Rating: Sappy and there was no beta, no crucifixions please. PG
Disclaimer: Sigh. In the phraseology of Yoda… Owns them, Lucas does. I do not. Sue me, you shouldn't. Leave me alone, you will. Hung over, some of us are!
Notes: I tried to write it so it wasn't specific to one Jedi. So which ever one you like, pick 'em. Amber has written this from the Jedi's perspective. Everyone bother her if you want it.
I stared at him as he lay on the hospital bed after being brought in under critical condition. He had improved impressively, but he still looked like death warmed over. Gods, even half dead the man still looked so wonderful he glowed from the inside. He's beautiful enough to make anyone's heart ache and not just on the outside. Inside he is hypnotic, it's like looking at a perfect star lighting a crystal chandelier.
He rested peacefully in the hospital bed late at night. He's been unconscious for three days; he would wake up tomorrow. That entire time I was by his bedside, the ever-faithful friend. During that entire time I have been debating one thing...
How evil would it be to steal a kiss?
On one hand it would be thieving a memory I did nothing to earn or deserve. Gods, there were times I was afraid to touch him for fear of profaning holy ground. On the other hand he would never know I took it from him and what he didn't know couldn't hurt anyone. Probably only human for us to want exactly what we shouldn't have.
I had come to the decision that the degree of darkness depended upon the location my lips fell. Forehead and cheek weren't overly evil. I was his friend. I was certain of that now and clutched to that treasure like a poor woman to her only possession. I was eternally grateful and considered myself lucky to be able to claim that much of his heart. I didn't want to do anything to risk that precious friendship being taken away. Kisses to the forehead or cheek were the touches of a friend, which I was. Granted I almost never initiated contact with him, but this is one of those times where exceptions could be made. If someone saw me and told him, he would understand and I was fairly sure he wouldn't mind.
But that is not where the emptiness where my heart used to be cried out for.
I wanted a memory. Something I could hold on to and bring out to relive in my darkest hours. A kiss to the lips, where you are sharing each other's breath, a piece of your souls, was what I yearned for. I desperately wanted to know what it was like to kiss him. Snatch a tiny bit of magic to remember for all my days.
If someone came to me with the ability to give me one wish that I can have for one night, then the next morning it would be as if nothing happened, I would wish for a kiss. Why would I wish for something so small when I could wish for a night with him loving me? I think it's because that passionate loving is merely icing. The meat and potatoes of showing love is the tiny things people do for each other.
That's what I do, a thousand tiny kindnesses for him whenever I can. Granted when he thanks me my only words are 'what are friends for?' In return I get that wonderful smile and the knowledge I gave him that happy look. This makes me feel as if it were a privilege and pleasure to help him. As far as I was concerned in my mind, this was love. Love at it's best was close friendship with benefits.
I guess what I wanted was to thieve a benefit, just one. So I can have the comfort of occasionally patching the hole in my chest with a thin veil of a remembered stolen kiss.
I stared at his face, sleeping so peacefully. Is this the sight that greeted his lovers at night? Perfectly sculptured face in the pale light of the moon turning him from something of reality to something truly made of the ethereal. Gods, it's a wonder anyone left him. I would suffer damn near anything to know his heart was mine and to have the right to see this.
I drank in his presence and watched him breathe as I pondered my dilemma. Do I play it safe and not do anything? Do I take a compromise and kiss his cheek or forehead just for the knowledge of how his skin feels on my lips where less risk of losing him is involved? Or do I damn myself for a coward and, for once, take a chance? Even if everything goes wrong and I completely lose him it can't be all for nought. After all, one should shoot for the moon and you fail, at least you land among the stars.
Screwing what little courage I had I walked forward and took one look up quickly. There was no one to see. No cameras were in the room; everyone else had gone elsewhere to sleep once told he would be well. Visiting hours were over, no one would see, no one would tell. Before my courage ran out of me like water I quickly bent down and touched his lips with mine.
Gods they were soft, warm and wonderful. I didn't move. I just held my lips there, the lightest of possible touches. My heart twisted so strongly in pain over the beauty of it I fought back tears. After a heart beat, warmth spread where the knot was and the emptiness inside me was filled, for the briefest of seconds.
The kiss lasted only two heartbeats. I pulled away, careful not to do anything that could disturb him. I froze in terror as he moved slightly, brows furrowed. Then he sighed and settled back, face relaxed back into sleep.
Gods that was close.
But I couldn't stop the grin on my face if I tried. I bit my lip and tasted him there. I may spend the rest of my life his obscure little friend. People may read this in later centuries as a case study in cowardice. I only have two things to say. For one brief flickering moment I was brave.
And I stole a kiss.
