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

To the Victor, the Spoils

• Summary: When Obi-Wan Kenobi and his Padawan are forced to go undercover, Anakin adopts an unusual disguise. When they cross paths with a certain Mandalorian bounty hunter, preserving their cover and completing their mission means putting Anakin at Jango Fett's mercy, against Obi-Wan's every instinct as a teacher...or is it?

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"Master, I don't understand why we need to argue about this," Anakin said, for what seemed to Obi-Wan Kenobi the ninth or tenth time in the last hour, as he paced the length of their ship. "We have a plan that will work. I'm ready to go through with it; let's just do it."

"We aren't arguing, my young apprentice, I am forbidding you, and you are in defiance of my orders." Obi-Wan sat in the copilot's seat of their shuttle, swiveled around to watch his Padawan stomp around the tiny space.

"You're being unreasonable, because you're embarrassed," Anakin snapped back.

"I'm not embarrassed; you are clinging on to a ridiculous idea." Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. He felt old, the way he did whenever he had to argue with Anakin like this. "There is another way into that party that doesn't require us to violate every tenet of responsibility I hold towards you as my apprentice."

"What violation?" Anakin folded his arms, jaw stony. "It was my idea."

"I very much doubt the Council will see it that way," Obi-Wan tilted his head.

"Fine. What's the other way into this party?" Anakin tapped his boot on the floor.

Obi-Wan swallowed hard. After over a decade of training, he'd started to pick up a rhythm to Anakin's determination. Sometimes, his apprentice could be persuaded to see reason about one of his schemes, and sometimes, one could only come along for the ride. This conversation was starting to feel disturbingly like the latter. "We could attempt to obtain another invitation."

"Alright, where?" Anakin stepped up to lean his forearms against the back of the pilot's chair. Rain spattered the viewscreen—like everything on Nar Shaddaa, it was tinged with filth and slightly toxic. "Where do you suggest we find a second invitation to a secret, black market gambler's den, in the next two hours, considering we had to track down a rogue infochant and chase a moving speeder for the one we have?"

"We'll break into the building itself, then," Obi-Wan switched tack.

"We don't know where the place is! The location on the invitation's just a landing pad; they're going to move you from there."

"Perhaps a tracking device—"

"We know you're going to be searched for weapons, there's no way you're sneaking a tracking device onto that speeder, master!" Anakin jabbed a finger at Obi-Wan. "Face it, the only way both of us are getting into that building is if we both wind up in that speeder. And if we only have one invitation, we need an excuse for one of us to be there that won't raise eyebrows."

"And how can you be so sure that this plan won't raise suspicions, Anakin?"

"Because I grew up around people like this." Anakin's voice was light, but Obi-Wan could sense that now-familiar tension, that callus of old fear and anger. It never went away, no matter how much Obi-Wan tried to mold him into a Jedi capable of controlling his feelings. "Trust me, half the people in that room never go anywhere without somebody to paw at. I'm young and fit. Put me in the right clothes, drape me over your arm, and nobody will bat an eyelash at us."

"I don't want to do that, Anakin!" Obi-Wan leapt to his feet, and was surprised by how shaky his voice was. "I must express how uncomfortable the idea of dressing you like a slave and parading you around the scum of Nar Shaddaa makes me! That party will be full of dangerous people, and you won't even have your lightsaber."