Chapter Sixteen

Padmé stumbled all the way to her room, blinded by the rage she had felt. A growing sense of deep pain was growing in her, festering beneath the surface. Well, she thought detachedly, that did not go very well.

She had opened herself to him completely, showing him the side of her that hoped, the side of her that was not bitter, the side of her that loved him. In retaliation, he had tried to choke her. Her mind had raced when he asked her what she had wanted, and then, in one flash of illumination, she had known.

She wanted to see his eyes, to see if they were still the pale color of blue that she remembered. She wanted to look on him as he was with no barriers between them, and to be able to see if he still had a soul. She wanted to be able to know him, not as Vader, but as Anakin.

His reaction had stunned her in its intensity and violence. She did not know that she could have provoked him so utterly that he had felt angry enough to try to choke her. Bitterness clawed at her heart, entering like a slow, soft poison. Anakin had surfaced in him somehow, and she had crushed his slow awakening. She felt a slight regret that she had spoken so openly, that she had allowed her barriers to come down for even a moment.

There is still good in him, she thought desperately, trying to hold on to the thought, feeling it slipping away. He can be saved; I can bring him back. The yell he gave had been of anguish, that was for certain. It was his pain, she realized slowly. It was his pain that was laced in the yell; his guilt.

She tasted the word on her lips, uttering it softly. Guilt. He knew what he had done, and felt at least some kind of emotion about it. Anger was still there in her, anger at him, for all that he had done, but there was also hope.

Even in the dark bulk of Vader that was clouded with anger and hate, there was still Anakin, still the man that she loved, still the man that, through all his sins, could still be redeemed. Her breathing began to slow down, and the tears on her cheeks slowly dried. She was still repulsed by him, by all that he had done, by all that he had become. But Padmé, even in the dark clutches of Bast Castle, still felt a sense of glimmering, tremulous hope that shone through the darkness.

Her heartbeat stopped racing, calmness returned, and she drifted, not asleep, not awake, but still dreaming. For once, she was at peace.

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Vader paced through his castle, emotions warring in him beneath the surface. He stalked all the way to the main entrance, pushing aside the main door with the Force impatiently. He came to the bitter landscape of Vijun, looking across the rocky cliffs.

He could not believe what he had just done. He trembled, grasping at the wall of his castle as he realized that, in his anger, he could have killed her, could have lost her again just as he had found her. He felt disgust and hatred, hatred for the thing he had become.

She could never forgive him. He stared across at the fat, pregnant acidic clouds that threatened to come across his castle. If there had been even a slight chance that she would forgive him before, it was gone now, swept away. She could not forgive him, and therefore, he could not forgive himself. He did not pity himself; he knew he did not even come close to deserving mercy, especially from her.

He remembered the way she had asked him. "I want to see you without your mask on." How could she ask him that? To see his scarred, torn, ugly visage? Is that what she wanted? Vader closed his eyes, thinking of the man he once had been. That was who she wanted, the handsome hero. A bitter laugh erupted from him. He far from anything that resembled handsome, and her hatred for him would be complete if she ever saw him without the machine that kept him alive.

He remembered the way he had not understood what she had said at first, and paused until it sunk in. Anger had overcome him, painting the world in a red haze until he could barely understand what he was saying, barely understand what he was doing. It was not until the door slammed behind her that he understood, understood what he had done.

His ears picked up the barely discernable noise of the clattering of a droid among the noise of the howling wind. He clenched his teeth, angry enough to destroy anything that interrupted him.

The silver-plated D-9HP stood in the tumult of the wind outside, waiting patiently. Vader was struck with an urge to destroy the droid before it spoke in a thin, mechanical voice.

"My Lord, you are receiving a transmission from a starship stationed around Tatooine. They say that it is of immediate urgency that you communicate with them."

Vader growled deep in his throat but nodded and stalked inside, leisurely making his way to the same room in which he had communicated with Sidious. The vision of a nervous-looking man with droplets of sweat rolling down on his face was there. Rehis, Vader knew.

"My Lord Vader," said the man, bowing respectfully. "I think we have found something."

Vader folded his arms across his chest and gestured for the man to continue. Rehis swallowed before continuing his report.

"A transmission was sent to us by another Imperial ship, detailing information found in the torture of a smuggler by the name of T'iihe." Rehis looked down in his hands at something, and Vader was tempted to remind the man what happened to those who kept Lord Vader waiting.

"The man repeated a name to them of some kind of… hermit in the desert. This might be what we are looking for." The man frowned at the datapad in his hands, and Vader began to sense that this was something of interest, something that could be relevant.

"Continue any time," Vader said impatiently. The man nodded, looking up into the transmitter.

"He named a man that defined the description of a Jedi. The man lives out deep in the Judland wastes, and his name is… Ben Kenobi."