Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sheev Palpatine

Darth Sidious paced back and forth in front of the windows that made up the back wall of his office as Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, glaring down at the speeders flying by in what passed for ‘night’ on a planet so eternally awake as Coruscant. The light of so many happy force signatures--all those sentients flying by--was sickening to the Sith Lord. They would all one day cower before the might of his eternal empire.

A day that was continuously being delayed by that damn Kenobi!

Sidious had assumed the man would be of little consequence when they first met. A mere lawyer untested in the real court of galactic politics, and unknown to anyone truly important. At the time a child barely out of his teenage years seemed inconsequential to the vast machinations that he and his Master had so artfully spun across the decades and centuries they had been plotting. After all, the boy had no power, and Sidious was already succeeding in his plan to become Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. Had succeeded, as was evident by his current location. 

But then Sidious had watched as the boy brought the Trade Federation to its knees with a couple of words. Watched as he shook the status quo of the galaxy to its core in mere moments. And Sidious seethed at the audacity of that measly boy as he had continued to shake the galaxy with his disgusting temerity. As that child continued to do his level best to ruin every plan Sidious and his Master had painstakingly crafted and slotted into place. 

Every. Single. One.

Sidious had hoped, damn well prayed to the darkness--and any other planetary deities that might listen--to stop Kenobi after Naboo. But no, he had persisted. He had gone on a proverbial legal rampage through the galaxy leaving slavers and illicit corporations eviscerated and torn asunder in his wake. Torn down systems of oppression and liberated planets from tyrannical rulers -- beat back the beautiful darkness swallowing, devouring the galaxy with his disgusting light of justice and equality. Such childish notions. Such poisonous drivel.

And Kenobi had done it all with his words. 

Without truly lifting a finger this insolent little lifeform had been systematically tearing down all that brought darkness to the galaxy. And the child with his folly didn't even stop at the Core, or at the Mid Rim. No, he with his astounding hubris decided to wage war--a disgustingly peaceful one with no death and no destruction, how sickeningly quaint--on the treachery, the hives of scum and villainy of the Outer Rim. 

Now, Sidious hadn't gotten to where he was--achieved as much as he had in servitude to the darkness--without patience. He was careful, and he knew how to wait; how to tweak and pull on the threads of the galaxy's overarching tapestry, how to manipulate its beautiful madness to ensure that eventually what he wanted would fall into his lap. So, when Kenobi had started his naïve tirade across the galaxy Sidious had been willing to wait it out. To have patience. To wait for the nuisance to die as all things did. For his legacy to be forgotten and the galaxy to once again fall into exquisite, ravishing darkness.

But the child couldn't leave well enough alone. No, he had come after the Chancellor. This child--barely worth the oxygen he breathed in Sidious's opinion--had decided that the policies and laws pushed recently by Sidious and his loyalists in the Senate were 'unethical' and 'went against the constitution of the Republic' as well as a long list of obscure laws the boy seemed to revel in quoting. This idealistic, naive child was rallying to see him impeached.

Sidious was done waiting. 

Ben Kenobi had to go.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Yan Dooku

Count Yan Dooku of Serreno was a man of influence with much political reach across the galaxy and, unknown to most who knew him, substantial reach in the dark underbelly of the galaxy. So when his Master, Lord Sidious, had commed him demanding the death of that lawyer Kenobi--curse him and his effectiveness, many of Dooku's... “business ventures” had been ruined by that insufferable man--Dooku had been ready with just the bounty hunter for the job.

"Fett. How wonderful to see you are still alive," he greeted as the comm call connected. A secure one of course. The Force knew what meddling his former Master--curse Yoda and everything he stands for--would do should he find out his precious former Padawan was dealing with bounty hunters.

"Count, this better be good. I seem to remember informing you I wouldn't be taking any jobs for the foreseeable future," the Mandalorian practically growled his reply, clearly unhappy. Not that Dooku could tell all that well with the man's helmet securely obscuring his face. He hated negotiating with Mandalorians.

"I assure you, it is. An...associate of mine is willing to pay quite handsomely for the death of a certain lawyer that had been causing him many problems as of late," Dooku peered at the flickering blue of the holo-call. Fett must have been far from civilization for such a weak signal.. How interesting.

Fett tilted his head to the side in interest and grunted. "How much we talking? I’ll remind you," Fett growled, "that I was very insistent that I not be bothered. So we better be talking a hefty bounty." 

Dooku fought to hide his smirk. Excellent. Nodding, he replied. "I assure you, Ser Fett, it will be well worth it. My associate is willing to pay you ten million physical credits for a job well done, fifteen million if you make it look like an accident," Dooku didn't fight the smirk this time. For all he couldn't read Fett's facial expression, it was obvious that he had captured the man's attention. Fett shifted where he stood looking at something out of view before looking back at Dooku and nodding.

"Alright Count, send me the details. Who has the credits currently?" 

Dooku raised an eyebrow at the question. "Why do you ask, Ser Fett?" The Mandalorian shrugged.

"Call it a professional inquiry for the sake of job security." Dooku sighed quietly. Mandos and their--not undeserved, mind you--caution. 

"If you must know, it is currently in my possession."

"Alright," Fett replied, nodding, "It will be done. Fett out." And with that the hologram of Fett flickered out of existence and Dooku smiled in satisfaction. Everything was going to plan. Soon, Ben Kenobi would be dead and Dooku would be rewarded by his Master for his loyalty.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Jango Fett

He would never admit it, but Jango didn't hate Coruscant. Not completely, at least. Don't get him wrong, it was definitely a terrible planet. No plants, no true life anywhere to be found and the corruption this Manda forsaken hellhole was steeped would put even the worst of the Outer Rim planets to shame. But, with all that said, he still always marveled at the diversity of the place, at the sheer number of species and cultures surviving together in harmony. It soothed something broken and twisted deep inside him that always ached when he thought of what Mandalore had once been, and what a soulless place it had become under the Pretender.

So, while the planet was horrible, he didn't completely mind it. At the very least, the chaos of the place made completing bounties just that much easier when the target was a resident of the Republic's center. Like his current bounty.

Finding Kenobi hadn't been nearly as difficult as many of his other jobs. The man was a well known figure in the Republic and outside of it; whenever he was on Coruscant--especially for a case--it seemed like the entire galaxy would know within the tenday. So, Kenobi had been easy to find; but that wasn't the only anomaly with this hunt compared to his others. Kenobi was easy to find when he was on Coruscant. Jango had asked around and seemingly no one in the entirety of the galaxy's criminal underground knew where Kenobi lived--or if they did, no one who was willing to tell.

Luckily for him though, Kenobi was currently the prosecuting attorney on an incredibly high profile case involving the Banking Clan, which had been accused of--among other things--tax fraud and violation of several Republic Occupational Safety and Health Administration (ROSHA) labor regulations regarding their dealings in the Outer Rim.

A case Jango was currently witnessing from the second row of the gallery of one of the most secure courtrooms in the galaxy. And dralyc'kara, the Banking Clan was losing. Hard.

It was almost laughable, really. From the very start of this trial, Kenobi had been destroying every argument made in defense of the Banking Clan, and if Jango was a betting man he would have put money on their Representative--a stout Balosar--bursting into tears before his cross examination was over. It was honestly quite entertaining to slowly watch all hope fade from the being's eyes as the trial progressed. Best entertainment he'd had in years.

Jango pulled himself from his thoughts and focused on Kenobi. His target was an interesting man to look at. Bright ginger hair--an exceedingly rare color in the galaxy--and stunningly bright green-blue eyes hidden behind thin-framed square glasses. He was dressed in a way that wouldn't be unusual among professors at Coruscant's Universities, all soft edges and neutral colors with sweaters and cardigans aplenty. If Jango didn't know any better, he would have described the man as adorable and soft.

Thank the Ka'ra he knew better.

Kenobi may have looked sweet and inexplicably soft, but Jango was sure at this point that the way he dressed was a deliberate ploy by the man to lull his legal opponents into a false sense of security. After all, the second he opened his mouth it was obvious he was out for blood.

"Shall we review the facts of the case as they have thus been revealed for the benefit of the jury, your Honor?" Kenobi asked, addressing not only the defendant and the judge but the courtroom at large. The way the man effortlessly commanded such a degree of control with just a sentence was stunning to witness.

And if Jango were to be honest with himself, kriffing hot as well but it's a good thing he was a master at lying to himself. He definitely did not think Kenobi was a valid argument for the Mandalorian obsession with those skilled in all forms of combat--verbal included.

"Proceed," the Judge--a tall Nautoloan man named Bogg Gahveel--stated, motioning around the court with his gavel, "the floor is yours, Mr. Kenobi."

Kenobi nodded and smiled--who gave him the right to look so lovely when he smiled--while bowing his head slightly. "Thank you, Your Honor," he turned to face the jury, "Gentle-beings of the jury. Today we have confirmed the validity and authenticity of the following facts in this case: the representative of the Intergalactic Banking Clan, Ser Ommit Ividens has admitted under oath that the Banking Clan, though claiming to operate as an independent commerce guild in the Core and Mid and Outer Rims, does in fact have heavy business ties and binding contracts with many groups in the Outer Rim, including the Hutt Cartel and the Black Sun Crime Syndicate," Kenobi turned to face the nervous Balosar and gestured to him. "Do you deny that that is what you said, Ser Ividens?"

"No, I do not deny that that is what I said."

Kenobi gave a small smile. "Thank you, Ser Ividens. Now," he turned back to face the jury, "what has also been revealed to us through evidence gathered by Republic Judicial forces, evidence Ser Ividens has admitted to the authenticity of, is the undeniable fact that despite the reality of their business ties, the Intergalactic Banking Clan has continued to file their taxes as an independent commerce guild, violating Republic Tax Code 42069. This is aside from the illegality of the existence of those ties in the first place," Kenobi paused and looked at Ividens, "luckily for Ser Ividens, the prosecution of that particular charge against the Intergalactic Banking Clan will have to wait for a different trial and therefore should not be used in your consideration of the verdict today. What 'should' be used in your consideration, however," he again turned to face the Jury, "is the fact that, through several testimonies by the prosecution today, the court has verified the fact that through its labor practices, the Banking Clan has violated ROSHA regulations and guidelines 4214, 358, 9, and 79," Kenobi smiled that brilliant smile of his, "I think I've covered everything there," the jury and several beings in the gallery chuckled at that, "so I will leave it there. A good day to you all," and Kenobi sat down among the rest of the prosecution.

The defense, suffice to say, were the picture of despair and Jango was trying his best not to break down laughing at the incredulity of the fact that someone had finally--seemingly--been able to pin the Banking Clan for at least some of their illegal dealings. 

 He was also trying very hard not to think about how kriffing gorgeous Kenobi looked while verbally destroying his opponents. Trying, and failing miserably. Because dralyc'kara, was he gorgeous.

Something Jango remembered vividly of Mandalore was the sheer number of Mando'ade who would fight each other for the right to say the Riduurok with one of Mandalore's diplomats--the Mando'ade trained to be as lethal with their words as with their blasters. And honestly, when it came to Kenobi, Jango found that he understood those who fought over them completely.

This was going to be an interesting hunt.

Chapter Text

        Obi-Wan “Ben” Kenobi

It had been a rather long day in court and Obi-Wan was exhausted. The case would have been--kriffing should have been--open, shut, and over within a half an hour; that was, if the Banking Clan representative hadn't decided it was apparently a smart idea to try to lie on the witness stand. The being had had the bold-faced audacity to claim that the Banking Clan wasn't breaking any ROSHA guidelines by forcing Mon Calamari employees to work in insufficiently humid work environments. Really. How dumb did they think he was? And then he tried to defend that argument with a kriffing hand written letter on flimsi that was supposedly from some inspector. Truly, the stupidity of some people astounded him.

Oh, and do not even get him started on the tax fraud. The money laundering under the table with the Hutts was obvious! It was a damn miracle it took them this long to get caught. Then again, he mused, the Republic Judicial Forces didn't have psychometry. He'd have to remember to thank Quin for that particular bit of evidence later. One great thing about evidence gathered by Jedi: it was nigh impossible to get it thrown out under Republic law. Really, he was just thankful that the witness folded like wet flimsi when questioned on that subject; it made his job much easier. And then promptly lit on metaphorical fire--as the flimsi was apparently soaked in cheap booze--when Obi-Wan had pointed out the inconsistencies and contradictions in their confession. It was always astonishing when the guilty party tried to confess while still lying. Really, it was like they thought they were actually fooling anyone--they were not.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes while packing up his briefcase--the case having been won, obviously--and winced, massaging the bridge of his nose. Ser Ividens, in addition to apparently not understanding the basic principle of don't lie under oath , was also, unfortunately, one of the sort that projected their emotions into the Force. Loudly. His intense fear and anxiety--as well as his unquestionable guilt--were incredibly grating on Obi-Wan's mental shields, airtight as they were. He wondered if Jo had any tea for that.

"Ser Kenobi!" A voice called from behind him. Turning, Obi-Wan was met with one of the witnesses for the prosecution, a lovely Mon Calamari woman named Salah Monn. Monn also happened to be Ividens' personal secretary and she had kept incredibly meticulous notes on every shady thing her soon-to-be-former boss had done. Truly, a lifesaver for this case.

"Lady Monn!" He replied cheerfully, "I must thank you for all the help you've given us. I fear we might have lost the case if not for you!" He shook her offered hand with both of his, giving her a smile Siri often liked to describe as ' too kriffing bright how the heck can you look that happy you depressed bitch .’ And Siri wondered why her Master made her retake a 'How to Interact with Civilians' class 15 times. 

Salah blushed a deep orange and looked shyly to the side. "You flatter me, Ser Kenobi. Really, all I did was give you some of my notes! You're the one who won us the case." She retracted her hand and bowed slightly. "My co-workers and I cannot thank you enough." 

Obi-Wan gave her a soft smile and adjusted his glasses. "Please, Lady Monn, call me Ben. Anyone with enough dedication to document how often the thermostat changes in the bathroom, of all places, has more than earned the right to address me by my given name."

Salah laughed, covering her grinning mouth with her hand in a vain attempt to silence the sound. "Well then, Ben," she said through her laughter, "I must insist that you call me Salah!"

Before the conversation could continue, Ividens shouted out as he was being led away by the bailiff, "Damn you, Salah! You snitch! Don't you dare come into the office, you're fired!"  Obi-Wan heard a few gallery members gasp and a couple others snicker at the utter lack of class with which Ividens had decided to conduct himself now that he had--quite spectacularly--lost. 

"Oh no," Salah replied, utterly deadpan, "whatever shall I do now that I don't have to work under you? I'm so distraught at this terrible news." 

Obi-Wan stroked his beard, using his hand and a cough as a cover for his chuckle. "Ser Ividens," he called out, "I suggest, for your benefit, that you address Ser Monn with respect. I won't have you mistreating one of my employees in such a manner." Ividens spluttered in indignation as he was led away, more laughter breaking out in the gallery. Obi-Wan turned to Salah and gave her a rather cheeky smile. "That is, if you'd like to join my staff? I was thinking as a researcher?"

"Oh?" Salah asked, smiling right back. "Will the pay be worth my while?"

"Absolutely. Three times what Ividens paid you."

"Consider me thoroughly hired!"

They shook hands, laughing as they did. "If you would like to see the offices before returning to your hotel, Padawan Rea'sera can show you around," he said, pointing to a rather short Pantoran teenager walking their way. "Unfortunately, I have more business to attend to that I can't delay."

Salah nodded. "I understand, Ben. I must ask though, how did you get a Jedi Padawan as a research assistant?"

Ben laughed. "The Coruscant Temple's head Archivist, Madame Jocasta Nu, is a good friend of mine. She thought it would be an excellent learning opportunity for each of her aspiring archivists to work with me for a few standard months as research assistants," he placed a hand on Padawan Rea'sera's shoulder as they stopped beside him, "and I honestly can't complain. They're all very diligent workers. Plus," he said, dropping his voice to a rather unconvincing stage whisper, "anyone who knows Madame Nu knows it is never a good idea to tell her 'no' about something that concerns the Archives." Obi-Wan smiled and chuckled as the other two beings laughed. 

Salah turned to Padawan Rea'sera and bowed slightly. "I don't think we've been introduced yet! My name is Salah Monn, she/her/hers."

Rea'sera bowed back, smiling. "Senior Padawan Ruyi Rea'sera, they/them/theirs. It's wonderful to meet you, Ser Monn."

"I'm afraid I must leave you both now; regretfully, my next appointment awaits." With that, Obi-Wan waved goodbye to the two and left the courtroom, making his way through the slowly thinning crowd outside and towards the front entrance. Centering himself in the Force, he carefully focused on the individual signatures of the many beings around him, looking for a very particular one-

There! Trailing him at a distance was the peculiar signature that had been so utterly focused on his every move--and, to be frank, his rear end--during the trial. It was sharp in the Force, incredibly controlled and displaying a degree of mental fortitude usually only found in Jedi, the secretaries of particularly annoying politicians, and seasoned warriors.

Interesting.

It was a beautiful Force-signature, he had to admit. With how focused it had been on him during the trial, Obi-Wan had been able to get a read of its surface emotions. Duty-family-honor and compassion-dedication-loyalty churning together, dancing gracefully with one another in a way that could be mistaken for brawling and spiking out with brilliant, pointed flames of such burning intensity every few moments, like it was proclaiming to the galaxy its virtue and strength of spirit. But shining over those had been one particular emotional combination, and it had been focused solely at him.

Adoration-arousal-awe.

Interesting indeed.

He supposed the man could be another assassin sent by some corrupt businessman or politician; it certainly wouldn't be the first time. However, this one seemed quite different and Obi-Wan truly couldn't help himself. Bant would definitely yell at him about his lack of self preservation later, but he wanted to see where this went. Besides, the Force seemed to like the idea, and really, Bant, who was he, a mere mortal, to deny the will of the Force?

Mind made up on his course of action, Obi-Wan focused back on the present. Ignoring the other Force-signatures around, he zeroed in on the possible assassin's and opened his eyes. The mystery being was closer now, staring right at him with a vibrant intensity. As he exited the courthouse, Obi-Wan took a sharp right and, wrapping himself in an incredibly strong don't-look-at-me Force suggestion, vaulted over the crowd exiting the building below and landed in a crouch on the opposite side of the giant double doors. Blending in with the crowd around him, he turned slightly to face the door and pulled out his comm, setting it to record. 

Not ten seconds later, the owner of the dancing-fighting-fire signature walked out the doors. As the stranger looked left, Obi-Wan zoomed the video being taken by his comm in on his face. The stranger then turned and walked off to the right, supposedly to continue trailing Obi-Wan.

Satisfied, Obi-Wan turned and walked to the side of the courthouse, ducking swiftly into the alleyway beside it. He walked at a leisurely pace for a while until he reached a pile of boxes as set his briefcase down atop them. Opening it, he pulled out his datapad and transferred the holovideo he had taken from his comm to said datapad. He'd have to remember to thank Quin later for telling him about this spot. Who knew Judicial wouldn't monitor the alley next to the Senate District Courthouse?

He rolled his eyes. The incompetence was astounding.

Obi-Wan focused on the holovideo currently being displayed, pausing it as it focused on the mystery stalker's face. The maybe-assassin appeared to be a human--or at least a near-human--man with rather soft, kind features. And yet, there was still a hardness to his eyes, an air of caution yet surety to his stance. 

And kriff, was he gorgeous .

But that was beside the point. The point here was to run the mystery man's face through Coruscant Judicial's database of known bounty hunters, assassins, and other ne'er-do-wells. Which was what Obi-Wan was going to do, after he stared at the man's scar-dappled face for a little longer.

Just a little longer.

Pulling himself together, Obi-Wan quickly typed in several long lines of code, hacking into Coruscant Judicial's database without leaving a trace of his presence. His program took a minute or two to run but eventually gave him the answer he was looking for.

>>>>Person Identified: Jango Fett, Clan Fett, House Mereel

Known Aliases: (Unknown)

Status: Bounty Hunter; Alive

Age: 36 Standard

Year of Birth: 939 ARR

Species: Near-Human Male; Mandalorian 

Family: Mother: (Unknown); (Deceased)

    Father: (Unknown); (Deceased)

    Sister: (Unknown); (Unknown)

    Father: (Adoptive); Jaster Mereel, Mand'alor the Reformer; (Deceased)

Planet of Origin: Concord Dawn, Concord Dawn System, Mandalore Sector, Outer Rim

Current Location: (Unknown)

Last Known Location: Hutt Space

Modus Operandi: Varied

Weapon of Choice: Dual WESTAR-34 Blaster Pistols

Known Associates: Hondo Ohnaka

Other: Note, as of 10 standard years ago (965) Ser Fett ceased taking extensive, long-term bounties and began taking shorter ones. Cause unknown.<<<<

So, Jango Fett was hunting him? Obi-Wan frowned. As he saw it, there were two possible paths he could take here. Option one, a lengthy game of tooka-and-mouse across the whole of Coruscant which would almost certainly--almost being the key word here--result in Fett being captured and imprisoned by Judicial forces. Or, there was option two. He smirked. Option two was much more fun.

Looking back down at the datapad before him, Obi-Wan set to work slicing into the local network in record time--Jo would be proud--and cross-referencing the guest registry of every hotel within a ten mile radius of the Senate District Courthouse with any possible alias he could think of. Fett had been impeccably dressed in the courtroom, no Beskar'gam in sight, and all the nearby spaceports had a policy against customers using them as cheap hotels while on-planet. Therefore, the logical conclusion was that Fett had rented out a room somewhere and stowed everything necessary for a hunt there. Now it was just a matter of finding out where exactly his base of operations was.   

"So that's where you're hiding out," Obi-Wan murmured after a few minutes of searching. The Binary Stars, a rather nice place roughly seven miles from the Courthouse he was standing beside. It was five miles from Obi-Wan's legal office--and interestingly enough, only six miles from Little Manda'yaim. It was perfect for the job Fett had--possibly, as he only had his suspicions--come here to carry out. Obi-Wan had to quickly stifle a laugh when he saw just which of his guessed aliases had nailed him his target.

Janog Vhett. So either Fett was uncreative in picking pseudonyms or had a fantastically weird sense of humor. He privately hoped it was both.

With a loose plan in mind Obi-Wan turned off the datapad, closed his briefcase and, keeping in mind room number 652, set off to the other end of the alley where his personal speeder was parked. All the while, he could hear the Force insistently whispering in his ear, life-filed harmonies and crescendos of the future intertwining to create a melody telling him exactly what the Force deemed necessary for him to hear. Follow follow follow it said. Yes, follow. Mand'alor. Justice bringer. Followfollowfollowfollowlittleone.

He had a Mandalorian to catch.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

        Jango Fett

Jango had lost Kenobi. He kriffing lost Kenobi. How the kriff do you even lose a skinny ginger lawyer twink? One second, Kenobi had been in his line of sight heading out of the courthouse; next thing he knew, Kenobi had turned right and vanished. And Jango, for the life of him, could not figure out how he had done it. Baseline humans--which is what every source he had said Kenobi was--couldn't move fast enough to evade him that spectacularly. That... effortlessly.

It’d been a while since he'd had such a challenge. And he loved a challenge. Oh, by the Manda and Ka'ra did he love a good hunt. Which, as evidenced by the fact that Jango had no idea where the target was, was exactly what this bounty was going to be.

Jango thought back to how Kenobi had looked in the courtroom as he was destroying the defendant's life before their very eyes. It had been breathtaking to witness such cutting words, and his eloquence was astonishing. But truly, the best sight in that room had been the man himself. His hair was like fire and even from a distance, his beautiful blue-green eyes had looked deep enough to swim in. And if his clothes really were a tactic he employed to lull everyone into a false sense of security, then dralyc'kara did it work damn well. The cardigan Kenobi had been wearing, despite being slightly loose on his figure, had made him look irresistibly soft, in Jango's humble opinion. And don't even get him started on that ass in those pants--

Kriff. He was getting distracted. He needed to focus on the mission at hand and locate his target, not fantasize about how fantastic the target's ass looked in formal dress slacks. Jango sighed; this bounty was going to be the death of him, he was sure. If not from him actually dying, then at least from all the osik Boba would give him if he ever found out about this.

Boba was not allowed to find out. Ever.

Coming back to reality, Jango walked up to the door to his hotel room and, opening it, stepped inside and hung the coat he had been using to conceal his Westars on the hanger beside the door. He was gonna need some caff after thi--

"Hello there."

Jango froze and slowly turned to face the far end of the room where, sitting in a chair in front of the open balcony doors--doors that were not open by any means and were in fact booby trapped when he left this morning--lounging like he kriffing owned the place, was the very target he had just been lamenting about.

"Ser Kenobi. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan "Ben" Kenobi

Breaking into Fett's hotel room had been harder than Obi-Wan expected. It had taken him at least 40 minutes to disassemble the plethora of traps attached to the balcony doors without injuring himself. Impressive on Fett's part, he had to admit. Many of them, had he not been as well-versed in mechanical devices as he was, probably would have taken a limb--or two--off.  He had to wonder how one can even get paralytics that strong past Coruscant customs. He'd ask Quin later. Quin would know. He'd never tell Obi-Wan how he knew--plausible deniability and all that--but he'd certainly know.

Even with his mechanical knowledge, however, the Force had had to warn him of impending danger several times. A point for Fett at least. The more Obi-Wan learned about the man--beyond what he had learned from his regular research binges in the Archives--the more fascinating he became. 

Nevertheless, the traps had been the easy bit. If Obi-Wan were to be completely honest with himself--and Dr. Dolorem was always saying he should try to be--the hardest part of his impromptu breaking and entering had been finding the optimal place and way in which to sit and wait in order to make his entrance--or, rather, Fett's reaction upon his entry--as dramatic as possible.

Obi-Wan freely admitted to his status as a drama queen; Shmi made sure to inform him and Anakin regularly of their positions as such. Padme--his best friend, platonic love of his life--had even joined her in the teasing recently. The traitor.

In his defense, however, the look of shock and surprise on Fett's face when Obi-Wan called out to him had been well worth the two hours he took finding the right place to sit.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Jango Fett

Kenobi looked gorgeous in the light the setting sun had cast on him through the open balcony doors. From Jango's spot by the entrance to the room, Kenobi appeared to be wreathed in an almost ethereal light, like Manda itself was shining out from within him with the strength of a supernova and setting his hair alight. An angel wreathed in fire, come down among the mortals to bring about Manda's justice.

Ka'ra, he was head over heels. 

Never one to throw away caution due to a beautiful face--and what a lie that was--Jango pulled his Westars out of the concealed pockets in which they had been previously hiding and made sure Kenobi could see them. It was bad enough he had been caught off guard at his own base of operations, he wasn't going to let Kenobi get comfortable thinking Jango wasn't armed too.

Kriff. Kenobi had managed to break into Jango's space and he did not like that. No Mando'ade would. The thought that an enemy--was he really an enemy?--could so easily find and infiltrate any hideout, no matter how temporary, would put any true Mando'ade on edge.

"What are you doing here?" He heard himself ask sharply. He was unnerved, caught off guard, and on uneven footing, but that was no excuse for any lapses in judgement.

Kenobi stood up and stretched languidly, mouth open wide and yawning like a tooka waking up from a long nap. It took all of Jango's willpower not to let his eyes wander down and watch how Kenobi's sweater rode up with the action, exposing a beautiful section of his freckled midriff. That kind of distraction would do him no good right now.

Kenobi grinned wide, showing most of his teeth. Most species--baseline humans included--would have interpreted it as joyful and welcoming, almost playful if perhaps a little too eager due to the amount of teeth being shown. A rule of thumb for Mandalorians, however, was that none born into the culture were baseline anything --a rule the rest of the galaxy seemed to forget. So to Jango--and whatever predator ancestors he had had--the smile was a little different. And from the glint in Kenobi's eye when he saw the way Jango subtly shifted his stance, the man knew it too.

It was welcoming, sure. A little playful even. But most importantly, it was a challenge . A challenge of what, however, had yet to be seen.

"Well," Kenobi said, sounding like a respectable gentleman and not someone who had just broken into a hotel room via the balcony doors, "I thought it would be obvious. I was waiting for you."

Jango suddenly regretted wearing tight pants.

"And why," he asked, "would Ser Ben Kenobi, foremost lawyer of the Republic, be waiting for me in my hotel room?" He shifted his stance again, Westars now on full display. "Last I checked, I haven't broken any laws that would require me to hire a lawyer to represent me."

Kenobi chuckled, a deep, smooth sound. "Calm yourself, Ser Fett." He leaned against the chair he had previously been sitting in, one arm resting across the back while the other gestured as he spoke. "I promise you, my purposes for being here are perfectly innocent. However," Kenobi gave him a slow once over, eyes lingering on Jango's waist before rising to his face. He brought his other hand up to rest his chin on and grinned. "I'm sure I could be convinced otherwise."

Kenobi slowly straightened his stance and started leisurely walking towards Jango. "I really must ask why you were trailing me, Ser Fett." Kenobi titled his head slightly to the side. "It's a matter of personal security for me. I'm sure you understand." Kenobi's eyes almost seemed to gleam in the dark of the room, as Jango still hadn't turned on the light. As he got closer Jango shifted slightly, ready to fly into a fighting stance at a moment's notice. But before he knew it Kenobi was right in front of him, barely a foot away. 

Jango raised one of his blasters and pointed it between Kenobi's eyes. "Nothing personal, I assure you. Just a matter of business."

"Oh?" Kenobi said. He leaned forward until the bridge of his nose was resting against the blaster, staring Jango down across the top of the barrel with an oddly playful belligerence shining in his eyes. "Does this business have anything to do with your regular line of work?"

"Depends," Jango said, clicking off the safety. The soft click rang out like a thunderbolt in the quiet room. "What do you know of my regular line of work?"

Kenobi grinned again. "Oh you know," he said, baring too-sharp teeth, "just everything that was written in your Republic Judicial file."

Jango raised an eyebrow. "Really?" He asked. "And how did you get your hands on that? Last I checked they only handed those out to lawyers when they pertain to an active case." He pressed the blaster a little harder into Kenobi's--gorgeous, absolutely breathtaking--face. "And as I said before, I haven't broken any laws."

"Well," Kenobi drawled, as though he hadn't a care in the world, "I'm quite good at slicing, and I figured I'd save us an extensive game of tooka and mouse across all of Coruscant and just bring myself here. Saves us both a lot of effort."

"And what, you'd be the tooka in this scenario?"

"Obviously."

Faster than Jango's eye could tract, Kenobi had taken both of the blasters out of his hands and thrown them across the room. Within the next second, he was sprawled on the ground with Kenobi straddling his hips and pinning his arms above his head with one hand. The other arm was across Jango’s throat, applying pressure to his windpipe.

Kenobi’s blue-green eyes stared into Jango's very soul. 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Obi-Wan "Ben" Kenobi

Obi-Wan looked down at Fett underneath him and was entranced by the amber-gold of his eyes. From across the room, he had mistaken them as a simple brown. Force how wrong he'd been. The many different shades mixed together like a river of gold, making his eyes look like honey in the mid-afternoon sun. 

Holos did not do this man justice. He was absolutely, breathtakingly, stunning .

And his Force signature, little gods was this man stunning inside and out.  Obi-Wan had been able to sense his dancing-fighting-fire presence as soon as Fett had stepped inside the building. The man was in no way Force-Sensitive, but his soul was so vibrant and willful and loud ; it called out--nearly shouting--to Obi-Wan in a way few had ever before. And like crossing the event horizon of a blackhole, Obi-Wan was helpless to escape his gravity. With how the Force sang to him when around this man, he didn’t think he'd ever want to. His song was of hope-change-salvation- future and Obi-Wan wanted to listen to it until the day he died and even after that.

He shifted his hips slightly and grinned. "Is that a blaster in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" He asked the man below him. From the dark flush he could just barely see creeping its way up Fett's neck mixed with the fact that Fett was Mandalorian, Obi-Wan figured it was both.

"Do you have any true intention to kill me, Ser Fett?" He asked, dropping his grin for a more serious glare. Fett opened his mouth to respond, but Obi-Wan pressed his arm across the man's neck, effectively cutting off his answer. He leaned down further until his mouth was right next to the other's left ear. "And I promise you," he whispered, shifting the arm across his neck so Fett could feel the hidden blade he had strapped under his sleeve. "I'll know if you're lying."

Rising back up and looking him in the eye, Obi-Wan relieved some of the pressure he had been applying to Fett's windpipe and allowed him to speak.

"No, I have no actual intention to kill you," Fett whispered. The Force rang out louder than a Krayt Dragon with the truth of his quiet admission.

"Well then," Obi-Wan said, leaning down until their noses were barely touching. "That makes things much easier." He sat up, releasing Fett's hands, and leaned back. On a--rather impulsive--whim, Obi-Wan stopped supporting his weight with his legs. Rather, he put more pressure on his current seat of choice--Fett's lap.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Jango Fett

Kenobi looked like a kriffing irresistible dream from Jango's position on the floor. Red hair messed up spectacularly, knit sweater falling down one of his shoulders and exposing pale, freckled skin underneath. And his eyes, Manda, his eyes. They held such bright, enduring life within them.

And those eyes told Jango that this gorgeous little shit knew exactly what he was kriffing doing, shifting his weight over like that. 

"So then, Ser Fett, to what do I owe the illustrious honor of your stalking?" Kenobi asked, smiling down at him like the tooka that caught the kriffing canary. The shabuir somehow managed to look kriffing seductive while doing it too. 

Well, if he wanted to play that game, Jango could play right back. 

"I wanted to give you a warning," he said while moving his hands to rest on Kenobi's hips, slipping the tips of his fingers under the bottom of the man's sweater, "and an offer." Jango curled his pointer fingers underneath the waistband of Kenobi's pants. All the while, internally screaming at himself asking what the kriff he thought he was doing. The answer being that he, in fact, wasn't thinking. At all.

Boba would call it gay panic; Jango preferred to call it a temporary lapse in cognitive function. Boba was ten. He didn't get an opinion.

Kenobi gave him a deadly smile. Jango in that moment realized that this man could eat him alive, and Jango would let him.

"Eager, aren't you, Ser Fett?" Kenobi asked, voice so low he nearly sounded like he was purring.

"Jango, call me Jango," he gasped out, like a man breathing air for the very first time. 

Kenobi grinned, leaning down and caressing the right side of Jango's face with calloused fingers. "Then I must insist you call me Ben, Jango." The way he said his name sent shivers down Jango's spine. "Unfortunately for you though, Jango," Ben said, smiling softly as he gently moved Jango's hands on the floor either side of him, "you'll have to take me on at least one date first before you can get me in your bed."

Ben stood up and ran his fingers through his hair, putting every strand back in perfect order. Jango watched in disappointment as the beauty before him fixed his sweater, walked over to the chair by the balcony doors, and pulled on a coat Jango hadn't even noticed was sitting there. Jango slowly stood up and made a vain attempt at making himself look remotely presentable.

"Here, this way I'll be able to send you the address of where to meet me tomorrow evening." Jango jerked his head up and looked at Ben, who was standing directly in front of him, holding a piece of torn flimsi in his outstretched hand.

"What's this?" Jango asked dumbly, still trying--and failing--to recover mentally from what had been happening only moments before. Ben chuckled.

"It’s my personal comm code, Jango. I ask that you burn the flimsi once you're done with it." A wry smile appeared on Ben's face. "The last thing I need is the press--or Force forbid the general public--getting ahold of it." Jango nodded, still not fully comprehending what the kriff was going on.

"Wait!" He called out as Ben started walking towards the door. "What do you mean, 'tomorrow evening?'"

Ben smiled and laughed. "Why, for our date of course! You said you had a warning for me. We might as well discuss it over dinner." Ben winked. "Don't be late."

Jango starred, slack-jawed at the hotel room door as it shut behind the most alluring man he had ever had the misfortune of meeting.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan "Ben" Kenobi

Obi-Wan ran his fingers through his hair as he pulled the access key to his apartment out of his coat pocket. Tonight had certainly been interesting and, if he was to be honest with himself, Obi-Wan had taken no small amount of joy in teasing Jango so relentlessly. Obi-Wan smiled -- perhaps Siri was right after all in her claim that he was a "little shit."

Obi-Wan frowned. Siri could never find out he had admitted to her being right. She would tell Garen and Reeft while bragging about her victory and then he would truly never hear the end of it.

He nodded to himself. Yes, he would take this to his grave. Siri wasn't allowed to win at shit .

Decision made, he opened the door; Obi-Wan had barely enough time to hang up his coat and set aside his access key before he was thrown to the floor. Landing with a loud thump, he looked up to see a giant, grinning loth wolf above him.

"Well, hello there," Obi-Wan said, smiling as he reached up and ruffled the ears of his fluffy companion. "Someone's certainly happy to see me," he raised an eyebrow, "is it because you need me if you want to get food?"

Wolffe rolled his eyes. 'Yes,' Obi-Wan heard echoing in his mind, 'that’s the only thing you're useful for.’

Obi-Wan, being the dramatic bitch he was, threw an arm across his face. "Oh, woe is me! I knew it, I knew it all along. None of you truly care for me. I am nothing but a steady income to feed you and your brothers' bottomless stomachs!" He peeked over his arm and shared a look with Wolffe, the two immediately bursting into laughter. Or, well, one laughing and the other doing the closest equivalent one without vocal chords suited for such sounds could make.

Once both had stopped laughing, Obi-Wan resumed his efforts to give Wolffe as many behind the ear scratches as humanly possible. Suddenly though, Wolffe stilled his head, no longer leaning into the scratches. Instead, he began thoroughly sniffing Obi-Wan's hands, one of which had drifted down towards his nose.

Obi-Wan tilted his head to the side in confusion. "What's wrong?" He grinned. "Is Coruscant smelling particularly putrid this wonderful evening?" Wolffe did not answer, ignoring Obi-Wan's comment and continuing to sniff his hands quite intently. Obi-Wan frowned and pulled his hands away from his furry companion. "Wolffe," he said, voice taking on a serious tone, "What's wrong? What do you smell?"

Wolffe titled his head up, looking Obi-Wan in the eyes. 'Obi-Wan.'

"Wolffe?"

'Did you get home late, thereby depriving me of food, just so you could get laid?' If a wolf could look disappointed, that is how Wolffe would have looked in that moment, never mind the fact that he radiated the emotion quite strongly in the Force.

Obi-Wan's face lit up a bright red. "I did not go out and get laid, you insipid gossip!"

Wolffe gave a snort of disbelief. 'Right. Then who's the person I smell all' -at this, the giant loth wolf used his paw to gesture to the entirety of Obi-Wan's body that he wasn't currently sat on- 'over you? You practically reek of horny BILF .' Wolffe gave Obi-Wan his best approximation of a single unimpressed raised eyebrow.

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow in confusion. "BILF?" he asks. "What in the name of the Force is a BILF?" Wolffe seemed to be losing his patience at this attempt at avoidance, but apparently the carnivore was feeling merciful tonight as he deigned to answer.

‘Stands for 'Buir I'd Love to Fuck.' We came up with it to refer to your hookups.’ He gave Obi-Wan a condescending look. ‘The last six out of ten people you've hooked up with have been single parents. Face it, Kenobi, your type is divorced dads.’

Obi-Wan, for all his usual eloquence, sputtered in indignation a moment before bursting out into raucous laughter, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Wolffe looked unimpressed -- very close to ‘annoyed’, staring his caretaker down impatiently in lieu of a verbal demand for answers. "Firstly," Obi-Wan said once he had calmed down, "I did not go out and get laid." He shot Wolffe a look of offence. "I'm a damn professional, Wolffe. I was simply having a civil conversation with a witness I've been trying to track down for a while now."

Wolffe remained unimpressed. He sat up and removed himself from his place sprawled across Obi-Wan's lower torso and legs, sitting on the floor where he could properly stare down at Obi-Wan. 'A civil conversation, you say? And how many pieces of clothing were removed during this conversation? '

"None!"

'Now that's a damn lie! '

Obi-Wan stood up, brushing himself off and exuding an air of indignation. "Think what you want, you overgrown flea bag," he said, turning to look at the giant loth wolf who still towered over his head by a foot or two, even sitting down as he was. "But, nothing interesting happened."

Wolffe huffed. 'Fine. Keep your secrets then. I won't press because I know you're a good judge of character, but I want to remind you that depending on the case witnesses can be very dangerous and you should under no circumstances be sleeping with any of them for your own safety.' He looked off to the side to avoid Obi-Wan's eyes as he said, 'I will, however, bite heads off with extreme prejudice if you decide to go against my advice and it turns out I'm right.'

Obi-Wan felt himself smile. "Thank you, Wolffe, for your concern. But I promise you, even if something did happen between myself and the witness --which, for the record nothing did-"

'Lies.'

"Shut up." He gave Wolffe a glare. "As I was saying , even if anything did happen between us, this witness isn't one of the unstable ones." His brow creased in confusion. "And for the Force's sake, Wolffe, I do have standards and, you know, morals ." He raised a single eyebrow in his patented 'really? I expected more from you' look that usually sent Anakin cowering.

Alas, Wolffe was stronger than Anakin in that regard. He sighed. "Okay, blatantly changing the topic here, -- I know, I know, don't look at me like that -- but how can you smell parenthood on a person?"

‘Children smell.’

Obi-Wan snorted, "Well, alright then."

'You know,' Wolffe began, following Obi-Wan as he stood up and headed towards the kitchen. 'You'd technically be a BILF yourself.'

Why the kriff he didn't eject this oversized fur ball into the void of space when he had the chance, Obi-Wan will never know. He brought his hand up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers in a vain effort to stave off the headache he could feel approaching. "And why, might I ask, do I qualify as a BILF?"

'Easy,' the walking headache began to explain, 'You're considered attractive by conventional sentient standards, just vain enough to fuck yourself, and coated in the smell of Skywalker the annoying.'

Obi-Wan sighed. Whoever decided it was a good idea to recreate a long-dead Mandalorian variant of a loth wolf, give it sentience and then make it able to communicate via rudimentary Force telepathy was obviously intoxicated when they came up with the idea. "You," he said, pointing an accusing finger at the source of his ire, "are the bane of my kriffing existence."

Wolffe gave a toothy smile, tail wagging. 'You kriffing love me and you know it! '

"I tolerate you, and only just barely."

'You bring me with you whenever you go to Coruscant! '

"Yes, because Naboo's giant moose population deserves a break every now and then, you insatiable carnivore!"

'They're an invasive species! I have every right to hunt them down! ' 

Obi-Wan turned, going towards the conservator to remove the giant flea bag's dinner of three raw bantha steaks.

"Yes, an originally invasive species that has since been on-planet so long that removing them from the ecosystem could cause more harm than good." He turned and pointed at Wolffe, steaks precariously balanced on a plate held in his other hand. "You are getting paid by Padme to do population control , not eradication."

‘’Paid!’ She gives you the money for that! I don't get anything! '

Obi-Wan waved a hand at the meat covered plate he had just set on the ground. "What do you think paid for that? Besides," he said, turning to pull a bottle of whiskey out of the highest cabinet, "you're a loth wolf. You can't exactly use credits." Obi-Wan walked over to the couch, uncorking the bottle as he went and listening to the ambient noise of several steaks being devoured accompanied by mental mumbling about 'kriffing opposable thumbs.'

Sitting down on the couch, Obi-Wan let out a tired sigh. Today had been… long, suffice it to say. It had been long, and tiring, and… He paused and smiled. Exciting. Today had been exciting. That was rare when he was on Coruscant. He had satisfying days and disappointing days and tired days depending on how a case went, but rarely was there anything to truly excite him.

Jango Fett was exciting, and Obi-Wan found himself greatly looking forward to their next encounter.

Obi-Wan’s comm gave a ding and he shifted in his seat to grab it from his pocket. He took a swing from the bottle in his hand before checking it. He smiled as he saw who had messaged him.

>>>

New Message From: Unknown Frequency

Unknown: This is Fett.

<<<

Obi-Wan snorted at the brevity of the message. Let it never be said that Mando'ade wasted words. He sent a message back with the time and place of their date, scheduling it for tomorrow in the evening. A dinner date indeed.

This would be very fun.

He stared at his comm for several more moments, contemplating what to do next, but also giving himself a moment to relax. Slowly, the noises of messy eating faded in the background and were replaced by the sharp click of razor-sharp claws on duracrete before they became soft paws padding across a rug. He felt the couch shift beneath him as Wolffe climbed atop, sitting primly on his paws and still licking the juices from the steaks off his maw. He tilted his head to the side, Force presence a gentle song of concern and curiosity. 'Obi-Wan, are you ok? ' he asked, his mental voice more gentle than he usually made it. 'You've been staring at your comm for forty minutes now, and you don't feel like you're meditating, so I’m getting concerned.'

Forty minutes? Oh dear, he hadn't meant to drift off for that long. He must have been a great deal more tired than he originally thought. "I'm fine, Wolffe," he said, reaching over the scratch his lupine companion behind the ears, earning a low, happy rumble for his trouble. "Just thinking and tired." He grinned at the rough bump his hand got for that. "I know, such a dreadful combination."

He looked once again at his comm and, steeling his nerves, took another swing from the bottle -- that had somehow ended up in his lap without him noticing -- before hitting the dial button on a certain group chat. "Better get this over with," he grumbled. "They'll find out somehow eventually. The damn gossips." He felt the crashing waves of Wolffe's laughter wash over him in a song of joy-exasperation-mischief in the Force as the comm gave several rings, connecting on the fifth ring with the second participant connecting seconds later.

"Quin, Bant, lovely to see you," he said, taking another swig from his drink. He felt he deserved it, seeing how long his day had been.

"Obes Kenobes! Heard you made the witness cry!" Quinlan shouted. Judging by how large his face had suddenly become, it would seem he had brought his comm extra close to his face to ensure his shouting was heard. The Kiffar began laughing, Bant quickly joining in as Obi-Wan let out an indignant shout.

"I did no such thing!" He barked, but the two continued to laugh, Wolffe quickly joining in. Obi-Wan felt a smile force its way onto his lips. He always missed his friends when he was off Coruscant. He thanked the Force every day for all of his creche-mates' determination to maintain contact with him after what happened all those years ago. They truly were some of his greatest friends. However, he thought wryly, they had been laughing far too long at his expense and he had a reputation to uphold within the friend group. "All right, enough!" He shouted, a traitorous laugh escaping from between his lips. "I did not make him cry! Those rumors are grossly exaggerated!"

Judging from the matching raised eyebrows the two were giving him, he was not to be believed. Rolling his eyes, he turned to his fluffy couch companion, a request for support already on his lips when he saw the expression on Wolffe's face. Since when did loth wolves have functioning eyebrow ridges?

He cursed, leading to more laughing from his companions. He knew those damn grad students on Kamino were drunk when they made Wolffe and his Vod'e. He stared at the half-empty bottle of whiskey still in his hand. Truly, the root of all his problems. He took a long drink.

Good thing he loved being a problem.

"Okay, fine ," he said, staring them down through slightly squinted eyes. "He almost cried."

"Obi-Wan, honey-"

"There's a difference, Bant!" he shouted, finally setting his comm down on the table in front of him so he could point angrily with his now-free hand. "There is a difference. It's just-"

"From a certain point of view. We know," the two chorused at him. Why was he friends with these assholes again?

"Okay," Bant began. "So you almost made him cry." This was accompanied by a look that very easily portrayed the fact that she didn't believe him one bit. So maybe the opposing side had cried on the witness stand a few times in the past. Usually after he tore their entire argument apart before their very -- watery, tear-filled -- eyes. That didn't mean it happened every time! "Does that mean you won the trial?"

It was Obi-Wan's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Really, Bant," he asked. "You two dug around to see if the defendant cried and not if I'd won?"

"Priorities, Obes. Priorities," Quin said, a ridiculous grin on his face. Obi-Wan snorted.

"Right. Well, if you must know I did win the case." That won him happy shouts from his friends and he once again found himself smiling along with them.

"That deserves celebration! Dex's, right now, drinks on me!" Quin shouted, apparently already getting up and heading to the door of his room in the Temple if the sudden shakiness of his video was anything to go by. Bant had just given a hum of agreements when Obi-Wan butted in.

"Actually," he said, feeling a bit embarrassed for some reason, "I just got back home, and I'd really rather not leave again. Today has been incredibly tiring." Waiting for his friends to shoot back something like 'party at Obe's place,' he became confused as they both just stared at him. "What?" He asked.

"Obi-Wan, the trial ended hours ago," Bant said. "Why did you just get back home?"

"Yeah, buddy, that's really suspicious."

Kriffing alcohol. If he didn't live with Anakin he might swear to never drink again. He set his drink down, sensing that he wasn't going to be able to smooth-talk his way out of this one. "I got waylaid by a business matter," he tried. He knew they wouldn't buy it, but a man could hope. Judging by the barking coming from his right, his hope was kriffing useless. Quin once again raised his eyebrows, pointedly looking at the animal seated beside him.

"Well he seems to disagree, so spill."

Obi-Wan sighed, removing his glasses and blinking as the room around him came into sharper focus. "Okay," he said, hands clasped before him in a pleading motion, "first, you have to promise not to get mad."

The unimpressed looks he received really weren't helping his case here.

"For a lawyer, that was a terrible opening statement, Obes."

"Yes, thank you for your input, Quin, but I am unfortunately tipsy right now." To emphasize his point, he finished the bottle of whiskey while staring his friend down. He was pretty sure this wouldn't help his case but, unfortunately, he was too stubborn to care.

"Banthashit," Bant said, startling the two men out of their staring contest. "Your alcohol tolerance is a thing of legend. You're practically sober." Point to Bant, he supposed.

"Okay, fine." He placed the bottle down on the table, moving it out of view of his comm's camera for good measure. "So I might have noticed that someone was following me. Someone who, after some quick slicing, turned out to be a known bounty hunter." Blank stares, the calm before the storm. Oh well, Obi-Wan thought; he'd lived a good life. Padme would surely be displeased he had not yet updated his will to list her as the sole inheritor of his rather extensive library, but he was sure she would cope. Time to bite the blaster bolt, as they say. "And I might have tracked down his hotel room and broke in to wait for him and we might now have a date for the purpose of an information exchange tomorrow."

Oh dear. He didn't even know Bant's face could turn that color.

"OBI-WAN BEN KENOBI-"

"Bant."

"-YOU RECKLESS ASSHOLE ABSOLUTE IDIOT-"

"Bant, please."

"-IF NOT FOR THE LAWS OF THIS LAND-"

"You're kriffed, Obes."

"Yes I'm quite aware of that, thank you."

"Looks like she's done." Obi-Wan looked and confirmed that Bant was indeed done with her angry tirade. Quin had better give the best kriffing eulogy the galaxy had ever heard at his funeral.

"I'm calling Madame Nu." And at the click of Bant's comm disconnecting from the call, Obi-Wan felt what little color he had in his face slowly drain away, Quinlan and himself sharing matching looks of horror with one another.

'Oh, you're kriffing dead. ' Wolffe said, breaking the horrified silence. Even the Force seemed to know he wouldn't live to see sunrise, singing a song of pity and mourning in his ear as if it were saying we will miss you, but you totally brought this upon yourself. Great. Even the Force knew he was a dead man.

"I'll make your funeral the greatest in the galaxy, Obes. Minibar and everything."

"Anakin's not allowed sugary drinks."

"You'll never let me forget that, will you?"

"Padme literally wrote a law about it."

"Well, damn." His friend looked more gleeful than anything at that revelation, just one more Quinlan Vos-specific law to add to his collection, Obi-Wan was sure. His friend gave him a solemn nod in place of a goodbye before disconnecting from the call leaving just Obi-Wan and Wolffe alone in his apartment, with doom in the form of perfectly pressed archivist robes and an updo worthy of envy surely on its way.

Obi-Wan turned to face his new best friend, considering the rest had so callously abandoned him. Wolffe looked at him for a moment before hopping off the couch and waltzing over to the oversized dog bed on the other side of the main room of his apartment. He then had the audacity to make a show of getting comfortable, as if waiting for a show to begin.

Friendship was dead and soon Obi-Wan would be too. And just to prove that the Force hated him, at that moment he felt the Force signature of one Madame Jocasta Nu, Head Archivist of the Coruscant Temple Archives arrive at the entrance to his building. As she drew closer --security knowing her well enough to simply wave her in-- the Force began to feel charged, her worry-ire-frustration easy to feel floors away, like the tingle on one's skin right before they're struck with lightning.  Next thing he knew, there was a knock on his door.

Jocasta had a key, they both knew this, but Obi-Wan was sure she'd rather visit the Senate than allow him to forget proper manners.

He gave Wolffe one last glare before standing up and slowly walking towards the door, straightening his outfit and fixing his hair as he went. If there was one thing she'd taught him, it was that leniency was most often granted to those who manage to look the part of respectable members of society. As he reached the door, Obi-Wan took a deep breath in an attempt to steel his nerves. Now that she was just on the other side of the door, the lightning sensation of her emotions felt almost tangible, like you could cut it with a lightsaber. He opened the door, polite --if terrified-- smile already on his face. However, the moment he saw the expression on her face, was the moment that he knew he'd kriffed up.

"Jo," he said, voice coming out sounding strangled. "How wonderful to see you! I was supposed to visit you at the Temple tomorrow!" This garnered no reaction save for a continued disappointed glare. Now Obi-Wan understood how Anakin felt when he gave him the same glare after his brother had done something particularly stupid. He had a feeling Jocasta's was far worse, however; he seemed to have learned from the best. They stared at each other in tense silence for a moment longer before he stepped to the side, allowing her to enter his apartment.

She walked in, not even looking as she hung her outer robe next to his coat, the motion muscle memory to her from the amount of times she visited him here. She walked across the room --silent despite the duracrete on which she walked-- with her usual amount of grace, practically gliding in a way he knew freaked out younglings on their first trip to the archives. She walked all the way to the opposite wall, reaching down to scratch Wolffe behind the ears --earning herself a happy bark for her efforts-- before straightening up and turning to face him. He had followed her over as she walked across the room, no longer standing before the door, but rather only a few feet from her now. "Obi-Wan," she began, "as I'm sure you are aware, I just recently received a very interesting comm call from your dear friend Bant." She raised a single eyebrow, and Obi-Wan was sure she had her arms crossed within the sleeves of her robes. "Would you care to elaborate?"

He swallowed thickly, face heating up from embarrassment. He was sure he looked like a tomato at this point. "I have a meeting tomorrow evening with a --now ex, I want to stress the ex part-- assassin who also happens to be a witness I've been trying to track down for a while now."

"Bant called it a date." He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, she somehow raised her single eyebrow higher, effectively silencing him. "If you say 'from a certain point of view' I will give Anakin access to the holo album I have with all your baby pictures in it, young man."

He felt all the blood drain from his face. "You wouldn't dare," he whispered.

"Oh? Wouldn't I?" she asked. And Siri always wondered why he was such a little shit. "Last I checked, I am the boy's Grandmaster, and I'm starting to feel I've been rather lax in my sacred duty to embarrass you in front of the boy.”

"Technically," he replied, desperate to dissuade her from such a horrible course of action. "He's technically your Grandpadawan. Did you teach me in the ways of the Force? Yes. Was I a member of the Jedi Order at the time? No. Am I teaching Anakin in the ways of the Force? Yes. Are either of us Jedi? Also no. Therefore ," he said, pointing at her, --and ignoring Wolffe's raucous laughter ringing in his head via the Force-- "you don't have to and you really shouldn't give him any of my baby photos. It's not a sacred duty if the relationship is based on technicalities."

"Well, then I suggest you tell me about this date of yours." Well, kriff. He had certainly walked right into that one. With a sigh, he sat down on the couch.

"How much has Bant told you already?" he asked.

She frowned, coming to sit beside him. "That a bounty hunter was following you, so, in your infinite wisdom, you decided to find his hotel room and wait for him to arrive. And now you have a date with him tomorrow for the purpose of an information exchange."

Obi-Wan grinned. "Wow, she retained a lot of information despite plotting my murder the second I told her about the meeting."

"Date."

"I'm begging you to stop."

Jocasta once again raised an eyebrow. "And I'm begging you to not be an idiot!" He could sense her agitation rising in the Force like a cresting wave. He braced for the crash. "Obi-Wan, I don't understand. Why would you put yourself at risk like that? You know how most bounty hunters are! They choose to take those assassination contracts. You could have been killed! Obi-Wan, wh-"

"Mom." She paused, and he could see the worry welling in her eyes. She knew it was serious when he called her that. It was the way it was between them. The more orthodox Masters at the Temple had always disliked that she had adopted him after he left the order, screaming about attachment --Force forbid they ensure a minor had a proper legal guardian!-- so they were careful with their language around each other, even now, years later with no one but Wolffe as their witness. They kept the words for what they were to each other close to the chest, used the ones those old Masters would approve of (Padawan, Master, Madame Archivist) and saving the real ones for moments when the weight of the situation needed to be properly communicated. "Mom, it’s Jango Fett."

Her eyes widened, and he watched as she took a deep breath before raising an arm towards the kitchen, summoning his last bottle of whiskey to her hand. "So," she said, taking a swig from the bottle. "The case is active then?" 

He nodded, a grim look on his face. 

She sighed, and he stood up, walking to a painting he had hung in the main room of his apartment. A moment later he had it off the wall and was opening the safe hidden behind it. He pulled out a single, blank manila folder filled to the brim with sheet after sheet of flimsi and tossed it onto the coffee table in front of Jocasta. They both stared at the words that can be seen on the tabs sticking out the side of the folder.

The Duchess

Dar'Mand'alor the False

Mand'alor the Pretender

Mand'alor the Vanished

"Well," he said into the silence that had engulfed the room. "It would seem it is time to enact the Mand'alor files."

Chapter Text

       Jango Fett

It took Jango several minutes to reboot his brain after Ben left, so for a good while he just sat there on the floor asking the Manda what he ever did to cause his life to get so crazy. He'd been a farmer's son for the Ka'ra's sake! All he was supposed to care about was harvesting season and feeding times, not if a hot lawyer known for his skills in verbal evisceration meant it literally when he called their dinner meeting a 'date'!

Manda help him if Boba ever learned about this. Jango didn't think he'd survive the fallout.

Eventually Jango did manage to get up and off the floor, but not until after he'd properly panicked and prayed for answers as one does when faced with someone so far out of their league. Slowly he got up, walked all the way to his shitty hotel bed, and then collapsed on to it in order to continue his sudden crisis. This wouldn't even warrant a crisis if Ben was just pretty. No, Jango had seen many pretty men in his life so that wasn't the issue. Rather, the issue was that Ben was gorgeous, and that he made very little sense.

The man was an enigma in every sense of the word. When he wasn't at a trial, no one in the galaxy could figure out where he went. Additionally, he seemed to have at least one Jedi contact in the form of the Head Archivist but no one could figure out how or why they knew each other. Suffice to say, the lack of information on the man was maddening to even the most casual observer.

He sat there for a long time thinking about his enigma of a bounty and stressing over the maybe date before he was suddenly broken out of his wallowing by the sharp ring of his comm, the shrill sound piercing the seemingly all-encompassing silence that had laid itself over his room like a fog after Ben had left. He jumped a bit from surprise before pulling it out of his pocket and hitting the accept button without looking at who, exactly, was calling him.

This was his first mistake.

"Hi Buir!" An enthusiastic voice called out. "How's the hunt going?"

When asked about the incident later, Jango vehemently insisted that he did not, in fact, startle so hard he fell face first off the bed. Boba, in juxtaposition, described in great detail the look of surprise and horror on his Buir's face as he tumbled off the bed, as well as the shade of red said man's face was after he carefully peeled it off the floor.

Jango then reminded everyone that Boba is ten and therefore has no rights.

"It's going well, Boba." He was firmly seated on the bed, a place he had never left thank you very much. "I've located the target and I'm close to the final goal." That was certainly one way of putting it, but he was correct from a certain point of view. His son -- the little hellion that he was -- raised a brow questioningly, before a small, mischievous grin broke out on his face. That's never good.

"He caught you, didn't he." The boy's tone of voice made it clear he was holding in laughter, and only just barely. Jango took a moment and prayed to the Manda to forgive him if he was ever that bad for Jas'buir.

"What makes you say that, Boba?" He asked, making sure he sounded genuinely confused and curious. He was not letting Boba win this one. "All I said was that I've located the target." A knowing look appeared on the child's face, and Jango is reminded of why he'd had the boy tested to see if he had any of that jetii magic. For Manda's sake, was his kid some kind of seer now? Knowing his damn luck, that's exactly what was happening; and he thought the kid's 'birth' was weird enough. Boba shrugged, looking as innocent and unaffiliated with any possible wrongdoing or troublemaking as humanly possible. Jango was not fooled in the slightest; he'd raised a little shit and he was more than perfectly aware of that.

"Not sure," Boba replied, sounding almost contemplative. "Just feels… right." Jango manages to hold back a sigh by sheer force of will. Kriffing Manda; if this child wasn't a mini seer he'd eat his kriffing buy'ce, wires and all.

He gave a tired sigh, internally admitting defeat on the matter. Boba wasn't going to take no for an answer here, and silence would be more incriminating than vague answers. "Right, ok. And so what if he did?" Curiosity killed the cat, might as well burn the corpse too.

 His son's face lit up, but in a way that filled him with a looming sense of dread. "Oh? Did Buir have fun with the hot lawyer twink? I kriffing knew you have a thing for gingers!" The kid looked smug, like the tooka that caught the kriffing canary. Manda preserve him, he's raised a little monster.

He felt his face flush in embarrassment despite his attempt to keep his feelings on the matter hidden. Truly, a betrayal he'll never recover from. "Nothing happened, Boba. And what do you mean you knew? Who taught you to talk like this?"

"My babysitters, also known as 'The Jango Fett's Former Tops Support Group.' Plus Aunt Arla." Boba was grinning wide, looking like he was working very hard at not laughing in Jango's face. Brat. "As for the ginger thing, Myles and Vhonte have red hair. Point proven."

He sighs heavily, sounding exhausted at the mere mention of his terrible friends. He needs to hire better babysitters -- not that he pays the two he has -- and find someone to help him commit fratricide. "Why the kriff do I let them near you again?" He asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This seems like a major lapse in logic on my part."

"Because they're your only friends." Boba replied, sounding like that answer was obvious. Okay, who the kriff taught his kid to bully him? Oh wait, that's right, the three sha'buire traitors he'd left him with. Boba was getting babysat by the Armorer from now on. He'd even pay her for the trouble.

"Boba, is the 'Jango's Fett's Former Top Support Group' in the room with you?" He asked innocently, already planning for copious bloodshed to occur while he enacted his sweet revenge.

"Yeah. Myles and Vhonte are making 'cut' motions right now. I think they want me to stop incriminating them."

Jango hummed, amused. "Interesting." He raised his voice a bit, to ensure the assholes heard him. "Hey, nerf herders, you get the graveyard shift for guard duty till I get back!" He grinned, chuckling at the groans and shouts of protest that followed. "That's what you get for corrupting my ad'ika. You're osik babysitters." He heard a dramatic gasp of offense from offscreen. That's probably Miles, the drama queen.

He was proven right when said man shouted: "We're kriffing fantastic babysitters! Kid's just way too good at using his manipulative little tooka eyes to get us to spill shit!"

Boba gasped dramatically. Seemed he'd been taking notes from Myles. "Me? But I'm just an innocent child! How dare you blame me for your degenerate behavior? Shame on you, Myles. Shame. "

Jango burst out laughing at that. His family and friends are assholes, yeah, but he loved them anyway. "Ok, ok. Stop the emotional manipulation, Bob'ika. Save it for targets." He smiled at the resigned 'yes Buir' that that earned him. "Now, other than your babysitters being horrible, anything interesting happen?"

His son nodded, eager to tell his Buir everything interesting that'd happened at home. "Yep! We got some new arrivals, more escaped slaves. Said they were all freed and sent our way by the regulars."

He hummed, thinking. The regulars, huh? That would mean Oasis were active again. Every couple of months they'd receive more refugees and freed slaves who all said the same thing, Oasis sent them. Great for helping rebuild the Haat'ade, terrible for his anxiety. The Haat'ade base was on a random ass moon in Wild Space. How the kriff did these Sha'buire know where they were?

He shook his head, it didn't matter. "How many exactly, and how are they settling in?" At the question Boba straightened up, ready to give a report. When Jango was away, his son acted as the leader of the Haat'ade settlement -- with extreme oversight from Myles, Vhonte, and Arla -- as a way to prepare him to one day take over completely. The arrangement had only started 4 months ago and so far, Boba had been doing well.

"24 people, Buir." His son began. "Mostly ade under the age of 14. The adults have been settling in well with the help of the other Freed here and all the buire-less ade have been adopted by other members of the community. The food, water, and energy supply will have no trouble supporting them and we expect that at least three of the adults will be able to help out around the settlement soon on light duty." Boba smiled at the end, clearly proud of himself for giving a good report.

Jango found himself smiling as well. "That's good, and good job with your report, ner ad. I should be home soon to welcome them myself if all goes well."

Boba raised an eyebrow. "So you're close to getting him, then?"

He nodded. "Yeah. We're meeting tomorrow, which is when I plan to finish the mission."

"Good luck, buir."

He smiled. "Thank you, Boba, and don't worry about me or the mission. I have everything under control." Lies. Blatant, horrible lies. "You just go play with your friends and give your babysitters hell for me, yeah?" Cue incredibly indignant exclamations from Myles about bullying. Boba just grinned wider and saluted him.

"Right away, Buir. I'll make them beg for your mercy when you get back."

That drew a light chuckle from him. "Good, Bob'ika. Good. I look forward to it. Ret'urcye mhi."

His son nodded, smiling. "Ret'urcye mhi, Buir. Happy hunting." With that goodbye, the blue light of the holocall blinked out of existence and the room was once more illuminated only by the light of the moon coming through the still open balcony doors.

He set the comm down on the nightstand -- after sending a quick message to Ben with the com code he'd been given -- and stretched, getting out of the bed and heading to where his datapad and fancy kute were. He had a piece of flimsi to burn, a message to plan, and a date to prepare for, after all.

Chapter Text

Jango Fett

Dex's was surprisingly quiet, the normally busy former arms dealer's diner nearly empty despite the dinner hour. Jango had been here several times before -- usually to buy information instead of food -- and had never once seen it anything less than full, thus making its current near emptiness all the more strange. Though, it wasn't as strange as Kenobi choosing here of all places to meet. Yes the food was kriffing fantastic, but it didn't have the squeaky clean reputation Jango would expect a man such as Kenobi to want from his chosen dining establishments.

Also, it wasn't fancy. Far from it, actually. Didn't lawyers like fancy osik because they were all rich? Jango was pretty sure they did, but he shoved the thought aside as Dex directed him to a table in the back. Apparently, his dining companion had reserved it. He didn't even know Dex allowed reservations. Kriffing rich people. He rolled his eyes as he sat down, waiting for Kenobi to arrive.

Jango was halfway through reading the menu when a shout came from the door, causing him to reflexively tense as he looked up towards the source of the noise, hand lingering near his blaster.

"KENOBI! So good to see you again, my friend!" Dex was the one doing the shouting, all four of the besalisk's arms wrapped around someone who had seemingly been lifted at least a foot and a half off the ground by the large man's enthusiasm.

"Dex!" the man, presumably the one he was here to meet, exclaimed. "It's good to see you too, my friend, but could you please put me down? I'm afraid I'm here to meet someone and you know how I loathe to be tardy."

The besalisk chuckled. "Of course, of course. Your little friend is in the back." Kenobi gave a nod of thanks and made his way towards Jango who, being someone with manners, discreetly moved his hand away from his blaster. It's never good to make your dinner partner think you're about to shoot them, Jas'bu had always said. It made for rather tense negotiations. Better to poison their dessert once the talking was done, after all.

Not that he was planning to poison Kenobi, of course.

Kenobi smiled as he slid into the booth. "Pardon the tardiness, you see I ran into one Ser Ividens on the street and he -- in a moment of terrible judgment might I add -- decided threatening me was the way to go."

Jango chuckled. “You’re forgiven. Is he really that stupid though?"

Kenobi nodded solemnly. "Oh indeed. It was almost painful to witness; like I could see his brain cells dying with every inane syllable that left his mouth."

Jango raised a brow. "He had any to begin with?" That earned him a laugh and he found himself grinning. "I mean, with how badly he kriffed up on the witness stand, you'd think he had killed them all off already."

Kenobi hummed in agreement. "Yes, I suppose that would be a logical conclusion to come to. To be perfectly honest, I haven't the faintest idea as to whether or not he had any, though I'm much inclined to agree with you. A grade A fool, and I've met a great plethora of fools in my life."

"Oh? All on the witness stand or just in general?"

Kenobi shrugged. "A little here, a little there. Between you and me, I have a dog in my apartment that could use a few extra brain cells himself."

Jango chuckled. "A dog, really? I would have taken you as a tooka guy." What with how the man had been lounging in his chair yesterday like he owned it, waiting for him to come back to the hotel. That was tooka energy if Jango had ever seen it.

The ginger man grinned. "Now I've heard that one many times before. Apparently it's a rather common conception of myself." The man sat up straighter in his chair. "My animal companion preferences aside, I suggest we order before we discuss why we're here." He smiled. "I don't know if you've been here before, but the food is excellent. Greasy and heart attack inducing if one is predisposed, but excellent."

Jango nodded. "I've been here before. Though, I'll admit I'm surprised a fancy lawyer type like yourself would arrange a meeting in some lower level diner. Took you for a fancy seven forks for the first course type of guy."

Kenobi seemed amused by this, if Jango was judging his expression correctly. "And there's your second misconception of me, Jango. This 'fancy lawyer' survived law school on Dex's cooking. I was here almost every night in the corner booth studying while stuffing my face with tubers and nerf burgers." And wasn't that an odd thought, pristine and perfect Kenobi as a tired and overworked grad student. Jango couldn't help but laugh a little.

"I'll admit, I find that a bit hard to imagine."

A smile. "So do most of my colleagues." He slid Jango a menu. "Enough talk of that though, order. I'm curious as to what this 'warning' is that you have for me." Jango relented and took the menu, scanning it until the droid -- named Flo apparently -- came and took their orders. The gaze Kenobi leveled him with when their food arrived was… heavy. Predatory. He suddenly understood why witnesses were so intimidated by the slim ginger man. Hells, if Jango himself had been a lesser being he'd have been squirming in his seat. But he wasn't a lesser being, and instead he sat straighter as he began to eat his nerf burger.

"So," Kenobi began, eating some of his tuber fries by plucking them up one by one with nimble fingers -- and how the kriff did he manage to make that hot? -- "Your warning, Am I right in assuming it has something to do with why a galaxy-famous bounty hunter such as yourself was hired to come after me?"

Jango swallowed and nodded. "Exactly. That's one hell of a deductive mind you've got there, Ben. I'm almost jealous." It felt… weird, calling the other by his first name. But, then again, who was Jango to deny the polite request from last night?

"I'm afraid it's a rather important requirement in my particular line of work," he said idly. "Now do stop evading the question, Jango." And the man's tone -- without warning -- shifted from friendly and companionable to commanding and… expecting in a way that left Jango all but compelled to respond.

"Count Yan Dooku of Serenno was used as a middle man by an unknown party to hire me to kill you. 10 million credits for a job well done, 15 to make it look like an accident." That made Kenobi frown, a strange look in his eyes that Jango couldn't quite decipher.

"Count Dooku? And you're sure of this?" Kenobi let out a pained sigh as Jango nodded. "Well, that's certainly an odd turn of events. Though, I really must ask why you're telling of this me at all. I was under the impression that Mando bounty hunters never went back on a contract? I was always told it was an important point of honor for you."

He nodded again. "It is, when the contract is just. However it's Dooku's mistake if he took my wording for acceptance of the contract." Jango grinned. "After all, Basic isn't my first language. How would I know that 'it will be done' can be used to imply affirmative agreement? In Mando'a it's an incredibly common and traditional way to end a conversation and references the will of the Manda, after all." Jango shrugged. "So really, it's his mistake."

Kenobi stared at him for a long moment before he laughed. "I both hate and love the fact that that is a legally sound argument when it comes to verbal contracts in Basic." A deep breath to get his laughing under control. "An ingenious defense, truly. Though, that still doesn't answer the question of 'why'. What makes me so special you would risk fooling a potential client like this?" The ginger gestured to himself. "After all, I'm just a mere lawyer."

He knew several thousand people who would disagree. "A lawyer with a history of taking down large corporations. Corporations whose Outer Rim business ventures usually involved slavery, of which you saved many of my people from. I'm honor bound to help you, this time."

Kenobi smiled knowingly. "Ah, I'm glad to hear that they're all doing well now. Though, if you'll indulge me, I must ask a question: is this purely because of honor, societal pressure from your fellows, or…" Jango didn't like the tone Kenobi's voice took, the strange lilt made it sound both predatory and inviting, alluring in the most dangerous way. "Is there a more… personal element to it?"

Jango swallowed thickly. "What do you mean by that?"

Another one of those 'tooka that caught the canary' grins. "Oh you know-"

A cacophony of blaster bolts shattering glass was the only warning they got before the windows imploded, showering the diner in shards of glass as panicked guests ducked under their tables. Jango ducked down, unholstering his blaster. Kenobi's reaction, however, surprised him. The man was a lawyer, so he'd been expecting him to cower like the rest of Dex's patrons.

That's not what happened.

The second the glass shattered their table was being flipped on its side, used as a barricade between them and their assailants. Jango could admit that he found himself a little dumbfounded when Kenobi whipped out a blaster pistol -- where had he been hiding that? -- and began returning fire in tandem with his own shots.

"Banking clan!" Kenobi -- Ben, they were fighting side by side, he felt like he could call the man Ben at this point -- exclaimed. "They have the sigil of the Midnight Vipers on their jackets, and those assholes do contact killings!"

"How the hell are you sure they're working for the Banking Clan?" he shouted over the din of blaster fire.

"Because they're all aiming at us and I just lost the Banking Clan 500 million credits in a lawsuit!" You know what, Kenobi made a very good point. He'd also try to kill someone if they lost him 500 million credits. Though, he'd do it himself. You should never trust others to do what you can do yourself, that's what Jan'bu always used to tell him.

Ben shot over the table, taking out two unlucky thugs. Fuck, why did he have to be a good shot too? Jango took out another. "So since they're your would-be assassins, how do you want to deal with them?"

A sigh from the other man as another thug dropped to the ground. "Preferably non lethally, but kill them if you must. Just leave enough alive for me to turn over to judicial."

Easy enough. "You got it."

A grin from the other. "Good, have fun." Ben, the insane fucker he was, proceeded to launch himself over the table and tackled the nearest thug, shooting him point blank with a stun pistol he'd pulled from his boot. Jango cursed as he vaulted the table barricade after the man. By the Manda, could this man just meet his expectations for one minute instead of gleefully smashing them with a sledge hammer every five seconds? He was supposed to be dealing with a lawyer, not whatever he was witnessing right now.

Ben moved across the battlefield -- Jango felt it was a stretch to call the glass shard covered diner that -- with a strange grace, unlike that of a civilian or any warrior Jango had fought or trained with. A blaster would move to aim at him and he'd already be somewhere else. A vibroblade would be driven forward and Ben would already be twisting out of the way. If Jango were a more superstitious man, he'd think that Ben somehow knew where an attacker was going to aim to hit him before they did.

But Jango was not superstitious, and Ben was only a man, so he ignored it and continued to take out thugs as they came at him. It was a practically a never-ending torrent; he'd take down one only for three more to jump in through the busted windows. Really, it was getting kriffing excessive at this point. Jango was a Mandalorian through and through and enjoyed a good fight, but endless unskilled grunts wasn't a good fight, it was a waste of his time and damn boring.

He shot another -- in the shoulder, since he didn't have any weapons with a stun setting -- before he was tackled from behind. He was in his beskar'gam, the blade his assailant tried to slash him with thus sliding off the beskar harmlessly with an ear-splitting shriek. Jango twisted around in their poor hold and kneed the rodian in the groin before he shot out their knees for good measure. He then got up and turned just in time to slam the butt of a Westar into a zeltron before his attention was grabbed by a scene across the diner.

Ben had gotten himself pinned by a twi'lek who had a blaster to his head. Heart rate skyrocketing, Jango moved to help him. In the next few seconds though, that would become utterly unnecessary. Jango watched, transfixed -- and he suspected several thugs watched with him -- as Ben knocked the blaster to the side and surged forward faster than his eyes could process, ramming into the twi'lek and sending them flying into several others.

The victory was short lived, however, as a trandoshan grabbed at the lawyer from behind. That caused Jango to panic. No matter how strong, no regular human could go toe to toe with a trandoshan in a battle of strength.

Looking back on it, this was when Jango should have realized that Ben Kenobi was no regular human.

"Ben!" he shouted, "watch out!"

The ginger bastard kriffing winked at him in reply. "Don't worry, darling, I have the situation well under control." Jango and the thugs around him looked at Ben as if he was crazed, but did nothing as the man -- with an eerily cat-like grace -- jumped and kicked off the ground, using the trandoshan's grip on his arm as leverage to flip around in a graceful arc and land on the lizard's shoulders. The trandoshan, pretty reasonably, seemed shocked at this development. He didn't have a chance to ponder the new position of his would-be pray however as Ben squeezed with his thighs and threw all his weight to the side.

The diner was silent as the trandoshan's head jerked to the side with an echoing snap. The body stayed upright for a moment more, as if gravity hadn't yet caught up with what just happened, before it tipped forward and plummeted to the ground, Ben easily freeing himself from the now slack grip and somersaulting off his rapidly descending perch. The man landed in a crouch before standing and dusting himself off. He looked up at the crowd of stunned thugs and smiled.

"Oh don't stop on my account." The grin took on a threatening tilt to it as Ben cracked his knuckles and Jango licked his lips. "Now, who's next?"

It was all out chaos from there, some thugs surged forward to attack -- Jango ended up stabbing several of those with butter knives when they got too close to properly shoot -- and others ran and got hit with stunners in the back for their efforts, Ben apparently being an excellent shot. Soon all the thugs were either groaning or bleeding out on the ground, making a further mess of Dex's fine establishment. Rude.

Jango picked his way across the floor to stand next to Ben. "Are you alright?"

Ben gave Jango a bright grin. "Quite! If I'm to be perfectly honest, I found that quite exhilarating." Despite having been in a fight just moments before, Ben somehow still looked fantastic. Honestly, if Jango wasn't so busy admiring the view he'd be a little pissed off by the audacity of it all. Ben's hair was tousled in a sexy way, his clothes messed up just right, and there was a blood splatter on the side of his face.

And Jango was immediately shutting down that train of thought, thank you very much. He was here for a reason, and he needed to be professional. "What do you suggest we do now?"

"I called Judicial, they'll be here in a moment. Sadly, I can't run off as I'm sure you're able to in most situations like these and I'll need to stay long enough to give my statement. It's probably best you head back to your hotel though, being a known bounty hunter and all. Judicial often gets… hostile, when bounty hunters are involved."

Jango tried not to feel disappointed at that. "So… rain check then? I still need to give you that warning. And the offer."

A grin. "That you do, but perhaps I can simply meet you back at your place once I'm done here? Not to invite myself over, of course. It simply seems the easiest course of action currently."

Jango.exe had stopped working. "Yeah, sure. I'll see you in a bit, then?

A charming smile. "Yes, I'll see you in a bit. Now, I'd suggest you leave quickly. I can hear the sirens."

Jango chuckled, giving a wave before he left the diner and rushed back to the hotel to wait.

He was so preoccupied thinking about Ben's fighting skills that he neglected to question how he had ever heard those sirens, when Jango's buy'ce hadn't even picked them up.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan "Ben" Kenobi
It didn't take Obi-Wan long to arrive at Jango's hotel once Judicial let him go -- not that they'd wanted to. He'd spent longer than he'd like arguing with the lead detective over the power Coruscant Judicial actually had to detain him -- which, he would like the record to reflect, was none -- once he'd given his statement. The detective, clearly on his first assignment as the lead and letting the power go to his head, decided to call his Sergeant once the argument reached its thirtieth minute. Tragically for him, Obi-Wan had already met the Sergeant in court, where he'd given them a rather thorough lesson on Universal Republic Law. Clearly the Sergeant had no desire to repeat the incident, so Obi-Wan was swiftly free to go. Truly, he'd need to ask Padme about that bill she was working on with Bail. He believed it pertained to forcing law enforcement to pass basic criminal law exams. It had his vote. It would make his job so much easier if it passed.

But all that aside, he arrived at the hotel later than intended. Being a man of manners, he used the door to enter room 652 this time. Being a menace, he opened it with a master key he'd nicked from the front desk after giving a brief knock as Jango's only warning. Tragically, it seemed Jango had expected some level of antics on Obi-Wan's part this time as the Mandalorian hardly startled when he entered the room. "Do I even want to ask how you got in this time?" Obi-Wan grinned. He did so love a man who caught on quickly.

"Best you not, I think." He sat himself down in a chair near the door with a bit of a flourish and crossed his legs primly. "Now, a warning and an offer, I believe?"

Jango nods, back straightening and amusement vanishing from his face. "Right. I already gave you part of the warning, that the Count hired me to kill you. With the kind of money he's willing to throw around, I doubt he has any intention to stop until you're dead."

Obi-Wan sighed. "Yes, I figured as much. He's rather infamous for being stubborn." He'd heard enough about it from Jinn to last him several Kel-Dorian lifetimes. "Is that all?" A quick shake of the head from Jango.

"Not quite, I've still got my offer." Obi-Wan gestured for him to continue, intrigued. "You're an easy target to find when you're on Coruscant, and I'm sure the Count will find some way to track down wherever you are when you're not here. I would offer you my protection until the threat is dealt with."

Obi-Wan stroked his beard, considering the Mandalorian's words carefully. "It's a good offer, Jango. Though I must admit to feeling rather guilty. You see, you're currently operating with barely a sliver of the whole picture in view."

Jango frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

The lawyer leant forward, legs uncrossed and elbows resting on knees. "Well, for starters, I know more about you than you'd probably like, Mand'alor."

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Jango Fett
Jango froze, breath caught in his chest. "Excuse me?" He watched the other man give him a rather apologetic smile.

"Jango Fett of House Mereel, the son of Mand'alor Jaster Mereel, who vanished under mysterious circumstances shortly after his father's death, the rest of the Haat'ade vanishing right along with him. I've been trying to track you down for a rather long time."

Jango's heart felt like a battering ram beating against his ribs as he whipped out a blaster and leveled it at the other man. Osik, he should never have lowered his guard. Hero to many or no, beautiful or no, Jango knew better than to trust so blindly. "Give me one kriffing reason why I shouldn't kill you."

That damn sly smile was back, Ben looking at Jango like he was already fifteen steps ahead. "Because I have something you want."

Jango clicked the safety off. "Cut the osik and speak plainly, Ben. What are you on about?"

"I'm talking about returning Manadlore to her rightful sovereign: you." Silence fell across the room like a blanket, muffling everything but the sound of the two men in that room. The constant din of Coruscant had faded, leaving only Jango and Ben.

"…what?" What the kriff did he mean, getting Mandalore back? He wanted it, by the Manda did he want it, but every Mando'ade with at least two brain cells to rub together knew that it was a pipe dream. Kryze was a pacifist, sure, but she was the Republic's preferred choice. They couldn't afford a fight with the Republic, not with their numbers and not without risking the death of their culture. So long as their people and their stories lived, that was enough. No matter how much he longed for his home. "What the kriff do you mean, 'returning Mandalore'? The Republic has it under their thumb thanks to the Duchess."

"Exactly as I said. Now, if you'd allow me to make some assumptions based on my own observations, the current situation is as follows: Duchess Kryze rules over Mandalore at the will of the Republic under the guise of neutrality, petitioning the Senate for martial assistance whenever her rule is threatened while not truly doing anything herself in the name of ‘pacifism’. Then there's Kyr'tsad, the rather brutal and murder-happy terrorist group that could care less about civilian casualties and has a fondness for brainwashed child soldiers. They are led by one Pre Vizsla who claims divine right to rule due to his possession of the Darksaber." He makes a gesture towards Jango. "And lastly we have the not so dead Haat'ade led by yourself. The middle ground between the other two ideals who practice the Supercommando Codex written by your father. I must commend you, Jango. In all my years of searching I've never managed to track down where exactly your people are holed up."

Jango doesn't – can't – respond for the longest moment, the silence dragging out between them. How does this man know all that? How does a Coruscanti lawyer know about the civil war politics of Mandalore? More importantly, why would he care? The Republic has always been more than happy to ignore the suffering of his people, all too happy to wait until an 'appropriate' leader could be placed on the throne. Someone they could control.

"How do you know all that?" The bastard had the audacity to smile at him.

"Well, you see, I've always been rather fascinated by Mandalorian history and culture. When the Duchess rose to power, an Archivist friend of mine heard she intended to discard any texts in Keldabe's Archives that didn't fit with her plans for changing Mandalore. Now, my friend was rather appropriately livid at the notion of destroying such a vast collection of knowledge and rare texts." His voice takes on an incredibly fond tone. "She took the next ship to Mandalore and gave the Duchess the lecture of the millennium about the importance of preserving history no matter if it fits with our view of 'how the world ought to be.' In the end, she convinced the Duchess to permit her ownership of the 'disagreeable' texts for her archives and copies of the rest. I helped her catalogue them all when they first arrived and ever since I've been making my way through the collection. I'd like to consider my knowledge of Mandalore, her people, and her history to be rather robust." He grinned. "For an aruetii, of course."

Jango lowered his blaster, looking at Ben in shock. "You mean- Jaster's collection survived?" He'd wept, when he'd heard rumors of Kryze's plan for Keldabe's archives, for Jaster's archives. All that history and culture simply gone by the will of one woman on a power trip. To hear that it was not lost… the joy he feels is indescribable.

Ben's smile faded into something soft as he closed the distance between the two of them, placing a steady hand on Jango's shoulder. "They did. Every last book, scroll, engraving, and datapad are safely stored in my friend's archives."

Jango took a shuddering breath, collecting the maelstrom of emotions currently battling inside him. He could break down about it later. "I and my people owe your friend a debt the likes of which I do not think could be repaid in one lifetime. But still, your knowledge does not explain how you could return Mandalore to my people and I. The Republic backs Kryze, and Kyr'tsad are zealots that won't stop until all others are dead."

Ben squeezed Jango's shoulder. "Well, for the Duchess I've a rather… shall we say devious plan. But the details of it are not something I would be comfortable sharing on Coruscant. There are too many ears, and if certain Senators or – stars forbid – the Duchess herself were to get wind of it, the plan would be ruined."

Jango raised a brow. "Alright, you've got my curiosity. But that still doesn't handle Kyr'tsad."

Ben seemed to ignore the question in its entirety, and what he did next left Jango speechless and dazed. The hand the other man had on Jango's shoulder moved up to cup his cheek in a gentle grip. Before he could process what was happening, Jango was being pulled into a searing kiss.

He stood there like an idiot, brain rebooting from shock. Just when he regained enough of his faculties to begin to kiss back -- because Manda he was weak to such a gorgeous man -- Ben pulled away, a cheeky smile on his lips. "A thank you for the lovely date earlier this evening." Jango felt a piece of flimsi slip into his hand. "Directions. Follow them exactly and you'll find me waiting. We've much more to discuss if you'd like my help, Mand'alor."

Ben stepped back, breaking any contact between them. Jango pushed down the part of him that mourned the loss. "I- I'll meet you there, hear you out." The small chance Ben wasn't crazy was a bigger chance than he'd ever had in getting his home back. "But you still haven't answered my question about Kyr'tsad!"

Jango watched, still a bit dazed, as Ben walked toward… the balcony? The lawyer turned around to grace Jango with another of his smiles. "Come now, Jango. A man needs to keep some things to himself." He winked. "Tell you what, I'll answer all your questions when I see you next. You were, after all, a fun date."

Jango took a step forward, mouth open to argue, but what he saw next made him freeze. Ben held a hand out and, as if by magic, his coat by the door flew into his hand, moving as if dragged by invisible strings. Jango could only watch in shock as Ben donned the coat, blowing him a kiss. "Until next time, dear."

And he launched himself backwards off the balcony.

Jango ran to the railing with a shout, ready to jump after the man to keep him from cracking his skull open when he hit the level below. But he didn’t need to. As he peered over the edge he watched Ben fall through open air almost in slow motion before grabbing hold of a passing speeder like it was nothing. Jango was left breathless as the other man vanished into Coruscant's bright, neon night. Not because of what Ben did, but because of what Jango spied holstered to the inside of his coat as he fell. A lightsaber.

Ka'ra help him, but Jango had a crush on a Jetii.