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The first kill was always the easiest. After that, the enemy knew she was there and often had a decent guess as to where. In an ideal galaxy Fennec would only accept contracts for single-target assassinations, where the first kill was it and the rest was getting away. But this wasn’t an ideal galaxy and Fennec was still young. She needed money and she needed to build her reputation, so she’d accepted the waste of her talents that was this escort assignment.
It turned out her shipping magnate client’s concerns for his son’s safety on this “quick trip to Alderaan” were warranted. When Fennec arrived at the docking bay an hour ahead of the set meeting time to sweep the place, a gang of Black Suns goons was already there, waiting. She found a nice perch in the rafters and took out the meanest, toughest-looking target first, a Trandoshan who looked like he knew how to use his hefty blaster rifle. Then the element of surprise was lost as the remaining Black Suns scrambled, some running for cover and others shooting wildly in her general direction.
They were terrible shots, but there were enough of them that Fennec was pinned in her perch on one of the rafters of the tall docking bay, the narrow beam not providing as much cover as she would like. Fennec didn’t like leaving anything to chance, but if their steady fire kept up she might have to risk breaking cover and hope she took out enough of them to give herself some room to work.
New screams floated up to her from down below, ones she was pretty sure she hadn’t caused. She leaned out behind a durasteel beam and spied a newcomer—a tall-ish man in muddy green Mandalorian armor. He was spraying the Back Suns down with his flamethrower, dodging some blaster bolts and letting some plink uselessly off of his armor.
Properly distracted, the rest of the Suns were now perfect prey for Fennec. She lay down on the rafter on her stomach and creeped out over the edge, setting her rifle against her shoulder. She squeezed one, two, three times, and three bodies dropped to the oily ground. The Mandalorian—who Fennec was pretty sure by now was the partner her client had mentioned hiring alongside her—dodged a vibro throwing knife, then returned the favor with a blaster bolt between the eyes to the thrower. Fennec grinned—she couldn’t help but appreciate his craft—then squeezed off several more rounds. Within minutes the Suns were extinct.
The armored man looked up in her direction and offered her a slow salute of sorts. She waved back, though she knew he couldn’t see her. She shimmied backwards across the rafter and eventually made her way to the maintenance ladder and down to the docking bay floor, where her partner was busy fiddling with the comm on his wrist.
“That was some nice shooting,” he said as Fennec approached.
“Same to you. I’m Fennec Shand. I assume your Boba Fett?”
“Yes.”
“Any relation to Jango?” Fennec asked with a disbelieving smirk. Her new partner was competent, sure, but there was no way he wasn’t just borrowing the legendary bounty hunter’s name as an excuse to up his prices.
Boba’s helmeted head just stared at her for a long moment. “I already commed the client to send someone to clean up the mess,” he said, gesturing to the expired Suns behind him and ignoring Fennec’s question. “His son should be here any minute.”
Oh, so that was how this was going to be. That was fine. She could play the cold bitch if that’s the kind of mood he was going for.
“Why does one spoiled kid need two escorts on a quick trip to Alderaan, anyway?” Fennec said, shouldering her rifle and eyeing the large, heavily armored transport they’d be taking.
“You haven’t met the kid yet.”
Fennec held in a laugh, grateful for her restraint when the client in question strolled breezily into the docking bay.
“You’re the two my father hired, right? Great. I’m Srida Atallo—I’m sure you’ve heard of me—and as long as you do whatever I say I’m sure we’ll get along just fine,” the man said, and Fennec rolled her eyes from behind the closed visor of her helmet.
Boba Fett had a similar reaction, sighing through his helmet, grabbing the kid by the back of his shirt, and hauling him towards the transport. “Your father’s paying us, not you. You do what I say and you’ll get to Alderaan alive.”
“What we say,” Fennec corrected.
Boba looked back over his shoulder at her. “Yeah, sure.”
Fennec followed the two up the gangplank, enjoying the drag of the kid’s expensive boots against the durasteel. He was twenty per the dossier provided by his father, only five years younger than Fennec, but he seemed a child in her eyes.
Immediately cowed by the intensity of his two bodyguards, Srida meekly boarded the transport and buckled into his seat. Fennec knew his silence wouldn’t last—these types always seemed remarkably resilient to character growth—but it was a welcome respite regardless.
She sat next to Boba in the copilot’s seat, taking off her helmet and folding her arms as she sank into the stiff cushions. He navigated the ship out of port and above the atmosphere, then initiated the hyperspace sequence. Fennec kept her eyes peeled for trouble, but so far so good. It looked like the Black Suns had invested all their effort in the ground assault at the docking bay.
The cobalt glow of hyperspace enveloped the cockpit and Fennec relaxed. There wasn’t much anyone could do to them while they were in hyperspace. She closed her eyes, letting her mind wander to Alderaan and the work she might find once she was done with this little project.
“You with the Guild?” Boba Fett asked.
“Hmm?” Fennec said, stirring.
“The Guild. Are you with the bounty hunter Guild?”
“No. I’m an assassin, not a bounty hunter.”
“Not much of a difference.”
Fennec closed her eyes again, deciding this conversation wasn’t worth seeing. “There is.”
“There isn’t.”
“There is. Bounty hunters chase assassins—bring them in to authorities and such.”
“Only if we’ve decided to take the bounty chit. We’re working together, aren’t we?”
Fennec didn’t say anything. They’d need to cooperate once they came out of hyperspace, but for now there was no reason to talk. Let this “Boba Fett” think what he wanted. It was a shame he wasn’t better with people. She thought they’d fought really well together. But fighting chemistry didn’t always translate to interpersonal relationships, unfortunately.
She settled further into her seat and slowed her breathing, letting her mind empty as she’d done over and over again to calm herself for a shot. Odd how techniques that worked for killing also helped her go to sleep.
“Hey! I need some help back here!”
Fennec woke all at once, but without a start—sudden movements could be deadly in her profession. She looked behind her and found Srida struggling with the harness of his seat, his tan features reddening with effort.
“Are you supposed to protect me or not? Come here immediately!” he said.
Fennec looked sideways at Boba, who stared her down for a moment through his visor before sighing and getting to his feet.
“What is it, kid?” he asked, making his way back to the passenger cabin.
“I’m not a kid! I’m your client! And you’re supposed to protect me!”
“Sure. What is it?”
“I’m getting threats over my datapad. See?”
Fennec watched in amusement as Srida handed Boba his datapad, his many-ringed fingers shaking as he made the transfer. Boba looked the datapad over, grunted, then handed it back.
“Well??” Srida said.
“They can’t get you in hyperspace.”
“We’re coming out of hyperspace! In only a few hours!”
“And that’s why your daddy hired us. We’ll get you to the dropoff point unharmed. Don’t worry.”
“And after that?”
“After that it’s extra.”
Srida glared at Boba from his plush seat, his arms crossed and his shoulders hunched up to his ears. “I’ve never been treated so poorly in my life! I’ll be telling the Guild about that!”
“Tell them whatever you want. I’m not a member.”
Boba turned on his heel and walked back to the cockpit as Srida sputtered behind him, completely unheeded. He settled back into the pilot’s chair, his helmet facing out the front window and his thoughts a mystery.
Fennec turned her seat back around and eyed him carefully, her eyes narrowing.
“So you’re not a member of the Guild?”
“No,” Boba said.
“Then why did you ask me if I was?”
“Just curious.”
Fennec’s mouth twisted, the enigma before her only growing more unknowable with time. “And why aren’t you a member? You seem proud to be a bounty hunter.”
“The whole concept of a bounty hunter guild is contrary to the nature of bounty hunting. Bounty hunting is solitary. We don’t form clubs.”
“Why wouldn’t you? I have friends in the profession. We don’t spend much time together, but sometimes we compare notes or join up for hits.”
Boba shook his head. “You might fool yourselves for awhile, but we’re all in it for ourselves. Teams don’t work, not in the long run, and partners don’t exist.”
“Well then what the kriff are we?”
His helmet turned towards her and tilted, like he could understand her better from an angle. “We got paid separately. We’re temporarily working towards the same goal, but we are not partners. It’s not possible.”
Fennec huffed. “Whatever you say, Boba Fett.”
She turned her attention back to the blue of hyperspace and her thoughts back to her next job on Alderaan. Maybe she’d be able to work with the Pykes, or Kanjiklub. She’d heard they were trying to establish a cell on Alderaan. She didn’t prescribe to Boba Fett’s ridiculous, romanticized interpretation of their work. She was a professional, and she worked with others, trading information, assets, and skills. She had allies, she had contacts, and though she wasn’t naive, she even dared to believe she had friends.
Fennec closed her eyes again and let her breathing slow. She felt bad for Boba, she really did. They’d both chosen a hard life, a life of uncertainty and violence, but at least she knew it wasn’t her against the galaxy.
A few hours later they landed and, with careful planning and vigilance, delivered Srida to his handlers in an empty warehouse in the industrial district. The chief bodyguard handed Fennec and Boba their credits, then turned back to Srida with a world weary sigh and led him out of the warehouse. Boba and Fennec exited the warehouse onto a long, dingy alley. Fennec turned right, Boba turned left, and neither of them looked back.
Ten Years Later
Boba didn’t really like being on Jabba’s retainer, but the overgrown slug paid well and there weren’t a lot of other steady clients right now besides the Empire. Boba wasn’t above working for the Empire but he preferred not to when possible. The Empire might have a new paint job and different titles, but they were still the same Republic that had beheaded his father like barbarians as soon as he wasn’t useful to them.
He walked down the stairs and into Jabba’s audience chamber, helmet on and hand on blaster, as always. Jabba had summoned him, a not uncommon occurrence, but an event that still warranted caution. The old Hutt was famously fickle and had a taste for the macabre.
“Ahh, the mighty Boba Fett,” Jabba said, his Huttese lazy and slurring. “What would your father think, if he saw you now?”
Boba’s fingers tightened ever so slightly around his blaster, the only sign he allowed that Jabba’s taunts affected him. “Probably that I’m making a living.”
Jabba let out a long, bellowing laugh. “Fair enough! I want you to show my latest acquisitions around—show them the ropes.”
Jabba gestured with a stubby hand and two women emerged from the shadows, both holding long sniper rifles like they’d been born with their fingers on the trigger. One of them was familiar to Boba, though he couldn’t quite place her.
“As you say, Lord Jabba,” he said, nodding to his new coworkers.
The familiar assassin and her associate—a tall Falleen woman with a long gold headpiece trailing down her back—descended the dais and followed Boba out of the chambers.
“I’m Boba Fett,” Boba said as he walked down the dark halls towards the servants quarters where all of Jabba’s employees and retainers lived. “And you are…” he trailed off, squinting in the dark-haired woman’s direction. “...Shand. Fennec Shand, right?”
The woman nodded, though she looked annoyed for some reason. “Yeah. I remember you, alright.”
That was unsurprising. Boba had a habit of making an impression.
“I’m Drehey. Fennec’s partner,” the Falleen woman said.
“Great. Armory’s down that way,” he said, pointing, “Pick a bunk from the sleeping quarters over there and then do what you like. There are guards for actual patrols—we’re here to keep an eye out for anything strange, look intimidating, and go on special assignments.”
“Are there private rooms? Maybe one we could share?” Drehey asked.
Boba looked back at them, switching from Fennec to Drehey and back, his eyebrows raised. “...There aren’t very many but you can make a request to Bib Fortuna. Add a couple credits to sweeten the deal and you’ll probably get what you want.”
“Got it. I’m gonna go talk to him now. Fen, you want to check out the armory?” Drehey said.
Fennec nodded, and Drehey squeezed her arm before jogging back to Jabba’s audience chambers. Boba watched her go, then continued on towards the armory in silence, trying to remember where exactly he’d met his newest colleague before. They passed by a room where a rich, high-rolling son of a senator who fancied himself a gambler was currently staying, and it came to him.
“That Correlian brat. We escorted him to Alderaan, right?”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “You really barely remember it, don’t you?”
Boba shrugged. “I remember the important things.”
She didn’t seem to like that answer either.
“...So,” Fennec said after they’d passed several corridors. “I thought you said you’d never work with partners.”
Boba snorted softly to himself, Fennec’s question recalling to him their conversation on that escort mission years earlier. He’d been a little di’kut, pretending to stronger opinions than he actually held, but he wasn’t about to admit that now.
“I don’t,” he said. “I’m on Jabba’s retainer but he’s certainly not my partner. And neither are any of his minions.”
Fennec rolled her eyes. They were pretty eyes, Boba noticed. She hadn’t taken her helmet off the last time they’d worked together, so he hadn’t had the opportunity to tell, but she had a deadly beauty about her that was very on-brand for an assassin.
“I see you have no problem working with a partner,” he said.
“Yeah. I trust Drehey. We’re good together.”
“Good for you.”
They walked into the armory and Boba showed her the weapons and munitions available to anyone on Jabba’s payroll. It wasn’t anything particularly impressive—Boba used mostly his own equipment—but it was something. And it was free.
Fennec picked up a thermal detonator and weighed it idly in her hand. “So you’re really old Jango’s son, then?”
“You didn’t believe me before?”
She shrugged, setting the thermal detonator down. “Let’s just say skepticism is healthy in my line of business.”
Boba huffed, though he had to concede it was a fair point. He continued on his tour—through the treasury, past the kitchens, by the guest quarters. Then they met back up with Drehey in the servants quarters, the latter having finagled them a private room.
“Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you around,” Boba said.
“Yeah. Guess so.”
He left them there, without any real destination in mind but ready to be alone.
“Another one on your left!” Fennec’s voice called to Boba through his comm, and he pivoted hard and blocked a swinging vibro-ax attack with his vambrace. The Gamorrean holding the ax roared and swung his blade around for another attack, but Boba drew his blaster and shot him in the chest before he could bring it down.
“Thanks,” he said through the comm to his unseen colleague. She was above them in a sniper’s nest somewhere, picking off the pawns Pazda the Hutt had dispatched to “send his nephew a lesson.”
Boba’s lips curled into a frown. He remembered being counted among those pawns once, when crews he’d joined hadn’t appreciated his talents. Thankfully, Jabba wasn’t the type to throw him away. And if he tried, Boba would just leave.
Two blaster bolts zinged over the comm, and Boba heard the click of Fennec’s sniper rifle. “Got two more.”
“Nice work,” Boba said, meaning it. Fennec was reliable, and having her around made his job a lot easier. It had taken him a while to see it, but after a few months of working together it was undeniable.
“You, too. Though you really shouldn’t keep that silencer on your blaster unless you’re doing stealth work.”
Boba rolled his eyes at her instruction, used to regular “helpful tidbits” regarding weapons maintenance from Jabba’s resident blaster snob. She was right, of course, but that didn’t make it any less annoying.
Boba looked around the courtyard, broken bits of terra cotta still smoking from blaster fire, but didn’t see any more intruders. He made a quick circuit of the plaza, then headed back for the choke point he’d been manning before the angry gang of Gamorreans had set on him.
“Still planning on leaving at the end of the month?” he asked into the comm.
“Yeah. Drehey’s got us a gig on Ord Mantell. Was getting sick of all the sand.”
“Ready to trade it for one giant scrapyard?”
“It’s not all scrapyards.”
“Sure.”
Boba leaned against the wall in the narrow corridor he’d staked out, his eyes barely glancing over the bodies that had piled up along the passageway—more of Pazda’s goons who’d made the mistake of trying to take him on. He stared, unseeing, for a few minutes.
His eyes narrowed as a thought coalesced in his mind and he raised his wrist comm, refusing to think too much about it and just act. “Looking for another partner to join?”
The other end of the line remained quiet for a little too long, and Boba’s lips pursed.
“...Thought you didn’t do partners.”
“We work well together. Working for the Hutt’s getting old.”
“But you’re always in it for yourself, right? That’s what you said.”
Boba’s brow twitched and he shuffled his feet, feeling his defensiveness rise up to meet Fennec’s attack. “That’s right. I’m in it for myself. But two people who are both in it for themselves can still work together if their interests align.”
“Oh, and our interests align?”
“I say they do.”
Fennec scoffed—scoffed—over the line, and Boba shook his head. There was no point in continuing this conversation.
“I think Drehey and I will be just fine by ourselves.”
Boba grunted in response, then shut off the comm. He was pretty sure nobody was left in the attack party, and even if they were he’d have no trouble killing them without Fennec’s warning. She was right, after all. He worked better alone.
A month later Fennec and Drehey left, and nine months after that Han Solo—the idiot—accidentally knocked Boba Fett into the sarlacc pit.
Five Years Later
Cold. She was cold, on Tatooine.
Sithspit, karking, kriffing, banthashit. Fennec didn’t want to die on Tatooine.
A soft sifting of the sand sounded behind her. More kriffing wind, giving her hope. Then the sifting turned to scuffing. Then rough hands grabbed her under her armpits and dragged her away.
“Wha… Where…” she managed to gasp out.
“Save your breath. You’re practically dead.”
Her brows crinkled in concentration as she tried to remember that voice. So familiar…
“...Boba… Fett?”
“Yes, it’s me. Now stop talking if you want to live.”
Fennec closed her eyes and didn’t open them again.
A muffled thud pulled Fennec from unconsciousness and she groaned, feeling strange. She wiggled her toes experimentally—still there. But something felt off. The sensations her nerves sent her from below her waist were different somehow, not bad necessarily, but definitely altered.
The room around her was dusty and small, the ceiling low and the windows barely slits. She wracked her brain to remember how she’d gotten here, but the last thing she could remember was that little bounty hunter shit, strutting around with his blaster as if he knew what he was doing. She couldn’t believe that of all the scrapes she’d gotten into over her long life, he was the one to take her down.
Or… I guess he didn’t take me down, Fennec thought, though she remembered the blaster to the gut quite vividly. How had she survived?
A tall-ish man in a thick brown cloak entered the room, one hand carrying a bowl of soup and the other a gaffi stick. He was completely bald and covered in scars, the angry red merging with a sickly white and what Fennec assumed was his natural tan. He fixed his eyes on her in an intense, focused way, and recognition clicked.
No way…
“You’re up,” he said, his unmistakable lilt confirming her suspicions.
“Boba Fett?”
“Son of Jango Fett, yes.”
She tried to sit up and her stomach crunched. She bent over, gasping in pain, and Boba Fett rushed to her side. To comfort her. Could this day get any stranger?
“You’re still healing,” he said.
Fennec reached a hand down to her abdomen and her fingers touched cold metal, a latticework of pipes and tubes where her guts used to be. “What… what happened to me?”
“Your innards were shot to hell. I managed to put you back together again but it was touch and go.”
Fennec winced, her fingers still exploring unbelievingly. That was the most literal usage of the phrase “put back together,” she’d ever heard.
“Word was you were dead,” she said, too full of questions regarding her bizarre “healing” to actually give voice to any of them.
“I was. Then I escaped.”
“Care to go into any more detail?”
“No.”
Slowly, carefully, Fennec pushed herself to a sitting position. Her stomach creaked and groaned in ways she’d never heard before, but otherwise behaved. She scanned her surroundings again, more carefully this time.
“Where are we? Tatooine?”
“Yes,” Boba said, setting his gaffi stick aside and handing her the soup. “But we won’t be for long. I’ve got a tip on where my armor went, and you’re going to help me get it back.”
“Oh am I?”
“Yes. You ever heard of a life debt?”
Fennec’s wry smile fell, and she nodded solemnly. She and Boba Fett may not have held to exactly the same code, but there were some things all members of the galaxy’s underground understood, and a life debt was one of them.
“Great. Then let’s get to it.”
Fennec sat next to Boba in the miniature armory of the Slave I, both of them polishing their weapons. She glanced over at him as he expertly disassembled a blaster he’d recently purchased. Well, almost expertly.
“The inner barrel detaches, too,” she said, leaning over his handiwork.
“What?”
“That’s the latest MW5 model. They updated the engineering.”
“Oh.”
Boba unscrewed the inner barrel and started polishing it, too. “Still reading through engineering manuals in your spare time, I see.”
“It pays to be particular in my line of work,” she said, turning back to her work. There was a critique in Boba’s words but it lacked any bite, and she didn’t mind. It was nice, having a companion. She was happy with her way of life, but it was often a lonely one. She hadn’t had someone to talk to, compare notes with, or just relax with since Drehey.
“You know who could assemble a blaster faster than anyone I’ve ever seen?” Boba asked, his oil-slick hands wiping lovingly down the barrel.
“Who?”
“Talat.”
“The Twi’lek dancer? From Jabba’s palace?”
“Yeah.”
Fennec recalled the dancer in question. She’d been a lovely shade of green and an excellent dancer. She always managed to make her choreography look classy in spite of the barely-there rags Jabba made her dress in. A friend who’d worked at the palace until Jabba’s death told her Talat had died, too.
“It’s a shame Jabba only ever let her dance. He always did end up wasting so much talent,” she said.
Boba nodded. “Definitely. You, me, Talat. He barely ever had us do anything but act as window dressing.”
“Oh, you include me? I’m honored to be among such lofty company,” Fennec said.
“Don’t kid yourself, we both know you were one of the best in that wretched hole.”
Fennec allowed herself a small smile as she clicked the last piece of her rifle back in. Boba didn’t often give compliments.
“What happened to Drehey, anyway?” Boba asked.
Fennec’s smile fell as she recalled her last conversation with her former partner. Her former more-than-partner. I’m done, Fennec. Now go before I start to hate the sight of you.
“It worked for a while, then it didn’t,” she said.
Her fingers tightened around her rifle as she braced for Boba’s response, something along the lines of I told you so.
“I’m sorry,” he said instead.
Fennec turned her head towards him, eyebrows raised. “‘Sorry?’ That’s not what you would have said to me when we first met.”
He shrugged. “That was fifteen years ago. I was an idiot.”
Fennec barked out a surprised laugh. “Yes, we both were I think.”
“You have never been an idiot. A cold bitch, maybe, but never an idiot.”
Heat creeped up her neck and Fennec bit the insides of her cheeks, turning away from him to put her rifle away. “How far are we from Tython?”
Boba checked a display on his vambrace. “About an hour.”
“I’m gonna suit up and get ready. I know better than to try to negotiate with a Mandalorian unarmed.”
“I’ve taught you well.”
“Oh, Boba. It was you along with every other Mandalorian I’ve ever met who taught me that.”
Somehow Fennec was back on Tatooine again, but this time on her own terms. She was Boba’s right hand man as he ruled from the throne he used to serve, enforcing laws on a lawless planet, creating order from chaos, and profiting in the process, of course.
Fennec was used to being an outsider. She was comfortable with not belonging. But now she felt like she’d found her place for the first time in her harsh, brutal life, and it felt nice. She’d never liked the spotlight, so standing at Boba’s left side was fine by her. It was she who suggested organizing the moisture collective, she who facilitated the import of off-planet produce, she who took out their enemies if they got too full of themselves. Boba trusted her, Boba listened to her, and together they were succeeding.
Fennec idly watched Boba, Braithe Darklighter, and Qello Roben play sabacc as she leaned against the wall in the corner of Boba’s study. She didn’t much like games of chance but it could be fun to watch the theater unfold. Braithe and Qello both postured, playing for higher stakes than they could afford and keeping their facing stone cold, while Boba exuded that casual confidence that was impossible to fake.
Braithe won the first round, and he leaned back in his seat with his arms behind his head, grinning like he’d bet it all at the pod races and won. He got up to pour himself a drink from the bar, passing Fennec on his way.
“Hey,” he said, leaning into her space and tapping his knuckle under her chin like he’d undoubtedly seen Boba do before. “I’ve got room for a woman of your talents on my team, if you ever feel like Fett here isn’t giving you what you deserve.”
Fennec sneered at him, and was about to give him a piece of her mind when Boba intervened.
“Don’t you dare try to poach my most trusted partner from me right under my nose. She’s too good to even speak to you, Braithe,” Boba said, still leaned back lazily in his chair but with fire in his eyes.
Braithe ignored Boba, eyes still on Fennec. “Well, what do you say?”
“No thanks, Braithe. Just get your drink and enjoy your game.”
“Your loss.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
Braithe went back to the table, now properly hydrated, and the three started the next round. Fennec continued to watch, her mind wandering as the players raised the stakes. Boba obviously had a good hand. He played it confident no matter what the circumstances, but she could sense when he knew he couldn’t lose, whether in a firefight or a card game. It was something in the way he held his shoulders, something in the strength of his stance. She could tell even if he was wearing his helmet.
Qello Roben, a Rodian with a successful string of cantinas in Mos Eisley, shifted in his seat and adjusted his cards, his long pointed mouth quivering. Fennec’s focus narrowed on him, experience alerting her to something off. Underneath the table, the hand that wasn’t holding his cards moved—just an inch or two, but enough for Fennec. She narrowed her eyes, watching carefully, and gave him just a second or two more of benefit of the doubt.
He moved again, and she drew her blaster and fired. His head hit the table with a thump.
Braithe shrieked and Boba—even the mighty Boba—started.
“Wha- wha- what was that for?” Braithe said.
Fennec marched over to the table and pulled the hand still clutching a blaster out from under the table. “He was about to shoot.”
Boba frowned. “It would have been better if you’d just injured him. I’d like to know who sent him.”
“I’m here to protect you, not to play detective.”
The corner of Boba’s mouth turned up and he met her gaze, his eyes warm and knowing. “Fair enough.”
Boba called for one of his servants to dispose of the would-be assassin’s body, and Braithe quickly made his excuses. Fennec and Boba talked with their spymasters about who might have sent the Rodian, and Fennec issued a few instructions for their counterstrike. Then Boba ordered any guests away for the evening, sitting back in his throne with a heavy sigh.
Fennec leaned on one of the broad armrests next to him, her preferred seat if no one else was around. It felt good to save someone’s life for once, even if it had still involved putting a blaster bolt in someone’s head. She looked down at Boba and he smirked back up at her, that rare but oh-so-precious glimmer in his eye.
“That was a good shot, Fen.”
The thought of going to Metalorn to meet with a potential business partner would once have thrilled Boba, but now it just made him tired. He supposed it was all part of getting old. Life on Tatooine was becoming easy, almost domestic, really. He was going soft, and what’s more he wasn’t sure he even minded.
“What wrong?” Fennec asked from the copilot seat next to him.
“Hmm?” he said, hands still on the control sticks even though they were safely in hyperspace.
“You’ve got that pissed off look on your face. Something’s wrong.”
He turned to her, hairless brow raised. “What ‘pissed off look’?”
“You know what I’m talking about. The one you use to get people to leave you alone.”
He considered objecting again, but knew better than to contradict Fennec. She was right, anyway. “I’m just tired. Not really looking forward to meeting this Ruiti Owyang.”
“It’ll be fine,” she said, examining her fingernails. “Kanjiklub gets us cheaper produce and we help keep their money clean. It’s a win-win.”
Boba grunted in response. She was probably right, but lately he’d been feeling like things had been going a little too smoothly. Something was bound to come up, something that would screw up everything. That was simply how his life went.
Several hours later Boba still couldn’t shake that feeling. He walked confidently through one of Kanjiklub’s many nightclubs and to the backroom, not letting any of his trepidation show. A tough-looking Trandoshan manned the door, but let Boba and Fennec through once they gave him the passcode.
Inside, Ruiti Owyang sat at the end of a polished wooden table, looking like a proper businessman with his stiff tunic and winning smile. He was flanked by two guards, another Trandoshan and-
“Drehey?” Fennec said from Boba’s side.
The statuesque Falleen raised her wicked-looking blaster to Fennec in salute and gave her an unfriendly smile.
“Drehey, you know our guests?” Ruiti Owyang said.
“I know Boba Fett, as I told you before. I didn’t know he’d be bringing Fennec Shand.” Drehey said.
“Oh yes, Fennec Shand, the famed assassin,” Ruiti said. “Haven’t heard much from you in a few years, though. Is Tatooine where you’ve been hiding?”
“I haven’t been hiding,” Fennec said cooly. No tension displayed on her face but Boba could practically feel her teeth grinding beside him. This was not good.
“I came here to talk business, Owyang. If you’re not going to show me or my associates any respect then we have nothing else to talk about,” Boba said.
“Oh, please don’t take Drehey’s tough talk the wrong way. It’s how she shows affection! Pease, sit.”
Boba and Fennec cautiously found their seats, Boba staring the Kanjiklub boss down from across the wide divide of the wooden table.
“Well, you know the deal. Good prices on produce in exchange for laundering services. We just need to nail down prices. Amounts,” Boba said.
“I can give you 5% lower prices than you’re getting now. And we’ll send you 50 to 70 million credits a year for cleaning.”
“Make it 10%.”
Ruiti’s shoulders shook in silent laughter and he rocked his head slowly back and forth. “Surely you must be joking.”
“5% lower than the prices I’m getting now is still 10% higher than what you sell this stuff for on this planet. You’ll be sending transports to Tatooine anyway for the credit laundering. Give us 10%.”
Ruiti leaned back in his chair, drawing his mouth to a line as he considered Boba. He looked first to the Trandoshan, then to Drehey. She shook her head.
“You see a problem, Drehey?”
“No good can ever come of dealing with Fennec Shand.”
Fennec tensed beside Boba, and he set his hand on her knee under the table. Settle down.
“Oh?” Ruiti said. “Why do you say that?”
“She always wants more than she’s earned. I learned that the hard way.”
A muscle in the corner of Fennec’s eye twitched and Boba had had enough. Things were going fine on Tatooine without the Kanjiklub deal. He got to his feet.
“An insult to Fennec is an insult to me. It’s clear this isn’t going to work. Thank you for your time, Ruiti, we’ll see ourselves out.”
He tipped his helmet towards Ruiti then stormed from the room, Fennec hot on his heels. No one moved to stop him, so his blaster remained safely in its holster.
“Are you serious, Boba? I can deal with her taunting, it’s fine!” Fennec said, shouting to be heard over the deafening club music.
“We don’t need them. And I won’t work with people who disrespect me, or you,” he said.
They made their way quickly to the loading docks, hoping to get off-planet before Ruiti got any ideas, and Fennec stewed as she buckled into the copilot seat. That was fine. Boba had long since learned to give her her space if she needed to work through something. A handful of Kanjiklub fighters appeared to escort Boba out of atmosphere—just a show of muscle, but annoying nonetheless. Then Boba punched in the coordinates for Tatooine, and they made the jump to hyperspace.
On shorter trips Boba usually liked to stay in the pilot seat, but the emotion emanating from his partner demanded privacy, and she didn’t look like she was going anywhere. He got up and retreated to the passenger deck, sending off a few transmissions to his steward about their early return and checking in on some of his other ventures. After an hour or two, Fennec joined him at the small table—the same table over which his father had taught him holochess many years ago.
She sat down in a pile, her carelessness looking odd on her carefully-honed body. She lay her arms out across the table, palms up, and studied her hands for a long moment. Boba sat back, both looking and not looking at her, and waited.
“I gave her everything,” Fennec said eventually. “I gave her everything, and she dropped me over money, of all things.”
“Money?” Boba asked. Fennec had never told him exactly what had happened with her former partner, but he’d long since guessed that it’d hurt her more than she let on.
“Yeah,” Fennec said dully. “We were partners, we worked together, picked jobs together, split the pay 50/50. I gave up lucrative positions, followed her to backwater skug-holes, even taught her all of my trade secrets. And I didn’t mind it! Because I… Because I thought we were special. I thought we were happy.”
“People like that don’t deserve your loyalty,” Boba said flatly.
“I know that now. But I wasted so much time. I was so naive.”
There was a glimmer in Fennec’s eye, a shimmer of something he’d never seen on her face before. He thought of the yellow paint on his helmet that he’d covered over in red after his return from the dead. Yellow for vengeance. Yellow for righting wrongs.
“Kark her! You are the greatest assassin in the galaxy. You helped me build an empire from the empty sands of Tatooine, you came back from the dead, and you are the only person I’ve ever trusted in this wretched universe.”
Fennec froze, palms still facing upwards, shoulders hunched up by her ears. “You were right. All those years ago. We’re all in it for ourselves, always. I didn’t believe it and I got burned.”
Boba shook his head, hating seeing her like this. Fennec was strong. She was cool and dispassionate. She was always in control. She was his rock, firm and unwavering in the chaos of the Outer Rim. He stood and pulled her to her feet setting his hands on each of her shoulders.
“I said that fifteen years ago, and you’ve since proved me wrong.”
She looked up, a sheen of moisture sparkling in her eyes behind wisps of hair that had escaped her severe braids. “I’m all alone,” she said, voice devoid of emotion.
Boba slid his hands up to her cheeks, cupping her face. “No.”
He brought his forehead to hers in a keldabe kiss, the only sign of physical affection his father had ever shown him.
Fennec closed her eyes, her eyelids squeezing two miserly tears out in narrow tracks down her cheeks. She pressed her forehead against his and clutched at the front of his vest, her fingers digging into the fabric just outside of the armor.
Her breath came out in uneven gasps, and he smoothed his thumbs along the soft skin just under her eyes. She pulled him closer to her by the front of his vest and he let her, feeling her body, both strong and delicate, against his.
Her grip on his vest loosened and her breathing evened out to a steady, ragged rhythm. She laid the palms of her hands flat against his chest and moved them slowly down to the belt at his waist, then back up to his shoulders. Boba’s thoughts fuzzed around the edges, his vision tunneling on her and only her. Her sharp, deadly gaze, her intricately braided her, the mischievous quirk of her lips that had taken him years to learn to read. How had anyone been fool enough to give her up?
Her fingers curled around the nape of his neck and he tilted his face further towards hers, nudging his nose against hers. She opened her mouth and her breath seemed to draw him in, alluring and irresistible as gravity.
He pressed his lips to hers, marveling in their soft warmth. She returned the kiss immediately, pulling him down to her and brushing her tongue with his. Her fingernails scraped against his skin, playing the nerve endings there with sweet torture, and her teeth found his bottom lip.
She was more aggressive than he was used to—more aggressive than he’d thought he liked—but it felt different coming from her. If she’d given him an inch it wouldn’t have felt like Fennec, and there was something very thrilling about it being Fennec. Boba met her with equal enthusiasm, finding his seat again and pulling her onto his lap.
Fennec straddled him, her perfect form hovering over him like a predator with its prey, and he let his hands fall to her thighs, his fingers exploring the hard-earned strength and sinew there. She gasped against his mouth as his hands crept higher up her thighs, then countered by quickly finding the straps to his vest and ripping it off. She attacked his neck, the inviting softness of her lips interspersed by the occasional nip or suck that was just a little too sharp.
Her gloves were already off, but her bulky jacket separated them more than he wanted. Boba grunted in frustration, then pulled back from her just long enough to drag the jacket from her shoulders. With more of her person now available to him, he returned the favor and kissed her neck, taking the time to find the space right under her jaw that made her groan. She rolled her body against his and the intensity of the feeling caused him to start, losing his balance and toppling them both out of the chair.
Fennec lay sprawled out against the deck, her face flushed and her eyes bright, but there was laughter on her lips. She crawled over to him and pulled him to his feet, an awful sort of hope in her expression.
“I think the bunk might work better,” she said.
“...Yeah.”
For the first time in years, Fennec felt whole. That wasn’t to say she wasn’t complete by herself, but there was something special about sharing all her secrets with someone else. There was something special about sharing her secrets with Boba.
She lay in his bunk beside him, her skin hot against his, enjoying the bulk of him taking up oxygen and space. She sighed contentedly and shifted closer to him, her arms wrapping around his broad back. It felt good, to be known.
An alert chimed from the cockpit below, informing them of their impending arrival on Tatooine. Fennec sat up with a groan and started her search for her clothing. It wouldn’t do to let everyone at the palace in on this development in their relationship. She reached for her tunic, which had somehow made its way up near Boba’s head, then stopped short.
Boba lay there, expression blank, staring up at the ceiling. He did not look like someone who’d just had sex with the love of his life. Rather, he looked like someone contemplating all his life decisions. She’d seen that look before, that detachment and indifference.
Fennec’s stomach dropped. For five, terrible seconds, she allowed herself to feel the pain and disappointment. Then she reached for her shirt.
She climbed down from the sleeping quarters and Boba didn’t stop her. She gathered her things and readied for landing, then found her seat in the cockpit. Boba joined her shortly after that, his helmet back on and his demeanor cool. He didn’t say a word.
It was early evening when they landed on the landing pad Boba had built just outside of the old Hutt palace, which suited Fennec just fine. It would help to get a good night’s sleep before she did what she had to do. She walked silently at Boba’s side as they made their way through the palace and to their respective quarters. Boba hadn’t liked the idea of taking up Jabba’s old sumptuous bedroom, so they’d both repurposed one of the nicer guest bedrooms to serve as their own living space. Fennec reached her room first and was about to step through the threshold when she paused. She knew what he was thinking. She knew it. But… just in case…
“Boba?” she asked.
He stopped in the hallway and turned back to her, helmet cocked to the side as if he had no idea what she could possibly want to talk about.
“What happened on our way back from Metalorn. Does this change things?”
He took a while to respond, his blank visor just staring back at her, and Fennec knew she’d been right.
“No. I need you at my right hand, at my service.”
Fennec kept her carefully bland expression in place, inclining her head slightly. “I understand.”
At my service, Fennec thought, recalling the years they’d spent together, building an empire, watching each others’ backs, learning each other's vulnerabilities and strengths. At my service. What a load of banthashit.
The next morning she woke early, collected her favorite things from the armory, and found Boba eating breakfast in his study.
“I saved your life over that sabacc game,” she said, hand on the strap of the bag around her shoulder.
Boba looked up from his meal, his brows furrowed. “Yes?”
“And that other time, with the Trandoshan merc. And the assassin droid.”
“Fen, can you get to the point?”
“The life debt has been repaid. Multiple times over. I’m leaving.”
Boba’s eyes widened just a fraction, his expression freezing in place. “Fen, don’t go.”
“Are you ordering me?”
“No, I’m asking.”
Fennec’s grip tightened on her bag, her eyes flashing. “Oh, so now you’re asking? When it’s convenient I’m your partner, when it’s convenient I’m your servant, when it’s convenient I’m your lover.”
Boba got to his feet, his temper rising to meet hers. “You said last night you understood.”
“Yeah, I understand all right. Look, it worked until it didn’t. I’m leaving.”
“No, please- Fennec please,” Boba said, stepping to her and grabbing her by the wrist.
She looked down at the offending hand, then sent Boba her most lethal glare. He let her wrist drop. She’d never heard him apologize before, but she didn’t care. Apologies weren’t going to change what he’d done. Apologies weren’t going to change the way she felt and the way he obviously didn’t.
“Goodbye,” she said, sparing him one last glance before leaving the study.
Boba Fett had made mistakes before, but nothing quite on this scale. He’d kriffed up. He had royally, galactically, cosmically kriffed up. And what’s more, he still wasn’t quite sure if his mistake had been suggesting his night with Fennec hadn’t meant anything or sleeping with her in the first place.
Well. Mistakes had been made, and there was nothing he could do about it. He’d gotten along just fine before Fennec and he’d survive after her, too. What else was he supposed to do? Go begging after her on hands and knees? That was no way for a Fett to live.
Slowly but surely, life returned to normal at the old Hutt palace. The moisture trade flourished, Boba made a killing consolidating the import business, and he went back to raking in profits, intimidating his enemies, and rewarding his friends. Life was good, and he hated it.
A few months after Fennec’s departure some pretender from one of the Pyke Syndicate’s punier branches tried to kill him. The pathetic Twi’lek tried to poison Boba’s drink, so Boba had him frozen in carbonite and mounted on his wall. He planned to unfreeze him eventually, but messages had to be sent.
The man wouldn’t have gotten nearly so close if Fennec had been there. Boba had hired the best for his security staff, but everyone knew that those who were truly the best weren’t always for hire. The day after the assassination attempt, Boba ignored his security chief’s warnings and took a speeder out to the Pit of Carkoon.
The first of the suns had already set, and the dunes were bathed in an orange-pink glow. Those were the colors that had greeted him when he’d first escaped the sarlacc’s caustic gut. He would never forget it.
Boba parked the speeder and trudged over to the rim of the pit, sitting down in the loose sand and leaning against his knees as he overlooked the sarlacc’s former home. Sarlaccs took a long time to compose, so bits and pieces of its rotting flesh still clung to the carapace still visible inside the pit, his largest and deadliest demon slain. It had been hell to get out, but it had made him stronger. It had made him into a new man.
Boba closed his eyes, remembering the deathly pallor of Fennec’s face as he dragged her to his hut following her fatal wound. She, too, had faced death and spat in its face. She, too, had learned to live a second life. As the second sun sank behind a distant dune, clarity settled on Boba’s mind. He understood Fennec Shand better than anyone else in the universe, and she was perhaps the only person in the universe who knew him.
If there was one thing Boba knew about Fennec it was that she could hold a grudge, but Boba Fett was tougher than beskar and more stubborn than a sarlacc. If anyone could win her forgiveness, it would be him.
He started with a simple transmission. Need to talk. Please respond. There was no response.
It was possible his contact info was off, but he was pretty confident his sources were right. Fennec had set up shop as a freelancer on Corellia, her old stomping grounds from over a decade before. She’d never lost her reputation during their years together, but since striking out on her own she’d made some waves. Only in the right places, of course. It wouldn’t do for an assassin’s skills to be too widely appreciated.
He sent another transmission a few weeks later. Hope you’re well. Come visit at your leisure. No response.
The next one was more desperate. I can come see you if that’s easier. Still no response.
The messages got worse and worse from there.
I’ll be on Corellia next week. Let’s meet up.
I heard about the Trenton hit. Nice work.
Please, Fennec, just send me a transmission back.
That last one, the most humiliating and debasing of all, finally got a response. Just one line, but better than nothing.
I’m doing fine.
Boba set his transceiver down with a huff. He’d told himself all he wanted was a response, but now that it was here it was so dissatisfying. But it was more than just a simple response. It was a sign that Fennec was at least somewhat open to him. It was a sign that he needed to make his case one last time, and let the chips fall where they may.
He hired her. It was the best way he could think of to get ahold of her, though it was perhaps a little dishonest to use a false name when he set up the meeting to discuss the job. Boba didn’t think Fennec would mind, though. They were neither of them above using deceit to complete a mission, and if this worked Boba swore he would never lie to her again.
He fiddled nervously with his vambrace as he waited in the private room of the Corellian bar for her. He wasn’t wearing his helmet—somehow it hadn’t felt right—but he did have the rest of his armor on. It was entirely possible her contacts would recognize him and tip her off before she got here, but Boba doubted it. The bar was crowded and was good at keeping its customers secrets—hence the popularity of the space as a neutral ground for meetings between different criminal elements.
The doors hissed open and Fennec walked in, her trademark orange-and-black helmet shut over her face. She stopped as soon as she saw him, her shoulders tensing in a fight-or-flight reflex. At least she didn’t reach for her blaster, Boba thought. That was a good sign.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, stepping just inside the room and shutting the door behind her with an angry slam of her fist.
“Just wanted to talk.”
“I responded to your transmission. What more do you want?”
Boba stood from the table, his hands hanging awkwardly at his side. He closed and opened his fist, forcing himself to look directly into Fennec’s eyes.
“I want to be partners again.”
Fennec’s chin jutted out and she shook her head. “Are you serious right now? This might shock you but I’m not going to just give up my life to be your second-in-command. It doesn’t work this way.”
She turned to leave, and the truth just blurted out of Boba, unstoppable as the tides.
“I love you,” he said.
She stopped in her tracks. “What did you say?”
Boba pursed his lips, not eager to repeat himself. She turned, an eyebrow raised expectantly at him, and he sighed. If all it would take was saying it again, it was a small price to pay.
“I love you.”
Fennec’s gaze softened, and her chin quivered just a hair before she set her jaw. She crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side. “How do I know you’ll still feel this way tomorrow? How do I know any of your feelings last longer than a night?”
Boba flinched, the dig burning more than a blaster bolt. He couldn’t fault her for her cynicism, though—he’d probably infected her with it himself over their long years together. He braced himself, recalling all the revelations he’d unearthed back on Tatooine, staring at the sunset over the sarlacc pit. The location of his resurrection.
“You’re the best shot in the galaxy,” he said, starting with the easiest things. “You’re the only one who can tell when I’m bluffing at sabacc. I don’t need to watch my back with you. You always polish your rifle in that precise order that drives me crazy but really is the best way to do it. You know…” Boba’s tongue tripped on his words. He couldn’t remember having spoken this many words in a row since he was a boy, asking his father questions aboard the Slave I. “You know what it’s like to struggle to survive, to be alone. You’re the only person in the galaxy who’s ever made me feel like maybe I didn’t have to be alone.”
Fennec maintained her stone-faced composure, but Boba could see the facade slipping in the way her toe tapped nervously, in the tiny fold under her lip where her tooth bit down. “And what’s that all supposed to prove?”
“That I love you. And I don’t want to be alone a minute longer.”
Fennec’s eyes grew glassy and she squeezed them shut, her head shaking slowly back and forth. “I hate you. I really do. But I love you, too, so I think I might be stuck with you.”
Boba pulled her to him and she came eagerly into his arms, her mouth finding his. He held her tight against him, his body recognizing the piece of him that had been missing these past months. Her touch thrilled him, but no longer filled him with a nervous sense of impending loss like before. She was here, he was here, and neither of them was going anywhere without the other.
The pounding music of the club eventually invaded their bliss, and Fennec pulled back.
“When we go back to Tatooine what will I be?” she said. “Your second-in-command with benefits?”
Boba laughed, a full-throated laugh bubbling up from some place of inner joy he had thought long dead. “Fen, you’re coming back to Tatooine as my Queen.”