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 scrawl down a few more notes regarding Obi-Wan’s birthday, and then turn toward your bedroom door as you hear a loud, collective squeal. A moment later your phone rings. You reach over and pick up the receiver, but before you can say a word, Kayla’s voice comes through:
“I hope you’re dressed nice.”
“Huh?”
“Looks like Obi went shopping,” she says.
You laugh. “Well, good for him. I’m impressed.”
“You don’t know the first thing about it. You’re dressed nice, right?”
“Kayla, we’re going to a carnival.”
“Let me explain something to you. He’s wearing black,” she says.
“Oh yeah, I told him to go with black,” you say.
“Hello, McFly! The man is wearing black,” she says.
“OK, he’s wearing black,” you say.
“Black boots, black pants – form-fitting I might add – black shirt unbuttoned at the collar…are you getting a visual?”
“Uh…yeah,” you say with a gulp.
“So dress accordingly,” she says.
“But I don’t have anything that—“
“Just no flannel shirts and sweats, alright? Simple enough?”
“I wouldn’t wear that!”
“And no jeans, either,” she says.
“Oh.”
“In fact, put a dress on,” she says.
“Yes, Mom,” you say. You hang up the phone and lumber over to the closet. You really hate being outdressed, but at least you had some warning this time.
A few minutes later, you situate yourself in front of the mirror. The dark purple dress is a good choice…it’s almost black after all. Nice, heavy knit for the evening air…down to your ankles for that comfy blanket feeling. You pull on your black tights and those shoes that “they” say are now out of style this season…but what do “they” know? You pin your hair back just a bit and nod with approval.
You walk out of your bedroom and down the hall. As you approach the stairs, you see Kayla coming up the stairs.
“Oh good choice,” she says. “Casual, but not too casual. Comfortable, but not suggestive.”
“This is not a date. This is just Obi-Wan,” you say.
“Uh-huh,” she says. “Then why is he dressed like that?”
“Because I called his Jedi getup ‘jammies’.”
She laughs. “Be nice to the boy.”
“I am nice!” You turn and start walking down the stairs
“Have fun,” she says. “Be bad if you wanna be.”
You make a grunting noise and proceed down the stairs. When you round the corner, you gasp when you see Obi-Wan standing in the entryway. “Holy shit,” you say under your breath.
“Yeah, no kidding.” You turn to see Kim standing behind you. “I thought Obi chicks didn’t thud. They look like they’re about to thud. In fact, I’m about to thud.”
You snicker as you watch Obi-Wan with a bemused expression as women come out of the woodwork and surround him. “Oh boy,” you say. “Now he’s really gonna be proud of himself.”
“Be nice to him,” Kim says.
“Why does everyone think I’m not nice?”
“That man looks like a hunka hunka burnin’ love,” she says. “Just be nice…or naughty, whichever works.”
You turn around and give her a leer. “You know we are just friends.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, giving you a leer right back.
“Later,” you say and walk toward Obi-Wan. You stand back for a minute and let him eat up all the attention.
“Ah,” he says, finally seeing you. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, are you?”
“Certainly,” he says, making his apologies and scooting toward the front door.
As the two of you step outside and down to the sidewalk, you say, “See, told ya. You can’t go wrong with black.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh please! Don’t play coy with me. You’ll never survive,” you say.
He laughs. “Right. I always forget that part.”
You board the shuttle to the convention center feeling surprisingly calm, especially given what happened yesterday. And thankfully it is not nearly as crowded with plenty of seats available.
“Sit,” he says, placing his hands on your shoulders and planting you firmly in a seat. He sits down next to you, close enough to keep you anchored between him and the wall.
“But I don’t want to sit next to the window,” you say.
“And I don’t want you flying down the aisle again. Deal with it,” he says.
You sigh and look down at the floor. “Fine.” And you stay that way for the duration of the trip, which occurs smoothly and without further incident.
As you stand behind him at the ticket booth for the carnival, you reach into your little purse and fish around for some money.
“That’s alright,” he says, purchasing two tickets before you can protest.
“You shouldn’t do that,” you say.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re a poor Jedi...even poorer now that you have new clothes,” you say.
“And you are a poor writer...even poorer now that you have to buy me birthday presents,” he says.
“Oh yeah! Now I’m the one being forgetful. Note to self: Buy Obi-Wan lots of cool stuff,” you say.
“I’m just teasing, you know,” he says. “I don’t want you spending any money on me.”
“I’m not,” you say.
“Oh,” he says a little dejectedly.
“But I am getting you a present,” you say.
“Oh!” His voice is enthusiastic and eyes bright. “But don’t make a fuss.”
“I’m not. Not spending a dime, in fact. Well, maybe a couple of dimes, but that’s about it.” You pause and then add, “And it’s not a rock.”
“A stone,” he says.
“Whatever,” you say. You look around as you walk through the gates and are rather astounded at the sight. This carnival is a cross between a Mardi Gras celebration and the county fairs you used to go to as a kid. “Wow,” you say. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like this.”
“Oh look!” Obi-Wan points off to the side at a man in white makeup.
“He’s a mime,” you say.
“I know,” he says.
“They’re worse than clowns,” you say. “They’re like angsty clowns. Angsty, evil creatures.”
“Well then, let’s walk this way, shall we?” He guides you toward a long row of booths containing every assorted type of overpriced garbage known to man.
“Games!” You turn a different direction and head toward the center of the booths. “I wonder if these are as impossible to win as the ones back home.”
“They shouldn’t be too difficult,” Obi-Wan says, eyeing the different tables.
“You should have left that at home,” you say, pointing to his light saber, which is very noticeable without his robe…and with those tight pants.
“I can’t do that,” he says. “And why would I want to?”
“They’ll never let a Jedi play these games. You have a distinct advantage,” you say.
“Are you implying that I would cheat?”
“Yes,” you say.
“I would not.”
“You would. And you would justify it by saying it isn’t really cheating because you were born Force-sensitive so it’s just the same as someone who had more physical strength than the average person, or more intelligence than the average person,” you say.
He raises an eyebrow at you. “You fancy yourself very smart.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well….then…. You play,” he says.
“Nah, these guys will cheat ya blind,” you say.
“Oh come now. Just one. Have a little fun,” he says.
You look around at the assorted games. They are very similar to the ones you used to play at the fair when you were a kid. Ball tosses, ring tosses, shooting galleries. “Nah, my aim is terrible,” you say.
“But you could win a giant stuffed wookie,” he says.
“Why would I want one? Besides, you’re the guy. You’re supposed to win one for me,” you say.
He gives you a smirk and then removes his light saber. “Hold this,” he says.
You take it from him. “Wow, it’s heavy,” you say.
“No it’s not,” he says.
You roll your eyeballs and then grab him by the arm as he turns. “Wait,” you reach up toward his hair. “No…here, take this back for a sec.” You hand him the saber and then take hold of his braid and slip it down the back of his shirt. “Dead give away.” You try to stuff it under his collar the best you can. “Well, it’s dark. That’ll do,” you say, taking his saber back and holding it behind your back…a little nervous about actually holding it. “This thing isn’t gonna light up if I accidentally push something, will it?”
“Just don’t push anything,” he says.
“Obi-Wan.”
He smiles. “No, it won’t. You worry too much,” he says.
“Just go play,” you say. He turns around walks ahead of you, and you can’t help but notice how well he wears his new clothes as he stalks the booths. He finally stops in front of one.
“You will never win that one,” you say.
“What do you mean?”
“They’ve got those bottles practically nailed down. You’ll never knock them over,” you whisper so the guy behind the booth won’t hear you.
“I can do it,” he says with a mischievous look in his eye.
“Cheater,” you say.
“Be quiet,” he says. He puts his money down on the table and is handed three balls. He hurls the first ball at the bottles but only knocks the top one off. He throws the second one harder but only knocks two off. He turns to glare at you as you chuckle.
“Don’t worry about it,” the burly man behind the booth says. “These can be difficult for little guys like you.”
Obi-Wan’s face turns an interesting shade of red, and he launches the third and final ball, and the bottles go flying with exact precision in several directions, even the bottom ones.
“Well, we have a winner,” the big guy says unenthusiastically, grabbing a small, fuzzy, bright magenta thing off the wall.
“What’s this?” Obi-Wan asks, eyeing the big Wookies at the top of the wall.
“Your prize,” the man says. “You gotta win ten games to get one of those big ones. Wanna play again?”
“No thank you,” Obi-Wan says, taking his questionable winnings.
You really, really try to hide your laughter. You really do.
“Here,” he says, handing you the stuffed thing.
“For me? Aww, he’s cuuute,” you say as you take it from him after returning his weapon. “And you cheated.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“Well, how else is anyone supposed to win that game?”
“They’re not. That’s what I tried to tell you.” You look at the other tables as you walk past. “Hey, wanna win a goldfish?”
“No,” he says shaking his head. “No more pets.”
“Alright, suit yourself,” you say, reaching up to pull his braid out of his shirt. You hold onto it for a moment and ask, “So when do you get rid of this?”
“Pardon?”
“The braid. When do you get to move up in the world?”
“Oh. Well, it’s rather complicated. It depends on how I perform my duties and when the Council thinks I’m ready to face the trials,” he says.
“What, like the SAT’s for Jedi?” He gives you a blank look, and you add, “It’s a test you have to take.”
“Ah. Well, they are little more than a test,” he says.
“Trials. Sounds stressful. Think I’ll keep my life as a glamorous nobody,” you say.
“Do you not care for it?”
“My life?”
“No…the braid,” he says.
“Actually, I like it very much,” you say.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I can grab it in a threatening manner when I want to be fed. Shall I demonstrate?” You begin to wind it around your hand.
“It looks like the food booths are that way,” he says.
“Good man,” you say, releasing the braid and patting it to his chest. As you make your way toward the scent of dinner, you suddenly stop dead in your tracks and turn around quickly.
“What is it?” Obi-Wan comes back around to face you, a look of concern on his face. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” you say.
“Something is wrong.”
“Nothing is wrong,” you say emphatically.
“Don’t play games,” he says. “Tell me now. You are very agitated.”
“See that guy behind me in the blue shirt? The one with the whore?”
His eyebrows shoot up at your blatant choice of words. “Yes, I see a man with a blue shirt,” he says.
“Ex-boyfriend,” you say.
“Ah. And you don’t wish to see him,” he says.
“Or her, the slut,” you say.
“Well, they seem to be walking this way,” he says.
“Oh great, that’s JUST what I need,” you say.
“Maybe I can help,” he says. You look up to see him staring rather intently. “They changed their minds,” he says with a smile.
“Are you allowed to go around whammying people?”
“Well, we’re not supposed to make a habit of it,” he says.
“Thank you,” you say. “I couldn’t bear to listen to him…or her…for one second.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
“What’s to tell? He and I were together, she was a friend of mine. Betrayal, backstabbing, the end. Let’s eat,” you say, turning away from him. Before you can get very far, you are interrupted again.
“Well, look who we have here!” You turn around to see a slender woman with long blonde hair giving Obi-Wan the eye.
“Hello, Danya,” he says with a smile.
“You rat,” she says. “You haven’t called me once since…well, since….” She gives him an evil laugh.
You stand a few steps away just watching, trying not to wonder too much, and feeling your heart sink just a little. She’s gorgeous and obviously….familiar with him.
“I have been very busy,” he says politely.
“Well, you look positively scrumptious. So, what are you doing tonight?” She says, batting her eyelashes and slinking a little closer. You don’t know whether to laugh or disappear.
“I…I am here with a friend,” he says, gesturing toward you.
“Oh,” she says as she flips her hair and gives you a look. “Hello.”
“Hello,” you say with your best, polite smile.
“So if you will excuse me,” Obi-Wan says.
“Sure,” she squeaks with a shrug of her shoulders. “Call me sometime,” she adds with a glare in your direction as he walks away from her.
“Friend of yours,” you ask as he approaches you.
“Not really,” he says with a smile. “Ready to eat?”
“You think you’re all that and a bag o’chips, don’t you?”
“Pardon?”
“Come on,” you say. “Food.”
Dinner finally purchased, you look around for an empty table in a courtyard where a band plays something that sounds somewhat like swing music…only spacey.
“Over here,” Obi-Wan says, walking ahead of you finding a tiny table with one chair.
“We need another chair,” you say.
He takes your plate and sets it down followed by his. “You could sit on my lap again,” he says.
“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
He wiggles his eyebrows at you and then looks around until he finds a free chair and pulls it over. “So,” he says as he sits down, “now that we’ve seen a couple of each other’s skeletons, let’s pretend that never happened.”
You snort, “At least you got to dump her.”
“I didn’t dump her, as you say. It was just—“
“Casual sex,” you say, laying the magenta creature on the table next to you plate.
His face wrinkles up. “Let’s not discuss this.”
“Fine with me,” you say with a huff.
“It was a bad breakup, then?”
“Hey, you said we were pretending we never saw them,” you say.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
You begin to eat and then say. “She was my friend. He was my boyfriend. They slept together…several times actually until I found out.”
“That’s terrible,” he says.
“Yeah. Well. Typical,” you say.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, he was terribly jealous and was dying to know who I was,” he says.
You nearly choke on your dinner. “What?”
“He was very loud about it, too,” he says. “It’s a good thing she didn’t know that.”
Curiosity piqued, you scoot your chair closer to his. “So what was she thinking?”
He shakes his head. “You don’t want to know.”
“Oh yes I do,” you say. “This is great, I never thought to ask you this kind of stuff before.”
“So you fancy me as your mole, do you?”
“No, of course not….but it couldn’t hurt. Tell me, tell me, what was she thinking?”
Obi-Wan smiles, “I really cannot do this.”
“Sure you can. It’s just me,” you say.
“My point exactly,” he says.
“Pleeeeeeaassse. Please, please, please,” you whine.
“I like the sound of that,” he says. “Begging suits you.”
“Brat,” you say and shove another fork full of food into your mouth.
“She didn’t think kind words about you. She is very insecure,” he says.
“Hell, I coulda told you that,” you say. “What kind of person sleeps with a friend’s boyfriend? An insecure person, that’s who.”
“True. It is good that you understand that,” he says.
“That’s a condemnation on my part, not an understanding. It hurt like hell what they did.” You shrug your shoulders and say, “It still does.”
“But you shouldn’t let it cloud your present…or your future,” he says.
“Listen,” you say. “Being betrayed by a man is one thing. If it happens once, you kind of expect it…. Well, not expect it, but you write it off to them being stupid men. But a friend’s betrayal is an entirely different thing. With men, it’s about sex and idiocy. With friends, it’s intentional. It has to be. A friend has to choose to stab her friend in the back.”
“And a man doesn’t choose to be unfaithful? That’s quite a generalization you’re making,” he says.
“Of course he chooses it, and he’s responsible for it. I guess it’s just that women should know better. There’s a certain bond that friends share that has to actively be broken,” you say. “I guess that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. I just don’t understand why women would hurt each other over a man. And any man who would cheat isn’t worth having. So she’s got him. She can have him. I hope they’re miserably happy together.”
“And I was just beginning to think you were peacefully leaving the past behind,” he says.
“Hey, her betrayal is hard to get over. A man’s betrayal I can get past,” you say.
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” you say.
“I don’t believe you,” he says.
“Are you mind whammying me now, too?”
“No. You hold a lot of resentment against men in general. That simply isn’t fair,” he says.
“Don’t tell me what I think,” you say.
“It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
“The fact is, there are no good men out there. The only good men I know are my friends.”
“And what is wrong with your friends?”
“Nothing. But they’re friends. Guy friends. Not serious relationships.” Obi-Wan looks down and you add, “I mean, they’re serious relationships. Important relationships. But not love relationships in that whole…lover sense.”
He looks up at you. “But many people – people in…relationships – begin as friends.”
“True. But….” You swallow hard, suddenly uncomfortable with where this is going. “Friendships are a valuable thing. I’ve known more then a few people who have had really great friendships and decided to take it to the next level….only to have it totally fall apart. And then the friendship is ruined for good.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way,” he says.
“Well, you can’t exactly go back to being just friends…the way it was before….”
“I mean that….” His eyes search for the right words. “It doesn’t have to turn out badly. If two people are meant….” He clears his throat. “Some relationships turn out very well. If two people are friends and they take the risk to become more than that, there is a chance it could end disastrously….but there is also the chance that the relationship could be truly wonderful. And without taking that risk into something more…”
“Catch-22. Either way, they’re screwed,” you say. Then you snort, “Literally and figuratively.”
Obi-Wan leans forward and says quietly but adamantly, “Why must you always be so flippant?”
You look away and play with your food. “I’m not always flippant.” A long pause follows until you say, “Defense mechanism, I guess.”
“Against what?” He asks the question like he knows the answer but it just trying to get you to admit it.
“I’ve been hurt. I don’t what to be hurt again,” you say.
“I know. But that is just an excuse for avoiding making any decisions or taking any action,” he says.
You flash him an angry look. “It is not JUST an excuse.”
“Please, calm down. I am not trying to belittle your experiences. I am only saying that there comes a point where you move on. You decided that you are not going to allow the past to control your life. You learn all you can from those experiences, and then you get on with things,” he says.
You sigh. You know he’s right. “It’s just hard….” You cross your arms tightly in front of you.
“I know. But you know now what not to repeat.” He pauses. “What do you want?”
You shrug your shoulders. “I dunno.”
“Yes, you do,” he says. “What do you want?”
You shift in your chair, cornered. “I want….” You sigh again.
“Go on,” he says softly.
“I want…” You blow your hair out of your face and look up at the night sky. “It’s stupid.”
“No it isn’t,” he says.
“I want to be…” You begin to shake your head.
“You want to be what?”
“Special…to someone,” you say and then give a nervous laugh. “It’s stupid, but—“
“How can that be stupid? You are special. And you deserve someone who knows that…who will treat you that way,” he says.
You bite your lip. “The perfect man does not exist,” you say.
“He doesn’t have to be perfect,” he says. “He just has to be good to you.”
You laugh again. “Just? Like I said, there are no good men around.” Then you smile softly and say, “Present company excluded, of course.” You look back down at your food and trace little circles with your fork.
“You think so?” His tone is very serious.
You look up from your plate. You have one of those oh-God-what’s-happening moments and answer, “You’re the best man I know.”
He smiles. “I suppose that probably isn’t saying much based on your experience.”
“It’s saying a lot. Believe me,” you say. Then you smile. “I’m putting the past behind me, remember?”
“Hmmm,” is his only response.
The music slows down, and you finish eating in relative silence.
Suddenly he says, “I don’t know if I’d say that a Jedi is a good man.”
“Well, I’ll be sure not to spread that around too much. Might disappoint a lot of people,” you say.
He smiles and continues, “What I mean is that…. A woman can never come first in my – in a Jedi’s – life. That is just the kind of life that we live. My priority is never myself or someone in my life. And I don’t mean that in a callous or uncaring way.”
“I know what you’re saying. You are a Jedi first and foremost. Makes sense,” you say. “Makes you a total chick magnet, too.” You are determined to keep this light as you feel it slipping toward something much more serious.
He smiles but his face turns thoughtful again. “If I were to…meet someone….someone special…. It…it would be difficult.”
“Sure,” you say.
“What I am saying is that….” He looks nervous and pushes his fork around his plate. “What I am trying to say is….” He looks toward the stage as the music changes again. Then he looks down at the ground and back to you. “A woman who would be special to me would be the kind of person who deserved more than I could give her. No matter how much I cared for someone, I could never be the kind of man that she deserved.”
“I….” You clear your throat. “I think that she would know what she was getting into. And if she really cared about you, she would understand…difficult as it might be.”
He nods and says, “But she would deserve better than an inconstant relationship with a man who could not, by virtue of his birth, make her a priority. The emotion and caring would not be inconstant, but it could never be more than infrequent hours and days spent together.”
“But it would be her choice,” you say. “Some people would give up years of constant time with another person for a few days spent here and there with someone they truly, completely…loved.”
“Would they really?” He leans back in his chair. “Or is that just romantic fantasy? As the years go by, would the love remain without the construct of marriage and family? When each lives their own, separate life…could the one left behind when missions call be truly happy?”
“I don’t know,” you say. “It’s not a thing you can reason out or predict.”
He smiles. “I suppose that is the nature of love.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” you say, nodding.
“So what would you do?”
Your eyes widen. “What?”
“Hypothetically speaking, what would you do? Would you take that kind of risk for love?”
“It’s not a sure thing. That’s the catch. It’s a risk taken on the outside chance that love will find you. Odds are, it won’t,” you say. “Odds are you’ll take the leap and end up landing right on your head.”
“So do you take the risk?” His eyes are intense and anticipatory.
You think for a moment. “Well…the odds have always been against me…for the most part.”
He repeats. “So do you take the risk?”
You inhale deeply and shake your head slightly. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
He nods in understanding and looks back to the stage as the band continues to play. He looks back at you and says, “Enough seriousness. Would you like to dance?”
“Sure,” you say and stand up. You walk in front of him to where a small crowd is dancing to the slow, sweet music…a slightly awkward air between you. You stop at the edge of the crowd and turn to face him. He steps forward and carefully takes your hand in his. You place your hand on his shoulder, and he winds his arm around you, pulling you in closer to his body. You have never quite felt his warmth until now. His closeness before always felt comfortable…a safe distance buffered by many layers of clothing and the scent of wool. But now you can feel his skin through the relatively thin fabric of his shirt, and you inhale a scent distinctly his own. This sudden intimacy – as innocent as it may seem to a casual observer – startles you and you shiver.
You slowly begin to move to the music, and suddenly he speaks, his lips so close to your ear. “If anything should ever happen to me….”
You gasp. “Oh God, don’t say that.”
“Please…I….” He sighs, his breath tickling your forehead. “Given what has happened recently….”
“Nothing is going to happen to you.”
“Even so,” he says. “I never got the chance to tell Cre what our friendship meant to me.”
“He knew. Friends know without having to say it,” you say.
“Nevertheless…. Our friendship – yours and mine – is very special to me,” he says.
“It is to me, too,” you say.
He moves his head back and places his forehead against yours. “And you…are special to me.”
For a moment you cannot breathe, and you look down, unable to meet his eyes.
“I would never hurt you,” he whispers. “No matter what happens…. I would never do anything hurt you.”
A thousand thoughts run through your brain, all conflicting and all confusing. “Obi-Wan, I…. I just don’t know,” you whisper nervously.
“That’s all right,” he says. His hand runs up your back and into your hair, and he pulls your head down to his shoulder, cradling you in his neck. “That’s all right,” he whispers again. He lets go of your hand and circles your shoulders with his other arm, as your free arm embraces him, too. Suddenly, his voice rumbles in your ear as you rest your head on his chest, “Just be sure to give me a good birthday present.”
You chuckle. “I promise.” The protective part of your brain attempts to deny what just took place. But as you continue to slowly dance – you gently twining his braid around your fingers and he caressing his cheek against your hair – that deeper part of you knows, understands, that no matter what you believe your choices to be, you are being led toward something inevitable.