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molluskwritesfic · 4 years

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Where the Roses Grow Chapter Three

The compound on Arvala-7 didn’t house one bounty, but two. Elsi Nokk is an enslaved nanny with more than a few tricks up her sleeve. She’ll do anything to protect her charge, even if it means standing against - and then with - a certain Mandalorian. Rated M.

@kyjoraven @killtherandomness

This story can be found on Ao3 and Fanfiction.net

CHAPTER WARNINGS: SMUT, slavery and associated themes, anxiety, dissociation, mild language.

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Chapter Three

Elsi woke with a start. The baby was less than an inch from her face. He cooed and grinned toothily, reaching out with his little hand to pat her hair affectionately and showering her face with sand.

She huffed and pushed herself into a sitting position, biting back a groan of effort as her muscles screamed and ached in protest after the full day of grueling activity followed by a night on the unforgiving ground. The sun was just below the horizon, washing the sky in pink and red, promising another hot, cloudless day.

The Mandalorian, of course, was already awake. He sat more or less where he had the night before - his cuirass back in place and in the process of collapsing the little lantern and returning it to his belt. The gash on his arm was still red and the cloth around it stiff with dried blood.

Elsi imagined that, if she were closer, she’d be able to see that the flesh was twisted and singed until sealed. It would leave an ugly scar. But she doubted he cared about something as trivial as appearance.

His helmet tilted up at her. “We need to get moving.”

Elsi dipped her head in acknowledgment, easing herself to her feet and picking up the baby to place him back in the bassinet. The baby grumbled, his ears drooping when it became clear that today was to be another day of riding. He wanted to walk and explore, she was sure. She wasn’t particularly thrilled either.

The Mandalorian stood and shouldered his rifle, but waited while Elsi paused to dig through her russack bag.

She found a strip of fabric that she had been saving in case the baby needed something new made. It was cream colored cotton, thick and tough. She shook it out and wrapped the widest part over the top of her head before tying the ends under her chin - resulting in a makeshift bonnet. Despite having spent the majority of the day before in the shade of the canyons, her cheeks were tight and warm from the sun. The bonnet wasn’t perfect, but she was hopeful that it would at least help a little.

Seeing that she was ready, the Mandalorian gave her a curt nod and led the way farther into the endless expanse of rock and sand.

. ~0~0~0~

The baby wasn’t getting better.

If anything, she worried he was getting worse. All he did was sleep, and it was getting harder and harder to wake him. When he did manage to wake up, he simply gazed at her through lidded, foggy eyes. Sometimes he would whimper or grumble, but otherwise he stayed deathly silent.

Even worse, he wouldn’t eat. Elsi tried everything. Milk. Fruits. Vegetables. Soups. Meats. Grains. She had the best luck with a hearty meat stew made in the house kitchens. When she smeared some of the grease across his lower lip, he stirred just enough to lick it off, then proceeded to swallow down one small chunk of meat and chewed at another for a while before drifting back to sleep with it still between his teeth.

Elsi did absolutely everything she could for him. She dipped a clean cloth in water and wet his lips to try and entice him to drink; she regularly cleaned and medicated his diaper sores; she talked to him; held him in her arms at all times.

Nothing worked. She feared he was slipping away.

With the baby swaddled tightly to her chest in a sling, she brought him with her into the gardens, hoping some sunlight and fresh air would do him good.

They sat together in Elsi’s spot by the stream, basking in a patch of sunlight while Elsi’s nimble fingers worked on mending and patching the holes and worn spots in the baby’s overcoat.

While she worked, her conversation she’d had with her Master earlier that morning rang through her mind:

~0~

“Will he recover?”

“Like I said before: I’m not a doctor.”

“You’ve cared for sick children before.”

“Human children, mostly. Some Devaronians. A few Zygerrians. I’ve never seen anything like him before.”

“But if he was a human child, would you expect him to survive?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Silence fell between them.

She went on. “But he isn’t a human baby. Human babies are relatively fragile when you compare them to other species. He could be stronger.”

“Or weaker.”

“Yes.”

He heaved a sigh. “When will we know for certain?”

“I can’t really say. From experience, though, if he is going to die, it’ll probably happen in the next 24 hours. If he makes it to nightfall tomorrow, I’d say he has a pretty good shot at pulling through.”

~0~

Elsi tied off the thread and snipped it with her tiny sewing scissors. The patch was smooth and almost indistinguishable from the rest of the coat, which had been religiously cleaned and disinfected. It was good work, but there was a certain point where a garment would look worn and ratty no matter how much love her talented hands poured into it.

It would have to do for now. She wasn’t sure if there was any point in going through the trouble of making him an entirely new coat.

Elsi pressed a kiss to the top of his fuzzy head.

“I’ll make you a deal,” she murmured against the wrinkled skin. “Make it, and I’ll make you a dozen new coats. Fine, black market fabrics. The best. People will think you’re the son of a king.”

The baby stayed silent.

~0~0~0~ .

The baby was singing to himself.

It was tuneless, and despite the lack of a pattern or rhythm, it was unmistakably a song.

It was something he did when he was happy, and Elsi couldn’t bear to ask him to stop, especially since it didn’t seem to be bothering the Mandalorian, who was either amused by it or tuning it out.

As long as he wasn’t annoyed, everything was fine.

They walked until the sun burned high above their heads. It was hotter than the day before, but Elsi was feeling decently better after resting, and their little group was able to cover more ground in a shorter amount of time.

The dry flats melded into rocky hills. Elsi’s thighs burned as they picked their way up a particularly steep slope. Her head was down, focusing on placing one foot in front of the other so she didn’t slip on the loose stones, so she didn’t realize that the Mandalorian had stopped until she walked straight into him.

He paid her no mind, taking another step forward and kneeling, swinging the rifle around from his back. Taking the cue, Elsi crouched low beside the bassinet and surveyed the scene before her.

In the valley below sat a great, hulking sandcrawler. Although they were still a fair distance away, Elsi didn’t need the Mandalorian’s scope to recognize Jawas when she saw them. They swarmed the area like termites, picking apart the dried bones of what had once been a ship.

Elsi’s heart sank. She had been banking on the Mandalorian to get them off-world, but now that didn’t seem like it would happen. She was so annoyed that she didn’t feel much in the way of pity when a few of the little menaces vanished in puffs of smoke, meeting their untimely ends at the end of the Mandalorian’s rifle.

The Jawas’ screams of alarm echoed through the air, carried to Elsi’s ears by the scant breeze. They scrambled to return to the safety of their fortress under the inadequate cover fire of the few that had blasters. They were firing at random, so none of the shots came close.

Another disintegrated on the spot.

The crawler roared to life, crushing the little pole structure the scavengers had set up to catalogue the parts as its massive treads churned up the ground beneath it.

The Mandalorian didn’t say anything, but Elsi could see the outrage in the set of the bounty hunter’s shoulders.

Realizing what he was about to do - however illogical she thought it to be - Elsi scooped the baby from his bassinet and held him while the Mandalorian took off down the slope, skidding and sliding on the loose dirt and sprinting headlong after the crawling fortress, the now-empty bassinet trailing behind.

Elsi patted the baby’s back. Together, they watched as the crawler ate up the distance until both it - and the Mandalorian - disappeared from sight.

The baby tilted his face up at her and chirped. A question.

“No idea,” Elsi sighed, more to herself than to him. “He’s crazy-crazy, huh?”

The baby waggled his ears like he understood.

~0~0~0~ . . ~0~0~0~

Elsi sat on the open ramp of the Mandalorian’s ship, watching as the baby shuffled around the wreckage, hunting for bugs. He caught one every now and then, and Elsi’s stomach turned uncomfortably every time he popped up with one in his mouth, and again when he crunched it between his teeth.

She had no idea if the bizarre little creature’s choice in snacks was good for him or not, but was willing to assume that it was probably fine. He’d eaten much, much worse than a few beetles and never seemed to suffer any ill effects.

The time he ate a baby snake was probably the worst - to her, if not to him. Just thinking about it still made bile rise in her throat. It had been small; nose to tail, the length of a human palm. The child had held it up in his tiny three fingered hand… crunched its skull between his teeth…

Down it went, slurped down like a noodle, still wiggling in its death throes.

Elsi had been too horrified to stop him. By the time she realized what was happening, the snake was gone and the baby was grinning up at her with all the innocence of a cherub that hadn’t just killed and eaten something that probably should not have been.

She’d panicked, worried that it had been venomous and would bite him or something on the way down. But nothing ever came of it.

It was times like that she wished she knew at least something about his species - at least whether or not his choice in diet was normal.

She shook those thoughts away, instead forcing a smile when the baby toddled up to her, waving a rather large winged bug around in his fist for her approval.

“Good job!” She praised, though her smile transformed into a grimace when the half-dead insect met the same untimely end as the dozen or so others the baby had consumed in the last half hour.

The Mandalorian had been gone a while. Elsi was starting to worry. They were already screwed without a ship, but she was hopeful that the bounty hunter would have a better idea than ‘wander around in the desert and hope you find someone kind enough to take pity.

Which was what Elsi would be forced to resort to, should the Mandalorian get himself killed.

Then again…

More bounty hunters were probably on their way. But relying on them was a gamble. The Mandalorian had made it reasonably clear that he meant to keep them alive, but she knew that there were others who would kill them both to save themselves the trouble.

She could also probably track down the Jawas. Maybe they would be interested in some kind of trade. She didn’t have much to offer, but a ride to the nearest settlement shouldn’t be too much to ask. Jawas could be fairly accommodating, if you knew how to get on their good side.

And… well… if the Mandalorian was dead, then she felt that it wasn’t too calloused to bargain with his armor. Needs must, and all. At least a few pieces of it were bound to be real beskar, which would be more than enough to see her and the baby safe passage to civilization - hopefully further - if she could keep at least some from the Jawas. All she would have to do was hope that she found the body before they did…

All those thoughts were dashed when the Mandalorian rounded the end of the hull. She could help but be a little impressed at how quiet his approach had been - she wasn’t easy to sneak up on.

Although still alive, he’d definitely taken a beating. He was favoring his left leg and carried a stiffness in his back and shoulders - only partially due to frustration.

He said nothing to Elsi when he reached them, his helmet turning briefly to locate the kid before climbing the ramp and vanishing inside what was left of his ship.

Wise from experience, Elsi made sure to stay out of his way. She took the baby a little farther away from the hull, sitting on an empty box and amusing him with his stuffed frog, which had returned with the Mandalorian and bassinet, all the while listening to the distant clangs and curses as the Mandalorian examined the damage firsthand.

It wasn’t pretty. Everything that was worth having was gone. She was by no means an engineer, but she didn’t have to be to know that the vessel wasn’t getting off the ground, let alone off the planet.

She needed to figure out the Mandalorian’s Plan B before coming up with her own.

She was both frustrated and relieved when the Mandalorian finally stomped back down the ramp, still angry, but moving with purpose.

“We need to move,” was the only explanation he offered. His tone was terse. Clipped. Absolutely no room for discussion or questions.

He barely waited for Elsi to put the baby back in the bassinet and shoulder their belongings before he was striding back out into the desert.

The baby groaned, giving voice to the sentiments that Elsi would never dare say out loud.

More walking.

~0~0~0~ . . ~0~0~0~

They arrived just as the last of the sun’s rays were slipping below the horizon. The destination turned out to be a small homestead. It was a meek little farm: moisture collectors, a few of the small rounded patchwork metal huts that could often be found on desert planets, a work shed, and a few paddocks containing some large, bizarre reptilian beasts that Elsi had never seen before.

The walk there had been grueling. Out in the open desert, they hadn’t had the benefit of walking in shaded canyons, and while it was only three, maybe four hours of travel, the Mandalorian hadn’t exactly been accommodating in terms of breaks. The pace he’d set was brisk, and Elsi had gotten the distinct impression that if she was left behind - then that was her problem.

He hadn’t spoken once the entire trip, but that was fine by her. She’d needed to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, anyhow.

The baby, blessedly, had been good. As much as he didn’t like riding, he was content to sit quietly and watch the scenery and - when he got bored with dry, cracked rocks - the Mandalorian, who seemed to be his new role model. He would tilt his little head to survey the landscape as the hunter did, and when there were no behaviors to mimic, he would sit and watch, his eyes moving with the sway of the Mandalorian’s cloak.

The little traitor.

Under different circumstances, it might’ve been cute. Elsi didn’t see the appeal. But, then again, she hadn’t been asked.

The Mandalorian seemed familiar with the homestead. He didn’t hesitate to stride straight in, bypassing the main hut and making for one of the moisture collectors. Elsi was quick to see why. Up on the collector’s rickety maintenance platform was a short man. He had his back to them, but she assumed that he wasn’t human.

“I thought you were dead,” he addressed the Mandalorian without turning, managing to sound wholly indifferent and paternally disappointed at the same time.

The Mandalorian came to a stop at the base of the collector. The bounty hunter’s helmet tilted, but he didn’t respond.

Elsi stayed to the side and slightly behind - out of the way without hiding, her hands folded politely in front of her and settled her eyes just below the average eyeline - submissive without cowering.

The man turned to level the strange little group with a scowl. He was an Ugnaught, she realized, noting the squat stature, deep set eyes, and somewhat squashed face through the filter of her eyelashes. The Ugnaught’s frown deepened when his eyes flickered across Elsi.

“And you’ve brought another guest,” the Ugnaught added, starting to climb down the ladder to greet them.

“Meeya! Muu? Eh!” The baby, a tad over excited about a toad hopping about the base of the collector, scrambled out of his blankets. He clambered over the edge of the bassinet, much quicker than he had any right to be.

Elsi lunged to catch him, but the Mandalorian was closer and faster. A gloved hand flashed out, snagging the child by the robes the same instant he tumbled into thin air.

The baby dangled there for a moment, suspended by the back of his overcoat. The Mandalorian stared down at him, expressionless mask angled in such a way that it gave the impression of mild bemusement. The baby laughed, clapping his little hands like this was the best game and kicking his feet as if he hoped to swim in midair.

Carefully, the Mandalorian eased him to the ground, making sure to set the little creature on his feet and steadying him when his balance wavered. The baby giggled and waddled after the flopping toad.

The bounty hunter shot her a glance, as if confirming that setting the child down had been the correct thing to do.

Elsi, having regained her composure, remained expressionless as her eyes trailed after her charge. She didn’t trust him to not wander through the wire fence of the nearest pen. Although they looked clumsy, the beasts were big and had the long, jagged teeth of predators. It would take very little for the baby to get crushed underfoot or eaten.

Upon the lack of rebuttal (like she would dare to offer one), the Mandalorian turned his attention to his right vambrace, which had been sparking with electricity off and on throughout the day. It had already been damaged before Elsi had met him, but based on the aggravated way he’d been fiddling with it, she assumed that the jagged, twisted gash in the rust red steel was fairly new.

By that point, the Ugnaught had made it down the ladder. He waddled by, movements stiff with age, bypassing them in favor of adding a bucket of water to the trough just inside the giant reptile’s pen.

The baby was still shuffling after the toad. The Ugnaught looked down at him appraisingly.

“This was what was causing all the fuss?” He scoffed, sounding baffled, but not unkind.

“It’s a child,” the Mandalorian explained offhandedly.

The Ugnaught nodded gravely, looking between the hunter and Elsi. “And its caretaker, I presume.”

Elsi inclined her head to confirm, but stayed silent.

The Ugnaught grunted in acknowledgment before addressing the Mandalorian, passing him a delicate screwdriver for his vambrace. “The bounty you seek is for both child and slave?”

The Mandalorian didn’t look up from his vambrace. “Yes.”

That was news to Elsi. The child was the valuable one, she was just an extra commodity - the thing the child’s new owners decided to buy/appropriate so they didn’t have to care for him themselves. She was useful and convenient, but never valuable enough for any bounty.

“Better to bring them in alive, then.” The Ugnaught concluded. He took a few of his shuffling steps to stand before Elsi.

When he stuck out both of his gloved hands to take hers, Elsi complied just a tad bit too quickly. No hesitation. Instinctual obedience. After doing it, she knew that it was a mistake. The Ugnaught’s eyes glittered knowingly - with sadness and understanding.

She knew what else he saw that others might not. The slight crookedness in her once-straight nose from where it had been broken more than once. The thin, silvery scars around her right eye and cheekbone where a mistress had thrown a broken glass in her face. Her hands, too. They also bore a thin scattering of scars under the thick calluses worn by a lifetime of labor. She knew that if he removed his gloves, his would look the same.

She didn’t like it - being known. It hurt.

The Ugnaught squeezed her hands in what was supposed to be reassurance. She knew he meant well, but Elsi had to grit her teeth to keep from pulling out of his gentle grasp.

“I am Kuiil,” he declared. “You are my guest. Here, you are slave to no one. I have spoken.”

She’d met people like Kuiil before. She appreciated them - the ones who’d made their own freedom. But slavery wasn’t something that could be turned on and off at will. It just was, or wasn’t.

Elsi was saved from having to scrape up a faux heartfelt response by the Mandalorian.

“Hey… is that…”

Elsi whipped around just in time to see the toad go into the baby’s mouth. This time she wasn’t able to mask her distaste as he swallowed it whole, flailing legs and all.

“...normal?” The Mandalorian finished, radiating the disgust that they couldn’t see on his face.

Elsi didn’t stop the sigh that hissed between her teeth. “Yes.”

Kuiil chuffed, waving the scene away. “You will rest here tonight. You are weary from your travels.”

The Mandalorian stabbed at his vambrace with the screwdriver moodily while Elsi went to scoop up the baby. “My ship has been destroyed by Jawas. I’m trapped here.”

Kuiil gestured them along. “Stripped. Jawas steal. They do not destroy.”

“Stripped or destroyed, makes no difference to me,” the hunter groused, ducking into the doorway of the main hut. “They’re protected by the crawling fortress. There’s no way to recover the parts.”

Kuiil’s home was what you expected a desert-dwelling hermit’s space to look like. The ceiling was low, so low that even Elsi had to duck down to keep from banging her head. It was utilitarian and cramped, every available space covered with spare tools and appliances that could prove useful to someone who only had himself to depend upon in the desert. Despite the clutter, everything was neat and organized, and Elsi found it homey.

Elsi ducked in behind the two men, keeping a respectful distance from them both. The baby let out a little trill, full and content in her arms. She hushed him, tucking him against her chest as she took in their new surroundings. The Mandalorian had already moved to sit on a low stool along the wall.

Elsi wavered for a moment, wanting to be out of the way and not take up anyone else’s space. She elected to sit on a storage box a short distance from them, content to rock the dozy baby and listen as the two men continued to talk.

“You can trade.”

“With Jawas? Are you out of your mind?”

“I will take you to them,” the Ugnaught declared, moving to the stove and starting the beginnings of a meal. “I have spoken.”

Elsi actually heard the Mandalorian’s teeth click as he bit back a retort. She knew as well as he did that there weren’t any better alternatives.

Silence fell between them as Kuiil made them a simple, but wholesome meal of porridge and meat. The baby decided that he wasn’t ready to sleep just yet and insisted on being put down. Elsi fetched one of his toys - a length of yarn tied to a small wooden ball - out of her bag and he was happy to sit by her feet and roll it back and forth across the toe of her shoes.

Kuiil served Elsi first, another considerate gesture that made her extremely nervous. She had already been uncomfortable watching their host prepare a meal and doing nothing to help. She hid it the best she could - which was extremely well - thanking him and moving to sit at the small table against the wall.

The Mandalorian didn’t seem to notice or care that he’d been slighted, standing up to accept his meal and taking it with him to the back of the hut, vanishing behind a threadbare curtain that separated the front room from the back.

“Mandalorians value their privacy,” Kuiil commented as he settled across from her at the table.

“Yes,” was all Elsi had to say.

“I’m curious about the child,” he said, direct and to the point. “How is it that he fell into the care of a slave woman?”

Elsi swallowed her food politely before answering. It was both sweet and savory. Absolutely delicious. It had been a long time since she’d eaten anything outside of the ration packs that were thrown in her direction and she had to school herself to keep from scarfing it all down at once.

“The master I was serving was part of an Underworld chain,” she explained, honest but near emotionless. “I was the head-childminder of the household. The child was ill and in need of nursing. When it was time for him to be moved again, I was sold to his next keeper, and so on.”

Kuiil nodded seriously. “I’ve paid out my clan’s dept. I too know what it is to be bartered and sold.” An indentured servant. She wasn’t at all surprised. “What is your name?”

It had been a long time since anyone had asked that. After leaving Lord Burkisn’s household, she hadn’t needed one.

“Elsi Nokk.” It sounded strange to her own ears, like it belonged to someone else.

“Elsi Nokk,” the Ugnaught echoed. “How long have you lived in servitude?”

“Always.”

“Your parents, then, as well?”

“My mother.” Elsi was long past feeling awkward about speaking about her history. It was pathetic, she knew, and it made others uncomfortable. But it was her past, and she didn’t want to live ashamed of her entire life. “I never knew a father.”

“Is your mother still alive?”

“Doubtful.” In truth, her mother was long dead. There were channels through which slaves could communicate. Elsi had used them when she was in her teens - hoping to locate her long-lost mother, only to find heartbreak.

“You don’t know?”

She did, but she didn’t really want to talk about it. “We were separated when I was small.”

“How many masters have you served?” Even though she didn’t mind being asked such questions, she felt that Kuiil was leading up to something. Trying to make a point, one that was important enough for him to have forgotten about his porridge, which was growing cold.

“Many.”

Kuiil nodded again. Dead serious. “And what master do you now serve?”

There it was. It was the same question that had been nagging at the back of her head since they’d left the compound.

The answer? The Mandalorian. He had her fob.

Technically.

But Elsi sensed that that answer was the wrong one. She hadn’t missed the way the bounty hunter acted around her. He would scarcely look her in the eye. Wouldn’t address her unless absolutely necessary.

She made him uncomfortable.

He would never claim a slave.

The other technical answer? Whoever the Mandalorian was delivering them to. But that wasn’t solid, either. It was doubtful that they were necessarily expecting a slave to be delivered. She was a fairly pricey utility, but not near expensive enough to negate hiring a bounty hunter to find her, especially not a Mandalorian.

No. They wanted the child and his caretaker. Not a slave.

Kuiil wouldn't be asking that question if he hadn’t already weighed all the available options. She didn’t doubt that he’d come to the same conclusions she had.

The Ugnaught was waiting for her answer so he could pick apart her train of thought - to push her to make a bid for freedom.

She wanted to scream at him. Wanted to tell him that it didn’t matter whether she wore a collar or not, because her fate was the same - care for the baby. His captors would be hers - slave or not - and he shouldn’t dangle the concept of pseudo-freedom over her head.

She’d done the mental math during the walk across the desert. After considering the things she’d overhead in Lord Burkisn’s house and the things she’d learned since, she had a pretty good idea of who wanted the baby.

Everyone was a slave in the eyes of Imps.

But she didn’t say any of this, of course. She stayed honest, though, both to herself and the kind Ugnaught.

“I’m the child’s caretaker,” she said evenly. “I go where he goes.”

The baby sat his butt down heavily on her foot. He leaned back against her leg, rubbing his face into her skirt and cooing. It was almost time for bed.

Kuiil grunted, but it was hard to tell if it was in disappointment, aggravation, or something else entirely. Instead of pressing the point, he nodded to her now empty bowl.

“You are finished,” he narrated, sticking his hand out for the dish. “I will clean it. You will tidy yourself and your child in the bathhouse. Then you will rest.”

“Please,” Elsi added as she stood, mindful of the sleepy toddler still attached to her ankle. “Allow me to tidy away the meals. You’ve been such a gracious host.”

“You are my guest. I have spoken.”

That ended that. She’d wanted to argue, and if it wasn’t for the exhaustion creeping in her bones, she might have. Another time, maybe. Instead, she took directions to the bathhouse and picked up the baby, who squeaked and buried his little face in her neck.

Night had fallen across the desert, velvet and deep. Stars glistened overhead like ice crystals. The security lights were warm and soft, but lit the homestead well enough to see where everything was. The giant reptiles snuffled around in their pen, no more than great shadows hulking in the dark.

The bathhouse was exactly that - a shed with a tub sized basin, a sink, a sonic shower, a vac-tube, and an overhead faucet for showers.

Elsi couldn’t make herself use enough of Kuiil’s limited water supply to take a bath or a water shower, so she placed the baby on the counter beside the sink while she stripped and allowed herself to stand under the sonic shower just long enough to rid herself of the dirt and sweat of the past two days. The child was sleepy and was content to sit and wait the five or so minutes it took for her to wash and redress.

Then she filled the sink partway with water and bathed the baby. He whined about it quite a bit, but knew better than to fight it.

“I know, baby. I know,” she murmured sympathetically. “You can sleep soon.”

“Eep!”

“That’s not my fault. You could’ve napped today.”

“Merwlp. Muu? Gah!”

“I don’t know. Maybe you can play more tomorrow. We might be traveling again.”

“Eee.”

“Maybe it won’t be too bad. You might see some Jawas.”

“Oohwah. Buurrr!”

“I’m sure Mando will be around. And Kuiil.”

They talked like this a lot. It was as much for the baby’s development as it was for her sanity, as it had been a long time since she’d had anyone else to talk to. She’d missed adult conversation. Perhaps her next talk with Kuiil would be on a more pleasant topic. Maybe she would ask about the giant reptiles...

But for now, baby talk would have to do. Their conversation continued as she finished toweling off his ears and redressed him before stepping out into the night, not letting the rusty metal door bang behind her.

“Mmmwah!”

“Yeah, I saw that toad you ate. It was disgusting.”

“Mmmmm.”

“As long as you liked it. It would’ve been awful if you hadn’t.”

They were rounding the side of the main hut. Elsi froze at the sound of voices drifting through the rounded walls. The tones were tense. Clipped. Elsi held her finger to her lips to silence the child and leaned in to listen. She’d long given up any moral aversion to eavesdropping. To her, it was a survival skill.

“They’re bounties,” the Mandalorian snapped. “It’s a job. I follow the Guild Code.”

“You're a man of honor.” Kuiil tried to placate, but his frustration bled through his words.

“But?”

They were talking about her and the child. She clutched him tighter to her chest and inched forward to peer through one of the foggy glass windows dotting the hut’s patchwork steel walls, using the darkness to her advantage. She could just make out the shapes of the two people inside. The Mandalorian was standing, hunched against the low ceiling with his hands fisted at his sides. Kuiil stood before him, gesturing for emphasis.

It was the tail end of the argument, but there was more than enough left to guess what the rest of it had been.

“You possess a slave.”

“I don’t deal in slaves,” the Mandalorian bit. His shoulders were squared. Offended.

“Is that not her fob attached to your belt?”

The Mandalorian stiffened.

Silence fell, thick as tar and twice as sticky. Elsi’s blood roared in her ears. She was flustered - maybe just a tad bit angry. Kuiil hadn’t been able to convince her to make a bid for her freedom, so he’d taken it upon himself to do it on her behalf.

The Mandalorian’s hand went to his belt. Elsi braced for the pain she intellectually knew wouldn’t come. He held the control fob carefully in his palm, considering it.

When the Mandalorian didn’t fill the silence, the Ugnaught did.

“I assume her previous masters now lie dead in the compound. Deliver her to your client, and she will belong to them,” he elaborated, gentler now, but stern. “Until then, she obeys the one who controls the collar around her neck.”

Another beat passed. The Mandalorian placed the fob gingerly on the table, like it might blow up in his face if he wasn’t careful.

“I… I didn’t…” When the Mandalorian found his voice, it came rough through the vocoder, barely audible through the metal wall. “If I’d realized… It's been two days. I would never...”

Elsi was surprised at how shaken he sounded, but not as surprised as how distant she felt from herself and their conversation. Her emotions didn’t swirl in her gut. They were packed away and thrown out, leaving her fuzzy and numb.

So Kuiil’s next sentence didn’t affect her as much as it should’ve.

“If you have no complaints, I can remove it.”

“Would she then be free?” The Mandalorian asked sharply.

Kuiil picked up the fob with great care, turning it over in his hands and studying it. “I believe that the collar is the only physical bind. But I will ask.”

“Aren’t slaves normally chipped?”

“Many slaves are chipped,” Kuiil explained. “Those who aren’t are often collared. House slaves, mostly - those of wealthy masters who pay to send the slave to conditioning facilities to train them and increase their value. At that point, chips are considered unnecessary.”

If you have to chip your slaves, they haven’t been broken properly.

Elsi shoved her “Councilor’s” cruel voice out of her head. It had been many years, but she could still hear her mocking laugh.

“She’s my bounty, not my slave,” the Mandalorian said firmly. “If you can remove it, feel free to do so.”

She’d heard enough. Elsi was confused. Confused by her own emotions. Confused about why they thought it would make a difference. But most importantly, upset that the conversation and subsequent decision had taken place without her.

Despite her buzzing mind, Elsi knew better than to be caught eavesdropping. Silent as a cat, she slunk back to the bathhouse. She opened the heavy door again, but this time let it close with its full weight. The resulting slam echoed across the small farm. From there, she ambled back across the lot, picking back up her conversation with the baby like the last five or so minutes had never happened.

“Oh, so now you’re not tired?” She asked loudly, layering on the fond annoyance. “Are you gonna keep me up all night?”

It wasn’t an exaggeration. Although he didn’t understand the importance of what they’d overheard, he’d picked up on the intensity and was now wide awake.

He gave her a petulant look that demanded, ‘what did I do?’ “Muuu? Ehh?”

She flashed him a smile and pressed a placating kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll tell you a story first. Will that help?”

“Burrr!”

The Mandalorian ducked out of the hut as they reached the entrance. He stopped in front of them, looming between them and the doorway like a duraplast wall.

Elsi waited, the perfect image of pleasant ignorance while she pretended that she hadn’t heard as much as she had. Her eyes stayed respectfully low even as the baby babbled and reached for the hunter with grabby hands.

The fingers of the Mandalorian’s right hand played at his side. She noted it as a nervous tick. He looked like he wanted to say something.

He didn’t. He gave them a curt nod before walking off in the direction of the bathhouse.

She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Elsi liked Kuiil, but didn’t know if she wanted to face the oncoming conversation alone. Any presence would be welcomed.

The baby burbled up at her, grinning. He would be there for her, at least.

She bounced him for a moment to steady herself before stepping into the hut.

Kuiil was waiting for her. His face was as grumpy as ever, but his eyes sparkled with renewed determination.

“I will remove your collar,” he said, straight to the point. “The Mandalorian has approved. I have spoken.”

. ~0~0~0~

Days had passed with no change. Every night when Elsi tucked her and the child into her bed, she thought the next morning would be the one where she woke to him dead on her chest.

She prepared for it mentally. Ready for the feel of his cold, lifeless flesh against her own skin. For the bitter disappointment and howling grief.

It had happened to her once before. Still and stiff and empty.

Elsi thought it would kill her when it happened again.

This tiny green baby was not her own, but she knew that it’s loss would destroy her regardless.

When the baby’s condition changed, it WAS in the morning, but it wasn’t the change she’d anticipated. She woke up and found herself looking deep into a pair of massive, deep brown eyes.

The baby grinned. He reached out to pat her cheek affectionately. And then he laughed.

It was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.

~0~0~0~ .

The lock on the collar was not complicated - a fact Kuiil reminded her of more than once. All he had to do was trigger the release on the fob and then pick the lock.

Simple.

It still took a few minutes. A few moments after Kuiil had informed her of the decision and caught her up on the things she’d missed while bathing the child, the Mandalorian had reappeared, making Elsi believe that he’d hadn’t really needed to visit the bathhouse and had been lingering outside instead. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to avoid the conversation, though. She wished she could’ve avoided this whole situation altogether.

He made up for it by making himself useful and offering to hold the baby during the procedure. The little goblin stood on his thigh guard, laughing uproariously with the delight of finally being acknowledged by his stoic new friend.

Elsi couldn’t see his face, but she could gather from the Mandalorian’s body language that he was caught somewhere between uncomfortable and charmed.

“Waadar ke'sush',” the Mandalorian told the child when he wouldn’t sit still. “Ibic cuyir jaon'yc par gar buir.”

Elsi wasn’t familiar with the language, but could glean the gentle rebuttal from the tone.

First Kuiil picked apart the fob, checking and double checking for any nasty anti-escape measures. Finding none, he had Elsi sit in one of the low stools while he stood beside her, giving him easy access to the lock.

Elsi could feel the steel pick scraping around against the iron mechanisms. She was being freed, but the only emotions she could find within her were fluttering anxiety and icy dread. She knew how she was supposed to feel, but knowing something didn’t mean shit if it wasn’t true.

Despite her feelings, she didn’t once resist or argue. They were trying to do her a favor. She didn’t want to throw that kindness away. It was also worth mentioning that the Mandalorian and Kuiil were still calling the shots, and if they wanted the collar off, it was coming off.

With a collar, without it, it didn’t make much difference to her. She would still be at the whim of whoever was in possession of the baby. She would still be a slave, by nature if not by name.

Especially if they fell into the hands of the Imps, she would either be recollared or chipped.

Or killed.

But the lessened risk of being electrocuted at a whim sounded nice. So that was something.

She’d worn a collar as long as she could remember. Most slave children that were sent to conditioning were collared at age five, as she had been. After that, the only time she’d been without it were the handful of times where she’d outgrown one and had to get it resized.

Resizings were uneventful. It had been at least two decades since her last one, but she could remember how naked she’d felt without the cold metal band holding her together.

The lock clicked and the collar went slack.

Elsi wondered if she’d feel naked all the time now.

Kuiil carefully maneuvered the metal band from around her neck. She swallowed hiss of pain when the end scraped against the tender flesh beneath.

Then it was gone.

Elsi was free.

It didn’t feel any different.

Kuiil nodded his satisfaction and the Mandalorian dipped his head in what was probably congratulations. They both looked at her expectantly, which only served to vamp up the sensation of being naked by topping it off with feeling like an animal on display.

What was she supposed to do? Did they expect her to laugh? To cry? To run? She wished she knew so that she could distract herself by having a reaction to fake. Her heart was racing, and the only impulse she had was to curl up in a dark corner and hide.

She would never do that, though. She felt vulnerable enough as it was.

Instead, she reached out to take the baby. He went to her gladly. As novel a concept as the Mandalorian was, the child seemed to sense that his caretaker needed the familiarity of him in her arms. He cooed at her softly, one of his little hands coming up to pat the now bare place where her collar had been. The skin was raw and it didn’t feel nice, but she didn’t stop him.

He chirped.

“Yeah, that’s weird, isn’t it?” She murmured quietly, brushing the peach fuzz on his head with her lips. “It is to me, too.”

“You have had a long day,” Kuiil declared, dropping the now useless collar into a box of other junk. “You will rest now. We leave to find the Jawa at first light.”

~0~0~0~ . . ~0~0~0~

In one of the two back rooms within the Ugnaught’s home, Elsi sat on the thin straw-stuffed mattress Kuiil had provided. It was lumpy and the fabric was rough against her skin, but it was eons better than the ground or the stiff mat she’d been allotted by the Nikto.

The Mandalorian had been given a similar sleeping pallet, which he’d picked up and carried to one of the storage huts for the sake of privacy. He probably needed some helmetless time, and Elsi couldn’t find fault in that.

Elsi’s mattress lay on the floor against the wall, wedged in a gap between two shelves. The baby, totally wiped out from the day, finally managed to drift off in her arms. She held him longer than necessary, needing to touch him and know he was okay. She tried placing him in his bassinet twice, only to reopen the shutters because she’d started to panic as soon as they closed and he was hidden from her sight.

He was fine.

He was safe.

She was safe.

Fine? Not so much.

What she was was exhausted, but her mind wouldn’t let her sleep. All of her systems were on high alert and wouldn’t shut down.

The faint lowing of the reptiles outside was too loud, the feeble light from the single lamp too bright.

In the next room, she could hear Kuiil’s slow, steady breaths as he got the rest she so desperately craved.

Elsi twitched when a toad - one that had been lucky enough to avoid the little green predator sleeping in her lap - started to croak somewhere outside.

She fidgeted, rubbing the comatose baby’s ears like a worry stone. All she could think about was the air on her neck. The collar - the thing that had defined her for nearly four decades - sat in a box in the other room, buried under other useless trinkets.

Without it, she felt adrift. Throughout her tumultuous life, it had been her only constant. Her anchor. It wasn’t just metal - it was her. She’d seen it in the mirror as many times as she’d seen her own face. She’d carried its weight, bore the marks that it had carved into her skin, learned to work and fight around the limitations it represented and even turn them to her advantage. Had it all been for nothing?

Elsi was tempted to go and get it from the other room. Maybe if she held it in her hands - placed it under the sack of a pillow - she could sleep.

But, no. She wouldn’t do that.

If she were caught with it… nothing would happen… but she felt that others knew too much about her as it was. Unveiling a weakness was unacceptable.

Trembling, she dug the heel of her palm into her forehead.

There had to be another way.

An idea sparked in the recesses of her whirring mind, bright and shining. It wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had; she was more than aware of all the ways that it could go wrong. But now that her brain had latched onto it, there was no letting go.

She didn’t have much to lose, anyhow.

Elsi placed the sleeping baby into the bassinet, closing the shutters and firmly telling herself that she wouldn’t open them again until morning. Trusting that the baby would sleep until then, she slipped back on her worn shoes and padded silently out of the room.

The night was at its deepest. Cool desert air caressed Elsi’s sunburned cheeks and batted at the loose strands of hair that had fallen out of her braid. The stars were brighter than ever, flourishing with the lack of competition in the moonless sky.

She took a few steps out into the murky shadows of the farm. She paused. Listening.

She had a hunch that she wasn’t the only one that couldn’t sleep.

The faint tinkle of fine metal tools told her that the assumption was correct.

Elsi followed the sound to the Ugnaught’s outdoor workshop. It was a sort of stall of wood and metal with a rusted tin awning to protect the tools and storage containers from the weather.

The Mandalorian stood at the workbench jutting out from the shelves, evidently still trying to salvage some of the connections in his damaged vambrace. He looked up from the sautering tool as she approached.

He didn’t seem bothered by her presence, but he didn’t seem to understand it either.

“The kid?” He asked, indicating the hut with his chin.

“Asleep.” Elsi rubbed her arms to ward off the chill. She wondered if a storm front was on its way. Usually a drop in temperature on Arvala-7 precluded a rainstorm.

The Mandalorian grunted, returning his attention back to his work. “You should be, too.”

“As should you,” she reminded him. It was the first time she’d given him even a hint of attitude beyond compliance. She held her breath to see if he would react.

He didn’t, not really. There was a shift in his shoulders, but it seemed to stem from curiosity.

“I should,” he admitted, his voice low and soft. He nodded at the damaged vambrace. “But I need to get this functioning properly before tomorrow.”

“For the Jawas?”

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I like to be prepared.”

Elsi agreed, but continued to feel him out. She raised an eyebrow. “Then you should prepare for negotiation, not battle.”

His scoff was little more than a burst of static through the vocoder. “You can’t negotiate with Jawas. Not well, at least.”

Elsi fixed him with a deadpan expression.

“Well, your last method was so successful,” she drawled. “I’m not surprised you’re hesitant to try another. Stick with what works, I say.”

There was a beat of silence, followed by another burst of static through his helmet. For a microsecond, she thought she’d annoyed him, but the set of his shoulders had loosened. Amused, then.

He shook his head in good-humored disapproval, dropping the sautering tool back into an open toolbox. Elsi stepped closer, closing the cushion of distance between them. The Mandalorian turned to face her as she entered his space, but his body language told her that she wasn’t unwelcome.

The Mandalorian was about half a head taller than her. The helmet tilted down to look her in the face.

“Why are you out here?” The question was firm, but the tone his deep voice used to ask it was pure velvet.

She blinked up at him with bland innocence. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“So you come to me?” She could practically feel his raised eyebrows. He was world-wise enough to recognize that she had ulterior motives - and enough to probably have a pretty good guess as to what that motive was.

“Yes,” she said simply. She stood close enough to him now that she could feel his warmth radiating from his body..

“To…” He cocked his head. “...chat?”

Laughable. He thought so too. This was the longest conversation they’d had.

But he still didn’t move away. Elsi took it as an invitation.

She placed her hand flat over his abdominals - just below the cuirass. Although there were several layers of thick fabric as well as a Kevlar pad between him and her hand, she could still feel the muscles beneath twitch in response.

With the same amount of innocence, Elsi responded, “Yes.”

The helmet tilted to the side. Intrigued. Her hand wandered lower, tracing the edges of the metal buckle of his utility belt, and then lower still.

He grunted when she pressed against the space between his legs. She watched the helmet closely, checking for any signs of discomfort. His breath had quickened, his chest beginning to heave.

He didn’t ask her to stop.

Elsi palmed him through his pants until she felt his body start to respond. Then she found his zipper, pulling it down slowly for effect.

Once given access, she pushed her fingers through the gap and was pleased with what she found.

He was already half-hard, and his cock twitched as she ran her thumb across the head.

The Mandalorian grunted, shifting his stance almost imperceptibly wider, like he wanted to give her better access, but knew that he probably shouldn’t.

When his hand finally came up to grip her wrist and stall her movements, she started to move away, biting back disappointment.

Except he didn’t let her. He kept her in place, her hand still loosely wrapped around his erection. It took him a moment to find his words, but when he did, it wasn’t to send her away.

“It wouldn’t change anything,” he warned.

Elsi understood what he was trying to say. It was unnecessary, but she appreciated it all the same. She and the child were bounties, and they still would be no matter what.

If he was going to fuck her, it wasn’t going to be under any false pretenses.

She didn’t expect any special treatment to come of this. Not really. It wasn’t what she was after right now, anyway. She wanted the release. To be touched. To forget; even if it was for just a few minutes.

If nothing else, maybe it would at least help her get to sleep.

She held the gaze behind the visor unflinchingly. “I know.”

He cast a look back towards the hut, seeming to pause and listen for any sign of Kuiil or the baby before turning back to face her. “What about—”

“Implant.”

There was a beat of silence; of stillness - save for the heaving of the bounty hunter’s battered cuirass. For that moment, neither of them looked away, pale grey eyes locked on the tinted black T, and vice versa. It was an odd sort of stand off - like two fighters in a cantina, each waiting for the other to draw their weapon - except with very different stakes.

The Mandalorian moved. His hand went to the blaster in its holster and drew it, his gaze never leaving Elsi’s.

She didn’t so much as blink.

Without looking, he dropped the blaster almost carelessly on the workbench, just out of his - and therefore Elsi’s - reach.

Then went his vibroblade. He brought his boot up so he could grab the handle without breaking eye contact. The impeccably polished steel flashed in the light before it too was gently tossed alongside the blaster.

Then his utility belt. There were explosives on it. Tools. Sharp objects. It unbuckled with a soft click before being added to the growing pile, landing with a clatter.

The last to go were his gloves. Elsi watched, intrigued, as he picked them off almost daintily by the orange leather tips, one finger at a time. The hands underneath were large and rough. Strong and naturally tan. Human hands. A small, circular tattoo was etched into the soft flesh beside his thumb in dark ink. Elsi wondered what it meant.

The gloves were tossed away carelessly, and his hands dropped to his sides. Not in an uncertain way. Not hesitant. Just… thoughtful. Non threatening.

The helmet ticked sideways, emphasizing the sentiment.

Double checking.

Elsi’s body language remained open and relaxed. She shifted her weight back a smidge so the edge of the workbench pressed into her lower back. Inviting him closer.

He stepped into her space. The tattooed hand slowly lifted, coming up to her face, knuckles tracing her jaw. Careful. Exploring.

Her chin tilted up, encouraging. He responded by brushing his thumb across her lips. She parted them, let him do it again. Poked out her tongue to taste his skin, then took his thumb playfully between her teeth.

The Mandalorian’s breath seemed to stutter. Emboldened, he closed the remaining distance between them. The metal cuirass pressed flush againt her breasts. His hand wandered down. Down her throat, finding the sweet spots below her ears.

He was VERY good with his hands.

He’d done it like this before.

Elsi wondered how it would feel if he used his mouth - if he’d ever used his mouth like that before. She imagined not.

The Mandalorian hesitated on the rough band of flesh at the base of her throat. The scars were old and deep, twisting the skin into another collar - one that could never be removed.

Elsi knew what it looked like. She’d seen the marks left by over three decades of wearing a collar. Knew it was ugly. When Mandalorian’s thumb brushed delicately across the reddened welts left by yesterday’s electricity, she shifted away, suddenly unreasonably concerned that he would grab her by the collar etched into her flesh and drag her around by it.

The offending hand moved away at once. He didn’t try to touch her there again.

The Mandalorian paused, checking to make sure nothing had changed.

Elsi was tired of waiting. She went back to his cock, this time not hesitating to reach in and free it from where it had been tenting up his pants. She pumped it a few times, but there really was no need. He was ready.

The Mandalorian grunted. His hands flew to her shoulders, gripping her tightly for a moment, seeming torn between pulling her closer and pushing her back.

He settled on pushing her back - back into the table, where he encouraged her to jump so he could lift her onto the work bench. She did, pleased that it was the perfect height to position her hips level with his.

In one fluid motion, the Mandalorian swept the tools on the workbench to the furthest edges of the surface, clearing enough space for her to sit without being perched precariously on the edge.

Elsi spread her legs, and he stepped into the cradle of her body, slipping his hands underneath the hem of her dress to check her readiness - finding the source of her impatience, but not her undergarments, which she’d removed before she left the hut in anticipation of this exact scenario. A growl rumbled in his chest.

That was the end of foreplay.

Finally seeming to understand what she wanted from him, the Mandalorian flipped up her skirt, bunched it at the tops of her thighs, closed the gap between them, and grabbed her by the hips.

Elsi gasped when he pressed his flesh roughly into hers, her hands snapping up to grip the unarmored part of his shoulders. The Mandalorian groaned, using one hand to brace himself against the workbench and the other to hold Elsi in place by tangling in her hair. The moment he was in all the way, he started thrusting.

It wasn’t slow.

It wasn’t gentle.

The Mandalorian was strong, and he had his own frustrations to vent.

His grip on her hair was tight enough to hurt. The sensation was enough to wipe Elsi’s mind blissfully blank.

The only things even remotely worth considering were of the here and now. The slide of his cock. The way he smelled; of dirt and sweat and metal; she buried her face in the fabric covering his collarbones, fascinated by it. The cold press of metal against the side of her head, where his helmet rested - digging in almost painfully as he tried to get closer, get deeper.

She’d never fucked someone while they were helmeted, but couldn’t find cause to complain. It was uniquely erotic. She could hear him - each quiet modulated grunt, pant, and groan - each tiny sound given to her through the cold kiss of steel against her ear.

Really, she liked it. Liked the contrast between the heat of his cock and the chill of the armor. Liked the impersonal aspect of the helmet. Liked how she got goosebumps everywhere her flesh touched metal.

That being said, Elsi’s hands still roved, seeking out all the soft parts of him she could find. The small of his back. Biceps. Buttocks. The back of his neck. Although those places were covered with thick fabric, she dug her fingers in to ensure he felt every bit of it.

He’d groaned his approval of her exploration, so she continued, going as far as placing a bite on the side of his neck. The fabric tasted of sand and sweat, but it was more than worth his reaction.

Suddenly, he pulled out. Before Elsi could protest, he lifted her bodily off the table and flipped her around so that her back pressed hard against the steel covering his chest, then bent her over the edge and carried on with renewed vigor.

The hand that Elsi wasn’t using to brace herself against the bench groped blindly around behind her, jamming her finger against the thigh guard before she found the back of his thigh, which she then gripped tight enough to leave behind bruises.

He was close. The snap of his hips was jagged and cramped. One of his hands went down her front to rub roughly between her legs while the other clutched desperately at one of her breasts.

Her release was quiet, spent by shuddering where she stood trapped between the steel cuirass and wooden table, biting back her cries so they were no more than a few strangled whines and gasps.

He followed soon after. Not remotely loud, but deliciously vocal. His helmet rested heavily against the back of her neck as he gritted his pleasure into the space between her shoulder blades.

They stayed like that for a few minutes. Elsi listened to his modulated breaths, enjoying the weight of him keeping her pinned to the table while he rested against her. The hand that had been groping a breast through fabric dipped down under the neckline and into her bra, where he fondled the flesh beneath almost lazily.

“...you good?” His voice was somehow even more gruff than usual, but in a disheveled way that was undeniably sexy.

Elsi hummed contentedly. Her hands curled around his elbows as she melted back against him. He chuckled breathlessly and nuzzled the front of his helmet against the back of her head, giving her a tight squeeze as he did.

He was soft by the time he finally left her, but even after he’d tucked himself away, he stayed close for another few minutes. The Mandalorian turned her back around and encouraged her to lean against his chest. His strong arms looped around her, taking the time to slowly rub up and down her back and massage her neck with his still-naked fingertips.

She never would’ve pegged him for a cuddler, but here they were.

It was unexpectedly nice - but all things end. The glass of his visor pressed briefly against her cheek, giving her the approximation of a kiss, then he was moving away.

They didn’t exchange any words. There was no need to. When they were done, they went their separate ways - him to the storage shed, her back to the house. No goodbyes. No second glances. No hesitation. Although their brief intimacy had been thoroughly enjoyed by both parties, they were back to their previous relationship of bounty hunter and bounty.

Exactly as it should.

Unbothered, Elsi sneaked back into the house. She checked on the baby and was relieved to find him still asleep. The rush of endorphins had numbed her frayed nerves and the pleasant ache of her core distracted her body from the emptiness around her throat.

Feeling much more grounded, she was finally able to curl up on her makeshift bed and slip into a dreamless sleep.

~0~0~0~ .

*Mando’a Translation: ‘Pay attention. This is important for your mother.’*

#the mandalorian #mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x oc #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x oc #mando x reader #mando x oc

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