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.
So you remain friends. Casual friends….or more like casual acquaintances now. All because of testosterone. Well, that’s life. He doesn’t go out of his way to see you, and you don’t go out of your way to see him. You sit in the garden late at night like you always did, slightly hopeful….but not surprised that he doesn’t come. When you do see each other, you are polite, cordial….stilted.
On this particular day, you decide you need to eat. Not just eat, but EAT. So you head into the kitchen and peruse the cupboards to determine what can be created. Something….comfort food…. You decide you want french fries, but you can’t exactly make those. You find a half a bag of frozen tator tots and some leftover pizza. Well, it’ll do.
You put the tator tots in the oven and proceed to nuke the pizza. It actually tastes better if you reheat it in the toaster oven, but when hunger – and self-pity – calls, you’ll take your pizza a little soggy, as long as it’s warm.
You sit on a stool at the island and shove too-hot pizza into your mouth. You breathe in and out really fast to try to cool it off, but end up having to spit it out onto the plate before you cause your mouth some serious damage.
“Are you alright?”
You look up quickly to see Qui-Gon standing in the doorway. Oh God. “It’s hot,” you say. “I…I don’t normally spit food when other people are around.”
He nods with a smile.
“Um….” You shift in your chair. “No one is really around. I think Kayla—“
“That’s alright,” he says. “Do you mind if I sit down for a moment?”
“Sure, go ahead,” you say, gesturing to one of the stools next to you. He sits and you feel slightly uncomfortable. He towers over you even when he’s not standing. Just then, the oven timer goes off, and you get up to take the pan out of the oven. You dump the tator tots onto a plate, add a puddle of ketchup, and another puddle of taco sauce just for good measure. You sit back down with your heart-attack-on-a-plate and look up at Qui-Gon who has an amused expression. “Tator tot?”
“No, thank you,” he says. “So, how are you?”
“I am well,” you say. “And yourself?”
“Fine, thank you.”
“You guys were gone for a while,” you say.
He nods. “That happens. But we always come back.”
“I should hope so,” you say with a smile. “We worry about you.”
“Why?”
“Because we care,” you say.
He smiles, his eyes squinting a bit.
“You sure you don’t want something to eat? I’ve heard about the….interesting food they have at the Temple. We have….”
“No, truly I am fine,” he says. “Thank you for offering.”
“Sure,” you say, munching on your tator tots. You nod as you eat, looking at Qui-Gon, hoping he says something before you have to dream up an intelligent comment.
“I find it curious,” he says.
“You find what curious?”
“That you have not asked me how Obi-Wan is doing?”
You feel the beginnings of a lecture, so you ask, “So how is Obi-Wan doing?”
He smiles knowingly. There is no room to squirm with the Master. “For a time, he was here at every opportunity just to see you.”
“Not just to see me,” you say.
“Yes, just you,” he says.
“I heard about your conversations—“
“He TOLD you what we talked about?”
Qui-Gon shakes his head, “No, not in detail. He would just mention that he had spent time talking with you. And I heard about that unfortunate incident on the shuttle. It really shook him up.”
“Did it?”
“Yes, it did. And the birthday party. He was very excited about that. He tried not to let on, of course…but he was so very curious about what you were going to get him for a gift.” Qui-Gon chuckles at the recollection, “And then…. And then he never received one.”
You chew your food very slowly and force yourself to swallow it.
Qui-Gon leans back and strokes his beard. “And now, the two of you barely speak. Why is that?”
You drop a tator tot back onto your plate. “Look, no offense, but I don’t see how this is any of your business.”
“My padawan is my business,” he says with conviction.
“Well, I am not your business,” you say with as much rebellion in your voice as you can against a man of his discernable power.
“Yes, you are,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
“Let me explain something to you,” he says in a tone that is not the least bit condescending or patronizing but that commands your attention and your respect. “Everything Obi-Wan does is my business…every person he befriends…every activity he participates in is my business.”
“He’s a little old for that, don’t you think?”
“By your standards, perhaps,” he concedes. “But not by my standards. As long as he is my padawan and I am his master, I am responsible for him and for being aware of anything that may….affect him….or even hurt him.”
You smile at him, “You sound like his father.”
“Well…. I am the closest thing he has to one.”
You nod. “Listen, I’m not going to play games with you.”
“Good.”
And then you wonder if you can really lie to a Jedi Master. “Obi-Wan and I were – are – friends. Very good friends. He wanted something more, I turned him down. It’s as simple as that.”
“Hmm,” Qui-Gon says. “That doesn’t sound simple at all. It is interesting that you see it that way.”
“No, it’s not simple…it’s just….” You take a deep breath before you get anymore flustered. “It’s not that it was an easy decision. I care for him very much.”
“Do you?”
“Yes,” you say defensively. “But something more than friendship is something that I cannot give him.”
“Why not?”
You are caught off-guard at his direct approach. “I…. I just can’t.” You’ll be damned if you will ever whine out loud about that one-and-only crap…even though it’s what you feel to your core. “I just want to be friends. He stepped over that line of suggesting something beyond friendship. I am sorry if he can’t deal with my decision, but that’s just how I feel. I didn’t want it to ruin our friendship, but if that’s what he chooses—“
“I think you are jumping to conclusions,” Qui-Gon said.
“Well, I certainly haven’t seen him,” you say.
“Have you made any effort to see him?”
You respond with silence.
He nods. “So I take this to mean that you won’t be attending the party at the Temple with him.”
You put your hands on your hips. “Did he send you here? Just to find that out?”
“No. It is a question that just occurred to me. I am here of my own volition,” he says, leaning in to emphasize the point. “A Jedi does not play games like that.”
“Oh really?”
Qui-Gon’s demeanor turns slightly less friendly. “I told you once that Obi-Wan is a good Jedi…in fact, an exemplary one.”
“Yes, I remember that,” you say.
“That means he does not lie…he does not use people…he does not jump to conclusions or judge people…he does not hurt people,” Qui-Gon says.
“He is still a man,” you say.
“A Jedi first,” Qui-Gon says.
“Oh please,” you say.
“Do not mock me,” he says.
You look down, “I am sorry.”
“You should think about what I have said,” he says, his voice still soft…it doesn’t need to be any louder. “For your own good.”
You fold your arms and look up at him. “Now who is judging who?”
“I am not judging you,” he says. “I am merely offering some advice that you could find useful if your pride will allow it.”
He may be a Jedi Master, but that doesn’t make him God. “My pride? My pride is why I made the decision I did. Because I have a little self-respect and won’t be played for a fool.” You pick up your plate and place it in the sink with a huff. Then you turn toward Qui-Gon. “And, no, I won’t be going to the party with him. I’ve had my fill of you Jedi and your interesting take on reality.” Qui-Gon’s expression remains unchanged, and you march out of the room.
Three days later, girls bustle around the building getting ready for the party…or The Big Bore as Obi-Wan had referred to it at one point. You laugh when you recall that as you lie on your bed. You haven’t heard from him, so you assume Qui-Gon told him about your conversation. You considered calling him just to make sure he knew that you couldn’t – wouldn’t – go but figured he would have called you if he still thought you were on.
You roll off the bed and stroll down the hall, a sharp contrast to the other girls in your jeans and sweater. Not everyone is going, of course – far from it – but it just seems that way at the moment.
You plunk down the stairs, and you skip from the last one down to the ground floor, round the corner, and run smack dab into Obi-Wan. “Oh,” you say with surprise. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to run you over.”
“That’s alright. You’re small enough to get away with it,” he says.
“Hmmm…. I’ll take that as a compliment,” you say.
“If you wish,” he says with a half smile.
You look down at the floor and then have a terrible thought: What if he’s here to pick you up for the party?
“So…. Are you ready to go?”
Your heart just about stops, and you slowly look up at him with your mouth half open….only to find that he’s not looking at you, but above you.
“Yes,” says a voice from behind you.
You turn around to see Terri standing on the stairs, her blonde hair swept up to precision and her long black dress clinging in all the right places. You finally realize that you are staring at her with your mouth hanging open. “Terri…you…you look great,” you say.
“Obi-Wan, could you excuse us for a moment?” Terri flashes a killer smile. “I’ll meet you in the entryway.”
“Very well,” he says. Without another word, he turns around and walks away.
Terri approaches you and says quietly, “I hope this is alright.”
“What?”
“Well…” She looks down at the floor nervously. “I know you were supposed to go with him to this party.”
“You do?”
“Yes…I…I was there, remember? In the kitchen…the day of his birthday party. You told him you would go with him,” she says, looking up at you again.
“Oh, right,” you say, trying not to remember that day.
“I’d hate for you to think I was cutting in on you,” she says. “I just happened to run into him the other day, and we were just making small talk and somehow it came up. He asked me if I wanted to go.”
“Oh,” you say.
“I was shocked because I thought he was going with you – and I said as much. But he said your plans had changed.” She takes a deep breath. “Wow, this is really uncomfortable…I don’t want you to think that—“
“Terri,” you say, “I don’t think anything. I changed my mind. I’m glad you’re going with him.”
“You are?”
“Yes. I felt kind of bad about breaking the date. I’m glad he found someone to go with,” you say, not entirely convinced.
“Oh. So no hard feelings then?”
“Of course not,” you say.
“I’d hate to have this come between us,” she says. “No guy is worth that.”
“You’ve got that right,” you say with a smile. “Now, go have fun.”
She smiles and hugs you quickly. “Thanks,” she says as her perfume assaults your senses. Then she steps around you and down the hall toward Obi-Wan. You catch his eye for a moment and then turn and walk toward the kitchen and exit the hallway through the door to the basement.
“Thank God you’re down here,” you say to Kim as you see her sitting at her desk.
“Why? What’s up?” She turns in her chair to face you.
“Perfume. Giggles,” you say.
“Ewww….makeup and heels, too?”
“Mmmm-hmmm,” you respond. “Wait a minute,” you say as you walk toward her. “You mean to tell me that Mace is going to be unattended this evening?”
“Nah,” Kim says, shaking her head. “Girl Scout is with him. I got the smut party, she got the Temple thing.”
“You guys are so good to each other,” you say.
“Yeah, well, what are friends for? Speaking of which…there’s about three gallons of deadly ice cream in that freezer,” she says.
“Coming right up,” you say, scooting into the kitchenette. You grab two large bowls and pull all three ice cream containers out and begin to shovel appropriate portions of each into the bowls. You turn as you hear Kim laughing. “What’s so funny?”
“Going through the letters to the editor. Get this. Dear Hot Jedi: Although I enjoy your publication, I would like to make a request that you provide more coverage of the non-human Jedi for your non-human readers.”
“We have non-human readers?” you ask, carrying the ice cream bowls to Kim’s desk.
“Wait, here’s a better one,” Kim says. “Dear Hot Jedi: Kudos on your exclusive interview with Master Mace Windu. It was informative, humorous, and touching all at the same time. I’ve never seen a better-written feature. Keep up the work.”
You grab the piece of paper from Kim. “Did you write this?”
“No!” She grabs her bowl from you. “Thanks.” She sets it down and says, “We have very intelligent readers, that’s all.”
You shuffle through some of the letters and pick up another one and read, “Dear Hot Jedi: I would like to make a request. In the future, please refrain from using the word ‘sith’ to describe something terrible, undesirable, or as any form of expletive. I refer you to last month’s article entitled ’88 Ways to Combat Sithly Hair Days’ as an example of the careless and disrespectful use of this word. I would hope a publication of your stature would not resort to such blatant insensitivity. Sincerely, Senator Palpatine, Naboo.”
“Geez, lighten up,” Kim says.
“Yeah, no foolin’”
“People are just plain weird,” Kim says.
“Completely,” you say shoving a large spoonful of ice cream into your mouth.