Chapter Text
The Twenty-Third Time:
Qui-Gon doesn’t realize how closely he has been scanning the crowded foyer until the newly-crowned young Prince Organa sneaks up on him.
“My apologies, Master Jinn - I didn’t mean to startle you.” Prince Organa greets him with a short bow, which Qui-Gon returns.
“No apologies are needed; I was lost in thought,” Qui-Gon admits, turning his focus from the mingling guests to the conversation at hand.
“Well,” Organa says with a smile, “Hopefully you won’t be too upset with me for bringing you further distractions from your thoughts.” He offers Qui-Gon a folded slip of heavy, high-quality cardstock with gold-printed calligraphy along the outside. It’s one of the very expensive, hand-crafted invitation cards for the coronation gala.
“I assure you, I have my own invitation,” Qui-Gon tells the Prince with a raised eyebrow. Organa simply smiles at him and gestures with the card. Qui-Gon takes it and unfolds it, finding a familiar scrawl across the inside. Sighing, he scans Padawan Kenobi’s note and resigns himself to meeting up another time.
‘Council summons, must go. Not avoiding you! If I don’t make it back to the gala before it ends, comm me. - K’ And then, a little further down the page: ‘Kintan Strider to B4. Get out of that if you can!’
Qui-Gon can’t help the smile on his face, or the soft sigh that escapes him as he tucks the card into the folds of his tunics.
“Padawan Kenobi was very insistent that I deliver his message to you,” Organa says, watching Qui-Gon closely, “with profuse apologies that he could not meet you in person.” The Prince lifts one dark eyebrow at him, too polite to ask outright about the situation.
“I’m beginning to think the Force itself is conspiring against us,” Qui-Gon answers the unspoken question. “I’ve known Padawan Kenobi by reputation since he was twelve, and we’ve worked in complementary roles numerous times in the past years, but somehow we have never actually met face to face. Our interaction is always via comm, or through intermediaries such as yourself. It’s become something of a joke between us, the fact that we always seem to miss each other.”
“How… mysterious,” Organa manages, perplexed.
Qui-Gon bows his head with a smile, touching his tunics and feeling the line of the card against his heart. “The Force works in mysterious ways. Perhaps there is a larger purpose at hand. In any case, thank you for delivering his message.”
“It was my sincere pleasure, Master Jinn,” Prince Organa replies. There’s a light of curiosity in his eyes, and perhaps a touch of mischief, but Qui-Gon is lost in thought again and doesn’t notice.