A/N:
Hello, I hope all is well!
Thank you so much for stopping by and reading this chapter!
Thank you to those who favorited and followed. And thank you to reviewers: Guest, S.B, and Guest. Your reviews mean the world to me.
Hope you enjoy this chapter, and please review if you are so inclined. I love discussing and hearing your thoughts!
Many blessings and happy reading.
Response to "Guest" Reviews:
Guest: Hello again! I hope things are going great for you.
I'm glad you loved how Vader/Anakin was silently working with Padmé's physical restrictions and current limitations. Indeed, quite ironic, he-he. Just some fun flashbacks for poor Padmé.
The Clone Wars droids definitely add to that irony—just sitting there, a reminder of everything they lived through, everything that shaped where they are now. It's unsettling in a way, especially for Padmé. So much has changed, yet there are still these echoes of the past surrounding them.
And yes, Vader is absolutely aware of her, adjusting without words. Even when she shields herself, even when she doesn't want him to see—he still notices. It's instinctive, and even if she isn't ready to trust that instinct, it's still there. That tension between them, between what they once were and what they are now, is always beneath the surface.
I really liked what you said about her praying to the Nubian goddesses. It's such a small moment, but it carries so much weight—because you're right, Vader protecting something doesn't come without consequences. She knows that better than anyone. She's seen what happens when he fights for something he loves, and she knows how much destruction can follow. That fear, that hesitation, it's completely justified.
And I love your thoughts about what's ahead! Vader is determined to keep her hidden, to move them as much as needed to keep her safe—but you're picking up on something important. No matter how much he tries to control things, he won't be able to outrun the truth.
Thank you again for sharing your thoughts and continued support! It's always so great to hear what stood out to you, and I really appreciate your kind words. And I absolutely understand the need to step back from the news cycle. It's overwhelming, and protecting your own mental space is so important. Wishing you peace and strength in these uncertain times.
Many blessings!
S.B: Hello again as well!
Thank you for your thoughts and compliments! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter and that the tension of the secret being uncovered is keeping things engaging—it definitely feels like it's closing in, doesn't it?
I totally get your perspective on Padmé's prayer, and it's completely valid!
This is such an interesting topic, and I'd love to share my thoughts! It's a bit long, lol, and is in no way meant to argue or devalue your ideas—I just find this kind of discussion fascinating!
Personally, for this fanfic, I see the Force less as a god and more as a living presence—something within and connected to everything. The Jedi have their own interpretation of it, but they're not the only belief system in the galaxy, and they don't have the full picture. Neither do the Sith. Vader is currently operating under Sith dogma, which has its own limitations in understanding the Force.
I also love the idea that powerful Force users from the past could have been mythologized over time, eventually being seen as deities. That kind of evolution happens in real history too, and I think it makes the galaxy feel even more expansive and layered!
The Mother Padmé prayed to is meant to have connections to Mortis, especially since we already have the Father (Balance/Anakin), Daughter (Light/Ahsoka), and Son (Dark/?). But no known Mother… yet. There is Abeloth, but she's rather retconned at the moment, lol. Padmé praying to her doesn't necessarily mean she believes in gods the way some might think—it's more of a connection to something ancient, something woven into the Force itself from Naboo's perspective.
And who's to say these figures aren't still present in some way, influencing the Force? The Jedi believed it was impossible to maintain one's identity after death… and yet, Qui-Gon, Yoda, Obi-Wan, and Anakin all proved otherwise—along with others long before them. What else is out there that the Jedi never discovered?
I really appreciate your thoughts and can totally see your perspective—especially because Padmé is such a logical, rational person. But when it comes to Anakin and/or Vader, she isn't rational anymore. She's also connected to the Force herself, especially while carrying The Chosen One's child. She's reaching for something beyond herself, something deeply tied to her home planet and upbringing—a place she rarely thinks about unless she's around Vader.
Does any of this ramble make sense? Ha-ha!
I hope you continue to enjoy what's ahead! Thanks again for reading and commenting!
Many blessings!
Guest: Hello there!
I'm so glad your enjoying the story so far! I plan to keep going, I've got about 300 pages of ROUGH drafts, so it's easier for me to post weekly! Health and life allowing, ha-ha *laughing on the outside, crying on the inside*.
I hope you enjoy this update, and I'd love to hear any thoughts and/or anything you'd like to share!
Many blessings!
Chapter 5
Despite knowing Vader would do everything in his immense power to keep her safe, the raised hairs and goose-pimples across Padmé's skin refused to smooth. The silence pressed against her like a physical weight—no distant shouts, no blaster fire—only the echo of their footsteps and their distinct breathing patterns: hers, shallow and anxious through her filtration mask, and his, steady and mechanized through his life support.
They moved slowly, the mist on the streets covered their path. Each step seemed to stretch time, the fog swallowing their outlines until they appeared to glide rather than walk.
The ship loomed ahead sooner than she expected, its matte-black hull blending seamlessly into the polluted haze. The exterior bore streaks of scorch marks and tarnished plating, entire panels seemingly scavenged from scrap heaps. The patchwork design gave the impression of a vessel barely held together, the kind of relic no thief or smuggler would consider worth stealing.
Then she was able to make out the model: a Corellian G9 Rigger-class light freighter.
Her breath caught in her throat. The Twilight. Not the Twilight, but its shadow, a grim specter of the ship she had once known so well. Memories surged forward unbidden: missions with Anakin and his young padawan Ahsoka Tano, countless hours spent repairing its infuriatingly fragile systems, the moments of solace they had stolen aboard its cracking walls. He had taught her to pilot it, his hands guiding hers over the controls. Taught her how to operate its weapons, until she was quite the shot.
The memories of seeing such a familiar ship rooted her to the ground.
Vader's head turned sharply, his visor glinting faintly in the dim light. She snapped herself back into motion before his gaze could fully land on her.
The boarding ramp lowered, the hydraulics hissing as if alive. He must have activated it with the Force. They continued forward, still no signs of trouble.
Vader paused at the base of the ramp, stepping aside and drawing his crimson lightsaber. Its glow was muted in the dense fog, but its hum buzzed faintly in her ears. His posture was rigid, scanning the mist for even the faintest trace of a threat. He gestured toward the ramp with a tilt of his helmet, silently urging her aboard.
Padmé began trekking the incline. She hesitated as a sharp bolt of pain lanced through her groin again. She gritted her teeth against the spasm and cursed it under her breath. "Kriff."
She was certain Vader hadn't heard her—until he began backing up the ramp, his imposing frame shielding her as he ascended. He deactivated his lightsaber and turned to her. He then placed his hands against the small of her back and waist, his grip steady but impersonal.
"I'm closing the ramp," he said, his monotone voice cutting through the oppressive quiet.
The ramp began to rise, and Padmé shifted unsteadily, her weight pressing into his hold. Her body loathed the incline, and frustration burned in her chest at the realization that a simple task like this now felt insurmountable.
She forced herself to focus on the present as the ramp sealed with a hiss, the airtight locks clicking into place. Vader lingered for a moment, his hands still supporting her as if unsure she could stand unaided.
Once her breathing steadied, he released her and disappeared into the cockpit in a blur of motion. The stark contrast between his slow but constant, intimidating movements and his sudden bursts of inhuman speed always unsettled her.
Padmé followed, seating herself with a grimace into the co-pilot's seat.
The safety harness extended from the seat as Padmé settled into place, the straps moving automatically to secure her. She adjusted the lower band with a practiced motion, guiding it beneath her abdomen to rest comfortably across her hips. The wide, padded material molded snugly into place, clicking softly as the restraints locked.
Vader's helmet tilted briefly toward her, his visor lingering on the restraint as it tightened across her shoulders. Satisfied, he turned back to the controls, hands moving swiftly over the console.
She exhaled quietly, her fingers brushing over the edge of the lower band. It was a small relief to have something holding her steady as the ship turned on.
Vader's gloved hands moved deftly over the controls, their movements precise and efficient. The ship hummed to life, rising smoothly into the thick atmosphere.
She yanked off her protective goggles and mask, relieved to be ridden of them.
The warning klaxon blared suddenly, shattering the brief calm. The console flashed an alert: missile incoming.
"Hang on," Vader said. He glanced toward her, his visor lingering on her safety belt as if confirming, again, that it was secure. Satisfied, he returned his focus to the controls.
She scowled and gestured toward him. "You too."
He stilled for a moment, as if debating whether to argue, then flicked his wrist. The safety belt snapped into place with the help of the Force.
The missile's proximity warning intensified. Vader maneuvered the ship with remarkable skill, weaving through the skyscrapers with calculated precision. The turns were sharp but measured, smoother than she remembered from days past. The realization struck her: these maneuvers weren't for him. They were for her.
Or, maybe just because of the low visibility, or some auto stabilization offered by the ship.
Ahead, an industrial smokestack loomed, its massive silhouette barely visible through the fog. Vader accelerated, the missile closing in behind them.
Her heart pounded, her nails digging into the armrests. "You're not seriously—"
"Hold on," Vader said with surprising calm.
At the last second, he pulled up sharply. The underbelly of the ship missing the structure by some miracle. The missile collided with the smokestack and detonated, the explosion rippling outward in a fiery shockwave. The ship shuddered violently, tipping to the side before Vader regained control and punched through the atmosphere.
The blue streaks of hyperspace filled the viewport, and the klaxon fell silent.
Padmé exhaled, her hands trembling as she pried them from the armrests. She hadn't realized how tightly she'd been gripping them.
Vader remained focused, his hands flying over the console as he input commands. She watched him closely, noting the speed and precision of his movements—faster than she'd ever seen since his transformation.
Somewhere beneath the armor and the machine, Anakin's piloting instincts still lived.
"Our course is set," he said finally, his mechanical voice even and controlled. "We're safe now."
Padmé leaned back in her seat, her body slowly unclenching. "Safe," she repeated softly, as if saying it aloud might make it feel real.
But the tension in her chest refused to dissipate. She stole a glance at Vader, who sat motionless for the first time since they'd boarded. His mask tilted slightly, his breathing steady but quiet.
For a moment, Padmé allowed herself to wonder: when had she last felt safe?
"May I escort you on a tour of the ship?" Vader's voice, measured and deliberate, pulled her from her thoughts. "The layout is different from The Twilight, and I want you to have full access to its facilities."
The words were careful, almost defensive, as if he anticipated resistance.
There was none. "Yes, please," she said, unfastening her safety belt.
Vader mirrored the motion and rose to his towering height. He gestured for her to move forward, bowing slightly. "After you, milady."
The corners of her lips twitched involuntarily. For a fleeting moment, it felt like Anakin stood before her—not Vader, not the Sith.
Almost.
Almost...
"Thanks," she said briskly, the word sharper than she intended as she pushed the memory away.
She rose, her body protesting with soreness and tension, and followed him out of the cockpit.
The ship's lower level was much different than The Twilight. The hangar, modified to maximize space, was a single open floor. Within it were various transport devices—a swoop bike, a speeder, even a few escape pods—all painted in muted shades of black and grey. They were utilitarian and unassuming, meant to blend into any environment.
Off to the sides were two rooms. One was a storage area, shelves meticulously organized with spare and mechanical parts. The other was a medical bay.
Padmé paused at the threshold, her breath catching at the sight. It was equipped with top-tier equipment, the kind of advanced technology she had only seen in the Core Worlds. There was no medical droid, of course, because of how integrated into the public records they were. Their data automatically shared with the Empire, even the best hackers couldn't change that without destroying their medical data. By design, of course.
This set-up was worth more than the sole hospital on the planet where she and the twins currently lived.
Expensive was a theme of the entire ship. The exterior of the ship was unremarkable—close to rubbish, but the interior was another story. It wasn't extravagant or personal, but it was clean, near sterile, and undeniably expensive. The strongest materials, the highest-grade parts—everything chosen with precision.
Her chest tightened as her eyes caught the telltale signs of personal modifications. Reinforced hulls, hidden weapon ports, and shielding enhancements spoke to hours of work and an obsession with preparedness. Someone had poured time, care, and precision into this ship.
"Anakin," she murmured under her breath, the name slipping out unbidden. She winced and shook her head. Not Anakin. Vader.
If he heard her, he didn't react. He continued the tour, explaining the locations of emergency safety items and protocols, all clearly labeled. His voice calm and steady.
The stairs clicked faintly beneath her shoes as they ascended to the second level. The space above was unexpected—a far cry from the sterile utilitarianism below.
They emerged into a large living area. Vader moved fluidly through the space, gesturing as he introduced its features.
To her left, he pointed to two refreshers: one full, one half. Next, the kitchenette with a food replicator. Padmé's stomach growled at the thought of on-command meals. The replicator was a newer model than the one she'd had in her Coruscant apartment, capable of recreating cuisines she hadn't tasted in years.
"You've been busy," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Vader didn't respond immediately, his attention locked on the navigation console. But she saw the faint tension in his posture, the slight tilt of his head as if her words reached him despite the mechanical barrier of his mask.
"This ship was restored for a purpose," he said finally, his tone flat, almost dismissive. "Function above all else."
Padmé's gaze lingered on the unopened Nubian tea. "Function?"
Vader stiffened. "It's anonymous. If this ship were ever tied to me, nothing stands out to cause safety concerns for you."
Anonymous, she thought, safety. Yes, it was those things to anyone who didn't know him—didn't know the care and precision Anakin once poured into everything he built. Everything meant something, everything was deliberate with him.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Of course."
Scanning the room, she noticed a Dejarik game holo-projector rested on a low table. And saw a seating area centered in front of an entertainment screen.
All of it somehow obviously unused.
To the side of the entertainment system was a desk.
Her steps slowed as she approached the desk. It was strewn with small, delicate parts—wires, tools, casings. The sight struck her like a ghost from the past.
This was Anakin's space. Or at least, it mirrored the countless times she had seen him hunched over similar projects, tinkering with machines or droids as a form of meditation. For a man so consumed by destruction, building and fixing had always been his quiet rebellion.
She noticed an unrecognizable device, what he was obviously working on.
"What's this?" Padmé asked, gesturing to the mess. Hoping to start a conversation or stay in the moment of her past a little longer…
It was so comfortingly familiar.
Vader's head tilted slightly, his mask glinting in the faint overhead light. "A project."
She stepped closer, her fingers brushing the edge of the table. The components looked intricate, their purpose a mystery to her, but the precision in their arrangement spoke volumes about his focus.
"It's the only thing here that's…" She trailed off, searching for the right word.
"Alive?" Vader finished, his voice quieter than usual.
Padmé glanced at him, still unnerved by his unusual ability to predict what she was about to say.
She tore her gaze away, unsettled by the intimacy he still had with her thoughts. He could never read them exactly, as he could with other beings. But he could accurately guess thoughts close to the surface, things she wanted to say, but chose not to.
He moved to a door and opened it, gesturing for her to enter. "This is one of the rooms. The one you may stay in, if you like," he said.
Padmé stepped inside and froze.
The room was… soft.
It wasn't luxurious or indulgent, but there was a quiet attention to detail that betrayed intention beyond function and safety. The walls and furnishings were in muted tones of sandy beige and white, accented with bronzed steel and chrome. Two bedside tables flanked the large bed, each holding a potted plant with delicate white flowers and glossy brown leaves. Metal inlays shaped like branches adorned the walls and the space above the bed.
The viewport stretched across the far wall, streaked now with the blue light of hyperspace.
Padmé's breath caught in her throat. It wasn't extravagant, but it wasn't what she had expected. It was deliberately inviting. Thoughtfully restful. A space designed for someone other than Vader.
"My personal chamber is across the way," he said, gesturing to the door opposite hers. "Are these quarters… adequate for you?" he asked, his tone measured, almost hesitant.
She turned to him, her voice softer than she intended, "Yes."
He lingered briefly, his stance almost hesitant. "If you any need for it, the medical bay is ready for use… with no connection to the mainframe." His tone was flat, but there was a quiet insistence beneath it.
Her heart tightened at the unexpected concern. "I'm fine," she said quickly, her voice sharper than she intended.
He inclined his head but said nothing more. After a moment, he stepped back toward the door. "If you need me, I'll be in the cockpit."
Padmé nodded, and he left without another word.
She sank onto the edge of the bed, her fingers brushing over the soft fabric. The plants swayed gently in the faint hum of the ship's systems, their presence both strange and comforting.
She glanced back toward the closed door, her heart heavy with thoughts she didn't know how to process.
Left alone, Padmé flopped onto the bed, her mind racing as she pieced together the puzzle that was Vader.
The details, the care, the lov—
It wasn't love, she corrected herself harshly, though her chest betrayed her with a faint flicker of hope. Someone who didn't care wouldn't have prepared this ship—not just for survival, but for comfort… and with such care.
But was it even for me?
The thought weighed heavy, curling in the pit of her stomach like a stone. He had been so strange that first night. Was he trying to tell her something?
Was there someone else in his life?
Her breath caught. She forced the thought down, her gaze lifting instead to the ceiling. The metallic vines and leaves seemed to shift in the soft glow of the room, their golden-metal inlays catching faint glimmers of hyperspace.
The longer she looked, the more she suspected it was actually the valuable metal, not an imitation.
She traced the pattern with her eyes. The leaves, intricate and delicate, reminiscent of the linden trees that grew near the lakes of Naboo. Trees she had spent summers under, their shade soft and cool, their branches always whispering in the breeze.
Her throat tightened. She didn't know if the design was intentional. It wasn't actually the Nubian tree, or even craftsmanship—something else entirely. But it was there, nonetheless. The distant, faint echo of home. A piece of beauty amidst all the cold functionalities.
Gently, her hands glided over her now showing pregnancy. She smiled at the little movements within her uterus, the inhabitant clearly unimpacted by the earlier dangers.
Padmé's fingers brushed over the soft fabric of the bedspread. She listened to the gentle and familiar hum of hyperspace, lulling her into stillness.
Slowly, exhaustion pulled her under. Her sleep was deep but far from quiet, her mind conjuring images of the past: the sound of laughter beneath linden trees, the boy who built beauty from scraps, and a faint, stubborn glow shrouded by shadows and fog.
She reached towards it, like a moth to a flame.
Somewhere in the fog, she thought she felt it again—the weight of his presence.
Watching.
Reaching.
Waiting.
But when her eyes fluttered open, there was nothing there except the faint shimmer of the golden leaves above her.
January 31st, 2025 (00:34)