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For a prison cell, it wasn’t anywhere near as nasty as Obi-Wan had expected it would be.
There were no chains, no torture implements, no real discomfit of any sort. Certainly not luxurious in its fittings but it had some small comforts: a single cot with a mattress, pillow and blanket, a metal chair and table, a toilet and basin that came with appropriate fixtures. He could sleep, keep himself somewhat clean and…wait.
There was little more he could do, since nobody had approached him since his capture. His Force sensitivity told him it had been a standard day since he’d been caught and incarcerated, and the door hadn’t opened since he’d been put inside the room. There was little sound, the air was slightly chilled and odourless, except for the faint taint of mechanics and chemicals.
But somewhere out there, beyond those metal walls, was Anakin.
No, Darth Vader, he thought. Anakin had bent the knee to Sideous, surrendering his past and his power to an evil Master, forsaking any relationship between himself and his Jedi Master. He was no longer the Padawan he’d trained, the Knight he fought side by side with.
And Obi-Wan couldn’t sense him. While he knew the Force Bond between them had withered when Anakin had fallen, traces of it still existed…at least at Obi-Wan’s end. He had no idea what status that Bond had for Vader. Nor why he would even permit its existence, since the other end of the bond lay with a Jedi. Obi-Wan both wished and dreaded having that connection again. There was hope of finding something of his friend left and the pain if he didn’t.
He settled himself on the bed, legs crossed and hands placed on his thighs as he leaned back against the chill of the wall. Meditation seemed like a good idea although he wasn’t sure how successful it would be. He had tried many times to find that calm at his centre, to dispel the many emotions that frequently bubbled up inside him. How easy it had been as a Master! It had taken him a long time to realise that he’d been detached from emotions, had become like a flesh machine devoid of true feelings.
No, not really devoid but covered up under layers of mental armor that were the rules and obligations of the Order instilled in me over the years. And the one who managed to break through that…conditioning…did so because of his very nature, his changeable moods and almost complete lack of inhibitions.
He had spent those years living at the centre of maelstrom, twisting in his orbit around Anakin, unable – or unwilling – to break free. And now that same person was like a black hole, sucking in Light, letting nothing out.
At the end he’d refused Yoda’s final order to go find Anakin and stop him. Kill him, that meant and it was the one thing he couldn’t do. He’d managed to get Padme to Naboo so that Yoda and her family could care for her, then headed back to…do what? He wasn’t even sure at that point what he’d intended. To talk to him? Persuade him? All that foolish move had got him was captured, disarmed and shoved in a lifeless room that would probably be where he ended his life.
Whenever he tried to consider his actions in regard to Anakin, he always came back to the that point, doubt causing his heart to stutter each time no matter how he tried to rationalise it. And as he found himself sinking into the familiar swamp of self-doubt and guilt, he heard the metal slide of a door opening and looked up to see the subject of all those miserable thoughts standing at the entrance.
He was both the same, and different. He’d always favoured dark clothing, so the armour and robes in black weren’t that stark a difference. But it was the face that was wrong. The eyes were yellow-gold with the skin around them red, and lines had started to form from his lips and eyes, making dark fissures across his still-handsome face. The Dark was already beginning to eat away at him. And when he spoke, there was none of the warm familiarity, nothing but ire and bitter sarcasm.
“Sitting there mouldering in your self-pity, I see.” When Obi-Wan didn’t respond, being too busy absorbing the image of him to memory -- “What, no words to me about forsaking the Dark and returning the fold?”
Obi-Wan slowly stood upright with his arms by his side. “As you well know,” he said with calm deliberation, “there is no fold to return to. As for coming back from your fall, I doubt that’s possible. You started slipping a long time ago, something I hold no responsibility for. You let your passions turn into desires, your strength turn into power and your intelligence be corrupted by a creature who pandered to your weaknesses like a spice seller to an addict. Everything you are, everything you have done, you chose. Selfish, self-centred, blind to your own flaws…”
He was barely aware of the flushed face that was suddenly so close to his but he certainly felt the gloved hand wrap around his throat and deprive him of enough breath to speak. He had expected it, expected to die but he’d wanted the opportunity to say the things he’d tried to deny for so long. Obi-Wan was tired of living with failure, his own and Anakin’s. He didn’t respond as the crushing pressure threatened to snap is spine before it crushed his windpipe. He simply looked into the wet, yellow eyes and tried to recall how they looked when they were blue.
The saddest part was that, despite all those flaws and weaknesses and mistakes, his feelings for Anakin were just as strong. Anger and pity, hatred and love, detestation and longing, all mingled together so thoroughly they were impossible to unravel. He loved inclusively, unable to let go of that affection because it was buried deep in his soul. Only death could break that terrible attachment.
And then the hand loosened, to be joined by the other living one and they cupped his face and lifted it closer to Anakin’s, so close he could only breathe by taking in a Sith’s breath, rapid and hot. Then closer and the mouth was pressing against his, trying to force his lips apart for an easier conquest and he finally found resistance, pushing forward to bite down on the bottom lip, drawing blood.
Anakin hissed and pulled back but he didn’t seem all that angry. His tongue slid out to run over his bruised lip, licking the blood that mingled with traces of Obi-Wan’s saliva.
“Savage, my old Master. You fight dirty.”
He was pulled forward, held in place against Anakin’s chest by ruthless Force power and younger arms that wrapped around him. He tried to bring his knee up only to find it hitting armor cleverly placed there. Anakin gave a brief, dark chuckle. “And here I thought you’d be easy to kill. You are just making it harder. In more ways than one.”
Obi-Wan sucked in a deep breath through his nostril and, instead of pulling away, grabbed Anakin’s upper arms and pushed him backwards, slamming him against the wall. “You shame the Jedi who taught you and worked beside you,” he hissed, digging in his fingers, “and you shame the people who cared for you. Without your power, what would you be? Just a blustering child in a man’s body, ranting at how poorly the Universe treated you!”
A hand gripped his hair and pulled his head back as Anakin glared at him, eyes narrowed. “You must really want to die. Since when has a negotiation tactic been to insult the person controlling you?”
“You don’t control me. You just happen to have taken me prisoner. I am the only one who controls my fate.” He wasn’t sure how true that was but he said it anyhow, if only to get a response.
“You think so, do you, my dear old Master?” The flush of anger faded as Anakin ran a thumb down Obi-Wan’s cheek. “I have ten or so accused traitors to the Empire in another cell. Men and women, possibly even a child or two.” The thumb wandered over his lips and he resisted the temptation to bite on it. “How about I take them out, one a time, and slice them apart in front of you, until you submit to my authority. Would that work for you?”
Obi-Wan said nothing, simply stood and wondered how much longer he could hold onto Anakin, could feel himself warmed by the heat of that familiar body. It was a sick wish, to be so close to such wrongness, such depraved twisting of the Force but given how little life he probably had left to experience anything, he rather thought it was a small failing. And even then, there was the temptation to keep pushing, to see if he could reach even a tiny spark of his friend in that dark and poisoned soul.
When he didn’t answer Anakin shoved him away and turned for the door. Obi-Wan didn’t need any further threats to know where he was going and that he wasn’t bluffing. He could always tell when Anakin was bluffing.
“No. Stop.”
Anakin did stop, and he looked over his shoulder. “Well?”
“What is it you want?” Obi-Wan said, feeling every one of his thirty eight years.
“I want your obedience. I want you to acknowledge my rule. I want,” he said, voice soft, eyes hard, “you to be whatever I wish you to be.”
“I won’t kill for you.” That was a line he would not cross, determination flaring up through the Force. “Threaten all you want, kill others to punish me but I won’t become a weapon for you to wield.”
Anakin smiled finally, and nodded. “Of course not. I don’t need you to kill for me, I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself. What I want – at least for a start - is for you to live for me. I know you, Obi-Wan, I know you’re considering suicide. So don’t – live and stay with me and…who knows, you might even win, in the end.”
Win what? He wasn’t sure there was an outcome that led to anywhere but darkness and pain. But if it gave him the opportunity to wake some part of his greatest love surviving in Vader’s core, and if he could be a diversion for Vader – and he was Vader, now – to preserve whatever he could of the good and decent lives out there, then wasn’t it worth his own personal damnation?
When Vader held out his gloved hand, Obi-Wan took it without hesitation but equally, without delusions. Although his submission was quiet and passive, he knew it was the first move in a battle no less grave than any other he’d fought.