astramajestic.

            ^{padme is unsure of what she’d expected. his touch confuses her, makes her hurt and long even though she’d doing her best to keep her head level despite the way that even through his mask she can imagine the way a dead man’s lips had wrapped around her name. he may not be who he ONCE was but that doesn’t mean he can’t be useful. that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t struggle with the idea.she will tell herself a MILLION times that anakin is dead, that she means the best for their children, and she will still struggle with the thought that there is no remnant of the man left inside of him. she doesn’t know HOW to reconcile one truth from the other.}

            ^{padme lets out a breath. she wishes she could lean into the hand at her jaw, that what was beneath leather might give some indication of the softness of flesh, calloused fingers she’d once known. they’re old it dawns on her all at once. old enough that their children are grown. they may have both managed to stumble into bodies that did not show the weather of time like they could’ve but it’s fact   ——   vader speaks of training their son. does not even know of the daughter that would likely sing her anger as where praise might have gone until the end of her days.} 

            ^{not for the first time, she wishes they’d have both died on mustafar   ——    or that he’d have died, and she’d have passed after giving birth to their children.}

            ^{he offers her hope. where luke is. gives that knowledge at least without much more than her easily taken-back word. he should not trust her but   ——   this is where they are. his shift in maner is whiplash though she does little, just adjusts her mask back over her face. the slight modulation in her breathing is a comfort, and the filtered atmosphere is more palatable to her human lungs than whatever myriad of chemicals she was breathing in prior.} 

             ^{“i don’t use registered weapons,”            it’s all she offers at first, still breathing deeply. it’s an effort to keep up the accent. she’ll have to try and find crew who speak as close to properly as she can, an attempt to re-adapt an accent she’d had to shake off so long ago.            “good. if i don’t report in every couple of weeks people assume something’s bad happened. not to padme. to ryoo. see you in cloud city   ——”}

            ^{padme has to pause. it reminds her of something.}

            ^{a gambit. a risk. an incomplete thought. it may backfire on her horribly. but if this is the world she now finds herself in the secrets will hurt her more in the long run.            “there’s something i need to tell you, lord vader, but if you press me on it i’ll end myself before you ever could. krif, i probably still should. obi-wan’ll never forgive me any of this, even if the force itself manages to.”            she lets out a long breath and looks at him. he’s a monolith in black. she wishes she could see what remains of a face underneath to see the way his expression shifts in the beat between words. does the threat matter? has it been long enough in this world that the thought of her death, because he had lived in that reality for so long, would be an easy skin to slip back into.}

            ^{“i had twins.”            leia, leia, leia. child of alderaan. her parents, PROPER parents gone and scattered to the wind.            “i don’t know where she is, either. only that obi-wan took her somewhere safe.”            how many REVELATIONS can she reveal to him before his mechanical heart stops beating? padme hopes it distracts him, that should he choose to go after their daughter he’ll find the lasting enemy he’s made and be torn apart by it.  split his focus.}

               VADER’S LIPS TWIST into something that’s almost fond, but that, like every other emotion, stays securely locked away behind a wall of black plastisteel. ❝ You would be unwise not to. ❞ He takes the blaster from her without asking, inspecting it with an approving nod. Her choice in weapons hasn’t varied much over the years, && that small familiar facet is enough to send heat spiraling through his chest. 

               Vader clamps down on the sentiment with a silent snarl. But her next words distract him from the bubbling emotion far better than anything else would.

     ❝ Twins, ❞ Vader exhales the words, sinking a little further into oblivion. How much had been hidden from him all these years? He supposes he should be numb to shock by now, but it slams into him as if he’s seeing her face for the first time again. Its dry little hum runs over his nerves like a comb, && he feels as though there is a scream of pain or a feral bellow of fury sitting just below his Adam’s apple. Another lie to correlate into the contents of his mind, another child who will sing the Force the way their son does. 

               Vader reaches out again, leaning in to cradle Padme’s face between his fevered, death-giving hands. ❝ Her name. ❞ It’s a demand, && he has to fight himself not to tighten his grip on her cheeks. This close he can make out faint age lines in her skin he hadn’t noticed before. Until now Padme Amidala had been trapped in his mind at twenty-eight standard—caught, like an insect in amber; the sticky opulence of youth having hardened around the memory. 

               She’s so thin now the rim of bone framing the lower edge of her eye socket has become visible. But even hidden beneath the mask he can tell her expression is cut from steel. They have become old. A feat unexpected for the both of them. 

               He remembers then what she’d threatened should he push the subject, && releases his grip just as quickly as he’d extended it. He is not the fragile, destructive child he once was. Age has leant him restraint, that which he carefully exercises now. ❝ Tell me her name. ❞ It’s no less of a demand, but his voice is softer this time. 

               She wouldn’t have time to answer, however, because at that moment the squadron of troopers bursts into the clearing, their blasters poised to attack. ❝ Lord Vader! ❞ The troopers’ aims waver slightly, confused by the ambiguously friendly display between the bounty hunter and the Sith. ❝ Sir? ❞ 

               Vader turns towards the squadron slowly, black cloak catching in the wind && rippling like an angry flash of night. Vader raises his free hand, watching as the troopers start to scratch && claw at their throats. They begin to lift off the ground, the toes of their boots dragging through the dirt as they thrash && struggle for breath. It never comes. One by one they go limp in the air, their deaths suspended above the ground until Vader drops his hand. Then the troopers fall in unison with a sickening crack, not one of them left alive to hold out arms to cushion their fall. 

@astramajestic