The Love of a Sith (aka The Chosen One)

Alone

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Padme stretched her aching back, gazing tenderly over the two sleeping children.  Luke stirred, his eyelids fluttering drowsily; Leia, however, remained fast asleep, her mouth slightly open and brown mess of curls splayed all over the pillow.  Padme smiled - the little girl was not an early riser, unlike her twin and her mother - turning back to the other bed to see Luke's blue orbs now open and gazing sleepily at her.  He blinked groggily as she rubbed an affectionate hand through his blond curls.  "Morning, Luke," she breathed.  "Do you want to eat something?  We should leave and let Leia sleep some more."

"I wanna p-way," he whispered loudly.  

She laughed quietly, putting a gentle finger to his lips.  "Not so loud, Luke, don't wake your sister.  You guys can play after she wakes."

He complied readily, only the slightest downward pull of his eyebrows giving away his disappointment as he obediently climbed out of bed and grabbed at his mother's hand.  Padme squeezed it, leading him slowly to the door and out to the kitchen.  Once out of the room, and greeted only by an empty silence in the seemingly vacant chambers, Padme quickened her pace, almost smiling in relief.  

Everything was so much easier without him around.

Perhaps she could manage to avoid him for the rest of the day.

Finding their way into the kitchen, Padme moved to help Luke into a chair, then striding over to pull at the handle of a cabinet she had seen Vader open the night before.  She was pleased to discover a storage of starfruits inside, passing one to Luke and taking one for herself.  While the little boy dug into the juicy fruit, however, she opted rather to take only a single bite, finding more pleasure watching the toddler than even gratifying her - somehow already - famished appetite. 

If only they could pretend that this was their life: that they were sitting comfortably in the luxury of Varykino, happily enjoying a succulent morsel under the warm sun . . . instead of finding a rare comfort in the cavern of a monster . . . 

"Padme."

She almost could not stifle the groan that pushed its way up her throat, turning to face the black shadow she could feel looming behind her.  "Vader," she said expressionlessly, her face impassive yet her tongue slicing through the syllables with a hidden venom.  

He noticed, stiffening slightly.  

Padme only then realized that it was the first time she had actually addressed him by a name since Mustafar.

And strangely enough, such an utterance - really, an admittance of who Vader truthfully was, regardless of the denial that stubbornly crowned her every thought concerning him - had not brought the searing pain she expected.

It had felt . . . rather good.  

Like she was slashing him with his own whip.

"The twins requested a replacement for Triple-Zero."  Vader gestured, his voice colder now.  "This is Admiral Piett.  He will be in charge of taking care of you."

"You mean imprisoning us,"  Padme corrected.

"Taking care of you," Vader snapped.

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

Piett's eyes darted nervously between the two, his features a comical mixture of horror and almost awe.  

Padme suddenly felt the urge to laugh.  It was apparent no Imperial had ever treated their Commander in such a way as she just had.

"Piett." Vader's irritated boom jolted her abruptly back to the present happenings, his tone making it clear his annoyance from the former exchange.  "You will be in charge of all my family's needs when I am out.  Safety and secrecy, however, are your top priorities.  An Imperial spy was here yesterday- I expect none to ever enter these quarters again."