Interlude One
I Am the Darkness

I am not here.
I feel the metal platform beneath the soles of my boots.
The hot wind against my face, rippling the hood that shadows my features.
The acrid smell of sulfur stings my nostrils, but it does not drown out the stench of death that clings to my clothes, sinking deep into my pores.
If I am not here, then it has no power over me.
Flames dance all around me – I am a shadow, not a living being, not a man – and grief wells up inside me, stifling all thought.
"What are you going to do?"
I'd do anything – to save you.

My angel, my bright light; she can never know what I have done to buy her life, to keep her from the danger of death. Her face, her exquisite eyes, her soft lips, and her gentle, strong warmth…
all these things reminded me of what must be done the instant I walked into the communications bunker mere minutes ago.
"Wipe out Viceroy Gunray and the other Separatist leaders."
I would sell my soul if only I can keep her.
There is moisture on my cheek, cutting a path through the sweat, grime, and splatters of blood on my skin.
I am not here because I am dead.
I died as my blade carved through the Separatists.
When the blue bar of light cut down the small blonde Padawan hiding with other Younglings who asked for my help.
When Master Windu flew out of the broken window, his severed arm smoking at my feet, his body still crackling with lightning.
I am a walking dead man.

The tears are my penance – the precious little feeling that I can spare since I chose this path – they mourn the loss of a Jedi and a good man.
A hero of the Republic.
Anakin Skywalker is no more to this galaxy.
He exists only in my memory, and in the presence of his family.
It is for their sake that I do not cast him off completely.
She would surely know, would sense that he was gone from my eyes – and leave me to rot away to nothing, deprived of her life-giving light. And that can never happen. I would never see the tiny, perfect face of our child, or experience the wholeness of being a part of its new, wonderful life.
And it will have a wonderful life. My power will see to that.
It is for them that I do this – that I consign myself to hell and transform into a monster – to keep them safe.

I comfort the grief in my hollow chest with a reminder that it's only for a while. After the Chancellor has taught me all I need to know about the dark side, he will be…disposed of, and I will give
this galaxy into my angel's capable hands.
I have no care for government.
Whatever she wishes to do will be done. And I will make sure of that.
Convincing her that these actions must be taken will be difficult, if not impossible. But I will not use the Force to persuade her mind – as if I could.
Strong-willed and idealistic.
Probably why I love her so much.

The salt streaks are nearly dried, and I realize that I should contact my Master.
My mission was a success. Then I can leave this smoldering cinder through the purgatory of hyperspace, and return to the heavenly embrace of my angel.
The screams, the begging, the revelry of destroying a life…
None of it will hold sway over me in her arms.
So I march back into the bunker, refusing to look down as I step over smashed droid components and bloodied body fragments, and activate a link to Coruscant.
I fold my arms tight across my chest as my Master's face appears as a translucent blue hologram. "The Separatists have been taken care of, my Master."
"It is finished, then." He speaks slowly, inflecting tones of regretful relief.
I am not fooled.
"You have restored peace and justice to the galaxy."
Safe for Padmé and the baby.
His tone becomes more commanding. He is giving me another assignment.
"Send a message to the ships of the Trade Federation. All droid units must shut down immediately."
I reply with deference and respect, as one should address their Master. "Very good, my Lord." The holo fizzles out, and I punch in the appropriate codes into the panel, waiting for final confirmation that the droids are no longer a threat.

A strange tingling skitters across the back of my neck.
My head tilts slightly as the Force whispers to me, as it always has, breathing images of the future into my skull.
Padmé. Padmé is supposed to be here.
I shake my head, struggling to clear it. She cannot be here, she cannot.
Besides, I told her to wait for me.
When has she ever listened to me?
The feeling stays with me, and I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see her there behind me, dismay and disappointment and fear lingering in the depths of her dark eyes.
But, of course, the only living thing in the room is me.
I close my eyes; the surge of my newfound powers amplifying old ones as I stretch out for her across the stars.
Her light flickers on the capital, colored with despair.
Frantic, I cast my perception around her wildly, searching for a threat, but there is none.
Then the nature of the emotion hits me like a stun beam.
She is despairing for me.

I latch onto our bond; created when the universe began and enhanced by our marriage and every kiss, every caress, and I trace over her mind lightly.
Anger sears white-hot when I see who stirred this dread in her heart.
Obi-Wan.
He is still alive, as I expected. Obi-Wan is much too powerful and resourceful to be killed by clones. But why would he go to her?
He's looking for me.
My metal fist slams into a control panel, sparks flying from the broken circuitry.
Obi-Wan was searching for a means to locate me, and his feelings had naturally led him straight to her.
Perhaps she had not come here because she feared he would follow.
A thought wafts across her mind; she has summoned a memory, one that she seems to shrink away from in terror. I catch it, prepared to remove it from her mind to spare her, when I hear
my old Master's voice, sad and full of pity.
"Anakin is the father, isn't he?"

Waves of heat and cold wash over my body. He knows about our baby.
He could be there right now, watching her, using my angel as bait for me.
Desperately, I call on my rage and bring an image of her into focus through the Force.
It is dark, and she lies on our bed, curled in a ball and wrapped in my old cloak. I feel my hand reach out to touch her, to brush away the tears marring her smooth cheek,
but the vision blurs and vanishes.
I did not sense Obi-Wan.
But my angel needs me.
I fly out of the bunker and head for the landing pad. Artoo whistles at me curiously. "Begin the takeoff cycle. We're going home."
I'm coming home to you.