A/N:


Hello again! Here's the story's first Vader POV chapter—very exciting!

Thank you to all who followed and favorited! And a special thanks to those who reviewed: anakin and padme skywalker, arisu freedomstrikes [suspected bot], Empress Vader, Feral21, Guest, Guest x2! Thank you so much! Reviews mean so much to me, and I love hearing your thoughts, opinions, and parts that stood out to you!

Quick note for guest reviewers: If you feel comfortable, leaving a name (even just a letter or number) in anonymous reviews makes communicating with you a little easier to organize! Of course, it's not required at all—I can still tell everyone apart (so far, at least, ha-ha). But if you'd like to, it can help keep the conversation(s) more fluid. No pressure!

Happy reading and many blessings.


Response to Guest Reviews:


Guest: Hey! Good to hear from you again!

Thank you so much for your thoughtful review!

You picked up on so many little details—Anakin's care in getting them safely aboard, the way he makes sure she's secure, and how he softens his usual intensity for her. It means so much that you noticed all the intention behind things, from the medical bay (minus droids) to the living space that speaks to something gentler.

I love your insight about his gestures—how he's telling her without words what he can't (or won't) say yet. You're absolutely right—Anakin's heart is completely family-focused. Does he know she's pregnant? Well… this chapter might just get into that a little more…

Aw, thank you so much for your kind words! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story! Your excitement means the world, and I can't wait to share more.

Thank you for reading! Many blessings!


Guest: Hello there! Thank you so much for your two reviews of the first two chapters!

Aw, I'm so happy you found the first chapter compelling! And I'm so glad you wanted to read more!

You're too kind! I'm glad you think so. Poetic and melancholy—so sweet of you to say!

I feel the same way—fiction allows us to explore deep, complex, and even painful relationships, but it's so important to distinguish between storytelling and real-life dynamics. Some of us have the experience, some don't yet (and hopefully never do). I wanted to make sure readers had that reminder and access to resources if they needed them, as well as give a place and space to the important issues. I really appreciate you recognizing that and for being supportive of it.

I'm so glad you're enjoying the story, and I look forward to sharing more with you and possibly hearing for you again!

Thank you again for your thoughtful responses—they are very precious to me.

Many blessings!


Chapter 6


Vader knew the ship had been damaged before they jumped into hyperspace. The external hull had taken the brunt of the missile impact, but the way the systems had been responding—sluggish, uneven—told him there was more to it. Damage buried deeper, threaded into the ship's mechanical core.

He had no choice. They had to land.

And there was only one place they could go.

V-998 had been a wasteland, stripped bare and abandoned like bones no longer worth picking clean. There were no safe ports in Imperial space. Not for them—not for her. Even the Outer Rim stations that took no sides still had informants, still reported strange movements.

Sidious was everywhere.

Sura'vani was different. A world left untouched, unmonitored, unclaimed. All but uninhabitable.

And a world of molten fire.

He had believed he could withstand it. The name alone had not shaken him. The logic was sound. It was the only choice.

But as Sura'vani filled the viewport, the reality struck him with the force of a collapsing star.

The glow of molten rivers. The shifting, violent landscape. The reflection of fire against the ship's hull.

His breath slowed. His grip tightened.

It was different. And yet, it was the same.

He had long since accepted his role—the executor of Sidious' will, the hand that carried out decisions long before they reached him.

But this... this was not some distant command, not another faceless world burned under Imperial fire.

This was something he had tried to bury.

And yet, the flames still reached him.

He did not tell Padmé. Not immediately.

He could not.

She was resting. She needed to. The strain of their escape had worn on her; he had seen the exhaustion settle in her frame, the way her core drooped, the way her fingers trembled when she thought he was not looking.

And still, he was sure she had injuries despite her denials.

But she shut him out. Her ability to shield herself was better than trained Force users he had encountered. It was… impressive.

Most impressive.

But it also reminded him of how much he had done to her. How barricaded she was.

And he did not blame her. How could he? She had every right to shut him out.

He deserved it.

He deserved worse.

There had been too much—too much running, too much strain, too much unspoken tension between them. So, she needed to rest. He let himself focus only on the silence of the cockpit, the distant, steady rumble of the ship vibrating his robotic hands.

And for the first time in years, Vader felt hesitation.

Not fear. Fear had no place in him anymore.

But something cold. Something creeping up from the depths where he had buried it long ago.

It would upset her. It would shake her. And she would know—she would see—that it affected him too.

He could feel it—her presence, her defenses, the weight of her will pressing back against him like an unmovable current.

A lesser mind would have folded beneath it. He had broken beings with a mere flicker of intent, yet she stood, untouched, unreachable.

It was not just resistance. It was something deeper, something woven into the very fabric of her being.

He should have torn through it.

But instead, he hesitated.

Not because he could not break it.

Because he did not want to.

Because some part of him, silent and unseen, reached for it—not to shatter, but to understand.

He had been preparing the words in his head—useless words, words that would change nothing—when the hyperspace system sounded.

Vader began easing the ship out of hyperspace.


"Why are we stopping?"

Padmé's tired voice cut through the low hum of the ship, sharp and immediate. Distrust, suspicion— laced every syllable.

She had only just entered the cockpit, still fastening her wrap around herself. Her movements were slow, careful—painful, but her gaze was already locked onto the console.

Vader did not look at her. He could not.

"We require repairs."

She frowned, stepping closer, watching him. "How bad is it?"

He kept his tone even. "Nothing too extensive. The exterior hull took damage; maybe some damage to the core, too. I will handle it."

Padmé hesitated, searching his mask for something that would not be there.

Before… before Mustafar— before everything, she had been able to read him as easily as she drew breath. His shoulders, his hands, the flicker in his gaze—any little tell. Tells even the cursed Jedi could not pick up on.

Now, there was nothing left to read. Just the barriers and voids between them.

He keyed the navigation controls, seamlessly exiting hyperspace.

Sura'vani came into view.

The air inside the cockpit shifted.

The tension coiled tight—too tight—and when he finally turned to glance at her, she was frozen.

"No." The word slipped out, unbidden. A whisper, a warning, a wound reopening.

Vader exhaled slowly. He did not flinch. Did not allow himself the weakness of looking away. "There are no other options."

Her chest rose and fell sharply, her hands gripping the edge of the console as if grounding herself in something tangible.

"This isn't—" she stopped herself, shaking her head quickly. "This isn't Mustafar."

"No."

A beat of silence.

She inhaled sharply, her fingers flexing. He could see it in the way her pulse thrummed against her throat, the way her pupils had dilated. She was not here anymore. She was there, back on the platforms of Mustafar.

Back to what he had so violently done to her.

The past clawing at her. Dragging her into its depths.

He wanted to say something. To pull her out of it.

But what words could change what was already done?

He swallowed against the burn in his throat, his grip tightening on the control yoke. "I would not have chosen this place if there was another option… I wish there was somewhere else."

Vader was not sure she could hear him anymore.


The ship touched down in silence.

Padmé did not speak. She did not move. When the engines powered down and the hum of the cockpit faded, she turned and left.

She did not leave the ship. Of course she did not.

But she left him.

Vader watched her go, the doors hissing shut behind her. Then, exhaling slowly, he released his tight grip on the controls, letting the silence settle.

He had brought her here. He had forced her to relive something she should never have had to endure and survive in the first place.

And now, she would not even look at him.

He forced his focus back to the ship.

Repairs. Focus on the repairs.

He left the ship. The air was not breathable, but his life-support took care of that. There was still a tinge of the sulfur dioxide and hydrogen sulfide. Harsh, uninviting smells of chaotic, primal formation of planets and earths.

He had done vehicle repair work a thousand times before: stripped down a ship, removed the fractured pieces, reinforced what was weak.

Fix what was broken.

But this time, his hands were still. He hovered over the open panel, not moving, barely breathing.

Because all he could feel was her.

The ghost of her hands against his skin, lingering where he should not have allowed them to venture. The way she touched him like there was nothing broken at all.

His grip tightened, metal groaning beneath his gloves.

He had no right to take it.

And yet, when she reached for him, he had.

When he removed his mask for her, let her see his ruined face—he had expected revulsion, hesitation. But she had touched him.

Kissed him.

Kept getting closer.

Her hands eventually went everywhere. Places he forgot could feel.

And somehow, impossibly, it happened. They had sex, fucked—had sexual intimacy in a way they never had before.

Not the way it once was… soft, worshipful, drenched in fervent promises. There had been no promises left between them, no certainty of anything beyond that moment. It had been desperate, consuming.

Nothing could get in their way.

And yet, it had not been enough.

He had wanted to give her more. To offer her everything. To worship her, to show her—without words, without barriers, without armor—what she meant to him.

But he could not.

Because he had nothing to give her but fragments, jagged edges. And yet she had still reached.

Still wanted him.

And he hated that it was not enough.

This—she—made him want to be whole again. Not for himself. Never for himself.

For her.

Because she deserved more than his broken body. More than his endless shortcomings.

He did not believe he deserved to heal. But for the first time, he wanted to.

Because she deserved more.

It's why he began the arduous, extensive, invasive, and painful surgical procedures. Why he had not been able to contact her for weeks, even months, at a time.

For no other than for her. If she ever reached for him again, he could give her some semblance closer to what she should have.

His hands flexed over the open ship panel; breath uneven. But their… intimacy flooded his thoughts. He needed to move, to focus.

Because if he thought about it too much, he would think of the scars on her naked body. The long, fibrous line on her lower abdomen, the pregnancy stretch-marks woven around it, the undeniable proof of what she had endured.

Proof of what he had taken.

Proof of who had died.

Who he had murdered.

Vader exhaled sharply, bracing his hands against the ship. No. No, he couldn't—

He had to repair this ship.

Keep Padmé safe.

Return her to the life she had.

The one he knew so little of.

A life that no longer had a place for him.

If he deserved anything in this galaxy, it was this—silence.

Distance.

The knowledge that he would never have a place in her world again.

Because no matter how much he tried to stay away, he would always come back.

He was crueler than he had imagined possible, staying in her life. Force, he tried to stay away, tried everything.

But he could not, absolutely could not stay away from her. Deny her line of coordinates alongside a date.

What he had taken from her, he could never give back.

What he had done to her. To their child. It could never be undone.

Never fixed.

But yet he still showed up, still kept her as his.

Still tried to mend.

Still brought her back to horrors he had caused.

Still took everything she gave, every inch he was allowed to be in.

She was his drug.

His ruin.

His gravity.

His everything and more.


Eventually, Vader settled into the work with a practiced ease around the complex inner workings of a ship. Hands moving fluidly over the exposed components. Here, in this space of repair and recalibration, he was in his element. Fixing, refining, restoring—this was the rhythm of creation, the closest he ever came to something resembling peace.

The mechanical process soothed him. It always had. Even as a child on Tatooine, enslaved and surrounded by dust and grease, the act of building had felt like control. A way to impose order on the chaotic, to bring function to what had been discarded as useless.

He activated the diagnostic scanner, its faint blue glow illuminating the durasteel panels as he assessed the damage. The ion sub-relays had been compromised, their delicate circuits fused by shrapnel. He retrieved a precision calibrator, carefully removing the damaged components, setting them aside with practiced efficiency. The hyperdrive coolant regulators had taken secondary damage—without immediate reinforcement, an overload could cascade into total failure.

He reached into the Force, extending his senses outward—not probing, not seeking, but monitoring. Padmé's shielding was still firm, but he could feel the subtle shift in her emotions. She was still upset, still raw, but she was settling.

Calming.

That knowledge alone was a balm, one he could not afford to express.

She was near.

She was alive.

It was never enough.

And yet—

It was everything.

His hands did not falter, but his awareness latched onto the truth of it—she is here.

For years, that had been the one impossibility. The one thing he had convinced himself he would never feel again. Her presence, a warmth that had once been a constant in his life, had been stripped from him, ripped away by his own hand.

And yet, she was here.

Breathing. Real. Alive.

Within reach.

Something in him, something buried deep beneath the layers of machine and Sith, almost rejoiced.

A ripple brushed against his awareness—small, faint, but present.

He felt it before he noticed it.

Something small.

Something just beneath the edge of his senses.

A presence brushing against his awareness.

Once he thought about it, he had sensed it before, and recently, though he could not place when.

His fingers curled slightly, his breath slowing as he stilled, listening.

Nothing.

It was probably not even there to begin with.

A trick of the mind, perhaps. The strain of repairs. The weight of his own thoughts pressing too heavily on his senses.

He ignored it, burying it beneath more immediate concerns.

He had to tell her… had to make her leave the ship.

And when he did, he knew.

She would never forgive him for this.

Another one to add to his other unforgivables.

Still, his hands continued their work. Continuing the countdown to him having to cause her more pain, more suffering.

It also got her closer to safety. To movement. To life.

His fingers worked with precision, recalibrating the ship's damaged sub-light engine manifolds. He adjusted the electromagnetic stabilizers, aligning the ion injectors with a practiced efficiency honed over decades.

The diagnostic scanner flickered again, highlighting a minor fluctuation in the coolant flow—nothing catastrophic, but enough to warrant realignment.

He retrieved a thermal conductor, pressing it carefully into place to reinforce the weakened circuitry. The faint hiss of the fusion welder in his hands filled the silence, sealing micro-fractures along the hyperdrive's containment casing.

As the repairs took shape, the pulse of his movements steadied, a sharp contrast to the chaos surrounding him and inside him.

Vader repeated his well-worn vow in rhythm with his work.

A desperate, silent plea.

Never again.

He would not repeat the destruction he had caused her.

No matter what that meant.

No matter what it took.

The lava world radiated heat through the ship's hull—distant, but undeniable.

He knew this kind of heat; had felt it consume him once before. Flames that had seared through flesh, through regret, through the endless torment of knowing he had already gone too far.

There had been a moment, long ago, when he had welcomed the molten heat—to let the fire take what was left of him. To let it cleanse what could never be redeemed.

But the fire refused to take him, despite his willing surrender.

It had left him charred and hollow instead, leaving only a broken man behind to be imprisoned by machines.

Butchered and forged into pieces and parts.

He had burned for her once, and he would do far worse for her should he ever endanger her again.

Never again.


February 7th, 2025 (00:41)