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The Cin’Ciri were odd, Jaster had told him. They acted normally with normal people.

But when they were alone they would gather, pressing close together and just stand or sit in silence, their faces perfectly serene. 

The creepiest group hug Jango had ever seen. 

The Baar’uur suggested it was in reaction to the purge, or to recognising one another on a level the sentient mind couldn’t understand. Magic nonsense that Jango wasn’t a party to.  

At first it seemed like a setback. This was the program’s last chance after all. A hold over from Vizsla’s reign, only attempted because of what could be gained. But the… communal existential navel gazing stabilised them in a strange way. Less resistance to making new ties than when they were separated. 

Easier acceptance to the choice they made.

Jango sought out his own Cin’Ciri, his Snow White. He had pursued him from the heart of the Galactic Empire at its birth. He was a vicious creature. Cunning, quick, and fought dirty. Jango almost lost his arm during their third encounter.

Jango had been hellbent on killing him. 

But when he did finally catch up to him, on the Alderaan royal’s ship holding two newborns fresh from a dead woman’s womb he was forced to hold his fire.

Because the ship had just drifted into Mandalorian space. His prey had made it. Crossed into a sanctuary Jango dared not poach in, although the hunted man didn’t know it at the time.

“I remember you.”

His Cin’Ciri sat on the park bench in front of a copperfish pond. The compound was New Mandalorian in design. More style than defence, but none of them tried to run. If they did, they only had the Galactic Empire or the Sith Empire, or the CIS, none of them would treat them any better out there. 

Jango noticed the baby swaddled in the white robes against the cold. So they finally gave him the baby. The child had been crying and screaming from the moment they separated. It only grew worse after the Cin Vhetin. Like the baby somehow knew.

Now the baby was angelic, sleeping deep and peaceful.  

Jango sat down beside the two. 

“Do you remember my face?” Jango asked. He took off his helmet. They had spoken face to face on Kamino, and there were ten thousand clones that looked like him that he may have met as a Jedi. 

A shake of the head.

“You’ll probably be able to remember some droids too. We haven’t worked it perfectly yet, but you should have some memory of armoured Mandalorians.” 

“I see. So I’m right that I shouldn’t remember your name.”

“Jango Fett.” 

“My hunter.” 

“That’s right.”

“You kept your promise?”

“Do you care about it anymore? Do you even remember who it was for?”

“I don’t remember who I traded my life for,” Obi-Wan shrugged, “But I’d do it for most people, so it’s a moot point. Did you do it?” 

“The royal and the others were cut loose.” 

“And the baby? I know there was another baby…”

“The prince said it was his child and you agreed, so yes. She’s with them.” 

“Good,” he sighed, even as he gently held the other baby. 

Jango knew they were twins. He allowed for the lie because it didn’t matter to him if a pair of newborns were split. Organa tried to claim both were his bastards, but Jango’s commandos were getting antsy and before Jango could accept the lie and move forward someone questioned it.

So the Jedi cut in and said the boy was a Jedi youngling and that Organa was covering for them.

“Fine,” Jango said, before anyone could scoff at it. He didn’t want more entanglement with Republic, now Imperial, Senators than he needed to, and besides, the Prince and his treasonous actions of aiding a Jedi gave him leverage over said Jedi. 

“Do you remember your promise?” Jango prompted.

“To you? Yes. I might not remember people, but everything else is there. Some of it clearer than it used to be, it just feels…”

“Empty.” That was how the Cin’Ciri were starting to describe it. Like they had lived their life among ghosts up until now. In a way, they had from their point of view.  

“Lonely,” the Cin’Ciri countered. “It feels terribly lonely. You hunted me, killed others like me, but you’re the only person that feels … real from before. Solid. I don’t even really remember Luke. I know he’s important to me, and I can feel him reaching out to me naturally. I must have loved him, but I don’t remember.”

“What about now?”

“From the moment he was handed to me, how can I not?” he smiled down at the baby, a genuine smile that lit his face in the soft light of dusk, the golden hour lighting his hair like golden flame. He hadn’t registered that he was pretty. Boyish features, a smooth voice. He even had a beautymark. Some of it was hidden by the beard that had been shaved off the day after his Cin Vhetin. Jango wondered why. Who was it that inspired it that was now forgotten?

It didn’t matter to Jango. He liked the soft features of this man aesthetically, but it wasn’t what drew him.  

“Why should I be happy to see you?” the Cin’Ciri asked, gazing at Jango. “You certainly don’t deserve it.”  

They called that imprinting. The tests all developed strong ties with people they could remember from before the Cin Vhetin. Since they could only remember armoured Mandalorians, the hunters that failed to kill their Snow Whites were therefore expected to adopt them into their clan.

Jango wasn’t sure if it was a punishment for failure, or a reward for bringing in a strong warrior. When he had first heard it, he had taken it as a punishment, but hunting this one made his blood pump and his heart sing. 

Even he was surprised by his proposal. Romance was not in his nature, but something in him wanted to tie them together. 

Taung legends about marriage hunts and soulmates had never held water with him before, but it was as good an explanation as any. An opponent so hard to kill it becomes till death do you part. For Jango, it was this man.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Obi-Wan said, introducing himself after Jango failed to answer him.  

“I know.” 

“Right, just wanted to make sure since we’re going to be married,” Obi-Wan said sarcastically.

Jango was glad that the hunt didn’t carry over. It would be too intense to feel that way all the time. Instead he felt a faint sort of affection and a bit of possessiveness. That at least wasn’t new. He was always possessive of the people he considered his. His parents, his sister, Jaster, Myles, Silas, Boba, and now Obi-Wan.

And Luke.

He didn’t actually want to be a buir to a baby again. There was a stereotype about his people’s love of children, one that he didn’t emulate. Boba was his exception because Boba was his. The clones never belonged to him so he distanced himself from ownership, it was the only way to get through those bleak years. Vizsla’s punishment hadn’t seemed so hard at the beginning. It wasn’t until he was looking at the tiny forms in the tube that he understood how thoroughly Vizsla was trying to destroy him. That death might have been kinder. Silas had sworn a blood feud when he first held his first Alpha. Myles had wept. Jango only held Boba because the others were not his and could never be his because if they were he wouldn’t survive it. He didn’t care for children, but he cherished the people that were his, and having ten thousand of them slave soldiers sold to the Republic as a Sith trap would burn him beyond recovery.

So they weren’t his.   

Vizsla had made it easy for Jaster to turn public opinion against him once the special project for Dooku leaked. When Jango escaped with his son and told him and showed him and then screamed and screamed and screamed for ten years of teaching children with Boba’s face how to die in war, telling men with his own face to be good soldiers and follow orders.

He must have screamed for days.  

Jango had walked a step behind Jaster as they made their way into the Sundari throne room. Vizsla’s corpse was in pieces with the amount of blasterfire aimed at the gaps in his armour. 

Jaster calmly took the Darksaber and sat on the throne and there was no one that opposed it. What remained of the New Mandalorians had been stifled for their own survival years ago. Some of them were among the cheering crowd as Jaster took his mantle. How many of their number had been dragged into the street for daring not to be a soldier in Vizsla’s army? 

Jaster had made a memorial for them. It was a peace offering of sorts, and a promise that he was not Vizsla. That those that did not want to fight would not have to fight. That there would be no more Mandalorian blood shed by Mandalorians. No more True, no more New, no more Deathwatch. Cin Vhetin. 

Everyone was so happy.

Jango had only felt a bitter disappointment. A yawning hole that was supposed to be filled when he killed the man that had murdered his family, who had imprisoned him, enslaved him, and forced him to bring more slaves into the world to be bought and sold at the old monster’s pleasure.

He wanted to kill Vizsla. He deserved to end the man’s life, but Jango already knew life wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t have been surprised by such a disappointment. 

Jango and the other prisoners hadn’t had a choice. It was either submit to medical experimentation and train the clones deemed fit or be executed along with the entire batch.

He might have chosen death if the children didn’t all have Boba’s face. 

So worse than being scorned when it was revealed what had happened to them, they were pitied.

Because they might be free, but the clones weren’t. They were never Jango’s, and he couldn’t even get them legally. All he could do was have the genetic material used for the process returned. No more Fett Clones, no more Myles Clones, no more of any of them, but the ones that were made already, the ones that were never his, they had already been sold to a Sith pretending to be a Senator. They saw them as trainers and that wasn’t enough to counter the brainwashing. The Clones were loyal to the Republic, and they wanted to serve the Jedi because that’s what they thought they were raised for. Even Jango’s cold heart wasn’t strong enough to tell them they were going to kill their Jedi, not serve them. 

Now that the chips had gone off though, now that there was no Republic… now there was wiggle room. They would never be his, but he would make damn sure they wouldn’t be Sidious’ either.  

Boba was different because Boba was the control. The first perfect clone with no additions or alterations. A baseline. Jango suspected they were the genetic backups if any of the trainers died. The Kaminoans couldn’t sell them with the others, so they were offered to the trainers to do with as they pleased. Perhaps to pacify them.  

At first Jango had refused, until he learned the conditions Alpha-Fett 00 would live his life under. 

So he let Boba be his. 

And now, if he wanted Obi-Wan, Luke would be his as well. He reached over. Cupped the baby’s chubby cheek. 

“I know your name as my child, Luke K—”

“No.” Kenobi grabbed his wrist to stop him. 

“Any child you raise we’re expected to raise together,” Jango said mildly. He watched his Cin’Ciri curiously. He had already agreed. What was the problem?

“No, just… not Kenobi. He’s not a Kenobi.” Obi-Wan looked truly devastated. Jango had seen him bearing his teeth, covered in dirt, and blood that wasn’t his. He had seen him surrender. Watched as he gave in to a marriage he couldn’t possibly want for people he wouldn’t be able to remember. Even the deep grief as he held the dead woman’s children didn’t match the expression he made now. Reaching for something he so desperately wanted to remember that was no longer there.

“I don’t remember his name,” he admitted softly. 

The mother had been Padme Amidala, but Amidala had been buried with a pillow stuffed under her funeral clothes. Even Jango had seen clips of the funeral over the holonet. 

The children she was bearing were reported dead with her. 

The other child was announced as Leia Organa one month later, adopted by the Queen and Prince of Alderaan.

Neither of these names were the names Obi-Wan was trying to remember, Jango was sure, but even if they were he would never have offered them.    

“I know your name as my child, Luke Fett.” There. Blue eyes and blond hair like Arla’s. This one was going to fuck him up as much as Boba had, he could already tell. 

Obi-Wan didn’t protest that. It strangely settled him. He ran his fingers through Luke’s hair and nodded.

“I’m going back inside,” Obi-Wan announced. Probably to press his body against the others and hum with a quiet energy few Mandalorians understood. Kara, Force, magic.  

Jango mentally sighed. House Cin’Ciri was the House of his riduur-to-be, he would have to accept this strange new family.   

“Why do you all do that?” Jango asked.

Obi-Wan paused. “It’s getting dark,” he said and walked back to where the Snow Whites were kept. 

Jango didn’t realize it was his answer, not a deflection. 

Jaster couldn’t believe how it had worked. Mandalorian Sorcerers. Mandalore the Ultimate would be throwing lightning from the stars. 

And it wasn’t built on lies. House Cin’Ciri was aware of their circumstances. They remembered that they had agreed to their fresh start. They accepted that the ones that died hadn't earned it, as much as they mourned and struggled with that concept. 

They would be offered sanctuary if they became Mandalorians, but the Jedi were their ancient enemies. Something would have to be taken. A price.

They couldn’t take away everything. Their value to Mandalore was the skills they brought with them, so the price would be what connected them to their old life. Every person they had ever met was wiped clean from their memory. They could remember circumstances, events, touchstones of the people they were to some extent, but they couldn’t put faces or names, or feelings to the people that had mattered to them. Neither friend nor enemy. 

“Some of them wanted to forget everything I think,” Jaster said. He took a sip of his shig as he read his reports. Boba was on his pad and Jango was staring off into the distance.

He would chide both of them if he wasn’t the one setting the poor example of table manners. The reason he had denied Vizsla all those years ago and laughed in his face when he said he wanted to resurrect the old traditions of conquest and system rulership was exactly this. Effective rulers had mountains of things to read and study and understand and sign off on, even with twenty assistants and a privy council. 

He had been happy as the head of a mercenary group, writing his commando codex had been as far into social shaping he had ever wanted to get embroiled in.

But Vizsla and his rotten Empire was Jaster’s responsibility.  If he had killed the man none of this would have happened. 

“We’re not finding many new ones,” Jango said, focusing back on Jaster. It was almost a laughable statement. The ones that came now, came at their own behest proving themselves by getting through blockades, and before that Jango didn’t bring in any since his first and only. Jaster had pulled his unit from the hunt and redirected him early on. There was the letter of the law and the spirit of the law. They wanted strong Jedi that could survive a Mandalorian hunt and make their way into Mandalorian space. That they could be herded there deliberately, that it was easy to see strong from weak and to make allowances never occurred to his son. Jango did as he was bid. Any Jedi he could kill in his mind was not worth sparing. The only one that met his expectations he planned to marry.

Jaster always admired Jango’s cold calculating mind fueled by his passions. He would never be Mand’alor, nor would he ever want to be, he had made himself very clear on that. He wanted nothing to do with growth. He didn’t want to build anything lasting. Since the day his first family died, perhaps even before that all Jango wanted to do was destroy. 

Despite being a perfect clone, Boba was the opposite. The boy had his buir’s charisma and talent, but the heart of an architect, the justice of a king. 

In a way they were mirror twins. Warped by time, but equal ends of something.

Jaster wondered sometimes if Boba was meant for him. Jango raising the son Jaster had wanted Jango to be. Jaster’s legacy somehow skipping a generation, and yet a clone, a twin, the same in every way. It would be a Jango kind of way to show his love and devotion as a son. Know logically the kind of child that Jaster would want and raise his own child to meet those expectations instead of just saying I love you Buir. 

He wished he could tell Jango it wasn’t necessary, that he understood. Losing his family, forced to train children with his own face, Jaster was glad his boy was still sane, never mind anything else. But Jango wouldn’t allow that conversation to ever happen.  

“You have another grandchild,” Jango suddenly announced. Jaster would have been less surprised if he had stood up and punched him in the teeth. 

“What?”

“Luke Fett.”

Boba’s eyes were pulled from his pad at that, staring at his father. 

Jango’s beloved Snow White carried a baby when he was led to the White Halls. One he had been reluctant to relinquish until he was promised its return to him, memories or no.  

“Why isn’t he here then?” Jaster managed to ask. A baby had no need to be in the White Halls with his other buir. 

“He’s like his buir,” Jango said in answer. “The baby screamed and cried. They thought he was going to die. When he was given back to Obi-Wan he got better. He’s soothed by their… rituals. The Baar’uurs don’t want to chance some kind of psychic relapse.” 

“I see,” Jaster said slowly. That was a lie. He didn’t see at all. “Then why isn’t his other buir here with him?”

“House Cin’Ciri is close knit,” Jango said. “They’re still finding their place. He’s not ready. I’ve decided to wait until we say our vows. Give him time to know me.”

They were certainly words that someone might say about their riddur-to-be, but Jango’s pragmatism left little room for sentiment.  

“You didn’t even ask me!” Boba blurted.

Case in point. 

“I didn’t have to,” Jango replied. 

“You should at least warn your son that you intend to give him another buir, Jango,” Jaster sighed. He couldn’t decide if this was out of character or not. The entire romance was, but the way he went about it was so utterly Jango it was painful to see. 

“I don’t need another buir!”

Jaster let the argument wash over him. Jango getting married, adopting another son. Perhaps there was some room for growth after all. Perhaps he had been short-sighted about Jango’s future. 

Or, Jaster thought in a strange kind of fascination, perhaps Obi-Wan Kenobi had the touch of destruction Jango worshiped. A creature raised as a Jedi loved by death.

Jaster looked forward to meeting him.  

The Galactic Empire certainly has style, Obi-Wan thought sarcastically. Lots of straight lines of red, white and black. Tailored uniforms for officers.

Yet he wasn’t standing in the middle of a military parade, this was a ‘gala.’ 

Obi-Wan took a sip of his bubbly drink as his critical eye cast dispersion on the decor.

A hand came to rest on his hip.

Obi-Wan turned his head slightly and Jango slipped beside him, arm sliding proprietarily around his waist. 

He was still getting used to that. Jango hadn’t touched him at all in their first month of marriage until Obi-Wan had touched him first. He had come to understand his Riduur’s personality, as strange as it was. He took what he was given, and when he was given anything he would practice and finesse it until he could do it perfectly. 

He was touching Obi-Wan to please Obi-Wan because Obi-Wan had touched him first and Jango had liked it. He became Jaster’s son and had worked to be the son Jaster had wanted, and when he hadn’t met his own expectations he started fresh with Boba. He took what he was given, perfected it, and never let go.  

His husband was not sweet in any way but his own. That Obi-Wan could parse the logic and find it appealing was the real mystery here.  

“How many of these have you been to, I wonder?” Jango’s smooth voice caught in his ear. 

“More than you I’d wager. How do you find it?” Obi-Wan asked.  

“Not to my taste.”

“Not to anyone’s taste, trust me,” Obi-Wan muttered. “The upper crust is uncomfortable with it. The military leaders don’t know whether to eat the nibbles or salute. Our host, Tarkin, was it? He’s trying to ladder climb. Thinks of himself as a noble and a military man and comes up short for both. His lips must be dry with all the kissing of the imperial cheek.”   

“Heh.”Jango pressed a little closer. “I didn’t peg you as a snob.”

“Never,” Obi-Wan said. “But you go to enough and you start to see the differences.” 

“You must have been to many, pretty looks and pretty manners like yours.” Some might take it as a compliment, but from Jango it was a statement of fact. Obi-Wan had the looks and decorum of someone that would be assigned to functions like these. It was actually more insulting than anything.  

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, He turned in Jango’s arms.

Jango smiled at him. That hard little smile of his. No one else in the galaxy would find it charming. 

Obi-Wan blinked, as he remembered, still shocked with how much he remembered and how much he didn’t remember. Recalling things, even after two years had a disorienting effect at times. 

“No,” he said at last. “I was often sent to the Outer Rim. My specialty was real crises, not…”

“Pomp and circumstance?” Jango smirked. “I see.”

“Disappointed?” Obi-Wan said, teasingly, trying to pull back the flow of conversation in his favour, but Jango surprised him. Reached up and brushed his hair back in place with a tenderness he was becoming better at showing.  

“That you’re a useful weapon and not just a pretty trophy? Of course not, Daring. You’re exactly my type.” He pressed a quick peck to Obi-Wan’s cheek. 

Obi-Wan felt his heart flutter. 

What an awful thing to say to your Riduur, he mentally sighed, and yet took it as it was meant to be taken. 

He sometimes wondered if  it was the nature of his memory wipe. He had agreed to marriage, he agreed to forget everyone he had ever known, had agreed to become a Mandalorian and cast aside the life he did remember despite the empty faces that filled it, and so now wouldn’t it make sense that Jango filled a lot of the empty gaps that had been made?

It made more sense than naturally coming to love the strange man that had been trying to kill him when they first met. Yet he was still himself. His personality hadn’t changed, just the tethers to his past. There must be a genuine part of him that responded to Jango.

All of it could be brainwashing. He was fairly sure that wasn’t it though. There had been a lot of coercion involved. Saying yes to the marriage initially, but he had said yes to the Cin Vhetin, and he had said yes again to the marriage when he had time to make peace with his situation. 

It was easy to swear to people he came to know instead of clinging on to ghosts he couldn’t remember. The Mandalorians gave his people a place, and even though they didn’t remember each other they were allowed to be together. They were allowed to practice their saber art, they were allowed to adhere to their old codes if they chose to.  They were now even allowed to go on missions much like the ones they had been assigned before the war. Peace keeping, negotiation, minor territory disputes. The Mandalorian Empire had need of them just as they had been, but they weren’t Jedi, they were Mandalorians of House Cin’Ciri. Some of them wore armour, some didn’t. Some started carrying blasters, some didn’t. Some married, some didn’t.  

The people of his House agreed that even in secret, even in their hearts they were no longer Jedi. They weren’t sure if it was because of the purge, the fall of the Republic, the fall of their former Order, the death of their previous lives, the loss of the memories of all the people they knew wiped away.

But they were changed, and they accepted that change.  

The Jedi had always preached non-attachment, for the ability to live without fear of the past or future.

Perhaps that was why Cin Vhetin worked on former Jedi and not anyone else. They could move on while others that had tried to undergo Cin Vhetin went insane with grief trying to remember the names of their parents, or lovers, or children. Obi-Wan had been given access to the first tests. The grief-sick that wanted to forget. None of them survived.

It was enough for Obi-Wan to know he had been loved. That he had been raised in a place of light. He wouldn’t remember those that taught him, but he remembered their lessons, and that’s how he would honour them. They would find a new way as Mandalorians. It was getting dark, but they were still beacons in the void. Even when the hunts actively stopped, others arrived to join them, hearing their call. The newer ones didn’t hesitate like he had. 

He had felt so terribly lonely when they had taken away his past connections.

But the new ones, they were alone too, their bonds severed in a different, more brutal way. 

They wept when they saw him and he held them and told them they had a home again. It was a steep price, but it was one worth paying.

He didn’t know if he knew any of them personally. He knew his face was well known among the Jedi. They were comforted that he was there. He would hold their hand when the past was taken. Imprinting. He had many arguments with Jaster about it. Sending the Cin’Ciri into the clans of their hunters worked sometimes, but more often than not had abusive results. The kind of relationships he had expected for himself when he married Jango, and sometimes worse than what he imagined.  

“You need to let us be our own thing,” Obi-Wan said. 

“You’re Mandalorians now.”

“Then treat us as Mandalorians. We are not second class citizens, we are not children. We don’t need to be adopted into other clans. Our House has been built. You can’t be angry that we’ve decided to use it. Now that we know how the process works, now that we’ve settled, now that we have sworn to you, there’s no reason it shouldn’t be the business of Cin’Ciri.” 

Jaster raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And you’ll see to wiping away their past?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said. “Because we are their future. We want them to be with us, why would we sabotage it?”

“Resentment,” Jaster offered.

“We don’t resent it,” Obi-Wan said. “It was life or death for us and our younglings. You gave us an option. A cruel one, but one we took knowingly. It was a price and we have paid it, and we’ll keep paying it to keep the lights burning. We can tell them it won’t hurt as much as remembering.”

“You don’t know if it does,” Jaster said perceptively. “You don’t remember if it’s worse or better.”

“We’re safe here,” Obi-Wan said. “Everyone else wants to kill us or experiment on us. This has to be better than remembering the people that betrayed us and the loved ones they killed. We can’t remember the names of our dead, you took that from us, but they’re one with the Force. They’ll be remembered there. So we won’t resent you, Mand’alor. The here and now is for the living. Let us live as Mandalorians. That’s what you promised us.” 

It had been a wedding gift. Alor Cin’ciri Obi-Wan Kenobi. All the Snow Whites, old and new were looked after, and had a place with them, especially the ones that had not found happiness in the clans of their hunters. 

Damage had been done that couldn’t be undone, He did have some resentment for that, but dwelling on it wouldn’t change it. There was stability now, that’s what mattered.  

He wondered if maybe Jaster was worried he would reject Jango if he had a place to go and that’s why he waited until after the marriage for his approval of House Cin’Ciri’s self-determination. 

“You’re stargazing again. Tell me more catty things about the decor.” Jango said. 

Obi-Wan smirked. “Really?”  

“I like this side of you,” Jango said. “You’re too nice most of the time.”

Obi-Wan let Jango take his hand as they went towards the observation window, a nebula on display for viewing. They were going to do some real stargazing apparently. 

Because Jango would let him be silent and still if he wanted to be. 

But he also let it be known that he would like to chat. Obi-Wan obliged him, he hadn’t actually been drifting into the Force anyway as was so common among his people now.  

“I’ve never been accused of niceness,” Obi-Wan told him. “Someone once despaired that my capacity for kindness was often overcome by my devotion to sarcasm.” 

Jango snorted. “It’s all the minding of others you do, it makes you act sweet even when you’d rather not be. You need to get your sarcasm out somewhere other than your riduur’s ship.”

“I thought you enjoyed this side of me,” Obi-Wan smiled sharply.

“I love, it,” Jango said after a beat. “When it’s aimed at others.” 

“You shouldn’t enjoy the suffering of others, Darling,” Obi-Wan scolded in jest. 

“Yes, Darling,” Jango said pushing in a little closer, his lips grazing Obi-Wan’s cheek.  

The luke-warm atmosphere of the sad Imperial Gala was becoming hotter, but suddenly plunged into frozen winter. Obi-Wan spun around in alarm. 

At the entrance was a man, an Imperial officer by his dress of pure black. High ranking by his bars. One of the highest ranking. He had the slightest limp, a cybernetic leg and arm that didn’t fit his body. Long dark blond curls covered the scarred half of his face. The other half was angelically beautiful. 

His golden eyes were pinned to Obi-Wan. 

Jango had turned as well. There was no spike of concern, just a faint annoyance as the Imperial officer stomped through the room, not slowing for anyone in his way.

“S-Supreme Commander, Darth Vader!” the announcer called, five beats too late, Vader was already halfway to them. 

Jango stroked his back, but didn’t steer him away. They were going to meet the mudhorn head-on apparently. 

Obi-Wan could feel the pockets of interest, anxiety, anger, and amusement aimed in their direction. 

“You could have warned me,” Obi-Wan whispered before Vader was in earshot. 

“Hm,” Jango said noncommittally. “I did say there would be people that knew your ghost, Darling, but… I didn’t know you would be meeting this one either.”

Oh he didn’t know about the angry sith that was invited? The Supreme Commander of the Galactic Empire’s armies?

It was too late to chew him out, Vader was upon them now. 

“You,” Vader’s voice was a low growl. Obvious recognition. He wanted some reaction from Obi-Wan, most likely fear. Obi-Wan pondered if it would be best to give it to him. He was a black hole in the force. Curving everything around them, obliterating the minimal warmth and any gaiety that the subpar gala had to begin with. This was a powerful enemy.

One he did not know. 

He had slipped out of Jango’s arm to stand in front of him at Vader’s approach, but Jango was beside him again. Vader stopped short as Jango put a possessive hand on Obi-Wan’s hip. 

“Lord Vader,” Jango said smoothly. “Meet my Riduur, Alor Cin’Ciri Obi-Wan Kenobi of Clan Vhett, House Cin’Ciri.”

There was a breaking point. A snap and suddenly Jango was in the air, holding his hands to his neck.

And just as suddenly a blast of electricity and Vader was on his knees. 

Jango landed on his feet. Obi-Wan helped him stay up, but Jango was up straight, breathing evenly within seconds. Obi-Wan’s fear spiked now.  

“My apologies, Field Marshal Fett.” 

Obi-Wan felt a chill down his spine. The man had no Force presence seconds ago. Now it was like standing in a pool of cold ooze, pulling him further and further in. A swamp of cruelty. 

The Emperor stepped elegantly to them. An older man dressed in crimson. Embroidered symbols of the Empire in the Naboo style. His eyes were as yellow as Vader’s.

“And to you as well Alor Cin’Ciri,” the Emperor added, his eyes moving to Obi-Wan. He only expressed amusement at the situation. “Lord Vader was not supposed to be returning so soon. You must be very confused.” The words were sympathetic and sounded genuine, and yet everything in Obi-Wan’s being knew they were a lie. Another dangerous enemy he had no knowledge of beyond what he knew of the Galactic Emperor. He was caught in the old man’s gaze. Could feel his probing. 

He wanted to know if Obi-Wan’s Cin Vhetin was genuine. 

“Your Supreme Commander’s rudeness won’t be held against him,” Jango said. “Everyone reacts differently when they think they see a ghost.”

Palpatine made a sound, polite in nature. Perhaps a laugh. He gestured and the lightning he had been pouring on his Supreme Commander dissipated. There was no more curiosity or amusement. Everyone here was afraid of this man.

Everyone, except his husband.  

Jango hadn’t been warned about Vader, but he knew why the Emperor had set up this little show. It was a test for Obi-Wan. If there was anyone in the galaxy that could get a reaction from Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, it would be the traitorous Darth Vader. 

But his Riduur was not Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was untrampled snow.

He could feel the tension in Obi-Wan’s spine as Vader rose to stand again. He swiftly snapped the neck of one brave soul that had offered a hand up. 

A neat magic trick, but it horrified his kindhearted husband so Jango would remember it as a slight. The sith’s ire was kept at bay with the presence of his Master, so Jango moved his hand away from his blaster. He knew how to kill Jedi and Sith, but Vader would be a hard fight, even with his riddur’s lightsaber at his side.  

“I did inform you of the Mandalorians' choice for their bonus,” Sidious said chidingly, his eyes finally moving off Jango’s husband to his unruly pupil.

“War prizes,” Vader’s words were dripping in venom. 

War prizes, no, that wasn’t entirely accurate. 

The Jedi purge triggered early. Sidious’ game board wasn’t set. Dooku learned of the betrayal, the Sith Emperor Plagueis learned Sidious never intended to hand the Republic over to him. Some of this was by design, some of it was luck. The majority of the Jedi were slaughtered, but there were far more survivors than expected. Most of them were apprentices and younglings. The padawans were defended to the death by their Masters. The children shepherded out during the Jedi’s last stand.

The Imperial Torrent held back just long enough by Jedi Master Yoda, slain in battle, Jedi Master Shaak Ti, captured and executed, and an unnamed Jedi who was pulled into a duel by Palpatine’s new Supreme Commander. 

Jango admired his riduur’s work. Half Vader’s body was melted. No one could survive that kind of damage except a monster. Just like how Vizsla had survived a blaster bolt to the head. Evil had a tendency to survive longer than it should. 

He reminded himself not to compliment Obi-Wan for it later. The effect was magnificent but he wouldn’t want to be complimented for Vizsla’s scar either. Not when the aim was death. 

And Obi-Wan might feel disgusted if he knew it was his handiwork. Most of the Cin’Ciri didn’t relish in suffering, even the suffering of their enemies. A few did. Jango was quietly waiting to see if Vos would snap and join up as a commando to hunt in the Confederacy, or if Obi-Wan would succeed in taming his ire.

That had perhaps been Jango’s fault. Vos’ ties were gone, but his anger for his people wasn’t. He didn’t remember the lost, but he knew that they existed, he knew there had been an injustice, and he had run his mouth about how he’d like to be hunting clones once the Cin’ciri were cleared to leave Mandalorian space. 

And Jango explained how the clones came to be. 

So now, Vos wanted to hunt Dooku. Sidious was on his list as well, but he understood Jaster’s approach.

“Mereel is a mynock. Sapping everything he can from Palpatine until a husk is left. I think your husband might be a mynock too, you know? Soresu as impenetrable as the man’s arguments. Impressively stubborn. Frustratingly patient. I can wait until Mereel sucks Sidious dry, but the only reason I haven’t gone rogue for Dooku’s head is your husband blinding me with that light of his. Give me a mission or I’m going to punch his lights out. He’s my brother in the Force, Fett, the first friend I’ve been allowed to keep in this new life. I love him. I’m going to kill him if he talks me down again.”

“No you won’t.” If Jango believed that he would already be dead. 

“No I won’t,” Vos agreed darkly. “But I won’t be as pleasant.” 

So, war prizes. No. Really the Cin’ciri were compensation. For the glassing, for the clones. At least at first. Now they were just Mandalorians.    

“Mandalorians don’t like waste,” Jango said. “And we value warriors. The Galactic Empire had no more use for them, the CIS’ propaganda against them was too strong for their government to turn around on their stance to benefit, and the Sith would torture them or use them for Sith Spawn experiments. We took the strong ones that came to us as a bonus for our services rendered thus far.” 

He watched Obi-Wan’s face as he said this. Obi-Wan had an expressive face, he was awful at sabacc unless he cheated. There wasn’t a twitch of resentment or disagreement. He was well aware of his people’s circumstances. Of the Mandalorians’ continued service to Palpatine’s Empire. Training the clones, taking up bounties, acting as mercenaries. 

His Riduur was a mynock and could wait for the day Jaster ordered the clones to shoot on their masters, just as they had once shot on their Jedi.

And this time it would be the clones' choice if they pulled the trigger or not. 

Everyone’s revenge would come that day.

“The Galactic Empire doesn’t allow slavery,” Vader growled, he turned accusing eyes to Sidious. Still stuck on war prizes. 

Did he actually believe that? In the year the fledgling Empire had grown slavery was one of its biggest new imports. So far, Vader wasn’t living up to his reputation as a brilliant military mind. 

“I am not a slave, Darth,” Obi-Wan said. “No Mandalorian is.” 

Vader scowled, “Oh no? The man I knew would take one look at you and see you for exactly what you are. A pitiable pathetic little skug—”

“Lord Vader!” Sidious spat. 

Jango didn’t smile, but he did enjoy Vader’s kicked strill expression and the Emperor’s oily smile of apology in Jango and Obi-Wan’s direction.  

The Emperor for all his power was in a tight spot. Dooku to one side, Plagueis to the other. His army was made up of Mandalorian clones that were trained by Mandlorians. The control chips he had wanted had triggered, now there was only a hole left in the clones hearts where their Jedi used to be. Plenty of space to work with. 

Palpatine wasn’t stupid. He knew that, for now, he was within Mandalore’s grasp. The only reason Jaster didn’t snap the weak little Empire’s neck was the money it generated. Mandalore would never work with Plagueis for all the pain and misery he and his Empire caused them, and while Dooku ruled the CIS Jaster wouldn’t be taking any of their offers after the dema golka alliance with Vizsla, using prisoners as genetic templates for an army of clones to use in a trap for the Republic. That left Palpatine. The easiest to profit off of, and the one Sith there was no standing blood feud with, at least in the open. Jango was well aware who had been pulling Dooku’s strings before Dooku cut himself loose, and House Cin’ciri was promised a reckoning. One day Palpatine would be dealt with, but for now the three way stalemate between the Sith suited Jaster. 

Palpatine knew that he would break without mandalorian support and his apprentice killing the Mandalore’s adopted son and most trusted field marshal would be an unwise move to make.

And so he had to hold the leash of his outraged strill. 

Jango would remember this slight though. He would never have brought Obi-Wan if he had known Vader would be here. 

Vader seemed to be waiting for some acknowledgement from Obi-Wan and was getting more and more frustrated at the lack of desired response. 

“Is your Supreme Commander,” Jango said the words very deliberately. “Aware of our agreement?”

Sidious moved his gaze to Vader who was ignoring everything in favour of silently staring at Obi-Wan, who calmly stared back.

“That pardons have been given, and records destroyed of those you requested, yes,” Palpatine said. Jango doubted the records were destroyed, but that mattered less than giving the Cin’ciri space to move in the Galactic Empire.  

“I’m afraid I don’t know you, Lord Vader,” Obi-Wan was fed up. He could see the layers of meaning and conversation that he wasn’t allowed to know the context for, so rather than parse it he took control. “On becoming a Mandalorian I agreed to undergo Cin Vhetin. I retain my memories. Who I am, my training, my thoughts and opinions, but I don’t remember anyone I once knew. The relationship you had with the man you knew is dead. Only you remember it now.” 

“You don’t remember?” Vader asked, unable to even comprehend such a thing. “You don’t remember me ?”

Like a sun that’s lost the planet that once orbited it.

Jango’s riduur wouldn’t approve of all the pleasure he took in how easily Obi-Wan tortured Vader. 

“Not at all,” Obi-Wan said with a shrug. “And I never will.” he paused, then smirked at Vader. Obi-Wan wasn’t cruel by nature, but he could cut at those that deserved it. “So, I’m afraid I’ll never be sorry for it. Whatever it was. The only thing you could torture out of me is regret for my ignorance, but I will never know you, Lord Vader.”

The abject rage and fear and panic on the man’s half perfect face was marvelous. He reached out, as if to seize Obi-Wan, to try to reclaim him. 

Everything else Jango allowed, but coveting what was his, that was unacceptable. 

Jango stepped in front of his riddur, and Sidious stepped in front of him. 

“Lord Vader, perhaps after your long journey you would like to retire early,” Sidious ordered warningly.

But Vader was stuck. He was looking through both of them, looking at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan hissed. “Stop that.”

Vader wasn’t doing anything but staring though.

“Stop that!” Obi-Wan repeated. He pushed past Jango and Sidious. He slammed his hand forward. Vader’s hand met his. Gravity shifted, like they were caught in some sort of magnetic field.

“Lord Vader!” Sidious shouted.

“I will make you remember,” Vader said. “I will make you remember and then I will make you hurt.” 

“My,” Obi-Wan grunted, straining Vader’s power. “What a pathetic creature you are, Darth.” He grimaced in disgust. “Did he love you? Is that why you hate him so much? A wretched shade like you would burn from that. Well you can rejoice Lord Vader, every single feeling he had ever felt for you is dead. I am what remains.”

Vader was blasted back, slamming into an observation window. The glass cracked, and a shield came on.

“My apologies to the host,” Obi-Wan said mildly. He shook out his hand, his wrist had formed bruises. He turned his attention to Sidious, who was watching in fascination.

“I think you may have broken what was left of his heart, Master Kenobi.” 

“Alor Cin’Ciri,” Obi-Wan corrected. “And I’m sure you’re delighted, Emperor,” he was not willing to play at politeness anymore. Jango’s riduur understood the dynamics now and took advantage of them. He could see Sidious’ weakness, his unwillingness to let harm come to Jango and Obi-Wan. He might not know the depth of why, but could see everything as clearly as if it had been told to him. 

“So cruel,” Sidious said. “You’re right, he did love you once.”

Obi-Wan smiled blandly. “The me that I am now has never loved him, but I know his reputation. A traitor. A murderer of children. You’ll forgive me that I don’t find your Supreme Commander’s company to my taste. If he finds such simple truths cruel I can understand why he is so loyal to your sweet manipulations of it, Emperor.” 

“I come to regret not listening to Dooku about you. You would have been a fascinating little distraction I think,” Sidious licked his thin lips.

Jango had had enough. 

“I think we’ll be taking our leave early,” Jango said.

Obi-Wan stared out at the blue lights of hyperspace, curled in the navigator’s chair of the Slave. 

“You don’t usually brood.” 

Jango had let him stew on things for hours now as they made their way back home. Usually he had no patience for it. It was one of the things Obi-Wan liked about him. He never let things fester long for the people he liked. He saved that for his enemies.  

“You haven’t known me very long.”

“I know you better than anyone.” 

“That isn’t really true.”

“It is,” Jango said. “Knowing comes from a mutual understanding. No one knows you as you are right now better than I do.”

“Vos and I are good friends.”

“Don’t tease Mesh’la, you know I’m the jealous type.” 

“Did I really love that monster?” Obi-Wan finally turned. Jango was out of his armour, shirtless and in a pair of sleep pants. He was at ease, there was no concern on his face. 

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now.” Blunt and utterly lacking in any understanding of emotion. Sometimes he forgot he married a bounty hunter who only played Field Marshal for his father’s sake. 

“Did I make him like that?” Obi-Wan pressed.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jango said, not even trying to be reassuring. 

“It does to me.”

“It doesn’t.”

Obi-Wan glared at him.

“It doesn’t,” Jango repeated. 

“It’s easy to say, you don’t have a wraith haunting you. Can you even imagine what an aberration he is? The imbalance his very presence causes to the universe?”

“Sounds bad.”

“What if I told you the possessive grip he tried to hold me in. How he tried to force a bond between us.” 

“Looking for a string that’s no longer there,” but now at least Jango was frowning in annoyance. 

“What if I told you that I think he’s Luke’s—”

“I am Luke’s father,” Jango interrupted. “You are Luke’s father. That thing has no imprint on our child and it never will.”

“But if I was the one that made him like that—” 

Jango scoffed. “He would love this. He would love to know you’re thinking of him, paying him attention he has no right to.”

“And so I should only pay attention to you?” Obi-Wan shot back. “You, the only one that knows me? Who I married, unsure if I agreed out of duress, manipulation, or genuine affection for you?”

“Vader is a violent killer who only cares about himself. Do you really think you made him like that? He made choices. Luke is not doomed to be him just because you’re the one that loves him.”

“What if he is?” Obi-Wan countered. “Maybe I destroy everyone I love. I wouldn’t remember, would I?” he laughed sarcastically. “I would never know.” 

“Here’s the truth,” Jango said. “Since you love it so much. I saw you and I hunted for you and I wanted to kill you so bad, and then you were within reach and I couldn’t kill you because you beat me. You won. Marrying you was my only choice. Either I kill you, you kill me, or we part when we die.”

Jango reached over to the console and picked up one of his blasters, offering it to Obi-Wan. “You can kill me when you like, that’s your choice. Aim here, don’t miss.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Obi-Wan said quietly. 

“I’d rather be dead than without you now,” Jango said honestly. “If I can’t kill you, and I can’t, I tried that, and if I can’t keep you, then you need to be the one to kill me. You haven’t killed me yet. I’ve given you opportunities.”

“So because I didn’t kill you then I must love you?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Yes, Cyare,” Jango said in amusement. 

It was so very much a thing his husband would say and mean with all his heart. 

Why did it soothe him? 

Maybe because he had given Jango opportunities as well. Maybe because he waited for a bruising grip, a blaster to the back, a knife to the throat that never came. 

He didn’t kill him, and Obi-Wan didn’t want to kill him, and so they remained together.

“And what about the boys?” he pressed. “You’d rather die without me? What about them?”

“Jaster will make Boba a leader, and you’ll raise Luke as a warrior. I was a poor father to Boba. I raised him for someone else the first ten years of his life, and if I haven’t proven myself good enough for Luke yet then that’s your decision. Boba might try to avenge me though,” Jango laughed. “So be careful.”   

Something ached in Obi-Wan.

“I don’t believe in possessive attachment. I don’t believe that’s love.” 

Jango nodded. “I am jealous and possessive because you let me be. Because you know I like to be. But I can never hold on to you if you don’t want to be held. I know that.” He shook the blaster, as evidence. 

 And Obi-Wan wondered for the first time if the grief and loneliness had been his all along and not the affects of the Cin Vhetin. 

Jango in his way, had just promised him forever.

Either way they would be together until death parted them. If Obi-Wan killed Jango, then Jango wouldn’t be alone when he died. He would be with the one he loved. 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes tightly to stop any tears. He opened his eyes and moved from the copilot chair into Jango’s lap. He took the gun and aimed it at Jango’s chest. 

Jango’s brown eyes followed him every step. He reached up, but only to correct the barrel placement so that it was dead centre over his heart. 

He had never looked at Obi-Wan with such open love and devotion. There was no fear. He wasn’t suicidal. He just accepted that if Obi-Wan was the one that killed him he would be okay with that. 

Was that attachment? Was it unconditional love? 

It was just Jango Fett loving as only Jango Fett could.  

“You’re a nightmare,” Obi-Wan sighed. He reached over to put the blaster back on the console and went limp on his husband’s warm body. His naked skin smelled of a fresh soap that gave him nostalgic tingles he couldn’t place anymore. 

Jango, after a moment, wrapped his arms around him and held him. He pressed his lips against the top of Obi-Wan’s head like he did for Luke, and for Boba during the rare tender moments between the two.

“You’re not a bad father to Boba,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Not anymore,” Jango agreed.

“And you’re good to Luke.” 

“I’m glad you think so.” 

“And Vader won’t have any hold over me. Whatever happened between us is lost, and the decisions he makes are one he continues to make. A creature like that isn’t worth my sorrow.”

“Good.”

“I am not the man who ever loved him.”

“Yes.”

“But I love you.”

“Until death do us part,” Jango agreed.  

“Until death do us part,” Obi-Wan promised.

“Thank you.”