Archive of Our Own

His fingers leave trails of molten gold through the air while Boba watches. He can't fight the thought that those fingers will be his undoing, his destruction. He shifts his grip on his blaster while the Jedi suddenly spins around, blade rising to meet yet another vibroblade. The bzzt crashing noise rings around the area. It makes his jaw twitch in unease.

Cal Kestis is a whirlwind of movement.

He leans back against the railing and just watches. He watches the orange slam through another trooper. He watches as gold streaks through the air, trailed by green.

Boba is supposed to collect the large bounty- supposed to hand the Jedi over to Vader. He can't. He doesn't want to. He bites his lower lip, catching it between his teeth, and debates how to proceed. He can't shake the feeling that handing Cal Kestis over to Darth Vader is a horrible idea.

The Jedi is dangerous.

Darth Vader is worse.

"You know," Cal calls out while plunging his blade through a droid, "I half expected you to shoot me while I was distracted."

Boba freezes.

Kark.

He steps away from the railing, away from the shadows, and can feel those glowing eyes focused on him. Green, the type of green he associates with lush planets- with hidden things. He can see ancient forests growing before him when he stares too long into those eyes. When Cal shifts his face away for a mere second later he can see the way the glowing green leaves an imprint behind in the air before fading.

"I have a Code," he finally responds. Laughter is the only response he gets.

Cal kicks a trooper in the chest before following through with his lightsaber. A faint twinge starts in Boba's chest. He knows, with a vicious sort of certainty, that there are no clones beneath that plastoid, but he can't help the bubbles of unease. His father's neglected sons wore armor similar-

"Waiting on my bounty to get higher?" Cal asks with a smug little smirk. Boba wants to knock that smirk off his face.

"Something like that," he answers instead. He ignores the way he clutches at his blaster like some sort of toy to ward off the monsters in the closet.

"Tell you what," Cal says while taking down the last trooper, "if you can find me again I might consider fighting you." There is something coiling around those words, coating them- a promise. Boba's breath catches in his throat.

He has the unsettling feeling that he has piqued the Jedi's interest.

His father used to tell him stories about the Jedi and the Sith. Neither are to be trusted according to the man. Boba isn't quite sure how much he can trust the dead man's words. Jango worked for the Sith and died by a Jedi blade. For a man who said not to trust either he sure made some stupid decisions. Boba has seen what happens to a galaxy when the Jedi are hunted down and killed. It isn't great. He flexes his fingers again and frowns beneath his helmet. His father used to say both sides were something unnatural. All Boba knows is that Jedi don't have the painful colors around them- the Inquisitors? They hemorrhage colors soaked in things best left untouched. Darth Vader is worst of all and Boba always feels like he needs to take a shower after interacting with the man.

He doesn't trust Cal Kestis. The man isn't like the Jedi he remembers from his youth- he is no Anakin Skywalker, which is a good thing, but he still doesn't trust Cal with his glowing eyes.

"I don't play Jedi games," he bites out. Cal throws his head back, streaks of green left in his wake, and laughs. It sounds like beskar and hot shig.

Boba stares.

Yeah, his old man was right not to trust the Jedi.

They are dangerous- so very dangerous.

"If it isn't the bounty hunter," the voice says from behind him. Boba has to admit he freezes. He hadn't felt Cal approaching at all and it is unsettling..

"I'm on a job," he snaps before adjusting his sight on his rifle. This is the fifth job the Jedi has decided to bother him. He is positive the man has other things to do, and yet, here they are again. He dismisses the idea that the other has put a tracker on him, he would have noticed. That would explain why the other keeps showing up all the time- in a way that wasn't unnerving, but he can't lie to himself.

"What's the job this time? Rounding up innocent people for credits?" The question knocks him from his spiraling thoughts and he just narrows his eyes.

He can't let Cal get under his skin.

Boba settles on ignoring the nuisance. The sleemeo down below makes the mistake of stepping past a pillar- Boba pulls the trigger back. The man who has been kidnapping kids crumbles to the ground. He snaps a holo with his visor for proof before moving to stand up. There's a hand on his elbow suddenly and he tenses. He feels himself get jerked around, his feet nearly tripping over themselves, and he is left staring into those glowing eyes. Wisps of green seem to bleed down Cal's cheeks, over freckles and scars. He wants to reach out and press his gloved hand to the stubble on the other's jaw.

"That was my target," Cal says dangerously soft- a whisper above silence. "How much did you charge that village?"

Boba blinks.

He feels like he is facing off against a rancor. One wrong move and he is going to be a karking pile of gore.

"I didn't do it for credits." The words are tinged with confusion and caution. He isn't a monster- he doesn't charge for jobs like this. Yes, he always wants credits, but he has his Code. Profiting off the pain of people who are just trying to survive in the broken galaxy isn't a part of said Code. He doesn't want to leave the galaxy an even more fucked up place- he isn't his father. Kark, he is far from the man his father was.

The fingers around his elbow dig at the edges of his armor before just letting go. He bites back a sigh of relief or regret, he isn't sure.

"You're telling the truth." The disbelief in those words makes Boba narrow his eyes. Yeah, sure, he is a karking bounty hunter, but that's no reason to be so surprised. He swings his rifle over his shoulder while studying the Jedi in front of him.

Cal Kestis is just watching him.

There is something calling to him in the depths of green.

Yeah, he doesn't have time for whatever this is- he needs to get back to the village and let them know.

Boba gives him a mock salute before letting his jetpack roar to life, very much not running away. He doesn't run- no, he just makes a strategic escape.

He's breathing in green. The fingers that are tipping his chin up are fiery hot- molten. Boba catches the edge of his lower lip between his teeth and the Jedi smiles. All he has to do is lean forward- steal the space between them, but he doesn't.

The skin on his face is cracking like the glass surface of Mandalore.

He is willing to let Kestis unmake him.

"Tell your Master that his days are numbered," Cal breathes out, gold on his breath.

All he hears is the sound of grass swaying under the wind- Boba jerks awake, lost for a second. He presses a hand to his chest and swears. What the kark was that? The dream had felt way too real. He shifts, feels the tree biting into the back of his shirt, and tips his face towards the branches above him. He had just wanted to enjoy the fresh air while cleaning his blasters, but somehow he had fallen prey to sleep.

He frowns.

Jedi, he knows, aren't to be trusted. He knows his father had hated them, and called them all unnatural. Darth Vader sure is, but he doesn't think that walking mechanical idiot can actually be called a Jedi anymore. No. Sith. Stupid Sith. So much worse. He still shudders at the memory of the first time he took his helmet off around the man- of the way he felt like an object. The wheezing man wants to own him. Wants to drown him in corruption. Yet, somehow, it is Cal who puts him more on edge.

Dreaming about Cal is something he never thought he'd do. Boba frowns at the shadows cast by the leaves above him. Why is that damn Jedi on his mind? They've run into each other far too much for his liking. He notices far too much. Boba presses fingers beneath his chin and just watches the way the shadows shift and coil. Cal Kestis is like a plague- infecting and consuming. He can't shake him.

"Fuck," he breathes out. He made a mistake all those months ago by accepting that bounty puck. He should have just snagged Cal and turned him in, even if it meant Darth Vader getting what he wanted. Now he is stuck with feelings he doesn't want- thoughts he doesn't want.

The freckles on Cal's face are a star map in his mind and he hates it.

Sitting here won't help. It would be better to actually get the latest job done. Boba reminds himself of that later over and over as his gloved hands scramble to find purchase against ruins. His thoughts aren't on one red-haired Jedi with eyes of emerald he lies to himself. The ancient wall mocks him with bright green vines that threaten to tear under his grip. This whole thing would have been easier with his jetpack, but Boba is stubborn. He can do this, he can prove to himself he has the stamina to go artifact hunting without most of his armor. Whispers from his past are calling him names, telling him he is being ridiculous- he doesn't care. He digs his fingers into a crack and hulls himself up. He gets a forearm onto the top of the wall and winces. Rough rock digs into the flesh just above the edge of his glove. That is going to leave a mark.

"I'm an idiot," he groans. He pulls himself up, banging a knee a bit too hard against the hard surface, and just sits there for a moment.

The credits from finding some dusty old artifact are enough to let him go on a much-deserved vacation.

Maybe he will go somewhere that even the Jedi won't find him-

A faint whistle of sound is the only warning he gets- Boba throws himself off the wall without checking where he will land. He hits- hard- and stumbles a step. The storm is right behind him. He barely moves out of the way and orange sparks across his vision. Boba jumps back a step, ankling throbbing, and his boots aiding him. He doesn't think it is a waste of fuel at this point. He isn't the best with his rocket boots and wishes he had opted for the jetpack. The lightsaber cleaves into the old stones beneath their feet. Fuck, too close! He is without most of his armor and it is a dangerous situation. He jerks his arm up and twists his wrist- the whipcord tangles itself around Cal's hand. The Jedi doesn't stop, no, he moves. Boba swears loudly just before colliding with the other. Arms like a vice hold him in place.

There is a pulsating heat near his back.

Cal is glaring at him.

He stills- if he moves wrong that lightsaber is going to cut through him like he is a piece of fruit.

Oh.

He knows what this is about.

His karking face.

"I'm not them," he gets out. He isn't. He never was. His father made sure they all had the same face, but he has no right to call himself one of them. He let so many of them die- let so many of them do the unthinkable. What happened to the clones was horrifying and he hadn't been able to do anything. "I wasn't good enough."

"Good enough? They betrayed us all!" He thinks he can see red just at the edges of the glowing green. Cal is angry. Not that he doesn't have a right to be, but it is very not good for Boba. He chokes on ichor. Cal is dangerously close to having that oil slick color the Inquisitors get and he doesn't want that.

"We were all pawns to someone else! They loved you and it was so karking annoying. You all were so stupid," he spits out. "The Jedi and their damn clone army, righteously blind heroes of a war that wasn't meant to be won."

The red vanishes or was never there. The glowing green eyes narrow before Cal shifts just enough to get fingers under Boba's chin. A startling sense of deja vu slams into him.

"You know something," Cal accuses and he is right, Boba does know things he shouldn't. He knows enough that Darth Vader should have killed him a long time ago. He doesn't answer though, he just watches the Jedi uneasily. Those green eyes flash brightly while he watches. "Tell me."

"Not today," he manages to get out. Cal blinks and then laughs. This time it sounds like a jetpack and stolen candied fruit.

The fingers shift and Boba winces at the strong grip Cal has on his chin suddenly. He breathes hard out through his nose- and freezes. Cal's eyes are unfocused. Nails bite into his flesh and the air seems to crackle. He has the feeling that if he moves he will get electrocuted so he stays there, caught in Cal's atmosphere.

"We'll do this job together," Cal says out of nowhere, glowing eyes going back to looking normal. Boba blinks.

How'd he know?

Also, what the fuck? The Jedi had just been about to kill him and now he is ordering Boba around. That makes no sense. The heat at his back vanishes and then, and only then, does he let out a sigh of relief. There is a faint pressure at the back of his head, and then a snap- his hair falls around his face, curls bouncing into his view. He blinks in confusion. What? He opens his mouth to ask what the fuck Cal just did, but he can't quite get the words out. They are caught in his throat. Cal raises his hair tie to his lips and smiles like he knows the best secret in the galaxy.

He watches Cal over the rim of his cup of caf. The man is talking animatedly with a droid named BD. The two are inseparable and he still isn’t sure how he even ended up with them. Somehow, after the artifact hunt, well, they had all just started traveling together. One job and then the next- Boba just sort of fell into step with Cal.

It's been weeks and the man across from him infects his thoughts far more than he'd like.

He sets his mug down and focuses on his leftover meal instead of his thoughts.

“Well? Do you believe?” Cal asks, glancing at him just as Boba is about to spoon a mouthful of stew into his mouth.

He pauses and then takes the bite of stew. Cal waits, a faint smirk on his scared lips. The urge, as always, grows inside of him- he wants to press his thumb into those scars. Wants to map each and every single mark. He wants to dig his fingernails into freckles.

"The stories are all a bunch of bantha poodoo," Boba points out finally, shoving his urges down, and points his spork at Cal for emphasis. His father had believed all that nonsense. That probably fueled his extreme hatred of them- even if it is utterly ridiculous. The Jedi were- are just odd. They aren't some spacer story.

"How are you sure?" Cal counters with a clear bemused tone. He rests his chin in the palm of his gloved hand. Boba can't help wondering if his Jedi can get Echoes off himself. Boba can still remember when Cal admitted he could see things in the past off of people or objects a few jobs ago. It had left him unbalanced for a few minutes before he had just accepted it was yet another weird thing about Cal.

"Sirens are just old spacer tales designed to scare little snot-nosed kids into behaving." The words leave his lips with confidence and he takes the chance to emphasize his point by jabbing his spork into his stew bowl, stabbing a piece of tuber in the process. Cal just rolls his eyes, the green seeping past his lower lashes and onto his freckles. Boba wants to smear that green across flesh and see how long it lasts until it vanishes.

"I think you are dismissing the idea for no reason," Cal says while BD chirps in agreement.

Boba eyes them both. They are plotting something.

He isn't awake enough for this nonsense.

"Sirens lure people in and then eat them, Kestis." He doesn't believe that- never has, but his father sure had harped on it enough in his youth.

"I'd like to eat you," Cal deadpans. Boba accidentally knocks his cup of juice over and blue liquid goes skating across the small table. BD lets out a wail while the karking Jedi laughs. He is thankful it wasn’t his caf he knocked over since he is positive he needs far more of it to follow along with this latest conversation. He rights his cup and then just freezes- Cal is suddenly standing next to him. Boba glances up at him with a raised eyebrow. Why does his Jedi move so fucking silently?

Cal grins and grabs his chin. Boba stops breathing as the man leans down. His lips part, words just on his tongue- a question that never comes. The ghost of a kiss stops his mind completely and he breathes in green. Lush forests spawn in his mind as he leans forward, demanding more. Cal chuckles and obliges by deepening the kiss. Boba tastes sunsets and hyperspace.

Oh.

Well, fuck. The foolish thought that his father actually hated the Jedi and Sith because they were literal sirens dances through his mind even as he twists his hands up in Cal's shirt. Boba finds he can't bring himself to care, not when he can taste the galaxy on his lips.

"You are mine," Cal whispers against his lips and Boba can only make a sound of agreement. "And I don't eat people."