A/N:
Hello again, and I hope this update finds you well.
I'd like to thank all those who followed and favorited the story so far; your support means a lot to me. I'd also like to thank reviewers: S.B., and Guest x3. Thank you so much for your kind and supportive words and taking the time to share your thoughts!
Many blessings, best wishes, and happy reading!
Response to Guest Reviews:
S.B.: Oh, ha-ha! Thank you for pointing that out, dyslexia is fun like that! I've corrected it and it should be good now!
I'm so glad you are enjoying the story and find it immersive!
Thank you so much for your review and kind words!
Many blessings.
Guest: Hello again!
No need to clarify, though I really appreciate the discussion, and I'm sorry if I miscommunicated anything myself. I went on a bit of a tangent about the global state of mental healthcare, and meant nothing ill towards you, ha-ha!
Thank you so much for your thoughtful and detailed reviews! It truly means the world to me that you've taken the time to engage with the story, and with such meaningful insights and resources.
I'd like to acknowledge how generous it is of you to share mental health resources like LEMONS by Tay. I follow their platform myself and admire the work they're doing to provide accessible support and education. Your suggestion reminded me how valuable it is to highlight resources like these, and I've added a note in the first chapter (usually gets the most traffic) crediting your recommendation and a space requesting potential future recommendations from other readers. Thank you for sharing something that could truly help others.
I also love your reflections on Padmé and Vader's journey. Your thoughts on Padmé's struggle to balance her love for Anakin with the need for boundaries and self-discovery are so insightful. Similarly, your points about Vader's need to confront his past, process his emotions, and take accountability resonate deeply with what I've hoped to convey. Their healing is a process, both individually and together, and it's very touching to see you connect with those themes.
Lastly, I wanted to say how much I appreciate your clarifications and additional context in your follow-up reviews. Highlighting accessible therapy options, free resources, and ways to seek help is invaluable. I'm sure other readers will benefit greatly from the information you've shared, and it inspires me to continue building the resource section in my story. I really hope the collection can grow over time and be a great resource for the community.
Your support and engagement mean so much to me; your engagement and reflections are a writer's dream, truly inspiring me to keep creating and growing. Readers like you remind me why I love sharing stories—it's not just about writing; it's about the connections, discussions, and explorations that come from it.
Thank you again for your kindness, your thoughtful reviews, and your willingness to contribute to something that could make a difference for others. I'm so grateful for you and look forward to hearing your thoughts on future chapters, should you feel so inclined!
Many blessings.
Chapter 3
The outpost was possessed by a bone deep cold. It seeped in from everywhere. The artificial, metallic structure only contributed instead of shielded.
Padmé sat upright on the narrow cot, her arms wrapped around herself. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but exhaustion had overtaken her without warning. The blanket provided by the outpost—threadbare and coarse—offered little comfort against the biting chill. The stale, musty scent that clung to it was faintly sour, like metal left too long in damp air.
At some point, she had shifted onto her side, knees drawn up toward her chest. The layered tunic she wore stretched slightly with the motion, obscuring the delicate curve of her stomach. It wasn't visible—not yet.
She was aware of him.
Even in her sleep, some part of her registered his presence near the doorway. Vader lingered in the shadows, silent and still. He said nothing. But he didn't leave.
She never woke fully when it happened, but somewhere in the haze of sleep, she felt it—faint and distant, as if she were drifting in and out of a dream.
The rough blanket she had pulled around herself was lifted away.
It wasn't hurried or careless. The fabric shifted gently, as though the one moving it meant to inspect it rather than disturb her.
For a moment, there was stillness.
Then the blanket was gone, not that it had made much of a difference. She still missed it... the idea of it.
A weight replaced it, heavier and softer. It's placement provided an instant sense of warmth.
She'd grown up in a loving home; her family members often draping her in a blanket when she fell asleep without one. Drained from her serious duties of being Queen, then Senator, it wasn't uncommon.
It was just like that; so welcomed.
She could feel the difference immediately. Where the removed blanket had scratched against her skin, the new one shielded her, its lining smooth and carefully crafted. The faint scent of leather, metal, and something sharper—cleaner—lingered in the fabric, chasing away the stale air that clung to the outpost.
She didn't stir. The warmth pulled her deeper into rest, grounding her.
When Padmé woke, the room was steeped in shadows, lit only by the faint flicker of the artificial fire.
Her hand brushed over the fabric draped across her body, confusion flickering as she registered its unfamiliar texture. She then glanced down at it, and soon realized what it was.
It was his cloak.
The last time she had touched his cloak was months ago—when they had gone farther than either thought possible.
The memory flickered, brief but vivid. His cloak had been rougher then—part of the armor he carried with him like a second skin. It had been a barrier between them, cold and unforgiving. It'd been placed beneath them by Vader, nothing else available at the location but a dirty concrete floor.
Padme didn't let on, but it hurt, the texture sharp, metallic, and unforgiving. Her skin was irritated and scraped for a week afterwards wherever it touched her.
Now it felt different. Lighter. A comforting weight.
Padmé sat up slowly, reluctant to lose any built up warmth beneath her make-shift blanket. Her gaze drifted across the room, confused to where the original blanket had gone, until she caught sight of the small closet in the corner. Nothing was in the small cupboard when she arrived. Minus some misshapen metal hangers and long abandoned nests of invasive vermin. Even they abandoned this place long ago.
Through the half-open door, she could see it—the blanket, folded neatly and placed inside on the high shelf.
Her eyes lingered on the blanket.
He hadn't just discarded it. He had folded it carefully, as though the act demanded some kind of reverence.
A dark shadow caught her eye.
She glanced toward the doorway.
Vader was still there.
He stood just as he had the night before, watching, his form barely distinguishable from the shadows.
Padmé drew the cloak closer, subtly letting it drape and ruffle over her. The fabric masked the slight curve of her stomach, the folds falling in such a way that nothing beneath was visible.
"You stayed."
Her voice was soft—too soft. But in the silence of the room, it felt loud enough to stir the dust.
For a long moment, there was no reply.
"You asked me too."
The only sound was the steady, rhythmic hiss of his breathing.
She subconsciously nuzzled into the comforting fabric of his cloak.
"This is quite the upgrade," she mentioned, surprised how the small change felt better than a expensive suite luxury. At least, in this moment it did.
"The blanket was unacceptable," he said at last, his tone as unreadable as ever.
Her gaze flickered back to the closet.
"You folded it."
It wasn't a question.
Vader's posture didn't shift, but something in the air between them changed in some still mysterious, if not confusing, way.
"It serves no purpose left in disarray."
Padmé's hand brushed against the cloak once more. The fabric yielded beneath her fingers, soft but reinforced.
"Have you changed your cloak? It seems… different."
The words left her before she could stop them. It was rare something so light and casual was spoken between them.
There was something about this that didn't match Vader—the man she'd been sporadically seeing the last standard year. He was so... abrasive, cold- even his cape. It was never meant to be touched, like him. But if one did, harm would follow.
Again, just like him.
This cloak, a different cut than his previous cape due to the hood, was designed to be touched by skin, though she could tell it was still fireproof and an armor in some ways.
She knew he didn't have any remaining limbs, they were all prosthetics now. And what little skin he did have was think scars of his burns.
He'd never touch it.
It was a curious, cruel change. Because it felt more like Anakin's old Jedi cloaks, but it was still a stranger to her, like it's wearer.
The silence that followed felt longer this time.
"It serves its purpose," he repeated, quieter this time.
Padmé glanced down, tracing the stitching with her thumb.
It was not armor. Not anymore.
Reluctantly, Padmé slid it off, the fresher's demands winning out over her desire to remain cocooned in its warmth.
Vader remained where he stood, watching as she rose and went into the fresher.
The fresher was small and dimly lit, with crumbling tiles and a mirror so cracked, smudged, and warped it barely reflected anything clearly. Padmé moved slowly, her body stiff from sleep and the strain of recent days.
As she sat, her thoughts drifted in a half-dazed haze of exhaustion. Absentmindedly, her hand brushed over her stomach—a soothing motion, unconscious and automatic.
Her fingers froze mid-motion, her breath catching as the realization hit her all over again.
The swell was unmistakable.
She pressed her hand more firmly against her abdomen, her heart pounding as she felt the curve beneath her palm. It was no longer subtle. The changes were undeniable.
Panic began to rise in her chest. She glanced toward the broken mirror, standing and leaning closer to it. The layers of her clothing were hastily lifted. The distorted reflection made it difficult to see, but she turned slightly, trying to gauge how noticeable the change was.
The poor quality of the mirror only heightened her anxiety. She couldn't tell if it was obvious, couldn't decide if Vader would notice.
Her balance shifted as she stepped back, the motion awkward and unsteady. She gripped the edge of the sink, steadying herself as a wave of dizziness passed over her.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe.
When I finally asked him to stay, this happens, she thought.
Overnight, her belly seemed to have "popped".
She'd experienced it with the twins, too. She went to bed practically unchanged by the pregnancy, then awoke to an unmistakable pregnancy bump.
Padmé adjusted her tunic, pulling it tighter around herself in an attempt to mask the curve. She lingered for a moment longer, her hand brushing over her abdomen one last time before she turned leave the fresher.
Her hand hovered over the button to open it. She was... scared.
She didn't want to face what might happen, she wasn't ready to tell him yet. And what if the Emperor found out from Vader's mind?
"Never tell me something that could put you in danger: locations, people's names, anything that might lead Sidious to you," he said so firmly. She could feel his fear he had, the fear over the monster he served.
A sonic shower couldn't hurt, right? And maybe then she could gage her body better.
Most importantly, it meant she didn't have to leave the sanctuary of this cramped, private space just yet.
Sonic shower it was, then.
After taking the shower, Padmé stepped out of the fresher, her damp hair curling slightly against her shoulders. The water was freezing, and the space of the shower so small she could hardly move. But it wasn't all bad.
She felt more comfortable in her skin, having become more acquainted with it's sudden changes. She'd become more confident with how her outfit fell on her body.
It wasn't as bad as she initially thought. A change, yes, but not so drastic she still couldn't hide it.
Padme had planned for this, chosen her outfits cautiously and with experience.
She could still hide her secret, though this was a sharp reminder of how time was counting down against her.
With the smallest hesitation, she opened the fresher door and stepped out.
Vader stood by the window; his cloak-cape readorned, hood down and mask visible. His imposing frame half-shrouded in shadow. There was an uneasiness to his posture, something restrained but undeniably tense.
Her eyes lingered on him for a moment before shifting to the small table near the cot. A plate of food rested there, an assortment of simple supplies she knew from the outpost's meager stores, alongside nutrient-rich capsules. The sight caught her off guard.
"You should eat something," he said, his voice breaking the silence. He didn't turn or look at her, he must have just sensed she saw the plate.
Padmé hesitated, her gaze flicking between him and the food. Supplies had been dwindling when she arrived; the outpost's stores were all but empty when she arrived. Yet there was something more—nutrient-dense cubes of survival rations she hadn't seen before, and the kind that didn't come cheap.
"Where did you find these?" she asked, curious. Again, surprised she'd uttered words unguarded.
Anakin had always been crafty and reliable in finding things, anything really. Bartering, resourcefulness, and street-smarts from his childhood as a slave gave him the skills young. Then adolescence and young-adulthood in the Jedi Order, with no personal income, honed his skills.
Where had he located food in a place like this?
A silence hung, but only for a moment.
"I have them on my person," he replied slowly, his mask still fixed on the window.
Padmé sat at the table, picking up one of the rations. She took a small bite, surprised by the flavor. It wasn't gaudy like some of the most elites had, but it was comforting and pleasant. Far better than the bland survival food she'd grown accustomed to. These type of rations were more expensive than the gaudy ones, those gouged for their affluent consumers.
Anakin's belt had Jedi rations in a pouch. Food they'd both relied on during a "landing" gone wrong. They were utterly nasty, but loaded with all a being could need to survive for rotations on a single small cylinder.
These were very different; they were gourmet.
She had never seen him eat. In fact, she was pretty sure he couldn't eat. So why would he have this on him? Perhaps he could eat?
No, she knew he didn't eat—not like he once had; it wasn't for him.
As she continued to eat, a thought occurred to her. Had he been carrying these with him? For her?
It felt wrong, somehow—this man who had once been her Anakin, now reduced to a silent sentinel, carrying supplies he could never use just encase she did.
It was so Anakin, and yet so Vader, too. It only caused more confusion in her ability to decode the enigma before her.
She continued eating, her appetite roaring to life after the first few bites. When was the last time she ate?
A weight of his sudden unease drew her attention back to him.
"What is it?" she asked, the hairs on the back of her necked pricked up with his shift.
"We should leave," he said, his voice heavy with conviction.
She frowned, setting the plate aside. "Why? What's wrong?"
"I don't know yet," he replied, his breathing steady but strained. "I just know we should leave."
He turned toward her, the tension in his stance palpable. Before she could press further, he stiffened, his mask tilting slightly as if listening for something beyond the room.
"People are here for me," he said, the words sharp and absolute.
Padmé's heart skipped. She rose quickly, an adrenaline fused twist of her stomach soured what little she'd eaten. She pressed down the discomfort.
"Who?" she asked, her voice tight.
Another twist of her stomach, she worried she may vomit. But the sensation passed as quickly as it sprang.
"I don't know," he said slowly, his tone colder now. "But I can guess."
She watched him warily as he turned back to the window.
"Why else would Bail have been here?" he added, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.
Her breath caught, but she kept her expression neutral.
He glanced at her, his masked visage unreadable. "I can feel his presence. His trace lingers in the Force. He was here," his voice low and dangerous.
His ability to tell Organa had been here left a cold chill up her spine.
It hadn't made sense before, Bail's gentle urging for her to leave, his vague references to danger. But now, the pieces clicked into place: Bail had known something was coming. He just hadn't known how close it would be to her.
Vader didn't respond. Instead, he turned and strode toward the door, his movements precise and deliberate. "We need to move."
Padmé was already equipping her heavy-duty and powered air-filtration-mask and eye protection, to protect her pregnancy from the countless teratogens of the outdoor, dead air.
Donned in her shapeless outfit and layers with the protection, anonymity was easily accomplished. One could not even tell if she was a human.
Vader led as they stepped into the cold, empty alleyway.
Her mind raced as they moved, Bail's now obvious message echoing in her thoughts. She kept close to Vader, knowing the danger they faced was far greater than either of them was willing to admit.
The faint metallic clang of distant footsteps reverberated off the narrow alley walls, growing louder with each passing second. The attack was beginning.
January 16, 2025 (00:13)