Subject: Just a Note
From: braidluvr@freezone.com
To: okenobi@jeditemple.org

Hey you, Okay, okay. Don't get a big head about my new addy. I don't yet have my computer set up at home, so I'm sitting here in this silly café trying to think of a really creative user ID for this "free" account that only costs me three credits per second or some damn thing. But if I bring in a friend on Wednesday nights, we get two for the price of one. How's that for a deal? Maybe I'll ask that guy over there with the two heads to meet me here on Wednesday. Although, I suppose he'd get free time on his own, eh?

So anyway, I ran all the way down here in the RAIN to set up an addy JUST FOR YOU to let you know that I've moved. Yeah. I did it. Am officially on my own now. But my phone line isn't working, so I can't get online at home yet. So I just wanted to drop you a note on the off-chance that you actually came home, which would be just my luck anyway, you coming home after however long its been to find that I've suddenly disappeared. Left you a message, too, but thought maybe if I was lucky you'd have an itty bitty chance to check your mail from wherever the heck you are.

Hmmm.... Somebody is sounding rather pathetic, aren't they?

So, I guess I just should have said:

Hey, how's it going? I moved into my own place. Long story, but just wanted to let you know. I'm at 8302 Sungrove Avenue, #1023. I know! Sungrove Avenue! Who the hell thinks up these names? We're in the middle of a choked metropolis and some yahoo thinks it's funny to call it Sungrove Avenue. I have a phone number, but it doesn't work, so I'll let you know. I have my com for work, so you can reach me on that anytime as you know.

Well, anyway, I guess I'll let you go. Hope all is well. ?

'Til we meet again or 'til this two-headed guy stops squicking me out, Pilar-- OOPS! Wait, I'm not her! I just look like her if you squint right.

~*~

Alarm clocks are evil. Just plain, downright evil. As are wake-up times. As are morning commutes. The list could go on and on. But the alarm clock is the ultimate evil because it is the device that starts the rest of the dastardly process into motion.

So this morning, like all other workday mornings, when the alarm clock goes off you groan and smack it. And then you sigh. And then you fall back to sleep. Nine minutes later the alarm goes off again.

"Fine," you growl, smacking the clock and then kicking off the covers. Grumbling, you roll off the mattress and slowly make your way into the bathroom for a shower.

As you stand under the hot water, slowly rousing your senses to consciousness, you smile slightly. You and he have had many a pleasant encounter in the shower. At least in your former shower. You sigh happily at the idea of christening this shower...if he actually ever comes home.

It is supposed to get easier, at least that's what you tell yourself. But every time he's gone is just the same as before. It doesn't get easier. You miss him. And, as much as you hate to admit it, you need him. It's not that you don't have other things to keep yourself busy, you're certainly not waiting around for him to come home.

Okay, maybe you are waiting for him to come home. But you're not SITTING AROUND waiting for him to come home. You have your job, your friends, your non-work-related writing projects, a new apartment to take care of. Lots and lots of things to keep you busy.

So why does it all feel not quite right when he's away?

"Dog," you mutter to yourself as you turn off the water. "I need to get a dog."

~*~

"This is ridiculous," you mumble. It's only nine o'clock in the morning. You've been at work a mere hour-and-a-half, and you've checked your webmail account five times already. Still no response. You sent that note four days ago. So either it means that he has no access to a computer, or he did receive your note and you came across as stupid and clingy as you knew you did once you thought about it for while, and so now he's kind of freaked out by your desperation and doesn't really want to write back to encourage it.

Or else he really has met some blue alien chick.

You sigh. "Okay. We're growing up now." You log out of the webmail and vow not to check it again until lunchtime. He's a Jedi. He's busy. He loves you. You know that. He's told you so. And you are acting like an idiot.

It must be because you're living by yourself now. Since the writing assignment your editor gave you is far too boring to think about on a Monday morning, you start surfing around and stumble across a site that will take all of your lifestyle information and personal preferences and then spit out of the absolutely perfect breed of dog for you.

"Good deal," you say as you begin to fill out the query form. You definitely need a dog. Then you won't be so fixated on whether or not that Braid answers your email.

You click on the submit button and await the results that will bring you the next love of your life. "Chihuahua?" you say with mild - well, moderate - disgust. "That's not a real dog." You do the submittal again, adjusting your information so it will at least give you a cool small dog like a cocker spaniel or a dachshund.

You click submit.

You wait.

And the answer is.

Chihuahua.

You huff, exit the site, and log on to your email again.

~*~

You finish off the bowl of macaroni as you sit in a chair positioned in front of your one good window. You actually have a view out of that one. Of course, it's just of the building across the street, but if you sit right next to the window and look straight up, you can see sky. And if you shift to the left and focus your eyes right, you can just barely see the spire of the Jedi Temple in the distance. You saw that building almost every day before you moved. And although you miss that neighborhood and the fun you had in that building, it was definitely time to move on. Landing the coveted writing job that you had been pursuing for some time cinched the deal. Things change, people change, everyone grows and moves on, keeping some of the old with them while embarking on new adventures.

You look over your shoulder at your apartment. It is small and certainly lacking some of the luxuries of your old digs. But it is yours. Even if you only have a love seat, a 12-inch television, and a desk to furnish the living room, it all belongs to you and you don't have to clean up after yourself if you don't want to. It's exciting and scary at the same time, being on your own after being surrounded by others for so long.

It also means you can get nekkid on the kitchen cupboard without intrusions. If, of course, a certain person ever returns for you to get nekkid with. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and the body really, really hungry.

Your eyes shift to your computer in the corner. "I am not checking that bloody email again," you say out loud to convince yourself of it. Then you sigh and march into the kitchen to put your bowl in the sink and turn around and walk straight to the computer, wondering if getting the phone line fixed was actually a good idea. At least you couldn't be this obsessive when you could only check it at work or at the café.

You log on to your account and then move the arrow to the top corner, ready to close out the window when you see once again that you have no new mail.

And suddenly you see that little red dot that informs you that you do indeed have new mail. You squeak in spite of yourself and feel an excited rush when you see his email address.

"Alright, just calm down! Geez, you'd think you were twelve." You click on the new message and then wait extremely impatiently for it to load.

Subject: Re: Just a Note
From: okenobi@jeditemple.org
To: braidluvr@freezone.com

Dear Lover of the Braid,

My, how you have changed in my absence. I cannot wait until I return for you to cater to my every whim and follow my every command. And to proclaim yourself my devotee to all your mail correspondents is quite an honor. Well actually, it is what you should have been doing all along. I knew you would come around eventually.

I apologize for not responding sooner, but, as usual, my time is not my own. Fortunately, our business today ended earlier than expected, so I have a few moments before my next duty to check in with you. I am thankful that I actually have access to a computer that allows me to do this.

The news of your move, although surprising, does not come as a great shock. I think it was time, and, obviously, so did you. I am only sorry that I was not there to help you move and to witness the long story as it unfolded. I trust you will give me the details when I return.

I thank you for letting me know where you are now. But even if I had returned in the short time that you were unable to get word to me, I would have found you and you know it. And yes, I do know how long I have been gone. It has been approximately three weeks, four days, seven hours, twenty-six minutes, and fourteen...no fifteen...wait, now it's seventeen seconds...eigh-- Well, you get the idea.

Qui-Gon's snoring is a very, very poor substitute for that noisy little sigh you make when you dream.

Speaking of which, you are sleeping these days, right? Don't lie to me, I'm a Jedi.

Ah, but you knew that already.

I'm afraid my time is almost up, love. I just have a few other things to say. The people who think of names like Sungrove Avenue are the same people who decide that it needs to rain. The 'guy with two heads' is called a Nevullan, and although they are a friendly race, I don't know any of them who have braids. At least not as nice as mine.

And, you are right, you are not 'her.' Not only are you not a 17 year-old girl (only appealing unless one is a 17 year-old boy or a leering old man), but you also do not have that annoying habit of walking away with derisive laughter after kissing me.

And I do miss how you kiss me....and everything else about you. I try to remember the scent of your hair every night when I fall asleep. My memory is fairly good, but it lacks one essential element. And that is the reality of you lying next to me.

How is that for pathetic, BabyAngelMyGirlLove?

Ever yours, Obi-Wan

It is only when you finally get to the end of the note that you realize you have the biggest, most idiotic grin on your face and that you probably haven't taken a breath since his salutation. You gave up a long time ago trying to figure out what it was about him that could, on more than one occasion, turn a grown woman like yourself into such a giddy creature. He has a certain kind of power over you that is unsettling sometimes, but the fact that he'll never abuse it - and quite possibly isn't even aware of it - is what makes you fall for him all the more.

Any woman who vehemently claims that she doesn't need a man has never met your man. And, of course, she never will unless you meet an untimely death, in which case you're taking him with you.

You think for a few moments and then send your response.

Subject: Re: Just a Note
From: braidluvr@freezone.com
To: okenobi@jeditemple.org

Dear Smart Guy,

Oh yes, I would LOVE to cater to your every whim and obey your every command just as soon as they finish construction on that sandy beach resort on Hoth. And as you will see in my first note to you, I only use this addy to write to you. Frankly, I think my parents would both go into cardiac arrest at the thought that their daughter called herself 'luvr' anything. They like to convince themselves...well, Dad likes to convince himself...that I won't start kissing boys until I'm 40.

I'm glad you had time to write back. I was a little worried since I hadn't heard anything from you in a while. No biggie. Just a born worrier, I guess.

Thank you for the nice words. They made my day. I miss you, too.

Hmmm.... I didn't really say anything here, did I? Ummm.... It's different living all on my own. I've been sleeping pretty good, I guess. Was thinking of getting a dog to keep me company. But then, that's not so easy living in an apartment.

And no, I don't want to look after Sugar. ? My allergies would kill me.

Well, I'll let you go. I know you're busy.

Take care and be safe, BabyAngelYourGirlLove (or BAYGL, for short...oh great, I've made myself into a bagel...that's a lovely image)

You chuckle softly and click the send button, thinking somewhere in the back of your mind that perhaps you shouldn't have replied so quickly because now you will begin your ridiculous obsessive mail checking again.

You log out of your email and then set yourself up to finish the project you should have done at work instead of waiting for his reply and matching yourself with a Mexican canine that could never be found on Coruscant even if you got that desperate.

Two hours later, project finally complete, you close out your windows and decide it's past your bedtime, having actually set a bedtime for yourself since moving into your own place and starting a 'real' job.

However, despite your better judgement, you decide you have to participate in the futile exercise of checking your mail, knowing that if you don't you'll just lay awake in bed wishing that you did.

And much to your surprise and delight, you have mail.

Subject: Re: Just a Note
From: okenobi@jeditemple.org
To: braidluvr@freezone.com

My darling bagel,

Might you be covered in that honey-almond whipped cream cheese that you like so well? You see, it is a lovely image.

Do I get a prize for responding so soon? Perhaps something involving red satin? And did I mention that I've developed this terrible addiction to Nutella ever since you showed me that it wasn't just for bread and graham crackers?

Sorry, love, the hour is late here, and I have been playing stoic Jedi all day. My reserve is slipping, and I'd like nothing more than to be able to walk across the street to you right now. Although I imagine that your Sungrove Avenue is not as close to the Temple as you were before. In any case, I wish I were there.

A dog? But I am already so well trained. What do you need a dog for?

Do not worry about me. Our mission, although time-consuming, poses no serious danger. It is mostly negotiations and politicking right now.

Well, it is a late hour for you as well as I type this. So if you are reading this while it is still a late hour, GO TO BED.

Ever yours, Obi-Wan (Who is most delighted that you decided to start kissing boys before the age of 40.)

The only thing that could make you feel any happier at this moment is if he were to walk right through that door.

"Girl, you have it BAD for this boy," you tell yourself. And the longer he is gone, the more intense is your need for him. You close your eyes for a moment and recall the delicious warmth of his skin rubbing against yours, his distinctive scent, his moans in your ear....

"Whoa," you say. "Somebody is going to need a cold shower." With a sigh, you compose your reply.

Subject: Late night snack?
From: braidluvr@freezone.com
To: okenobi@jeditemple.org

Am sitting here in red satin, Nutella in one hand and honey-almond heaven in the other. But from the looks of your note, I guess you're not back yet. Oh well, I'll just go to bed then.

Sweet dreams, Victoria's Worst Nightmare (VWN for short, which really doesn't sound like anything)

P.S. I am not too terribly far from the Temple. I can see it from my window. At least, I think that's what I'm seeing. You will have to verify it for me when you return.

And with that message sent, you shut down your computer and toddle off to bed in your red flannel jammies.

Part 2

Thank God for your friends. And for books, movie theatres, cable TV, and even for your job. Because you possess this propensity for sitting in front of your computer all night long, and if not for those other things you may very well be one of those ridiculously man-dependent women that you deride so readily.

Well, not dependent...but a little too needy, perhaps?

No, it's not that, either. It's simply missing those eyes, that face, and that body like crazy. Not to mention his voice, his smile, his laughter. His embrace, his touch, his kisses, his....

You sigh and drop you head into your hands as you try to concentrate on the article you're writing. No one - no man - is supposed to have this kind of pull on you. And then you smile. No one can but him. And, because you are so inimitably you, you had to pick a Jedi who, now that you've agreed to be hopelessly, stupidly, and delightfully lost to him, isn't around a good share of the time.

Of course, if he were around all the time you probably wouldn't be so addicted to him, you think. Then you shake your head, scoffing, "Yeah, right. Just like I grow tired of eating handful after handful of chocolate."

"What'd you say?" your cubie neighbor asks.

You suddenly look up from your computer. "Uh...just talking to myself."

"You said you had chocolate over there?"

"Umm...." You rummage through your desk. "Yeah, here," you say, flinging a dark chocolate delight over the cubie wall.

"Thanks," she says.

"You're welcome," you say, turning your attention back to your monitor. You tap on your desk for a moment. Speaking of chocolate, it's time to check your email again.

Nope. Nothing. Nada.

Oh well, looks like you'll actually have to work at work today.

~*~

"Well, it's about time," you grumble when you see his message. Between that phone call from your mother who had to harp and harp on you while you were trying to keep your editor off your back, the shuttle that died halfway into your commute home (reminding why you hate those things), and the fact that you are eating grilled cheese for the fourth dinner in a row.... Well, it had better be a good message, especially after three days of nothing.

Subject: Re: Late Night Snack From: okenobi@jeditemple.org To: braidluvr@freezone.com

I only have a few minutes before Qui-Gon begins to shout. He is of the opinion that you are distracting me from our work here, and I must admit that the thought of you in red satin covered with sweet condiments is far more intriguing than round after round of negotiation. But it shouldn't be too much longer. I look forward to seeing the view from your window.

Now I must regretfully put such fanciful thoughts out of my head and focus on my duties. I may not be able to write again while we are here, as there is much work yet to be done. I just wanted to let you know that things are well and that you are always in my thoughts and in my heart during those precious few moments that I have to myself.

Ever yours, Obi-Wan

You have this sinking feeling. It finally hits you that you really are a distraction, a fanciful thought. While you fight to keep your focus on your job instead of on him, he is his job. Everything in his mind, heart, and soul is first and foremost centered on being a Jedi. And then, when he has a 'few moments' you get to be a part of him.

You don't doubt his love or his fidelity. It is just the way things are. You can never come first with him. Ever. Rationally you know this. You have always known it. But now it is real, right there in your face in the words he has written to you. Up until now, even he has been fooling himself, choosing to ignore the limitations of this relationship. But right there in a seemingly benign and well-intentioned note, the entire scope of your relationship is summed up.

And while your rational mind tells you that he typed the note with love in his thoughts, after the day you've had, you are pissed as all get out.

Subject: My Apologies From: braidluvr@freezone.com To: okenobi@jeditemple.org

I'm sorry if my notes have gotten you into trouble with that Master of yours. I'll just imitate a rock now so I meet with his approval.

I understand about not having time to reply to me. I am actually going to be quite busy myself for the next several days. So Qui-Gon needn't worry about this fanciful, occasional thought stealing your time away. She has an irate editor and Saint Mom on her back and a new four-legged companion to attend to.

Take care, One Busy Grrl

You click the send button with a huff and sit back in your chair, letting what you've just written sink in. "Shit," you say, "now I really have to get a dog."

~*~

You lay in your bed staring at the ceiling. After a really bad day, you just want to sleep. But, of course, you can't. You were snippy and immature. The last thing he needs is a whiny girlfriend, not to mention the fact that it's the last thing you want to be.

You sigh and kick off the covers, knowing you'll be dying when the alarm goes off in the morning but needing to at least make amends for your last note.

You think about what you will say without sounding more whiny than you already did as you log on to your account. Your eyes open with surprise when you see that you have new mail.

Subject: Re: My Apologies From: okenobi@jeditemple.org To: braidluvr@freezone.com

You have not gotten me in trouble, you could never be a rock no matter how hard you tried, you are far more than a fanciful thought, and I wish I were there to hear about your irate editor, your mother, and to meet your new companion. But I need to be here as sure as my heart beats.

My choice of words was poor, I see that now. They taught me to be a good Jedi, but not quite how to succeed in matters of the heart. I am very limited on free time and was writing as fast as I could. I am sorry. I don't know what else to say. Things are the way they are.

You most certainly deserve better than spare moments. But what part of my life that I am permitted to call mine belongs to you. I wish there was more to give, but there simply isn't by virtue of my birth.

This isn't helping, is it? I'm sorry, love. But I have to go now. If you need to "talk" please write. I download your messages to my data pad and carry you with me so I can read them when time permits. I don't have the ability to respond as I wish, but please just know that I do read everything you send.

Ever yours, Obi-Wan

You bite your lip. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," you mutter, chastising yourself for sending what you know you should have deleted. You think about what you can say simply and without any drama.

Subject: Re: My Apologies From: braidluvr@freezone.com To: okenobi@jeditemple.org

I'm sorry, too. I had a bad day, and I got huffy. I'll be fine. I just need some sleep, and you know my luck in that department.

Sorry, again. Be safe.

You send the note without signing it, keeping your heart bound tightly so as not to start spewing and bleeding all over the place. You rub your tired eyes and lean your elbows on the desk, just wishing he'd come home soon so you could have just a day of his life. You need his touch, his love, his comfort, his laughter...and you need to talk to him. This ease of simply being with him is what first brought you together, and it is what you miss so much in the middle of the night. At least then your insomnia had some reward. Now it just makes you cranky...not that you weren't cranky then, too, but....

You smile as nostalgia sweeps over you, remembrances of simply sitting with him in the dark and the silly look on his face that would shift to yet another silly look the longer you kept talking.

You sigh and sit back in your chair. Perhaps he was right back then. Maybe this relationship is simply a romanticized idea and maybe you would rather have companionship every day instead of needing a man too much who can only occasionally be with you.

"Bah," you grunt, shaking those chattering, annoying voices out of your head as you shut down your computer. You drag your feet into the bedroom, telling yourself you WILL sleep whether you like it or not.

You pull the covers over yourself and snuggle in, trying to imitate that lovely comfy feeling you'll have when the alarm goes off at 5:30. But right now, at 1:30, your brain isn't interested in letting your body get comfortable. It wants to make you believe all sorts of disastrous things about your life and your obvious inability to handle all these over-exaggerated traumas.

You roll over on your side and beat your pillow a few times. You close your eyes and breathe deeply. And then your eyelids pop open again. You flop over to your back and close your eyes. In less than a minute, your eyelids spring back open.

You growl and kick your legs out from underneath the covers. You scramble to your feet, jump up and down on the bed three times, and then flop back down onto the mattress.

So not only is your mind buzzing, but now you have an adrenaline rush to boot. "Oh, fine!" you grouse, climbing out of the bed and schlepping to the computer with a blanket to wrap around yourself.

You rub your hands together to warm them as your computer comes to life. Then you chuckle when you find yet another note from the man who has no time to write.

Subject: Re: My Apologies From: okenobi@jeditemple.org To: braidluvr@freezone.com

It is not often that I am dispatched on a rather uneventful mission during which to practice my negotiation skills and ability for small talk. And it is even more rare to be in a situation where I actually come "home" at a reasonable hour for a decent night's sleep and also have the ability to keep in touch with you on a semi-regular basis.

As you know, most missions are not like this. Most of the time I am out of contact. Right now I am not. So talk to me, love.

Ever yours, Obi-Wan

You hesitantly click on the reply button. And then you sit with your fingers on the keyboard, lightly drumming the keys without actually typing anything. And then you begin.

Subject: Endless Blather From: braidluvr@freezone.com To: okenobi@jeditemple.org

I don't know what to say, really. I'm just feeling frustrated, I guess. Beyond the obvious. ?

There have just been a lot of changes lately - new job, new apartment. And you haven't seen any of these things. What I mean is, two major events have occurred in my rather dull life, but you don't know anything about them until after the fact. I'm not saying that in an angry way at all. It's just...odd. It is a reminder that this relationship is not normal, for lack of a better word. All of the significant events in my life will always be just mine. I suppose that sounds silly for all my independence and desire to do everything on my own terms. I'm not saying I want a man around all the time because I know that would drive me crazy. But there is something to be said for building a relationship on shared experiences.

This relationship we have is progressing slowly. In a way, maybe that's good. Maybe it means we won't grow sick of each other as soon as might happen with other couples. I don't know. God, I feel like an idiot for even saying any of this.

But I can't get over feeling like I am merely a pleasant distraction for you. I can't get past that stupid ideal of wanting to be special to someone. To you. I feel there is a real imbalance here. It doesn't seem fair that you are able to completely compartmentalize your life, being able to remove me completely from your thoughts while you carry out what you were born to do. And meanwhile, every aspect of my life bleeds into the next, so whatever occurs in one part affects every other part. Just like I can't just come home from work and leave it all behind at the office, I can't just go to work and leave you in a figurative box until the time comes when I am permitted to take you out again.

And there's something I just have to say because it's starting to weed into my brain. I have this fear that someday you just won't come home. I feel like this fear should ease over time, but it just seems to get worse. As strange as it may sound, I really don't know anything about your life. I don't know where you are or what you're doing, who the "bad guys" are and what they think of a Jedi showing up on their doorstep to fix things.

And because of the way things are, because I will never be a "sanctioned" part of your life, you could be dead right now and I would never know unless it happened to make the news or something.

Oh God, I can't believe I just typed that.

I'm being whiny and clingy, and I like to think I'm not any of those things. I'm just confused and wondering if I'm investing too much of myself since I don't seem to be able to simply sit back and enjoy it. And it's also 2:00 in the morning, and I'm not thinking straight. I just want you to come home so I can rip your clothes off and christen my new shower, okay? (And the kitchen, too, mustn't forget the kitchen.) No sex, no sleep...you know how I get. Well, I get like I was when you first met me, crazy and cloistered.

And now that I've spewed, I know it's not fair for me to dump all this on you when you are in the middle of really important work. You don't need me haranguing you like the nagging little woman back home (or big woman in this case...do you know how much ice cream I've eaten in the past couple weeks?).

And truthfully, my job is going really well. It's stressful, but it's a good kind of stress, if that makes sense. And I was just feeling sorry for myself when I have no reason to. I love having this place to myself, but I'm also kind of lonely without the girls around all the time. Blah, blah, blah. I think I'll go to bed now for real.

By the way, I don't actually have a dog yet. I was just...spouting nonsense. Did I mention that my shuttle careened to a landing platform this afternoon on my way home? What is it with me and those things? And here I wonder why I worry about you. I can't even catch a ride across town without falling out of the sky. ?

I'm sorry. I'm going to feel like a real jerk in the morning for bleeding all over you. Thank you for letting me vent. I promise not to make a habit of it.

Love, Wiggy chubby bagel

Part 3

You feel odd, like something has changed only you don't quite know the effect. You finally laid it all out, your frustrations and your fears, having held them back for so long because you knew that once you brought them to light, things could never be the same again. You never actually knew if that permanent change would be a good thing or a bad thing. But after two days of no response, you are beginning to wonder. You know that you opened up too much of yourself in that last note, but neither do you regret sending it. You feel a little foolish for perhaps being a bit too dramatic and fear that you may have put him off with the burdens you've been carrying, especially given the sudden silence on his part.

But now that you've confessed your worries to him, you no longer feel that strange urgency you once did, that compulsion to check your email every five minutes. The demons purged, you have regained your focus and can commit yourself more fully to your work. Sure, it's not Jedi focus, but it's damn good to feel yourself return.

Of course, you being you, there's always that little voice in the back of your mind that wonders if you are just telling yourself that you feel worlds better in order to prepare yourself for the inevitable conclusion of being dumped after having opened your heart and soul to him, for showing him between the lines how much you need him.

And although that is not the man you know him to be, your cynicism and your experience begin to build sturdy walls around your road-weary heart. You know that any other man would leave you behind in a cloud of dust after receiving such a note.

But he is not just any other man. And you know that. Of course, so do a lot of other women…which makes you wonder what the hell he is doing with you. And since you are one to always question good fortune as well as bad, it is something you constantly wonder about.

Especially now while you floss your teeth and shake your hips to the music blaring on the stereo while wearing your jammies. After you finish with that and take a few moments to lip synch to your reflection, you walk into the kitchen to start turning off lights.

But something catches your eye as you walk by the computer.

It's that little red dot.

That means new mail.

You stop and sit down in your creaky chair and then squeeze the mouse a little too hard. When you see his name in the sender column and then the subject line, it finally hits you that you really did say all those things to him behind the safety of your computer. But now the discussion has become fully real. You said a lot of things without the benefit of instant reaction to divert your train of thought. You click on the note with more than just a little anxiety.

Subject: My Turn
From: okenobi@jeditemple.org
To: braidluvr@freezone.com

It has taken me a couple of days to respond because I needed to wait until I had time to think about what you said. Since we are being honest, I will get right to it.

First of all, we are on our way home. Politics and finances being what they are, we are stuck on Balrain for a day-long layover until we can get a ship back to Coruscant. I thought perhaps I should wait until we saw each other to respond to what you have written. But since you had your turn, I thought I should be allowed mine.

You are right about my not being there for important events in your life. And sharing those kinds of experiences is what draws people together. You and I will never have that like other people do. Perhaps I have been pretending there was some other way around that gap. Maybe there isn't. I will always have this life, so it seems that you need to decide if you can live with that. It sounds as though you are trying to figure that out, so the best I can do is make it clear that things will never change. I know that sounds harsh, and I am sorry if these words cause you pain. But that doesn't mean that I make any apologies for who I am. For any hurt you bear, yes. For my life, no.

I told you that I needed to attend to my duties as sure as my heart beats. And in that beating heart is you. It pains me that you would ever think that you are a mere distraction, and I told you long time ago that you are special to me. You are woven into me, so much so that I am not the same man I was before I met you. And even when I am required to have other matters on my mind, you are with me. Do you understand?

There is still so much in you that wants to believe that you can never be truly loved. I don't know what to do about that. Why do you cling so fiercely to this idea of being unwanted when I do everything in my power to show you otherwise? Why do you doubt me so?

Are these simply hurdles that we need to overcome, or are we at an impasse? Maybe the uncertainty and infrequency is too much for you to bear and maybe I have been foolish in believing that I am capable of forging a lasting relationship.

The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you, but sometimes I fear that expecting you to give up so much for me is the worst offense of all. It is only natural for you to want more, and were my life different, I would want more, too. With you. But that is not something either of us can afford to entertain.

Believe it or not, I have written and deleted a great deal more than what you see here, but those words are better off postponed until we are face to face. We should be home tomorrow evening, but I will not be free until the following afternoon. I will see you then, and we can discuss this.

Yours,
Obi-Wan

You stare at the screen barely breathing, hands shaking, chest tight, and mind frantically searching for meaning. The hurt behind his words seeps under your skin, the chill shifting to panic as it settles into your bones. "Oh God," you whisper faintly, "what have I done?"

Part 4

Of course, sleep eluded you. And your recently re-gained focus has now flown straight out the window as your mind goes into damage control mode. Between staff meetings and the rest of the day when you were supposed to be working, you made a lot of mental lists, things that need to be done before he shows up tomorrow.

Before leaving the office, you check your home voice mail just to see if he's left you any messages since he is presumably back in town already. You are not surprised to find that you have no messages, but your heart sinks just a little. Even when he can't see you right away, he is always quick to call.

"No more wah-wah," you mumble quietly to yourself as you head out of the office building. The first thing you need to do is hit the grocery store. You're no wench, but you know a little pampering can go a long way in healing hurt.

A major traffic jam, irate shoppers, only two open checklanes, and a walk through the rain later, you stumble into your apartment building, dragging water-logged grocery sacks to the elevator, praying to anyone who will listen that the bags will hold until you get to your apartment.

And hold they do. Until you turn the key in the knob. You say a few muffled curses as your oranges take off down the hallway and then quickly drop the bag on the floor before the hole can get any bigger. You kick the door open and drag the other groceries into the kitchen, leaving the worn out bag and its contents out in the hallway for a second trip.

You quickly put everything away and then turn to retrieve the rest of your groceries, looking forward to nothing more than getting out of your wet clothes and taking a hot bath until you prune. You hang up your coat and then make your way to the front door.

And then you gasp sharply and jump back when the door suddenly opens. You stand frozen with surprise at this sudden invasion. But then you nearly fall over when your intruder steps out from behind the door to reveal himself.

Obi-Wan gives you a faint smile. "Are these yours?" he asks, holding up a couple of oranges.

You nod, unable to speak once you see those eyes. While he was away, he became an abstraction to you, lucid memories perhaps, but nothing that compare to having him right here in front of you, feeling his vibrant energy warming your chilled skin even as you stand a few feet from him.

His eyes shift down to the floor and then back up at you. "I'll just pick up the rest," he says, walking past you to place the oranges on the kitchen counter and then turning back toward the door.

His scent hits you as he passes and the sound of the voice you have missed so terribly rattles you from your hesitation. "I'm sorry," you whisper.

He turns back around to face you, his robe swooping out behind him. His mouth opens and then closes again, his eyes shifting around as he searches for the appropriate response. He sighs. "We'll talk."

You swallow down the lump in your throat and then quietly whisper the words you never thought you would hear yourself say. "Please don't leave me."

In two quick strides he is in front of you, his hands cupping your face as his reserve breaks away. "Never," he says low in his throat as his head moves down and his lips find yours.

You whimper into his mouth as his lips slide hungrily across yours, surrendering quickly into his strong and comforting embrace as one of his arms lowers and wraps firmly around your back. Your body begins to tremble, and he breaks from the kiss as a lone tear slides down your cheek and over his fingers.

"Ohh, love," he sighs pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. "I didn't realize how much I missed you until I saw you standing here." A soft smile forms on his lips. "Looking drenched and tired--"

"Oh thanks," you chuckle softly.

"And beautiful," he adds, lightly brushing his lips across yours.

Your breath shudders in your lungs as he teases your lips with his tongue. Your eyelashes flutter and you sigh when his cheek slides against yours and his lips gently suckle the soft skin of your neck. You inhale deeply, closing your eyes as you savor him. "I would never choose anything else," you say.

His head rises, and his eyes meet yours. "Neither would I."

"I just...." You sigh. "I'm so bad about obsessing over lack instead of feeling gratitude for what I do have." You close your eyes and shake your head. "Great, I'm going all Oprah now."

Obi-Wan smiles and then kisses your cheek. "I wonder," he says and then places another kiss on your lips, "if there is something I could do," he nudges your head back and kisses the tender skin under your chin, "to make you feel gratitude." His last words are muffled against your neck, the vibration thrumming against your throat. He takes several steps forward, pushing you back into the kitchen cupboard. "It appears that we are in the kitchen now," he says with a leer. "You said something about--"

You grab his head and kiss him before he can finish his sentence. He groans when your tongue slides into his mouth, insistently demanding more contact. A desperate craving wraps around the two of you as he lifts you up to sit on the counter, and you grind your hips together.

His robe and belt are cast aside to the floor a moment later, and his hands grip your waist and pull you tighter into his body. You wind his braid around your hand, squeezing the plait between your fingers possessively as you grab the back of his neck with your other hand and pull him against you, sinking deeper into the kiss.

Obi-Wan suddenly leans back, breaking the kiss, but your grasp on his hair halts any further retreat. He grins and moves closer to you again, barely kissing your lips. "You like having me wrapped around your fingers, don't you?" he asks with a low growl.

"I like having you inside me better," your husky voice responds as your lips brush against his as you reach down with one hand and stroke the hard bulge in his pants.

He growls again, pressing into your hand as his fingers frantically unbutton your blouse. "You like to tease me, too," he gasps, dropping his head to your shoulder and moaning when you give his erection a tender squeeze.

"Are you complaining," you say softly, leaning your head to lightly nibble on his earlobe.

"Not unless you will," he says as he runs his lips down your chest and hooks his fingers around the front clasp of your bra.

You sigh and suddenly release his braid when you feel the clasp release and then you arch your back, pressing your naked breasts toward him while his fingers lightly skate over your aching curves. Your head drops back as you strain against his featherlight caress, his thumbs just barely circling your nipples. "Touch me," you gasp, craving greater contact as you spread your legs wider and press into his body. Then you moan and grab his shoulders when you feel the wet heat of his tongue and tender suction of his mouth on your breast, his hungry vocalizations vibrating against your skin.

His face bears the faintest hint of rejection when you push him away from you. But then the corners of his mouth quirk up in the most delightfully mischievous manner when you begin to tug at the fastenings of his tunic. Within moments his arms and torso are bare to your hungry eyes, and he moves in to kiss you. You indulge his lips, and your own, for a few seconds before pushing him back again.

"What?" he asks, one eyebrow arching up at you.

"Boots and pants, too," you say. "I want you naked."

"Well, what about you?" he asks, fingering the edges of your blouse as it hangs carelessly from your shoulders.

You smile and slowly pull the hemline of your skirt higher and higher up your legs, raising your right leg as you do so. "I like it this way," you purr, placing your toes against his chest and gently pushing him back.

He smirks at you and then bends down to remove his boots. Once done, he stands up and looks you straight in the eye as his fingers slowly unfasten his pants.

"Now who's the tease?" you ask, your voice shaky as you try to maintain your composure while your body screams to be taken. But your loud gasp betrays your reserve when he slides his pants over his hips, and your eyes fall to his gloriously aroused penis.

He looks up at you, his eyelids heavy and blinking languorously. "Do you know what I thought about every night?" His voice is thick with lust as he continues, "So much so that I had to fight to keep my thoughts shielded."

"What?" you ask, your breathing becoming more labored as his hips roll with each stride toward you.

"You," he says, reaching around behind you to unzip your skirt. "Like this." He gently pulls on the fabric as you lift your hips, the skirt sliding past your knees and to the floor. He slips his fingers under your left knee and lifts your leg as he bends down. "And like this." He places a kiss to the inside of your thigh while his hand runs up your stomach you cup your breast, his thumb teasing the nipple yet again as you whimper and rub his forearm with your fingertips.

You hear his breath catch in his throat before he says in a strangled whisper, "And like this." A squeak escapes your throat when he places an open mouth kiss between your legs on the soft cotton of your underwear.

A low rumble sounds from his chest as his hands quickly pull at your underwear, stripping you of them and tossing them to the floor. And before your brain has time to process what is happening, his tongue slides through your center, stopping at your clitoris and circling slowly.

"Oh G--hhhh...." you sigh as your head lulls to your shoulder while the incredible caress of his tongue drives your desire close to the edge. And just short of toppling over the brink, he pulls back. You open your eyes and look down at him staring up at you.

"And like this," he says, his eyelashes fluttering at you and his tongue sliding across his lower hip.

"Mmmmhhh," is your only response when you notice that his strong fingers had wrapped around his erection while he was pleasuring you. You reach down and grab his shoulders, tugging on him until he stands. You wrap your legs around him and rub your slick center against him.

He groans and grabs your hips, pulling you slightly forward and then pressing the head of his hard penis against you, just short of sliding inside.

You feel his body shudder as he obviously fights to maintain control. "Don't hold back," you whisper against his lips.

He kisses you hard, and then rolls his hips up and slides inside you, both of you breaking the kiss as you moan together, his rigid heat filling you and your body opening up to him as he slowly buries himself inside you.

You remain still, save for the shuddering of your joined bodies, embracing each other and savoring the unspoken emotion of this bond. And then his hips flex back and then forward, over and over as he thrusts inside you with an ever-changing rhythm until he finds the proper pace, deeply rolling his hips up to allow his erection to slide against your clitoris before plunging deep inside you to stimulate all those pleasure that only he can reach.

"Mmmhh, baby, you feel so good," he moans against your neck as your muscles begin to tighten around him.

You grasp at his hair and shoulders, trying to keep your control. But after almost a month without him, your body has become ravenous and your willpower is nearly nonexistent. "Obi-Wan," you whimper as he begins to thrust faster, causing the last remnants of your restraint to fall away. "I can't...hold it...."

"Ooohh, yeah," he sighs, tangling his fingers in your hair and holding your head up to allow him to watch your face. "Let go, love." A strangled groan spills out of his throat when your eyes meet his and you try to send him every indescribable sensation that he is giving you. "Nnngghh...that's it, baby," he gasps. "Let me feel you...come for me...."

Your fingers clench his tensed muscles as you rock with his body, giving yourself over to the rush. Your breathy moans rise to a cry as he thrusts once more at the perfect angle, sending an exhilarating flash through your entire being, tossing you into the throes of your orgasm. As your consciousness is flooded by wave after wave pleasure, Obi-Wan groans loudly, thrusting deeply into you. You feel his uncontrollable shudder and hear the growl of your name, and then you are filled with his heat as he comes inside you, his sweat-covered skin sticking to your own as you tighten your frantic embrace.

You feel his fingers loosen their grip on the back of your head, his own head falling to your shoulder. You continue to hug his body with your legs, stroking his hair with your fingertips while his hands grip your back, pulling you as close to his body as possible.

You feel his penis soften inside you, neither of you wanting to break your bond by removing body, heart, or soul from the other.

Finally he moves, lifting his head to kiss you sweetly, the fog of lust gradually lifting from both of you and replaced by a tender, loving afterglow. With a reluctant sigh, he slides out of you and then lifts you off the counter, walking slowly to your bedroom and laying you on the soft mattress. You discard your blouse and bra as he climbs up next to you and kisses you again, lips and tongue sliding slowly and intoxicatingly against your own as you sigh and relax your body underneath him.

He leans up slightly and gives you a curious smile. "Well then," he says, "that was the kitchen. Next we have the shower, I presume?"

You laugh and give him a quick kiss. "Perhaps after the bed."

"Alright, if you insist," he sighs, kissing your cheek and lowering his head to nuzzle your neck.

"I do insist."

"Don't you always?" he chuckles.

"Hey," you laugh again, playfully swatting his shoulder. "I'm not that pushy."

His head pops up and he gives you that "yeah, right" look.

"Okay," you chuckle, "maybe a little. But you love it, and you know it."

Obi-Wan smiles, "Yes, actually, I do."

"And why is that exactly?"

His eyes shift to the side. "Hmmm.... Well, there is something irresistible about a woman who knows exactly what she wants and isn't afraid to demand it."

"Oh, really?" you ask skeptically.

"Yes," he says with a nod. "For example, ordering me to take my clothes off is a very attractive trait."

"Oh, I get it," you say.

"Really?"

"No."

He chuckles. "And I adore your candor."

"You do?"

"Yes. Well, most of the time."

A twinge of regret runs through you, and you feel your cheeks blush.

He smiles softly and caresses your cheek before brushing his lips across yours. "And I adore these lips." He kisses you gently. "So sweet," he whispers.

"Hmmm...." you respond.

His eyebrows arch up. "Hmmm?"

"Speaking of sweet," you say, "not only is there a brand new jar of Nutella in the cupboard and a fresh container of honey almond whipped cream cheese in the fridge, but I also found some dark chocolate sauce that--" You laugh, breaking off your sentence as he lunges off the bed.

"I'll be right back," he calls from out in the living room.

The noise of cupboard doors rattling causes you to laugh again. "Shall I put on the red satin?"

"Absolutely not," you hear him say. "I have you right where I want you." A moment later he appears in the doorway, arms loaded up with delightful treats.

"Damn, you don't mess around, do you?"

"Actually," he grins, "I mess around quite a bit." He pops open the can of chocolate sauce and unceremoniously pours it all over your stomach and breasts.

You squeal and wriggle on the sheets. "That's cold!"

"Well," he says, setting the can down on the floor, "I'll just have to do something about that." He slowly crawls up the length of the bed with a look on his face that tells you he's perfectly prepared to devour you.

"I really will need a shower," you say.

"Once you regain consciousness, yes," he replies before leaning down to run his tongue through the puddle of chocolate sauce on your stomach.

You sigh and bite your lip. "I'm really happy you're home."

"Me, too." Then he gives you a feral grin and adds, "And you're about to be happier."

The End...for now