Chapter Text
"Is this him?"
"Aye it is, Lord Vader."
Vader sat sprawled out on the bridge's captain chair, frowning down at the shivering bundle of robes—curled up in a little half-circle.
Apart from the manacles at the boy's wrists and feet keeping him in place, Vader knew quite well what was going on.
Non-Force sensitives couldn't detect it—the crushing, oppressive presence in the Force that radiated out from Vader.
To a Jedi Master, it may be slightly worrisome. A bit of a bother—like a slightly too-warm room or an odd taste in the mouth.
To a sniveling scrap of a padawan—it had to be suffocating.
"The padawan of Qui-Gon Jinn." Vader's smugness was poorly concealed.
It was a particularly petty endeavor, and he knew it. It was part of the reason that he had employed pirates for the mission—rather than submitting something formal within the Empire's log books that could be traced back and questioned (not that anyone would dare).
But perhaps his own Master might have something to say (though he barely saw the man in person more than once or twice a year now). Vader had done his best to ignore it. But the news of Qui-Gon taking another padawan on—after he had so disastrously failed the Knight Anakin Skywalker... Vader had found it... distracting.
It kept Vader up, when he should have been sleeping. It occupied his thoughts that could have been so much better occupied on other matters.
When Vader had received an enemy intel report- one that happened to have Qui-Gon Jinn in the crowd of Senators—just barely out of frame—beaming down at the cut-off form of a young boy with a padawan braid—well. The destroyed table and console made him consider that it would be most effective in the long run to deal with this matter of distraction before it further exacerbated.
And so, Vader lifted himself up, striding across the floor to the young padawan on the floor.
He hadn't paid much attention to him in the past.
It wasn't really about him, anyway. He simply wished to teach his old master a lesson.
"Is that who you are?"
With shaky hands, the boy pushed himself upright as best as he could in his bound state.
His lips were blue and trembling—split on one side with a smattering of dried cracked blood. But they were full and plush. Vader was surprised to see a shockingly delicate profile—long lashes and clear blue eyes. He had never paid much attention to what the padawan looked like before.
The boy turned with an effort to face Vader, nodding slowly, his breathing shallow. Though he clearly seemed to want to, the padawan refused to whimper or cry, his expression stony.
"One miniature Jedi—as promised!" The pirate said jovially. "I believe we agreed-"
"Yes," Vader stonily, gesturing to a guard. "See them paid."
"About that," The pirate swayed, resting a hand on his hip. "If it's all the same to yourself, your sithlyness ... was this here bounty just for the disappearing of the boy, or were you-"
"You have completed your task. But you try my patience." Vader said sternly, his brow furrowing.
Another, slightly more room-ready companion of the first pirate cleared his voice and spoke up.
"Well you see, if you were just planning on killing the kid... there's a lotta corners of the galaxy where he'd just as easily never be found-"
"And so double your bounty, is that it?" Vader drawled, directing a burning gaze at them.
Really, if they were going to try pulling a hustle, they could at least have been more clever about it.
The pirates had the good sense to double-back at this time, realizing their overstep and making a quick exit from the bridge.
Good, Vader wanted them gone.
He turned his attention back to the shivering boy kneeling on the ground, looking desperately around the ship as if for some means of escape.
Not that he would find it here on the Executor—a well-outfitted ship with a legion of men at Vader's command, and more than enough cells in the deepest brig for a scrap of nothing such as himself to disappear into and be forgotten.
Vader certainly wasn’t spoiled for choice.
But In truth, he hadn't quite thought about what he was going to do with this kid once he had him. A bit of torment for Qui-Gon had been the beginning and the end of it.
Of course, throwing him aside now just felt like he would be proving the pirates right. He might as well have just let them cart him off for whatever nefarious purpose they had in mind.
Surely there had to be a bit more fun to be had for all the trouble he'd gone through to suffer brigands setting foot on his ship.
Vader summoned over two men with a flick of his hand.
"Take the young Jedi to my quarters. Do not remove his bindings." He ordered dismissively.
The two troopers brusquely marched Obi-Wan down several halls and corridors as well as two elevators—the second one far longer than the other two, requiring a special passkey. it opened up into a floor that seemed to be cordoned off for the express purposes of the High General's living quarters.
Obi-Wan was ushered inside, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he went. He was still shackled at the ankles, and had practically been dragged to keep pace with the guards. They had promptly left after depositing him inside, leaving two sentry droids in their place to man the interior.
The young padawan swallowed dryly with great effort (he couldn't remember when he last had something to drink) taking a careful look around.
A black stone fireplace was set in the center of the large living space -the area around it sunk into the ground on a lower level and appointed with low, long sofas with deep red cushions.
In some ways, the slightly geometric layout of the space was vaguely reminiscent of the Jedi Temple—a thought that left Obi-Wan wildly unnerved and disarmed.
Transparisteel glass on the far side of the room looked out over the wide starscape. To one side, the area opened up into a sort of minimalistic kitchenette. A corridor on the other side, presumably branched off to living spaces.
He had never thought of the Sith Lord Darth Vader as someone who might have a kitchenette. Whenever the man was mentioned (which wasn't often) it was always with frightened, hushed whispers that one might use when talking about some frightful local legend.
The thought of it caused another roil of terror to course through Obi-Wan, the chemical rush of anxiety dumping into his empty stomach. There was only so much fear a single person could take over so many hours. It seemed his body had begun to pace itself and lend it out in doses.
As the minutes ticked on, the panic ebbed. His hunger and thirst returned back to the forefront of his mind in the form of a throbbing headache.
His exhaustion.
The fact that he hadn't slept in days.
His wrist hurt from where it had likely been sprained.
Obi-Wan shuffled where he stood, and looked up at the droids guarding the door. He had just opened his mouth to speak—to ask what he was to do, what was to become of him, something—when the door slid open, and Vader strode inside. Whatever words Obi-Wan was about to say turned into a rather undignified yelp.
Vader looked down his nose at Obi-Wan, his eyes a bright and blazing gold. His expression was unfathomable.
With deft hands, the sith removed his long, heavy cloak, handing it off to one of the droids.
"Put this on the table in the hall and go, you're excused."
Obi-Wan watched queasily as he was left alone with the most powerful wielder of the Dark Side that the galaxy had known in the last thousand years.
Vader strode past Obi-Wan, pulling off his gloves one at a time. He pocketed them, before unbuttoning his taught military coat, shrugging it off in turn to reveal a more casual black under layer, simply tailored and composed of soft material.
"So." The man said, turning to appraise Obi-Wan. "What am I to do with you?"
The padawan clenched his jaw and stared hard at him, as if looking away might show his fear.
Though he knew it was foolish—his fear and apprehension was already plain in the way he shook under Vader's gaze, in the way his eyes still tried to flicker down every so often after the prolonged eye contact grew to be too much.
Vader frowned and cocked his head, crossing his arms. "Your name?"
"What?" The padawan said, voice dry and cracked with disuse.
"What is your name?" Vader said, disdain dripping from each word. "Or did Qui-Gon not teach you how to introduce yourself?"
The padawan scowled briefly before forcibly smoothing his expression. "Obi-Wan Kenobi, if you're so interested in me."
Vader didn't want to admit it, but he was, for some reason he couldn't name.
"I am not," he said, and stopped there, wary of saying anything more.
"Then why ask?" Obi-Wan said, voice more confident this time. "Why demand to know my name, why bring me here at all?"
Vader felt his face twitch into a snarl before he managed to stop it. "Because I wanted to know who could so easily make Qui-Gon go back on his promise of never training anyone else after me."
Obi-Wan's breath hitched at the miasmic wave of hatred in the Force—though something inside of him solidified.
Perhaps it was just the crossing of some invisible threshold after so many sleepless hours of uncertainty. Where the pirates were taking him, learning that it was the fearsome Sith Lord Vader. A thousand horrific nightmares of what might be in store for him.
Only to find out... this was all about Qui-Gon?
His master, who Obi-Wan had to hit with a pillow to get out of bed in the morning so he would make his Council meetings, who smelled a bit like an old sandal on the best of days. Of course, Obi-Wan had the deepest respect for his master. He was a skilled Jedi, and his connection to the Living Force was without equal.
But for someone like Vader, who held the galaxy in the palm of his hand...
"I hadn't ever supposed that the Sith Lord Vader might be jealous of a padawan learner."
Obi-Wan blinked.
Who said that? It surely couldn't have been him.
He looked up, to see Vader halfway through pouring himself a glass of dark spirit into a crystal glass. He too was looking at Obi-Wan with a similar expression of brief surprise.
Then, Vader laughed.
Obi-Wan breathed out, feeling his soul clandestinely leaving his body as Vader threw himself down onto an exquisite low sofa, his legs casually splayed wide, his arms slung over the top.
"Jealous! To think. I haven't laughed like that in years." He took a slip, examining Obi-Wan with renewed curiosity. "Come here,"
Obi-Wan set his jaw, weighing his options.
Finding none, he shuffled over best as he could with his restraints.
When he arrived at the foot of the sofa, Vader nudged the shackles between Obi-Wan's ankles. He wasn't quite sure how he managed it, but the lock clicked, and the restraints fell off.
Obi-Wan briefly hoped that Vader would do the same with his wrists. Instead, Vader pressed his palm to the small of Obi-Wan's back, pulling him forward. Obi-Wan scrambled, forced to catch the front of Vader's shirt as he fell, his legs haphazardly splayed across the man's lap in a bid to keep balanced.
"Remarkable." Vader cupped Obi-Wan's chin, tilting it upwards. His thumb brushed callously across Obi-Wan's split lip, causing the padawan to wince.
"Aside from a pretty face and a bit of gall, there doesn't seem to be a single outstanding trait about you."
Obi-Wan flushed over his cheekbones.
As if Vader was telling him anything he didn't already know.
As if Obi-Wan wasn't aware that Qui-Gon Jinn had taken him under his wing out of pity when the teen had been about to be shipped off to the Agricorps and nearly had a panic attack about it.
"How unfortunate then, you had to waste your time and resources on something so ordinary." He replied, unable to keep the bite and bitter flavor off of his words. He had been perfectly fine being ordinary—subpar, even—under Qui-Gon's tutelage.
It wasn't as if he considered being in the lap of the galaxy's most powerful asshole was an improvement.
Vader raised his eyebrows at that. What a curious boy.
“Do you enjoy being ordinary, Obi-Wan?”
The boy shifted on his lap. He was clearly uncomfortable, whether with the question or the position he found himself in—or both—Vader wasn’t sure.
“No one enjoys being ordinary,” The boy spat out. But there was a forlorn edge to it.
Vader considered the padawan. Despite his claims… something in his spirit pulsed dull and severe. It was intriguing. There was something… there.
Vader grasped the boy’s hips and positioned him so he sat more sturdily on his lap. To Vader’s surprise, he felt his body pulse with interest under the weight of him. True, Vader had no plans when the boy was first dropped at his feet. But he could feel the hint of one beginning to form now.
The Sith didn’t like that the boy was avoiding his gaze, so he used a flick of the Force to push his chin up, until he was looking into blue pools full of fear and desperation.
“Would you like to be more than ordinary, then?” Vader growled.
Obi-Wan's heart thudded loudly in his ears.
"What, you... you want to- to turn me against my master?" Trying to sense Vader's will was like trying to make out a whisper in a din.
Vader scoffed, leaning back a bit further on the sofa. His hand idly played with the soft, fine hairs at the base of Obi-Wan's skull.
"I always thought this haircut looked absurd." He drawled.
Obi-Wan was taken aback with surprise, if only startled by the mental image of Darth Vader with a spikey cut of a Jedi padawan. As if sensing the foolishness of the image, Vader wrapped his finger around Obi-Wan's braid, giving it a sharp tug.
"Ow!"
"Talk about a waste of resources. As if I would spend my precious time training someone like yourself in the ways of the Force." He mused, his thumb running down each of the two beads that adorned Obi-Wan's braid—turning them over and looking at each with careful consideration.
Perhaps… just maybe, a hint of longing.
"Though I quite like your talent for coming up with ideas to torment our poor old master." Vader ran his tongue over the phrasing of it—our old master—he found the past-tense nature of it to be fitting.
The amorphous plan continued to take shape and form.
Yes, from this point forward after all Qui-Gon's latest padawan was now lost to him.
He would not be getting him back—Vader so decided.
Perhaps at one point he might have considered putting the boy up for ransom, sending him back mauled or dismembered or leaving him on some decrepit slaver's planet to perhaps be tragically rediscovered decades later when youth and skill had left him behind.
But he was pleasantly surprised to find a warm glow of satisfaction deep in his gut, the boy sitting on his lap, drink in hand, feeling his heart pounding under hand like that of a little rabbit.
"I wonder, what else could we do to hurt him?" Vader idly asked, giving Obi-Wan's braid another tug. "We could send him one of your little fingers in a box, perhaps?" He teased.
It was, after all—just a tease.
The more Vader considered it, the more he liked it.
Every inch of Obi-Wan would belong to him now. There wasn't a single scrap of him that he would share with Qui-Gon, or anyone.
Obi-Wan tensed in Vader's lap—startled frozen at how casually it had been suggested.
Oblivious of or uncaring of his fear, Vader dragged his hand down from Obi-Wan’s chest to his hip, leaving a trail of warmth as it went.
Obi-Wan quelled the urge to squirm under the touch, knowing it would only bring pleasure to Vader to hear his discomfort voiced aloud
"Maybe we could send him a picture of the two of us, just like this," Vader continued to muse. "You, squirming on my lap while I barely touch you. What might he think we're doing?"
Obi-Wan swallowed thickly and fought hard against the blush that he felt creeping up over his face.
"Master Qui-Gon would never think something so untoward. He would know I'm not here of my own volition."
"Would he really?" Vader asked playfully. "What if I prettied you up a bit?" He continued, already moving his free hand. "Took off these damned robes—" with the words, touching the homespun cloth— "maybe make these pretty pink lips even pinker. What do you think?"
Obi-Wan puffed up in indignant rage. "You will do no such thing, I'll stop—"
"Stop me?" Vader laughed. "What can you do to stop me?"
Obi-Wan didn't want to admit it, but— what could he do to stop him? His hands were literally tied, he had no leverage for his legs to do anything, and he was far too close to do anything else without himself getting immediately hurt.
"Then just get it over with," Obi-Wan muttered, glaring down at his manacled wrists between them.
"Get what over with?" Vader asked. "Do you think what I have planned will be a 'one and done' thing?" He chuckled, a deep voice more terrifying than it should be. "You have no idea what I want to do with you."
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "I think you've made it plenty clear."
"Oh? And what is that."
"To hurt my master." Obi-Wan ground out, as if stating the obvious. "By hurting me. Or humiliating me." Obi-Wan's face was very red, glaring down at Vader's chest so he didn't want to meet his eye.
He didn't want to consider the third option—the dark cross-section of those two points that Vader alluded to.
If he came down to it—injuries or none, Force or no Force— Obi-Wan swore to himself he would go down fighting.
He wouldn't let his dignity be devoured by a petty, vain sith lord.
Vader tilted his head to the side, considering him. His lips turned down in a frown.
"Those pirates didn't bathe you at all, did they?" He sighed.
"What?" Obi-Wan was shocked out of his dismal spiral. He made a strangled sort of noise.
"N-no. Of course they didn't—"
Vader made an unhappy sort of sound, tossing back the last of his drink. placing it back on the rim of the mini-bar that had been concealed in a beautiful hand-painted globe of Coruscant.
“Let’s go.”
He shoved Obi-Wan back onto his feet before standing himself. A finger was hooked in the chain clasp between Obi-Wan's manacles, bidding him to follow along. For some reason, Obi-Wan had expected Vader to lead him back out into the hall the way they came. But instead, he was marched down the corridor further into Vader’s living quarters to the fresher.