watch the flames burn auburn

"It's over, Anakin!" Kenobi warns, voice rough from toxic fumes of lava. His eyes are shadowed, desperate; he says, "I have the high ground."

"You underestimate my power," Vader snarls but remains perfectly still. He controls the anger coursing through his veins, tames the monster inside his chest raging at him to lunge at Kenobi, raging at him to destroy. The Dark whispers in his ear – he feels it envelope him, feels it strengthen him, feels it seep into every crevice of his mind until he is the Dark, pulverizing everything in his path.

He twitches in the spot; Kenobi flinches just so. He shakes his head and lowers his weapon. "Don't try it."

Vader almost does, then, just to spite him.

He tilts his mouth and Kenobi's eyes widen. Anakin Skywalker would've jumped, but he had been a blithering fool, a caged animal bound by – what? Loyalty? Attachment?

Anakin Skywalker had been weak and Lord Vader is not weak – on the contrary. Lord Vader will soon be powerful enough to stop people from dying. He will overthrow his Master and rule the galaxy with Padme at his side; she won't be able refuse him after Kenobi is gone. He won't let her. Lord Vader will achieve everything Anakin Skywalker could not.

The Dark is patient. He will strike when the time is right.

(On the way here, dozing off for the first time in what felt like weeks, Vader had a vision; he saw himself in a blind fury, felt himself slipping down and down and down burning sand, watched himself crawl out of the pit with one searing hand of metal, his flesh burned to the bone. He heard something like a respirator resound in his head, afterwards, and thought that he will not let himself be controlled by his anger, not by the Force, not by the Dark; he will be the master.)

Kenobi does not know Vader. Vader and Skywalker are two completely different people, if one of them is a person at all. Kenobi will die either way. As he stands there, thinking he prevailed, thinking he will be the one to end this, Vader does something so entirely uncharacteristic both he and Kenobi are surprised; he retracts his lightsaber.

"Anakin…" Kenobi says slowly, uncertainly. His own blade disappears into the hilt of his weapon. "Come with me. We can stop the Chancellor. It's not too late."

Vader almost snorts. The river burns steadily in its path – heat radiates at his feet, flames lick at the floating scrap of metal he's standing on. He spares a glance around himself.

If he waits just a bit longer, he will be able to attack Kenobi's weak point. But the raft under his feet is giving out and his ears are buzzing, his hands twitching, his shoulders tense – he looks at Kenobi for a long, drawn-out moment. The man seems to pity him, Vader thinks amusedly, as though he will not be the one to die today. Kenobi's compassion has always been a flaw.

"Please, Anakin," Kenobi coaxes, relaxing his stance slightly. "Think about Padme and the baby."

He doesn't smile as much as he bares his teeth. "I am thinking about them."

Typical Kenobi; typical Jedi. How dare he say her name after what they've done to him – how dare he even mention the unborn child, the unborn child he's putting in danger right now – and how does Kenobi know anyway, what has Padme told him –

"I'm always thinking about them," alwaysalwaysalways, he hasn't slept in weeks – he tightens his grip on the lightsaber. "They won't get out of my head. That's why I have to kill you."

Kenobi's face betrays no emotion, except for the slight twitch of his left eye.

With a cry Vader leaps into the air; he lands on dry land, far from Kenobi's blade, and attacks, mindlessly swinging at the man, vision obscured by his own hair and a white, blinding rage.

Kenobi doesn't fight back; he blocks, defends, deflects, keeps him at an arm's length – he's trying to tire him out, like a child. It makes Vader want to scream, how calm Kenobi seems to be, how he fights like he knows exactly what Vader is going to throw at him next.

And maybe he does; they were once partners.

Best friends, brothers – it seems like a lifetime ago.

He stumbles and falls, then, Vader does, when Kenobi aims a particularly sharp kick to his leg; and instead of ending it, finishing it like Vader would've finished him, Kenobi runs.

Coward.

The lava is close enough to scorch his hair – Kenobi got too close. Vader senses Padme somewhere near, breathing, her light flickering in and out of focus, so he composes himself and brushes ash off his tunic. He must get to her before Kenobi does.

He breaks into a sprint, reaches out into the Force to locate Kenobi; he's trying to shield him out, Vader feels it, but he's no match to the power of the Dark. He's with her.

He runs for what seems like days, over hot stone and volcanic sand, runs until he is dizzy – he didn't know they went this far from the main hangar. That was most unwise, not to mention another advantage for Kenobi – who almost killed him, who convinced Padme to betray him, who was a something like a father once upon a time.

It feels like his body is made of the same substance as this entire planet when he arrives at the landing strip only to find it deserted, no Kenobi in sight, no Padme in the Force – she is alive, but barely. He will save her. He must save her. He cannot live without her.

Savehersavehersavehersavehersaveher.

He laughs; it's a broken, unfamiliar sound, ripping from his aching throat.

"Come out come out, wherever you are!" Vader taunts with the hysteria of a madman. "Come out and face me, Obi-Wan! Let's finish this!"

It becomes really quiet, nothing but the slow and steady crackling of the flames to be heard; it's too quiet. Vader ignites his lightsaber, the blue of his blade both mocking and comforting – he had finished greater men than Obi-Wan Kenobi with this weapon and after today, he will be just another notch in his belt.

Something beeps, so sudden and quiet one might've ignored it, but Vader knows better; mentally, he groans, the blood in his veins freezing. He's walked right into a trap.

A wall of smoke rises around him at once and before he can react, Kenobi's blade slices through his right shoulder from behind. Vader's gasp betrays him. A great surge of pain sears through his body, bile rising up his throat, his knees buckling.

"Master!" Vader cries, mixture of shock and anger mingling in his voice. "You – you –"

He feels Kenobi put distance between them. Vader supports himself with one arm and breathes heavily through his nose, struggling to see through his blurred vision.

"I had no other choice!" Kenobi swears, sounding close to tears – why is he crying? Kenobi betrayed him, why is he crying? "You wouldn't – wouldn't stop and she – I couldn't – you would've –"

Vader slowly rises to his full height, the same way night devours day, the same way the sun sets on the horizon for the moon to rise; there is a traitorous tremor in his shoulders, a fatal flaw to his ferocity – it is neither or both of them that will down in flames tonight. The Dark calls for sweet bloodshed and it does not care whose blood it will be claiming.

Kenobi's words die in his throat.

Vader turns around to face his enemy, because that is what Kenobi is, because that is what Kenobi wanted to be– and unleashes what he's been trying to cage in for years, unleashes the monster that's been gnawing at his consciousness for as long he can remember; he gathers the Dark around him, feels the earth tremble under his feet and the Force thunder, sing to him something morbid that echoes in his head and sounds like a warzone.

"No, Anakin, don't," Kenobi shakes his head wildly, fear slack on his face; here, he does not pretend he is untouchable. Not with him.

Vader revels in it, because how the mighty have fallen, no? –he inhales deeply and the air burns his lungs, his mouth tasting of ash. He does not care. He tilts his head to the side, predator-like, and narrows his eyes. He takes a step forward.

"Anakin stop," Kenobi warns, panic rising in his voice, retreating slightly.

"Don't call me Anakin!" Vader barks, summons his 'saber into his left hand and before he can lunge, Kenobi Force-pushes him into a wall so hard Vader tastes blood on his tongue. He feels consciousness slipping from him – he's a Padawan learner again, at the mercy of the Sith Lord whose place he's taken so recently and like Dooku had all those years ago, and it was not many years at all, Kenobi has rendered him weak.

"You were the Chosen One!" Kenobi accuses, Jedi front slipping when his voice breaks. "It was said you would destroy the Sith, not join them!"

Vader tumbles downwards, for the infrastructure of the old Separatist headquarters is collapsing in on itself, but latches onto the metal railing in the last moment. He hears Kenobi's lightsaber retract, feels the man approaching.

"It was you who would bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness!"

There is certain hopeless exasperation in his voice and Vader thinks, bitterness to it, that he is in for another lecture– his old Master is a predictable creature of habit, but seemingly unpredictable enough to defeat him.

(The defeat stings and the Dark whispers weakweakweak.)

The Force flickers, thunders and roars around him, in despair; the railing is white-hot and Vader's human hand is blistering painfully, his fingers slipping, giving out. He tries to pull himself up, reaches out into the Force to crush Kenobi but to no avail – it will not obey him. He feels empty, and deserted, in a profound way he had never before.

He took her away, the Force whispers, and he stole me away, too.

"You were my brother, Anakin," he hears Kenobi sigh from above, face twisted in grief. He looks down on him, like he had so many times before – his boots so close to the edge Vader can see stones stuck in the soles; he takes in Kenobi's face, half covered by beard, half flushed by the heat; takes in the dirty mop of hair matted to his forehead, takes in what had once been a father figure, a hero, a brother and thinks that in his entire life, he will never hate anyone as much as he hates Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Kenobi then whispers, "I loved you."

Skywalker spent hoursdaysmonthsyears wishing to hear it from him, wishing for confirmation and acceptance and the warm, all-engulfing feeling of being loved and loving in return, but he is not Anakin Skywalker and Lord Vader does not wish, Lord Vader takes and conquers and wins – so he spits, "I'm touched," and grabs Kenobi's ankle and tugs.

(If he goes down, his old Master will go with him. It is only proper.)

Kenobi cries out and his blade comes down on Vader's left shoulder and before darkness clouds his vision completely, Vader screams: "I hate you!"

He means it, too.

(He hears Kenobi choke back a sob and promise, "I didn't mean for this to happen. I'm sorry."

And Vader fallsfallsfalls until his head hits against something hard; and the sickening crunch of his ribs is the last thing he hears, and pain is the only thing he knows.)

He wakes up in a bacta tank, two durasteel limbs attached to his torso where flesh had once been and sees Palpatine, a shadow blending with the darkness standing next to medidroids, thinks of Kenobi and Padme and the baby – and promptly passes out again.

He finds himself in a bed the next time he opens his eyes.

He feels…whole, somehow. His mind is blissfully blank and he might as well be in the lake house on Varykino, lying down and relaxing, the sun caressing his cheeks, Padme's hair tickling his nose, his real fingers tracing the curve of her waist – the illusion shatters when he picks up on a beeping sound (smoke enveloping him, crying out in rage, Kenobi promising he didn't want any of this to happen) and looks around himself, disoriented (fire burning in his lungs, on his skin, her teary eyes searching his face, pleading, begging, come back to me my love, and him not hearing her at all). His head is aching, his eyes hurting from the bright light and he wonders –

"You're on Coruscant," a female voice says, startling him. "In the State medcenter. Good morning, Lord Vader."

His arms are bound to the bed, wrists chained to the sides – he knows, as she should, that it will not hold him.

"Let's see what we have here," she takes a few steps closer. Her Coruscanti accent is chipper and painfully familiar – she says, "Okay. So, you suffered from a concussion, but we took care of that right away. You broke four ribs and acquired minor burns to the legs, second degree to your back– you were damn lucky you landed on solid ground, or you would've been dead by now. We replaced your arms and installed new shoulder bla–sweetheart," she raises an eyebrow and says, in a scolding tone with something that would resemble disappointment, "Don't try to use the Force on me. We sedated you. I thought you'd know better."

Vader tries to clench his palm into a fist, but his fingers will not fold to his will, so he grits his teeth instead.

"Behave, Lord Vader," she says then. The teasing twinkle in her eyes is setting him on edge. "We will show you different exercises that will make it easier for you to become accustomed to your new set of arms later this afternoon, but in the meantime –"

"I know what I have to do," he cuts in coldly and she looks up from her datapad. She is human, exquisitely so; her auburn hair is pulled away from her face in a ponytail and she is pretty, but not beautiful like Padme is –was– and she does not shrink away from his glare. Her hands, soft and freckled and real, clutch the datapad tighter and knuckles protrude. He says, "Tell me where Sidious is."

"Sidious?" she raises an eyebrow and turns to the machine monitoring his health. "What kind of pretentious name is that?"

He scowls – the Force is muddled and far away, slipping out of his reach.

"It is the name of my Master," he says tightly, the dull pounding in his skull increasing. "And you will tell me where he is."

"Oh, you mean the Emperor? Hate to break it to you, sweet, but you tried to kill him. He's getting medical attention right now."

They're both silent for a moment. Vader blinks. "Kill him?"

"Yeah," she confirms, shrugging her shoulders a bit. "It seems you don't like him very much. Some clone found him on the floor and you were raging and screaming and causing a disturbance. Apparently you were saying something about a prophecy and stars and 'eternal damnation'" she air-quotes dramatically with an eye-roll, "to the galaxy or whatever."

Before Vader can reply, she says: "Then the clone got someone to call us and we fixed up you and your arms – the Emperor's medidroids didn't do a very good job, so you're welcome, really – and now…" she waves a hand in his general direction, "Here you are."

"But – where's the Emperor?"

"He's off-planet," she says vaguely, turning her back to him once more, writing something on her datapad. "You'll see him when the time is right."

"I… don't remember anything."

"You've been out of it for a week, sweetheart," she says kindly and shoots a warm half-smile over her shoulders. "You'll be fine by tomorrow."

A week? He looks her up and down, tries to make sense of her. She's not afraid of him, not even a tiny bit – he does not need the Force to feel it. She's comfortable and relaxed at peace with being in the same room as him. It's unnerving.

She's Sensitive, he knows that much, her signature warm and bright, and shielded enough to prevent him from penetrating her mind. She's no Jedi, that's for sure, but she is trained.

"Who are you?" he blurts.

"Oh, right," she laughs at herself and swats one hand in the air. "I'm Sienna. Doctor Sienna Mereel. It's nice to meet you."

He gives her something like a grin, attempting a new tactic. "I'd shake your hand," he says. "But I'm in a bit of a situation."

He wiggles his new fingers for emphasis, tugs discreetly at his restriction cuffs while he's at it, and attempts to sit up.

"Charming," she observes, eyes twinkling humorously. "And very clever. I won't release you, though."

His wrists do not budge a bit. Force shackles, then. They were expensive and hard to come across and were used by the Jedi only for the most dangerous of men – he was honored and annoyed at the same time. This would make escaping quite unpleasant.

Unluckily for her and quite the contary for him, he is becoming impatient.

"You will find," he says in a low voice, fairly certain his eyes flashed yellow. "That disobeying my orders is not very wise."

"You never did give one," she shrugs, unfazed, "My lord."

"Release me now."

"I'm afraid I can't," she sighs regretfully. "The Emperor commanded you stay here until he says otherwise."

"I thought he was dying halfway across the galaxy," Vader responds. "How could he give out orders from his deathbed?"

She holds her hands up. "Hey, don't look at me. I'm just the messenger."

He looks around himself, away from her – his neck is sore. The room he's in is mostly white, Coruscant's dim sunlight peeking through the blinds installed for privacy. It's a nice room, certainly nicer than any hospital the Jedi ever provided, and quite spacious.

And he does need some rest.

"Fine," he mutters begrudgingly. "What if I need to, oh, I don't know – go to the bathroom?"

"A droid will go with you," she replies. "They'll be coming in and out hourly to check on you. If you need something, just shout out. They'll come see you."

"And what if I kill the droid?"

She grins. "Then a new one will check up on you after an hour."

"And what if I kill that one, too?"

("Where is Padme?" he demands, sitting up straight on the metal table, own voice sounding foreign to his ears. "Is she safe? Is she alright?"

"It seems…" the shadow twists his lips around the words slowly, "In your anger you killed her."

Vader's blood freezes in his veins. "I- I couldn't have. She was alive, I felt it."

He searches for her in the Force, searches for her light, searches for the baby, his little girl – Force almighty, say at least his little girl survived, Force, say at least somebody survived, say he still has somebody in this blasted world –

He finds nothing.

Nothing, just echoes and faint mist-like memories – all of them fading from the Force the way water crashes against the shores of Naboo.

The Dark puts out the fire in his chest, leaves behind a cold deserted wasteland. Lord Vader does not clench his palm into a fist –he does not feel it. Instead he releases the breath he didn't know he was holding.

It's as though something in him snaps, terrible and painful and inexplicably sad, something that the rest of the galaxy must have felt, because it seems like the very core of the universe ripped into two jagged, bloody pieces along with him –

Now, he is heat and fire and something awful, cruel and unforgiving and the bacta tank explodes under pressure; trays crumple in broken droids' tiny metal hands; and Sidious' marred, ugly hands fly to his throat.

"You lied!" Vader screams, rips his wrist free from bounds not meant to be forcefully torn. "You said you'd help me!"

"My boy –" Sidious gasps. "My boy, let me – go – I was there for you – when no one else – was –"

"Padme is dead! You lied! You lied, you lied, youliedyouliedyoulied!"

The shadow tumbles to the floor, then, and it looks like he is only a pile of red robes. Vader feels a sharp sting to his neck; he winces and his eyes roll back and in a matter of seconds, his legs give out.)

"– Vader? Vader? Can you hear me? Lord Vader?" Doctor Mereel's voice brings him back to reality and he's breathing heavily, wetness stinging his eyes.

"I… I need to be alone right now," he chokes out and for the first time since meeting her, the Doctor looks hesitant.

"Okay," she says slowly, nodding, retreating. "If you need anything –"

"I know," he interrupts and with one last glance –was it pity?– she leaves, the door sliding shut behind her.

He is left alone with his thoughts and the steady, agonizing beeping of the computer. Padme is dead. Sidious lied. You're alone. Nobody loves you. Nobody cares. You're weak. Weakweakweak. The beepingof the computer picks up when his heart thunders inside his ribcage, threatening to burst.

There is something in his chest, heavy and slimy and ugly, eating away at his insides and spreading from head to toe. He wants to throw up, or scream, or cry, or do all at once and he hyperventilates loudly, his chest tightening more and more with each breath; it might be the still healing burns, or it might be air leaving his lungs against his own will. Broken sobs leave him, skin alight one moment and prickling ice-cold the next, every single cell in his body screaming at him to curl into himself and wail until the end of time; he's trashing and fighting against his restraints until his shirt is damn and sticking to his chest, until his hair is matted to his scalp, until he can't move anymore.

(He sees her, soft brown hair pulled into a pony tail, beige dress taunt against her belly, mouth parted with words she will not get to say, eyes glimmering with unshed tears, hands tight around her lovely neck and in the corner of this cold, white room he sees her die over and over again – the great, painful irony of the situation is he's the one to kill her, the one to reach out and squeeze the air from her lungs, the one to clench his glove-clad fingers into a fist.

He loved her; so much, in fact, he killed her.

"No, Padme, please! I'm sorry!" he howls so loudly the windows tremble. "I'm sorry, Padme, come back, come back, I didn't mean for this to happen, I didn't mean – no, Padme, no! Nonononono… No! Padme!"

She crumbles into a heap of delicate limbs, the thud of her body making his stomach lurch horribly.

"Please come back," he moans pathetically and throws his head back against the pillows, mouth tasting of salt. "Don't leave me here, I didn't want any of this, I'm sorry, please, Padme, come back –"

"Lord Vader."

He sees someone with auburn hair and blue eyes approaching, and through the red haze set over his eyes, he sees Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"You," he snarls, voice dripping with contempt. "You did this! You took her away from me! She's dead, because of you!"

The room trembles along with him.

"Vader," Kenobi addresses calmly with the voice of someone else, a voice far away, and injects something into the IV connected to his neck. "My name is Doctor Sienna Mereel, we met two hours ago –"

"You did this!" he screams and breaks down in hysteric sobs. "You killed her! You did! Not me! Not me, not me, notmenotmenotme! It's your fault, you were the one that betrayed me– you – you…")

His eyes are lulling close, the world in and out of focus, and he thinks someone gave him something to calm him down.

His mind is clear, clearer than it had been in weeks, months, years; his thoughts are slow and calm and collected, not colliding against one another like they usually do. They're finished and somehow articulated and they make sense, for one – and his decision is an easy one, made in a split second. Darth Sidious will die for his betrayal, for his lies, for the dead wife and unborn child.

So Vader lifts his head and allows himself to smile; first he will kill Sidious and Obi-Wan, for they had both betrayed him in a manner he cannot forgive, then anyone else that dares to get in his way.

There will be peace in this wretched galaxy and they will be glad he is there to save them; they will thank him for it, but first he will have to make them see.

He's escorted into what is now called the Imperial palace with a new sense of duty a week later, Coruscant's night-life lively as ever above and beyond them.

("My Lord…" Doctor Mereel says uncertainly. "I don't think you're fit to leave yet."

"I'm in perfectly good health," he replies curtly.

She puts her hands to her hips. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Doctor," he says. "I need to leave. I have responsibilities to uphold."

"You're unstable," she responds gently, her shoulders turning slightly inwards. Her eyes soften. "You need rest. You're putting yourself and everyone else in danger and –"

He uses the Force to silence her. "Doctor," he repeats slowly. "I am fine."

She glares at him, eyebrows furrowed in silent anger.

If he weren't Vader and lived another life, he would've been touched by how much she cares. But she was a stranger, paid to care, and his life held no meaning to her.

"You're unstable," she repeats after he lets go and turns away from her, buttoning up his shirt. "You're going to hurt yourself."

The corner of his lip tugs. She does not see it. "You think it wise to argue with a madman, Doc?"

He is fairly certain she at least smirks. "If I let every madman who comes here intimidate me, I'd be a very bad doctor indeed.")

The Palace walls, marble as they had always been, resound with quiet chatter; some eyes widen at the sight of him, some mouths shut close. Vader pays them no mind – today he hears them (women, men, children, younglings, civilians, friends, family) scream over and over in his mind, playing on a loop like a broken holo recording. He sees Padme on every face, sees Obi-Wan in every man with a sand-colored cloak, Ahsoka in every teenage girl chatting animatedly with another (but Obi-Wan betrayed him and Padme sided with Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka abandoned him in the middle of war) – today is the day he sets himself free once and for all. He feels it in the Force, which is gradually returning to him, that today is important.

There are two clones at his side, walking with him. The white of their armor contrasts sharply against the black of his; ditching the Jedi robes for a more civilized ensemble had been thrilling, to say the least. The heavy padding on his shoulders makes him look more intimidating, bulkier if you will, and it serves to protect what Kenobi had inflicted; the tunic is a tighter fit, the pants better hemmed, the boots shiny. His cloak and hood are held together by a clasp that looks suspiciously like pure gold and his hands, durasteel, covered by fine leather.

It doesn't feel wrong; it feels new and promises something different, something else.

The corridors start to narrow and curl as they near their destination, heavy tapestries lining the walls.

They stop.

"This is as far as we're permitted to go, General," the clone says. Vader does not reply. He cranes his neck up to the top of the granite-like doors, splattered with white to imitate stars. They open wide, then, to reveal a grand ballroom with high, arched ceilings – the floors, he notices, are painted in a manner that reminds him of somewhere he had once been, but faintly; black curves into white, balancing each other out. A sunken throne with wide arm-rests is plush against the wall, the glass mosaic behind it showering the room in various shades of purple and blue.

Vader stares straight ahead, and it is like looking into the abyss.

"I will see the Emperor alone," he says to the guards and they both nod hurriedly and bow their heads.

He pulls his hood back and straightens his back.

"No matter what happens or what you hear," Vader tells them. "Do not open these doors after they close, unless you are told otherwise."

Then he is alone.

"My boy…" he hears Sidious hiss from across the room. "Come closer. Do you like what I did with this ballroom?"

"No," Vader says, heavy boots clinking against polished floors. "I much prefer the ballroom in the main floor."

"So do I," Sidious says conversationally and steeples his fingers. "This is only temporary. The constructions there will take about a month or so."

"If you live long enough to see it," Vader replies cheerfully, clasps his hands behind his back and adds, "My master."

Sidious lets out a low scoff. "My boy… I've forgotten your little mishap. I've moved on."

"Well, I have not," Vader retaliates, takes a step closer. "And you have always encouraged me to act on my anger."

"Of course," Sidious agrees with something like pride in his voice, nodding, and this resembles Anakin Skywalker and Chancellor Palpatine having a chat over biscuits all too much. "But I advise you to wait."

Vader's eye twitches.

"Are you feeling better, my boy?" Sidious changes the subject, feeling it unwise to push Vader any further. "Your injuries were quite grave, but could have been worse. Of course, I never knew that a man such as Obi-Wan Kenobi could defeat you, but I suppose –"

That's enough.

Vader lifts Sidious off his throne and instead of begging for his life like Vader imagined –hoped– he would, Sidious cackles.

"Today you will die," Vader says, exhaling through his nose. "You lied to me."

"You fool," Sidious spits, beginning to slowly claw at his throat as his skin turns red. "Always – so quick – to make – assumptions –"

Vader loosens his grip, lowers his clenched fist. "Assumptions?"

"Come on – boy," Sidious taunts, delight stretching over his scarred face. "Kill me – kill me now. Lose her – for good."

"She's dead, Sidious," Vader growls. "I've already lost her."

"I can – help you, bring her – back to you –"

"No," Vader says firmly. "You're lying. You're a liar."

"Poor Amidala," Sidious chokes and had Vader not been holding him, he would've said it with mock-regret. "So young – so beautiful and – gone. Because of you."

Vader's fist clenches tighter. He will not listen to any more lies.

"Kill me. She'll be – dead," the shadow gives something like a chuckle, and Vader doesn't notice the panic in his eyes. "Her blood on – your hands – forever."

"I didn't kill her," Vader protests, resolve faltering. "Stop saying I killed her, stop saying –"

"You can – save her," Sidious blurts out a promise, his eyes bugging out of his head, his skin turning unnaturally blue. "Let me – help you, boy –"

"No," Vader whispers, "You're a liar, you're not saying the truth, I know you're not –"

"Kill me – then – end this –"

"You can't just –"

"Kill me."

"No!" Vader screams and Sidious falls to his throne with a loud thud.

"No," he breathes. "No, no, no, you're lying –"

Sidious coughs, once twice. "Search your feelings, Lord Vader," he replies somberly, sitting up like nothing had happened. "You know it to be true."

Vader falls to his knees, his head pounding; the Dark whispers all things die, but his heart, or what is left of it, begs for him to succumb to Sidious, for what if he is right? But how can he be right? He never mentioned –

"I'm aware that I never mentioned it to you," Sidious says it almost like he read his mind –

No, Vader thinks, he knows me that well, he wouldn't hurt me, he cares – no, he ruined my life – no –

"But I never thought it would come this far, my boy."

Vader lifts his gaze to look at Sidious. He says, "Why should I believe you?"

What do you have left?

"You have no reason to," Sidious drawls. His voice turns quiet, deadly serious: "But know that my knowledge will die with me and you will never see your beloved again."

You could hear a pin drop. Vader's thoughts race with what if but no she's dead heliedheliedhelied and maybe he's not lying anymore why would he lie to me why does he need me he has no reason to lie, and when he looks up at Sidious, eyes as blue as the ocean staring into murky yellowish ones, he sees shackles and chains and the desert, swallowing him up with one deadly stroke of wind.

The Dark whispers to him, and it sounds like the sky before a sandstorm.

"I pledge myself to you," he whispers and Sidious smiles.

"Say it," he demands. Vader's eyes widen. "Say you belong to me."

Vader's breathing labors and he closes his eyes. No, not again, not –

"Say it."

"No."

Lightning bursts from Sidious' fingertips and Vader braces himself on his hands; he does not scream. He will not give him that satisfaction. It feels as though he is being ripped apart, bit by bit, resistance pummeling into the ground but he will not scream.

Sidious laughs delightedly when Vader groans, despite himself.

He stops and hides his hands in the sleeves of his voluminous coat. He knows, as Vader knows, the truth; yet the unsaid confession hangs in the air above them.

"Say it," Sidious commands once again, softly this time. He raises his chin upwards.

(The storm rages –)

"Yes, my Master," Vader whispers at last. His jaw sets. "I belong to you."

(And darkness clamps down on his flesh and claims his soul for good.)