A/N- Sorry about the cliffhanger in the last chapter. Oh well. Enjoy this one, and thanks to everyone who reviewed!

Chapter Six

He stared transfixed at his angel, the woman that had haunted his dreams and then his nightmares. He could not believe that she was alive, in the flesh; half of him had been expecting everything to be a clever ruse, and that his panic would be for nothing.

Chocolate hair fell across her face, and she looked up at him, her eyes boring into his. Tears pricked at his the corners of his eyes and rolled down his cheeks as he stood, unable to move, unable to think.

Without any thought, he reached out a black glove, not even daring to think that he was worthy to touch her, still wanting to try. His cybernetic hand snaked forwards of its own accord, timidly and gently. It was odd to think that the hand of a murderer could be gentle.

One of her hands slowly reached towards his, closing the gap between them. He looked to her face and saw tear-streaks of pain and despair on it, marks that he knew too well. His attention was drawn to her slowly-moving hand, which came closer and closer to his, until tears were streaming down his face, burning against his skin like fire. The thought that he would be able to touch her, even to grasp her hand, was almost too much.

"Anakin," she breathed, looking up at him once. Somehow, Vader did not have the strength to correct her, to tell her that was not the name of the man who stood before her. Anakin was the one who loved her, who protected her. Let her think that he was Anakin for now.

Just when her hand was almost on his, their fingertips almost touching at the tips, she withdrew her hand. He did not know why for a few seconds until he looked over to her, and saw her eyes roll up and drop in a dead faint. He did not know whether it was out of dread or pain.

He simply gazed at her for a few moments, content to look on her even through the hideous parody of the world that he saw. His lips parted beneath the mask and he closed his eyes, feeling her presence through the Force, luminous and tender.

He heard distantly the footsteps of more guards, coming to see what the disturbance was. He grunted and reached towards her, carefully and gently, as if she was porcelain and would break. He slowly lifted her into his arms, noting that she stirred in pain. His blood boiled at the thought of what she must have gone through to accumulate the wounds.

He wished, not for the first time, that he could change how his voice always boomed out with rapt authority. Just once, he wished he could whisper to her and tell her that everything would be alright, that she was safe and he would find whoever did this to her. A bitter smile curved his lips as he remembered another time when he had made the same rash promise.

He walked through the shifting corridors, carefully not jostling her, tenderly not sparing any care for her. He used skills of stealth he had not needed in a long time; when would he need not to be seen?

Finally, after what seemed like hours, he came to the door that lead out of the building, noting the footsteps behind him. He entered the ship and strode to the medical bay in the back, setting her down on the bed. He paused at the door, wanting to tell her some sort of assurance, but he knew that nothing would sound right. He swallowed a hard lump in his throat; nothing Anakin said could be said by Vader. He wanted to touch her, to reach out and stroke her cheek, but how could she possibly take that as a sign of comfort?

Instead, he pulled himself away from the small room with effort and walked to the controls of the vessel, where he set in coordinates for Vijun and Bast Castle. It was a place where he felt safe, and where they could rest undisturbed. He closed his eyes and prepared to meditate, ready to wake the moment she became conscious.
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Padmé was enclosed deep in the cocoon of sleep, her mind simply content to rest and not produce any twisted dreams. It was easier for her to remain asleep, because on awakening she would be plunged into pain.

Her rise to awakening was slow and bleary. The fist thing she saw was a black ceiling reflecting dimly at her. She blinked, noting that her body ached all over, the slow throb of a wound that was not yet healed. She groaned, wondering where she was, feeling the lightly padded bed that she was on.

Memory spun back to her, coursing over her like a wave.

She had prepared herself for death, tilting her head back and waiting for the one, short blast that would seal her fate. It never came somehow, and she looked up to find the dark demon from her nightmares stood there, its red weapon glowing like hellfire.

Thoughts rushed through her head; was it here to kill her or save her? She looked into the dark pools that served it for eyes, searching for a sign of humanity.

Her sign came. A black glove extended out, timidly and shaking. She stared at it uncomprehending for a few seconds, but then decided to take the chance of escape.

She reached out a hand that seemed white, almost pale compared to the darkness of the glove. She thought she saw him tremble, and a slight sound escaped the mask. In that moment, in a flash of illumination, she knew. Anakin, the man she had loved, the man who had destroyed children, was there, offering her his hand. He was her salvation and her curse.

Tears in her eyes, she whispered his name, the name of the man she knew he was beneath the facade of black armor.

She mouthed his name in the depths of the small imperial ship, remembering that second of infinite pain and hope.

She reached out to him, wanting to touch him, wanting to shrink away in horror at the same time. Her fingertips were almost on his, white and black almost touching for a split second before the black closed in on her eyes and took her.

Padmé was vaguely surprised to touch her cheek and find damp salty tears on it. She hesitated, holding her breath, knowing that he was out there, and all it would take would be a few steps to go to him. She grimaced, knowing that a few steps could be too much.

She thought of what she had seen of him; the mask and the armor. She knew nothing of the events that had passed at Mustafar; Obi-Wan had told her nothing. She closed her eyes, somehow knowing that the armor did not conceal the man she had seen last. Is this the price you paid, Anakin?

She was tempted to call for him, but resisted that urge, suddenly being afraid of him and angry at him at the same time. She laid back, content to wait for him. She did not know whether she would scream at him or fall into his arms; only time would tell. Perhaps she would do both.