Chapter Text
Cara was easy to contact, still stationed on Navarro as the New Republic’s marshall and Greef’s business partner. She was eager to help take down another Imp base - “It was the most fun I’d had in years, Mando, of course I want to have another go” - and was amenable to meeting them the next day on Tatooine to help plan their attack. Even with Cara joining their ranks, though, Din knew five people wouldn’t be enough to take down the base, not if they wanted to avoid the potential for serious injury. That meant he had to reach out to other contacts, ones he wasn’t thrilled about.
“Mando. What do you want?”
“Nice to hear from you, too, Kryze. Fett’s got wind of an Imp remnant setting up shop on Jakku. Wondered if you wouldn’t want to help us take it out.”
“‘Us’ being--?”
“Me, Fett, Shand, Dune, and the Jedi.”
Bo-Katan’s snort was audible even over the tinny holo connection. “ What makes you think I’d want to help you? Or work with a Jedi?”
“Look, Kryze. I know you don’t like me, or the Jedi. But every base we take down means fewer Imps in the world. Isn’t that reason enough?”
Bo-Katan was silent for a moment. She looked up as someone to her side said something Din couldn’t hear. She sighed, and turned back to Din. “ Fine. Koska agrees with you, and I can’t say I don’t like the thought of ridding the galaxy of more of those bastards. Send a comm when you want us to head to Jakku, and we’ll meet you there.”
Din nodded, and she disconnected the call.
“Wow, she really doesn’t like you, does she?”
Fennec strolled up behind him, eyebrow raised. She was holding two mugs of caf, one of which she passed to him as he turned and pocketed his comm again.
“Nope. You saw how she was on Gideon’s ship-- she still doesn’t like that I’ve got this kriffing thing,” he said, tapping the Darksaber hilt where it hung from his belt.
“She should just fight you for it and be done with it.”
Din huffed a sigh, the sound distorted through his helmet’s modulator. “Wish she would. I don’t want it.”
Fennec shrugs and takes a sip of caf, grimacing at the flavor. “Well, anyway. Your Jedi sent me down here-- the kid’s about done with training.”
“He’s not my Jedi. And thanks.”
Fennec smirked at him, like she knows something he doesn’t, and he resisted the urge to flip her off. He paused on his way to the courtyard where he knew the Jedi and Grogu had been most of the morning, ducking into an unused room off to the side of the wide hallway and quickly draining the mug he had taken from Fennec. The caf was truly terrible, stale and with no sweetener or spices to improve it, but he’s not one to complain.
Grogu and Luke are seated in the middle of the wide courtyard, both with their eyes closed and hands folded on their knees. The courtyard itself is pretty desolate- there is no greenery to speak of, and the ground is only smooth reddish slabs of stone spread in a circular pattern, covered, as was most everything on Tatooine, in a fine layer of white sand. There were a few wide benches set around the circle, and Din finds Boba lounging on one of them, watching Luke and Grogu with an unreadable expression on his face. He’s in his armor, but his helmet rests on the bench next to him, something Din still isn’t quite used to. Boba nods his welcome as Din sits down.
“Djarin,” he drawls. “How’s her highness?”
“Still doesn’t like me.”
Boba snorts.
“Didn’t you have to meet with people from Mos Espa today, Fett?”
Boba shrugs. “Already did. They were shaking in their boots but we got them taken care of quick. They seemed surprised by the idea that I don’t want them smuggling spice anymore, but I think I managed to convince them.”
Since Boba and Fennec had taken over the palace, and by extension the whole of the Hutt’s criminal network on Tatooine, they’d been getting delegations from local communities eager to set up deals in spice, slaves, and other unsavory practices. They’d all been quite surprised when Boba made it clear that he wasn’t going to continue the Hutt’s brand of cruelty and vice. Din suspected Boba was enjoying the fun of frightening the worst of the criminals into either giving up their wares or running off world all together.
“Anyway, your kid’s been getting antsy, but Skywalker said they’re almost done.”
As if he’s sensed them talking about him, Grogu opens his eyes and cooed, breaking the calm serenity he’d been exuding, and reaches out towards Din. “Bwrr!” he shrieked, and as he did Luke opened his eyes as well, sighing good naturedly.
“He’s asking for his buir,” Luke says, and Boba snorts a laugh next to him.
“Teaching the kid Mando’a, vod? ”
Din shrugs.
“Bwrr!”
“I heard you, you little womp rat,” Din says, amused, as Luke rises to his feet and scoops Grogu up. He deposits the kid on Din’s lap as he sits down next to him. Grogu babbles happily and reaches for the bottom of Din’s helmet.
“Whoa, not right now, ad’ika,” Din says, jerking his head away from Grogu’s little fingers.
“Grogu,” Luke says, and the kid’s eyes snap to him, distracted. “Show your buir what we practiced today?” He holds up Grogu’s little silver ball in one palm. “Come on, you can do it!”
“Oya! ” Din says encouragingly, holding up a fist, and Boba echoes him with amusement.
Grogu burbles, and then reaches one small hand out, eyes narrowing. The ball rises up slowly and smoothly from Luke’s hand and makes a circuit around his head and back again, then glides back to rest in Luke’s hand once more. It’s a far cry from the quick, jerky movements Grogu had started with in the forest on Corvus.
“Good job!” Luke says, grinning, and he looks around at Din. “We’ve been working on his control, he’s been getting much better at it.”
Din grunts and pats Grogu on the back. “Good job, ad’ika.”
“Huh,” Boba said next to Din, “impressive for such a small thing.”
“You should have seen him the day we met,” Din said, stroking a gloved finger along the edge of Grogu’s ear. “He saved me from a mudhorn. Lifted it right off the ground.” He taps his right pauldron, where their signet is soldered into the metal.
Boba whistles. “Pretty good, vorpan’ika,” he says, reaching out and chucking Grogu under the chin. Din huffs a laugh at the nickname.
Clearly happy with the praise, Grogu reaches out and holds out his hand again. Instead of the ball floating up, though, Din feels a tug at his belt and sees the Darksaber’s hilt start to rise into the air.
“No, Grogu!” Din slams a hand down on the Darksaber and feels the tugging stop just before it slips free of his belt entirely. “That’s not a toy, kid.”
“You still have that thing? Figured Kryze woulda fought you for it already,” Boba snorts.
“Probably would’ve, if I hadn’t left before she had a chance. She’ll probably try when we meet up again.”
“Ori'buyce, kih'kovid,” Boba mutters, and Din snorts. Then Boba suddenly smiles mischievously, and turns to look over at Luke. “You know,” Boba says, “It wouldn’t be a bad idea to learn how to use that thing, vod.”
“No.”
“He’s right,” Luke pipes up, and he smiles when Din turns to glare at him. “I don’t know who Kryze is, or why she wants that thing. But a lightsaber takes practice to wield, even if you are skilled in other weapons. I wouldn’t mind training you.”
Din’s silent for a few moments while he considers. He doesn’t really want anything to do with the Darksaber, but he can’t help but admit that Boba -- and Luke-- have a point. If Bo-Katan’s going to try to fight him for this thing, he wants to be prepared, especially since he doesn’t exactly trust that she won’t be willing to fight to the death.
He sighs, the sound harsh through his helmet’s modifier. “Fine.”
Boba claps him on the back and stands up, tucking his helmet under his arm. “If we’re doing this, we might want to move inside. Don’t want you or the Jedi passing out from heatstroke.”
“I did grow up here, you know,” Luke says mildly as he gets to his feet. “I know how to avoid heatstroke.”
“Then why, in all seven hells,” Boba says, voice dry as the desert surrounding them, “are you wearing black wool in the kriffing desert?”
Din gives the darksaber a few practice swings. It feels odd in his hands— he’s gotten used to the weight of his beskar spear, and this, even when ignited, feels wrong. There is no weight to the blade; it is as if it isn’t there at all, as if he’s only holding the hilt in his hands, and that makes it hard to judge exactly how long it is. With the spear, or with other bladed weapons— Din was trained in swordsmanship, even if it’s not his primary choice of weapon— the blade offered resistance when swung that allowed him to calculate distance and speed. But with the Darksaber, he can’t do any of that.
He’s going to get his ass kicked, and in front of both Fennec and Boba.
Luke, who’s standing a few paces away in the middle of the hall, grins at Din like he knows what he’s thinking. Hell, he just might. Din doesn’t know if that mind-reading stuff Tano did with Grogu works on him too.
“No Force stuff, alright?” Din calls, and Luke nods his assent.
They stand and stare at each other for a few seconds, frozen, the only sound in the hall the humming of the blades. Then, suddenly, Luke lunges forward, his blade coming down towards Din’s helmet. He raises the Darksaber automatically, catching green against black. The resistance feels strange— the only weight to it is that provided by Luke’s own strength.
Luke pulls his saber back and strikes again, this time swinging for Din’s side, and he blocks the hit with his vambrace, the beskar sparking as it’s struck. They continue this dance for a few more moves, Luke on the offense and Din defending with Darksaber and beskar alike. Then Din spots an opening and swings the Darksaber, and Luke parries with a sharp bark of surprised laughter.
They move up and down the floor of the chamber, and each hit of Luke’s saber to Din’s beskar rings like a bell, makes the metal warm against his skin even through his flight suit. Din is panting, arms straining, and he knows he’s going to lose this one. He doesn’t make it easy— he swings a few strikes that Luke barely manages to deflect, one of which he has to jump over in a move that Din suspects is a little bit Force-assisted, but he’s not going to call him out on it. Finally, Luke manages to whip his saber towards Din’s head, and as he’s busy deflecting with the Darksaber, he suddenly pulls back, throwing Din off balance, and spins the saber down, halting it within an inch of the side of Din’s neck. He grins. “Gotcha.”
Fennec and Boba whoop from the sidelines, startling Luke enough that Din has to step quickly to the side as his lightsaber jerks in his grip against Din’s neck. Luke grimaces apologetically as he withdraws the blade, but Din just waves his apology off. He had forgotten the others were there, as well.
Sweat rolls down Din’s back, cold against his overheated skin. It’s darkened Luke’s hair where it’s plastered to his forehead, and Din’s suddenly struck with the mad desire to brush it away and out of his eyes. He turns away with a jerk, busying himself with reattaching the Darksaber’s hilt to his belt.
“That was impressive,” Boba calls, “You’ve improved since I saw you fight last, Skywalker.”
Luke grins and gives Boba a two-fingered salute.
“You need some work, Mando,” Fennec says, and Din gives her a salute with one fewer finger. She laughs.
Luke sidles up next to Din as they troop down the hall in search of lunch. Boba doesn’t have much in the way of staff— he had freed all of Bib Fortuna’s slaves, and hadn’t bothered to find replacements as of yet— so they had been fending for themselves from what was available in the palace’s dry food stores.
“You did good,” Luke says, smiling at Din and knocking his shoulder into Din’s pauldron as they walk. “I think you underestimate your ability with the Darksaber.”
Din grunts, and readjusts his hold on Grogu as the child tries to wiggle out of his arms. “Thanks. It’s different, but I do have a lot of weapons experience, so some of it must translate.”
Luke nods, looking pensive. “You’re lucky there, at least. When I first picked up a lightsaber, I had no weapons training whatsoever. I had to learn most of it very quickly. It’s only recently that I’ve been able to get really good at it.”
“When was the first time you fought with one?”
Luke’s smile is rueful. “When I fought Vader on Cloud City.”
Din stumbles as he whips around to stare at Luke. “Seriously? The first time you used a lightsaber in a fight, you went up against Vader?”
“I was there, vod.”
Boba stands at the entrance to the dry food storage, his helmet clutched in his hands, looking pensive.
“ What?” Din bites, and Boba’s mouth twists. He glances at Luke, whose expression is smoothed over into that calm Jedi mask he wears when he doesn’t want to show what he’s really thinking.
Boba jerks his head towards the room. “Come on, let’s get something to eat and then we can talk.”
It takes Boba a while, once they’ve found some food and are all seated around a table they’ve dragged into the main hall, to start speaking. Din settles in to listen, feeding Grogu bits of dried meat to keep him happy, as Boba gathers his thoughts.
“I want you to know, Skywalker,” he starts, speaking slowly and thoughtfully, “that I’m sorry for my part in that whole mess, if it’s worth anything. I had… a lot of time to think it over, while that sarlacc was doing its damndest to make me its lunch.”
He huffs a sigh, staring at his helmet where it rests in front of him on the table. Fennec is watching him with guarded eyes, and Luke still wears his blank Jedi mask.
“I never supported the Empire, not that I ever actively supported the Republic either. I can’t say I cared, all that much, about just who was in power. It never changed much about my life, and in some cases the Republic and the Jedi made it worse— like when a Jedi executed my father on Geonosis.”
Boba shudders, briefly, and Luke bows his head for a moment. Fennec reaches out to grasp Boba’s shoulder and squeezes it, once, before she drops her hand again.
“Anyway. As for Cloud City, and Vader— he offered me an easy way to get my bounty for Jabba. That was it. I can’t say I have any love for Solo, but I didn’t necessarily want the Wookiee and Organa captured the way they were, or for you to get dragged into it.”
Boba looks up at Din. “I tracked Solo’s ship to Cloud City, and led Vader there. He was after Skywalker here, and used Solo and Organa to get him.”
Din tilts his head and looks at Luke, whose calm mask has cracked; he’s grimacing, and Din notices he’s rubbing his right wrist with his left hand, likely unconsciously.
“We put Solo in carbonite, and I was loading him on my ship when this one showed up. He went after Vader, and I took Solo to Jabba.”
“That’s when you lost your hand,” Din murmurs, and Luke’s mouth twists into a wry smile. Boba frowns and his eyes dart down to Luke’s glove.
“Yes,” Luke says, and he looks up at Boba and holds up his hand, wiggling the fingers a bit. “I came back against the advice of my Masters, and tried to fight Vader. It wasn’t a great plan- he was, obviously, much more skilled than I was. I would have died if Leia hadn’t rescued me.” He smiles, a kinder expression this time, and reaches out to clasp Boba’s wrist. “I don’t blame you. I was warned about what could happen if I went after Vader, and I did it anyway.”
Boba stares down at Luke’s hand on his wrist for a second, before he nods and pulls his hand back.
“Well,” Fennec drawls, standing from the table and sauntering over to the bar behind the throne, grabbing a bottle of bright blue spotchka and a few glasses, “all this sounds like a good excuse for a drink.”
Boba grins and takes the glass she offers, and after a beat, so does Luke. She glances at Din, but he shakes his head, so she shrugs and takes the one she had offered him for herself. The three of them knock their drinks back in tandem.
“I’ve got to ask, Skywalker,” Boba says a few drinks later, “what happened after I fell into the pit? How the hell did you get away from Jabba?”
Luke grins, full and a little feral. “Oh, that was the fun part. Leia strangled Jabba with her own chain, and then we blew up his barge.”
Boba stares at him, apparently stunned into silence, before he bursts out laughing, slapping his hand onto the tabletop. “Kriffing hells. Good for Organa,” he chuckles.
Fennec’s eyebrows are raised, and she says, “I want to meet this Organa, she sounds impressive.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Luke nods. “She’s terrifying.”
“Wait,” Din says, still stuck on— “your sister. Organa. The Senator. She’s the Huttslayer?”
Luke blinks as Boba roars with laughter again.
“Oh, I am absolutely telling her that nickname. She’s going to love it.”
Boba corners Din later, while Luke is busy helping Fennec repair a couple of vaporators they’d found tucked along the back wall of another courtyard. He’d been, in Din’s opinion, much too enthusiastic about the sand-weathered, broken down machines, but Din hadn’t argued.
“Djarin, my contacts on Jakku sent me another comm earlier today, and they mentioned something I thought you might find interesting.” He hands Din his comm unit, the short text message already displayed.
Mythosaur sightings on Jakku. Five klicks west of destroyer remains.
Din jerks his gaze back up to Boba, who grins. “Looks like you may have some friends on Jakku after all, Djarin.”
His covert.
“Now, I don’t know if these are the ones you’re looking for,” Boba said, “but it seems like a fair shot. There’s not many left, are there?”
Din shakes his head. “No. Not many left.”
“Well,” Boba shrugs, “Looks like we’ll find out, then.”
Din stares at the comm for a beat longer, before he shuts it off and hands it back to Boba. He can’t… he can’t let himself hope. Maybe this is his covert, but maybe not. He’ll find out, he supposes, when they land on Jakku.
Next to him, Boba’s head snaps up, his brow furrowed. “Hear that?”
A beat later, Din hears it too. Footsteps, running down the echoing halls, in their direction. He and Boba move together, Boba pulling his helmet on as they go, and make it out into the hallway right as Luke comes dashing up to meet them. He immediately hands Grogu over to Din, and has his lightsaber in his hand in an instant— not lit, yet, but ready.
“Tuskens,” he says before Boba can ask, “a group of them, and what looks like a few humans, just outside the palace doors. They want to meet with you, Fett.”
Din frowns to himself as he jogs behind Boba and Luke, heading up the stairs to the palace entrance. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say this sounded like….
“Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!”
Yeah, Din was right.
There are indeed a few Tuskens on the steps of the palace, along with a couple of humans, one of whom is tall and lanky, with grey hair and beard and a red kerchief tied around his neck.
“Long time no see, Mando. What’ve you been up to, fighting more monsters?”
Cobb Vanth strolls forward to clap Din on the back, smiling and rubbing Grogu on the head for good measure. Then he looks past Din to the rest of his group, straight at Boba in his armor, and his smile falters a bit.
“Ah. Well, this is a little awkward, huh, Mando?”
“Vanth,” he says, turning to Boba and Luke, “this is Boba Fett and Luke Skywalker. Boba, Vanth here had your armor, till I got it back from him.”
Vanth’s smile is entirely gone now, and he looks between Din and Boba uncertainly. Behind him, one of the Tuskens, a female judging by her garments, shifts and tightens her grip on her gaffi stick. Din sees Luke, on the edge of his HUD display, raise his saber hilt a little higher.
“Well,” Boba says after a beat of silence, stepping forward and clapping a hand on Vanth’s shoulder, “thanks for keeping it all in one piece.” Vanth visibly relaxes, and his easy grin returns.
“Come on in, then, all of you, let’s get out of this sun,” Boba says, and leads the way back into the shade of the palace walls.