Author's Note: Well, it'sd March 1st, which means it back to posting schedule… Updates on the 1st and 15th – or 16th of the Month. Thanks for reading guys :)
Chapter 44
Vader's Flag Ship Exactor - Month Twenty Four, Day Twelve PEF
The silence was almost deafening the following morning when Vader emerged from his room. Padmé sat where he'd left her in the lounge, her back to the bedroom door. He hadn't, however, missed the stiffening of her posture when his gaze came to rest on her.
"Good morning."
She said nothing, ignoring him, and an amused half smile flitted across his face for a moment before it was gone. The silent treatment; if they hadn't spent time in his bed last night he might have found it insulting. Of course, that she'd preferred to spend the night on the sofa instead of in his arms irked him to no end. "You can't ignore this - or me - forever Padmé; we're not going anywhere."
Her response was to shift her head a fraction more away from him, her gaze straight on the viewport - or at least that's where he believed it to be. Her message was loud and clear. Even if she couldn't ignore him, she would bloody well try.
Heading for the kitchenette, Vader found it empty and without breakfast waiting - could he honestly expect otherwise after her treatment of him this morning? - and opened the crisper. He wasn't much of a cook, but he could at least feed himself and his wife adequately, even if she was determined to give him the silent treatment. If nothing else, she might just say 'thank you' for breakfast and he was willing to use any and all weapons against her.
After her willing participation last night, she was fair game.
Breakfast wasn't anything fancy - a couple bowls of fruit with some fried bread and cream coupled with eggs and blue milk - but he set the table with a smile that was closer to a smirk. Despite her having spent the night on the couch, he'd slept relatively peacefully after their physical encounter, plagued by nothing more than the continuous urge to strangle this Max person and make him pay for touching his wife.
His dreams, when he'd slid back between the covers, had been centered completely on Padmé and the knowledge that tonight had been but a taste; already he craved more. More of her touch, her kiss - of her willing surrender. And now, with last night's revelations, he was certain it would be sooner rather than later.
Back in the main area of the suite, Padmé listened to the sounds of Vader in the kitchen and told herself to ignore him while careening between being horrified at her actions and smug. Smugly horrified. There was a contradiction if she'd ever heard one - but that's what she was.
Smug that after all this time the intimacy between them was as devastatingly earth shattering and all encompassing as it had always been - and horrified that she'd been overcome by his appeal to show such a moment of weakness. Smug that she was well aware he'd not shared even a shred of that kind of connection with Asajj - and horrified she cared.
Smugly horrified.
Satiated but appalled.
No matter what name she gave it, it all boiled down to some very simple facts. Ever since Asajj had claimed her place as Vader's mistress, Padmé had been unable to deny that it ate at her. The Force Adept's intention had been to injure, to inflict damage - and she'd succeeded.
Not that Padmé would have ever admitted to the jealousy the claim had unleashed - a jealousy that had driven her into the arms of the man who'd once been her husband, intent on reclaiming the very thing she'd been lacking these past two years. Intent on erasing the taint of Asajj's accusation from her mind. Intent on reminding the man just what he'd been missing when he'd settled for less.
Her thoughts were turned so completely inwards, she missed Vader's call for breakfast.
Denial.
It was her constant companion these days. A silent, oppressive cloud that hung about Vader with salacious interest and intent - one she could never admit to or she'd be risking more than just her sanity.
No.
It was a risk she was unwilling and unable to take; no matter what physical draw he held for her. His appeal was the only safe acceptance she would grudgingly admit to. He drew her like no other man, could satisfy her like no one else - and for the short time where she was in his arms last night, the rest of the galaxy had faded away. No Empire; no Rebellion; no Max or Asajj. There had been nothing but the bed and the man who'd held her - and for a few, brief shining moments, he'd been her Anakin.
Padmé clutched painfully at her chest, shamefully remembering the way she'd tearfully pleaded with him - something she said she'd never do - begged him to come back to her, and a self-loathing - so intense it blindsided her - almost made her sick. She'd begged the man who wore her husband's face for something he could never give her; she'd begged a murderer and a monster for reprieve.
Disgusted with herself, she swallowed the bile that rose in the back of her throat and threatened to make a mess of the sofa she'd claimed as hers.
"Padmé."
Jerking at the sound of his voice, her head swung towards where he watched her, irritation plain on his face; it obviously wasn't the first time he'd called her. Their gazes locked and images flooded back. She remember the way he'd looked at her the night before, held her, touched her. That one look into his cerulean eyes, no matter what emotion they contained, was enough to ensure she craved him once more - but she couldn't, wouldn't cleave to the desire again no matter what it took. It was a bliss that came with a heavy cost - and one she couldn't afford to pay.
Deliberately, she turned her face away. Without seeing him, she practically felt the anger take hold. The way he seemed to grow; could envision his eyes narrowing, his fists clenching, his teeth grating...
"I'm talking to you, wife."
But she wouldn't be baited; let him try, there was nothing he could do or say at that moment that would make her loathe him as much as she despised herself that morning.
Vader didn't make another attempt, instead talking to someone on his comm. link before sweeping out of the room, but Padmé probably wouldn't have noticed if he had. She was too wrapped up in her own thoughts, too wrapped up in what had happened and the conflict within her that wasn't - for once - about her children. So conflicted in fact, that she wasn't yet consciously aware that this morning marked her second week of being Vader's prisoner.
His voice, in that irritated and demanding tone, had sent off another round of memories, including his arrogant vow after she'd left his bed.
"I won't touch you as I did tonight, until you ask me to."
The memory of his promise was followed by a soft moan as she buried her face in her hands and rocked back and forth. Never, she silently vowed. Never again. He's not Anakin anymore; he can never be Anakin again; Anakin is gone...
Unfortunately, it didn't seem to matter if Anakin was dead, for there was enough of him left in the man sharing her gilded cell that the line between them was blurring.
Anakin had been hers and only hers; an exclusivity she'd taken for granted and one that had spurred the desperation of last night. The idea that the pleasures he'd once reserved solely for her had been partaken of by the woman she'd once called friend was enough to drive Padmé to murder.
Or worse.
Much worse.
It had driven her into the arms of the very man she'd sworn repeatedly to resist until her dying breath and made a mockery of the strength she'd taken such pride in obtaining. It only made matters even more unbearable that she didn't blame Asajj. Vader had manipulated the Force Adept and forced her submission. The fault was entirely his and yet she'd been unable to control the violent surge of emotion upon waking to find him beside her.
Anger and hurt had certainly played a part in catapulting her out of his bed, but the reasons she'd been there in the first place were something she wasn't proud of and wouldn't have admitted to if pressed. And no doubt Vader would press her for those answers eventually... once he consciously realized he'd come to her in his bed and not the other way around.
Careening between the near-hysterical urges to cry or laugh, Padmé pushed to her feet and took the few steps necessary to bring her to the viewport. Restless, feeling trapped and hemmed in far more than before, she paced back and forth in front of the opaque reflective surface and unconsciously took in her appearance.
Wild hair - she hadn't taken the time to comb it, her mind elsewhere since she'd left his room.
Rumpled clothing - she'd not only stormed out of his room, she'd hastily donned a jacket and heavier pants without taking the time to shower. The idea of being so close to him, of getting naked on the other side of a flimsy door he could override at any time, struck her as too much as an invitation. Vader would have seen it as such and likely joined her if she wanted him to or not.
A bite mark, the bruise clearly visible just under the collar of her shirt, caught her attention and her hands flew to the neckline, tugging it closed. Mortified he'd marked her, as if stamping her with proof of his ownership; she hoped it would fade quickly even as she knew it would not.
Anakin's love bites had a tendency to cling - just like the memory of the man.
He's not Anakin!
Closing her eyes, Padmé fought against irrational, angry tears and pressed her forehead to the viewport without letting go of her shirt. Vader wasn't Anakin; he might have been once, but no more and despite the fact a part of her treacherous soul still viewed him as hers, he wasn't. He was her captor and jailer and she couldn't let him become more.
What she willfully ignored was that he already had.
Sweeping out of his chambers, Vader didn't so much as glance at the security detail stationed outside as he headed for the bridge, called by the urgent summons of the General. Padmé's defiance, her unwillingness to speak with him this morning coupled with her deliberate and intentional slight against his presence all coalesced into a white hot fury that begged for an outlet; if this summons was a false alarm, someone would pay.
Or perhaps profit, having saved his wife from the rigors of his foul temper no matter how much she'd earned them.
A quick ride up the turbolift expelled him onto the bridge and into the organized chaos of an unexpected battle. Officers shouted orders, ensigns in charge of various pits dashed back and forth between consoles to get the most up to date information from over the shoulders of the crew manning the equipment.
Vader pulled up short, crossing his arms over his chest as he surveyed the scene - for the moment unnoticed.
The viewports around the bridge revealed a mis-mash of ships had ambushed the Exactor as they'd been in transit to their next Hyperspace jump point. Mid-system, without viable entry points, if they tried to transit here they'd likely be ripped apart by the gravity well of the sun. An expertly chosen location for an ambush meaning either the force arrayed against them was either very smart - or very lucky.
Either way, they were soon to be dead.
Vader was itching for a fight, more so than any other day of the week, and after that initial survey of the scene to pick his target, he strode onto the bridge with his cape billowing behind him.
"Lord Vader!" One of the Colonels saluted smartly, stepping confidently forward. "There was no way we could have see them, my lord, as they came from around the solar body, and- urk!"
Closing his fist as he raised his hand, Vader spared the man barely a thought and clenched his fist without dragging the execution out. The sound of bone cracking brought an almost immediate halt to the activity in the immediate vicinity as those closest turned to look, and the ripple effect slid across the bridge until a momentary silence let him drop the corpse with a sickening thump.
"Are there any other excuses?" A quick survey of the bridge area brought no reply. "I thought not. General."
"My lord?"
He waved idly at the corpse for it to be taken away, and two young ensigns sprang forward to do just that, as he turned to face the General. "What is the current situation?"
"We're evenly matched, and they have surprise on their side."
"Had General."
"Yes, my lord." Around them the deck seemed to get its second breath as the corpse of the unfortunate Colonel was dragged away. "Our fighters are veering off now on intercept courses with the two nearest ships. One on one we can overpower any of the vessels."
But not all of them working in tandem. Turning his gaze back to the ships arrayed against them, a smile crept over Vader's lips. "How many need to be destroyed before we regain the advantage?"
"The four biggest, sir."
"Excellent." Vader turned to one of the commanding officers across the way. "And General."
"My lord?"
Using his abilities to get the greatest impact, Vader lifted his arm - took great satisfaction in the man's visible blanch, cower and flinch - and pointed across the room. Glass shattered and a small red button depressed as if on its own. The general quarters call to arms sang through the crew quarters and most public areas of the ship. The response was almost immediate as stations around the ship began to check in their readiness.
"Next time, general quarters before you summon me."
With his own quarters carefully shielded against it, Padmé would likely never know of this battle. At least not, he amended, until he wished her to. It let him focus on the upcoming battle, the tactics they would need to win and the knowledge that this was no easy sport ahead of him, but an enemy intent on their utter destruction.
Good.
It had been a while since he'd had anyone truly challenge him and it was just the kind of outlet he needed after dealing with his silent and stubborn wife. This was going to be fun.
