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They didn’t capture Leia. Not this time.
That is the only thing Obi-Wan knows for sure as the stormtroopers drag him up the boarding ramp by his scorched wrists, leaving Mapuzo behind. The memory is fuzzy, replaced by the humdrum of pain—there had been Leia, and Tala, and running away. There had been inquisitors. Death.
And in death’s wake: Vader.
But despite the burns on his flesh and the ache in his heart for those who had fallen, Obi-Wan feels the loosening of relief in his chest. Because Leia is not here. She is safe.
And Obi-Wan has been captured instead.
He is shoved to the floor. He welcomes the cold beneath his cheek, and doesn’t cry out as a boot kicks him in passing. The Force feels dull and distant, and Obi-Wan is fairly certain he is on the verge of unconsciousness, but it hasn’t claimed him yet. So he hears when the sound of mechanical breathing grows nearer, nearer still. As metal boots strike the ground.
“He is unresponsive, sir,” says a voice through a vocoder. “Should I—”
“He is not,” comes the booming reply. “He is conscious.”
A brief beat of tension follows—even Obi-Wan can sense that. “Ah,” says the stormtrooper. “Then perhaps—”
“Throw him in a bacta tank. It isn’t his death I want.”
The mechanical breathing draws closer. Down, down to the space before Obi-Wan’s face.
“It is his pain.”
Obi-Wan’s last blurry memory is the murmur of yes, Lord Vader, and the pound of mechanical footsteps marching away.
– – – –
He awakes sitting up, in a sort of reclining chair. Strapped to it, actually.
For a moment, Obi-Wan is reminded of the war—of a different time, when he’d grown accustomed to awakening in unusual places, to assessing the situation before he’d even fully opened his eyes. And though he isn’t that man anymore, some part of him still snaps to life. Scanning the walls for exits. Stilling the tremor within himself, even as it grows. Reaching out into the Force, even as it is muted now.
He must fall asleep again. Several times more his eyes open, close. His wounds no longer sting, the burns are faded. Thoughts of Leia slip in and out of his awareness—hope that she is safe, that Bail will see her again soon.
Obi-Wan doesn’t know how much time has passed, how many times he drifts in and out of sleep, before he opens his eyes to find Vader standing over him.
He paces once. Twice.
Obi-Wan forces himself to look at him. To let his eyes trace the metal, the red ovals that shield where his eyes should be. A terrible part of him wonders if those blue eyes are even still there, wonders how much of him had melted away on Mustafar.
The thought makes him gag.
“Obi-Wan.”
The voice—so unfamiliar, so unnatural. Obi-Wan forces his eyes up once more.
“What is it you want of me?”
His voice is raspy—it occurs to him it’s the first time in many hours that he’s used it. Vader is circling his chair. He disappears now from view.
And hums a simple answer:
“The truth.”
– – – –
The first time Obi-Wan Kenobi had experienced truth serum, Anakin had been with him.
It was a new Separatist interrogation tool—at least, so the rumors had arrived at the Temple. Obi-Wan and Anakin had been sent after Dooku for unrelated reasons, but of course nothing had gone according to plan, and so they’d found themselves bunking in a Separatist jail cell.
The truth serum came later, Dooku’s attempt to learn what intel the Republic had stolen from the Bothans. But he didn’t have the chance—Ahsoka had brought a ship down to the planet, and Obi-Wan and Anakin were gone before he could utter a word. A success, all things considered.
Except that now, they had nothing to do but sit in medbay. And wait for the truth serum to wear off.
Anakin, on the cot beside his, dropped his head back onto the pillow. “This is boring.”
Obi-Wan hummed. “It’s a welcome relief from blasterfire.”
“Mind-numbingly. Boring.”
“Whatever you say.”
“And you know I’m telling the truth,” Anakin said, rolling over on his side, or as much-so as the IV in his arm would allow. “Because I have to.”
Obi-Wan sighed. He had to admit, it was quite a long time to spend in isolation. It had been a group decision, of course, but it had been unavoidable—until the effects of the truth serum wore off, he and Anakin were a security risk. So until further notice, they were Temple-bound. Only Master Yoda and Master Windu were permitted to see them, beyond the healers.
Obi-Wan shifted on his cot so he was sitting up against the backboard, trying not to jostle his own collection of wires and IVs.
“At least it’s you and me. I know I wouldn’t wanna be stuck here with like…Master Yoda,” Anakin said.
“Come now, Master Yoda is lovely company.”
“I can’t believe you just said that. I can’t believe it wasn’t a lie.”
But Anakin was smiling. He sat up too.
“What’s your favorite color?”
Obi-Wan blinked at the question. Then, because he couldn’t not, answered.
“Blue.”
“Favorite food?”
Obi-Wan knew he looked embarrassed as he said, “chocolate.”
“Ha! I knew it wasn’t that healthy crap. Favorite holodrama?”
Obi-Wan cringed. “You’ve Got Holomail.”
Anakin’s jaw dropped. “Favorite book.”
Another grimace. “Pride and Prejudice.”
“No! Unbelievable. Obi-Wan Kenobi is secretly a romantic. Who would’ve thought?” Anakin slid down against the pillows, smirking. “See, isn’t this fun?”
“No,” Obi-Wan said involuntarily.
The minutes passed slowly—Anakin quickly got bored of his question game, much to Obi-Wan’s relief, and they fell into silence again. And before long Obi-Wan started to notice it—how Anakin kept checking the time. Frequently sighed, stared out the window of their little room in the Halls of Healing. As if he had somewhere to be.
“I don’t know why you’re so eager to leave,” Obi-Wan said. “All we would have been doing tonight is attending a Council debriefing. And I know how much you love those.”
“Speak for yourself. Some of us might have actually had plans.”
Obi-Wan was about to ask exactly what those plans were, when he stopped himself. And at that exact moment, felt a wave of anxiety ripple through the Force. His eyes stopped on his former Padawan, before dropping away.
Perhaps they couldn’t lie. But they didn’t have to tell the truth, either.
“You don’t have to tell me anything, Anakin.” He found himself avoiding his gaze. “We don’t…we can just wait quietly.”
Another jolt of fear, tenser this time. “Why? Something you don’t want to share?”
“There are plenty of things I’d prefer not to speak of,” Obi-Wan said, the words tumbling out against his will—he wasn’t sure if he’d have said them otherwise. “But we can. Or not. The serum doesn’t change anything.”
Except it does, thought Obi-Wan. It means that if I really wanted, you would finally tell me the truth.
When the question did come, it came quietly, the words soft and quick. As if Anakin had been waiting to say them for a long time.
“Do you think I’m a good person?”
Obi-Wan’s head swiveled. “What?”
“Am I…you know. A good person.”
“Yes.” No hesitation—truth serum, or not. “You are. Why would—” He started the question, then stopped himself. “I don’t know how you could question that.”
And that was the truth. Anakin—his headstrong, passionate, former Padawan. Always heart first, head second. There wasn’t a better person alive.
Anakin shrugged. Then shook his head. The silence was long, and Obi-Wan heard him swallow hard, as if fighting back a knot in his throat.
“Do you think…I could ever not be?”
Obi-Wan shook his head in disbelief. “Anakin, I don’t think there is any universe in which you could not have a heart of kyber. You…you are the best of us.”
He wished it hadn’t taken truth serum to say it. Though it wasn’t as though he hadn’t said as much before—his Padawan had always needed more verbal affirmation. It was just his way.
Obi-Wan wanted to ask what exactly had prompted this question.
He didn’t.
Instead, he waited, turning the question over and over in his mind. Until finally, Anakin spoke again.
“Can I ask you something else?”
Obi-Wan just nodded.
“Do you…trust me?”
Obi-Wan looked him in the eyes to answer. “I trust you with my life.”
“I know,” Anakin said. “But I mean…do you trust me to make the best choices? To do the right thing?”
Obi-Wan tried not to hesitate. But in his desire for the words to come out the right way, he did.
“I trust you to make the best decisions you are able in the moment, and to follow your heart where you believe you are meant to go,” he said at last. “And Anakin, that is all I could ever ask of anyone.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but it was heavy. Minds churning, both of them, as the minutes passed. And for the millionth time in his life, in his relationship with Anakin, Obi-Wan hoped he’d said the right thing.
Obi-Wan pushed the thought away, instead turning his attention to his external feelings—the truth serum had left both of them feeling woozy and tired. His eyes felt less heavy now, however, and his head had cleared some. He hoped Anakin was feeling the same.
Anakin turned then, brows drawn together.
“I just realized…” he said. “You haven’t asked me anything.”
Obi-Wan said, “I haven’t.”
“Why?”
The truth: “Because I know you’d have no choice but to answer.” He inhaled once, let it go. “And you deserve a choice.”
Obi-Wan forced himself to look up then, to look into the face of this boy he’d raised, this best friend. He watched his eyes grow damp and watched him blink the tears away, then swallow. And he said:
“Ask me something.”
He could have asked anything. He could’ve made him come clean, could’ve dropped the secrets between them like cloaks from their shoulders. But Obi-Wan swallowed. He smiled, gently, sadly.
Obi-Wan asked the only question that mattered:
“Are you happy?”
The strange thing was, Obi-Wan watched his old Padawan’s face and got the sense that he was…disappointed. As if he’d actually wanted Obi-Wan to ask the impossible question, to unravel the million lies between them while Anakin had no choice but to let him. But he was Obi-Wan. And so instead, he waited.
Until finally, Anakin shrugged. And said: “Yes. Yeah, I…I’m happy.”
Obi-Wan watched him, studied the lines in his face. And nodded.
He didn’t have a chance to reply, before the door slid open. And Healer Vokara Che’s head appeared.
“Master Kenobi. Master Skywalker,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know that the truth serum should be worn off by now. Someone will be by shortly to run some final tests, before you’ll be free to go.”
The door closed again.
Obi-Wan tried to look, but Anakin was avoiding his eyes.
– – – –
Now, red eyes stare down at him instead of blue, and Obi-Wan doesn’t want to remember anymore. Vader strolls before him, mechanical breath after mechanical breath piercing the room, the sound drowning out the memory.
“Where are they?”
Vader’s voice punctuates each word separately, as if a sentence all its own. Obi-Wan doesn’t flinch, but it takes an effort.
“Who?”
“The Jedi. The traitors.” Vader spits the words.
Obi-Wan can’t lie. He knows that.
But he doesn’t have to tell the truth.
“On a ship.”
“Going where?” Vader booms.
Obi-Wan sweats. He groans. He grits his teeth. But the words slip out, unwilling:
“Jabiim.”
Vader stops walking. He stares at Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan—so good at reading people, their faces, their voices—can read nothing.
“And who is with them? Who were you helping escape?”
Oh blast. Oh no—
“Tala.”
Her name slips out first.
“Kowlen Roken.”
Stop, stop, before you say—
“Tell me, Obi-Wan, how does it feel to fail them too?
The question is obviously meant to taunt him, but Obi-Wan falls back in his chair in relief. He didn’t say Leia. He didn’t have a chance to say—
“How does it feel, Obi-Wan?”
“Awful. I—”
“And how will it feel, knowing that I am going to make them suffer the way you will suffer, when I am through with you?”
Obi-Wan closes his eyes. “Please don’t. They don’t deserve—”
“Did I?”
And Vader swipes his hand then, knocking the chair backwards, and Obi-Wan—strapped to it—crashes to the floor. He barely feels the pain. He chokes out, “no.”
But for some reason, the movement shakes him back to life. It sends a jolt through him, and before he knows what he’s doing, Obi-Wan asks his own question.
“Was it worth it?”
Vader has been pacing again, but he stops. “What?”
“Are you happy, Anakin? Is this what you wanted?”
A metal foot strikes him in the stomach, and Obi-Wan gags. But the momentum has broken the bonds on his wrists, and he rolls free. Pushes himself to standing.
The next few moments are blurry—there are no lightsabers, no fighting forms. Just Vader’s wild fists, and the Force, and Obi-Wan’s head is striking the wall. He hits the ground.
“You said I was your brother. That you…you…” Vader bellows.
Obi-Wan chokes out the words, and finishes the phrase.
“I love you.”
Present tense.
He cannot tell a lie.