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Qui-Gon had fallen asleep by the time Dooku came back from the Council meeting. The soft backrest of the sofa ruffled the boy’s flaxen hair into a gentle, uneven disarray. Dooku noticed that the book in Qui-Gon’s lap was still open, as if someone was reading it. He figured that his Padawan had convinced himself that a good Padawan would never nap in the middle of the day, even though he was clearly fighting off sleep. So, despite strong waves of drowsiness, he put in some stubborn effort to find something, anything, to do.
Dooku actually wouldn’t say anything if Qui-Gon chose to lie down and have some proper sleep. He meant for Qui-Gon to rest by not taking him along to the report meeting with the council. They just got back from an exhausting mission to the outer rim early in the morning. Though Qui-Gon was on the mission as Dooku’s Padawan learner, he was by no means having less to do than his Master. Dooku understood that he had been setting Qui-Gon with harsher and more complicated tasks than those given to his peers, thrusting him through trials the young one was likely not yet prepared for. But that was because he believed in his Padawan, that his Padawan was capable of meeting his expectations. He could see the raw potential lying right underneath the boy’s still somewhat youthful exterior.
Dooku stopped in front of the sleeping one, wanting to put away the book that was still lying open in Qui-Gon’s lap. But just as he reached out, not yet being able to touch even the pages, the supposedly asleep one grabbed his wrist. He had put so much strength into the hold that his knuckles were slightly whitening. Dooku frowned and cast a questioning glance at Qui-Gon, only to find that his eyes were still closed. He sighed after a brief moment of silence, sitting down next to his Padawan. The other half of the sofa gave way under the weight of another, and the sleeping young Padawan, unsettled by the shift, leaned over. His head came to rest, light and warm, against Dooku’s shoulder.
The elder felt the sudden weight on his shoulder. He turned, seeing Qui-Gon still fast asleep, like a softened creature, stripped of all guard. The boy’s steady breaths brushed against Dooku’s neck, and for no reason at all, a memory stirred. Dooku couldn’t remember how long ago that was, but he had once held a young lion in his arms. The little creature had been tame and obedient after he reached out to it through the force, claws tucked away and nestled in his arms quietly. Its small head resting at the nape of his neck, breathing warmth onto his skin. Dooku had never been good at dealing with affectionate, lively, and endearing beings. It was much the same as every time Sifo-Dyas dragged him out on an “adventure” back in their youth. Even though he had always put on a show of reluctance, he had already willingly given in to his request the moment his best friend started to persuade him.
He had been the same with Rael. The former Padawan who had spent a decade bounding around at his side, leaving chaos in his wake. How had Dooku even endured him for ten years? The thought drew a quiet huff of laughter from him. That, perhaps, was Rael’s particular magic. He, and he alone, could always make his Master smile.
The young one sleeping soundly against him stirred, and the book that had been resting on his lap slid to the floor with a dull thump. Dooku glanced at Qui-Gon; the boy didn’t wake at the noise, merely shifted to find a more comfortable spot against his Master. There was nothing Dooku could do. He hadn’t the heart to wake him, so he let the boy use him as a self-warming pillow. With a small motion of the Force, he retrieved the fallen book, curious to see what his Padawan had been reading.
The formation of Tatooine’s deserts.
The ecological systems of Naboo’s rainforests.
The fauna of Dantooine’s open plains.
So, geography, then. Dooku closed the book and set it on the side table, something Qui-Gon would no doubt enjoy.
Dooku’s wrist, which had been held in a tight grip, was freed when Qui-Gon shifted. He looked at the boy for a moment, hesitated, and then eventually slipped an arm around his Padawan’s back, drawing him into a half-embrace.
He’s grown.
Beneath his hand, Dooku felt the shoulder had grown broader, steadier, so different from the last time he’d held Qui-Gon close. He couldn’t help but marvel at how quickly time had passed. For someone who wasn’t originally intended to take another Padawan after Rael, he had already kept Qui-Gon at his side for six years. He and Rael were like two extremes—one burning so fiercely that it seemed he could set an entire plain alight in the next heartbeat, the other steady as a small stone that wouldn’t waver by any wind or rain.
A small, light stone, yet the only one that could anchor Dooku in place.
Dooku’s hand drifted through Qui-Gon’s hair. His Padawan’s chestnut strands had grown longer, softer. They would coil about his fingertips at the slightest touch. He knew Qui-Gon never liked his hair short, especially the standard haircut required for all Padawans. He still remembered the boy standing before him, asking if he had to get the haircut. It was clear he wanted nothing of the sort, yet in front of his new Master, he had put on a show of just asking, as if it were nothing.
Back then, young Qui-Gon had no idea how little his Master cared for the heap of Jedi rules and doctrines, nor that a part of Dooku’s interest in him came from the fact that he never did as the Masters said. After all, he had only been a youngling then, and the Helios Clan was not under Master Dooku’s charge. How could he have known that the supposedly “formidable” Master Dooku, Grandmaster Yoda’s own former Padawan, was so dismissive of dogma? When Dooku heard that question, it was the first time he had laughed aloud in front of Qui-Gon. He still remembered his reply. He said, “Of course you can. You may keep whatever hairstyle you like. You should know your predecessor was far more ‘free-spirited’ on his looks than this. I won’t hold you to any rule on this.” and he even told the little boy that he didn’t need to wear a Padawan braid if he’d rather not. That was his choice. Not a master’s one.
Dooku felt a faint tickle where Qui-Gon’s head rubbed against him, and it brought him back to the moment. The long hair made the boy seem softer, its flow gentling the sharper lines his face had grown into. And Qui-Gon was soft, if he let you close, if he opened his heart to you. The thought curved Dooku’s mouth into a faint smile. In front of his two Padawans, he had long since lost any claim to that serious, unsmiling image. Perhaps in the first year or two it had lingered, but now? Perhaps he, too, had softened without realizing it. Yet why shouldn’t he be different with the children he had raised and taught himself? After all, though it was difficult to imagine himself saying it aloud, he did, in truth, love them both.
With a quiet pull of the Force, he brought a blanket to hand and laid it gently over the still-sleeping padawan.
“Sleep well, Qui-Gon.”
END.