Title: Protection
Summary: AR Obidala. Veteran Ben Kenobi strives to live a peaceful existence in the small town of Protection. Soon, after meeting a beautiful college intern, his life becomes rather chaotic.
Rating: T
Warnings: Some mild violence, visions of war, murder and torture.
Genre: Typical mix of drama, comedy, romance, action and hurt/comfort.
Notes: Whenever it comes to writing an AR story, I always struggle with the names. Since the setting for this story is modern day, I'm going to call Obi-Wan, Ben – and Padme will be Ami (short for Amidala – and pronounced like Amy. Anakin will be Ani… so on and so forth. Hopefully, everyone will be able to follow along.) ;)
Chapter One: "All in a Day's Work"
I came to Protection right after the war. It was a small town; a place I thought I could enjoy some rest and relaxation. The most important thing it had going for it was that it was far from the heat and sand of the one place I wanted to forget; The place where I had left my best friends behind.
These days, I try to remember them as they once were: happy, laughing, making jokes, and bragging about their target-shooting skills. Most of the time, though, I remember how I last saw them; lying in pieces all over the desert sand, crying out to me for help. I wanted to help them. It was my duty. I was their Sargent. But I failed. I was trapped. Buried beneath a bomb and truck combo driven by a suicide bomber who plowed directly into our convoy. I had been in the front vehicle, which suffered the least amount of damage, while my comrades and several of my best friends took on the blast in full force.
I didn't have a chance to say goodbye, to wish them peace in passing, or even tell them I was going to be okay. They were gone before I'd been released from the burning pile of metal.
I managed to escape the wreckage with a long scar across my shoulder blade, although I was beginning to realize most of the damage was done inside my head. And I'm not talking about my brain. Once everything had settled, and I began to live a routine and rather mundane existence, that's when the nightmares began. I relived the worst of the war over and over during the silent hours of the night.
My initial answer was to avoid sleep. However, that only made me irritable and nearly cost me my job with the local police department where I had been recently appointed as deputy.
Thankfully, Captain Quinn, the police chief, had insisted I seek counseling. At first, I'd rebelled and did my best to avoid his advice. When it came down to a choice of either my job or therapy, I opted to follow orders.
I liked being a police officer. I got to help people, which gave me pleasure.
As I sipped on a cup of strong coffee and gazed out the window of my small cabin, I noticed that the wildflowers were beginning to drop their petals. It was a sure sign the seasons were about to change, which would bring winter to this area of the country. It also meant the residents would have to be more cautious. The numerous bears in these parts would be seeking out nourishment before entering into hibernation, and they weren't picky about it. They would comb through trash cans and unlocked cars to find something to fill their stomachs. Even an unleashed random pet would find itself on the menu.
Public announcements would come over the local news soon as a reminder to be careful and smart. You may wonder why I choose to live in such a dangerous place. If you could only look out my window at the beauty of what I see, you would understand.
Just a few miles from my cabin is a mountain range – the same ones that watch over Protection. They are currently barren, but will soon be sparkling with white snow. At that point, the town of Protection will become a magnet for adventure seekers. Both those who wish to scale the nearby peaks or enjoy skiing down them would make their way here. And I had to be ready; which meant getting a good night's rest and getting plenty of exercise.
At the thought, I bent over to tighten the top buckle on my hiking boots and grabbed my woolen cap. I had always enjoyed a brisk walk through the forest before I headed into work. Just as I was about to head out, however, a voice came over my radio.
"Officer Kenobi, here," I answered.
"Good morning, Ben!" a friendly woman's voice on the other end replied.
Some considered Rita to be too much personality for this early in the morning. I liked morning people. I was a morning person. I understood, though, how she could irritate some who weren't.
"Good morning!" I answered with just as much enjoyment. "How's my favorite girl?"
"Oh, you know," she replied tiredly, revealing her fairly advanced age. "Full of aches and pains as usual, but forget all that! Isn't it a beautiful day?"
"Yes, it is," I confirmed. I had known Rita long enough to realize she would get to the point sooner or later.
"We have a bit of a situation over at the middle school, I'm afraid," she finally informed me. "Principal Moody says there's a parent throwing quite the ruckus in his office."
"All right," I confirmed. "Let me get changed and I'll head right over."
"Sorry it's so early, hon," she apologized kindly. "But there's a student teacher involved, and you know how these college types think they know it all."
"Got it. Over and out," I declared, hoping to end the conversation. Immediately, per protocol, the radio went silent and I quickly changed into my uniform and hopped into my patrol car. My vest lay in the trunk along with my rifle and extra supplies. I didn't see the need for any of them and rarely did in Protection. So far, the biggest crime in town had happened a few years ago when one of the local barkeepers ran out of beer.
I pulled up into the middle school parking lot and smiled at the secretary who let me in through the secured doors. I was familiar with Principal Moody, having had to deal with a few rowdy youths in the past. He was an intelligent man, well dressed, though a bit of a nerd. His office was filled with books I could never understand, and I wondered how he had come to work in such a remote location as Protection.
As soon as I stepped inside his office, I assessed the situation. There was an angry parent here. Mr. Gregory Peterson was his name. I recognized him from the football stadium. He owned one of the gas stations in town and even though he didn't have a kid on the team, he never missed a game. In fact, he was one of the loudest fans in the stands. More than once I'd had to escort him from the premises due to public intoxication, but other than that, he had never caused any problems.
Sitting next to him was his oldest son, Brad. I hadn't seen the boy in a few years and hardly recognized him. His hair had grown long and it was much darker than it used to be.
What captured my attention and held it for a while was the so-called college intern. I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting, but she was nothing like I'd imagined. She didn't appear to be the intellectual type. She looked more like a fashion model or perhaps an actress. In other words, she was good-looking. Better looking than most women in this area. She was a stranger, although she looked like she belonged here. Even though I had never laid eyes on her before, I felt like I knew her.
"This is Officer Ben Kenobi of Protection Police. Ben this is Mrs. Ami Berry. She's doing her internship with Mr. Stockton in seventh-grade science."
"Mrs. Berry," I repeated casually, to which she grinned.
"It's Miss, actually," she confirmed proudly.
I tried not to stare, although she had the most remarkable eyes. It wasn't the color of them that set her apart. It was the way I felt like I was sinking into them. Like falling into a deep, dark, relaxing pool.
"Sorry," I managed to say after I'd gathered my wits. "Miss Berrie. What seems to be the trouble?"
"I'll tell you what the problem is!" Greg shouted, pointing his finger in the intern's direction. "It's these outsiders like her coming into our town and putting their noses in our business!"
"Hang on, Mr. Peterson," I said quietly to him. "Lower your voice or we'll have to take this down to the station."
"Fine," the man huffed before chewing on his lip aggravatedly. He looked absolutely livid.
"Perhaps Miss Berrie can tell me in a more rational manner," I suggested, turning my attention back once again to the young lady.
"I noticed that Brad was being a little more distant than usual and when I tried to speak to him about it, I saw a large bruise on his face. Naturally, as I'm responsible to do, I contacted Social Services…"
"She sic'd the dogs onto me is what she did!" Mr. Peterson once more shouted out. "I ain't got nothing to do with that! If my boy is hurt, it's because the teachers in this school don't pay enough attention to what's going on! He probably got hurt during phys ed or something!"
"Mr. Peterson, please wait for your turn to speak," Mr. Moody suggested.
"I tried to find out what happened to Brad, but he wouldn't tell me, and neither would any of his friends," Miss Berry informed me.
Once again, Greg wasn't about to let anything this student teacher say get by him.
"Brad ain't got no friends. That's his problem! I've tried to teach the boy to stand up for himself but he don't listen to me!"
"That's because maybe you're the problem!" Miss Berry angrily said, although her voice remained low. "Maybe you're the one who hit him. I've asked around, Mr. Peterson. Everyone in town knows your reputation. How many football games have you been kicked out of for getting into fights?"
"That ain't got nothing to do with my boy! He don't even play!" Greg retorted, avoiding the accusations probably because he couldn't deny them. She was right. The man was known for his bad temper. "I didn't hurt my boy."
"We'll let the authorities decide that," Miss Berry said, defiantly crossing her arms.
I'd heard enough. "Mr. Moody, I suggest you send Brad home for a couple of days until everyone cools off."
"Send him home? How is that keeping him safe? Aren't you in charge of public safety?"
Now she was coming after me? What had I done to her?
"You said you contacted Social Services, right?" I asked coyly. She might be a pleasure to look at, but right now, I wasn't appreciating her attitude or tone.
"Yes, that's right, but they…"
"Then I suggest you allow them to do their job," I told her bluntly, interrupting her. "Mr. Moody?"
"That sounds like a reasonable request, Officer," the principal announced from behind his desk. "Mr. Peterson, please take Bradley home with you, although I will expect him back in class two days from now."
"Glad to," Greg spouted, his words still revealing a trace of anger. "Let's go, boy."
