9/24/16 So far I've updated chapter 8 and 9. I'll probably do some more. Also, I would love it if people could suggest a couple writing prompt so I can write some one shots. As always please R and R.-Kiera

CHAPTER 19

This was it. The entire climax of Padmé's mission. The final segment of the Death Star plans were being uploaded into the datadisk. Her time on Medean would finally be over. In just five minutes, she will have achieved her mission goal and helped the Rebellion tremendously. This moment will be the turning point of the war. Finally, the Alliance to Restore the Republic will have an edge on the Empire. Still, she couldn't shake the sensation that something was about to go terribly wrong. Padmé's head was throbbing and her heart was racing. It was probably nerves, that or she had contracted some sort of sickness.

Mistia had already succumbed to the flu, which was why she had to stay home. It was just Padmé and Lani this time. Padmé missed her third comrade dearly, she hoped she would recover quickly. The datadisk had finished uploading the schematic, Lani pocketed it and gave Padmé a thumbs up. The girls smiled at each other, their work would save the Galaxy from tyranny. They stepped out of the holodisk library and were immediately overwhelmed by a battalion of troopers. Padmé was handcuffed and brought to the glossy boots of a smug Lieutenant Jenkins.

"Hello girls. It seems you have something of the Empire's." A stormtrooper handed him the datachip. He tossed it in the air casually. "Rest assured I will be taking great care of this."

Lani spat on his pristine boots. His face contorted into a look of disgust, and his mood darkened.

"Listen here you little whore. I will not tolerate scum like you sabotaging my station. Abominations like you should be grateful to even breath the same air as humans. You're lucky to be here instead of on some backwater planet as a slave."

Lani cried out as his slap stung her cheek. Jenkins had hit her with such force that a humongous plum colored bruise was already forming on her face. The very sight of her amiable friend lying wounded on the floor summoned fire into Padme's eyes with fire.

"Leave her alone, asshole." Padmé shouted. "If you want someone to torment, choose me."

Jenkins simply smirked at her. "Well if you insist."

He backhanded her, bruising her face. Another punch gave her a black eye. A second slap split her lip, leaving her spitting blood. Jenkins gestured to the soldiers next to him. "Take them to the detention center."

Padmé glared at him, he would not have the satisfaction of seeing her in pain.

"One last thing dears. You can thank Officer Colchis for your incarceration. She was very eager to give me all the details to your plan."

Ice seeped into her heart. She tried to rationalize, he was probably just taunting her. Yet, the cynic in her said it all added up. Mistia knew the access codes, she was always doing something before they left, and she happened to miss the one mission they were apprehended on. Once she was dragged away from Lieutenant Jenkin's, tears slid down her cheek. The rest was a blur. She remembered being thrown into a cell roughly. Then, she felt sobs rack her body. These two weeks had been some of the happiest in a long while. Excluding the espionage, it felt like they were just three friends living together. No fighting. No debates. No running from place to place. Padmé almost felt like she was relatively normal. But alas, it was all an illusion, a front to expose her.

She began to doubt that Mistia ever cared for her in the first place. What if her entire personality was a façade. No, she must stop jumping to conclusions. Over the course of the mission, they had all bonded. No one could fake that. Perhaps, in her own way, Mistia still cared about them. What if she believed that she was helping them. Padmé always believed in equality and that meant upholding the idea that everyone was innocent until proven guilty. Sure, Mistia may have betrayed them, but there was no solid proof that she did it in a malicious way. If she ever received the chance, Padmé would confront her.

Then a second set of glaring fluorescent lights flickered on. She knew that this was a psychological technique to confuse her brain and disorient her. Padmé refused to let herself fall prey to their schemes. Mustering all the steel inside of her, she began to calculate all possible escape plans and their probability of being a success. Throughout the night, she paced and compiled a list of escape ideas. She made sure to include all outside factors, such as the arrival of Anakin or Ahsoka. The only situation she could find no solution to is the arrival of the Emperor. He was too powerful and influential to be stopped singlehandedly. If the Emperor was to be destroyed, then it had to be a team effort. Silently, she muttered prayers to the Force and the goddesses of Naboo that she would be granted some luck. Padmé could handle anything except for the Emperor.

Sometime during her furious planning, she succumbed to exhaustion. When she had awoken she found herself in a stark white room. White handcuffs. White clothes. White lights. Everything was white. She was given food by a stormtrooper clad entirely in white. White tray. White fork. White spoon. White napkin. Even the food was a titanium white. As the days progressed Padmé began to forget the other colors. There was blue and yellow and red and ... and. That's where the list ended. Soon it would be reduced to white. Whenever she tried to come up with some semblance of a plan, she would be drawn back into the abyss of white. Her complexion began to pale. Without a mirror, Padmé began to fear that she was turning white. Her mind melted into a blank box of white. She tried to remember what she looked like before this. An image of a woman with white hair, white eyes, mouth, skin, clothes, teeth, nails would fill her scarred mind. Days and days of white, just white. The stormtroopers would find her muttering. White. White. White. She stopped eating becoming gaunt and needle thin. Padmé's tough visage was teetering over the edge. Her consciousness and humanity slipping. Most people believed hell was a fiery red pit. For Padmé it was a blank white room.

Then one day, when Padmé was ready to give up the last part of her sanity a word rose unbidden from her throat. Anakin. Squeezing her eyes and clutching her head she tried to match that word to something. Anything. A tall man with a cocky grin and a long scar was kissing a short brunette with a beauty mark on her right cheek. Her. She was that woman. She was Padmé Amidala Naberrie Skywalker. She was a Rebel. She was on a mission to steal plans for the Death Star. Her friend betrayed her and now she was here. They almost broke her, but Padmé would hang on. She would persevere because she had a mission. A mission she would complete. That she had to complete for Anakin, Obi wan, Ahsoka, Lani, Mistia, and her precious, beautiful babies. An observer would notice a straightening of Amidala's posture, a fire returned to her eyes, and an observer did. From a secret observation room, Emperor Palpatine cursed Senator Amidala's resolve. He would have to find another way to break her, and her husband.