After he dropped the former-Jedi off with his new owner, the bounty hunter made his way back to his new home on Kamino. It had only been a year or so that he'd lived on Kamino, contracted to live there and provide his DNA for some massive cloning experiment. The project was still in its infancy, as was the single clone they had managed to grow past the fetal stage.

When they managed to perfect the process, Jango had been promised one unaltered clone for himself. The son he couldn't trust any human woman to give to him. The life of a bounty hunter was dangerous, as was the life of anyone who happened to be a part of one's life.

If he could keep a clone safe, raise it as his own…

It was raining as he landed on the landing pad out in front of the flat so graciously provided as part of his pay for his participation. It was always raining on Kamino. He put his helmet back on just to avoid getting his face wet as he moved between his ship and his warm, dry flat.

It wasn't really anything special, just a standard two-bedroom flat with a little extra storage space. It was more than Jango needed, but if he could actually go through with his idea of raising a clone as his son the space would come in handy. Children needed a place to spread out and run around.

As he poured himself a welcome-home drink, he pondered just how he would spend the money he'd made off Mut. Perhaps an upgrade to the Slave I. It was in need of a few repairs, after all.

He sensed the presence before his doorbell chimed. If anyone were to have asked, he'd've attributed it to the skills he'd learned bounty hunting. But this presence was one he sensed differently than those others. He was aware of anyone who passed within fifty paces of him, he couldn't afford not to pay that close of attention.

Qui-Gon Jinn, he thought. I was wondering if they'd allow you to come after me.

When the door chimed, he gave it a casual glance before turning his attention back to the dry liquor in his glass. He had barely brought the glass to his lips when the door chimed again. He took a long, annoyed sip before setting the glass down and making his way across the main room to the door. As he reached to open the door, the chime rang once more.

"Nothing can be this urgent," he said, rolling his eyes at the stunned Jedi Master. It was almost worth the way Qui-Gon was now crushing his throat with the Force.

Almost.

"Where is he?" Qui-Gon demanded. "Where is he?" Jango's feet were off the floor now, and all he could manage was a weak, airy chuckle of defiance.

The Jedi Master dropped him and he fell in a crumpled heap, coughing and wheezing as he welcomed air back into his lungs. When he managed to catch his breath enough to no longer feel like he was dying, he started to laugh again.

This was met with a swift kick to the side of the head, the force of which sent him sprawling backwards. Qui-Gon stood straddling the bounty hunter's body, lightsaber drawn. It wasn't ignited yet, but from the fire Jango could see in the man's eyes he knew it was only a matter of time. He smirked.

"You've grown more violent in our time apart, Qui-Gon."

"My apprentice," Qui-Gon spat. "Where is he?"

"I'm afraid you'll find him to be of no use to you now, old friend. You're too late."

"What do you mean?" Qui-Gon demanded, picking the bounty hunter up by the collar of his shirt with the Force. He held the man just over an arm's length away, restrained from doing much else but talking and breathing, and ignited his 'saber. "Choose your words wisely, Fett, for they may be your last."

"Wasn't it you who told me that attachment is forbidden for a Jedi, old friend?"

"I am not your friend," Qui-Gon said. "The boy, Jango. Where did you take the boy?" When the bounty hunter did not immediately respond, Qui-Gon roared. "Where is he?"

"The Outer Rim," the bounty hunter said finally. He relished in the relief that washed over his old friend's face. There had been a time, long ago, when he'd seen that relief spread over that face simply for the fact that he was still alive. "Tatooine, in fact. Sold him to a man named Mut Brovado. But none of that will do you any good, Jinn. I told you, you're too late. I wiped his memory."

The Force bonds that held him in place dropped him quite suddenly as Qui-Gon staggered back.

"No," he said. "It… You can't have. I can still feel him. I…"

"I'm afraid it's the truth," Jango said as he retreated to retrieve his drink. He made it three steps before Qui-Gon froze him once more with the Force.

"You're lying," Qui-Gon said. "Even you could not be so cruel."

"He begged for you, you know," Jango said, defiantly meeting Qui-Gon's gaze. The man was practically on top of him now. He could feel the blistering heat of his lightsaber at his throat. Its green glow gave the Jedi an eery, sickly glow. Jango did his best to mimic Obi-Wan's voice. "No, please! No— Qui-Gon! Qui-Gon, help me! Help me!"

He should've expected the fist that met his gut and knocked the breath out of him.

"It took hours to break him, Qui-Gon," Jango panted as he struggled to breathe again. "I took great pleasure in stripping you from his memories."

He was being choked again. He should've seen that coming, too. He should've seen a lot of things coming, but he found himself hung up on the fact that this time Qui-Gon was choking him with his hands, not the force.

The Jedi's eyes were swirling with sadness and anger and pain as he squeezed the bounty hunter's throat.

"You are not the only one who can purge memories, Fett. It's a painful process with the help of those black market devices, but you know what? It's far worse when done by someone skilled in the use of the Force," he snarled. For a split second he could see the rugged hunter the way he'd once known him: a hardened street boy on Coruscant who always had a new story to tell. It was that split second that saved the bounty hunter's life.

Qui-Gon threw him back in a rage, sending him cascading through the glass table that sat by the sofa in the main room of his flat. The Jedi stood and stared at the Mandalorian as he worked to pick himself up out of the broken bits of glass.

"Is this that famous Jedi mercy you were always raving about, Qui-Gon?" Jango asked hoarsely. Though both men knew he meant it sarcastically, there wasn't a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Qui-Gon glared him down, saying nothing.

I should take everything from you, he thought as he stared down at the bounty hunter he'd once called a friend. I should leave you with nothing but your life— even that you don't deserve!

But somewhere deep below the anger that festered and threatened to boil over within him was the peaceful man he fought so hard to be.

I should forgive you, he thought after a few silent moments of letting the rage go.

Jango watched the change occur right before his very eyes. It was as though a fog was lifted from Qui-Gon's brain. His posture, his stance, even his eyes changed as he deactivated his lightsaber.

As he sank into the heavily cushioned sofa, Qui-Gon thought of that last time he'd seen Obi-Wan.

I was too late, he thought. I'm so sorry, Obi-Wan. I failed you.

He hardly felt it as Jango pulled himself up and sat beside him. The man could've held a blaster to his head and he likely wouldn't have cared.

"It's nothing personal, Qui-Gon. It was a job. Kenobi was a special request."

"Why?" The Jedi Master's voice was thick and raspy, as though he were on the verge of breaking down. There's no point in being upset, he told himself. There's nothing that can be done now. He's gone.

))((

Obi-Wan stumbled blindly through the streets of Mos Eisley, the chains that bound him pulled along roughly by Mut Brovado, a particularly sleazy Corellian who smelled like he'd bathed in bantha piss most recently.

"Come now, little Kenobi," Mut called absently. It didn't matter to him if the boy could vocalize a reply. "There is much you must learn before I bring you to market next week."

Obi-Wan stopped briefly at the statement. Sold? Again? He tried to remember if he'd exchanged hands prior to when the mean man in the armor had brought him to this planet, but he couldn't remember. All he could remember was that the man in the armor could not be trusted and that the man with the beard and the crooked smile was kind and warm.

There were strange, hazy memories that bounced around his mind. A woman with a strange, fish-like head. Could she exist? Surely that was something from a strange fever dream.

"Have you gone deaf, boy?" Mut demanded, pulling sharply on the chains. Obi-Wan stumbled and fell forward, splaying across the sand with his ass in the air. "Move!"

He scrambled to pull himself back to his feet as Mut continued to jerk the chains around, knocking him back down to his elbows more than once. Once he finally managed to get back to his feet, he cut the bottom of his left foot on a piece of discarded glass.

His blood stained the sand until nearly the edge of town before the wound finally scabbed over. He wished that the man with the beard and the crooked smile would come and find him.