Darth Vader closed his eyes in an effort to rally his diminishing patience. The scorching heat of the planet's infernal surface was oppressive, but he scarcely noticed. His ears were straining for the sound of an incoming hologram as his vision swept across the controlled volcanic chaos that was Mustafar.
A low, questioning whistle sounded from beside him, accented with puzzled anxiety, and he inclined his head to appraise R2's scuffed dome.
"Soon," he said brusquely.
The polychrome astromech beeped an impudent reply, but his owner was too preoccupied to pay any heed.
Vader subconsciously gathered his robe closer to his body, seeking what little protection it could offer against the punishing heat.
Unease sang through the Force. It entangled a pure, familiar presence with wariness.
Fear.
Sorrow.
Upset.
He frowned, unable to pinpoint the cause of Padmé's rampaging emotions. Despite the compelling strength of her personality, his wife was not sensitive to the Force. There had to be a whirlwind of her distress for him to sense it saturating a link that shouldn't have been possible from across a galaxy.
Vader's mechanical fist tensed as he fought to keep from snatching his commlink and calling 3PO. Palpatine should have contacted him a half hour ago. The dismembered corpses lying within the Separatist facility behind him and the deactivated battle droids across the galaxy were a testament to that. He'd completed his mission in full; his master had known he would.
Sharply, he wondered how he'd ever acclimate himself to calling the former Chancellor his master. The word left a bitter taste in Vader's mouth. It always had, but he shoved such thoughts into the deepest corner of his subconsciousness. Now was no time for regrets; now was a time for action. Later, he would think...and mourn.
But tears of anguish refused to be suppressed by practicality. They seeped down his face, leaving tracks of salt as they vaporized in the parching air. The energizing bloodlust of battle had faded, leaving his body with what felt like the aftereffects of an overdose of adrenaline. Guilt was a rampant beast he had chained and caged, but it was fighting to be loosed in desperation to wreak havoc on his damned soul.
The undertones of grief permeating his only tenable bond flickered again. He took a breath of sweltering air, clenched his teeth on a growl.
"Artoo, we're leaving."
The droid immediately sang his approval of that idea, but Vader was already striding down the balustraded metal terrace towards their ship.The means to an end did not precede the end itself.
Palpatine could wait.
Vader didn't count the time spent in hyperspace enroute to Coruscant. His emotions seethed beneath ironclad control, threatening to leach out of his pores like black tar. If R2-D2 detected the dark chill pervading the cockpit, he didn't point it out.
Not soon enough for Vader's taste, he was hovering above a familiar penthouse suite in Galactic City, taking in the scythe-like sight of Padmé's J-type star skiff resting expectantly on a hired landing platform. The occupied docking pad levitated adjacent to her apartment's inbuilt veranda.
A frown twisted his forehead at the evidence that she'd planned on breaking her promise.
Touching his Jedi starfighter down gracefully on the veranda, Vader hit the controls for the windshield and vaulted out of his cockpit before the dome of glass could fully open. Some inexplicable emotion fueled him to run.
A touch of telekinesis and a digital security code was entered. Adjoining the open, private balcony, the domestic force field protecting a lavish living space from the polluted air of an overpopulated planet dispersed instantly.
The decorously spacious rooms within were darkened, but he could sense her presence inside their walls. Her nearness pricked his skin like cool water in the punishing suns of Tatooine. At the sight of 3PO, he swiped the hood from his head.
"Master Ani! Oh, I'm so glad to see you again. I was worried y-"
"Where is she?" Vader demanded without preamble.
"If you're referring to Mistress Amidala, she has been in the most horrendous state since-"
"You didn't comm me?" He couldn't keep the sharpness from his tone, despite the innocence of the one to whom it was directed.
"Oh dear. You yourself informed me not to do so for any reason, I'm afraid. I did so try to calm her down, but she was so distraught after Master Kenobi's visit that she refused all comfort..."
Yes, Vader had programmed 3PO to keep the air clean of any communication that could be tracked, but not in the face of an emergency. He cursed lowly as the full meaning of the protocol droid's last words hit him.
Kenobi.
Distraught.
Obviously, she would be.
An odd sensation of bitter remorse ghosted across his mind at the thought of his former master, at the thought of their circumstances now, but it was quickly supplanted by anger. The Jedi had likely twisted reality to give her the worst impression imaginable. This was an unnecessary complication.
The thought didn't cross his mind that she might have betrayed him—of course it didn't.
Worry for the baby rose to the forefront of his priorities as realization hit that such emotional turmoil endangered more than Padmé in her present state.
Vader shoved past 3PO as R2 caught up behind him, the noise of his astromech's explanatory chirps and the bi-ped's enthusiastic responses fading into the background.
The transparisteel door to her private rooms slid open obediently at his approach; there had never been a need for it to be locked. Shadows cast by Vylor blinds spanning the length of the picture window slanted across the floor of their bedroom.
His wife was lying on her side near his edge of the fully made bed. Rumpled curls slid over the exposed half of Padmé's lax face, suggesting she had been carefully laid to rest as opposed to willfully climbing in for a nap. A slender arm curled around her protruding abdomen, disappearing beneath the thin brown blanket covering the majority of her body as a considerate afterthought.
Vader's footsteps were silent as he drew nearer. His chest clenched painfully at the sight, but he wouldn't allow himself to bask in her presence as he usually did.
Even in her sleep, the Senator commanded his attention in a way no one else ever had.
Aware of the sweat drenching his layered robes and dried blood splotching his cloak, he sat at the edge of the bed, not quite touching her thighs. She didn't stir, and he could sense her utter exhaustion through their bond. The Force signature of their child brushed his own, subdued but certainly alive, and he let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. They were safe.
Without thinking, Vader slid the fingers of his flesh hand between the mass of curls and her satiny cheek, smoothing them behind one perfect ear. The sight of his hand against her skin made him freeze, recent memories of carnage flaring to life before he could suppress them.
But he did.
Padmé's lashes fluttered. Her face nuzzled into his open palm with a trust he had won over the course of three long years. Years stolen from them by a wrenchingly violent galactic war, he thought with a stab of resentment that bordered on hatred. It was frightening at times, this perpetual surge of dark emotions he could neither resist nor accept without consequences.
He withdrew his hand.
A soft sound caught in her throat, and his attention snapped back to the present. She was still asleep.
Vader didn't realize he'd been scowling until the expression melted from his face. He drew the blanket back gently. His wife was clothed in a scant chemise, which didn't stir his curiosity so much as the desire to crawl into bed with her, but the thin silk was warm against his fingertips as he trailed them down her belly instead.
He hesitated, then laid the flat of his palm over the firm curve in a gesture familiarized through repetition. A thrum of vitality pulsed in response. The pleasure of being in her presence again and feeling the life force of his child brought a flicker of self-hatred, but he closed his eyes to drink in the moment anyway. He had missed this.
"Ani...?"
Vader's gaze returned compulsively to her face, where drowsy brown eyes were blinking open in lethargy. Padmé's soft hand slid over his own and pressed it to her stomach instinctively. A tremor of movement vibrated into his palm from within, and a tired smile tugged at his lips.
It didn't last long.
"We have to leave," he stated simply.
He felt her tense almost instantly. Her hand left the back of his to help prop herself up on the mattress.
As she struggled to a sitting position, Padmé tried to rally any one of the tumultuous emotions that had overwhelmed her earlier, but a numbed calm had taken their place. She could recall the reason she had been upset but not the urgency with which it had mattered.
Regardless of her shocked state, or perhaps because of it, she wasn't voicing any one of the questions that had consumed her mind mere hours ago. Opening her mouth, she tried to say something. It came out as a croak.
"Where?"
"I have quarters prepared for you onboard an Acclimator-class assault ship. Its medical facilities are the best the galaxy has to offer, and you'll be safe there." His voice was softer when he spoke to her. It always had been.
"Safe," Padmé repeated flatly, struck dumb for a moment. Her mouth was dry and the temperature in the room seemed to have grown exponentially colder.
"Yes." Vader's gaze slid over her white face and strained torso in an appraising glance. "We have to leave soon. I'm getting you out of here before the conflict escalates."
With a final circling caress, his hand left her midriff. She watched him stand and stalk to her closet, closing the blinds and flipping on the light with an abbreviated wave of his hand. The fixture's brilliance didn't warrant the burn it brought her eyes. Her head was beginning to ache foggily, but she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and ignored how every sore muscle in her body fought the effort with a chorus of pain.
I must be in shock, Padmé thought dully. Shivers wracked her frame.
Vader pulled a simple gown from the shelf with brisk determination. After testing its fabric's durability and ascertaining there were no gaping necklines or high slits, he tossed the garment to the bed, but Padmé made no move to take it.
When 3PO came to check on them he bid the droid to send R2 to ready Mistress Amidala's star skiff for flight and bring a refreshment.
He worked quickly under her gaze, gathering articles of clothing and packing them into her valise with efficient haste. It jarred with his usual style of sloppy grace, but then he hadn't been himself for a while now.
Padmé blinked, attempting to reconcile the fact that Anakin was really in front of her with reality. She knew she should be remembering something, asking something, demanding something...but at the moment, apathy lashed her heart firmly to her chest.
She didn't realize she'd closed her eyes until a warm hand covered one bare shoulder. "Stand up, Angel."
Vader's face was taut with concern, but a disconcerting energy filled the air between them. Padmé stared up at him blankly. She didn't startle when he leaned down to slide both arms around her; his throat smelled faintly of ash and strongly of Anakin. It should have been comforting, but she shook with senseless cold as he brought her to her feet with a care that belied his urgency.
The blanket fell to the bed. Silk warmed and scented by her skin brushed against his front.
The very next instant, his synthleather belt was digging into her stomach. Arms clad in soiled robes slid around her back and nape roughly as Vader humored the impulse to haul her soft form into his. Hungrily, he buried his face in her rumpled curls. Darkness and confusion circled and dove in his tempestuous conscience.
Padmé stood stock still in the embrace. She felt the column of Anakin's throat work soundlessly, barely registering the discomfort of pressure too rough for curves that had grown swollen and sensitive over the last few months. Long fingers shaped to the dip of her spine, and she tried unsuccessfully to process the rioting thoughts contained in her head.
3PO had returned but went unnoticed by the pair.
Between them, Padmé's ribcage was jostled from the inside. A soft noise of discomfort caught in her throat at the accommodating shift of her internal organs.
Vader stilled.
There it was again, that agitated little reverberation he could detect against his own midsection through layers of clothing.
Padmé squirmed awkwardly. Conscious that he was nearly crushing her, he loosened his hold, but unrest hummed through the atmosphere undeterred. Her face bore a ghastly shade of grey as she swayed before him, uncharacteristically quiet.
Vader was aware of the time he couldn't afford to waste, but his gaze focused on the rounded swell before him. His brow furrowed when he felt yet another disturbance.
Padmé was upset. He was upset. It was a matter of course that the little one was upset.
He reached within himself and called upon a form of meditation to tamp down the seeping malice that resided as a permanent aftereffect of violence. Specifically, the use of the Dark Side of power. Vader didn't replace his anger and hatred, merely obscured them. Firm strokes of his thumbs on either side further quietened the life within.
Before another moment had passed, the movement subsided. Padmé was almost relieved it wouldn't reduce her to heaving again.
A chilled crystal glass containing some kind of liquid was pressed into her hands. She raised it to parched lips, taking a swallow of blissfully cool, lightly fruity liquid without a second thought. It wasn't alcoholic—of course it wasn't.
She didn't realize her husband was watching her until she heard him say disapprovingly, "You're pale. And dehydrated. You should've let 3PO take care of you."
Padmé drained the glass and felt for the nightstand to set it down, before giving up and allowing it to be taken from her half-hearted grip and handed to the droid in question. Because no reply came to mind and a mental block had been temporarily forged against the reason 3PO had needed to take care of her in the first place, she said nothing.
Standing passively, she allowed Vader to work the dress over her head and arms, feeling him tug it over her distended waist smoothly. She didn't blink at the metallic hum of a zipper closing the gaping back of her dress.
The signs of Padmé's mental state sent a dull echo of alarm through Vader, but he decided against pressing his luck with her rare compliance. The fight would come soon enough; for now, time was running out. Her small hand fit perfectly in his left one.
It wasn't until they had reached the inbuilt landing pad open to the cool night air of the city that Padmé stumbled to a stop so abrupt he lost his grip.
Vader turned to face her questioningly, and was met by a stare rife with something rapidly approaching suspicion.
A faint whiff of caustic smoke caught in Pasmé's nostrils—a fresh reminder of destruction that had yet to fade from the atmosphere since the fires at the Temple had been put out. In a flash, Obi-Wan's face loomed in the forefront of her memory, his gentle eyes glazed with worry and concern. But it was the remembrance of Palpatine's voice that sent a jolt of anxiety through her for the first time since her episode in the refresher.
The remembrance of gnarled hands lifting to the auditorium. Of the roar of celebration given by hundreds of her colleagues as the dissolution of galactic democracy was announced.
Palpatine is the Sith Lord we've been looking for.
And if Obi-Wan was right, Anakin was serving the vile psychopath. Not that he could be right. Anakin's actions were not those of a Sith.
"What's wrong?" the subject of Padmé's worry asked, searching her gaze intently as she came back to the present.
"Where are you taking me?" she parried.
"Somewhere safe. We're running out of time, Padmé. Let's hurry—I can explain on the way."
She didn't move.
"Safe from what?"
Her voice strained with the effort not to betray her fear. At the moment she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer to her own suspicion.
That blue gaze darkened in the shadows, and she saw a familiar look of evasion shutter his expression.
"Safe from the arrests soon to be made in the political arena. The Emperor believes the conspiracy to take his life ran deeply amongst the leaders of the Republic, that it wasn't just a plot hatched amongst the Jedi."
Before she could react to the implications of that revelation, Vader stepped closer. Nothing out of character there; his invasion of her personal space had brought Padmé unease in the early stages of their unorthodox courtship, but her heart had learned to yearn for it as equally as her body did. Nonetheless a chill of premonition slithered down her spine. Her head tilted backwards out of habit, keeping her gaze on his face.
"Padmé-"
"And do you?" She didn't know from whence the question had sprung, only realizing it sounded harsh after it was too late to call back the words.
"Do I what?" said Vader. She could sense his growing impatience. The luggage had been hovering behind them for more than a moment.
Padmé looked away, eyes following the numerous airspeeders carving trails of light through the open sky surrounding them. "Do you think the...plot...was hatched by the Senate."
"I think we were deceived for far longer than either of us should have been," Vader answered darkly.
Her head snapped to face him. Don't say it, came a small, cautious warning from the recesses of her mind.
A long moment of silence passed between them.
"Anakin, what's happening?" It was dangerously close to the accusation she'd almost voiced: What have you done?
"An age is ending, Padmé. One method of government is collapsing in order for a new system to take its place. A better system."
She swallowed thickly. A muted feeling of dismay squeezed her heart as she tried to assimilate the triumphant undertone in his voice. He knew why Palpatine was wrong. He knew what a dictatorship would do to the galaxy. Did he not see the danger?
Her pulse stuttered as she read the answer in his face. He genuinely didn't.
"Leave me here."
The blurted order was impulsive and perhaps unwise, but the confidence of her friends was not something Padmé would abandon without a fight. She wouldn't betray Anakin if the path he chose was to follow the self-proclaimed Emperor, but honoring the creed to which she'd bound herself didn't constitute a betrayal. She could stand trial, and they could still see each other if-
"What?" Vader's voice was soft with incredulity.
Padmé stepped forward on impulse, clutching his arm through the dark cloak that was billowing gently in the breeze. "I can't just abandon my colleagues to suffer trial and sentence alone. What about Bail, and Senator Mothma! And-"
"No! The answer is no. I'm not leaving you."
"Anakin," she choked. "Listen to me-"
"No, you listen to me. You aren't thinking clearly. This is our chance, Padmé!" His voice was more vibrant than it had been in months, strong with conviction. "The war is over. I ended it today—the entire Separatist Council is gone. The Jedi have revealed their corrupt plot, and the Senate's been divested of all power by their own vote. Both of the lives we've built for ourselves, the careers that kept us from peace for too long, have been dissolved!"
By you? Padmé thought speechlessly. It was starting to make a wretched sort of sense. But she still couldn't believe that he would turn and attack his brethren the way Obi-Wan had assured her he had.
"This is our chance to start over," Vader continued, quieter but no less passionate. "To build a new life together, for us. For our baby. I finally realized how to save you and I'm doing it."
Padmé shut her eyes firmly.
Another sentence and she would hear the worst, and she couldn't confront it, not now. A sickening feeling in the pit of her gut all but confirmed the truth she had been tenaciously denying.
His hand grazed her face with a tenderness that threw his determination into contrast. Battle-calloused fingers sank into the hair close to her scalp. "We don't have much time, Angel."
It was the familiar bulwark of purpose that steadied her shattered nerves.
"Ani...I have a duty to the Republic, even if it's crumbling," she stated pertly, if a bit recklessly. "To democracy. I can't just walk away without a fight and leave it in ruins, even if-"
As she broke off helplessly, the wrist brushing her cheek stilled.
"Even if I asked you to?" His voice was forcefully bland, gently curious, entirely devoid of indignation.
It was a tone she'd never heard before. Padmé's eyes flew open to see his broad shoulders straightening carefully. Her jaw dropped, closed; the silence stretched into assent.
"I see. But I'm not asking." His hand fell from her face.
Her heart skipped two beats, thudded painfully.
"Anakin?"
If it had been any other time, under any other circumstances, she would've taken his declaration as bait and given an angry retort. They would've shared a few frustrated words, then smoothed over the squabble with reassurances of affection and how they each had the other's best interests at heart.
But this was not any other time. This was two standard days after the fall of the Galactic Republic, the rise of the first Galactic Empire, the slaughter of all but a few Jedi, and the destruction of their sacred Temple. This was the man who had likely made those events possible, if not directly played a hand in them.
This is also your husband—your only love, her shuddering heart informed her. She didn't need that reminder. It wasn't a matter of choosing between her duty as a senator or her duty as a wife; it was light and dark, peace or war.
Her lips were numb, and she vaguely noted the blood had drained from her face. Padmé didn't have to be Force sensitive to conclude that Anakin Skywalker had changed. She'd first sensed that something was dreadfully wrong the previous night, when he'd returned from his unstated mission with the unbelievable news of the Jedi Order's alleged treachery. But even that intuition hadn't braced her for this.
Eyes that hadn't hesitated to shed a waterfall of tears in the face of suspicion now remained stingingly dry as that suspicion was all but confirmed.
Vader broke into her thoughts testily, the cadence of his voice one she'd thoroughly memorized years ago. "Padmé...you know why I can't allow you to stay here. I've had a long day. Don't make this harder than it has to be."
The clasp of his gloved cybernetic hand around her elbow was gentle but inexorable. She didn't resist; the appendage conformed to his grip with a meekness she'd never have shown an enemy.
Padmé's chest splintered from a pain entirely unprovoked by her physical surroundings as they walked to the sleek silver ship, with Vader shortening his strides to accommodate the pace at which he propelled her alongside him.
In a daze, she let her legs move of their own accord. Her other arm fell listlessly to her side.
Some belated compartment of her mind, operating independently of the damage seeking to mute it, chose that moment to soundlessly finish her earlier objection.
"-even if I want to."