To be honest, Boba had the mandalorian clocked the moment he saw him, zipping over the dunes on his speeder and the few interactions he had seen before the man had left Tatooine.

He had known even before he was close enough to smell the other man or speak to him that this was an omega. It was all in the way the other behaved around the child, the way he kept him safe and yes, the creed of the mandalorians made children the most important thing.

But not everyone acted with younglings like an omega on instincts.

It was in the way the man kept scenting the child as best he could with what little skin he had exposed, in the way he cradled him close and Boba had seen others like the mandalorian before.

Omegas with pups had a certain way about them.

His own father had been the same and Jango was always fresh in Boba’s mind, even as he had lost the memory of his father’s voice and the way he smelled with the years.

But the way he behaved, the way he cradled Boba close to his chest and pressed his scent to Boba’s skin… no, that was something Boba would never forget.

It was one of the things that had made Boba hate his own alpha designation in his younger years when he finally presented, wanting to claw himself out of his skin as he wished for that connection to his father.

But he had been an unaltered clone, his designation, just like his personality, had formed on its own and sometimes he wondered if his buir would have been proud to see his son an alpha or just not really cared one way or another.

The clones had all been without secondary genders, except for the alphas and the nulls, the earliest of the clones where the Kamino’s had still been working on the DNA sequences. So maybe Boba should just be grateful he had a designation.

He had seen the issues the clones went through without having one, the way humans reacted to them, the way they seemed to be considered less. Some of them had even reacted that way to Boba when they saw his face, until they realized he wasn’t just a clone with a fake scent but a true alpha, ready to kark them up.

Boba had his designation and he had his life and he had made peace with many things in his life.

But what he couldn’t make peace with was the scent of distressed omega, the alpha in him sitting up and taking notice even as he tried to keep his distance.

He had a duty to help the man find his foundling for returning the armor, seeing how Djarin had lost everything, Boba might be the best one that could help him.

At least in the ship department and Boba was a capable man, his scar and stint in the sarlacc had done nothing to ruin his skills if they had turned rusty inside it. Training and muscle memory had fixed that however once he was out, hunting for his armor.

And Boba owed him a debt, one Djarin could trust, that Boba wouldn’t suddenly turn on him like the rest of the galaxy could.

Being in Slave 1, the scent was hard to escape and even Fennec was starting to show discomfort at it, the beta often glancing towards the hold where Djarin had holed up, manically checking, dismantling, cleaning and setting together his weapons again.

Finally, Boba let out a deep sigh and stood from the controls, giving Fennec a nod to take the controls before making his way to the doors. He could hear the woman’s relief as she switched seats.

Clearly she thought he’d deal with it and Boba intended to.

But if he was successful, that was something else.

Djarin is sitting on an ammo crate in the hold, a blaster in hand, simply cradling the weapon as if he realizes he can’t do more with it but can’t bring himself to put it down, as if he wishes he was cradling something else with how gentle his gloved hands are. Even without the scent, Boba would have been able to tell that this was a miserable man.

The bounty hunter sits slumped, his head bent down and he doesn’t even twitch when Boba steps in.

If it wasn’t for the way he was breathing, Boba could have been forgiven for thinking the man asleep.

Slowly, so not to set the other of, Boba makes his way over and sits down beside him, looking at the hands cradling the blaster. “…We’ll get him back to you,” He murmured quietly, watching the armor jerk a bit. “My debt to you isn’t over until your pup is with you.” Boba promised softly, carefully releasing some of his scent.

It could go either way, doing it but the mando slowly tilted his head towards Boba and he could hear  the other take a breath, pause then breath even deeper, twitching slightly on the crate.

If Boba was to take a guess, he’d imagine the omega wanted to press closer.

But Boba was a stranger, an unfamiliar alpha, to shift closer now was simply instincts and not caution and logical thoughts speaking.

But seeing as how his scent was helping, Boba released more of it, the distressed omega scent lessening slowly.

Sighing, Boba reached up and removed his helmet, ignoring how the mando twitched. Those who followed the Watch Creed was always a bit iffy about exposed faces. Never got it himself and Boba knew of enough mando that removed their helmets.

It was the loss of armor that was the real sanction for becoming dar’manda, not showing your face.

But to each their own and since the scent of distressed omega didn’t grow, Boba set his helmet down beside his feet, focusing on Djarin again. “…Think about your child scent.” He murmured quietly.

A quiet whine escaped the bounty hunter.

Slowly, Boba reached out and settled his hand on the others vembrace. “Think about the way you’ll hold him when you get him back,” He pushed gently. “Think about what you’ll say to him,” Djarin let out another whimper, dropping his forehead to Boba’s pauldron. “Think about what you’ll do to that demagolka that took him… and draw strength from all of it.” A small but sharp growl escaped the vocoder of the other.

Boba wasn’t sure if he had really helped the feisty, distressed omega but the scent of distressed omega had lessened, replaced by Boba’s own pheromones and the scent of angry omega.

The sharp kind of scent.

The kind of scent that made mandalorian alphas sit up and take notice as it was the kind of omega they wanted. The kind of scent that warned everyone to be on their best behavior or they would get fucked up.

Moff Gideon better have an army on his cruiser when they caught up with him and the child Boba thought with satisfaction, because he had a storm coming.

A storm in the form of a very pissed of, very protective omega. “Jate, we’ll get him back.” Boba promised, squeezing the others forearm gently.