A/N: First of all, many thanks to all of you who've followed/favorited/reviewed this story! I'm delighted that you like it! I hope this chapter won't disappoint! Some of you may have noticed that I went back and put in a new first chapter; sorry if that was confusing. After I posted this last week, I e-mailed my wonderful beta-reader and I was like, "Hey, by the way, I wrote a thing that I need help with." (because I'm impulsive and I jumped into writing this fic without thinking it through entirely-oops.) So while she and I are in the process of editing and revising, I may make some retro-active changes. I'll let you know. Also, some of this may not exactly fit with canon/legends, but, you know...fiction. Happy reading!


Skin Deep

Chapter 3

Anakin Skywalker had never been one disposed to indulge in creature comforts; Darth Vader even less so. Growing up on a harsh desert world, fighting a war, and enduring a baptism by fire had seen to that.

Losing his wife had seen to that.

Still, there were a very few things Vader enjoyed, and spending time in his meditation chamber was one of them. It was a stark, white space, sterile in every sense of the word. It had been specially equipped and sterilized so that he could spend time outside of his suit, breathe on his own, eat, feel fresh air. Even after two decades and countless bacta treatments, his skin—what was left of it—was still highly susceptible to infection, sometimes cracking and bleeding if he went too long between treatments. Sitting in his hyperbaric chamber helped promote healing. The process was painful every single time even when, like today, he only had his helmet and mask off. The physical pain was something he'd learned to live with; the emotional scars were still the most raw. He'd lost so much in the fire of his own anger.

It had been primarily the Emperor's idea for him to live on Mustafar. The place of your greatest trial and rebirth, the withered Sith said. It was here that Skywalker died, and it is here you should live, Lord Vader, to remember his weakness, so that you should never be tempted by him again.

He agreed, but not because he felt any connection to the ashen banks where he had burned and screamed in torment.

Yes, Anakin Skywalker died here, but he had lived here, too.

Here was the last place he had seen her alive, had felt her soft hands on his unmarred face, held her close, sensed the small, burgeoning presence of their child. Here was the last place they had all been together. Here was where they had all died.

Here was where he killed them; himself, Padmé, their child. Try as he might, he couldn't forget that. He couldn't forget-

Anakin, all I want is your love.

Vader clenched his teeth. He had been doing well with not thinking about her, not dwelling on the pain of living without her, ignoring the fact that he had killed her. The nightmares and visions had all but stopped. But her voice stole into his thoughts so often now.

Especially now.

Their last argument ran on a near-continuous loop in his mind.

I don't believe what I'm hearing. Obi-Wan was right; you've changed.

Obi-Wan.

I don't want to hear any more about Obi-Wan.

An ironic thing for him to have said, considering that he was about to spend the next two decades hunting Obi-Wan, hating him, wanting him dead. More ironic still was the fact that it his confrontation with Obi-Wan which had placed Vader in his current situation: waiting impatiently for confirmation of something he already knew.

Thrawn was on his way here, now, with a report containing the identity of the Rebel pilot. A sick dread settled in the depths of Vader's soul when the Chiss admiral had contacted him to say he'd been successful and was coming to report. The man was business-like, professional to the utmost, but Vader sensed hesitancy. Many men—most men—were hesitant to approach the Lord of the Sith, but never Thrawn. No, if anything, Thrawn only barely afforded Vader the respect his position deserved. What had the man feeling so uneasy?

An insistent beeping sound broke Vader's train of thought. He activated his comm. When he spoke, it was with a voice he was not used to hearing, a voice unpolluted by the device in his mask. "Yes?"

"Shuttle approaching, my lord."

"Inform Grand Admiral Thrawn that I will meet him personally."

"Very good, sir."

He curled his hands into fists and breathed as deeply as he could on his own before activating a set of controls. Something above him whirred to life and his oxygen regulator began its work as his helmet lowered onto his head. He glanced up at it, taking advantage of the few seconds of unaided eyesight he had left. The mask and helmet then lowered onto his head, heavily tinted lenses covering his eyes and correcting the vision which had not only been damaged by the fire that had eaten his flesh, but had begun to deteriorate in the normal process of aging as well. Yes, he could see much better with his helmet on, but it also darkened everything around him. There was no brilliance. Everything and everyone looked the same. He relied on the Force for clarity and detail.

He felt the helmet seal, pressurize, and then he was in his personal prison once more. He stood and tapped another control and the chamber began to de-pressurize and open. As soon as the gap was wide enough, he ducked out. He strode from the room with purpose, taking the shortest route to the landing dock. As he stepped outside, Mustafar's oppressive heat caused his suit's cooling regulator to kick into overdrive. The cold was painful on his face, which was already raw from its exposure in the chamber.

Numbly, Vader thought, It never stops.

He stood now on a landing platform waiting for the arrival of Thrawn's shuttle. This particular platform was the only part of the former Separatist facility which hadn't been completely razed and rebuilt years ago; he hadn't allowed it. This platform was the last place he had ever seen her alive. He stood where she had fallen, as he always did when he was coming or going from the platform. He could feel faint echoes of her presence, even after all this time.

Thrawn's shuttle drew closer, starting as a speck in the sky and growing until it touched down on the platform. Its grey plating contrasting starkly with the violent lava churning in the molten river below. When Thrawn came down the landing ramp, his blue skin contrasted even more starkly still. The reds and oranges of the lava gave Thrawn's skin an eerie glow, but Vader was undisturbed.

"Grand Admiral," he greeted coolly.

"Lord Vader."

They started inside. Thrawn held a holocube and a datapad in his hand. "Is there a secure room we can use?" He asked. "I've uncovered some sensitive information."

Vader inclined his head. "Of course. Are you in need of refreshment?"

Thrawn's mouth was tight. "I think not, thank you. Let's get right to it."

The uneasiness in the pit of Vader's stomach grew when they reached the room that functioned as his office. He entered a code on the door's keypad, and the room sealed, lights dimming. Anything said or any data shared while the security mode was active would not be heard or transmitted by anything or anyone attempting to spy. Perhaps it was an unnecessary precaution, but Vader and Thrawn knew better than anyone that in Palpatine's Empire, there was always someone listening.

Vader and Thrawn stood across from each other, both of them stiff. The rhythmic sound of Vader's regulated breathing echoed in the small space.

After several moments of silence, Thrawn turned on the datapad and glanced down at it, reciting mechanically. "This datapad contains a report of all information pertinent to the Empire's interest: the pilot's name, age, affiliations, last known location, etcetera. The pilot's name is Luke Skywalker, twenty standard years old, affiliated with the Rebel Alliance, of course; responsible for the 'rescue' of Princess Leia Organa from the Death Star and the station's subsequent destruction. He first came to Imperial attention on his home planet, Tatooine, where he, a smuggler named Solo, and a Ben Kenobi were involved in an unauthorized ship departure incident in Mos Eisley. He was raised on a moisture farm outside of Anchorhead by his aunt and uncle, Owen and Beru Lars."

Beneath the mask, Vader's face was twisted in shock. As soon as he'd felt the boy's strength with the Force, he'd known. But having it confirmed was something he hadn't been prepared for. His mind was reeling and reaching, trying to grasp the full significance of what he'd just heard.

"Skywalker?" He repeated, inwardly satisfied that his voice gave away nothing more than an appropriate amount of surprise at hearing the name of a long-dead Jedi. An unknown fear was tightening its fist around his heart.

"You heard correctly." Thrawn's eyes narrowed, trying to gauge him. He held the datapad out to Vader.

Vader took the datapad, but did not look at it. He folded his arms across his chest. For once, he was grateful for his vocabulator and respirator; they kept him from sounding as breathless as he felt. "And the information not pertinent to the Empire's interest?"

Thrawn nodded minutely; they understood each other. "I was very meticulous in my research, Lord Vader." He looked Vader in the eye. "I can assure you that all of the information I'm about to share is accurate beyond a shadow of a doubt."

A slight nod. "I expected no less. Proceed."

Crossing behind Vader's desk, Thrawn set the holocube in the appropriate terminal, and it activated, glowing. Luke Skywalker appeared before them. The image was life-sized.

"This is Skywalker, taken about two standard years ago."

Vader took half a step closer to the image. He knew that face! He'd looked at a nearly-identical one in the mirror every day for twenty-three years.

Thrawn tapped the holocube and two different images appeared: the face of a child and the face of a battle-hardened man, a jagged scar running parallel to his eye. The face which, beneath Vader's mask, still bore that same scar.

"And this is his father, Anakin Skywalker," Thrawn continued, "the former Jedi Knight and hero of the Clone Wars. Before his Jedi training, he was a Tatooine native. Something of a local marvel."

Vader didn't move. His heart slammed against his ribs when confronted with the images of his former self and his-his son. "Skywalker had a son," Vader repeated evenly. "Was he born on Tatooine?"

"No." Thrawn tapped the cube again. Another image appeared, a publicity photo from an old Republic HoloNews story. One of Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi standing shoulder to shoulder, at ease and smiling. It took everything in Vader to keep from recoiling.

"This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master. Skywalker was Kenobi's apprentice. Kenobi survived the Jedi Purge and hid on Tatooine, calling himself 'Ben.' I believe it was Kenobi who delivered Skywalker's son to the Lars immediately after his birth. You know, of course, that Kenobi died on the Death Star."

The echoes in Vader's mind spoke again:

Obi-Wan is trying to turn you against me.

He cares about us.

Us?

He knows...He wants to help you.

The datapad in his hand snapped cleanly in two and fell to the floor. Thrawn didn't flinch.

"And what of the boy's mother?" Vader spoke slowly, carefully. Thrawn's head dipped just a millimeter. He was slow to tap the holocube. When he did, a video started playing. "This was her. I went to great lengths to find out that she and Anakin Skywalker were secretly married at the start of the Clone Wars."

If not for the air being forcefully pumped in and out of his lungs, Vader would have stopped breathing. Padmé's image coalesced the center of the room. She looked so young! Twenty-four at the most, but she carried herself with such authority and wisdom. She was in a dark dress, hair arranged as intricately as ever. With the image at that size, it was like she was standing in the room with them. Vader could see every detail: every seam, every twinge of her eyebrows, even the way her knuckles turned white with strain as she gripped the sides of her console. Now, just as then, he towered over her, but her gaze cut to his very core. She faced him, seemed to be speaking to him, not to the Senate.

He was barely cognizant of Thrawn's presence in the room. "Is there audio?"

Thrawn said nothing, but tapped the holo-cube console. Padmé's fervent voice filled the room: loud, strong, and bell-clear.

"Wake up, senators! You must wake up! If you offer the Separatists violence, they can only show violence in return! Many will lose their lives; all will lose their freedom!"

A pause as she searched the faces of those around her, an audience he couldn't see. All at once, her eyes met his.

"I pray you do not let fear push you into disaster."

Vader took a step back. "Enough."

"Padmé Amidala," Thrawn said as the holo-vid disappeared. "Senator and former queen of-"

"I know who she is," Vader snapped. He didn't want to hear Thrawn discuss her as if she had never been anything more than a hologram. She had been so vibrant; couldn't Thrawn see that?

That question was answered when the Grand Admiral ventured carefully, "She was quite a remarkable figure despite her…" he searched for an appropriate phrase, "misguided political leanings."

Vader ignored him. "What did you discover about her?" He dared to hope: "Is she alive?"

He knew it was a stupid question; after all, he had seen images of her burial site in Theed. Still, if there was any chance her death had been faked…

"No." Thrawn said quickly. "I was curious about that myself. With Kenobi obviously alive for all those years and Anakin Skywalker's whereabouts unknown, I thought it was possible that Amidala's death had been a cover-up; between having a Jedi husband, a child to raise, and political views opposing Palpatine's, I imagine she would have wanted to disappear from public life." He paused meaningfully and tapped the holo-cube. "But then I saw this and I had little doubt."

She appeared before them again. Dead, this time. It was the image which had so affected Thrawn when he'd seen it, and now Vader more so. Slowly, he moved forward to peer into her holographic coffin as if it were really in the room. One gloved hand moved as if to stroke her cheek. Thrawn averted his gaze.

Vader's heart quivered. He had seen Padmé's image thousands of times; he had many holograms of her, used to look at them in his meditation chamber and grieve for her and the baby, rage against himself, or seek solace from her warm eyes. But he'd never seen this-the river-blue dress, her hair, the flowers, the snippet of japor held carefully in her grasp, her prominent belly on display for all to see, the peaceful expression on her lifeless face. Peaceful, but deeply sad, he thought. He had been undergoing surgeries and treatments of every kind when her funeral took place, and he couldn't bring himself to see anything of it afterward, nor did he visit her grave on Naboo. He knew he was the one who killed her; him and his fury and hatred and blindness. He didn't need to see her grave to confirm that...

His head snapped up suddenly and he sprang forward, away from the hologram.

He jerked his head back to look at Padmé.

He had killed her, hadn't he?

Where is Padmé? Is she safe? Is she alright?

It seems in your anger, you killed her.

"What was her cause of death?" He demanded. "Asphyxiation?"

A look of total surprise passed briefly over Thrawn's face. "N-no," he said. "The report was inconclusive. They labeled her cause of death as 'stress cardiomyopathy,' but—"

"Were there any complications with the birth?"

You're going to die in childbirth...I won't let that happen, Padmé.

"No, none."

Vader was rendered speechless, but a voice, cold and awful, whispered to him:

Did you ever hear the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?...Darth Plagueis was a dark lord of the Sith so powerful and so wise, he could use the Force to influence the midichlorians to create life.

Vader clenched his fists tightly. Everything in the room began to tremble as he said to Thrawn, "Give me everything you've found."