"There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness." - Friedrich Nietzsche

The thing about isolation is that you cling to any hope, any relief. Even if its poison.

She didnt trust herself. She didnt trust her emotions, especially when he was near. Her treacherous heart would leap only for her to smother it back down with both hands.

He had not come for two days. Maybe he had forgotten her. It was probably better for her to rot away here, anyways.

The analog clock in the corner of her room was one of her only ways to pass the time, watching the numbers flip and continue on, unbothered.

Her cell was windowless, vents too small to squeeze through. She lay now on the padded mat in the corner like a dog.

Her thoughts consisted of three moments on replay:

Her wailing newborns, perfect and pink and being carried away from her, the crushed body of a young woman, and the man that she used to love stepping over the body of the person he just killed.

There was no way she could kill him, no way he would let her.

Size alone, he was much bigger than her. Taller, broader.

There were nights they'd stay up under the covers like children, comparing hand sizes and feet, his long, toned arms stretching far past her own, his legs reaching the bottom of the mattress when hers would hit right at his shins.

Her pointer finger would line up to his pinky and look the same. His hands were always scarred up, calloused, rough.

She used to love running her own hands through them, over them, exploring every inch. They were beautiful.

He could crush her with those hands. He'd done it before. She'd witnessed it firsthand. Nausea threatened at the memory again, and Padme touched her own hand to her throat.

The ghost of the pressure there stung her eyes.

He was too big for her to take, that was decided. But factor in his training. His hatred. His anger. His power.

She wouldn't stand a chance. Overpowering him wasn't on the table, not by a long shot.

The door slid open.

Vader walked in, cloak trailing him. Padme could see troopers just beyond, in the hallway, blasters armed.

The door shut behind him and she kicked herself back into the corner. "What do you want." She meant to sound harsh but she hadn't spoken in days, her voice was bleating, scratchy.

He poured her a glass of water from the small table by the door, offering it. When she didn't move, he commanded: "Drink."

"No."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Still stubborn, I see." He took a step closer and she flinched, but he only sat the glass near her feet, and rose again. "I'm sorry I've been gone for so long. I've been negotiating your… visit."

She huffed a humorless laugh, stared at the gray wall across from her.

"Padme," he sat in the chair across the room. She still didn't meet his eyes, but felt them boring into her. "If you can help us, you can stay. You can stay and live here…"

She picked up the words he let trail off. With me. Stay and live here with me. He was absolutely delusional. She had been dragged onto this ship against her will, and she'd much sooner slit her own throat than stay and play nice. "What does Palpatine want?"

"Where did you hide him?" She knew this was coming. "Or her."

"Who?"

He slammed his hand on the table and Padme startled. "Where is our child, Padme?"

"She died."

"You're lying. I can sense it."

"She's dead. She died during birth. I almost died during birth."

He stood, the chair falling back. "Do not lie to me."

"Your daughter is dead. And I am no longer your wife. By your own hand, you have no one."

He came to her, squatting, and gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You are my wife. And you will tell me where my child is."

"You are not a father or a husband. You never will be again."

He made a sound of disappointment, dropping her chin. Her heart hammered in her chest.

"I love you, Padme. And I love our child. The Emperor will not be happy to hear that you're being difficult. Tell me now before he insists on punishment."

"Who will be the punisher?"

He stood, giving her a look. "He will command it."

She sat her jaw. She would not give in to this.

"You will come to think differently." He turned to go to the door. "I'll be back. Behave while I'm gone."

The door slid shut behind him.

The next day, he did not return. Nor the day after that. In fact, it wasn't until 12 days of shitty food and a drafty room and no privacy with all the cameras, that the door slid open again.

He trudged in, this time heading straight for the chair and plopping down.

His movements were limned with such familiarity, his hair falling just so, and it was soaking wet, she realized. He needed a haircut. She used to give him trims when it would fall into his eyes.

He sat for a minute, just looking at his hands in his lap.

She hated herself for it but she was desperate for conversation, news, a fight, anything. "Where were you?"

"Working."

Different man, same excuses. The conversation threw her back into their spats during the clone wars.

"Do you trust him? Palpatine." She'd thought of what she'd ask him when he returned. If she would stay silent, or be clever, or be harsh. Now, she just asked whatever bubbled to the top, spitting it out without a second thought.

He considered her question. "He is wise. Everything I've learned is from him."

"And nothing from Obi-wan?"

She felt him tense, felt the air change at her prodding. Good. "I've only came to see if you have reached reason and decided to tell me where our child is."

"You have no children."

"Tell me."

"She. Is. Dead."

His lip curled back. "If you want to play games, I can play games."

From the corner she was curled up into, Padme was suddenly picked up and pressed into the wall behind her.

He stood and approached, his tall figure overshadowing her. He took his time drawing near, his cloak bellowing behind like an impending doom. She couldn't move an inch, couldn't wiggle a finger.

Her chin was raised, throat exposed.

"Let me go," she tried to keep the whimper from her words, but she was scared. Terrified. The young woman's crushed body flashed in her mind, solidifying her panic. Would he go as far with her? Was there nothing he wouldn't do? Despite the force hold, she trembled.

When he brought his mouth down to her, close to her throat, she wished she had listened to Obi-wan. She wished she had stayed with the Rodian in her hut and still had the hope of seeing her babies again.

"Your heart is pounding." He placed a hand over her chest. "Do I make you nervous?"

"Please, please stop."

He groaned quietly. "Oh stop begging, Padme. I've never known you to show cowardice."

She looked up, trying not to cry, to look anywhere but that hateful, golden gaze.

"You won't tell me because you're afraid for her. I won't hurt her. I won't hurt you. I love you, as I love my… our daughter."

She said nothing, even as a tear fell down her cheek. Shame burned in her gut. She should be stronger. For herself, for Luke and Leia, for the whole fucking galaxy.

He gripped under her chin again, thumbing away the hot tear. "Shhh. Everything will be okay."

He brought his face close to hers, they shared breath, his brow furrowing. "I've missed you, Padme. I've driven myself mad." He rubbed his thumb across her jawline again. "My beautiful wife."

How long she had dreamed of these words, of his hands on her again. Her heart was cracking, cleaving in two all over again. Mustafar flashed in her mind, the oppressive heat, the smoke and flames. The invisible pain wrapping around her throat. "I cannot love you."

"You can try." He rubbed his hand over her heart, so near her breast. "Your heart still beats for me." He pressed his body against her, and she hated hated hated herself because she did not revolt, did not try to pull away in disgust.

"My heart is buried with Anakin Skywalker."

He withdrew, the heat of him, the push of his body to hers. The chill of the room was there the next second.

"I'll be back tomorrow."

He never could stick to his word. He'd return days later, sometimes weeks. Work, he would say. The days he came in with wet hair, she noticed, were worse. For him, at least. Better for her. He would seek comfort those days, dragged his feet a bit, was looser with his words.

"The Emperor grows impatient."

She savored their talks, the slight chance to get out of her head.

"Let him." She lay on her stomach on her mattress, flipping through a book that he had brought her weeks ago. She'd read it three times already.

"He is persistent. If you could just-"

"No. I've told you the truth."

He was angry again, like he hadn't been in a while. His visits had been amenable lately, this subject not broached. "Do you want to know his solution? The one I've pushed away and protected you from?"

"I don't respect his opinions." Padme sat up, closing the book.

"He suggests that we create again."

Padme stilled. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

"No sorry, I don't think I do."

"That we have sex to have another force sensitive baby."

Nausea pushed at her throat. "There's a word for that. It's called breeding."

"It's not breeding if you love each other."

She stared at him. "You're considering this?"

"His next solution is to kill you. So yes, I am considering this"

"I will not be fucking you to create a little Empire demon baby for Palpatine to raise and destroy."

"If you told me where our fucking daughter is then we wouldn't even have to discuss this."

"WE HAVE NO DAUGHTER."

A horrible, jarring rip sounded from the corner, and moments later the room was soaked. Vader had ripped the sink from the wall with the force, pipes now spraying and flooding her small chamber.

He stood in the center of the room, breathing heavily, and the look he gave her made her fear for her life like she hadn't in weeks.

They stared at each other, Padme trembling from more than just the cold water.

He did not move before he spoke, his voice frigid and harsh. "You will compromise, Padme. Or he will order me to destroy you." He swallowed. "And I follow my orders."

"You would kill me?" Padme asked quietly. "If Palpatine ordered it so?"

Maybe it was an hallucination, or a trick of the light, but she swore blue had edged into his eyes. But when she blinked and refocused, his face was as hardened as his golden gaze. The Chosen One. Fallen to his fate. She felt the small, soured hope stir in her chest. When would she accept it? With true death before her? With her children found and killed, or turned to the dark side?

Would she ever accept that Anakin was gone? She had so far avoided asking herself so directly. But seeing him before her, just as soaked through as she was, with a look so full of rage and determination, she felt stupid to have ever entertained the thought of him returning to her.

Anakin was gone. Her job was to survive long enough to return to Luke and Leia. As it had been from the moment he had force choked her on Mustafar. Anything else was a fools hope.

Another loud metal ripping tore her from her thoughts, from their tense stance.

Vader had ripped open a hole near where her door was now blocked with pipes. "Come with me." He stepped through and into the hallway.

And Padme followed.

Vader's chambers were cold. Freezing. But at least it was dry. Vader had left her in the main room and went further in, a door sliding shut behind him. Maybe the bathroom? A closet?

She looked around. The room was large but fairly empty. A desk, a massive bed, a window with the galaxy stretched across. She ran to it but saw no planets, ships, or moons. No familiar stars or galaxies.

A droid buzzed over from a darkened doorway holding folded clothes. He beeped cheerily twice. Padme quickly peeled off her wet clothes before Vader returned, sliding the new ones over her head.

They were too big. The shirt hung so that one of her collarbones was always jutting out, she had lost considerable weight the past few months, and she had to tie the drawstring on the shorts and roll them around the waist.

There were no mirrors. She shivered in the drafty space, taking it in again. There was no hint of personality, no pictures or paintings, just black metal and glowing panels every now and then.

Anakin had snuck her into his room at the Jedi temple once or twice, where he had hung up banners and random souvenirs from missions scattered across his desk. Even an old trophy from a competition he'd won as a padawan. She smiled at the memory, at them quietly laughing and backing into his room as they kissed, Anakin throwing her on his bed. He had tickled her until she thought she might pee, then kissed her again and again and again. Then he'd trail the kisses down, lower and lower until he was right where she needed him. And with one hand he'd -

"Sit down." Padme startled at the tone. Vader had came back in the room, changed from his dripping robes into a black shirt and pants, his hair still wet like her own.

She felt that familiar fear grip her heart again, so she backed up until the backs of her thighs bumped into the edge of the mattress, and she sat.

But Padme regretted it the moment it happened, her eyes shooting to the chair at the desk she should have chosen. She stayed seated as he approached her. His gaze only lingered a second too long, then Vader turned away slightly, arms crossing.

"I didn't want it to happen this way." He began. "But you've been too stubborn. This is the only way now."

She scanned his face but couldn't read it. What was about to happen? Would he end her here? Force himself on her? She couldn't believe it. Anakin would never.

But she couldn't believe a lot of things. And this wasn't Anakin. This was Vader.

"What do you mean?" She breathed.

He pursed his lips. "I organized a separate strategy, anticipating your… unwillingness to assist the empire, and reunite with me."

She waited for him to go on.

"You stand by the fact that our daughter is gone?"

"Yes."

He nodded, once. "Then I will make this plain. The Emperor sensed her power in your womb. He insists on another heir to inherit the Empire, and I understand his reasoning. So understand me when I say: Your fate is sealed by his word. It is procreate or die."

Padme went lightheaded, her breathing shallow. He stepped toward her. He would kill her. That was what was next. She would die perched on a Sith lord's bed like a doll, like a puppet. Like a useless nobody.

He gently, slowly, pushed a lock of wet hair from where it hung in front of her face. "But I cannot, I will not…. kill you." He whispered.

They shared breath for a moment and her entire body betrayed her. She pushed back every memory of Anakin on top of her, kissing her, loving her. She instead pulled to the front the crushed woman's body, her own pain as a phantom hand had wrapped around her throat, that screams of the townspeople as their loved ones were executed by his orders.

"Get away from me."

He pulled back only slightly. "Don't forget that I'm still your husband, Padme. And I know you. I know what you like, I know who you are." He put a hand on her thigh. She had never felt such a rush of equal disgust and need. She did not want him, she did not want Vader.

But she did want this. This tiny scrap of Anakin left offering her connection and understanding and comfort. Their love once again.

She almost physically shook her head to get the thoughts to scatter. No. She would not give in. She was better than this, above this. "Don't touch me."

He laughed, quietly. "Move away, then. If it's so bad." His hand slid up her bare thigh.

She didn't move. And not because she couldn't.

His other hand was over her shoulder where he squeezed slightly, his face so near hers, he dragged his hand over her collar bone, down her arm, taking the back of her hand in his. He lifted it to his mouth, grazing his lips across her wrist, up the side of her hand to her thumb and back down again.

He took the same hand, and pressed it to his chest, to the soft cotton of his t-shirt, his skin warm beneath the fabric. He held it over his heart. "I am still me, Padme. This heart still belongs to you. It always has." She felt it, thudding beneath her palm.

Her eyes stung, her own heart hammering. She wanted it so bad, wanted him so bad. And she almost leaned forward to close the space between their lips.

Almost.

She shoved at his chest instead. "I will never. I will never." She couldn't stop the tears from coming. And she couldn't form any more words, any coherent thoughts. Her stomach was a rotted pit, churning with shame, with lust, with anger.

Vader sighed, standing, his warm hand leaving her thigh. "I thought this might happen."

He walked to his desk and turned on the hologram, where a recording of a set of cells sparked into view.

Then they were split into two. She stood from the bed, eyes on the hologram. In one cell, a man and woman sat in a corner, in another, a family with two small children.

She couldn't look at him. "Y-you…" She began shaking her head. "No. No."

He grimaced when she began to sob. "This is my compromise. You have no idea how hard I had to work to have The Emperor agree."

She blinked back the tears, holding herself tight, staring at the holograms of her family, her parents and sister and nieces, locked away like prisoners.

Padme shook with sobs. Vader came up behind her, putting both hands firmly on her shoulders. "The Emperor gave me three days for this to work. We have wasted enough time already. In 72 hours, they will be summarily executed. But, it is still your decision. Their fate is up to you."

Padme's heart sunk so deep she didn't know if it even still beat. Her entire family would be killed. By her hand, by her action. Or inaction.

She continued to cry, and Vader, cold and unfeeling, stood aside and let her.

She sat on the ground, head in her hands, when she had the sickening realization. What she was most scared of had happened before Vader even turned on the hologram.

It was how close she had come to closing the distance between them. How badly she had wanted to give in.

And next time, she didn't know if she had the strength to keep herself from falling.