Chapter 22: Vulnerati Tyrannus

-Part Three-

CORUSCANT: IMPERIAL PALACE

Gloved hands fisted upon his knees, Vader sat in the passenger cabin of his private shuttle, listening to the whine of the engines as they prepared to land. For three hours he'd wrestled with his anger fighting to bring it back under control, but the closer he'd gotten to the Capitol, the angrier he'd become. And now, bare minutes from coming face to face with his Master, he was seething. He had only one option left; to try and hide it.

Hearing the captain calling out for permission to land, Vader leaned back, closed his eyes and used the Force to assemble his mental shields. No doubt, they wouldn't be enough to fool his Master, but they would buy him sufficient time to get his thoughts in order, and give him a chance to properly phrase his interrogation so as not to earn himself another severe lashing in return.

When the shuttle touched down, he rose from his seat, adjusted his inner tabard and headed for the door. Thundering down the boarding ramp, he exited out into the palace hangar and skidded to a stop.

"Welcome home, Lord Vader," his Master said, standing directly ahead of him in the hangar and looking him up and down.

Vader's breathing skipped. He immediately bowed his head. "Master."

Sidious closed the space between them, stopped by his side and reached for his singed cloak. He rubbed the armour-weave fibres between his fingers then let it fall. "You seem a little ... worse for wear, my friend," he said. "I trust it's nothing too serious."

Vader knew his suit looked beaten up. His helmet was badly scuffed, his armour was blaster scorched and pocked with tiny dents, and his cloak had been set on fire. But other than the lightsaber burn on his arm, he was relatively unscathed. "No, Master."

"Ah, good. I'm pleased to hear it." His Master gently gripped him by the arm and urged him forward. "Then come, my apprentice. Walk with me. I am most eager to hear your full report."

They walked the palace halls together and Vader strategically recounted the details of his mission, all the while ensuring he kept a firm grip on his shields to prevent unwanted intrusion. His Master listened to him intently, not offering comment or interruption until they reached the doors to his office. When they walked inside, he headed straight for his desk, took his seat in front of the window and Vader stood before him.

"And what of these Jedi?" Sidious asked, clasping his hands together on the desk. "Did you find them?"

"Yes, Master. Two padawans and a former council member." Vader pulled his cloak aside, unclipped the three lightsabers from his belt and placed them heavily onto the desk. "They have since been ... dealt with."

"A former council member... a master. How delightful. Which one might I ask?"

"Eeth Koth," Vader growled, not bothering to conceal his disgust. He squared his shoulders back, folded his arms over his chest and snorted. "The Zabrak."

"A Zabrak..." his Master purred, his gaze going distant as if he were imagining the brutal contest for himself. He glanced to the hilts, bared his teeth beneath the shadowed cowl of his robe in what could almost have been a smile, possibly a snarl. He didn't touch the hilts, didn't even reach for them. "You've done well, Lord Vader. And yet I sense..." He lifted his eyes from the Jedi weapons to regard Vader; his expression unreadable.

Then, without so much as a word of warning, his Master's attack began. Squeezing... pressure... throbbing... Vader bowed his head and clenched his jaw. The dark inquiring tendrils reached out and dug into him through the Force. The jagged claws stabbing and scratching at the protective shields guarding his thoughts. Strengthening his focus, Vader gritted his teeth and tried to reinforce his defences. His arms started to shake, and he quickly lowered them to his sides and balled his hands tight. Blinding pressure sparks danced in his vision. His anger was building. With his helmet still dipped; he forced his eyes open and glowered scornfully at his still-seated Master through the uppermost curve of his mask's lenses.

"You are displeased with me, Lord Vader. I can feel your anger..." He rose from his seat and moved to join him on the other side of his desk.

Heart pounding, Vader silently watched him move closer, then turned his glare to the floor when he stopped beside him.

"You are trying to hide your rage from me," his Master said. He dropped a strong hand heavily onto his shoulder pauldron and lowered his voice. "Don't shy away from me, my son. Give in to your anger. Show me your fury and tell me what troubles you."

And with that, Vader lifted his head, looked sideways at his Master and permitted his shields to slip for just a moment. Then, he curtly slammed them back up. "Governor Tarkin," he snarled, his voice low and dark and simmering with rage. "The order you had him give me... while I was on Kashyyyk."

His Master lifted his hand from his shoulder like he'd just been burned. He bared his teeth then backed up a step. "Ah, I see." Turning his back to him, he moved to face the window and hissed out a long breath. "My apologies, Lord Vader," he said placatingly, his tone bordering on condescension. "It is my fault. I should have realised that you would be ... overly sensitive ... to such matters."

Overly sensitive? Vader stared disbelievingly at his Master's back, and for a split-second caught himself wondering if that were truly the case. "Master?"

"You were once a slave, were you not, Lord Vader? You and your mother?" his Master asked. That wasn't a question. He knew damn well of his past. "Your lives owned and controlled by that pathetic Toydarian junkdealer on Tatooine. I imagine your childhood must have been quite traumatic."

His anger suddenly gave way to guilt, and he swallowed hard to push down the surge of bile rising in his throat. Vader felt like he'd just been punched in the gut. It was a low blow, one aimed straight for his core. He let his shoulders sink, sagged forward and felt his confidence crumble like decaying ruins being blown apart in a sandstorm. His thoughts drifted to his mother. To her beaten and blood-stained body, lifeless and slumped over in his arms. He hadn't been strong enough to save her. And now he'd just done something that he'd promised her he would eradicate. And it hurt. When his Master spoke again, he had to work hard to hear what he was saying over the rasp of his own breathing.

"Now, I can understand your confusion, my boy," his Master said. "But what you fail to understand, is that what you chose to do to the Wookies ... it was the right thing to do."

What? Vader stared slack-jawed at him. He hadn't chosen to enslave the Wookies. He hadn't even chosen to go to Kashyyyk. In-fact, he'd had no choice at all in any of it. He hesitated, then tried to argue. "Master, I..."

"Yes... yes, I know hearing such things might be difficult for you," his Master said dismissively, "and may even be hard for someone with your troubled past to comprehend ... but rest assured, this is entirely different to the greed driven slavery that goes on in the lawless Outer-rim."

When he didn't respond, his Master finally turned from the window to face him. Physically, Vader knew he towered over his Master, and if he truly put his mind to it, he could probably crush him with just his bodyweight alone. But right now, beneath the stare of his penetrative gaze, he suddenly felt ... small.

His Master must have sensed it, because he soon started toward him. When he reached his side, he placed his hand comfortingly upon his shoulder and his eyes found his own hidden within the mask. He smiled, a genuine fatherly smile.

"You did the right thing, Lord Vader," he said. "The Wookies are traitors. They were working with the Jedi and conspiring against us. You made the right choice, my friend. You have given them an opportunity to contribute to our Empire... to do something worthwhile and meaningful with their pitiful lives. Is that not better than the alternative?"

Numbly, Vader stared down at him. "The alternative?"

"The punishment for treason is death, is it not?"

Vader nodded. "Yes, Master."

"I'm sure in time, you'll come to understand, my boy." He patted him once on the shoulder, then sighed and walked him to the door. Vader fell into step beside him. "But for now, go. I fear the day's events have left you unsettled and not thinking clearly. You must be exhausted. Take what remains of the day off and use it to get some rest."

Vader paused in the open doorway and bowed before him. "As you wish, Master."

CORUSCANT: VADER'S FORTRESS

"I don't know, Bail," Padmé said to her official com, stepping out from the turbo-lift into her dark and empty apartment. "He is in hiding, remember? Besides, I think his hands are quite full at the moment." She placed her datapad down on the kitchen counter and opened the fridge to find something to eat. There wasn't a great deal in there to choose from.

"Just ask him for me... please," Bail said. "So much has happened since we last spoke, and to be frank, I could really use his advice."

Perhaps she could ask Dormé to bring dinner over. She needed to put something in her stomach to try and settle the churning. Giving up on the fridge, she sighed and closed the door. "Look, I can call Obi-wan later and see what he thinks. As for the Wookies, I'll do some digging. Who knows, maybe I can find out where they've taken them to."

"Thank you. And whatever you do, Padmé, be careful. I'm sure you don't want me running to your rescue again."

I didn't really need rescuing the last time, she thought, remembering the harrowing but necessary event. She would never forget the heartbreaking sound of Anakin crying out to her as she fled the Senate that day. It was a sound she never wanted to hear again in this lifetime. "I will be fine, Bail, really. You worry too much. I'll meet you at the office tomorrow at eight."

Bail sighed. "Fine, fine. Until tomorrow then. Don't be late."

Padmé keyed off the com and gazed aimlessly around her apartment. No Dormé, no Niobè, no disguised troopers ... and no Anakin. It felt so cold and quiet... and empty. She took off her robe, laid it over the back of one of the twin yellow sofas and sat down. Picking up the holo-remote, she contemplated turning on one of those old romantic holovids she and her older sister, Sola, had used to binge watch when she was back home on Naboo. Then, out of nowhere, a shiver rolled through the top of her head, all the way down to the very tips of her toes. Like an icy draft had just blown in through the room. Her stomach convulsed in protest, and she buckled over and tried not to retch.

From somewhere in the distance, a low warbled whistle echoed on the air, as if coming from another room or even outside. Pain temporarily forgotten; she lifted her head to try and identify the familiar sound. The whistle echoed again, only this time it was followed by a curt string of beeps and chirps. "Artoo?" she asked to the emptiness, forcing herself up from the seat. She looked around again ... to her bedroom, to the kitchen, to the windows—

The clear transparisteel door that led out to her private balcony was wide open. Oh, please... let it be him, she thought, hurrying toward it. Tell me it wasn't just Threepio leaving the door open again.

When she looked outside, she saw little more than darkness... but then she heard him... Oh, she heard him. And the sound of his breathing brought tears to her eyes. Anakin!

She wanted to run, wanted to tear across the balcony, throw herself desperately into his arms and beg him never to leave her side again. But she stopped on the steps. The chill she'd sensed earlier, she now realised hadn't been coming from outside. A bone-numbing cold crept through her veins, like an insidious poison freezing her from the inside out. Something was wrong. Artoo rolled across the balcony. He stopped at the foot of the steps, whistling and chirping and flashing his glowing blue photoreceptor back and forth between her and the balcony ledge. It was as if he was calling to her, trying to get her to follow him. So, she did.

Artoo, using his photoreceptor as a makeshift torch, guided Padmé across the balcony, past the luxurious half-circle lounge and out onto the far ledge. And on that ledge, standing right where he'd used to park his starfighter when stealing a night away with her from the Jedi temple, was her husband. He was as still and perfect as a statue. His floor length midnight cloak gently undulating on the evening breeze. The iridescent lights of the late night Coruscanti air-traffic glittering off his helmet. The robotic rasp of his respirator drifting on the air.

She called out to him. "Anakin?"

He slowly turned around. Then he lowered his head as if to stare at the floor. Padmé crossed the balcony. She stood before him and gently touched his left arm, the one she knew was still flesh and blood. Without saying a word, he pulled her to his chest, encased her in his arms and cradled her within his strong embrace.

"Oh, Anakin. I was so worried about you," she whispered into the quilted folds of his suit. "Thank goodness you are home."

Still, he said nothing, just held her tight. She looked up at his mask, wishing she could see his face behind it, wanting to gaze into his eyes and see his love for her twinkle deep inside them. And as always, the mask gave away nothing. It hid her love away from her —completely imprisoning him. But inside, she knew something was bothering him, she could actually feel it; an aching, throbbing sensation that resonated through her ribcage and squeezed all the way up into the tendons of her throat. It was squeezing so hard that she found it difficult to breathe.

Extricating herself from within his arms, Padmé took his gloved hands in hers, backed up a step and stared into his darkened lenses. "Ani, my love... are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Again, he turned his helmeted head away from her and refused to speak. Oh, she knew this reaction. He had closed himself off and was emotionally shutting down. It was a behaviour she'd seen in him more and more frequently since his mother's death on Tatooine. The very same thing he'd done, back when she'd asked him to speak to Palpatine about putting an end to the fighting, mere days before the war had ended. And, unlike then, she now knew how best to deal with it.

Padmé gazed down to the little astromech hovering loyally at her husband's side, and smiled. "Artoo, would you be so kind?"

The droid twittered in response. As if knowing precisely what she needed, Artoo rolled forward and lit up the path to the balcony with his photoreceptor. Then, she turned back to Anakin and gave his hands a gentle tug. "Come on, my love. Let's go inside." When he offered no resistance, she led him across the balcony, up the small flight of stairs and took him back into the apartment.

Vader stood listless by the kitchen counter. He watched his wife chatter and fuss over him, as if he were someone else, as if he were viewing her through eyes not his own. It was a peculiar feeling. Twice already she'd offered him a drink and all he'd managed in response was a simple shake of his head. He wanted to say something to her, had even opened his mouth to speak —several times— but nothing had come out.

Padmé was approaching him again, this time coming from her bedroom. Her hair was down now, and her long black gown flowed weightless around her feet, graceful and elegant, like some majestic creature gliding across the floor. She wore black a lot lately. Much more frequently than what she'd used to. And although she looked stunning in the colour, somewhere, lost deep in the crevices of his addled mind, it concerned him. She was starting to mirror him. His Angel was changing.

She stopped before him, took his left hand, stared up into his battle-scarred mask and said something. He saw her lips part around words but didn't hear them. He was deaf to everything but the drumming sound of his own breathing. Then there was that same tug on his arm again and he was moving. He followed her into the turbo-lift and together they descended one level to his suite. Now his wife's intentions were clear... she wanted to free him of the suit.

This time, when the turbo-lift door opened to reveal his chamber, he hesitated. He didn't want her to see him. Didn't want her to see the hideous monster lurking beneath the layers of black synthleather and armourplast. The monster who'd just finished laying siege to an entire Outer-rim world and enslaving the whole of its native population. Because if she did ... if she saw the truth buried in his eyes ... she would despise him. Vader knew this, because right now, he despised himself. And that self-hatred sickened him. Burned through his scarred remains like searing hot flame, turning both his body and his confidence to ash.

Padmé futilely pulled on his hand again, stared up at him with those two big beautiful eyes, so full of worry, and concern... and love. That too, sickened him. He didn't deserve her love. He didn't deserve any of it. What he deserved was to be cut down by Obi-wan again on the lava banks of Mustafar... and to be left there to burn.

"Ani... please," she begged him, willing him to follow. And the whisper of pain, that tiny quiver in the back of his Angel's voice was enough to get him moving. When he stepped from the lift, she dragged him to the centre of the room, let go of his hand and headed to the main control panel on the wall by the lift door. The lights came on, then dimmed slightly and the air in his suite hummed overhead as the ventilation system kicked in and pressurised. It was a surprisingly comforting sound. He closed his eyes for just a second, and before too long, Padmé had his hand again and he was being chaperoned through his chamber.

When Vader opened his eyes he was standing inside his bedroom. The lights were half-lit, his bed was made and there was this unfamiliar chair —small and simple, like the ones used in cheap diners or mess halls— positioned all by itself out in the middle of the space between the foot of his bed and the fresher. He looked to Padmé. She was on the other side of the room, rummaging through his stuff in the bedside drawer. She appeared to be looking for something in particular. Curious now, and perhaps just the slightest bit concerned, he looked back to the chair. It didn't look very big, and the engineer in him doubted that it would be sturdy enough to take his weight.

He found his voice then. "Padmé?" he croaked, and he looked back to his bedside, only to find her standing right in front of him with some kind of tube in her hands. She placed the tube down on the bed, then went to undo the chain around his neck. His cloak slipped free and he watched her gather the heavy length of fabric in her arms, then turn and lay it neatly on the bed. Turning back to him, she placed her hands firmly upon his chest and started to push him back. He obliged her, then hesitated when he felt the chair hit his legs.

"Just trust me," she said, gently pushing on his chest again.

Vader carefully lowered himself onto the chair, positioning his body in such a way as to try and spread his weight evenly across each corner. To his mild surprise, it didn't make so much as a creak. Being slightly taller than him now, Padmé stepped into the space between his knees, then with one finger pressed under his mouth-grille, she tilted his head up to look at her.

"I think it's time we took this off," she said.

Vader stared up at his wife and felt his heart skip a beat. He couldn't deny her. If he did, it would only cause her to worry. And worry meant questions —questions he wasn't certain he was prepared to answer. The throb in his chest got harder, faster. He closed his eyes, clamped down his jaw, squeezed his fists and braced himself. Then he felt the pull, and the loud hiss of his helmet's vacuum release almost had him squirming. He was breathing hard now, his chest and torso heaving too quickly. Something pressed and squeezed both of his upper thighs. He opened his eyes and saw Padmé kneeling between his legs, her hands on his thighs, her eyes staring up at him full of concern. Seeing her there settled him somewhat, but not quite enough to slow his breathing back down.

"Ani, I don't want to distress you," she whispered. "If you need me to stop..."

Then, without saying a word, Vader took hold of his wife's hands and lifted them up to cover the clasps at the back of his head. They undid them together. When he was finally free of the claustrophobic mask, he looked to the floor, ashamed and overwhelmed by a sudden sense of vulnerability and exposure. Kneeling before him again, Padmé slowly lifted his chin. And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, their eyes met. She cradled his cheeks in both hands and stared at him. Her stare was intense, and he managed to hold it for several minutes before needing to look away, suddenly afraid that she'd seen the truth.

"No, please don't hide them. It's been so long."

Vader kept his eyes down, even contemplated closing them. "Padmé, I..." His throat closed over, trapping his voice inside.

Padmé gently stroked his face as if trying to coax him back out. "Anakin... I already know."

Confused, he stared at her.

"I know what you did," she said, grabbing hold of his hand and squeezing it tight. "And there will be plenty of time to discuss it later. Right now... I want you to try and relax. Just for tonight, let us focus on us."

She knew? Vader slumped forward and felt some of the weight lift from his shoulders. She already knew. And yet still she was reaching out to him, trying to pull him from the sinking hole he'd crawled into. At least it felt like a hole. A very deep, very dark hole. And it only ever seemed to get deeper.

He sensed Padmé standing behind him, then heard the unmistakable click and thud of his pectoral armour being undone. One minute later and she had it off. Then he was down to his tabard and bodysuit, not counting his boots, gloves and belt. Ten minutes later, and she had them off him, too. He was now sitting back on the chair —freezing— and wearing nothing but his black skin-shorts.

When his wife picked the tube up from the bed, Vader watched curiously as she squeezed a large glob of slime-like gel onto the palms of her hands and rubbed them together. She walked behind him again and started to massage his shoulders. Every inch of him tensed.

"You're so uptight," Padmé said, working the ointment into his skin. "Just relax. This is concentrated bacta, it will help."

She found one of the raised Force-lightning lesions his Master had gifted him with only a few standard days ago, and focused pressure on it. They were healing, but there were so many of them that they were taking longer than usual. Any second now, she was going to want to talk about them. She found another one and again he tensed.

"It's alright. I'm not going to make you talk about them," she said, as if picking up on his thoughts. "But I am going to tend to your injuries. So, you may as well sit back, relax and let yourself go."

Vader slumped forward and sighed. Resisting her now, was pointless. He closed his eyes, surrendered to her soothing touch... and slowly slipped into the Force.

• • •

When Padmé had finished massaging him with the bacta, she'd woken him from the meditation and waited for him to find his bearings. Then he was pulled to his feet again and led into the fresher. At first, he'd hesitated, seeing the hot steam billowing from the prepared shower, remembering the limitations of his cybernetics. But Padmé had been quick to reassure him. She'd already discussed it with Aleria, and his physician had given him the all clear. So, trusting her, he'd stepped under the running water and fought not to collapse while she'd washed him.

Now he was standing with his back to the mirror, watching her dry the water off his broken body with the towel. She was being so gentle. Her hands carefully moving the black oversized bath sheet over his stomach with a kind of tenderness he'd forgotten existed. Completely mesmerised, he stared at her face while she cared for him, as if only seeing her for the first time. He admired the soft curves of her lips gently pressing together as she moved to his hips ... the subtle flush of pink slowly rising in her cheeks ... the feather-soft flutter of her eyelashes every time she blinked.

She lowered to her knees, started to work the towel up and down his right leg, and a lump rose in his throat. He could see the delicate ivory mounds of her breasts from this angle, and the japoor snippet he'd given her years ago was safely nestled within the crease of her cleavage. With every touch, he could feel her love for him radiate across their bond. The sensation more intense than he remembered, with a powerful, almost blinding clarity to it, like their connection had grown stronger. With his right leg now dry, she moved on to his left and brushed his upper thigh with the towel. His heart skipped a beat. The familiar rush of heat started to creep up on him, and his left hand twitched. Then, a lock of chestnut hair worked loose from her bun, went to fall in her face ... and he caught it on his fingers.

"Padmé..."

She looked up at him. Breathless, he tucked the wayward strands behind her ear and fell deep into her eyes. Without another word, he took her by the hand and helped her to her feet. Then, cradling the back of her head in his palm, he leaned down and gently kissed her.

Padmé gasped then responded, her lips parting slightly and moving harder against him. The Force hummed between them, setting his body on fire. He pulled her closer, tasted her sweetness, felt the warmth of her breath dance across his face. Her velvet hands found his chest and he groaned against her lips. He needed more. Needed to be closer, needed to feel her skin on his. Heart pounding, chest heaving he broke their kiss and pulled back, gazed down at her still half-closed eyes. Then, in preternatural speed, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her back into the bedroom.

Vader placed her down at the foot of the bed and kissed her again before she could speak. Holding their kiss, he used the Force to unzip her dress and let it fall around her feet, then did the same with her undergarments. When she was free of her clothes, wearing nothing but the japoor snippet around her neck, he stood over her and gently pushed her back toward the bed.

She sat down and stopped herself from falling. Concern flashed in her eyes. "Ani?"

"Just... trust me," he whispered, using the exact same words she'd used on him earlier.

Laying back, Padmé slowly started to creep up the bed. He crawled onto his hands and knees and followed, hovering above her. When her head hit the pillow, it was like every part of her suddenly tensed and froze up. She was breathing fast, her tiny breaths shallow and too rapid. The tiniest of alarms rang in the back of his mind. With her body still fully caged beneath him, he held his next breath and stared deep into her eyes. Their hazel colouring was almost gone, her pupils fully dilated. The tiny alarm rang again and he tried his best to ignore it. Then her bottom lip trembled—

And when he felt the tremor of fear ripple across their bond, his heart stopped cold.

She didn't trust him. His own Angel, was afraid of him. His confidence shattered like broken glass. Closing his eyes to hold the tears back, he slumped back, bit down on his fist and tried to focus on physical pain instead. Then the bed shifted beneath his knees, and her warm hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" his Angel asked him.

He bit down harder on his fist, tasted blood. Pulling his hand from his mouth, he stared vacantly at the bite mark and started to shake. Another warm hand cupped his jaw, stroked the side of his head where his hair used to be.

"Talk to me."

Vader rasped in a shallow breath. "I can... feel your fear," he choked, barely able to force the words from his throat.

She stroked the side of his head again. When she spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper. "But isn't that what you wanted?"

He felt a tear escape and run down his cheek. Shaking his head, he bit down on his fist again. "Not from you," he said from behind his bleeding knuckles. "Never... from you."

The bed shifted beneath him again. Her warm breath danced on his ear, prickled his skin as it drifted along his neck. "Well then, Lord Vader...," she whispered seductively, "I suggest you get back here, and finish what you started."

Heart pounding, he dropped his fist and stared open mouthed at her. Eyes half-lidded, she smiled provocatively at him then laid back. A surge of power suddenly charged across their bond, jolting through the Force like a bolt of Force-lightning. He was on her in a flash, hands clasped tight around her face, his lips crashing into hers, breathing her in like she was the last breath of oxygen keeping him alive. He felt the pulse in her neck race beneath his fingers, felt the warmth of her skin pressed against his chest. Holding his fervent kiss, he felt her hand move down between their bodies and slowly guide him inside her.

The Force violently slammed into him, sparking and cascading, the light and dark twisting and churning and merging into one almighty electrical storm inside his mind. Suddenly overstimulated, he growled against her teeth and started to rock. Padmé's nails dug into his shoulder and he pulled his head up, only for her to grab hold of his neck and wrench it back down.

"I can feel you..." she whispered in his ear, her breath catching between thrusts.

"I know..." Vader rasped, turning his burning stare back to her.

She grabbed hold of his face then, and held it tight. "No..." she said, a sudden fire smouldering inside her eyes, "I can ... feel you."

He smiled, and chuckled softly. "Yes, Angel... I know." Then, feeling her emotions turn wild at the revelation, he closed his eyes, completely wrapped himself in her presence and took her long into the night.