Author's Note: Well, hello! This fic au idea came while listening to some good 'ol MCR. So, tell me what you think in the reviews! Thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars.


She stared at the white walls, knees to her chest. She had her arms wrapped around her legs as she leaned her head against the wall were she sat like a crumpled ball in the corner. Her hair was a curly, frizzy mess. Her white gown, wrinkled, from sitting on the floor for far too long. She refused to sit on the black satin bed that stands in the middle of the room.

How much time had passed as she stared? Didn't really matter.

Her lips were dry, cracked. She licked them with a dry tongue, tasting blood. All she could ever taste now of days was blood. Innocent blood.

The blood of the younglings, all the Jedi, any killed in the process of Palpatine's rise.

Yet, the blood that tasted the most sour was from the bodies of her dead children.

A small sigh brushed out of her.

She could feel her body's strength and energy seeping out of her slowly. She did not care. Emotions were pointless now, silly, dramatic expressions that portrayed her heart that no longer mattered. But it mattered to him.

He always came in, eyes blazing with desperation. His voice was always different, depending on what he felt. Sometimes his voice was angry, sometimes quiet. Every now and then, his voice would break and crack, just like her heart did when he had strangled her with the force on that hot, steaming planet. Sometimes he would cry. Sometimes he'd just sit and stare at her for hours. In the beginning, he played with her hair, sat her on his lap, or lay his head on her shoulder and breath in her scent as she sat unresponsive to his touch. Now, he stood far away from her. It hurt him to look at her.

She never really understood what he was saying, lost in her own little world of white. Her memories began to blank, for she could not handle them. It was too much pain to remember, so she simply didn't. Yet she did know, that at a time, she loved the man that came in everyday more than he could ever begin to understand.

"Padmé."

Her dull brown eyes flickered to the man in black that entered the room. It was the only response she was ever able to give him.

Vader stared at her with a blank face. His eyes hard and cold. His hair was clipped shorter than she remembered but not one hair was out of place. A burn covered the right side of his face, a wound from the battle he had won against Obi-Wan on Mustafar. What they did with Obi-Wan's body... Padmé wasn't sure.

"This is ridiculous." he snapped. "It's been nearly 3 months. You do nothing but sit here, not speaking. For Force sake, you have to be force fed. You are so incapable of the most simplest of tasks, why?"

He paced vigorously in front of her, face twisted into a nasty snarl.

"Why won't you just say something to me? I did all this for you!"

For once, his words hit her. She visibly flinched as her brain processed his last sentence. Vader instantly stopped moving, breath held as he stared at her.

She saw him crack. His cold eyes morphed into hope. He swallowed, tears already brimming. It was the first physical response she gave to him in months. He stepped towards her slowly.

"Padmé.." he said. "Please, my love. Say something, anything."

She couldn't, even if she wanted to. Her body was too weak. The pain would be too much to handle.

She looked away from him, her eyes staring at the wall behind him.

I did all this for you.

Padmé closed her eyes, she was just so tired.

"Please.." his voice cracked. "I need you."

She reopened her eyes. Vader was kneeling right in front of her. The pain on his face made her gut churn, she pitied him. She has felt the same pain.

He only stayed for an hour more. He stared until his heart could take no more and left.

She closed her eyes once more, and searched for sleep.


Author's Note: Don't forget to review on what you thought.