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A Darker Choice

Chapter Text

He didn’t like it being necessary, but Jango knew better then to let his soul mate wake up until Jango had gotten everything prepared. Large changes were always difficult to adjust to. And while Jango was sure his soul mate would adapt well enough, he was still wise enough to realize it would take time and there would need to be… adjustments, until Obi-Wan had properly adapted.

The man was soft in his sleep. Face slack and body open where he lay on Jango’s bed, Jango couldn’t quite stop himself from running a hand gently along the side of his soul mate’s face; the skin was soft and warm beneath Jango’s fingers. His thumb circled the darkening bruise from where a Geonosian had struck him.

The sound of feet shuffling drew Jango’s attention behind him, Boba was peaking into the room staring at Obi-Wan with a furrowed brow. “Is he still asleep?”

Jango nodded, gesturing for Boba to join him closer to the bed. Boba hesitated before moving closer, eyes on where the Jetii—no, not a Jetii, not anymore, Jango had stolen him from that—was still unconscious. He had enough drugs in his system that he should hopefully not wake up for several hours.

Boba’s hand reached out, pausing a few inches from the man’s skin. Jango nodded his permission and watched as his son examined Obi-Wan with strange curiosity. “He’s really yours?”

“Ours.” Jango corrected quickly. He didn’t want Boba to feel, even for a moment, that Jango wasn’t thinking about Boba and what was best for him. “He’s ours.”

Boba smiled a little, looking a mix of pleased and abashed. “But he’s your soul mate.”

“Yes.” Even just that little acknowledgment filled Jango with a sharp rush of desire. His soul mate. Finally.

Jango had thought about taking his soul mate then, back on Kamino. But he’d let him go. But then the galaxy had conspired to give Obi-Wan back. Jango felt his smile stiffen a little at the thought. The galaxy had brought Obi-Wan back to him, but it had had a price. The Geonosians had beaten Jango’s soul mate heavily, angry at anyone daring to interfere in their affairs.

Jango felt his lip curl in disgust. He’d pay them back for daring to harm his soul mate, but for now he would be pleased with having removed Obi-Wan from them.

His comm beeped again, and Jango glanced at the comm id to see that it was Dooku. Again.

Jango ignored it. If Dooku had a problem with Jango’s choice to take off with Dooku’s prisoner, then he could have that conversation with Jango’s blasters. Their contract had ended the moment the Jetii had found the army, and Jango wasn’t going to get any more mixed up with this war then he had to.

And he did have to. His people were there, mixed up in this mess of a war. People Jango had put there. Thoughts of the clones he’d condemned filled him with guilt, and Jango reminded himself that he had a plan. They would be free.

Jango would make sure of it.

But first...

“Boba, would you go get the first aid kit?”

Boba moved instantly, leaving the room at a run and Jango could hear his feet pounding on the ship floor down to the supply closet.

Jango smiled a little at the eager energy before once again focusing on his soul mate.

Obi-Wan stayed limp and heavy as Jango slipped his hands under Obi-Wan’s tunics, and really, how many different layers did his soul mate need? It was impractical. Slowly he unwrapped his soul mate, maneuvering Obi-Wan’s arms out of his sleeves and pulling the tunics over his head.

Obi-Wan’s skin was warm and supple beneath Jango’s fingers, and he let his hands linger a little longer than strictly necessary as he bared Obi-Wan’s torso. He frowned in displeasure as his eyes fell on the bruises and cuts littering his soul mate’s body, left behind by the unhappy Geonosians.

Boba stopped a few feet from the bed, staring wide-eyed at the cuts and bruises. Jango watched with quiet pride as Boba’s eyes hardened, genuine anger there. It was the anger of a Mandalorian whose clan had been hurt. Boba was too young, still, to be able to properly channel that anger into vengeance. But it was clear the thought was on his mind.

“Thank you, Boba.” Jango took the kit from his son and opened it. It had everything in it that Jango would need; Jango fully believed in being as prepared as possible, and that was reflected in the carefully organized kit. He pulled the anti-septic wipes first and set to cleaning the cuts.

Boba watched him carefully as Jango quickly dealt with the damage that’d been done to his soul mate, handing Jango what he needed often before Jango had to ask. Once the bacta and bandages had been carefully applied Jango turned to Boba, watching as his son carefully put all the supplies away.

“You been working with Skirata again?” Jango asked. “You’re doing very well.”

Boba shook his head, making a face at Skirata’s name. “Not him. A few of the medics let me tag along with them for some of their classes, and they gave me tips.”

Jango nodded, a little relieved. There was nothing wrong with Skirata, he was a skilled fighter, an accomplished medic, and a proud Mando.

He also just happened to be skilled at getting on Jango’s nerves, and for all his capabilities, was not exactly what Jango would consider a good role model for Boba.

Beneath his fingers Obi-Wan twitched, a tiny flex of muscle. Jango frowned, shifting one knee to the bed so that he could lean over Obi-Wan properly.

His eyes were flickering beneath closed eyelids, as though he was starting to wake up. Jango muttered a quiet curse underneath his breath. That was just like a Jetii, couldn’t even stay unconscious as long as they were supposed to.

“Boba, run and grab me the Force cuffs.” Hopefully that would keep his soul mate from purging the rest of the drugs from his system too quickly. Mentally he moved his time table up, he glanced at the chrono he kept beside his bed. If he let the drugs run their course Obi-Wan would be awake within the next hour, possibly even sooner. At which point Jango would have to deal with keeping his soul mate out of trouble while he adjusted to his new surroundings.

Or Jango could give him another dose of sedative, finish prepping the ship for it’s new inhabitant, and get his own night’s sleep in.

He considered it a few moments more, before reaching for a hypo. He checked the dosage quickly, he probably didn’t need to give a full dose, especially since Obi-Wan already had a 1 mil dose of Lapozine already in his system. He pressed the hypo against warm skin and watched as Obi-Wan slid back into a deeper unconsciousness.

Boba came back holding two different cuffs. “Which ones?”

Jango disregarded the cuffs that would bind Obi-Wan’s wrists together and grabbed the two thin Force-suppressing bracelets. Unlike traditional cuffs they wouldn’t actually bind Obi-Wan’s wrists together—though they were magnetic and could be used in that function if necessary—but would just serve to limit Obi-Wan’s ability to reach out to the Force.

He clamped them around both of Obi-Wan’s wrists, murmuring a quiet apology as he did so. “This won’t be for forever.” He reassured quietly. “Just until you’ve adapted.” He brushed his hand across Obi-Wan’s chest, where Jango’s own soul mark rested. He wondered where Obi-Wan’s own mark was, but not even Obi-Wan would know. “They shouldn’t have tried to take you from me.”

The very thought was almost enough to enrage Jango. They’d stolen his soul mate’s mark, hidden it and blocked it away.

His rage couldn’t get a proper foothold though, not with his soul mate asleep in Jango’s bed, skin still warm under Jango’s hands. Tomorrow would be soon enough to let the rage fill him, tomorrow when he had to start convincing his soul mate of their future together, when he had to fight the brainwashing that his soul mate had been influenced by since he’d been a child.

He took a final lingering look at his soul mate, before leaving him to sleep.


Jango felt a little bit like he was child-proofing his ship again. Though admittedly, it was much harder to make his ship safe for a not-a-Jetii then it was a kid, even one as curious as Boba had been. For one, Boba would never have tried to kill Jango, while Jango was pretty sure that Obi-Wan absolutely would try.

The thought made him strangely excited. Not that he wanted his soul mate to try and kill him, but he couldn’t help but find it an exhilarating prospect that his soul mate would keep Jango on his toes. Eventually, Jango would be able to re-direct what would probably be a slightly-murderous attitude into something more productive.

Finally, though. The ship was safe enough for Jango to be satisfied.

Boba had already gone to bed, the lights off and Boba under three different blankets. Jango could see the datapad Boba was trying to hide under his covers and Jango pretended not to notice as he wished his son good night. “Don’t stay up too late.”

Boba just nodded, eyes wide and innocent.

Jango closed the door, shaking his head in amusement as he made his way to his own room.

He stopped just inside the door, still taken aback by the sight of his soul mate asleep in Jango’s bed. He shook himself from his momentary paralysis. He picked up the tunic he had already removed from Obi-Wan. The under-tunics had little dots of blood from his beating. Jango could probably get it clean, but he found he had little desire to let Obi-Wan hide under his many layers of Jetii clothes.

He threw the tunics in the trash, he could incinerate them later. They would need to make a stop to get more supplies, but until then, Obi-Wan could satisfy himself in wearing Jango’s clothes. He quickly changed into his own sleep tunic before making his way to his bed.

Obi-Wan was still deeply asleep, body lax. Jango hesitated only a moment, watching his soul mate’s chest rise and fall peacefully, before climbing into the bed beside him. He took the space along the wall and carefully pulled Obi-Wan closer to him. Part of him wanted to arrange them so that they were touching as much as possible. He restrained himself, that would wait until Obi-Wan at least had the choice to be in Jango’s bed. Still, he rested an arm over Obi-Wan’s waist, rationalizing that this much touch at least was acceptable, so that if Obi-Wan woke up, he would almost certainly wake Jango up as well. He let his fingers trace against the edge of skin and bandage, reveling even in that small touch, a small taste of what he’d eventually have.

That ache in his chest that had been there since Jango was nine years old seemed to settle. It was still there, the bond that would have filled the gaping ache was blocked after all, but it was softer.

He couldn’t help but smile. It would take work, getting everything to work out, but it would be worth it.

Chapter Text

Consciousness came to him slowly, fading in and out as though his mind wasn’t sure whether he wanted to be awake or not. He was warm and relaxed and everything felt soft and safe through muted senses.

That was wrong. But it was hard for the thought to stick with how foggy everything felt. But it was wrong. Everything was dim, distant, like he was hearing through water. Metaphorically at least.

The Force. It was the Force, he realized. Something was muffling his connection to the Force.

He forced his eyes open to see a metal ceiling. That in conjunction with the faint hum of hyperdrive seemed to indicate that Obi-Wan was on a ship.

He frowned, trying to remember how that could have happened. He’d been… he’d been on Geonosis, last he remembered. He’d gotten caught while he’d been sending a message to Anakin in hopes that Anakin would send the message on to the Council so they knew about the droid army he’d just found.

Force, there’d been a droid army and a clone army, and what the kriff was happening?

He needed to get back to Coruscant.

Where was he? A ship? But whose?

More recent memories came back sharply. Hanging in a Geonosian cell, electricity tingling through his skin, body crying out in pain as he’d tried to figure out how to get out of the mess he’d landed himself in.

Jango Fett had entered the room, steps quick and decisive as he’d moved towards Obi-Wan, shooting out the generator powering Obi-Wan’s cell as he neared.

Obi-Wan had fallen to the sand beneath his cell. But his feet had barely touched the ground, the Force screaming in warning, and then Fett had been on him, hypo in hand.

He struggled to remember anything past that, could only vaguely remember trying to fight Fett off but he’d been off balance and then Fett had gotten the hypo pressed against skin. He could remember the drug making him feel heavy and tired, and then he’d been thrown over Fett’s shoulder.

Fett had clearly been on a mission of sorts. The whole thing, from the moment Fett had entered the room containing Obi-Wan’s cell, to the moment he’d been thrown over Fett’s shoulder, couldn’t have been more than fifteen seconds.

Whatever had happened next, unfortunately, Obi-Wan hadn’t been conscious for. He suspected that he wouldn’t like the answer, for all that it was important he find out in order to plan his next steps.

Obi-Wan took in a deep breath—he didn’t need access to the Force to get a bad feeling about this—before starting to take in the rest of his surroundings.

He was in a bed, shirtless. He glanced down to see that someone had seen to his injuries, a few bacta bandages carefully applied. His gaze fell to his hands and the almost innocuous silver bracelets circling his wrists.

He examined them carefully, searching for a mechanism to remove them, but found nothing. These had to be the cause of the way the Force was muted around him. Still present, but distant in a way that meant Obi-Wan could feel it, but not touch it. He wasn’t sure if that was on purpose—in order to make sure he didn’t panic from completely losing the Force, which had happened the first time he’d been completely cut off, though he’d unfortunately had it happen enough that he no longer panicked quite as badly—or if it was an unintentional error on his captor’s part and something that Obi-Wan would be able to use.

After a few more minutes of trying and failing to remove the cuffs he gave up and went back to observing the room he’d been put in.

Beside him, the blankets were rumpled, as though someone had been sleeping next to Obi-Wan.

His bad feeling was only getting worse.

The rest of the room told him very little. It was sparsely decorated, almost utilitarian, but not so empty of personal touch as to indicate that Obi-Wan was in a cell.

This was someone’s bedroom.

Obi-Wan shifted, sliding his feet off the bed. The floor was cold against the bottom of his feet. So not just his shirt then, his boots had been removed as well. This just kept getting better and better, he thought bitterly.

Thankfully he was still wearing pants, so he hadn’t been completely undressed while unconscious. Just mostly.

The sound of the door sliding open caught Obi-Wan’s attention and he took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for whatever awaited him.

“You’re awake.” The voice was soft and pleased. “The last dose kept you out longer than I thought it would.”

Obi-Wan lifted his head slowly to take in his—Captor? Rescuer? Abductor?—and saw Jango Fett standing in the doorway, a tray full of food in his hands. Not entirely unsurprising, given that his last memory was of Fett grabbing him. But the relative niceness of his—Cell? Room?—was not what he would have suspected from Fett.

Fett was watching him, his gaze leaving Obi-Wan feeling a mix of hot and chilled as it seemed to trail over Obi-Wan’s skin.

Obi-Wan didn’t answer, eyeing Fett carefully as he tried to decide the best way to move forward. The last time he’d seen Fett—well, second to last time if Obi-Wan counted those brief moments when Fett had—Rescued him? Abducted him? Obi-Wan wasn’t sure—they’d been fighting on Kamino.

Now he was sitting, almost completely undressed, on what he was starting to suspect was Fett’s bed. This was unchartered territory, and he wanted to get a better feel for what Fett’s intentions were. A misstep now would hurt Obi-Wan far more than it would Fett.

“How are you feeling?” Fett prodded, stepping fully into the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

Obi-Wan considered the question for a moment, it seemed genuine, and he suspected that Fett wanted to hear good news. “I’m feeling well. I suppose I have you to thank for the treatment of my injuries?” He gestured to where the bruises and cuts had been taken care of, and watched as a flash of rage passed through Fett’s eyes. Rage at what? Obi-Wan’s thanks? The presumption? The injuries themselves?

“Yes.” Jango moved closer, setting the tray down on a small night desk next to the bed. Obi-Wan stiffened as the man moved towards him. “Let me check your bandages.”

It didn’t sound like a request.

Still unsure of what exactly was going on, Obi-Wan let it happen. Fett’s hands were cool against his skin, fingers tracing against the edge of bandage and skin, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake. The fingers trailed away from the bandages, and Obi-Wan hissed a little as Jango’s fingers pressed almost gently against bruises.

Mentally Obi-Wan was screaming at himself to put space between him and this man. But he had nowhere to retreat except further back onto the bed, and that seemed like an equally terrible idea for reasons that Obi-Wan didn’t want to think too closely about. Fett… he wasn’t like that. At least Obi-Wan hoped he wasn’t.

“We can change out those bandages a little later.” Fett decided. “You’ll heal quickly.”

Obi-Wan made a noise that could be considered assent, and was relieved when Fett took a step back.

Fett gestured to the tray of food. “I brought you breakfast. Something light, since I wasn’t sure when the last time you ate was. Once you’ve eaten you can come join Boba and I while we figure out our next stop.”

Obi-Wan hesitated, balancing his options based off Fett’s current treatment of him. “Will you be dropping me off?”

Fett froze from where he’d been turning towards the door before slowly turning back to look at Obi-Wan, his face a calm mask. “No. We won’t.”

Obi-Wan nodded, not entirely surprised. “Is there a bounty on my head?”

“No.” Jango paused, face shifting into a scowl. “Or at least not that I’m aware of.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, careful to make sure that none of his confusion or dismay showed on his face. If it hadn’t been a bounty—the option he’d considered most likely—and it wasn’t a rescue—he hadn’t had high hopes, but Fett had been treating him strangely well—then he didn’t know what this was. He deliberated for a moment, before deciding he might as well ask and see if Fett was in the mood to enlighten him. “Then can I ask what your plans for me are?”

Fett’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile. Obi-Wan couldn’t make himself move as Jango’s hand came up, the back of his fingers trailing across Obi-Wan’s cheek in what couldn’t be mistaken as anything other than a caress. His voice was a low murmur when he spoke, calm, confident, and almost—Obi-Wan immediately squashed the thought, not liking where it seemed to be leading. “Don’t worry about it, Obi-Wan. I’m taking care of everything.” The words, and their implications, made Obi-Wan feel as though he’d been dipped in ice. But Fett just smiled at him as though he hadn’t said anything that was at all unusual and turned away. “Eat, Obi-Wan. You can choose a shirt from the closet.” He glanced back, eyes trailing over Obi-Wan again. “Or not. Whichever you please. But come join me and Boba once you’ve eaten.”

Obi-Wan stared in shock as Jango left the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

What the kriff was going on?

Chapter Text

Jango didn’t bother checking his chrono as he waited for Obi-Wan to join him and Boba, not surprised that Obi-Wan seemed to be taking his time.

Most likely Obi-Wan was checking through the room to see if he could find anything to help him escape. Jango shook his head a little at the thought that Jango would be that careless. There was nothing in the room, though it had bothered Jango to have to remove his weapons from their hiding places, he certainly wasn’t going to just leave them out for Obi-Wan to find and try and use against him.

He’d debated all the night before how to go about this. What he should tell Obi-Wan. Some part of him wanted to just throw it out there. Wanted to just tell Obi-Wan that they were soul mates. That his Jetii council had hidden his soul mark.

He rubbed at his chest where his mark, still gray and lifeless, when it should have turned the color of his soul mate’s eyes.

This was why he hesitated. Without proof he’d seem delusional, and Jango didn’t know if his heart could take hearing Obi-Wan try and deny their bond. Except he didn’t want to lie to his soul mate.

But that left him the option of just not giving a reason at all, and that had its own score of complications and reasons why Jango shouldn’t do it.

Still, it was the one he was going with, at least for now.

He’d just act as though everything was normal. As though Obi-Wan had always been here and would always be here.

The latter, after all, would be true if Jango had anything to say about it.

He heard his bedroom door slide open and beside him, Boba’s head jerked up from where he was working on homework, eyes wide with anticipation.

Obi-Wan entered the main hold of the ship, wearing one of Jango’s favorite shirts, dark blue and soft. Jango let his eyes trail over Obi-Wan as he moved forward.

Jango’s shirt looked good on Obi-Wan. Much better than the many layers of hideous creams and browns that the Jedi forced him into. Although, Jango considered, the ugly tunics might have been for the best. Obi-Wan was an attractive man, and Jango wouldn’t begrudge anything that would have helped to keep the rest of the galaxy from noticing. Though even the plainest of tunics, and the numerous layers Obi-Wan had bedecked himself in before wouldn’t have truly hid Obi-Wan’s beauty to anyone who looked for such things. He discarded the thoughts as not important for now, as he moved from his seat to meet Obi-Wan in the middle.

The food tray was clenched tightly in Obi-Wan’s hands. Jango smiled at him, carefully taking the tray from Obi-Wan’s hands.

For a moment Obi-Wan resisted, and Jango wondered if Obi-Wan was considering whether he could use it as a weapon. Jango raised an eyebrow at Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan let his grip on the tray loosen. Jango passed the tray back, and Boba, who’d been watching them both carefully, jumped up to grab it.

“Did breakfast agree with you?” Jango asked, keeping his tone conversational as he slid a hand to rest against Obi-Wan’s back, directing him to take a seat at the table he and Boba had been sitting at.

Obi-Wan stiffened a little, but otherwise didn’t react to the touch. He was watching Jango from the corner of his eyes, gaze analytical as he took in Jango and their surroundings. “It was excellent, thank you.”

Boba hurried back into the room, moving to his seat. With a quick signal Jango directed him back to his homework.

Boba pouted a little, but obeyed.

“I’m afraid we’ll be traveling for another few days,” Jango continued. “I have some reading material, a few games, things of that sort.”

Obi-Wan nodded hesitantly, clearly trying to decide how he was supposed to react. Jango watched him tug at the Force cuffs around his left wrist. “I enjoy reading,” Obi-Wan said finally. “How long will we be traveling? And to where?”

Jango shrugged, turning to Boba. “Did you find a hunt you wanted to try?”

Boba bit his lip, eyes darting between him and Obi-Wan, but he nodded. “Yeah. It’s uh…” he grabbed for a datapad resting on the table. “Yeah. A smuggler who sold some of a Hutt’s merchandise to his competitor.”

Jango reached out for the datapad, glancing over the details. It was an easy enough hunt once they caught up to the idiot, but it would take some effort to track him down. “A good hunt. Put together a plan for how you’d try and hunt him down. Once you’re done, I’ll take a look at it and we’ll work through it together.”

Boba beamed. “Okay.” He reached for the datapad again, but Jango held it out of reach.

“After you finish your homework, ad’ika.”

Boba pouted, but Jango had long ago immuned himself to those sort of theatrics, and just gave Boba’s homework a significant look.

Boba sighed, but obediently went back to his homework.

Jango turned back to Obi-Wan. “Once Boba’s put together his hunting plan I’ll have a better idea, but we’ll probably stay space bound for a week or so.” He watched as Obi-Wan pursed his lips, nodding in acknowledgment. “I’m sure we’ll be able to keep ourselves occupied.” He realized, a second after he said it, the possible innuendo behind the words. And while he wouldn’t mind if they eventually spent their time engaging in that sort of physical pleasure, it wasn’t currently part of the plan. Nor did he want Obi-Wan to think that was what Jango was after

Obi-Wan shifted, clearly uncomfortable and Jango turned his gaze to observing Boba for a moment to give Obi-Wan a moment.

“Yes, well. As a Jedi I’m not unused to long trips.” Obi-Wan let out a little laugh, and it made Jango think of the politicians that he’d often watched (and then occasionally killed). Polite, disarming, fake. Jango clenched his jaw. “It’s often a good time to meditate. I don’t suppose…” Obi-Wan trailed off, and he tugged at the cuffs on his wrist.

Jango raised an eyebrow. “You don’t suppose…” Jango copied the way Obi-Wan had trailed off. The answer was going to be no regardless. He wasn’t giving Obi-Wan the convenient weapon that the Force could be for those who knew how to use it until Jango was more certain that Obi-Wan would be disinclined to use it on him. Still, he could make Obi-Wan ask.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to remove these cuffs?” Obi-Wan asked, and there was a hint of bite to the words. A real emotion, not this polite facade that Obi-Wan was trying to keep up. It might be a negative emotion, but Jango was still pleased to see it.

He didn’t want fake, not when it came to his soul mate.

Jango tilted his head as though in thought, before holding out his hand in demand. Obi-Wan tensed, but extended his own hand so that Jango could take his arm. Jango could feel the muscles in the man’s forearm flex in Jango’s grip, but Obi-Wan did nothing to pull away.

It was a tight fit, but not so tight it’d hurt Obi-Wan, Jango noted, running his thumb along the skin of Obi-Wan’s wrist, he could feel Obi-Wan’s pulse beating inordinately fast, nerves or adrenaline perhaps. Or maybe Jango was getting a different sort of reaction altogether.

There was a faint brush of pink along Obi-Wan’s cheeks though, most of it hidden behind the man’s beard, a shame that.

The thought made Jango want to smile.

“Doesn’t look like it’s tight enough to cause any damage,” Jango decided, dropping Obi-Wan’s hand after a final caress. “They stay on.”

Obi-Wan nodded and while he seemed disappointed in Jango’s answer he didn’t seem surprised by it.

“Then I suppose those books you offered will have to entertain me well enough, one can meditate without the Force, but it’s not nearly as enjoyable.”

Jango nodded. “There are some in the dresser of my room—” far too soon to call it ‘their’ room, Obi-Wan was already clearly trying to feel out what was going on and that could potentially panic him, and panic made people difficult to predict. “—you’re free to read any of them. I also have a few out here.”

Obi-Wan nodded before standing a little abruptly. “Thank you.”

Jango watched as the man made a hasty retreat out of the main room, and Jango considered him as he left, listening as Obi-Wan retreated back into Jango’s room. Obi-Wan was still clearly uncomfortable and feeling wrong-footed.

Jango could probably help ease that, but some part of him found the man’s polite fumbling—so long as the fake emotions were left behind—almost endearing.

That and the longer Obi-Wan was wrong-footed the longer Jango could press his advantage, creating a regular rhythm that would start to feel normal to Obi-Wan the longer it went on.

“He’s kind of weird.” Boba offered, and Jango looked back to see that Boba had made almost no progress on his work. He’d clearly found watching Obi-Wan and Jango to be more entertaining than doing his classwork.

“A little, yes.” Jango agreed. It was a stark contrast to the capable fighter Jango had faced on Kamino and the cool demeanor of the Jetii who had entered his apartments following Taun We. But for all that he was confused right now, Jango could still see that part of Obi-Wan that was compiling information and analyzing everything as he looked for an escape.

Just another facet of the man that Jango was fascinated by. He stood, ruffling Boba’s hair with his hand as he moved away. “I’ll be in the cockpit for a bit. Let me know if he gets up to anything.”

Chapter Text

The rest of the day continued to be just as surreal as the morning and been.

Fett continued to act as though there was absolutely nothing strange about the fact that Obi-Wan was in his ship, coming into the room—Fett’s own bedroom—and telling Obi-Wan lunch was ready with the same sort of tone and behavior Obi-Wan would use to call Anakin to lunch on days where he’d get distracted on a mechanical project and would forget to eat if Obi-Wan didn’t reminded him.

Obi-Wan had nodded, stowing away the datapad—the connection to the holonet securely turned off, he’d checked—containing the book he’d only been pretending to read, and let Fett guide him back to the main hold of the ship. The floor of the ship was still cold on his feet—Obi-Wan hadn’t found his boots yet, and Fett hadn’t given them back—and Obi-Wan wasn’t quite ready to see if Fett would give them to him if he asked.

He didn’t have enough information for what was going on yet, and it was wiser to continue to play along with whatever charade Fett was playing until he did.

Lunch had been… surprisingly good. Obi-Wan wouldn’t have pegged Fett as someone who knew what he was doing in the kitchen, but the meal had been good. A little on the spicy side, but not to the point of being intolerable.

And then Fett had asked Obi-Wan if he liked Sabaac and they’d spent an hour or so playing. Obi-Wan had carefully lost—it had seemed prudent, at the time, to make himself look less skilled then he was—but from the way Fett looked at him, Fett wasn’t fooled.

And then Fett had left him to his own devices, suggesting—and Obi-Wan still suspected that Fett’s suggestions were more orders than anything—that Obi-Wan bring the datapad with the book Obi-Wan had been ‘reading’ into the main room. Obi-Wan had done so, though he once again spent most of his time pretending to read while watching Fett and his son while Fett walked his son through the written plan Boba had put together for chasing down the smuggler that Boba had chosen as a bounty.

It didn’t do anything to make Obi-Wan feel better about the situation. The way Fett spoke about the bounty made it clear that he was intelligent and talented. This was a man who knew what he was doing. At least when it came to being a bounty hunter.

But still, Obi-Wan kept biding his time, watching father and son while looking for a sign as to what was going on, what the two could possibly want from him, and for anything that would help Obi-Wan get out of this strange situation.

Of the many peculiar things Obi-Wan had noted was the strange lack of weaponry. This was a bounty hunter’s ship, there had to be weaponry. But Obi-Wan had scoured the man’s bedroom—feeling only a little guilty for the invasion of privacy, but needs must—and found nothing.

The only weaponry he’d seen was the blaster hanging from Fett’s hip. At one point Obi-Wan considered making a move for it, but Fett, for all that he was treating this whole thing as though it was normal, was keeping an eye on him and Obi-Wan had decided to leave that as a possibility for later.

Instead he just continued playing in this strange charade, eating dinner with the two Fetts, even going so far to compliment Fett—and noting with a little confusion the distinctly pleased look in Fett’s eyes and the unfairly brilliant smile that earned him.

Finally, when the ship’s lights had shifted into the evening setting, Fett stretched. “I think that’s bed time for you, Boba.” Boba, who was half asleep and trying to pretend he wasn’t, grumbled about how he wasn’t a child and he wasn’t tired.

The whole thing reminded Obi-Wan so strongly of Anakin, who at ten had said the exact same things, that he couldn’t help either the ache in his chest or the smile that tugged at his lips.

Fett didn’t let it stand, only laughingly leading Boba to bed.

It left Obi-Wan alone in the main hold, and he let out a breath of relief. He kept an ear out for Fett as he started investigating the main hold. Still no weapons, the tables and chairs were all bolted down so they wouldn’t shift during the transition in and out of hyperspace, the knives Fett had used for cooking were locked away with far more sophisticated locks then a set of kitchen knives deserved, and Obi-Wan might be able to pick the locks, but it would take time. There were a few things that Obi-Wan could maybe, possibly use as a weapon, but even those were such poor options that Obi-Wan didn’t like his chances.

He changed his search, looking instead for anything he could use to send out a call for help. He glanced down the hall to the cockpit and bit his lip. He didn’t want Fett to catch him searching his ship, but it sounded like Fett was still in Boba’s room saying goodnight.

While the strange day on board Fett’s ship hadn’t necessarily been unpleasant, it wasn’t anything Obi-Wan wanted to stick around for. Nor could he risk it. Not with what was going on in the wider galaxy, two armies, a Senate with war fever, and a political nightmare that seemed more intrigue and lies than anything.

And then there was Anakin, precious Anakin whose last contact from Obi-Wan was his call for help. Obi-Wan needed to get back to his padawan.

With that in mind, Obi-Wan slipped down the hallway to the cockpit.

The viewport showed they were traveling through hyperspace, and Obi-Wan checked their navigation. They were headed to the Denon system. Obi-Wan frowned, there was little in the Denon system he could think of that would attract a man like Jango Fett to it. But then, the Denon system was also a convenient place to switch from the Corellian Run to the Hydian Way, and if that was the man’s plan then there was no guessing where Fett currently planned to take them.

He turned away from the navigation system, and his gaze fell on a communication system.

His excitement fell quickly when he realized that Fett had electronically locked all of the controls, including those to the comm system. And really was everything that could be useful on the ship locked? And if so, was that just Fett’s normal paranoia or were these new additions, here because Obi-Wan was. He glanced back down the hall, listening for Fett, but heard nothing. He took a closer look at the electronic lock, hoping it was something he could hack.

The answer he came up with was a solid maybe. But it certainly wouldn’t be a quick job. Perhaps tonight, when Boba and Fett were asleep. For a moment he wished that Anakin was here. Anakin would probably have already spliced into the system, cheerily calling Obi-Wan to his rescue and complaining about how long Obi-Wan was taking.

“And you’d been so good today. I did wonder how long it would take.”

Obi-Wan whirled around, instinctively stepping back and running into the pilot’s chair.

Fett was leaning against the wall, watching Obi-Wan. Force, how had Obi-Wan let himself get so distracted that he hadn’t heard the man coming?

“How long it would take to what?” Obi-Wan asked, buying himself time. So far Fett hadn’t reacted in any way that made sense, and Obi-Wan couldn’t predict how Fett would react to Obi-Wan in his cockpit trying to find a way to escape.

Fett smirked, not bothering to answer. “I wouldn’t try it, if I were you. I don’t think you’ll like what happens if you try to hack past the locks.”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips. “I need to get back to Coruscant, to the Jedi.”

“Do you now?” Fett was watching him again, the look in his eyes difficult to decipher.

Obi-Wan pushed a little further. “There’s going to be a war if someone doesn’t do something. I can stop it.” He wasn’t actually sure that he could, but he had to try. Someone had to try.

“Oh trust me, there’s no stopping this war.” Fett snorted. “You think people build armies that they have no intention of using?”

It was a question that had been bothering Obi-Wan since he’d found the clone army ten years in the making. The droid army, at least, made sense. The Separatists wanted to separate and enforce that separation with bloodshed if necessary.

But why had someone built an army for a war that hadn’t even existed yet? He eyed Fett carefully, wondering if he had the answers Obi-Wan needed.

“Is that why you’re keeping me here?” He said slowly, not sure if he was hopeful this was the answer, or worried it was. “Someone wanted you to make sure I didn’t interfere any further.” Though, Obi-Wan would think that killing him would be a far better method of keeping him out of the way.

Fett tilted his head a little, giving Obi-Wan a scrutinizing look that seemed to see far more of Obi-Wan then he wanted Fett to be seeing. “That would make you feel better, wouldn’t it?”

Obi-Wan didn’t scowl, but he certainly wanted to. “I’d like to know what you want with me,” he said instead. “Surely you can understand that.”

Fett just shrugged. “You should come to bed.”

Come to bed. As in return to Fett’s bed. While Fett was in it.

He remembered the rumpled blankets from this morning and realized he’d probably been right. Fett had been in that bed too.

His stomach clenched, and he felt a little sick. And maybe it was time he stopped playing along quite so much. “I’d rather not.”

Fett’s eyes narrowed, just a little. “Not like that. There are only two bedrooms, Obi-Wan. I’m not going to let you just wander my ship and get into trouble. Boba’s room is for obvious reasons not an answer. So it’s either my bed, where I can keep an eye on you, or the cell, and make no mistake I will lock you in.”

Obi-Wan didn’t think he should be relieved as he was, but the idea of sleeping in a cell was almost a relief. Being locked up wouldn’t be enjoyable, but at least it’d be normal. Obi-Wan knew how to handle being locked away. “Then I’ll take the cell. Thank you.”

Fett didn’t react for a long moment, brow furrowed as he stared at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan held his breath, wondering if Fett would take the option away and force the issue, but then Fett’s expression smoothed out. “That’s your choice, of course.”  He gestured toward the hallway. “Let me escort you.”

Obi-Wan hesitated, but then stepped forward. Fett moved closer, and his hand pressed against Obi-Wan’s back, clearly indicating that he expected Obi-Wan to follow along with him. So when he’d said escort he’d meant it quite literally.

Obi-Wan fought not to stiffen, letting Fett gently steer him down the hall and through the main hold. A part of him wanted to lunge for Fett’s blaster, but they were in hyperspace right now, and Obi-Wan wouldn’t be able to take control of the ship—not with the locks Fett had put in place on the control system.

A week. Fett said they’d be space-bound for a week.

Obi-Wan had been capture too many times to not know the value of waiting for the right opportunity. Obi-Wan could play this game for a week, and then he’d escape.

Chapter Text

He gave Obi-Wan a blanket and pillow before locking his soul mate into the small cell that he normally used for his live bounties.

Jango stood outside the cell for a long moment watching as his soul mate got settled on the hard cot; Obi-Wan was already going about ignoring his presence and Jango ached a little.

He didn’t exactly want to lock his soul mate up. He wanted his soul mate in his bed, safe in Jango’s arms. But he couldn’t quite erase the way Obi-Wan had looked at him earlier—when Jango had asked him to come to bed—from his mind.

There had been fear and disgust in Obi-Wan’s eyes and it had been like a vibroblade to the gut.

He took a deep breath, clenching his fist a little—he could almost feel the faint lingering of warmth from where he’d touched Obi-Wan still against his palm—before turning and leaving Obi-Wan to sleep.

He couldn’t force his soul mate into his bed. Wouldn’t, not when Obi-Wan had looked at him that way.

But he also couldn’t let this become a pattern.

Obi-Wan choosing the cell made it clear that he viewed himself as a hostage. Mentally, Jango understood that to Obi-Wan, and to most casual observers, it did probably seem that way. But it wouldn’t do either Obi-Wan or Jango any favors if Obi-Wan kept trying to reinforce a dynamic that Jango didn’t want to build.

He wanted Obi-Wan to be safe. To be happy.

He needed to find a way to make Obi-Wan want to be in his bed. Jango wouldn’t push for anything more than that, not until Obi-Wan himself wanted it. But just to be able to hold his soul mate, to feel him.

To protect him.

Jango just… wasn’t sure how to make that happen.

He hated having to acknowledge a lack of knowledge or skill, but the truth was he didn’t exactly have a wealth of experience when it came to luring people into his bed.

As it was, the situation between him and Obi-Wan was strange enough that it was unlikely to have any common guidelines for Jango to follow.

He made a disgruntled face as he stepped into his room, the blankets were still mussed from where Obi-Wan had been sleeping earlier, and once again Jango felt a pang of longing.

He’d had Obi-Wan in his bed for one night, and now he’d lost him again. Temporarily, true, because Jango would figure this out, and Obi-Wan would be in his bed again. But still, it hurt.

A surge of hatred for the Jetii threatened to overwhelm him for a moment.

This was their fault. They’d stolen his soul mate and Jango was going to make them regret it.

Part of Jango wanted to go straight back to Obi-Wan and tell him what Dooku had told him so long ago. But Jango—who hated the Jetii and was more than willing to believe the worst of them—hadn’t initially believed Dooku.

Would Obi-Wan, who had grown up with the Jetii, even consider it?

Especially since Dooku was setting himself up as the antagonist to the Republic and the Jetii. It didn’t exactly make him look like a reputable source for Jango to be listening to.

If it was Jango in Obi-Wan’s position, he doubted he would give the explanation the time of day.

Jango sighed, closing the door behind him and crossing to the bed where he’d be spending the night alone, because he was apparently so loathsome that his soul mate preferred a cell to his bed.

That wasn’t fair, he reminded himself sharply.

Jango was the one who had put himself and Obi-Wan in this position. Obi-Wan didn’t have enough information to be making this decision out of any sort of spite, no, it was a decision made out of misguided self-preservation, and that was because of Jango’s decision to withhold information.

He needed to give Obi-Wan time to adjust. Needed to find a way to get past Obi-Wan’s defenses.

But how?

All day Obi-Wan had been painfully neutral, in what seemed an attempt to almost blend into the background. He’d had a datapad in hand nearly all day and had Jango doubted he’d read much of anything, had maintained conversation when spoken to yet every question Jango or Boba asked was met with an answer that was so perfectly worded as to almost not be an answer, hells, the man had played sabaac with Jango and even then Obi-Wan had played in a way to emulate only basic skill when Obi-Wan was clearly capable. If Jango hadn’t used the same tricks himself—it was an important skill—he might not have even noticed.

Jango took a deep breath. Patience. It had been one day, it was perfectly understandable that they’d hit something of a wall with each other. Obi-Wan was clearly the sort to bide his time, to wait, to hold out for the right opportunity.

That wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, in many ways it was an admirable quality that Jango was glad his soul mate possessed.

At the moment, however, it just happened to be a hindrance to Jango’s goals.

But it was fine, Jango would figure it out.

He settled onto the bed, burying his nose into the pillow and feeling a hint of regret that Obi-Wan hadn’t been there long enough for the bedding to really pick up his scent.



From where he was kneeling in the middle of the small cell, Obi-Wan blinked his eyes open to look up at him. And Jango noted him giving the now opened door a suspicious look. “Pardon?”

Jango just smiled pleasantly. “Breakfast, Obi-Wan. Come for breakfast.”

“Not going to keep me in my cell?”

Jango didn’t let himself react, he’d likely given away a little too much the night before, and he wouldn’t do that again. Or at least he planned not to, Obi-Wan already seemed to have the particular talent of making Jango react more than anyone ever had. “No.”

“And if I’d prefer—”

“To starve yourself?” Jango asked. “Because weakening yourself is an excellent way to prepare for your escape attempt.”

Obi-Wan paused at that, giving Jango an assessing look that Jango met evenly. He was well aware that Obi-Wan would try to escape, it was why he’d hid away the weapons and locked the controls of his ships, why, when Obi-Wan had refused his bed, Jango had chosen to lock him up. “All right.”

Obi-Wan stood, the movement graceful, though Jango noted the slightest tightening of the skin around the man’s eyes.

Jango waited until the man was close to slip a hand against his back, pressing lightly to move Obi-Wan closer. Obi-Wan resisted for a moment, but then sighed and let it happen. It wasn’t everything Jango wanted, but he’d take it for now.

He guided Obi-Wan back to the main hold where Boba was waiting, the small breakfast Jango had made already spread out.

Obi-Wan took a seat and Jango knelt in front of him. “Boba, go get the med kit.”

Obi-Wan stiffened as Boba looked between the two before leaving for the med kit. “I’m fine.”

“I’m sure you are,” Jango agreed. “But let me check on you anyways.” He didn’t wait for Obi-Wan to respond, instead sliding his hands underneath the shirt Obi-Wan was wearing, Jango’s shirt—Jango couldn’t stop himself from picturing this very movement in a whole other situation—and lifting.

Obi-Wan let out a small hiss of breath as Jango removed the shirt. Jango looked up to see Obi-Wan staring determinedly past him, jaw set the faintest hint of pink disappearing behind his beard.

Jango smirked a little, because that was a not entirely disinterested reaction. That wasn’t the point right now, so he turned his attention back to the bandages on his cyare’s chest, quickly cutting the bandages away.

“You’re healing well,” Jango said quietly, running his fingers gently over where the bruising had faded from dark purple to yellows and greens. “One more day of bacta bandages and you should be good to go.”

“That’s not necessary,” Obi-Wan said immediately, and Jango wasn’t at all surprised. “There’s no need to waste more bandages on a couple of bruises.”

Jango let his fingers trail over pale skin again. Obi-Wan hissed, shuddering a little beneath Jango’s fingers. Jango looked up at Obi-Wan and smiled. “Healing you is never a waste.” Obi-Wan stared down at him, eyes wide and looking a little dazed.

The sound of Boba re-entering the room seemed to shock Obi-Wan out of his daze, Jango reached for the med kit for some more bandages.

Obi-Wan didn’t argue further, letting Jango wrap the bandages. When he was finished, he put the extra bandages away, handing the kit back to Boba, who’d been watching them both with careful interest. Jango would be curious to hear Boba’s analysis of the situation after.

Obi-Wan was quick to slip the shirt back on and Jango once again admired how good Obi-Wan looked in Jango’s clothes.

Jango didn’t move from where he was still kneeling in front of Obi-Wan, hands on the man’s knees. Obi-Wan seemed to be desperately trying to look anywhere but at him. “You said something about breakfast?”

Jango felt a smile tugging at his lips, but stood. “Yes, breakfast.”


The day went much like the day before. Obi-Wan was doing his best impression of a piece of furniture, trying desperately to blend into the background. Neither Jango nor Boba were content to let him get away with it, though.

Jango tried not to be frustrated that Boba had far more luck pulling Obi-Wan out of his attempts to be bland than Jango did.

But where Jango apparently set Obi-Wan on edge, Boba seemed capable of easing Obi-Wan into something resembling real. Obi-Wan, apparently, had a weak spot for children.

It really was unfair for any one person to be that attractive. But Jango wouldn’t lie to himself. Obi-Wan, wearing Jango’s clothes, helping Jango’s son with his homework, was absolutely the most attractive sight Jango had ever seen. He often found himself ‘leaving’ the room so that he could watch Obi-Wan and Boba when he wasn’t around.

Jango had never thought he’d be jealous of his son before, but when Obi-Wan aimed that gentle, sincere smile at his son, he had to admit that he was. Just a little.

He wanted Obi-Wan to smile at him that way.

But it was all for the best. Obi-Wan warming up to Boba was just a gateway avenue for Jango to get Obi-Wan to warm up to him as well.

Boba, for his part, was soaking it all up.

Boba may have declared that he didn’t think Obi-Wan was good enough for their family, but Jango could see that Obi-Wan was already managing to convince Boba otherwise without even trying. Something about the sincere way he answered Boba’s questions and the patience with helping Boba with his homework.

Jango would have to prepare Boba for Obi-Wan’s inevitable escape attempt, because with how quickly Boba was growing attached it would absolutely break his heart when Obi-Wan tried to leave.

But Jango didn’t think they were going to manage to convince Obi-Wan that his place was with them quickly enough to avoid an attempt to escape.

Obi-Wan was far too stubborn for that.

At the end of the day, Jango gave him the option of his bed or the cell, and Obi-Wan once again took the cell.

It wasn’t any easier this time to lock his soul mate away, but he did it anyways.

And once again, he found himself wondering how he was supposed to court Obi-Wan when his soul mate was so insistent on enforcing a hostage and captor dynamic.

If Jango could, he would give Obi-Wan as much freedom as Obi-Wan wanted. Just so long as Obi-Wan didn’t try to leave.

But Jango couldn’t just let Obi-Wan leave. In other situations he might, he’d court his soul mate the normal way. Or, well, probably not the normal way, but closer to normal than things we’re at the moment.

But he couldn’t do that, because if Obi-Wan left, Jango knew exactly where he’d go.

The galaxy was going to fall to war, and if he let Obi-Wan go, his soul mate would run straight into that war and get himself hurt or killed and Jango… Jango couldn’t. He couldn’t let that happen.

He thought it would probably tear his heart apart if Obi-Wan died on him now that Jango had found him.

If he thought that Obi-Wan could be reasonable. If Jango thought that he could talk sense into him… but no. The Jetii had trained Obi-Wan since the moment they’d had him in their grasp. They’d taught Obi-Wan that he was supposed to die for them.

Jango felt another flare of anger at the Jetii at the thought, felt that rage stir even further as he looked at his soul mate, a few feet away from him, but so far at the same time. And it was all the blasted Jetii’s fault.

Not to mention, Jango knew perfectly well that whoever was behind this war, whoever was working with Dooku, they wanted the Jetii gone.

And yes, in general, Jango approved of those goals. The Jetii were a scourge on the galaxy.

But not while his soul mate was one of them.

He rubbed his forehead, staring at his soul mate between the bars. But Obi-Wan was once again pretending that Jango wasn’t even there.

He was going to have to change plans, Jango decided. He couldn’t just get Obi-Wan accustomed to being with him and Boba, though he was certainly going to continue in that vein. But he needed more. He needed backup.

He needed to give Obi-Wan the illusion of slightly more freedom, and he couldn’t do that while it was just him and Boba.

Boba’s practice bounty would have to wait. Jango expected that Boba would forgive him, especially when he understood the why behind the new plans.

Chapter Text

“Astronavigation’s the worst.”

Obi-Wan glanced up to see Boba glaring at his datapad. “I would have thought you’d like flying.” It was something of an inane comment, and once he’d said it Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he could quite place why he’d thought it. Still, he thought it was true.

Boba rolled his eyes. “I do like flying. I just don’t like all the stupid calculations. A nav-computer can do these.”

Obi-Wan smiled a little. He’d never tell the ten year old this, but Obi-Wan thought the boy was adorable. He reminded Obi-Wan so much of another ten year old he’d once known. But Anakin was no longer ten, and while Obi-Wan still loved him dearly, he sometimes missed when Anakin was younger and less eager to shove his resentment of Obi-Wan in Obi-Wan’s face. “It can, yes. But the formulas most of the nav-computers are set with are considered quite conservative.” It was certainly easier to trust the nav-computer. After all the nav-computer had a constantly updating database of the current locations of planets, stars, and other satellites.

He got a headache just thinking about the advanced nav-comp classes he’d taken as a padawan. The math had honestly been the easiest part.

“Does your father rely on the nav-computers?” he asked.

Boba pouted. “No.”

That didn’t surprise Obi-Wan, and he added the information to the growing list of things he knew about Jango Fett. He was honestly starting to get rather annoyed at the list. Because the longer it got the more competent the image of Fett he was creating became. Fett was skilled and intelligent, and his list of talents seemed to grow ever longer. Worse, some of the things that had made there way onto the list were things that really didn’t help Obi-Wan at all.

What was Obi-Wan supposed to do with the knowledge that Jango Fett could cook, or that he was a patient and loving father, or that his smile—when aimed in Obi-Wan’s direction—could be downright devastating?

None of that information was the least bit helpful, in fact, some of it was distinctly unhelpful. There were some things Obi-Wan both didn’t need and didn’t want to know about his captor.

Boba let out another long-suffering sigh, looking up at Obi-Wan with wide, beseeching eyes.

Obi-Wan had to hide a smile, because he was not nearly as oblivious to Boba’s antics as Boba would like to think. But he wasn’t doing anything important, Boba was a delight to work with, and, though Obi-Wan felt a little guilty for admitting it, Boba was more likely to give him useful information than Fett. “Would you like some help with that?”

Boba immediately beamed, shifting across the seats until he was sitting right beside Obi-Wan. “Help me with this. I’m supposed to figure out how to get from Dantooine to Zonju V.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at that. “That would be quite the trip.” They were both in the Outer Rim, but on opposite sides of the Galaxy. “You have a few options. You can try traveling in a somewhat straight line, using the hyperlanes, but that would take you through the mid rims and the core.”

“Which sucks.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “It does. Or you can take the physically longer distance and travel through the outer rim.”

“Which is faster.” Boba guessed.

Obi-Wan nodded. “If done right, it can be. But you don’t have the hyperplanes to guide your calculations, so if you do it wrong, you’re in for a world of hurt.”

Boba hummed and Obi-Wan quietly pointed to a part of the map for Boba to start his calculations before turning back to his own datapad. He didn’t bother to read though, mind racing. He glanced surreptitiously toward the cockpit where he’d seen Fett disappear not so long ago. “Do you happen to know when we’ll be landing?”

It’d been nearly a week now, which met Fett’s earlier time table; they had to be getting close. Boba shook his head, not paying much attention, tongue sticking out a little as he focused on his equations. “Nope. Soon, I think.”

Obi-Wan nodded, weighing his words carefully, trying to keep them light. He knew what Fett had said, but he was hoping that Boba would give a little more up than his father as to what their plans were. “I don’t suppose we’ll be parting ways there?”

Boba’s head jerked up, alarmed. “You’re not allowed to leave us.”

It was the same general message that the elder Fett had given Obi-Wan, but Obi-Wan filed Boba’s wording away for later consideration, and pressed a little further. “I do have things to get back to. A padawan, the Jedi.”

“No.” Boba practically slammed the datapad onto the table, and the look he gave Obi-Wan was angry and betrayed. “You’re not allowed. You’re my dad’s. You’re his. And that makes you mine.” Obi-Wan felt his eyes widen, a growing pit filling his stomach. “You’re ours now. Not the Jedi’s, not your padawan’s. You’re not allowed to—”

“Boba.” Obi-Wan stiffened at Fett’s voice, firm and no-nonsense and clearly expecting to be listened to.

Boba turned towards his father, eyes wide. “Buir, he said he was going to leave.”

Fett just smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Boba. Obi-Wan’s not used to having so much free time, the chance to relax is making him go a little stir crazy. He’s not going anywhere.” Boba seemed to relax at that, trusting his father completely. “How about you go check what we have in the kitchenette to see what you want me to make for dinner.”

Boba hesitated, but then nodded, sending Obi-Wan another betrayed glare before stomping off.

Obi-Wan watched him go, still reeling a little from what the boy had said.

Fett stepped closer to him and Obi-Wan traded that shock for a carefully controlled rage as he slowly stood as he faced Fett. “What in all hells have you been telling your son.” He kept his words a low hiss. Some part of him recognizing that letting Boba hear this argument would make the situation worse.

“The truth,” Fett answered, and he seemed completely unbothered. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“And that bit about me being yours? About being his?” Obi-Wan had to hold back a shudder, Force or no Force, Obi-Wan could tell that Boba had been disturbingly genuine about that little proclamation.

Fett narrowed his eyes. “I should’ve warned him not to say anything about that to you. I didn’t think you were ready for it.”

Obi-Wan scoffed. Ready for it? Fett didn’t think he was ready for it? Was anyone ready for that level of delusion? “And what makes you think I’m yours, Jango Fett?”

Fett stared at him for a long moment, eyes unreadable, before he slowly moved forward. Some part of Obi-Wan felt the need to move back, to move away, but he refused to give ground.

Fett ended up right in front of him, barely a whisper of space between them. “I don’t think you’re mine, Obi-Wan. I know it.” Fett’s hand lifted, and the back of his knuckles brushed against Obi-Wan’s chest as Jango tugged at the top of his shirt, pulling the collar down.

Obi-Wan’s eyes followed the motion, feeling strangely entranced—and he wasn’t sure what emotion he was feeling, but he thought it might be horror—as Fett bared his skin for Obi-Wan’s gaze as a gray mark was revealed.

A soul mark.

The implications of Fett baring his soul mark right now were clear. Except it made no sense.

A dozen different thoughts raced through Obi-Wan’s mind, and he couldn’t quite figure out what was most important.

He didn’t have a soul mark, and Fett’s soul mark was still gray. Which should have made it abundantly clear to anyone that knew anything about soul marks that Obi-Wan couldn’t possibly be this man’s soul mate, as Fett clearly hadn’t met his soul mate yet.

Obi-Wan desperately wanted that to be the case. It would be easiest if Fett just didn’t understand soul marks, and if, with a little patience, Obi-Wan could calmly and quietly explain why this wasn’t possible and this ridiculous misunderstanding would be cleared up and Obi-Wan sent on his way.

Except… except Obi-Wan recognized both of those symbols on Fett’s chest.

The saber from the Jedi Order’s symbol rising from a kot’shla flower.

A flower that, as far as Obi-Wan was aware, only grew on Mandalore.

No one knew soul mates the way the Mandalorians did.

Another thought fought it’s way forward, a dozen different connections coming together.

A soul mark. Boba calling his father, ‘buir’. Jango Fett. A Mandalorian kot’shla flower.

Jango Fett.


Jango Fett, the Mand’alor.

How had Obi-Wan not put that together earlier? The fact that he’d thought that Jango Fett was dead was no excuse. Force. Obi-Wan was in so much more trouble than he’d thought.

“You’re mistaken.” Obi-Wan said, and he hoped his voice didn’t shake. “I don’t have—”

“A soul mark.” Fett finished, and he let go of the collar of his shirt, letting the soul mark disappear behind cloth again. “I’m aware you think that.”

Obi-Wan did not like the way Fett qualified that sentence. “I don’t just think—”

“And how would you know,” Fett interrupted, “if someone had stolen it from you?”

What even was that supposed to mean? A soul mark wasn’t exactly something a person could steal. It was a… well, people were undecided on what exactly it was, but most agreed it was cosmic.

“And how would you?” Obi-Wan retorted. “Your mark is gray, Fett. Whatever you think—”

“I don’t think,” Fett cut in, and they were so close their breaths were intermingling; Obi-Wan couldn’t quite stop himself from realizing what normally happened when two people got this close. But Jango made no such move, and Obi-Wan was too frozen to pull away. “I know. Your order tried to hide you from me, tried to steal you.”

Obi-Wan normally prided himself on keeping a cool head in strange situations, at being able to talk people around to different opinions.

But Boba’s earlier claims of possession, taught to him by his father, were tumbling through Obi-Wan’s mind; Fett’s eyes were full of something possessive and consuming that echoed too closely to love, if immeasurably darker, and that just wasn’t possible.

“You’re delusional.” He shouldn’t say it, he shouldn’t. But what else was Obi-Wan supposed to say? He wasn’t going to… wasn’t going to play along with this. “I have no soul mark, I’m not your soul mate, I’m not yours.”

He braced himself, ready for Fett to start raging at him for refusing to play along with his delusions.

But Fett just let out a low laugh; he seemed a little disappointed—Obi-Wan was too close to miss the way Fett’s eyes flashed with hurt—but not angry. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you, not until I could prove it to you.”

“Or maybe you didn’t tell me because you didn’t want someone spoiling your fantasy,” Obi-Wan shot back, because he hated the way Fett was looking at him as though Obi-Wan was hurting him; he was starting to feel almost desperate for Fett to break, to rage. For Fett to fight back at someone trying to shatter his delusions.

Fett must have seen some of that in his face, because Fett just sighed. “I won’t hurt you, Obi-Wan. I won’t force you, either.”

“Then let me go,” Obi-Wan pleaded, turning his gaze imploring, because if Fett, somehow, deludedly thought they were soul mates, then shouldn’t Obi-Wan have some measure of effect on him? “Let me go.”

Fett smiled at him, the look a mix of understanding and pleading, like he wanted Obi-Wan to understand. “I won’t let you get yourself killed, either. And we both know that if I let you go you’ll run straight into a war that you have no place in.”


Fett’s hand cupped Obi-Wan’s cheek, warm and gentle, and so very, very possessive. “You’re not dying, Obi-Wan. Not if I have anything to say about it. I’m going to keep you safe. You’re not leaving me.”

Fett meant it.

Obi-Wan felt strangely warm, trapped there with Fett’s hand on his cheek and their gazes locked.

Fett meant it.

Force. He knew. He knew how Mandalorians felt about soul mates, and if Obi-Wan was right, if Jango Fett really was that Jango Fett, and he really, truly, genuinely thought Obi-Wan was his soul mate, despite all the evidence against it…

Obi-Wan was in so much more trouble than he’d thought.

He heard Boba re-enter the room, but Fett didn’t move immediately, his amber eyes still locked with Obi-Wan’s.

Fett’s thumb brushed against his cheek bone, intimate and gentle. His voice was low, like a vocal caress, sending a thrill down Obi-Wan’s spine. “It’ll be okay, ner’runi. I’m going to make sure of it. You understand?”

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, but let himself nod.

Fett smiled gently at him, before dropping his hand and stepping back, turning away from Obi-Wan and toward his son.

Obi-Wan found himself dropping, like a puppet with its strings cut, into the seat behind him. His cheek was still warm where Fett had touched him, the words ner’runi echoing in his mind.

One thought fought its way forward.

He had to escape.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan had clearly been affected by Jango’s assertion that they were soul mates.

On the face of it, the effect was a good one. Obi-Wan still hadn’t joined Jango in his bed, but he’d been calmer, more at ease in the two days since Jango had told him the truth.

Jango slid a plate in front of Obi-Wan, a simple noodle dish for dinner. Obi-Wan smiled up at him. “Thank you, Jango.”

Jango moved one knee onto the small bench so that he could better lean forward to brush his lips against the side of Obi-Wan’s forehead. “You’re welcome, cyar’e.”

He could hear Obi-Wan breathing. Carefully even and controlled, as Obi-Wan shifted a little, turning his head and tilting it up, his lips brushing against Jango’s cheek.

It was absolutely chaste, and it was down-right embarrassing how hard Jango’s heart was beating. He wondered if he could get away with an outright kiss.

Obi-Wan turned back to the food. “It looks delicious, but then, so far everything you’ve made me has been.”

Jango retreated to get his own plate, ignoring the delighted look on Boba’s face at the exchange. Boba had been upset at Obi-Wan for indicating a desire to leave them, and was encouraged by the shift in Obi-Wan’s behavior.

Boba was clever and talented, but he was still young. Too young to see that for all that, in the wake of the soul mate revelation, Obi-Wan seemed to have accepted the situation, that Obi-Wan had done nothing of the sort.

No, if anything, Jango knew that Obi-Wan was even more determined to escape. He mentally winced as he remembered the way Obi-Wan had called him delusional. No, Obi-Wan’s current acquiescence was nothing more than a ploy to get Jango to think Obi-Wan had accepted the situation so that he would lower his guard.

Of course, even knowing that, Jango would take advantage of the situation as much as he could. He expected that once Obi-Wan tried—and failed—to escape, Jango would be faced with a far more stubborn soul mate. So he’d take the affection while he could, storing it up to help him get through the upcoming storm.

He settled in the seat across from Obi-Wan, tangling their feet together. Obi-Wan’s lips pursed, but he didn’t try to pull away, and Jango was only a little surprised when Obi-Wan shifted so that their ankles rested a little more comfortably together.

“We’ll be landing soon,” Jango informed him casually.

Obi-Wan glanced at him, and his face was almost passive but Jango could see his mind racing. “Define soon?”

“Tomorrow morning.” They could actually make it sooner, but the others said they wouldn’t be able to make it until late tonight, and Jango was wary enough of his soul mate’s abilities that he would prefer that they weren’t on planet until he could have his soul mate surrounded by Mandalorians who would be just as eager to keep the be’alor with them.

Obi-Wan nodded again, before turning away and tossing a question at Boba to pull him into conversation.

Jango let the two of them talk, watching Boba and Obi-Wan interact with quiet pleasure. Obi-Wan really was so good with Boba. Kind and attentive, with clear respect for Boba’s own intelligence and ability, despite how young Boba was.

Obi-Wan finished first, and slipped away, carrying his plate to the small kitchenette. Jango watched him from the corner of his eye as he finished his own meal. He narrowed his eyes as Obi-Wan moved to put the clean silverware away, dropping the fork and lingering over the cabinet that Jango hadn’t locked after finishing meal preparation.

“Boba, how about you go pick a game for the three of us to play tonight.”

Boba looked up from where he was trying to swipe up the remaining sauce from his plate. “Any game?”

“Sure.” Boba’s eyes brightened and Jango and hoped he didn’t end up having to play Linked Fingers for the next hour.

Jango picked up his and Boba’s plates before heading to the kitchenette, setting them carefully on the counter before sliding behind Obi-Wan and wrapping his arms around his waist.

Obi-Wan had about an inch on him in height, but it was still easy enough to rest his chin on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Obi-Wan stiffened for a moment, but then merely reached out to grab the dishes Jango had brought to continue cleaning them. “Now, what would you need with a knife, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan froze. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Jango kept his close position against Obi-Wan’s back as he shifted his hold on Obi-Wan so that he could run his hands along Obi-Wan’s arm.

His fingers brushed against something hard stashed beneath Obi-Wan’s sleeve. “Oh, what’s this?” He pulled at the sleeve to reveal that Obi-Wan had created a make-shift knife sheath against his forearm.

Obi-Wan didn’t answer.

Jango smiled a little, as much as it annoyed him that Obi-Wan was still clearly plotting, he appreciated the spirit. “Going to stab me?”

“Maybe I should.” Obi-Wan’s voice was low, clearly aware that Boba might be back at any minute.

Which was why Jango felt safe enough sliding the knife into Obi-Wan’s hand, shifting a little so he could murmur straight into Obi-Wan’s ear. “Well, here you are, here I am. Why don’t you do it?”

Obi-Wan’s fingers stiffened around the knife and he twisted around. Jango kept his arms where they were, keeping Obi-Wan close.

The knife ended up against his abdomen, the point of the blade almost digging into his skin. “Interesting choice.”

“Perhaps you’d prefer a more lethal option?” Obi-Wan asked, and his eyes were dark. Jango couldn’t help but smile as the knife shifted.

“Buir, what about Linked Fingers?” Boba asked as he came back into the room.

Jango didn’t move, perfectly aware that in their current position it merely looked like Jango had Obi-Wan in an embrace.

“So, Obi-Wan?” Jango asked, keeping his voice for Obi-Wan’s ears only. “Going to do it?”

Obi-Wan’s gaze flicked to Boba before he closed his eyes, his body relaxing in defeat into Jango’s hold. The hand with the knife fell to Obi-Wan’s side. “No.”

Jango slid his own hand down Obi-Wan’s arm, taking the knife from Obi-Wan’s fingers and depositing it in the sink. "You get one pass, Obi-Wan. Don't make me need to take this further." He brushed a soft kiss against the soft skin of Obi-Wan’s cheek. “Go help Boba set up the game, Obi-Wan. I’ll finish up the dishes.”

Obi-Wan sighed, but the glint in his eyes told Jango that this was far from over. Still, Obi-Wan obediently moved out of Jango’s arms and toward Boba.

“Did I hear you say we were playing Linked fingers? What is that?”

Jango turned a little to watch Obi-Wan join Boba, before turning back to finish the dishes so he could join the family game night.

He would lock up the kitchen drawer again, though. No need to tempt Obi-Wan any further.


Jango found Obi-Wan preparing for bed in the cell. “Boba’s in bed.”

Obi-Wan hummed absently in response.

“Join me in bed?” Jango asked, the same thing he’d asked since he’d revealed that they were soul mates.

Obi-Wan shook his head and then paused. “Just sleeping?”

Jango felt his heart rate pick up just slightly in hope. “Of course.”

Obi-Wan seemed to consider that for a long moment and then nodded. “Your brig really isn’t comfortable, Jango. You should look into that.”

Jango scoffed. “Or you can just stay in my bed and we don’t have to go through this every night.”

Obi-Wan sighed.

“Come to bed, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan still hesitated for a long moment, apparently trying to decide if he could change his mind right back.

Finally Obi-Wan moved towards him, tentative and unsure and the most beautiful man Jango had ever seen.

His soul mate.

And he was finally going to be in Jango’s bed again. Willingly.

He escorted Obi-Wan back to his own small room, feeling Obi-Wan move perfectly in step with the barest touch of Jango’s hand on his back.

He didn’t rush his night time preparations, but it was a close thing.

Obi-Wan was already in bed by the time Jango had finished everything, stiff as a board and trying to hide it. Jango slipped into the bed beside him, immediately pulling Obi-Wan back into his embrace.

Last time he hadn’t taken full advantage of Obi-Wan in his bed, but he would this time. He moved them until they were both on their sides, Obi-Wan’s back against his chest and Jango’s own arm resting over his soul mate’s waist.

He rested a soft kiss to the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, inhaling deeply enough that it felt like Obi-Wan was in his very lungs. It was near perfect. “Isn’t this so much more comfortable, ner’runi?”

Obi-Wan didn’t answer,

“So stubborn,” Jango teased.

“Says the most stubborn person I’ve ever met,” Obi-Wan retorted. “But yes, I suppose it’s more comfortable than that cot.”

Jango shifted a little, working a hand under the bottom of Obi-Wan’s shirt so he could rest skin on skin. Obi-Wan sucked in a soft breath, a soft oh that Jango almost didn’t hear.

Jango didn’t push any further, content for now, to have Obi-Wan in his arms and in his bed.

“Sleep now, Obi-Wan. Tomorrow will be busy.”

“Where are we going?”

Jango paused, he didn’t want to give Obi-Wan too much information, not while he knew Obi-Wan was still angling for an escape. But he also wanted to build up an atmosphere where Obi-Wan felt comfortable and a part of things.

“Mandalore Sector.” One of the moons of Concord Dawn, specifically, that the New Mandalorians and Death Watch had both left generally alone. It wasn’t exactly a True Mandalorian hold out, but it was friendly.

Obi-Wan stiffened a little. “Dangerous place to bring a Jetii, Jango. If you want that Jetii to live.”

“No one will touch you, Obi-Wan.” Even Death Watch—at least those of Death Watch who were still enough Mandalorian to feel the touch of Mand’alor in their soul—would hesitate to touch someone who felt like Be’alor. “You’re mine, Obi-Wan. Ours. You’ll be safe.”

Obi-Wan was still a little tense. “If you say so, Jango.”

“I do.” He pulled Obi-Wan a little closer. “Now stop worrying, ner’runi, sleep.”


Waking up to Obi-Wan still in his arms was the best feeling, and Jango went through his morning cheerful.

“The two of you should take a seat.” He waved to the seat straps as he moved to the cockpit. “We’ll be entering the atmosphere soon.”

Jango took his seat in the cockpit, getting the ship moving again. He’d had it floating just beyond the moon so that he could arrive after some of his True Mandalorians had already arrived. Best to ensure that he had help in keeping Obi-Wan around as soon as he arrived.

The entrance into atmosphere went smoothly and Jango began to guide the ship to the agreed upon meeting point.

“Buir!” Boba darted into the cockpit, voice pitched higher than normal in panic. Jango’s contentment fled instantly. Something had gone wrong. “Something happened to Obi-Wan. He collapsed!”

Jango jerked to look at Boba, fighting his instincts to run immediately to Obi-Wan. He kept his hands steady on the controls. “Boba, you remember what I taught you about landing the ship?”

Boba’s eyes went wide. “Yeah.”

“Take the controls.”

An alarm started sounding and Jango froze. “Controls, now, Boba.”

He slid out of the pilot’s chair, cursing quietly as he ran for the holding bay.

Wind was crashing through the room, tossing around everything that wasn’t screwed down, and Jango moved to the wall for support.

Obi-Wan wasn’t there. The landing ramp had been emergency opened.

Jango pushed along the edge of the wall until he could flip the emergency close switch, and the landing ramp started closing again.

Frustration and grief raged within him.

Had Obi-Wan jumped? They were too high for Obi-Wan to survive that fall, not without the Force.

Perhaps he was only pretending to escape, and he’d actually hidden? Waiting for Jango to start searching for him so that he could make his actual escape?

Jango swore again, because they still needed to land and he couldn't prioritize finding Obi-Wan right at this moment. He headed back to the cockpit, quickly switching out with Boba whose face was a little pale, but his eyes determined. “Check the ship throughly Boba. Just in case Obi-Wan was just trying to cause a diversion and is hiding.”

Boba nodded, rushing back out of the cockpit, face grim.

This was going to break Boba’s heart.

Jango’s own heart was aching a little as he finished landing the ship in the meeting area he’d set. He stared out the view screen to see that there were already two ships here, Cort’s and Ruusaan’s from the looks of it. He’d have to bring them up to speed quickly and get them looking for Obi-Wan.

He moved back to the main part of the ship to find Boba there, the faintest hint of red eyes signaling that his search had been unsuccessful.

“I found this.” Boba held out a silver circlet and it took Jango a moment to recognize it as the Force cuffs that Obi-Wan had been wearing.

Jango closed his eyes, a strange mixture of grief and relief filling him. Obi-Wan had the Force again, which meant he probably would have been able to survive the jump.

It was easy to see what had happened now. Obi-Wan had somehow found a way to get the bracelets off, and then had faked a collapse to get Boba out of the holding bay so he was out of danger.

Now Jango just had to track him down and drag him back where he belonged.