Archive of Our Own

Jango was staring at the bricks of the cell. He always thought they were just black but it couldn’t be further from the truth. There were gradients to them, little specks of colour here and there of grey, white and even blue and green, barely visible in the muted light of the torch. The golden-red light of the torch which threw warm, orange shadows on the wall.

It was beautiful. It was the most beautiful thing he have ever seen.

And he couldn’t… Couldn’t remember.

He was too high on the spice last night. He got into a fight with the guards. He hoped they would just end it this time. It has been seven years. Seven long years. He almost forgot how the life before was. He almost forgot that there was anything else beyond never-ending hours of work. Pain. The void in him, the emptiness. A sweet release of spice. The floating, unearthly feeling. More numbness. More work. Different mines and different ships, but the work was always the same.

He was tired. So tired. There was… no point. No reason to go on.

Nothing mattered.

But now…

He couldn’t recall anything of that night.

How they looked like. How old were they. Who they were. But in a place like this, there were not too many options.

His soulmate was either a fellow slave or a guard. Slaves were not allowed to keep their soulmates. If some mandaforsaken souls encountered each other in this hell, they were either separated forever or killed if they tried to resist. If they were a guard on the other hand… Jango would rather die than have anything to do with a slaver.

When he was young, he dreamt about the day he would meet his ven’riduur and his world would burst into colour. His father would tell lovely stories about his lost soulmate. Even though they were dead, Jester was full of good memories and he always seemed equally melancholic and happy when mentioning them. Jango wanted that. He wanted to meet the other half of his soul. He wanted to create a happy life together. He didn’t know who they would be, but he didn’t doubt that they would be amazing. Manda matched you with someone who would compliment you perfectly, like two parts of a whole finally coming together when it was the time.

It was supposed to be one of the most joyous days in one’s life.

And Jango couldn’t remember them.

But then…Who would have wanted a ven’riduur like him? He was broken. There was not much of what actually made up “Jango Fett” left in him. He was an empty shell, a sad remnant of a once strong man. There was nothing and no one left to fight for. He was just… Waiting for it to end, for years now, the apathy sinking so deep into his bones that he didn’t actually care.

He had a moment of a reawakening three years in, deciding to take revenge on the man who enslaved him, the man responsible for his vode’ death on Galidraan. But he failed, he failed miserably to free himself and in the wake of that failure, he was sold from the freighter to a mine. And then another mine. And another one. And another one. At some point, he lost count because it stopped to matter. It didn’t even matter where he was and what he was doing. There was simply… no point.

‘You’ Jango almost jumped, slowly turning away from the wall, to look at the guard standing in the door of the cell. All Jango’s cellmates stared as well. There were five of them of different races and species, but Fett couldn’t be bothered to remember their names. They would be gone soon enough, taken by disease, harsh punishments or spice. Only unlucky bastards like him lasted longer than a couple of years.

‘Take those.’ The guard dropped something on the ground.

‘What is this?’ he blinked at the packages, blueish translucent wrappers with white lettering laying at his feet, his voice unpleasantly raspy. He would kill for some water.

It took him a moment to realise that they were bacta patches and painkillers. Which were as dear as the most expensive metals here, more expensive than gold.

‘Are you blind now?’ the faceless guard just shrugged.

‘How?’ medical supplies were rare to encounter in possession of the slaves. Sometimes if you were lucky and a guard or an overseer took a shine to you they would get you some. Or if you were able to trade favours with someone or sneak into the doctor’s graces… It was the same with everything else. Better food, less patched-up clothing, cards and games. There was a black market going on, with slaves trading whatever they could for things (most often they own bodies) and the guards would sometimes get them stuff and the people would trade between themselves… If they liked you.

Jango was universally despised by the guards and his fellow miners alike. And he was fine with it. He made sure everyone who tried to get closer to him got the memo and stayed away, no matter how lonely it was. He couldn’t deal with any more losses. That and the fact that he despised the guards and their cruelty. He wouldn’t lower himself for the guards. He wouldn’t beg. He never did. He hated his fellow slaves as well, for their weakness, for what they all were… Or maybe just because they reminded him what he had become.

So it made no sense for them to be given to him. There was no one here he cared about and no one cared for him in return, unless…

Unless it was them. And they, contrary to Jango, probably remembered what happened.

He shouldn’t accept it. Maybe then they would get a message and stay away from him. It would have been better for both of them if they did. Because this… This was bound to bring attention to him and that was the last thing he wanted.

But it hurt. He got beaten up badly last night. Jango was not entirely sure what was wrong, he got used to being in pain all the time. Just different levels of it. He never made anything easy for the guards. The number of them he managed to maim or kill through the years made it surprising that they didn’t off him yet, but in the end, his outbursts ceased to appear as often as they did before.

This time… He was pretty sure his nose was broken. And there was something wrong with his right hand, but there was always something wrong with his right hand and he meant beyond the obvious - a missing middle finger (a punishment for one of his attempted escapes). There was also something always wrong with his left knee, but he was pretty sure he got kicked into it last night. He was also betting on a cracked rib and probably a number of other injuries, scraps and bruises that he was not even going to bother with.

Point. He could use the bacta.

‘Someone paid a pretty penny for you to get them, asshole,’ the guard murmured. Jango passingly wondered if it was one of those who beat him up last night. He guessed not if he actually brought Jango what someone told him to. He was probably one of the new ones, the older and more ruthless ones would just keep the bacta for themselves. ‘If you don’t want to, you can just sell them or something.’

Jango snatched the packets possessively.

‘INSPECTION!’ the loud voice of the Chief Guard bellowed.

The barracks went eerily quiet. The day shift just finished working and Jango was laying slumped in his corner, exhausted to the point that moving even slightly seemed like too much effort. After fourteen hours of hauling around crates packed full of spice, he didn’t have the energy for anything. Not that there was anything to do apart from sleeping after they were done for a day, but that was beyond the point.

Still, like all of the other miners, he looked towards the door with mild curiosity. It was rare they got inspections and usually they ended badly, with punishments handed left and right and people dragged out never to return. It was better to stay on edge, attentive. To know what was going on. That knowledge could save one’s life, for as much as it was.

And it was a change to routine, so everyone was curious.

Finally, the giant bar locking the door slid open, and the group of six guards walked in, all dressed in black, anonymous protective masks on their faces. It was a familiar enough sight, but this time…

There was a kid in the middle of the circle of guards. Well, not a kid. A young man, most likely in his early twenties. He had light-copper hair, part of it braided elaborately and part of it let loose, falling down to his shoulderblades in soft, shiny waves. Pale skin, spotted with freckles and beauty marks, one of them high on his cheek, the other on his forehead. He had the greyest, most piercing eyes Jango ever saw, with a stormy, blue flicker to them. There were distinctive, blue lines and waves tattooed on his hands, disappearing up the puffy sleeves of a dark green shirt heavily embroidered with pale, pastel green thread in a painstakingly detailed leaf pattern. Jango could almost imagine them trailing up his arms in the way the locals’ markings usually did. Average height, average build, yet athletic, with wide shoulders and slim waist and muscles, clearly pulling under the delicate fabric of expensive clothes that one would not expect to find in a clerk.

There were not many Stewjonian slaves in the mine as of yet, but they were slowly trickling in, even though the planet’s stance on slavery was pretty clear. They were usually the foolish ones, believing that their justice system won’t stand for such an operation being undertaken on their homeward. But here they were. A few months in and the number of them slowly growing. The locals were easy enough to spot with their pale complexion, tattoos and stubbornness that took ages to be beaten out of them.

So when the gossip started, nobody quite believed it. That one of the noble children of Stewjon, of people who prided themselves on their honour and righteousness would steep so low as to work with the slavers… Stewjonians just turned up their noses. They clung to their planetary myth of a just society. As if such a thing existed.

But now, they could all see him, and apparently, this time Kharkas’s new assistant was indeed a local.

And he was doing an inspection, although everyone knew that was not what Kharkas’s assistants were usually… of purely decorative function. They always fit the same brief. Young human males, usually red-headed, always pleasant to look at and, according to more spicy rumours, a good company in the bedroom.

‘I don’t think you should be here, sir,’ one of the guards whispered when they stopped next to Jango’s cell.

‘How am I supposed to assess the facility without a barrack inspection?’ something just forced Jango to look at the man. It was like he couldn’t stop staring although he wanted to, even if from his angle he couldn’t see that well when the procession started moving down the corridor, slim fingers furiously tapping on the datapad. There was an accent there, but it was softer than the local one. The locals he met in the mine spoke basic almost harshly, with clipped syllables and reverberating “rs”. This one… Speaking basic he sounded as if he just arrived from the Core.

‘I don’t…’ the guard tried again, and the young man stopped mid-step, eyeing him with clear displeasure. Back straight in a posture one would expect from a soldier and not a parlour plaything.

All the guards, except the one he was talking to seemed to straighten up as well. Even if he was young, barely an adult at least for the Core’s standards, there was something… Commanding about his presence. Something that Jango didn’t see in anyone in a really long time. Maybe not since his father.

"A true leader is recognised by what he does, Jango. By how he carries himself. People should follow them, not for what they can promise, but because they respect them."

He shouldn’t be thinking about his buir. It made his stomach clench in shame. Here he was, failing all the faith his buir had in him. If Jaster saw him now… Would he regret adopting him all those years ago?

‘I was not aware you are an expert on doing MY job now, guard,’ the man said, his cold voice dripping with sarcasm and bringing Fett out of his thoughts.

‘Pompous asshole,’ the guard seethed under his breath, as soon as the Stewjonian turned to walk further down. ‘Just because he warms up the boss's bed…’

The redhead stopped. And then he turned around, very slowly.

‘Did you say something?’ the tone was more icy now than the rivers on Concord Dawn in the middle of the winter.

‘No sir,’ the guard murmured quietly, looking strangely chastised. ‘Sorry, sir.’

‘I think you will find that what I do after my work hours is none of your business, Gris.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the guard just nodded, swallowing visibly.

It was actually quite satisfying watching one of the guards, who seemed all uncomfortable and sweaty due to a few comments from the Stewjonian. They seemed so untouchable from Fett’s position, so full of themselves and if you managed to nick one of them, two more would usually rise. But it took a bit of a backbone and the boss’s backing for them to just cower like some filthy dogs in front of someone who maybe didn’t have any real power but could produce the illusion of having some. Or maybe he did? Even if the boss’s assistant weren’t usually involved in running the facility, this one seemed to be here for more than his looks in the end. He was actually taking notes. Judging by how fast he was typing, they were rather extensive notes. He even snapped a holopic here and there.

‘Now. Let us proceed,’ the redhead nodded, seemingly satisfied. ‘Some of us have notes to do and some financial planning. Financial plans that may as well include a cut in your salary or a dismissal, Mr Gris if I find you are not doing YOUR job properly.’

... and they moved on and Jango was not really able to catch any more bits of the conversation between them.

The next time Jango saw him was out in the mine, on what must have been another inspection. It was a few weeks later, but he heard about him before that. Apparently he was the reason the meals suddenly got better. Jango didn’t see it personally because he was working, but according to the gossip, there was an inspection of the cantina during the night shift's dinner and whatever the pretty Stewjonian found ended with a rant about “better nourishment to guarantee a maximal efficiency of the workers”.

Jango was busy pushing the trolley loaded heavily with spice (and licking the dust off his fingers when no one could see) when he noticed the commotion in one of the pits. He didn’t stop. He knew better than to stop and he should know better than to look, but a glimpse of a dark, fitted coat and auburn hair tied together with a distinctive, elaborate silver pin drew his attention.

He was running towards the group of guards and the overseer, who were busy punishing (or if you’d rather “beating the shit out”) crumpled form on the ground, face covered by a breathing mask, most likely to avoid getting any of the drug in his lungs. He looked painfully out of place in comparison to the spice-dusted, exhausted workers scrambling around, all of them avoiding looking at the punishment being administered. Nobody wanted to get punished for staring and join the one on the ground. The guards tended to be… overzealous when it came to dishing out the lashes.

You couldn’t help anyone here. Everyone could only bear their own pain. It was the first thing you needed to learn if you wanted to survive.

‘Stop!’ they ignored him at first. ‘I said STOP!’ the overseer (vile, little Rodian called… Nerks? Maybe) and the guards froze, turning in the man’s direction.

Jango could now see that the pile of rags lying on the ground was actually a young Togruta, judging by the lekku, a male one.

‘But sir, the punishment…’ Nerks stared at him, still frozen. It appeared nobody quite understood what was going on.

‘The punishment rendering a worker useless is a waste of money,’ he said, kneeling next to the boy, and Jango could swear he saw his shoulders sag a little when he took in the account of the injury.

‘But…’

‘But what? You want to beat him to death? Or just maim him enough so he cannot move at all for the next few days?’ the redhead slowly got up, and the way he stood Jango could catch a glimpse of his face. It was hard to see the details from this distance, but Fett could swear he saw thunder in his eyes, even though the rest of his face was covered until it was schooled in something cold and detached so quickly that he was not even sure he didn’t make that up.

‘You think getting a new slave is going to be cheaper? Did you think about all the other costs that are going to arise? The cost of body disposal? Training of a new worker?’

Money. Of course, it was all about money. Wasn’t it like that with all the accountants? And Stewjonians. Apparently, according to the stereotypes the locals were rather… frugal.

‘Did you think about the costs at all?’

Nerks shook his head, clearly uncomfortable with all the attention he was getting.

‘So the next time, you will think two, no, three times before you raise your hand on someone, get it? Or better, you will run it by me, personally.’

‘Sir, you don’t…’

‘Do you want to ask Mr Kharkhas if I have the authority here or not? Because I assure you, he gave me a free rein here, and he would be very unhappy if he heard about any disrespect towards my humble person.’

‘Sir…’

The man’s eyes just grew colder and colder and Jango could almost imagine a scowl twisting the handsome features under the mask.

‘You know why I’m here, overseer?’ he asked slowly.

‘Not entirely sure, sir.’ No one knew. None of the Kharkhas’s previous assistants ever came down to the mine. They avoided it like a plague, happy to be sequestered in the owner’s house, located behind the hills surrounding the mine. According to the slaves who were lucky enough to escape the mines even temporarily to serve there instead, it was a beautiful place. Jango had never been. He had no skills to be of value as a house servant.

Apparently it was a wrong thing to say though, on the overseer’s part.

Because the man all but exploded.

‘Well. I’m here to guarantee an increase in efficiency of this operation. You might think it’s fun to overuse your authority over the workers. You might think that if they fear you and starve, they will be too scared and hungry to rebel. But they will also be too scared and hungry to work properly. So… I’m going to do my job and change that, overseer. And if you are not happy with that, you can take it up directly with the boss’ he seethed and could imagine e the corner of his lips turning up in what must have been a rather unpleasant smile.

As if any of them down here had direct access to the boss.

‘I wish you luck with that, though. He has less patience than I do for… pests’ the last word felt like a slap in the face.

Jango rolled his trolley further down the path.

Another few days passed. Jango caught glimpses of him here and there. He was not entirely sure what was that about the man, but he kept appearing in Fett’s vicinity. He never looked at him or acknowledged his presence, but day after day, Fett would see him passing the compound, always a datapad in his hand. And Jango… Jango couldn’t stop himself from looking, his eyes drawn to the man as if he was a magnet of some kind.

To say that he didn’t expect to run into him in one of the warehouses was an understatement.

At first he almost didn’t hear it. But when he opened the door to the dark magazine and started shuffling around, he heard something. At first, he thought his mind was pulling tricks on him, but it didn’t stop and so he moved around the palettes. Someone was counting back in basic.

‘Twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen…’

Jango stopped and looked around and then he noticed him. He was squeezed into the corner of the room, behind a pile of crates, complexion even paler than usual. He was clawing on the collar of his shirt and standing just a few steps away from him, Jango could see a faint scar on his neck. Jango saw too many scars like that. Hell, he probably had one as well, but he couldn’t really process that because that just didn’t make sense. Unless he bought his freedom… Then again no one who knew what it was like would be doing what this man was doing. Unless…

‘…sixteen… oh kriff… ugh… fift- fifteen, fourteen…’ the whisper continued. Jango could just stare, not sure how to proceed. He couldn’t just leave. He needed to get those crates, and returning without them wouldn’t end well. But also moving as if he didn’t notice anyone, didn’t notice the man who could easily order him punished…

Both options were bad. Both options were bound to end up in punishment and he just couldn’t decide which one would be more painful.

In the end, he didn’t have to make a decision.

His presence was noticed.

‘What are you doing here?’ blue-grey eyes suddenly looked up at Fett, an unusual tremble in a normally soft but confident voice. ‘You can’t be in here. You…’ he scrambled to his feet, suddenly flushed, looking at Jango all… embarrassed, a nervous hand running through thick copper hair and tugging on the braid to make sure that it was positioned properly. Almost as if he knew who Jango was and cared what Jango thought of his appearance.

A good joke.

Fett didn’t see his own reflection in years, but he couldn’t be all that pleasant to look at. His hair and beard were matted and messy (he really hoped they would shave it off soon because the bug-inflicted itching was driving him mental) and he couldn’t remember the last time he had an opportunity to shower. He was wearing tattered workers’ overalls with more holes than anything else, he had spice permanently stuck under his broken fingernails. He would also bet that his eyes were bloodshot due to the exposure to substances and he had been able to count his ribs for years.

To think that this attractive, beautiful creature in front of him would worry about how someone like him regarded them was… tragically hilarious. To think that he even recognised Jango for whatever reason… But the way he said “you”, indicated that he clearly did. It was… strange. Very strange.

‘Crates’ Jango nodded to the pile of crates they used to load up spice behind the man’s back.

‘Crates?’ the young man blinked at him as if he didn’t quite understand.

‘Transport crates’ he repeated in case it wasn’t clear enough. What else would he be doing here?

‘Of course’ the redhead nodded, even more embarrassed. ‘Transport crates. Of course’ he repeated. Before Jango might have found that reaction amusing. Now he was just staring at him impassively, waiting for instructions.

That was the only thing he did. Followed instructions, or lashed out when something brought him to it.

‘I apologise’ the redhead murmured, dropping his eyes to the floor. ‘That was completely untoward. I should… I should move out your way’ he was being… strange. There was none of the composed, cold man Jango witnessed up until now. He looked unsure and nervous, and Fett had a feeling it was not only because of whatever that… attack earlier was.

The man moved and Jango tried to let him go through, but apparently he tried to do the same thing.

‘Are you…’

‘Do you…’

‘Do you not…’

‘I’m sorry, sir’ Jango managed to finally manage to take a step back, but instead of passing him, the redhead made a step in Fett’s direction, back into his personal space. And suddenly, the Stewjonian was standing right next to Jango, and Jango realised the man was slightly shorter than him. So close Fett could smell the expensive, flowery cologne, so close, Jango was pretty sure he could count every freckle on his nose. Every coppery eyelash.

Kriff, he really was breathtaking.

It was such a dumb, stupid thought to have, but it appeared in Fett’s mind before he managed to clasp down on it.

And then he realised that this… This was his chance.

He was so close it would be so easy to wrap his hands around his neck, and snap it. If he murdered Kharkhas’s assistant, they would definitely kill him. Or the man would kill him for trying.

And yet something cringed in him at the sole thought of hurting him.

And then the man leaned in and Jango could feel his fresh, minty breath on his cheek.

‘It will be all over soon. I promise. I just need a bit more time, but I will find a way and…’

What the hell was going on?

He couldn’t understand. He couldn’t…

He had to focus on the task at hand. It wouldn’t do him any good to dwell on the man’s strange behaviour. He didn’t want to know.

‘I’m sorry, sir, I have crates to get to’ he uttered and then he finally moved over, leaving the man standing rooted at the spot, suddenly looking… lost.

‘Of… Of course’ the man… the boy… murmured. He looked so painfully, heartbreakingly young for a moment that it was easy to forget that he was a person practically responsible for running the mine right now.

Even Jango realised that things changed and more and more decisions were slowly left to the assistant. Things were better. Nobody has been beaten to death since the man arrived. The food got better. The punishments… More reasonable. They even brought the doctor in when the plague in the lower cells broke out. The guards seemed to keep themselves a bit more in check and all the unsavoury things became more hush-hush.

Kharkas seemed to be perfectly happy with the state of things, as the profits indeed increased and he turned his attention to opening another mine, according to gossip.

The guards were snickering that he let the assistant walk all over him. But as soon as they caught a glimpse of the redhead they would grow quiet as if he terrified them, in the similar manner the owner did himself.

‘I apologise. Again’ the Stewjonian moved away, but for a short moment, his expression was so terribly sad that Fett was slightly taken aback.

He was also pretty sure no one ever apologised to him that many times in the span of a five-minute-long conversation.

Jango was sick. He could feel the fever burning through his body, eating away all the remaining strength he had. He was not sure how long it lasted. He couldn’t rest. He had to work. He had to push the cart. But it was hard where he barely had the energy to stand up and he had an unpleasant feeling that sooner or later he would collapse.

Somehow, he didn’t. Not that day at least, but when he finally, FINALLY was able to lie down in his cot, there was no chance for him to rest.

The guards dragged them all out of their cells, hosed him down, forced him into a new uniform and brought them outside to stand a call. Apparently this time the boss was doing an impromptu inspection. They were all to be on the best behaviour.

The sun was setting. The palette of pinks and violets and blues was spreading over the hills which were covered in golden-orange trees, courtesy of the season. Rows and rows of exhausted, sickly prisoners (the disease continued to spread through the camp) stood in the courtyard, waiting.

Finally, the speeder stopped at the edge of the compound and two figures stepped out of it, walking leisurely along the long line. One of them was a Pantoran with light blue skin, white hair and a well-trimmed beard and yellow eyes characteristic of his species. He was tall - probably reaching good two meters, with wide shoulders and an impressive physique that didn’t seem to wane even if he was probably in his forties (but it was always hard to tell with Pantorans). Dressed in a fur-embellished coat, he made quite an imposing figure. Kharkhas. The big boss. The owner.

He was hanging off Kharkhas’s arm, one hand on the man’s chest, cheeks slightly flushed, wearing what looked like a traditional outfit with a grey cape elegantly draped over one arm, held together by a silver brooch and a dark-grey skirt (kilt, they called it a kilt here).

Kharkhas was looking at him with a strange mix of fondness and possessiveness. They were talking quietly with each other, the Pantoran leaning in to listen to whatever he was saying, a hand clasping down on the coat, and it shouldn’t, oh it shouldn’t, how could he… how could he with someone else?

‘This one.’

He didn’t even notice they walked up closer to where he was standing and were now two rows in front of him. The fact he was struggling to stay upright probably contributed to that as well.

‘Are you sure THAT’s the one you want, beautiful?’

It was almost as if they had a discussion about the piece of meat they wanted for dinner.

It would have been disconcerting if Jango was not busy fixating on the way the boss’s hand tightened around his waist.

‘Yes, I am sure, thank you very much’ there was something uncomfortable about his smile. Maybe it was not noticeable at a glance, but Jango was always good at reading people. There was something… fake about it. He was not entirely sure how he could tell, but it was almost a subconscious thing.

‘We can get you someone… Healthier. And younger. More… trained? From what I’ve heard that one is actually half-feral and if I heard about it, that’s saying something. Maybe one of the new acquisitions?’

‘I want THIS one’ he was looking at Jango, hand fisting into Kharkas’s coat. Not demanding but softer. Almost submissive which went against almost everything he observed by now. It was almost like every time Jango saw him, he was someone else.

‘That’s your type?’ Jango never was so close to the boss, but there he was now, having his undivided attention. ‘I didn’t expect that when you asked for another slave. You could have asked for anything, you know’ he caught the redhead’s chin in his fingers, lifting it up.

‘I know. And I think I expressed how grateful I am for your generosity, dear’ “dear”, why would he… ‘But you know that I like to have a project and he… reminds me of someone.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Mhm. A stubborn bastard I used to know, but…’ he shrugged, blue eyes blinking up at the man owlishly. ‘Dearest, you’ve already taken me out to celebrate and I already TOLD you repeatedly that I don’t need anything else. It’s YOU who wanted to give ME a present. If you don’t think it’s a good idea…’

Maybe the man really had some kind of influence over Kharkhas, because the Pantoran seemed to… soften somehow.

‘No, no’ he shook his head. ‘You really are one of the kind, you know?’

‘Is that bad? I thought you liked that about me.’

Kriff, Jango couldn’t listen to all that flirting anymore. It was like some kind of torture, and why…

Don’t think about the “whys”. It will only hurt.

‘I didn’t say it is’ the boss said.

And then he whirled around and gestured at one of his lackeys.

‘Forlach, take that away and wash him again before you take him up’ he commandeered.

Only when the guard literally dragged him out of the line did Jango realise that they were talking about him and not one of the others.

They dragged him down the corridor and he was too weak to resist. It was the first time in seven years he was in a house, but he tried to resist on principle. His attempts were rather meek in comparison to what he would usually dish out.

It didn’t matter that they were stared at by all the household stuff they passed. Rows of servants dressed in perfect uniforms, mostly young and beautiful, fitting with embellished decorations and expensive rugs almost like pieces of expensive furniture.

They finally pushed him into a room. A bedroom, more elegant than any he had ever seen before. Brightly painted and furnished with simple but clearly expensive furniture.

Jango tried to run out (on principle), but the doors closed with a loud hiss and the guards pushed him down to his knees, holding him in place. he tried to take a swing at them blindly which turned out pathetically because he couldn’t put enough power in the movement and then…

And then he noticed him. Sprawled on the plush armchair, head resting on the curled-up hand, datapad in the other one. Fancy clothes were gone, substituted with loose, sleek bathrobe. His hair was loose as well, with no braids to hold them up this time, falling down his shoulders in long, metallic cascades. He looked… soft.

‘Your delivery is here, sir’ the guard gritted out, hand tangling in Fett’s too-long hair and forcing his head down.

‘Thank you, Forlach’ the Stewjonian barely acknowledged them, lazily waving his hand. ‘Uncuff him and then you can go’ he said, the tone completely detached. Unconcerned.

“Forlach” followed the order, somehow tardily, unclipping the cuffs.

‘The collar as well’.

‘Sir?’

‘Just do it’ the voice commanded.

The guard did, but then he froze behind Jango’s back, his companion standing on his side.

‘Are you finished?

‘Yes, sir. I just… He’s dangerous, sir.’

‘I think you will find I can handle myself but I do appreciate the concern’ the cold voice seemed unbothered. ‘Worst case scenario there are guards down the corridor, right?’ Forlach nodded. ‘Then leave’ he shushed the guard away, and before Jango could properly process the situation… They were left alone.

Jango risked glancing up.

‘Force’ bright eyes turned to Jango and that coldness and distance disappeared as soon as the doors closed. It was like watching a mask slip away. An honest, slightly disbelieving expression dawned on his freckled face when his eyes turned on Jango with wonder and… relief. ‘I can’t believe it worked’ he got up from his armchair and then he was crossing the room to come to a stop right in front of Fett.

And then he reached out as if he wanted Jango to take his hand and… What? Jango just stared at it until the man dropped it, suddenly flustered.

‘I… Are you alright? I’m sorry I haven’t figured out how to get you out of there earlier. I had to wait for my fake birthday to bring it up with him’ he murmured quietly, sitting down on the floor a step away from Jango so now they were on the same eve level. ‘You must think I’m the worst kind of a…’

‘Why are you talking as if any of it was supposed to mean anything to me?’ Jango had a terrible, sinking feeling. He knew. On the most basic level, he knew, but he didn’t want it to be… true. He didn’t really remember, but he was pretty sure the first colour he saw was a glimpse of grey. The same blueish shade of grey that was not fixed on him, that he couldn’t look away from, transfixed.

As long as they didn’t say it out loud, he could pretend it wasn’t what it was.

‘You don’t know why?’ the boy said as if he couldn’t believe it. ‘You don’t remember?’ His expression crumpled. It was so easy to read him now. Like an open book.

‘If that’s some kind of game you are playing I would much rather you wouldn’t’ even if they were, it didn’t make sense. A slaver would never want a soulmate in a slave. They would never acknowledge it. It would remind them too much that slaves were human beings as well.

‘I’m not playing any games. I just… You are my Anam Cara. You… You brought colour into my life. I thought you knew. I’ve thought…’

‘I don’t want anything to do with your kind.’

The redhead all but recoiled, as if Jango’s words physically hurt him. People rarely rejected a soulmate. All the stories in all the cultures were tales of love or friendship, of persevering over differences, of love conquering all. It was not unheard of soulmates not getting together in some manner or form after meeting but it was… uncommon.

‘My kind?’ came a quiet, broken whisper.

‘A slaver.’

Looking at his expression, Jango might as well have slapped him.

‘I’m…’

‘Whatever you want to do, sir, just get it over with’ the redhead winced. ‘It’s obvious that the Fates are just playing with me again’ Jango got up and started pacing around, trying to avoid the fancy furniture. The man didn’t stop him. Didn’t say anything. He stayed in place on the floor, looking strangely small and defeated.

‘Please, don’t call me “sir”. You don’t… You don’t have to. I just… I know I might have gone the wrong way about all of this, but you looked… You can’t die. You looked like you were going to die and I didn’t know what to do’ there was desperation there. Urgency.

‘Maybe it would be better if I did’ Jango snarled before he could think better of it.

‘Oh’ there were tears in his eyes now, eyes looking up at Jango large and pleading. It shouldn’t make Fett feel bad but it did. ‘Oh.’

‘I couldn’t just leave you in the mine’ he repeated, all choked up.

‘You are perfectly happy to leave all the other people in the mine’ Jango didn’t want to be cruel to him. But no matter how pretty and soft he looked, the man was a slaver. He worked for the man who owned Jango. He probably slept with the man who owned Jango.

‘I’m not’ he said quietly, hanging his head. His long, loose hair hid his face, his voice barely a fervent whisper. ‘I’m really not. But it… it takes time.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Jango stopped pacing the room and turned his head in his direction again.

‘I will explain everything in time, I promise I…’ deep breath. ‘I requested you, pardon the expression, so you can be… safer. Nothing else. I just kept worrying and it's not good for the… what I’m trying to do here’ that was the cusp of the thing though. What was he trying to do here? Why was he so damn contradictory? ‘Can’t afford to be distracted. There is… Too much on the line. I didn’t really expect to meet my Anam Cara here of all the places, but my seanmhair says I’ve been born under an unlucky star so I should always “expect the unexpected”. She’s usually right, but don’t let her know I admitted that’ the melancholy on his face seemed to age it as Jango watched. Suddenly he looked much older than his years. Weary and tired. Heartbroken.

‘I guess you are right. I guess the For… the Fates are cruel indeed’ the man nodded to himself, slowly pulling himself together. As if he was gathering whatever he let out and pushing it behind the masks he seemed to be wearing all the time. He straightened his back. He raised his head.

‘My name is Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan of the clan Kenobi. But I go by Ben Oriolan here, for… reasons. But I wanted you to know the… the real one, so it would be much appreciated if you didn’t rat me out’ he said quietly, with a resolve, as if he reached some conclusion and accepted it.

‘Will you… Will you at least tell me your name?’

Jango ignored him.

The young man deflated.

‘You probably don’t want to. I understand. I apologise’ that again. Apologising. It was almost like he did nothing else. ‘I will give you space. As much as I can without raising suspicions.’

‘Well. Em. You can have the bed’ the man gestured towards a four-poster monstrosity that was taking up most of the bedroom. ‘I will sleep on the couch. It’s quite… Quite comfy, actually. Probably comfier than my bed at home. Anyway… Some of the clothes in the wardrobe should fit you so feel free to wear whatever you want’ he continued, voice dull and resigned, gesturing towards the wardrobe.

‘What am I supposed to do here?’ Jango couldn’t stop himself from asking. Jango was too old and too used up to be a house servant. Or worse, a pleasure slave. Unless the pretty redhead had very particular tastes. Or he wanted to pretend that they were REAL soulmates and force Jango to play his part.

It didn’t make sense for him to just… sit around. The redhead… Obi-Wan had to have some purpose for him here. People like him didn’t look at people like Jango for anything but a purpose. He had to… Maybe he really just wants you safe. Because of the soul bond. Maybe he is not all bad. Maybe he’s actually honest. He did change things for the better, didn’t he? He did try to help, he…

No.

He can’t be trusted. Trusting the likes of him won’t end well. It will only end in pain and suffering.

And Jango couldn’t bear any more suffering. He didn’t need a soulmate that would bring him nothing but pain.

‘Well… Whatever you want. I usually eat breakfast here and a late meal with Kharkhas and I am up and about or in the office most of the day’ there was a slight wince to his words.

‘I have a whole library downloaded on that datapad there…’ he pointed to the device on the ornate night table ‘…and quite a lot of holodramas as well if you don’t mind my penchant for terrible, Chandrilan soap operas. If you want to contact anyone feel free to do so as well’ was it a trap? Or was he really just leaving Fett to his own devices?

‘Also… em…’

‘I’m working on finding a way to disable the chip in a way they don’t realise it is disabled or taken out, and if you want to leave then, I will try to arrange that as soon as possible’ leave. He wanted Jango to leave?

‘Tha mi a’gealltainn. I promise’ he said.

‘Hi!’ Jango opened his eyes, blinking heavily.

At first he didn’t know where he was. There was some kind of… a baldachin over his head? It was blue and…

‘My name is Dal. Has Master Ben picked you up as well?’

There was a tiny face swimming in his field of vision. It was an ad. A male Torgutan. He looked… clean. That was the first thing Jango noticed. The second one was his wild smile. Jango didn’t see an ad smile so widely in a really long time.

‘What do you mean?’ Jango forced himself to get up and he looked around. The rays of sun poured in through the windows, filling the room with light, dancing off the burgundy curtains.

The events of the previous day started to come back slowly today. He couldn’t believe that he actually ended up sleeping on this bed after what was probably the most awkward evening in his life, on the mattress so soft, he almost sunk into it. He was trying to give Jango the promised “space” but it was hard when you were stuck in one room, no matter how spacious it was.

Ben. Obi-Wan. Whatever his name was.

Jango’s cursed soulmate. The Manda really hated him to burden him with that. He didn’t know what he’d done in his previous life, but it must have been something terrible. A slaver… Apparently he couldn’t even have a real soulmate. Not even one comfort in this wretched world.

Jango wished he had never met him.

‘He brought me from the mine when the guard broke my hand and I couldn’t work! So now I’m a house servant, but he doesn’t have me doing much. He’s the best’ the kid kept talking and Jango kept having his meltdown.

‘He also… But it’s a secret so you cannot tell anyone! He’s trying to find my parents!’

‘That’s… good’ Fett nodded absent-mindedly.

‘You don’t seem to speak much, do you? Don’t worry, I didn’t at the beginning either!’ yes, Jango indeed didn’t like to talk. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like a deterrent to the kid. ‘But Master Ben is really easy to talk to. And I think he likes it when we chat. I think he’s really lonely here. His village has a lot of people and there are a lot of kids… He said that if he doesn’t find my parents, I can come and stay there until he does!’

‘Where is he?’ he asked tiredly.

‘He’s already out’ the ad informed him optimistically. ‘He told me to leave the breakfast and medication out for you as we’ve already eaten. You slept really long!’ the boy gestured towards the small table that was full of food.

Jango saw little of Obi-Wan/Ben through the next couple of weeks. The man would usually leave before Fett was awake, and would come back at night or not at all (Jango didn’t want to think about what he was doing and with whom when he didn’t). He never left any tasks. He never asked for anything. He tried to speak to Jango sometimes but he would stop when he realised his attempts were not welcome. Apparently, he asked Dal to look after him, and the kid became a constant in his life, always at Jango’s side. Like he couldn’t be left alone.

The kid made sure that Jango ate and bathed (in a bathroom with an actual bathtub) and changed his clothes and took his fever meditation. Jango slowly got stronger. His feaver dissipated. Dal cut Fett’s hair and he shaved off his beard. Still, when he looked in the mirror, he didn’t recognise himself, with this ashy skin and empty eyes. For the first time in ages, he wasn’t starving. He didn’t worry about the next meal, about work. At some point out of boredom, he started to watch the damned Chandrilan soap operas. He was wondering whether going back to the mines wouldn’t be better.

There was one, massive problem though.

There was no spice.

At first he didn’t mind. But about a few weeks in, when he recovered from the illness, the chills started. This… This was something worse than fever.

He needed spice.

But he couldn’t get it. He tried to get out, but there were guards in the corridor and they stopped him before he could get too far (or rather Dal stopped him before they noticed his escape attempt).

And then the kid got him to bed and then it was so hard to stand up…

There was no spice.

He was sweaty and cold and disorientated.

At some point he either passed out or fell asleep, he was not sure.

He was brought back to consciousness by a cool hand on his forehead.

‘Myles?’ he murmured quietly.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t know who Myles is’ the voice said. It was soft. Comforting. It was like a balm on his soul. It sounded like… home. And Jango didn’t feel like that since his vode… Where were they? ‘He’s not burning up’ the voice sounded troubled now.

‘Myles’ he repeated, more urgently. They had to be nearby, they had to…

‘How long has he been like that?’ the voice asked.

‘Couple of hours’ another voice said. That one was sounding higher. A child, maybe. ‘But he has been sick before that. I asked him if I should comm you, but he screamed at me not to do so… Is he going to die, Ben?’

‘I hope not’ the hand disappeared from his forehead.

‘Don’t go. Don’t leave, please, just stay… Just this once’ he panicked, searching blindly. His vode, they were…

Dead. Because of him. Because he was too slow. Because he didn’t manage to warn them, because he was too weak and he only managed to kill six of them, he…

He couldn’t see their faces anymore. Only vague, bloodied shapes and empty eyes, only…

‘They are all gone. It’s my fault. I wasn’t fast enough. They all marched ahead’ he could feel tears flowing down his cheeks. It was not a way of the warrior to cry, but it hurt so much. And he was not a warrior anymore. He was not a Mandalorian. He was nothing. Worthless. Lost.

‘I’m sorry’ the voice whispered quietly, so quietly he almost didn’t register it, mixing with his pleas.

‘Ni ceta’ he murmured. ‘Ni ceta, vod’ika…’

‘What language is that?’ the young voice asked.

‘I don’t know. Not any of those I’m familiar with, I’m afraid’ the voice said sadly. So it was real after all? His mind didn’t make it up? It was real. It was… His.

‘But you speak like eight!’

‘There are thousands of languages in the galaxy, Dal’ why was the voice sad, now? It was usually sad. And it shouldn’t be. Oh, it should have all the happiness in the world. ‘Go get the doctor, little one. I will try to…’

That voice, it must have been…

‘Ven’riduur’ he whispered, fervently. His heart knew.

‘I don’t know what that means’ the voice said gently, and then someone delicately brushed off sweaty hair from Jango’s forehead. ‘I will get you some water.’

He caught his wrist. He couldn’t go away. People always went away. And when they did, they never came back.

‘Stay’ he pleaded and the voice… the person wavered, frozen by the bed.

‘I’m not whoever you think I am. It’s Obi-Wan. You don’t… You don’t want me to stay’ how could he not? He was the last thing he had left. The last thing that was truly his. That no one could take away

‘You can’t leave. You can’t. I can’t lose you too’.

He seemed to hesitate.

‘Okay. Okay. I will just sit by your side until you tell me to leave’ he did as he said he would and Jango could feel the too-soft mattress dip.

‘Jango’ he murmured quietly.

‘What?’ his ven’riduur froze at the word.

‘My name is Jango’ he repeated.

There was nothing but darkness after that.

‘I need spice’ he announced, staring at the young man in front of him harshly.

The redhead was sitting in his armchair. He looked tired. Worn. There were bags under his slightly reddened eyes. He was pale as well, or at least paler than usual. As if he didn’t sleep through the night. Maybe he didn’t. Jango didn’t care. The tiredness of a slaver was not his issue. But tiredness of his ven’riduur who sat by his bed until Jango regained clarity of mind, was.

The doctor left some time ago. Spice withdrawal, he said. As if it was any surprise. It only made the slaver sadder apparently.

‘No’ Obi-Wan looked at him. His tone was that of steel, even if his voice was quiet.

‘You don’t understand. I need it. I can’t go on without it. I…’ if demands didn’t do it, maybe pleas would do.

‘I’m sorry. I can’t get any’ that bastard. That kriffing bastard. Being what he was he could get all the spice in the damn galaxy…

‘It’s a damned spice mine! You can definitely get some! It’s not like you are fucking the owner for nothing… You can get anything!’

Normally maybe he wouldn’t drag it out but…

Obi-Wan looked like Jango punched him in the gut.

‘It’s… It’s irrelevant’ he murmured quietly, finally looking down at his hands.‘I can’t do it not because of the supply, but because it hurts… It hurts you.’

Not having it hurt. Yes. It hurt very much.

‘It hurts worse without it ’ he didn’t want to feel things. He didn’t want to feel the pain. The spice offered respite. An escape. It was… It was everything. ‘They are all gone.’

‘I know.’

Without the spice there was nothing left. Nothing but him.

And then he looked at him. Maybe for the first time, really looked at him, recognising what he was. What they were meant to be to each other. All perfect, tired and sad and before Jango realised what he was doing he got out of bed, still enraged and ready to strike because it was the the second half of his soul refusing him like his pain was nothing, like it didn’t want to help him, to soothe that pain and emptiness and... And he closed the distance between them, but his legs were not cooperating so before he made it to the armchair, he tripped over the ornate rug and he was falling and it was going to hurt and… Someone caught him by the arm, steadying him. And as soon as Jango regained his balance… He clung to the redhead, shakingly, his attack somehow forgotten.

Obi-Wan stiffened under his arms. And then slowly, very carefully his arms circled Jango in return and Fett never felt safer in his life. It was like with the warmth coming from another body, standing straight and steady like a pillar, peace sipped into his bones.

‘Once you get through it… It’s going to be better without it. Or so… Or so they say. I wouldn’t know.’

‘They are not coming back’ he murmured quietly, hiding his face in a nape of a pale neck.

‘I know. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all that happened to you.’

‘Get ready’ the doors slid open. Obi-Wan walked through, a mix of excitement and apprehension on his face. Since Jango… sobered up (the most painful two weeks of his life), he let himself look. Really look. Observe the little quirks. He was easy to read, really, once you realised that the mask would come up every time he left the room, or you said something painful, just to disappear when the doors closed behind him for a day.

‘We are going to the city’ he announced, taking out a bag from the closet. It was already packed as if he was just waiting to take it out.

‘What?’ Jango blinked up at him, from his seat in Obi-Wan’s armchair. Being trapped in the room with nothing constructive to do was slowly driving him mental. He was not used to that stillness. Uselessness. Then again, it was better than the mines, but anything was better than the mines.

‘I told you that we will get your chip out. I believe one of my friends has found a way to do so. I also have a meeting to attend either way so we have an excuse to go without raising too much suspicion.’

That… Jango didn’t actually expect him to keep his word.

‘What’s the meeting?’ Jango asked against his better judgment. He tried to test the boundaries recently. He asked questions. He pushed closer. He touched.

Obi-Wan let him.

He was vague at times. But he responded. He always did.

‘One of my contacts. Not a one I’m looking forward to, unfortunately. I smell trouble’ he said.

‘You are coming like that? he gestured towards Jango’s clothes, the simplest of the tunics in the closet, made of thick, warm but quite heavy material. In plain, grey colour.

‘Not everyone wants to be a peacock’ Fett responded. Apparently, his roommate/soulmate/not-quite-owner relished the art of verbal sparring.

‘I beg your pardon! I have to look good for the job’ he responded, eyelashes fluttering coquettishly.

‘Just for a job?’ Jango cocked an eyebrow at him.

‘Okay. Okay. You’ve got the point’ the redhead just shrugged. ‘It’s nice to look nice sometimes. Fault me for that. I’m already stuck here, might as well enjoy some of it.’

‘I guess I can’t fault that’ Jango for example was very fond of the food here. Yes, he felt guilty about having it, and he got himself sick a couple of times, but Dal and the medical droid worked slowly on making sure that Jango could properly enjoy it. And it was… delicious. And there was… more than enough. It was such a strange feeling to go to sleep with his stomach full, not having to worry about when he will eat next. It left him wondrous at times.

Obi-Wan beamed at him, and Jango was suddenly stricken by the thought that he didn’t need any fancy clothes to be absolutely breathtaking.

There was a wind on his face, strong gusts of it making his hair float in the air and tangle on his face. He was sitting in the speeder… He was piloting the speeder because he wanted to, and clearly, Obi-Wan didn’t care whether he had a license or not.

Jango asked, and the man changed seats with him, even if he was now looking slightly green to the face and was clutching his seat surprisingly tightly. And still, a ghost of a smile was dancing on his lips.

‘What?’ he snapped at the younger man.

‘Nothing. It’s good to see you happy.’

The words disarmed him instantly.

‘Is that all?’ Kenobi never ceased to surprise him. There was just the fact that you couldn’t reconcile anything that Jango learned about the man in the past few weeks with the cold man in the mines. With what he is doing every day in and out as his job.

It really is as if Ben Oriolan and Obi-Wan Kenobi were two different people.

Jango just couldn’t decide which one was real.

‘I also hate flying’ the redhead offered.

‘How can you hate flying?’

‘I don’t know. It seems I always end up in a vehicle piloted by speed demons’.

‘Including you?’ Jango looked at him specifically

‘I will let you know that I am an excellent flyer.’

‘Do you always follow traffic rules or what?’

There was a pause.

‘Maybe’ came a stifled answer but before Jango could press for more…

‘We are close’ Kenobi announced. The town emerged on the horizon, from between the lush trees that surrounded the track.

It was mostly grey, buildings constructed from some kind of local granite.

They stopped in front of a local medical cleaning and Kenobi didn’t wait before ushering Fett inside.

There was a tall, blond woman inside, dressed in what was most likely a medical uniform. She had the tattoos as well, wrapping around her hands and neck in a familiar, swirling pattern (he saw the redhead changing enough times to know that they swirl in wide strokes around his arms, circling the shoulders and ending somewhere around the cleavage, blue pattern looking almost like paint).

They were from the same clan, then.

Obi-Wan explained to him a bit about the Stewjonian traditions. About their clans. Apparently, they functioned the same way Mandalorian clans did. Instead of markings on the armour and clan symbols, they had their tattoos, their tartans.

‘Obi-Wan! What are you doing here? I thought you were still on your assignment’ she said, smiling at first, until she caught sight of Jango behind his back. ‘Oh gods. You are still on that blasted thing, aren’t you?’

‘I brought him. As I said I would’ the redhead gestured to Jango. His voice became somewhat stilted and serious, the Coruscanti accent becoming a bit more murky, a bit more harsh. A bit more Stewjonian.

‘You are risking everything. What if…’

‘Please, Iona’ it sounded almost pleading and the medic’s blue eyes softened considerably.

‘Fine. But we have to hurry up’ she nodded curtly.

‘They know I’m in the town today. I told him I’m going to get some vaccinations done, I…’

‘Yer sure it’s not classified?’

Jango felt like he was missing something.

‘Considering how much everyone gossips?’ he shrugged and she walked up to Fett, Scanner in hand.

‘Name is Iona. I’m a local medical officer and an unfortunate friend of this one there’ she nodded towards Obi-Wan.

Jango remained silent.

‘Make sure the chief doesn’t find out’ she turned to the redhead again. ‘It could end your career’ she cautioned, and then started to shuffle with medical equipment.

‘I don’t care about it. I… There are more important things’ Jango looked at him. Was he one of the “more important things”? It seemed that way, according to their words but… ‘Besides, I always have other paths open. Pretty sure Imelda will need her primary caretaker for another few years.’

Who the hell was “Imelda”?

‘Oh Obi-Wan… May the gods have mercy on you’ Iona shook her head. There was something lighthearted in their teasing. Something that reminded Jango of all the people he lost and made his heart clench painfully.

‘Do they ever?’ he signed heavily, a rueful smile dancing on thin lips and then he left the room, leaving Jango alone with the medic.

‘He’s a good man’ she whispered to Jango, pressing the scanner to his arm. ‘He’s trying his best.’

‘You are just leaving me here? Are you not scared I will run away?’ Fett asked, staring at the man flabbergasted.

The chip was out. Nothing stood between him and his freedom. If he decided to take off… He could just run. And they wouldn’t be able to track him. He was also outside of the compound so it would be so easy, oh so easy to just go and never turn back…

The only obstacle was him, steadily walking by Jango’s side towards the speeder parked under the little tree.

‘Feel free to do so’ Kenobi didn’t even blink.

‘What?’

‘The chip is gone’ the redhead said, patiently. ‘If you want to go… You can leave. There is nothing stopping you, least of all me. I actually hoped you would’.

But he was…

‘There is a village up in the mountains. If you tell them you came from me… They will have you. They are my clan. They can give you provisions and transport if you wish to leave. I will give you the access codes to my ship. It’s a bit… beat up but it flies. Not very fast, mind you, but it does’ well, he said he didn’t like flying, didn’t he? ‘Or you could … You could stay there. As long as you want. My grandmother lives in a house in the middle of the village. It’s not hard to miss, it’s the only one under the Tree. It’s where… It’s where everyone gathers. She will give you shelter like she would to one of our own. Or if you don’t want any of that, there is a bag in the trunk of the speeder. There is some money and clothes, and the documents if you want to leave. Sorry, it’s not much, I…’

He planned this. He planned it and prepared and he expected Jango to just leave.

‘I would have told you sooner but I was not entirely sure whether it would work. I’m sorry’.

‘What will happen to you if I leave?’ Fett found himself asking.

‘What do you think? I will lie. That’s one thing I’m good at. Lying. I will send them in some random direction. I will make sure they will never find you, no matter where you go. And they would never, ever think Ben Oriolan just let someone run away’ the grimace showed up on his face.

‘Obi-Wan…’

‘You can’t come back with me. We can’t… We can’t risk that. I don’t know if I will get another chance to get you out. I won’t ask you to stay with my grandmother if you don’t want to. I’m asking you to go. Wherever you want to. To have your freedom, however you please. Here or off-world… Even if it’s as far away from me as possible’ the grimace morphed into a sad smile. Sad, but hopeful.

‘There is a map in the speeder. I put the coordinates on it. I also debugged the thing, so they won’t be able to track it. That's all… That's all I can do right now. I… I have to go’ he bit his lip. For a second it seemed like he was going to say something else, but then he just shook his head.

‘I’m running late either way.’

Fett had no idea what pushed him to say his next words.

‘Why don’t you come with me?’

For a moment the question just hung in the air, both of them too shocked to say anything.

But they could, couldn’t they? They could just leave it all behind. Start anew, somewhere far away from here. Or even here. That didn’t matter that much. But it could be just… just them.

For all his complicated feelings towards the man, he did not expect to be turned down for some stupid, naive reason. Maybe because it always seemed like Kenobi was always leaving the choices to him.

Was there even any hatred left?

Maybe Jango just decided to trust that Obi-Wan was the real one.

For a few seconds, the boy just stared at him with wonder. And then he shook his head, focus sipping into his eye.

‘I… I wish I could. I can’t… yet. I have to finish what I’ve started, I…’

‘Is it because of your mission?’ whatever that kriffing mission was. Whoever the kriff he actually was.

‘Yes. It’s because of my mission’ he nodded. ‘I went too far, Jango. I can’t just leave now. I will explain everything if I ever get a chance’

‘What…’ he started, but Obi-Wan shook his head.

‘You know I can’t tell you. Not yet. Wouldn’t want you hurt because of me’ there was resolve in his voice now.

‘Mar sin leibh an-dràsta, Jango’ Goodbye for now, he said and then he turned away.

Jango watched him go. Briskly. Holding himself straight. As if he didn’t just let go of his ven’riduur.

It was rare. Almost unheard of. Soulmates were meant to be together.

But Obi-Wan was letting him go. In the end, he was leaving a decision to Fett.

And that mattered more than any gifts, any promises, any love confessions ever could.

The man was going to let half of his heart go and live his life knowing what he could have, suffering, so Jango could have his freedom the way Jango wanted it.

So Jango followed. He wanted to know what meeting the man was attending. He wanted to know what that blasted “mission” was. He wanted to fully understand before he made his decision. He wanted to know that the man wasn’t going to report him right away.

He was good at staying unnoticed. He clutched behind the houses, following the man into the forest from a certain distance. He hid behind the walls and then behind the tree trunks, keeping his distance until they got deeper into the forest.

He was a few steps behind. Kenobi was already with the person he was supposed to meet up with. And he was… angry.

Jango never heard him that angry. It was not that cold, controlled anger he usually reserved for the guards, no that… that was real and fiery and...

Impossibly attractive.

So attractive that it took Jango a moment to actually register the other speaker.

’I think you don’t understand something here. You can’t just show up here, demanding to meet me and hand over all the intel’ Kenobi was waving his hands. ‘It’s ridiculous!’

‘Your supervisor mentioned that it might be a taxing assignment for you, considering your history…’ a calm, deep voice said. The man talking to Obi-Wan was tall, much taller than Jango’s soulmate. He had long, brown hair and a beard. And robes. Robes that Jango saw somewhere before. In another life.

He felt his blood run cold.

‘YOU know nothing about my “history’”’ Jango’s ven’riduur seethed. ‘And I was the only one who hit the profile. Whether I’m comfortable or not didn’t necessarily matter to the chief at the time and it wouldn’t have mattered to YOU.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means exactly what I said! I followed an order. I poured months of my life and sold my soul for this’ whatever “this” was. ‘I won’t have the likes of you just scoop in here and ruin months of hard work just like that. I’m close. I’m this close! And you coming here puts everything at risk. EVERYTHING’ it was not like Ben to lose it. He was either calm and controlled or… soft. Mellow in his quarters. He allowed himself to be, next to Jango.

‘Likes of me? Are you one of those who fear my kind, officer? I assure you, most of the stories…’

‘I don’t have a problem with “your kind”. I have a problem with YOU, Master Jinn. Personally. I am not trusting the fate of my people to the men who leave children to fight a war so that they can save their lover’ there was a deep hurt in his words. The old type, the one that festers and grows through the years.

‘You…’ the other man sounded shocked.

And then Jango remembered where he saw those blasted robes. Galidraan.

The Jetiise.

He almost choked with a sudden surge of hatred. Those were the people who killed his vode, those were the people who stole his life from him, those were…

‘Someone is here’ the bearded man said and reached for his weapon. ‘Come out’ he commanded and Fett almost scoffed.

He wasn’t in shape to fight. He wasn’t the same man who killed six of them with his bare hands. But he would die trying. It would be a worthy death.

So Jango launched at him, leaving the cover of the bush, trying to swing at the man with his bare hands. The invisible hand pushed him away and he flew back, hitting his back on the ground painfully. He could hear the buzz of the weapon, the one that filled his nightmares and then the man was standing over him with the sword pointed towards his throat and he could only think about how it was a better ending than a death in chains.

This is how it ends. As the vode died, that’s how Jango was going to die.

And then something pushed him back, away from the weapon’s rage.

‘THAT’S ENOUGH!’ Jango looked to the side. His ven’riduur was standing there, flame in grey eyes, his auburn hair billowing in the wind… He looked like all those heroes in the stories the Stewjonian slaves liked to tell to keep their spirits up. A Finn mac Cumhaill sort of a character, a fine and beautiful warrior, a leader of some kind of mystical army. The Jetii’s sword, ripped out of the tall man’s hand, went flying to the ground, as if moved by the same strange magic that pushed Jango away. Strange, but familiar. Warm.

‘Back off, Jinn’ Obi-Wan gritted his teeth and then he was moving and Jango couldn’t think about that strange occurrence, because the man was falling to his knees next to him, tender hands checking him over, feeling for injuries.

‘Are you alright?’ he asked, voice soft and concerned, hand moving to cradle Jango’s face. Fett couldn’t help leaning into the touch. His hands weren’t soft. They were calloused and rough, clearly used to hard work. But they were so… Comforting.

‘A Jetii’ he whispered, grasping the younger man’s hand. ‘He killed them’ he spat out.

‘He killed who?’ he looked up at Jinn who was observing them from the side.

‘My vode.’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what that means. Is that your… Your people? Your family?’

‘It’s a Mandalorian word for ‘kin’’ the deep voice behind them said, both of their heads snapping up back to look for him.

‘You are a Mandalorian?’ Obi-Wan asked, surprised. There was no apprehension there though. Only a surprise, and perhaps a bit of guilt. As if he felt guilty because he didn’t know. But how could he know, when Jango never told him anything? He was not even angry at being followed, just… Concerned and that was…

‘Was’ Jango mumbled. ‘Before.’

Something in the young man’s expression fell.

‘Oh, mo chridhe’ the redhead murmured quietly and he stilled, awkwardly, as if not sure what to do. He looked like he wanted to hug Jango for a moment but stopped himself, glancing towards the Jetii.

In the end, he stood up, extending his hand to help Fett up.

‘Come on, Jango, get up. Help me a bit here’ he said quietly, all that fire from before melted away.

‘Jango. Jango Fett’ the Jetii said. Jango didn’t hear anyone say his full name in years. The only person who knew his first name was Obi-Wan. He didn’t feel much like “Jango Fett” anymore. But hearing that name from the name of a Jetii was boiling his blood.

Apparently not only his.

‘Just go, Jinn’ Obi-Wan snapped.

‘Obi-Wan…’ the Jetii said and Jango’s ven’riduur’s slowly turned in man’s direction.

‘So you do know my real name. Do you remember me?’ he asked quietly, arm still resting on Jango’s. To comfort. To ground. To calm. And if Jango moved away, if he asked it to be taken away, it would disappear instantly.

It was a strange certainty. A comforting one.

‘I do’ the man nodded and Obi-Wan winced slightly. ‘You don’t know who this man is. We’ve been searching for him for years. Everyone thought he was dead. It’s…’ Jinn continued, but Obi-Wan was already shaking his head.

‘I don’t care’ there was a quiet whisper.

‘What?’ the Jetii just stared.

‘I don’t care about your Order’s business. I’m getting him free and wherever he wants to go. If you have any information about his people it will be much appreciated, but I won’t listen to anything he doesn’t want to tell me about.’

Both Jango and Jinn for a moment just stared at him.

‘What happened to you, Obi-Wan?’ the older Jetii finally asked.

‘I grew up’ he shrugged.

‘You hate me.’

‘Hate is a big word. As a Jedi you should know that, Master Jinn. I dislike you and I don’t want you messing up my operation. I don’t trust you to put the good of my people over whatever task the Order set in front of you or whatever your personal goals are. That’s it’ he said calmly, still worriedly looking at Jango.

‘But you were…’

‘What happened, happened long ago. The nature of my short-lived apprenticeship doesn’t have much to do with my opinion about you. I found my own way in life. I was pressing… too much back in the day, when maybe I shouldn’t… I was so scared of being rejected. Of not belonging. Of being a failure’ there was sadness in his voice. Sadness that always sort of accompanied him, but now… Now it was more pronounced. What was he talking about? What apprenticeship? He couldn’t be… He couldn’t be a Jetii on top of everything else.

‘But I’ve learned that failing at one thing is only a gate to doing another thing. I’ve found my family. I’ve found a place where I belong and where I’m wanted and where… I want to be’ family. Family was important. It was the most important.

‘So I am not going to let you mess up my first mission. I worked my ass off to be here and I’ve done… Things that I really didn’t want to do, but I will see it through till the end. I have to. I owe everyone in there that much.’

‘We don’t need the Jedi swoop in and ruin all the effort put in. You can wait a few days and follow our plan. Until I finished gathering intel. I almost have those files, enough to put them all where they belong. We are going to get Kharkas and none of their kind will be stupid enough to come back to Stewjon’ oh. Oh, it made sense, didn’t it? He must have been some kind of a judicial. He was a spy. Jango should have seen it earlier.

It was a… relief. Because it meant that he wasn’t… That he wasn’t… That. A slaver. That Fett didn’t have to feel guilty about wanting him. About loving him. Slavery was illegal on Stewjon and he was trying… To fix it.

‘Give me a week. I will wrap it up in a week and then you can do things your way. I should have enough to lock them all up by then’.

It hit Jango then. He was so… Young. Idealistic. He reminded Jango a lot about himself before. It was the naivety of the youth to believe that they could change anything. That they could fight anything if they put their mind to it.

‘It’s dangerous. It would be faster to…’

‘I’m a judicial officer, Master Jinn. “Dangerous” is right there in the job description’ and Jango briefly wondered if they made all the judicials so pretty on Stewjon, or was he just lucky to run into one like that?

‘What about Fett?’ the Jetii asked. ‘He was the only survivor, but the Order would…’

‘I don’t want anything from the Jetiise’ Jango snarled.

‘Perhaps we shall leave that matter for later, then, if you find it agreeable, Master Jinn?’ the cold, detached voice was back, but now used in defence, and not to attack.

‘Fine’ the Jetii nodded one last time and then he was… gone, disappeared in the forest.

Obi-Wan was still standing there. Arms tense. Looking at Jango warily.

‘What are you?’ Jango found himself asking, more to have verbal confirmation of his suspicions than anything else.

‘I am an undercover operative for Stewjonian Judicial Service’.

Jango stares at him. He was young. So young. He was barely a man. And most of the planets work differently than Mandalorians who went through verd’gotten at thirteen. And if that boy was a spy… There was a great responsibility on his shoulders.

‘You are like… twenty’ he found himself saying, sceptical.

‘Twenty-one, actually’ Obi-Wan corrected him. ‘I went to the Academy early. I finished last year and I went into the detective course. The DEA needed an undercover operative though… Someone who would fit Kharkhas’s… em… aesthetic… preferences’ he stumbled through words, apologetic grimace on his lips. ‘One of my course leaders thought of me’ he shrugged. It was clear that he did what he was ordered to do.

‘The job was to become his assistant. The usual jazz. Sit, look pretty, listen to what he says. I… took it a bit further. It was a risk, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t just do nothing, watch and wait. So I just… found a way to make myself indispensable and be able to change things while I… While I gather information. Apparently, years of helping run a farm make one pretty good at accounting. It’s really fascinating how much criminal gangs are willing to do for a capable project manager and accountant’ he sighed heavily.

‘Why did he say it would be hard for someone with your history?’ Jango asked. It was strange to have a Jedi step in the local police operation. Very strange and not very logical indeed. It was almost as if he was trying to get Obi-Wan out of it.

‘It’s a long story’ the man breathed heavily. ‘But I guess we have time’ he rested his arm against one of the nearby tree barks.

The branches were moving quietly with the wind, the trees shooting high in the sky.

‘When I was three years old I was given to the Jedi’ he said carefully, observing Jango’s expression. It’s seen as bad luck to be born Force-Sensitive on Stewjon..’

‘You are a Jetii?’ it was almost like yet another betrayal. Every time Jango seemed to be closer to accepting him, there was something else coming out, something that seemed like such a deal breaker that he almost couldn’t reconcile it with the image forming in his head.

‘I’m not’ the redhead shook his head.

‘When the human Jedi Initiates get to thirteen years standard and they are not chosen by a Master they are sent away, either to their family or to the Service Corps. I failed to be chosen by anyone. Too angry they said. Too temperamental. Unstable. I was given a choice - I could either contact my birth family and see if they were willing to take me in or be sent to AgriCorps.’

‘You were going to be a farmer?’ he blinked. A soldier, judicial, spy, farmer, Jetii... What this man didn’t do?

‘I’m practically a part-time farmer now, Jango’ something twinkled in his eyes. ‘But I will get there.’

‘I chose the AgriCorps as I heavily suspected that my family simply didn’t want me, considering local customs. On the way, the ship I was on was overrun by pirates. We got… Sold to the Offworld Mining Corporation. I spent… A few weeks there. But there was a Jedi there as well. On a mission. I… guess he felt pity for me in the end. I offered to blow up my collar so other slaves could go free and he took me as his apprentice. His name was Qui-Gon Jinn’ the Jetii they just spoke to.

And that scar on his neck… He must have gotten it then.

‘I barely started an apprenticeship when Master Jinn and I were sent to a planet called Melida/Daan. There was a war there. We were supposed to find a Master previously sent there. We did. But we were helped by one of the factions in the war. The Young. They were children fighting against their own parents. They wanted peace in contrast to anyone there. I wanted to stay. To help. I was told that I can either follow my Master back to the Temple, or I can abandon the Jedi order. It didn’t really seem like much of a choice. Children were dying. They needed help. So I stayed, even if my Master took my lightsaber and renounced me as his student’ he had that faraway look in his eyes.

Who would leave ade to fight a war? Fett might have not been a Mandalorian anymore, he might have been nothing but a slave, but…

‘The war ended. The Jedi agreed to take me back. But I… I didn’t want to go back. I realised that maybe they were right at the beginning. Maybe I wasn’t meant to be a Knight and I didn’t really want to anymore having spent the last year fighting. It was… It was the worst experience of my life. I was torn, but then I remembered that they gave me an option to contact my birth family, all those months ago so I… wrote a message. And my semnair, my grandmother wrote back’ he smiled slightly. ‘I never expected to receive an answer but… I did.’

‘She said that she was poor and she lived in the rural village in the hills miles away from any other civilisation with cows being her most trusty companions and my mother apparently did everything she could to run away from there, but that if I wanted to come, I would always be welcome. And that… Family is family. No matter what. She… she was willing to give me a home, even if she didn’t have much and I was a traumatised mess and I… accepted. Because she might have not seen me for over ten years, but she… wanted me.’

‘So I came here. And learned how to deal with those blasted cows and how to work the land. But I still wanted to help people and do the right thing, so I moved to the city when I was seventeen and went to the academy and here… Here I am. Trying to do just that. I’m not entirely sure how good I am at that’.

‘And I know… It might not look like that to you, but I will… I will do what I can for you. Anything you want. Even if you don’t… Don’t want me, I… understand. I just… want you to be free. And happy. And if you never want to see me again, I will respect that’ he said, smiling sadly.

This was his ven’riduur. A man brought up by the Jetiise. A man playing with fire. A man who looked at him with such honest, open eyes, that Jango could feel his breath catch in his chest and who was willing to let him go if Fett so wished.

And so he didn’t say anything.

He kissed him instead.

Jango woke up slowly. He was here for about two months but it still took him a moment every morning to remember where he was. He slowly took his bearings. Wooden ceiling, propped by sturdy, brown branches. The walls were painted white. There was a desk in a corner of the room and plants in flower pots and the Dejarik board abandoned on one of the shelves. It was the room where Obi-Wan Kenobi spent most of his teenage years.

It was a room that felt like it had a part of him in there, in every book on the shelf (apparently more common in the rural parts of Stewjon than the rest of the galaxy), in every carefully cared-for plant, in every simple shirt in the wardrobe…

Smiling slightly, Jango got out of bed.

Soon he was downstairs, where the tiny, old woman was cooking the oatmeal on the stove.

‘Obi-Wan is coming back today’ the old woman said. Blue tattoos marked her skin. Her hair was almost grey, but you could still see some reddish strands in it. She had the same blue-grey piercing eyes as her grandson. Not as warm as his, but there could be no doubt that he inherited them after his grandmother. ‘He commed in the morning. Said not to wake you up’.

‘Is it done?’ Jango asked quietly.

They both knew what he meant.

‘It’s done’ she nodded.

‘It’s good that he’s back. It’s been too long that he’s been away from home’ she said. She was worried about him. Jango had a feeling that she would never admit that out loud. The past few weeks in the village taught him that the Chief (because apparently Obi-Wan’s grandma was the village leader), was a woman of a few words. She loved her grandson, though, in that kind of gruff manner that some old people shared. She seemed to quite like Jango as well. She didn’t hit him with the pan, at least. It had to count for something.

He liked her in turn, he guessed. She didn’t coddle him. Didn’t pity him. Gave him shittone of work, but he… He didn’t mind. Because in the end, it was his choice to do it. His choice to stay. It actually reminded him of his childhood on Concord Dawn. It was calming in a way. And he had a lot of time to do… nothing. To sit and think.

They sat by a simple, wooden table and started eating.

‘I could…’

‘If you think I will trust you with my dear Imelda, I have to disappoint you, young man’.

Imelda, as it turned out, was Grandma Kenobi’s favourite cow.

‘I’m not young’ he was nine years older than Obi-Wan, but he feels as if it wasn’t a decade, but more. Many more.

‘You are younger than me’ she shrugged. ‘You are also not touching Imelda’ apparently only she and Obi-Wan had that privilege. That didn’t stop Jango from offering, every day. Who knew? Maybe one day he would finally get the privilege too, although knowing the old woman, it was not happening until Jango and Obi-Wan did marriage rites. Or her demise.

‘Why do you even keep that cow? It’s too old to give milk or for meat to be…’ THAT was probably the other reason he was not allowed.

‘It’s clan’ she looked at him with pure distaste.

Jango guessed that explained everything.

‘Of course’ he couldn’t help but smile. Talking badly about her cow, riled her right up.

‘You can deal with the chickens today. And start cutting grass. When Obi-Wan comes back he will show you how to care for the fruit trees’ apparently she had Kenobi’s holiday organised already. The young man was supposed to take a few weeks off work, with the Kharkhas’s case being closed. Although “off-work” in Kenobi household apparently meant “farmwork”.

Jango was… Happy. He couldn’t wait. He missed him, having spent the last few weeks apart.

‘Are you making us work already? I told you to take it easy on Jango. He…’

A third voice joined the conversation.

Obi-Wan was leaning over the door frame, dressed in a navy judicial uniform, his long hair tied into a complicated braid. He looked tired, but… happy. Relieved, grey eyes tingling with mirth.

‘He’s better than you were when you first arrived here’ his grandmother said, gruffly, but you could see a small, pleased smile on her lips. ‘Good you are home. Someone has to take care of Imelda’ .

‘Oh. So you are only happy I’m here so I can take care of that blasted cow?’

‘You know it’ she nodded. ‘Come’ she gestured towards the table. ‘Breakfast.’

Obi-Wan took a seat to Jango’s left, passingly squeezing his shoulder. He smiled and it was such a beautiful, dazzling smile, that Jango still couldn’t muster a word.

For some time, they sat in silence, but it wasn’t… It wasn’t uncomfortable. On the contrary. It felt like… It felt like home. Aliit.

‘Have you been to the loch yet?’ Kenobi asked when they finished eating.

He was busy washing dishes, his uniform jacket hanging on the table, sleeves of the white shirt pulled up, barring toned, strong arms.

Jango shook his head.

‘We should go after I’m done with the damned cow’.

‘Don’t swear at Imelda’ both Jango and Grandma Kenobi (who was two doors down, reading herself for the day) said together.

‘I’m pretty sure she doesn’t understand either way’ Manda… Jango loved that man. That was… That was the simplest of truths.

‘What about the Jetii?’ Jango asked quietly.

‘He left the planet’ Kenobi said. ‘He’s back in the stars, fighting for his Republic’ he shrugged, as if it was nothing. As if it didn’t mean anything. But he was Jango’s soulmate and by now, Jango learned quite a lot about the man. He was bothered. He just tried not to show it.

‘Do you regret that you are not there? With them?’

There was a moment of silence, and then…

‘No’ the redhead shook his head. ‘I have my clan. I have my grandmother. I have you. I couldn’t ask for more’ and Jango could tell… He was telling the truth. ‘I’m truly… I’m truly happy here. To be completely honest, I couldn’t be happier. I don’t regret anything.’

They made their way to the lake (“loch” as Kenobi called it) after washing and babysitting Imelda was done. The water was deep blue-green. The mountain peaks around it were purple as the heathers were blooming, hills around them covered in flowers. The grass under their feet was a shade of rich, light green. Kenobi’s hair deep auburn and eyes the stormy grey.

‘I think…’ Jango took a deep breath. ‘I think I’m happy too’ he said quietly.

And when Jango was tangling his fingers in the soft strands when he was kissing the plush, soft lips, he realised that it was true. He was happy. As happy as he could be.