Work Text:
Violence followed like a shadow in his line of work. Over the years, life had hardened him into a bludgeoning stone. He was used to blood and death; there was nothing soft about him. The man who was once almost his father deserved a legacy. This was the only way to give it to him. There was nothing sentimental about it.
Sentimental bounty hunters do not tend to survive.
The galaxy was huge and strange, and Jango had been to all the worst places. Kamino was one of the few places that felt truly alien. Here, they had a way of stripping away everything that made a man his own person. All they left behind was the math and a chemical sequence.
After almost a year of living in an unnervingly sterile compound, they summoned him down to the growth tube chamber. His personal clone was ready for life. The whole planet might have been cold and artificial, but this was something else entirely. With a controlled expression, he watched the clone float in a vat of blue fluid. A Kaminoan doctor pressed a button. A hose sucked out the liquid. The doctor lifted the child and patted him dry with a towel.
He was absolutely furious at the inconvenience of being born. Screaming, the child squeezed his eyes shut and twisted his face. With awkward, clumsy movements, he waved his hands over his head in complaint.
“Your payment,” The Kaminoan said, handing him over. Jango took the child. Something lying dormant and cold in his soul started to melt.
“You’ve got a pair of lungs on you,” he murmured, before deciding on a name. “Boba.”
Jaster would be proud if he were still alive. Really, he was holding nothing less than a born fighter. The entire back of his head fit perfectly in the palm of his hand.
“Does this fulfill your requirements?” The Kaminoan asked. “If not, there are other possibilities to discuss.”
“He’ll do fine,” Jango managed to choke out. He had no idea what other possibilities meant, and he could not make himself care enough to ask. Once, he thought he would never have a child in this lifetime, but there was a baby in the world now that was his. He could be a father to him, and in turn, he could have a son. Unable to tear his eyes away, he walked back to the apartment in a daze.
The baby stilled in his arms, mouth hanging open as he stared up in wonder. Jango waved at him. Boba reached up and wrapped his whole hand around one finger. Years from now, he would have a strong grip, be a strong man. He was sure of it.
It seemed impossible to think that something like this came from him. He was so small. Had he ever been that small? He must have been. Someday, Jango would teach him how to take care of himself, when his father was not around, but not yet. For now, he would stay right there with him and keep him safe.
Gripping the blaster in his hands, Boba leaned back, squinting at the target. Jango shook his head.
“You’re going to want to lean forward. No, not that much. Like this,” he said, guiding him.
“It doesn’t feel right.”
Pointing at the other end of the range, Jango explained, “That’s because you’re not used to it. Eyes on your target. Hold it firm, it’ll kick. And fire!”
Determined, Boba squeezed the trigger. Shocked by the recoil, he nearly tripped, staggering backwards. The blaster bolt lodged in the ceiling. Wide eyed, he blinked, staring at the smoldering hole.
“Try not to do that again.”
“Sorry,” Boba turned to meet his eyes. “How do I, uh. Not?”
“Plant your feet and keep your balance. When it tries to throw you off, stand your ground. Fight back and win,” Jango explained. “Show me your stance.”
Leaning forward at the waist, he stood with his feet apart, one just half a step in front of the other. Jango gave him a shove from the back, catching him off guard. The boy steadied himself right away. Nostrils flaring in anger, his head whipped around to stare at his father.
“Hey! What was that for?”
“Relax, it was just a test. Which you passed.” At that, Boba rolled his eyes. “You’re not half bad. Nice and steady. You’re a quick learner. Let’s see you take another shot at it, then.”
Boba gave a quick nod and pulled the trigger. This time, he was able to keep himself standing straight, but not his aim. The bolt landed nowhere near the target.
“At least I hit the right wall this time,” Boba said, grimacing.
“Hey, progress is progress. Nobody’s a sharpshooter the first time they pick up a blaster.”
“It’s not the first time I picked up a blaster.”
Well, it was supposed to be. He sighed. “How about I pretend I didn’t hear that?”
Boba shrugged. Continuing, Jango said, “Make sure your grip is tight. And follow through.”
Another blaster shot rang out. The bolt ripped through the stretched canvas of the target, leaving a smoking hole in its wake.
“Look at that! Did you see that?” Boba was practically bouncing off the walls.
“Good shot, son!” He reached over to tousle his hair. Someday, Boba would be an expert marksman. For now, though, he was forgetting he was holding a weapon. It would be kind of funny, but the last thing he needed today was to get shot by his own son. Snatching the blaster out of his hands, Jango holstered it. “What’d I say about pointing this at people?”
“Oh. Oh, right. Only do it when you have a reason.” He grimaced, sheepishly. “Sorry. Won’t happen again.”
“Go away. That’s what you always do.” Boba hugged his knees to his chest, burying his face in the crook of his arm. Apparently, he’d been sitting in the dark like this, waiting for Jango to come home. Originally, he had planned to return the night before, but the job had been more difficult than it seemed.
“I probably deserve that,” he conceded. There was a long, extended pause where neither one of them spoke. Evidently, Boba had nothing to say to him. Jango, for his part, had no idea what he was supposed to say. The silence dragged on, awkward and tight. “Look, I’m sorry.”
“Sure.” He lifted his head just enough to peak out and glare at his father. “You’re not sorry. You don’t even care about me!”
“I’m here now, aren’t I? Of course I care about you!”
“Only cause I am you.” Somehow, he tensed even further, curling into himself. Guilt was not an emotion Jango was used to, but it crept up on him at the sight of it.
“Boba!”
“What? It’s true.” Though he tried to be tough, the truth came out in his voice.
“Believe me. That’s not it at all,” Jango said. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he took a deep breath. “Something happen while I was out?”
“Yeah. You missed everything! And then you were late. Again!”
“I know, I know. And I am sorry, but that’s not what I meant.” Sighing, he sat down cross-legged on the floor next to him. “What happened? Something’s got into you.”
Boba huffed. “Fine. I don’t know. I was just talking- to a Kaminoan- and then I started thinking. I don’t know.”
Well, that explained a lot. “Don’t listen to them. They don’t know anything about anything, alright? I asked for you, I wanted you. You’re not me. You are my son. Don’t you ever forget it.”
Tentatively, he put a hand on Boba’s back. Boba tackled him, winding his arms around Jango’s shoulders. Jango pulled him into a fierce hug.
“How about I take you with me next time, huh?” He offered, pulling to look his son in the eyes. Boba’s jaw dropped, face splitting into a smile.
“Yes! Really? I can come?”
“You’re getting old enough. It’s about time you learn something valuable.”
The Universe was a harsh place. There were a lot of things he never wanted his son to go through. Slavery was high on that list. Jango Fett was a man who knew what it meant to be a slave. It meant the feeling of shackles chafing his wrists, it meant sleeping in filth, it meant living the knowledge that his life was in the hands of another man.
Boba was too small to really know about any of that. Hopefully, he never would know it, not the way he had. He sat perched on Jango’s lap, hands neatly folded. Pretty soon, he would need another haircut. The curls were starting to dip into his eyes. Jango reached over, brushing it off his forehead.
He needed him to understand. “Whatever happens,” Jango said, “You belong to no one but yourself.”
“What’s that mean?” Pouting, Boba furrowed his brow, staring down at the white tile floor.
Maybe Jango would never be good at this. “It means when you go home at the end of the day, you’re a free man. Nobody can take that away from you.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Boba grinned, full of mischief. “I’d like to see them try.”
“That’s my boy, alright.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Bet you’d show him who’s in charge.”
“Yeah! I’d be all, pow! Pow! Pow!” Shaping his hands into blasters, the boy pretended to shoot at imaginary targets on the white walls of the apartment. “And I’d win, and it’d be super cool.”
“Got that right.” Jango laughed. “You think they’d ever try to mess with you again?”
He thought for a moment. “Maybe if they’re really stupid.”
“Good answer. But you’d be surprised how stupid some people can be.”
“They’d have to be, Daddy,” Boba said, like it was the most obvious thing in the universe, “I’m gonna be a really strong bounty hunter. Like you.”
He looked up at him with big, bright eyes. Jango felt so much pride it overflowed, and a little something else, which he pushed to the side, with everything else that it was better not to dwell on. As dangerous as bounty hunting could be, it kept a man rich- and in charge of his own person. There was little else to ask for in a life. Jango pulled his young son close, nestling him against his side. “It’s not an easy life. But I can tell you right now that it will always be your own.”