Forget Me Not

29

"Obi-Wan, wait!" I gasped, every breath hurting and lungs aching. He hadn't even walked that far, but my damaged body was protesting even the shortest of sprints. But I was determined to catch him, even as he stolidly continued going forwards, his arms tucked tight around his chest.

"Obi-Wan," I panted, finally catching up to him, my hands hovering dangerously close to his arm. I could reach out and touch him ... but could I ever go back? Would I seal our friendship if I did? But if I didn't, would I lose him forever?

He stopped, looking at me sorrowfully, hugging his arms a little tighter around him. "Why are you following me? That's all I've done to you since I met you, so why have you suddenly reversed the roles?"

I hesitated, all power of speech or logical reasoning seeping from me. "We didn't leave on a positive note," I finally managed, biting my lip at my awkwardness. Why couldn't I think of a better reason?

"I'm sorry." His words were blunt, but his eyes carried a deep-set remorse, the source of which I couldn't quite place. "How can we do that?"

I rubbed the back of my neck, almost unaware of the sting from a burn. "We could start over. I don't even know if you remember us being properly introduced."

The edges of his sadness melted, a soft light of hope glimmering through the haze of confused disappointment. "We could start over?"

I tried to keep my composure, to still my pounding heart, and to quiet my traitorous excitement at having a friend again. Doubt and fear knocked on the door and the windows, posting their familiar notes, covered in ugly scrawls of past betrayals and hurts, through any crack they could find. They found a lot.

But I swallowed my pride, choking out compassion and my innate desire to please whoever or whatever stood in front of me. "We could start over, if that's what you wanted."

Just as quickly as the hope dawned, though, the curtain of grief returned, spilling over his pinched brows, falling across the glimmer in his eyes, and dragging at the corners of his bearded mouth. "That's not the point, San," he said quietly, adjusting his stance uneasily. "You've always been accommodating me; I don't want you to do that again. I only want what's best for you."

"Maybe this is," I shrugged, frustrated that coherency evaded me. How hard was it just to tell him I wanted to be around him? I appreciated his help, his kindness, and even his friendship. But it seemed as though the weight of my actions, others' mistakes, and my fears were chained to my words, restricting them from articulating my true feelings.

"How would I know?" he responded glumly. "I'm the one with amnesia. I'm sure you know what you're talking about."

"I don't know what I'm talking about!" I said in exasperation, searching for something to lean against as exhaustion again draped itself over me. But we were standing in the middle of a desert, in between the dozing city of Mos Espa and the black silhouette that was my ship. There was nothing to support me here, except for the dark presence of one who had watched me the whole time. But he remained by the ship, for reasons known only to him. Maybe he wanted me to see for myself the truth behind his words. I could only hope he was wrong.

"I don't know what I'm doing, Obi-Wan," I sighed, my eyes downcast. "All I know is that you've been more generous to me than I could ever deserve, and I'm grateful. I ... I don't want you to go."

His keen eyes studied me, his folded arms slipping. "You want me to stay?" Then his eyes scrunched shut, his hand going to forehead as a pained frown drew deep lines along it. His balance swayed as some memory attacked him, the emotional distress manifesting itself through shallow breathing and slight tremors.