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It had already been a remarkably long day. A long day, a long week, several long months – a long life. Mace Windu could feel every second tick by, stretching his life onward seemingly into infinity... maybe he’d have a little more hope about this if everything wasn’t so clouded in the Dark Side of the Force. Indeed, he had no idea when his life ended and his future in the Force began. Maybe it didn’t matter -- maybe it would be a relief. No more war. No more dealing with Skywalker … heh.
He was meditating. And, yes, he always found himself wandering the path of existentialism when he had a minute to (which, lately, he simply did not). It was not optimistic or pessimistic: it was like watching some brutal trainwreck as nothing more than a neutral observer, like letting a butterfly land in your palm and then allowing it to flutter away a second later. All hypothetical: there really was, in reality, only the present. Mace Windu walked through the Force the way one would glance through an empty movie theater. Wondering which story to pick, which thought to indulge time to. It was an easy place to get lost, a slippery slope into fear and despair, but he managed well enough.
Mere moments in meditation passed, in reality, slowly. Yoda had commanded him take a break – they were extremely in tune to each other’s physical and mental health, the two of them, bonded like the souls of friends are – when he became keenly aware that very little was holding him up still. Pure exhaustion, hunger, sleeplessness, stress. The feeling that he was the only thing holding everything up sometimes, no matter how self-absorbed the thought could seem. Pass it on by, like a movie screen. Nothing got by Yoda, and that was why he was indulging the command; finally dressed down in some simple, pajama-esque robes instead of the dirty tan fabrics he’d kept on the past several days and seemingly ever-present armor. Strip it all away, down to the bare essentials; sitting down on the floor to meditate now seemed like the first break he’d had in years. Forever, maybe.
Meditation was sometimes more enriching to a Jedi than sleep was … which was what Mace thought, until he woke up on the floor in the same spot at the break of dawn the next morning, sore-necked and stiff. It had been as though he was awake all along, traipsing through dreams with apt control. But a human body had to rest in a deeper way, he supposed.
Food was the first thing on his mind. Barefoot, body weighing heavier than bricks and longing for a sleep longer than that, he made his way through labyrinthine halls, passing a familiar face or two. It’d been a while since he’d checked on his plants – who knew who was taking care of them while the war was raging in space – but he knew some fruits were ready for picking around this time, if they hadn’t been picked already by some mischievous youngling in his absence.
Very little truly surprised Mace anymore, but what he found in the garden certainly was something he found unexpected: none other than the Gungan representative from Naboo, Jar Jar Binks, leaning over and picking one of the small, winding trees of its fruit, filling an already-half-full basket full of them. He was so stunned, almost sure that it was a trick of the sleep, that for a moment Mace was unsure of what quite to ask first. Then, the words fell from his lips: “… Jar Jar? What are you doing here?”
Apparently his steps had been so quiet, the Gungan hadn’t heard him at all: he let out a little yelp of surprise at the unexpected voice, head whipping around and long, curtainesque ears following suit half a second later. “ – Masteren Mace!” He exclaimed, one hand flying to rest on his chest, the other still clenching a pink fruit in its grasp. “Yousa so surprisin’ me! Meesa wasn’t expecting you to wake up for a long-o time!” And then, quickly, the gangly Gungan crossed the patch of greenery to give him a small, gentle embrace, as if he was afraid he’d break the Jedi’s bones if he squeezed too much.
Mace squirmed, not quite sure how to reciprocate the contact, letting out a small scoff of allowance. “… Hi, Jar Jar. How did you know I was here?” A brow raised as Jar Jar broke the contact, but not the distance. “And who let you in?” He couldn’t help but take the tone of an incredulous Jedi Master, as he was sometimes apt to as a member of the Council to: like he was scolding a young Padawan for some irresponsible misstep.
“Well, see – its’a funny story! Here, yousen eatin’ this, and I tell you why.” He placed the plump fruit square in Mace’s hand, and since he couldn’t find any words with which to disagree, he sat and began to eat while Jar Jar resumed the task of picking the fruit for breakfast. “See, meesa just goin’ about my night last night – meesa friend Peppi and I in long-o argument about Gungan Holo show! Anyways – “ (The ghost of amusement crossed Mace’s face.) “—That’sa when I get call interupptin’, from Masteren Yoda! Meesa heart nearly stop, meesa fear meesa in big trouble with big-deal Jedi Masteren.”
“Did you do something that would make you think you’re in trouble, Jar Jar?” Mace felt the need to interject, one hand covering his mouth as he ate.
“No, but meesa never’en know,” Jar Jar replied innocently, with a nervous little chuckle to match. “Any-whosa, Masteren Yoda tellin’ meesa that yousa veeery tired lately, and could use a friend or two-sa! He makin’ it sound like yousa bombad sick, or sad, so –“ Jar Jar slammed his index finger into his open palm, driving the point home, “—meesa came on first ride from Senate to Temple right awaysa! Told everyone meesa had special orders from Masteren Yoda!”
“Mmm-hmmm.” Mace said, shaking his head. The story checked out; in fact, he could see Yoda’s smug, humored old face while instructing Jar Jar to come cheer up the exhausted Jedi. “Now, why are you in the garden then, Jar Jar?”
“Oh, well, meesa thinkin’ meesa bringin’ yousa breakfast so yousa don't have to be gettin' out of bed, but meesa don’t know whatsen you like or don’t like.” He held up the basket, as if in explanation. “When meesa askin’ around, people sayin’ yousa like the fruit that growsa out here this time of year. Meesa hopin’ to surprise you – was meesa gettin’ surprised, turns out.”
(As much as he felt like he could be irritated that Yoda sent the talkative Gungan on his trail when he was supposed to be resting, Mace knew that the elder Jedi Master knew him better than himself: despite all the exasperation, Mace enjoyed Jar Jar’s company. There was something childlike and easy about him, simple and uncomplicated by the affairs of war.) Mace smiled a little. “Well, that was nice of you.” He said in a little sigh.
It was far too early in the morning for Jar Jar to be doing so much sleuthing work, causing a fuss and asking lots of questions to the Jedi in the Temple. It must have been the reason why he’d awoken so abruptly: Jar Jar’s Force signature was like a shot of energy through the veins, bright and enthusiastic.
Jar Jar came to sit beside him, for a second silent in focus as he attempted to peel one of the fruits for himself, but his fingers, more equipped for swimming than for grasping, were clumsy and unequipped: Mace took it and began to peel it for him. A hint of gratitude in his voice, Jar Jar said: “Masteren Mace, whysa did Masteren Yoda say for meesa to come and take care of yousa? Are yousa really sick?”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me, Jar Jar. I'm okay.” Mace assured him calmly, handing him back the skinned fruit and tossing the outer peel back in the garden. “Master Yoda believes I’ve been… overworking myself lately.” His productive mind sometimes wondered if he was working hard enough. “I’m sure he knows it’s been damn near months since I’ve had a conversation that wasn’t laced with military jargon.”
“Yousa Jedi knowin’ everything.” Jar Jar said with a small laugh, the abrupt (yet fond) memory of Boonta Eve being what came to mind immediately. He wondered if Mace, a Jedi who, too, seemed to know everything, knew about that, too. “But meesa thinkin’ I agreen with Masteren Yoda. Yousa always workin’. Remember Bardotta?”
“I don’t think I can forget Bardotta.” Mace replied, a curt chuckle on his lips. That was where, truth be told, Mace began to see Jar Jar as a friend – a title bestowed very rarely. And that was somehow not even the strangest thing that occurred on Bardotta, the events sharpened with witchcraft.
“Yousa doin’ all the work on Bardotta, while itsa me gettin’ credit from Queenie Julia as her rescuer!” The Gungan gestured colorfully as he recounted what they both lived through. “Yousa savin’ my life a billion times. Yousa the one whosa rescuer. Yousa the one whosa deserven a break.” He said, giving Mace a poke in the shoulder with each sentence to emphasize his point. “Yousa should take a lot-o breaks. Meesa love takin’ breaks.”
“That’s not really my style.” Mace said, the tiniest bit of warmth on his face from the other’s recognition. However, it quickly fell once he continued: “And even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t have the time. There’s too much to do.” His brow became drawn in focus once more, as if he was remembering once more the war outside of this here-and-now, terrible conflict klicks away from the garden soaked in morning darkness. Jar Jar looked sympathetically at him, only able to imagine the heaviness of a Jedi’s role in the war.
“—Masteren Mace, yousa should still taken time for yourself.” He argued. “Yousa doin’ so much. The only way yousa can keep doin’ so much is if you rest so much. If not, yousa not bein’ no help to anybody anytime soon.”
He hated to admit it, but Mace got the feeling Jar Jar was right: that was likely why Yoda invited Jar Jar here in the first place. Someone to keep him latched in the moment, in conversation, in the here and now … not down that path of hypothetical, where somewhere deep in the future, as the seconds ticked away, was a place clouded in darkness and thunder. He swallowed, closing his eyes, letting emotion roll over him and then recede again like the tide. He had anxiety, fear about the future, just like every other man. Exhaustion with the past. A feeling of hopelessness that came with war. But it was coming, and it would come, and yet it was already gone : like the rest of time. He looked back at Jar Jar, whose head was tilted and whose yellow eyes watched him with kindness and patience -- gentle, childlike concern, too.
Mace Windu inhaled and exhaled. He wouldn’t say aloud that Jar Jar was right: not yet. Not today; he still had a little bit of pride. He pulled a small slice of pink fruit from its shell. Its juice was just the right degree of sour, the tang alighting his taste buds with joy. He was hungry and thirsty and tired and he was here, he was now, and he knew that if he didn’t allow himself this moment in this place that it would pass him by and be lost forever. The two of them would never, ever be in this exact place in the universe ever again, and it had been almost three years since he had indulged something that wasn't urgent. So, he breathed. And he ate.
Darkness and thunder was tomorrow. Cool morning breeze and fresh fruit was today.
“...what show were you and Peppi arguing about?” He wanted to know. And Jar Jar smiled, and told him all about it.