He was here.

Vader could feel it—feel him! Obi-wan was here and Vader felt a flicker of anxiety run through him. He angrily pushed the feeling away.

Why should he be anxious to meet Obi-wan again? He was the stronger. He always had been. It was a trick of chance that had left the older Jedi the victor in their last encounter.

No, Vader was indisputably the stronger; powerful and secure in his strength with the Dark Side. His skills were ever honed and ready for the inevitable encounter. There was nothing to be anxious about. He would finally face Obi-wan again and he would destroy the older Jedi.

Yet the feeling returned. A fluttering, nervous, even fearful emotion that was stuck in his chest, trying to claw its way up his throat. Then it hit him; it wasn't about Obi-wan.

It was about his apprentice. About Athara.

About Obi-wan's daughter.

He feared what would happen were father and daughter to meet. Athara would not know him, not really. She might sense their connection through the Force, but she'd be unlikely to understand the meaning of it. But Kenobi would certainly know her.

Kenobi would realize his daughter was alive.

Not only would he undoubtedly understand what the Force told him, but he would invariably recognize her. Though it had been many long years and though he'd never known her well, Vader remembered Neva Adyé well enough to realize Athara was the near image of her mother; similar build, same shape to their nose and cheekbones, same lips and certainly the same smile. Her eyes, though, were all Obi-wan; the same shape and the same hue of sharp blue-grey.

Perhaps Athara would figure it out. How else could she rationalize seeing her eyes in an old man's face?

But Obi-wan would know. Perhaps Athara would be unable to figure it out—something Vader suddenly found himself begging of the Force—but Obi-wan would know in a heartbeat.

And Vader would lose her...just as he lost everyone else he'd ever cared about.

No! He would not let that happen.

He would get to Obi-wan first. He would protect his apprentice from the Jedi and the truth that suddenly threatened to tear apart everything Vader had left.

As soon as he had realized the ship wasn't empty, Vader had given the order for the placement of a tracking device. They would be trying to deactivate the tractor beam, rescue Leia Organa and figure out a way to escape. His suspicions had been confirmed when Tarkin had received the alert about the detention block. Vader had been hard-pressed to keep his smug validation from his voice, pleased at the irritated look Tarkin had given him as he turned and strode out of the conference room. A check with one of his squad commanders had similarly confirmed that the tractor beam had suffered a malfunction. Though he didn't outright order for the tractor beam to be reengaged—not that it would have been back up in time anyway—the Commander was left with little doubt that Vader did not consider that task in any way a priority.

And then he was heading for the hangar. He knew he would head off Obi-wan before the old Jedi made it back to the ship. The Force told him it was inevitable. So he positioned himself just outside the hangar bay bulkhead, waiting. Patience had never been his strong suit, and today was no different. Especially not with what hung in the balance. He felt like his whole body was vibrating with anticipation, an anxious buzz skittering under his skin and through his cybernetics like an electric current. It was both irritating and exhilarating. The Dark Side thrilled at the inevitable clash, the anger he'd been stoking for Obi-wan fanning to life as the reality that he was about to see his old Master again started feeling very real. His lightsaber hung waiting in his hand.

Vader closed his eyes and waited, sinking into the Force to wait, to let the Dark Side tend his waiting and impatient fury, his senses reaching out, probing, searching. Athara was on level five, no doubt looking to the alert that Tarkin had issued. Part of him was irritated that she hadn't listened to his instruction to station herself in the detention level...it would have saved him the trouble of having to track the Rebels if he had more of them to question...but he couldn't help the swell of pride at her stubbornness and skill. She had trailed him to the conference room. It was only when Tarkin's alert had sounded that a flash of her anger had alerted him that she was listening outside the door at all.

His lightsabre suddenly hummed to life in his hand nearly of its own accord.

He was here.

Obi-wan stepped around the corner, his lined face unsurprised and wary as his gaze fixed on Vader. So much had changed since last they met.

Vader had become more than he'd ever envisioned. Obi-wan had grown old and frail, looking far older than Vader had expected. The shadow of grief was written on his former mentor's face. A faint wave of sympathy tried to wake in Vader, but he shoved it aside. No. They may have lost the same things, but Vader's pain was far worse, the betrayals far more vicious. Obi-wan had no idea what it was to truly suffer, the Dark Side whispered to him. Unbidden, Vader found himself walking slowly toward the old Jedi.

Obi-wan's lightsaber lit in his hands. For a moment Vader could have sworn he saw a desire for vengeance flash across his old Master's face. He nearly sneered. So, Obi-wan was not so perfect that he did not wish to avenge his dead wife and child.

He could try and avenge his wife.

He could try to make Vader pay for killing Athara. Vader fought back a smirk, the Dark Side giddy with delight; Obi-wan didn't know she was alive. A smaller, more genuine part of him could feel only relief, though...Obi-wan didn't know.

Athara was safe from him.

A twinge of pain jabbed at him as the little bit of Anakin that remained cringed in shame that he was pleased Obi-wan had no knowledge of his daughter's continued survival. Vader shoved it away. Now was no time for sentimentality. Vader allowed himself to come to a halt, his own red blade lifting to wait before him for Obi-wan's strike. Because Obi-wan would strike first; he could feel it.

"I've been waiting for you, Obi-wan. We meet again, at last," he baited, unable to help himself. Obi-wan's blue-grey gaze was steady and resolved. Vader really did smirk this time. Obi-wan knew how this was going to end. No matter his desire for vengeance, Obi-wan would not accomplish it. His hands itched to lash his blade out, but Vader held himself steady. He wanted Obi-wan to strike first. "The circle is now complete. When I left you, I was but the learner; now I am the master."

But then a flicker in the Force distracted him; Athara had sensed him and Obi-wan. Panic and frustration surged in him. He needed to end this before she reached them. His eyes latched onto Obi-wan, meeting his former Master's gaze. A shudder of guilt went through him, bringing forth everything he tried to forget; for a split second it was Athara's eyes looking up at him. He slammed that thought aside, forcing himself to stay focused, forcibly burying his guilt and remorse and allowing his rage and frustration to drown it out. He'd missed what Obi-wan had said in response to his prodding.

But he did sense Obi-wan's strike the instant before it happened and was easily able to block it. This fight would be nothing like the one he craved, nothing like the one from their past that hung over then both of them like a weight.

Athara was coming closer. Vader could feel her presence just as easily as he could feel Obi-wan's before him. He could also sense Obi-wan reaching out himself, searching for—what? But that didn't matter. All Vader thought was that if Obi-wan were to reach far enough he'd sense her. Panic flared in Vader again. Before he even realized what he was doing, Vader was pressing down on Obi-wan through the Force just as he was with a lightsaber, slamming his mind against Obi-wan's. The older Jedi's defenses were strong, he noted, but Vader didn't care about breaking through or crushing him. He needed to keep him focused here. He needed to keep Obi-wan from sensing his apprentice.

He barely registered what he said to his old mentor as they circled and darted their blades forward. He barely registered the things Obi-wan said in response. He barely thought about the movements of the lightsaber in his hand or the one Obi-wan wielded. Vader's thoughts were torn between keeping Obi-wan's mind wholly occupied in fending off his own mental attack, keeping the Old Jedi's senses focused on him alone, and keeping his own senses attuned and aware of Athara's fast approach.

He could feel how drawn she was to his conflict with Obi-wan. He could feel her coming closer. And then she was there, standing behind him, her Force-signature familiar and anxious and utterly enthralled for reasons she couldn't even begin to comprehend.

This needed to end.

His attention snapped back to his former Master. Obi-wan's eyes had flicked away from Vader's, looking toward the hangar bay. But then they were meeting Vader's again. Obi-wan smiled, a slow, resigned expression as the lightsaber in his hands lifted...

...and winked out.

Rage surged through Vader as bewilderment threatened to stop him in his tracks. Obi-wan wanted this? Nearly of its own accord, his own red blade was flashing down in an arc toward the familiar but aged figure of his former Master.

Obi-wan's eyes widened then, and for a split-second Vader believed it was in shock that he was actually going to die, but then the Dark Lord realized Obi-wan's gaze had suddenly focused over Vader's shoulder.

He'd seen her.

He'd recognized her.

He knew she was alive.

And then he was gone.

How the Dark Side in Vader crowed and exalted! His final true enemy was vanquished, and Obi-wan had realized in his last moments that his child was alive and in Vader's power. It was glorious. But Vader didn't feel it, not really. He felt suddenly hollow, stunned. Obi-wan had vanished just as the lightsaber blade would have reached his flesh. The Dark Side didn't care and it urged Vader not to either; Obi-wan was gone and his emotional agony in his last heartbeat secured by the knowledge that Athara was alive and in Vader's thrall. Vader stepped forward, prodding the crumpled heap of fabric with the toe of his boot, not quite believing what had happened. He let his rage envelop him again.

It was better than the sudden and bewildering crush that had begun pressing against his chest.

Out in the hangar, blasterfire had erupted at the sound of two equally disbelieving cries. Vader's heart twinged in shame and sorrow as he realized belatedly that one of those voices belonged to his apprentice. He pushed the feelings aside yet again. There was no need for that. He had protected her. That was what was important. Athara was safe from Obi-wan now.

He pointedly ignored the faint sensation through the Force of Obi-wan's lingering presence; it had to be his imagination, a fancy brought on by his own fury that his warranted vengeance against Obi-wan's betrayal had gone just as unfulfilled as Obi-wan's hopeless desire for vengeance of his own.

Needing an outlet for his burgeoning frustration at being denied his due, Vader turned, ignoring his apprentice's shock and blooming, bewildered grief. Out in the hangar the Rebels were quickly retreating for their ship under a hail of blasterfire. The princess was among them, being hurried toward the ship by a man and a wookiee. Their last companion stood apart, furiously firing at the Stormtroopers before sending a few well-placed shots at the control panel for the blast doors. With a groaning jerk, the massive blastdoors began sliding shut. But not before Vader caught a glimpse of the boy.

Vader froze.

He knew that boy.

He'd never seen him before, but he knew him. A feeling of dread settled heavily in his gut as he fought against what his feelings were suddenly screaming at him. A feeling of elation sparked in the deepest, most secret corner of his mind.

He was too far away to see the boy's features perfectly, but he saw enough. He saw the sandy hair and pale eyes; he saw the familiar curve of the jaw that on another face had been elegant and beautiful but on the boy was handsome and determined.

The blastdoors ground shut.

He couldn't process it. His mind was abruptly a tattered mess, his emotions ragged and snapping in the savage whirlwind that were his thoughts. Could it be...

But then he felt Athara's bewilderment and pain seeping through the haze his own confusion had created. His anger and rage at being denied Obi-wan's death had faded the instant he'd turned away from the pile of empty robes. He looked down at his apprentice. She looked so young huddled next to the crumpled fabric, her hood lowered as it rarely was anymore. Her slim hand had reached out to close around Obi-wan's lightsaber. She clutched it close as she looked up at him, her eyes wide and vulnerable as she searched for answers from him. After a moment she was standing, taking a small step toward him.

"Who was he?" Her voice was small and pleading. He didn't think she realized how she sounded, or his proud young apprentice would never have allowed the words to escape her lips. "Why do I know him?"

At that bewildered, imploring look, Vader not only felt his composure beginning to crack, but he abruptly felt the urge to tell her everything surge forward.

He kept his mouth firmly closed. He knew if he were to open it, even to try spinning a lie, or to tell her he refused to speak on the matter, the truth would spill irrevocably out instead.

She would never forgive him if she knew the truth...

He forced his mouth to stay shut.

He couldn't bear to lose her. He was too selfish. Once again guilt and remorse tried to flood through him, but he forced it aside. She was safe. That was all that mattered.

Athara's jaw clenched when he didn't answer her, her bewilderment giving way to hurt frustration. Spinning on her heel, Obi-wan's—her father's—lightsaber still clenched tightly in her fist, she fled. Any other time Vader would have stopped her and scolded the girl for acting so irrationally and forgetting her training, especially in light of what happened in the control room after Alderaan was destroyed, but he couldn't bring himself to do so now.

He just watched her go.

She would forgive his silence. She would never have forgiven him had he spoken.

It was better this way.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

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