Author's Notes: This part is longer than the rest will be (I hope), but I wanted to get the premise set up.
DISCLAIMER: Star Wars and all publicly recognisable characters, names and references, etc are the sole property of George Lucas, Lucasfilm Ltd, Lucasarts Inc and 20th Century Fox. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author.
You toss and turn in your bed a few more times before looking at the clock to confirm that it really is an ungodly hour. You sigh and decide there’s no use in pretending that you are one of those people who actually sleep the whole night through. You throw off the covers, and the cool night air assaults your skin through your nightgown. You get up to find the robe that is crumpled in a pile somewhere on the floor. Finally finding it with your feet, you pull it around yourself, plunging your arms into the soft, thick sleeves. You cinch it snugly around your waist, rub your eyes a few times, and pat down your bed-head hair. Finding your trusty notebook and pen, you slowly walk out of your bedroom door, making a stop for slippers before your feet hit the cold, marble floor.
In this wee, small hour of the morning – like most mornings – you wander through the now silent halls of the JH Temple. You prefer to take the stairs instead of the elevator down to the ground floor in order to absorb the darkness and calm. Once down the stairs, you take a walk through the party room, quietly amused at the remnants of the previous night’s festivities. You hear the faintest music and laughter in your head – ghosts of the night before. You had escaped the melee early, so you can only imagine what to make of the empty bottles of chocolate syrup scattered carelessly across the floor.
Exiting the room, you venture to your favorite place, the garden. You open the large doors and step out to breathe in the fragrant air. It is the courtyard of the building, and you can look straight up at the Coruscant night sky, mostly dark and subdued except for the odd shuttle or two flying by. The air up there is most likely too cold for comfort, but thanks to the height of the building and inconspicuous heaters close to the ground, the atmosphere is very inviting.
You take your favorite chair at your favorite table, open your notebook, and lay your pen down on the blank page. You unfocus your eyes and gaze into the array of green bushes just beyond you and inhale their clean scent. It is a moment of summons, undemanding and relaxed. Fortunately for you, the Muse is generous this night, and within minutes she speaks. You obediently pick up your pen and transcribe her bidding. Your awareness tunnels down to the paper, the pen, and the sight of your hands.
“Uh-oh, she’s writing again.”
You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of that voice. You place your hand over your chest and turn to see the familiar face. “Don’t do that,” you say emphatically.
“Do what?”
“That whole stealthy Jedi bit. You’re going to give me a heart attack.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, taking a chair at the table. “I thought you heard the door open.”
“No, I didn’t hear a thing.”
“Aaahh,” he responds, a sly grin forming on his face. “Enraptured by your subject matter, eh?”
“More like tormented,” you say dryly.
“You stories a torment? Never.”
“Obi-Wan, get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not writing that kind of story.”
“Oh.” He is silent for a moment. “Why?”
You raise an eyebrow at him. “There are other things to write about, you know. Besides….”
“Besides…” he says, trying to lead the answer out of you.
You shrug your shoulders, “I just…I dunno…. It’s too weird now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well….” You stop in order to choose your words correctly. “Now that I know you, I just feel weird about it. Before, I was just making it all up. But now that we’re…friends, for lack of a better word.”
“Could there be a better word?” he asks with slight offense in his voice.
“No…. I think of us as friends, I just wasn’t sure—“
“So do I.”
“OK, anyway,” you continue, “now that we’re friends, it just doesn’t seem right for me to write about you in that way.”
He nods. “You bring up an interesting point. You, by far, are the most slippery fish of them all.”
You slump back in your chair. “Excuse me?”
“You know I’ve read all your stories,” he says.
“Yes,” you groan and hold your notebook up in order to hide your face. He promptly grabs it from you and lays it back on the table.
“Now don’t be embarrassed. I enjoy your writing very much,” he says.
“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “But back to me being a slippery fish? Explain before I get offended.”
“Well, you write these stories full of ribaldry, but—“ He stops as you begin to laugh. “What?”
“I’ve never actually heard anyone use that word in a sentence before….except on Saturday Night Live.”
His eyebrows wrinkle. “What?”
“Never mind,” you say with a half-snicker.
He gives you a sideways glance before continuing, “You write this…smut, as you call it, yet friendly conversations while the rest of the world sleeps are the extent of our relationship.”
You roll your eyeballs. “Oh, here we go.”
“Wait, you misunderstand,” he says.
“I was waiting for this men-and-women-can’t-just-be-friends bit. Please, spare me.”
Obi-Wan leans over and places a hand on your arm. “Please let me speak and please listen to what I am saying before you start jumping to conclusions.”
You sigh. “Fine. Continue.”
“I simply find it curious that…. Right or wrong, I formed an impression of you based on the stories you write. I had a picture in my head of how you would look and how you would behave, and you’re not anything like I had imagined.”
You cross your arms in front of you. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
Obi-Wan’s head drops, and he says, “You are impossible.”
“So I’ve been told. Impossible and disappointing. Imagine that,” you say.
He sighs. “What I mean is that I expected you to be throwing yourself at me—“
You snort, “Gee, don’t knock yourself out with self-flattery.” His flustered face begins to amuse you, and you can’t help but smile.
He points a finger at you. “You are enjoying giving me a hard time.”
You laugh. “Well, somebody has to. It is my duty as your friend to take pot shots at your ego.”
“And for some strange reason, I enjoy it,” he says with a goofy grin. “But, seriously, do you understand what I am saying? I thought you would be rather untamed, but you are not. It is not a judgement, merely an observation. I value our friendship very much.”
You nod, “Yes, I understand. You are not the first person I have confounded.”
“But….” He puts his hand up, “Now don’t take offense.”
“Uh-oh,” you say.
“I…I know that you are more reserved than some of the other girls. I just…wanted to make sure that is the reason for your…. I mean—“
“Is everything about sex with you, Obi-Wan?”
“Of course not! In fact, that is part of the reason I enjoy our friendship so much.”
You quickly exhale loudly. “If your precious ego can handle it, I’ll have you know that I’m more than a little burned out on the creation of Obi smut.”
He sighs, “Me, too.”
His tone finally causes you to stop your defensive attack. “Huh?”
“Nothing,” he says just the way you would say it when something eats at you.
“Whoa. Tell me what’s going on,” you say.
“It’s just….” Then he shakes his head. “Oh, never mind.”
You sit up in your chair. “No never mind. You tell me what’s bothering you.”
“Well, being a Jedi is rather difficult business sometimes,” he says.
“I can imagine. All those bad guys and inter-galactic conflict and such.”
He shakes his head. “No, not that. I mean….” He looks around rather nervously.
“You mean…. What? Bad food at the Temple? Too much boring meditation?”
He chuckles. “No, no. I mean….”
“I believe you said that already. Tell,” you insist.
“…with….with women,” he says sheepishly.
You stare at him with eyebrows raised. “You have difficulty with women?”
“Well, in a manner of speaking…yes,” he says hesitantly.
“What? Too much action leaving the wells dry and the general unable to perform his duties?”
Obi-Wan sits straight in his chair and asserts, “I assure you, my concerns have nothing to do with my physical abilities.”
You put both hands up. “OK, calm down. Geez, you men are so sensitive about that.”
“A Jedi never loses his abilities,” he quips.
“Fine. But it’s nothing to be ashamed of if you do. We women are very understanding.”
He smirks. “How nice for you. But a woman’s understanding is not required where I am concerned.”
You cock your head to the side. “So what’s your problem then?”
“Well….”
“Obi-Wan, quit skirting the issue and tell me. I promise, your secrets are safe with me.”
“Until you decide to write another story about me,” he huffs.
You throw your hands up in the air. “OK, now you’ve offended me. I’m trying to help you, but just forget it.”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“I take my friendships very seriously, you know.”
“I know,” he says.
“And I’d never betray a confidence,” you say.
“I know.”
“So spit it out or go away,” you say as only you can.
He sighs and says, “There is just alot of pressure when it comes to women. They expect a lot from a Jedi. Not that I don’t enjoy giving a lot, you understand.”
“But all this reading desires and fulfilling fantasies can wear a guy out,” you say.
His eyes brighten. “Exactly. I’m constantly meeting everyone else’s needs. What about my needs?”
“You sound like a woman,” you say.
“I thought you were trying to help me,” he says.
“Sorry. But if you don’t enjoy it, why do you do it? Why come here, especially?”
“I do enjoy it. I really do,” he says convincingly. “Especially the girls here. Qui-Gon and I are the most envied Jedi around. The experiences we’ve had here have been the most amazing—“
“Too much information,” you say, holding your hand up.
He continues, “There is just another side to it. We have these exhausting missions and then come home to women throwing themselves at us.”
“Yeah,” you say sarcastically, “it sucks to be you. Cuz I know if I had gorgeous men throwing themselves at me, I’d just want to run away and hide.”
“I do not believe this is helping me,” he says.
“Yeah. OK. Smart ass me is put away for now.” You clear your throat. “So what you’re saying is that, although you enjoy all the attention and enjoy being fantasy man and serving and pleasing and all that, there’s a part of you that remains unfulfilled.”
He nods. “And tired.”
“And tired,” you say as you pick up your pen and begin to scribble.
“What are you doing?” he asks. “You said you wouldn’t write this.”
“I’m just doodling,” you defend. “It helps me think. When are you ever going to trust me?”
“I do, I do. I’m just afraid of anyone here ever learning this.”
“So why don’t you just say something?” Express your needs. Unlike you, we can’t do the mind whammy bit,” you say.
“I love how you reduce centuries of practice and years of my own training into the term ‘mind whammy.’”
You chuckle at the way those words sound coming out of his mouth and then give him a big cheesy grin. “I aim to please.”
“I understand,” he says with a soft smile.
Suddenly the light goes on. “Ah-HA! That’s your problem,” you say.
“What?”
“You are a Jedi. You live by this centuries-old code of serving others…serving the Force. You are taught to forego your own needs for the needs of others.”
He nods in agreement.
“So,” you say, slapping your hand on the table, “let’s talk about your needs.”
“Why are you awake? You should be asleep at this hour,” he says.
“As should you,” you say. “Don’t try and change the subject. Tell me what you need.”
“What I need?”
“Yes. What does Obi-Wan need?”
“I don’t know,” he says.
“Sure you do,” you say. “You just need to give it some thought. For instance, you come home from some mission or whatever….” You watch his amused face and say, “For the sake of this discussion, yes I’m reducing your noble, heroic activities to a whole lump of ‘whatever.’ Now, you’re home. What happens then?”
“Well, we would address the Council.”
“And then what? Once all the Jedi business is done and you get a couple days off to recoup, what is the first thing you really want do?”
“Bathe,” he says.
“OK, good. Bath or shower?”
“Shower, of course.”
“Shower, of course? Have you even tried a bath? I mean, I know it’s kind of a chick thing, but a bath can do wonders for the soul. You sit in the warm water, close your eyes, and just kind of float there,” you say wistfully.
“Sounds lovely,” he says.
“But if you’re all grimy, I recommend a quick shower first, and then a bath in lavender or chamomile.”
“Well, we don’t have bathtubs,” he says.
“We do,” you say. “Although, you’d probably have company around here. What you need is solitude in a bath.”
“I suppose so,” he says.
“Don’t give me that look like I’m an amusing circus act. I’m serious,” you say.
“Now who’s too sensitive?”
“Shut up, Obi-Wan.” You watch as he tries to hide his amusement at your eccentricity. You give him that token look of yours and continue. “So what then? You’re squeaky clean. What’s the next thing you want?”
“Sleep.” He leans forward a bit. “I would give anything for a full night of uninterrupted sleep.”
“I hear ya, brother.”
Obi-Wan stares at you. “And why don’t you sleep? What keeps you up in the middle of the night?”
“Angst and masochism,” you say. “But we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you.”
“Right,” he says. You can feel a slight tingling on your forehead, and you know he’s trying to get in there and figure you all out. You simply lock your mind up and give him that not-gonna-happen look. The sensation leaves you, and he speaks again. “You would not believe the racket Qui-Gon makes. He snores louder than a bantha. It’s awful when we’re on missions, but even at the Temple I can hear him through the wall. And, of course, he insists he doesn’t.”
You smile. “Yeah, I’ve heard him down the hall. In fact, we all have. Go ahead, tell him that. And I think Kayla either has infinite patience or the ability to sleep through a train wreck.”
“She must,” he says.
“So, we have one bath and a decent night’s sleep,” you say. Two things that you want, and two things that are attainable.”
“How?”
“Well, that’s the part you have to figure out,” you say.
He shifts in his chair. “Oh. Well, I don’t really have time for all that.”
“Now who’s impossible?”
“I’m just very busy,” he says. “Besides, I’m a Jedi, remember? Selfish indulgence is frowned upon.”
“So what do you call coming here and getting your rocks off with several women?”
His face goes blank for a moment. “You have such a way with words.”
You snort, “OK, fine, what do you call it?”
“You don’t have to make it sound so crass,” he says.
“Ah, right, that whole Jedi chivalrous bit. Fine, be romantic, whatever,” you say. “The point is that you need to be aware of what you want. When it crosses your mind, write it down. Whatever it is. If it sounds like something you’d enjoy, make a note of it. Remember, you can’t really help others until you help yourself first.”
“You really should have your own talk show,” he says.
“Again, so I’ve been told,” you say.
Obi-Wan looks up at the sky that is beginning to brighten. “I really have to go.” He looks back at you. “But thank you.”
“Anytime. I want you to work on this now,” you say.
“I will,” he says.
“Liar.”
He smiles and says, “I will see you in a couple of weeks.”
You nod. “Drop by when you get back.”
“Don’t we always?” he says with a grin.
You laugh, “You are so trampy.”
He just shakes his head at you and walks away.
“Be safe,” you call out after him.
He turns and smiles, “I will. Get some sleep.”
“Yeah,” you say with no enthusiasm.
“I mean it,” he says. “Or I really will force it out of your head.”
“Oooohh, scary Jedi,” you say in a small, pouty voice.
“You are—“
“Impossible. Yes, I believe we’ve covered that already,” you say.
He smiles. “I give up. Take care,” he says as he walks backward through the doorway and then disappears into the hall.
You stand up, stretch, and then find a comfortable-looking chair. Actually it is the same chair you always pick. You sink into the soft cushions and close your eyes, drifting off to a most entertaining dream of a needful padawan.