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one.
While picking up supplies in Mos Eisley, Fennec had also picked up a few rumors—the most promising among which was that a tiny speck of a mining outpost had been the setting of a dust-up between the Mining Collective and a stranger wearing familiar armor.
They had headed out immediately to scout the area, but as soon as Fennec had sighted the town in her scope from a mountain ridge, Boba had nudged her.
"What? I thought we were in a hurry here, I can see the whole town no problem—" She turned to glare at him from her prone position, but she stopped her complaints short when she saw that they were not alone. A small posse of Tuskens stood before them, a group of banthas grazing a distance away. Boba nodded at her, and she stood up, brushing the sand off her jacket.
Fennec had kept a respectful distance from any Tuskens she had seen from afar before she had met up with Boba. He seemed to have met them before—though these were apparently not any remnants of his family, but a different tribe altogether.
He explained with his hands (and in Basic, for Fennec's ears) that they didn't mean any trouble, and that he was prepared to trade handsomely for information—namely some of the supplies Fennec had just acquired in town.
The various explosives and ammunition were deemed an acceptable offer; the situation was smoothed, and they were invited to drink black melons in the shade of the canyon. As they all gravely took sips of the bitter drink, the Tuskens asked Boba what they wanted to know.
He explained that he was looking for a man who wore a suit of impenetrable armor; he illustrated his tale by sketching the pieces of his armor in the sand.
The Tuskens murmured amongst themselves for a moment, conferring. A consensus reached, the senior member of their party nodded, and conveyed that they know about the powers of the armor; they had in fact met two such persons. One lived in that town yonder, and had traded blasts with them several times; and the other had been a traveler, but was much more reasonable to deal with.
At this, Boba's face contorted in confusion. Another Mandalorian? And one who was respectful of Tuskens, at that... he took a deep breath, and controlled himself. Not every Mandalorian could be like those he had met in the past.
Fennec was also stunned by this information, but for different reasons. They had probably met the other Mandalorian while she was being double-crossed and shot by that young fool. Which wasn't the Mandalorian's fault; she had been planning to turn him in for the guild bounty herself... but the Dune Sea was a small world, apparently.
Boba noticed her tense reaction. He looked at her, concerned.
She gave him a small but stout nod; the trouble the other Mandalorian had caused her was no matter, since he had found her.
The Tuskens noticed their shared glance; did she have something to add?
Boba translated for her.
"I met him too," she said, looking to the Tuskens. "He was fairly reasonable to deal with, I suppose... Which should go to show that if the armor is truly yours, then you'll be reasonable too."
Boba reiterated what she had said for the Tuskens' understanding. He went on to explain that the impenetrable armor in fact belonged to him, and the fact that he had lost it had led to his being taken in by his Tusken tribe. He hoped to get his armor back from the man in the town who posed a threat to them; if he removed that danger, would they agree to leave the town alone? Surely they could find some common ground in wanting to keep, say, bikers and bandits out of the territory...
The negotiations continued as the shadows grew deeper. Fennec relaxed on the sand, stretching her stiff muscles, and listened to the conversation she could only half understand. Boba's voice was persuasive and gentle, even if the Tuskens couldn't tell. Fennec felt that this was a preview of what he would be like as Daimyo: firm and fair, but ready to back up his words with action. Between his vast experiences and Fennec's 'brains and muscle’, she was sure that the Fett Gotra would have enough savvy to conquer any foe, one way or another.
As the Tuskens turned to one another for a private conference, Boba turned to her, a questioning look on his face.
"What is it?" she asked; his expression was much darker than it had been when conversing with the Tuskens.
"This other Mandalorian... he wasn't the one who shot you, was he?"
It was such an unexpected question that Fennec almost laughed. "No, that was the hothead rookie he was with. The Mandalorian wanted to bring me in alive."
"Hm," Boba grunted, but the stormy look clouding his brow cleared.
The Tuskens finished their deliberations. They explained that a cessation of hostilities between the tribe and the town would indeed be ideal, but they would need to think about how to go about it. They thanked Boba and Fennec for their respectful visit, mounted their banthas, and one by one, rode away.
—
Later that evening, they sat around a crackling fire, enjoying a dinner of roast scurrier. Fennec had finished describing what she had found out in town about the mysterious man wearing Boba’s armor.
Boba had been silent throughout her tale, and finally spoke up. “He’s actually protecting the town?”
Fennec nodded. “Yeah, from the Tuskens—not everyone is as charming as you are—and biker thugs, even from the kriffing Mining Collective…”
He did not reply, staring at the fire as though he were looking through it.
Fennec uncorked the bottle of spotchka she’d bought in town and poured them each a drink. She leaned over and offered Boba a serving in a cup she had dug out of a cabinet on the ship.
Boba took the offered libation, but was still very quiet.
“It’s only a matter of time before he gets noticed; the Mining Collective doesn’t mess around. And if they really lost a whole garrison? No way they’ll let it go," she said, sipping her drink. "They were high-profile enough to afford me a couple of times," she reminisced.
"Hm," hummed Boba.
He looked up at her, and Fennec was almost startled to see the same look of trepidation on his face as when he had blasted the Kintan Striders into atoms. She softened, realizing that the hardened bounty hunter needed reassurance. "When you become Daimyo, we'll be protecting them."
After a moment, the worry left Boba's face. He took a sip of his spotchka. "You seem so sure."
Fennec leaned back on her elbows. "What about?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Everything," he said, giving her a small smile. "That we would get the ship, that we can get the armor... that our gotra will flourish."
"You can't hesitate in this business," she said firmly. "Besides..." she took a sip of her spotchka. "I wanted to believe in you from the beginning. I knew it really had to be you; only the legendary Boba Fett would raid Fortuna's palace almost alone, or climb inside a dead Sarlacc."
Boba chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Fennec grinned behind her glass, glad she could encourage her incorrigible partner.
"Thank you," Boba said after a moment, gazing with fondness at her across the fire.
"What for?" she asked, caught off-guard by his look. "I'm the one who should be thanking you, even if you saved me for a selfish reason."
"I would have tried to help anyone," he replied evenly, keeping his eyes on hers with that piercing stare. "But I knew that you would be able to help me in turn, if you chose to. Thank you for believing in me."
Over the last few weeks, Fennec had gotten used to Boba's desert-dry sense of humor, but there was no joking in his tone. She set her cup down, and met his eyes. "It's not just that. I know we'll succeed because you're actually honorable, like no one else I've ever met." She felt a flush creeping up her cheeks; surely it was the spotchka. She turned to study the profile of the ship parked in its unusual position on its back as she went on. "Everything you've done since the moment we met—even while I was incapacitated—has been honorable. Negotiating with those Tuskens this afternoon, keeping to our deal so strictly—"
"Despite when you climbed all over the dashboard and got a bootprint on the transparisteel," muttered Boba with a roll of his eyes, but Fennec could tell he meant it warmly, and was keeping back a grin.
"Even getting rid of that biker gang was honorable, in a way: they would have just continued to cause trouble at bars and steal from moisture farmers." Fennec steadied herself with a sip. "Worrying about the well-being of some dust-speck unmapped town when you'd be taking your own possessions back only goes to show that you care."
The jollity on Boba's face had been replaced with a very intense, almost vulnerable look.
A breeze blew across the desert, and like the wind picking up a grain of sand, Fennec found herself compelled to stand up and walk around to the other side of the fire to sit by Boba.
She looked earnestly into his dark brown eyes. "You're already doing the work of a Daimyo."
Boba was genuinely touched. To hear that someone he respects believes in him, that she takes him to be more than just a cold-blooded bounty hunter, that he is capable of caring and protecting, not just destruction--that was not the kind of feeling he had ever elicited from people in his old life. Even after he had been accepted into and cared for by his Tusken family, he had failed to protect them. He had told Fennec all about it, but she still took it as a matter of fact that he would become an honorable Daimyo.
He reached out, and gently set his hand on Fennec's. She looked surprised, but didn't pull away.
"I wouldn't be able to do any of this without you," he reminded her.
The warmth from the fire seemed concentrated where Boba's hand rested on hers. Fennec trusted this enigmatic man, and his truthfulness and openness were catching. She turned her hand so they were palm-to-palm, and gave his hand a squeeze. "I know; I stayed because I want you to succeed."
He pressed his hand into hers as their eyes met. A long moment passed this way until another breeze disturbed the fire, and it erupted with a shower of crackling flames. They jumped apart, brushing embers off themselves as sparks flew between them.
two.
Space was cold. Not having left Tatooine in years, Boba had rather forgotten this fact. He sighed as he pulled his cloak more snugly around himself in the pilot’s seat of the Slave I.
He and Fennec had beaten the other bounty hunter back to Mos Eisley and had sent Fennec’s security droid to eavesdrop on his dealings with the mechanic.
The fact that the amphibious passenger needed to travel at sublight speed was no issue to Boba; he had tracked plenty of bounties at all kinds of speeds. The Mandalorian would surely be more alert than most other pilots, but this tail job was light work. Tracking a ship by sublight stealth was reminiscent of times gone by, but Boba had changed in more ways than just the fact that he was clad in Tusken bantha wool rather than Mandalorian beskar… he had learned to rely on others, like the presence of Fennec Shand in the living space, quietly cleaning her sniper rifle.
Even though they had kept to themselves as much as two people could on a ship this size, it was nice having someone else on board. Boba had never been lonely in the Dune Sea, even after the Tuskens had been ripped from him: there was always the warm wind, the sounds of desert creatures, and the snuffling presence of the bantha—but space was cold and empty. It had used to comfort him, years ago when he had tried to chase any feeling out of his heart, but all that loss had never really helped him grow. He felt like he had lived another entire lifetime between clawing his way out of the belly of the beast and finding Fennec on the sand. Had that unfulfilling emptiness clawing back into his heart been what had led him to ask Fennec to stay? Was his armor just an excuse to have something to do together? In the intervening weeks after being reunited with the ship, Boba had begun to doubt that she would take him up on his offer to be his primary partner in the gotra... but their conversation by the fire had made him reconsider.
He closed his eyes and thought of the warmth of the twin suns, and thought wishfully for the weight of his armor and the protection of his helmet.
He startled when he felt an actual warm weight on his shoulder--but it was Fennec's hand, the same gentle pressure as when she had kept contact with his hand beside the campfire. She was looking down at him with a fond smile, but the expression on Boba's face was evidently grim, as she frowned and asked "What's wrong? I didn't touch any buttons down there," trying to crack a joke.
Boba attempted a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. He turned away. "It's nothing."
Fennec draped herself sideways across the copilot's seat. "Sure."
They sat in silence for a moment.
After a while, Boba heaved a sigh. "I eventually got so used to seeing other men with my face that it didn't terribly bother me... But it was something different to see someone with what I had built up to be my true face—my armor, my father's armor..."
Fennec swiveled and studied him closely.
He went on, staring straight ahead into the stars. "That Marshal used my reputation for intimidation, but he always acted honorably..."
Boba had told her enough about his armor to explain why it meant more than even the ship, but this admission seemed much more personal. Fennec reached out and touched his arm. "It was believable because you've always been an honorable man. More than just your skills, that's what made you stand out from us other scum."
He turned to her, looking surprised, as though he wished he could believe her—so worried that Fennec maintained contact. "You're more than just your face, or your DNA, or the armor you wear." She squeezed his arm gently, to emphasize her words. "You are the good decisions you live by."
She didn't take her hand away. They both took a deep breath.
Boba shifted in his seat, and took her hand in both of his. "Fennec, you are the best decision I am living by," he said.
Fennec was the one caught off-guard this time. She met his stare, and saw that a serious expression was still on his face. "Boba," she said softly, unsure what to say. She didn't take her hand away, however.
He had not taken his gaze off her; perhaps he was still used to the barrier of his helmet, because his dark eyes showed a disarming vulnerability.
"I can see why you needed me as the brains and muscle," Fennec chuckled. She brought her other hand to Boba's cheek, and slid her thumb to his chin. "You're all heart." That came out as more of a whisper than she intended; the warmth of Boba's skin through the material of her gloves had seemed to sap the power from her voice.
At her words, Boba's eyes fluttered. He leaned almost imperceptibly into her touch, and was reaching up to touch her hand on his face when all of a sudden the ship's sensors pinged.
They nearly leapt apart. Two New Republic X-wings had appeared on the scanner, and were headed toward the Razor Crest.
Boba swore under his breath. "We'll catch up with him," he muttered sourly. "Strap in, I've had the navicomputer programmed in case we got interrupted."
three.
They had beaten the Mandalorian to the Trask system by a day and a half. They had seen him deliver his amphibious passenger and her precious cargo safely to her destination, and had spied on her joyous reunion with her husband from the Slave I using Fennec's security droid.
They tracked the Mandalorian and his small green companion from there to Nevarro, to Corvus, and now they were following him along a trajectory into the Deep Core.
Fennec had assured him during their long talks through hyperspace that the other bounty hunter would be capable of reason. They had both checked their various contact networks, and just as Fennec had advised that young hotshot, the Mandalorian's little alien friend now boasted an absolutely astronomical bounty—and it was a private listing, which often meant trouble. If they were to offer protection and safe passage, perhaps the Mandalorian would be inclined to be appreciative. As they traveled, they had determined a strategy for their encounter.
“Let’s go over the plan one more time,” insisted Boba.
They would make a low pass to announce their presence; immediately upon landing Fennec would get to a position where she could keep an eye on everyone. Boba would then approach the Mandalorian on foot and begin negotiations.
“This will work,” Fennec assured him. “Keeping a bead on the child will be all the bargaining power we need.”
He turned to her, a frown creasing his scarred brow. “Don’t actually shoot it, though.”
Fennec had noticed how tense Boba had become while watching the familial fondness between the amphibious family, and moreso between the little green guy and the Mandalorian. She knew Boba had been an orphan himself; she had heard quite a bit about Boba's father, and had seen some archival Guild holos... perhaps he was affected by seeing such fatherly affection enacted by someone clad in shimmering beskar, as Jango had worn.
Fennec set her hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “You’ll be able to negotiate and get your armor back.”
The doleful look remained on Boba’s face. “But if I can’t, and he guns me down, the ship is yours—I’ll leave the ramp open, get as far away as possible…”
Fennec was speechless; she was shocked but honored that he would trust her with the last shred of his family legacy. “Boba, I’m not going to let him shoot you, and I am not going to leave you,” she said, finding her voice. “When I said I would join you, it was on the same terms you offered me: that I would protect your life with my life…”
Boba’s expression softened. He slowly reached up, took her hand off his shoulder, and held it with both of his. “Fennec…” he looked up at her, a vulnerable look in his eyes.
Before Fennec could say anything, the landing cycle sounded. This time, Fennec stayed put and did not pull her hand away.
She stood and gave Boba’s hand a squeeze. “We’ll get your armor,” she said, projecting confidence.
Boba looked a touch more encouraged, almost hopeful. “You’d better get below and be ready to get in position,” he suggested quietly.
“Will do, boss.” Then, before she could think about it, Fennec leaned in and pressed her lips to the crown of Boba’s head. “For luck,” she declared, and left the cockpit.
Boba stared after her for a moment, momentarily stunned. For once, he did feel lucky.
four.
As soon as Boba started up the ship and they had parted ways from the Arcataz, Cara Dune had sat Din Djarin down in the living space. The hard-as-nails drop trooper became tender with her friend, murmuring reassurances that the Jedi who had taken Grogu was a Rebellion hero, that Din can trust him, that he would surely be able to teach Grogu all the skills they had seen him use against the Dark Troopers. Maybe later, Grogu would even be able to teach Din how to use his new sword.
Din was silent, and held his helmeted head in his hands.
Fennec paused to survey the sorry scene, one foot on the rung of the ladder to the cockpit. Cara looked up at her, a mournful look on her face. “I’ll take care of him,” she said stoutly, and pulled Boba’s Tusken cloak around Din’s trembling shoulders.
Fennec nodded, and climbed up to check on her own Mandalorian.
—
Up in the cockpit, Fennec assured Boba that the child was in fact safe, that the mission had succeeded despite the foul mood on the bridge.
“… and then he said, ‘May the Force be with you,’ and just left,” she finished.
Boba took a deep breath. “It is for the best that the little bugger gets trained,” he pronounced, “But it hurts to see them separated.”
They sat in silence for a little while, contemplating the magnitude of what they had all just been through, then Boba heaved a sigh. He turned to regard Fennec, and his expression was almost as upset as Din Djarin’s had been when the Jedi had left the bridge with the child.
Concerned, Fennec couldn’t help but ask, “What’s wrong?”
“A Jedi tore apart my family, too,” Boba informed her, his voice hoarse. He turned away, a haunted look in his eyes.
Fennec had heard a rumor that that had been the case, but it was still painful to hear it confirmed from the one whom the loss hurt most.
Boba took another tremulous deep breath, and Fennec could tell that he was deeply emotional about this entire ordeal, even before being reminded of the ghosts of his past. She reached out and set her hand gently on his knee.
“Boba,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry.”
A single tear escaped his eye, and slid down his cheek.
Fennec reached up and wiped it away with her ungloved hand. “I’m not going to leave you,” she said softly, reiterating her promise from before. Her hand lingered on his cheek. “I’m your family now.”
As he had before, he slowly reached up and took her hand in his. “I’m glad you chose to stay,” Boba said, his voice still a whisper.
Fennec was the one who found herself taking a deep breath; the unexpected warmth of his touch had left her breathless… but she did not break their gaze. Boba’s piercing stare made something inside Fennec tremble. She didn’t feel at all afraid: she felt safe with this complicated man, which was an unusual feeling to the master assassin.
Boba looked deeply into Fennec's eyes as he brought her tear-dampened fingers to his lips, and gently but firmly pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
The tenderness of the gesture was not entirely a surprise on this occasion, but the sudden warmth of his lips on her skin made Fennec's heart pound. She found herself gripping his hand tightly; she was sure that he could feel her heart beating through the small point of contact shared by their bodies.
It seemed Boba could feel something between them too; he gave a gentle tug on Fennec’s hand, and she let herself be pulled toward him. She was about to set her other hand on his knee and lean into him when the cockpit door opened.
Cara Dune was almost as surprised as they were. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” she said hurriedly as Boba and Fennec nearly leapt apart. "Din was just wondering where you two were headed after dropping me and the prisoners off, so he can consider his options..."
five.
Boba and Fennec were enjoying their new situation in the throne room, sharing some spotchka and some laughs.
Taking the entire Palace had in fact been much easier than extracting the ship from the hangar. They had previously talked about performing a secondary sweep of the premises after they had secured the throne room, but having seen how quickly the stragglers had fled, it didn’t seem urgent. Clearing the place of its previous gotra’s staff was not as important to Fennec at this moment as seeing how proud of himself Boba was of their shared success.
Boba had settled himself decorously on the throne, with as serious an air as though it was his destiny. Fennec couldn’t hide the huge grin on her face as she draped herself over the right arm of the throne. She let him enjoy the peace for a moment, then nudged him with the bottle of spotchka of which she had availed herself.
“What’s next, boss?” she asked, her tone light.
Boba didn’t say anything, but took the bottle and tilted up his helmet to take a sip. He returned the bottle to her, and pulled his helmet back down.
Fennec took another swig, and raised an eyebrow at the incorrigible man.
Boba regarded her with an air of mischief. “I think we could relax for a bit,” he said, trying to sound casual—but Fennec heard his breath hitch. Then he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her onto the throne with him.
She set the jug of spotchka down, and slung her arms around Boba’s shoulders. “I wasn’t aware you knew how to do that,” she retorted with a smirk. The throne may have been big enough for two humans to squeeze in side by side, but Fennec felt no compulsion to leave Boba’s lap, where he had placed her.
Boba still had an arm around her waist; presently he brought his other hand around to put both hands in contact with her midsection. “I know how to do a lot of things,” he countered, a playful growl in his voice.
Fennec’s heart thumped in her chest; was it the thrill of victory, or the electricity of his touch which had her feeling so warm? She smiled fondly. “My mighty Daimyo, I’m sure you have many talents...”
Boba chuckled softly but said nothing, just stroked the edge of her mechanical casing with his gloved thumb.
Fennec set both her hands on Boba’s shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. She gave him a winning smile as she shifted to sit astride him.
Boba kept his hands firmly on her waist, as though he wanted to make sure she didn't go far. “My Queen,” he breathed, gazing up at her in the warm light.
“Queen, huh? I like the sound of that…” Fennec pressed her forehead to his helmet where she could see the glint of his eyes through the t-visor.
They were so close, she could hear him valiantly trying to keep his breathing even. She shifted on her throne of his thighs, pressing closer, and he rocked his hips up to meet her. Fennec slid a hand to Boba's neck, gripping his cowl. He kept a hand in contact with her for as long as he could as he brought it up to the clasp on his helmet. Fennec gripped him with her thighs, and drew back to take in the sight of the legendary Boba Fett, her Daimyo, her partner, when—
"HELLO," announced a robotic voice, and a modified smelter droid leaned around the doorway from the lower levels.
and one time they did...
Boba's fingers clenched on air at his temple, and in the fabric of Fennec's tunic at her waist. He hissed out a frustrated sigh, and they were so close that Fennec felt the breeze.
She pulled a small blaster pistol out of the top of her boot. "You want me to shoot it?"
Boba chuckled, but shook his head. Gently, but with an authoritative strength, he moved Fennec from his lap to solely occupy the throne, and stepped with a bit of a strut—to Fennec's satisfaction—down the dais.
"Come in here," he called to the droid. "What is your designation?"
The droid rolled in and gesticulated. "I am called 8D8, Daimyo Boba Fett, and have served the gotras of this Palace as a droid-wrangler for many—"
Boba raised a hand. "That's right—I remember you. That will do." He pulled a small device from one of the pouches on his belt. "You may retain your current position as droid-wrangler if you will accept this restraining bolt, and copy the code to the other droids remaining onsite," he offered.
The droid's chassis turned slightly, and Boba guessed that Fennec was making the other option clear behind him. 8D8 turned and made as good a bow as its frame allowed. "I swear fealty to you, Lord Fett," it enunciated formally.
Boba tossed the restraining bolt to the droid, who caught it and bowed again. "Get on," Boba chided. "My Queen and I have some personal matters to attend to." He watched the droid zip out of the room, then turned to regard the master assassin, the person upon whom he relied most, and with whom he had placed the most hope.
Fennec was sprawled on the throne and gazing at Boba with an expression that included wonder and pride. "You're so prepared," she remarked with fondness.
He took a step towards the dais, and stopped to look Fennec up and down, his thumbs hooked into his belt. "I've been thinking about this for a long time," he said after a long moment. "A long time," he repeated to himself.
Fennec swung her legs down from the arm of the throne and rested her chin in her hands, elbows on her knees. "And what are these 'personal matters' which need tending to?" she asked, mirth in her tone.
Boba was quiet for a moment, assessing her. Then he removed his helmet, and stepped closer. "Well, there was part of the plan which only came together quite recently," he told her, his eyes sparkling. Boba set his helmet on the edge of the dais, and climbed up. He stayed on one knee so that he was at eye level with her. A few strands of dark hair had escaped Fennec's braid, and Boba reached up to brush them away from her face and tuck them behind her ear.
Fennec was the one this time to reach up to keep Boba's hand on her face. Her expression had changed from one of entertained swagger to something like vulnerable hopefulness. "Oh really? Which part?" she asked, her heart beating faster.
Boba's thumb stroked her cheek. "This part," he said softly, and leaned in to kiss her.
Fennec grabbed at his shoulders and pulled him in, devouring his mouth. Boba surged up and somehow scooped her into his lap on the throne again.
Eventually, they broke apart, and Fennec pressed her forehead to his, with no beskar barrier. "I think that part had been decided a while ago," she murmured with a smile.
Boba pulled her close and pressed kisses along her cheek and neck. "Timing is everything in our line of work," he chuckled.