FIC: We Start and End With Family ~ Star Wars ~ Teen

[batsutousai]

Title: We Start and End With Family
Series: Make a Brand New End
Fandom: Star Wars
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Alternate Universe, Time Travel Fix-it, jedi are terrible at all relationships, angst, hurt/comfort, jedi families, character with clinical depression, non-binary character, this whole lineage needs a hug, Qui-Gon lives
Summary: Qui-Gon had been mostly joking when he'd originally brought up the idea of a lineage dinner, but when his former padawan grabbed for the idea with both hands and a desperation Qui-Gon didn't understand (and privately hoped he never would), he knew he would never be able to refuse.

A/N: As promised, here's the lineage dinner. If you've read What Have We Become, you're aware that Qui-Gon is...not popular with Feemor's branch of their lineage. At all. Lot of old hurt there, and there's no easy way to get past that, so it's going to feature.

I knew, when I first envisioned this one-shot, that I wanted it to be from a canon character's PoV. Mostly because I kinda wanted to explore how Feemor looked to people outside of himself. But deciding who had the PoV was...challenging. Especially since I was still waffling about whether or not Dooku and/or Yoda would show. ^^;
Ended up settling on Qui-Gon, because there were a couple of scenes I had in mind that featured him but none of the others. My first draft ended up having 500 or so words of Qui-Gon thinking about how badly he'd fucked up with Feemor and how it all happened that way, but I was struggling to make the segue into the actual dinner, so it got cut. Just know he regrets everything, and Ace deserves some of the blame (but only some of it, they were only 16 at the time).

Sideways related, handful of reviewers mentioned not being familiar with Feemor (or only familiar with him through other fics). He has the tiniest of roles in Xanatos' villain origin story comic, and that's it for his canon (well, Legends canon) rep. If you wanted to see the scene he's in, here's photos of the pages on tumblr. (With bonus panel-by-panel brief description, for those with image problems.) Warnings for Xanatos being a classist douchebag, I guess?

Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own and LiveJournal.

-0-o-0-

When Qui-Gon opened the door the evening of the dinner, he'd expected Feemor to be the first to arrive. (Or Obi-Wan, though he had only just finished moving out that afternoon; he was more likely to just walk in, than to knock.)

It was not Feemor, however, but Ace, who was watching him out of narrowed green eyes. "Let me in," they ordered.

Qui-Gon stepped back, a little uncertain how to interact with his grandpadawan. He'd known them only in passing as a youngling—Je'dyannder had been the one to Find them, and Feemor had often gone to check in on them during his padawan years; before Qui-Gon left with Xanatos on that fateful mission to Telos IV, Feemor had been stressing out about taking the young initiate, who had been in danger of aging out, as his first padawan—and their interactions since had been...

Well. Ace has made it pretty clear they wanted as little to do with their grandmaster as humanly possible.

Qui-Gon cleared his throat and offered, in as neutral a tone as he could manage, "Knight Kudzulek. Padawan Naidu isn't with you?"

"No, I put her in charge of our food," they replied flatly, as they stalked into the flat, keeping a noticeable distance between themself and Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon closed the door and turned back to Ace, watching them stare around the living area like they were looking for secrets.

Ace's expression twisted with a grimace. "Force, he got his shitty interior decorating skills from you, didn't he?"

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at that and tried to find what it was, exactly, his grandpadawan was complaining about. But all he saw were his multitude of plants and the shelves installed along one wall that held an array of various bits he'd picked up on missions.

"And the eyebrow," Ace muttered, and Qui-Gon couldn't stop himself from raising the other one, too. "Ugh."

Qui-Gon slipped his hands into the opposing sleeves, saw Ace's grimace deepen, and couldn't stop himself from asking, "Did you really think it would be as simple to erase me from his life, as it was to force me out?"

Ace's expression twisted into a snarl. "I didn't have to 'force' you, Grandmaster," they shot back, practically spitting their relation. "You managed that all on your own."

"Really. And what, then, do you call telling me to, what was it, again?" Qui-Gon replied in as mild a tone as he could manage around the old wounds. "Ah, yes, 'stay the kriff away from him'."

"Protecting my master," Ace snapped without missing a beat. "What the kriff do you call repudiating him?"

"Unintentional."

Ace lacked the element of surprise, so Qui-Gon saw their punch coming in more than enough time to dodge to the side, grab their wrist and twist it around and up behind their back, using their momentum to slam them into the wall that had been at his back.

"No," Qui-Gon said into their dark hair, "I am not going to stand still and let you punch me, Grandpadawan. If it's violence you're looking for, you can find me in the salles. But you will not ruin your master's dinner."

Ace gave a sharp yank against Qui-Gon's hold, only to hiss when he didn't budge. "Kriff. You."

Qui-Gon made himself take a breath, accepting the old pain and anger and passing it on to the Force, then let the knight go and stepped back. "It was never my intention to hurt Feemor," he said, biting back a wince at how close to pleading his voice had come out. "I've already apologised to him, and he accepted it."

Ace spun, their eyes blazing. "Oh, you apologised," they snarled. "Well, that surely makes up for everything, doesn't it?"

"I never said that," Qui-Gon said, reproving. "It's Feemor's choice whether or not he forgives me, and it's not your place to carry a grudge on his behalf." He raised an eyebrow when Ace drew in a sharp breath to respond, and added. "Revenge is not the jedi way."

"Kriff you and kriff the karking Code!" Ace shouted. "I've spent seventeen years putting him back together every time he has a depressive episode because of what you did to him!"

Qui-Gon felt the words like a physical blow, and he staggered back a step. He knew Feemor had struggled with bouts of depression after Je'dyannder's death, and his studies had often suffered because of his insomnia, which had him too often doubting his abilities and his worth as a jedi. Qui-Gon had done what he could to help Feemor, both while he was his master, and after. Hearing his padawan had taken a padawan of his own had been a source of pride, because he'd known exactly how much Feemor had struggled with the fear that he wouldn't be a good master.

Of course. Of course Qui-Gon would have been the one to ruin all of Feemor's hard work, would trample all over his already-fragile self-worth because a boy who had enjoyed doing exactly that had finally turned his vitriol on Qui-Gon.

Someone knocked on the door. As soon as Qui-Gon recognised Feemor's Force presence, he had to retreat to his bedroom, uncertain he could actually face his former padawan.

Ace must have opened the door—or Feemor had thought to see if he'd been granted access, which he had; in truth, Qui-Gon had always made sure to add permission for Feemor when he moved to new quarters, just in case—because he heard Feemor sigh, then ask, "How disappointed in you should I be?"

"I didn't do anything," Ace replied, sounding more like a petulant youngling than a knight.

"No, of course not," Feemor agreed, and Qui-Gon couldn't help but recognise his own bland, 'I know you're lying to me' tone. "The flat always feels strongly of grief and horror."

Qui-Gon winced and made an attempt to release his upset into the Force.

Ace muttered something.

Irritation shot through the Force, surprisingly loud. "Go help the padawans," Feemor ordered. And then, after a moment, he moved towards Qui-Gon's closed bedroom door. "Master?" he said, pitched to carry easily through the door to Qui-Gon's sensitive ears. "Are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" Qui-Gon couldn't help but reply, incredulous. How had Feemor ever managed to forgive him? Dead or not, he'd still done something unforgivable.

Feemor sighed, then pushed the door open without asking. He looked tired—his insomnia was probably giving him trouble again—faint bruising under blue eyes that were shaded with so much grief and pain, it was a wonder it had taken Qui-Gon as long as it had to realise that the 'vision' his padawan had claimed to have had, had been far worse than just his own death. "What did Ace say to you?"

Qui-Gon huffed out a slightly bitter laugh and rubbed at his eyes. "The truth."

"You know, that really doesn't answer my question," Feemor replied flatly, before his fingers were curling around Qui-Gon's wrist and tugging his hand down, away from his eyes, refusing him that flimsy shield. "Qui-Gon, we can't have a lineage dinner if you're hiding in here because of whatever 'truth' Ace went spewing."

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. "Spewing?"

Feemor rolled his eyes up to stare at the ceiling for a moment, then looked back at Qui-Gon and said, "Some days, I understand why the Council should like to drop you down a dark hole to save their sanity."

Qui-Gon couldn't quite stop a small smirk at that.

"Master," Feemor said, expression showing no hint of the amusement it usually held when he made comments like that. Instead, he just looked tired and worried.

Force, this was supposed to be a good event, something that Feemor had wanted, something to make him happy, to think back on and have while he was playing advisor with the sith's puppet. And Ace had to–

No, that wasn't fair. Qui-Gon's own failings had led them down this path; Ace had only been doing what they thought best, what they had been doing for years: protecting their master from someone or something that might hurt him. That had a history of hurting him.

Qui-Gon sighed, resigning himself to the certainty that Feemor wouldn't let this matter go, and quietly said, "When you were a padawan, after Je'dyannder's death, you often struggled with...upset."

"Depression," Feemor corrected with none of the shame he'd used to have in his voice. "Yes."

"And, after I repudiated you," Qui-Gon managed to force out.

Feemor's mouth went flat and unhappy for a moment, before he let out a sigh and shook his head. "Yes," he agreed, and Qui-Gon couldn't quite stop a wince. "Yes," Feemor said again, stressing the word, "I had depressive episodes. Because I inherited them from my mother. Which we found out when Roimata dragged me to the healers and told them to sedate me because I was...not in a good place." He grimaced slightly, then squeezed Qui-Gon's wrist, which he was apparently still holding. "It's something I have to live with, like my insomnia, but it's treatable, and not in a way that makes me sleep like the dead for ten hours and struggle to form coherent sentences or walk in a straight line for another two. I'm handling it."

And then he huffed and quirked a faint smile. "The healers spent a lot of time complaining about how, if either of us had been less intent on avoiding the Halls at every chance, they would have caught it before my Trials."

Qui-Gon grimaced. "Yes, that's a failing of mine."

Feemor dropped his head to his chest and tilted forward, the move too fast for Qui-Gon to react before his head was pressing against his chest, the weight suggesting that, if Qui-Gon shifted out of the way, his padawan would unbalance, so he remained perfectly still.

"I don't know," Feemor said quietly, "which of you I want to drag to the salles more, right now. Ace promised me they were going to try, and you are letting them get to you. My depression is not your fault. Yes, what you did exacerbated the problem. Yes, it was one of the worst karking years of my life. Right up there with you dying and Wangui dying and the whole kriffing war."

"Such illustrious company," Qui-Gon couldn't stop himself from saying.

Feemor snorted, then said, "No, I lied, the war was worse. Especially the six months I couldn't get my medication. I thought Pomp was going to start burgling civilian clinics and experimenting with whatever he could get his hands on."

Pomp, Qui-Gon couldn't help but note, and he filed the name away. Feemor was careful about the names of whatever soldiers he'd fought with, had caught himself a few times and changed what he was saying partway through what could have been a name. As much as he wanted to know more about the soldiers who had become so important to his padawan, he'd also promised himself not to push for any information about Feemor's memories, and knew Obi-Wan had decided the same; the Force knew the Council was going to be harassing him for as much as they could dredge out of him, he didn't need that from them, too.

"I'm certain the healers would have preferred he didn't try any experiments," he replied drily.

Feemor huffed. "Probably not, but P–" He stopped, tensed slightly, and then muttered, "Kark it," before continuing, "Pomp was one of our medics. Him and, him and Doc, they would have been safe about it."

Pomp and Doc. Medics. Potentially nicknames.

Feemor sighed and finally pulled away, straightening and catching Qui-Gon's gaze without hesitating. "Look. You got hurt, you karked up, I got hurt and my genetics made it worse. That part's not your fault, it's just luck of the draw. Please tell your overactive conscience to let this one go? Just for tonight?"

"I will...try," Qui-Gon agreed.

Feemor nodded and turned away. "If you still feel guilty tomorrow, you can let me beat you in the salles, like you did when I was a padawan," he called back in a voice meant to carry through the flat.

Qui-Gon huffed. "I'm sure I've no idea what you mean," he replied, as if they didn't both know that he'd used his overdramatic losses as a way to cheer Feemor up on particularly bad days.

Force, genetically predisposed to depressive episodes. No wonder it had always been such a struggle to get a handle on; no amount of meditation had helped, not for long, nor had any of the other tricks Qui-Gon or Tahl had come up with. He should have taken Feemor to the healers, had known it even then, but neither of them had liked the Halls—some things never changed—and the only time he'd ever suggested it, Feemor had had a panic attack and, once he'd calmed down, begged him not to make him go. (Qui-Gon had only much later found out that another padawan, who had had it out for Kimura and picked Feemor as the easier target, had heard just enough about his struggles with depression to use it as proof that Feemor wasn't cut out to be a jedi and that the Council would banish him if they found out. Qui-Gon had quickly put an end to that bantha fodder, but the damage had already been done, and he hadn't tried bringing the healers up as an option again.)

"Master," Obi-Wan called, tone teasing, "exactly how many times has a fourteen-year-old beat you?"

"Sixteen," Feemor corrected.

"Fourteen," Obi-Wan replied, pointing at himself.

Qui-Gon just sighed. "Yes, yes, such a surprise; I managed to train both of my padawans so well, they managed to defeat me, without help, within a year of my accepting them," he said in as dry a tone as he could manage.

Yoda let out a cackle from the kitchen, while someone giggled.

Qui-Gon stepped far enough into the living area to see into the kitchen and frowned when he saw they were missing one. "We're still waiting on Yan?"

Feemor went tense. "No," he said, a hint of ice in his voice. "I saw him earlier; he's leaving the Order."

"He's what?" Qui-Gon demanded, shocked. He knew his former master had been losing faith in the Council since Galidraan, but he hadn't thought he'd outright leave.

"I tried," Feemor said quietly, grieving.

He'd known Yan would leave, of course he had. This must have been the second chance he'd hoped to give his grandmaster, a chance to stay with the Order. To not die?

"Made his choice, Yan has," Yoda said as he hobbled from the kitchen. "Take it from him, we cannot."

"You say that now," Feemor muttered.

Qui-Gon desperately wanted to know, to ask why his padawan was so very against Yan leaving the Order, but...not tonight.

So, instead of asking, he stepped up next to Feemor and dropped a hand onto his shoulder, squeezing gently. "It's his loss," he offered.

Feemor quirked a tired smile at him, grief and anger still darkening his eyes. "It is," he agreed. "Wangui's casserole is the best thing this side of the Rishi Maze–"

"Master!" the girl in question howled, dropping her darkening face into her hands, the bush of her hair bobbing at the motion.

"–and I honestly don't know how Ace makes their pastries so light," Feemor continued, eyes lighting with delight at the chance to embarrass his padawans.

Ace's cheeks had darkened and they ducked their head. "Vega did most of the work," they insisted.

"Sure, the oven, the cooling, the filling," Vega agreed, clearly taking the same amount of delight from embarrassing her master as her grandmaster was. "You won't let me touch the dough, though. It's your baby."

Ace glowered at her. "I will do a loop-da-loop next time you're in a ship with me."

Vega scrunched up her nose in dislike. "Can't you just threaten meditation, like normal masters?"

"Ace? Normal?" Wangui asked, and then giggled and dodged when the knight lunged for her.

"Padawans," Feemor called, clearly amused.

"Sorry, Master," they both called.

And then Wangui let out a squeal as Ace caught her around the waist, lifted her off the floor—Vega ducking flailing legs like this was a common occurrence—and held her upside-down over the back of their shoulder. Wangui relaxed in the hold, her face turning a darker purple as she laughed. "You're normal!" she managed to get out.

"And don't you forget it!" Ace called, then swung her back around in a practised move and set her back on her feet, not letting go until she nodded.

Force, was this what Qui-Gon had been missing out on? This easy atmosphere of a lineage that could laugh and tease together without fear of stepping on a landmine?

Yoda humphed. "Told me you did not, padawan of my padawan, that food I should have brought."

Qui-Gon offered an apologetic smile, but Obi-Wan rescued him by saying, "I think the idea was for the padawans to handle the food, Master Yoda. Although, well, I guess Ace and Vega cheated a bit. And I'm...not a padawan any more." He blinked a couple times while Yoda gave a noncommittal hum, then shook his head. "Anyway, I made stew."

Qui-Gon couldn't stop himself from perking up; he hadn't asked Obi-Wan what he'd intended to make, in part so the whole meal was a surprise. "The Stewjoni recipe?" he asked, because while Obi-Wan had added a few other stew recipes to his repertoire over the years, that had long been both of their favourite.

Obi-Wan shrugged. "I had the ingredients," he said in a tone that was trying to be careless.

Qui-Gon squeezed Feemor's shoulder. "You're going to love this," he promised, and Obi-Wan ducked his head, cheeks pinking. "It's not swamp stew," he added to Yoda, "but it should be more than flavourful enough for you, Grandmaster."

Yoda eyed him for a moment, clearly suspicious, then grunted and turned away. "Delicious, swamp stew is," he said, sounding a little petulant.

"Of course it is," Feemor agreed in a voice that actually managed to sound honest. "But sometimes it's the better thing to allow the younglings to show off their hard-earned skills."

Yoda spun on the spot, moving faster than Qui-Gon had really thought he was capable of, gimer stick lashing out. "School me you should not!" he warned.

Feemor casually jumped over the attack, like he'd expected it, dislodging Qui-Gon's hand in the process. "I was just repeating one of your own adages, Great-Grandmaster," he insisted.

Yoda narrowed his eyes, ears going flat. "Said that to you I have not."

Feemor raised his eyebrows.

Yoda huffed, relaxing. "Impertinent you have become," he decided, but he sounded amused.

Feemor bowed. "I learnt from the best," he agreed.

Qui-Gon coughed and rubbed at his moustache and beard to hide his smile, saw Obi-Wan and Ace both trying to do the same thing, while the girls just watched with wide eyes as their master/grandmaster bested the Grandmaster of the Order at his own game.

Yoda waved his gimer stick in Feemor's direction, then turned to the audience in the kitchen. "Much talk of food there has been, yet seen it I have not," he declared.

"I'm afraid we'll have to eat around the caff table," Qui-Gon offered, because there wasn't enough room around the dining table, not that Yoda would have been comfortable eating there, since it was sized for humans and near-humans.

Yoda took that as permission to make his way over there, summoning Qui-Gon's meditation pillow with a lazy wave of one claw. Qui-Gon shook his head but didn't complain, instead glancing over at where Feemor had stepped forward to organise the delivery of dishes and food. Seeing he had it well in hand, Qui-Gon retreated to the caff table, settling in the large chair at one of the shorter ends, across from Yoda.

Obi-Wan came over next, carrying two large, red-brown plates that must have come from Feemor's kitchen, which he put down in front of Yoda and Qui-Gon, before kneeling comfortably on the ground next to Qui-Gon. He was closely followed by Feemor and Ace, the knight wearing a sour expression, both of whom carried two plates. One plate was handed to Obi-Wan, one set on his side of the table between him and Yoda, and the last two sat on the sofa side of the table, where they both sat, Feemor between Qui-Gon and Ace.

Wangui was carrying the last plate and a single glass of some sort of juice, both of which she sat with between Ace and Yoda. Vega had the rest of the glasses, carrying them via a large metal tray Qui-Gon and Feemor had picked up on Leritor, which Qui-Gon had long suspected his former apprentice had made off with when he'd moved out.

"I almost asked you if you knew where that tray had gone, after the second time Xanatos dropped my old tea tray," Qui-Gon commented as Vega passed out the drinks.

Feemor snorted. "Master, you were using it for your plants before I rescued it. If it had been from anywhere else, it probably would have been terribly water-stained."

"Which is why I used it for them," Qui-Gon insisted, though he suspected he simply hadn't known what else to do with it. It was too heavy, really, to use as a tea tray, and while the wave pattern worked into the metal had a certain appeal, it wasn't nearly decorative enough to be put on display.

"You got this as a padawan?" Vega asked as she settled on the floor between Obi-Wan and Yoda, sliding the tray under the table.

Feemor nodded as they all tucked in. "It was a thank you gift from the Sauvax chieftainess on Leritor, after we helped resolve a miscommunication between them and the human settlers," he explained after he'd swallowed a mouthful.

"As I recall," Qui-Gon added drily, "she suggested it would make an excellent sled, next time you decided to try skidding down a cliff."

Feemor cleared his throat, pink shading across his cheeks. "Ah, yes. That...may have happened."

Vega and Wangui both giggled, while Ace draped an arm around Feemor's shoulders. "Master," they said, "weren't you the one–"

"Anyway!" Feemor interrupted, elbowing Ace in the side, and Qui-Gon didn't bother muffling his chuckle. "Yes, Vega, it's something I got when I was a padawan."

Vega hummed and nodded. "I'd wondered. It's not Temple-issue, and you'll tell stories about stuff you got after you were knighted, but you'd never talk about this one." Green eyes slid over to Qui-Gon, the colour darker than her master's. "I guess I know why, now."

"Maybe Master just didn't want to tell us embarrassing stories," Wangui said with a certain amount of glee. Then she leant forward, over the table, and said, "I bet you have all sorts of stories, don't you, Grandmaster?"

Qui-Gon hummed thoughtfully and stroked his beard. "I'm sure I have one or two," he agreed.

"You really don't," Feemor insisted, before shooting Obi-Wan a pleading look.

Obi-Wan just grinned and shrugged, clearly aware that Qui-Gon had plenty of stories to embarrass him, too.

And then, from the other end of the caff table, Yoda said, "Embarrassing stories you're looking for, hm?"

"Master, no," Qui-Gon said, almost simultaneously with Feemor.

Yoda's slow smile—and Vega, Wangui, and Ace all letting out noises of approval—promised that there would be no getting out of suffering stories of youthful indiscretions. (For any of them, though it sounded like Feemor had already told most of the embarrassing stories about Ace that Yoda knew, and the girls got away mostly unscathed.)

It was probably because it was Yoda telling the stories—with each of them attempting to interject defences on their own behalf—and he didn't pick on any one of them, but it didn't feel like an attack, or something meant in poor taste, like it would have if Yan had been the one telling stories of his youth. Qui-Gon couldn't help but wonder if Feemor felt the same, given how messy their relationship had got because of Xanatos. It...hurt, just a little, that thought, because he and Feemor had always had a good relationship, unlike Qui-Gon and his own master.

Obi-Wan leant over, clearly sensing the shift in Qui-Gon's mood, and nudged his leg with his elbow. "Is it the stew?" he asked quietly, his voice more worried than teasing, though Qui-Gon knew he wasn't worried that the stew was off.

Qui-Gon shoved his grim thoughts away for later rumination and offered his padawan a smile. "Your stew is delicious, as ever," he returned, and Obi-Wan grinned, flushing ever so slightly in pleasure. He glanced up at where Wangui was giggling at one of Yoda's stories about Yan—apparently, he didn't need to be in attendance to be fair game, and it was only fair that his great- and great-great-grandpadawans had the chance to learn something of him—and raised his voice a bit to add, "Wangui's casserole was also delicious."

The girl flushed a dark purple and ducked her head. "Thank you, Grandmaster."

Yoda hummed and nodded. "Talented chefs in this lineage," he agreed, looking between Wangui and Obi-Wan, both of whom were clearly embarrassed but pleased as they thanked him.

"Is there any more of the stew left?" Feemor asked.

"We dished it all out," Vega said. "But there's casserole left."

"Mine!" Ace called and vaulted backwards off the sofa, Wangui and Feemor jerking away from any chance of getting hit with a limb, and summoned their plate with the Force as they raced for the kitchen.

"Well," Feemor said drily, while Wangui moaned into her hands, "it's good I can have more of that whenever I want."

Wangui peeked out from behind her fingers. "Was that a complaint about how often I make it?"

Feemor raised an eyebrow at her. "Padawan-mine, which of us is in charge of keeping the kitchen stocked with ingredients?"

She blinked, brow furrowing. "You?"

"He's saying he stocks the makings for what he wants you to make," Ace translated as they returned with a plate full of casserole.

"Oh." Wangui said, and then shifted down the sofa to hug Feemor, which he returned with a fond chuckle.

(That was something Qui-Gon had noticed, that Feemor had become very tactile at some point in the past seventeen years. He'd originally thought it might have been related to having suffered through a war, or a reaction from having lost so many people dear to him, but both Wangui and Ace seemed to expect the hugs. Which was fine, there was nothing in the Code that said hugs were forbidden, that just wasn't something Qui-Gon had been raised to expect, and nor had he raised any of his padawans with so much physical contact.

But it seemed to suit this part of his lineage, all of them so much closer to one another than he'd ever been with Yan or Yoda. Even Obi-Wan had appeared to soak up the contact whenever Feemor had hugged him, the little sparks of uncertainty that had always flickered around his end of their training bond quieting the same way they did after a long meditation. And Qui-Gon couldn't help but wonder where this change had come from. Whether he should follow Feemor's lead, if it would even be welcome.)

"If– I mean," Obi-Wan offered uncertainly, "I can give you the recipe for the stew? Or I can...let you know? Next time I make it. There's always plenty to share! So guests are always welcome?"

Feemor smiled warmly. "I would never turn down an invitation," he promised, and Obi-Wan grinned, so obviously happy.

"Seconded!" Wangui chimed in. "Master is a hopeless cook, so I'm always up for someone else making a meal."

Feemor huffed. "Yes. Unfortunately, I learnt how to cook from Qui-Gon."

Qui-Gon grimaced while Obi-Wan laughed. "You're not quite that bad," Qui-Gon insisted, because there had been a month where they'd had to rely entirely on themselves for food preparation, and at least half of Feemor's attempts had been better than just edible.

Feemor raised an eyebrow at him. "That's true. None of my cooking attempts ever landed anyone in the Halls for three hours."

"Wait, how did you only suffer three hours?" Obi-Wan demanded, while the two padawans and Ace all snickered. "I got stuck in there for a whole day."

"Master Trvkk was less terrifying than Master Che?" Feemor guessed, shrugging.

"No," Qui-Gon said, amused at the memory. "Your friends staged a prison break."

"Kei?" Ace asked, and when Feemor nodded, said, "Oh, yeah, he totally would."

Feemor chuckled. "He and Roimata were the distraction; Rún snuck me out."

"Master Roimata was involved?" Wangui demanded, wide-eyed.

"She's so...masterly, though," Vega added.

Qui-Gon choked on a mouthful of his juice. "Masterly?" he asked Feemor a little incredulously. From what he recalled of his padawan's band of miscreants, the Rodian had been just as likely as Kimura to come up with terrible ideas, though hers tended to be less about pranking others and more about going on adventures. Including, once, getting all four padawans trapped in the lower levels of the Temple for almost six hours.

Yoda cackled outright, while Feemor put on a serene little smile and sipped at his juice.

"Wasn't Roimata the one who planned the prison break?" Qui-Gon asked.

Feemor nodded, then turned to the padawans and said, "Roimata doesn't do pranks, but she does like knowing exactly how things work and where dark hallways lead. It's part of what makes her such an effective peacekeeper."

"Oh," Vega said, while Wangui frowned and slowly nodded.

"So, pastries?" Ace asked.

Feemor twisted to look at them. "Did you install a black hole in your stomach while I was on Naboo?" he demanded.

"Be reasonable, Master; it's a Wookie," they replied evenly, raising one eyebrow.

The girls attempted to muffle their snickers, while Yoda's ears went up in disbelief.

"Is that where the Shyriiwook is coming from?" Obi-Wan asked, and Qui-Gon had to hide his grin in his glass.

Feemor turned a betrayed look on him, while Ace coughed, their eyes bright with delight. "You're officially my favourite, Uncle Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan's face contorted, like he couldn't decide if he was horrified or pleased.

Feemor let out a huff that Qui-Gon was fairly certain was meant to disguise a laugh and motioned with one hand. All of the plates rose up and gently settled into a stack, utensils piled neatly on the top, then floated over the sofa to settle on top of the single plate Ace was holding. "Vega, go help them," he ordered as Ace grunted.

"This is karking heavy," Ace complained, even as they turned and retreated to the kitchen.

Vega hopped up, ducked to grab the tray, then raced after her master with a grin.

"Can you get them to stop that?" Obi-Wan asked Feemor.

Feemor raised an eyebrow at him. "I can't wait until you take a padawan and realise exactly how little control you have over them."

Obi-Wan grimaced. "I'm going to be a knight forever," he decided; Qui-Gon didn't believe him for a moment.

"Grandmaster?"

Qui-Gon looked past his padawans to where Wangui was sitting at the far end of the sofa, next to Yoda's empty spot. (A quick check in the Force showed the Grandmaster was using the 'fresher.) "Yes, Grandpadawan?"

Wangui caught her bottom lip between her teeth for a brief moment, then asked, "Could you– You're...one of the top duellists in the Order. Right?"

"So I'm told," Qui-Gon agreed mildly.

"So humble," Feemor muttered.

Wangui gave a quick nod. "Could you teach me? When, when master is in the Senate?"

"I would be happy to," Qui-Gon promised. "And I'm sure Obi-Wan would be willing to help or take over when I'm away for a mission."

"Of course," Obi-Wan agreed.

Wangui straightened and beamed at them. "Thank you!"

"Why can't you go to the Senate with Feemor?" Ace asked as they returned with Vega, the girl carrying the tray full of small plates, while the knight carried two more.

"I–" Wangui cast an uncertain look at Feemor, even as she pulled her legs up onto the sofa so Ace could slide past her.

Feemor sighed. "You can't come with me in her place," he said.

Ace froze halfway to sitting after having set the plates in front of Qui-Gon and Feemor and slowly turned to stare at their master. "What. The. Kriff."

"What's going on?" Vega demanded as she finished passing out the rest of the plates and settled back down in her spot. She glanced between Wangui and Feemor, then quickly at Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. "Master Feemor?"

"Working with the sith, the chancellor is," Yoda announced as he returned to his spot.

"No," Ace snapped, grabbing Feemor's wrist. "Master, you can't–"

"And who, then, would you have in my place?" Feemor asked, a hard edge to his voice that had Ace, Wangui, and Vega all flinching back, their eyes going wide. "Half this room is already on the sith's radar, and I am the only one qualified to serve as a Senate advisor. This is my duty, sith or no, and I will not sit back and watch as they rip the Republic and the Order to pieces for their gain."

This, Qui-Gon realised with a distant sort of horrified grief, was the soldier, the man who had gone to war and been shot by someone he trusted on the orders of the one who was supposed to be leading them. This was the man who had lost his master, his padawans and grandpadawan, even most of his friends.

And, judging by the way Ace's expression had frozen in a rictus of horror and fury, Wangui was half hiding behind her sibling-padawan, and Vega had scrunched in on herself, shifting ever so slightly closer to Obi-Wan, none of them knew how to react to this stranger, this warrior wearing their master's face.

He reached forward and settled his hand at the nape of Feemor's neck, said, "Padawan."

Feemor shuddered and relaxed back against the contact, breathing out a quiet, "Kriff."

"Asked for Feemor, Chancellor Palpatine did," Yoda commented. "To refuse him, unwise it would be. An excuse we would need. Have one, do you, Knight Kudzulek?" He turned a hard gaze on Ace.

The knight swallowed and shook their head. "No," they whispered.

Feemor sighed and pulled away from Qui-Gon's hand, leaning forward to pull Ace into a hug, which they immediately returned, hands fisted in the back of Feemor's tunic so tightly, the tan of their knuckles went pale. "I know," Feemor said quietly, reaching a hand out past Ace to Wangui, and she seemed to take that as an invitation to scramble over the pair and curl up between Feemor and the arm of the sofa, his nearer arm immediately wrapping around her and pulling her against his side.

"Vega?" Obi-Wan whispered, and Qui-Gon glanced away from the hug pile on the sofa—ignored the face Yoda was making, the one that too often preceded a lecture on attachment—to where Vega had caught Obi-Wan's arm and was hugging it. He glanced in Feemor's direction, grimaced in a pained sort of understanding, and then nodded and said, "Okay," to the girl.

Qui-Gon couldn't stop his eyebrows from raising, because that had looked suspiciously like communicating through a Force bond. He'd had no idea they'd formed one, and if they were communicating concepts or words through it, it had to have been from before they left Naboo.

(He was not jealous. He'd done the proper thing when he'd knighted both of them and dissolved the training bonds he'd had with them. If he wanted a more equal pair bond with either of them—like he'd had with Tahl, before she'd broken it so it wouldn't snap and rebound when she died—he was perfectly capable of asking.)

"I don't like it, either," Feemor admitted quietly. "But this is the hand we've been dealt, and I'd much rather someone who knows what they're getting into steps in as the chancellor's advisor."

"Why not make a Councillor do it, then?" Ace muttered.

Feemor huffed. "You really want one of them juggling Council business, advising the chancellor, investigating him behind his back, and whatever else comes up? Master Gallia's the most qualified, but she also has a padawan."

"And Siri wouldn't let herself be convinced to stay in Temple," Obi-Wan pointed out. "Not sure she'd be able to keep from letting on that the chancellor is a traitor, either."

"Oh?" Qui-Gon couldn't resist saying. "I thought you said she was much more settled, the last time we were on a mission with them."

"Why aren't you more upset by this, Grandmaster?" Ace demanded before Obi-Wan could respond to the blatant teasing.

"Ace!"

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at the knight. "You think I'm not worried? That I wouldn't much prefer to take Feemor—to take all of you—as far from the Senate and this hidden sith's machinations as possible?" He shook his head. "We are jedi, Knight Kudzulek. That means we must be prepared to risk ourselves for the sakes of others. That is our duty, the Code we have sworn to uphold. You know this."

Ace ducked their head back towards Feemor's shoulder, hiding their pained grimace.

Feemor sighed.

"At any rate," Qui-Gon added, "the Council has agreed to never send both myself and Obi-Wan away from Temple at the same time, so one of us will always be nearby to stay with Wangui and provide backup, should Feemor need it."

"I'm sorry, when was this decided?" Feemor asked, turning an unimpressed stare on Qui-Gon.

"After you left to tell the Council about Palpatine's request," Obi-Wan supplied.

"Without me, many decisions were made," Yoda muttered.

"Payback," Feemor deadpanned, and Yoda's ears went up in surprise before he narrowed his eyes.

Qui-Gon cleared his throat and interrupted before a fight started, because he was beginning to suspect that Feemor and Yoda had formed some sort of antagonistic friendship over the course of the thirteen years in Feemor's memories. "We all know how much you enjoy younglings, Master Yoda, and would never have wanted to take that opportunity away from you."

"Yeah, Ani and I had a lot of fun," Wangui added.

Yoda's ears went back to a relaxed position. "Fun with you I had also," he admitted, before pointing a claw at Feemor and saying, "Like me you are becoming."

Qui-Gon couldn't help but laugh at Feemor's horrified expression.

Feemor huffed. "One of you get off me so I can have my pastry."

"Pass me mine?" Wangui asked Ace as they let go of Feemor and shifted back out of his space.

Ace turned a flat look on her, but did reach over and grab her plate to pass over, so she could stay curled against Feemor's side.

Qui-Gon picked up his pastry and took a bite. The overpowering taste of salt almost made him spit it back out, but he forced himself to swallow it, then raised an eyebrow at Ace, who was watching him with that same look Kimura would get when he was waiting for a reaction to whatever prank he'd just set.

"Ace," Feemor said, looking between them.

"Master?" Ace replied, trying very hard to look innocent and largely failing.

"They made one with salt instead of sugar," Vega reported, and shrugged at her master's betrayed look. "I told you he'd know it was you."

Feemor let out a long, tired sigh. "Here, Qui-Gon, you can have mine," he offered, holding out his plate with his own pastry, a small bite taken out of it.

Qui-Gon debated taking it for a moment, because he did want to try the proper thing, after hearing his padawan praise them earlier. But he also wasn't about to take food that Feemor clearly enjoyed, simply because Ace was nursing a grudge. So he said, "No, this is fine," put on his best serene smile, and took another bite of the salty pastry.

Ace's eyes went wide, then they huffed out a laugh and inclined their head; evidently, Qui-Gon had won that round.

He didn't manage to finish the prank pastry, but Obi-Wan slid him half of his, so he did get to try the real thing. And, his grandpadawan's bit of mean-spirited fun aside, they were a very talented baker.

Yoda, inspired by the salt-pastry, asked, "Share tales of the best pranks I have seen, shall I?"

The two padawans and two knights were all quick to agree, Ace's expression intent in a way that warned Qui-Gon he should probably expect something other than a salty pastry, next time.

Yoda got through two stories—both of them well before Qui-Gon's time—before announcing, "Late is is becoming. Tired I am."

Qui-Gon checked the time and blinked in surprise; he honestly hadn't realised it had got that late.

"And you two have an early class," Feemor said, to a chorus of groans from the padawans. "Ace, plates; Vega, Wangui, cups."

They all groaned as they got up, Obi-Wan offering, "I'll help," as he rose, too.

Feemor waited until they'd mostly cleared off to the kitchen, before saying, "Yoda, if you could stay a little bit longer, there's something I need to tell you." He glanced at Qui-Gon, his expression troubled. "Both of you."

Yoda, who had been in the process of getting up, let out a tired sigh and settled back onto Qui-Gon's meditation pad. "Like this, I will not," he guessed.

"No," Feemor admitted. "But that doesn't make it any less necessary to hear." And then he got up to oversee the chaos in Qui-Gon's kitchen.

Qui-Gon sighed. "I miss the days when my greatest worries were his grades and when the last time he slept was."

"Simpler times those were not," Yoda insisted, before sighing, ears drooping, and admitting, "Yet, lighter they were."

The shadow of the dark side, clawing at the edges of the Temple District, seemed to constrict a little more at the acknowledgement.

Feemor managed to get all of the younger jedi out of the flat with only a bit of an argument from Wangui, who complained, "You haven't slept in days, Master."

Qui-Gon missed Feemor's retort when Vega tugged on his sleeve and quietly called, "Master Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon crouched down a bit, as she was a good thirty centimetres shorter than him, and his knees tended to be slightly more forgiving than his back. "Padawan Vega," he returned, using her first name, since she'd used his. (Given how cold her master was being, he was content to let her be the one to decide the level of familiarity.)

She nodded to herself, then said, "Master Feemor likes hugs."

Qui-Gon blinked, thrown by the non sequitur. "Okay."

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Master says it's a depression thing."

And, oh, that explained so much. "I see."

She nodded, then informed him, "I don't like hugs."

Qui-Gon quirked a smile. "I saw you do fist bumps, however."

Her eyes lit up and she held up a fist, which Qui-Gon gently knocked his own against. "You're not as bad as Master always complains," she informed him.

"I am exceedingly pleased to hear that."

"You also sound exactly like Master Feemor," she said, then turned and left him to shove at Ace so they'd leave the flat.

"Making friends with Vega?" Feemor asked, holding a hand down.

"Apparently," Qui-Gon agreed. He let Feemor help him straighten, then tugged his padawan into a hug.

Feemor let out a tiny sound that almost could have been a sob against Qui-Gon's clavicle and caught his hands in the back of Qui-Gon's tunics, holding on tight enough, he'd almost certainly have bruised skin, if he'd grabbed for that instead.

Qui-Gon let himself relax into the hug, resting his cheek on the top of his padawan's head. He hadn't really expected Vega to be wrong, especially after watching the way Feemor kept reaching out to people, but it was nice to have the confirmation that he actually wanted a hug from him, that the option wasn't just there, but actively encouraged.

Sometimes, he needed these things spelt out for him.

"Sweet, this is," Yoda commented in a dry tone.

"Shut up, you hypocritical troll," Feemor muttered, and Qui-Gon chuckled; he was probably enjoying the way his padawan kept mouthing off to Yoda a little too much.

"Hypocrite, am I?" Yoda asked, his eyes narrowing.

Feemor huffed, then reluctantly pulled away from Qui-Gon to face the Grandmaster. "Yes," he said quietly. "And I am as sorry now to tell you this, as you were to tell it to me; Yoda, Master Yan is going to Fall."

Qui-Gon grabbed for his padawan's shoulder, needing the contact to steady himself. He wasn't...surprised, so much—Yan had always had a certain fascination with the forbidden, and a morality that let him do things that had made Qui-Gon uncomfortable—as just...unbalanced. It had only been a week since he'd agreed to invite his former master to dinner, since Feemor had said he deserved a second chance.

"The second chance," he said. "It wasn't about his death, was it? It was about him Falling?"

Yoda let out a quiet, pained noise, and Qui-Gon realised with a start that the ancient master looked shattered.

"Both, really," Feemor said quietly, reaching up to squeeze Qui-Gon's hand before stepping forward and kneeling in front of Yoda. "Last time, we found out during the opening battle of the war, when he ordered Obi-Wan and Anakin's deaths."

Somehow, Qui-Gon stumbled his way over to the sofa and dropped into it, feeling sick. Yan had ordered Obi-Wan's death? His own grandpadawan? That–

Certainly, Yan had always held a certain distance from the rest of their lineage, had avoided Yoda when possible, harped on Qui-Gon about every little 'flaw', and had been actively dismissive to Feemor, especially once Qui-Gon had taken Xanatos as his padawan. He'd never once shown any interest in Obi-Wan, beyond checking in when word reached him that Qui-Gon had finally taken another padawan.

But none of that should have led to him wanting members of his lineage dead.

"I had hoped, that if Qui-Gon survived, he might have stayed, might not have Fallen." He swallowed, loud in the grief-heavy silence, and said, "Might not have become the new sith apprentice, or led the opposition in the war."

Qui-Gon was going to be sick.

...or maybe he'd go hunt down his former master and punch him until he saw sense.

"Too late it is, already," Yoda guessed tiredly.

"To keep him here, yes. And...I'm afraid he's already in contact with the sith, but he doesn't feel Fallen."

Yoda nodded. "Stubborn he has always been, like Qui-Gon, like you. Stubborn, this lineage is. Fallen he has not, not yet, but his path he has picked." He closed his eyes, ears drooping. "A sith, he will become."

"I wanted to save him," Feemor whispered, sounding just as heartbroken as Yoda looked.

Qui-Gon levered himself off the sofa and knelt next to his padawan, tugging him into another hug. Feemor came willingly, hiding his face against the crook of Qui-Gon's neck, and he pretended he couldn't feel the splash of teardrops where his tunics didn't cover. "Grandmaster," he called, and held out an arm.

Yoda hesitated, presumably wary of the uncommon amount of physical contact. But, this was far from a normal situation, and Yoda seemed to accept that, because he set his gimer stick on the table and stepped forward, into the space left for him in their triangle.

"I'm sorry," Feemor whispered.

"Your fault this is not," Yoda insisted. "Yan's choice this is. His fault, his end."

"You did your best, Feemor, but you can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved," Qui-Gon added. "Yan's had an interest in darkness since I was a padawan; this was never your battle to win."

"Since he was an initiate, it was," Yoda corrected. "Counselled him better, I should have. Warmth he has, kindness, but struggle, he always has, to find the proper path. Failed, now, he has. Beyond our help he has gone, and alone he must walk. If enemies we are to become, then in the memory of the man he no longer is, we must face him."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, let himself grieve for the master who had left him, the same way Xanatos had. But, unlike with Xanatos, he wasn't going to react first and hurt his padawans; that was one lesson he only needed to learn once. He would meditate tonight, search the Force for the way forward.

Eventually, Yoda sighed and stepped away, holding out a claw to call his gimer stick to him. "Tell the Council I will. Save Mace some pain."

Feemor snorted from where he was still leaning against Qui-Gon's side. "I think we're all looking forward to the moment we get past the worst of these shatterpoints, so he can actually stand to be in the same room with me."

"Hm. Listen to Padawan Wangui you should. In need of sleep you are."

Feemor sighed. "I'll try," he promised, though he didn't sound particularly excited by the prospect. "I'll take a sedative before my first day at the Senate."

Yoda harrumphed and tapped Feemor's arm lightly with his stick. " 'Try', he says."

"I'm not making promises I can't keep," Feemor shot right back. "Stop nit-picking my degree of determination, you old troll."

Qui-Gon sighed. "Stop picking fights with your great-grandmaster."

Feemor opened his mouth.

"And don't say he started it."

Feemor closed his mouth again, looking at least a little ashamed.

Yoda cackled and stepped past them. "See myself out I can," he called back as Qui-Gon started to rise.

"Good night, Yoda!" Feemor called as he got to his feet next to Qui-Gon.

"Good night, my most troublesome padawans," Yoda returned, and quit the room.

"I suppose," Qui-Gon commented, "we'll always be padawans to him."

"No, he's just a troll."

Qui-Gon chuckled.

"Are you okay?" Feemor asked, peering up at him with worried blue eyes.

Qui-Gon sighed and admitted, "No. But I'm not as surprised as I wish I was, either. Mostly it's...did he really order Obi-Wan's death? And Anakin's?"

Feemor nodded, expression gone grim. "Yes. Obi-Wan was snooping where Yan didn't want him; Anakin had come to rescue him and failed. We...managed to get there in time to save them, but we suffered heavy losses, and Yan fled and Obi-Wan and Anakin gave chase. From all accounts, if Yoda hadn't arrived when he did and duelled him to a standstill, Yan would have killed them both."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and just breathed for a moment. Then he opened them again and said, "I'd like to teach Wangui Makashi."

Feemor closed his own eyes, looking pained. "Yeah," he agreed tiredly. "Slip in some Ataru moves and it would be the best counter." And then he snorted. "He's finally got what he wanted, you realise: All of us learning Makashi just so we can kick his shebs."

"Damn," Qui-Gon muttered. And then he realised what Feemor had just said and squinted at him. " 'Shebs'? When did you pick up Mando'a?"

Feemor grimaced. "The war," he said in that tone that meant he wasn't going to say anything more on that.

Still, he didn't really need to. If it had been a common enough word to have entered his vocabulary, he must have heard it often, and since the only other group of people in the galaxy who could regularly keep up with jedi in combat situations were Mandalorians, the obvious explanation was that he counted them among his soldiers. Or they had been the enemy, but something told Qui-Gon it was the first one.

Feemor sighed. "I should go. Let you sleep."

'I will not be sleeping,' he didn't say, but Qui-Gon heard it anyway, and wasn't particularly surprised.

"Yes, one of us should manage that, at least," Qui-Gon replied drily.

Feemor shrugged. "Good night, Master," he said, turning to leave.

"Feemor," Qui-Gon called, and his padawan paused, glancing back. "If you need me, for any reason, at any time, the door will open for you. It always has."

For a long moment, Feemor just stared at him, but then he hurried back over and hugged Qui-Gon, whispering, "Thank you."

Qui-Gon hugged him back—he was starting to understand why his padawan was so attached to the physical display of affection—and murmured, "Any time, Padawan, any time at all."

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