note: wow! i'm actually on schedule this time. many thanks to sonsofdurin, Perian Swan, thebluefeather, Reaper2908, brucejulie, thejediqueen, tadah2, LoveFiction2016, syfyhero, Amadeusan, Andy Hearter, AllAwesomeness, Emperor Andross, Alfirineth, and a couple of guests for reviewing, and love to all who are reading!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
torpe

"I don't know where that boy could be," Oona grumped as she finished off a length of maroon cotton and aggressively folded it, as if creasing its folds was the only way to express her irritation. "It's been far too long. Maybe he's dead out in the desert, or eaten by Tuskens."

Lisbet winced, since the old weaver was facing away and couldn't see her. Solstice could, though, and shot her a sympathetic look.

Of course Oona was talking about Ben, who hadn't returned to Anchorhead in almost six weeks. Oona knew nothing about his visit while everyone was away at the podrace, so by her reckoning it was even longer. By Lisbet's reckoning it was long enough to send a clear message – except she also couldn't stop thinking about how much blood he'd lost, and how dangerous it must have been for him to return to the Waste so soon after an injury.

"I'm sure he has a very good reason for the delay, Auntie," Solstice said, although she was looking at Lisbet when she spoke. This exchange had been repeated multiple times between them.

"Maybe he's just done with Anchorhead," Lisbet said, surprising herself with how sharply she spoke. "There's not much of interest here. He's better off going to Mos Eisley if he needs anything."

"Speak for yourself, girl," Oona sniffed as she primped her white hair. "There's plenty of interest here for the discerning palette."

Lisbet didn't bother with an answer for fear she would say something sharper still. She could feel Solstice's concerned eyes on her, but she didn't return the look. The weaving workroom was too small, too cramped, too suffocating today; she wished she could bolt for freedom – or better yet, bolt for open space and leave this dusty planet behind, at least for a little while.

"Oona," she said suddenly, standing up. "I've just realized that I – I left something at home. Would you mind if I take my lunch break to fetch it?"

"Hmmph," was the only reply she got, since Oona was deeply engrossed in the tricky workings of an old hand loom. Taking it as consent, Lisbet strode to the door, grabbing her headscarf as she went. She could hear Solstice hurrying to catch up behind her, but she went all the way outside before waiting for her.

"I'm fine," she said to forestall questions as the door slid shut behind both of them. The noon suns were intolerably bright in the sky, and she shaded her eyes while they adjusted to the change. "I just need some air."

"Auntie is in rare form today," Solstice sighed. "I'm sorry, Lissy. If you want to take a nice long break, I'll distract Auntie so she doesn't notice."

Lisbet squeezed her friend's hand. "Thanks, Solstice. I'll be back in a bit."

She hadn't really forgotten something at home, so Lisbet let her feet guide her just to clear her head. She avoided the market, since she only looked for Ben there anyway. Instead she wandered down the more residential side streets, sticking to the shade where she could.

After a while, though, the suns bore down so relentlessly that she decided to go indoors, and headed for her little house to eke out a few more minutes before returning to the weaving shop. It would be nice to make lunch there anyway. She rounded the last corner before her doorway – and yanked to a stop, heart clenching around her windpipe so suddenly that her chest almost hurt.

Sitting cross-legged in Rooh's hulking shadow against the side of her house was Ben, his eyes closed either in thought or drowsiness from the oppressive heat. In the confused split second that she was deciding whether or not to bolt back in the direction she came, he seemed to notice she was there and hurriedly stood.

"Lisbet," was all he said, but it looked like there were a thousand things on the tip of his tongue.

"Hello," she replied, more coolly than she meant.

"You're earlier than I expected," he said, unconsciously brushing away Rooh's head when she inquisitively sniffed at his collar. "Or rather – it's only noon, and I thought you would still be at work for a while longer."

"You were waiting for me?" she asked, and wished her stomach wouldn't flip-flop quite so much.

"I hoped we might talk," he replied quietly with grave eyes, "but if you prefer that I go, I will go."

"You don't – you don't have to," she said, taking one tentative step toward him. "It's so hot out here – um – would you like to come inside?"

"Thank you," he said, but hesitated. "May I stable Rooh in your shed?"

"Yes," she said as her heart wilted. Any ease that had been between them, any warmth or familiarity, had vanished and they were back to the uncertain tiptoeing of acquaintances. "You, um, you know where it is."

Before, he might have dimpled faintly at her flustered words, but now he just nodded and turned toward the passageway between her house and the next. Lisbet let herself in through the front door and went immediately into the kitchen to start a kettle. While she was at the counter she filled her palms with a few precious drops of cool water and pressed them against her cheeks and neck, trying to calm her overheated skin.

The kettle began to boil and she stared at it for a few seconds before pouring its contents into the teacups. She'd spent the last six weeks wondering and worrying and resigning herself to Ben's silence, but now that he was here she wasn't sure if she wanted to hear his reasons.

I shouldn't have done that, he had said, just after he had leaned in to kiss her.

But then there was his soft knock on the back door, and she pressed her thumb over the control pad to open it. No matter her uncertainty, he was here now and there was no telling if he would ever come to Anchorhead again.

"Please sit," she said, gesturing across the kitchen table to the other chair as she sat down. She felt a little more sure of herself in here; it was more formal than the living area, if only because the furniture was harder in contrast to the soft, comfortable armchair and couch. He had slept on that couch – he had kissed her on that couch. "I made tea."

"Thank you," he said as he took a seat. He picked up his cup, but didn't drink from it.

She, meanwhile, took a slow sip from hers, watching him over the rim. Ben was clearly gathering himself to tell her something difficult, but she didn't feel like she owed him the courtesy of making it easy by asking him to explain his behavior: the kiss and subsequent departure and long absence since.

"Lisbet," he tentatively began, and the way he said her name paired with how he looked at her with those impossibly blue eyes melted a little of the irritation she still harboured against him. "My true name is not Ben. I took it when I came to Tatooine a little over a year ago."

Cold confusion gripped her spine, mingled with a spike of fear and disappointment at the admission that he had been lying to her all this time, even after she surrendered the secret of her identity. "Then who are you really?" she asked, wishing the words hadn't come out in a tremulous whisper.

"My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi," he replied, his own voice soft, "and I am one of the last of the Jedi Order."

Her hands froze around the teacup. His name was only vaguely familiar to her, but everybody knew the word Jedi. Knew that they had bred an army of clones as cannon fodder, that they had been named by the Emperor as traitors who corrupted the Republic, that they had been purged from the galaxy after attempting a takeover.

And here was one at her kitchen table.

Lisbet stared into her rapidly cooling tea, unable to look at him. Her muscles felt locked in place while her mind stalled in circles, and one absurdly clear thought rose above the din: Gareth had been right after all. The stranger from Coruscant was not as he seemed.

"You have nothing to fear from me," Ben – Obi-Wan? – said, his voice aching. That was enough for her to meet his eyes, which were so filled with anguish that despite everything, her heart lurched toward him. "Please – please don't be afraid of me."

"You lied to me," Lisbet said as she looked away again.

"I had to," he replied. "I thought you might understand. You lied to me, too, in the beginning. To protect yourself and your brother."

"Then who are you protecting?" The question slipped out before she gave herself time to consider whether she wanted to know the answer.

He didn't reply for a moment. Then, quietly, "A child."

"Yours?"

"No." He ran a hand over his beard. "My brother's."

"Was he a Jedi, too?" The questions were stacking up, and each new one made her more confused. Of course the child wasn't Ben's, because Jedi didn't have families. Then how did he have a brother and a father of whom he spoke so highly? She shook her head a little to clear her head. "Maybe you should start at the beginning."

So he did. As he spoke, she felt her anger fading away. She knew from firsthand experience what the Emperor was capable of, so it didn't surprise her to learn that he had twisted the public image of the Jedi during the war. And aside from the Order as a whole, Ben's personal tragedy made her bones ache with sympathy.

"When you had the nightmare about your brother – about Anakin," she guessed after he had finished talking, "that's what you meant."

"I should have killed him." The confession came out of him like it had been wrenched from his throat against his will.

"What?" Lisbet asked, startled.

"Do you remember how I spoke of receiving bad news when I came to you after being attacked by Tuskens?"

"Yes," she replied. Of course she remembered everything about that night, how he had appeared at her door with an injured body and an even more wounded spirit.

"I had just learned of Palpatine's new right hand," Ben said slowly. "Anakin is gone, and Darth Vader has taken his place. I could have spared him that. I could have –" His voice cracked and he looked away, sucking in a shuddering breath.

Despite herself, Lisbet reached for him across the table. It was only her hand over his, but the contact made him flinch. She pulled away.

"You're a Jedi," she realized, the full implication starting to dawn on her.

"Yes," he said.

"What –" Her breath hitched and she took a second to collect herself. "What are you asking of me?"

"A Jedi shall have no attachments," he replied quietly. "I'm so sorry, Lisbet. It's all I have left."

She sat back, reaching for her long-cold teacup if only to have something to pretend to focus on. No attachments meant no falling in love, no surrender of self to another soul. To her, it was senseless almost the point of absurdity – but that didn't matter. He believed in it.

"I think I understand," she said slowly. "I won't ask you to choose between me and your beliefs." She coloured a little at what suddenly felt like an awkward assumption that she was a choice at all. "But – I just – what does this mean? Now that you've told me everything?"

"I am sorry that I kissed you," Ben said, his grey eyes clear and steady and sad. "If I hadn't, this would be easier."

I'm not sorry, she thought, although she knew saying it aloud would probably make him sadder. "You said that a Jedi shall have no attachments," she said instead. The words felt formal on her tongue, and she wondered if they came from a longer list of ceremonial phrases. "But shall a Jedi also have no friends?"

His expression softened, perhaps with relief. "Friends are permitted."

"Then we'll be friends," she replied firmly even though her heart sank, "and we'll forget everything else." If this was all he could give her, then it would just have to be enough.

Ben opened his mouth to answer, but paused. He was always so measured, so thoughtful, and part of her wished that he would just blurt out whatever first came to his mind. But then she supposed that the one time he had acted without thinking around her was when he kissed her, and he had immediately regretted that.

"Thank you," he finally said.

It wasn't the kind of thing to which one replied you're welcome, so instead Lisbet drained the last mouthful of her tea and stood. She realized too late that getting up sent him a signal, since he rose with her. She didn't want him to leave – but she didn't want to keep having this conversation, either. Maybe she was a little sorry that he had kissed her, if it meant changing things so much.

"I should go before it gets dark," he said even though sunsdown wasn't for hours yet.

"No need to risk being attacked by Tuskens again," she said, smiling slightly as a hesitant peace-offering.

"Hardly." He dimpled a little in reply, but his eyes were still sad.

"I'm glad you told me," she blurted out. "That you explained instead of staying away. Even if it means–" She cut herself off.

"You deserved to know the truth," he replied quietly, then gestured back to the table. "Thank you for the tea. You have always been a gracious hostess."

Instead of lingering like he'd done in the past, he moved toward the door as he spoke. The space in the kitchen was so tight that Lisbet brushed against his cloak sleeve as she reached around him to touch the control pad. When the door swished open, she was almost surprised to see that the suns hadn't moved much – it seemed like hours has gone by while they talked.

"Safe travels," she said as Ben stepped over the threshold onto the sand outside. He acknowledged her by inclining his head, but it seemed like both of them had run out of things to say. He headed toward the shed and Rooh, who had perked up at the sight of them.

Watching him leave, Lisbet suddenly remembered something he had said almost at the beginning of their conversation.

"Ben, wait," she called after him.

He turned back around to her and she closed a little of the distance between them, although they were still a few paces apart. He had folded back into himself, his face carefully composed and closed off. Like they didn't know each other.

"I'm not afraid of you," she said, because she didn't know how else to say I love you in a way that he wouldn't reject. "Earlier, when you told me that you're a–" She stopped, mindful of neighbors' listening ears even though it seemed like they were alone. "When you told me your name. I'm not afraid of you."

Some of his composure crumbled, and she wondered if he had heard what she actually meant. His gaze flickered down to her lips for the barest second, but by the time her stomach flipped he had looked away.

"Safe travels," she said again just to spare them both the awkward silence.

"Thank you, Lisbet," he said, and for a moment it seemed like he was trying to speak in subtext, too. But then he recollected himself and simply said, "Goodbye."

"Goodbye," she replied, hating the finality of the word. He turned away again, but she couldn't bring herself to go back inside. Even the gentle way he brushed Rooh's questing nose out of the way when he untied her reins made Lisbet love him that much more.

He's a Jedi, she reminded herself, even though their austere moral code was an empty reason to her. The Jedi were gone, their way of life passing into memory. And you had to fall in love with one of the last.

But he had lost everything, his whole world and family and home in less than a day. If forsaking his vows or oaths or whatever the Jedi took caused him even greater grief than what he already carried, then she could never ask him to do that. She could bury her feelings and remain only his friend to protect him from any more heartache.

That didn't stop her from wishing, as he led Rooh away and raised a hand in farewell, that he had chosen her instead.

torpe, (n., Tagalog), a man who is desperately in love with a woman but cannot admit his feelings.

for those who enjoy songs that pertain to fanfic chapters, i listened to trenches and charms by jon bryant a lot while writing this. :)

03.15.17