(A/N)- Done for Mace Windu Appreciation Week over on Tumblr, drawing off some of my "Cool Grandpa Mace Patiently Tolerates Feral Pawadan Bridger" headcanons, because I thought it would be a really sweet scene to actually write out.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Anope. No owning of Star Wars here.

Crawlspace

Mace carefully removed the screws from the grate and, with gentle hands, threaded his fingers through the slats and slowly removed the air vent cover.

It pried off with a soft squeak, the noise barely stirring the tight cluster of discordant misery he could feel through the Force above him. The Jedi Master leaned back down off his toes and set the grate aside on a counter.

The Temple kitchen was immaculately clean and, aside from him, currently devoid of occupant. But he had known exactly where to look as soon as his comm went off, Caleb's frantic voice on the other end.

Mace placed a sturdy chair underneath the open vent and climbed up on it, poking his head up into the hole.

He quickly spotted the form of his wayward great-grandpadawan, a darker shadow against the dim gray of the metal corridor. The boy was huddled in the corner, squished in the crevasse between one vent and another, his robe curled tightly and self-protectively around his knees and legs, and if he'd heard the Grandmaster's intrusion, he didn't acknowledge it, staring morosely ahead at the wall.

"Ezra," Mace called gently, projecting warmth through the Force to reassure the boy. "What are you doing in here?" he asked.

Stubbornly, the fourteen-year-old scowled and turned his head, looking away angrily.

Ah. Sulking, Mace concluded to himself, faintly amused.

"Your master is very worried about you," he prodded the boy, nudging him gently through the Force with concern. "As I'm sure you can already sense."

If possible, the boy hitched up tighter, pressing his chin into his knees. "I don't wanna talk to him right now," he said, voice muffling into his sleeves.

Pieces of the current conflict between his grandpadawan and great-grandpadawan were becoming clearer. Caleb hadn't shared many details when he'd called, too busy freaking out like a fretful mother song sparrow, and Mace had spent more time reminding the man to calm and center himself than gathering details about what had caused their latest disagreement. But Caleb had mentioned setting down some kind of ultimatum about an animal Ezra had snuck into the Temple and had been secretly feeding in his room. Ezra hadn't, apparently, taken it well.

Mace probed through the Force, but the boy's shields had been latched down tight; he refused to let Mace in, no matter how much reassurance and patience the Jedi projected at him.

With a sigh, Mace realized he would need more direct measures to get through to the padawan. Reaching up, bracing his arms and elbows against the sides of the vent, he hauled his torso up through the opening.

He grunted with effort and the awkward angle he had to bend his limbs, curling around the lip of the vent and bringing his knees up underneath him.

It was a tight fit, even with the wider-than-average industrial size of the vents. The Jedi Master grimaced as he scraped awkwardly forward, shoulders and back sliding along the edges of the vent, crawling towards Ezra.

I'm too old for this, he grumbled to himself inside his head, even as he pried his feet out from under him in order to maneuver more easily.

Ezra glanced up in slight surprise as Mace settled down in the vent next to him, bringing his own knees up, mimicking the padawan's curled pose.

There was nothing but soft understanding in his great-grandmaster's face as he asked, "Is this about the animal you brought home from Zardossa Stix?"

Ezra slumped and Mace knew that he'd hit upon exactly the issue. "There was this feral tooka. She was all alone and had no one to take care of her. Caleb says I can't keep her," he pouted.

Mace raised an eyebrow, slightly impressed. Out of all the creatures Ezra had managed to smuggle into the Temple through his sleeves and pockets, a tooka was by far the largest and most obtrusive. He'd have to ask later how the boy had managed it. Away from his master's earshot, of course.

"He says I shouldn't take animals out of their natural environments and that it could cause untold damage on the local ecosystem," Ezra was explaining bitterly, a pinch between the brows of his eyes.

Mace nodded. Folding his arms over his legs like Ezra, he settled himself very casually beside the padawan. "I agree with him, actually," he confessed. At Ezra's stung look of betrayal he clarified, "Though not for the reasons he said."

That seemed to confuse him. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Ezra..." Mace began gently, "...how often are you and Caleb away on missions these days?" he asked.

Ezra looked a bit sheepish. "Pretty often," he answered. "Maybe two, three times a month?"

"And in that time, while you are away," Mace continued, "who would care for the creature?" he asked. "Who would feed it, groom it, give it exercise and entertainment? Have you made arrangements with someone to watch it while you're gone?"

Ezra shifted a bit uncomfortably, guilt now lining the contours of his expression. "Well... no," he confessed.

"Don't you think that tooka would be much happier with someone who could be there to feed her, every day?" Mace asked, voice soft. "Someone who is actually able to be responsible for her, and care for her, that she wouldn't be missing for weeks on end?"

The piercing question seemed to stab right through the boy, who ducked his head a bit shamefully, acceptance in his Force signature. Ezra looked down at his knees, biting his lip for a long moment before...

"Yeah... you're right," he admitted. He hid his face in his sleeves again. "'m sorry," he mumbled into the fabric. "I should have thought of that before I brought her home."

Mace nodded sagely, uncurling a bit and settling a hand around Ezra's shoulders. "Your compassion and empathy are strong, and well-befitting of a Jedi," he told the boy, "but they must always be tempered with practicality, young padawan."

Ezra raised his head, his face serene, and nodded respectfully, giving a soft smile. "Yes Master Windu."

The older Jedi quirked a smile back at him. "Now," he said, tone lighter, "we should both get down from here and find Caleb."

Ezra nodded again, in agreement, and Mace took that as his cue to shift around and begin moving back down the vent.

Or, trying to at least.

Mace gave a discontent grunt as the back of his head hit the top of the vent and he found himself momentarily wedged in by the tight corridor.

"Master?" Ezra called worriedly from behind him. "Are you... stuck?"

"No," he grit through his teeth. He twisted and angled his shoulders until he could feel himself sliding freely again. "It's just been too many years since I was small enough to fit in here."

He extricated himself from the vent, dropping down lightly to the chair before getting down and lightly catching Ezra as he made his own short jump.

"You have got to stop hiding in the vents, Ezra," Mace told him, shaking his head long-sufferingly.

The boy grinned cheekily. "Hey, they're the perfect hiding place. High up, out of the way, and no one comes looking for me."

Mace let him consider his own words for a moment.

"Well," Ezra corrected, scuffing his boot into the floor a little, "almost no one."

A bit more stern-faced now, Mace nudged the padawan by his shoulder, towards the double doors on the far side.

"I suggest you start looking for a home for that tooka," he said, tone just vaguely warning.

"Yes sir!" Ezra scrambled to acknowledge, tripping over his hems as he rushed out the door, Mace giving a fond headshake behind him as he disappeared down the hall.