Padmé coughed into the black handkerchief in her hands, feeling oddly thankful. Illness was the proof she was not dreaming. Wakefulness meant it all was real. And her awareness proved she wasn't crazy.

Logic had always been her best ally, yet for the present time it became her greatest enemy. Logic had no place in a time traveler's head; it only complicated things further.

Yet her mind was one of thought and action, and as such she exercised her faculties to painful results.

She stared at the floor, at the rebel clothes she had been ordered to remove. She looked down at her new clothes, feeling the worst chill creep under her skin. There was no mirror in the chamber —barely any furniture— yet she could well recognize the dress she wore. It would have been difficult not to recognize it, as she had worn it before… probably only a few weeks ago.

The fabric was familiar, even with the very obvious passing of decades; the fading of color. She had bought this green dress in Coruscant, maybe a year ago. And she had worn it last within the last week she spent with Anakin before the wedding. The would be wedding. If she indeed managed to marry him that day, she had no memory of it. Did she cry? Did he? Were they discovered? How long did they stay together? It couldn't have been long. Not with the war… she felt suddenly sicker… not just with cold, but in her stomach. It was an odd nauseating feeling, thinking about the life she had lived, one she didn't know. People usually die in a war—well, wasn't she just one? Padmé Amidala died at the birth of the Empire… twenty years ago…

The morbid question appeared unbidden. How did I die? Young people hardly ever perish out of natural causes, especially those in her privileged position—she had to stop thinking for a moment, to laugh bitterly.

"Privileged, am I?" she said to herself.

The droid that had been watching her for hours in silence spoke again.

"It is time senator," he announced. "You must go to the meeting now."

She stared at him before leaving the chamber. He reminded her of a most beloved friend.

"Are you coming with me?"

"Yes, I will escort you."

"May I ask you a few things before?"

"You may not."

The droid did not speak another word as he directed her out the chamber, and around the dark castle.

Her feet made no noise as she walked, yet it was not a taciturn journey. The sound of melting lava over hard rock outside was very present. The black hallways, some pitch black, some illuminated by the red fire, seemed very large at some moments, while very narrow at others. She guessed the castle to be very large, but it was only because every moment spent there felt like an eternity. Time, her worst enemy had halted.

Finally, the droid stopped, the darkness diminished. Above the black walls she could see white lights. The architecture took shape before her eyes, appearing less like a gothic castle, and more like… like the things she had seen at the Death Star.

"Where is the Sith Lord?" she asked, as the droid made move to leave her.

"Lord Vader should be here at any moment. There is a seat and a table. Wait here."

Padmé was again alone. The walk from the chamber had tired her, and she sat before a table, hard as metal. There was a plate set before her, but she dared not touch anything.

She still felt very cold, every once in a while she coughed and sneezed into her sleeve.

She wished for a hood or a coat, and how nice it was to have human needs… they kept her mind from… everything else, even if just for a moment.

The doors opened again. They made a loud noise and the breathing sound she had been dreading to hear appeared once more.

She had promised herself she would be brave, but she knew her trembling limbs were for more than just normal cold. The Sith approached with a steady step, clad exactly as he had been before, masked and armed with both lightsaber and blaster.

Padmé gasped. She hid her hands under the table, less he could see them shaking. She had been in many dangerous situations in her life; she had braved them all without superstition. Never mind that, she started praying, silently, within the safe secrecy of her mind.

"You know very well my intention is not to hurt you," he said, taking a seat by her side.

She breathed deeply. "Of course," her voice was weak and sick. "But your definition of 'not to hurt' might be different to mine, sir."

"Lord Vader," he corrected firmly.

Her eyes traveled to the weapon that hung on his waist. Tired lids almost watered at the memory of the last lightsaber she had seen, so she looked away, remorsefully.

"Lord Vader, the Sith. May I ask—"

"You will answer," Vader cut her sentence, his voice not loud but sudden made her jump in her seat. He allowed a moment of silence, with only his breathing sound, to dwell. "Forgive me," he said. "But let me explain: I will ask a question, and you will answer. Then you can ask a question… and I will answer, too."

"That seems fair," she accepted. "All right. Begin."

"How did you return to Naboo, and why were you dressed in rebel clothes?"

"Those are two questions, Lord Vader," she coughed, both for her poor health and discomfort. "Fine, I'll answer the first one, but remember what I told you before… no one believes me—"

"Just answer."

He has little patience…

"Fine. I entered what I guess was a rebel ship. The princess of Alderaan was there, and her pilots and—"

"Yes? Do not stop mid-sentence."

"I'm sorry," she could not speak his name. "And there was a… a young rebel. They questioned me—very differently than how you question me—but the princess didn't believe a word I said. She imprisoned me. I don't know where, but it was a type of—" she was speaking without noting the worth of her words. "A type of base. My eyes were covered for most of it, but I know there was hundreds of people there."

"More. Continue."

"Well a few days later there was a celebration. I don't know what they were celebrating. Do you?"

"Yes. The destruction of the Death Star."

She was shocked not so much at the news, but at the careless way in which Darth Vader informed her. Last time, he had made the Death Star a priority; she had seen him kill many men for information about it. And now he said it was destroyed and he didn't care?

"I've answer you a question," he said. "It's my turn again."

Cheater!

"How did you return to Varykino from the rebel base?" he questioned.

Padmé had not answered that, not even to herself. At last she said the words out loud:

"The princess shot me," Vader stirred in his seat. "I don't know if with the intention to kill… but I didn't feel the fire. I closed my eyes and in a moment I was back in Naboo. I stole a boat to get to my house. I was there for a few minutes, then your troopers took me away. I suppose you were prepared. You knew I was coming back?"

"Yes, I did. That is another question answered. My turn again—"

"Stop that! I actually have questions—"

"We agreed how we would do this!"

She thought she should be frightened at his raised voice. She remembered princess Leia's defiance. She had that, too.

"You know what I want to know, Darth Vader. And yet you play with the knowledge you possess, with my emotions. Where is Anakin Skywalker?"

"It's not your turn yet. Listen to my question."

Padmé sighed and nodded.

"What is the last thing you remember?" he said, and his voice was again calm. "Before you jumped in time."

Her eyes again filled with tears, the memory was so far away, so heartbreaking.

"You can't ask me that," she said, holding a sob.

"Then I won't answer either, Padmé."

"It is senator!" she cried, offended, knowing she might sound silly. "If I have to speak to you with respect, Sith, you might do the same!"

"But you do not respect me, you fear me."

"I do not!"

"You fear and hate the Sith, don't you Padmé?"

"I do!" she screamed, impulsively, the confession tasting of relief. She stood from the table, and with a hand she swept it clean, smashing the plate and glass that had been set for her. There had been nothing set for Vader, so she supposed the food and drink were poisoned. She rather throw it in his face and die for it than simply take it and die at his feet.

"I would have drowned myself at the lake in Varykino after what I learned… but I knew you would be looking for me. I knew I would not be alone. You said you knew where Anakin is—I will not play by your rules anymore. I—I know he's dead! Anakin is dead!" she did not allow herself the relief of crying, she knew that if she allowed a single tear to fall, she would not be able to stop and would drown in weeping. "Tell me what happened to him or you will not hear another word from my lips."

Vader raised from his seat, too, with an infuriatingly calm demeanor, the opposite of Padmé at the moment. He stood for a moment watching her, he caressed his lightsaber with a gloved hand. Padmé felt that if she died there it would have to be worth it. Let him hear all she had to say:

"You were wrong before, Lord Vader. I mean… You did not eradicate the Jedi. And you know it, too. I know the Jedi master you fought in the Death Star. I know him very well!"

At this, she felt Vader shift and change. The calmness was not with him anymore. Good, she wanted to anger him, pain and hatred had blinded her judgment.

"Years (may them be damned) have changed his face and I could not recognize him. But I know it was Obi-Wan Kenobi. You startle at his name?" she smiled wickedly.

"I killed him!" Vader roared.

"But he is not the only one! I saw him… my—" she bit her tongue. "I know there is a Jedi out there, of that I am sure. And if Anakin is gone… he still will not allow you and Palpatine to go on anymore—"

"You have no idea what you are talking about," Vader was agitated.

"That is true," Padmé lamented. "But I do know something. Anakin did not forsake me or the galaxy. He made sure it would not be lost."

"I am afraid to tell you, amidst the many things you do not know, the man you married is one of those. You do not know what he did. You can't imagine what he was capable of."

"And what would you know?"

"I told you I could take you to him."

"That was a lie, Lord Vader, and you know it. Stop torturing me with it."

"He is the one tortured, my—" it was his turn to bite his tongue, if he had any under that mask.

"We're running in circles. This meeting was pointless, you see. You have no information of use to me… and neither do I. Let me go. Let me return to Varykino."

"I doubt you will ever set foot there again. Unless, not without me. The Emperor must know you came back. You will not be safe anymore."

"I don't care. In fact, I would love to see Palpatine. I have so much I could say to him—"

"You would not recognize him, any more than you recognized Obi-Wan, or me."

"What?"

"He goes by the name of Darth Sidious nowadays, Padmé."

She rubbed her face with her hands, harshly. Nothing made sense. "You keep using my name," she said randomly. "Why?"

"It brings the fact, you see," he explained, as if her question were not ridiculously out of place. "The fact that you have come back. The fact you're here, yelling at me. You are not a ghost. You are not a product of my disturbed mind. You're here. I can see you, and so can others. I can speak to you and have you answer back; not in the answers my imagination would give you, but in the fiery words your intellect awards me. I can… I could touch you."

"Well, you're not gonna," she took a step back.

"No," he agreed. "I am not."

Silence.

What now? What does he want from her? Who is he?

"Did we meet before, Lord Vader?" she put a hand over her beating heart. "When I was… alive, I mean?"

"Yes."

"H-how?"

In a second her mind conjured different possibilities. The Galactic Senate. Someone in Palpatine's circle. Perhaps he was a Separatist. An enemy of the Jedi… but how the hell did she ever get to know a Sith Lord?!

Every hair in her body rose, her skin went cold, her cheeks turned pale and paler. Then bloody crimson. A hard metal hand took her trembling palm.

She snatched her hand away, disgusted.

"You said you would not touch me. What is the matter with you!"

Vader turn his back on her for a moment.

She wondered if she was not imagining it all.

"How did we know each other?!" she insisted. She walked a few steps, to stand right behind him. She felt tiny and vulnerable. "Answer me," her voice shook, she didn't know what to expect, what new surprise she was to learn. But she was prepared, she thought. Nothing could be worse than what she learned from Luke. She thought.

Suddenly, he grabbed her hand again, but in a way more similar to how he did in the Death Star. He rushed away from the room, dragging her with him. His cape flowed in her face, as they passed hallway after hallway.

Her ankles twisted a few times and she cried out in pain but he did not stop, even as she begged him for a moment's rest.

"Forgive me," he said finally coming to a halt, in a new, strange room. The room wasn't deserted but he dismissed the servants and guards immediately. "Had I stopped I would not have dared bring you here—"

Padmé didn't care.

She slapped, and kicked and cursed him.

"Stop that!" he requested. "I have something to show you!"

He tried to remove his helmet but she turned to run the other way.

"Come back!" he called. "I will explain!"

But he had wasted his chance to speak to her. She did not trust him. She did not want to hear anything. She wanted to get away from the nightmare.

She ran as fast as she could in the long dress.

She did not trip, and by now her eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the castle. She smashed against a wall a few times, but she did not stop for nothing. Until there was nowhere else to go. She felt suffocated as the lonely corner she reached did not allow any more movement. There weren't any lights in this part of the castle. For a moment she wondered if it was happening again—was she about to travel in time? But no, no colors seized her sight, no falling sensation…the next time her eyes could distinguish something in the darkness, it was the red glow of a Sith lightsaber.

She briefly remembered the rebels, the ones with the stolen plans. They had met such a fate. Terror did not freeze her, once she could see the way lighted behind Vader, she made move, pointless as it was, to run past him. But as she tried to run behind him, he captured her with strong hands. She screamed, his grasp was unbearable, as if she were being crushed by metal; he could not soften his hold of her, even if he tried.

"Stop fighting," he said. "Stop moving! You will make me hurt you!"

"Just do it already!" she screamed, out of patience. "Stop toying with the idea. Kill me now!"

"I am not doing it again," he breathed hard.

She stopped moving and he let her go. She fell into the floor, feeling her body clash and bruise against the hard surface.

"It was you?" she had almost no breath left. "You killed me?!"

He tried to help her to her feet again, with his rough hands, hands built to hurt, never to comfort… as it almost looked he was attempting.

"I don't know what brought you back," he said, in as close as a whisper as he could manage. "I know it must not be to allow me the chance of an apology… but I must do it. I am sorry Padmé. I'm sorry for what I did to you… and the baby."

She pushed him away.

"The baby?"

"You were," he struggled to get the words out, as if they hurt him more than her, "pregnant when I killed you."

Padmé almost fell back. The tears she had been fighting finally streamed, thick and salty.

He wrapped big arms around her, in the most repulsive embrace she had ever received. "Don't you dare try to comfort me!" she pushed him yet again. How many times must she challenge the Sith before he snaps and kills her? "You monster! So that's what happened to me… What about Anakin? How did he die?"

He did not struggle to say the following, "I killed him."

The ache in her chest was one she could not fathom, she could not stand it. She was ready to beg for death, when again, thankfully, anger came to her aid. She would always prefer anger to sorrow. "You might have succeeded with Anakin and me, Lord Vader, but you did not erase us forever. There is a reason I am still here. I know it now. You did not kill my baby. Anakin's son is out there. He carries the Jedi weapon. He will not give up until you're defeated. I know that!"

A strange sort of pride covered her when she talked about Luke, it healed her wounds, it eased her scars. If she was to die at the hands of the Sith… she wasn't afraid. The princess and her guards had shot her, and she didn't die.

But after allowing her words to hung in the air, she realized there were things she feared more than death.

Vader picked her up by the shoulders, he lift her so that she could meet what looked like unhuman eyes, and asked, in a voice so strange, so different to any he had ever used with her, "The child survived?"