There’s a karking Jedi at his table, in his ship and the Jedi is not dead.

No, the Jedi is quietly sipping shig at Slave 1’s table, watching Jango with predatory eyes, a damn dragon curled around his neck with his legs kicked out under the table lazily, ankle occasionally brushing against Jango’s own.

He’d call the other’s behavior almost arrogance if he didn’t know just how much power is in the other man’s shoulders and legs. Not to mention the karking dragon around his neck.

“Admittedly, when the Force told me to pay attention, I never expected this.” Kenobi drawled, settling the cup down on the table and yet cradling it still as he cocked his head.

Jango was grateful that Boba had obeyed and gone to the cockpit, though he was sure his son was still listening in. “What, thought me dead?” He sneered at the Jedi.

The man inclined his head. “You went to battle against Jedi, knowing what we could do. So yes, I saw Mace’s lightsaber pass through your neck,” His eyes flickered down to the prosthetic at Jango’s neck. “I can make a few guesses on your survival. I’m glad to see it actually.” He stated casually.

Mand’alor.

The other had called him mand’alor.

Jango suspected what the other wanted but… why?

Jedi were peace keepers and Jedi and Mandalorians had… strained relationships.

But here this Jedi was…

Kenobi placed his elbows on the table, watching him, eyes lidded before he snorted. “You know, I do wonder if you were simply desperate or coerced into working with Dooku, much less the Sith that leads him.” He drawled.

Jango’s lips tightened into a thin line but he said nothing, simply lifted his own cup to sip. How much did this Jedi know?

“Are you aware of my reputation?” Kenobi questioned, smirking when Jango brows simply furrowed, showing his confusion but also his wariness. “Ah, you don’t. Good, it means I covered my tracks well. See, in the temple, I’m known as the Council’s bloody hand,” Kenobi watched Jango closely, simply snorting when Jango reached for a blade at his hip. “I did undercover work, the most twisted and dangerous missions the Senate had. But I was good about keeping my identity hidden.” He drawled.

Well, that did… clarify a bit… Jango guessed.

Not simply a Jedi or even a Jedi shadow, but full on undercover work for the dirtiest of missions the Senate could send him on. Which Jango knew could be bad.

“It means I heard the whispers about why the clone army was really made for.” Kenobi continued, his voice now a tad bland, his face blank.

It took everything in Jango not to tense, even as he heard the telltale shift of the cockpit chair creak loudly, likely Boba getting up.

Kenobi didn’t react to the sound, simply stared at Jango. “…If anything of the morsels of rumors I heard were true, then I wonder what Jaster would say about this entire thing.” He stated darkly.

Jango slammed his cup down, metal twisting as hot shig coated his hands. He barely noticed the pain as he shot to his feet with a snarl, reaching for his blaster only to freeze when the dragon twisted up and hissed, fire in her open mouth even if it had not sent it at him.

Kenobi simply stared at him, his face still blank.

“…How dare you take his name in your mouth.” Jango snarled, keeping his hand away from his blaster as he trembled with rage.

Sitting back, pressing into the lounge couch, Kenobi snorted. “Considering I meet him and he tried to adopt me, I do actually. Seeing as he taught me the supercommando codex, I know what he taught you, what you were suppose to live by.” He drawled.

Jango felt unarmored, shaken, staring at this Jedi, who was claiming to have known Jaster. “…Lies.” He rasped.

Setting the cup down, Kenobi crossed his arms over his chest, a defensive reaction Jango knew in humanoid. He raised one copper brow then sighed, glancing at the ceiling of the Slave 1, as if praying for patience. “…Our language. Our leader. Our tribe. Education and armor. Self defense,” Kenobi stated in a steady voice, slowly returning cold eyes to Jango, reciting the resol’nare to Jango. “Beyond that, a code of honor, no grunt work, no killing for foot as the Kyr’stad, defend children and farmers with your life.” He continued in that steady, cold voice.

Jango could almost hear Jaster’s voice in his head, quietly reciting the same things, though more affectionately. Frozen as he was, the dragon seemed not to consider him a threat anymore as it settled down, pressing its snout into Kenobi’s neck.

“Honorable mercenaries, that’s what Jaster told me as he tried to adopt me after finding me on Coruscant, defending kids from the lower slums after I got lost from my creche group.” Kenobi shrugged, as if he wasn’t breaking Jango’s perception.

“I…” He licked his suddenly dry lips, wishing he still had shig.

Kenobi snorted and pushed his cup towards Jango, watching him drink desperately of the still luke warm liquid, his hands stinging from the burning water from earlier. “…I wonder what he thinks about you being involved on getting the younglings of the Jedi order killed.” Kenobi stated silkily.

Jango froze, eyes wide.

He knew he was older than the other, this Jedi upstart in his home but at that moment, he felt young and dirty, as if the other was calling on something Jango had refused to think about.

“I wonder what he’d feel about all those children,” Kenobi nodded towards the ramp they had come out. “Wearing your face, becoming soldiers without a choice for anything else, fodder in a meaningless war, killed in seconds, harmed… denied their legacies… gar eyayah.” Kenobi was staring at him with narrowed, burning eyes.

For the first time in years, Jango couldn’t help but wonder if that was how Jaster would have looked at him too.

For what he had done.

His breath was too loud in his own ears.

Kenobi opened his mouth again. “Where is your honor, Mand’alor?” His tone was as smooth as a blade and dripping with venomous intent.

Gar eyayah = your echos