Two Halfs of One Warrior • Obikin/Vaderwan One-Shots

Away From Me (Don't Fall)

• Summary: Anakin had been horrible at hiding his naked want, had worn his emotions on his sleeve for all to see, like a mountain that was simply too great to bury. Vader didn’t even try. Obi-Wan had stopped trying too.

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Obi-Wan stood facing the viewpoint, the endless stretch of black space and an infinite array of stars, already dead and buried. Their light, as it reached his eyes, was merely echoes of their ghosts.

It was almost fitting.

"Are you alright?"

The question surprised him. Though perhaps it shouldn't have. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that Vader was standing by the door, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders straight, head held high. His long cloak cut a sharp line down the floor, giving him a rigid, severe appearance. It reminded Obi-Wan painfully of Anakin, the proud set of his chin and the concerned tilt of his eyes. But Obi-Wan was not so easily fooled, now. He knew Vader too well.

This wasn't Anakin. Not anymore.

Anakin was dead. And the thing that stood before him was just an empty shell left behind by the passing storm.

Still, it was difficult to completely divorce the image before him from memories long past. To remove the cape, the armor, to strip him of his name and leave behind the man he once was, or could have been. It was hard not to see the familiar there, in the curve of his jaw or the arch of his cheekbones. In the full pout of his mouth, a hint of a smile, a glimpse of softness, long vanished.

Obi-Wan forced himself to look away. "I’m fine."

His answer hung in the silence, punctuated only by the steady hum of the ship's engines and the muffled roar of the vacuum outside. Obi-Wan turned back to the stars. He heard Vader approach. A step, then another. Footsteps, heavy and hollow. The sound of a heartbeat out of time with his own. Obi-Wan had once found the beat comforting. He supposed he still did, in a way.

Vader moved to stand beside him. He tried not to think of the last time they'd been like this, on a balcony in Mustafar, watching their future burn. It felt like a lifetime ago. So much had changed. And yet, everything still felt so horribly the same.

When Vader spoke again, his voice was low, as if someone might overhear, even though there was no one else for miles. "Did I do something wrong?"

The question caught him off guard. He looked over at Vader, at the vulnerability in his features, at the quiet question lurking behind those bright eyes, and his heart gave an unbidden lurch.

"No," he said softly.

Vader frowned slightly, as if unconvinced, and Obi-Wan resisted the urge to reach out, to soothe him like he once might've done. Instead, he looked away again, letting the familiar view of endless space take the place of that haunting face. He watched the stars drift by and wondered, as he often did, how long it had been since he'd seen any sun. How long it had been since he'd breathed real air without filters or masks or sterile purifiers.

It felt like years. Maybe it was. Perhaps he'd lost track. Time meant nothing on this ship. They were always moving, always searching, always hunting. Trapped in the dark, never resting.

And yet, somehow, it wasn't that which worried him most.

What worried him was how little he minded it.

How far he'd come, that such a thing hardly troubled him. He, who had spent a lifetime dreaming of peace, of a home, of warmth and life and living things. Who had cherished the green grass beneath his feet, the flowers in the Temple garden, the soothing breeze that rustled the leaves. Now, he would give anything for the weight of a lightsaber in his palm, to feel the hilt cold and ready in his hand, the energy thrumming within him like a heartbeat, burning across his skin.