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Chapter 11
AN: I really enjoyed writing this story, and I've grown rather attached to the first person writing style, as well as the character of Luke. While the ending is abrupt I find it to be appropriate. I might do a epilogue, but I'm still unsure. As always, please review! Thanks so much to my loyal readers!
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In a parallel universe, I would have felt afraid. But it wasn't like that—no, for some reason, it was not—this was reality. I was here, in the kitchen, and my son was not.
He was here, standing in the hallway, casually walking down. I don't think he saw me right away, for at that moment I sank to the ground and crouched on all floors, scampering as fast as I could into the dining area.
I tried to find a suitable spot to hide, but the only spot I could think about was the pantry closet. Cliché I know, but I hid inside nevertheless.
It wasn't like I couldn't hear him. He was a lot larger than they made him out to be on the HoloNet—the prosthetic limbs that he now had must have been larger than his original, and the suit probably held way to much technology to call himself a 'human'. He might have had lifts in his boots, by the way his heels clicked against the hardwood.
And then shadows filled the cracked underneath the close doors that kept me hidden inside the closet. He was right here, right in front of me.
Strangely, as I said before I wasn't afraid when he opened the doors. I wasn't afraid of his rabid breathing, the mechanics the operated what he had become.
"Anakin," I breathed.
He reached with his mechanical arm—the one I knew well—but pulled away, almost an inch from my face. He couldn't do it, whatever he was going to do.
The breathing continued while he said, "I thought you were dead, Padmé." The cold, dark plastic mask the kept his face covered stared at me with lifeless eyes. I wondered then what was really looked like, if the rumors were true, if he was badly disfigured and hardly looked the same anymore.
I swallowed. My eyes drilled into him, tears welling in them, and said, "Don't hurt him, Anakin," I reached up to wipe my eyes, "Just—" I paused, searching his mask for any form of expression, "please," I whispered.
It seemed like silence between us, but it wasn't, clearly, because of his breathing, which had become heavy and short since he entered the house. I wondered then if this was the same person who had married me, kissed me at twilight, and fathered my children.
It was, he was, but it was hard to see that, staring at him now.
Then he spoke, "I won't hurt him, Padmé," he walked over into the kitchen, and leaned back onto the countertop. He was surprisingly casual, and I didn't trust him, for I was expecting a group of clones to come and demolish our house and the people within it any moment.
But instead, he was here, just—leaning.
"I've missed you," he said softly, as soft as he could, and pressed his forehead (mask) into the palm of his metallic hand. "You've been dead for almost—"
"Seven years," I finished, "Yes."
He looked back up, and asked, "What happened to you? How did you hide?" His voice was barely audible in the beginning, but the volume was growing with every question. I could feel his anger begin to rise, and a knot formed in my stomach. "Why did you hide? Why did you hide him from me?"
Then I realized I was, in fact, afraid.
"I…I…"
I had every answer for this—every answer but I still couldn't respond. I looked down to the ground, forcing my gaze away from the man I once loved, a man I think I still do love, if he if truly alive within spirit and soul.
He stopped leaning, and took three steps closer to me. I didn't move, and I kept my head down facing the hardwood floors. I saw his hands form a fist, and I couldn't think of what I do. I was frozen.
"You've denied me of my own son, my own—" His hand was raised, and I suddenly knew what he was going to do next.
My throat scratched as first, and I forced myself I cough. Then I grabbed my neck, in hope that maybe he would stop. It failed, and no matter how many times I could try to scream his name, tell him that he was still a good person, I couldn't speak anymore.
"Mommy!"
Luke ran towards me, and big blue eyes stared deeply as the monster in the kitchen.
He let the invisible grip on me go upon seeing his own child, and his breathing seemed heavier than before, somehow. His mask remained fixated on my and Luke, somewhat of a reminder of how Anakin had been with his own mother.
Somehow I regained all senses, despite the fact that my throat was now in very bad condition, and pulled my son into my arms. The boy buried his head into my shoulder, hugging me and never wanting to let go. My eyes remained burned onto Vader, the man who tried to kill me—twice—and I contemplated his next move. Would he apologize, rip off his mask and die in front of us, or would he take Luke, his apparent son, and hold him hostage to create a pawn for the emperor.
What would happen?
Luke's breath slowed down as I stroked his hair, telling him to 'shhh' like mothers do, but my eyes never left that of Vader.
Then he spoke.
"I'm… I'm so sorry," his voice was audible, but only if you were listening. His body slouched into a position of self-hatred, fists clenched, one rubbing the top of his mask. It was strange to see someone so powerful be so vulnerable, so weak, so feeble for what he had done.
His free hand grasped the end of his cape, tugging at it. He took four steps.
Then he left.
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I put Luke to bed that night, and he said nothing. We did nothing. The muffins we were making were burnt. I turned on the HoloNet that night after tucking him in, changing the channel to a news anchor that I trusted enough to give me (being the people) reliable information.
Darth Vader had disappeared.
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The End.
