When Angels Weep

Chapter: 9

~~~~~~~~~~

How many times they came together Padmé didn't know. She lost count, time slowing to a wonderful crawl until at last they lay sated in the tangle of the sheets.

And then.... The inevitable.

One moment he was her Annie, gathering her against him in the darkest hours of the night, and the next he was that stranger. He pressed her head to his chest, fingers stroking her hair, catching in the curls. She'd only closed her eyes for a second, but that was all the time it had taken. Poof! Annie was gone and she was naked with this man pretending to be him.

Their blissful time together was no more. A chill swept her.

Shock replaced Padmé's joy, filled her up as though she was an empty pitcher, numbing her. She detected a marked difference in his touch, that difference growing with each pass of his fingers. Gone was the sense of love and cherishment behind each caress, replaced with a rising possessiveness.

If she had been filled up by her shock, then he was being filled up with cold arrogance.

Padmé struggled to remain calm. Now was not the time for the stranger to return, but he was returning and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

Suddenly, he rolled her over onto her back, staring down at her. That stare was just probing enough to be uncomfortable and it took all of Padmé's will to remain still. "What Anakin?" Surprisingly, her voice didn't quiver at all, though she did feel a trembling of her lower lip and hoped he'd attribute it to a lingering physical reaction to the past hours.

A pensive frown lowered his brow, his hand settling upon her stomach. When he spoke, there was a faint air of accusation. "You didn't call me Annie. Not once."

"Oh." She nodded. An oversight. She couldn't call him that though. There was no way Padmé could make herself do it. He wasn't her Annie. She kicked at the sheet twisted about her left ankle, ignoring the desire to grab it and drag it over herself.

"Why not?" He raised up a bit more. "You never call me Annie anymore. Even when we're alone you never..." Anakin trailed off. "I miss it," he finished with a shrug of one bare shoulder.

Padmé took her time answering, trying to find a reply that would make sense to him. "You once said that calling you that made you feel like a little boy. Now that we're parents, I thought --"

"I changed my mind," he said softly, fingers drawing tiny circles on her stomach. "I liked it, Padmé. Your voice when you said 'Annie'..." His expression shifted, a strange melánge of sadness, hurt, and joy. "From your lips it was...." Anakin seemed uncertain, almost tentative.

She sensed her Annie was about to make another appearance and she waited breathless for him. Two appearances in one night would make her ecstatic, especially if this appearance was longer than the first. "Yes?"

He took two shallow breaths, eyes slipping shut. His mouth closed, lips tight together. As she watched, his expression flattened, emotion coming back under control. Anakin reopened his eyes, gave a quick smile. "You're right, of course. Best to put the past away. No more 'Annie'."

She found those words horribly prophetic. No more Annie. He was fading before her eyes, being buried under the layers of this man. No matter how hard she tried to reach him, he kept slipping away, an elusive ghost in a mist.

Returning to her side, he laid his arm about her waist, dragging her hard against him, maneuvering her so that they were pressed flush together. She felt his chest against her back rising and falling and then his voice came, softer than before, on the back of a yawn. "I told you I wouldn't hurt you, my love." Smug. Almost gloating.

Padmé relaxed against him, the warmth of his body rolling over her, lulling her. No, her Annie hadn't hurt her at all. "I know," she whispered.

"You worry too much.. When we're ruling, you won't need to worry at all."

Though she waited for more, he didn't say another word. After awhile, Padmé heard soft snores from his lips and let herself drift into sleep.

She woke at dawn to the possessive trailing of Anakin's fingers on her body. Her level of consciousness rose gradually to the point that she was able to open her eyes and look at him. He was fully dressed beside the bed, leaning over her. Padmé started to roll onto her side, to move and waken fully, but he touched her brow and the effort was far too gargantuan. She no longer felt like waking. Sleep sucked at her, sinking her in it's mire.

"I'll be back in a couple hours," she heard him say and then suddenly Padmé was awake again, gasping as she sat up.

Padmé, wake up. Wake up already!

Time had passed, perhaps an hour or a little over it. Her head throbbed as though she hadn't gotten enough restful sleep and Padmé blinked, confused. What had woken her? Had Anakin really told her he'd be back in a couple hours or had that been part of a dream? She found she couldn't bring the memory of him beside her into clarity.

Now, came that familiar voice, the one she was having trouble placing. It has to be now, before he returns. You've not much time.

Now? Now for what? What was she running out of time for? Urgency infused her limbs.

Get out of bed!

The voice was loud, yelling, and she scrambled from the bed, drawing on her robe as Artoo came into the room. Finding her awake, he stopped, giving a chirping whir. Anakin's holoimage appeared and Padmé realized Artoo had recorded it without Anakin's knowledge. Very sneaky. She loved this little droid more each day. Her husband was conversing with a guard, making the security arrangements for the day. She watched and listened.

"--none up by the apartment. Watch the building entrances and make note of anyone on the landing pad. Though I sincerely doubt my wife will feel up to going anywhere or having visitors." His tone was self-satisfied.

"Yes, sir. And transmissions?"

"Ignore those to and from her office, monitor all others. Keep jamming off-planet transmissions both ways."

"What of the handmaiden?"

Anakin paused. "Just for today, monitor her activities and her transmissions. If she leaves, follow her. Inform me where she goes, who she meets or if she speaks with a seeming stranger overlong. Only today. I'm curious about her doings."

The image winked off, Artoo turning, moving back down the hallway.

Erase the recording, Padmé.

Following Artoo, she stopped him, erased the moments he'd recorded. Threepio was still powered down along the wall where he'd been the night before. Padmé clutched her robe to her, standing staring around the room, still a bit confused as to what she needed to do. There was a push along her back, the sensation of someone propelling her across the room. She didn't resist it.

Bail Organa. He is an ally. Trust him.

Clarity snapped onto her mind. Bail would be in his office this early. He was normally an early riser. She wondered what he'd thought of their breakfast meeting being cancelled, then shook her head. Focus. She could contact her own office, claim transmission problems and have them reroute her to Bail's office. Simple. In minutes, she saw Bail's image before her.

"Padmé," he exclaimed, concern on his features.

"I've little time, Bail. I need help."

"I know. Believe me, I know. What can I do?"

She didn't ask how he knew. It seemed natural to her that Bail would know. He was a fount of knowledge to begin with. As she spoke, Padmé continued to feel the comforting hands on her shoulders, though there was no one behind her. Calm swept over her, yet her hands shook uncontrollably. "Find someone to smuggle me off Coruscant."

"When?"

"Soon."

"How soon?"

"I don't know. I can't answer that. When the opportunity is there." She shook her head. "It could be tomorrow, next week or months from now. I can't give you a definite timeframe. I know that makes it harder."

"How many?"

"Me, the babies, Dormé and the droids." She was certain she could trust Dormé again. Her handmaiden didn't hide the conversations Anakin had with her on Padmé's state of mind. In fact, Dormé didn't hide anything from Padmé if she could help it.

"Done."

Artoo gave a whistle of approval.

"My office will contact you with details. We'll be discreet, of course."

Bail's aide, Sheltay Retrac, would contact her. That was what he meant. Sheltay defined the word 'discreet'. Padmé swallowed hard, uncertain how to bring up the subject of payment. "Bail, I can't.... I have no credits. Anakin --"

"Shh." He raised a hand. "It's already taken care of. I'll move with utmost haste. Try and rest easy, Padmé. We'll get you to safety."

Hurry, Padmé. He's on his way back.

Padmé gave the hall towards the lift and then the landing pad frantic glances, uncertain where Anakin would be entering the apartment. When her glance returned to Bail's image, it was gone as though it had never been there to begin with. She quickly checked to be certain she hadn't left anything powered up that hadn't been and hurried back to the bedroom, throwing off her robe and slipping beneath the covers.

You did well, that voice comforted her and for a few seconds, before she closed her eyes, Padmé thought she saw the outline of a man crouched beside the bed. He looked like Qui Gonn Jin. Absurd. Qui Gonn was long dead and the only place he could be alive was in memories. She was hallucinating, that was all.

Padmé slept and when dreams rushed upon her, they were of a cloaked figure setting a baby in the arms of Owen Lars and of a young man with her Annie's eyes staring at a sunrise.

She was not awake to see Anakin return, to watch his suspicious prowling of the apartment or the puzzled expression that came when his search revealed nothing and no one out of the ordinary.

~~~~~~~~~~

What Padmé asked of him was going to be difficult, yet Bail didn't for one moment hesitate. He set Sheltay directly to the task. She slipped from his office and he didn't doubt that by tomorrow morning, she'd have contacts combing Coruscant's underground for a suitable smuggler. It wouldn't be long before plans were in place and Bail decided it would be better if he didn't know details. That way, if Anakin realized Bail had aided his wife, he couldn't be pressed to tell the former Jedi where Padmé was.

He tapped his fingers on the desk top. Padmé's courage constantly amazed him. She was one strong woman to remain on Coruscant as long as she had. And close to Anakin at that. He fervently hoped they could smuggle her away.

By now, Bail had come to realize that Yoda was right. Palpatine had something in mind for Padmé. He kept ordering meetings cancelled and always giving the reason that Padmé's family needed her far more than the Senate. Besides, her replacement was there. She'd trained the man well before she'd gone into labor, so really, she wasn't needed.

He grimaced. Of course she wasn't needed in Palpatine's view. She was a voice for democracy and democracy was dead. In a rising Empire, she was obsolete.

He'd just have to wait for Sheltay to report back to him. With difficulty, Bail put Padmé from his mind and began his work for the day.

~~~~~~~~~~

Parts of the HoloNet were down. Padmé didn't need to be told why. She knew very well what was happening. Those day trips Anakin made to nearby systems. The legions of troops rumored to accompany him. She'd have to be stupid not to see it and Padmé was not stupid.

Systems were already being forced into submission and Anakin was entrenched in the slaughtering she knew had to be happening. No, not simply entrenched, but leading it. She'd ceased to be surprised by that. She knew what he was capable of by now. Her eyes weren't closed. Padmé had ceased to be blind to the dark inside of her husband since Mustafar.

What parts of the HoloNet that were up gave glowing, rosy views of the galaxy and this Empire. There were occasional reports of uprisings quickly squashed by great hero Anakin Skywalker and troops, letting peace once more settle.

Dormé touched her arm and Padmé turned to her. Her handmaiden's gaze was troubled and she spoke her mind without leading up to the subject. "There was blood on his clothes, my lady. The clothes he had on yesterday." Dormé's gaze slipped over her, as though wondering if Padmé was hiding cuts on her body. "I saw it when I picked up your room a few moments ago."

She sighed. Sometimes he did have blood on his clothes. Usually he didn't. A lightsaber cauterized wounds though, didn't it? "He came in that way last night. It was late."

Dormé's gaze searched hers long and hard before relief settled in her eyes and she nodded. "Was he injured?"

"No. He wasn't physically hurt." Padmé wondered at the mental toll upon Anakin. All this killing. She heard one of the babies begin to cry down the hall and wanted to cry herself.

"I'll see to them, my lady. Take some time for yourself." With a small, reassuring smile, Dormé disappeared down the hall.

Padmé went into the bedroom and took a prettily carved box from her closet. Sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed, she opened the lid, another long sigh leaving her.

How sad it was to put away a memory and know that the moment of it was gone forever into the past. Padmé clasped her hands about the japor snippet she'd continued wearing about her neck, closed her eyes, and gave the chain holding it a fierce tug. The chain clasp broke, spilling the chain down. Opening her hands, she stared at the snippet, remembering when Anakin had given it to her.

He'd been a child, shivering from cold, missing his mother. She'd wrapped him up, comforted him and he had given her this snippet he'd carved with his own two hands. If only the man he'd become were so easily comforted as the child he'd been. If only the innocence of that child had remained in his heart. But it hadn't. It was gone.

With a sadness nearly as overwhelming as what she'd felt on Mustafar, Padmé put the snippet in the box and closed the lid, all the while feeling as though a part of her was forever gone. Her hands raised, wiped at her cheeks, swiping away the tears that coursed down them.

Think positive, she admonished herself. Someday, when her Annie returned for good, she was going to take that snippet back out and wear it, but for now, it would remain there with the rest of her treasured memories. It would be put away and safe.

Rather than return the box to her closet, Padmé put it out on one table and rearranged the rest of the knick knacks around it. She resisted the urge to open the lid and stare at the snippet, finally deciding she'd better occupy herself elsewhere or she would give in to that urge. And then she'd cry the whole day long.

She found Dormé in the twins' room, telling them softly and in all seriousness that they really needed to take another nap. They hadn't slept long enough in her opinion. Shmi was having none of it and Padmé laughed a little, grateful for a reason to smile. "You know they're not going back to sleep now."

"I can pretend," Dormé replied cheerfully.

"Don't worry about it. We're going out for awhile. I'd like to eat in one of the cafés this afternoon." There was a silent question in Dormé's eyes. "Anakin has generously allotted me an allowance to be used in the dining establishments. Pre-approved, with instructions he is to be contacted if used in anyplace other than a restaurant." Padmé raised a brow, unable to mask the bitterness to her tone even if she wanted to try. "So let's eat out."

The rest of the afternoon was spent in one café, enjoying the good food and the jovial atmosphere of those gathered there.

~~~~~~~~~~

Something was different about her. Vader divided his attention between the strategy game and Padmé, trying to pinpoint what was different. It wasn't a case of if something was, for he knew it with a certainty. He could feel it. His wife was different, but how?

Across from him, Dormé was biting her lower lip, her hand hovering over two different pieces, as though she couldn't decided which to move. Her gaze searched the board, noting the positions of his pieces before she raised her eyes to meet his. Her voice was cross. "Can't I just concede the game?"

Vader smirked at her. "No. There's a way out, Dormé. You're not trapped. Don't you see it?"

Those genteel games they'd begun with were a thing of the past. Vader played to win. He accepted no failure in himself in each game and Dormé's skills had ceased to match his own. He'd taken to nearly winning and then goading her into trying to turn the tables. Of course she failed every time. It was interesting to watch her frustrations rising. Dormé would frown at first, eyes narrowing and then she'd lean forward in her chair until she was perched on the edge. Gradually, her temper would begin to slip, yet she hid it well. Not once did her temper explode.

"No, I don't see it." She shook her head.

"You concede so quickly?"

"Yes," she said, lifting her hand from the board. "I surrender. You've won. Again."

Sounded like she didn't appreciate her losing streak. Poor Dormé. Now she knew how he'd felt when they first started playing. "Very well. Here's what you could have done." Slowly, Vader showed her what she could have done to win the game. When finished, he sat back and gave Dormé a charming smile.

She rolled her eyes and stood. "I'm done playing for the night. My lady, do you need anything before I retire?"

"No thank you," Padmé replied, looking up from her reading. "Sleep well."

When the handmaiden had gone, Padmé looked over at him. "That wasn't very nice, Anakin."

He gestured to the board. "Play you a game?"

"Not tonight."

"You always say that. 'Not tonight'. Like you've actually considered playing when I know you haven't. You know Padmé, I don't think you taught her the game. I think she was stretching the truth." She didn't rise to the bait, neither denying nor agreeing. He put the game away and joined her on the divan, snatching data pad from her and tossing it aside. "What wasn't very nice?"

Padmé tried to reach across him for the pad, finally sitting back in exasperation when he remained in her way. "It's a game, Anakin. You don't have to win every game."

"On the contrary, my love. I play to win."

"Be nice to Dormé."

"I am nice to Dormé," he protested. "I tell her how she could have won, don't I?" Padmé gasped and moved to stand, but he grasped her, tugged her back down beside him and drew her onto his lap. And then it hit him what was different. He smoothed his fingers down her chest and back up. "You're not wearing the japor snippet I carved for you."

Her hand covered his. "The chain broke. I haven't had time to replace it yet."

Vader loosed his hand from hers and tipped her chin up. He stared into her eyes. She was telling the truth. The chain was broken. He blinked. "We'll buy you a new chain then, hmm?"

He felt a rush of tender feelings for her welling up. She really was beautiful right now, with her hair down, spilling over his arm. He let the feelings grow. So beautiful....

Anakin smiled at Padmé. "The babies are asleep. Dormé's out of the way. What's say we retire for the night ourselves?"

The seriousness left her eyes and Anakin could see her love for him taking it's place. Her hand raised, curved about his neck. The kiss she gave him was tender and sweet and Anakin took his wife into their bedroom.

~~~~~~~~~~

No more games. Dormé stood staring out her window, her arms crossed. She wasn't going to play any more games with Anakin. He'd gone from being pleasant while they played to being ruthless in his strategies, as though they were really at war instead of only playing a game. She missed their earlier games and the joking he'd done. She missed that air of relaxation.

Dormé turned from the window and stepped to the hallway. The apartment was silent. She couldn't sleep. It wouldn't do to wake Padmé because inevitably, she'd end up waking Anakin as well. He was always grouchy when accidentally woken.

Without considering what she was doing, she dressed and threw on a cloak. She'd go out for awhile, take a stroll and work off some of this nervous energy she possessed.

Dormé left the building and not once did she notice Sheltay Retrac behind her in the shadows. Nor did she notice the tall thin man accompanying her.