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He is always, now, in pursuit of green. The readouts in the suit's heads-up display are a firehose of information, more than he can make sense of at once, but the colors make for an easy summary— heartrate in the green, breathing, body temperature, a dozen different biochemical levels, all in the green. It's a tricky balance, but he is learning to manage it, between the settings and controls of the suit and his own control of himself.
(For a long time, thinking of any technique, any meditation, that he learned in the Temple only makes him think of Obi-Wan, and thinking of Obi-Wan makes him hotly, breathlessly angry, and the readouts spiral further into amber and red. But anger will make him powerful, if he can master it— so he does, masters it and controls it and focuses it to a white-hot plasma beam, and soon he can slow his heartrate with Jedi meditations without losing the focus of his anger or his power, and the readouts spend more time in the green.)
It's been three months since he left Anakin behind, and he is beginning to master the tricky dance of keeping all the readouts green at once, when his master comes to him with news.
"What is this?" Vader asks, taking the holodisc his master holds out.
"Evidence," Palpatine answers. "A clue, perhaps. You have done well in tracking those few Jedi traitors who escaped justice, but I notice that one in particular continues to elude you."
Vader's grip tightens on the holodisc; it's an effort of will to keep himself from shattering it. "My former master."
"Obi-Wan Kenobi, yes." Palpatine nods toward the disc. "That footage may, perhaps, help you to locate him. Or perhaps it will remind you why you wanted to. Why you asked me to leave him to you."
The footage, when he watches it, is mostly old: there are a few recent, blurry surveillance clips of bearded men who might be Obi-Wan, but most of it shows him in and around the Temple, or in what is now the Imperial Palace, meeting in secret with various senators known to be of questionable loyalties.
Meeting in secret with Padme.
Meeting again and again with Padme.
Meeting, what must be mere days before— before Vader learned of her betrayal— not at her office, but in her apartments. In the home they had shared. In— the cameras don't follow them this far, but Vader knows it, can feel it, knew it even then— in their bedroom.
He brings one gauntleted fist down on the holodisc player, smashing it with the disc still inside. He destroys much of the rest of his quarters, too, bellowing with rage and betrayal, tearing and smashing and shattering. And he is pleased, when it's done, to see that he is still the master of his anger, that it is still feeding his strength.
That every biometric readout has stayed in the green.