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Chapter Text

The sun shining in through the window wakes Jango. 

No explosions. 

No one banging on the door because the hastily assembled skeleton government of the Republic is trying to declare war (again).

No brawls in the streets.

Cal isn't crying.

Obi-Wan is sleeping peacefully beside him.

Everything is calm.

He checks the chrono, and blinks at the time. Half past seven. 

It's unheard of for the planet to go so long into the day without a disaster occuring that means someone simply must wake up the Mand'alor and the Rid'alor. 

Yawning a little, he gently disentangles himself from Obi-Wan, trying not to wake her. 

He pulls the covers back over her, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he goes to put his beskar'gam on and wash his face in preperation for the day. 

Having performed his morning ablutions, he returns to the bedroom to find Cal waking up grumpily. The nearly six month old blinks his blue eyes and Jango can just tell from his expression that he's about to start wailing. 
"Cal'ika. Kuur, kuur, sa'ad." Hurriedly gathering the infant into his arms, he hushes him before he can wake up Obi-Wan.  

"Are you hungry? Are you hungry Cal?" A burble and a grumpy whimper answers him well enough. 

Snorting softly at his son's attitude, he reaches for the blue milk stored in a little cooling cabinet on the windowsill, sitting down on the window seat as he coaxes the teat of the milk bottle into Cal's mouth.

Cal is a food snob, even before he is weaned. If his mother isn't feeding him, he doesn't like it. Even Tahl and Ani, who cared for him for the first few months of his life are now regarded with suspicion when it comes to food. 

Master Healer Vokara Che says that Cal suffered from a wrenched Force bond when Obi-Wan was snatched from the Temple, and now that he has the opportunity to truly have a bond with his mother, there are slight side effects as there always are with such young children. 

Jango understood about every second word in her explanation, which is fine. At least Obi-Wan understood. 

A gurgle from Cal distracts him from his thoughts, and a sappy smile crosses his face as he sees the baby giggling up at him, gently taking the now empty bottle from the clutching baby hands. 

Cal was underweight when he was brought to Mandalore, although nowhere near as much as any of the elder Jedi. After nearly four months on Mandalore though, he's finally at a normal healthy weight, and the roses in his cheeks and the ever more frequent giggles are a constant source of joy for Obi-Wan. For Jango as well, but the Jedi are so unused to their infants being, well, healthy and happy, that it is a constant amazement for them. 

Holding his son in the morning sunshine, Jango silently promises that Cal will never know the hardships, the torture and the heartache that his mother endured. Cal will grow strong and tall and protected under the sun of Mandalore if he has to give his life to ensure it. 

Cal gurgles again, tiny hand slapping against his beskar kar'ta. "Yes, I love you too Cal'ika."

A soft laugh from the direction of the bed causes Jango to look over. Obi-Wan is sitting up, smiling at them. Her hair is full of static from the pillow, floating around her hair in a halo of auburn gossamer threads. "Morning Jango."

He smiles back at her, and stands, walking over to settle Cal in her arms. The sheer delight that covers her face whenever she holds her son is something he doesn't think he'll ever tire of seeing. "We didn't wake you did we?"

Obi-Wan shakes her head. "Oh no. I woke up quite on my own to two of my favourite people having a cuddle without me." 

They laugh, and she leans over to kiss him lightly and then press an equally light kiss to Cal's forehead. "You're burping him though."

Jango huffs and laughs again, and she cuddles Cal and whispers silly nothings, sitting in the large bed with a bright smile on her face. In that one, bright, beautiful moment, looking at her shining, laughing face, he could imagine that she had never been anywhere near Coruscant. 

A bang on the door startles them, and Cal starts to cry. The soft, infinitely perfect moment is ruined, and Jango sighs as he stands to go and open it. 

Time for the next disaster in the story of Mandalore.

**********

Having been summoned from their lazy morning to inform Tor Viszla for the umpteenth time that no, he could not forbid his son's relationship with Ayomyi, and no, they would not tolerate his attitude towards it any longer, Jango and Obi-Wan were decidedly put out. 

Because seriously, it was just ridiculous. Every few days, or so it seemed, Tor Viszla decided that he had reached his limit with Pre's 'silly infatuation with a Jedi', and made a fuss about it. And this had been going on for months. 

Pre and Ayomyi had instantly befriended each other after the Excision of Coruscant, and become progressively closer and closer for a month and a half, before one day deciding that their feelings were more than platonic. And like that, Pre Viszla, Alor'ad Viszla, and Ayomyi Che, Knight Crechemaster, were together. 

Tor Viszla had, being himself, taken offence to Ayomyi's status as a Jedi, and her refusal to become Mandalorian. He had been possibly more offended that Pre accepted it, and was happy to work out the pitfalls of a relationship between a Jedi and a Mandalorian. 

Honestly though, why he thought appealing to Jango and Obi-Wan would help was beyond them. 

Ayomyi and Pre were like them, a Jedi and a Mandalorian, both navigating a relationship while staying true to their own culture. To be fair, Ayomyi and Pre were possibly in a better position than they were initially, not being under the pressure of Jango and Obi-Wan's arranged marriage. 

Seemingly picking up on the rampant emotions in the room, Cal begins to cry again, hands waving jerkily in Tor's direction from Obi-Wan's arms. The meaning is clear. 

"My apologies, Alor Viszla.''  But really, Jango doesn't feel the slightest regret. "But it appears that our son is disturbed by your bigoted and predjudiced emotions and so we must ask you to leave." 

A couple of people stifle sniggers, most unsuccessfully. Viszla glares, but salutes and stalks out, stiff-legged and angry. 

"We shouldn't antagonise him so much, Jango." Obi-Wan whispers chidingly, though understandingly, in his ear. "He is very powerful and influential, and alienating him is not a good idea."

Jango shrugs. "His Heir is Pre," he whispers back," and Pre is firmly in our camp now that he and Ayomyi are together." 

Since their agenda for the day has been utterly thrown off by Viszla's weekly rant (they did schedule for it, but it was a few days early this time), they have to rush through breakfast before they can take a speeder out to Anohrah for the fortnightly meeting the the Jedi Council. 

Cal always enjoys the speeder rides, giggling as the wind rushes through his auburn hair, and it is endlessly endearing to see his blue eyes light up when they bump over a rock or other obstacle. 

Jare'la child. 

Jango is absolutely certain that the infant takes after his mother. 

Being herself, Obi-Wan only smiles and sits Cal on her lap as the speeder takes off. 

Over the last few months, the Jedi Archivists (and many more Jedi) have been digging through the holocrons and data pads recovered from the Senate, and putting the lost pieces of their culture back into place. 

She’s wearing the traditional Jedi robes now, the kind from the Mandalorians oldest histories of battles and disputes between two proud and powerful warrior peoples with a predilection for collecting children. 

Rather than the dull, monotone beige of the robes forced on them by the Senate, or the bright, bold colours used by Mandalorians, the Jedi robes are gentle, defined colours. Too sharp for pastels, but far too soft for jewel tones. 

They are something in the middle. 

The cut of the robes too has changed, becoming sleeker and more tailored. 

Obi-Wan's current robes are fitted, though open until the waist, and then they billow loosely around her. The sleeves are cut to drape gently from her arm, and the robe is a lovely sky-blue that picks out the lighter flecks in her eyes and makes them shine. Her tunic is blue-tinged white and reaching to her knees, then cutting off abruptly in a band of darker blue. The tabards progress from the same blue-white as the tunic at her shoulders to nearly black at her knees. 

They are impressive, and Jango is secretly quite envious. 

Certainly, the Jedi have been working hard to re-establish the stolen part of their culture, and he and Obi-Wan have heard through the grapevine of her rahkadai that holocrons on crafting using the Force have been discovered and activated. 

"You look like you are thinking deep thoughts, ankai'a." 

He will deny to his dying day that he jumps at Obi-Wan's sudden amused murmur. 

"I'm just wondering how Anohrah will have changed since the last time we visited."

Which, admittedly, was two days ago to see her family, but the Jedi worked fast. 

The driver's voice breaks in. "Approaching Anohrah now, Mand'alor, Rid'alor." 

Nodding their thanks, they gather the few things  (mostly Cal's) that have been scattered over the seat during the journey. 

The sound of jetpacks roaring overhead makes Cal squeal and bounce, despite the fact that their escort regularly sweeps the sky. 

Well, at least he is easily satisfied. 

Jango just hopes that he won't grow up and ask for a jetpack, but Obi-Wan laughs and says he won't need one. 

Whatever that means, Jango isn't sure he wants to know. 

"Oh look!" 

Work on the city was begun three weeks before the Excision of Coruscant, and the quick work of the Jedi has completed the basics only two and a half months after the Excision. 

After that, the decorating and customising began. 

Each lineage has decorated their houses a slightly different way, with different patterns, colours, even mediums. 

The main building itself is totally unreminiscent of the temple on Coruscant. 

It has a long roof that curls at the edges, painted in the defined yet muted colours that are fast becoming the trademark of the Jedi. There are pillars and statues, just like in the other, but these pillars are carved and decorated, and the statues are sculpted in md-motion, with open faces and clear body language. There are no stairs leading up to it, for it sits on a level with the rest of the city.

In the city itself, there are always lights glowing, whether the bright overhead ones or merely the inbedded phosphorescent crystals embedded in the walls, and there are resturants and food markets almost everywhere you turn. 

Everything about the city is designed to beat away memories. 

Jango can understand that. 

How can he not, after nearly six months sleeping by Obi-Wan's side? 

Children run through the streets in bright robes, laughing and carefree, cheeks plump and rosy, with their stomachs full, completely free of fear. 

Teenagers walk and talk and laugh in groups, occasionally still glancing wonderingly at the beautiful city they now live in, their too-short, too-thin forms filling out slower than their smaller counterparts. 

But the adults are the most striking. Eyes still hollow and haunted, many bearing horrific scars, lightsaber constantly near to hand, the fullly fledged Jedi are only just beginning to heal. Their robes are new, all the colours fresh and crisp, without hanging threads or patches. Their houses are new, the paint not yet chipping, the walls still mostly unaffected by the depredations of children. But their minds are still those of people trapped in haran.

The adults are still processing. 

Today however, even they seem to have shed their unconscious fear and wariness for unadulterated joy and excitement. 

Obi-Wan is smiling rapturously as she sees the city shining in the sun, crowds congregating in its streets, the crystals glowing.

"Knight Consular Kenobi." 

Knight. Not Rid'alor. 

Knight. A Jedi title, not a Mandalorian one. 

And it is the one Jango knows she prefers. 

Obi-Wan grins down at the face of a Kiffar with a thick gold stripe across the bridge of his nose and frankly ridiculous dreadlocks. He wears no robes, only boots, leggings, and tabards the same shade as his tattoo. 

"Knight Sentinel Vos. What's up, Quin?"

The Kiffar ignores her for a moment in favour of cooing at Cal. "Your baby is so kriffing cute." 

Obi-Wan snaps her fingers before his eyes, which he rolls. "Fine, fine. It's the celebration for the first lot of promotions under our own jurisdiction. Which you would know if you'd stayed longer than your own ceremony."

She only laughs and hops out of the speeder. "Coming Jango?" 

As he always does, Jango climbs out after her, and they follow Vos through the open gates and into the city of the freed Jedi. 

Chapter Text

Quinlan Vos is, unfortunately,  one of Obi-Wan's dearest childhood friends. 

Therefore Jango not only has to exchange pleasantries with him, but also spens large amounts of time in his company. 

It's not that Vos is malicious or bigoted or anything like that. He's not even very annoying. 

He's just...a lot. 

He's dramatic. Far too overdramatic. 

And has the same amount of enthusiasm and energy as a two-year-old Zeltron on sugar. 

He's exhausting to say the least. 

But...watching Obi-Wan laughing with, and teasing the Kiffar, Jango decides, as he always does, that he can put up with the larger than life (and imagination) Vos. 

"So, I heard that someone, despite ruling a planet, looking after a baby and dealing with the political shitstorm of stealing an entire race, managed to outscore almost everyone in our age group." Vos bops Cal on the nose, generating a hiccup from the infant in Obi-Wan's arms as they walk through the busy streets. "What's your secret, Obes?"

A quick smile crosses Obi-Wan's face, and she tosses her hair in imitation of the over the top mannerisms of holostars. "Hard work, my dear." 

Melting dramatically against the closest wall, Vos clutches his heart. "How could you?" He throws his head back, and slides down to the ground, as though mortally wounded. "The betrayal! I thought you loved me, my dearest and closest friend." 

Hearing Obi-Wan's laugh, an unfamiliar Jedi pokes their head from the window above, catches sight of the posed Kiffar, and shakes their head as they withdraw it. 

Jango catches a wintry pale smile cross their scarred, sad face, and notes the satisfied one on Vos' own.

Yes, Vos is irritating, but he means well, and often achieves even more. 

Straightening, the Kiffar strides ahead, shouting over his shoulder for them to hurry up. 

It's not like they need a guide through Anohrah, or Obi-Wan doesn't, but Vos has apparently taken it upon himself to fulfil this role.

And it's nice to see these beaten down, broken people finally finding a way out of the mire they have been drowning in for years. Vos, he thinks, is one of the more resilient of the Jedi in this respect. 

He has bounced back (is it really back if there is no back to find) faster than any other Jedi, and lavishes his time mainly upon his Padawan Aayla Secura's recovery and the application of 'harmless amusing chaos'.

"Jaieh Sinube!" Vos bows exaggeratedly to a bent old Cosian who has a gaggle of disparate little Jedi at his heels. "And Hothbat Clan. How fare you all today?"

 Jango sighs.

Unfortunately, Vos has a lot of friends/people who put up with him because they have no choice. 

Vos being Vos, they could be here for quite a while.

Seemingly thinking the same thing, Obi-Wan sighs softly and moves on, bowing only shallowly to the Cosian on account of Cal, and makes her way on to the main Temple, leaving Vos chattering happily with the other Jedi even as he waves them off. 

His last sight of Quinlan Vos is the Kiffar swinging a little Devaronian up above his head with a shout of laughter.

*********

The home of Obi-Wan's lineage is near the centre of the city, as it was near the centre of the Temple on Coruscant. 

It contains the remaining members of her branch of the lineage - Rael, Komari, Tahl, Anakin and Feemor and two more. Dooku is dead, and Cal and Obi-Wan live with Jango in Keldabe, and the large house seems empty with the few people living in it. Even Anakin’s boisterousness cannot fill it entirely. Which is probably why Feemor and Komari have taken Padawans, two people closer to filling the space with the large family it was intended for. 

Obi-Wan and Jango slip in through the back door, which is covered in swirls of some inlaid nacreous material that glints brightly in the sun.

Sitting at the kitchen table poring over a datapad is Padawan Guardian Anya Tality. Twelve years old, her head tentacles are as white as Komari's hair, and her eyes as black. Her cornflower blue robes bring out tiny sparkles of a similar sheen in the white of her skin.

Anya still introduces herself as 'Ania of Rahkadai Imiisitha' out of habit, but 'Rahkadai Imsiitha-Chiiuth' is slowly slipping more and more easily from her lips as she blossoms beneath Komari's patient, understanding love and care. The Nautolan girl lights up upon seeing the three, and she is quick to greet them with a smile and an embrace for Obi-Wan. Jango, she is more wary of, which is perfectly understandable. 

She still smiles up at him, and her tentacles twitch happily as she returns his greeting, which he counts as a win. 

Komari, never very far from her daughter, comes bustling into the kitchen and greets them just as happily. She too, looks better than ever, her hair touching her shoulders in set curls, and the ends dyed black in a stark, harsh contrast to the pure white of the main volume of it. It looks good. Her robes are navy today, with little shimmering white clasps, and she greets them with comfortably, smoothing a hand gently over the scarred stump of one of Anya's tentacles as the girl greets her with an embrace. 

She had lost her whole family in an instant, and been locked in with their bodies for two days, before the Senate had released her back into the care of the Jedi. Three years later, and Anya is still terrified of losing her new lineage in the same brutal suddenness as her birth one. 

Cal gurgles at these familiar faces, and Anya moves forwards, peering on tiptoe at her baby cousin-of-some-description. "Pecha, Cal'shee." She pokes at his nose and grins up at her mother. 

Komari smiles down at her daughter and opens her mouth to say something. Before she can however, Anakin and what looks like Anya but must be Zinvan come tumbling through the door to the hall in a flurry of teal and cyan robes and laughter. 

Zinvan is eight years old, and was in the creche throughout the decimation of their lineage and the Excision. They're rather sheltered as Jedi go, and boisterous as well. 

Vos apparently adores them. Go figure. 

Zin looks up from where they are holding a struggling Anakin in a headlock, starts upon seeing the visitors, grins, and lets Ani go. "Aunt Benun!" 

They launch themselves at Obi-Wan, before clocking Cal and changing their trajectory to force Jango to catch them instead. Grinning at him, Anya's appearance melts away before she can complain, and Zinvan's reptilian smile spreads wide about their face. 

It is an unceasing miracle for Jango how easily Zinvan has accepted him. All the others have had problems, but their clan was one of the best protected and least touched, and they, despite having lost all but a half-mad grandmaster, are still trusting and relatively innocent. 

He is jolted out of his thoughts as Anakin follows suit, and Jango kneels to catch his young brother-in-law before he barrels into Obi-Wan's legs and topples his sister over. 

After that, it is a flurry of embraces and laughter and catching up on the latest happenings not caught up on over comm or the last five days. Tahl enters soon after hee grandsons, her robes a warm turquoise shade that brings out the slight blue tinge to some parts of her multicoloured irises, with her dark hair plaited into many tiny braids and pulled back from her face, which lights into a grin when her eyes fall upon Obi-Wan. On her heels is Rael, his robes so dark grey they are almost black, a smile on his somber face.

Meeting Vos had held them up a bit, so they have to extricate themselves from Rael, Komari, Feemor and Tahl, and rescue Cal from where the children have absconded under the table with him, far too soon for Obi-Wan's liking. 

****************

As with all of Anohrah, the Council Chamber is almost the opposite of the Coruscanti one. 

Rather than raised high above even the highest speeder routes, seemingly piercing the clouds in a pointed statement of isolation, it is right at the end of the new Temple's main entrance hall, easily accessible to all who desire. 

The Councillor still sit in a circle, but the identical hard duraplast seats are gone, replaced with chairs designed to accommodate their occupants beyond the Senate's humanoid-centric design. The new one are crafted precisely to their occupants needs, and upholstered in the just-brighter-than-pastel shades that are rapidly becoming synonymous with Jedi. 

Gone is the symbol of the Senate emblazoned in the centre of the circle, a stark reminder to the twelve Councillors just who held the power over their people's life and death. Instead, the wings of the Order's sigil enfold whoever is addressing the Council, like a protection and a reassurance. They have power over themselves now. 

Gone too, is the harsh austerity of the Chamber. Like so many others, Jango was guilty of believing the Temple's plain public areas was a symbol of their ascetic life style and not a symbol of their powerlessness. Seeing it now, seeing the intricacies of the Jedi’s work, he knows more than ever that he was wrong. Now, now that they control their own lives and surroundings, the walls and floor and ceiling are inlaid with abstract motifs he is told have great meaning to the Jedi, in the familiar not-quite-pastel tones, and many of the decorations (allegedly) radiate the care and love of their creators. The swooping curls and swirls form intricate, beautiful patterns seemingly without end, curling and tumbling ceaselessly about the room.

The Council Chamber is beautiful. 

But it is not only the surroundings that have changed. 

The thin, stern figures in plain and threadbare robes, and the empty chairs that spoke louder than any words are gone. Every chair contains their intended occupant, settled in seats that accommodate even Rancisis' tail, Yoda's height and more. What's more, they wear a veritable rainbow of colours, their robes warm and new, soft and bright. The deep hollows of their faces have filled a little, and the strain around their eyes is gone. Genuine smiles cross several faces as their eyes fall upon Obi-Wan and Cal in her arms. 

Jango copies her bow awkwardly, knowing that the elegance inherent in the Jedi during this motion is hardly replicably, especially as his hands flap awkwardly by his side without the wide robe sleeves to tuck them into. But this is her culture, and as she respects his, he will respect hers. 

Thankfully, the Councillors are kind enough to restrain themselves to merely brief smiles at his awkward motion. 

"Jersara, Knight Kenobi, Mand'alor Fett." 

Obi-Wan murmurs a greeting in return, and Jango merely nods. He doesn't trust himself speaking their strange language, where a nuance in a medium he cannot even sense can change a word's meaning drastically. 

Better to leave speaking the language of the Jedi to the Jedi half of their partnership.

Directly before them is the little green troll that was revealed to be Grand Master Yoda. He's small, wizened, and covered in criss-crossing scars, yet his hooded eyes still light up at the sight of Cal and Obi-Wan. "Sit down, you must. Otherwise, too small I am to see." 

A little ripple of visible amusment circulates the Chamber, and two chairs rise from the centre of the circle. As always, Jango is unable to see how, and is left to gues whether it is clever mechanisms or just Force osik. They sit down, and Yoda immediately vacates his seat and hobbles over to peer at the yawning bundle of infant. 

Obi-Wan leans down a little to make it easier for the old being to see, and he laughs softly when Cal blows a bubble at him and gurgles. "Truly wonderful, the Light of a child is."

...Light? 

He files it away under his list of 'things to ask Obi-Wan about later.'

The meeting moves along quickly, skimming over trade agreements, land deeds, and other tiresome things required to shuffle two different races around on a planet. 

Everything seems to be going well. 

The Jedi seem almost relaxed. 

A few jokes get cracked, several leave their seats to coo over Cal. 

It seems almost like an ordinary meeting.

Almost. 

Not quite.

Jango lets himself relax as the meeting begins to draw to a close. 

Nothing terrible has come up.

It has been months since the Excision. 

Perhaps, maybe, things will be okay. 

Maybe he's just imagining things.

Of course, at that moment, Yoda's ears droop. 

"Of one more thing, we must speak."

Dank farrik, what now?

The mood instantly drops. 

Creases reappear upon the Councillors faces, and they return to their seats, gathering their robes surreptitiously about them. Their eyes are still and calm as millponds, and their accents noticably smooth from the rolling, smooth Dai Bendu to the clipped, jerky Coruscanti. Jango has spent enough time with his Jetii riduur to know that this means bad things. 

A sniffle from Cal reveals that the infant has picked up on the emotions that must be richocheting around the room, and his mother is frowning. 

"What is this one more thing, Master Yoda?"

It is Windu who answers Jango's hesitant question, his face almost as grim as it was when he brought Obi-Wan to her wedding. 

"Tell me, Mand'alor, are Mandalorians missing?"

Of kriffing course the Jetii answered with a question. 

"N-" 

Halfway through his denial, Jango pauses. And thinks. 

Tor Viszla's early complaint had thrown him a little. 

Missing people weren't uncommon, especially with the chaos of grafting a whole new race onto the planet. 

But he does remember something. 

Something recent. 

Something that rings a bell.

"Two. Johann Reau, and..." 

Who was the other? 

He hesitates, and Obi-Wan's voice interjects, her lips thin and face paling as she evidently picks up on something he can't feel. "Lina Saxon."

Oh yes. 

One of the only members of that clan vaguely tolerable. 

"Why?" 

A slight tremble in Obi-Wan's voice betrays how serious this is. Whatever the Councillors are feeling, it is enough to unsettle her, and badly.

The Jedi exchange glances. "Were either of them...involved in any way with a Jedi?" 

Johann Reau had been. Isabet Reau had come to them with a complaint about it. An infatuation with a...Macilos? Maticos? Manicos?

He doesn't think there was with the other...but then he stops. Saxon had been. Obi-Wan's naming of her had jolted his mind into action. 

She had adopted a child, a little Jedi without parents or any lineage left, the only survivor from a clan of thirteen. The Saxons had been up in arms about it 

Now he remembers. 

How did he forget? 

And a chill runs down his spine. 

They hadn't made the connection. But now...now it is plain. 

Two missing Mandalorians from two Jedi-opposed clans, who had defied their aliit to forge connections with the Jedi. 

Raising his eyes, he sees the nod that Koon gives him. 

And his heart sinks. 

"What of missing Jedi?"

Beside him, Obi-Wan's already paling face blanches, and he drapes his arm about her as Mundi looks hollowly at them.

"Four of our people have gone missing in the last week, and no one has been able to contact them, whether through the Force or through mundane means." Ah. Kriff. "Knight Sentinel Taron Malicos," the image of a tall, bearded Jedi. "His speeder was found crashed outside the walls seven days ago." Mundi changes the image to a girl about their own age, with bright eyes and yellow-green skin, one that he and Obi-Wan know a little. "Padawan Healer Rig Nema, who vanished only this morning. Master Archivist Binn Ibes..."

His voice trails off, and Jango narrows his eyes. 

"The fourth?"

Obi-Wan is shaking beside him, and he releases her shoulders to take Cal and then envelope her hand with his free one. This is not good for her. 

Jango can barely hear Koth's voice. "Initiate Luciepe Vensie."

Oh. 

The connections flash in his mind, and Obi-Wan seems to come to the same conclusion as a little whimper escapes her. 

"Lina Saxon's ad."

His voice is flat, not asking, but stating. 

Six missing, Jedi and Mandalorian alike. 

Only six, surely, surely it cannot mean that. 

His comm rings, and everyone jumps. 

No. 

Jango knows exactly what will come out of that device if he answers. 

It will only plunge all of them back into fear and chaos and horror. 

Thirteen eyes follow his every movement as he reaches awkwardly for it. "Fett."

It is Myles. "Jango." No. No, please no. Not what he thinks it will be. "Are you done?"

"I have time to answer my comm."

There is an awful hollowness in Myles' voice, one that hollows his own stomach with dread. "Jango, Gamora went to meet a Jedi called Nema three hours ago. She hasn't come back."

Every face in the room is pale (or the species equivalent).

They aren't imagining it.

Someone is out for Jedi and Mandalorian alike. 

Someone is snatching them off the streets and out of speeders. 

Someone is destroying everything they have worked for. 

The Jedi in the room are all scarred from living with no knowledge of whether you would live to see the next morning. 

They know it well. 

He can see in their eyes that that creeping horror has returned. 

In his arms, Cal's whimpers turn to full blown wails.

Chapter Text

Myles' announcement holds the entire room in a horrified, spellbound silence that stretches on and on. 

Cal's thin wails seem to shatter in the cold quiet, petering out into little sniffles. 

The Jetti'alor'e have all gone pale, or whatever passes for it for their species, shoulders hunching and eyes darkening. 

Jango's mind is racing, trying desperately to think, to arrange something. 

Yet nothing comes to mind. 

All he can do is stare at Obi-Wan's frozen, shocked face, and Cal's little one screwed up in a wail.

He has to do something, anything. 

With an effort, he manages to force his mouth to form words. 

"Perhaps, Councillors, we could adjourn this meeting and arrange one between the Alor'e of the Mando'ade and yourselves to discuss the best way to combat this?"

The Jedi visibly start, and he sees the tell-tale flicker of eyes that signifies them speaking among themselves. 

After a few moments, Master Yoda nods creakily, his ears drooping. "Agree with this, we do. Suggest meeting in a neutral place we do."

Jango nods. "We will contact you with a suitable site as soon as possible. And," he hesitates before forging on, "I must apologise." Several Jedi look at him in puzzlement. "We brought you to Manda'yaim in the hope that you would be safe, but clearly you are not. I promise, I will do whatever I can to end this...these disappearances. Haat, ijaa, haa'it."

They smile at him, with that strange brilliant smile, and murmur unfamiliar phrases that make Obi-Wan smile back and tilt her head in agreement. 

"Indeed. Now, we must be going, Masters. May the Force be with you."

Jango follows her bow again, and they walk out, feeling the heavy atmosphere lighten as soon as they step out. 

Once they are out of sight of the Council Room, she sags a little, leaning her head against his shoulder. 

"I thought we were safe here."

She isn't accusing him, he can tell, but he still feels guilty. 

"I'm so sorry, ner kar'ta."

Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he guides her, as well as he can remember, towards the house where her lineage lives. 

He may love her dearly, but he's only known her six months - almost no time at all. 

When she gets like this, her accent crisp and clipped, her shoulders hunched, her eyes shadowed, he would rather swallow his pride and bring her to her family than make it worse. 

Admitting he can't help her, not on his own, is nothing to what it would be if he made it worse as he has done so many times.

Night is beginning to fall already, and the lights are glowing brighter, illumimating the streets with tinted lights in miriad colours, lending the whole city an otherworldly glow.

Walking through Anohrah at night is like walking through a rainbow. 

The smell of food cooking wafts through the streets, windows open wide in every house, and lights glowing brightly within them.

Everything about Anohrah is bright and warm, and beautiful. 

He knows the city was designed to be as different as possible to the cold, dark, heavy temple, but it is different to know it and to walk through it with a Jedi at his side. 

Obi-Wan's eyes usually never stop moving in Anohrah, flitting from one elegant building to another, from one shop to another, drinking it in with a rapturous smile. 

Now however, her shoulders are tight, her eyes almost hunted, and the hand not holding Cal is resting on the hilt of her lightsaber.

The familiar shimmering, pearlescent door comes into view, and he feels her relax even through his beskar'gam. 

Even before they can knock on it, it swings open, and Tahl comes hurrying out, her face creased in worry. 

"Ben-shee, what happened?"

Jango suppresses a shiver. He still isn't quite used to the absolute otherness of the Jedi, of the way they just know things, sometimes even before you yourself know, of the way they speak before your mouth opens, or a light flicks on with only the lazy motion of a hand. 

They may be people, good people, beneath the strangeness, but he still has trouble seeing past it, even with Obi-Wan and Cal sometimes.

Slipping out from under his arm, and shoving Cal at him as she does so, his wife stumbles into her mother's arms, shaking visibly. 

Tahl's eyes look right into his soul over her daughter's head, and he jerks his head at the door. 

Pursing her lips, she nods, murmuring to Obi-Wan and gently propelling her over the threshold.

As soon as the door is closed, she raises an eyebrow at Jango. "Well?"

He sighs, and mentally braces himself. 

"There is a...situation. We are working to get to the bottom of it, but it is unpleasant to say the least, and I believe brought unwanted memories up." 

Obi-Wan's head lifts, and she shoots him a warning look. His mouth closes.

No more details. 

Not unless he wants to explain to both Councils exactly why the entirety of the Order knows what is happening, before anything has been agreed on. 

When he catches sight of Anakin peering round the corner, he breathes a sigh of relief that she had the prescence of mind to stop him there. 

Tahl may be trustworthy, but his brother-in-law has reacted to freedom by becoming annoyingly rebellious. 

Now, it is rather adorable, but it will cause terrible problems later, he's sure. 

And for Anakin to hear means the entire city will know. 

That kid no longer has a concept of when to keep his mouth shut. Jango is grateful that the knowledge is not necessary any more, not in such a young child, but still. 

"Jango, Obi, you're back!"

He launches himself at his sister, who only manages to detach herself from her mother to catch him moments before impact. 

"Calm down, Kin'shee, we were here a little while ago."

The boy shrugs. 

"Missed you. Can I see Cal?"

Jango kneels down and lets the child hold the baby, smiling at the proprietary, gentleness on the wild boy's face. 

No matter how long passes, Anakin will always love his nephew. 

It's adorable. 

Tahl clears her throat. "Well, if we're all ready, shall we eat? Komari and Anya cooked this evening, and we've been promised dumplings."

Anakin perks up instantly, and shoves Cal at Jango, who stands up, settling the baby fussing at the sudden motion, and moves towards his wife. 

"Come on, it's food time!"

Hurriedly, the little boy disappears around the corner, and Jango stifles a laugh. 

Thankfully, his mother-in-law and wife also find it funny, and they all laugh quietly.

Obi-Wan sighs, and lifts her son from Jango's arms. "Well, I suppose we should really eat.''

She walks in the direction Anakin disappeared in, humming some Jedi lullaby to Cal as she does. 

Just as Jango prepares to follow her, a hand on his arm stops him. 

Tahl's multi-coloured eyes are grave as she looks at him. 

"Qahsreash, Jango. You have made her happy in a way I have never seen her."

He shuffles awkwardly, wishing he'd kept his buy'ce on to hide his blush. 

"I...I haven't done anything much."

She smiles a little bitterly and blinks a shimmer from her eyes. "My daughter grew up far too soon, in the hell we called home. But you gave her another chance, gave us all another chance." Gesturing vaguely out of the window at the city she shakes her head. "You loved her Jango, and you did all this because of it. Whatever you two are facing now, I have no doubt you will succeed."

And the strange woman walks off. 

More than a little unsettled, Jango follows her. 

He sits down in between his wife and her uncle, and is handed a bowl of dumings by Zinvan, who has decided that Master Yoda is the perfect person to impersonate.

Cal gurgles on a blanket on the floor, kicking his feet and sucking on his fist as he watches them with bright blue eyes. 

The lights are all glowing, warming the room with their light and shutting out the night. 

He watches as his wife's tense shoulders relax, and she laughs and teases her brother, and as her accent smooths out into the more natural one.

It is always good when they visit her family. 

Jango bites into the dumpling and smiles at Anya. 'It's good', he mouths, and she grins broadly. 

Progress!

For just a moment, he manages to forget about the latest crisis, and the dissappearances, and simply enjoy the moment. 

Chapter Text

Their first suspect is, naturally, Tor Viszla. If something goes wrong on Mandalore one always turns to the Viszlas. 

It was not always so, and may not always be so. Pre Viszla is promising to be a far kinder leader than his father, and there are ancient Viszlas who did so much good for the Mandalorian system. But the fact remains that Tor Viszla is a bad egg and so is much of his generation. 

The current Viszlas have earned their reputation several times over, and have made no secret of their dislike for the Mand'alor's decision to open the planet to the Jedi. 

If anyone on Mandalore could have taken to kidnapping Jedi and Mandalorians for nefarious purposes then Tor Viszla is at the top of the list.

"And yet," Obi-Wan says pensively, "had it been Viszla, would he not have taken Pre and Ayomyi first? He has the most access to them."

Jango pauses in his pacing, turning to where she sits in the window seat with Cal pulling himself into standing by his tight fisted grip on her nightgown. The setting sun burnishes her coppery locks to flame, and his breath whooshes out of him. 

He isn't a poet but seeing his wife silhouetted by the sun with their son wobbling on her lap is enough to make him wish he was one. Ka'ra he loves this woman.

If he was a poet he would never stop writing odes to her and to Cal.

He'd retire from being Mand'alor and live in the city of the Jedi with her and write poetry about her for the rest of his life. He'd spend a year trying to describe the shades of her eyes. It would be the perfect life.

She clears her throat pointedly and he tries to pull his mind away from her and Cal. This is a systemic emergency. It is not the time to be hopelessly and helplessly in love or to be wondering if it is possible to drown in her blue eyes or to-

Obi-Wan has a point, he tells himself sternly. Get back on track.

The whole planet knows Tor Viszla's displeasure with his heir's choice of lover. The whole planet also knows that Pre and Ayomyi are still together despite him and thriving. 

If either of the two vanished it would be known within the hour. Mando'ade are hardly subtle after all.

They make plans to speak with Viszla at the meeting tomorrow anyway. They have no other leads and it will let them do something at least. He is still powerful, however much Jango has attempted to slowly declaw him. 

Perhaps he is simply saving his obvious victims for last, to throw them all off the scent.

They sleep fitfully that night, curled about each other as if their bodies can keep the other from being touched by whatever stalks the planet. Cal keeps waking up crying. 

In the morning, they return to the Temple to relay the arrangements made for the meeting. Unlike the Mando'ade, the Jettise are a democracy and so require more delicate handling than the brusque orders he has given to the clan leaders.

Master Damask finds them as they return to the Temple. A tall Muun who favours somber colours even after liberation, he bows to them like a tree swaying in the wind. "Mand'alor, Knight Kenobi. I heard the news. May your efforts bear fruit swiftly."

"Thank you, Jaieh." Obi-Wan says softly. "I know Master Ibes was a friend of yours - Force willing, he will be back with us soon."

Something flickers in Damask's eyes. "Haj Dai indeed Knight Kenobi." He pauses, his thin lips pursing. "Be warned, both of you. I have sensed a threat surrounding your son. Keep him very close."

The Jedi bows again, and vanishes into the shadows. Jango shudders. Jedi or no, that one creeps him out. Something about the eyes. 

Obi-Wan nudges him with their joined hands. She sends him a scolding look, no doubt knowing exactly the thoughts running through his mind. 

He refuses to look apologetic. He isn't wrong. Masters Damask and Palpatine are weird even by Jedi standards.

"They have suffered unimaginably, Jango." She says softly. "Both of them. Can you blame them for being what torture has made them?"

"I suppose not. But he's creepy. All you Jedi are." It gets the laugh out of her that he had aimed for, a little too tense and sparkling for a true one. But it is a laugh all the same. 

He settles Cal more firmly into his grasp. Creepy or not, if Master Damask has warned him of danger to his son you can be damn sure he'll take it seriously. 

They walk hand in hand down the corridor to the Council Chamber, feeling the echoing stillness of the Temple as much as they hear it. He wonders if it is anything like the Coruscant Temple was, and immediately regrets the thought. 

*************

The meeting between the Jetti Council and the Alor'e of the Mando'ade takes place on a large flat plateau of rock in the middle of the desert created by the Dral'Han.

It allows them to see for miles in all directions, which means that no one can eavesdrop on the meeting without being noticed. Perhaps it is a little paranoid, but the Mando'ade spent much of their lives in a civil war and the Jettiise were born into a living hell. It makes them all breathe a little easier.

Chairs have been set up in a large ring beneath a shield, clear enough to see through. All about the plateau they can see the empty desert and the soft covering of green slowly marching out from the biodomes. 

That was Obi-Wan's idea. Best to keep the Mandalorians remembering just how much the Jedi are and will do for them. 

The Jedi settle into their chairs without a murmur, settling their softly tinted robes about them. Their quiet dignity has some sort of shaming effect on the Alor'e who stop jockeying for seats and sort themselves out. 

With their heavy beskar'gam, they cannot achieve the same silent elegance in their movements that the Jedi can, but Jango appreciates the attempt.

He had sent out a briefing the night before and again that morning. It had explained the situation with the missing Mando'ade and Jettise, calling a meeting to discuss solutions and methods to deal with it. 

By some miracle, perhaps attributed to the presence of the Jedi, the meeting goes somewhat smoothly. People actually contribute vaguely useful thoughts. Ka'ra bless the Jettiise. 

"Could they have been taken by Republic agents?" Kryze asks. "They bear us much ill will, after all."

Master Windu's eyes are fixed on the sandy ground beneath his boots. "I would like to think we would sense such intent in any incoming ship. But Mandalore is so new to us and we are not yet accustomed to the feeling of beskar. It could have clouded our senses."

A long silence falls. The Jedi's faces are all drawn and Jango aches inside. Someone has come onto his planet and stolen his people and the peace the Jedi had found has been broken. He is so angry that it almost hurts. How could whoever it is dare? Does the Mandalorian name mean nothing? 

It is not only an insult to him and his people, it is an injury to his wife and her people. It is calling for another Dral'Han turned upon whoever has done this to their people. He promises to himself that he will make whoever dared to do this to the people of the woman he loves suffer as she has suffered.

Eventually, Yoda stirs, his ears flat and turned down.

"Too long attuned to the Senate, we are. Know, we would, if set foot on this planet they had. Not them, or their work, is this. Too quiet, it is. No need for such subtlety have they." He looks defiantly around the gathering but no one seems to disagree. 

"It seems we are forgetting something.'' Kyrze says, and Jango's heart sinks. He can see the other man's gaze levelling itself across the circle to Tor Viszla. Ka'ra damn it all, they had a plan! A good one! And Kryze has gone and karked it all up.

Wren catches on, of course. "Indeed. Do you happen to know anything about this mess, Alor Viszla?"

Ka'ra damn it all. Jango counts to ten in Sy Bisti and reminds himself to stop cursing before Cal gets old enough to repeat the words. 

By now the whole gathering is looking at Viszla, some accusatory, some simply curious.

"You think I stole the jetiise and their dar-manda little pets?" Tor throws back his head and laughs. "I wouldn't waste my time like that."

He glances sideways. Obi-Wan's lips are thin and pursed, but her hands are folded as she glances at him and nods. Truth, her voice brushes across his mind. 

Fuck. 

Jango blanks. What can he do now? Where can he turn? If Tor Viszla is not the culprit and is not lying then-

His wife leans forward, her auburn hair practically glowing against her white robes. Her eyes glint dangerously. "Perhaps you can point us in the direction of whoever you believe capable of such a feat, then? It would be most appreciated, Alor Viszla."

Her smile is bland and polite as if she has not just insinuated that Tor Viszla is too gutless to go up against a Jedi himself. This is why Jango loves this woman, he remembers, she's got balls of beskar. 

Tor flushes red, but keeps his mouth shut. Obi-Wan's eyelashes flutter and she smiles up at him through the cinnamon coloured wisps. It just makes Tor angrier that a Jetti would dare to try and get information out of him by flirting. That is most likely the entire point.

He has no idea what his wife's plan is, but he jiggles Cal until he stops whimpering at the sheer fury pouring off Viszla in almost tangible waves. Whatever she is doing, he trusts her.

Viszla's mouth twists as if he's bitten into something rotten. His eyes dart back and forth around the circle, looking for an ally. 

Perhaps he remembers his ill-fated duel with Obi-Wan, for he subsides before his erstwhile henchmen can meet his eyes. He shrugs. The sneer he pastes onto his lips trembles a little. 

He's afraid, Jango realises with a sudden thrill. Not of Obi-Wan, or the Jedi Council. He watches as the Jedi purse their lips, no doubt tasting the sour tang of Viszla's fear. 

"Kark you." Tor spits predictably. "If you think I'll risk my neck for your sanctimonious little pet projects, Fett, you're even more delusional than your father."

He storms away, not even pausing to bow to the Mand'alor and Rid'alor. Jango is as Force Null as they come but even he can see the hunch in Viszla's shoulders and the twitch of his fingers. 

What could possibly have Tor Viszla of all people running scared?

Master Damask's warning echoes back into his mind, and he takes a moment to feel the steady weight of Cal in his arms. His son is here, his wife is here. They can see for miles around. 

Obi-Wan takes Cal, and he stands to address the company. Did Kryze really have to fuck this up so badly for them? Honestly, he thought the New Mandalorians were meant to be better at subtlety than the rest of them.

"Whether Viszla knows anything, we still have a duty to our people." He says, as evenly as he can manage. "I don't care what you think of each other. Even a blind man could see that this is a threat to us all, Jedi and Mando'ade alike. We have opened our planet to the Jedi and so far it has proven only another Haran. They have been stolen and tortured under our watch. We promised them safety, and we have not followed through. Will we let this stand? Will we let our word be broken? Will we lose our honour so easily?"

The Alor'e shift a little, but mutter agreements. Kryze casts a disgusted look at his compatriots.

"House Kryze stands with you to the death, Mand'alor, Knight Kenobi." Then he stands, and bows across the circle to the silent Jedi Masters. "We place all of our resources behind you, Councillors. We will not rest until this mystery has been solved and the missing returned to their homes."

None of the Jedi stand, but they bow back from their seated positions. 

"Thank you, Alor Kryze." Master Windu's voice is measured and level, not a whit of the strain he must be feeling showing in his speech. "The Jedi too will do all we can to end this. We were once a powerful Order, and it is thanks to your people that we have regained that power. We will not allow this insult to pass unremarked."

Of course, that sets the other Alor'e off, pledging their own support to the search and rescue efforts. Can't be seen to be outdone by the Jettise after all. 

For the millionth time, Jango wonders if he should curse or bless the Mandalorian pride. He settles on cursing it, and blessing his wife's ability to manipulate a room. An acceptable compromise.

Chapter Text

There is little else decided upon that day. Jango is unsurprised - Mando'ade are a quarrelsome people, and the presence of the Jedi has not changed that. 

Some would say it has made it worse. Now there are a hundred and one more things to disagree about.  

Besides, Obi-Wan assures him, it is not only Mandalorians who behave so. It is simply the nature of politics the galaxy over. Wherever there are people there is strife. 

She looks so very sad as she says it and he remembers that the Senate had been in the habit of sending the jettiise to do their dirty work. What has she seen, he wonders, and did any of it match the nightmare that her people lived in?

They watch the Alor'e leaving, all of them in their own sulks that look dangerously close to childish tantrums. Jango is willing to bet that some of them will start tantruming the moment they are behind closed doors. 

The Jedi remain a little longer, talking quietly to Obi-Wan and murmuring over Cal.

It looks personal rather than political, so Jango does not intrude.

Instead he busies himself with recieving verbal reports from the guards he had appointed for this meeting. Nothing surprising - and thankfully no eavesdroppers. 

The bare plateau of rock provides little opportunity in the way of hiding places, which is why he chose it. But it is nice to be proven right all the same. 

Obi-Wan comes up to him, slipping her free arm through his. "Shall we go home now, ankai'a?"

He sees a few heads turn in their direction when she speaks her own tongue to him, and feels a flush rising on his cheeks at the indulgent smiles that are aimed at them. 

Then the Jedi jump off the karking small mountain and start to run so fast that they vanish in the direction of their city before Jango can shout in surprise. 

Osik. What did he just see?

Obi-Wan laughs at him, and tugs him towards their speeder. Of course she thinks its funny when Jedi do things that break every law of, well, everything. 

She laughs again at that thought, and they are both laughing as the speeder drives away. Despite the grim nature of the meeting, it is a pleasant drive into Keldabe now, and it eases the tension in Jango's thoughts to drive past the avenues of trees and crops. 

When the speeder stops in the front courtyard, their escort peel away, presumably for their own homes and evening meals. 

They dismiss the remainder of their guard and attendants in favour of taking supper privately. It has been too long since they could sit in their own rooms and eat together, just the two of them and Cal. 

It is the price they pay for their position and privileges, Jango supposes, but just once he would like a calm evening. 

Perhaps it is possible for a planetary leader to have one during a crisis, but whatever evening has been appointed for it is not this evening. 

Instead, his comm chirps halfway through with the news that one of his verd'e is acting in a concerning manner in the garden.

He sighs, puts down his spoon, kisses Obi-Wan and goes outside. The verd in question is on his knees next to one of the pools with the mytho-fish, little darting things that have a similar shape to their head as mythosaurs do.

The verd is familiar. 

"Myles." He says, keeping his voice soft. "What is it?"

Myles raises his head, looking over his shoulder at Jango. His eyes are dry, but that means very little. 

He doesn't reply.

Jango comes and kneels down next to him. There is a vambrace held in his hands, too small for his wrists and brand new. The paint hasn't even been scuffed yet. 

It is mostly green, with a few dashes of pink, neither of which are colours that Myles wears on his armour. 

Oh. 

He reaches a hand out, resting it in his friend's shoulder. He's never very good at finding words in situations like these but Myles is his friend and his subject - he has to try. "She's strong. We'll do our best to get her back, but she could very possibly fight her way out before we can do anything. Have faith in her, elek?"

For a moment, Myles is just silent. He doesn't look at Jango, eyes fixed on the vambrace. 

"I was going to give it to her today." He says quietly. "Now I don't now when she'll get it. Or if she ever will."

"But when she comes back, you will be ready, won't you?" Jango pushes. He doesn't know if he's saying the right things. Obi-Wan would know, but his riduur is probably still at supper upstairs. 

So it's just him, and even speeches are easier to come up with than this. 

Myles holds his silence for a long time. Then, at last, he sighs. It sounds almost like a sob. "You're right. She'll come back. I know she will."

"Exactly. She's probably plotting a breakout right now."

That gets a laugh. A strangled, reedy one, but it's a laugh all the same. Something in Jango's chest unclenches at the sound. 

Myles will be alright, eventually. And they will get back Gamora and all the others who have been taken. 

It is not a question of if, but when.

*******************

They keep Cal with them that night, tucked in the bed between them where they can know for certain their son is safe. 

Whatever his opinion on Damask, Jango has learned to trust the Jedi. Sure the guy is creepy but what Jedi isn't creepy? He's een given a warning to keep his son close. He will listen to that warning if it kills him. 

Obi-Wan seems to think much the same. Even in sleep one hand rests on Cal's blanket-swathed little body, curled ever so slightly so that she wakes with every move the baby makes. 

Jango barely sleeps himself. Whenever his eyes close he jolts awake, half-convinced Cal is gone and will never be seen again. 

It is a very, very long night, one of the ones where you are convinced the sun will never rise and you will be trapped in the silent darkness forever. 

But the sun always rises, and brings with it a new day. 

In the morning they are woken to the news that another pair has been kidnapped. Another Jedi and a Mandalorian, vanishing just outside the gates of the Jedi city.

They go to the Viszla compound instead of their original plan for the day. If nothing else, it will let them rule out Viszla interference so that they can focus on other possible culprits. 

The Viszlas live in an unlovely fortress, squat and heavy and dark even by Mandaloriam standards. 

As the speeders draw near, Jango can see the forms of guards all along the walls. This is not the guard rotation he would expect of a clan alor in times that may be uneasy but are still nominally peaceful. 

Especially because the Mandalorians targeted seem to be the ones that have befriended the Jedi and drawn close to them. Apart from Pre, most Viszlas would rather be shot than spend time willingly with a Jedi. 

So they should be feeling safe, and outrageously confident and smug. He should be greeted with a tirade that amounts to 'I told you so', and an easy manner because the kidnapper would not dare touch pure, true Mandalorians like them. 

Instead, the gates creak open slowly, and Viszla stands alone in the courtyard, hand on his blaster and half of his guards aiming blasters down at them as half keep their watch turned outwards. 

No, something has definitely spooked the Viszlas.

It isn't whatever kidnapped the Jedi. He wouldn't care less if all the Jedi spontaneously combusted. Actually, he would care, he would throw a feast. 

So what is it?

Viszla is stiff as he salutes Jango. "What do you want, Mand'alor?"

Somehow, he manages to turn the title into an insult, though him ignoring the Rid'alor is hardly surprising. Jango opens his mouth to once again demand that he show Obi-Wan the respect she deserves, but his riduur elbows him and he subsides.

She steps forward instead, smiling that bland smile that raises hackles.

"We just want to know if you have heard anything lately, Alor Viszla. A brief chat, nothing more." Her voice is soft and conciliatory, but her spine is straight and her head high. 

Viszla's bucket tilts derisively. "Come to accuse me of taking those Jedi fuckers like everyone else then?"

"No." Jango says firmly. "But we want to be able to rule you out definitively so that we can turn our attentions to the true culprit."

Viszla is silent for a long moment. Long enough that Jango's hand starts creeping towards his blaster. 

He's protected by his armour if they start shooting, but Cal isn't and Obi-Wan isn't either.

If they start shooting then he can protect Cal with his body, and Obi-Wan is skilled enough to defend herself from the initial onslaught, but the courtyard is small and there are dozens of guards. 

It wouldn't be good odds, even for them.

Thankfully, before anything drastic happens, Viszla speaks again. "You want to fight whoever is doing this?" 

There is disdain in his voice, and something else. A tension that Jango recognises. 

"And get back our stolen people." He says, with more confidence than he feels. Only Obi-Wan will be able to know the sinking dread eating away at him now. "We've done it before."

Viszla starts to laugh. It is a high sound, almost hysterical. He's terrified Jango realises, not just uneasy, and it's not because of them. "If you think anything other than a fairytale could capture a Mando'ade and a Jetti without leaving a trace, you're all delusional. The Republic was nothing to what is coming. You brought the jettiise to our planet, Fett, and the death of our people will be on your head."

Viszla storms back inside. It is the height of disrespect to turn his back on the Mand'alor and Rid'alor, to abandon them mid-conversation. 

In any other situation Jango would demand satisfaction for the insult Viszla is paying hin. But, quite frankly, he has bigger concerns right now than traditions and egos.

They leave the compound before anyone's trigger fingers can get too twitchy. On either side. 

Obi-Wan sits back in the speeder as they turn back towards home. "Well, that wasn't a complete loss."

"Wasn't it?" Jango replies glumly. "Tor refused to give us the slightest hint except terror-induced ravings"

"Did he now?" She holds up a familiar piece of metal, smiling the wicked, fang-filled grin that had always struck him so hard. 

Jango stares. "Is that..."

"Viszla's own?" Her voice is mock sweet, that wicked glint bright in her eye. "Yes it is.''

He has not been married to a Jedi for nearly a year for nothing. He knows what some of them are capable of. "It will have seen-"

"Everything." Obi-Wan's voice is triumphant, but full of a desperate, burning hope that Jango wishes she had never had to feel again. He had promised her safety and security, and he has broken that oath. 

Her lips twitch downwards as he thinks that, and he hastily stuffs the feeling into a box where even he can't feel it. "Which means Vos."

Her smile widens again and Jango groans. They have already seen Quinlan Vos once that week. Once a week is enough, possibly too much. 

Thankfully, his riduur takes pity on him. "We can't see him until tomorrow anyway. It's far too late. Let's get a good nights sleep and bring Cal to see my family tomorrow."

"You have the best ideas, ner kar'ta." Jango sighs. He absently rocks Cal as the baby starts to fuss. 

Obi-Wan smiles back, and presses a light kiss to the corner of his lips. 

"Thank you, ankai'a." She murmurs, before letting her head drop to his shoulder. 

She's asleep within moments, and Jango himself follows her only a few heartbeats after. It has been a long few days.

***************

That evening, Cal is fretful and colicky. Jango and Obi-Wan take turns to pace with him and try to cheer him up, waiting for it to pass. It will be another long, sleepless night. 

As he comes back to bed with the crying baby for the fourth time, Jango sees that Obi-wan has given up on sleep. Instead she is sitting up, leaning against the headboard with the light on. 

He peers over her shoulder to see what is on the datapad to make her frown so (and if it is something he should smash for daring to offend his wife). It is only the list of the missing, the black spiky shapes of aurebesh stark against the white background. 

"What is it?" He asks. He has long learned that with the Jedi the obvious answer is usually wrong - and the simplest answer is never the most obvious. 

She sighs, her head tipping back against the headboard with a thunk. "There's a pattern, but every time i think i have found it, it slips away."

"Beyond the obvious of a Jedi and a Mandalorian each time." It isn't quite a question. 

Things go better when they talk things out between them, they've found. 

Obi-Wan makes a noise of frustration. "But it isn't!" 

"Is it not?"

"Binn Ibes." She taps on the screen, and his file pops up. "He had barely even spoken to a Mandalorian prior to his disappearance. He's not...the others are all connected to your people but Binn Ibes was not."

"Then why was he-"

"I don't know." She sounds so lost that Jango cannot help the arm that wraps about her shoulders and pulls her to him. Her head rolls sideways to rest against him.

"Was he particularly important."

"No. He was an archivist, he'd spent most of his life in the temple hiding as much as he could, he'd kept his head down and protecred what we had left of the archives."

"Well was he-"

"Archiving anything?" That wasn't what he was going to say, but he can see the spark lighting in her eyes and keeps his peace. It is what he should have said then. "Let me look."

A pause. Jango amuses himself with the baby.

Obi-Wan makes a noise of horror. "He'd been working on the darkside artefacts. The last thing he catalogued was a sith holocron, only half filled out."

"Could that have anything to do with it?" He asks, idly.

"I don't think so, yes." The yes is forceful, everything else tentative. When she looks up, he can see the absent look in her eyes. Oh kark this Force osik sideways. "There have been no known Sith since Bane, all force sensitives by Republic law were Jedi and so subsentient and belonged to the Senate.

"Obi." He says, as firmly as he can.

She looks at him quizzically, her head tilted to the side. Her eyes are focused again, sharp and blue without the dreamy haze they had taken when the Force had spoken through her.

"You said yes." He forces out past his lips, which feel numb and strangely cold.

"I..." she pauses. Her eyes are full of confusion, the skin about them tight. "What does it have to do with it then? It is not as if anyone is trying to...resurrect...the...Sith."

Even Jango, Force-Null as anyone can be, can feel the terrible truthful weight of those words. It must be a veritable scream to his wife.