Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Star Wars. So, this is just a one-shot. You can consider it a part of The Negotiator Universe, or not.

Summary: Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi woke every night, sweating and gasping, from nightmares of Darth Vader. It had been nine years since he had watched his Padawan burn, watched the Republic fall, watched his life be destroyed around him. And every night he saw Anakin's face, twisted by evil, his eyes sickly yellow, as he screamed his hatred of Obi-Wan. It was that last which he could not bear.

Hindsight

Nights on Tatooine were bitterly cold. High up on a cliff overlooking the Dune Sea, the wind whistling through the slightly-porous walls of the dilapidated adobe dwelling he resided in, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi settled down for sleep. Every light had been extinguished and through the window set in the wall high above him, he could faintly see the stars; the only light in the whole, vast expanse of the desert.

Thin wisps of clouds flitted across the midnight blue-black sky, sometimes obscuring the tiny pinpricks of light that Obi-Wan watched distantly. He tried to calm his mind in preparation for sleep, falling into those easy, familiar breathing patterns to help relax his muscles and center himself. All the while the stars shone down upon him from impossibly far away. He briefly wondered whether Anakin had watched these same stars as a child, when he had lived with his mother in that tiny house in Mos Espa.

As a particular brisk gust of wind blew through the window, rattling the cutlery in the small kitchen area, Obi-Wan couldn't help but wonder whether Darth Vader still looked out at the stars, somewhere far away from here, and still felt awe at how many there were.

Sadly, he reflected that his old Padawan probably saw nothing of beauty any more, but only the darkness in between the light.

He could feel that dull ache start up in his chest again – his ever present companion in his exile – and annoyed with himself, he turned over and pounded his pillow into a more comfortable shape, straightened his threadbare blanket over his body, and curled up on his side, no longer looking at the stars.

Now all he saw was the darker shadow of the wall, slightly blacker than the pitch dark area around him.

Sighing in frustration, he tried to settle down again, discipline his mind, and wait patiently for sleep. It had been a long, hard day, he was exhausted, and he desperately needed sleep. But it was the same routine he engaged in day after day; trying to exhaust his body so thoroughly that he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Yet even on those days where he managed it, he always dreamed; death and pain and feeling Anakin's hatred for him burning the Force bond they had share to ashes. He woke feeling no more rested than when he had set his head down and would often have to resort to meditation during the day, just to be able to clear his thoughts.

Only someone whose mind is not at peace cannot sleep, Qui-Gon had taught him once, long ago, when the teenage Obi-Wan had been too tense, too self-reflective, and had suffered from insomnia. Discipline your mind and your body will follow.

But Obi-Wan had never mastered his mind enough to let go of his self-recriminations. They would haunt him at night, when all else was quiet. He had only started to sleep regularly when he had taken Anakin on as his apprentice. The boy had been so energetic, enthusiastic, trouble-making and emotional that Obi-Wan had fallen asleep gladly every night.

Even during the Clone Wars, when every decision he made had led to death and pain and suffering for the men who followed him, he had slept well. But then Anakin had been beside him as well.

Growling in aggravation, furious at himself for bringing his thoughts once again full-circle back to Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan turned on his other side and stared sightlessly into the darkness. He wanted to cry, his eyes ached with tears, there was a thick feeling in his throat, and he could feel that sick clench in his stomach. But he could not….he would not. Anakin Skywalker was gone – dead in the fires of Mustafar at Obi-Wan's hand. Whatever had been left had perished with the demise of his wife.

He had tried…he had tried so hard. He had left Padmé attempt to reach him against his own better judgment, and it had resulted in her death. He had stalled and stalled in the fight against his Padawan, his best friend, his brother. Long past the point of his own endurance, he had defended, trying to reach the boy he had raised, the man he had been so proud of, through their bond, through his words.

He was supposed to be good with words, for Force sake. He was supposed to have been someone that Anakin….cared about.

And even in the end he had failed. He should have killed Anakin as he lay burning. He should have driven his lightsaber clean through his neck, given him a quick death.

But he hadn't been able to. He had known that he wasn't strong enough to strike that blow. Maiming him, watching him burn, had been almost more than he could endure. He could feel his mind, his soul, whatever made him Obi-Wan Kenobi, fracturing as he injured the person he loved best in the galaxy. And he couldn't strike that last blow.

He had thought the Force would be merciful; that Anakin would burn to death in the fires of the lava planet, and that maybe his sins would be purified and he might find some sort of peace in the afterlife. He had thought – as he took his Padawan's lightsaber, as he held Anakin's newborn twins in his arms, as he settled into his lonely watch over Luke on Tatooine – that he had managed to spare some of the shattered pieces of Obi-Wan as well.

But he hadn't. The Force hadn't been merciful at all. Darth Vader had been re-born from Anakin's ashes, and Obi-Wan Kenobi had died besides his friend on the lava planet.

A ghost and a monster had come away from that last fight; neither of them was truly alive any more.

And he blamed himself. Oh, he blamed himself. Despite knowing that it served no purpose, that there was nothing he could do but move forwards, he couldn't help but blame himself. If only he had kept Anakin entirely away from Palpatine…if only he had taken Anakin and run when the boy was still young, before all the pressures of being the Chosen One were placed upon him…..if only he had separated Anakin and Padmé when he first saw how unhealthy Anakin's obsession with her was…if only he had been a better teacher, a better friend, a better Jedi…

Many days he felt guilt for separating Luke and Leia, for not raising them himself. He had been close to both their parents, Padmé had died beside him and entrusted her children to him, and he was letting Anakin, his best friend, down by not telling his children about their parents, by not showering them with all the love he felt for them.

And then he would remember how he had failed Anakin, failed Padmé, failed Qui-Gon, failed Satine, failed Ahsoka…..the list went on and on. No, Luke and Leia were better off away from him. He would protect them with his last breath, but he would not raise them. He would not curse them in that way.

They were alive and they were well. Occasionally, the Force brought him images and sense perceptions of them; that they were happy and bright and brilliantly-blazing in the Force. And Ahsoka…..Ahsoka was alive. She had found him several years after Order 66, coming upon him as he was meditating one morning out in the desert. The happiness in her face, the overwhelming joy she had exuded through her Force presence, the way she had thrown herself into his arms, had convinced him that she didn't blame him for what had happened between her and the Jedi Council.

No more than he blamed her for walking away, for leaving him and the Order, for leaving Anakin when he had needed her most.

She returned to visit him when she could but she was important within Bail Organa's growing Rebellion against the Empire. She was capable and useful and wore compassion and serenity with a grace many twice her age could not manage. She had been an excellent Jedi Knight, even though she would never admit it.

It was that thought, his pride in her, which allowed him to fall asleep at last.

Immediately, he was fighting for his life. Sweat trickled in rivulets down his face, soaking the rough cloth of his Jedi robes where it met the back of his neck, before sliding down his back. His hair kept flopping in his eyes. His legs felt heavy and one of his arms had been sprain somehow. His breathing, though, was deep and even, a soft counterpoint to the harsh, mechanical breaths of his black-armored opponent. The buzz of their lightsabers and those breaths were the only sounds in the place.

Obi-Wan chanced a quick glance around – some type of dark, military-type installation, with monitors on every wall and flashing red lights – before re-focusing on his adversary. Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith, took a menacing step forward, his red lightsaber angled towards his former Master in a firm, two-handed grip.

"I knew I would find you eventually, Obi-Wan," that deep voice boomed.

Obi-Wan could feel that hot gaze settle on him and shivered despite himself. His palms were sweating and he adjusted them to keep his grip even on the hilt of his own lightsaber.

"You could not run from me forever, my old Master," Darth Vader continued. His black cape billowed in a non-existent breeze. Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow.

"Still using the Force for trivial things, I see," he taunted. His voice was surprisingly even, his tone mildly contemptuous. But he couldn't say the figure's name; either his true name or the one he had assumed. It would break him.

"I have become more powerful than you could possibly imagine!" And suddenly Vader moved, fast, aggressive, his lightsaber swinging with more-than human strength; the mechanical limbs he had been cursed with turned into a terrifying advantage. Obi-Wan blocked and then they exchanged a flurry of blows, Obi-Wan always retreating, stalling for time, looking for that one, decisive opening.

Vader was slower than he had been on Mustafar, but he was deliberate and cold now. He was perfectly in control, his aggressive strikes harsh but unceasing – some type of combination between Djem So and Makashi. Obi-Wan was hard pressed to keep up, cursing himself for losing his edge somewhat in the desert. Vader had had close to a decade hunting down other Jedi in order to hone his skills. Obi-Wan only intermittently had Ahsoka to train against.

And he was getting older. If he got out of this alive, he would have to alter his own style a bit in order to compensate.

Vader kicked out at him and as Obi-Wan dodged, he Force shoved the Jedi Master backwards until Obi-Wan's back slammed into one of the floor-length monitors behind him. Obi-Wan saw stars but brought his lightsaber up in time in order to block Vader's downward strike. He blinked until his vision cleared a bit.

The lightsabers were inches from his face, crackling sparks shooting off of them as blue and red clashed. The Sith Lord bent over him, using his massive height and strength to force the blades ever closer.

"Yield to me, my Master," Vader intoned. "You will yield."

"Never," Obi-Wan swore. "I will never give in to the Dark Side. You and the one you call Master now have failed." Obi-Wan hated the bitterness that suffused his tone as he spat the words 'one you call Master now', but they were accurate. It hurt every time he thought about it; that Anakin had thrown aside his teachings for those of Darth Sidious.

"You are mine, Obi-Wan," Vader said, the monotone of his voice at sharp contrast to the maelstrom of emotion Obi-Wan could feel within him.

"Oh?" Obi-Wan challenged, icily polite even as the lightsabers were forced another centimeter closer to his face. They would singe his beard in another second. He tried to pull his head back a little more, but there was nowhere to go. "As you were mine?" He demanded of the monster before him.

And then, suddenly, between one blink of his eyelids and the next, the lightsabers were gone. There was darkness all around them now, but Obi-Wan knew Vader had not gone. The Sith Lord had encaged Obi-Wan against the monitors with his massive, mechanical arms. His heavy breathing, managed entirely by his respirator, was right before Obi-Wan's face, and the lights blinking on his armored chest were almost blinding in contrast to the impenetrable gloom that otherwise covered the room.

Vader said nothing, although he refused to budge when Obi-Wan attempted to push against his chest.

"Release me," Obi-Wan demanded with a voice that was utterly calm.

"Never," the Sith Lord whispered, and Obi-Wan shivered again.

This was a dream, he realized. This was only a dream.

He could Force-push Vader away from him, but if this was a dream….

Hesitant hands reached up, skating along Vader's arms, up over his broad shoulders, until they reached the base of the helmet. The Sith Lord made no move to stop him, his breathing remained unchanged, and the only thing that was different was the racing of Obi-Wan's heart.

His fingers fumbled in the dark until they had traced around the rim of the helmet and found the release button. He reached out in the Force since he couldn't see, but the only reading he could obtain from the Vader was a sense of…anticipation. Probably just a mirror of his own feelings, although Obi-Wan possibly felt fear and hope in greater proportion than anticipation.

With a 'hiss' the pressurized helmet released its seal and Obi-Wan, holding his breath, pulled it off.

There was complete silence in the room. Obi-Wan dropped the helmet to the ground, his hands immediately coming up, and fingertips running across….smooth, youthful skin. He gasped, unable to believe his senses. He felt again, running his roughed fingers over…..yes, smooth skin, the prickle of scruff showing that Anakin hadn't shaved. His fingers brushed over the strong bridge of his nose, against the hard angles of his jaw, up over full lips – slightly parted, a puff of hair tickling Obi-Wan's thumb and causing him to shiver again – and up past the scar by his right eye, until it tangled in soft, unruly curls.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan gasped out, his voice filled with so much fear that it was barely a shadow of its former, smooth tones.

Those massive arms were bending now, bringing the Sith Lord closer to Obi-Wan until he was resting entirely upon the older man. Closer, closer he came, until his forehead rested on Obi-Wan's own. Obi-wan couldn't bring himself to release his hold on Anakin's hair. "Anakin," he said again, a question or a demand he couldn't have said.

"Yes, Master?" And the voice was Anakin Skywalker's.

Obi-Wan sobbed and then he was dragging Anakin closer, pressing his lips against those full, soft ones, his hands twisting and tugging on that beautiful, unruly hair…..

Obi-Wan woke up with a start, heart pounding, and the tingle of Anakin's kisses still on his lips. He was lying on his stomach and his cock was half-hard where it pressed into the bed.

His eyes were wide, shock and alarm turning his mouth dry as he rolled back over onto his back, resolutely not reaching downwards to grasp his growing erection and bring himself relief. Willing himself to a semblance of serenity he attempted to figure out what in the stars had just happened. He had never thought of Anakin that way…...never wanted him in that way….

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan admitted to himself that that wasn't strictly true. He had noticed that Anakin turned into a remarkably handsome man, even though he never acknowledged it out loud. There had been one night, during the Clone Wars, where Anakin had gotten him drunk – probably in a misguided attempt to get him to actually sleep for once – and he had awoken in the middle of the night to find himself curled around Anakin, one arm possessively holding the younger man against his chest, as his full-hard cock nestled between Anakin's buttocks. Anakin had been sleepily moaning and trying to grind back into Obi-Wan.

He remembered stumbling out of bed and wanking himself raw in the refresher, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood to keep from calling out Anakin's name as he came. He had still been mostly drunk, his inhibitions utterly lowered, and it had taken a long time for him to exhaust his arousal enough to return to bed.

He hadn't gotten any sleep that night either, and had spent the entire next day exhausted and hungover to boot.

But that had been…once…. a mistake. He had loved Anakin like a brother, that was all.

But still he dragged himself out of bed and spent the rest of the night meditating instead of sleeping.

It was a week later that Obi-Wan found himself dreaming again. That day he had ventured into Mos Eisley for some much-needed supplies and to discreetly have a drink – non-alcoholic – at one of the local bars to catch up on Imperial news.

Vader had been all over the holonet – some raid on Naboo, where the queen was accused of harboring Jedi. Vader's dark visage had been filmed as he entered the mausoleum dedicated to past queens and their sarcophagi and Obi-Wan knew that he had gone to visit Padmé's tomb.

He had desperately wished for an inclination to get drunk, but he was a Jedi…had been a Jedi…..might be a Jedi again someday, and they did not solve their problems that way. Resolutely, he had paid for his glass of water, bought his supplies, and made the long trip back home.

Sleep had been a long time coming and when he found himself facing Darth Vader even there, he was hardly surprised. The aging Jedi Master and the mincing Lord of the Sith stood facing one another in one of the many sunlit corridors of the former Jedi Temple – where they had both grown up.

"Darth Vader," Obi-Wan said, politely. There was no one else around. The smooth, clean lines of the walls, the sparkling, translucent glass of the windows, the soft feel of the carpets underneath his worn boots, were all so familiar to him, so vivid, that it felt like coming home. "Only you would be so bold as to bring me back here, of all places."

The rumble of laughter that issued from the armored man did not sound human. "This is your dream, not mine, old man. But even here you cannot escape the truth that you long for me…. even now."

Without prompting, he removed his mask and the rest of his armor simply melted away, revealing Anakin Skywalker as he had been at 20, before Ahsoka had left and Palpatine began drawing the young man ever closer into his web.

This is a dream, Obi-Wan thought to himself. Whatever happens in your dream, stays here.

He was younger again as well when he stepped forward, hesitantly, hand shaking, as he reached up and stroked tremulous fingers along Anakin's smooth cheek. He watched the flutter of the young man's eyelashes – turned golden from the sunlight – and felt his heart steady for the first time in forever. "Even in my dreams I cannot escape you," he murmured.

Anakin's bright blue eyes opened again, laughter dancing in them as that familiar, cocky grin spread over his full lips. "You are mine, Master," he declared, before pulling Obi-Wan into his arms and kissing him.

Somehow, Obi-Wan found himself shoved backwards until his back hit the wall, felt Anakin kissing him deep and consuming, his tongue teasing along Obi-Wan's lips until the Jedi Master opened his mouth with a sigh and welcomed him in. Anakin kissed him like a man who has found cool water in the desert, like a man who has had all of his prayers and wishes answered at once.

"I've wanted this for so long," he whispered heatedly against Obi-Wan's lips, his long, lean body pressed flush against Obi-Wan's own. As he shifted, trying to fit them even closer together, Obi-Wan's hip pressed into Anakin's groin, feeling that hardness there and drawing a groan from the man in his arms.

"Master," Anakin gasped, his fingers rising to tangle briefly in Obi-Wan's hair as his teeth scrapped along the older man's bearded jaw. He moaned volubly when Obi-Wan shifted again, this time deliberately, brushing their swollen erections against each other, Helplessly, he tried to arch his hips, the shudder that ran through his body sending sparks of arousal through Obi-Wan. The Jedi Master pulled Anakin even closer, wanted to run his hands over that smooth, unblemished skin, wanted to shower Anakin's face with kisses, make him come completely undone in Obi-Wan's arms.

Anakin's hands were fluttering like birds, unsure of where to land. "I need you, Master," he begged against Obi-Wan's lips, a desperate note to his voice.

Obi-Wan pulled back briefly, his hands caressing that beloved face as he tried to put what he was feeling into words. Anakin's cheeks were flushed, his lips swollen by kisses, and the bulge in his pants spoke clearer than any words that he wanted Obi-Wan. "You've always had me, Anakin," he admitted, placing a gentle kiss on those trembling lips, loving the way the younger man melted into his arms again. "I've always been yours."

Anakin's pure and uncomplicated laughter was as bright as the ringing of bells. With a shout, he hauled Obi-Wan up into his arms, pressed him back once more into the wall and proceeded to ravish his mouth yet again. He took Obi-Wan like that, his clever fingers stretching him until Obi-Wan was impatient and squirming, and then rocking into him inch by inch, until with a sigh, they came together.

Obi-Wan, feeling his cock throb with every thrust of Anakin's hips, felt a mirror of their ecstasy start to sing in the Force. Pure and undiluted by mortal passion, it twined Obi-Wan and Anakin together into one, glorious song within the very tapestry of the Force; a bright beam of unbroken light.

"Oh, Anakin," Obi-Wan cried softly, feeling his own release sweep over him. "I love you," he realized. "I love you so much."

He awoke to sticky sheets and tears on his cheeks, the cold, night winds of Tatooine blowing ceaselessly over the dunes far below.

"I love you," he realized, whispering it out loud. "I…loved him."

He had shouted it to him amidst the fires of Mustafar, but it was only here, in the bleak, desolation of Tatooine, Anakin's home planet, that Obi-Wan Kenobi realized he had loved Anakin Skywalker in every way it was possible to love another.

And he wept at a revelation which had come too late.

&….&….&…..&….&…..&

End Notes: Just a little one-shot which got stuck in my head and which I felt the urge to share with you all. I feel like Obi-Wan would have suppressed his feelings for Anakin at all costs – because he was a Jedi, because he had raised Anakin, because there was a war going on, and then because Anakin married Padmé – and by then it was too late. So, all that time alone on Tatooine, the fact that he could never forget Anakin and was constantly reminded of him, that felt to me like a good time for Obi-Wan to have a little self-reflection – well, it was more like his subconscious beat him over the head with it haha – and to realize that Anakin was his other half, the one person he needed by his side always.