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lovelessdagger · 2 years ago

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Starlight - Chapter 37: Where it Began

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC

Rating: Mature

Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Smut

WARNINGS: Explicit Language. Explicit Sexual Content. Talk of Mental Illness.

Words: 10.7k

Summary: If Din couldn’t run away then, he sure as hell can’t now. His dignity is already lost, and he’s proven to be too weak to escape fate.

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Tatooine is hotter than Din remembers, the automatic cooling system of his suit on overdrive. Twin suns beam down at high noon, the public of Mos Espa flocking to shade. His footsteps mark in the sand and Grogu grows restless off the transit in a satchel across his body. Together they make way in the city center, towards a building of scandal and bustling populous. The option had been displayed to meet at a more reasonable and less horrific time of heat. He could never be so kind to himself as to accept.

His company sits at a back table, soiled boots on polished wood, nursing a cup of Maker knows what. “You’re late,” she says. “I was beginning think you bailed.”

“Fennec,” he greets. “You don’t sound too upset by the prospect.”

“I would have chalked it up to divine intervention.”

He glances behind to the entrance. “The Force?”

A pair of Twi’leks approach, offering to clean his helmet. Fennec waves them away and orders another drink. Her stomach, she says, makes alcohol more like a juice. She lives to indulge.

“Why did you agree to come?” She asks.

He chooses not to answer, taking internal inventory of the room. Once deciding it safe, he allows the Child to roam free. He runs to the band, cheering for the attention of the Ortolan. “What is this place?”

“The Sanctuary. I thought it fitting.” She tosses a bag of credits. “I’m hiring you on for a job.”

“A job?”

“Call it a favor if it makes you feel better.”

“Since when do I owe you a favor?”

“Since you left me shot for dead a year ago.”

“It’s been that long?”

She shrugs. “And some change. Say yes, it’s easy money.”

“I thought Fett called the shots. He know you’re here?”

“He does.” Feeling Din’s surprise she adds, “Mostly. It’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.”

He responds, “Not always.”

“In this case it is. Do you remember the Marshal who used Boba’s armor?”

“Course. Cobb Vanth.”

“Are you friendly?”

“I killed a krayt dragon for his people. Planned on leaving the kid in his care if something were to happen so—” his head bobs “—you could say that.”

“How’d you like to pay him a visit?”

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing tragic, don’t worry.” She takes a swig, briefly offering the drink to Din. “All I need is for you to talk to him, do some of that convincing you’re so good at.”

“For?”

“There’s a treaty we need signed with Mos Pelgo—Freetown. Unification is important to Fett. All we ask is they recognize Boba as Daimyo and agree to follow a new constitution of laws.”

“Marshal Vanth’s a smart man,” Din says. “He’s fought hard to keep his people free. Won’t give into city say-so’s.”

“Believe me there are far more benefits than cons. Fett is shockingly well versed in politics. The treaty is brilliant.”

“If it’s so great why do you need me?”

“Because we need this signed, you’re our best shot at getting a yes. This is more than giving Boba more power or tribute. He wants to ensure underworld business stays in the underworld.”

“You’re cleaning up Tatooine?”

“Trying to.”

“How’s that worked out?”

“Well, we killed the Mos Espa mayor a couple months ago. Drove out some Pykes. Stopped a spice trade line. Established land agreements between some Tusken clans. And given the people a fair water tax and management system that is beyond me. We’re getting there.”

“I hate to say I’m impressed.”

“Then say you agree to speak to the Marshal. If he’s as decent of a man as you say, there should be no problem.” Din lends no response, crossing his arms. Fennec leans on her elbows. “What?”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

A smile plays on Fennec’s lips, disguised by another drink. “Here I am thinking you aren’t smart,” she says. “If you agree, you would have to be accompanied by a member of the Fett Gotra.”

Foolishly, Din asks, “Who?” An answer given by Fennec’s wryly smile. “No,” he says. “No, forget it.”

“I wouldn’t have come to you if I had another choice.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re asking me?”

“Yes. I’m asking you to do a job. Take it as just that.”

He grasps for a new excuse. “She’d never agree.”

“She already has,” Fennec says. “Granted I haven’t asked her yet, but she’s on board.” He gives a look. “If you agree, she will be. I know you want to so let’s skip the back and forth.” He swallows thickness, leg bouncing. Fennec stands, shoving the flask in the calf of her boot. She takes her helmet, unnoticed by Din on the ground, pulling it on. “You’re saying yes,” she tells him. “Come to the palace before nightfall. We’ll officialize details and get you briefed.”

‘Fennec…” His words are lost when she looks, though meaning still perpetrates.

“She’s fine. But don’t make me regret this.”

---

Contrary to popular belief, the Mandalorian known as Din Djarin is also fine. He isn’t doing particularly great, but he is fine. He’s okay, and that’s enough. Frankly, okay is the best he’s ever been in these past months. Okay is what lets him sleep at night for a full six hours and okay is what reminds him to eat. Okay means he doesn’t need a sip of alcohol at least twice a day, and maybe he should watch his temper.

So yes, he’s okay.

Frankly he thinks okay is the best he’ll be.

At least for a long while.

Nevarro isn’t shitty anymore, he’s as surprised as anyone else. Din isn’t exactly sure how the money came in or from where, but Karga—now deeming himself High Magistrate—saw to Nevarro’s settlement as a trade anchor and hyper lane port of the Hydian Way. The schools were proper, roads paved, water clean. The town bustles, new homes and land being established every day.

Din is the only one to still find it all insufferable.

He stays off world as much as possible. He never planned on returning at all until word came through about Cara. Greef said he reached out to someone, who reached out to someone, who reached out to someone, who eventually got to Din.

Neither she, Moff Gideon, or the New Republic vessel arrived to Coruscant for deliverance. Three and half months after what Din has only referred to as The Incident, they were found. Stagnant in space, exterior hull destroyed, bodies… A vigil was held with candlelight and Din left when Karga asked if he wanted to say any words.

He didn’t.

Cara was his friend. Now she is dead.

Gideon was his enemy. Now he is dead.

That’s all there is.

Din thought himself changed, arguably for the better. Emotion became too difficult to ignore, compassion bit at his ankles, all he wanted to do was give. Now caring is the least of his worries. Nothing matters. In an objective sense, nothing matters. Din is determined to go about his every day knowing this. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the Empire, the New Republic, the Jedi, or whateverelse there is. He doesn’t care about Nevarro, or Coruscant, or Mandalore. He doesn’t care about his lost ship, he doesn’t care about the stupid sword stuck to his hip. The only thing he can be bothered to give a damn about is the Child.

Din does his best for Grogu. He gets up everyday, he works, he travels, he lives for Grogu. No one else.

He does an okay job at this too.

The parenting thing is… a learning process on his own. The Child, what with his immense powers and inability of speech, makes for an interesting dynamic. Din still isn’t a talker, less now, but he read an article about the importance of enrichment so he tries. He likes to think Grogu appreciates the effort.

They make the best of their nomad life. The kid learns to behave on public transit, Din learns the quickest way to check his weaponry to not hold up a line. Grogu stops fussing when it’s nap time, Din uses the opportunity to have time alone. Grogu uses his magic to eat a frog for lunch, Din builds a fire to camp for the night.

They’re content.

They’re okay.

Sometimes, and only sometimes in the rarest moments of bliss, Din can pretend everything is good and believe it. When he has enough credits to rent a ship for particularly long or dangerous excursion, he can close himself inside the bedchamber and do nothing. He can take off his helmet without paranoia, he can escape to a galaxy where the Razor Crest still exists. Where he doesn’t have a Darksaber or have to worry about an Empire. Where he doesn’t know of the existence of Jedi, or Inquisitors or—

He can pretend nothing changed. He is still who he was at the beginning of the cycle. He’s made no promises, no oaths, he’s not tied to anything or anyone. He’s totally and utterly free.

Din likes the dark. He doesn’t like much at all these days, but he likes the peace of nonexistence. He likes being able to forget, to live without a dragging burden or guilt or shame. He likes not being able to see two inches in front of his face. He likes being able to feel his face. He likes sleeping with his head on a pillow. He likes waking up without a direct stare of himself from the reflection of his helmet. He likes forgetting the helmet exists.

He likes forgetting that he likes forgetting the helmet exists.

The idea complicates things, so he forgets that too.

He is still a Mandalorian. That’s what he tells himself anyways. The helmet is… a technicality, and he convinces himself he never broke Creed to begin with. The Child saw him yes, but Din had also seen the face of his caretaker as a child. Neither of them burst into flames then, they won’t now. Boba Fett is also a Mandalorian whether he admits to such or not. He is born Mandalorian or… created. That alone gives greater credibility than Din has to the people.

He supposes the exposure to Migs Mayfeld was unwarranted. Although, according to New Republic record, Mayfeld is dead. There’s no reason he can’t have died in Din’s recollection either.

All who’s left is…

Din does a remarkable job of moving on. Truth be told, he never thinks of Lumina once. He forgets all about her, every little aspect. The way he should have after the first time. He doesn’t spend nights caught on what ifs or maybes or would’ve could’ve should’ves. He just, forgets. He’s far happier this way, he is. Life is less dramatic, uneventful overall and… a little boring. He blames the unfamiliarity of calm on peace, a stranger to his life for so long.

He isn’t complaining, all it is is a learning curve.

He hadn’t begun to feel anything close to normal until the third month. The first caught him hollow, irritable, angry. He slept and drank and slept and wandered and got into one too many needless fights.

In the second the headaches stopped. He wasn’t angry, he was tired. He felt guilt about everything, about nothing. But all the nothings he shouldn’t feel guilty about and all the everythings he should. He lived in a hole.

On the dawn of the third he decided to live again.

And living is hard.

Living is the most dreadful part of his day.

But it gets easier, somehow.

Easier when he’s occupied, when he’s with the kid, easier as he stops thinking about her.

Forgetting isn’t easy, until it is.

Though, he isn’t sure he likes it.

Within the Sanctuary on Tatooine, the lights of the fresher refuse to work. But every now and then one will flicker and reflect off a piece of armor.

He thinks it is symbolic after all.

---

Peli Motto’s 3-5 hangar is virtually unchanged. A few spare parts have disappeared, a few more having spawned. A small ship of some client taken where the Razor Crest should be. Pit droids scurry like rats, astromechs follow along with aimless direction. Din prefers the sight in the day, illusions remain uncommon.

He’s selfish to expect what he does and too proud to admit it. Everything has been a cyclical repetition so far, how dare it stop now after so much has happened.

He should be greeted with what he expects. It should all play out exactly the same. It has happened once it should happen again.

It does not.

For a moment, Din considers the possibility that he has finally learned.

But moments pass and he is the same.

Maybe he will always be.

“Thank you,” Peli says, leaned against some wall. For the past five hours they’ve worked in relative silence on what Din would classify as a piece of junk. A halfway skeleton of some starfighter from Naboo.

Of course it’s from Naboo.

Din peeks over the defunct astromech port, wrench in hand. “What?”

“Thank you,” she repeats. “She wanted to tell you that.”

“Who?”

“Do you remember that girl that was here way back? The one you kept asking about?”

Yes.

“Not really.”

“She lives here now.” Grogu is the one to react, his play built of nuts and bolts toppling. “Not here, but Mos Espa.”

“Can you hand over a circulator? Uh… three inch circumference.”

“You know, I like her. Comes in to help every now and then, works hard, doesn’t take payment. Used to ask about you.”

“That’s… kind of her. I think the parts are over there if you could just—”

“Lumina Fett. That’s her name. Remember that refugee story? No family, no nothing? Turns out she found em. Her old man came back here and took over Jabba’s place, runs the joint now. Guy with your reputation I’m sure could just… walk right in. Introduce yourself.”

“Why would I do that?”

Peli snorts. “Because you’re as obvious as a rancor. You need an excuse to see her.” She holds out a set of shiny shock absorbers. “And I need this delivered to the palace, they’re for her. Two porgs one stone. C’mon, take it.”

Reluctantly, he does.

“I’m always right,” Peli says, smug.

“What are you talking about?”

“Her. I told you you’d like her, didn’t I?” She bumps his side. “And you do. I can tell. If you didn’t you wouldn’t keep lookin at my door like you’re expecting someone to walk through.”

If only the sand could swallow him whole.

“It’s okay, she likes you too.”

---

Boba Fett is not a man of faith, on the contrary he is far from it. He submits to no man, no god. He has not once fallen to his knees in prayer and has never cursed a deity or power greater than he. The matter is all trivial. Faith did not spare his father and there is no god to thank for his test tube creation. Kaminoans deserve no such honor.

He is without.

Life is simpler this way.

There is no fate, no prophecy, no one way life is meant to be. Life only is. Destiny is but an excuse to alleviate misery. All that happens is of natural effect, not a greater plan. No ineffable strategy.

The Force exists, sure. Boba is in no position to deny the fact. What he is in position to deny however, is its power. It’s ironclad grip on the galaxy, on the living. Power lays in the hands of the creations not the creator.

Every problem has a solution. A perfectly logical, reasonable, and achievable solution. All that is required is patience.

A patience running rather thin.

“My methods are unorthodox but proven in many studies of my people.” A Rodian speaks to him the floor of his throne room within Jabba’s defunct palace. Changes made in the past months have been both minimal and monumental.

“How unorthodox are we talking?” Fennec asks. She sits on the arm of his seat, wiping the tip of her rifle, a performative action.

“There is a creature I possess which I have named Cxhenc, after the philosopher. It is not unlike a leech. You see, the Cxhenc will attach itself to the base of the patient’s skull and in doing so release a chemical—”

“I’ve heard enough,” Boba says. “You may go.”

“Buzz kill,” Fennec mutters at his exit.

“You’re serious? Absolutely not.”

“Don’t you want to know what it does? Could be useful in other cases.”

He thinks it over, she does have a point. She usually does. “We’ll call him,” he decides. “Who’s next?”

“Doctor Shuez Bhilba,” the 8D8 droid introduces, arm out. From the palace steps walks a human female. “Doctor Bhilba holds many degrees from the esteemed Academy of Medicine located in Coruscant. Including human neurological operations and advanced psychologics.”

“Coruscant?” Boba whispers.

“You said to cast a wider net,” Fennec responds.

“Cast wide, not tell the whole galaxy.”

“She knows as much as the rest. Daimyo Fett of Tatooine requires a royal physician. It can’t get worse than a parasitic lobotomy.”

Doctor Bhilba bows, reaching the pair. She wears glasses which slide down the bridge of her nose and a lab coat with a foreign emblem. “Lord Fett,” she says. “It is an honor to meet you. I’ve heard many stories since your come to power.”

“Flattery will get you no where with his lordship,” Fennec scoffs. “Whores are for confidence, jesters for stories. Not doctors.”

“My apologies, I mean no offense. I understand your hesitancy what with my tutelage, however I want to assure I hold no connection to the New Republic or any form of galactic government. My application comes in no way to betray, I promise you. I believe my skills will be of tremendous use.”

“How do you mean?” Boba asks.

“You are Boba Fett,” Bhilba says. “You are a clone, a man who has survived the unlivable, beaten the unbeatable. A man who despite all odds and in mere months establishes himself as a force matched only by Jabba the Hutt with one drastic difference. I’ve seen articles, met with locals. You are in the midst of accomplishing something truly good, truly great. Forgive my saying, but I am shocked you haven’t sought professional psychological aide sooner. It shows your resilience and your keen awareness to be unafraid to ask for help.”

“Hold on,” Fennec says. “Lord Fett does not seek psychological aide. He seeks a physician.”

“Which I too am qualified for, however it does not take even a single doctorate to deduce the true reason for your request of applicants. Great physicians can be found on Tatooine or any world. The reason there has been no hire is a lack of trust in psychology. Bacta heals the body not the brain.”

“She’s good,” Boba mumbles.

“Too good,” Fennec responds. “Doctor Bhilba, do you question Lord Fett’s sanity?”

“Certainly not,” she says. “In fact… I would need clearer consultation, but I classify Lord Fett as being entirely sane. Stressed, anxious slightly, and exhausted, but sane. Am I wrong then in thinking there is perhaps another in need?”

“She is good,” Fennec admits. “Your observations impress the Daimyo.”

“Thank you.”

“This is not to say the imaginary patient does indeed exist.”

“Of course not.”

“Should you however come across a patient with… deep psychological distress, how would you treat them?”

“Deep psychological distress?” She repeats.

“Anxiety, attacks of panic, insomnia, general detachment, paranoia, hallucinations, and being a risk of harm to oneself and others.”

“My,” Doctor Bhilba says. ”And, there is no way for me to meet this… Imaginary patient?”

“Of course not,” Fennec says. “They do not exist.”

“Of course. In any case I would treat them as I would any client. The first few sessions would be spent in simply building trust. Then after assessment I would start medications and general therapy. My goal would be to ensure the patient feel safe above all else. Psychosis can be terrifying, but I’ve treated it many times. There may not always be a cure, but there is always a better.”

“I like you,” Boba says. “I do not like many people.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Should we take you on as the royal physician you will need to relocate permanently,” Fennec says. “And you will be bound to never speak of your work to any being under any circumstance.”

“I understand. I established a very successful practice on my homeworld of Naboo. Leaving would be difficult, but I have an excellent team whom I know will continue to do great things.”

“Naboo?” Boba repeats.

“Yes. I’ve been aide to our queens, common folk, and members of aristocracy since completing my studies.”

“No.”

Doctor Bhilba blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said no. You’re dismissed.”

“Sir I—I’m sorry I don’t understand.”

“Lord Fett has dismissed you,” Fennec says. “Quite kindly might I add. I will not be. Leave.”

Boba slumps against the throne when the doctor is out of sight. “From now on we stick to calls in the Outer Rim.”

“Perhaps we should take a break, just for a short while. She said so herself, the call has been out for some time now, it’s suspicious you’ve found no one.”

“I don’t care if they think I’m mad.”

“You should. Mad kings rarely go down in splendor. Should the people get even an inkling that you are unfit to rule they will revolt. We’ll stop now and revisit later.”

“After last night I don’t know how much longer we can wait.” He sighs. “Gods help us.”

“Lord Fett,” the 8D8 speaks. “There is still one visitor awaiting your audience. Shall I dismiss them?”

“Yes,” he answers. “I’ll see no one else today. Preparations must be made for Freetown.”

“What are the chances I get an exception?” Down the winding steps comes the Mandalorian Din Djarin, beskar shining as bright as a knights. His head bows, fist to his chest.

To note Boba Fett as being a particular fan of Din Djarin may be a gross exaggeration. He does not like the Mandalorian. He does not like his unpainted beskar and how it shifts in the light. Boba does not like his stubbornness or arrogance. For the past few months Boba has been bound to specifically not like Din. It is his duty as caretaker to not like Din, and he does not.

He does however, like the Mandalorian’s dedication. His oath for a Creed Boba could not care for. His gall in ever showing his beskar helm to any of them again. And how absolutely pitiful he looks right now.

That Boba enjoys very much.

“You’re here,” Fennec says. Boba knows her too well now, and so he knows her attempt to mask surprise.

“Not without reason.”

“And…” Boba says. “What would that be?”

The Mandalorian presents open palms, a shock absorber in each. “I have a delivery.”

---

The palace hangar is a large and desolate thing. Fuel canisters litter half empty and half full, the flooring untiled, windows unheard of. What lighting the room has is limited and dimmed, more so casted in shadow than life.

Really it looks more like Peli’s than Peli’s ever did.

A rather unfortunate guarantee in this exact situation.

“You’re just in time. Thanks for coming so last minute.” Comes as he enters, the owner bent over a speeder bike. A girl crouches at the bike, running her hands over the exposed power cell. She whispers, “Let’s see…” The speeder struggles, wheezing for life. It rumbles on the ground, repulser lifters desperately wanting to ignite. Instead, the light above Din flashes.

“Fuck.” She stands, back muscles stretching under a black shirt. “Whatever. Listen, I did everything you said and I’m telling you the shock absorbers the speeder came with can’t handle the new engine. If I don’t have that double padded K2-R, the second I hit top speeds I’m gonna fly right off this thing.”

For the second time in his life, and the first with discontent, the Mandalorian’s heart flutters.

What. The. Fuck.

“I’m not Peli,” he says, an echo of the past.

The other turns quick, nearly breaking their neck in the process. Suspicions confirmed. They’re more than a girl. They’re the reason Din’s brain malfunctions and now the both of them are staring like they’d just seen a ghost.

Ironic.

She has speeder oil smeared across her cheek, her clothing is worn and stained. Her hair loosely tied back, but too short to stay. Curled bangs escape to the front. Her eyes are wide and bright grey under the light. They sit with overwhelming grief and unending exhaustion.

If Din couldn’t run away then, he sure as hell can’t now. His dignity is already lost, and he’s proven to be too weak to escape fate.

That’s the problem with only being okay. Din lies to himself more than anyone else. Because while he can say he’s moved on, life catches up and shows him a mirror. It can bring back every memory he locks away, every feeling he convinced himself didn’t matter and it will only mock his reaction.

Because while Din has forgotten everything and never thinks of Lumina once, he’s also builds exceptions. He’s perfectly fine and okay without her until it rains. He’s okay until he walks through trees. He doesn’t care until he reaches for his knife. Until he gets in bed with all his anger and frustrations. He’s doesn’t think of Lumina once unless he sees a flower. He forgets she exists until he looks at the moon and watches the sunrise and is faced with stars.

Those stupid fucking stars.

Din would give anything to never see one again.

And now there’s one right in front of him. Her. Lumina. His flower. His sun. His star. Looking… utterly terrified.

No one moves. No one speaks.

So Din does the only reasonable thing he can think of.

He says, “Hi.”

And Lumina responds with the only reasonable thing she can think of.

“Hi.”

And so they both find that neither of them are very reasonable people and the mutual action does very little to suppress any panic at all. They continue to stare thinking one may simply disappear or the galaxy will self correct and vanish the other itself.

The galaxy does no such thing.

By this point they should have each learned that the galaxy is as kind as a god. That is to say, not at all.

As it turns out Din is still moronic when it comes to planning. The space between their words are longer than he would prefer but he can’t necessarily blame her.

Not this time.

The light above flickers, and neither flinches.

“What brings you?” She asks.

Nothing. Everything.

“I was in the area… Thought I’d pop by. You’re a mechanic now?” His feet feel heavier than normal, trudging. He places the absorbers on the nearest table, their fall sounding like wrenches.

“I wouldn’t go that far. I help Peli in Mos Eisley where I can, take more off days than I do on.” She slides off thick padded gloves. A bandage wraps her right wrist, ending at her knuckles. Her hands shove deep into the pockets of her pants. “Gives me something to do.”

“Do you like it?”

She shrugs. “Beats calculating water tax.” Her weight shifts, sinking an inch deeper. “Where’s your kid?”

“With Peli,” Din answers, ignoring the pang of it all. “I didn’t know if it’d be good for him. Coming down here. He’s good, really good actually, but—”

“I get it. I wouldn’t bring him either.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You did. It’s okay.” A fluttered chime sounds, echoing against the walls. “That’s dinner.” Lumina wipes oil off her face with a red rag, staining the fabric. “Will you be there?”

“Yes,” he says, sudden and eager. “Dinner.”

“Yes,” she repeats laughing, though the smile is never full. “Dinner.”

---

Din can’t help but wonder whether the circumstances of dinner is a direct dictation of Boba, or rather a natural fall of events. The dining hall is large and undecorated, a long table in the center. One chair sits at the head, another to its right, two to its left. Servant droids deliver the banquet from the kitchen, but Lumina—now cleaned from earlier—sets the table. Glassware, plates, spoons, forks. Fennec places the knives when she enters. Passing Lumina she says, “I’ll take care of clean up tonight,” and doesn’t accept argument.

Boba enters last, helmet removed and held against his hip. His skin is cleared from last they’ve seen of another. Scaring relatively gone, tan returned. He pays Din no mind, which isn’t entirely unexpected. Instead, the newest Daimyo hugs Lumina by the side and kisses the top of her head. Their hushed conversation is one Din can’t make out. The bulk comes from Boba, Lumina nodding along. She speaks thrice, the second after she looks at Din, the third a simple confirmation of whatever it is Boba says.

Lumina sits first then Boba. Him at the head, her the single chair. Fennec takes the left closest to. Din is stiff taking place next to her, the empty seat given with no setting.

Food is passed between the three, Lumina taking the smallest of servings, Boba the largest, Fennec in the middle. The scene feels too intimate for Din’s intrusion. Too nuclear.

“Adi,” Boba says. “Have you finished your bike?”

“Not yet.” She cuts the same piece of meat over and over, pushing it around. “I will tonight.”

“Don’t stay up too late.”

“I know.”

“You go to Freetown in the morning.”

“I know, Boba. I’ll be there. Are the documents ready?”

“The majordomo approved them this afternoon,” Fennec says. “He compliments your skill.”

“Does he still oppose my proposal for an election?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t care for his compliments.” Fennec snorts, Boba shoots her a behave look only a father could master. “I don’t,” she reiterates. “The people need representation and fair council.”

“I agree,” Boba says.

“A new mayor must be selected by those they will run, not us.”

“Adi, I said I agree.”

She slows. “You do?”

“Yes. I do. Fennec has read through your proposal, it’s excellent. The initiative will take time to implement, but your strategy is good.”

Fennec nods, mid bite of a fried porg. “Good job,” she says, mouth full.

Lumina says, “Thank you.”

The table falls into silence again, forks and knives scraping plates, wine pouring into Boba and Fennec’s glasses.

Boba clears his throat. “Din Djarin,” he says. No one misses Lumina’s fork dropping, a loud clink clink clink. “Tell me, how goes the life of the Mand’alor? Fulfilling I hope.”

“I am not Mand’alor,” Din says in his chest. “And I do not plan on becoming.”

“Yet you still carry the Darksaber? Seems counter productive.” He pushes his plate aside, dabbing the corner of his mouth. “Have you given the position any thought before dismissal?”

Din does not answer. He thinks it a growing habit, comfort in the unknown.

“Ad,” Boba says. “I should like the Mand’alor accompany you to Freetown in the morning. It will serve as his first taste of diplomacy. What say you to that?”

She sounds like a child, a quiet, “What?”

“I think it an excellent idea,” Boba continues. “Don’t you agree Mand’alor? Your first taste of politics coming from an expert?”

He wishes he could hesitate. “Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, I would like that.”

“Ad?” She gives no answer, he tries again. “Lumina?”

Her body startles first, then her mind. She sits up impossibly straight. “Yes, yes of course,” she says at once. In her momentary silence, she looks in a daze.

“Lumina,” Fennec says.

She jumps again, standing her chair knocks over. Watching the floor her hands turn to fists. She mumbles, “Excuse me,” and hurries out.

Din’s motion to stand is waved down by Fennec.

“I do hate when you’re right,” Boba says, sipping wine.

“I always am,” she says.

“You may take a plate to the kitchen to eat in privacy,” Boba says to him. “I will have a room prepared for you when you are finished.”

“You said she was fine,” Din tells Fennec.

“You said you were done with her,” she counters. “I guess we both lied.”

“I should talk to her.”

“You will not,” she snorts. “You’ll go to the kitchen and eat your food like a good little Mandalorian. Then you’ll go to bed, get up, go to Freetown, get that treaty signed, and leave. I will talk to Lumina, and you,” she says to Boba, “will reconsider Doctor Bhilba.”

“The answer is no.”

Fennec stands, grabbing a leg of nuna. She takes a bite, juices drip. “Then find your sister.”

---

Lumina resides in the second largest room of the palace. Her walls are circular, the floor a white marble tile. Her door is atypical, a thick curtain on a steel rod, a carried theme to both her closet and fresher. Her bed is larger than necessary and softer than she knows what to do with. The sheets are perfectly steamed to conform to the shape. She thinks it was meant to be Boba’s but bacta does little to heal bones sore with age.

She can’t open her windows, though there are plenty. A desk is littered with paperwork and ink, a small computer terminal, books on books, open, torn, written in. A potted plant, yet to bloom. A map of the known galaxy, pinned to the wall.

She sits in the center of her room on the floor, legs crossed, one bedside lamp dimmed. She stretches out, breathes, and retracts. The motion repeats several times over until the pain of the pull subsides.

Three knocks come at the limestone outside, one right after another. She’s slow to rise, slower to approach. The curtain retreats to the image of the Mandalorian, tall and not so proud.

He says, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep.” Groggy, like he’d just woken up.

She moves aside, an open invitation to which he accepts.

He ends standing where she sat, turning. “It’s nice.” Pointing to a seven-stringed hallikset in the corner. “I didn’t know you played.”

“I didn’t. Boba gave it to me. He says it’s important I have hobbies. I get too caught in my work here, it worries him.” Unsure how to move, Din begins to pace. Looking anywhere feels like an invasion of privacy. “Listen,” Lumina says, sensing the unease. “I want to apologize for earlier. I got overwhelmed, I didn’t mean to cause a scene. Fennec talked it over with me, you coming along… and I agree, I—it would be very beneficial for you to come. I can—” she stops short, a deep exhale passing her lips.

Stepping forward is a guttural response from him.

So is her step back.

Lumina takes the moment to recompose, blinking away the oncoming panic. “You’re welcomed to come along if you wish,” she says. A true diplomat in ways, she passes Din in favor of her desk. “I thought it best if you read over the treaty yourself and then posed questions afterwards rather than my explaining it to you. I write better than I speak.” Instead of handing the datapad to Din directly, she places the tablet on the trunk at the edge of her bed between them. “I’ve met with Marshal Vanth twice before, he is kind, mostly agreeable. With luck the deal will be simple. Now, I know taxes and tributes will be an issue but I’ve commodified some numbers and with the elimination of spice our annual capital growth is already going to shrink horribly and we need to make up losses… What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Din asks. “You’re standing here talking about economics like any of this is normal and all I can think about is why didn’t you tell me? I deserve an answer.”

She whispers, “I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“I said I—”

“I know what you said, I’m asking why. What did I do to make you think you couldn’t tell me? That I would see you any less? I already knew so much about you, or I thought I did. I knew how you grew up, I knew your connections, I knew you could get sick and act differently. I knew you weren’t normal. I knew that and I never held any of it against you. Everyone else called you something, everyone else hated you. I didn’t. So why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I couldn’t,” she replies. “I tried. I tried so many times. Do you think I wanted to betray you? Do you think it was easy for me to lie to you every single day? It was hell. You were so wonderful, even when you were a dick you were a million times better than me. I know that you’re hurt, you have every right to be. But all this anger you’ve had for me for what… four, five months?” She points to herself, jabbing her own chest. “I have had to sit with every day of my life. You always give me shit for leaving but you left! You left! You get to leave, you get to run away and forget. I don’t. So I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I used to kill Jedi when I was teenager. Okay? I’m sorry I didn’t want to ruin the one good thing I’ve had in years.”

“You wouldn’t have ruined anything—”

She laughs, palms pressed to her eyes groaning. “Gods just shut up! Are you kidding? Grogu scared the shit out of you and he’s a baby. You called him dangerous. You wanted to send him away because you couldn’t handle it. Where does that leave me?”

He hesitates. “We would’ve figured it out.”

“Din, I didn’t think you were actually here until Boba said something. Do you know how many doctors they’ve brought for me? There is no figuring this out, this is just who I am.”

Din is too quiet for either of their comforts. He takes the tablet from the bunk, gives it a once over glance. “You wrote this?”

“I did.”

“I think you need to give yourself more credit. Cause you’re a lot more than you think.”

“Maybe.”

“You used to freak out when you thought someone wasn’t real,” Din says. “Why talk to me?”

She shrugs.

“I missed you. A lot has happened. I wanted someone to talk to. Take your pick. Why are you here in the middle of the night?”

He repeats. “Take your pick.”

---

Tatooine is significantly colder at night, moons high in the sky. Lumina and Din exit the palace with relative ease, Gamorrean guards asleep at their post. She wears a cape with a large hood drooped at her neck. They keep a simple distance, sabers on their hips swinging in tandem.

“You once asked if I knew of the Force,” she says. “Do you remember this?”

He does, so he nods. “I do.”

“What do you know of it?”

Within the helmet he frowns. “It’s…” He searches for the words because in truth he does not know. Not really. The definition given to him by Ahsoka feels too textbook and manufactured. Like it were to be given to hundreds so that no further questions may be asked. “It’s… energy, of life.”

She nods once. “Do you know what that means?”

He does not, and admits such. “No.”

“For as long as sentients have existed,” Lumina says. “The Force has been studied. No one knows what it is, not really. It’s everything, and nothing, and it’s everywhere, but also no where. All at once, all of the time.”

“Right,” Din responds curt. “How does that work?”

“Think of it like the air. You can’t see it, but you know its there and sometimes you can feel it. The Force is like that, except it never ceases to exist. Not in space or water or dirt… really it is all of that, except it’s never tangible either. It just is. Does that make sense?”

“I guess.”

“There are two sides, like a moon. Light and dark. The dark is cold, lonely. It’s an infection that feels like it can never be cured. It’s being trapped in a frozen lake wishing for anything to pull yourself out with but nothing is ever within reach. So you get angry, and you hurt. My father—” she says with far greater ease than ever before. “He held so much hurt for all I knew him. He passed his hurt to me, encouraged I grow my own. I am in the dark, I always have been. A Jedi would call me a Sith. I’m not given a choice to disagree.”

“And the light?”

“I wouldn’t know, but I imagine it’s beautiful.”

“So… Moonlight is good?”

“Yeah,” Lumina whispers. “Moonlight is good.”

Lumina takes her lightsaber in her hands, twisting at parts. “This weapon belonged to Ahsoka Tano when she was young. My father trained her before he got sick, and gifted it to me when I came of age. There is a crystal inside which…” She struggles, pulling said crystal out. It’s presented to Din between her thumb and forefinger, a dull red. “Gives the sword its power. We call it kyber. The crystal connects to the Force, we connect to the crystal.”

“Why red?”

“They were blue once, when I got it. My people we… conduct a process called bleeding. This crystal is bled.”

“Ahsoka’s were white.”

“They were,” Lumina confirms. “I don’t know why. I’ve never seen anything like it. Or yours.”

“That’s reassuring,” Din mutters.

“Could mean nothing. The Darksaber is older than the Republic, maybe there were different methods of building back then. Have you tried using it at all?”

“Very little, nothing to count. It’s heavy.”

Lumina reassembles her saber. “Let me see?”

Vertical, the Darksaber ignites, black blade shining. His elbows drop.

“Are you trying to hold it up?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t. You focus on its weight, it will only be heavier. Close your eyes… are they closed?”

Truthfully he answers, “Yes.”

“I want you to breathe, slowly like you’re learning. Pay attention to everything else. The temperature, the smell, the sand, the sky. Relax into all of it.”

Din can’t all together describe the sensation. Not with any hint of accuracy anyways. He worries he does it wrong at first, focused too closely on the ‘other’. His feet, his hands, the weight of his helmet. Her. Gradually the oddness settles and all becomes natural. A wind or a flame, a particle of sand in a greater world. Light.

“What do you call this?”

“Meditation. Technically a Jedi practice but… well I find it helpful. How’s the sword feel?”

“Better.”

Sounds crackle again, he sees a red hue flashing from behind his eyelids and visor. Pressure comes from the sword. He pushes back.

“I want you to remember that when you use this sword, you are using energy. It’s your job to direct with intention. Understand that the currents are a part of you. The kyber wants to connect and you should want to allow it. Think of it as liberation, not a hinderance.”

The pressure vanishes, as does the weight.

Din asks about her wrist, Lumina too caught up in rubbing the wrapped bone to pursue conversation. She blames the sprain on an accidental fall the day prior.

He isn’t sure why he still lets her lie, but it becomes a comfort to them both.

“You’ll like Krrasantan,” Lumina tells him. “Even for a Wookie he’s huge. Scary too, but secretly sensitive. When he found out I used to live with Trandoshans he wouldn’t speak to me for a week.”

“Have you heard from any of them since?” Din asks. “The Trandoshans.”

“I’m not allowed to use the comms,” she says, head shaking. “Fennec monitors my calls. I’m can only call her or Boba when they’re not home. She says it’s a security issue, but I know better. I do miss Sully though… Don’t tell BK. His dad and Boba were friends. Went bounty hunting together a lot actually. ”

“Speaking of, I hear you’re officially a Fett.”

Her head ducks. “Who told?”

“Peli.”

“Of course.”

“So it’s true?”

“It is.” She kicks sand, watching the clump blow into the air. “Fennec introduced me as it once before to the old mayor. I had a meeting with him to discuss the spice trade, he said he’d only talk to Fett. Fennec told him I was his kid and since then it stuck. People talk a lot around here, word spreads. I still can’t tell how Boba feels about it.”

“I’d think he’d be welcoming to you claiming his name.”

“Oh he is. You should see how he lights up when he hears Lady Fett get thrown around the palace.” A smile grows on her the same, the first real one he’s seen since arriving. “I think it suits me well. Lumina Fett. It’s my favorite name I’ve ever had.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“He never claims me as his.” Her brightness dims, pace slowing. “He explicitly says he isn’t my father whenever someone says otherwise. Doesn’t explain why either. Fennec says it makes him feel guilty, whatever that means.”

“So… you guys are what exactly?”

“Family,” Lumina says. “We’re family.”

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Lumina says, their walk to the palace gate cautious in step. “Marshal Dune.”

“How’d you hear?”

To Din’s knowledge word had only been sent to Nevarro by way of Adelphi Ranger, Capitan Carson Teva. The coming and going of Moff Gideon still unknown to the Core, a ‘nonissue’ so to say.

“Boba has access to New Republic channels, not that they know. Remnants from Jabba’s rule, the tech is old but it works. I like to listen when he’s not looking. It’s harder to stay in the loop now that I don’t live in the Core. Boba offered to send something to her family when I told him but…”

“Alderaanian.”

“Yeah. Alderaanaian. I really am sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

They come down the steps into the throne room, empty, unlit. “It is, actually,” Lumina says. “It’s entirely my fault. I failed in killing Ghost, in turn she killed Gideon. She killed your friend. That is my fault, and I am sorry.”

“You’re certain it was her?”

“Who else would have done it? If Gideon were to successfully arrive to the New Republic, who knows what he would have said. What they would have made him say. I’ve already ruined the secret of Inquisitors. The New Republic is a beast in disguise. They wouldn’t rest until he said more. He failed his duty to the Empire, proving himself no longer useful. Killing him was a security measure. I would’ve authorized it myself honestly.”

Din continues to follow Lumina back to her room. He realizes he shouldn’t. Their farewells and goodnights should end now. The night has been long, the morning will be longer.

He does not think himself a man of sound mind.

Lumina pulls back her curtain, leaning in the entryway. “She loved him,” she says, suddenly. “She loved Gideon and she killed him. We grew up together, she spent years looking for me and the moment I turn out to be different, I’m no one.” She takes a breath, leaning her head back. “Gideon was the first person to show her any kind of love, empathy, desire. Whatever you want to call it, that is what he provided her. And she wanted him just the same, and now he is dead, she is missing, I am here. I worry I may have underestimated her.”

“You think she’ll come back?”

“Oh I know she will,” Lumina chuckles, soulless. “The question is when. How. That I’m still working out.”

“I would argue it’s not your problem anymore.”

She walks inside, casually imploring a use of the Force to hang her cloak. “I was the first to come back from the dead. I am still the rightful heir, and I’ve yet to abdicate. I should like to dissolve my inheritance before others are reborn as well. When rooms are crowded, navigation becomes trickier. If the downfall of my father’s empire is not my problem, it is no one’s.”

---

Lumina sits at the top of her bed, Din across on the edge of the mattress. With the Force, she closes her curtain door, hooking it’s fabric latch. “They took out my door a couple days ago.” She calls it a ‘safety issue’, and doesn’t elaborate.

She falls onto her back, he looks up. Unnoticed until now, her painted ceiling. A dark galactic blue, hand drawn thin white lines connecting various dots. Nothing is labeled or really makes logical sense. The image isn’t one Din would recognize.

“Finding a hobby meant I had to try everything at least once,” Lumina says.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. Something.”

“Descriptive.”

“Shut up. It’s a map.”

“To?”

“No clue. I would see it in my dreams a lot, visions I guess. Could be nothing.”

It’s too obvious he struggles with the words. “Do your visions… usually mean nothing?”

She snorts. “My visions usually don’t happen. Not on their own anyways. I’m more of a historian than a psychic.” She sits up, preemptive to his declaration of confusion. “Psychics see the future, I see the past. I touch an object, I see it’s history. Some things more vivid than others. Sight, touch, smell, sound, everything. It’s why hotel beds make me uncomfortable. I’m good at controlling it, but some things just set me off.”

“Your gloves…” he says, a sudden realization.

“Like you said, dirt talks to me,” she chuckles. “And everything else.”

“The clones, on Nevarro. They’re what made you sick.”

“The last time something that bad happened was when I grabbed my dad’s lightsaber as a kid. I was out for a week straight. When memories are sourced from the dark side I go into shock. On Nevarro it was the clones, in Arkanis it was the school. I can’t handle it, so I drop.”

“Shit,” Din swears. “Fuck I’m sorry.”

She ignores this. “I can access memory too,” she says, like the notion has only just to come to her. “In sentients. I can go inside anyones mind and do whatever I want to their consciousness. With Doctor Pershing I… I let him relive memories of his mother. I used to do it with Grogu all the time, let him remember his life before.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not when the other agrees.” He can tell she isn’t totally there, mind wandering. “ It’s totally painless, I’ve been told euphoric.”

“And when they don’t agree?”

“Unbearable. It’s how I would information out of Rebels, Senators. I just—go in. It’s what I did to Gideon…”

“What?”

“It’s what I did to Gideon,” she says again, growing confidence. “I went inside his mind. I took out every memory he had of me. Everything just—I made it all disappear so he couldn’t turn me in. Din, I—I have an idea. And you can say no but… I think I can help you.”

“Help me?” He repeats.

“I can feel your emotions. I know you’re not totally comfortable right now, with me. I understand. You’d rather not be here, you’d rather not see me. I’ve done… irreparable damage to you, your friends, your kid. You never wanted to see me again and now you’re here because Boba and Fennec made you think that’s what you want, right? What if… What if I—What if I made you forget me?”

“I don’t follow.”

“I can access your memories,” Lumina says. “I can alter your memories. The topic is specific enough, I can go in and make it so you’re totally free from me. You’ll never have to think about me again because I won’t exist. Every single thing, as far back as you want to go, can be gone. Everything. You won’t even remember you showed me your face.”

That gets his attention.

“You’d still remember,” he says.

She rubs her wrist. “That can be remedied.”

“What about everything else? I wouldn’t know any of it?”

“If it didn’t involve me, you would. If it did… you have two options. Total erasure, or your memory just gets spotted. You go to Trask, not Arkanis. You lose your ship, the kid, but I’m not there. I’m not saved. You might feel like you’re forgetting something but you’ll never know what. You can leave all of this behind you. Forever.”

Before his conscious can command otherwise, the Mandalorian removes his helmet, dropping the beskar onto the marble floor. Were it a simpler material, it would shatter.

In some ways he’d be better off if it did.

Her shock is the same as the first time, if not greater.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he says. “I need you to look at me when I say this. I am never letting you do anything to control my mind again. Never. Because out of every single thing you’ve done to me, that is the worst. I thought I was going insane. You made me hate you. You made me say a million things I don’t believe, things I still don’t believe.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I thought—”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t think. You don’t think. If you did you would know better. Why the hell would I be here? Why do you think I’m still here? I know you’re not familiar with free will, but I am capable of making my own choices. This is my choice. You are my choice. You have been for a very long time and you’re the only one who can’t see it.”

“I don’t understand. You said—you said we were done before I did anything to you. You said that. You acted on that. I’ve respected that, I always have. I’m trying to help you and—and you’re mad at me.”

“How can I not be mad?”

“How can you? Every good thing I’ve done has been for you. This is a good thing. This is good. I’m letting you let me go. I need you to let me go so I can let you go. I waited for so long for you to change your mind. All I wanted was for you to change your mind and come back. You didn’t. You stayed away and I never blamed you. I’m never going to have a good life. I’m never going to escape this. You can. You have. I want to. If you let me go, if you say you’re finished, I can be too. I want to let you go. I want to know you’re doing good. I can if I know that I’m not hurting you anymore. So stop telling me I’m wrong. I know what I’m doing, I know what I’m asking.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“Why?”

“Because it is impossible, Lumina,” Din snaps, whispered. “You would have to erase every memory I’ve ever had. You would have to kill me. There is not a point of this galaxy that I can go to be free of you. I see you everywhere I am. Every dream. Every sun. Every star. I see you. I want you. I have spent months trying to do nothing but forget you and I cannot. You have put a hunger in me that I cannot feed in your absence. I starve without you. I’ve broken my Creed for you. I’ve yet to face my people due to my own fear. You have made my life a hell worse than any sin I could commit on my own. But that is a hell I would walk a million times over if it meant having you for just a moment. You have never insulted me more than to say I would want otherwise when I want you. I have always wanted you.”

Lumina says nothing at first, until she says everything.

“Do you still love me?”

He does not respond, bringing their lips together.

---

“You’re so handsome,” Lumina whispers. She cradles the side of his face, he keeps her steady on his lap. It’s all hands and mouth, attempts at closeness. His armor is off, placed delicately on the ground. Her shirt hrown somewhere unknown, so is his. He unbuttons her pants but they’ve yet to be removed. “I wanted to tell you then. I couldn’t believe it. I always had an idea, hard not to. But… Stars you’re beautiful Din.”

He tells her to shut up, mumbled into her neck and in-between kisses. He buries himself there, nose pressed to her shoulder at the start of her scar.

“You are,” she says. “I was right. The galaxy wouldn’t know what to do with itself if it got to see you like this all the time.”

He bites her. “Quit.” His chest is too tight, too full. He’d be better off if she killed him now, save the embarrassment.

“How do you say that? Gar mesh’la?”

Din shoves his hand down the front of Lumina’s pants, two fingers going directly inside. Her gasp is silenced, his mouth swallowing the sound, his tongue pushing inside. His fingers hook in a practiced way, pumping in and out.

“I said shut up,” he whispers. “Boba walks in I’m dead.”

“Don’t—Do not talk about Boba right—now.”

There’s pride in Din, knowing she’s just as responsive as she was. Knowing he’s the cause.

He pulls out, the sound making his head spin. Selfishly, he takes time to inspect the mess, a long quiet groan. “Go turn off the lights.”

Her left hand raises above their heads, with a twirl of her wrist the power cuts.

“Gods,” Din mutters. He takes a hold of Lumina’s waist, turning to lay her down. He yanks her pants over the swell of her ass. “This whole fucking time…”

“Lights are new,” she tells him, moving up to assist in the removal. “Can’t control it. Better at turning off. Not good at turning anything on worth shit.”

He grabs her hand, placing it over the warm swell between his legs. He squeezes rough over the fabric saying, “You are.”

She squeaks, “Oh.”

“There she is,” Din whispers. He guides her palm, rubbing slow strokes. “There’s my shy girl.” His other hand unbuttons his pants, shoving them down, pulling himself out. “Used to think it was the other way. Only pretended to be all sweet. ’S the other way isn’t it? You just act scary. Don’t know better.”

“Fuck,” she whispers. “I am scary.”

“Mm yeah…. terrifying.”

“Fuck you.”

He cups her jaw. “I’m trying.” He guides her mouth to his cock, which she accepts graciously. “My pretty girl,” he says, breathless. “Oh my Sarad.”

That gets her, a high whine around Din. Her hand snakes between her legs, rubbing at her clit. Din pulls her off as soon as he notices, which isn’t for some time in his current state.

“No,” he says. “I take care of you. Me.”

She lets him.

Like there was ever an argument not to.

Din lays her down again, mouth following to kiss. He’s never been one to like the taste of himself, but from her mouth it’s all so sweet. His fingers find their way inside again.

“Have you…” he tries to ask, brushing their noses together.

“No,” she answers. “No one. Tried once. Got drunk. Sad. Punched him. Threw up.”

“How far—”

“He kissed me. That’s it. Hated it. Called me a bitch.”

“I’ll kill him.”

“Please,” she moans. Though it could just be so he’d hurry along.

“Hold on baby. Hold on almost.”

“You?” She asks. “Did you?”

“Have I?”

“Yeah.”

“No. Tried.”

“Tried?”

“Went to Canto. Moon. She looked like you, wanted… needed someone like you.”

She pulls away, holding his jaw. “What happened?”

“A lot. Accent was wrong,” he mutters, embarrassed. “Called me Mando. Wasn’t you. She got naked, I got pissed, left.”

“You left her naked?” Lumina asks.

“Yeah.”

“Did you pay?”

Now he moves back. “What?”

“Did you pay her? You know… for her services? She got naked, she deserves to be paid.”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m very funny.”

“You’re not—” He does laugh though, quiet. “Fuck me.”

“I’m trying,” she mimics. “Hurry up.”

Din kisses her once. “Brat.”

She laughs. “Can’t change everything.”

They don’t take long, after Din enters. She’s sweet as ever, taking without issue. Things slow to a crawl, pressed to the hilt, they become acutely aware of what exactly it is they’re doing.

“Are you okay?” Din asks, whispered. He moves at a snail’s pace, gentle. Focused more on grinding and getting her comfortable than any real fucking.

If this can be called something as simple as fucking.

He thinks not.

“Yeah… Yeah just, thinking.”

“I know. Me too.” Lumina rubs at his stubble, thumb circling the one spot hair never seems to grow. He turns, kissing her palm. “I missed you,” he whispers. “Feels like I shouldn’t.”

“We’re fucked up,” she tells him. “’S why we work.”

Din thrusts after that, slow and cautious movements soon turning fast, needy. He fucks into her like its his dying day. She takes it all and begs for more.

Lumina releases first, without warning. He feels her tightening, her squirms, hears his name pass from her lips.

“Din.”

He comes after, her sound the key to nirvana. His mind fogs, muscles weaken, filling her. Pulling out, he collapses besides her, panting.

She looks over.

“I still love you,” she says, catching her breath. “That part was never a lie.”

Fuck.

---

The air is sweet, comforting when Lumina wakes. She faces the Mandalorian’s bare back, running her fingers over every scar. She could stare at him for the rest of eternity and at last know peace.

The suns have yet to rise, the room is dark. She is the most herself she has felt in ages.

This is halcyon remembered.

Gods she could die now and find no bitterness in what awaits.

Lumina smiles, she can’t believe she remembers how to do that, leaning her head on him. Whatever this is, it is real. He is real. It is good. It is just, it is right.

Daybreak cannot come soon enough. The stars have been fun but she aches for the suns warmth.

Lumina kisses his shoulder, settling into her pillow. She’ll try to sleep again, fluttering nerves aside. The sooner to sleep the sooner she’ll wake again. He will be here, they will go to the Marshal together and he will see how she’s grown. He will see her maturity, her politics, her good will.

He’ll be so impressed he’ll retrieve the Child from Peli Motto. They’ll all be together again.

She runs her hands through her hair, the shortened length still not familiar. She should clean it up before departure, Fennec would do it for her.

Lumina decides she is being silly, those are plans for later, this is now. She should enjoy right now. And she does.

Until that is, Din begins to stir.

She doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to wait for him. She’s been too forward in every regard, the calls will be his for now. She assumes that is the correct choice to make.

So Lumina continues to lay, just as she has been. She does not move, she does not speak. She only watches.

She watches Din’s shoulders move, she watches him sigh. He does not sound particularly pleased, but he never has enjoyed waking in the middle of the night.

He sits up, moving his feet off the bed. Then, he stands. He dresses. Undergarments, pants, top. Piece by piece his armor reattaches, each a subtle click.

He hasn’t looked at her once.

Lumina isn’t smiling, she doesn’t know what to do.

So she does nothing.

Din sits again, the bed caving in. He pulls out his boots from under the bed, shoving them on. He picks up his helmet and rubs at a scuff.

He puts it on.

Hiss. Click.

He leaves.

Lumina sits up, pulling the sheets to cover her exposure.

Maybe he’s gone to the kitchen, thirsty. He’ll come back, she’s sure of it.

He will.

She’ll wait until he does.

An hour passes, then half the next.

Her room is still dark, her stomach sick. Sunlight may have been too hasty a request. She would settle for the moon and silver hues.

She wants nothing but moonlight.

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CHAPTER 38: Losing Dogs

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Taglist: @lexloon @jay-bel @xsadderdazeforeverx @spideysimpossiblegirl @sarahjkl82-blog @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @hello-th3r3

#din djarin x original character #din djarin x female oc #din djarin fanfiction #Din Djarin fanfic #din djarin x ofc #Din Djarin x oc #din djarin x original female character #Mandalorian fanfic #mando x oc #mando x ofc #starlight

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beardedjoel · 2 years ago

Text

Part Two of the Signs of a Lifetime Series

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC / fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: language, no smut this chapter whoops but they’re slow burning for a little bit OKAY

A/N: thank you for reading! this chapter slows things down a little bit, but there’s definitely a lot of flirty tension between them.

entire work is also posted on AO3 so show me some love there!

Chapter Summary:

Alya and Mando run into each other again, and tensions are high as they agree to work together again. Both of them are eager to figure out where their relationship stands while Alya’s inner turmoil about her feelings grows.

She can’t stop thinking about him - she’s tried everything at this point to distract herself. A few weeks have gone by since their initial meeting, and Alya hasn’t seen or heard from the Mandalorian again. She knows it’s a hopeless hope with the chances of seeing one specific man in this entire galaxy being next to none, but she desperately clung onto that hope nonetheless. She hated that she was spending so much time thinking about someone who had likely not given her a second thought past being an easy conquest for him that night.

Alya tries to let life get back to normal - hunting bounties, earning credits, and traveling from planet to planet as she has for the last decade of her life. Admittedly, all of it has slightly lost its luster for her in recent days with her last moments spent with Mando taking over her thoughts through sleepless nights. Shit, he really had a hold on her, she found herself thinking every time she caught herself in yet another daydream spiral about him.

This is not who she is, she reminded herself - she wasn’t dependent on anything or anyone, and had worked hard to keep this reality for herself. She was unattached and uncommitted aside from her work, and even that was by her own rules most of the time. He’d just been a one night pleasure to relieve some stress, that was it, she repeated to herself countless times over the weeks. For something that should have relieved stress, it sure had caused quite a bit for her in its wake. She slowly tried to let the possibility of seeing him again drift away from her as she focused on her next job and prepared her ship for landing on Tatooine and pulled deftly into the landing bay. She reviewed her latest bounty’s hologram and the information she’d collected about his last known whereabouts before placing a blaster into the holster on her hip and a knife into the one on her leg. She pulled her unruly waves of hair into a quick bun at the nape of her neck and strode out of her ship into a bright, sunny day. It was warm and arid, the dustiness in the air immediately feeling like it was settling on her skin. She should’ve worn something other than black, she thought, frowning as she looked down at how her clothes already seemed dusty while she made her way into the city.

Even the outskirts were already bustling as she weaved her way through the crowds, holding onto the tracking fob and checking it every so often as she drew nearer to the city center. The rapid flashing of the red light on the fob told her she was getting closer to her target. She knew that the quarry had been hiding out in a more populated area of Mos Espa to avoid people like her, but unfortunately his luck was running out today with her arrival. She was about to hang a right down the next street when something reflective caught her eye on the left side through the throng of people - a shiny object bobbing through the crowd on the opposite side of the street. Her heart skipped a beat, and she tried to convince herself she was just seeing what she wanted to see, that there was no possibility he was here right now. She knew she couldn’t be distracted, she was so close to her quarry now, but the urge was too strong to resist averting her gaze towards where she had caught that glint of something in the bright sun.

And there he was.

Alya stopped her brisk pace abruptly and several people bumped into her, mumbling curses or remarks under their breath but she didn’t hear a word of it. She could only see the top half of his beskar helmet, but she just knew it was him. Something in her gut screamed that it was the one she’d been secretly searching for on every planet, on every street, in every room for weeks now, and not just any other Mandalorian - it was her Mandalorian.

He was getting further down the main road as she stood, dumbfounded. Alya suddenly felt unsure of herself, unsteady on her feet. It was such a foreign feeling for her that it almost made her skin crawl to feel this helpless. She was angry at him - for taking up her mental space, for causing a distraction, and for showing up here at the exact same time as her. But her heart felt some connection she couldn’t explain, practically pulling her towards him, as if he were a planet with its own gravity field.

Before she even had control over her own actions, she’d veered left instead of right and was heading towards him without a second thought. The Mandalorian seemed to be on a hunt of his own, and she could see even from afar how hyper focused he was. She prayed whatever he had his attention on had distracted him enough that he hadn’t noticed her yet, but she knew that if it were her, she would’ve clocked someone following her at least two streets ago. Alya had no plan, no idea how to even approach him or start a conversation after this time they’d spent apart, but she felt compelled to keep following him and hope she figured it out along the way.

They walked for several blocks, and she was slowly gaining on him, feeling the pit in her stomach growing as she realized she may be confronting him sooner than she was prepared for. He took a sudden left turn between buildings, and she was close enough now that mere moments later she was making that same turn. She peered down the space in front of her and didn’t see Mando as she turned around, looking in every direction with no sign of him. She continued on, taking slow, cautious footsteps until she was behind one of the buildings, feeling frustration that she had lost him so quickly.

“You’re following me,” came a familiar voice from behind her. She whirled around and drew her blaster out of pure instinct and muscle memory, but only found the armored man she’d been losing sleep over standing in front of her now. His presence after all the pining she had done these last weeks filled her with more emotions than she cared to have at once. Longing, frustration, relief, and fear intermingled inside of her, but mostly, she just felt soft. Like seeing him was able to melt all the anger she’d held towards him only moments ago. She stood, silently, knowing her mouth was likely hanging open in surprise, eyes wide, giving away her every thought.

“We have to stop meeting in alleyways like this,” she finally replied smoothly, putting her blaster back in its holster.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it last time, freckles,” he said, his voice rich and confident as he took a step closer to her. She just knew he had to have a smirk under that helmet. “And one might say you deliberately followed me into this one,” he cocked his head to the side slightly.

She let out a wry chuckle and took him in, her eyes glancing over every inch of him. He was just as alluring as she had remembered, and she silently cursed herself for even thinking about it. She had been on the cusp of finally getting over their meeting on Canto Bright, and she felt back to square one at having him this close to her again, feeling the energy that simply radiated off of him and drew her in.

“Guilty. I was surprised to see you, I guess. Our taste in bounties must be similar,” she replied, trying to play it as cool as possible, even though her heartbeat told her a very different story right now.

“You lost your trail to follow me?” Mando asked. His tone didn’t sound accusing towards Alya necessarily, but shocked that she would do that.

Alya sighed - hearing it out loud like that from him made her feel foolish. “He’s not going anywhere. Hasn’t moved locations for over a week, probably thinks he’s holed up somewhere nobody will find him. I saw you through the crowd and couldn’t miss my chance to chew you out.”

“Chew me out? Oh, really?” He casually leaned his weight forward onto one knee, crossing his arms over his armored chest.

“I’m not sure how often you do that in an alleyway with someone and then disappear, but it’s kind of a new concept for me,” Alya stated, now putting both of her hands on her hips to emphasize her words.

“I don’t. Do that, I mean. Made an exception for you.” He uncrossed his arms and took another step closer to her as he spoke. She could have sworn she saw his hand twitch as if to reach out to her, but it remained at his side. Alya felt her stomach flip nervously at his words and what they implied. There it was again - that undeniable electric feeling between them that caused her mind to completely scramble.

“I know it was… unfair. To both of us. I did say I would make it up to you, though,” Mando added.

“Let’s hear it then. How are you making it up to me?” she replied, placing her hands back on her hips after returning his step forward. She knew her tone was implying she had a few ideas of how he could make it up to her, and they were now closer than Alya was sure she had the control for, but she quickly reigned herself in.

Mando pulled a bounty puck out of his pocket and held it out for them to both see. “It’s a good payout, but over a day’s ride through the desert. I’ll provide the speeder bikes, and we can leave in a few hours.”

Alya smiled at him offering up a bounty the same way she had when they met several weeks back. However, she found herself equal parts disappointed and relieved that he only had another shared bounty in mind instead of just fucking her right then and there.

“Deal,” she said, holding out her hand. He promptly shook it, his fingers lingered just long enough for Alya to consider pulling him close, feeling his body against hers again. She remembered the absolute mind-fuck she’d been through recently from their encounter and decided against it. Focus, focus, focus, she repeated to herself mentally.

“Why don’t you go snatch your quarry up quickly, like I know you can do, and I’ll meet you at your ship in a few hours.”

Alya nodded, agreeing to the plan, and did just that, striding confidently back into the main street, knowing Mando was watching her leave.

Alya blew out a deep breath several hours later as she anxiously smoothed her hair. As expected, the bounty had been an easy find, and an even easier catch. He was currently locked up in the small holding bay on her ship, and she had left him with her ship’s droid, ordering them to make sure he at least got food and water while she was gone. She quickly took a shower, knowing it may be a few days before she had the chance to again. She passed a hand nervously over her freckled face in the mirror, thinking of the nickname that the Mandalorian had given her and tried not to smile to herself.

She changed into more desert appropriate gear - a tan colored tunic and head scarf with baggy brown linen pants - and rested her riding goggles on top of her head. A brown belt hung from her waist and she strapped in her blaster and her favorite knife before double checking her small pack had everything she would need for a multiple day trip.

When she stepped off her ship, Mando was already waiting for her. Two speeder bikes sat outside, and he was leaning against one of them - she hated that he looked so effortlessly cool like that. She got the sense of his eyes on her as she approached, even though she couldn’t see them.

“Cute,” he said, pointing to his own forehead, referring to her riding goggles.

“Not all of us can have big metal helmets to protect our beautiful faces,” Alya said sarcastically before giving him a scowl and scrunching her nose at him, continuing to walk towards the bikes. She attached her pack onto the free bike and swung her leg over, prompting Mando to do the same on his.

“Let’s do this,” she said, pulling the goggles over her eyes and wrapping her scarf around her head more tightly so it would hold up once they started riding. He looked at her for an extra beat, and she wished that she knew what he was thinking - it was driving her absolutely crazy, and she was feeling doubt creep in at agreeing to do as she felt increasingly unsure if she could sit with this intensity for two days in the desert with him.

Mando then suddenly started his bike and rode off with Alya quickly following behind him, not having any more time to debate if she could go through with it. The late afternoon sun was beating down on them, and while the air was hot, the movement of it over Alya’s face as they rode was a welcome relief. She was almost glad for the fact they were on speeder bikes so that the roar of the wind and the bike's engines around them was loud enough they couldn’t carry on a conversation easily. She needed this time to get her thoughts in order after this unexpected run-in with Mando again. They mostly kept pace with each other, and a few times they had unspoken races to certain small checkpoints in the distance, Alya laughing her way through each one as they shot each other competitive looks.

They rode over what felt like endless dunes of sand alternated by dry, rocky terrain. They would pass by the occasional outpost or home she assumed were the well known moisture farms that covered Tatooine. She hadn’t done much traveling outside of the major towns and cities on this planet, so it was a refreshing new exploration for her.

The setting suns of Tatooine eventually colored the sky shades of orange, red, and yellow, and Alya tried to get the most of this view as she felt like she was soaring right into the beautiful colors. This ride had been invigorating, exactly what she needed to clear her head. Slowly at first, and then suddenly the sky began changing to purples and blues, and Mando started slowing his bike to a stop.

“Over here,” he said, gesturing to a larger rock jutting out of the ground and parking the speeder nearby it. “Might give us a little bit of shelter. We can camp here tonight, and we’ll get there early tomorrow.”

Alya nodded and joined him by their campsite for the night, rummaging through her pack for the bedroll she’d brought, along with some of her food - biscuits, fruit, and dried meat. Mando pulled out a portable fire kit from his speeder and worked on getting them a small fire going.

“You know, if this breaks,” he said pointing to the fire kit, “We could just -“ He held up a wrist to the sky and shot a shockingly intense flame upwards out of his vambrace.

Alya laughed at the sudden, loud spectacle. “Show off,” she said, giving him a teasing glare and rolling her eyes.

They both settled into a comfortable silence, enjoying the cooler nighttime air the desert provided and feeling exhausted from the day spent in the sun. Alya couldn’t even imagine how it must be for Mando to have to stay in all of that armor after a day like this. She’d heard different versions of Mandalorian culture over her travels throughout the galaxy, and that some didn’t even show their faces or remove their armor in front of others. She assumed that Mando was one of the latter.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” She asked him, holding out some of her assorted fruit as an offering.

“I will…” he said, shifting uncomfortably, “After you go to sleep.” He took the fruit from her and stashed it next to him. “Thank you.”

“Is it because of your Mandalorian creed? I could turn around, if you want to have something now,” Alya offered. She had never met someone with such a strict moral code, and she wanted to try and be respectful.

“I’m alright for now. And yes, it’s forbidden to remove our helmets in front of others once we’ve taken the creed. This is the way,” Mando said, looking into the fire. The flames reflected beautifully off the metal of his beskar helmet, Alya thought.

“This is the way,“ Alya repeated back to him, nodding slowly as if absorbing this new information and Mandalorian mantra.

After she ate, they both laid back on their bedrolls on either side of the fire, staring upwards at the sky. Alya saw stars all the time, but this had to be her favorite way to view them - lying back and stationary, instead of a blur of them rushing past her in the cockpit of her ship. They stayed like that for a while in silence, just enjoying a rare moment of peace and quiet that their dangerous profession didn’t typically provide for them.

“I’ll take the first watch, if you want to get some sleep,” Mando finally said, turning his head her way. She averted her gaze from the beauty above her to meet his eyes under the helmet and smiled slightly.

“Yeah, alright. Just wake me up in a few hours?” she asked. He nodded in return and she turned her attention back to the stars, willing herself to sleep. Mando had sat up and propped himself against the rock they were camping behind, his blaster in close reach on his belt along with his sniper rifle set on the ground next to him.

His presence alone completely set Alya’s mind running, and she found sleep difficult and unwilling to come to her. The fact that when she closed her eyes all she could think about was Canto Bright, the way his strong arms had felt wrapped around her, the way his touch felt unlike anything she had experienced before, the way her body had reacted the second he walked into that tavern. Could it be possible he felt the same way as her, thought about these same things? She knew he was attracted to her based on the way he’d treated her in the alleyway that day, but did he feel more than that - this tangible thing, electric and exhilarating between them? Did he feel the need to explore it further, even if it terrified him?

“Mando…?” She finally spoke, breaking herself out of her fruitless rumination and writing off sleep for a bit longer. She opened her eyes and propped herself up on her bedroll, peering over in his direction.

“You’re not sleeping,” he stated in response. She ignored his comment, worrying that if she didn’t just blurt out what she was thinking she may never have the nerve.

“On Canto, why were you so hell bent on not turning in the quarry together, not continuing on together? To show me how much you wanted me and then leave right after… you didn’t even ask me where I was heading next. I don’t know… I guess what I’m trying to say is that I think I wish you had wanted that.” The darkness, the stars, this beautiful night had made her feel brave for a moment to admit all of this to him. She nearly cringed as the words tumbled out of her, but she knew there was no turning back now.

She heard a small, sighing breath come from Mando’s direction, his gaze fixed on her. “I didn’t think I could handle it,” he said simply. Alya’s brow furrowed, trying to understand what he meant, when he continued on. “I had no idea what to do with it, the feeling, with you,” he twisted his hands together awkwardly, trying to gather his thoughts. “When I saw you sitting there, so damn… perfect… of course I knew you weren’t a local when I asked, but I needed to hear your voice. Even if it was just once.”

“Mando…” she said, practically speechless, her face falling. Her mind was reeling with every new word that came out of his mouth.

“I tried, but I lost control, and I don’t like losing control. So I knew we couldn’t, I couldn’t afford to be distracted like that. This life -” he said, gesturing around him, “- isn’t really conducive to… you know.” He finally looked away from her and back into the fire.

Alya understood him - she had gone through the same carousel of thoughts after their initial meeting. She had to stay focused, couldn't be distracted by these feelings, she just had to keep working. They were one in the same, dedicated to this life of solitude that their work provided for them. Hearing his confession and honesty felt like someone was squeezing her heart, and she wanted to try to give him what he wanted, despite knowing now that he had also been so torn up about his feelings for her.

“I get it, completely. I’ve done the same thing for years, and it’s served me well. This would be… complicated. Let’s agree: no distractions then,” she said, trying to sound cheerful about it. While she felt logically that it made sense to keep things uncomplicated, something in her heart sank at this agreement they were making. It was like denying herself something that had come too naturally to ignore.

“No distractions,” he repeated back.

A silence fell between them for a stretch of time until Mando looked over at Alya again. “My turn to ask you something. That day you told me not to ask, but why did you offer to split that bounty with me?” he asked her.

“I still don’t know, if I’m being honest.”

“Don’t you?” Mando pressed her, and Alya shifted uncomfortably on her bedroll. She felt like he was able to see right through her, right to her very core, and that feeling alone could set off panic within her at any second. She looked over at him, narrowing her eyes in frustration, but realized he had every right to ask what he did after her questioning earlier.

“I felt like you were the first person to speak to me in a long time that I wanted to get to know better,” Alya stated, wringing her hands nervously. “Maybe I just found you interesting, or trustworthy, I don’t know.”

“Well, do you? Find me interesting and trustworthy?” he asked, clearly trying to sound sarcastic and blithe, but Alya detected a hint of true curiosity behind it.

Alya chuckled, then scrunched up her face, as if she were thinking. “Haven’t made up my mind yet,” she taunted him.

Mando returned her laugh, shaking his head. “You are… really something…” he said, gazing at her, his head tilted just the slightest bit as if he were sizing her up. Alya averted her eyes for a moment, feeling restless at the way his voice had changed as he said that.

“You’re just upset that you’ve met someone that can dish your bullshit right back to you,” Alya said, provocatively raising her eyebrows as she looked at him.

“Why do you think I was trying to avoid you?” he replied, teasing her again.

Alya scoffed, feigning disbelief. “Asshole,” she hissed, tossing a small stone at him that was on the ground next to her bedroll. It made a small clink as it bounced off the metal of his armor. Alya couldn’t believe how much he was joking with her - she assumed Mandalorians were typically stiff, overly-serious people. Maybe he normally was, but she was enjoying seeing this new side to him.

“Looks like we saw each other again after all, despite all of that.”

“The galaxy knew you owed me a favor,” Alya winked in his direction, smiling. He let out a small chuckle as he looked into the fire. Despite her joking, Alya really did feel like their meeting had triggered some cascading events that the stars had mapped out for them and only them. The way she’d felt when she saw him earlier that day could only be described as right. It was a relief, like knowing deep inside yourself with absolute certainty that you were in the right place at the right time. It had been exhilarating and terrifying all the same.

“Well now we’re even. You should really get some rest,” Mando said with an air of finality in his voice that told Alya he was done with the conversation.

“Yeah… you’re right. See you in a few hours. then,” she said reluctantly. She felt she could have stayed up the entire night teasing him, talking to him, just being around him and listening to his voice. It was intoxicating, she thought, simply being in his presence, and she had no fucking clue what to do with a feeling like that.

Alya laid back into her bedroll and finally felt a fitful sleep come over her a short time later. Mando woke her several hours later and her watch went without incident. She couldn’t tell if he actually got any sleep, but she enjoyed seeing this intimidating, wall of armor of a man looking peaceful and vulnerable on his bedroll. There were hundreds of things she wanted to whisper to him as he slept, just to put it out in the world, but she didn’t dare risk it.

Alya watched in awe as the suns rose in all their splendor, and saw Mando begin to stir with the light. She had boiled some water on the fire to make an instant caf, and offered Mando one purely out of politeness, knowing he likely wouldn’t take it given how he reacted to eating in front of her last night.

“Actually, I’ll take one. I barely slept,” he said, his voice sounding raspy from sleep even through the modulator. He took the cup from her and excused himself behind the large rock behind them and returned a few minutes later, helmet intact. He thanked her for the caf as she sat finishing hers up with another piece of fruit while he started packing up his things. She was studying him, maybe a little too closely, because he abruptly stopped what he was doing to stand and look back at her, but didn’t say anything. She quickly averted her eyes, becoming overly-interested in an invisible bit of dirt on her pants until he turned away. They finished taking down their campsite in a silence that made the air feel thick, and got back on the speeder bikes for another day of riding.

The quarry was hiding out on an abandoned moisture farm, and it was so remote that she had to hand it to them that it was a great spot to avoid detection. Unfortunately for him, it was no match for Mando’s hunting skills. She had begun to see first hand why he had the reputation he did among the Guild.

They strode up to the round, white pour stone home that looked like it had seen better days. Random assortments of old, rusted machinery and tools littered the front yard. If you didn’t know any better, you would think it was vacant, long abandoned, and that anyone would be crazy to live all the way out here. They parked their speeders a ways off and made the rest of the trip on foot, so as not to alert the quarry of their arrival. Their plan had worked, as he seemed completely unprepared when they casually walked into the farm’s home. Mando stood in the front doorway, leaning on the doorframe while Alya covered one that led through the back of the small house. The house was just as sparse and disrepaired inside as it was outside, Alya noticed. She simply watched Mando with admiration from across the room, looking so intimidating with the way he leaned against the doorframe as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The bounty startled and stood up from where he was seated as he noticed Mando first, and then whipped his head over in Alya’s direction, wide eyed, searching for an escape.

“Going somewhere?” Mando said, his tone cold, so unlike the one Alya heard him use with her that it immediately sent a shiver up her spine to hear it. He had a hand resting on his blaster, and the quarry’s eyes darted nervously from there to his helmeted head. They had him surrounded and he knew it, so he gave up easily. Alya knew that Mando could have handled this quarry effortlessly on his own, but she was glad that he’d chosen to spend this time with her, to share in this with him when he didn’t have to.

With the quarry in tow, the ride back to Mos Espa was certainly less fun, with the cuffed man tied down to Mando’s speeder. They agreed to ride through the day and into the night instead of dealing with camping out with a bounty that may talk their ears off trying to find a way to freedom. Alya felt a wave of relief as Mos Espa came into view and their ride came to an end. She loved the thrill of riding a speeder bike, but after practically two full days of it, her ass and back were hurting like hell. They dropped the quarry at Mando’s ship and stood outside for a few moments together.

“I’d call that another success,” Alya smiled at him, “Maybe we should make a habit of it - the quarries don’t seem to know what to make of an unexpected duo like us.”

Mando let out an amused grunt and agreed. “I have a feeling it won’t be the last time we work together,” he said.

“We’re meeting back in Nevarro this time for the drop, right?” She said, confirming a discussion they had quickly had while they were traveling the last few days, and Mando nodded his response.

“I won’t leave you hanging this time. I’ll be there in a few days, after I pick up my last quarry,” he replied.

Alya shook her head in disbelief. “Maybe I need to get that carbonite tech, too - I can only hold maybe three bounties in my ship right now and it’s killing me,” she pursed her lips, trying to silently calculate how many credits that would even cost her to find and get installed. More than she had right now, that was for sure. “Not to mention if they’re not in carbonite, they can’t talk my fucking ear off when I’m near the holding bay, which I’m sure you know I just love.”

“I imagine you set them straight pretty quickly,” he said wryly, “and if they aren’t afraid of you when you pick them up, I bet they are when it’s all said and done.”

“Are you saying you’d be afraid of me, Mando?” She smirked and took a confident step closer to him, her eyes searching his helmet.

“Very,” he replied, looking down at her intensely. “Did you want to come in, take a rest? Before heading back?“ he asked, seemingly out of nowhere, his voice too low and suggestive considering their recent agreement on the status of their relationship. Alya felt every part of her scream yes, go inside with him, but two words flashed through her mind at the last moment: no distractions. She took herself out of the absolute hold that Mando’s tone was threatening to suck her into and leaned away from him just enough to get her head on straight.

“I should probably go… I think I can make it back to my ship without passing out. Once I’m in hyperdrive I’ll probably sleep most of the way if I can. And take a well deserved shower. That ride kicked my ass,” she frowned. She knew she was nervously rambling, which much to her dismay seemed to be happening with increasing frequency around him.

“Get some rest, then. I’ll worry about the speeder bikes.” Mando placed a quick hand on her shoulder and Alya tried not to focus on the way she could still feel it moments after he removed it. “Take care of yourself for the next few days.”

“You too,” she smiled softly. “And no ditching me this time, remember.”

“I’m never living that down, am I?” Mando said, sounding amused.

“Neverrrrr,” Alya whispered, trying to sound fake menacing.

She reluctantly waved goodbye and started heading across the landing zone to her own ship, practically chanting to herself the entire way back - no distractions, no distractions, no distractions.

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