Heart and Soul: Shadows of Vader

Nike

Disclaimer:  *Waves hand at George's lawyers.*  I'm not the defendant your looking for.

Rating:  It is now PG-13 for reasons that should become obvious.

Author's Note:  Thanks for all the reviews; you guys convinced me to write a second chapter.  Sorry it took so long but I've been working on a rather dark multi-chapter fic, its sequel, and an odd comedy for Star Wars as well, not to mention the series I've got going in another fanfic realm…  I've also been having problems getting the Internet set up in my new place (as if you really wanted to know all that).

This is probably not medically correct but I rather like the way it sits now – that and rewriting it would take far too much time.  I hope you don't mind and enjoy it anyway.

Now the reason why you're reading this…

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            My breath catches in my throat.  Sensing your presence is not the same as actually seeing you.  Despite nearing forty standard years, you remain a handsome man.  I have purposely put the shallows of the lava pit behind me, surrounding my dark form with an areole of fire.  While the crimson light puts my face in shadow, it lights yours up.  I can see every crease and worried line.  You walk up so you are within a few steps of me.

            "You don't have to do this, Anakin.  It doesn't have to be this way.  Come back with me," you beg.  I can't bear to look into your stormy sea-change eyes.

            "I can't.  I've stumbled across power greater than anything you could possibly understand and I would never leave it for my sake.  I don't fully understand it, though.  I need guidance.  You've always been there for me, Obi-Wan.  Guide me now."  I stretch my mechanical right arm out to you in offering.  You take a step forward then stop, shaking your head.

            "I can not follow you on the path you've chosen, Anakin."  It's like having my soul ripped out and anger surges in response.

            "You fool!  Don't you understand?  I'm laying incredible power and my undying devotion at your feet!"

            "I don't want the devotion of a slave of the Dark side, nor do I want the power that it grants.  All I want is for you to come back to me, Anakin, and for things to be the way they were."

            "But things can't be the way they were, no matter how we may wish it," I tell you, stepping forward and taking your left wrist in my hand, "Can't you accept that this is what I am now?"  You shake your head, looking down from my intense stare.

            "No."  My eyes narrow.

            "You never did understand."  You look up at me in surprise before yelping in pain as my right hand clenches around your wrist.  You've made it clear that you won't be turned, so death is now your lot. 

            I reach out with my left hand, planning to take a hold of your throat and strangle you.  The thought of seeing the life ebb from your eyes is strangely pleasing to me.  You're faster, though.  You stop my hand, then Force shove us apart.  Our lightsabers spring into life simultaneously as we face one another.

            "So is this what it comes down to, Master?" I ask, spitting out the last word, "A duel 'til the death?  Which one of us will die first, I wonder?"

            "It doesn't have to be this way.  Didn't you once say that you loved me?" you ask.

            "Love can turn into hate, Master," I truthfully reply. 

            It's all very confusing.  I love you and hate you all at the same time.  A part of me recoils at the thought of hurting you; the other half wants to see the ground soaked with your blood.  Why did you refuse to turn?  Don't I mean anything to you?

            Anger floods me, overwhelming and frightening in its intensity but, at the same time, comfortingly familiar.  I charge at you, thrusting.  You block, looking resigned.  Funny, isn't it?  We're both fighting yet neither one of us truly wished for it to end this way.

            You are strong, but my anger makes me even stronger.  You counter my every stroke but you are tiring and my earlier action has surely left your right wrist in pain.  I feel like I could go on forever.

            We pull apart.  You are focusing on me so intently you miss the items that I Force-throw at you.  You cut a pipe in half; the other catches you in the back of your knees, sending you sprawling.  I am disarming you even as you fall.  I quickly straddle you, sitting on your stomach, and pin your wrists above your head with my mechanical right arm.  You struggle beneath me as I reach for the knife I'm going to use to slit your throat.

            "No!" you cry out when you realize what I'm about to do.  Accompanying your shout is a surprisingly strong Force shove.  I drop the knife as I go flying.  I hit the ground hard and roll… right into the shallow end of the lava pool.

            Burning… that's all I can feel.  I jerk my head up to prevent any more of the bright liquid from reaching it and scream for all I'm worth.  My right hand reaches out…

            Someone grabs my right hand and drags me out, leaving me to lie on the floor.  Everything single thing my eyes see is clouded by pain, but I recognize your grim face.  You don't dare touch me.  Some detached part of my mind wonders what I look like to you, burnt beyond recognition, shrieking in pain…  At least, I'm trying to shriek. 

            Everything sounds odd, like hearing it through water, and I think my voice box has been damaged.  I'm also struggling for breath.  I think one of my lungs was severely damaged and collapsed and that the other one will soon follow if I don't get medical help immediately.

            Almost everything hurts.  The things that don't hurt are what really bother me.  Where there is no pain, I can't feel anything at all…

            You're saying something, but I'm not really hearing it.  Something about going for help, I think.  You won't make it back in time to save me if you do.  I think you know that. 

            I close my eyes, not wanting to see your grim look any more.  When I open them again, you're not there.  I panic.  How dare you leave me now!  You're supposed to be here for me when I die! 

            I've stopped yelling; my lungs won't support my life much longer, much less sustained screeching.  My ears just popped; I can hear everything around me, from the dripping of water to the soft bubbling of the molten rock.  Then I hear something else.  Someone's coming.  I foolishly hope… but, of course, it's not you.  You left.

            People in white clothing surround me.  One of them puts a hypo spray against my arm and the pain is suddenly dulled down to tolerable levels.  Another person cuts open my throat and forces a tube down it.  They're pumping air into my lungs at this time.

            Now that there are people working to save me, I'm frightened.  Before I was wishing for death to ease my pain, but I've since realized that I don't want to die.

            They're taking me away now and I close my eyes.  When I open them again, I'm in a sterile white room surrounded by machines designed to keep me alive.  Everything is clean and bright.  The one jarring note is the figure in the black cloak sitting by my bed.

            "How do you feel?" he asks me.  I'm about to say 'horrible' but my throat hurts.  I settle for a smaller word.

            "Bad."

            "And what of Obi-Wan Kenobi."

            "He left," I manage to croak out in anger, "He left me."  I think Sidious just smiled but, when he speaks again, his voice is filled with understanding and sincerity.

            "I will not leave you for as long as I live.  Do you believe me, my young apprentice?" the Sith asks.

            "Yes, Master," is my hoarse reply.  I do believe him.  As long as he lives, I will never die…

            Puffft.  Shhhh.  The iron lung works continuously, forcing air in and out.  My lungs were badly damaged by the lava; they no longer function on their own.  No, that's not true.  They will work, but only in a specialized environment.  The healers took me into one such chamber and replaced what couldn't be saved with mechanical parts… 

            I mind tricked one of the staff members into letting me see my charts.  Badly burnt… impossible to take off of the iron lung… yada yada.  Well, what do you know!  Apparently, I died on the way to the hospice.  How fitting, because I sure don't feel like Anakin Skywalker any more.  I don't know who I am now.  I'll have to ask my Master about a name although, for some reason, I like the term Vader…

            I've been drawing schematics.  They're useful things if you ever want to build something.  I've been working on mobile iron lung, one that I can carry on my person like a pack or something… 

            I think I've finally created something that will work.  It involves a full body suit and mask, but it will allow me full range of movement.  I showed to a healer, who called it a wonder and promised to have it built for me…

            The suit works beautifully.  I have to put up with the constant noise the respirator makes, but I'm becoming acclimatized to it.  Soon I will stand beside my new Master and the galaxy shall feel our combined power…

            Force save you, Obi-Wan, for I won't when we meet again.

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The End.  That's all unless my creative urge decides to do the duel from Obi-Wan's perspective, which seems very doubtful at this moment.  I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as you seem to like the first.