astramajestic.

            ^{is like she can breath. like the weight of hope was heavier than the force could ever be. in a moment, the twig breaks beneath a waiting step, her silence is broken and no matter how grim his proclamations that he’ll train their son in the ways of the sith she knows, is positive that it will not come to pass. if ANAKIN is gone then her last tether to the life she’d once had, to the hope that he may return, scarred as he was, into her arms is removed. her eyes close, her breathing levels and she reaches outwards into the unfathomable space around them.}

            ^{she could try and kill him. at worst she would die, and death is a certainty, an eventuality. she’d cheated death before: ryoo’s no longer scared of the idea of returning into the arms of the force, it’s only the prospect of doing so before business is finished that scares her. her fingers tighten, then loosen, around the force pike. it would be consistent with the woman he’d once known if she walked forward and placed her bone-thin fingers on his helmet and pleaded him. one hand on his face she could attempt to stab him, to drive home an advantage that she was the only one in the galaxy that would have   ——   and?}

             ^{leave the emperor palpatine to find a new apprentice? one who hadn’t been wronged by him the way vader had?       even if she SUCCEEDED it would be   ——   a pyrrhic victory, at best.}

            ^{she opens her eyes and looks at him for a long moment. no pity, though she feels regret heavy in her soul. ryoo has the capacity to do what padme never could. ryoo won’t feel regret at the idea of harming him to protect their children. she is so much weaker, but in her rests the capacity for something different, something greater.       the emperor will try to kill her.      of course he will, but should ryoo die and vader find someone besides himself to blame it on it can be only a good thing, can’t it? worst case scenario is a division in power leads to a bloody civil war, but even then the rebels should have an easier time if the attention is drawn from their forces.}

            ^{she doesn’t think she’ll fool him. she doesn’t know he’ll care.}

            ^{padme, padme, reaches out to take hold of his closed fist as though it were an offered hand and prays to every star above that the force forgives her this.      “——   anakin.”}

               HE DOES NOT deserve a soft epilogue, nor any kind of second chance. She calls him by a ghost’s name && Vader cannot find it within himself to correct. She scores that name into his soul, referencing him with the mark of the man she once loved. All else of Anakin Skywalker was left in ruins, consumed by a black chrysalis of torment. He’s suffered every day since she’d left. && now— 

              && now what?

                Resilient suspicion smolders beneath crimson holo-plates, a flash of heat releasing the Dark Lord from the hold of expectant silence. His free hand closes around Padme’s forearm && holds on hard, gripping for balance or sensation. && the feel of tense muscle through the fabric moors him to an alien reality that lives only in the nerve. Each action draws on a parallel meaning. A hand on on the arm: I love you, I’m sorry. The tight pressure of his grasp: I hate you, don’t leave me. Here, past && future collides, each effacing the other.

               Fear no longer stand in his way or controls his actions. He’s powerful now, the true gravity of his abilities unrestrained && in reach. && yes, he had made so many sacrifices to achieve that power— terrible, unforgivable sacrifices. But he does have this. Even after everything, he does, at least, have this.

     ❝ Padme, ❞ she is scripture on his tongue, one more reason to fight for the freedom he’s never had. Has he ever not called someone master? 

               The fist relaxes, leather-stroked fingers unfurling && extending to trace the the slope of her jaw with incongruous tenderness. He never stopped loving her, no matter how much he wanted to. It would have been easier that way, all emotions cauterized in flames as he led the Emperor && everyone else to believe. 

              He wants to cradle her in his arms, but this body wasn’t made with a capacity for kindness. Sidious rebuilt him into the weapon he’d always meant for him to be. 

               Vader’s hand drops from her face, the other from her arm. She’s even smaller than him now, the extra height added by his prosthetics properly dwarfing her lithe frame. They’d fit together perfectly once. But Vader’s armor is not a piece that can be puzzled into any kind of intimacy, no matter how much he longs for it.

     ❝ Put your mask back on. The Emperor cannot become aware of your survival, nor must we allow him to catch onto our plans. ❞ He clips his saber back to his belt, moving with detached, business-like efficiency. ❝ I will have you compensated for your men. Return to your work until I am able to make contact. ❞ A pause. ❝ Skywalker is on Bespin, we’ll reconvene in Cloud City in a week’s time. ❞ The clones who’d aided in his chase would need to be disposed of, there’s too much at risk for him to leave any potential loose ends alive. ❝ Is your blaster uncoded? ❞ Using a registered weapon on his own platoon would be a rookie mistake.