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Boba stood on his tippy toes in front of the tall transparisteel door, peering through it for any sign of a ship’s light. The rain pelted down in big, sharp lines that made everything outside look like it had been splintered into tiny shards, and Boba squished his face harder against the door, blinking furiously in an effort to force his eyes to adjust.
The transparisteel was icy against his cheeks and hands, and Boba shivered a little. It wasn’t really cold indoors, but it looked so cold outside.
“Hello, Boba,” a soft voice said behind him.
Starting a little, Boba turned around to see Ko Sai approaching him. He frowned.
“Hello,” he said. “I’m busy.”
Ko Sai nodded. “You’re waiting for Ja - your father. May I join you?”
Without waiting for a response, Ko Sai glided forwards to stand next to Boba. Boba leaned back to look up at her and tried to scowl like he’d seen his dad do. Ko Sai took no notice.
“Here he is now,” she said after a moment.
Spinning back around, Boba saw that the lines of rain were now shining yellow at the edges. He gasped and pressed his face to the door again. If only it wasn’t so hard to see! After the yellow light faded, he could make out a big, dark mass way out on the edge of the landing pad and a little, shining figure moving away from it.
“Daddy!” Boba shrieked, forgetting Ko Sai for a moment, and jumping back to clap his hands.
“Yes,” Ko Sai said. “He is much later than he promised us he would be.”
Ko Sai had a peculiar knack for making Boba feel like a balloon that had been popped. He scowled up at her again. With her long neck and pointy face, she even looked a little like a needle.
But no number of Ko Sais could completely suck the joy out of him right now, not when his dad was finally home. He was so close now Boba could make out the blue paint on his helmet; getting a sudden burst of inspiration, Boba ran and ducked behind Ko Sai’s robes, grabbing at the slippery material as he tried to pull it around him. Ko Sai swiveled her head to blink at him.
“What are - “
“Shh!” Boba whispered.
He tried to put as much urgency as he could into his voice and willed Ko Sai to not give him away. Surely even she would understand he was trying to be sneaky.
The door hissed open just then and Boba very nearly abandoned his hiding place after all, but he stayed put and listened to the the pounding roar of the rain through the open door and then the way it cut out just as suddenly as it had started. He listened to the drip, drip of water running off of durasteel plates. He listened to his own breathing and decided it was too loud. Maybe his dad wouldn’t hear it over the dripping water, though.
“Welcome home, Jango,” Ko Sai said. “We’ve been expecting you for some time. Young Boba is behind - “
“Where is he?” a voice interrupted, un-modulated but still almost gratingly rough in contrast to the Kaminoan’s silken tone. “I half-expected him to be here, waiting for me. Two weeks chasing low-lifes from system to system, and when I get back, my son is off playing without a thought for his old man.”
Boba gasped.
“I don’t understand,” Ko Sai began.
“If only he knew what I’d brought back for him,” his dad continued, paying Ko Sai not a lick of attention. “I know how much he loves sweets. I wonder if he’s had his supper yet so he can eat one.”
That was it. Boba let go of Ko Sai’s robes and ran around her legs, very nearly falling over in his haste.
“I’m right here, daddy!” he screamed.
His dad’s usual stony expression melted off his face the instant he lowered his head to look at Boba, and crouching down, he opened his arms wide just in time for Boba to jump into them. It hurt a little to crash against durasteel, but Boba didn’t mind that so much. It felt nice to have his dad hug him so tightly again; it’d feel better when the cold, wet armour was gone.
“No armour,” Boba said into his dad’s neck. “Time for supper.”
“Actually, Boba, Jango needs to come with us to do some work,” Ko Sai said.
Boba felt his dad’s arms tense.
“Can’t it wait? I’ve had a long journey.”
Clamping his arms tighter around his dad’s neck, Boba turned his head to glare at Ko Sai. How dare she try to take his dad away when he was still all cold and wet and tired!
“It cannot,” Ko Sai said.
Her tone left no room for argument. Sighing, Jango gave Boba one last squeeze and set him down, tousling his hair a little.
“Sorry, Boba,” he said. “Go eat your supper and I’ll be there to tuck you into bed afterwards, okay?”
It wasn’t okay, especially since Boba knew that whatever work the Kaminoans did with his dad left him sick and entirely unable to roughhouse, but what could Boba do besides pout? Not that pouting ever got him his way, even, but he did it anyways as he watched the two adults walk away from him.
___________
After he was given his supper and nightly bath, Boba did not go to bed like usual. He sent the caretaker of the day away with a polite promise to sleep and then set to work getting everything ready for his dad. It took a long time to drag one of their dining chairs over to the little kitchen’s row of cupboards, and after he’d pulled himself onto it, Boba still couldn’t reach the tins of soup, even standing on his tiptoes and stretching his arm as high as it could go. So he dragged the chair over to the range instead and put on some water to get hot in the littlest saucepan he could find while he looked around for things to make soup with.
Because he was limited to what he could reach, Boba had to get creative. That wasn’t too much of a problem, though, as all the things he liked best were within his reach: a small piece of slightly stale uj cake, a few slices of fruit preserved in syrup, a big spoonful of sugar that ended up more on the floor than in the saucepan, a handful of cheesy crackers, and a star-shaped fish stick. Boba topped it all off with a generous shake of salt and pepper and a big splash of meiloorun milk from the conservator. That seemed right.
While the soup was getting warm, Boba collected the other things he knew his dad would want when he got back from his work with the Kaminoans. His dad was always tired and headachey afterwards and had to go to bed early, so Boba pulled all the blankets off his own bed and piled them on the couch to make an extra-cozy bed. He grabbed his pillow, too, and his big stuffed aiwha, and his little stuffed bantha. As a crowning touch, Boba placed his favourite toy starship on top of the pillow.
He was rummaging in the cabinet under the sink in the ‘fresher for medicine when he heard a soft, familiar footstep behind him. There was no time to spin around before a pair of big, rough hands lifted him into the air and hugged him close.
Boba yelped and struggled anyways, and he was pleased when it got a chuckle out of his dad.
“It’s just me, Boba.”
Boba stopped struggling and squirmed around to throw his arms around his dad’s neck. He rubbed his cheek against his dad’s, making a face when it scratched him and earning another chuckle.
“I saw the couch; there something wrong with your bed?”
“No,” Boba said. “For you. You’re sick.”
His dad shifted Boba in his arms so he could look at him better.
“I’m not sick…?”
Shaking his head, Boba wiggled until his dad got the hint and set him down. He grabbed his dad’s hand and pulled him into the living room, then circled to stand behind him and began pushing as hard as he could on his legs. If he could just get his dad to crumple onto the sofa, it’d be plain sailing from there, but his dad was so stubborn sometimes.
“Boba,” his dad tried. “I don’t - okay, fine, I’m sitting. See?”
He sat on top of the blankets, moving the stuffed aiwha out of the way in what Boba thought a rudely dismissive manner. Boba picked the aiwha up and placed it carefully in his dad’s arms, giving it an apologetic pat on the head.
“Sorry,” his dad said and patted the aiwha, too. “It’s thoughtful of you to share your toys with me, Boba.”
“And soup!” Boba said, remembering his concoction just then. “Soup for because you are sick. Hold on.”
One of his dad’s eyebrows shot up, but Boba hardly noticed in his haste to fetch the soup. He ran into the kitchen and got his own special blue spoon and his favourite little bowl with the starship on the bottom and then he tried to pour the soup. Some of it went in the bowl. Most of it went on the range and the floor. The bowl was full, though, and Boba considered that a success, especially with how hard it was to pick up a heavy saucepan, even when he used both hands and lifted from his knees like his dad had taught him to do.
He carried the bowl and spoon back into the living room, splashing only a tiny bit of soup over the rim. Boba grinned upon seeing his dad lounging comfortably on the couch and tossing the stuffed aiwha in the air.
“Here is your soup,” Boba said, handing his dad the bowl and clambering up to sit on the edge of the couch. “It’s good for you.”
His dad peered into the bowl and made a funny kind of face. Boba thought it might be awe.
“I made it all myself,” Boba added.
“Wow,” his dad said. “That’s - you cooked this all by yourself, huh?” Boba bounced on the sofa and nodded happily.
“Did you try it?” his dad asked.
Boba shook his head.
“Made it for you, dad!”
Muttering something that Boba didn’t catch, his dad scooped up a spoonful of soup and put it to his lips. He didn’t put it in his mouth, though.
“Tasty,” his dad said.
Boba pouted.
“You didn’t eat it.”
His dad made that funny face again before looking between Boba and the bowl several times as if making up his mind. Scrunching up his nose in confusion, Boba swung his legs nervously and waited. What was taking his dad so long to eat his soup? Boba knew it had to be tasty, he hadn’t put anything nasty like vegetables or seaweed in. Just snacks.
Finally, his dad closed his eyes and put the spoon in his mouth. Boba leaned forward and watched carefully to make sure he swallowed.
“It’s great,” his dad said and started to cough.
Boba patted his arm.
“You’re sick,” he said sympathetically.
“Maybe. Tell you what,” his dad said, leaning down to set the bowl on the floor. “I’ll drink the rest of that later. How does a bedtime story sound?”
It sounded great. Boba forgot about the soup immediately and let his dad pull him into his side and snuggle up for a story. It turned out to be a nice long one about the colorful, noisy markets his dad had visited on his trip and the big mean bounty he’d chased from planet to planet, and all the new stars he’d passed by. By the time his dad had gotten to the bit where he tied the mean bounty up and put him on the Slave I, Boba felt his eyelids drooping and he couldn’t keep back his yawn.
“Time for bed, I think,” his dad said quietly.
“This is a bed,” Boba pointed out, but he didn’t have the energy to protest when he felt his dad scoop him up, blankets and all, and carry him into his own room.
His dad kissed him on the forehead and wrapped the blankets around him more tightly; Boba wiggled one arm free and patted his dad’s hand.
“I’m happy you’re here, daddy.”