Pain

Disclaimer: All things Star Wars belong to Lucsfilm.

In Dreams

Pain.

That's all she felt, that's all she knew.

Pain.

All over – every single inch of her body screamed out in anguish. She didn't think it was possible to hurt this much without passing out…or without at least waking up from this nightmare.

Yet, neither happened. All she could do was lie there, in the pitch-black darkness, and pray that it would end soon. But it showed no signs of abating. It hurt to breathe, her head was throbbing, her arms and legs felt like they were being ripped from her. Even her eyelids stung when she blinked.

She wanted to scream, to cry, to do something, anything that might give her some sort of release, but that wasn't possible.

All she knew was pain and confusion. And, Force help her, it was getting worse.

The dull ache that was rolling through her chest had become a piercing, agonizing feeling. Like someone was stabbing her, or pulling out her ribs, or grabbing her heart…she was certain that she had stopped breathing. Her head was spinning, her vision was blurred (though how she could tell that in the void she was in was beyond her). Then it stopped. She didn't begin breathing normally again, and the pain didn't go away, but it wasn't getting worse.

But as soon as she thought she might be able to handle things…she felt something crushing her legs, as though some weight had been dropped from a ceiling…or as though she had been dropped from the ceiling, and landed flat on her shins. She managed to let out a small shout, but it didn't help as much as she thought it would. Her legs were definitely broken, in more places than she could count. She knew instantly that she was crippled. But she didn't have time to think about that.

She noticed that her right hand was…gone? No wonder it was the only place that didn't hurt.

She looked in horror at her arm, which inexplicably ended at the wrist. Then she had the strangest sensation, that someone was cutting her arm at the shoulder. And she couldn't move away.

Amidala had never actively wished that she would wake up from a dream. Usually, if things got to that point, she would wake up in a terror. But she didn't think there were was any way out of this dream…

What the hell is happening to him?

She couldn't begin to figure it out. But she knew it was real. This wasn't some random collection of thoughts. This was something that had happened to him.

How could this be something that happened to him?

It was too terrifying to think about. Of course, she didn't have much time to do so anyway. She was burning.

She had the distinct feeling of being in an oven, where the temperature was slowly rising. She had been sweating for a while…now her skin was feverish, and her blood smoldered as it coursed through her veins.

A panic rose within her – him – as she felt the beginnings of scorches on different parts of her body. She was going to burst into flames, she could feel it. Blisters began to break out…and the temperature was still going up. She was going to melt away completely.

Why can't I just die?

That was him, that was his thought. She agreed with him – No! No, I don't! I don't want him to die!

But she couldn't stand the thought of him suffering like this, even for a few seconds. This had to end, the pain had to stop –

The heat increased severely, and burns raced up and down her. Now she screamed, a feral, violent shriek that pierced her eardrums. It did nothing to save or help her though.

The cutting sensation was back. On her arm, on her legs…

What is happening to him?!

Wake up, wake up, WAKE UP!

A hole was burning through her chest. She couldn't open her eyes anymore.

WAKE UP!

Why wasn't she dead? Anybody with half of this happening to them should be dead many times over. But no…

"Amidala! Wake up!"

Amidala slowly opened her eyes. For a second, she saw a shadow standing over her, leering at her…peering out from beneath a dark hood…he was saying something to her…"Welcome back, my young apprentice."

Somebody shook her, her vision cleared, and she was completely awake. Obi-Wan and Saché were by her bed, and both looked terrified.

She turned to Obi-Wan. When had he gotten back from Sulluest? That didn't matter – she only had one question to ask him. "Anakin?"

Obi-Wan looked away. "I'm sorry, Amidala. I don't know how to tell you this."

"No," she whispered. "He's not dead."

"I know this is hard, but –"

"No, Obi-Wan. He's not dead."

His answer was a piteous look.

"I know he's not. He wishes he were, but he's not." She felt herself becoming overwhelmed, tears and sobs and grief beginning to pour out of her.

Obi-Wan stared at her in disbelief and dread. "You had another dream."

She nodded, tears streaming.

"And…he's…he didn't…"

Amidala looked at him, the hollowness she felt reflected in her eyes. "He's gone, Obi-Wan. But he's not dead."

He's gone.

She knew, in her heart that it was true. That the part of him that had been reaching out to her, that had tried to linger behind…it had been twisted and mutilated and burned away. She wanted to believe that it wasn't all gone, that something of him had survived…but she knew what she had felt.

Obi-Wan was speaking, but she didn't hear anything he said. She simply lay back down, curled herself up as tightly as possible, and wept for the loss of her husband.

**********

2 years later…

Vader felt sick.

It was an absurd notion, and he wasn't quite sure what to do about it. He hadn't been sick since he was very young. He certainly wasn't supposed to be sick now. How did a machine catch a cold?

But he felt sluggish and tired. His limbs, fake though they were, ached dully. He just wanted to sleep. He lay in bed, shaking from chills that ran through his body. Burning from the fever that sent waves of heat across his brow.

He reached up to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead. Was his hand real? Was he touching his face? He couldn't be exactly sure; he couldn't really tell what he was feeling. All he knew for certain was that the small movement nearly exhausted him. He exhaled heavily – was he breathing with or without the mask? – and waited. Waited to die.

Vader trembled. And he realized it wasn't just from the sickness. She was back. The dreams were back.

He hadn't had one since before…since before Vader, before everything. The tenuous connection they had shared seemed to vanish when he changed. He didn't know how he felt about that. Relief, definitely. It was just too hard to think about her, to remember her, to love her. Sometimes, he thought that hurt just as much as any physical pain he had been through. It tore him apart. Yet, he felt there were times he had to think about her, or he would go insane. It made no sense to him; it felt like the memories had a life of their own, and they demanded his full attention. It confused him to no end.

All he knew, without question, was that he missed her desperately.

He suddenly felt dizzy and sick to his stomach. Vader closed his eyes, and tried to remain as still as possible. These spells were coming more and more often, and he – she – knew it was a bad sign. That it would only get worse.

Someone squeezed his hand. He didn't open his eyes to see who it was, but knew that it was just another person trying to offer what little comfort they could. There wasn't anything that would make her feel better, or even just take the edge off, and give her some respite. Everything had been tried at least once – whatever had worked before had long since ceased being effective. So they held his hand, said nonsense to her, and tried not to cry. And they waited.

Vader felt an icy weight bear down on him.

She was dying?

He hadn't seen her in years. He hadn't been able to find her since he had originally left Naboo. But now…now he was faced with the knowledge that he would never see her again. He would never get that chance.

He had never really considered that possibility.

The fever spiked, and he felt the shakes again. He panicked. Maybe this was a warning – maybe he would be able to find her and get to her in time. Maybe this was meant to get him to help her. Surely, Imperial medics could do something to save her. If he could just figure out where she was –

Vader opened his eyes again, and expected to feel the dizzying sensation of the room spinning. That happened, but he also noticed that the room was…dark. Fading. He closed his eyes tightly and shook his head in an attempt to clear it, but that didn't work.

She was so tired.

Whoever it was near the bed (a handmaiden, perhaps) was trying to talk again. Trying to soothe away any fears, trying to prepare them both for what was to come.

She was dying, on the verge of it. He didn't have time to find her, or see her again. She was too sick to be helped.

Which meant that this was all he'd have of her, this awful dream where he couldn't even speak to her, or comfort her. This was all that was left of them and the life they had shared together.

A blanket was drawn up to fit snugly under his chin. He could barely see at all now, and the voice speaking to him was becoming fainter.

Vader tried to take some comfort in the fact that she wasn't alone, and from what he could tell she wasn't afraid. It didn't work. He should be there, by her side. Of course, in a way, it was perfectly fitting. One last failure, one last abandonment, one last thing for him to despise himself for.

Her eyes fluttered shut again, and she continued to slip away.

Vader opened his eyes.

He was awake and in his chamber, sitting in his chair. Tears stung his eyes, and he felt a gaping hole in his chest – in his heart. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rip apart the chamber. He wanted to shoot himself out into space. He wanted to die.

But he…couldn't. He couldn't go over the edge that way, no matter how much he wanted to. The fact that he had inexplicably survived the fall at Sulluest seemed to ruin him from thoughts like that – he couldn't figure it out. He just knew that this wasn't his time to die, or it would have happened during that duel. So he was stuck. Stuck in this hellish existence, stuck in the knowledge that he was now living in a world without her.

Vader began the process of depressurizing and opening the pod. He took his mask and put it on.

A world without her.

He had to report for duty.

Without her.

Vader got to his door and stopped, leaning against it heavily. He couldn't do this. He couldn't function.

He stepped back inside the door, and heard it shut. He then sank to the floor. He sat there and waited for the pain to dull. As always, it did. And that hurt all the more.