Chapter 24: Three Months
One day Qui-Gon looked at his wife and noticed something. "Darling," he said in wonder, a genuine, delighted smile spreading slowly over his face. "You're beginning to show."
Julune stood in the doorway of the kitchen with the morning light in her hair, drinking a glass of muja juice. She smirked at him gently, then finished her juice and set the glass aside so she could give her softly-rounded belly a self-satisfied little pat. "That's right. I can't wait 'til I get big, so big that you can't help but notice, and everywhere we go people will know that I'm going to be a mother."
He was at her side in three slinking, long-legged strides, wrapping himself in her warm arms as much to feel her abdomen pressed against his as to remind her of his love. "It won't be long now. But you're wrong about one thing."
She passed her arms around his neck, lightly brushing his skin with teasing grace. "And what would that be, I wonder?" she asked, full lips curving in a coy smile as one eyebrow rose slightly.
"You're not 'going to be a mother.' You already are one. And no one can doubt it."
"Mmm." Julune laid her head on his shoulder, conceding the point. Then for a moment was only silence, and Qui-Gon knew that they were both thinking of the child who was not clasped safe and warm between them, the son who was wandering the stars.
He felt the slight tensing of muscles in her shoulders and back, and knew she was about to speak. Instinctively, he braced himself.
"Qui-Gon? It's been three months."
Of course he knew that. They were both fully aware of every day that passed as they were aware of the fact that they breathed air—always in the back of mind, present but unacknowledged. But they hadn't spoken of it for some time. "Julune . . ."
She took a deep, swift breath, and plunged recklessly on. "He said a few months. It's been a few months. I want to hear from him. I want to hear his voice."
His arms tightened slightly around her, as much to keep her from leaning back to look in his face as for any other reason. Somehow he couldn't bear to look at her, to see the pain he knew was there, too old and hard, a wound caked over and never healed. "I want that, too. You know I do."
"Then let's call the Jedi Temple. All they can say is no."
Qui-Gon frowned. Something tingled on the back of his neck, a sense of something being out of place, wrong, discordant. But he didn't understand the feeling, and he couldn't explain it to Julune. "I . . . I'm not sure that's the right thing to do . . ."
She planted her hands against his shoulders and pushed off, hard, separating them so she could glare into his face. "How could it be anything but right? I don't understand you."
Qui-Gon swallowed thickly. It was rare for that fierce glint to arise in Julune's eyes, and even rarer for it to be aimed at him. He'd never found a way to quell it without absolute, unconditional surrender, either, though he had sought long and hard for a path. He was well and truly trapped. "I can't explain it, dearheart. Just . . . let me meditate for a while, would you? We can talk about it again when you come home."
Julune jerked out of his loosening grip, movements sharp with frustration and anger. "All right. Fine. Have it your way. I'll be back in a few hours."
She swept out the door without another word, grabbing her cloak as she went. He stared after her with an icy sense of desolation sweeping through him, his hand frozen in the middle of reaching to call her back. Nothing had gone right for them since Bandomeer, it seemed. They had lost their harmony, and he ached with grief. This was not as it should be. Nothing was as it should be.
Well, he had a few hours to try to figure it out. Julune had been taking half-days at the corporation lately, training the research assistant who would replace her while she was on extended leave. Qui-Gon usually found himself at loose ends, and while that had never troubled him before, it did now. Somehow he could not fall back into his usual rhythm of wandering around, doing what he could, volunteering, chatting, doing. Everything seemed gray and useless, even on this world of tropical warmth and the jewel tones of the rain forest, a world made for healing and life.
Qui-Gon shook his head listlessly and slowly made his way out into the back garden. It was much larger than the one on Bandomeer, the soil and air and sunlight perfect to support all varieties of life, but he had not poured himself into the nurturing of it as he might have. Even now as he passed the flowerbeds he saw weeds that needed pulling, fragile plants that needed to be supported with slender stakes that even now sat in the small work shed, waiting to be used.
Later today, perhaps, he and Julune could come out here and do that together, lose themselves in the simple physical pleasure of dirty hands and knees, the scent of plants, the heat of the sun on their necks. It was worth a try, anyway. Any task that didn't require words could only be good for them.
His meditations lately had not been as smooth and easy as before, either. Qui-Gon now had to struggle to catch hold of the threads of the Living Force, when before it had come to him as easily as breathing. Sometimes it was all he could do just to find a measure of calm and peace, never mind any attempts to learn or grow in the Force. But today he did manage to touch the Force, at least. He sought no answers, simply let himself float in the cool flow as it meandered by to destinations unknown. Let the resolution come as it would, he decided at last. He would trust the Force to make everything right again.
And perhaps that was what he needed, this last weary surrender, for Qui-Gon surfaced from the meditation refreshed and centered, feeling much more himself. Always before he had struggled against the wrong he felt tainting his world, struggling to bend the cosmos, to make the broken ends of the circle meet. That was impossible, he saw now. Obviously, surrender had been the key all along.
He still didn't know what he ought to do. He still felt that everything was wrong, imbalanced, shifted out of tune, playing the wrong notes. But now he had faith that the right path would be found despite it all, even despite him and his puny efforts to make it so. It was enough. The slenderest thread of hope was better than the lack he had been enduring 'til now.
Qui-Gon rose smoothly to his feet and walked back to the house, his hand gently, absently touching the waist-high plants as he passed, taking pleasure in the knowledge of them. The sun was directly above—had he meditated for so long? For weeks, now, he hadn't been able to stay in the stillness for more than an hour at most. Today had been very successful, indeed.
He found Julune waiting for him in the kitchen, sitting at the table, tapping the cool simstone surface with her fingernails. She looked up as he entered, that stubborn bitterness still hardening the set of her mouth. "Well? What have you decided? Since you are the one who makes all the decisions now."
His heart sank into his boots, but before he opened his mouth to answer, the communicator on the counter began to buzz. Qui-Gon gave his wife a significant look, promising that they would discuss this later, then walked over and tapped the receive button. A hand-sized hologram flickered to life, and he blinked. While this person might not be the absolute last one he expected to see, he was certainly very near bottom of the list.
"Master Heim Shilbey." Qui-Gon bowed slightly, his eyes still fixed on the shimmering blue features. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"Qui-Gon Jinn." Shilbey's face creased in a hesitant smile. "I'm glad I caught you at home. I just . . . well, it's been a few months, and I wanted to check up on you. You never came to say good-bye, and while I suppose I can understand that, I still wondered. How are you doing? How is young Kenobi? May I speak with him?"
Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly, willing himself not to reel. "Master Shilbey . . . Obi-Wan isn't here. We never finalized the adoption documents. A Jedi Knight named Andros Martin came and fetched him—Knight Xanatos asked for him to be his Padawan. I haven't seen Obi-Wan for three months."
Shilbey's forehead furrowed. "Really? But that . . . that's odd. I don't remember hearing about . . . Well. Most apprenticeships are announced, at least in a text communication. I don't remember seeing Kenobi's name on the roster. Perhaps my eyes just skipped over it."
Qui-Gon's heart began to thunder in his chest. He remembered what Nira had told him, how fiercely Shilbey sought to protect all who came under his care. Surely he would have noticed Obi-Wan's name, if it had been there. The sense of something being out of place sharpened, tingling over his entire body like an electrical storm.
He became of aware of a warmth slowly easing up against his side, Julune's hand circling his arm. She was listening intently, her eyes fixed on Shilbey's distant visage.
The Agri-Corps supervisor seemed distracted, his eyes darting away. "I'm going to check the old communiqués. It must be there somewhere."
He disconnected without a farewell, but Qui-Gon barely noticed. He was already reaching for the numpad, entering a frequency he had looked up weeks ago, but never dared use. Julune's hand tightened on his arm.
A friendly Twi'lek face flickered into existence, polite but distant. "Jedi Temple of Coruscant. How may I direct your comm?"
"I'd like to speak to Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, please."
"I'm sorry, sir. Padawans are not permitted to receive direct communications from outside the Temple. You'll have to take it through his master." It was a message delivered by rote, the pleasant face still almost blank, and Qui-Gon wanted to rage against that absence of emotion. This was deathly important, couldn't she see that?
"Then let me speak to Knight Xanatos, please."
She turned away for a moment, apparently accessing information on a console, then faced him again. "I'm sorry, sir. Knight Xanatos is currently incommunicado on a mission. Would you like to leave a message for him?"
No, no, no. That would never do. Qui-Gon wanted to talk to a person, someone with answers. He bit his lip to keep himself from yelling this in her face. "Never mind. Could I speak with Knight Andros Martin?"
Again she turned away, accessing information. This time a slight wrinkle appeared on her forehead. "I'm sorry, sir. No Jedi exists with that name."
"Are you sure? He isn't on a mission or at a periphery temple or something?"
"Sir, our information at the Temple of Coruscant is always kept up-to-date on the entire Order. I assure you, we have no knight named Andros Martin."
"Please check again."
She did so, smooth face still Jedi-calm. "There is no Andros Martin in this database."
Qui-Gon swallowed. His breath was starting to quicken, too. "What about Obi-Wan Kenobi? Is the name in your records, even if we can't talk to him?"
Tense seconds of silence. "I'm sorry, sir. There is no Obi-Wan Kenobi in the Jedi Order."
Qui-Gon stared at the wall behind the communicator, seeing nothing. Julune's hand tightened on his arm, holding him painfully.
"Sir? Is there anyone else you would like to talk to?"
He transferred his attention back to the Twi'lek operator, willing himself not to shiver. "Who is the highest authority in the Jedi Temple?"
"That would be Master Yoda, sir, the head of the Jedi Council."
"I would like to speak to Master Yoda, please. It's very, very important."
For a time she just stared at him, and he wondered if she was going to refuse the request, if this Yoda was too important or too busy to talk with a stranger from Thyferra. But then, she looked away, movements suggesting that she was pressing buttons. "One moment, sir, while I transfer your comm."