Work Text:
Jango sat there eating his scramble, grumbling. Boba was late. Again.
He knew coming back to Coruscant would make it too easy for them to sneak away, so many places to hide from him. Yes it was a bit hypocritical of him, disproving because she was a bounty hunter like them, but he wanted a nice girl for Boba. Something he had never had.
Boba is a bit too old to be single, Jango reasoned to himself. Some Mandalorians married at 17 or 18. Here he was, 24, without a riduur. He could certainly see the appeal in a 17-year-old that could handle herself in the world, Jango couldn’t deny the Vel girl was impressive. But Jango knew how it would probably turn out between two strong minded individuals. It had happened to him, long ago. He sighed, forehead in one hand and caf in the other.
You watched him out of the corner of your eye as you poured a caf at the next table. The sigh caught your attention, as did the hand on his forehead. You always noticed how strong it looked. You wondered a bit about how strong it would feel on you. “Can I get you anything else?” you asked him in your sweet customer service voice, lest he get a hint of what you’re thinking.
He rubbed one temple for a split second before he turned to you, “no I don’t think so.” He tried to be discreet in looking you up and down but you still caught it. It was odd because he had been in quite a few times before and never gave you a second glance. It made your cheeks warm a little as you gave the table your attention instead. “Do you like living on Coruscant?” he asked suddenly.
The question was out of the clear blue. Your eyes snapped to his as you chuckled a little to buy a second to think up something. The truth came out instead. “I’m not particularly attached to it, no. Why do you ask?” You can see he is considering how to respond, eyebrows doing a subtle dance, something you would have missed had you not studied his stoic face from the kitchen window when he would come and eat. You took a slow deep breath to calm yourself for what might come next.
He glanced back at the kitchen behind you, then to your eyes, “Would you like to come work for me?”
You blinked a few times processing the question. Your instinct was to get more information but your brain screamed danger, lie, run. “Where- um, what would the job entail?” you asked in a bit lower voice.
“All the little things I let slip through the cracks, scheduling, correspondences, supply runs, maybe prepare a meal. You’ll be paid double what you make here and get room and board, although you may have to go across the galaxy with us at times.”
It all sounded good until … “Us?”
“Mostly my son and I, occasionally our associates. We would make sure of your safety at all times of course.”
Son? Oh, so he’s looking for a nanny. Cooking and cleaning. Hm. I can to that, you think to yourself. “I can do that.” you said aloud.
****
Bag in hand, you walk up to the ship in the hangar number Jango gave you. He made his way down the ramp to meet you. “Thank you for being prompt. Come on in.” He gave you the quick tour, “cargo, galley, that leads to the cockpit, and this,” he opens a door, “is your bunk. There is a small fresher so you don’t have to share with us.” He handed you a datapad and comm. “These are for you. Get settled. I’ll let you know when we are in hyperspace.”
“Thank you.” you state, not knowing what else to say. Apparently, he didn’t either. With a quick nod, he turned and left. You let yourself into the bunk, no bigger than a closet, and the door slid closed. You had just taken a long shower before leaving what was your room, so all that was left was to unpack the few things you brought. Maybe not everything, you wouldn’t stay on the ship, right? - you thought as you laid on the bunk.
You hadn’t noticed you were sleeping until you heard his voice through the comm, “we’re in hyperspace. Just a few hours until were home.” Home? You realized you took this job without a bit of crucial information. Oh well. You make your way to the galley and see he is already there. His back is turned riffling through ration packs.
“I can make us something if you’d like,” you say sweetly with a little smile. Which fades when he turns around. You are confused. It looks like him, but not. Maybe 20 years younger. A bit taller.
He smirked, amused by your confusion. “Aren’t we lucky to have you?” The voice is almost the same. You check his hands. Same heft but the scars are different. It slowly dawns on you: maybe the son.
Your confidence and friendliness return all at once. “I expected you to be younger.” you hold out your hand.
He takes it, “Boba.” he stated plainly. “What were you saying about a meal?”