Chapter Fourteen: Glinting Cold Seeds
I didn't think you could stab my back again
Since your knife was already in
But the first was but a glinting, cold seed
And there's always something left in me to bleed
Her fingers were always warm, for as long (or as much) as he could remember. Whether they were flattened against his arm or smoothed along his cheek or wrapped around his own, they were a gentle source of heat no matter the surrounding temperature. In the sterile breeze of the healing ward, he only had to squeeze those soft fingers to still the cold trembling within him. He had strange memories of long nights, when Qui-Gon was gone (he assumed it was after his…what was it…knighthood) and her touch held the demons at bay, with their icy claws and frozen, rough scales.
Obi-One felt that an entire cluster of them were warring inside his belly as he walked down the Temple corridor, his steps echoing hollowly alongside Mejant's measured staccato.
As if she too were suffering the effects of the frigid monsters, she grasped his hand.
"H-He said you're just going to start off with a short talk?" She asked, in a slightly detached, almost fluttery tone.
"Yes."
It had been a few days since his return to the huge Jedi dwelling, and was settling in 'as best as could be expected' when Yoda visited him in his quarters. He recalled the garbled-voiced Master from numerous recovered memories, and was eager to meet with him. Yoda reciprocated, speaking casually with him for nearly two hours before mentioning that Obi-One could benefit from daily sessions with the Council leader, as well as a Temple psychiatrist that was unfamiliar with his past, and could thusly offer a more balanced opinion of his recollections.
Obi-One was hesitant, worried of what he would be forced to share, but at the same time, relieved that his memories could be given a coherence outside of Qui-Gon's efforts. He knew that the man cared very much for him, and because of that affection his views on events might be skewed.
It couldn't have all been silly pranks and tearful moments. Obi-One made mistakes, as everyone did, and he wanted to remember those, too.
Still, during his days with his former Master on Naboo, a sort of comfort zone was created. He was moving beyond that more and more, beginning with their parting at the healers, furthered by his current endeavor.
Towards total independence, he knew.
And then there would be a true equality between he and Mejant. Their shoulders would be leveled, so that either could bend to cry upon the other.
"Master Tria's supposed to be wonderful." She commented, rubbing the surface of his fingernails slowly. "I've never talked much with her, but she headed this class…this miniature seminar, and everyone was really impressed with her insight."
Obi-One swallowed. "I'm glad to hear that. I'm curious to know why she would bother with something like this, though."
"She's a Jedi, Obi." Mejant pressed her lips against his cheek quickly. "And the wellbeing of her fellow Jedi is her first priority. She works with initiates, Masters. Sometimes even the younglings."
"She does sound wonderful." He conceded with a smile, returning the kiss to her lips, not sensing anyone else within the halls. "So she'll probably think I'm insane."
"Nah, your cover was blown about that a long time ago." Mejant laughed. "We all know you're a psychopath.
"But you're a very loveable one."
Obi-One smiled, genuinely, with a chuckle. "Thanks, my darling love."
Mejant suddenly tightened her hand. "Oh gosh…You sound…"
He crinkled his forehead. "I sound like what?"
She stopped in front of an old world, mottled wood door and touched his jaw. "Oh…You just sound like yourself."
He breathed out, surprised at how shaky the exhalation was. "Maybe it's because I'm starting to feel like myself."
Mejant stared into his face, caressed by the unique amber lighting of Yoda's hallway, his bone structure and features outlined in shadow. She smiled, her mouth stretched and quivering, her eyes going to slits. Thank you Force. Thank you. Because not only was his body returning to its normalcy, but so was his mind. "I'll be here waiting when it's over."
His expression faded, as though he had forgotten about the meeting entirely. "I--I know you will."
"And don't be scared. I know it's daunting, but this is Yoda. He has no intention other than to help you. If he did, I'd punch his little lights out."
Obi-One laughed, embracing her for a second as the door began to open.
"Remember what I said." Mejant added briskly, squeezing his hand again.
He heard her greet Yoda, then her departing footsteps on the slick, hard floor.
He would remember what she said, and that her hand had not been entirely warm. He would need to tell her to take her own advice after this was over.
A melting warmth was in his heart, and he was not so fearful as he was on the journey.
Yoda rose from his low, beaten plush chair with half a smile. He sensed Obi-Wan's presence in the hall, could almost physically feel the glow of purity the youth had within the Force.
But was Obi-Wan Kenobi truly a youth anymore?
Hm, he wasn't so certain about that.
Although, when he thought about it, chewing amiably on his gimer stick as he waddled toward the door, he supposed that in comparison to his eight hundred or so years, most everyone was young.
Though hardly anyone was a child. There was a distinct difference there that the ancient Master was well aware of . Too often he saw arrogance striding through the Temple corridors, a streak of talent defiled by overconfidence, in the form of young Knights and Padawans. With a sigh, he realized he detected those same faults in many Masters of the Order.
To an extent, it was to be expected. The Jedi had always been a regular fixture in the media, and the crux of that mass source, the veritable solar plexus of news reports and political intrigues and entertainment was Coruscant. A portion of the time, they were hailed as heroes, the selfless, steady security in an otherwise crime-riddled Universe.
But then there were the backlashes. After being swelled with pride, the Knights and Padawans and even Masters were bombarded with conflicting views, those groups and entire worlds that rejected both the ideals and purpose of the Jedi.
There were some who argued that they were relics of another era, long passed.
Worse, that they were programmed underlings of the Supreme Chancellor, unusually strong pups strangled by a choke chain if they wandered too far.
It was natural to defend that which was your upbringing and way of life.
Yet…too many believed themselves invincible or perfect.
A reckless philosophy that would become dangerous. Master Yoda grunted as he opened the door. Was there anything to remedy such foolishness?
No matter. He would worry on that later. For now, he would focus on one left virtually untainted by that curse--but damaged nonetheless.
Because Obi-Wan Kenobi possessed the goodness and occasional abandon of a child, long after he was accepted as an apprentice to Qui-Gon Jinn. He wasn't naïve or brash, but he genuinely wanted to trust in others.
Perhaps it was his most beautiful quality, but one of twin sharpened edges, for it was also his downfall. He threw his heart into something--and lost a bit of it each time that something failed him.
Or betrayed him.
When the wrinkled green dwarf greeted the sad subject of his musings, he couldn't help the melancholy that sheathed his mind.
"Knight Kenobi. Glad to see you, I am."
Obi-One turned his head toward the hoarse, slightly garbled voice and sketched a shallow bow, a habit he could remember from some kind of ceremony…But his recollection was dark and clotted with fog, and he didn't understand its meaning.
But that was what these meetings sought to accomplish, wasn't it?
"I'd like to say again how thankful I am to you, Master." He began quietly. "I deeply appreciate that you wish to help me with this."
Yoda smiled, more lines stretching out in the web of creases taut over his face. The Knight stood upright, apparently unaware that his companion's head barely reached his knee. But that reminder could come later, after they were settled.
"A family, the Jedi are. Forgotten or left to the cold, no member should or shall be." He took a long, heavy-lidded look at the man. "Help you, I will. In any way that I can."
Obi-One walked into the apartment, the fingers of his right hand slightly splayed, trying (with a measure of caution and doubt) to locate the obstacles surrounding him through…the Force. The Force. 'Around and within', as he remembered from an early, and recently uncovered, discussion in his childhood.
The objects were around him…and the power to sense them was within himself.
Feeling a tiny lift in his heart, he managed to find an armchair--and uttered a surprised gasp when he plopped down a few more--feet--than he originally estimated.
A gurgle of laughter came from somewhere near him, from the mouth of the wizened Master, and flames erupted in his cheeks.
While he quickly readjusted his suddenly abnormally gawky body, a small, clawed hand came to rest on his knee, and he felt as though he were wreathed in soothing energy.
"I'm sorry--I didn't realize--" Obi-One fanned the fire, his words following his body's suit and fumbling miserably.
Yoda chuckled with understanding softness. "A small detail, it is."
Obi-One smiled. Small indeed, he mused, shifting on the low chair. The air was thick with a damp, salty, not entirely pleasant odor, and he tried not to allow the budding grimace to surface on his face.
But another good-spirited laugh revealed to him that he had failed. "Remember, you must not, the unique aroma of my homeworld, hmm?"
"…Do I?" Obi-One placed two bent fingers to his temple, sifting through the bits and pieces returned to his memory, the near-stench sending an itch to his mind. "…Yes…I think I do…" A grin split his face and he chuckled breathlessly. "I was…standing in the doorway…I think…and that smell filled my nose and…I…had a…stomach upset?"
Yoda released a thin peal of laughter. "Stomach upset, yes. Called that, it could be. A small child, no more than four cycles…one whiff of this place… on the floor, every last content of the tiny stomach was thrown."
"Oh gods, what a first impression I must've made!" Obi-One exclaimed, privately shocked at how candid he was allowing himself to be, especially so soon into their meeting. " A-And then…then you showed me how to move this…glowing little ball…levitation?"
"Mm, yes. Eager to begin object manipulation, you were. And excel quickly, you did."
Obi-One sobered, flexing his hands, feeling the faint pulse of power in them. "Will that--will the levitating ability--come back to me, given time?" It was disconcerting to hear the amazing skills he mastered as a young child, things he was now completely clueless about.
"Leave you, talents never do. Dormant, they are. Waiting to be drawn from once more. Have the power, Obi-Wan, you do. It is with you, always."
Obi-One inhaled, his initial disgust slowly vanishing, replaced by murmurs of his past, fragments of lessons and trials. "It…is with me."
And that was invaluable knowledge.
Qui-Gon powered down his saber with a flick of his thumb, panting heavily. Heat burned moist on his face and he wished, as he often did, that his hair was not quite so long, that it clung to his neck and jaw when damp.
And he wished too, perhaps more so, that the natural, light chestnut color was not under the grievous invasion of gray, gleaming lusterless silver and projecting his age to those who would consider it a weakness.
Of course, he reflected with a smile, an underestimation from the enemy was never a bad thing.
He locked eyes with his current adversary, who was picking himself up from the hard arena floor, and gave a single, strong nod.
Anakin had never underestimated him--and he certainly had never been the enemy. But Qui-Gon, with his decades of experience, still carried a few tricks up his sleeve.
Which accounted for the overly flushed countenance of his apprentice as the boy retrieved his own weapon and wiped his sweating hands on his leggings-a decidedly unattractive, but lasting, habit of Anakin.
"A good spar, Padawan." Qui-Gon announced, clapping the muscled shoulder. "A very good spar. You've excelled so quickly in every area, I'm astonished." He looked into the dark blue eyes and a shimmer came to his. "But I can't say I'm surprised."
Anakin beamed, his bronzed forehead shining in reflection of the strips of light above them. "Thank you, Master."
Qui-Gon grinned in return, then they headed for the bench where they left their towels and water containers, his eyes wandering to Anakin's rangy form. Countless times since his arrival from Naboo, Qui-Gon caught himself marveling at how rapidly his young student was maturing, how many bounds in lessons and training Anakin was making, strides in his independence, especially in assisting the saber class. More and more, the Master could glimpse a man materializing where there had been a messy haired, sprite of a boy, a Knight where there had been a Padawan.
But he would not get ahead of himself. His focus was always to be fastened to the moment, and at the moment, Anakin still had volumes to learn. Qui-Gon would not make the mistake of recommending him for the Trials prematurely. He was the Chosen One, the fulfillment of a prophecy that had to be carried out--and, beneath the gloss of fantastic destiny, he was Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon's fourth-and final-Padawan. The combination was something to be treasured, and Qui-Gon would not release it until the moment he felt it was right…not a day before.
And it would be done right, in the perfect setting, at the perfect time.
It would be private. It would be heart wrenching.
Yet it would not, could not, be as soul splitting as when he allowed his own hastiness to discard another precious jewel, throwing it to the jagged rocks, forgetting how beautiful and warm it had been.
This time, he would be mindful of that monumental error, so that Ani did not have to suffer as--another--had.
Swallowing an inexplicable lump in his throat, Qui-Gon grabbed a fuzzy white towel and pressed it to his dripping face. "Since your class doesn't meet today, why don't we eat down at Dex's? I haven't had my daily requirement of grease today."
Anakin chuckled. "It's very tempting, Master, but I have to run an errand for Master Espella on the other side of the city."
"Oh." He felt a twinge of disappointment, but smiled. "She seems to be running you ragged, Anakin."
Anakin shrugged. "I'm learning a lot, though, so it's worth the time…We can still have dinner together." His voice lifted hopefully.
Qui-Gon took a long, cool drink. "Of course. But be conscious that if the class begins to interfere with your studies or training, you'll have to cut back on how much you can help. You have priorities to tend to, Padawan."
A bit of the ease left Anakin's face, but his lip curled up. "Yes, Master. I know. I'll be careful."
Qui-Gon squeezed his arm. "Then I'll see you by seventh chime?"
"Yeah." The boy agreed, lingering a moment before jogging toward the double doors.
Qui-Gon remained in the empty, cavernous room and tried to gauge exactly what was unsettling him.
Obi-One flexed his fingers around the cold handle of the weight. It had been nearly five months since the operation began to stitch what was so ruthlessly torn within the fabric of his mind, and each day fibers were strengthening, threads intertwining, so that the patchwork's picture was becoming more clear to him. Often, the returned memories were a warmth wrapped around him in a chill--or a smothering blanket, covering his face so that his periphery was a dismal cloud of disappointments, failures and overwhelming pain, stealing his breath.
But eventually the air would flow free again.
As it did while his muscles tightened to lift the weight and he grunted, working in another strained repetition before releasing his grip. A cool sheen of sweat stood on his skin and he was admittedly tired, but a smile brushed across his mouth.
Master Windu was instructing him in basic saber technique and once he was reminded of the fundamentals, stances and blocks, specifics came easier, and he found himself slipping into dizzying new routines--then would be informed by a deep, pleased voice that these shocking revelations were remnants of his former fighting style, that the heady fuel of adrenaline was not fully responsible for the quick parries and blows he was executing.
Reaching for the first few handholds in a climb, cloaked in shadow, it's difficult to visualize your feet landing solidly on the summit, the heat of the sun burning close and intense on your shoulders.
But, Obi-One was slowly realizing, even as one approaches their goal, it doesn't become any more feasible.
Warmth was beginning to drift to the crown of his head--and Obi-One could scarcely believe it. His hands were raw from mending and climbing--and still, he wanted to attack his own sense of hope.
He knew now that there was a part of him that distrusted success, that peered suspiciously at the fluttery beat of his heart. Obi-One learned to stand at a sort of attention, rigid, to prohibit his mind from wandering…to entertain happy notions.
There were recovered shreds of shadow, of curling up in a corner and cursing himself for putting faith in a life of good times and good friends.
It was when Tahl was murdered, when he was locked in a strange place, chained, in damp clothes, when he could feel his chest sinking to his belly.
He had an intrinsic reflex even now to berate himself for daydreaming, while his schedule demanded he join Master Yoda for a session, then complete another workout, and a million other things that would surface.
The wall communicator buzzed, and he grabbed for his cane tipped against the couch. He despised the thing, but until he was given clearance from Bant--he already knew bribery wouldn't sway her--it was companion to his legs, clicking with each step.
He pressed his finger to the talk button. "Yes?" Ah no, I forgot to address myself.
"Obi-Wan?"
Surprised, he smiled. "Master Jinn. Yes, yet it's me…I haven't quite mastered the correct procedure in answering the communicator yet."
"I'll forgive you this time." The elder Jedi chuckled. "I was wondering if you'd eaten yet."
"No, I haven't."
"Anakin's been called away by an errand, so would you like to have midday meal?"
"Sure."
"I was thinking we could go to Dex's…Do you remember Dex?"
Obi-One's shoulders slumped minutely. "No. I-I don't think so."
The responding voice didn't hold any somberness. "Well then, we'll have a lot for you to catch up with. I'll just come by and get you."
"We can meet at the Temple entrance." Obi-One offered. It wasn't that he was too proud to wait for Qui-Gon's arrival, but he hadn't met with the Master in almost two months, and since then he had adapted well to the mapping of the huge Jedi dwelling.
"Alright then. I'll be there."
"Okay." Obi-One let his finger drop from the button, and went to retrieve his robe.
The Jedi Temple entrance was a crisp manifestation of what the Order strove to be: a sterling monument of purity, with clean, reflective steel untouched by grime, as the residents within were to model their own hearts.
But it was something of a pipe dream, a particularly well-known member of the Order thought as he approached the belly of the massive room. Because deeper within the building, rooms were dingy with age or abandoned, walls of energetic Padawans were plastered with bright posters.
And then…there was someone who outshone the esteemed, glinting space, like the moon among tiny stars.
Qui-Gon smiled, resting his hand on his past student's elbow. "Hello, Obi-Wan. It's been a…long time."
Obi-One reflected the expression he couldn't see--and didn't need to. "It has been, hasn't it?"
Qui-Gon brought his arms around the other's shoulders in a quick embrace. In truth, it was tremendously difficult to distance himself from his former Padawan while he knew the man was enduring rapid changes and inevitable pain…the Master's heart constricted every time he was reminded of the randomness of it. One moment could bring the swirled recollection of childhood, sweet and gentle, the next could be anything, every minute of the day held the potential of unearthing..
What a selfish fool had been so wrong in burying.
A 'long time' had been an eternity to Qui-Gon Jinn.
The separation appeared to have been more kind to Obi-One, who leaned into the friendly hug with a heightened confidence, as though he was slowly shedding foreign skin over his months-long recovery, and could move more freely.
After another second, Qui-Gon pulled back and saw realms of revived character in the unfocused set of eyes. More and more, my Obi-Wan. "You've made progress, little one."
Obi-One nodded with the pale stirrings of a flush on his face. "They did some scans a dew days ago. Fifty four percent of my memory has returned."
Simultaneously, Qui-Gon's heart lifted and his stomach dropped. Fifty four percent? Over half already. Force. He cleared his throat. "That's remarkable, Obi-Wan. And wonderful.
"Of course, I expect nothing less from you."
Obi-One grinned, sensing the shared warmth, able to feel a deeper communion now than scarcely eight weeks before.
"C'mon." Qui-Gon ghosted his fingers over his upper arm. "Let's go."
The streets were crammed with life forms, some strolling and some with a sense of great urgency, shouldering through the crowds with serious or irritated expressions, obviously cursing whatever entity decided there should be anyone blocking their way.
Qui-Gon was worried that in the compacted chaos he would lose Obi-One, but not wanting to make the other Jedi feel incompetent by keeping hold of his wrist, he relied on the sharpening Force talents of his companion to keep them in sync. It was an instinct Qui-Gon constantly stifled--he wanted only to protect him.
The Coruscant sun blazed above. Qui-Gon squinted, seeing the old-fashioned diner through the clusters of hungry populace.
He suppressed a groan. Lunch hour.
Once they were detached from the stream, the bearded man sighed, looking over at Obi-One. "It's a little busy." An understatement, considering the line that began at the register and ended somewhere outside the door, even curving around a bend.
"Makes me wonder if any of these people have actually tasted the food here."
Obi-One smiled. He couldn't recall any instances when Qui-Gon was genuinely flabbergasted. "Makes me wonder why you would be so eager to eat here, then."
Qui-Gon laughed. "Well, let's just say it's not the choice of cuisine."
They trekked to the tail of the line.
Palpatine drummed his fingers, slender slabs of fishbelly, freckled by liver spots, against the window pane. There was a vibration throughout his body, a thrum of great anticipation, as he stared out at the bright, mid-afternoon sky, a polar opposite of the inky darkness within him.
The Force was a great pool of black in his heart, and today it was bubbling… it knew, in the way it always knew, what was to happen.
He wasn't one for basking in the sun, he preferred clouds to clear skies, but even he could admit that the day was strikingly beautiful.
Because it would bring change, like the first gray flake of snow in late autumn.
It would come slowly.
And eventually, it would cover…it would smother everything.
Anakin pressed his eyes shut and steeled his emotions. This was always the hardest part, more difficult each time he was forced to do it.
"I better go, Padme. I'll call again--when I can."
"I know you will." She replied, her voice a projection of pure warmth and love, lessened none by electronic communication. "I miss you."
"Miss you too." A silence fell, and in it they could both feel the pulse of something always left unsaid, but that lived within both of them, waiting.
Forget the Jedi. Come to me. Come home.
I will.
But today was not the day, was as dreary as the rest, despite the dazzle of the unimpeded sun above the Padawan. "Bye."
"Goodbye, Ani."
Padme turned from the comm, her lips pursed to hold back a sob.
Dorme stood in the doorway. Both women were swathed in weak light, diluting their features enough that they truly did appear to be exact reflections of one another. The handmaiden moved to stand beside the Senator. "You didn't tell him?"
Padme smiled sadly, shook her head. "No."
Dorme's eyes narrowed in concern. "Milady, how much time do you have bef--"
"That doesn't matter." She interrupted. Her hair was collected in a clasp at the base of her neck, revealing the new fullness of her face, the deeper flush and fair glow. A few tears escaped and trailed down her cheeks. "Being a Jedi is his dream. There's an entire….there's an entire prophecy devoted to him."
A hand rested on her shoulder. "But he is devoted to you, Milady. He escapes there to speak with you."
"And that should be enough for me." Padme huffed. "I knew what I was getting into."
Dorme waited until their eyes met. "And so did he." She squeezed her friend's hand, then left the room.
Padme closed her eyes against the onslaught of more tears.
Anakin exited the booth, moving into the crowds of lower level citizens. He would never meld in with them, he stood out most anywhere he went, but it was doubtful anyone would recognize him in the first place.
He found himself thinking of his Master as he strolled, of the invitation he declined in favor of speaking with his wife. He regretted it only because it most likely hurt Qui-Gon, who probably dined at the apartment, as he usually did when Anakin was called away on an 'errand' or 'assignment'.
I don't want to lie to you but…there isn't any other way.
He had his justification--he just wished it didn't pain him so much.
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan edged forward in the line. Many of the patrons were leaving Dex's with take-out sacks, for which he was supremely grateful. Once they were seated, it would be easier to fall into deeper conversation, to reconnect after their time of slight distance.
It was his intention to visit with Obi-Wan more often, at least once a week, but he found himself busied by Anakin. Their relationship had suffered during the Naboo mission, the Master had to admit. They both had been…distracted, and it didn't help matters when he was forced to send the boy back to Coruscant prematurely.
And he had affairs of his own to deal with. He was receiving numerous guest speaking invitations, from sparring instructors and classes focused on mediation. Qui-Gon's methods were always nonviolent, whenever he could possible manage it, a trait that needed to be strengthened in many initiates and Padawans alike. He didn't view them as burdens upon his schedule, but they did detract from the time he could spend with Obi-Wan. He declined a few, but Mace and many others advised him he would be of immense help to struggling students.
There had been a lift in Qui-Gon's chest when he was told, albeit quietly and discreetly, by his Jedi comrade that his name was somewhat of a legend around the children's quarters at the Temple. He had always been a figure of mystique and interest to the younger sect, a towering man who had no problem defying the Council whenever he had the inspiration to.
But now…now he was the Master of Anakin Skywalker, the boy who had outgrown most of his childhood foibles, striding with confidence through the halls, the glow of destiny surrounding him. Qui-Gon had located and championed the Chosen One. He was a living part of the Jedi's greatest prophecy, a survivor of the epic battle with the Sith Lord. His reputation had lent a spark of admiration to the youngling's eyes--and perked their ears, to listen as he explained the pillars of the Code, or how to deflect a strike to the neck without a weapon, or the virtues of his own brand of stoicism.
Of course he had spoken to Obi-Wan since the day he voluntarily departed from the healers' ward, and from his place as the recovering Knight's caretaker. For the first several months, he stopped in for tea, during which he would be brought up to date on Obi-Wan's progress, and in turn would inform Obi-Wan of Anakin's latest advancements. But the past two months were hectic. Obi-Wan was slowly being allowed to take on more exercises for his mind and body, his sessions with Yoda and the psychologist concurrently increased. Qui-Gon and his apprentice left on a brief assignment.
Time had definitely caught up, to supply for the precious moments on Naboo when the hours held still for them.
Although, every now and then, it took pity.
Qui-Gon was smiling as they advanced in the line again. "You've gained more weight." He observed.
Obi-One chuckled. "Who knew that would ever be taken as a compliment?" He crossed his arms with a not-altogether-innocent grin. "But none of it can be attributed to the…uh…dishes served at Master Yoda's meetings."
Qui-Gon felt the rumble of warm mirth in his throat. "Ah yes. Delicacies from the swamp."
"Gorghalian wet biscuits." The Knight's grimace mimicked, very well, the expression that came over most faces when that particular food passed through their lips. "A taste I sorely wish I would've remembered before I put it in my mouth."
"Hmmm." Qui-Gon couldn't help the laughter that broke free. "It isn't too often one is lucky enough to experience that first, sumptuous bite twice."
"If I didn't know better, I'd say he was attempting to reverse my healing."
The quip brought broad smiles to them, because not only were they well aware of the ancient sage's culinary skills…but it was a pleasure to hear that Obi-Wan did, truly, know better the Master's nature.
"Speaking of which," Qui-Gon's eyes twinkled as he glanced upward, "I think we're next to sample some more delicious, what does he call them…'eats'."
Qui-Gon was accepting two menus from a scantily dressed waitress when the distinct call of one of his oldest friends filled the bustling diner.
"Well, well!"
Dex ambled over to their booth, wiping at his face with a tattered, stained rag. His wide form dominated the aisle, and his massive, loose-skinned belly peeked out from the white shirt and wrinkled apron he wore. His head looked as though it were almost piled atop his shoulders, with a graying black moustache concealing a plump upper lip. "This is quite a surprise!" He chortled, with his crookedly genuine smile.
Qui-Gon stood and was immediately enfolded in twin pairs of arms, receiving a jarring pat on the back when he broke away. "Good afternoon, Dex."
The alien laughed again, a thick, wheezing sort of sound. "Not every day you snot-nosed Jedi disgrace yourselves by comin' here. Were ya exiled?"
Qui-Gon chuckled and Obi-One smiled from his seat on the bench.
Dex's expression softened as he focused two pools of black on the Knight. The three had always had a great rapport, even when the kid really was a kid, and too uptight for his own good. As the years passed, Obi-Wan began to shed the confines of apprenticeship, and Dex was impressed by the level of dry humor the Jedi could so effortlessly display.
The two Jedi fit alongside the regular patrons of the restaurant. They didn't recoil from the crackling of grease or the occasional swear.
Simply put, they weren't under the illusion that some among their ranks were--they weren't little versions of the gods, just put down on the ground for a short stay.
So when they came by with a couple of inquiries, about a planet or a mining operation or whatever latest problem they were stuck with by the Council, Dex was more than glad to help.
But it had been---a long while since he saw them here, together. And much longer since he had seen the kid here.
It was a shame that someone as decent as Kenobi would be the target of something so ruthless. Dex felt a painful lump in his chest and he shook his head, catching the attention of Qui-Gon.
"Just be yourself." The Master mouthed silently.
Dex nodded, although the caution was useless. He only knew how to be himself--and it was still the kid, after all. He laid a blunt-fingered hand on his shoulder.
"You puttin' up with this guy?" He grinned. "That's a surefire way to lose your lunch."
Obi-One managed a slow smile. "Really? He told me the food usually did that."
Dex laughed. "Nah, he's always been a rotten liar! You're both just used to that fancy Jedi food. You don't know real grub. Speakin' of which, you guys know what you want?"
Obi-One started to say that he didn't, but the robust alien laughed again. "It's alright, kid. I know what you always like."
"And what about me?" Qui-Gon wondered, visibly amused.
"I know that, too. How else do I bring ya somethin' ya hate every time? That ain't just luck!"
Qui-Gon snickered against his fist as Dex disappeared through the swinging kitchen door.
"So, this dish that I always like…" Obi-One bit his lip. "Do I really?"
This time, Qui-Gon laughed heartily.
For awhile, they simply engaged in light conversation, not feeling the pressure to speak in any measure of seriousness.
Dex brought them their steaming plates. The heat wafted up around Obi-One's face and he smiled--he refused to think that he was nervous about eating a meal.
If all else fails, I'll just swallow-very fast. He planned out in his mind as he picked up a cold fork. Unless it's still alive, of course. He swallowed. Oh gods, what if it's still alive?
"C'mon now, kid. You look like you're in front of a firing squad. No one's died from the food yet."
"'Yet' being the operative word." Qui-Gon muttered. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to visit the lavatory…Strange, considering I'm usually running to it after I've eaten this slop."
Dex's amusement projected richly in the cramped space. "Have a blast, ya ingrate. I'll just be re-corrupting your old apprentice here."
"Then, may the Force be with you, Obi-Wan. Gods let it be with you." Qui-Gon deadpanned, with a sly grin, before departing.
Dex gave a bark of laughter, then plopped down on the vacated bench. "Don't listen to 'im, kid. Without my influence, ya wouldn't be the fine, upstanding gent you are today."
Obi-One smiled. Faint color rose on his cheeks. "You and Master Qui-Gon must be great friends. I've never--heard him act that way before."
Dex rubbed at his bristly chin. "Yeah, we've always had a special relationship. Usually, I'd kill a fella who badmouths the food the way he does."
"How did you two meet?"
"Ha! You ask that kinda question to such an old codger. I barely remember what I ate for breakfast this mornin'." He sobered a little as he looked into the sightless eyes. "I do remember, real well, the first time I met you though. Ya came in here with Qui-Gon, your head not even to his shoulder. Ya barely said a word and all ya ate were ice cubes."
"How exciting I was." Obi-One smirked.
"But after awhile, ya became a food vacuum and I had to barricade the kitchen to keep you from eating the place out of business."
"Oh geez." The Knight groaned. "From all that I've gathered, I've had quite the reputation of being--a hog."
Dex chuckled. "There's no nice way of sayin' it. But, once you grew up, you were pretty much back to your preferred menu of ice cubes. Either way, ya drove ol' Jinn nuts." He wet his lips. "I can't tell ya how glad I am to see you friends with him again."
Obi-One's forehead wrinkled. "What do you mean?"
Dex's jubilant expression fell to grave. He saw Qui-Gon returning to the booth and frowned at his confused companion. "You're telling me he didn't--" But then he stopped himself. Not my place. Definitely not.
Qui-Gon was walking towards the table when he glanced out the window--and froze.
Strolling down the street was his apprentice.
What's Anakin doing in this area? What errand could Master Espella have assigned him down here?
He wanted to rush out and confront the boy, but Anakin was already disappearing into the crowd, and friends were waiting for him.
Besides, he probably has a legitimate reason for being here. Straightening slightly, Qui-Gon rejoined Dex and Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan, increasingly sensitive to his surroundings as time progressed, smoothed out the brooding lines on his face and folded his hands. Perhaps he didn't understand Dex's wording…had misinterpreted his meaning. In any case, it was too small a matter to bother Qui-Gon with. Why turn a falling star into an asteroid?
Still, he couldn't dismiss it completely.
He was beginning to understand that he wasn't wired to take much of anything lightly. He didn't act on impulse. Every situation was under his scrutiny long enough to be viewed from numerous angles. No, he would not ask Master Jinn about Dex's comment—but he would not forget it, either.
Qui-Gon resumed his place at the booth and took up his fork, but there was something noticeably different, albeit almost imperceptible, in his expression.
The bulging entrepreneur didn't act as if he was aware, and was only too happy to revert the conversation to merry topics.
Both Jedi participated in the talk, yet much of the spirit had been drained from them.
And Dex was immensely troubled, when they departed, to discover there had not been one wisecrack directed at his cuisine while they ate.
Okay, time to explain! I've hit an enormous speed bump in this, and I'm slowly coming around to it again. Now that summer's here, and I've graduated, this will be updated. This is only about half of the chapter, and I'm posting it to push myself back into this story. It's still my biggest endeavor, and I will never abandon it! Thank you to any readers I may have left—LuvEwan