They call Coruscant the Eternal City. It's an apt moniker. Fitting not only for the millennia old cityscape but also for the ambivalent resilience of its populace. Emperor Sheev Palpatine is one of many on a long list of notables to rule this city-world. From the Old Sith Empire invasion eons ago, to the Separatists' bold plot mere decades prior, many have come seeking to claim this ancient seat of power. Through a thousand generations amid the changing fortunes of the galaxy, a myriad of elected and non-elected leaders has come and gone. But Coruscant remains the same. The Jedi Temple becomes the Imperial Palace. The old Republic Senate becomes the Imperial Senate. And Coruscant's citizens simply shrug and go about their business. As arrogant, fast-talking, hyper-focused, self-interested, and status obsessed as always. So while things change, nothing changes. Even if it did, the Coruscanti wouldn't care. And that's why Coruscant is the Eternal City.
Into this mix of strivers drops the refugee Astral Sidhu. She's hardly a hayseed. Alderaan was a very respectable Core planet with its share of major urban centers. But still . . . it was nothing like the capital of the galaxy, the famed bright center of the universe, Coruscant.
This entire planet is one great big sprawling metropolis. Everywhere there are towers for business and residence so tall that they nearly block out the sun on the Lower Levels. Thankfully, on the uppermost reaches of the city where Astral lives and works, the sun shines gloriously clear and cool. And that's basically how the pecking order works: everything on the Upper Levels has the maximum prestige and expense. As you work your way down, that all declines. Astral quickly learns that you are either a posh Upper Level aristocrat with an enviable education and income, or the workaday bourgeoisie making rent in the Mid-Levels but with ambitions for more, or one of the billions of working poor who subsist on the Lower Levels, one rung above the disreputable types who typify the seedy Underworld.
With so many people, Coruscant tends to be dirty. Below the uppermost levels, the air is smoggy from the exhaust of millions of transports filtering down. Trash overflows receptacles to collect in the gutters. It can fly freely in the space lanes, meaning that the locals know to keep their speeder cockpit closed or risk getting some gross nastiness splattered on their head. But for all the grime, the sheer energy of Coruscant is amazing. This city-world never sleeps. This is a 'work hard, play hard' kind of place fueled by ambition, credits, caf, and probably many other dubious stimulants Astral cannot name.
By day, the airspace is clogged with legendarily bad traffic. The public transports overspill with riders and the wide boulevard walking spaces clog with bodies. By night, the city is ablaze with bright lights. The nightlife in the boisterous entertainment district begins at sundown and continues until the wee hours. Supposedly, the party is round the clock down in the notorious Underworld, but Astral will take that on faith. She has no plans to venture down there to confirm for herself. But in the Upper Level where she spends her days, Astral has her pick of the highest caliber of cultural experiences. From the opera, to the ballet, to concerts, to theater, you can take in any number of performances. And afterwards, there are restaurants open late and bars and coffee shops where people congregate.
The people watching is amazing. You can walk down a block and see a dozen species and hear a dozen languages. Then, walk another block and see yet another dozen—different—species and hear a dozen more languages. The plurality of residents are humans, and humans and humanoids are by far the dominant race of inhabitants, but Coruscant lives up to its reputation as the melting pot of the galaxy. This is where the best and brightest from all systems come to make their mark. For if you can make it on Coruscant, you can make it anywhere. For Astral, a woman from an almost entirely human home planet, this is a brand-new experience.
It's just so different from politely formal Alderaan. Here, people are unabashedly aggressive. Hesitate when the elevator doors open and they will push you out of the way to jump onboard themselves. And when it comes to boarding the free public transports, it's everyone for themselves. Astral comes to understand quickly what a great boon it is to have her own speeder. Not only does it make transit more efficient, but it allows her to bypass the mob of rushing citizens who will cheerfully trample you if you're not careful and then yell at you if you object. Astral soon learns that the Coruscanti are free with their colorful curses. She gets called a string of nasty words when one particular commute narrowly avoids becoming a road rage incident. Not surprisingly, Astral flies her speeder too slowly and too cautiously for the natives' taste.
But, reckless flying aside, Astral gamely tries to fit into her newly adopted home world. And thankfully, with the financial assistance of Lord Vader and the sponsorship of Prince Venamis, things are off to a great start. The man at the auction house who the prince refers her to turns out to be a reptilian Falleen. He is gentlemanly and smooth. It's the furthest thing from the crime syndicate thugs his species is often associated with. Astral likes him instantly and he likes her. Twenty minutes into their initial meeting, he hires her as his Assistant for Special Projects. And thus begins her new career.
This job is very different from museum work. The auction house makes money when artwork changes hands, so a lot of the focus is on putting together big sales to induce both buyers and sellers. That, in turn, creates a more transparent and fluid marketplace which makes purchasers feel comfortable that they are not overpaying and gives sellers reassurance that they will receive fair market value. Sales beget sales, her boss tells her succinctly.
Astral quickly learns the marketing strategies behind auctions. Rare works are solicited for auction in an effort to garner attention. Related works, sometimes from more than one owner, are often grouped together in a single lot to maximize the pricing. And works with exceptional quality or noteworthy provenance always command attention. That all means coaxing patrons to part with marquee pieces. Meeting with collectors and museum representatives now becomes a big part of Astral's job. She is a bit intimidated at first, but her boss assures her that if she can convince stingy and reclusive Prince Venamis to loan out a full exhibit, she can convince anyone of anything.
Her job is basically to cultivate relationships. She must get to know the most elite collectors and their goals. Some are investors who dabble in art as speculation. Others are true enthusiasts who have sentimental attachment to their artwork. All are ridiculously wealthy and entitled, living spectacular lives amid the galaxy's one percent. As it turns out, most have at least a pied-a-terre on Coruscant so Astral's new job has surprisingly little travel. She did her share of schmoozing with important museum benefactors back on Alderaan, so Astral comes to view her new gig as an extension of those skills.
Thankfully, her new colleagues are all very welcoming. They are a great resource for information on any number of topics. Most feel sorry for her predicament, and are anxious to help her to adapt. It means that by the end of the first month, Astral has recommendations for everything from a dry cleaner, to a plumber, to where to eat brunch on Sunday morning. As she settles in, Astral slowly begins building a new network of familiar faces. That helps to alleviate her loneliness from so many nights and weekends spent on her own. It's strange to feel lonely amid a world so crowded. But even among a sea of people, Astral learns, you can feel very isolated.
Vanee checks in on her weekly. By the time a month goes by, he summons her to Lord Vader's palace for the promised peanut butter and jelly dinner. That turns out to be an experience. Entering the Imperial palace complex is no small undertaking. The security is intimidating. The speeder Astral arrives in is scanned and then whisked away. Then she herself is scanned and frisked by a stormtrooper. State your business, the guards order. I'm here to see Vanee, Lord Vader's steward, she replies. Another series of checkpoints later, finally she is escorted inside.
Darth Vader's Coruscant palace is very grand and very cold in ambiance. The floors and walls are inlaid stone in angular patterns of grey, white, and black. It's not ugly so much as it is stark and repetitive. The whole design scheme strikes Astral's trained eye as rather unimaginative. It's as if no one cared in particular what it looks like. They just wanted to meet expectations that the place be big and impressive. The exceedingly high ceilings, the outsize hallways, and the carpetless floors all combine to give the impression of a very institutional space. And that is fitting because inside there are people everywhere. The giant entryway resembles a busy train station more than it does a home, she thinks.
It's mostly uniformed personnel milling about. And since Astral knows nothing about the military, she stares blankly at the rank insignias of the men—and they are predominantly men—who walk past. She garners her share of looks too. She's come from work and today she met with an important patron, so she's wearing one of her new formal day gowns. The dress is very restrained in every way but for the bright marigold color. And that makes her especially conspicuous. Astral feels very frivolous and girly amid all these men of war. But she holds her head high and marches with her trooper escort through it all.
She is presented to Vanee at his office deep inside the building. He looks up and his eyes light up. "Astral!" That begins a two-hour conversation as they catch up on each other's lives. Astral tells him about her new job and her new life. Vanee reports on events at the castle and life behind the scenes of the Sith. How is he? Astral waits a mere two minutes before she asks the question. Vanee answers that Lord Vader continues to improve and is glad to be back at work. She's relieved and pleased by the positive report, and it shows.
Astral and Vanee repeat their dinner once a month. How is he? Next month she hears that Lord Vader is doing full training workouts now. Dr. Levy is very happy with his rapid progress. Yes, but how is he? Astral asks again. Well, he's been better, Vanee answers diplomatically. He doesn't meet her eyes, she notices.
By the third month, the question 'how is he?' makes Vanee a bit uncomfortable. The old guy has no poker face. Astral sees right away that something is wrong. How is he? Grumpy, she learns. But the Dark Side can be like that, Vanee assures her, and he's under a lot of pressure to arrest the Rebels. Tell him I hope it gets better, Astral requests. Vanee promises to deliver the message.
When their fifth peanut butter and jelly dinner date rolls around, the question 'how is he?' finally merits a real answer. He's terrible, concerned Vanee confesses. I haven't seen him this bad since right before he gave up his resurrection quest. The Master was devastated about that for a long time, the old servant recalls. So disappointed and so down. Very short tempered with a hair trigger for violence. Is there anything I can do? Astral offers to help. Vanee frowns and shakes his head. I think it would be best for you to keep your distance right now, he answers.
Vanee reconsiders that view by the time their next scheduled peanut butter and jelly dinner approaches. Vanee contacts Astral to move up the evening so that she will be at the palace the night Lord Vader arrives for the annual Empire Day festivities. Will you see him? I fear he really needs a friend, Vanee confides. And how can she refuse after all Lord Vader has done for her? Absolutely, Astral responds with no small amount of trepidation.
It's a setup and she knows it. Vanee is none too subtle about it either. He is waiting at the security gate for her when she arrives. "Good," Vanee approves as he looks her up and down, "You look great. Follow me," he beckons. "Lord Vader arrived early and went straight into a meeting," Vanee briefs her as they walk into the building. "They should be finishing up soon."
"Does he know I'm coming?"
"No, but he will now."
"How?" Astral asks.
"He will sense you in the Force." Vanee gives her a conspiratorial look. "Let's get you close so he will be sure to recognize your arrival. Then, I'll bet his meeting adjourns quickly."
Astral groans, "Vanee, what have you gotten me into? Are you and I even going to eat dinner together tonight?"
"Not if all goes well," the old retainer replies honestly. "We're going to the west terrace. It's on the fourth floor where he is now. We'll pretend to take in the view and chat. And then if he just happens to wander out to see you . . . . well, then my work is done," Vanee declares happily.
"And if he doesn't?" she worries.
"He will."
"But what if he won't?"
"Then you and I will have another sandwich in the kitchen," Vanee sighs.
"If I get the Vader choke for this, I'm blaming you," Astral grumbles.
"If anyone gets a Force choke for this, it will be me," Vanee admits. "Never fear, he won't hurt you. He's the one who's hurting, Astral. And no one can seem to figure out why. His health is better, Lord Sidious is being reasonable, there have been no more Rebel attacks . . . And yet, the Master seems to be falling apart again."
"Oh, dear," she sighs, fearing she might be a contributing reason why. This accidentally-on-purpose meeting could backfire spectacularly, she frets.
At her side, Vanee tells it like it is. "It's bad . . . really bad . . . Astral, that's why you're here. I wouldn't have dragged you into this if I didn't think he needed help. Maybe you can reach him."
"No pressure," she gulps.
"Look, just get him to talk," Vanee soothes, "but be prepared for a bad mood. Don't let him chase you away. You know how he is sometimes-"
"Yes, I remember."
Others surround them now, so perforce their conversation must cease. Astral follows Vanee in silence in and out of a crowded elevator. They exit onto a floor of glass walled conference rooms that looks like it belongs in some law firm office or investment bank. This is where the business of ruling the Empire gets done, she knows. Lord Vader is first and foremost an administrator despite his current military mission. This very business-like environment reflects that reality.
As she and Vanee linger by the central reception area, Astral starts looking around. She has never been in the working section of Lord Vader's palace before. She's only been belowstairs to Vanee's private office and the kitchen. "Nice view," she remarks as she takes in the panoramic vista of Coruscant at nightfall to the east and the looming Imperial Palace complex already lit for the night to the west. At least if you are stuck in a boring meeting, you can look out the window, she thinks.
"Ah, here he comes," Vanee titters under his breath as Astral gives the man a quelling look. Again, she wonders just what has she gotten herself into? Honestly, Astral is half tempted to turn on heel and flee. She fears she has awkward humiliation ahead of her.
But her attention is inexorably drawn to the giant masked figure who has marched out of a meeting room far down the hallway. Lord Vader's purposeful strides force the clutch of uniformed cronies who swarm around him to move at double time to keep up. Astral can't help but notice that Darth Vader cuts a distinctive figure with his elegant cape billowing behind him. He looks to be off to yet another appointment when he stops abruptly. The angular helmet swings ninety degrees in her direction. Yes, he definitely sees her. They lock eyes a moment, Astral is certain, despite the distance and the obscuring red eye shields of his mask. Then, Lord Vader turns to bark something she can't hear to his underlings. They disperse immediately, like a flock of birds shooed away by a predator in their midst.
Vanee can't contain his glee at the evident success of his plot. "This way please." Vanee immediately half tugs, half yanks her to the left through an exit out onto an expansive stone terrace decorated mostly by guards. "Contrive to look fetching," he trills as he deposits her there. "Face away so you look alone, but not too available," he advises sotto voce as Astral groans anew. Then Vanee disappears before Astral can stop him. Feeling rather mortified, Astral waits nervously in her appointed spot. This feels like an ambush intervention combined with an awkward middle school romance. But here goes . . .
Astral hears Lord Vader before she sees him, of course. The cycling wheeze of his loud respirator betrays his approach, as do his heavy footsteps. And maybe she should be playing hard to get, but Astral turns to face him anyway. She watches his progress onto the terrace.
"What are you doing here?" As usual, Lord Vader omits the pleasantries. Behind that mask, his face is completely inscrutable. But his tone is clear. He's grumpy. It's just like Vanee warned.
"Would you believe that I got lost?" she offers with a sheepish smile.
"No. Not with Vanee at your side."
Astral tries again to lighten the mood. "Would you believe that Vanee got lost?" she offers.
"No. He designed this palace."
"Er . . . right . . ." Yikes. She knew that.
"What are you doing here?" Lord Vader crosses his arms over his chest plate and glares.
But Astral refuses to be cowed by the gruff greeting. Instead, she cocks her head and smiles up at him. "It's peanut butter and jelly night."
Apparently, Lord Vader is familiar with the concept because he responds, "That's the second Wednesday of the month. That's tomorrow. Why are you here now?"
Astral explains the partial truth, "Vanee asked to move it up. He said he would be busy with Empire Day events tomorrow."
Lord Vader nods and lets the issue drop. He moves on from complaining about why she's here to complaining about what she looks like. "You changed your hair."
Astral raises a hand to smooth her locks. She decided to update her habitual chignon after hearing someone's disdainful remark that 'long hair on an aging woman is so Alderaan.' So, she took a colleague's recommendation for a hairdresser. After two attempts, the result is a sleek angled bob that barely skims her shoulders. At first, it took some getting used to, but now Astral loves it. It's youthful and chic, and she knows it. But still, she is suddenly self-conscious. "You don't like it?" she worries.
"It's shorter."
Yep. He hates it. "I wanted a change," she explains. "New life, new job, new haircut."
"New clothes too."
"Yes." She looks down at her sleek navy jacket and matching culottes worn with chunk heeled grey boots. She has a grey fringed handbag worn crossbody to bounce on her hip as she walks. It's the casual, functional uniform of an Upper Level lady on the go. Maybe it's not the most appropriate choice for an audience with the esteemed Lord Vader in his fancy official palace, but Astral had dressed to eat dinner in the kitchen.
"You look very Coruscant." Darth Vader says it like a vote of no confidence. "Where did your dresses go?"
"Well, there's no point in looking Alderaan any longer." No more high-necked bishop sleeved day gowns for her. "And like they say, when in Coruscant . . . " she alludes to the often quoted idiom about the famous city world. But despite her easy words, Astral is increasingly deflated in the face of his criticism. "I guess I want to fit in . . ."
"You succeeded." He doesn't sound happy about it either. But this isn't negging. This is passive aggressive Lord Vader, Astral realizes. Peevish and petty when he's in a bad mood.
So ignoring the many onlookers, Astral crosses her arms and stares him down through the mask. "You're still angry," she accuses. It starts a low key fight.
"Angry is the wrong word."
"Then tell me the right one."
"Disappointed. You took my painting—"
"That wasn't your painting—"
"And you gave it back. Does this mean you're planning to return?" he counters coolly.
"No."
"I didn't think so," he bites back. Then he abruptly walks away to the balcony railing.
Astral blinks and swallows hard at the rebuff. This is getting off to a very bad start. But he didn't turn on heel and leave or throw her out, so this again feels rather passive aggressive. Like he's glad she's here but he won't admit it. So Astral tries to tamp down the conflict with gratitude as she hurries after him. "My Lord, thank you for the apartment and the speeder. And the credits," she adds. "You were very generous."
He waves away her words as he faces the skyline. "I'm a wealthy man. Rich in all the things I don't care about anymore."
"Oh . . ." His sharply bitter words make her cringe. "My Lord . . . " She boldly joins him where he stands, gloved hands resting on the railing as he rather pointedly looks out at the spectacular view. Is he ignoring her or is this a ploy to give them some privacy? With so many guards watching, Astral won't dare to cover his gloved hand with hers. Instead, she rests her hand on the balustrade right up against his. Their little fingers are touching but only slightly. That's as forward as she will risk tonight.
He knows what she's doing. He shifts his pinky to cover hers. And that's something, at least. The small gesture actually floods her with relief. But look at what they are reduced to. Staged meetings by Vanee as a go-between. Stilted, bickering conversation before curious witnesses. Arm's length formality like she's his subordinate. Astral hates it.
So, she asks softly, "What's wrong? Vanee says you're unhappy. Did I do this? Tell me."
"No."
"Is it Sheev?" she whispers.
"He's his usual self."
"Then, what is it? What's bothering you?"
He doesn't answer.
"My Lord, I want to help—"
He gives up any pretense of avoiding the issue. Instead, he rumbles softly, "I can't tell you. I won't endanger you."
"Is it that bad?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
"You fled from me once for danger," he reminds her. "I won't bring it to you here, Astral."
She is dismayed by these ominous words. And now, for the first time she is glad that Vanee maneuvered this meeting. For he was right to sense his Master's deep troubles.
Astral steps closer now. The night air lifts his cape a bit to brush against her leg. But even though it may appear overly familiar from the body language, Astral leans in. More than anything, she doesn't want to be overheard. "I'm sorry. Let's go inside in private. Please, my Lord, I don't want to talk to that mask. I want to talk to you—to see you. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to," she cajoles. "Just talk to me—"
"Astral—"
"My Lord, let me be your friend."
He turns to regard her now. And, yes, they are definitely standing too close. She's in his space and he's in hers. The gargoyle grill chin of the shiny black mask lowers as he informs her, "You're not my friend."
Astral stares back a long moment at the red tinted eyes of his mask. "You're right," she nods. "Now let's go inside."
"Very well. Follow me."
Lord Vader turns on heel and sweeps away in a swirl of inky black cape and swaying robes. Astral hastens to follow. Somewhere, she's certain, Vanee has been looking on. But as she follows the Sith to the elevator, Astral doesn't spy Vanee's whereabouts. The longtime trusted servant has discreetly withdrawn. His work here is done most likely.
They reach an elevator and everyone waiting steps aside for Lord Vader. Astral ducks inside just before the doors close behind her. It's not hard to notice how all the other occupants stiffen and clam up around their leader. Lord Vader's fearsome reputation clearly proceeds him. It's almost as if Astral can sense everyone's blood pressure rise at the sight of the Sith. And she swears there is a collective exhale of relief from the elevator occupants when she follows Lord Vader out the door. From her prior trips to the kitchen, Astral recognizes the route to the non-public spaces of the palace. But the hallways they stride through are still full of uniformed military personnel, even this late in the day. The throng parts, of course, for their leader. Astral trails behind in Lord Vader's wake, doing her best to match his pace.
"Keep up," he admonishes without turning back.
Slightly breathless Astral shoots his broad caped shoulders a hard look. "I take two steps for every one of yours, my Lord. You are very tall."
"So are you in those boots," he informs her curtly.
"That's the problem. Have you ever walked briskly in three-and-three-quarter-inch heels, my Lord?"
"What do you think?"
"Well, it's harder than it looks," she sniffs.
They enter another elevator now. And once again, when the door opens Lord Vader strides forth like he's leading troops into battle. It's annoying and Astral says so. "Slow down," she complains.
He responds, "I'm in a hurry," but does not alter his pace.
"What's the hurry?" she huffs.
"You might change your mind."
Not a chance, Astral thinks. She knew they had unfinished business and she knew that he was unhappy. But she didn't expect it was this bad. Astral is still far from indifferent to Lord Vader. All along, she has only ever tried to help him. That's still her motivation, perhaps now more than ever.
They reach a set of doors flanked by red robed Imperial guards. Lord Vader waves a hand and the doors open for him to sweep on through. But Astral is not permitted entry. The guards block her path with their crossed electrostaff weapons.
"Halt!" one guard commands.
Astral stops short and leaps back from their long pikes that ignite to buzz and snap.
Lord Vader pauses and half-turns to order, "Let her in," before he closes the doors behind her with an imperious wave of his hand. "I'll be the talk of the guard barracks tonight," he grumbles. "You're the first woman ever in my quarters."
Unlike the castle, Lord Vader's quarters at his palace are very sparse. Like super sparse. The room looks like a large multistory, windowless storage space to Astral's eyes. In the center stands a white ship of some kind shaped like an egg. "What is that?" she asks as she squints at it and cocks her head.
"A supersized, fully furnished medical pod. It's where I live in this awful place." Lord Vader waves a gloved hand and the pod cracks open, separating into two interlocking hemispheres.
Er . . . oh. "You really live in that thing?"
"Regrettably so," comes his sardonic reply. He beckons her forward to see it.
Astral peeks inside. "It's white. Very white. Not your usual aesthetic," she judges.
"You disapprove?"
"Oh, yeah," she teases. "It's not nearly Hellish enough. Where's the lava?"
He grunts. "I'm not much into decorating. The appeal of the pod is its function." Lord Vader climbs in using the steps up the side, ducking through the opening. "Watch your head, the clearance is low," he tells her as he offers a steadying hand.
"Maybe for you, but not for me." Astral is much shorter.
They're both inside now. It's surprisingly spacious. Looking around, Astral sees a large desk and chair, a bed, and what looks to be a full-size bathroom. It's obviously very lived in, from the datafiles and datapads littered everywhere, to the towel on the floor, to the extra pair of boots sitting by the bed.
Lord Vader now waves his hand yet again. This time, the pod closes with a loud thud. The whine of an airlock sounds. Next, a hissing noise starts as oxygen vapor floods the room from unseen jets. And that makes Astral smile. It strikes her as very Darth Vader. The guy always seems to be emerging from a menacing cloud of smoke, even in his personal medical pod. He has the creepy atmospherics down.
"Welcome to my lair," he drawls, as he settles down heavily into his chair. "My oxygen rich lair."
"Wow," Astral looks around again. This time, she sees the pot of bacta salve and the stray glove that has fallen on the floor. She approves of this messiness. It makes the pod look livable. "This is remarkably homey for a cracked egg. It brings new meaning to a home office."
"It's super oxygenated in here," he explains. "That means I can breathe on my own without the mask."
She whirls as the significance dawns. "Really?"
"Yes."
"Even with me breathing some of it?" she worries.
"There's plenty. The oxygen level constantly refreshes."
"Are you sure? Because I breathe a lot."
"There's plenty."
"So . . . this is sort of like living inside your helmet?" she guesses.
"That's the idea. I based it off the basic medical capsule design and shielded it like a starfighter. It's soundproof and airtight. It will withstand a blast or submersion. You could even shoot us into space," he brags.
"Let's not do any of those things," Astral quickly requests.
"As you wish." She can practically hear his smirk behind those words. It makes her smile a little.
The pod was built with one person's comfort in mind, so there's nowhere for Astral to sit. So she stands hovering tall over seated Lord Vader. "How's the left leg these days?" she asks offhand, searching for a neutral topic.
"It's better."
"Yeah? Do your toes still go numb?"
"No. I'm wiggling them now."
"Good. And the inflammation on the prosthetic collars?"
"Almost gone. No more pain from swelling."
Her eyes widen. That is good news. "You are much better."
"Levy thinks so."
"So . . . if you don't need the mask," she begins as she lifts her hands to rest lightly on his armored shoulders, "May I?"
"Go ahead. Take it off."
Astral deploys the latch that breaks the hermetic seal, then lifts off the uppermost portion of the two-piece helmet. She places it aside gently. Then she removes the face portion, careful to detach it from the respirator device built into the neck collar. Lord Vader's face is completely exposed now, like the first time she saw him on the freighter fleeing Coruscant. At the castle, he had needed a supplemental oxygen mask. But this is better. Much better.
"There you are," Astral breathes out as she reaches to cup his cheeks with both hands. His lips turn up at her touch. "I think that's the first time I've ever seen you smile," she realizes aloud.
Her comment banishes the expression immediately. "Darth Vader doesn't smile," he grumbles.
"It was an unofficial smile. Off the record. Totally didn't happen," Astral backtracks. "I like you like this," she decides. "I like to see your whole face."
He grunts. "You're the only one."
"I'm fine with that."
He's as pale as always, with the deep purple shadows she remembers beneath his eyes and worry lines etched on his forehead. Astral was hoping he would look better under the mask now that the rest of him has healed so well. But she can tell that the last six months have been hard. "You look stressed."
He shakes his head and she drops her hands. "More like worried."
"How can I help?"
"You can't help."
"Okay. . . Then how can we take your mind off all that?"
"You can't. I just have to deal with it. It's my destiny, I suppose . . . " His voice trails off as he sighs.
Astral tries again for another topic. "Any luck finding the pilot?"
"No. It's like he and the Rebels have disappeared."
"I'm sorry."
"Me too. Tell me about Coruscant," he requests. "I don't want to talk about the pilot."
She nods and begins to fill him in on the past six months. Astral rattles on while he interjects a question now and then. "My life is very quiet now," she jokes. "No one yells at me. No one tries to kill me. I haven't seen a dead body in months." But it dawns on Astral that she's doing all the talking. So, she invites, "Tell me about you. Enough about me. Your turn, my Lord."
Darth Vader exhales and makes a face. "I wish I could tell you what's going on, but it's better this way."
She won't press for confidences, especially the dangerous kind. Astral simply nods. "I understand."
Looking up at her, Lord Vader decides, "I don't want to talk." Then he lurches to his feet and lays his gloved hands on her arms. "I have missed you," he rasps.
She nods and confesses, "Life isn't the same without you." And it's not just the drama, the danger, and the violence that's gone from her life. It's him. The enigmatic, always surprising, never disappointing, depressive Sith Lord she both admires and likes.
"Astral—"
"Yes?"
She's standing under him. So close and yet so far. Is he going to make a move? She hopes he will. But he's taking his time. Lingering and hovering. Waiting and watching. Astral's heart is pounding with nervous anticipation. This is taking too long. She's impatient. Does he need encouragement? Astral whispers softly, "I missed you."
That does the trick. Lord Vader's surprisingly soft lips come down on hers. Yes, she'd be lying if she said she didn't come tonight hoping for this. Instantly, she is a very enthusiastic participant.
With no need for a respirator, the kiss goes on and on, seducing her few remaining inhibitions fast. Astral is pressed close with her arms wrapped around his neck. They stand intwined in the embrace for a long moment of hungry, open mouth kisses. When finally Astral pulls back, his yellow eyes are snapping at her with intensity.
She knows what he's thinking. She's thinking it too. "Are we doing this?" she asks breathlessly.
He doesn't answer with words. He just starts removing one glove and then the next. Astral watches in silence as his metal fingers reach up to unhook his cape. And next, his full shoulder armor.
"We're doing this . . . " she surmises, watching him undress. She's excited and a bit afraid. Last time hadn't gone so well. But both of them had been out of practice for this sort of thing. "We doing this. . ." She whispers it aloud again.
He meets her eyes steadily even as he unhooks the clasp on his heavy shirt and sweeps it over his head. "You tell me," he requests as he peels off the black undershirt as well, careful to thread the now loose chest plate through the neck. "Are we doing this?"
And wow—is this the same man? Astral is too distracted by his new physique to answer. "Look at you," she marvels with unabashed admiration. And is it her imagination, or does the mighty Lord Vader actually blush at her reaction?
"I've been swinging a sword lately."
Yes, she sees. Astral remembers a shrunken chest and prominent ribs. But six months later, Lord Vader is not scrawny and thin under the suit anymore. His frame has clear muscle definition across the chest, back, and midsection. He looks like a fit man. Like a healthy man. Like an athlete. Except for the prosthetics, of course.
"These new arms are heavier. They caused me to bulk up a bit." He sounds a bit sheepish. And, yes, he's blushing. Astral loves it. Because she's one of very few people who knows that Darth Vader can be embarrassed. Because he's a man, just like any other man, even if he's an extraordinary man like no other.
Seeing his obviously much improved health warms her heart. "You look like a superhero," she declares happily. "Like a super Sith."
He snorts and shoots her a look. "Hardly."
"I'm going to have to join a gym," Astral thinks aloud, suddenly a bit self-conscious about her own unremarkable body. When they had gone to bed together at the castle, she had felt unusually confident given it was her first time naked in front of him. But knowing Lord Vader's injuries and limitations had put Astral's own bodily imperfections in context. She couldn't feel awkward about her less than tight abs when he didn't have even one of his original limbs left. It had felt very freeing, actually. For if she could accept him in his wrecked body, then surely she could accept herself too. But now, seeing rippling muscles across his broad chest, Astral thinks she might want those tight abs after all.
"I last saw Darth Patient," she muses, "but now, you're Darth Six Pack."
He makes a face. "Don't let it fool you. I'm still a monster in a mask."
"No, you're not." She trails a hand up his skin under the wires that plug his chest plate into the electrical ports high on his shoulder. He takes that as his cue to yank out the cords and set aside the monitoring apparatus.
He's stripped completely bare chested now. All hard muscles and steel arms. Astral would be lying if she said she didn't find the sight of him somewhat intimidating but very attractive. There's a certain thrill to his danger. And while this man's body—what's left of it—might be hairless and scarred, it is still beautifully formed. And every bit of it is a triumph to his determination, she knows. Where another man might give up, Lord Vader digs in. Astral knows as well as anyone how fragile he is. And yet, somehow, he seems also so invincible. Like some warrior demigod of the Force.
"So, are we doing this?" he prompts. The man is direct, as always.
Astral nods. "Yes." Is there any other answer? He needs this, she senses very strongly. And she too needs this more than she cares to admit. Plus, it feels so good to be wanted by a man such as this.
"Yes to what?" he persists.
Does he need to hear it out loud? "Yes to everything." Yes to everything and more.
Lord Vader flashes that half-smile, half-smirk she finds wryly charming. "Then, you're overdressed," he observes.
Astral gamely shrugs out of her short jacket. But her fingers fumble at the buttons for the blouse underneath. She's suddenly nervous that what she reveals will not please. But it's too late for shyness now. The blouse parts and slides off to reveal her pale pink bra underneath, even as her eyes find the floor and her cheeks grow hot.
"Go on," he gently prods when she hesitates.
With a fortifying breath, Astral reaches to unfasten the waistband of her tailored culottes. They slip to the floor with a whisper of silk lining and wool then puddle at her ankles. Astral steps out of the pants. Now, she wears only the sheer pink bra and matching panties with her tall boots.
Lord Vader looks her over. "Leave them on," he stops her as she reaches to remove the shoes. "I think I like you this tall."
Okay. Astral gives a good-natured shrug at the ridiculous of the request. "Suit yourself." She'll give the man what he likes. Plus, the comment breaks some of the nervous tension of the moment.
Lord Vader smiles again. It's such a rare occurrence that it feels very special. Like a shared secret between them. That too diffuses her nerves.
"You're beautiful," he rumbles softly as he approaches and raises a hand to caress her silhouette.
Blushing Astral can't resist deflecting the compliment. She's never been good with compliments. "Even with short hair?"
"It's not your hair that makes you beautiful, it's your heart. And," Lord Vader adds, "the hair will grow."
Astral is bemused. "So, you're a long hair, long dress kind of guy?" And, aren't they all? It figures, she fumes.
"Right now, I'm a short hair, no dress kind of guy," he answers as he reaches around her to undo her bra strap. The lingerie falls away and now she's back in his arms, besieged by urgent kisses. This next interlude interrupts for yet another short strip tease from each of them, and now they are both undressed. Each panting and yearning for more.
He lays her back on his unmade bed. And now, his kiss drops from her lips, to her neck, to her shoulders, to her breasts. He's in no rush this time as he wanders down her body, teasing her as he goes. This is what he couldn't do at the castle with his respirator on, she realizes. But here in his medical pod, there are no such limitations. All the slow adoration has her arching beneath him with undisguised longing.
"Let's do this," she moans wantonly as his mouth finds her left hip bone. Because is he as ready as she is? "My Lord," she groans as she opens her knees wider in invitation. "My Lord—"
"You first."
He's not going to? He is. His mouth travels lower and lower down from her hip. This definitely would not happen with his oxygen mask on. Right then and there, Astral decides that she loves this weird medical pod egg thing. The feel of his metal hands holding her thighs down is so amazingly erotic. It's also hard and cold. A stark contrast to his gentle warm tongue that drives her wild. That juxtaposition is very Lord Vader, Astral decides, for the man is ripe with contradictions. But oh, does he know what he's doing . . . Astral gasps and writhes, head thrown back and eyes closed, from his expert attentions.
She has learned by now that the first impressions of Darth Vader are usually wrong. The inhumane, aggressive looking helmet and suit with the conspicuous sword. . . all that gruff, acerbic snark . . . It is less who he is and more who he purports to be. In the bedroom as well, Astral is fast realizing, she has also received a false first impression. Because tonight he could not be more loverlike in his aim to please. He seems determined to take full advantage of this second chance at sex.
Let go. She hears his voice in her mind and not in her ears. Let go. Astral submits to the command, losing herself in the sheer abandon of the moment. It is the ultimate sensation as her mind blanks and reboots with pleasure. When she opens her eyes, he chuckles, "My turn," sounding smugly pleased.
This is safe, Astral tells herself as he now positions himself to enter her body. This is safe because they have made no promises to break, there are no expectations to let down, and there is no unspoken timetable for a progression to any particular future. This isn't love. They aren't dating. There is no label for whatever their relationship is. And that is a big relief. All the pressure is off. Astral did that love and marriage thing once already, and it didn't work out. She's not anxious to hazard her heart again.
So . . . what is this? This is two lonely people who care for one another finding respite behind closed doors and away from prying eyes. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? These are confusing times. So tonight, Astral will glory in this tryst with her secret Sith Lord lover. And revel too in the emotional reunion with a struggling friend who is not a friend and certainly not a boyfriend.
In the morning, she will find shallow, sharp scratches and nicks here and there on tender parts of her body. These are the telltale signs of the embrace of Darth Vader, the marks from the lover who is more machine than man. But for all his artificial parts, he is achingly human. Astral knows that the most fragile part of this fearsome man is his heart. It was dashed to pieces long ago by a wife he both loves and hates, who he blames but would instantly forgive if he could. She haunts his castle as an unseen presence that Astral can never equal, let alone surpass. And really, that's the biggest reason why Astral can't get involved with Lord Vader in any meaningful way. She might be willing to brave the danger to love him if he could love her back. But she's no fool. Darth Vader's heart is still taken in all the ways that matter. Astral could never let herself settle for second place as a second wife, but she's happy to accept whatever this night is called.