14 BBY, Coruscant

There was only one room on the top floor of the Imperial Palace. It was all black durasteel, with only the barest hint of light, not quite enough to see by. With the red robed Imperial Guards in double rows up to the throne itself, the Imperial Throne Room was an imposing sight, meant to strike fear into its visitors, no matter how loyal to the Emperor they might be.

To Darth Malefus, it was an aspiration.

As he walked down the long room, boots clicking on the durasteel floor, the Sith apprentice allowed a smirk to cross his face. Today was a good day, after all. Today, he'd defeated a Jedi Master. Let his master find fault in that.

"Have you been successful, Apprentice?"

Malefus dropped to one knee before the throne, bowing his head, as was expected.

"I have, Master. The Jedi is dead."

"Well done." The figure on the throne was as inscrutable as ever. It was impossible to tell what Sidious was thinking, unless he wanted you to know. "Now continue your mission. You will rest when all the survivors are dead. Never forget, you were not the apprentice I wanted."

Malefus couldn't stop the sharp spike of anger at Sidious' comment. As if he didn't know already! He wished more than anything that the Skywalker brat hadn't died in 66, that he might kill him and show his Master who deserved to be a true Sith Lord.

Darth Sidious waved a wasted hand in dismissal.

Good mood effectively destroyed, Malefus stalked back down the long throne room, cloak fluttering impressively in his wake. The guards did not react to his presence. Behind him, a smile twisted the old Sith Lord's thin lips. He did so enjoy tormenting his apprentice. It almost made up for his not being the Chosen One.

Sidious' amusement at his expense followed him, whispering over his skin in the Force, all the way across the city to the Senate building. Four Senators came within a hairsbreadth of death as he swept through the halls. Fools. Should know better than to speak to a Sith Lord without permission. Cursing his master's insistence that he be a visible presence in the Senate, Malefus dropped into his desk chair. In an attempt to recover his good humor, he called up his memory of the day before, of sinking his blade into the Jedi's pale green chest, his Nautolan eyes widening in shocked agony.

Ah, yes. That was better.

Able to focus again, Malefus turned his attention to the waiting hologram from his agent in the Outer Rim.

"Liar! You're with him! You brought him here to kill me!"

Padmé Naberrie Amidala Skywalker came awake gasping for air, panic wracking her limbs. She brought trembling fingers to her throat, still feeling the invisible force around her windpipe, cutting off her air. Could still see her husband's face, twisted in fury, strange golden eyes burning with madness. Except, somehow, she knew it wasn't madness.

Only Anakin, the worst of him.

Padmé was still shaking, unable to calm herself. She needed Luke. She needed her son. He was proof that her dream was only that, a dream.

But Luke wasn't here, he'd been begging all week to spend the night with Senator Chuchi's son, and she'd finally relented that morning. All she could do was sit and reassure herself that she could breathe, that her husband wasn't trying to kill her.

She stood. If she couldn't sleep anymore, she'd at least get some work done. The first thing she did was open the widows, flooding her dark apartment with synthetic light from the city. It wasn't as good as the Nubian sunshine, but it was better than the darkness.

She couldn't shake the feeling of golden eyes watching her.

Despite her earlier thought of getting work done, Padmé found herself in Luke's bedroom, looking at his neatly made bed. She reached out and picked up his stuffed Nuna, pressing it to her breast. If she'd been Force-sensitive, might she be able to feel her son's presence on his favorite toy?

She felt nothing from the Nuna, but just then, she did feel a gentle hand against the small of her back.

It should have been frightening. She should have jumped, dived back for her bed. But with the phantom touch came a wash of calm that stilled her shaking shoulders better than any breathing exercise. She could almost hear the words, in a low voice, slightly accented and roughened by sand.

Anakin.

"Senator, you don't look well. Are you alright?" Bail had turned polite indifference into an art form. His words were perfectly formal, all insincere concern.

"I'm alright," she said. Then, softer, "I just haven't been sleeping well." There was a brief flash of real worry in his amber eyes, then it was gone, and he responded,

"Well, you should take better care of yourself. If I'm going to be working with you, I'd like you at your best." Palpatine had placed them on the planning committee for this years' Empire Day celebration, which was ironic on several levels, not the least of which being that Bail was organizing an armed resistance movement against the aforementioned Empire.

Padmé put a smile on her face, just in time for Lord Malefus to enter the office, a condescending smile on his pale face. Malefus was a young man, tall and thin, and possessed of a certain disturbingly magnetic charm. It was his eyes, though, specifically their unnatural gold coloring, that drew her horrified attention. Only 20 years of experience in politics kept her face from betraying her. Normally, she affected admiration and warm civility for the Sith apprentice (not that she was meant to know he was anything more than a special agent) but after last night, she just couldn't do it.

"If you'll excuse me, Senator Organa, Lord Malefus, I need to prepare for this afternoon's session." Both men nodded to her, and Malefus graciously stepped aside to give her room to pass.

Did she see Anakin in the set of the Sith's shoulders? In the way he carried himself, as though there was nothing he could not destroy? No. No. She shook herself.

Head held high, not looking at Malefus, Padmé walked through the office doorway. Not until she was back in her own office, the door sealed behind her, did she let the tears come.

It was hours later, as she hugged Luke tight to her while he babbled about his day, that she finally felt at ease again.

The dreams continued. They showed her different things each time. Anakin, cutting down Jedi like so many battle droids, Anakin, kneeling before Palpatine, calling him "Master", and, worst of all, Anakin, burning, screaming that he hated her. Sometimes, she saw a black armored monstrosity and, somehow, she knew that was Anakin too, murdering force-sensitive children with a ruby red lightsaber.

"Very well." Even through a holo, Palpatine's voice was all croaking menace. "The Imperial banners will henceforth be at least four meters wide. We are adjourned for the week. I thank you, Senators, for your commitment in this important issue." Despite all her practice at ignoring the disturbing things said in session these days, Padmé couldn't keep her fist from clenching under her voting display.

Sometimes, she really hated Coruscant.

"Senator Amidala," Bail's call reached her just as she left the Senate Chamber. She turned, and nodded in acknowledgment. "I just wanted to touch base with you about the ice sculptures for next week." he said, walking up to her.

Right. Fifth Empire Day celebration. Wasn't that a pleasant thing to look forward to?

"Of course," she said. "I think five is a good number. Symbolic, and all that." He smiled.

"Yes, I agree." As he swept past her, his hand brushed against hers, the movement hidden by their robes. No one would see the datachip that passed between them. As session was out for the week, Padmé felt no shame in going home to view whatever was on it, rather than to her office.

Besides, her apartment was swept daily for bugs.

She had no idea what might be on the chip. Bail had never risked slipping anything to her before today; there were simply too many eyes on them. In the four months since her nightmares begun, they'd had exactly one personal conversation.

Whatever was on the chip in her pocket was important.

She locked the door behind her and crossed to her bedroom, retrieving her private datapad from its spot under her mattress. The chip slotted into place with a click, and started playing the holo recorded onto it.

Her fingers went to her trembling lips as the holo crackled, then solidified.

He cut his hair, was her first, absurd thought. Then, Oh Gods, it's really him.

"Hello, love." said Anakin. "I hear you're worried about me. That's just like you, to be worrying about me when you live within four miles of a Sith Lord." he smiled fondly. "I'm fine, my love, I swear. I've got a job playing with droids, and we're both as happy as can be expected, given where we live. I miss you every single day, and she asks about you a lot. Tell Luke his dad loves him, alright? I love you so, so much, and I'm fine. Don't worry about me, Angel." He smiled again as the recording looped.

Padmé listened to it twice more, then destroyed the chip, grinding it into the floor with her heel, and then tossing it into the fireplace she insisted on having.

His voice played in her head as the chip burned.

She dreamed of him that night, but instead of madness and fury, there was only love in his desert-blue eyes.

A/N: I live an Anidala trash life. Let me know what you think of Malefus, please. I like him, he likes to steal his scenes. Reviews fuel my soul.