Master Apprentice Archive Unspoken Quick search:

Archive: MA, or ask me

Category: Pre-slash, POV

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Summary: There was a story posted here: http://www.lmfct.org/news_manlikeeverybodyelse.htm about a NY policeman and his partner who was a fire-fighter and who lost his life on 11 September. Not only is it sad because of the loss, but also because they didn't feel able to be open about their love. Their story inspired the following ficlet. (I've copied the story if anyone would like to read it and the link doesn't work.)

Disclaimer: George's characters, not mine.

Feedback: Yes please

Note: Thanks to Laura McEwan for pointing me in the direction of the story in the first place. Thanks to Bonny for being the best beta possible. Mistakes are mine, mine, all mine. Thanks to Cuimne for being my master and bunny-propagator, sorry - I mean my inspiration.

There were many reasons why it has been impossible for me to speak about or even acknowledge my love for Obi-Wan. Primarily because of what we are: Jedi, for whom an attachment could be dangerous - a weapon that can be wielded by an enemy, a weakness to be exploited. I am also his master, if only for a few more years. I am responsible for his training; indeed I am responsible for the man himself, I hold his life in my hands. The possibility of that obligation being twisted, being darkened by lust and desire, is the reason why such a liaison would be discouraged; actively discouraged.

I can see that he loves me, too. He has never voiced his feelings, of course. He doesn't need to. We share a close bond that has grown from the unexpected - yes, unwanted - affinity when he was but a boy to this closeness we now have. He is closer to me than anyone else has ever been. We are constantly aware of each other. He knows my feelings as well as I know his, and he believes I will never speak of them. This is beyond comradeship, beyond the care of a teacher for a treasured and gifted pupil, beyond even the bonds of lifelong friends. Is this a potentially dangerous vulnerability? Or a gift? Could this be the promise of a different kind of life for two co-existing yet solitary men like us?

Now that he has reached the rank of senior padawan, Obi-Wan is occasionally sent away on solo missions. These have been usually minor matters that were completely within his capabilities to deal with. Short trips away, back home to me in a few days. The experiences were essential for a new knight in the field. But now he is leaving on what I believe is a potentially dangerous mission. I have not questioned the Council's wisdom in selecting Obi-Wan for this task. They know his qualifications, skills and limitations as well as I do, and they believe him capable of handling the job. Of course he is.

I am not particularly gifted with prescience. Although few and far between, the visions of the future I have occasionally been given have proved accurate. I have "seen" Obi-Wan as a mature knight, a master, so I know that my fears for him on this mission are probably irrational. It does, however, concern me that I have never had a vision of the two of us beyond his apprenticeship. Even if our relationship changes only within the constraints sanctioned by the Jedi, I had hoped that our friendship would continue; that we would occasionally work together as equals. I fear that is not what the Force intends.

Our last mission was hard. It had been hoped that we could persuade the planet's dictator to step down in the face of the overwhelming uprising before the situation degenerated into war. Although at first the leader doggedly stayed in power, calling the revolutionaries "terrorists", we were eventually successful in our task. Both sides claimed the moral high-ground and as usual the ones to suffer most were those caught in the middle ­ the innocents.

We helped where we could, gave medicine and aid where it was needed or merely listened to the survivors' tales of destruction and slaughter. No one would be able to tell from our placid exterior and calming words how very much both of us were affected by what we witnessed. I felt Obi-Wan's pain even as he smiled at me, holding a tiny child who was momentarily distracted from her terrible injuries by the attention of this other-worldly Jedi. My apprentice had learned his lessons well. He understood the futility of railing against what could not be changed. There was a time when the young, passionate boy would have questioned our limited power to help, the apparent impotence of the Jedi Council and even the lethargic actions of the Senate itself. Those passions were still there but my padawan, surreptitiously using a little Force suggestion to calm a hysterical old man in the ruins of his home, would never show them. No one would know they existed. Except me. And none would know of mine were it not for him.

Obi-Wan and I walked among the grieving survivors who wept for the loss of their loved ones. They showed us ragged holos of their dead, their missing. Would it have been better for them if they had never loved those dead victims? To never have felt that connection with another, if that meant being spared the pain of losing it? I couldn't convince myself of that.

I watch as Obi-Wan runs up the ramp to the ship's hatch, travel pack over one shoulder. He hesitates at the top and turns to look at me, raising an arm in farewell. The Force has shown me that I won't get to share many years with him, but I can take what I am to be allowed and live it to the full. Decision made, I call out, "I love you, Obi-Wan Kenobi!"

His face lights up like a star going nova; a huge grin, eyes wide in surprise and unbridled joy. The dignitaries around me stare open- mouthed. Just as he replies, the ship's drive begins its pre- takeoff rumble so I can't hear his words. But I see him shout back, "I love you too, Qui-Gon Jinn!"

He waves once more before disappearing and, from the glint in his eyes visible even from this distance, I know that his homecoming will be one to remember.