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 do miss him. It is not a sentiment that you can quite nail down. It is not a wistful pining, as you are not lovers, that much is certain. But his absence makes you admit to yourself that your are not just friends either. At least not in the casual sense. You miss talking to him in those early morning hours. It is the inexplicable reassurance you feel in his presence that you miss the most. There is something so completely natural about your interaction with him, just like your best friendships with women…yet different.
It is odd to have a friend like this, someone who you feel you know so well, yet you really know nothing about his “real” life…the life that has kept him away for well over three weeks now. Is it possible to seemingly share so much with one person and still be practically strangers to each other regarding your everyday lives…you don’t even know his birthday.
You make a mental note to ask him just that the next time you see him. In fact, you do one better and write it down in your notebook. A friend’s birthday is an important thing to know and to remember.
As you lay in bed pondering all these notions, with your notebook still at your side in case genius strikes, there is a knock at the door. “Come in.”
The door swings open, and Kayla walks in slowly. “Did I wake you?”
You smile. It’s almost noon. “No, of course not.” You watch her face as she sits on the edge of your bed, her expression full of worry. Something tugs at your insides. “What’s happened?”
“They returned last night,” she says. You nod in understanding, silently relieved to finally have word. “There…there was….an accident.”
You sit up straight in your bed, your pulse quickening. “Who?”
“Qui-Gon called me this morning,” she says. “Apparently there were two transports bringing them all back. I guess there were several of them there…wherever ‘there’ was.” The frustration in her voice at being excluded from details is quite evident. “Anyway…. Upon take-off, one of the transports malfunctioned or something, and it…it crashed. For some reason, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were on separate transports. Qui-Gon saw the whole thing apparently…saw it just drop from the sky. He’s still pretty shaken up about it…I think. God knows the man won’t show a weakness.”
Shock. That’s the only way to describe your reaction.
Kayla, seeing your response, quickly adds, “Oh no, he’s alright. Well, I don’t know if I’d say alright, but—“
“Kayla,” you say in a pleading tone, eyes begging her for information.
“Obi-Wan was injured in the accident. But he’s fine.” Kayla takes a deep breath.
“Then what? What’s going on?”
“Do you know Cre Yaemar?”
“Not that well. I mean, I’ve talked to him on occasion. I know that he and Obi-Wan are good friends. He’s mentioned him several times,” you say.
“Cre didn’t survive,” Kayla says.
“Oh God,” you say as your eyes fill with horror. “Obi-Wan….” You have never lost a friend, and you cannot imagine the grief of losing one.
“That’s why I came to talk to you about this,” Kayla says. “Qui-Gon called asking if you would come to the Temple.”
“Me? Why?”
“Obi-Wan is pretty broken up about it…as much as Jedi’s are allowed to be, you know. Qui-Gon thought it might help if he had another friend around…a civilian so to speak,” Kayla says.
“Of course I’ll go. Of course,” you say as you move to get out of the bed.
“I’ll call him back and tell him you’re on your way then,” Kayla says, standing up and walking out of the room.
You hurry around your room to get dressed, feeling half-numb and wondering what you could possibly say or do in this situation to help him.
You squeeze your arms around your body and clutch your long wool coat as you approach the Jedi Temple. You have never been any closer than the sidewalk up until now, and you can’t believe they’re actually going to let you inside. The building is intimidating, although not foreboding. You feel its tradition and history as you move closer to it. You look up as it stretches high above you. Only now do you have a real sense of the different life they live…you feel somewhat silly in comparison – and embarrassed still after your last party antics.
You take a deep breath and enter. The interior is somber but welcoming as you approach the reception area. You request to see Qui-Gon and then wait with a slight feeling of inadequacy as you watch Jedi’s walk by in quiet contemplation and conversation…and they watch you. You feel a buzz all around you as each individual presumably scans your identity and your intent. You squeeze the sleeves of your coat and try to look nonchalantly out the window.
“Thank you for coming.”
You breathe a sigh of relief as you turn to see Qui-Gon. “Thank you for asking me,” you say.
“Come with me,” he says and then adds, “There is no need to feel uncomfortable here.”
“It just feels…different,” you say. “Like everyone can see right through me.”
“They can,” he says. “But they won’t hold it against you.”
“That’s a relief,” you say. You feel diminutive walking next to him down a long corridor and try not to notice all the looks you get when passing other people….and species you have never seen before. “Why me?”
Qui-Gon smiles with full understanding. “We are taught to be somewhat dispassionate about tragedy. We feel emotion just as anyone else would, but we are raised to handle it differently. Cre and Obi-Wan knew each other for many years. Obi-Wan, understandably, is devastated. But we do not handle grief as you might. It is difficult to explain. I do not want to give you the impression that we are unfeeling or indifferent to this loss.”
“You don’t have to explain anything. Just tell me what I can do,” you say.
“True friendship is a rare and valuable thing,” Qui-Gon says. “It is difficult for a Jedi to form this kind of relationship with someone on the outside. Obi-Wan has that kind of relationship with you. Your friendship is very important to him.”
“And to me,” you say.
“He is a Jedi, strong in the Force, and true to the Code. But the Code….” Qui-Gon stops as he politely bows to passers-by. When the hall is empty again, he continues, “The Code will not help him grieve or offer him support….an ear to listen or shoulder to cry on, if you will.” You are surprised to hear the mildest hint of disdain coming from this Jedi Master. “I, of course, am always available to him…such as your father or mother would be to you. But although you love your parents and they love you, you still need your friends to see you through certain situations. Friends can help you in a way your parents may not be able to.”
“I understand,” you say. “Where is he?”
“In the gardens,” he says. “He has been there since last night. He did not return to our quarters, and I found him there this morning. He asked simply to be left alone.”
“Are you sure he will want to see me?”
“Yes,” he says.
“Has he asked to see me?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know—“
“I just do,” he says.
“His injuries?”
“They are minor. Some cuts and bruises. They look worse than they actually are. Luckily he was seated and strapped in,” he says.
“And Cre wasn’t,” you say quietly.
“No,” Qui-Gon says. “He died of head injuries. There was nothing the healers could do by the time they got to him.”
You sigh. You don’t know what you will say to Obi-Wan.
“Just sit with him…anything,” Qui-Gon says. “Here we are.”
You look through the door and see the massive expanse of the garden, never imagining that it would be so large.
“He is sitting just beyond that grove of trees there,” Qui-Gon says, pointing through the window.
“Maybe he’s not out there anymore,” you say, unable to see anyone.
“He is still there. I can feel him. Walk around those trees. There is a bench just beyond. He is sitting there,” he says.
“Alright,” you say. You step through the door and into the garden. You look back at Qui-Gon who gives you a reassuring nod through the window. You take a deep breath and walk slowly toward the trees. The atmosphere of this place is nearly breathtaking, but gloom clouds your perception. Your brain races through anything you could possibly say, and it all sounds contrived and cliché.
You finally round the trees. Qui-Gon was right. There sits Obi-Wan, gazing up toward the tops of the trees. You are somewhat startled by the bruises and cuts on his face. You then wonder if he knows you are here, as he is not looking in your direction. You walk toward him at a wider angle in order to alert him to your presence without sneaking up on him.
His head calmly turns to look at you, and the hint of a smile covers his face. You take several more steps forward until you are standing right in front of him. The bench he sits on is high, and you are only slightly taller than his seated frame. You look at him for several moments in silence as his energy surrounds you, surprising in its intensity but completely familiar to you. You really have missed him.
“Are….” You clear your throat nervously. “Are you alright?”
“It is nothing serious,” he says. “Just a few bumps and bruises.”
You wince slightly as you stare at the gash on his eyebrow that extends to a dark purple bruise up his forehead. "That’s not what I meant,” you say as you gently brush the edge of the bruise with your fingertips.
He looks up at you and then down. “I will be fine, thank you,” he says.
You place your hand under his chin and lift his head until his eyes meet yours. “You don’t have to be fine,” you say.
He looks at you and nods and then looks around you as if unsure how to respond or what to do. You can sense how much he hates this feeling of uncertainty as you notice his hands tensing up on his knees. Jedi’s operate on control, and you can tell that he is fighting to maintain it.
“I am so sorry,” you whisper. “I don’t know what to say.” You swallow hard, but a tear escapes your eye.
He looks at you as though your emotion is foreign to him and says, “You didn’t know him well.” It is not a charge against you but more of a question as to why you would grieve for a stranger.
You smile at his reaction, mostly out of surprise at his confusion. “But I know you.” It is astounding to you that this man who has so easily responded to your emotions and your pain in the past cannot understand them now. He knows how to serve and how to help. For the first time you finally, truly realize that he does not know how to receive help or how to allow himself to be supported by another….especially by someone like you who does not live by his Code.
So you have to show him. You take another step forward and pull him to you, resting his head on your shoulder and winding your arm around his shoulders as firmly as you can. He is not large like his Master, but you still feel less than capable of fully embracing him. He freezes for a moment, unsure of the appropriate response. But when you massage your fingers through his hair in slow, soothing strokes and rest your cheek against his head, his wall crumbles. His arms tightly embrace you, his hands easily reaching completely around you and clinging to your sides. You feel his breath shudder with emotion, and he buries his face into the side of your neck. You lean in against him and rock him slowly, still winding your fingers through his hair.
He breathes heavy again. It is all he can do, so you cry gentle tears for him. Upon realizing your release, he clutches you tighter and hides his face more firmly against the crook of your neck. Then suddenly you feel a buzz of energy all over your skin and a tug deep inside. Your breath catches at this odd sensation.
“I…I need to feel your sorrow,” he says, his words hesitant and muffled against your neck.
It is somewhat unnerving that he can so easily dive into the center of you, but you agree without a second thought. “Of course. Whatever you need.” You feel the tug again but don’t fight it this time. You feel the sad ache inside you literally pulled forward, and his body shudders again. Not entirely understanding the process, but wanting to do all you can, you set your mind and your heart toward pouring your sorrow and your compassion into him. You let go of pretense and your fear of what else he might see in you by allowing your emotions to flow freely.
The two of you stand there, embraced, beyond all perception of time. It could be minutes, it could be hours, you don’t know and you don’t care. His breathing becomes deeper and calmer as you let him take from you what he needs – pain, empathy, love…even anger and confusion.
Finally, his hands release their tight grip on your back. He raises his head and brings his hands up to your face and tilts your head down until your foreheads are touching. He looks into your eyes at length, lightly caressing your face with his fingers. “Thank you,” he whispers.
You hold his face in your hands and barely rub your nose against his. Then you place a kiss on his forehead…and another closer to his bruises…and another on his temple before embracing him again. After a few moments you step back slightly and then sit down next to him, running your arm under his and entwining your fingers with his fingers. You rest your cheek against his arm as your other hand covers the top of his hand, and he does the same to yours.
You sit quiet for a moment before asking, “When is your birthday?”
“On the tenth,” he answers as though it were a perfectly normal question in this situation.
“Hmm,” you say. “Glad I asked.” You glance up at his face and follow his line of sight to the tops of the trees, and you sit together in silence.