Chapter 3
Qui-Gon's broad back reminded Valia of a wall as she picked up a tray for another table. He was sitting at the same table as before with his back toward the noisiest part of the storefront, facing the tree. She hesitated, wondering if he wanted to be left alone. But he could do that countless other places besides here, couldn't he? Sooner or later he would want someone to wait on him if he was here. Drre made a move to go to his table, and that decided her. She stopped her with a raised hand. "I'll get it," she said. Her staff member raised an eyebrow but said nothing. It was quite normal for the owner to wait tables and work the counter like the rest of the staff. It was unusual for her to single out a certain customer. She moved away to another table. Valia paused again. Had this been anyone else, she would have already been over there with an enthusiastic "Hey, Qui-Gon! How's it hanging? What's up at the Temple? What are those fat bastards in the Senate up to today?" Somehow this just wasn't going to happen. Not with him. Well, if she was ever going to get over this shyness and be somewhat comfortable with him as a regular customer, she should just walk over there now. Taking the tray with her, she decided she'd just see what he wanted on her way to the other table.
Valia circled around him and saw that his eyes were closed and his hands were folded neatly in his lap. What was he doing, napping? She tilted her head and curiously studied his calm face, leaning closer. It wasn't classically handsome like the young faces of Ravi, Paccaia and Bracca. But it was compellingly attractive to her, and growing more so every time she saw him. A few loose strands of his long hair had escaped the section tied back above his ears. They floated in the breeze. She wondered what his hair felt like, if it was soft. His nose was fascinating. It had to have been broken, probably long ago. There was surely some interesting history in that face. She wondered if she would ever know it. She also felt like an unbelievable snoop, staring at him like this. On that thought, he suddenly sighed and snapped open his eyes. They were already focused on her. Startled, Valia gasped and took a jerky step backwards, jostling and spilling everything on the tray she held. Green juice spouted over the edge and splattered on the stone. She shut her eyes in an embarrassed grimace. Immediately his hand was on her arm.
"I'm sorry," they both said at the same time. Valia's eyes flew open. The hand that was cradling her arm was rock solid and steadying. It also felt as though every single molecule of her had suddenly been magnetized and was pulling in the direction of his touch. Even through the fabric of her sleeve she could feel the sparkling warmth of it. Unable to keep her eyes on his any longer, she dropped her gaze.
"I didn't mean to startle you."
"Well now, I could easily say the same to you," he answered gently. He seemed to remember he was touching her and quickly withdrew his hand. That had been a purely reflexive move, to reach out to her.
"Were you asleep?" Valia asked, setting juice-soaked objects upright on the tray.
"No, meditating."
Oh great, she thought. I've intruded on some sacred Jedi ritual. But didn't he have a whole temple full of places to do that? She gestured back toward the tables full of noisy customers and tourists. "In the middle of all this?"
He shrugged. "One finds many ways to tune out harmless background distractions."
Every distraction imaginable except you, Qui-Gon thought, wondering how it was she looked more disarmingly lovely every time he saw her. No, I haven't figured out how to tune you out yet, and I'm not sure I really want to.
Once again, he'd been driven or drawn over here, he wasn't sure which. He had not managed to crush out that spark of interest in this woman. During the past week he had been so uncharacteristically snappish and irritable he'd nearly sought out a temple healer to make sure there was nothing physically wrong with him. But he had an idea what the problem was, and it had something to do with a pair of haunting gray eyes. Obi-Wan was avoiding him, and he was sure his name was being whispered in the stone hallways and chambers of the temple. The first he needed to remedy, but the second he could do nothing about, and really could not care less.
Yesterday he had called for a gladiator droid, hoping to release some of this tension. A quarter of an hour later, when it was all over, and the four-meter tall opponent was reduced to scattered, charred sections of smoking machinery, he'd felt marginally better. Scowling and sweating in the middle of the hazy chamber full of wreckage, he'd absently noted he'd even taken a couple of chunks out of the walls. Bad form. But as he deeply inhaled the stench of ozone and cauterized machinery, trying to find his center of focus and calm, he knew this was not a solution. There were those in the temple who would have instantly seen this was not a heavy lightsaber workout, this was an inner battle. Well, right now he didn't give a womp-rat's ass who saw or what they thought. Not wanting anyone to ask him what was troubling him, he'd quickly stalked out of the room. Why her? Why now? This was something he should be counseling young Obi-Wan through, not wrestling with himself. He'd deal with this, one way or another.
One of those ways appeared to be to simply let go and just be here, where she was. Personal distraction or not, it seemed the only way to keep some measure of peace within himself. He could tell himself he was here to protect her and make sure she wasn't being harassed. But that would probably be a lie. Even that excuse grew flimsier every minute he saw that she wasn't. He was here because he wanted to be. And he was thirsty. Shouldn't that be reason enough? Listening to his instincts had served him well in the past. Right now they were telling him to sit here, patiently wait the situation out, and observe. Observe, he snorted inwardly. Oh, yes indeed. Today the lovely Miss Traxis was wearing a sky-blue duster over a midriff-baring outfit of the same soft material. Her hair was softly twisted away from her face above each ear and trailed down her back in a long thick rope. She stood there holding the sopping tray looking at him apologetically with those eyes. He desperately wanted her to be at ease, just be herself around him. He wanted to be near the living heat and light that were her life-force. He was also dangerously close to wanting her, if he hadn't already crossed that Jedi-forbidden line.
Valia glanced down at the puddle of spilled juice on the stone pavers and noticed droplets of it on his tall boots. Horrified beyond what she normally would have been at such a thing, she launched into fresh apologies. "Master Jinn, I'm so sorry, but I think I got some of this on you. Let me just go get--"
"Don't worry yourself about it." He waved a hand dismissively.
"But it's on your--"
"Lia."
There it was again. That head-swimming rush she felt when he said her name like that. Something inside her went all warm and drippy. She shook her head to clear it.
"Believe me, this is hardly the worst thing that has gotten splashed on these boots." He leaned back in his chair almost indolently, but sharply focused his mind on calming her. "Let's see, in the times I've been here, I've had flowers dropped on me and now been blessed with a sprinkle of fruit juice. I think that makes the situation casual enough for you to just call me Qui-Gon."
Valia stared at him, transfixed by his eyes. She was vaguely aware of a hypnotic, song-like humming in her head. A nearly euphoric peace settled over her. This was such a trifling thing, he really didn't mind. She'd done nothing wrong. Everything was fine. Was he messing with her head again? She decided she didn't care, even if he was. She smiled and sighed.
"All right...Qui-Gon. I came over here to see if there was anything you wanted. Can I get anything for you?"
"Do you have any of that Cerean juice?"
Valia grimaced and closed her eyes again. "I'm all out of that." This was really going well.
"More fungus problems?" Qui-Gon quipped, smiling up at her.
Valia laughed. "No, no. I'm just out of the syrup base and it won't be in until tomorrow."
She thoughtfully rubbed her chin and quickly tried to think of something similar that might please him. "I've got a few experimental recipes I've been working with. If you'd like, I can mix up something for you."
Qui-Gon considered this. Normally he detested being fussed over in any way. He wasn't sure how he felt about her being the one to do it.
"What, don't you trust me?" she teased when he didn't answer right away. She had one hand jauntily on a gracefully curved hip. Now that was an interesting question, he thought. He covertly eyed the bare skin above her stomach. It looked silky soft, over the flat muscles.
"You don't have anything poisonous back there, do you?" he teased back.
"Just the Ithorian Lida tree sap. But I promise not to use any of that."
"Well then," he said. "I leave myself in your capable hands."
Before Valia could think too much about that statement, she began moving away. "Just let me take care of this mess, and I'll be right back," she said, holding out a hand as if to keep him from leaving. Qui-Gon simply nodded complacently and closed his eyes again.
She shoved her way through the crowd back to the counter. Drre was the first server she saw. "Please fix this order, Drre and run it out to table 11. A little accident." She really didn't want to go into an explanation of what had happened. She was already thinking up a concoction of juices and extracts, mixing in her head as she reached into refrigerated bins and units for what she needed. He wouldn't want anything too sweet. Or too flowery. She mixed syrups and juices in a pitcher, accurately estimating amounts. She thought of the taste of the Cerean juice and drew from the extensive palette of remembered flavors and essences stored in her memory. She entered the recipe into a keypad, in case he really liked it. Or hated it. She diluted it down and took a hurried taste with a spoon. She approved. It tasted just like she'd imagined.
"Hey Lia, you got the izziwip syrup down there?" Chuluk shouted from his station down at the other end of the bar.
"Coming at ya!" she yelled back and sent the dispenser down to him in a graceful underhanded throw. He caught it with practiced ease and shot a stream of it into the drink he was mixing. Tightly covering her pitcher, she placed it with a glass and a hand towel on a tray.
"I will not spill this, I will not spill this..." she muttered softly to herself like a prayer the whole time. Holding the tray over her head, she elbowed her way back out toward the tree. She saw a familiar face.
"Hey, loser!" She happily pulled and snapped the harness strap against the back of a monstrous freighter pilot. "When did you hit town?"
The man turned around. He was drinking large tumbler of something that looked like blood. A smile split his face as he looked down. "About an hour ago."
"You took a whole hour to get your butt over here and see me?" Valia gave him a mock glare, hand on her hip.
"Traffic was bad."
"When is traffic not bad around here?"
"How's my favorite little fruit-squishing farm girl?" He wrapped her head and shoulders in a one-armed hug until she squawked.
"Watch who you're calling 'farm girl'!"
"Or what? You'll take a pitchfork to me? Or prune me?"
"Oooh, don't give me any ideas, especially about what to prune..."
He laughed and she grinned as she moved away from her friend. "I'll talk to you in a few minutes," she threw over her shoulder. She gave quick greetings to several more friends on her way back to Qui-Gon.
The odd sensation of time itself slowing down struck her as she reentered the pool of tranquility surrounding the Jedi Master under the tree. She carefully set the pitcher and glass down on the table in case he was at his meditating again. He opened his eyes.
"All right," she said as she poured. "Try this."
She waited expectantly as he took a drink from the glass. She breathed again when she saw a positive reaction.
"This is wonderful," he said. "What's in it?"
"Ha! I thought you trusted me."
"Oh, I do. I just want to know what to ask for the next time I come here thirsty."
She smiled and leaned forward on the back of another chair. "A Traxis secret recipe." She remembered the entry number had been 217 when she had been logging it in. "Just call it 'Poison Number 217'. I'll know what you want." She remembered the towel. "Oh, here's something to wipe off your boots." She handed it to him. Qui-Gon sighed and took it from her. He wiped the already dried and unseen juice from his boots more for her benefit than anything else.
The quick upward stab of sexual desire caught Valia completely off-guard. She nearly reeled from it. Maybe it was the way his long, strong-looking thighs flexed through the material of his trousers. Maybe it was the latent physical power she sensed in his easy posture. Maybe it was the mustache. She had no idea. Probably a whole combination of factors. I wasn't looking for this, she thought. I don't need this. She quickly tried to push the feeling away, the thought of her lips and tongue against his to a far back corner of her mind. Her attraction to him had been growing since the moment she'd met him and now it was spilling over like table 11's ill-fated order. She hadn't felt anything like this in years.
"Thank you," he said, handing the towel back to her. His fingertips brushed hers as she took it. She bit the inside of her bottom lip at his touch. She shifted her feet nervously and squeezed her thighs together. She was aware of a blooming heat and wetness there. Thank the gods she hadn't been any closer to him with that tray, or it would have gone into his lap. And how, pray tell, would she have offered to clean that up?
"And thank you," he said again, raising his glass toward her in a toast-like motion. He took another drink.
"It's not too sweet for you?" she asked. Taste was such a subjective sense.
"No."
"Not too tart?"
"No."
"You aren't picking up any hint of sliminess at all, are you?"
Sliminess? He gave her a long quizzical look from beneath raised eyebrows.
"Because I can add a little more piock juice, it's got astringent properties that would cut that..."
A smile crept into his lips. "No. It's perfect the way it is. Would you like me to fill out a survey form?"
Valia stared at him, holding the towel with both hands. She twisted it so hard her knuckles cracked. She was rambling on and dilly-dallying, and she knew she shouldn't. What she should do is run and hide.
"Or you can sit down a while, if you'd like, and you can discuss your formulation with me."
He was openly inviting her to do what she was thinking, and stay. How she wanted to sink into a chair next to him and listen to that voice some more. Study that mustache. All day long. She shook her head, fighting the vortex pulling her to him, and it wasn't a Force-driven suggestion from him. It was in her. She gestured vaguely with one arm toward the storefront. "I'm..." she trailed off.
"Of course," he nodded. "You're busy." He studied her for a few seconds as she collected the tray and made ready to leave.
"If you don't see me here for some time, it's not that you've mortally offended me. I'm just going off-world for a while."
Why had he been compelled to tell her that? He was answerable to no one for his day-to-day whereabouts. Yet beneath her salt and breezy nonchalance, he sensed in this woman an enormous capacity to wonder and worry about each and every customer that crossed her path. They became her friends, her family. There were huge reservoirs of concern and care in her, and all it would take is some trivial incident or misunderstanding to accidentally tap them. Instinct again.
She shrugged. "I probably might have wondered. Well, not wondered about offending you. About you. Well, not worried about you yourself necessarily, because I'm sure you're quite capable of looking after yourself, but it's just that I...you...oh, never mind." She covered her eyes with a hand and blushed wildly.
Amused and charmed, Qui-Gon pressed his lips together to keep from grinning at her. He considered the novel idea of anyone wondering or worrying about him. With the possible exception of Obi-Wan, he had no one who would.
"Well, gotta run. Enjoy!" she said, and almost literally did, taking herself and her pink cheeks away from the table under the tree. Back to the noise, confusion and fast-moving familiar element she was used to. Back to her friends, the people she knew. He switched chairs so he was now facing the front of Lia's bar. He sat contemplatively, slowly drinking, trying to figure out what she'd put in 'Poison Number 217'. And why she'd suddenly acted so oddly.
Today was the first time she had really, truly smiled directly at him. It reminded him of a binary sunrise he'd seen on some forgotten world. He'd happened to be at a vantage point on the planet where both suns crossed the horizon exactly together. The sudden radiance and warmth was the same.
He observed the crowd of varied customers. He was restless to be gone from Coruscant. He needed action, duty. He needed to find out where that Corellian group of terrorists was getting their chemical weapons. He knew there were those who would say he enjoyed looking for trouble. Trouble, he mused, was subjectively defined, and something that didn't need looking for. It was right here. It was sweet and kind. It moved with an unconscious sensuality. It was beautiful large gray eyes in a heart-shaped face. When he next saw Lia, she was sitting surrounded by a cluster of pilots and freighter crew members, listening to a bawdy story. At least half of the male ones were tossing adoring looks her way. Jealousy never occurred to him. It was completely alien to him. But a longing he couldn't name spiraled deep inside him. She laughed at something the pilot known only as 'loser' said. She was smoking a water pipe, and blowing smoke rings. She closed her eyes as she took a long pull on the mouthpiece. To his annoyance, he found himself becoming sexually aroused by the sight of her. He forced down the physical reaction with a mental command.
She was just fine. She did not need him standing guard over her. He'd use this picture of her, along with his considerably stubborn will to not think of her at all after he walked away from here. He would simply forbid himself to think distracting thoughts of her until he set foot on Coruscant again.