Drabbling...is this Take 7? No, Take 6. (SW, "Too Late")
again...gonna let it wallow here, til i like it enough to post it at tpm100... *sardonic half-smile*
Title: Too Late
Author: Curt Kenobi
Rating: K+ (I’ve a horrible adversion to just K ratings…)
Summary: Belatedness sometimes makes something too late to matter.
Era: this is JA (Book 8, to be exact), with Obi/Xan preslash to be had underneath, if you'd like.
Disclaimer: me: poor. George Lucas: god. Who do you think owns the lovelies? (hint: not me :D)
A/N: Try as I might, I couldn’t get it down to a dead-even 100. It’s 116. ...And I've a soft spot for Xanatos.
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I saw it in your eyes, the first time midnight-blue glared upon me. Devilry, yes. Maliciousness, assuredly.
…I saw beyond your façade, too. Hurt - honestly.
I wanted to reach out and take your hand - for I felt something kindred deep within us. But I also wanted to live, was a Jedi...and you had your vendetta.
If only I…
Ultimately we found ourselves: me watching you distantly; hurt roiling off of you, standing on the abyss’ edge, backlit in bloodred.
Would they mattered, the words silent on my tongue again?
“Please. I understand. I care.”
…I’ll never know. They were only whispered - you beneath the death-black acid, Qui-Gon Jinn walking away - past-tensed. Too late. And:
“I’m sorry.”
Title: Too Late
Author: Curt Kenobi
Rating: K+ (I’ve a horrible adversion to just K ratings…)
Summary: Belatedness sometimes makes something too late to matter.
Era: this is JA (Book 8, to be exact), with Obi/Xan preslash to be had underneath, if you'd like.
Disclaimer: me: poor. George Lucas: god. Who do you think owns the lovelies? (hint: not me :D)
A/N: Try as I might, I couldn’t get it down to a dead-even 100. It’s 116. ...And I've a soft spot for Xanatos.
------------
I saw it in your eyes, the first time midnight-blue glared upon me. Devilry, yes. Maliciousness, assuredly.
…I saw beyond your façade, too. Hurt - honestly.
I wanted to reach out and take your hand - for I felt something kindred deep within us. But I also wanted to live, was a Jedi...and you had your vendetta.
If only I…
Ultimately we found ourselves: me watching you distantly; hurt roiling off of you, standing on the abyss’ edge, backlit in bloodred.
Would they mattered, the words silent on my tongue again?
“Please. I understand. I care.”
…I’ll never know. They were only whispered - you beneath the death-black acid, Qui-Gon Jinn walking away - past-tensed. Too late. And:
“I’m sorry.”