I know it's been awhile, but here you go!
He should follow her. Grovel to her. He ought to plead for her forgiveness. The pictures he'd painted for her and the cruel and brutal words he'd uttered were nothing more than the outbursts of a heart beating with panic.
But he doesn't go after her. He stands there. Frozen. Watching her walk away. The toddler begins to cry, apparently in an attempt to grab his attention. His heart twists as he glances down upon the small shrieking face. A small part that surprises even himself is humbled to be so wanted, but the child's hands lifted up to him prompts almost physical pain.
If the child had been there that day in the Temple, he would have killed them like all the rest.
When Padmé had woken him with the image of that Youngling boy's face still blazed across his vision, it had taken all the faculties he possessed to hold himself together. In his nightmares, whether fact or fiction, he always pictured the child's mouth open with pain and shock, unable to scream without his lungs. He would watch the dream as if an outsider, wishing desperately to block the blade that swung with such callous precision and the fervency of a deluded man who thought he could cheat death itself.
And in that weary moment, having been torn into the waking world, as she'd pushed him, pushed him to go to Luke and Leia, his anguish had come out in a bitter torrent, driving her away in an attempt to protect her, to protect himself, to make her understand the depth of his own debauchery.
Because…surely…surely if she understood. If she'd been there…she would agree. He can bring the children nothing but sorrow.
He calls the nurse in and orders him to see to the boy. Whether he possesses the rank or the authority to command her in such a way is of little consequence to him. She obeys him all the same.
His prosthetics carry him almost reflexively back to their shared living space. He enters hesitantly, feeling the weight of her tumultuous emotions. She is curled up in their shared bed, her back facing the door, though he is sure that she knows it is him. All evidence of her rank and command are gone. She does not cry, merely lies there, staring at the wall as he had done the night before. He knows that look of devastation. He feels her pain through the Force, and he feels something clench inside of him.
No matter what he does, Vader brings her pain.
Hesitantly, he begins to discard his armor. So disrobed, he moves toward her, and, after a moment, he lies down on the bed beside her, reaching over to press her body to his chest. He cannot hide the sigh of relief that rises raggedly from his lungs when she leans into his embrace.
They lie there for several moments, his own rough breaths echoing loudly in the silence as his palm slides lower to cup the curve of her stomach. The room is silent. It is a silence that he almost fears to fill. But so much has been left unsaid. So much that he has been afraid to say for fear that it might destroy their fragile peace.
Once, they had spoken so freely, so openly… He flexes his metal fingers over her abdomen. A nervous habit that draws a glance in his direction. And when those brown eyes look up at him over her shoulder, it is his undoing.
Suddenly, words rise to his throat, and though it feels like pulling on an atrophied muscle, he begins to speak.
"You were alone the day the twins were born." He says hoarsely. "I cannot…I do not want to imagine how frightened you must have been, how heartbroken. You should not have been alone. You should have been home on Naboo. I should have been there. But I failed you. Because of me…they were born into terror and grief."
She does not respond. Merely allowing him to speak. Her eyes searching his face. He is sure it is not a pretty sight. She clears her throat and glances away as if her eyes stare off into the distance.
"You cannot fix the past by punishing the future, Ani."
The air stands still. Neither daring hardly to breathe.
"No." He says, at last. Pausing, before adding…
"…though I have given it a rather good try, haven't I?"
It is such an unexpected attempt at humor. She snorts and then lets out a laugh, rolling over to look up at him.
It is a musical noise he never thought he'd hear again. And though the muscles tug strangely, his mouth stretches into a smile that crinkles up to his eyes. A true smile. His first in years.
"That you have…" She murmurs, looking up at him with an almost pained fondness. She reaches her arms out to him and pulls him into her embrace. He sinks his face into her breastbone, inhaling deeply, the scent of her skin, the warmth of her body, filling him with a pleasant and heady feeling.
He feels so tired. Tired and intoxicated by the relief brought by her touch.
He groans as her fingers trail the damaged nerves and aching muscles of his back, their slender digits beginning to work the muscles absently. He clenches his jaw as her thumb digs into torn ligaments.
Padmé has done this for many nights since he had taken up residence inside of her quarters and the degree to which it lessens his pain is truly astounding.
In the beginning, he had barely been able to tolerate her hands on his skin. Fighting the urge to lash out as she touched nerves that screamed with phantom pain. So long had he gone without kindness, he had never quite been re-accustomed to its sweetness. The doctors were one thing, they were like machines, unfeeling and uninterested, but Padmé...somehow, Padmé's hands had overwhelmed him with feelings, both good and bad.
Now, though, he has come to depend on her soothing hands. They ease his breathing and soothe his aches in a way that morpha never could.
"Padmé, you don't have to..." He gasps. She knows her massages undo him, just as he knows that this is a peace offering and her attempt to make amends.
"Shhh..." She chides, taking his ensuing silence for consent. "We've spoken enough." He grunts as she pushes harder on a knot of damaged tissue. "Sleeping in a chair cannot have made these better." She is right, his muscles are stiffer than they have been as of late. Even so, he deserves it, for having frightened her so terribly.
"It does not matter."
Padmé sighs beneath him, a sad and patient exhale. "It matters to me." He groans and clenches a metal fist as her nails dig into a shredded tendon beneath his shoulder blade.
"I saw something interesting today," Padmé murmurs, changing the topic of conversation, "it was an announcement from the Emperor."
He cannot help but stiffen, his breath hitching in his throat.
"What did it say?"
"'Darth Vader Presumed Dead.'"
He huffs into her shoulder. It is not quite a laugh, but something close to it. "And I take it you find this ironic..." He murmurs, the words dying into a low growl as she continues to press on a particularly tender bundle of nerves.
She chuckles softly in response. "Only a little, my love."
It is not long before she finishes worrying the mass of twisted muscles in his back, sliding out from under him as he lies back, drawing breaths that come more easily after the ministration of her hands.
"Would that I could rest here forever." He murmurs, closing his eyes and listening to her breathe beside him.
"Do you ever rest?" She asks absently.
"Since returning to you? More than I have in years."
Minutes pass, and she says nothing.
"What I said is true, you know..." Padmé says, finally breaking the silence. "I hear you. In your sleep. You ask for forgiveness. You cry out. Sometimes you scream. I have nightmares, too, now. Sometimes, I wake myself. But you do it far more than I ever have."
He opens his eyes, looking up at her, considering her. Anakin does not know quite what to say. Instead, he listens as she continues.
"I do forgive you, Anakin. I hope you know that."
He swallows hard. Would that he could feel as if it were true. Still. It is more than he deserves. He will accept it. And hope that someday, he will be able to believe it.
"I do." He hesitates before adding. "And if, even after all of this, it is still truly your wish that I meet the children, then I will honor it."
Basically, this has just become "moments in marriage" between the two of them. Hope you enjoy the domesticity. As I said to CharlieBoneFan, he definitely agrees to meet them ;)