THE LAST TEAR

by oblivion7

Rating: K+

Setting: Interlude: shortly after Anakin's rescue, before he learns Padme's fate.

Disclaimer: Star Wars is the product of minds far greater than mine; I'm only playing in their universe.

Summary: Vader's birth was far from a labor of love…

It was hot, unbearably hot, Tatooine-peel-off-your-outer-skin hot. Hot enough to want to find refuge in the shade of a Saarlac's smile. The air blowing over him like a lover's gentle breath chafed as if it were a sandstorm, its steady stream and soft hum driving him to the edge of madness. Anakin couldn't open his eyes, couldn't call for help, couldn't hear the soothing voices from outside that had quieted his nerves and quieted his fears many times before.

He was falling again, and there was no one to hear his scream.

He could still see the chasm, its maw growing wider and brighter with his slow descent. The molten lake below seemed to pant its eagerness to meet him, licking at his skin like a sadistic hound. No use of the Force could prevent it; no light saber could defeat it. It didn't care that he was still alive, that the outer layers of his skin were slowly sloughing away to be swallowed by the pitiless sworl below, leaving his nerves in shrieking ruin. He thought he saw a hand reach out to him, calling for him to use his strength to take hold, begging for him not to die. In the dim haze of hurt he could have sworn it was the face of his once trusted mentor, demanding that he stretch just a little more before it was too late. But the face faded, melting into the jagged sides of the pit, becoming one with the hardened rock face, until even the hand was gone, and he was alone. Abandoned. Left to die.

He was reminded of how his mother had died in his arms, tortured beyond tolerance but able to hang on because she had believed in him, trusting that he would come back for her. He tried to remember her voice, so reassuring to him once, always there in his dreams, taking away the paralyzing darkness that plagued his mind and heart. He longed to open his eyes, hoping to see her hovering over him as she had done when he was a child, softly singing him to sleep, making their poverty seem like the wealth of the Republic. He remembered his oath, the promise to defeat death, to prevent the death of innocents and innocence, to right the wrongs done by-

All those who didn't follow the path.

Anakin writhed, moaning aloud, every sinew contracted in anguish. He felt needles penetrate his muscles, delivering their cool medicine that, if only for a moment, gave him relief. He relaxed, exhausted, wishing for death, darkness, release. He had long since lost count of the days; he'd given up hope of having a life outside this stifling hyperbaric chamber. He was confused as to why he was being kept alive, for surely in his condition there was nothing he could do to keep his oath, to be of any use to his Master, to find a purpose in life as he once felt before...before he was betrayed.

A voice came to him, and again the pain abated. Anakin was instantly alert, like a haunted animal, listening hopefully for the slightest hint of relief. The smooth voice, deep and cool, had come to tell him good news: he would soon be able fulfill his vow to finish what had been started. He didn't understand, and didn't care. Just to hear that voice, to have a few more moments of peace from the nightmares and pain, was enough; after all, he reminded himself, slaves shouldn't expect much more.

EmD9c stepped back, allowing the hooded figure to glide past as if pulled along by the air. He stifled his distaste at the person's presence, which was not only disruptive to the treatment of the patient but gave him an uncomfortable surge in his circuits. In his many years as a medic, he always found homonids to be the most confusing, unpredictable, and illogical of all the sentient beings.

They were also the most fascinating.

Given that this youth in his charge should have died long ago, it proved once again that human behavior was beyond understanding. It was even more amazing since the hooded figure constantly readjusted the calibrations that had been ever so carefully calculated to keep the ruined man comfortable. If he didn't know better, he was sure the Sith Master wanted the man to suffer, just as he'd done with that Grievous creature. True, as a droid he wasn't experienced with the complexities of Sith technology, but he was learning more quickly than his unfortunate predecessor and soon found that it was best not to seem too observant of the torture being caused by the "treatment".

It was hard, though, to ignore that occasionally the Sith tech seemed to have a mind of its own. Whenever EmD9c raised the anesthetic to allow the youth to rest, the adjustments would soon return to the previous setting, even falling below those numbers when it seemed that the patient was showing signs of adaptation. The torture of his wounds should have driven him insane; no creature should have been made to suffer such agony. But the youth endured by sheer force of will, and EmD9c found it a supreme study in survival and determination.

Today, however, he watched closely in shuddered amazement at just what was happening inside the chamber. He was well skilled in caring for burn victims, though none had been as extensive as this. But instead of encouraging the natural growth and regeneration of body tissue, this chamber seemed to be growing its own nerve system and integrating it with the young man's—in fact, taking command and destroying his natural nervous system. The fight was valiant but futile as the vile branches and tendrils overcame what little healthy tissue survived, replacing it with emesis yellow and bruising purple sheaths of crawling vitriol and hate. Even as a droid EmD9c recognized that this was, as many races termed it, a fight for the soul of this youth who was too weak to keep up the battle that had put him into the chamber.

EmD9c felt sorrow for him. Brave and strong he may have been, but the dark pulsating growth was slowly conquering him, unwilling to leave him in peace, breaking him for some hidden purpose. The pain was often unresponsive to medication; in fact, the meds seemed to give it the fodder it needed to extend its conquest. He finally backed away from most of the anesthetics, hoping that the human would find the strength somehow to defeat the darkness seething within him.

EmD9c carefully recorded the readings on the monitors although the numbers hadn't changed in several hours. He once voiced his concerns, but the Supreme Chancellor seemed neither disturbed nor interested. The older man always spoke to the youth in low tones, sometimes even with sincere regard in his voice; but more and more he seemed to feed on the pain he caused. EmD9c failed to understand how anyone who might come to the lab would be fooled by such a feeble attempt at deception. But it was not by chance that the Sith Master had insured complete silence from the few droids in attendance by isolating them from each other as well as using destructive restraining bolts to keep them in check. The medic had no doubt that they were all scheduled for disassembly when this task was finished.

Which is exactly the reason he had been instructed by his most recent owner to leave his memory chip buried in a complex subroutine of the mainframe that could only be retrieved by a pre-selected R2 unit…

Anakin was nearly ready to be awakened again. His mind was a blank page begging to be filled. Wisely Palpatine had insured that the youth heard no human voice but his own, and by removing even the voices of the droids Anakin was desperate for feedback. Palpatine was careful to visit only occasionally, and each time he sensed Anakin's growing dependence on him for sanity. Even so, the Sith Master could not resist the occasional display of complete dominance. Knowing that Anakin's senses were razor sharp while in his pain-filled dazed state, he would speak soothingly to calm him, then rake his sharp nails across the cloudy faceplate, providing a sound that would drive him mad with agony and annoyance. Unable to escape, his Force sense blinded and unwilling to obey him, Anakin could only form a silent scream, writhing at each clawmark from the outside.

But after all, an apprentice must always remember just who the Master is.

"Well, my boy, you seem to be recovering quite nicely," Palpatine's cracked voice again drifted thru to Anakin's hazy thoughts. "Just thought I'd stop in to let you know how things are progressing."

He paused, his voice becoming solemn. "I'm afraid the Republic may not recover from its latest defeat," he sighed. "Factions are leaving faster than I can get the chance to negotiate with them." He brightened. "But I have news from Naboo," he said with a smile. "Once you're up to it, I'll show you the magnificent reception they gave me for my ending the Separatist rebellion. It was truly spectacular, never to be forgotten by anyone present. Odd that Senator Amadala was absent…" he added thoughtfully. "In fact, even that Gungan assistant of hers was no where to be found." His tone brightened. "Ah, no matter, it was still delightful and I intend to make certain that my lovely home stays untouched as we bring order to the Empire."

He noted Anakin's reaction, keeping his expression bland but his eyes were shining with sick delight. "Well, I must be going," he said with an absent wave. "But I'll keep track of your progress and let you in on events as they occur. Not to worry, my boy—I'll have you joining me again soon."

Palpatine paused, hearing again the cry of despair and helplessness from the chamber. The bright lights masked the grotesque remains of what Anakin had once been, but it was his mind and power that the Sith master needed. He could imagine Anakin still seeing himself as he was, lanky and lithe, with blinding reflexes and a lightning temper, slashing his light saber at the rescue of those in his care. He could see, too, the pit into which Anakin was rapidly sinking, and knew it wouldn't be much longer before he would be ready to completely yield to his new Master.

Then all would fall into place, and the galaxy could finally get itself re-ordered.

Back in his private inner room Palpatine relaxed on his couch with a pleased smile. Things were going better than he'd hoped. Young Anakin was recovering nicely, though it was taking a bit longer than he'd imagined for him to adapt to his new body condition, but in due time he would regain full consciousness. Meanwhile he made the isolation all the more bitter with tidbits of news about the hunt for the remaining Jedi and the importance of preventing others the time needed to organize a political rebellion in the Senate. Fueling Anakin's helplessness and desire to restart his life would serve to push him into dealing with his new attachments despite the pain.

A shame really. He'd been such a beautiful boy.

Great care would be needed from here on. Palpatine reached out to pour himself a glass of wine, pausing to admire its clarity as the colors changed in the light. It was a rare vintage from Naboo that not even the Queen herself possessed; he had always been proud of his ability to use his office to advantage. Sipping quietly, he mused on how best to deal with the potential threat of a Skywalker offspring.

The youth must never know of it, not yet at least. When the time came, he might be able to use the child the same way he'd used the father, since Anakin's injuries combined with increased use of the Dark Side would age him much more rapidly than normal. He shrugged to himself. Palpatine had known of his tremendous potential as soon as Anakin first arrived as a boy, but as a man he could progress far beyond even advanced Sith teachings should he ever realize the full power he possessed. Thankfully, however, he'd fallen into the right hands. The sooner Anakin Skywalker was out of the way and replaced by a younger, more properly controlled apprentice the better –if, that is, the child from Padme survived.

Palpatine closed his eyes as the warmth of the wine tickled his senses. Time proved that as the most supreme Sith lord to date; he alone had found and honed the one vital tool that Sith legend had been predicting for so long.

He chuckled, thinking of the irony that it was the Jedi who had found and given it to them.

Again he was standing on the brink of destruction, the intense heat melting his mind and his will. Again, he was not alone; his light saber attentive and ready, he listened for the sound of his enemy, his mentor, the man he'd once trusted with his soul. He sensed a presence, but it was different, cool, comforting.

He dared not open his eyes for fear that he would see himself slide toward the endless lava once more. The voice of the presence washed over him, his bare chest feeling a comfortable release from the furnace.

"You have fought well, young Anakin," came the sultry whisper. "And you will surely fight again. But time is passing us by, and thousands weep your name for help as you wait here, uncertain and healing. You do need time to heal, but I can show you a way to both help and heal."

"No," Anakin managed to choke, feeling the ash sear his lungs and heart. "I know you. Obi-Wan warned me about you…"

"And indeed, he was right," the voice acknowledged sadly. "The path I offer is much quicker than your honorable Jedi training would allow. Yet the end result is the same: lives will be saved, order restored. Without my help, you may not survive long enough to fulfill you destiny. Obi-Wan surely didn't want that; he and Qui-gon both recognized your role in the future. Will you betray their trust in you? And what of Padme?"

The intense pain at hearing her name was nearly beyond tolerance; Anakin fell to his knees, nearly pitching himself into the pit willingly at the thought of losing her forever.

"She…I can't…"

"She loves you desperately," the voice assured him. "And if she is alive, she will fight at your side with all the strength you gave her. But she cannot prevail without your help, and you cannot succeed without mine. The Jedi failed to teach you the true nature of the force; their ways are slowed with time and age, whereas I can show you how to tap into your power without despair overwhelming you."

A welcome breeze drifted by. "Calm your fears, young Skywalker. Give them to me, and I will eliminate all the obstacles that prevent you touching that part of you so dreaded by Jedi and Sith alike. There are places in the mind that none dare seek, dark ancient places, and you have been given the gift to see them. But without guidance, it will drive you insane. Let me help you heal yourself, and together we will end the madness and start an Empire where all will live in peace and safety."

"But… Padme…what can I do now…can't even walk…"

"Ah, yes. Love can overcome nearly anything, but no matter the strength of love your body will never function as it did before, my lovely lad. Yet you must not fail her as you failed your mother when the Jedi interfered by keeping you away too long. Had Master Kenobi listened to your dreams, you would have been in plenty of time to save her. But Jedi never understand dreams, and we both know you have dreams…"

Anakin nodded slowly; even in his destroyed state, the dreams of past, present and future were as vivid as his ruined flesh. Most of his dreams were becoming a blur, though, and he feared more than anything the loss of Padme's face in his mind, his mother's voice, his past life.

"Trust me, Anakin," the cool voice brushed past his face like silken cloth. "I promise you will not regret your choice. I will show you how to use the Force for the betterment of the entire galactic population. Everyone will hold you in awe and reverence; your name will stand for strength and power, honor and truth. Certainly, this is the desire of any Jedi, isn't it? To see justice done, to have decisions made for the best interest of the people and have those decisions carried out?"

Anakin tried not to hear the eroticvoice, but had to admit the truth of its words. He heard other voices, too, warning him not to listen, that there was more to the bargain than stated, voices familiar and old telling him that even death would be preferable to the future he would create. The voices made his head dizzy with pain, an agony slashing thru him as if with ragged shards of metal mirrors. He tried to sift through the chorus, to understand their warning, but the cascade was coming so loudly that it became a single shrieking note.

And through this came the calm, soft words seducing him, caressing his body, reminding him of loving nights in deep bedfurs, being lost in the fresh smell of her thick hair on the pillows, the soft thrill of their bodies touching, the unending heat of their passion…

"Come, Anakin, you're tired from your fight. No need to decide right away. Certainly, though, you could use a drink—it's been how many weeks since you've tasted something real? I'll wager even a drop of water would seem worth a planetary fortune right now. Here—just a bit, to see you through for the moment. All I offer is a drink, a simple choice…"

Anakin reached out shakily, blindly, part of him still fearful, still sensing somehow that a deeper truth was being withheld—but by which voice? So many warnings, some from those long dead, many from those still living, still fighting, all with the same message to keep away from the seductive darkness. He thought he even heard Qui-Gon, pleading with him to remember what happened on Tattoine. But this wasn't about revenge. His mother was already dead; the Jedi had delayed him just too long, and here were no Tuskans deserving of annihilation.

No; here was only the glaring solar furnace of his destroyed flesh, seared beyond the reach of pain-killers and medical technology. He so wanted time to think, to wade through the haze of rhetoric and confusion to find the truth, that impossible singularity of perfection. Even the Force, once his friend and obedient servant, hovered at the boundary just beyond his reach, elusive and hesitant. He clenched his fists until he felt blood flow, the remains of his life slipping away as more voices echoed inside him—and only one clear tone of reason sounded above the din.

He knew already what the outcome would be if he yielded. He'd dreamt it repeatedly since the first voice had touched him. He tried to follow the dictates of his teaching, of his heart, what his feelings told him: that death would be better than the life awaiting him. Yet when he sobbed a single breath as he bent his head back, letting the cold drop land on his parched tongue, that single touch of darkness eased his pain and the doubt-filled questions didn't seem to matter anymore as all of the voices began to fade into the embracing gloom.

So long as Padme remained alive in his heart, Anakin could enter his chamber and be himself, remember his past, however dim and painful the thoughts. The blood of the Jedi still wet on his gloved hands, the sight of death becoming as commonplace as the stars themselves, all disappeared when his helmet came off and the suit deactivated. Here had always been hope—hope for the future, a remote chance for him to find a way to bring her back with the Sith knowledge, to be with her once more, making everything right again.

So long as Padme had lived even in his thoughts, Anakin still lived. But the dreams were shattered now, and the fall was not into a pit of intense roiling heat, but of emptiness, neither cold nor hot but soundless, lifeless, a black beyond even the event horizon of a black hole. The past, the present, the future had all fallen in with her, leaving him as hollow as when his master had first revealed her fate. He had but one purpose, and that was not his own. He blanked his mind, using the Force to see that he must bide his time, accepting that there was no future of freedom and happiness; the only reality was to follow the desires of his Master.

For now.

The enlarged chamber was comfortably cool now, its humid atmosphere carefully maintained to insure purity and isolation. Windowless and doorless, it kept him alive while he dealt with his new life. Time had no meaning amid the haze of pain-killing drugs, intense training and service to the Chancellor. Often his Force sense seemed shrouded and inconsistent, its veil pierced only by the soothing concern of Palpatine's voice giving direction and encouragement.

Yet always there were the vague whispers of dying Jedi calling his name, pleading for him to leave his path, to remember his destiny to return the Force to balance.

Today was a new day, and those voices were overshadowed. Anakin Skywalker had fully awakened in time for her to slip from his consciousness for good. She had been all that mattered; her memory had given him a hope, however faint, that he could use what he had learned to restore her. The Sith knowledge was there, temptingly close, a door just out of reach.

But today he finally accepted that he was alone, and even a Sith couldn't cross the bridge of death.

That had been the first lie he recognized.

He could hear her final words, whispered in soft sorrow as her voice strained to reach across the time and distance between them. She had looked for him, wanted him with her, but she had died alone despite the presence of others around her.

"I know there's still good in him… Please…"

His thoughts were short-lived. Palpatine sent for him, wanting a report of his progress and to remind him again of how they still had much work to do in righting the wrongs of the Republic. Anakin no longer cared, only half listening as he walked the Senate halls with his master. The new emperor made sure that every member of the Senate understood how the Empire would maintain peace—at any price—and the presence of the lethal enforcer next to him instilled fear with very little effort. Anakin forced himself to appear attentive, counting the seconds until the politics of the day ended.

He was finally alone after what seemed like endless meetings and processions. He tried one last time to focus the most minute aspect of his power to escape the confines that separated him from the outside, to reach whatever whisp might be left of her—but to no avail. Like a stubborn child, the Force persistently refused his demand, locked with a code he could not break.

As before, he wasn't strong enough for one he loved, for the only one left in his life who had mattered. She might have kept him from living up a name that was fast spreading fear between the systems. She could have stemmed the tide of tears that now flowed afresh beneath his mask, burning the raw scars that would never heal, filling his mouth with bitterness.

He'd lost everything. His mother. Padme. The chance to prevent unwarranted death. To save the innocent, those who didn't deserve to die.

In the silence of his chamber he stared at what were now his hands, sheathed in gloves to mask the growing fury of power that shouldn't be available without fingertips. Hands that led his tears to slide like silent drops of agony to the pristine floor.

He closed his eyes tightly against the loss, trying to sob despite the resistance of the respirator. Like a mindless agent of the Dark Side, it ruthlessly forced him to regulate his breathing, not letting him curl away to join her in death. He wanted peace, he wanted the pain to stop, the pain from all the wounds that would never heal.

He wanted her in his arms.

Palpatine was probably right. Had she lived, she would have never accepted him as this mass of molten destroyed flesh. He was now held together by sheer will power alone, along with his hatred and determination for revenge. His desire was to keep his promise, to right the wrongs of the past, to balance the misdeeds of the Jedi and destroy any who would cause disorder. But even that desire could not overcome his loneliness and his grief, could not erase his memory of her. It couldn't bring back her voice to reason with him as they held each other in the play of night lights through the windows on Corusant. Never again would there be someone to comfort him.

Or hold him back.

He watched his tears fall slowly to form a tiny pool on the floor as the helmet silently drifted above his head and sealed itself in place. He felt his chest begin to freeze, black ice overtaking his soul, turning all that he had been away from light. In a blink, it felt as if his past had been a strange dream, as though that life had never existed.

The tears stopped. A quick breeze blew away the swash of lifeless drops as the chamber opened. Anakin sighed for the last time and rose slowly, gathering his strength in the still ungainly suit that now sustained his essence and his resolve.

The universe had taken away everything that mattered. Nothing would ever matter again. His internal conflict was over; he drew a breath of despair and set about the finalizing the death of what might have been—and now, would never happen.

Vader raised his head. He stepped out and turned slowly on his heel, every movement dark and deliberate, power seething within him like cruel passion as he again answered his Master's call.