Disclaimer: no owning. Not now and not ever. But maybe George Lucas could give me rights to the OTs if I asked nicely?

A/N: I always wonder what is Vader thinking when he is shown on the ship, looking out thought the window. I guess this might take place before events of OT/before he knows about Luke.

The Abyss

On clear moments, when gazing at the stars, he wondered if there truly used to be more than a burning rage consuming his heart and mind? Yes, Vader knew, hissing through his mask. Once there used to be so much more than his depthless pit of hate.

But he had grown to become a good friend of hate. Every fiber and every ounce of him knew of the hate. Yet, he still didn't know, not as well as he was supposed to. And that was his biggest shame and grandest defeat. He couldn't hate forever - - even if he knew it was his only salvation. Therefore, he practiced and clung on to his hate.

For what else there remained was already out of his reach. He had lost and been robbed of all: His home, his teacher, and his friends.

It was surprisingly easy to hate them: Ben, Qui Gong, the pompous Jedis, and the politicians who allowed it all to escalate. Vader fisted his palms, staring at the space and the grey, wedged forms of the starships drifting pass his sight.

Jedis he had ridded of, but the politicians still remained with the world they had helped his master and him to create. He inhaled loudly, the anger flaring again in his heart. In the end, the politicians also created Vader and his master.

And look at us now, Vader snorted. For what was his Emperor but a crippled old man who sat on his throne, guarding jealously all he had achieved. And what was Vader? A crippled man, who won nothing and lost it all.

The disparity was so striking it made him woozy. Most of the time Vader also hated him. His master. The Emperor.

He took a long, hissing breath. Yes, hating was easy. And it was good. It made him strong.

He gazed into the stars, his rage fading again.

It was easier to hate than to realize he was afraid of those distant dreams and feelings swaying back to light, emerging from the edge of his mind. It was so much easier to hate than to admit what he tried to conceal from himself.

When his anger was subdued and replaced by the nagging ache and longing, there remained but one truth. The one robbing him of the most prized items: his children and wife, his future and his life; was he. It was Vader he hated the most, since with his own hand he, himself, had ruined his life, and robbed him of his dreams.

And Vader sighed, knowing that the abyss he stared into was not the abyss of the space, but his mind and heart.