Time period : ROTS AU
Characters: Anakin/Vader, Padmé mainly.
Summary: Instead of going to Anakin on Mustafar Padmé thinks better of it at the last minute and decides to wait for him to go back to Coruscant like she told him she would. But what Obi-Wan told her has shaken her and she quickly realizes the Anakin coming back to her is not really her husband…
A/N: Plot bunny bit me out of nowhere after listening to some comments by the Flannelled One himself on the ROTS commentary… And I realized that all the events were in part due to Padmé not waiting for Anakin. If she never went to Mustafar, Obi-Wan was unable to find Anakin and so on...
A/N 2: This fic doesn't have anything to do with Hayden Christensen's movie (I haven't even seen it ) the title just made sense here.
Warning: It's going to be angsty. Anakin has turned to the dark side after all.
Thanks so much to leia_naberrie for beta-ing this story and listening to my incessant babbling!
Without further ado, here's the prologue.
A lone figure stood in the darkness, appraising the form covered by the bed sheets silently. It stood in the doorway, listening, staring, unable to move. The form beneath the covers stirred slightly, curls moving on the pillow. The silent eyes watched the strands of hair spilling on the mattress. They roamed, caressing the gentle curves appearing to their attention. The figure moved out of the doorway, walking soundlessly into the room, shadowing the woman's face.
The light barely filtered through the blinds and yet she was still beautiful.
The shadow amplified on her face, as the figure bent down towards her, gloved fingers tracing the contours of the face. Barely touching, hovering over the skin. The fingers got bolder, rested on the smooth skin. It traced small patterns on the cheek.
The face moved. Eyelashes flickered. Brown eyes opened silently. A frown marred her delicate features and then liquid filled the very eyes that went straight to his soul. Her lips opened slightly, revealing a name, whispered with longing and love and acceptance.
The whisper echoed in the silent room. The figure stiffened even when small hands escaped the cool sheets and reached out to the face concealed by the dark hood. The fingertips began to caress the rough skin.
The dark figure straightened this time, away from the delicate touch, away from the brown inquisitive eyes and the warmth of the body underneath the bed sheets. Away from the light in her eyes. She straightened slightly in her bed, sitting up, silky nightgown clinging to her curves like a second skin. The brown eyes seemed to pierce through the dark cloak, even partially concealed by the darkness and his shadow covering her. The figure took a step back, retreating backwards to the window. She frowned and her legs elegantly flipped over her side. Her face was completely illuminated as she got up slowly. The eyes under the hood went immediately to the bulge under the silk as she moved.
The name was repeated again, seemingly not belonging to anyone in this room. It dropped into the silence that stretched between the two silent figures standing soundlessly in the dark room.
She didn't seem to care though. Steps taken towards the figure. Hands plunging inside the warmth of the cloak. Brown hair caressing the rough chin, hidden under the hood. A sigh against the chest covered by leather. By layers that did not mean a thing any longer. Those layers, this cloak, this tunic did not embody anything.
From the window of her room, one could still see the smoke erupting from the Jedi temple further away. Bodies still lay across the floor, immobile beside their discarded weapons. The weapon that still clung to the figure's hip.
An insult to the Jedi.
A testament to a new era.
There was much to tell the woman in the figure's arms. There was much to convince her of.
But in the end, it could not be otherwise. Too much had been sacrificed. Too much had been lost, changed to embody the security offered to her.
No longer would she be afraid. No longer would she know war, death or destruction. The figure was immobile while she sighed against the chest. It stood tall, strong, indestructible, protecting her of this entire world outside, threatening to engulf her and the child inside her.
She was safe. She was alive.
And she was murmuring a name that should not be heard in the sanctuary of her room.
Or should it?
The name resonated louder as she looked up, brown eyes filled with tears, hands reaching up to smooth the outlines of the face covered by darkness. The hands gently removed the hood, revealing hair, ruffled and dirty and a human face. The eyes scrutinized her again even as she tentatively inched closer and her lips pressed against the rough skin of his cheek. They pressed there, barely, fleetingly, soft against hard, warm against cold.
The glove reached up and tangled in the long, ruffled hair and brought her closer, the bulge beneath her nightgown pressing against the dark cloak. It pressed her closer as hard and demanding lips closed over hers. The soft lips complied, knowing hands burying inside the longish hair as his face bent closer to hers.
The dark figure disappeared.
Anakin Skywalker embraced his wife in the dark, unforgiving night.