Whump

The landing gear engaged in the peaceful solitude of the forest in this remote region of Gandle Ott as the vehicle was set down on the landing pad next to the nondescript, sprawling, one-story structure with flawless precision. The gentle sounds of water gurgling in a nearby stream and the melodic chirping of native fowl in the surrounding trees doing nothing to soothe her agitation, as it normally did.

Be quiet, pleaseeee! I just want to be alone!

The thoughts, directed at her companion, screamed through her head, as she shut down the speeder and prepared to disembark. She knew the wish was a futile one. When had he ever been one to let something like this go? Never, she realized. Honestly, though she had always been well known for her tenaciousness, she had to wonder if he didn't one up her in that regard. He'd been silent since they'd landed in the hanger in the capital, loaded their supplies in their waiting speeder, and took off for home, but now that they were safely home, she had no doubts he would once again try to force the issue.

Sometimes, she hated being right.

"Padme, please…" Obi-Wan tried, for about the thousandth time since he'd rescued her from her duel with Vader, to open a discussion about the encounter. She had just parked the speeder outside of their...well, her home really, her entire body still shaking with the adrenaline rush, suffused with so many conflicting, raging emotions…

"No, Obi-Wan." She cut him off for about the thousandth time since he'd started pushing her to talk about what happened. She needed…truthfully, she wasn't really sure what she needed exactly, but whatever it was, it didn't involve Obi-Wan, or Yoda, or her mother, or anyone else for that matter. She needed to be alone. She needed to clear her head and think, to have time to process what had happened. Her body still felt numb, barely able to contain the swirling turbulent tide of emotions coalescing in her breast, and she needed an undisturbed sanctuary in which to release it without anyone there to bear the brunt of it. If she spoke to Obi-Wan about it now, she would say unforgivable, irrational things.

Besides, he wouldn't...no couldn't...understand. Ever.

Because, it was the Jedi way, she thought sardonically with a grimace.

She reached the backdoor, barely having enough conscious sense to open it, and stumbled over the threshold into the house, leaving Obi-Wan to unload all their supplies. Her mother could put everything away. Given the noticeable lack of children's voices squabbling over whatever it was they both wanted at the same time, Padme assumed the twins were out and about in the vicinity of the house, outside somewhere exploring, with Yoda. When her mother appeared at the kitchen doorway, looking unconcerned and relaxed, Padme figured that was exactly what they were doing. "Welcome back," Her mom began, starting to smile…but that promptly faded when she saw the look on her daughter's face...and in her eyes. Instantly, she sobered. "What's wrong? What happened, Sweetheart?"

Padme just shook her head, moving to brush past her mother, hearing Obi-Wan come into the house behind her. "Padme, you can't ignore the issue forever, we need to…" Obi-Wan, persistent to the core, continued to pressure her, and Padme finally snapped.

She whirled around with an uncharacteristic snarl, breathing hard, tears springing to her eyes, her face contorted in rage. "I said no, Obi-Wan!" Her voice cracked as it rose, and she got the distinct impression that she sounded like a maniac, but she didn't care.

He doesn't understand...and never could!

He didn't know what it was like for her to face down a monster, a being who had corrupted, consumed, and ultimately destroyed the one person she had loved, cherished, and held the most dear in the whole entire galaxy. He didn't know what it was like for her to be so close to him again and not be able to embrace him, to stare into his most beloved face and not kiss his enticing lips, to gaze once more into his breathtakingly beautiful eyes and not see the love and passion reflected back that had once so inflamed them...and to know that he, her dearly beloved husband, was never coming back. No. Not in a thousand lifetimes could she ever hope to explain it. He didn't get it. Couldn't get it.

He was too steeped in the Jedi way.

"I'm not talking about this, not now, not ever! Leave me the kriff alone, dammit!"

"Padme!" Her mother gasped, shocked at her daughter's outburst, but Padme was beyond caring by this point. She whirled again and forced her way unceremoniously past her mother, through the kitchen, down the hallway, and then turning left to enter the master suite, her bedroom, her private sanctum. This time, Obi-Wan didn't follow. He knew better. It was the one place in the house he knew without doubt was off limits and sacrosanct to him. In the depths of her heart, Padme knew Anakin would never have tolerated Obi-Wan's presence in what was their private marital space, and subconsciously, she had honored and respected her husband's unspoken wishes in that regard, informing the Jedi quite clearly when she acquired the house that he was never to set even one toe into her private space.

She slammed the door shut behind her so hard it rattled several holos hanging on the wall, the action releasing some pent-up frustration and enclosing herself in the semi-darkened room. For a moment, she just stood there, shaking and staring around at her bed, her vanity, her dresser, her closet, her small seating area with its desk and comm station. In the welcoming silence that engulfed her, she was alone to think, but suddenly, thinking didn't sound like such a good idea anymore. Slowly, she leaned back against the door and slid to the floor, pulling her legs up tightly to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees, and hugging them, still staring off into space, her thoughts ricocheting round and round in her head until she finally lost it. Leaning her forehead against her knees, she began to sob—deep, heart-wrenching sobs of a grief buried deeper than she'd even realized was possible. Sobs that shook her petite frame almost violently with their intensity. Sobs that bled out a mournful despair so cavernous and yawning she knew the Jedi could feel it hemorrhaging at an incredible rate into the Force. A depth of sorrow and misery that she doubted any amount of time would heal.

She'd known this day was coming.

Oh yes, she'd known. Obi-Wan had told her a million times over that it would. Yoda had, too. They'd warned her to be prepared, had trained her hard to be prepared, and she thought she had been. How mistaken she'd been. Now, she realized, she had only been prepared to face a mask, a faceless monster, a killing machine, and not the facsimile, the shadow of the man she'd loved with her whole being. At first, she'd been able to treat their fight as such: Nightblade versus Vader, the assassin versus the Sith, defender of the Rebellion against Palpatine's enforcer, but the moment he'd taken off his mask…her heart, unbidden by conscious thought, had practically soared, and her body unconsciously reacted to the undying pull he would always have for her anytime she came anywhere near him.

Curly dark blonde hair, just a little longer than when she'd last seen it, bounced in the breeze around his neck and forehead, whispering to her fingers, begging to be touched and tousled. Cerulean blue eyes that shone with pain…and molten desire flickered over her face in a visual caress that caused heat to pool in her core. Lips so familiar speaking her name reverently causing her lips to ache for his kiss. His skin had been paler than she remembered it, and his face was thinner, as if he'd lost weight, and there were heavy dark circles under his eyes, the burn scar courtesy of Ventress still present over his right eye, but in essence, he was still physically as she remembered him.

Anakin Skywalker. Former Jedi. Former hero. Former husband. Unknown father...Now just a shell with a new identity—Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith.

But, the moment he'd taken off that mask, he hadn't seemed like Darth Vader. No. He'd seemed like her precious Ani, the same boy who had made and given her the japor snippet (which she still wore) so long ago, the same boy who had saved her planet from invasion, protected her from assassination, and called her an Angel from the moment they met at Watto's shop…

Angel.

He'd called her that. Even as she was trying to kill him today, he'd called her that, as if nothing wretched, foul, and evil had ever happened between them. She'd never really thought of herself as this glorious Angel that he'd always viewed her to be, and she certainly didn't see herself as an Angel now. Maybe an Angel of Death, but no longer a pure, innocent being unscarred and unscathed by war and treachery. Could it be, even now, after everything that had transpired, that he still thought of her as being his beloved Angel? Or, was he just saying that to get into her head, to manipulate her? She knew that if she asked Obi-Wan, he would say it was the latter, but…

There was more to consider.

He hadn't tried to kill her. She knew that with certainty. After all, she was an assassin now...a one woman killing machine, and every move he'd made in that fight in the junkyard had been either defensive or to reveal her identity. It was nothing like the General that had existed for the Republic in the Clone Wars, or the ruthless killer that now existed as Darth Vader. What made her angry was that, even as he'd defended himself, she knew that, as skilled as she was now, he still far surpassed her in power, prowess, strength, cunning, and capability. She smirked malevolently at the irony of it all, thinking that they would have made quite a formidable team in action, her capabilities and skills naturally complementing and supporting his...like hand in glove, the perfect fit, one to the other. If she hadn't known him so well, she might have thought he'd been toying with her.

Her next thought chilled her to the core...If she couldn't even defeat him when he wasn't trying to hurt her, then how in all the nine Corellian hellswould she even come close to killing him when he was trying, or worse….take out the Emperor for that matter? But then, she realized, he had left himself open for attack a few times. She had clearly recognized those few openings, thanks in large part to Obi-Wan and Yoda's intensive saber training. Though, if she was truly honest, he probably would have successfully defended himself had she moved against him, but she hadn't taken those moves. Hadn't even tried to. Why? Did she even…want to kill him? The idea disturbed her. She should want to kill him—he'd destroyed everything she'd held dear. He'd murdered so many, including innocent children. He'd destroyed their family, their marriage, their future. He'd destroyed the man she'd loved. And yet…

Memories. Memories of a happier time overcame her, flooding her awareness with nostalgia, and she couldn't help but smile tenderly at each cherished recollection of what had once been. A giving little boy confident that he could win a pod race that was impossible for an adult human, much less a child, to win. A brave little boy who had taken down a blockade around her homeworld of Naboo without any training whatsoever, simply because his instincts told him to do it, and his selfless actions had saved her people. A loyal and charming man tasked with protecting her, a man who had rather clumsily-though intently-pursued her and attempted to get her to fall in love with him—he'd literally done everything so awkwardly, it might have scared off other women. But, not Padme. Beyond that awkward bravado, she'd seen his good intentions, his desire to make things right and just. She'd seen his heart, so open and willing to love and be loved in return. She'd seen how he'd striven to both respect and fulfill her desires, even when they conflicted with his own.

She remembered their first kiss on the very balcony that would later see their nuptials—she remembered their kiss after she finally committed herself to her love for him before their scheduled execution in the arena on Geonosis. She remembered their wedding, held in secret in the Lake Country of Naboo at her estate there, Varykino, where she'd secretly hoped they would someday settle down with their family when the galaxy didn't need them anymore. She remembered their wedding night, the first time for them both, so endearingly shy yet passionately giving themselves to the other. She remembered all those nights when he'd made love to her…Though he had dearly loved to tease her mercilessly, Anakin was a man of few words .Rather, he was a man of action, in all aspects of his life, and his heartfelt ardor and desire for her, and her alone, had never failed to leave her breathless and wanting more. She had never doubted his love for her.

Perhaps being a woman of many words who was never quick to action had been her downfall in their relationship. Every time he'd asked for her to take a vacation to spend time alone with just him in some secret, remote, yet romantically beautiful part of the galaxy, she'd refused and instead had been more focused on her work. She'd felt his frustration, but he'd always respected her will and her unfailingly determination to duty for her people. What a wasted opportunity…One she could never reclaim.

Yes. Hindsight was indeed 20/20. Painfully so.

Then she'd gotten pregnant shortly before he'd left on an extended mission to the Outer Rim sieges. He'd been gone for five months before he'd returned unexpectedly with Obi-Wan, not knowing what miraculous changes were taking place in their lives in his absence. She had been so excited to tell him. Couldn't wait to in fact, though she had feared for the consequences for them both should the Jedi Council find out. All she could think about at the time, besides her frantic worry for her husband's safe return, was that he would be a good father—a fantastic father, really. When he'd finally returned, and had been so ecstatically happy at the news, she thought everything was going to be okay. In fact, with the end of the Clone Wars in sight, and a baby in her womb, she was finally ready to settle down. She was ready to be a fulltime mother and a wife. Ready to leave the Senate and the overwhelming needs of the galaxy behind to just focus on them, on their little family. She'd dreamed of a baby boy with blue eyes and blonde hair and a charmingly sweet grin, so like his father's. He'd wanted a baby girl with dark hair and dark doe eyes and a breathtaking smile, so like her mother's.

And then…something changed in her husband. She knew he had dreams of her dying. He told her so one night on the terrace, and yet, after that admission, he stopped opening up to her. He became withdrawn, moody, cantankerous almost. She realized, too late, that he didn't seem to trust her anymore. He pushed her away, likely without even realizing it himself. Then…that night happened. No. She wouldn't go there. She refused to think about that night. Living that night's consequences day after day, year after year, was bad enough. He took everything from her that night: Her passion for politics, her home world, her sense of security…And, even though she knew it wasn't him who directly did it, it was still his actions that awful night that ultimately enabled the Emperor to order the attack on Naboo that killed her father, widowed her mother, and scattered Sola and her family to the four winds of the galaxy, leaving her, her children and her mother to live life in hiding, on the run from the clutches of the Sith.

She should have hated him. She certainly had every right to. Some days she told herself that she did hate him. But, this duel proved one thing to her irrefutably.

Hating him was a lie.

Because, at the same time he had taken everything else away from her, he had also given her a reason for continuing to live. Her Ani, like some last parting gift of love, had given her Luke and Leia. Her precious children, the very symbols of the deep love their parents had shared. They were twin shining lights, her beacon of hope, in her world. They were her everything. Everything she did, everything she fought for, was for them. The Ani she knew and loved would have done the exact same thing for them, so…so did she. It was the one thing she still felt she had in common with her husband. It was the one thread that would forever tie them together.

She prayed that thread, invisible and indelibly woven across the stars, would never break.

As if on cue, she heard the distant sound of the front door opening and closing, followed immediately by two children's excited voices…which were promptly shushed, likely by her mother or Obi-Wan, who wanted to avoid them getting in trouble with their mother. Padme, however, would never lash out at them, no matter what they did. Soon, however, there was the distinct patter of tiny feet scurrying down the hallway, followed by a soft knock on her door. "Mama?" Luke's voice drifted through the door.

For just a moment, she thought about pretending she wasn't there. There were still angry tears silently dripping down her face. But, this was her Luke. Her golden boy. She couldn't shut him out, no matter if she was ready to face her children or not. So, resolving to think on all of this more after the twins were in bed, she ended up scooting away from the door just enough to open it so that Luke could squeeze in. He was not alone, however—Leia followed on his heels quietly, which was uncharacteristic for her daughter. Leia was her loud child, and for all that she looked like her mother, her personality was strongly reminiscent of her father's. Padme shut the door softly behind them when they were inside.

Silence seemed to stretch out forever, as mother drank in the sight of her offspring.

For a moment, Luke and Leia just stared back at her. "Why awe you cwying, Mama?" Luke whispered, a little frown creasing his features. Force, she hated it when they frowned.

Hastily, she wiped away her tears. "I'm fine, Luke. It's okay, Sweetie." She attempted a smile to show them that it was fine, but she should have known better. They were Anakin's children after all, and Anakin used to know when she was sad or upset - sometimes even from across the galaxy- despite how well she hid it on the outside.

"No, Mama," Leia said softly, her chestnut curls bouncing around her chin as she shook her head and pointed to her own heart with a tiny finger. "You'we sad. In thewe."

Oh, Force. Padme began to cry all over again at that, holding her arms out for her children. Luke and Leia glanced at one another in concern before they stepped into her warm embrace. She pulled them onto her lap and held them close, running her hands through their hair, kissing their foreheads and cheeks. She realized then that, despite everything that had been taken away from her, she'd been given something just as wonderful, something infinitely more precious—her children.

Ani's children.

So, she held them, holding tight to the last of the Skywalker family, until the tears stopped coming. She averred she would do everything in her power to bring them a better galaxy to grow up in, one way or another, and she would make sure that they didn't fall into the hands of those who would be hell bent on destroying them.

Including Darth Vader.


The engine screeched its perturbed annoyance and the ship shuddered and shook at being pushed too hard by its pilot, as he yanked back on the throttle. He knew he was coming in too hot on his approach to the fleet. Knew and didn't really give a damn. Still, he was smarter than that and eased up on the throttle and tempered his speed. The very last thing he wanted was to end up dead in his crumpled fighter from a crash landing on his own ship...all because he was stunned, flabbergasted, in love...and entirely pissed off about it.

She was alive!...And, she hated him.

"Captain Piett," Vader snarled through the mask vocalizer at his most trusted officer in his fleet, as he was beginning his approach to bring his TIE fighter into the landing vector for the hangar bay closest to his quarters on his ship, the Executor, "If you have any desire not to have to clean up the dead bodies of your fellow crew mates en masse on the direct passageway from the hanger to my private quarters, then I advise you to evacuate them from that sector immediately!"

Piett blinked and stared at his commanding officer through the holo on his control panel, and Vader knew what the man was thinking: Vader never called ahead to warn anyone that he was in a bad, murderous mood and to get the hell out of his way. He simply unleashed his fury via the Force on the unsuspecting men without thinking twice about it...or having concern for the consequences. After all, cleanup was not the Sith's problem. This could only mean one thing.

Something was up.

"Yes, Lord Vader. It will be done." The line went dead, and Vader turned his full attention to his landing procedure. Or, most of his attention.

What I see is the evil man who took over the body of the good man I married!...

You are not my husband!

You are not my husband!

You are not my husband!

Those words played over and over again in his mind like a broken holovid, haunting him, shredding his conscience like a vibroblade. Perhaps those words were the reason why he'd called to warn Piett, because deep down he knew that Anakin Skywalker would neverhavekilled good men under his command just because they were in his way and he was pissed off. As he landed the TIE and ran through the shutdown cycle, he scowled beneath his mask, his fury and anguish rising equally within him to the point where it was about to boil over.

Yes, it was a very good thing that Piett had evacuated the area. He popped the hatch, undid his crash webbing, and Force leaped out of his ship, closing the hatch again with a wave of his hand, his boot heels striking a heavy tread on the deck plating, his black cape billowing out behind him as he strode for the exit. Looking around at the empty hangar, which normally would have held hundreds of men bustling about at work, he grimaced. Oh, yeah. There would have been plenty of dead bodies left in his wake had he not taken precautions and comm'd Piett... and, pausing for half a stride on his way to the turbolift that would take him directly to the private wing where his quarters were located, he acknowledged, with an unexpected pang of guilt, it would have been yet another reason for his Padme to hate him more than she already did.

Hate.

That word echoed in his mind, too, twirling and whirling around in a storm of her venomous words from their battle, leaving him in a convoluted morass of emotions he had not felt since Mustafar. His own wife hated him, hated him so much that she actually tried to kill him, because even though she had missed a few openings he'd unintentionally given her in his shocked state, he was far too well trained to not recognize when someone was on the offensive...and she had certainly been that. Padme had definitely been trying to kill him. Without question, if he hadn't been as brilliant with a lightsaber as he was, in his shocked state in that moment, she'd have run her...his...saber straight through his gut without a second thought, because she was pretty damn good with the weapon, he had to admit. Obi-Wan had taught her well. Too well. She'd changed...a lot...in the two years since Mustafar. Of course, he also wanted to know why Padme had decided to change her well known pacifist's ways for that of a hardened killer. Also, who, besides Obi-Wan, had helped to fine tune her new skills? That was also part of this mystery.

Such a quandary.

He shook his head and continued on his way, entering the turbolift and punching in the level of his quarters. Leaning back against the wall, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at the floor. If he was completely honest with himself, he had to admit that he also found this new aggressive side of Padme to be deliciously alluring and sexy as hell. He felt the stirrings of desire surging through his veins once again. He wanted his wife back. She alone, out of all the women in the galaxy, lit this unquenchable fire in his blood. The turbolift came to a stop, the doors sliding open silently before him, and he stepped out onto his private hallway, making for the door to his quarters, his mind still muddled as he replayed over and over their duel, her words, her eyes, his reaction.

Frustrating

That's what this was, and he didn't like it. Not one bit. Now that the shock was starting to wear off, he felt unbelievable rage pour through his system…and sorrow, a deep despondent anguish pulsing within him with every beat of his heart. He wanted to blame Obi-Wan for this…in fact, he did blame him, on some level. After Mustafar, Obi-Wan certainly would have worked hard to turn her against him, and probably convinced her to hide from him as well. And yet…Obi-Wan would never have suggested-or encouraged-Padme to try to kill him. It wasn't the Jedi way. No. Obi-Wan wouldn't have turned her into a killer, though he obviously had trained her with a lightsaber...his lightsaber at that!...to keep herself from getting killed.

Obi-Wan.

Vader clenched his fists. His former Jedi Master should be dead! Instead, he'd escaped Vader's hand, stolen his lightsaber and his wife, and left him to die on the molten inferno that was Mustafar. At first, Vader might have jealously and stupidly assumed that Obi-Wan had done it all out of having some sort of feelings for her, but now, he guessed that Obi-Wan turned her against him because, in his own sense of warped nobility and justice, he thought it was the right thing to do. Which infuriated Vader to no end.

Interfering...always interfering.

He entered his semi-darkened apartment suite, shutting down all communications with a flick of his wrist, leaving just the emergency comm on, and immediately began to strip out his boots and his suit, dropping the pieces of his disguise carelessly to the floor with a clatter. He was tempted to throw his helmet across the room, but he didn't have a spare onboard, and in his anger, he knew he'd shatter the blasted thing against the wall. He needed to breathe. He needed to calm down enough to think, to mull over all of the implications from the day's events and come up with a plan, a rock solid plan, because now that he knew that his wife was not only alive, but also was the Assassin that he'd been ordered to kill, he had to not only find her to keep her safe, but also figure out how to keep all of this from the Emperor.

No small task.

The Emperor. Force, how he hated that man! Now free of his confinement in the suit, Vader scowled as he walked over to his dresser, opened a drawer, grabbed his garments, and pulled on his loose black sleep pants and matching sleep shirt, which he left unbuttoned and hanging open to the waist. Lies. All of it. He'd been told Padme was dead. Sidious, practically giddy with euphoria at the idea, had spent countless hours drilling it into his head that Padme's death was his fault. He'd said it over and over as he'd tortured Vader with his stupid Sith Lightning. To be fair, Anakin himself had felt his connection to her snap while still on Mustafar, like she'd died…but his wife wasn't Force sensitive. Force bonds weren't as strong with non-Force sensitives. So, it wouldn't have taken much to sever that contact between them.

But, he'd been to her funeral, had been utterly unable to feel her life force…He knew, because he'd tried to reach out to her in that open casket in Theed and sensed nothing. He wasn't sure how she managed to achieve such a state. That was certainly one mystery he wanted solved in all this mess. He raked his hands through his hair, grasping his blonde curls in his fists and tugging on them as a growl of frustration escaped him as he considered the options. Either way, it could be possible that the Emperor had been fooled, as he had, and had just assumed that it was Vader who had killed her.

Or, Sidious knew she wasn't dead, and had purposefully and intentionally lied to him to keep Vader under his control. The Vader from two years ago would have assumed that it was the first option, but now? It could very well be either, though his gut instinct was leaning toward the latter, but he knew Padme would be safer if it were the former. He sighed. Vader wasn't stupid enough to comm the Emperor and ask outright for himself. No. Not an option. Vader snorted. Besides, Sidious would just lie to him anyway.

Now dressed in something that wasn't so insufferably constrictive, Vader approached his viewport, resting his hands on the sill, staring out at the stars…somewhere out there, was his Padme. He didn't know where to start looking exactly, having lost her after their battle when she fled with Obi-Wan, but he knew he had to find her. Quickly. He needed to grovel at her feet and beg for her forgiveness, pledge his undying love for her, convince her to come home to him, he needed to…A sudden thought entered his mind and jolted him from his musings.

Their baby.

Wait. If she was alive then…Vader's eyes widened, all breath whooshing from his lungs, and once more his body felt like it was electrified all over with nervous tension, and he felt the need to put his suit back on and go do something…even if he didn't have a plan of action. Yet.

What about their unborn child?

Why hadn't he thought about this immediately after their duel? Kriff! Padme had been heavily pregnant with their baby when…when Mustafar happened. She'd still looked pregnant when she'd been transported through the streets of Theed in that casket, but what if…what if that had been a lie, too? What if somewhere out there, amongst those stars, was not only the love of his life, but his child as well, hidden from him?

Answers.

He needed answers. He needed to know. Meditation would be necessary in this situation. He needed to reach out with the Force for the answers he sought, but he was still too keyed up, too wired with the adrenaline rush to even contemplate meditating at the moment. Still, standing by the viewport, watching the stars in the silence of his quarters, did give him momentary clarity of thought. He, at least, had an idea of where to start looking. The Outer Rim. Specifically, the sectors the Empire had the least amount of presence in. That had to be where she was, where his family would be hiding. It made sense. The Core and the Inner Rim sectors were entirely within the Empire's control and too heavily patrolled for them to risk detection. The Jedi would have sequestered his wife as far away from the Empire as possible, but for them to still be within reach of civilization.

A fierce sense of protectiveness suddenly gripped him, a protectiveness that he didn't quite fully understand. He'd never met his child, nor did he know if his child was even alive, and yet…the mere idea of his child being alive was enough to stir something new within him, something he didn't fully comprehend. Sidious had always hated it whenever children were involved with one of Vader's missions, because something always went terribly wrong whenever it did happen, much to Sidious' disgust. If Vader was ordered to kill all survivors, something somehow would remarkably happen that would allow any children to escape. Vader knew that some of his actions had an indirect effect on whether children lived or died, but if he was faced with directly killing children himself, he wouldn't do it. He couldn't do it, not after that night at the Temple, not after that night when he'd thought he'd killed his beloved wife and unborn child. An instantaneously overwhelming need know the answer to the living status of his child overcame him, and his hands clenched around the view port sill until his knuckles were white.

He needed answers. He needed his wife. He needed his family. He would stop at nothing to find them and bring them home to him. Not even the Emperor would stop him this time. But, he needed help. For all his vaunted skills and his high rank as second-in-command of the Empire, he couldn't do this alone...not without raising the Emperor's suspicions. He needed the services of someone he knew he could not only trust but had the knowledge, the skills, and the contacts necessary for this plan to succeed. Reaching out behind him with one hand, he called his commlink to him without looking at it, knowing it was within reach on his dresser. Smirking, a gleam of delight in his eyes, he dialed the frequency and waited...Oh yes, my Angel, I will find you again and bring you back to me, and we will be a family at last, he thought, as the comm connected.

"Fett, I have another job for you..."


I know it's been a while since I last posted, but I was in the middle of an intense part of the story in my other Fanfic and I'd wanted to write that scene for over a year. Still, I hope you liked this chapter!

Also...I have a request. I'd like to write a 2 or 3 more assassination missions...but I can't think of anything that isn't repetitive. If you'd like to contribute with an idea, go ahead an PM me your idea and I'll be sure to give you credit if I use it.

The song for this chapter is To Build a Home by the Cinematic Orchestra and Ma Fleur.

Review!

Love,

Sarah