Archive of Our Own

It is a truth all Jedi are forced to acknowledge at one point or other, that a knight in good possession of the proper flimsiwork and a tenuous grip on their sanity, will be expected to add to the lineage lest they be confronted with the terrible and horrifying consequences of a master in want of a grandpadawan.

As the scion of a powerful house, Xanatos Du Crion could understand the imperative—some would say obligation—of adding to a legacy. He was the son of a rich and noble family, his father the governor of an entire planet. His grandmaster was one of the most lauded duelists in the Order, himself the scion of a powerful family. His great-grandmaster had been a member of the High Council for centuries…

He could understand the desire to add on to such a legacy.

But that was before.

Before the bombings. Before the bloodshed, and the hatred and the war caused by his own father. Before the death of his sister, Nason—who had always offered him well wishes on his nameday. Who had been far too young. Who would never wish him a happy name day again…

Before his father had revealed himself for the monster he was…

Before his master had murdered his father…

So Xanatos knew something about wanting to add to a lineage. To continue with a legacy—even one as bloodstained as his.

But ever since he had repudiated his former master—and everyone else in that Force-damned lineage except for Feemor, who was far better than he’d thought when he was a pissy, self-centered little iditot—Xanatos hadn’t given a single thought about taking on a padawan. About adding to a lineage that didn’t exist—or Force-forbid exposing them to the generational trauma and dysfunctional walking disasters that was his former lineage.

No, Xanatos had no intention of taking on a padawan. Not now, potentially not ever.

But as a demented jedi master liked to remind everyone, the future was always in motion.

“Rethink, you should. Poor decision you have made.” Yoda tried, hands curled around his gimmer stick. Xanatos had hoped to make a clean get-away following his report to the council, but it seemed as though the Force had abandoned him. Because before he could even think of an escape route, his former grandmaster had cornered him and tried—once again—to get him to repeal Qui-Gon’s repudiation. “Not his fault, it was.”

Xanatos had never been a fan of Yoda’s interpretation of the Code. Of there is no emotion, there is peace.

Working with Healer Yupi had helped him realize that such constraints on his emotions—believing himself to fail at everything he thought a jedi should be based off of Master Qui-Gon’s teachings—was not healthy. That by denying himself—and his feelings—the validation they rightly deserved and refusing to acknowledge them, he was in fact actively working against himself.

It had been an emotional few months following that particular session.

But with the support of his mindhealer and Fee—who was a better brother than he deserved—he was at a place now where he could acknowledge that Master Qui-Gon had hurt him. That his lack of an apology in the aftermath of everything, had hurt worse.

But it was his words that had caused the irreparable shift between them. It was his actions which had solidified Xanatos’ decision.

And Xanatos was allowed to be upset. He was allowed to be hurt. But most of all, he was allowed to remove himself from an unsafe situation.

Echoes of what might have been reverberated through his mind. Shadows of a future he could not, would not survive.

A broken, twisted shell of himself.

So Xanatos allowed himself to breathe. To remind himself of an interpretation of the Code Healer Yupi had helped him find. Emotion, yet peace.

“That’s your opinion.” Xanatos said, voice steady even as his mind raced. “And mine is that Master Jinn is not fit to train anyone.” It was telling Yoda was making this entreaty and not Qui-Gon himself. No, his former master would rather aggressively shadow his footsteps and stare sadly in his direction.

With a grace he’d learnt as a gawky legged tween who’d been on the receiving end of that damn gimmer stick more often than he’d have liked, Xanatos side-stepped the demented old troll and finally made his escape. “I’d appreciate it if we could keep our conversations related to council business.” Xanatos said in parting, already halfway down the hall. “We are not friends.” His tone was drier than Master Dooku’s favorite Alderaanian wine. “You have no business speaking to me about personal affairs.”

As the turbolift’s doors opened, Xanatos spared one last glance at his former great-grandmaster who looked older and more drawn than ever before. “We’re not anything.” He breathed. “And you’re just as much to blame as he is.”

Xanatos didn’t forget who had advocated for them to go to Telos IV.

Didn’t forget, who had made it his final trial.

Didn’t forget that Yoda had offered no words of apology for his part in Xanatos’ pain.

Only excuses.

So as the doors closed, cutting off the visage of Yoda’s disappointed frown, Xanatos breathed once more.

Emotion, yet peace.

He truly hated council reports.

Feemor glanced up as his younger brother stomped in like an angry little storm cloud. Without sparing a word in Feemor’s direction, he made a beeline towards their kitchen.

“Rough day?” Feemor asked, wincing at the dull clang of their kettle meeting the stovetop. It you had asked Feemor five years ago if he could ever picture himself living with the entitled little brat that had been Xanatos du Crion, he would have laughed himself sick. And made sure you found yourself back in the Halls you’d obviously just escaped from.

But that was before…

Before his little brother had gone out on a mission and returned broken.

Before Master Jinn had repudiated him.

Before Xanatos, upon hearing what had happened, repudiated Master Jinn and their entire lineage. Before the tiny, angry little storm cloud that was his brother had marched up to him and demanded to get to know him.

And with Xanatos only barely knighted and Feemor having been between roommates—his last had ended up being assigned as watchperson in some far-off corner of space—he’d offered up his spare room. He never expected for Xanatos to take him up on it.

But here they were three years later, and Feemor couldn’t imagine life without his acerbic, funny, amazing little brother.

So when Xanatos didn’t answer him, Feemor put down his pad and went to find out what was wrong.

The sight that greeted him when he entered their cramped kitchen had Feemor’s heart aching. Xanatos was curled into himself, knuckles white from where they gripped the counter, taking deep measured breaths.

The kind Healer Yupi had taught him to help with his panic attacks.

Kriff. This was worse than he thought.

Feemor carefully guided his little brother till he was facing him, icy blue eyes red with unshed tears. “Xana, just breathe with me okay?” Feemor said, thumbs working some of the tension out of the younger man’s hands. “Breathe in one, breathe out two.” As Feemor continued to count, he kept up the steady circles on Xanatos’ palms. “Breathe in five, breathe out six.”

They had learned—through trial and error—that Xanatos did better when someone was there to help him through his attacks.

“Seven. Eight.”

Giving him specific instructions, like a breathing count, was the surest way to ease him out of them.

“You’re doing such a good job, Xana. Come on, nine. Ten.”

Xana’s hands had loosened slightly but not enough to signal he was out of the danger zone. So Feemor started a new count.

“One. Two.”

With each breath, Xanatos’ shoulders eased just that little bit further. His hands became that tiny bit looser.

“Five. Six.”

His breathes were smoother now. Not as jerky.

“Nine. Ten.”

Xanatos’ hands were lax in his own. Feemor gave them a reassuring squeeze. “You okay now Xana?”

A scowl met his words, though he couldn’t help but see the small smile Xanatos was trying—and failing—to hide. “You know I hate nicknames.” His little bother sniffed.

Feemor chuckled. Xanatos loved nicknames, he just thought it ruined his image of the haughty, proud, and capable jedi knight he’d spent his entire life projecting.

With one final squeeze, Feemor released Xana’s hands and turned instead to the unfinished tea preparation. “Want to talk about it?” He asked over his shoulder, filling the kettle with water as he did so.

A sigh answered his question. Feemor set the kettle back on its burner.

As he pulled down their favorite teapot—something Xana had picked up on a mission to Alderaan, a pretty little thing made out of a milky piece of chalcedony—he waited.

Feemor’s patience was rewarded.

“It’s ridiculous.”

Feemor spooned out some tea leaves.

“It was Master Yoda again.” Xanatos finally said, sigh speaking volumes. “He cornered me after my report to the Council about repealing my repudiation again.”

For the last three years, anytime Yoda could, he’d try and corner Xanatos to convince him to repeal his repudiation of Qui-Gon. It had been unheard of, for a padawan to repudiate their master, but there was nothing in the Code that expressly forbid it. Nothing that stated repudiation was solely part of a master’s purview.

Feemor thought it was rather telling nothing was said about his own repudiation.

It had caught him by surprise, Qui-Gon not even having the decency to tell him face-to-face. Only learning about it when he’d gotten a notification from the Hall of Records alerting him about an update to his personnel files.

It had come on the wings of Qui-Gon’s failed mission to Telos IV. His little brother and Qui-Gon coming back scarred…they weren’t even speaking to one another at that point. Something between Xanatos and their former master irreparably changed. Broken.

Feemor hadn’t even had a chance to process it, before his arrogant, haughty, proud, amazing little brother had stormed into Feemor’s apartment like his own personal hurricane and loudly declared that if Qui-Gon thought he could repudiate his older brother, than by the Force he was repudiating Qui-Gon!

It was that moment of solidarity, that changed Feemor and Xanatos’ relationship. They might not technically belong to the same lineage anymore, but they were brothers, through and through.

And yes, they still fought. Because Feemor kept strange hours and Xanatos never remembered to pull his hair from the drain, and they were still getting over past hurts from when Xanatos was a self-important little shit and Feemor was too timid to stand up for himself. But they were learning to respect one another’s boundaries, and how important open lines of communication were in resolving conflict.

Something their former lineage had never taught them. Something that lineage had never learned.

The sound of their kettle whistling broke Feemor from his thoughts, and with a shake of his head he went to turn it off. “And how are you feeling?” Hair curling from the steam, he dutifully poured hot water over the prepared leaves. Leaving the pot to steep, he gathered the rest of their tea service. Putting it on a tray and turning to finally regard his brother.

Xanatos was biting his lip, brows furrowed. “I think…” He started, thinking through his words carefully. “…I think I’m just tired, you know?” Icy blue eyes met warm brown. “I wish he’d just stop already, and respect my decision.” A laugh escaped the younger jedi, who took the tray out of Feemor’s hands. “But that would require a degree of empathy Yoda is incapable of.”

Feemor let a surprised laugh escape him as he followed his brother back into their living room.

Ignoring the glare Xana shot him at the mountain of data pads accumulated on Feemor’s corner of the couch, he sat down in an unoccupied armchair.

“So how’s your current project going?” He asked, adding some cream to a cup before handing it over to Xana’s greedy hands.

At the question, Xanatos finally smiled. “Good! We’re experiencing a little problem with the infrastructure models for the current security parameters since—“

Icy blue eyes glared over thick black frames as Xanatos regarded his screen. These damn infrastructure models were over a hundred years old! A toddler with a data pad and a decent holonet connection would be able to hack their way in.

They needed to be updated, but the problem was there simply wasn’t enough broadband to support a modern system. They’d just updated their broadband connection last year so it wasn’t a question of ability, but more where could they cut redundant systems that were eating up data and broadband speed.

This would be a lot kriffing easier if the kriffing High Council could ever kriffing finish a kriffing internal audit! He cursed, breaking his silent stare-off with the screen to rub his eyes.

“Alright there Du Crion?” A soft voice asked, mellow baritone soothing despite the headache brewing behind Xanatos’ eyes. A glance revealed the lanky figure of Miro Daroon standing by his work station, mug cradled between his bony hands.

He and Miro had been rivals ever since they were padawans, constantly competing for the top spot in their technology courses. While Xanatos had always been better at data infrastructure models, Miro was a whiz when it came to information and communication technologies.

“These models need a higher broadband capacity then what we currently have, but for the life of me I can’t figure out where I can cut out redundant systems to free up some space.” He growled.

Miro answered with a hum, pale eyes squinting behind tinted lenses. As a Piton, which was a largely subterranean species, his eyes were better suited to a low light environment, and he’d taken to wearing tinted lenses to cut out glare. “Have you run a system diagnostic on Temple sub-systems?”

“Yes!” Xanatos huffed, throwing his hands towards the screen in agitation. He’d gathered his long hair into a messy bun, knowing his tendency to pull it when he got frustrated and had taken it upon himself to remove the temptation. He was still in his signature black, though with his role in the Temple’s technology department, the dress code was a bit more relaxed. As opposed to the scratchy, coarse fabric of standard jedi robes he’d outfitted himself in a ridiculously soft oversized sweater and had paired it with equally dark leggings. “But I keep getting a system processing error!”

Another hum. Looking back revealed Miro’s face was scrunched in thought, pale, nearly translucent skin glowing from the light of Xanatos’ monitor. “Could I—“ The other man gestured, and Xanatos nodded.

“Have at it.” He sighed, moving aside for Miro to try.

As the lankier knight got to work, Xanatos took the opportunity to study his profile. Miro had always been irkingly taller, though significantly more gangly.

As padawans, Xanatos had often seen Miro trying—and failing—to stay warm. It didn’t help that Pitons as a rule were practically hairless, having adapted to their dark, subterranean world. Aside from obnoxiously long eyelashes and pale, delicate eyebrows, Miro hadn’t so much as a lick of hair—which had proven to be a major disadvantage on temperature controlled Coruscant, since the planet had a lower base temperature than Piton had.

To solve this problem, he’d taken to wearing a toque everywhere he went—today’s was an earthy brown, matching the shapeless cardigan the other had on. It was always cooler in their department, since the Temple had installed multiple cooling systems to prevent any of their systems from overheating.

As Xanatos studied the other man, a small smile pulled at the corner of Miro’s pale lips. “There.” He said, pulling Xanatos’ gaze back to his own monitor. Through some sort of technological sorcery, Miro had managed to input a query command that actually provided Xanatos with the data he was looking for!

“What?” He asked, crowding next to Miro as he glanced at his monitor. It was all there! Subsystem diagnostics, which systems were utilizing more broadband than the others, how many were operating at any given time…Sith hells, he’d even found how many subsystems each department was running during the day. “How—“

Something in his face must have showed how mystified he was, since Miro laughed. “I isolated the security protocols to identify query subgroups, and ran a diagnostic on signals output since the standard query prompt is for signals input which—“

And as the other man continued, Xanatos felt the last dregs of tension ease.

Feemor tried very, very hard not to panic.

Normally, Career Week was handled by Master Bhyykhukkieris. But ever since the elderly Wookiee had retired, the Archives had been at a loss to reassign all of her different roles—the master was a one-woman army with the amount of things she’d overseen.

Feemor, who was one of the senior Youngling’s Archivists had just found out he’d been nominated to take over Career Week.

And so far, it was turning out to be a nightmare. Master Bhyykhukkieris‘ regular Corps contacts were either retired or unavailable, the watchperson he’d arranged to present had caught a rare form of Snivvian flu, and the jedi archaeologist was buried under some ruins on Tython—literally.

Now, with Career Week officially starting tomorrow Feemor was almost completely scheduled—so long as nobody cancelled. If that happened, Feemor might have a nervous breakdown.

It’ll be fine. He reassured himself. Nobody will cancel. The younglings will love the presenters. It will all be fine. Taking a deep breath, Feemor tried not to cry as his head met his desk with a loud thunk. Now where am I going to find a last-minute presenter?

Because there was still a time-slot he needed to fill and he’d been wracking his brain for an entire week trying to figure out who he could ask to fill it.

Who wouldn’t put up too much of a fuss and would be willing to speak with a group of younglings for an hour or two?

Lifting himself up just enough so he could let his head fall back onto his desk, Feemor paused mid-descent as a person came to mind.

Now that’s an idea. This just might work.

Xanatos was suspicious from the moment he entered their apartment.

It wasn’t unusual for Fee to have tea ready by the time Xanatos had gotten back from his shift in the Temple Tech Center. It was out of the ordinary however for Feemor to have made him his favorite blend of karlini tea with steamed milk and a dollop of frill syrup mixed in.

And were those, he took a deep sniff, butter crisps?

He shot a wary look in his older brother’s direction. “What do you want?” He asked, taking a sip of tea. Feemor always managed to make it better than he could.

His brother shot him a dimply smile, freckles on full display. “Want?” He asked innocently. He offered up a plate of cookies, which Xanatos eyed dubiously—although he gobbled down three in record time. “Can’t I make my brother some cookies after a long shift?”

A scoff was given in reply, though its effect was partially lost due to Xanatos having shoved another crisp into his mouth. He washed it down with a swig of tea. “You don’t just make my favorite cookies and tea for no reason.” He snatched another butter crisp faster than a toydarian viper. “Out with it already.”

Feemor lasted all of three seconds before he sighed. “Okay, I need a favor.”

Finally. Xanatos thought, taking three more cookies before Feemor could take them away. “I’ve got a shovel and an alibi ready. All I need is a who, and a where.” No whys were needed, if somebody had wronged his brother then death would be the least of their worries when Xanatos got ahold of them.

Feemor stared, mouth working silently for several long moments before he blinked. “No! No, no, no.” He said, nearly dropping the plate of butter crisps until Xanatos rescued them from meeting a sad, crumbly end. “Nothing like that!”

Xanatos frowned, stuffing another cookie into his mouth. “Wha- d’ ‘ya ‘eed th’n?”

Luckily, Feemor was fluent in Xana. “I need you to speak to some younglings for Career Week!” He rushed out quickly, words nearly running into each other.

“Come again?”

With a sigh, Feemor collapsed into their sofa. “Master Bhyykhukkieris retired, and she used to be in charge of Career Week but now they put me in charge and everyone else has either retired or cancelled and I finally managed to get nearly all of the time slots filed but there’s still one empty and I’d really appreciate it if you could please, please, please do this for me.” Feemor looked at him beseechingly, bags under his eyes telling Xanatos just how stressed he was about this. “Please?”

Xanatos was willing to do anything for his brother. But he really didn’t want to spend an hour speaking to younglings about his job. “Do I have to?” He whined. “I’m sure I can get someone else from TechDiv to—“

Fee shot him a look. “Do you really think putting Master Paratus in a room filled with impressionable younglings sounds like a good idea?”

Opening his mouth to reply, Xanatos paused. Visions of battle droids and screaming younglings ran through his mind and he fought the fierce shiver such an image conjured up. “No.” He agreed. “No, probably not.”

Feemor was still looking at him pleadingly, and damnit it! What grown man had the eyes of a porg and an expression to match? Holding out for as long as he could, Xanatos finally huffed in defeat. “Fine.” He sighed, ignoring his brother’s obnoxious smile, and stuffing another cookie into his mouth.

“Thank you Xana!” Feemor smiled. “Really, you’re the best.”

Xanatos waved away Feemor’s words of gratitude. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” As another butter crisp found its way to his mouth, and was washed down with more tea, Xanatos looked up. “When am I doing this?”

Dusting himself off, Feemor headed towards the kitchen. “Tomorrow! 0900! See you there.”

Xanatos stared. Well played.

He took a vindictive bite out of his butter crisp. He should’ve squeezed out some more cookies before giving in.

Thirty pairs of eyes stared at him in varying degrees of awareness.

Xanatos stared back.

It was the start of Career Week and as promised, he’d shown up at 0900 to entertain a horde of initiates with the glamorous and exciting world of the Jedi Technical Division.

“So.” He started, refusing to let his discomfort show. He’d heard they could smell fear. “Before I start, does anyone have any questions?”

Only one tiny hand went up.

“Yes?”

Its owner, a tiny slip of a thing with a riot of ginger curls bit their lip. “Aw you a pwincess?”

Xanatos’ brows rose in surprise. “What?”

“A pwincess.” The toddler said once again, tiny brows furrowed and hands clenched tightly in their lap.

Shaking his head, Xanatos replied. “No, I’m not a princess.” Before he could think better of it, he asked why they had thought he was.

With a brilliant blush, the youngling mumbled something under their breath. Blue-grey eyes refusing to meet Xanatos’.

“What was that?”

Another youngling, this one kiffar judging by their braids, laughed. “Obes said ‘Cause you’re so pretty!” A host of giggles escaped his audience, little Obes turning even redder, and Xanatos smiled.

“What does being pretty have to do with being a princess?” He asked, genuinely curious. He’d tried to look a little more presentable today, long hair tied back instead of hanging loosely like it did when he was home or tied up when he was at work. He’d even graduated to a color other than black, though the oversized durasteel grey sweater he’d thrown on had specks of black and white shot through it.

He refused to give up the comfort from a good pair of leggings, but had paired them with a sleek pair of boots to help tie everything in together. Xanatos might not have looked very jedi-like, aside from the lightsaber attached to a holster on his thigh, but he certainly didn’t think he looked “princess-y.”

The kiffar laughed harder. “Everyone knows princesses are pretty!” They said loudly, their tiny friend shrinking even more at the sound. “That’s like…a universal fact.”

Several heads nodded in agreement and kriff this conversation had gotten way off topic. But if all younglings were this adorable, then he could certainly understand Feemor’s passion for his job.

“Well I’m not a princess.” Xanatos started, smiling as this earned a fresh round of giggles, even from the tiny ginger who had started it all. “But I am a jedi that works in the Temple Technical Division. One of the things I do is create data infrastructure models that—”

And as Xanatos explained what exactly he did as a member of the Technical Division, he failed to notice the awed look in a pair of blue-grey eyes as their owner listened in rapt attention.

And unbeknownst to all of them, the Force thrummed with promise.

Pale eyes glanced up as Xanatos walked in an hour later than usual. “You’re looking nice today.” Miro commented, head tilted curiously. His toque was a pleasant powder blue which matched the sweatshirt he was wearing. “Another council report?”

Xanatos finished tying his hair up so he wouldn’t be tempted to pull it, before shaking his head. “No, my brother tricked me into speaking as part of the Archive’s Career Week presentations this morning.” A few quick taps had his computer up and running, though he shot a look towards the other man at his continued silence. “What?”

Miro blinked, ridiculously long eyelashes catching the light as he did so. “Nothing.” He said, voice even softer than normal. “It’s nice you were willing to do that for your brother. He’s an archivist, right?”

Surprised, Xanatos fought the surge of warmth curling in his chest. “Yes, Feemor’s a Senior Youngling’s Archivist. He got put in charge of Career Week this year, since the master who used to run it retired.”

A small smile played on the other man’s thin lips, before Miro turned back to his own monitor. “Well, hopefully your talk inspired future techies!” Typing in some commands, he continued. “We could use some new members.”

Xanatos rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it.”

And as they both returned to their work, the warmth of their interaction lingering in the empty spaces between them, Xanatos hoped his presentation did inspire someone, even if it was just one youngling who felt like there was no other path for them aside from being a Jedi Knight. That maybe, just maybe, he could save a youngling the pain and anxiety of going through what he had as an initiate, desperate to find a master before he aged out.

No one should ever make a decision based off fear.

“Knight Stahl?” An unfamiliar voice asked, making Feemor look up.

He was greeted by a smiling, though clearly exhausted crechemaster. “Yes?” Feemor asked. It was day three of Career Week, and nothing had caught fire—yet.

He wouldn’t officially mark this week a success until Quinlan Vos was out of the Archives, and back in the creche where he belonged. Madame Nu was still pissed about the impromptu fireworks show Quinlan had pulled on Republic Day.

“Initiate Kenobi has something he’d like to ask you.” At the master’s words, Feemor’s attention was pulled to the tiny red-haired initiate clinging to his crechemaster’s hand like his life depended on it. “Obi-Wan.” He encouraged, giving the initiate’s hand a comforting squeeze.

Big blue-grey eyes stared up at Feemor nervously, before darting away. Stepping away from his desk, Feemor got down so he was eye-level with the boy. “How can I help you Initiate Kenobi?” Feemor asked, voice patient. He’d become something of an expert in playing the waiting game in his five years as a Youngling’s Archivist.

Younglings he had found, were capable of amazing things, so long as they were given as much time as they needed.

Something Master Jinn had never truly grasped.

His patience was rewarded when Initiate Kenobi shyly handed him a card. “Is this for me?” He asked, keeping his eyes trained on the youngling in front of him.

Except Initiate Kenobi’s courage seemed to have run out. As he hid behind the much larger form of his crechemaster, the elder jedi smiled. “He really enjoyed your Primeday presenter.” The master said, gesturing for Feemor to glance at the card in his hands. A familiar black-garbed figure with outrageously long hair stared back at him. “The ‘princess.’” His master chuckled.

Feemor couldn‘t help the smile that stole across his face at the comparison. He was never going to let Xana live this down.

“I’m glad he enjoyed it.” He said instead, keeping his mirth at bay for a more appropriate time and place. Like when his little brother came home.

The other man hummed, eyes once again on his young charge. “Obi-Wan was hoping you might be able to deliver that for him.”

Feemor met little Kenobi’s eyes. “I promise,” He said solemnly, resting a hand on his heart, “to deliver this to him personally.” He held out a hand. “You have my word as an archivist.”

Initiate Kenobi hesitated, before shyly offering his own.

They shook on it.

When Xanatos got home that afternoon, his older brother was sitting in his customary spot on their sofa, a smug, mischievous grin spread over his freckly mug.

It had been a surprise to learn Feemor had a mischievous side. Though mischief might have been too strong of a word. Silliness was probably a better descriptor, since Feemor didn’t have a mean bone in his ridiculously giant body.

“Yes?” Xanatos asked, removing his shoes before making a beeline for the kitchen. The caf machine had died a spectacularly fiery death after Master Paratus had tried to cut down its percolation time and he was in desperate need of caffeine.

“Someone made you a card!” Feemor yelled, voice carrying from the living room and causing Xanatos to pause.

A card? He frowned, wondering who on earth would make him a card and why Feemor of all people would know about it. As he finished making his cup, pouring an unconscionable amount of synth-sugar into it and enough cream to make a nerf-herder blanch, Xanatos went to investigate this whole card-making business.

Feemor still looked like the loth-cat that ate the canary, though now he was holding up a bright pink piece of craft paper with Xanatos’ name scrawled across it in a childish hand. “A rather adorable little redhead came up to me and asked if I could deliver this to the, and I quote, ‘princess.’” Feemor’s smile widened at Xanatos’ spluttering.

Ignoring his smug brother, Xanatos swiped the card out of his freckly hands. Even if the handwriting was messy, he couldn’t deny the care that had gone into the card’s construction. A reasonable likeness of him had been drawn in black dura-wax, hair longer than he actually wore it, and he definitely hadn’t worn a tiara or earrings when he had given his presentation but he could forgive the youngling for his artistic license.

Opening it revealed what must have been an entire jar of glitter, sprinkled liberally on every available surface that hadn’t been taken up by the initiate’s handwriting.

In a familiar messy scrawl, the youngling had written:

T’ank you four speeking to us! Yer job sonds ve’y whizard!
I wants to be as whizard as you when I big!

~Obi ❤️

There was another drawing, this one with Xanatos and a familiar redhead, who were both wearing sparkly crowns and sporting matching smiles.

Despite himself, Xanatos could feel his heart melting into a gooey puddle of affection for the youngling who still thought he was a princess of all things.

“Thanks Fee.”

A smile was given in response, and they simply sat there in companionable silence. A pink card resting on their living room table.

There was a cup from Xanatos’ favorite caf store sitting on his desk.

A surreptitious glance revealed the burnt out husk of what had once been their department’s caf maker, meaning the three dozen technicians who worked there were still shit-out of luck if they were jonesing for caffeine. And technicians were always jonesing for caffeine.

He’d come prepared for this unfortunate scenario, Fee having left a travel mug out for him but since his brother didn’t particularly care for caf—preferring tea instead—they only had some shitty instant-caf which just didn’t hit the same.

Of course, Xanatos always had the option of going out and getting something from the myriad of caf stores dotted throughout Coruscant. But that meant he’d have to get up early and cut down on his skincare routine and who had the time for that?

But someone had gone through the trouble. Not only that, they’d even managed to get Xanatos’ favorite order, judging from the contents. A sugar-filled monstrosity of caramel and frill syrup topped with a mountain of whip cream.

He turned to look at the only possible culprit.

A soft green was dusted across the Piton’s cheeks. “I uh,” He started, eyes wide behind their tinted lenses, “…I was out getting some caf and uh…thought I might as well get you some too.” Xanatos’ eyebrow raised in curiousity, but he decided not to call Miro out for the obvious lie.

Of all the technicians on their floor, Miro was the only one not to drink caf—since caffeine did not mix with Piton biology.

Something Xanatos had learned when he’d gone to make tea in their department’s staff lounge and found meticulously labeled tins with Miro’s name on them. Each one proudly announcing their caffeine-free status.

Instead, Xanatos offered a nod of gratitude and sat down to enjoy his cavity-inducing drink. He’d almost gotten the last set of parameters for their security infrastructure model, he just needed to input a few more sections of code and it should be good for beta testing.

With a small, pleased smile, he got to work.

Obi-Wan was nearly vibrating, his excitement bleeding into the Force and making his crechemates chuckle.

Master Ali-Alann had just announced their clan was going to take a tour of some of the different Temple departments they’d learned about during Career Week! Which meant he was going to see the super cool princess they’d met last week! He didn’t care what Knight Xana said, he was obviously too pretty and too cool not to be a princess.

Obi-Wan knew all about princesses from story time, and he wanted to be a princess so bad.

But Bruck had told him that you couldn’t be a princess and a jedi at the same time, except it looked like Bruck was wrong! Because Knight Xana was a jedi knight and a princess and he worked in the Tech Division which was super wizard, and Obi-Wan had to get ready.

Twirling around, Obi-Wan ran back to his bunk. “Quin! Quin! I need yous hewp! Do you ‘member where I putted my tiawa?”

Obi-Wan never noticed the bright eyed youngling staring after him.

Bruck Chun was not proud of making Obi cry.

He really, really wasn’t.

But see the thing was, he knew Obi-Wan wanted nothing more than to be a princess! But if Obi-Wan became a princess, that meant he wouldn’t be a jedi anymore and Bruck wouldn’t get to see him and just the thought made his heart hurt and his tummy ache like that one time he needed his ‘ppendicks out and he didn’t ever want to go a single day without seeing Obi-Wan.

So he had told Obi-Wan you couldn’t be a jedi and a princess, which had made the other boy cry and Bruck had been placed in time-out for a really, really long time and wasn’t allowed dessert, and Quin was being a nerf-herder and glaring at him every two minutes but it would all be worth it.

Because Obi-Wan wouldn’t leave him, and Bruck would still buy him all the pretty tiaras his little ginger heart could ever want, and everything would be okay.

Except than Knight Du Crion had shown up and proved Bruck wrong and he’d had to go through making Obi-Wan cry for nothing since you could be a princess and a jedi at the same time and now he needed to try and think of a way to fix this because Obi-Wan still wasn’t talking to him and if this continued any longer than Bruck was going to cry.

Aalto gave him a tiny nudge, eyes scrunched in thought. “Whatcha gonna do?” He asked. As Bruck’s best friend, he’d been on the receiving end of an Obi-Rant more often than not.

Bruck stared at the doors Obi-Wan had disappeared through for a moment longer, before giving a determined nod. He was going to fix this.

“And over here we have Knights Du Crion and Daroon, TechDiv’s leading experts on infrastructure models and communication and information technologies.” The voice of Knight-Administer Doz said, causing Xanatos to look up from where he’d been perusing a line of code.

A gaggle of younglings were crowded behind the knight administrator, a familiar shock of red hair among them.

“Maybe if we’re really nice,” Doz stage whispered, lekku twitching with humor, “they’ll tell us what they’re working on.” He shot a fanged grin in Xanatos and Miro’s direction.

Was there an email he’d missed? Regardless, Xanatos rolled his eyes before he took off his glasses. His healer had recommended them when Xanatos had started complaining of eye-fatigue from staring at a monitor all day and they had significantly cut-down on the headaches he’d been experiencing, though it was rather disorienting trying to look at anything further away than his hand. “We meet again younglings.”

Another round of giggles followed his dramatic greeting, and Xanatos allowed himself a fond smile. He’d enjoyed speaking with them far more than he’d thought he would—talk about princesses aside.

And speaking of princesses, he couldn’t help but notice the tiny tiara perched haphazardly atop ginger curls, Initiate Kenobi practically vibrating beside the same kiffar youngling he’d sat next to during Career Week. Kriff, he was adorable.

“Misser Knight Du Crion sir,” a dressellian youngling started, offering a sloppy bow, “could you, uh, tells us what you’re working on…” They trailed off, before another initiate, this one human, nudged them. “…please?”

Sharing a look with Miro, who nodded, Xanatos offered an aggrieved sigh. “Very well, if I must.” He said, earning yet more giggles at his dramatics.

“Right now, Miro and I are working on updating our Temple’s security protocols—“

Xanatos stared.

Initiate Kenobi stared back.

This was the third time this week he’d found the boy in TechDiv, pad in hand and familiar plastoid crown perched haphazardly on his head. Xanatos had tried telling the youngling it wasn’t safe to be wondering away from his crechemaster.

Had walked him back each and everytime, with the firm promise from Master Ali-Alann that he’d keep a closer eye on the wayward initiate.

And without fail, he’d find the youngling perched at a desk that had remained empty longer than Xanatos could remember. Determined little pout definitely not causing Xanatos’ metaphorical ovaries to explode at the adorable display.

Miro just looked amused, the bastard. His toque today had a crown embroidered on it, and every ten seconds Initate Kenobi would glance in his direction, before looking back at Xanatos, then his pad, then back to Miro.

He could try taking the wayward initiate back to his crechemaster, which had been nothing more than an exercise in futility—though at least he was getting some steps in.

…or he could let this play out.

Fingers tugging on a strand of hair that had escaped the messy bun he’d put it up in earlier that morning, Xanatos made a decision.

Sitting down, he resolutely ignored the tiny smile stealing over his initiate’s face, and took a sip of caf.

As he worked, he heard Kenobi finally turn towards Miro. “Are you a pwincess too?” He asked.

Miro laughed.

Ali-Alann smiled as he watched Little Obi-Wan return from another day of work with Knight Du Crion, the youngling’s shields more stable than they’d been in months.

He looks happier, too. Ali thought, listening to Obi-Wan’s cheerful—if out-of-tune—humming as the boy headed towards his bunk. Obi-Wan had always been a tiny bundle of sunshine, but between visions and an endless list of allergies that only seemed to grow bigger every week, he’d been noticeably more melancholy.

Especially after Bruck had told him he couldn’t be a princess.

That had been a hard month for everyone.

But now Obi-Wan was happier than ever, and his studies had improved tremendously in the three weeks he’d been disappearing to the Tech Division. His teachers having made a point to ask if anything had happened to bring about such a change.

And Ali-Alann wondered.

Obi-Wan’s desk was empty.

Xanatos stared at the unoccupied desk as though it might offer some insight into the youngling’s whereabouts. Drinks sweating with condensation in the carrier a helpful barista had placed them in.

He’d gotten up early, for kriff’s sake! Had ordered Miro his stupid peppermint tea and an obnoxiously pink drink that was more sugar than anything else for the tiny initiate that had invaded his life and for what?!

Glancing at the empty desk as though it had personally betrayed him, Xanatos spun around, drinks forgotten as he marched out.

Where was his youngling?!

Master Ali-Alann sighed as Healer Che finally managed to get Obi-Wan to sleep, Force suggestion strong enough even he could feel it.

They’d gone nearly an entire month without having to make a visit to the Halls, a new record for Bear Clan.

Though now they were going to have to wipe the board back to zero. It was a shame, because he’d promised his clan nerf-burgers if they could go thirty whole days without incident. Though it wasn’t Obi-Wan’s fault.

He had no control over his visions.

But I thought they were getting better. And they had seemed to be. Their severity less than usual, giving Obi-Wan an opportunity to build his shields and Ali to pull back his own for a change. He’d been sleeping better too, and actually eating—though that probably had more to do with Knight Daroon, who’d messaged him about a week into Obi’s visits to TechDiv to ask about any food allergies and promptly reported what Obi-Wan had ate for mid meal without fail.

Knight Du Crion, he’d learned, subsisted entirely off of sugar and caf. A habit he did not want Obi-Wan to pick up, though it seemed as long as Knight Daroon was there, he’d make sure the boy actually ate something resembling a meal.

Ali was still staring at Obi-Wan’s tiny form when a familiar presence walked in. Turning around revealed Knight Du Crion’s wide blue eyes, a drink carrier gripped tightly in his hands.

His mouth worked silently, and Ali knew he had to take care of this quickly if he wanted Obi-Wan to actually get some rest.

“Knight Du Crion, why don’t you join me outside? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

Ali placed a gentle hand on the other man’s shoulder, guiding him outside of the Halls so they could finally have that chat.

“You want me to what?” Xanatos asked in disbelief, hands bone white where they gripped the drink carrier. He couldn’t have possibly said—

“I think it would be a good idea for you to take Obi-Wan as your padawan.” Master Ali-Alann repeated, hands folded demurely into his sleeves. Tranquil expression on his face.

He had said that. Xanatos had…a lot to process there, but he’d do that later when he was in session with Healer Yupi. Instead he focused on the present, which was an insane crechemaster asking him to take Obi-Wan as his padawan.

“Initiate Kenobi is only five years old!” Much too young to even be considered a padawan.

Though not the youngest ever heard of. His mind whispered traitorously. Xanatos ignored it.

“Obi-Wan is six years old.” Master Ali-Alann corrected, still with that tranquil smile on his face. “And while young, there is a precedent for initiates to be accepted as a padawan earlier than the traditional ten to twelve window—so long as there was a pressing medical need.” Master Ali-Alann concluded, nodding towards Obi-Wan’s room. “I’ve already spoken to Master Yaddle and Healer Che, and they agree that Obi-Wan would benefit immensely from the stability a master-padawan bond would give him.”

As the head of initiates, Yaddle’s opinion carried immense weight. Xanatos could trust her assessment of the situation, did trust her assessment of the situation. He’s sure Che’s assessment was fine, but he didn’t really know her. He met with Master Yaddle twice a week to review the Temple’s security measures. As the head of initiates and master of shadows, Yaddle didn’t necessarily have a lot of free time though she was always quick to lend a helping claw.

He actually had a meeting with her tomorrow. Maybe I should ask her what the kark is going on.

Xanatos trusted Master Yaddle’s assessment. He just didn’t know why the kriff Master Ali-Alann thought that he’d make a good master. Especially for Obi-Wan.

“Why are you asking me?” He finally asked. “You know I repudiated my own master right? Why are you asking me?”

The older man got that look on his face, the one Xanatos hated seeing. He didn’t want pity. But Master Ali-Alann surprised him. “Obi-Wan…he’s always been such a bright light in the Force.” Ali said carefully, voice measured. “But he’s also had to carry a heavy burden. Visions, allergies, a weak immune system,” a wry smile stole its way across the other man’s face, “not being born a princess.”

Xanatos had to fight his own grin at that, knowing just how much Obi-Wan wished he was a princess.

“Ever since he’s been spending time with you in the Technical Division,” Ali-Alann continued, eyes bright, “he’s been…lighter. His health has improved. His sleep has been better. He actually started eating again.” His voice carried the same weight as a prayer, and Xanatos found himself hanging on his every word. “All that has been because of you.”

Xanatos went to protest, only to quieted by the look in the master’s eyes.

“It’s because of you.” He reiterated, certainty echoing in the Force. “Obi-Wan likes you. And despite your protests, I didn’t actually hear you say you disliked the idea of taking him as a padawan.” Damnit, he’d noticed. “I know this is a lot to take in, and I’m not asking for you to have an answer now.” With a shake of his head, Master Ali-Alann met Xanatos’ eyes. “The most important decisions should never be made in haste. Take the time to think it over, talk about it with those important to you. I just wanted you to know I think you’d be the perfect master for my Obi-Wan.”

Ali-Alann left it at that.

And Xanatos?

Xanatos had no idea how he felt about any of this.

Feemor’s anxiety grew the later it got. Xana’s shift should have finished over an hour ago, and even though the other had occasionally stayed late, he always remembered to message Fee if that was the case.

Checking his comm for what felt like the hundredth time in the last ten minutes revealed no missed messages and Feemor’s stomach roiled. Where is he?

He’d heard about Initiate Kenobi at work, and his first thoughts had been towards his brother. Xanatos would never admit it, but the highlight of his day was when little Kenobi showed up to “work”. Sitting in between Xanatos and Knight Daroon and fiddling with his pad for an hour or two before being taken back to the creche. He knew his brother was fond of the tiny initiate. He could only imagine how he was feeling about this. Force only knew how Feemor would feel if it was Xana in the Halls.

Right as he was starting to consider if he should go and find his brother himself—before he wore a new hole in their carpet—the door opened and a familiar head of hair walked in, eyes trained on the floor. “Xana!” Feemor breathed, knot in his stomach loosening with relief.

His brother looked up at his voice, eyes wide. “Kriff!” He gasped, face looking apologetic. “I’m sorry Fee! I meant to comm, really I just—“

But whatever his brother was going to say was cut off as Feemor swept the younger man up in a hug. He could feel how tensely Xanatos held himself, body rigid even as Feemor only hugged him tighter, before melting in the embrace. He could feel just how much his brother trembled as he held him, could feel through their bond just how shaken he was by the day’s events.

But through all that turmoil, he could also sense the faintest stirrings of hope.

“I heard what happened.” Feemor said, voice soft, hand working soothingly through his brother’s tangled mess of hair. Xanatos melted deeper at the touch. “Are you okay?”

It was silent for a few minutes, Feemor continuing to work out any tangles he found. Action as soothing for him as it was for his brother. “I…” Xanatos started, voice hesitant in a way Feemor hated. “I don’t know.” He finished softly. “I don’t know.”

Feemor hummed. “That’s okay.” He reassured. “You don’t have to know right now. But if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.” Feemor promised, sincerity echoing through their bond.

And as the two brothers stood there in their cramped apartment, the Force rippled with hope.

Healer Yupi’s water clock burbled soothingly in the background, uneti blossom incense leaving fat, lazy loops of fragrant smoke that calmed Xanatos even further.

Two cups of tea rested on the floor, Xanatos melting deeper into one of the plush floor cushions Healer Yupi had outfitted their office with—this one a deep blue.

Across from him, the mikkian mindhealer smiled beatifically, head-tendrils floating lazily about their head. “What would you like to work on today, Xanatos?” They asked, voice a pleasant murmur and Xan felt the lest dregs of tension ease.

He’d messaged the Halls to see if he could get an emergency session with his mindhealer, knowing he was in danger of spiraling into a pit of anxiety. Luckily, they had managed to fit him in the very next day and after staying up late with Fee watching reruns of some crappy holo-drama with gratuitous amounts of junk food, he’d had the opportunity to parse through his feelings a bit.

“You remember how I told you an initiate had taken to visiting me this past month?” Kenobi had been a frequent topic of conversation in his last session, Xanatos expressing frustration, annoyance, and affection all at the same time.

Healer Yupi hummed. “Yes, Initate Kenobi wasn’t it?” They took a quiet sip of tea, radiating feelings of peace and helping Xanatos feel more and more at ease.

Xanatos nodded. “There was…there was an incident the other day.” And as Xanatos explained, first about how annoyed and worried he’d felt at a significant lack of redheaded initiate after he’d gone through the trouble of getting him a treat from his favorite caf shop, to worry at finding him in the halls, and then the anxiety and panic from the bombshell Master Ali-Alann dropped on him, Healer Yupi listened to it all. Never once interrupting him, or looking disinterested.

Their focus was fixed entirely on what Xanatos had to say, giving him the time and space to do so.

He’d never known how much he needed that, until he’d started seeing the mikkian after repudiating Qui-Gon. Had never understood how much its absence had affected him, during his padawanship.

“And then he told me, ’I just wanted to let you know I think you’d be the perfect master for my Obi-Wan.’” Xanatos said, voice affecting a similar cadence as the crechemaster, hands flapping erratically in his retelling.

Healer Yupi waited for a moment, making sure Xanatos was finished. “How did you feel, hearing that?” They asked.

Xanatos worried the fringe on the edges of his cushion, mind trying to work through his emotions. How did he feel about the crechemaster’s words? “Disbelief.” Xanatos said at last, fingers still at work. “Anger.” He added, a small furrow appearing between his brows. Several more moments passed before, almost hesitantly, he whispered. “Hope.”

The mikkian’s head tilted curiously, but refrained from filling the silence that lingered between them.

Taking a sip of tea—Yupi always made seven blossoms tea, due to its soothing qualities—Xanatos tried to dig a little deeper. “I felt disbelief because everyone knows I repudiated my own master.” His mindhealer would normally correct him for making a generalization, but Yupi remained silent. “And…I feel like that’s made a lot of the older jedi…wary of me.” It wasn’t anything specific, just a feeling. As though they weren’t entirely comfortable in his presence.

That was something that had spread to the younger jedi as well, taking their cues from their masters and Xanatos had never wanted those old windbags’ approval, but it was something that still ate at him. This marked isolation from the other jedi.

Not in TechDivision or with Master Yaddle. Certainly not with Fee, or his gaggle of archivists who were all too happy to pester Feemor’s brother about tech questions. But it was something that was still there, in the recesses of his mind.

“I…I didn’t think anyone from the creche would ever think I could be a good master for a padawan.” Xanatos continued. Most of the crechemasters were Qui-Gon’s age or older, and several masters had let him know exactly what they thought about his actions in repudiating his former teacher. “I think that’s why I was angry too.” He breathed out. Fingers once again worrying at the edge of his cushion.

Because what right did Ali-Alann have in saying that to him? “I felt…like maybe he was trying to manipulate me into taking Kenobi as my padawan.”

Healer Yupi’s eyes were thoughtful. “Why?”

That was the question wasn’t it.

Xanatos took his time in answering. “When I was with Master Jinn…” He started slowly, thinking back to his padawan days, “he was never…” He trailed off. “Master Jinn didn’t offer ‘corrections’. Not really.” Instead he’d hum and sigh, and offer kind sounding words that were only kind on the surface. “He was never overtly cruel. But it was never about how I was feeling.” Xanatos said at last. “It was always about how he felt.”

Healer Yupi said nothing, simply filled his cup with more tea, allowing him the time to work through what he wanted to say.

“…he’d always talk about how something would affect him,” he said again, voice hesitant, “what he thought I should do with my future. He never…he never let me tell him what I thought. About how I felt. When my saber master shared how well I was excelling in his classes’” Xanatos swallowed roughly, a lump in this throat as he thought back to that conversation “Master Jinn said, ‘I knew from the day I met you, you’d be a master duelist. Just like me.’ and he signed me up for advanced saber classes…even though I told him I wanted to take the more advanced technology courses for the upcoming quarter.“ He licked his lips, meeting Yupi’s eyes, “I know that doesn’t necessarily sound bad out of context. But...”

The mikkian hummed. “You are allowed to feel upset.” They said, voice firm. “Your feelings should always be considered, especially when it concerns your own life. You’re allowed to be upset that the person who was entrusted with your care and wellbeing, violated your autonomy and made decisions regarding your education without consulting you.”

He offered a shaky nod. He knew that. They’d talked about that in previous sessions.

It was just…

Xanatos had spent his entire padawanship having to defend his actions. Of being told his feelings were wrong. That he was giving into his anxiety and should focus on the here and now.

He knew he didn’t have to defend his feelings. But it was hard not to fallback on old habits.

“You mentioned,” Healer Yupi said, pouring themself another cup of tea, “that you also felt hope.” Their teapot made a soft clink as it was set back down. “Do you want to explore that a little bit more?”

With a shaky breath, Xanatos nodded. “I…” He licked his lips. “I never thought I’d want to take a padawan.” He admitted softly. “Not after everything that happened from my own experience. Not after what happened with Fee.”

Healer Yupi nodded. “That’s understandable.”

Pale fingers drummed against the carpet, tiny dust motes catching the light and Xanatos took another breath. “But…” But Kenobi had bullied his way into Xanatos’ life, with his princess tiara and sunshine smile. And Xanatos had never realized how much he enjoyed teaching. At least when it came to teaching Obi-Wan.

He’d never known he would enjoy watching as Obi-Wan hung on his every word about data infrastructure models and broadband processing speeds. Didn’t know the immense pride he would feel, when he got to witness the youngling master a new skill Xanatos had taught him.

Didn’t know how bereft he’d feel when Obi-Wan wasn’t in his usual spot. Or how worried he’d be when he learned the boy was in the Halls and why.

And when Master Ali-Alann had mentioned his idea about taking Obi-Wan as his padawan, he hadn’t realized just how much he wanted that. Hadn’t realized how much the idea of watching Obi-Wan grow and learn, to see his tiny initiate blossom into the amazing jedi-princess he was destined to become and how much Xanatos wanted to be a part of that, in any way possible.

“I didn’t know just how much I wanted that.” He said at last. “I hadn’t…I hadn’t allowed myself to hope.”

“And now?” Yupi asked, voice soft.

Xanatos smiled.

Feemor startled as a host of droids stormed into his apartment, armed with boxes and other packing supplies. “You three start with the room on the left, the rest the room on the right.” A familiar voice ordered, Xanatos’ black-clad form finally entering into view. “I’ll take the kitchen—if you have any questions be sure to ask me or Feemor.”

“He-hey!” Feemor tried, watching several droids make their way into his bedroom. “What do you—what are you?!”

A droid started packing up the mountain of pads by the sofa. “Hey, I wasn’t finished—“

Whirling around, Feemor shot a frenzied look at his little brother. “What’s going on?!” He asked, voice strained.

Xanatos shot him an unimpressed look. “What does it look like? They’re packing.” He said, box on his hip as he walked towards their kitchen. Feemor followed helplessly behind.

As his little brother started boxing up the contents of their cupboards, Feemor could do nothing but stare in complete bewilderment. But when Xana tried to pack their teapot, Feemor cracked.

Snatching the piece of china out of his brother’s hands and cradling it to his chest, Feemor breathed. “Why? Why are they packing?! What the…the…the frick is going on?!”

Xanatos sighed. “We need a larger space.”

“Why?” Feemor asked, hand petting the tea-pot like it was a frightened animal. “Why do we need a larger space?”

His brother let out another sigh. “Because it’s already cramped for two, I can’t imagine what it’s going to feel like with a padawan.”

Feemor froze. “What?”

“I’m taking Obi-Wan as my padawan.” Xanatos said, giving the tea pot one last look, before deciding it was a lost cause and turned to another cupboard. “I already sent in the flimsiwork and asked him. He said yes.” There was a smile in Xanatos’ voice, and normally Feemor would congratulate his brother on making such a big decision. Except now Xanatos was upending their life and there were boxes and moving droids and…and…

“But…” Feemor tried, swallowing down the tears that were trying to force their way out. “…but why are there droids packing up everything?”

For the first time since entering their apartment, Xanatos gave Feemor his full attention. Bright blue eyes stared into his own. “Because you’re coming with me.” He said, voice filled with conviction. “Obviously.”

Feemor let out a wet laugh. “Don’t I get a say in this?” He asked, though he knew Xana would be able to feel the relief through their bond.

His brother shook his head. “Nope. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

Allowing himself a teary smile, Feemor handed over the teapot. “Okay.” He said.

Xanatos smiled back. “Okay.”

Yoda hummed thoughtfully.

He’d been considering little Obi-Wan as a potential padawan for Qui-Gon. His poor grandpadawan needed to build up his self-esteem after Xanatos’ repudiation, and being around such a bright light like Obi-Wan would certainly help.

But if Xanatos was taking him as a padawan instead…

With a smile, Yoda stamped his acknowledgement of the declaration of intent. This might just be the perfect excuse for Qui-Gon and Xanatos to reconcile.

After all, it was always a big day in the life of a jedi, when their old students took their first padawan.

Pleased, Qui-Gon wil be, Yoda thought, humming gleefully, to meet grandpadawan.

Xanatos smiled as Obi-Wan flitted across their apartment, new tiara glistening in the light.

Obi-Wan had squealed when Xanatos had asked if he’d like to be his padawan learner. Excited about being trained by a “pwincess”. Xana knew his first gift couldn’t be a bead.

He should really thank Miro for turning him towards that antique shop, since he’d managed to find a silver tiara that was the perfect size for an excited six year old. There were even additional clips to ensure the crown wouldn’t meet its gruesome end when it was inevitably jostled from it’s precarious perch atop ginger curls.

Feemor laughed, picking up his nephew with a grin and dashing through their rooms. Obi-Wan’s delighted giggles following.

The two had bonded within minutes of being introduced. Obi-Wan adored his uncle, especially when he learned that Feemor would gladly don a crown whenever Obi-Wan asked. Ready for their “pwincess tea parties” which were becoming a regular part of their Taungsday routine.

Still smiling even as their door chimed, Xanatos left his padawan and ridiculous brother to their shenanigans. Yaddle had said she’d be by to drop off a housewarming gift. She’s a little early. Xanatos thought idly, opening the door without thinking.

He regretted it the moment his eyes met familiar grey ones.

His former master offered a tentative smile. “Xana.” Qui-Gon beamed, “I heard you’d taken a new padawan.”

An icy glare was shot towards the dimunitive form of Master Yoda, who ignored the look with an ease that could only come from having to endure such looks for centuries.

“I wanted to know if I might be able to meet them?” Qui-Gon continued, voice hopeful. “After all, they are my grandpadawan.”

And that…that was not okay.

Drawing himself up to his full height, Xanatos stood like an immovable object. Blocking entry into his home. Into his life. “No.” He said firmly.

Yoda sighed. “Xanat—“

But Xanatos was done being polite. “I said no.” The Force reverberated with the strength behind that one word, and both Qui-Gon and Yoda shivered at the intensity. “You’re not welcome in my life, or that of my brother’s. You’re not welcome in my padawan’s life.”

Spearing his troll of a former great-grandmaster with a look, he continued. “And that includes you.”

Qui-Gon stared at him beseechingly. “Xana, please—“

Xanatos closed the door. He didn’t owe Master Jinn any more of his time.

He didn’t owe Master Jinn anything.

No was a full sentence. He was allowed to be hurt. That didn’t mean he needed to carry it with him anymore.

“Who was that?” Feemor asked, poking his head out curiously. Obi-Wan following suit.

Xanatos smiled. “Nobody important.”

Bruck considered his list.

Obi-Wan had been taken as a padawan by that pretty princess, which meant Bruck had one of two options.

Krayt dragons still freaked him out, so kidnapping Obi-Wan and placing him in a tower till he agreed to marry him wasn’t a viable option.

How does one become a prince? He mused, scratching his lip. Maybe Quin will know.