Work Text:
Excerpt from Petaled midnight, Act 3, scene 2
KLOVBIN: That’s-
PREEKAN: Don’t. Don’t say anything, Klovbin.
KLOVBIN: And why shouldn’t I? That’s Hanahaki. You’re going to die.
PREEKAN: Then let me die, there’s no one I’m supposed to love.
KLOVBIN: Well clearly you do love someone.
PREEKAN: There’s no one I’m supposed to love, Klovbin. Drop it.
KLOVBIN: How can I? And what do you mean “supposed t-“ no… no.
PREEKAN looks away
KLOVBIN: You… you know Shiven would give him to you, right? There’s nothing she wouldn’t do for you.
PREEKAN: I am not in love with my sister’s fiancé, Klovbin.
KLOVBIN: There’s only five of us on this island, Preekan. Only five of us for years. You expect me to believe that this is for me, that you wouldn’t tell me? It’s not like these petals are for your father or sister.
PREEKAN refuses to respond
BREAKING NEWS:
“A report released last night says that the queen consort died of Hanahaki disease last month. This morning, there have already been protests in several cities for the regent to resign based on both the coverup of the consort’s death and the relationship-”
EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW: The Woman Who Survived Stage 5 Hanahaki Now Has Her Beloved’s Baby on the Way
Petals fall from his lips
Hacked, hacked, and hacked out from him
Blown away like life
Hanahaki Syndrome a potentially lethal psychosomatic disorder, caused by the repression of and refusal to acknowledge love for another person. The patient grows flowering plants in their lungs, or equivalent breathing apparatus (see appendix for symptoms in non-breathing species). If left to grow for too long, the plants completely fill the lungs and then throat, suffocating the patient to death. The stages of Hanahaki Syndrome are 1) seeding and rooting 2) stalk growth 3) blooming 4) lung fill and 5) lung overfill. Hanahaki Syndrome is most commonly noticed and diagnosed in the 3rd stage, when the patient begins to cough up petals. While there are surgeries to remove the plants, they are still dangerous, have relatively low efficacy rates (efficacy rates vary by species), and successful surgeries carry a high-risk of emotional and mental instability. The recommended treatment for Hanahaki Syndrome remains hospitalization to manage the symptoms while the patient receives therapy to accept their emotions of love. Hanahaki Syndrome is most commonly caused by repressed emotions of romantic, alterous, and other analogous forms of love, all though there are rare cases of Hanahaki Syndrome manifesting due to platonic or familial love.
Jango knew his breathing. You didn’t live a life filled with combat for long if you didn’t know what your normal body functions were like.
He had spent years with normal, healthy breathing. In no small part due to actually following proper helmet safety.
Jango’s breathing was fine and healthy as he raised his ad. It was fine on Geonosis, despite all the dust and sand working their way into every nook and cranny possible – and them some that weren’t possible.
His breathing was fine once he got it back when Kenobi force pushed him out of the arena into the wall of the cave entrance his ad had been watching from. It was fine as he retreated with Boba to Slave I and left the damned planet.
It was fine for the next few weeks, when he had to go get his sen’tra repaired. It was fine as the war began properly, as Jango took whatever jobs he pleased, which meant only jobs for the CIS and other non-Republic affiliates.
So when, a little over a year into the war, Jango noticed a change in his breathing, he immediately took Slave I out of hyperspace and turned off everything except for minimum life support. When he and Boba couldn’t find anything immediately wrong with the ship’s systems, Jango quickly took her to the closest reputable shipyard and had a full checkup done.
There was nothing wrong with the ship, and Boba said he was breathing fine. Jango checked them both into a clinic for a basic checkup. Nothing.
Nothing strange with his armor either, even the sealants.
Jango begrudgingly went back to hunting, and put the episode behind him as he found himself breathing easier. He had likely just caught a bug that didn’t get caught during his checkup.
And then two months later he noticed himself breathing oddly again.
Once again, there was nothing wrong with his ship. With his armor. Boba wasn’t having trouble breathing. So Jango checked into another clinic by himself this time, under a different identity once more, and sought answers.
The doctor praised his good fitness levels, confirmed that Jango’s breathing did indeed seemed disproportionately worse, and wanted him to stay for a scan. Jango insisted that he didn’t want one – no need to waste two hours and leave a record, or have to burn down the clinic to avoid records – and admitted to working in the “security” field.
The doctor pointed out that it might be hazards of the job and told him to avoid getting the breath knocked out of him as much as possible, and to get checked over when he did, by her or anyone else qualified.
Jango felt his breathing slowly get heavier and harder as a few more months passed by, no matter how much he protected his chest in fights. All though the fact that Kenobi had noticed his change in fighting style and had mercilessly taken advantage of it certainly didn’t help.
Jango was hiding from Boba in his room to hide another coughing fit when it happened.
He felt something dislodge and try to come up his throat. Jango coughed harder, wanting whatever kriffing thing kept causing him problems to be gone already.
When it finally came up and coughed out onto his waiting hand, Jango was met with the sight of a petal.
Jango felt all of his joints lock automatically in an attempt to keep him from falling over as his galaxy froze.
He couldn’t have Hanahaki Syndrome. He couldn’t.
But there was a kriffing light green petal in his hand.
Jango coughed again, had to pound his chest and hack out a few more, before he finally got himself to move again.
They were rose petals, he figured out that night, after he’d put Boba to bed. The Republic had a database of petals specifically for Hanahaki Syndrome that was easy enough to get into with one of his fake IDs. Sometimes, apparently, the specific flower would be a clue as to who you had feelings for. Given that Jango didn’t recognize the flower as being part of Mandalorian space or important to him in any way, it seemed more likely that it was a hint on who he apparently had feelings for.
The petals didn’t seem to match any of the green roses in the database, though. They were all just a little bit off. Which meant that the flowers probably hadn’t finished blooming before Jango coughed out the petals. Which probably meant that his feelings were also still “blooming” as well, according to the resources he could find.
There were apparently a lot of kriffing roses out there that started with a green color.
Jango let himself take a few minutes to burn the evidence, watching the petals catch on fire and darken into nothingness, before getting back to actual problem solving.
He didn’t want anyone but Boba in his life. Except, apparently, he did. He was coughing up petals because he wanted someone else in his life.
Except he couldn’t think of anyone. He wasn’t some pitiful pining third wheel in a melodrama. He was satisfied with his life of causing trouble for the shabuire of the galaxy and getting paid for it while he raised his ad.
He had… gotten a little friendlier with the few cuy’val dar that he was still in contact with, without the pressure of Kamino. But he didn’t think there was much attraction with any of them. Especially since they kept trying to ply him back to the Mandalore sector.
It might have been one of them, but Jango doubted it. Most of his tension or refusal of them, his insistence on keeping distance, had to do with not wanting to be dragged into the politics and responsibilities he’d left behind, not any actual denial of emotions. He was pretty sure, at least.
He supposed he could have developed emotions for one of the bounty hunters he worked with but… well he’d known most of them for years, except for a few newbies that had left very subpar impressions that meant Jango didn’t want to work with them. In terms of emotional attachment… everything for his actual colleagues was rooted in convenience usually. And Jango couldn’t believe that there had been any change to that.
That was essentially it for his positive interactions outside of his ad. And he knew he loved Boba and definitely accepted those feelings.
So that meant that Jango was missing some huge emotional connection to the point that he was hurling some osik petals.
Jango did not go to a hospital like was recommended. He didn’t trust the CIS enough to let them start pumping things in and out of his lungs. The Republic was definitely not an option. Kamino, where both the CIS and the Republic could get him, definitely wasn’t a possibility. Hutt space was well known for having medical care only for the most desperate, and Jango was not counting himself among those people.
He also wouldn’t be getting any surgeries, even if he could get in and out of a reputable hospital without trouble with a few tricks. He couldn’t risk destabilizing himself with that when Boba needed him.
Which meant he had to figure out who the kriff he’d developed such annoying emotions for before things went on for too long, and without any help to prolong his timeline.
“You know, I had some lovely Skree’eahtin tea the other day. It does wonders for one’s focus. Might I recommend you give it a try?” Kenobi taunted him.
The man had gotten the drop on him twice this battle, so Jango could see where the taunt was coming from.
Didn’t make the smirk any less punch worthy.
Unfortunately, Kenobi saw the punch coming and dropped, swinging his legs around to try to sweep Jango. Jango took that as his cue to start up his sen’tra and start shooting at Kenobi from above. Kenobi started deflecting shots, a dance of combat they were both fairly familiar with at this point in the war, dancing around each other until they could find some way to take advantage.
The mission ended with the CIS having to retreat from the base, the Republic taking it back over. But Jango also completed his mission to “make sure the info doesn’t fall into Republic hands” by blowing up the computers before the Republic could use them.
Jango walked out of his shower, feeling sated form a good fight and the memory of Kenobi’s annoyed face as he escaped once again.
And then Dooku called, and Jango’s good, satisfied mood dissipated like sen’tra exhaust in the air.
Convincing the man that no, the information hadn’t actually been compromised and that no, Jango was not responsible for CIS leadership not being able to keep a base under control as a subcontractor with a specific mission so Dooku did still have to pay him, took about half an hour. Jango walked out of the meeting deciding that he’d take another fight with Kenobi over seeing Dooku for any reason any day.
Jango had a coughing fit from reading about Kenobi causing Grievous to retreat again and laughing. The petals he coughed up were less green, turning… striped, slightly. Maybe yellow and bluish. There was also now an odd point forming at the top of the petals.
Jango spent the rest of the night narrowing down his options to an actual list, but it was still too big to guess with the color still coming in. He didn’t entertain the possibility that what kind of flower it was might be random instead of a clue until he heard Boba waking up and moving around. He saved the list and shut down his pad with rough motions.
He hated this shabuir illness.
Boba caught him coughing up petals in the kitchen when he had a three-minute fit cooking dinner. His ad had been working on coursework, should have been working on coursework until Jango could clean up the damn petals and cooking and call him to dinner, but Jango had apparently been too loud.
Boba walked into the kitchen and caught sight of the petals, which were much brighter blue and orange than the last time Jango had seen them. Boba looked around the kitchen for the source of the odd bright specks on the kitchen floor, and then at Jango in confusion.
“Buir?”
“It’s nothing, Bob’ika, you should get back to work. Dinner will be in a few minutes,” Jango said, trying to keep his voice calm, a bristling, panicked anger bubbling up in him when he heard how hoarse his voice came out instead.
Boba stepped further into the kitchen instead.
Boba was twelve now, Jango was suddenly reminded. And in this galaxy, Hanahaki Syndrome would pop up in stories a few times at least by that age, even if Jango hadn’t already covered it with other inconvenient and not very uncommon illnesses in biology.
So Jango was heartbroken, but not surprised, when Boba repeated the question “buir?” with a shaky voice after he looked up and down between Jango’s face and the petals on the ground.
“Bob’ika,” Jango responded as he kneeled down and drew his ad into a hug.
Boba shook in his arms, and it wasn’t long before Jango could feel a wetness growing on his shoulder.
“Y-y-you… you’re- you’re n-not allowed. Not allowed to leave me alone, buir,” Boba managed to sob out.
Jango twisted his neck to press a kiss into Boba’s hair before holding him tighter. “I won’t. Don’t worry, Bob’ika, I’m going to solve this and stay right with you.”
Boba tightened his hold back and started audibly crying as Jango rubbed circles into his back.
Jango caught sight of the petals on the floor as he comforted Boba. The odd point at the top had grown into a distinct, curled hook kind of structure.
Stewjoni roses. He was apparently coughing up Stewjoni roses. Of the aptly named blue-orange striped variety.
But Jango had never been to Stewjon and, as far as he knew, didn’t know any Stewjoni.
Pointless to identify, in the end.
Jango was still certain he didn’t love anybody but Boba. But the now much bigger petals he kept coughing up seemed to disagree, as did the heavy feeling of his lungs.
Jango found that burning the damn things consistently was pretty cathartic. Especially after his chart trying to find out who he interacted with the most gave him the hut’uun Dooku as the most likely candidate as the object of the petals’ affection.
The only desires Jango had towards Dooku also coincidentally involved setting him on literal fire.
Jango didn’t even want to be in love with anyone. He had Boba to raise, to love, and that was enough. He was alive for Boba and the destruction of the Jedi and that was it. What use did he have for the sort of emotions needed to have Hanahaki Syndrome anyways?
Jango really wished he could just destroy Kenobi already.
But he had a broken arm and was stuck on the kriffing shuttle with Kenobi as the only other alive person, and certainly the only one with the two working hands needed to fix the kriffing thing. So, Kenobi was alive for now, since Jango didn’t want to starve to death in space in a broken shuttle.
Jango wasn’t stupid enough to not take advantage of the man’s mercy, after all.
“That should do for now, shame the explosions took out the medical droids,” Obi-Wan commented, fully aware that they both knew Jango had been responsible for those explosions.
Jango had taken out basically all of the small med station on the shuttle, actually, leaving him and Kenobi to improvise the splint.
“And now we just need a sling. I don’t suppose you have anything for that?” Obi-Wan asked.
“Not unless you want us both shirtless,” Jango shot back casually.
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at Jango. “Yes well, usually when I don’t bring my cloak, I consider my tabards to be a good backup medical cloth, but, well…”
Jango had cut up the one, and the other had gotten incinerated with rest of Kenobi’s shirt courtesy of his flame thrower.
The blue astromech whistled an explicit insult explaining to Jango this was his own fault from the doorway, since it had been banned from the room after almost turning off the gravity.
“Artoo, could you go get my bag?” Kenobi asked with a sigh.
The astromech whistled off continuous insults as it rolled down the hallway, leaving them alone.
Obi-Wan took a few steps from Jango, eyeing him cautiously.
“Still wary of me with only one arm?” Jango asked tauntingly.
“Disadvantaged or not, I’m under no illusions that a Mando’ad like you isn’t able to put up a hell of a fight when injured,” Obi-Wan said, rolling his eyes again.
Jango snorted. “Not much a Mando’ad anymore, if your duchess is to be believed.”
Obi-Wan scoffed right back. “A Mandalorian declaring another Mandalorian not Mandalorian? How novel and absolute. Unless you’ve said a dar’nare, I dare say you’re still counted among the Mando’ade, even if I can’t say I agree completely with you on your definition of educating children.”
“Good thing it’s only my definition I have to be concerned with then,” Jango replied, for once wishing the vocoder in his helmet didn’t remove quite so much emotion from his voice.
Kenobi sighed and seemed to be debating whether or not to push the discussion into an argument when the astromech rolled back up. Kenobi grabbed the bag it was holding and rummaged for a minute before taking something out.
The cloth was a red plaid fabric with gold and brown. And little bits of blue that Jango could see as Kenobi approached him again.
The man gingerly moved Jango’s arm into position with him, and then set to tying the cloth around him as a sling as Jango held his arm steady.
“Not a very jetii cloth, is it?” Jango found himself asking as Obi-Wan finished tying and testing the knot.
“No, it’s traditional Stewjoni cloth. Patterns are passed down through biological families, and sometimes adoption. It was left with me when I was delivered to the temple. I try to avoid using it but well, as needs must,” Obi-Wan explained casually.
Jango was suddenly very glad for his helmet again as he felt his eyes grow wide and face run cold.
Obi-Wan gave a light tug to test the knot before nodding, satisfied. “All right, that’s first aid done. I’ll get to work on those engines now.”
The man gave him a nod farewell before turning and walking out of the room, down the hall, still casual.
Jango felt like he was going to puke.
No, scratch that, worse, he was going to cough.
Jango stumbled around the astromech that kept trying to get in his way to the fresher. He managed to tear off his helmet just in time to cough out a shower of bright orange and blue petals into the sink.
He had feelings for Kenobi?!
Kenobi?!
Why?
Jango coughed out another round of petals, these ones bigger, and felt himself pant in a breath far lighter than he’d gotten used to over the past few months.
Obi-Wan… Kenobi… Obi-Wan was… a good fighter. And good looking, Jango could appreciate that.
But the man was also an osik Jetii.
Obi-Wan had almost gotten him killed a few times. He’d also saved Jango a few times.
He’d even kriffing returned Boba to him once when they got separated.
Osik.
Jango hacked out more petals, gasping in clearer breaths between each hack.
He had always found Obi-Wan’s banter more amusing than actually annoying or distasteful, he supposed. A snarky, pretty, competent fighter with some basic respect for Jango’s family structure and rights. If Jango’s emotions ignored the Jedi bit then, yeah, Jango could easily see how he caught feelings for the bastard.
Another coughing fit had the sink veritably covered in a kaleidoscope of blue and orange. Jango leaned forward until his head rested against the cool sink faucet, breathing deliberately.
It felt so light, so clear and easy now.
The stalks and roots would eventually wither and dislodge, and then Jango would be able to cough those up too. Hopefully it would be enough withering to prevent any thorns from damaging his lungs or throat on the way up.
Jango slowly stood up straight, looking himself in the mirror. He looked exhausted, flushed and panting and still slightly gaunt from dealing with the Hanahaki for so long. But he was also already missing a few wrinkles in his expression, ones that had made a constant appearance on his face out of stress. His eyes looked brighter, more determined.
The laughter that Jango saw and heard come out of his mouth was breathless in a good way, and a touch hysteric with relief.
He had osik taste, didn’t he?
Still, he’d take Obi-Wan over a lot of shabuire in the galaxy, like Dooku, any day.
Mysterious Traditionalist Appears Again, Duchess Denies Connection
The mysterious traditionalist that has appeared to fight terrorists in the past few months appeared once again to destroy a hidden weapons depot two nights ago. The person, in traditional Mando armor – largely unpainted aside from the set of large orange and blue flowers on their nor’cabur – blew up a warehouse in Saludo’s industrial district Taungsday night.
There were projected holos of the inside of the warehouse before the explosion found outside the burning warehouse, showing large stores of weapons and Death Watch emblems, as well as the mysterious Mando setting up explosives. Preliminary investigations by the Saludo fire department indicate that the wreckage inside the warehouse likely matches the weapon stores shown in the holos, and that the placement of explosions shown match the multiple incineration points found so far.
Some, including political commenter for Concordia Akkus Wral and the Reformed Tradition Coalition have suggested that the mysterious Mando may be an agent of Duchess Kryze, possibly run through her Peacekeepers.
The Duchess denied the speculation vehemently in a public statement today, saying “I do not condone or support any violence in any situation, and certainly have not hired anyone to don symbols of violence to attack citizens’ workplaces. Nor is this terrorist working in any form with my Peacekeeper force. All government investigation and disposal of illegal weapons are dealt with transparently and nonviolently by the Peacekeepers.”
The Duchess’s statement also went on to say that Death Watch is “completely gone, any old symbols of theirs are merely being picked up and thrown around by unthinking provocateurs” instead of any organized military force.
No one has been able to contact the mysterious Mando yet to learn whether or not they support the duchess or are being supported by her.
This is a developing story.