PLEASE NOTE: THE DIALOGUE TAGS FOR ANAKIN/VADER ALTERNATE REPEATEDLY THROUGHOUT THIS CHAPTER. THIS IS INTENTIONAL. THEY REPRESENT A SUDDEN SHIFT IN HIS DEMEANOUR AND MOOD – NOT IDENTITY.

Chapter 23: Amplecti Nocte

When Padmé awoke, the lamp was on and the bed was empty. She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Every part of her ached, not necessarily in a bad way, but still sore all the same. It had been so long since her and Anakin had been together, and it seemed her husband had been intent on making up for lost time. So much so she couldn't even remember falling asleep.

"Good morning, m'lady."

The sound of Anakin's warm and husky voice made her heart skip a beat. He was leaning on the door frame, helmetless, dressed in a fresh suit of armour, silently watching her in the bed. There was a calmness to his expression; an intense sparkle glittering in his brilliant blue eyes. Padmé blushed and swept the mess of hair from her face. "How long have you been standing there?"

"A little while," he said. His voice sounded sultry, like he was dreaming or meditating or perhaps just at peace with this particular moment. Either way, she was thankful for it.

"How long is "a little while"?" she asked.

Anakin smirked and folded his arms below his chest plate. "Not nearly long enough."

Padmé's heart fluttered, seeing the smallest trace of her love's once boyish charm hiding within that smirk. The look was such a rare occurrence these days, and it reminded her of the first night they'd spent together after he'd returned home from rescuing the Chancellor. The way he'd leaned on the doorway, smiling so peacefully, watching intently as she ran the brush through her hair. But he wasn't a boy anymore; he was a man. An extremely powerful and dangerous man. One that evidently needed her, just as much as she needed him.

Fighting back a yawn, she dropped her legs over the side of the bed, pulled the covers across her lap and met his gaze. He had that same wistful look in his eyes as what he'd had that night. Her heart fluttered again. "What time is it?"

"It's just turned five."

Oh good, that meant they still had plenty of time together before she needed to rush back to the office. Providing he wasn't in a hurry to get someplace else.

"I have to report to my Master at the palace by eight thirty," Anakin said, visibly stiffening.

Padmé tensed, then forced herself to relax. Anakin openly responding to her thoughts as if she'd spoken them out loud, was going to take some getting used to. But if that's what it took for him to finally understand how much she still loved him, then so be it. Padmé watched as Anakin walked from the doorway. He retrieved a thick black dress-robe from the back of the chair, then fell to one knee at her feet. Not yet wearing his cloak, his black tabard pooled on the carpet around him like a long dress-train.

"I can stop if you want me to..." Anakin said, staring searchingly and holding the garment out.

For a moment Padmé slipped into the depths of his gaze, lost in the exquisite cerulean blue, as deep and churning and perfectly crystalline as Lake Varykino back home on Naboo. The slightest of knots twisted in her stomach, but after last night, she now knew the feeling was coming from him. Was he nervous, or concerned, or a mix of both? Unable to decide, she took the offered robe and held it in her lap.

"Well, it is a little unsettling," Padmé whispered, fingering the luxurious fabric, choosing her words carefully so as not to upset him. "But I suppose it really depends on how it works. Can you hear my thoughts all of the time?"

Her husband shook his head. "No. Only when I'm listening."

Which she took to mean as, right now he was listening. Perhaps it was time to start censoring her thoughts as well as her words. Feeling unusually exposed, Padmé started to unfold the robe. "So, how come I can feel you all of a sudden?"

Rising to his full height, Anakin looked to the floor and awkwardly brushed one gloved hand over his scalp. It was such an old and familiar gesture; one that told her he was feeling embarrassed, or perhaps even guilty.

"I have a theory on that," he said quietly. Then, as if pushing the troubling emotion aside, he straightened and gestured to the garment on her lap. "How about you put on the robe and we discuss it over breakfast?"

What? He made breakfast? Dressed like that? Images of him in the suit fumbling around the kitchen flooded her mind. Padmé stifled a laugh. "You... cooked breakfast?"

Anakin chuckled. "Well, not me exactly. But I did organise Threepio to bring some over. That counts, doesn't it?"

Padmé giggled and rose from the bed. "Of course it counts." She shrugged into the robe and tied the belt around her waist. Then, taking his outstretched hand, she allowed him to lead her from the bedroom.

When they emerged from his maintenance chamber and stepped out into the open area before the kitchen, Padmé was floored by the spread of food laid across the long benchtop. An assortment of fresh fruits and breads, pancakes, and sticky sweet buns were all assembled neatly on a glistening silver platter. Her stomach grumbled at the sight. And the smell was so inviting, so comforting, that it reminded her of being at home with her family, back when her mother would spoil them with enough food to feed an army.

"I wasn't sure what you'd feel like," Anakin admitted quietly. He pulled the solitary stool out from the bench for her to sit. "I hope you're hungry."

There was something in his tone... Padmé looked from the stool, to the spread of food, and then back to Anakin. He wasn't smiling anymore, and his lips were gently pressed into a thin line. In the early morning light, she could see the dark shadows lingering around his eyes, the deep purple singing in stark contrast to the paleness of his cheeks. Had he managed to sleep at all last night? He looked exhausted. She squeezed his hand. "It's wonderful, Ani. Thank you."

He nodded, then pulled away. "Sit. Eat."

Back to one-word answers and commands. His mood was changing. Padmé sat and started to pick at the fruit on the platter, all the while watching her husband in the kitchen. Anakin filled a glass with water, emptied the contents of a silver sachet into it, and stirred vigorously. She popped one of the tart camby berries into her mouth and continued to watch. The water in his glass had turned thick and red, gloopy like soup, and when he slipped a slim metal straw into the concoction, it stayed perfectly upright.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Padmé asked, casually picking up another of the purple berries.

Across the bench from her, Anakin raised his glass and met her gaze. "I am eating," he said, as if it were obvious. Then, he took the straw into his mouth and started to suck on the red gloop.

"I meant the food, Anakin," Padmé said, frowning. "And what is that in your glass? It doesn't look very appetising."

He put the half-drained glass down and swallowed his mouthful. "It's not, but I've grown accustomed to it," he said bluntly. "It's a mineral and nutrient paste. The straw slips between the mouth-grille of my mask, enabling me to eat whilst still wearing it."

"But you're not wearing it."

Anakin sighed. "No. But my stomach no longer responds well to solid food." He slumped forward and braced his gloved hands on the bench. "I need to keep my wits about me today. After yesterday. And I can't do that if I'm tired, which I will be if I eat."

Except he was already tired, she could feel it. The sensation was hard to describe, like some heavy weight was pressing on both her arms and legs making each movement a struggle. That reminded her... She looked up and he was back to drinking his food again. "You said you had a theory."

His blue eyes flicked to regard her while he sucked the last of the gloop from his glass. The flutter echoed in her belly again —that time it was definitely nervousness she could feel. He put the glass on the bench then twisted it between his hands.

"A theory on what?" Anakin muttered.

Nice try, my love, but we are going to talk about this, Padmé thought, idly wondering if he was still actively listening to her. Perhaps not, because he offered no response. Rather than press further, she selected a shuura fruit from the platter and took a bite, eyeing him while chewing on the juicy sweet flesh.

She decided to give him a minute or two to sort himself out. It was never a good idea to push her husband. When backed into a corner, whether physically or emotionally, his reactions were often unpredictable and defensive, usually ending up with him aggressively lashing out, or worse, going deathly silent and withdrawing into himself. Neither of which would help her current cause. She took another bite of the shuura and patiently waited.

After several long moments, a heaving sigh echoed between them, and Anakin straightened. Instead of answering, he strode from the kitchen and towered beside her on the stool. Swivelling around, Padmé craned her neck to look up at him. His jaw was tight, his steely gaze intense.

"What can you feel at the moment?" he asked.

Padmé held his stare. He could be so intimidating at times, especially when he stood looming over her like this. She closed her eyes and focused, tried to pick out the difference between his feelings and hers. Which was more challenging than she thought. Every emotion and sensation seemed to be wrapped around each other, like they were coming from one person. She opened her eyes and locked stares with his again.

"I feel... nervous?" she whispered, then shook her head. "No, not nervous —anxious. And happy? Happy and afraid... I think. I'm not certain though, it's quite hard to describe."

His expression softened and he chuckled. "On the contrary... I believe you summed it up rather nicely."

"Oh, right." Padmé gave him a puzzled look. "But that still doesn't explain your theory."

"Patience, I am getting to that. But first..." He took hold of her hand and gently pulled her from the stool. "You will understand better if I show you."

"Show me?"

Anakin nodded, then laid his left palm over her small bump and closed his eyes. An odd sensation radiated from around his hand, a warm yet cold and strange tingly feeling.

"Ani, what are you—"

"Shh... I know what I'm doing. Trust me."

Trust me? She did trust him, but her maternal instincts were screaming, preventing her from being calm about it. Padmé stared at the blinking lights on his chest plate. It was hard not to; he was standing so close and his suit was practically pressed up against her nose. The cold tingling expanded, taking over the whole of her stomach. Now it felt foreign, numb, like her bump suddenly belonged to someone else.

"Now, what do you feel?" Anakin asked distantly.

"I don't—"

"Close your eyes and concentrate, Angel. What can you feel?"

Padmé let out a resigned breath and closed her eyes. At first, she felt nothing, just the steady beat of her heart and the weight of her husband's hand on her stomach. Then his warm breath drifted across her forehead. There were no knots twisting, no strange bouts of nausea, and despite her better judgement, no sudden surges of protective anxiety.

"I feel strange," she whispered. "Like I'm in a room full of people talking, but I can't hear what they're saying."

"I suppose that's one way you could put it," Anakin said. "Do you feel anything else?"

Padmé tried to focus again, then sighed and shook her head. "No, not really. It's more of an emptiness or an absence of feeling, if that makes any sense."

Anakin bent forward, and his face was warm beside her ear. "It makes perfect sense," he murmured. "Now, I'm going to pull away, slowly. The feelings will come back and they may seem a little overwhelming at first. But try not to fight them."

She nodded. There was something in the way that he'd said that. It made her nervous. And what did he mean by fight them? Could you even fight feelings? She'd tried to deny them once, years ago, but that had been a—

"Oh..." Padmé gasped and lost her balance and two strong arms wrapped tight around her. The room was spinning, and everything was loud —too loud. The twisting, the nausea, the anxiety, the fear— they were all back. All yelling. All demanding attention. Shakily, she gazed up at her husband's unmasked face and tried to steady herself. "What was... what did you do?"

He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I shielded the connection between your mind and our baby."

"You can do that?"

"Many things are possible through the Force."

"Are you saying these feelings are coming from our baby?"

"In a way..." Anakin said. He sighed and pulled her closer to his chest, and a wave of calm settled over her as he gently stroked her hair. "Our baby is strong in the Force," he explained. "As she grows, her sensitivity grows with her. I believe she is communing with you."

"But why is she afraid?"

Anakin sighed again, his chest noticeably heaving beneath her cheek. "She isn't," he whispered. "That is... what you're feeling..." He paused and took a shaky breath. "The fear you are feeling is mine, my love. I am the one who is afraid, not our daughter."

Padmé drew her head back and stared up at him. Anakin blinked and a tear spilled down his cheek. "You're afraid?" Padmé asked. "But why? What are you afraid of?"

"Everything, Padmé," her husband hesitantly admitted. "Me. Sidious. What could happen if..." He let his words trail off and turned his back to her, his gloved hands balling into fists at his sides. The air froze, and the empty glass and platter full of food rattled on the bench. Then, Darth Vader snarled; the venom and mal-intent in his voice clear even without his mask. "If he so much as tries to touch you... Or our baby..."

Padmé pulled the robe in tighter around her waist. As terrifying as her husband was when he got like this, she wasn't afraid, not at this moment. Still, something about him being able to sense their unborn baby through the Force was bothering her. "Ani, if you can sense our baby through the Force, does that mean others can too?"

Her husband spun around then, his eyes golden, his expression tense. "Yes," he growled. "However, unless they are aware that you are not naturally strong with the Force, they will not recognise what it is they are sensing."

And if they did know? Padmé wondered, briefly thinking back to her previous pregnancy with the twins. Is that how Obi-wan had known that Anakin was the father? Before he'd stowed away on her ship and followed her to Mustafar to confront her husband, he had phrased his accusation as a question, then taken her ensuing silence as confirmation. She'd always suspected that he'd presumed it was the case due to the closeness of her and Anakin's relationship, not giving any consideration to the Force and his sensitivity to it.

Another thought sprung to the forefront of her mind: Ferus and Caleb. Had they sensed their baby through the Force too? Is that why Ferus had been so stand-offish the other night?

"What are you thinking?" her husband questioned, his sharp tone demanding an explanation.

Shocked, Padmé blinked and met his stare. His eyes were on fire, burning into her like the twin suns of Tatooine. "I thought you could read my mind," she said.

Vader crossed his arms. "I ceased listening because it made you uncomfortable. Now, what were you thinking about?"

Padmé sighed. "I was at Bail's apartment the night before last, and the other two Jedi from Naboo were there. I'm pretty sure they sensed I was pregnant. Or at least that something was different."

"Do they know who I am?"

"No, I don't believe so," Padmé said, shaking her head. "But Bail certainly does. Whenever your name comes up in conversation he watches for my reaction."

"Organa..." Vader snarled, working his fists. He whirled around and launched into a furious pace, thundering up and down the sitting area between her and the turbo-lift. "For what reason were they discussing me?" he demanded.

There was no way she could be gentle with this. He was already worked up. Padmé folded her arms, stood tall, and inclined her chin. "Kashyyyk."

Armoured boots thudded to a stop. Back rigid and body stiff, her unmasked husband glowered over his shoulder at her.

"I told you last night that I already knew what you did," Padmé said, feeling his rising anger coursing through her. She used it to hold strong, and confidently locked stares with his. "They had rebellion operatives stationed on that transfer facility. Bail and I were on a holo-call to them when you attacked."

"How? Their communications were being jammed."

"Not being jammed very well, it would seem," Padmé shot back.

Vader nodded. "Indeed. How much did you hear?"

"Enough to know they were doing their best to kill you."

"They were killing my men and destroying my outposts," Vader growled in response. "I assure you; the feeling was mutual."

Padmé cocked a brow at him. "Did you find the Jedi?"

"Was that supposed to be a question?" Vader asked, and when Padmé didn't elaborate on it any further, he answered. "Yes."

"And what about the Wookies?" she continued.

Her husband fell silent and turned his back to her. When he finally answered his voice was devoid of emotion. "The Wookies are traitors," Vader said flatly. "I have mercifully given them an opportunity to contribute to the growth of this Empire."

Padmé scowled. He didn't believe that. He couldn't even look at her when he'd said it, and she could feel the insincerity in his statement —it almost sounded rehearsed. "I'm sorry," she retorted, "I didn't realise I was suddenly talking to the Emperor."

"Enough!" Vader snarled, whirling on her and stabbing the air with his finger. "This conversation is over." Then, he turned away and stormed off toward the door for his maintenance chamber.

"Oh no it isn't!" Padmé countered, chasing after him. "Anakin!"

He ignored her. When she'd caught up to him, he was already opening the door to an armoured floor-to-ceiling cabinet on the far-left side of the stygian room. He pulled out a fresh cloak and draped it over his back.

"Anakin, please..." Padmé said, hoping he would respond to her softer tone. "We need to talk about this."

"No, we do not. I said the conversation is over, and I meant it," Vader growled, closing the cabinet. He spun to face her, his long cloak whirling, a freshly polished helmet and mask in his hands.

Moving closer to him, Padmé stopped just short of the empty bacta tank and crossed her arms. "You lied to me," she said, staring him down. "And you never lie to me."

Vader faltered. He looked down to assess the headgear in his hands and frowned. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I know you don't," Padmé said, closing the last few metres between them. She stood in front of him and gently rubbed his arm. "But you need to, it's eating you up inside."

Her husband's eyes slowly lifted from the headgear, and she saw the blue inside them returning. He was so conflicted; she could feel the turbulent emotions churning in the deepest depths of her stomach.

"I was ordered to... Governor Tarkin contacted me..." Anakin paused and gave a resigned sigh. "I ordered my men to ransack the Wookie villages and take the local inhabitants into custody."

"Where are they now?"

He lowered his eyes again. "The labour processing facility on Alaris prime."

Padmé failed to suffocate her gasp. So, it was true, the Wookies were being enslaved by the Empire. "You turned them into slaves?"

"I didn't have a choice, Padmé," Anakin protested. "If I had refused Tarkin, I would have been seen as openly disobeying a direct order from the emperor. What else was I supposed to do?"

He shook his head, pulled out of her touch and started to pace wildly around the chamber. "When I returned to Palpatine yesterday, he placed the blame for everything onto me. He tried to convince me that the whole kriffing thing had been my idea. But I know it wasn't my idea —it was never my idea. I had never even wanted to go to Kashyyyk in the first kriffing place."

"Wait...," Padmé interrupted, struggling to keep up with him. She had to slow him down somehow without stopping his rant completely. This was important, she could feel it resonating within her, like someone was begging for her to listen very closely. "He told you that it had been your decision to enslave the Wookies?" she asked. "Even after he was the one who had ordered you to do it?"

Anakin glared at her then nodded stiffly. "Yes."

"What else did he say?"

"Get this... he then mentioned Watto and my mother, and went on to say that because of my "traumatic" past I was being overly sensitive. By the end of it all, I felt so belittled and confused and overwhelmed that I ... I just gave up."

Anakin stopped at his workbench, and with an exhausted breath, put down his head gear and shrugged. "I don't know, Padmé," he muttered, sounding defeated. "Maybe he was right. Maybe it was my decision. Maybe I did have a choice. I could have agreed to the order and then not followed through with it. I could have contacted Sidious and told him no. I could have—"

"Anakin, stop," Padmé said finally, and her husband glanced over his shoulder to her. Again, his eyes were glassy. Palpatine was destroying his confidence, making him constantly second guess himself. And seeing her once self-assured husband being so ruthlessly torn apart, by the one man for whom he'd sacrificed everything to bring into power, infuriated her.

"Ani, this won't be easy for you to hear..." she said gently, trying to hide the anger simmering inside. "But, Palpatine is still manipulating you. He knows how you think. He knows precisely how to unbalance you. I can't help but feel that he is doing this on purpose."

Her husband frowned and looked back to his headgear. Padmé felt a sharp stab below her ribs and her stomach violently cramped up. Breathing through the pain, she looked up and saw the broad cloaked back of her husband trembling. She walked up to him still standing at the workbench and laid her hand on his bicep. Fire raced up her arm, the heat scorching through her every vein until it found her heart and set it alight. She angled her head, peered around his armoured shoulder to see his face. His teeth were clenched, his eyes aflame, and his burning glare fixed straight ahead. Her husband wasn't trembling with fear—

This was rage.

"I need to go," Vader hissed. In a flash of black, he snatched up his helmet and mask from the workbench and pulled away. Then, with a flourish of his cloak, he turned on his heel and strode through the door at the rear of his maintenance chamber and disappeared inside his bedroom.

Padmé fought back an angry tear. She let her gaze drift around the suddenly empty room: to the four disabled med-droids stationed along the dark grey cladded walls, to the empty bacta tank sat in the middle, to the medical table and attached monitors, and finally to the workbench covered with tools.

It might as well be his own personal torture chamber, she thought, clenching her fists, imagining all of the horrible things he might need to use them for. Then, knowing he needed space, she turned around, took a deep breath, and headed back to her apartment to get ready.

• • •

Threepio was in the kitchen cleaning up from breakfast when she returned. Artoo was between the two sofas, chirping away at him in what sounded suspiciously like amusement.

"Oh, good morning, miss Padmé," Threepio greeted, putting away one of the clean plates. "Did you enjoy your breakfast? Master Anakin specifically requested a selection of Nabooian fruits, he expressed that you would be—"

"It was lovely, Threepio, but I have lost my appetite," Padmé interjected, heading straight for her bedroom. "Please return to my husband's suite and pack the food away before it spoils."

"Oh no, my lady," the yellow droid said, "I do hope it's nothing too sinister. Shall I summon Dormé to—"

Padmé glared at him. "Now, Threepio."

"Yes, my lady," he said, and tottered off toward the turbo-lift. The door opened and just as Padmé was about to reach her bedroom, he called out to her again.

"Oh, miss Padmé?" he called.

"Yes, Threepio?"

"Senator Organa has been calling for you all morning," the droid said. "He has left a message asking for you to meet him at his apartment instead of the office. He said it had something to do with the Jedi."

Padmé glanced down at Artoo who was now perched beside her by the bedroom door, then looked back to Threepio. Was Ferus planning to interrogate her again? Or was this simply Bail trying to make up some excuse to have her away from distractions? Somewhere safe where he could insinuate and bait to his heart's content without fear of being overheard?

She felt a smile tug at her lips; imagining Bail and the two Jedi squirming in their seats when she shot them down in flames and revealed the truth. Not that she would outright say as much, but there were other ways to show it.

Bring it on, Padmé thought darkly, pressing the security panel to her bedroom. "Thank you, Threepio," she called over her shoulder to the droid, then strode into her bedchamber and closed the door.

Now... what to wear?

AUTHOR'S NOTE

A slightly shorter chapter than its predecessors, but it needed to end here. I hope you enjoyed it. This chapter was a lot easier to pen down than its predecessor and I will eventually return to the last one and edit it more heavily. Thank you every one for your follows/favourites and reviews. Please, if you have any ideas feel free to drop me a message, I am always open to new muses.

Sfloresf: I'm glad you found Bail's insistence annoying, that means I successfully got Padmé's feelings across. I look forward to your analysis of this chapter. As for Vader, I'm dancing around him at the moment because I feel in this predicament he would be torn between two desires: power and love. Unfortunately for him, the two are intrinsically interconnected to each other.

Guest: Yeah, Padmé still loves him. Even at Mustafar after she'd known of the atrocities that he'd committed at the Jedi Temple, she still loved him and pleaded for him to go with her. At least he knows that she has accepted him for who he has become now, rather than fearing that she only wants to try and "turn him back to the light".

As always, MTFBWY.