Although He Smiles
Chapter 13: Breakfast and Prigulian
It was the snoring that woke her from sleep. With bleary eyes and sore muscles, Ahsoka sat up, yawning past the morning taste in her mouth. When the flimsy mattress shifted, and a gentle moan met her hearing, she cringed at the only other occupant of her makeshift bed.
"Sorry." Ahsoka mentally berated herself before sending a suggestion of 'sleep' towards the young Queen. With a sigh, the blanket was pulled away, baring Ahsoka' legs to the outside world. The Togruta barely managed to stifle her laughter as she rose from the bed, leaving Padmé hogging all the blanket.
Checking her chronometer (after she'd been sure to synch it with Tatooine time during the approach) proved it to still be the early hours of the morning. Looking to the right and down proved it to be Anakin, nine-years-old and seemingly innocent, that was the source of all the ruckus. Mouth wide open and strewn across his bedding, the boy was an exact replica of the twenty-two-year-old man of her memories — minus the height, build and maturity, of course.
Actually, scratch that last bit.
Yawning once more and stretching an arm over her shoulder, Ahsoka began the short trek into the kitchen. The toes of her boots were unforgivably loud against the tiled floor, so she resorted to somewhat half-shuffling and half-sneaking her way to get a glass of water.
She nearly made it a clear foot into the air when Master Qui-Gon cleared his throat from the kitchen sink.
"Maker!" A hand went to her chest, attempting to calm the sudden thrashing there. In all honesty, he shouldn't be wearing that smug grin. She was sure even he hadn't missed her hands instinctively reaching for lightsabers that simply, thankfully weren't there. If they had been, there was no way of telling what mess they could both be in now. Nor Shmi's tidy kitchen.
"Good morning, Padawan. You slept well, I trust?"
She rose a marking that was perhaps far too inclined towards annoyance. "Probably better than you, Master Jinn. That couch looks roughly half your size."
Qui-Gon knew when his humour had been countered. With a push, he stepped away from the counter with a gentle chuckle and a steaming cup of tea. "The brewer is still hot if you want to help yourself."
He didn't fail to notice as Ahsoka padded past him, a hand still rubbing sleep from her eyes. Through a daze she began the mechanics of making herself a cup of caf, Qui-Gon going to find a seat at the table.
"Will you be returning to the plaza today?" Came her question, barely formed around a yawn. The sooner she downed this cup, the better.
"I began negotiations with Shmi and Anakin's master yesterday." The word master seemed to seethe through the air. Ahsoka bit her tongue between sharp teeth. Qui-Gon furrowed his brows. "There wasn't much progress, but the Toydarian seems to be in possession of the parts we require. I sent Jar Jar with Artoo back to the ship to help Obi-Wan with —"
"Wait," Ahsoka took a sip of her caf, a shiver eliciting its way up her spine. She shuddered past the pleasant tingle. "You sent Jar Jar back to the ship? I thought he was an important part of our deception." Ahsoka sat at the table, the knowing glimmer in her eye chasing away the Master's gaze. Pointed teeth were bared when she smiled, Qui-Gon clearing his throat.
"Yes, well, it would have been uncivilised of us to try and fit all of us in the Skywalker's abode. And Jar Jar seemed the most eager to return to the cruiser."
Ahsoka smiled into her mug. "Whatever you say, Master." A sudden thought sent her brows shooting up. "Gosh. Poor Obi-Wan."
That earned a gentle puff of good humour from the Jedi Master. Qui-Gon shook his head, taking another sip of his tea. "Be mindful of your thoughts, young Ahsoka. One might think you actually dislike Jar Jar's bumbling, fumbling and incessantly uncouth nature."
"Hmm… Don't be surprised if we return to the ship and find it on fire." Her caf did an excellent job at muffling her quips.
However, "Yes, with 'Poor Obi-Wan' sunk to his knees in the sand before it."
That mental image struck a chord within her, and Ahsoka snorted into her cup. "Don't forget the enraged Captain Panaka and half the desert now hidden in the folds of Queen Amidala's dress."
That one definitely earned a generous laugh from the older man. Something warm slithered its way into her heart at the sight, and it wasn't just the hot caf she now craved.
The sudden sound of something slipping against the floor gently pulled their attentions to the doorway. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude." Shmi stood in her bedroom doorway, pulling a robe around herself. Past eyeing the robe that had certainly seen better days, Ahsoka shook her head in incredulity.
"Within your own home? Shmi, if anyone's intruding, it's us."
"Please, Shmi," Qui-Gon was suddenly up and pushing away from the table. The sound of his chair grating across the floor disturbed the morning quiet. "Sit down. Let me fetch you a cup of tea."
It struck her as a very 'Master Kenobi' thing to offer, but yet again, who was she staring at but none over than the man's master? Ahsoka watched as Qui-Gon Jinn hunched over beneath the ceiling to enter the kitchen.
Brows turned upwards on Shmi's weather-worn face, grappling hands stopping the Jedi before he could get very far. "No, please. I need to make breakfast anyway."
"After you've shown us such hospitality?"
"It would be terribly un-Jedi-Masterly-like if he didn't offer to make breakfast." Ahsoka finished up, accosting the arms of the tired woman and leading her to the table. The Jedi shot a look over her shoulder, Qui-Gon quirking a brow in return before he began acquainting himself with the layout of the Skywalker's kitchen.
Eventually, Anakin came padding into the common area, wiping sleep from his eyes. He was followed by an equally sleepy looking Padmé, who went straight for the cup of caf Qui-Gon placed on the counter for her. As said Jedi Master slid from one pan to another, looking entirely at home amongst the limited array of pots, pans, and utensils, Ahsoka couldn't help but smile. She supposed it was just another thing that came under the heading 'welcomed surprises', alongside the fact that Obi-Wan Kenobi had once been a padawan and the mysterious mother of Anakin lived up to every kind glimmer and smile of Anakin Skywalker.
But back to the here and now, (and the durasteel fingers of Master Qui-Gon. That's hot, Master.), Master Kenobi's cooking was always something she'd looked forward too. Anakin certainly did. There was certainly more than a few times she found the pot roast burnt and Anakin dragging her to the quarters next door. 'Yeah, I tried Snips. Don't worry 'bout it. Obi-Wan will have enough to feed four.' They usually split the Master's meager meal, her and Anakin always receiving the bigger portions.
After a while, the dinners seemed to grow bigger and bigger. She wondered if the Force had been whispering in her grandmaster's ear, or he was simply sick of being shortchanged of his dinner once a week.
Of course, there was that one time where Anakin, on routine, knocked. The door had slid open and a plate full of leftovers was thrusted into his hands before the hallway returned to its serene, stately silence. Ahsoka had to literally brace herself against a wall to stop the laughter. 'Yeah, come on Ahsoka, before you can go source your food elsewhere.' 'You know, I'm sure Obi-Wan just wants you to go pick something up at the Mess Hall.' 'And get picked up by a sentinel for spilling food in the Temple lobby? Please. Obi-Wan wouldn't want that.'
Ahsoka was pulled out of the memory by the sight of Qui-Gon delivering brimming pots and pans to the table. Mentally excusing herself, she was on her feet and retrieving plates that Shmi had been extracting from the cupboards. "Ani, would you bring the water jug to the table, please?"
"'course mum!"
"Let me help you, Ani." Padmé side stepped the boy, gathering up the stacked cups beside the boy with eager eyes and a smile only for the young girl before him.
The whirlwind of preparations resulted in much enthusiasm for Qui-Gon to cook again, Ahsoka agreeing as she stuff— placed another mouthful of the thinly sliced bantha meat into her mouth. Yes, this was definitely where Master Kenobi gained his culinary expertise. And if she was right, Anakin's broths were his own variations of his mother's.
"You could have died, Ani." From across the table, Padmé Naberrie watched the young boy punctuate a part of his adventure with wild gestures. Her observations and turned brows earned a soft chuckle from Shmi Skywalker who watched the exchange.
"Yeah, I could've. But Sebulba didn't see me pull around the third turn. I nearly wiped out his starboard engine!" Another wild hand movement as Anakin mimicked the 'woosh!' of his podracer's chassis. This time it earned a muffled cry as Anakin's sleeve caught against the water canister. Instinct took over for the Jedi seated beside him, and Shmi's worries were allayed. Qui-Gon poured Anakin another cup as the boy continued his wild tale, oblivious to his actions as he shared his account with the captivated Padmé.
"Ani, that sounds awfully dangerous." The handmaiden took a sip of the murky water to chase away the dry taste of the bread-paste.
"Well, I'm the only human who can do it." At the puff of his chest, Ahsoka smiled into her paste. Some things never truly changed.
"They have podracing on Malastare." Qui-Gon finally joined the conversation, eyes wandering to Shmi's end of the makeshift table. With a sniff, he inspected the varying levels of left-overs. "Very fast, very dangerous."
When the Jedi Master began collecting empty plates and cups, Ahsoka gathered pots and pans. Anakin smiled up at them both. "Watto says he's never heard of another human doing it before."
"Ani…" His mother inclined her head, her chastising tone not lost to the boy.
"But mum! It's true."
"So Skyguy. What happened to Watto's last pod?"
Blue eyes, narrowed and accusatory, met Ahsoka's smirk from the opposing side of the table. "I didn't mean to roll it. It was Sebulba's fault."
However, as Ahsoka's smile grew and Anakin appeared as though his closest friend had betrayed him, it was Padmé's chuckle that assuaged the boy's nerves. "Ahsoka's just poking fun, Anakin. She doesn't mean anything by it."
When he passed by, Ahsoka ran a hand through his hair. It did prove to be somewhat difficult when the pots had to be saved by a stretch of the Force.
"I still think you're strange, Ahsoka."
When she inclined her head, a lekku dipped into the pot she clung to. "Thanks, Skyguy."
Once in the kitchen, Ahsoka grabbed the towel off the sink facet to rid her lekku of Qui-Gon's bread paste. Said Jedi Master was busy loading all the dirtied kitchen-wear into the sink. It became some poorly-timed dance when all five of them were occupying Shmi's little kitchen. When Qui-Gon passed a clean plate to Shmi's awaiting hand, Ahsoka cajoled Padmé and Anakin out of the way.
"Are you going back to the shop today?" Shmi's question was punctuated by a 'clink' as the plate was stacked beside the sink. Qui-Gon nodded.
"Yes, we need those parts." The sonic tap blared away in the background, Shmi nodding absently. Her cracked lips pressed together.
"You could always try another store." From the growing stack of plates to the side, her tired eyes turned to the Jedi Master. "Not many people around here accept Republic Credits."
"If not all of them." From folded arms upon the counter, Ahsoka offered her input.
"It's an option we'll have to explore, of course."
Blocking out a chattering Anakin, who's conversation was mostly directed towards the girl paying the most attention, Ahsoka quirked a concerned brow. "We're not going to get very far without R2 and the readouts. Did you manage to contact Obi-Wan this morning, Master?"
With a pot in hand, Qui-Gon turned his head. "No, it seems the dust storm yesterday wiped out our communicators."
Great. So how's this one gonna turn out?"
"Not to worry, Ahsoka. I told Artoo to be in Mos Espa by morning."
The Togruta began untangling herself from the two children beside her and pushed away from the uneven counter. "I'm guessing you told him to wait by the store."
"No, he would attract too much attention there. I told him to remain just outside the perimeters of the port and wait for us there."
Trying not to twist her lip into a lop-sided smile, a single laugh shook her shoulders. "Artoo's not gonna like the sand," she muttered, just as Qui-Gon was hanging up the last pan.
"Hmm, perhaps not. Either way we shall be heading out to barter with Watto. I offered to accompany Anakin back into town." Qui-Gon dipped his head to Shmi, the woman offering a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes in return. "It is a pity I cannot offer you anything more."
"It's perfectly fine. You're most welcome." With a soft smile that finally managed to crinkle the corners of her eyes, Shmi turned to her son. The boy was mid-demonstration of… 'how to fix a broken exhaust funnel mid-flight, Padmé. You never know.'. Ahsoka laughed. She'd received that lesson before. But as Padmé had to practically place a hand on Anakin's shoulder and turn him around, Ahsoka got the distinct impression that it was the young Queen who tried to shift the focus of Anakin's tutorial.
"Shmi. There must be some way we can repay you for your kindness." Padmé's gaze settled on the woman, and Ahsoka huffed. She knew that expression — nothing was going to deter her. It seemed, however, that despite only knowing the girl for merely more than twelve hours, Shmi understood the serious set of the girl's gaze.
"Well, I've been meaning to visit the markets and buy some more prigulian jams. I would have sent Ani," she moved to a shelf set in the wall beside her, pulling loose a rock from the crumbling beige. Weather-worn hands pulled out a dilapidated box. "But the slave auctions are just next door." Having retrieved what she wanted, the box was put back in place and covered by the rock again. Shmi turned around and gently lifted the girl's hand. A cruel juxtaposition between lifestyles was revealed with the action. In Shmi's tanned and over-worked palm lay the delicate and soft hand of Padmé Amidala, the fingernails perfectly manicured and skin like gossamer. A sudden vice around Padmé's heart saw her want to snatch her hand away, but she allowed the flow of guilt to seep through her. Shmi placed the few flimsy credits she had in Padmé's palm, curling her fingers over with the tenderness only a mother could possess. "Anakin's gotten himself into trouble more than once there. I'm reluctant to ever send him back."
"They're awful over there. They're… they're—"
"Vile?" Ahsoka offered.
"Yeah, vile." He spat it out, Ahsoka's eyes catching sight of the boy's fists curling by his sides.
"What flavoured prigulian do you like?" Padmé's careful smile failed to lighten the mood, not as her eyebrows gently turned in sorrow. A hand, just as rough and as calloused as it had been against her palm, now cupped her cheek. It was barely there for a fleeting moment before Shmi's hands were resting on Padmé's shoulders.
As if sensing his mother's distress (which he most likely did) he was suddenly by her side. "What flavoured prigulian do you like?"
Shmi's hands fell to her sides. Ahsoka watched the boy take his new friend back to the sleeping quarters (most likely to retrieve anything they needed for the day), and gave the back of his head a rueful smile. Still the same old Anakin. Always eager to fix any problem. Always sweet on Senator Amidala.
~Ahsoka... There is still... light— light in him.~
"You should go get ready, Padawan. Something tells me we have a big day ahead of us."
Ahsoka didn't bother to spare the man a smile, she merely nodded. "Yes, Master."