Author's Note: Okay, I hadn't meant to write this with so many other fics to work on, but Infamous One made a comment that inspired this little ficlet. Hope everyone enjoys!
Also, at this point, if you haven't read the rest of the excessively large Fett Family Saga I recommend you read it in order, even if the first one isn't on fanfic.net anymore (e-mail me for a copy)
1. Apollo's Bane
2. Bloodlines
3. A Family Man
In the Name of the Father
In the Name of the Son
Disclaimer: As usual, Boba and Jango Fett = Not Mine. Everyone else mentioned in this fic = mine, mine, mine
It had been a very, very long day.
Nobody but the twins, which they had all decided to call twins because calling them 'clones' was a bit disturbing, even for Boba Fett... nobody but the twins had wanted to get up before the crack of noon. They'd all been up too late cleaning out the old homestead, reactivating the droids, performing all the millions of little routine maintenance duties so they could have the bare necessities of life... food, water, a climate-controlled place to sleep. Fett couldn't remember when he'd been so exhausted in his life. They'd finally gotten to bed at some ridiculous hour of the evening. He'd slept the night through, without dreams, without nightmares.
Then the morning... oh, the morning. It had been a very long time since he'd been a child, and he hadn't had much of a hand in the upringing of Syra... he hadn't even seen Kashya till she was old enough to have a coherent, somewhat adult conversation. He'd never known how much a growing boy could eat. Or how much energy a child could have. The twins had woken everybody up, rampaging around the house like rogue bantha. Fett had been on the verge of lasering them both until one of them had poked his head into the room, and he'd been yanked back to a small room of decades ago. A little, blue-clad boy, and his armored 'father.' He blinked, and the image of the Mandalorian armor standing beside the boy was gone.
They'd staggered out of bed... Cassandra had been more resigned to it than he, probably because she had had to raise two children nearly entirely by herself. Was this what it had been like? It was almost worse than capturing full-grown adults and transporting them, and she didn't have any comfort of a bounty at the end of it all. Not for the first time, he wondered what it was all for, what could be worth all the hassle. They'd made breakfast for the twins, Syra, and Kashya, who was still too weak to do very much at all.
After that, Syra was content to practice with her lightsaber for a couple of hours. She took Kashya out into one of the sun-lit gardens and through the doorway, Boba Fett could hear Kashya gently giving criticism and praise of her younger sister's technique and skill. That kind of parenthood he could get used to, teaching her how to fight, how to shoot. Granted, he couldn't teach her how to wield a lightsaber, but ... listening to Syra improve rapidly did make him feel so much better.
But the twins... there was more energy in the two small children than in all of his weapons combined and fully charged. They careened about the house, knocking into things, bouncing off walls (he'd heard of the phrase but hadn't realized till just then how literally it could be interpreted), yelling and shouting and making so much noise he thought he was in a war zone. Cassandra had finally had to chase them out into the field, sensing Boba Fett's growing unease and discontent. Peace and quiet at last.
The one consolation about children as energetic and wild as that... at the end of the day, they slept more soundly. Cassandra thought that part of their energy resulted from them being locked in a small set of rooms for most of their lives, up till their rescue. Fett didn't care what it was from as long as it didn't bother him. She'd replied that he could go off and resume his role as the big bad bounty hunter. Surprisingly, though, the comment hadn't been said with any sort of rancor. She seemed to understand his unease at taking the paternal role, especially with so many children.. .Syra, the twins..
There was that, at least. If necessary, he could go back to the stars, back to collecting bounties for the highest bidder. But he was almost chagrined to discover that he halfway didn't want to. He was just getting too old, too tired. Not too slow, fortunately. The skills were there, but the desire... not so much.
But it had been a very, very long day.
Boba Fett sat, lounging backwards slightly on the chair, exhausted. Cassandra was in the house doing... something. He thought she was meditating, or perhaps sleeping off the last effects of the hibernation sickness, but he couldn't be sure. She was still terribly weak, almost as weak as Kashya, but much less inclined to admit it. He smiled. As much as he worried (deep down where even he didn't have to admit it often) about her, he was pleased and proud of her stubborn refusal to admit any weakness. It was a trait they were both teaching to Kashya and Syra
And the twins. His thoughts turned to them once again, and once again he shuddered with disquiet. There was something extremely unnerving about their presence... children who looked exactly like he had at that age, as he had probably looked exactly like Jango... was this what he had thought? Every time he looked at the young Boba Fett, was this how he'd felt? Unnerved, uneasy, uncertain of what he was doing with a child who was not a child, a clone? That thought was even more unnerving than the twins.
How would Jango have coped with this? He, Boba, had never wanted a family. Jango must have, on some level, or he wouldn't have asked for ... he shied right away from the thought of himself as being a clone, a copy of someone else, especially his father. Jango must have wanted a family on some level, or he wouldn't have asked for the child. But he... he'd had Kashya thrust upon him... admittedly not by Cassandra, but by the girl herself, curious about the man who she knew to be her father even though no one had told her. And then Syra, born out of the heat of rage and turning into a beautiful and deadly woman he could be proud of. And now the twins.
The whole concept of having a family and raising a family was alien to him on that personal a level. He was just starting to get used to the new feeling of being proud of Syra, of the fact that she was just as capable of taking care of herself as he was, if less practiced at it. He was just starting to get used to Cassandra's quiet presence. To get used to the idea that Kashya, despite his inability (unwillingness) to understand her stubborn belief that all life was equally valued, could be just as dangrous as he or her mother. He was just starting to get used to being a father of one, maybe two. Four was .. staggering.
Especially these four. Two Jedi, two clones. It wasn't even a real family as he understood the concept; a family with children concieved of a mother and a father who themselves were unified in some sort of ceremony and political or legal contract. He and Cassandra were unified by no more than their own agreement. And he still didn't understand why he had agreed.
His thoughts jumbled themselves around, going in circles. The twins, Syra, Kashya. Cassandra, who still took his breath away. Jango, and Boba's own childhood. Zam, and what she had been to the man he had called father. The Jedi, who had killed his father, and yet now he had Jedi children. Boba looked up at the stars and wondered. What would Jango have thought of Jedi grandchildren?
He looked up at the stars, at the one constellation that Cassandra had pointed out to him once, saying that she'd been named for that woman of legend. He almost wished she would come out into the atrium now, soft feet and pale nightgown, and explain to him what was going on. She wouldn't. She was in a sleep deeper than he could wake her from. He would have to figure this out for himself.
All his life he had been a bounty hunter, the strongest, the best. Not necessraily from any desire to do so, although he had in a sense chosen the profession. More out of the fact that that had been the only sort of life he had known. And he was damn good at it, bred and raised to be. He had been raised to dislike weakness, to cultivate strength and power. Not the sort of political power that leaders cultivated, or the sort of power that Jedi used, the Force, but the sort of power that came from within. The sort of power and strength that led to being implacable, unstoppable. What had changed?
Cassandra, for one thing. Cassandra had appeared and then disappeared, in and then out of his life just as quickly. The one that got away. Cassandra, who had rescued him when he had been dying on the desert sands near the decaying remains of the Sarlaac. And then Kashya, the daughter he had never known about, wanted, or anticipated. And then, after that (and he should have been more careful), Syra. The pride of his life, whom he would never regret. He thought, with a pang that was entirely unfamiliar, that she was the crowning achievement of his life. How odd.
And now the twins.
He had grown old, somehow. Grown tired. Tired (of all things) of taking life, of doing nothing but flying and shooting and taking bounties. Find a job, find the bounty, keep flying. Cassandra and Kashya and Syra had shown him a side to life above and beyond that, that life could be more enjoyable when there was someone to enjoy it with. Shown him the pride of seeing his daughter smile when she had outshot him, or the excitement that was so contagious when she saw her first suit of Mandalorian armor. Shown him the quiet pleasure of sitting in a garden under the stars, in perfect silence, with someone who meant as much, more, than his own life. Shown him the simple pleasures in life.
Was this what Jango had seen or thought when they had gone out fishing off the edges of the platforms in Tipoca City? Boba Fett could only now vaguely remember the happiness of his childhood. Were these thoughts that Jango had had?
That was all what it came down to, in the end, every time he thought about this. Jango. Was this what Jango had gone through. It must have been, because now that he was grown and had children of his own (such a strange thought) he could remember little things, things Jango had said, looks Jango had given him. It must have been like this. And he thought he understood. It didn't make it any easier to give up the habits of a lifetime, but he thought he understood.
Boba Fett's eyes narrowed. He understood certain things at least. No matter how uncomfortable he may feel on Cenath, in this compound, full of the pitter patter of little feet in big combat boots, they were his. His family, his children. His Cassandra. Anyone who brought harm to them would be dealt with, severely, cruelly if necessary. Anyone who threatened their well-being or the achievement of their goals would be removed from their way. He didn't understand it all, especially not the feelings it was causing in him, but he understood how to do what had to be done. And when it came down to it, that was what he would do.
Settled, somewhat more at ease, Boba Fett stood and stretched a little, then walked quietly back to the rooms where Cassandra was resting. The twins would need names, at the very least. They couldn't go around calling them Twin 1 and Twin 2.. it .. .didn't seem right. Appropriate for a ship, but not for a boy.
His mind was still filled with these sorts of thoughts as he drifted off to sleep. Unbeknownst to him, Cassandra opened her eyes, rolled onto her side to watch him sleep, and smiled.
Also, at this point, if you haven't read the rest of the excessively large Fett Family Saga I recommend you read it in order, even if the first one isn't on fanfic.net anymore (e-mail me for a copy)
1. Apollo's Bane
2. Bloodlines
3. A Family Man
In the Name of the Father
In the Name of the Son
Disclaimer: As usual, Boba and Jango Fett = Not Mine. Everyone else mentioned in this fic = mine, mine, mine
It had been a very, very long day.
Nobody but the twins, which they had all decided to call twins because calling them 'clones' was a bit disturbing, even for Boba Fett... nobody but the twins had wanted to get up before the crack of noon. They'd all been up too late cleaning out the old homestead, reactivating the droids, performing all the millions of little routine maintenance duties so they could have the bare necessities of life... food, water, a climate-controlled place to sleep. Fett couldn't remember when he'd been so exhausted in his life. They'd finally gotten to bed at some ridiculous hour of the evening. He'd slept the night through, without dreams, without nightmares.
Then the morning... oh, the morning. It had been a very long time since he'd been a child, and he hadn't had much of a hand in the upringing of Syra... he hadn't even seen Kashya till she was old enough to have a coherent, somewhat adult conversation. He'd never known how much a growing boy could eat. Or how much energy a child could have. The twins had woken everybody up, rampaging around the house like rogue bantha. Fett had been on the verge of lasering them both until one of them had poked his head into the room, and he'd been yanked back to a small room of decades ago. A little, blue-clad boy, and his armored 'father.' He blinked, and the image of the Mandalorian armor standing beside the boy was gone.
They'd staggered out of bed... Cassandra had been more resigned to it than he, probably because she had had to raise two children nearly entirely by herself. Was this what it had been like? It was almost worse than capturing full-grown adults and transporting them, and she didn't have any comfort of a bounty at the end of it all. Not for the first time, he wondered what it was all for, what could be worth all the hassle. They'd made breakfast for the twins, Syra, and Kashya, who was still too weak to do very much at all.
After that, Syra was content to practice with her lightsaber for a couple of hours. She took Kashya out into one of the sun-lit gardens and through the doorway, Boba Fett could hear Kashya gently giving criticism and praise of her younger sister's technique and skill. That kind of parenthood he could get used to, teaching her how to fight, how to shoot. Granted, he couldn't teach her how to wield a lightsaber, but ... listening to Syra improve rapidly did make him feel so much better.
But the twins... there was more energy in the two small children than in all of his weapons combined and fully charged. They careened about the house, knocking into things, bouncing off walls (he'd heard of the phrase but hadn't realized till just then how literally it could be interpreted), yelling and shouting and making so much noise he thought he was in a war zone. Cassandra had finally had to chase them out into the field, sensing Boba Fett's growing unease and discontent. Peace and quiet at last.
The one consolation about children as energetic and wild as that... at the end of the day, they slept more soundly. Cassandra thought that part of their energy resulted from them being locked in a small set of rooms for most of their lives, up till their rescue. Fett didn't care what it was from as long as it didn't bother him. She'd replied that he could go off and resume his role as the big bad bounty hunter. Surprisingly, though, the comment hadn't been said with any sort of rancor. She seemed to understand his unease at taking the paternal role, especially with so many children.. .Syra, the twins..
There was that, at least. If necessary, he could go back to the stars, back to collecting bounties for the highest bidder. But he was almost chagrined to discover that he halfway didn't want to. He was just getting too old, too tired. Not too slow, fortunately. The skills were there, but the desire... not so much.
But it had been a very, very long day.
Boba Fett sat, lounging backwards slightly on the chair, exhausted. Cassandra was in the house doing... something. He thought she was meditating, or perhaps sleeping off the last effects of the hibernation sickness, but he couldn't be sure. She was still terribly weak, almost as weak as Kashya, but much less inclined to admit it. He smiled. As much as he worried (deep down where even he didn't have to admit it often) about her, he was pleased and proud of her stubborn refusal to admit any weakness. It was a trait they were both teaching to Kashya and Syra
And the twins. His thoughts turned to them once again, and once again he shuddered with disquiet. There was something extremely unnerving about their presence... children who looked exactly like he had at that age, as he had probably looked exactly like Jango... was this what he had thought? Every time he looked at the young Boba Fett, was this how he'd felt? Unnerved, uneasy, uncertain of what he was doing with a child who was not a child, a clone? That thought was even more unnerving than the twins.
How would Jango have coped with this? He, Boba, had never wanted a family. Jango must have, on some level, or he wouldn't have asked for ... he shied right away from the thought of himself as being a clone, a copy of someone else, especially his father. Jango must have wanted a family on some level, or he wouldn't have asked for the child. But he... he'd had Kashya thrust upon him... admittedly not by Cassandra, but by the girl herself, curious about the man who she knew to be her father even though no one had told her. And then Syra, born out of the heat of rage and turning into a beautiful and deadly woman he could be proud of. And now the twins.
The whole concept of having a family and raising a family was alien to him on that personal a level. He was just starting to get used to the new feeling of being proud of Syra, of the fact that she was just as capable of taking care of herself as he was, if less practiced at it. He was just starting to get used to Cassandra's quiet presence. To get used to the idea that Kashya, despite his inability (unwillingness) to understand her stubborn belief that all life was equally valued, could be just as dangrous as he or her mother. He was just starting to get used to being a father of one, maybe two. Four was .. staggering.
Especially these four. Two Jedi, two clones. It wasn't even a real family as he understood the concept; a family with children concieved of a mother and a father who themselves were unified in some sort of ceremony and political or legal contract. He and Cassandra were unified by no more than their own agreement. And he still didn't understand why he had agreed.
His thoughts jumbled themselves around, going in circles. The twins, Syra, Kashya. Cassandra, who still took his breath away. Jango, and Boba's own childhood. Zam, and what she had been to the man he had called father. The Jedi, who had killed his father, and yet now he had Jedi children. Boba looked up at the stars and wondered. What would Jango have thought of Jedi grandchildren?
He looked up at the stars, at the one constellation that Cassandra had pointed out to him once, saying that she'd been named for that woman of legend. He almost wished she would come out into the atrium now, soft feet and pale nightgown, and explain to him what was going on. She wouldn't. She was in a sleep deeper than he could wake her from. He would have to figure this out for himself.
All his life he had been a bounty hunter, the strongest, the best. Not necessraily from any desire to do so, although he had in a sense chosen the profession. More out of the fact that that had been the only sort of life he had known. And he was damn good at it, bred and raised to be. He had been raised to dislike weakness, to cultivate strength and power. Not the sort of political power that leaders cultivated, or the sort of power that Jedi used, the Force, but the sort of power that came from within. The sort of power and strength that led to being implacable, unstoppable. What had changed?
Cassandra, for one thing. Cassandra had appeared and then disappeared, in and then out of his life just as quickly. The one that got away. Cassandra, who had rescued him when he had been dying on the desert sands near the decaying remains of the Sarlaac. And then Kashya, the daughter he had never known about, wanted, or anticipated. And then, after that (and he should have been more careful), Syra. The pride of his life, whom he would never regret. He thought, with a pang that was entirely unfamiliar, that she was the crowning achievement of his life. How odd.
And now the twins.
He had grown old, somehow. Grown tired. Tired (of all things) of taking life, of doing nothing but flying and shooting and taking bounties. Find a job, find the bounty, keep flying. Cassandra and Kashya and Syra had shown him a side to life above and beyond that, that life could be more enjoyable when there was someone to enjoy it with. Shown him the pride of seeing his daughter smile when she had outshot him, or the excitement that was so contagious when she saw her first suit of Mandalorian armor. Shown him the quiet pleasure of sitting in a garden under the stars, in perfect silence, with someone who meant as much, more, than his own life. Shown him the simple pleasures in life.
Was this what Jango had seen or thought when they had gone out fishing off the edges of the platforms in Tipoca City? Boba Fett could only now vaguely remember the happiness of his childhood. Were these thoughts that Jango had had?
That was all what it came down to, in the end, every time he thought about this. Jango. Was this what Jango had gone through. It must have been, because now that he was grown and had children of his own (such a strange thought) he could remember little things, things Jango had said, looks Jango had given him. It must have been like this. And he thought he understood. It didn't make it any easier to give up the habits of a lifetime, but he thought he understood.
Boba Fett's eyes narrowed. He understood certain things at least. No matter how uncomfortable he may feel on Cenath, in this compound, full of the pitter patter of little feet in big combat boots, they were his. His family, his children. His Cassandra. Anyone who brought harm to them would be dealt with, severely, cruelly if necessary. Anyone who threatened their well-being or the achievement of their goals would be removed from their way. He didn't understand it all, especially not the feelings it was causing in him, but he understood how to do what had to be done. And when it came down to it, that was what he would do.
Settled, somewhat more at ease, Boba Fett stood and stretched a little, then walked quietly back to the rooms where Cassandra was resting. The twins would need names, at the very least. They couldn't go around calling them Twin 1 and Twin 2.. it .. .didn't seem right. Appropriate for a ship, but not for a boy.
His mind was still filled with these sorts of thoughts as he drifted off to sleep. Unbeknownst to him, Cassandra opened her eyes, rolled onto her side to watch him sleep, and smiled.