The Love of a Sith (aka The Chosen One)

Rejection

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Vader stormed out of the room, fuming. 

Who was this Padme, that despised him so fiercely?

 It had taken everything in him to resist smashing something - anything - after the way she had spoken to him. He didn't know how he had controlled himself . . . or to be honest, even why he had  done so.  The Dark Side of the Force was all-mighty, all-consuming, controlling you from the soul out- until you were unable to think of anything but the anger and hate swirling in every recess of your mind, and you had not even the will to resist its power.

Yet he had.  The Dark Side was not to be controlled, not to be reigned in less its power be diminished- yet somehow he had, doing what he had never - not even on Mustafar - had the will or ability to do.  At that moment he didn't care that the man inside was pushing back.  All he'd known was something deep inside him hated the fear in her eyes when she looked at him. He hadn't meant to hurt her back on the ship; he had just gotten so furious- and by the time he was back in control she was on the floor, with the terror and hate written in every feature of her beautiful face.

He had wanted to make it better . . .

Vader gripped the desk, his mechanical hand crushing the metal in vehemence.  This was ridiculous. He'd been trained to induce that very emotion, delight in that very look. It was the way of the Sith, and the only way to control an Empire. This guilt and regret would not do. No, he had tried to fix the problem, and she was the one who rejected it, continued to reject him! To think, he had actually felt a vague remorse for what he'd done and shown her grace, even brought a peace offering- yet she had refused it, mocking him in the process?

It was unacceptable!

He threw the datapad onto the desk in disgust. No work was going to be done at this rate. He glanced at the chrono, wondering how much time he'd wasted twisting himself into knots over Padme.

Kriff. Two past midnight. Weren't children supposed to be in bed by then?

How many hours had he already spent in his life wasting away over Padme Amidala?

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Padme's mind was reeling.  

She couldn't think through the confusion.  First he was a monster, obviously unconcerned about her well-being from the way he threw her in his rage; then he was acting like he cared by bringing her food?  The whole day he had reeked of arrogance and hate; but suddenly he was fumbling around and unsure?

It didn't make any sense.  He didn't make any sense.

And now her fundamental conviction - that he was evil and horrible and changed - had been shaken, toppled by this half Vader, half Anakin.

Padme curled up into herself, fingers gripping tightly at her chest, the pain twisting her insides.

No.  This was not Anakin.  

She remembered Anakin Skywalker.  She remembered him as clearly as she could feel her own face and the stinging in her eyes.

The memories came surging back to her, stinging her mercilessly . . . yet this time the weakness in her took over and she could only halfheartedly push them away, unable to find it in herself to send Ani away, willing to face to pain if only his presence would be the strength and comfort she needed against the demon that was Vader . . .

For the monster and the man were not one and the same, surely . . .

She couldn't handle it.  No, it was much easier to isolate one from the other- Anakin the light, that brought comfort and love, and Vader the darkness, that slaughtered and destroyed and did not love.