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

Full Of Silver Moons

• Summary: The Sith resumed their position on the couch, somehow even closer to each other than before. If making Anakin uncomfortable was somehow part of their evil plot, it was working. He could hardly even look at them without feeling like he was going to explode out of his skin, and that was the most bearable part. What was unbearable was the vicious jealousy that burned in his chest. If he'd known that all he had to do to get affection from Obi-Wan was fall to the Dark side, he would've done it ages ago.

No, he couldn't joke like that. Not when the threat of those words sat not five feet away from him with raised eyebrows and knowing smirks.

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Vader ran down the hall, lightsaber in hand and snarl on his lips. It was bad enough that his incompetent troopers had allowed rebels onto his ship, but for it to happen when Obi-Wan was on board? When it was so rare that Obi-Wan and he were ever on the same side of the galaxy? Vader was enraged. Murderous, his subordinates would say.

The moment he heard the word "rebel", Vader crushed the throat of the messenger and stalked from the bridge. He didn't even need to consult his comms or the Force to know where the rebels were headed. It was the reason Obi-Wan was there in the first place; they'd uncovered another of Palpatine's hideouts and, in turn, a new collection of powerful artifacts. The power radiating from the crates was heady, practically making Vader's eyes cross if he got within arm's length of them.

It was those damn informants the rebels kept gathering within the Empire. Every time he felt one out, another seemed to take their place.

The vault door was closed, locked without the handprint of either Vader or Obi-Wan, but that was inconsequential in light of the still burning hole that'd been carved into the metal.

Jedi.

Vader stepped soundlessly through the hole as he took inventory of the two children the rebellion had sent to their deaths, a Jedi boy Vader was all too familiar with and the Mandalorian girl he often travelled with. Spectres five and six of the Lothal Ghost Crew. Vader knew from Thrawn's reports that the boy was the same age as Luke and Leia. His first instinct was to tempt them to his side, but he knew from the plight of his inquisitors that they would sooner die. And die they would.

They were foolish, as children often were, leaving their backs exposed to the entrance to the room. The Jedi's shoulders had begun to slowly tense, feeling the darkness radiating from Vader, but the instinct didn't stop him from hurriedly shoveling artefacts into the bag hanging from his shoulder.

Vader ignited his saber, flooding the room with a blood red glow.

He had to admit that the children had good reflexes, even if they were lacking in sense. It was only an instant after his blade was lit that Vader was moving it to block blaster shots. He'd expected no less from the Mandalorian, but the Jedi's skill with his aim was impressive, especially considering the not quite spherical artifact that took up most of his grasp.

The realization that they would not win the fight came faster than it had the last time they'd faced him. The Jedi looked to each side, finding that the only way out of the room was past Vader. He narrowed his eyes and threw the object in his hands.

By reflex, Vader caught it, not wanting damage to come to a potentially valuable artifact. The moment it was in his grasp, however, he felt like he was without restraints in a ship spiraling straight downward. His vision swam, a piercing ache ripping through his skull, and Vader was brought to his knees. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the rebels running past him with their loot, but he couldn't even convince his fingers to release the cursed artifact let alone to strike out at his foes.