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Mace had woken at four in the morning in such profound pain he almost vomited. He did those things he needed to do to take care of himself - drugs, a hot shower, extra oxygen, heat on his shoulders, a cold pack on his forehead, hydration, food, being gentle with himself, but it did not relent.
Mornings like that made him doubt his sanity, and whether or not he would ever, ever be able to take on a padawan. How could he care for a child when he could barely function in a normal manner?
He had spent the day in meditation, and that helped, if not with the pain per se, then certainly with the suffering it caused.
Two days later the pain had not relented, despite one of the twin shatterpoints, in fact, shattering, and Mace followed the Force to the creche where the nearer of the two resided. He stood back and observed. He wasn’t particularly good with the little ones unless they could hold up their end of the conversation, and so he waved off the Crechemaster. But they were used to that. It was a thing, apparently, for Knights and Masters to just quietly come into the creche and meditate, ostensibly to see if the Force was directing them toward any particular child as a future padawan, and so Mace’s behavior was not entirely out of the usual way.
This time, he was apparently making the younglings cry, so he cut it short, but he’d seen what he needed to see.
A shatterpoint of massive proportions, and strangely not the only one, was gathering and turning and nearly ready. And yet… and yet he’d missed an opportunity. Right there in the creche. He’d seen it. It was right when the youngling started to cry. If Mace had gone to him, had somehow said the right things, or listened in the right ways, it would have shattered.
But Mace was terrible at that. He was, very literally, the worst possible person to send in to aid a distressed five year old near human. He didn’t allow them in his theatre class until they were seven, and already initiates. That was his lowest threshold of tolerance.
And then the opportunity passed, but the shatterpoint was still tantalizingly near. But it would not be Mace who could break it. And he did not know what would happen when it broke.
Fully five days of intractable pain and finally the migraine receded and Mace could act like a normal sentient again. He visited his friends in the Temple and assured them he was well. He attended the knighthood ceremony of Feemor and congratulated his friend Qui-Gon on attaining Mastery. He trained in the salles and meditated in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. And finally, at his leisure, sometime three or four days after being migraine-free, Mace went back to visit the creche.
Except he couldn’t find the little youngling, the mega shatterpoint, one of a twin of unbelievably large shatterpoints, the other, he considered, being probably somewhere out in the Outer Rim.
He was sent on a mission after that, with the young Knight Feemor, and a Knight Pilot, one Clee Rhara, to physically check-in with a Watchbeing who had missed too many check-ins, and if necessary render aid. It was something of a milk run, perhaps, but it would take careful use of Force Discernment to sort through it, and it would be time to get to know and bond with his team, who seemed like very nice sentients, even if he didn’t know them well. The mission details were understandably light in some areas, and strangely specific in others, but they prepared themselves mentally and physically and went off without delay.
They were shot down, a danger which they’d been warned about. Knight Pilot Rhara stayed with the ship to repair it while Feemor and Mace made their way through an independent slaver world on the edge of the Outer Rim and Wild Space to find their lost and stranded Watchbeing and his brand new ward, a Force Sensitive former slave.
Still, it took Rhara a solid twelve days to repair the ship with occasional help from Feemor, who had the know-how to do more than just hand tools over, or hold things in place. Which Mace from time to time did do. They also set up a perimeter, guarded the ship and the small encampment they had created, and when the time came to depart, permanently disabled the cannon emplacement that shot them all down to begin with. This last thing they did with serenity of heart. Mostly. And maybe just a hint of rather aggressive satisfaction.
Just a bit.
Honestly, Feemor looked like he was chopping vegetables for latemeal, and the cannon itself looked ready to go into a stir fry by the time they were done with it. Not that Mace felt the mission report required such nuanced details.
All told, it was just over a month before Mace returned from that mission, successful in rescuing a stranded Watchbeing on a hostile world, and bringing a new Force Sensitive child to the Temple to boot.
It was Mace’s first mission as the senior and lead Jedi, and all told he was quite pleased with himself, his team, the mission, the report he had written and submitted two weeks ago while enroute, and during a switch of hyperlanes, and the Council was satisfied with them! There was no need to report directly to the High Council, as they had no questions in his report, though apparently there were now mandatory visits to the Healing Halls for new post-mission check-ins for both physical and mental health. He would be apparently required to meditate with a mind healer briefly, in order to remain on the mission-ready status, which… was a bit intense, but reasonable.
Well, it traded one tedious responsibility for another, but Mace would take the Healing Halls over the Council Chamber any day, so it was no hardship.
He thanked Clee heartily, ducking into the cockpit just after landing, and they both agreed to meet up with Feemor for latemeal out in CoCo Town in a day, and Mace grabbed his bag and disembarked. A Council member greeted them as they got off the ship, but they were clearly present for the Watchbeing and led them kindly away.
Mace knew that Knight Narec had to write his own reports on the way back, and it was very likely that he had to stand before the High Council, though probably after a stay in the Halls with his young ward.
Another ship was landing just after the Watchbeing was led away from them, this a larger one and it made Feemor whistle lowly.
“What?” Mace asked, letting a thread of his bemusement out of his shields toward his new friend. He’d known and been friendly with Qui-Gon, Feemor’s former master, since Mace’s own knighting two years ago, but he liked Feemor even more. He was easy going, easy to laugh and smile, and easy to speak with.
“That, my mechanically ignorant friend, is a MandalMotors Corvette in mint condition. They stopped making them five years ago. Favored by pirates but… pirates never keep it that clean. You do not see them in the Core. Light warship, complement of thirty but can be crewed by just two, negligible cargo space, but a sprawling amount of room for warriors to train. Double sublights for crazy maneuverability in akkfight situations, and not bad hyperdrive as standard.”
“It looks like a light cargo freighter with guns,” Mace remarked blandly.
Feemor cringed and scoffed at the same time. “Heathen,” he breathed out playfully and Mace cracked a grin at him.
“Says the being who has never attended so much as a musical,” Mace said, not even reaching for the haughty voice.
“How are we friends?” Feemor asked with a grin, slinging an arm around him just as a very tall master and a very short padawan walked past.
“Hi, Knight Feemor! Hi, Knight Windu! Welcome home!” an adorable voice chimed from the little padawan.
The master and padawan pair paused and bowed to them, causing Feemor to straighten up a bit so they could both bow politely back.
Mace recognized that the padawan was lately the shatterpoint crecheling he’d made cry. Well, he certainly wasn’t a walking migraine today. But… Wasn’t he a bit young? But then, maybe a council padawan didn’t do much?
“Master Plo, Padawan,” Feemor said, politely acknowledging them.
“Congratulations on your successful mission, Knights. May I introduce my dear friend, Padawan Kenobi? A talented seer and well-rounded prodigy.”
Ah. Well. That would do it, Mace supposed. He noted that a tiny lightsaber was clipped to the padawan’s utility belt. The belt bags on the belt were normal sized, however, and looked enormous on the child.
“Very nice to meet you, Padawan Kenobi,” Mace said, with Feemor murmuring much the same just after.
“It is lovely to formally meet you both. I am glad you had a good mission, but I am sorry for your migraine before, Knight Windu. I’m sure it was a dreadful one.”
Mace blinked down at the child, a little shocked and feeling wrong footed, which this child seemed to have a tendency to do to him, really.
“Um, that’s… that’s hardly your fault. But thank you for the kind sentiments.”
“Oh,” the little padawan said, his high voice and faultless diction making the part of Mace’s brain that was always considering such things wonder if he might enjoy the stage because the stage would certainly enjoy him. “Kindness is easy, but the fault was entirely mine. Unless, I suppose, we blame the Force.”
Mace just blinked. And really wanted to convince the child to sign up for his theatre class.
Master Plo laughed and put a hand on his padawan’s head, the closest he could reach to the child without bending over. “Let us do blame the Force. That is most appropriate my friend. And now we must away to greet our guests.”
They bowed and were gone.
“What was that about? And are all council padawans trained in being mysterious and cryptic? Because that was… intense.” Feemor asked quietly as they slung their bags more firmly over their shoulders and made their way out of the hangar.
Mace harumphed softly and wondered about the answers to that, himself.