Chapter Text
Some may think it odd that a flower shop could be run by a Jedi - Luke disagrees.
The Jedi teach patience and serenity, and well, what better to help train that than through flowers? They require a nurturing environment, a steady hand, constant care - like most skills in life, some beings are lucky to have them grow and nurture themselves, but like flowers, a majority are not that fortunate and need a helping hand.
They teach perseverance in adversity, too. Luke takes in the flora around him, bright petals settled in bunches and arranged artfully in rainbows and matching hues. These flowers were transported from Naboo directly, overcoming the stress of travel and still thriving under Luke’s gentle insistence. Some were wildflowers, able to grow anywhere and everywhere with little aid, but most came from his mother’s private garden. After retiring entirely to Naboo, she and his father work hard to bring back flora on the brink of extinction and create new hybrids, introducing fresh life to the ecosystem of Naboo and the hearts of Coruscant.
Luke smiles softly, the image of his ever-patient diplomatic mother alongside his impulsive, determined Jedi father, raising flowers together now that their children were making their own paths in the galaxy.
The bell over the sliding glass door tinkles, pulling Luke from his musings. He walks from around the counter and down the few steps to the floor proper, a smile curling his lips as he takes in the older man lowering the hood of his robe.
“Uncle Ben!” The man smiles at him, eyes twinkling, rubbing his grey beard.
“Hello there, Luke.” He meets Luke in the center of the room, head dipping in a slight bow. Luke returns it, smiling, then opens his arms for a hug. Obi-Wan returns it with a chuckle.
“What brings you by, Uncle? I thought you were off-world with Master Koon.”
Obi-Wan hums. “I was, we’ve just returned. I brought something for you, at your mother’s request.” Luke’s smile widens - he knows what that means. Obi-Wan pulls a satchel over his head, passing it gently to Luke. Luke takes it and quickly moves back to the counter, Obi-Wan right behind him.
“While Plo and I were on Lonatro, Padmé called ahead to the keeper of the Gardens. Apparently he owed your mother a favor from when she helped pass a law to bring the Gardens under Republic protection as a senator,” Obi-Wan says wryly, the humor in his tone apparent.
“Mother’s memory is flawless,” Luke comments with a grin. He opens the pouch to find two clear containers, air-tight, with a label over the lid of each. “Alderaanian flame-rose and flame-lily; Uncle, these are amazing.”
“The Keeper said they can be raised as other roses and lilies you may already be familiar with,” Obi-Wan continues. “The only exceptions are they need heat, so constant sunlight or something similar, and warm water.”
Luke thinks of his heat box on the second floor of the shop, and another in his rooms at the Jedi temple. “That won’t be a problem.”
Obi-Wan smiles again, taking in the soft joy on his nephew’s face. “I remember seeing these on Alderaan, in Chancellor Organa’s garden. I think you’ll be pleased with their colors once they reach maturity.”
Luke nods emphatically, grin spreading wider in his excitement. “Thank you, Uncle; this is amazing. I knew I had a good feeling about today.”
Obi-Wan chuckles and drops a hand to Luke’s shoulder, squeezing with obvious affection. “Of course you did, Luke. The Force isn’t shy around you, it seems.”
Luke winks at his uncle as he removes the clear boxes and passes his satchel back. “It’s a Skywalker trait.” Obi-Wan rolls his eyes with obvious exasperation; his expression makes Luke bite his bottom lip and laugh. “But you already knew that.”
“As if your father would let me forget, even for a moment,” the older man grumbles. Luke laughs harder.
“Really, I had no idea,” he quips. “Doesn’t sound like Dad at all.”
“I suppose you’re right; I must be confusing him for my other headstrong Padawan,” Obi-Wan comments dryly.
The bell for the shop tinkles again, pulling Luke’s attention away from Obi-Wan. The Jedi Master folds the satchel into his hands and wanders away with a nod and soft smile, further into the aisles of flowers. Luke steps down into the shop to greet his new guest.
The guest is a human male, based on the undeniable height and broad shoulders, covered head to toe in shining silver armor. The sight isn’t an odd one on Coruscant - not truly - but when he turns to face Luke something curls through him, like the Force is simmering through his veins. Luke swallows down the sensation and can’t help but feel his smile grow more genuine from the polite smile it started as.
“Hello,” he says brightly. The man’s visor turns to him, then tilts for a moment, as if Luke is something the man can’t quite understand; Luke wonders if he may be Force-sensitive and felt the same thing Luke did. “Welcome to Naberrie Blooms. Have you been here before?”
There’s an awkward beat before the helmet moves from side to side: no. Luke isn’t surprised; he knows he would remember this man coming in, and he’s never seen him before. Armor aside, he doesn’t seem the type to be forgettable, and with the way the Force curls around him and beckons Luke to come closer, Luke doubts he would be forgetting him any time soon.
Luke - remembering his role as shopkeeper and setting aside what the Force is trying to tell him for later - takes a welcoming step forward. “What brings you in today?”
Another beat, then: “I need flowers.”
Luke bites the inside of his cheek to keep his smile from growing further. “Of course you do, why else would you be here? Silly of me to ask.” He loses the fight and feels his smile widen and a flush start to creep up his neck. “What were you looking for?”
The man’s body language screams discomfort. “...nice ones?”
Luke ducks his head in a nod and turns on his heel, feeling his skin flush deeper at the man’s awkward answer. He needs a moment - he’s utterly charmed and embarrassingly flustered for it. “I, ah, I have just the thing.”
Luke gestures for the man to follow him and weaves through the aisles lightly, his flush dying down as he focuses on the flower he’s already picked out. In a few short moments he stands before several bunches of velanie, their sweet scent apparent but not overbearing. “This is the velanie flower,” Luke begins once his guest stops near him. “You can find this in the wild, of course, but not in so many colors. Naturally they are these blues and reds and whites, but we’ve managed to breed yellow, pink, purple, and a few others. My mother won’t stop until she’s created a prism of all of her flowers.”
The man tilts his helmet away from the wall of color to take in Luke beside him. “You raise these?”
Oh, Force - Luke had been rambling, he feels it, and now has no choice but to continue. He clears his throat. “I have a little terrarium here, the second floor, but my parents raise the bulk of our stock on Naboo.” A soft sound comes from the man, and it takes a moment for Luke to decipher it as a hum through the modulator in his helmet. He turns his visor back towards the flowers and Luke wonders what he sees, and what type of impression Luke has made with his oversharing.
The black centers of the flowers stand out in all the kaleidoscopes of color, staring back at Luke. He’s never felt so judged by his flowers before this very moment.
“This will do.”
Luke keeps his eyes forward and tries not to glare back at the snooty blossoms. Traitors. “Do you have a preference?”
He feels the man’s gaze on him again. “I’ll take whatever you want.”
Luke snaps his head over, his mouth falling open. This isn’t an unusual response, it’s something Luke hears multiple times a day in different variations, but this time it’s - different, somehow. The Force sings to him again; Luke is suddenly too warm and were they always standing this close? Luke licks his bottom lip and nods, unfolding his hands from the sleeves of his robe.
He plucks an arrangement of calm colors - trying to cool himself off by thinking of the man’s armor and failing - and throws in a few bright yellow for the strange quirks the Force is screaming at him. He shows the collection to the man, and when he nods, Luke smiles warmly and guides them back to the front of the shop.
Luke steps up behind the counter and takes a few minutes to trim extra leaves from the stems, modify a few flower placements, and wrap the entire thing in thin, white flimsi, tied in place with a bright yellow ribbon to accent the yellow he added by the annoyingly loud Will of the Force. He offers the entire bouquet to the man with a wink and a flourish. After a pause that crosses into awkwardness again, the armored man takes the flowers carefully.
“Thank you,” he says, stilted. Luke’s smile grows. “How much?”
Luke shakes his head. “Nothing; consider it a gift.”
Discomfort rolls off the man in waves, rippling into the Force. “I can’t.”
“You can,” Luke presses, feeling heat steal up his neck again. “If you’d like, I’ll charge you extra next time.”
It’s baiting - Luke already knew he wanted to see the armored man again, with or without the Force buzzing in his ear. It’s also a weakly veiled attempt to make it happen.
There’s a moment of quiet, the man shifts his stance in front of Luke, and Luke leans on the counter between them to rest his chin in his gloved palm with a smile. After another beat, the man huffs behind his helmet.
“Double next time,” he states. Luke’s grin grows.
“Certainly,” he agrees easily. He absolutely won’t follow through with it, but what harm is there? The shop can afford it.
The helmet moves in a nod. “Who do I ask for?”
“Luke,” Luke blurts, all semblance of calm he had been working to maintain gone. He fumbles to tuck some of his hair behind his ear as a distraction before he tries again. “My name is Luke.”
Luke doesn’t tell him he’s the only one that runs the shop with his droid, his sister off at the Senate taking after their mother in a different way. There’s no need to ask for him, ever, but Luke wants him to.
The man nods again. “Thank you.” Then, almost a forced afterthought: “Luke.” After, he’s gone, the bell tinkling over the door and sunlight shining off the polished armor as he steps out.
Luke leans over the counter, stretching to catch a glimpse of the man again before the crowds of Galactic City swallow him from sight.
“Luke.”
Luke yelps, losing his balance against the counter and knocking over several spools of ribbon and a cup of markers. He whips around to look at Obi-Wan, having entirely forgotten his uncle was still in the shop. The older man’s eyebrows are raised nearly to his hairline, amusement clear in his expression, his arms crossed over his chest.
“U-uncle!” He stammers, face flushing worse than before; he’s caught and he knows it, but keeps his eyes down on his hands as he works to clear the fresh clutter. “I thought you’d left already.”
“Indeed,” Obi-Wan teases. He walks over to help Luke pick up the mess he made of the counter. “A friend of yours?”
Luke presses his lips together and winces. “Ah, no? Maybe? At least, not yet?”
Obi-Wan chuckles. “I’m sure.” He straightens the spools and tucks a few markers Luke had missed into the cup they scattered from. “It’s good to see Mandalorians are still comfortable coming into the city.”
Luke nods, realizing belatedly that his guest had been a Mandalorian - as if the armor didn’t tip him off, the myriad of weapons strapped to the man’s back and waist should have. Stars, Luke had been entirely distracted.
Luke blinks and thinks of his uncle’s close friend, the Duchess of Mandalore. “Regardless of their neutral stance during the Clone Wars, they were always welcome here, right?”
Obi-Wan nods, resting an elbow on the counter in a relaxed lean and looking into the busy walkway outside of the shop. “And still are. Some, however, are not so comfortable.”
Luke understands the difference between being told he could do something and actually feeling comfortable enough to do it. “Are you still in contact?” Obi-Wan hums, a questioning lilt. “With the Duchess?”
After a pause, Obi-Wan nods again. “I am.” A smile begins to curl in the corner of Luke’s lips, and Obi-Wan turns knowing eyes towards him. “Don’t give me that look, Luke. I’m being quite magnanimous about not mentioning the utter ridiculousness I witnessed a few moments ago.”
Luke’s face instantly flushes and he groans, rubbing both hands over his face. “I was such a mess, wasn’t I?”
“Perhaps,” his uncle answers, letting Luke down easy. He appreciates it, but knows he was a total disaster.
“The Force was screaming at me, Master,” Luke continues, easily slipping back into the guidance he still seeks from his old Master. “I haven’t felt anything like that before. There’s something about him. I want him to come back.”
“He will,” Obi-Wan assures, making Luke bite back another smile. “I felt something as well, when you two spoke. Meditation may help you determine what exactly the Force is trying to tell you, and provide you guidance.” Luke nods, rubbing the back of his neck.
The Jedi Order has been more lenient in their old ways over the decades after the abrupt conclusion to the Clone Wars with the late Chancellor’s assassination at the hands of Separatists. That old thinking, particularly revolving around their prohibition for attachments and clear emotional dismissal, had led to the rise of the Sith beneath their noses, and also the near Fall to the Dark of Anakin Skywalker.
After the Chancellor’s true identity was revealed with his assassination, Anakin voiced his concerns and the temptations of power that could have cost the Jedi dearly; the tenants were reviewed and modified for a new era, one that nurtured healthy attachments and better understanding and control of good, selfless emotions. It was a hard lesson to learn, but one that even the Council had to admit was the correct way to the future of the Jedi.
Luke shudders to think about how different his life, and that of the galaxy as a whole, would be had things happened differently. He likely wouldn’t have been trained, wouldn’t be a Jedi, wouldn’t have his parents and sister and uncle.
Very different, indeed.
“Thank you, Master,” he says with a broad smile. Obi-Wan quirks an eyebrow at him, eyes glinting in that teasing way of his.
“Don’t thank me so soon,” he says, pushing away from the counter. “I’m sure your friend will return, and in the meantime, perhaps you should work on your...” Obi-Wan strokes his beard. “Composure, Master Skywalker.”
Luke flushes and buries his face in his arms with a groan. Obi-Wan’s laugh echoes around the shop long after he leaves, the bell announcing his departure.