A.N. pt 1. If you're not familiar with Trandoshans, the Scorekeeper is the Trandoshan goddess, sort of a patron of the hunt. Trandoshans hunt specifically in her name to honor her and earn "points" for themselves, which become their score.

Also, I'm modeling Boba Fett off of his TCW incarnation more so than the OT.

When You Least Expect It

It was strange being in the same room as the rest of the crew without really feeling there. Sabine registered what was happening—the boys flinging wild questions at Hera as she calmly answered them—while still lost in her own memory, her gut aching worse than the time she'd been kicked in the Academy. She teetered on the edge of nausea. Perhaps her discomfort was apparent enough, and that's why the boys had decided to leave her be.

Kanan yelled something about what if… in a voice loud enough to infiltrate the fringe of Sabine's mind, but her focus was on the moment that had played on repeat in her head for the last half hour. Back in the Phantom, when Hera had rested her hands on Sabine's shoulders, looked her in the eyes, and smashed all her trust in a single breath.

"We can't let the others know about Boba Fett," she had said. "Promise me you won't say it was him."

Hera might as well have punched her instead; Sabine's gut ached all the same. Her demand was immediate. "But why?" Sabine's days of complacently agreeing with authority had died with her cadet status.

"It's an undue cause for concern. We'll probably never run into him again and the guys will make it into something bigger than it is. Sabine, they don't need to know."

Hera had smiled a sweet, friendly smile, as if Sabine had acquiesced, and the topic was dropped.

Now, safely aboard the Ghost with the damaged Phantom magnetically sealed to the freighter's underside, Sabine zoned back to the present as Hera calmly retold the story of their failed rescue mission. The boys listened with varying degrees of worry plastered to each of their faces. Hera never mentioned the second hunter—the one who almost killed them. The tale she spun had them outmaneuvered by a single unknown bounty hunter, who fled the scene once the Phantom was dead in space. Much less terrifying than what actually happened. Much less factual.

At the conclusion of her half-truth, Kanan returned to his insitence that "You could've died!"

"Kanan, please," sighed Hera. "We were never in that much danger. If we hurry, we might be able to track the scum that made off with Dr. Woofrow. Sabine said he's flying to Coruscant, so that at least gives us time."

"Who, Hera?" Kanan asked. "Who did this?"

"I told you already—a bounty hunter! What, was I supposed to recognize his helmet?"

Sabine fell into the booth.

Hera hadn't changed. For all that Sabine thought they were growing closer over the past few months as they fled Lothal and joined the larger rebellion, Hera was no more open with the crew now than when "Fulcrum" was a mysterious intel supplier.

The bridges built and foundations laid to a stronger, trusting relationship had all been on Sabine's part. And how quickly they could be washed away. The scary thing was, if Sabine hadn't been on this mission, too, she would've believed everything Hera said, too. Boba Fett would've never even crossed her mind because Hera delivered her story with such genuineness.

Hera whisked off to the cockpit, bent on salvaging this mission, and Kanan followed, hopeful that he could assist. If Hera had actually told the truth that it was Boba Fett of all hunters who'd abducted Dr. Woofrow, Kanan would rightfully not hold out hope. But he was following one of Hera's lies and she was setting him up for failure.

Ezra and Zeb conferred with each other about this new situation, content to leave Sabine be. In the ensuing quiet, she picked herself up and eased herself toward her room. Her back still hurt from that explosion, reminding her how much she actually used her back for everything she did. As she considered the positive reasons for adding rear armor plates to her ensemble, Sabine caught sight of her Ketsu painting sitting askew, peeking out from behind her wall locker.

Sabine set her teeth.

"Ez-RA!"

The management changed, but Coruscant retained its distinction within the core worlds as the glittering capital of the established galactic rule. Boba Fett had considered the Republic and the Jedi corrupt since childhood, but he couldn't say he noticed a difference under the Empire—he hardly lingered here long enough to look for any. Imperial bureaucracy gripped Coruscant so tightly that only bribery expedited administrative work. Luckily, the bounty hunting industry already boasted a speed only illegality allowed.

There was a special section near enough to the government offices to absorb their legitimacy by proximity, but far enough away that the average citizen didn't see how often the Empire employed hunters. The bounty collection building in this area looked as dark as its purpose. The officers supervising, roving with hands behind backs, watched everything down the length of their noses, lips curled in disdain. The expression must have been issued as regularly as their uniforms. The stormtroopers posted around the building were hardly intimidating when Fett's gear could outperform all of theirs.

Between the gray columns in an open, sparse room that discouraged loitering, a queue formed. Boba Fett didn't have to wait long for an attendant to bypass a cyborg bounty hunter trailing a carbonite slab and a droid with only a datapad—a regular disintegration job—to check Fett's quarry. Dr. Woofrow, wide awake now, stood next to the Mandalorian, bound in cuffs, lip quivering in a silent whimper.

The attendant was dressed in an Imperial uniform that would've let him blend into the dull floor and the dull walls if he only stood still. His own biometric scan of the bounty was their usual formality, but then he looked up and said, "It says here you scanned two individuals wanted for small-time rebellion and dissent. Where are they?"

Fett stiffened at the accusatory tone. "I left them. Their prices wouldn't even cover the cost of fuel turning them in." Of course there was always the fact that he wasn't hired for their capture and may have been feeling lazier than normal.

Two armed stormtroopers arrived to escort Dr. Woofrow through a durasteel door into the bowels of the organization, where nothing escaped if it wasn't approved to leave.

The attendant brought up information on his 'pad privileged to those inside the bureaucracy. "If you can capture their associates, you'll be paid triple the price listed. Blast, just bring in the Jedi alone and get paid triple."

Triple a small bounty was still a small bounty.

Boba Fett confirmed the message on the attendant's device of a successful credit transfer to his accounts. "Back in the day, I turned in my fair share of Jedi to you, mate. Be grateful."

"I'm not looking for excuses, I'm looking for answers!" Hera snapped from the pilot's chair in the Ghost cockpit. Chopper gave a bickering bleep and fell into silence, spinning his computer probe in the terminal, plotting logical courses a bounty hunter might've taken to Coruscant, and possible waystations utilized along the routes.

Kanan entered then carrying two cups of caf. He handed one to Hera, who was still squinting at the holographic projection of the galaxy, flashing with Chopper's updated routes.

Chopper again beeped from his corner.

"Why would I bring you one?" Kanan asked. He slipped into the co-pilot's seat to be just as helpful as he was before his trip to the galley: he sat in silence, drinking his caf.

"Chopper, send me these routes you've calculated already. I'll start slicing into the popular waystations and check their dock logs," Hera said.

Kanan blinked at her. "...You can do that?"

"Looks like I'm still finding ways to surprise you after all this time," Hera mumbled. It hardly felt like a joke when her day had gone so wrong. She ran a glove over her forehead, but that hardly eased the sharp headache throbbing around her eyes and stabbing into her lekku.

The door slid aside for Sabine then. Toting her datapad, she paused in the doorway. "The bounty's down. He's been turned in already."

Hera's fist slammed down on a dashboard display, spiking her headache. Her lekku shivered in a way the crew had only seen when the Twi'lek was livid—and even that had only been one time.

It took her a long moment to compose herself—a long moment of Kanan and Sabine exchanging glances as they were both in the blast zone—but then Hera huffed, "I'll tell Commander Sato."

Kanan reached over to rest a hand on her shoulder. "If you'd had the Ghost, that hunter would've had a run for his credits. Scum got lucky this time."

Sabine rolled her eyes, her scoff hardly loud enough to compete with Chopper's processing noises, and left.

Boba Fett could've afforded the Skylight Cantina today, sitting atop one of the tallest buildings in the most affluent sector, where Moffs and the wealthy flocked to be seen. But it was also an hour before midday when things like rules and etiquette barred most people hoping to climb the social ladder from showing up before a more respectable time in the evening.

However, Jakk's Bar, where their most exotic drink came from Corellia and their mugs were about the size of Fett's helmet, didn't have those kinds of restraints. No matter what time of day it was, the bar always boasted clientele—of a sort that would never even see the turbolift to the Skylight Cantina. It sat in the heart of the Nikto territory, where well-to-do people would only wander if they were lost… or desperate enough.

Fett was on his third glass of clear Neimoidian brandy by the time a familiar creature walked through the front door. The yellow-scaled Trandoshan immediately noticed Boba's beckoning wave and joined his table.

"Bossk, it's been awhile," Fett said, a rare smirk on his face for an even rarer friend. It's not that Fett never made friends, he was just in a business where he tended to outlive the few he had.

"Sssitting on Corussscant, drinking your daysss away again." Bossk eyed Fett with playful disdain, but eyed his drink with pure envy.

"We all have our hobbies."

"I've got a promisssing bounty hunting more Jedi."

Fett tipped his glass around, swirling the contents, if just to watch Bossk's eyes follow it. "Do you?"

"On Dactil."

Fett stopped toying with him. The only bounty on Dactil had been of the scientist Fett already turned in. But the women he scanned—the ones with known, active connections to Jedi—had been on Dactil.

The Empire was using his lead to employ other hunters in his stead. His immediate spike of indignation simmered when he remembered he was sitting on fifty nine thousand, nine hundred and fifty credits. And triple a small bounty was still a small bounty.

Fett lifted his drink in a toast. "Cheers to your score."

A week was long enough for Fett to celebrate his bounty and see old faces like Dengar and Latts Razzi who were always amiable when someone else picked up their tab. But they filtered out to hunt bounties of their own, and lacking the presence of people Fett considered friends when he was armed and their sticky fingers weren't around his ship, celebrating solo wasn't exactly fun.

He returned to Slave I one night to find a bounty contract from the Black Sun blinking in the cockpit. Their operation required two people, and if there was anyone Fett would trust to evenly split the funds, it was the only sentient he called a friend when not in armor.

Bossk.

"Where are you, mate?" he said, sinking into his seat and bringing up the Trandoshan's last known coordinates. "Have you found my rebels yet?"

A quick search returned with news of a Trandoshan imprisoned by Imperial authorities on Dactil in the Garel system, conspicuously lacking information about the circumstances of capture. But when it came to the Empire, anyone not human was reason enough for detainment. How Bossk had even let himself get captured was another matter.

Fett wouldn't settle for someone like Dengar on a Black Sun mission, but he also couldn't go breaking Bossk out of prison by himself, and get himself blacklisted from all future Imperial contracts when they were the only organization with regular targets. If anyone was to spearhead a rescue mission, it needed to be someone with no ties to himself or bounty hunters.

Fett brought up the HoloNet and began running searches on any and all rebels connected with the planet Lothal.

One of Garel's moons was just rising as Hera made her way back through the streets with Kanan and Ezra, all carrying sacks of supplies from the local market. The three of them walked along as unhurriedly as the rest of the citizens out and about that evening, a fitting end to a similarly languid day.

"And yesterday Zeb hid my pillow and wouldn't tell me where it was," Ezra said. "I told him if he didn't give it back, I'd use all his frozen space waffles for target practice. Turns out he stuffed my pillow into Chopper's storage compartment."

"You've been complaining about Zeb a lot more this past week," Hera said, her smirk mirrored by Kanan.

"That's because he's the only one around. Sabine's been holed up in her room this entire time."

A cold shiver slithered down Hera's lekku then, reminiscent of Dactil. Looking around, she saw the locals who were slowly becoming familiar faces going about their business, none of them paying particular interest to Hera's small group. It was a quick sweep of the area; the street wasn't crowded, and the crew had picked a time when Imperial patrols weren't in the area.

"Kei'nata ni, vashna." It was almost a whisper, drifting from somewhere behind her. The words were so blessedly familiar, wrapping her in a warmth that felt like home, while at the same time the shock of it shot straight through her body.

Kanan and Ezra looked back at her when she stopped.

"You alright?" Kanan asked.

Hera nodded. "I… I forgot something. Go on ahead, I'll meet you back at the ship."

The bags hanging from her hands hardly weighed her down as the hope in her chest spirited her back around the corner. The words were Ryl, her first language. Although she was perfectly fluent in Basic, there was something nostalgic and beautiful about hearing her mother tongue. It was relaxing and invigorating all at once. And it was something she hadn't heard in…

Hera didn't even notice the alleyway. It was dark, scrunched between two dark buildings that were similarly unassuming, and easily overlooked in favor of the bright, colorful marketplace unfolding at the end of the street. But just as she passed it, a gloved hand reached out and yanked her into the shadows between the buildings.

The glint of a T-visor stared at her, and even in the shadows she could make out the green of the stranger's armor.

Hera didn't drop her supplies so much as throw them down on her dive for the blaster holstered in her boot. Halfway there, Fett grabbed her right wrist and pulled it up above her head, pinning it to the bricks of the building behind her. She wound up a leg and kicked him straight in the gut. Her boot struck his plate armor, and the jolt reverberated through her bones and into her hip. She staggered, but he never released her.

"Let go!" she hissed.

"Let's be civil about this." His voice, despite the mechanical tone filtering through his helmet, had the strangest ring of familiarity to it.

She tugged at her wrist, but she couldn't pull free of his grasp. "Let go, please."

"Don't get excited." He looked her over, presumably identifying any other possible weapons because his visor angled the longest on her boot holster, before releasing her. "I'm here to talk. Are you the pilot who chased me through Dactil's rings in that junk auxiliary starfighter?"

Hera's mouth dropped at the insult. "It's not junk! And just wait 'till you see what my freighter can do to you."

"Good," Fett said with an incline of his helmet. "I need a favor."

The desire to laugh couldn't quite overcome Hera's incredulity. She stared at Fett as if he'd sported Azmorigan's head in addition to his own.

"In what star system would I ever help you?" This was the man who stole a rebellion sympathizer right out from under her, spiriting him away to no doubt a horrorific fate. Thanks to another bounty hunter trying to pull the same trick as Fett, Hera and Sabine had nearly been blown right out of space.

"The one in which I had an opportunity to kill you like I did Nyok, but let you go."

Dust over the planes. He may have saved them, but Hera certainly wasn't bound to any Mandalorian sense of duty or debt.

"The one in which I can make a call to the Imps right now with the location of wanted rebels in Garel's spaceport. But I won't. If you help me."

Her glare had been proven to make grown males of various species cower. She unleashed it in full force on Fett, but it was impossible to read any reaction through a helmet. But then again, no one else had managed to unnerve her before—not even Lando passing her off to Azmorigan—and Fett's threat took much of the potency out of her eyes.

There would be no way to explain her way out of a sudden Imperial strike on their spaceport hangar. They'd been successful and safe so far since fleeing Lothal. Jeopardizing not only their hiding place but the safety of everyone in her crew in an attempt to call his bluff would be selfish.

Depending on what Fett wanted.

"How did you even find us? The last time you saw us was on Dactil."

"It's part of the job."

"I'm sure there's no shortage of actual bounty hunter pilots out there…" she said, her glare softening into a pointed stare.

"I'm paid to complete tasks quickly, quietly, efficiently. I've yet to meet a pilot to equal your caliber."

Hera folded her arms across her chest. It was more than a little worrisome how something about his accent was deceptively trustworthy. She was ready to acquiesce based on how his explanation sounded, rather than the logic behind it, but reined herself in. "If I accept, what exactly are you expecting me to do?"

"Fly to Dactil and help me rescue a friend who got himself thrown in Imperial jail."

That was the last thing Hera expected to hear, and eyes widened as she scrounged for a reply. "Aren't you with the Empire? Just ask them to release your… friend."

"I figured someone like you would know the Empire holds hunters in low regard. They owe me no favors, despite how much they employ me. Besides, my friend's not human, so they're not eager to release him even if I asked nicely."

Whenever the subject emerged about the Empire's speciesism, Hera couldn't help but think of Ryloth, and how it had broken under Imperial rule. Everything that made them unique as a culture was trodden over in favor of harvesting Ryll—and Twi'leks were punished for speaking their native language, even between one another.

Every time someone stood up in the galaxy wanting to fight against species injustice, Hera instinctively supported that endeavor.

But for the first time ever, that endeavor was coming from a man on the Empire's payroll.

She looked him in the visor, an absolute blackness that didn't even grant her her reflection. There was only one choice to pick.

Venting through art pacified Sabine the quickest. Her unfinished Ketsu piece safely behind her wall locker once more, Sabine had spent the past hour detailing a drawing of the crew—Hera on one side, Sabine on the other, and the rest somewhere in the middle, grouped between the polar opposites. Really, the sketch had been finished almost a half hour ago, but Sabine had mainly been staring at it, lost in thought.

Voices echoing from across the ship drew her out of her wild imagination. Sabine would've been lying to herself if she felt perturbed at the disruption. Considering she hadn't had a genuine conversation in the past two days, she voluntarily left her room and followed the voices to the galley.

Kanan and Ezra put away their supplies the only way they ever did—noisily. Ezra's excited pitch discussing upcoming training was something that could be heard from the opposite end of a spaceport.

Sabine stopped in the doorway. "Did you get my cantamelon?"

Kanan immediately tossed her a red fruit the size of her hand from his bag and dipped back into Ezra's conversation on training, reminding him that Rex would be back on the fleet tomorrow and it was exclusively a Jedi training session.

"Where's Hera?" Sabine piped up.

"She went back for something in the market," Ezra said, catching a box of instant mix Kanan tossed his way. "Wonder what's taking her so long, though?"

Despite the boys shrugging off the thought, Sabine pursed her lips on her path back to her room, rolling the cantamelon around in her hands as quickly as the assumptions flew through her mind, each one a little darker than the last. By the time she reached her door, her irritation was so strong that she felt like flinging her fruit into the opposite wall.

Breathe, she told herself. There was no use getting worked up over unknown situations.

"I'm back!" Hera's voice called from the cargo bay.

Sabine meandered back to the main room, to wait there, leaning in the doorway until Hera made it up. Kanan helped lift her bags of supplies up the ladder and handed them off to Ezra before the pilot herself climbed into the room.

"Find what you were looking for?" Kanan asked.

Hera spared a nod. "Since we're not tasked with anything tomorrow, I'm going out to get a few things taken care of. It'll probably last me all day." Her announcement was mainly for Kanan, but her gaze included Ezra and Sabine, as calmly and innocently as when she lied about the space battle.

"Sounds good," Kanan replied before he and Ezra carried the rest of the supplies to the galley, not even the slightest bit curious. Not even the slightest bit suspicious.

Sabine, however, knew immediately that she would be tagging along.

A.N. pt. 2: Kei'nata ni, vashna= hello, ma'am.