Chapter Text
Medics scurry from cot to cot, and pained groans sound throughout the tent. Some clones are curled up, faces tight with pain, while others lie almost too still. Still carrying Dia, Fisto steps out of the way of a medic sprinting past with an armful of bloody rags. Another medic hurries up to Dia and Fisto.
“General,” the medic greets them. He’s not wearing his helmet, and his face looks weary.
“This little one needs medical attention,” Fisto says.
The medic looks at Dia, and the blood seeping through the cloth on his arm. His expression softens. “Right away, sir. Follow me.”
Fisto follows the medic to a quieter part of the tent, curtained off from the rest.
“What’s your name?” the medic asks kindly as he draws the curtain back.
“Dia. What’s yours?”
“I’m Stickers.”
Stickers helps Dia up onto a crate, his feet dangling well off the floor. Fisto hovers to the side while Stickers sits on another crate and carefully peels back the blood-soaked cloth from Dia’s arm. His face is impassive as he takes a damp cloth from a basin of warm water and gently cleans off the blood. With the excess blood out of the way, he inspects the wound.
“Alright. You’ll need stiches and it’ll definitely scar, but you’ll recover.” He releases Dia’s arm and opens a box of supplies. “So how did you get injured?”
“I used a vibroblade,” Dia explains sheepishly. “It was to lure the stalker lizards over.”
The medic pauses, leveling Dia with a look of disbelief. “Well… don’t do anything like that again. You’re lucky you didn’t hit an artery.”
“What’s an artery?” Dia asks, tilting his head.
Stickers explains, kindly and patiently, and narrates what he’s doing to treat Dia’s wound. He injects Dia’s arm with a numbing agent that only hurts a little, then prepares stitching thread and a needle.
He pauses before starting, and warns, “It might be best if you look away.”
Dia obeys, looking instead at Fisto, who smiles and says, “Is it alright if I ask you a few questions, Dia?”
Dia nods. He feels a weird tugging sensation on his arm, but resists the urge to look.
“How did you meet young Boba?” Fisto asks in a friendly tone.
“I saw his ship crash, and saved him from the Jawas.”
“Jawas?” Fisto repeats. “Was this on Tatooine?” Dia nods. “I see. How long ago did you two meet?”
Dia tilts his head consideringly. “About a year ago?” He can hardly believe so much time has passed.
Fisto’s expression turns thoughtful. “What is your name? Your full name.”
Dia hesitates, but sees no harm in answering. “Din Diaro. On my homeworld, our surnames go first.”
“And where is your homeworld?”
“Aq Vetina. There’s not a lot of people there, but it’s on the edge of Mandalorian space.”
Fisto nods. “I see.”
“The stiches are done,” Stickers says, setting his tools aside. “I’ll just put your arm in a sling for a day or two, alright?”
Dia nods, examining his newly-bandaged arm as Stickers guides it into a sling that loops around Dia’s neck.
“Oh, you know what I think I have?” Stickers rummages in his bag for a moment, then produces a sheet of small, colourful stickers. “Here, you can have them.”
“Thanks.” Dia takes the stickers with a grin. “Hey, is this why you’re called Stickers?”
“You got it,” Stickers confirms with a wink. “Now, you be careful to not reopen that wound, okay? Don’t strain yourself too much.”
Dia nods. “I won’t.”
“Good. Commander Fisto, can I talk with you for a minute?” Stickers asks.
“Of course. Wait here, please, Dia.”
The two retreat to a different corner of the tent, leaving Dia, still able to move the fingers of his slinged arm, to happily press colourful flower stickers to his other arm. Fisto and Stickers return minutes later. Dia waves goodbye to Stickers as Fisto leads him out of the medical tent. They return to the makeshift prison, where Dia finds Boba curled up in the corner of the cell, sulking.
Dia hops onto the bench next to him. He chews on his lip, trying to think of what to say.
“I’m sorry things didn’t turn out well,” he starts. “I know – ”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Boba mutters, his back turned.
“… What’ll happen to us?” Dia asks quietly after a moment. The Jedi and the clones don’t seem so bad, although he knows Boba will argue.
“Prison,” Boba answers bluntly. “Probably on Coruscant.”
“Oh.”
“You might go free, though,” Boba adds. “After all, you didn’t do anything wrong, and you saved the hostages.”
Dia frowns. “But – ”
“Where’d you get those stickers?” Boba interrupts, finally turning around.
“Oh, the medic gave them to me.” He holds out the sheet with a tentative smile. “Do you want any?”
Boba scoffs and hugs his knees to his chest. “Stickers are childish.”
“That’s dumb.”
Rolling his eyes, Boba looks away. Dia peels off a tooka cat sticker and quickly presses it to Boba’s arm.
“Hey!”
“What? It’s cute, isn’t it?” Dia presses a flower sticker Boba’s cheek before he can dodge.
Boba protests half-heartedly, but he lets Dia add more stickers, until both of their arms and faces are adorned, and they both feel a bit better.
________
In the morning, the battalion’s pickup arrives. All the tents are packed up in minutes, a flurry of activity, while the transports whir overhead and land on the outskirts of the camp. Dia and Boba stand close together, handcuffed and guarded by a couple clones, watching as the injured are loaded onto the transports first. Boba’s eyes follow Windu whenever he passes by, but the Jedi general is singularly focused on evacuating his troops.
Jango’s Legacy will be taken care of, so say the Jedi. Dia can’t help but worry – he worked hard to rebuild that ship, and he knows it’s more precious to Boba than anything else.
Finally, Dia and Boba are lead onto the last transport, with Fisto and the last of the clones. They sit on crates as the pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom:
“This is gunship five, heading to the Endurance. Is everyone ready for takeoff?”
“Thank you, Bonus,” Fisto calls. “We’re all ready.”
The transport takes off unsteadily, with a loud rumble of the engines. Boba is silent, contemplating the cuffs around his wrists. Dia follows his example and stays quiet.
Boba hasn’t said anything, but he must blame Dia. He was the one who freed the hostages – it’s his fault they were caught and now are facing prison. Coruscant is impossibly far from Tatooine, from the Tuskens who have claimed Boba as their kin. Dia’s chest aches as he thinks of Elan, of course, but Boba must be in so much pain, especially surrounded by the clones.
Dia hugs his knees to his chest with a quiet sigh, silenced by the engines.
The pilot speaks on the intercom a few minutes later: “Arriving at the Endurance now, prepare for docking.”
The transport has no windows, but the ship seems to slow, and soon the engines cut out. The doors slide open with a hiss, revealing a massive docking bay filled with other transports and clones marching in formation.
“Come on, up you get,” a clone beside Dia says, giving his shoulder a nudge.
The clones lead the children out of the transport. Dia looks around, his jaw dropping as he sees the sheer size of the star destroyer’s hangar. If this part of the ship is so huge, how colossal must the entire thing be?
Hundreds of starships sit in the hangar, models Dia has never seen and those he has only seen scraps of. His worries briefly forgotten, he wishes he could inspect each and every one of them, talk to the pilots and the engineers, and maybe take a ship or two apart.
“Take them to the brig,” Windu tells the clones on either side of Dia and Boba, and Dia’s cheer evaporates. “We’ll be returning to Coruscant immediately.”
“Yes, General.”
Boba holds his chin high as he follows the clones out of the hangar and through a dozen long hallways. Dia sticks close, glancing around nervously as more clones march or jog past them, calling orders or speaking over comms. Most cast a glance at Dia and Boba, and though their expressions are hidden behind their helmets, they occasionally miss a step or pause to stare.
They finally reach a room of cells in a quieter wing of the ship. Each cell is blocked by crackling, red ray shield. There must be another brig, where Aurra and Bossk are being held – or maybe they’re being interrogated – because the cells are all empty.
One of the clones uncuffs Dia and Boba, while the other presses a button to the side of one of the cells, and gestures for Dia to step inside.
The cell is small, with only one cot against the far wall. Dia hesitates, then starts to shuffle forward.
“Wait,” Boba says. “Let us share a cell.”
Surprised, Dia looks back, and finally Boba is meeting his eyes. There is no anger there, like Dia expected, at least none directed at Dia himself.
The clones exchange a glance. One half-shrugs, and the other says, “Fine. In you go.”
Boba steps past Dia into the cell, and Dia follows, relieved. Maybe Boba doesn’t hate him completely. Or he just doesn’t want to be alone. Either way, Dia is comforted.
The clone reactivates the ray shield, and both guards walk over to stand near the entrance to the brig. Boba sits on the cot, leaning his head back against the wall behind him with a deep sigh. Dia sits beside him, still leaving a handspan between them.
A moment passes, before a sudden weight on Dia’s shoulder startles him. Boba is resting his head against Dia’s shoulder, curling into him with another sigh.
Dia freezes, but Boba makes no move to draw away. Gradually, Dia relaxes, and rests his cheek against the top of Boba’s head. He manages to twine his fingers with Boba’s and looks at the stickers still dotting their joined hands, peeling away in places. They don’t exchange any words. Boba must be exhausted, because after a few minutes, he’s snoring softly against Dia’s shoulder.
Dia stays there long enough for the guards to switch out with another pair. As he sits in silence, Dia thinks. How can he fix this horrible situation? How can he make sure Boba goes free, as quickly as possible?
Boba might not trust the Jedi, he thinks, but they seem reasonable. With everything Hondo taught me, surely I can negotiate something, right?
But how could he convince the Jedi generals to hear him out?
Another clone – this one’s armour familiar – appears at the doorway. Dia perks up, tilting his head to see better past the ray shield.
“I’ve got a medical checkup scheduled for Din Diaro,” Stickers says, holding out a datapad.
One of the guards looks over the screen, then nods. The guard brings Stickers over to Dia and Boba’s cell and deactivates the ray shield. Stickers lifts a hand in a wave to Dia.
With great care, Dia slips away from Boba, lowering Boba’s head to the tiny pillow on the cot. A small groan escapes Boba’s mouth, and his forehead scrunches.
“It’s okay,” Dia murmurs, running a gentle hand through Boba’s hair. “I’ll be right back.”
The other child’s face relaxes, still asleep, and Dia steps out of the cell.
“How’s your arm feeling?” Stickers asks as he and Dia walk through the hallways to the medbay.
“Not too bad,” Dia says. “I think I’ll be fine without the sling.”
In the medbay, Stickers unbandages the wound – healing well, he says – and douses it with some sort of medical spray, before using fresh bandages. He has Dia try a few movements, before nodding.
“No need for a sling,” he agrees. “But while you’re here, do you mind if I run a general checkup?”
Shrugging, Dia agrees. Stickers uses an assortment of medical tools, shines lights into Dia’s eyes, listens to his heart, and takes a sample of blood, then asks Dia about his eating habits and past injuries. Dia answers all his questions, admitting he was a slave but shying away from the details. Stickers listens, sympathetic but composed, then turns away to type something into his datapad.
Dia swings his feet, dangling off the ground as he sits on one of the only empty cots in the medbay. The others are filled with wounded clones. The conditions are much better than the medical tent on Dantooine, but more than a few patients’ faces are covered with white sheets.
“Hey, Stickers? If… if it’s possible…” Dia mumbles, glancing nervously at Stickers. He doesn’t want to impose, especially when Stickers and the others are clearly grieving.
The medic tilts his head. “Yes?”
“Could I maybe speak with one of the generals?”
Stickers blinks. “Why do you want to speak to them?”
“I just want to make sure they have all the facts right.” Dia wrings his hands, eyes darting nervously. “About… what Boba did.”
“Oh.” Stickers tilts his head thoughtfully, then sets aside his datapad and takes his comm from his belt. “Leave it with me.”
Minutes later, Windu sweeps into the medbay, Ponds at his heels. Dia doesn’t miss the somber shadow to Windu’s gaze as he surveys the state of the wounded clones. But his expression remains still as a boulder in the shifting sands of a desert, and he walks over to Dia’s cot.
“You wanted to speak to me?” Windu clasps his arms behind his back.
Dia nods. “I- I was wondering what’ll happen to Boba on Coruscant? We’ll be put in prison, right?”
“You will,” Windu confirms. “It was an attempted assassination on a Grand Army general. No matter the circumstances, that cannot be pardoned.”
“I understand,” Dia murmurs. “Do you know how long we’ll be…?”
“It depends on a number of factors. But you will likely receive a lighter sentence, as you freed the hostages and were not directly responsible for the attack."
Dia winces. “Well… I mean…” He squares his shoulders, lifting his chin to meet Windu’s gaze. “Boba helped to capture two notorious bounty hunters. Aurra and Bossk have been causing trouble for the Republic for years, I know they have.”
Ponds, his helmet off and under his elbow, raises an eyebrow. Windu’s expression remains impassive, but his gaze turns more intense, boring into Dia.
“I- I know the assassination attempt was bad,” Dia continues, slightly unsettled, “but it didn’t work. No one was even injured. So if anything, we’re both equally to blame.”
“Are you attempting to increase your prison sentence?” Windu asks, his tone even.
“To increase mine and lower Boba’s,” Dia says, gaining some confidence. “But wouldn’t it be better if Boba joined the clone cadets on Kamino?”
Ponds’ eyes widen.
Dia knows Boba would probably hate it, but at least he’d have a chance to thrive, not rot away in prison for stars know how long.
“Boba’s an incredible fighter. He’s clever, adaptable, and unbelievably stubborn.” Dia has no need to exaggerate Boba’s abilities, and he continues to describe Boba’s impressive feats. “He would be a great asset to the Grand Army. If he could serve there instead of in prison – ”
“And what of you?” Windu asks, cutting Dia off.
Dia blinks. “Me? I would be fine with prison.” And he would. As long as Boba is alright, Dia would be able to manage.
“Hm.” Windu’s expression is as unreadable as ever, but Ponds looks thoughtful. “I’ll take your words into consideration.”
That’s better than Dia had expected. “Thank you.”
“I’ll bring you back to the brig,” Windu decides. “Come with me.”
Hopping down from the cot, Dia pauses to thank Stickers again before following after Windu. The Jedi brings Dia by a different path, past a window looking outside.
Dia freezes, staring out at the stars. Brilliant points of light, as many as there are grains of sand on Tatooine. An orange planet hovers below the ship, glowing warmly with the light of its nearby sun. Hardly realizing, Dia drifts closer to the window, until his nose is nearly pressed against the transparisteel.
After so long on Tatooine, Dia treasures any glimpse of the galaxy outside.
“We’ve stopped to collect other troops,” Windu explains, stepping up beside Dia.
As if on cue, a starfighter shoots past the window. Two more follow, at the same impressive speed. Dia gasps and cranes his neck to watch the ships slow and glide into the open hangar.
“Are those ARC-170s?!” Dia demands, looking up at Windu in awe. “Hond- erm, I’ve heard about them, but I’ve never seen them in person!”
Windu’s mouth twitches. “They are ARC-170 starfighters,” he confirms.
“So cool,” Dia whispers, looking back out the window. Sadly, the ships have already docked.
“Are you an apprentice mechanic?” Windu asks, stepping away from the window and continuing down the hall.
“I’ve learned from a few,” Dia replies, reluctantly following after the Jedi.
“The starship on Dantooine was sabotaged.” Windu raises an eyebrow. “Our engineers said it took an expert hand to disable the engines so discreetly.”
“Well, I did rebuild that ship,” Dia remarks, trying not to sound too braggy. “I know everything about it.”
“You rebuilt it?” Windu repeats, with a rare expression of surprise.
Dia nods. “I had help from a mechanic on Tatooine, but she was mostly just supervising to make sure I didn’t blow up myself or her workshop.”
“I see.”
They reach the brig, and the guards lead Dia back to the cell, where Boba is still slumped over the cot and snoring. Dia looks over his shoulder to see Windu’s pensive expression before the Jedi general turns on his heel and strides out of the room.
_______
It’s difficult to tell how much time passes, without a window, but the guards switch more times than Dia can count. Some are friendlier, even chatting with Dia – though Boba remains sullen and silent the entire time. They are fed ration bars somehow worse than the slop Dia used to eat on Nal Hutta, but it could be worse. Dia wonders how it will compare to prison on Coruscant.
Finally, Dia and Boba are taken from their cell and brought to the hangar. Windu waits beside a transport, uncrossing his arms to gesture for Dia and Boba to step into the transport.
They fly down to Coruscant, and step out as the sun is rising over the planet.
Dia stops in his tracks, jaw dropping. They stand on a landing platform high in the sky, surrounded on all sides by towering, shining buildings. Speeders swarm around the sky like insects, and the rising sun casts a warm glow over everything.
“Are you alright?” Boba murmurs next to Dia, the most he’s spoken to him since Dantooine.
Still stunned, Dia nods. “I’ve just never been to a city-planet before.”
“This way,” Windu says, motioning for Dia and Boba to follow him down the steps of the landing pad.
Dia waves goodbye to the clones staying with the transport, and hurries after Windu and the other handful of clones. The Jedi general leads them to a speeder on another landing pad, which takes them into the air alongside the thousands – no, it must be millions – of other ships buzzing around the city.
“Is it true the entire planet is a city?” Dia can’t help but ask.
“Yes,” Windu says. “The structures run deep beneath the crust of the planet, as well.”
“Whoa…” Dia peers over the edge of the speeder in awe.
The speeder stops at a huge building, passing through several security checks before they’re close enough for Dia to read the sign declaring it the “Republic Center for Military Operations.”
Boba frowns. “Why are we here?” he demands.
Windu doesn’t reply, but steps out of the speeder when it lands. “Remain here,” he tells the clone escort.
“Yes, sir.”
“Goodbye,” Dia says to the clones. A couple of them wave as Dia tugs on Boba’s arm, dragging him from the speeder.
The main building looms over them, a massive Republic symbol emblazoned above the entryway. Dia stares up at the red flag with the same symbol, fluttering high above him.
Windu brings them across the plaza, bustling with clones marching in perfect formation. These clones’ armour is painted red. Dia wonders if it symbolizes anything, like with Mandalorian armour. He doesn’t have a chance to ask Boba before they reach the entrance to the main building.
Inside is busier than outside, with clones all but sprinting around, carrying stacks of datapads or shouting commands over comms.
One un-helmeted clone skids to a stop in front of Windu. “General Windu, sir! How can I help you?”
“I have a meeting with Commander Fox,” Windu says.
“I’ll bring you to him, general.” The clone’s eyes flick to Dia, then widen when he sees Boba. “Are you – ?”
Boba looks away with a scowl.
“Can the children wait here?” Windu asks.
“Uh… yes. Yes, on the bench there is fine,” the clone answers, pointing to an unoccupied bench near the door. “Please follow me, sir.” With one more shocked glance at Boba, the clone leads Windu away.
Dia drags Boba with him to the bench. Boba keeps his gaze on his knees, hugged to his chest. Dia wishes he could shield his friend from the clones’ stares and whispers, but all he can do is sit beside him.
After what feels like hours, Windu finally returns, with another clone. This one is older than most Dia has seen, or perhaps just more tired. He has dark shadows under his eyes, and grey tinges the dark hair around his temples. Every clone who passes by stops to salute him.
“Dia, Boba, this is Commander Fox,” Windu says.
“I know,” Boba grits out, glaring at Fox.
The commander spares an appraising glance at Dia, but his attention is mostly fixed on Boba.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he remarks, his expression even and his tone neutral.
“Well, here I am,” Boba spits.
They’ve met before? Dia still doesn’t understand just what Boba’s history with the clones is, but he doesn’t want to press Boba if he doesn’t want to share.
“I’ve arranged with the Jedi Council and with Commander Fox,” Windu cuts into the conversation, “for the two of you to be absolved of prison time.”
Dia lets out a breath of relief. “Really?”
Windu nods. “Instead, you will work with the Coruscant Guard for the equivalent of your prison sentence.”
“Ha! Just give me the prison time,” Boba sneers.
“Boba!” Dia hisses, startled. “Don’t say that.”
“Consider it community service,” Fox says, undaunted. “You’ll assist the Coruscant Guard with simple tasks and jobs.”
Dia grabs Boba’s wrist before he can say anything else. “We understand. For how long?”
“Five years,” Windu tells them. “Unfortunately, that’s non-negotiable.”
It takes a moment for Dia to absorb. “Five years,” he repeats, his hand loosening around Boba’s wrist. “That’s…” That’s more time than I was a slave, he thinks but doesn’t say.
Boba’s hand laces with Dia’s. “Fine. What now?”
“I’ll be leaving you under the commander’s care. But the Jedi Temple is always open to you, should you need anything,” Windu says, his expression sincere.
“Thank you,” Dia murmurs, clutching Boba’s hand like a lifeline.
Windu leaves the Center, and Fox watches him for a moment before turning back to Dia and Boba. His expression softens slightly.
“Hound?” he calls.
Another clone appears at his elbow. This one’s helmet is different, with fabric flaps over his cheeks, painted to look like a toothy maw. “Yes, commander?” He must spot Boba, since he takes a startled half-step backwards. “Um, sir?”
“Take these two on patrol while we prepare their quarters,” Fox orders. He leans to whisper something in Hound’s ear, and the other clone nods.
“Right away, sir.” Hound removes his helmet, shaking out curly dark hair that reaches his stubbled chin. He tucks his helmet under his arm and smiles warmly at Dia and Boba. “Hi, Boba. And it’s nice to meet you. What’s your name?”
“Um…” Dia glances at Boba, who gives a small nod. “I’m Dia.”
“I’m Hound.” He holds out a gloved hand, which Dia hesitantly shakes. “You two have been stuck on a destroyer for the past few rotations, right? Would you like to go for a walk?”
Dia nods. That does sound nice.
“Then, right this way.” Still smiling, Hound leads Dia and Boba out of the foyer and down a corridor. “Just going to stop by the kennels,” he says, taking a turn down a side hallway.
“Kennels?” Dia echoes curiously.
He soon sees what Hound means: a side room is lined with stable-like enclosures, and the sound of growling reminds Dia of the massiffs on Tatooine.
Taking a leash from a hook on the wall, Hound walks to one of the kennels and unlocks the door.
“They are massiffs!” Dia exclaims with a smile, seeing the scaly, toothy animal in the kennel.
Boba stiffens beside him as Hound steps into the kennel, making cooing noises and clasping the leash to the massiff’s collar.
“Aww, so cute,” Dia whispers as the massiff affectionately bumps its nose against Hound’s legs.
“This is Grizzer,” Hound says brightly, leading the massiff from the kennel. “He’s friendly, don’t worry.”
Grizzer sniffs Dia and Boba, dripping drool over their boots. Boba tentatively pats Grizzer’s head, and he presses up into Boba’s hand happily. A faint smile ghosts over Boba’s face.
Hound brings them outside through a side door, and leads them in a ring around the Center. They pass a few clone patrols on the way, who nod to Hound and stare at Boba. Grizzer is especially affectionate towards Boba, always bumping into his legs and begging for head scratches.
Boba doesn’t seem to mind – Dia figures Grizzer must remind Boba of the Tuskens, and is hit with another wave of guilt.
They reach the front of the Center, and Boba pauses, eyes locked on something in the distance. Dia follows his gaze to the large monument of orange stone across the plaza.
“What is that?” Dia asks.
Hound looks up from petting Grizzer, and his expression falls. “Ah. You can go over if you like, Boba. I’ll just… I’ll wait over here.”
Dia doesn’t understand, but he starts to step back to give Boba room. Boba grabs his hand before he can.
“Come with me,” he says gruffly.
“Okay.” Dia lets Boba hold his hand too tightly, and walks with him to the monument.
It towers above them, engraved with numbers Dia doesn’t understand. Boba stares up at it, still clutching Dia’s hand. Dia says nothing, reading through the numbers. There are so many of them, and a suspicion starts to form in Dia’s mind.
“They’re clones,” Boba says after a moment, his voice raw. “The numbers are their designations.”
Dia winces. His inkling had been right. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.
“They were killed on Geonosis.”
“I remember hearing about the battle.”
A tear drips down Boba’s cheek. “My father was killed there.”
“Oh, Boba.” Dia’s heart aches for his friend. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Boba mutters, letting go of Dia’s hand to swipe angrily at his tears.
“Maybe not that, but this is my fault. And I’m so sorry.” Once the words start, they don’t stop, and soon Dia is choking on sobs. “I-it’s my fault we were caught, I let the hostages go, a-and now you’ve lost everything!”
“Dia...”
Dia wipes at his tears, not daring to look up and meet Boba’s eyes. “I- I tried to fix it, b-but maybe it would’ve been better if we were in prison. I just… I just hope I didn’t make things worse.”
“Dia.”
“Y-you can… you can hate me, if you want. It’s my fault.” Dia takes a shuddering breath. “Please, hate me.”
Arms wrap around Dia suddenly, enclosing him in warmth. “I don’t hate you,” Boba whispers against his ear.
Sobbing, Dia clutches at the back of Boba’s shirt.
“It’s not your fault,” Boba continues, hugging him tightly, grounding him to the moment. “I’m glad you freed the hostages. I’m just sorry you can’t go back to your family. It’s not your fault,” he says again, his voice trembling. “It’s mine, for dragging you into my revenge.”
Dia shakes his head fervently. “No. No, I swore a life debt. I’m with you, Boba, until the end. Whatever you do, wherever you go.”
Boba draws back slightly, his expression drawn with concern. “Are you sure?”
“More sure than I’ve ever been of anything,” Dia promises with a teary smile. “I’m glad you don’t hate me.”
Boba leans forward and presses his forehead to Dia’s. “I could never hate you, Dia.”
“We’re gonna get through this,” Dia whispers. “Five years will be over in a flash, you’ll see.”
Boba chuckles, drawing back. “It’ll definitely be easier with you.”
They look up at the Republic Center for Military Operations, looming above them in the light of the rising sun. Hands joined, they stand together against whatever their future might hold.