Mistake

A Vignette by LuvEwan

PG

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

Obi-Wan Kenobi meets with a friend of his childhood, and attempts to cope with the contrasts between them. A completed, alternate universe vignette.

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Obi-Wan could barely regulate his footsteps to a normal, smooth gait. Nine years of intensely focused training had eradicated many flaws that haunted his childhood. For one, he was no longer riding the sharp, crashing waves of recklessness. In the near decade he had spent drilling himself, devoting his energy to study and peace, most of the frustration had drained from him.

The Jedi representative that strode toward the hangar possessed the same inherently handsome face, but his skin carried a distinct glow. He was healthy. And, in his own way, he was happy.

Perhaps this was not the place he would have envisioned himself to be at this time in his life. But a young boy's head was always filled with dreams of hot-blooded battles and heroes, distant worlds and divine purpose. Eventually, every boy had to grow up.

Most dreams were abandoned in the cold, bracing clutch of reality.

But this day was reserved for laughter. He had repeated the thought as he rose from his sleep berth to prepare for the visit. A dark curtain was rapidly closing in on the entire Universe-even touching his own, somewhat insignificant atmosphere. This reunion would be comprised of mirth and warm memories.

Any envy he might have harbored had since wilted, and lay like a twisted, felled weed inside him. There was only eagerness lighting Obi-Wan's eyes.

The small ship landed quickly, but with a fluid grace that the young Jedi recognized at once. When the single occupant hurdled down the ramp, the grin he had been restraining broke free, splitting his face in a brilliant flash of white.

"Obi-Wan!" Garen Muln had never held many reservations, and did not display any when he engulfed his lifelong friend in a fierce hug.

Obi-Wan did his best to quell the little gasp that leapt on instinct to his throat. How long had he dwelled among those not endeared to him, people who so paled beside this vibrant character. Few could claim a place in the young Jedi's heart, but Garen had been a natural resident, tracing to Obi-Wan's earliest memories. After his spirit wrenching (and admittedly bitter) transition from initiate to farmer, Obi-Wan had tried to sever those ties to the Temple. To succeed in his new and unpredicted career, he simply could not be distracted by homesickness.

After all, his home seemed to be literally rooted in bloom, crop and cultivation. It would be a disservice to himself to carry the ghosts of an unfulfilled life that would only ravage the current one.

But after miserable sojourns through lonely, moonlit fields, Obi-Wan realized something. In the pitch black, his shadow was eclipsed by the crowd of darkness…and it seemed that he could never prosper while seeking a strictly solitary existence. There were too many yesterdays that cast their own shade on the ground. Even on the most deserted of plains, Obi-Wan was never truly alone.

So he had allowed himself to remember the hours of giggling, rollicking play, leaping into freezing pools and running through hot grasses. Every beloved voice had the occasional echo within his mind. Bant. Reeft. Yoda. And Garen.

In the time that his body grew from its gangly awkwardness to a compact and defined grace, Obi-Wan had come to think of his past with more fondness. He was a member of the Jedi Order. That in itself was something to be extremely proud of.

But he was never looking for esteem. Obi-Wan merely wanted to help. He didn't brandish his saber in duels or pilot impressive ships through a blinking cavalcade of lasers, but his efforts in the AgriCorps certainly did help. What more could anyone ask of their life? He was here because he was meant to be here. And every day spent among the revered Jedi in their Temple was a stepping stone, building towards this moment, and indeed, the next.

So why was his hold so unusually tight on his friend?

Garen gave one final, hearty squeeze to Obi-Wan, then tried to pull away. The Senior Padawan had flourished in his apprenticeship, a tall, slender form with raven hair and bronzed skin, a bit battered in places from the harsher intervals of his training. He was nearing an age of independence, Knighthood. Garen always expected to celebrate the milestone at the side of Obi-Wan.

The worst day of his life was the day his friend (and the person he suspected would come closest to being, in the platonic sense, his soul mate) boarded the Monument, and redirected the ultimate avenue he would take. It was a fate no student of the Jedi arts desired. But Obi-Wan Kenobi, like all initiates, had learned that personal desire must be extinguished in favor of the greater good.

Garen would never even begin to believe that assigning Obi-Wan to a perpetual routine of planting, weeding…and whatever the hell else an AgriCorps worker did, was for the greater good.

"I've missed you, creep." He whispered, a glimmer of humor coming through the clouds.

Obi-Wan felt the first cool current of tears, but didn't move to dash them away. Suddenly, brutally, he understood the mentality he had adopted in his early days in the Corps.

His worst fear about meeting with Garen was that the jealousy would be reborn, an insidious toxin made potent when he saw the crisp Jedi uniform, the silver cylinder hanging from the leather belt--the plaited strands with their specifically colored beads.

But no. It wasn't the coveting of Garen's position that sent the misery pouring down Obi-Wan's face.

It was the fact that although there were many shadows strewn over and along his own, they were merely that. Shadow. Little warmth could be found in the dark, intangible phantoms that hovered over the earth.

"You have no idea." Obi-Wan rasped, then reluctantly broke the embrace. He was relieved to see glossy tracks on his friend's cheeks.

Garen rubbed the tears off with the heel of a hand. "I guess I don't." He took in the changes in his companion's appearance with a note of sadness. He could never hope to rival Obi-Wan when it came to Force-given, physical charm. That much was evident while accompanying him on trips through Coruscant, or even the Temple.

But the spark was gone from him. And outward calm did not necessarily mean inward serenity. A single word rang in Garen's mind, a bell that shrieked in uneasy nightfall: MISTAKE.

"I know this might sound strange to you, or even insulting, but can I tell you something, Obi-Wan?" Garen asked, when he could speak.

The other man's forehead creased. "What is it?"

Garen had to stifle the uproarious anger bubbling within him. It had taken enormous determination to defeat the blinding degrees of passion he could experience. But now, it was as if his training had been an incomplete mirage. Biting hard on his lip, he pulled Obi-Wan into another, more intense hug. "Right now, I'm damn ashamed to be a Jedi."

Obi-Wan tried to respond, but could only cling to that remnant of his former life, taking what warmth he could before the shadows slid in again.