Note: I know, bullet wound effects are not the same as Star Wars blaster effects. You guys will have to deal with the few hours of research and calls on good old staph infections and bullet wounds- it's necessary for a plot line.

I'm sorry, I think "Why is she falling unconscious? Is that normal-!" has got to be one of my favorite lines of Vader's here. Vader is a hilarious god in this chapter. You guys better be laughing . . . Or I really hope you will be.

Splintering pain was the only memory of the moment ingrained upon Padme's mind: the sudden, cruel shock of agony so focused in intensity it ripped through every nerve in her leg and had her crumbling unsteadily down to a cursed state of helplessness.

She could barely concentrate on the jumbled mass of words around her; not that she wanted to. They were too much - too loud, too chaotic - for even the will to focus on something other than the searing burning. Wincing, she closed her eyes, the lull of the steady swaying beneath her traitorously soothing.

It was disquieting how affected she still could be by him. Even as the simmering detestation made a comfortable home within her, curling up with bitter resentment in her belly- her thoughts could not stay focused on it, straying from the vehement enmity in rebellious flickers. If she could block out the sound of his furious voice, the rumble of his chest mighthave seemed almost comforting, the secure arms around her almost able to be imagined as more of a cradle than a cage. He was carrying her rather gently, bewilderingly so, like a precious article of glass . . .

Not that it mattered how he was carrying her, if he was only carrying her back to the prison in which he kept her.

Padme gritted her teeth. She was fuming, infuriated at his foiling of their plan, yet- yet it was something else as well. Her anger could not be satisfactory, could not be justified nor righteous, because . . .

He-

He was kind.

The anger she had predicted in him was absent.

Where she had expected murder flaring in glowing yellow eyes, a hand rising up to strangle her neck once more - in a circumstance when she truly thought his responding fury would cause all hell to rage down - there was . . . nothing.

For others, ferocious wrath, but for her? Merely curt words, an unsettlingly soft touch, and . . .

Angel.

Surely he had not been aware that he had said it, but she had heard it, even so faintly in a half consciousness dazed with pain. She had heard his voice, his tone, how he . . .

"Hold on Padme, I'm getting a medical droid."

Keeping her eyes screwed shut, she only turned her head stubbornly away, hiding her face away in the security of the black fabric of his cloak. He could never know that she was caving; she would not go down so easily, allowing him the triumph and confidence to break her. Surely this was all his plan, to lower her defenses and make her bow in submission, make her his possession, acquire the only thing he hadn't yet been able to get, because-

Because Sith did not love. Whatever he might do, whatever he might say . . . he would and could never love her like he had before.

With that harrowing thought her mind sunk into the wretched state of her body, the despondency rising to seep over a spirit weary from the exhaustion of its fight.

"Quickly!" came a hiss. "Get the med droid immediately; I'm losing her again!"

Everything was in a blur now, as if she was fast forwarding through a scene from someone else's life- she was set down on something soft, a flurry of sound and movement around her; a hand was placed on her temple and replaced by the feel of icy metal, too cold; there was a robotic voice, its monotonous speech sounding peculiar next to the furious urging of the low voice . . .

Padme was tired, very tired . . . the sounds were fading in and out . . .

"Why is she falling unconscious? Is that normal-!"

"It seems to my knowledge that she has been under an extraordinary amount of stress recently; her body and mind are unusually weak, and her immune system is not responding at the speed it should. Her body has entered a sort of shut down state, possibly that of post traumatic stress. Has she been sleeping, sir? Eating well?"

A savage growl ripped through her consciousness.

"It doesn't matter- fix it, fit it now!"

An extended pause, then- "She's bleeding, sir."

"Well, obviously-" . . .

She only then became aware of an almost comfortable warmth, spreading over her leg and tempering the raging burn that had her seized in its brutal grasp . . .

"The wound will need to be cleaned- for infection, sir."

"Then hurry!"

The sound of a voice focused above her. "Padme, the droid is going to clean the wound - it may already be infected - can you hear me? It may hurt, but it's the only thing we can do . . . "

She found herself nodding mutely, accepting- pain was nothing new to her.

Yet as the fabric of her pants was forced away from the searing spot in her leg and the cold liquid applied, she couldn't help the violent twitch of agony away from the icy heat a hundred times intensified, nor the strangled gasp that released from her lips. It didn't burn any longer, but scorched its fire through her nerves like a rampant beast, shredding her tender skin with the merciless iron of its claws. It was only when she was released from its assault, the wound bound with a rough cloth, that she realized that her hands were no longer limp by her sides but clutching at-

A warm, calloused hand.

He must have taken off his glove to feel her forehead . . .

Padme jerked her head up, unsettled, to meet his eyes- but they were steady in the face of her befuddled shock, a clear and unreadable pool of golden light.

"Are you . . . feeling better now?" he asked slowly.

She released his hand quickly, ignoring the tingle that ran through her fingers at the familiar sensation of his touch and the urge to tighten her grasp on his hand and run her thumb over the heat of his skin.

"Yes," she whispered.

Vader nodded, standing. "I'll go and let-"

"I don't understand you."

He turned, his expression now the one baffled. "W-What?"

"Aren't you angry at me?" she asked flatly.

Vader was quiet for a long moment, his downcast eyes seeming to search even for an answer for himself.

"I-" He paused. "I . . . do not want you to suffer." His gaze flickered once quickly back up to her face, and then he was abruptly moving again, away from her. "Rest," he said quietly. "I will be back."

Padme opened her mouth to argue- but he was already gone, taking her consciousness with him as it crept away from her to leave her sinking into a silent abyss.


Vader would truly never tire of watching Padme sleep.

Especially now - when a moment of her setting down her guard was so rare - the entrancing act was like a forbidden pleasure, a secret delight that she could never become aware of.

If she woke from her slumber to see him watching her, would she scream her hatred to his face, or merely glare at him with those icy cold eyes?

Or would she just ignore his presence altogether, as if he didn't matter?

He rubbed a hand across his forehead, letting out an exhale. Once, there might have been a time when he did matter . . .

But now, now she only ran from him, over and over and over again; no matter how much he still needed her, she couldn't stand him. Even with his profound concern for Padme's well-being, he himself could not understand how the fresh slash of betrayal to his already gaping scar had not taken ahold of him, with how it ravaged the surviving remains of his broken soul. Perhaps he had been wounded too severely already to deal with resulting emotions any longer; yet strangely enough, the Dark Side did not work that way . . .

"Is Momma o'day now?"

Vader looked up to see Luke peeking in from the doorway, his expression wary but the blond curls tousled and flattened messily about his head revealing the potent worry that had clearly been plaguing his mind.

"Well . . . not quite," Vader said quietly, shifting slightly. "She's better. I'm letting her rest, in case she has an infection."

He honestly didn't know how to act with a son that he had always longed for, yet one that loathed him so deeply.

If only . . .

"What's an in-fection?" Luke asked shortly.

"It's . . . well, when bad things get into her body and make her sick," Vader said uncomfortably.

Luke cracked the door open further, revealing a glass of water clutched in his small hand. "Does water help? Momma always gives me water when I don't fell 'dood."

Vader opened his mouth, surprised, but cut off as Luke staunchly entered the room, plainly not caring whether or not Vader approved of his method or presence. He leaned over to solemnly peek at Padme's face - as if to assess her condition - lightly touching her cheek and then turning to set the cup down carefully on the bedside table when he became satisfied of her resting state. Once he had made sure it was in a non-precarious position, he tottered over to the bed, clambering onto the mattress and cuddling up beside his mother. His facial expression remained unfazed as he stoutly turned his back to his father, wrapping his short arms as well as he could around Padme's torso.

Vader sat up in his chair, appalled at Luke's blatant disregard and disrespect for him. "Why do you hate me, young one?"

Luke rolled over slowly, his blue eyes serious and set. "I don't hate. It's bad to hate. But I don't 'wike you."

"Who told you that?"

"'Dat it's bad to hate? Bi-Wan and Momma, of course," he said matter-of-factly, pausing briefly to stifle a yawn.

Vader's yellow eyes flickered with irritation. "Hmph."

"It's 'dood advice for me," Luke said resolutely, twisting back around. "It makes me feel warm and tingles instead of - well-" He briefly scratched his head. "Like burning. The bad feelings Bi-Wan talks about that 'wead to bad."

"Oh?" Vader snapped crossly. "What else has your fake father talked about with you?"

"He's not my fake fa'ver he's my real fa'ver." Luke's voice was acerbic now, his tone matching and equaling Vader's asperity. "And you 'wocked him up; that's why I dont 'wike and will never 'wike you!"

Vader could only sit, shocked - horrified - enraged, the anger festering inside him beginning to boil over, a mad flood out of control. Not only Padme, but now his son was turned against him, so much so that he was siding with Obi-Wan,nadvocating with him against his own father?

"Get out," he hissed, struggling to keep his voice from rising in his fury.

"No," Luke said stubbornly. "Momma needs me; I need to be here to watch over Momma and pwo-tect her."

"That's what I'm doing!"

Luke stayed quiet, only pressing his head more firmly against Padme's back and nestling deeper into the covers.

Casting his chair to the side with an angry flick, Vader stormed from the room, his eyes flashing a murderous yellow. How dare the little boy imply such a thing, that he was a danger and not protection, how dare he . . .

Except the shame hidden deep down inside of him could only whisper despicably that in a way . . . he was right.

The hatred - whether at everyone, or himself, or both, he didn't know - was blurring his vision an angry red, the hurt and rage curdling like acid in his belly. Someone would pay, someone . . .

Obi-Wan.

Vader essentially kicked out of his own room by little Luke . . . and Vader being a crazed panicked maniac with the droid just literally rambling his "no one cares" speech . . . my gosh. I really hope you guys enjoyed; this chapter is honestly one of my favorites in the whole book. I laughed or half cried from aw moments the entire time writing; I hope you did too. Favorite lines/moments, anyone?

Anyone want an update enough to review?