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CHAPTER FOUR

"Padme?"

She heard the voice, but her mind was full of schedules and upcoming votes and that stack of flimsy that needed to be dealt with – and somewhere even deeper, Padme was still far away at an opera house, the music washing over her…

"Padme?" the voice was more insistent now, but Padme was studying a particularly baffling chart and simultaneously trying to remember just how the queen's final aria had gone…

The hand on her shoulder startled her, and she whirled around to face a bewildered Bail. "You were… preoccupied," he said with a small laugh, only his intent examination of her face betraying his concern. "And you've been extremely," he paused and scanned her desk, whose usual layer of flimsy and datapads had fallen victim to Padme's energetic attack, "zealous," he finished after a moment. "I've barely been able to get your attention today. Is everything alright?" Padme blinked and tried to shake off the haze that had surrounded her for most of the day. She felt fine – in fact, she felt good. She hadn't realized that she had been so far removed from reality between her extreme productivity and her reliving of the night before. The music had been glorious… she pushed aside all thoughts of who her companion had been, and tried to return her nebulous thoughts to Bail's question.

"Oh yes, Bail. I'm fine," she smiled quickly and turned back to her work. But Bail, as usual, proved that his tenacity and perceptiveness were not limited to the political arena. He nodded, but didn't move from his post beside her. "You're in high spirits today," he commented lightly.

"Am I?" she asked distantly, puzzling over a rather obscure message in her inbox from one of Senator Mothma's aides. He was a young Mon Calamari whose command of Galactic Basic was apparently far from ideal. Padme frowned in concentration. Bail was idly cycling through the latest Senate news on his personal datapad and didn't look up as he asked, "So who is he?"

"Who?" Padme responded faintly as she gave up on the message and decided to go and see the struggling aide in person later that afternoon. She was much too distracted to notice that Bail was wearing the triumphant look he donned when he was about to defeat an opponent in a debate. Padme had once compared it to the expression of a Firaxa shark that smelled blood. "The man who has you so distracted, of course," he said smoothly, finally lowering his datapad to look at her fully.

She started and tore her eyes away from the screen in front of her to stare at him in disbelief. Bail grinned triumphantly.

"What in the galaxy are you talking about?" she asked sharply, blushing against her will. She strangled down the quiet fear that he might have heard a rumor about where she had been the night before… and who she had been with. His face revealed no fear or anger, however; all she could read was teasing. She relaxed a little and decided to tell as much of the truth as she could. She had been acting a little strangely, after all, and Bail deserved an explanation.

"I went to the opera last night. They were performing a Nubian work… and it was wonderful." her eyes unfocused and once again she was inside the dimly-lit dome, her heart soaring with the melodies – she blinked and the vision evaporated, leaving only a plain office and Bail's unsatisfied gaze. "I suppose it lifted my spirits," she finished with a smile. Bail opened his mouth, and although Padme was reluctant to lie to him, she couldn't see a way around it in this case. There was no way she could tell him the truth – not about this. "I went alone," she said firmly, turning back to her work with an air of finality. "Now stop being a busybody and let me work!" she finished with good-natured irritation. Bail laughed and plucked the datapad from her hands. "I am properly admonished," he said with a laugh. "But I will have my way about one thing today – you've done quite enough for one day. Take the rest of the day off, Padme," he raised a hand against the protest that was about to burst from her lips. "I insist. You've done enough."

He placed the datapad on her desk – but out of her reach – and returned to his own station near the curving wall of transparisteel. His expression would allow no argument, so Padme made none. "It's good to see you happy again, Padme," he said quietly.

Padme blinked at him. Happy? she thought in astonishment. Had she really been so blatantly miserable that even this distracted state seemed like happiness in comparison to the people around her? She mulled over that thought as she absently began to gather her things. Happiness was smiling and laughing with her family every day as a girl. Happiness was swimming in the warm waters of the lake country and coming home to the most delicious meal imaginable. Happiness was preparing for a future in politics with a heart full of hope and the encouragement of your mother and father going with you… this distraction wasn't happiness. She wasn't quite sure what it was. She considered as she packed away a few datapads and straightened up her desk. She wasn't sure what to call it.

Because whatever it was… it certainly wasn't misery.

Lord Vader leaned back in his chair, rubbing the fingers of his natural hand over his temple. He stared hard at the fleeting shadows caused by the passing speeder traffic in the slowly fading sunlight.

The Emperor had decided to begin yet another massive military weapons program, and he needed to summon the Defense and Security Committee to approve the program and its funding. It was all an unnecessary bureaucratic monstrosity which Vader personally had no patience for, but the Emperor continued to insist that the time was not yet right to do away with the Senate, so Vader had no choice in the matter. He had dispatched messages to all the necessary committee members – all but one.

Bail Organa's presence was required. He knew precisely what he needed to do. He needed to send the final message and return to his residence for some meditation. And yet he lingered, considering delivering the message in person. It was unnecessary, despite the fact that it wasn't completely out of his way; he would pass the corridor on his way to his private landing pad. He tapped his mechanical fingers against the polished wood of his desk at a furious pace and frowned. Because he knew exactly what was going on in his traitorous heart.

He wanted to see her.

With an angry grunt, he threw himself out of his chair and glared at the never-ending flow of traffic beyond the window-wall. He sighed and his gaze slid to his desk terminal.

He knew exactly what he needed to do.

"Goodbye, Bail," Padme called as she shouldered her bag and adjusted her armload of datapads. She made for the door, still wondering what to do with this day off, and feeling delightfully free of the despair that had become her constant companion during unoccupied hours. She was halfway to the door and halfway to a smile when the door suddenly slid open and he stepped in.

Padme's feet turned to carbonite, and she almost dropped her stack of datapads. She did drop her bag. She gasped and reflexively reached for it, knowing full well that she would be too late to catch it. But the bag didn't fall. It hung in the air about a foot off the ground, as if it had suddenly been caught by an invisible hand. Padme gaped at the bag, before her eyes snapped inevitably to Lord Vader. He was a large dark figure against the light colors of the office, tall and commanding as usual, one gloved hand raised and stretched toward her bag. It took a few moments, but she finally realized that he had caught it. She looked back and forth between the Sith Lord and the unnaturally floating satchel, gaping like a fool.

Vader stepped closer until his fingers closed around the strap. Gravity seemed to take hold of it again, and no longer suspended, the bag swung from his hand. "Your bag, milady," he said flatly. He smirked as she stared. Finally gathering her wits, she took the strap and slid it onto her shoulder. "Thank you, Lord Vader," she forced out, wondering why her thoughts had suddenly splintered and thrown their fragments into the farthest corners of the room. She swallowed and glanced at Bail. He was staring at Lord Vader as if he were a Krayt Dragon who had appeared without warning. She saw him steady himself and the calm mask of the politician slid into place before Vader looked at him. Somehow, Padme felt that despite Bail's expertise at projecting a calm façade, Vader had not missed his trepidation.

"The Emperor has a new project in need of approval," Vader began without preamble. "There is to be a special meeting of the Defense and Security Committee tomorrow morning and your presence is required."

"Of course," Bail said smoothly, completely unruffled – at least on the surface. "What time?"

Vader rattled off the particulars, and Bail made a show of noting the time and location. "If that's all, Lord Vader," he began with the air of a busy man. Vader gave one of his slightly feral grins. "For you, yes. For her," he turned to Padme suddenly, "perhaps not."

Bail's mask slipped a little, and Padme saw confusion cross his face. "What-" he began before Vader cut in.

"I could use some assistance with a few tasks before the day is over. Would you lend me your assistant?" Padme was too shocked to be angry. The same was not true of Bail.

He began to look livid. "Lord Vader, this is the second time you have appropriated my assistant, and I really must insist-" he fell silent under Vader's sudden, withering gaze. But Bail was no coward. He opened his mouth to continue.

"It's alright, Bail."

Both men turned to look at her. She focused on Bail, trying to let him see that she meant what she said. "You've given me the rest of the day off anyway. I might as well make myself useful. I don't mind," she added, holding his gaze to assure him. Bail was staring at her, most likely trying to decide if she meant what she said or if she was merely trying to spare him a fight with someone much more powerful than himself. Vader was studying her with interest.

"Very well," Bail said after a long moment. "But Lord Vader, might I recommend that you acquire your own assistant as soon as possible? I'll not have my assistant overworked-" Padme waved him off. "Please don't worry about that. I'll be fine. And I'm sure that Lord Vader will have his own assistant very soon – am I right, my Lord?" she turned to Vader expectantly.

"Of course," he agreed in a clipped tone. "That's settled then," she said firmly, turning back to Bail. Lord Vader turned and swept out of the office, waiting just outside the doorway. "I don't mind," she repeated reassuringly to Bail before turning to follow.

Vader immediately turned and started down the hall. She rushed to catch up with his long strides, not feeling at all irritated by the sudden extension of her day's work. She realized belatedly that she had been telling the truth – she didn't mind. She hurried down the hall beside him.

They entered the familiar office and Padme settled into the terminal she vaguely thought of as hers. Vader quickly supplied a large stack of flimsy and she set to work. Vader stationed himself at his desk and they sat in silence. Padme could not see what he was doing, and did not turn to find out.

The only sound for several minutes was the muted scrape of the flimsy sheets as she rifled through the stack and the distant sound of speeder traffic. Padme did not realize that she had been humming to herself until Vader's voice suddenly broke the silence.

"Is that from the opera?"

She blinked away her concentration, returning to the office with a sharp snap. His chair was swiveled to face her. "Hmm? Oh. Yes." She scanned the headings of the next flimsy and continued distractedly, "It was the love aria from Act One."

"Was that your favorite piece?"

"No," she responded immediately. "It's beautiful, but I loved the final chorus best. The sad songs are the best, wouldn't you agree?" She kept her focus squarely on her work and missed Vader's furrowed brow. He studied her for a moment and leaned forward to make another remark when the desk holocom chimed loudly, a note of artificial cheer in its ring. Vader glared, and slapped the answer button with more force than necessary. A pale blue hologram shimmered and resolved into the shape of a protocol droid. "Yes?" The word was as much a warning as an inquiry. "Master," it began in a peculiarly self-important tone that only protocol droids could achieve. "You have received a message from the Emperor." After a moment's pause, the droid added in a slightly more anxious voice. "You requested that I inform you immediately of any message from His Majesty, did you not?" Padme couldn't tell if the hologram was flickering more than it should, or if the droid was shifting nervously.

"Yes," Vader muttered. "Very good, Master," the relieved droid replied. "Good-"

Vader cut the transmission abruptly and stood, suddenly looking a little gray despite the sunlight pouring through the transparisteel wall behind him. "I will return shortly." He marched toward the door with the air of a man holding his head high as he's led to his own execution. Padme watched in amazement until the doors hissed shut behind him. She allowed herself a moment to wonder why Lord Vader should look so ill at the thought of the Emperor's message (or was it the Emperor himself who had caused the reaction?) before she returned her eyes and her attention to the flimsy before her.

She worked for nearly an hour before Lord Vader reappeared, looking irritable. He rolled into the room with all the thunder and electricity of a thunderstorm, and rumbled up to Padme's desk. "I'm sorry that took so long. I see you've kept busy."

Her desk was empty. "Yes, Lord Vader. I think you'll be satisfied with the work I've done." She began to reach for her own stack of datapads and flimsy as he drifted toward his desk without inspecting any of the work she had done. She arranged her collection of documents and datapads in her arms and stood to leave. She made it halfway to the door before she turned, suddenly feeling very bold.

"You never answered my question."

He was staring at the city through the curving window-wall, his hands clasped behind him. "What question?" he answered, half-turning to look at her.

"What's your name?"

Darth Vader stared at the slight woman before him, her arms filled with the paraphernalia of office work, as she casually asked him for information that was a highly guarded secret. He felt the same urge from the opera house, the push to just tell her and he couldn't understand it at all. He had gone out of his way to find out who she was, what her role in the upcoming struggle might be, and fate laughed at him, forcing him out of his office where he had intended to continue his interrogation, and returning him just in time to face her question. And to make matters worse, he felt the answer threatening to burst out of him without his consent. She was the first person to ask him that question in many, many years. Everywhere he went, his title and reputation went before him like a long, dark shadow. But Padme Naberrie asked him what his name was as if she wasn't sure of his identity, wasn't convinced of who he was.

He spoke and decided at the same time, and it felt remarkably like falling off a cliff. "Anakin. Anakin Skywalker."

Padme blinked and smiled faintly. "That's a wonderful name."

He stared at her without replying. Padme glanced away from the unreadable gaze, and he could faintly sense her embarrassment. She needn't have felt that way - it was he who was now exposed.