Old New Borrowed Blue
set in the The Senator's Wife au universe.
Takes place five months
after 'Revenge of the Sith', three months after Small Mercies
Author's note: this
story is not beta read and will probably be updated to correct typos and non-GFFA
His hand plays lightly
across her back, his warmth sinking easily through the thin material of her
nightgown. She lays there, perfectly still, allowing him to touch her.
She takes a deep breath, willing herself to calm. He rubs her shoulder
lightly, then the exposed flesh of her neck.
It's too much.
It's all too much. She sits up in bed, curling herself into a little
ball, resting her forehead against her knees.
"I'm sorry," she
says quietly. "I'm sorry."
He sighs and sits
up in bed as well, turning on the bedside lamp. "It's okay, Padmé.
We don't have to."
She looks up at
him, mindless of the tears streaming down her cheeks. "I want to,"
she insists. "I want to be a real wife to you."
"It's okay," he
says again, though the defeat in his voice is clear. And she doesn't
blame him. How could she? He deserves more than this. But
despite her desire to be a good wife, she simply can't.
"You need to speak
to a physician," he says gently.
Wiping her tears
away with the back of her hand, she shakes her head. "No. I'm
fine. I'll get past this. I just need time."
"I'm not talking
about the sex, Padmé," he presses. "I'm talking about your life.
Depression after childbirth can be very dangerous. You need help."
"I don't need help.
I have Sheltay."
"You know I don't
mean help with the babies," he replies. "Though you do need help.
You turn Sheltay away as often as you can. You're not sleeping.
You're not eating."
"I'm fine," she
says with finality.
He sighs and then
sinks back down in the bed and turns off the light. In the dark, she
gets out of bed and makes her way into the twins' room to watch them sleep.
She curls into the rocking chair in the nursery. Bail is right, of
course. She isn't eating or sleeping. She feels awful. But
a trip to the doctor isn't going to fix that. While Padmé doesn't
doubt that the hormonal changes following the twins' birth are wreaking havoc
with her body chemistry, that isn't why she's depressed.
She has been mourning for the last five months.
But now, she's not
certain if she's mourning the death of Anakin Skywalker or the life of Darth
Vader. She sobs quietly, biting down on her hand to stifle the noise.
She remembers her prayers in those dark hours and days after it was announced
the Jedi were traitors and would all be hunted down and killed. She
remembers her offers to any power that would listen. She would do anything,
anything to spare Anakin's life.
She never dreamed
how painful it could be to have her wish granted.
Vader is equally
abhorred and feared throughout the galaxy. Murderer of children, exterminator
of the Jedi. He is the symbol of Imperial power and fear. A month
ago, he tracked Fang Zar, a trusted political ally, to Alderaan and murdered
him in cold blood. Like any sane person, she hates and fears Vader.
But the most shameful
thing is that every day, she thanks the heavens he is alive.
around and has to look sharply down to meet the young boy’s gaze. He
is urgently trying to press a piece of flimsiplast into her hand. Before
she can ask any questions or even refuse, the boy is gone and she is left
holding the flimsi.
around the busy open-air market, searching for Vader. She can't find
him, but she can almost feel him watching her. Thankfully, Sheltay doesn’t
seem to have noticed the commotion. She is inspecting fresh fruit with
Luke perched gregariously on her hip. In Padmé’s own grasp,
Leia makes a swipe for the flimsi and Padmé has to quickly pull it
away. With a sigh, Padmé finally looks at the flimsi. There
is a single symbol, the same rune that is carved onto her piece of Japor
wood and a time and a set of coordinates.
pounds in her chest. Not again. In the two months since she spoke
with Lord Vader – with Anakin Skywalker – he has pursued her relentlessly.
So far she has avoided speaking with him, but he isn't giving up.
He wants to meet. Tonight. She breaks out in a cold sweat, nausea
tightening her gut. No, Force, no.
"Are you okay?"
into Sheltay's concerned eyes and smiles sadly.
Sheltay puts a gentle
arm around Padmé's shoulders. "Let's go home."
the veranda, absently turning the scrap of flimsi over and over in her hand.
She doesn't want to see him. She can't. But she can't continue
this way either. The constant push and pull from her former lover
are driving her mad. She knows she gives him every opportunity to approach
her, every opportunity to make contact. She can't help herself.
She so desperately needs to be reassured he's really alive.
Part of her doesn't
care. Doesn't care that he's Vader. Doesn't care that he murdered
his Jedi brethren.
And that terrifies
She doesn't trust
herself. She feels so helpless against the rushing tide of her emotions.
But as soon as she
sees him, she flees. She doesn't have the nerve to actually speak to
him. She doesn't even know what she could possibly say. Certainly
she has no intention of telling him about Luke and Leia. And she has
no intention of resuming their former relationship. She is a married
woman with a loving husband.
She steels her resolve.
She's going to do this. She's going to meet him. And she's going
to make certain he never contacts her again. She has to. Luke
and Leia and Bail deserve more from her than this wan, flighty creature she
has become. It's time for hard decisions. She has to get on with
She watches him
slowly cross the landing platform and it's all she can do to stay rooted
to the ground. She wants to run – whether to him or away from him,
she isn't certain. Both scenarios hold a great deal of appeal.
He stops several
feet from her. "You came," he says, thrusting it at her like a challenge.
There's that voice
again – raspy and damaged, so unlike Anakin's. But there, beneath the
dark hood, when he looks at her … his eyes are the same blue as Luke's.
She tries to rein in her thoughts, to give him the speech she has been writing
in her head for hours. But when she looks at him, it all fades away.
"I can't – " she starts and then falls silent.
She shakes her head
and paces several feet away from him, already infuriated by his smug manner.
This is killing her to do this and he seems so flip. "I came here
to tell you this has to stop. You have to leave me alone."
He follows, closing
the distance. "You don't want me to leave you alone."
She looks up at
him, pleading. It's night. She snuck away from home with some
lame excuse she can't even remember. At least Bail isn't home.
He had to return to Alderaan, but he will be back tomorrow. Padmé
knows the twins are safe with Sheltay.
But what is she
doing here? A clandestine meeting with Lord Vader under cover of night?
Is she mad? It's windy on the landing platform and the cold air cuts
easily through her cloak. She is shivering violently though whether
from cold or nerves, she isn't certain.
"Kriff," he curses, pulling her
close, wrapping his voluminous dark robes around her body.
As much as her mind
screams to push him away, she allows him to pull her close, luxuriating in
the warmth of his body. A sob catches in her throat. He smells
the same. He shouldn't smell the same. It's unjustly cruel.
Before she fully
comprehends what is happening, he has her bundled into his private shuttle.
She sits there silently, in the co-pilot's chair as he takes the controls.
She knows this is inevitable. They have to discuss things. She
has to end this.
They don't speak
or interact. She sits, staring at his profile while he keeps his eyes
fixed straight ahead. What does he want with her? She notes that
they are leaving the Ambassadorial Sector and heading for Orowood. Something
inside her bristles. Orowood is the priciest real estate on Coruscant,
even Bail doesn't have enough capital to secure a residence there.
It's reserved to the financial elite – shipping magnates, heads of crime
syndicates, presidents of technology and security conglomerates – and apparently
for the Emperor's best henchman. Does he think an address in Orowood
will somehow legitimize him? Does he think he can impress her with
his newfound wealth? He lands the shuttle on the upper level of some
monstrous apartment building – the Vivendi Towers if she isn't mistaken.
She wasn't aware they were even finished yet. The Towers are certainly
the most exclusive residence in the galaxy aside from the Imperial Palace.
He offers her a
hand, which she refuses, pushing herself out of the chair. He is clearly
irritated, but says nothing, preceding her from the shuttle, across the small
landing platform and into the apartment. She looks around the apartment,
shocked at the opulence. She can only imagine the exorbitant amount
of credits expended decorating the space. She knows he brought her here
in an attempt to impress her. She smolders with anger. Does he
think her affections are available to the highest bidder?
"I guess the Empire
pays better than the Republic," she says bitterly. He turns and gives
her a sharp look which she ignores. "Or is this a perk of the job?
Become right hand to the Emperor, get a great bachelor pad?"
He shrugs out of
the heavy zeyd-cloth cloak, leaving him clad in a black tunic and pants not
unlike the ones he wore as a Jedi. Take the bantha out of the dune
sea, but you can't take the dune sea out of the bantha …
"The Emperor doesn't
know about his place."
She purses her lips
together, walking away from him to inspect the rest of the apartment.
"I find that very hard to believe."
He follows, shadowing
her closely. "I don't want you involved in anything Imperial."
She turns and looks
up at him. "So aside from the obvious – like the fact that my husband
is in the Imperial Senate - when you killed Fang Zar at my residence on Alderaan,
it wasn't Imperial business?"
His expression is
unreadable. "Fang Zar died aboard a Jedi controlled shuttle."
she counters waspishly. "You tracked him to my home and you killed him
on your Master's orders."
"Alderaan is Organa's
home, not yours."
She turns away,
walking to the expanse of windows and staring out at the night. She
watches his reflection in the transparisteel, studying him as he comes to
stand behind her.
"How is your husband?"
he asks with feigned casualness. "Did you tell him where you were going
she flinches, but tries to recover. "Of course. I tell Bail everything."
He tsks under his
breath. "Now who's lying, Senator?"
She turns to face
him, glaring. "My marriage is good."
"Your marriage is
a joke," he says flatly. "Organa is an old man. It's a good thing
you're getting practice changing diapers because soon they'll be his."
She grinds her teeth
together. "Bail is quite …vital."
"Yeah, right." He crosses his arms over his chest, appraising her for
a long moment. He gestures toward her with his hand. "I like
what you've got going on here. This general sense of dishevelment.”
Fuming, she demands,
"Are you saying I'm unattractive?"
"Oh, no," he clarifies
vehemently, leaning in close, conspiratorially. "I'm saying you look
like you haven't been fucked worth a damn in a long, long time. You look unsatisfied."
She opens her mouth,
aghast, intending to say something about his parentage, but he abruptly pulls
back, smiling nastily. "I need a drink," he says and turns on his heel
disappearing into the kitchen.
there, shaken. What is going on? What is she doing? Even
at their worst, she and Anakin never traded barbs like this. She doesn't
speak this way to anyone.
But the worst part
about it is she likes it. Her heart is
pounding, her mind racing. For the first time in months she feels
something utter than crushing despair. It's intoxicating.
He returns from
the kitchen carrying two glasses. He hands one to her.
"What is this?"
she asks, looking at the amber liquid warily.
he says, throwing back the liquor in one gulp. "Drink it."
Grimacing, she sets
the glass on a nearby table, untouched. “I’m not having a cocktail
with you in your … lair.”
“Now I’m a vornskyr?”
“I was thinking
something decidedly more reptilian.”
“Do you any idea how many millions of credits I spent on this place?”
“Oh, I can imagine,”
she says, clearly unimpressed. She sighs deeply, crossing her arms over
her chest. "What are we doing?" she asks softly.
"Fighting," he says
plainly. "And hopefully fucking." He gives her a wicked grin.
her head, looking out at the skyline. "I'm serious. What are we
doing? What are you doing?" She closes
the distance between them. "Who are you, Anakin? What happened?
How did you end up the Emperor's executioner?"
He frowns at her,
clearly unhappy with the change of conversation topics.
When he doesn’t
answer, she presses, “How could you murder Jedi?”
“The Jedi betrayed
the Republic,” he snaps.
She shakes her head
sadly. “There was no Republic left to betray, Anakin. How could
you do it? How could you murder younglings? What about Obi-Wan?
He was like your brother.”
“Obi-Wan tried to
kill me!” he yells, his chest
heaving with the force of his breath, his faced flushed, perspiration dotting
his forehead. He turns away and starts pacing the lavishly appointed
living room like a caged beast. “Your words are treason, Senator.
I could have you arrested.”
She watches him
warily. “Is that what you want?”
He stops and glares
at her sullenly. “No. I want you. I want to rule the galaxy
with you at my side. I’m stronger than Palpatine. I can overthrow
She pales, reflexively
taking a step away from him.
nothing,” he bellows. “I did it for you. All of it for you and
you throw it in my face.”
She stares at him,
having no idea what to say, no idea how to quiet the rage – and possibly madness
– inside him. "Anakin, I never asked for this."
"I know," he snaps,
baring his teeth at her like a rabid beast. "You asked nothing from
me. You didn't even do me the courtesy of telling me you were marrying
another man. You let me love you and then you treated me as if my love
She rocks back on
her heels, reeling from his vitriol. Did she do this to him?
Did she drive him to commit these horrors? She shakes her head, quickly
blinking back the tears that threaten to fall. She handled things with
him badly. She will own up to that. But she will not be held accountable for
the atrocities he perpetrated. "You didn't do this for me," she whispers.
He growls, turning
and throwing his empty glass at the windows. The glass shatters on impact
with the transparisteel, splintering into a million tiny shards. Padmé
flinches away despite being well out of range.
Her head instantly
snaps to him and she watches as he grimaces, curling in on himself and clutching
at his chest in pain. He takes a few deep, shaking breaths and slowly
pushes himself back to his full height, staring at her defiantly.
"Were you injured?"
she asks carefully.
He sticks his chin
out. "I told you Obi-Wan tried to kill me."
She swallows thickly.
He shakes his head
with finality, looking away. "Nothing that concerns you."
He takes a step,
but his gait catches mid step and it's more of a stagger. She can see
his jaw muscles flex as he grinds his teeth together.
she crosses the room to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "Anakin,
He looks at her
and smiles a wry, bitter smile. "My … injuries are slow to heal."
He bows his head and then looks to the side, away from her. "The Emperor
says it's mental. As soon as I learn to control my powers, I will be
able to heal myself."
"What kind of injuries,
Anakin," Padmé presses forcefully.
He shakes his head
again, taking several lurching steps away from her. "I'll be fine,"
he says. "I just took another dose of meds. They'll take a few
minutes to work and then I'll be fine."
She stares at him,
aghast. "You're taking drugs now?"
He glares at her.
"Not drugs. Pain medication. Do you want to see
what dear Obi-Wan – my brother – did to me?"
for her reply, he rips open the tunic, revealing his horribly scarred and
disfigured chest. The wound – a burn, it had to be a burn – has healed,
but not well. The flesh is shiny and red with huge, disfiguring suture
marks bisecting his chest. It looks like he was slapped together by
jawas, not surgeons.
She looks back to
his face and he's staring at her defiantly, but his eyes are glassy with unshed
tears and his breathing is labored. He expects her to be horrified,
Closing the distance
between them, she places one hand against his cheek and the other ever so
gently against his chest. "Oh, Anakin," she breathes, tears streaming
down her cheeks.
She doesn't know
how long they stand there, but a long time. Eventually he lifts his
hand, cupping her jaw and wiping her tears away with the pad of his thumb.
She looks up at him and his color is better, his breathing less labored.
"I miss you," he
Though she knows
to the very depth of her soul that it's a mistake, she replies, "I miss you
He lowers his head,
gently pressing his lips to hers. She sighs, kissing him back.
It's slow and tentative, this thumb plays along her jaw as his lips nip hesitantly
at hers. Her tears start again, but she ignores them, threading her
fingers through his hair and deepening the kiss.
Somehow they end
up on the sofa, face to face, her straddling him, sitting in his lap.
She pulls back, breaking the kiss. "Am I hurting you?"
He shakes his head,
pulling her back for another kiss. She suspects he's lying, but he obviously
isn't going to stop what he's doing. What he's doing is slowly, but
steadily working her out of her clothes. He shifts, laying her back
on the sofa. She wears nothing but a pair of pale blue panties.
She stares up at
him, far more nervous than she's ever felt with him. She blinks away
tears, staring blindly at the ceiling while she removes Bail's ring, setting
it on top of her discarded clothes. She doesn't know what he thinks
the gesture means. She isn't sure herself what it means. All
she knows is she can't do this while wearing her wedding band.
He looks down at
her and despite his earlier lewd comments, there is nothing obscene or vengeful
in the way he touches her. His fingers circle her wrist, reverently
touching the japor snippet. He eventually releases her wrist and splays
his hand across her ribcage, grimacing at the clear outline of her bones pressing
against skin. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to one of her prominent
rib bones, nipping his way up her torso. He licks the swell of her breast.
She squeezes her
eyes tightly shut, feeling the tears roll down her face to wet her hair.
He nips along her collarbone and she threads her fingers through his hair,
dragging his face to her, kissing him hard. He complies eagerly, using
a knee to part her legs, insinuating his body against hers until her hips
cradle his own. He's hard, rubbing against her between their clothes
and she feels like she's on fire. She pulls at his tunic and he immediately
captures her hand, pinning it to the sofa cushions. With a wave of his
hand, he uses the Force to douse the lights.
There is enough
light streaming through the windows to see him, but not clearly. Emboldened
by the darkness, he strips out of his tunic. His boots and pants quickly
follow and he skims her panties down her legs before once again covering her
body with his own. She gasps at the feel of his naked body against her
own, wrapping her legs around his waist. She runs her hand lightly down
his side, her fingers skimming over barely healed scar tissue. Her
heart aches at the extensiveness of his injuries.
With a growl – of
impatience, not pain – he pulls her hand away, once again pinning it to the
cushions. Capturing her lips in a searing kiss, he insinuates the other
hand between their bodies, rubbing her intimately. She gasps into his
mouth, her back arching as his finger slips inside her.
He bites her neck
and then repositions himself to slide into her. He presses forward slowly,
groaning around his bite as his cock slides into her slick, wet heat.
She is beyond words, lost in the feel of him. When he is finally buried
to the hilt, he stills, breathing hard. He kisses her once and then
breaks off, nipping at her earlobe. His lips brush against the shell
of her ear and with surprising tenderness and desperation he vows, "You may
be Organa's wife, but you are mine."
Unable to speak,
she nods, dragging his lips back to hers. While their tongues duel,
he pulls back and once again slides into her. He starts a steady, sustained
rhythm that has her tipping over the edge into bliss in a matter of moments.
He groans at the feel of her orgasm rippling along his rigid length, biting
down on his bottom lip as he struggles not to follow her. When her sweet
tremors have finally stopped, he thrusts once more and then pulls out, bracing
himself above her and spilling low on her abdomen. They stay like that
for a long moment, him braced above her, both breathing hard, both slick
He eventually pushes
himself up so he's kneeling between her legs. He grabs a piece of clothing
– she's not sure whose – and wipes her clean. Neither of them says a
word, but Padmé silently acknowledges his wisdom. The last thing
they need right now is another pregnancy – especially when he doesn't even
know the first one was his too.
He gets up, standing
next to the sofa and pulls her into a sitting position. He wraps her
in his tunic before pulling his trousers back on. He turns on a small
lap that provides meager illumination and then disappears into the kitchen.
She can hear him rummaging around and he appears moments later with an assortment
of food and a glass of wine, which he hands to her.
She sips it tentatively,
watching him unwrap the food and set it on a small table he dragged close
to the sofa. He hands her a piece of cheese and she looks at him warily.
"You need to eat," he says plainly.
No doubt he's right.
She nibbles at the cheese and is shocked to find that for the first time
in months, she's actually hungry. He laughs as she pushes him out of
the way, grabbing a piece of bread. They sit there in comfortable silence.
He watches her eat, occasionally stealing sips of wine, his fingers playing
along the bare skin of her leg.
It's late morning
before she returns to the penthouse at 500 Republica. Sheltay gives
her a questioning look, but says nothing as Padmé heads for the fresher.
She and Anakin eventually moved to the bedroom which was as ridiculously lavish
as the rest of the apartment. They made love again and finally slept.
It was morning when
she woke alone. She suspects he let her sleep both because she needed
it and because it would make her excuses to Bail all the more difficult.
A shuttle and driver were waiting to convey her home. She spent the
entire ride staring at her wedding band and her Japor snippet.
with herself for betraying Bail. She knows it isn't right. But
last night nourished her in ways she cannot explain. It gave her proof
that something of Anakin Skywalker remains – that he hasn't been entirely
consumed by Darth Vader.
She has no idea
what she's doing. She has no idea what will happen. She loves
Anakin. And she loves Bail. And for the first time in a very
long time, she feels like she can live with that, no matter how uncomfortable
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