There was a mistake in the earlier chapter. It didn't include the end paragraph, which I am pasting here so you do not have to go back to re-read:
"Obi-Wan is near-gone now, sound fading from his ears. With the last of his strength, he reaches out to Anakin, shoving along a memory, a memory of Anakin as a small boy clinging to him in fear of his first rainstorm. The child of the desert had never seen rain before, nor had he heard the ominous crackle of thunder, or witnessed the flashes of brilliant fire cracking the sky. Obi-Wan had not thought to prepare him to see such a sight and had instead woken confused to a small boy diving scared into his arms, convinced they were under attack.
He had loved Qui-Gon in the deep and reverent way that an apprentice loves his master, but the depth of feeling that had washed over him as Anakin had buried his face into Obi-Wan's chest had taken him by surprise. He had known then that he had lost his heart.
And that simple fact had terrified him. He had hidden his attachment, denied it, ignored it, but still it had remained. And now, freely he shares it, so that, perhaps, perhaps, in his last act, Anakin Skywalker will know that he was loved.
Anakin is holding him, and then suddenly, he is not. There are shouts from angered voices, and the sound of blaster fire, words spoken just beyond his hearing, and then, he feels flesh hands take hold of him.
Then everything goes dark."
Obi-Wan fades as the memory fills Anakin's heart with a heart-breaking, breathtaking warmth.
Vader's chest burns, his vision tinging gray. Even still he holds shut the wounds. The Alderaanians charge the hallway, blasters blazing. With little thought, he holds out his hand and deflects them, bending them into the walls and leaving blackened scorch marks.
"Help…him…" He rasps, gesturing toward the dying man.
It takes a moment, but the reality of the situation seems to at last register as a group of medics steel their courage and charge forward as Anakin allows them near and slumps against the nearby wall. His heartbeat grows loud in his ears, as the medics forget his presence and turn their backs to him, frantically buzzing around Obi-Wan's broken body.
No one seems to be paying him any attention as the edges of his vision tint black. His chest burns horribly. But he is used to the pain. This is nothing. He is growing faint, and, after a few moments, he finds his back sliding to the floor. He is too weak to even right himself.
The next thing he knows, there is a figure with dark hair towering over him, they are saying words he can barely hear, and then, abruptly, they turn and rush away.
As he continues to choke and cough, he becomes aware that the figure has returned, its shape looming over his. As cautiously as a man taming a wolf, the figure kneels down to him and slowly presses a mask to Anakin's face. Blessed oxygen rushes through it. And as his thoughts begin to clear, Anakin realizes that it is the shape of Bail Organa that fills his vision. The man regards him for a moment, looking down at his slumped body with an inscrutable expression. Anakin's eyes widen as he looks up at the Viceroy with shock.
"You are of no use to us dead." The Viceroy says coldly. It is a callous explanation, but an honest one all the same.
Moments later, an unresisting Anakin is dragged back into his prison cell, the door sealing shut behind him. He does not need to see to know what transpires beyond the sealed doorway. He feels as his Master clings to life, suddenly ardent as Anakin's soul howls for him. The bed and furniture of his cell begin to shudder as his grief electrifies the air around him. Suddenly, he is a teenager again, holding his mother's shattered body. Then, he had gone on a rampage of destruction, the gale of which had blotted an entire village from existence. But now, now, there are none on whom that destruction can be turned.
The only being on whom his anger can be turned is himself.
He murdered the Jedi. Created the Empire. Trained its Inquisitors to erase the Jedi from the Universe. He had all but forged the saber that pierced Obi-Wan and guided the hand that had wielded it. He is to blame. Only him. An impulse overtakes him as he is filled with the desire to tear the oxygen from his face and let himself suffocate. It is only the way he still senses Obi-Wan's subconscious reaching out for him that stays his hand. No. He will not make him suffer such a senseless loss, especially not when his Master's blood is not yet dried upon his hands.
His heart shatters to recall the memory shared so intimately in the Jedi's dying moments. Obi-Wan had not lied. He had loved him. He still loves him. In ways and depths that not even Anakin had fathomed. It is stronger, fiercer even, than Anakin's own love for his unborn children. The love that had driven him into the service of his odious master.
Suddenly, he understands. He understands why Obi-Wan could not kill him. Frozen with horror and love and despair, the Jedi had looked upon his burning body and had been unable to take his life. He simply could not do it. Had not wanted to do it. Had only swung his blade in pure defensive instinct.
Obi-Wan had not meant to hurt him.
The prosthetics ache at the thought, as does the fishhook of his Sith Master. Sidious senses the fury flowing from Anakin, he is sure of it. He is sure the rage flows through all the galaxies. He knows he cannot hide. The Emperor will send more, if not that, he will come himself.
If he stays here, Palpatine will slaughter the Alderaanians, and with them his precious daughter. And the elder Sith will be sure to make him watch as the light leaves her eyes.
And Luke…poor Luke…even if his father is strong enough to protect the knowledge of his existence from the Emperor ripping through his mind, the boy will grieve all his days for the father who never returned. No one will be left to tell the boy any different.
It is at this moment that the broken Padawan retreats deep inside him, his posture suddenly assuming its normal rigidity as he steels himself for the ensuing squall. As the room vibrates with the emotions bursting across the Force, an older, wiser, part of his mind steps into the light, a part that even he had not realized was there. The wizened voice quiets his outrage and begins to whisper of a plan, a terrible, brutal, but necessary scheme.
As time ticks by, outrage settles in Anakin's heart, hardening into a deadly blade as his plans take shape within his mind. Some time later, Organa bursts through the door of his prison, demanding an explanation of what had transpired in the hallway beyond.
Anakin answers no such question. Instead, he responds with a demand of his own.
"I will tell you nothing until I have seen Kenobi. I know that he lives. I know he is resting. You will take me to him at once."
Vader is surprised by how easily the mercurial aristocrat acquiesces. Perhaps it is because the man has finally realized that Vader has only asked out of bare courtesy; it should now be abundantly clear that, had Vader so desired, he could have escaped Organa's prison room at any time in the previous days.
Minutes later, Vader finds himself at the foot of Kenobi's bed as medical personnel buzz nervously around him and file hesitantly out the door. Organa peacefully allowing the request is a miracle Anakin does not question. On impulse, he reaches up and removes the helm, it has already been depressurized anyway, so what does it matter? Obi-Wan deserves the courage of his human face, no matter how much he wants to go cringing back into the black shell.
He knows Obi-Wan hates the cold black armor, and he will show him his natural visage, even if he only knows it with unseeing sight.
With sudden solemnity, Anakin kneels stiffly on one knee beside the wretched bed. His arm reflexively presses across his chest in a gesture of fealty as his head bows low. After a moment of thought, he switches off the vocoder, allowing his weak, natural voice to scrape its way from his ruined voicebox.
"Master?" He dares to whisper, the word thrumming with unfamiliar warmth. How many times has he assumed this pose? Re-affirmed his loyalty to an unworthy man who never loved him? Obi-Wan had never asked him to kneel. And by that very fact, he was the only one who was worthy.
In and out. In and out. The machine pumps onward.
He isn't sure what he expects. A word? A touch? An assurance that Obi-Wan understands and forgives him? Silence stretches on as he kneels. He is sure Organa watches him through hidden cameras, he is sure he does not care. This is for no one's benefit except his own.
There is no response, so he takes the limp hand and presses it to his bare cheek so that the Jedi might feel warm flesh instead of cold metal fingers.
"I will make this right, Obi-Wan. I will. I swear it."
There is no reaction. The Force is quiet inside of Obi-Wan. Silent. Unlike Anakin, the Force had not chosen the old Jedi. And yet, Obi-Wan...Obi-Wan has surpassed him, beaten him even. It strikes him then the sheer amount of will through which the Jedi has become who and what he is. And somehow, Anakin loves him all the more for his lack of natural power. He is so much more than a simple, brute conduit like Anakin. The Force may not have chosen him, but Obi-Wan has continuously and repeatedly chosen it.
His metal fingers extend and ghost over the face aged prematurely beneath the fury of the twin suns and his heart aches.
After a moment, he rises to his feet. It is time to face the Viceroy, and make him see reason, so that he might make one final stand, one last effort to protect his children—
I am still here, Anakin...
He whirls. His freshly healed wounds aching at the sudden action. The Jedi's eyes are closed, but his mind stirs with awareness.
...Why do you cry?...
Has he been crying? He hasn't been able to... Not since—his fingers come to touch his own cheek, and the muted feedback sensors tell him there is something slick on his pale skin.
Rest, Master. Just rest.
His throat feels even tighter than normal, raw, as he swallows down the sudden desire to beg the Jedi for absolution. To share with him a thousand memories of suffering and anguish and plead with him to remember him as the flaming youth he once was, not as the shriveled creature he has become.
Your thoughts betray you, Anakin. Do you take me for a fool? Your death will not solve this.
He starts and then curses himself for allowing such thoughts to slip through.
I cannot stop him, Obi-Wan. He will come for you. For Leia. For Luke. He will tear through my mind and rip it out until there is nothing left.
Obi-Wan rouses gradually. There are words being spoken by a voice that is harsh and embrittled by abuse.
"Master..." He hears that word like a celestial choir in his head.
It has been many years since he was anyone's master. He recognizes a presence beside him, both familiar and strange. Old and new all at once. The air buzzes with electricity like the forging of some new Force bond, or the repairing of one long torn and tattered.
He feels numb. There is an odd whooshing noise in his ear. There had been something of great importance occupying his mind, but for all the world, he can no longer remember what that might have been. His body feels distant, and yet, his limp hand moves as if pulled by an invisible string. It takes him a moment to realize his palm has been lifted and cradled gently against something soft and warm, mottled and wet.
There are more words...distant and yet near.
...Anakin!
He struggles to the surface of his mind, suddenly realizing that it is Anakin who holds his palm so tenderly. Whose ruined throat speaks to him with such warmth and sorrow, the air throbbing with his grief. After a moment, his palm is moved from where it had cupped what could only have been Anakin's melted cheekbone. His own limp palm is laid softly in the bed beside him as his Apprentice turns to leave him.
I have not left you, Padawan...I am here! Even sending such a thought along their bond is taxing. It takes him a moment before he manages to convey the same to Anakin.
Even as the Force rings with Anakin's surprise at hearing Obi-Wan's voice across their bond, sensation returns to the Jedi's extremities as he realizes that his fingertips are damp with something warm and wet. Teardrops, he thinks distantly... Anakin? Was Anakin grieving him...? Weeping over him?
And then he feels something shudder across Anakin's mind, an image of a dark figure, twisted and grotesque, with forks of sharp lightning spewing from its fingertips. Resignation. Horror. Fathomless grief and regret. And a warm fondness at the thought of death.
Suddenly, Obi-Wan understands, as his own indignation brings him fully around to consciousness. No! He has not risked too much to let his foolish Padawan throw it away! Luke and Leia need him. Even if they do not yet know it.
Your thoughts betray you, Anakin. Do you take me for a fool? Your death will not solve this.
Anakin says his Sith Master will tear his mind apart. Unfortunately, Obi-Wan must ruefully admit that he is likely correct; now that the Inquisitors have found them, the Emperor will come to Alderaan, and when he finds Anakin, he will do his absolute worst. One thing can be said for Palpatine: he is more than willing to do things for himself. Whether or not Anakin will be able to keep safe the knowledge of his children while being excoriated by his Master is far from certain.
He understands Anakin's terror. And he shares in it. But there is no time to dwell on fear.
Have faith, Anakin...just as I have had faith in you. You are...my Padawan...Anakin Skywalker. If anyone has a prayer of escaping Darth Sidious... it is you.
There is a sardonic snorting sound that could only be a huff of contempt.
I am no longer worthy of that title. I am no longer worthy of that name.
With great effort, Obi-Wan forces open his eyes, settling his blurry gaze on the black shape before the foot of his bed. As he fixes Anakin with the hardest stare he can muster, something inside him rejoices to see that Anakin has removed the black helm and stands before him bare-faced, blue eyes meeting blue.
You have not fully healed, and yet still, you risked yourself by coming to my aid tonight. You saved me, Anakin! You saved me when letting me die would have been so much easier...You may not deem yourself worthy, but, somewhere deep down...you are still Anakin Skywalker.
The blurry black shape makes a noise that might have been a sob, its head bowing as if burdened and ashamed.
We will protect them, Luke and Leia. We'll find...a way...I promise...
The numbness of the sedatives in his system is overwhelming him now, and he finds himself sliding back into the dark, his eyes falling shut as he feels Anakin brushing over his Force signature as if metaphorically squeezing his hand.
Sleep, Master...dream of your hopeful delusions. In the meantime, I will do what I must.
And then, nothingness.
When Anakin and the Viceroy reconvene their conversation in the interrogation chamber, Organa's face is grim and drawn. To Anakin's shock and tender grief, he realizes a sobbing Leia has come along with him, hiding behind the Viceroy's back. Anakin wishes he could comfort her, but instead, she buries her face into the expensive fabric of her adopted parent's attire, unaware of, and uninterested in, her blood father.
According to Organa, Leia's little escapade had resulted in the inadvertent disconnection of the alarm system. It had allowed the Inquisitors to continue their murder of Kenobi without interference. For a moment, an odd impulse overtakes him to simultaneously rage at her and comfort her. Instead, he says nothing, numbed with grief, fear, and love flexing like a long-disused muscle.
Organa drones on, but he is not listening. Abruptly, he interrupts, certain of the Viceroy's irrelevance.
"The Emperor knows I am here. You must make a public statement that I attempted to seize control of your forces and declare me a traitor to the Empire."
The man's voice grinds to a halt, his face working with offended spasms that could only be the result of a lifetime of being surrounded by royal sycophants. Good. At least it caught the man's attention.
"What did you say?!"
"You must turn me over to him. He knows I am here, Viceroy. Before they...departed," he says delicately, ever-mindful of Leia's ears, "the Inquisitors confessed to having left word. If you do not preempt his arrival, he will come for me, and when he does, he will kill all of you, including your—" he chokes on the possessive word and hesitates, "—your daughter. If you make a public statement now, he may discern the truth, but he will not dare to fan the flames of the Rebellion by retaliating against you. "
He finds Bail's eyes from behind the HUD and sees the fear that dances over them at the mention of Leia and how his gaze darts with worry to the small child hidden behind him. For her part, the little girl seems not to have heard him, only burying her face deeper into Bail's back.
The dragon inside of Vader roars in anger to see her cling to him so ardently, but even so, he quells the bestial impulse. He had thought such impulses might save Padmé, but he had been deceived. He will not make that mistake a second time.
The Viceroy's eyes narrow as they meet his reptilian stare. "And why would I trust you?"
"Do you think me a man who makes requests, Viceroy?" He snaps, suddenly drawing himself up to the full monstrous height granted by the prosthetics. "Had I wished to betray you, you could not have stopped me. Either acquiesce and save the ones you love, or let their deaths be on your head!"
"If you are truly intent on helping us, why not kill the Emperor yourself?" Organa challenges angrily, pressing Leia closer even as he visibly forces himself not to retreat from the dark behemoth before him.
Anakin gnashes his teeth, snarling behind the oxygen mask as outrage bubbles inside his throat. If only he knew…if only he knew…! The pain, the suffering, the sheer sadistic brutality! Humiliation upon humiliation. Blackness stretching on into eternity.
"What do you want to hear, your royal highness?" He snarls, but instantly regrets it as he sees Leia flinch.
Her sobs die down as she tenses and suddenly seems to become aware of the conversation around her. It is in this moment that he sees the ingeniousness of Organa's decision to bring the child; he had hoped to tame the beast with the presence of its young, and to his own begrudging admission, Vader is forced to acknowledge that the gamble was correct.
He tries again, this time in a softer voice—if, indeed, the unnatural vocoder can be soft.
"You are an idiot. Deceived like all the rest. You think him a weak old man? Then you are a fool. He is hardly human...A Sith to rival them all. I am…" He hesitates, his posture softening even as indignation rolls across his tongue. "I am not strong enough…Is that what you wanted me to say? You have seen my body, have you not? The scars of lightning carved across my flesh? He did that. He locked me in this living prison, this iron maiden that tortures me day and night—!" Even the vocoder breaks as a sob fractures his voice.
The action aggravates his throat, and, much to his humiliation, he begins to cough, his chest still aching from before. He coughs so fiercely that he doubles over, his face burning with outrage at his body's betrayal.
As the respirator regulates his breathing, he hears a voice close to his ear and freezes as a small hand rests its weight on his shoulder.
"Are you alright, Anakin?"
"Leia—!" Bail exclaims, grabbing for her hand.
"You do not…" he gasps, "...need to pretend… little one…you know who I am…what I am."
"I'm not scared, even when you look like Darth Vader," Leia argues, even as her adopted father pulls her away.
He does not answer her, instead, he marvels at the little girl, his gaze fixing on her as he breathes in rhythm with the respirator. She looks so much like Padmé. But she acts so much like him. Like him when he was young and innocent.
As he at last straightens himself, he elects to turn his mind to more pressing matters and to pursue a different tact than intimidation.
"Do you understand now, Viceroy? Do you think I like living as I do? That I would have chosen this? I joined him as a free man, and he put me back into chains. I deserve this, but I did not choose it. He promised to save my wife, Organa. What would you not do for your wife? Or your child?"
The last word was stated with pointed intention, his voice hardened by the vocoder's fury. At the mention of Anakin's late wife, shock plays across Bail's features, his eyes darting to Leia's confused, tear-stained face. At least now she is no longer crying, too engrossed in attempting to decipher the adults' double-speak of which she is aware but does not yet understand.
"Please, Viceroy. Listen to me." He is imploring him now, begging him for reasons he does not fully understand. "'As a wise Senator once observed, 'sometimes there are things no one can fix,' and neither of us can fix this, Bail. You must do as I tell you. It is the only way!"
Bail stares at him. His features are inscrutable as Leia glances between the two men, sensing that something poignant has just transpired.
"Alright, Lord Vader, I make no promises, but I am listening." The Viceroy says at last. Anakin winces at the title but does not correct him. "How do you propose we proceed?"
So, how'd I do? What do you want to see next?