Chapter Text
Disclaimer: Violence is never the answer; it’s the solution.
Author’s Note: Every so often, I’m reminded all over again just how much I hate Qui-Gon Jinn. Who else do we know of that feels the same way? Mace Windu, of course! So as an outlet for my rage, here’s a little peek into a world where Mace lets said hatred have a little bit more of an outlet than in canon. Here’s hoping it’s as therapeutic for you to read as it was for me to write. But I doubt it.
CHAPTER ONE: All My Homies Hate Qui-Gon Jinn
The first time Mace met Senior Padawan Qui-Gon Jinn, he got his ass thoroughly handed to him.
It had been a struggle to get into the Advanced Ataru class; not only was Mace far younger than the typical student, Ataru wasn’t even his preferred lightsaber Form. He’d spent most of his hours developing his Djem So, otherwise known as Form V. And when he wasn’t working on that, he was learning to keep pace with Master T’ra Saa’s Makashi (Mace had been ecstatic that Master Saa had eventually let him learn Form V from her friend Master Tholme, and so did his best not to disappoint her when it came to her own Precision-based lightsaber dueling).
But unfortunately, whereas Djem So was known as the Counterattack Form, and Makashi as that of Precision, Ataru was the undisputed epitome of lightsaber combat as an Art Form. And there was no greater practitioner of Ataru than the current Grandmaster of the Order and teacher of Advanced Form IV, Yoda.
So Mace had struggled, and scraped, and eventually just flat out stubborn-ed his way into the class. He was committed to the advancement of lightsaber dueling, kark it, and if he had to sit through a lecture by the only other person in the Temple anywhere near as old as his Master (and with half the personability), then by the Force he’d do it.
Of course, if he’d known just how horribly wrong said class was going to go, he may very well have given up all the way back when his Ataru was still in the struggling stage.
The first thing that had gone wrong (from Mace’s point of view) was the fact that when he showed up to the assigned room, Yoda hadn’t been the one giving the lecture at all. Instead, it had been Senior Padawan Qui-Gon Jinn. Senior Padawan! There were full-grown Knights taking Yoda’s class, some of them for the sole reason that it was supposed to be, you know, Yoda’s, and now they were going to be forced to deal instead with someone five years their junior! Kriff! What was Yoda thinking? Just because the kid was already being hailed as Yoda’s successor as the recognized Master of Ataru, what? That meant he got special privileges? Kriff that!
The second thing that went wrong was what came after the lecture; dueling practice. It was no secret to anyone who’d levied at the Temple for any amount of time that Qui-Gon Jinn had a “thing” for Padawan Tahl; and that his feelings were more than reciprocated. Likewise, it was no secret that Tahl was absolutely terrible at Ataru, and preferred instead to spend her time with Shien, a variant of Mace’s own Djem So.
So when Jinn, with an insufferably smug grin on his face, had partnered his not-so-secret girlfriend up with quite possibly the only person in the room worse than her at Form IV to practice with, Mace had immediately known what was really happening.
This had all the marks of Yoda’s sticky fingers all over it; there was no way Tahl should’ve ever even been able to apply for this class, let alone make it in. She was here solely as feel-good fodder, for both the Grandmaster and his Grand-Padawan. If Mace found out the only reason he’d been allowed in was to be used as batting practice for Jinn’s paramour…forget what he’d do, Master Saa and Tholme would probably straight up poison Yoda’s soup.
Not that anyone else would've been able to taste the difference if they had.
And so Mace had gritted his teeth, and prepared to take an ass-whooping. Except…that wasn’t what ended up happening.
It was a little-known fact, but Mace had a secret ability within the Force: the ability to see Shatterpoints. To put it bluntly, a Shatterpoint was any point in space where a certain amount of pressure (mental, physical, or emotional) could be applied to…well, Shatter. Not just to materials, but also to people, and sometimes even to the future itself. It was a trait common only to those strong within the Force’s Cosmic side, as opposed to the Living or Unifying, and at times it could be incredibly distracting. But in lightsaber combat? Knowing your enemy’s weak spot was everything.
And so Mace had carefully relaxed some of his mental shielding…and been hit with an absolutely massive Shatterpoint. If he lost to Tahl…the world would go spinning off in one direction. But if he won…the weir of the entire universe would change. For better or worse, he couldn’t say. He just knew that it would.
He’d thought of Yoda’s insufferable cackle. He’d thought of Jinn’s insufferable grin. And he’d thought of Tahl’s insufferable ignorance; for yes, he could sense that now. She had no idea what had been done to get her into this class, and was truly enjoying herself. And for her sake alone, he almost gave in right there and let her have her victory.
But then he’d thought of what Master Saa and Master Tholme would say once they found out he’d thrown a fight…and he’d known he could never live with their disappointment.
And so he’d fought. He’d fought as if the fate of the universe depended on it.
And he had won.
His final leap, a corkscrew directly over Tahl’s head, left his opponent hissing in pain as his blade grazed along her wrists. She had dropped her lightsaber in pain, and Mace had immediately regretted his choice. She’d just looked so lost; like it was impossible for her to accept she’d been defeated by a Padawan over four years younger than she…but it had been too late to change his mind. The fight was over. The war, however, was just beginning.
It wasn’t until Mace had deactivated his own blade that he’d realized he and Tahl had been the last two duellers still going. And everyone else in the room was staring at them.
The other students, with confusion. Yoda, with sadness. But Jinn?
Jinn’s eyes had flashed with the anger of lightning. And then the storm was gone, and Jinn was doling out meaningless platitudes to Tahl, assuring her that her performance had indeed been “exemplary” and “enlightening” and so on and so forth. Mace had wanted nothing more than for the class to finally end, just so he could rush back to his quarters and unburden himself of the say’s events to Master Saa. But it was not to be. For when Jinn had at last turned his attention to Mace, the only words out the kriffer’s mouth had been:
“I see no reason for you to continue in this class, Padawan Windu.”
And Mace, Mace who was still open to the Force, Mace who was still open to Shatterpoints, who always knew exactly where to push… had stuck his foot in his mouth.
“And I see no reason for you to teach this class, Padawan Jinn, yet here we are.”
The entire room had compressed under the lack of air pressure as a collective nineteen people sucked in their breath.
All Jinn had done was raise a single eyebrow. “And why is that, Padawan Windu?”
Fortunately, it was right about then that Mace realized he’d need to be at least somewhat diplomatic. “By all means, you first, Padawan Jinn.”
Jinn had not-so-graciously obliged. “Your anger rules you; you are willing to sacrifice anything to gain an upper hand. I spotted at least four moments wherein Padawan Tahl could have relieved you of your neck; moments which you allowed for the sake of putting her on the back-foot. Aggression is not the way of the Jedi.”
“I agree,” he had retorted, “aggression is not the way of the Jedi. Which is why I knew my neck was safe in Padawan Tahl’s care. She is indeed a true Jedi.”
Ooo, he could see that had hit home. He went in for the kill. “Are you suggesting that we should treat duels as if they were real combat, Padawan Jinn? If so, then which of us is truly the aggressive one?”
He swore he could hear the air conditioning three rooms over, it was so quiet.
Whatever scathing retort Jinn had on his tongue died when Yoda rapped his stick against the floor. “Enough, this is! Teacher, Padawan Jinn I have designated as. Ruling he has, on who remains in his class. But a good point, Padawan Windu has raised. A final duel, we will have, between Jinn and Windu. Should Padawan Windu win, then remain, he may. Objections, have you?”
None that he would dare voice. “No Master.”
Jinn had grit his teeth. “No Master.”
“Then begin, you may.”
It was a slaughter. Metaphorically, anyway; Mace never stood a chance. Anytime he came close to landing a blow, Jinn just danced away. And the only opening the kriffer ever left him was, of course, the neck. The one blow Mace had just effectively forbidden himself from using.
Jinn toyed with him for a good while; letting Mace exhaust himself just barely turning away the other boy’s blows at the last possible second, all the while conserving energy. And as the duel wore on, Mace realized there was no way he was winning this duel without either breaking his word…or breaking his Form. Djem So would have at least allowed him to maybe stall out a victory; if it were anyone else, Makashi would’ve maybe even granted him a win. But Jinn was the Padawan of Yan Dooku, the Master of Makashi. And there was no way Dooku hadn’t passed on at least some of his expertise to his student.
In the end, the duel ended the way Mace always knew it was going to: with his defeat. But it was the way Jinn chose to go about it that had forever earned Mace’s hatred.
Mace had always been, while not proud of his hair, at least pleased with it. His native planet of Haruun Kal was noted for producing many people capable of growing absolutely no hair at all, and while in certain places that would be absolutely wonderful (read: the desert), the fact remained that bald individuals without fail drew more attention than their counterparts. And so Mace had allowed his hair to grow out for years, forming a perfectly shaped afro with sideburns. It was the one thing he’d taken care of for years; ever since he’d realized he’d actually had the ability to grow out his own Padawan braid, instead of relying on a tied-on one.
And now, it was the one thing that Senior Padawan Qui-Gon Jinn took away from him forever.
Jinn’s saber flashed out, and the entire left side of Mace’s head felt the heat with it’s passing.
Well, almost the entire left side.
Jinn at least had the decency to leave his braid intact.
“ Solah,” Jinn had all but cackled, his blade resting lightly on Mace’s shoulder.
Mace had looked down at the burnt remnants of his precious locks lying on the floor, and then back at Jinn.
“... Solah.” he’d rasped.
What else was there to say?
Jinn had deactivated his blade in smug satisfaction. “A fair display, but I’m afraid Form IV just isn’t your strong point, Padawan. Might I suggest Djem So to work out your more aggressive tendencies; about the only Form that I fear would be worse for you than Ataru is the Third, Soresu. Patience and endurance; neither of which you seem to have an abundance of.”
And with that, Jinn gestured rudely towards the door. “Best be on your way, then; and may the Force be with you, Padawan Windu.”
A final Shatterpoint had opened before Mace’s eyes. And once again, he’d known exactly what had to be done.
“One moment, Padawan Jinn.”
His amethyst blade flashed three times, and then hissed out of existence.
Now completely bald, sans braid, Padawan Mace Windu had turned towards Yoda. “I was grateful for the opportunity, Master Yoda.”
The pathetic little troll at least had the good grace to look ashamed. “Grateful to grant it, I was. Perhaps return you may in time, Padawan Windu. Under more…favorable circumstances.”
“Perhaps.” He had hummed noncommittally. “May the Force be with you, Master Yoda.”
“And with you, Padawan Windu.”
Mace was quite sure it had escaped the notice of exactly no one that he had not wished the same to Jinn.
It was only once outside the room that he remembered: the mirror that ran along the wall next to the hallway was, in fact, a two-way. The reason he remembered just then was because someone was standing in front of it…and had likely been watching for the entire class.
Sadly, Jedi Master Yan Dooku turned to face the beaten Padawan. And in the weathered Master’s face…Mace could almost fancy he saw the words I’m sorry. “Padawan.”
“Master.” Mace bowed.
“Your master is T’ra Saa, is she not?”
“Yes, Master.”
“I thought so.” The Master fell into silence for a brief moment, and then sighed. “Would you perhaps be so kind as to give her a message from me?”
“Of course, Master.”
“Tell her…tell her that in my quarters, tea is at four. And that the pair of you needn’t bother knocking.”
A twirl of his cape, and the reclusive Master was gone; leaving Mace to trudge the long, weary way back to his and Master Saa’s apartment utterly alone.
Master Saa had been…disappointed. “I’m so sorry, Mace. I know you worked hard to get into that class.”
“Yeah…” he’d sighed, “yeah, I did.”
Master Tholme stood at the window, jaw clenched. Mace’s account of the day’s happenings had thoroughly shaken the man; the same Master had trained both he and Yoda, once upon a time, and Tholme was having severe difficulties imagining any Padawan of Master Fay demonstrating such blatant favoritism. Much less raise their lineage to do the same.
Of course, that didn’t change the fact that it was exactly what Yoda had done.
“So,” Master Saa clapped her hands together, “what are you going to do now, oh Padawan mine?”
His gaze rose to meet hers, and they met in a clash of steel and fire. “I’m going to fight.”
A rumble from Master Tholme. “Of course you are. The question is, Padawan, is how you are going to do it.”
He hadn’t quite thought that far ahead yet. But now that he was considering it, small bits of a plan began to form in his mind. Mace had already and irrevocably decided one thing: from then on, for every important decision, he was going to ask himself ‘what would Qui-Gon Jinn do?’. And then do the exact opposite. So, Mace asked himself: if I were Jinn, who is the last person I would go to for advice on how to fight?
The answer, of course, came to him immediately. “Master Dooku has invited both you and I for tea, Master Saa. Perhaps we ought to begin there.”
Tholme’s head snapped around. “Dooku? Invited you to tea? Damn, kid; you musta impressed the kriff outta him.”
That hadn’t been his intention, but if he had, he would roll with it. “Maybe. Or maybe he just wanted to catch up with an old friend; I know you helped him with Makashi once upon a time, Master Saa.”
Master Saa smiled. “I dare say that holds true for most of the students in this Temple, oh Padawan mine; two thousand years of experience and people start to believe you must be one of the best with your chosen Form. However, if my memory holds true, I seem to recall young Dooku surpassing me quite quickly. I doubt my tutelage was long enough to leave a lasting impression. No, Mace, I believe Tholme is right; it is you that have impressed him. Tea, you say? Very well, we shall go. What sort of time did he prefer?”
“Around four o’clock, Master. And he said we needn’t bother knocking.”
“Did he?” hummed Master Saa. “How indecorous of him. He must truly be serious. Tomorrow at four then, Padawan mine. But for now, I believe you have a Political History paper due next week. Best get to work.”
“Yes, Master.”
And so he had, and left the issue of Qui-Gon Jinn until the morrow.
Dooku had greeted them with eyebrows aloft. “I did not anticipate you accepting my invitation quite so soon, Master Saa and Padawan Windu. Nevertheless, I appreciate your diligence. We have much to discuss. But first; which do you prefer, Gatalentalan tea or the Tarine variety?”
“Gatalentalan, if you please,” Master Saa graciously replied. “And for you, Mace?”
“The same, thank you.”
“Very well then; I shall put the kettle on directly. Do make yourselves comfortable; there is a closet to your left for your cloaks if you so wish to employ it.”
They did so, and then settled down as best they could into the somewhat opulent chairs Dooku possessed. It wasn’t long before their host returned with a complete tea set laid out on a tray, complete with built-in tea-pot heater. “Now, while we wait, might I suggest we begin? I know you must have many questions.”
Mace shared a glance with his Master; they’d discussed beforehand which of them would respond first to specific overtures Dooku might make, and for this particular scenario Mace had been chosen. So, with an affirmative nod from Master Saa, he proceeded. “Many questions indeed, Master; but only one that we feel really matters.”
“Oh? And what is that, young Padawan?”
He swallowed. “...How should I fight, Master?”
“How should you fight? You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Padawan Windu.”
Deep breath; in and out. “...How should I fight your Padawan, Master Dooku.”
There; he’d said it. Now all he could hope for was that his head would still be attached to his shoulders for the foreseeable future.
“...You wish to fight Qui-Gon, Padawan?”
He let his eyes drop to the floor in shame. “...Yes, Master Dooku.”
“Hmph.” Mace could hear the man repositioning himself on his divan. “Look at me, Padawan.”
Warily, Mace did so. What he found in the old Master’s eyes was the same swirling storm that had been in Qui-Gon’s; only now, it was laid bare for all the room to see. “Long have I awaited someone asking that question, Padawan Windu; many have stood up to Qui-Gon once, and then never again. Simply because they realized they would never be able to best my Apprentice in the two most important arenas to the Jedi: combat, and popularity. And so I have watched as the Padawan that was chosen for me by my former Master grows ever more arrogant and egotistical. It is a painful thing to have to admit, and I would never have dared to do so before now. But you, Padawan Windu…you possess something my Apprentice does not.”
“...And what is that, Master?”
“Adaptability.” Dooku stated bluntly. “I knew your Master was a practitioner of Makashi; I knew that your preferred teacher was a Master of Djem So. But in that class, I saw that even with the disadvantage of an unfamiliar Form, you were more than capable of taking on opponents far above your age level. I am not blind to Padawan Tahl’s lack of skill with Ataru; but the fact remains that both you and she were the last duelists left standing yesterday. Qui-Gon was quite wrong to tell you that Ataru was not your strong point; your strong point, Padawan Windu, is that you lack a weak one. Were the circumstances different, I would recommend you study Niman, the Balance Form. But given the situation…I cannot.”
The tea kettle emitted a shrill whistle, and Dooku broke off his intense gaze to pour. “Cream or sugar, Master Saa?”
“Just cream, thank you.” she nodded demurely.
“And for you, Padawan?”
“Two sugars, please.”
“Very well.”
For a moment, they enjoyed a companionable silence as they sipped. But in the end, the silence had to end. And Dooku was the one to break it.
“As I was saying, Padwan, normally I would recommend the Sixth Form to you. However, I feel that in this case, and if you truly intend to face my Padawan again…I must recommend that for the time being, you lay aside Makashi and Djem So in favor of Ataru…and Soresu.”
Mace blinked. “...Soresu? But that…”
“Is the one Form that you would struggle the most with, yes. But you are forgetting, young Padawan: you outlasted full-grown Knights yesterday. Endurance, you have in spades. It is the patience you must work on. And make no mistake, patience will serve you well in your Ataru as well. If there is one weakness my Apprentice has, it is a flair for the dramatic. Trust me, I know precisely who he got it from. It is his over-exaggerated displays that will get him into trouble one day. I can no longer teach him this; he no longer listens to my instructions, and were I to duel him on level ground, he would accept his defeat as a foregone conclusion and learn nothing from it. But if someone far younger than he were to become an unbreakable wall of water and sweep him away…I feel it may be the last chance I have of getting through to him. And so, I advise you thusly, Padawan Windu: if you wish to fight my Apprentice, you must do it on his own terms. Soresu to exhaust his attacks, and then Ataru to press your own. Balance. I believe my friend Sifo-Dyas still practices the Third Form: his instruction is the one I would seek out. As for Ataru, there is one teacher who never deemed my Apprentice worthy of his time: Master Even Piell, whom I believe is known to your friend Master Tholme. He is the only Master to ever beat Yoda in an Ataru battle; were I in need, it is to him that I would go. And now with that settled, I feel our tea is finally cooled enough to properly enjoy.”
It was hours later before they left Master Dooku’s apartments. On the way back, Mace had a realization of sorts. “He strikes me as being a lonely man.”
“Dooku?” Master Saa snorted. “He has earned a reputation as a no-good, low-down bushwhacker. In short, no wonder he’s lonely. I think we shall take tea with him again, oh Padawan mine; I feel we could all use the company.”
Mace nodded. She was right, of course. Master Saa always was.
Even Piell, it turned out, was a rather short Lannik. With an equally short temper.
“So,” the Master had drawled, “what can I do for the illustrious Head of Shadows today?”
“You can cut the snark, for one.” Master Tholme had cooly replied.
“I hear and obey, oh great Master.”
The two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, then broke out in smiles and pulled each other in for a hug. “Tholme.”
“Even. It’s been a while.”
“Too long, you old scoundrel; too long. Is this your Padawan?”
“Not quite. Even, might I introduce Padawan Mace Windu, the Apprentice of Master T’ra Saa.”
The Lannik cocked his head in surprise. “She took on a new one? Color me surprised. How’d you do, lad.”
“Very well, Master.”
“Hmm. Polite one, aren’t you. Shame. So Tholme, why exactly are you darkening my door today of all days?”
“It seems that Padawan Windu and I are in need of the same instruction, Even; we need to learn Ataru.”
The Lannik jerked backwards in shock, then narrowed his one good eye. “Is it Annual Fool’s Day again? I could’ve sworn that was less than a year ago…”
Tholme shook his head. “Not Fool’s Day, Even. Just a matter of happenstance.”
“Hmm.” Piell regarded Tholme with suspicion. “If I remember correctly, you once screamed to the high Force above that you would rather be stuck learning Form I for the remainder of your days than learn the true Art of lightsaber combat. What changed your mind?”
Tholme crossed his arms. “Padawan Windu had a run-in with Qui-Gon Jinn. It did not end well for either participant.”
Piell snorted. “And now the kid wants to beat the snot outta that brat with his own Form, and you’ve decided to help out? How delightfully petty. I love it.”
The Lannik Master turned to face Mace. “Alright, listen up lad! You’re in luck; I’ve only just recently got an Apprentice of my own, and she and you are probably about the same level. We start training at oh-seven-hundred every morning sans tenday; I expect you both to be on time from tomorrow going forward. Am I clear?”
Mace nodded vigorously. “Perfectly, sir.”
“Good. Now scamper off, kid; your old man and I got some Shadow business to discuss.”
Mace scampered.
He was sitting outside Master Piell’s office when what could only be the Lannik’s Padawan showed up.
“Who the kriff are you?”
He looked up into the eyes of a young Tholothian girl; headdress and all. “Grandmaster Yoda. Who are you?”
The girl sniffed. “Jon Antilles, of course.”
Mace grinned. “Looking a little less dead than people are saying, Antilles.”
“The reports of my death have been greatly…exaggerated. Still snitching frogs from the Room of a Thousand Fountains, Yoda?”
“Well, what else is a guy supposed to do for food around here?”
“You make a fair point, Grandmaster.”
The girl managed to look serious for all of about three seconds before her composure broke. “Padawan Adi Gallia,” she managed to gasp out between laughs, “who are you?”
“Padawan Mace Windu. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you-hey! Aren’t you that kid that snarked back to Jinn yesterday?”
“So they tell me. You heard about that?”
“Dude, the whole Temple’s heard about that! Master Fay called the Temple for the first time in over fifty years, and half-an-hour later Qui-Gon Jinn’s girlfriend was kicked out of Advanced Ataru! When that happened, well, naturally everyone wanted to know why. Dude, you’re famous.”
Mace barely resisted the urge to groan. “Great; just what I need, publicity.”
“Better get used to it, Mace-on-a-chain, cause it ain’t going away anytime soon. Why’re you here, anyway?”
“Waiting on Master Tholme. He’s got ‘Shadow business’ with Master Piell.”
“That explains why he’s here; but not you.”
Mace shrugged. “Master Tholme and I are going to be getting Ataru training from your Master.”
Gallia’s eyes lit up. “Aw kriff yes! Master Piell’s been groaning for months about how all the Living Force supremacists are giving his Form a bad name; did you know, when Jinn first asked my Master for Ataru lessons, he said, and I quote, that it was because Master Piell was ‘about the same size as Yoda, so he’d be just as good’.”
Mace stared in horror. “He didn’t.”
“He did. I’ve got it on video; it’s a shame I wasn’t Master Piell’s Apprentice yet. I could’ve seen it in person.”
“Now that,” Mace laughed, “would’ve been fun. Looks like us Unifieds and Cosmics are just gonna have to make up for Jinn’s blunders, then.”
Gallia’s eyes flashed with mirth. “I guess we are.”
As they talked, Mace couldn’t help but feel like this might be the start of a beautiful…something.