Work Text:
Dooku had decided years ago that he was not going to take another padawan. He was too old to be chasing after a youngling, and frankly too busy to personally oversee a padawan’s training. Dooku was a widely respected Jedi Master, and his skills in diplomacy and untangling political problems kept him busy enough. In fact, after stepping down from the High Council a few years prior, Dooku rarely found himself on Coruscant at all.
Apparently, that had not been made clear to one individual: his former Master, Yoda.
Dooku had long since learned to keep his distance from the old troll when he got that stubborn look in his eyes. Unfortunately, for all Yoda appeared on the surface to be a frail old Jedi Master, perhaps finally nearing retirement, in reality the Grandmaster could be quite speedy when given sufficient motivation.
Dooku had attempted to duck into a hallway leading towards the Archives when Yoda spotted him. He kept his pace deliberate but not hurried—he was not going to run through the halls of the Jedi Temple to avoid his former Master like he was some guilty padawan. Despite his efforts, Yoda appeared by his side only a few moments later, cane tapping, as if he had always been there.
“A good day it is, padawan of mine,” Yoda said.
“Indeed, Master,” Dooku said, keeping his tone deliberately neutral.
“Not seen you in a while, I have.”
Dooku was a Jedi Master and a former member of the Jedi High Council. He had raised two padawans of his own. And yet a small rebuke from his old Master still rankled.
“I've been busy. I’m sure you’re familiar with the situation on Rinar III?”
“Yes. Difficult, I heard it was.”
Not particularly, Dooku thought. Not if one is familiar with Outer Rim trade politics.
Which Dooku was, after years of both study and practical experience. He was one of the best diplomats in the Order.
But all Dooku said was, “Yes, Master.”
He did not particularly feel like being lectured by his former Master on the virtues of humility decades after his Knighting. Yoda had a way of making even the oldest and most respected of Masters feel like misbehaving padawans when he wanted to make a point.
“Wish to talk to you, I do. About your former padawan, a question I have, and your opinion I would like.” Yoda said.
“Of course,” Dooku replied. "Qui-Gon hasn’t gotten into another quarrel with the Council, has he?"
“No,” Yoda said. “Letting his fear control him, Qui-Gon is. Another padawan, I wish for him to take.”
Dooku looked at Yoda skeptically. Qui-Gon’s situation was unenviable. But a Jedi did not indulge in self-pity, much less wallow in it for years, as Qui-Gon had been.
“I have tried to convince him of the same. He won’t move on, and as much as I would like to, I cannot force him to.” Dooku said. “Unfortunately, stubbornness seems to run in our lineage.”
“True, that is,” Yoda said. “A promising initiate, I have found for him. Soon, too late it will be. On the cusp of aging out, the boy is. But refused to train him, Qui-Gon already has.”
That did sound like a sad case. But the problem of too many qualified initiates and not enough Knights and Masters to train them had existed long before even Dooku had been a padawan. Every year, countless promising initiates aged out, either to be returned to their birth families or sent off to the Service Corps.
Dooku had tried to address the problem many times while he was on the Council, but just like countless other structural problems within the Order, any proposed solutions were quickly deemed unfeasible by his fellow Council members. It was one of the reasons Dooku had decided to step down from the Council—in the end, he felt he could make more of a difference elsewhere.
(Sometimes, Dooku felt that way about the Order entirely.)
“That does sound disappointing, Master. But I doubt I can convince him to change his mind. Qui-Gon does not listen to me.” He wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone but Yoda. It did still sting, that his former padawan no longer took his counsel.
Yoda was silent for a long moment.
“A padawan, you do not now have,” Yoda said.
Dooku frowned. “At my age, taking another padawan—“
Yoda humphed. “At your age, still a padawan I was.”
“We can't all have your longevity, Master,” Dooku said mildly, more than used to this aspect of his former Master’s sense of humor. “I am busy, and I consider my work to be my highest priority. I would not be able to give a padawan, even if he is as talented as you say, the individual training he needs.”
Training a padawan was a commitment that usually lasted a decade, oftentimes longer. It was fulfilling work, but it was work nonetheless. And Dooku had no desire to be worrying about a padawan for the next ten years.
“Meet him, before you decide, you should,” Yoda said.
“I do not think—“
But Yoda was gone. The old troll really could be quick when he wanted to be.
Dooku sighed, and then followed him.
The two initiates struggled in combat, their training sabers humming as they met. The auburn-haired boy—Obi-Wan Kenobi was his name, Yoda had told him—looked at the other initiate, something determined, almost desperate in his eyes. He had only dared to glance Dooku’s way once, but by the way the boy’s eyes narrowed, he knew what was at stake here. He went on the offense, raising his saber and swinging high, the other initiate barely managing to block in time.
“The boy struggles with his anger. And his fears.” Dooku observed, his voice low enough that only Yoda could hear.
“Remember another young initiate with a temper, I do. Took him as my padawan, I did.” Yoda said, giving Dooku a meaningful look. “Think there is a risk of Falling in this boy, do you?”
Dooku scoffed. “Hardly. He’s a Temple-raised 12-year-old, Master. I’m just wondering why you think he would be worth my time.”
Yoda gave him a critical look. Dooku returned his attention to the match. Despite his reputation, Yoda did not interfere in the affairs of other Masters without good reason. Dooku trusted his former Master’s judgement. If he wished for this boy to be apprenticed, there must be a reason for it.
He watched the boy dodge, parry, and strike. Dooku stroked his beard thoughtfully. The boy’s movements were unrefined, and he lacked the level of proficiency in Form I that would soon be expected of him if he were to be taken as a padawan. Despite that, Obi-Wan was strong, and a good duelist for his age.
He watched the boy dodge a strike at the last moment, his opponent’s lightsaber coming so close to the boy that his auburn hair was almost singed. Obi-Wan was remarkably focused for an initiate of his age. And Dooku could tell that he was experiencing strong emotion, that he was afraid that the outcome of this match could end his future as a Jedi, but he did not let his feelings control him. Yoda was right: the boy did show promise.
Obi-Wan bested his opponent quickly enough, as Dooku had predicted that he would. He could feel the boy’s nervous satisfaction, though he didn’t dare glance in the Jedi Masters' direction. He simply bowed to his opponent and returned his training saber. Dooku was surprised that the boy avoided him afterwards—he had thought that Obi-Wan would have been too curious to know how he did not to approach them.
Dooku was—well, perhaps not quite impressed. But he was intrigued. He left, giving Yoda only a noncommittal answer that made the old troll give him a curious look.
He checked the boy’s grades the next morning—acceptable marks in most subjects, nothing extraordinary. His best grades were in his elementary lightsaber combat class, which wasn’t surprising given the showing he had made the previous day.
But Dooku had already known that grades couldn’t tell him what he really wanted to know about the boy. He needed to speak with Obi-Wan.
When he found him, he was sitting on a bench in a courtyard near the initiate’s dormitories. A youngling clan was playing push-feather in the middle of the courtyard, though Obi-Wan had hidden himself in an unoccupied corner as best he could. He was looking towards the younglings, but his eyes did not follow their game. His shoulders were slumped, and he seemed to gaze off into an indeterminate spot in the distance, clearly deep in thought.
Dooku did not attempt to hide himself as he approached the boy.
“Initiate Kenobi?” Dooku asked.
Obi-Wan sat up quickly, startled.
“How may I help you, Master?” The boy asked formally, though Dooku could feel the boy’s anxiety.
He sensed no hope, however. It was strange. The boy must have given up entirely on the prospect of being taken as a padawan, even as a potentially interested Master approached him.
Dooku wondered what Qui-Gon had said to him.
“My name is Master Yan Dooku. I have a question for you, initiate.”
“I know who you are, Master Dooku,” Obi-Wan said, but he didn’t sound particularly enthusiastic. “I don’t know if I can help you, but I’ll try.”
“I was wondering why you didn’t approach me after the match yesterday. You are still in need of a Master, yes?”
Obi-Wan’s cheeks reddened slightly.
“I tried that last time,” the boy said glumly. “I begged Master Jinn to take me as his padawan, but he rejected me. And you’re his Master, aren’t you?”
“I am,” Dooku said. “But I think you have misjudged me.”
The boy’s blue eyes widened, and he looked at Dooku, startled. For the first time in their conversation, he could feel something besides resignation from Obi-Wan. He could feel a sudden spike of determination, and more than that, he could feel hope.
There was a certain stillness in the Force as Dooku considered his next words. A sense of anticipation. He paused for a moment, and then he came to a decision.
“Do you want to be a Jedi Knight, Obi-Wan?” Dooku asked.
“More than anything,” Obi-Wan said, his voice wavering only slightly.
“Well then,” Dooku said, giving the boy one last look. “Would you like to be my padawan learner?”
Obi-Wan stared at Dooku for a moment, as if he were afraid that Dooku would take the words back.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan said finally, his voice soft.
The formal process of taking a padawan was a fairly regimented one. Dooku presented Obi-Wan before the High Council and told them of his desire to take the boy as his padawan, using the short, tradition speech every Jedi knew by heart. Obi-Wan held his head up high and Dooku could feel his excitement and his relief.
Yoda looked more pleased than smug. That was probably the most Dooku could ask for.
In the following months, Dooku found that the boy consistently exceeded his expectations. Obi-Wan was hardworking and eager to please. He studied for his courses diligently. He followed instructions carefully and quickly. Dooku could tell that the close brush to the AgriCorps had not done well for his self-confidence, which Dooku would eventually have to address.
It was strange to have a padawan around again. The padawan suite in Dooku’s rooms had been long relegated to storage. He was used to being alone. Dooku had found that he worked better that way. But with the new training bond that was forming, he never truly felt alone—even if Obi-Wan was studying in his room, he could feel him, an ever-constant light presence.
It wasn’t unpleasant.
Obi-Wan, Dooku had also discovered, was a natural at Makashi. The boy learned the katas quickly, excited at any chance to prove himself. Dooku felt more connected to the Order than he had in years while he was teaching Obi-Wan the basic forms in the training salles. Dooku had forgotten in the years since he had last trained a padawan the many of the joys of being a Master, of watching a student grow in their capabilities.
Eventually, Dooku found his forms had improved enough to try sparring. Obi-Wan did well for a beginner, though Dooku had of course been holding back.
“Good work, my young padawan,” Dooku said.
As a teacher, Dooku was known for being sparse with his praise and honest with his criticism. Still, when praise was due, Dooku did not hesitate to give it. Obi-Wan had worked especially hard today, pushing through challenges when he knew the boy had been tempted to give up. And that deserved commendation.
Though exhausted from a day of training, the boy instantly brightened. “Thank you, Master.”
Dooku dressed differently than most other Jedi—he wore fine dark black robes, with a broad dark brown cloak pulled together with a silver chain, a traditional Serennian style. Though he usually substituted the cloak for a robe when he was in the Temple. The fabrics that made up his outfit were not the utilitarian materials provided by the Order, which were used both to offset the costs of clothing thousands of the Jedi and to maintain their humility. A Jedi did not care for material things like clothing beyond their function, of course.
There were no rules governing a Jedi's appearance once they were Knighted. The Order trusted its members to conduct themselves in an appropriate manner, but there was much room for self-expression within those guidelines. Even for padawans, Masters usually allowed their charges to exercise their own judgement. That didn't mean Dooku couldn't make a suggestion.
A month into Obi-Wan's apprenticeship, Dooku had asked him what color he preferred to wear—black, gray, brown or tan.
“You could choose a different color,” he said. “Those are simply what is traditional.”
“Ah,” said Obi-Wan, glancing down at the tan initiate’s tunics he still wore. “I don’t know much about fashion, Master. Could I ask for your opinion?”
“Of course,” Dooku said, looking at him analytically. “I think a shade of gray would do you well, padawan.”
Obi-Wan found a new set of outfits in his closet a week later, made up of a light gray tunics, blue-gray trousers and a dark gray robe. The fabric was designed to be light, comfortable and easy to move in. Easy to fight in, if necessary. Noticeably pricier than the average Temple fare—perhaps.
“A tailor on the lower levels owes me a favor,” Dooku said with a rare smile when Obi-Wan had asked how he had gotten the outfit.
“I still don't know about this. I suppose I feel elegant, and it is comfortable. But—I don't know.” Obi-Wan said after he had changed, looking down at his new clothes self-consciously. "Are you certain about this, Master?"
“It is true that a Jedi should be humble, padawan. But I fear sometimes that our Order values humility over practicality. I have found negotiations with politicians much easier since I stopped wearing the traditional Jedi robes.”
Obi-Wan nodded thoughtfully.
When he next saw Qui-Gon, Dooku had expected a conversation about his new padawan. In fact, when he had seen Qui-Gon on the other side of the refectory, he had instructed Obi-Wan to have lunch with his friends from the crèche before approaching his former student by himself.
Qui-Gon had seemed happy enough to see him.
The first thing Qui-Gon said on the subject of Obi-Wan was, “I suppose Yoda got to you as well.”
“I make my own decisions,” said Dooku with a frown.
“Certainly, Master. I look forward to seeing how the boy progresses under your tutelage.” Qui-Gon said. "You’ve always enjoyed a challenge."
“There is no need to be snide, Qui-Gon,” Dooku said sharply. "You had your opinion on the boy’s mettle. I have mine."
“I’m not questioning your judgement, Master,” Qui-Gon said, a distant look in his eyes. “Really, it’s good to see you teaching again.”
Qui-Gon had changed the subject after that, and Dooku had let him. Still, he left the refectory irritated in a way that only Qui-Gon could make him. He had raised him better than that. But Qui-Gon hadn't been his padawan for many years, and if he wanted to wallow for the rest of his life, then Dooku couldn’t stop him.
Dooku decided to have dinner in his rooms that evening. He and Obi-Wan had cooked in companionable silence, with only the occasional question or instruction necessary. Their meal, a Serennian dish Dooku had taught each one of his padawans to make, was delicious. But Obi-Wan seemed distracted during his meal. He ate slowly, his gaze downwards, nervously adjusting his padawan braid every few minutes.
After twenty minutes of this, Dooku sighed. “If you have something you wish to say, padawan, I advise you to say it rather than staring at your plate for the rest of the night.”
Obi-Wan looked up, his face reddening slightly. “I’m sorry, Master. I didn’t mean to ignore you.”
“It’s not the lack of dinner conversation I find most discomforting, Obi-Wan. I am your Master, and as such if you have a question, I would at least like the chance to answer it.”
Obi-Wan bit his lip, silent for a few more moments. Then, it was as if a dam burst:
“Why did you take me as your padawan? I’ve been wondering ever since you chose me. I mean, Master Jinn had already decided that I... I wasn’t good enough to be a Jedi. And Master Jinn was your padawan.” Obi-Wan said, barely able to meet his Master's eyes.
Dooku had expected something along those lines. Still, he found it unexpectedly painful to see his talented young padawan still so affected by Qui-Gon’s rejection, even months later.
“Jedi are not a monolith, even in a lineage. And I can assure you that I did not take you out of pity. I see a potential for greatness in you, Obi-Wan, and I want to help hone that potential.” Dooku said. “To be clear, Qui-Gon had reasons unrelated to your fitness as a Jedi to reject you.”
Obi-Wan looked surprised. “What reasons?”
“His last padawan left the Order under a terrible set of circumstances, and Qui-Gon has never forgiven himself for it.” Dooku said simply. “I do not know if he will trust an initiate enough to take another padawan ever again.”
There was more to it than that, but that was all Obi-Wan needed to know.
The boy was quiet for a moment. “So, it really had nothing to do with me?”
“Yes,” Dooku said. They did not speak on the subject again.
It was good that Obi-Wan respected his judgement, as a padawan should. But Dooku’s goal wasn’t to train a padawan—it was to train a capable and independent Jedi Knight. Every padawan had a time where they eventually came to question their Master’s will. He wanted Obi-Wan to have the confidence to articulate and stand up for his own beliefs to his Master, even if they were contrary to Dooku’s.
They had a long way to go.
Dooku had hardly left the Coruscant Temple in months. It had been a pleasant break, and he had genuinely enjoyed his return to teaching. He took Obi-Wan around the Temple, showing him the hidden indoor gardens and secluded meditation spots that Yoda had shown him as a padawan. Places he hadn’t visited in years. He found himself talking to old friends—Sifo-Dyas, Jocasta, even his former Master. If he was being honest with himself, he felt more like a Jedi than he had in years.
Still. He had been putting aside his other duties for too long. The galaxy certainly hadn’t paused during Dooku’s return to the Temple. It was about time for Obi-Wan’s first field mission.
Obi-Wan had been more excited than apprehensive when Dooku had told him that they had a mission. It wasn’t an official mission sanctioned by the Council, though he did do them the courtesy of informing them where he was going before he left, mostly for Obi-Wan’s sake. Dooku had been a Jedi for a long time, and he had made many friends over the years. He could ask them for favors when the need arose, and they in turn knew to come to him for help. Dadrin of Tavoole was a politician who he had met on a mission decades earlier, when Dooku had just earned his Mastery.
What had started out as a simple mission of protecting Dadrin from assassins had quickly turned into Dooku negotiating a settlement to avoid all-out civil war on Tavoole. Now, Dadrin had written to him, conditions had deteriorated enough that war was a risk again, though Dadrin stressed that he did not think that things had come that far yet. It was disappointing. Dooku had hoped that he had negotiated a lasting peace. But Tavoole was an Outer Rim world with just enough resources for the reigning factions to squabble over. It seemed a good enough first mission for a new padawan.
It was a pleasant trip out to the Rim.
Obi-Wan prepared extensively, as Dooku had instructed. He spent the trip going over his research carefully, using data he had pulled from both the Archives and the HoloNet. Dooku went over it with him, correcting him when appropriate. His memory was corrected at times as well—though Dooku’s memory was good, it had been decades.
Dooku watched his padawan carefully as they rented a speeder and left the docking bay. Dadrin had insisted that it was better that their arrival be kept quiet, and Dooku had agreed to it. They would head to the Parliament that day for official introductions.
“Oh,” Obi-Wan said as they approached Tavoole City on a speeder. “Are those the Tabi bells we read about? They’re lovely.”
The Tabi bells were intricately carved bells of all shapes and sizes. Some were shiny metals of all kinds; others were elaborately painted. All of the homes and other buildings of the city had at least one. Some hung outside of the doors. Some were visible on the roofs. There was always a bell or two faintly ringing in the distance.
The anthropologists of Tavoole debated on how the tradition of creating Tabi bells had started. Some said that they were simply a form of art. Others theorized that they were part of an ancient, forgotten system of sending messages over long distances, warning of impending danger. Whatever the case, there was no self-respecting citizen of Tavoole that did not maintain their family bell.
“They are, my young padawan,” Dooku said. Dooku always appreciated art, but they were more pleasing than he had remembered.
Obi-Wan spent the rest of the ride to the Parliament staring at the Tabi bells, transfixed.
Dooku found, strangely, that he had missed this. It had been many years since he had last had a padawan trailing behind him on a mission. Certainly, they could provide complications—he remembered an incident from Qui-Gon’s apprenticeship where the boy had made a diplomatic blunder involving order of precedence required hours of mediation for Dooku to straighten out.
But there was also something Dooku enjoyed about shaping the mind of the next generation. Of honing a young person’s skills and focus, of redirecting their energy and seeing the results. His work on the Council had been important, but perhaps he had forgotten about the importance of being a teacher.
Obi-Wan followed a few steps behind him. His back was straight, and his head held high—only his blue eyes reflected any lingering anxiety. Dooku had told Obi-Wan that his only responsibility today was to observe, but it was still the boy’s first mission.
Dadrin greeted him warmly, and soon Dooku was surrounded by both new delegates and those he remembered from his previous mission. They gathered in a large, open conference room in deep in the Parliament. He remained courteous and distant as he tried to get a read of the group’s mood. He could feel trepidation in the Force, but it was too general to be coming from any one delegate.
There was a tension in the air—they could go either one way and lead to decades more of peace, or another and lead to war. But Dooku wasn’t anxious. He had always considered himself more of a diplomat than a warrior, and this was what he did best.
The meeting had gone for the better part of an hour when Dooku felt a sudden warning from the Force. The next seconds passed very quickly. He stood up immediately, scanning the room for threats, his hand on his lightsaber. He saw a glint of a blaster rifle’s muzzle—
But Obi-Wan was already on his feet. He was already in front of Dooku, his lightsaber in his hands.
“Obi-Wan!” Dooku yelled.
But it was too late. Obi-Wan blocked the first shot, but the second went past his guard. The boy fell to the ground.
There was nothing but calm on Dooku’s face when he turned to face the assassin—a young man with a blaster rifle. He stared at Dooku, wide eyed as he realized that he had missed his target. He scrambled to aim and fire his blaster again, but Dooku was already in front of him. Dooku didn't hesitate and the assassin was dead a moment later. He returned to Obi-Wan without a second glance at the assassin's body.
Chaos had erupted in the room, delegates running, someone screaming, but the Force told him that any immediate danger had passed. Dooku knelt beside his padawan, assessing the wound.
“Get a medic,” Dooku ordered, turning to Dadrin, who nodded and hurried out of the room.
“Master?” Obi-Wan murmured, his eyes wide and unfocused. “I don’t—Master, it hurts.”
“Calm yourself, padawan.” Dooku said.
He wasn’t a healer, but he knew enough to try to stabilize the boy.
“You’re going to be fine,” Dooku murmured. “You’ll be fine.”
It only took the slightest push for the boy to slip into a healing trance.
Obi-Wan was laid out on a medcenter bed. He was small and still, his face as pale as the sheets. His midsection was carefully bandaged. The slow, faint breathing and a distant presence in their training bond the only sign of life present in the boy. The vaguely cloying sweet smell of bacta wafted through the air.
His padawan looked younger than he ever had before.
It was... distressing. Dooku had forgotten about this part as well—the fear a Master could feel for their padawan. And the fact remained: he was the Master, and thus he was responsible. Obi-Wan’s injury was a result of his negligence. Either he hadn’t been monitoring his padawan closely enough, or Obi-Wan hadn’t been ready for a field mission at all.
He waited by his padawan’s bedside, the boy’s soft breathing his only company.
Obi-Wan woke up a few hours later.
"Master?" he asked, moving to sit up in bed, then furrowing his brow in pain.
"Don't move. You will only injure yourself further." Dooku ordered.
"What happened?" Obi-Wan asked.
"You were shot by an assassin looking to sabotage the negotiations. Luckily, the Tavoolens have emergency bacta tanks at the ready and the medcenter was nearby. It’ll be a few weeks, padawan, but you’ll be fine. How are you feeling?"
"Not the best," Obi-Wan admitted. "Was the assassin captured? Was—was anyone else hurt?"
"No. He was killed shortly after he shot you." Dooku said. "Do you have any memory of what happened?"
“Yes. I ran out to block the blaster fire—I suppose that didn't go well.” Obi-Wan said. "That was pretty foolish of me."
“It was also very brave," Dooku said. "Though, if you are planning to jump in front of any more blaster bolts, perhaps I should focus on teaching you Soresu.”
Obi-Wan face fell.
“I wasn’t trying to be reckless,” Obi-Wan said. “I just—I saw the blaster, but you were looking in the other direction. There was no time. I couldn’t let you get hurt.”
“What about your safety?”
Obi-Wan looked away. “I’m not that important. The mission could go on without me. It couldn’t go on without you.”
Dooku was silent for a long moment.
“There is a fine line, my padawan, between selflessness and martyrdom.” Dooku began. “A Jedi must be selfless. A Jedi must put the needs of the many above even their own life. That is what is called of us, and what we all must be prepared to do. But it is also true that every life is valuable and should be protected—and that includes yours, Obi-Wan.
Dooku looked at Obi-Wan. His auburn hair seemed brighter in contrast to his pale face in the light of the medcenter, his padawan braid far from its usual neatness. Obi-Wan was no longer meeting his eyes. Dooku sighed softly.
“I didn't intend to lecture you, Obi-Wan. You have had a difficult enough day, and I do not need to add to it. But we will continue to speak on this, later.”
Dooku turned off the lights in Obi-Wan's room with a gesture of the Force.
“Get some rest. I will be here.”
“Goodnight, Master.” Obi-Wan said softly.
Dooku brought out his datapad, turning on the low light setting to avoid interrupting his padawan’s sleep. He typed his report in silence, occasionally glancing at Obi-Wan medical report, though he had already read it over a dozen times before Obi-Wan had woken up.
It was nearly half an hour later when Obi-Wan spoke again.
“I was so afraid when I saw the assassin,” Obi-Wan said. “I acted without thinking, I suppose. But looking back on it now—I didn’t want to lose you.”
Obi-Wan’s voice was barely audible now. “You were the only one in the entire Order who wanted me. I couldn’t let you die. I really wasn’t trying to be reckless, Master, and now I’ve ruined the whole mission. I’m sorry.”
“There is no need to apologize,” Dooku said. “This is not your fault. And the mission is hardly ruined. Master Tholme and Padawan Vos will be taking over for us here shortly.”
“Quinlan?” Obi-Wan asked, frowning. “Er—I mean, that’s good to hear, Master.”
“All you need to trouble yourself with is rest and recovery, padawan. We will be home soon.” Dooku said, as gently as he could manage.
“Alright,” Obi-Wan said. “You should get some sleep too, Master. You don’t need to stay here with me. I’ll be fine by myself.”
“It’s no trouble. I need to draft the mission report.” Dooku lied.
Obi-Wan was, in fact, right—Dooku hadn’t slept since they had arrived on Tavoole two and a half standard days ago. And he would have plenty of time to finish up the mission report on the trip back to Coruscant.
But, for reasons Dooku couldn’t fully articulate, not even to himself, he did not want to leave his padawan alone.
“How long have you been awake?” Obi-Wan said, sitting up in bed slightly to get a better look at Dooku.
“There is no need to concern yourself—”
Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed, his presence in the Force suddenly quite alert. And skeptical.
“Alright,” Dooku said, raising his hands in concession to his injured padawan. “If it makes you feel better, I will rest after you are asleep.”
Obi-Wan still looked like he wanted to protest.
“If you say so, Master.” Obi-Wan said skeptically, but he laid back down anyways, pulling the light medcenter blankets closer.
Dooku waited until he was sure that Obi-Wan was asleep to turn off his datapad. His chair was already positioned between the bed and the door. Dooku closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. He wasn’t going to leave Obi-Wan, but he did need some rest. He decided to meditate. He would still have an awareness of the world around him through the Force while also being able to rest. Not as well as true sleep, but something close.
Dooku fell into meditation to the sound of Obi-Wan breathing and the distant chimes of the city’s bells.