Archive of Our Own

 Jango didn’t know what to make of the redhead the first time they met, beyond agreeing with Leca that it was rare to see a redhead Stewjoni as labour slaves. They were more valuable than average labour slaves, far more, which probably meant they were weak but good looking. People didn’t last long in places like this, which meant this one probably wouldn't either. 

Jango didn’t have to talk to people in his cell, why did he care to, but Leca liked to talk and annoyingly, Aniver joined him. Well, Jango had been a slave for three years, he could tune out other people. As long as they let him do his remembrances and didn’t ask questions, he didn’t care what they did.  

If Jas’Buir could see you now, a small part of him said.  

He's dead and gone, a louder part said, he was murdered, died on Galidraan with the rest of your people, with Montross’ knife in his back as the Jetiise wiped them out, you’re alone.  

There's no reason to fight, not anymore.  

Maybe Leca would keep his mouth shut this time?  

“So, Stewjoni , what’s one of you doing down here?”  

Maybe not.  

“I put up too much of a fight to be kept as a house slave, hells, they gave up trying to recondition me. Besides, I've already got scars and other ‘undesirable’ traits that lower my price significantly.”  

“You’re joking.”  

“Nah, but it’s not all bad. They paid so much to buy me, but no-one would buy me from them, apparently I was ‘feral’ and had ‘marred skin’ making me ‘broken product’ but hey, it’s vengeance in a small way and I don’t have to sleep with any rich immoral fucks down here.”  

Leca snorted, “You got a laugh at their expense, that’s more than most.”  

Aniver joined in, “How many credits did they lose ?”  

“Somewhere in the range of 30 million.”  

Kriffing  hells, even Jango had to admit that was a lot. Still, Aniver and Leca were laughing like they weren’t in this hellish labour camp.  

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he growled, “This is a labour mine. They'll beat you, shock you, work you to death. Life expectancy here is only a few months for most, years at most.”  

“Oh Jango, lighten up for once.”  

“Just have a laugh. Oh, newbie, don’t mind the Mando, he’s always doom and gloom.”  

“Mando?” the redhead asked, “ Su’cuy . Haat’ad?”  

“ Dar’haat’ad . Ner adate  taab’echaaj’la.”  

“Ne ceta .”  

“Speak Basic, both of you.”  

He rolled his eyes at Aniver and sat up. This redhead was suddenly a lot more interesting.  

How had he known Jango was Haat’ad, ok, he didn’t look like one of Kryze’s New Mandalorians, but the Kyr’tsad huut’un were still around, and there were clans that didn’t fit any of the three clans.  

Could he be... could he be one of Jango’s people, the child of one of his fallen Verde, which clan would he have been? He hadn’t known of any of his people adopting a Stewjoni , but he hardly knew every Haat’ad there had been millions once, and he wasn’t much younger than Jango, he could have been adopted before Jango...  

“Are you?” he asked, “Haat’ad, I mean?”  

“No, I'm sorry but I'm not Mando’ade ...”  

Jango's heart dropped, it had been a foolish hope, perhaps, to think any of his people had survived Kyr’tsad or the Jetiise, their brutal attacks all across the galaxy and on Galidraan. It was probably for the best, the last thing he'd want is even one of his people enslaved like he was.  

“...he said your name was Jango...?”  

“Nassade.”  

“Of course.”  

“Well I’m Leca, seeing as introductions are only fair, and the Zabrak is Aniver.”  

“Obi-Wan, an honour to meet you all.”  

“An honour?” Jango snorted, “We’re slaves.”  

“As am I.”  

“Yeah,” Leca drew out the syllable, “But you clearly used to be free.”  

“I was taken by pirates about three months ago, sold here a few days ago.”  

“ So you spent three months as a house slave before they gave up?”  

“Well, in and out of reconditioning centres.”  

He scanned over the redhead properly. He was thin, likely slightly malnourished, maybe a year or so younger than Jango’s 19. He looked fragile, delicate, and Jango could see why he’d be taken as a house slave, why Leca would have pegged him for one. He didn’t belong in a place like this.  

He sighed and closed his eyes.  

This boy wouldn’t last long.  

He'd die, just like everyone else always did. Just like Jango eventually would.  

But that night, when he said he remembrances, he felt like Obi-Wan was watching him.  

“What do you want?”  

“I’m not weak, and I'm not stupid. When I escape, I could use someone of your skill?”  

Who the hell was this kid? Escape, you didn’t escape places like these, you died.  

He wasn’t going to try something as stupid as escape, he didn’t have the energy for a beating like that. He couldn’t fight, not anymore.  

“I hate to break it to you, kid, but this isn’t some waiting job where you look pretty and kneel by your master’s side. This is exhausting, and like I said, people don’t last long down here.”  

“I’m made of more than you know, Fett. Like I said,” the boy bared his wrists to Jango, “My scars took down my price.”  

Manacle scars on the wrists, whip scars wrapping up the arms, old, healed, but the scars of a slave.   

“You’ve done this before.”  

“I was 12, Deep Sea Mines, Bandomeer.”  

Kriff, those were gone now but he’d heard the stories... weeks and months not months and years. Those mines... they were the worst of hells. It had been a death sentence once, or so he’d been told, if you were sent there you never left.  

“I spent my thirteenth birthday running the revolt that bought me my freedom. And the freedom of all my fellow slaves in that place. When I was 14 on Phindar they tried to mind-wipe me and use me in spice mines, but it failed. I got out of there too. I've been in war, I've been a slave, I may only be 17, but I'm not weak.”  

“Are you sure you're not Mandalorian?”  

“I’m flattered, but no. No, I'm not. I don’t think I'd fit.”  

“I don’t know, you’ve certainly got the language and the attitude. Unless people on Stewjon are like that too.”  

“Ah, I wouldn’t know. I'm Stewjoni by blood, I've never actually been to Stewjon . Not since I was a babe. People on Stewjon have a... weird... attitude towards people with the Force,” he tapped the collar on his neck, “actually that was the first time I was a slave. I was 3. Force-sensitive, young, red-headed Stewjoni, that’s about the most valuable thing on the market. I was freed not long after that though, and adopted from there.”  

He had Manda? Kriff , and the collar, the slight differences to his own, those were Force blockers. He wasn't just in cuffs, he was in Force blockers, because he had the Manda. Had he said his aliit had sold him as an ik’aad. How could Buire sell their ade, put them into this hell willingly?  

The Manda, kriffing hells, he had to get stuck with someone with that curse.  

He didn’t hate people with the Manda’s gift, after all there were plenty of Mando’ade with it, or had been, the Jetiise didn’t corner the market on being able to use the Manda. Still, he knew how debilitating being cut off from it could be for them, and that wouldn’t help meet their quotas.  

No matter what past experience he claimed to have.  

.  

.  

.  

Days passed before Obi-Wan was ready to start creating his plan, not just to escape, no, but to free every slave in this mine.  

Jango had re-evaluated Obi-Wan from the second he’s shown Jango the scars, because weak looking or not he’d apparently spent as much time as a labour slave as Jango, and judging by some of the other scars he had, as much time as Jango as a warrior.  

Those scars, the fire in his eyes, his Mando’a , his hidden strength .  

Mandokarla .  

All of it.  

The fire in his eyes, kriff, that was what kept catching Jango off guard. He just wasn’t expecting it, even when he tried to brace himself, and he wasn’t ready for the pain it brought. Jango’s own eyes matched the eyes of every other slave in that prison, defeated, dead, but Obi-Wan, his eyes were what Jango’s had been when he looked in the mirror as Jaster’s son. The eyes he’d seen in every one of his verde, his aliit .  

They were gone. They were all gone. Even Jango’s own fire had been taken.  

But Obi-Wan had it.  

It was making him a problem, because it was breath-takingly beautiful to see it again, without being in the face of someone even more beautiful.  

And it was a problem, because he was almost certain Obi-Wan was Jetiise.  

He meditated in the evenings, he had the Manda, he had what looked like a braid woven back into his shoulder length hair. At least, when he had his hair down, he had longer strands that hung down behind his ear.  

Jango didn’t have the guts to ask.  

Didn't have the guts because if it was true, if this fun, bright, mandokarla man that felt so much like home was a Jetii , he didn’t know what he’d do. How he could live with the heartbreak of that, because he wanted this feeling of home, Ka’ra damn it, he wanted the good feeling it brought to see again, and the fire in his own soul he hadn’t felt in so long.  

How could a Jetii , one of the people who’d slaughtered his own, all of them, who’d sold him into slavery, how could he have  Mandokarla ?   

Why did he have Jango’s people’s fire?  

He'd have wondered if Jetiise could steal things like that, but the boy was two years younger than him. He'd have been 14 when Galidraan happened, and Jango doubted he’d been there. No, he heard the boy plan and talk, the spirit was his own.  

When the bitter cold of winter had struck a few days after he’d arrived, and they’d curled up together... how could he curl up with one of his people’s murderers?  

But the fire in his eyes warmed Jango in a way nothing else could.  

What Jetii would know Mando’a anyway?  

“Obi-Wan?”  

“Yeah?”  

“You speak Mando’a . You never said where you learnt it?"  

“I spent almost a year in the Mandalore system, ended about eight maybe nine months ago. My Buir and I got caught up in the clan wars going on there. That's where I learnt.”  

“Mandalore... how is it, my people, my home. Who won the war?”  

This was going to hurt, but... but for the first time in almost three years, he wanted these answers.  

“It’s... probably not what you’d want. Satine Kryze sits on the throne, Death Watch has gone back into hiding, a few attacks every now and again, but the war’s over, the New Mandalorians won, anyone who doesn’t follow their policies are being cast out to Concord Dawn or out of the system entirely.”  

“That dar’manda claims to be Mand’alor?”  

“No, Dutchess is the title she uses, or Jord’alor, Voice Leader. She claims it’s to move past the old traditions, but I think it’s because she knows she can’t claim to be Mand’alor. That title belongs to someone else.”  

He'd been thinking so much about who Obi-Wan was, he hadn’t considered that Obi-Wan might know who he was. That he’d ignored the Nassade and known he was Fett, maybe he should have, but this hadn’t come to mind. He could pass as Mando’ade, Jango knew. If he’d claimed he was one, Jango couldn’t have known otherwise.  

He didn’t know what to think about Obi-Wan that night, or many nights after.  

By the time three weeks had passed, they had something of a basic plan in place, and were spending their time monitoring guard patrols and working out a map of their prison.  

Jango shared Obi-Wan's body heat every night, for it was too cold to sleep alone and without sleep, they’d die, and they knew it.  

But sometimes sleep didn’t come, and sometimes they sat against the wall, sides pressed together, and talked.  

“What will you do when you’re free, Mand’alor, go back to Mandalore?”  

“Your people destroyed mine.”  

“It should never have happened.”  

“It was a slaughter. I have no people left. I'm not the Mand’alor , I never was, you need not refer to me as such.”  

“ Alor’ad then.”  

“No, I'm no-one now, nassade, there is nothing left.”  

“I don’t know how true that is. But I know the Jedi should not have done what they did on Galidraan. We fall so easily under the Senate’s command, we have to go where they go, and trust that their information is correct. They didn’t know the difference between Death Watch and Haat’ad , and I fear they didn’t care. The Jedi didn’t have the time or patience to check, not with reports of civilians, children, being slaughtered. It was wrong, but it happened.”   

“The Jetiise gave me to the Governor. He sold me to slavery. How can they claim to be against it when they are the ones that put me here?”  

“We did not know the Governor had tricked us until it was far too late. I cannot believe they would have knowingly let you be taken into slavery; we work so hard against it.”  

“That does not change that I'm here, and my people are marching far ahead.”  

“We owe your people a debt larger than we can ever repay, but to start, I'm going to get you out of here, or die trying.”  

Jango didn’t doubt his words for a second, or his conviction.   

The weirdest realisation was that he wasn’t angry. He wasn’t angry at this Jedi. He didn’t hate this Jedi.   

This one Jedi, who genuinely wanted to help him, for reasons he couldn’t work out.  

This one Jetii , with Mandokarla fire who had warmed his soul in a way he hadn’t believed still possible.  

“Hey, Obi,” Leca whispered , scooting over to them, “did you just say you were a J-E-D-I?”  

“I am.”  

“So. .. tough luck that you ended here, then?”  

“No, not exactly. I'll admit, this wasn’t exactly the slave camp I'd meant to end up in, but my mandate was to free slaves and capture or kill slavers. Like I said, the Senate has a lot of control over us, but if we send in a few people on one mission, and they happened to be separated and end up in several places that need help, well, that’s just the will of the Force.”  

Well, he could understand being on a mission like this, but his old scars, did the Jetiise allow their ade to do this, because if they did, his opinion would magically drop lower.  

“You’re joking.” he couldn’t help but exclaim, “They let you do this when you were 12? Infiltrate a slave group as a slave!”  

“What, no, not a chance. That was my evil brother, and when I was 14 that was a mission gone wrong, no this is the first time I've been old enough to do one of these missions willingly. I wasn’t actually supposed to be separated from the others completely, but someone saw the hair and it all derailed a little.”  

“So you really have a plan to get us out of here.”  

“I’m working on one.”  

.  

.  

.  

Their plan went off almost flawlessly, or so they would learn a few months later.  

The day before their planned escape, a month and a half after Obi-Wan's arrival, and the two of them were hauled away from the work line .  

Hauled before the Master of these mines.  

“The feral Stewjoni and the Mando, congratulations , you’ve been sold. No more mine work.”  

He felt Obi-Wan tense where their arms brushed.   

Part of Jango broke at the announcement. He'd been so close to freedom, he’d been allowing himself to grow close to some of these people, to Obi-Wan, but now, it was yanked out from under him.  

They were being sold on, and likely alone, to different people.  

He couldn’t help but wonder where they’d be sent, more accurately, where Obi-Wan would be sent. Jetii or not, Jango was willing to admit he’d been harbouring a growing crush on the man, he’d been letting himself get attached to him.  

At blaster point, they were guided to the ship, a single ship, and into a cage in it’s cargo hold.  

What did it say about them that as humiliating as it should have been, they’d both done this before, and both knew there was nothing they could do?  

“Where do you think we’re going?” he’d asked, once the guard had fallen asleep.  

“Hopefully, not a brothel .”  

“Funny.”  

“I wasn’t joking. People will pay a hell of a lot to bed either of us. If you haven't been exposed to that, you’re lucky.”  

“You have?”  

“Technically, no. But the threats have been made. Thing about Stewjoni  is people like the skin unmarred. I have too many scars, I've been informed it turns people off. And then, of course, I'll fight, even if it risks my death. It's bad business if a slave kills a client, so they don’t even put me out there.”  

“No matter where we go. I want to live, I want to try to escape, I'll fight.”  

“I’ll fight with you, if I can. If not, Oya.”  

“Oya.”  

The trip was long, but it ended with them being removed from the cage together, being led out into the main cargo bay together, their hands being cuffed together.  

Wherever they were going, they were going there together.  

And that was ok with him.  

The light outside the ship was temporarily blinding, before they were being dragged out into a new building.  

“An arena.” Obi-Wan muttered.  

They were led to a grand room, thrown to their knees together.  

“A Mandalorian warrior and a Stewjoni Jedi, this will be interesting. Have them both stripped for their tunics and whipped 10 times each, then get them ready for their first fight tomorrow. You should both know, if one of you dies, so does the other, so perhaps you should make peace with your people’s differences, if you want to live that is. Or don’t, watching you argue as you fight to survive might be more entertaining. Just try not to die, I had to pay a lot for you, Stewjoni , given that you’re damaged goods anyway.”  

Jango kept himself from reacting in any way, as had Obi-Wan.   

Even after they were hauled away.  

.  

.  

.  

They were not given their tunics back, after their whipping. And even though the electro whips were supposed to leave bruises and hurt more through their charges rather than do actual  damage, the strength of the beatings had easily broken skin in several places.  

Obi-Wan had more scars than he’d realised, blasters, knives, lightsabre (if he had to guess) and whips. Many many whips.  

His body bore a life of hardship, the only real signs that the thin and weak looking man was stronger than he appeared.  

Far stronger.  

He knew his own body bore the same, that they probably matched, but he’d managed to retain a lot of his muscle mass. Obi-Wan had never had any muscle mass, if he’d had to guess.  

They were going to have more before they were free, he was sure of it.  

Obi-Wan would be doubted in the arena, small and frail-looking.  

But kriff if Obi-Wan wasn’t attractive up close, and in personality.  

Jango was falling very much in love.  

What would his Buir say to that?  

To all of this...  

He’d have hated how defeated Jango had become, how little fight he’d had left. He might not have blamed Jango, after all, Jango had been dragged off his Buir’s body, through the corpses of his vod and verde , stripped of his armour and sold into slavery. But he would have hated it.  

Jas'Buir would probably have been amused that it was a Jetii that gave him his spark back, said something of irony and fate, made jokes about the way the Universe worked. He probably would have liked Obi-Wan too.  

He wondered where Obi-Wan's family where, what they’d think of this. The Jetiise hated the Mando’ade, Galidraan had proved that, so surely they’d never approve of their friendship, let alone anything more.  

They'd never let him love Obi-Wan and they’d never let Obi- Wan love him.  

But they weren’t here, so when he held Obi-Wan at night to keep the chill out, and more dangerous, predatory slaves away from him, he let himself sleep in the vision of a future he could never have.  

That wasn’t to say Obi-Wan couldn’t defend himself, he did amazingly in the area, and the one time someone had gotten too touchy, he’d dealt with it long before Jango had managed to push through to intervene.  

It was less of a shock than he would have thought to realise he liked fighting beside Obi-Wan.  

They worked well together.  

The best thing about being in the arenas was that they travelled , and that... that lead them to Crahbatri .  

Crahbatri was a slave city, and unknown to their master before they arrived, a slave city in revolt.  

In sudden panic, and overwhelmed by the chaos, their master had run, and dropped the remote to their collars as he went.  

They were free.  

Not by planning or by their own efforts, but by luck alone, they were free.  

Hells, he’d even thank the Force for this.  

Of course, there was still a fight going on, and if they wanted to stay free, they’d need to make sure of it, but side by side, with the fire of the Manda in their souls, their foes hadn’t stood a chance.  

The first thing he’d done once the fighting was over was get their collars off.  

For a few seconds, when Obi-Wan's had been removed, the Force had swelled around him. Jango was Force sensitive as a brick, but even he’d felt the pull of the wind dragging towards and around Obi-Wan, ruffling their hair and clothes and for a few seconds, Obi-Wan had looked like an angel, eyes shut, back straight, face angled towards the sun.  

And then it was over, and he’d almost fallen forwards, before beginning to laugh, and Jango had joined him, hanging off of each other. Laughing because they were free, because they were a Mandalorian and a Jetii and they should have been enemies, because what else was there to do but...  

Kiss.  

Their lips met, for the first time, and ohhhhh Jango was in love.  

They both pulled back, resting their foreheads in Keldabe kiss, and Obi-Wan huffed a laugh.  

“You know, this might be the best birthday yet.”  

Jango kissed him again.  

.  

.  

.  

Their bed was not just better than a cold stone floor, but had been in part of one of the richer complexes, a bed with some of the finest blankets and pillows and mattresses, all of it. The rich shabuir’e of this place could afford new bedding every time they wanted it. And, according to Obi-Wan, that it was new meant it was unstained by darkness.  

No-one had slept in it before.  

They changed that, and they certainly claimed the bed for their own.  

Probably left a few stains too.  

The Jango that had been Alor’ad would never have said perfection was to lie in on a sunny morning, watching the way the sun lit the halo of hair around his cyar’ika’s head with nothing to do and nowhere to go.  

The Jango that had been a slave the first few years would never had believed it a possibility.  

Yet here he was.  

And it was perfection.  

But it could not last.  

Obi-Wan had to leave, had to leave him, had to leave Crahbatri.  

He hadn’t said it, hadn’t said anything, appeared perfectly content with helping Crahbati  setting up its own government, and everything entailed in that and becoming official in the eyes of the Republic or at least in intergalactic trade.  

But he knew Obi-Wan had aliit to return to.  

Aliit, Buir, vode, who would all be worried sick for him.  

He'd been a slave for nine months, and here, free, for another three. He'd been missing from them for almost a year.  

He had to go home to them, and Jango wasn’t going to stop him.  

He'd lost his own aliit, he wasn’t going to take that from Obi-Wan. He couldn’t. He loved the man too much.  

“You’re thinking too loudly.” a sleepy voice murmured.  

“Not my fault you’re a telepath.”  

“ M’not a telepath, but you are projecting. What's wrong?”  

“When are you going to call the Jetiise , go back to them?”  

“I already called them, I had to, when Crahbati  put itself forwards for negotiations , a Jedi would be sent, and, I guess, just to let them know I'm alive. They're sending people in the next few weeks.”  

“So I still have a few weeks with you before I lose you?”  

“Who says you have to lose me?”  

“You have to go back to the Jetiise .”  

“I thought you hated the Jetiise?”  

“I did. And I still have my issues, my fears, but you’ve told me what happened from your people's point of view, and I can’t blame a blaster for the person who fired it. There was prejudice there, and it shouldn’t have happened, but the Senate manipulated you too. Besides, dislike them or hate them, they’re your aliit.”  

“They are, but you don’t have to lose me if I go back to them. Sure, I have a few years to knighting, but once I'm there, Jango I can take whatever missions I want, really, and Jedi are allowed relationships.”  

“But, I thought...”  

“There’s a difference between attachment and relationships, cyare. I can love you, as long as I put my duty first. As long as I can chose to leave your side to help others, as long as I can deal with your death without it breaking me, I can love you. And I do. With all my heart.”  

“Truely.”  

“ Haat , ijaa, haa’it.”  

“Marry me.”  

“Can we do it after breakfast?”  

Jango almost choked on a laugh as he rolled his ven’riduur under him, lavishing him in kisses, adoring the way his muscles were coming back, the way meat was filling over the bones that had begun protruding too much, the healthy pallor of his skin.  

“It’s only a few words.”  

“Don’t we technically need an audience for it to be official?”  

“Oh, exhibitionist, I didn’t know.”  

He trailed a stripe of small kisses up Obi-Wan's neck, causing him to wiggle and laugh under Jango, before gasping at the bite on the junction of his shoulder and neck.  

“ Oh shut up, I know you’re far too possessive to share.”  

“I am indeed. And technically yes, we’d need to say the oath with an audience at some point, but I want to do it now. I don’t want to wait any longer for you to be mine than I have to.”  

Obi-Wan's legs wrapped around his torso and they flipped, leaving Jango under him instead, arms either side of Jango’s head, holding him up.  

“Jango, ner Alor’ad, ner cyare. Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde.” 

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde. Ner mesh’la Obi, ner riduur.” 

Jango happily repeated the words back to him with equal reverence, before pulling Obi, his riduur , down on top of him by knocking out his arm, then held him tight, wrapping his legs around Obi-Wans waist to secure the hold, keeping them close.  

His riduur pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, nuzzling close.  

“I still want that breakfast.”  

“You whispered that in my ear, that?”  

“Do you want me now, and hungry, or later and with all the time in the world.”  

Maybe food did sound like a good idea...