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Title: Those Memories Of A Time Worth Living.
Rating: PG (Dark)
Summary: Based on a conversation in another story: “And if I were to reverse your aging process?” Anakin’s expression was pleasant. “Turn you back to that obedient, eager to please, impressionable padawan you once were? Remove your experiences and destroy your memories of Qui-Gon, Yoda and the fact that you were once the master?” He paused, and took a small sip from the glass. “What then?”

Padme would be the first to go.

Obi-Wan spent the night envisaging her, his hands stapled with plasteel to the wall behind him, his neck straight and his head held stiffly upright, blue-green eyes staring unblinkingly across at the far wall of his small cell.

He could see the easy curve of her smile, her lips pink and full, forming around words which were somehow made more perfect by her speaking them, more beautiful, their meaning moulded into a whole new, wonderful sense. A natural politician, and yet for her - only for her - the description wasn’t an insult by Obi-Wan’s reckoning. He could still remember her first speech to the Senate; a single, fourteen year old girl standing up in front of hundreds of veteran senators, demanding that they act immediately to free Naboo. He had watched all those years ago, and he had grinned. She had been something different.

His gaze faltered slightly, flickered downwards to the cell floor for a moment, and his heart clenched.

So many moments burned in his mind. Eyes dark and bright, glittering with humour as she laughed, delicate skin brushed a slight pink over her cheekbones, her fingers at her mouth as he detailed the events of his diplomatic visit to Quelor. A slight quirk of her lips as she spoke, a rueful dimple in her left cheek, dark lashes at half-mast as if she could disguise the intelligence hidden behind them, her ability sharp and clear in her words, making the senator from Kaxidia reply through gritted teeth and move off quickly. A nimble hand, skin soft, reaching up to tuck away a stray lock of hair behind her ear for safekeeping, her delicate brows furrowed in a slight frown as she looked up at him with trust and intense feeling, her mouth speaking of Anakin.

And then she had been dead. Her stomach still swollen, her fingers clenched into unfeeling fists, her skin pale and waxy and covered in a sheen of sweat which stuck curled tendrils of hair to her forehead, tear trails glistening on cheeks which were still warm with life. And Obi-Wan could only feel regret that her words - her last words - had been for a mistaken cause; a cause which no amount of good intentions or strong words could put right, one founded through the politics she had had such faith in and one which had sentenced her to death. Her compassion and her love had at last overwhelmed her, shining so bright that she had burned out, the beauty remaining even in death but the vividness gone. Her mouth unsmiling, her eyes closed and her lips silenced forever.

Obi-Wan was still staring at the far wall when they came to collect him in the early hours of the morning, watching a girl long dead try to restrain her smile in the sunlight of Naboo as rough hands released him from his bonds, listening to her laugh with his padawan as they hauled him upwards and held him tightly as they snapped on the cuffs.

He wondered how it could be possible to forget her.

~

Obi-Wan hung limply in his bonds, cold and damp from his bath, one leg drawn in close to him.

He thought it was possible that there was something missing. A feeling which he couldn’t quite place, didn’t think he’d ever felt before, swelled within him, one of emptiness and disorientation, and the acrid taste of nausea hit the back of his throat. He considered the awful possibility that Anakin had been telling the truth - wondered if something important - something which had once defined him - had gone and he didn’t even know. He wasn’t sure if it was possible, technology so arcane that it sounded more like twisted magic when it had been described to him - and he had no proof but a feeling, and a feeling he didn’t understand at that. Panic hammered in his chest because he just couldn’t remember, couldn’t remember what he was even trying to remember, and he didn’t know how he could ever hope to find out what was missing.

The door slid open and Obi-Wan stiffened as Anakin stepped calmly over the threshold, the door closing behind him. The Sith moved directly to the chair that had been placed in front of where he was held captive, sitting, hands attached to the wall, and sat down in it elegantly, a pleasant smile on his features as his eyes scrutinised Obi-Wan’s face with an intensity which left him feeling uncomfortable.

“How are you feeling?” Anakin’s voice was light. “Well, I hope?”

Obi-Wan considered the situation carefully. Nothing could be gained through silence, however tempting the proposition might seem to his overwhelmed mind.

“I’ve been better. Truth be told, the accommodation could be more comfortable.”

Obi-Wan suspected that Anakin’s smile became real for a moment.

“How was your bath?”

“Pleasant,” he paused, “though I can’t remember much of it. The treatment, I assume?” He kept his voice as light and meaningless as he could but the question still fell heavily from his lips, nothing able to disguise its vast intention. He winced, immediately wishing to take back such a clumsy attempt, knowing that Anakin would see straight through it for what it really was.

The Sith leant back in his chair, one hand held contemplatively at his mouth, eyes regarding Obi-Wan with a narrowed consideration. After a long moment, he shook his head and laughed softly, the smile fading entirely from his face.

“Yes, the treatment. You were already unconscious when the droids took you from the tank. However, you reacted well to the memory pulses, regaining awareness much faster than any of our previous test subjects - including those with similar midi-chlorian counts.” The word ‘Jedi’ went unspoken. Obi-Wan’s breath hitched and he swallowed hard. “The droid monitoring you reports that your vitals are normal, and there have been no adverse side effects.” He paused. “I’m glad.”

Obi-Wan was silent for a long moment. “So what did I…” he trailed off, unable to voice his thoughts around the constriction in his throat.

“Forget?” Anakin’s voice was soft, amused, his lips curving into a smile once more. “Padme.”

Padme.

Obi-Wan shut his eyes and mouthed the word, trying to force his brain into recognising it, its texture unfamiliar on his tongue. But there was nothing. Only a void in his brain which could have fit any number of faces, places, words, none of it certain. It was hopeless. For all he knew, Anakin could be lying - the name as meaningless to Obi-Wan before the treatment as it was now - taking his enjoyment in watching his captive try to force the piece of knowledge into the puzzle of his mind and failing because it had never fit, and it never would. He opened his eyes to find Anakin staring down at him, his expression one of pleased satisfaction, and he could do nothing to fight back the despair which flooded through him.

“Why do this?” he asked, so softly it was almost inaudible.

“I’ve told you, Obi-Wan, but you chose to disbelieve me. I see no need to tell you again.” Anakin’s voice had an abrupt finality to it as he stood up and moved towards the door. “You always think me less capable than I am. It is a fault I shall take great pleasure in rectifying.”

“But-” Obi-Wan shook his head, eyes wide and pleading with incredulity. “Your apprentice? Anakin, I am twice your age! A Jedi!”

Anakin turned, a cold smile playing across his features. “Two things that will soon change.” He paused, eyes fixing on Obi-Wan’s face. “I think Mace Windu and the council will be next.”

He stayed only long enough to see the dismay flash across Obi-Wan’s face, his body sagging heavily against the wall, eyes screwing tight shut.

~

Obi-Wan had been steeped in the acrid, viscous embrace of memories when Anakin had found him on Tatooine. Or at least, when the bounty hunter had seen him in the dark recesses of a bar, recognised him from the holovid still widely circulating after four and a half years and had led Darth Vader, the new galactic Emperor, to the door of his small hut.

Obi-Wan hadn’t surrendered, but he hadn’t died either. Anakin hadn’t allowed it. The bounty had been twenty thousand credits. Alive.

He thought he had been captured nineteen days ago, the estimation blurred by unconsciousness and drugs and the uniform grey of the walls of his cell. It was funny how perceptions could change in such a short space of time. In that hut surrounded by hot, white sand, Obi-Wan had wanted little else but to forget the circumstances which had taken him there, the betrayal and the deaths weighing heavily on his mind, his padawan’s face, contorted by darkness and the fiery pain of Mustafar, never far from the edges of his vision. Now, as he hung despondently from the wall, he gathered those painful memories to himself, holding them carefully in his thoughts and reciting them over and over and over, trying desperately to imprint their wretchedness onto some part of his mind where Anakin couldn’t touch.

Mace Windu. Padme. Mace Windu. Padme. Mace Windu. Padme.

He assumed they were names, but, in truth, he didn’t even know that. Just a jumble of mixed up letters forming words which had no meaning. He clung to them regardless, unwilling to lose the remaining fragments of memories which Anakin had told him had been eradicated from his mind. Because if he mouthed them again and again, muttering them under his breath, perhaps something would break, snap, disintegrate and he would remember, thoughts rushing to fill the terrible, silent spaces in his head. Perhaps Anakin would overlook those words, allow him one last final cruelty, and when he was free, Obi-Wan could find who the names belonged to, trace their faces with his eyes and make new memories, talk to them and regain the old ones he had lost - had had stolen from him. Perhaps.

He didn’t look up when he heard the door slide open, nor when two shining boots began to walk slowly across the floor, stopping in the space his eyes were fixed to. There was a short silence, then a sigh resonated softly from above his head and he fancied he felt the tremor in the air as Anakin crouched down in front of him.

“Only Palpatine, Obi-Wan.” A pause. “Only Palpatine.”

He waited motionless until Anakin had left before he clenched his fists into tight balls to try and stop the shudders juddering through his upper body, his arms quivering spasmodically against the wall they were bound to, his lips pressed into a hard line.

The kind, soft whisper ate away at his brain. Only Palpatine.

And it still mattered. The man was evil and he was dead. But it still mattered.

~

The second guard dropped bonelessly to the floor and Obi-Wan clung with outstretched, sweat-damp fingers to the cool metal behind him, his breath coming ragged and hard and his legs quivering beneath him. Slowly, carefully, he shifted his weight, gritting his teeth in painful determination against unsure knees which threatened to buckle under a body which had been inactive for weeks, sliding his hands down from the wall and bringing them up to his chest.

He rubbed at the raw, chafed skin of one of his wrists, smoothing absentmindedly with the pad of his thumb over the pale underside stained a soft red and rough with abrasion, his heartbeat fluttering with agitation through the skin and bone at the juncture of his hand. It had been a long time since his wrists had been free, bare of the sharp bite of metal, and he knew the opportunity wouldn’t arise again. The guards had become careless, removing him from the wall and taking time enough to ready the specialised cuffs that his hesitant awareness of the dampened Force at the edge of his perceptions had become more solid, usable, a point of leverage. And he had used it without hesitation.

Bending, he clumsily scooped up the cuffs from where they had fallen and held them carefully with a single outstretched finger, the minimum contact still sending spider webs of numbness spiralling up his arm. The only weapon available to him and he was loathe to leave it. Quickly patting down the simple grey tunic, he was unsurprised to find that the uniform of a prisoner held no secret recess in which to stow his prize, and so he steeled himself against the metal’s unnaturally cold touch, taking care to grip the outside of the thick plasteel bands where the Force inhibitors had a less corrosive effect.

Legs still weak and his sense of balance wavering, he made his way unsteadily to the door, watching as the panel slid back with a hiss of compressed air, bare feet stepping cautiously out of his cell. He looked left then right, the corridor branching away in both directions, straining his ears to listen for the sounds of life and reaching out with as much of the Force as he dared. He shut his eyes for a moment, steadying his reeling senses, then began padding down the corridor, one hand lightly trailing over the nearest wall for support.

He had no clear plan of what he was going to do, just knew that he had to do something, get away now before everything was gone. The Obi-Wan Kenobi he might once have been would have tried to escape, wouldn’t have cared that he was inside what he assumed to be a Super Star Destroyer, its passageways full of clone troopers and which he couldn’t  hope to navigate successfully. That Obi-Wan Kenobi would have found a ship and would have escaped regardless. He wouldn’t have even entertained the notion which Obi-Wan was considering now.

Because he knew that if a clone squad found him, they wouldn’t kill him. Would simply overwhelm him with their numbers, carry him back to the cell he had just left and strap him to the wall until the time that Anakin found it suitable to erase just a little bit more of who he had once been. And when that happened, there would be no further chance at escape. If he was captured now, there would soon be nothing left of what had once been.

He shut his eyes and leant heavily against the wall for a brief moment, allowing the tremors in his fingertips to subside.

He wouldn’t let that happen. Obi-Wan would rather be a coward. Because dying would be a lot more certain release than escape could ever be.

Gripping the cuffs tightly in his right hand, he opened his eyes and continued on down the long corridor, wary of spending too much time in any one place, shields as strong as he could make them in his present state of mind. What he needed now was a single clone trooper, blaster slung innocuously at his side and mind open to the suggestion that it would perhaps be more sensible to kill an escaped Jedi, easier to lift the gun and fire rather than call for back up, regardless of what his orders might or might not have been.

“Obi-Wan.”

He froze, eyes staring blankly ahead at the shadowed exit leading out of the holding cell area, horror slowly creeping up his throat and filling his mouth. He wavered, the impulse to run clawing at his numbed brain, fingers splayed on the wall for balance, then slowly turned around.

Anakin was smiling. Walking towards him, black robe hanging imperiously from his shoulders, and Obi-Wan had to fight the urge to back away. Closer, closer. He bit his tongue, the taste of warm copper blood sliding over his taste buds and bringing his mind back with a sharp focus, his hand gripping white fingered around the cuffs.

“Did you not think, Obi-Wan, that I would feel the amount of Force needed to knock out two guards?” Anakin’s voice held that soft, admonishing quality, as if he was speaking to a wayward youngling, his face so near Obi-Wan’s that when he spoke breaths of warm air brushed over his cheek. “On my own ship?”

Reaching out with a gloved hand, he brought it up to Obi-Wan’s face, cool leather fingers smoothing over his cheekbone, down past his ear and over the bony ridge of his jaw, gently tilting his head upwards until their gazes met. Obi-Wan didn’t flinch away, though his body was strung so tightly that he radiated quivering tension.

“Now, would you like to walk back to your quarters, or will you be dragged?” There was a subtle shift in the Force, a pressure which hadn’t been there before closing around Obi-Wan’s mind. “And I wouldn’t advise the use of any tricks. You have not regained your full strength, and I would only hurt you.”

There was a soft click and Obi-Wan stumbled backwards, away from the other man as Anakin glanced down at his outstretched hand, the wrist of which was now encased in shining metal. His eyes darted back up to Obi-Wan’s, violence slowly darkening their depths.

Obi-Wan didn’t care, adrenaline making him feel dizzy and even more light headed as he raised his now empty hand and made a swift gesture. There was a palpable resistance - much more than there had been when he had struck out at the two guards - but Anakin only had one cuff on and considerable ability, and Obi-Wan had braced himself for the possibility. His vision wavered and sweat beaded his brow, but a soft thud stopped his efforts before they overwhelmed him, and he glanced down at Anakin’s still form on the floor before turning and stumbling off once more, new hope reverberating sharply in his chest.

He exited the lower corridor and dared the elevator, rising to the next level. Once there, he expended more of himself than he could rightly afford by cloaking himself from the awareness of a whole squad of clone troopers, his faltering steps slowing as he continued onwards, eyes bright and looking for death.

He had reached the main communications room when his luck run out. Two squads of clones entering simultaneously from two different entrances and, amidst reports of “The Jedi! He’s here!” spoken in identical voices into identical comm links, he was quickly surrounded. Obi-Wan leant against the central unit, his legs shaking with exhaustion, and looked about him. None of the clones had their blasters aimed, their stances solid and the circle compact, unmoving, their pale masks uniform and cold. He knew with a dreadful certainty that they had known he had escaped, knew also that they had been ordered to keep him there.

He had to act fast.

Reaching out desperately with as much of the Force as he could muster, he wrapped it gently around the mind of the clone that he could just see out of the corner of his eye, subtly influencing, calming any contesting thoughts which surfaced. The clone jerked his head slightly, then slowly reached down to his holster, fingers gripping the blaster held within it and loosening it, bringing it up, his arm steady as he aimed for Obi-Wan’s head, finger tightening on the trigger.

Something shredded within him and Obi-Wan collapsed in a burning agony of pain, crying out hoarsely, his link with the clone torn ferociously away. He lay on the floor, gasping, for long moments, watching as familiar boots slowly approached. An invisible force wrapped itself around his neck, squeezing mercilessly, choking him, dragging him to his feet.

Anakin’s eyes were dark holes in his face.

“Yoda next, I think.”

~

Obi-Wan stared sightlessly ahead.

Hidden, safe, the children must be kept… Split up, they should be… To Tatooine. To his family, send him. Strong the Force runs, in the Skywalker line. Hope, we can… Done, it is. Until the time is right, disappear we will…

Yoda would still be alive.

Obi-Wan wondered if he would meet him under his new guise of apprentice to the dark side in the years to come. Wondered if they would fight. Wondered if the old master would recognise him as Obi-Wan Kenobi, former Jedi, former friend.

Padme. Mace Windu. Palpatine. Padme. Mace Windu. Palpatine.

He hoped he would not.

~

When it was Qui-Gon’s turn, he begged.

“No.” A harsh, croaked whisper of horror. “Please, Anakin. Not that. Not him. Please.”

He strained against his bonds, tugging futilely, the metal cutting sharply into his wrist bones as his voice spilt from his mouth, uttering broken, confused syllables as he shook his head vehemently from side to side, his eyes fixed pleadingly to the face of the man above him.

“Please, Anakin. Just…” he trailed off, thick emotion clogging his throat. “Please?”

The Sith moved from his chair and knelt in front of him, gently shushing him with soft words, pushing back the hair that had fallen into Obi-Wan’s panicked, grief-stricken eyes with steady hands.

“Stop it, Obi-Wan.” Cool fingers pressed into his wrists, stopping their erratic movement, the voice a soothing whisper. “You’ll hurt yourself if you continue doing that.”

“He’s dead, Anakin.” The flash of a red light sabre and a warm head cradled in his arms, long hair spilling out around them and a soft voice in his ear. Making him promise. And he had. And he had failed. “What harm can he do?”

“The most.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes burned and he blinked furiously, moisture sticking his eyelashes together. “Please, Anakin. I just…” He couldn’t get a handle on his thoughts. Couldn’t express exactly why this was so important to him - the most important thing. And it was. He had to make Anakin see that. Had to make Anakin understand. “I won’t… be able to get him back. He’s dead. Qui-Gon. I’ll never be able to find him and… recreate them. The memories, I mean. I can’t manage if you… You don’t understand. Anything but that. You can’t just…” He screwed his eyes tightly together, trying to ignore a soft laugh, twinkling blue eyes, a sombre smile pressing in on his mind.  “Please?”

Anakin’s eyes were clear and calm, his mouth curled into a slight smile and his voice still soothingly soft.

“You weren’t like this with the others. And they are all dead too.”

Padme. Mace Windu. Palpatine. Yoda.

Obi-Wan’s throat convulsed, a small, wretched sound escaping. “They’re dead? All of them?”

“Yes. Didn’t you know? You’re the only one left.”

Hope collapsed in on itself in his chest and his head sank forward, his shoulders shuddering with repressed sobs as cruel realisation sank into his brain. He’d never be able to find the owners of the names. Would never be able to talk to them, regain what was taken, restore them to full life in his mind. They were dead. Gone forever. And he would be an empty shell.

“Nearly done now, Obi-Wan.” Anakin’s hand brushed through his sweat-damp hair and cradled his neck for a moment, stroking softly with the rough pad of his thumb. Obi-Wan couldn’t even summon the will power to jerk away from the touch, staring listlessly at his knees, his eyes blurring with unshed tears. “It’s almost over. Soon. And then you can be happy again.”

~

Padme. Mace Windu. Palpatine. Yoda. Qui-Gon. Padme. Mace Windu. Palpatine… He hesitated, unsure, his hands clenching into fists as his mind sought frantically for the words. Yoda. Yoda. And after Yoda came something else. Another name. Something which sounded odd and not quite right on his tongue.

He couldn’t remember.

Padme. Mace Windu. Palpatine. Yoda…

Something. There was meant to be another name. After Yoda. And he couldn’t remember.

Panic spiralled in his gut, hot and desperate.

A voice slid into his awareness, twisting insidiously into his ears and jerking him from his reverie. “You’ll be transported to the rejuvenation tank directly after your last memory modifications.”

He glanced up. Anakin was watching him silently from his seat, head slightly angled to one side, eyes dark and considering, a small smile playing at his lips. Obi-Wan’s stomach went cold, fists not unclenching.

“After two weeks, you should be slightly younger than you were when I first met you. A suitable age, I thought, for your re-education to begin.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes tightly.

Padme. Mace Windu. Palpatine…

“My master never thought that it would be possible to change you to the dark side. He considered it –” Obi-Wan jerked unconsciously in his bonds and opened his eyes. Anakin’s smile widened. “Oh yes. He considered it quite carefully after he heard the manner in which you killed Darth Maul. Such anger.” He paused, studying his captive’s face. “Not that you would remember much of that incident, of course. Or much of my master.”

Obi-Wan flinched, the void in his mind threatening to engulf him entirely.

Padme. Mace Windu. Palpatine. Yoda.

He knew their names. It would be alright.

“But I thought you would be perfect. Malleable enough under the right pressure, gifted strongly with the Force and prone to making attachments so blindly loyal that you would never betray me. You just needed to forget first. Forget everything.” He paused, and his fingers clenched on the sides of the chair. “I envy you that ability.”

Obi-Wan didn’t answer, simply shook his head adamantly from side to side, lips pressed into a thin line.

Anakin laughed sharply and stood, stepping closer to him and crouching down, grasping under his jaw with painfully tight fingers and jerking his head upwards until their eyes met.

“Oh, but I do. What I would do to forget.”

And he leant down and kissed him, an angry devouring of swollen lips, ignoring Obi-Wan’s pained, muffled noise of protest and the way his legs scrabbled for purchase beneath him.

Leaning back with a lazy smile, the Sith said, “But there will be advantages to having you so young and dependable once more. I think you will be enough of a distraction.”

Obi-Wan’s breathing was laboured, and he brought up his knees close to his body, his eyes wide and staring. “I hate you,” he whispered, soullessly.

“Good.” Anakin stood and moved towards the door without looking back. “You will learn to hate me a good deal more before you love me, my apprentice.” He paused at the threshold of the cell, the light from the brightly lit corridor outside flooding the room with the blackness of his shadow. “Don’t fight them when they come for you, Obi-Wan.” He paused, and Obi-Wan didn’t think he was imagining the compassion in his voice. “It would be useless.”

And the door slid shut behind him.

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