darthplodder:

Obikin Week 2018, Day 7!

Prompt: Time

Obi-Wan is visited by someone he lost. Angst ensues.

The first time he comes, its five years into Obi-Wan’s exile on Tatooine.  Outside his hovel, he can hear that something’s disturbed the Banthas and annoyed, they start to stomp and snort.  He can feel someone’s presence outside the door, familiar yet not, twisted.  So then, he’s been found.  He’s not afraid of death, but he is afraid for Luke.  

When he goes to the door, a familiar black figure awaits him, masked and massive.

“I’m not here to kill you,” it says, in that strange, altered voice he’s heard on vids in the cantina, the voice that haunts his waking and sleeping hours.  

He leans against the doorway, toeing at the sand creeping inside.  It’s a losing battle. “Aren’t you?  Well maybe I should kill you.  Though sadly, I’m out of practice.”  

He’s tired.  He doesn’t want this, though maybe a tiny part of him does. “What do you want from me then?”

The black figure crosses his arms about his chest. “I don’t know.  I just wanted to see you again.”

“Well, here I am. You’ve seen me.”

“You look terrible.”

Obi-Wan starts to laugh, with more than a little hysteria.  “Coming from you, Darth, really?”  

“The Emperor told me you were dead.  I didn’t believe him.”  

“I’m not.  Dead that is.  Here I am.”

“No.  I’m glad you’re not,” he says, then walks away.

Obi-Wan watches him until he’s a tiny speck on the horizon.  He sits down on his bed and wonders if that was real.  

The second time comes a few months later, as he’s tending to his broken vaporator.  If he doesn’t fix it soon, he’ll die.  He wouldn’t make it very far without water.  Part of him can’t believe he let it get this bad, the other part understands.  

He’s sweating, and his mouth feels like he ate one of his old tunics.  It’s midday, and he shouldn’t be out, but has no choice. Something mercifully blocks the sun. Ah, it’s his old friend.  

“Go inside, old man. I’ll fix it for you.”

He’s too far gone to question it and stumbles inside, falling onto the cool, sandy floor.  What seems like seconds later, he hears heavy boots crunching in and something large standing over him.  It hands him a mug of water and he drinks and drinks.  

The third time its nightfall, and he sits atop a tall dune watching the thick spray of stars across the sky.  Something comes up behind him.  He doesn’t turn.  He knows who it is.  

The black figure sits down beside him and gently touches his thigh with a gloved hand.  They sit for a moment, each lost in thought.

“I miss you,” the black figure says.

“Then why did you leave? Why did you leave me like this?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

Obi-Wan snorts.  It is a reasonable comeback.

 “We both got lost.”  

“Yes.”  He says and places a black arm around him.  He’s surprisingly warm and not as hard as he expected.  Obi-Wan leans in for the span of a breath and forgets his pain.  

It may not be real, and he can’t quite tell, but for a moment he wishes it was.