TITLE: Fantasies and Fallacies
AUTHOR: MishLoran (TheAuthor42@hotmail.com)
ARCHIVE: I sincerely doubt anyone would want this, but yeah O/A sure :) Anyone else can but please tell me!
SUMMARY: Set after The Phantom Menace and before Attack of the Clones, Anakin reminisces about his relationship with Obi-Wan, including exactly how messed up that was. Anakin's POV
RATING: 'strong PG-13' apparently. Slash (non-graphic/implied)
PAIRINGS A/O (main), O/Q, Ani/Padme.
DISCLAIMER: No, not mine. George Lucas'. I'm not making any cash out of this, but I wouldn't say no... uhm, I mean, no, there's no reason to sue. I'm a student, so there's no point anyway.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Katrin is my gorgeous beta, whom I adore. I honestly couldn't have done it without her. Thanks be to her. Thanks to GlimmerGirl also, who kinda gave me the whole I-can-write-A/O-slash idea in the first place. This is my first slash!fic, so play nice. Or evil. Feedback is nice, constructive crit is good but flames are less than groovy.

Pretence. That's what it was, what it always had been. A lie.

Years had passed since he last set eyes on his love, more than I now like to recall.

If he turned his head to the side, I would see that his unfocused eyes were unchanged. They were, as they always were, concentrated on the past; cloudy blue eyes remembering a beard, a soft hand, a face weathered by time and ordeals I still cannot grasp the concept of. I could always tell that in these long moments he wasn't thinking of me, but his other love, the one he called master, as I now call him. I know he knew I watched him in those moments. Perhaps that is why it is over now, all the pretence forced to end.

Ended, but not forgotten. Never forgotten. I would look once more at those blue eyes.

It was not blue I ached for.

I would close my eyes; the blue became clearer, transparent as water, lapping upon the shore. I stared into brown orbs, mesmerised. Deep, dark brown. They would shine in these moments, reflecting what little light can ever be reflected by true darkness. They are as mysterious to me now as ever, and shall remain so. I shall never know their depths, enter that chasm; the moments I have of knowing are games of pretend, perversions of the truth. The eyes would always languidly meander upwards to flickering long eyelashes.

I would refuse to open my own eyes, refuse to see the blue slit beneath the eyelashes, refuse to see the light brown hair, coarser than its darker illusion. My hand, I remember, would grasp out for it, catch strands, slip through and fall to neck, avoiding his stubble as I avoided the truth of what I was doing, avoided the truth of all I really had. He still has soft skin; that was always easy enough to fabricate as hers. The hair was not long enough, not dark enough, yet the skin was always soft.

Hair would fall behind my hand and when my grip loosened I imagined her locks in its place. When, as would happen, my fingers would dig into skin, I hastily removed my hand, for fear of waking myself from a self-inflicted nightmare. He always woke me, my master, as his hand would raise, pulling my own hand forcefully back to his shoulder, his neck, his hair, his arms, and he'd breathe "Anakin" to me with a longing I knew he did not feel for me, but for his long-dead lover of the past.

It was at moments like these that we realised although he is the one who bears the title Master we were, are, both masters of illusion. I had to remember; he was the Master, my 'Master', whose job it was to train me to his likeness; to become a Master of the Force.

I have years before then. I have many more tormented nightmares to come.

"I need you." I would say, but to my love, who was not in the room. The dark eyed spectre still lives to this day, whom I shall one day call my own, no longer a spirit to haunt my dreams.

"I need you," he would repeat, still with that far-away look plastered to his features. My desperation would then flood me. Without fail, I would throw myself completely into the illusion.

To him, I was his unforgotten love, my muscles more pronounced, my features hardened by years of that 'wisdom' the universe has to offer. He saw me as incomplete, needing lines upon my face, scars of life's misfortune everywhere on my supple body.

To me, he was softer, younger, feminine, coated in ice with nothing but me to thaw the hardened exterior. I did not have to imagine his shorter stance, his longer hair; only cloud the darkness around him, dissolving his shape into one created by my own mind.

He would push at me, treat me as though I were unpenetrable, all the time thinking of past opportunities missed, moments had, all of which could never be repeated in reality, but which he replayed constantly in his mind's eye.

I was careful to reply solely with harsh breaths, so as not to shatter the barrier created by our minds, although there was none between our entwined bodies. When it was time for me, I would push into him deeply, returning his favour with merciless, draconic, needy, desperate advances, thinking only of moments possible yet made impossible by circumstance. I knew as he knew of his spectre, that we would never meet again, although he could, and no doubt did, bring to memory his moments with his love, moments like the ones we shared. I knew I had no memories akin with my love. Unobtainable, as she still is. Haunting my soul with her very presence in this plane. He has no such problems. I would take my problems out on his body, torturing my mind with illusions as much as he tortured his own mind with memories.

Then we would be happy, blissful, for moments, each in our own invented realities, each thinking of another we could, and can, never have.

We were sure to keep these only as moments; Anything more would surely kill us both, destroy us from the inside.

Then we would sleep, restless dreams of fantasies and fallacies. It would not make it right, we both knew this, but even in a nightmare we could see our loves, just as we saw them in each other.

Once I awoke in the morning to find he was already awake, lying in the unwholesome disorder we had created the night before. "It's over," he said. "It must be over. We cannot go on, Anakin. I cannot hold onto the past, you cannot hold onto the future. We must let go."

I said nothing. I knew.


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