Over several years, he'd learned that no matter how many years of training a man had, they all made mistakes at some point. Imperfect, flawed, breakable creatures prone to anger him further. Constantly they tested his patience. It was deadly to stir the turmoil swirling in Darth Vader, should you stir it, death would soon welcome you.
In fact, almost ever language and dialect known to human, beast and droid, had a saying of Darth Vader, and never was it good.
He marched into his personal quarters. Once upon a time, he might have trudged, tossed his cloak carelessly on a chair and crash onto his bed, back when he was Anakin Skywalker. His disposition was stiff and inhuman, no room to seem weak as he had before.
Today was different, he'd spent several waking hours hunting down the Rebel Alliance, having nothing to show for it. He couldn't remember the last time he closes his eyes, but his dreams were always plagued with that fateful day, where he swore everything to Palpatine, in a one-way bargain as he found out in time.
He closed his eyes as his mask was taken from him. The pure oxygen of his breathing chamber filled his lungs and Darth Vader, doing something no being thought possible, relaxed. His eyes drifted for a moment before closing and his breathing evened out.
"Anakin?" came her haunting voice.
He refused to open his eyes, knowing only the white walls of his breathing chamber would be there. The angel from long ago would not be standing there as he always hoped.
"Anakin." she called.
He refused to believe her voice was anything but his imagination. He tried to fight the feeling of hope he'd tried to crush so long ago.
"Anakin." she persisted.
He opened his eyes.
There before him was what must be an angel. He voice it so. "Are you an angel."
She looked on at him with sadness in her eyes. "Unfortunately so."
"Padmé." He whispered.
He had not her his voice, his own voice, for as long a time as he'd heard her's. It was as deep as before, but it was quieter, weaker from the damage done to his lungs.
He meant to apologize, tell her how he never did deserve her, that he certainly wouldn't now. Her hand wavered his resolution to speak.
"I know, and I still love you." For a moment, a fleeting moment, he believed she was real.
That passing moment was beat down with the overwhelming knowledge he was only dreaming, and however nice a dream, he'd return to reality.
Reality was cruel, but inescapable. How he wished he could escape with this dream, return to the time when his love for her was as simple as it was intense.
He took in the sight of his angel and renewed his wish to change what had happened oh so long ago.