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The first time Din came to Tatooine after losing the Crest and the Creed and the child, he asked for a job. To keep working had seemed the only option; though his grief followed behind him like a patient beast, it would never catch him if he never stopped moving.
Fett and Shand had made quick work of Jabba's former kingdom. Din made quick work of their first job, a hunt for one of Bib Fortuna's loyalists through the deep canyons of the Mesra Plateau. It had earned him a raised eyebrow from Shand, approval and credits. Fett had offered him a room in the palace for the night. Din stayed at Peli's hangar instead.
Fett offered again after the second and third jobs. Din declined, but spent an evening in their small medbay after the fourth. Fett's sutures were even and clean along the shallow slash to his side, and he didn't seem to mind Din's silence. Din forgot for a moment that their relationship was professional and perfunctory, and he exhaled long and slow at the calm stroke of bacta-covered fingers along his ribs.
The fifth job was better. Clean exit, no wounds or collateral. Shand had been alone in the throne room when he collected his credits. “Are you going to stick around?” she asked, and grinned like a shark when he didn't know how to respond. “We'd like to see more of you, Mando.”
He went to Peli's again that night. She had been putting him to work on hull repairs for some of her clients, and it felt good to solve a problem with his hands rather than his head or heart.
He lay awake most of that night because, although he hadn't realized it at the time, he'd been hoping to see Fett after the job.
Job six saw him before Shand once more. Her gaze lingered on him, with no particular emotion other than attentiveness, but he was still grateful for his helmet.
“Oh,” came from the doorway, and Din turned to see Fett. “I was hoping you were still here.”
“You were?”
“I wanted to discuss something with you. A long-term job.”
The thought was welcome. He wanted to keep moving. “We can discuss that.”
“Excellent.” He turned. “You can manage things here Fennec?”
She gave sloppy salute from where she was sprawled across the wide throne and sing-songed “only barely.” Fett snorted as she slouched even further.
He led Din through the palace, travelling steadily downward into the cool lower levels. While they walked, Din studied the red tallies arranged neatly on the back of his helmet and the crisp green of his backplate. Fett was in full armour save for his jetpack, and Din found it strangely reassuring; even deep in his fortress, his back was never left open.
“I can hear you thinking, Mando.”
Din picked his eyes up from the broad sweep of Fett's shoulders. “What am I thinking about?”
There was a laugh in Fett's voice. “Hm. Curious about the job?”
“A little.” They had stopped in front of an unpainted metal door. They were far enough down that when Din touched it, the metal felt chilled. “How low are we going?”
“Not much further.” Fett punched six digits into what looked like a brand new keypad lock, which disengaged with a cheery note. Beyond the door lay a staircase of rough stone. Fett went first, and reached out a hand when Din took the last step, though there was nothing for him to stumble on.
There was a single room at the foot of the stairs, sparsely lit by dim yellow lights. It was large and cavernous, with smooth rounded walls, and Din realized they were standing in the course of one Tatooine's ancient underground rivers, long dried up.
The room was full of crates. Fett let out a gusty sigh as they surveyed them. “It's paperwork,” he said. “A lot of it's Jabba's, but it's mostly from the larger Hutt cartel. Some Black Sun.”
“What's it doing here?”
His helmet tilted unhappily. “Fennec and I looked through some of them. Near as we can tell, it's the really secret stuff. Who owns which politicians, notes on coups, things like that. There's even some personal journals. We think Jabba was keeping it secret down here for the cartels, but now...” he shrugged one shoulder.
There were dozens of crates, each as tall as Din's hip and stacked meters high. “Seems like they'd want it back.”
“Oh, they do. One of your bounties was a Black Sun agent who poked around our security.” Fett turned to face Din, visor tilted up seriously to his. “Hence the job.”
“You want me to hunt down Black Sun?” That was... dangerous. Din's thoughts flashed to Grogu, the knife-sharp feeling in his gut as he watched the Jedi walk away with him and the promise that one day he would see the child again.
“Not quite.”
“Then what?”
Another liquid shrug. “We can write up a more formal contract, but we'd mostly like your help with managing our response. Your skill and expertise would be invaluable.”
It flustered Din that they thought so highly of him. “You just... want my help?”
“Yes.” For no reason that Din could see, Fett took off his helmet. Din no longer flinched at the wrongness of it, though the sudden sight of Fett's bare face made him flush. He often forgot how dark Fett's eyes were. “You could live at the palace if you wanted. You're very welcome.”
The moment stretched out, elastic. He knew Fett had a room for him set aside somewhere in the palace. He offered it after every job.
Din remembered lying awake on the little cot Peli set up for him in her hangar, tracing a line of moonlight on the ceiling with his eyes, trying to think of something other than Fett and so thinking only of him. Their practical working relationship, built on the foundation of a debt fulfilled. His neat stitches, the ease he brought to their silences.
It was like the quiet sound of door unlatching when Din realized that this was an offer for something larger than a job.
Fett's helmet was still in his hands. He was turning it slowly back and forth, almost as though he was nervous.
“I'll help,” Din said.
Fett tilted his head to the side when he smiled, a holdover from wearing a helmet that Din shared. He slid his helmet back on but somehow the smile remained.
“Fennec will be delighted.”
Din scoffed, helpless to stop a flare of happiness. Fett brushed past him to head up the stairs, but stopped only two steps in. Din looked up at him, the green of his armour inky in the low light, visor turned away. His voice whispered like the water that had once filled the great cavern. “You can stay as long as you like.”
There was a silence between them that felt to Din like an important question. “I will,” he said, and hoped it was the answer.
Fett turned and offered his hand. The steps weren't tall or uneven and Din didn't need any help getting up them. Still, he reached out to take it.