A/N: For a Tumblr art trade with user: coralsnake! A lot of this fic is based off a roleplay I did with my friend Ani aka princess-anakin on Tumblr, so I can only take partial credit for much of the dialogue and action. Enjoy!
"The Widower, Solus"
~ solus (Mando'a) - alone, vulnerable… ~
Cad Bane had not felt this way in sixteen years.
The face staring back froze him in place, locking his knees and holding his tongue, and he could almost sense that his heart had stopped. The hum of the Separatist ship made the floor tremble. The hallway was dimly lit, but did not hide the one looking back at the bounty hunter, as he turned around seconds before his chance to escape.
When they spoke, everything seemed right. The burning in those black eyes, the slight curl in the upper lip, and the smooth dialect that flowed so beautifully off their tongue…
Except it was not his eyes. Not his voice.
Bane knew that. The job on Kamino had resulted in millions of clones. This thing had to be one of them.
He had memorized Jango's facial scars hundreds of times over. Every single imperfection cut and etched into his skin.
But the clone's face was perfect and had no imperfections. They had a small tattoo on the side of their neck. Jango never had a neck tattoo.
Bane heard a word spoken at him…the voice was same, the tone dissimilar.
"Where do you think you're off to, bounty hunter?" the clone snarled.
And all at once reality was a place they had only been to once or twice. He was not on a Separatist ship. Not surrounded by the clones or even the Jedi. The floor gave out under him and rain began pounding down on his bare arms and shoulders, and he was shaking uncontrollably, struggling to take another step forward.
It was Coruscant, dead of night…
Sixteen years ago.
Jango Fett, skilled bounty hunter currently ranked number one in tallies for the past three years, ex-journey man, and on his last nerve, was hiding out in the alleyway of a diner, waiting for his target to exit the building. The rain, more than not a mixture of sludge and grease on the lower levels of Coruscant, came down against his helmeted head. This is why he liked his helmet, reason number fifty. Time went by slow now, passing slowly and swamped in the darkness. This far down in the underworld, the creatures never saw daylight.
The rain pounded down a little heavier now. Most everyone pulled hoods or hats over their heads to protect themselves. Jango watched, eyes on the diner. His focus was impenetrable. He was alerted to all his surroundings—the roaring traffic up ahead, chatter in the streets, pungent sights of spices, decay, rot and violence.
Suddenly, he heard something behind him. It sounded like shuffling from the back of the alley. Great…an interruption. Jango was about to be annoyed very quickly. And he was very dangerous when he was annoyed.
Jango activated his rear camera. "Don't move another step," he warned the figure.
Whoever it was kept walking and pulled out what looked like a cheap blaster pistol. "Give me all your money!" they yelled. It was a young voice…loud, reckless, cracking on the last few syllables. Jango noticed their unique facial features and build, and deduced that they were possibly a Duros or Neimoidian. Most likely a male, too short and slender to be of much age at all.
Jango let out a slight sigh…he didn't like being forced into situations like this. In one swift move, he spun around and grabbed the arm of his attacker, knocking the blaster out of their hand so it fell into Jango's open palm.
"That was a dumb move, kid."
The figure, who Jango now clearly saw was a blue-skinned Duros, stepped back. He snarled at Jango, exposing a pair of small fangs. He certainly didn't look like much. No more than skin and bones, really. His black tank top hung loosely from his severely underweight build, barely hiding the bony shoulders. Rain had smeared the thick streaks of black eyeliner. Two silver cheek piercing and a lip ring reflected the light from the neon pulse sign above.
"Give me your money!" he yelled again.
"I am not giving you any money, kid. Now run off before I kill you. And gods, get somewhere warm." Jango shoved him away, holstering the kid's gun. He had half a mind to kill him for disturbing his work, the little brat.
The young Duros looked down and stared at his blaster which Jango Fett was now holding. The smeared black eyeliner ran down his cheeks like tears, with the rain. "Oh, so you're going to shoot me, huh? Are you gonna shoot me?"
"I will if you do not get away from here very quickly. You're ruining my job." Jango clenched his teeth. What the hell was wrong with this kid's head? Why wouldn't he just get up and leave? Didn't he know that he could be shot any second?
To Jango's surprise, the young Duros just laughed. "Okay, then do it. Come on, do it, shoot me! Try it!"
Jango's target came out of the diner. "Not now!" He ran after the man, shooting out his grappling hook and wrapping it around the man's legs. Once the man was taken down on the ground, Jango snapped his neck in one swift motion, then got up to his feet. Inside the diner, the crowd that gathered at the windows to watch went back to their food. In this neighborhood no one got in the way of a bounty hunter. And such violence was a common occurrence especially on streets like these. Jango walked away from the scene, quickly contacting his client sending him the proof that his target was dead.
Meanwhile, the Duros' mouth hung open, eyes wide with fascination. He began stumbling after the bounty hunter once the scene had ended. It only took a second for Jango to notice him.
"I said go home, kid." he said without turning around. "Consider yourself lucky I let you leave with your life." As Jango glanced over his shoulder, he noticed something. The kid was shaking, and he seemed to be having trouble breathing. He was going through severe withdrawals from deathsticks, spices, or worse.
"You didn't shoot me yet!" he yelled. He kicked a puddle of greasy, muddy rainwater so it splashed up at Jango's legs. "You're good with a blaster! Come on, I dare you to do it!"
"I'm not going to kill some defenseless kid who's probably high…" Jango looked over the kid again—it was like every dirty seed from the underbelly had chewed him up, then spat him out into the streets to die alone. "…and hungry and cold and poor…"
Dammit. Just my luck to run into a situation like this, Jango thought. He was anything but a soft man. But every so often there was that one small plea, that one silent cry for help that stirred something in his heart. It was like a crutch. But he just couldn't let this kid die on the street like a stray animal. Everyone deserved a fair fight.
"You're lucky you found me in a giving mood." Jango grabbed the young Duros' upper arms. "How old are you, kid?"
"Let go of me..." But he didn't fight back. He was clearly too weak and exhausted.
"How old are you?" he asked softer.
"What's it to you?" The Duros looked up at him with heavy eyelids.
Lightning struck behind them, illuminating Jango's visor, showing a sliver of his face which was drawn to concern. "Humor me, kid."
"N-nineteen..."
"Too old for the shelter. Okay, come with me." He turned him to walk with him.
"Wh-what? What are you doing?" The Duros tensed. "What are you going to do to me?"
"I'm going to get you food and warm clothing. What are you coming down from?"
"I need a deathstick."
"Not going to happen. You'll be starting all over again."
"No! Just get me a deathstick and I'll be fine!"
Jango grabbed his wrists. "Not going to do that for you, kid. Are you hungry?"
The Duros looked up at him with wide eyes, as if not believing what he was hearing. "Y-yeah, I can't remember when I ate last. Are you going to hurt me?"
"If you try hitting me again I might," he muttered.
He stumbled and leaned on him for support. Jango sighed and helped him up, holding on to him. "Lets go to a better diner, don't want to be here when someone reports the body."
He nodded slowly. "I just need a deathstick..."
"I told you that's not going to happen. I'm not spending my money on that." Jango made him set in a back table. He sat across from the Duros and took off his helmet, exposing a fresh scar under his right eye and an old one above it and down his left.
"I've seen you before." The Duros looked up at him, studying Jango's scars with deep curiosity.
"Not surprised." He downed the glass of water that was placed in front of him.
"Shit. So you must be famous or something." He grinned slightly.
"More like infamous. Drink your water." he pushed the glass to him. "You're dehydrated."
He crossed his arms; they were covered in temporary tattoos. "Tell me who you are and I'll drink my water."
"You like to be difficult, don't you?"
The Duros smiled proudly. "Yeah-huh."
"The name is Jango Fett."
"Wait…the Jango Fett?"
"In the flesh. Now drink up."
The Duros drank all the water in his glass and set it down. "Wow. Can't believe it's really you."
"It's really me." He smirked slightly. "Now, while you are under my care for this short time you will listen to me, or you go back out on the street where I found you. I don't have time to babysit you."
He frowned. "Okayyy...and why am I under your care again?"
"Because there are enough drugged up young adults out there causing trouble and getting in my way."
"Wouldn't it be easier to just kill me?"
"It wouldn't be a fair fight. I don't kill an unarmed man unless I am paid to."
"Oh. I guess that makes sense." The Duros held his head and hit his forehead on the table. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, I need a deathstick so bad..."
"What you need is food to help flush it out of your system and sleep."
He groaned. "I want to die…"
"Eat up." Jango watched as the Duros slowly picked up his sandwich and took a bite. "Good job, eat slow. Don't want to see you get sick."
He nodded and took another bite, then set it back down on his plate. His hands were shaking.
"So what's your name?"
"Cadomir Bane."
"Cadomir?"
He frowned. "Yeah…?"
"Not something shorter? Like…what about Cad?"
"Oh, that was my nickname when I was a kid. Why?"
"Cad is easier to remember…"
Love at first sight. It sounded corny now, but it was true.
From the moment they ran into each other in that alley on Coruscant, Bane was infatuated. He fell for everything…the dark Human features, the intricate Mandalorian armor, even his calm, gruff tone of voice, his scars, his strange habits, his dialect. The way he was reserved and ruthless, but still knew how to show through slight glimpses here and there that he had a heart. A heart conditioned to the galaxy's cruelty, but not hardened to its suffering. The way he was able to look at the young Duros, who had convinced himself his life counted for less than nothing, and saw someone worth saving.
Bane fell in love with him so fast, it scared him. He was just a lost little stray, head over heels with his rescuer. Jango…'my silver knight,' Bane once called him.
Every day from then on, Jango helped Bane recover from his deathstick addiction, and stuck by through all the withdrawals and night terrors that followed…and when he was not away, Jango invested in him to teach Bane how to become a better hunter. They spent many weeks together like that, training and talking and taking jobs together. And young Bane's crippling infatuation with the Mandalorian swelled into a blinding love Bane knew had to be nothing but unrequited and doomed to kill him.
Back then, Jango Fett was the man Bane had always wanted to be. Jango was everything Bane desired, dreamed of, wished he had for his own, hoped he could become one day. Everything Bane knew would make his life better. Every single thing he valued in life. But instead of finding it in himself, he found it in another person - his silver knight.
Turns out that Bane was wrong about one thing. His love for Jango was not unrequited after all…it took long enough for Jango to tell Bane how he truly felt. After that confession, they both discovered that they could begin believing in happiness again.
But he had been right in that his love for Jango was doomed to kill him.
It was not just Jango Fett who died on Geonosis, all those years later. A part of Bane died that day too…even though he was many parsecs away, in a small cantina deep in the Outer Rim, mixing half a dozen strong liquors together and forcing himself to swallow the toxic beverage. As soon as he heard the news, he wished it had been him instead.
Put on the act. Tell everyone you're happy with the news because now you're the best bounty hunter in the galaxy. Smile and pretend and keep faking the fact that the last threads holding your heart together have been cast aside. And you're finally soulless because the man who once gave your soul a reason to stay in this world, has been stolen from you…
Jango…my silver knight, love of my life…I'm so sorry.
The floor shook, and Bane and the clone nearly stumbled. Bane shook his head and quickly glanced away, trying to conceal a tear that had fallen down his cheek.
"What? Not even going to put up a fight?" the clone demanded. He held up a blaster pistol—Bane realized it was pointed right at him. He swore he could hear the clone boasting about what the other cadets would say when they heard he had bagged 'Cad Bane himself.' But he could just be imagining it as well.
"A fight…" Bane echoed. He remembered now. He remembered the anger, the disgust. This particular clone had to be just a replacement, fresh off whatever that planet was…Kamino. Most likely never killed an actual sentient in his tasteless, worthless life.
Just one more out of millions of worthless clones. Millions of facing mocking him with that face…the face of his silver knight. The voice of his rescuer. Even the same personality in many ways. All fragments, but not the same. Copies, repeats.
They were all fake. All pretenders. Bane hated every last one of them. And he did not dare stop to question how faulty this hatred was.
It was a technique Jango himself used sixteen years ago, in that alleyway in the Coruscant underworld. Bane grabbed the clone's wrist, snapping it back and grabbing the blaster with the other. Then he kicked out the clone's right knee. Another shove knocked the clone against the wall, giving Bane enough time to draw his own blaster from his holster.
The clone stared at him in terror. He shot his hands up and backed up until he was against the wall.
"Don't shoot…don't shoot."
Words echoed in Bane's head, but he would never say them aloud. You don't deserve to be like him. Look like him, act like him. You were just born in a test tube. He was ten times the man you will ever be, how dare you think you can compare yourself to him!
But as Bane raised his blaster and pressed the nose against the clone's forehead, his finger shook on the trigger. He could not breathe. The black eyes staring back pleaded silently, please don't kill me. All Bane could see was the man he fell in love with from years ago, and the wish that he had died on Geonosis instead of Jango. It was just a clone…but even copies were more than enough to bring it back.
At the last second, Bane set the blaster for stun. Next time, he would have the strength to do it. Next time he swore he would have the guts to look into those same eyes, hear that same voice, and pull the trigger to kill another meaningless, disgusting clone.
Next time. But not this time.
Silver knight, I feel so alone…I wish I wasn't used to feeling alone. I wish I wasn't used to being this way.
I hope you miss me as much as I miss you.