Chapter Text
Kal had been having a shitty day even before their bounty had been poached out from under them.
First, there was the fact that it was just insulting for any bounty to give so much trouble to a group of Haat’ade, much less a squad with the Mand’alor himself in it.
Then there was the fact that the bounty had led them well out of the Mandalorian Sector, halfway to Cantonica before they caught up to him on Ord Radama.
And finally, just to cap it all off, there was the fact that it had been Kal’s fault that they’d lost the bounty to begin with.
He hadn’t said that last part out loud, of course. That was the quickest way to earn a smack around from Jaster on the sparring mats, as well as a too-sincere lecture on his own self worth. But the reality of the situation was that it had been Kal who lost the quarry in a moment of inattention, letting their bounty slip away in the bustle of a crowd and prolonging what should have been an easy job.
And now, two Mandalorians that he absolutely did not recognize had just stolen their bounty out from under them.
Kal stood at one end of the clearing, his westar pistol in one hand and his vibro-blade in the other, ready to move at any moment. Reeves was right behind him, probably also with a gun trained on the new figures, but their backup was still enroute. Still, if it came to a fight, Kal was confident– even eager, because of how shitty his day had been.
He watched as the Mando covered head to toe in pure silver beskar put his foot on the back of their quarry. The guy was lying face down in the dirt, stunned. In the silver hunter’s hand was a pure beskar spear. It was the kind of thing that Kal respected and resented in equal measure. The other Mando, wearing green beskar, had some kind of wooden staff weapon in one hand and a pistol in the other.
His pistol was pointed at Kal, and Kal’s pistol was pointed at him.
“This is our bounty,” said Kal. “I don’t know who you are, but if you try to take it out from under us, I’ll kill you.”
The green Mando snorted. “You can try.”
Kal’s grip tightened on his westar.
“Boba,” said the silver Mando softly. His free hand was hovering by his holster, but he hadn’t drawn his pistol yet. The two exchanged glances through the visors of their helmets, and then the green one– Boba– grunted.
“You,” he said, gesturing to Reeves. “What’s your name? Do you know Koska Reeves?”
There was a moment of quiet, and then she responded warily: “I am Eska, Clan and House Reeves. To my knowledge, there is no Koska in my clan, but the Reeves Clan is widespread and scattered, so it is possible.”
“Hn. S’pose that’s how it is for everyone, these days,” Boba said. “For the record, your armor looks just like hers– and she’s a bit of a bitch, so you should probably fix that.”
“Boba,” the silver Mando said, sharper this time.
“Fine,” Boba said, and holstered his gun. “This karker probably won’t go for much, anyway.”
Kal signaled for Reeves to watch his back, and then moved closer. The unfamiliar Mandos didn’t move, watching him blankly, but when Kal got the toe of his boot under the bounty’s shoulder the silver one stepped off, allowing Kal to kick the man so that he was face up.
Further inspection revealed him to be actually unconscious— bounties had tried that trick on him before— so Kal gestured with his pistol. “Reeves. Grab him.”
“Lek,” she said, already slipping forward. Kal stood still as she hauled the poor sha’buir up, and kept the visor of his helmet pointed straight at Boba, who stared right back at him. The silver Mando looked between them, clearly unimpressed by the posturing.
Then, behind him, there came the rustle of foliage. The silver Mando’s head snapped over to the sound, but Kal didn’t move. It was just their reinforcements arriving.
Sure enough, after a moment, a familiar voice rang out. “What’s all this about, Kal?”
Kal tilted his head to one side in a show of deference. “Just making some friends, ‘Alor. They were kind enough to help us with our bounty.”
Jaster hummed, walking up to them, and it was only when he placed a hand on Kal’s shoulder that Kal finally stepped away, settling into position at the Mandalor’s side.
“Well, then you have our thanks, friends,” Jaster said lightly. “I feel the least we can offer you is a meal back at our camp.” Kal rolled his eyes beneath his helmet. Of course Jaster was excited to play nice with unfamiliar Mandalorians. “And would you mind introducing yourselves? I’m not familiar with your clan sigil, burc’ya.”
The last part was said to the silver Mando, who had an image of a mudhorn emblazoned on his pauldron. Boba had no clan sigil at all.
“I’m Jaster Mereel, Clan and House Mereel,” Jaster said leadingly, when there was no reply. “Leader of the Haat Mando’ade.”
Kal tensed as Boba jerked his head around to stare at Jaster.
“Jaster Mereel?” he asked tightly.
“Yes,” said Jaster, and then like a kriffing di’kut, he removed his helmet. “I take it you’ve heard of me?”
“You could say that,” Boba said. He didn’t relax an inch.
The silver Mando looked between the two of them. “Boba?” he asked in an undertone.
“It’s fine,” Boba said, and then walked a few feet away from the conversation and began to mess with the buttons on his helmet. It was quite the display of nonchalance.
The silver Mando watched him for a moment, and then turned back. “We appreciate your hospitality,” he said to Jaster. “And we would be glad to accept your invitation. I am Din Djarin of Clan Mudhorn, House Vizsla.”
It took half a second for Kal to have his westar raised again.
“Oh, please,” Boba said, not looking over at them. “He’s not affiliated with the scumbags you’re thinking of. Trust me, if anyone has reason to be wary of Vizslas, it’s me.”
Kal scoffed. “First the Reeves, now the Vizslas… wary of a lot of people, aren’t you?”
Boba’s helmet turned back to him, slow and menacing. “I’m not very popular.”
Din jerked a thumb over his shoulder to where his partner stood, ignoring the by-play. “And that’s Boba Fett.”
It was at this point that Jaster finally reacted– because of course, being told that he had removed his helmet in front of a member of the House that wanted to kill him hadn’t been enough to concern him.
“Fett?” he asked sharply. “Are you from Concord Dawn, by any chance?”
Boba snorted and turned his head away again. “No.”
“And relation to Erla and Havit Fett?” Jaster pressed.
“Who knows,” Boba said, determinedly not looking at them. “Never was one for family history.”
Jaster clearly did not like this answer, but it was at this point that Jango– the very source of Jaster’s consternation, of course– yelled over to them from where he stood at the edge of the clearing, having evidently grown bored of pestering Reeves and not paying attention to the conversation.
“Buir!” the brat called. “Are we going back to camp or not?”
Jaster fixed Boba and Din with his ‘Mand’alor expression’– the one that demanded to be listened to. Kal only pretended to find it hilarious. In reality, it was very convincing.
“Return with us to our camp,” Jaster said. “I insist.”
Kal helpfully added emphasis by twirling his pistol.
“Thank you,” Din said. “As I told you, we would be glad to accept.” Behind him, Boba still wasn’t looking at them, but did not object, and after a moment he finally deigned to rejoin their group.
They began to walk in tense silence.
“Who are they, anyway?” Jango asked almost immediately, never one for social awareness. He was helping Reeves drag the bounty along, each of them holding onto a leg.
“This is Din Djarin and Boba Fett,” Jaster said. Kal disapproved of this introduction, both because it did not include Din’s House, and because it did include Boba’s surname.
It wasn’t that Jaster was a bad leader. It was just that Kal, as his second, tended to prioritize very different things– for example, security and efficiency, as opposed to the kind of vague ideas that Jaster liked, such as ethics and empathy.
As Kal could have predicted, Jango immediately left Reeves to handle the bounty alone and got all up in Boba’s face.
“Fett?” he demanded. “Did you know my parents? Are you from Concord Dawn?”
“Probably not, and no,” Boba said. “Who the hell are you?”
“Jango Fett,” Jango said. His helmet covered his face, but Kal knew he would be wearing an offended expression. “Your kin.”
Boba said nothing to this, instead choosing to go very tense all over and look away from Jango so quickly that his helmet clanged against his pauldron.
“And Djarin here is a member of House Vizsla,” Kal said, and pretended not to notice when Jaster gave him a dirty look.
“What?” Jango said, his snarl audible through his vocoder. His hand went to his vibro-blade. “And you’re traveling with him?” he asked Boba.
“Yes, and if you try to attack him, I’ll kill you,” Boba said, voice bored.
“Nobody is attacking anybody,” Jaster said firmly. “We are returning to camp, where we will eat and have a civil conversation.”
Jango leaned back, considering this. “Well,” he finally said, “Myles will be able to tell if you’re planning to try anything.”
“How so?” Din asked politely.
“He’s kara-touched,” Jango explained. Like father, like son, Kal thought sourly, at least when it came to operational security. At Din’s head tilt of confusion, Jango elaborated: “He’s magic. He can read people’s emotions and intentions, and he has enhanced reflexes. The stronger ones like him can move things with their minds.”
“Oh,” said Din. “Tano called it Force-sensitivity.”
“Tano?” Jaster asked, glancing over. “A Jedi?”
Boba snorted. “Tano’s a Jedi like I’m a Mandalorian,” he said.
“And in what way is that?” Jaster asked, eyebrows raised.
“Non-practicing,” Boba said, with the air of someone telling a very good joke. Din kicked his ankle.
“What?” Jango said, sounding offended. “Is that why you don’t have a clan sigil?”
“Sure is, kid,” Boba said.
“Are you dar’manda?” Jango asked, in the tone of all punk kids who didn’t know how to mind their own business.
“Depends who you ask,” Boba said, at the same moment that Din said: “No.”
At Boba’s sideways glance, Din repeated himself, firmer this time. “He isn’t.”
When Jango continued to look at him, Boba shrugged. “You heard the man.”
They kept walking in stilted silence.
When they arrived back at camp, it was to find that the pair on watch duty had switched out in their absence. This meant that Kal had the dubious pleasure of being welcomed back by Walon Vau’s egregious face.
His shift partner, Silas Rook, was more tolerable by far, but had the unfortunate quality of thinking the sun shone out of Jango’s ass. To be fair to him, he was only young. Kal was holding out hope that he’d wise up with age and experience.
Vau greeted them with his usual levels of obnoxiousness. “I thought we were done picking up strays, Jaster.” He scanned Din and Boba with a critical eye. “I still think we were lucky Jango didn’t have rabies, and who knows if these ones even have all their shoots.”
Jango’s glare somehow came through his helmet, and he went over to talk to Silas for some ego-boosting.
Jaster just sighed. “This is Din Djarin and Boba Fett, Walon.” And then, just as Kal was opening his mouth– “Din is a member of House Vizsla, but says he is not affiliated with Tor’s ilk.”
“Right,” said Walon. “And we’re just taking Vizslas at their word, now?”
It was truly a dark day when Kal agreed with Walon about anything. It was all he could do to pretend the conversation was not happening.
“Innocent until proven guilty,” Jaster said stubbornly. “How can we say that we have honor if we condemn a person who has done no wrong to us? It is Kyr’tsad’s way to assume the worst of others, not ours.”
Kal sighed. There was no chance of talking Jaster out of anything once he started speaking like he was trying to sway an electorate. “Where’s Myles?” he asked. If the kid was going to use his magic to reveal that Din and Boba were planning to kill them all, it would be better to know that before things went any further.
Vau, of course, acted as though Kal hadn’t spoken, but before he could do more than take a menacing step in the man’s direction, Silas looked up from his conversation with Jango.
“He’s with Mij,” he reported. “And Montross and Rav are still on their way back. Also, Rav says she’s pissed that you’re somehow always on the team that brings the bounties in, and she’s planning to kick your ass about it.”
Kal grunted. Silas was a good kid. “Well, when she gets back she can tell me to my face.” Left unsaid was that he was kind of looking forward to it. Kal didn’t really do friends, as a general rule– his relationship to Jaster was something bigger than words could capture, and Jango was more like an annoying pet– but if he had one, it would be Rav Bralor.
To his left, Jaster heaved an enormous sigh. Kal had absolutely no sympathy, given how headache-inducing he tended to be.
“Come on,” Kal said to Din and Boba. “You’ve got a magic test to pass.” And then he looked at Reeves, gesturing at the unconscious bounty. “Put that thing in lock-up, would you?”
She snorted, hefting the man over her shoulder again. “I’ll send confirmation of capture to the employer.”
“Thank you, Eska,” Jaster said, even as Kal was already walking away. “We’ll be in medical.”
Myles was by far Kal’s favorite of the kids that they kept on the squad. For one thing, he was useful in a number of ways. He was a decent soldier, he was a bit of a lucky charm by virtue of being kara-touched, and he studied with Mij in his downtime, which meant that he made a decent combat medic. He also had the underappreciated quality of knowing how to shut his mouth every once in a while– an ability that Jango, for one, could stand to pick up.
And by far Kal’s favorite thing about him was that he knew how to prioritize. He suspected that it was a skill that came with learning how to triage, but however Myles had come by it, it was the kind of ability that made Kal want to train him as his successor one day. Assuming Jango became the next Mand’alor, he would need a second-in-command that could tell him no.
“Myles,” he said, ducking into the med tent. “We need your magic intuition.”
Myles shot right up from where he’d been hunched over a pile of empty stim canisters, maybe trying to clean them. “What’s up?” he said.
From the back of the tent, Mij called out: “Nobody had better be injured out there. I’ll remind you that magic isn’t a substitution for–”
“–for medicine, thank you, Mij,” Jaster said, entering behind Kal. He finished the phrase with the harried air of a person who’d heard it one too many times. It really was his own fault, because he was by far the most inclined of any of them to try to test the limits of Myles’ magic abilities, which had led to a few notable incidents where he’d insisted that Myles closing his eyes and looking vaguely constipated in his general direction was enough of a cure for the kinds of wounds that really needed stitches.
Boba and Din entered the tent behind Jaster, the movements of their helmets suggesting that they were casing the place for exits and the most secure vantage points. They moved like a well-oiled machine, covering each others’ blindspots and managing not to trip over each other despite their proximity. It was obvious that they had worked closely with each other for a long time.
Myles looked at them curiously. “I see we’ve made some new friends.”
“This is Din Djarin, Clan Mudhorn and House Vizsla,” Jaster said. “And this is Boba Fett, of no Clan and no House. They say they aren’t with Kyr’tsad.”
Myles whistled, eyes wide. “Wow. I see why you want the manda’s input.”
Kal grunted. “Do your thing, prophet.”
Myles shot him a glare, but Kal didn’t let it faze him. The kid didn’t like any of the fun nicknames they tried to give him. (‘Witch doctor’ was Kal’s favorite.)
“This will work better if you take your helmets off,” Myles said to Din and Boba.
“Is that how you start all your interrogations?” Boba asked. “It’s not very persuasive.”
“I wasn’t aware this was an interrogation,” Myles said, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, according to Mereel’s Codex, the burden of proof is on the accuser,” Boba said, pretending to examine a tray of medical tools very closely.
Jaster looked equal parts bewildered and terribly pleased by this. “You’ve read my Codex?”
“Sure have,” Boba drawled. “And I sure remember reading something about how good Mandalorians conduct themselves with honor when trying to settle matters of illegality– and last I checked, working with a terrorist organization like Kyr’tsad is against the law in the Republic and in the Mandalorian Sector.” He finally looked away from the apparently fascinating medical tools. “So if you’re trying to interrogate us about our alleged involvement with terrorists, why don’t you do the honorable thing and admit to it?”
Kal raised an eyebrow. “What an impressive way to avoid doing what you were told.”
Boba scoffed. “Nobody tells me to do anything, and especially not a scrawny little punk like him.”
Myles examined him with narrowed eyes. “I’m not getting much from them,” he reported. “I don’t think they feel malevolent, either one of them. Mostly what I’m getting is from you…” He kept staring at Boba. “You’re anxious. You’re hiding something.”
Boba crossed his arms. “You must be fun at parties.”
“He’s a real crowd-pleaser,” Kal said, leaning his hip against a table. Mij had emerged from the back of the tent, and was covering the rear exit. Jaster stood in front of the entrance. They had nowhere to run. “But why don’t you tell us what’s on your mind? I’m sure we’d all love to hear it.”
Boba growled, a sound that came from deep in his throat. “I don’t think you quite understand what’s going on here. We don’t owe you anything, you get that? We came with you because you asked politely, and we’ll leave whenever we choose.”
“No, mir’sheb, I think it’s you who doesn’t understand,” Kal said, matching the other’s dangerous tone. “You’re in the presence of the Mand’alor, in a camp with the Ven’alor, and one of you carries the name of a House that has sworn to end the Mereel name. The manda itself has revealed that you are not as truthful as you claim. You speak of the Codex, and of laws– but we’re in a time of war. The Codex dictates rules of engagement between civilians in times of peace. I owe nothing to a terrorist. It would not dishonor me to kill you where you stand.”
There was a dangerous silence.
And then two things happened:
Din said to Jaster, with heavy incredulity, “You’re the Mand’alor?”
Simultaneously, Myles lunged forward, got his hands around Boba’s helmet, and yanked it right off of his head.