Archive of Our Own

He was weightless, anchorless and adrift in the worst possible way.

Obi-Wan stared out at the stars surrounding him. He felt his anxiety rise in his chest.

Out, afloat in the wild of actual space with nothing to protect him other than a spacesuit and an air tank on his back that would last him six hours at most.

He couldn’t even push himself towards any star systems in hope of reaching heavily trafficked space lanes; he had been forced into force-suppressant cuffs before he’d been left adrift. He could feel the Force around and inside of him, but he couldn’t manipulate it outside of his own body.

When Master Qui-Gon had first accepted this assignment from the council, Obi-Wan hadn’t thought this mission would be the death of him.

It had seemed so routine.

The mission had been a simple collaborative mission with Agricorps.

This particular chapter of the Agricorps was trying to find out how their supply chain had been disrupted. The Agricorps were trying to stave off a food supply collapse on Mimban, and shipment after shipment of the hardy seeds that they had been breeding on Devaron hadn’t made it to their destination… despite the shipment being resent three more times. It had been four months of this and the Agricorps didn’t have any more seed to send, and Mimban needed the seeds to plant now.

After they’d gotten their assignment and left the temple, Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon had split up, each of them following one part of the supply chain. Obi-Wan was supposedly following the less dangerous seed chain from Devaron to Agamar. It had been a supply run going in the exact wrong direction from where the supply chain had been disrupted on the way to Mimban, but Master Qui-Gon had been insistent that it be checked out as well.

Pirates had attacked the ship not far from Bandomeer. At the time, it had seemed lucky that they had been more interested in Obi-Wan and his lightsaber than in the Agricorps shipment.

Obi-Wan had escaped pirates before. And he was sure he would again.

So he was sure he’d be fine, that was, until they’d bound him in force cuffs, stole his lightsaber and kindly spaced him in a suit. They’d gone to the trouble of spacing him instead of killing him so if anyone with force-suggestion powers asked, they could honestly say they hadn’t killed the Jedi kid. And the pirates had laughed over their clever ruse as they had pushed him out the airlock.

He hadn’t given them the pleasure of hearing him scream.

So now here he was: helpless, hapless, floating through space… waiting for the moment the oxygen tank gave out and he took his last breath.

He reached into the Force, and it flowed through him, comforting, gentle, all around him even though he couldn’t manipulate it.

He closed his eyes, knowing he could wait for death in its soothing embrace. But when he closed his eyes, the Force poked at him, urging him through his memories.

He had learned about hibernation trances in class a year ago. He could put himself into one, hoping something might happen that could save him.

But such a trance could also make his situation worse. That could mean he could drift unknowingly into the orbit of a celestial body or a black hole. Not to mention, how would he know when to wake up, even if he was found or saved before he died? The trance could extend his air supply to days, maybe even weeks, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t still be alive and require some air.

Still the Force poked at him, insisting.

So Obi-Wan closed his eyes again, this time with a very different purpose in mind.

Jango kicked his feet up on the dashboard and Myles smacked his gauntlet against the side of Jango’s boot.

“Off. I need to do the hourly checks.”

Jango scoffed. “They won’t have changed. Montross put us on this duty because he’s pissed you put dried chillies in his caff this morning.” Jango rolled his eyes. “That guy needs to relax. He does know that I am basically the same rank as him now, doesn’t he?”

“Regardless. I’m still just the lowly rank of Sergeant, I have to do what he says. And anyways, Montross is already mad at me, I don't need to make him angrier by neglecting my duty.”

Jango shook his head and sat back down properly in the co-pilot's seat. As he did, his vision swept out along the black of space. They were waiting for a communication from Manda’yaim before they could continue their journey and go back into hyperspace.

“What’s that?” Jango leaned forward pointing out of the viewscreen.

Myles also leaned forward, tilting his head as they eyed what looked like a piece of space trash floating along. “Shit. Is that… is that a body?”

The two of them looked at each other, then rushed towards the ship’s upper airlock.

“He seems to be unconscious,” Charvee Javan – their squad’s medic – frowned down at the man they had saved from space.

They had managed to pull the body close to the ship and then pull it inside, but not before accidentally giving it a few good smacks against the hull. Jango was still wincing from how loud the last one was. At the time it hadn’t seemed like it mattered, the body was slack and heavy just the same as the body of someone pretty recently dead. But once they’d gotten the body into the cargo hold and opened the suit to look for an ident, Jango had realized the dead body had a pulse. Albeit a very slow one, but still, a pulse.

They’d taken the man they’d found — floating through space no less — to their shipboard medbay and now here they were.

“There’s nothing medically wrong with him beyond a few bruises, but nothing I do will wake him up,” the medic shrugged. “I don’t want to say he’s braindead, but I barely detect any brainwave activity. It’s barely above the level of someone braindead, but only just barely. And also…” Charvee trailed off.

“Also what?” Jango frowned.

“The brainwave activity they have,” Charvee nodded to the monitor by the bed, “Is strange. I’ve never seen it quite like this before.”

“So what do you think we should do?” Jango asked bluntly.

“Keep them healthy until we get back to Manda’yaim and see if any neuro specialists there have any ideas on what’s happening to our new friend.” Charvee shrugged.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Jango nodded. As one of the two highest ranking officers onboard, he had the authority to make that decision.

After Myles and Jango had finished their hourly checks shift, Myles headed off to train and then shower, while Jango went to chase down some rations in the galley.

Jango should probably do some physical training as well, but lately he’d been sleeping very poorly. So he was currently cranky and tired enough that working-out sounded like a horrible idea. Probably he should go lie down and try to sleep, but lately his dreams had been terrifying and disorientating enough that there was no solace for him in sleep.

So instead, he headed down to the medbay, with a steaming bowl of hot noodles drowning in a spicy red sauce.

The man was lying in the same position he’d been in when Jango had left earlier: quiet and still. Charvee had put an IV in the man’s arm and changed him into patient clothes, but otherwise there was little difference in his state.

There was something about the man that drew Jango in. Something that made Jango want to check on the unknown man and see how he was doing. Something that even made him want to sit vigil for this unknown man.

It was a strange compulsion. Jango had sat many vigils for comrades and adopted family members after battles or because of illnesses. He’d never wanted to sit for someone who he didn’t know.

Once he’d finished his bowl of noodles, he put the bowl on the ground, sliding it under his chair so he wouldn't knock it over if he stood. His now free left hand hesitantly gravitated to the unconscious man’s right hand.

Jango jumped a bit, it almost felt like the man had squeezed his hand in return. But that couldn’t be true, the man hadn’t moved; it didn’t even look like he was breathing.

Normally, a stillness like that meant death. But there was something very visceral and empty feeling about a dead body that was at odds with how this man felt. It was almost like… this man’s presence could fill the entire room. Almost like the man had expanded so far away from his body that he couldn’t pull back.

Not that that made any sense to Jango. He had no idea why such a thought had even entered his mind.

Still the man was alive. And yet, the hand in his wasn’t warm… but it also wasn’t cold. He supposed this had to be what the hand of an unconscious man would feel like. The unconscious man’s hand was also calloused, dry and rough, which seemed at odds with how beautiful and angelic the young man’s rosey-pale face was.

For a long while he just stared at the man’s face. He wondered what his name was, where he was from and who might be missing him. Most of all, Jango wondered how the man had come to be floating as if dead in space, and how lucky it was that he and Myles had been able to find him.

Jango didn’t know how long he stared down at the unconscious man’s symmetrical face until he was so tired that he needed to lean back in his seat and close his eyes so he could rest a bit.

The next thing he knew was he was waking up, still sitting in the uncomfortable medbay chair with an incredibly stiff neck.

He’d fallen asleep there? Strange. But even stranger, he hadn’t had any of the horrific dreams that had been haunting him lately.

Jango’s hand was still clasped in the unconscious man’s hand. The man’s hand felt warmer somehow. And when Jango looked up, he froze in surprise.

The unconscious man was awake and staring at Jango. “Who are you?” The man asked in a hoarse whisper.

“I’m Jango Fett. My best friend and I found you floating in space. You’re safe now though.”

The man blinked his pretty gray-blue eyes, looking around them in confusion. “Where am I?”

“You’re on my squad’s ship Haar Beviin... That means ‘The Lance’ in Mando’a. We brought you aboard when we found you. We’re currently on our way to Manda’yaim. But when we get there, we’d be happy to help you find your way home.”

The man nodded, still looking around the room.

“By the way, why were you out there? How did you come to be floating in a spacesuit? Were you in an accident? Did you have to abandon your ship?” Jango asked curiously.

“I… I don’t remember,” the man shrugged, his hand still holding Jango’s hand tightly.

It occurred to Jango that maybe he should let go of the man’s hand. He tightened his grip instead. “Hey, that's ok. It will probably come back to you. You did just wake up from a coma. Do you remember where you were before that? Maybe what you were doing?”

The man’s forehead wrinkled and he shook his head. “I…”

Jango held his breath, waiting for the man to answer.

“I can’t even remember my own name.” The man said, his voice filled with shock and a hint of panic.

Jango felt his mouth drop open in surprise.

The whole situation was… odd. And Myles wasn’t really sure what to think about it.

Finding and rescuing their strange passenger from the cold of space felt like something out of a holofilm. And now the man claimed he didn’t remember anything beyond waking up in their medbay? Something fishy was going on and Myles did not like it.

Not to mention that his best friend, who really should know better, seemed to be falling head over heels for this mysterious stranger.

Jango was the almost thirty-year-old son of the Mand’alor. He should know better. Jango should be thinking with his brain not whatever body part he was thinking with when he was staring dreamily at their mystery man.

So this was all just a bit fishy. But at the same time, Myles wanted to be empathetic to the man they’d picked up. Maybe the memory loss was from something traumatic or from an injury. If so, the man might very well have lost everything he had, and his memory was just trying to protect him.

Maybe Myles should be more kind over this whole situation. After all, if something like that ever happened to Myles and he found himself floating through space, barely alive, he would hope someone would pick him up too. And he would hope that those people would be kind to him.

So he knew he should be sympathetic, but seeing Jango act like a love sick fool made Myles furious inside.

And now here Myles was – the morning after the man had woken up – standing by the stove, staring at Jango and the mystery man. The two were sitting beside each other in one of the booths in the galley, eating steaming bowls of gruel, sliced Meloorun and cream. Well, the mystery man was eating, Jango was besottedly staring at the man eating.

“You should eat too,” the mystery man said in his strange, posh, Core accent, smiling at Jango as he scooped up another spoonful of his breakfast. “Instead of just staring at me.”

Jango turned back to his own breakfast, his chestnut-brown cheeks darkening slightly in embarrassment.

“What should we do after breakfast?” the unnamed man asked Jango.

Jango swallowed his mouthful of gruel and cleared his throat. “I need to write a few reports in preparation for our arrival at Manda’yaim. But after that, maybe we could work out in the cargo hold? Or maybe we could do some research together, see if we can’t figure out where you’re from.”

“I’d like that,” the redhead smiled with a charming softness.

Over the next week, Jango spent every moment he could with the man. There was just something about the young man’s very being that drew him in.

But it wasn’t just that. When they talked, their conversation was easy, fun. And although the man couldn’t remember who he was, he seemed to remember all sorts of interesting facts and information. He peppered them into their conversation easily, and Jango often found himself fascinated by the topics their discussions covered.

Jango had never known that water beetles on Scarif danced in memoriam of other beetles who died or never returned to their mounds. Or that purple used to be a color of royalty on most core worlds because of how expensive and difficult it was to produce a stable purple dye.

But it was more than just the conversion that had Jango unable to keep his eyes off the other man.

The man was stunningly beautiful. Jango could easily admit to himself that he was very attracted to the man.

And there was a natural physical ease between them. Maybe part of that was because the man had awoken to Jango holding his hand? But ever since, they found it all too easy to casually reach out for each other.

At night, when it was time for them to go to their separate bunks, Jango found himself unable to let go of the man’s hand, and had – even from that very first night – pulled the man into his room. They had slept curled around each other like two parts of a puzzle.

An added bonus to all of this was Jango hadn’t had any bad dreams since the man had come aboard. He was sleeping better than ever.

Jango could be honest with himself: he was smitten. He was falling in love all too easily, and didn’t care to stop it.

On their second last night together, the man had whisperingly told Jango he had feelings for Jango. He told Jango how when they awoke in the morning, he wanted to press back into Jango’s arms, rather than get up and move away. He told Jango that he wanted to lean forward and kiss Jango, and even to strip them both bare and make love.

Jango couldn’t help telling the man he was also falling in love. And when he asked the man if they really could make love, Jango didn’t feel bad that he didn’t know the man’s name. He felt like he knew the man’s very soul.

Hours before they landed on Manda’yaim, they made love on the ship for the last time and then crowded together into the tiny shower to wash.

“You know, I’ve never asked you what these were,” Jango said conversationally as he ran a bar of soap over the man’s wrists, arms and then shoulders.

The other looked down at his wrists to the metal bands circling each wrist. “I don’t know,” he said.

The answer didn’t surprise Jango. Jango disliked touching them though, they felt bone-chillingly cold and prickly to the touch. Jango generally tried to avoid touching them at all. They felt like the very opposite of touching the young man. Touching the other man’s skin felt warm and familiar, like curling up under a blanket next to a fireplace during a cold night, or like that feeling in your chest when you returned home after a long journey to the people that loved you.

“They feel like they’re not mine though,” the man whispered. “They feel like they don’t belong on me.”

Jango frowned, the answer made sense and yet somehow… didn’t. Jango pushed away any thoughts of the metal bands and told his lover to turn around so Jango could wash his back.

When they landed on Manda’yaim, Jango had the sinking realization that maybe should have told his buir beforehand. He wasn’t quite sure how to explain the man’s presence in a way that wouldn’t seem wildly strange. And he definitely wasn’t sure how to explain his feelings for the man when Jango didn’t even know the young man’s name.

But the worry was taken away from him almost immediately, for when they landed, a medical team met them on the landing pad and led his lover away.

Jango watched with sad eyes as the healers escorted the young man towards a speeder. “How did they know to–?” Jango asked himself quietly.

“You idiot,” Myles came up to stand beside him. “I called the Mand’alor, like you should have done a week ago, Jango! He was the one that called in the medical team.”

Jango felt his cheeks warm. Now that he was away from his lover, it was difficult to justify his actions during the week. It must have seemed like he was acting bizarrely to his best friend. But what could Jango say to justify his behavior? There was some kind of soul-deep connection between him and the young man.

“Come on,” Myles said harshly, turning away. “We need to do our cross-checks and unload our cargo before we can report our mission to the Mand’alor.”

Jango swallowed uneasily and followed his friend inside the ship.

The healers asked him question after question: What was his name? Where was he from? What was his medical history? How old was he? Was he near human? Did he have any allergies?

And to each question there was little he could do beyond shrug or respond: “I don’t know.” Because he didn’t. His mind drew a blank when he tried to remember any personal information. He could remember how to brush his teeth, but he couldn’t seem to remember what his name was or what planet he was from.

It was like his life had just started the moment he’d woken up in the medbay to Jango holding his hand.

There was nothing he could tell the medics.

Amongst the medics there was much scratching of heads over his answers. But after they gave him an extremely invasive physical and a brain scan, they couldn’t do much more than shrug their shoulders and admit they didn’t know themselves.

“There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with you,” the head medic told him calmly. “We don’t know what caused your amnesia. Our best guess was that it was a traumatic event that made your subconscious want to protect you.

“Hopefully — if this is the case — then with time, your memories should return to you.” The medic finished.

“So what do I do until then?” He asked the medic.

The medic shrugged. “Live your life.”

He was driven to another building and led back to Jango eventually, by an unfamiliar guard in armor. It seemed like he had been led through every single courtyard, side hall, dining area and public space while being led to wherever Jango now was. He suspected that something was happening that he wasn’t allowed to be privy to. Hopefully it wasn’t anything bad.

When he finally got led to Jango’s room, he realized he was nervous. He wasn’t sure why though, but it was almost like he was feeling it from outside of himself.

He hesitated at the door plate. Behind him, the guard scoffed at him and told him to ‘just go in already’.

Jango was facing away from the door, staring out the window at the sprawling city of Keldabe. Jango was still in full armor except for his helmet, which had been tossed unceremoniously onto a nearby sofa.

He took in the room with awe, admiring the beautiful wall-hangings expertly woven to depict Mandalorians in the midst of battles, as well as the ferns dotting the corners of the room, and the elegant vaulted ceilings held up by varnished synthwood beams.

Finally his eyes came back to his lover. Jango’s body language was tight and closed off.

“Everything alright?” He asked Jango tentatively, worried what had happened that had so soured his lover’s mood while they’d been apart.

Jango turned and a smile blossomed across his gorgeous mahogany-brown face. “Everything's fine now that you’re here.”

He smiled back, feeling relieved at the change in Jango’s mood. He felt as if he knew Jango’s very soul, but the reality was they’d only known each other for a week. He had never seen Jango upset or angry.

Jango stepped closer and grabbed his hands, looking up into his eyes. “What did the medics say?”

He shook his head. “They don't know. They think my memories might return eventually though.”

Jango squeezed his hands. “That’s good then. My buir— the Mand’alor — thinks we should maybe take a bit of a break from each other. Get a little distance.” Jango scratches his neck awkwardly. “He thinks my ability to make decisions is a bit compromised…”

By a pretty face, he heard what wasn’t being said.

He swallowed, worried that the one person he felt he knew was about to be ripped away from him. “If that’s what you want, then I understand.”

Jango shook his head. “No, it’s not what I… I want you to stay here with me.”

He took a step back, their joined hands falling apart. “But he’s your parent right? You should listen to him.”

Jango sighed, running one of his now free hands through his hair. “Stay tonight at least. And tomorrow, we’ll go to the armorer and get them to take those off,” Jango gestured to the metal bands on his wrists. “Then we can figure something out. There are some empty rooms close by, maybe that would be enough distance for my buir if you stayed in one of those.”

He nodded, Jango’s ideas sounded sensible.

“Are you hungry? I can have something sent up for us.” Jango offered earnestly.

He shook his head. “I’m just tired. Can we go to bed now?”

“Of course,” Jango nodded, taking him by the hand and leading him to the bedroom.

They made slow, sensual love before they curled up together to sleep.

As he drifted off, something in his gut clenched in warning and he wondered if this was the last time they’d be together.

It was such a strange thought. Why would he wonder that?

The Armorer that Jango took him to, examined the cuffs with a strange quiet. Even though there was nothing in the Armorer’s facial expressions or body language to signify what the Mandalorian was thinking, the impression he got was that the Armorer knew what the cuffs were.

“I think I can get these off without the key, however I will need to use a beskar water drill, so as not to hurt you when I get through them,” the Armorer informed them.

“Key?” Jango frowned. “I didn’t see a place where a key would fit.”

“It’s hidden here,” the Armorer lifted his arm in a weird way. “I have seen cuffs like this before. Never on someone though.”

“What are they for?” Jango asked, curious.

The Armorer turned their helmet and stared at Jango for a long quiet moment. “I think we should take them off first before we discuss that.”

He wondered what the Armorer meant, but acquiesced to have his wrists placed over a forge-stone.

It didn’t take long for the Armorer to get the first one off, which left him feeling dizzy and lightheaded. But once the second one came off, the last thing he saw was the ceiling above as he fell back, feeling as if all of his blood had rushed to his head.

Obi-Wan woke up lying in an unfamiliar hospital bed.

For a few minutes, he just lay there — blinking up at the boring, pale-tiled ceiling — trying to remember where he was and what he’d been doing. It must have been something dangerous for him to end up in an infirmary.

He remembered being assigned a seed-finding mission by the council, he remembered splitting from his Master and then…

Pirates, that’s right pirates had spaced him.

Then he had woken… Obi-Wan bolted upright, remembering Jango and the Mandalorians he’d been saved by.

He was on Mandalore. He had been saved by the Jedi’s oldest and fiercest enemies. The feud between their peoples was legendary and still rather contemptuous.

Obi-Wan had never met a Mandalorian before now, but he had been warned by many of his teachers and even classmates at the Temple, to stay away from Mandalorians if at all possible.

Mandalorians themselves tended to stay away from Jedi or inconvenience Jedi as much as possible if their paths crossed. If that included occasionally capturing Jedi and turning them in for bounties, then that was just fortuitous from the Mandalorians’ perspectives. And any possible death or enslavement on the Jedis’ side was an added benefit.

So it was really in any Jedi’s best interest to stay away from Mandalorians.

Obi-Wan blushed, remembering how much care Jango had taken with him. How close they had gotten. They’d even had sex multiple times and Jango had been a considerate lover.

His heart was at war with his brain. He wanted to trust Jango, but his brain told him it was a very bad idea. And if Jango or any of the Mandalorians around here were to find out, it could mean Obi-Wan’s death.

He needed to contact his Master, and he needed to find a way out of this sector as quickly as possible.

Although before he could plan anything further, the door to his hospital room opened and a healer in a teal tunic and dull silver vambraces stepped through.

“You’re awake!” The healer smiled. “The ven’alor will be pleased.”

“Ven’alor?” Obi-Wan asked, confused. He was assuming the healer was referring to Jango. Who else would be so pleased Obi-Wan had woken up. He had heard Jango referred to as al'verde before or as vod by Myles, but he hadn’t heard that title yet.

The woman laughed, “I’ll let Fett explain that one to you. Anyways, let’s get you checked out to make sure everything is well. You gave Fett and the Armorer a bit of a scare.”

“I”m sorry,” Obi-Wan said politely. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

The healer’s brow crinkled and she shrugged. “Don’t apologize, that’s something we don’t do here. Mandalorians don’t apologize for things out of their control. Everyone will just be glad you’re alright, especially the ven’alor.”

The door swished open again, Jango standing on the other side with a troubled frown. But the moment he saw Obi-Wan was awake, a huge grin broke over his features. “Su’cuy!”

“Speaking of,” the healer grinned at Obi-Wan as she gently took out the IV from his arm. “He’s been sitting by your side since you came in yesterday morning. I sent him home to shower and change right before you woke up, that’s the only reason he wasn’t at your side when you came to.”

Jango came over and sat in the empty chair by Obi-Wan’s bed and reached out to take his hand. “How are you doing?”

Obi-Wan stared down at Jango’s hand covering his own. “I’m feeling very tired still,” he said weakly. His heart was racing with fear, but at the same time he just wanted to stay here, holding this beautiful man’s hand.

Somehow Jango had become… precious to Obi-Wan during their time together. He had grown to feel so much attraction for the Mandalorian — both physically and emotionally — during their week together.

But he was sure that if Jango or any of the other Mandalorians found out he was a Jedi, that would be the end of Obi-Wan.

“I understand,” Jango squeezed his hand and smiled. “You lie back and rest, I’ll be here.”

Obi-Wan nodded and let the healer readjust his pillows so he could lie back down.

Jango’s hand clasped over his felt too tight, too possessive. Obi-Wan knew Jango wouldn’t take the news that Obi-Wan was a Jedi well. So he needed to find a way to escape, but Obi-Wan could bide his time until he could.

Obi-Wan could be patient.

Obi-Wan ended up falling asleep, against his better judgment. He’d wanted to stay awake and look for a moment when he could slip away. But Jango was persistent in the desire to stay by Obi-Wan’s side.

Part of him was thrilled at Jango’s determination to stay close, and part of him was a bit annoyed.

When he woke a few hours later, Jango had fallen asleep himself, his forehead pressed to their clasped hands and dead to the world around him. It looked like an incredibly uncomfortable position.

Obi-Wan debated waking Jango and sending him home to sleep for the night, but he knew how stubborn the man was. He knew from having only known Jango for a week.

He also knew what a deep sleeper Jango was.

Carefully, and some gentle use of the force, Obi-Wan pried his hand out from under Jango’s.

He slid off the bed in nothing but a patient’s tunic. That wouldn’t do. He would be too conspicuously dressed to wander about the hospital and not expect to be caught by the staff here.

Luckily, there was a tunic and a pair of leggings folded neatly on a chair by the door. They looked to be his size. Jango must have brought them with him. Obi-Wan slipped them on before he slipped out of the room.

Obi-Wan had expected that he would need to leave the hospital to make his call, but when he reached the first floor, he saw a sign for a public comms room.

The room was near empty when he stepped inside. There were four terminals available for use, all within eye-view of the open doorway, and only one was currently being used.

Obi-Wan took the terminal furthest away from a healer who was having a hissing argument with what sounded like their partner at another terminal. Obi-Wan began to input the 16-digit number he had memorized. He’d lost his comm so often during missions that he’d made sure to at least memorize his Master’s comm number.

The comm buzzed through to the number. And then it buzzed, and buzzed, and buzzed. After the 10th notifying buzz, the comm switched over to his Master’s generic holo-voice inbox.

Obi-Wan hung up, knowing his Master never checked his inbox.

He contemplated calling the Jedi temple directly and having them forward his call as a priority to Master Qui-Gon’s comm, but that would slow the connection significantly and make it almost impossible to communicate the situation to his Master.

By that time the healer at the other comm-station hung up and angrily huffed their way out of the room.

With a sigh, Obi-Wan input his Master’s number again.

This time, on the third buzz, someone picked up.

Obi-Wan was never more grateful to see his Master’s bearded face and quickly explained the situation.

Master Qui-Gon huffed with amusement. “Only you would get into a situation like this, Obi-Wan.”

“I’m sorry, Master,” Obi-Wan bowed his head. “I didn’t mean too—”

Master Qui-Gon waved off his apology. “I’m glad you’re safe for now. I had worried when you didn’t check in a few days ago.”

“I need a way out of this system. I don’t know what the Mandalorians will do if they find out I’m a Jedi.”

“Transmit your coordinates, Obi-Wan. I’ll start making my way to you. And lay low until I can get there.”

Obi-Wan used the comm’s location feature to transmit his coordinates to his Master. “Thank you, Master.”

“I will get to you as soon as I can. May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan.”

“And you, Master,” Obi-Wan bowed his head as the transmission cut out.

Obi-Wan stared a the blank space where his Master visage had been and sighed, only to spin around when he heard someone clearing their throat behind him.

Obi-Wan froze, staring at Jango, who was standing in the doorway.

“Is there something you want to tell me, mesh'la?” Jango asked, cocking one eyebrow.

“Uh, I remember my name now?” Obi-Wan said tentatively, quickly hanging up the receiver.

“Oh, really.” Jango said, his voice filled with exasperation. He crossed his arms and sighed, “And anything else you wanna tell me?”

Obi-Wan hesitated, “...I’m a jedi?” He hunched in on himself. He was feeling very caught off guard.

Jango covered his face with his hands and groaned. “I think we need to go see my buir,” his voice was slightly muffled by his hands.

Obi-Wan stood, panicking internally. He followed behind the man who’d been his lover slowly, his heart thudding loudly in his chest.

Jango led him out of the hospital and into a speeder that was being driven by a Mando in full armor. They were driven through the streets of Keldabe up to, what Obi-Wan now realized was Keldabe Fortress, the residence of the Mand’alor. Suddenly so many things about his lover began making sense.

“People call you ven’alor?” Obi-Wan asked quietly.

Jango’s amber eyes flickered to meet Obi-Wan’s. “It means future leader. My buir has been training me to take over for him. When he’s ready to retire, I will challenge him for the title.”

The speeder stopped and Jango grabbed Obi-Wan’s arm, hauling him out, up the steps and into the fortress.

“Jango, I’m sorry.” Obi-Wan pleaded as they neared the open hall where the Mand’alor, leader of Mandalore received his public. He thought about fighting out of Jango’s grasp and running. Maybe he should have done so back at the hospital, but he’d been frozen with indecision and his body had automatically followed the man he had begun falling in love with.

And besides, where would he run to?

Jango scoffed. “Not sorry enough to even tell me your name. Was any of it even real?”

Obi-Wan winced. “It was all real. I couldn’t remember anything until the Armorer removed those force suppressing cuffs. And… my name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Jango sighed. “When Mandalorians have unresolved conflicts, Obi-Wan, they are brought before the Mand’alor to plead their case.”

A man in his fifties with dark hair and a complexion a shade lighter than Jango’s russet brown skin, sat on a large, but simple throne in red and silver armor. He had the kind of face you would trust, with a crooked nose from too many breaks, silver lining his hair at the temples and a soft, small mouth.

“Jan’ika,” the man greeted Jango warmly. “What’s wrong?” he asked, concern filled his voice as he took in his son’s expression.

“This is Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Jango finally relinquished his hold on Obi-Wan’s arm. “He’s a jetii. He is the man I fell in love with a week ago, and he has deceived me.”

Obi-Wan winced at the word love. He himself still felt strong emotions from their time together. He hadn’t forgotten anything that had happened between them. But, a Mandalorian and a Jedi couldn’t work. Disregarding their peoples’ contemptuous past, they lived completely different lifestyles. That didn’t even touch on how Jango’s feelings felt too intense for the short time they’d spent together.

The Mand’alor sighed. “Tell us your side, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“I…” Obi-Wan looked around at the room full of Mandalorians fearfully. “When I started to remember, I was afraid that who I was could mean…” He didn’t want to come out and say ‘be the cause of his own death, but that was what he’d been thinking.

“So you kept that to yourself because you were afraid?” The Mand’alor asked.

Obi-Wan nodded.

“And when did this start happening?”

“When I woke up in the hospital last night.” He chanced a glance at Jango out of the corner of his eye. Jango had his arms crossed and a pout had appeared on his face.

“Why didn’t you talk to me? Mesh’la, you hurt my feelings when I found you suddenly gone and then when I went looking for you, I found out more about you than I had in a week and a half!” Jango said, sounding really upset.

The Mand’alor sighed. “Jan’ika. I gave you advice days ago that the two of you needed some space to figure out what was real between you. It was an intense situation and I think that has clouded your judgment. If you had both had some space, maybe this could have been avoided.”

“You’re not going to…” Obi-Wan paused, not wanting to give them any ideas. They weren’t sounding at all blood-thirsty over the fact that he was a Jedi. “I mean you’re not mad I’m a Jedi?”

“Obi-Wan, our people haven’t exactly been amenable to each other during our pasts. But our people have changed a lot in the last hundred years, and we understand your people may have as well. We are trying to take you each on an individual level and give your people a chance. Can you not do the same for us?” The Mand’alor asked him.

When put like that, Obi-Wan felt himself flush with embarrassment. He was not one to believe in stereotypes, but that was what he’d done here. And it was true that while the other Mandos standing about in the room felt a bit of… contempt or annoyance towards him — in the force — none of them felt murderous. “I would like to try,” Obi-Wan replied earnestly.

“Good. Now I think the solution is the one I mentioned before. You two need a bit of time apart. Time to process, time to decide what you want from each other. Then you two need to communicate and be honest and open about who you are and what you want.”

“But he—” Jango started, sounding a bit put out.

“And were you honest with him about who you are, Jan’ika? Did he know you are the Mand’alor’s son?”

“No,” Jango admitted freely, then sighed and turned to Obi-Wan. “Mesh’la, I still love you. And I do want you in my life. But I know I am not in the most reasonable headspace right now. Do you think we should take my buir’s advice?”

Obi-Wan blushed. “That might be for the best. My Mas… uh, teacher is on his way here to get me. And I think that might be for the best. Some time apart will give us the opportunity to really think this through.” Some cultures took exception to the title of Master and there was already enough tension in the room. Best to just avoid using it.

“But you’ll keep in contact with me?” Jango moved into Obi-Wan’s space, desperation in his tone.

“Jan’ika, back off.” The Mand’alor said.

Obi-Wan tried to uncurl himself from the protective position he’d instinctively taken.

Jango took a step back, his expression falling even as his eyes greedily took in Obi-Wan, as if he was trying to memorize Obi-Wan’s visage.

“Obi-Wan, why don’t you walk with me,” the Mand’alor got off his throne and walked towards an exit that would lead them deeper into the fortress.

Obi-Wan took one last glance at Jango and then followed the Mand’alor. Obi-Wan could feel Jango’s longing stare as they left.

“I’m sorry,” Jango’s buir said once they’d finally left the hall behind. “Jango can be… pretty possessive once he’s decided something is his. It stems from some of the losses he suffered as a child. But I also suspect some of his possessive behavior comes partially from his Taung ancestry. The Taungs were an incredibly aggressive and possessive people. The Fett line is old and goes all the way back to Mandalore’s first inhabitants. We’re working on these issues though. Know that despite how he may have come off, he’s a good man and a good son. Few would be luckier than to have him as a partner.”

Obi-Wan nodded, not meeting the man’s eyes. “The ‘Fett line’? Not your own?”

“I’m Jango’s adoptive parent. He didn’t come into my life until he was almost ten.”

“I see. I think…” Obi-Wan hesitated.

The Mand’alor paused his stride to look Obi-Wan in the eye. “Go on,” he urged.

“I didn’t realize before my memories returned, but I think Jango is a bit… force-sensitive. He isn’t just physically possessive, I can feel him reach out for me in the force as well. He’s not strong, but… I wonder if he unconsciously recognizes that sameness in me, and that might be why…”

“He’s obsessed with you, for having known you for such a short time?” The Mand’alor provided. “I have suspected he’s stars-touched for a while, but… there was never anything definite to confirm. Does he scare you?”

“I have feelings for him too,” Obi-Wan admitted slowly, feeling a little uncomfortable he was revealing this to Jango’s parent. “But since my memories have returned, I have noticed how toxic his want for me is. It edges a little on the dark-side and it worries me.”

Jango’s buir sighed. “Having space between you two is probably for the best then. Let’s get you to your Master, Jet’ika. And while you’re gone, I’ll continue to work with Jango. I’ll see if we can find some more stars-touched people for him to connect to as well.”

Obi-Wan felt his shoulders slump in relief, and easily followed the Mand’alor to a lounge where he could contact his Master and then wait for his arrival.

Obi-Wan watched Mandalore disappear from the ship’s viewscreen as the ship entered hyperspace. He felt a little sad he was leaving Jango behind, but also, incredibly relieved.

“Sounds like it’s been an eventful mission for you, Padawan,” Master Qui-Gon crooked one eyebrow.

“You have no idea, Master.”

“Let’s debrief and then decompress with some mediation.”

“I would like th—” Obi-Wan’s comm buzzed.

Obi-Wan opened it, wondering who it could be and felt his stomach sink as Jango’s face appeared.

“Mesh’la, I’m sorry. I miss you. Please come back.” Jango sounded upset.

Obi-Wan stared at the man who had found him floating through space, trying to figure out how to respond.