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Title: Shadowchasing
Author: Jaxmari (imadrabloodwater@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Darth Vader, Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi
Genre: Angst, Drama, Hurt Comfort

Summary: Darth Vader hated Obi-Wan Kenobi as much as Anakin Skywalker loved him. It's occasionally hard to tell the difference, because sometimes, the Force hides rather than reveals -- until the time is right.

Disclaimer: In case it wasn't obvious, I'm not George Lucas, so I own nothing. Just playing in his sandbox until they kick me out of the playground. I make no money; this is for personal entertainment only.

Notes: This is told in a somewhat unconventional manner, and takes place during both the original and prequel trilogies. I follow movie canon primarily, so no EU material is used here.

Warnings: Anakin/Obi-Wan slash

Darth Vader did not shout, nor did he even raise his voice. Yet there was such a forceful air of menace in his tone that Tolliv took a step back. There were emotions -- raw, hot, and painful -- churning inside the pit of Vader's stomach as he leaned into the young man's face.

"What did you just say?"

Tolliv spluttered in fear, which given his history of working with slavers and pirates was a testimony to the strength of his fear. His eyes were almost unnaturally wide, and he visibly trembled. The blinds on Vader's windows rotated, and a flash of sunlight from the waning Coruscant sun spilled across Tolliv's scarred face, causing him to finally blink. He looked lost and alone in Vader's large and spartan chambers, despite his considerable frame. This pleased Vader, as it put the arrogant man in his place.

"Repeat what you said," said Vader, leaning back and using the Force to guide the man into enough calm to regain his powers of speech. Tolliv was one of the top spies working directly for the Emperor, privy to knowledge few others had. He had investigated the pilot's background at Vader's insistence and had come to deliver the information directly to Vader in the Imperial Palace.

"Th-the n-name of the p-pilot who d-destroyed the D-Death Star is L-Luke S-Skywalker."

"You are sure of that last name?" Vader asked, trying to keep the thunder out of his voice and failing.

Tolliv nodded nervously and then moved to the computer on the west wall. He popped a disk into the computer and brought up an image on the screen of a young man, with a wide, innocent smile on his tanned face. He appeared to be in his late teens, with feathery blond hair and bright blue eyes. Beside him were the unmistakable, if aged, figures of Owen and Beru Lars. "That's Skywalker with his family, from an image we found from one of his friends in Anchorhead -- a Tatooine settlement. He's the nephew of a moisture farm owner, and he -- ngk!"

Tolliv grabbed his throat as Vader squeezed it through the Force. His dark eyes bugged, and he made wretched noises until his trachea was finally crushed. He slumped to the ground gracelessly. Vader would make his apologies to the Emperor for the loss of such a competent spy later.

Instead, he stared at the screen for the longest time. He stared at every similarity and every difference that Luke Skywalker had to Anakin Skywalker. Vader felt pieces of himself that he thought long dead ache with unspeakable misery, twisting and knotting around his blackened soul like snakevine. It can't be. But it is.

"I have a son," he whispered, clenching his durasteel fist. The sound of leather tightening was audible through the audio receptors of his mask.

"Anakin Skywalker had a son. Darth Vader is childless."

Vader spun around to find Obi-Wan Kenobi sitting on the chair Vader had vacated upon Tolliv's entrance. His image was translucent and glowed blue around the edges, not entirely unlike a hologram projection. He looked young today, even younger than when they had first met, long ago; he was beardless, beautiful, and intense. He had the haircut of a Padawan Learner, but the supposed wisdom of a Jedi Master was still in his eyes.

"You hid him from me," Vader hissed, the menace in his voice enough that had anyone but Obi-Wan been before him, they would have trembled in fear. Vader suddenly wished Obi-Wan was still alive, just so he could have the pleasure of killing him again.

Obi-Wan only smiled. Ever since his death not even a year ago, Obi-Wan had plagued Vader constantly, his ghost appearing at odd intervals. He said very little, but he did not hide the fact that he was watching Vader -- often with an insufferably sorrowful expression. Some days Obi-Wan would appear before him as a wizened old man, other times as the strong man of middle age that Vader had known best. Never before had Obi-Wan appeared before him so young.

"Does he know?" Vader demanded. "Did you tell my son the truth?"

Obi-Wan's smile grew sad. "Yes, I did. I told him that his father was betrayed and murdered by a monster named Darth Vader."

Vader ignored the insult; it had no meaning to him. "He's mine. You had no right to hide him from me!"

"He belongs to his mother. I had every right to send him to the only family he had left."

Vader stood straighter, knowing intimidation and power had no use against a dead man. "He will soon return to me, now that I know. He will stand beside me, as a son should. I will tell him the truth, not the truth as you see it, old man."

"Then you would only be telling him the truth as you see it, Darth. He is strong, stronger than you ever were. You won't lure him to the dark side as easily as you were lured."

"I suppose we shall see about that. Why are you even here?"

Obi-Wan stood up, the faint blue aura surrounding his ghost pulsing like fire for just a moment. "For the same reason that I always come to watch you, Darth."

He faded away as the Coruscant sun flashed through the window's blinds again, leaving Vader alone with his impotent rage. Anger and resentment towards Obi-Wan filled him, coupled with the hatred that had long ago replaced the meaningless love Anakin had once felt for Obi-Wan.

When it came to Obi-Wan, Anakin had never done anything but chase his own shadow.

Darth Vader strode purposefully through the empty mausoleum, his steps echoing loudly in the cathedral-like hallway. In his arms were a dark brown robe and a lightsaber; he cradled the items almost affectionately as he walked.

There were many people on Naboo who questioned why a Dark Lord of the Sith visited their planet just for one particular mausoleum, but none did it aloud -- at least not anymore. Queen Apailana had, when Vader had first arrived nearly twenty years ago, demanding to know where Padmé Naberrie had been laid to rest. He answered her questions very simply: he killed one of her handmaidens and told her that his business was his own. After threatening Naboo with Imperial occupation, Apailana had finally told him where Padmé had been kept. Her mausoleum had become his possession, and Naboo was left as free as any planet could hope to be in this day and age.

It was a large building, with high, vaulted ceilings and many pillars. It was built from blue Naboo marble, swirled with crests of gold and green; glittering crystals had been embedded in artistically appropriate places. It reminded Vader of a day long ago, when he had stood upon a beautiful terrace overlooking a glittering lake, with soft skin underneath his hands, and Padmé's kiss burning into him like a heated coal. The memory brought unspeakable pain to him until he forced it from his mind, focusing on the sound of his heavy footfalls upon the tiled floor. He entered the central room, the large doors sliding open before him with a soft hiss.

The ceiling in here was made from glass, and shafts of sunlight were scattered throughout the room. Vader avoided them as though they were tangible obstacles in his path. When he reached the raised dais where Padmé's coffin stood, he rested a gloved hand on the glass surface, the durasteel thumping ungracefully. She looked as though asleep, with little white flowers set in the curls of her silky hair. Her perfect face seemed smooth and untroubled, and her delicate hands were folded over her bulging belly. The preservation systems within the coffin kept her body in the same state as it had been the moment she'd been placed in there; as long as the seals remained tight, she would never decompose.

His chest ached as it had twenty years ago when he first found her, but it the pain had become dulled. He was used to the loss, to the pain. He was used to knowing she lay in her eternal sleep, along with their unborn child, because he had put her there in his blind rage on Mustafar. If he'd had a heart left, it would have been bleeding. He stood there for what seemed like a very short eternity before he turned to the other glass coffin that lay beside her.

It was empty, but matched Padmé's almost exactly but for the fact it had been built for someone taller and wider. The preservation systems were off at the moment, and the glass hatch opened at the touch of a button. Vader had ordered it twenty years ago, to stand beside Padmé's in this mausoleum, awaiting its inhabitant.

Vader laid out the brown robe he had in his arms, smoothing it carefully on the pillowed surface inside. The stitches that had been used to piece it back together were only noticeable upon close inspection, and he was satisfied with the seamstress's work. She'd even repaired the small burn in one of the sleeves that had occurred when Vader's starfighter had been hit over the Death Star. He'd managed to limp back to an Imperial base after that attack, and had been displeased to find that the robe had been damaged. Now the robe was in perfect condition, as was the lightsaber -- a lightsaber Vader well-remembered, for it had been the one that had cost Vader three of his limbs.

He'd hoped to have a body to add, but Obi-Wan had denied him even that. Vader ground his teeth behind his mask, frustrated to have been denied even a corpse to gaze upon. It confused him to have this strange desire to see Obi-Wan again; the desire had never left him. Vader was pleased that he had finally had his revenge and killed his old master, yet...

... he missed him.

He finished smoothing out the robe, and laid the lightsaber over the center. He slammed the glass hatch down and turned on the preservation systems. He spent a long time staring at the robe and thinking of its former owner. Now everyone that he had ever loved was finally dead. He felt a strange sense of satisfaction over this, mixed with the boiling agony he could never quite escape.

For a moment, he thought he saw a ghostly blue outline of Obi-Wan standing in the corner, but when Vader turned, there was nothing there but a shaft of sunlight.

It wasn't until the last gunship passed overhead that Anakin Skywalker realized he was still alive.

He hadn't had time to think about it. The planet of Polusta had become his own personal hell, filled with fire and what seemed like a never-ending supply of battle droids. Now that it was over, catching his breath seemed the least of his concerns. Hazy memories of a hopeless battle that had started out with two Jedi and half a battalion of clone troopers with no supplies, no back-up, and limited weaponry facing an entire army of battle droids and droidekas filled his mind. They had gone into the battle thinking they would die. They had been stuck in the trenches, hopelessly outnumbered and determined to put up a good fight.

Obi-Wan had been at his back, almost perfectly in synch with him the entire battle; they'd become an impenetrable wall to which no droid stood a chance. The battle droids' line had surged and broke over them like a tidal wave, yet somehow they survived through every attack, overcoming fatigue with desperation. When they were finally ready to succumb, a miracle had happened.

The arrival of fresh clone trooper battalions had saved them, along with a force of four new Jedi. Together they'd managed to drive back the battle droids and achieve a victory. What Anakin had thought would be his doom had become his greatest victory in the entire history of the Clone Wars. He glanced at Obi-Wan with a smile on his face -- which faded away at the look on Obi-Wan's.

Obi-Wan wiped the sweat and dirt from his brow, his expression as impenetrable as a durasteel wall. Everything about him was closed off -- he was purposefully preventing Anakin from sensing any of his feelings.

"We made it, Master," said Anakin in a voice more uncertain than he cared for it to be.

"Yes, we did," answered Obi-Wan. Even his voice was devoid of feeling.

Anakin looked around. There was no one nearby; the clones had retreated back to base camp, and the other Jedi were tending to their own wounds. Only the corpses of clones and droid parts littered the battlefield. He took a step closer to Obi-Wan, putting his flesh hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder.

Obi-Wan jumped back as if burned, his expression becoming even more closed, if possible. He wouldn't meet Anakin's eyes, either.

"I meant what I said last night, Obi-Wan. About how I feel. No one has to know --"

Obi-Wan shook his head, his blue-gray eyes glittering in the distant fires that the battle had created. "No, Anakin. Forget last night ever happened. That's the way it has to be. For both of us."

He walked away then, and took a piece of Anakin's heart with him.

The movement was as fluid as water, but hot like fire. Anakin moaned softly, feeling Obi-Wan's hands on his naked thighs tighten, searing into his flesh. Obi-Wan was moving over him, fiercely squeezing Anakin's thighs as he thrust his cock between them. His heated breath wafted gently across Anakin's collarbone, but no noise came out of him. The only noise was their sweat-slick flesh sliding against each other, and Anakin's soft mewls of pleasure as Obi-Wan's flat stomach rubbed against the underside of his cock. There was nothing gentle or soft about Obi-Wan, about the feel of Obi-Wan's well-muscled back flexing underneath Anakin's fingertips, the rough brush of his bearded chin on Anakin's chest -- it made Anakin feel alive, as though every nerve-ending tingled with the sense of Obi-Wan.

"Anakin," whispered Obi-Wan, almost like the name was a prayer said to beg for forgiveness. He thrust hard, his nails digging hard into Anakin's thighs. His body shuddered, a great tremor that Anakin could feel through where he touched Obi-Wan's shoulder blades. Anakin felt warm liquid spread between his thighs, and Obi-Wan sagged against him.

Anakin bucked his hips upwards, into Obi-Wan, groaning in disappointment. Obi-Wan shifted his weight so he rolled to Anakin's side, his warm body still pressed against him. His hand drifted down to Anakin's cock, gripping it so tightly it almost hurt. Anakin didn't care, he thrust up into the callused hand and tilted his head towards Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan's leg draped between Anakin's, his hand working up and down Anakin's cock with the skill only a man could truly understand. Anakin closed his eyes, feeling Obi-Wan's warm breath on his face. He moved his face closer, sensing through the Force that Obi-Wan's lips were less than an inch away. Anakin opened his mouth slightly, closing the distance; he could feel the tickle of Obi-Wan's beard.

Obi-Wan tilted his face away from Anakin's, his hand moving with increasing speed on Anakin's cock. Anakin gave a strangled cry and came, his hips jerking upwards of their own accord as Obi-Wan smoothly finished him off and then released him. Anakin exhaled loudly, realizing he'd been holding his breath. He opened his eyes, feeling drained of more than just his semen.

Obi-Wan was already sitting up, his face unreadable in the soft blue light of Polusta's twin moons that shone through the tent flap. Anakin sat up as well, still panting. He threw his arms around Obi-Wan's shoulders. Obi-Wan turned his face, frowning. Anakin hesitated a moment, wondering why Obi-Wan seemed unhappy.

"Did I do something wrong?" asked Anakin, his hands tightening on Obi-Wan's sinewy arms.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, looking inexplicably sad. "No, Anakin. I did something wrong. I shouldn't have agreed to this," he said, moving away, trying to leave.

Anakin grabbed him, gripping his arms and dragging him back onto the bed; Obi-Wan struggled, but Anakin was stronger, more determined -- and possessed a durasteel arm. Obi-Wan went still, and Anakin leaned into his face. "You can't leave," he hissed.

Obi-Wan turned his face away. "Let me go, Anakin. This was a mistake. Perhaps the biggest mistake I ever made."

Anakin trailed his lips over Obi-Wan's beard, making the older man shudder. "What does it matter? We're going to die tomorrow," he whispered when he reached Obi-Wan's ear. He still held onto the other man, hands clenched tightly around him. The only regret Anakin had was that he was going to die without saying good-bye to Padmé. It tore at his heart that he couldn't see her or touch her one last time, but he had Obi-Wan with him, at least. The only other person he loved in the entire galaxy. Right now, he was all that Anakin had, and he wasn't going to let him go.

Obi-Wan relaxed against him after a moment, bringing a hand up to tangle in Anakin's hair. "That's the only reason, Anakin. We'll be dead soon, and none of this will matter..."

They fell silent after some time, legs tangled up in the other's, arms wrapped around each other. Anakin felt warm, complete, reinvigorated. "I love you, Obi-Wan," he whispered.

Obi-Wan never answered him.

They were going to die the next day.

Anakin stared at the battle schematics and the scout reports, feeling a pit in his stomach opening up. They were outnumbered fifty to one, and didn't have the supplies or weaponry available to make up the difference. The last battle had cleaned them out and killed half their battalion. A fresh contingent was on the way, but it would arrive a day too late. It was hopeless.

He was going to die and their communications systems had been so damaged that Anakin couldn't even have one last conversation with Padmé. He felt numb at the moment. Even after all the battles he'd seen, mortality had never weighed so heavily on his shoulders.

Anakin glanced over at Obi-Wan, who was still staring at the schematic with a heavy expression and stroking his beard. Anakin gave a humorless chuckle. "Staring at it won't change it, Master. We'll be dead by this time tomorrow."

"I know that, Anakin. We can at least put up a good fight," he said, turning off the holoprojector and standing up.

"I'm not afraid of dying," said Anakin, though he knew he was lying.

"No Jedi should fear, especially death. I cannot say that I want to die, but I do not fear it."

Anakin glanced up at Obi-Wan, wondering if he was lying, too, but it was difficult to tell. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to my tent. I'll meditate and then get some sleep. I suggest you do the same. Good night." Obi-Wan opened the tent flap and left Anakin sitting alone.

Anakin returned to his own tent, but he could not meditate; he was far too agitated. He thought of Padmé, but all that did was make him angry. It wasn't fair that he should die without ever seeing her again. He was going to die alone, with no one to hold him, no one to touch him, no one to want him. There were three people in the galaxy that he had ever loved: his mother, Padmé, and Obi-Wan. His mother was dead, and her death still ate him, along with the burning memories of avenging her death. Padmé was lost to him now, lost to life, as he would soon be lost to death. Obi-Wan was... Obi-Wan was there, though -- with him.

Anakin left his tent, the darkness of their camp not impeding his senses as he was guided to Obi-Wan's tent through the Force. He rapped on the canvas, feeling anxious desires and desperation clawing at his insides. Obi-Wan opened his tent flap, staring at Anakin blearily. He smelled of alcohol and wore nothing but his trousers.

"Were you meditating on existentialism with the aid of veniceran whiskey, Master?" asked Anakin.

Obi-Wan looked annoyed, but opened the tent flap wide enough for Anakin to squeeze through. The inside of Obi-Wan's tent was painfully neat and organized, but an empty bottle of veniceran whiskey lay on the ground. Anakin stared at Obi-Wan in surprise. "You drank that whole bottle?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "If I had, Anakin, I wouldn't be standing upright. I meant to have a drink, but instead spilled all of it on my clothes. Apparently, I can't even get drunk on my last night alive," he said. Anakin glanced down at Obi-Wan's trousers, which were indeed sporting the blue stains of the strong-smelling liquid. He saw Obi-Wan's tunic lying on one of the fold-up chairs, completely soaked.

"You could always squeeze your tunic out into a glass," Anakin suggested.

"Ha ha," said Obi-Wan in an unconvincing tone. He sat down on his cot, frowning at the stains on his knee. It occurred to Anakin that Obi-Wan was not a clumsy man; he must have been extremely preoccupied to spill his whiskey.

"I don't want to die alone, Master," Anakin blurted out, unable to stop himself.

"Obi-Wan. I've been telling you this since you made a Jedi Knight last month. My name is Obi-Wan." He looked tired and was rubbing his temples. He was a handsome man, even after all these years. The corded muscles of his back and shoulder stretched as he moved. Anakin wondered if it would be strange to touch him, but suspected it would be as natural as touching Padmé had been.

Anakin loved him, had always loved him, no matter how frustrated Obi-Wan had made him. He wasn't supposed to love anyone, but he couldn't stop himself from doing so. Sometimes he dreamt of Obi-Wan, and sometimes those dreams involved things no Padawan should have ever dreamed about their Master. Years ago, before Padmé had re-entered his life, Anakin had once tried to kiss him. Obi-Wan had pushed him away, telling Anakin to control himself. He had seemed neither angry or pleased, only merely interested in making sure Anakin never did it again. Anakin wondered how Obi-Wan would react now, when faced with inescapable death the next day.

"Obi-Wan." The name tasted odd in his mouth.

Obi-Wan looked up at him and smiled. He stood up, and gripped Anakin's shoulder. "We have to let our fears pass through us, Anakin. We can't let it conquer us, or we will be defeated before the battle even begins."

Anakin reached up with his durasteel arm and gripped Obi-Wan's hand gently, before taking it off his shoulder and using it to tug the older man forward. Obi-Wan's blue-gray eyes widened in surprise, but he did not struggle -- he did seem wary though, as if he was fighting some internal war. His eyes had always reminded Anakin of a Tatooine twilight -- peaceful, yet filled with promises of danger in the night. Obi-Wan's chest was pressed against him, rising and falling heavily; Anakin put his durasteel hand on the small of Obi-Wan's back, keeping him from escaping.

"Help me, then. Help me let fear pass through me," Anakin whispered, bending down and stealing the kiss he'd been denied five years ago. The brush of Obi-Wan's beard scratched against Anakin's chin, but it didn't matter because Obi-Wan's lips were soft and moving against Anakin's after some hesitation.

The sensation of Obi-Wan's strong arms wrapping around his waist, and of falling backwards onto the cot created a warm thrill in Anakin's chest -- not to mention other areas of his body. This was different from anything he'd ever had with Padmé, and that's how he expected it to be. Padmé brought him peace, but Obi-Wan made him feel alive.

The irony of feeling so alive on the eve before what Anakin thought was going to be his death was not lost on him.

He was dead, yet had never felt more alive.

Anakin couldn't immediately discern where he was, not until he realized this wasn't a where. It wasn't a when. It was the Force. It surrounded him, binding him together with existence in all its phases. It was energy and nothingness, love and hate, passion and peace, life and death, light and dark. He opened his eyes, though he had no eyes left to see.

Yet, he could see. He could hear. He could taste. He could touch. He could smell. Most importantly, he could sense things he never sensed before. All the hatred that had once possessed him was gone, replaced by love.

Obi-Wan stood before him, his face appearing neither old nor young. The body that Anakin perceived was a reflection of being, but in no way physical. This was Obi-Wan, without the flesh, his emotions radiating love and relief. Anakin could feel absolution wash over him like warm water being poured on his back. Behind Obi-Wan stood many other Jedi -- Master Jinn, Master Yoda, Master Windu... in the distance, Anakin even saw Padmé and his mother, waiting for him and emanating love and forgiveness.

"I thought you didn't love me," Anakin said to Obi-Wan, speaking without a voice.

Obi-Wan smiled, even though there was no flesh; it was that same insufferable, sly smile he always had in life. "I've always loved you, Anakin -- even more than you loved me. But I was your Master, and you were my Padawan -- and we were Jedi. We were not supposed to love like that. I thought it was best to ignore those feelings while we were alive. I thought they would only destroy us."

Remembering similar thoughts expressed by Padmé to him long ago, and how right she had been, Anakin finally understood why Obi-Wan had always pushed him away before. "It's all right to love here, then?" asked Anakin.

"You wouldn't be here if you couldn't love, Anakin." Obi-Wan was silent for a moment before he spoke again. "You know, I didn't think there was any hope for you after Mustafar. I am sorry that I was so blind."

Anakin embraced Obi-Wan -- an embrace of emotion and purity, not of flesh and movement. "I didn't think there was any hope left for me, either, old friend. Luke -- it was Luke who gave me hope. Who showed me the way."

There were tears, but they were the release of old pain and regret, not of water and salt. "Sometimes the Force hides, rather than reveals -- until the time is right," said Obi-Wan. "Come, they're all waiting for you, Anakin."

Anakin and Obi-Wan moved forward, standing together and united, to join the company of those that loved them.

End.

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