The next day, Vader had made up his mind. Kenobi was no longer by his bedside, and neither of them so much as mentioned what had happened last night.

Regardless, Vader agreed to learning how to use the Force as Kenobi needed it in order to heal him. Nothing showed on his old master's face, but in the pure, bright world of the Force, his excitement and joy was palpable.

First of all, Vader was made to sit up, his back against the wall, stumps keeping him upright. From there, the master and apprentice began their training. They had an unsaid agreement never to refer to it by that. To never admit that they had returned to roles so old they had almost forgotten them. But they did. In Obi-Wan Kenobi's little hut on the planet Anakin Skywalker was born on, the two became master and learner again.

Vader might have found it humiliating, had it not been so… Pleasant.

Yes, that was the word.

Anytime Vader thought back on his time as Kenobi's Padawan, he remembered strict adherence to the Jedi code, lack of compassion and stern words repeated over and over again. Never the calm moments.

He never thought about his youngest years with him, how they'd been so close. How Kenobi had helped him discover the Force, and taught him everything he knew. How he'd been there for him when loneliness seemed to want to rip him apart with longing for his mother. Kenobi wasn't all proverbs. For all his talk of attachments, Kenobi loved Anakin as much as Anakin loved him, all those years ago.

Vader found himself confronted with an understanding and patient teacher. One who didn't punish his mistakes with assassins and physical punishment and pain. A mistake was an opportunity to learn and improve, Kenobi said. Not a moment of retribution.

It was an approach Vader could not initially accept, but as they meditated together, their presences mingling, he found it oddly comforting. A question was grounds for an answer, not a dismissal.

Vader had forgotten what it was like to be Anakin. He found that he had missed it dearly.

"I'd thought a Sith of your standing should be able to hold a knife steadier than that," Kenobi said with a half-hidden smirk.

"Should you rather I impale you on it, I would be glad to show you steadiness," came Vader's reply. This aroused only a deeper smile on Kenobi's face. The threat was taken as a joke, and Vader found that he truly intended it to be as much. Ignoring Kenobi's vague attempts to destabilize Vader's concentration, he focused on making the knife as steady as possible. Usually, it was easier to visualize the movements of the Force by having limbs to guide it through, but Vader lacked these. This did not weaken him significantly.

He found instead that he could do most everything Kenobi would require him to do in order to properly assist in the operation. All except for one part.

Vader's main duty would be to remove and deactivate the various tubings and electronic implants within his body while Kenobi repaired it. Even then, Vader would need to be able to use the Force to heal himself to avoid any internal bleeding and in the off-chance that Kenobi missed anything.

This was the real crux.

Everything else was as good as done.

Many hours they had spent labouring over a small wound Vader hadn't minded opening. Him trying desperately to compel the Force to make the wound heal itself. Trying to twist it to act as he wanted. And every time, he failed. At more disastrous times, Vader's efforts only made the wound grow larger and more dire, requiring Kenobi's help to mend before he bled out.

"You can't demand the Force to heal. It will do so on its own. Feeding it with your pain and frustration only hampers its work," Kenobi explained. And that was all very good and all - Vader knew on a technical aspect how to do it, but in the moment, he could never succeed. His power was borne of his passion, of his fear and anger and hate.

The only emotion one could feed the Force to promote healing was compassion. A resource Vader was sorely lacking.

For hours on end, Vader grew more desperate, more frustrated.

He knew that if he didn't succeed soon, he'd starve to death. Drawing on the dark side of the Force to keep himself alive was possible for some time, but that time was starting to run thin.

That desperation has led him to his current situation.

"-You can't be serious. Don't you hate sand?"

"That is beside the point. I've been locked in here for close to a week," Vader said resolutely.

Kenobi motioned toward the open doorway. "And I told you on day one, you're free to leave at any time. However, I will still advise you against it."

Vader sneered beneath his mask. "I thought you didn't mind whether I lived or died?"

Kenobi raised his hands in resignation. "What I believe or don't believe is for me to grapple with. But I won't have you trying to get in touch with the Living Force by sapping it from some poor desert-dweller."

"Who said anything about Force drain?"

In truth, Vader's insistence came mostly from his need for change. Sitting in one place and doing the same thing, days on end, simply wasn't any way he could live. He had to get out there, to do things.

Kenobi regarded him for a moment, taking in his full lack of limbs. "If you expect me to carry you outside, you are sorely mistaken." Vader didn't answer. All he had to do was gently waggle his four stumps for Kenobi to finally relent. "Urgh. Fine. When I let you live, this was hardly the situation I expected."

Vader felt the same, but he couldn't honestly say the situation was a bad one.

Hoisted on Kenobi's back, he was finally removed from the cot he'd spent his last couple of days in. Pressed against Kenobi, Vader once again found himself silently amazed by how strong the impression Kenobi left in the Force was. This close, the smell of Coruscant roses was almost overpowering.

This close, Vader could almost forget why they parted ways in the first place.

The first reaction Vader had to that thought was to repress it, to condemn it to the deepest recesses of his mind, never to return. But then he reconsidered. He took that thought, and he held it in his hand. It was a warm thought. But painful. Burning like the black sands of Mustafar.

No longer was Vader a coward. Anakin Skywalker wasn't a coward. Not anymore.

He clenched the thought in his hand, letting it make an imprint in the wisps of his mind.

Kenobi used to be his brother. He used to love him. That love had been an attachment. Hadn't it been a good thing? Well, yes. Anakin's love for Kenobi made him… Not weak. Vader couldn't say that. In times of trouble, what often allowed Anakin to pull off seemingly impossible odds was his love for Kenobi. In that sense, it gave him power.

But in the end, that love had torn him apart. The choice between his brother and his father. The only reason Vader had had to regret the choice he made was the loss of Padmé. His physical pain, how the galaxy had developed… It was unimportant. But here, now, the side of his face pressed into Kenobi's back, listening to the rhythmic thump-thump, he started to wonder what would have happened if he'd chosen his brother instead.

The Jedi order would have overthrown the Republic. The Chancellor would have been outed as a Sith Lord. And then…

And then what?

Vader had no gift of precogniscience. The only two visions he had ever had had left him emotionally devastated. Letting his thoughts linger on the future was just not something he did. The only time he so much as tried to seer the future was in war. Strategy and combat were predictable, but not the galaxy as a whole.

The only thing he knew was that he would never have become the enemy of Kenobi. Maybe the Jedi wouldn't be terrible rulers, despite their arrogance. The Emperor wasn't doing a bad job - far better than the corrupt Republic, but could Vader really be certain that the Jedi would do anything too terrible?

Though, again, Vader was not one to worry about the fate of trillions across the galaxy. He only cared for those closest to him, those he loved.

Padmé was the one who worried about the galaxy.

"Has anyone told you you're heavier than you look?" Kenobi asked, turning his head slightly to catch Vader's gaze.

"With my limbs intact, it is unlikely you would be able to lift me in the first place," Vader remarked dryly. Now that he thought about it, the last time either of them had lifted the other was on the bridge of Grievous' flagship, the Invisible Hand. Suppose this meant the debt was repaid?

Vader heard Kenobi scoff. "True. With how much you trained, I was always surprised you weren't even more musc-," he caught himself before he continued his line of thought. Because that wasn't what Vader meant. He wasn't speaking of muscles and fleshy limbs, but of metal prosthetics.

A short silence stretched between them as Kenobi walked.

They exited the hut, the sun beat down on them, and only with the fresh sandy air in his lungs was Kenobi able to speak again.

"Every night, ever since it happened… I have dreamt of Mustafar. Of what happened between us. And-, and it's always wrong. We were never supposed to fight," Kenobi said. His face was turned straight ahead, peering across the dunes. Vader couldn't see his face. He didn't want to. "What I did to you… I always think I would have done it differently, had it happened again. But I don't think I would have. Not if you were trying to do what you did."

Vader listened quietly. Days ago, he would have called Kenobi weak. A hypocrite for feeling regret, for disobeying the Jedi code. But now, he merely listened.

"What happened on Mustafar was one thing. I had to fight you. It was too late then. But not before that. Do you remember what I told you when we last saw each other? When we last truly met?" Vader did not answer. Because he knew Kenobi wasn't talking to him anymore. "I meant every word of it. But I should never have left. The Council lost by trying to play at the game Sidious had given us. We lost thinking that fighting was enough to win. You were always the one who went against the teachings of the Order, but for once, just this once, I should have been the one to defy them."

"They wanted you out of the way," Vader said softly. "If you knew what they were planning on doing, you would have intervened."

Only now did Kenobi again turn to look at him. "Planning on doing what?" Nothing on his face suggested anything apart from curiosity.

"To overthrow the Chancellor and seize control of the Republic," Vader said. It was the truth. Palpatine had told him so before it even happened. And it almost happened.

Even from the awkward angle, Vader was given a brilliant view of how Kenobi's face twisted in pure confusion. "Shouldn't Darth Sidious have told you the truth by this point?" The truth? "The whole 'Jedi assassination attempt' was a ruse. A final culmination of a thousand years of covert action and hiding. All to get one Sith at the top, all to get him enough power to truly destroy the order."

Despite the events of the past days, Vader felt the need to defend himself - to protect his master. "Mace was supposed to take him alive. To merely arrest him. Instead, they tried to kill him!"

"With all the Sith we've faced together, I'm surprised you haven't considered the obvious. Why in the stars should Sidious allow himself to be arrested?"

"Resisting arrest doesn't justify-," Except, it does. Because Vader has killed hundreds upon thousands for resisting him. Anakin has killed people for resisting arrest. Even Kenobi, the Negotiator, has had to end lives in the pursuit of justice. And all this time, never did he encounter a Sith Lord who wouldn't resist arrest. It was preposterous to believe that a Sith would simply give up, even in the face of four Jedi Masters. And, of course, these four masters would hardly lie down to accept a lightsaber in the back. "But he was-, he almost…"

Dragged back four years in time, Vader was forced to remember the scene of the crime. Of how he came in just as the battle was reaching its end. Three bodies on the floor, two of which hadn't even been able to fight back in the least. Master Fisto's head sat atop Palpatine's desk like a smirking paperweight. On the balcony, Master Windu battled a lightsaber-wielding shadow. Locked in battle, they seemed equal. Until the shadow fell and all of a sudden he was on the floor and he was just Palpatine, his almost-father, and he was so weak and frail, and how dare Windu threaten his life?

...But that didn't make any sense, did it? Mace Windu may have been one of the strongest Jedi in the order, creator of Vapaad and senior member of the council, but compared to the strongest Sith Lord, he was still sorely lacking. The proof of that laid in the dead strewn across the office. Had Mace truly been strong enough to single-handedly hold back (and fend off) Sidious, he would have been able to protect his fellow masters.

But he couldn't. Sidious hadn't let him.

"...Why would he pretend to almost die to Mace?" Vader asked the dusty air.

"To convince you he was the loser of the battle," Kenobi answered. "That without your help, he would die. To give the false impression that Master Windu was about to kill an unarmed old man."

Unarmed old man. A Sith Lord is never truly unarmed. Not even Vader, lacking all four limbs, was truly helpless.

He was too dangerous to be left alive.

Kenobi went down on his knees, laid a small piece of what seemed to be bantha hide on the naked sand, and put Vader down. Then, he laid out another hide next to Vader's and sat down as well with a soft groan. The sun was still high. The hides beneath them were growing warm with the burn of the sands, but both of their minds were elsewhere, far in the past.

Kenobi broke the silence. "Palpatine was never the Supreme Chancellor. He never cared for the Republic, or for the Jedi Order, or for you. He controlled the separatists, he controlled the Republic. The only one who won, in the end, was he. The Sith won. That's all. The Jedi lost and the Republic died." He turned to look at Vader. "Palpatine was a mask. There was only Sidious."

Palpatine. As close to a father as he had ever had.

The one man who listened without judgement, who told him what he wanted to hear. Told him to use his emotions, that he was right, that the Jedi were wrong to underestimate him.

That man did not exist. His fatherly smile and warm gaze was just the mask. It dissolved along with his face under the barrage of his own Force lightning. By that point, it had already been too late. He had pledged himself to a man who didn't exist, taking on the name of a Sith Lord who was more mask than man. As Palpatine died, Darth Vader was born. Alike only in their non-existence.

He'd never had a father.

All of this had been for nothing.

The Sith were evil. He'd known that for so long, that when Palpatine - no, Sidious told him that it was all an ideological disagreement, he'd been so dumbfounded he had to listen. Sith were guided by passion. They were more natural, letting their emotions flow unabated.

But that wasn't true, was it?

Vader knew it as well as anybody. Using the Force as he did was to twist and manipulate it outside its wishes. If anything, it was unnatural. Maybe it was more human to feel pain and anger, but it wasn't in accordance with the Force. Being a Jedi was to be above the bounds of humanity to flow in tandem with the Force.

Glancing to his side at the man who sat next to him, Vader found Kenobi's eyes gently closed, legs crossed in still meditation. One with the Force, every breath an expression of what the Force wanted.

Silently, Vader used the Force to bring the small knife Kenobi had used the other day. He slit a small incision in his leg and let the knife fall. A small dollop of fresh red blood hit the sand.

Vader focused on the wound. He could feel it in the Force. A festering little slice, he could feel himself in the pain. That was normal. Sith focused and drew power from pain. But pain was only one aspect of the Force. Carefully, he felt the blood seeping from the wound. The little blood cells dying as they burned in the sun. Death. So, too, did he feel his living flesh. Human, moving lightly. A single rock in the river of the Force. He was the flesh, he was the blood, he was the sand, he was the knife.

Vader was all of it.

He was the tanned and oiled bantha hide, he was the mechanical breathing of his lungs. He was his former master, he was the cloak he wore. He was the twin suns bearing down on Tatooine, he was it all. He was life itself. Above death, above pain. There was only life and death. Creation and destruction. Only the Force.

For once, Vader let his mind's hand run over the Force. To feel how it purred under his touch, the joy of a loth cat finally being caressed again by its long-lost master. As he touched the light, felt it brush between his non-existent fingers, so too did he feel how the anger within him slowly grew tepid. The hatred abated. The pain receded, repelled by a strange calm he hadn't felt in years.

The warmth of Tatooine entered him, and he accepted it.

Life brimmed inside his body, and for once, his breathing no longer felt laboured.

When he opened his eyes again, the sun was low, and his wound was gone. Was he imagining things, or was Kenobi closer to him than before? Before, he'd been at a respectable distance, about the length of Vader's body. Now he almost sat right next to him. The warmth of his presence and the calming smell of Coruscant roses brought him back to his youth. After leaving Tatooine, before being knighted.

A young boy, barely eleven. Only now learning how to meditate.

It wasn't as though he wasn't trying, the act of going still and sitting down just didn't come easily to him. His thoughts wouldn't quiet and no matter how many times his master explained how to do it, he could never truly feel the Force flow through him. And when it did happen, those few rare instances where he could truly tap into the Force, it overwhelmed him. A rush of power, an infinitely wide waterfall seemed to crash through him, and his concentration was broken in a moment. It scared him.

But then, when he couldn't focus at all, his master Obi-Wan, who was much more like a big brother than anything else would sit down next to him, and he'd sit so close they were almost touching, and then he'd hold his hand. It was almost childish, holding hands while meditating, but as they sat there, next to each other, the warm scent of Coruscant roses floating in the Jedi Temple garden, the Force seemed to flow through the both of them.

The waterfall would crash into him, but then his master was suddenly there. And he would tell him, silently, how to handle it. The waterfall and the rushing torrents grew still. Then he was no longer afraid. Because the Force was an ocean, one that stretched as far as the eye could see, and it was beautiful.

Vader drew himself back to the moment.

Trails of the light side of the Force lingered within him. If felt good. Like when Kenobi had healed him. It beat back all the black clouds within him, stilled the swirling storms, and brought warmth.

"I'm ready," he said. Kenobi peeked an eye open and turned to him. "I'm ready to try it."

Kenobi nodded.