A/N: Isn't it lovely when I write something in an existing storyline that literally nobody asked for? This is set in between the events of "The Lie Eternal" and "The Distance" and...well, basically Obi-Wan's having a bit of trouble letting go of his Jedi identity completely. Vader seeks to remedy that. Expect confusion, solitude, self-reflection, a little bit of Empire business that's briefly touched on, an appearance from Thrawn, a very possessive and slightly terrifying Vader, and a conversation with a ghost. You're welcome.

Disclaimer: Nope, anything that you see that you recognize belongs to Lucasfilm and Disney, and the song lyrics are Alan Walker's.


Darkside

"(D-D-Dark side...)

We're not in love...
We share no stories
Just something in your eyes...
Don't be afraid...
The shadows know me
Let's leave the world behind..."

The Fall was not complete.

And adjusting to life at Vader's side was far more difficult than Obi-Wan had thought it would be.

It had been a standard year since Obi-Wan had accepted Vader's...offer, and it was a strange feeling he'd been living with in that entire time―as if he was living in some demented nightmare world, a dark mirror of the reality Obi-Wan had known for the three years prior. For it was Vader that walked by his side wearing Anakin's face and commanding Anakin's troops (and now Obi-Wan's as well), the same way Anakin had done for so long during the war...except Obi-Wan could feel the sheer darkness of it all in the Force, the unnatural chill that seemed to have permanently settled over him with Vader's dominion. It clutched at him with reaching fingers, and the Jedi in him recoiled at every turn. But the other part of him was resigned to it, and that traitorous part that had liked the taste of dark power when Vader kissed him that first time so long ago positively enjoyed it, and welcomed the cold embrace.

The conflict within him, Obi-Wan thought, was far greater than it had ever been before in a thousand years.

He knew Vader could sense it, and he knew the Sith didn't approve, but he couldn't truly bring himself to care. He had tried, that first night, to give in to the Dark Side and its intoxicating power, and had succeeded that night purely because of Vader's...insistence. But in the year since then Obi-Wan had found it harder and harder to let go of who he had been and embrace the new order of things. It seemed that every step Vader took farther into the Dark Side was a step in the opposite direction for Obi-Wan, something that frustrated Vader endlessly.

"Why can't you Fall properly?!" he would demand, and Obi-Wan would simply shrug, helpess to figure out the answer.

Vader started trying different things a few months in, both alone and around the officers and troopers of the Imperial Navy, to get Obi-Wan to embrace the Dark Side. He gave Obi-Wan full command of the 212th again, which should have relieved him―having Cody at his side again was another piece of familiarity, right?―but instead only served to make him more depressed; and rather than fuel his descent into darkness, all that depression did was make him more closed-off. Vader repeatedly brought up bad memories―of the war, of Qui-Gon's and Satine's deaths, of past lives and past horrors―and none of them dredged up enough anger or hatred to make the Fall complete. He sent Obi-Wan out to execute some of the missions the Emperor assigned Vader; Obi-Wan simply turned away from the violence, unwilling to watch what he was taking part in. Intense training fights brought back memories of similar situations across a thousand years, but none produced the rush of fear and anger that would drive him into the darkness. He'd even been shunted into the hands of the Inquisitors a few times, as if Vader thought that by being among other Dark Jedi he would simply adopt their habits; no such luck.

It appeared that Obi-Wan was simply too stubborn to Fall.

Nights spent locked in Vader's quarters weren't much better than days spent trying and failing to fully Fall. Some nights were practically experiments in torture as Vader threw every rotten memory he could think of in Obi-Wan's face; some nights were the opposite, full of passion and heated kisses and angry if incomprehensible words, but those nights were almost as bad in a different way altogether. The Force hadn't surged so strongly since that first night, though Obi-Wan was frequently on the receiving end of some very intense energy from Vader; even still, none of it was enough to make the resolute Jedi in him let go.

Obi-Wan was equal parts relieved and terrified by this.

If it meant retaining who he was for a while longer, he was content to live with this duality within him―but the threat of Vader's wrath should he fail to find a way to complete his Fall still loomed over him, instilling a sense of urgency and fear in him; he'd seen how Vader dealt with those who displeased him.

Why won't anything work? Obi-Wan asked himself repeatedly. Am I just that much of a Jedi? Is it simply that after all these centuries, I am simply incapable of Falling?

Why can't I just let go?

"Take me through the night!
Fall in to the dark side...
We don't need the light!
We'll live on the dark side...
I see it
Let's feel it
While we're still young and fearless
Let go of the light!
Fall in to the dark side...

Fall in to the dark side...
Give in to the dark side...
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah-ah)
Let go of the light
Fall in to the dark side..."

"You need a new identity," Vader said.

Obi-Wan looked up from his datapad, surprised by the Sith's abrupt appearance. "Pardon?"

Vader came into the room and collapsed on the couch beside Obi-Wan, in a manner so like the way Anakin used to after a long assignment that he almost, for a moment, forgot that it wasn't him. "A new identity," the Sith repeated. "Perhaps continuing to call you Kenobi is contributing to why you won't Fall. You still associate yourself with your given name, the name you have lived by as a Jedi for decades." Centuries, is what he doesn't say; it seems that alternately every other lifetime he's lived he has been a Kenobi, and proud of it―this one is no exception.

Obi-Wan set down his datapad. "Do you truly believe that simply calling me by a new name will make me Fall any faster?"

Vader growled. "Perhaps not alone. But if you begin to associate the name with your life the way it is now, it may give you the push you need."

Obi-Wan stared at him flatly. "Has it ever occurred to you that I may simply not want to Fall?"

Vader chuckled, a low, sinister sound that sent chills racing down Obi-Wan's spine. "I thought we had covered this already, my love," he purred. "You want to...but there is something holding you back." He scooted closer, into Obi-Wan's space, and Obi-Wan felt his breath catch. Too close. Too close. Still too close. "Something..." Vader's voice was half silken purr and half feral growl, a duality in his tone that reflected the two terrifying sides to Vader's personality. How has this monster not revealed himself, in all our centuries? Has he just never been pushed enough? Or is this truly a recent development? Obi-Wan's head spun as Vader's stained yellow-orange eyes searched his face hungrily, possessively. Obi-Wan knew that look.

It still didn't prepare him for Vader's kiss.

Obi-Wan should be used to the strange fierceness and fire behind Vader's kisses by now, yet it never ceased to surprise him. Nothing, in a thousand years, had ever felt the way Vader's kisses did; millions of nights spent locked away in darkened rooms, away from the rules of the Jedi and the Code that bound them but could not defeat their eternal love, still could not compare to the feeling of Vader's kiss. It still left him reeling, his head spinning, even if the rush of power was not nearly as intoxicating and overwhelming as it had been that first night. Another mystery Vader couldn't solve. It seemed to Obi-Wan that he was to be forever chasing that high―for Obi-Wan could sense, deep within him, that the same surge of power that had greeted them that first night would never return. Oh, they could get close―but it would remain, lingering beyond, just out of reach. It would drive Vader insane.

Obi-Wan wasn't sure he could handle that.

Vader pulled away slowly; he at least appeared exhilarated, even if Obi-Wan's mind hadn't been on the kiss this time. Obi-Wan couldn't accurately describe the gleam in Vader's ruined eyes―it looked equal parts wild, feral, lethal, and excited, which Obi-Wan reflected probably meant whatever was on his mind was not good for Obi-Wan. Then again, with him, is anything ever good for me?

"You are...so close," Vader murmured, sounding almost drunk. "I can feel it. One more push. That will be all it takes for you to Fall completely, to fully embrace your new life." His eyes gleamed brighter. "To fully embrace me."

"And that starts with a new identity?" Obi-Wan was relieved that he still managed to inject high levels of sarcasm into his voice.

Vader was deadly serious as he replied, a malignant grin stealing across his face. "Yes, Obi-Wan. That is exactly how it starts."

And thus, Obi-Wan's new identity was created. Obi-Wan awoke the next morning to an empty bed―not unusual, as Vader was usually up and about long before Obi-Wan was; something about the constant proximity to the Dark Side left him perpetually tired and craving as much sleep as he could get. But when he summoned the energy to lift his head off the pillow, it was to find a brand-new Imperial uniform waiting for him on the chair outside the closet. The unform itself wasn't what surprised him, however―it was the fact that the material of the tunic and cloak was pure white.

Isn't white a forbidden color for the Empire? Obi-Wan thought wryly, sitting up and letting the black sheets of Vader's bed fall away from his bare chest. From this angle, he could see that the folded tunic bore a gold plate in place of the patch that served to mark rank among the officers of the Empire; perhaps it was to signify that he was not merely another soldier, another pawn, but that he was somehow better than the rest―because I am a Force-user, Obi-Wan realized, because I am different, and because of the centuries of history with Vader.

Thinking about it was likely to make him sick, and so Obi-Wan forced his gaze away from the gold plate and let his eyes search the rest of the pile. It seemed only tunic and cloak were white; the trousers, belt, gloves, and boots were all standard black.

Oh Force, Obi-Wan thought. What am I about to get myself into?

Reluctantly, he got out of the bed, casting a dark look at the sheets that always seemed oppressing when he was free of them but were smooth and light as shimmersilk when he slept beneath them. Rather than face putting on the new tunic immediately, he headed to the 'fresher―if Vader wanted him to look like an Imperial, he could at least shower beforehand so he didn't feel nearly as awful when he finally donned the tunic and sealed his fate.

After donning said tunic, Obi-Wan found that the shower hadn't done anything to stop the sick feeling that crept along his skin as he gazed at the stranger in the mirror after all.

It was him, but it wasn't―the Imperial tunic fit him perfectly, a little too perfectly, and immediately Obi-Wan found himself longing for the concealing freedom of his Jedi tunic. He looked himself over―the gold plate where the rank marking should have been seemed to mock him, and he could almost hear Vader's sneer at his reaction to seeing himself dressed as an Imperial―weak, pathetic, coward. Can't even face what you signed yourself up to become.

Kriff this.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, trying to stady himself. He met his own eyes in the mirror and was startled to find that they had started to shift their color. They were still partly blue, but there was amber invading them as well―not quite the Sith yellow-orange, but the eyes of a Fallen Jedi nevertheless. Perhaps I am closer to Falling than I realized.

Kriff. Looking in the mirror any longer wouldn't do him any good―he wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to stomach seeing himself that way. He averted his eyes from his reflection and looked to the last item waiting on the chair―the gloves. Those things that would keep his hands from getting covered in the blood Vader brought wherever he went, but that Obi-Wan knew wouldn't protect him from the stains. Those cursed things that would obscure whatever humanity remained in him, hidden from the galaxy―but not from him. Those things that would seal his ties to Vader, and his reluctant committment to this charade of his.

Resolutely, hating himself with every movement, Obi-Wan pulled on the gloves.

Then he took another deep breath, glanced at his reflection in the mirror once more, stepped out into the corridor, and directed his steps towards the bridge.

"Beneath the sky...
As black as diamonds
We're running out of time...
Don't wait for truth...
To come and blind us
Let's just believe their lies...

Believe it
I see it
I know that you can feel it
No secrets
Worth keeping
So fool me like I'm dreaming..."

Vader's smile when Obi-Wan emerged onto the bridge wearing the new Imperial tunic made Obi-Wan want to retch. He looked so...smug, so triumphant, and they both knew Vader had just scored a major victory in this twisted game their curse had become.

Obi-Wan approached him in silence, and every officer on the bridge saluted or stood at attention as he passed. Had the tunic alone done that, or had Vader threatened them all with a brutal death before Obi-Wan walked in if they didn't do so?

More mind games. More lies. More tricks. Obi-Wan was already beginning to tire of them.

"There you are," Vader purred as Obi-Wan reached his side and the officers went back to their jobs. "You look magnificent, my love."

"Get this thing off of me," Obi-Wan replied coolly.

Vader smirked. "Gladly."

Obi-Wan glared at him. "You know what I meant."

Vader pouted lazily, yet somehow managed to make even that expression look feral and threatening. "You're no fun," he complained.

Obi-Wan's glare remained, frosty enough to drop the temperature of the room. Vader's playing pout slowly turned into a satisfied smirk. "Ah," he said. "I figured that would start to do the trick. You may need one more push, though..." He studied Obi-Wan. "And I really must figure out what to call you. You look the part, now...and we established last night that Kenobi just won't do anymore." He tilted his head. "I'll workshop that while you're away."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "Away?"

Vader waved a hand noncommittally. "Only for a couple rotations. Thrawn should be here shortly―he's on his way to the Outer Rim and can drop you somewhere. I've decided it might be...better for you to spend a couple rotations away from me, to really think things through―and then decide if you're going to commit yourself to this Fall, or if you will stay far away from me and remain a Jedi like the Light in you is trying to so desperately cling to." He checked his comlink. "Ah, yes, right on time―the Chimaera awaits your shuttle."

Obi-Wan's eyebrow crept higher. "Hold on a minute," he said. "You're...sending me away. And giving me a choice to commit myself to this Fall or inevitably die by the hand of one of your Inquisitors if I choose to remain away."

"Yes," Vader said. "Isn't that what I just said?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Why? Why are you giving me a choice? You made it pretty clear that first night that I don't have a choice in this―stand at your side or die."

Vader shrugged. "That's still pretty much your only options, but you refuse to Fall properly―if the only way to get you to finally make up your mind is to send you away, then away you will go. Now, as I said, Thrawn is waiting, and while he is a deceptively patient man, it's not wise to keep him for long. I will have a name for you when you return." He smirked sardonically. "Do you wish me to escort you to the hangar where a shuttle is waiting to take you to the Chimaera?"

Obi-Wan glared at him again. "I can find my own way." If he wishes me gone, then gone I shall be. Perhaps this time apart can give me some insight on this mess I've gotten myself into.

Without another word, without even a kiss goodbye―he didn't think he could stomach it, anyway―Obi-Wan turned on his heel and strode back out of the bridge, his feet tracing a familiar path to the hangar bay and detouring only once to retrieve something from his quarters. Once in the hangar, he did indeed find a shuttle waiting to ferry him over to Grand Admiral Thrawn's ship―technically the ship of Captain Pellaeon, but commandeered by Thrawn when the Chiss Grand Admiral was thrown into naval service. Obi-Wan had heard only stories and rumors about this legendary Chiss and the reputation he'd already built for himself―to rise through the ranks of the Empire so quickly, and as a nonhuman at that, was bound to generate a lot of stories, after all. Obi-Wan wasn't sure if he was intrigued, excited, or frightened at the prospect of meeting him.

The short shuttle trip from the Executor to the Chimaera was as uneventful as one would think, and then Obi-Wan was stepping out into the hangar of an unfamiliar Star Destroyer.

"The Grand Admiral would like to meet you before we set off," said the first officer Obi-Wan saw when he descended his shuttle's ramp.

That was remarkably fast, Obi-Wan thought. Aloud, he simply said, "Then what are you waiting for? Take me to him."

"Take me through the night!
Fall in to the dark side...
We don't need the light!
We'll live on the dark side...
I see it
Let's feel it
While we're still young and fearless
Let go of the light!
Fall in to the dark side...

Fall in to the dark side...
Give in to the dark side...
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah-ah)
Let go of the light
Fall in to the dark side..."

Grand Admiral Thrawn cut an imposing figure even when seated. It was the eyes, Obi-Wan thought, surveying the man before him; the red eyes gleamed with a sinister intelligence that suggested this man was not to be trifled with. And his Force signature―it was like probing at a wall of ice, or at least that was the impression Obi-Wan got in the few seconds he lingered by the door. Then he took a few steps farther into the room and was overcome by a strange sensation: as if someone had clamped a strong and firm hand over his mouth and nose, cutting off his air―only deeper within, suffocating the midi-chlorians in his blood and suppressing his ability to use the Force. If he hadn't known that it was wiser to make a good impression on the Grand Admiral, he might have stumbled from the abrupt void of feeling where the Force usually resided.

What sort of trickery is this? he wondered.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," Thrawn said, his voice much softer than Obi-Wan had expected, drawing his attention away from his suddenly missing Force ability. "The Negotiator. One of the best Jedi Masters to ever grace the ranks of the Order. Now reduced to little more than Darth Vader's pet." Was there disdain in his voice? In his eyes? Obi-Wan couldn't tell―he was good at reading people, but Thrawn had thrown up a perfectly constructed mask that Obi-Wan could not find a crack in. His voice was even and clear of inflection, his face steady and expression neutral, his red eyes never leaving Obi-Wan's face.

Obi-Wan reached again for the Force only to discover that suffocating feeling remained. "I am not Vader's pet," he replied coolly.

Thrawn tilted his head, almost imperceptibly. "Really? Then what are you?"

"I am on your ship because I intend to find that out," Obi-Wan answered evenly. "As I understand it, you are to drop me on a planet of my choosing deep in the Outer Rim so I can find who I am in this new order."

Thrawn studied him intently. "That is indeed my reason for having you aboard. But I do wonder why you agreed to this."

Obi-Wan tried not to let his surprise at the unexpected inquiry show. "Pardon?"

"Why," Thrawn repeated, "did you agree to this endeavor? From the rumors that have made their way to me over this past year, it seems you are still more of a Jedi than...whatever Vader intends to make you. So why, pray tell, did you agree to this―if you remain a Jedi in your heart?"

"Are you genuinely curious?" Obi-Wan fired back. "Or are you simply waiting to report back to Vader?"

Thrawn's eyes gleamed dangerously. "I report to no one."

Now that's a lie, Obi-Wan thought. He's a Grand Admiral, not a Moff, and certainly not particularly close to the Emperor. A powerful figure, yes, but still subject to some higher authority.

"Then," Obi-Wan said aloud, "I suppose I wish to find out if what you say is true―if I am still a Jedi at my core―or if I can become...something else, and live with it."

Thrawn considered him for a few moments more. "Had you answered any other way, I may have had my guards toss you out an airlock, Vader's wishes be damned," he said eventually. "There is something about you, Kenobi, that intrigues me, and I believe I would have known if you had lied."

"Something about me?" Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

"I...cannot pinpoint it," Thrawn admitted cautiously. "But something is intriguing about you, from a mere few minutes of conversation."

Is it possible he's Force-sensitive? Obi-Wan wondered to himself. I know very little about the Chiss, but I have heard rumors that the Force is strong with their species...and it would explain how he knows something is off about me. But then there is also this void in the Force...what is causing such a thing?

Thrawn almost seemed to be reading his mind. "Wondering where your Force sensitivity has disappeared to?"

Obi-Wan said nothing, just looked at the Chiss expectantly.

Thrawn chuckled, a low sound. "Well, that is concrete confirmation that it works exactly as legends say." In a single, surprisingly graceful and fluid movement, he stood and moved behind his chair, displaying the...creature that was draped over the back of it, apparently sleeping. "This, Kenobi, is a ysalamir―an intriguing creature possessing the ability to negate the effects of a Force-wielder."

Obi-Wan stepped closer to inspect the creature, wincing a little the closer he got to the negative field. It was a vaguely lizard-like thing, though draped over the chair more in the manner of a lazy tooka. It was rather flat, with yellowish-orange scales and a rather long tail that curved into a spiral around the corner of the chairback. Its feet had three blunted claws each, and its ears lay nearly flat to its head, though elevated slightly in the manner of a hunting feline. The most remarkable thing about its appearance was its two sets of eyes, both currently closed.

"Is it asleep?" Obi-Wan asked, intrigued despite the void within him where the Force was usually present.

Thrawn shrugged, a barely perceptible lift of his shoulders. "I believe it is. I have not yet studied them as thoroughly as I wish to...I have only recently inherited the Chimaera and her fleet, and there are many things I must do to ensure the allegiance of the captain and his crew..." He appeared to shake himself. "Yet even asleep, its Force-negative field is astoundingly powerful―or at least I would assume so, based on the way you winced a few moments ago."

Of course he noticed. Obi-Wan considered the sleeping ysalamir, wondering where in the galaxy Thrawn had found the thing. If these creatures had been discovered four years ago...if they'd fallen into Separatist hands...the Jedi wouldn't have stood a chance.

How long have these creatures existed in the galaxy? How many centuries were the Jedi ignorant of the existence of what could potentially be used as such a phenomenal weapon against them?

Thrawn almost seemed amused at Obi-Wan's silence, and he got the strange impression that the Chiss knew exactly what he was thinking. "It is a fascinating creature, is it not?"

"I...suppose," Obi-Wan said haltingly, unsure how Thrawn expected him to respond. "I admit I have never been the greatest with animals."

Thrawn inclined his head ever so slightly. "Then what was your strength?"

Obi-Wan considered. "I could read people. They called me the Negotiator for a reason—I was good at stalling for time, negotiating terms of surrender only to turn around and whip out my lightsaber when it became clear I had the advantage."

"How strategic of you," Thrawn observed. "You would make an excellent tactician should your...journey, shall we say...result in your deciding to remain with Vader. It would give you a purpose other than to be Vader's pet."

Obi-Wan bristled, ever so slightly. "I told you, Grand Admiral. I am not Vader's pet." He paused. "Though that might just be a role I can fulfill."

Thrawn's expression did not change. "Indeed."

Silence fell between them, a silence in which Obi-Wan studied the sleeping ysalamir again and wondered once more if it was possible Thrawn could sense so much about him because he was Force-sensitive—surely it was at least a possibility? Regardless, the Grand Admiral seemed to be reading Obi-Wan's thoughts like he was an open book—it was a little unnerving, and this, coming from the man who'd been sleeping in Darth Vader's bed for the last year, was quite the statement.

"You're not comfortable here, are you?" Thrawn asked abruptly.

Obi-Wan, caught off guard by the question, let a look of surprise show on his face. "Pardon?"

Thrawn inclined his head at Obi-Wan's tunic and the uncomfortable way he held himself. "It is rather obvious that you don't feel comfortable wearing the Imperial uniform. It almost looks as if it physically pains you to wear the tunic and the gloves, to cover the identity of the Jedi with whatever walking nightmare Vader is making you into."

"And what if it does?" What concern is it of his?

Thrawn studied him a moment more. "I suggest you spend your time in the Outer Rim looking deep within yourself, Kenobi. You may find that not everything is as you consider it to be."

Obi-Wan could sense the dismissal, and left Thrawn's office more full of questions than when he'd entered. The Force returned to him in a rush, and he reached into it to try and see if he could sense Thrawn now the he was away from the ysalamir―

And got the sense that behind those closed doors, Thrawn was laughing at his attempts when all he met was the wall of static that was the ysalamir's interference.

Obi-Wan walked away. "Where are we dropping you, sir?" asked the officer who'd led him to Thrawn's office, falling into step behind him―Obi-Wan hadn't even noticed he was there.

Captain Pellaeon, I assume, Obi-Wan thought, turning and studying the man in more detail, noting the rank marking on his chest.

He thought for a moment. Where in the galaxy am I supposed to go...?

A voice deep in his head whispered, Anywhere Vader won't find you.

"Sir?" Pellaeon repeated cautiously.

Obi-Wan fixed him with an empty stare. "Tatooine," he said. "Drop me on Tatooine."

"(D-d-darkside...)

(Dark side...)
(Dark side...)
(Dark side...)"

He changed into his old Jedi attire on his shuttle down to the planet's surface.

He wasn't exactly sorry to be off Thrawn's ship―while he hadn't had much contact with the Grand Admiral since their initial meeting, Obi-Wan was still unnerved by his mere presence. He piloted his own shuttle down to Tatooine's surface, and once he was through the atmosphere he set it to autopilot out over the Dune Sea while he changed.

Removing the Imperial tunic felt almost as wrong as putting it on, a feeling that confused Obi-Wan endlessly. His Jedi robes felt off somehow, even after only the few days in hyperspace spent wearing the Imperial attire. Yet the Imperial tunic repulsed him just as much as it had initially.

What bothered him most about his predicament was that he was angry about it.

That was the point of all this, he knew―to get him angry enough to commit himself to his Fall and harness that anger. But it still bothered him, especially when every Jedi-trained instinct was screaming at him to calm himself down and not let it overtake him.

Tricks within tricks, Obi-Wan thought as he set down the shuttle in the valley of a deep sand dune. That's all Vader and the Dark Side are.

But what, realistically, could he do? Vader had even said that he still had little real choice. Even if he stayed here, on Tatooine, or ran somewhere deeper in the galaxy, he would inevitably be tracked down. Obi-Wan knew he could hold his own against an Inquisitor, but Vader was liable to put the entire task force out to find him, and he knew he couldn't handle more than one at a time. But on the flip side, comitting himself to the Dark Side was a betrayal of everything he'd known for the past thousand years―discounting one rather short life shortly after Darth Bane's establishment of the Rule of Two, a life that had begun and ended in blood and violence, the scars of which had not faded for many centuries after. He'd been so unfailingly Light, so bound to the Jedi Order despite his many relationships with Anakin, for so long that it just seemed a part of him now, and not one that could simply be thrown away.

Obi-Wan hadn't even realized he'd begun hiking through the sand until he looked behind him to realize the ship was a good ten meters away already. He shrugged to himself and continued on―that had been his point, after all: to get so lost in his thoughts that he didn't realize how far he'd traveled.

So the question remained what to do. Obi-Wan weighed the options in his mind again. Staying meant sacrificing who he was, but running meant a death sentence. Staying meant being with Vader―but also meant he'd be looking at a face that was Anakin's but wasn't for however long they lasted. On the other hand, running meant never seeing his face again, and Obi-Wan's heart ached at the very thought. Staying meant wearing that tunic and hiding himself behind a mask―running meant hiding himself in plain sight so he wouldn't be caught and killed. Staying meant hunting down rogue Jedi and executing them―running meant being executed with them. Staying meant familiarity, and routine, even if it was all backwards, as if looking into a mirror and seeing a twisted universe on the other side―running meant struggle, a life spent moving, never in one place, with no one and nothing familiar except the lightsaber at his side.

The lightsaber. Obi-Wan looked down at where it sat against his leg, looking rather innocent clipped to his belt like it was―harmless, a decoration. Not a lethal weapon that had turned aside countless blaster bolts and sliced apart billions of battle droids, or clashed with the red blades of enemies that seemed insignificant in the face of the impossible choice before him, or fought the blade of the person Obi-Wan would give everything to save only to find that it was too late―always too late. Why can I never save him? Why must it always come to ruin?

Why isn't it ever me?

The twin suns had shifted in the sky by the time Obi-Wan was startled out of his miserable contemplation of the choices before him by the sight of a structure built into the sand. It appeared to be made of some sort of brick, or perhaps mud or clay sun-dried over centuries. It looked rather like a dewlling, a lonely moisture farm built too far from civilization to be much use, or perhaps a shelter for Tusken Raiders or Jawas during sandstorms.

However, it also looked abandoned.

Cautiously, Obi-Wan approached the entrance to find it half-buried in sand. Realizing before he even started that moving it by hand would be rather pointless, he used the Force to shift some of it out of the way so he could get in.

Sand dust stood three inches thick on every surface, and thicker on the floor, and Obi-Wan realized that this place, whatever it had once been, had been desolate for a long, long time. He peered around; it definitely looked like it had once been someone's home, and Obi-Wan wondered what had happened to them for much of the furniture to still be in place.

It seemed like longer than it was before Obi-Wan found a small room hidden in the back of the homestead, sealed off from the rest of the dwelling by a small stone staircase―and surprisingly not covered in nearly as much sand dust. Obi-Wan stepped inside and looked around; this looked like it had been someone's workshop, or maybe a garage. It put him in mind of Anakin―always fixing things, or trying to at least, and getting frustrated when he found a problem he couldn't solve.

What caught his eye, however, was the lonely brown box sitting on the worktable.

A thin layer of sand dust had settled on the table around it, but the box itself was clear of the stuff―something Obi-Wan found rather odd. It didn't look like a toolbox, exactly―too wide and too deep. But it wasn't a standard shipping crate, either. Hesitantly, Obi-Wan walked over and opened it; there was nothing inside.

"How odd," he muttered aloud.

"It's here for you," said a voice behind him, and Obi-Wan jumped.

"Oh, dear," said the voice. "Did I startle you?"

He turned around, sure his ears must be deceiving him―that voice belonged to a dead man. But unless his eyes were playing tricks on him too, there he was―Qui-Gon Jinn, glowing blue but as clear as if he'd never died.

Qui-Gon looked him over. "I take it Master Yoda never told you what had become of me."

Obi-Wan pulled his lightsaber off his belt and activated it, the blue blade springing to life with a hiss. Qui-Gon merely raised an eyebrow. "Is that any way to greet your old Master?"

"How...what..." Obi-Wan shook his head. "Must the Force be so cruel as to play this trick on me along with everything else?"

Qui-Gon raised his hands placatingly. "I am no trick, Obi-Wan. There is a way to manifest your consciousness in the Living Force after death―I would have thought Yoda taught it to you, before the end."

Obi-Wan regarded the ghost of his mentor suspiciously. "I haven't talked to Master Yoda in over a year." I don't even know if he's still alive. Last I saw him was at the Temple...just before...

Qui-Gon sighed―was it possible for a ghost to sigh? "So I've noticed. That's a far cry from the usual amount of time you spend without talking to him, though."

Obi-Wan tilted his head. Was he referring to―?

"I know of your curse, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, confirming his suspicion. "The Force yields many secrets once you surrender to it. How long have you lived this way?"

"A thousand years," Obi-Wan said. "Maybe longer. I can barely remember the earliest lives. All I know is that each of them has ended in tragedy―though never one this severe."

"You've never Fallen before?" Qui-Gon questioned.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Once, long, long ago, so long ago that it's been largely forgotten. We've both been Jedi for centuries."

"Yet you keep your memories of your previous lives?"

"After a certain point. The age we remember at has gotten lower and lower, but it is circumstantial―the age difference this time around was significantly more than it has been before, so the memories kicked in when Anakin was about fifteen―right as we both realized we'd fallen for each other again. We spent a few nights lying to the Council about being sick and having to quarantine ourselves while we tried to sort through the centuries' worth of memories...it was an odd time. The most I remember of it is confusion, intermixed with love and just―warmth."

"A warmth that has been missing for some time now," Qui-Gon guessed.

Obi-Wan nodded.

"Perhaps that's why you can't let go," Qui-Gon mused. "You're too put off by the cataclysmic difference that Anakin's Fall after centuries of being a Jedi has created."

"Perhaps..." Obi-Wan wasn't sure. "Everything's different this time. So many new variables were introduced that weren't here before. Including this." He sighed, frustrated. "What did you mean, the box is here for me?"

Qui-Gon shrugged. "It's been waiting here for a while. I'm not sure how or why―even if the Force revels secrets once you've joined it, there are some things it will not explain. This is one of them."

Obi-Wan looked at the box again. "What could I possibly use it for?"

"I don't know," Qui-Gon replied. "I expect that answer will become clearer the longer you're here." His expression softened. "Do you know which path you're going to choose?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I'm torn, Master. I am afraid of what I might become if I follow the path Vader has laid out for me...but I am equally as afraid that if I don't return, I will never get to see him again, or remember the man he used to be, the one who's been by my side all these centuries, enduring tragedy after tragedy, death after painful death, just to be with me."

"Keep in mind that you risk losing your memory of Anakin the longer you stay with Vader as well," Qui-Gon cautioned.

Obi-Wan sighed. "I know. I know." He looked up at Qui-Gon with an imploring gaze. "Why is it always him? Why is it never me? I can never save him. I have tried a thousand times. He is always the first to fall―in this case literally. Why does the Force insist on punishing me so?"

Qui-Gon laid his hand, surprisingly solid, on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "I don't know, my old Padawan. And I apologize that I can't be of more help, but I hardly understand your predicament any more than you do."

"What do you advise?" Even one last word of advice from his Master might make his decision that much easier.

Qui-Gon thought for a moment. "Listen to your heart," he said finally. "However conflicted it may be, it will give you an answer in the end. You may need to spend a rotation or two here to think about it...but it will guide you."

Obi-Wan nodded once, not sure if that was what he wanted to hear or not. "May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said. "Whatever you decide."

With that, he faded from view.


It took Obi-Wan a full rotation to make up his mind.

Things were different this time. He couldn't be sure that his inevitable death if he ran would disrupt the cycle, or if it was already disrupted by Anakin's Fall―it was a variable he couldn't predict, and didn't trust. Besides that, he couldn't just abandon the man he loved, even if he had turned into something unrecognizable.

And he was tired. Tired of dealing with the curse. Tired of being so uncertain about his own future. Tired of fighting a losing battle against Vader, and against his darker instincts.

Damn it all to hell.

Obi-Wan figured out a use for the box. He shed his Jedi cloak and tunic, folding them neatly and tucking them into the box―it was a perfect fit, as if the Force had known what he would choose long before he did. He re-donned the Imperial tunic, still uncomfortable―but this he could get used to. A life without any form of Anakin by his side...that would be much harder to endure.

Obi-Wan brought the box back up into the main living room with him―he'd cleaned most of the sand dust off enough surfaces for him to spend the night, and made a little more room now for the box on a table in the very back of the living room. Then he took his lightsaber off his belt and stared at it, long and hard.

This weapon is your life. He could build a new one; he wouldn't corrupt the crystal of the saber that had gotten him through so many years. He'd had many lightsabers over his thousand lifetimes, but this one...this one seemed different, somehow, just like the life itself. This saber had seen him through ten years of training Anakin, and three years of the most brutal war anyone had seen since the days of the Old Republic and the fall of the Sith Order. This saber had done so much that had shaped him more than any other life he'd had. He couldn't destroy it...

And so finally, he put the lightsaber gently down on top of his Jedi tunic, then pulled out the last item he'd retrieved from his and Vader's quarters before he'd left the Executor.

Vader had built a new one rather than bother to corrupt his own lightsaber's crystal, and Obi-Wan―unbeknownst to Vader―had saved the old saber. He still didn't quite know why―but looking at it, he was bombarded with memories of all the things they'd lost in the war―including each other.

Not anymore, Obi-Wan vowed to himself. We will not be lost anymore. My choice will ensure that.

I cannot lose him anymore.

Obi-Wan dropped the saber into the box next to his own and took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

This was the end of a thousand years of Jedi. This was the end of a thousand years of fighting. This was the end of who he'd been, and the beginning of something else.

The scream tore from his throat unexpectedly, a scream born of centuries of pent-up anger and agony and sorrow and fear and pain and guilt and regret, a scream that released everything he'd been feeling in the last year into the void of space and time that was the Force. The Dark Side exploded through him, siezing on the negativity he'd been harboring for what he realized now was centuries. He let it.

Somewhere far away, Vader was pleased.

Obi-Wan―that really couldn't be his name anymore, not after this―reopened his eyes and looked at the lightsabers again―one last time.

Then he closed the lid of the box, turned on his heel, and set off back across the sands to his ship.

"Take me through the night!
Fall in to the dark side...
We don't need the light!
We'll live on the dark side...
I see it
Let's feel it
While we're still young and fearless
Let go of the light!
Fall in to the dark side...

Fall in to the dark side...
Give in to the dark side...
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah-ah)
Let go of the light
Fall in to the dark side..."

Vader was waiting for him in the Executor's hangar bay.

"There you are," he purred. "I trust your time away was...enlightening?"

He thought back to the conversations he'd had with Thrawn and Qui-Gon. You may find that not everything is as you consider it to be. Listen to your heart―it will guide you. He thought of the lightsabers he'd left hidden in an abandoned homestead in the middle of the Dune Sea, and the identity along with it. He thought of the long years ahead of him kept in the embrace of the Dark Side, absent of any of the warmth that had made up his life during the Clone Wars.

"Indeed it was," he said.

Vader smiled―a wolfish, triumphant smile. A hunter's smile. "Welcome home, my love."

The Fall was complete.


Not entirely how I expected it to go, but not terrible either. I got a little scatterbrained towards the end there but I hope it turned out okay regardless...too tired to go back and fix it right now. And no, you don't get the name Vader came up with until the next oneshot―though any of you that have read this series before already know what it is. Anyway, I think that's a wrap for this one...please review!