disclaimer: I am not associated with star wars in any which way.
The infant was put into his arms unceremoniously without some sense of joy at the occasion. Jango was simply left with a child while the Kaminoans retreated, seeing their purpose for being in the room completed.
And Jango preferred it that way. The child in his arms was smaller than he imagined, but maybe, he thought, that was the way children were supposed to be. Little experience with children had caused him several times during the process to reconsider his decision. He knew so little of them, how to be around them, how to handle them, how to talk to them. It was a frightening concept that something so small could be so foreign and terrifying.
He had told himself he was acting off of a request, a suggestion from someone else. Yet, there was something in him that said he wanted this. To put off the idea as being so distant, to say that he was not the least bit emotionally invested in the prospect of a clone to raise as a son was wrong.
Walking to where they had directed him, he had done so without the usual collected calm. He had moved faster, a tinge of anxiety in his system. Taun We had been the one to come for him, to say that his clone was ready—delayed from the rest of his generation—and he had moved past her, not bothering to look back.
Now, he found himself alone. Even Taun We had retreated for the time being, saying she would return after a moment. He carried the boy in his arms, moving to stand by the large windows, too focused on his son to bother with the storm outside.
There had plenty of waiting, he thought, plenty of keeping it under wraps. He had done his best to ensure that none of the Cuy'val Dar had discovered this, making the Kaminoans agree that no one save for himself would be informed of this clone. When the last generation had been created, the uneven number had been attributed to a failed clone, and Jango had been given continued updates on his clone.
Time not spent training clones and working with members of the Cuy'val Dar had been spent in his apartment listening to Taun We explain child-raising to him. And while Jango had held his tongue, he was quite sure that he knew more about raising of children than the Kaminoan did. Despite being the younger of his parents' two children, he swore he had a better grasp on the concept than the willowy Kaminoan.
Now, with the boy in his arms, the fears of before arrose again. He had wanted to keep knowledge of his son secret. A child would be seen as a weakness to exploit. There were members of the Cuy'val Dar to fear using the information, possibly selling it to whoever wanted to see the downfall of Jango. For, as much as he swore he would not, Jango realized he had become quite attached to the boy, a feeling that solidified when he held him.
The boy remained asleep, hands curled into tiny fists, pressed against him. The child, he thought, was so far proving far less difficult than it had been naming the child. Taun We had brought up the question on several occasions, always gently chiding Jango when he did not give her a definate response.
Because, as she stated, "considering names" was not an answer.
Yet, he had decided on it, the choice coming down to simply what he believed was best. It would carry its own meaning and he was quite sure that if he told some of the Mando currently kept on Kamino that they would have approved—given that he gave the backstory.
As he stood by the window, shifting the baby in his arms, Taun We returned, hands clasped. "Are you pleased with him, Jango?"
"He is perfect," he said, eyes focused on the baby. In time, he accepted, the child would grow to look exactly like him. There would not be silly debates on who the child looked like, for the matter was he was a clone.
"Have you decided upon a name, Jango?"
"Yes, I have."
"And what is it?"
He had decided upon the name after some consideration. While he had considered a name bearing no meaning, he had decided that there was no better way to honor the dead than allowing their names to be carried forward. And he had come to the conclusion that his son would be named Jaster—
But that had been scratched as quickly as it had come to mind. His respect for Jaster as well as his devotion had shown through in its own ways. He had, instead, looked to another source for the name of his son, equally honored.
"His name is Boba," he said, running his thumb over the baby's cheek.
"A good name," Taun We said nodding.
Yet, he thought, she did not know how good of a name—she could repeat back sentiment, attempting to give it a sense of sounding natural—for it was honoring the first person Jango had looked up to.
His father.
The name that he had ultimately picked was taken from his father's name, seen as honoring his blood father, the man who had died protecting his family, who had died defending his children with his wife.
"May I have a minute?" He asked, glancing back at Taun We.
"Oh, of course," she said, backing from the room. And he was grateful for the privacy from the Kaminoan who had seemingly invaded his life, taking a personal interest it seemed, in his choice for a son.
With Taun We gone, he looked back at his son. He had, ultimately, named his son for both influences in his life. The child's complete name, as he had decided appropriate, had become Boba Jaster Fett, but, he thought, he would keep that simply between himself and Boba. Few, Jango thought, knew his father's name to see the sentiment in it, but many knew of Jaster's name and the inclusion of that in the boy's name would simply announce Jango's loyalties. It would be too sentimental, carrying too much emotion.
"It's Ja'buir, Bob'ika," he said, when the boy first opened his eyes, smiling a little at the child, feeling a sense of pride when the child did not cry, but merely fell back asleep. The smile lingered for some time as he walked around the room with the sleeping infant.
I have so much to teach you, Bob'ika.
"Tell me again," Boba said, sitting up in bed. "Tell me about them again."
"I can only tell you so many times before you can tell me the story better than I can."
"Please? You tell it the best."
"Fine," he said, sitting on the edge of the boy's head. "Where should I start?"
"From the beginning with Ba'buir, please."