Thank you all so much for reading! Finally moving into some more than a brief inkling of a plot finally!

I'm not actually sure when it's mentioned (if it's ever mentioned at all) but for this story, the characters are at their ROTS ages per new canon. So Padme=27 and Vader=22. I've sort of condensed the Ao3 version for this so it's now-basically-two chapters in one every time, and I've lost track of when things are talked about! I will say as of right now the story's holding at about forty chapters out of an expected sixty!

A sharp pain hit just below her ribs, and then nothing.

Everything went numb and the dark closed in on the corners of her vision.

Padme was falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Until her back hit something solid. Something hard. It sent a shooting pain up her back, but there was nothing she could do. Her limbs felt heavy, tongue glued to the bottom of her mouth. No words nor shouts. No one would know she was gone.

Her breaths came in shallow pants. It hurt too much to inhale like her body needed. The air burned her lungs. Her throat felt raw.

Above her, the alleyway wasn't empty, but whoever stabbed her remained in the shadows. Padme tried to wiggle her fingers, move them toward the communicator hooked onto her belt. If she could only give her location, then the clones would know where to…where to….

Her arm fell slack against her middle and her eyes fluttered shut. Before she completely lost consciousness though, a loud shout from outside the alley echoed into the crevice between the buildings:

"Naberrie!"

—

"You go right and I'll take the left side," Vader started explaining their plan, but Padme cut him off.

"I'm sorry, but do you truly expect out-flanking them will work? I'm more than sure that they'll have a secondary means of escape."

"If we put enough pressure on them, then Rex and the boys will cover that one," Vader argued back.

Padme couldn't help the giggle that escaped her lips, earning a confused glare from the Sith. "The boys?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes. It's what they all prefer."

"I haven't heard anyone say that in a long, long time. And usually via the holonet."

"Old habits die hard."

Padme shrugged, her little joke over. These small moments with Vader felt out of place. Showed a different side to the terrifying enemy. Like their conversation back on the shuttle, it was strange to again consider him human…to consider him a person with feelings. "Well then…What are Rex and the boys expected to do before then? As much as I appreciate your abilities, Lord Vader," it physically hurt to admit it, "I doubt we can take the whole of the cell on. Just the two of us."

"You'd be surprised," he grumbled under his breath. Padme allowed it. "You've studied the maps; know the terrain; picked out entrances to the sewer system. I'm sure we'll be fine. The clones will be on standby for covering fire."

"Or hit the secondary escape route?"

"That too."

"I don't like this," Padme finally admitted. She pulled a "borrowed" brown cloak over a blue jumpsuit. The color mirrored that of her typical uniform, but the fabric was more versatile than the stiff threads of imperial cloth. Rex handed it to her before they boarded the shuttle, per Tarkin's discretion. It kept her identity more concealed versus the blatantly obvious armor of the clones.

Vader changed too. Still in all-black clothing, he'd forgone his heavy cape and removed the armor around his shoulders. He kept the pressed black shirt, dark pants, and boots. The outfit resembled the Inquisitors that lurked around the galaxy, rather than the more prominent status of Sith Lord he retained. The only true giveaway of the truth was his lightsaber hung prominently against his hip. Unlike the rounded edges of the Inquisitors' hilts, he kept his usually black and silver durasteel handle, red blade hidden from prying eyes.

"Since when are you the Force-sensitive one, Agent Naberrie?"

It was Padme's turn to roll her eyes at the veiled insult. Of course, he'd immediately go there. It was a free shot. An encouraged low blow. "Perhaps I am, Lord Vader. Don't we all have midichlorians in our cells?"

She was toeing a fine line by taunting the Sith Lord, a man known to target any and all individuals showing even the least bit of Force sensitivity. But as the staked out the known headquarters of the rebel cell, she was lacking for positive conversation starters.

Vader grunted. "If you have that many, Naberrie, might I suggest you surrender yourself to your own people?"

"Well, if it got me out of the mission then I should've considered it."

"Hilarious," Vader replied, stone-faced and completely serious.

"I have a particular proclivity for it, my lord."

He didn't respond.

Padme pulled the cloak even tighter around her shoulders. Despite the warm day, the waning sun sent a slight chill through the air. She rocked back on her heels, eyes trained on the building across the street.

"You can't be that cold already," Vader finally commented, dragging his gaze away from the rebels' safe house.

"My clothes aren't exactly made for cold air, Lord Vader."

He shook his head and threw his pack at her. The bag tumbled to the ground at her feet. Padme picked it up, confusion creasing her brow.

"What's this for?"

"Just open it and take it," Vader instructed.

Padme hesitantly unlatched one of the hooks at the top. She peered into the darkness of the black napsack. A few spare commlinks and an extra set of macrobinoculars, all of which sat on top of Vader's spare cloak. She ran her fingers along the smooth fabric, so wholly different from the coarse and irritating weave of her own brown cloak.

But she couldn't except this. It was Lord Vader's own clothing. Even considering it felt wrong. But the sith didn't see it that way. "Just put it on, Naberrie. It will warm you up in a matter of minutes."

Her eyes bounced between the cloak in the bag and Vader, unable to consider one of the other for too long of a time. He flicked his wrist and suddenly the dark fabric surrounded her, covered her from the chest down.

"My lord," she tried to argue, but he put a finger to his lips. With his other hand, he pointed to the doorway below them. Someone was approaching from the right. Their face was obscured by a grey cowl; their clothing resembled every other human inhabitant of the city.

Nondescript. The hallmark of rebel disguises. Padme briefly wondered if she might know them, any of them, in this so-called Garel cell. But she quickly let go of the thought before Vader might hear of it.

The person entered a code of the panel next to the entryway. The door slid open and the rebel entered the building.

Vader put his wrist commlink against his lips to speak to the clones on the other side of the street. "Target spotted. Begin attack plan delta."

"Yes, my lord," Rex answered.

Padme peeked her head over the ledge, watching the clones get into position. Fives, Echo, and Hardcase disappeared down an alley tucked into the side of a bar. Rex and Tup held down the rooftop opposite Padme and Vader. Tup's blaster trained on the front door at an angle.

"You're up, Naberrie," Vader told the agent. He pointed to the door that led to the stairs.

The undercover operative left the Sith lord's cloak on the ground then stood up. She wiped at the knees of her pants. They'd grown dusty after the hours spent watching the rebel safe house. Without the cover of Vader's cape, the chilled air hit her like an out of control speeder. She rubbed at her shoulders again.

"Go."

She met Vader's eyes once more. His finger was still raised toward the exit. Padme nodded and rushed off of the roof.

The ground floor was little more than an abandoned lobby of a deserted apartment. Overturned chairs provided enough cover to watch the transparisteel windows. Padme sucked behind a broken couch, cushions strewn across the floor. It gave her the perfect angle should any other rebels unexpectedly appear.

It hurt to consider ever hurting any of them. Reality-wise they were her true allies, while Vader and the clones were her enemies.

Yet here she was, preparing to attack any unsuspecting rebels to benefit the Empire.

What a tangled web I've weaved.

Padme fingered the blaster holstered against her hip. She slowly crept out from behind the couch to approach the doors. She didn't have a commlink on her, better to reduce a chance of inadvertently turning the sound on, but she had a small speaker in her ear to hear everything the others were saying.

"Street is clear. Move forward."

The directions were meant for both Padme and the trio of clones outside. She hit a button on the control panel and the doors slid open. She threw her hood up to conceal her face, tucking her braid into the shadowy cover.

Stalking toward the building across the street might have proved easier if the area was a bit more crowded. The rebels chose well—as was their right—by picking a quieter section away from the highly populated section of the city. But Padme was nothing if not a consummate professional.

She walked towards the corner and down an extra block before doubling back on the other side. Storefronts provided enough of a cover to excuse any odd wandering. If the rebels were smart, and Padme didn't doubt it, they'd still find a reason to suspect anyone of unknown origin.

"There's movement in the back," Rex's voice carried through the speaker.

Padme's steps never faltered despite the news. She passed the rebels' hideout, but before she completely cleared the house the door slid open.

A shot rang out. The blaster bolt burned the back of her cloak.

"What the hell?" She complained as she ducked out of the way. A stray rebel grabbed her attention, their weapon raised at the rooftop. Vader was gone, or she assumed he was. From her vantage point, not so dissimilar from the rebels' own, the Sith wasn't visible.

"Naberrie, get out of there," he called through her earpiece, but Padme remained in place. Her eyes locked with the rebels in front of her. His place was still trained on the roof, but his face pointed toward Padme.

"Go!" Vader shouted again.

Before she even moved a single centimeter, the clones surrounded them. Fives, his tell-tale armor arrived first, reiterated Vader's demand. "Go, miss." The courtesy covering for her imperial status. Padme nodded quickly. She played her part of unsuspecting native easily, backing away from the scene and the captured rebel.

Her role wasn't complete though. She easily slipped down the same alley the clones exited, pulling her hood further over her head. The shortcut led right to the backend of the rebels' hideout, exactly where Rex reported earlier movement. It was quiet now and quite empty. Even the street was bare of any and all pedestrians. Speeders avoided the road too.

Odd.

Very odd.

A strange prickling sensation ran up her neck. Her own instincts told her something was going wrong.

Very wrong.

The back exit of the building slid open. Five rebels rushed out. They all dressed much like normal civilians, unlike the uniform style of her friends back on Yavin. She was used to seeing them like this. It was her job to know after all.

One of them, a human male, bumped into her shoulder. The unexpected movement jostled Padme out of her thoughts. She was slammed back into the side of the alleyway. Pain radiated down her arm, but she readily ignored it.

"Sorry, miss," he mumbled before stumbling forward. The others were already gone.

"Four of them are on the move, my lord. Beginning pursuit now," Tup's voice spoke into her earpiece.

"I have the fifth one," Padme finally communicated with them. Her words took the man off guard. He stopped to look back at Padme.

Pointing an incriminating finger at her, he said, "You're with them."

She reached for the blaster at her side. "I am." The heavy metal of her weapon easily slipped out of its holster.

"You will never win this, imp."

Padme pulled the blaster out from under her brown cloak and raised it toward the rebel. "You have a choice."

"I've already made my decision. I will never join the Empire, so you'll have to kill me."

Her fingers hesitated over the trigger, mind at war with her heart. She watched the man. He looked to be around Padme's age, perhaps a year or two off. His hair was cropped short, the shadow of a beard darkened his face. Eyes determined and trained on the blaster in Padme's hands.

"We only want to know more about this cell you've built. If I kill you, then we won't find out anything else," the agent rationalized. Her statement stalled for time too. With the clones off chasing the other rebels, she was alone with her enemy…and ally.

"Pssht," he scoffed, "All you imps ever do is kill. Murder those who stand against you in cold blood.

"If you have information we can use, then it's better for you to stay alive." Padme stepped to her right and the rebel mirrored her movements. They circled each other. His eyes never left the blaster she raised towards him. It stayed in place, a buffer between the pair of them. One wrong move and Padme would be forced to press the trigger.

A situation she wanted to avoid. For her conscience, at least.

"And I'm expected to believe you?"

"Yes."

"Naberrie, what are you doing?" Vader's voice spoke through her earpiece. Padme's hand instinctively reached for the device.

But then it all changed.

One split second of distraction.

One single second was all it took for the rebel to gain the upper hand.

He shoved Padme into the wall behind her. The blaster that stood between them clattered to the ground when her shoulder hit the hard structure. Its metal shell bounced between the stones of the pavement.

"Ow!" Padme cried. Her right hand immediately grabbed for her injured left side, a deep ache engulfing it.

Without missing a beat, her enemy reached for the gun, but it stayed just out of easy reach for him. Padme kicked out at it, toe of her boot grazing the handle. The blaster coasted further down the pavement and away from the rebel's grasping hands.

Padme pushed up from the ground with her uninjured hand, legs unsteady and head a touch too woozy.

"Naberrie!" Vader called again.

Behind her, the agent heard footsteps. Loud, thundering footfalls carried down the length of the alleyway. The sound scared off the rebel. He ran flat-out down the deserted road, completely forgetting the discarded blaster at Padme's feet. She bent down to pick it up and replace it within the holster under her cloak.

"Naberrie," Vader called again, only his voice wasn't carried through the earpiece. He appeared behind her in a matter of seconds, bag slung over his shoulders and lightsaber wildly bouncing along his hip. "What happened?" He demanded, eyes watched the rapidly retreating rebel.

"You, my lord," she replied without a single glance at the Sith. "Your call…it distracted me. And he used

it to overpower me." Padme rubbed her injured shoulder.

Vader groaned then raised his commlink to his mouth. "Rex, head out after the last one. Agent Naberrie lost him."

"Yes, my lord." The clone's response carried over both the communicator and the earpiece. Padme ignored the thinly veiled barb.

Vader dropped his arm. "How did you lose him?"

"Must we discuss this right now?"

"Naberrie," he warned.

"We can talk about it in the debrief."

"Nabe—"

Before he could finish another group of rebels rushed through the door. There were five of them this time. Only two imperials. Padme swallowed down a groan. Thoroughly outnumbered, but the Sith lord next to her more than up for their serious lack of assistance.

Or so Padme hoped.

"There's more of them!" One of the rebels shouted, a woman with curly brown hair and bright green eyes. Her glare cut right through Padme. Next to her a shorter pink Twi'lek's brow furrowed. She raised the blaster in her arms. Two shots burst from the barrel. Vader deflected them with his red blade.

How he ignited it without her notice…Well, Padme ignored the question.

More shots, more deflections.

Two of the rebels on the fringe of the group raced down the empty road.

"Follow them," Vader shouted. He held his saber in front of his body. The last three rebels all had their blasters out. Each one took turns to aim at the Sith. He easily saw them off; a bolt bounced back and hit one of the rebels, knocking her to the ground.

"Go!"

Padme leapt forward to follow the other rebels down the street. Its relative emptiness made the run easier. She stayed back at least a few meters, but her constant training kicked into high gear. The shorter of the two, a young Mirialan fell behind their leader.

"Liren, we have to move!" The tall Zabrak yelled back at the—what Padme assumed—teenager.

"I'm trying Evgen!"

Padme didn't want to hurt the child. It was her one rule. A standard that genuinely set her apart from the rest of the Empire she despised. Children do not get hurt. Even if they choose to join the alliance, they are still young, moldable, and innocent. She pulled her own blaster from the holster and adjusted the setting to stun. Aiming at the Mirialan, she hit the girl directly in the back.

Liren's body fell heavily to the ground. She landed in a heap a meter ahead of Padme. The other rebel, Evgen, only glanced back at his stunned comrade.

"Liren!" He cried, though he never slowed his pace.

The agent stayed close on his heels, gaining despite the use of her weapon. She readied the blaster again, still set on stun.

Information.

All they needed was information.

Whatever Tarkin's idea of "wiping out" the cell meant, Padme's duties with the ISB served a greater purpose than the whims of a Moff. If she could use the intel gathered from the rebels to benefit either side of the cause, then she would most certainly get it.

Before she had a chance to raise the blaster though, the Zabrak hung a hard left, leading Padme back toward the more populated sectors of the city. Instead of an empty road, it was full to the brim with stalls. Owners hawked their goods. Their shouts ran over one another, creating a loud din of voices echoing down the street.

Hundreds of shoppers now stood between Padme, the rebel, and the way out.

She sucked in a deep breath and continued the pursuit.

Evgen weaved his way through the crowded marketplace.

Padme followed his every move. Dodging carts loaded with goods, ducking under the canopies above stalls…She remembered her training. The long days of maneuvering through an obstacle course designed to root out unqualified candidates. Tight spaces, unfavorable angles, treacherous conditions. She'd run the gauntlet and won.

Now, she needed those skills more than ever.

Evgen vaulted over a table covered in bowls of herbs from around the galaxy. His foot didn't clear the last one and it sent the orange powder into the air, coating every last surface in its garish coloring. The pungent scent of the foreign additive burned Padme's nose, yet there was no time to stop. She inhaled more of the seasoning as she jumped across the stall.

The Zabrak was only a few meters ahead now. He made it to the end of the bazaar with Padme close behind.

Without the cover of the market stalls, it was easier to track his large form, despite the growing crowds of people surrounding them.

Padme coughed, the sound of it dry, heavy, and deeply uncomfortable for her lungs. She nearly stumbled over her own feet, but she refused to slow down. "Move," she shouted at the passers-by. "Imperial intelligence. Let me through."

She rarely ever let slip her position with the Empire, but needs must. And if it isn't quite the truth, no one would be the wiser. The civilians moved out of the way this time. Crowds parting like she was the emperor himself.

Up ahead, Padme caught sight of Evgen again. He dipped down another alleyway between two housing buildings. She followed his steps once the last Sullustan scrambled away from her.

In the shadows of the apartments, the agent could barely make out anything let alone the Zabrak rebel. Once she'd moved well away from the opening of the street, the bright lights didn't carry through. Padme blinked a few times to adjust her vision to the increasingly low lighting of the area.

"I'm not here to hurt you. Any of you. We only want information," Padme finally spoke. Her throat felt raw from the combination of the discomfort of the herbs and the running she'd just finished. Even after her days of training, rushing around a crowded city wasn't the easiest habit to fall back into.

No response ever came. Evgen was gone.

Or so Padme thought.

She walked further into the darkened alley, fingers still gripping her blaster. "Evgen," the ISB agent called his name. Sometimes it inadvertently gained a reply, but she doubted a seasoned rebel would be so easily fooled. "Evgen, I promise your friend was only stunned. She'll be fine when she wakes up. But I do need you to come with me."

Padme hesitantly took a few more steps forward. Before she could even make a dent in the distance something hit her.

Or rather, something stabbed her. A sharp prickly jabbed into her side. She looked down at her side. Someone was standing before her. It wasn't the Zabrak.

Someone else. Someone new?

A wave of complete numbness overran Padme's body.

Then she was falling.

Falling.

Falling …

A shout in the distance. Someone calling her name. A familiar voice. The sounds of boots against cobblestones streets. The hum of a weapon. A cry in the darkness.

"Naberrie!"