Chapter 10
"Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love."
Neil Gaimen
The softly twinkling stars have long since faded into the blurred lines of hyperspace and still we stand, neither of us moving to break the tentative peace that settles around us like a cloak.
I cannot say quite how long we have been standing here. I've lost myself in existing, a habit formed during my long years of solitude.
Despite the unspoken distance that lies between us, there is something comfortingly familiar about standing this way, his arms around my waist. We have often stood like this, existing in that small space, while the rest of the galaxy faded away. But, that was before, before all the lies and betrayal formed brittle barriers between us.
Thinking in this vein reminds me of his all too brief visits during the war, memories that I clutch to my heart like priceless jewels, each one unbearably precious.
How I missed him when he was gone! Every night I would pray for him and his safe return. I loved him then, desperately, as he loved me. Some nights I couldn't sleep, having heard of some great conflict, and fearing for his safety.
During the war, my intelligence system rivaled the Senate's. Even so, my heart would leap in my chest with a thrill of joy whenever I would feel his tentative touch on my mind. It was his way of letting me know that he was in the system, and would be coming home soon, coming home to me.
I must confess some dereliction in my duties where he was concerned. More then once, I switched places with a decoy, or pleaded some ailment to excuse myself from senatorial duties. I would rush back to our apartment to await his arrival, knowing that he too was doing his best to slip away from his duties.
The moment I spotted his fighter approaching my balcony, all of this melted into insignificance. He would leap out of his ship before it had even finished the shut down procedures, and run to me, clasping me tightly in his arms. We were like two people starved, desperate for the sight and feel of one another. It was never enough, could never be enough.
Many of my gowns were lost to this need, ripped ruins of silk and velvet, lying in forgotten piles on the floor. Anakin was never a patient man, and in this circumstance neither was I. We both needed to feel one another, to revel in that visceral reminder of life. He had survived, he had returned to me. Afterwards, he would hold me like this, his chin resting in my hair, content to simply rest in my presence.
I slowly slide back to reality, the illusion of familiarity not holding up to the harsh light of reality. It's not the same, being held by Vader. He is taller, broader, and I feel hard leather against me instead of warm skin. The face I loved is concealed by the mask, a mask I find I am growing to hate, more for what it conceals than what it represents.
A desperate need overcomes me. I need to know, need to see his face, need to look him in the eye and resolve for myself, once and for all, who he is. Man or monster, I MUST know.
I pull away from him slightly, and his arm tightens briefly, before reluctantly releasing me. I step away from him and gather my composure before turning to face him once again.
I do not pause to think, merely speak the first words that come to mind. "Show me your eyes."
He is taken off guard by my demand. "What?"
"Take your mask off. I need to see your eyes." Desperation claws at my throat, as I fight to control the tears that want to pool in my eyes. "Please..."
The minutes tick by, and once again I curse the unreadable mask. Just as I begin to think he will deny my request, he curtly nods the affirmative, before turning and walking away from me.
I silently follow him into the adjoining chamber and watch as a small droid floats at his bidding to help him remove the restrictive layers of his suit.
The moments that follow pass in a dreamlike quality, as I watch the outer shell of Vader peel away, revealing what lies beneath. It is one of those moments when time seems to slow down, each second ticking by like an hour, every detail of the utmost importance.
The mask snaps off with an odd hiss of decompressed air being released, and I can see the back of his head. His skin is pale, and I can see several thin, white lines of scar tissue running down the back of his head and under the neck of his suit. His hair is cropped short, like it was when he was a padawan, only this time there is no braid, no bond or vow to hold him.
He undoes the fastenings and begins to peel off the outer-suit, revealing the under tunic. The shirt pulls taut, and I can see the strong muscles of his back clearly outlined through the light material.
Tension radiates off of him like pulse waves, nearly concealing the underlying fear and embarrassment, as he turns to face me. I brace myself, mentally prepared for the worst. No matter how bad it is, I will not let him see it in my face or eyes.
I will not.
It is not nearly as bad as I expected. His eyes are closed, and I know he doesn't want to see my face. He is afraid of my reaction. The scar he had when I last knew him is still there, a pale knotted line of scar tissue. There are a few others, thin and silvery in the dim lighting of the chamber. His skin is unnaturally pale, most likely from lack of sun than any permanent damage. But these things are superficial and matter little to me. I am not repulsed by him, as he, and I will admit a small part of me, feared. He is still my husband. Now, in this moment, I cannot see him as a monster or a killer, though I know to many he is both.
He is still, his muscles tense, waiting for the rejection he is so sure I will give him. As none come,s his eyes slowly open, and I can see the rich deep blue of them.
This is Anakin. This is my husband.
It strikes me then, like a vicious blow to my heart. He is both Anakin and Vader; the man and the monster. My delusions shatter. In truth there is no distinction, and there never was. The pain in my heart is almost crippling, forcing me to accept the truth. I cannot hate one and love the other. There is no other to hate, only him, only the man.
So where does that leave me now?
My knees give out under the dual weights of shock and long held sorrow. My thoughts are scattered, my emotions, even more so. My head rests on my knees as hollow shockwaves of pain and sorrow wash over me, causing my body to shake with their intensity. Long moments pass in this state, and I almost forget his presence.
I nearly jump when I feel a warm hand settle on my shoulder. My eyes travel up from his innocently bared feet, over the hard length of his reconstructed legs, the broad chest and shoulders, and finally up to his face. His eyes are bright with unshed tears, the brilliant blue of his eyes, the ones that haunt my dreams. The concern and sorrow is clearly etched on his face, even if I could not feel the echoes of it through our bond. I feel cold and numb. Reaching up I grasp his hand almost desperately, like a lifeline. The fingers of my other hand trail over his much larger one, examining it thoughtfully. It's a good re-creation. I can scarcely tell the difference. In fact, if I didn't know the truth, I would never believe that beneath the smooth flesh lies wires and electrodes, not bone and sinew.
A pang of sorrow fills me at the loss. A foolish thing to mourn perhaps, but there it is. As good a re-creation as they are, these are not his hands. It is not his skin against mine, not his warmth.
I always loved his hands, the long elegant fingers and strong palms, a wonderful contradiction of smooth flesh and calluses from long hours wielding a lightsabre. Hands that could create or build almost anything. Hands that could touch and caress so gently and powerfully. Hands that could protect and defend. Hands that could destroy.
A hot rush of anger courses through me, pushing away the numbness that threatens to overwhelm me once again.
"How could you...? Why did you do it?"
His shields slam up as he rises to his feet, pulling away from me. He doesn't ask what I mean. He knows, and perhaps more importantly, he knows that I am aware of it.
"You know why. I told you before, I did it to save you."
Another burst of anger blossoms in my chest with his words, and I pull myself to my feet. Even as I begin to speak, I know that what happens now will affect everything that follows. If Anakin and I are ever to have a chance at redemption, we must get past this, no matter how much it hurts.
"If saving me was so important to you, that you would destroy everything we had worked for, than why did you attack me on Mustafar? No, it wasn't just to save me. Perhaps on some level it was, but we both know there was far more to it than that."
The pacing begins, a sure sign that he is becoming agitated. Part of me relishes this, wants to see how far I can push him before he loses control, wants to see whether or not he has learned anything during our separation.
"The Republic was dying. It was a crippled, stagnant beast that would have pulled us all down with it if Palpatine had not stepped in..."
The words he speaks have the sense of something often repeated- a close held mantra, like he is trying to convince himself and not just me. Perhaps I am not the only one clinging desperately to fading delusions.
"I was wondering when you would mention that. You're right, the Republic was crippled, and Palpatine was the one who crippled it. He was behind everything all along! The invasion of Naboo, the clones, the war... Everything! And you helped him strike the killing blow. That is what tears me apart inside! You helped to destroy everything I worked for. Everything you fought for...Gone! Destroyed in an instant of blind servitude."
He sighed and clenched his jaw stubbornly. "It is not as simple as it seems. He is... was, my master. I committed myself to the Sith, and to him. I swore a vow..."
White-hot anger courses through my veins, and my hands are clenched so tightly that I can feel the sharp half-moons of my fingernails biting into my palms. The tight control of my temper snaps, and I lash out, wanting to hurt him as badly as he has hurt me.
"You swore a vow to me! Or did our wedding vows mean so little? You promised you would love, honor and protect me, and as far as I can see you've broken all of those vows. Just as you broke your vows to the Jedi."
He simply stares at me for a moment, stunned by my accusations. Then his own temper flashes, and he closes the distance between us, grasping my biceps in a punishing grip. He towers over me and I can see the anger flashing in his eyes.
"You're right, I broke my vows. I broke my vows to the Jedi, and even you cannot deny, that that, at least, I did for you. And yes, I failed to protect you, another burden that is mine to carry. And perhaps I dishonored you by aiding in the Republic's destruction. I will not argue that, but do not dare to tell me that I didn't love you! I loved you more than anything in this universe. I would have died for you, and gladly killed for you. May my soul be damned for it, but I would do far worse things to protect you. I would tear the entire galaxy apart to save you."
He releases me and pauses, breathing heavily. When he speaks again, it is softer, and far more pained.
"I grieved for you. I thought you had died. I thought I had killed you, as well as our child, and I died inside. There was not a day in the past ten years that I did not mourn your loss. I know I made mistakes, and I know I failed you. But don't you say I didn't love you! Don't you say it!"
My eyes search his, somewhat stunned by his words. Part of me wants to throw myself into his arms and forget all of this, but I haven't finished yet. Something still lay between us.
"You died inside? You grieved? So did I. Every day, every moment since I last saw you on Mustafar. I grieved for the Jedi, I grieved for the Senate, I grieved for the younglings that you murdered, I grieved for the life we had lost, and yes, I grieved for you. You say you thought me dead? I very nearly was. I came closer to death than I should have, and not nearly as close as I would like. And our children... I hated you for that. Because of you, and the decisions you made, my arms are empty. I was not allowed to watch my children grow. I did not get to see them smile, or learn to speak. I never got to watch them take their first steps..."
My throat constricts painfully, and I pause before continuing.
"Instead I lied alone in that damned medical center, clutching a pillow to my chest, trying to stop the ache in my arms that cried out for them. There were days afterwards when I prayed for death. I prayed for it! I had nothing to live for, nothing! You took it from me. You destroyed everything I held dear...even yourself."
He looks so stricken that I want to go to him and soothe him, the way I always have, but I do not. My feet feel rooted to the floor as I wait for him to speak.
His eyes close, and I wait silently as he gathers his composure. He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, he is interrupted by the insistent beeping of the comm.
He blinks at me in surprise for a moment, and then shakes his head as though to clear it. His bare feet slap against the metal plating of the deck as he stalks over to the comm.
"What?" he snarls harshly.
"I apologize for disturbing you, Milord, but we will be arriving in orbit around Coruscant shortly."
He bit off a rather nasty curse before replying, "Very well, I will be on the bridge shortly."
"Very good, Milord."
He turns to look at me for a moment, his face unreadable. "I have to go oversee our arrival, and attend to a few matters. Will you be alright on your own?"
My heart leaps into my chest at his words, the instantaneous panic at the thought of being alone. Out of sheer stubbornness I squash the feeling, determined not to let him know how badly I do not want him to go.
"I'll go with you."
"No. You are still recovering..."
"I am fine. I'm feeling much stronger, and I would much rather accompany you than stay here."
I have been cooped up for far to long as it is, and besides, I do not have any desire to be left alone in the sterile tomblike rooms of Vader's quarters.
"I'm going to be on the bridge, dealing with the officers. You are not dressed to be walking about a military vessel," He says firmly, as he looks pointedly at my white medical gown.
He is right on that aspect, at least. It would not do for me to be seen on the bridge, in what is, essentially, a shift.
"I will manage something," I reply stubbornly.
Half an hour later, I find myself hurrying to keep up with my husband's long strides. True to my word, I am respectably, if somewhat irregularly, attired in a sort of gown, made from one of his capes.
After a few unsatisfactory attempts, I put the cape on backwards, fastening the chain behind my neck and wrapped the voluminous folds around my body before twisting the long ends up behind my back, and pulling them up over my shoulders to create a sort of shawl. With my hair pulled back, I think the effect was quite elegant, if I do say so myself. My husband was not quite as amused, and made his displeasure at my stubborness quite clear. But, as I am here and not genuflecting back in his quarters, I think it's rather obvious how that discussion turned out.
My eyes are still not quite used to the bright lights that surround us, so the long corridors of the Executor pass in a sort of blur. Still, I cannot help but be fascinated by the thrum of life that surges around us. The troopers, officers, and engineers move in a sort of choreographed dance, each doing their part in this well-oiled machine.
Vader stops in front of the open doors of a lift and gestures for me to enter. He follows behind me, the doors slide shut with a soft hiss. The short ride to the bridge passes in an awkward silence, so I am almost relieved when the lift comes to a stop.
That relief is short lived. As we step onto the large command center, the buzz of activity slowly dies away, like a wave passing outward. I can feel every eye in the room boring into me, and I fight the urge to step back into the protective shelter of my husband. Instead, I square my shoulders and lift my chin with every ounce of dignity I learned during my years as Queen.
I can feel Anakin move up behind me, the steady breathing of his mask oddly reassuring. As though his movement was a cue, everyone in the room suddenly became very busy with whatever they had been doing before we entered.
His large, gloved hand closes gently on my arm, and we walk toward the front of the bridge where a group of officers stands, politely waiting to be acknowledged.
I watch in silent amusement at the bobbing bows, and chorus of 'My Lords'. Anakin simply nods in acknowledgment, the bright lights of the bridge gleaming of the sharp lines of his mask.
The first officer, an admiral judging from his uniform, turns to me and flashes me a particularly unpleasent smile. I can feel Anakin tense beside me as the man begins to speak.
"And who might this enchanting creature be?" He asks in a disgustingly smarmy tone.
I glance at my husband in amusement as I feel the rush of consternation that surges across our bond. When he finally speaks his voice is tight with annoyance.
"Padme Amidala..."
"Skywalker," I interject shooting Anakin a particularly provoking smile. "...His wife."
The wave of shock that washes through the room is amusing, but not nearly as amusing as the look of horrified shock on the officer's face.
"Your wife?" he splutters as he turns to Anakin for confirmation.
I can feel a light breeze blowing over my skin and the edges of my dress start to blow back and forth. I realize, with a slight jolt of surprise, that it is Anakin, manipulating the air in an attempt to control his temper.
"Yes, Tarkin. My wife. Now did you have anything else of importance to say, or are you just going to stand there all day gaping like a fish?"
He grabs my arm, gently but firmly, and pulls me along beside him as he marches toward a large door. The door slides open to reveal a spacious conference room. Anakin gently puts a hand on my shoulder and pushes me down onto the nearest chair.
I feel a slight surge of irritation. I'm getting a bit tired of being pushed and pulled around like a doll. I begin to say so, but bite my tongue as Tarkin swiftly marches in behind us, his face pinched in obvious disapproval. He is followed, much more hesitantly, by an obviously nervous officer.
Surprisingly, the officer is the one who breaks the tense silence."Milord, we will be arriving in orbit around Coruscant in half an hour, and your shuttle is being prepared for launch, as you requested."
"Very good, Captain Piett. You may return to your duties," Anakin says curtly.
Captain Piett nods gratefully before making a hasty retreat back to the command center.
Tarkin turns to my husband and begins to speak, his tone oily and ingratiating. "Milord, before you go I would like to discuss the 'situation' with the Rebels... If that is convenient, of course."
I whip my head to face Tarkin, a wary curiosity foremost in my mind. Judging from the tension radiating from my husband, I won't like where this is headed.
"Rebels, Admiral?" I query cooly.
Tarkin frowns at me coldly before speaking. "Yes, a treasonous group of dissidents, little more than rabble. Nothing to concern yourself with, Madam."
"Treasonous? In what way?"
"They openly defy the authority of the Emperor..."
"That is not treason."
Tarkin looks at me in horrified shock, before spluttering a response. "He is their Emperor, as he is yours, lest you forget it."
A snort of amusement escapes me. "He may be yours, but he is not mine. I owe him no allegiance."
Tarkin's face flushes red with anger, and moves as though to strike me, but before he can do more than raise his hand he is lifted into the air and thrown hard against the bulkhead.
I jump to my feet as Anakin crosses the room and lifts the stunned admiral into the air by his throat.
Tarkin's face is beginning to change color as he splutters and claws at the gloved fist that is clamped around his throat.
"Anakin!" I cry, but he doesn't appear to hear me.
I cross the room and lay my hand on his arm before saying his name again. This time he turns his masked face to look at me.
"Let him go, Anakin. It's not worth it, he's not worth it."
I care little what happens to Tarkin, but the darkness that threatens to engulf my husband terrifies me. I can feel him trembling beneath my hand, the violent rage boiling within him. The seconds tick by like hours and Tarkin's struggles become weaker.
Then, as though a switch has been thrown, the gloved fingers release and Tarkin falls in an unconscious heap to the floor.
Anakin is still shaking violently as he turns to me, and to my surprise, pulls me firmly to his chest, holding me tight against him.
I stand still for a moment, unsure of what to do. Then I push aside my conflicting thoughts and instead, allow my instincts to guide me.
I slowly bring my arms up around him. Even as I do, his trembling begins to ease and the terrifying rage that almost consumed him slowly begins to fade.
I do not fully understand what has just occurred, and I am not sure that he does either. So much has occurred in the last two days that I scarcely know how to process it. Perhaps he too is feeling overwhelmed by all that has happened. It doesn't matter, I suppose. For now, I simply hold onto him, as he holds onto me.
And that is enough, that is everything.