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Obi-Wan is in a tea shop near the Temple when a new customer enters the shop, and everyone around them goes a bit quiet, including Shasa, the shopkeeper. Obi-Wan doesn’t let it bother him, mostly because he doesn’t have time to pay attention. He’s sneaking in a visit between lectures, because Quinlan is coming back from a mission later and has a bit of a sweet tooth. Obi-Wan’s already gotten pastries from the bakery next door, but he can’t serve them without tea. The Force doesn’t seem too worried; he has the same general sense of stay alert that he normally gets when he’s out around strangers and trying to avoid notice. He’s tucked his braid up today and he isn't wearing his robe because the sling he has to wear for his shoulder makes it frustrating. He misses his robe, but it does make it easier to stay under the radar.
He’s a week into a month-long mandated leave after a string of missions has gone awry, the last being diplomatic negotiations that fell apart rather spectacularly. Master Qui-Gon is going to recover, but he’s confined to the Halls of Healing, and Obi-Wan still has a brace for his knee along with the sling. He is glad to have gotten them both out, and glad for the time to rest, but it rankles, thinking about how everything had gone wrong, and now he’s grounded until the Council can find a quieter mission for them, or at least for Obi-Wan, who is approaching Knighthood. He hopes and expects to take on some solo missions soon.
He’s trying very hard not to be bored out of his mind, and a visit to the tea shops always settles him, a place where he can just be, somewhere no one will mind if he spends a few minutes or an hour smelling good things. And Shasa lets him talk to her about the blends, and the flowers that go into them, and anything else he thinks of while he’s shopping, though he tries not to take up too much of her time.
He’s chosen his tea and is sampling honey when he feels a presence looming next to him, and turns. The stranger is perhaps a few years older than Obi-Wan, and he is handsome, dark curly hair over a golden brown face. His dark brown eyes are focused on the corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth, and Obi-Wan flushes, realizing there’s honey there, so he darts his tongue out.
The stranger smiles. “Hello,” he says, in lightly-accented Basic, gesturing to the honey. “Would you recommend that flavor?”
It has been made with Alderaanian wildflowers, and is quite delicious. “I suppose that depends on what you’re using it for,” Obi-Wan says. “But it’s very versatile.”
The stranger casts his eyes around the shop. “Something citrus based,” he says, finally. “I’m trying to surprise my buir.” He grimaces, looking around, but everyone else in the shop is avoiding his gaze. “My parent,” he translates.
Obi-Wan’s eyes light at the Mando’a. “Is it shig? I’ve always wanted to try it, but—” he pauses. Mando’a means Mandalorian, and Mandalorians and Jedi are not, strictly speaking, friends. “They probably have what you need in Little Keldabe,” he says, somewhat mournfully.
The stranger eyes him. “Word would get back to him,” he says. “Hence the Republic tea shop. I don’t drink a lot of tea, so I don’t know what is good or what goes well together.”
Obi-Wan spends several minutes talking about teas and steeping times and how it may or may not compare to shig, and the strange, awkward tension in the shop eases as the stranger nods and hums and asks encouraging questions. But then his comm chimes with a warning, and Obi-Wan nearly has to drop everything because he’s going to be so late. “I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says. “It was so nice to talk to you; if you want tea as well I would go with the Alderaanian Gray if you’re getting that honey—I don’t know enough about shig to compare it to but—oh blast I really have to go—” He looks regretfully at the tea in his hand, but the line is so long.
“Take your tea,” Shasa calls over. She knows him well, and is quite used to Jedi customers, especially him, having to leave without notice. “We’ll settle up later.”
“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says, and scoots out the door.
Obi-Wan gets back to the shop the next day, but Shasa waves him off. “It was paid for,” she says. “Wanted me to tell you it was a thank you, for helping him.”
Quinlan tilts his head. “Did you make another tea friend?” he teases, and his eyebrows shoot to the sky when Obi-Wan flushes bright red.
Obi-Wan frets a little, wringing his hands. “I’m not supposed to accept gifts,” he says.
“I don’t think he knew you were a Jedi,” she tells him.
He passes over the credits, anyway. “Can you just pay his gift forward, to someone who could use it?” he asks.
Shasa smiles. “Of course. He also wanted me to give you this.” She passes over a flat circle of some sort of metal, etched with a stylized drawing of an animal skull, one with long curving tusks. “Not a gift, more of a calling card. You better hang on to it,” she says. “I certainly don’t want it.”
Quinlan peers over his shoulder and makes a sort of strangled sound. “Obes, who exactly did you meet yesterday?”
Obi-Wan runs his finger over the disc, feeling the design. He thinks he can accept this; it doesn’t qualify as a gift. More of a token, if what Shasa says is true. Perhaps he’ll ask Master Qui-Gon, to be certain. He doesn’t want to find himself accidentally beholden to a stranger. Again. “I didn’t get his name,” he says. He probes at the disc with the Force, but it just slips around it. Strange sort of metal, he supposes. He peers closer at the carving. It could be a mythosaur.
“Was he Mandalorian? What did his armor look like?”
Quinlan’s fingers twitch like he wants to touch the disc, so Obi-Wan tucks it away into his tunics. “He wasn’t wearing—How would you know that?”
Quinlan exchanges a glance with Shasa. She shrugs.
It’s a few days later when he and Quinlan are headed into Dex’s that he sees the Mandalorian again, sitting in the booth in the back. It’s the one that has the best jammers. The Mandalorian is still not wearing any armor, though he’s flanked by a pair who is, sitting across from Dex himself.
Obi-Wan and Quinlan are seated by FLO, who promises that Dex will be by shortly, and Obi-Wan is sitting with a good view of the booth, so he can see the Mandalorian’s smile as he shakes on a deal with Dex. Obi-Wan frowns, wondering what Dex is mixed up in.
“You should stop staring,” Quinlan says, spinning his fork on the table as they wait for their food. “You’ll get us in trouble.”
“I’m not staring,” Obi-Wan hisses.
“You absolutely are,” Quin retorts.
“Obi-Wan!” Dex is as ebullient as ever, lifting out all of his arms for Obi-Wan to jump into. It can be a little bone-crushing, but Obi-Wan likes the way it feels, to be surrounded by Dex’s careful hold.
“Hello, Dex,” Obi-Wan says, grinning.
“How’s my favorite little Jedi doing?” Dex asks, and peers at Quinlan. “And my least favorite?”
Quinlan waves him off good-naturedly, and submits to a hug of his own. “You spill one shake—”
It’s then that Obi-Wan notices the low warning in the Force. The two armored Mandalorians are staring at them, hands on their weapons, and the Mandalorian from the tea shop is watching, too. Quinlan puts a hand on his saber.
“None of that, Mandos,” Dex admonishes. “You know better, not in my diner. And not to Obi-Wan.”
“Of course,” the Mandalorian says, waving a hand. The armored Mandalorians lower their hands to their sides. “Just a surprise.”
“Obi-Wan’s a good one,” Dex says, ruffling Obi-Wan’s hair. “I know you and the Jedi have your problems—”
“I’m not here to cause problems,” the Mandalorian says. “It’s good to see you again. Obi-Wan, is it?”
“You two know each other?” Dex asks, surprised.
“Obi-Wan,” Quinlan hisses. “Please don’t tell me this is your tea friend.”
“Our paths have crossed. My buir liked the tea you recommended very much,” the Mandalorian says, smiling as if Quinlan hasn’t spoken. “I’m Jango.” He looks carefully at Obi-Wan as he says it.
Obi-Wan flushes, glancing down at the table. “I’m glad he liked the tea,” he says.
“Is that a common name on Mandalore?” Quinlan asks, and there’s something about Quin’s tone that sets Obi-Wan’s senses buzzing, but he’s distracted when FLO arrives with their food, giant sandwiches served with fried vegetables.
“Where are your shakes?” Dex asks, raising out his arms.
“Ah, not today, Dex,” Quinlan says. “Low allowance, Obes keeps spending all his extra credits on tea and books, including the ones he’s supposed to be using for boots—”
“I do not,” Obi-Wan says, even though it’s true.
“I can—” Jango starts, but Dex interrupts.
“Our machine is broken,” he announces. “It’s making too much. You have to have a starberry shake, or I’ll be throwing them all away!”
“Two starberry shakes,” FLO says. “Coming right up.”
“Jedi are very funny about gifts,” Dex tells the Mandalorians in a mock-whisper. “Luckily, they are also very good about helping poor diner owners who hate to waste food.”
Obi-Wan goes bright red. Quinlan clears his throat. “We have to be careful not to create a sense of obligation,” Quinlan explains, eyeing Jango carefully. “So if someone, say, tries to pay for our tea—hey—they might also be trying to sway you to their side or trick you into a marriage.”
Obi-Wan pulls his foot away from where he’s been digging it into Quinlan’s shin. “That only happened twice,” he mutters.
Quinlan pats his cheek. “Three times,” Quin says, and Obi-Wan kicks him again. True, but he’d also learned the same lesson after stumbling into just one near-war. It was just hard, sometimes, to see when people were trying to trick him into a beneficial political alliance by offering gifts. And the Senate gets a little anxious if they see them making their own alliances.
Jango’s eyebrows raise. “I hope I didn’t cause a problem for you. I felt bad that I took up so much of your time. Jetii can marry?” he asks.
“In the right circumstances,” Quin says, narrowing his eyes at him, suspicious. “When it’s clear and straightforward and not outside the interest of the Senate.”
“It wasn’t on purpose,” Obi-Wan mutters, red-faced.
Jango looks between them, frowning. “Were you able to keep—”
“Yes, I have that,” Obi-Wan says. “Shasa said it was like a calling card? It’s very interesting looking. I looked up the symbol, did you know that the mythosaurs were known to—” he stops and reddens, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. Of course you know.”
“Alor,” one of the armored Mandalorians says.
“You like to research?” Jango asks, ignoring them. He is hard to read in the Force, but seems politely curious.
“His research on anything stops at about a century or two before the present day,” Quinlan says, a challenge in his tone. “Unless it’s for a mission. So he’s not up on current events. He could probably tell you the origin of the word alor but not, say, who might currently be an Alor. As an example.”
“Quinlan,” Obi-Wan says, holding his head in his hands. He’s not wrong—a century is mostly an exaggeration, but the history is so interesting. And while Obi-Wan knows he has to stay up to date on major policies and of course meticulously researches for missions—his Force sense tends to tangle him up in the possibilities of the future, and there’s something so grounding about looking to the past for a steady foundation.
“I see,” Jango interrupts his thoughts. “Well. I am glad to have run into you again. We’ll leave you to your meal.” He glances back at the two in armor, gives Obi-Wan a nod, and they leave the diner.
Obi-Wan bangs his head on the table. Force, he knows better than to think anyone like that would be interested in anyone like him. Jango’s smile is so kind, and the way his eyes had glanced over Obi-Wan—but now he’s gone and ruined it by running his mouth about facts and tea and everything else, and Quinlan—“Oh, dear, that was embarrassing,” he says.
Quinlan laughs at him, the traitor. “I wouldn’t say that,” he says.
Dex rubs his head as FLO brings out their shakes. The broken machine excuse is rather flimsy, but Obi-Wan wants a shake badly enough to go with it. “Watch your step around those guys,” he warns.
Obi-Wan’s sure he doesn’t have to worry about that. If he even sees Jango again, he’ll be lucky if he doesn’t run off in the opposite direction.
Obi-Wan brings the token to Master Qui-Gon, and since Master Windu happens to be visiting him, he shows it to both of them. Master Qui-Gon looks at it first and chuckles, handing it to Master Windu, whose eyebrows climb higher than Obi-Wan has ever seen them go. “And you got this at a tea shop?” he asks.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan says. “Well, he left it at the tea shop.”
Master Windu passes it back to him. “I don't know enough about Mandalorian customs,” he says. “I don't think it's a gift, exactly.”
“Was he handsome?” Master Qui-Gon asks, and laughs again when Obi-Wan flushes, sending him warmth over their bond.
“Honestly, Qui-Gon,” Master Windu says.
“I've been in Halls forever,” Qui-Gon says. “I need my entertainment somewhere. As long as it's not some kind of engagement token.”
“That only happened twice,” Obi-Wan says. “Shasa says it was a calling card.”
The two masters exchange glances. “Have you seen him since?” Master Windu asks. “He's definitely Mandalorian?”
Obi-Wan nods, reddening again. “At Dex’s,” he says.
Master Windu hands him back the token. “I had heard the Mand'alor was on planet,” he says. “Maybe it would be nice for both of our people, if you can be friends with a Mandalorian. Just watch your step and try not to cause any incidents, Padawan Kenobi.” He's smiling, and Obi-Wan will never, ever get over the mortification of being teased by a Council member.
“It was only—”
“Four times, Padawan,” Master Qui-Gon says.
Obi-Wan does see Jango again, on his rest day a week later. Obi-Wan has just been planning to visit the tea shop again, but Jango is sitting at a cafe a few shops away, idly scanning the street. And to Obi-Wan’s great surprise, Jango smiles wide when he catches sight of Obi-Wan and waves, standing up.
“Hello there,” Obi-Wan says.
“Su’cuy, Obi-Wan,” Jango says. “Tea shopping?”
“Sometimes they have new blends,” Obi-Wan says, fiddling with the edge of his robe.
Jango makes a considering noise. “I’m glad we ran into each other. This cafe is nice, but I wondered if you might like to try shig,” he says. “You mentioned—”
“Oh, Shasa doesn’t carry shig,” Obi-Wan says. “She doesn’t want to cause trouble with the Mandalorians, and they sell it in Little Keldabe.”
Jango frowns. “And you’ve never gone?”
“I’m not allowed,” Obi-Wan says. “No Jedi are. It’s not safe, because, well. Historically, we have not gotten along.” Obi-Wan’s not sure there’s a polite way to say the Mandalorians of the past allied with the Jedi’s greatest enemy, so he keeps his mouth shut. And it’s not as though the Jedi are blameless in their history, either.
“Is that so,” Jango says. “Well, if I could assure you of your safety and your welcome, would you come?”
It’s a bad idea.
“Do they accept Republic credits in Little Keldabe?” Obi-Wan asks, mentally counting up his allowance.
“I’m sure they will if I ask very nicely,” Jango says, grinning.
“Then yes,” Obi-Wan says, “I’d love to.”
Quinlan will be so mad at him.
Little Keldabe is incredible, bustling and full of Mandalorians, armored and not, with murals on buildings and stalls up and down the streets. There’s a scent of spice in the air, and Obi-Wan wrinkles his nose, feeling it in his nostrils. Jango smiles at him. “What do you think?” he asks.
“It’s beautiful here,” Obi-Wan says. “Did you know that some of the stones on the—you probably know,” he realizes, flushing. “Never mind.”
“Tell me about it anyway?” Jango asks, so Obi-Wan does, talking about the types of stonework and where they might have originated, the inlaid patterns, and Jango does the same thing he’d done in the tea shop, making encouraging noises and asking questions.
He does stop, once—when he notices two armored Mandalorians pacing them, making the same turns. “Jango,” he says, nerves crawling. The Force is quiet, but still—he’s cautious. “I think we’re being followed.”
Jango tilts his head, then stops to adjust his vambrace, using it as a pretext to look behind him. “We’re not in any danger,” he says, and the Force eases up as the pair disappears around a different corner.
It happens once more before they reach the shig stand, but Jango again assures him they’re safe, a soft little quirk to his lips, and when Obi-Wan probes the Force, he doesn’t feel any immediate danger, so he defers to Jango’s knowledge of the enclave. The shopkeeper doesn’t seem keen to take his credits until Jango appears behind him, and does in fact ask very nicely, even gives a discount on the conversion. Soon enough, they are at a little bench that a couple vacated as soon as they spotted the two of them, giving a Jango a little head dip in greeting. Jango sits close to him, nearly touching, but not quite, and Obi-Wan kind of wishes he would scoot closer. Shig is nothing like tea, it warms him from the inside, and he inhales the steam, closing his eyes.
Jango nudges his foot and passes his own cup over. “This isn’t my favorite blend,” he says. “Would you like it?”
Obi-Wan takes it, so it doesn’t go to waste—and then thinks about the possibility of shig blends, and smiles. He’s already had two, Jango’s is slightly sweeter, and more to his preference. He’ll have to make a comparison chart, he thinks—
“Have you ever had uj’alayi?” Jango asks, steering them toward a cafe. “It’s a cake made of dried fruit and nuts.”
There are a few different varieties, and Obi-Wan can’t choose, so he lets Jango make the selection, conversing with the shopkeeper in Mando’a. Obi-Wan only understands about every tenth word, and he’s fascinated. He can read the signs well enough, but listening is a completely different story.
The shop keeper waves away their payment. “We had a cooler malfunction,” he says. “We just need to get rid of the overstock. Have extra, you’ll be helping us out.”
“Oh,” Obi-Wan says. “I’m so sorry. Anything I can do to help?”
The shopkeeper glances at Jango. “Ah, no. Vor’e.”
They take a seat at table in the back, one that empties as soon as they near, and Jango smiles, telling Obi-Wan it's his favorite table. It is a good table, with a good view of the door and the window and everyone passing by. The uj’alayi is delicious, and Obi-Wan fights the urge to lick his fingers when he’s done. Jango smiles at him. “I’m glad to see your arm is better,” he says. Obi-Wan is too, he’d finally been able to stop using the sling a few days ago. “Was it a mission?”
“Yes, unfortunately these things happen,” Obi-Wan says. “My Master and I were on Phindar, and everything went a bit sideways thanks to the ruling party. Master Jinn is still recovering, but he’ll be all right soon. We’ll be at the Temple for a little while.” Jango is frowning, so Obi-Wan changes the subject, waving a hand. “Phindar has given us trouble before, and I’m sure they will again. I don’t want you to worry. Do you live here in Little Keldabe?”
Jango shakes his head. “My buir and I are here on business,” he says. “Hoping to make some connections here in the Core.” He pushes over another piece of uj’alayi, a slightly different flavor.
“I can see how that would benefit Mandalore,” Obi-Wan says, a little disappointed because it means Jango will probably leave soon, and then laughs at himself because it’s not as though he spends much time on Coruscant, either.
Jango leans forward, amused. “Should we be meeting with the Jedi, too?”
Obi-Wan laughs. “Not for business, certainly, not if you’re looking for credits.” He wiggles his toe under the table—there is definitely a hole forming in his boot. “Although the Jedi and Mandalore have a lot to offer each other, I think. I’ve always thought we have more in common than it seems, but history gets in the way.” It would be something, though, if someday he could visit Mandalore, and maybe—
“Tell me more about that,” Jango says, and listens as Obi-Wan tells him about Agricorps and the Educorps and communal caregiving.
Obi-Wan doesn’t realize what time it is until his comm chimes with a message from Quinlan, and he rises out of his chair so quickly it clatters over. Two Mandalorians in the corner stand up when he does, surprised, but sit back down again when Obi-Wan blurts an apology and Jango stands with him. “I have to go, I’m late again,” Obi-Wan says.
“Wait—” Jango starts, but Obi-Wan has already left.
Obi-Wan spends the next week feeling the token from Jango in his hand underneath his robes, taking it out and looking at it every so often. He’d had the same sense of being followed as he sprinted from Little Keldabe, but he hadn’t been bothered, so he’d tucked the feeling aside.
He visits Master Qui-Gon in the Halls of Healing, and Qui-Gon teases him when he blushes over Jango again, though Obi-Wan certainly doesn’t tell him about the visit to Little Keldabe. He doesn’t tell anyone about it, even Quin, just tells Quin he’d lost time walking around, which has happened enough times that while Quin doesn’t believe him, he lets it go.
He thinks about Jango, about seeing him again, and realizes he doesn’t have any way to get in touch with him—so when he has time, he leaves the Temple, meandering back toward Little Keldabe, hovering on the outskirts.
It’s a mistake, it’s definitely a mistake, the Force presses a warning on him just as two Mandalorians, a human and a Zabrak, take offense to his presence and corner him in an alley.
“What are you doing over here, jetii?” the Zabrak asks, pressing up against him, holding him to the wall.
Obi-Wan is not interested in causing any more trouble by using the Force, so he keeps his hands visible and to his sides. “I’m sorry, I’ve just lost track of direction,” he says. “I don’t want any trouble. I thought maybe I’d find Jango here.”
“You thought—Are you serious?” the Zabrak says. “Just thought maybe you’d find Jango? For what?”
Obi-Wan’s asking himself the same question. His heart sinks. They’re right. Jango’s just been nice to him. He couldn’t be interested in what Obi-Wan has to say, he’s probably been bored out of his skull. These must be friends of Jango’s, maybe the ones that had been at Dex’s, doing Jango a favor by running off the annoying jetii with an obvious crush.
“We don’t want jetii sniffing around,” the human says, skimming his hand over Obi-Wan’s belt. “And Jango certainly doesn’t either.”
Well, he can’t allow them to take his lightsaber, so at that he does kick out, knocking the human to the ground. The Zabrak snarls and moves in closer, striking him across the face, so Obi-Wan kicks him, too, using his chest as a springboard to get behind him, but by then the human is up, pinning his arms behind his back, wrenching his bad arm. The Zabrak doesn’t go for his lightsaber, but he is interested in Obi-Wan’s pockets, until he pulls out the token from Jango and drops it like it burns him. It clatters to the ground.
Obi-Wan pulls himself free and tucks it back into his pockets as the Mandalorians exchange a glance. “Did you steal this, jetii?” the human asks.
“I did not,” Obi-Wan says, but doesn’t feel as though he owes them any further explanation, and uses the Force to hasten his exit. And not a moment too soon, as two more Mandalorians come around a corner, looking interested, shades of anger over their faces as they head toward the first pair.
Well, he supposes he’s learned his lesson about visiting Little Keldabe.
Quinlan fusses something fierce about the bruise over his cheekbone when he gets back, but Obi-Wan doesn’t want to talk about it. It had been a stupid idea anyway, but now he wonders about the token, if maybe he should just give it back to Jango. If he ever sees him again.
He does allow Quin to bully him back to the Halls, to get some treatment for his arm, which means he has to go back to the sling for a few days.
Quin brings him back to Dex’s, to cheer him up, promising shakes this time, without Dex’s scheming. Dex also fusses over his arm and his face until Obi-Wan hides in the corner of the booth, threatening to leave. Dex brings him out the biggest shake he’s ever seen, which does make him feel better.
It doesn’t make him feel better when Jango comes in with someone Obi-Wan doesn’t recognize, eyes scanning until they light on Obi-Wan’s booth, a smile on his face until his brows furrow. Obi-Wan sighs, focusing back on his shake.
“Obes,” Quin says. “Do you know who—”
“Su’cuy,” Jango says, frowning as he stops by their booth. “Are you all right? I thought you weren’t going on missions.”
“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan says. “Old injury acting up.”
“I’m glad to have run into you,” Jango says. “This is my buir, Jaster.”
Jaster steps forward, another dark-haired human with a kind, weathered face. “Obi-Wan, with the good taste in tea and big ideas about how the Jedi and Mandalorians can work together?”
“What,” Quinlan hisses.
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Jaster continues.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” Obi-Wan says. “Jango has been very kind.”
“I’m sure he has,” Jaster says, smiling at Jango, who averts his gaze.
Obi-Wan sighs again, spinning his straw in his shake. Quinlan nudges him from under the table. “We should get going,” Obi-Wan says.
Jango smiles. “See, Buir, I told you, he is always running off.”
“Thank you for being so kind,” Obi-Wan says. “I hope you enjoy your time on Coruscant.” Obi-Wan’s feeling nauseous, heart in his stomach, eyes burning. He takes the token out of his robes and slides it across the table to Jango. “You should take this back. I was mistaken about—” he shakes his head.
Jango looks stricken. “What do you mean?”
“It was stupid, to think a Mandalorian and a Jedi could ever—”
“Don’t say that,” Jango says. “What happened?”
“I spoke with your friends, I understand now,” Obi-Wan says, standing up.
“You what,” Quin says, low.
“Wait, who talked to you?” Jango asks. He pushes the token back across the table. “This is yours. It's a gift—haar’chak.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes do well up at that. “I can’t take gifts,” he says. “I won’t bother you anymore."
“It’s not a gift in that sense,” Jango says. “It’s—” He throws his hands up. “I don’t understand the hangup with gifts—”
“Jan’ika,” Jaster says.
Quin wraps an arm around Obi-Wan, ready to lead him outside. “It’s not just the Jedi,” Quin says. “It’s the Senate, too. There are a lot of rules we can’t skirt around and that,” he nods at the token, “is probably one of them. It’s not fair to give someone something if they don’t know what it means. And if your friends are the ones who did this to him, I hope you find them before I do.”
“Mando’ade hurt you?” Jango asks. “And told you—what?”
“It was my fault,” Obi-Wan starts.
“Nope, we’re not doing this,” Quinlan says, steering him out of the diner. “Did you go to Little Keldabe?” Quin asks, when they’re a safe distance away.
“Yes. He brought me once, and once I thought maybe I could find him, but—it was a mistake,” Obi-Wan says, miserable. “There were a couple Mandalorians there that said Jango wouldn’t have any interest in a Jedi. They didn’t like that I was there.”
“I gotta say, Obes, he seems pretty interested if you ask me,” Quinlan says.
Obi-Wan shakes his head. “He lives on Mandalore anyway, and Mandalorians and Jedi—”
“Yeah, I feel like that could change,” Quinlan says. “You’ve made up a lot of ground.”
But Obi-Wan feels heartsick, and very foolish. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” he says.
And because Quinlan is a very good friend, he changes the subject.
When Obi-Wan is summoned to the Council chambers, he hopes that maybe he’s going to be given a solo mission half a galaxy away. What he doesn’t expect to see is two armored Mandalorians, Master Windu, Master Qui-Gon, and a room of empty council seats. He gives his Master an cursory once over, but he seems all right, even gives Obi-Wan an indulgent half smile at the examination. Obi-Wan tucks his hands into his robes so he doesn’t lift a hand to cover his cheek, and bows to them.
“Padawan Kenobi,” Master Windu says. “Mand’alor Mereel and Alor Fett have come to us with a very interesting proposal.”
Obi-Wan studies the armor of the two Mandalorians. Mand’alor Mereel has recognizable armor, painted through with red, and he has a red cape that catches Obi-Wan’s attention. Alor Fett’s armor is similarly styled, with blue accents. He doesn’t recognize either of them from his trip to Little Keldabe. He wouldn’t, he supposes, if one of them is the Manda’alor.
“We came to the Republic in the hope that we could open up avenues of communication with your Senate,” Mand’alor Mereel says. “It proved to be more frustrating than we expected.”
Obi-Wan glances between the pair. “Historically speaking—” he stops. “My apologies. Please continue, Mand’alor.” Alor Fett has his visor pointed in Obi-Wan’s direction and he resists the urge to fidget.
The Mand’alor nods. “I heard of your interest in history,” he says.
Obi-Wan freezes.
The Mand’alor tilts his head. “It may benefit both of us, if we turn to the Jedi for a relationship, rather than the Senate itself.”
“I'm not sure how something like that would be possible,” Obi-Wan says. “Unless—”
Alor Fett has something in his hands, Obi-Wan realizes. He steps forward.
“The Jedi are and the Senate have a complicated relationship,” Master Windu says. “One we are hoping to uncomplicate.”
Obi-Wan's not sure he should be hearing any of this.
“The Mandalorians have suggested we look to our shared interests,” Master Windu continues.
“Are you looking for research, Master, or—” Obi-Wan starts, and stops again.
“Something a little more practical,” Master Windu says, and Obi-Wan almost detects a smile on his face.
He frowns. “I don't understand,” he admits.
Master Windu flicks a look at the Mandalorians. Alor Fett takes another step forward, holding out the item in his hand.
It's the mythosaur token.
“I know you are careful about gifts,” Alor Fett says. “This is more of a declaration of intent. A—not a favor, necessarily, but an indication of mine.”
“I don't understand,” Obi-Wan says again. “You—gave one to Jango? And he gave it to me?”
The Mand'alor chuckles. “Better come clean, Jan’ika,” he says.
Obi-Wan looks between them. “What?”
Alor Fett takes off his helmet.
Oh.
“Su’cuy, Obi-Wan,” Jango says, looking abashed.
“What,” Obi-Wan repeats.
He's such an idiot. He's been pining after the heir to Mandalore—spouting facts about his own planet—Force. He takes a step back.
“I told you this wasn't the way,” Qui-Gon murmurs.
“Did you all know?” Obi-Wan asks, and his voice is smaller than he intends. He takes a steadying breath, feeling out in the Force. He takes another step.
“Padawan Kenobi,” Master Windu says.
That makes him pause, more than anything else. He's so used to waiting for a dismissal from the Council Chamber. And yet, this isn't truly a Council meeting. “If you'll excuse me,” he murmurs, bowing. “I need a moment.”
“Please,” Jango says. “Wait.”
The please almost does it, but not quite.
Quinlan is waiting for him when he goes to his favorite hiding place in the archives. Obi-Wan's already splotchy, he can tell. “You knew from the beginning, didn't you?” Obi-Wan asks.
Quinlan winces. “I had my suspicions,” he says. “His face isn't exactly well known, but I've done some investigations in that sector. I was worried about you. I'm sorry for not saying anything.”
“I'm such an idiot,” Obi-Wan says.
“Don’t say that,” Quinlan says. “He's the one who didn't tell you who he was.”
“But everyone else knew,” Obi-Wan says.
Quinlan tousles his hair. “I don’t think they knew immediately. So you're a little out of touch. I think he liked it, otherwise he would have told you.”
“Quinlan,” Obi-Wan says.
“Look, take away the Mand’alor stuff. Do you like the guy?” Quin asks. Obi-Wan flushes. “So, what do you want to do about it?”
“It’s not about what I want,” Obi-Wan says. “He kept this from me. And his friends—”
“So you make him make it up to you, Obes. That’s the fun part. I kind of get the sense the Council wants to marry you off to your smitten Mandalorian,” Quin says, wiggling his eyebrows. “Make him work for it.”
Obi-Wan is beginning to come to a similar conclusion, and his face flames. “Quinlan,” Obi-Wan says again.
“And don’t talk down about yourself. You’re a catch. I don’t think any actual friend of his would hurt you, anyway.” Quinlan extends a hand. “You need to talk to everyone, either way. You can’t just run away from the Master of the Order and the Mand’alor.”
“I didn’t run away,” Obi-Wan grumbles, taking his hand, allowing Quinlan to pull him to his feet. “I politely excused myself.”
Jango turns toward him when he reenters the room, takes a step, and then stuttersteps backwards.
“I apologize for my hasty exit,” Obi-Wan says, bowing. “Mand’alor Mereerl, Alor Fett, it is a pleasure to officially meet you both.”
“Obi-Wan,” Jango says, and stops. He looks at Master Windu. “Would it be possible for us to have a moment of privacy?” He glances at Obi-Wan. “If that’s okay with you,” he adds.
Obi-Wan feels his cheeks flush. “Yes,” he says. He moves to step to the door and Jango flinches, raising a hand, before lowering it.
“We’ll step outside,” Master Windu says.
“That’s not necessary,” Obi-Wan begins, mortified that he’d leave for them, but Master Windu has already stepped to the door.
Master Qui-Gon stops, clasping Obi-Wan on the shoulder. “You have good instincts, Padawan,” he says. “Look out for yourself with them sometimes, too.”
It’s as enigmatic as ever, but Obi-Wan leans into the touch, nodding.
“You’ll be interested to know,” Master Windu says from the door, “that the ruling party of Phindar has been rather violently deposed.”
Jango groans, and Obi-Wan whips his head back to look at him.
“Mace,” Qui-Gon complains.
Quinlan, still at the entrance, cackles even as Mace tugs him out.
“Haat, Jan’ika,” Mand’alor Mereel says, and lets the door close behind all of them.
“Did you have something to do with Phindar?” Obi-Wan asks.
Jango clenches his fists. “The people of Phindar deserved better,” he says, and Obi-Wan can tell he won’t elaborate.
“So what happens now,” Obi-Wan says. “I’m supposed to just—I understand that a way forward for our people would involve an alliance between us, and that if we—” he stops, red. “I don’t even understand what you see in me,” he says.
Jango steps forward again. “Su’cuy, Obi-Wan,” he says. “My name is Jango Fett. My buir is Jaster Mereel, the Mand’alor. I am proud to be the heir to the title, but sometimes it is a heavy burden, and when I meet someone who is thoughtful and friendly and helpful just for the sake of it, not because of who I am, I like to hold onto the anonymity. I realize that is not fair to you, and I am sorry. Ni ceta.”
Obi-Wan can feel his face going bright red. “I must have sounded like such an idiot—”
“No,” Jango says, vehement. “You are enthusiastic and curious and you like to share what you know. I like hearing it. You were so kind in the tea shop, and I admit it, I liked you right away.” He smiles, hopeful. “I thought maybe you liked me, too. I left you the token as a sign of favor, yes. But also because it would protect you, and I wanted you to be safe.”
Obi-Wan remembers the way the Mandalorians in Little Keldabe had backed off at the sight of it. “I don’t think—”
“It was also a sign of my affection, my interest,” Jango says. “I didn’t understand the issue with gifts. I didn’t understand any of the issues the Jedi are facing. It’s not fair, the burdens placed on your people. The way the Senate is tightening their hold. You deserve better.”
“And you think you are better,” Obi-Wan says.
“I know we are,” Jango says. “You are right. Mandalorians and Jedi are not so different.” He steps closer to Obi-Wan, slowly, as though he’s afraid Obi-Wan will back away. “I should have explained things, everything. But I care about you, truly. I’d like to do this right.” He’s holding out the token. “A declaration of intent. To you. A courting gift. I am told you are allowed to accept those. And if we are able to craft a stable alliance, you will be allowed to accept other gifts too, I hope. I desperately want to give you some boots. And tea, even if shig is better.”
Obi-Wan reaches out, but stops just short of taking the token. “That time in Little Keldabe with the broken cooling unit,” he starts.
Jango is flushing. “Equipment breaks all the time,” he says. “And before you get mad at me, the shig stall got quite busy after we were spotted there, and he was able to offload the Republic credits he didn’t want to take.”
“Jango,” Obi-Wan says.
“I want to give you things,” Jango says. “You deserve good things. And shig and uj, those are good things.”
“You have to be very clear,” Obi-Wan says. “Apparently I am a little out of touch.”
“I like that about you,” Jango says, grinning. He holds up the token, hopeful.
Obi-Wan looks at his earnest face, thinks about how Jango had taken him through little Keldabe, introduced him to his parent. “Have you been courting me all along,” he says.
“Maybe,” Jango hedges. “I thought maybe you knew that part.”
Obi-Wan covers his face with his hands. “Force,” he groans. “I don’t understand why you would choose me,” he says.
“I told you,” Jango says. “I like you. I like your facts and your kindness. I will show you all the time.”
Obi-Wan reaches out, takes the token. “You’ll have to be very clear,” he says again.
Jango steps even closer. “I will be,” he says. “It will be so obvious, I promise. But you have to talk to me, instead of running away.”
“I politely excused myself,” Obi-Wan says.
Jango waves a hand.
“I do want what’s best for both of our people,” Obi-Wan says.
“Me too,” Jango says. He comes closer, so close their foreheads are nearly touching. “But wouldn’t it be nice if we could help our people and help ourselves have something good, something that makes us happy, too?”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan admits.
“I am going to be very clear,” Jango starts. “I want to court you, Obi-Wan. I want to give you gifts and hopefully say riduurok, when we are both ready. If you want. I want our people to prosper, with an alliance that is good for both of us. And I want to kiss you.”
“I want that too,” Obi-Wan whispers, and can feel it in his heart, he wants all of it, the courting, the riduurok, the kissing, everything. Jango leans forward, pressing his lips against Obi-Wan’s, soft and cautious and Obi-Wan can feel it, can feel his intentions, his hopes, and it’s perfect, except—“Stop, we can’t,” he says, pulling away.
Jango grips his wrists, presses his forehead against Obi-Wan’s. “Why?” he asks, and he sounds so sad, but—
“I can’t kiss you in the Council Chamber,” Obi-Wan says, scandalized. Jango relaxes, chuckling against him in relief. “Do you know how many Jedi have come through this room, how many of them can sense the energy, how—”
“No, I don't know,” Jango says, and sneaks another kiss to his jaw, laughing when Obi-Wan shoves him away, pressing a hand against the door to let the others back in. “Tell me about it.”