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He’d been spotted. Of that, Obi-Wan had no doubt. Still the solitary figure remained on the slope, a dark silhouette against the last light of the setting sun. The nights were cold in this part of Concord Dawn, and the wind stung his nose and cheeks.
It was his idea to try diplomacy, but Master Qui-Gon had backed him immediately. “Already my padawan is more skilled at negotiation than most Jedi Knights," he told the duchess, causing Obi-Wan to flush with pride. "His intuition will serve him well.”
His intuition told him that this man was not some local rancher out for a stroll, an impression that only solidified as he reached the crest of the hill. He wore the armor of a Mandalorian commando, twin blasters holstered at his side. A fighter, not a farmer.
“Hello,” Obi-Wan said, with as much courtesy as he could muster while shivering. “I’m looking for a man called Jango Fett.”
“Is this some kind of joke?” The man’s voice was low and gravily, modulated by his helmet’s filter.
“I’m sorry?”
“After all this time, they sent a padawan?”
“We thought you might find it less threatening. Also...there was some debate over whether or not you were still alive.”
Jango Fett made a noise that might have been a laugh but was perhaps closer to a scoff. “So you weren’t sent here to kill me.”
“My instructions were to avoid hostilities...if possible.”
“Come on, then.” The Mandalorian started walking, leaving Obi-Wan little choice but to follow.
“Where are we going?”
“There.” He gestured to a small, ramshackle house at the edge of the overgrown fields. “Might as well get out of the wind.”
The house was long abandoned, weeds and brambles slowly overtaking its foundation. Obi-Wan crossed the threshold with some trepidation, but his companion seemed to be on familiar ground. He went straight to a bin beside the fireplace and dug out some fuel bricks made from pressed grass and tar. A necessity in an area with few trees.
Within minutes there was a fire blazing, and Obi-Wan gratefully extended his cold hands toward the heat source. “Thank you.”
Jango Fett nodded and vanished into the shadows, only to return with two simple wooden benches. He set them down in front of the fire and then stomped down on a floorboard near the hearth. It sounded hollow, which seemed to be what he was looking for. He knelt and pried the board back. There was a slender, dust-covered bottle concealed beneath. “What’s your name, Jet’ika?”
“Obi-Wan Kenobi. And that is what I prefer to be called.”
“Have a seat, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
Unsure whether it was an invitation or a command, Obi-Wan nevertheless sat.
His host claimed the remaining bench and removed his helmet, setting it beside him. He was older than Obi-Wan, but hardly a grizzled veteran. His hair was thick and black, his face unlined. The firelight flashed in his dark eyes as he studied his guest. Then he pulled the cork from the bottle with his teeth and offered it to Obi-Wan.
It was an important gesture. Just like the shelter and the fire and the bench. Mandalorians were a hospitable people, until you gave them a reason not to be. For now, they were on friendly terms.
Obi-Wan took a careful sip from the bottle. It was alcohol, as he expected. A strong liquor with a fruity aftertaste. He returned the bottle to Jango Fett, who took a drink and then scrunched his mouth. “Been years since I’ve had that.”
“You’ve been gone for some time, I understand.” When the bottle was offered to him again, he took it. He had a fairly high tolerance for alcohol. Master Qui-Gon said it was a very useful skill in diplomacy.
“I have.”
“Some said you died at Galidraan. Others claimed you were captured.”
“Which do you think is true?”
“For some, death is preferable to defeat.” Obi-Wan watched the other man’s face carefully, but couldn’t glean much from his expression. “The concern is that you may yet rise from the grave. Your presence here, even rumored, was an immediate cause for concern.”
“It should tell the duchess something if she has to jump at every whisper and shadow.”
“Satine is not paranoid,” he responded, perhaps more vehemently than he intended. “There have been attempts on her life.”
Jango Fett held out his gloved hand and reclaimed the bottle. “I thought Jedi weren’t supposed to form attachments.”
“The Jedi Council sent us here to protect her. We have a duty to investigate all threats to her safety.”
The other man took a long, slow swig while maintaining eye contact.
Obi-Wan tried not to appear flustered. Building trust was an important part of good-faith negotiations. “Attachments are...discouraged...but they are also unavoidable. Jedi are taught to connect with every life form, but we cannot allow our connections to take precedence over our commitment to the Jedi Order. That is why romantic partnerships and the parenting of children are forbidden.”
“But she’s had you in her bed.”
So much for not appearing flustered. “What makes you think that?”
“House Kryze follows the monarchist traditions of Mandalore. They pick their consorts carefully to strengthen their descendants.”
“I-I suppose I’m flattered that you think I would be seen as a genetic asset.”
Jango smiled at him. A quick flash of teeth that felt as warm as the fire and the alcohol in his bloodstream. “You’re good at this, Obi-Wan Kenobi. I see why the duchess likes you.” He tipped the bottle back towards him, but this time Obi-Wan deferred. “I’m not a monarchist,” Jango said, setting the bottle down on the floor by his feet. “If I take you to bed, you can go knowing there’s only one thing I want.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Obi-Wan hoped that the heat in his cheeks could be blamed on the flames. “Your movement was more of a populist one, if I understand correctly. True Mandalorians.”
“Jaster Mereel was one who came up with the name. He saw us as the antidote to both the monarchy of Sundari and the anarchy of the Death Watch. I saw it as a middle road.”
“How do you see it now?”
“As a waste of time and the lives of too many good men.” Jango kept his eyes fixed on the fire. “Do they teach padawans about Galidraan?”
“Yes, as a grave mistake." Obi-Wan hesitated. "You were never mentioned. It wasn’t until Sat-the duchess brought up your name that my master told me what his master told him about Galidraan. He said that you killed six Jedi while you were unarmed.”
“A Mandalorian is never unarmed.”
“But you were still defeated.” He didn’t relish poking at old wounds, but this was what he needed to know. “You’ve never considered vengeance?”
“I’m out of the vengeance game, unless it pays well.”
“So you’re a mercenary now.”
“That’s right. No causes. No commitments. Just credits.”
Obi-Wan could sense no deception. He sounded certain. He sounded sincere. “Can I ask why you returned to Concord Dawn? This doesn’t seem like the place to find mercenary work.”
Jango cast a look around at the shabby little room with its flickering shadows. “I grew up in this house.”
“This was your home?”
“Until it was taken from me.”
There was tremendous pain in his words. Obi-Wan could sense the weight of it, the burden of what was lost. An entire family. A child’s safety and innocence. “I’m so sorry, Jango.”
“Jango Fett is dead. That Jango, anyway.” His mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. “Mand’alor the defeated. Time to bury him and move on.”
Obi-Wan stood and retrieved the bottle. “To Jango Fett,” he said, and took a drink. When he offered it to Jango, he stood as well, so close that Obi-Wan could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“To the dead,” the mercenary answered, and drank. When he lowered the bottle, their eyes met and held.
“Letting go of the past can be difficult,” Obi-Wan began, but Jango cut him off.
“If I kiss you will you stop talking?”
Obi-Wan swallowed. No commitments. No attachments. Maybe it wasn’t the most professional course of action, but their negotiations were concluded. “Yes.”
The kiss left him breathless. As soon as they parted he reached for the Mandalorian’s belt, his heart pounding as Jango’s hands found their way beneath his robe.
By the time the fire smoldered to ash in the hearth they were curled up together on the floor, wrapped in old blanket. Obi-Wan shivered, and Jango pulled him closer. Rough fingers caressed his cheek and curled at the back of his neck. “Our paths may never meet again, Obi-Wan Kenobi. But if they do...this never happened.”
“I agree,” Obi-Wan murmured, nuzzling into his jaw. “Perhaps it would be best to pretend that we’ve never met.”