Chapter Twelve

"Minimal Expectations"

Following his last mission as an active Jedi, while lying in Theed Infirmary, tubes sticking out of every natural orifice of his body, as well as some unnatural ones, Qui-Gon had imagined how his life would be after he was healed. Would he be able to return to the field? Or would he, should he, accept the ever-persistent request by the Jedi Council to join their ranks? He hadn't been sure. Foreseeing the future was not a talent the Force had chosen to bestow upon him.

During his recovery, however, he had tried his best to stay positive. Even after the conversation with his padawan, he had kept his hopes high. At the time, though, he hadn't realized that event would damage their relationship. He had actually expected his student to come around to his point of view.

But he hadn't, and Qui-Gon discovered he was never too old to learn a lesson: In order to achieve and maintain a lasting sense of peace and serenity in this life, he needed to lower his expectations. By doing so, he would never again be disappointed. Would he?

However, when it came to his Obi-Wan, he was helpless, and could not help but keep his expectations high. He had only wanted what was best for his padawan, and deep in his heart, he knew Senator Amidala fit that mold. No one could blame him for having tried to help them get together, could they? If only they would give him the chance to explain! But perhaps the time for explanations was past. He had witnessed these Ex Parte hearings before. Unless represented by a member of the Galactic Judicial System, rarely did the Respondent have the opportunity to defend themselves. He would do his best, but in accordance with his new philosophy of life; he wasn't expecting much success. For one reason, he was representing himself.

No, sir. Things were not going to go well today. His good intentions were about to be put on trial, as well as his age and poor decisions being put on display. In front of the Supreme Chancellor, to boot.

What was the point of that, anyway? Most petitions such as this were presented in the Galactic Courthouse, not in Palpatine's study. It was all highly irregular. He supposed it was because he was a Jedi, and therefore the Chancellor believed he was doing the Jedi a favor, protecting them from such an embarrassing display by allowing the proceedings to take place in a more discrete location.

Not that it mattered.

Nope. The best he could possibly hope for was to given a chance to apologize, defend his actions by claiming senility, agree to report to the healers to have his every thought scrutinized, and leave there with his tail tucked neatly and firmly between his legs. It would put an end to all of this once and for all, and it was a sacrifice he was willing to make - for the sake of his padawan.

Keeping his well-shorn head held high, Qui-Gon announced his arrival to the receptionist in the antechamber just outside his destination. He couldn't help but notice the smirky grin which appeared across the young woman's face as he did so.

Great. He was sure by the time this was over, his name would be plastered all across the Holonet.

"Courts Declare Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn a Lunatic," it would say, just above an article detailing every embarrassing event of the past three days.

Fine. That would do just fine. It was the worse thing which could possibly happen to him. He could foresee no disappointment now.

However, when the double doors opened wide and he saw all who were present inside the grand suite, Qui-Gon determined that once again, and far too frequently of late, he was wrong. Present inside the room were not only the Supreme Chancellor and Galactic City's Chief Justice, but Master Yoda, Master Windu, Mas Amedda, Anakin, Obi-Wan and the senator's aid, Dorme, although Padme Amidala was nowhere to be seen. He had no idea who the others were, although they appeared to be from Naboo, but he determined the others were there to witness to the evidence that he, Qui-Gon Jinn, at the ripe old age of 71, was a doddering, old fool.

A second glance nevertheless, was even more confusing than the first. He suddenly felt entirely under-dressed for the occasion. Why hadn't he worn his clean uniform?

Even more curious was the fact everyone was smiling at him.

Is this what he should expect now that he was about to be declared among the infirm? Would all those who used to look up to him, now look at him with pity and sympathy, secretly hoping their last days would be more favorable than his own? Would they even remember what he used to be? That there were very few who could stand toe to toe with him in the battlefield, and that he had taken first place ten years running in the senior lightsaber competition?

Or would they only remember the 'senior' part? "Poor Qui-Gon," he could hear them whisper even now. "I hear they're moving him to the geriatric ward and he's only allowed to eat mashed tubers," while another would comment on how he should try to look his age."

Suddenly, a seat on the Council didn't sound so bad.

"Master Jinn, get your fine buns in here!"

A voice with a hint of lisp sounded out from a corner he hadn't observed yet, and doing so now revealed his favorite barber, all primed, primped, and grinning from bejeweled ear to bejeweled ear.

"Remi?" he heard himself mutter, although the room had taken on a fish-bowl effect, where everyone's faces seemed larger than their bodies, and their voices were shallow and muted. What did Remi have to do with any of this?

He didn't have time to even ask the question before the rather energetic man leapt forward, grabbing ahold of his arm, dragging him away from the crowd and toward another doorway.

"Holy midichlorians, will you hurry? We don't have much time! The ceremony's about to begin! Telusa!" Remi yelled out into the room they hadn't even entered yet. "Girl, did you get the right one? You know, the one without all those nasty burn marks? Well then, come on! We've got to get a move on! I swear, don't make me swear!"