CHAPTER 9

Three hours and three bottles of Arrythrian moonwine later, neither woman was feeling quite so inhibited. They chatted and laughed, Padmé telling stories of her youth and many encounters with Obi-Wan, with Kila adding some of her own stories about the Knight.

Padmé wasn't so tipsy that she couldn't discern that Kila mentioned little to nothing of her own childhood. Nor that she never talked about any adolescent crushes. She knew that Kila had grown up on Tatooine and had moved to Coruscant five years earlier – the years in between were a complete mystery.

Kila had said that she'd never had a girlfriend – maybe she'd never had any kind of friend until she came to Coruscant. Life on Tatooine was hard enough for those with family – look at Shmi and Ani – but Kila had no family.

"So … Blame it on the moonwine if you like, but what went wrong with you and Qui-Gon?" Padmé asked. "He seemed to really care for you."

Kila's already pink cheeks turned a brighter pink. "We're too different," she said. "It'd never work."

"Opposites attract," Padmé said, leaning over and topping up the wine with an unsteady hand. "Look at me and Obi – a politician and a Jedi Master."

"Opposites don't always complement each other," Kila said, not even stumbling over her syllables. "Sometimes people are too different. He's handsome, powerful, cultured … I'm just a little ignoramus who's dragged herself up the best she can."

"Phoo!" Padmé said derisively. "It doesn't matter where you've come from. You're a pretty girl …"

Kila snorted loudly. "Maybe you should get your eyesight checked!" she interrupted.

"S'true." Padmé waved a wobbly little hand. "You aren't beautiful, but you have a nice face and a shape that men like. No matter what the magazines say, most men like women with curves."

Kila gulped down her wine then peered at Padmé through a wine-induced haze. "I think you're drunk," she said then giggled.

Padmé returned the giggle. "Oh, and you're not? Anyway, you like Qui-Gon, he likes you …" She peered at her friend. "You think you're not good enough for him – isn't he old enough to decide that for himself?"

"Yes, but …," Kila murmured then sighed. "Oh, you wouldn't understand!"

"Try me," Padmé commanded, taking another slice of the sweetcake.

FORCE-FORCE-FORCE-FORCE-FORCE

Kila stared blearily at her newest friend. Maybe she would understand or at least accept. "How old were you when you kissed your first boy?" she asked.

Padmé giggled again. "13," she said. "You?"

Kila sighed. "I haven't," she said. "I wouldn't even know where to begin!"

"You're making it more difficult than it is," Padmé said. "Qui-Gon's not some grabby adolescent who'd maul you. His lips look nice and I bet he knows how to use them."

Kila nearly got wine through her nose. Coughing and choking, she pounded her chest and stared at Padmé. "What about Obi-Wan?"

Padmé smiled. "I love Obi-Wan – with a passion that I've never felt before – but I can see what you see in Qui-Gon. He's too old for me, but I did have a tiny crush on him when I first met him. So big and with that long hair, he looks like some noble warrior from ancient times."

She thumped her wineglass down and peered at the wall chrono. "You know; the Council meeting will finish soon. I think you should go and claim your man!"

"I don't have a man, Padmé," Kila reminded her friend wearily.

"Yes, you do," Padmé said. "You just haven't claimed him yet. Grab that big Jedi and tell him you're an idiot – then take it from there."

It was a tempting notion, Kila thought with a giggle, but … "What if he rejects me?"

"He won't," Padmé said. "He's not the idiot, you are." She reached over and clasped Kila's hand suddenly. "Kila; he's a good man and he deserves to be happy. You deserve to be happy. You make each other happy, so you deserve each other." Then she laughed. "Considering how much wine I've had, that was actually quite profound!"

Kila giggled at the look on her friend's face. "So … you said something about going and claiming my man. I'm going to do it!"

Padmé whooped. "Good for you!"

Kila stood up, wavered and plumped back down. "After the room stops spinning."

FORCE-FORCE-FORCE-FORCE-FORCE

Qui-Gon sat down and closed his eyes, seeking guidance from the Force. He was at a loss to explain Kila's sudden change of mind – and a little hurt to realize she didn't trust him. What was any kind of relationship – romantic or not – without trust?

He'd tried twice already to achieve clarity through meditation. He'd always been stronger in the Living Force, less inclined toward meditation, and this lack of practice stymied him now.

When he closed his eyes, his mind took him back to that beautiful moment in the gardens at Erith. He'd awoken to find Kila in his arms, slumbering sweetly with her head on his chest. He hadn't wished to awaken her so had closed his eyes once more.

Only a few minutes later, he'd felt her small fingers caress his cheekbones, push back his hair, skim across his lips. He'd become aware of the fact that she wished to kiss him, but he didn't want to be a passive recipient. He wanted to hold her, taste her, caress her.

So he feigned awakening – she'd shot backward, unnerved, and the moment had been lost.

If he'd known then that that would have been her first kiss he would have continued to feign sleep – let her control the moment. But hindsight is always perfect.

His eyes opened and he sighed – he was evidently not going to be able to meditate tonight. He trusted the Force, served it, was served by it – there had to be a reason why he couldn't reach it tonight.

A knock on the door was a welcome interruption – Qui-Gon could scarcely believe that a slip of a woman could have him so off-kilter – and he went over to the door and opened it. "Master Yoda," he greeted.

The ancient Jedi hobbled in, his large eyes skewering in on Qui-Gon. "Troubled you are, my young friend."

It was a statement, not a question. Qui-Gon sighed again and looked at his mentor, his friend. "Yes," he said simply – there was little point in denying it.

"Matters of the heart, the most complex thing they can be, yet the most simple. If … overthink them you do not." Yoda speared Qui-Gon with another wise look. "A balance between your heart and your mind you must seek."

Qui-Gon shook his head slightly. "I know what I want, Master Yoda, but Kila … Something has scared her away."

"Kila … an interesting girl she is. Wise yet childlike, carefree yet burdened. Patience and tenderness her heart will respond to. Loves you she does – in her heart. The means of demonstrating that love … trouble her they do."

"I know," Qui-Gon said. "And I told her I wanted to take it slowly, but …" He shoved his hands through his hair. "I was talking to her via com earlier. She blurted out that she was wearing very little and I reacted like a hormone-laden adolescent."

"Understand I do," Yoda replied. "Let this miscommunication threaten your relationship you should not. Meet her tomorrow at her workplace you should – less intimate that is than her home, less cornered she will feel. Realize she will that mistakes you both made and forgive each other you will."

"You make it sound easy," Qui-Gon said.

"Easy it is," Yoda said, smacking Qui-Gon's knee with his gimer stick – the little Jedi was a menace with that thing. "Make it complicated you and Kila do." A smile crossed the ancient Jedi's face. "Like her I do. A good pair you make. A fine Jedi Knight she would be if stronger she were in the Force."

Qui-Gon nodded his head, in full agreement with Yoda's words. Kila was wise, pure of heart, strong … He'd be an idiot to let her go because of her fears. "You're right, of course, Master Yoda," he admitted. "I'll go and see her tomorrow – we can work this out."

"Good, good," the older Jedi approved. Then a mischievous grin split his wrinkled features. "Actually, necessary that will not be." The Jedi gestured and the door opened to reveal Kila poised as if to press the chime.

"Master Yoda!" she exclaimed, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright. "I … ah … Never mind – I'll come back later."

"Leave you will not, young lady," Yoda said, tapping her leg with his gimer stick. "Leave I will – and talk this out you younglings must." He patted Kila's leg like an elderly affectionate parent. "Speak with you I will before your talk with Qui-Gon."

FORCE-FORCE-FORCE-FORCE-FORCE

Kila felt the alcohol-fueled courage wane as she looked down at the little Jedi Master. She got down on the floor and looked at the Master curiously. "What is it?"

"To interfere my style is not," Yoda said, "but Qui-Gon my last Padawan was. Special to me he is …"

"He's special to me too," Kila admitted with a blush.

"Then make you miserable this should not. Special love is – a gift of the Force. Squandered or taken lightly it should not be." Yoda patted her hand. "Make mistakes you both will – inevitable that is. But help you your love will."

"Love?" Kila blurted out. She was definitely in love with Qui-Gon but …

"Loves you he does," Yoda told her. He gazed at her. "Surprises you this does? Unworthy believe you?"

The ancient Jedi was remarkably perceptive if not a little interrogative. Kila fiddled with her neckline helplessly, unable to look either at Yoda or at Qui-Gon, standing quietly near the window. "Well …," she murmured, "he's a Jedi Master – educated, charming, wise, good …" She sighed, hating the doubts crossing her mind again. Then she forced herself to look over at Qui-Gon, who returned the gaze with a small smile.

"Think you that Qui-Gon knows not his own heart? An immature Padawan he is not – believe in him you should." Yoda patted her cheek this time. "Believe in yourself more you also should. Much more you are than think you."

Kila looked at the tiny being then impulsively kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Master Yoda," she said.

The little Jedi coughed then tapped her leg with his gimer stick. "A loving being you are, Kila – share that love with someone you should." He hobbled over to the open door. "Good night, Qui-Gon, Kila."

"Good night, Master Yoda," Qui-Gon and Kila replied almost in unison.

Kila got up with a grunt and closed the door then walked hesitantly over to join Qui-Gon at the window. She studied his dear face, the broad strong lines of his body, the subtle tension in his frame. "Umm … hello," she said tentatively.

"Kila," Qui-Gon replied. "It's good to see you."

So polite – like they were mere acquaintances. She would have preferred anger over this, but the man was a Jedi – had learned to control his darker emotions a long time ago.

She continued to stare up at him, knowing that it would be up to her to make the first move. But his silence and towering presence intimidated her – made her feel like a foolish adolescent instead of the mature capable woman she truly was.

"For kriff's sake!" she blurted out, exasperated with herself and the whole situation. "I was really stupid earlier – and I'm so sorry I implied I couldn't trust you." She held out her hand.

Qui-Gon unbent enough to take the hand in his. "That did hurt me, I have to admit," he said, thumb stroking over the small bones in her wrist. "But I was going to come to see you tomorrow – I never expected you to come here."

Kila laughed slightly as they sat down on a small settee, Qui-Gon's hand still linked with hers. "Blame Padmé and the three bottles of Arrythrian moonwine we shared. She told me to tell you I was an idiot and to … ah … claim you."

"Claim me?" Now Qui-Gon laughed and took her other hand in his, turning her to face him. "You 'claimed' me that day in Erith," he told her.

His handsome face lowered to hers and she felt her breathing quicken. Khest, it was just a kiss. What was the big deal? Then she tilted her face up and their lips met in the softest sweetest kiss she could have imagined – and all rational thought departed. Except for: Padmé was right – he DOES have nice lips.