A/N: Sorry this took longer than usual. I've reached the end of my planning, so it might take a bit longer. Thanks for sticking with me! I love you::hugs, kisses, kittens:
To reply to an earlier question which I actually meant to respond to earlier . . . :blush: Uh, "caf table" is just something I made up. I've seen characters in SW stories drinking "caf," which is obviously coffee, and I couldn't think of a good Starwarism for coffee table, so I just borrowed that. Thanks again for reading! If you have genuine questions, I will try to answer them. It's eaiser now that ff.n gives you a reply-to address in the emails.
Chapter 43: Julune and the Jedi
Julune paused on the stoop, her hand reaching toward the door, her eyes transfixed on the wide picture window beside her as she watched the scene that unfolded on the other side. Her husband was walking toward the couch with something small cradled in his hand, and she could just see the top of her son's bright head peeking over the couch cushion. That was unusual—Obi-Wan usually took care to make sure that no part of him was visible from the windows, one small self-protective habit among many. Something must have happened to distract the boy from his constant wariness.
Qui-Gon sat on the couch, saying something, handing the small object to their little one. She recognized the intent look on her husband's face, the sorrow and love and tentative hope, the sweet, aching tenderness. It was a familiar expression—Qui-Gon wore it nearly all the time Obi-Wan was near. But now she saw something more there. The hope was stronger, a bit more certain, more eager.
Something had happened. Had another barrier been breached?
They had talked at length about this, in hushed murmurs under cover of soft darkness while their son slept uneasily between them. Both had seen that something more needed to be done, but neither knew what it was. Obi-Wan was not talking, and he was not healing, but they had been unsure of what to do about it. Qui-Gon must have found an answer while she was gone today.
Fierce joy surged through Julune, and she was grinning before she knew it. With light, eager steps, she backed away from the door and walked around to the back of the house. She would enter through the garden door into the kitchen and make dinner, giving her menfolk another hour to talk, to complete whatever process they had begun. It was actually Qui-Gon's turn to make the evening meal tonight, but she didn't mind at all.
Deft fingers found the latch on the heavy wooden gate that led into the garden, and she let herself in, delighting in the familiar, friendly squeak of the old-fashioned metal hinges. The garden was a grandeur of blooms and vegetation, and she paused for a moment to look over it, frowning lightly. Too many weeds. They really needed to take a day to maintain their garden.
After all, that was one reason they had been so eager to return to Thyferra—to be allowed to cultivate their beloved plants in peace, without the constant upset of moving. Now they would be able to give the redberry bushes the two years they needed before they could bear fruit, to plant perennials and start planning their rock garden, and to grow their own herbs for tea—so much better than anything available at the market. It was understandable that the garden had fallen by the wayside in recent days, but they shouldn't abandon it to complete ruin. Eventually—soon, maybe—Obi-Wan would want to come outside again, feel the sunlight, talk to the breeze. They ought to have a suitable place prepared for him. The boy had so loved that tiny, stunted garden on Bandomeer.
And speaking of tea . . . Julune wondered if any mynta was still growing in the herb patch. It was a hardy plant, and tended to grow well with no attention at all. Perhaps she could gather a few leaves for a cuppa. Qui-Gon liked his tea strong and black, and Obi-Wan seemed quite fond of marjili, but Julune would always love her mynta.
She walked toward the back corner of the garden, listening to the earthy clip of her shoes on the brick path that wandered haphazardly through the riot of green. Her feet, always aching of late, seemed soothed just to be where they were. She could smell the plump red vegetables ripening on their vines beside the path, feel the sun warm on her skin, hear the rustling of the breeze in the plants . . .
Julune paused. There wasn't much of a breeze. Why did she hear so much rustling? And that . . . that soft, irregular noise . . . was that someone's voice? She didn't recognize it.
The blood began to rush her in ears, her heart pounding, head whirling. Obi-Wan had been so afraid, so certain that someone was going to come after him, and now an intruder had found a way into their garden. The violation dizzied her.
And it angered her.
Julune's focus narrowed down to a pin-point, her brow furrowing, lips pinching together in concentration. No time for hysterics now. She had to act swiftly and surely. Her eyes cast about for a weapon, lighting on a small garden spade leaning against a nearby tree. It would do. Qui-Gon had taught her that anything could be deadly, with the right leverage and skill.
She scooped up the spade, hefting the wooden shaft experimentally in one hand. It was heavy. It would work.
The intruder was near the back corner, near the herbs, perhaps among them. All the worse. Julune stalked steadily nearer, pulling up her mental map of the garden to ascertain her position. She could hide behind the trellis near the back wall, jump out before her enemy knew she was there.
With soft steps she slipped into position, listening intently to the small movements and grunts of her quarry. She couldn't quite get a fix on whoever-it-was, couldn't make her fit her idea of a hulking, evil slaver—it sounded masculine, but not very intrusive. And not very stealthy at all. He obviously had no idea she was here.
The movements slowly moved closer, along with more rustling and soft murmuring in an odd, rough voice. Julune bided her time. Almost there . . .
Now! At the right moment, Julune jumped out from behind the trellis, sweeping the spade through the air with a shout.
And she nearly fell over when her weapon ended up pointing not at a man, but at a small green creature kneeling in the middle of her mynta patch, looking up at her with calm yellow eyes.
Big, pointed ears twitched with annoyance or amusement, and the creature lifted a tiny, three-clawed hand, still gripping the shaft of a weed. "Away put your weapon. I mean you no harm."
Julune's mouth dropped open, and she slowly lowered the spade, panting with adrenaline and shock, both swiftly ebbing. "You . . . you . . ." Her eyes narrowed swiftly. "Who are you? What are you doing here? Why are you weeding my mynta?"
The wizened little creature dropped the plucked weed and stood easily on his feet, then bowed respectfully, his hands clasped over his chest. "Good greetings to you, Mistress Jinn. With you, the Force is. Strong, it is, in this place of growth and light."
Slowly a memory began to tug at a corner of her mind, and she pointed a trembling finger. "You're that . . . that little Jedi Qui-Gon talked to over the comm. I wasn't paying much attention at the time. I can't remember your name. Have you come for Obi-Wan?" She frowned prodigiously, and raised the spade again. "You can't have him. He belongs here, with us, where he has a chance to be happy."
The gray-haired head nodded solemnly. "Great truth you speak, Julune Graffon-Jinn. Belong here, does Obi-Wan Kenobi. Or is his name Jinn now, as well?"
"We hadn't discussed it." Julune lowered the spade again, beginning to tremble gently now with spent adrenaline, so abruptly unneeded. She frowned lightly in thought. "I like the name Kenobi. Perhaps he'll want to hold on to that part of himself. We certainly can't erase his past, as much as we might like to. Maybe he should keep that part of his heritage."
"Kenobi-Jinn?" The strange being offered the compromise with wide, guileless eyes.
Julune nodded, then shook herself, angry that she had been so easily tricked into having a semi-normal discussion with an intruder she still wasn't sure she should trust. "You haven't answered my questions. Who are you? No wait, I remember—you're Master Yoda, the head of the Jedi Council. What are you doing here? Why did you come?"
The little Jedi Master blinked slowly. "Why? For the same reason that willing you were to take on any enemy single-handedly just to protect your son, Mistress Jinn. As for what—need tending, your garden does. Time it is to prepare the evening meal, and looking I was for nipu leaves."
"Oh." Julune blinked. "Those are in that corner of the herb patch, over here."
Quite without meaning to, she found herself abandoning the spade, and showing the small green Jedi where all of her herbs were planted. And soon enough they were kneeling, weeding, harvesting the needed snips and cuttings, and talking amiably and enthusiastically about every plant they knew.
X
Qui-Gon knew that it was getting toward time to start evening meal, and it was his turn. But he was very comfortable, just sitting here on the couch, looking out the window at the part of the garden that was visible from this angle—mainly the fruit trees and an edge of the vegetable plot. And despite his nap and the period of rest, he was exhausted. He would never have believed that "just" thinking and feeling could drain his energy as thoroughly as hours of hard physical labor. At least, he wouldn't have believed that before he met Julune—by now he had learned quite a bit about non-physical exertion.
And now Obi-Wan was teaching him more. Qui-Gon smiled softly, and glanced down at his boy. It hadn't taken long for the boy to shift closer to him on the couch, and he now leaned against the big man's muscular arm, head still bent as gazed down at his river rock, one thumb slowly rubbing the smooth surface. It still amazed Qui-Gon, when he stopped to reflect on it, how much he still had to learn, how much this incredible child had revealed to him already. The universe was a marvelous place, hiding its most brilliant treasures in the most hidden and shadowed corners. How unlikely was it, that a former Jedi, a wanderer, and a scientist could form a family? Yet they had. And it was beyond beautiful, despite—or because of—its many flaws.
Eventually Qui-Gon became aware of cheerful, friendly voices in the kitchen, and lifted his head in curiosity. He hadn't heard the back door open. But then, he hadn't been paying very careful attention.
He glanced back at Obi-Wan, and saw the red-gold head tilted upward, looking in the same direction. The boy felt the gaze on him and looked up, meeting his father's eyes.
"Something's up." Qui-Gon tipped his head toward the kitchen. "Want to check it out?"
Obi-Wan nodded easily. They managed to untangle the afghans twisted over them without too much awkwardness and made their way to the wide doorway. There Qui-Gon paused, his mouth dropping open slightly in shock. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't this.
Yoda stood on the counter beside the heating surface, stirring a pot with one hand as he sprinkled something into it with the other. Julune sat at the table a couple of feet away, chopping vegetables with practiced ease. And they were chattering. About plants.
Julune and a Jedi. Julune and Master Yoda, no less. He never would have guessed.
Qui-Gon may have uttered some sort noise, perhaps a squeak or a strangled hiccup. Whatever it was, Julune looked up, her face immediately breaking out in a broad, brilliant grin.
"Hello, darling! Did you have a good day?"
Qui-Gon blinked. He really didn't know how to answer that. No short answer would suffice, and a good answer would take far too long. He settled on something between a nod and a shrug, then looked down at his little one, who was watching the proceedings with a very glum expression.
"Master Yoda is cooking," he said in a voice meant for Obi-Wan's ears alone. "Are you all right with that?"
Obi-Wan glanced up at him, then sighed heavily and looked at the Jedi calmly standing on their counter. "Are you making soup, Master Yoda?" he asked respectfully.
The small Master nodded his head once in easy agreement. "For the first course, it is."
The boy sighed again, even more deeply and dolefully, and looked up at Qui-Gon with the largest, saddest eyes the man had ever seen.
Qui-Gon had to struggle not to laugh. He swallowed the chuckles bubbling up through his chest with some difficulty, and fashioned his expression into one of sympathy and understanding. "I'm sorry, little one."
He looked back to his wife and their small guest and spread his hands in helpless acceptance. "Is there anything we can do to help?"
Of course, there was.