Chapter Text
“Good afternoon, Madame Nu.”
“Padawan Kenobi.” Jocasta greeted pleasantly, though she arched an eyebrow at who the boy had brought along with him. “Yan.”
Her friend nodded in greeting, which even by Yan’s standards was a rather subdued response, but Jocasta shelved the thought and turned her attention to the padawan.
“What will it be today?” she asked kindly, more than familiar with this particular boy’s penchant to hole himself up in her Archives, having had to personally fetch him for evening meal on more than one occasion. “More Mandalorian history? Or back to Outer Rim linguistics?”
Though she’d been addressing Obi-Wan, it was Yan who spoke, raising an eyebrow at her words and pinning the boy with a dry look.
“Another ‘hobby’, padawan?” he asked flatly, and Obi-Wan winced, chagrined, clearly catching whatever Yan was referencing.
“Not quite yet, Master.” he replied politely, if a little sheepishly, before turning to Jocasta with a small smile. “Actually, Madame Nu, today I'd like to read about the Ruusan Reformation.”
Jocasta blinked, chanced a brief glance at Yan, then returned the boy’s smile, keeping her thoughts on the topic carefully behind her shields.
“Then I believe you can find your way, but do not hesitate to let me know should you need help.” she instructed, getting a polite bow and a murmur of thanks from Obi-Wan before the boy turned to Yan.
“You have until evening meal.” Yan announced after a few seconds of seizing his padawan up, and though his countenance was stern, Jocasta knew her friend enough to read the fondness in those dark eyes and found herself relaxing unconsciously along with Obi-Wan. “If you’re late, it will be Djem So practice for the rest of the week.”
The boy wrinkled his nose but nodded his acquiesce, and Jocasta just about managed to keep her amusement at Yan’s choice of ‘punishment’ to herself.
“Then I will see you promptly at evening meal, Master.” Obi-Wan replied, just skirting the edge of cheeky, though the bow he offered Yan was nothing if not respectful. He nodded to Jocasta, then turned and headed off, and the confidence in his steps made Jocasta bite back a proud smile.
Still, Jocasta waited until the boy was out of hearing range before she turned to Yan and pinned her friend with a look. “What brings you to the Archives?”
Yan met her gaze, his expression thawing slightly without impressionable padawans around, a hint of humour in the lines around his eyes as he replied, “You.”
“Oh?” Jocasta lilted, charmed despite herself, even though she knew Yan well enough by now to push down the blush that might’ve once risen up. “A social call, Yan?”
“Yes, though not solely.” Her friend admitted, and Jocasta managed to turn her exasperated huff into a sigh.
“Be so kind and speak plainly.” she requested dryly, more than familiar with Yan’s tendency to obfuscate and play on assumptions, though she was quickly forced to reevaluate her assumption that this was one of those times when Yan didn’t rise to the friendly jab but doubled down instead.
“I find myself in need of a favour. One that requires your access as Archivist and member of the Council of Reassignment.” He announced without fanfare, almost stumbling over the words, and Jocasta shifted, sensing the severity of the moment.
“What do you need?” she asked tightly, not quite suspicious, but not liking the odd tension that clung to her friend either.
To his credit, Yan didn’t beat around the bush. “I would like to see the history of modifications that have been made to Obi-Wan’s file since his arrival to the Temple.”
“Absolutely not.” The words were out of her mouth before she’d fully processed the request, but Yan hardly seemed surprised by her vehemence.
“I have reason to believe his file has been tampered with.” He revealed, and Jocasta paused, watching her friend carefully.
“That's a serious accusation.” She said slowly, trying to get a read of Yan’s motivations, but his shields could have very well been made from durasteel for how little they let through. Realisation dawned slowly, but when it did, Jocasta let out a gusty sigh. “...Which is why you came to me.”
Yan inclined his head.
Jocasta considered the situation: Yan wasn’t the type to give up after a simple ‘no’, no matter who it came from. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the lengths he might go to in order to get what he wanted should she refuse.
She sighed, frustrated but aware that her mind was already made up. “What's the basis for your claim?”
“About a year ago, when he was on the brink of ageing out of being chosen as a padawan, Obi-Wan asked Qui-Gon to train him. Qui-Gon refused.” Yan answered quickly, and Jocasta frowned, not having known about the initial rejection. “Seemingly as a result, Obi-Wan was sent to the AgriCorps on Bandomeer.”
Jocasta stilled briefly, something in the words raising alarm bells in her mind. She kept her eyes on Yan and reached blindly for her personal datapad, distantly grateful that the pulpit of the Archivist’s desk kept her hands hidden.
“My padawan is impressively well-read for his age, but he has little skill with the Living Force, or experience with the sort of tasks such an assignment would require.” Yan continued, but Jocasta was only half-listening, her attention focused on keeping her shields up and not reacting to what a quick scroll through her ‘pad had revealed. “The Order is not in the habit of punishing initiates for not being picked by a Master, yet his Reassignment to the AgriCorps seemed precisely that.”
She looked up when Yan fell silent, met his clearly expectant gaze, and took a deep breath.
“That's because it didn't come from the Council of Reassignment.” She forced out on the exhale, the words nearly catching in her throat with how hard they were to admit.
Jocasta didn’t think she’d seen Yan that thrown in years.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your padawan's Reassignment to the AgriCorps was never discussed during a Council session.” She repeated, and it somehow felt even more painful to admit the second time around even as she turned the ‘pad around to show him the sessions from that time period.
Like she’d expected, Yan’s expression grew stormy and his shields somehow even tighter, but Jocasta wasn’t Sifo-Dyas; the best she could do was redirect and distract, which she did with an urgent; “What was it you wanted to see on his file? You said you suspect it had been tampered with?”
Yan twitched, gaze refocusing, and nodded sharply. “Yes. Extensively, I believe.”
“When?”
“Anytime between a year and a half to a year ago.” Yan revealed tonelessly, and it was Jocasta’s turn to do a double-take at the time-frame.
“Yan-?” she began, but her friend surprised her by cutting her off with a quiet ‘please’ that made her forget whatever else she’d been planning to say.
It was- humbling, to realise that although Jocasta had always teased Sifo-Dyas for folding pathetically easily whenever Yan actually used his manners with them, she was apparently no better.
“Alright,” she agreed on a sigh, “but we're not doing this here.”
She waved one of her assistants over, tucked her personal datapad into the folds of her robe, and stepped out from behind the Archivist’s desk. Once she was arm-to-arm with Yan and got them both out of the Archives with minimal attention drawn, she turned to her friend to ask; “Is Sifo-Dyas home?”
“On a Seeking assignment.” Yan replied, still terse, but less monotonous than before, and Jocasta allowed herself a small, victorious grin.
“Perfect.”
An hour later, whatever joy or excitement she might’ve felt was long forgotten, the sheer scale of what she was looking at hard to believe.
"Yan…" she murmured, scrolling through dozens of deleted notes, dating all the way from the boy’s time in the crèche until a month before he was sent to Bandomeer. Yan was stone-faced beside her, his Force-signature carefully hidden behind his shields, but she had no doubt that Sifo-Dyas would have his hands full the moment he returned with whatever was swirling behind them.
"Visions?" she asked after a beat, choosing one of the safest topics to bring up to get her friend to focus on literally anything else, but Yan just nodded tightly. “You knew?”
“Sifo-Dyas suspected it first.” Yan answered, and Jocasta restrained a wince at the glacial tone. “I made my own conclusions a few days ago.”
Jocasta hummed inquisitively, genuinely curious as to how they had figured it out, and Yan glanced at her briefly, though obligingly elaborated; “Obi-Wan has great initiative, Master-level shielding, and what he claims to be 'nightmares'.”
Jocasta blinked, processing the seemingly unrelated facts, then nearly dropped her datapad when realisation struck.
“Galidraan.” She breathed, turning to stare at Yan wide-eyed, almost wishing that he would correct her. “All his research on Mandalore-”
But Yan just nodded, the blankness of his expression and the iciness of his voice not abating in the least. “Precisely.”
“You're-” angry, she wanted to say, but what she was sensing from her friend was too cold for anger, too focused; scheming would have fit better, but that was too close to an accusation when she didn’t have any proof, “-disappointed.”
Finally, Yan sighed, and some of the tension riddling his frame left along with the exhale, though he still seemed more coiled-snake than man.
“Before I claimed him, Obi-Wan told me that 'no other Master would take him on'." He announced a propos nothing, then pulled Jocasta’s ‘pad out of her slack hold.
“Look at what was removed,” he directed, scrolling through and pointing out notes on isolated incidents of emotional outbursts and rule breaking over the years in the crèche - not ideal, but hardly scandalous enough to warrant being erased.
“And here,” he added, pointing at other records: a report from the boy’s lightsabre instructor with a positive remark on Obi-Wan’s skill and versatility with the Forms; a comment from his crèchemaster on his high empathy levels; a note from another instructor for the boy’s quick thinking and conflict de-escalation.
Without that variety and hints of personality, the comments that had been kept served to paint a picture of...mediocrity. An initiate that was neither problematic, nor showing any real potential.
A perfect blank slate.
“What are you going to do?” Jocasta asked once that thought registered, pinning her friend with an expectant look and biting back a scoff at the raised eyebrow she got in response. “I know you, Yan.”
Some of the ice in her friend’s countenance seemed to thaw a little at her words, but she knew he was still far from letting it go.
“For now, nothing.” He said, handing her back her datapad and settling back against the couch with a frown. “But my padawan does not deserve to have his confidence destroyed for somebody else's machinations. I will get him the training, and the recognition, he was almost denied.”
Jocasta wasn’t sure whether the words sounded more like a promise, or a threat.
“And the tampering?” She asked instead of pressing, having learned to pick her battles, and her words drew a there-and-gone smirk from Yan and a deferential ‘I leave that decision in your capable hands’.
Though the acknowledgement warmed her chest, she couldn’t help the frown that pulled at her brows as she gazed at the history of modifications that had been done to the padawan’s file. “There are not many in the Temple with this level of access.”
Yan eyed her drolly, and his tone was drier than the sands of Tatooine when he muttered; “I'm aware.”
Taken aback by the sudden change, Jocasta stared at her friend for a few seconds, mentally going over their whole conversation and all the things left unsaid. When it finally clicked, she switched off her ‘pad to thwack Yan’s thigh in reprimand, then fell back against the sofa at the realisation that she’d been played.
“You used to be better at giving gifts.” She grouched, because even though she was annoyed at having been manipulated so perfectly into doing Yan’s bidding, she also knew she wasn’t about to refuse.
Yan finally seemed to relax, then lowered his shields just enough to shunt any lingering negative emotions their discovery had provoked into the Force between them, and that was almost as much of a victory as the small, barely-there smile that pulled at his lips.
“Don't pretend you don't enjoy a good mystery."