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It’s not every day Lando gets the chance to secure a long-term contract, so naturally the Inner Rim business heir looking to hire a discreet smuggler for his extracurricular dealings leaves out the most important part of his invitation.
Lando’s already at the meeting place, an only-slightly disreputable tourist-trap of a cantina in Tyrena—one of the ones with a private back room that he can’t get into, apparently, without a partner. Business or pleasure, the patron doesn’t seem to care, and if Lando had known he would have brought anyone instead of coming alone. The only downside of meeting in a slightly disreputable Corellian cantina is anyone he charms into accompanying him for the night likely won’t be thrilled to do so just to help him secure a literal back-room deal.
Looking around the cantina, though, there is someone, sprawled out alone at the bar, all the other patrons leaving him a wide berth, and he’s more likely to put a blaster to Lando’s stomach than anything but Lando’s running out of options, and he’s always been a gambling man.
He sidles up to the bar, close to where Boba Fett’s posted up without even a drink to back up the illusion that he’s not here on business, and Lando grins to himself. The bartender, a lovely Twi’lek who nonetheless looks like they’d have no trouble at all throwing out a rowdy patron, slants him a warning glance, and Lando rests one elbow on the bar, giving them a small nod.
“Looking a little lonely there, bounty hunter,” he says, casual, comfortable, turning his body towards Fett. “Buy you a drink?”
Fett tilts his helmet at him, inscrutable, but it’s not a no, so Lando keeps going.
“Or you can sit there and watch me drink mine,” he offers, and he can’t hide his pleased smirk when the bartender slides him a drink just as he finishes speaking.
Fett moves his helmet again, this time in a motion that Lando can easily read as an eye-roll, but it’s still not a no.
“What do you want,” Fett says.
Lando grins into his drink, taking his time to enjoy the bright tang of citrus on his tongue, the way he can’t even taste whatever alcohol is in the cocktail. “I have a proposition,” he says. “Mutually beneficial, of course.”
“Of course,” Fett mutters, barely loud enough for his vocoder to pick up, and he sounds dubious.
“You’re here looking for someone,” Lando starts.
“Clever,” Fett remarks sarcastically, and he doesn’t even know the half of it. Lando’s fascination with rich bastards getting their comeuppance isn’t just limited to fiction; he makes a point of keeping up with their drama in real life, and he knows exactly who Fett’s here to find.
“Maybe,” Lando allows. “I do know that you’re not going to find the Merrick sector heir hanging around here, though.”
Fett doesn’t react, but something in his posture sharpens, his lazy sprawl becoming more purposeful. “Aren’t I?” he drawls, but Lando’s seen enough to know he’s right. He takes another sip of his drink; maybe luck and the stars are on his side tonight, after all.
Lando hums noncommittally. “Lucky for you,” he says, “I happen to know most of his usual haunts.” Everything happens for a reason, Landonis, is what his mother used to say, and if those miserable weeks he spent in Coronet City’s underbelly years ago are going to pay off here, now, like this…
“Do you,” Fett says, and Lando might even believe his air of disinterest if he hadn’t been watching Fett get increasingly bored over the course of the night. Sure enough, he leans in closer to Lando’s space, menacing, and continues, “And what might the cost of that information be, hm?”
Lando bites his lip, pleased. “I need a partner to get into the back room,” he says, seeing no point in keeping coy when he’s already got Fett on the hook.
Fett stills, just for a moment, before moving back the slightest bit to give Lando what he’s hoping is a considering look. “I don’t work with other people,” Fett tells him, derisive.
“Business or pleasure,” Lando quotes wryly, leaving off the ugly smirk the bouncer had given him when he’d denied Lando entry. He gives Fett a once-over, quick and practical, and his armor isn’t pristine, precisely, but he’ll have no trouble cutting a striking figure next to Lando. “All you have to do is stand around on my arm looking pretty.”
Fett looks around the crowded cantina pointedly. “Couldn’t find anyone else?”
“Worried you won’t be convincing?” Lando shoots back, and yeah, Fett isn’t exactly his first choice, but all other things aside Lando at least knows he’s good for his word. If he agrees to a deal with Lando, he’ll follow through and do it well. Won’t stop him from potentially turning on Lando later down the line, but Lando likes to think he’s smart enough to stay off the radar of the galaxy’s most prolific bounty hunter.
Fett reaches out to snag a gloved hand in the open collar of Lando’s shirt, pulling him forward into the space between his spread legs. He telegraphs the move enough that Lando has plenty of opportunity to back away, keeps his grip loose, but he leans forward so that his vocoder buzzes right in Lando’s ear as he speaks.
“You need a fake boyfriend to get you a job, sweetheart, I won’t disappoint,” Fett says, his voice low and raspy, and he sounds amused but amused is good. Lando will take amused over offended or murderous any day.
“Good,” Lando tells him, trailing his free hand up Fett’s chestplate. It’s not the sultry gesture it might have been without the armor in the way, but he gets his point across regardless. “Shall we?” he asks, nodding his head towards the back room, and Fett gestures towards the bartender, catching their attention with a quick handsign, before letting go.
Lando steps back, draining the rest of his drink and setting it down just as the bartender makes their way over.
“Add it to my tab,” Fett says, and Lando arches an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. “We’re headed back,” he adds, and the bartender gives him a steady look.
“You start something, you better end it,” they tell him, and Fett makes another series of quick gestures with his hand, startling a laugh out of them. The bartender takes Lando’s glass without any further comments, though, and Fett stands, turning to Lando.
“Well?” he asks expectantly.
Lando pushes himself away from the bar, starting to head towards the back, but Fett’s hand at his shoulder stops him in his tracks.
Fett steps up to him, guiding him to turn back around, and he lets his hand follow the motion, moving his fingers down Lando’s collarbone until he can hook them in the clasp of Lando’s half-cape and tug, once. “Your little proposition include a name?”
Right . Lando quirks a quick smile, a little surprised and a little pleased to find that he and Fett are just about the same height. “Lando,” he offers, and Fett nods, letting his fingers trail down Lando’s chest as he pulls away again.
“Well, then,” he says, “Lando. Lead the way.”
Lando does, rolling his eyes where Fett can’t see. He could have guessed that Fett would be an asshole, but that he’s not being malicious about it, is in fact— not playful, exactly, but playing along, is a welcome surprise.
“Back again,” the bouncer comments when Lando steps up to him, and Lando ignores his amusement, his mean little smirk, to pull out his invitation chip with a flourish.
“Indeed I am,” Lando says, offering the chip up to the man. He takes it, looking Lando over dubiously.
“And this?” the bouncer asks, gesturing to Fett.
“My partner,” Lando says smoothly.
The bouncer raises an eyebrow. “Business?”
“We don’t work together,” Fett tells him, completely flat, though the combination of the armor and his vocoder lend his words a menacing air regardless.
The bouncer’s other brow rises as he looks between them, and Lando gives him a winning smile as he plucks the invitation chip from his hand. “We’ll just head on in, then,” he says, extending an elbow to Fett.
Fett takes it, twining their arms together lightly, and Lando lets his smile widen into a smug grin as he leads them inside.
The room is bustling with people, more of a party than a place to discuss business, though Lando supposes the client is trying to be discreet. A quick glance across the room reveals a number of faces Lando vaguely recognizes, but he ignores their subtle stares, searching instead for the patron.
“You know who you’re looking for?” Fett asks, quiet enough that only Lando can hear him.
“Of course,” Lando mutters back, spotting the man through a break in the crowd. He greets Lando with a smile and a slight wave, only barely faltering when he sees Fett at his side, and Lando raises a hand back in greeting as he moves to meet him.
“Mister Calrissian!” the client greets, and Lando shakes his hand when it’s offered.
“Mister Er’galo,” he says, “a pleasure to see you!”
“Indeed, indeed!” Er’galo says, gracefully ignoring Fett’s armored presence at Lando’s side. “You’re here about the contract?”
“I thought I’d stop by, after you sent the invitation,” Lando agrees, and nothing in his voice gives away just how much of a stars-damned inconvenience this whole thing has been.
“Wonderful!” Er’galo tells him, flagging down a service droid. “Why don’t we find a seat, discuss things further?”
“Sounds great,” Lando says, flashing him a charming smile. He exchanges a look with Fett once Er’galo’s turned away to lead them towards one of the tables tucked away at the back of the room, and Fett just tilts his helmet at him as they follow.
“So!” Er’galo starts once they’ve all settled in. “Can I interest you gentlemen in a drink?”
“No, thank you,” Lando says, not wanting to leave Fett the odd man out. Er’galo turns expectantly to Fett, but he doesn’t respond, impassive beneath the armor, and after a beat Er’galo turns back to Lando smoothly.
“Right to business, then,” he says, nodding as he traces his fingers around the rim of his own glass. “Efficient. I like it!” Er’galo pauses to take a sip of his drink.
“Now,” he continues, and Lando graces him with a polite smile, “you understand the business I’m in.” Lando nods. “Then you’ll understand why I’ve decided the most efficient way to do that business is to have one transporter bring goods in, and another one to take them out.”
“Of course,” Lando agrees, and he supposes it makes sense: not having to wait the length of a round trip means Er’galo can trade illicit goods on a much tighter schedule, and the numbers must be favorable enough that he’s willing to risk adding another party to the mix. It makes sense, but Lando is can already feel with a sinking certainty that he’s not walking out of here tonight with this contract
“Of course,” Er’galo echoes. “Yes, of course, this also means that whoever I do hire needs to coordinate with the other party—too many shipments all at once rather defeats the purpose of trying to be discreet, no?” He cuts a glance at Fett as he says the words, but Fett’s helmet is tilted away, looking out into the crowd pointedly.
“Do you have an idea of who this other party might be?” Lando asks, leaning forward.
“Oh, they’re floating around here somewhere,” Er’galo says, waving a hand dismissively. “Two person team. Which reminds me,” he adds, leaning forward himself, “do you work alone, Calrissian?”
“Yes,” Lando confirms, and when Er’galo raises an eyebrow, glancing back at Fett again, he echoes Fett’s words from earlier. “We don’t work together.”
Er’galo’s face as he evidently considers what they do do together is almost enough to make Lando laugh.
“I see,” Er’galo says politely, taking another sip of his drink. “I’ll tell you what,” he continues, “I have other contacts here tonight, and we both need time to consider, I’m sure.”
“Certainly,” Lando agrees, and Er’galo lifts his glass to him.
“Excellent!” he says, getting up from his seat. “If I run into the other crew, I’ll send them your way.”
“That would be lovely,” Lando says, rising to shake Er’galo’s hand again. He walks away from the table with a flourish, and Lando sits back down again, sighing to himself.
“He probably would have been more receptive to you if you hadn’t brought me along,” Fett comments next to him.
“Probably,” Lando agrees, sitting back in his seat. He brings his arm up to rest along the back of the booth behind Fett, only realizing after he’s done so that it’s Fett he’s sitting next to, but by then it’s too late to pull back.
“What’s he smuggling?” Fett asks casually, and Lando snorts inelegantly.
“Whatever goods he’s transporting are strictly confidential,” he tells Fett loftily, before laughing, once, rueful. “And it doesn’t matter anyway, because I’m not taking the contract even if he offers it to me.”
Fett scoffs under his helmet. “All this effort just to turn him down?”
He has a point; Lando has put a lot of effort into securing this meeting, but the more he considers it—Er’galo’s shadiness, the proximity to the Core, the ever-changing terms—the less he likes everything about it. At least the criminals he deals with in the Outer Rim are straightforward about when they’re screwing him over.
“I’m not convinced the pay or the potential job security are worth it,” Lando confesses, feeling slightly foolish even as he does, sitting here talking to Boba Fett about job security.
Fett just tilts his helmet at him, silent for a moment. “Can’t fault you for that,” he says finally, and Lando blinks. “Not what you thought I’d say?” Fett asks, and there’s that amused note in his voice again.
Lando lets himself smile. “Not as such, no.”
Fett shrugs, and Lando’s certainly not familiar with his movements but it looks… unpracticed. Awkward. “Job’s a job, far as I’m concerned,” Fett says, “but I know it’s not like that for everyone.”
Lando lifts a hand to flag down one of the service droids, snagging a drink from the tray as he considers Fett’s words. They’re consistent with what Lando knows of his reputation, but Fett’s still sitting here, next to him, seemingly content to stay as long as Lando wants even though he’s already admitted he’s not taking the contract.
That might, Lando reflects, have to do with the fact that Lando has him trapped on the inside of the booth, but there’s not a doubt in his mind that Fett would let him know if he had a problem.
Lando opens his mouth to suggest they leave, but he’s interrupted by a tall shadow that falls over the table, blocking out the rest of the room. Fett lifts his helmet to see who it is, and Lando feels the way he stiffens next to him before consciously releasing all of the tension in his frame.
Lando turns, and somehow he’s not even surprised to see Chewbacca looming over the booth. And, of course, wherever Chewbacca is…
“Han Solo,” Lando says, raising his glass in greeting. “Chewbacca! Fancy seeing you two here!”
“Yeah,” Han mutters, looking between Lando and Fett incredulously, and Lando hadn’t realized just how close he and Fett were sitting until right this moment. “You’re the crew Er’galo wanted us to meet?”
Lando raises his eyebrows as he sips at his drink. “I suppose you’re the two-person team he was thinking of hiring.”
Han shrugs, and at Chewbacca’s urging he climbs into the booth across from them, looking vastly uncomfortable. He keeps shooting quick little looks at Fett, who’s still sprawled carefully next to Lando, pointedly ignoring him, and Lando is beyond intrigued.
“Thought you were a one man crew,” Han accuses, trying to look relaxed where he’s boxed in against the wall.
Lando smiles. “I am,” he confirms, and he lets Han sit with that for a bit. “Oh! This is Boba Fett,” he adds, nodding his head in Fett’s direction and purposely leaving their affiliation vague. “Han Solo,” he tells Fett, waving the hand that’s still holding his drink in Han’s direction, “and his partner, Chewbacca.”
Fett’s helmet tilts just the slightest bit, and he nods, once, to Chewbacca, who bellows lightly in reply.
“I’m aware of who Boba Fett is,” Han tells Lando, annoyed in a way that Lando is intimately familiar with, still.
“You’ve met?” Lando asks, only just managing to keep his tone politely interested.
There’s a long moment of silence.
“Yeah,” Han says finally when it’s clear Fett isn’t going to be the one to answer. “You could say that.”
Lando doesn’t respond, instead letting his expression do the talking. Across from him, Chewbacca nudges Han exasperatedly before growling something to him, too low for Lando to hear, though he can guess by Han’s reaction he’s telling him to get himself together and act like a professional.
“So are you taking Er’galo’s contract or not?” Han asks bluntly, and Lando resists the urge to roll his eyes.
“Maybe,” he says, purposely noncommittal, and he laughs when Han just scowls at him.
The tension eases slightly, Han rolling his eyes, and he’s managed to stop looking at Fett entirely, though his avoidance is tinged with something Lando’s increasingly convinced is guilt.
Huh.
“It’s a big contract,” Lando says instead of dwelling on the thought further. “I’ll have to think about it before I make a decision.”
“Well don’t take your sweet time,” Han tells him, and Chewbacca agrees. “Er’galo’s looking to start moving things quick.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Lando allows.
Chewbacca grants him a considering look before nodding at him, once. He slides out of the booth, Han scrambling out after him while trying, Lando’s sure, to look like he isn’t running away.
“See you around,” Lando tells him, and Han manages a smile that’s mostly genuine as he claps Lando on the shoulder.
“I’m sure you will,” he says. “Come tour the ship sometime, huh?”
Lando rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Sure, sure.”
There’s a beat, awkward, as Han clearly considers just leaving, but a subtle nudge from Chewbacca has him turning back.
“Fett,” Han bites out. “Good to see you again.”
Fett takes a moment to consider him. “Can’t say I feel the same,” he remarks coolly, and Lando winces.
For a moment he thinks Han’s going to reply, that Lando’s about to learn exactly what happened between the two of them to turn them so hostile, but he evidently thinks better of it, turning sharply on his heel and stalking away.
Chewbacca rolls his eyes with an undertone of genuine exasperation, but the goodbye he gives Fett is much politer. Fett graces him with a raise of his chin, a little wave, and Chewie grins at them both before following after Han.
“So,” Lando says after a moment, turning back to Fett and resting his arm on the table so he can lean in closer, “you and Han, huh?”
Fett snorts under his helmet. “Fortunately,” he drawls, “I got better.”
Lando throws his head back as he laughs, delighted, and Fett tilts his helmet at him at an angle Lando’s choosing to read as pleased, though it could very well just be smug.
“Well,” he says, lifting his glass to salute Fett, “you have my condolences regardless.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” Fett says, leaning in to mirror Lando’s posture, elbow on the table and body turned in towards him.
Lando laughs again, sipping at his drink. “An ill-advised fling,” he confirms. “Didn’t last long.”
“Well, then,” Fett says, tilting his helmet at Lando. “My condolences.”
“I have better taste now,” Lando assures dryly.
Fett chuckles, ducking his head. “I should hope so.”
Lando watches him, interested and a little charmed despite himself, but— Fett’s fun, at least when he’s not actively hunting. It’s been a long while since Lando’s had a little fun.
“Let’s get out of here,” he suggests.
“What, you don’t want to mingle?” Fett mocks, and Lando rolls his eyes.
“I thought you had a job,” Lando reminds him.
Fett tilts his helmet, tapping his fingers against the table, and this time Lando can hear his grin. “We have a deal,” he says. “Would hate to leave you unsatisfied.”
Lando shakes his head in delighted disbelief as he gets up out of the booth. “Oh, I assure you, I’m satisfied,” he says dryly.
“That easy, huh?” Fett quips, following behind him.
Lando takes the gamble, reaching out and hooking two fingers under the chin of Fett’s helmet to tilt his head up where he’s still seated on the bench. He leans down into Fett’s space, lets the backs of his fingers trail down his throat. “Why don’t we go somewhere a little less nice and find out?” he asks, pitching his voice low and smooth.
Fett stares up at him for a beat, long enough that Lando’s about to pull back, before he stands, suddenly right in Lando’s space. He’s warm, even through the armor, and this time when he speaks in Lando’s ear Lando leans into it, lets him get closer.
“Is that a promise?” Fett asks, and the amusement in his voice is tinged with a hint of challenge.
Lando pulls back, bringing a hand up to Fett’s elbow to steer him as he guides them out of the back room of the cantina. “We do have a deal,” Lando tells him with a sharp grin, “but after that: who knows? You’ll have to convince me to stick around,” he invites.
“Think I can make it worth your while,” Fett says as they step outside into Tyrena’s cool night air, the nightlife bustling around them, and Lando is looking forward to finding out.