Of Pregnant Pauses and Whistles in the Night
Obi-Wan Kenobi's brain refused to come up with a logical explanation. Woken from an exhausted sleep, he was shifting from foot to foot uneasily and hoping for an explanation why he was standing, cloak over pajamas (which of course he had only thrown ON once he had gotten out of bed WITHOUT).
At least he was decent (come to think of it, it was like "capable;" the only compliments to ever come his way because he wasn't even deemed worthy of a good cussing like "damn, that Kenobi is GOOD." It was darn unfair when others were called "haughty" or "damn, Jinn" or "the almighty," though to be fair it was Yoda himself, or itself – no one really knew – who insisted on being addressed as such.)
But back to the frightful sight before him – WHY was Mace Windu wearing purple boxers with a big neon yellow lightsaber, well, there, under his open cloak? He almost forgot to look at the reason for his being there.
Indirectly, of course, since he knew he was innocent (maybe not in THAT sense but at least in THIS sense).
It had started with a comm. call at oh-dark-hundred.
"Obi-Wan, would you mind coming down to reception room 1?"
Master Windu had sounded strange over the comm, but then, when didn't he? But this? An obviously pregnant woman was not what he'd expected, not one who was so expectantly gazing at him.
"I told you, Master Jedi, it was an older Jedi I came to see."
Master Windu unfolded his arms and softened his Deadly Gaze of Doom. Obi-Wan gulped and drew in a deep breath of air.
Obi-Wan was never gladder to be a Younger Jedi.
"How may I be of service?" he asked politely.
"Would you escort this woman to Master Jinn and Padawan Skywalker?" As Mace was already turning as purple as his undershorts, Obi-Wan thought it best to concur without a murmur other than a "please follow me" and no questions asked.
A thud of feet and a half-yell of "don't run, Padawan, you'll knock over the – oh, Sith-it," followed by a loud crash and swear – one in a young high-pitched voice and one a growl in a baritone and most certainly not the "oh, Sith-it" censored for the ears of the impressionable – preceded the opening of the door.
Having once resided in these very quarters – a decade of shame and infamy as he fondly liked to call it – Obi-Wan knew to stand to the right of the door where he would get to see everything play out just like it was staged for his benefit.
Which it was, he congratulated himself as the mise(ery) en scene unfolded (and screw a Sith if he didn't use the right foreign phrase, it sounded perfect and so it would stay).
"Mom!" Anakin squeaked, bouncing off the rather protruding tummy.
"Shmi!" Qui-Gon squeaked, hastily backing away from the rather protruding tummy.
"Ani, Qui!" Shmi beamed, blowing a kiss to Anakin then to Qui-Gon over her definitely very protruding tummy.
"Obi-Wan!" And, of course, it was said in the what-have-you-done-now-padawan-I'm-blaming-you-for-this-voice.
Said Jedi slowly straightened, crossed his arms and shook his head in a non-verbal equivalent of I'm-not-taking-the-blame-for-this-as-this-is-your-mess. "I played escort. Today only. Some Jedi played more than that, it appears, say eight months ago."
"He's a smart one, Qui, love. Eight months and four days ago, standard time, wasn't it?" Shmi pinched Obi-Wan's cheek playfully. He winced, but at least she wasn't ignoring him like others here had been doing for eight months – correction, eight months and two days - not that he was bitter or anything.
"The night before the Boonta Eve race." Anakin nodded enthusiastically. "You guys sent me to bed early – hey!" Suspicious eyes darted between his master and his mother.
Shmi patted Anakin's shoulder. "Yes, Ani, we all went to bed early that night."
Obi-Wan swore she winked at Qui-Gon, who without doubt did pale. Gazing innocently at his former master, Obi-Wan tapped his toe, scratched his chin and pursed his lips before slowly drawling, "You comm'd me that night, if I remember."
Qui-Gon eagerly grasped this hint of reprieve as eagerly as he'd pushed Obi-Wan aside some eight months and two, or was it three, days, ago. "Right, Padawan, I was On The Comm To You That Night."
"And whistling, too, if I remember." With a deft verbal punch, he added, "Don't you always whistle after %&$# the natives? "
"Language, Padawan, language." Qui-Gon scolded him, pinching his mouth shut. "And I do not and I did not and I never would not…now my tongue's all tied up in knots and it's YOUR fault as always, my discarded- and-I'm-sure-for-a-good-reason padawan."
Fighting free of the lip lock (after all there were lip locks and then there were lip locks and some far more pleasurable than the others), Obi-Wan pressed his lips together only to realize that was what Qui-Gon had just been doing to him, so instead he stuck his tongue out and glared at the man (which he was sure meant he was multi-talented, even if he were only called "capable" or "good.").
"I'm not your Padawan; Anakin is. And Shmi Skywalker is Anakin's mother and -"
"And Qui-Gon's lover," Shmi completed brightly.
Shock.
"Mom!"
Outrage.
"Shmi!"
Scolding.
"Qui-Gon!"
Blissful.
"My baby's papa."
A thump.
Qui-Gon doubled over, clutching his groin, only to clutch his head when Mace Windu grabbed Yoda's gimer stick and used it on another portion of Qui-Gon's anatomy; it was apparently up for debate between the two newly arrived Jedi masters as where the third Jedi master's brains were.
"Last baby…I'm ever going to have," Qui-Gon gasped as he fell to his knees.
"Damn right," Anakin screeched, igniting his lightsaber with every intention of removing the already numbed appendage responsible for his mother's condition.
"Obi-Wan…train the boy," Qui-Gon pleaded.
"Which one – the born or the yet to be born?" Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, but not a hand to stop the imminent bloodbath.
"You going to disobey me again?"
"You going to die on me again?"
Stalemate.
"Looks like it," Qui-Gon whispered, staring up at the descending lightsaber.
Obi-Wan was having none of it. He stood with hands on hips, a hurt expression on his face. "Dying wish, yeah, you sure can pile on the guilt. Anakin –"the descending blade halted, Qui-Gon's bangs began to sizzle, "he'll indulge you and I'll scold you. Kill him, you get sweets."
"Obi-Wan!" This time, Qui-Gon screeched in horror.
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "What, do you think the boy is dense, Master? Let me enunciate, and you listen, Anakin and prove you're not as stupid as Qui-Gon seems to thinks. Kill him and You. Get. Sweets. To eat. IF he's alive to spoil you. Is that clarification satisfactory, Qui-Gon?"
"Lots and lots of sweets?"
The lightsaber waved alarmingly.
To Qui-Gon.
The lightsaber waved most amusingly.
To Obi-Wan.
And Yoda.
Even to Mace Windu, who was even smiling although he seemed to trying to get the lightsaber to move with a surreptitious wave of his hand.
"Um, yeah?"
Qui-Gon licked his lips, which brought a "yippee" and grin from the sword-wielding terror henceforth to be known as the "sweetest Jedi in years" or "the most well-rounded Jedi in years." It wouldn't be long until there came a day that when he practiced, everyone else present would flee to the observation overlook.
Not because Anakin Skywalker was that good, but he filled up the entire room.
Not to mention the sugar-driven emissions which powered him and eventually overpowered the Sith Lord (hence one can truthfully say that Obi-Wan Kenobi would be responsible for the Chosen One's future success in smiting the Dark One, though not with sword, but with fragrances best to leave undescribed. Some would even say, with his choice of words this day, Obi-Wan Kenobi was in truth the "Chosen One" – and of course, quite capable and rather a decent fellow, as well).
And so the lightsaber switched off just before Jedi master became Jedi eunuch.
"Sweet concoctions and damn!" Anakin danced a quick jig. "And master can say "I am your father, Anakin', too, Mom, when you two marry."
"Marry?"
"Marry?"
Shmi and Qui-Gon both looked aghast.
"I'm merry," Obi-Wan put in drily. "Go plan the wedding; I'll pack your things. Nice to know you, Qui-Gon, Anakin; nice to meet you, Shmi. Have a great life, avoid the Sith, and live happily after. Bye now, bye."
The communicator burped. Obi-Wan lifted his head and rubbed red eyes. It'd been a long night getting to know all the handmaidens and he was now down for the count, er the remainder of the night, er, whatever. What Qui-Gon didn't know, Obi-Wan wasn't about to tell.
"Kenobi."
"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon sure sounded happy. "How are you?"
"Exhausted," he answered truthfully. And to be sure he was honestly honest, he added, "I was totally up to the job of entertaining the handmaidens," he frowned and amended it to "the, uh, women, like you suggested."
"Wonderful, wonderful," Qui-Gon gushed. "Glad to hear you're doing your part."
"They liked the part we were playing with just fine, just fine … uh, Master, it's late, why are you calling now?"
"Oh, just checking in, you know, setting up an alibi in case I need one in a few months."
"Alibi?"
Obi-Wan swore he heard whistling….