#quace

This was definitely not a fic I ever expected to write. Nor a pairing. Yet here we are–and I think it turned out pretty decent actually? Anyway, I hope you like it!

When he was a youngling in the crèche, dreaming of becominga padawan and venturing forth on daring adventures with his Master, Qui-Gon hadnever envisioned the nightmares.

He wakes ina cold sweat, breathing heavy and clawing for freedom from his bedsheets. Hisfeet land on the cold floor—and a hand, warm and steady, lands on his shoulder.

“Peace,Jinn,” a low, comforting voice says. The voice is familiar. Safe. “It was onlya dream.”

Qui-Gondrags in a deep breath, holds it for a moment, then releases it in a gust. Heshivers, the night air suddenly sharp against his bare skin, and runs a handover his face, scrubbing away the drying sweat.

“Sorry forwaking you,” he mumbles when he at last swings his legs back onto the bed.

A quietgrunt meets his apology, and Qui-Gon knows he is forgiven.

They lay insilence for a time, Qui-Gon tucking his chilled feet back beneath the sheets,his partner warm and stolid a few inches away. Then Qui-Gon feels his partnershift, and the blankets bunch as he rolls up onto one elbow.

“Whathappened?” he asks. His gaze is heavy and demanding, and in the dark of thenight he is as a phantom of shadow, only the whites of his eyes and his teethas he speaks breaking the illusion.

Qui-Gon,head buried in his pillow, stares at the ceiling. “If I don’t want to talkabout it?” he says. He knows he is sounding obstinate and ornery. He does notcare.

Mace Windusighs and settles down on his side. It is a graceful movement, like a flowingriver or a bowing deer. “Then I will say,” Mace says, and he reaches out a handto touch Qui-Gon’s shoulder, “that you need not talk about it, but that I amhere should you want to.”

Qui-Gonlooks at him from the corner of his eye for a long second. Then he rolls over,crushing himself to Mace’s chest. He can feel Mace’s smile as warm arms wraparound him, and hold him tight.

“Don’t letgo,” Qui-Gon breathes, barely a whisper.

“I won’t.”

It ends naturally.

They areboth knighted, and their travels take them to far distant corners of the galaxy.When they meet each other again in the halls of the Temple, months and yearsapart, they smile and exchange kind words, familiar touches, but the heat ofold is gone.

They speak.Qui-Gon’s words are heated; Mace’s words are cold.

“It was adangerous dalliance, Jinn” Mace says, and Qui-Gon recoils as if struck.

“Adalliance?” he repeats, words dripping acid.

“We cannotcontinue as we did when we were children.”

“Children?”

Macesneers. “Is all you can do repeat what I have to say?”

“You’re acoward,” Qui-Gon retorts. He is all youth and fresh potential, and he willnever learn to fully bridle his tongue.

“And you’rea fool. Attachment is the way to the Dark Side.”

“Perhapsthere are worse things than that.”

It is Macewho recoils this time. He pales, jaw clenching in tandem with one fist—then heis gone, and that is the end.

There issomething, though, that remains.

Qui-Gon is thirty, and he awakens in a cold sweat and with astifled cry on his lips, but this time there is no one to hold him as he fallsback asleep. So he rises, the phantoms of his memories pressing hard againstthe darkness of his mind, and he ghosts into the long, echoing corridors tofind solace with the ancient memories that lurk there.

Mace findshim in the gardens, watching the moon.

They sit ona low wall for an hour, comfortable in their silence. Then, at last, once bothare stiff from the chill of the night and the awkward seat, Qui-Gon stands andinvites Mace back to his room for a cup of tea.

Maceaccepts.

Theirconversation is quiet, and kind. They speak of nothing, and of everything.Their tea is drunk, and they sit for a while longer, in turns with silence andlaughter.

When Macestands to leave, Qui-Gon follows him to the door.

“Comeback,” he says, and it is an offer and, he thinks, perhaps a request.

Macesmiles. He does not give an answer—but the next year, when both are once moreat the Temple and Qui-Gon wakens with his lungs in his mouth, Mace finds himshortly after.

Obi-Wan is fourteen and six months Qui-Gon’s padawan when heawakens in the night to the sound of voices coming from the common room. Hewalks out quietly on stockinged feet, and shrouds himself with the Force asQui-Gon had been teaching him, not wanting to disturb his master and theirguest. He is shocked to see Master Windu sitting at the sparse table acrossfrom Qui-Gon, steaming cups of tea sitting before each of them.

Their voices are low, and theirForce signatures muted, but to Obi-Wan’s eyes, both inward and out, there is adeep echo of familiarity between the two of them. This is not the first timethey have shared tea together beneath the slumbering gaze of night. Nor, herealizes with a shock of surprise that feels strangely like liquid lightning,is it the first time Qui-Gon has reached out to touch the back of MasterWindu’s hand with soft fingertips, his gaze brazenly open. The touch isfamiliar and intimate, and Obi-Wan realizes he has intruded on somethingprivate.

It is Master Windu who notices himstanding there, frozen in his door with shock. His face must tell all he hasseen, for Master Windu stiffens abruptly, and Qui-Gon’s eyes shutter with asnap.

“I thank you for the tea, MasterJinn,” Master Windu says, and he rises. He bows to Qui-Gon, nods to Obi-Wan,and then with a swirl of his robes and the hiss of the door opening andclosing, he is gone.

“This is the end.”

Qui-Gonlooks at Mace and frowns. “What?”

Mace levelsan even look at Qui-Gon, hands folded neatly within the sleeves of his robes,and repeats, “This is the end.”

“The end ofwhat?” Qui-Gon asks.

Mace sighs,and the barest flicker of irritation touches Qui-Gon through the Force. “Do notplay stupid with me, Jinn.”

Qui-Gon’sfrown deepens. “Then tell me what this is about,” he says shortly—shorter thanhe meant. “You can’t just summon me to a remote corner of the gardens, give meone enigmatic statement, and expect me to understand what you mean.”

Mace’s eyesare curiously hard. “Last night,” he says tersely—as short as Qui-Gon was but amoment before. “That was the end.”

Comprehensionof what Mace is saying lands in Qui-Gon’s stomach with all the force of a bricksmashing through a window. “Is this because of Obi-Wan?” he asks, one eyebrowrising in surprise or consternation, he is not sure. “You and I have both hadpadawans before this. It has never been a problem in years past.” It feels likean argument, something dangerously close to desperate reasoning, but in thismoment, he does not care.

Mace’s lipsquirk into what could almost be one of his smiles. His eyes, however, remainblack and unwavering. “None of our former padawans have grasped the…extent ofour relationship.”

“Arelationship which has, for many years, been nothing more than friendship.”

“Nothing more.” And there, creeping up into his eyes,through his cheeks, through his lips, a small, sardonic smile. He shakes hishead. “You have always been the one attachment I was unable to letgo.”

Qui-Gonstares at him, eyebrows lifted, something unspeakable yawning in his chest. Hewants to speak—wants to say something, anything with which to pull thisconversation back onto solid ground, back to a place where both of them knowthe signs and routines—but there is nothing but shaky ground beneath them, andonly silence in his mouth.

For a longmoment, then another, they are still and silent, watching each other. Then Macebows, stiffly formal, and says, “I will see you in the Council Chamber tomorrowmorning for your next mission briefing. Farewell, Master Jinn.”

As he walksaway, robes billowing behind him in the humid air of the Temple garden, Qui-Gonrealizes that they both know that farewell was much more than a polite goodbye.It was a valediction, a severance, a farewell of the deepest order.

Qui-Gonfeels as if he has stepped into a nightmare, and this time, he fears there isno voice or warm presence to draw him out.