Archive of Our Own

“What a day,” Obi-Wan said raggedly to Mace as they descended one of the marble staircases that swept into the vast lobby of the Senate Building. “Five back-to-back discussions of star systems re-entering the Republic. Five!”

“At least we know they still hold faith in both the Republic and the Jedi Order,” Mace said optimistically as they reached the bottom of the stairs and began to dodge their way through the hustle and bustle of various politicians, staff, and messengers. He paused briefly to allow a drove of mouse droids to skitter past. “Considering that less than six months ago I executed our elected Chancellor, I find their confidence in the Republic’s governance to be rather heartening.”

“True,” Obi-Wan allowed. “The return of planets to the Republic restores a sense of normalcy and hope to the citizenry that’s been in short supply throughout the war. Perhaps realizing former Separatists are now rejecting the Confederacy will give them a sense of sorely-needed peace.”

Mace nodded. “I worry about the Order’s Padawans and young Knights,” he admitted. “Knights like your former Padawan, or his own student—he’s known conflict for the majority of his adult life. And that’s all Ahsoka has known throughout both her adolescence and adulthood. With the last fragments of the Confederacy almost demolished, and peacetime so near to our grasp . . . I only hope they’ll be able to adjust.”

“If you like, you can join Anakin and I this evening and discuss it with him during the meal,” Obi-Wan invited him. “He’s supposed to meet me here, and we’ll select the establishment to patronize once he arrives. But I will warn you,” he added ruefully, “he loves spicy food, so you and I might just find ourselves dragged off to a hole-in-the-wall tavern in the lower districts of the Corellian Quarter.” 

At the mention, a melancholy memory tugged on Mace’s heart, heavier than perhaps it should have been after the time that had passed. “I don’t mind. Adi used to seek out hidden gems for Corellian food in the lower districts, too, and I was usually the person she strong-armed into going with her to sample their menu.”

Every other week or so, whenever Mace stayed in the Council chamber late, Adi would barge in and insist on him accompanying her. Always, he protested, and always, he enjoyed himself, grateful for both her giving him the opportunity to take a break from his duties and for her persistence in ensuring he did so.

Their evenings out together had ended abruptly with the arrival of the war. Often, he’d thought to himself of arranging a time for them to have another night off, with him inviting her this time around, but there was always another meeting, another crisis, another mission. And then Adi was gone, another casualty of the war. 

Now, Obi-Wan’s gaze softened as he looked at Mace, and he was poised to respond when a voice called out to him, and Obi-Wan turned to appraise the new arrival.

Striding toward them was none other than the Hero With No Fear himself, Anakin Skywalker. A sharply cut cobalt blue flight suit emphasized his lithe, leanly muscled physique and long, coltish legs. A charcoal-colored flight jacket with a line of gleaming gold buttons on either side lent him a sophisticated, almost militaristic appearance, ending just before his trim waist and revealing the lightsaber gleaming at his hip. His tall black boots, designed both for combat and rough terrain, so that he could accept the most dire of missions at a moment’s notice, did nothing to impede the fluid, confident grace intrinsic to each and every of his movements. 

At a mere twenty-three years old, Anakin Skywalker held many roles to many different parties. Jedi Knight to the Order, Master to one Jedi Padawan Ahsoka Tano, valuable ally who could sway voters to politicians, a reincarnation of a minor deity to certain sects of Naboo’s Lake County, and, to the rest of galaxy, a war hero who could turn the tide of any battle in his favor, no matter how hopeless. 

But to Mace, he was the Jedi who’d exposed Sidious and assisted Mace in delivering a prompt execution. For that, Mace would always be grateful, but the event itself had caught Mace off-guard. Now, wherever he was around Skywalker, he couldn’t prevent himself from wondering about the man, knowing he’d misjudged him, but wondering if he would ever be able to fully know him. If there was even a single moment Skywalker was within his view, Mace did his best to study him, and, if his attention was required elsewhere, keep aware of him. Despite their victory over Sidious and Skywalker doing the rounds in the Senate and on the HoloNet, using his celebrity to vouch for the Jedi in general and Mace personally, Mace suspected that he only held a few pieces of the puzzle that was Skywalker, and that those pieces wouldn’t even fit together were he to try to assemble them.

“Meeting go well?” Skywalker asked once he reached them, running a hand through his hair. It did nothing—his loose, honey-colored curls bounced back into place, still stylishly windswept. “I’m surprised it took so long— Conversation finished with me nearly an hour ago.”

Coruscant Conversation was one of the top-rated and highest-viewed holo-progs on the planet, ranking in the top ten most-watched shows throughout the Republic. Hosted by a gorgeous Zeltron by the name of Alessandria Avalon, who was never without a crisp tailored pantsuit or a special guest to bring onto the show and grill in front of a live studio audience, the show focused on presenting the public with the most pressing social concerns—usually exposes on corruption within law enforcement or politics. Though Alessandria was usually as skeptical of the Jedi as she was everyone else, Mace had to give her credit: her show was far superior and more substantial than the other daily talks shows that only featured the most pandering of fluff and puff pieces.

“Force preserve us,” Obi-Wan groaned as they all proceeded to the exit, doing their best to skirt other passersby. “Dare I ask what Alessandria was digging for with this interview?”

“She wanted my opinion on formerly Republic worlds being welcomed back into the Republic after they initially decided to join the Confederacy,” Skywalker explained. “I guess she thinks I’m qualified to speak on the subject, given my experience with Separatists.”

“You’ll have to excuse me if I decline to watch,” Obi-Wan replied dryly. “Are you ready for dinner?”

“Yep. Have you decided where you want to eat?” Skywalker surveyed his former Master’s weary countenances. “I assume someplace cozy with low lighting, comfortable seating, and an appropriately bland menu? If you don’t have anywhere in mind, I know a few nice spots fitting that description on the edge of the Orowood District.”

“I eagerly await the results of your expert taste and refinery,” Obi-Wan assured him. He turned to Mace. “What do you say? Fancy a speeder ride to central Orowood?”

“As long as Skywalker doesn’t drive,” Mace replied, keeping his tone good-natured. He glanced at Skywalker. “No offense, but I’ve seen your flying, and observing from a distance was more than enough for me.”

An unreadable expression flickered across Skywalker’s features, though he didn’t appear to register the remark. Instead, he glanced from Mace to Obi-Wan, as though trying to determine any exchange they might have held prior to his arrival.

“Actually, I just remembered,” he said suddenly, half-turning back toward the Senate offices. “I promised Bail that I would join him for dinner tonight. Breha’s visiting, and it’s been ages since I’ve seen her. I’d hate to stand them up, so . . .” he used his thumb to point back over his shoulder. “I’m gonna head back that way.”

Before either of them (well, Obi-Wan) could object or question him further, Anakin swiftly turned and strode back in the opposite direction, no hesitation present in his movements. 

There was an embarrassed flush to Obi-Wan’s face as he looked at Mace apologetically. “I’m sorry about that. Sometimes, I swear Anakin’s been raised by Loth-wolves with the way he behaves.” 

He paused then, likely remembering that he was the one who had raised Skywalker, but Mace merely clapped him on the shoulder.

“It doesn’t bother me,” he told Obi-Wan honestly, resuming their walk toward the door, this time exiting into the rosy orange glow of the setting sun. “But if you feel that bad about it, you can always buy me dinner.”

Despite his reassurance to Obi-Wan, Mace could not deny his instincts about Skywalker: the younger man was desperate to avoid spending any time around him outside the Council chamber. Sometimes, he clearly didn’t want to even spend that time with him.

“I have a message from the senator of Scipio that instead of attending the meeting where he specifically requested a meeting with a representative of the Council, you sent—and I quote—‘a hooker’ in your stead.” Mace eyed Skywalker over the top of his official datapad. “Care to explain this, uh, error in judgment?”

Skywalker nodded, the morning light filtering in through the windows and bouncing off of surrounding buildings to fracture across his face. “I can definitely explain that one,” he declared. “It was me. I was the hooker.”

At this statement, Oppo gasped aloud, Obi-Wan collapsed forward with his face in his hands, and Shaak leaned forward, intrigued.

Throughout his years as Master of the Order, Mace had encountered countless situations that required deft skill, quick thinking, and unlimited tact and poise. However, he could not formulate an adequate response to this admission.

“I see,” was all that he could manage, and he swore he detected a snicker from beneath Plo’s mask.

“I mean, I’m not an actual hooker,” Skywalker explained hurriedly. “It’s just that, well, when I showed up to his office in the Senate Building, he didn’t believe that I was on the Jedi Council. He thought I was too young. And then I tried to explain that I knew all of you and that it was actually because of Palpatine pulling the strings for me that I was even on the Council at all, but I guess I didn’t explain it very well. He leapt to some conclusions about who I’d been to Palpatine and who I was to all of you, and who—er, I mean— what exactly I’d done to earn my position, being so young and all.”

The rest of the Council members digested this addendum in silence, except for Shaak, who tilted her head, eyeing Skywalker consideringly. 

“Did you two get on all right, in spite of the miscommunication?” she inquired, her tone just a bit too casual for simple curiosity.

“I think so,” Skywalker replied, hesitating slightly and glancing at Mace. “I mean, he asked for the link to my rent boy profile on the HoloNet, and, well, that can only be a good sign. Right?”

Obi-Wan bolted back upright in his chair. “Do not send him your profile!”

“I don’t have a rent boy profile,” Skywalker protested, a note of exasperation in his tone.

“Yeah, much to Palpatine’s disappointment,” Agen muttered to Kit, and Ki-Adi shot them both a look of profound disapproval.

Enough was enough. “I’d say Knight Skywalker’s testimony settles the issue,” Mace said firmly, cutting off all other conversation. “Let the record show that Skywalker is not a hooker or a, um, rent boy , and that no form of sex for services transpired.” He glanced back at Anakin. “That is, I’m assuming—”

“No sex for services,” Skywalker hastened to say, ducking his head, cheeks tingeing pink.

“On the record: Skywalker did not engage sex for services.” Mace cleared his throat. “Onto our next agenda item, then . . .”

But even beyond discussion of Skywalker’s sexual exploits or refusal to engage therein, rarely did he seem willing to remain in Mace’s vicinity beyond what Council duties required.       

If he were invited out with the rest of them for dinner or drinks, or even something as simple as a joint meditation session, and Mace happened to be attending, Skywalker would always have a reason he couldn’t join them. “I promised to cook dinner for Ahsoka and her friends,” once, “The mechanics in the hangar bay wanted my advice on an issue with starfighter repairs,” another time, and on one notable occasion, “Sorry, I agreed to a shirtless shoot for a charity holo-calender.”

But if Mace ever needed to stay behind, either because yet another investigative committee from the Senate wanted to interview him regarding Sidious’s execution, or simply because he got stuck reading the Padawan mission reports for that week, Skywalker agreed to join in without requiring any persuasion. Kit in particular had taken a liking to Anakin, presumably because they were the two youngest Council members, and Mace often couldn’t help but overhear his enthusiastic recounting of the night’s events and Skywalker’s misadventures in particular.

“So the guy says to Anakin, ‘Sweetheart, you look so familiar. Are you sure we haven’t met before?’.” Kit’s rendition of the voice of the individual in question was appropriately sleazy. Mace recognized the type back from Depa’s Padawan days, when she used to be assigned protection detail for conniving politicians. “And Anakin just looks this man dead in the eye and says, ‘Well, I’ve been patrolling the lower levels most of the time for the past few weeks, so I guess there’s a chance you’re one of the ogres I ran into down there.’” 

Shaak and Depa shared a laugh at that one, and even Agen cracked a grin. Obi-Wan wrung his hands, as he always did when hearing about his former Padawan’s exploits, while Mace remained contemplative.

“Have you noticed as well?” he asked Depa when they were enjoying an afternoon cup of tea in his private quarters. “That Skywalker seems reluctant to engage with me?”

A soft clink emitted from Depa’s cup as it met the saucer, and she looked at Mace with a mixture of pity and vague exasperation. “That Anakin avoids you at all costs? Oh, Mace, I’ve noticed. I don’t think a soul who has the barest familiarity with either of you two hasn’t noticed, and most of them have seen fit to comment to me regarding their observations.”

“Ah.” Mace added a customary dash of clove to his brew. “I wasn’t aware that this . . . feud, I suppose, was widespread knowledge. Any guess on the origin? I’ve always tried my best to be supportive of Skywalker. There’s a reason he was Knighted so young.”

“I don’t have to guess.” Depa leveled him with an even but intent gaze. “And it’s not a feud. You might have executed Sidious, but you also killed Palpatine. Meaning that you killed his friend.”

While Mace didn’t wish to be defensive, he was compelled to point out his decision-making process at the time. “I killed a Sith Lord. It wasn’t personal.”

“I’m not saying it is,” Depa said calmly. She took a sip of her tea, the Marks of Illumination on her forehead glinting in the afternoon sun. “But think of it from Anakin’s perspective. The man who’s been a grandfather to him for over a decade is suddenly revealed to have been manipulating him all along, creating death and chaos on a massive scale for years. And yet, he’s still the same kindly old man who was generous enough to take an interest in him throughout his adolescence and adulthood and offer him a sympathetic ear.”

With a grimace, Mace recalled the various criminals and tormentors Anakin had acquired throughout the years. “With Krayn, Jenna Zan Arbor, and Granta Omega all in a matter of years, no doubt he needed it.” 

“Precisely,” Depa said with a nod. “All of that, and the war as well—it would weigh on anyone, and he needed a confidante. Palpatine was only too eager to fill that role. But then you come along and strike the man down—doing your duty as a Jedi, but also creating all manner of complexities for Anakin to untangle regarding his feelings, his love and loyalty to Palpatine. He was probably closer to Palpatine than any Jedi beyond Ahsoka or Obi-Wan. Thus, I don’t think he dislikes you—I think he’s just confused and needs time to heal.” 

Immediately, Mace could sense the truth of her words. The war had wreaked havoc on the entire Republic and taken a toll on all of the Jedi—but the Hero Without Fear had been on the forefront more than anyone else. 

In that moment, the realization dawned on Mace that Skywalker needed more than time to heal. A young man who had reached maturity only to find his life and the culture surrounding him shaped by conflict, what Skywalker required was the opportunity to recognize that it was safe to heal, to stop looking over his shoulder to Separatists creeping up behind them, to stop flinching every time he heard the whine of a ship’s engine from overhead. 

Most of Mace’s friends and colleagues were able to readjust well enough to the hard-earned peace that had settled anew across the galaxy, but they’d known peace before. Throughout Skywalker’s adult life, he’d only known war. What would benefit him most would be an avenue to not only assist him in recognizing the peace, but to find fulfillment within it. 

And as Master of the Order, Mace offered up a silent vow there and then to help Skywalker find the way back to normal life. 

With a demanding schedule and a Senate that remained skeptical and suspicious of the Jedi in the wake of Palpatine’s execution, combined with Anakin’s studious avoidance of him, almost a month passed by before Mace had the opportunity to make progress on his promise. But by sheer coincidence, the chance was handed to him when Mace was wearily trudging down the boarding ramp after a brief mission to Kamino to oversee the decommission of the cloning facilities. 

Just as his feet touched the floor of the Temple hangar bay, a series of loud whoops exhilarated cheers echoed off the walls, and Mace turned to locate the source of the fanfare. He found Skywalker disembarking from the cockpit of a small tow-motor that was tugging a hover skiff that held some kind of derelict starfighter. Even in its devastated condition, coated in grime and ash and some kind of charred substance, the fighter design was strikingly unusual, like nothing Mace had seen before, and fondness for the young Knight surged through him. Whatever anyone had to say about Skywalker, he could always find value in even the most overlooked or ignored of people or resources. Qui-Gon had been much the same. 

Spotting him, Skywalker froze for a moment, but then recovered, weaving his way over to Mace through the ever-growing crowd of mechanics and even astromech droids that were gathering around the skiff bed. While he didn’t hurry, he also didn’t dash off in the opposite direction. 

It was a step forward in their professional relationship, Mace decided. 

When Skywalker reached him, they began to walk back toward the main Temple so that they could speak without interruption, and Mace nodded in the direction of the downed starfighter. “What’s the commotion all about? Just a new passion project?”

“It’s a Chiss Clawcraft,” Skywalker explained, practically vibrating with excitement. “This kind of ship is almost unheard of outside of the Csilla system—the Chiss guard their technology with their lives. But one of the scavengers I know from a secondhand ship parts dealer contacted me because she thought I’d appreciate the find. She stumbled upon it in the lower levels where an old building had just caved in. She only wanted one hundred credits for it, so it’s mine now.” A happy sigh whooshed out of him. “I can’t wait to show Ahsoka. We’re going to have a terrific time restoring it together.”

Though the starship, rare or not, still didn’t look like much to Mace, he conceded that Skywalker was far more familiar with the subject than he was. And he was charmed by the young Knight’s obvious enthusiasm—he couldn’t recall a previous occasion where he’d seen him as excited and jubilant as he was now. 

“Well, I’ve got to hand it to you, Skywalker,” Mace said, instinctively reaching over and clapping him on the back. “I’ve never known anyone who could spot a diamond in the rough like you can. Some of those contraptions you rigged up during the war I never thought would get off the ground, let alone keep us alive in space, but you proved me wrong every time.”

A small gasp escaped Skywalker; he was clearly caught off-guard at gaining such a compliment from Mace, and he glanced away, a pink blush crawling down his cheeks. “Please, call me Anakin. And I was just—well—I’ve always been skilled with mechanics. I was building with them long before I was flying. Not that I don’t love that, too,” he added, confidence gathering in his voice. “The first thing I ever taught Ahsoka was to fly. Obi-Wan disapproved, naturally—she was too young to have been accepted in any official training program. But we were at war, and if I didn’t teach her, I might as well have just handed her a signed death certificate.”

“She would have been dead within the first week,” Mace agreed, finding no point in mincing his words. “You were right to teach her, too young or not. All of our children were too young to be out on the battlefield.” 

He couldn’t hold back the bitterness from entering his voice. Mace himself had been the one to approve of assigning Padawans to the battlefield to serve as commanders and assist their Masters in their role of generals. Though he’d been reluctant, Palpatine had insisted their army was in dire need of Jedi to defend the Republic. At the time, Mace had trusted and admired Palpatine, and so he’d acquiesced, persuaded by the man’s argument.

And since then, he’d lost count of the number of condolence letters he’d sent out to families, informing them of the death of their child that they’d given to the Jedi to raise and protect. 

Unexpectedly, Anakin brushed his Force presence against Mace’s own, a gesture of soothing and comfort. Mace brushed back gratefully, and as he did, a new possibility struck him.

“What would you think about leading the piloting program?” Mace asked with a sudden burst of inspiration, turning to gaze at Anakin consideringly. “Ahsoka will be Knighted soon, and you’re an exceptional teacher. You’d have the chance to teach countless Padawans to fly and repair ships. You could even design a lesson out of repairing that Clawcraft, if you like.”

At the mere suggestion, it was as though the confidence suddenly drained out of Anakin, and he looked down, fiddling with the hydrospanner in his hands. “I don’t know,” he hedged, not making eye contact with Mace. “Ahsoka was one student. Teaching multiple classes of students, most of whom don’t have any kind of basis for flying? I’m not sure I could give each of them the attention and help they’d need.”

“You don’t know that,” Mace pointed out reasonably. “Most of your potential students haven’t even undergone any kind of piloting assessment as of yet. And for those that have or have minimal amount of experience, they’ll at least be able to provide some idea of what their strengths and weaknesses are.”

Still, Anakin hesitated. “I’m . . . grateful for your recognition of my talents,” he managed haltingly. “But I . . . I don’t have any experience teaching a class. I wouldn’t know where to begin when it comes to designing lessons, especially if I had to create a variety of lessons for students at different skill levels.”

“Perhaps we could lessen the scale, then,” Mace suggested mildly. “A repair class for smaller transport? Speeders, swoops bikes, skiffs? There’s less pressure in teaching such a course, you get the chance to hone your skills in class instruction, and we don’t miss the opportunity to have a valuable teacher passing on his knowledge to a new generation.”

This time, Anakin lifted his gaze, straightening beneath Mace’s praise, his blue eyes widening and that pink tinge spreading to flood his cheeks with color. “Well,” he said, a touch of shyness in his voice, “when you lay it out like that, I don’t think I could turn you down.”

“I’m glad,” Mace replied sincerely. “You’re a Jedi of many talents, Anakin.”

There was a shout from the bed of the hover skiff where the mechanics were beginning to unload the Clawcraft. “Hey, Ani! Tell us where you want this prime piece of real estate, won’t ya?”

“I’ll leave you to your project,” Mace said with a smile, turning to depart, but Anakin stopped him, grasping his shoulder.

“Thank you, by the way,” he said, voice still shy, the color in his face deepening. “For believing in me.”

“My pleasure,” Mace told him, completely in earnest, before continuing on his way. 

Anakin’s hand slipped off his shoulder, but as Mce strode through the vaulted corridors of the Temple, the sensation of touch lingered, and so did the image of Anakin wide-eyed and flushing at Mace’s sincere praise.

A week or so later, with Life Day just around the corner, Mace dropped by the Archives to borrow some children’s texts on the holiday. Traditionally, as Master of the Order, he visited the Temple Creche, regaling the younglings with tales both old and new about the celebration and its meaning. 

On his visit, though, he idly snagged the first set of lesson plans on file from the old piloting program. Once the program had become defunct, Clee Rhara, the Jedi Master at its head, had turned over all her materials to the Archives in hopes that the resources would assist a new instructor in resurrecting the course one day. 

Now, Mace aimed to assist the new instructor in accomplishing that goal, and he decided to drop by Anakin’s quarters, just to provide him with the lesson plans so that he wouldn’t feel overwhelmed by the thought of leading the program in the future.

When he hit the door chime on Anakin’s quarters, the door hissed open almost immediately, an array of delicious aromas wafting out on the air to greet him. When Mace crossed the threshold, he could readily detect the source: every available surface of the living and kitchen area was covered in some kind of tray, dish, or bowl loaded with some kind of Life Day delicacy.

“Oh!” Anakin stood in the kitchen area, frozen mid-step, clearly startled by his appearance. His surprise emanated plainly through the Force around him before he regained his composure enough to pull his emotions back under control.  “I, um— I thought you might have been one of Ahsoka’s friends, coming over early in an attempt to score food before the other guests arrive.” Still clearly flustered, he reached for a paring knife and started to twiddle it between his fingers, but then seemed to realize what he was doing and let it clatter to the countertop.

“I didn’t intend to intrude,” Mace explained, perplexed by the behavior but aware that his arrival was unexpected. He held up the datapads. “I just thought I’d—”

Before he could finish, an electronic alarm shrilled through the air, and Anakin whirled around to face the oven, then back around to look at Mace, then back to the oven.

“Er—um—just—take a seat,” he called over his shoulder, waving toward the living area. “I’ll be just a minute. Just need to make sure this batch cools.” 

There was a clatter of pans being removed from the oven, then the opening of a kitchen cabinet and the scrape of a platter being carefully extracted from a stack of other dishes. Obviously, Anakin was doing his best to juggle a large task load, and Mace had interrupted at an inconvenient time. 

Not wanting to make himself a bother, Mace did as Anakin requested and settled himself in the other room. As he sunk down onto the couch, he noticed the piece of furniture was not of a standard variety but a cushy Nabooan lounger. Still, his weary muscles didn’t object to the extra luxury as he relaxed into the plush cushions, and he cast an eye around the room, charmed and amused by the vast collection of Life Day decor on display. 

A glimmering giant of a Life Day tree reposed proudly in the near corner, its rich green boughs strung with glow bulbs emitting a soft light, loops and bows of pale gold and cream-colored ribbon, and garlands of alternating tin and rough-hewn wooden stars. Many of the ornaments were in the shapes of animals, appearing either knitted or crocheted—Mace had never been certain on the difference—and arranged to seem like they were peeking out from the shelter of the branches. Other ornaments were the customary delicate blown glass or intricately carved wood, but Mace spotted a few that were flowers created by folding and styling layers of flimsi, and some of the metal pieces painted in vibrant jewel tones seemed to be filed-down mechanical gears, bolts, or washers. A swathe of synth-fur ensconced the base of the tree, and just above it, a toy hover-train circled in a continuous loop, following a glitter-dusted path.

More lights and garlands of greenery zigzagged across the ceiling, lending the effect of a cozy canopy, with occasional sprinkling of berries covered in imitation frost and sparkling strung beads to add dimension. A table with scarred legs that Mace suspected had previously been a workbench was now draped with fluffy white fabric and hosting a collection of illuminated pieces that together formed a complete Life Day village. Few were of the same make, and most were styles now considered outdated, and Mace surmised that the pieces had been acquired over a long period of time, hunted down in secondhand shops or rescued from refuse bins. But each item had been cleaned and maintained with care, and the result was a charming fusion of eras and styles.

Finally, in the far corner was a burnished wooden ground sled used only by worlds outside of the Republic that did not have their advanced technology. Still, these wooden sleds, though obsolete, had been adopted as a Life Day symbol by the Republic at large. The one in Anakin’s quarters held three occupants, again of the crocheted (or knitted) variety: three life-sized tookas, each adorned with a festive scarf or hat, arranged to appear like they were enjoying an exciting ride downhill.

Not long after Mace completed his survey of the room did Anakin join him, carrying a tray laden with a steaming teapot, two mugs, and several types of biscuits and pastries. Immediately, Mace could spot blue macarons, spiced creams, juja teacakes, and Corellian ryshcate dripping with cinna sauce, and a variety of other sweets he couldn’t immediately name.

Given Anakin’s earlier disquiet at his arrival, Mace was slightly taken aback.

“I didn’t mean to put you to any trouble,” he told the young Knight, blunt but honest. “I only intended to drop by for a few minutes.”

If Mace wasn’t mistaken, Anakin flushed slightly at the words. But his voice was steady when he replied, no longer flustered as he’d been before.

“Well, in the spirit of Life Day, I couldn’t let you go without demonstrating some kind of hospitality. And besides,” he hurried to add, “I’ve been spending all day cooking and baking for Ahsoka and her friends, so it’s really no trouble at all.” 

“Decorating, too, I’d guess,” Mace noted, glancing around the room.

“Yeah, that, too,” Anakin said, slightly sheepish. “I just wanted to remind us both of how much we have to celebrate, you know?”

“I do know,” Mace replied in his typical forthright way. “It’s mostly because of you that we have anything to celebrate at all. And I like your decorations. You get a real sense of . . .” he looked at the trio of tookas on the sled. “Enthusiasm.”

At the frank compliment, the teapot wobbled in Anakin’s hand, and he scrambled to correct himself before he spilled. “Um, do you take cream or sugar?” he asked hastily, indicating the cup of tea he was pouring. He didn’t respond whatsoever to Mace’s statement.

Mace declined, and Anakin handed him the speckled mug. Curious about Anakin’s preference in tea, he took an experimental sip, and was rewarded with a deep, smoky blend featuring a zesty undertone of lemon and currant. The taste was complex and satisfying, and he relished the opportunity to take another sip and see if he could discern any more notes of the brew.

Though Mace nodded approval at the flavor, his eyes strayed back to Anakin, and he scrutinized the other man thoughtfully. Dressed in a soft-knit pale blue tunic and bronze leisure pants, with his long, honey-colored hair gleaming beneath the twinkling lights, Anakin looked unusually gentle, his features seeming softer than usual. Maybe it was the lack of dark clothing to contrast harshly against his sun-kissed complexion, or maybe because he was more comfortable in his own space than the Council chamber, but Mace couldn’t remember ever seeing Anakin look as relaxed as he did.

Idly, he wondered what it would be like to see Anakin in this setting every day—at ease and in casual clothes, passing him a cup of tea and offering him whatever he’d created in the kitchen or found while exploring a less-traveled area of Coruscant. But he dismissed the question from his mind in favor of another one that had piqued his curiosity.

“Is this all for Ahsoka?” Mace asked, genuinely curious. “All of your work in the kitchen?”

“Ahsoka and her friends,” Anakin said with a smile. 

Though genuine, the expression held a weariness that emphasized the hardship he’d endured well beyond his years. When Mace was his age, he was only just beginning to consider taking on a Padawan—meanwhile, Anakin had raised one throughout the trials and chaos of the front lines of a war.

“I’m sure they’ll all appreciate it,” Mace replied sincerely. “It’s kind of you to go out of your way for them.”

“They deserve it,” Anakin said, quiet but firm. “They’re all so young, and they’ve been through such hell. They’ve all more than earned a Life Day like they have in the holos.” A long sigh escaped him, and he ran a hand through his hair. “Every other year, Life Day crept up on us—there was never a cease-fire for the holiday, and by the time we would get back from the front, I’d barely have the energy to get presents for her and Obi-Wan and cook a dinner for the two of them. The best I could do was grab a few recipes from the HoloNet and drop a line to Quinlan and Aayla to invite them over. I always felt like I was slacking off, but there was just no time. Forget a Life Day tree—I barely had the time to complete mission reports and check Ahsoka’s make-up homework, and I did it between waiting for the different dishes to finish cooking in the oven. I always wanted to make more of an effort—but when I knew we’d be leaving for the Outer Rim forty-eight hours later, I just couldn’t manage to get everything done.”

“I’m sure Ahsoka appreciated everything you did manage to do for her,” Mace told him gently. “Even if you had managed to pull out all the stops each year, would either of you have wanted to celebrate? Or was it better for you both to rest so you would be more alert and aware on your next mission, with a greater chance of saving lives and preventing the Separatists from advancing?” 

Blowing out a long sigh, Anakin sent him a weary but grateful look. “I guess you’re right,” he conceded. “Thank you for your very sensible perspective.” He smiled slightly, this time not at all fatigued and jaded. “I think I would benefit from listening to your advice regularly.”

At that, Mace couldn’t resist arching an eyebrow. “According to Obi-Wan, you already get his sound and reasonable advice but don’t put it to use very often.”

With a scoff, Anakin gave a playful roll of his eyes. “Obi-Wan once tore me to shreds and told me to ‘learn my place’ when we were right in front of Senator Amidala. I was insisting we investigate to discover the identity of her assassin, and he was adamant we would do nothing more than prevent the assassination attempts. That night, in the direct aftermath of an attempt on the Senator’s life, what does Obi-Wan do? Throw himself out of a window hundreds of stories in the air so he can latch onto the assassin droid in hopes of it bringing him straight to its programmer.” Amusement was rich in Anakin’s voice, and his eyes sparkled with humor as he extended one of the plates of pastries to Mace. “So you’ll have to excuse me if I take his input with a Crait-sized amount of salt.”

“Duly noted,” Mace returned equally good-naturedly, and he accepted a blue macaron. “Thank you for your hospitality, by the way. I was just passing by, and I wanted to drop off these files I stumbled across when I was selecting this year’s Life Day stories.” He indicated the stack of datapads. “They’re class outlines of the previous piloting program’s lessons. It occurred to me that you could peruse them, see if any aspect of them sparked your interest, and maybe use them as a type of guide, you should accept the position of instructor. Or improve upon them as you thought necessary, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” Anakin said wryly. He set aside his own mug and lifted the teapot to refill Mace’s, a wisp of steam spiraling up from the spout as he did. “Dare I ask why this sudden interest in reviving the piloting program with me at the helm? Last time, I was too thrown-off to even question it.”

The query was simple, and one for which Mace supposed he ought to have been prepared. And yet, he found himself at a loss for words. Images flickered through his mind—Anakin barely remaining upright as he stood silhouetted in the doorframe of the communications bay and confessed to Mace that Palpatine had been the Sith Lord, Anakin’s bloodless face as he stared down at Palpatine’s prone, smoking corpse, Anakin speaking to the assembled Senate, tears streaming down his face, as the Hero With No Fear urged the public and politicians alike to continue to support the Jedi despite their execution of the elected chancellor.

Anakin standing before him for his Knighting ceremony, nearly five years ago, excitement and pride sparkling in his eyes, while the knowledge settled heavy on Mace’s shoulders that the new Knight’s first task would immediately send him straight to the front, where the death toll was mounting by the hour. 

“Because I think you’ve earned it,” Mace answered earnestly. He met Anakin’s gaze directly, refusing to flinch away from what he believed to be the sincere truth. “And because I want to help you. After all the strife of the past four years, after all the horror and death I’ve witnessed, the Jedi and troops and civilians I couldn’t save, I want to be able to give one of my Knights the chance to showcase and pass on his knowledge and talents. The chance to do something you love.” He wrapped both of his hands around his mug, warming his fingers on the heated pottery. “It seems like the least I can do.”

A somber expression washed over Anakin’s face. “You don’t have to give me special treatment because I helped you defeat Sidious. You understand that, don’t you?”

Mace inclined his head. “And you don’t have to punish yourself for falling prey to his deceptions,” he responded evenly. “Because all of us erred in that respect.”

In an instant, it were as if all the air had been sucked from the room. Though Anakin had seemed like he was about to speak, his jaw snapped shut and he recoiled, all hints of serene relaxation fading as he sat up ramrod straight and remained that way, silent and unmoving. His face was unreadable, as was his Force presence. It was plain that Mace had touched a nerve.

For several moments, neither of them spoke. The Life Day lights overhead twinkled, and the mouth-watering aromas of sugar and cinna permeated the air, floating in from the kitchen as if to remind them that this time was intended to be a season of gaiety and merriment. But Mace decided he had outstayed his welcome.

With a solid clunk , he set his mug down on the low table in front of the couch. “I should go.”

He went to stand, but as he did, Anakin reached out to snag his hand, the hard-won calluses on his palm scraping against Mace’s own. 

“You’re a good man, Mace,” he said quietly, a soft look in his eyes that Mace was certain he’d never seen before. “Thank you for your belief in me. I won’t fail you.”

“You never have,” Mace answered honestly. 

While the response drew a smile from Anakin, there was a touch of sadness around the edges. 

“Your Life Day reading to the Younglings,” he began, abruptly switching topics. “Where are you holding it this year? And when?”

The non sequitur threw Mace, but just for an instance. 

“The western garden of the Creche,” he replied, curiosity swelling as he contemplated Anakin. “On the Eve of Life Day, at the nineteenth hour, after evening meal.” 

“I could come by and decorate,” Anakin suggested, his voice oddly taut. “Before the reading. Since you liked my decorations here, I thought—” he broke off, swallowing, and looked away. When he looked back at Mace, his eyes were strangely bright. “As a way of helping you. And something nice to do for the kids, you know?”

“Of course,” Mace assured him, somewhat perplexed but grateful all the same. “I’ll send word to the Creche Masters and ensure you have the full day to set up there. And thank you, Anakin.”

“You’re welcome.” Anakin gave his hand the briefest of squeezes, and then stood, retracting his hand and turning to the kitchen. “I shouldn’t let you leave empty-handed. Which dessert did you like best? I’ll make up a care package for you.”

Fifteen minutes later, Mace strolled back toward his office, a hefty tin of blue macarons tucked under one arm. Though he glanced out the vast windows as he walked, he didn’t see the flare of gaudy city lights or the blur of speeders off in the distance. 

Instead, he saw Anakin, contented and curled up on the couch beside him, Anakin offering him a mug of tea, Anakin worrying about Ahsoka and her friends, just Mace worried for the Padawans and younger Knights.

Most of all, even as he resignedly sat down at his desk and started steadily working through the pile of Padawan mission reports, he couldn’t stop replaying Anakin’s sudden melancholy at the end of their visit, and the gleam in his eyes that was almost certainly tears.

With this year’s Life Day being the first since the conclusion of the war, the normal festivities had ballooned into levels of extravagance that Mace could never recall witnessing at any prior point in his lifetime. It seemed like overnight, the Senate Building was suddenly bedecked in a glittering array of silver and gold garlands, with messenger droids now sprinkling glitter across the carpets as they trawled the halls. Crystal snowdrops were strung across every archway, swirling masses of shimmersilk ribbon draped across corridors, and the charity Life Day trees that occupied the office vestibules had disappeared under stacks of donated gifts waiting to be transported to their recipients. 

However, the glitz and glamour of the Senate Building paled in comparison to the decorations of the Temple itself. Garlands of rich greenery and warm glow bulbs wound around every pillar, and controlled-burn candles lined every step of each staircase, releasing a welcoming fragrance of cinna, cloves, and baked goods. Life-sized mechanical cloud-deer with their filigree-patterned horns and speckled white coats wandered the halls to the delight of Initiates and elderly Masters alike. Crystalline snowflakes and vivid glass spheres dangled from overheard in every public area, intermingling with trailing ivy and bunches of glitter-encrusted pine cones, and piles of cozy woven blankets had materialized in every mediation area. 

Even the Council chamber was resplendent with Life Day cheer, featuring glowing ceramic stars suspended in the air, a scintillating mass of a Life Day tree positioned before each stanchion, punched-tin lanterns tied with richly-colored ribbons set between every seat, and the berry vines glimmering with imitation frost wrapped around each chair. 

“Sunrider save me. Who did the decorating this year, and were they on spice at the time?” Agen asked, glancing around, unimpressed, as he, Stass, and Mace surveyed the room for the first time.

“That was Skywalker,” Stass explained. “I usually get decorating duty, but I pawned it off on him in exchange for his Senate duties. Not sure how he quite managed to do this much in so little time, though . . .”

Obi-Wan, just joining them, was the one to provide an answer. “His army of droids,” he answered, albeit a touch reluctantly. “Nearly all of the Temple droids go to Anakin for repairs, and he’s only too happy to help. For all his faults, Anakin is a miracle worker with mechanics, and he’s saved more droids than I can count that I thought were doomed for the trash compactor.” He scrutinized the surroundings. “Probably he asked them for help, and they were willing to oblige.” 

“Guess we were all wrong about him coming into his own these past few years, and he was actually working miracles long before he became a galactic hero,” Mace commented. “Who knows? Maybe next time, he can figure out a way to automate the mission report process.”

But even with the impressive array of decorations he’d already seen from Anakin, Mace was still freshly amazed by the arrangement in the Creche’s western garden.

This meditation garden was small, on a much lesser scale than the Room of a Thousand Fountains. But it was still more large enough to host the entirety of the Temple’s younglings, and Mace was optimistic that the closer quarters would provide a greater sense of togetherness and unity.

However, he couldn’t have predicted how masterfully Anakin had transformed the area. The moment he passed through the doorway, he halted in his tracks, mesmerized by the care and effort on display.

Lighted vines spiraled across the ceiling, interspersed with loops of simple wooden beads and swags of glistening leaves, lending a snug, dome-like effect. Dangling from the vines were a variety of simple ornaments: cinna sticks fastened into the framework of stars, slices of dried orange strung through with checked ribbon, and hand-stitched fabric sachets cut into the shape of Life Day trees. Candles of all shapes and sizes flickered in each corner to provide a cozy glow, their gleam reflecting on the flocks of delicate transparisteel birds floating above and providing the illusion of motion to their flight. Tastefully integrated viewscreens offered a glimpse of a nighttime landscape: snow falling softly onto a forest of evergreen trees as the lights of a nearby village glittering in the distance.

The trellises bordering the perimeter of the room were already lush with the garden’s hardy vines and climbing flowers, but Anakin had added curtains of shimmering glow bulbs for a luminous contrast. Dappled throughout the lights were more Life Day ornaments of glossy, sparkling orbs that would be sure to catch the illumination. Any other natural facets of the room that could be converted in celebration of the holiday had been; every pot or planter in sight now featured a voluminous bow, and the weathered statues scattered throughout the room were now draped with festive wreaths, antique brass bells, or loops of fluffy pom-poms in pale hues of the signature Life Day colors. 

Handmade plush animals inhabited the garden just as they had Anakin’s quarters, including a cluster of plush voorpaks resting on a pile of chunky-knit ivory and cream-colored blankets in the center of the room. Just before them was a large, squashy armchair where Mace presumed he was intended to sit to perform the reading, which itself was wrapped in a magnificent garland of silver and gold-tipped flower petals and flanked by small ornamental trees swathed in twinkling lights. To complete the picture, one of the live garden tookas occupied the armchair at the moment, snoozing peacefully except for the occasional snuffle. Someone (likely Anakin) had tucked a hand-knitted scarf over its shoulders so it could snuggle into the warmth.

Meanwhile, Anakin himself was in the far corner of the room, winding yet more garlands around a wide pillar. 

“You like it, then?” he asked, attaching his end of the garland to a spiral repulsor and allowing the hovering device to finish the task for him. 

Dusting off his hands, he cast a smile Mace’s way as he knelt down beside an open crate where more materials were no doubt waiting. 

“Frankly, I’m amazed you haven’t run out of decorations at this point,” Mace commented, ambling closer and contemplating the array of handmade items. “Who’s knitting all of these animals, by the way?”

“Crochet,” Anakin corrected him, lifting out a rope of shimmering pinecones and evaluating them critically. “I crochet the animals. I knit the blankets. It’s part of my moving meditation—I like to be productive even when I’m meant to be emptying my mind.”

“Even when your mind is empty, your heart is full,” Mace told him honestly. “Thank you, Anakin. For your effort and your kindness. I know you aimed to give Ahsoka a Life Day she would always remember, but it’s generous beyond measure to want to do the same for all of the younglings.”

There was a brief pause from Anakin, and an odd, indeterminate emotion flashed across his features as he let the pinecones clatter back into the crate. 

“Would you think terribly of me if I said I only went through the trouble to help you?” he asked softly. “And helping anyone else was incidental?”

Eyeing the young Knight curiously, Mace contemplated his response. 

“I don’t see how it would,” he replied eventually. “It’s hardly an ulterior motive. And it doesn’t change your generosity or efforts.”

Anakin ducked his head as if he were still looking through the crate, but the angle was wrong. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

A brief silence settled, one Mace didn’t know how to read.

“Could I be of any assistance?” he offered. “If you’re going through all of this trouble to help me, the least I could do is lend a hand.”

“I don’t think so,” Anakin said, straightening and seeming to recover something in himself. A mischievous smile tugged at his lips—Mace was glad to see it. “After all, you’re the talent here, and I don’t know if you should waste your energy mixing with the support staff.”

Mace rolled his eyes at him, pushed up his sleeves, and reached into the crate, withdrawing a coiled strand of some kind of leaves and berry combination, done in shades of shimmering champagne and rosy gold. “Just tell me where I should hang this.”

Anakin glanced at the garland in his hands, and then did a quick double-take. 

“Oh,” he said softly, raising surprised blue eyes to Mace. “That’s—thistlethumb.”

“Is it?” Mace shrugged. “Well, if you don’t think it matches—”

But before he could continue, Anakin cut him off, shifting subtly closer, and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. The garland fluttered to the floor, barely a whisper against the grass.

The kiss was shy and utterly chaste, only deepening ever so slightly, and that was just before Anakin pulled away, as though reigning himself in. 

“Sorry,” Anakin said bashfully, lowering his head and turning away so that he wouldn’t have to meet Mace’s gaze. “I just—since it’s tradition—thistlethumb—I’ll just get back to work.”

But before he could move apart from him, Mace clamped a hand down on Anakin’s shoulder. 

“Wait,” he ordered, and Anakin immediately complied. 

Deliberately, Mace softened his tone but didn’t lift his hand. “Is that all it was?” he asked, the question leaving his lips thanks to impulse rather than conscious thought. His heart was pounding, and an unexpected exhilaration tingled within him.  “Just—thistlethumb tradition?”

Slowly, Anakin pivoted in his direction, the same melancholy as before etched unmistakable into his face. 

“No,” he answered, his voice low and strained. “No, it’s not, but you have more important matters to concern yourself with besides some juvenile fixation. I . . .” he glanced down at his hands, one gloved, one bare, and spread out his fingers. “I know I don’t rate on your list of priorities. I’m not saying I think I should. And for both our sakes, we can pretend the kiss was only because of the thistlethumb, and that’s all.”

“We could,” Mace agreed amiably. “Or . . .” Gently, he drew Anakin closer, observing how the young Knight shuddered at his touch. “Or I could kiss you this time, without the thistlethumb, so we both know it’s not pretend at all.”

A sound grated out of Anakin’s throat somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and a lone tear trickled out of his right eye, trailing above his scar like it were a pathway. 

“But if you do that,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, his eyes glittering with an intensity beyond mere tears, “you’ll render all my attempts at avoiding you useless. And you’ll know all about my silly little crush I should have outgrown as a Padawan but still somehow harbored for all these years. My hard work will be ruined.” Though he tried for a light laugh, more tears spilled out, slipping down to vanish into nothingness once they hit his dark robes. 

The realization hit Mace and left him reeling for a moment. “All of those times?” he asked, stunned. “All of those times you avoided me, it was because you didn’t want to let on that you had some kind—thing—for me?”

With his gloved hand, Anakin brushed aside his tears. “You already knew that the only reason I had a seat on the Council was due to Palpatine’s machinations. I didn’t need to lower myself in your eyes any further by revealing myself to be some enamored underling. Especially one who’d been infatuated with you since you’d taught his advanced lightsaber course when he was seventeen.” Pausing again, Anakin offered him a watery but genuine smile. “By the way, if you don’t want a repeat of this situation, you might want to put on a shirt next time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mace returned dryly. His hand still lingered on Anakin’s shoulder, and he gave it a squeeze. “But as it happens, I don’t think of you as an ‘underling’. You’re an incredible, capable, and immensely gifted Knight who I want to see teaching the new generations of Jedi. I think you’re a hero, not because of anything the HoloNet has to say, but because of your kindness and thoughtfulness and willingness to show others how dearly you value them. So if there’s anything I’m hoping for a repeat of,” he finished, offering Anakin a smile, “it’s you kissing me.”

For a moment, Anakin stiffened, staring at him and desperately searching his face, as if searching for some sign of sarcasm or a joke. Then, finding none, he allowed an amused huff to escape him. “Aren’t you smooth,” he teased, but his voice trembled. 

Still, he leaned in to oblige, and Mace had to fight not to meet him, letting Anakin come to him. 

The wait was worth it. Kissing Anakin was like escaping from the shadow of a snow-covered mountain to bask in the brilliant sunlight on the other side. As Anakin’s arms reached up to wrap around Mace’s shoulders and pull him close, warmth flooded Mace’s core, spilling out to rush through his limbs in an invigorating deluge of excitement and satisfaction. With the light of the candles flickering around them, the inviting and home-y scent of cinna and citrus drifting through the air, and the glimmering lights above, Mace could not have envisioned a more cozy and pleasant atmosphere. Tugging Anakin flush against him, his broad hands circling Anakin’s lithe waist, close enough to sense the heat emanating from Anakin’s skin, it was as if any and all previous worries and stresses had been vanquished from his mind. It wasn’t an escape; it was merely pure contentment, and not until that very moment that he realized he sorely needed it.

When Mace pulled away at long last, a little sigh escaped Anakin’s mouth that had a heated surge of pure want coursing through Mace’s veins, and he yearned to do nothing more than gather Anakin in his arms again. 

But then a steady beeping sliced straight through the moment, grounding them back in reality: Anakin’s comm was going off. 

“That’ll be Ahsoka,” Anakin explained. “We’re meeting up with Aayla and Obi-Wan to do an early dinner before going out to join Senator Amidala for the Life Day performance at the Galaxies Opera House. Quin’s hoping to get on-planet in time to join us.”

“And I’m meant to be joining Cyslin, Depa, and Caleb for a late afternoon tea,” Mace said, more as a reminder to himself than anything else. Stepping back, he fully untangled himself from Anakin with a pang of regret.

“Then I guess this is a goodbye for the moment,” Anakin remarked, reluctance clear in his tone. “Unless . . .” he looked up at Mace, still in that bashful way. 

With his long legs, there were probably few people Anakin needed to physically look up to, and a thrill tingled through Mace that he was now one of those few.

“The Life Day orchestra usually ends around the twenty-first hour, so I’ll definitely be back by the twenty-second,” Anakin observed. “Obi-Wan and Aayla will probably want to visit with Quin, and Ahsoka will be out with her friends, so I’ll be on my own. Unless you want to stop in and say good night . . .?”

The invitation was plain, and a rush of warmth jolted through Mace at the thought.

“I’m already looking forward to it.” With a calloused hand, he reached out to catch Anakin’s cheek, sliding his fingers across the smooth skin. “I want to be with you, Anakin.”

Lifting up his gloved hand, Anakin stroked Mace’s neck with leather-covered fingers. Leaning in, he let his breath warm the skin, before pressing a long, lingering kiss just above the hollow of Mace’s throat. The sheer promise and intimacy of the gesture had Mace biting back a curse, and he couldn’t fight the impulse to reach out and grasp Anakin’s hips, aching to draw him close again.

The action earned a gasp from Anakin, and he buried his face in Mace’s shoulder, fighting to control his breathing. Though tempted to do otherwise, Mace simply held him, stroking down his spine, letting him catch his breath.

“I can’t think of a better way to spend waiting for Life Day,” Anakin confided, each word a rush of hot breath against Mace’s neck. “I never once imagined—” 

He swallowed again, but Mace was already hushing him, unwilling to see the young Knight— his Knight—wallow in any further pain. 

“You don’t have to imagine,” Mace said firmly, tilting Anakin’s chin so they could lock gazes. “I’ll be there. I promise.”

The declaration earned a smile from Anakin, the mischievous one that sparked an almost infectious joy within Mace at the sight of it.

“Seal that promise with a kiss?” he challenged, shyness still evident in his voice and from the way he lowered his eyes.

So Mace just tilted Anakin’s chin up again, letting Anakin see the sincerity in his eyes. “With pleasure.” 

One last kiss, Mace promised himself, gathering Anakin close and resolving to make the moment endure as long as it could. For now, anyway.