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cepheusgalaxy · 1 month ago

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prologue

Cws: Teen whumpee, nightmares, implied abuse, torture, electrocution (but all in the dream lmao)

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Espa jolted awake, raising a hand to clutch her chest. A cry threatened to rise up her throat. They covered their mouth to muffle it, a sob making its way out of their lips regardless. Her blood pumped hard against her ears, fingers curling tight around the thin fabric of her shirt as if she’d die if she let it go. The air in their lungs was too little. They couldn’t breathe. They felt like they’d been running for hours. They tried to force themself to breathe. Their hand trembled over her mouth.

After a while, their chest began rising up and down, and little by little, the fog in their head started to fade away.

She stayed still, palm over her lips. Every nerve in her system was stretched thin as if they would break apart. Breath in, they told themself. Breathe in, breathe out.

Shakily, her chest waved, and Espa glanced up to the window. Through the curtains, she saw it was still night. They slowly took their hand off their mouth, every muscle on their body still tensed up. She forced herself to breathe deeper.

Espa looked down at their lap, forcing the air in and out, still clutching their chest. It hurt. It raised its hand again to cover its face, feeling the soft folds of the skin. They felt their fingers wet.

Had it been a nightmare?

With every second that passed, the memory got blurrier, but now it was pretty sure it had. With the sudden burst of adrenaline starting to wear off, Espa could feel itself shaking. Their eyes were welling up. She tried breathing deep again, wiping the water. In. Hold. Out. She allowed herself to loosen the grip on her shirt a bit. In, hold, out.

In a few repetitions of that, she could feel herself finally calming down. Espa sighed, exhaustion washing over her. They looked out of the window again—the light was dim, so clouds must have covered the stars above—and fell back on the mattress with a thud.

With that movement alone, the memories of the dream came rushing back to her. They covered their mouth again, with both hands, breathing sharp through their nose in an effort not to cry.

In. Hold. Out.

The nightmare was about butterflies.

The images played over on her mind as Espa closed her eyes shut.

There had been a lily.

It was a flower with long, thin petals. Like a spider’s legs. It was just as white as powder. Espa had seen it before, she had thought, back on a mission. Some corporate had it decorating his entire house, down from the gardens to the very bathroom. They’d found them pretty—exquisite—that first time, but in the dream, it sent chills down their spine. For reasons Espa couldn’t tell, their instincts screamed at them to step away from the lily. A yellow butterfly flew by. It was the only contrast of color against the gray sky of the landscape. It looked ever more lively, beautiful, with every flap of its tiny wings. They were mesmerized. Espa took a step towards it, although it had been more on accident than on purpose. The insect drew her in like a magnet. She held her breath, freezing up when it approached the white flower. The butterfly hovered above it as if wondering why there weren’t any others around, and Espa tried to call for it to get back, away from it, but she couldn’t find her voice. Their hands rose up to their throat, trying to force something out. But Espa couldn’t say a thing. It flew down. Unknowing, the butterfly landed on the lily.

In a second, it was gone.

Espa’s eyes widened, her breath getting stuck. Was it seeing things? They dropped their hands, looking around for a yellow glimpse to know where it could’ve gone, only to see the outline of the city back in the distance. No sign of it. When she turned back, even the flower was gone. In its place there was now a hole. Espa hesitated, walking in closer. The butterfly couldn’t have gone there.

Tentatively, it drew its hand onto the puncture. A shock of pain lit her nerves—she screamed, a raw cry that cut through the silent air as fire cursed through her veins—and she fell, blacking out.

When Espa opened its eyes again, it was chained. Chained in a basement.

There were lots of people with them. Her eyes searched for a familiar face, trying to access the situation, but to no use. Three tall adults stood in front of her. She could recognize none of them. All of their features were muffled as if by water.

Espa could tell they had features, because, apart from them, all of the others behind had blank voids in place of their faces. She turned her head around, frantically, before a rough hand shoved it to the ground. A whimper left her lips.

One of the people they could see was holding a whip. Another, a belt with iron buckles. Their ends glistened, sharp like thorns. A cold sweat fell down Espa’s brow. The third—and the last she could identify a face in—had a control in their hand.

Her breath got stuck in her throat.

Espa’s heart started beating faster, pumping hard against their chest. No, they thought. NO. She pleaded.

She pleaded, and apologized. She asked for forgiveness—because it could only be it. It must’ve been her fault. She must have done something bad. She must’ve been really, really bad. Espa couldn’t stop her breath from growing more erratic with every second, and when two pairs of hands grabbed her arms—nails sinking in so deep they drew blood—the person with the shock collar’s control walking towards her, she was already crying. Espa had tried pleading again, begging, but to no use.

A finger pressed down on the button, and her world was filled with red, hot pain.

It screamed. For hours. Their throat hurt, and their skin started bleeding and withering around itself, giving up on holding her together. Espa screamed. A lot. Liters of warm, warm blood poured free from every cavity left from the melting, and it was coughing blood, choking on it, and the pain added up with every minute. Espa sobbed. She begged again. For anyone. For it to end. There were voices coming from far away, and it made out they were asking it if it was sorry yet. Espa didn’t know what it should feel sorry for, but she was. So, so sorry. Whatever it had done wrong this time, it promised it would never do it again. She would be good. Espa let out a hiccup. She would be better. It was—it was sorry. It tried telling them, but it couldn’t find its voice. Not even screams were coming out of her mouth anymore. Espa cried, face a wobbly mess of tears, and from a distant corner of her mind, she noticed the shocks had stopped. I’m sorry. They gagged on their own voice, mute. I’ll be good. Please. Please. It tried to say.

They didn’t hear it.

A scoff, and the one with the collar’s control said:

“Well. Not even going to apologize?”

Her stomach dropped. Espa looked up at him with its eyes watering. No. I’m sorry. I’m sorry! The handler tilted their head, disappointed. Someone manhadled her body into sitting up. “Another round, then.”

Their finger started pressing down on the button. Espa’s breaths came out swallow, and they couldn’t inhale any more in. It felt dizzy for air. Its arms burned.

Right as she thought the electricity would run free into her veins again, the handler exploded into a thousand black flowers.

Espa stared up at them, eyes wide. Dark petals fell softly on the ground, and the other people turned to her. Angry fingers gripped harder on handles—the whip and the belt and a hundred other tools she couldn’t see. Her chains clinged, and Espa’s arms fell to the ground, free. It was paralyzed, tears running down its cheeks, and time seemed to slow down. They were approaching her.

Her mind ordered her to stay still.

They deserved it.

Don’t move.

They shouldn’t run.

Don’t resist.

Their lips trembled, and Espa started to panic. But they bit it down, not moving, because they could be good. They would be good.

And yet, before anyone could get a centimeter closer, Espa’s legs got up from under her and flew away.

It ran.

It ran, and ran, and ran, leaving the basement behind and eventually touching itchy, dry grass. In a blink, even the ground ended, and it couldn’t run anymore. Espa found themself floating in pure darkness, alone and unable to move. Uh? She was still crying, not knowing what to do. Espa turned around, trying to catch a glimpse of something. Of anything. A light. A rock. The sky.

But there was nothing.

Nothing on her right. Nothing on her left, either. Neither above, and nor below. She turned back. Not even the ground she had been stepping on, replaced by an oppressive, hollow darkness.

They let out a hiccup, shaking.

After what felt like hours trapped in there, the air somehow stopping to run through her lungs—Espa could feel their consciousness slipping away, eyes fluttering shut and pain gnawing at her throat—she catched a glimpse of something.

A pair of tiny yellow wings.

Wings.

...It had seen them before.

Espa shook her head, forcing herself to remain awake. The butterfly flew away from them, and they tried swimming in the nothingness to reach it. Struggling, they were pretty sure they had moved a whole centimeter.

With a bump, it painfully hit its head against the wall, wincing. Wait, a wall? Has there been a wall before? An invisible barrier stood right in front of it, insurmountable, and the yellow butterfly flew far out of reach, crossing the threshold Espa couldn’t go behind.

“Don’t leave me!” It tried to scream, banging on the void. Espa’s eyes welled up again. She didn’t know if the words ever left her mouth, but either way, the small thing paid her no mind. They held back the tears, knocking harder on the wall.

Behind her, a strange noise started to build up. They didn’t pay it any mind. The butterfly wasn’t there anymore. The sound started growing louder, louder, louder, until it filled everything and they couldn’t hear anything else.

Growing into a roar.

Espa turned behind, still crying, and saw a wave of large, bright, colorful sunflowers—no, not sunflowers. With the lack of air dizzying her mind and the pain washing down her body, Espa tried to focus her vision. They were smaller than sunflowers. But similar. Pink and orange and white and beige, a million of them moved together as if a tide, and they engulfed Espa, drowning any protests it tried to mouth and muffling the rest of its oxygen away.

After that, Espa didn’t remember much of the dream. Maybe they’d woken up for a few minutes without noticing, before drifting back to sleep. What had followed had been the standard torture she didn’t know why she had earned; hunger and exhaustion and her muscles being sore but she not being allowed to stop. It was soaked in blood—its own blood, its siblings’ blood, its handler’s blood, its assignment’s blood—and it glued onto it like a second skin, closing tighter and tighter until it was so painful it couldn’t breathe. Espa had dropped her sword, the plasma solidifying around her and choking her limbs and throat. She clawed at it, trying to get it off, but it was too strong. Soon, Espa couldn’t move, and their world was filled with pain.

That had probably been the point she woke up.

Espa’s breathing had quickened again, taking in swallow, thin air, and she tried to force it to even back. It felt tired. They took a peek out of the window again, and weak sunshine lighting the floor under the window told them the sun had started rising from behind the clouds. It suppressed a whine. It didn’t want to get out of bed. It didn’t want to try and go back to sleep either.

Espa suppressed another cry, hiding their face under their pillows. There was nothing she could do but wait five o’ clock to come and try to bat an eye until then.

Hugging the bed sheets at the lack of a blanket, they just hoped they hadn’t screamed too loud at night. Ann would beat her black and blue today if she had.

And Espa didn’t think it could handle any more pain.

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#ITS DONE YALL #MY FIRST CHAPTER OF MY FIRST EVER SERIES #ISN'T SHE BEAUTIFUL #aughhhhh im so nervous #i can finally cross the 'first chapter' goal on my roadmap!#espada writing #espada wip #espa oc #my writing #whump writing #whump series #whumpblr #living weapon whumpee #child whumpee #nightmare whump #whump community

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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.

Masterlist | Starlight Masterlist | AO3 | Prev | Next

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.

------

CHAPTER 38: Losing Dogs

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