Alright, here it is! This is the first chapter of my Dooku-centered fic that I've been probing you guys about. Quite a few people read the single chapter I posted about two months ago and it garnered a few reviews, all of which encouraged me to write the fic and post it. I'm not going to promise regular updates, but I'll do my best to not let too much time past between them. ;) I hope you guys enjoy it!

Summary: After the events recounted in Dark Rendezvous, Yan Dooku leaves Sidious and the dark side and returns to the Jedi Temple months later, seeking asylum and hoping for forgiveness. He finds a friend in Jocasta Nu, Keeper of the Archives, but the rest of the Order are not as quick to forgive. Despite their opinions and suspicions of the former Sith, the Council agrees to allow him to stay in the hopes that they can keep an eye on him and use his knowledge to defeat the Sith once and for all. Meanwhile, Dooku seeks redemption and a better way than the Code in a small group of people located in the Bogden System. He gets more than he bargained for and uncovers something far stronger than the Sith and potentially more dangerous. Features Yoda, Mace, Obi-wan, Anakin, Ventress, Sidious, and more... (Angst, Drama, Adventure, and Family all rolled into one. Strong Christian themes are at the center.)

Disclaimer: I'll claim whatever doesn't already belong to someone else. The short part of this first chapter that is bold is from the book Dark Rendezvous and is not mine.

"I know a planet inhabited by a red-faced gentleman. He's never smelled a flower. He's never looked at a star. He's never loved anyone. He's never done anything except add up numbers. And all day long he says over and over, just like you, 'I'm a serious man! I'm a serious man!' And that puffs him up with pride. But he's not a man at all - he's a mushroom!" The Little Prince

It was raining on Coruscant. Large drops filled the many crevices and pocked surfaces of both streets and buildings, soaking in deep and ensuring a few more wrinkles would be added to the already aged appearance of many of the planet's numerous levels. A thick layer of clouds promised a longer shower than desired. The city was still bustling with all sorts of frantic activity, however, as if in the face of such a roaring deluge, it had simply acknowledged the angry outpouring of rushing noise and smirked in response. Coruscant was a busy place, and even the heaviest of storms was not going to hinder its frenetic culture.

On the second day of this unusual soaking – of which the weather services proclaimed there might be at least three more – a sopping figure made his way up the wide expanse of steps leading to the entrance of the Jedi Order's famed Temple. The dark cloak that hung off of his tall frame was drenched through and anyone who glanced in his direction could only sigh in sympathy. A few might roll their eyes in disbelief as well. Did Jedi ever consider weatherproofing their traditional garments?

The man trudged up the steps in a measured gait, not precisely in a hurry, but not so slow as to be an annoyance had the day been sunny and the Temple busier. Despite his soggy appearance, most would have instantly categorized him as a man of position. He stood tall as he walked. Confident. Purposeful. Authoritative. There was no mistaking it.

But he was not a Jedi. That was a mistake.

This man reached the top of the steps and stopped, ignoring the rush of water that continued to smother him, and took a moment to glance up. It was a long ways up to be sure. The spires of the legendary Temple reached hundreds of feet into the sky, but today they disappeared in the steady sheets of precipitation. A small smile lit up his normally dour expression. How ironic, he thought. Without the sun, this place is just another slab of duracrete and marble, growing older with the rest of this shadowed planet.

And shadowed the Temple seemed. Dulled by the lack of light, grey and hard in appearance. Still deliberating on his choice of action, the man shrugged dismissively. He had left the darkness, the slime, the shadows, and the old, old hatred, and now here he stood. Still lost, but not without direction. Not entirely, but he was a bit surprised that this place seemed so ordinary when it once had seemed so grand. Something inside of him had tugged him here, insistent that he return.

A Jedi he had been once, but that was many years ago. Many years. He was a little over a decade older and wiser, as his former master would soon discover. His first former master, anyhow. Shivers that had nothing to do with his water-logged cloak slithered up his spine. Thinking of his first master inevitably brought up memories of his second.

Older and wiser, yes. But he carried the weight of certain experiences with him as well, and he always wondered if others could see that weight in his slight limp and the tiniest slouch of his shoulders. He sighed, preparing himself. Then he stepped out of the rain and into the empty shell that the Jedi called "home". To him it had never felt like home, and now it almost feels like he's willingly entering a prison, subjecting himself to chains he had once been free of.

Aged hands, worn yet still strong, reached up and lowered his cowl, revealing gray hair that had once been a noble black. This change did nothing to take away from his refined presence; he had always purposed to remain poised and mannered in appearance, forever giving off the aura of one who was confident in his abilities and not to be trifled with. He observed the large doors with a bland expression, gritting his teeth over the ornate simplicity that they exuded. The Jedi were far too proud in their humility, he wagered.

Normally there would have been "greeters" standing on either side of the grand entryway, ready to welcome anyone in so long as they were deemed safe. Today, however, the Temple was apparently forgoing their first measure of security, something he was grateful for. Small mercies and all that. It wouldn't do to have himself detained right away without having the chance to explain himself. He had little doubt that a welcome party of sorts awaited him just inside, but perhaps he would at least be granted the opportunity to simply speak.

And so, with resigned determination and a slight bit of trepidation (if he were honest with himself), this stranger who really wasn't a stranger reached forward and pushed the right door inward. There was an uncharacteristically loud creak as the door swung in and he winced a bit.

If he was expecting a large group of armed Jedi waiting for him with lightsabers blazing and ready to strike, then his already bruised ego was about to receive yet another blow. The only figure who had deigned to grace the entry halls with his presence was short, squat, and wrinkly, sprouting little bits of hair like some old potato that had just begun to grow its oddly shaped warts. He was green-skinned and smiling.

~~OOO~~

"Always catch you, I will, when you fall… I swore it."

Yan flinched as if stung.

"But another way to solve the war, there is. If you will not join with me, perhaps join with you, I should. Tell me more," Yoda said testily. "If power over beings need I not, what else can your dark side do for me?"

"What do you want?" Yan snapped. "Tell me what you want and I will show you how the dark side can help you achieve it. Do you want friends? The dark side can compel them for you. Lovers? The dark side understands passion in a way you never have. Do you want riches – endless life – deep wisdom…?"

"I want…" Yoda held up the flower in his hand and took another sniff. "I want a rose."

"Be serious," Yan said impatiently.

"Serious am I!" Yoda cried. He bounced to his feet. Standing on the desktop, he was almost as tall as Dooku. He held up the flower imperiously toward his former pupil. "Another rose, make for me!"

"The dark side springs from the heart," Yan said. "It isn't a handbook for cheap conjuror's tricks."

"But like this trick, I do!" Yoda said. "The trick that brings the flower from the ground. The trick that sets the sun on fire."

"The Force is not magic. I can't create a flower out of thin air. Nobody can – not you, not the Lord of the Sith."

Yoda blinked. "My Force does. Binds every living thing, the Force I understand."

"Master, these are games of words. The Force is as it has always been. The dark side is not a different energy. To use it is only to open yourself to new ways to command that energy, that have to do with the hearts of beings. Want something else. Want power."

"Power, I have."

"Want wealth."

"Wealth, I do not need."

"Want to be safe," Yan said in frustration. "Want to be free from fear!"

"I will never be safe," Yoda said. He turned away from Dooku, a shapeless bundle under a battered, acid-eaten cloak. "The universe is large and cold and very dark: that is the truth. What I love, taken from me will be, late or soon: and no power is there, dark or light, that can save me. Murdered, Jai Maruk was when the looking after him I had; and Maks Leem; and all the many, many more Jedi I have lost. My family they were."

"So be angry about that!" he said. "Hate! Rage! Despair! Allow yourself, just once, to stop playing at the game of Jedi Knight, and admit what you have always known: you are alone, and you are great, and when the world strikes you it is better to strike back than to turn your cheek. Feel, Yoda! I can feel the darkness rising in you. Here, in this place, be honest for once and feel the truth about yourself."

At that moment, Yoda turned, and he gasped. Whether it was the play of the holomonitors, beaming their views of bleak space and distant battles, or some other trick of the light, Yoda's face was deeply hidden in the shadows, mottled black and blue, so that for one terrible instant he looked exactly like Darth Sidious. Or rather, it was Yoda as he might have been, or could yet become: a Yoda gone rotten, a Yoda whose awesome powers had been utterly unleashed by his connection to the dark side. "Your hand is shaking," Yoda said.

"Yes." Yan frowned at it. "Age."

Yoda smiled. "Fear." Yoda came out of the shadows. The vision of him in his Sith avatar faded.

~~OOO~~

Yan Dooku and Yoda stared at one another for a long moment, neither saying anything. They had fought, then. After a discussion in which Yan had tried his very best to convince Yoda of the merits of the dark side, after he had failed and been left completely unbalanced and shaking, after he had informed Yoda that it had been a trap, he had come to his battered senses and they had fought. Yan had eventually fled, leaving Vjun to continue to burn in its heavy shadows.

"Out of the darkness, has young Dooku come?" Yoda finally asked, his stick tapping gently on the floor as he moved forward.

Dooku stared at him, face impassive, heart beating no faster than normal. Yoda had convinced him that day of two things. The darkness wasn't worth poisoning his soul over, and the Jedi were not as light as they claimed to be. He wondered now if Yoda would agree with not only the first point, but the second as well. Still staring down at the ancient Grandmaster, Yan reached inside of his cloak to the dry robes beneath and drew out a small plant. A white rose, to be exact. He extended it towards his old friend, a wry smile only now crossing his face. "Your rose. As requested."

This drew the Jedi up short. For the first time in Yan's eighty-three years, he saw Yoda speechless. The stick hovered frozen only two inches from the floor as Yoda gazed at the small flower, his green eyes widening slightly before they flicked back to Yan's far darker ones. The stick fell the rest of its way, landing with a dull thud. "Yes," Yoda murmured. "It is."

Yan waited for Yoda to accept his small, somewhat ironic gift before straightening to look around at the empty hallways. They were lit only by artificial lighting today since the sun was currently smothered in clouds. "Your Force does not give that flower life," he said as he studied the view out of one of the windows. "I won't say that I tried to create a flower out of thin air or crouched by a small plot of dirt trying to bring one out of the ground, because I didn't. I felt that would be a foolish waste of time. No, Yoda. Only after the flower lives does it have the Force flowing through it and when it dies, it is what you are holding. Still beautiful, still white, but dry and hollow. A shell. Tell me, Jedi… can your Force defeat death?"

"Returned, you have," Yoda replied, drawing Yan's gaze once more. He wasn't shocked that the Jedi chose to ignore his question. Yoda was looking at the rose and still smiling, but the smile had grown strained. When he met Yan's eyes, the man found himself no longer staring into a hopeful former friend, but a Jedi master. The Jedi master.

Yan let out a dry, bitter laugh. For some futile reason, he had clung to a tiny thread of hope that maybe things could be as they once were. That he and Yoda could somehow set aside the past thirteen years of their tragic lives, but like the gaping mouth of a greedy, slobbering monster, those years seemed to have sucked their friendship dry. So be it. Yan could live with that. "Yes, but not as a Jedi. I will never be a Jedi again."

A spark of something, sorrow perhaps, flared briefly in grass-green eyes and then it was gone. "Know this, I do," Yoda confirmed. "Why does Dooku come here, then, if a Jedi he is not?"

Yan sighed, glancing once at the dry rose cupped in Yoda's knobby claws and then let his body relax. No need to continue to keep up appearances, at least not completely. He was tired of it. Tired of it all. "I want to rest, Master Yoda. I have been running and searching and fading for too many years, and I am hoping that maybe while your Council decides what to do with me, I might be granted a few days' rest."

Somehow, he had surprised the little troll twice now. Yan wondered if perhaps he was the only man to ever perplex this creature that was supposed to be so wise. He immediately dismissed the thought as incredibly arrogant, because Yoda was wise and he had also lived a long, long time. He doubted that this was only the second time that Yoda had ever been surprised.

Even so…

"Only rest, Dooku wants?" Yoda huffed, a shadow of his old mischievous smile flickering into view. "Sense more from you, I do. No longer shrouded in darkness, you are, but still a shadow. Seek answers, you do." Yoda paused, keen eyes seeing too much. "And safety."

Yan blinked, mind shuffling through all of the answers that he could give. Eventually, he decided to agree with him. "Yes. I am hunted and while I am not exactly inclined to keep company with those I consider foolish, I must grant that this Temple is safer than other places I could go." He watched Yoda study him, careful to keep his shields strong and his face indifferent. Years of practice, decades of putting on an act had carved him into stone. Impersonating the blank countenance of a droid or a statue was not hard, merely a necessity. It hid his true desires.

Yoda finally moved again, tapping his stick in what Yan recognized as irritation. "If hunted, you are, then bring danger and darkness to this Temple, you do."

"I did not say this place is safe. You misunderstand me. I only said safer." Yan looked away again, measuring the dim corridors in a heavy gaze and finding them severely lacking. There was no comfort for him here, no warmth. Only opportunity, and it was enough. "There is already danger and darkness here in these walls," he continued, looking down at the Jedi once more. "What hunts me is merely the culmination of what is already here. I was once the thing that hunts me and yet you are considering my request? I am only asking, Master Yoda. It is up to you whether you want to allow me to stay."

Finally, finally, Yoda grinned. It was a frightening expression on a gargoyle-like face, but Yan only felt a small bit of relief at seeing it. "Clever, you are, my old friend." The stick tapped down once more, this time in finality. "Grant your request, I will, but only so far as the Council deems fit. Hiding something, you are, but push you, I will not." Yoda stopped, humming a little.

Yan waited, silent.

Yoda fingered the rose and lifted it to his nose, huffing in satisfaction. "Well-preserved, this is. Still smell it's sweetness, I do." He cackled happily. "After all this time, a decent man you still are. Cautious, I am, but believe I do, that you are not and have never been the thing that hunts you."

A dark brow rose, indignation, irritation, and disagreement flicking it high. "Then you are a fool."

Air slapped him in the face and chest and Yan was pushed back a foot before he realized what Yoda had done. The green master was glaring at him through narrowed, glittering eyes. "Told me once, you did, that no one is good. Beginning to believe you, I am. Many wars have I seen and too much bloodshed to believe otherwise. But told you once, I did, when searching for the Sith you were, that searching for other shadows, you were not. Searching for the source of all shadows you were, and find it you did. Sidious, you are not."

Yan flinched, both stung and startled. He recovered quickly. "I suppose…" he trailed off, hearing movement from his left. Mace Windu slowly stepped out from behind a pillar, hilt in hand, but blade deactivated. Yan frowned. How had he not sensed…? No matter. The blasted man was here now, and he had a weapon, but his attention was only on Yoda… he took it as a good sign.

"Master," Windu's deep baritone echoed in the entryway.

Yoda hummed again, narrowed eyes still fixed on Yan. "A threat, he is not," he said. "Follow us to your old quarters, you will," he ordered with a slow nod.

This was spoken to him, and Yan slowly nodded back. His eyes flicked briefly to the Korun master standing slightly behind him and to his right, warily confirming that the man was not the least bit happy to see him there and even more disappointed at the Grandmaster's verdict. Despite his wariness and despite his exhaustion, Yan managed to dredge up a cold smirk. "Are you to be my designated shadow while I am here, Master Windu? Demoted to guarding prisoners now are we?"

The dark-skinned man, robed in a brown cloak almost as dark as his own, took a single step forward so that they could face each other completely. The Jedi's face was still impassive, but his eyes, darker even than Yan's own, glinted with something one could almost call primal. "Spare me the pathetic quips, Count. Let's not pretend that neither of us doesn't understand exactly who the other is. This," here the man gestured only at Yan, "changes things. You can understand the steps being taken I'm sure."

Yan's smirk grew, but inside he was frowning. A long sigh threatened to betray his true feelings, but he held it at bay. Force, he was tired. "I'm flattered. Truly."

"Provoke us, you will not…" but Yoda trailed off when a smile slowly crawled across Mace Windu's normally stern features. Apparently this was enough to arrest even the attention of a centuries' old troll. Yan had to admit to just the slightest twinge of unease. Only a twinge, nothing more. He had faced worse expressions from far more wicked beings.

"You tread dangerously," Windu said. "I am here to ensure that you do not become the threat that Master Yoda believes you are not. I am a patient man despite my reputation, but make no mistake. Should you show even the slightest hint of retaliation, you will lose a limb or possibly your head, depending on whether or not you decide to duck."

Threats? Yan's smirk disappeared. "My mistake. You flatter yourself."

"Flattery has nothing to do with it." Dark eyes narrowed. "You move to hurt one of us, you try to escape, you attempt to destroy this place, you attempt rebellion in any form, I will hurt you. Badly. I've spared you once before. I assure you it will not happen twice."

Geonosis. Yan remembered.

He stared into those dark eyes for a long moment, weighing the man's words. Finally, he nodded. Keeping his eyes fixed on Windu, he reached to his belt and unclipped the elegant, curved hilt that rested there. While the Jedi's fingers twitched towards his 'saber's ignition, the purple blade made no appearance. Yan gave him a little half smile. "I believe you. Perhaps this will ensure that my body remains intact?" Hesitating for only a second, he extended the lightsaber towards Windu.

The man had the grace to allow a little bit of surprise to show before schooling his features once more. Nodding once, he accepted the weapon and stepped back out of Yan's line of sight.

The former Sith turned his attention towards Master Yoda once more and quirked a brow. "Well?"

With a sigh that rivaled the one Yan was currently holding in, Yoda turned and began to shuffle down the hallway. Despite the friction between the three of them, a huff of muted laughter followed soon after. "Friends, you once were. Squabble as if you still are, you do."

Yan didn't look to check Mace's face, but he felt a sharp pang of something from the man. As for himself, well, some things still deserved to be smiled at.

~~OOO~~

Obi-wan Kenobi flicked on the boiler with a tiny nudge of the Force, smiling at the reaction he would have received had Anakin been there. Contrary to popular opinion, he wasn't completely against frivolous Force use, particularly where tea was concerned. His smile softened and his eyes fluttered closed for a short moment as he let out a contented sigh. Something as insignificant as making tea had become a gift lately. Fighting a war left little time for domestic comforts.

As he waited for the water to boil, he moved to the small table that doubled as both desk and dining area in his and Anakin's small apartment. Right now it was littered with neat stacks of flimsy and a few articles that had yet to be sorted. Subconsciously schooling his features into a business-like frown, Obi-wan took a seat and lifted one of the articles from the table. He had already read it over a few times and he had also done the same with most of the others. Having grown accustomed to news snippets announcing more bombings, uprisings, trade embargos, Sith sightings, or casualty counts, it had been a pleasant – if surprising – shock to suddenly be bombarded with accounts of Separatist bases being uncovered and sabotaged. Some of them were in areas that the Jedi had long suspected of housing enemy camps, but many had caught them unawares.

As one of the Order's resident strategists, and due to the fact that he and Anakin were on a rare and much-needed furlough, Obi-wan had been assigned the pleasant task of making sense of all of these sudden, unusual reports. Granted, he wasn't the only Jedi master currently busying themselves with trying to figure it all out, but it certainly felt like it. What with the rest of the Council constantly inquiring of his progress and not-so-subtly offering their own insights.

Obi-wan had already narrowed it down to four possibilities, one of which he was very confused with. But it made too much sense for him to disregard it.

His thoughts were suddenly shattered by the piercing wail of the boiler announcing that the water was primed for tea leaves. Not a second later, the apartment door slammed open and heavily booted feet stomped inside. Obi-wan flinched at the sound and willfully suppressed his irritation into an expression that he hoped would pass as only slightly annoyed. "Anakin," he began, "the typical check-up for a knight on active duty normally takes longer than half an hour…"

He turned as his friend entered, noting the frazzled mop of hair, faint circles under the eyes, and glint of determination in blue eyes. Anakin looked normal, but he felt out of control. Casually turning back towards the counter, he began to add some crushed herbs to his water. "Well?"

"Dooku just turned himself in."

His fingers froze for just the tiniest fraction of a second before he continued making his tea. Nothing, not even the Force-blasted Count turning himself in, was going to interrupt him having tea.

"Yoda's called for a Council meeting." Obi-wan didn't pause. An annoyed huff sounded from the place where Anakin stood. "It's happening right now. As in immediately. You're already late because you turned you comm off again…"

Obi-wan finished adding the herbs. Grasping the small mug and relishing in its warmth, he turned and stepped towards the table. Catching Anakin's scowl out of the corner of his eye, Obi-wan smirked. "Tea takes precedence," was all he said. Snatching up two of the six piles of flimsy and the article he had been reading before he had been so rudely interrupted, Obi-wan cast a final glance at his friend. "Go finish your check-up, Anakin. I'll update you when I can."

Anakin rolled his eyes and made a shooing motion with his hand. Obi-wan left with a chuckle, moving just fast enough so that he could say that he had hurried, but slow enough so that he wouldn't lose any tea. He exuded the casual authority and confidence that he was known for, but inside his mind was churning with countless possibilities and he struggled to gain any sort of traction at the transpiring events.

When a drop of tea sloshed out of the mug, Obi-wan frowned and slowed to a more measured gait. When it landed on one of the articles resting securely under his arm, his frown deepened. Force help the Council if he arrived with their precious reports soaked in his much more precious beverage. He had been more than a little frustrated when the task had been dumped on him immediately following his and Anakin's return. Furlough, by definition, was meant to be a time of rest.

Upon reminding himself of this, Obi-wan ceased his "hurrying" and slowed to a gait lazy enough as to be considered unmeasurable. The Council could stand to have an exercise in patience and he was more than willing to be the one who administered it.

When he finally arrived at the doors to the Council chamber, Mace greeted him with a thunderous scowl, crossed arms, and a tapping foot. His dark eyes narrowed when they glimpsed the steaming mug nestled securely in Obi-wan's calloused hands. "Did Anakin fail to mention the urgency of this meeting, Master Kenobi?"

Obi-wan noted the emphasis on his formal title with mild concern. Considering the present situation and the fact that he was the one they had looked to for clarity on the events leading up to it, he wasn't overly disturbed by their frustration over him being a few minutes late.

"You've kept us waiting for the better part of an hour."

Well. It seemed that his lesson in patience had failed. Pity. He shrugged dismissively and raised the mug ever-so-slightly. "Tea takes precedence and I can't imagine that Dooku is going anywhere."

"Nevertheless –"

"I propose we get started," Obi-wan said, stepping to the side and brushing by the taller man. If they kept this up, he just might unleash the full power of his sarcastic wit on this unfortunate bunch. He walked across the room to his seat without meeting anyone else's gaze. After shuffling the pages into a neater stack and taking another sip of his tea, he glanced towards Yoda and met the Grandmaster's eyes.

He understood and Obi-wan smiled slightly in acknowledgement.

Mace growled at people. Ki-adi was often lost in thought. Yoda's ears drooped. Eeth answered in three words or less. Saesee hardly spoke at all. Agen got migraines. Plo's breathing grew hoarse. Obi-wan drank tea.

It wasn't hard to tell when they were each unsettled. Not if you knew them well.

~~OOO~~

Not one speck of dust rested in his old quarters, but it was obvious that no one had used them since he'd left. The air was old and smelled stale and even the busiest Jedi would have at least added one personal touch, but there was nothing. Only Order-issued furniture gracing the tiny living room, Order-issued dishes in the cupboards, and a single Order-issued plant resting in one corner. It was a species that required very little water, but Yan could tell by the gray tinge to its bluish leaves that after all this time it was starting to feel just a bit parched.

Unusually eager to do something as simple as take care of a plant (he hadn't done so in far too long), he crossed to the sink in six determined strides and filled a cup with water. Ten more steps took him to the plant and he gently dropped just a couple of sips into the pot. Within the hour it would be bluer and standing straight again.

Once that task was finished his mind frantically set about prioritizing all of the ways he could make this tiny apartment resemble something like a home. More plants, a throw blanket with an elegant design, new sheets for his bed, and a canister of tea leaves would be a nice start. An expensive bottle of Coruscant's finest vintage would do nicely too.

Unclasping his cape, he draped it across a chair and crossed to the balcony doors. Fresh air was also a necessity and so he cracked one of the doors open.

The sound of falling rain filled his ears and its scent immediately filled the small room. Smiling a tired, but genuine smile, Yan slumped into the cushions of a sofa too short for his long frame. His old bones creaked as he shifted and his back protested mightily, but he only closed his eyes. For just a few hours he set aside the issue of his unknown future, the possibility that he could very well be sentenced to prison for the remainder of his life, and the anxious fear that Sidious would somehow still be able to reach him within the walls of the Temple. For just a short while, Yan slept.

Please review if you get a chance! Any sort of constructive criticism is always welcome, so don't hesitate to leave any. :)