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Peli keeps an ear to the ground about the Mando. It’s just good business, after all, and Tatooine runs on rumors. It’s a better currency than Imperial credits, that’s for kriffing sure.
So she hears from a spice smuggler who hears from a freighter that saw a big karking Imperial cruiser blast an old piece of pre-Empire junk to smithereens over some other Rim planet. They’d run the tags from orbit, to see if the ship had sent off a distress signal since apparently ships don’t often land out there, and that’s how Peli learns that the Mando is dead.
She lights a candle for him and another for his kid and spends a night in silence drinking that awful spotchka that Hooni’s cousin imported, because that’s what you do when someone you like dies. You light a candle, you get piss drunk, and you remember them.
The candles take ten hours to burn out and she buries the wicks out back in the hanger where she’s buried many before. Because you don’t get to her age on a planet like Tatooine without losing people. And while she maybe didn’t know Mando real well, she knew he was a good one, and it’s always a loss when the galaxy loses one of those, because there just aren’t that many left.
It’s a surprise a few days later when she gets radioed that a firespray-class ship is requesting her hanger specifically. Her regulars all fly junk-- it’s what keeps her in business-- but none of them fly that particular variety of junk.
“Up and at ‘em!” A tap to one pit droid’s shell gets the whole lot of them clamoring up as the firespray does its graceful rotation towards her hanger to land.
It’s even more of a surprise when a Mando walks down the ramp. Her heart stutters a little in a strange approximation of grief that she thought Tatooine had ground out of her, but it’s not her Mando so it’s fine. This one’s in green and orange and broad and built like a tank.
She squints at him a little bit as he walks down the ramp, followed by a woman in leathers and orange and a man in a plain black flightsuit.
“Hang on, I know you. Green armor and a firespray... Everyone says you died years back. What’s a ghost of a hunter like you doing in my hanger?”
Specifically, why did Boba kriffing Fett request to land with her ? Peli doesn’t like that kind of attention. Makes a being nervous.
“Heard you were good,” is all he says, like an enigmatic bastard. “We’ll be here for a few days and need a refuel.”
The woman is scoping out the upper levels of the hanger like she’s expecting to get shot and it’s got Peli’s hackles all up and dancing.
“Uh huh. Sure. And who was it you said gave you my hanger number?”
“I didn’t say.” The helmet tips and then he pulls the thing off and Peli is left staring at the face of a man who has seen some kriff. The scars look painful, even if they’re clearly well and healed. When had the rumors that he’d died in that sarlacc pit started? Five years ago? That’s long enough to heal up, even from that kark.
It sends a little skitter of green envy down her spine, because of course this Mando was rumored to be dead and is clearly alive and kicking just fine after all, but hers isn’t. You don’t walk away from a ship being vaporized, but at least it was quick; they probably didn’t even know they died. Mostly she’s sad about the kid.
“Well alright, me and the droids will get you hooked up to the refueler. Now, berth isn’t free. If you’re gonna be staying around these parts it’s gonna cost you once you’re no longer getting service from the pit droids here.” She’s not a charity shop.
The woman floats around like she’s looking for something and circles the hanger twice before giving some hand signal to Fett. The other guy just stands behind them looking a bit lost and not making eye contact with anyone. He’s either the most well behaved bounty she’s ever seen or he’s some passenger, maybe. Doesn't matter, in the end. Fett’s business isn’t hers, she only cares about his ship and his money.
“And I don’t take Imperial credits anymore, either. So don’t go trying that on me.”
“Djarin,” Fett says, and the man in the flight suit startles. Peli keeps an eye on him; flighty ones are sometimes trouble. “Get us some speeders. We’ll leave at first sundown. I trust you’ll be able to hunt us down.” Fett laughs and the woman’s face splits into a wide and dangerous grin at some joke that Peli is happy to not know the details of.
Then Fett and the woman in leathers and a big gun head out towards town leaving the flighty one behind. Definitely not a bounty, then.
“Speeders will cost you, my last guy blew his up so I charge upfront for rentals.”
Djarin, presuming that’s his name, just stands there like a lost dewback.
“Well come on, I haven’t got all day, at least let’s take this into the shade.”
The man follows her into the shade of the hanger’s west wall and Peli keeps a good eye on him while shouting her droids to a quicker pace for the fuel hookup. There’s no rush about it, but no sense in letting the lazy kriffers get used to a slow job like this one. Bored droids is a situation she does not want to repeat, thank you very much. She’s still finding bolts in her laundry.
The flighty guy looks at her then tilts his head away, and Peli would take offense, only it’s clear the man is not having an easy time of it.
“Tell you what,” she says, “I’ll throw in the third speeder at a twenty per-cent discount if you tell me how the kriff Boba Fett survived a sarlacc.” That’ll teach Hooni to call her cut-throat. “Hm?”
Finally she gets a flash of eye contact. “Funny enough, he didn’t tell me.”
“Uh huh. I’ll drop it to fifty per-cent off that third speeder if you spill on why he chose my hanger to land in. Tower said he requested it specifically.”
Now the man’s shooting his gaze to the side again like Peli’s beautiful face will burn him and it’s getting increasingly difficult to not take offense. “I told him it was a good spot.”
“Well now that’s interesting because I’m pretty sure I don’t have a clue who you are. And Peli Motto doesn’t forget a face.”
She squints at him to make sure, but she’s confident she’s never seen that nose, that shade of brown hair with that shade of brown eyes, or that lip with the patchy facial hair. He’s got a few scars on his face, but minor ones, nothing like Fett’s rictus of them. He’s a nice looking human, all in all. She would recognize him if they’d met.
His face gets pinched looking, and she wishes she had an excuse to play him at cards because he’s clearly got the worst poker face she’s ever seen. She’d clean him right out.
“I--” he clears his throat and looks her in the eye. “We’ve met. I looked different then.”
She stares back.
“Gonna need more than that if I’m going to rent you my speeders.”
“You buried a body for me, Peli. I’m surprised you’d forget that.” And now the bastard is looking smug as well as uncomfortable, like he just can’t help being a bit of a sass bucket.
Peli stares. Stares harder.
“Kriff. No, no way.”
“Calican held a blaster to your head and I shot him dead.”
Peli doesn’t waste another moment, she’s crowding into his space faster than a blaster bolt, measuring up his height, taking stock of his stance, pushing against his arms a bit and then she sees his boots.
They’re the same boots. Worn down to the nubs on the soles with a great big ‘ol pair of matching scuffs where bits of his armor used to sit.
“Mando?”
He smiles at her. “Hi Peli.”
She hits him, a fist right his un-armored gut.
“That’s for making me think you were dead! You let your ship get blown up you big nerf herder! Where’s your kid?”
He takes a deep breath and she prepares for the worst, but she’s already been thinking they were both vaporized for the past week, how much worse can it get?
“He’s alright. He’s with some jedi sorcerers. They’re his kind, he’s safer.”
“Alright, you’re sun drunk, let’s go,” she says, and she herds him out of the open hanger and into her office. It’s not much, but it’s got a little cooling unit she cobbled together out of scrap and she gives him a mug of tepid water she fully plans on charging Fett for. “Drink that up. You know the Jedi are all dead, right?”
“Apparently not all of them.”
“And you’re sure you didn’t just give the kid to some guy with a magic coin trick at a space station?” It might be a bit below the belt, but Peli’s still reeling. Her Mando is alive. And take that, Boba Fett! He’s not the only Mando with more lives than a lothcat.
He’s starting to look agitated and he puts his hands on his hips and that’s the moment that Peli believes he really is the Mando. Missing armor or not, it’s the exact same posture as the last time she saw him, flying away with the frog lady and her spawn complaining about being treated like a taxi service.
“Kriff, it really is you,” she says, and she smacks into him, this time not in a strike but a hug. “I’m glad you’re not vaporised.” He’s huge, even outside of the armor. Tall and boney and maybe a little too boney at that. But she gets her arms around him and gives him a good squeeze. He mostly stands there, frozen in place like an anooba in the headlights.
She clears her throat and he pushes her back a little and Peli vows to pretend that this little display of emotion never happened. Bad for business and all that.
“Me too,” he says, and directs his gaze back to the little mug of water. “It’s a long story.”
“Tell it to me when you want to. I’m just glad that kid is still out there somewhere. And you know me! I don’t care about your armor, I only care about your credits.”
He raises an eyebrow at her, and it was worth a shot.
“You really going into business with Boba Fett, Mando? He’s got a reputation, you know. I keep an ear out for these sorts of things.”
“Call me Din.”
Peli looks him up and down and then up again. “You don’t look like a Din. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“He helped me when I needed him. I’m repaying the favor,” is all the Mando--Din--says on the matter, and then he thanks her for the water. “We really do need speeders.”
“And you chose my hanger, huh.”
He blushes. Maker above, the Mando blushes. It’s embarrassing and Peli ought to fleece him for it, but she blames her magnanimity on the relief that the baby she rocked to sleep a few months ago is still alive.
“Well alright, then. Peli Motto will get you set up. I’ll tack on a five per-cent friend discount, just for you.”
He smiles a little, wry and soft looking, and she cannot fathom that that soft smile was behind his helmet the whole time. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, just business, that’s all.”
It’s a lie and they both know it. She charges the going rate because she knows Fett is footing the bill and she’s not quite sure of that one yet, but she sets Din up with an extra canteen of water on his speeder and fishes out a neckerchief for him to wrap around his neck to block off the sun.
He lines the speeders up outside the hanger and waits there for Fett and the woman to return.
“We’re going to Jabba’s palace. Stay in town for the next few days.”
“And you think that’s a good idea, do you, going out there? Old Jabba might be dead and rotted but that place is crawling with spice runners and small time crime. I didn’t think you’d be the kind to take jobs from places like that.”
Din--kriff it’s hard to get used to calling him that--looks at her and cocks his head a little and Peli feels like a bug under a lens. “I think you should stay in town for a few days.”
She huffs. “Fine, don’t tell me anything.”
Fett and the woman in orange and black come back and load themselves and an alarming arsenal onto the speeders.
“We’ll be back in three days,” Fett says ominously. And all three of them swing onto the bikes and kick the engines towards the dunes.
Crazy kriffers.
Well if they don’t return she’ll at least have the ship as collateral.