Chapter Text
It starts with the small things.
A datapad lying around where it shouldn’t be, a cold cup of tea in Mace’s quarters that he and Depa have no recollection of making in the first place, and strangely enough, a pair of wilted roses in Yaddle’s room.
It’s a source of puzzlement for the Jedi, although at first they merely chalk it up to childish pranks and nothing more.
And then, it happens.
More alarming items show up as time progresses. A tiny glass bottle of kriffing Blue-Shadow Virus of all things and another viral wrapped to it, simply titled ‘ANTIDOTE’ in small, cramped hand-writing.
(Both samples are sent straight to the Healers and Researchers to verify whether there is any truth in the outlandish claims.)
True enough, the innocuous blue serum is indeed the virus and holy-karking shit, the antidote lives up to its name. Both are then carefully packed away into the Temple’s vault, ready for use in future emergencies, and Mace swears on his lightsaber that the Force seems lighter, somehow.
It should be good news that the Jedi now have the means to the antidote. It means that they can start producing more of it to save more lives and prevent outbreaks. It’s great news, yes, but it’s also potentially alarming as to the how and the why behind it.
It couldn’t just have magically appeared in Tahl’s quarters on its own. Someone - or something - must have put it there.
Right?
And of course, because Jinn and Kenobi existed, Mace thinks wearily, feeling a monster of a headache brought on by this massive shatterpoint, everything - as bloody usual - starts with them.
——— ———
It starts with his old crechemate, Qui-Gon Jinn, who comms him in the middle of the night abruptly and with no apparent reason. Mace fights back a yawn, keenly aware of his bedraggled appearance but somehow not bringing himself to care, as he answers.
“Jinn?” His voice is exhausted and flat, and he fights back another surge of sleepiness. Force, how embarrassing would it be if he fell asleep while talking! Qui-Gon and Tahl would never let him live it down…
“Mace.” Qui-Gon’s panicked voice cuts through his thoughts and finds himself sitting up straighter, the first flicker of unease curling through his chest.
“What’s wrong?” Suddenly alert, he finds himself asking urgently, already leaping to his feet and summoning his ‘saber.
Qui-Gon sounds about ready to burst into tears. “It’s Obi-Wan.” He nearly wails. “I think he’s having a vision and I don’t know what to do!”
Mace blinked.
As far as he knew, young Kenobi didn’t seem to have any inclination towards the Unifying Force, nor had he shown himself prone to visions. As it were, visions were rare but the experience could be potentially disastrous especially if one were not used to it.
He bit his lip in worry, glancing one last forlorn look towards his soft mattress. “I’m coming right there.” He said, already rushing out the door before he knew it.
His mad dash through the corridors is entirely undignified and not suited to a Jedi of his status, but Mace Windu doesn’t kriffing care. Sue him. The good news is that most of the Jedi are asleep and only the rare nocturnal and insomniac Jedi wander around this late at night.
He stops at the door to the Jinn/Kenobi quarter, panting only slightly as he palms the small, digital reader on the side of the door. A soft click and a muffled humming sound later, the sound of frantic footsteps from within reaches his ears. The heavy thumps grow louder before coming to a rest directly in front of him.
There is a dull whirring sound before the metallic doors swing open.
Qui-Gon meets him by the door, face pale and utterly terrified. Alarms start going off in Mace’s head and some of his friend’s worry must be contagious, because the Korun is definitely starting to feel it too.
“He’s in the living room,” Qui-Gon babbles, his eyes shining suspiciously in the dim light. He leads Mace deeper into their quarters and the Jedi tries not to take notice of the mess cluttering the space. Random, huge pots of plants are scattered haphazardly throughout the room, and small mounds of dirt line the once-pristine marble floor.
Qui-Gon stops abruptly, and Mace does too, staring in shock at the sight in front of him.
Obi-Wan is kneeling on the ground. The Padawan’s small, wiry frame is hunched in on itself and he’s shivering violently, invisible tremors wracking his body.
It is indeed a vision, Mace realises, feeling the odd-staticky brush of the Force against his mind, albeit a particularly intense one.
Gathering all his knowledge on visions and their effects, he starts to move slowly, stopping just in front of the poor boy. He crouches in front of the Padawan, wincing internally at how terrible the other looked.
From up close, Mace could see that Kenobi’s eyes were wide and glassy, and dark bags hung underneath red-rimmed, dilated pupils. He winced suddenly, as an icy feeling washed over him, wrapping his presence with a numb sensation. Ignoring the tiny pinpricks of discomfort, he reached out into the Force, searching desperately for the warmth and comfort that it usually provided.
It slipped through his grasp with ease, throwing him off-balance.
He clamped down on a yell of panic as pain sliced through his body with terrifying precision. His vision went white-hot and he gasped, a cry tearing out of his throat. Copper and brown and green blurred in front of him in a strangely hypnotic dance as he felt himself being abruptly consumed in an overload of senses.
Ge- ne- ral!
-The sickening snap of human bone-
Fall back, fall back!
-Numa!
He came to, retching, and found himself lying on the cold floor. Qui-Gon was clinging to him, pinning his arms to the ground and yelling… something. Mace couldn’t quite hear what he was saying, his mind still ringing with a sharp clanking sound. Focusing bleary eyes on his friend, he realised that Qui-Gon was calling his name.
He forced himself to go lax. His muscles burned with strain and his tendons ached, sending pain radiating through his limbs. Greedily, he gulped in air, feeling his lungs protest loudly.
“What,” He rasped, his throat parched and burning, “the hell was that?”
Qui-Gon let go, slumping as he pushed himself to a sitting position next to Mace. “I don’t know.” He finally said, quiet and shaken. “You just started seizing and screaming suddenly.”
Huh. Had he?
Mace touched the back of his head, wincing in pain as it throbbed. His hand came away slick and covered in blood. Troubled, he looked up at his friend. He wiped his hand on his tunic, clearing away the sticky-crimson substance.
“Ah.” Qui-Gon took a shaky breath. “You, um, tried to break your own skull open on the floor before I stopped you.”
“I don’t…” Mace’s voice trailed off. “I don’t remember.”
A silence fell over them, punctuated only by Obi-Wan’s heavy breaths.
“What happened here?” Mace asked seriously, leaning up into a sitting position as he swallowed reflexively down on the bile rising through his throat. It left a horrid, acidic taste in his mouth.
Qui-Gon shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know,” he admitted, waving in the general direction of his unresponsive Padawan. “It just suddenly happened.”
“Weren’t you sleeping yet?” Mace asked, a frown on his face as a thought occurred to him. “It’s quite late.”
“Obi-Wan couldn’t sleep.” Qui-Gon replied reluctantly after a pause. “It happens sometimes, especially when he gets nightmares.”
“Trauma.” The Korun guessed, looking straight into his friend’s eyes. Qui-Gon looked away first, nodding curtly as his Force presence became suddenly guarded. Weary. “Both of you are not alone, you know.” Mace said suddenly. “There are people who will be able to help him and you. Have you tried going to the Mind-Healers?”
The tall Jedi Master’s head jerked slightly, anger clouding his face. “I am not ‘broken’.” He bit out harshly, “And neither is Obi-Wan. We don’t need to be fixed.”
“I never said that. I merely said that it might benefit you.” Windu pointed out calmly, not willing to get riled up on Obi-Wan’s behalf.
Mace knew that Qui-Gon cared for his Padawan deeply, despite their admittedly rocky start. He knew that Qui-Gon only wanted what was best for Obi-Wan. But he also knew that Qui-Gon Jinn was a stubborn gundark through and through, and that sometimes he ended up doing more harm than good.
Qui-Gon opened his mouth to retort but before he could get the words out, a small voice broke through their furiously whispered argument.
“Master?”
Mace turned around at the same time Qui-Gon’s head whipped around. The righteous anger vanished abruptly and instead, pure relief settled on the Jedi Master’s face as he rushed forward, gently pulling his Padawan into a tight hug.
Obi-Wan’s body trembled for a while, tears stinging his eyes as he held. He relaxed slightly in the comforting grasp of his Master. Qui-Gon gripped his Padawan’s shoulder, leaking worry and relief through their bond.
Mace softened, turning his head from the intensely private scene in front of him. His heart ached slightly and he suddenly found himself missing Depa with a surprising ferocity. His dear Padawan. There was nothing that he wouldn’t do for her.
His gaze caught on something small and unmoving at one corner of the room. It looked as if it had been tossed haphazardly and abruptly. It felt out of place somehow, like it didn’t belong here.
His eyebrows knit into a suspicious furrow as he tapped cautiously at the Force. It felt oddly stilted and strained. He rose to his feet softly, sharp eyes trained on whatever it was. He moved silently like a predator, not making a single noise as he walked on the balls of his feet.
The tugging became more insistent as he came closer. He paused right in front of the object, body tensed and alert as he reached down. His hand grasped the object. It felt soft and misshapen.
Bringing it to the light, he realised that it was a toy of some sort but unlike any that he had seen before. It certainly was not from the Temple, that much was clear. It resembled some sort of figure, with a bright purple body and small, pointed arms and legs and…
Oh. It was a hand-made tooka.
But what was it doing here? He frowned, wondering where in the galaxy could they have obtained this item. Its Force signature felt... different. Love and desperation lingered on the surface, while there was an undercurrent of sadness beneath. There was no trace of Qui-Gon or Obi-Wan on the toy at all, only the faintest trace of ash and grime. He turned, opening his mouth to voice the question out loud, wondering whether Jinn or Kenobi knew anything about it but Qui-Gon beat him to it.
“Padawan, are you alright?” The Jedi Master asked worriedly, kneeling right in front of the boy.
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say because the next thing he knew, Obi-Wan burst into tears.
“Nerra,” Obi-Wan sobbed helplessly into Qui-Gon’s grasp. “Nerra.”