if i only knew outtakes

“You can stop hiding, you know,” Mace Windu intones, his deep voice severe.

He feels a little foolish speaking to a wall of jungle fronds and empty air, but he knows he’s not alone. He’s known for some time, ever since he first left the main dining hall on Yavin and headed towards this private clearing for his morning mediations and katas. It’s one of many clearings scattered around the edges of the old temple buildings for this very purpose, something that has become one Mace’s favorite aspects of Yavin, ever since he toured the grounds for the very first time only three or four years after its inception. There was something almost magical at the crack-of-dawn when the water beaded up and crystalized on the emerald leaves and the hot sun had not yet burned through the early morning fog, some new level of connection with the Force that Mace never quite achieved in durasteel and smog-smothered Coruscant. The planet was full of life, yes, but a different kind that made the Force hum quite differently.

Of course, it is that hum—the faint, discordant difference between jungle and not-jungle that first alerts Mace to his little stalker’s presence. The youngling is good, to be sure, with strong shields and careful, quiet footsteps that speak of a lifetime of practice sneaking around, but…well, he’s Mace Windu, High Councilor of the Jedi Order and battled scarred survivor of the worst the Clone Wars had to offer. He’d like to hope that this youngling doesn’t seriously think a simple shield was going to hide her from him in the Force. Despite his minor annoyance at the thought of the audience, he hadn’t said anything as he ran through his warm-up stretches, sure the youngling would lose interest watching him meditate. To his surprise, though, the youngling had stayed, quiet and unobtrusive for over half an hour.

The memory of Caleb shyly watching him and Depa practice in the Temple salles had hit Mace then, a sudden and jarring note in his otherwise peaceful meditation. The boy had always made such a game out of hiding in the shadows and rafters and Mace forces himself to feel the full weight of his grief and a brief sting of resentment for the youngling whose presence had brought such memories to the fore and brought such an unexpected end to his meditation, for only a moment before pushing the feeling to the Force. It was not the youngling’s fault, of course, they were only curious, as all younglings are, the way Caleb had once been.

Perhaps it was for that reason he’d deviated from his morning routine and launched into an advanced, saber-less kata—a reward of sorts for his little follower’s patience and respect, the same way he’d used to show off for Caleb when the boy had earned a particularly high mark in classes or earned another bead for his braid. He could feel the breathless excitement from the youngling throughout the entire thing, their shields not quite well-formed enough to hold out under a wave of emotional excess.

But, the kata is over, and now Mace finds himself curious in turn, to finally learn more about his mystery audience, and so he waits, even as the long silence that follows his question drags on and on, filled only with the chirping of various bugs and the rustling of the wind.

There’s a hint of thinly-veiled anticipation in the air, and Mace sighs.

“I’m not going to light my saber,” he says, finally. “If that’s what you’re waiting for. I’ve finished all of my katas for the morning.”

Another long pause.

Then.

“What was that?”

He turns to face the source of the high-pitched voice, a chubby-cheeked young human girl hopping down from her perch on one of the large trees. She nimbly uses one of the many vines draped across the tree to swing down into the clearing, so light-footed and small of stature that her tiny feet barely sink into the wet, dark earth.

She brushes a leaf off her dark hair, whorled around her head in a perfect crown of braids, and steps closer to Mace, her face open and expectant as she waits for his answer. He doesn’t answer immediately, instead taking the time to study her and try to place the niggling familiarity that tugs at the back of his brain when he looks at her. She’s younger than Mace had first supposed, given her level of shielding, only six or seven standard years and she has a wide-eyed look of curiosity that lights up her brown eyes. The girl blinks steadily at him. Mace's lips twitch. He says nothing and tilts his head in consideration. The youngling copies his movement.

Eventually, she breaks.

"So, what was it?" she demands again, an imperious tilt to her chin. Mace arches an eyebrow.

"The katas?" he clarifies. She nods, then frowns.

"I've never seen anything like it."

Mace snorts.

"I should hope not—it’s called the Vapaad. A lightsaber form of my own invention.”

“You invented your own saber form? Wicked,” she breathes. “Can you show me?”

“You wish to learn the elite, advanced katas that only two living Knights have ever mastered?” Mace asks, bone dry. The girl’s face takes on a mulish cast.  

“I can do it,” she insists.

“I’m sure,” Mace responds. He hesitates, halfway to gently turning the youngling down. “What’s your name, young one?” he asks, as a delay tactic.

She beams, seeming to take this a positive sign.

“I’m Leia. And you’re Master Windu from the Coruscanti Temple,” she declares. He chuckles.

“Indeed I am. And while I have every faith in your abilities, perhaps we should start with something a little more…attainable. Have you begun learning Shii-Cho?”

Leia straightens her shoulders as purpose fills her muscles.

“Of course! Master Plo Koon says I’m a quick learner.”

“I have no doubt. Show me.”

Leia ducks down and picks up a long, thin stick from the leaf-littered ground at the edge of the clearing. She weighs it in her hands for two, maybe three seconds before hurrying to the center of the glade and falling into the opening Shii-Cho stance.

Mace stands back, moving into the shade offered by one particularly wide-branched tree, and waits patiently. He tries not to let his amusement show at the way her tongue sticks out and she begins to painstakingly move through her training katas. It’s slow—as if she is deliberately slowing down so as not to make a mistake—but finely done, especially for a youngling of her age and with only a random stick, as opposed to the usual, weighted training ‘sabers. When she finishes with a particularly beautiful flourish, Leia looks expectantly over to Mace.

“You favor offensive attacks and rush the defensive retreats,” he notes, sternly. Her lip wobbles slightly, but she keeps up a brave face. He softens the criticism with a short, clipped nod of approval and begins to move towards her, unclipping his own lightsaber from his belt. “But, overall, well done. Let us walk through the kata again—I will add in some variations on the traditional movements that will better prepare you for the transition to an aggressive form like the Vaapad.”

The girl’s smile is more blinding than the reflection off a Coruscanti skyscraper and her eyes keep darting to his unlit ‘saber.

“I’m still not turning it on,” he warns her, as she deflates and starts grumbling. “The last thing I need is Obi-Wan or Plo Koon coming after me because I accidentally hurt one of their younglings. The kata works just as well with an unlit lightsaber.”

Leia deflates slightly but then hurries to copy his pose, sinking into a new opening stance. It looks fairly clumsy and silly given her size, but good enough. She shifts her weight back and forwards until she finds a the right balance, then raises her eyes once more and flexes her fingers against the branch in her hand.

“I’m ready,” she declares.

“Very well.”

They run through the kata again, Leia’s eyes carefully tracking the changes that Mace introduces with every turn and pulse. He exaggerates the difference for her benefit, twisting deeper and lunging deeper than he normally would, so she can see the differences. She stumbles a few times, giving only a single huff of frustration before scrambling to return to her earlier position. Mace waits quietly for her to rejoin the flow before continuing. It is an easy, familiar series of movement, for all that he has not practiced this particular kata in years, not since he taught it to Depa. While basic, it prepares younglings for the greater flexibility and power than forms like Ataru or Djem So demand. He finds himself sinking into a semi-meditative state, at once acutely aware of the teeming life of the jungle around them and the bright light of the youngling beside him. He feels her tentatively reaching out in the Force, as well, and welcomes her into the surface level of his thoughts, touched by her offer. He hums and drags himself and the girl back to the here and now, gently but surely.

His eyes are the last to open, meeting Leia’s across the clearing. Unbidden, a faint smile spreads across his face.

“Once more,” he says, quietly. “I wish to watch this time.”

And so, he does, correcting her form when necessary and asking her to pause when and where he thinks is necessary. He makes her hold one particularly difficult single-legged pose for far longer than is necessary, just to test her limits, but otherwise keeps his comments brief.

 Plo Koon is right, of course, as he always is when it comes to ferreting out promising young trainees—Leia is a fast learner.

When she is sweating in the humid jungle heat and the constant buzz of insects is now broken up by the caw of several daytime birds, he finally calls a halt to their work. A few strands have escaped her braid, sticking to her forehead and the back of her neck, but despite her exhaustion, she still opens her mouth to protest.

He holds up a hand.

“Peace, young one,” he says, his voice brooking no argument. “You can hardly learn an entire form, let alone the Vapaad, in one day. Work on mastering this kata first, to build a solid foundation.”

“And then you’ll teach me?”

“Perhaps. Mastering the Vapaad is quite dangerous, requiring many years of study and enormous discipline. Currently, myself and my padawan, Master Bilaba, are its only practitioners."

Her eyes narrow thoughtfully.

"No one else?"

"Well, Depa's padawan as well, whoever they may be. If they show an interest and aptitude."

"So only your padawans and your padawan's padawans can learn it?"

"Indeed."

She regards Mace for a moment.

"Huh. Are you looking for a padawan?” Leia continues, politely. “Because I think I’d make an excellent padawan.”

“Really,” Mace drawls, more amused than anything else. The dark-haired girl nods solemnly as the Force rumbles a little at her pronouncement—whether it’s a warning or some form of cosmic laughter Mace can’t exactly tell. He decides to sidestep the question for now. “And why would you want to become my padawan? The bond goes two ways, you know. The master and the apprentice must both choose.”

“Well, you’re the first one to notice me.”

“Hmm?”

“I follow all of the guest Masters around when they come here, but you’re the first one to actually notice.” She shrugs. “I figure it’s cause they’re all here on vacation, but still, it’s kinda disappointing.” 

Mace resolves to bring this distinct lack of situational awareness up at the next Council meeting. He hopes, for the sake of the Jedi Order and the Galaxy as a whole, that they too made note of little Leia’s presence and just chose not to speak up, rather than missing her presence entirely, as Leia seems to think.

“Technically, these trips are not a vacation. We are here to teach,” is all Mace says. Leia shoots him a disbelieving look.

“Yeah right,” she snorts. “Mama says that you all come here to hide from the Senators.”

“Your mother is…not entirely wrong,” Mace concedes, with an incline of his head. Leia nods in satisfaction.

“Mama is never wrong. She was the one who told me that if I wanted to get a Jedi master—a good one—I needed to do my research. She showed me how to do research on the ‘net, of course, but then she said that nothing can beat real world observation.”

“A wise woman,” Mace murmurs, lips twitching once more. He feels as if he has smiled or almost smiled more in the past hour than he has in the past year added up all together.

“So,” here Leia pauses, with a significant look in her dark eyes. “What do you think?”

“What do I think of what?” Mace hums, deliberately playing dumb. He hasn’t had this much fun with a youngling since…well, since Depa had introduced him to young Caleb. The boy had been terrified of him at first, of course, as all the Coruscanti younglings are, but by the end, they’d had a warm, teasing relationship, one marked by deliberately awful life-day gifts. Mace has a pair of ridiculously fluffy, purple—“to match your saber, grandmaster!”—slippers courtesy of the boy. He still wears them occasionally, usually when Depa or her former clone battalion comes by for a visit. It never fails to bring both a smile to their faces and an ache to their hearts.

It’s a good ache, though.  

Leia rolls her eyes and puts her hands on her hips, dragging Mace back to the present, to the drone and rustle of the wildlife around them, as well as the very determined little youngling in front of him. The motion is overexaggerated and strangely familiar in a way that catches strangely at the edge of Mace’s mind.

“Me, being a padawan? Your padawan, specifically.”

“I think that there are a great many Jedi Knights out there, all of whom would make you a wonderful master.”

“Yeah, but none of them could teach me the Vaapad.”

“Depa could.”

“Master Billaba?” Here Leia snorts and taps her foot impatiently against the ground. Dead leaves and twigs snap under her toes and add emphasis to her proclamation. “Don’t be ridiculous, everyone knows she’ll be taking on Ezra Bridger as her padawan.”

“And how do you know that?” Mace asks, with a raised eyebrow. As far as he’s aware, not even Depa herself has come to a final decision on the topic. “You seem quite certain.”

Leia waves a hand vaguely.

“I dunno, I just do,” she says, and the Force flutters in response, swirling around the youngling. Mace tries his best to tamp down the growing curiosity in his chest—just because someone was strong in the Force did not mean they’d make a good Jedi, nor did it mean they’d be able to master the Vapaad.

“And what do your parents think of this plan of yours? I follow the Orthodox Code, you know. It’d be very different than your life here on Yavin.”

“Papa says he pities the Jedi that agrees to become my master, because I’d probably make them tear out all their hair,” the girl replies, with absolutely zero self-consciousness. “But we’re kinda perfect for each other then. I mean, even if I made you tear out you want to tear out your hair, it’s not like you could.”

Mace chokes, attempting desperately to disguise his laughter as a cough. Judging by Leia’s beaming smile, he’s not very successful.

“Yes, well. As wonderful a pair as I’m sure we would be, I am not looking for a padawan at this time. My duties to the Council keep me quite busy.”

Leia looks at him for a long moment. The sun inches higher in the sky, washing out the colors of gas giant Yavin orbits.

“I betcha I could get you to change your mind.”

“Oh really?”

“Uh-huh. I bet I can convince you to take a Padawan. And if I’m right, you’ll have to take me on as your Padawan, obviously, and start teaching me those Vapaad katas.”

“Hmm, and when you lose? This does seem a very one-sided bet, at the moment.”

“If I lose, which I won’t, I’ll shut up about it and never bother you about teaching me again. Deal?”

“Deal, little one,” Mace says, his voice thick with unexpected fondness for this stubborn, arrogant little child. He’s quite looking forward to his next visit to Yavin, whenever that may be. She will lose this bet, of course, but that does not mean that Mace cannot enjoy her attempts to convince him otherwise. Perhaps…well even if he is not the one to teach her, that does not mean he cannot find another upstanding Master to take on Leia’s training. Preferably one with some youth and enough energy to keep up with her boundless enthusiasm, but also one who has already successfully raised at least one Padawan to Knighthood, since he has a feeling that young Leia will be a bit much to dump on a newly Knighted, untested Jedi. Already his mind tracks through the options, Luminara, Quinlan Vos…

“You won’t regret it, I promise,” Leia says earnestly, practically floating with excitement. “I mean, Grandma and Daddy might, but you sure won’t!”

“Grandma and Dad…” Mace trails off, then zeros in on the shape of the girl’s face, the curl and color of her hair. “You’re Skywalker’s kid.”

The girl beams, knowing beyond all doubt that she has a winning card up her sleeve.

“Uh-huh,” she confirms with faux innocence. “Daddy’s always super annoyed when your name comes up. He says it’s ‘cause you have a saber up your butt, but Papa says it’s just ‘cause Daddy has issues with auth-or-it-y figures. Just imagine the look on his face when he realizes I know the Vaapad and he doesn’t!”   

Mace narrows his eyes and there’s a long moment of silence as he ingests this new little tidbit. Mace is humble and mature enough to admit his failings, and one of his biggest is the petty joy he derives from needling Shmi and Anakin Skywalker. The fact that this girl has not only managed to ferret out his weakness, but also figured out a way to exploit said weakness to her advantage is…well, it is the sort of clever thinking and targeted use of Force intuition that Mace would look for in a padawan. If he was looking for a Padawan.

Which he is not.

(But if he was…)

“Damn, you’re good,” Mace says, finally breaking the silence. The admiration is clear in his tone.

Leia turns on her heel, laughing maniacally as she disappears back into the jungle.