Note: This chapter was inspired by the song "You Don't Own Me" by Grace/G-Easy


He absolutely hated parties. Detested them really.

Nothing but a bunch of brown-nosing sycophants gorging themselves on ridiculously expensive delicacies and getting drunk on the finest Alderaanian wines and Corellian brandies, he thought with a snort.

He'd hated them whenever Padme threw them, too. It was all so fake, designed to lure party goers into a false sense of enjoyment so that the host or hostess could get what they wanted. Even Padme had been very particular about what went on at her parties, because she used them as a way to gain political advantage. That's how it always worked.

Still, at least at Padme's parties, they'd been together, and he'd gotten to watch her masterfully entertain her guests while also procuring the information she needed at the same time. Not to mention spend the night afterwards engaging in his favorite form of 'aggressive negotiations' with his lovely wife. Sadly, that won't be the case tonight, he peevishly mused. Actually, glancing below him once again, now that he thought about it, it made a lot of sense that Padme was now a master assassin who could potentially infiltrate anywhere.

He wished she were here now.

Pity.

The Emperor too, was fond of parties. Not going to them, of course, but throwing them across the galaxy as a display of the Empire's power. His power. Parties officially endorsed by the Emperor were, naturally, cesspools of power plays and greedy Imperials seeking nothing but to further their own selfish gain. Vader normally could care less about them. He usually tried to stay as far away from them as he possibly could. But this time, given that he'd been stationed relatively close by to this one, the Emperor had sent him the order: Go, remind them in my absence that I am in control.

Vader gritted his teeth, cursed his luck, and did as he was told.

He'd rather be back on his ship watching the twins and his family on the holo transmissions to his encrypted private channel, or trying to figure out exactly what Padme's next mission was, as she'd left for her new one just a week ago. If she called in for Sandstorm's help...Well, there would be no answering. After all, though he'd shared encrypted comm link frequencies with her, he couldn't exactly whip out that comm link here and answer it as Vader, now could he? Especially not while he was currently looming on a dias over the party below, arms crossed, the black mask practically glaring at everyone and everything.

Like all of the Emperor's fancy parties, it was an elegant affair. Honestly, he didn't know how a Sith Lord was so good at planning things like this. The ballroom was massive, the black and white marble floor so shiny, it reflected the guests in it. The walls were gilded with gold, crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling emitting just the right amount of light to cast a dreamy glow on the room. Everyone wore finery that made Vader want to gag. Perfectly tailored suits and capes that looked much too uncomfortable, with stupid top hats that were meant to make them look taller than they were, and dresses that ranged from poofy ballgowns to skimpy sleek things that barely covered the most intimate parts of their bodies. In his black armored suit, he usually stood out like a sore thumb, all military and impersonal: The perfect right hand of the Emperor.

But tonight, he supposed that he didn't stick out quite as much: This party, unlike the few others he'd been forced to attend, was practically made for him.

It was a masquerade ball.

Everyone was wearing masks. Not just him, though his was not at all as fancy as the others. Everyone wore masks from those that were something simple and elegant, to the more brash, outlandish, and ridiculous. He saw masks meant to embody multiple different types of creatures across the galaxy, from sweet, gentle, colorful birds, to vicious gundarks. He supposed that made the party slightly more bearable...if only he didn't hate all of the people there.

Especially the host.

But that, he always suspected, was Sidious' true intention of making him go to these little soirées anyway. Every time, he had reasons to hate the official 'host' of the party. Usually it was because they were absolutely witless fools who had bribed their way to power, but sometimes they truly had such a slimey personality that even the Force seemed to shy away from them, as if they were so vile that even the Force didn't want to touch them. Such was the case of the host at this event tonight, Commander Ozzik Stern: A slaver, a man who had amassed his fortune and power within the Empire by subjugating entire worlds, sending their residents to work in mines all across the galaxy. When he wasn't managing a slaving business, he was using his resources to hunt different species of aliens just for sport. Vader was a Sith. He was supposed to turn a blind eye to things like that. Men like Stern, however, filled him with a rage that made him want to slaughter everyone who had come to celebrate his new posting to Commander.

Even as a Sith Lord, he found it unconscionable.

Considering that the Emperor did not normally throw parties for soldiers achieving the rank of commander, Vader was partially convinced that Sidious had thrown it simply to needle at Vader, who hated slavers due to his… to Anakin's past. That, and Stern's father also probably did something to make Sidious pleased. Hearing the tread of shoes on the marble floor, Vader glanced over and had to stifle a growl at who was coming toward him.

Just the man he didn't want to see.

Stern approached him now, with his already drunk best friend in tow. "Lord Vader," Stern greeted, a smirk plastered to his face, and Vader's fists clenched. Even his voice was grating. "I'm so pleased you could attend tonight." Stern smiled, and the scar across his face (from a wookie he'd hunted, Vader heard) made him look more like a monster than Vader's mask did. Even with his white mask covering half of his face, Stern looked like the serial killing slaver that he was. The smile didn't touch his cold, dead black eyes.

Vader said nothing, just staring at him, as if by doing so, the man would disappear into a puff of smoke. Actually, that would make the night more interesting. For me, he smirked to himself. Vader wondered how his drunk friend would react to that, and the possibility made him grin behind the mask. If only the Force could do that…

"Allow me to introduce…" he was pointing at his stupid, inebriated, equally witless friend, who, at least, had the good sense to come to the party blackout drunk. Vader wished he could do the same, but even if he was allowed to drink while on duty, he couldn't without removing his mask. And Sidious would punish him severely if he did that. Vader realized he'd tuned out, but he really, truly did not care. He wanted to be back aboard the Executor and doing literally anything else. But Force, Stern wouldn't shut up, and even though he'd been ordered here to make sure the party went smoothly, that didn't mean he had to be pleasant about it. He was, afterall, a Sith Lord. Which Stern somehow managed to ignore.

"Commander Stern," Vader interrupted, his baritone voice deep and sarcastic through the mask: An obvious warning. "I am here to remind you and your guests that the ultimate power in this galaxy remains in the Emperor's hands. I am not here to make idle chit chat with imbeciles."

Stern's face flushed, making his scars look a garish pink on his ugly pock-marked face, and he drew himself up to his full height (which was still several inches shorter than Vader). "The Emperor is throwing this party in my honor, Lord Vader. Do not forget who is in charge tonight."

Behind his mask, Vader's eyebrows rose in disbelief. Did this guy have a death wish? To be frank, Vader probably would have killed him the moment he spoke to him, had the Emperor not added another order to the message: Do not kill the host, under any circumstances. But Stern didn't know that, and Vader wasn't about to enlighten him. So, he stared right at the man, letting him feel the intensity of his gaze even behind the onstorous mask he wore, and then took one, deliberate step forward so that he was looming over the man. "Do you feel in charge, Commander Stern?"

Stern, being shorter than he was, took an involuntary step backwards. His friend, even in his drunken state, had the sense to look at Vader as if he were a gundark about to eat them for dinner. "I, um." Stern stammered, looking around as if to order some of the Stormtroopers stationed around the room to arrest Vader. Vader held back a scoff. Stupid. Why Sidious wanted the man alive, Vader would never know. "I, ah, apologize, Lord Vader. I…" his gaze narrowed on someone else approaching from the edge of Vader's vision, and he seemed to relax, as though anyone could save him from the intense scrutiny of Vader's gaze. "Oh, uh, my date for the night is here. I'm afraid we'll have to, ah, postpone this conversation, Lord Vader."

Vader clenched his teeth. No one put him off like that. Vader may not have been allowed to kill Stern, but he could certainly kill his friend. He wasn't off limits. He was about to reach through the Force to crush the other man's windpipe, when a lilting voice stopped him cold.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Vader whirled, suddenly unable to breathe. No….no, it couldn't be!...He had to be mistaken...but no, he'd know that voice anywhere! Sure enough, the woman, or Stern's 'date,' as the wretch had called her, was none other than Padme Amidala Skywalker. Vader's wife. But, to his horror, she was not in her Nightblade gear, or even one of the many frilly Nubian dresses she'd worn to parties like this when they were together. Vader was left stunned and absolutely speechless, mouth agape inside his mask, as his widened eyes roved slowly over her delectable form from her head to her toes.

By the Force...

Instead, she wore an outfit that made Vader instantly seethe with jealousy, longing to whip off his cloak and wrap her in it, and boil with fury as hot as the lava on Mustafar itself. Not to mention desire that roared through his veins so hot, so fast and furious, it nearly brought him to his knees.

How dare she wear an outfit like this in public! No one else but me should ever see her dressed this...scantily, he fumed silently through gritted teeth, as he continued to stare dumbstruck at his wife.

She wore a black, skimpy...could he even call that a dress?! The top was sheer black diaphanous fabric that extended to her waist below her navel, covered in black beaded decollete in various swirling patterns that strategically covered her breasts...but barely, with thin beaded straps in a halter design leading to a deep plunging V neckline, exposing so much of her generous post-pregnancy cleavage Vader thought he would choke himself trying to bite back a retort. Unfortunately, it only got worse when she turned around to greet Stern. That's when he saw that it was completely backless all the way down to just above her bottom, reminiscent of that first dress she'd worn for him on Naboo. The skirt was black and long, ending just above her ankles and split into three pieces, each slit going straight up to her hip, revealing every beautiful inch of her smooth, toned, bare legs. She looked taller than she actually was due to black, 3-inch T-strapped heels on her dainty feet that she moved effortlessly in.

Sweeping his floored gaze upward, he noted the top half of her face was covered with a matching black mask that glittered in the dim light with elaborate beading and black feathers framing the left side of the mask with a black flower to complete it. Her glorious mane of hair was pulled back and secured at the back of her head with a black beaded clip that allowed her long tresses to flow in a river of dark ringlets almost halfway down her back. The only color in her ensemble was her blood red lips, which smiled alluringly when Stern took her hand and planted a searing kiss on the back of it.

Kriff!

Well, Vader seethed as his entire body shook with more anger than he'd felt in...he couldn't remember when. At least he knew she wasn't carrying any weapons, since the damn dress literally left absolutely nothing to the imagination! The urge to give Stern a long, slow painful death was rocketing to the top of his list of priorities with every passing second…

Stern snaked an arm around Padme's lower back, splaying his fingers against the bare skin exposed there, bringing her flush against him. Maybe he could endure the punishment for killing Stern. Actually, he was certain he could. Positively, no doubts about it. "Lord Vader," Stern said (though he hadn't bothered to peel his eyes off his wife while he spoke, Vader noticed) his voice confident and full of obvious desire for the woman in his arms. "May I introduce Lady Adrianna, by far the most beautiful woman here tonight..."

Vader just stared. If he opened his mouth, he was going to start demanding to know why the hell his own damned WIFE was wearing that...that...with...with…! Padme turned a dazzling smile on him, literally as if she were a ditsy girl in love….Though her dark brown eyes were alight with warning, and challenge. Aimed directly at him. "It's so lovely to finally meet the man responsible for enforcing our Emperor's will." She drawled, sounding...way more sincere than he thought possible. Then, he realized, there was an underlying message there, the same one that had been there for their every interaction since he'd found out she was alive: This is all your fault, and I will make you pay for it.

Dammit to all nine of the Corellian hells! She had him in that moment, and the quirk of her eyebrow under that damned mask and the smirk on her luscious lips spoke volumes. And, they both knew it.

Again, he opened his mouth, realized he was going to say some very unattractive things to her, things that would undoubtedly piss her off, making an already difficult situation between them worse (and probably blow whatever little plan she was trying to execute), and what came out of his mouth was more of a strangled growl/groan/horrified moan...which sounded like a dying tauntaun through the vocoder in his mask. Stern blanched, as if sensing that Vader was literally two seconds away from murdering him, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Y-yes, well, we should, ah, leave Lord Vader to his...duties, my dear."

"Yes," Padme said, her voice sounding almost simpering, but her eyes, he noticed, were dancing with extreme satisfaction at having bested him once again, and Vader's gaze narrowed, his teeth clenched in fury, as she practically pressed herself into Stern. She wrapped her arm around his waist and successfully drew the idiot's attention away from his would-be killer, "Let's go celebrate your promotion, love."

Love?! Did she just say 'Love?!' Vader was nearly beside himself in jealous outrage, breathing hard now, but before he could start strangling the life from the pathetic excuse of a man, they quickly turned and headed back down the steps from the dias and into the crowd of party goers, Stern's drunk friend slinking off towards the food table for, he assumed, more alcohol. How could she?! How could she stand to let another man...especially one like that...even touch her, let alone parts of her body that only he had ever touched?! No man but he had the right to touch her, dammit!

Like it or not, she was still his wife...and Vader intended it to stay that way, too.

They were separated, yes, and she'd made it clear that she considered her husband dead, yes, but she couldn't...she wouldn't actually cheat on him, would she?! His fists clenched and unclenched, and the desire to rip out his lightsaber and start killing everyone in that blasted ballroom was strong. Very strong. He'd like nothing better than to throw her over his shoulder and drag her back to the Executor (Yes, even kicking and screaming. Who would dare challenge him?). He could force her to stay locked in his private suite of rooms until she agreed to be with him again as his wife. The desire to do this rose with every second that ticked by. How could she even go out with anyone, let alone a sleazebag like Stern?! She'd literally killed men for doing way less than Stern ever had, and…

Wait a sec...

He paused, logic somehow managing to break through his haze of white-hot fury. She'd...killed men...for less...Last he'd seen her at home, she was packing to go to Rebel Command to receive her new orders for her next mission. Though, he knew her simply because he knew literally everything about her, the mask was enough to hide her features for anyone who didn't. Which, was everyone in this room. Hmm...Stern was a galactic slaving sleazebag...and a recently promoted one at that. A prime target for an assassination. Though again, that...thing she was wearing did not give her any hiding spots for a weapon (It barely covered her own skin as it was, he fumed), and the guards at the door were searching everyone for any hint of a weapon. But...it had to be an assassination attempt. Right?

It was either believe that, or believe she was cheating on him, and if it was the latter, the logical part of his brain reasoned, he would never win her or his children back, and that was simply unacceptable. He'd already done so much to ensure that getting his family back would happen. He wasn't about to let her and some skimpy excuse of a dress ruin that. In fact, he thought, his eyes scanning the room for possibilities, he was going to take control of the situation, whether she liked it or not.

She may have thrown down the gauntlet, but he was damn well picking it up.

Frankly, he no longer kriffing cared what his master had sent him here to do. Her and that damn dress had seen to that. No, Vader was now on a mission of his own-remind her just who was really in charge here...Not to mention remind her in no uncertain terms who she still belonged to. He didn't give a damn if she killed Stern...Honestly, he should after watching the buffoon's wandering eyes and hands going where they did not belong, but he'd been sent here to make sure the party ran smoothly, and a dead host was not the definition of a successful party. Unfortunately. Besides, as a husband still very much in love with his wife, he had more important things to deal with at this moment. But first, Darth Vader needed to make his exit, though how he'd…Ahhh, yes...The perfect target.

He spotted Stern's best friend staggering out of a side door of the ballroom. He's about my size and build, Vader realized with a predatory grin, and he moved to follow.

Looks like Stern's wouldn't be the only death tonight, and Vader was looking forward to both of them. Immensely.


He wasn't supposed to be there, dammit!

None of the intel had even suggested that the second in command to the Empire would attend the party. Sure, it was being thrown by the Emperor, but everyone knew that he didn't actually show up to any of them. Rebel command had checked, double checked, and then triple checked the guest list, and there had been no indication that Darth Vader would be attending. Then again, she mused bitterly as Stern's hand again wandered much lower than was publically decent, Vader didn't need an invitation. He could probably show up to anything he wanted and get away with it.

Kriffing hells. She was so not prepared for this.

Get out of there! Obi-Wan hissed into the hidden micro earpiece in her ear for about the millionth time since it had become clear that Vader was at the party. Or, I'll come in after you!

Right, like that'd really work. And, start a full-blown lightsaber battle in the middle of the party, a party chock full of Imperials? Don't think so. Nope. Not happening.

She couldn't exactly respond back to him without Stern thinking she was a crazy person, but she didn't need to. Obi-Wan wouldn't come in, lightsaber blazing, unless she was for sure about to be taken captive. So far, Vader hadn't made a move to take her. Hell, she'd been sure he would have done so the moment she'd shown up wearing...this. It wasn't exactly something she'd ever have thought to wear around him before, because it was sure to set off a fit of jealous rage from the Sith Lord, but...Somehow, he hadn't done it. Not yet, at least. But, she was certain murder was on his mind.

She'd lost sight of him in the crowd of Imperials, but she could still feel his suffocating presence hovering over the ballroom, making it almost impossible to breathe. No. She had a mission to prepare for. Stern was dangerous, not only to the Rebellion, but to the literal freedom of the entire galaxy. He needed to die, here and now, before he could further his own evil plans.

Obi-Wan was supposed to be using the party as a distraction to download the intel containing the location of Stern's slaves so that the Rebellion could later free them. Once he had it done, he would let her know, and she'd kill him. Not with a blaster or a lightsaber or even a simple knife. No, those items would have been confiscated before she'd even walked in the door, and unlike Stern, who had been mind-tricked by Obi-Wan to take her as his 'date,' he couldn't trick an entire platoon of guards into letting her in with weapons. Obvious weapons, at least.

However, the Empire wasn't prepared for the...unexpected.

Because, on her crimson lips was coated a thin sheen of poison. Slow acting, but deadly poison. Odorless and tasteless. When Obi-Wan gave the word, she'd kiss Stern, and then use the fifteen minutes it would take to kill the man to make her escape. She was certain that even with Vader looming over the party, she could pull it off. Stern would die tonight, though Vader probably would have killed the man outright for even daring to look at her in this outfit. He'd appeared ready to do so on the dias not ten minutes ago. When he'd let out a squawk that sounded like a dying tauntaun, she'd been half afraid that he'd steal her kill from her right then and there.

But he hadn't, which, she had to admit, was shocking, and now Padme was dancing with the clumsy serial killer, his hands cold on her bare skin. Everywhere he touched, she felt like he left a layer of filth behind. It was just her imagination, she knew, because his hands were meticulously clean, but she couldn't shake the feeling anyway. Still, she smiled and laughed in all of the appropriate places, pressing herself against Stern whenever he seemed to be distracted, and made it very clear, in his head anyway, that she wanted him, and no one else that night. It wasn't hard. Stern was a pompous womanizer, on top of all of his other crimes.

"Champagne?" He asked, taking two glasses from a passing waiter's tray and holding one out to her.

She smiled politely. "Not tonight, I'm afraid. I've already had a little too much." A lie, of course. She'd never drink on the job, especially not with poison on her lips. She'd taken the appropriate precautions to keep herself from accidentally killing herself, of course, just as Rebel Command advised, and Obi-Wan had a vial of the antidote, just in case. As it was, she would likely get herself sick.

Even the thought of having to kiss this sanctimonious twerp was sickening.

Stern didn't seem to notice or care. He just shrugged, "Suit yourself." She watched as he drained both glasses. She smiled, pleased that he was only going to make her job that much easier. Perhaps the coroner would assume he was poisoned from one of the many drinks he'd already downed. She personally liked the Empire knowing that Nightblade had killed another one of their own, but she'd let this one slide, if she got to watch him die.

"When will the party be over?" She asked loudly, though the question was really meant for Obi-Wan, "I want to take our own party somewhere else more...private." She batted her eyelashes suggestively, and Stern paused mid drink, staring at her.

"I...of course." He looked like he was going to ask her to leave with him right then, but he seemed to think better of it and added, "I can't leave just yet. Perhaps in about a half an hour, when everyone has properly felt and acknowledged my presence as host." She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. No one here really gave a rancor's ass about Stern and his promotion. The only thing they cared about was that they were simply there, at a party thrown by the Emperor, which meant two things: Free food. Free booze.

That brings Imperials crawling out of the woodwork, every time.

But, Obi-Wan responded with the real information she wanted: Two minutes. He said unhappily, Then...and I can't believe I'm saying this...you kiss him and get the hell out of there.

She couldn't help the genuine smile that lit across her poisoned lips. Obi-Wan was ever the anxious one. Some things never changed. So be it. She could entertain the worthless scoundrel for another two minutes. But as she did, the minutes seemed to drag. Any second, she knew, Vader could decide to hell with it and murder everyone in that room. Most of these Imperials deserved to die anyway for their crimes, but not at the hands of an enraged and jealous Vader, who simply did it because they happened to be in the way between him and her. More importantly, without her lightsaber or any other weapon to protect herself, she would be screwed. She doubted even Obi-Wan could get there in time.

But, finally, Obi-Wan hissed, Done! Kiss the bastard and let's go!

She'd never been so relieved to kiss someone other than Anakin in her life...Actually, she hadn't kissed anyone else since she'd married him, though some foolish few had tried. But, if a kiss would kill Stern and get his grubby hands off of her, she'd do it. She turned to him, raising her hands up to either side of the man's scarred face, pulling him slightly down to her height without any resistance, and she kissed him.

Urg. Worst. Kiss. Ever.

She had to be careful-any slip up and she too could ingest too much of the poison. But, she didn't need to worry. Obi-Wan safely had the antidote, and besides, the oaf acted like he'd never kissed a woman before, as he smashed his lips against hers. He licked her lips sloppily, hoping for entry...and she pulled away, batting her eyes at him. Force, the man had the breath of a Hutt! "More later." She winked at him suggestively, as he stared at her, dumbfounded, before he grinned like a fool and licked his lips...again. Sealing his fate. Perfect. Now, for her get away. "As for now, I need to run to the fresher. Where might I…?"

Exit stage left. Time to blow this party, Obi-Wan sounded relieved.

"Excuse me." Her entire body froze. No...Force, no he wasn't….What the hell was he doing?...she turned, slowly, eyes wide, hoping that she was hearing things...and found herself staring at Lord Vader. But not wearing the black armor suit and mask that marked him as such to the rest of the galaxy. Instead, he appeared as a tall, dashing impersonation of her Anakin in a black tux and black and silver half mask, blonde curls framing his face, golden eyes staring out at her, fury and jealousy dancing in their honeyed depths. A wicked smile graced his lips, as he held out his hand toward hers. "Sorry to interrupt such a touching moment, but I couldn't resist." His voice was clipped. Dangerous. Oh yes. He'd seen the kiss alright. And, he wasn't happy. No, no, no, no. Not happy at all. "May I have this dance, milady?"

Uh-oh. Kriffing hells!

She stared at him, looking from those bone-chilling golden eyes, to the hand stretched toward her. He wasn't serious right now, was he? Had he lost his mind?! All it would take was for someone to recognize him as the Hero With No Fear and both of their covers would be blown...though Vader had a lot more leeway than she did, being the Emperor's second and all. Being a Sith Lord. Not her husband...though he sure looked exactly as she always dreamed he would had they been allowed to meet at a dance like this as two lovers, not Senator and Jedi. Minus the golden eyes, of course. And murderous rage simmering in them.

Oh no, no, no, Obi-Wan said, clearly the only sane one in this situation. You are NOT going to dance with him!

She had to agree. "Oh, my Lord...er," She realized she had no kriffing idea what to call him when he was like this. "I'm...I'm sorry, but I'm already spoken for, for the night and…"

"Oh, really? Well, I'm sure our gracious host wouldn't mind letting one of his guests steal you for just one dance." He sounded so logical, as if what he suggested was perfectly normal, but she noticed the spike of jealousy that flared in his eyes at the mention of her being 'spoken for.' looked to Stern, hoping he'd object, and she'd have an excuse to say no, but she found him already gulping down yet another glass of alcohol.

Idiot.

"Oh, yeah," Stern burped when he was done, waving her off. "One dance won't hurt. Just make sure to bring her back in one piece." He winked at her, a dopey grin on his face. "We've got plans tonight. Right, Sweetie?"

She closed her eyes, waiting for Vader to lose it right then and kill him and everyone else in the vicinity...but no blow came. She opened her eyes in astonishment, looking back to Vader, who was still patiently waiting, though his rage seemed to burn hotter in his eyes at the mention of their 'plans.' "See?" He said with a mocking smile, his hand still outstretched, "You're free for at least one dance. Shall we, milady?"

Say no, Padme! Obi-Wan hissed, but he knew as well as she did that she didn't really have a choice in this. Not if she wanted to avoid a fight.

So, cautiously, hating herself with every movement she made toward him, she placed her hand in his. She suppressed a shudder at feeling the familiar calluses on his fingers as they tightened around hers, and he led her through the throng of people to the dance floor, away from Stern, and far enough away from the other dancers to not be overheard.

Obi-Wan groaned, You two are going to be the death of me, I swear...Force, I need a drink.

"I didn't peg you for a dancer, Vader." She said, her voice quiet and seething, as he stopped, turning to face her. Without his cursed mask, she could see his eyes roaming up her body, taking her in...and though there was smoldering desire there, as she knew there would be, there was also the rabid jealousy she hated so much, amplified tenfold by the Dark Side. "I recognize the outfit. I assume you killed Lord Greystone to get it."

"Was that his name?" Vader said casually, though he was still looking her over. Honestly, it was a wonder he wasn't drooling. "I didn't really take note of that-you see, it's hard to notice much of anything else when you're dressed like you're here to seduce every male in the room." He arched an eyebrow at her, and his nostrils flared in anger.

"Maybe I am." this was dangerous, goading him this way, but she couldn't help it, not when he looked way too much like her sweet Anakin.

Oh, you did NOT just go there, did you? Seriously?, Obi-Wan's voice rose in consternation.

But, Vader gave her a cocky, sure grin, as sultry but rhythmic familiar music began to play from the band. She gritted her teeth. "Recognize this, Angel?" he asked, again mockingly. Of course she did. "You taught me the one dance I know to this song, my Love."

"No, I didn't teach you. I taught my husband this dance, not a Sith Lord." She remembered. Force, she remembered all too well. They'd never been able to enjoy one another's company at dances like this. Her Anakin...he'd wanted to dance with her, the way no one else ever would, and even though they'd never dance that way outside of the privacy of their own home, she'd taught him. Hours and hours, spent into the wee hours of the morning, teaching him the intricate moves. He'd stepped on her toes at first, had apologized profusely, but he was a quick learner. Or, he would have learned it much faster had they not frequently had to stop to engage in vigorous...marital activities.

"Well, I suppose you'll have to deal with me, then." Vader smirked. "Or, do you not remember that amazing night, my Angel?"

I can't believe this is happening, Obi-Wan groaned in her ear.

Vader knew her well. Padme could never turn down a challenge...even one so obviously meant as revenge for the outfit she'd donned for the night. So, slowly, she walked around him. He stood, still, waiting, until she was behind him, pressed up against his back, breathing him in. Force, this close….he still smelled like her Ani. Slowly, deliberately, she moved her arm around his torso, hand reaching, stretching across his chest. His response was immediate, as his arm too reached up, finding her fingers, intertwining them with his own.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to remember who it was she was dancing with, as he swayed one way, and she swayed the other, their hands breaking free as she moved back around to his front, their hands joining once again, her leg twining briefly around his before he spun her. Once. Twice, and then he was slowly, ever so slowly dipping her, his hands on the bare skin of her back, felt through the sheer fabric of the front of the dress. Do not shudder, she thought fiercely. "I see that your eyes are still Sith gold." She hissed. "My sister said they were blue when she saw you."

"Did she?" He breathed, his breath tickling her skin before she felt the barest of kisses on her neck just below her ear, as they reached the peak of their dip, and then they sprung back up, and he twirled her twice again before she stopped abruptly, held flush against him, her face just an inch away from his own, her one hand behind his neck, the other on the arm he'd placed around her back. He grinned wolfishly, clearly enjoying himself, and she glared at him. This was anything but a lovers dance, and Vader was nothing but persistent. "Must have been a trick of the light. You're welcome, by the way."

Oh, she wanted to slap him!

Her hand moved from his neck to his shoulder as he spun her around. They twirled and spun around one another over the ballroom floor, moving as one, until again they stopped, one of his hands again on her bare back, caressing her exposed flesh, the other just below her breasts, his thumb brushing in a soft tantalizing caress against her skin through the sheer fabric of her dress. She gritted her teeth, cursing the shiver that involuntarily ran up her body. From the satisfactory glint in his eyes, she knew he'd felt it. "Why?" She demanded, as he pulled her back against him. Even through the tux, she could feel the battle-honed muscles she'd once known so intimately.

He cocked his head, slightly. "What kind of husband would I be, my Love, if I didn't make sure my wife was happy?" He said it in the same mocking tone, but she wasn't a fool. She knew he was serious, even as one of his hands moved up, running down her bare skin, leaving a trail of fire down her arm as his fingers ran the length of it until they found her hand. Kriff. She never should have taught him this dance, she thought as his forehead touched hers, their masks bumping slightly. They moved again, swaying slowly, sensually to the music. She moved her feet, twining her bare leg once around his, before bringing it back while he moved backwards, bringing her with him.

"I won't thank you for what never should have happened in the first place." She hissed, as again they began moving quickly, fluidly over the dance floor, chest to chest. She had to crane her neck to look up at him: She'd forgotten how tall he was. And that smile he gave her, even sardonic as it was…

"Fair enough, Darling," He said, and they twirled around one another yet again. "So. How are you going to kill Stern anyway? I'm assuming he is your target, yes?"

Don't answer that, Obi-Wan warned her.

She glared at him as they twirled again, stopping momentarily while she kicked her leg backwards, bringing it back into step as they glided forward again. "Wouldn't you like to know." She snarled. "Besides, I never kiss and tell."

Suddenly, he picked her up, and as she swung through the air, his arms tight around her body in a possessive embrace, she kicked both legs out in a mid-air split, before he set her down and they began gliding around one another again. They were less like dancers, and more like predators, waiting for the other to slip up so that the victor could pounce and claim victory. As he set her down, he growled deep in his throat, sending another shiver down her spine. "Oh, I'm sure I'll find out soon enough. Even if there is very clearly no obvious weapon on you, thanks to your attire...or should I say, lack thereof." Again, his voice was tinged with fury, his hands tightening just barely on her, his touch warm and familiar and… "Nevertheless, the only kisses you should ever share with a man are with me, my Angel. You do remember that you are mine, I hope." There was that dangerous edge Vader was known for. Not her Anakin at all.

Actually, he's got a point. By all means, lay one on him. Then show's over, and we can all go home...One giant leap closer to winning this war. Kriff! I can't believe I just said that, Obi-Wan interjected sarcastically into her ear with a sigh.

"I am Anakin Skywalker's." She replied, as she twirled in his arms, coming back into his embrace after another backwards leg kick. "Not Darth Vader's."

"So you've said. Multiple times." Vader sounded annoyed. He spun her again, so that her bare back was pressed against him, and his hands were on her waist as he held her there. His breath was warm in her ear, and she gasped when he tenderly bit and suckled her earlobe, and again she closed her eyes as shivers of unwanted pleasure ran down her back. Force, why did he have to sound and feel so much like him?! "Like it or not, Angel, he and I are the same person. Which means, my Love, you do indeed belong to Darth Vader. You know it, and..." He began to lead her forward. "I'll have you admitting it by the end of this dance."

Oh Force, Obi-Wan groaned in her ear. She could well imagine the facepalm the Jedi had undoubtedly just done.

They stopped, and he held her hands as she tipped forward, slowly, before quickly twirling back around so that she was facing him again. "You're so full of yourself, aren't you." She hissed as he eased her into a long, slow dip, so that she only had to reach out to touch the floor.

"Maybe." He agreed, yanking her back up, where they stopped. She stared off into the other twirling dancers, aware that he had one of her hands in a firm, twined grip, and his other was possessively on her other arm as he circled her, slowly. Stalking his prey. "But, I'm not wrong, and I aim to prove it." He whispered in her ear, before he placed a tender kiss on the shell. He stopped behind her, and again his fingers were tracing the length of her arm, bringing it back up as he pressed his cheek against hers. "Like it or not, Dearest, you're still my wife. And, as such, I know you like no one else does...or ever will."

Pfft, Obi-Wan snorted. Right in her ear.

They pushed forward, her leg sliding effortlessly over the marble, her heel scratching the surface ever so slightly as she turned halfway in his arms, bringing her other arm up slowly. "Two years has changed me quite a bit." She reminded him bitterly, before she suddenly was spinning quickly in his arms until finally his hands met her waist again, stopping her, her arms up in the air over her head, as they faced each other, lips only a breath apart.

She did not fail to notice how close they were, how their breath mingled, how when their chests heaved for air, they met, his nose to her cheek, as she slowly lowered her arms. He took that moment to inhale her scent deeply, before his tongue darted out to flick across her jaw, leaving a trail of liquid fire in its wake. "I don't need a blaster or a lightsaber to kill you." she said as again, their foreheads met, this time so close that their noses touched. She was even more hyper-aware of the deadly substance on her lips. She considered Obi-Wan's suggestion. All it would take was one kiss...and they'd be so much closer to winning the war. Perhaps, she mused, as he again dipped her slightly to the side and they began twirling again, the trifold panels of her skirt whirling around them, perhaps she could kill two men tonight. Two men felled by a simple kiss...of death, she smirked to herself.

Another stop. Another slow dip, and more twirling, and suddenly he was leaning backwards, and she placing her knee on his as she leaned towards him, suspended, their lips again so close. Yes, she thought with a smirk, yes, she could do it. Vader caught the sudden change in her attitude, knew that something had shifted between them, and she was now stalking her prey. No, she could tell he didn't like that. Not one bit. "No, I don't think you will." He said, twirling her again, and this time as he ended in the dip and she brought her leg up, he did something not practiced: He grabbed her upper leg, his hand so high on her thigh, near the rounded curve of her bottom, that she involuntarily gasped as her body exploded with pleasure when he squeezed her flesh firmly but gently. He smirked. "You love me still, Angel. I know you do. Even if you don't consciously admit it, your body definitely unconsciously remembers it, remembers my touch."

Obi-Wan suddenly emitted a choking sound in her ear, By the Force...

"Screw you!" She snapped, as he finally brought her back up, and this time as they began twirling and mirroring one another, it took on a new, almost feverish edge. At one point, he swung her up into the air, and she kicked backwards with both legs before landing in his arms.

"Mmmmhmmm, that's the thing, isn't it, Angel?" He said with a feral grin, his gold eyes hard with desire and determination to win their little game. "You already have, many, many times over, and Luke and Leia…," He turned her again, and she leapt in his arms, kicking her legs into a brief mid-air split. "...are living proof of that fact. But, I'd be more than happy to take you up on that offer again, my Love. I think you would be, too." This time, their twirls were frequently punctured with elegant kick-pops, forward, backwards, once even wrapped around his legs, bringing their hips flush together. This time, she felt him shudder at their proximity.

Ok, that's...that was just TMI here. Another pained groan from Obi-Wan reached her ear. It almost sounded like he was gagging. Poor fellow.

She snarled, her entire body quivering with anger...at least that's what she told herself it was. How dare he?! How dare he mock their love like that?! "Don't you dare talk in such vulgar terms about our...about what I shared with Anakin! What we had was beautiful, special, and rare in this galaxy." She snapped, as he twirled her around so that her back was to his chest, and he lifted her again. This time she kicked both legs backwards, aware that the movement had her brushing up against him much too close, feeling the hardness of his body and the very obvious desire he felt. She swallowed thickly as she landed, aware that her quiver, this time, was not purely from anger…

He had abruptly moved in front of her, taking her in his arms again, moving her back through the dance floor. It was just them. The other people in the room didn't matter, didn't exist. In that moment, it was the Assassin and the Sith Lord, two beings irresistibly drawn towards one another, and yet pushed apart by a deep divide that could never be breached. "How can I not when you're all I want, Angel? You, and our children?" He asked, twirling her again, "What must I do to prove that to you? To show you how sincere I am about wanting my wife and my children back with me where they belong?"

Do?! She thought, stunned. How could he even ask her that? It was too late. They both knew there was nothing, nothing he could do, not after all the horrible things he'd done, all the people he'd murdered, the children he'd slain, the lives he'd destroyed…He suddenly picked her up, and this time she leapt at the same time, up and over his shoulders, twirling midair, as she moved towards his other side, where he smoothly grasped her waist, stopping her from hitting the floor, and they swung like that, her legs kicked out into a split, until she was dizzy.

He was everywhere, and nowhere all at once. His presence filled her very soul. His scent was all that she could smell. His touch was all that she could feel, even as he flung her into the final dip, where she stayed, suspended, her back arched towards him, her hair having tumbled free of the clip she'd put it in. She breathed hard in his arms, her entire body trembling, and despite herself...her spirit soared. What did she want him to do? She thought wildly, as he slowly, ever so slowly, began to pull her back up towards him, their eyes meeting. For just a moment, she thought she saw his eyes begin to flicker back to cerulean blue.

She wanted...she wanted him to be… "Anakin," she breathed longingly, the name coming unbidden to her lips, stealing her breath away.

Anakin was staring at her, his eyes hooded, their faces inching closer and closer, breath mingling, honey eyes now dark with desire. The look made her shiver, made her walls want to come down, and for one, awful, gut-wrenching moment...she thought she saw her Anakin in his face. Not Vader, but...Anakin. "I told you I'd get you to admit we were one in the same." He breathed, and just like that, the spell was broken, her body shuddering as if doused in ice water, and her heart shattered again into a million more pieces. The asshole. It was a struggle to keep her composure, to keep herself from breaking down. He was Vader. Not Anakin, and they were so close now, their lips so close. This is it, she thought as his eyes flickered to her lips, deciding to make the final move toward them. One kiss...and it would be over. A major victory for the Rebellion...and she could finally, properly, mourn her lost husband. She closed her eyes, her heart crying out for her Ani, as he moved to close the distance between them, the last kiss they would ever share…

And at the last second, she turned her face away, and he kissed her cheek instead.

They stood like that, her in his arms, his lips on her cheek, sliding sensuously along her jaw for what seemed like forever. But, finally, he pulled away, and Padme closed her eyes, her cheek tingling where his lips had met her skin. It took all of her strength to hold in the tears that burned her eyes. She couldn't do it. She couldn't kill him...not like that, at least. Not in a way that would completely betray what they'd once been.

At least, that's what she told herself.

"Padme. I still love you, Sweetheart...so much...and I always will." Vader's voice, barely a whisper, sounded as anguished as she felt: It sounded so much like Anakin's voice, she thought she would collapse with grief. She couldn't do this anymore, be in his arms…she pulled away from him, and he let her go. He let her go again...she didn't understand it. She wanted to ask, but she didn't want to hear the answer. Hearing it would shatter the last of her walls. "Padme, my Love...please," He pleaded. She was aware of him reaching his hand out to her, begging her to stay. But, she couldn't. And, they both knew it.

Right on cue, the sound of glass shattered, and then screams began to erupt from the crowd. Vader turned towards the sound, a frown maring the lips she'd once known so well, so intimately, and she used that moment to turn and push herself into the crowd, heading as fast as she could towards the exit. She half expected him to follow her, to stop her, to demand to know why she hadn't killed him (for, undoubtedly, he'd realize how she'd killed Stern the moment he saw him).

But he didn't.

As she reached the doors and broke free into the cool night air, the small, resigned voice of Obi-Wan in her ear whispered: I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to hear any of that.

This time, tears did fall, sliding underneath her mask. "No," she whispered, knowing no one would hear her, "I'm pretty sure I shouldn't have either."


So, obviously Vader still has some things he needs to work out. Frankly, so does Padme. But oh MAN, this chapter was SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE. The back and forth between them...the sexy tango... the fury, the anguish, the longing... so. much. FUN. I hope it was as fun for you guys to read!

If you're interested, we based the dance off of a routine to Sway by Michael Buble or however you spell his name. If you go on youtube and search "Sway tango" it should be the first result. Posted by Graham Peters. If you go look that up, enjoy!

I am VERY interested in your reviews. I mean I always am. But this one especially. ;)

Love,

Sarah