Fic: I Don't Want Perfect ~ Star Wars ~ Teen

[batsutousai]

Title: I Don't Want Perfect
Series: Make a Brand New End
Fandom: Star Wars
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Alternate Universe, Qui-Gon Lives, time travel, jedi families, character with PTSD, nonbinary character, asexual character, queer characters, sex repulsed character, lightsabre duels, hurt/comfort, hugs for everyone
Summary: Ace challenges Qui-Gon to a duel and Kei finds out and drags Feemor to watch. The duel between his master and padawan ended about the way Feemor had expected it to, but everything after that was a bit of a surprise.

A/N: I wasn't going to write whatever duel might happen between Ace and Qui-Gon, but then Kei insisted he needed some screentime, so...

In other news, I still hate writing combat. Why do I make these choices?

This ended up being, like, twice as long as I'd expected.

No promises on when the next instalment will drop. The plotty fic is taking its time, but my muse somehow also spawned a Feemor and Obi-Wan being brotherly idea, which is maybe half done? And an Anakin and Feemor idea that may work out into at least a short ficlet. Subscribe to the series on AO3 to get updated about any more fics, or follow me at my writing tumblr.

Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own and LiveJournal.

-0-o-0-

"I've heard a rumour," Kei called from a good five paces away, and Feemor knew it wasn't because he was just that excited to share some new bit of intel, that he was managing Feemor. Because he'd been back in the Temple for five days, now, and he'd already startled—bad enough to grab his lightsabre, once—three times because Kei or Marcus had come up behind him without him realising. (They weren't the only ones he'd startled at, but they were the ones Kei was most likely to be aware of. Although Feemor would be surprised if he hadn't heard about at least half of the other times.)

Kei—and Marcus and others who cared or were invasive enough to ask—bought the 'I fought a sith' line, at least, and Feemor had seen Kei call out to Obi-Wan in warning once, too, so he knew it wasn't just him that was being managed this way. Even if he was the only one who needed it. Battlefield reflexes were not particularly useful in a peaceful Temple, and while he had bonds with his padawans and Obi-Wan to warn him when they were nearby, he didn't with anyone else. (He had thought about seeing if Kei would agree to a Force bond, if just to tie off that dangling bond in his head, but he couldn't think of a good excuse as to why he might ask. And that would only help with Kei, not Marcus or the rest of their friends, once they were back in Temple, nor anyone else.)

Feemor turned his head to watch as his friend strode over, took in the too-large mug of caff, and suspected he'd just come off a night or early morning shift. "Heard, or created?" he asked drily, because experience had taught him that about half of the rumours Kei had 'heard' had been something he'd overheard listening at closed doors or because some jedi foolishly forgot that the Temple guard were sentient beings and not statues, and then spread through the Temple rumour mill himself.

Kei flashed him a wide, chaotic grin as he dropped inelegantly into the seat next to him. "Heard," he said, because he'd given up lying about the actual origin of any 'rumours' before Ace had been knighted. "Word is, your padawan is going to duel Jinn to the death."

Feemor rolled his eyes and turned back to the remains of his lunch, not bothering to ask a clarification about which padawan, because Wangui had decided her grandmaster was okay. (And she knew better than to think she could best him in a duel.) "Qui-Gon would never let Ace put their life on the line for a grudge-match, don't be daft."

"Not sure I believe that," Kei muttered, then yelped when Feemor elbowed him in the spleen. "He's a piece of shit, Fee!"

"I'm not having this argument with you again," Feemor insisted, because he wasn't; Kei hadn't forgiven Qui-Gon until Marcus had died at Geonosis, and even then it had been more of a 'I suppose I can understand why losing a padawan might kriff up your head a bit'.

Kei grumbled some choice Umbarese insults under his breath, but shut up when Feemor made a swipe at his caff. (He wouldn't drink it—or, he wouldn't have at this point in his life, originally; he'd resigned himself to drinking caff two weeks into the war, because the Vode didn't care for tea, and it was easier to drink what had already been made in bulk, than to wait for a single serving of tea to be ready—but he would spit in it or dump it down a drain, if one was near enough.) "Fine! Keep your wrong opinions to yourself, then! See if I care!"

Feemor just stared at him.

Kei deflated a bit, hunching protectively over his caff. "Is Ace challenging the–"

"My master," Feemor interrupted, because he'd already had a lifetime of listening to his friend call his former master names. "I have no idea; managing Ace's time hasn't been my job for seven years. Longer, even."

Kei snorted, because it was common knowledge—in their circle of friends, at least—that Ace had done far more 'managing' Feemor than the other way around, especially in the early years of their apprenticeship, before the healers had got his depression medication sorted and he'd learnt that actually taking it helped him far more than letting his old shame rule him.

"However, I do know Qui-Gon suggested Ace meet him in the salles, rather than resort to underhanded tactics, like salty pastries."

"Which, related," Kei said, straightening from his hunch and shooting Feemor a rather overdone betrayed look, "I can't believe I had to hear about that from Marcus via Vega, when you know how much I would have enjoyed hearing about it!"

Feemor huffed. "I had other things on my mind."

"What could possibly be more important than your waste of space of a former master's face when he bit into a salty pastry?" Kei complained.

Feemor cast a quick glance around the commissary, debating whether or not he should tell Kei the full truth about Yan's leaving. He knew the Council had to have heard about the archives by now—Jocasta had said one night, and it had been that—but the fact that Kei didn't already know, meant they were either doing a better job than usual of keeping something this big under wraps, or Kei had got so distracted by the thought of Ace taking on Qui-Gon, he'd missed the even bigger news. (Although, given how much Kei wanted someone to beat Qui-Gon from here to the outer rim, Yan's betrayal might actually rank lower, for him.)

"Okay, wait." Kei held up a hand, looking a little bemused. "You haven't left the Temple since you got back—pretty sure you'll be knocked out and dragged to the Halls if you try to escape the grounds, right now–"

"That's a lie," Feemor insisted, though he honestly wouldn't put it past certain healers to try something like that, given how badly the war had karked up his neurochemistry; Master Che kept making him come back to try new doses or medications, determined to get him stabilised before he returned to active duty. Anyway, if he was seen outside the Temple, Palpatine would probably assume that meant he could come to the Senate, and Windu had been very clear about the fact that Feemor would be taking the entire ten-day off.

"Sure it is," Kei agreed in that tone of voice that meant he was humouring him.

Feemor resisted the urge to grab his caff and dump it over his head.

"But, you haven't left the Temple, so you can't have Senate gossip, and that's the only gossip you ever get before me. So how can you have something worthy of furtive glances?"

Feemor sighed; now he'd have to say something, or Kei would harass him all day. "I assume you've heard that Master Yan left?"

Kei rolled his eyes. "Who hasn't. And good riddance; if there's anyone I'd like to space more than Jinn, it's that Hutt's dick."

Feemor closed his eyes and grimaced. "Kei. Please."

Kei let out a disgusted sound. "Don't tell me you're suddenly in Camp Dooku?" he demanded.

"It's the mental image that's the problem," Feemor replied, shooting him a tired look.

Kei paused, expression going blank for a moment, before he slowly started to grin, flashing teeth the same way Rún did when she wanted to look threatening. (Which worked a lot better for her than it did Kei, since Pantorans didn't have 'slightly elongated incisors', as Rún insisted on calling her fangs.) "You mean you don't want to envision–"

Feemor grabbed at the mug of caff with the Force, raising it up faster than Kei could grab for it, then tipped it over his friend's head, even as Kei yelped and attempted to throw himself backwards.

"Are you done?" Feemor asked mildly as he stared down at where Kei had landed on his arse, sprawled over the floor, caff splashed all over his face and soaking into his tunics and tabards.

Somewhere in the commissary, someone let out a choked noise, while someone else started snickering.

"You realise," Kei told him as he picked himself up off the floor, "that this means war."

"First, you started that one," Feemor returned as more people let out noises of amusement. "By the laws governing crèche wars, you cannot plan revenge on revenge."

"Dammit!"

"Second–" he flashed a wide, sharp smile at Kei's glower "–I know something you don't know," he finished in a sing-song voice.

"I despise you," Kei informed him as he motioned to call some napkins from the utensil cart. "Why the kark are we friends, again?"

"Hm. Probably because we don't have any other choices?"

"True. Rún probably would have killed us in our sleep if we hadn't gone along with all of Roimata's adventures."

Feemor raised an eyebrow at him, because Roimata hadn't been the only one dragging the rest of them along on poorly thought out escapes from the crèche.

Kei flashed him a wide, slightly manic grin—made more so by the caff still dripping off his nose—as he settled back onto his freshly dried seat and started working on drying his clothing.

"Honestly," Feemor complained, picking up his own napkin—clean, thank you—and twisting to dry off Kei's face. "Some days, I wonder how Master Th'reb ever thought you were ready for knighthood."

Kei pulled back from the napkin to say, "I'm not the one upending cups of caff over people's heads."

Feemor just stared at him, because he could recall three different instances, that he was there for, where Kei had dumped a cup of some sort of drink over someone's head. He knew of at least a half dozen more he hadn't been there for, not to mention all of the times Kei had used something other than a cup to hold the liquid in. Also, that time with the slime.

Kei just shrugged, completely unashamed by his extensive history of misdeeds.

"Just go change," Feemor finally ordered, taking the sopping napkins from Kei and dropping it onto his own tray. "How full was that mug?"

"I got maybe two sips?" Kei replied, putting on a pathetic expression.

"I'm not feeding your caff addiction."

Kei sighed and stood, catching a hand under Feemor's elbow and tugging up. "Come on. You have to comm Ace and find out when this duel to the death is supposed to happen, so we don't miss it."

"What, that part wasn't in the rumour?" Feemor muttered, but he let himself be pulled up; he'd been mostly done eating before Kei had arrived, anyway.

He did comm Ace en route to Kei and Marcus' quarters. Kei didn't look particularly surprised when he passed on that they had about forty minutes, so Feemor wasn't really surprised when, as soon as the door of the flat closed behind them, Kei said, "So, what's the real secret about Dooku? He going under cover or something?"

Feemor sighed and dropped himself into Kei's sofa while his friend went to go change, leaving the door open between them. "Would that it was so simple," he replied tiredly. "No. Jocasta and I found out he'd erased data from the archives."

Something went 'thump' in Kei's room and he stumbled out to stand in the doorway, eyes wide and naked above the waist. (Feemor rolled his eyes at the array of bite marks covering his chest and, by all appearances, continuing onto his back and under the waistband of his leggings; it was always a delight to know what his lover of the week was into. Not.) "I'm sorry," Kei said in a disbelieving voice. "Did you just say your grandmaster erased shit from the archives?"

Feemor nodded. "Planetary systems. Their names and locations, anything about the inhabitants, everything."

"What. The. Kriff."

Feemor just shook his head.

Kei dropped the tunic he'd been holding and rubbed his hands over his face, muttering curses in Umbarese.

"I know," Feemor said tiredly. "My lineage is an honest-to-Force speeder wreck."

"Kriff," Kei said again, dropping his hands back to his sides. "If I come over there and hug you right now...?"

"Please put something on first," Feemor requested, unspeakably grateful that Kei had asked; there were days he was okay with hugs from his friend in various stages of undressed, and days he wasn't. The array of bitemarks viewed at a distance and the topic were making him uncomfortable enough without bringing in Kei's natural handsiness.

Kei glanced down, grimaced slightly, then vanished back into his room.

When Kei came back out in a tight under-tunic, Feemor let himself be pulled up from the sofa and wrapped in a hug, automatically catching Kei's hand before it could go too low on his back. "Above my waist, Kei."

"But you have such a–"

"Don't say it."

"–squeezable arse," Kei finished with a certain amount of chaotic glee in his voice. But his hands obediently settled above his waist.

Feemor let out a resigned huff, making the long strands of Kei's bangs jump, and wrapped his arms back around his friend, resting his head against the top of Kei's and breathing in the familiar scents of Temple soap, the faint chill of a species meant for cooler climes, and milky caff.

Hugging Kei always felt a little like playing with fire, because his presence was a comfort in the way someone who had been there your entire life could be, but he knew Kei would bed him in a heartbeat—they'd nearly had a falling out over it when they were padawans, before Rún stepped in and acted as a go-between so they would actually listen to each other—and that would always leave him just a little uncomfortable, even though he knew Kei would respect his boundaries. (Mostly; Kei wouldn't be Kei if he didn't push, just a little bit.)

"Fine," Kei said eventually, words tickling the hollow of Feemor's throat, "I suppose Jinn is no longer the top of my shit list."

"I'm sure he'd be delighted to know he ranks below a traitor," Feemor returned drily.

"Shit." Kei barked out a laugh. "I think you were better off not being a member of the lineage."

Feemor...couldn't really argue with that, given how much emotional and mental pain Qui-Gon and Yan had caused him over the decades. Especially Yan. Qui-Gon may have repudiated him, but he'd also stayed away; Yan had gone out of his way to take a shot at Feemor, on multiple occasions, and had started the war that had killed so many of the people he cared for.

Although, being repudiated hadn't saved him from Yan's cruelties, either before or after Qui-Gon's death. And he had learnt a lot from Qui-Gon, had been on great terms with him before Xanatos' Fall. As much as everything that followed had hurt, he wasn't certain he would have wanted another master; Qui-Gon's steadiness and unapologetic affection had been very much needed after Je'dyannder's death, not to mention throughout his apprenticeship and early knighthood, when he'd been struggling with trying to find his centre amidst his undiagnosed depression.

Still, Kei wouldn't agree with him about Qui-Gon having been a good master, still too sore about the harm Xanatos' Fall had spawned, so he didn't bother saying anything about it. Instead, he said, "Obi-Wan is worth it."

Kei huffed out a laugh and finally let go, pulling back to shoot Feemor a fond look. "You've only known him, what, two weeks? I'll give you that he's pretty, but so was Xanatos."

Feemor shrugged. "Xanatos never saved my life," he pointed out, because he was hardly going to explain exactly how good a person his brother-padawan was, or how he knew. "Maul would have killed me if Obi-Wan hadn't got in the way."

Kei's jaw clenched and he gave a jerky nod.

"I know you like him," Feemor added, because Kei wouldn't have been calling out warnings to avoid startling Obi-Wan if he was actually suspicious of him. "And I don't mean in the libido way."

Kei snickered, his expression easing into a sort of resigned amusement. "Yeah, okay, he's lacking pretty much all of Xanatos' worst qualities. Even when he left the Order–"

"I'm sorry, when he what, now?" Feemor interrupted, frowning.

Kei frowned in return. "He left the Order. Something about a civil war he couldn't turn his back on, and Jinn left him there. It was right before Xanatos attacked the Temple."

"Ah." He and Ace had been on Umbara, overseeing the cessation of hostilities between two warring tribes for a good chunk of that year. (It hadn't really been a mission a padawan should have gone on, but no one had been willing to send Feemor off on his own, at that point, and he'd been the only consular who was both available for a long mission and fluent in Umbarese.) Kei had started sending him updates about the attacks on the Temple when Yoda had been attacked, not wanting him to hear about it from Republic news sources, and they'd both agreed that his being away from Temple had probably kept him from becoming one of Xanatos' targets.

He hadn't found out Qui-Gon had taken another padawan until almost four months after the attacks, when he and Ace finally returned to Temple. By then, most of the rumours concerning Obi-Wan Kenobi had been more focussed on how he'd rescued younglings and been the cause of a former initiate's death. (Whether Chun's death had been purposeful or not, depended entirely on who was telling the story, but the Senate committee had found him innocent of blame, and Feemor had still trusted the Senate enough, at the time, to take their word as law.)

"Wait," he said as he worked out the maths in his head. "Qui-Gon left a thirteen-year-old on a planet in the middle of a civil war?"

Kei stared at him for a moment, then flashed a mean grin. "Are you going to punch Jinn again? Can I record it?"

Something of his protective anger and old regrets must have leaked down the bond to Obi-Wan, because he sent a wordless inquiry.

Feemor breathed out the old feeling of regret—he was making up for abandoning Obi-Wan as best he could—and some of the anger, but some of it clung to him, and he suspected he was going to need to get the full story from his brother-padawan before that would fully leave him. (And potentially yell at Qui-Gon a bit.)

He sent a, Later, to Obi-Wan, even as he said, "I'm not committing violence against my master just for your pleasure, Kei. If that's what you really want in life, you'll simply have to make do with watching Ace duel him."

Kei jerked. "The duel! We're going to be late!" he realised, and raced back into his room to finish getting dressed.

Feemor rolled his eyes.

Kei was sort of worryingly silent as they made their way through the Temple to the salles. Just outside the entrance, Feemor caught his arm to stop him, tugging him out of the way to allow a padawan and knight to pass them. "Kei, I need you to swear to me that you're not going to use Master Yan against Qui-Gon."

Kei scowled. "Give me one good reason."

"How about three: What happened in the archives isn't common knowledge, you'll be hurting Yoda just as much as Qui-Gon–" Kei winced; as annoying as Yoda could be, there wasn't a single jedi alive who didn't have fond childhood memories of him "–and I'm asking you to."

Kei deflated. "Fine," he muttered, before shooting Feemor a suspicious look. "Just don't put a moratorium on Xanatos."

"I really don't care if you throw Xanatos in his face," Feemor returned, because Xanatos had done a lot of damage even before he'd left the Order, and Qui-Gon had been wilfully oblivious to it. (Unless Xanatos was degrading Feemor in front of him. That Qui-Gon had told him off for. Not that it had ever stopped him.) "I do request that you keep in mind who else is around when you do, though; if you mention the Temple attack around Vega again, I'm going to do worse than dump caff on your head."

Kei winced. "I– Okay. That was... I'm sorry. I knew better."

"You did."

"I did apologise to her?" Kei added a little hopefully.

"I'm very proud of you," Feemor replied, and patted his head.

Kei took a swipe at him, which Feemor dodged with a snicker, then shoved him towards the salles entrance.

It wasn't hard to find where the duel was to take place, given all three of their combined padawans were in attendance, as well as Vega, Obi-Wan, and Skywalker. Qui-Gon and Ace were doing limbering stretches on the mat, but the others were settled in the tiered seating to watch. They weren't the only ones there—a couple of knights and masters who Feemor knew were on good terms with either Ace or Qui-Gon, including Adi Gallia and Depa Billaba, were scattered along the seats—but they had settled themselves front and centre.

"Mr Feemor!" Skywalker called from where he looked comfortably squished between Wangui and Obi-Wan, a training remote held in his lap.

"Hello, Anakin," Feemor returned, ruffling the boy's hair as he stepped past him to settle in the open space between Wangui and Vega, which Vega had motioned for him to take. "Obi-Wan, padawans. I'm surprised Master Drallig let you remove that from the training space," he added, nodding to the remote.

"It apparently has a bad charge pack," Obi-Wan explained as Skywalker hugged the droid to his chest, looking a little defensive. "I guess it's cheaper to scrap it than take it apart and switch it out?" He shrugged. "Master Drallig said Ani could take it, so long as he swore not to let it loose outside the salles."

Feemor chuckled. "I see initiate attempts to torment stodgy masters is approved of by our Battlemaster."

Skywalker perked up. "What, really? But Mis– er, Master?" He made an unhappy face.

"You can use 'mister' with us," Obi-Wan offered. And then, apparently sensing Feemor's confusion, silently offered, He was a slave.

Feemor couldn't stop his eyebrows from jumping up. He'd never known that; no wonder the boy had struggled so much with adapting to Temple life. Also, they should probably set him up with a mind healer, if the master in charge of his initiate dorm hadn't already. "Mister, miss, and mix are all acceptable forms of address for elder jedi, knight or master, and if one of them takes offence, you can send them to me."

Skywalker lit up, the Force around him sparkling with gratitude, and Feemor had to wonder if he hadn't already been struggling with some of the more conservative masters and knights taking offence to his difficulty with using the title of 'master'. "I will, Mr Feemor!" he promised.

Well, fielding offended jedi was probably going to be less stressful than dealing with their chancellor. And he could speak to Skywalker's dorm master, see if they couldn't run some interference of their own. "Now, Mr Drallig was...?" he prompted.

Skywalker wiggled a bit, his delighted gratitude loud in the Force around him. "He... Oh! Uhm, he caught me and Yu and Ricci setting up an ambush for Mr Mundi and made us practise katas for two hours."

Feemor wasn't the only one to chuckle at that. "Well, if you're caught, you must suffer the consequences of your actions. And there's nothing wrong with extra tutelage in lightsabre combat. Or do you not care for that?"

"No, no! I want to be the best, just like you and Obi-Wan and Mr Qui-Gon, but it's exhausting."

Obi-Wan, Feemor saw, had flushed at the compliment.

"One doesn't become the 'best' at something overnight," Feemor replied with gentle rebuke. "It requires a great deal of hard work, and, in the case of lightsabre combat, that means months and years of pushing your limits in training your body and your mind. It is exhausting, yes, but if the outcome is that important to you, the work will be worth it."

"I– Oh." Skywalker frowned down at the remote thoughtfully. "So, like Threepio. He took ages to build, but I kept at it because it was important to me that Mom had him."

"Indeed," Feemor agreed, though he had no idea what 'Threepio' was. A droid, knowing the boy's obsession with them. "However, back to your initial belief," he continued, raising his eyebrows in a way that had Wangui giggling, because she knew him and his willingness to help Kei with some of his pranks, "if Mr Drallig didn't at least appreciate your pranking attempts, he wouldn't have given you the remote at all, and he certainly wouldn't have implied you can set it loose in the salles to attack whoever might be training there." Because it certainly wasn't more cost effective to bin or donate remotes in need of repairs to initiates; the jedi artisans were more than capable of fixing any remotes or droids that weren't working at peak efficiency, or recycling their parts for future needs.

Skywalker's eyes went wide. "Oh," he breathed, and then he beamed.

(Feemor wondered if it would be a terrible idea to properly introduce the boy to Kei, who was currently debating the importance of homework versus tinkering with a couple of the speeders to make them let out bright orange smoke with Marcus. Which, related, he needed to remember to double-check any speeders he borrowed when he started going to the Senate in a few days.)

Vega nudged him and, when he glanced over, nodded towards where Qui-Gon and Ace were moving into position on the mat. "Ah, yes. Thank you, my dear."

Qui-Gon and Ace both settled into the opening stance for Ataru. Ace was radiating determined disgust, while Qui-Gon felt calm in the Force, but Feemor could see the resignation in his eyes.

Ace moved first, stepping in quick and brutal, swinging low—not a bad choice, given the height difference—but Qui-Gon blocked with an easy movement, stepping in close and catching a foot behind Ace's, tugging forward to unbalance them.

Ace went with the fall, lightsabre flickering off as they caught themself in a partial backflip, pushing hard off the floor and using the Force to give them height and help twist their body in mid-air. Their lightsabre flared back into life, the blue blade coming straight for Qui-Gon's head.

Except Qui-Gon moved, dodging to the side and swinging around from that angle, forcing Ace to have to contort awkwardly almost before they'd landed their missed attack, just barely managing to block, stumbling slightly at the force of it.

"Your feet aren't planted," Qui-Gon said.

"Is he–?" Obi-Wan asked disbelievingly, just audible over the noises Kei and Skywalker were making in support of their preferred challenger. (Because of course Kei would be incapable of acting a respectable knight watching a duel. At least Skywalker's age excused him.)

Qui-Gon pressed in, quicker than a man his size should be able to manage, and nudged Ace's left foot into a better position, then stepped back, smoothly dodging Ace's swipe at his head.

"Yes," Feemor said, helplessly amused at how much of a teacher his former master was when it came to Ataru. "Yes, he really is."

"Kriff you," Ace snarled, performing a quick sidestep and spin, coming in at Qui-Gon on his left.

"That is–" Obi-Wan said, wince audible in his voice.

"Nope," Feemor agreed as Qui-Gon shifted his stance, not even bothering to turn properly to face Ace as he blocked the strike, twisting his wrist to disarm Ace in the same movement.

"Don't assume my off-hand is my weaker side," Qui-Gon suggested, giving Ace the chance to recover and call their lightsabre back to their hand, rather than going in for the ending strike. Because this had apparently just turned into a lesson on lightsabre combat.

"Temper, Padawan," Feemor called before Ace could start cursing their grandmaster like he knew they were about to.

Ace let out a disgusted snarl, but they also stepped back, considered their line of attack instead of rushing in again. They circled for a long moment, while Qui-Gon just watched them, one eyebrow slowly starting to raise.

"You know, Master, this is almost unfair," Wangui said as Ace finally moved, feinting in low, before spinning away from the block Qui-Gon supplied and kicking off the ground, performing a perfect little flip and coming down at Qui-Gon from above.

"Because Ace thinks they can take one of the best duellists in the Order?" Feemor asked drily as Qui-Gon countered the attack from above, putting just enough force behind his defensive push to send Ace flying backward, off-balanced.

"Something like that," Wangui agreed, wincing as her sibling-padawan landed roughly and stumbled to one knee. "They should have had someone stand in for them."

"Pretty sure that would have defeated the purpose," Obi-Wan muttered as they watched Ace stand again, glaring at where Qui-Gon was giving them space to recover.

"Stop playing games," Ace ordered.

"Oh, Ace," Feemor sighed rubbing a hand over his mouth to hide his amusement.

"Ouch," Obi-Wan said, as Qui-Gon nodded, and then blurred, moving so fast they needed the Force to track him as he rushed in close, spun around behind Ace while they were moving to block an attack, too slow, and caught an arm around their chest, holding his lightsabre under their chin, just shy of singeing their beard.

"Solah," Ace spat, and shoved Qui-Gon away as soon as his lightsabre had disengaged.

"You have trouble with your footwork," Qui-Gon commented mildly. "It leaves you off-balanced and an easy target for a stronger opponent to exploit."

"Shut up, I don't want anything from you."

"He has a point," Feemor pointed out in a mild tone. "The same one, I might add, that I've been trying to make for almost a decade."

Ace glowered at him. "Thank you for that, Master," they bit out.

Feemor shrugged, unrepentant; Ace was an excellent pilot, one of the top ten in the Order, but their lightsabre skills had always been subpar. It was one of the reasons Vega hadn't specialised in Ataru, unlike the rest of their line, but stayed with the more familiar Shii-Cho that she'd learnt as an initiate.

"Why don't you show them how it's done, Master?" Wangui suggested, mischief in her tone.

"Oh, yes, go kick his arse, Fee!" Kei called, clearly taking to the idea. From the way Ace had started grinning, wide and just a little mean, at their grandmaster and Vega had straightened, coming to attention on the bench next to him, his crèchemate wasn't the only one excited by the prospect of Feemor duelling his former master.

He glanced at Qui-Gon, who shrugged and motioned that it was his choice.

"I don't think this is going to go quite as well as you're expecting, Padawan," Feemor told Wangui, but he did get up, to cheers from Kei and Skywalker.

"Oh, I don't know," Obi-Wan said in a carefully blanked tone. "I think you'll surprise yourself."

Feemor eyed him for a moment—they'd been meeting, mostly unintentionally, in the salles the past few nights and working together on Soresu and Makashi katas, both driven there by insomnia and the memory of fighting against a sith, but it wasn't as though they'd duelled each other—then hummed noncommittally and stepped out onto the mat, patting Ace's shoulder as they passed him to take his spot between Vega and Wangui.

"Destroy him, Master," Ace hissed.

"Sit down before I set you to remedial lessons," Feemor ordered.

Ace flashed him a grin, unrepentant, and continued on to the open seat.

Feemor sighed and walked the rest of the way to Qui-Gon. "Sorry," he offered as he started moving through his limbering exercises.

"I'm quite aware that you can't control your padawans once they reach a certain age," Qui-Gon replied, amused. "And I'm not adverse to seeing how you've improved, now we're not planning a fight for our lives."

Feemor considered that, humming an acknowledgement. "You sound certain of that," he murmured. "That I've improved," he added in clarification when Qui-Gon raised an enquiring eyebrow at him.

Qui-Gon reached out and grabbed his shoulder. "Feemor, I've seen you fight, both recently and as a knight; you've never been one of the top duellists by choice, not because you're incapable of it. I have never, not once, questioned your ability to protect yourself and anyone with you on the field, and that isn't just because your diplomatic skills are superb."

Feemor swallowed and cleared his throat, feeling a strange mix of elated and grieving at that compliment. "I– Th–thank you, Master."

Qui-Gon gave his shoulder a squeeze, then withdrew. "Come, you have a couple of padawans and a grandpadawan to impress."

Feemor huffed and let the tangle of emotions pass into the Force's keeping, to be further investigated later. "Shouldn't you also be trying to impress them?" he asked drily.

"I am afraid," Qui-Gon said with a helpless sort of smile, "that that ship has already left atmosphere."

Oh, Feemor didn't think it was quite that hopeless; Wangui and Vega, at least, seemed willing to give him a chance, and there was always Skywalker, assuming Obi-Wan took him as his padawan again. (And, even if he didn't, judging by the way the boy had attached himself to their lineage as best he could, he had a feeling they were stuck with him.)

Qui-Gon settled into Ataru's opening stance, and Feemor debated for a moment—he was relatively certain he could hold out against his former master with Soresu, but since half the point was to show Ace where they'd been going wrong, he felt it might be better to do Ataru—before following suit. And then he waited.

"Come on, Master!" Ace called, while Kei complained, "Fee, this is supposed to be a show!"

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at him, and Feemor raised his own right back; he wasn't an impatient knight in his twenties any more and he could out-patience his former master.

Qui-Gon quirked a smile, fond, and then he moved, rushing forward at the same speed he'd used to end his duel with Ace.

Feemor drew on the Force almost automatically, letting it fill him and match his speed to Qui-Gon's, so his blade was there, catching his attack, tilted ever so slightly so Qui-Gon's blade slid along and past him. He twisted, disengaged, brought his lightsabre around for an overhead slash.

As Qui-Gon blocked, tried to upset his stance by sliding his own foot against Feemor's, he became aware of Ace letting out a startled curse, while young voices rose in a cheer.

He clicked his sabre off and stepped in close, shoving Qui-Gon, and he must have surprised him, because he stumbled back a step, eyebrows going up before his eyes narrowed.

They traded a handful of blows, using close combat to attempt to upset the other's balance, more than focussing on attempts to disarm. Qui-Gon managed to upset him once, forcing Feemor to fall forward into a roll and spinning around to just barely block the follow-up attack, but Feemor body-checked him twice more, and managed to upset his landing after an airborne attack by moving in fast after his retreat and forcing him to twist and block mid-air.

After the third body-check, Qui-Gon jumped away, and it wasn't until Feemor was almost on top of him again, dashing in low with an underhanded swipe, that he realised he'd changed forms.

His blade slid up Qui-Gon's sabre as he ducked down and twisted, his free hand coming around to shove at Feemor's elbow. Feemor almost lost his grip on his weapon, fumbled it for a moment, and then fell back into a familiar Soresu guard as Qui-Gon came after him, utilising Makashi's quick, close-in attacks to test Feemor's guard.

His guard held—of course it held; he'd got very good at Soresu during the war, and he'd been putting a lot of work into getting those skills back—but Soresu wasn't really a great match for Makashi, no matter the skill level of either combatant, and Qui-Gon managed to disarm him with another blade-feint-hand-shove manoeuvre, his lightsabre swinging around to hover just under Feemor's chin before he could call his lightsabre back to his hand and get it on to block.

Skywalker and Wangui both let out loud cheers, while others of their audience clapped politely and Vega—only just audible under the noise—said, "Will you stop complaining about my learning from Master Qui-Gon now?"

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at him and Feemor huffed out a quiet laugh and said, "Solah," because the niceties must always be observed.

Qui-Gon turned off his sabre and returned it to his belt as Feemor did the same. "You've been practising Soresu," he murmured.

Feemor shrugged and admitted, "Obi-Wan and I have been running katas together. We do Makashi, too." He grimaced. "I should have transitioned to that, instead."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Yes, Soresu wasn't really a good choice. Still, you did better than I could have with it."

"I've had more practise," Feemor insisted, even as he warmed with gratitude for the compliment.

Qui-Gon's smile went a little crooked. "Yes," he agreed quietly, "I suppose you have." And then he stepped forward and wrapped Feemor in a hug.

Feemor relaxed into it, breathing in his former master's familiar scent. He didn't know why Qui-Gon was suddenly so willing to feed his need for physical comfort, but he was hardly going to complain, especially since there was something especially wonderful to being hugged by someone who was larger than him. Feemor hadn't had that since he'd taken his Trials and Qui-Gon had done the accepted thing of distancing himself so Feemor could learn to stand on his own. (That wasn't something Feemor had managed to do with Ace; he'd needed the connection of another person he could reach out for, and Ace had been far too used to providing that support. The Council hadn't been happy about it, but Master Stailfre, the mind healer who had been working with Feemor at the time, had forced their hand.)

They were interrupted by Wangui crashing into both of them, hugging them as best she could while calling, "That was amazing! I had no idea you could fight like that, Master!"

"It has been to our benefit, Padawan, that none of our missions have required the use of a lightsabre to resolve," Feemor replied, amused, as he stepped back from Qui-Gon to hug his excitable padawan properly.

"Wait, those missions exist?" Obi-Wan asked over the sounds of Skywalker recapping his favourite moments of the duel. "How come I've never been on one?"

"Ah." Qui-Gon cleared his throat, looking ever so slightly embarrassed.

"Sorry, little brother, I think it's just your luck," Feemor offered.

Obi-Wan grimaced. "How...promising."

"That, and our esteemed master isn't always as smooth a talker as he thinks he is."

Obi-Wan laughed outright, while Qui-Gon turned an offended look on Feemor. "Is that so."

Feemor offered his most serene smile in return. "It does keep your sabre-work top-tier, so I suppose it's to your benefit."

Qui-Gon let out an amused huff, then caught Feemor around the back of his neck and tugged his head down a bit to roughly ruffle his hair.

"Master!" Feemor shouted, shoving at Qui-Gon until the bigger man let him go, and then running his fingers through his hair to try and get it to lay flat again, while their entire lineage and Kei laughed at him. "Traitor," Feemor called to Kei.

"Sorry, Fee! I just can't remember the last time you looked so ruffled," Kei called back.

Marcus offered Feemor a smile and pushed his master out of his seat.

"Master Qui-Gon," Wangui said, calling Feemor's attention back from where Kei was turning a flat stare on his padawan.

"Yes?"

"Obi-Wan said you were using Makashi at the end, and Master was using Soresu, and I know I said Makashi looked lazy and I didn't want to learn it, but, uhm..."

"You'd like to give it a try, after all?" Qui-Gon suggested gently, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Yes, that. Please?"

"I think that can be done," Qui-Gon agreed.

"And Vega, too?"

Feemor glanced over at his grandpadawan, only to catch eyes with Ace, who was staring at him with a narrowed, slightly suspicious look. "Ah," he murmured and gently tugged on Wangui's braid. "Excuse me, I think your sibling wants to have a word."

"Yeah, they got really quiet partway through the duel," Wangui told him.

"Hm."

As he moved towards the seating, Ace stood and stepped forward to meet him. "Something you're not telling me, Feemor?" they asked lowly.

The use of his name was very pointed, a reminder that, for all Ace and Feemor were still as close as they'd been when Ace was a padawan, they were a knight now, were on far more equal footing. It was a reminder that, as much as Feemor might want to protect his first padawan, they deserved the same respect and inclusion that he'd extended to Obi-Wan.

"Let's take a walk," he murmured, before raising his voice to say, "Vega, Wangui is trying to talk Qui-Gon into extra lessons for both of you."

Vega perked up. "Makashi? Because that looked way more exciting in action than the katas do."

Feemor chuckled. "Most forms do," he agreed, before motioning with his head that she should go join Wangui in pestering Qui-Gon.

As she darted past them, looking excited, Ace caught his arm in a grip that was harder than Feemor was used to and started tugging him out of the salles.

A sense of worried inquiry came down his bond with Obi-Wan, and Feemor sent a reassurance back.

Ace led them to one of the private meditation rooms and locked the door while Feemor settled on one of the pillows on the floor. Ace looked tense when they turned to face him. "I know what my master looks like when he fights," they said flatly, "and he would never fall back into a Soresu guard."

Feemor sighed. "Because 'if you have to default to Soresu, you've already lost'?" he asked, quoting a line he'd often used when Ace was a padawan.

Ace gave a tight nod, wrapping their arms around their chest. "Who the kark are you?"

I'm still me, Padawan, he sent through their bond, and when he sensed the rush of confusion Ace was feeling, opened his arms and murmured, "Come here."

Ace rushed over and dropped to their knees in front of him, huddling in the circle of his arms the same way they'd done after their Trials, when they'd stammered out their request to be referred to as 'they', so obviously terrified they were going to be cast aside, and Feemor had immediately agreed, because his love for his padawan had never been dependant on the pronouns they used.

"Oh, Ace," Feemor whispered, tightening his arms around his padawan. "My brilliant little pilot, I'm so sorry. I should have told you sooner, but I..." He sighed, closed his eyes and rested his cheek against the top of Ace's head. "I didn't want to put this burden on your shoulders."

Ace sniffed, then said, "I told you, you have to share your burdens. S'what I'm here for."

Feemor wasn't really certain how to respond to that without offending Ace, so instead he said, "It wasn't a vision."

Ace tensed in his arms, the fingers of one hand coming up to grab Feemor's arm, holding tight enough he'd probably find a bruise later.

"It was..." He frowned; there was no good way of explaining this, was there? "It was thirteen years of a future, like I'd lived every moment. Fought every battle, felt every death, lost...everything. Everyone."

Ace drew in a sharp breath and tugged away, twisting to look at Feemor, denial clear through their bond. "No, I'm sure it was just–"

"Ace," Feemor interrupted gently, "it was real. Facing Darth Maul on Naboo proved that."

Ace shook their head. "One sith doesn't prove–" they started before stopping and biting hard on their bottom lip, self-recrimination loud in the Force around them.

Feemor could guess where their thoughts had gone—during the worst of his depressive episodes, the one that had had Roimata knocking him out and carrying him to the Halls, he'd started hallucinating Qui-Gon, sometimes apologising for repudiating him, sometimes verbally abusing him the same way Yan did—and he said, "Thirteen years' worth in less than a night? While I was sleeping?"

Ace looked away, expression twisting.

Feemor sighed and reached out to catch their chin, gently tugging on their lip until they stopped biting it. "I thought we broke you of this habit."

"Shut up," Ace muttered. But, when Feemor started to withdraw his hand, they caught it in their own, turning it to stare at the lightsabre calluses. "Soresu," they murmured.

"Yes," Feemor agreed quietly. "There was a war, and our opponents used blasters and overwhelming force; Soresu was the best option to protect the greatest number of civilians."

Ace's hands spasmed. "Civilians," they repeated, sounding sick. "Master, we're civilians."

"Not if the Senate says otherwise."

Their eyes went wide, horror filling the Force around them. "The chancellor. The sith."

Feemor inclined his head. "My last memory was of being shot on Palpatine's order."

"No," Ace snarled, yanking on Feemor's arm hard enough he couldn't stop himself from falling into them with a startled huff. They wrapped their arms around him, almost clinging. "You can't be his advisor. The Council can't make you."

Feemor sighed and shifted as much as Ace would let him, so he was a little more comfortable. "The Council isn't making me do anything; this was my choice."

"You can't just, just make nice with your murderer for however long he's in office!" Ace insisted. "Master, that's not healthy!"

"Nothing about the past three years of my life has been healthy," Feemor muttered, because it was true.

(Although, if he was being honest, his mental health had tanked when Wangui died, and his ability to take care of himself went with it. Without Doc and Pomp forcing him to sleep and eat, he'd probably have worked himself to death within a couple of days of Ace's death.)

Ace was absolutely still for a long moment, then they asked, in a careful tone, "Where was I? And Wangui?"

Yes, Feemor had known that would come up. "Wangui died on her first solo knight mission," he said quietly, and Ace let out a heartbroken noise, hugging him a little harder. "You..." He grimaced. "Vega...died, in the opening battle of the war."

"No."

"You suicided by taking out a control ship about two months later." Loosing his remaining Force bond had been...rough, almost as bad as the shock of loosing Wangui on what should have been an easy first mission.

Ace let him go, pulling away as quick as they could without unbalancing Feemor. "No," they said, voice gone flat.

"Ace?"

"No, I wouldn't. I would never," Ace insisted, something terrible twisting through their Force presence.

Feemor reached out towards Ace, but they flinched away, huddling in on themself. "Ace," Feemor said quietly, pushing comfort through their bond, only for Ace to reject it. "Padawan, I need you to talk to me."

"I'm not him!" Ace shouted, rage and horror and grief cracking through the Force around them.

Him?

"I wouldn't abandon you!"

Qui-Gon. Abandon him like Qui-Gon had.

"No. Ace, no," Feemor said, firming his voice into the tone Ace had always jokingly called his 'Master is taking none of your shit' tone. "You are right here. You haven't done anything."

"But I did! I will!"

Okay, that was enough.

Feemor wrapped the Force around himself and let it boost his speed, so when Ace tried to flinch away from him again, he was still able to grab them, pulling them into a hug and refusing to let go. "Calm, little pilot," he murmured, pushing a sense of calm onto his padawan with the Force. "You need to be calm."

"No," Ace whispered weakly, even as they drooped in his arms, losing the fight against the Force suggestion.

"You don't get to blame yourself for something you didn't do," Feemor insisted. "There were circumstances that aren't true now, and I don't intend to let them be again. This isn't your burden to shoulder."

"I don't want to be like him," Ace whispered.

"I know," Feemor murmured, combing his fingers through Ace's short hair. "I know you don't. And you aren't."

"But I could be," Ace said, and then let out a bitter sob, ducking their head to hide against Feemor's chest.

Feemor rubbed their back as they sobbed out the horror and what was apparently a very old, deeply rooted fear that Feemor hadn't even realised his padawan had, gently helping Ace release as much of the dark emotions into the Force as they could. Some would cling—old fears always did—but it would be easier to bear, something they could chip away at during meditation, now it had come up to the surface. And Feemor would be there to help, if Ace needed him, just as he had promised he would always be.

(He hadn't, though, after Wangui's death. But that wouldn't happen, not this time.)

Ace was just pulling away, rubbing roughly at their eyes, when someone tried the door, then knocked hard on it. "Master?" Vega called.

"Oh," Ace whispered, wincing.

Feemor used the Force to unlock and open the door, revealing Vega, with Wangui and Qui-Gon appearing in the doorway as she hurried into the room. Wangui was quick to follow the other padawan, the pair of them dropping down on either side of Ace, Wangui hugging them while Vega pressed a supportive hand to her master's arm.

"I'm fine," Ace murmured, forcing a smile for the girls. Not that either of them looked like they believed them, and they both turned to Feemor.

"They'll be okay. It was just...something upsetting I dredged up," Feemor explained, glancing past his padawans and grandpadawan to his former master, who looked concerned, but uncertain. He nodded to the man. "We'll be fine."

Ace jerked and twisted to look at the doorway as Qui-Gon inclined his head in understanding and turned to leave. "Grandmaster!" Ace called, and judging by rapid blinking Qui-Gon was doing as he turned back to face them, Feemor wasn't the only one surprised by the lack of venom in the relation.

"Grandpadawan," Qui-Gon replied, folding his hands into the opposing sleeves.

"I–" They stopped, cast an uncertain look back at Feemor, then looked over at Vega and something in their Force presence hardened. "You're teaching Vega and Wangui. Ataru, right?" they asked, looking back up at Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon frowned, confusion furrowing his brow. "I am, yes, Ataru and Makashi. And possibly Soresu, though I suspect Feemor will be a better teacher for that one."

"Maybe," Feemor agreed. "We'll see what days I don't have to be in the Senate."

The Force in the room took on a decided sour note, not a one of them happy with the reminder that Feemor would very soon be spending his days working closely with a man who was following the will of the sith.

Ace took a deep breath, then asked, "Will you train me, too? Just– Just Ataru," they added as Qui-Gon's eyes went wide, and Feemor couldn't even blame him for his surprise, because he was feeling it, too. "I'm not learning his form."

"Who is 'him'?" Wangui asked, and both she and Vega turned to Feemor.

"Mast– Well, no," Feemor corrected himself, "I suppose he's 'Count' Yan Dooku, now. My grandmaster."

"He's vile and I hope he–"

"Ace!" Feemor snapped, because he might not care for Yan, but that didn't mean he was quite ready to wish a painful death on him.

"Yan will get his due," Qui-Gon said, ice and grief in equal parts in his voice, and Feemor wished there had been a way to ease the knowledge of his grandmaster's path, that Qui-Gon hadn't survived only to be forced to watch the man who had raised him to knighthood Fall to the sith.

"Wait," Ace said, casting Feemor a narrow-eyed look, "does he know how that Hutt-spawn treats you?"

"It hardly matters, since he's left," Feemor insisted.

"I'm sorry," Qui-Gon said, taking a couple of steps further into the room so the door could close behind him, "but could you clarify that?"

"It really–"

"He calls him a worthless waste of space," Ace reported with a certain amount of vindictive glee, and Feemor couldn't say if they were more delighted at the prospect of ruining Qui-Gon's mental image of his master, or at the possibility that they'd found in ally in hating Yan's existence. "To his face."

"What?!" Wangui yelped, turning an aghast look on Feemor.

"Does he, now," Qui-Gon said in that mild tone that meant he was plotting someone's murder.

"Qui-Gon, don't," Feemor warned.

Qui-Gon's smile wasn't even vaguely reassuring. "Don't worry, Padawan, I can wait for him to come to me."

...well, he supposed it was good to know he wasn't the only one prepared to take Yan out in defence of a member of their lineage. Qui-Gon probably had a better chance than him, anyway.

Qui-Gon's gaze focussed on Ace, who stiffened. "I am more than willing to teach you, Knight Kudzulek."

"Ace," Ace said, sounding a little uncertain. But then they shook their head and looked up at Qui-Gon, a proud tilt to their head. "My name is Ace, Master Qui-Gon."

Qui-Gon was very still for a moment before he inclined his head. "Ace," he said, careful, like he was waiting for Ace to refuse him. "Yes, I'm willing to help you iron out your difficulties with Ataru. And, as much as you will not enjoy hearing this, Makashi is almost always the best defence against itself."

Ace let out a disgusted sound and glanced back at Feemor. "Really?"

Feemor huffed out a tired laugh. "Unfortunately, yes. Ataru and Djem So practitioners can usually hold their own, skill-level willing, and I've heard that Vaapad can be devastating against Makashi, but I doubt Master Windu will be sharing that form with anyone outside of his own lineage, and I'm...not certain I would approve of you learning it."

"That's fair," Ace agreed.

"Wait, but what about Soresu?" Wangui asked, looking between Feemor and Qui-Gon. "Obi-Wan said that's what you were using."

"Yes, it was a...poor choice," Feemor admitted. "Qui-Gon changing forms threw me."

"And I will say, again, that you held out admirably," Qui-Gon insisted, "but, no, I wouldn't suggest using Soresu against Makashi, and certainly not against Yan."

"Oh, okay."

"I'll...think about it. Makashi," Ace said.

Qui-Gon inclined his head. "Either way."

"Yeah." Ace swallowed, and then said, "Thank you."

Which was about the moment that Feemor decided he needed to wrap them in a hug, because Ace was finally trying. And it might only be because they were worried about Feemor—about Palpatine and his sith puppeteer and a future where they had suicided in grief and left Feemor alone—but it was more than Feemor had started to believe he would get.

Maybe Yan was beyond saving, but Feemor was starting to believe that there would be a day where the rest of his lineage could laugh together over a meal; that they would fight together, trust each other to have their backs if the galaxy went to hell again.

(And if they ended up with an entire lineage-worth of top-tier duellists? Well, it would serve the sith, and Yan, right.)

Make a Brand New End series:

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