Work Text:
He looks peaceful like this, you think. The steady rise and fall of his chest and the calm, almost tranquil expression on his face puts you at ease. For once, Boba is able to rest without you having to talk him into it. And though it's not under the best of circumstances and you know that when you kiss him later, the sour taste of bacta will invade your senses, this brief moment of peace is enough. For him and for you.
You allow yourself to look at him for a few more seconds before leaning over his tank and gently pressing your hand to the surface, directly above where his heart must be.
"Boba."
Your voice has a soft quality to it and you smile as you speak his name, trying to bring him out of his sleep in the calmest way you can. It has the desired effect because only a moment later, you see him shift. His eyelids flutter at first, and then his hand moves up to the breath mask on his face. Once the tank is fully drained, the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is your face.
He utters your name and for a fleeting moment, it occurs to you that the tone he’s using sounds less fitting for you and more appropriate for some godlike figure. His voice sounds the exact same as it has whenever he’s said “thank the maker”. Maybe, in his eyes that are still blurry with bacta, you are his deliverance. His salvation.
“Here, I’ve got you.” You step forward and carefully rest your hands on his arms as he begins to sit up. He’s too proud to ever ask for your help, but he’s not stupid enough to reject it, especially when you’re waiting for him with gentle hands and honeyed words. So, the almighty Boba Fett, the man who has killed hundreds, the man who is feared across galaxies, leans into your touch as you help him to sit.
“Did you sleep well?” you ask, noting Boba’s lack of reply. He’s always been a bit on the quiet side, but not like this. Those assassins did a number on him - their attacks probably would have killed anyone else. But this is Boba Fett .
“Mm.”
You frown softly at his short response but don’t say anything about it. It’s a miracle that he can speak at all right now, so you’ll gladly accept his one syllable.
“Does it still hurt?” you prompt, trying to keep your questions to things that can be answered with a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’.
“No more than usual,” he replies, and you have to fight the urge to chuckle. It’s good to know that the attack didn’t have any lasting effects on Boba’s dry humor. You step back from the tank just long enough to grab a robe and drape it over his shoulders, allowing him to do the work of actually putting it on. It’s a constant struggle for you - trying to take care of him without acting like he’s incapable of taking care of himself. It’s a sort of push and pull that controls almost every action you do.
“It’s good to have you back, ner cerar,” you say, reaching up to cradle his cheek with one of your hands. The pet name seems to soften him and you see the corners of his lips twitch into a half smile. The familiar, comforting sensation of one of his rough hands reaching up to rest against your wrist prompts a smile of your own. Of course, this brief moment of bliss and peace can only last so long before he becomes preoccupied with the matter at hand all over again.
“Has Fennec returned?”
“Yes,” you reply.
“And she brought someone with her?” he questions. Once more, you nod.
“It looked more like dragging than bringing, but yes.” At your confirmation, a cold, determined look forms in his eyes, and you see him beginning to rise to his feet. “And he’ll still be here tomorrow.” Boba gives you a confused look and pauses.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks in a somewhat uncertain tone.
“You need rest, Boba.”
“I’ve been resting, ner cyare.” The pet name makes your face heat up but you do your best to ignore it.
“You’ve been healing,” you argue, reaching up to rest a hand on his shoulder. “There’s a difference.”
“I don’t have time,” he protests, and starts to stand up once more, pushing your hands away from him in the process.
“Boba…” You step out of his way even though your hands twitch at your sides, ready to catch him or support him if his legs give out on him. “You know Fennec - she’s keeping an eye on him.”
“So I’ll be saving her the trouble,” he grumbles as he successfully moves to his feet. His old age can’t really help but be showcased in moments like this. He’s acting like a stubborn, grumpy old man right now, and you tell him as much.
“I doubt she minds, old man.” The words roll off your tongue in a way that is playful - you aren’t actually trying to offend him. Still, he arches a brow in response to your comment.
“You’re impossible,” he observes, and you laugh softly.
“I know.” You lean in a little bit closer to him. “Which is why you need to indulge me sometimes. Like right now.”
“Oh, I indulge you plenty,” he retorts, his tone as equally playful as you own. You don’t miss the way his dark eyes dart down to your lips as he speaks.
“So do it now,” you reply without missing a beat. “ Please, my love. Rest.” You lean in and lovingly press your forehead against his own.
The room adopts a peaceful sort of silence as the two of you stand there. The only thing you can hear is the sound of your breaths and his mixing together in the quiet space. It’s a comforting noise, and a noise you hope you will never forget - nor have a reason to forget - for a very long time. Your hand finds purchase at the back of his neck and you’re pretty sure you hear him sigh at the sensation.
“Fine. You’ve convinced me.” Even though he seems to be trying his damndest to sound disgruntled, he’s doing a bad job of it, because you can still hear the relief in his voice as he speaks.
“Thank you,” you reply, unable to keep your own relief out of your tone. He needs this. (And let’s be honest - your psyche needs it too. You swear that this man is going to cause you to burst a blood vessel one of these days.) “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Watch yourself, mesh’la,” he warns, and you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. As much as you’d like to call him on his bluff, you refrain from doing so. The whole point of this was to get him to rest, and purposely getting a rise out of him hardly completes that goal.
"Yeah, yeah. Got it." You pull away from him and extend a hand to Boba, trying to guide him in the direction of his bed. And no matter how bent out of shape he'd like to pretend he is over you making him rest, he takes your hand without a moment's hesitation and allows you to lead him over to the mattress.
He lets out a small groan as he lays back, and you hope that it's the usual muscle aches that caused that noise and not something worse. But you've never known the bacta to not do its job, so that fear is quickly quieted in your mind. You only let go of his hand once he is fully settled, but not before gently stroking his palm with your thumb.
As he shifts onto his side, no doubt a more comfortable sleeping position for him, you climb into the bed as well, pressing yourself against his back. He says your name questioningly and you immediately pause, afraid that you accidently curled against a spot that’s still tender.
“Are you okay?” you ask hurriedly.
“I’m fine,” he replies, and you let out a small breath of relief. “What are you doing?”
Oh. That’s what he had been asking about, wasn’t it? A frown tugs at your lips and you’re grateful that he cannot see your face right now. Had he really thought that you were just going to leave him?
“I’m going to stay the night,” you respond. “If that’s okay?” You almost have to remind yourself to breathe as you wait for his reply.
“Yes,” he says. “That’s okay.”
You half expect him to protest the current position you’re in, to make a big deal of the fact that you’re the one with your arms around him and not the other way around, but surprisingly, he doesn’t . You may be imagining things, but your touch seems to comfort him. Maybe it even makes him calmer. Whatever the answer is, you’ll gladly accept it.
The low humming of a droid echoes around the room for a few seconds before it shuts the lights off and falls silent once more. You take the moment to reach up and pull the sheets on top of the two of you. Tatooine may be boiling during the day, but it could get borderline frigid once the binary suns set, and the last thing you wanted was for him to get sick from the cold.
In the darkness, you can feel him shift, but it seems like it is for the sole purpose of getting closer to you. His body is warm under your touch, a reminder that Boba - your Boba - is, despite the odds, still alive and well.
“Sleep well, Boba,” you whisper with a smile on your face.
“Mm,” he mumbles, drowsiness already seeping into his voice. You close your eyes, ready to let sleep claim you for the night, but he speaks again. “Ner cyare?” He sounds uncertain, and that makes you wonder what could possibly have Boba Fett sounding this unsure.
“Yes, ner cerar?” you ask, matching his pet name with one of your own. He hesitates for a moment before responding.
“Thank you.” Those two words are more than enough.
“Of course.”
You know he’ll never thank you for taking care of him - he’ll never be that forward - but deep down, you know that’s what he means by his comment. Maybe, by doing something as small as showing genuine compassion towards a man who has sorely lacked it throughout his life, you can show him that needing help isn’t shameful. And someday, he might even recognize it for what it really is - an act of love.
You lean in and press a tender kiss to his cheek before settling back into the mattress. And though you can’t see his face, you’re sure that in the darkness, Boba is smiling.