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The first time Jango was sent back, he was in no way prepared. His fellow bounty hunters declared him insane and sold him to a Hutt. He broke free eventually, spent the five years after that hunting his erstwhile comrades down. Rage made him foolish; the last decided death was inevitable and went the route of mutually assured destruction.
He woke up on the slaver’s ship again, and this time he had more to offer the pirates. Jango parted ways with them, once again in possession of his armor and his ship. Reuniting with the Mando’adë crossed his mind but ultimately he decided against it; the wounds of Galidraan were too new, to them.
Jango didn’t think about the fact that they’d seen him taken away in chains, that some of his comrades might need rescuing, too. Bounty hunting was a good job; he’ll go back to it. At least he’s prepared for the asinine kark from that ass calling himself Tyranus -- as if Jango wouldn’t recognize Dooku, who led a jetiisë strike team against the Mando’adë on Galidraan.
This time, he killed Kenobi on Kamino instead of letting the jetii make a nuisance of himself on Geonosis. He’s not sure how, but it killed him, too.
Life number three saw Jango drowned in Kamino’s oceans by the alpha batch clones. His last thought was for the poetic irony.
Inevitably, whether he ran or fought or found a cause, he died. It took him more time than it probably should have to realize that helping Kenobi survive helped Jango himself -- but that was surely forgiveable, knowing Jango’s history with jetiisë.
The first time he worked with Kenobi, they killed Dooku together. Jango appreciated the competence, but he wasn’t willing to extend their partnership. Dooku’s mysterious master tracked him down in mere months; life reset again.
“Kriffin’ tired of this,” Jango muttered, running a hand over his head as he set his helmet on the rack. He recognized the Slave 1, hard not to after so long aboard. A quick check of the chrono beside his bed told him he’d just landed on Geonosis and Kenobi would soon follow. “Here we go again,” he muttered. Then a thought struck him. “Boba! You’re staying on the ship this time, study up in the cockpit in case we need to make a quick takeoff.”
“Lek, buir!”
Affection rushed through him; despite all the bullshit they’d had to go through to get this far, Boba was a good kid. Better than he’d been at that age, traumatized and angry. Jango shut out the inner voice that noted he’d be headed that way if Jango died again.
The Geonosians gave him no trouble as he disembarked, though they stirred with agitation when the ramp shut behind him. Still, they didn’t pick a fight over it, so he followed them to Count Dooku.
“You did not kill the Jedi who traced you to Kamino,” Dooku noted sternly. “Why?”
If he really needed an answer to that, the man was a bigger dikut than Jango had previously estimated. “Leaving him alive kept the full wrath of the Jedi from converging on the cloning facilities,” he stated instead. “This way, even though the cloning has been discovered, you have more time to adjust your plans.” It also kept him from prolonged contact with jetiisë, though Kenobi was marginally tolerable.
Jango freed the jetii again, but this time didn’t end well; a dar’jetii of Nightbrother descent joined Dooku’s efforts against them, and their attempt at a diplomatic solution between them fell apart. It was only after Kenobi lay dead at his feet in the sarlacc pit that Jango realized he’d just destroyed his best chance of not being eaten.
That death was a slow, painful dissolution. He had time to rethink -- to regret.
Jango woke up between one blink and the next to find himself staring through sights at Zam Wessel, and knew he'd returned shortly before Kenobi found Kamino. The jetii had a well deserved reputation for doggedly pursuing his goals, and even if he didn't shoot Zam, she knew Jango had hired her, and the jetiisë could get an answer from her if they wanted to. Kenobi would track him down. It was only a matter of time.
Once again, Jango considered taking Boba and running. But Dooku was dar'jetii and had long years of experience behind him; even if the jetiisë didn't track him down, the dar'jetii would, and would be far more cruel to Boba then.
It was karking ironic that Kenobi, a jetii he couldn’t escape, was also his best hope to get through this alive and intact, with his son and hopefully his ship.
None of which meant he was happy to be looking up the number jetiisë listed for tips. He didn’t necessarily have to comm, but if he didn’t, the fact that he was hanging around waiting to make contact with one of the jetiisë about this -- probably they’d send Kenobi to contact him, they seemed to prefer sending him to handle dubious situations -- would clearly be an attempt to cover something up. Just because it was an attempt to hide Kamino from public perception didn’t mean he needed to be blatant about it.
Geonosis had been a difficult battle, but as ever, the sole jetii he could tolerate had kept his word. Their tandem combat efforts had made significant difference to the outcomes, and Dooku was remanded into jetiisë custody as he awaited trial. The Separatist movement ended almost before it began.
“You and Boba are free to go,” Kenobi told him, but there was something cutting and sad in his gaze. “I’m certain your buirë would be disappointed in you, siring so many ad'ë and taking no responsibility for them, but I’ll see them raised as Mando’adë.”
“Like jetiisë know anything about Mando’adë,” scoffed Jango. It didn’t distract him from the burn in his chest, because Kenobi was right: his buirë would be unhappy with him. But he couldn’t stay. He didn’t begin to have the resources and he would not beg.
It took him three more lives to realize that Obi-Wan would have brought him and Boba onto the Order’s payroll as “teachers” to the clone kids, that this kind of subterfuge was something jetiisë liked to do to help families stay together.
Humbling.
Humiliating.
Possibly also heartwarming, but from a karkin’ jetii? Jango would pass, thanks. Kenobi was acceptable company; the rest of the jetiisë could kriff off.
Waking up in a cell on a pirate ship was not one of Jango’s preferred pastimes. The fact that the pirate captain in question was Hondo Ohnaka was further cause for aggravation, not that Ohnaka needed the help.
Possibly the worst part of it, though, was watching the jetii across the hall in the other cell. It wasn’t difficult to recognize Kenobi, who’d decided to meditate .
Jango understood being calm in the face of danger, leadership, and all that. He did! What bothered him was that the jetii had twitched an eyebrow at Ohnaka’s obnoxiousness and settled in like he had nothing better to do than sit in a cell, contemplating the walls for all Jango knew.
Next time any of the doors opened, Ohnaka’s crew stripped Kenobi to his tunics. “We hear Jedi can survive being spaced,” one of them explained. “Nothin’ against you; we’d just like a secure payday.”
Kenobi sighed. “If you would have your captain contact the Jedi Council and tell them this feels like Bandomeer all over again? It should at least garner a quick response.”
Jango’s attention was still caught by the faded scars of slavery on the jetii’s skin. He didn’t notice when the pirates left the brig, or when Kenobi, after a long pause waiting for him to say something, decided to meditate again.
Morning dawned with blinding lights, instant migraines, and obnoxious yet oddly well-mannered pirates. Not the worst wakeup call Jango had ever had. He couldn’t even call the food terrible. Nor, apparently, could Kenobi.
They sat in calm quiet for awhile, once the pirates had reclaimed their dishes. Nothing good enough to use as a lockpick, for which they gained grudging respect.
“If you could change one thing in your life, at any point in time -- current circumstances excluded, as I suspect neither of us particularly enjoys being held prisoner -- what would you change?” the jetii asked. Kenobi seemed to be searching for ways to pass time with limited boredom, and yet--
Jango blinked. His eyes narrowed. This felt like something that might affect more than he’d ever guess, which made him wary. “Galidraan,” he answered tersely.
It felt like he’d given away a lot more information than just a one-word reply.
The jetiisë paid for both of them to be released, and Jango figured letting Kenobi go without challenge would signal his appreciation. It didn’t wipe the slates clean, but nothing could after Galidraan.
Four weeks later, he was eating dinner on the Slave I when he blacked out. No clue what killed him, since he woke up somewhere else, as was becoming entirely too typical.
This was anything but typical. This time, he woke up as a slave shortly after Galidraan. His rage was a colder thing, but still present. Murder on his mind, Jango escaped his cuffs as soon as possible.
He blew up the ship around himself, but he got every single one of those slaving chakaarë; it was a death his buirë would have been proud of.
Jango was on Galidraan, directing his people to set up kill zones all around their camp, when a single jetii walked out of cover and paced calmly toward them. It was different enough from the usual to catch his attention.
They met on the field, and to Jango’s relief, the jetii facing him was not Dooku; it was a Kel Dor.
“Greetings,” the jetii began. “I am Jedi Master Plo Koon, and I was sent to intercept and possibly redirect a team the Senate sent here.”
That was unexpected, to say the least. Jango hadn’t thought jetiisë ever undermined or ignored orders from the Republic’s elected officials. He scrounged up enough diplomacy not to say so to the jetii’s face; Jaster had done his best to teach that much.
“Jango Fett, Mand’alor.” It was not quite a growl. “If you’re here to contradict Senatorial orders, who sent you?”
The jetii didn’t even hesitate. “An Initiate with a penchant for seeing the future; I left a message for the Council and Master Tyvokka,” current head of the Order, Jango knew, “was kind enough to endorse my efforts.”
...he’d gone rogue. This was an established Jedi Master, and he’d gone rogue on the word of what Jango knew had to be a jetii child, based on the term Initiate. What the kriff was going on?
“I don’t understand,” Jango finally admitted. “Why would you come here on the word of a child?”
Koon laughed softly. “Kenobi is a...particularly adamant youngling. If I hadn’t come to handle this, he’d have stowed away and snuck here himself, without much regard for the visions he has.”
Protecting ad’ë was something every Mando’adë did. This jetii seemed...acceptable, so far. “Visions?” he asked, instead of demanding to know why Kenobi was suddenly interfering in his life as a child, while the Mando’adë were on Galidraan. Jango scowled behind his visor, glad the jetii couldn’t see his face. What was different this time with Kenobi? Unless--
Kark, last time he’d seen Kenobi, he’d mentioned Galidraan. Was that jetii -- currently jetii’ad -- getting thrown around in time, too, or was he responsible for this osik?
“I think I’d like to meet this...Initiate Kenobi, you said?” The words even came out in a mild tone, though the Kel Dor narrowed eyes behind goggles, as if suspecting ulterior motives. Which was only fair, because Jango definitely had ulterior motives for meeting Kenobi now.
“Perhaps we could arrange that,” Koon agreed affably. Then he sobered. “The things our seers witness -- very little of it is kind. And he’s been actively seeing visions since he was five standard, if not younger.”
Jango took a moment to parse the words. “Jetiisë start that young…?” he queried, appalled. “Is there no way to protect them?”
Koon seemed to shrink on himself a little. “The Force moves us as it will. We teach our younglings mental shielding techniques from the time they can learn, but shields are hard to maintain consistently.”
Myles interrupted then, and Jango took a moment to breathe, grateful his friend was still alive. Jetii or not, this Plo Koon appeared a decent fellow. Especially given he’d taken his ship to Galidraan on the word of one ad’ika having the jetiisë equivalent of dreams.
They wrapped up things on planet peacefully -- much to the governor’s displeasure; Jango half suspected Kyr’tsad would take it out of his hide.
Coruscant was not -- never had been -- on Jango’s list of preferred vacation spots. Despite that, he found himself recording the sights and architecture of the Temple, with a mind to bring detailed holos back to show the goranë.
Koon showed him into a set of rooms: informal conference area, a small lounge, and a comfortable dining space with a low table set for four. “As none of us is certain how long you and Initiate Kenobi will spend together, Master Tyvokka suggested we plan for a quiet evening meal at the least. If your stay is extended, we can accomodate that as well.”
Jango blinked. “I have a perfectly serviceable ship,” he countered, not wanting to incur debt.
Plo smiled behind his mask. “But if you have to overnight there, that increases your travel time to and from visits, and lessens the time available to spend with young Kenobi.”
That was a valid point, though Jango felt a bit disgruntled to have it stated so bluntly. Before he could say so, however, the door opened again, and this time a miniature jetii entered ahead of a wookie so old his fur was primarily silver.
“Su’cuy gar, Mand’alor Fett,” greeted the child.
Jango swept an assessing gaze over the youngest jetii present. The man Kenobi would grow into was evident in the cheeky grin, the Mando’a spoken, and the manners shown. “Su’cuy gar, Kenobi. I was told you had seen me in vision and sent Master Koon to my assistance?” ‘Master’ burned, given his history, but the jetiisë wouldn’t understand why, so he kept his distaste for the title lodged behind his teeth; he hadn’t been a slave in this life, and now he wouldn’t. Thanks to a jetii’ad who had more heart than most, and the motivation to do what was right even when it seemed impossible.
“I see a lot,” Kenobi admitted, ego surprisingly absent from the statement. “For that matter, I’ve seen a lot of your travels. Ad’ikë and slavery and Tyranus and more.”
Karking hells! Jetiisë and their fondness for sly words. He understood that he’d just been informed that Kenobi had either had visions of his multiple life experiences or had likewise been suffering them. Cautiously, Jango offered, “Among Mando’adë, your actions in sending assistance to prevent an unnecessary fight between our peoples has gained you more than our gratitude. We’ll share secrets with you no jetii has learned since the time of Tarre Vizsla.”
::A generous offer,:: noted the wookie. ::I am Tyvokka, current head of the Order and the Master who trained Plo Koon in Jedi ways.::
Plo smiled fondly, eyes crinkling with mirth behind his goggles. “The Baran Do sages rarely venture elsewhere,” he said, indirectly confirming Tyvokka’s words, “and I appreciate the opportunities to see new places and help new people.”
...okay, maybe more jetiisë than just Kenobi were good people. He just kept running into the assholes -- and Skywalker, who was a kriffing disaster and left him torn between wanting to beat a lesson home or adopt the dikut’la ad who showed potential in startling ways.
Dinner passed with surprising ease; Jango had difficulty accepting that he might like the company of people he’d spent entire lives hating, so there were occasional awkward moments, but the other three proved adept at redirecting conversation when that happened. Before he knew it, they were tidying up, and the wookie laid one large, furred hand on his shoulder.
::We’ll wash up. You and Initiate Kenobi should enjoy some time less supervised, and I would like a chance to catch up with my former student as well.::
They found themselves in the lounge, Jango kicked back in a slouch, one leg up on the couch with his boot hanging off the cushion. Kenobi had slipped out of his shoes and folded himself into a meditative pose on the opposite end, but met his gaze with interest and honesty clear on his face.
“You’ll make a great buir someday,” the jetii’ad said, interrupting whatever Jango might have tried to begin their conversation with, “so long as you remember to put the effort in.”
Jango scowled and barely refrained from snarling. “One buir isn’t enough for that many ad’ë,” he retorted, voice soft, tone vicious. He was about to continue when Kenobi interrupted him again.
“I meant my offer of help.” The words might have been chiding, but the tone was mild and nonconfrontational.
“You’re willing to co-parent with me? Say the riduurok with me?” Jango scoffed. He didn’t see how anyone could be willing, could care, if they knew all he’d done -- as, likewise, Jango wouldn’t, couldn’t tolerate a relationship with anyone who didn’t know the worst of him.
That bright gaze turned sharp and speculative. “I hadn’t thought of that. It would rather neatly solve a great many problems, Jango. Are you actually willing, or were you just lashing out in anger?”
Stunned speechless, it took a moment to get his thoughts in order. “You have no objections?” was the half-strangled response.
Kenobi turned a perplexed expression on him. “Why would I object? I have no problems with or without a sexual partner, a marriage could benefit both our peoples in no less than three long term ways I can think of off the top of my head, and I know you aren’t nearly so eager to kill me as you are most Jedi.”
Jango blinked. “Jaster always used to chide me for not being romantic. It doesn’t matter to you if there’s no romance between us?”
“I’d prefer the lack,” came the dry retort. “And I suppose I could try to woo you with weaponry, but you’d use and likely lose or break it.”
Laughing, Jango found himself thinking maybe they should. “Yeah, okay. When you’re older, we’ll say the riduurok together.”
The jetii’ad smiled, but his expression soon sobered. “I-- Hey, don’t look so concerned. I’m not backing out, it’s just-- There’s something about Jaster the Force wants me to learn, and last time it did this, we ended up here and changed Galidraan for the better. Even if it took me getting killed doing research a few times, first.”
How the kriff was he supposed to respond to that? He didn’t-- Jango cut himself off, took a breath...and spoke of Jaster.
Jango awoke on Korda VI this time, and his comm lit up immediately.
“Implausible explanations are easier with the existence of Force visions,” Kenobi stated with a charming, audible grin.
“...how old are you?”
“Five, physically, but I still remember the Council codes I was given at age thirty, and have reinstated them without fanfare or notifications sent to other Councilors. I can think of too many instances when that access could save lives.”
“Oh, kark.” Jango found himself laughing softly. “Ka’ra, just let me save Jaster.”
“You have enough time, but don’t linger,” was the jetii’ad’s advice. “I commed mainly to let you know I’m on my way to Manda’yaim, so I’ll see you when you get back.”
The holo cut out as his cyarë ended the call, and Jango donned full beskar’gam, then commed his subordinates. “Double time, everyone! A jetii’ad just stole a comm to let me know he’d had a vision of the Mand’alor dying here!”
“Oya!”
It was a scramble from there, and Jango was glad he’d brought a sergeant along to wrangle the strike team he’d broken off from his main force; it left him free to help coordinate the rest of his troops, and grateful for capable pilots using their ships to boost communication while they avoided Kyr’tsad attacks. They arrived just in time to witness Montross’ betrayal, and laid down covering fire while Jaster retreated.
“Excellent timing, Jan’ika,” panted his buir as he darted for their force along the ground so no enterprising shabuir could take much advantage of his vulnerable jetpack. “Some rotation, I’ll ask you about it.”
Jango bared his teeth in a bloodthirsty grin, sniping to conserve charge. “Jetii’ad named Kenobi called. Something about a Force vision and your death. Didn’t want to take chances. Pretty sure he stole the comm, too.”
“Now I want to meet this jetii’ad,” muttered Jaster, firing on the Kyr’tsad trio attempting to circle around and cut off their escape.
“Well,” Jango grunted, shooting at Montross’ fuel tanks, “you’ll have your chance soon. Said he planned to meet us at Manda’yaim when we’re done here.”
“Oh, great,” muttered Jaster. “Now the jetiisë will accuse me of stealing their ad’ë.”
“I don’t think Kenobi would let them finish that sentence,” Jango mused, watching Montross fall with no little glee.
“Even if he doesn’t, we still have to finish off what Kyr’tsad is here, first.” Jaster tilted his buy’ce thoughtfully. “I’ll step out as bait if you think you can take out the rest while I distract them.”
Benefits of Kyr’tsad wanting you dead, Jango almost snarked back. But the others weren’t familiar with the biting, dark humor he’d developed as a bounty hunter, so he held his tongue. “Anybody got a general count of enemy numbers here?” he asked instead.
“Double ours,” growled the sergeant, “but we’re better trained -- and have you two.”
More to fight for, because they had more to lose.
“Kyr’tsad may decide it’s time to retreat if we take out more of them before we do it,” Jango noted.
“Right, then we’re doing it. Three, two, one--”
The entire squad pivoted in unison on the unspoken now, even as their Mand’alor dashed from cover like he was out for vengeance on Montross. Jango darted to follow Jaster, and overrode the latter’s orders back to the firing line with one simple argument: “No one would believe it if I left you to do something foolish alone.”
Five minutes later, Jango had interrupted Tor Vizsla’s challenge to Jaster, issued his own, and left a very worried buir on the sidelines as his second. Myles was going to be furious about missing this.
Tor brandished the darksaber at him -- pretentious, but there was skill, Jango wasn’t too proud to admit it. Still, it was an unfair fight. They’d agreed that any weapons on them were valid for the purposes of this fight, and while Tor clearly had practiced and trained with his blade, Jango had made a name as a killer of jetiisë in more than one life, and several of those he’d fought were renowned for their skill in combat. Kenobi most definitely included.
Jango dodged the first few strikes and swept behind the older man. “Must be getting ready to retire,” he taunted. “Can’t keep up already?”
That was honestly the best strategy against any Force user, or anyone wielding jetii’kadë: use emotion against them. And Jango had long been adept at pissing people off; he was lucky the jetiisë had followed Kenobi’s lead, that last life. A repeat of Galidraan would have enraged him all over again.
It was a short fight, in the end. Tor thought himself enough better than the younger man that when Jango faked an angry rush, Tor attempted to take advantage -- and made a crucial misstep.
Ducking under a swipe from the dha’kad, Jango rose like he was throwing a punch -- and buried a knife in Vizsla’s throat.
“Just kriffin’ die already,” Jango growled in disgust, deftly swiping the dha’kad as Tor fell backward.
“Maybe I ought to name you Mand’alor,” teased Jaster.
Too soon. Too near to events that almost happened this time. Jango shuddered and made gagging sounds. “I’m too young for that,” he argued pitifully.
Jaster laughed at him. “Now, tell me more about this ad’ika who commed you.”
Like Jango would pass up the opportunity to get back at his buir. And he knew Kenobi’s sense of mischief ran rampant, too, so he’d soon have a partner in crime. So he said, “Obi-Wan?” knowing it implied greater intimacy than they had so far. “When he’s older, we’re going to say the riduurok together.”
“I thought you didn’t like jetiisë?” was all the response Jaster could muster.
Jango grinned under his buy’ce. “He’s five going on forty, buir, and I’m pretty sure he stole the comm he used to call me.” Or snuck it from the Temple’s storage, but what Jaster didn’t know could, in this case, make him worry.
“That’s the least reassuring thing you’ve said all day, Jango! What the kriff?!”
“Relax, buir, you’ve got most of a decade to try and convince us we don’t want to be riduurë.” Three, two, one--
“Jango Fett, what in karking hells happened to you?! You’re usually hotheaded in combat, not rash in your personal long term choices!”
The squad’s eyes kept flicking between them, but the group as a whole kept silent. No one was brave enough to interfere with the Mand’alor and his ad’ika.
“Spar him once,” Jango dared, chortling. “He’ll wipe the floor with you, buir; you’re not ready to face him.”
Jaster threw his hands in the air. “Of course I’m not! I’m not dar’buir; I won’t fight any five year old!”
“I said spar, buir, and you probably won’t believe me yet, but, well -- when the Ka’ra send you to live and relive all your worst mistakes in life, and you find out a jetii nine years younger than you is also enduring all these lives, you start thinking maybe there’s a reason.” Jango paused. “Besides, Obi-Wan is no more interested in romance than I am, despite the ridiculous amount of flirting he does.”
“He’s five, Jango; of course he’s not interested in flirting!”
Sounded like Jaster would have to learn that lesson the hard way. Jango smirked.
For the time being, the future looked bright. He could mention the political ramifications later. It had been entirely too many years since Jaster had despaired of him like this, and Jango wanted to enjoy it.