Master Apprentice Archive JAOA: Boundaries Quick search:

Pairing: Other
Archive: Yes
Rating: PG
Category: Drama, angst, series
Series: JAOA (http://www.digitalmidnight.net/garden/jaoa.html)
Feedback: Heck yes! ^_^ I adore it!
Summary: Another little glimpse at the future and the importance of personal boundaries.

JAOA: Boundaries
by BlackRose, 2001
Year of the Republic 25,020

There was a rhythm to it all, as simple as water and as smooth as the finest wine. Unchanging. Always sought after, rarely achieved.

Feint. Dodge. Slide. Parry. Strike.

They had been doing it for days. From demonstration to the actual form, over and over, endless repetitions to drive it into body and mind. When the boy found his own rhythm at last, sliding into it without fanfare, he could feel it like a shockwave from his fingertips to the marrow of his bones. Rich and heady and perfect.

Parry. Dodge. Feint. Strike. The mirrored move of two bodies in tandem, every motion flawless, the hum of their sabers in rumbling harmony. Kiss and slide, never touching, just that close and no farther. The discipline of distance. The beauty of the individual dance, doubled.

When it ended, it was long breaths before he could bring himself to break the final pose of the form, shattering that single perfect moment.

"Well? How was that?"

Han took another breath, letting it out slowly. "Fine," he said shortly, thumbing his saber off. "But you don't need to ask that." Just like he didn't need to open his eyes to see the boy's self satisfied smile but he did anyways, letting his eyes meet the Prince's smug gaze.

Luke brushed back the fall of hair around his face that had come loose from its tie. "I think I'm getting better." False modesty, the habitual white lies of the beurocrat that he had learned to speak as easily as he breathed.

Sighing, Han straightened, leaning his head back to ease the tight tension in his neck. "It was fine," he repeated. Some days, he could play the game. Answer the boy in kind, banter it back and forth in games of word that had their own rhythm and forms. He knew just enough of diplomacy that he could keep it up for at least a little while before Luke soundly trounced him. Fair play, really, for the saber lessons where Luke was at the disadvantage.

But other days it just wasn't worth the trouble. This was one of those days.

Luke cocked his head, lips pursed. "'Fine'," he echoed, a touch mockingly. "With you, it's always 'fine'. You never miss a step, do you?"

"You'd be surprised." There was a pitcher of water at the edge of the training mats, chilled and beaded with drops of condensation in the humid Aldaaran summer. Han poured himself a glass but didn't pour one for Luke, pressing the cool surface to his neck before sipping at it. "And I've got a few years on you, kid. Give yourself time. You're doing good."

"For not being a Jedi?" The words had a harshness to them but were honest enough. Luke came to sink down beside Han's feet on the edge of the mat, leaning back on his hands as he stretched out his legs. "I'll never be as good as you are, will I?"

Han shrugged. It was a moment before he answered and when he did the words were painfully true. "You could have been better." Easily better were the words he didn't say. One of the greatest.

Luke's eyes glittered up at him from beneath pale lashes. "Could have. If I had started earlier, you mean."

Answering words almost died on Han's tongue, the irony of them bitter to the taste. He forced a smile, lopsided and humorless. "You weren't meant to be a Jedi, your Highness."

The boy's head tilted slightly, sandy hair falling forward. "No. I suppose not."

Silence then, at least for a little while, and Han let himself lean back against the wall and close his eyes. He heard Luke stir after awhile, getting up and pouring a glass for himself. He could see, without much imagination, the image of the boy standing there, watching him. The gaze of those eyes was going to give him a nervous twitch some day.

"Ask you something?"

Han cracked his eyes open. "Sure, kid."

Luke's expression twisted slightly - the nickname Luke disliked so was a jab, just as Han knew the question the boy wanted to ask was going to be a jab. Feint and parry.

The boy's eyes were too bright beneath half lowered lids, his expression a shade too careless. "Who is he?"

Han pushed himself up abruptly, frowning. "Who's who?" he demanded. "What are you talking about?"

Luke's eyes met his and he could feel the frission of chill down his spine, thick and heavy on the touch of the boy's feel in the Force. "Tall," Luke said softly. "Blonde. Older. When we train, you think about him."

The chill became a shiver, stark and cold. Han could only look, voice stilled in his throat, the unpleasant surprise like heavy weights in the pit of his stomach. Luke waited, his lips pressing thin in an irritated line. "You think about him," the boy said flatly, "when you should be thinking about *me*."

"Force!" Han's voice exploded across the syllable, hard and harsh. "Sith take it, boy, I told you to stop doing that!"

Luke just looked at him, unrepenatant. After a moment he shrugged slightly, a caustic little smile touching his lips without ever gracing his eyes. "Your shields slip."

"No," Han said tightly, "they *don't*." Turning sharply, he strode towards the door.

Luke's voice rang after him, sharp and angry. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Away," Han snapped back. "Until you learn some manners. Your *Highness*."

"I didn't..."

"You," Han said through gritted teeth, glancing back, "are a spoiled child. And until you learn that not everyone dances on a chain for your amusement, you will *never* be anything else." The doors slid hastily apart at his approach and shut again behind him; dimly, through the metal, he heard the crash as Luke's flung glass shattered against the door frame.

"Sith," he hissed, trying to push the anger down and away as the Force vibrated through him in thick waves. "*Sith*."

[to next stage]