I feel the rasp of my breath in my chest, and a searing pain.  I'm

falling, and Obi-Wan is screaming, and now there is only blackness.



The blackness resolves into memories, so many memories--



The first time I saw Obi-Wan, my beautiful Obi-Wan, he was a

six-month-old baby named Ben Lars.  I had just made Master, but hadn't

chosen an apprentice to replace my first.  So Mace Windu and I were out

on Search, looking for potential Jedi.



The Lars family had a large farm, and Mace and I walked up to the house

under the curious stares of the hired hands.  We knocked at the door,

and a young woman opened it and studied us with blue-green eyes.  She

was beautiful, unbelieveably beautiful, and she sighed and said "You're

here about Ben, I suppose," and let us in.  She took us straight to a

sunny playroom, and her son smiled at me and held up his arms. 



Oh, my Obi-Wan.



We brought him back to the Academy, and I chose Xanatos as my second

padawan.  Obi-Wan and I parted ways for the first time.



Twelve years later, I watched him fight with a strength born of despair, 

and I turned him away.



But he would not be turned away.  He had joined his path to mine, for

good or ill.  He would have followed me to hell, I think, and nearly

did.  And so it was Obi-Wan who healed the wound Xanatos left.  Obi-Wan

who became everything to me that Xanatos never could have been. I

brought both boys to the Jedi, and I trained both of them--but how

different the outcome.  Xanatos hated me for what I had taken, and

Obi-Wan loves me for what I have given. 



And Obi-Wan loves so purely, so perfectly.



My breath hurts, Obi-Wan.  The burning gets worse and worse, and I know

I am dying.  I can feel you, near me, gathering the Force to you, but I

can also feel him.  It.  I want to tell you to run, but I can't get the

words out.



You have to take care of yourself, my Obi-Wan.  I can no longer take

care of you.



When he was fourteen, I knew a lifebond was growing between us.  I

retreated within myself for nearly a week, frightened and disturbed.  He 

was just a child, but growing rapidly into a man.  The last thing I

wanted was for my body to start making demands he was too young to

fulfill.



I needn't have worried.  For once, my body behaved and waited until he 

was almost eighteen.  He responded at once, his own body winding around

mine through the long hours of night.  We would part in the morning,

unashamed but silent.  I found I couldn't tell him what I knew.  He

needed to find it out on his own.  The unconscious way our bodies sought 

each other in the night thrilled me, but I wouldn't give in to my

desires. 



I didn't want to be all he knew of sexuality.



But, oh, it hurt when he took me up on that unspoken

freedom.  And the scent and feel of sex, of Obi-Wan losing himself

within a nameless partner, tortured my dreams until he reached out and

held me. Then, at last, I had peace. 



The first time he kissed me, I felt I had been blinded by his

brilliance.  His mouth on mine was perfect, as perfect and pure as his

love.  The part of my mind that screamed that this was a mere boy, and

my apprentice, was silenced by the explosion of his kiss and his mind in 

mine, and--Light and Dark, I felt like a boy again myself.



Obi-Wan, where are you?  I can't breathe.  I need to see you again.  I

need to wrap my fingers in your braid one last time.  I need to touch

you.  There are things I need to say.



The death of the Sith Lord hits me like a hammerblow.  I didn't even

sense you moving within the Force.  Were you shielding yourself from

him, Padawan?  That is a clever trick, one I didn't think of...



There you are.  I mean to tell you I love you, but the words that come

out of my mouth are different.  The Force is guiding them, perhaps,

for I am not.



But I can touch you, my Obi-Wan, trace your tears and the familiar curve 

of your face.



The blackness is coming, but I will be waiting for you, Obi-Wan.