Their Lady Adyé [Star Wars]

The Most Precious Thing

Vader stalked into his apartments late that evening still in a foul mood, his adequately mortal punishment for the admiral who had put him in such a mood no longer feeling quite so satisfying. It hadn't helped that Tarkin had merely sneered at him and made a derisive comment scarcely worth repeating that made Vader wish yet again that he were free to do away with Palpatine's favourite. His temper roiled, flaring and ebbing as his thoughts circled between replaying the afternoon's exchange and fantasizing about the startled look of abject terror sure to appear on Tarkin's gaunt face were Vader to just reach out and squeeze...

He nearly threw himself into the chair of his workstation, the wave of frustration bubbling up again as he instinctively went to massage his temple. The frustration melted into rage as he was harshly reminded of the mask that prevented any such thing. He had been wearing the accursed thing for years now, and yet, there were still moments where he almost forgot. He sighed heavily, another agonizing wave of frustration going through him as the reaction was stymied by the respirator that kept him breathing.

"Master?" He jerked at the small, hesitant voice by his knee, his gaze snapping down to the little face that was looking up at him from below the workbench. Vader bit back another heavy sigh, not only because he didn't want to frighten her any more than she already was from his angry entrance, but also because he knew it would be a futile gesture. He couldn't quite help the sharpness in his tone, though.

"You are supposed to be asleep, Athara." She ducked her small head at the harshness of the admonishment, a reaction that made Vader inwardly flinch, but her blue-grey eyes were soon looking up at him again, wide and pleading. Vader frowned at the expression, a wash of something he thought might, perhaps, be tenderness softening his voice as he spoke next.

"Where is your droid?" Vader didn't see the protocol droid he'd modified for watching and teaching Athara when he wasn't around anywhere. Her cheeks flushed bright red with shame. Vader's brow rose as a flicker of amusement went through him. He was abruptly rather interested in hearing her answer. She ducked her head again, her hands twisting her nightdress nervously as she pointedly didn't look at him.

"I think I broke him," came her small, muffled voice. As she spoke Vader finally caught sight of the steel-grey droid slumped over near the door to Athara's section of the apartments, just through the side door of his workroom. "He kept trying to get me to go back to sleep and I couldn't. I wanted to come sit in here, and he wouldn't let me. So I got mad...and he broke." He could sense that she had been pleased at the time, but now felt horrible. Fighting back an unbidden surge of amusement, Vader reached out, using the Force to examine the droid, looking for damage. He nearly laughed—a truly alien feeling after so many years—when he realized she hadn't even actually broken the droid. She'd just deactivated him. But she felt bad because she didn't know that, and it was far more endearing that he could have anticipated. Beneath his mask, the corner of his lip twitched.

"What is it that woke you, little one," he finally asked, a hand reaching out to brush over the top of her head, smoothing her honey-brown hair. It was such an affectionate gesture, he realized belatedly. How unlike him, he puzzled to himself.

Whatever it was, the six year-old seemed to see it as an invitation and, before he could react, the little girl had climbed into his lap, nestling herself between the crook of his arm and his side. He froze, startled at the sweetness of the gesture...and the trust.

"A dream," she mumbled into his side. Vader frowned warily. He knew the power of dreams, especially in those strong with the Force. He looked down at her, his hold on her beginning to tighten as a sudden protective instinct trembled in his chest before he forced himself to relax.

"A nightmare?" he asked softly. She shook her head, peering up at him with a faintly puzzled but thoughtful expression.

"No. A sad dream. It made me sad." Vader couldn't help his curiosity.

"Tell me." Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember.

"There was a boy like me—he had the Force, I mean—and like me his Master came and took him away. Only he had a Mama who was sad to see him go..." Vader's heart clenched at the unmistakable subject of her dream and the sympathetic sadness in her voice, "I wanted to help him, to hug him or make him feel better, to tell him how fun it would be to learn about the Force, but I couldn't. I wasn't allowed to talk to him; he wouldn't let me. I could only watch as he cried and his Mama melted into the sand."

He couldn't speak. He couldn't do anything. The most he could manage was to try and keep from crushing her against his side. She didn't seem to notice, though, burrowing her face into the fabric of his tunic, her eyes beginning to droop. Shards of pain seemed to slice through his insides as he looked down at her, thrown so completely off balance by her dream that the rage and pain it should have inspired never manifested, leaving him feeling only grief-stricken and bereft...and concerned. Despite the distraction his own feelings was causing, he could sense that she was still deeply troubled by her dream. He opened his mouth to say...something.

But he didn't know what to say. Should he reassure her? Console her? Sympathize? A little part of him berated himself for being so uncertain, but another part felt hopelessly lost and even wondered what he'd gotten himself into; how was he supposed to raise a child being who he was, with a past like his?

She looked up at him with eyes that were far too wise for her age. "He was crying because his Mama died, wasn't he." Vader couldn't say anything; he was trying too hard not to choke on the emotion clogging his throat. He was tempted to try and draw on his rage to clear his thoughts...but it suddenly felt wrong to even consider doing so. She didn't seem to expect a response, though, cuddling back into his side with a sleepy sigh. "Just like my Mama," she murmured, already drifting off to sleep.

This time he jerked at her words, a static-y sound cracking out of his vocorder as it tried to project the strangled gasp that escaped him. A flicker of fear went through him at the comment followed by concern that his subsequent reaction would wake her. But Athara didn't even flinch. As she merely made a small, satisfied sound in her sleep, her small hand closing around a handful of his tunic.

A flood of warmth went through him along with a renewed surge of desire to protect her...from anything. Breathing deeply to try and calm his chaotic emotions, he dipped his head to get a better look at her face, careful to neither disturb her as he shifted nor hurt her with the harsh edges of his mask.

In that moment, he also wished more than anything that he didn't need to wear the cursed mask. He had the strangest urge to hold the child in his arms close, to lay his cheek against her soft hair, to listen to the reassuring sound of her peaceful breathing, to know from that simple contact that his little girl was safe and protected in his arms.

It startled him as soon as he thought it: his little girl...it felt strange to think it, but it still felt so right. She might not be his blood, but now, in this moment, he knew that she was quite possibly the most precious thing in his life. The only thing that mattered.

This time there was no mistaking that it was tenderness he felt as he gently worked her free from his side and settled her properly into his arms, careful not to move too quickly as he stood. It was a bewildering, but not an unfamiliar emotion. Another flicker of fear went through him as, in recognizing what his feelings toward this child meant, he was abruptly reminded of everything he'd lost. More jarringly still, he was reminded of how easily he could lose this little girl in his arms who utterly and unquestioningly trusted and depended on him.

He pointedly ignored the little virulent voice that questioned how she could possibly depend on him, that insisted he was inevitably going to betray her trust.

That one day he would hurt her. A sound reminiscent of a growl vibrated up through his damaged vocal chords, startling him again at how involuntary his reaction was.

No. He would do everything possible, everything in his power to protect her. He resolved then and there, as he placed his little girl carefully into her bed and tucked the covers carefully around her, that he wouldn't lose her.

This time, he was not going to lose anyone else he loved.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

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