With a deep breath, I let go of the door handle and let it click close. I feel exposed. Like gravity is suddenly gone and I need to grab the handle again and hang on for dear life as everything around me floats off into space. I rub at my eyes again to make sure any last little drop of moisture is gone, pull my cloak tighter around my shoulders, and stuff the folded poster from Qui-Gon's room into my pocket. I head into the grand hall, walking as quickly as I can. Jedi who once may never have known I existed are now making eye contact, smiling, nodding. Like in approval. I smile and nod back, praying each time no one talks to me.
I hurry down the steps and can hear from the sound of voices there's already a crowd gathering in the sparring hall. People huddled together, whispering in excitement, some indifferent and looking on skeptically. I push past to make my way to the front line.
Anakin is smaller than I remember. The grand marble columns and multi-story windows of the sparring hall seem to swallow him up. He stands with his head slightly bowed, arms dangling limply at his sides, a look of utter exhaustion and hesitation on his face. Not at all the headstrong, if not hypervigilant, little tinkerer I met on Tatooine. The one who apparently commandeered a ship and engaged in old-world dog fighting like the best of them. I feel a sudden urge to rush to him, wrap my arms around him, and say he's had enough for one day thank you very much. Is it my responsibility to step in? He's still technically in the final stages of his assessments. I'm not even really supposed to be here.
The moment seems to have come. Master Mundi finishes speaking inaudibly to him, rises to his feet, and places a training lightsaber gingerly in Anakin's hand. He steps back and places the blaster simulator on its pedestal several feet away, and tucks his hands into his robe sleeves expectantly. "Just like I showed you," I can barely hear Ki-Adi say with a nod, and Anakin presses the button that brings the sabre to life with a quiet hum. The light is colorless, translucent; barely powerful enough to cut paper.
The blaster simulator turns on and begins shooting small beams of light slowly at first, then more rapidly as Anakin effortlessly meets each one with his sabre. Despite abysmal form, and an admittedly adorable habit of sticking the tip of his tongue out in concentration, he's not missing a single shot. Ki-Adi shuts off the machine, and then approaches Anakin again, offering him a blindfold. Anakin has that look of worry again, but ties the satin cloth around his head. Once again, he meets each blast with perfect timing and precision. His mouth is slightly agape below the blindfold, as if he's equally stunned at his own ability.
"Seems you got your work cut out for you- that little tongue move! Ugh!" I hear beside me. I look to see Quinlan's smiling face. He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder.
A rush of joy cuts through the numbness that I haven't felt in days. "I guess so. Or maybe this boy will surpass me in a matter of months and then I'll really be screwed. I suppose I could always teach him carpentry."
Quinlan laughs so loudly the others in the crowd throw him stern glances. "I promise you'll be fine. Let's not forget just yesterday the council almost deemed him a lost cause. It's hard to somehow screw him up any lower than that." He winks ruefully.
"Well, gee, thanks," I blush down at the floor.
"Hey, I've been meaning to ask. How are you doing?" His tone changes.
At that simple little question, I feel tears rush to the backs of my eyes, so I just keep staring ahead at Anakin. "Well, I'm keeping busy. I have Anakin's room all ready. Nervous to reunite. I think we spoke maybe five words between us since meeting. And half of that was probably just glares from me."
Quinlan laughs again, but behind his cupped hand. "Yeah, I remember you complaining about him."
"Complaining? What the hell do you mean, I never complained about him!"
"Well, you did it classic Obi-Wan style." He smirks. "I remember we were chatting on messenger when you were looking for that part on Naboo. Remember, I was on Logistics that day? I asked you what the kid was like and you said something along the lines of 'I'm far too busy, I barely register he's there'." He says that last bit in a mock, highfalutin accent.
"I'm afraid you read far too much into that. He's a nice kid. We just barely knew each other before, that's all. I mean this is going to be awkward, I can't lie to you."
"Oh my god, he's opening up! Don't say any more yet, I need to record this!"
I punch Quinlan in the shoulder and smile.
"Don't worry. You'll do great. Just relax and don't try to force it. Let him come to you, so to speak. Don't forget he just got ripped from his family and home-world at sucha formative age. He's probably gonna be hard to get out of his shell."
Not to mention he lost his chance at being Qui-Gon's apprentice. I saw his eyes go bright with awe whenever Qui-Gon entered the room, how he flew to his side like a magnet. I'm his sloppy seconds, his backup plan. An ill-equipped, grossly underqualified one at that. This is going to be a complete disaster. Just best to keep that kid in one piece and alive before I fail so miserably he's finally transferred to a new master. When that day comes, I'll probably sigh in relief. And then jump off the roof.
The room erupts in applause. Master Mundi is taking the deactivated lightsaber from a beaming Anakin and placing his hand on his shoulder. To my utter horror he's leading him right toward me. I look over my shoulder to check that I'm not just blocking their exit, but when I look back, Master Mundi is locking eyes with me and smiling. Oh shit, it's time. I throw on a fake grin and finally look at Anakin, who's also smiling and blushing, with a few drops of sweat on his brow and a paleness to his skin. The others in the room soon all turn to look at us. Some smile, some still look skeptical. But all are silent and waiting.
Master Mundi looks down at Anakin. "Are you ready to join with your new Master, young one?"
Anakin nods, "I am." His voice is so much more child-like than I remember.
I choke on hundreds of different words competing to fling out of my mouth at once. The room is still torturously silent. Anakin breaks the tension by offering a hesitant bow. I flush with embarrassment, and just bow back, triggering another roar of applause at our unplanned, impromptu little ceremony. I reach out and Anakin walks toward me to allow his shoulder to meet my hand. It seems the natural thing is to get him out of this crowd, so I keep my hand on his shoulder and lead him out of the sparring hall. As we head up the stairs and down the hall, the heat and pressure of all those bodies begins to dissipate and I can breathe again.
I struggle to think of what to say, and settle on attempting to at least satisfy his basic needs. "Are you hungry? Or tired?"
To my surprise he beams up at me. "Both, actually. Today was a lot longer than I thought it would be."
Thank God. I smile in relief. "Well not a problem. I'll show you your new quarters and I can fix you something. It's nothing fancy, but I think you'll like your new home."
He smiles, but I see a flush of red on his cheeks at the word "home."
When we enter the common room of our quarters, Anakin stands gawking at his surroundings. "Wow," he drags out the word.
I start to laugh, thinking he's joking, but he looks at me with confusion and I realize I've just made fun of a slave boy whose squalid conditions would make this look like a palace. "I'm so glad you like it." Close one.
"Your room will be over on this side," I gesture to Qui-Gon's old door. "It has a balcony! One of the few rooms in the temple that does." I put my finger to my lips in a feigned shared secret and he smiles. "There's some old plants and flowers there that could really use some love. The bathroom is over there, and you can shower while I cook us up some dinner. Your fresh clothing is lain out on your bed. The tunic and belt system are a little complicated, so if you have questions, you can ask. And I think the boots might be a little uncomfortable at first." I rub the back of my neck, "they take some time to break in, but you'll like them. They're waterproof and have excellent traction."
Anakin stares up at me and I realize I just rambled out totally useless information in a kind of aneurism of awkwardness. Thankfully he just smiles and heads to the bathroom.
Qui-Gon handled most of the cooking. I usually was responsible for rising a little earlier to fix us a simple breakfast of plain porridge, and mid-day meals were usually up to us, which generally meant it was skipped. By evening I was usually ravenous, and might return to the quarters to a welcoming aroma of some complicated dish Qui-Gon was preparing. A recipe perhaps collected from his many travels. He thirsted for knowledge of customs, language, and traditions of native peoples. Many times I'd have to pry him away from a teahouse or hookah bar and remind him we weren't there for cultural immersion.
Nervously, I retrieve our solitary pan from the small cabinet, set it on the burner and pour in oil. I open our ice chest to see what the kitchen staff stocked for us. An assortment of vegetables and bean patties. Not too complicated. I hear the shower turn on, and the faint sound of humming.
As I chop and add items to the sizzling heap in the pan, my shoulders loosen more and more, and my chest loses some of its constriction. I carefully stir the jumbled items, adding small increments of oil and seasoning, until each thing feels thoroughly soft under the poke of the wooden spoon. Flicking off the burner, the food is poured into two plain white bowls, and the table is modestly set with utensils, napkins, and two glasses of water. I look down at my masterpiece and let out a sharp huff of air. One of the longest days of my life is now on its way to being over.
Surely enough, Anakin emerges after his shower with a frown and an undone belt. I laugh as kindly as I can and show him the method. Dinner passes almost wordlessly, but Anakin tucks into his food so enthusiastically I bet he barely registers I was there, and I am incredibly thankful. He seems to barely keep his eyes open as he helps me with the dishes, and I soon have to encourage him to go to sleep. I think about going in with him, possibly tucking him in in some way, but I can't seem to walk through the threshold of that door again. It's officially his room now. Anything else is a distant memory. So Anakin just smiles, wishes me goodnight, and carefully clicks his door shut, leaving me to bask in the aching silence.
I dread the idea of going to bed. Of lying awake for hours, completely alone with my thoughts. I sit back at the table and pull out the instructional book on ancient Jedi teaching philosophy Master Windu left for me at my door with a note, 'thought you'd be interested.' After hours of reading, the words begin to dance around the page, and I rub my eyes between thumb and index finger. I still can't go into that room. I remember there are still a few papers strewn on the floor, the bed is probably still a mess and soaked in sweat. I get up and fill the kettle with water, and turn on the burner. I pull out a small white mug and begin to fill a sachet with leaves of green Akiva tea.
The folded and crumpled note still sits heavy like a rock in my pocket. I meant to find Mace and ask him about it. I pull it out again and read it:
'STOP THE REPUBLIC: BABY SNATCHERS! Meeting at the Shingdo Temple, 21:00. Share testimony, and become a part of the growing movement to stop these horrendous crimes."
The rest of the message is lost to faded ink. Why would Qui-Gon have this in his room? Why would he keep this? Was this a cause he wanted to investigate? And I can understand the traffickers we've had dealings with in the past to be "baby-snatchers," but the Republic itself? I don't understand how that's possible.
Through the slight shriek of the tea kettle, I hear a stirring in Anakin's room. I flick the kettle off and strain to listen. There's sniffling, the sounds of muffled sobs. Oh no...
I walk to the door and briefly consider knocking, but instead just open it slowly and carefully. "Anakin?"
He's sitting in the small chair beside the bed, legs curled up into his chest, face half buried behind his knees. He says nothing but looks at me, sniffling. I walk over to him and kneel down at his feet, placing my hands on his shins, rubbing them slightly. "Hey, it's okay."
His face contorts in misery and he begins to sob again. I start to panic and grab each of his shoulders, coaxing him to sit on his bed where I wrap my arms around his shoulders. He buries his face deep into my chest and I feel my shirt quickly soaking as his cries grow louder. No words come to me again, so I just squeeze him tighter and rub his back for a while.
"Hey, it's completely alright to miss your mother. I'm so sorry you had to experience such a loss."
"It's…not…her." He says between gasps for breath.
"What?" I place my hand under his chin and lift his face to mine, "what do you mean?"
"I miss Qui-Gon."
I freeze and search for words, but nothing comes out of my opened mouth. Tears sting my eyes all over again. This is a teachable moment. A perfect opportunity for a lecture on attachments, giving one's soul to the force, the endless cycle of life, the quiet stoicism of the Jedi way.
"I miss him, too." I whisper. I draw his face back into my chest, and rock him gently. As he cries, I let drops of my own tears soak into his hair and stare out the window, watching the endless streams of ships glistening in the moonlight.