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You were the best thing about my life.
Obi-Wan dropped his eyes, no longer able to hold Anakin’s— Vader’s— gaze. The unnatural glint of mutated iris, cruel twist of a still-beautiful mouth, sent a deep chill down his spine, despite the suffocating heat of Mustafar.
Soon, Obi-Wan knew, soon they’d be forced to draw against each other, in a final fight to death.
But before they did, in the last few moments of silence, of roaring wind and rolling lava, Obi-Wan wasn’t strong enough. He couldn’t stop the thoughts, memories from pouring into his mind and nearly shattering him.
You were everything to me.
Obi-Wan wished he could drop onto his knees, and plead for Anakin to come back. How had everything fallen apart so quickly? How had he been so blind for so long?
Love is blind.
That was precisely what they had always warned against.
Anakin’s saber fell against his. Obi-Wan was sure he was in some kind of shock, caught in a haze where his limbs moved of their own accord to protect himself (they knew each other’s every move, after all) while his mind shut down, knowing that any crack would crumble the dam.
Laughter. A boy wiping away his tears and curling in against him. He smiled in his sleep. The Force was bright, wrapping around them both.
Obi-Wan clenched his teeth, forced away the memory.
The all consuming guilt came after. The deep, deep well of sadness that stood in his heart, came after.
For now, he was numb, and staring unseeingly at the alien eyes that somehow found its way onto Anakin’s features. There were moments when he thought he saw blue again, but it was only a reflection of his lightsaber, pelting towards him.
One more, Anakin would say, rolling his shoulders and stepping back into the defensive stance. He’d reignite the saber, his eyes clear and burning with challenge. Obi-Wan’s heart ached because though he understood, he wished Anakin knew he didn’t have to push himself so. Yet at the same time, pressing against his chest was so much pride—
A kick in his stomach, and he barely avoided falling. Anakin charged again. Relentless, pushing him back and back through the halls, another site witness to his slaughter.
A cool Coruscanti sunrise. They meditate as one. There’s something about each other’s company that echoed, reverberated deep in the hollows of the Living Force. On the occasions when Anakin felt safe to let down all guards, they could cradle each other in the Force, and Obi-Wan could almost hear the singing in his chest. There, between the two of them, was a profound harmony. There was infinite joy.
Obi-Wan tried to avoid the dead bodies that littered what had been the command room. Anakin had no such reservations. He caught Obi-Wan off guard, durasteel hand tightening on his throat, pressing Obi-Wan’s own lightsaber towards his face until he had to arch down towards the ground.
Anakin couldn’t kill him. He wouldn’t.
The barest flicker of doubt. It was enough. Obi-Wan kicked him off, fumbled to pick himself up.
Stay close to me. That they said to each other hundreds, thousands of times. As padawan and master, as brothers in arms. Standing against thousands of battle droids, against the council’s disapproval. Stay close to me— it was a promise, a vow that had the whole rest of the world turned against us, I would still be by your side.
The Force bond between them was blown open wide. Neither had enough concentration to keep their shields up. Every ounce of anger, despair, every unbridled flash of memory flowed free, poisonous between them.
Anakin knew as well as he did, that as long as the bond remained, neither could best the other. The Force shackled them together, their thoughts, their strength. It was worse than fighting himself. Obi-Wan never loved himself like he loved Anakin.
One, two, deep breaths. While their sabers were still crossed, Obi-Wan drew upon all his focus across their bond, thrusting it back upon itself. Anakin responded in kind. Between their palms, the bond, toughened by years and years of living and fighting in tandem, was tearing apart.
Is everything alright? They’d ask through the bond, when spoken words fail the moment. It’s alright, Anakin, don’t let them get to you. Hang in there, Master, I'm here for you. I've got you. I’m right behind you. I’m slightly stuck in a pit of gundarks. I’m about twelve stories above you in the air. No, no, I'm fine, you're alright? Kark, I’m coming, you absolute idiot. Most of the time they don't even need words. A nudge, a cue, a feeling, and the other would understand perfectly. Anakin was the only person Obi-Wan would drop everything to run after, as he knew Anakin would (and did) drop everything to save him. They’d claim the reason was their respective value to the Republic’s army, but the truth was something else entirely.
There was never an ‘I love you’, no, nothing so vague and so trite, and neither had time to reckon with such a proclamation, during the war. Instead, it was always: ‘let me take care of you’, ‘sleep, I’ll stay on watch’. I’ll cover you. I’m coming for you. Let me heal that for you. Let me help you undress, help you wash. Just stay alive for me, stay with me— stay close to me.
It was much, much later, that Obi-Wan truly started understanding what Vader could have been thinking about during the fight. A young man who saw no way out. Who, like Obi-Wan, was killing himself with every strike of the lightsaber. He was too tired, too angry, in too much grief to see anything beyond the storm that screamed— that has been screaming under the surface for so long. Did he ever believe he was bringing about peace with death oppression? Did he ever truly relish in power, in “greatness”, in seeing the galaxy bow to his feet?
No. In spite of his infamy, all his unthinkable crimes, Vader was never a true villain. And it wasn’t until the very last moment in their lives, that Obi-Wan understood. He was a self-made villain, but not the way Sidious, Ventress or even Dooku were. Vader never did kill for the sake of killing, didn’t rule for the sake of power and glory. He killed because he didn’t think he could do anything else.
It didn’t absolve him of anything. It only explained the tears he wept that day, on Mustafar.
Back on Coruscant. A beautiful moonlit night. One moment they were sparring, in an exquisite, unchoreographed dance, then the next moment they were play–wrestling, arms gripping the other’s forearm and pushing each other across the marble floor. They were laughing. Taunting each other under their breaths, wordlessly through their mind. Peering at the other through tousled hair, almost shyly. A nightingale chirped somewhere beyond the balcony.
Lava erupted behind them. Rock, lava, melted metal showered down. Vader’s anger still pulsed through the torn remains of their bond (the pain of its severance pierced through his soul). It made Vader impatient, desperate. But nothing could eclipse the dark, boundless despair that came down on Obi-Wan, suffocating him. Surely, this was death’s kiss.
A kiss on the forehead. A kiss on the temple. Fingers that linger on the inside of his wrist. A kiss on the battle scars, the old and the new. A reverence, an apology. A kiss that said everything words couldn’t, and weren’t allowed to say.
A Jedi’s life had never been one of fanfare, ecstasy. It’s one of selfless service, sober dedication. If there’s joy in such a life, it must be one that’s profound, impersonal. It’s the joy of gazing clear into the abyss of truth in meditation, or of offering solace, peace, to people caught in turmoil. The self, of course, disappeared out of the picture.
Obi-Wan knew, there’s very few in the galaxy— in the temple— whose disposition measured up to such standards. Many thought he did. Obi-Wan felt it couldn’t have been further from the truth.
His was a self that had leaned on Anakin’s ever since the beginning of the war, even before. Their souls grew together, and were thus mingled until eventually they were made of the same stuff.
Or so he thought.
Yet perhaps, he’d been as blind as Anakin had been naive. He’d been as cowardly as Anakin had been reckless. Every time he pushed Anakin away— what, what had he pushed him towards? How had he been so caught up in his own inner turmoil to have not seen how Anakin had been suffering, what he was becoming?
There was screaming, blood, and the stench of flesh burning. The wind, the lava, the heat howled. The Force ripped through him, a thousand splinters tearing at him.
He couldn’t kill him.
He couldn’t.
Maybe it's mercy, maybe it's weakness. Whatever it was, Obi-Wan would be paying for it for the rest of his life.
There was laughter. Soft, warm light spilled into their kitchenette. Two cups of tea, a handful of bad jokes, and Obi-Wan didn’t think he’d laughed this hard in his whole life. Anakin was relaxed, except for where he tried (and failed) to control his expression. He looked exceedingly pleased at making Obi-Wan laugh, proving that he too wasn’t made of the stuff for cool untouchable serenity. Obi-Wan couldn't remember what the joke was. He couldn’t remember what they did before or after. Only that moment, when everything had been frighteningly bright, perfectly clear.
Once, there had been infinite joy.