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Chapter Text

Dooku was just between hyperjumps when he felt the tear .

One moment all had been fine, he was just tending to one of the small bonsais he kept in the ship to 'liven up' the space (Rael had insisted on them during his padawanship and Yan had never found the heart to get rid of them) and the other he found himself heaving on the floor in sudden disorientation.

One of his old trainingbonds had just snapped .

No. Not snapped.

Numbly, he reached out and inspected the damage. Disbelief flooded him.

Qui-Gon had just cut their old bond.

No warning. Nothing.

Why ?

Scrambling to stand up, the shards of the bonsai's pot crunching and digging into his knees and hands, he hurried to his comm. Someone…. someone at the Temple must know what was going on. They had to.

Qui-Gon hadn't been scheduled to any high risk missions, as far as Yan  knew, his former Padawan had actually been kept on a pretty tight leash after Du Crion had disappeared.

There shouldn't have been any reason to cut the bond .

…

At the same time, worlds away, a blonde Knight experienced a sudden seizure.

He had been shadowing smugglers.

He wasn't shadowing smugglers any longer after that.

When Feemor finally woke up from the shock and the drugs his captors had pumped inside him, he was shackled. Blindly, he reached out in the Force, to call for help, to call for his former Master.

Nothing.

Only the frayed end of their past bond.

Feemor wept.

…

Dooku was sitting in his cot, blankly staring at the gray wall panel on the opposite side. The ship had been floating virtually dead in space for at least two days now.

He had been inert for the same time.

Qui-Gon had lost Xanathos. The boy had fallen. Qui-Gon had…not taken it well. His former Padawan had had a full breakdown. Tholme hadn't wanted to tell him more over comms, but Yan had had the sinking feeling that he'd had come dangerously close to falling himself. Qui-Gon was in the Halls now, under observation. Under control.

They hadn't gotten to him before he had ripped out all of his bonds; Dooku’s, Yoda's, his lineage brother's… all of them. He had repudiated Xanathos and his other Padawan in one fell swoop. Dooku didn't know what to think or feel about this. Truth be told, he didn't want to think or feel about this.

Hence the floating dead in space and sulking.

He'd turned off his comm ages ago.

He'd turned off all but the base most life support.

He'd been sitting like this in the dark ever since.

Luckily his sizable distance to Coruscant - any civilization really, he didn't even know the name of the sector he was in right now - meant that even the still existing bonds were strained and distant and as such easily ignored. Sy had tried to reach out to him some time after he'd gone dark, but Dooku had gently but decidedly pushed the distant blip of inquiry-worry-solace down and out . He wasn't in the mood to talk. He wasn't in any mood.

Hours turned to days.

Maybe.

Dooku lost all feeling for the passage of time, spending the time half slipped into the Unifying Force, grasping for an answer, for an explanation, for anything really.

The Force wasn't that kind.

He knew that he should pull back. Probably should have pulled back a while ago. He was self-aware enough to know that he was slipping.

But in his loss he didn't care.

Until a bond, one of the utter most distant ones and barely more than a fleeting connection similar to those most Jedi had with former mission partners or a sparring companion, flared alive with pain-desperation-anger and a bottomless dispair that mirrored Dooku’sown.

He was barely able to assign a name to the bond.

Feemor .

Qui-Gon's first Padawan.

He had only ever met the boy fleetingly. He'd been there to his Knighting, but hadn't approached. Qui-Gon had at the very start of his Mastership cornered him and told him he didn't want his interference. Dooku had been hurt, yes, but he'd tried to be understanding.

So he'd kept his distance.

Now, cold fear gripped him.

Feemor was a Knight. Feemor was a Knight who regularly had been sent to risky missions lately. Feemor was a Shadow Knight who had been on such an exact mission these days. Feemor, who just had gotten his Master-Padawan bond violently torn apart with no warning.

For Dooku that had meant dropping a beloved plant.

For Feemor it could have had way more serious consequences.

The Force trembled at the thought. He could feel the shift of the Unifying around him and even though he had never been blessed (or cursed) with much prescience, he knew he had hit the bullseye with that thought.

Distant pain flared up in the back of his mind.

The Force wailed.

…

"Well let me motivate you!" 

A heavy boot connected with Feemor's side and sent him toppling against the jagged rock. Fighting for his breath, he got back up again.

"I'm sorry, Master. I will go back to work now," he pressed out, projecting a strong 'leave us alone, we are working hard and you need to be elsewhere' into the Force.

The tholothian slaver sneered and spat on the floor. "Good. Don't slack off again, worm." Then he left.

Feemor exhaled and turned back to the smaller, feverish body he had been shielding from the slaver's perception. Force be thanked that when he'd been captured they had not realized he was a Jedi, so he just had to deal with a normal shock-collar and not a Force-suppressing one. It made guiding the young man he'd found crumpled in a hallway into a shallow healing-trance a lot easier. Of course it wasn't nearly as effective as a good batch of bacta, but Feemor wasn't about to just give up. 

He just had to change his plans for getting out of here a bit. Maybe start a slave revolt while he was at it.

Anything to keep his mind off the frayed, bleeding void that had once been his bond to Qui- to Master Jinn.

He grit his teeth.

Stay productive Feemor. Stay alert.  

They were going to make it out of here. Soon.

The Force rang in agreement.

…

Dooku didn't- he wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up in this situation.

The last thing he clearly remembered was going dark behind a small moon and just… wallowing in the Force. There were snippets, after that, but it was like he was looking at a badly damaged holorecording. Everything seemed so far away. He knew he must have done some things - otherwise he wouldn't be where he was now, staring down a handful of pitifully writhing… scum. Slavers, smugglers, pirates, it didn't really matter in the end.

What did matter though was the very faint but solid presence he could feel, just at the edge of his senses. Not suppressed, just well shielded and exhausted. 

Feemor.

He must have managed to avoid being clocked as a Jedi, the resourceful boy. Otherwise locating him would not have been this easy.

Not caring for the lowly lives that flickered out all around him, Dooku stepped through the stilling bodies of his Grandpadawan's captors. 

Strewn all around the narrow mining tunnels that riddled this planetoid were cowering, pale faced 'miners'. But he didn't have any time to take care of their misplaced terror, apart from a quick wave of his hand here and there and rusty, weak metal cracking and bursting. He didn't look back on any of them, what they chose to do with their newfound freedom was up to them.

Dooku only cared for one thing: the shining light at the end of the tunnel that was Feemor's Force-presence.

…

Something was wrong.

Feemor had been on high alert ever since about an hour ago, when the normal lighting had fizzled out and the blinking red emergency lights had booted up. 

Then he felt it. A presence, powerful and angry waltzing trough. And killing . And it was steadily moving towards Feemor.

Weirdly enough, the Force had only seemed anticipatory for whatever it was. Which was… counterintuitive, to say the least. Yet even with how sore and hungry Feemor was due to the gentle care of his captors, he was confident that what he felt from the Force was accurate. Accurate but really confusing.

Thus, he did what every good Shadow did in an uncertain situation.

He took a vantage point.

Kinda tricky in a damp, roughly hewn corridor where all you had was your own shit, some rock and the feverish body of a teen you were hellbent on saving. Still, Feemor was nothing if not resourceful, and thus he managed to prop up his very unconscious new ward against an outcropping that would mostly hide him and then use the teen's shoulder as a bit of a stepping stone (listen, he wasn't proud of that one, but tough times…) to squeeze himself against the ceiling in a jagged slit where the rock had cracked. Feemors arms, hands and knees got scraped up worse than a gum jelly against a nexu's tongue, but he bit through it. 

"Luminous beings, Feemor," he muttered to himself as the sharp rock cut thousand tiny cuts into his hands, "Luminous beings."

And luminous the beings were, for the man that stepped through the airlock the very next moment positively radiated in the Force from razor focus fury.

It was so blinding that Feemor, when his dark stare snapped towards him, didn't even realize who that was at first.

" Feemor ," the deep voice of the not-so-stranger sent a shiver through the young Shadow's spine. 

Yet the next moment his mind was enveloped with a numbing wave of finally/found you/are you okay/I will rain down holy hell on anyone who hurt you.

"G- grandmaster?," Feemor stumbled over the word, because the sight of the impeccably dressed Master Dooku seemed so wrong at that moment that he truly thought this was a mirage or a trick of his eyes.

He could practically see the thunderous anger bleed out of the tall man's frame as he stepped up, the severe face Feemor had only ever known to be pulled into a mildly disapproving frown full of relief and concern.

"Feemor," Master Dooku rumbled again, "Oh dear boy, I am so sorry ."

It… it took him a moment to realize what the Master was referring to.

And then all the neatly compartmentalized and stashed-away-because-there-were-more-pressing-matters feelings crashed down on Feemor again and he let out an ugly sob. He lost even the last bit of grip he'd had on the blood-slickened rock and would have very unceremoniously crashed to the floor, had it not been for his Grandmaster stepping forward and catching him seemingly effortlessly.

Feemor was not embarrassed to say that he clung to the man like a drowning tooka. Master Dooku accepted the sobbing pile of fraying sanity that he was with an open mind, gently extending his own durasteel shields around Feemor who was rapidly losing all control. 

For a felt eternity, he just sat there, curled in Master Dooku's arms, and sobbed .

"Have you calmed down?," the Master's gentle voice eventually returned, after Feemor's tears had run out.

Mutely, he shook his head against the broad shoulder. "I don't think I have," he croaked out, then swallowed, "I don't think I can , Master."

A grounding hand landed on his shoulder, warm and steadying.

"That's okay, Grandpadawan-"

Oh and the sweet, sweet relief of him acknowledging Feemor as his lineage still,

"- I didn't expect you to be. What Qui-Gon did was cruel and dangerous ."

Violent shivers returned to Feemor's frame at the mention of his name. It made the bloody, fraying hole where there once had been their bond - distant and cold as it had been - all the more evident.

"I don't… Can we not talk about… him? Right now?," Feemor all but begged, before slowly unpeeling himself from his Grandmaster. Dooku radiated nothing but understanding and support.

"Of course. My bad, Feemor. I should have taken into account…"

With a jittery smile, Feemor looked at the older man and shook his head. "No, it's fine… I- I just really need some meditation time." He took a deep breath. "Then I'll be… I'll manage."

A soft touch of concern wafted over from Master Dooku, but he didn't say anything. Which Feemor appreciated. Truly.

Another squeeze to his shoulder, and Dooku let him go, stepping back and giving him a critical once-over. "Well then, I'd say we leave this depressing piece of rock as fast as possible. My ship has a nice small meditation deck," he said, and then his gaze wandered down to the slowly drying crust of blood on Feemor's extremities, "And a solid supply of bacta for that."

At the mention of medical supplies, Feemor's eyes widened and he skidded around, hastily going over to where he'd stashed his unconscious protégé. 

A small sigh escaped him, as he checked the pulse of the sickly teen. He'd been sweaty and cold for the entirety of the time Feemor had been aware of him, and even with the limited Force-healing he'd been able to administer (both due to his own limitations and the desire to not wake any suspicion in their guards) he hadn't woken once. Feemor had the sneaking suspicion that the teen was working through some sort of substance withdrawal, but he couldn't be sure. 

Luckily he was just as stable as he'd been before. Clammy and shivering, but stable. Whoever he was, he was made from stern stuff, that much was sure.

Master Dooku made an inquisitive noise when Feemor stemmed himself back up again, swaying slightly from the added weight and the previous blood loss.

He met the Master's gaze. "He needs to come with us."

The Force felt right with that proclamation.

Master Dooku felt skeptical. "Feemor," he stepped closer again, "This will be stretching the resources we have."

Feemor shook his head. "No. The Force is clear. He has to come with us." He looked down on the unconscious face. "Besides," his voice softened, "It's not like a Jedi to abandon someone in need, Master, is it?"

Master Dooku deflated.

He closed his eyes and sighed. "No it is not," he said, "You might be a better Jedi than me already, Feemor."

Feemor hoped that he didn't see just how much that remark threw him.

Master Dooku stepped forward and reached under the teen's body, cutting off Feemor's bubbling protest with a sharp glance. "Out of the two of us, which one is the one with actively bleeding wounds, Knight? I will carry the boy." 

There was absolutely no room for discussion left.

Plus, something told Feemor that had it not been for this unconscious stranger, he would have been the one getting carried in Dooku's arms right there. The thought was so awkward that he very quickly banned it from his mind.

Thus, Feemor staggered after the long strides of the older Jedi, shooting apologetic glances to all his fellow… 'miners' that hurriedly scurried out of the way. 

"You are free," he told one elderly woman in passing - he'd seen her sit together with many of their fellows on different times and days, using precious moments to tell stories and strengthen slipping minds.

Her eyes, mellow with age and years spent in damp darkness, didn't as much as twitch at his words, but he could feel her mind sharpen.

This was all he could do for them.

For now, at least.

On Dooku's ship he'd be able to contact the ExploraCorps. They would know whom to send here to help more thoroughly.

Then he was sent scurrying after Master Dooku again - the long strides the man took already having put a sizable distance between them. 

…

On the third day in space - with no real destination in mind, as neither of the Jedi were much inclined to set back course to Coruscant - Feemor's rescue woke.

It was but for a brief moment, and he was babbling something that could have been either a them unfamiliar language or simple gibberish, but It made Feemor's heart hopeful that he'd soon recover.

"Saleucami is close," Master Dooku murmured as they both came out of their daily meditation. He'd been helping Feemor smooth over the rough edges of the hole where Qui- where Master Jinn had severed their bond. He'd even let him substitute the lost connection by feeding and strengthening their own bond, as tentative as it had been at first. A gesture Feemor was as grateful for as he was touched by it.

"Saleucami?," he asked. What had a small agricultural world like Saleaucami to do with their current situation?

"Mh." The man moved to stand up, neatly fomding the pillow he'd been seated on away into a sideboard. "I've been meaning to stock up on some things." He nodded towards Feemor. "You fit my spare clothes, but I fear anything I've packed would positively swamp your new friend. Who will, without a doubt, want to change as soon as he wakes properly. It will also," he added with a sardonic smile, "Give us the chance to finally eat something  other than the same ration packs every day."

That filled Feemor with even more anticipation than the impending return to consciousness of his ward.

If there was one thing he'd never had gotten used to, it was the faint aftertaste of plastiwrap that permeated all the standard ration packs. So he indeed looked forward to some fresh produce.

And Master Dooku, as it turned out, was a very meticulous cook. He had prepared an extensive and detailed list of ingredients he wanted to stock up on, with plans for several to Feemor's mind rather elaborate recipies.

Something he'd never gotten under Master Jinn.

The Force seemed to be on their side, because as they touched down near a mid-sized village, they were informed that it was indeed just market day.

"See," Master Dooku said as he was leading Feemor through the bustling stands, inapecting fruit and vegetables with a critical eye, "You want the kokwash to not give in more than a thumbs width, otherwise they'll be too sweet for a proper iridonian pepper stew."

Feemor, who'd gotten more information on finding the right degree of ripeness of all the local produce, and an ample variation of others, couldn't do anything but nod. Right. Kokwash. That was the red one, right?

As if to prove him wrong, Master Dooku reached right over the bulbous red… somethings and picked up a handful of rather flat, greenish brown mushroom-like growths. With his thumb, he demonstrated to Feemor what he meant, pressing little dents into the apparently rather spongy flesh. Fascinated, Feemor watched it bounce back pretty quickly. That was gonna be interesting to eat.

"Now these ones are pretty young," Dooku continued his commentary, "See how I didn't make a big dent at all? So they are going to be pretty bland still, but if we wait a few days," he started picking out a goodly amount of the kokwash, "They'll be just perfect. We'll take these and one of those packets of keseem." He nodded to the short and stocky twi'lek woman that was manning the stand.

"Do you want me to pack them up for you?," she asked as she had to stretch her arms to reach up to Dooku.

"Yes please, if you'd be so kind young lady."

She giggled a bit at the address and Feemor shot his Grandmaster a curious glance.

Master Dooku shot him a quick wink.

You'll learn that , the man's voice rang out over their newly established bond, a bit of flattery often gets you far in life .

At buying vegetables?

Feemor was confused.

Amongst other things, yes , Master Dooku's amused answer came. At the same time, the  twi'lek returned with their purchases and Dooku paid her the worth.

"Thank you for your patronage," she smiled toothily and reached for two of the bulbous red thingies that were not kokwash, "Take these as well, on the house." She too winked. "You look like you've got a bit of a journey behind you. And sour makes happy!"

"It does indeed," Master Dooku replied with an easy smile (that had been another surprising observation Feemor had made: for someone so infamos for his bad temper, Master Dooku smiled quite often and easily).

"Ah, thank you!," Feemor added hastily as he got a soft mental prod. 

The seller giggled again and patted his hand as he reached to take the two freebies they had gotten. With a meaningful glance, she said, "You're very welcome, young one. And if you're only half the charmer your father here is, you'll want to come back in two days when my children are taking care of the stand."

Feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, Feemor stammered another thanks and then opted for a quick tactical retreat.

Amusement was speckled all over Master Dooku's presence as he finally caught up with the deathly embarrassed Knight.

"First time getting propositioned?," he asked, sounding genuinely curious, "If it's any solace, she did apologize for scaring you off. Though she assured me that the offer still stood, should you reconsider."

Feemor fidgeted and then held out one of the two red thingies. "No, it's not that," he murmured, not quite managing to look the Master in the eye, "I'm not… You don't mind it?"

"Mind what?"

A deep breath. "Being taken… being taken for my father ." He mumbled the last word so quickly that at first he wasn't sure if Dooku had understood him.

"Ah." Dooku's hand fell onto his shoulder once more - a gesture he'd come to learn the Master was quite fond of. "Be assured. This is something I'm quite accustomed to and indeed do not mind." The amused crinkle to his eyes even indicated quite the opposite. "Something about the height, I believe. It leads people to assume." He chuckled. "It is quite endearing when it happens with people like you and Rael. Less so when it happens with Jocasta."

Feemor choked on air.

"Joc- Master Nu ?!," he asked, horrified.

Dooku regarded him with a grimace. "She did not let anyone live it down for weeks . It was terrifying ."

" That I believe…"

Feemor couldn't even imagine. Someone had taken Master Nu for Master Dooku's daughter ?! Just how blind -...

"Anyways," Master Dooku's voice brought him back to reality, "I think we've stocked up enough to head back, no? If something turns out to be missing, we now know that the market will be back in two days."

That surprised Feemor. "We'll be staying planetside?"

As they walked, Dooku nodded. "Unless you wish to go somewhere else?"

Feemor quickly shook his head.

"Then that's decided. In any case, a bit of sunlight and fresh air will do all of us good. Especially you and the young lad in our medbay, Force knows how long he's been in that mine."

Oh, yes, that was true. Now Feemor felt almost stupid to not have considered that. 

Especially when it turned out that their rescue had indeed woken during their absence and had kind of fortified his cot in their sparse medbay. Feemor dumbly stared at the medical scalpel that was brandished against him.

“Uh,” he said, because there was nothing else he could do, “Are you hungry?” He held up the two red fruits - emame they were called, as Dooku had informed him on the way back. “I’m told they are quite nice if you like sweet and sour things.”

That seemed to confuse the stranger for long enough that Feemor could sit down in front of him on the floor without being stabbed. Then he held out one of the emame, offering.

He just got stared at for a long time.

Eventually, with a sigh, he let the thing fall back into his lap.

“So,” he started, leaning back a bit, “I guess you’ll want to know what happened, huh.”

There was a very slow nod from the teen, who seemed to sink back even further into the corner he’d been pressing himself against.

“Well. I - my name’s Feemor, by the way - kinda ended up in the same mine as you. Got caught spying on smugglers, uh, nasty stuff.” He grimaced. “When I got there you were already in pretty bad shape, so you might not remember me. You seemed halfway lucid the first two or so days, but afterwards… not so much. I’m not-... my people are very much against slavery and especially that of children, so… I kinda tried to keep you alive? And out of the view of the overseers?” Feemor paused, giving the teen some time to say something in response if he so wished to.

Evidently he didn’t, as all he got was further stares.

“Okay, so, days pass. I’m definitely planning our daring escape. But turns out, that’s not needed because my Gra-... uh, my,” Feemor hesitated. Revealing that they were Jedi was probably gonna raise more questions than answers to be honest. And Feemor wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer those questions. Everything was still too raw, too connected to Qui-Gon Jinn.

“My… father,” was what he eventually settled on, though not without a cringe and some heat in his cheeks, “He, uh, came in and rescued me. And by extension, you.”

Yeah, he’d definitely have to get their cover straight with Master Dooku after this.

“So I guess, long story short: we’re out of the mine, I’m pretty sure your body’s purged whatever the kriff they put in you by now, your fever is minimal and I guess you can stay with us for the moment? Unless there is somewhere you need to be?”

Right, maybe the kid had family somewhere. They’d be worried!

For a long time, nothing happened.

Then, there was a choked sound - somewhere between a porg being flattened by a tire and a constipated bith taking a deep breath.

Feemor watched as the teen was gripped by such a violent shiver, that he let the scalpel fall from his fingers. As if a dam had broken - and oh, didn’t Feemor find this schene awfully familiar - his rescue crumpled in on himself, drawing the flimsy blanket around him even tighter and just sobbed. It was ugly and wet and Feemor stayed for the entirety of it, because just leaving would have been even more awkward.

When finally the tears ran dry, that was when he dared to stand up. As slowly and non threateningly as possible, he righted himself, painfully aware of his own height (someone once had made a joke about the tall people genes running in the lineage, that joke now felt bitter). 

Just as slowly and consciously, he drew some water from a tank and set the small plasticup next to the teen’s bedside.

“Here, you’ll need the hydration,” he said, gently, “I’ll go and ask if there's some light soup we can get you, for some additional salts and nutrients.”

The teen did nothing but stare at him blankly for the entirety of it, but just as Feemor was about to step out, he heard something behind him.

Softly spoken words.

Not in any language he knew, but the intent behind them was clear. Tentative gratefulness rang out all around him in the Force, and Feemor’s heart felt lighter.

…

“So,” Dooku drawled as he stirred the gritty soup he’d thrown together on Feemor’s request, “Your father, huh? That was quick.”

Immediately, predictable as a clockwork, the Knight flinched and went red as a river shrimp.

“Y- you heard that?! ” Feemor’s voice was squeaky like that of a young Padawan.

Dooku hummed. “Of course I did, Grandpadawan mine. Knowing what happens on one’s ship at any time is an essential skill for a good pilot and captain.”

The Knight groaned and buried his face in his hands.

Laughing soundlessly, he continued stirring the soup.

How had he ever let Qui-Gon keep him from this sweet boy? It truly was a tragedy. One he deeply came to regret now.

…

Life on Saleucami was slow.

Feemor watched Master Dooku - or Yan, rather, as the Master had told him to call him (“Calling me by my last name is strange, if we are posing as father and son, no?”) - take continuously more cuttings of various plants and trees that ended up in small glas containers all over the ship.

“A bit of greenery does wonders for the nerves, especially on long days in space,” he’d said, when Feemor had questioned him about it.

In the beginning it reminded him a bit too much of what Master Jinn used to do, but he didn’t mention it. They didn’t talk about Jinn.

They didn’t talk about the Jedi Order in general, and sometimes Feemor silently wondered if they had… left.

Could they have left?

Like this?

Surely there were procedures to be observed, right? After all, Feemor had been (was?) a Shadow and Master Dooku was on the High Council. 

Leaving couldn’t be that easy.

Could it?

Feemor didn’t want to ask.

Any answer he could have gotten seemed daunting in its own way.

Luckily there were enough other things to occupy his mind with. Master Dooku for one, when he wasn’t implementing gratuitous freestyle landscape gardening on their surroundings, was hell-bent on teaching him all the recipes he could think of.

And Jango, as the rescued youth had revealed himself to be named, was hell bent on criticizing the spice level of each and every one of Dooku’s dishes.

“How do you like it?,” Master Dooku would ask, without fail.

And without fail, Jango would try whatever had been set in front of him, scowl and say, “It’s a bit bland, isn’t it?”

To which Dooku would respond with a sharp smile that did not reach his eyes and purposely make the next dish even blander .

It was torture! Because if Feemor ever got back to the Temple, who would possibly believe him that Master Dooku, Master of Makashi and renowned High Councilor, had entertained an incredibly petty rivalry over spices with a teenager !

But it made Jango open up.

At least partially.

The boy still got a haunted look in his eyes and positively dripped guilt whenever one of them tried to bring up his family, if he still had one and if he had someone or somewhere to return to.

Whatever he was eating into himself, it probably wasn’t healthy. But neither Feemor nor Dooku were qualified mind healers, so all they could do was back off and accept the fact that the kid did not want to share what he did not want to share. 

Life on Saleucami was slow, but steady.

Something Feemor hadn’t ever realized he had missed in his life so far. At least since he got out of the Crèches. Master Jinn had always dragged him off to some new mission, sometimes quite literally in the middle of the night, and most of them had gone wrong in some capacity. Then, his life as a Shadow after his Knighting hadn't been much stabler - new aliases, false identities, stakeouts and quick retreats. There had been very few moments of respite.

Very few moments to just be .

And yet he found himself taking quite well to this lifestyle.

(Maybe Xanatos had been right after all. Maybe he was destined for a life as a farmer.)

(For some reason that thought didn’t sting anymore.)

(Probably because anyone who’d sat through Jango’s passionate rant about how being a farmer was an honored and important occupation and no less taxing and demanding than the life of a warrior could not in good conscience continue looking down on farmers.) (And if they did, well, Jango’s revenge was swift and deadly.)

(The boy had opinions and he knew how to defend them.)

It had been eye opening, really. To observe the rather small teen, especially if you compared him to both Feemor and Dooku, start a passionate discussion about correct crop rotation practices with one of the local stable hands and win. In both the verbal dispute and the subsequent wrestling match, in which he brought the two-heads-taller-and-twice-his-weight-class stable hand down in a matter of seconds. 

The kid was vicious when he wanted to be, and it triggered all the wrong instincts in Master Dooku.

Master Dooku, who, two days after that illuminating fight, had woken them before sunrise and declared that from that day onwards they were all going to train together.

‘Train with what,’ Feemor had wanted to ask, because surely Dooku wasn’t about to whip out his lightsaber now, but it turned out that his apprehensions were completely unfounded.

Why?

Because somehow, the man had managed to locate and obtain a bunch of older-style, full length vibroblades. 

All Feemor could do was stare.

And Jango stared as well, though for an entirely different reason.

“You can fight ?,” his young voice sounded entirely disbelieving.

“I would like to think, so, yes,” Master Dooku retorted with a sharp smile, while trying out a Makashi-style flourish with one blade in his off-hand. He frowned a bit, redistributed the weight of the blade in his hand and repeated the movement. Then he switched hands, repeating the motion.

Then he tossed the blade to Feemor, who hastily fumbled to catch it.

“Ataru might be difficult with these,” the Master warned, “And I am correct in assuming that was your main form under Qui-Gon?”

Feemor nodded numbly.

“Stick with Shii-Cho then for the time being, you do remember your basics, yes?”

“Of course!” Feemor was actually more fond of the First Form than of Form Four, something that had repeatedly caused Jinn quite the distress.

“As for you,” Dooku turned to the curiously watching Jnago, voice in full teaching mode, “Have you ever received formal training in any sort of long saberforms?”

To Feemor’s surprise, the teen actually nodded and grabbed a vibroblade of his own, demonstratively swinging it around in a few, sharp movements. They were closer to the body than lightsaber forms and Feemor believed to make out a few sequences where Jango kind of fumbled through it, but it was impressive.

Dooku seemed to think so as well. 

“Very good. It looks like you have a solid foundation,” he nodded, then tilted his head ever so slightly, “I am curious though, where did you learn this? I’m not at all familiar with these  forms.”

“Uhm,” Jango immediately got that skittish look in his eyes that meant he was about to clam up again, “My family taught me.”

“Fascinating,” Dooku murmured, entirely unawares of the declining mood it seemed, “A family of both farmers and warriors, how nostalgic. You don’t perchance come from Serenno?” He laughed a little at that.

“Ah, no,” Jango shook his head slowly.

But he never said where he did come from.

Yet Dooku didn’t seem to care much. “Well then, let’s see how you hold up against an opponent. Feemor, only base forms please. No advanced forms and no Knight ones. Jango use everything you’ve got.”

Feemor made a betrayed grimace.

And Jango scowled as well. “Are you underestimating me?,” he demanded to know, an indignant crease between his brows.

“No,” Dooku smiled languidly, “I’m just giving you a fair fight, young one. You do not underestimate Feemor. Now to your positions, you two. The morning won’t take forever.”

…

Slowly Feemor understood why Master Jinn had only ever scowled when he’d talked about training under Master Dooku.

The man led a brutal regimen.

…

These people were weird. Very weird.

Which made them feel more like family than Jango wanted to acknowledge.

And it felt good, getting to move his body again, free of restraints and the fog on his mind. To hold a weapon again (they had trusted him with a weapon, even if they did not know him at all). 

It made him forget about the shame.

The shame of being captured and sold off by that hut’uun Montross. The shame of being stripped of his armor, of his name, of his soul .

There was no way he could face Jaster like this. Without his beskar’gam , the beskar’gam that Jaster had forged from his own aliit’s memorabilia. The beskar’gam that had carried the souls of so many members of Clan Mereel before him. The beskar’gam that Jango. Had. Lost .

He shouldn’t be forgetting.

Jango should be planning revenge.

He gripped the hilt of the blade tighter.

He would get it back. He would get his soul back and bring down Montross and only then would he face Jaster and beg for forgiveness.

No excuses.

Chapter Text

There was something calming about the rainy season on Saleucami.

Dooku looked out of the window port in the meditation bay, a cup of tea in hand and he observed the heavy droplets streaking across the transparisteel.

Rain on Coruscant was a nasty thing, all polluted and acidy, stemming from recycled, badly filtered water that was pumped from the artificial rain pumps everywhere. Its only purpose was to at least wash the smog and stench of the city down to the lower levels, where the senators and nobles wouldn’t have to tolerate it burning their fine-bred noses.

He took a sip of tea and closed his eyes contentedly.

Ah, yes. Fresh infusions were the best.

He opened his eyes again.

And was almost scared out of his shits , when from the opposite of the view port window, a pair of pale, bloodshot eyes stared back at him from beyond a slick, dark curtain of drenched hair. 

Two pale, spindly hands hit the glass.

A crooked smile appeared on the apparition’s face.

‘Found you,’ they mouthed.

Before their eyes turned back into their head and they dropped out of the field of sight, presumably onto the muddy, rain soaked soil of Saleucami.

…

Out of all the things possible, Dooku suddenly storming out of their ship, disappearing into the torrential rain and then returning with the soggiest, muddiest human Feemor had ever seen, had been the least the Knight would have expected from a slow taungsday afternoon.

He and Jango had been engrossed in a neat little game called cubi’kad - Jango had shown them both how to play it and it was really fun (Feemor already was thinking about how one could adapt it to lightsabers) - when the older man had let out a surprised cry (maybe a name?) and only moments later rushed past them with a harried look on his face.

The reason for which became quite clear in the next few moments.

‘Master Sifo-Dyas?,’ was what Feemor wanted to ask, but then decided against it as Jango was right there .

And explaining now that he and Dooku were Jedi (probably, the leaving the Order thing was still out in the open) seemed… well, it had been this long and it had never come up. So… probably it was fine like this?

Dooku seemed to be of a similar mind, as he, when he very unceremoniously started peeling the haggard Master out of his robes (that the mud and the water had luckily rendered entirely unrecognizable), only mumbled the man’s name and not his title.

“Sifo, you absolute nerf-herder ,” Dooku said, exasperation clear as day, “What the everloving kark possessed you to pull such a stunt!?”

Master Sifo-Dyas simply cracked one eye open (the other one was caked with mud) and a weak, but radiant smile appeared on his lips (also muddy).

“Found you, Doo,” he croaked out.

Dooku simply continued looking increasingly more exasperated.

“Who’s this dinii ?,” Jango’s indignant muttering came from behind Feemor.

To which he was just about to give a vague reply, when Master Sifo-Dyas reached up and dragged Dooku’s head down to crush their lips together .

Feemor was bluescreening.

Because what?!?

“Oh,” Jango on the other hand seemed like he’d reached a conclusion of his own, “He’s your other father, huh.”

Feemor wanted to scream .

…

“So, uh,” Feemor looked back and forth between the two Masters.

Three people was a little bit cramped for the small meditation room, but they had made it work. Or rather, Master Sifo-Dyas had made it work by simply plastering himself to Dooku’s frame.

Which Master Dooku endured with a stoic face.

“Why are you here, Master Sifo-Dyas?,” Feemor eventually asked, not quite meeting the man’s gaze.

“Oh please, call me Sy.” The man’s voice was softer than Feemor had anticipated. He pressed one cheek against Dooku’s shoulder, a slightly wavy from the remaining dampness strand of hair falling over his face. “And you didn’t think I’d follow you if you left the Order?” He looked up at Dooku.

Who blinked, confused.

“Who left the Order? Me?”

Feemor could understand the confusion. He was feeling it too.

Now Master Sif- Master Sy blinked as well. “Who else? You’re telling me that you suddenly ceasing any and all contact, disappearing from the face of the galaxy and not answering my comms wasn’t you going rogue and dipping out?”

“Hm,” Dooku hummed, “If you look at it like that…”

A crease appeared on Master Sy’s brow. “There wasn’t really any other way to look at it, my dear heart. Don’t tell me I misunderstood.”

Feemor watched Dooku turn his head down, so that his and the other Master’s faces were only inches apart. (Immediately, Feemor felt incredibly misplaced. There was… something going on between the two and he wasn’t sure he should be witnessing it.)

“But you did. We’ve not left the Order, Sy,” Master Dooku said.

“Aw, really? Kriff,” Master Sy said, looking slightly awkward.

Master Dooku’s eyes narrowed. “Sifo,” he asked, “ What did you do?”

The smaller man started sweating visibly.

…

“What.”

Whack .

“An.”

Whack .

“Absolute.”

Whack

“Idiot!”

Whack .

Feemor watched slightly concerned as Master Dooku continued working away on his frustrations in a quite un-Jedi-like manner by systematically decimating a poor, innocent tree stump.

“Lovers’ quarrel?,” Jango asked, leaning in next to him, chewing on a dried piece of kokwash.

Feemor immediately wanted to be somewhere else.

“Don’t worry,” the teen said dismissively, “They’ll be making up soon, trust me. I’ve seen how they look at each other.”

Yeah, Feemor had as well. And that was part of the kriffing problem!

“Kokwash?” Jango offered him one of the treats.

It was covered in sugar and some sort of red powder. Feemor eyed it suspiciously, then he looked at Jango. The teen simply grinned back. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I won’t be poisoning you with both of your parents present.”

“It’s not poison I’m worried about,” Feemor muttered as he took the piece of fruit.

His spice tolerance had improved over the last few weeks.

…

Life on Saleucami soon went back to the usual trot.

Master Dooku and not-Master-anymore-because-he-had-actually-left-the-Order-for-real Sifo-Dyas were playing a happy couple, reunited after some time apart.

Or at least that was the official story.

It was what made Sifo happy, so it made Yan happy.

And if there was maybe a little too much truth to their ruse, well, the Council sure wasn’t here and Dooku had no plan to involve them any time soon. Involving the Council meant involving Master Yoda, which would inevitably mean some sort of confrontation with Qui-Gon, which he wasn’t sure either he or Feemor were quite ready for yet.

Plus, he still had about half of his collected recipes left to teach the boy.

As well as Jango’s continued presence. They couldn’t just leave him now, could they? He had already started teaching him and Feemor Makashi, after all. Well, the slightly abridged version, adapted for vibroblades, but still.

So he couldn’t just go now.

Which made it all the more surprising, when Jango one day stood up at the dinner table, looking slightly nervous, and then declared he would leave soon.

“Leave? Where?,” Sifo looked stricken. He’d know the kid for the least amount of time, but had, in true Sifo-fashion, already all but adopted him into his heart.

Feemor also seemed surprised. And not positively. “I thought you agreed to go help me stock up on tubers next week,” he said, a bit indignant.

Dooku crossed his arms. “Yes, where do you think you’re going, with your training only half finished?” They hadn’t even gotten to the fourth set of Makashi katas! The fourth one was the most fun!

That was when Jango finally caved.

He told them. About the betrayal of his father’s aide, how he got sold by him and how he first had to reclaim something that was stolen from him before he could even think about returning to his father’s side.

“Surely that can’t be,” Sy tried to argue, “No matter what, an item can’t be more important to your father than you. You should go back and let him know you’re alive first, before entering any journeys of revenge and reclamation.”

Jango shook his head. “ You don’t understand . Without it, I’ve lost my soul. And even worse, the souls of his ancestors. I can’t go back like this.” Tears shimmered in the kid’s brown eyes.

Dooku opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Feemor, who had stepped up and wrapped one arm around the teen’s shoulder, jostling him a bit. “Then we’ll help you get it back.”

“We will?,” Dooku murmured, thinking of the asterian petunias he’d just planted outside of their landing place.

“That’s a great idea, Feemor!,” Sifo exclaimed excitedly, sealing the petunias’ fate.

Alas, attachments. 

Frowned upon.

…

“Just so we’re clear,” Jango warned them sternly, “This is my mission, and you can only help. I need to do the brunt, otherwise I can’t restore my honor.”

“Of course, of course,” Sy said happily, twirling in the pilot seat, “You just tell me where you need to go and I’ll get us there.”

Hesitantly, Jango nodded.

Had he been there, Dooku would have warned Jango against letting Sifo-Dyas fly anything. Strongly. The Ace-trained Jedi had only a passing regard for the things trivially known as ‘hyperlanes’ and had on multiple occasions almost crashed shuttles because he’d manually jumped too close to a moon or an asteroid. 

But as the Force willed, Dooku and Feemor were busy arranging the large terracotta planters they had transplanted the petunias in around the singular growth-light Dook had managed to procure on-planet.

Which was why, Jango had a rude awakening when he told Sifo their first stop.

“Hm, Nevarro. Mandalorian space, huh,” Sifo grinned as he cracked his fingers, “Fun, never been there before.”

“It’s not difficult to reach,” Jango shrugged, “Just jump to the Hydian and then it’s on the way.”

That earned him a dismissive scoff from the pilot. “The Hydian , sure.” Sifo looked at him out of the corner of his eyes, brows raised in an open challenge. “Hyperlanes are for cowards , Jango. And also for people who want to take ages to get somewhere.”

That seemed… very wrong. Even to Jango's rather limited knowledge of flying.

“Nevarro, you say…” Sifo hummed as he started punching in coordinates by hand into the console, calculating seemingly in his head, “That’s a five-jump journey normally. I say we can make it in three.” He pulled up a star chart and zoomed in on a Jango unfamiliar star system, gauging… something. He zoomed in on it even further, tilting his head. “Maybe even just two, if I manage to catch the flat side of Pattite Patunia. I’d have to get the timing right though. What do you think?”

Something told him that he probably should not be encouraging this. “Uh, three jumps seems ample,” was what he stammered eventually.

The disappointment in the older man’s face was evident. “If you say so…”

And with that, Jango fled. Because if there was one thing he had learned under Jaster, it was that sometimes plausible deniability was your best friend.

…

In the end, Sifo-Dyas’ attempt at bringing them into an early grave (because that’s what this was) went well. Or not, depending on whose side you were on.

Sifo still proclaimed that he could have done it in just two jumps and that Dooku jumping in and bringing the ship out of hyperspace before Pattite Patunia was a grave insult to his sensibilities as a pilot and that he would sleep on the (nonexistent) couch that night. 

Jango, who had made the mistake of popping into the cockpit once during their flight and had seen the man steering the ship mid-hyperjump with his eyes closed through uncharted areas, was very happy that had happened. Because he simply couldn’t afford to die now. Not until he’d gotten his beskar’gam back.

Needless to say, he had a whole newfound appreciation for solid ground when they finally touched down on Nevarro.

And a deep seated respect for Dooku, who seemed to have dealt with situations like these ample times before.

That respect immediately vanished again though, when the man physically held him back from going off to collect some intel on the possible whereabouts of his beskar’gam . 

“Let me go!,” he demanded, whilst doing his very best to wiggle out of the man’s beskar grip.

“I don’t think so,” the entirely unimpressed answer came back. He didn’t even flinch as Jango’s heel connected heavily with his shin. “There will not be an unaccompanied minor walking off on a planet that’s full of mercenaries at best under my watch.”

“I’m not a child!,” Jango protested, whilst earnestly contemplating the merit of biting this guy to make him let go.

“Teenager.” Dooku shrugged. “Same difference.”

Jango was about to protest, when Dooku turned his head away.

“Ah, Feemor. I see you’re ready, great.”

Startled, Jango looked over as well and… wow, he wasn’t going to lie. If Dooku hadn’t addressed Feemor by his name, he would have thought a stranger had smuggled themselves on the ship. 

The heavy black overcoat he was now sporting hid his true muscle mass whilst simultaneously broadening his shoulders and giving the already tall man a looming quality. A fake tan and some expertly placed scars, as well as the scraggly blonde stubble he’d been growing out over the last few days changed his face to something rugged and almost intimidating. The effect was even more amplified by the icy contact lenses he’d donned, changing his normal soft brown eyes to a piercing stare.

But something in his posture also had changed. He was now walking like a predator .

“What?,” Feemor said, and oh was it weird to hear that familiar voice from that almost unrecognizable appearance, “Something weird about my disguise?”

Hastily, Jango shook his head. “N- no, not at all. It’s really good, in fact. Really good.”

With a sigh of relief, Feemor’s shoulder sagged - a very him thing. “Good, we were a bit unsure as there was no hair dye onboard and rurpa sap stains horribly , but if you think this is enough, then I’ll take your word for it.”

Jango blinked. Who had fake scars and spray tan on board but not hair dye?

These people, apparently.

Well, this was bound to be interesting.

He just hoped there would be a lead on his beskar’gam .

…

“ Alor !”

Jaster flinched up from the little exhaustion-induced nap he’d slid into over yet another useless report. It had been sold to him as intel on presumed kyr’tsad activity in the Mid Rim. What it actually was, was utter rubbish.

Silas barrelled into his office, face pale and swinging a datapad around wildly.

“We’ve got a sighting!”

“Wha- urk,” something tasted funny in his mouth and he had to grimace, “What?”

The pad was slammed onto his desk in front of him, Silas staring at him with gleaming, hopeful eyes over the dark bags that matched Jaster’s own. It had been almost three months since Jango had disappeared during what should have been a routine mission, and so far there had been not a single trace and many sleepless nights.

“It’s Jango, Jaster! Someone saw him on Navarro!”

Immediately Jaster was wide awake.

He grabbed the pad and his eyes flew over the grainy image taken from a less than stellarly maintained security cam.

“Jan’ika,” he whispered, emotions overspilling. 

Kriff , he’d thought he’d lost him as well.

Then, his eyes flew up. “Who’s the other guy?,” he growled, fingers clenching around the datapad’s frame.

In the picture, one hand possessively on his ad’s alarmingly unarmored shoulder and practically looming over the teen, was a tall male presenting humanoid. Pale hair and face, scarred and, whilst not sporting any outright visible kyr’tsad insignia, looking exactly like the type Tor Vizsla loved to surround himself with.

Silas shook his head. “I’ve already contacted some of our people on Navarro, but it seems like he’s a wild card. No one knew his name or what he deals in, only that he suddenly appeared two days ago with Jango in tow. He never leaves the kid’s side and he’s shaken quite a few of our tails.”

Jaster cursed and slammed his fists onto the table.

Then, after a moment, he decided.

"Go tell Montross," he bit out, "That I won't be joining the mission on Korda VI. I've got a demagolkyc hutuun to hunt."

“ Elek , Mand’alor . Oya. ”

…

Feemor was hovering again.

How could he not?

Being on Navarro made him nervous. Ever since they had landed here, the mood had been tense and he had to pull many of the registers of his Shadow experience to avoid some of the more stubborn tails they had gotten. But on the other hand, he’d been reassured in his decision to accompany Jango, since evidently a single teenager scurrying off still attracted all the wrong kinds of attention.

He hadn’t found out more, as he didn’t want to risk leaving Jango alone for longer amounts of time. Or any, really. But his fingers did itch to grab one of those pesky tails and shake them until they dropped the name of whoever it was that was so interested in this kid.

Jango meanwhile realized none of that. Or if he had, he simply ignored it.

Maybe something they should have a talk about at some point, but Feemor would lie if he said that he wasn’t touched by the trust that was put in him.

Always half an eye on their surroundings, Feemor watched Jango stalk out of a little side alley.

“No luck again?,” he asked, as the teen’s emotions shone quite quite clearly in the Force. And on his face. For all his many qualities, Jango did carry his mood quite openly on his sleeve.

It was rather endearing.

“No.” Jango kicked a rusty tin can on the floor. It clattered a bit over the dusty road. “No one wants to have heard anything! And if they do, it’s clear they are lying their shebs off!”

Feemor dragged the kid into a lopsided hug. “Don’t worry, you’ll find your father’s heirloom, I’m sure of it.”

The Force chimed with agreement.

There was a choked little sniffle against his coat, before Jnago peeled away and righted himself, nodding. 

“Now, let’s get back to the ship, little brother,” Feemor patted Jango’s back.

Looking after the teen scamper off, tips of his ears definitely reddening, Feemor wondered silently when that particular address had snuck itself into his vocabulary. Probably around the same time that Sifo had called him his ‘oldest’ when questioned by a dock worker.

Fun things to think about when you still weren’t quite sure of your personal legal status in regards to your political, religious and personal affiliation towards the Order that had raised you from infancy.

Master Dooku had claimed they never had left.

But Ma- former Master Sy had said that everyone and their akk assumed they both had either left, been captured or Fallen - or any combination of the three.

And to be honest, Feemor kind of enjoyed the freedom he had right now. He was never bored, not with Dooku hell bent on making up for all the time he had kept away from him (on Master Jinns orders, apparently, which Feemor… Feemor had thoughts about that) and Jango running around and poking at any feasible rats nests of information and scummery on the planet. And of course, Sifo. Who had, for no discernible reason other than spite, had taken up wall painting as a hobby. 

The man’s, admittedly steadily improving, art now decorated most of the available interior of the ship - even if Feemor really had to scratch his head how he’d gotten to some of the places. 

The amount of red used was slightly concerning, especially when a new work popped up overnight in a place you didn’t expect. For example, Feemor still wasn’t quite sure what to think of the grieving twi’lek weeping rivers of blood that stared at you from behind the sonic doors. Granted, the flying fish were nice, and painted with incredible love to detail, but why were they living in rivers of blood? That were coming out of the eyes of a woman that looked suspiciously much like that one farmers market lady?

Nothing was safe, nothing was holy.

Which was perfectly emulated by the fact that, when they lowered the loading ramp to return to the ship, and the open maws of a nine-headed nexu with snakes for eyes greeted him and Jango.

“Oh wow,” Jango deadpanned, “That’s… interesting.”

“Thank you!,” the entirely too cheerful voice of Sifo-Dyas rang out from the upper end of the ramp, “It is based on the question ‘what would a nexu see if they had snakes for eyes’.”

“I see.” Feemor didn’t. “And why the nine heads?”

The upper half of the lanky Seer popped up and he shrugged. “It’s a big ramp.”

That it was. And now it was fully covered in still-drying paint. Which made walking up virtually impossible, without smudging something. Feemor looked up. “I guess we’ll be staying outside them for a while? Until it’s dry.”

“Oh no don’t bother!” Sifo packed away a rather large brush and gestured over his newest masterpiece. “Some footprints will only add to the visual.”

Feemor’s own skepticism was mirrored on Jango’s face, but ultimately… well, if Sifo came to regret it in the future, he could (and would) just paint over any smudged places.

…

"This one's a promising lead, actually."

Jango stared up at Sifo, who was positively swamped in a massive green poncho he claimed was 'the only disguise necessary'.

"You really think so, Sy?" Dooku, who was flanking Jango's other side and was wearing a gardening overall and sunhat that stood out like a sore thumb in the seedy underbelly of Navarro, sounded hopeful. For no discernible reason.

"Mh." The first man nodded.

Feemor, in full disguise, had been leading them. He turned, lens-blue eyes slightly widened. "Oh, perfect. It did seem a tad shady, that guy approaching me outta nowhere, but if this is giving you a positive feeling…"

Something about this exchange went over Jango's head.

And he wasn't sure what.

But also, little did he care at the moment. They finally, finally had a proper lead (or at least a promising one) on the whereabouts of his beskar'gam .

Anything else was secondary right now.

"Well, maybe not positive per se," Sifo continued musing, "But… not unpromising . Like there is definitely a reward at the end of this."

Reward was good!

"Reward is good, right?!," Jango excitedly looked up at Dooku. 

The tall man grimaced a bit and placed one hand on his shoulder. "Let's not… be overly hasty, young one. Optimistic but cautious."

"Optimistic but cautious," Feemor agreed sombrely.

Jango looked back and forth between them. Yep, definitely something he was missing here.

But.

Lead on his beskar'gam .

He was just gonna focus on that part now.

…

Dooku was… well. Sifo said this was going to be promising. Not positive , but promising . Which was both good and bad, considering his usual feelings.

Which was why they all were accompanying their little ward. A proper Jedi strike force almost, sans Sifo's hideous poncho. But his dear Seer had fallen in love with the ugly thing and none of them had the heart to tell him that it did absolutely nothing for his complexion. 

Which, all things considered, could be on purpose. One never knew with Sifo.

He could have full well been planning to don this look to make people underestimate him, thinking he was nothing but a sickly looking washout. 

Sy had done similar things before.

And stepping into the seedy bar that Feemor's 'contact' had chosen as place of meeting, that might have been very prudent of his dear Seer.

There was a concerning amount of Mandalorians in the establishment.

Now, of course Dooku was aware they were at the edges of Mandalorian space, so their presence was a given. But still. This seemed like overkill.

Feemor seemed to think the same.

A trap?

His caution was palpable as he contacted Dooku over their bond. 

To his credit the boy did not show any of it on his external appearance, standing there all looming and menacing. He really had a knack for this kind of work. Dooku felt a rather untimely sense of pride swell in his chest.

Hm. We will see.  

Sifo's entirely too cheerful voice chimed in.

Keep an eye on Jango though.

True. The teen had gone still under his hand and was rapidly paling. His whole presence radiated tense fear, anger and bone-deep disgust. And it was centered around a Mandalorian in dark armor who was slowly standing up from his chair.

"I see you've caught the Vhett whelp," he drawled, pulling off his helmet to reveal a very punchable looking face. The Mandalorian set his helmet on a table, approaching Feemor.

It was clear that he very much felt in control over the situation, which made it even more comical as he had to stare up at Dooku's dear Grandpadawan.

Not that it did anything about his ego. 

The edges of insanity flitting across his mind were concerning though. 

Tread lightly, Feemor , Dooku cautioned.

Of course, Grandmaster .

"I hear you've been inquiring about this runt's beskar'gam ," the Mandalorian gave a disgusting leer in Jango's direction, "Looking to complete the set?" 

Feemor just kept quiet, letting the guy come to his own conclusions.

And that he did. With a step back, he gave a short bark of a laugh. "Of course you are. Now see," he made a grand swooping gesture and hooked into Feemor's arm, "I have nothing against that. For the right price, of course. And," he gave another hair-raising stare, "Maybe an inkling of what exactly it is that you have planned for the runt."

Jango was shivering from barely suppressed rage.

There was definitely history there. And everything pointed towards that this sleemo had been the reason the kid had been in that mine in the first place.

Only years of experience as a Shadow and a diplomat prevented Dooku from narrowing his eyes.

Feemor on the other hand played along easily.

Letting his voice fall to a gravelly drawl that fit his current exterior, he said, "What's it to you?"

There was a twist of annoyance from the Mandalorian, but he flattened it out. "Well," he drew back, the slimy friendliness giving way to a very sharp malice, "Let's say that I have a vested interest in seeing this kid suffer . The longer the better, and if there's recordings… I'm willing to pay you double what the armor is worth." He waved over his shoulder and another Mandalorian approached, with a heavy bag in their hand.

Unceremoniously, they let it drop to the floor with a heavy thud. A few pieces of armor rolled out, green paint rather chipped.

Jango flinched . Hard.

There was a very well hidden but pointed snap of annoyance from Feemor in turn.

And from Sifo as well.

Uh oh. That was concerning. Not many people knew this, but Sy tended to go… overboard when he lost himself. It didn't happen often, not at all, but when it did… let's just say there had been instances where Yan had had to do extensive damage control. 

Sifo was like a sleeping volcano, all calm and collected. Until he wasn't. Those explosions often came rather unannounced, especially for those who didn't know him quite as well as Dooku did.

Dooku was about to reach out, a grounding hand on his partner's arm had done wonders before, when out of nowhere Feemor acted.

Fast as lightning, his movement was, and there was no chance for Dooku to interfere before his Grandpadawan had squarely placed his fist in the Mandalorian's visage.

The impact was so strong, that it all but sent the guy flying, armor and all, while Feemor stood there almost casually.

"I'm sorry," Dooku's Grandpadawan said, voice returning to its normal pitch, "No wait, I'm actually not. Let me rephrase." He pulled out his vibroblade from the sheath on his back. "Fuck off, you cross-faced boil on a bantha's back. Touch my little brother again and I will separate your atoms from their nuclei."

The Mandalorian did not seem to properly appreciate the gruesomeness of that threat.

"You dare -," the Mandalorian snarled, blood gushing from his nose and staining his teeth grotesquely.

Which was the exact moment the Force flared and, wouldn't you karking believe that, more Mandalorians flooded the bar.

Dooku and Jango were dragged aside by Sifo, who, with a serene smile that did not quite reach his eyes, murmured, "There they are."

The brief flash of panic from Jango was concerning, but for some reason it was more laced with guilt than with the deep set horror he'd projected before.

Blaster bolts filled the air, and for a brief moment Dooku thought Feemor went down. But then the pale visage of his Grandpadawan jumped back up again a few meters to the side and he seemed to have discarded the heavy coat for more freedom of movement.

One of the… new Mandalorians? Well, Dooku was just gonna call them that. One of them roared something over the clamor, brandishing a long saber-like weapon in one hand and a smaller blaster in the other. Then he leveled the latter at the other Mando whose face Feemor had just bashed in before and shot. The asshole rolled out of the way though and dragged one of his goons in front of him, like a meat shield.

Well, at least he was consistent in his shittyness. 

Dooku also drew his vibroblade.

Time to fuck some shit up, as the young ones liked to say.

…

He had been right .

That demagolkyc shabuir was one of Tor's henchmen. 

Jaster was boiling over from unbridled rage.

<Montross, Silas!,> he barked over their internal comms, <Keep those hutuune off my hide, I will take that demagolka on my own!>

Then he jumped into the fray, eyes trained on the man that had kidnapped his ad .

Only he did not come far, that shabuir was as slippery as he was treacherous, always dipping down between the other kyr'tsadiise and slicing the backs of their knees open to clear himself a path. Typical, that Tor would bandle on with such a traitorous, honorless bastard.

Then suddenly, that very dar'manda stood in his way to proper revenge.

"Mereel!," Tor hollered, blood staining his face and his eyes wild, "How nice of you to join us, I am looking forward to seeing your pathetic face when I eviscerate your brat in front of you!"

Jaster cursed as he saw the blond head of his actual target disappear behind Tor in the general chaos.

<Get out of my way, Vizsla,> he growled, redistributing the weight of his beskad in his hand, <I'll get to you soon enough, but my current fight is with that blonde hutuun.>

Tor's face twisted. "I'll fucking gut you, Mereel!" And with tht he drew the fucking Dha'kad , because of course he did.

Only Jaster never had the time to react, as suddenly a haggard man in a green poncho appeared next to him, and almost on passing, asked, "Do you mind if I take this?"

His smile was chilling .

Too stunned by this sudden appearance, Jaster could do nothing but stare for the precious moment between now and the inevitable future where he'd be hit by the Dha'kad because he had allowed himself to be distracted.

Or that should have been what happened, but instead the weird man in the poncho smiled some more, dipped and slid down under Tor's extended swordhand, planting a flat palm squarely over the kar'ta of Tor's breastplate and sending him flying back from the impact.

Tor crashed loudly in a booth behind.

"Ah, that was cathartic," the poncho'd man shook his hand a little and then, with a blinding smile looked back at Jaster. "Excuse my rudeness. He's threatened my family, I hope you understand."

To be honest, Jaster's mind was still reeling with the fact that this beanstalk of a man just had sent a mando'ad in full beskar'gam flying with the ease one would normally brush aside a not particularly clingy tooka.

That's why he simply nodded and gestured out. <Nay- No. I don't mind, uh,> he shot the slowly-crawling-out-of-the-rubble Tor a glance, <Go ahead?>

" Thank you ." Grey eyes curved into genuine little crescents, as if Jaster had just given this stranger the best possible lifeday present.

"SIFO NO!," Came a sudden shout over the clamor of the small and medium battles all around.

"Sifo ye~es!," The poncho'd aruetii replied with a mean cackle, before turning on his heel and rolling back the sleeves of his shirt, baring a set of lean but strong wrists.

Jaster looked away, blushing for no particular reason.

At least he was still wearing his buy'ce , so no one saw anyways.

Then a head of blond, shorn short hair caught his eye and his attention immediately was drawn elsewhere.

He tightened the grip on his beskad. That shabuir wasn't going to get away!

…

Feemor felt hunted.

Probably because he was.

With a curse, he ducked out of the way of another blaster bolt that hissed only inches away from his ear. That one dark armored new Mamdalorian really had it out for him.

Feemor couldn't remember ever pissing off a Mandalorian, but with a warlike people like theirs you never knew.

Another duck and a stab to the knee to one of the asshole's goons.

The dark Mando hunting him yelled something.

He didn't understand, but it probably meant something akin to 'stop and face me' mottled with various swears and insults. At least that's what it felt like in the Force.

Yeah, Feemor wasn't going to do that.

He slinked behind another table.

…

Dooku looked to the left.

There was Sifo-Dyas positively and very one-sidedly bashing in a Mandalorian's skull. A closer look revealed that it was the guy that had been such a sleemo towards Jango before. Well, served him right.

And at least this time Sy had neither drawn his sabers nor confiscated an anti-aircraft gun for his purposes.

So so far it seemed under control.

He looked to his right.

Feemor's blond head just popped out behind another table, eyes flitting across the room.

The dark Mandalorian that was maybe, possibly the leader of the new batch of Mandos immediately zoned in on his Grandpadawan and with a yelled curse shot a few blasters in his direction. Feemor immediately slinked back and Dooku wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to feel watching this play out. 

But it seemed like Feemor had it under control. And it was good evasive maneuver training, so…

Dooku let him have his fun.

He looked behind him.

There was Jango, face a mask of anger, brandishing his vibroblade at another Mandalorian, one in blue and grey armor.

Now that was something he should prevent from escalating.

Driving the pommel of his blade into the side of a Mando that had come too close to him for his liking, Dooku turned on his heel and stalked up behind the rando threatening his Grandpadawan's ward.

"How about you look for someone your size," he growled, yanking the Mandalorian's shoulder back, sending them tumbling over backwards.

To his surprise, it was Jango who took issue with that. " No! ," he cried, tears of anger burning in his eyes, "He's my hunt! I'll kill him!"

Now, Dooku wasn't so sure a teenager should be wanting to kill anyone, and he was about to tell Jango that, when the kid added some mlre info.

"He was the shabuir that sold me off!"

Yan twitched back to look down at the Mando who was scrambling back up already, whipping out a mean and very illegal looking barbed stiletto knife.

He yelled something in that blasted language they all spoke and Dooku didn't.

Under these circumstances a bit of murderous rage was indeed justified, he supposed.

The other fights all around were slowly dying down, with the contrahenders either fleeing, dead, their kneecaps missing due to Feemor's efforts or getting thrown around by an angry Seer. 

Dooku looked back to Jango, giving him an encouraging nod. "Okay, I'll keep watch so that no one interferes."

"I don't need your help!," the kid snarled, but gripped his vibroblade and had at it.

With a quick and hidden flick of his hand, Dooku manipulated the Force to make Jango's opponent stumble, just a bit. It was still a grown, armored man going up against a, admittedly very determined, teen with just an armorweave jacket. So he wasn't counting this as cheating, more like evening out the playing field.

The stumble allowed Jango to indeed get in a good few first hits. He was screaming profanities all the while, which Dooku found just a bit crude, but that was youth for you.

Then the Mandalorian caught himself and threw the much lighter reen off, resulting in Jango groaning on the floor, snapping for air.

Again, something was said in the mandalorian language and the Mando suddenly whipped out another blaster from seemingly nowhere aiming it at the prone teen.

<Jango!> A loud, modulated voice suddenly rang out from the other end of the bar, and Dooku had just enough time to make out a red armored Mandalorian standing up in alarm.

<Montross!?,> Feemor's dark hunter suddenly exclaimed as well, terror and betrayal warping the Force.

The Mandalorian that had his weapon leveled at Jango threw his head back and removed his helmet, baring a slightly bloodied face and equally crazy eyes as the very first of these nuts. "Watch your precious heir die , Jaster!," he shouted out.

Which was the last thing he ever said, because the very next moment a brilliant green light streaked across the area in an arch and neatly separated his head from his body.

"No," Sifo said primly, lowering his arm back down.

The lightsaber he'd just thrown clattered to the ground, where the safety kicked in and it powered down.

" Sifo !," Dooku was scandalized, "Your lightsaber is your life! Don't just throw it?!"

…

Jango was frozen on the ground.

Frozen he was because of several reasons. First of all, Jaster was here. His buir was here and he wasn't… he wasn't ready to face him just now.

Secondly, Sifo - avid painter and horrible pilot Sifo, that Sifo - had just thrown a jetii'kad . With deadly precision. And killed that karking hutuun Montross in one fell swoop.

And none of the others acted like that was anything out of the ordinary.

Dooku even stepped up, picked the thing off the ground and immediately wiped it off with his sleeve. If anything, he looked miffed at Sy - the same expression he'd had when they first had contemplated leaving his petunias on Saleucami.

Then he turned to Jango, holding out his hand. 

"I think you might want to stand for that next part, kid," he told him with a sardonic smile. 

Jango let himself be dragged up.

"Sifo, catch!," Dooku then called and threw the 'kad back to the other man.

Sifo caught it seemingly without even looking and then it disappeared back under the vastness of his poncho. "Thanks, Doo!," he called back.

"Is the fighting over?," Feemor called out at that point, peeking out behind yet another table.

Jango watched his buir's finger twitch to his blaster again.

Panic gripped him. "No! Buir !," he shouted, before Jaster could shoot Feemor whom he had come to see as kind of an ori'vod , "Don't! Feemor is good!"

Jaster stalled, but from the tension in his frame he wasn't quite convinced. Yet.

"Hmm," Dooku's deep voice washed over him, and Jango involuntarily straightened up a little, "I see."

The little hairs on the back of his neck stood up and the tall man walked up next to him and regarded him with a searching gaze, then looked over to Jaster. His buir was returning the stare challengingly, hand not straying an inch from his blaster.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder again, and it took all his remaining control to not jump - his nerves were all over the place already.

"I take it that this," Dooku nodded towards Jaster, "Is your father you talked about?" There was a slight challenge in his tone, which, uh, might get problematic.

Especially since from the twitch in Jaster's hand, he had picked up on it as well.

<Jan'ika,> his buir said at that very moment, <Come over here.>

Jango's heart was beating up into his throat. Going over would be… bad. He hadn't yet redeemed himself. Not really . Sifo had killed Montross who had been about to overwhelm Jango. So he wasn't yet absolved. But… if he didn't go, he might put the others in danger. And he didn't want that.

Taking a deep breath, he took a tentative step forward.

Then another.

Until he stood an arm's length from Jaster.

He fell to his knees. " Ni ceta, Mand'alor -," he began, and there were several small noises of sudden understanding from his saviors, but before he could properly apologize to Jaster, the man suddenly gathered him in a bone-crushing hug.

Jango let out a confused wheeze.

Ripping his buy'ce off, Jaster pressed his forehead to his. "Oh, ad'ika ," his buir's voice was rough with emotion, "I thought I had lost you too."

Jango couldn't hold back his tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, buir. I lost your aliit's beskar, and-"

" Udesii, ner ad, udesii . Beskar can be replaced. You are much more precious than metal."

A dry crack shocked them both out of the tearful reunion.

"Ah-," Feemor, who was blinking furiously, stepped away from the edge of his table, which now was split in two.

He seemed strangely out of sorts.

"Fee-," Jango started, twitching in his buir's hug.

But Dooku was at his side way quicker and the man's broad back obscured the hushed words and gestures he shared with his son. If that then was the truth.

The gleaming green j etii'kad didn't want to leave Jango's mind.

As if speaking of the Fanged One, a green shadow auddenly appeared at their side. Sifo-Dyas crouched down next to him and Jango could immediately feel Jaster's hackles rising again.

But the spindly man just smiled.

"Here," he said, "This should be yours, I believe."

Jango and Jaster both stared.

He was holding out the hilt of the Dha'kad like it was a piece of gum, to be taken from his open palm.

"Go on, take it. I already have two." He lifted the hem of his poncho, and true to word, there hung two kad'au'e from his belt, matching silvery hilts bound with brown fabric. "And this one sings the song of your people."

"It has to be won in a fair challenge," Jaster shook his head.

Sifo's face fell, a tad, and for a second his eyes glazed over. Then, seemingly shaking himself out of whatever that had been, he stood up again, knees popping. With a wink - a wink - to Jango's buir , he said, "A challenge, ey? I'm sure we can arrange something, Mand'alor ."

There was something predatory in his gaze and Jango wasn't quite sure what to think of that being directed at his buir .

So far he'd only seen Sy look like that at Dooku .

It was… was that how Feemor had felt all this time?

Jango didn't like it.

He wrapped his arms around Jaster even tighter.

…

"Sy," Dooku drawled as he pulled away from Feemor - the poor boy, he would really have to have words with Qui-Gon after this was over - and frowned at his dear Seer, "What are you planning now?"

Sifo was radiating that very specific kind of razor sharp glee that Dooku had come to know meant that he had scoured them a potential third bedpartner.

Dooku's gaze glanced past him, on the Mand'alor . 

" No ," he said, "That's gonna be a political disaster ."

Sifo pouted.

" Sy ," Dooku warned.

Sifo pouted even harder.

"... It's up to him," he eventually relented. Because if you denied Sifo his flights of fancy, he could get really cross. And Dooku already had had to sleep on the couch for their flight to Navarro for being a sensible human and preventing them to play first-person asteroid impact on Pattite Patunia.

His efforts were rewarded with a blinding smile.

Which was, of course, when the door to the place was thrown open with a bang.

"MASTER DOOKU," Dooku's wayward first Padawan crowed, lightsaber ablaze in his one hand and a fishing rod (he had learned not to ask) in the other, "I'VE COME TO SAVE YOU! Oh, hi Master Sy, hi Feemor."

"Rael," Dooku said, voice drier than the sand on Tatooine and his gaze fell on the small, red-haired girl that was peeking out from a carrier on his back, "Tell me that you did not kidnap Princess Fanry of Pijal all the way to Mandalorian space because of a baseless rumor."

"Uh," Rael said, hands slowly lowering his weapons.

Another head, this time of a teenage tholothian, popped into the doorframe. "He did," Rael's Padawan immediately sold her Master out with an annoyed grimace, "I told him not to, but he didn't listen."

" Nim! " Rael, pretending to be offended, exclaimed.