Mace & Yoda bond over verbally whooping Qui-Gon's ghostly ass
One of the simplest joys that Mace now cherishes—one that he had so foolishly not appreciated properly until the war stole it from him and he realized that aching, ragged tear in his soul it left behind—is the opportunity to meditate peacefully with his former Master.
They’ve always used the same meditation chamber, from the time he was a padawan—tucked deep away in the north-northwest corner of the Temple, dim and heavy with Yoda’s favorite incenses. Oh, they’d replicate the ritual during the war, of course—but it was never the same, the pall of darkness and death hanging over them like it did.
But with the return of peace, Mace has regained this precious part of his routine and he—well, rejoices in it. It’s not quite the same as in his younger days. There’s still significant darkness as the Galaxy heals from the wounds of war, but it’s so much less hopeless than it once was and sometimes Mace can physically feel the warp and weft of the Galaxy righting itself, thread by thread.
It’s also now one of the few chances he gets to see his old Master, now that Yoda has officially retired from the Council and devoted himself fully to teaching the younglings. Only a year after the war, Yoda had stepped back from his duties and no one, least of all Mace, blames him. It is clear that Master Yoda will soon be one with the Force—well, soon is relative, given his species, but Mace will count himself lucky if he gets to spend two more decades with his Master—and he dearly wishes that Yoda spend those last years surrounded by the younglings he not-so-secretly adores rather than the headache inducing concerns and politics of the Council. The revelation of how close the Jedi had come to total annihilation had…shaken Yoda, in a way few things ever had. He’s aged what seems like decades in just a few short years.
Yoda hums and reaches out in the Force, drawing Mace back to the here and now with a gentle, soothing touch. Mace acknowledges the gesture gratefully and returns to his contemplation, consciously and carefully relaxing each and every tightly wound muscle in his body. He starts at his toes and works his way upward, tendon by tendon, ligament by ligament.
He’s working on his shoulders, when, suddenly, Yoda’s ears flatten.
Mace frowns and leans forward, his earlier tension quickly restored, heightened even.
“What is it, Master?” he asks, heart in his throat. The last time he saw Yoda this distressed during one of their joint meditation session, a Sith Lord had been running the Senate and the whole Galaxy had been plunged into civil war.
“Here, with us, Qui-Gon is,” Yoda says finally, eyes popping open as he glares at the cushion directly opposite his current position. Mace has only a brief split-second to wonder if Yoda has finally lost his marbles once and for all, before a ghostly bluish figure pops into existence right next to him.
Mace Windu, venerated and feared Grandmaster of the Jedi Order, does not scream.
“Hello, Mace,” Qui-Gon’s ghost says, way too cheerfully. It seems death has done absolutely nothing to blunt Qui-Gon’s terrible sense of humor and showmanship. “How are you doing? Caleb tells me you might be getting a new grandpadawan soon!”
Mace and Yoda blink at him silently for thirty clicks.
Then.
“To your lineage, a disgrace you are!” Yoda shrieks, before Mace can let loose his own volley of invectives. Both Mace and Qui-Gon rear back in shock. Yoda hops out of his seat and starts swinging his gimmer stick futilely at Qui-Gon’s ephemeral shins.
“Master, I understand that there may have been some misunderstandings, and I apologize for that—but I’ve come to teach you the way of Whills. I’ve learned so much—”
“Whills? Care for your crazy mystics you think I do?” Master Yoda croaks. “What care I for them? Cause you to abandon your padawan, make him feel unworthy, your obsession with mystics and prophecies did! Abandon an innocent woman to slavery, exploit her son, you did!”
Qui-Gon turns to Mace, eyes wide and pleading. Mace simply crosses his arms.
“Don’t look at me,” he says firmly. “He’s your grandmaster so he gets first crack, but I’ve got my own list of grievances.”
“Really,” Qui-Gon sighs. “It all worked out for the best, now didn’t it? It was the—”
“If you say “will of the Force,” he might just lose it,” Mace mutters under his breath.
“—will of the Force.”
“What know you of the Force, hmm? Ignorant and selfish as you are, what know you? Excuse it is, only. To do whatever you want, this excuse is! Called you on it, while alive you were, I should have. Yan’s duty that was—did it well, he did. But with his estrangement, worse and worse you got. Trusted you with Obi-Wan, I did, in spite of this. A promising youngling, a fine addition to our lineage, I knew he would be—then traumatize him you did! On war torn planets, stranding him! For a new padawan, toss him aside you did! As you lay dying—resolve this rift you did not, no, instead place an unnecessary burden upon his young shoulders you did!”
“Clearly I came at a bad time,” Qui-Gon harrumphs, completely unapologetic. “I will give you two some time to calm down.”
“Oh, don’t you dare,” Mace begins, right as Qui-Gon poofs out of existence once more. Yoda rams his gimmer stick against the ground in frustration—well, it is more of light tap than a loud bang, but for a former padawan like Mace, well versed in the various tones and shades of meaning of Yoda’s gimmer stick raps, it was positively deafening.
“Not finished was I!”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s still here, listening,” Mace sighs. He raises his voice just a tad. “And perhaps if he was still listening, I would tell him that we might deign to listen to him next time if he uses his mystical powers to apologize to his damn padawan instead of interrupting a perfectly pleasant meditation session!” He turns back to Yoda, shaking his head. “You do realize that the majority of my migraines can be directly traced back to that lineage, right? Your lineage, may I remind you.”
“Not fair, that is,” Yoda grumbles. Mace levels him with a look and Yoda takes on that mulish, shifty look he always adopts when he doesn’t want to admit that someone else has won the argument. “Turned out very well, young Ahsoka has.”
“Give her a couple of years,” Mace returns, dryly. “I’m sure she’ll grow into her powers of mass chaos soon enough.”