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Four: That Which Refuses to Fade

The sun is slowly rising, stretching burning, golden beams across the clusters of buildings. The sky bleeds mandarin into pale yellow, with faint whispers of pink beneath.

Day's at the brink of full birth. Soon all the blinking signs would be switched on throughout the lower levels, street vendors pulling their tattered little carts into the dawning light, still wiping remnants of sleep from their eyes. Waitresses with tired faces and immutable frowns, smoothing out the wrinkles in aged uniforms as they head toward another grinding shift.

For most in that sector, life is one of hand-to-mouth, the only certainty being fear, that during the coming hours they would stumble, the weariness would catch up with them and a plate would shatter, their fragile stability along with it.

The worst part wasn't the loss of that balance--it was the constant worry that stayed with them, that would steal just a shred of any smile they managed.

Maybe some could be happy, but as I look out the window, the glass warming from the ever-ascending sun, I understand that they couldn't possibly know true happiness.

Because there was always that niggling feeling, wasn't there?

That little tingle in their stomach that grew, that evolved with each passing day, from a minor concern to the awful center of their existence.

Yes, from a poke in the side to a jab in the stomach.

And gods, what bruises the latter left.

I turn away from the early morning scene, rubbing at my haggard face. As I run my fingers through my beard, I notice the strands are a bit longer.

Hm. I guess I haven't been paying attention to my grooming. Force, old man, you probably embarrass him to death.

My eyes drop to Obi-Wan, his own eyes shielded by a forearm.

I smirk. Anything to put off the inevitable just a fraction longer. I would've closed the drapes, to give him a few more minutes of slumber, but I don't want…

I don't want him to. I want him awake, and alert, and aware…and with me.

A bird emits a shrill, chirping cacophony, and he stirs, sighing under his breath.

It seems he's taking this chance to exercise some rebellion--despite my wishes, he remains blissfully oblivious to the waking world.

I brush my hand across his cheek, touching on the slightly purplish spot just below his left eye before moving down to his mouth, where a section of his upper lip is puffed a bit.

Scars from his captivity, my mind supplies through a sudden numbness.

Badges of endurance. That's what the healers like to call them, while sponging cold disinfectant on a lingering wound, a lesion that clings to the body with stubborn resilience.

A badge of endurance, eh?

I touch the slightly marred flesh of his lip, and I can still see how swelled it was, blotched with blue and burgundy, so terribly painful to behold.

Badge of endurance…Reminder of suffering.

Perhaps I shouldn't think such a thing. He needs me to be supportive, to be optimistic.

Maybe he wants me to forget, as he's surely trying to do.

But how, oh how am I supposed to let it go?

How it is possible to wrench the fear from my grasp and throw it away? How can I disregard the terrible thoughts that materialize in my head?

The masked figure waiting patiently behind his door…behind a corner…behind me…

I wheel around with a gasp, a shocked sound that dies silently in my throat.

The apartment's motionless, with the pure incandescence of tender daylight hovering around everything. The sinister wash of darkness is gone.

I try to convince myself that my consternation should go along with it, twin horrors dissipated, making way for the work that must be done, that should be done, without the strange, painful shivers up my spine and the crazy impulses that tell me he should walk just a bit closer, that I should skip that errand, since it was never that important to begin with…

Here, inside the thick steel walls of the Temple, within our apartment, he is the safest.

And even so, threats remain, like shadowy wraiths skirting through the halls, through my mind.

How can I risk him?

I lay my palm against his cheek, rubbing the ghost of a contusion beneath his closed eye with my thumb.

How could I ever…

His eyes flutter open, then squeeze shut, a muffled noise-a grumble, to be precise-coming from him.

I retract my hand. "Sorry, Padawan. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Obi-Wan allows his eyes to focus, accepting the fact he is awake, but only begrudgingly so. A loose smile graces his face. "Hmm…no…it doesn't hurt so much anymore."

I wish I could feel the same. "I'm glad to hear it." I ruffle his hair, projecting a serenity I certainly don't possess. "Did you sleep well?"

He nods, stretching his legs beneath the blanket. "Did you?"

I'd like to be honest with him, to blurt out all I've held so tight within my heart, to maybe alleviate some of the exhaustion--

But it wouldn't alleviate anything within him.

Besides, what would it solve? The dangers wouldn't disappear, the worry wouldn't die.

He'd just have more weight thrust on him.

So I smile. "Of course."

And, if for only another day, he believes me.