Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It must have been around two in the morning when Padmé awoke with a start, as she so often did now. It had been a long time since she’d been able to sleep through an entire night without any nightmares. She felt cursed after Mustafar, unable to close her eyes without seeing gold rings and feeling a tightness around her throat. 

Ironically, those nightmares were less painful than the dreams she had of lounging in the sunlight on Naboo, bright blue eyes looking down at her, accompanied by a laugh that made her heart ache painfully. 

Padmé rubbed her temples, easing the tension in her head as she went to check on her children. The safehouse was not nearly as extravagant as her old apartment on Coruscant, but she couldn’t care less. As she crossed the hallway to check on their small sleeping frames, Padmé thought about how scared she was to lose her twins. She had almost been torn away from them once, and she would be damned if this war would overtake them in the crossfire. 

They were all but five years old. Luke was on one side of the small room, clutching his blanket in his fist as he stirred a little; Leia was on the other, her back to the wall and her head craned to the door even as she slept. It was startling, the similarities both of her children had to their father. They were almost perfect mirrors of different fragments. Luke with his blonde hair and interest in machinery, while Leia was headstrong and protective. 

It was difficult to watch them play, rare as the sight may be in these times, because Padmé could swear she heard the same childish laughter of Ani escaping Luke, or a command from Leia that held the same power as the fallen Jedi. 

Once she was satisfied that they were safe and still asleep, Padmé walked back to her own room, hoping she would be able to rest. After an hour of lying on the cheap mattress, it seemed like a non-possibility. No matter how she situated herself or where she faced, her body could not escape the rigidity that now held ownership over her. She no longer felt safe or content, and the constant influx of adrenaline made her mind unintentionally sharp and focused on everything. A subtle creak, a light tap, and any kind of shadow now held her complete attention; at a moment those innocuous occurrences could reveal something far more sinister. 

Granted, Padmé was not naive to the dangers of being politically known– she had dealt with her fair share of assassins and underhanded plots. But leading behind a rebellion afforded much more dangerous risks now, especially now that she’d lost her main protector. Even after faking her own death, there was no shortage of danger in the way of the leader she had grown into. She forced herself to be faster, better, stronger… whatever it took to protect her babies and bring back order to the galaxy she did not quite recognize anymore.

She jumped when her holoprojector vibrated against the rickety nightstand, a scratchy voice and distorted image coming through. 

“Twil… do you… in?” 

She could never mistake Bail’s cadence, as muddled as it was. She grabbed the small device and walked closer to the small window in her room. 

“Hang on, Bail,” she said. “Can you see me now?”

“Ah, much better, My Lady,” he said, his voice and face much clearer now. 

“Has something happened?” 

No one tried to get a hold of her this late unless it was serious, which hardly ever meant good news.

“I’m afraid so. There’s been some trouble with the outer rim. We’ve had multiple shipments be intercepted and taken over, most of them food and health supplies.”

Padmé sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Any casualties?” 

His hesitation was all the answer she needed. “Let’s just say, we will have to find new ways of garnering supplies.”

She took a breath, feeling a tension headache beginning to form. 

“We need more shipments then. With the way smuggling rates are now, that will be quite difficult to manage. Is there any other route available?” she asked.

“We are searching for one now. I will let you know, should we find an accessible one. How are the children?”

“They are doing better than I am, thankfully,” she said, running a hand across her face. She was exhausted, but there was no time for rest now. “We are still set to rendezvous on Hoth. If the Empire has been intercepting inconspicuous smugglers then they must be aware of our usual routes.”

Bail followed up her train of thought. “Which means you must be exceedingly careful.”

“Exactly. But, don’t worry, I can handle it.”

“I know you can, My Lady. We will be here for you as soon as you arrive. Please… be cautious.”

Once the conversation was over, Padmé sat on the edge of the small bed, head in her hands. She recalled how difficult she found dealing with political diatribes to be, but she would give almost anything to go back to that lifetime. When she could show her face to her people, protected and loved by a man she knew would always be there for her. A time when she never had a public funeral, forced to command small bases behind a synthetic mask and hide her children from the truth. 

Her daydream was cut short by a small figure in her doorway. 

“Leia,” Padmé spoke softly, “what are you doing up so late, darling?”

The little girl's eyes were heavy with sleep, and she fidgeted with the sleeves of her nightgown. 

“I heard Uncle Bail. Is he here?” She yawned.

Padmé smiled as she walked over, scooping the child up in her arms and holding her closely. 

“No, sweetheart, but don't worry. We will see him very soon,” she whispered. 

Leia nodded, already half asleep as Padmé carried her back to the small cot. She brushed back the dark curls that rested against her child's face, the same color and feel as her own. As she watched her drift back into a comfortable sleep, Padmé remembered what Anakin used to tell her when they were first married.

“When we have children, I hope they look exactly like you, my love.”

She had waved away his words, telling him she hoped only that they were healthy and happy, but he was serious. He wanted them to look like her, so that he would always be able to see her face when he looked at them. 

Padmé wiped away a stray tear that threatened to fall. She could not be weak right now. If not for her sake, then for her children. They were the last physical remnants of that past life and the love she shared, aside from the carving that hung around her neck underneath her nightgown. 

She walked back to her room. If she was not going to get any rest, the least she could do was go back through their shipment files and find out how much loss had actually occurred. Bail had no doubt sent her any remaining reports by now, and she considered herself beyond lucky to have his help through all of the pain and loss. 

It was hard enough making it day to day while hiding in secret, but Padmé had no doubt that she would be swallowed whole by grief if she did not have support. 

***

Hours passed before the sun came up, and Padmé had already packed up the small bags she and the twins had. Trying to wake up not one, but two sleepy five-year olds proved to be a laborious task, as it usually was. 

It was all worth it though, once their transport came, and they made their way to Hoth. 

All Padmé could hope for was that they could find a solution to their supply chain, and that this disruption of peace would not wage on longer than she could bear. Over the last five years, she had seen the Republic be dismantled and completely distorted from what it once was. The Empire was a cruel and unforgiving autocracy, one that she would do anything to tear apart. She could fix it, with the help of trusted friends and allies. 

Everything would be okay again… eventually. 

No. 

No, it wouldn’t. Without Anakin, peace would always escape her. But if nothing else, she could help put the Republic back together again. Piece by piece.

Chapter Text

There she was. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. A living angel walking amongst sinful, evil beings who could never fathom the light she naturally encapsulated.

Her brown curls were pinned up in a loose braided bun, a purple gown conforming to every curve along her body. She was breathtaking. She was perfect. She was his.

“Ani,” her voice was feather-light as she smiled at him from across the balcony. 

He couldn’t help the stirring in his chest as moved towards her, every step a new promise for salvation. If he could collapse into her arms, everything would be divine. No more arguments, no more war, no more pointless rules. They could just be together, as they were meant to be. Husband and wife.

But something shifted as he stepped closer to her. The edges of his world began to darken, and that comforting smile turned into a wide-eyed scream of terror.

Anakin tried to speak to her but he couldn’t, his voice entirely gone. All he could do was move towards her as the scene only decayed more and more. Her clothes changed, now shifting into white pants and a soft tan shirt that showed her pregnant stomach. Their babies, oh it was coming back to him now… he always forgot about this dream, no matter how often it tortured him. 

He was powerless to stop the end of it, her sleeve-covered arms clutching her throat wildly, her eyes pleading with him to stop. He tried in vain to help her, only to realize it was his own power inflicting the pain, his raised fist only tightening. 

Anakin gritted his teeth so hard he felt they might shatter, but it was no use. He stood before her now. She cried, helplessly, begging him as much as she could. 

He finally dropped her, with a lack of care that made him want to tear himself apart. Only now, his voice was able to come through.

“Padmé!” He went to grab her, but she was motionless. 

“No, no, n-no, Padmé, please! Forgive me,” he cried. “I only wanted to save you… I can’t live without you…”

***

Vader woke up with a sharp inhale, his body unmoving. He could not stand the sleep-paralysis that often followed such dreams. It made him feel weak and powerless, neither of which could be tolerated. 

The dark bed was cold, and he instinctually reached over the silken sheets to feel for her in bed. It was a movement he couldn’t help, even after five long years of not having her. He turned his head so that he could see the emptiness beside him. 

Vader could still hear her soft breaths, the same ones he would listen to in order to fall asleep when he’d been granted the rare freedom to rest beside her. 

“Ani…”

He quickly sat up once he could, his eyes running along the creases of the black blanket over top of him. His entire residence, from the obsidian walls to the harsh reds and blacks of any furniture that accentuated the various rooms, had been entirely designed by himself. A reminder of true power, while forcing the structure to be as formidable as it was imprisoning. 

It was strange, once it was completed. The dark halls were a stark difference to any home he’d known before; it was desolate and calculated, a stillness that settled throughout the estate despite the volcanic activity raging outside the large walls. Despite its gothic grandeur, it was hardly decorated aside from his private quarters. He had never been one to enjoy the lavish fixings that status could award him, even when he would visit Coruscant. The only things that truly brought him enjoyment were working on different machinery and spending time with his wife. 

No, not his wife. Padmé had been Anakin Skywalker’s wife, not Darth Vader’s. 

That life was no longer his own, he had to constantly remind himself. It was his own actions that had destroyed it, charring the last edges of peace he could have ever hoped for. He crushed it himself, just as he had crushed Padmé’s throat before Obi-Wan whisked her away. 

A crack suddenly formed along an adjacent mirror, his anger getting the better of him, and Vader scowled at his now-broken reflection. In many ways, he was still that same dead man: the same face, same hair, same robotic hand that now felt more attached to him than flesh. 

And yet he could not have been more different than the young Jedi he had once been. He no longer felt excitement for the future, or felt joy of any kind. The only peace he could find was the quiet within the evenings, right before he fell asleep, when he could still pretend that he would wake up next to her again. His angel. 

Weakness. 

He called for a servant droid which entered his quarters not long after, awaiting Vader’s command to help him with his suit. It had been Sidious’ idea, as everything else was doomed to be.

“They will fear you more if they do not know your face. A true master hidden behind the shadows.”

He had been right. Vader commanded every room he walked into whenever he wore the mask; it struck fear into every soldier who had to be near him. He was no longer a Jedi knight or a simple pilot- now he was entitled to respect and obedience no matter where he went. 

Besides, if he were recognized as the Sith that had killed Anakin Skywalker, it would make him that much more untouchable. 

He was feared as a literal demon, no more man than beast when he crossed the halls of any ship, Empire or otherwise. Vader did not need horns nor pitchfork. He hardly needed his lightsaber half the time either. No, he wielded a fist and that was all it took now.

He had made it so. 

“Lord Sidious has been trying to reach you, My Lord,” the droid said, a shallow politeness that teetered on being annoying. “He says it is urgent.”

Only when the helmet was secured in place did Vader respond.

“Has something happened?” the mechanical voice asked. 

It was not his own, nor purely robotic. Rather it was something else entirely; a newly born representation made to further veil the man behind the suit. 

Man? No, men do not act as you do. They do not corrupt or massacre. 

He willed the thoughts away. Anakin Skywalker had faced his crises of faith, and had destroyed himself for it.

Darth Vader was stronger than him. He no longer held frail beliefs with twisted ideologies. He saw the path forward, the only path now available to him. If that happened to be destruction, then so be it. 

He didn't bother to listen to the droid's reply as he marched out of his quarters, moving through the high-arched hallways to an even darker room with the projected image of his master waiting for him.

“Apprentice,” the sickly sound travelled, as it often did. 

Vader approached with more urgency, until he was directly facing the holoscreen. 

“Master,” he bowed his head before lifting. “What has happened?” 

Sidious was cloaked, as usual, a grim smile on his face. A sign of victory, no doubt.

“It seems a few of our Old Republic friends have been trying to smuggle supplies yet again. We were lucky to have been so scrupulous in our investigations,” he sneered.

“We have memorized their trails, certainly. But we are still struggling to pinpoint the main individuals behind this particular faction,” Vader said. 

It had been difficult enough waiting and carefully mapping out where these rebels were coming and going from, and even more so difficult to interrogate the ones they managed to catch. Of course it was always a stretch to even pinpoint which type of insurgents they were, but a pair of loose lips was pitiful enough to announce they were working under past Republic leaders.

It made sense. The quiet planning, the smuggling of only bare necessities over a few pieces of weaponry, the covertness of it all. These rebels were not loud, nor were they slow. It was a diligent process of procedure and plans.

Vader almost respected the amount of planning that went into their little excursions. It reminded him of similar strategies used by… someone he would not think about right now. 

“Well, prepare for that struggle to dissipate. I have sent you our spy droid’s report of all core personnel to this little regime. I think you will believe these findings to be most interesting, indeed.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Sidious was not finished yet.

“Once you do have a look, I have a very important task for you,” he grinned. “You are to track down each of them, and eliminate them. Their pesky scheme will surely crumble to the ground after their merry band of followers has seen their corpses. Complete this mission, and I shall be most proud of you, my apprentice.”

Darth Vader bowed his head respectfully. A loyalist to the end. 

“It shall be done, Master. I assure you. They will not escape me.”

Sidious nodded. “Good, very good. I would make haste with this task as well. My sources tell me one of them has already been seen retreating to a different base, no doubt.”

With another reassurance from Vader, Sidious’ image flickered before disappearing entirely, leaving Vader alone with but a few different droids. He wasted no time though, devoting the rest of his day to going through different sightings and footage they had garnered. Bail Organa was known to be untrustworthy, given his allegiance to the Old Republic, though he was quite difficult to track. If these rebels had enough funding to get even this far, there was substantial evidence that they would be directly tied to a politician; if the traitor actually was Organa, then this would be quite easy. Vader had some insights into how he worked, how he formed his ideas, and that would be a great advantage.

There was another, though. One who could not be spotted, and not for lack of trying. This individual was much smaller than most rebel smugglers and conspirators, though it was hard to tell if they were man or woman based on the shapelessness of their clothing. They also adorned a helmet, made of a sleek, ovular chrome that covered the entirety of their head, making their face impossible to identify. Even on the rare occurrences when audio had been picked up, their voice was entirely synthetic, and trying to determine its true sound had not yielded any results.

Vader had never crossed paths with them himself, but he was by no means unfamiliar with this particular thorn in his side. There had been too many mishaps, and even some combat, that, when studied, were always preceded by this masked person making a visit to whichever location the disruption had occurred. Vader had been keen on pinning them down for a while, and learning that they were ingratiated with this specific smuggling plot was wonderful news to him. He was eager to take out this pest on his own time, but now he had been given direct orders to get the job done. 

Should he play his cards right, Vader could take down two birds with one stone, and he would relish delivering the final blow.

If Bail was involved, that would be a victory in itself, but this person? Vader would take a special interest in killing.

It gnawed at him slightly, the urge he felt when looking at the faceless pictures. He felt called, no, pulled, rather, to go to them. Perhaps Sidious could sense just how much Vader wanted this particular victory; maybe it was something else entirely.

He couldn’t quite place it, but there was something about their lack of acknowledgement. They went out of their way to not be known, which Vader could certainly understand, but why? The politicians preferred to hide themselves in plain sight, only assassins and bounty hunters deigned to cover themselves. But why would a bounty hunter want to get involved in any kind of rebellion and not have their name be recognized? Not going out of their way to harbor the glory they were no doubt receiving from other insurgents? It did not make sense. 

All that was clear to him was a simple fact. Vader was going to take care of these rebels, once and for all. 

No matter what.