I will initiate self-destruct.

Pershing is noticeably absent from your daily schedule of pokes and prods. Today, the medical droids are administering the usual cocktails and vitamin injections under the watchful eye of several storm troopers.

“Where’s the doctor?” you ask the medi-droid.

“Dr. Pershing is currently unavailable. Do not worry. Dr. Pershing has left explicit instructions on your medical protocols, and we are more than qualified to see to your care.” it says, in its most reassuring droid tone.

“What could be more important than this? Did the doc find someone better to torture?”

“The results from donor testing have arrived. Doctor Pershing was sent to retrieve the most favorable candidate for your breeding trials.”

Breeding trials. Your stomach plummets like a broken lift, falling out from under your feet.

So, this is it? Times up.

Your heart begins to pound faster, while at the same time, your soul goes numb.

“Who’s the lucky winner?” you ask. Images of both men flash through your mind. The face of one, the intimidating mask of the other. Granted, neither would be welcome, but the masked man had left haunting chills over your skin for days after your introduction.

“Dr. Pershing was sent to retrieve —--”

“Hey medic, shut your trap and finish your job before I rip out your voice box and rearrange your circuits,” one of the troopers threatens.

The medi-droid does a double take, and thinking better of it, doesn’t finish its sentence.

Doesn't matter much anyhow. What it does mean, is that you have a choice to make, and you have to make it now. Dr. Pershing’s absence has provided you with a unique opportunity. The medi-droid had prepared several medical trays lined with every possible tool it might need. Only an arm’s length away, lay a syringe full of the one you recognized as the paralytic. Hell, even if you were wrong, you could empty the syringe and use it to deliver an air bubble through the vein. While neither a paralyzed heart, not an air embolism sounded like your idea of a good time, the pain couldn’t be any worse than the torture you had already endured on this ship. And the end result would mean that Gideon would fail. You would be dead, but he wouldn’t be able to continue this twisted experiment….until he finds someone else.

“How much longer?” One trooper asks the medi-droid. “One more round.” it replies, sticking the last plunger into your bicep. “Go report that we are almost done.” he directs his fellow two troopers. They shuffle out the door the way troopers tend to do, their plastics thumping in succession.

Only one trooper left, you can do this.

The lone trooper raises his blaster in your direction, on edge as he waits for his comrades to return. His head swivels back and forth between you and the door.

Not yet. Wait for it.

“Hurry up and finish,” he commands the medi-droid.

“Almost finished.” The droid says, removing the last plunger from your arm.

A tiny drop of blood wells to the surface of your skin.

“Can I get a bandage?” you ask the droid, calmly.

The droid turns away, to retrieve a sterile wipe and bandage from one of the trays. Your heart pounds out of your chest as you wait. The trooper looks away, at the empty doorway. Your hand snaps out, plucking the syringe from the tray. You quickly tuck it up your sleeve- no easy task when your hands are in binders. It’s out of sight, just as the trooper’s helmet turns once again, the clanking of armor signaling their return.

“They’re informed and waiting.” the trooper announces.

“Let’s go!” the impatient one says, yanking you by the other arm, off the table, before the medi-droid has time to place the small cotton swab on your skin.

It doesn’t escape your attention that you’re headed in the opposite direction, away from your cell. “Where’re you taking me?” you ask, but none answer. It’s just as well. Thoughts begin to race through your mind. This is it. You have a decision to make.

You silently check the position of the syringe, concealed beneath your sleeve. It’s there- if the situation becomes more than you can handle….it’s a last resort, but it’s there. Your thoughts begin to drift, shifting to the one sole comfort you’ve found on this cursed ship.

Days had passed since Gideon had delivered Mando’s message. At first, the decision of whether or not to play the communication a second time or not, warred in your mind. You didn’t want them to see how much it meant to you- how much he means to you. And, they were always watching.

You had tried to bluff your way through the obvious, tried to convince Gideon that his perceptions were way off, that the Mandalorian was just another enemy on a different day of the week. But let’s face it. He was two steps ahead with everything. And even if you had managed to plant the smallest seed of doubt in his mind, Mando’s message had confirmed everything he needed to know.

She means more to me, than you will ever know.

His voice played over and over in your mind, until eventually, it wasn’t enough. The need to hear him, to see him again, trumped your pride. Over these last days, you had played Mando’s message again…..and again….and again. Maybe a hundred times by now. And of course, it’s exactly what Gideon wanted, because he was right. It felt like a reason to keep fighting.

So lost in thoughts of Mando, you scarcely realized you were heading for a part of the ship you had never been to before. You make a concentrated effort to remain calm and collected on the outside, despite the thundering in your heart as you come to a stop in front of large doors. They woosh open and the two troopers in front of you split away to reveal a large conference room. It’s dark, illuminated only by several patterned light panels on the wall, and a few glowing control screens. There's a large oval shaped table in the center, the surface- a pristine black glass, void of even a single smudged fingerprint. Around the table, several sets of familiar eyes stare silently back at you. The energy of the room feels dark and heavy, like a tangible weight pushing down on your very being.

The trooper behind you jams the tip of his blaster between your shoulder blades, nudging you further into the room. A couple of officers, Moff Gideon, and Pershing, occupy the outlying seats, but it’s the cold, dead stare of a black mask, seated at the center of the table that has your blood running cold.

Everyone rises from the table- everyone but the man in the black mask- he leans back in his seat, kicking his boots up onto the table. The fact that he sits at the head of the table and not Gideon, is curious, but it also confirms what you’ve known all along. There is always someone more powerful, and the empire is an endless line of power-hungry thieves, lying in wait for their turn to take something from you.

Gideon approaches you, his officers falling in line, close behind.

“I hear you’ve been enjoying the message from our mutual friend, seems you like to play it over and over.” he says, a hint of taunting in his voice. You look away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking into your eyes and seeing how his words sting. “I watched it myself a few times.” he admits casually.

He’s goading, trying to get a reaction from you. You give him nothing, though your chest rises and falls as you struggle to maintain even breaths. “Officer Ryn, remind me later, I must send a thank you message to the Mandalorian, for delivering her to me, a second time.”

Your anger continues to rise, but you remain quiet. The fight is still to come, and it will be of no use to waste your energy on a verbal sparring match with Gideon- not when the man in the black mask is staring you down.

“Your silent resolve tells me that you understand the inevitability of your situation, implicitly. Nevertheless, it bears repeating; Your cooperation is neither demanded, nor is it necessary. Either way, I will get what I want. It merely informs me on how to proceed with you in the future, and despite what Dr. Pershing thinks, I am not convinced your usefulness exists beyond the delivery of my future asset. So, you may want to consider that when you have a choice to make, and you are weighing violence over compliance. Because soon, the tables will turn, and it will be you, who is wanting something I have.”

At the implication, your eyes raise to meet his, and you can see he means every word he just said. With a satisfied smirk, he proceeds to exit the room, spouting off directives to his underlings. The room empties, leaving the masked man at the table. Pershing is the last to leave, hanging back until the doors close. He looks nervous and remorseful, and tears begin to well in your eyes at the sting of betrayal you feel towards him. He’s weak, a puppet too blinded by the power of creation to do the right thing. “Here, let me give you this.” he says, holding out his palm.

“What is it?”

“Twilight,” he says, revealing yet another syringe. “It’s a sedative. You’ll be in an altered state of consciousness, but you won’t feel anything. You’ll likely not even remember it happening.”

And you won’t be able to fight.

You look straight into his eyes. “You’re not like them- you’re worse. Because you know this is wrong, and yet you do it anyway.”

“Please, take it,” he pleads. You press your lips together and turn your chin away, refusing to spare his weakness another second of your time.

“Leave.” you say.

Pershing’s face looks anguished, his shoulders deflating as he slowly leaves the room. You hear the blast doors close behind you. Now it’s just you and him- the Sith who has the prestigious appointment of sperm donor.

You’re terrified but find the courage to take steps toward the table.

“Sit.” he commands, peeling his gloves from his fingers, one digit at a time and dropping them on the table. You do as he says, choosing the chair furthest away, at the opposite end. He studies you for a moment, before making a small gesturing wave with his hand. Your binders fall loose, clanking onto the table like a dead weight.

“No need for obstructions, don’t you agree?” His modulated voice is portentous, it looms like a dark shadow, echoing the chill in the room.

You swallow hard, taking in his casual appearance. The boots on the table, his fingers casually entwined over his gut as he leans back in the chair- all at opposition with the menacing fear his physical appearance commands, as well as the seriousness of the room. He is a predator, and you are his prey. A plaything of little significance and right now he is toying with you. A little entertainment before he feasts.

“So, you’re the victor I see. Tell me, does that mean you are a more powerful Sith, or just that you had faster swimmers?”

He chuckles out loud, “Ahhh, there it is. There’s the cutting tongue I was so hoping for. You had me worried for a moment. Thought maybe you had given up.”

“You must be powerful if Pershing chose you.”

“That little bladderweasel doesn’t have the slightest comprehension of what real power looks like. He fails to realize, our biggest strengths cannot be measured by gadgets with little blinking lights.”

“What kind of power?”

“Power like you and I have.”

“And yet, you’re here, just as I am. To do Gideon’s bidding.”

“Is that what you think? That I am here to do his bidding?”

“It certainly seems that way to me. You submit to his little tests, you’ll carry out his dirty work, and you would let him take your offspring, free to do with it what he will?”

He lowers his boots to the floor and leans forward, staring at you with the cold plastic. “Gideon is barely worth notice. I don’t care about any of those things. That’s not why I am here.”

You blink twice, trying to puzzle out his motives, but nothing holds water. Sensing your thoughts, he fills in the blanks.

“I’m here for you……to break you.”

With those words, you know the game has changed. There are greedy people, cruel people, power-hungry people in this galaxy, of course. But seeing someone who wants to hurt others simply because they can, because they are little more than pure evil, is something altogether different. You can’t reason with unreasonable people. Your heart stutters as you consider the small weight hidden in the folds of your sleeve.

No. You have to fight. Din would want you to fight.

As if he can read the direction of your thoughts, he continues.

“Just as you watched video of your Mandalorian over and over, I watched video of you." The thought that this man has been watching you in any sense, sickens your stomach. "Did you know that a powerful Jedi, would succumb to a dozen full strength lashes from a shock-whip? A powerful Sith- maybe double that? But you…. you withstood thirty-six lashes on a lethal setting. Thirty-six. Do you know, how I know? Because I counted. Each and every time the cord struck your flesh, my hand stroked my own. I’ve never been more turned on than I was watching you hold out. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Your stomach turns, nausea threatening to bubble over. He’s truly sick in the head.

“Are you saying that I am more powerful than you?”

Amused by the direction of your question, his tone becomes one of pleasure.

“No. All Sith are different, like all jedi are different. Some have gifts others will never carry. Some are stronger in some areas, weaker in others. There is no simple formula for weighing one against another. What you need is a Master.”

“But I am no Sith.”

“This is true. But that can change, with time and training. Certainly, you are no Jedi.”

“How do you know? What’s the difference?”

“Jedi will ask you to give up the things that are the most important to you.”

An image of your Father’s face flashes through your mind in a distorted memory- gone in a blink. He had given up his family, a sacrifice for something you have yet to understand.

“And what would the Sith ask of me?”

“We can give you the means to protect those things, at all costs.”

So, is that what it comes down to? Jedi will sacrifice the ones they love to save the galaxy, while Sith will slaughter the galaxy to save the ones they love? Yes, morality says there is a clear answer, but is it wrong to at least take a moment and consider the alternative? What would you do to save Din? Instinct says, anything it takes. This can’t be it; this can’t be the way.

“All I know is that if you are the best representation of what the Sith has to offer, I want no part of it.”

“I never said I was the best. I said I was here to break you. Now stand up and take off your clothes.”

Adrenaline hijacks your veins. Your brain rushes to formulate a plan, but all attempts come up empty. You’re weaponless, and your opponent has likely mastered his abilities, none of which you are privy to. You hesitate to obey, and clearly not one for patience, he takes matters into his own hands.

Every muscle in your body tenses as you are frozen by an invisible force that lifts you off the ground. You can do nothing more than breathe as every limb in your body is paralyzed in place, succumbing to the pressure of someone else’s will. The feeling of helplessness leads to overwhelming frustration as your body is imprisoned by this unseen force. You hover above the table until you are slowly pulled forward, your toes dragging along the smooth glass of the tabletop. When you hover just beyond his reach, the pressure mounts, forcing you down on your knees before him. You breathe between clenched teeth as you struggle to fight back, but your limbs are no longer under your control, helpless to do anything but obey his silent command. The feeling is sickening.

He reaches out to stroke your cheek. You bear it, unable to flinch away. “Tell me pet, does the Mandalorian take off his mask for you? Because I don’t think I can achieve full satisfaction without gazing upon you with my own eyes.”

You don’t respond, stunned and disheartened that he has any knowledge of what’s between you and Mando.

He studies you a moment longer, his head tilting to the side.

“You’ve never seen his face. Hmmm.” He says it factually. Maker, is he able to read minds too?

The thought of him seeing into your mind, your deepest most personal thoughts is more violating than anything he plans to do with your body.

“Tell you what….” he says, reaching over his shoulder. He unclips the double ended vibro-blade strapped to his back and tosses it to the floor with a loud clunk. Then, his thumbs slip to the underside of his mask, as he pulls off the helmet to reveal his face. He’s mid-forties, maybe older, with medium brownish hair cut short and a thick beard that matches. His eyes are a disarming gray and bisected by a wicked looking scar that starts in the center of his forehead and runs down the bridge of his nose before jogging under his left eye- He's seen many a battle. His brows are thick and pinched with an expression you don’t understand.

“...If you want to imagine I’m the Mandalorian, to make this easier on you, I won’t be offended. Now be a good little pet, and fight back, for me.”

All at once, you feel the imposing force give way as he drops his powers in favor of physical force instead. Your arms fly out landing several blows to his face before he easily pins both of your wrists into one of his hands. Your head springs forward, crashing your skull into his nose. You hear a nasty crunch sound that precedes a stream of blood that oozes out of his nose. The act is effective, but it also sends a shooting pain through your head as well. He throws out his shield, leaving you immobile once again. He uses his free hand to wipe the blood leaking from his nose and stares down at it, surprised. A smile spreads across his lips.

“That’s right pet, show me those claws of yours.”

This time, when you’re lifted up off the table, it feels as if it’s by your neck. A strangling sensation, like two hands wringing your neck, cuts off your air- despite the fact that he’s not even touching you. Your own hands fly to your neck, trying desperately to peel away the invisible force cutting off your air supply. Stars and black spots dot your vision until you fall like an anvil back to the tabletop. You choke and sputter, keeling to your side as you gasp in an attempt to reinflate your lungs. Before you can recover, you’re rolled to your stomach, and yanked back until your legs dangle off the table. The invisible force shifts, pinning your hands to the table- as if they are cemented in place.

There’s a tugging at the hem of your shirt, followed by the violent ripping sound of the fabric being split up the middle. He pulls the two flaps he has created off to the sides, revealing the surface of your back to him.

Your breathing is erratic, small clouds of breath fogging the black surface of the table as your cheek presses against the glass. He lovingly begins tracing the various scar lines, the thin streaks of raised skin, slightly off-color than the rest of your skin, that fork out like lightning over your back. You have yet to see them with your own eyes- a mirror not being one of the priorities in a prison cell- but you had traced the few that you could reach, once Pershing declared you ‘healed’.

“So beautiful.” he says, running the pad of his finger over the raised skin. He leans closer and you can feel the press of his erection against your backside. He’s literally getting off on this.

His voice lowers to a whisper as he hovers just over your ear.

“It may bring you some comfort to know that he suffered greatly for what he did to you.”

“Wh…what? Who?”

“The officer that did this. I may have enjoyed watching, but that man didn’t deserve to be alone in a room with one such as you. At the earliest opportunity, I made sure he understood that. It should please you to know that he wept like a baby, before pissing himself rotten and begging for release. In the end, on the same setting he gave you, he only lived through two lashes. Nevertheless, he received thirty-six.”

Pershing said Officer Dickhead had been punished, but you had no idea. Immediately, you alight on a strategy.

“You did that for me?”

“I did it for us both.”

“You’re right, that does bring me some comfort.” You let your body go lax, let the fight against his shield, wither away.

He runs the tip of his tongue over the shell of your ear. It takes every ounce of strength you have in you, not to visibly heave or show your revulsion.

“Kiss me.” you say, taking him by surprise.

“What?”

“Kiss me. Maybe you’re right. Maybe if I close my eyes and imagine…, maybe it won’t be so bad.”

He’s clearly thrown off, not expecting this turn in conversation. He tries to work out your plan, finding absolutely no threat, because he knows without a doubt, that he easily wields his power over you. Curious to see where this is going, and even more aroused by the possibility of you reciprocating, he lets up on his hold, allowing you to turn over. You keep your movements small and steady- apprehensive even, allowing him to perceive no threat. The smile on his face says he sees it for what it is- a ruse of some sort, though he is willing to play along, for nothing more than the sheer entertainment of it all.

He leans forward, arms braced on either side of your body, as he lowers his mouth to yours. You close your eyes and focus on the tiny ball of light that roots itself in the pit of your stomach. It starts to spin, gathering speed and mass as his lips press against your own. Tentatively, you begin to kiss back, opening wider for him when his tongue breaks the seal of your lips. You ignore the physical sensation and focus intensity, as it begins to grow, mirrored by the expansion of power flooding your veins. You increase your concentration, while letting a seductive moan slip out, as the power welling inside begins to coil like a spring. Your soft moan urges him deeper.

He’s wary, unsure what you’re playing at, but enjoying it, nonetheless. He keeps your hands pinned above your head with his invisible influence. His own hand moves to your neck, ready to squeeze the life out of you, if need be. But the possibility that you might be having a genuine reaction to him, is too much to resist.

“Open your eyes and kiss me like that.” It’s a test. He wants to be the one you’re thinking of, he wants to know that he is the one eliciting these responses from you- not some figment of your imagination. So, you do. You open your eyes and stare directly into those probing gray depths and kiss him like your life depends on it- because it does.

The second you feel the grip on your neck ease, you unleash a maelstrom of power that flashes out like a tidal wave. His body is ripped from atop yours and sent sailing back until it slams into the wall behind. His body crashes, impaling itself into the now broken light panels. Sparks flitter as the lights sputter off and on, illuminating the silhouette of his massive frame. You roll off the table and come to a hard stop as your body meets the floor. Nausea roils as your limbs struggle to find purchase on the slick floor. You didn’t pass out but failed to leave yourself enough energy to escape the room on two feet. You begin to crawl toward the door, praying to the maker that your blast was enough to knock him out cold. The door feels lightyears away, and you’re not sure where you’ll go even if you make it, but you have to try.

Wishful thinking is shattered, when two meaty hands grip you by the ankle, flipping you onto your back. Your blast drained you of all energy, and it simply wasn’t enough to put this mad dog down for more than a brief moment. There’s no strength left in your body to fight back when your boots and pants are pulled free of your body. This is it, and you wasted everything you had on one blow, doing little more than redecorating the room.

“That’s a good pet.” he says, eliminating the barrier of his own pants in the process. “That’s why I chose the war room for our first time, because I knew you’d give as good as you get- almost forgot who I was dealing with for a moment.”

Your body is too weak to fight, depleted of all working muscle. Even your brain struggles to stay awake as your head swims. “Now pet, it’s your turn to remember, and I’m going to leave you with a piece of me you’ll never be able to forget.” Too weak even to cry, your heart goes numb as he runs his fingers over you, testing your entrance.

“Any last negotiations before we begin? Or did you completely waste yourself on that little show back there?”

Your silence is all the answer he needs.

“Tsk tsk, such a waste. Surely you have something more for me?”

Mustering every ounce of lifeforce you have left, you tilt your head forward and spit in his face.

He’s visibly irritated at first, but smiles as he wipes his hand, sweeping up the spittle on his cheek.

“Ahh, just what we needed.” he says, smearing your own saliva over your entrance.

Taking himself in hand, he lines himself up, with one hand while gripping your throat with the other. Sirens begin to wail, lights flashing around the perimeter of the room- their warning akin to the death cry of a purrgil whale. He looks around, angered by the ill-timed disruption, deciding what course to take. The communicator on his forearm alights- a perturbed Gideon on the other end of the audio.

“Are you finished? We could use your assistance below. There’s a convoy attempting to board.”

He stares back at you with those vivid gray eyes, silently debating what course of action to take. Dropping his dick, he holds down the communicator to answer back.

“You’re a fucking Moff. Since when are a few pirates a threat to this ship? Handle it yourself or use the fucking dark troopers, that’s what they’re there for isn’t it?” He rips off the communicator, tossing it across the room as he stares down at you. With the distraction, you can feel the pressure of his force loosen on your arms.

“Time to make a baby then, innit?”

Taking himself back in hand with a few strokes, he resumes his grip on your neck, meant to hold you in place. Your hands seize on his plated forearms in an attempt to pry him loose- to no avail. He doesn’t budge an inch. A distinctive buzzing sound ignites, rising in pitch, followed by the static crackle of electricity just as a luminous red light protrudes out from the center of his chest, inches above your face. He stares down at it in confusion before looking back to you for the answer. His grip on your neck loosens, just as the blade retracts, with another whirring sound. All light fades from his eyes as the dead weight of his body falls onto your chest. You struggle to throw him off until it seemingly disappears as his lifeless corpse is tossed aside to reveal the other Sith- the one who insisted on bringing you food and clothes.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.” he says, slowly removing his hood to reveal his face.

He holds out his hand for you to take. You ignore it as your whole body wracks with a shiver, processing everything that just happened.

“It’s ok, I’m not here to hurt you, I’m going to get you out of here.”

With no other choice, you make the decision to trust him- letting him take your hand. He pulls you up into a sitting position, as you scramble to find your discarded clothes. He hands you your pants, before turning away to offer you privacy, kicking your boots toward you at the same time. With no strength to stand, you thread your feet into the legs, and lay back on the floor in an attempt to shimmy them up your body. The maneuvering is taxing. Hearing your struggle, he comes down on bended knee at your side.

“Let me help you with this?” he asks.

You nod your head yes, aware that he’s likely already seen everything there was to see anyway. He seems decent enough, and if he had any intentions on picking up where the other guy left off, getting your pants back on wouldn’t be priority number one.

Using your feet as leverage against the floor, you lift your bottom so he can tug your pants up for you. Before you can say a word, he’s already putting your feet into your boots and tying up the laces.

“Can you walk? We need to move quickly.” He removes his cape, throwing it around your shoulders.

“Maybe, I don’t know.”

You attempt to stand up, but your knees are too weak to hold you up and your legs give out. He catches you before you hit the ground, scooping you up into his arms.

“You’re going to have to trust me." 

“Why are you helping me? You’re a Sith, aren't you? Isn’t this treason to the Empire?

“I was once, a long time ago. Now- I’m not really sure what I am.”

Looping an arm around his neck, you hold on as he walks out of the blast doors.

“I don’t really know what I am either.” you admit.

"Look whipped.” he says. Easy enough. Whatever the fine line between awake and passed out was, that's where you currently resided. 

The sirens continue to blast, echoing down the gangway. Several troopers pass, assuming he’s delivering the injured prisoner back to her cell. He walks with intent, daring any of them to question what he’s doing.

“Are the sirens your doing?”

“No, actually. Just a fortuitous distraction. Gideon has many enemies and we’re taking advantage of it.” He proceeds to walk down the corridor.

“I don’t understand, if you’re no longer Sith, then what are you doing here?”

“I guess you could say, the light called me back some time ago, but I found myself in a rather advantageous position. It was a rare opportunity to have someone on this inside. For the past three years, I’ve been infiltrating the Dark Trooper program, readying to take it down. All roads have led to Gideon, and when I received an invitation to his ship, it seemed like it was finally going to happen. I wasn’t expecting to find you here.”

Light and Dark. Sith and Jedi. It was all so confusing.

“So, what’s the plan exactly?”

“Gideon’s dealing with a breach. While he does that, we’ll simply head down to my ship. If we’re stopped along the way, I’ll say I’m ‘protecting the vessel’ from enemy threat.”

“So, just walk right out the back door, in plain sight? I admire your spirit. How long do we have before they’ll notice?”

Another squad of troopers passes by in a rush, a few turning their heads. When they’re no longer in earshot, he replies.

“Not long. Though a band of Mandalorian mercenaries are formidable, if Gideon deploys the Dark Troopers, they’ll have the entire ship locked down in a matter of minutes. We need to get to my ship before…”

“Wait! Mandalorians have boarded the ship?”

“Yes.”

“Stop! We have to stop. They’re here for me!”

“You’re Mandalorian?”

“No. I’m not. I’m… He’s my….we’re…” You struggle to find the right words. You pull out Mando’s pendant from under the collar of your shirt and show it to him.

“He’s come for me,” you say. His blue eyes stare back at you, and comprehension takes hold. He nods. “I’ll take you to him.”

“No! You can’t. You can’t let them see you hand me over to them. They’ll know you’ve deceived them- they’ll know you’ve turned sides.”

“Gideon will find out anyway. If I take you to my ship and we don’t return, he’ll know I helped you escape.” Something about him speaks to you, and you suddenly realize what it is- He reminds you of your brother, and your heart aches all the more for it.

“You can’t give up everything- three years of this, for me. He needs to be stopped.”

“What do you suggest? There is already video of me walking down these halls with you in my arms.”

“Is there surveillance in the war room? Of what happened?”

He thinks. “I don’t believe so. Gideon would want all conversations in that room kept strictly confidential- no recording devices permitted.”

“Then Gideon will think I did it, you can fill in the blanks later. I’ll take you out too! Make it look like I escaped on my own.”

“No offense, but you can’t even walk. How do you plan to make this look convincing?”

It’s true. Only moments ago, you couldn’t even stand on your own. But knowing that Mando is here- here for you. That he somehow found you, like he promised he always would. That he somehow managed the impossible- it lights a new fire in your belly. Your sole purpose is to get to Mando, no matter what it takes.

You take a deep breath. “You’re going to have to trust me.” you say, repeating his words back to him.

You wait four or five seconds, until he walks directly under a light, where surveillance will clearly capture every move. Your fist flies out and slams into the fleshy spot just below his shoulder. By all appearances, it’s a weak punch, too feeble to even cause him to flinch. His brows knit together when he sees your thumb press down, before yanking your hand away to reveal a now-empty syringe. His head whips back to you, eyes full of question and then alight with a brief second of- admiration? His knees drop to the floor with a loud thud, his body giving way to paralyzed muscle. A second later, you tumble out of his arms as he comes to land headfirst, flat on his chest.

The abrupt fall was harsh, temporarily jarring your head. All the better to make this convincing.

You crawl back to his frozen form, where eyes that are still full of life stare back at you. His eyes look down at his side and back to you. He repeats the eye movement again. You search his person, until you find the hilt of the saber secured to his belt and take it. Though sirens are blaring, you can’t risk mouthing a ‘Thank you’, so you stare back and hope the look in your eyes conveys everything you want to say. He blinks once, and you take that as a sign that he does. You make a mental note to pray to the maker that your paths will cross again one day, and you might be able to thank him for real. But for now, you say a silent ‘thank you’ followed by ‘I am so sorry for this’, before standing on your feet and delivering him a swift kick to the gut; Before stumbling your way down the corridor on your own.

When the stomping of feet signal storm troopers are coming, you duck into an alcove to take cover. Closing your eyes, you press the hilt of the unlit saber to your forehead and wonder how it got to this point. You're in so far over your head. You take a deep breath and remember what’s riding on this. Din is here. He’s so close, you can feel it. All you need to do is get to him. Nothing else matters- not anything that happened before, not anything that happens after. All that matters is him.

You round a corner and make your way through two more halls undetected. You have no idea where to find Din, you’re both essentially trying to find each other in a maze. Logic says he’ll look for you in the prisoner cell, and since you’ve memorized the path to and fro, it makes sense to head back in that direction.

You enter a large open corridor. A tight gangway stretches across the expanse, connecting one side to the other. There’s a sixty foot drop on either side, with an open view of space beneath and at the sides. It’s eerie as hell, because once you’re out on the platform, there’s nowhere to hide. You move forward cautiously, heart pounding. When you’re about halfway across, two troopers jump out from the sides of the entryway, blocking your path. You ignite the lightsaber, holding it outward from your body. It comes to life with an invigorating electric hum. It’s terrifying- you have zero training with this weapon and the chances of you hurting yourself with it are probably pretty good; but at the same time, it makes you feel powerful and kinda badass too.

As soon as the troopers see the saber, one fires off a round from his blaster, in your direction. Sensing the path of trajectory, you lean your head back, narrowly missing impact. The beam fires past, hitting the wall behind you and sending sparks arching away from the now broken light panel. Whoa.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?!” you shout.

The two troopers look at each other in question before looking back at you.

“That shot totally could have killed me! I don’t think you’re supposed to do that. Wouldn't Moff Gideon be really ticked off if you murdered his war prize?”

They look at each other again.

“Hellllooo? Sacred Vessel here. V…I…P prisoner, mean anything to you?”

They stand a little more upright, loosening their aim. One casually slaps the other on his chest plate.

“Bro, she’s right. Did you hear what happened to that one guy? He got executed for damaging the goods and he was just following orders.”

You edge closer as they continue their conversation.

“Nah, man. That’s just a rumor. He probably just got transferred.”

“Nuh uh, TK-737 saw it with his own eyes. Said he nearly yacked in his helmet because it was gruesome. Had to do body disposal.”

“No way.”

“I swear man. She’s telling the truth.”

“Thanks man, you probably saved my life.”

“Better set blasters to ‘stun’.”

In unison, they move to change the setting on their blasters. Not waiting, you seize the opportunity and charge. Technique and training be damned- you have neither. You swing your arm in wide arcs, paying mind only to not injure yourself in the process. Loud grunts and groans precede bodies of plastoid falling to the ground.

But there’s no time to revel in your victory, because where there is one trooper, there is surely more, and true to form, replacements come out from the recesses. You continue your rampage, blocking and even deflecting blasts back into bodies. They file in from both sides now and just as you are starting to feel confident, your arms begin to tire. You have to hold the hilt with two hands now, which means there’s far less power behind each swing. You tell yourself it’s a lethal weapon, and all you have to do is touch them with it. Don’t worry about cutting all the way through, focus on their weakest spots, as a graze across the neck or an artery is surely enough.

Bodies continue to fall and it’s a whirlwind of spins and plunges. Your body takes over, guided by feeling. You’re like a feral animal, fueled by a burst of energy, but eventually, slowly, the power inside begins to fade and you worry that there’s no end in sight. The troopers swarm like ants from a disturbed ant hill.

You spin around in a full three-sixty, attempting to take out anyone within arms reach. The first wave topples like dominoes, sending some of the outer ranks tumbling off the side of the platform. Just as you’re about to start pushing through, they drop aim on their weapons and begin a slow, quiet retreat.

Your chest is heaving with the exertion, your mind in doubt as you watch them step back. It could only mean one thing, and suspicions are confirmed when you hear a slow clapping echo off the walls from behind you.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

“Very Impressive. Though it appears the exorbitant amount of energy you spent executing our donor, has left you depleted. Look at you. You hardly have the strength to hold that weapon.”

You look down and see your arm is beginning to tremble with fatigue. You retract the saber, allowing your arm to rest.

“And yet, here I am…still standing.”

“Indeed. Though I fear not for long. Tell me, did Jax at least carry out his task before you ran him through? Or are we going to have to reschedule for another day?”

Tired of the conversation, you utter a simple and straight forward, “Fuck. You.”

“No, I think I’ll get someone else to do that for me. In the meantime, I suggest you toss your weapon aside and come with me.”

“Why would I ever?”

“Because if you do not, I will take it by force anyway. But if you do, then perhaps I will find it in my heart to take the Mandalorian on board into custody, instead of simply disposing of him right now. So, what’ll be?”

You swallow hard. You’d do anything for Din…but Gideon is a liar, and you can’t trust a word he says. You re-ignite the light saber.

“Very well.” Gideon says, igniting the blade he carries on his own belt. He activates his comms and orders, “Activate the dark troopers.”

“Nooo!” you scream with rage, charging toward Gideon. You slash through the air, your weapon arching downward. He easily blocks the strike, stepping forward with a swing of his own. The effort to block it sends you stumbling backward. He continues to push forward, calmly delivering blow after blow as you struggle to maintain your footing. Force power or not, he has obviously spent many hours practicing with his weapon. His swings are slow- almost casual, but each hit is powerful. There’s a cool confidence written on his face, as he knows he’s got you beaten. You try again to outswing him and deliver one blow- just one is all you need. When your right arm grows to weary, you switch hands- and the bastard smiles.

You swing wide, and a shock reverberates up your arm. Time slows down as you witness the glow of the saber in your hand go whirling through the air. It falls over the side of the platform and disappears below. As you watch, and your gut is hit with the terrible knowledge of the loss, Gideon uses the hilt of his weapon to deliver a stunning blow to the temple.

Two troopers drag you down the hall. You think you hear Gideon ask, “Where is he?”

“Headed your way.” The staticky voice over the comm replies.

You’re dumped onto the floor of your cell, landing on your knees, facing the doorway.

“Stand guard outside the door.” Gideon commands the two troopers. They quickly exit, the door closing behind them as Gideon curiously remains at your side.

“Give me visual surveillance,” you hear him say.

A projection from the ceiling shines down, putting several digital screens in front of him. On each, flickering security video shows a live feed of what is happening elsewhere on the ship. On one, you notice a band of Mandalorians, with several others, cutting their way through the corridors. On the second, video of the dark troopers booting up. Their systems come online as they prepare to launch their deadly assault. On the last…. Mando.

Your eyes are fixated on the lethal killing machine wearing Mandalorian armor. He charges through the halls, a man on a mission with one singular motivation. To get to you. He easily dispatches every storm trooper he encounters, frequently without even having to look. Blasts are fired, sent ricocheting off his armor. He doesn’t stutter one step. He’s an unstoppable machine, truly magnificent to behold- and he’s coming for you.

Your soul momentarily alights with hope, until you look back at the screen with the dark troopers. They fall into formation and begin marching toward the exit of the antechamber. Your breath hitches as Mando beelines for the control panel, just as the doors begin to open. He slams in a key and smashes a button, causing the blast doors to close, but not before a single dark trooper is able to pry himself through.

Battle ensues, and Gideon and you both watch with rapt gaze, to see who the victor will be. The machine is formidable, quickly rallying from all of Mando’s offenses. The remaining dark troopers pound on the blast doors, the integrity ready to buckle under the pressure. If even one more gets through, you don’t think your Mandalorian will survive. You look away when the machine begins to hammer at Mando’s helmet- each subsequent impact driving his skull further into the wall, encasing him in the surrounding metal. The smile on Gideon’s face is one of smug victory- until Mando surprises the both of you by igniting fire from his vambrace. The machine steps back, initiating its fire suppression system. Mando takes advantage of the delay and spears the droid through the neck, leveraging its head off with a spray of electric sparks.

Not skipping a beat, he charges for the control panel again and triggers the tunnel evacuation. The troopers are sucked into the vacuum of space.

Your heart sings victorious. "He’s coming for you next, Gideon.” you say. 

“Except I hold all the cards, don’t I?” he says, yanking your head back with a death grip on the hair at your scalp. He ignites his saber, letting it hover deathly close to your neck. Mando rounds the corner, where you recognize the outside door of your cell. He stabs one guard clean through his chest with his long spear before jerking around to snap the others neck. The security feeds disappear, just as the doors open to reveal your Mandalorian.

He freezes in place at the sight of you on your knees, Gideon’s dark weapon threatening your life within a few inches. You want to cry at the sight of him but hold back all tears. Something is about to happen, and you don’t know what. You’re certain that Mando’s the more capable warrior, but Gideon’s got you, quite literally backed into a corner.

Mando steps into the room, blaster trained on Gideon.

“Drop the blaster, slowly.” Gideon orders.

Mando does it, and your heart breaks that Mando’s not willing to risk you in any way. He kicks his blaster away toward the corner.

“Give her to me.” he says.

“She’s just fine where she is.” Gideon waves the sword back and forth in front of your neck, taunting Mando.

“Mesmerizing, isn’t it?” Gideon launches into a monologue about the saber, and someone helping Mando- apparently, they had already taken control of the bridge. You listen, but stare back at Mando, hoping, pleading with the Maker that you’ll be walking out of here together. Gideon continues to ramble on, revealing that whoever wields the weapon has the right to lay claim to the Mandalorian throne- a powerful bartering piece indeed. Mando stares back at you.

You finally chime in, “I know baby, he sure does like to hear himself talk, doesn’t he?” you smile.

“You keep it. I just want my girl.”

Gideon looks between you and the saber.

“Very well. I have everything I need from her. All I wanted was to study her. She’s been gifted with very rare properties that have the potential to bring order to the galaxy.”

You indicate with the slightest nod of your head, that Gideon is full of shit, but refrain from shouting the truth. Gideon’s beaten- he knows it, which is why he’s resorting to desperate lies.

Mando looks at you.

"I see what she means to you. Take her. But you will leave my ship immediately and we will go our separate ways.”

Gideon steps back, circling around to let Mando pass. Grabbing you at the elbows, he helps you on your feet. The tears threaten to spill over- how you’ve dreamed for months of being back in Mando’s arms. But you’re not home free yet. His gloved hand comes to your temple, gently brushing over the injury.

“Can you walk?”

For Din, I will walk anywhere.

You nod, staring back into his visor, in disbelief that he is really standing here, and essentially, he just traded a whole world for you, without a second thought.

Gideon slowly backs out of the room, he and Mando cautious of each other's movements. You step out of the cell, backing away in the opposite direction. Both men stop and stare at one another, waiting for the other to turn his back. Mando looks down at you. He turns and places both hands on your shoulders, slowly backing you up two steps. With a swift push, he shoves you back into the cell. The doors close, just as you scream out for him

You hear the now familiar sound of Gideon’s dark saber igniting, followed by the clashing sounds of electricity and metal on the other side. You bang on the doors, kicking and screaming to be let out. Each thunk of metal is accompanied by Mando’s grunts and the sound of sparks and hammering metal. Blow after blow, kindles your fear. Can Gideon’s sword cut through beskar steel? The sounds of the battle ensuing on the other side of the doors is maddening.

Suddenly, the black glow of Gideon’s sword stabs through the steel plate of the door. You lean in a backward arc, as the sword blazes a path, passing inches above your face. If it can cut through a solid cell door?

You pound your fists, continuing to demand your release. If you were on the other side, surely you could do something to help? But your safety always comes first with Mando.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you listen, unable to see what's happening. Mando’s grunts grow louder, the clashing of steel on steel, deafening, until finally…silence.

You listen closely for any indication on who defeated who, but don’t hear anything. A moment later, and you once again hear the electric hum of Gideon’s saber. Your heart stops. Waiting. Waiting.

The doors open to reveal a victorious Mando, saber in hand. You throw yourself into his arms and revel in the feeling of him squeezing you back. “You found me,” you whisper beside his helmet. “I always will.” he says back, making you smile.

Your reunion is sweet, but short lived. “Tell me about it later,” he says, and you nod in agreement. There’s so much to say, so much to tell, but not now, and not in front of Gideon, who is standing nearby, hands in binders.

You walk down the hall, side by side. Mando squeezes your right hand, tightly held within his grasp. In his other hand, he holds the dark saber, at the ready should Gideon decide to step out of line. Gideon walks ahead, leading the way to the bridge where the other Mandalorians wait. A woman, athletic in build and sporting a small New Republic insignia pin on her leather jacket, meets you in the corridor. She falls in line with “nice work,” happy to escort you to the others waiting on the bridge. “Mando, we’ve got trouble, incoming.”

You see Gideon’s profile as he turns to look over his shoulder. The smug bastard is smiling. Not good. Mando pushes him forward with a kick to the back of the leg.

As you pass through the halls, you realize where you are. Pershing’s lab is nearby. As you pass the door, you come to a halt, pulling against Mando’s hand.

“Wait, there’s something I need to do,” you say, pulling away.

“We don’t have time for detours,” the woman says.

Mando holds up his hand, shushing her. “You got him?”

“Got him,” she repeats back, indicating she has a watchful eye on Gideon with the blaster in her hands. They follow you in the room as your gaze sweeps over the landscape, until it comes to a stop on the cryo-freezer.

“What is it?” Mando asks, stepping up next to you.

“Me. Pieces of me.” you say.

Gideon chuckles behind you. “Go on. Why don’t you tell him what it really is? Why don’t you tell him the truth? Why don’t you tell him that you could be carrying another man’s child, right at this very moment?” Mando’s head swings to Gideon, who is all too thrilled to deliver such a verbal blow. Mando’s head turns back to you, seeking answers. Where to even begin?

You swallow a hard lump in your throat, searching for the words to even begin to explain what’s been happening on this ship- about Gideon’s twisted experiment.

“That’s right. Why, it was only moments ago that she was flat on her back, a powerful force user, between her legs…”

Mando snaps, and faster than lightspeed he is on Gideon and throwing punches. It’s a rapid-fire succession of brutal strikes, directly to Gideon’s face. There is absolutely no time for recovery in between and Gideon can’t even get his arms up in front of his face to block.

“Mando!” you shout, not really sure why. It’s something you feel too- the need to get some retribution for everything that’s happened. For the hurt, the pain, the time lost…for Halo, for everything. Obviously Mando needs it too.

Gideon slumps onto the floor, but Mando doesn’t let up. It’s a brutal beating- enough to make you turn your head away.

“Mando, enough!” the other woman shouts angrily, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps pummeling Gideon’s face until it’s a horrific mass of bloody flesh and sinew.

Mando reaches over his shoulder, pulling the steel spear from his back. He momentarily pauses to catch his breath, chest heaving from exertion.

“Mando, don’t do it,” the woman persists. But her plea falls on deaf ears. Raising both arms into the air, Mando strikes down, spearing Gideon through the mouth. His jaw cracks open as the spear exits to the side, nailing the man’s head to the floor.

You stare at him in shock. You’d never seen Mando so completely unhinged. Ordinarily he was just in his killings, often offering his opponents the chance to lay down their weapons and leave. In other instances, he was cognizant to make death as quick and efficient as possible. This was none of those things. You can’t imagine what he must be feeling, what he must have gone through these past months, to make him react this way.

“You’re right, the man talked too much.” he says.

He walks toward you and you both take a moment to just hold each other.

“Do you know what you’ve just done?” the woman says.

Mando loosens his hold on you as you turn to face her.

“It’s less than he deserved.”

“I have no doubt, but that wasn’t your call to make! We had a deal. I get to take him in alive, that was the deal! You’re not the only one he’s hurt. There’s a long line of people waiting for justice to be served.”

“This was just.”

“This was selfish! Those people deserved to be present when justice was handed down.”

“So let them know he suffered.”

“Don’t you get it? This wasn’t our deal. We had an agreement. He was already in custody. He was weaponless, his hands are in binders for Maker’s sake! This wasn’t what the New Republic agreed upon.”

Mando looks on in silence. You know it probably irritates him that he’s reneged on an agreement. Loyalty is of the utmost importance to him, but he refuses to apologize.

“You just put yourself on the New Republic’s most wanted list.”

You dare to look in Gideon’s direction. There’s blood everywhere. The man’s face is unrecognizable.

“Wait,” you interject. “The infirmary is the next room over, there’s an IT-O and a bacta tank. Maybe if you hurry…”

She looks at Mando to see if he’ll stop her. When he doesn’t make a move, she walks over to Gideon, and pulls Mando's spear free of Gideon’s skull. She tosses it to Mando- he catches it but makes no move to assist her otherwise.

“You better hope this works.” she says, draging Gideon’s body out the door, by his full-length cape.

“It didn’t happen,” you start to say. “It almost did, but I got away before it could. I want you to know that.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He says, pressing the front of his helmet to your forehead. “A New Republic prison cell wasn’t going to stop him from coming for you. I know- because it wouldn’t stop me.”

“I don’t think he’ll be hurting anyone now.”

Mando’s comm link comes on. “Mando?”

“We’re on our way.” he answers back, hearing the urgency behind the voice.

“Make it quick, we’ve got incoming. The dark troopers are attempting to break through the shields.” Mando grabs your hand and begins to run.

“Wait!” You say, pulling him to a stop. You grab one of the grav charges from Mando’s belt and slap it on the shell of the cryo-freezer. When the door closes behind you, an explosive boom rocks the ship, and you head toward the bridge, knowing that no piece of you will be left behind.

All eyes are on you, when you follow Mando, in hand, onto the bridge floor. It’s a little unnerving to see other Mandalorians- sans helmets, staring back. You’re not sure what exactly to say to them, as “Thanks for helping Mando rescue me,” sounds a little awkward, albeit true. So, you elect to offer them a head nod with the dip of your chin, and hope it conveys the sentiment for the time being. They return the nod, and you can feel one or two’s gaze linger with curiosity for a few more seconds. No doubt, they are wondering what is so special about you that they have all risked their lives to come here but based on what Gideon had said back in your cell, it sounds like Mando may have been able to work out some sort of deal with them that was otherwise beneficial for them to come along. A key to the throne perhaps?

“Where’s Gideon?” the redhead who appears to be the leader asks?

“Infirmary.” Mando answers, leaving it at that.

Something passes over her face that you can’t quite pinpoint. Frustration perhaps?

Mando changes the subject. “Can’t we shut down the troopers from here?”

“Not unless you happen to know the override code. Don’t suppose Gideon can be convinced to give it up?”

“He can’t talk right now.” Mando says, staring at the security screen.

Because you pried his jaw off his head.

A secondary alarm begins beeping.

“There’s no time anyway, they’ve already breached the hull. We need to lock down this room.”

One by one, tiny figures start aligning on the schematics, each identifying a trooper in the platoon. There are dozens, and your heart begins to race when you think of what it took for Mando to take down one.

“They’re headed this way,” the redhead says.

“Don’t worry, I’m getting you out of here.” Mando says to you, and your heart flutters that his first concern is still your safety. One of the other Mandalorians punches a button to seal the blast doors, and you watch as the extra set of precautionary doors close. Anxiety reaches its peak when all the Mandalorians put their helmets back on and train their blasters at the door.

In perfect synchronization, the troopers begin pummeling the door with the thundering force of mechanized battering rams. More goosebumps raise on your skin with each slam, unnerving you to the core.

If they break through…

The entire structure of the room shakes, their efforts now visible on the outer surface of the doors. They will get through, and although there are four capable warriors in the room, you are weaponless, and even if you weren’t, it wouldn’t be enough. Your heart saddens for the strangers in the room, for what they gambled coming on this ride. But mostly, you tell yourself that if you are about to die, you are happy it is alongside the man you love.

Just as the hammering reaches a fever pitch, another intruder alarm begins to sound from the console.

“An x-wing,” one of the women says, just as a ship flies past. “One x-wing?” another says.

There’s no response when they ask the pilot to identify themselves, but a small awareness you can’t describe starts to tingle down in your gut. Your senses are flooded by a series of intuitive emotions. Peace. Hope. Familiarity.

Suddenly, the room goes silent as the troopers cease their battering. Everyone in the room shares stares, questioning what the hell is happening.

You take a step closer to the monitor. A familiar voice, one you’ve not heard since that day on the rock, softly speaks to you. Only it’s not in your ear. It’s not words in your mind. It’s like your brain is writing a closed caption transcript for your feelings. The voice is Luke’s, and he says, I’m here.

On the monitors, every trooper diverts its attention away from you, and toward the newcomer- a figure in a dark hooded robe. He ignites a lightsaber, much like the one you stole from Flint. Though its unique color isn’t visible on the black and white monitor, you recognize the electric hum as the same.

The redhead whispers “a Jedi,” under her breath, confirming what you already know to be true. Mando spins around, startled by her words. You continue to stare, transfixed by both what you are feeling, and by what you are seeing on the monitor. The Jedi cuts through each steel battle droid, like a blade through tissue paper. It takes no more than one or two swings of his saber to dispense of each, and some he doesn’t even make contact with. He simply lifts his hand and watches as they are launched away or crushed under an invisible force he controls.

Every set of eyes in the room, silently watches in awe, at both the power and grace with which he wields it. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.

By the time he reaches the outer door, there’s a trail of battle droid parts and shrapnel littering his path like a trail of breadcrumbs. Your hand absently touches the monitor as you feel the voice in your mind again. It’s ok now. And the feeling that surrounds his message feels safe and comforting.

You and Mando stare at each other. It seems impossible that anyone would believe that you might have anything in common with this Jedi- but you also know deep in your gut, that it’s true.

Staring into the T of his visor, you’re not sure what to say anymore.

He hesitates a moment, and then says, “open the doors.”

Nobody moves. Weapons stay trained on the door, and you can’t blame them. Three minutes ago, you would have said a platoon of dark troopers was the scariest thing you had ever seen. Now a singular being that defeated every last one stands on the other side.

Mando repeats himself, “I said, open the doors.”

When nobody makes a move, he walks past, to push the button on the console himself.

“Are you crazy?” one of the others says.

Mando drops your hand to step in front of you- shielding you until the very end.

Always protecting.

You take a small step to the right, so you can just peek around Mando’s shoulder. When the doors open and the smoke clears, the Jedi appears. He retracts his saber, holstering it on his belt. It’s both a clear indication that he intends no harm, but also that he perceives no credible threat.

When he lifts back his hood, you’re taken aback by the ordinariness of him. Handsome yes, in a boyish charm sort of way, but otherwise, he appears so…normal? Never in your years would you have imagined the man in front of you wielded such power. He’s not menacing or overtly intimidating- battle aside. He’s just…ordinary. Like me?

His eyes quickly sweep over the room, until he lands his sights on you.

“Luke?” you ask, wondering again how it’s possible you know it was him you heard in the dark, all those days ago. Mando’s head turns slightly, and you know he’s wondering how you know his name.

He slowly smiles back at you, confirming it’s true.

“Are you a Jedi?” Mando asks.

“I am.” he confirms, and then extends his hand to me. “Shall we?”

You immediately turn to Mando, a thousand emotions clogging your throat. Thankful that everyone is safe. Excited that you might finally have answers to the questions you’ve been asking all your life. Love. Pure love for the man standing next to you. And terror- for whatever the next words out of his mouth might be. Your eyes begin to well, because you sense it before he even speaks.

Mando pulls you forward to face you, and like a million times before, you wish you could read the emotions on his face beneath the helmet. Sensing the hesitation from you both, Luke says, “She is strong with the force, but talent without training is nothing. I will give my life to protect her, but she will not be safe until she masters her abilities.”

You know Luke’s words will cut Mando, straight to the quick, because keeping you safe has always been the priority, hasn’t it?

Mando nods, and you know the decision is made, for all of you. You have to let him go. He’ll never be ok if he thinks he didn’t do everything he could to keep you safe. You have to relieve him of that burden, save him from the guilt. Your eyes begin to burn as you struggle to hold back the tears.

“Go on,” he says, his voice slightly strained. “That’s who you belong with, he’s one of your kind.” The words rip you apart. Not because he’s asking you to go, but because for the first time, you’re convinced he actually wants you to stay, and this is killing him too. You press your forehead to his and close your eyes as the tears fall. It’s the only way to say goodbye.

“I’ll see you again…. I promise.”

The fact that he speaks those words aloud is a comfort. You know this man holds true to his word, but the knowledge that fate might intervene with other plans, and prevent you from ever reuniting, is a hard pill to swallow.

When you finally lean away, you muster the strength for a half-hearted smile, and gently stroke the side of his helmet. You take a step backward, away from the man you love.

“Wait,” he says, halting you. His hand reaches up, catching the underside of his helmet. He begins to lift it up.

“No! You can’t.” you say, your hands covering his, stopping him.

“I need to.” he says, his hands proceeding to lift the helmet off. You squeeze your eyes closed, forcing the spill of more tears. Your hands fall away as you feel the rise of his helmet, up and off.

When you hear him again, it’s his voice, Din’s voice. No modulation. “Look at me," he asks.

You shake your head no, refusing to believe that he just gave up everything for you. You are standing in a room full of people, his face visible to all but you. You know it’s already done, it’s too late now, but can’t bring yourself to open your eyes and confirm it.

You feel the press of his forehead- this time, skin to skin, as he whispers your name.

“........look at me.” he says again.

And you know you have to, because he’s just sacrificed everything, and it can’t be for naught. You must give him this. So, you open your eyes and blink through the tears to see the most beautiful pair of umber colored eyes staring back.

All other life in the room fades away. Nothing exists but you and him and this moment. You reach your hand up to run the pads of your fingers over his cheek. Your mind begins to catalog the shape and feel of every feature, desperately attempting to imprint the memory of his face in your mind. The sporadic stubble on his cheek, at odds with the perfect mustache over his lips. The defined slope of his nose. The crease above his brow. The complete disarray of his hair, and Maker help you- the slightest indentation- a dimple on his right cheek. And when you put it all together, it’s Din, and he’s perfect. And although he’s never said the words, I love you, out loud, he is saying them right now with the expression on his face. Reflecting back at you, is all the warmth and love you feel for him too, written in that gaze.

When he leans in, neither of you is able to close your eyes- fearful everything will erase if you do. What might otherwise have been an awkward, open eyes kiss, is in reality, the most meaningful kiss of your life. It’s devotion. It’s warmth. It’s gratitude. It’s love. It’s goodbye.

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A/N: We are close to the end, but we've got one more chapter to go! Thank you to those who have stuck with me to this point. For those that are ready for this story to conclude, I think you'll be satisfied with the ending and yes, I think all remaining questions will be answered. For those that aren't ready for the story to end, I'm happy to say, I will be continuing with a part two and I already have the first 6 chapters mapped out, but more on that later....

Chapter character art was based on canon physical descriptions, though complete liberty was taken with personalities.

Sith Meditation played on loop while I wrote this chapter

As always, hearts, reblogs and comments are much appreciated. Thank you for reading!

Faithful Readers: @mandosmistress @mandomover @yeetusfeetus3000 @wildmoonflower @littlemisspascal @starwars-thirst @spideysimpossiblegirl @mominousrex @toobsessedsstuff @pickledbeskar @brunette-overalls @jeonmvvn

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