Chapter Text
Under the forest roof the predawn light paints everything with a tint of blue. It’s raining, a slight drizzling above the tree tops, but the leaves hardly let any of the light rain pass through. The pat, pat, pat of the drops can be heard though, if you pay attention close enough. In the silence of the camp it isn’t too hard to catch.
In his hands, Jango Fett holds the delicate looking beskar sigil of the Jedi. It is composed of a sword at the heart and supporting it, or perhaps shielding it, a pair of stylised wings. He turns it over and over again, right side up, upside down, over and over. From the sword there’s an energy burst, or perhaps a star; Jango had never thought to ask before, never even thought to wonder if it was more than an energy burst before today. The beskar is smooth in his callused fingers as he passes them over the clean silver color.
Jango would not admit it, but he is somewhat fond of the symbol. Not particularly because of the Jedi, but because whenever he comes across it, whenever he finds it randomly somewhere, it makes him think of Obi-wan. With time, the two things had become inextricably linked to one another. Jedi and Obi-wan, one and the same. The last two years have given the sigil a measure of bittersweetness, but it never fails to spark fondness beneath the beskar chestplate.
He wonders if this is all he’ll have left of Obi-wan once everything’s done.
A crunch of leaves makes Jango lift his eyes. Qui-gon Jinn approaches him, solemn as he’s become since the implications of Jango’s silence had been revealed, though perhaps not as severe as in the previous days. He finds it hard to read his face again, just like when they’d first met each other.
“Jango,” he greets, inclining his head. It is less of a bow than Jango is used to.
The Manado returns the gesture in kind, saying nothing. Knight Jinn sits down on the fallen tree branch beside him and lets the quiet between them be for a moment. His dark blue eyes linger for a moment on the beskar in Jango’s hands, but thankfully, he says nothing about it.
The forest, though not quite awake yet, is alive with an array of little sounds. It’s quiet enough; they can hear the rain some meters above.
Pit, pat, pat.
“What is it?” Jango asks eventually. He can feel it, a subtlety in the air that tells him there’s something Qui-gon wants to tell him.
‘That? Is the Force Jango,’ Obi-wan had told him once.
‘I’m not Force sensitive,’ the Mandalorian had chuckled.
‘Everyone is, to a degree. It’s in all of us. But you might more commonly refer to it as good instinct.’
‘Yeah, sure.’ Jango pushed the boy’s shoulder, making him laugh.
‘It’s true! It’s in all of us. It connects us,” Obi-wan had told him with a sunny, sweet smile. Then he reached out and placed his hand on Jango's chest. “Here.” And something in him, instinct perhaps, or the Force, had been inclined to believe him.
Qui-gon sighs and turns his face to Jango. “I was thinking what would be prudent to offer you,” he says.
“In exchange for what, exactly?” Jango lifts a questioning, wary eyebrow.
“I need you to report this in front of the Jedi Council, Jango,” Qui-gon says seriously. An edge of urgency is also there, though carefully guarded. “We need this. We need an actual witness. Even if it turns out to be nothing and the Council dismissed Obi-wan’s vision… There are pieces already laid down which would be foolish to ignore. If we only brought my padawan’s vision there would be much room for doubt, but with you…”
Jango stares at him, his face revealing nothing.
“I know that in the current state of things this is a less than ideal request, so-”
“I’ll do it,” Jango interrupts him.
“What?” The surprise in the Jedi’s face would be something Jango would like to snap a holo of. It isn’t every day one catches Qui-gon Jinn off guard. But it is not the moment; perhaps, it never will be again.
“I’ll do it,” Jango repeats, putting some weight to his words. “You don’t have to bribe me or convince me of anything. I’ll… I’ll be there.”
Jango keeps his brown eyes on the Jedi’s and waits for him to read his intention in the Force. Slowly, after a moment, Qui-gon nods.
“It is much appreciated,” Qui-gon says, allowing some earnestness to show in his voice.
“I won't disappear, you have my word,” Jango adds and does not wince as Obi-wan’s voice comes back to him in memory. ‘I guess even Mandalorian vows are not enough when you’re a Jedi.’
“Excuse me,” Jango says and stands up.
“Of course. My thanks.”
Jango walks into the dense forest, beskar sigil still in hand.
·~·~·~·
Jango follows the faint trail left on the humid ground: boot scuffs and marks pressed into the mud and fallen leaves. He weaves between the thick foliage and stretching roots and, soon enough, he finds Obi-wan.
The young man sits on the tall roots of a huge tree. They curve up into the air, making a nice spot for Obi-wan to rest his back against. His face is directed up, eyes closed but furrowed. Jango can tell, from the long years of knowing him, Obi-wan’s listening.
Jango directs his eyes to Obi-wan's arms. He finds again one hand wrapped around the forearm gently scratching a line over and over on the same place. What had been a faint red mark two days ago was now stark against his pale skin.
“Hey,” he says simply, heavily.
Obi-wan says nothing. His hand curves around his wrist tightly, his repetitive motions interrupted. Jango digs his eyes on the Jedi for a moment before taking a leveling breath. He knows Obi-wan is listening, but Jango wants— needs his full attention.
“Can you look at me?” Jango asks.
Slowly, very slowly, Obi-wan opens his eyes. After a moment he swings himself forward and pivots to the side in a smooth motion. The redhead faces Jango, legs dangling in the air, and tilts his head with raised eyebrows as if to say, ‘Happy?’
Jango nods in thanks. After an awkward moment of looking at each other, the Mandalorian finally pulls something out of one of his pockets.
The sigil and the saber casing.
At once, Obi-wan goes on the defensive. “I’m not taking that back.”
“Listen to me first.”
“No.”
“Listen, Obi-wan. Please,” Jango begs him harshly.
Obi-wan closes his eyes a moment, he breathes. He raises a hand to press lightly against his temple, massaging there. He waits before he takes another breath. When Obi-wan opens his eyes they are piercing and void of any emotion.
Jango takes a step and another until he closes the gap between them. He reaches the tall root where Obi-wan sits and lets the Jedi’s knees collide against his beskar breastplate. Obi-wan flinches back a little; he looks as if he’d rather be anywhere else in the galaxy but here.
“Listen, Obi-wan,” Jango repeats. “I know there’s no excuse for what I did- didn’t do. Ka’ra believe me. I wish I could take it back. And I’m not asking for your forgiveness.”
A long time ago, somewhere far away from this planet, a somewhat similar conversation had taken place. A teen inside a metal crate and a regretful Mandalorian peering in. The rhyme of it rings through time and space, and once more, Jango regrets.
“Take these back,” Jango asks, presenting the objects to the Jedi who recoils from the offering in the limited space there is to move. “Please. Let them be my promise to you. I will do everything in my power to make my mistakes right. Every chance I get I’ll strive to fix this. Because,” Jango chokes a little on his words, forcing them out before he loses his nerve. “You were right back then. I don’t want to lose you, I don’t want to let go for the wrong reasons again.”
Obi-wan’s eyes shift from the beskar to Jango, the emotionlessness shifts to something softer, sadder, yet still a little angry.
“I don’t want you to try if you’re only trying for me, that’s not care, or love, that's possession, and I’m not yours Jango, I don’t belong to you.”
“I know that,” Jango scoffs, affronted.
“You do not seem to have internalized it then. I am… in certain ways past caring if you’ve hurt me or not. I think this is bigger than that. You shouldn’t want to do what’s right just because of one person, Jango, you should want to do it because it’s right.”
“Can’t it be both?”
Obi-wan huffs, “We tried that before.”
The pain of his mistakes pangs inside Jango’s heart again.
Obi-wan's righteous anger melts a little more until the hurt shows again, blooming like a horrible flower. Even when he says it doesn't matter, Jango can tell it does; it's a hurt that's crawled right inside Obi-wan’s heart. It’s settled in and nested there.
“Didn’t it matter, Jango?” the Jedi asks. “That you ate with us? That you made friends at the temple? That younglings took your hand to show you what they learned?”
“It did,” Jango says hoarsely, because it really had. Once.
“Then why were we so different from any other that we deserved to be left to our own devices? What kind of monsters can we be that our hunting- No, our massacre, is an acceptable evil?”
“I think I just have a black heart, kid.” The moment Jango says it, it feels like a punch in the gut. He had never thought that before, but voicing it made the weight of the words real. He was rotten.
“I- I want to do better, I really do. But maybe- Maybe it’s the Mandalorian way. People only matter so long as they are clan, all others can go kriff themselves.” He turns his eyes away for a moment, burdened by his choices, but he turns back to Obi-wan quickly. “But you are right, it shouldn’t be like that- I know that. I know that,” Jango stresses, desperate. “In spite of my actions, I did learn that at the temple.”
Obi-wan breathes out, relieved. He nods. “It’s enough for me that you know.”
“Then take them back,” Jango insists, pressing the items close to the Jedi.
“I can't," Obi-wan says sadly, shaking his head. The quiet of his voice makes it all the worse. “Listen, even after everything… I’m not doing this to hurt you, I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m doing it for myself.” The Jedi looks down, the beskar still between them. A glint of sun catches on the metal. “The idea of carrying these… it would be a painful reminder. And while I suppose I could work on separating the feeling of the beskar and you, what they mean, I don’t really want to. They meant something special to me, to you too, and now…” Obi-wan looks up. “You haven't asked for forgiveness. And I think you know I can't give it to you. Jango… I need you to respect that because it’s not going to do me any good to keep them. And because you need to respect my choice in this.”
Jango stares at Obi-wan, big brown eyes struggling to keep his emotions veiled. For a moment, he holds in his heart everything this difficult, sunny being means to him. He takes in a deep breath, holds it, and then lets it go. He bows his head down and says, “Okay, Obi-wan. Okay.”
The tension in the air between them suddenly breaks. And at last, it’s like Obi-wan and Jango can breathe in again.
Jango steps back out of Obi-wan’s space and looks at the young man.
“Can I make you a promise?’
Obi-wan examines him for a moment then nods. “If you like.”
“I will make it better. Whether you want it or not. I’ll atone for this. And not only for you. I’ll make it right. I won't hide away in the dark anymore.”
Obi-wan signs out. Faintly the leaves around them make pit, pat, pit sounds; there’s subtle rain somewhere above. It occasionally falls on them, gatherings of water sliding through.
The Jedi nods, and says ”I suppose we'll see then.” And that is that.
·~·~·~·
The Jedi collect their things through the morning. It isn't much, spartan creatures that they are, and even the equipment for their investigation is dealt with promptly. They have a small hover platform for the heavier stuff and before Jango can properly muse on his continued troubling thoughts, they are ready to head back to their ship.
“I’ll see you off,” Jango says before they can give him their cold goodbyes.
Master and padawan share a glance, but in the end, Qui-gon acquiesces graciously. “Of course.”
The way is long and the silence is as heavy as the dense forest.
“Do you think the weather is changing here, master?” Obi-wan asks out of the blue, an hour into their walk. “I feel it’s getting colder.”
Qui-gon looks up, his long strides keeping a steady rhythm as they crunch and squelch on the forest floor.
“Perhaps.” A moment after he chuckles. “I thought it was your job to figure out the weather of this place,” he jabs lightly.
“Oh.” The little surprised sound Obi-wan makes turns his master’s eyes towards him. “Was it?” he asks.
The baffled look on Qui-gon’s face gives the young man pause. And now, it is Jango and the knight who share a quiet, wordless look.
“It’s no matter.” Qui-gon brushes it off and moves on.
His padawan has a contrarian frown on his brow, but he’s too tired to argue, his head too full to stand his ground over such little an issue. Why should he care about some random worry crossing his master’s eyes? Over some random, non important issue?
·~·~·~·
The Jedi load their things onto their small ship without trouble. And then it’s time to go.
“We’ll see you soon, Jango,” Qui-gon says, and there's a hidden question there which the Mando soothes without pride.
“I’ll be there before the week ends,” he answers as a promise. “Safe travels.”
“Like wise. May the Force be with you.” Qui-gon bows and starts heading up the ramp.
For a moment, he and Obi-wan—who’s barely been able to look Jango in the eye in the last few days—are quiet.
“See you soon, kid,” Jango says, unable to contain the sad fondness in his words.
Obi-wan turns his eyes to him and nods. “Good luck to you, Jango,” he says without much feeling.
As the padawan starts going up the ramp, Jango closes his eyes tightly and gives a small shake to himself. He curses under his breath and steps forward.
“Obi-wan, Qui-gon!” He calls.
Obi-wan turns and Qui-gon walks back into sight.
“Before you go, there is something I need to tell you,” Jango says, arms crossed and his face set like stone.
The Jedi share a concerned look between them
“Yes?” Obi-wan asks.
“I wasn’t sure how to say this. I- I haven’t been keeping this to myself on purpose. I just wasn’t sure how to tell you, but… The man who reached out to me, the middle man,” he explains.
“What about him?” Qui-gon prompts.
Jango presses his lips together for a moment and breathes.
“It was Dooku,” Jango confesses.
Inside his chest, Obi-wan’s heart stops as his breath is robbed from him.
And inside him, the dark hand of the future holds fast onto his mind.