Chapter Text
After an emotionally exhausting and altogether unproductive flight, the scanner finally alerted Jango to get up from his moping (he had found himself on the floor, contemplating, again) and initialize the landing sequence. Kamino, in all of its sad blue-greys and endless storms, yawned out before him. Even before he entered atmo, Tipoca sent him a reminder to head “with immediacy” to his designated landing pad. Insufferable shabuire1, like Jango hadn’t heard every threat they sent the one time (several times, really) he did a little lap before landing. Like it wasn’t his thousandth time they hailed him with that same message. Shebs’palone2.
Breaking the cloud cover, the desolate white of Tipoca City hurt his eyes, just like it always did. His ship’s computer bemoaned the slipperiness of the landing pad, just like it always did. Jango forced himself to gather any dry waste into a bag, his civilian clothes into another bag, so on and so forth, just as he always did. He walked off the ship with his helmet resealed, in through the doors, and dumped his trash bag just shy of the compactor, earning himself a slow blink (bastards wouldn’t even give him a proper glare).
As he walked through the sterile cold hallways to the apartment, he felt every side-eye a Kaminoan gave him, but kept his own eyes resolutely forward. Less for their sake, and more so he didn’t have to see the clones. Vode, as they called themselves. As much as he had initially resented them for it, the name grew on him (less that and more that his anger at the clones faded), as did his respect for their attempts at finding themselves something to strive for. Jango was no longer sure what he strove for, beyond keeping Boba safe. His own vode were dead, stolen away from him by streaks of light on a snowy field. Memories swirled through his mind, too much like the soft swirls of snow kicked up by impact, until he got to his apartment door. He rapped once before opening it, alerting Boba to his arrival (though Boba usually watched the landing pad, and would be waiting just inside the door).
It slid open with a hum, and Jango immediately clocked the open bedroom door, the lack of sounds of playing, not even the flimsiplast sound of Boba doing his work. Jango’s heart rate surged, barely calming even when he did a quick scan for signs of his son. He yanked his helmet off, doing his best to keep his walk to the central area from being a stalk, where he saw Boba sitting on the floor, cross legged, facing out the window.
“Bob’ika!” He called, heart still slowing to a normal pace.
Boba looked back for a second, before turning to the window again, harrumphing.
“Ne’paha?” Jango asked, opening his arms. (No hug?)
“Gar ori’tion’jor du’caryc?” Boba grumbled, eyes still away from Jango. (Why are you so late?)
“Ge’vaabir Mando’a? Ori’jate.” Even with his ad clearly upset with him, Jango was still pleased at his son’s willingness to learn. (You’re practicing your Mando’a. Very good.)
“Buir, ibac naas’tavak.” Uncrossing his legs and getting up, Boba turned to frown at him. (Parent, that’s not an answer)
Jango kept his face as passive as possible, suppressing a twitch of his eyebrows. “Bob’ika…cuy’kebis gar ne’linibar kat’tayl.” (Bob’ika, there are things you should not have to know.)
Boba crossed his arms. “A ni mav ven kar’tayl ebin’saad.” (But I’ll have to know them anyway.)
“Nu ibic, nu ibi’tuur.” (Not this, not today.)
Boba hmphed again.
“A ni vaab’gan kebyc sha gar,” Jango tried to placate. “Bal ni ru’slana pare’kay gar kep’la par uti’ibic, gar’toh jaon’yc sha gana.” (But I do have something for you. And I was going to wait until you were older for this too, but it is important for you to have.)
“Aser, a gar ru’sirbu gar ru’cuyi geroya me’sen ti ni, ibat neru’vaabi, ilo mhi lini’vaabi sol’yc.” His son stepped closer, fiddling with his sleeve. (Okay, but you said you were going to play ships with me, then didn’t, so we have to do that first.)
“Jenko, Boba.” (Of course, Boba.)
As Jango began taking off his kit, Boba tackled him, nearly to the ground, with a hug. He dropped the piece of beskar he had been holding, instead embracing his son.
Boba wriggled out of his grasp not too long later, pulling from a shelf the box of toys. They sat (Jango made sure to finish taking off his armor first), and Jango smiled at Boba’s smile. It was a sight he had sorely missed.
A few hours passed easily. Eventually though, Jango decided they had been playing with the ships for long enough, that the Jedi would likely arrive sooner rather than later.
“Boba,” he began. “Megin ni’cuy at ven’dinui at gar ni ne’copaani gar dan akay gar cuy gaon bic’liniba, aser?” (What I’m going to give you I don’t want you to open until you are really in need of it, okay?)
His son looked at him, ship stopping midflight. “Tion’lise kar’taylir sha ca’nara ni toh’liniba?” (How will I know when I need it?)
“Ehh…gar kar’tayli, gar vena toh’aala o’r gar kar’ta.” (Umm…you’ll know, you’ll feel it in your heart.)
“Ibac ne’cuyi tihar mayen.” Boba tilted his head a little, placing the toy ship back into the box. (That doesn't mean anything.)
“Bic gaajir, ti’sha ca’nara gar cuy kite’la, gar oya’solus, taana balu’yc ni gebba.” (It will, once you are on your own, living your own life, no longer bound to me.)
“A cuy’gar ni buir, gaaj ratiin, tion’serim?” He shuffled closer as he spoke. (But you’re my parent, you’ll always stay, right?)
Jango took a breath. “Ratiin cuy munit ca’nara.” (Always is a long time.)
“Tion’jor tion’tuur gaajir ni lise dan tenner?” Boba moved closer, and eyed Jango’s lap. (Then when will I be able to open the thing?)
Jango looked at his ad, and patted his thigh. “Ne’kar’tali. Ret ivii’nar.” Boba climbed into his lap as he spoke. “A solus tuur ven cuy’gar shaadlar adol te oyul, sa ni ru’vaabi, bal copaani gar kar’taylir ibac ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” (I don’t know. Soon, maybe. But one day you’ll be making your way through the galaxy, as I have, and I want you to know that I love you.)
“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum uti, nak’ru’cuy’gar du’caryc.” (I love you too, even though you were late.)
Jango laughed, a little pained, maybe a little heartbroken.
As Boba set about cleaning up the toys, Jango went into the bedroom to actually change, and to grab the book. Just when the room door slid closed, he heard the apartment door beep open. Taun We, probably come to frustrate him again.
"Dad! Taun We's here!" Boba confirmed.
He finished changing, opening the door before he’d even rolled up his sleeves, slipping the book into Boba’s bag by the room threshold. Half a lifetime of combat training, tense fights, quick thinking—and still Jango froze at the sight before him.
Ben.
Fast as he could, Jango schooled his expression into a faint frown and stepped out into the main area—the bedroom door still open.
Ben. Ben was here. Ben was calm, face serene, so unlike how Jango had seen him only a day or two ago. Ben was the Jedi.
Haar’chak3.