Chapter Two

There are no words, at first. Only a kind of astonishment, a moment where I can feel time shifting beneath my feet, where I can feel my life turning. Because it is her.

I am too stunned even to reach through the Force to even make certain her identity. I attempt to speak, but the words run dry on my tongue the second I open my mouth. Her eyes are still focused on mine, her arms still raised in terror.

I can feel her seeing me. The sycophants that surround me, even the Emperor, none of them truly look into my eyes. They see the thing that I have become, not the man that I was. But in her eyes, I see an understanding that surpasses this moment. I see universes colliding within her chocolate-brown eyes; I see a mixture of things far too terrible to behold.

The part of me that still cares, the instinctive reflex of being a Sith, rises up at the crowd behind us. They are gathering around in wonder, in confusion. I realize, dazzled, that they do not see her as I do. All they see is an unfortunate woman kneeling before the Dark Lord's wrath.

Reflex suddenly springs to life within me, taking over the rest of me that is still too bewildered to care. I cannot touch her, cannot yet bear the thought of my digits upon her flesh, but I can coax her, like an animal from hiding...

"Come with me," my voice booms majestically, and once, just this once, I wish I could impart warmth upon it.

Her eyes falter from mine, and she trembles more, breathing shallowly from her chest. Only then once she releases me from the spell do I see the hollow gauntness of her cheeks. Only then do I see the rags she is wearing.

It is of no concern to me. If she was wearing sackcloth and ashes, I would welcome her home as my bride.

She still does not move, and anguish begins to creep in the void where seconds ago there was only shock. I know after all that I have done that she will not fall in my arms, but surely she must see that she has to come with me. I have been imagining her for so long, and her presence has tormented me for what seems like forever. To see her is completely surreal. I feel as if she will evaporate into mist the second I touch her.

I still cannot speak her name, cannot plead with her because it is still all too much. I am drowning, and I am lost in a flood of despairing, unrelenting love and sorrow. The part of me that is allied to the Force is reaching out unconsciously, seeking comfort. Seeking her. It is like a child reaching blindly to its mother with no knowledge of the supplication.

Her arms lower, and hushed whispers start to circle around the crowd that has gathered. They bear astonished but wary curiosity. I do not doubt that reports of my behavior here will soon circulate back to the Emperor, but that is none of my concern. Not right now.

Nothing matters right now. Not her betrayal, not the bitterness I felt at the mere thought of her name, nothing. All that is eclipsed by one central, burning fact: She is alive.

I cannot stand the fear in her eyes any longer, the terror burning brightly. I reach forward, ignoring steadfastly everything else. My heart is pounding in my ears, and I am truly afraid for what feels like the first time since I first saw her dying. Something within her strips away the power that is my only ally, and I am helpless.

My hand is dark to my eyes, even compared to the refuse of Imperial City's lower levels. It extends in the space between us, and it almost feels as if it is not attached to me. I am imagining the contact with her flesh, imagining that it will either scar or heal me...

And then her hand is in mine, and she is still trembling. Her eyes are downcast demurely, and I wonder at the changes in her that she should be so subdued. My hand shakes a little as well, because I am touching her and she is real, not a product of my imagination or a cruel trick.

But then I realize what I am doing, that I am holding the hand of Padmé. Strength flows into me because I remember. I remember what I dreamed for us at Mustafar, what she rejected.

Because now, it is like we are Emperor and Empress,. It does not matter that we are in these dingy surroundings. It does not matter that she is wearing rags and I am a mere fraction of the man I was. All that matters is that she is here, now.

She is standing, the warmth of her hand in mine but still will not look at me. It is like she is an enemy who has been defeated and is awaiting her sentence. I do not feel exultant triumph, however, only amazed fear in the worst way.

I pull her gently away from the corner she had been hiding in. And suddenly silent tears are spilling down my face because everything that I have hoped for is here. My wife is by my side, again. I can bear her hate; it will be nothing compared to the revulsion I feel for myself.

There is utter silence, now, and the only noise is the hiss of my respirator. Just for this moment, I am grateful for my destroyed lungs. I am not sure that I would be able to breathe on my own in this moment. I can feel the astonished fear of the crowd, and suddenly it does affect me. It raises me to further heights of glory.

I feel contempt stirring from parts of me that should not be able to feel. I feel unworthiness suddenly pour over me in a dizzying torrent. I am suddenly aware of the fact that I should not be touching her because she is so far beyond me, because all I have done. Images from Mustafar streak past me in a uncontrolled flash on my horizon, and my breathing catches imperceptibly.

I swallow, attempting to drown the feelings, but they will not dissipate, even as I lead her ragged form through Coruscant. I do not walk with a sense of ownership any longer, but only humble defeat. I cannot rid myself of my own revulsion, even as her head sinks lower and her eyes refuse the sight of mine. There are no words between us, not even the intimacy of our connection. I am cut off, and even though she is here, it suddenly feels worse, because now I feel that can condemn me. Her silence cuts me as a knife, slicing, penetrating.

I want to reach out to her, want to comfort her, but I cannot. I cannot heal myself, so the mere thought of attempting to help her is pointless.

Her hand in mine is a nervous weight, and it often feels like she wants to take it back. But I will not let her, because whatever she has become, she is still mine.

I open the door to my apartment, at last releasing her once we are inside. Her hand falls from mine numbly, and I turn around to look at her, to take her appearance in. I once again curse Obi-Wan and all that he has taken from me, as I only see her through the imperfect lenses of my mask.

Darkness closes in around me as she still will not acknowledge my presence. She is acting as a servant, even after that blazing moment when her eyes saw me and her soul touched mine. Fury pounds within me, and suddenly I am encased in the darkness once more. How dare she? After everything that I have done, the anguish that I have endured at her memory, how dare she not even say a word?

Or does she hate me that much, that she cannot bear to even look at me?

I speak the first words since my desperate offer. These are colder, and speak with the harsh acuteness of anger, something I had not intended.

"How do you like my home?"

There is little reaction from her, except her hand clenching on the tattered fabric of her robe. She breathes in through her mouth, her ribs shallowly expanding. I can feel only fear from her, and it is agonizing.

Suddenly, I feel as if she is doing this intentionally, fearing me because she knows it will bring me pain. I have endured fear from every other being in the galaxy, and the thought that I should have to see it in her is unimaginable. Just once, a very tired, lost, broken part of me would like to have her look in my eyes and breathe the name 'Anakin.' The thought that she is too afraid of me to love me only brings fury.

Wounds still unhealed are opened viciously. Seeing her brings me no feelings of warmth or kindness now; only the furious anguish in which she left me. I stalk towards her, gathering the full effect of my power and anger around me. It burns again, a flame ignited, throbbing within me.. It encircles me, purging all doubt or fear that I might have had. I bury temporary weakness under anger, forcing the tears back. I long for apathy now, long for it desperately. Not feeling is easier than hope.

"Don't toy with me," I hiss. I am grateful for the voice now, grateful that its deep timbre withholds any betraying tremor of despair. She keeps her head down, still. Soft curls cross around her face, wreathing it with beauty, even through the sharp lines of hardship. She acts as if she does not know me, but I will not suffer any deceit.

Anger fills me. It is hot, flowing and powerful, genuine. I tap into the reserves of strength that are my sustenance. It has been so long since I have been genuinely angry. I savor the emotion, breathing it in, becoming one with the Dark Side. There is so much power here, so much that the Jedi would have taken from me if I had allowed them. It is intoxicating, fascinating to me and I am drawn to its awful allure.

"I do not know how you survived," I breathe. She still will not look at me, her eyes fixed on her hands determinedly. No betraying signs are visible on her face, no vulnerabilities. It enrages me that my world is exploding and she sits there, as calm and serene as the day I first met her.

Pain surges inside of me, newly awakened. Perhaps she does not want to remember me, remember all that I have done. The thought is suffocating, closing in like a trap around me. I am immediately torn back to the day I last saw her, and something within me gives way.

I grab her hands and slam her against the wall, ignoring her shrill cries of protest. Power is flowing through me now, and I am merely an extension of its might. All the rage I have felt for the past ten years, all the fury burning inside of my that I have yet to exorcise, all the agony of losing her, it all unifies into one single action. She does not have the right to forget me, not after her betrayal.

I scream, burning my throat with intensity, "Answer me! Damn you, I know you hear me!"

Her eyes open, the same eyes that have haunted me for the last five years. There is no glimmer of condemnation or love in them, or anything resembling what I feel. I can sense in her the deep defiance and grace for which I first loved her, but they are buried behind something, behind a thick shield into which I cannot reach.

There is only panic and confusion, an impenetrable fog which I feel no powers can dissipate. Tears spill from her eyes, tears of exhausted fright, so very similar and so very different from the ones she shed so long ago. She takes in a shuddering sigh, my hands still binding her to the wall, my face mere inches from hers.

"Lord Vader, I had an accident, years ago," she whispers, eyes cast down, her voice halting, refusing to look me in the face. "I forgot everything, my Lord. Any memory of my old life has fled; I know nothing of who I was before.

"I have no memory of you."