The Long Road Back

Chapter Four: The Dance Begins

~~~~~~~~~~

He was pleased to receive what seemed like a serious reply and waited, deliberately torturing himself in anticipation, until he had removed his suit to read it in full. Why? Because the suit was his work clothing. Here, in his quarters, he would have personal time. Personal time was 'me' time. On the clock, he was Darth Vader, terrifying minion to the Emperor, but on his own time, he shed that persona and became Anakin Skywalker.

Without the suit, he felt stronger, more like himself and less under sway of Vader's suggestions. All day long, he had to put up with that sly one whispering ideas into his thoughts.

Choke that guy, Anakin, he smirked at us wrong. Choke that one, too. Why? No reason. Okay, give me twenty seconds to glance at his personnel file and I'll find a reason. Throw that guy across the room. How dare he not agree with us.

It was exhausting. Vader was strong. Anakin couldn't let up his vigilance for too long or else he had to fight for dominance once more and that particular fight took a lot out of him.

Showered, changed into loose clothing, and having the portable respirator and oxygen tank handy, Anakin settled down to read.

"Dear In Darkness--"

'Dear In Darkness.' He liked that. Polite and cordial. Off to a good start. He had a good feeling about this letter.

"--I saw your ad and felt compelled to reply. Please understand that I do not usually answer these ads, but your words struck a chord inside me and I knew I should write to you. I too enjoy picnicking in meadows, though it has been a very long time since I have done so. I have fond memories of such moments. As for waterfalls, they soothe me, too. In my life, I have spent long minutes sitting still with my eyes closed as that sound caresses my ears.

While I am a competent pilot, it's more a duty than a pleasure to me and I cannot say I have ever built a droid. Adjusted a few to my personal specifications, yes. There was a time when I didn't mind sand, but I can understand an aversion to it. I recently had the misfortune of living in an area that was rife with the stuff and it gets everywhere. It's impossible to keep a house properly clean when sand is constantly blowing in and being tracked in.

I lead a solitary life at present, working mostly on my hobbies. They are the typical hobbies attributed to a female on her own. I hope that does not disappoint you? I embroider, paint, garden and am interested in so many varied things that it might be easier if you tell me a little more about yourself. I honestly aren't sure what to write.

Hoping to hear from you soon,

Waiting"

Anakin smiled. Sounded good to him. Domestic. Now how old was she? A picture would be good too. He began to compose a letter in return, asking those questions. By the time he was ready to sleep, he thought he had a decent reply ready and set it aside to proof in the morning, before his appointment with his new psychiatrist.

His dreaming hours were thankfully free of too many nightmares and though he rose to Vader's whispering, he was able to push him back just by glancing at the letter. His hopes were high. Anakin dressed, ate breakfast, sent the letter and headed to his appointment. He hadn't had much luck in the psychiatric department. The doctors all tended to anger him, which had terrible consequences for them. But he was certain that wouldn't happen this morning. This doctor was new, recently graduated and arrived, and after having five meetings with him, Anakin thought this was the doctor for him. He nodded and listened and had said little so far. They got along fine.

Anakin greeted the receptionist and went right in. The appointment started off well, he thought. Relaxing in his chair, Anakin slowly brought the conversation around to the subject that was interesting him the most. "I think I'm ready to date," he said.

The man started. "Date? Ready to date?" He shook his head, as though the statement was positively ludicrous. "Oh no, Lord Vader, it'll be a long while yet--"

"No it won't," Anakin contradicted him. "I'm ready to date again."

"No, Lord Vader, your emotions are still too raw on the subject of your wife."

Had this guy been talking to the other doctors? He couldn't have, he reminded himself, because Vader disposed of them when they said things he didn't like.

They all deserved it, Vader quipped now. Smug, self-important....

Anakin could feel him stirring, waking up to where they were, and struggled to breath evenly. Stay calm, he told himself over and over. "My dead wife, doctor. She's dead. She's been dead for almost four years now--"

"And you're not in any shape emotionally to become romantically entangled with another woman."

He frowned, trying valiantly to control the anger rising within him. Really, who does this man think he is? He doesn't...

...know our feelings, now does he? Guesses, all guesses. He's wrong. He's just telling us this to control us. The same...

...game as the others. Anakin shuddered briefly as his thoughts and Vader's coincided. I want to date. I don't want to wait. I want to date now.

The thought was stubborn in his mind. Now, now, now. He cleared his throat. "Yes, I am ready. I'm ready. I know I am."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not."

Trying to control us, Vader said. Telling us what to do, how to live. Who is he to do this? How does he know what we're ready for?

He gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. "Yes, I am." This time, he said it slowly, as though trying to make a child understand a concept.

The doctor -- whose name still wouldn't come to him -- returned the tone and infuriatingly, was better at it. "No, you're not. Lord Vader, you've admitted you still dream about her. You've told me your feelings when looking at her grave. You're not ready to date if you can't even accept the fact that your wife is there in the ground. Dead. 'D'-- 'e'-- 'a'--'d' -- dead."

"I know she's dead. I said that. She's dead and buried. All I said, doctor, was that the grave didn't feel like hers. That's somewhat of a difference between acknowledging she's dead and ignoring the cold, hard fact of it. I mean, how can I possibly ignore that she isn't beside me in bed at night?" He shook his head. "The grave just doesn't feel like it's hers, like she isn't even in it--"

"Which indicates an unwillingness to let go of her. You say you know she's dead, yet you look at her grave and can't admit it's hers."

He could hear his own teeth grinding now. "I know she's dead. I know the grave is supposed to be hers...." Now he raised his hand, found himself thinking that it'd fit nicely around the man's throat, and forced himself to silently keep repeating his mantra to 'stay calm'. I'm not going to choke another doctor, he told himself sternly. You aren't either, he told Vader, which he was certain was being ignored, for the urge to just choke this man and be done with it kept rising.

"You are not to date or consider dating for a long while yet."

Anakin's anger rose sharply.

"In fact, I would recommend you don't date for at least a year after you can stand at your wife's grave and admit out loud that she is there in the ground dead."

A red haze slid over his vision and blackness took over.

A few minutes later, Anakin blinked, releasing his Force hold on the doctor's throat and lowering his hand. The man keeled over in his chair and crumpled dead onto the floor with a soft 'thump'.

Oops.

"Not again," he murmured.

Inside his mind, Vader said, Problem solved. Date away.

Hmm. Maybe he should erase his name from the appointment calendar and suggest to the receptionist that he'd never been there. Yes, that might be best. Never mind that it might be beginning to look slightly suspicious that four -- no five -- doctors he'd seen had died from choking.

I can't keep doing this, he decided as he cleaned up Vader's mess as best he could and went on to his work day.

~~~~~~~~~~

She'd dropped another stitch, hadn't she?

Padmé cast a surreptitious glance at the other members of the craft club she'd joined in an effort to alleviate her boredom. So far, they'd put up with her through hand lace-making, rug hooking, spinning, pottery, and basket weaving.

The lace-making had cut off the circulation in her fingers. Rug hooking was okay, but more boring that a long Senate session when Palpatine was giving one of his famous speeches. Spinning hurt her thumbs and she'd never quite gotten the hang of keeping the wheel going at an even pace. The heat from the pottery kiln gave her too many nightmares of Mustafar and she was still picking out splinters from the basket weaving.

They had suggested knitting. She suspected they alternately pitied her inability to craft and wanted to strangle her for her ineptness. Padmé sighed. She just couldn't find anything she really enjoyed doing. Her effort at painting had produced the ugliest landscapes and she'd decided she had absolutely no musical ability what so ever after the local music instructor burst into tears at one lesson and refused to answer the door at her next one.

Gardening was far too stressful and her feud with the ivy she'd been stupid enough to plant had already gained her more attention than she needed. Maybe, it was time to move on and try something like fishing or gourmet cooking. Sola was an excellent cook and their mother was good too, if the sort who tended to cook for quantity rather than quality on occasion.

"Mrs. Sky," Lomi, the leader of the craft club and all around crafting wonder, called to her, "You're dropping stitches like crazy, dear. Too many more and you won't have anything on your needles to work with."

Perhaps she should pretend she meant to do that? After all, she saw other women letting stitches go like that. Padmé tried to salvage the mess she was making. "Yes, it looks pretty that way."

There were horrified gasps from around her and she decided knitting wasn't for her either. She needed something that it didn't matter if she messed up.

Lomi frowned. "I see, dear. Aren't you following the directions for your project though? It might not turn out if you don't."

"I decided to wing it."

This confession brought more gasps. Lomi gave them all a stern glance and returned a smile to Padmé. "Maybe you'd like beading a bit better. More room for imagination." She'd done her best to find Padmé a craft she could do and must be feeling the pressure after so many failures.

"Actually, I tried jewelry making first. You wouldn't believe how many beads I lost. They were everywhere. I'm still finding beads on the floor." She smiled and laughed, as though it didn't matter and she was some carefree ditz.

They all laughed and tried to put her at ease over that particular failure, but she could see what many of them were thinking. It was all over their faces.

Poor girl. She really is hopeless if she can't even string beads on wire or thread.

"Yeah, I think I'm going to try fishing or gourmet cooking next."

Lomi seemed relieved. "Good luck with that, dear. We'll be rooting for you."

~~~~~~~~~~

Dormé perused the catalog. So many pretty clothes from this estate! Her favorite consignment shop had bought several lots and it seemed the woman who'd died had been quite the clothes horse. She wished she could buy them all, but as she had an immediate need for maternity clothes, she'd buy those outright and see if the shop would hold other items for her. She'd been a good customer over the years and maybe, just maybe, they'd take that into account.

Ooh, look at that cloak! A pretty burgundy color and the cutwork and embroidery were lovely. She squinted at the picture. Hmm. It looked as though whole sections of the embroidery had been picked away. No matter, she decided with a shrug. Re-embroidering would give her something to do in the afternoons.

Oh and that one too! Green with a purple sash! She noticed the burn-out designs on the velvet were not uniform, like they had been altered by someone not certain of what they were doing. Well, that was easy enough to remedy. It was a good thing she'd bought that burn-out kit awhile back. She smiled. And Ben had asked her if she was actually going to play with that kit. Silly man. He should have realized why she'd bought the kit when those thirty yards of turquoise velvet had arrived, but he hadn't and when this green velvet arrived, she'd put that kit to good use.

Dormé's first impulse was to buy the cloaks, but then she glanced around her home and knew they'd be completely out of place. Maybe she shouldn't buy them. She'd swelter in those cloaks. Of course, she was sweltering in just about everything these days. Pregnancy had completely thrown off her internal temperature. She'd gone from being cold all the time to being hot all the time. Ben kept telling her to just go naked; he wouldn't mind. But what if someone actually came out to visit them? That could get awkward.

She forced herself to thumb past the luxurious velvet cloaks and elaborate dresses and focus on the simpler items. No velvet. She told herself to think of everyday dresses and tunics and nightdresses. She ordered three pairs of comfortable looking pants in the nice beige tones everyone on Tatooine wore and three tunics that would be interchangeable with the pants. One brown tunic was sleeveless -- very practical -- and had a harness with it that was supposed to give back support, or belly support, or...something. The description wasn't clear. Best of all, it was marked down a lot in price due to the harness clasp, decorative pin and gauntlets being missing.

She cast a glance at her ever expanding waistline and thought it wouldn't be too long before she'd have a chance to try out that harness.

With a glance behind her, then right and left, she went back to the cloaks and ordered the two she liked best.

Moving on to the nightgown section, Dormé sighed upon seeing the first new gown. Now that was a beautiful gown. She really liked the pretty aqua color, not to mention the whimsical touch the tiny shells brought. Dormé pursed her lips. The embroidery on this one had been completely picked out, leaving tiny holes in the fabric. Bizarre. Why would anyone go to such trouble? She looked at the price. It was more than she was willing to pay even in the condition it was in, but maybe she could sell the detached sleeves and cape train thing and gain back the funds. Neither the train or cape was practical for Tatooine, though it could get cold at night.

Who am I kidding, she thought. Cold? With the baby inside and Ben beside me? That man is my own personal heat source at night. I don't get cold anymore.

Her attention remained on the gown, then the price. It could get snapped up if she waited. Dormé bit her lip, thinking. Should she buy it? It was pretty. Ben would like seeing her in it. It took her only a few seconds to make a decision, fingers tapping, concluding the transaction. Then, she began a letter to the owner. She had to know if there were more clothes available from that particular estate that weren't in the catalog yet. Whoever that woman had been, she'd had excellent taste in clothing. A smile curved her lips as she pictured her husband's pleased reaction to seeing her in some of those clothes.

He was going to love this.