So grateful to all of the readers!
Vader paced the length of his quarters again.
For the fifteenth time in ten minutes.
His arms were secured behind his back, his head bent in thought.
Deep thought. As though thinking hard enough would negate every single emotion running through his body.
Anger. Hate.
Fear .
Fear for himself or fear for her …Vader refused to even consider the question.
Agent Naberrie was tucked up in the medbay a few levels above him. She'd been escorted back to the Executor by Kix and Echo five hours ago. His chief medic assured him that the woman would be okay once the anti-toxin ran its course through her body.
That karking rebel scum!
Vader almost killed the Zabrak when he'd found them on Garel, Naberrie still on the ground at his feet. It took every ounce of self-control—not that he even had much of it—to stop himself from outright murdering the rebel. His saber ran through his arm, but that was it. The Zabrak fell to the ground in immense pain. Vader readily ignored his cries.
He shouted into his commlink for the others to meet at his location. Tup stayed behind with the captured rebels to wait for transport out, but Rex, Echo, Fives, and Hardcase appeared in a matter of moments. His second call was to the shuttle on standby at the imperial garrison. Kix was left behind unless absolutely necessary.
This emergency certainly counted.
Vader delegated until his medic arrived. There wasn't much for a Sith to do without access to proper supplies. He ran his hand along Naberrie's forehead. Her eyes were closed, breathing shallow, and limbs unable to move.
"Kix, hurry up! She needs you now."
The Sith felt the eyes of the other clones on him as he bent over the paralyzed woman. His mechano-hand slid down to firmly grasp Naberrie's. Her fingers were tight, unmovable. The muscles cramped up and inflexible. Vader tried to squeeze the digits, but there was no response.
Naberrie's breathing stayed ragged, as though she were losing the ability to control her diaphragm. Whatever toxin the rebel poisoned her with was making its way through her system.
Rex called for Kix again and a medivac off the planet. "It's the agent. She'll need immediate transport back to the Executor. "
"Copy, Captain."
Vader looked back at the woman on the ground. He still held onto her hand, but her consciousness drifted in the Force. It wasn't dying persay, but she was in danger.
Under any other circumstances, the Sith wouldn't bat an eye. Their life would disappear in a blink and he'd feel nothing. He'd lack care. Ignore any sense of emotion the loss might cause.
But this…Naberrie's possible death hurt.
Whatever part of him that was bothered was small, easy to disregard. Only, Vader could not.
He would not.
And for what…He didn't even want to consider.
More footsteps rushed down the alley. The tell-tale sound of plastoid armor against stone pavements alerted all of them to Kix's arrival.
"Lord Vader, I will have to ask you to move," the medic stated as he knelt down next to Padme's seemingly lifeless body. The Sith slid over, but he refused to let her out of his sight. "Do you know what happened?" Kix asked as he began examining Naberrie.
"Some sort of toxin. He," Vader pointed at the unconscious rebel tucked between two of the clones, "Injected it before I got here."
Kix opened his kit, pulling a medisenor from the bag. She ran it along Naberrie's body. "Kriff," the clone mumbled under his breath. He dropped the device and grabbed a portable oxygen mask out of the medkit.
Vader's fear for the woman grew tenfold. "What's wrong?" He questioned, voice steady but internally the anxiety rose.
"She needs oxygen and the anti-toxin," Kix places the transparent mask over her mouth. "If we wait too long, she might not gain the ability to speak or move again." He dug through his bag again, rustling through containers of bacta and fluid solutions.
The Sith lord frowned, eyes immediately drawn to the injured rebel on the ground. His fingers itched to finish the job. Kill him where he sat.
The Zabrak deserved it.
"I don't know if I have the right treatment, but I have a way to stabilize her," Kix announced. He held a syringe in his hands. Rolling up her shirt at the same spot of the original injection, he stuck the hypo into her side. It released its medicines with a hiss. Instantly, the agent's breaths became longer and heavier. Healthier.
Vader sighed in relief, but the sound of it was—mercifully—drowned out by the chirp of a commlink.
The medivac was arriving.
Vader stopped his pacing.
A communicator wasn't only chirping in his memories. The device hooked to his wrist was loudly announcing an incoming call. He raised his arm to his lips. "Vader."
"My lord, Agent Naberrie has awoken. She's asking for you," one of the ship's doctors informed him.
"I'll be there momentarily."
"Very well, my lord."
The line cut off, again leaving Vader alone with his thoughts. He was stuck in the middle of his quarters, a small disused sitting room attached to his office. A long black couch took up most of the wall on his left and a holoscreen sat opposite—the only two items in the whole of the room.
Vader rarely frequented this side of his quarters, choosing to spend most of his time in either his office, his bedroom, or the tiny meditation chamber between them. But today none of them felt right to him. This disused room gave him the most space to nervously pace without running into something. Despite his Force-attuned reflexes, his overly occupied mind wasn't up to par.
And for that he despised himself.
What power did this woman's well-being hold over him?
None.
So why was he fretting over it like someone…
Like someone enfa—
No.
There was nothing. Absolutely nothing about this—this security agent that affected him so. He merely cared from a professional standpoint. As a member of his team, her life was his to protect.
When has that ever mattered?
Treat her like the clones. Respect their abilities, their use alongside his own. Leave it at that. If they die, then they die. They'll have earned honorable deaths in his service. Like those that came before, so will those who succeed them.
She's not a clone. She's not even a soldier.
Her life should mean nothing to Vader.
If it did, then why was he pacing through his anxiety?
An angel.
A being so pure and so unattainable for a Sith.
Vader sighed and ran his fingers through his greasy curls. He'd forgone a shower in favor of immediately interrogating the four rebels they'd brought back to the Star Destroyer. The others never made it off the surface—a fate the Sith saw to himself. He stared out of the wide viewport that took up the back half of the sitting room.
He kept his hands clasped firmly behind his back. But his fingers fidgeted restlessly within their grasp. He closed his eyes, recentering himself within the Force.
Ani…
No!