Vader dreams of his life before.
Darth Vader wakes in a fit. His lungs fill past their usual limit, making him lightheaded and weak. The sensations of touch overwhelm his mind into a panic, everything feeling like pain in comparison to the numb he has grown used to.
He can barely see in the dim light, which only makes his ruined heart beat harder. The remnants of a sweet perfume turns his memories back almost twenty years. He knows that smell, remembers how he would kiss it at the source, right along his wife's tender neck.
"Anakin!" That voice calls and as Vader turns to see the most beautiful woman in the whole galaxy, he realizes this is not real.
The panic fades quickly; though, not entirely. These dreams are never good. They usually end in terror and death. Blood that he will always regret shedding, no matter how deep into the Darkside he goes.
"Was it a nightmare?" Padmé asks, her gentle touch rising to his cheek. Her thumb rubs at his jaw, where traces of flame should be, if he were in his real body. But given this is a dream -and a more pleasant one at that- he has been given his previous body. The only scars that ruin his skin are from a war he's never stopped fighting.
Gently, Vader holds her back, his flesh hand running through her hair. It's too kind for his dreams, Vader knows. They would never allow him to feel her again; to be with her in such a calm moment.
And yet, here they are.
"Anakin, what's wrong?" Her eyebrows furrow with worry, the same way they did before he stole the life from her.
"You..." His voice is no longer forced into a steady monotone, nor is it rasped and weak. He sounds full, young.
There are an infinity of things Vader wishes to say to her. Apologizes and agony. Sorrow, accusations, and screams for help. They flood to the tip of his tongue, the words mashed together in an amalgamation of feeling.
"You aren't real." He says instead.
Her eyes widen as she shifts on their bed. Those soft hands trail down, landing on his prosthetic arm and against his waist. The swell of her belly becomes obvious now. It only proves his discovery as true.
"Anakin, what are you saying? I'm real. I'm right here." Her grip tightens, as if to ground him in this moment.
"You're dead." He aches, seeing her so heavy with child. A child he will never know. "You aren't real, Padmé."
She stubbornly shakes her head. "No, Anakin, I'm real. You're with me in 500 Republica. You came back from the Outer Rim yesterday, remember?"
He does, very clearly.
"It's okay." Anakin soothes her. He slowly pulls her back into bed. If the force is going to show a rare kindness, then he'll take it greedily. "Let's just...rest."
She gives in; though, hesitantly. "If you're sure..."
"I am."
When was the last time Anakin slept in anything but a bacta tank? How long has he gone without the touch of silk sheets and soft pillows?
And when did he forget what it felt like to lay beside his beloved wife?
"You look exhausted, My Love." Her fingertips brush against his cheek. They run absently along his scar, going up to where it meets his eye and then down again.
If he were his younger self, he might've quipped, "I feel exhausted". Instead, Anakin stays silent. He watches how her eyes seem to shine in the darkness.
He doesn't want to sleep, but it pulls at him regardless. Vader tries to fight it, he really does. He forces his eyelids open. A repeating plea of "if you sleep, you'll lose her again" fills his mind. But despite it all, his limbs grow heavy and her soothing touch lulls him from this dream.
"Rest, Ani. I've got you."
I'm not usually one for ambiguous endings, but I like how this turned out. You can interpret this as just a dream or as times travel stuff. Or whatever else you think of.