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 jump in your seat in front of the computer as the timer goes off. You run into the tiny kitchen and play with the timer buttons until the incessant beeping shuts off, and you check the frozen pizza in the toaster oven. Unsatisfied with its soft texture, you slide it back in for a few more minutes and saunter back to the computer to transcribe your newest creation from your notebook. This is the basement of the JH Temple, where the offices of Hot Jedi are housed. The place doubles as a computer lab for anyone who wants to use it. Of course, you are the only one down here at this time of night.
The timer screams again, and you jump to check the pizza. You slam on the timer button and relish the quiet again.
“Mind if I join you for a moment?”
A shrill gasp escapes your lungs, and you close your eyes.
“I—“ He stops speaking as you raise your hand toward him and shake your head. “I—“ You push your hand more emphatically toward him, never actually looking in his direction, and he stops speaking.
You take a couple of deep breaths. Finally calm, you turn your head to smile at him and say, “Hellloooo.”
“I really thought you heard me this time,” he says.
“Not a problem,” you say swooping your arms in the air in front of you. Then you remember your dinner. You open the toaster oven, spear the pizza with a fork, and slide it onto your plate. You take a bite of it and proclaim, “Crap.”
“Pardon me?”
You turn to face Obi-Wan again. “Crap. Crap is what I get to eat. I’m broke, so I eat crap.” You shuffle over to your computer chair. “Everyone thinks being a starving artist is some romantic notion,” you say taking a big chomp of your pizza. “Ridiculous,” you say with a full mouth. “Stupid frickin’ editors don’t like what I write? I go hungry. How’s that for romance?” You continue, your words muffled by the pizza in your mouth. “I don’t write what people want to read. That’s what they say. Well, I write plenty of things people want to read. Ask anyone around here! Ask the Hot Jedi subscribers!”
Obi-Wan pulls up a chair next to your desk. “I’m sorry that it isn’t going well.”
“Ah, it’s alright. Just makes me a little wacky. Keeps me up at night sometimes and a little weird and walled up like you said.”
His eyes turn a softer shade of blue. “I wish there was a way I could take back everything I said.”
“I know. Me, too.” You smile and then search for the right words. “Hey, let’s say I forgive you and you forgive me.”
He nods. “I’d like that.”
“Great. Problem solved. Heck, you’re easy,” you say and then realize what you just said. “Oh, I didn’t mean easy, easy….” You slam your palm to your forehead and shake your head.
His fingers circle your small wrist, and he pulls your hand away from you face. Then he lightly rubs a spot on your forehead with his other hand, "You shouldn’t do that. You’re likely to injure yourself.”
“Occupational hazard of big mouth possessor,” you say, pretending not to notice the tremor in the pit of your stomach.
His attention turns to your computer screen. “So this is what keeps you awake at nights, eh?”
“Well, if I wake up with an idea, I have to run with it. That, or writer’s block. That can keep me up for nights on end,” you say.
“Why?”
You shrug you shoulders. “Fear of failure or other miscellaneous psycho-babble. But enough about me. You never answered my question.”
“What question was that?”
“What’s next on your list?” You prepare to give him a hard time for not having an answer for you.
“I want to watch a movie,” he says.
His words stop you abruptly. “Oh…well…that’s, that’s great….”
He gives you a smug I’ve-left-you-speechless look.
“Uh, any particular movie?”
“No. Anyone you have is fine,” he says.
“Anyone I have?
“Yes. You’ve told me on several occasions that when you can’t sleep you sometimes watch a movie. Any of those movies would be fine,” he says. “I’d like to watch a movie and eat some popcorn.”
Laughter unleashes from your body.
“What is so funny?” he asks, unable to keep from laughing at your spontaneous outburst.
“You have no idea how funny it is to hear your voice say, ‘I’d like to watch a movie and eat some popcorn.’”
“As always, I am so pleased to provide amusement for you,” he says.
“I’m sorry,” you say, still choking on giggles. You stand up and lead him out of the room. “C’mon, let’s go upstairs and see what we can find.”
“OK, this one is your basic heartwarming chick flick,” you say waving the box around. “And this one is your basic testosterone-charged action flick. Both are respectable on their own merits.
“Wow, you present quite a quandary. Which do you prefer?”
You examine both videos and then toss them back into the cabinet. “I don’t feel like either one of these.” You look through the video collection. “Hmmm….do you scare easily?” You look up at him and then quickly say, “Nah, you wouldn’t. Forget this one. It’s only good with people who freak out.” You scan the titles some more. “Ah-HA! The Holy Grail! Perfect!” You slide the tape in the VCR and plunk down on the couch next to Obi-Wan who clutches the giant bowl of popcorn on his lap.
You, of course, laugh hysterically through the entire film that you’ve seen well over a bizillion times. And then you laugh even more hysterically when he asks, “Why is it funny to see a dismembered knight bouncing around on one leg?” Not that he could actually pose the question without laughing himself.
“So it was good, eh?” you say when the movie finally ends. You grab a handful of popcorn, which you could eat all night, and get up to put the movie back.
“Perhaps I missed something in that killer rabbit sequence,” he says.
You turn on your heel, feeling rather evil. “Don’t be such a fuddy-duddy,” you say and sling a piece of popcorn at him.
His eyes narrow, and he throws two pieces back at you.
“Hey,” you say as you grab a pillow and hurl it at him.
“Oh, now you’ve done it,” he says catching the pillow and standing to attack position. You quickly grab another pillow and whack him with it as you give an evil cackle. Not to be outdone, he smacks you with his pillow. But you are an expert at this pillow game and grab hold of his pillow, ripping it out of his hand and tossing it across the room. You turn to hit him again with your pillow, but he grabs it. Not to be easily defeated, you clench it tightly and play tug-of-war with it.
“I don’t think this falls into my list of needs,” he says, easily flailing you around the floor as both of you battle for possession of the pillow.
“Sure it does,” you say and attempt to give him a quick shove. Unfortunately for you, his stance remains firm, and you bounce off his body and fall backwards, losing your grip on the pillow and crashing down to the carpet.
“I win,” he says with a smirk.
“You don’t play fair,” you say.
“Who said I had to?” he says, grabbing your arm to help you to your feet.
“Good point,” you say. “I sure don’t.”
“I noticed,” he says.
You smile and flop down in the corner of the couch, curling your legs up and burrowing in. “Why are you here?”
“What?” He sits down next to you.
“Why are you here watching silly movies with me in the middle of the night? Surely you have better things to do,” you say.
“Like what?” he says.
“Uh, like sleep,” you say.
“Are you going to make me ask you again why you don’t sleep at night?”
“Look, it’s no big mystery,” you say. “I just can’t sleep. I may fall asleep, but then I’ll wake up and stay awake.”
“But you sleep during the day,” he says.
“Well, not all day,” you say.
“Yes, but you seem to fall asleep just before dawn and stay asleep well into the daylight hours,” he says.
“Alright. You’ve found me out. I’m a vampire. There it is,” you say. His face gives you that familiar perplexed look, and you say, “Never mind. Dumb joke.”
“So why are you afraid of the dark?”
“I’m not afraid of the dark,” you say. “I spend lots of time sitting in the dark. I couldn’t do that if I were afraid of it, could I?”
“Then why can’t you sleep at night?” he says.
“I just can’t. Why are you giving me the third degree on this?”
“Let me help you,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
“Sleep. Let me help you sleep. And stay asleep,” he says.
“Are you drunk?” you say.
“I am serious. Let me help you.” He pauses for a moment and then continues, “It’s on my need list.”
You shake your head. “No, really, it’s fine.”
He stands up and grabs your hand, practically yanking you off the couch. “Let’s go.” You stumble along behind him as he drags you upstairs to your room.
Once inside your room you say, “This isn’t necessary.”
“Lie down,” he orders, giving you a look that tells you not to argue.
“Why so bossy all of a sudden?” you ask.
“Wasn’t it you who said something about knowing I wasn’t going to do what you told me to do, so you’d just force me to do what you told me?”
“Hmmm…. You’ve got me there,” you say.
“So, either you get into bed or I’ll put you there. Your choice,” he says.
That little part of your brain toys with the idea of him forcing into your bed, but being the control freak that you are, you decide to do it of your own volition. “I have to go potty first,” you say and then immediately add, “Perhaps I didn’t need to share that.” You turn quickly, grab a nightgown, and head into the bathroom.
You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror for a few moments, acknowledging that this situation has become a little weird but also very interesting. Then you stick your tongue out at yourself and change into your nightgown.
Upon exiting the bathroom, you find the bed neatly turned down and Obi-Wan standing at the end of it. “Get in,” he says.
“Alright, already,” you say. You climb under the covers and lay down on your side.
Once you are fully in the bed, Obi-Wan lies down on the other side of the bed, on top of the covers, and props himself up on his elbow, his head resting on his hand. “Close your eyes,” he says.
You comply, but then open them again. “I can’t close my eyes with you lying there looking at me,” you say.
He puts his hand on your head and says, “Close your eyes.”
This time they close, and you cannot open them again. “Are you whammying me?”
“Yes,” he says. “Now be quiet and go to sleep.”
“Wait,” you say becoming a tiny bit distressed that you can’t open your eyes. “I don’t like this.”
“It’s alright,” he says, his voice smooth and calm. “Just relax.”
Your pulse quickens as you become slightly more agitated. “No, really, I can’t do this. I have to open them. Please.”
“Alright,” he says, and you feel a pressure lift from you, and you open your eyes. He scoots in a little closer to you and rests his head on the pillow beneath him. “What is it?”
“It’s nothing,” you say.
He reaches out his hand and gently strokes your hair and temple. “What are you afraid of?” he whispers.
His eyes, so intent on yours, unnerve you. “Nothing,” you say.
“Tell me,” he says.
“I…I can’t,” you say softly.
“Yes you can,” he says. “Tell me.”
His presence so close to you is both comforting and intimidating. “I don’t know how,” you say.
“Try,” he says.
“It won’t fit into words,” you say.
“Then think it for me. Let down your guard,” he says.
“It’s not a thing to think,” you say. You are not dodging bullets so much as trying to capture something too elusive for definition.
“Then feel it,” he says. “Let me feel it, too.”
“Why? Why do you want to feel this?”
“Because it troubles you,” he says.
“You can’t fix it,” you say.
“I know. But let me understand it,” he says and rests his hand on your cheek. “Trust me.”
You hesitate, having trained yourself for so long to stuff this thing, this fear, deep down, burying it within yourself. Slowly you loosen its leash and give it more room to grow. It rears its head quickly, and you take a deep breath to calm yourself. A tiny tear forms in the corner of your eye and runs down your nose. Obi-Wan wipes it gently away and moves in to touch his forehead to yours.
“I see it,” he says.
“Do you?”
“Yes,” he says. “Thank you for making me understand.”
“I don’t think it can be understood,” you say.
“Perhaps not.”
You sigh heavily, grateful to have shared this with someone, even though it is something so organic that it will probably never leave you.
“But sharing it can ease the burden,” he says. “Now sleep. Let me carry it for you.” He gently caresses your hair, lulling you into relaxation. “I won’t let it trouble you tonight.”
“Alright,” you say as you close your eyes, knowing you are safe for now and free to rest.