#jango lives

He’d avenge his people; he’d destroy himself to give them the room they needed to live free, and Boba would succeed where he’d failed. He’d raised Boba to continue what Jaster started, he’d raised Boba to be  better . Jango would tear himself apart thousands of times over, millions more than he already had, if it meant that Boba would lead the people Jango had failed. He’d destroy the Jedi so that the Haat Mando’ade could grow and flourish once more without the threat of them. He ignores the pain he’s causing, he ignores the millions of children with his face and blood, if it means that his mission is complete.

Jango is not a good person.

He’s the survivor who never should have survived, the Mand’alor who had no people to lead, the leader who led his people to their deaths. He’s a coward who left the shredded remains of Jaster’s people to flounder on their own, because he had lost all semblance of honour when his armour had been stripped from his living body, he had lost any right he had to lead through his failure.

Jaster would hate the man he had grown to become.

When Jango meets him, he’s a shadow of the man he once was, fueled by the burning hatred in his heart, and by Manda does he  hate .

Obi-Wan Kenobi is a  Jetii. He comes to him soaking wet and completely at a loss. He has no idea of the plots in motion to destroy him; he’s naive, and too charming for his own good, and Jango  hates  him. Hates the cultured accent that rolls off his tongue, the mischievous sparkle in blue-green eyes that reminds him too much of Myles. He hates the way he talks circles around everyone, like Jaster had once done, and he hates  that  this  Jetii reminds him of the people he had lost.

He hates himself too, for the faint stirrings of attraction he feels the moment the reckless  jare di’kutla Jetii kicks him with enough force to knock him right over the edge of the landing platform, despite the cord that attaches them. He hates himself for the thought that crosses his mind as the Jedi follows him to Geonosis, the one that whispers to him that Jaster would like this man, the one that tells him that he’s  Mandokarla. It stings of betrayal, that he’d actually find himself hesitating as he stares down at the redhead chained up to die, wondering about his choices.

Kenobi is young, Jango can tell at a glance, smooth features hidden by a beard like it was an attempt to make himself appear more mature. He wonders how old the Jedi had been when Galidraan happened, and he knows deep down that the man had had no part in it. Looking at him, looking young and hurt, chained to that post and trying to keep up a mask of bravado that so many young warriors wear, strikes Jango like an electric shock, chasing away the fog of rage and pain and hate that had been seeping into him over the years since Galidraan. It makes him remember that the Jedi aren’t just some shadowy organization at the beck and call of the Senate, not just leashed dogs to be set on innocents - they’re a  culture too.

He remembers late nights listening to Jaster read from ancient histories, of the texts his Buir liked to read and study in an attempt to rebuild the Mandalorian culture that had been gutted by the Republic and the New Mandalorians, and rebuild it for the better. He remembers the respect his Buir had had for the Jedi Order, not just as another warrior culture, but as another warrior culture so much like the Mandalore he wanted to build. There were children in the Order,  Foundlings adopted into another multiethnic culture much like they were as Mando’ade. Children, and the old and sickly, the infirmed; they weren’t all the bloodthirsty monsters from Galidraan.

Jango doesn’t know how he could have forgotten that.

It’s like breaking through a wall, and when fighting breaks out, Jango sides with the Jedi and fights alongside them and the clones that arrive to rescue them.

Jango survives Geonosis; he survives the battle and finds himself fighting side by side with Kenobi. The Knight he had almost killed and led into a trap vouches for him when he’s confronted by the other  Jetiise. Jango is one step behind Kenobi when they go to confront Tyranus, one step behind when the man’s Padawan nearly abandons him for the pretty Senator Jengo had been hired to kill, and one step behind him when he learns Tyranus’ true identity.

Dooku.

The man he had been working for, the man who had hired him and promised him vengeance for his slaughtered people, for the bodies of his siblings that had been left abandoned in the snow, had been the very man who had led the slaughter against them. It’s a lightning strike of clarity in the muddled world of vengeance and hate he had been living in for over twenty years.

He’s been tricked.

Jango survives Geonosis, he survives to take his son and share what he knows with the  Jetiise . He doesn’t like it, he clenches his teeth through the whole thing, vibrating with sickening anger at the sight of the circle of space wizards surrounding him, staring down at him with dispassionate eyes, and he keeps a protective hold on Boba through the whole thing. Kenobi stays at his side, a calm rock in the storm of his emotions, with his furiously compassionate eyes that Jango  hated.

He survives Geonosis, survives the unmasking of the Sith Lord hiding in the Senate, and he keeps surviving as the Clone War rages. He keeps meeting Kenobi too, the younger man makes a name for himself as the best warfront tactician the  Jetiise  have. He works well with the clones assigned to him; Kote had always been good, competent, and if Jango had let himself think about it, he’d even say he had  Mandokarla. Jango watches their progress on the holoweb, keeps bumping into the  Jetii, and eventually,  Kenobi becomes Obi-Wan.

He seeks him out, and eventually, he realizes that Obi-Wan has been seeking him out too. They bump into each other when the  Jetii is on shore leave, and Jango finds that he likes the younger man, likes being around him. Jango finds himself falling in love with the man.

A rustle of movement pulls Jango from his thoughts, bringing him back to the pleasant ache in his body, and the former  Mand’alor blinks his eyes open, chasing the fog of sleep from his mind. Obi-Wan is sitting up on the edge of the hotel bed, pale back facing him, an expanse of freckles and scars and red marks that Jango had very smugly left there the night before. “Leaving already,  Mesh’la?” He asks, voice rough and deep, and he watches the way muscles ripple as Obi-Wan pulls on his boots.

Jango sits up, sheets pooling around his bare waist, as Obi-Wan turns to him, offering him a gentle smile. “Some of us have work to do, my dear.” He teases playfully, and Jango huffs, reaching out to curl a hand across the Jetii’s hip, absently tracing a bruised bite mark, a flame of smug pleasure kindling in his gut.

He wears his marks so prettily.

“Thought you were on shore leave.”

Obi-Wan chuckles, twisting to press a sweet, lingering kiss to Jango’s lips, and the bounty hunter finds himself melting into the touch as his lover’s long, graceful fingers brush across his jaw. He doesn’t want him to leave, wants to pull him back into the bed and keep him there.

“Well, responsibilities wait for no man.” The  Jetii says cheerfully as he pulls away, and Jango carefully doesn’t flinch. Obi-Wan watches him with blue-green eyes, gently tracing across the scar on the Mandalorian’s cheek, expression soft, with a wry twist of his lips. Jango grumbles, shifting towards the red head, and he tugs him closer, other hand moving to trail across his waist and up his ribs, tracing the scars across his chest and more bite marks. Obi-Wan coos teasingly at him, ruffling dark curls when the older man presses his head into his shoulder. “Still tired, my dear?”

“Well,” Jango says, petulant, “most people sleep in during their time off.”

“If I were most people,” his  Jetii laughs, “I’m sure we wouldn’t be in this situation. You don’t seem to be the type to fall into bed with just anyone.”

“One of a kind.” He teases, pressing a kiss to the side of Obi-Wan’s neck, feeling his beard drag against his temple. Jango grips at him protectively, and when he speaks, his voice teeters towards pleading, “Stay?”

Obi-Wan sighs, and Jango knows the answer even before he says anything, “You know I can’t, Jango.” His hands tighten on his lover’s torso, sliding across planes of packed core muscle, the Jedi’s skin chilled against his own, and Obi-Wan’s hands press against his own. They’re silent for a long moment, curled together, before Obi-Wan gently lifts one of Jango’s hands to press a kiss against his palm. “Ask me again after the War.” His voice is quiet, slow, like he’s trying the words out, playing with them on his tongue.

“After the War.” Jango repeats like a promise, like an oath, and he feels his  Jetii smile against his skin.