Back to Obi-wan...

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The shivering wouldn't stop. Ever. Obi-wan had known this from the start, but his usual stubborn self had refused to believe it. Now he no longer denied it.

It hadn't stopped for three days now. For three days he'd been sitting in a tin can of a cell, shivering uncontrollably to the point where it wouldn't have mattered if he'd wanted to try and escape or not. He wouldn't have been able to try anything.

He was certain Vader knew this. His former padawan was probably watching him right now, from some secret room somewhere, laughing at the pathetic state he had been reduced to. A grown man, in his late fifties - a grown Jedi, at that - huddled in a corner, trying to mash himself into one of the walls in an attempt to reacquire some sort of control over his body. Perhaps the wall would be enough of a sturdy presence to help calm the shakes that continued to rack his every nerve.

That was the idea, anyway. Obi-wan hardly cared what the Sith thought of him. He just wanted the constant chills to stop.

It certainly didn't help matters that his injured arm had ceased to function entirely. He could hardly manage to move the fingers attached to it, and if he did it was through a great amount of concentration accompanied by an even greater amount of effort towards forcing back the pain that flared in the nerves he could feel. It hung uselessly at his side.

Blast you, Anakin. You could have at least extended the courtesy of crushing the other one...

The durasteel arm was functioning perfectly. Of course.

A slight shift and his frame was able to stretch itself out, legs straight out in front, back slouched in the divot formed by the two converging walls. Not the most comfortable position in the world, but the shivering took away any amount of comfort he might have been able to attain anyway. It was freezing.

A foot twitched as another round of shivers reached his toes, and he watched it absently, wondering for a second if it was his foot. They had never twitched like that before. He chased the thought away as soon as it had announced itself. Of course it was his foot. Who else's would it be?

"I'm losing it." The hoarse voice that uttered those words couldn't possibly be his... could it? The three words echoed off the walls a few times before they escaped through the bars of the cell. I'm losing it, I'm losing it, I'm losing it, I'm losing it...

"I'm well aware, thank you." Another croak. A few more echoes. I'm well aware, thank you, well aware, thank you, thank you, thank you, you... He sighed, noticing with a small amount of relief that at least his sighs sounded normal, if somewhat shaky.

"Your dinner, Jedi," a robotic voice said from across the cell.

Ah, yes. Dinner. One meal a day, always at a different time, always delivered by a mindless machine of some sort. Obi-wan glared at the offered food, almost deciding that this would be the meal he refused to eat, that he would finally force Vader to do whatever it was he intended to do or let him starve to death. The idea had been swimming around in his brain for quite some time. It was all the more tempting simply for the fact that, in a somewhat twisted way, it would save a small sliver of his dignity. Each meal prior to this one had him struggling just to raise a crumb to his mouth. His shaking hands caused everything else to fly off the utensil after it was barely an inch off the tray.

He sighed again. No. That wasn't him. He wasn't going to lose himself completely.

Twitching feet barely allowed him to stand, but he did so, shuffling towards the bars, his good arm shoved against the wall to keep him steady. "Thank you," he mumbled, just to see if his voice sounded less hoarse when it wasn't as audible. No such luck.

The droid didn't reply. It simply turned and walked back the way it had come.

The meal was divine, just like the others. A few slices of some warm bread, a large slab of some sort of meat, a few different fruits sliced up and set to the side. Probably far more than any other prisoner was being fed. Even a small cup of tea stood in the corner, his favorite, right down to the exact amount of spices he liked to add. The smell was proof of that. It was the same smell that had welcomed him and Anakin home from many missions, the one that flooded their nostrils once they opened their apartment door. It was the smell of home.

He never drank the tea. Aside from himself, only Anakin had ever made him tea, usually when he had been sick or nursing an injury. It had meant something, then. Something special.

Vader wasn't Anakin. The tea was nothing. This meal was nothing. He shoved it away from himself with a disgusted twitch of his foot. There was nothing that Vader could offer that he could possibly want.

Except for another chance, but that was up to Anakin. From what Obi-wan had seen so far, Anakin was unlikely to show up anytime soon.

The temptation to throw the tray and all of its contents through the bars of his cell was growing stronger, and he struggled to force it away. It was beginning to trouble him, that these urges were coming quite frequently and that he was almost welcoming them. Three days dwelling in nothing but the dark side of the Force might do that to most Jedi, but Obi-wan hadn't expected it to happen to himself. Not that he was purposely being arrogant, but he'd has his fair share of brushes with the dark side, and he'd overcome every single one of them.

Was this one any different?

Yes, something whispered. It took him a moment to realize it was his light-starved brain.

This one was YOUR fault.

It had taken him close to a decade to finally convince himself that Qui-gon's death hadn't been his fault. That he hadn't slammed his own foot into his face, causing himself to fall off of that walkway. Yes, but you could have ducked... That he hadn't been the one to slam those ray shields in place. You could have ran faster... That he hadn't been the one wielding a double-bladed, crimson lightsaber that day. It might as well have been you... So many doubts. But he'd defeated them, accepted that it was the will of the Force that his father, in every way but blood, had died that day. Ten years, it had taken him.

Then there had been Ventress, tempting him with every evil desire the dark could offer while bombarding his mind and body with a vicious assault of mental and physical torture. That had been the first time he had come close to giving in. Closer than Qui-gon's death, if possible. He still had the scars. Scores of them on his back, ones that had been too deep to heal properly. Ones that had festered for days while she had laughed in his face, offering to heal them if he gave in. She had made it sound so easy. So had his conscience. One more day, and he might have been lost. As it was, the Temple Healers had put so many hours of healing into his battered mind that Anakin had eventually conceded and drug the couch down so he could sleep by the side of his bed.

A new round of chills tore through his body, stopping his musings for the moment. The tray still taunted him from a few feet away.

You know you want to... it would feel so good...

This one was YOUR fault!

A deafening crash echoed through the hallways and every last cell as the tray struck the bars with a solid crack, splitting into hundreds of little pieces, scattering his dinner everywhere. Obi-wan stared, struck dumb, at his hand. It was still locked in front of him, holding its position long after the tray had risen and been thrown.

It wasn't shaking. His durasteel fingers, every last one of them, were as still as the wall he was leaning against. As was the rest of his arm. Come to think of it, his whole body had stopped shaking. Normally, an improvement like that would have caused a grin to break out on his face.

This time he was stunned. Horrified. "No..." The single word slipped from his mouth at barely a whisper.

He had let it in and used it without thinking. "No." Firmer this time, more confident. He would not lose himself in the dark, not simply for the fact that it existed.

When the chills started up once more he was both supremely satisfied and supremely disappointed, but if having chills kept him from crossing the line, then so be it.

Come and get me, Anakin.

He closed his eyes, a small smile peeking through his dour mood. Taunting had never been something he had taken a liking to. That had been Anakin's bread and butter, always mouthing off to whoever they were facing while he had stood back and watched. His former padawan had been good at it to, surprising even him with some of the witty remarks he tossed out.

Come and get me, Anakin.

Not bad for his first taunt. Not bad at all... okay, so it was borderline elementary. He had a feeling half of the younglings could have come up with something classier than that... the younglings...

Obi-wan tried to clench his eyes shut tighter, attempting to smother images of broken and mutilated bodies spread all over the Council Chambers. It was like trying to ignore the fact that his feet were twitching uncontrollably again. He was forced to open his eyes.

Vader stood on the other side of the bars, watching with a cold gaze, one of distant interest. It was the first time he'd visited since they had arrived here. Wherever here was.

Obi-wan glared back, feeling like a rebellious padawan for doing so, but not really caring. He had never been frightened or intimidated by this man before, and this time would be no different.

Vader smiled a little, as if slightly amused, and then glanced at the food splattered on the floor. "Not hungry?" he quipped, and Obi-wan was struck by how much he still sounded like Anakin. When he didn't answer, Vader looked at him again. "It stopped the shivering, didn't it. Did it feel good?"

He couldn't help but look away. It did feel good. Momentarily. He hated himself for it, just as he had when he had sliced Maul in half and watched the two pieces fall down the ventilation shaft. Apparently, he had made very little progress in the last thirty years.

"You liked it," Vader continued. "You won't admit it, but I know you did. The release of all of those emotions, memories... what were you thinking about when it happened? Was it me? Having a few regrets, master?"

The tone made Obi-wan look at him again. It was a tone he had heard many, many times after Anakin had been knighted. It was one of contempt, one that said 'I'm not your padawan anymore' or 'you're not all-knowing and you have no idea what I'm feeling and you never cared anyway'. Obi-wan knew the tone well.

He still refused to say anything. He would not be baited.

"Tell me," Vader said, "what is it that made you come after me?"

He said nothing.

"You haven't saved Luke from anything. It will take me all of a day to track him down. He is my son, after all."

"You love him." Obi-wan said the words before he was even aware of speaking. Even after he had spoken them, after he had broken his quiet vow to remain silent, he continued to stare into the Sith's eyes, determined to glimpse Anakin somewhere in there. Just a small sliver would be enough to set him at ease.

Vader stopped, turning to face him. "Love him?" He paused and chuckled a little. "Of course I love him. He is my son. But you would know nothing of that, because you're a Jedi. Always have been, always will be, all the way through every last bone. Jedi aren't allowed to feel anything. Sith are."

Aren't allowed to feel anything. A long, tired sigh accompanied the sag of his shoulders as he leaned back against the wall. Anakin had never truly understood that part of the Code, and Obi-wan knew without a doubt that he never would, no matter how many times he tried to explain it.

A Jedi felt everything. Anger, peace, love, hate, the urge to laugh, a tendency to cry, all of it. They just chose to not let it control them, though Force knew that he had struggled with that for every waking minute of his life. He stared at the remnants of his dinner again, struck by how easy it had been to just let go for a second. Then he looked at Anakin.

Anakin, not Vader. Never Vader. He knew that now. This was Anakin all the way through, his brother, his friend, and every bit the son he never had.

That realization made him hate himself even more than he already did. Had he truly done nothing to prevent this? Now it seemed as though he had just stood to the side and let the boy pass by without a care in the world.

"What, no clever remark, no argument?" Anakin snapped. "Figures. You don't know quite what to say when faced with a truth you don't like. That's one reason you're alive, you know. Just so you can see what all of your hard work has done, where all of your misguided beliefs have taken you. Death would be a gift at this point. One that I will not grant you."

Ah, yes. Death. Such a tempting course of action. He had always dreamed of what it would be like to finally pass from this life into the next. It truly would be a gift, he knew.

Death was a gift he would not accept, even if it was offered. He was tired, physically spent and mentally exhausted, but he knew that Anakin hadn't kept him alive to spew accusations even if he insisted that was the reason. Obi-wan knew him too well to believe that.

He wanted confirmation. Someone to tell him that he was right and everyone else had been wrong. Justification for his actions. This was the boy that Obi-wan had raised. A Sith Lord didn't need confirmation or justification, but Anakin did.

The Force still felt dead, his body was still shaking, and Anakin's eyes were still a sickly yellowish-blue, and he truly had nothing else to lose at this point. All that remained was him and Anakin.

To his knowledge, he had never been faced with such a simple decision in his life. It took him all of a fraction of a second to determine his next course of action. To confront what he had never truly confronted before, only ever pushed aside. He'd had plenty of brushes with the dark side before, but to actually stand toe to toe with it was entirely different. The darkness within Anakin had always been there, as had the darkness within himself. It was something he had always been content to just push back and save for later. Now was turning out to be that 'later'.

To have this discussion could either draw his brother back a little or cause his own self to finally surrender. The latter no longer meant anything. His brother was everything, so he met the man's gaze with unwavering confidence.

"Death is a gift of the light," he said. "One that you have no power to give."

Anakin reached forward and pressed something to the right of his cell. The bars were drawn up into the ceiling and his old friend stepped forward, reaching for his belt. Time seemed to slow for the next few seconds. Anakin's boots echoed loudly on the duracrete floors and the hum of the lightsaber coming to life in his hand was low, threatening.

And the weapon was... blue.

Obi-wan blinked, mesmerized until the blade slowly rose to hover near his injured arm. Then he glanced up at Anakin's face.

"I could take your life as easily as I've taken any other," Anakin snapped. "You're a fool to think otherwise."

Obi-wan's expression flattened. "Then what is stopping you?"

Anakin's smile was merciless. "Nothing."

The lightsaber pushed forward, driving straight into his arm and pinning it to the wall. Obi-wan grunted and let out a muffled cry of pain, surprised that he was still able to feel anything in that particular arm. Hot, salty tears began to run down his face once Anakin began to twist it. His breaths were coming in ragged gulps.

The younger man finally withdrew the blade and spun it a little, staring down at his former master with a cold look. "The dark deals in death too, Obi-wan, and I promise you that I can draw it out for as long as I see fit. Months even."

Obi-wan glared up at him. He knew he had nothing to really worry about. The wound was cauterized, it wouldn't bleed much, but the pain was excruciating. His vision was starting to get a little hazy. Nevertheless, his eyes remained locked on the younger man's face. "The end result will be the same."

He sat up a little straighter, ignoring the jolt of pain that swept through his entire body.

"I will die and you will have gained nothing."

"I will have power," Anakin argued.

"You have that now."

"Wealth."

"Of monetary value, perhaps, but that is something my death would not cause."

"Love."

"That," he stated. "Is completely out of your reach."

Anakin crossed his arms, choosing not to acknowledge that one. "Freedom."

"You've always done as you pleased," Obi-wan bit out, not caring that it sounded so harsh. He narrowed his eyes. "Try again."

Anakin's face twisted in frustration, but he didn't say anything. He just stood there fuming.

Obi-wan grimaced at another stab of pain. This one almost caused him to completely lose consciousness. "The dark is generous," he conceded. He barely saw Anakin nod his head in agreement.

"I have everything you never allowed me to have."

"Generosity is complicated," he continued, staying conscious for a few moments longer. "It's true test lies not in what it gives, but what it has yet to give."

Anakin was silent.

Obi-wan took another deep breath, but he couldn't quite keep his eyes from closing. "The dark does not deal in love, Anakin..." His whispers faded into nothing as his head flopped forward to rest on his chest. The rest of the discussion would have to wait.

Anakin watched him for a moment longer, considering his words. Then he crouched down and leaned forward, staring into the man's face, as though Obi-wan could still hear him.

"Neither do you," he muttered.

Then he rose slowly, turned around, and left.

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"The test of generosity is not how much you give, but how much you have left." ~ Anonymous