I have decided that lots of reviews can make a pretty sucky day a really fantastical day.

Please; keep 'em coming.

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Padmé jerked awake one night at approximately three in the morning.

Irritated at being roused from her much-needed sleep, she attempted to roll over into a more comfortable position and drift back into her world of dreams, but the sound of a loud crash halted her.

She sat up, and made her ears pay proper attention.

It was Anakin.

She could hear his muffled sounds of frustration, the sound of glass shattering. Concerned, she made to get out of bed, but then stopped herself when a new thought ran through her mind.

Mustafar.

Momentarily startled at her own thought, she paused.

It had been weeks since she'd thought of that. In fact, she'd pushed it so far back into her memory that often times she forgot it had even happened. But it had happened, hadn't it? He had choked her. And, she shuddered to think, he could have killed her if it hadn't been for Obi-Wan.

More glass shattered, and she would have been lying if she'd said that she didn't want to go out there and soothe his demons.

Another cry.

Would he hurt her again? She knew to stay away from him when he was angry, but angry or not, he was her husband. She wanted to help him. Her presence had always been soothing to him—would he accept her help?

A part of her warned her against going out there, against meeting Anakin's fury and uncontrollable temper, but the larger portion of her screamed to get out of bed, see what was happening.

So with a groan, she slipped out of the covers and padded down the hallway, into the common area where she could hear him roaming about, shattering things with the mere will of his mind. And indeed, when she found him, he was surrounded by shards of broken glass, his fists clenched tight, his mechanical breathing labored. He was facing away from her, his shoulders trembling.

She took a tentative step towards him. "Anakin?" she said softly.

She saw the way his body tensed, saw the way it recoiled from her. "Go back to bed, Padmé," he ordered. His voice was monotone and cold, devoid of emotion.

Often times he came home from his meetings with Palpatine with volatile emotions; usually he walked through the door stumbling and weak, like a ghost of some sort, like he had just witnessed a thousand unspeakable horrors (but truthfully, Padmé preferred not to think about that). But never this raw, powerful, emotional scene, fear and anger in his stance. So she stayed, and pressed him further.

"Anakin, what's the matter?" she asked again, stepping closer.

He stayed facing away from her. "Padmé, go to sleep," he told her again, and the fingers of his right hand flexed. "It's nothing. You need your sleep."

She came closer to him, until she was standing directly behind him. "I know," she replied nonchalantly. "But something's wrong with you, and I'm not leaving until I know what it is."

He groaned. "You wouldn't understand," he snapped at her, and stepped further from away. He was a frightened animal to be approached with extreme caution. And a stubborn one at that.

Something in her snapped at that.

For weeks, she'd been tiptoeing around him, always reminding herself that this would be temporary, that it was not yet time to help him. He often said things that enraged her or made her gape in horror, but those moments were forgotten when he would break down and become the needy child searching desperately for comfort. In those moments, Anakin was before her. But Vader was never far off, a cruel Sith Lord with unimaginable powers. And she knew that in this moment, it was the latter that she faced.

The next words flew out of her mouth uncontrollably.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "You're right," she told him coldly. "I don't know anything about murdering innocent children. That's your area of expertise."

She didn't even have time to see it coming.

With a deafening smack! his palm connected painfully with the side of Padmé's face, and she was propelled backwards, landing with twisted limbs on the cold floor.

The sting on her face was unbearable.

Before she could even register what had happened, he was beside her, grasping her arms, lifting her into a sitting position. Tears of anger and fear and humiliation were streaming uncontrollably down her face. She could hardly believe that he had just done that.

"Padmé, I'm sorry," he told her as she held the side of her face in excruciating pain. She looked up into his mask, wishing acutely she could see his face, so she could see the blue of his eyes.

A darker part of her spoke up. Would his eyes be blue? it taunted. Or Sith yellow, seething with anger, as they were when he hurt you?

She immediately shut those thoughts out of her mind.

Padmé said nothing, but felt her heart bursting into a million pieces as he helped her to her feet. She was too stunned and hurt to even protest. She simply stood there in his grasp, unable to speak.

Stupid! her mind chanted at her. After what he did to her on Mustafar, she should have known better.

He kept mumbling mindless apologies, trying his best to appear truly contrite. Padmé, wanting only to escape into the safety of her room, regained her voice and came to his defense.

"It's all right," she assured him quickly, though she felt like she was about to empty the contents of her stomach as she heard herself justify his actions. Had it even happened? Was she dreaming? "You were angry. I shouldn't have provoked you like that." Her words were jumbled and disorganized, running into each other, stringing together barely coherent sentences. "I'm sorry. It was my fault. You're right; I should have gone to bed. I'm sorry for disturbing you. I'll leave right now."

Without further ado, she freed herself from Vader's arms and fled to the safety of her bedroom, where she shut herself in her closet.

She sat there for a very long time in the darkness of her closet, hiding like a coward. She was disgusted with herself for acting like this; passive, frail, and afraid. A month ago she would have forced herself to get up, get out there, and slap some sense into her self-righteous husband. Now, she hardly had the strength to even try. Maybe it wasn't just Anakin who had changed; maybe she had, too.

It took her along time before she finally allowed herself to cry; to admit that this was going to be a lot more difficult than she had initially thought.

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The next morning, she decided that she needed to get out of the apartment.

It had been far too long since she'd interacted with anyone besides Anakin and Dormé. Padmé was a social person; she needed to be around other people, to engage in conversation and observe the creatures of the universe.

The luxurious suite which was now her home was beginning to feel like an exquisite, gilded cage.

She dressed in rich fabrics, drank from goblets of red wine, indulged in exotic foods and slept upon a bed made of feathers. But there was no freedom.

She called Dormé into the bedroom. She immediately appeared in the doorway, already dressed and wide awake.

"Yes, my lady?" she greeted her mistress, even though Padmé constantly reminded her that such formalities were unnecessary.

"Dormé, I think I would like very much to go out and have lunch," she informed her handmaiden. "How does that sound?" She left out the part about wanting to leave the apartment for the sole purpose of getting away from her husband.

The woman faltered for a moment. "Um, that sounds nice," she admitted. "But my lady, you are nearly to term, and Master Anakin would probably not like you going out with the baby due so soon-"

To hell with what Anakin wanted.

"Nonsense," Padmé protested. "I'm pregnant, not an invalid. Need I remind you that you flew your own ship all the way from Coruscant to Naboo when you were nine months pregnant?" She looked at Dormé pointedly.

Dormé smiled. "In the interest of protecting you, my lady," she retorted. "Which is hardly the same thing as a luncheon excursion. Besides, I didn't say that I wouldn't like it; I said that Anakin wouldn't."

She shrugged. "He'll just have to deal with it," she said dismissively. "Now, help me out of bed. I'm heavy enough to have swallowed a bantha."

Dormé chuckled in amusement and helped her lady from the bed. Padmé dressed in dark red gowns that flared out gracefully from her waist, and pulled her hair back into a simple knot. After donning her heavy cloak, she was ready.

Dormé and Padmé were just about to the front door when a deep, menacing voice halted any further movement.

"And just what do you think you're doing?"

Both woman silenced, and turned around to face the tall, looming figure of Darth Vader.

Dormé shrunk into the background as the meek handmaiden, and Padmé spoke up in a senatorial tone. "We're going out for lunch," she informed him. "It's been ages since I've done something entertaining and I need the fresh air."

As she had expected, he immediately disagreed. "Go out on the veranda if you need fresh air," he told her. "But I'll not have you out and about in the condition you're in."

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, but last time I checked, I was a grown woman who could make her own decisions. I can do what I please, Anakin."

"No," he replied simply. "You will stay here."

"I won't."

"You will, or I'll-"

"You'll what, Anakin?" she snapped at him, and lowered her voice several octaves. "Hit me?" she spoke pointedly.

He faltered at that, and took a step back.

Realizing she had won, she smiled coldly at him. "We'll be back in a few hours," she said, and ushered herself and her friend out of the apartment.

Walking down the hallway, she thought to herself, being in this suit is destroying him. This has to stop.

She vowed to make sure that it would.

Determination foremost in her mind, Padmé made a mental note to send a transmission to Kamino.

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To be continued…