knows.
He knew that he had a child. A child who was likely Force-sensitive. Who was likely to grow up to become a Jedi, yet another soul for his father to slaughter.
Padmé cast a furtive glance at her pillow, knowing that all she needed to do was take a few steps to retrieve her blaster.
Her mind laughed hollowly. As if she could fight him off when whole scores of Jedi had fallen at his hand.
No. If she tried to defend herself, then Luke would start crying, and if he started crying, then he might wake Leia, and if she started crying, then Vader would hear and he would know.
Panic clawed at Padmé's throat, but she resolved to stay calm. Raising her mental shields, as Obi-Wan had taught her, Padmé banished all thought of Leia from her mind. If she could do nothing to save herself or Luke, she could at least spare her daughter.
Stay calm...
Padmé kissed Luke's forehead. "I love you, Luke," she whispered. Bending down, she settled him on the bed and drew the blanket over him. He reached for her, but she tucked his little hands under the covers. "It's going to be okay," she whispered.
She straightened herself and willed her heart to stop pounding. Her mind now blank and still, Padmé turned to face her husband. "Good evening, Lord Vader."
He hadn't moved. He stood stock-still, almost as if he were a prop, a piece of furniture. A sliver of moonlight illuminated the sharp angles of his helmet. A cyborg, Obi-Wan had called him. A creature more machine than man.
Was there any remnant of Anakin left, after the horror of Mustafar? She had no idea what he looked like underneath the suit and helmet. Did he have any flesh or bone left? Or was he entirely steel and circuitry?
He shifted slightly and Padmé's heart jumped.
"Hello, Padmé."
That voice... Padmé licked her parched lips. Deep and mechanical, absent of warmth. "Is there something that I could help you with?"
The great helmet swept towards her bed. "How old is he?"
Her eyes widened. Why do you care? she wanted to ask, but bit her words back. There was no reason for Darth Vader to ask that question.
But there was for Anakin Skywalker.
"Three months," she said cautiously. She glanced back at the window. "You came alone?"
"Yes."
Her eyes returned to his mask. "Does the Emperor know that you're here?"
There was a moment's pause. "No."
Her heart thudded to a stop. She took a step forward. "Then..."
"I wanted to find you myself." His voice was harsh. "I didn't want him to send one of his lackeys on a wild chase."
Padmé stilled. "Well," she fought to keep her voice even, "now you've found me. What do you plan to do with me?"
His respirator stopped in mid-breath, as if blocked. The helmet swiveled towards her, ceasing its perusal of Luke. Slowly, Vader tilted his gaze down, scrutinizing her from head to toe, and Padmé restrained the urge to shiver. Was he drinking in the sight of her, after so many months they had spent apart? Or was his examination of her coldly clinical: a routine inspection for any weapons or traitorous thoughts?
The respirator resumed as he said, "Is he Force-sensitive?"
Fear seeped into Padmé's veins, but it was mixed with another emotion, anger. "I don't know. He's only a baby, Anakin."
His head jerked up sharply. "That name has no meaning for me."
"Then have I no meaning for you?" Her voice was cold with repressed rage. "Stop dithering. Are you here to kidnap me or not?"
"Padmé –"
"Do you intend to bring me to the Emperor as your prisoner?"
He said nothing.
"As a surprise present, to fulfill a promise for reward?" Heat burned her throat. "Because is that all I am to you now? Not your wife, but an enemy?"
"You are only my enemy if you wish to be," he said quietly.
Padmé bristled. "What does that mean?"
He stepped towards her. "Padmé," he said, a note of urgency slipping into his voice. "Come with me. Leave the Rebellion."
Padmé steeled her expression. "I don't know what you're talking about."
The mask's fathomless eye sockets bored into her. "Don't lie to me."
"I know nothing of this Rebellion you speak of." Padmé whirled and stalked back to the bed where Luke lay. "I'm just a poor, grieving widow trying to take care of my child."
"We could rule the galaxy together."
"What about the Emperor?"
"We could overthrow him." He towered over her and she flinched. His shadow felt suffocating. "He would be nothing to us."
She shook her head. "And then what? You would set up yourself as the new Emperor?"
"And you as Empress." When she didn't respond, he pressed, "I would follow your every command. And we could be together." He paused. "As a family."
Padmé's nails were digging into her palms. "Now you're concerned about family?" she spat. "You left me, Anakin."
"I told you –"
"I was pregnant and alone and what were you doing? I was so worried about you, wondering if my husband, if the father of my child, was ever going to come home, and you..." Her voice broke. "You were killing the Jedi. Your family!"
Vader made a sudden movement and Padmé backed up against the bed. She could hear Luke whimpering behind her and her heart clenched. No, Luke, please, please be quiet…
"They were not my family." A savage note bled into Vader's voice.
Padmé shook her head desperately. "They were your friends, your comrades –"
"They are traitors to the Empire."
"And according to you, so am I!" she cried. Ashamed at her outburst, she lowered her voice. "Even if the Jedi are traitors, what is the need to kill them? Couldn't you simply arrest them?"
"It is my duty, Padmé."
Bitterness rose up in her throat like bile. "Well, I have my own duty as well. My duty to my planet –"
"Padmé –"
"– to the Republic that I swore to serve and to my child." Her eyes burned like solar flares. "What about that duty, Anakin? What kind of life do you plan for him? If you plan for him to have a life at all?"
Vader did not respond. His silence only intensified her rage. "Do you plan for him to accompany you on these missions when he grows up?" Her voice careened upwards, anger wiping away her fear. "Will you teach him to hate and to destroy everyone who ever loved him? Is that your idea of duty?"
Luke burst into a wail. With a start, Padmé spun around. "No, no, Luke, it's all right." She gathered him into her arms and rocked him. "Shh, sweetie, it's okay, it's okay." She patted his back, looking warily at Vader. "It's okay."
Stroking Luke's face, she condemned herself for not keeping her voice low. Goosebumps scattered over her skin as she remembered how thin the walls were. Please don't let him find out about Leia, she prayed. Her daughter's sleeping face flashed into her mind and she chased the thought away. Please don't let her wake up.
As Luke's sobs subsided, his big, blue eyes looked curiously up at Vader. Padmé let out a breath. He wasn't afraid. Luke stared up at Vader, but there was no fear. No alarm. Only curiosity.
She forced a smile. "You know who that is, Luke? It's Daddy!"
Luke gurgled happily and Padmé felt a sob rise back in her throat. "Yes, it's Daddy and he..." Her voice trembled. "He's so happy to see you." She bounced Luke in her lap. "Are you happy too?" He chortled.
Vader was silent.
Please, Padmé thought, her heart beating painfully against her ribs. Say something, Anakin.
Luke began babbling nonsense, his eyes never leaving the mask. His fingers stretched upwards.
Anakin.
Vader remained motionless.
Are you in there?
Vader's cloak rustled as his arm parted through the folds. Padmé tensed. Was he reaching for his lightsaber?
Slowly, very slowly, Vader extended a hand towards Luke's head.
Padmé's breath exhaled in a shaky gasp.
Luke's mouth slowly curled up in a smile and he stretched up to touch Vader's hand. Vader's fingers touched Luke's small head lightly, softly, as if in fear of crushing it.
"Luke." The name echoed from the respirator in a soft whoosh.
Her heart swelled. Perhaps...perhaps this could be enough.
Luke giggled and waved his hands. Vader brushed aside Luke's fair hair and Padmé could not help but smile faintly. She laid one hand over her husband's, recognizing the touch of solid metal wrapped in leather. He lifted his gaze from Luke's face to hers and she wished more than anything to see the look in his eyes. She twined her fingers around his.
He snatched his hand away, as if burned.
"Anakin!"
In a whirl of black, he marched away.
"No!"
Luke's giggles sharpened into screams. Padmé hushed him and settled him on the bed. Racing towards Vader, she cried, "Don't go!"
"I thought you wanted me to leave."
Padmé flung herself against his breastplate. His body stiffened, but she tightened her embrace. The solid box that regulated his heart jutted into her cheek. She didn't care.
"Please," she breathed. "Stay. Come with me, Anakin."
A harsh sound expelled from his respirator. "I can't."
"Yes, you can! Didn't you say that we could be a family? I..." her voice was thick with tears, "I'm trying to do my best for Luke," And for Leia, her traitorous mind whispered, "I am, but it's not enough. I can't – I can't do this alone."
She dug her fingers into his cloak. "He needs his father, Anakin. And I need…I need my husband." She raised her glassy eyes up to him. "We need you."
His hands framed her face. She gazed up at the mask, wondering if she truly met his eyes, wondering what he saw of her, of the world around him.
"Your husband is dead."
His hands dropped and he tore himself away.
"Anakin!"
He was gone.
Padmé collapsed to the floor. Luke's cries ringing in her ears, she buried her face in her hands. And she began to cry.