Crimes Between Us

Chapter Twelve

Rating: R

Things that seem so vital in your life at some point, even things that you just know

you're never going to be able to forget or get over, suddenly lose their importance as

life goes on. Sometimes, you just forget them, and it's not until something reminds

you of the incident that you even realize you forgot something you were supposed to

always remember. And usually, you can't remember it, so you realize that it wasn't

that bad to begin with.

Strange how the human mind works. I began to think scary was more like it.

Anyway, these thoughts were rocketing through my head faster than light speed and

they began to give me a headache. Obi-Wan must have sensed it because he shook

his head, convinced I wasn't okay regardless of what I'd said, and began to pull me

up, intent on taking me back to his room.

Back to his bed.

I didn't want to go--there was too much of him there. Funny because it didn't bother

me before, but that was before I'd realized the depths of my feelings for him. If I

just hadn't gotten hurt in the woods on Endor, we'd have stayed at camp with Qui-

Gon, and that night would have gone much differently.

I was sure we'd have been attacked, perhaps more viciously so if I'd been there.

Whoever hurt the Jedi Master was looking for the seratin. That much was pretty

evident. The question was, would Qui-Gon have been spared such wounds if Obi-

Wan had been there to fight along side him? Or would someone have gotten gravely

hurt, even killed? I guessed I would never know, just like we never know about any

of the paths we don't choose to take. Life was one big *what if*.

Suddenly, I admired the Jedi. They were sure that every choice they made was the

will of the Force. Therefore, things that happened were how they were supposed to

happen, and pasts weren't dwelled on. Alternate destinies were rarely thought of.

Living life in that much peace, with that much acceptance, must do wonders for the

soul. And perhaps that's why they were so deep.

But I knew that not all Jedi were so in tune with what they called the living Force.

Qui-Gon often said Obi-Wan was not. He spent too much time with his head in the

clouds rather than his feet anchored in the moment. I called it passion. Jedi Master

Qui-Gon called it lack of discipline.

I guess while I was lost in these thoughts, pondering the Jedi Order of the universe,

a subject that no non-Jedi could ever hope to comprehend, Obi-Wan had been coaxing

me into the room, finally giving up on my dazed state and picking me easily up into

his arms. I was now only a shadow of my former self,

having gone two weeks without solid food. Suddenly I was aware that I was being

carried off the balcony and back into the room, and I protested, pointing desperately

to the sitting couch on the other side of the large room. The young Jedi stopped,

confused.

"You don't want to lay down?" he asked me, his eyes flitting over his cloak, which

still covered me.

I knew his thoughts were of my still-healing ribs and my injured thigh, both of

which prevented me from being able to sit or stand comfortably. I told him to lay me

down on the couch and with a slight shrug he complied, padding across the thick

carpet with feather light steps, the way I expected a Jedi to move. They were truly

some of the most graceful and agile creatures in the galaxy. I nearly laughed as I

thought of this in comparison to my Wookiee who was as bumbling as the Jedi were agile, and as

clumsy as they were graceful. And Obi-Wan had told me that when he was at the

Jedi Academy, people called him clumsy! I found that hard to believe now.

As requested, he lay me gently across the couch, and I only had to curl my knees in a

few inches toward my body to fit completely on it. It did hurt a little as I moved my

legs toward my chest, and I tried to hold back a wince but wasn't successful. Obi-

Wan's face clouded with concern.

"Maybe you should--" he gestured toward the bed.

"No!" I snapped, a little too quickly. I took a deep breath. Calm yourself Solo.

I began to realize it was probably time for the Jedi to leave.

"I don't feel right," I explained finally, forcing myself to remain in control of my

feelings, conscious of them, and completely honest about them. It was the only way

to deal with Obi-Wan, I was beginning to realize.

When he shook his head to indicate he still didn't understand, I sighed. "It's your

bed."

The explanation sounded as good as any to me, but apparently it wasn't enough for

the Jedi. "So?" he pressed me.

I wasn't sure if he just still didn't completely understand, or if he was baiting for a

conversation to take place that I wasn't willingly entering into thus far.

Deciding to humor him, I answered. "Your presence is overwhelming there," I said

softly, surprisingly not feeling the least bit embarrassed by what I was saying. I

decided maybe I was past that--we were too far gone to be shy around each other,

that was for sure. We'd slept together for chrissake. Twice. And we weren't

exactly shy then.

"I can't--" I wasn't sure what else I was going to say. I had to pick and choose what

I wanted to admit. Not being embarrassed and not hurting him were two different

things. Was I supposed to willingly admit that I can't convince myself not to love

him if I can feel him all around me in his bed? Should I admit that I couldn't

rightfully hate him while sleeping where he's slept, the same sheets caressing my

body that, night after night, caressed his? It entered my mind that if I wasn't

careful, and if I was silent for too long, he might get curious and touch my thoughts.

Then he'd know everything, regardless of my intentions to keep it a secret. Carefully, I closed

myself off.

He felt that. A look of desperation crept across his handsome face.

"Kalla don't--" he begged me.

It was so hard to keep focused when he looked at me like that. His deep blue eyes

shone with want...need...desire. And it was more than just lust. It was a desire to be

loved and to love back on a level greater than either of us had ever known.

I wondered if I could do that. I honestly wondered if I was strong enough to love a

Jedi and everything that went with it. I honestly wondered if Obi-Wan and I were

strong enough to get past our inherent differences, our penchant for annoying each

other, our innate need to automatically disagree with the other. Those things were

fun in theory, but after a while, it was bound to wear on both parties. It's wear was

already showing now. We both had questions as to how the other felt. How could

we not when we both struggled so for control? How would we not when we both

obviously had no idea how to be honest about our feelings? We were kids, with no

idea of how to handle an adult relationship. We were kids who'd been thrown

together and were suddenly in so far over our heads we could barely breathe.

I opened my mouth to say something, probably to tell him to leave, but it only came

out as a whoosh of air because before I knew it, his lips were on mine again, and this

time the kiss wasn't tentative, it was desperate. I wasn't surprised when his tongue

immediately slipped into my mouth and stroked mine; I wasn't surprised when his

hands found their way into my hair, kneading the back of my neck and pushing me

closer to him. I wasn't even surprised when a small, satiated moan made it's way

from deep in his throat up to his lips. I *was* surprised, however, to feel tears hit my

face, tears that weren't mine, but his. I'd allowed him control, because I knew he

desperately needed it, but as soon as I felt the wetness on my face, I pushed him

away.

He, stoic Jedi, didn't stumble backward, despite the force I tried to put into the

rejection, and so he remained barely an inch from me. I could see his moist eyes

clearly, and in the light illuminating from the lamp behind the couch, the tracks

made by salty tears down his cheeks were clearly visible.

It made my heart ache; my own throat constricted and I felt ready to sob as well. But I wouldn't,

I told myself over and over not to lose it, this didn't need to be one huge tear-fest, battling

it out for holovid of the week. Instead, I sat up a little straighter, as straight as I could

with the constraints of my injuries and held my ground.

"Obi-Wan..."

I didn't get any farther than that, because he stood, staring down at me with the

most pitiable expression I'd ever seen in my entire life. Part of me wanted to scream

at him to *get over it* and *get out*. But I knew I'd hate myself if I said either one

of those things, so I didn't, instead biting down on my bottom lip and using every

ounce of my strength not to cry.

"Kalla, what are you doing?" he said plainly, not allowing his voice to betray the

emotion his face was clearly showing. He shifted slightly on his feet and looked

momentarily guilty--or uncomfortable--perhaps because I looked about ready to

throw myself off the balcony and take him with me. I was sure that if I looked half

as miserable as I felt, I was a sight.

"Do you want to be with me or don't you?"

The way Obi-Wan asked this question, with his refined cultured tones, sprinkled

with innocence and underlying strength, it was really hard to say anything but YES.

*Yes, Obi-Wan Kenobi, I want to be with you forever and ever and ever.*

But me, Kalla Jacina Solo, doesn't trust people, doesn't trust men, and even

more than either of those, I don't trust myself. I'm a complete basket case, a girl who

finds herself caring too much in situations where I need to let go, and caring too

little in situations that I should give more than two shits about something.

Always wrong. Always floundering. Always lost. A step behind.

Which is why I depended on myself and hated when other people latched on that

bandwagon and depended on me. People depending on me was the most uncomfortable feeling I knew.

It was responsibility.

I hate responsibility.

Obi-Wan is the epitome of responsibility. Which brought me crashing back to my

current predicament. Do I want to be with him?

*Of course* I want to be with him. So what came out of my mouth next shocked the

hell out of me.

"I just want to be friends, Obi-Wan."

He seemed a little surprised, but recovered nicely. I assumed that Obi-Wan wasn't

rejected by women all that often. But he was graceful with humility, dipping his

head quickly then raising it, gathering himself.

He smiled at me. I was still in shock from what I was thinking versus what had

rolled off my tongue. But I didn't correct myself, and I didn't take it back.

He nodded. "Maybe it's best right now," he conceded.

It cut through me like a hot poker. I hadn't meant to reject him, at least I didn't

*think* I had, and he was agreeing with me! I supposed I deserved it though--I was,

after all, the one who told him I just wanted to be friends.

Just friends. How cliche.

I didn't say anything when he bent at the waist and picked me into his arms again. I

didn't say anything when he took me back across the room and laid me into his bed.

I didn't say anything when he pulled the covers over me and leaned down to place a

soft kiss on my forehead.

Then he was gone. And I was alone.

The tears flowed then, hot rivers coursing down my cheeks for what seemed like an

eternity. I stared at every inch of the room, every artifact that was his, every piece

of his life, his memories, his soul packed into that dwelling.

And I cried some more.

I cried until my throat felt hoarse and my ribs were aching from the wracking sobs.

Just before I fell asleep, I resigned myself to reality. Perhaps it would be better this

way. It was all too much, too fast. I'd told myself that before, hadn't I?

As sleep drifted in and through my consciousness, making everything blurry and

hazed, I actually smiled. This must be the way of the Force, I decided.

**