A/N: en-shaedn and I are both so very happy to see this chapter posted, because it was a royal pain in the backside, start to finish. Enjoy!
"Ah, Master Kenobi," greeted Yan with a smile, eyes crinkling in seldom-seen patterns, "do come in." He stepped in. The door shut. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Standing there under the weight of expectation, Ben was sweating more than if he'd been fighting. Dooku noticed his uneasiness and his pleased expression faltered. "Are you quite alright, Ben?" He asked.
Ben was wrestling with his fear. Silence would be a comfort. Speaking was what he was afraid of. But he would overcome his fear to serve the promptings of the Light, Force help him. Yan Dooku was a master of subtlety and nuance. He was a better strategist than Ben, a better conversationalist, a better decoder of social graces. So Ben would abandon all that, and serve him with a proposition so bald-faced and ridiculous that it could not possibly be construed as misdirection.
"Master Dooku, there is something you should know about me," he began, feeling distinctly separated from his body as he spoke.
"Oh?" Yan seemed confused. It was not an orthodox way to open a conversation.
Ben braced his shoulders, swallowed, and leaped. "My name is not Ben Kenobi."
This seem to puzzle Yan, who, despite not being one for foresight, sensed a disturbance in the Force hurtling toward him at high speed. His eyebrows twitched in confusion. "Is it not?" He asked politely.
"No," said Ben, or Apparently Not Ben, in a frazzled tone. "My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master and former apprentice of Qui-Gon Jinn, and seven years ago I traveled to this world from the future."
Absolute silence. The disturbance crashed into the present and sent shockwaves across its spectators. They stood against the onslaught, wordless. Ben's heart felt fit to beat out of his chest.
Yan Dooku was unused to dealing with frankness, and it had been years since he'd heard of anything so absurd as time travel. But he had memories. Over the course of a lifetime, a Jedi Shadow grew privy to all sorts of obscure cults of thought, from the heretical, to the evil, to the naive and misguided. So when another Jedi might've laughed, or blinked dumbly, or said something predictable like "that's impossible", Yan Dooku said nothing. He stood, unblinking and unmoving, and stared.
Ben couldn't tell what he saw or what he was thinking. He resisted the urge to shift his weight or lick his lips, knowing that the older man would notice it all. Perhaps Dooku could even hear the tempo of his heart, Ben thought, it sounded loud enough. A battle drum beat in his breast.
After coaching his breathing, Ben said, nerves forcing his voice into a wavering whisper, "You know I'm not lying." It rang with truth, an aftershock to the tidal wave.
Yan blinked at last. Then, he turned slightly and moved, in a slow, deliberate float, to sit down. "I think," he said carefully, looking up at his guest with a vague look of betrayal, "that you had better sit down."
Obi-Wan fell into a seat.
"Did he say anything?" Qui- Gon demanded, eyebrows creased into a stern line.
Obi-Wan the younger looked between his master and Feemor, alarmed. He looked past Feemor's shoulder to give Aola a beseeching expression. The Twi'lek shrugged helplessly back at him.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon pressed. The apprentice looked back up at his master.
"Not really," he replied. "I only saw him in the hall, I asked if he wanted to stop in for tea, and he told me he was on his way to see Master Dooku." He could sense his master's panic. "Why?"
Qui-Gon turned to Feemor instead. "Why did he call you?" He asked.
"He said he was hoping I'd talk him out of something stupid, but was going to do it anyway."
"And Dooku…" Qui-Gon's imagination ran down the list of possibilities.
"He said you wouldn't like it, that's probably why he didn't call you as well," Feemor said, in a pointed tone. "He said Mace and Obi-Wan wouldn't be happy either."
"Oh no," Obi-Wan finally put two and two together.
"What?"
"He was asking me about Master Dooku yesterday," Obi-Wan told them. "About what I thought of him, if I… if I trusted him. He said he was trying to get the lay of the land. But…" He looked up at the two masters, whose expressions were very quickly migrating toward panic. "You don't think he'll actually tell him, do you?"
"Force damnit," Qui-Gon growled, brushing past his apprentice as he rushed out of the room. Feemor sighed heavily.
"Tell him what?" Aola burst, unable to remain silent any longer. Feemor looked at her with a deep sense of guilt. Obi-Wan was sure some sort of silent conversation must have occurred in the next few seconds, because after a brief staring contest, Aola scoffed and Feemor winced, looking like a man who knows someone is about to be very disappointed in him. Obi-Wan glanced surreptitiously at Aola and tried to not look as guilty as he felt.
Seven years. Ben had been here for seven years, by Obi-Wan's calculation. Aola had been around for most of it, but she was the solitary member of their Jedi family who did not know who Master Kenobi really was. Obi-Wan had considered breaching the topic with Ben, or even with Aola, but it had never felt pressing. He and Ben were different people, he reminded himself, there was no need to introduce their confused shared history. They weren't lying, they weren't masquerading as anyone except themselves. Knowledge of Ben's identity shouldn't make a difference to Aola's perception of him, so it was perfectly fine not to tell her. Obi-Wan told himself all of this, but the guilt remained, weighing down his shoulders like bricks.
"What the hels is going on?" Aola demanded, looking between the two men with the rare light of anger in her eyes. Obi-Wan glanced up at her.
"Aola, I'm…" he tilted his head, unsure how to phrase it, "I'm so sorry, Aola, we never… that is, I never thought that it would be…" He stopped, breath trailing off in an uncharacteristic loss of words. Feemor stood by, tight-lipped.
"What?"
Obi-Wan opened his mouth, but only air came out. He gaped like a fish.
"Ugh!" Aola stormed past him to the door, marching down the hall in the direction that Qui-Gon had gone.
The apartment was quiet as Feemor and Obi-Wan stood there, both contemplating the consequences of their inaction.
"This is bad," the apprentice said at length.
Feemor inhaled, and then exhaled. "I should go after her," he said. He did not move.
A tense pause. "We'll have to tell her now, one way or another," Obi-Wan said. One way or another. As if there were 'another'. Obi-Wan knew exactly what was happening across the residential wing, and he was trying very hard not to think about it. Against his better judgement, he tried to imagine Master Dooku's reaction to learning of Ben's origins, and found that he couldn't.
"I should have told her ages ago," Feemor lamented quietly. Obi-Wan looked at him.
"It's not your fault," he told the older man. "Ben or I should've told her. We should've agreed to tell her at some point a long time ago."
"It doesn't matter," Feemor insisted. "I'm her master. I should've said something ages ago, no matter what either of you said. No offense."
"None taken."
Feemor sighed and put his head in his hand. "I'm a coward."
We both are, Obi-Wan thought. Perhaps Ben was the brave one. But Dooku? As he had that thought, there was a disturbance in the Force, a cresting wave moving downstream from a great epicenter some ways off. Across their bond, Obi-Wan could feel Qui-Gon's frustration radiating in panicked waves. He clenched his jaw, and hoped that Ben had gambled wisely.
"Do you know," Dooku said, staring at some point on the far wall, one hand stroking his trimmed silver beard, "in all my long years, I never dreamed I would meet a time traveller."
Ben chuckled halfheartedly, looking down at the floor. "To be honest, master, neither did I."
The silence was unbearable. Ben sat there unmoving, staring at the carpet for one minute, two, or maybe ten thousand, before eventually daring to look up. He was surprised and slightly alarmed to find that Dooku was already looking at him.
"You look quite different with a beard," the older man decided, leaning back in his seat. He frowned silently, face twitching as a series of questions paraded themselves across his brain, each as weighty and important as its predecessor. Frown still in place, he asked, "Why are you telling me this? Why now?"
Ben frowned, and shifted in his seat. "It's- It's not-" His voice cords failed him momentarily, offering airy squeaks in place of words. He cleared his throat and settled on an unhappy, "It's rather complicated.
Dooku sighed, the sort of sigh heaved by a man who'd spent a lifetime learning all the different definitions of the word 'complicated'. "Ah," he said, and waved a hand toward a tall cabinet near the kitchen, where he kept his stash of drinks. Two glasses and a bottle of brandy floated from their places and set themselves on the low table between Dooku and his guest. The bottle opened itself and poured equal portions into the two tumblers. "I think this may call for something a little stronger than wine," he said, and took up his own glass with as much grace as ever. When Ben looked closely, he thought he could see the glass shaking in his hand.
"When we spoke yesterday," Ben started, not touching the offered drink. "You were right about one thing. These are dark times. And they are going to get worse." Dooku looked up at him sharply. "I lived through it all once. The Jedi Order fell, along with the Republic. The Dark Side won. I was killed by the Sith. And now, I've been sent back to make sure that none of it can happen again."
Dooku stared at him. He held the look for a few moments, and then lifted his glass of brandy to his lips. "Oh," he said mildly, eyebrows high. He took a sip. "Is that all." After another generous drink from the glass, Dooku closed his eyes and asked, "And how is your… task proceeding, thus far?"
Ben had not anticipated him taking it this well. Feeling vulnerable and unprepared, Ben said, "Well, that's why I've decided to tell you. I need your help."
"With what?"
"With…" he realized that he could not explain Sifo Dyas without first explaining a great many other things. "Perhaps I ought to start at the beginning," he said.
At that moment, the door slid open with a loud hiss. Ben and Dooku whipped their heads around to see Qui-Gon Jinn framed in the doorway, looming. He stepped inside.
"Qui-Gon," Dooku said, sounding surprised. "Hello."
Qui-Gon was silent. He glared at Ben, eyes frantic. Ben looked back at him with careful nonchalance.
"Master Kenobi," Qui-Gon greeted, voice low.
Ben straightened his back ever so slightly and stiffened his gaze. "Master Jinn," he said.
Yan looked back and forth between the two with interest. He wondered privately how he'd never seen it before: the authority Qui-Gon naturally assumed when they were together, the quiet defiance in Ben's eyes when he tilted up his chin, the fact that they could carry on whole conversations - and arguments - in complete silence. "Please," he interrupted what was no doubt a rousing interrogation and gestured to a chair. "Qui-Gon, sit down." He waved over another tumbler and poured his old apprentice some brandy. "Master, uh…" He glanced at Ben meaningfully. "...Obi-Wan here, was just telling me a rather interesting story." He looked at Qui-Gon to gauge his reaction. It had been decades, but he could still read the man's expressions like a book. "But I assume you already know about that. How long have you known?" Dooku asked.
Qui-Gon's eyes slid over to his master with thinly veiled aggravation. "Longer than you," he said, sharply. Ben winced. Dooku raised one eyebrow.
"Please, Master Kenobi," He turned his attention back to his friend, his grandpadawan? The time traveller. "Continue."
No sooner had Ben drawn a breath than the door opened once again. Aola Tarkona stood just outside. She peeked in.
"Aola?" Qui-Gon straightened. "Is there something you need?" He asked, in the way that Masters asked when they wanted to politely dismiss their apprentices.
"I want to know what's going on," Aola said plainly.
"You ought to go find your master," Qui-Gon said.
This was going far differently than how Ben had envisioned it. "No," he put out a hand, and sighed. He had not planned on having an audience, but then again… The Force worked in mysterious ways. His fear waxed and waned. "No, Aola, please, come in. You need to hear this as well."
"Hear what?"
"You've not told her, either, I assume," Dooku observed, running a finger along the edge of his glass. Ben ignored him.
"I shall start at the beginning," he reiterated. He was looking at his hands, and could not see how Dooku watched him so carefully, nor how Qui-Gon glared at Dooku, nor how Aola had her brow screwed up in concentration, eyes fixed on him. Three representatives of three generations of Jedi gathered to hear the words of a fourth, the one out of his time. "My real name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Seven years ago, I travelled back in time - to this time - from a future that I now seek to amend." Aola gasped softly. A muddle of emotions flooded through the Force, but Ben took a deep breath, willed himself to overcome, and continued to speak.
He did not disclose everything about the past. He did not discuss the future in depth. There was nothing of Anakin, of Dooku, of Palpatine. He mentioned that there had been a massive war; he discussed the rise of the Sith without using names. He even talked about his hermitage in the Outer Rim, and his death. And then he talked about how he'd arrived here, how things had changed in the seven years he'd been Jedi Master Ben Kenobi, and not just Old Ben.
"But things have changed too much now," Ben told the group. He still had not looked up at anyone, but his audience remained rapt to his story; they watched him as if there existed no one else in the world. "I cannot hope to proceed on my own and meet with success. I can't keep my identity or my cause secret from everyone anymore. I need help. I need all of your help." He glanced up at Dooku, and met with a surprisingly soft expression on the man's face. "Your help especially, grandmaster." He'd never had opportunity to call Yan that. The word tasted strange, full of longing for something that had never been.
The group was silent. Qui-Gon leaned back in his seat, arms crossed and brow furrowed in deep thought. He had not heard Ben's story told all at once before, and he'd never heard details of the war. He did not understand exactly why Ben needed Dooku's help, but it was impossible to say anything about it. Ben was a Jedi master. Moreover, this was Ben's secret to tell. And yet, Qui-Gon could not repress that small corner that insisted he must have some say in the matter. Ben was - or had been in some reality - Qui-Gon's apprentice. Moreover, Dooku was Qui-Gon's old teacher. If there was anyone in the galaxy who knew how wily and how ruthlessly cunning this man could be, it was Qui-Gon. He could hardly conceive of what Dooku could do with the knowledge of Ben's identity. He could ruin everything, if he wanted to. Did Ben really trust Dooku that much? Certainly, he trusted Dooku more than Qui-Gon did. Then, there came a more humbling thought: did Ben know Dooku better than he did?
Next to Qui-Gon, Aola was frozen in her place. Unusual for her, she had remained completely still through the entire story, eyes fixed on Ben, eyebrows drawn down in fierce attention. She said nothing. She asked nothing. She only stared, as if studying him for the first time.
Dooku was, despite all of the world-shattering revelations, the most composed of all. "Who knows?" He asked.
"You. Qui-Gon. Aola, now," Ben said. "Obi-Wan, of course. Feemor," which made Aola's eyes widen in surprise, "the Council - though they don't know the details. The only person who knows everything is Mace Windu."
Dooku nodded, processing this information stoically. "And what help might I offer you?" He asked.
Ben thought about it for a moment. He finally reached for his neglected glass of brandy and took a drink. "Master," he glanced at Qui-Gon, "Aola." It was hard to look her in the eye; he knew she was comparing him to Obi-Wan. "Could you give me a moment alone with Master Dooku, please?"
After a brief hesitation, Qui-Gon stood, fixing Ben with a hard glare. "Come along, Aola," he said softly, putting his hand on her shoulder to direct her out of the room. Aola stood and followed her grandmaster, casting one last look over her shoulder as they left. The door hissed shut.
"Last week, you and I discussed my mission to Alaris Prime," Ben said, businesslike. "You asked if there had been any excitement aside from the gundarks and Wookiees. I said no."
"Yes," Dooku agreed, tone anticipating a crucial conjunction.
"I lied."
"Ah."
"The Trade Federation has set up illegal, unauthorized caches of merchandise in at least one sector of the moon - though I personally suspect there are far more."
"That explains a great deal," Dooku said. He sounded actually pleased to hear the news. "The Senate has been buzzing about the Federation ever since you got back, but I couldn't make the connection, and no one seemed to know. So," he took a drink. "What sort of merchandise merits lies, classification, and tabled reports?"
It was refreshing to speak with someone who could follow the complex web without prompting. "Battle droids," Ben told him. "Thousands of them."
Dooku's eyebrows rose, and his glass paused halfway to his mouth. "Battle droids?" He repeated, voice shaded with incredulity. "What in the galaxy for?"
"For a war," Ben said plainly. "The Sith plan to start a war between the Republic and an enemy of their own making. They've already started amassing armies for both of their players."
"Two sides? But why…" Dooku trailed off, and slowly, realization dawned. "Oh, now that's…" He couldn't help but smile. Dooku had always been too intelligent for his own good. He admired intricacy and cunning even in his greatest enemies. "That is… an incredibly clever plan, actually," he said, stroking his beard.
"And it worked rather well for them last time," Ben said, with none of the affection Dooku seemed to harbor for a plan well executed. "But this time, I know better."
"So you do." Dooku continued to ponder. "So they've tapped the depth of the Trade Federation's coffers for one side of the board, and you've dragged them out into the light." His eyes glinted, calculating, the look of a chess master introduced to a game in progress. "And this second army. You know where to find them as well?"
"I do, but I have to prove it. Which is why I need your help. I believe you were once friends with a Jedi by the name of Sifo Dyas."
This sudden shift in subject seemed to throw a wrench into the complex mechanisms of Dooku's mind. He blinked, trying to reset his attentions. "Dyas?" He asked, frowning as he factored in this new information. "Yes, I know him quite well. What of it?"
"Dyas shares your… perspectives on the Council, on the darkening of the times, does he not?"
Dooku seemed saddened by the thought. "Yes, he's always been able to see farther into the future than I, too far for his own good. He tried to help them see it too, when he held a chair on the Council." The frown grew deeper and deeper, until Dooku's deep brown eyes were half obscured behind his eyebrows. "Why?" He shot a look up at Ben. "Are you saying he's involved?"
"Dyas is the one who ordered the creation of the second army."
Dooku was absolutely nonplussed. "What?"
"He foresaw the war," Ben explained. "He foresaw the rise of the Sith, and it terrified him. In his fear, he's sought out to equip the Jedi Order and the Republic with an army to combat the threat."
Dooku's face was drawn taught with sadness and disbelief. "That's not the Sifo I know," He said, softly. "Why… he would've thrown a fit. He would've pulled strings and broken the code, and maybe even have left. But he wouldn't build an army." He mulled over the problem in his mind. "Unless… unless someone else gave him the idea."
"Or just put it straight into his head." It was a sickening, horrible weapon that Ben knew well. He thought of Anakin, and his sleepless nights spent agonizing over Padme. He closed his eyes. "The Sith can do that. Jedi who experience visions are… particularly susceptible." Ben let that sink in. "They do not wish to fight us directly. They don't have the numbers."
"They seek to rip us apart," Dooku concluded.
"Yes. In our minds, or, if we allow them to draw us to war, in our hearts. The war will ground our ideals to dust. We cannot let that happen."
Dooku nodded. "You want to expose this army, then,"
"Yes. Ever since I returned from Alaris Prime, Master Windu and I have been attempting to find leads on Sifo Dyas' location and movements over the past few years. Unfortunately, we have been completely unable to do so."
Dooku was not surprised. "He was a secretive man - paranoid, even." Because of the Sith, perhaps? He sighed. "I suppose this is where I come in."
"Yes. I… we," he skirted around the fact that Mace Windu had given him explicit instructions to not involve Yan Dooku in this particular affair, "need you to use whatever avenues, whatever connections you may still have with Master Dyas to hunt him down and follow the trail to this army."
"I see." Dooku began mentally filing through his arsenal, picking up loose threads and weaving them into various potential plans. "I suppose you already know where it is," he said, envying Ben's foresight, "this army."
"Not exactly. Everything has changed, moved forward." Ben huffed. "I don't even know how many are finished yet."
Something about that phrase sounded odd. "How many what?"
"Clones."
"Clones?" Dooku frowned. "Of a sentient?"
"Yes, of a human, a bounty hunter, actually, goes by the name of Jango Fett."
"Fett?" Dooku spat the name as if it burned. Ben looked at his grandmaster with with considerable surprise.
"You know him?"
"He's a Mandalorian," Dooku said. "He's a ruthless fighter. He was one of the ones on Galidraan. He killed Jedi for the fun of it."
Ben did not know what to say. This was entirely new information. He thought of Rex, and Cody, and Wolffe, and Fives, and all the others who shared a face with Jango Fett. He thought of that day on Utapau, when he'd fallen from a cliff face, nearly incinerated by Republic canonfire on the way down. It was rather ironic new information. "Oh," he said aloud.
"But that doesn't make any sense," Dooku said, brain's mechanisms firing up again, running at full speed. "Dyas wasn't on Galidraan. I never told him much about it. Nearly all the Jedi who would know the man are dead by now. What possessed him to choose Fett?"
Ben shrugged. He had no idea, and frankly, it was a problem for another time. "I'm not sure, but the fact of the matter is, he did choose Fett, and if we don't hunt him and the cloning facility down soon, there will be a lot more people - millions - of military-grade Mandalorians to deal with."
Dooku fell quiet for a moment. He rubbed his beard furiously, mind organizing and reorganizing everything he thought he knew. "I've only heard whispers of cloning technology. Where in the galaxy have they found a cloner willing to create an entire army?"
Ben sighed. There was the rub: he knew, and he didn't. "I can tell you that it's on a planet called Kamino, which is in the Outer Rim."
"Kamino…" Dooku squinted in thought, and shook his head. "I've never heard of it. Where is it?"
"Unfortunately, that's what I can't tell you. It's been ages since I've been there, and I never memorized the coordinates." He sighed. "Never thought I'd need them again. All records of the planet have been erased from the Archive maps."
"Erased?" The idea was unthinkable. The Jedi Archives was the most expansive collection of memory in the Republic. "By whom?"
"Sifo Dyas, I suspect."
"How would he do that? He'd have to be an Archivist - or a Councilor, but he lost his seat ages ago."
"Yes," Ben had thought long on the problem. Fortunately, his experience as a former Councilor had given him insight into an extremely simple, maddening answer: "I suspect it is because the Council is complacent and never remembers to change access codes. I'm from decades in the future, and my codes still work, if it tells you anything." It had been his key to the basement levels for years.
Taking a break from their topic, Dooku took a moment to smile in surprise. "You were on the Council?"
Ben flashed a grin. "Yes. I still haven't told Qui-Gon about that, actually."
Dooku laughed, his unasked question answered. "Well done," he added. He stroked his beard some more, eyebrows drawn in perspective angles as he worked through the problem. "There's one other thing," he said after a while, "how is this army being funded? The Sith cannot possibly fund two armies from one source. Cloning must be horribly expensive, especially on such a scale. Who is paying for it?"
Ben chuckled. This fact was a particularly biting reality. "The taxpayers of the Galactic Republic," he said brightly.
"Pardon?"
Ben nodded. "I've looked into it. This past year, when the Senate passed the annual budget, they set aside twelve trillion credits for 'Genetic Studies'. The year before it was eight trillion, and the year before that, five. All of that money has been put into what has been labeled a medical science grant, but technically, under the conditions of the grant, the cloning of sentient lifeforms qualifies as a medical expense," Ben explained. "And if some of the spare change were to be used for… oh, say, military training of those clones, it would be carried out in the strictest of experimental environments, with observations and reports all neatly recorded and going toward the betterment of science." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "And in between the hundreds of thousands of other initiatives passing across the floor, no one's sniffed out the dubious clauses."
Dooku was horrified. "The Senate? The Sith have a hold there?"
It was impossible to overstate how right he was. "Why do you think I spend so much time there?" Ben said. Dooku sat back. Things were far more serious than he'd anticipated. "But if we can find Dyas, we can pull ahead of their careful planning."
Dooku nodded briskly, moving past his surprise. "Of course," he said, features returning to their normal stony lines. He stared off into some mental plane where he could see a giant chessboard laid out before him. He surveyed his pieces. "I have a few ideas. I'll need a ship, and time."
Ben nodded. A thought hit him."And Council clearance," he said, subdued panic causing him to run a hand hard over his face. His whiskers prickled under the pressure.
Dooku frowned at him. "I take it you have not disclosed your plan to Master Windu," he said, disappointment leaking through.
"No. In fact… In fact he told me very specifically not to involve you."
Dooku was insulted. "Why?" He had always considered himself on amiable terms with the Master of the Order. As young and headstrong as Mace was, they were not a dissimilar sort.
Ben looked up at his grandmaster, weighing the consequences of lying and telling the truth. With Dooku, lying often only bred more lying. "I'm not happy to say it, Master, but… last time, you weren't exactly on our side."
Dooku seemed bewildered. "Whose side was I on?"
Ben could not bring himself to say the word. "You were one of the ones who planned this entire gambit," he said. "The armies. There's a reason why you found it all very clever."
Perhaps the saddest part of watching Dooku's reaction was the sheer lack of surprise on his face. "I see," he said, after a lengthy pause. "And Mace knows your entire history, and he does not trust me."
"No."
Dooku watched Ben's face. "And you do?"
It was a good question, that, in days past, would have taken much longer to answer. Now, Ben was assured. "I do now."
Dooku glanced at the door. "Your master doesn't."
Ben thought of Qui-Gon's severe expression, the mental inquisition he'd faced when the man had walked through the door. "No. I need to speak with him," Ben said coldly.
While Ben looked away, Dooku studied him. "Did you get along with him?" he asked.
"What?"
"Before. Were you and Qui-Gon good friends?" He looked sad. "I would hope that he did better by you than I did by him, in that respect."
The admission gave Ben pause. Eventually, he said, "Not exactly good friends. We didn't have the chance. He was killed just before I became a knight. By the Sith."
Dooku actually sat back. "What?"
"It's all changed now," he reassured. "It can't happen like before." He thought on it, and added, "You know… I always thought that…"
"What?"
"Qui-Gon's death, in some way… pushed you to do what you did." It was a guess. He did not know for sure. But knowing Dooku now, and looking on Dooku then… "I'm sorry."
Dooku said nothing for several moments. Eventually, he cleared his throat and said, "The Jedi are not perfect. But they are the only family I've ever known." The tacit disavowal of his powerful relatives on Serenno surprised Ben. Dooku sighed, begrudgingly fond. "And so long as I'm following the direction of one who knows, even vaguely, what in the nine fiery hels they're doing," he nodded at Ben, who repressed a smile, "I suppose I shall have to suffer life here for a few more years." The tenuous thread of trust between them hardened into a secure tether.
"I shall have to talk it over with Master Windu," Ben said.
"I'll come with you."
"No, no," Ben put out a hand, "I really don't think that's a good idea."
"You misunderstand me, padawan," Dooku stood, and Ben was reminded exactly how tall the man was, taller even than Qui-Gon. "I am coming with you. I served on the Council when Mace Windu earned his first chair and made a complete mess of it. I will not be cut out of and reinstated into the inner circle without voicing my dissent." He smiled, and despite the fact that he was - and never would be - Count Dooku, it was the same pointed, shrewd smile that Ben knew from years past, the one that said I will take you down with minimal effort, and you won't ever see it coming. It was, in essence, Makashi on a human face.
Ben was terrified and glad in equal measure. He'd never dreamed to have this man on his side. "Of course, grandmaster," he nodded politely, and stood. The top of his head came up to Dooku's chin. "We'll need you to start your investigation as soon as possible."
They left the apartment together, cloak and cape, for once, swaying to the same determined rhythm.
Per Ben's expectations, Mace Windu was not happy. He was not happy with Ben for going behind his back, he was not happy to have been in the dark while Ben was spouting off his secrets, he was not happy to need to resort to Yan Dooku as pointman on this mission, and he was not happy to have to listen to the man's eloquent and unrelenting critique of Mace's automatic disregard - the last of which Mace sensed was entirely for show and Dooku's own enjoyment.
He was, though he would never say it, deeply relieved and perhaps even pleased that Yan Dooku had pledged himself to the Light. He was a Shadow still, and all shadows were grey. But he only cast a shadow because he was standing within the light. Mace made a mental note to edit their list of grey Jedi. That would be later, though, after he had put Ben back in his place and huffed a good deal about this misstep.
It would have been entirely accurate to say that Mace's lasting irritation was largely due to the hour. Ben had not approached Dooku until dusk, and they'd spoken well into the night, and had decided that since their mission was of dire galactic importance, they could wake the Master of the Order for a good ear lashing in the middle of the night.
By the time they sorted out the details, it was nearly dawn. Dooku was given a ship, provisions, and clearance to leave on 'independent research', a mission brief whose vague classification was enjoyed by Shadows and Councilors only. He was sent on his way just before breakfast, leaving Ben and Mace Windu as the two earliest occupants of the refectory at 0500 standard in the morning.
Mace had hours ago resigned himself to operating another day on the meager sleep he'd managed before Ben and Yan had awoken him. It was far from ideal, but as a Jedi, he had taken his frustration, balled it up in an angry wad, and tossed to the Force's therapeutic oblivion. He recalled his endurance training from days in Master Yoda's tutelage. "Have you slept at all, Ben?" he asked, blinking heavily and willing himself to appear as Masterly as possible as other Jedi began to file in for breakfast. Ben's alertness was enviable and alarming.
"Not at all."
"You should try it sometime. I end up in less trouble when you do." Mace stood and picked up his used dishes. Ben sighed over his tea. Somehow, no matter what he did, he was always on this man's bad side. Mace could guess at the man's thoughts. He looked over one shoulder. "And Ben?"
Ben looked up at him, anticipating another scathing remark.
"I'm glad to hear about Dooku. Change is finally starting to pay off, I suppose."
Ben's expression softened instantly. "Yes," he said, and smiled. "I suppose it is."
"You can tell me next time. At very least, before midnight."
Ben laughed. "I'll try," he said.
For once in his life, Mace Windu did not quote Master Yoda. "And I'll try to listen."
As soon as he left the refectory, Ben's energy finally began to wane. A seven hour deficit in his circadian rhythm was barrelling toward him, promising the sort of retribution only those over the age of thirty-five can understand. By the time he made it back to his apartment, he was prepared to shutter the windows, fall into bed, and ignore whatever duties he might be called upon to fulfill that day.
What he actually did was open the door, look inside, pause, and try not to look irritated. "Morning," he said, stepping around his visitor.
Upon seeing him, Qui-Gon's face twitched with concern. "Did you get any sleep last night?"
Ben sighed, and lowered himself into the couch across from his old master. "That bad?"
"You overdid it."
They sat in awkward silence. There was a tea tray on the table, with an empty bowl and an empty pot. Ben wondered how long Qui-Gon had been sitting here waiting for him. "How is Aola?" Ben asked. "I need to apologize to her."
"She and Obi-Wan were supposed to be practicing together today, but something tells me they'll find other things to talk about." Qui-gon fixed him with a pointed look.
Ben looked up at him, exhaustion eroding his usual diplomacy. "What do you want me to say, Qui-Gon?" He shrugged. "I'm sorry? Because I'm not sorry, not one bit."
"You shouldn't trust Dooku so easily," Qui-Gon warned. "Telling him was incredibly risky."
"Yes, it was," Ben shot back, "and from whom do you think I learned risk management?"
Qui-Gon fumed. He pursed his lips and tried to temper his words, but they came out biting: "Do you have any idea how ruthless that man can be? You've spent the better half of a decade tight-lipped about everything you know for fear of the consequences, and then to bear your neck to him? You don't know how he could hurt you-"
"I know exactly how he could hurt me," Ben snapped venomously. "Don't you say I don't know what Yan Dooku is capable of, I know the very worst of it."
"You've known him a few years, Ben, I grew up under the shadow of that man, he's got a thousand tricks that he could turn on you if he sees fit, and you-"
"He was a Sith, Qui-Gon," Ben interrupted loudly. Qui-Gon shut up. "I told you I never knew him before. I meant I never knew him as a Jedi. He was a Sith, and the leader of an entire army in the Clone Wars. He killed Jedi. He even tried to kill Yoda. I spent three years of my life fighting him and every one of the underhanded, sadistic tricks he's never told you about." Ben paused to watch Qui-Gon's expression, but the man's face was frozen in complete astonishment. Ben brushed his brow and continued on, "He was… he was a Sith. That's the only way I ever knew him. And now… He's not dark, Qui-Gon. He's not, and I don't think you understand…" Ben had to pause, surprised to feel his throat constrict. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep. "You can't understand what that's like. No matter how many Sith I kill, no matter how many threats I avert… to see someone come back from the dead, not just physically, but as a person. I'm not sorry."
Qui-Gon remained silent. He swallowed, and leaned back slowly. He could not meet Ben's gaze. "A Sith," he said, quietly. Ben sighed.
"Not anymore. But in another life, yes."
"I knew he was grey, he's always been. A true neutral. But…" Qui-Gon's eyebrows drew down, and Ben was surprised to see adolescent shades of hurt on his master's face. "He turned? Why?"
Ben had several theories. "Your death sealed it, I think," he said.
Qui-Gon looked up at him. "What?"
"He's resented the Council's decisions for years, you know that. He's made no secret of it. He left the Order while I was still an apprentice. Then you were killed. I suppose, in his eyes, the Council played a role in it. His grief drove him to the dark side."
Qui-Gon expression was still, and somehow boyish. "I don't understand," he said.
Ben felt a wave of pity wash over him. He'd known for a long time that there existed a considerable rift between his master and his grandmaster. He did not know its origins, nor did he think he could completely understand. He'd never spared a thought for how deeply the fault lines ran. "He cares about you, Qui-Gon. I know he doesn't show it, I know you don't see eye to eye, but… You were his apprentice. If you spend ten years or more of your life raising a child, no matter how insufferable they are, you can't help but growing attached to them. Believe me," he chuckled, "I would know."
Qui-Gon said nothing. After a while, Ben spoke again: "I trust you. And I trust him. Just… please, trust me."
After looking at the ground and examining his own heart for a lengthy stretch of silence, Qui-Gon spoke softly, "You're a far better man, a far wiser man than I am."
"Perhaps for now," Ben said, because maybe it was true in some ways. "But not more than the man I know you can be. Things change. Dooku is on our side. And that itself is a victory I never thought I'd live to see."
Qui-Gon nodded. Silence fell in the room, but it didn't last long; Ben's yesterday had turned into today with no break in between, and when he yawned, it was both cavernous and involuntary.
"You ought to rest," Qui-Gon told him. Ben shrugged indifferently; he'd had worse, and something was nagging his old master. Seeing that he had the opportunity, Qui-Gon asked, "The Clone Wars?"
"What?"
"You've mentioned a war a few times now, but you called it the Clone Wars just now."
"Ah. I told you on Alaris Prime that there were two armies in play?"
"Yes."
"The war was named after one of them."
"Clones?" Qui-Gon was taken aback. "Force."
"I know," Ben chuckled. "That's why I needed Dooku's help. He knows the right people to track them down."
"Of course he does." All Jedi knew people; it just so happened that Dooku knew considerably more people who were considerably more important. After some wrestling with his mouth, Qui-Gon added, "You're lucky to have him on task. Is there any way I can help?"
"Not right now," Ben admitted. "It'll be a waiting game until Dooku can find a new lead."
"Of course. In that case… you really ought to get some sleep." This time, Qui-Gon wasn't going to take a resigned shrug for an answer; he may not be this Obi-Wan's master any more, but the man was dead on his feet. Qui-Gon wanted to mull over this new information, but not until Ben promised to go to bed.
Ben laughed. "Yes," he said, bags under his eyes weighing down like lead, "I think I might just."
Qui-Gon left the apartment and went to walk in the gardens. The weights in his mind had shifted; some lifted, some pushed down. Some had been dug up from decades ago. He'd not bothered to meditate on them for years. He strolled through the greenery and listened to the fountains, and wondered to himself how he'd trained someone so wise when he himself was a fool. But all was the same in the Force, he was reminded. Being a learner once more was only a matter of course. And if he must be forced to relearn the way he looked at things, learning from Ben Kenobi was, all things considered, the best he could have hoped for.
True to what Qui-Gon had predicted, Obi-Wan and Aola were not practicing their saberwork. They were still in the apartment that Aola shared with Feemor, sitting on the sofa in the main room and talking, but not looking at each other. Feemor was gone for the afternoon, leaving the apprentices alone to their conversation. There was a lot to talk about.
Aola had her legs folded and tucked up under her chin, bare arms wrapped around them so her face rested between her knees.
"Is it weird?" She asked. "With him being… well, you?"
She had asked this question, in various forms, twice already. "I suppose it is a bit," Obi-Wan confessed, after telling her twice that it wasn't. "But the older I get, the more different we are from each other. So it's not as weird as it was at first."
"I suppose that makes sense." She tilted her head slightly, lekku shifting their weight across her shoulders like scales of thought. She fell quiet.
Obi-Wan was not used to an reserved Aola, and her new demeanor made him uncomfortable. He felt terrible for having caused it. "I'm sorry we never told you," he said earnestly. "We should have, years ago."
Aola said nothing for a while. Eventually, she shrugged. "I was mad, at first. I guess it made me feel stupid for not knowing, 'specially since Master Gard knew," She studied the fabric of her breeches up close on her knees and picked at a pull in the knit. "But… we talked about it. I've thought a lot about it." Ben hadn't been the only one to get little sleep last night. "And I'm glad I didn't know."
Obi-Wan frowned, and for the first time since they'd begun talking, looked at her. "Really?" He asked, "Why?"
She shrugged again, and looked up at him from the corner of her eye. "I never knew either of you until both of you were here," she explained. "If I had known that you were both… well, you, before, I would not have gotten to know either of you as… you. This isn't making any sense," she lamented. "You're Obi-Wan. He's Ben. But if I had known that he used to be Obi-Wan, I would've only ever seen him as an old version of you, and I would only have seen you as a young version of him. And you're more than that." She frowned again. "Damnit, it still doesn't make any sense." She buried her face in her knees.
"I think I get it," Obi-Wan said, smiling, "and I'm touched. I have to say, I'm glad you know now."
"Me too." In a quiet show of forgiveness, Aola let herself fall over slightly to lean on Obi-Wan. He chuckled and leaned into her as well, head resting on her right lekku.
"Why do you think he wanted to tell Master Dooku?" She asked aloud. Obi-Wan frowned. He'd been turning the problem over in his mind for some time.
"I'm not sure," he said. "But I have a feeling it's really important."
"Do you think it's about the Sith?" She asked quietly.
"Most things that Ben does are, these days," Obi-Wan said with a sigh. "He says that things have begun to move quickly, faster than he'd anticipated."
Aola pulled herself into a tighter ball. "Do you think it'll be as bad as what Ben talked about? Like the last time?"
Obi-Wan had also wondered this before. Sitting there in the warmly lit apartment, enjoying the scents of Rylothian spices and caf that characterized the home of Feemor Gard and his padawan, Obi-Wan felt as though he were looking out into a storm from a safe haven and trying to predict where the lightning would strike next. It was impossible, so best settle down and enjoy the campfire while it lasted.
"Even if it is," he said in a voice far more assured than anything he felt in his heart, "the Force will be with us. That I know."
"Yeah," Aola agreed, shifting an arm away from Obi-Wan's bony elbow. "So will you," she poked him in the side. He laughed.
"All two of me," he said.
"No. You're one of a kind."
