The Love of a Sith (aka The Chosen One)

Caught in the Act

Phew- I accidentally wrote WAY too much and now it's twice as long . . . Merry something, guys ;)

I'm going to re-read later and edit- just thought you guys had waited long enough. Sorry if it's horrible.

Also, I don't want to end up disappointing you, but the next chapters are going to be . . . amazing. Probably better than anything I've even written yet. Like seriously, I dictated to my sister the scenes I had planned out, and she was speechless for a moment . . . before commanding me to hurry up and get writing. Also, they pretty much get progressively better (or at least my key scenes do) . . . so . . . please stay tuned, and I hope you guys are excited! Comments and votes, pretty please; and thanks again to my furious five and seriously god reviewers juliatheawzom3274, Ecape7, ned_leeds2001, aigneis, SecretsRae and love_anakin_padme!

Padme stared after the hastily retreating figure, wordless. Inadvertently her hand reached up to grip at her tingling shoulder, as if desiring to simultaneously still the unwelcome tremors rising to the surface of her skin and recreate the feeling of his warm fingers on her skin, even leather clad as they were.

The action had been brief, fleeting enough that it might barely have been recognized- except that she knew that touch.

Too well.

As much as she might try, she could not be immune to it; it was too familiar, the touch of her kind, beautiful lover, and she . . . she could not help but yearn for it, even now.  It had always unraveled her, even since she had laid eyes on sweet, good Anakin Skywalker- and not just in its love, but in its vulnerability.

Was this a malicious game he was playing with her, trying to toy with her emotions?  Vader was not vulnerable, yet . . . he had been hurt, and then uncertain, the anger evaporating from his characteristic Sith nature and leaving him strangely bare before her.  Yet it did not make her rejoice as it might have - on the contrary, it frightened her - because she recognized Anakin, in every familiar and endearing action, in every expression, in every tremor of his Sith-forsaken voice . . . and his weakness made her dangerously weak for him. 

Padme understood his hatred for it now.

She could hold her own against Vader, any monster . . . but not against her Ani.

Slamming a hand against her temple, Padme took a deep breath, her inhale echoing over the black stone of the walls and making her feel small in the cavernous chamber. 

Even if she could not fight, she would hold her stance- hold it, or soon there would be no gathering the willpower to leave.  Her weakness would not cower her.  She would leave without looking back.

Just as he had.

Padme clenched her jaw, dropping her arm quickly from her shoulder and swiftly entering the fresher as if determined not to be caught frozen with her mind weak and twisted. 

She was going to contact Obi-Wan now, and she was going to free them from this hell.  They would have to leave as soon as was possible; she could not afford to stay with him any longer or she would surely crack.

Yanking the handle, Padme stepped under the running water, the cascading droplets forming rivulets down her slight frame caressing her uncomfortably warm skin in patterns of cooling relief. Under the disarming stream her body tangibly relaxed, the burden of self-hatred releasing its claws from her back, melting off her and swirling down the drain with the dirt.