nobody knows what's going on

“They are living creatures, Master. Perhaps, we should be kinder,” Qui-Gon said. It seemed that he was under the mistaken belief that Dooku could not see the slight curl of his smile from where he was bent over the stream. 

“Bold words,” Dooku intoned, “Perhaps, I shall allow you to keep them then?”

The smile vanished, “No, Master. I appreciate your help.”

“I am glad —,” Dooku dunked the comb into the luke-warm stream. He was glad to watch the parasites wash downstream, “to hear it. It would do me no good to have you be sentimental when it’s your turn to do my hair.”

3. 

Dooku ignored the stares as he continued to pick small bundles of dirt and rocks from long brown hair. 

Qui-Gon had lasted less than five minutes into the shuttle ride before he’d fallen asleep. He’d insisted that Dooku take the last seat available; a galling notion that was only made tolerable when his padawan had immediately taken the space in front of him. It was not like Qui-Gon to make such requests for affection. Dooku granted them gladly. 

“...Is he okay, Mr. Jedi?” A young girl piped up. The woman beside her shushed her but watched Dooku’s hands with an identical pair of concerned brown eyes.

 Dooku’s lips twitch. “He’s very tired,” he explained.

“He saved my life. When he did the —” she lifted up her hands and made a low groaning sound. One of the many whom Qui-Gon had saved as he held up the end of a collapsing tunnel where 300 refugees were waiting for rescue. 

“I am glad for it,” Dooku told her, “He will be fine when he has been given plenty of time to rest and eat.” 

The girl leaned forward, “He said that he wasn’t supposed to be there,” she whispered, eyes growing wider in her small face, “Is he going to get put in time-out?”

Dooku chuckled, “Only until he’s knighted,” he gently shook his knee until an already half-awake Qui-Gon opened his eyes, “which will not be until he’s Master Yoda’s age.”

Qui-Gon merely blinked up at him and went back to sleep. 

The pride in Dooku’s chest finally began to thaw the ice-cold fear that had wrapped itself around his heart hours earlier.

4. 

“Master,” Qui-Gon said, surprised, as he stepped off the ramp leading to his ship, “I was not expecting you.” 

“I heard that you had just arrived back and wished to see you before I depart.” Dooku gestured towards the waiting shuttle that would, in a few minutes time, take him to the waiting freighter.

The slight curve of Qui-Gon’s smile did not waver, “I see,” he said, as he hefted his to-go bag a little higher on his shoulder, “Perhaps another time then.” 

Dooku repressed a sigh and idly wondered which of Qui-Gon’s friends had given him notice that Dooku would be leaving so soon. Likely Tahl or, perhaps, Ky Narec. He’d hoped for more time to spend with his once apprentice but it would have to wait until his next visit. 

He reached out and plucked a small flowering vine from Qui-Gon’s shoulder and held it up to Qui-Gon’s startled gaze, “I will see you then,” Dooku promised.

He did not return the vine.

+1 

Dooku had gone to such great lengths to avoid political parties in his life as a Jedi. 

It was strange that, now, he went out of his way to attend them. Somehow he’d not anticipated that taking on the role of Count would involve so much networking. Missing a chance to shake hands with a diplomat from Corellia, Corcuscant, or Naboo might mean the loss of a contract that would benefit his people or would mean their name would be overlooked at the next intergalactic meeting. 

It was exhausting. 

“You look like you could use a drink,” A familiar voice said as a flute of champagne was placed into Dooku’s hands. 

Dooku took a thankful sip, “You know me too well, Sheev.” 

“I know these parties too well, you mean,” Sheev corrected him with a smile, “They’re a marathon, not a sprint.”

“They can be a sprint if you’re fast enough.”

Sheev barked a laugh, clasping Dooku’s arm, “Too right, Dooku.” 

Dooku hid a smile behind his glass and went to take another sip before freezing. 

“What is it?” Sheev asked, immediately turning to follow his eyeline with a raised eyebrow. A look of understanding flashed across his face and he winced, “Oh! I didn’t know that the Jedi were going to be invited to this party?”

“Neither did I,” Dooku said.

Across the room Qui-Gon was quietly speaking with one of the security officers. His young padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, was standing beside him and assessing the room while his Master’s back was turned. 

A bright flash of silver string, a piece of tinsel fallen from its place, was waving in Qui-Gon’s hair. Dooku’s heart gave a familiar squeeze as he went to step forward. 

“Hold on a moment, my friend,” Sheev said, his grip on Dooku’s arm becoming almost tight enough to bruise, “Do you know why they’re here?” 

Dooku hesitated, “No.”

“Then it might not be for the best to get involved, Dooku,” Sheev said with a shake of the head. He let go and held up his hands with a frown at Dooku’s incredulous stare, “I do not mean that you are not capable. I only mean that there are many who already find your history with the Jedi to be…” His lips twisted into a sympathetic frown, “A tad eccentric.” 

“I know that.” Dooku said, “They have said far worse about it as I’m sure that you are aware.”

Sheev nodded slowly, “They’ll see this and believe that you may still be using your connections with the Jedi.” 

Dooku frowned. He easily saw the sense in that, as well as the injustice. If the Jedi were capable of half of what some diplomats and incompetent officials seemed to believe they were then their own jobs would be useless. Still, Dooku had to pick and choose when to fight those prejudices and now was not an appropriate time to do so. 

“I am sorry,” Sheev said, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing, “Do you know them?” 

“Yes,” Dooku said with a sigh, “That is my Padawan —” He quickly corrected himself at Sheev’s blank look, “My apprentice and that is his own.” 

“I see.” Sheev said, eyes lighting up with sudden interest, “Perhaps we should go and speak with them then?”

“No.” Dooku said, shaking his head. Now that the impulse to speak with Qui-Gon had been successfully quelled he could remember why it would be a bad idea. “No. There will be plenty of time to speak with them later.”