Summary: Her husband had fallen, her life's work had crumbled, her own babies were strangers to her. But she didn't even care, and that was the worst part. Or: Padme deals with post-partum depression, and Vader is ill-equipped to help her. Part two of the "Different Paths" series. AU for RotS and beyond.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars.

Warnings: SERIOUS TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND REFERENCES TO DOMESTIC ABUSE.

Notes: This is me taking Padme "losing the will to live" and running with it. So...not super happy. The next installment will deal with Vader's side of things.

all joy sucked dry

She didn't remember the delivery. Sometimes, when she looked down at the children, she thought that must be the reason why she didn't recognize them. They were very beautiful babies, to be sure – chubby-cheeked and healthy, with a bright awareness in their eyes that should have been unsettling but wasn't. But they weren't her babies. It felt wrong when she tried to hold them, so she rarely ever tried.

A woman she didn't know stayed with them, taking care of the babies in Padme's stead; Padme hadn't ever asked for her name. It didn't matter to her.

Nothing mattered to her anymore.

Anakin, or Vader – she didn't really care – would stop by from time to time. He would ask the woman questions and go to play with the babies, and sometimes feed them. The only thing she did to acknowledge his presence was spare him a glance, but she never looked at him for long. Not because it hurt, or because it made her sad – but because she felt nothing. This was the man who had been at the center of her life for three years, who she had loved beyond all thought or reason, and who had betrayed everything she had ever worked for. The man who had almost killed her. And yet...she felt nothing.

Looking at him only reminded her that the world was empty.

He was there again, trying as always to talk to her. Why did he bother? There was nothing at all to say.

"Are you feeling better, my love?"

I don't feel anything, she thought, but didn't say aloud.

He moved towards her bed and placed his flesh hand on her shoulder; she neither flinched away from nor leaned into the touch.

"Are you really going to say nothing?" her husband asked. "I know you're angry with me, but this is getting ridiculous. Ultapa says you've barely even touched the children."

She found herself wanting to speak, though she couldn't really place why. "I'm not angry," she said, her voice thin and soft from weeks of disuse.

"Then why won't you speak to me?" He hand tightened on her shoulder. "Why won't you look at me?"

Padme frowned, puzzled. "I'm speaking to you right now, aren't I? I'm not angry." She didn't look at him, though. "You've always been able to sense my feelings through the Force, so you know I'm not lying."

"Look at me, Padme." It was an order, his tone losing any lingering warmth. When she didn't comply, she felt her head being turned – gently but firmly – by some invisible power. The same power that had crushed her throat on Mustafar. His eyes were shot through with gold. "Why are you ignoring the twins?" he demanded.

"I don't know," she said, and realized that it was the truth.

"You don't know?" he said, eyes flashing dangerously.

She wondered then if she could get him to kill her, and decided that she probably could. The thought was almost...comforting. "I don't love them," she said. "I look at them and feel nothing. So I don't really deserve to hold them." She felt something warm and wet on her cheeks. Tears? She didn't understand; she wasn't even sad.

With the way his eyes blazed, she half expected him to hit her, or start chocking her. But instead he released the pressure that was keeping her head in place. Immediately she looked away from him, staring at the wall across from the bed.

"You can't mean that," he said softly, helplessly. All the rage seemed to have drained out of him.

"But I do," she said, more of those inexplicable tears rolling down her face.

He said nothing for a few long moments, just looking at her. She could feel his eyes on her, and wondered idly if they were blue or gold. She decided that she didn't care.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. "For...for what happened on Mustafar. I know now that you didn't betray me to Obi-Wan. I shouldn't have..."

"Nearly strangled me to death?" she said, helpfully. She registered very faint surprise that he had even brought it up at all; she had thought he wanted to pretend it never happened.

Another pause, and then: "I shouldn't have hurt you. I'm sorry."

"But you want to hurt me," she said, remembering his golden eyes.

"No!" he yelled, too loudly, too close. She almost flinched out of pure reflex. "That's the last thing I want, Padme." He fell to his knees and reached out to grasp her hands. "I want – no, I need you to be happy. I love you." He squeezed her hands gently. "Please tell me what I can do to fix this, because seeing you like this is eating me up inside."

She thought for a moment about it – really thought about it. The answer was simple, and somehow not at all surprising. "Do you really want to help me?" she asked.

"Yes," he said emphatically.

"Then finish what you started on Mustafar."

"...What?" He sounded as if he couldn't understand her – as if she were speaking something other than plain Basic.

It looked as if she had to be plainer. "I want you to kill me, Anakin," she said. "Or at least let me do it myself. I'm already dead inside; I just want it to be over."

He let go of her hands then and stood, saying nothing. One of the children started to cry.

After his heavy footfalls indicated he had left the apartment, she lay down and went to sleep.

The next day, she awoke to find another woman sharing her apartment – this one dressed in white armor. She never left Padme alone.

So Padme slept and slept. And was always a little disappointed when she woke up.