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

Silver Tongue Truths

• Summary: “Is this really your plan?” Anakin asks incredulously, certain this is just another malicious manipulation, “You’re going to try and seduce your way out of here?”

“It’s worked before—” Kenobi chuckles, his voice light and lilting, dancing over Anakin’s skin like a warm breeze, “But no, I’m not trying to get out of here. Not yet at least.”

OR — Anakin interrogates a Sith and learns more than he bargained for (not that he's complaining).

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“This is useless.”

“What did you expect?”

The Sith’s voice is velvet and violence and the smile in his tone makes Anakin’s skin crawl.

“You can give me as much of your truth serum—” he says it like it’s some sort of made-up potion as opposed to the poison that currently courses through his veins, “—as you’d like, you can’t make me say anything I do not want to say.”

He’s right.

Not that Anakin is about to admit that out loud.

“At least I know you’re not lying to me,” the Jedi spits back, his arms crossed over his chest, leaning back against the wall behind him, staring down at his captive sitting on the holding cell’s cold durasteel bench, his legs splayed open, one ankle resting on the opposite knee like he’s all too comfortable here, his head casually tilted back as if his current circumstance doesn’t bother him at all, “You’re a lot quieter than usual. What a surprise.”

This is far from the first time Anakin has come face to face with the Sith he’d once known as a young Jedi. It’s not even the first time he’s questioned this man who has an uncanny ability to escape almost any situation he finds himself in.

Disappearing from maximum security holding.

Vanishing without a trace.

Evaporating.

That may or may not be the reason Anakin has yet to report the Sith’s capture…

But no one needs to know that.

“Come now, would I lie to you?”

“Yeah. Right.”

They’ve been at this for hours now, volleying back and forth in a pointless game they both know will have no winner. Kenobi has an answer for everything, even with the mind-altering drug flooding his system, though the answers now seem to be much more carefully worded — annoyingly, he seems to be enjoying the challenge.

While it’s true that the dubious chemicals can’t make him say anything, it does have a tendency to loosen lips. However, that doesn’t seem to be the case with Kenobi. Given the man’s rumored penchant for drugs and alcohol, Anakin probably should have guessed the Sith knew how to hold his secrets in altered states.

In the first months of the war, every general had been subject to the serum as a means of morbid preparation — when Qui-Gon had asked about a mysterious illness he’d come down with once in his padawan days, Anakin couldn’t manage to stop himself from telling the entire tale of sneaking out with a few fellow padawan’s, drinking far too much and getting sick right in front of a blue-haired girl who had seemed to be interested in kissing him, only to have Ayala save his ass and drag him back to the temple — the whole ordeal had been an embarrassing disaster.

“This is getting tedious,” the Sith drolls, shifting to uncross his legs, his head tilted to one side, then the other, stretching his neck in a way that seems both vulnerable and calculated, “ask me something interesting, something fun.”