Disclaimer: Star Wars and all affiliated things belonged to George Lucas when I started writing this, but now, apparently, they all belong to Disney. At any rate, none of it is mine and this is purely for pleasure.
Author's Note: The idea for this story emerged when I was university. I am not fond of the prequel series, but one day, while I was watching Phantom Menace with some friends, one of us said, "Qui-Gon and Shmi have such good chemistry. Wouldn't the scenes on Tatooine be so much better if Anakin were actually Qui-Gon's son?" Thank you to those two ladies who planted the seed of this idea. The following is a thought on how that might have occurred. A lot of the film's dialogue is reproduced here – anything you recognize is from Phantom Menace.
There Was No Father
"The few spaceports like this one are havens for those who don't wish to be found," Qui-Gon said grimly. He left unsaid the fact that they were also often the homes of bounty hunters, and the names and descriptions of their eclectic party would have been circulated by the Trade Federation with a hefty reward.
Mos Espa could be the perfect camouflage. Or it could be a trap. They dared not stay too long.
"Like us," Padme remarked calmly, and the Jedi shot her a glance, wondering if she knew how much her presence increased their chances of discovery. The queen's handmaidens were intelligent and resourceful young women. They would not have been selected otherwise. But they also looked like her, and with a Gungan accompanying them, he knew they stood out even in this port of motley creatures, no matter what kind of local clothes they adopted.
Surveying the gritty scene sprawled out before them, Qui-Gon felt it. Standing in the middle of Mos Espa, the Force pulled at him. Strongly. He halted, turning his head slowly, seeking the disturbance.
It called from his left. "We'll try one of the smaller dealers," he ordered Padmé and Jar-Jar gruffly, setting off towards the bank of low shops clinging to the sand as if fearing to be torn away by ferocious desert storms.
Following the pulse he had learned to track like a heartbeat, he ducked through a narrow opening and into a place that looked like the quintessential junk shop. The Force emanations here were so powerful he glanced about, seeking a person and a source. Was it possible another of his fellows was here? Jedi were largely unaware of each other's assignments – but the idea that one would be in this mud hole by order of the Council was laughable.
"Boota da nolia!" A winged Toydarian was flying towards them, greeting them in gravelly Huttese that practically oozed with that special sincerity that anticipated a healthy profit. The improbable roundness of his body, fluttering through the air on tiny wings, made the Jedi suspect that the "tool belt" around the creature's waist also counteracted gravity. "Hi chuba da naga?"
"I need parts for a J-Type 327 Nubian," Qui-Gon replied clearly in Basic. He understood Huttese – a major language of gangsters on many worlds – but there was no need to let the shop owner know that. Better for him to believe that the offworlders were ignorant.
"Ah yes, Nubian…we have lots of that," he grated agreeably. "Peedunkee! Cabo de unko!"
"My droid has a readout of what I need," the Jedi added placidly. Scarcely had the words left his mouth than a child who could not be older than ten skidded into the room. His moment of delay earned him a scathing reprimand from the owner, to which he replied spiritedly, but Qui-Gon heard none of it.
He was staring at the boy. Standing in front of him, sending out waves of energy like star going nova, was the disturbance he had sensed.
888
Behind them, Jar-Jar had managed to land himself in trouble yet again. Qui-Gon sighed and turned. No money, no parts, no way to Coruscant, a companion in constant trouble…and a boy. Anakin. He had carefully attended to Padmé's conversation with him from out in the yard with Watto, the junk dealer quickly turning from nice to nasty when it was clear that their money was only Republic credits – not a real currency here on the Outer Rim.
It had been difficult to keep his mind on the Toydarian with Anakin just inside. The boy was strong enough in the Force that he should have been found years ago. He belonged in the Temple with the other apprentices, readying himself for a master. Instead, they had found him here, a slave on an uncivilized world the wealthy, central Republic could not bother to police.
And speaking of Anakin, he was striding towards the short, nasty-tempered Dug that had knocked Jar-Jar to the ground.
"Chess ko Sebulba. Cha porkman outman geesa. Mee teesa rodda co pana pee choppa chawa." By now, Anakin was taunting the bully. "Coo wolpa tooney rana."
"What did he tell him?" Padmé wondered as the Dug instantly ignored the fallen Gungan and focused on the boy.
"He told him to be careful," Qui-Gon answered absently. "Warned him that Jar-Jar is an important Outlander – too big for the Dug, Sebulba, to mess with."
"Neek me chawa, wermo, mo killee ma ka nunkee," Sebulba sneered in a clear threat. "Otoh noto wo shag du wompity." The Jedi felt his teeth lock. Mocking a child for his slavery…evil came in many forms, but few as cruel as degrading children. Unfortunately, drawing his lightsaber on the pod-racing champion and taking him to task would be directly at odds with their need to remain inconspicuous.
"Eh, che bana do mullee ra," Anakin mustered to throw back at him, clearly stung by the comment. But the Dug was already slinking off, unwilling to deal with the trouble Jar-Jar might bring in the form of powerful friends.
Anakin merged with their group, trotting at his side to keep up with the elder man's longer strides. Qui-Gon deliberately slowed his pace, wondering what the boy was thinking, or whether his instincts had paired him as instantly to the Jedi as the master had taken to him. Anakin made little attempt to speak, merely directing them to a fruit stall owned by a friend.
The Jedi watched the desert. Sand was billowing towards them in a long bank, and he heard Anakin's friend say, "Storm's coming up, Ani. You better get home quick."
Upon learning that their ship was on the outskirts of the space port, Anakin stared at the three visitors as if they were crazy. "Sandstorms are very, very dangerous," he told them emphatically. "Come on, I'll take you to my place."
Maintaining his neutral expression, Qui-Gon felt a wash of satisfaction at this turn of events. The prefect opportunity to find out about this curious boy – and find a way to take him along.
888
Sand spiraled in deadly patterns outside their shuttered windows. Shmi Skywalker bit her lip and set aside the garment she had been repairing. It was unlike Anakin to remain out in a storm. The sand was an unforgiving ruler on this barren planet – it could easily scour a human to the bone.
"Mom! Mom, I'm home!"
Shmi rose instantly from her work, apprehension melting away as she stepped into the front entry of their small house – identical to the rest of the slave quarter – to welcome her son. She paused in surprise when she saw that he had visitors with him.
It was an unwritten rule that one never invited strangers into one's home in Mos Espa. Especially the slaves. Who you were seen with – and where – was the difference between life and death. Slave conspiracies and rebellions were quelled once every few years. They had witnessed two bloody purges in their eight years on Tatooine and never wished to see another.
"These are my friends, Mom."
But her dear son had the capacity to love the whole universe, and would be disappointed by her suspicion. He should be protected from such ugliness while it was still possible. He had already seen too much for a boy his age – she owed him some semblance of the life she had once hoped they might have. "Hello," she greeted them gently. Her eyes traveled over a lovely young woman, a peculiar alien with ears as long as her unbound braid, an oval astromech droid, and—
She stopped breathing. Broad shoulders. Capable hands folded peacefully in front of him. Hair that reached past his shoulders. Penetrating hazel eyes.
Eyes she had seen last a decade before. Eyes that, for a short time, she had lived for, delighting in every crinkle at their corners.
Surprised eyes. The understanding that was passing between them even now. The total shock of the unexpected.
"I am Qui-Gon Jinn," he greeted her quietly in his turn, and suddenly, Shmi was ten years in the past and parsecs of space away from her sand-filled slave's hut, hearing this man say those words for the first time.
His gaze brushed respectfully over both the Head of Research and the Chief Botanist to settle on her. As their eyes met, professionalism vanished in the sudden heat of a connection she felt down to her toes.
"Shmi Skywalker, Head of Xeno-Studies," she managed, extending her hand as she frantically tried to regain her equilibrium.
The touch of his fingers was enough to undo her efforts. "I am Qui-Gon Jinn."
And now he stood here, in her house, a distinguished Jedi Master, and she was no longer a celebrated researcher but a slave.
Andshe had to serve him dinner.
888
"What if this plan fails, Master? We could be stuck here a very long time."
"Well, it's too dangerous to call for help. And a ship without a power supply isn't going to get us anywhere." He paused, fighting with himself about what to tell his Padawan. He had made it a practice not to keep secrets from Obi-Wan, no matter what they might be.
But to find her alive…and with a child…a son!…that betrayed a passion some ten years buried. Buried. Unforgotten. Despite my efforts. Despite Master Yoda's warnings. How to explain? Obi-Wan was a model apprentice, a hard worker, obedient both to his master and the Jedi way of life. To do as Qui-Gon had done, to sire a child…
There was something about this woman. It wasn't the dark hair bound at the nape of her neck, or the fact that her researcher's outfit flattered her long, slender legs. Qui-Gon had met and dismissed many beautiful women in his time, but Skywalker…
The instant he'd laid eyes on her, a part of him long smothered by Jedi training had not so much reared its head as clawed its way out with paralyzing intensity. He wanted her.
Qui-Gon shook himself, staving off memory. He had never stopped wanting her, as his reaction to seeing her today had readily attested.
Silence on the other end of the line. Obi-Wan was still waiting.
"And…there's something about this boy," he settled for saying. There was little doubt Anakin possessed Jedi capacity. Pod racing. Jedi reflexes indeed.
He stowed his communicator in his pocket in time to see Shmi duck through an arch and into the scorching heat and sun-blasted dry air. She offered him a tight smile, which he returned before they both looked to Anakin, preparing his racer down in the yard.
"You should be very proud of your son," he began a little awkwardly. "He gives without any thought of reward."
"He knows nothing of greed," Shmi agreed, pleased. "He has…" She trailed off. Despite their one-time intimacy, she knew little of the Jedi.
"Tell me about your people," she asked quietly as they rested, their backs against a thick tree-trunk, shoulders and arms touching, running down to interlocked fingers. His grip on her hand tightened briefly, then released, and he rose, crossing his arms and gazing sightlessly into the swamp.
When he spoke, his voice was controlled and remote. "The only thing of relevance about the Jedi is that they would not approve of this."
Standing to join him, she slid her hand back into his, wondering if he would turn her away. But he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her against him without speaking another word.
Shmi knew she would not ask again.
"He has special powers," Qui-Gon guessed, recalling her to the present. Jedi powers.
She gazed up at him, and this time, the smile around her mouth was genuine and proud. "Yes."
"He can see things before they happen. That's why he appears to have such quick reflexes." He took a deep breath, turning back towards the crew on the ground. "It's a Jedi trait."
As I suspected. She had witnessed Qui-Gon do it often enough during his posting on Dagobah. "He deserves better than a slave's life," she said cautiously.
"Had he been born in the Republic, we would have identified him early." Shmi took a step back at this, fear and hope radiating in her face. "The Force is unusually strong with him, that much is clear."
Qui-Gon glanced down at her, drawing a breath. Time to know. Time to be certain, though he was almost sure without having to ask. Time to have it thrown at him as he knew he deserved… "Who was his father?"
She glanced away, and he could see the thinning of her mouth as she contemplated how to answer. When she lifted her gaze again, there was no touch of bitterness, only resignation. But the words that followed cleaved his heart. "There was no father."
Qui-Gon closed his eyes, as under a blow. But it was only fair. He had left. He had never known. He had not been present to protect mother and son – his son – when the research station had been attacked by pirates a bare few months later, the entire staff reported killed. How many of them had actually survived to be sold to petty, would-be royals and gangsters in the Outer Rim?
And now, years after he had stopped looking, after he had forced himself to accept that he would never see her again, he stood next to her, and gazed at his son working happily below them,
"I carried him, I gave birth, I raised him. I can't explain what happened." The statement was bald, bold, and left a question trailing after it. A question he could not answer.
His first few weeks on Dagobah, he had focused on his work, on ignoring the way his eyes sought her in any room they shared, on turning away from her smile, on bringing a polite detachment to all their interactions.
But Dagobah was home to all kinds of Force surprises – which was why he'd been sent to join the research staff there – and they proved to be both good and bad.
One had been impenetrably Dark.
Cold washed through him, icing his veins from the inside, robbing him of breath.
The Dark Side. Even in the buried places on Coruscant the Jedi Council deliberately kept in existence for training, he had never felt it so strongly.
"What is it?" Shmi asked from where she crouched at the water's edge, examining the flora. Her dark eyes were now fixed on him, worry furrowing her brow.
"Wait here," he ordered roughly instead of giving her an explanation, and started for the black opening of a cave.
The cold grew. Such that he expected to see his exhales crystallizing in front of him. But the chill was within, and the swamp air remained as muggy and warm as ever as he lowered himself through the hole.
He automatically ducked the half-hearted hiss of a serpent, his feet touched hard ground, and the visions inundated him—
—himself, older, a Padawan at his side as their lightsabers flashed against an unexpected enemy—
—a beautiful young woman in Senatorial robes speaking passionately against war—
—a double-ended lightsaber of violent red slicing toward him—
—a boy, blond and agile, building a speeder—
—a blond youth – similar and yet different than the boy – seething with impatience in front of Master Yoda as an unfamiliar fighter sank into a too-familiar swamp—
—a brunette inserting plans frantically into an astromech R2 android as the marching footsteps of an enemy closed around her—
—Shmi, a blaster in her hand—
—Shmi, her features drawn, worn, pale, dying in the arms of a young man with a Padawan's braid whose anguished expression told the whole story—
"Qui-Gon?"
Soft hands on his cheeks, a concerned voice close enough to feel its breath—
With an effort, the Jedi snapped back to the present, his eyes jolting open to see Shmi's dark brown, so close he could see the differentiation between pupil and iris, even in the dark.
The unnamed, much-fought feelings she brought to life in him merged with the depth of worry in her eyes and the horrific future he'd witnessed. Throwing training and caution to the wind, he surrendered to the demands of his body, took her thinner face in his hands and kissed her.
He had tried to distance himself when they arrived back at the research facility, tried to associate more with the other workers there, tried to shut away the memory of her mouth, of her hands. A Jedi had no right to act on the feelings that had bound them to one another. Most Jedi loved at least once – and learned to walk away. That test had been late in coming for Qui-Gon, but he had failed.
A rare shaft of moonlight broke through the thick vines, splintering off branches to strike the ever-creeping, underlying fog, turning it silver.
Her footsteps were soft, almost soundless, on the low stone balcony, but the senses of a meditating Jedi are hyper-aware, and he heard her.
"Qui-Gon?"
He tensed at the sound of her voice, at the thundering flood that lilt sent through him. "Attraction. Attachment. A Jedi seeks not these things," the lessons of the Jedi, imparted by Master Yoda, expounded upon by Master Syfo-Dyas, echoed in his ears. "To be full of the one is to lose awareness of the many. To love one is to be blinded to the needs of the many. A Jedi is detached, impartial, an instrument of the Force."
The surging in his blood was anything but detached. The path trod by his mind – waking, sleeping, meditating, was hardly impartial.
Taking her with him on his first exploratory mission of the planet had been a critical error, despite her usefulness. Eight days spent exclusively in her company, away from others, had lent fleeting reality to the illusion that they were free to do as they wished. It had led to their moment in the cave, to the heated aftermath that constantly ambushed his waking and dreaming mind.
"Control, you must learn control over all things," Master Yoda's gravelly mental tones were full of gentle reproof. Qui-Gon gripped the rail, seeking the balance that had guided him for so much of his life, only to abandon him here.
A cheerful shout sounded from the yard below, recalling him from the murky swamp to the sunshine and warmth of the desert world. His hands were clenched on the railing as his eyes instinctively seeking the boy that had drawn him so.
The boy from the cave was his son. The jumble of visions – spanning he knew not how many decades – had been largely set aside and forgotten in the immediate heat and aftermath of their encounter, but there was no mistaking Anakin now that he knew what he was looking at.
Shmi realized that there would be no answer to her question. She changed tacks, letting go of their past in favor of Anakin's future. "Can you help him?"
The quiet question changed the entire tenor of their conversation. They had been careful to remain formal – both for the others and to cover their own tumultuous feelings – neither betraying what both had realized when he had ducked through the door of her modest house. Anakin knew something – Qui-Gon could feel the boy probing him, curious and drawn towards the older man – and not merely because he was an intelligent boy who admired a lightsaber. Anakin could sense him, could sense that there was more between them than a man needing help and precocious child who selflessly offered it.
But Shmi's plea, now divested of their strict formality, was from mother to father, granting him a chance to share the raising of their son.
"I don't know," he had to answer into the silence made heavy by memory. His instincts clamored, practically screaming for him to find a way to release both boy and mother, even if it meant holding his lightsaber to Watto's throat. He ruthlessly quashed the notion. Jedi were not bullies – even to criminals.
But his Force-vision, so far removed from his mind for years, unrolled in his mind's eye bright and unsullied, every wretched detail in place – the pallor of her face, the knowledge that she was dying before his eyes—
Qui-Gon sensed that freeing Shmi at this juncture was of the utmost importance, or the future he had glimpsed would come to pass. He knew from Master Yoda that the future was never fixed and often cloudy. The awful vision of her painful end was a possibility, not a certainty, but their choices now would set her path. His heart's rhythm beat a tattoo of "too late…too late…". If she was not freed now, then she never would be. And her continuing enslavement would have dire consequences for his son.
Like so many Force premonitions, he did not understand it, but trusted it implicitly.
"I did not actually come to free slaves," he admitted, struggling to find the right words.
"But you wish to take him?" she pressed, undeterred, hope clear in the sudden ring of her voice.
"If I can find a way, I'll take you both," he heard himself say without conscious intention.
"Qui-Gon…if you can free my son—"
"Anakin needs you," he said quietly, not knowing where the words came from, knowing at the same time that they were absolutely true.
And I? he wondered, glancing down at the woman standing at his side. She was still handsome, in spite of a decade of hardship. Watching the care she showered on her son, Qui-Gon felt more drawn to her than he had on Dagobah, her compassion lending her a glow she hadn't had ten years ago.
The wife I cannot have. One I never wanted until I met you.
She caught his eye, and he realized he'd been staring. "Go on," she nodded down to where the neighbourhood slave children had gathered around Anakin and his pod, exclaiming over the important guests he had brought. "He wants to be with you. He knows. In some way, he always knows."
888
"Be still, Ani. Let me clean this cut."
In all his years as a Jedi, rendering assistance to peoples of all species and ages, Qui-Gon was sure he'd never touched skin as perfectly smooth as his son's. Was mine like this as a child? he found himself wondering irrelevantly, Or is this his mother's trait?
"There's so many." He could hear the awe in the boy's voice, and smiled as he followed Anakin's gaze upward, into the tar-night sky and her brilliant array of stars. "Do they all have systems of planets?"
"Most of them," he answered with a smile, remembering his own wonder when studying the star charts in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant at this age. So much life. Everywhere. All the time. The universe was a living, breathing entity, full to the brim with the energy of trillions in constant motion. An unfamiliar eagerness filled his heart as he thought of showing that room to his son, of standing and naming star systems as the galaxy revolved around them.
"Has anyone been to them all?"
"Not likely," Qui-Gon chuckled at the excitement in Anakin's voice.
"I wanna be the first one to see 'em all!" he declared enthusiastically, with a child's heedlessness of the vastness of space and the number of worlds.
"Ani! Bed time!" Shmi called from inside.
While he was momentarily distracted, Qui-Gon quickly pricked the soft vein fluttering at Anakin's elbow, drawing a small blood sample.
"Ow!" his son exclaimed, glancing down.
"There we are. Good as new." Qui-Gon finished wrapping the cut, storing the sample in his voluminous robe.
"Ani! I'm not going to call you again!" Shmi announced. With stereotypical disregard for his mother's orders, Anakin scooted closer to the Jedi.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm checking your blood for infections." Qui-Gon's gut squirmed a little at the half-truth, but he had to know. His son radiated with the Force. If it was sufficiently strong in him, surely the Council would allow him to study, despite his age.
"Go on," he bade the boy when Anakin showed every sign of contentedly ignoring Shmi. "You have a big day tomorrow. Sleep well, Ani."
As soon as the boy was inside and out of earshot, he contacted the ship. "Obi-Wan?"
"Yes, Master?"
"I need an analysis of this blood sample I'm sending you."
"Wait a minute."
Qui-Gon paused, then, "I need a midichlorian count."
A beat. Another. Too long. Qui-Gon held his breath. He could feel his apprentice's surprise, regardless of the kilometers between them. Spectacular, then. Or dismal. "The reading's off the chart," Obi-Wan finally managed. "Over twenty thousand. Not even Master Yoda has a midichlorian count that high."
Over twenty thousand? Who was this child he had sired?"No Jedi has," he forced himself to say. Obi-Wan was sure to suspect something.
"What does it mean?"
"I'm not sure." In the pause from his Padawan, Qui-Gon felt eyes upon him. He turned his head to see Shmi Skywalker standing in the terrace door gazing at him, but she swiftly averted her gaze and moved inside when he met her eyes frankly. Despite Anakin's unguarded pleasure at having his unusual visitors, the Jedi still didn't know what she thought of their presence, beyond his chances to save their son from enslavement.
"I'll keep you appraised," he said finally, cutting the connection and rising with the intention of following his ersatz lover.
But she returned to the balcony as he moved towards the door, wrapped in a shawl to ward off the rapidly cooling air in the fast-descending night.
"What did your ship tell you?" she asked him.
"That your son has more capacity to channel the Force than any Jedi currently living," Qui-Gon answered honestly. He glanced down at her, taking in the fine profile that had changed little in the past decade of hard labor. The lights of the city were reflected in her dark eyes, making them dance as if fire burned behind them.
He wanted to reach out to her. To allow his fingers to linger on the cheekbones he had learned so well, so long ago. To find the curves of her mouth and trace the crow's feet splayed around her eyes.
But such contact, once welcome, was no longer his place in her world.
"Shmi…"
"Qui-Gon, please." To his surprise, it was she who reached out to him, clasping the hand that remained rooted to the half-wall that divided this balcony from the next. Her fingers brushed over his slowly, gently, before taking a firmer hold, exploring the calluses of his palms with the hardened ends of her own digits. "I may not have the Force, but I can see in your face what you strove all afternoon not to say." She sighed, and the fingers wrapped around his tightened. "I have struggled much in the last decade. But not because of you. Indeed, Anakin has been my brightest light. I have kept going for him when I would have given up for myself."
She shook her head. "What I said to you before, about there being no father, was not fair. Seeing you again is a shock – and it stings to know that you have grown more distinguished in age, and I…I am not the woman you remember. No longer a scientist, but a slave. Property of those with the money and desire to buy and sell."
The Jedi shook his head, opening his mouth to object, only to have her free hand against his lips. "Don't. Your eyes betray you, Master Jedi. I can see your affection – and your astonishment. Seeing me again was a surprise. And not only because of our past. I know that I am not what you would have expected. And I know that I am not what I would wish you to see, if I had known I would be meeting you again."
Qui-Gon let her finish, trapping her hand against his mouth as she did so. He kissed the ends of her fingers on his lips gently, as if she were fragile, desperately, as if he were clinging to her. He felt the speeding beat of her heart in the thumb under his hand. "Seeing you at all is a blessing I never dreamed I would have again. Shmi…we heard, on Coruscant. About the pirates, and their attack. We were told—"
"There were no survivors," the news courier said. Qui-Gon's eyes were wide, almost wild, and it took physical effort to restrain himself from reaching out and shaking the man.
"None?"
"None. The emergency-response team estimates that they have pulled the bodies of the entire research staff from the wreckage, Master Jedi."
Gone. And he had not even known, not felt a single tremor… No, he thought desperately, she can't be. I would know.
He strode from his balcony where he could hear the speeches of Coruscant's ever-active political agitators, seeking Yoda.
He found the tiny Jedi strolling alongside Master Syfo-Dyas. "Master Yoda! I require a leave of absence from the Temple."
"Indeed?" The dark, penetrative eyes of the ancient master studied him. "Has this to do with our Dagobah friends?"
Qui-Gon held his breath. Lying was a capital offence, but there was no chance Yoda would grant the request if he knew the truth. "Hmmm. Unwise, were you, Jedi Qui-Gon, when you determined to follow your own desires." The green head cocked. "Permission denied. Six months of solitary meditation need you. Regain your equilibrium, you must."
A moment of pure panic, followed by one of unmitigated rage…Yoda's eyes were fixed on him, compassionate, but firm. Reining his emotions, Qui-Gon bowed his head in bitter assent. Yoda's orders were clear. Disobedience would prove tremendously difficult – and result in his expulsion from the Jedi Order.
He had obeyed the command, and, upon emerging from his meditation, taken Obi-Wan on as his apprentice. Proud of his Padawan as he was, Qui-Gon could only pretend that the hole left in him by Shmi's absence had been filled. His charade had been successful for years – until he had walked through her door.
"—we were told everyone died," he finally managed. "I tried to leave Coruscant, but by then I had given myself away. Master Yoda forbade me."
"I never expected you to protect me," there was forgiveness and gentle reproof in her tone. "You were very clear that your Jedi Order would never condone news of Anakin's conception, so why trouble you or them? What I did not understand—" her voice broke slightly, revealing a question that still very much needed an answer, "—was not why you didn't come speeding to our rescue against all logic and common sense, but why you left without a goodbye."
Qui-Gon sighed as she withdrew, wrapping her arms around herself in the universal gesture of self-defense. His swift and abrupt departure had been anything but planned. She had been gone on a several-day foray when the urgent summons had come. "Please understand, it was anything but intentional. The Council called, and it was urgent. I had no choice."
"Immediately?" Qui-Gon repeated, balking at the demand.
"Surely you have had sufficient time to investigate this planet, hm?" Yoda's image said, and Qui-Gon knew he was reading surprise in the ancient master's stance and tone. "Need you further, they do not. Pleased are they, Jedi Qui-Gon. The Council has urgent need of your talents elsewhere." The green head of the hologram cocked curiously. "Wish you to stay?"
More than anything, he thought desperately, but knew that to voice such a thought aloud would bring on a slew of questions that love for researching Dagobah's unusually strong resonance in the Force alone could not answer.
"I…" It was a command. And if he was honest, if he was willing to listen to the promptings of the Force, he knew the old Jedi was correct. It was time. His attachment to Shmi, his love for her…he would have given anything for it to be otherwise, but it had not been made to last. He had always known this day was coming, as had she. Love was greedy. A lifetime wouldn't be enough, and that wasn't a possibility. Better for it to end now.
"No, Master," he finally managed a bow before the image. "There has been…sufficient time."
"Good. Leave within the hour, you must. Jedi Turi is in the Noad System, and requires assistance." Without waiting for his confirmation, the hologram winked out, leaving Qui-Gon staring at the massive trees just off his balcony. Leave…
"I was gone…and when I returned…" Shmi halted, the echo of that shattering day still rebounding in her memory.
"He's gone?" She whirled to Clara, commander of the base's small hangar.
"He flew out two days ago," Clara replied. Shmi struggled to breathe, barely registering the compassion in her colleague's eyes. "Said it was urgent."
"Did he…?" But Clara was already shaking her head, as Shmi knew she would be. Had Qui-Gon left her a message, her friend would have passed it to her.
There was nothing left in the barren quarters he had occupied for three months, nor was there a trace of him in her more personalized rooms, where they'd spent so many nights. Even his smell was fading from her linen.
As if he'd never been there at all.
"I couldn't contact you – sensors and communication devices go haywire on Dagobah, and I dared not leave either a paper or a technological trail. I couldn't wait for your return without arousing suspicions." He wrapped an arm around her, drawing her to his side gently, allowing her to resist or evade him if she wished. She permitted him to tuck her against him, molding her body to his. "I'm truly sorry. It was never my intention to leave you without a word."
Silence. He could not tell if it was one of forgiveness or skepticism. He knew he did not deserve the former. Then, "And now you are here."
"And now I am here," he agreed. "The Force intended us to meet. Anakin's abilities are…unusual. Even for a Jedi. He will make a powerful one."
"Then you will take him?"
"I have an idea of how to get Watto to release him to me, yes."
Her arm, wound around his waist, squeezed tightly. "Thank you," she breathed, and he could see the gloss of tears in her eyes.
Don't, he thought, I am come ten years too late. It is the least I can do. But the words did not find their way to his tongue. He was late, but he was here, and Shmi was standing with him in the deepening desert night as their son slumbered inside. Contentment of a kind he had not known since those swamp-fog-and-sunlit days on Dagobah crept through him, seizing his heart unexpectedly.
Arms around each other, they stood and spoke softly of the life they hadn't shared until the stars began to fade into the morning light of Tatooine's double suns.
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He followed Watto's flight pattern to where Anakin, Padmé, Kitster and Shmi were riding in on two beasts.
"…I'll end up owning him too!" he heard Watto announce to the young slave in Huttese. Chuckling, the shop owner flew off, leaving a puzzled Anakin and a disapproving Shmi.
"What did he mean by that?" his son asked.
"I'll tell you later," Qui-Gon answered distractedly, moving to Shmi and extending his arms to help her off. She greeted him with a smile and accepted his assistance as he approached her. She had snuck in two hours of sleep and had still been in bed when he had left the tiny dwelling to speak to Watto. "Good morning."
"Good morning. He's very excited," she nodded to her son, trying for a smile. Qui-Gon could see the worry in her eyes and squeezed the hands she still had in his.
"He'll be all right. Ani!" The boy looked up from where he was excitedly showing Padmé some gadget. His son trotted over to them eagerly. "You're ready for the race?"
The boy's confident grin didn't ever flicker. "Of course!"
Just behind him, Qui-Gon felt Shmi's fingers tighten painfully on his elbow. "Then let's get you and your pod to the pits."
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The race itself was a nerve-wracking affair. Qui-Gon was grateful that Jar-Jar and Padmé were buried in the view screen as Shmi gripped his hand in both of hers, knuckles white and lips tight. He, too, was worried for their son, despite his calm façade, but he had only just learned of Anakin's existence. Shmi had raised him, and was watching nine years of loving care hurtle at lethal speed around the track. When the crowd as one leaned in to catch sight of a hair-pin turn, he pressed his lips to her hair, and smiled as he felt her grasp lessen.
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"Mom, we sold the pod! Look at all the money we have!"
"Oh my goodness! That's so wonderful, Ani!"
"And he has been freed," Qui-Gon announced. Shmi's eyes jerked up to him, delight clear on her face. But it was Anakin who cried:
"What?!"
"You're no longer a slave."
"Did you hear that?" He spun back to his mother, eyes wide.
"Now you can make your dreams come true, Ani. You're free." She looked past the amazed, incredulous face of her son to her one-time lover, all seriousness. "Will you take him with you? Is he to become a Jedi?"
"Yes. Our meeting was not a coincidence." Either now or ten years ago, Qui-Gon thought. "Nothing happens by accident."
"You mean I get to come with you in your starship?"
His excitement was endearing, but it would not do to allow him to enter the Temple without understanding the commitment required. "Anakin," he knelt in front of his son, "training to be a Jedi is not an easy challenge. And even if you succeed, it's a hard life." At this, he looked past his son to meet Shmi's gaze, to find the sadness and the enormous pride reflected there. She gave him the ghost of a smile, the hint of a nod. Her benediction. She had raised him for almost a decade on her own. Now it was his turn.
"But I want to go, it's what I've always dreamed of doing. Can I go, Mom?"
"Anakin…this path has been placed before you. The choice is yours alone."
"I wanna do it."
"Then pack your things, we haven't much time."
He dashed towards his room, stopped, and turned. Excitement was gone, replaced by solemnity. "What about Mom? Is she free too?"
The uncomfortable silence gave the answer before words had to be spoken. Almost, Qui-Gon thought. Almost. It had been so tempting to leave Watto's cube truly up to chance. To free the only woman he had ever loved.
But he couldn't leave his Force-talented son.
And once again, a sense of premonition swept over him, and Qui-Gon wondered if he were doing the right thing. Too late…too late…perhaps he should go back and put a lightsaber at Watto's throat until the ragged Toydarian changed his tune.
"I tried to free your mother, Ani, but Watto wouldn't have it," the Jedi admitted.
"You're coming with us, aren't you, Mom?"
What for? The thought flickered in her eyes before her gaze left Qui-Gon's and returned to her son's.
"Son, my place is here," she sighed. "My future is here." The way she said it told Qui-Gon that, even if she had been freed, she knew that she could not go with them to the Temple. They had spent three days playing at being a family, giving the Jedi a glimpse of one of the future's many might-have-beens, but reality had arrived. They had the parts for the ship, a mission to the Senate to complete, and a brand-new apprentice for the Temple. "It is time for you to let go."
"I don't want things to change," Anakin replied, sniffling.
"But you can't stop the change. Any more than you can stop the suns from setting." She pulled him into a hug. "I love you," she whispered in his ear, swallowing her tears. She was holding her son for the last time. He would fly, and even without the Force, she sensed that she would never see him again. Her eyes sought Qui-Gon, standing a respectful distance away, playing the Jedi Knight instead of the fatherly role now. Losing her son and her just-returned lover.
"Now," she said, disciplining herself to withdraw, "Hurry." Anakin took off for his room and she stood, watching him run.
"Thank you."
"I'll watch after him, you have my word." She could feel his hesitant approach as he gazed after her – their – son, could feel the strength of his tall, broad frame at her back.
A hand settled on her shoulder, gentle, warm, a reminder of the man she had known a decade – a lifetime – before. "Will you be all right?" he asked in his quiet rumble.
Throat closed so tightly Shmi was sure she would never breathe again, she settled for a nod.
Strong arms enclosed her from behind, securing her against him. "I did try."
"I know," she whispered. "But what would I do if you had succeeded?" She craned her neck to look up at him. "You told me ten years ago that Jedi don't have families."
His mouth compressed faintly in annoyance. "Rules can always handle a little revision."
She laughed gently, and he lowered his head for what they knew would be their last kiss. His mouth fluttered over her forehead and trailed down her nose to find her lips. She clung to him, and the hands around her waist were tight enough to bruise.
Anakin clattered on the stairs, and they pulled apart, allowing her to hug her son once more before the Jedi and his new apprentice ducked out the door and started for their repaired ship in the desert.
Shmi watched them from her doorway until they were out of sight. Then she kept watching. The Jedi trait had bred true. It was time for his father to take him.
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A/N: As usual, please review and let me know what you think!