Title: Take My Hand
Author(s): vaderincarnate
Timeframe: post-Rots (spoilers)
Characters: Vader, Obi-Wan
Genre: angst, vignette
Keywords: forgiveness, hatred, introspection, post-RotS
Summary: I forgave you everything else, old man, save for that final transgression.
Notes: Really short random attempt to avoid Java programming. Stars, I hate Java.
Sometimes I see you in my dreams, old man.
In my dreams you stand before me as of old, tall and proud, with your Jedi wisdom hanging almost palpably about you. Eyes the color of ice and hair the color of flame, a young man who had seen too much, and your eyes are sad and tired with an inexplicable fatigue.
My dream self, I as I was when we last met, reaches out a hand. The left hand, the one that was still flesh and blood. "Take my hand," I say with a smile, the old Skywalker grin coming with practiced ease.
And you don't.
And then, as I start to burn, as my flesh melts away from my skin and my face peels back from my bones, I cry out in pain and reach out for you who were once my brother, and you stand there unmoving, untouched by my pain. And I writhe and I flail as the scent of my burning flesh fills my nostrils the sound of my screams fill the air.
"Take my hand!" I plead, beg, and still you stand there, implacable and indifferent.
The world fades around me, the clear image of you before me fading to optical scans in shades of red, the digital imprints that I now use to see the world, feeding directly into my brain. And to my horror I hear my own mechanical breathing, the harsh sounds of the machines that keep me alive, and I realize that I'm awake.
It was you who led me to this, old man. You who were my father and my mentor and my murderer.
And I forgave you for it, did you know that? For all of it.
For leading me there, for killing me there. For everything and anything that you did that helped me to that path. Hells, for winning the duel and cutting me to pieces -- it was your duty to take down the Sith, and such was your place. I could no more blame you for that than I could blame you for being a Jedi.
But ... but. You, who were once my companion and my father and my mentor. You who raised me through adolescence and gave me a place in a cold galaxy and took me in where no one else would. You who I once loved as a brother.
I forgave you everything else, old man. Everything and anything I forgave, save for that final transgression. I loved you, and you left me to this fate worse than death, to this existence supported by cold and uncaring machines, to this life locked away in a prison of durasteel, to this dark master who couldn't care less whether I live or die so long as I further his agenda with my death.
I loved you and you abandoned me.
I loved you. And though I now hate you, something of that old love remains, the taste of respect and devotion and a remembered companionship that was. And though I love you still, I will rejoice when I kill you, old man, for that last sin that I will never be able to forgive.
Why didn't you take my hand, old man?
Obi-Wan, why wouldn't you take my hand?
Finis.