Archive of Our Own ^beta

step into the unknown, learn of the untold, and breathe it all anew

Entering the store, the wind chimes hanging on the door let out a melodic jangle, welcoming Anakin as much as it alerted the store assistant of his presence. 

That was the first thing to greet him.

The second was the soft, alluring scent that clung to the front room of the store in snatches, a distinct flowery perfume that mingled itself amongst the shelves stretched along the walls and the racks and tables that occupied the central area.

The third was a vibrant, rhapsodic, beloved voice.

“Welcome to our humble store! Please wait just a moment, dear customer!”

Though muffled from being obstructed by the tall, railed stands that were loaded up with textiles in the far corner of the store’s interior, Anakin’s entire focus narrowed and shifted until it was centered on that voice. It was a voice that swept over Anakin like a spring breeze, stirring up the fallen leaves that littered his heart into a disarray, so soothing and pleasant to the ears that it stole his breath and had his heart racing. Even when lacking the Coruscanti accent he was so used to hearing, Anakin knew that voice better than his own and considered it the most beautiful sound in existence.

(Beautiful when it was twisted in agony but lacked any hate beneath the heartbreak. Beautiful when it haunted him in his nightmares and begged him to come back. Beautiful when it belonged to a ghost wishing him farewell despite how much he rebelled that there would be no farewells between them.)

Instinctively, helplessly, Anakin was drawn towards that voice. To the person it belonged to and the brilliance that was the person.

From behind tinted lenses, Vader stared down at the boneless, headless heap of Palpatine’s corpse spread out before him at his feet.

I was blind and conceited to think that you would be the answer for all that I’ve lost.

Like a game of wit, a strategy of war, it had all played out well for the mastermind behind the moves while the pawn remained ignorant of its role and authority the entire time.

The pawn thought that by forsaking one master for the gain of another one, a more powerful one, he would never be rejected or underestimated ever again. He would learn how to access his full potential in the Force, harness it in ways that would make him legendary, for he would be unstoppable, invincible.

But he was so, so wrong.

And it had taken the loss of his one true master for him to realize this too little, too late. 

Obi-Wan, I’m so sorry.

The comprehension of it all, of the wretchedness that had skewed his judgment, his sight, had finally unveiled the stone-cold truth to him: that the terribleness he had wrought by his own hands under the poisonous influence of his fake master had—corroded, shattered, ravaged—destroyed his life. Made his life worthless, hollow.

And who was to blame here? In one perspective, Vader was the victim, the stubborn fool who had gotten duped by a reprehensible being in his bid for power and dominance. Vader had been groomed from the very start to Fall, no more than a mindless puppet whose strings were pulled so that he would throw himself at the feet of the very man who had orchestrated the extinction of what made him whole and pure.

Yet, it was also Vader who embraced his selfishness and rejected his weaknesses. He continued to go down the dark path because he chose to, despite all the signs his subconsciousness gave him—the bitter taste of addressing Palpatine as his master, the flashes of defiance at a command, the whispers of uncertainty that tried to turn him elsewhere. It was his own intractability that shielded him from what was trying to save him, from the truth that was so apparent, so indubitable. 

When Padmé died, he blamed Obi-Wan. When Obi-Wan died, he blamed Yoda. It was a perpetuating cycle of hate and grief, one that he was unerringly punished for.

Vader had been reduced to this: a being that was more cyborg than he was a man. Deformed. Scarred. Beyond saving.

Yet not so. Not entirely.

If Obi-Wan was his anchor, then Luke was his beacon.

It was the most hazardous and arduous trial of his life, but Vader was nothing if not obstinate. He had sailed bravely through dark, turbulent waters in his endeavor to follow that blessedly bright beacon that shone through the grim cover of clouds. In the end, he was rewarded for his perseverance, for he had arrived at safe, familiar shores, and it was there where he was moored by his anchor, secured to that beautiful harbor bathed in light and warmth.

But that wasn’t his home. If anything, it was the gate to the life he was meant to have. 

Vader powered down his red lightsaber and clipped it to his belt when tentative footsteps approached him on his right.

Nothing could describe how grateful he had felt when his son, so brave and noble, had agreed to work with him, to become allies with the phantom of his father, a monster, for the sake of peace and prosperity.

Luke had done well in the fight against Sidious, had heeded Vader’s advice on how to match him so they could bring down the Sith Lord together as a solid unit. Obi-Wan would’ve been proud.

“So, what happens now?” Luke asked as he peered up at his father’s horrible mask, his eyes so very blue, like the azure skies over Cerea. It was a small but reassuring consolation that the color of what his eyes used to be was not lost for good.

Everyone he had ever loved—Mom, Padmé, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka—had cherished his eyes.

He should’ve cherished them too.

“You will have your peace, my son,” Vader—no, Anakin—said. He reached out to rest his gloved cybernetic hand gently atop Luke’s blond head.

“What about you, Father?”

“…And I will go find mine.”

There was some awkward maneuvering of someone holding more things than he could and was fumbling around to rid himself of the burden. This person was also running his mouth throughout it all. “Sorry for the delay, but I have my hands full with all these bolts of fabric I need to put up. I hope you don’t mind—”

The store was in a state of clutter, a glorified storehouse at its core, but Anakin’s feet moved as if on auto-pilot, his internal navigation system guiding him to his destination with undeviating certainty.

“…do take a look at our materials while you wait. We have a sizeable selection of—” 

Behind a rack containing rolls of patterned terrycloth, Anakin spied a silhouette flitting back and forth, everything but a head of golden-red hair obscured by the long reels cradled against a chest. The lovely nectarous scent was stronger here, potent enough that it stopped Anakin in his tracks for a heartbeat, throwing him off-kilter. 

“Well, unless it’s a fitting or mending you need, then could you be patient for a little while—ah!” 

A dangling strip of flannel trailing across the floor was all that was needed to cause a misstep, an accident. Foot slipping, the assistant yelped when he bumped into the nearest rack, rattling it on its legs. The man clumsily rebounded backwards, the items in his arms scattering free from his hold, and he would’ve tumbled onto the floor if not for the strong arm that suddenly caught him by the waist. Reflexively, his eyes were squeezed shut, expecting for a mini avalanche of bundles to bury him, but…

That avalanche never came.

The blue eyes Anakin had missed and coveted for longer than however many years he had had them all for himself flew open and then grew wide with wondrous disbelief. Long, rectangular bolts were suspended midair just mere inches from their persons as if time had stopped. 

“Are you alright?”

Those exquisite blue eyes flickered over to Anakin—well, flickered up, for the stark difference in their heights. This close, Anakin could see tints of gray in those eyes, which stood out more when directly struck by light, casting a glint like that of a polished blade.

Anakin received a breathless stutter of affirmation. It took him a long moment to gather his focus, too enraptured by the mesmerizing expression before him—the unguarded stare, the parted lips, the lack of enmity. Once he did, though, he gave the waist in his hold a gentle squeeze, murmured, “Keep still,” and then motioned with his outstretched hand. At his command, the floating mess around them began to sort itself out, the textiles returning to their original places, and that earned a gasp of astonishment at the demonstration. 

“There, all done,” Anakin declared, satisfied, before releasing the other man, who seemed so small and delicate when pressed up against his broader build, with a hint of reluctance. Like a parting present, Anakin’s clothes now had a lingering sweet fragrance to them, but considering how the smell was transferred, that meant his own scent had drifted onto the other as well.

And what a perfect blend of two scents it was, one that bespoke the complementary affinity between an alpha and an omega. Of Anakin and Obi-Wan.

Like with most novel experiences, it was an accident as much as it was a miracle. 

Bending the Force to his will had always been like a reflex to Anakin, regardless if his control had any finesse or not. With the magnitude of his Force presence, he could draw Force-Sensitives towards him like a moth to a flame, and for those who had weak mental shields, they would be inadvertently influenced by the tides of his emotions—to be pushed away by ire or pulled in by elation.

The point was, he had never tested the limits to his capabilities before, not to this extent at least. And it never occurred to him to think about the theories or consequences of what he did, only that he had no other choice after years of extensive searching. No other choice when his time was running out, as evident by the deteriorating state of his body. 

If someone were to call him reckless, or desperate, or countless other demeaning things, Anakin would laugh at them, for he was all that and more, a madman who, at the time of his redemption, regained very little in the face of all that he had lost.

After all, it took being a madman to throw all caution to the wind and break every rule of nature there was to do what he wanted.

To find Obi-Wan.

And that was the very last conscious thought Anakin had before he was ripped free from the cosmos. Everything that followed after was a disjointed blur of sensations and perhaps delusions. It was a jarring expulsion—the severance of one’s mind and soul from the body—that caused all his senses to white out. At some point, his consciousness resurfaced, but it would constantly dip in and out of nothingness between moments of nauseating movements where time either sped up or slowed down for him. 

A fast downward spiral. Blankness. Gentle swooshing to and fro. Stillness. Explosive scattering that ended in a torpid coalescence. Inertness.

Yet Anakin could only half-remember these sensations—vestiges that came to him as muddled flashes in the aftermath. The thrill that had rushed through his Force energy, causing it to vibrate and condense and warp like sound waves on a graph. The airiness that had lifted and carried his metaphysical form away through the ether as if he was a delicate little butterfly soaring wherever the currents took him. The bedlam that had roared in his consciousness as words and meanings and images all burst into fragments and then were funneled into a single chaotic storm, leaving no distinction to what remained of letters, colors, or lines.

Direction, purpose, feelings—he knew nothing of these when traveling through space and time as part of the Force.

Not until there was a yank, a push, a snap.

Just a tiny whiff of their combined scents had Anakin chiding himself for taking suppressants. If he hadn’t, he could’ve released more of his pheromones to envelop Obi-Wan in a veil of it, something his inner alpha wanted to do so very much to satiate its possessive cravings. 

But Anakin was thinking more like the respectful person he was striving to be and not like the territorial alpha he actually was deep inside. The suppressants were a precautionary measure so that Anakin would not intimidate or offend Obi-Wan by an alpha’s stench as some omegas would describe it.

Because Anakin had to approach his intended mate with care, or else he would be forced to fall back on more…unsavory methods.

Take now, for example. Taking a step back from Obi-Wan, Anakin stood closer to the shelf-covered wall. This showed that he had the propriety to keep a respective distance from an unmated and unsupervised omega. Furthermore, he made a point that he would not block the omega’s way, especially in a tight area where it would be easy for an alpha to corner and subdue an omega. His hands were visible and relaxed at his sides. And he had not displayed any sort of aggressive behavior, such as snarling or collar-grabbing, as of yet.

Obi-Wan was still staring at him with those endearing eyes of his that were full of intrigue and lined with bafflement. His hair was untidy from his flailing about, auburn strands tumbling over and sideways like he had just rolled out of bed, and Anakin itched to straighten them out, to feel the silky locks against the skin of his fingertips.

When the curious silence between them had prolonged long enough, Anakin cleared his throat politely, and that snapped Obi-Wan out of it. 

The omega blinked, shoulders twitching in an aborted jolt. “Oh! I-I’m terribly sorry for all the, um, mayhem I’ve caused,” he began to stammer. “Usually, I’m not so accident-prone, but there’s so much”—throwing his gaze around, he grimaced sheepishly at the clutter of textiles that ensconced them in a margin of space—“stored away here, but never mind my excuses. Thank you so much for the quick save! Really, that was—incredible. I can’t even begin to—my goodness, was that all you?”

At the awestruck tone, Anakin smiled slightly. He would never get used to seeing this innocent side of Obi-Wan. He wanted to wrap the other man up in his arms and hold him close forever. “Yes, all me. I’m glad you’re safe.”

(There was no else. Obi-Wan had to be safe, and Anakin would do anything to keep it that way, for all those times when it had ended badly and more. It was the reason why he had assigned bodyguards to watch over Obi-Wan from the shadows when he couldn’t be there for him in person.)

Obi-Wan suddenly tapped his forehead with the heel of his palm in a self-admonishing manner, exclaiming, “Ah, where are my manners? I can’t believe I'm dawdling here like a fool. You’re a customer, right? Ahem, how may I help you?” The omega patted down his work apron and brushed back his fringe from his eyes. It was a flitting movement, but Anakin also noticed how Obi-Wan self-consciously skimmed his fingers along the band of durable material fastened around his neck—an omega collar, used to protect their scent glands from an unwanted mating bite. 

Anakin’s gums throbbed at the combined thought of Obi-Wan and bite. He swallowed thickly, his bobbing throat partially hidden behind the high collar of his tunic, his chin lowered as he gazed down at the shorter man. 

“I have a commission,” he replied in a thankfully unaffected voice, using the scripted excuse he had prepared prior to his arrival here. 

“A commission?” Soft, clear blue eyes that reminded Anakin of raindrops when a storm let up roamed over his person speculatively. A furrow formed between Obi-Wan’s brows. No doubt was he thinking that this customer of his seemed a bit odd for coming to an ordinary clothing and fabric store when he was discernibly wearing garbs that were stitched impressively well and were of high-quality weave.

At least Obi-Wan was puzzled and not suspicious, which bode well for Anakin.

He wouldn’t be able to stand it if Obi-Wan rejected him now, not after all those other times. For all that he was driven and resilient, Anakin was only mortal, and all mortals had their limits.

It was a blessing that Anakin retained his original identity and memories when he woke up in his new body.

Did I travel back in time?

This was his first assumption because how else was he supposed to explain his small limbs and scrawny body?

A child, he was a child again. He confirmed this once he found the reflective surface of a hull piece to look into. This was indeed his body as a young boy. Furthermore, he was on Tatooine—there was no mistaking the golden-brown sand scattered all around him and the twin suns that blared down on him from above.

Patting his squishy cheeks, he wondered how he was supposed to go looking for Obi-Wan like this. 

Then he backtracked a bit. If he really did go back in time, would the same events occur again? Could he possibly rewrite the future and live a life with fewer regrets?

Was this the second chance he’d been waiting for all this time? 

He hoped so. 

It wasn’t.

The moment he realized that he had landed in an alternate universe, Anakin felt as if he was being crushed by the weight of the world. The comprehension of the truth had been unbearably cruel in its apathy. 

When he broke down and screamed at the unfairness of it all, he had his mother—his kind, loving, precious mother—there to console him despite not knowing why he was so aggrieved, so distraught, but being infinitely worried nonetheless, for her little boy looked as if he would crumple at the harrowing strain of his misfortune.

Anakin could not tell her it was because Obi-Wan wasn’t here for him, too, not when he was the only one who knew what that meant to him. How much it meant to him.

In this universe, a Jedi Master never came by Watto’s junkyard in search of a hyperdrive generator replacement when Anakin was nine years old. 

Anakin only learned of why that was years later, and the answer had come from Obi-Wan himself, defiance shining hard like diamonds in his eyes while his back was pressed against a wall, a red blade leveled at his throat.

“On Tatooine? We never landed near Mos Espa.”

A different route taken due to a shift in circumstances. Because a damaged Nabooian starship had made its emergency landing elsewhere on the sand-cursed planet where Anakin had been enslaved for most of his life, the threads of two lives that had met before didn’t get to meet here. Those threads never had the chance to tangle as master and padawan. 

Instead, they were Jedi and Sith. Enemies. 

Just like last time.

This can’t be it, Anakin gasped in his head as he and Obi-Wan clashed sabers again and again and again. Red blended with blue, ferocious and unrelenting. However, as much as he put up a formidable front, lashing out and surging forward to bully the other into submission, Anakin proved to be too hesitant underneath it all, not wanting to hurt his once-master. Outwardly, he fended off the Jedi with clean swings and swift dodges, but in truth, he was madly racking his brain for a solution, for some way to bridge that divide between him and Obi-Wan. Yet Obi-Wan detected his stalling halfway through their duel and wasted no time in using that to his advantage, switching to the offensive that had Anakin rearing back to take a defensive stand. 

At this rate, Obi-Wan would defeat him, and Anakin would let him.

Even so, denial and willfulness churned in the back of Anakin’s mind. 

There has to be more. If this is no good, then I will find another lifetime. A perfect lifetime. 

Wait for me, Obi-Wan.

“Right, come with me, then, to fill out an order form,” said Obi-Wan, ever the diligent and gracious store assistant. Anakin followed the omega out of the confining corner and over to the front counter that sealed off the workroom stationed in the back. It was easier to breathe and move around here since there were fewer racks in the way. Slipping behind the counter, Obi-Wan grabbed a datapad and then motioned at Anakin to take a seat on the stool across from him. 

“So, what will it be, good sir?” Obi-Wan casually asked as he pulled up the order form on the datapad. Then he paused, seeming to backtrack in his head. He tapped the datapad’s stylus against his chin, his lips quirked in a penitent manner. “Right, almost forgot. I need your name for the form. Could you please tell me?”

If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll tell you anything. The omega was too charming for his own good, seizing Anakin’s attention without even knowing that he was. Obi-Wan’s little head-tilt was probably an unconscious habit, but it might as well be considered a weapon when combined with his riveting eyes and compelling expressions. The overall image he made was like a sudden blow to the chest; it had the power to bring Anakin to his knees, to leave him dizzy and winded.

(To think that he had paid very little attention to Obi-Wan’s expressions before. What a fool he was to disregard the beautiful man so callously like that out of misplaced pride or anger. Obi-Wan possessed a wealth of emotions, even when buried underneath a mountain of inhibitions and commitments that demanded that he play the part of the model Jedi. To be dutiful and objective, but not passionate and free-spirited. In the end, Obi-Wan had been crushed by that mountain, unable to claw his way out until it was too late.

Yet, it was not too late for Anakin to right all the wrongs between them. In this venture, he was without his other half, that was true, but he alone would be enough to take up the burden meant for two.)

Anakin gave the omega a reassuring look as he propped his arm on the counter, leaning forward an inch. “Anakin Skywalker,” he said obligingly. 

It was cute how Obi-Wan bobbed his head seriously when Anakin told him how to spell his name.

“And if you don’t mind me asking,” Anakin interjected as the opportunity presented itself, “may I know your name?”

That distracted Obi-Wan from the order form. “Oh, of course! Silly me, I should return the gesture.” He held out a hand, a warm, friendly look on his face. “I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

I know, Anakin thought as he carefully grasped that smaller hand in his to shake it. In the back of his mind, he noticed how Obi-Wan’s hand felt a lot smoother than he expected. His skin lacked the calluses and scars that came from wielding a lightsaber, from being a Jedi. Nevertheless, he could tell that Obi-Wan did a lot of work with his hands, based on the scratches around the fingers and the hint of dryness to the palm. How could I ever forget you when not even my own heart and soul could?

Despite how much he ached not to, Anakin released that hand before he did something stupid, like yank Obi-Wan closer to nuzzle their faces together. And that was the most innocent impulse he had. The more inappropriate ones were shoved in a box and kicked aside to some random corner lest he got overly tempted. 

Yet here was Obi-Wan, ruining his self-control with that genuine smile of his while a faint blush dusted across his darling cheeks. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Skywalker.” 

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he returned warmly. “Just one thing, though—call me Anakin.”

Anakin made a promise to himself that he would find the perfect life, the perfect story, for him and Obi-Wan, and this was a promise he would keep.

Which meant that he would have to master the stunt he had pulled off before.

Granted, the first time had been a fluke, but for the sake of his dream that was ever so selfish but free from darkness, he would stop at nothing to get it.

It was his peace he was chasing after, his salvation, the only thing left that held any significance in the face of desolation.

Thus, any of the suffering he had to endure—the unnerving, haphazard dimensional jumps, the difficulties of adjusting to his alternate self, the prevailing loneliness that beat against his ears and sat heavy in his heart—was secondary in comparison to that.

Above all else, he knew that once they were together again—Anakin with Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan with Anakin—nothing else could ever compare to that feeling of being at home where he belonged.

It was all worth it, and it wasn’t too late, too inconceivable for him to make it into a reality. 

Red slammed against red, both lightsabers sizzling loud enough to grate his hearing, but Anakin paid little attention to that, more focused on the beautiful face before him past the glare of their weapons. 

Yes, that dear face was beautiful even when twisted into a mask of hostility, lips curled back into a sneer and pale skin stained red from the glow of their lightsabers.

But damn him if he missed those stunning sapphire eyes something fierce. Golden yellow irises did not suit his once-master. 

“In the next life, then,” he said quietly, solemnly, to this Obi-Wan whose light was tarnished by darkness, whose sole objective was to destroy the ones who murdered his master and wanted to murder him too.

The Anakin—no, the Vader of this universe had no part in killing Qui-Gon, but as the current apprentice to Darth Sidious, the rotten hellspawn of darkness and bane to any soul, that meant that Obi-Wan wanted his head as well by association.

“You wish,” Obi-Wan snapped at him, his eyes flashing with madness, his chest heaving with anger.

I do. I wish it with every single breath I have. Anakin smiled wistfully as he stretched out a hand, channeling his Force energy. Perhaps you’ll realize it one day.

Employing some conversational tactics he had learned from his master so many lifetimes ago, the kind that involved discretion as you nudged and coaxed someone for the answers you wanted while remaining casual about it, Anakin gradually learned more about this Obi-Wan from the omega himself. It was a long-ingrained practice of his to familiarize himself with Obi-Wan’s background and character in each universe, and it never bored him to sift through the details that were the same, slightly changed, or completely new.

For the record, the one who started the conversation was Obi-Wan, making small-talk as most tailors did out of habit to fill the silence between them and their customers while they worked. Nevertheless, Anakin was grateful for the opportunity to talk in a casual environment after spending the last ten minutes in fairly companionable silence that was only interspersed with brief instructions on what to do with his posture.

“I don’t mean to be nosy, but I just have to ask. Are you…a Jedi?”

The alpha glanced over to his right, where Obi-Wan was examining his outstretched arm. The scanner he was using to find Anakin’s measurements was remotely connected to his datapad.

“Something like that, but not really. I was never inducted into the Order,” Anakin said as Obi-Wan fiddled with the markers on the device, one pinned at the intersection of his wrist and palm, the other at a point somewhere on his shoulder. A line would connect those two markers, then the length of it would be given, which Obi-Wan would save in a file that he had drawn up for Anakin. Not only did he have Anakin’s size for reference, but also a concise description and a basic sketch of his body for a better understanding on how to construct the alpha’s commissioned clothes. Thankfully, as a human, Anakin’s clothes would be easy to cut and stitch together, Obi-Wan had remarked. No worries about weird body shapes or inconvenient limbs here. “You know about the Jedi? I didn’t think news of them would reach this remote planet.”

Obi-Wan hummed in agreement with Anakin’s observation. “Yes, Stewjon doesn’t have much of a presence since it’s not a major commercial planet, nor does it stand out on the political stage.” Switching arms, the omega went from one side of Anakin to the other, and as he swept by, Anakin’s nose picked up the sweet, lush scent that had wafted up right in front of him. He savored the smell quietly. 

Oh, how Anakin wished the omega stood a little closer to him, but the scanner worked best when held at a distance, and for the times when Obi-Wan did drift in close, the shorter man was very decorous in his gestures and touches. Now, if Obi-Wan had been using an old-fashioned measuring tape instead…

What a nice thought to daydream about.

(It would just be one out of many daydreams. Anakin was all too familiar with hypotheticals and illusions, being that they were his longest companions, the only constants he had on this uncharted journey of his whenever his precious ones were somewhere beyond his reach, beyond his call.)

Returning to Anakin’s question, Obi-Wan explained, “When I was only a baby, a Jedi landed his ship near here due to a malfunction of some sort. While waiting for repairs to be done, the Jedi wandered about the market, then bumped into my parents at one point, who were running their produce stand. As for me, I was there swaddled up on my mother’s back. The Jedi claimed he approached them because he sensed that I was ‘bright in the Force.’ He summarized the Jedi Order and their objectives before asking my parents to consider it as a path for me.”

You are bright in the Force. Anakin believed in that observation wholeheartedly, for it was an undeniable truth that he could both see and feel. Stretching out his signature towards Obi-Wan’s, he gave that shining aura a gentle caress, though he did not go as far as to nudge or press up against it intrusively. Without any mental shields to block him, Anakin had no problem in sampling Obi-Wan’s Force energy, marveling at the purity of it, like the crisp, clean waters of a glimmering turquoise lake. But what captured Anakin’s attention the most was Obi-Wan’s emotions that were out in the open—the candidness towards Anakin as they conversed, the diligence in doing his work, the contentment that came from having a fulfilling afternoon. 

When that precious aura shivered slightly under his featherlight caresses, Anakin mindfully retracted his touch, hanging just out of reach. Despite the novelty of having a mysterious presence brush against the boundaries of his Force signature, Obi-Wan conveyed little discomfort or guardedness to the experience.

How long has it been, Anakin mused, since he could feel Obi-Wan’s Force energy like this while it was so defenseless and accepting? During his original life was the earliest instance, when Anakin had been nothing but a little starry-eyed padawan who was so naively besotted with his young and distinguished master. The Force had been an incredibly new and fascinating concept to him then, and he remembered how ecstatic he had been to learn how to access and wield the Force, to have this invisible but marvelous thing for himself, to be able to mesh his thoughts and feelings with Obi-Wan’s. 

The most recent instance, on the other hand? That had to be about four or five dimensions ago. In that galaxy, Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi had been close in age and were training as padawans around the same time under the tutelage of their respective masters. But that freedom and closeness between them, like every other life, had been short-lived, all because Obi-Wan had been misled by Yoda’s teachings and cheated by Palpatine’s schemes. Anakin hadn’t been fast enough, smart enough to save him. 

This time around, though, Anakin would not have to contend with either of those nuisances for Obi-Wan’s trust and attention because Obi-Wan was far from their sight and their reach. So long that he remained undiscovered, that meant he was irrelevant and therefore safe. 

And Anakin was prepared for whatever this universe and the Force had in store for him. One day, mistakes and weaknesses would be a thing of the past for him.

There were some universes that nearly drove him mad, back to the point of no return or even beyond that, and it made him shudder and retch and weep to think that he could hit the lowest of lows when he already thought it was impossible to fall any further.

When he found out that Obi-Wan had deserted the Order for the sake of his love, Satine, Anakin had nearly dissolved into a murderous rampage, his sense of judgment and self-control drowned out by the howling impulse to chase after the Mandalorian duchess. To kill her and take Obi-Wan back.

Because how could the Obi-Wan of this life admit his love, did whatever it took to protect and honor it, when the Obi-Wan of his life couldn’t? Didn’t?

Unfair. Unfair! UNFAIR! Why her and not me?!

But that hadn’t been the worst of it.

To this very day, aside from his original life, Anakin could not imagine a more terrible outcome than the time Obi-Wan had been born a woman, not a man, and that bloodthirsty lunatic bastard Maul had been after her, thought of her as his prized thrall.

Anakin remembered abandoning his assignment to track down Maul when he heard that the Sith had abducted Obi-Wan. Remembered the deathly chill that had spread throughout his body when he tried to reach out to Obi-Wan through their bond yet grasped at emptiness instead. Remembered how he had constantly, desperately, chanted Obi-Wan’s name in his head as he infiltrated Maul’s hideout.

Remembered seeing so much red everywhere. The red of his master’s hair, that monster’s skin. The red of a sinister lightsaber, a slashed open throat.

Then Anakin saw nothing but red because his master had taken her own life, and he knew exactly why.

She had chosen death over a life of ever being defiled by that demon.

Redredred—Anakin wanted to carve that demon’s flesh apart until he was completely drained of blood so that he could splatter it across the floor like a river running towards hell or as an offering to the ancient gods. 

But that wasn’t necessary. All Anakin had to do was let go, move on, and keep searching. His ability to transfer his soul and mind to another version of himself in another dimension—it was his one true lifeline. Without it, he would’ve been a deranged ghost already. With it, Anakin could afford to be a hopeless dreamer.

And he had to thank this ability of his for opening his eyes to some things about himself that he had missed before, and even now, Anakin couldn’t believe he had to suffer through all these excruciating, nightmarish universes for it to happen.

One, Obi-Wan was beautiful, a magnificent, enthralling existence that no universe deserved. 

Two, Anakin was in love with him, and he deserved Obi-Wan less than any universe.

Once he discovered these two things about himself, the depths of his feelings, of his attachment that was so absurdly forbidden by the Jedi, everything made much more sense. It explained why Anakin behaved like he did when Obi-Wan was involved, like why he was immoderately jealous and incensed when Obi-Wan left the Order for his lover and not when he left for anything else. Why Anakin would suddenly lose his temper when some worthless filth thought he had the right to desire Obi-Wan in the way Anakin had been subconsciously suppressing within himself for the longest time.

Anakin was in love with Obi-Wan since the very beginning, in all the ways that love could be, as a student, a friend, and a lover—although they had never been lovers before, he thought with a heavy pang of regret, had yet to be in any of the universes Anakin had traveled to thus far.

But being Obi-Wan’s lover was a possibility somewhere, so he did not wallow in regret for long. How could he when the opportunity, the promise of the perfect story he had always dreamt of, was waiting for him?

He had to find it.

And when he did, Anakin wasn’t going to let anyone or anything get in his way.

“But in the end, your parents decided against the idea,” Anakin concluded as his mind returned to their conversation, “which is why you’re here and not at a Jedi temple. Even if they changed their minds later, your age had to be taken into consideration. After all, the Order only accepts young children.” 

“That’s right,” was the easy affirmation as Obi-Wan shifted the measuring device to Anakin’s waist. His datapad would ping a tiny noise whenever the reader received the scan and value. 

While Obi-Wan circled around him with the scanner, Anakin asked, “Your parents—what was their reason for declining the offer?” 

“Care to take a guess?” 

“Is it really about your secondary gender?” 

Obi-Wan snorted softly as he walked over to the worktable to check his datapad. “It is. The idea of being a peacekeeping warrior sounded noble and everything, but my parents worried about how I would fare as an omega. They weren’t completely sold on the reassurance that omega Jedi could really stand on their own against the big evils of the galaxy.” Not giving Anakin a chance to remark on that, Obi-Wan added, “Yes, I know what you’re thinking. My parents have such a narrow worldview, believing that omegas don’t have what it takes to compete on an equal level with other genders. That’s their opinion, yes, but they never instilled it in me. I observe and think and judge in my own way. Freely. Sometimes objectively. And, for the most part, ambitiously when it comes to the pursuit of knowledge.” 

They shared a smile, like the one between good friends. Anakin was warmed to hear how this Obi-Wan was still a scholar to the core. When let loose, his mind was a marvelous, energetic thing to behold. 

Anakin couldn’t wait to see that mind thrive, to see it unleashed.

(And that brilliant mind had to be where it belonged—by his side. Like two sides of a coin, when one of them stepped forward with an idea, the other would support it, regardless of what protests they had. They could read and predict each other’s thoughts so well, even when they were clouded by anger or sorrow. That wasn’t anything new to them.

And if there was ever any discord between them, fracturing their connection, then it was a matter of naivety or conceit. Another thing that wasn’t anything new to them.

What was new this time around was Anakin’s realizations, his commitment to trust and care for the one who had, once upon a time, dedicated his entire life doing those same things for him.)

“Does any of it hold interest to you now? The things Jedi can do?” Anakin asked once Obi-Wan was done taking measurements. The other man was now skimming through the numbers he got, the scanner set aside. 

The question made Obi-Wan pause as if he needed to figure out which lane he was on after veering off course. He turned to give Anakin a skeptical look. “You mean, the part about being a peacekeeper that wields a plasma blade and does magic tricks?” 

Anakin nodded as he picked up his cloak from where he had tossed it over a bench. He had an amused look on his face, but to his credit, he didn’t tease the other for the silly perspective that would do a child justice. “That, and more. The Jedi school their younglings in all manner of subjects, you know. Is that not something that interests you? Enriching your brain? Learning new things?” At the baffled stare aimed his way, Anakin coughed, taking a mental step back. “Or was I going too far in assuming that? Forgive me. It’s just your words from earlier sounded as if you did.” 

“I-I do, yes. I’ve always been such a bookworm.” Obi-Wan blew out a breath as if staggered by something that winded him. He spoke tentatively, fiddling with his apron. “Please don’t misunderstand, I’m not taken aback by your observations; rather, it’s your...tone.” 

Anakin raised his brows. “My tone? What about it?” 

Obi-Wan seemed floored, opening and closing his mouth several times. Though stumped on how to phrase his thoughts, he decided to articulate whatever came to mind piece by piece. “I couldn’t help but think…that based on your tone, you were...hinting something. Like were you offering an opportunity as if it’s within your power.” 

“But I was.” 

The pitch of Obi-Wan’s voice was a notch higher when he uttered, “Huh?” 

Anakin could see the jammed cogs in the other’s head. He appreciated how refreshing it was to see that dumbfounded expression before he confirmed to Obi-Wan that he didn’t mishear things. “Offering. An opportunity. For all those things I mentioned. And I do have the power. Well, in a way.” He’d deal with the technicalities later. 

“What?” 

Anakin laughed at the flummoxed, single-word responses. “In all seriousness, though, I’m not joking. And before you get the wrong idea—no, I am not a con artist or a gang recruiter.” 

Obi-Wan finally gathered his wits together. He blushed but had a playful glint in his eyes. “You sure?” he challenged. “Wouldn’t a con artist or a gang recruiter say that just to keep up the pretense that they aren’t?” 

Having shrugged on his cloak, Anakin smoothed down the garment before shooting Obi-Wan a grin. To him, Obi-Wan’s quips would never get old. “How about this—when I come by to pick up my clothes, I’ll prove to you that I’m no fake. Set aside some time for me, okay?” Then, on a whim to validate himself for emphasis, he beckoned with his fingers. The comlink that was in Obi-Wan’s pocket flew out to bump into his open palm. Anakin relished Obi-Wan’s adorably round eyes in their awe before he typed in his personal comlink code and saved it. He politely withheld his laugh when he tossed the device back and Obi-Wan yelped as he fumbled to catch it. 

“See you then, Obi-Wan!” 

With that, Anakin ducked out of the workroom, leaving the store just as the sounds of spluttering tapered off, and then that deep, rhapsodic voice called out, “I’ll hold you to it, Anakin!”

The robes fell to the floor, pooling there in a heap of beige and brown, while a lightsaber that was similarly bereft of its owner rolled to a stop at his feet. Vader stared down at those robes that marked the place where the Jedi Master had taken his last stand, his final breath, yet had welcomed the end without a hint of hesitation. And the expression that had been on that aged face, that had been in front of Vader no less than ten seconds ago, was already haunting him—a small, gentle smile that had contrasted greatly with unflinching but resigned eyes.

That old man, the last living reminder of his past that he wanted so badly to forget, was finally gone.

And for some reason, Vader felt achingly empty.

The rush of triumph and vindication he felt after the duel—he hadn’t expected that it would be so fleeting. Nor did he expect a numbing chill to overtake him instead. The pervasive cold was too potent an anesthesia, deadening the pain of his ruined body more than any of the drugs he’d been administered with since his disfigurement.

Yet why was it that he could still feel pain—a roiling, gaping, sickening pain—as if he was suffering a great loss? As if Obi-Wan’s death was a great loss when Vader was the one to kill the Jedi?

Vader had prepared himself to destroy Obi-Wan’s light, to prove that he was the stronger one, the better one, by being the student who bested his master, yet in his oversight, had forgotten to prepare himself for the worst of the worst futures: the remainder of his life without his anchor, his compass, his beacon. 

His reason for being. 

This...was not how it was supposed to go. How it was supposed to feel like.

Why was everything always wrong and never right for Vader?

Some scuffling and yelling pulled Vader out of his deep stupor. He glanced over to the mouth of the hall that opened up to a hangar just a few meters away. Stormtroopers were firing at the intruders who had rescued the Alderaanian princess. One of the intruders, a young man, was staring at him in horror and disbelief.

Sun-bleached blond hair and bright azure eyes. Because of his mask, the red tint to the lenses, and his damaged vision, Vader failed to see those colors, the significance they held.

He did, however, recognize the young man’s brilliant presence in the Force. It was pure. Vast. Blazing.

It felt...familiar in a way that his blank mind could not understand at the moment.

Before Vader’s bearings could return to him, that young man was being pulled away by his comrades towards a ship. The stormtroopers were flung back when the engines roared and the repulsors flared. In less than two heartbeats, that ship hurtled itself out the hangar, and soon it would disappear from sight the moment the pilot dropped it into hyperspace.

Dazed and troubled as he was, Vader wasn’t aware that a part of him was gone as well, had left with that young man who was stricken by Obi-Wan’s death—though not as much as Vader was, something that wouldn’t dawn on him with heartrending clarity until many cycles later when his axis had shifted back to its original angle and his orbit had reoriented itself to its correct course.

For now, he called Obi-Wan’s lightsaber to his hand and touched its kyber crystal through the Force. The crystal gave a mournful crooning note as if seeking to cry in the comfort of the presence that had once been so close with its master. 

But Vader knew nothing of comfort, on how to give it or how to want it.

Nonetheless, a crying soul was a crying soul. 

And Vader—Anakin—was very much one deep inside.

“Good afternoon, Grandmaster!”

Anakin nodded and smiled cordially at the passing padawan, who had spared a brief moment to greet him cheerfully with respect before bowing her head and then rushing off, a stack of holobooks cradled in her arms. She reminded Anakin so much of his younger days when he would hustle off to class or a training session with the enthusiasm of someone who had gone from being destitute and unqualified to being apprised and proficient. He chuckled to himself, thinking how he had probably been the most annoying padawan ever when he was still an impressionable child, always bothering his beleaguered master with all sorts of questions. When up against Anakin’s boundless energy and curiosity, Obi-Wan had been on the end of his rope practically every single day, yet it spoke volumes of his patience and benignity that he strove to be the best master that he could for Anakin.

“Good times, good times,” he said, mirthful as he continued down the expansive hall.

While making his way to his mate’s office, he encountered a few more beings who did the same thing as the padawan from before. One knight who had recently returned from a particularly tricky mission managed to strike up a conversation with him, wanting advice on flight maneuvers and countermeasures, and given that Anakin was an expert on the subject, he readily supplied the man with pointers and answered any questions he had before excusing himself. Anakin was running a little late now, so he picked up the pace, moving with deliberate haste that told people to bother him another time.

Finally, Anakin arrived at his destination. He stepped inside the room after keying in the passcode for the door.

The thing was before he even opened the door, a Force signature brushed against his in welcome. Grinning, he snatched up that presence and cuddled it to the core of his own. In his mind’s eye, he saw how it curled up against him willingly like a nuzzling loth-cat.

That was the first thing to greet him.

The second was the sweet and soothing scent that hit his nose full force as if he was standing in the middle of a flower shop rather than an office full of texts and diagnostic equipment.

The third was a vibrant, rhapsodic, beloved voice.

“Oh, hello, my love. Is it time for lunch already?”

Anakin had to pause for a moment to catch his breath at the sight of his beautiful mate. Obi-Wan was seated at his desk, where the warm light coming from the windows behind him brought out the gold tint of his auburn hair and enveloped his fair skin in a healthy sheen. The omega glanced up from his datapad when Anakin came around the desk to stand by his shoulder.

“You always lose track of time when you’re holed up in here,” Anakin teased his mate as he bent down to brush a kiss against his temple, then dipped even lower to nose against his omega’s nape, touching the mating mark there. Done with his usual greeting, he straightened up, asking, “What stole your attention this time, hm?”

Obi-Wan smiled, lifting the device higher so that his alpha could see it better. “Names,” he replied. “I was looking up names and made a list of the ones I liked the most.”

“Oh!” A wide grin spread across Anakin’s face as he eagerly peered at the screen to skim through the list. “Let’s see here…” He hummed thoughtfully for a long moment before blowing out a troubled sigh. “Obi-Wan, how are we supposed to agree on a name when all of them sound perfect?”

The silliness of that complaint had Obi-Wan laughing. He fondly tweaked Anakin’s cheek as if humored by the antics of a child. “Then, maybe we should ask your mother for a second opinion,” he suggested as the kind and helpful soul he was.

“Perfect timing, then, since we’re all having lunch together.” Bracing an arm around his omega, Anakin pulled him out of his chair and onto his feet. Obi-Wan accepted the help graciously, a hand resting over the swell of his stomach. Even after being taught self-defense and Jedi lightsaber forms, Obi-Wan was still naturally clumsy to a fault, much to everyone’s bewilderment and amusement, and being pregnant didn’t help him much with how it threw off his sense of balance, so Anakin was extremely attentive of his mate’s safety. When together, Anakin had at least one arm secured around his mate. If there happened to be some space between them, Anakin would use the Force to steady Obi-Wan whenever he flailed about.

Which was definitely blatant misuse of the Force, as many Jedi would reprove, namely, the nitpickers from the parent Jedi sect whose temple was still thriving on Coruscant. The ones from the adjunctive Jedi sect, on the other hand, would nag and tease Anakin for such excessiveness in using the Force like that.

It’s Grandmaster Skywalker, they would say with an offhand shrug. What can you do?

Ah, just one of many benefits of being Grandmaster. No wonder it was taking Yoda so long to retire.

A peek at the chrono set on the desk had Anakin wincing. “Uh-oh. We’re going to be late, and you know how Ahsoka gets when she’s hungry. Mom doesn’t like to start meals unless everyone’s accounted for, after all.”

Grabbing his satchel from a drawer, Obi-Wan tucked his datapad inside it and then slung it over his shoulder. He nuzzled against his alpha’s jaw when a strong arm returned to its usual spot around his waist. “Right," he agreed, "then we best hurry, dear one.”

Once again, hearing that much-loved endearment reaffirmed Anakin's conviction.

That here in this universe was his home and happiness.

There was no need to let go, move on, and keep searching any longer.

I can teach you how to retain your consciousness, Anakin. You can become a Force ghost like me. You won’t have to disappear.

No. It’s not the end yet. I can’t accept it.

Then this is goodbye.

Oh, Obi-Wan, haven’t I proven it to you that we never really say goodbye to each other? That every time we part, it won’t be the last?

Dear one, this is the end. There is no more after this. You need to let go.

I won’t, not until we’re together again. Until we’re happy again.

Death will reach you before that can happen.

Then I will find life first before I let death come for me.