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

Somebody To Lie in the Dark With

• Summary: A lingering sense of duty tugged at him. Anakin’s steps faltered. “Why did you kill them?”

Obi-Wan turned to look at him. His eyes were yellow like molten gold, smoldering with an intensity that left Anakin dizzy, overheated, an answering fire in his chest stoked to bursting.

“They were in my way,” said Obi-Wan. He cocked his head. “Do you not trust me?”

Mild canon divergence where Obi-Wan fell during TPM, and Qui-Gon trained Anakin instead. The Clone Wars haven't yet begun. (But does Anakin still have the curls? Yes. Yes, he does.)

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The lowest levels of Coruscant, those that were still inhabitable, constantly emitted the stench of waste and decay. Decades had passed since sunlight last touched these depths, and the good and upstanding folks of the higher levels had long consigned them to oblivion. No sensible person ventured into this desolate nowhere land, territory forsaken even by the Coruscant Security Force.

But tonight, a scent of fresh blood permeated the air—an offensive reminder of recent violence. Anakin's attention focused on the disturbance he sensed in the Force—a turbulent swirl of darkness. He probed at the wound, his mouth compressing into a thin line as he recognized it for what it was. There was never a moment of doubt about the identity of whose work this was, but actual confirmation was like the press of a knife against his throat.

Anakin ducked away from the pool of glistening blood, swiftly drawing his hood over his head. It wouldn't do for the Order to learn that he had been spotted prowling the deepest of mired pits; they’d ask questions. Some would do so with nothing but the best of intentions, while others, like Windu, would seize it as additional evidence of Anakin's unsuitability as a Knight.

He couldn’t forget that when it came down to his trials, Anakin had been forced to go through hellish ordeals that had pushed him to the limits before he had been deemed worthy of wearing the Jedi mantle. Being the Chosen One, everyone assumed that everything came effortlessly to him, that the Council lavished him with undue favor. Anakin had learned to hold his tongue against careless words like that. They rarely believed him when he asserted that being Qui-Gon’s proclaimed Chosen One had brought him nothing but grief, except for liberating him from Tatooine.

Could anyone truly blame him that he could not entirely, in his heart of hearts, claim loyalty to the same people who saw nothing but disaster in his future? This wasn't a passing whim as Qui-Gon had brushed aside; for the past decade, Anakin had felt like an unwelcome intruder under the Council's watchful gaze. His resentment had deep roots.

But Qui-Gon refused to entertain such notions. In his view, despite the Council's imperfections, they grasped the fundamental truth that Anakin was destined by the will of the Force to be his apprentice. Anakin had long grown weary of his words falling on deaf ears, well before—

Well, before Anakin encountered him.

The man he was down there to see.

The man he was a fool for trusting, for craving. The same man that had left an alley full of corpses, carefully avoiding leaving any lightsaber burns. Obi-Wan had, after all, even less interest in the Council discovering he was right underneath their noses. That he had been there for over a year.

His master’s former Padawan. The man that had fallen in front of Anakin.

His lover.

"Anakin," whispered a voice, dark as smoke, then shifted to a lighter, playful tone: "Hello there."