Lambda shuttle takes the lead – Slave I, Fett’s ship, follows closely as they course through hyperspace. It’s phase one, Bo-Katan, Koska, Din, Maha, Cara and Fennec occupying the shuttle’s space while, behind them, Boba and Pershing reside. If the plan’s to work, nothing can go wrong. Maha pats at the last grenade on her belt, the one she’d held onto since Nevarro. It’d originally been a keepsake, a trinket to remember the experience by, but it’s also an ace up her sleeve if needed.

“Moff Gideon is mine,” Bo-Katan asserts, “got it?” She peers over her shoulder to the others.

“He’s ex-ISB, he’s got a lot of information,” Cara reasons, “I need him alive.”

“I don’t care what happens to him, as long as he surrenders to me.”

“Prepare t’ exit jump space,” Boba can be heard through the comms.

“Copy that, get the hell out of there as soon as they clear us t’ dock,” Bo-Katan directs. “And your shots have to look convincing.”

“Power up those shields, Princess, I’ll put on a good show.”

Maha glances at Din, tilting her helmet. Princess? He offers a shrug in response and her lips quirk.

“Watch out for those deck cannons,” Bo-Katan says.

“Don’t worry about me, just be careful in there,” Fett responds. She’s intrigued, sensing tension between the two – she’d noticed it in Koska too. Din had yet to tell her what happened in that cantina.

“Exiting hyperspace in three, two, one –” Koska announces, pulling the lever. The ship slows, forms jerking at the change, and Maha appreciates the now-visible stars. The smooth glide doesn’t last long however, as the second Fett exits the jump his ship begins firing and Bo-Katan stakes evasive manoeuvres. In the distance, Moff Gideon’s cruiser can be seen; an imposing and threatening silhouette.

“This is Lambda shuttle, two-seven-four-three, requesting emergency docking!” Bo-Katan pleads believably through the comms, directly to the cruiser. “Repeat! Requesting emergency docking, we are under attack!”

“Copy Lambda shuttle,” someone responds, a feminine voice, “request received. Stay clear of launch tube, deploying fighter squadron.”

Everyone appears to share a nervous glance, Maha turning her helmet to Din. TIE fighters aren’t part of the plan. From the launch tube comes one of the fighters and it zooms over the shuttle in order to flank Boba. A second is released, Bo-Katan dangerously maintaining the ship’s direction towards the launch tube, forcing the approaching TIE to swerve out of the way.

“Request denied!” The voice urges, “please clear launch tube until fighters deploy!”

“Negative, negative! We are under attack!”

Shots of blazing green fly past the shuttle, narrowly missing Fett. Maha shifts, the tension palpable as they close in on the launch tube. The shuttle’s wings fold upwards and Fett sharply changes route – drawing the fighters away. Hands grip onto the backs of chairs as the group braces for impact.

“Hang on!” Fennec yells, the ship crashing down onto the flight tube as the deafening screech of metal on metal echoes throughout the hangar.

“Good?” Din checks.

“Good,” everyone confirms in unison, patting at themselves to ensure no injuries were sustained.

Bo-Katan rises from her seat and activates the lowering of the ramp, “let’s go.” Din and Maha remain at the back, ducked and hidden behind the seats to give the illusion that no one has remained on the ship as the others make their way down the ramp and begin firing at troopers who come to resolve the wreckage.

“Are you okay?” He mutters and Maha nods.

“Yeah, a little shaken up but that’s what it’s all about,” she jokes softly.

From outside, blaster fire can be made out through the smoke, the final screams of soldiers audible as team one cuts easily through them. Gradually, the noise fades until all is quiet – Din turns to her.

“I want you t’ stay on the ship,” he requests. “Until we’ve apprehended Gideon, at least.”

“You’re kidding – I’m fine! I can help! I didn’t come this far just to –”

“No,” Din says sternly. “I can’t risk you getting hurt, again. I need you safe when I retrieve Grogu.”

“Arsehole!” Maha hisses, “I’m coming.”

“Please, Maha!” He cuts. “Remember what I said? I can’t lose you.”

She stares at him, shaking her head. Her gut demands she fight, she yell and kick and shove her way past him but she leans back in her seat and sighs. “Okay. I’ll be here – just… please come back.”

He presses the foreheads of their helmets together fondly. “We will.”

Din stands and makes his way through the shuttle and down the ramp, offering her one final look. He disappears through the cloud of smoke, the jingle of his boot growing faint. When she deems that he’s far enough away, she pushes herself to her feet and scoffs. “I’m coming,” she repeats to herself firmly, “there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Around the hangar, trooper bodies are scattered – similar to Nevarro, she thinks. How many will have to die before they open their eyes? The brig, Maha reminds herself, Din would be stopping by the dark trooper bay and then he’d get to the brig. She’s already able to walk on her wounded leg better, a subtle limp at a moderate speed. Sure, she wasn’t suited for an intense fight in her state but she could help. Maha spots Din round a corner, being sure to stay far enough behind that he wouldn’t sense her presence. He’s a bounty hunter, after all, and his guard is up meaning he’ll be paying attention to the tiny details. That, and she needs to be equally wary of roaming Imperials, droids and soldiers alike.

“We’re heading to the bridge now!” She hears the familiar monotone of a stormtrooper, footsteps approaching fast and she slinks into the shadows, back pressed firmly to a pipe that starts to dig into her hip. They pass, oblivious to her, and she steps back out into view with a grunt – waiting a moment to peek around the corner. Din’s at the far end of the corridor, attention focused forwards and she genuinely considers catching up to him, revealing herself but a bud of spite threatens to flower in her. A desire to prove herself… You’ll see how capable I am.

Another few corridors and a droid makes itself known, blathering away in an unknown language as it goes by. She knows it'd slowed Din down ahead, likely in a similar predicament of hiding around a corner as she waits for it to proceed beyond her position. It doesn’t come down her corridor however, drawing a relieved huff from her. They’re getting close to the droid bay now when she hears more stormtroopers, gritting her teeth when they stop next to her. She’s going to lose Din if she can’t progress soon.

“The insurgents are making their way up to the bridge!” One informs.

“We’ve been ordered to defend it,” another announces.

“Where’s Moff Gideon in all this?”

“I don’t know, probably guarding the prisoner,” a third comments.

“How did this even happen?” The second grunts.

“Heard it was a trojan attack, they never saw it coming,” the first says.

Maha decides she’s had enough, the idle gossip likely a distraction from the reality that this is their last day alive. But she’s losing precious time – Din could be in danger. She needs to move. “Kind of like this then,” she interjects, stepping out from the shadows as the troopers turn to her, confused. She throws a punch at one, retracting the arm with force to elbow the second in the jaw and then activates her flame thrower on the third, firing cord at him to yank his weight into the second. A shot from her blaster spares them their suffering, vibroblade unsheathed and held tightly as she lowers her form as much as she can to lunge at the remaining trooper. He holds his hands up defensively and backs away, turning and breaking into a sprint but Maha’s faster, launching her blade through the air which hits him fatally in the back of the head – his body collapsing and clattering to the ground.

Retrieving her blade, Maha wipes the blood onto her forearm and proceeds down the hall after Din. Moving as fast as she can, she can make out Din’s voice, blaster fire pinging into view and as she rounds the corner she absorbs the scene. Din’s laying on the floor on his side, pinned by a barrage of blaster shots as one of the dark troopers closes in on him. He activates his whistling birds, the weapons zinging through the air and attacking the droid’s weakest spots. The Mandalorian heaves himself to his feet and swirls, plunging his spear into the neck of the droid.

“Din!” Maha announces her presence, ignoring his strained surprise.

“What are you –” He’s interrupted by the dreadful cracking of the door metal, the rest of the droids almost through, “ah, the door!” He urges, “pull the handle, quickly!”

Wasting no time, Maha eases past the fight and scans the door’s controls, noting the handle. Behind her, there’s a thud as the dark trooper’s form collides with the floor. She reaches out and pulls it, peering inside to see the safety doors opening. The droids are sucked out into the void, relief washing over her. Maha turns to see the droid offline, its head hanging on by a cable, form lifeless on the ground – though she supposes it was already lifeless.

“I told you t’ stay with the –” Din snarls irritably, his legs carrying him across the hallway speedily towards her.

“We don’t have time for this,” Maha interrupts, gesturing to the hall ahead, “go find the kid.”

“Come with me,” he tells her, “it’s not safe –”

Footsteps thunder down the hall and they exchange glances as stormtroopers turn the corner – a large group, perhaps seven or eight, with their blasters raised. “Go,” Maha demands, shoving at Din’s chest, “I’ll hold them off.”

“No, we can –”

“The child needs you!” She barks, shoving him again. “I’ll meet you at the bridge. Go!”

His body forces him to break away, reluctantly turning into a sprint as he runs down the hall towards the brig. The last glimpse he catches of her is her silhouette engulfed by blaster fire. “Fuck!” He shouts, the child needs him, she’s right, this entire plan will have been futile for him if he doesn’t get him back safely, but in turn he’s had to leave someone equally as dear and important to him – potentially to her death.

The blaster fire is merciless, raining down upon her swift and blinding but for the most part she manages to dodge it, utilising her armour to protect against the shots that don’t miss. She takes shelter around a section of wall that juts out, gives herself a second to think. There’s no way she can kill all of them with her blaster alone, her rifle useless in this circumstance… She’s alone, meaning no distractions. Maha’s hands roam her belt, patting for something she can use – anything.

“Aha!” She grips at the remaining grenade, clutching it hopefully. “You’ll do.” The throw needs to be good enough that it doesn’t roll away or blow up before reaching the soldiers, meaning she needs to be closer. Peering around the corner, a blast pings off her helmet and she grunts sharply as her ears ring.

Throwing herself into a forward roll, she makes her way across to another spot of cover, eyeing the third closely. She pulls the pin and sucks in a breath, roughly counting the timing in her head before leaping out into the open to toss the explosive at the wall of troopers. She lands on chest armour with a thunk, skidding across the floor – she didn’t make it to the cover and is stranded out in the middle of the hallway. The troopers yell in terror at the realization that it’s a grenade, scrambling to grab it and throw it back but her timing is immaculate. “Shit,” Maha curses, ignoring the burn in her leg as she heaves herself up and breaks into a staggered run in the other direction.

It detonates, the roaring of the explosion muffling the sound of the troopers crying out in agony. The ship shakes, tremors and thunders and the blast radius, contained within two corridors, is powerful and she’s close enough that it tears her off her feet and hurls her down the hall. She hits the ground hard, her head colliding with her helmet and her vision blurs. Unable to steel herself, the darkness sweeps her into its hold.

“Your hair is so beautiful, Maha, I wish mine was like yours.”

“Yours is beautiful in a different way, Aya, that doesn’t make it any less so.”

Maha’s gaze lowers to her fingers, noting how the strands of her sister’s hair are wrapped around them as she braids it. She folds one piece over another, careful not to tug too hard. Her hands don’t feel like her own though – like she’s watching a film from her perspective but isn’t actually engaging.

“It’s going to look just like Ma-ma’s,” she feels herself say. The voice is much smaller and lighter than her own, undeveloped and not yet matured. Aya’s hand is brought back to offer her some fabric, a stunning blue bandana. Unable to speak, Maha observes as the braids are secured, the fabric wrapped into place, and she steps back to admire her work. “All done.”

“Thanks, Maha,” Aya approaches the small dresser in the corner of the room, peering into the mirror there to check for herself. “Wow, you’re so good at those! Will you teach me one day?”

Maha stares towards the mirror – she can’t see herself. “Of course, Ma-ma taught me. I wasn’t much older than you when I learned.”

“Maha, Aya!” She feels her mother’s call, can still hear the gentle lullabies as soft skin lovingly caressed her cheek, willing sleep to take her.

“Coming Ma-ma!” She returns, pressing a palm to Aya’s back. “Come, Aya, Ma-ma calls.”

They hurry down the creaky steps of their home, Aya’s footsteps defined behind her – she always took the lead in case Aya fell, so she could catch her. They reach the bottom and Maha notices just how large everything appears, the furniture and doors, even the steps feel wide against her bare feet. “Where are you, Ma-ma?” She asks, hand now in Aya’s grasp as they, side by side, walk into the social room. “Ma-ma?”

From behind the couch, their mother pops up and roars playfully, hands raised to tickle as she chases them through the corridor and out the back into the garden. The blades of grass can be felt against her skin, like she’s truly there, Aya’s warm giggles echoing around her. Their mother catches up, wrapping her arms around both their slender torsos and they howl happily with excitement. The laughter softens, a kiss pressed to both of their noses. It’s here that Maha observes her mother is faceless, features non-existent and skin a blur of different tones where shadows and contours would usually be.

“Now that I’ve gotten your attention,” their mother begins, “food will be ready soon. You may play for ten minutes, and then you’ll have to wash your hands – okay?”

“Yes, Ma-ma!” They say together and watch as their mother goes back indoors.

Something feels wrong. “Let’s play a game!” She suggests.

“Okay!” Aya hops energetically.

“Hide and seek!” Maha announces. “Ready?”

“Ready! Maha! You’re it!”

“Aya, we’re playing hide and seek!”

“Oops! Okay, you have to count – I’m going to hide!”

Her vision darkens, the sound becoming distorted and eerie – the faintest sound of counting can be heard. “Aya?” She mumbles, her speech slurred. “What’s – What’s happening, Aya?” She treads slowly through the grass, its texture unpleasant and sodden now. Her feet are lifted to examine the liquid dripping from them, thick and red. Maha worriedly searches for her sister, silent until she makes her way around the corner, a piercing scream ripping from her and she’s running, bolting towards something – or away? She trips, pain shooting through her leg, lithe body floating in the air and then lands face first, hard.

She’s back in the fight pit, the crowd whooping and yelling heatedly. Blood pours over her forearm and down her back, wounds pulsating agonisingly and her gaze settles on the approaching beast, its maw wide and jagged teeth intimidating – she’s certain a string of drool flings from its tongue. The crowd begins to panic, shoving and clambering over each other for an escape. In front of her, sturdy boots appear, firm in the dirt as four blaster shots ring out, killing the creature. A hand reaches for her, wraps around her waist and Maha looks up in shock – it’s Din. His beskar shining brightly and stance heroic as he jets into the air with her. Then, as quickly as he appeared, he vanishes and now it’s merely her soaring through the sky with no jets to save her. She drops, feeling the air whooshing by quicker and quicker as her body approaches the ground. She squeezes her eyes shut, body curling in on itself and she waits for the fatal thud. It never comes, eyes fluttering open to find herself standing in front of a cage, similar to the one she’d been kept in.

Inside lies Aya’s body, slender and bony, her skin verging on being blue. Maha races to her, arms gathering the stiff body up and cradling it – she notices she’s not crying but can hear herself sobbing. Moments go by and she remains like that, clutching her sister’s dead body for some time until finally she sets it down on the ground, fingers reaching to fondly stroke her hair. Carefully, respectfully, she frees the blue bandana from her locks and stares at it. The fabric is tied at her wrist, the sensation of tears slipping down her cheeks unmistakeable, yet as they pass over dry lips she tastes nothing – like they’re not real.

A hand presses her shoulder, a low, filtered voice speaking behind her. “It’s time t’ go.”

“The ray shields have been breached. We’re being boarded,” Fennec announces, eyeing the screens as alarms bleep in warning.

“How many life forms?” Bo asks.

“None.”

“You’re about to face off with the dark troopers,” Gideon reveals. Din had since defeated and captured him, bringing him to the bridge. “You had your hands full with one,” he quips, turning to Din. “Let’s see how you do against a platoon.”

Din grunts, turning to Bo-Katan, “Maha’s still out there!” He stresses to her.

“I’m afraid your friend won’t make it on their own,” Gideon smirks.

“I have to find her –”

“You can’t,” Bo-Katan interjects. “Don’t forget your priority is the child, you must keep him safe.”

Din swivels to Cara who shakes her head apologetically. “We need t’ hold the bridge if we’re going to have any chance,” she reasons.

“They’re headed this way,” Bo-Katan states, monitoring their progress alongside Koska.

He growls angrily and crosses the room, placing the child safely behind cover, “don’t worry kid, I’m gonna get you out of here,” he promises. Din approaches the video-feed, looking for signs of Maha. Was she even still alive!?

“Wha–” Maha groans hoarsely as she wakes, blinking through the bleariness of her vision. Her back aches, leg pulsing and – “fuck, my head.” Her hands grasp at the floor, willing herself to overcome the potential concussion and she sits upright, slowly turning her head to take in her surroundings. Flames are still rumbling lowly from the corpses at the end of the hall, the white trooper armour now shattered and scorched. Footsteps can be heard, distant but heavy, the clanging of metal – Maha stumbles as she rises, unnerved by the sound. Her blaster is pulled out and she stumbles back down the corridor towards the burning bodies, stepping over the dead droid Din had taken out; its solid chassis having barely been moved by the blast.

Keeping quiet, she makes her way into the next hall and cautiously follows the sound of steps. It’s getting louder, closer and she realizes she’s not following them but rather closing the distance between them. Where are the others? Did Din secure the kid? The bridge – she remembers. Looking around, she spots one of Gideon’s security cameras and gestures towards it, trying to warn them of the incoming threat. Did they know?

“She’s there!” Cara points out, finger pressing to one of the screens. Maha’s form can be seen standing in one of the many corridors of the ship – Din’s not able to pinpoint how far or close she is. He reaches for the microphone, knowing it’d broadcast to the entire ship and more specifically Maha’s position.

“Where are you, Maha?” He asks with urgency. The audio of the feed is faint but he’s sure if she talks loud enough he’ll hear her.

She startles at the volume of Din’s voice suddenly booming through the speaker nearby, staring unappreciatively at the camera. “Thanks for blowing out my eardrums – I’m where you left me!”

Din frowns, distancing himself from the mic a little. “You need t’ get out of there.”

“She won’t make it to the elevator,” Koska says.

“Need t’ get out of sight, Maha, it’s the dark troopers – you’re directly in their path.”

Maha tilts her helmet at the camera, grunting at the throbbing in her skull. “They know where you are?”

“Yes.”

Her fingers clench confidently into fists and she peers over her shoulder, knowing it’s approximately two hallways down to the primary cargo bay. You don’t have a jetpack this time, she tells herself.

“Did you hear me? Get out of there!” Din presses.

“I can hold them off,” Maha shouts back.

His stomach drops, heart racing as panic threatens to restrain his breathing. “No, no, no – di'kutla!” He scolds her, “they’ll kill you!”

“The child is the main priority,” she reminds him. “If I can hold them off long enough for you to make a plan…”

“No, Maha!”

She allows Din’s pleading to fade to a murmur, raises her hand to the camera as a goodbye and turns to go down the hall. The awareness that he can likely see her on other cameras is pushed to the back of her mind and she aims her blaster down both corridors before limping along them. Her helmet peeks around the corner of the cargo bay doorframe, visor scanning the space for the enemy. There’s too many to count, their intimidating forms about half a foot taller than her, broad and covered in armour. Perhaps cowardice would’ve been a respectable decision, her conscience quips as she gulps. Their stomps shake the room, booming and full of purpose – they’re not humans, she reminds herself. Emotionless, unfeeling, heartless machines programmed to kill. “I think I’d prefer humans,” she mutters.

Maha makes a run, as fast as she can, to the crate holders, grappling at ledges and bars to heave herself up. There are hefty crates strapped down, which she cuts the straps of with her blade and pushes the heels of her boots into one of the containers, yelling for strength – the crate eventually shifting over the edge and falling down to crush a few of the droids with a dreadful crunch. Just droids, she says in her head. They don’t falter at the attack however, continuing onwards for the bridge. Scrambling down the frames, Maha races over to a stack of cases which she notices are on wheels. Testing their weight, she rams her body into one and sends it rolling towards the droids and successfully, it knocks a couple over.

It’s not enough. They just keep moving like they don’t perceive her. “Okay, okay –” The cord from her vambrace is launched at the crate holder, setting up a tripwire essentially. The rows of droids surge forwards, some of those at the front tripping on the cord as anticipated but with Maha holding one end she inevitably can’t hold the pressure and slips, skidding along the ground after them. She cuts the cord and stands again.

There’s no stopping them, she concludes, meaning the most she could do was damage them to where the others might stand a chance. Her blaster is aimed at the crowd and she fires, finger repeatedly pulling the trigger over and over. The shots ping off the armour and through the air, burning the ceiling and walls – the droids unaffected. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she groans, aiming the blaster at ones head and firing two shots. The droid stills for a beat and then turns to face her, stepping out of line. Well, that did it.

“It’s going to kill her,” Din rants, grabbing at the screen as though it’ll do something. “She has no idea what she’s going up against it –”

“It’s only a matter of time before they arrive and crush you all alongside her,” Gideon points out.

Din rubs a hand over the face of his helmet, shaking his head. He watches as Maha leaps from container to container, wiping out a few droids with the well-placed drop of a crate. She makes her way to the floor and knocks over a few more with another wheelie case, before using her vambrace cord to trip them. “That’s enough,” he whispers, “you’ve done enough just get out of there.” The force of the pull drags her along the ground helplessly and she has to cut the cord to keep from getting trampled. “Leave now,” he growls to the screen. Instead, she opens fire, the shots achieving nothing until she shoots one in the head and it turns to her. “No!”

“Whoops,” Maha croaks, holding her hands up to the droid, “sorry?”

The triangles of the droid’s eyes blaze with deadly acknowledgment and she takes a step back, bumping into another case. It starts towards her, clunky gait picking up speed and she shoves the cases at it, the droid intelligently side stepping in time – a couple of droids in the background getting knocked over by it.

“Shit,” Maha curses, leaping to dodge a solid punch and rolls. She grips her blaster tightly, aiming at its legs first and when that does nothing she continues firing random shots at weak spots in an attempt to find one that works but the droid’s stride doesn’t waver and it closes the distance, delivering a hard backhand that sends her weapon flying across the room. Maha rolls to avoid another punch and then throws herself into a skid to kick out one of its legs. She merely awkwardly collides with the sturdy limb and finds herself staring up at the droid. It angles itself and throws a punch which she turns her body to avoid, the second punch unavoidable which makes contact with her helmet and she’s sure there’s a dent in the floor now. A third punch is launched her way but she grips onto the droid’s legs and hauls her body between them so the fist hits the ground instead, giving her time to regain her footing.

Her flamethrower is used, blasting fire at it and, if she’s being honest, she’d expected it to have an impact which is why she gasps so loudly when the droid appears through the blaze and punches her in the chest, sending her soaring backwards into the wall. Maha huffs, groaning at the pain shooting through her body but adrenaline gradually picks her up. If she gives in, she’s dead – better she go down fighting.

Raising her fists, she steadies herself on the spot and watches as the droids charges and when it swings for her she drops and rolls back between its legs, turning sharply to leap onto its back. Grasping her vibroblade, Maha stabs at the droid’s neck repeatedly and violently, stab after stab she cuts through wire as the droid’s arms rise and hands try to grab her. When it struggles, its upper body drops downwards and sends her tumbling off onto the floor. Unprepared, she doesn’t achieve a roll and instead lands roughly on her front, clawing at the floor to pull herself out of immediate danger, reaching for a stray stormtrooper body to shove between them.

“Seal the blast doors!” Fennec commands, having watched the dark troopers make their way up towards the bridge – approaching them with haste. The doors whir shut, trapping them inside, just as the droids turn the corner.

“They’re here,” Koska states. The group prepares their weapons for a fight, aiming them directly at the door.

Din has to take one final look at the screen, noting that Maha’s on her front and crawling from the attacking droid, before he reaches for his own weapon and crosses the room to a better defence position. There’s nothing he can do for her – she made her choice. Outside, the droids are still and silent – then there’s the hum of movement followed by thudding, the droids throwing powerful punches at the barrier; the pounding is rhythmic.

Maha cries out as the droid grabs the ankle of her wounded leg, dragging her backwards and her armour scrapes shrilly. It lifts her like she weighs nothing, crimson glare piercing into her very soul. “Not – polite to – to stare!” She spits, bringing back her other leg and kicking the droid hard in the face. It drops her and she lands on her back, rolling to the left in time to miss two fists attempting to pummel her. Maha clambers to her feet and coughs, tasting blood as it pools in front of her bottom row of teeth.

While the droid is whirring back to its full height, she runs, bolts towards it, blade in the air ready to disconnect its head from its neck but the droid’s hand catches her by the throat – stopping her harshly in mid-air, legs dangling and arms beating at the armoured limb. She jabs the blade into the shoulder joint and in return it clenches, tighter and tighter. Her vision darkens, Maha gasping and choking helplessly in its hold. This is it, she thinks. It was going to squash her throat like she is nothing. The droid effortlessly snatches up her stabbing hand and with one hard crunch, it crushes it, the bones shattering under the pressure and Maha screams at the pain, raw and unfiltered in its power.

Hearing the scream through the faint speakers, Din peers over at the screen and falters when he sees Maha in the air, the droid’s hand wrapped around her neck. “No,” he utters.

“You have an impressive fire team protecting you,” Gideon acknowledges, “but I think we all know – after a valiant stand, everyone in this room will be dead… but me, and the child.”

He tears his eyes away and looks at the Moff who has been seated on the ground nearby. With a huff, he turns his gaze back to the door, holding his blaster firm. The tension continues to grow, death seeming certain when suddenly the warning alarms bleep again – informing them of someone boarding the cruiser. Their heads whip around to look out the window, an unfamiliar ship flying by.

“An X-wing,” Koska reports.

“One X-wing? Great, we’re saved,” Cara quips.

Bo-Katan approaches the communications interface and presses a button. “Incoming craft, identify yourself.” There’s no response, yet the ship continues to dock.

In the background of the chaos, they notice the droids have halted, the only pounding now being the blood in their ears.

“Why did they stop?” Fennec asks, bewildered.

On the cameras, Bo-Katan and Din watch as the droids cease movement and appear to turn to face the new threat. A cloaked figure comes into view, a blade of light emerging from their grasp and with each swing, it cuts through the droids effortlessly. “A Jedi?”

“Just – get it… over with,” Maha wheezes, heaving for air. The closing grasp on her neck pauses however, the droid holding her for a few further seconds before she’s dropped. She hits the ground painfully, landing on her back this time, a long, rattling groan leaving her as she curls up into herself, like in her dream. The feeling in her hand is fleeting now and she doesn’t dare assess the damage, keeping it hidden beneath her other forearm. Much to her surprise, the droid turns away and unholsters its blaster, bringing it into its grasp. It’s as though it’s waiting for something, expectantly.

Maha’s eyes threaten to close, conscious of the blood dripping down her calf – implying her wound has reopened. She put up a good fight, if this truly is the end. Better to bleed out than die by the hand of an Imperial, sentient or not. Outside the cargo bay she hears something she’s never heard before. It’s indescribable, incomparable to anything she knows. A shadow appears, or perhaps a cloaked figure, she struggles to define details but it moves with grace, a vibrant, green, glowing sword slicing the droid she’d previously been fighting in half, its body crumbling to the figure’s feet as they pass through the bay and head onwards. The hum of the weapon fades until all she can hear is her laboured breathing.

“She’s stable,” someone says.

“The bacta should help but – she lost so much blood…” Another voice.

“She’s coming to,” a third grunts, a familiar voice wracked with worry – an unmistakable rasp to it. “Maha? That’s it, wake up, Maha.”

Her eyes flutter open, wincing at the lighting of the ship, pain gnawing at her leg instantly – the adrenaline having worn off. She lets out a long whine, her voice crackling a few times as she does. “Wh– Din?” She doesn’t realize the slip of the tongue, his larger form misshapen and blurry.

“It’s me,” Din confirms, outwardly unaffected by the name drop.

“Did – Did I, ah, miss the – smackdown?”

Behind him, Cara huffs at the unexpected question but Din’s unamused, placing his palms onto her helmet to guide her vision onto him. “What were you thinking?”

Maha grunts, shaking her head as much as she can with Din restraining it. “You know I wasn’t.”

“You could’ve been killed.” She grits her teeth as she tries to sit up but is blocked from doing so by a firm hand. “Save your strength.”

“So could – could you…” She mumbles, “been… killed.”

“Maha, I almost lost you.”

Her voice lowers to a whisper, “now you know how it feels,” and then it rises for the others to hear, “so hard to – to get a thank you… around here.” Fennec and Cara scoff a chuckle but a glare from Din has them backing off to give them space.

“We’ll be up with Boba,” Fennec says.

“Give you two a minute,” Cara agrees and they climb up the ladder out of sight, the upper section door closing.

“Di'kutla, di'kutla, di'kutla, di'kutla,” he chants irritably. “Took my fucking jetpack, threw yourself at danger, almost got yourself killed…” He’s blind to the similarities between her and himself and Maha doesn’t have the energy to point it out to him.

“Hypocrite,” she grumbles instead.

“Now I know how it feels,” he repeats her words in disbelief. “Great, you’ve proven your point, congratulations – what now? Huh? Was it worth it?”

“N–Not scared of – of dying,” Maha wheezes.

“Maha that –”

“Let me… finish,” she scolds. “Not scared of dying, but – ah, was terrified of – of losing you. When that – explosion… happened I – had to…”

“Maha.”

She chuckles weakly, hissing sharply when her calf jerks involuntarily. “Need – something…”

“Anything, cyar’ika.”

“Helmet…” She mutters, “take helmet off.”

“What?”

“Our helmets – off.”

Din stares at her, bewildered. “Maha, the Creed –”

“Trust… you,” she says. “Trust you not to look.” It’s partially a test, do you trust me?

“Why off?”

“Shit, Din, do I – do I have to spell it… out for you?” His unbroken stare is a yes, you do. What reason could there be? He’d already broken the Creed once today. “Want to kiss you,” she explains breathily. He continues to watch her, as though he’s struggling to comprehend the request. She wonders if he’ll reject her, refuse and walk away, shame her – but staggeringly fast he reaches for his helmet and there’s a hiss as its removed, Maha’s eyes sealing tightly. The helmet is placed beside him with a soft clank and then his hands are on her helmet. She reaches for his wrists, pausing him. “Are your eyes closed?”

“Yes,” Din whispers. He proceeds, careful not to catch her face, to remove her helmet and place it on the floor.

She can hear him breathing, smooth but fast, unfiltered. There’s the sound of rustling and she arches a brow. “What are you doing?”

“Taking off my gloves.”

“Oh,” she falls quiet again, waiting patiently for something – anything. It isn’t long before something touches her face, finger pads, ten of them ghosting across her skin and then settling into a still, gentle pressure. Maha intakes sharply, the sensation new and shocking. She can tell by Din’s heavier breathing that it’s an experience for him too. Without a second thought, she brings her hands together to remove her own gloves, flinging them off to her left nervously. They rise slow, wary of not hitting Din in the face, but when her fingertips find his stubbled chin there’s no stopping her, palms pressing flat to his skin to eagerly roam.

His breathing stutters at the touch, a strangled sound leaving him when her fingers find his strands of hair, combing through them to get a feel for the length – it’s short, in need of a trim but not overgrown. The same can be said about his stubble, well maintained she imagines but he’s not had the time as of late. “What colour?” She whispers, “your hair.”

“Brown,” Din replies. His hands mimic her movements, gradually working their way up to her hair – it’s tied back and braided into a strand of curves, meeting her neck at a point. He moves the other way, feeling upwards until he reaches the sides of her head and sense the shorter hairs, a fuzzy undercut. “Yours?”

“Blonde.”

“So soft,” he mumbles, “you’re… so soft, everywhere.”

“No one’s… touched my face since I was – was a child,” Maha reveals.

“Same,” he says.

Maha smirks against his fingers as they find their way over her mouth. “Kiss me, Din.” He doesn’t need convincing and leans down, searching for her lips. He finds the tip of her nose instead and Maha rubs a hand over his jaw. “That’s my nose.”

“Oh, sorry,” he says awkwardly but Maha merely chuckles, drawing a hushed laugh from Din. They stay like that for a moment, drinking in each other’s unfiltered voice.

“Try again.”

This time, he finds them, teeth clinking quietly as their mouths press close, the sensation overwhelming – she’s never been shy about her body, save for her scars, but her face? It’s always remained concealed. Never been touched since the day she lost her mother, the day she was abducted. Din keens into it, a deep groan that she feels and it sends heat rocketing between her legs.

Maha squeaks, flinching and it causes him to recoil, voice heavy with worry. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

She chuckles again, throatier this time – embarrassed. “No, Din, no I – I just…” He leans in closer as her voice dips, becoming harder to hear. “I think I came a little.”

Brows furrow and were his eyes open they’d roll in delight, a guttural noise parting from him as he leans in to continue the kiss. “Still mad at you,” he discloses, dragging his teeth over her bottom lip, “so mad,” he rumbles hungrily into her mouth.

“I like angry Din,” Maha grins into the kiss.

“Yeah?” He challenges, “then you’d like furious Din,” he growls, a hand pressing tentatively to her core and she’s grateful his lips muffle her cry.

“Fuck, Din!” She whimpers, “c–can’t, not – not right now…”

He withdraws immediately and nods, unbeknownst to her. “Right… right,” he agrees incoherently. Attempting to calm himself, he reaches for her helmet and she takes over, pulling it down. He puts his own back on, blinking for his eyes to readjust.

“You felt very handsome,” Maha says fondly.

“Those lips are gonna be in my dreams,” Din comments and Maha subconsciously chews on her lower one. There’s something so enthralling, knowing he dreams of her. A bare finger finds its way to the cheek of her helmet and strokes it affectionately. “Intoxicating.”

From above, they hear the door open and Cara calls down, “we good to come down?”

He seems disappointed by the interruption, Maha notices, but says yes regardless. “I was just explaining the plan to Maha,” he grunts.

“Sure,” Cara smirks knowingly.

“Right!” Maha nods, “mind – mind going over it again?”

Din’s visor turns to her and she feels herself blister beneath it. “We got Gideon’s location – I’ll be reaching out to him shortly.”

“You’re going to contact him?”

“Encrypted,” Din adds, “he won’t be able to use it against us. Just a little warning, like he so kindly gave us back on Nevarro. After that, I’ve no doubt he’ll be looking t’ ensure Dr Pershing’s security – an escort to his cruiser, which we intercept. We’ll board and take Pershing with us to ensure the child’s safety and from there, it’s a matter of gathering back-up.”

“What kind of back-up?”

“The Mandalorian kind.”

Maha’s tone lifts. “You found some?”

“It’s complicated,” he tells her, “don’t get too excited.”

“What do you mean, complicated?”

“Now isn’t the time, but I will explain,” he promises, helmet tipping in a way that says: when we’re alone. “In the meantime, I want you t’ rest.”

“I’ll be fine,” Maha argues, “it’s a scratch at most.”

“Maha, I had t’ stitch it,” Din reveals. “Bacta can only do so much.”

“Stitches are nothing new,” she counters. “I’ve been through worse.”

“Can you just… take my advice for once and recuperate.”

She eyes him, breathing heavily in frustration. “Okay. But I want to meet these Mandalorians.”

“Okay.” Her gaze drifts, focusing on the bloodied mess of rags and resources used on her leg. She zones in on the flicker of blue and points. Din follows her gesture to the concealed bandana and picks it up. “Didn’t think you’d want this back,” he says, “got pretty messy.”

Maha turns her head to Cara. “You didn’t hurt her, did you?”

Cara narrows her eyes curiously. “Hurt who?”

“The kid! I only just remembered – before I passed out, there was a kid. This… tiny girl she – she gave me this, she saved my life.”

Din and Cara exchange looks. “There uh – there was no sign of anyone when we found you.”

Maha shakes her head. “No, no, she was right there.”

“Hey, Maha,” Din soothes, stroking over her knee with his palm. “It’s okay, here –” he hands the bandana over. Rising to his feet, he moves over to Cara and she eyes him, concerned.

“There was no kid,” she reiterates to him quietly. “Fennec secured the area when we arrived.”

“I know,” Din nods. “She’s just… confused,” he mutters gruffly. “The bandana’s hers.”

Lothal is a heavily industrial planet within the Outer Rim, a rocky desert-like landscape that’s primarily flat – factories scattering a large portion of it. Here is the location of the great Mandalorians she’s pictured in her mind, it’s been a while since she’s seen one other than Din. He’d explained that he’d met them on Trask, or rather – was saved by them when a handful of quarren deceived him and tricked him onto their boat to feed Grogu to a mamacore, knocking him into the water too and trapping him in hopes he’d sink and drown so they could secure his beskar for themselves.

From there, he mentioned they’d come to a disagreement, prompting him to take his leave but later reencountered them when he was cornered by a sibling of one of the quarren who believed Din had killed his brother. They protected him and offered to buy him a drink, eventually leading to Din agreeing to help them take an Imperial-controlled ship… She’d hadn’t questioned it, she’d grown fond of and familiar with Din’s habit of getting himself into trouble. Nevertheless, they’d succeeded in doing so but he’d opted to go their separate ways in favour of finding a Jedi.

Maha had since been curious of the disagreement, confused why – after so much searching and loss, he’d shunned them. While they’d ended up helping him locate a Jedi, she knew there was a lot Din wasn’t revealing.

She waits with an arm propping her up against the frame of Boba’s ship, lingering at the ramp with her weight on her good leg. Din and Fett had made their way into the local cantina minutes earlier in search of the Mandalorians. They had yet to reappear, which unnerved her. If they were true Mandalorians, by Creed they’d honour Din’s need for help. Fennec, Cara and the newly acquainted Dr Pershing are all that remain on the ship. Apparently he’s the scientist that’d participated in the experimentation of the child, prior to Din retaking the kid. He’s since performed experiments with Grogu’s blood, acting as a clone engineer for Moff Gideon. The plan had gone as hoped, with Pershing being flown to Gideon’s ship by two Imps to be kept under safeguard. Boba had disabled the ship and boarded them, and with a minor confrontation they’d succeeded in taking Pershing.

“What’s taking them so long?” Maha sighs to herself. That’s when she notices a flood of people leaving the cantina. What’s going on in there? “He tell you much about these guys?” She asks Cara who shakes her head. “Huh…”

It’s not long after that they emerge, Din and Boba first followed by two – Maha tenses. Two women covered by blue beskar, intricate details and designs visible on their armour but… their helmets are carried at their hips. They’re bad blood, she thinks, they’ve broken the Creed. How could Din associate with these apostates, let alone ask them for their help!? As they near the ramp, Maha limps towards him. “I need to speak with you,” she seethes. Pausing, Din’s visor appears to scan her – then he nods.

“Stay with the ship, give us a moment…” He requests, offering an arm out for Maha to lean on as they walk out of earshot. “You’re walking,” he observes sternly, "you should be resting," but Maha’s not letting him deflect.

“You didn’t tell me they were apostates.”

“I –”

“They’ve broken the Creed, how could you –”

“They are Mandalorians,” Din stresses. “I told you, it’s complicated.”

“Then you’d better make haste and explain it to me,” Maha snaps.

He considers her. “Now isn’t the right time t’ talk about this, Maha.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t take it well,” he avows. “What they told me – it… made me question everything.”

“Right, so because you couldn’t digest it that means I won’t be able –”

“The covert lied to us,” he interjects firmly.

Maha blinks, trying to process his words. “What?”

“They lied. That’s Bo-Katan, she was born on Mandalore,” he gestures towards the ship, frowning when Maha recoils and takes to standing unsteadily on her own. “She told me… the covert is a cult of religious zealots who – who broke away from Mandalorian society. Children of the Watch, she called us. That… The Way we were raised t’ know isn’t – it’s not what other Mandalorians follow.”

“You’re lying.”

“I wish I was, Maha, I didn’t – I still don’t know what t’ think. I need t’ speak with… with someone from the covert. I need t’ understand, it’s why I didn’t tell you because I didn’t believe it myself.” Maha takes another step back, shaking her head. This time however, her leg struggles and she wobbles, threatening to fall. Din closes the distance and wraps an arm around her, holding her close. “I can’t tell you how t’ react, and I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. I didn’t – it was selfish of me. But we need them for this t’ work, they’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Feels like everything’s falling apart, Din,” she sighs, pressing the forehead of her helmet into the apex of his chest. “I – We already have so little.”

“I know,” he grunts, rubbing a thumb along her bicep. “But we still have each other.”

Maha exhales a whoosh of air, electric with anger. He feels it pass through him, like a wave of energy. “The covert has some questions to answer.”

“We’ll find them,” he tells her, “after we rescue the child, we’ll find them, together.”

She nods stiffly, visor raising to look up and meet his. “Together.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m Bo-Katan, of clan Kryze.”

“Maha,” she introduces, remaining reserved, “clan Massiff.”

“Massiff,” Bo-Katan remarks, “how interesting.”

“I’ve been told your people do things differently to mine,” Maha replies.

“I take it that you too are a Child of the Watch?”

“I was a foundling,” Maha grunts. “I had no control nor choice over where I ended up.” She’s vulnerable, chest puffed and chin jutting out confidently to make up for what an empty shell she feels like. Bo-Katan has no place, she decides, to criticise the lifestyle of one who had no control of said lifestyle. Raised to believe a truth and sheltered from other perceptions, at least until she was old enough to venture out on her own and even then – Mandalorians born on Mandalore were few and far between. “I do not envy your certainty,” she adds, “it makes you appear pompous.”

Din, overhearing the interaction, scoffs with surprise at Maha’s bluntness and he considers intervening but the look on Bo-Katan's face suggests she understands Maha’s apprehension. It’s lifechanging news.

“I won’t take your misdirected resentment to heart,” Bo-Katan says.

“Misdirected?” Maha scowls, “what’s misdirected is your nerve to –”

“Let’s save it for the Moff,” Din finally cuts in, putting himself between Maha and Bo-Katan.

“What are you doing?” Maha hisses, pushing at Din’s arm. He turns to face her, the stare of his visor heavy.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“You know. I told you t’ leave it behind for now, we’ll deal with it but fighting with Bo-Katan isn’t gonna solve anything.”

Maha takes a lengthy breath and exhales loudly. “You’re a pushover,” she complains.

“I want the kid back safe,” he stresses and she realizes she’s being selfish, bowing her head in silent apology to him.

In front of them, Bo-Katan has seated herself, the group occupying the Imperial shuttle they’d captured when they took Pershing hostage. An image of Gideon’s ship is projected for them to see. “This is Moff Gideon’s Imperial light cruiser. In the old days, it would carry a crew of several hundred. Now it operates with a tiny fraction of that.”

From behind her, Pershing, cuffed and looking sorry for himself, pipes up. “Your assessment is misleading.”

“Oh great,” Cara quips, “an objective opinion.”

“This isn’t subterfuge, I assure you,” he says.

“Let him speak,” Bo-Katan requests.

“There’s a garrison of dark troopers on board. They’re the ones who abducted the child.”

“How many troopers do they have armed in those suits?” Din inquires.

“These are third-generation design. They are no longer suits. The human inside was the final weakness t’ be solved. They’re droids,” Pershing explains.

Din glances back at Cara and then at Maha who has made her way to the corner seat.

“Where are they bivouacked?” Fennec asks.

Pershing rises from his seat and approaches the projected image. “They’re held in cold storage, in this cargo bay,” he uses the interface to zoom in on the specifics. “They draw too much power t’ be kept at ready.”

“How long t’ power up?”

“A few minutes, perhaps,” he looks to Fennec as he answers.

“Where is the child being held?” Din questions, prompting Pershing to change the image again.

“This is the brig,” he says, “he’s being held here under armed guard.”

“Very well,” Bo-Katan begins, “we split into two parties –”

“I go alone,” Din interrupts and Maha tenses.

“Not without me,” she objects, and before Din can argue, Bo-Katan continues.

“Fine. Phase one, Lambda shuttle issues a distress call. Two, we come in hot and emergency land at the mouth of the fighter launch tube, cutting off any potential interceptors. Koska, Fennec, Dune and myself disembark with maximum initiative. Once we’ve neutralized the launch bay, we make our way through these tandem decks,” the image changes, “in a penetration manoeuvre.”

“And us?” Din checks, Maha’s gaze focusing on him, us.

“We’ll be misdirection. Once we draw a crowd,” she turns to face him, “you and Maha slip through the shadows, get the kid.”

“Those dark troopers? They’re gonna be a real skank in the scud pie,” Cara comments.

“Their bay is on the way to the brig,” Bo-Katan notes, “can they make it there before they deploy?”

“It’s possible,” Pershing confirms.

Fennec snatches something from the scientist and passes it to Din. “Here, take his code cylinder and seal off their holding bay. Anyone else? We can handle.”

“We’ll meet at the bridge,” Din concludes, everyone nodding in agreement.

“We depart soon, Dune, escort Pershing to Fett’s ship. You’ll hand him over to the New Republic, once this is all over,” Bo-Katan directs and Cara crosses the space to guide Pershing out. “Gather what you need, we’ll be leaving soon.”

“Maha,” Din breathes, shuffling past the remaining bodies to reach her. “Want t’ have a word, before we go.”

“Not if it’s any more bad news,” Maha raises a palm defensively.

“It’s not.”

She tilts her head at him and sighs. “Lead the way.” He helps her to her feet and guides her, an arm wrapped gently around her waist. “This is a little far away from the ships,” Maha points out, confused why Din’s taking her towards the cantina. “Can you tell me where we’re going?”

“Just keep walking,” he mutters and it gives her an inkling, detecting a familiar heat in his tone.

“My leg won’t be fit for the mission if I walk much furth–ahhh! Din, put me down!” Maha shouts giddily when he suddenly picks her up, bridal style, and carries her around the back of the building. She laughs as he places her down on a discarded bench, legs hanging comfortably. “You’re crazy!”

“Crazy for you,” Din smirks, parting her knees so he can stand between them.

She squeezes her thighs against his playfully, pushing against his chest armour. “You’re crazy,” she repeats. “Why are we back here, di'kut? They’re going to come looking for us.”

“You heard Bo-Katan,” he rumbles, “leaving soon. We have a little time.”

“And what are you planning to do during that time, huh?”

“What d’ you want me to do?”

Maha pauses, peering over his shoulder nervously. “What if someone finds us?”

“Then they find us,” he purrs. “Only care about you.” That has warmth pooling between her legs and she squirms, notifying him to the development. “Want me t’ touch you?”

A blush spreads up her chest and onto her covered neck and she’s thankful he can’t see because she’s mortified by how easily he melts her. Their last rendezvous like this was in the tunnels of Nevarro, the abandoned covert they’d grown up in – both of them betrayed and deceived, frustration rolls through her thickly like acid rising in a krayt dragon's throat. She’d been left with the ghost of his touch between her thighs, his gloved fingers pressing into her covered core hadn’t been enough and she’d yearned for it since.

“I said,” Din repeats lowly, “d’ you want me t’ touch you?”

“Yes!” Maha gasps finally, giving in to her desires. “Please, yes.”

He doesn’t tease her, well aware they’re on the clock, and makes a point of peeling off his gloves. He guides her pants down enough to give access, tucking them at her armoured thighs, careful not to knock her wounded calf. From there, he slips his fingers beneath the band of her panties and the sound he makes is guttural, animalistic. “Soft,” is the first thing he notes, “just like I said it’d be. Maker, you’re wet –” He presses his thumb to her clit with a pressure that has her keening, leaning forwards into his chest. “That’s right,” he goads, “tell me how good it feels t' have me finally touch you like this.”

“Please, Din, think – think I needed this, ah,” she groans, biting her lip to muffle her sounds.

“Yeah? Needed this, huh?” His middle and index finger wander lower, circling her entrance before he sinks them into her powerfully. “That why you’ve been such a handful? Taking my jetpack like a disobedient little brat?”

“K–Keep you safe.”

“Is that it, huh? Wanna keep me safe, wanna see me through ‘cause you know when we survive this I’m gonna take you someplace nice ‘n’ fuck you into the floor, huh?” Maha lets out a squeak at the idea, nodding frantically against him as his fingers move at a faster pace. “You like the sound of that? Said you wanna feel me deep, on Nevarro, don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

“I meant it!” She chokes, whimpering as her climax builds fast within her, like a bubble gradually expanding, bigger and bigger until it finally pops. “Please, harder, fuck!”

“Harder?” Din growls back, working his wrist hard as he does what she asks, plunging his fingers down to the knuckle, lingering for a beat and then withdrawing them, repeat. “My tough cyar’ika, likes it’s harder, this hard enough?” He mumbles, an edge to his tone. Maha chants a series of high pitched yesses, head lolling back in pleasure. She can’t form a sentence, instead mumbling nonsensical words as Din pushes her closer and closer. “Always pushing boundaries, maybe I need t’ be firmer with you,” he hisses, thumb continuing to rub rough circles into her clit. “That it? Am I not firm enough with you? Gotta be – be brutal, huh? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Just fucking – hn, push you up against the wall ‘n’ have my way with you.”

Too dazed to fully take in what Din’s saying, she’s aware of his covered erection rubbing against her bare thigh, the friction burning but she can see it’s getting him somewhere, feel how solid he is. “There!” Maha yelps when he angles his fingers differently, her form jolting – she’s so close. “Yes, right there, Din, right there, please!”

“Like this?” Din’s fingers flex as he thrusts, pushing them against her inner walls mercilessly. “Kriff, keep making those noises, mesh’la,” he groans, his hips rocking faster with intent now and Maha obeys, gasping delightfully as the pleasure he’s bringing her. “Want – fuck, want you t’ cum for me, Maha, I know you’re there I want you t’ cum right in my palm, can you do that for me?”

“Yes Din,” Maha croaks, “I can – I can do that.”

“Good, so good, just wanna please me and look after me don’t you?” He murmurs unintelligibly and her mind shifts back to the Sorgan widow Cara had mentioned.

“Din,” Maha whimpers, “tell me – tell me I’m the only one.”

“Kar'taylir,” he whispers, “cyar’ika, I could never recover if I lost you,” he says. “When you left I couldn’t stop thinking about you, knew I – fuck, knew I had t’ find you, needed t’ find you… Only one,” he confirms, “only one for me, don’t – don’t want anyone else.”

“Kar'taylir,” she repeats, hips jerking and thighs shaking as her body gently spasms, her release hitting hard and Din cradles her through it, his hips rocking desperately against her and he hoarsely moans as his own orgasm hits, the two embracing each other tightly. They remain like that for a minute, soaking in their shared affection and then Din frees his hand, slowly bringing it to the chin of his helmet which he lifts and Maha averts her gaze to the floor, tensing at the sound of him licking his fingers.

“Mesh’la,” he hums filthily, “taste so good. Wish I could just –” he rasps a sigh, “put my face between these,” his fingers linger at her knees.

“Din!” Maha scolds with a laugh but she knows the thought’s going to stick with her for a while.

“Can’t get enough of you,” he confesses, “wanna savour every inch.”

She presses a palm to his chest and uses his armour as an anchor while she slips her pants back up. “They’d better have a restroom here,” she quips teasingly.

“I’ll clean you up myself if they don’t,” Din retorts and Maha shoves him again, gasping at his obscenity.

“Din!”

Upon the approach to Morak’s atmosphere, a meeting was called and the ship’s movements halted as the group made their way into the upper section in order to convene a plan. With an initial scan taken of the planet, Boba had pointed out the hidden refinery with Mayfeld confirming it. Question of what was being refined came up, Boba concluding likely rhydonium – highly volatile and explosive, prompting further concerns. Anti-aircraft cannons were noted as well as likely a platoon of security forces, meaning an aggressive approach wasn’t possible. It was decided by Din to get a closer look and uphold a level of stealth in order to scope out the area without causing trouble.

Morak is beautiful, a landscape of rich, green jungle leading up into mysterious mountains, fog cascading down from the heavens and hovering above the treeline. What rests below the trees remains unseen, an eerie thought; Maha knows better than to trust a pretty exterior. She’s curious what beasts roam Morak and what people – the presence of Imperials tended to attract some rotten eggs.

Boba finds somewhere to land the ship, which she praises because the landscape is unforgiving, and the group makes their way out into the thick jungle environment. Maha beats back encroaching ferns as they near the cliff edge, allowing them to oversee any activity in the area. Below, a dirt track stretches out of sight – the other half disappearing under a cavern, tire tracks visible. She offers Din a glance, to see if he’s noticed and he nods.

“Tire tracks,” he points out to the others. “There’s been activity here.”

In the distance, rumbling can be heard and their heads turn towards the noise, spotting a Juggernaut transport vehicle making its way down the track. It disappears into the cliff, highlighting the route. They’d need to hijack one in order to reach the location.

“I’m not gonna need long inside,” Mayfeld informs, “so once I get the coordinates you guys gotta get me the hell out of there.”

“Ballsy to think we’re going to get you out,” Maha mutters and he turns to her.

“What did you say?”

“I said you’re pretty demanding.”

“No?” Mayfeld squints, “no you said somethin’ about leavin’ me. I – why’re you playin’ with my trust like that? Maybe now I feel differently about helpin’ you out.”

“Doesn’t look like you have much choice,” Maha sneers and his shoulders set back in frustration.

“Whaddya gonna do, huh? You kill me, you don’t get the kid.”

Maha reaches for him, gripping at Mayfeld’s scarf – with him having changed on the ship for subtlety, and unholsters her blaster which she points at his chest. “Stop playing with the child’s life like it’s a gambling chip,” she hisses and pressure on her shoulder has her flinching.

“Let him go, Maha,” Din’s voice soothes, his thumb rubbing at her hidden collarbone.

She jerks the ex-Imp once more to unnerve him and then lets go, her stare threatening until she turns and steps to the back of the group. Din follows, putting himself between her and the group’s view. “Cool down,” he tells her.

“He’s fucking playing us, acting like a spoiled brat – making demands like he knows we won’t do shit,” Maha replies angrily.

“He’s our only option,” Din reminds, “it’s just for the moment.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t have to,” he grunts, pausing to consider her. “Why don’t you sit this one out? Stick with the ship –”

“No,” she stresses. “I can manage my anger. Not a teenager anymore – but kriff, he –”

“Don’t think about him,” Din breathes, running his fingers down her forearm. “Think about me.”

Maha inhales deeply, the exhale soft as she eyes him. He’s right, she’s going to blow the whole operation if she doesn’t cool her jets. “Sorry,” she whispers and he shakes his head.

“Don’t be. Sooner we get this done, sooner we can all move on. Sooner you and I can have some time t’gether.”

She nods, following him back to the group in time to hear Boba say, “you get to the roof. I’ll drop in and pull you out.”

“Alright, Mayfeld and I will swap out for the drivers in the tunnel,” Cara states.

“Hey, as much as I’d like t’ take a road trip with Rebel-dropper here, that’s not gonna work,” Mayfeld quips.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Well, because these Remnant bases are set up and run by ex-ISB. If you get scanned and your genetic signature shows up on any New Republic register, you’re gonna be detected, and it’s guns out.”

“You sure do know a lot about Imperial Remnants,” Cara provokes.

“Hey – if you wanna accuse me of somethin’ then just say it!”

“We don’t have time for this,” Din dictates, “Fennec will go.”

“No, I’m wanted by the ISB,” Fennec replies, “I’ll trip the alarm too.”

“Fett?”

“Let’s just say they might recognise my face,” Boba grunts.

“Great! So it’s me goin’ in alone,” Mayfeld surmises.

Maha reaches for Din’s wrist, a silent offer – I could do it, but he doesn’t acknowledge her.

“No way,” Cara denies, “the minute he gets inside, he’ll tip ‘em off, he’ll be a hero.”

“Hey, I wa– this wasn’t my idea!” Mayfeld defends. “I’m doin’ you guys a favour.”

“Deal’s off, I’m takin’ him back.”

“I’ll go,” Din interrupts and Maha takes a step back in surprise.

“Hey buddy,” Mayfeld begins, “I might be good at fast-talking, but I don’t think I can explain away a guy in a Mando suit to Imperial guards. So unless you’re gonna take off that helmet, it’s gonna be me goin’ in alone. Or say goodbye t’ your little green friend.” He’s sure to meet Maha’s visor when he says it and she feels her blood boil – it makes perfect sense why Din doesn’t want her alone in a small space with him, knows she’ll cut his throat in a heartbeat.

“You’re not going alone,” Din asserts. “I’m coming with you. But I won’t be showing my face.”

“You can’t be serious?” Maha presses.

“There’s no other option,” he explains.

“Then I’m coming with you.”

“I need your eyes up on the cliff, Maha,” he shakes his head. “Hey,” he reaches to gently grasp her injured wrist. “I’ll be fine.”

They’d made their way onto the ridge above the Juggernaut’s route and waited patiently for the next one to pass, climbing down the rocks and onto the top of the vehicle as it disappears under the cavern. Three of them, Din, Maha and Mayfeld wait while Cara makes her way inside to knock out the two drivers.

She brings the Juggernaut to a halt and reappears shortly after, smug. “Out like a light.”

Maha stands on guard as behind her, Din changes into the trooper’s gear, her rifle aimed towards the track in case he’s interrupted. She doesn’t look, the urge never arises, and she waits for his confirmation. “You managing?”

“Unpleasant,” he rasps, a few grunts leaving him here and there as he squeezes into the outfit.

“I’ll bet.” The idea of climbing into someone else’s clothes after they’d been wearing them for kriff knows how long… “I would’ve done it, you know.”

“You would’ve struggled,” Din mutters, “this guy doesn’t have your curves.”

Maha smirks at that, huffing a chuckle. “I’ve never been flirted with by a trooper before.”

“Always a first for everything.”

Her expression grows stale fast, faltering. “I’m worried.”

“About?”

“You, di'kut,” she says lowly. An insult to most, but she’s grown fond of using it affectionately for Din. “What if something goes wrong?”

“It won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?” A gasp leaves her when she feels arms wrap around her and hands settle warmly on her abdomen, the embrace holding a very different smell to what she’s familiar with but she gazes down to note his hands are bare. “Are you not wearing the gloves?”

“Didn’t wanna touch you in someone else’s,” he rumbles and she can make out the soft static of his breathing.

“The helmet… is it on?”

“It is.”

Maha then turns to face him, taking in the look. “This is awful,” she complains with a hushed laugh. His left hand is brought into her good hold and she squeezes it. “Be careful.”

“I’ll do my best,” Din returns, shifting to slip on the trooper’s gloves. “Need you t’ look after my armour.” The heavy bag is handed to her and slung over her shoulder.

“With my life.”

“No,” Din scolds, “Don’t be ridiculous. I’d rather have you over the armour any day.”

“I suppose that’s always good to know,” Maha sighs, turning to look down the track towards Cara who gestures that they’re ready. “Come on, let’s get this done, then.”

They walk down to the waiting Juggernaut and Maha watches their six while Cara keeps an eye on the track ahead.

“Oh!” Mayfeld wheezes, “look at this! Oh – ho – ho, the shame. Now that right there is worth the price of admission.” Maha shoots him a glare and he holds up his hands defensively.

“Wish I could say it looked good on you but I’d be lying,” Cara winces, offering a smile.

“Just make sure you take out the rooftop gunners,” Din urges, always so practical. Maha likes that about him, it makes it that much more rewarding when she’s able to coax him out of being so serious all the time. “Or we’re never getting out of here.”

“We got you,” Cara says firmly and Maha nods in agreement.

“Hey guys, still on the clock,” Mayfeld prompts, peering out of the Juggernaut. “What would they say on Mandalore?” He continues to tease as Din makes his way around to the passenger side. “You know it’s a shame you two aren’t comin’ along with us!” He jokes, “y’ got such a sunny disposition. Can’t imagine how much fun you two are in one’a these.”

Maha holds her tongue until the door whizzes shut, “I could kill him.”

Cara chuckles at that. “Not if I do first.”

“Phase one complete, we’re in,” Fennec’s voice crackles through the comlink. Maha navigates up the cliffside with Cara, the two heading back to the ship.

“Copy, standing by,” Boba acknowledges.

She finds herself wondering how long Din will be able to withstand Mayfeld’s incessant rambling. He was skilled at going off into another place, disconnecting himself from the moment – something Maha found difficult to do by choice. That’s not to say it didn’t happen regularly, her mind drifting or even forcing her to black out, but she has a habit of becoming emotional.

“You two seem pretty close,” Cara observes.

Maha tilts her helmet at her. “As do you.”

“I think we’re close in different ways.”

She hums. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s never wrapped his arms around me like that before.”

Maha hesitates – she’d been working hard to keep things subtle between them but whether Din has equally is another question. She’s already faced his jealousy head-on, unfiltered and bold, he hadn’t cared who heard. “Do you want him to?” It’s a toneless question but she feels uncomfortable with the idea of him placing his hands like that on others. Nothing specifically against Cara, and she trusts her enough to not try anything with Din, but the urge to ask pulses in her chest.

“What, Mando?” Cara barks out a laugh – it’s genuine, Maha decides, she’s not forcing it or hiding anything. “No, no, no, we’re just friends.” Maha nods in response. “Look, I’m really not trying t’ be nosy – I know it’s none of my business. But like I said, he’s my friend. It’s my job t’ keep an eye on him.” She notes how she still refers to him as Mando, despite knowing his name. Perhaps he hadn’t given her the green light, like he had her.

“You think I need keeping an eye on?”

“Not you, necessarily. I’ve seen what he’s like – when people he cares about are threatened. He becomes impulsive, kinda reckless. It’s unlike him.”

“Are you suggesting I might put him in danger?” Maha puzzles.

“I’m saying you might wanna be careful how involved you get with him. I haven’t seen him as close to anyone as he seems t’ be with you. ‘cept for the kid, and we’ve all seen the impact it’s had.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” There’s a pause, the crunching of their boots scuffing branches and rocky dirt filling in the silence. “How’d you come to meet him?”

“Huh,” Cara breathes, “that’s kind of a long story.”

“Okay then – where?”

“Easier. On Sorgan.”

“What was he doing on Sorgan?” He’d mentioned practically nothing of his journeys prior to meeting Maha. Then again, it hadn’t come up, she supposes, and they’d had such little time to sit and talk. Din equally knows next to nothing about Maha’s past.

“Was just after he’d taken the kid back – bounty hunters all over were after him.” Cara side-eyes her and Maha can feel the question she wants to ask.

“I wasn’t one of them,” Maha clarifies, “if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Figured that’d be pretty strange. Anyway, he came to Sorgan to lay low – didn’t work out so well for him, some natives sought him out to help with a bandit problem.”

“Let me guess – he agreed.”

“Not at first,” Cara says. “But he needed somewhere t’ stay and they offered that to him in exchange for his help.”

“So where do you fit in?”

“We’d crossed paths. He learned I was working as a mercenary – found me again after agreeing t’ the locals, said he figured it’d be an easy job but wanted my help.”

“Nothing’s ever easy for him,” Maha comments and Cara nods.

“Exactly. Turned out the so-called bandits had a kriffing AT-ST at their disposal. Huge machine capable of decimating tens if not hundreds.”

“How’d they get their hands on that?”

“No idea,” Cara shrugs. “But – the locals refused t’ give up, demanded we show ‘em how t’ fight. Which we did, and when the bandits came they admittedly kicked some ass.”

Maha chuckles, “amazing what people can do when they’re faced with no other choices.” Her throat becomes dry and she swallows in an attempt to fight it, feeling the sensation of the snarling on her skin before she can hear it.

“You good?”

“Huh?” Maha blinks, noticing she’d stopped walking. “Oh, yeah I just – got distracted.” She resumes walking and catches up to Cara’s side. “Thanks for telling me – sounds like another one of his crazy adventures, alright,” she covers.

Cara’s slower to move past it but manages to follow Maha’s lead. “Yeah, he leads an exciting life. Shame that consequences come in all shapes and sizes, though.”

“What made him leave Sorgan?”

“Like I said, hunters. He had t’ keep moving, nowhere was safe. I miss it sometimes, perfect little place t’ settle down.”

“He’s not the type to settle down,” Maha notes – another similarity to herself.

“Mm, I don’t know about that,” Cara says, “I think he’s just scared of stopping.”

It rings too close to home, her stomach churning at Cara’s words. Just scared of stopping. The exact reason why Tatooine had been so unbearable – business would’ve run out eventually and with nothing to do and no hunts to partake in she’d have been forced to focus on herself. It'd taken some serious scrounging to get her to the place she'd been at when he'd found her. “Maybe,” Maha mutters.

“I think he saw what he could have on Sorgan, with the kid, and it freaked him out.” Maha arches a brow, helmet tilting to encourage her to continue. “There was a widow he met, she had the sweetest kid. Well, second sweetest,” Cara smirks, referring to the foundling. “Real housewife type too, made him food, looked after him, he really wasn’t used to it – couldn’t get comfortable with the idea.”

Maha feels her jaw tighten at the information. She’s not surprised in the slightest to learn of women fawning over Din, he was charming and mysterious. Just as many men expressed interest in her, allured by the Mandalorian armour and the promise of an interesting and fantastical story. What had Din thought of this woman? That was the more important question to her. Had he truly thought of settling down with someone who effectively was a stranger? So he’d taught her how to fight, how to protect herself and her child… She imagines him sparring with a faceless woman, their forms rolling and him pinning her playfully – maybe the tension is palpable and they lean into the heat of it… Maha scorns herself. She wasn’t allowed to scold Din for behaving jealously and then do exactly that herself.

This supposed widow hadn’t been a part of his life for some time now. He’d never mentioned her, never implied she could be a problem. Though, she thinks, that’s not what’s troubling her. She has no reason to envy lingering touches and gazes held, she already has that and much more. But to know Din had so easily felt things for someone he barely knew… Was that the same with her? Wanted this since Nevarro. He’d hardly known her then, two minor interactions – confrontations, a rejection… Then all of a sudden he was back on Tatooine, requesting her help. It dawns on her that Din might just wear his heart on his sleeve more than he cares to admit, gets easily attached. If something were to happen to her, would he mourn for a few days and then move on to the next woman who pays him any mind?

She can see Boba’s ship beyond the foliage, straining at the weight of Din’s armour on her back. It’s finally getting to her, on top of carrying her own heavy armour.

“Want me to take that?” Cara offers, but Maha refuses.

“I’m good, thank you.” A few more feet wouldn’t hurt – besides, Din had entrusted her. Or perhaps he’d trust any woman, her conscience grumbles. Once they reach the ship, they climb up the ramp and inside where she finally places the armour down.

“We collecting Fennec or is she walking back?” Cara calls up to Boba.

“I’ll pick her up on my approach – we’ll need t’ be closer than this, anyway.”

“Got it,” she turns to Maha, “sure it’s gonna be a while ‘til we’re needed, why don’t you –”

Cara’s words are interrupted by an almighty boom, the two women lunging for the ramp to see what happened. In the far distance, a cloud of fire erupts into the sky and Maha’s heart leaps. “Fuck!” She snarls, racing back to Din’s bag.

“What are you doing!?” Cara exclaims. “You can’t leave – we haven’t reached phase two.”

“Fuck phase two!” Maha says, heaving her way through the armour pile until she reaches Din’s jetpack. “He’s in trouble, I can handle it.”

“Maha, we don’t –”

“Cara, please,” Maha stresses, “not now.” Her cloak is tugged to the side and Cara reluctantly helps her clip the jetpack into place. Then, she switches his controller vambrace with her own. “Don’t wait for me,” is all she offers before stepping out of the ship, poking at the vambrace.

“D’ you even know how to fly that thing?”

“First time for everything!” She shouts back as the jets roar to life and she’s sent unsteadily up into the air.

Cara watches as she disappears over the ridge and out of sight, spiralling here and there as she goes. She blinks and wipes the gawp off her features, huffing with dread. “Crazy Mandalorians.”

She’s never felt so alive, zooming through the air towards the orange blaze, the wind rough against her form. Below, she spots scattering figures – possibly locals startled by the explosion. So people do live here. Their lives disrupted by the parasitic presence of the Imperials. Every few seconds her form jerks, the jetpack unfamiliar and unknown to her but she manages it well, all things considered. Ahead, there’s another ground-shaking roll of thunder as fire bursts upwards – another Juggernaut down? “Shit!” She shouts, feeling the power of it from her current position. Maha can see a vehicle ahead, unaffected for now and she prays that it has Din in it. Below lay the wreckages, burning furiously in contrast to the dirt track, she sees no signs of bodies. Behind the Juggernaut, a skiff full of humanoid figures yell and howl aggressively as it closes the distance. Pirates? They line up beside the vehicle and one makes the leap, securing themselves to it. She spots the passenger door open as a second jumps and the visible trooper fires at them, sending them violently thudding along the ground. One pirate has managed to get on top of the Juggernaut and begins yanking at a door on the roof, she assumes it's housing the rhydonium. The passenger door closes and the roof seal opens to reveal the same trooper.

The rhydonium cover is opened and Maha increases her speed, spotting him attempting to place a circular object onto one of the red cannisters inside – an explosive? She’s not able to react as the trooper fires an expert shot, sending the pirate barrelling off the back. The dropped bomb goes off and blows up the skiff, sending burning bodies scattering. That has to be Din. The blast is large and flares upwards, dangerously close to her form. Maybe she’d overreacted and he didn’t need her help, he appears to have it handled – she speaks too soon, two more skiffs appearing from the side-lines full of pirates.

They cross the distance and all leap onto the Juggernaut, closing in on Din. He clambers up top and begins firing his blaster, taking out one of the pirates in a single blow and when he goes to take another shot it appears his blaster has jammed. He launches it at them as a distraction and engages the nearest pirate in hand-to-hand, attempting to disarm them. The other two pirates lodge their weapons into the vehicle in an attempt to re-access the cannisters.

Din kicks the pirate off the front of the ship, gaining the upper hand, and they tumble down and under the wheels. Distracted, a second pirate approaches and swings their weapon, shattering some of his armour in the process and then brings it down to connect with his exposed arm. Din shouts in pain and it’s enough of a prompt for Maha to jet down from above, snatching up the pirate to drop from a deadly height. Ignoring Din’s gasp of surprise, she drags the man up into the sky and gives him a single punch, releasing him to his death.

She looks down to note he’s taken care of another pirate, leaving the one still digging at the cannister cover. He uses one of the discarded spears and launches it, the blade hitting the pirate painfully in the shoulder and sending him off the back of the vehicle. It’s not over however, as the second skiff catches up. The vehicle’s speed increases but Mayfeld appears to slam on the breaks which nearly sends Din to his death. The second handful of pirates jump across and charge towards him, and with only his hands as a weapon he meets them with strength, deflecting their blows and ducking their swings. His power lasts for a short amount of time when he’s thrown onto his back and pinned by two pirates, while a third reopens the covers and activates a detonator.

Knowing Din can handle himself, Maha swoops down to kick the third pirate off the ‘naut and picks up the explosive, launching it at the nearest skiff. It blows up and takes the pirates with it, the flames from the blaze blowing back onto the skiff following close behind that one, wiping it out along with it. Din sends the two pirates off the edge with a throw and a kick, his focus turning to Maha who is currently standing on the back of the vehicle.

“What are you –”

“Save it!” Maha shouts.

“That’s not safe!” He shoots back, gesturing to the jetpack.

“And this is!?” Maha retorts. Up ahead, the refinery can be seen – she needs to leave before they spot her. Din’s attention turns to behind her, prompting Maha to turn her head – shit. There’s at least five more skiffs incoming, full of pirates threateningly holding their detonators in the air. “I’ll hold them off!” Maha tells him, activating the jetpack before he can argue and zooms off into the air, firing her blaster to take out as many as she possibly can. When that fails, she takes to swooping down again, delivering a brutal kick to one skiff that sends it rolling. A pirate manages to catch her leg with his weapon as it does, piercing through her flesh painfully. She’s literally dragging this alien along the ground with his weapon impaled in her calf and the skiff finally explodes, forcing her to cut out the jetpack and brace for impact.

Din can be heard shouting her name but he’s too far away to do anything, leaving Maha to face the consequences of her actions. She heaves herself to her feet and lowers into a crouching stance, freeing her vibroblade in the process. The other skiffs whizz by, travelling too fast to take note of her – thankfully. Her enemy snarls, yelling an unknown language at her as he charges, swinging his staff left and right but his attacks are too wide and Maha slips beneath a swing and lunges, stabbing her blade roughly into his abdomen several times, fast and efficient. He utters something, a final breath and then collapses. Alone, Maha cries out as the searing in her leg becomes unavoidable.

Further ahead, she dreads the explosion of the Juggernaut but instead, TIE fighters swiftly descend over the vehicle and fire at the pirates, a deafening series of explosions lighting up the track and while she wants to celebrate Din’s survival, she realizes the fighters are swiftly approaching her position in search of more pirates. Frantically, she scrambles up and limps towards the treeline, leaving behind a trail of blood as she goes.

The TIEs can be heard returning to base, their shrill sounds fading comfortably enough that Maha collapses onto her rear, pulling herself through the foliage to lean against the form of a fallen tree. Blaster fire rings out, troopers eliminating the final enemies as Din and Mayfeld cross the imposing bridge to the refinery. She helped, she thinks to herself groggily. “How much blood have I lost?” Hands pat at her body in an attempt to find something loose she can tear off and use as a tourniquet but she finds nothing. She reaches to her belt and makes a grab for the comlink but fumbles and drops it, the cylinder landing a few inches away. “Damnit!” Gloved hands grip at the dirt and she groans, pulling herself closer as her leg bends uncomfortably. She almost has it when she hears footsteps approaching, soft and light – her heart pounds, fingers reaching desperately for the item…

In front of her, a pair of tiny feet appear, their shoes falling apart to reveal sand-toned skin. Maha's arm has been angled awkwardly to reach for her still-holstered blaster, a stifled grunt leaving her. “D–Don’t…” She mumbles incoherently, waiting for some kind of injury but instead, a tiny hand comes into view and picks up the comlink, offering it to her. Maha manages to lift her head enough to see it’s a young girl crouching opposite her, wavy brown hair held back by a dirtied, pale blue bandana. “Hey – k–kid,” Maha greets hoarsely. She lets the youngster place the comlink in her grasp, but Maha is more focused on the bandana, gesturing to it. The girl copies her movements, placing a hand questioningly to her head. “That’s it – can I – can I have it?”

The girl nods, tugging it from her locks and passes it over. “This is Maha,” she says into the comms device, “went down near refinery – anyone nearby?”

“This is Shand, where are you?”

“In some trees,” Maha croaks, “there’s a kid here – don’t… shoot her. I – ah, left a blood trail, near bridge.”

“We’re coming,” crackles through and she sighs, taking the kind kid’s hand when it’s offered to help her sit up. The bandana is tied tightly around her calf, restricting the blood flow though she knows she’s already lost a lot. “My – my friends are coming,” she mutters to the girl who tilts her head, confused. “Friends,” Maha stresses, realizing she likely doesn’t speak the same language. Her eyes begin to go however, unable to stay awake. As she slips into the darkness, she can hear Fennec’s voice.

“Over here! We’ve got you, Maha, hang tight.”

“Come on, let’s move!” Din urges, hands wrapped tight around the ladder bars as troopers above cry out and tumble into the rushing waters below. Even with Cara and Fennec’s covering fire, they’ll easily become pinned down if they don’t keep moving.

“The hell you think I’m doin’!” Mayfeld snaps back, clambering upwards.

With the whole base on high alert, they needed to get out as soon as possible – reinforcements highly likely should they outstay their welcome. He needs to find out about Maha, the last sight of her being pulled down by a pirate with a blade piercing her, their forms engulfed by TIE gunfire. Had she made it? Was she still alive? He can’t lose her, not after Grogu…

They make it up onto the roof in time to see a stormtrooper hit by a sniper blast that has them collapsing with a shout. In the distance, Fett’s ship roars as it closes in on their position – that’s their getaway. Troopers pursue them up the ladders, forcing them to move towards the far corner, mindlessly firing blaster shots in hopes of slowing their enemies. They run full speed towards the edge as Fett opens the ramp and weightlessly they glide through the air and land on the ramp. Boba begins to pull away as Mayfeld requests for Din to pass him the nearby rifle.

He takes the weapon and aims it at a set of cannisters on a visible Juggernaut and fires, the shot igniting the rhydonium and the rooftop bursts into an explosion of fire. “We all need t’ sleep at night,” he tells Din, making his way into the ship.

There’s no time to spare as they seat themselves, a quick scan of the lower deck revealing Maha nowhere to be seen and he feels the concern for her safety festering. What if she was still out there? Hiding from the Imperials or had been attacked by a wild animal. Maybe the locals had abducted her, thinking she was an enemy. She could still be pinned beneath that pirate, butchered by straying TIE shots…

“We got company,” Boba’s states through the ship’s comlink. “Hang on!” The ship whirls through the air, accessing higher ground before a bomb is dropped on the pursuing fighters, destroying them in a heartbeat. Fett announces they’re safe and that he’d be heading back down to collect the girls.

“Is Maha with them?” Din calls through the comms.

“Fennec,” Boba addresses, “is Maha with you?”

“Barely,” Fennec replies stiffly, the strain implying they were carrying her.

“She’s with them,” Boba confirms. “Wounded.”

Wounded, Din repeats in his head, wounded but alive. With the ship flying smoother, he rises from his seat and makes his way over to the bag of his armour, taking Maha’s vambrace into his hold. She had to be okay. Mayfeld minds his business as Din changes back into his armour and by the time he’s adjusting his cloak, the final piece, Boba’s landing.

Din’s the first off as the ramp extends, moving swiftly across the dirt to spot Cara and Fennec emerging from the bushes with Maha dangling between them, her arms over their shoulders as they carry her.

“Her leg’s cut pretty bad,” Cara tells him, “she’s lost a lot of blood.”

“She managed to restrict the blood flow before she passed out,” Fennec adds, helping Cara lower her to the floor.

Din kneels beside her, moving to the wounded calf, and places his hands on the leg to check for other injuries. It’s just the one, thankfully, but Cara’s right – it’s bad. “Maha,” Din breathes, trying to draw her from her slumber. She twitches, a good sign, a heavy groan leaving her. “I’m here, cyar’ika,” he reassures her. Her form becomes limp and she’s not responding to him, her grumbles fading to quiet uttering. Was he losing her? “Maha, come on!”

“Kuiil, come in!” The voice plays in her mind, a memory on loop. Absorbs the hurt tone, feels the panic of it wash over her, like it’s reaching into her very soul and grabbing. “Kuiil!”

Once Din had collected what survived aboard his ship, namely the beskar spear he’d obtained from a Jedi – which Maha had absolutely tried out when he wasn’t looking, Boba and Fennec had explained to him that they were in his debt for the armour’s safe return, and that such would remain that way until the child was returned safely to him.

With a hesitant agreement on his part, he suggested the best place to start would be Nevarro, leading to them boarding Boba’s ship and making their way through the stars. Maha had watched as he made his way through the ashes of his ship, a crater in the earth from the blast making him appear so small. Vulnerable, she had noted, mourning the loss for him. Din needed help now more than ever – there was no way she’d be leaving him again any time soon.

At the front of the ship, Boba and Fennec reside, conversing quietly to provide Din and Maha with a much needed moment. He’s seated on the ground, back pressed to the wall and she’s beside him, a gentle palm resting on his knee.

“So,” Maha begins thoughtfully, “ice spiders, huh?”

Din shakes his head. “Maha, I can’t – move on like nothing happened.”

Her helmet tilts down, gaze focusing on the floor. “I know, I just thought maybe I could get your mind off the child for –”

“I’m not talking about the child,” he says, who Maha had since learned was called Grogu.

She turns to look at him. “Oh.” He wants to talk about Tatooine, about her disappearing on him. “I told you, we don’t have to talk about it right –”

“Why’d you leave?” His voice is barely above a whisper, threatening to crumble like a thin layer of ice beneath the pressure of a boot.

“Needed some time alone with my thoughts,” she replies honestly.

“You didn’t want t’ be found,” he adds. “I know because I looked for you. I could’ve… I could’ve given you time, without wondering where you were, whether you were safe.”

“That’s the problem.”

“What is?”

“You needing me safe and out of harm’s way,” Maha asserts. “I’m a Mandalorian, Din,” her voice is equally quiet, ensuring the others don’t hear his name. “I need my freedom, my adventure. You want me safe and yet you forced me to watch you nearly die.”

“But… I didn’t,” he grunts.

“That’s not the point. I want to be out there with you, not to be side-lined. I get that you don’t want to see me hurt, but why does that make it okay to have me watch you get hurt?”

“I wouldn’t be able t’ cope,” Din mutters, “if something happened to you.”

“So then I’m left to cope for the both of us,” Maha points out the flaw in his logic.

He pauses, taking a moment to considering her words, and then nods. “I – think I understand.”

“Besides, we’re less likely to get hurt as a team of two – can look out for each other.”

Din swallows. “Not if you distract me.”

Maha rolls her eyes, “I won’t.”

“Not something you do intentionally,” he comments.

She arches a brow, tilting her helmet at him. “Then I guess you’ll have to take regular cold showers,” she teases.

“Kept… thinking about you,” he admits. “About Mos Pelgo. We never… finished what we started.”

“I know,” she hums, “we will. Let’s… get the kid back and then – if it’s still something you want to do, we can –”

“Still something I want?” Din repeats, seemingly baffled by the idea of not wanting it. “I haven’t – haven’t stopped wanting it,” he rasps. “Won’t stop.”

“Din.”

“‘s not just… sex,” he utters. “I – you make me feel so much, Maha. Want you, us. In every way.”

Her brows lift, pleasantly stunned by his frankness, considering he’d struggled previously with communicating his thoughts. “You really mean that?”

“Ner kar'ta,” he responds affectionately. My heart. “I understand now that time is fragile. Need t’… say what I want, while I can.”

Maha remains quiet but reaches out a gloved hand, placing it firmly in his own. “Tome.”

He rubs his index finger along her wrist, tiredly content, though he easily startles when Maha hisses sharply as he tries to draw the limb up to rest on his thigh. “What?” He asks, “did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Maha breathes, “no it’s –”

“You’re injured?”

“It’s nothing, really just –”

“Let me see,” he pleads, holding out a palm to her. Sighing, Maha carefully strips off her glove and places it in his grasp. A moment passes as he takes in the splint, brows furrowing with concern. “The fracture, it’s still bad?”

“It healed,” she shrugs, “I just… fractured it again.”

“Again?”

“On a job. Guy squeezed it a little too tight is all, it’s fine, it healed before –”

Din’s tone drops coldly. “What guy?”

“He’s dead,” Maha discloses. This doesn’t appear to be enough, because Din continues staring at the injury. “It happens. I paid him back in kind – I’m over it.”

A feral sound slips from him, catching Maha off-guard. “He do anything else?”

She decides there and then not to mention the nikto’s assault attempt. “No. I handled it.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Din mutters, running a finger along the joint of her thumb. “I’d kill someone for touching you.”

“You’re the only one I want to touch me,” Maha whispers, lifting her helmet to meet his gaze. The tension is still there, the same that’d lingered in Mos Pelgo except it’s born out of want rather than confrontation this time. The simple but carnal desire to feel one another, to be as close as they can possibly be.

Din groans, a wounded noise, chest rising and falling shallowly as he watches her. “Would have you right here, if I could.”

Maha’s conscious that he’s hurting, an emptiness so sudden appearing within him and she’s careful not to take advantage of this. Din might say these things, might sweep her off her feet with his words but she knows from experience how easy it can be to shove feelings down and ignite other parts of yourself, in an attempt to numb the pain. She wants things to progress with Din naturally, without interference. “Boba and Fennec wouldn’t appreciate us for that,” she jokes but the way he stares at her holds a dangerous gravity. “Let’s focus on Nevarro for now, hm?”

“Maha.”

“I know, Din,” she presses the pad of her index finger reassuringly into his palm. “I know.”

Karga had been in awe, fascinated, when Maha had followed Din off of Boba’s ship. “If it isn’t Maha,” he greets her, holding out a hand, “long time.”

She takes his hand in her own good one and shakes it respectfully, “Karga.”

“An incredibly long time, truly, how did you come to be in Mando’s company?”

What a kriffing story, she thinks to herself. “Who doesn’t Mando know,” she retorts, amusement in her tone. It was safer and easier than a genuine explanation.

“You’re not wrong,” Karga says knowingly. “So, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I need to speak with Cara,” Din urges. “I’m afraid we don’t have much time for formalities.”

“How unfortunate, but of course – you know where to find her.”

“I’ll catch up,” Maha says and she notices Din tense. “I’ll be fine.” He’s clearly wary of making too much of a scene in front of Karga, hesitating for a few further seconds because he likely doesn’t want to leave her side but offers her a nod and makes his way into the city. “He’s under a lot of pressure at the moment,” Maha excuses.

Karga huffs, “when isn’t he.” Eager to push past the small talk, Karga waves a hand. “So you’re travelling with him, then?”

“Currently, yes. He helped me out with a problem, I’m in his debt.” It’s much more than that, but no one needs to know – Gideon doesn’t need any further leverage against Din.

“I haven’t seen you around here for some time, the guild noticed your absence.”

“You mean you did,” Maha points out.

“Well, it would’ve been difficult not to, you’re a real character compared to some of the… humourless, dull folk I’ve met in my time.”

“So that’s a compliment, then?”

“Don’t act so surprised,” he grunts, rolling his eyes. “Where have you been?”

“Ran into some trouble with a bounty – ended up losing my ship to jawas, found myself stranded on Tatooine within a matter of hours.”

Karga’s brows lift before lowering sympathetically. “Sorry to hear that, friend. Sounds like an awful lot of trouble.”

“Mando and I crossed paths a couple of times, he actually recruited me to help you retake this place.”

“You were here?” Karga blurts.

“Stayed on Mando’s ship, at least until you guys were pinned down. When IG made his way into the centre, I was up on the rooftops,” Maha explains as they stroll. “This place looks incredible now.”

“I realize this is the first time you’ve seen it since then,” he notes, “we’ve made a lot of changes.”

“Looks like it. You did a good job.”

“You ought to know that the guild has dispersed from Nevarro, since the attack,” he adds, “we have decided to make our home respectable, and above all else - safe.”

“I see,” Maha hums, conscious that this isn't something Din had mentioned to her, “I'm not sure where my current journey will take me, but I've built quite the reputation on Tatooine. I'm sure I can make something work, from there.” She finds herself wondering whether him not telling her had been intentional, expecting her to remain at his side...

“There is always work to be found here, too,” Karga states, "and you're always more than welcome, especially given the role you played in saving Nevarro."

“Thank you, Karga. I'll bear that in mind. I should find Mando, it was good to catch up.”

“That it was,” he agrees, offering her a smile. “Will you be needing a guide or –”

“I’ll find my way,” she shakes her head, “appreciate the offer though. See you around, Karga!” A final wave and she makes her way into the city, concentrating on remembering where the paths lead. She gets lost a couple of times, but polite residents direct her when she does and eventually she spots Din exiting one of the buildings. She catches up to him, unable to ignore the way he watches her approach. “Hey, you find Cara?”

“I did. Got the prisoner’s location.”

Someone from Din’s past – he had been extremely vague about the circumstances surrounding his connection and Maha respected his privacy. A former Imperial trooper, Mayfeld was possibly the key to locating Gideon’s cruiser. “Great.”

He’s keen to keep the pace moving but notices that Maha hasn’t moved from the spot she’d met him at. Confused, he turns and makes his way back. “What’s wrong?”

Maha inhales deeply, not wanting to trouble Din – the longer they took here the slower everything else would progress. “I –” she pauses, thinking, “I was hoping to see the covert, or… what’s left of it. I never got to really say goodbye.”

She somewhat anticipates him to say no, to tell her they’re too busy. But he merely places a palm on her shoulder, capturing her attention. “Are you sure?” He’d seen it, on that dreadful day, eerily empty and dingy. Nothing more than a collection of dark tunnels, now.

“Yes. Even if it’s just for a moment.”

They’d walked speedily to the entrance, uncertain of what they’d find, and learned that it’d been covered over – likely to avoid youngsters finding their way down there and getting lost. Din had removed the covering and allowed her to take the lead as they made their way down the spiral of steps.

As expected, there’s no one down here. It’s significantly cooler than above and they can hear the murmur of city dwellers. How the covert could’ve spent so much time down here, she didn’t know. The struggles they must’ve faced, psychologically, remaining hidden while hunters like her and Din freely came and went as they pleased. What she'd endured as a child alone had driven her to near-madness. She imagines crossing paths with Din sooner, bumping into one another in the stairwell, or narrowly missing each other. It’s difficult not to wonder if they had met previously and simply not remembered.

“What are you thinking about?” Din asks, his voice much clearer down here – likely because it’s the only sound within the space, the acoustics haunting.

“Whether we’ve crossed paths before and didn’t notice,” she replies truthfully.

Din scoffs, drawing her gaze to him. When she looks, he’s approaching her, slowly and with purpose until they’re inches apart. He makes a point of looking her up and down, bringing a finger to the chin of her helmet and guiding it up to meet his visor. “I would’ve noticed,” he asserts.

“You think?” Maha chuckles.

“I know.”

“Could’ve picked me out of a crowd of helmets and armour?”

Din rumbles, shaking his helmet. “You’re more than a helmet and armour.”

“Guess it’s easy to feel like I’m not,” Maha shrugs. She’s not seeking pity, she knows Din’s felt the exact same way before. It’s hard, when people refer to you as ‘a Mandalorian’ and not by your name, tying you to legends and myths you were never truly part of. Imposter syndrome is common for a Mandalorian, especially as a foundling, she doesn’t always feel she earned it.

“Always will be more t’ me,” Din assures. “Could pick you out of a crowd.”

“Well that wouldn’t be so hard,” Maha says, gesturing to her armour.

“I mean without the armour. Without the helmet, just you.”

She smiles to herself, tilting her helmet. “You really think so?”

“I would know you,” he tells her. “Down t’ the way you walk.”

“Yeah? And how do I walk, Din Djarin?”

A soft sound leaves him when she says his name, pressing the forehead of his helmet to hers. “With confidence,” he mutters, “dominance.”

That piques her interest, a grin spreading across her lips. “You like dominance in a partner, hm?” Palms are pressed flush against his armoured abdomen and walk him back, noting how he doesn’t fight it, until his spine touches the tunnel wall. He stutters, remaining quiet out of fear he’ll ruin the moment. “Ever think about me… taking control?”

“Y–Yes,” he grunts, swallowing audibly.

Maha traces the edges of his armour beneath her fingertips. She’s doing so little and yet he’s affected by her. “You know, I don’t think anyone would come looking for us, down here,” she says thoughtfully.

Din watches her closely, his attention fully fixed on her. “In - in here?” Isn't that sacrilegious? He can't decide. Perhaps it's romantic, the seeking of pleasure in somewhere that means so much to them, that holds such importance. A sharing of vulnerability in a place that ties them close together. The thought has his hips rolling, “Fuck, please, always such a tease,” he barely manages to wheeze.

“Been under so much stress, you poor thing,” she hums, dragging two fingers over the side of his helmet. “No time to relax.”

“S–So much stress…” Din chokes. “Want you.”

She’s careful of how far to take this. It would be fair, to grant Din a release, a weight off his mind – it might ease him somewhat. Though she’s still wary of taking advantage of his grief. “I’m going to touch you,” Maha says huskily. “Is that okay?”

“Maker, please.”

Similar to Mos Pelgo, the palm of her good hand slips down his abdomen and over his waist, pressing firmly against his covered member and Din’s head drops back, clanging into the wall. “Feel good?”

“M-More,” he pleads.

Maha reaches for the strap holding her glove in place and tugs it loose, making a show of peeling the covering off. She brings her warm fingertips to his belt, circling the buckle playfully before bringing her hand to her helmet and dipping her fingers beneath it, enough to gather some spit, and then shifts it back to his zipper which she drags down, slipping her hand inside and towards his heat. Din gasps sharply, working to maintain his raspy breathing, and when Maha’s fingers come into contact with his hardening length he splutters needily.

“Oh, please, n–no more teasing…” He whimpers, thighs trembling and back pressing further into the bricks behind him to keep steady. 

“Like this?” She offers, wrapping her digits around him firmly. Judging by the sounds he’s making, it’s a delicious sensation, prompting her to begin working him back and forth, using her pelvis to comfortably pin his hips in place, effectively stopping him from rocking. She wants him to feel every second of this, enjoy every detail and not feel he needs to contribute.

“Your hand is – kriff, s–so soft, Maha.” He gives a lengthy sigh.

“I thought about you too, after I left,” she says quietly. His helmet shifts, visor tilting down curiously. “Some nights… thought about what you said – wanting to wake up next to me, I really like that idea.” She changes the positioning of her hand, when the zip begins to dig in, so she’s able to roll her thumb over his head with her vertical pump and it has him jerking, breath stuttering when he’s unable to move his hips. “Thought about how you’d feel inside me.”

Din groans in response, nodding eagerly for her to continue. “Back at Pelgo I couldn’t really… tell how big you were, but I realize now it’s going to be a tight fit. I think I can handle you though, take you nice and slow – want to feel you deep,” she tells him breathily, sparing no explicit detail as she draws him closer to the edge. The wet, rhythmic sound his cock makes in her hand echoes filthily within the tunnel, muffled a little by his clothing, engulfing them in their own private and intimate moment. “Would you like that?”

“Want it so bad, kriff, yes. C–Close, Maha, so close.”

“I’d let you take me anywhere, you know. Could – Could take me into an alley and bend me over the nearest wall, fuck, Din, it gets me so hot thinking about completing a hunt with you and just… letting you sink into me…” Maha almost loses herself in it, shuddering when she feels one of Din’s own hands press firmly between her legs.

“Fuck yourself on it,” he drawls, “p–please…”

“This is supposed to be about you,” she mumbles.

“Both of us,” he says, “about both of us…”

She doesn’t think on it too much, deciding if it helps him then she’ll do it, allowing her hips to roll down onto the pressure, continuing to roughly work his member as she does. He helps, curling his digits and pressing firmly into her heat.

“Bet you’re… ah, soft down there too, huh?” He growls, thumb angling to push up into her covered clit and the friction is mind-blowing.

“I – I am,” Maha confirms, nodding against his shoulder.

“You know that, ‘cause you – you touch yourself, don’t you?”

“Fuck, yes, Din,” she moans, adding a twisting motion to her ministrations which has him practically bending forwards, a string of sounds parting from him. “Think about you when I touch myself,” she reveals.

“So close,” he croaks, his palm speeding up in an attempt to have her reach her climax at the same time. “Can you – just – just for a second, put it – fuck, sit on it?”

The request is unexpected and her strokes slow for a beat as she considers it. Shaking her helmet, her thighs press closer together to trap his hand. She squeezes his erection, speeding the movements up faster than before. “Soon,” she tells him, “want it to be special.”

“D-Damnit,” he garbles, head fully tilted down to focus on his orgasm, “s–so special, gonna make it so special, cyar'ika.” His fingers begin to work individually into her covered core, “cum for me, Maha, like this, wanna s–see you cum, ah!”

She’s unable to deny him, tipping over the edge with force as her knees threaten to give out beneath her. An unrecognisable sound parts from her lips, lengthy, low and wavering as her grip tightens around Din’s length to ground herself and it has him climaxing with her, hips finally jutting forwards as he shakes against her form, the two leaning close while their releases encapsulate them, armour hissing as it scrapes together. Maha withdraws first, giving Din one final stroke before tugging her hand free and zipping the crotch of his pants back up. Their heavy breathing mixes pleasantly, chests heaving and he helps regain her footing, looping an arm around her back to bring her close.

“Wanna kiss you,” he purrs, thumb stroking her side fondly.

“I don’t think I’d be able to stop, if you did,” Maha chuckles softly.

“Doesn’t sound so bad.”

She sighs contently, running her palms down his chest. “Maybe,” she hums teasingly, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

“Should probably… get back t’ Fett and Shand.”

“Yeah, would be awful of us to keep them waiting…”

The two share a laugh, a genuine one rich with relief. Words aren’t needed from Din, she can tell he’s grateful for her being here. Delighted, in fact, to have her back in his company.

“So this guy’s not a friend?” Maha queries, leaning against the doorframe of Boba’s ship. Karthon’s definitely a skug hole, the chop fields merely mountains of metal and scrap.

“No,” Din confirms from the back of the ship. He’s seated inside, waiting for Cara’s arrival with the prisoner – something about not wanting to trigger him into running.

“An enemy?”

“Not exactly.”

“He hates your guts?” Maha tilts her helmet.

“Something like that.”

She’s always intrigued to meet acquaintances of Din, good or bad – they’re always unusual and unique. She knows her fair share of people like that too, but there’s much less adventure involved. She met Zaki some years back, he’d been caught stealing from a store and the owner’s thugs had threatened to cut off two of his hands until Maha had intervened, managing to fight them off alone. Since then, he’d stuck close by her side where he could, changing his ways to follow in her footsteps – he always exclaimed what an inspiration she was to him. But Mando has met people while on the run from trouble, through killing a krayt dragon… Although, she recognises he's had to sacrifice a lot for the adventure, that it’s not always fun and games.

In the distance, she can see Marshal Dune making her way up the slope towards them. Behind her follows a scrawny, bald man with overgrown ginger stubble dressed in an orange prisoner jumpsuit. This is the ex-imp then, she assumes, narrowing her eyes behind her visor. Fett and Shand make their way out of the ship and down the ramp, catching the attention of the wittering prisoner.

He looks to Boba with wide eyes before letting out a relieved sigh. “Oh – you know for a second there, I thought you were this other guy.”

Din makes his way past Maha, who spares him an acknowledging glance, and approaches the group. Maha notes how the guy’s face drops at the sight of him. “Mayfeld.”

“Hey… Mando,” Mayfeld greets uncomfortably, evading eye contact. “Long time.” When Din says nothing, he continues. “So what, y’ came here t’ kill me?”

“All you need to know is I bent a lot of rules to bring you along,” Cara interjects bluntly.

Mayfeld lifts his chin, eyeing her. “Why am I so lucky?”

“Because you’re Imperial.”

“Hey, that was a long time ago, alright?”

“But you still know your Imperial clearances and protocols, don’t you?” Din says.

Mayfeld looks between him and Cara, unnerved, and as the group descends into the ship he eyes the chop fields and sighs, following them up the ramp. Maha remains at the door, waiting for Mayfeld to enter before moving in after him. He eyes her for a beat, likely wondering where Din found this crew.

The prisoner takes a seat, patting awkwardly at his knees as Fennec and Maha join him, Din remaining near the door while they take off. She feels his eyes on her again and Maha turns her helmet to the stranger. “So uh – what, you collecting Mandalorians now, Mando?”

Maha scoffs, “collecting.” He hadn’t been anticipating her voice, she can tell that much, his eyes lighting up with intrigue.

Din doesn’t grant him with a response, making his way over to his own seat. “We need coordinates for Moff Gideon’s cruiser,” he cuts to the point.

Mayfeld presses the tips of his fingers together, keeping his hands low in his lap. “Moff Gideon?” He subtly gawps, scoffing a chuckle, “heh, yeah, forget it. Just take me back t’ the scrapyard, I’m not doin’ that.”

Cara inhales impatiently. “They have his kid.”

“The little green guy?” Mayfeld asks, glancing between her and Din. So he knows about the child, Maha thinks to herself.

“Yeah,” Cara confirms, “the little green guy.”

“So… I help you guys get ‘im back, you guys let me go?”

“That’s not how this works.”

“Well then what’s in it f’ me?” Mayfeld huffs and Maha feels her fingers curl into a fist, his gaze flicking to the movement. She’s making him nervous – good.

“You get a better view,” Cara replies sternly.

The prisoner exhales deeply. “Alright but here’s the thing, I can’t get those coordinates unless I have access to an internal Imperial terminal.” Din turns to look at him. “I believe there’s one on Morak.”

“Morak? There’s nothing on Morak,” Din grunts.

“It’s a secret Imperial mining hub, okay?” Mayfeld stresses. “If you can get me in there, I can get you the coordinates.”

“Fett, punch in the coordinates to Morak,” Din requests, using the comlink to reach Boba above.

“Copy that,” Boba responds and the ship rumbles as he picks up speed.

No one speaks while the ship ascends into space, but once they’re comfortably sailing Din rises from his seat and approaches the corner. Maha follows shortly after, positioning herself beside him. Confidently, when she feels Mayfeld staring she stares back, the intensity of her expressionless visor being enough to make him look elsewhere. “What are you thinking?” She questions him quietly.

“Don’t know. I’ll have t’ see what Fett thinks, when we’re close.”

“Think it could be a trap?”

“No, Gideon thinks we have no idea where he is – which, currently, is true. He doesn’t know about my connections.”

She eyes their guest. “Right. Kind of wish I could see the grin drop off his face again,” Maha hums.

“I’m the one who got him arrested,” Din reveals.

Maha turns her gaze to him, tilting her helmet. “You’re making it hard to keep the punishing criminals thing as a joke.”

“I got caught up in a bad situation,” Din shrugs, “had t’ make it right somehow.”

“I should be asking you what kind of bad blood I’m letting you drag me into.”

“Don’t act like there aren’t people out there who have a problem with you,” Din retorts.

Maha pauses, smug. “That’s fair. Although I feel like you’re a magnet for that kind of thing.”

“What, a magnet for trouble?” Din huffs in amusement. “Would explain how I bumped into you.”

“You wouldn’t change a thing,” Maha tells him boldly. His silence is an agreement, but she can sense he’s biting his tongue. She could only hope Din understood that this time, he wasn’t alone. Covertly, she brushes his hand with her own and one of his fingers catches hers for a second, the lingering touch acting as unspoken words – tome, together.

Nevarro had been a necessary stop. With the Crest back up, running and functional again, it made for faster travel and more flexibility regarding potential pursuers. They’re on their way to Corvus, in search of the one named Asokah Tano, but with some spare time on his hands and the child resting soundly in his hammock, Din decides to utilise the shower in his fresher. His armour is placed in a pile on the floor, careful not to make too much noise, allowing him to slip easily out of his flight suit. Ignoring his reflection in the mirror above the sink, he removes his helmet and places that with the pile before stepping onto the draining platform. The tap is turned and he side steps the blast to avoid being sprayed with freezing water, waiting a few moments for it to heat up.

Shifting beneath the droplets, he begins scrubbing himself with soap, cleaning away the bad memories of the last few days and the grime that’d built up during them. The water dripping down his back is a calming sensation, tension oozing out of his limbs and he closes his eyes, staring up into the showerhead. His mind begins to drift, being back in Nevarro had triggers some unwanted thoughts, memories of his time with Maha – he pictures her back up on that roof with his rifle, how perfectly it had slotted in her arms and how well she’d held her own.

Forget about her, his conscience rebukes. Din’s hand finds its way down his torso, over subtle abs and past his v-shaped abdomen, pausing at the tickle of hair. “Fuck,” he wheezes, hesitating for a few beats, sucking in a breath when he finally allows it to go further. His fingers grasp at his length, wrapping tenderly around it and his form hunches, an arm lifting to the wall so he can press his forehead into the horizontal limb. A grunt leaves him as he begins slowly, testing his resolve, massaging himself. His hips jerk at the feeling, a sharp gasp muffled by his teeth digging into his lower lip. The pace develops with each stroke, tighter and faster, trying different hand positions until he finds one that feels better than the rest. He drifts again, thinking back to Mos Pelgo, the saloon…

“How long has it been? Since you got a release?”

“Can’t remember.”

“You can’t remember when you last came?”

Her voice like liquid honey, so smooth and rich, clear as the day within his mind. Would it sound much different without her helmet on? Scandalous thoughts, he sinfully imagines her bare faced, what she looks like, lips pressed to his shoulder as she mutters praise – the idea that she could possibly trust him enough not to look, “oh, fuuuck,” he groans deeply, imaging her lips and the edges of her teeth trailing their way up his neck, tongue flat and teasing along his jaw. You’re not thinking about her, he tells himself. You’re just getting off because you feel like it, with no particular muse.

His hand works faster, more urgently, pictures her soft hands stroking down his sides and over his hips, nails dragging along the flesh of his thighs. Oh, but he is thinking about her. How could he not? He almost chokes on a moan, a low murmur leaving him, chants of “yes,” as he draws closer to his climax. He wishes she was here, wishes it’s her hand instead of his, a tear rolling down his cheek as he gasps. This all feels too intimate for him, the desire for closeness unfamiliar but equally yearned for.

                                                   Just let go, Din, cum right here, it’s okay.

A strangled sound escapes him, thumb rubbing encouragingly over the head of his erection as his fingers work tirelessly and he does, he orgasms hard, thighs trembling and knees weak as he imagines feeling her tongue ghost-like at the tip before rolling over him, cleaning up the mess. Suffocatingly blissful, he imagines her rising and meeting his lips, salty to taste and prettily plush, like biting into perfectly ripened fruit. His hips jerk a final time, his hand slowing to a halt as he catches his breath. Din opens his eyes, hoping to see her but instead, he’s met with the sight of his swirling fluids disappearing down the drain, along with any hope of seeing her again.

“Dank farrik.”

“The fracture has reoccurred.”

“Kriff, really?” Maha complains.

“I can offer you a splint, it will heal with rest – some bacta might help, too,” the nurse offers. “But, knowing you… I imagine I’ll see you back here regarding the same wrist in a week.”

“A week?” She scoffs, “that’s hopeful.”

“I’m serious, Maha, you need to rest it.”

“You’re always serious, Gwinn (Gwyn), maybe you’re the one who needs rest.”

Gwinn narrows her eyes. “You’re right, you do have a habit of making my job exhausting.”

Maha huffs a chuckle. “I’ll take the splint and bacta, but I’m not making promises.”

“How very you. I can only advise,” the nurse shrugs, fetching the items for her and handing them over. “How did it happen in the first place?”

The explosion on Nevarro illuminates her mind, a cloud of fury, her weight stolen and forced through the air – the pain sparking through her limb, crawling to the edge and seeing Din unconscious and vulnerable… “I fell on it,” Maha says, monotone.

“You… fell,” Gwinn says doubtfully.

“That’s right.”

She sighs loudly. “Get out of my hair, Maha. Go on,” she ushers her towards the door. “And please – stay safe.”

“No promises!” Maha shouts back through the closing door, halting on the porch to take in Mos Eisley’s atmosphere. Adjusting her posture, she makes her way down the steps and sets her eyes on the cantina in the distance. It’d been a few days since her last hunt, and with her wrist pain not improving she’d decided to take Zaki’s advice and pay an old friend a visit. Gwinn’s a well respected nurse on Tatooine, but with her background of spice addiction many other places wouldn’t agree to take her on. Hence why she’d set up her own small clinic in Mos Eisley, to help others that wouldn’t shun her for her past.

She carefully removes her glove and smothers the area in bacta gel and then slips the splint on, tightening it in the necessary places so she’s not able to easily bend the joint. Pleased with the results, Maha puts her glove back on and then makes her way towards the cantina. Something’s wrong. She feels eyes on her, like she’s being watched. The hairs on the back of her neck raise in warning and she looks around, unable to see anyone. Turning her head, she peers down the alley beside her and spots a cloaked figure at the end. The moment they’re spotted, they disappear out of sight and something within her demands she follow them – which is exactly what she does. Caution to the wind, she speedily makes her way down the slim pathway and exists out into the next road. They’re nowhere to be seen, is she imagining it?

Maha looks in the opposite direction and notices the dark figure moving ahead of a small group. She picks up the pace, excusing her way past the group and as she begins to catch up, the figure starts to run, turning another corner. “Hey!” She shouts, breaking into a sprint – they know she’s tailing them, there’s no point in hiding it. Expecting to be led astray more, Maha is caught off-guard when she turns the corner and runs face first into a broad, strong shadow. What appears to be a gaffi stick is quickly placed between them, a barrier that is then used to corner her. Maha doesn’t submit to the shadow, swinging an arm up to try and disarm them but it retaliates, hitting her in the shoulder with the stick. Forced forward a few steps, Maha drops to a squat and kicks out a leg in an attempt to knock her attacker off their feet but they’re too quick, the stick interrupting her movement and knocks her own leg out from underneath her, sending her onto her rear.

Frustrated, Maha reaches for the blaster at her hip and aims it but their reaction-time is immaculate and she’s disarmed by the stick, her weapon clattering across the ground. “That’s it,” Maha snarls, reaching to activate her flamethrower.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” someone says from above and she wonders if she’s hallucinating. Her helmet tilts upwards, visor scanning the rooftop edge to find someone leaning there with a blaster aimed at her. Their face is concealed by a black, curved mask that appears to be attached to an orange helmet.

“Kriff,” Maha grunts. Her gaze returns to the looming shadow, especially now that she’s, not by choice, sitting at their feet. “Am I being mugged? What’s happening here?”

The shadow appears to relax and the person from above slinks down to the ground like a damn tooka, siding with the large figure, their blaster still aimed at her. The dark form then peels back its hood, revealing a man much older than her. He’s bald, with what looks like numerous scars on his face, stern brows knitted solemnly together. “You know of the Mandalorian I seek.” His accent is unusual, unplaceable, voice rough and low.

You know of the Mandalorian I seek. Maha wonders if she’s gawping, not that anyone would be able to tell. Her throat becomes dry and her skin itches. “I –” What the fuck had Din gotten her into now?

“We’re not here to harm you,” he clarifies.

“Not unless you make some kind of move,” his partner adds. A woman, younger sounding with a similar tone to Maha – a similar height too, she notes.

You’re still sat on your arse, she reminds herself. Maha carefully, very slowly – not wanting to alarm them – gets to her feet and dusts off the sand at her hips. Clearing her throat, she regains her bearings. “Who’s asking?”

“That isn’t important. What’s important is he possesses something very precious to me, and I’d like to get it back,” the man explains firmly.

“It’s important if it’s going to get him killed,” Maha argues.

“We have no intention of killing him.”

“Somehow that doesn’t ease my concern.”

He adjusts his stance. “I know he and yourself assisted Cobb Vanth in Mos Pelgo. I observed your leave, from the scene of the dragon.”

Maha’s tone drops. “What did you do to Vanth?”

“Nothing. He no longer had what I wanted. I have since been tracking the Mandalorian’s movements, but I have noticed you’ve been left behind.”

“Not left behind,” Maha denies. “I chose to stay.”

“But you know where he’s headed.” It’s not a question, he knows she knows.

“I – the armour?” The information clicks into place. “You want the armour?”

“The armour belongs to me,” he specifies. “I want it back.”

“That’s the only thing you want?”

He offers a single nod.

Her stomach leaps, impulsivity coursing through her veins. “I know where he was headed,” she confirms. “And I’ll tell you. But you have to take me with you.”

There’s visible tension between the two, an exchange of glances and she wonders if she’s pushing her luck. Will they blast her down on this very corner? The man raises his hand and his partner lowers her blaster. She moves over to Maha’s discarded weapon and offers it back to her. Confused, she eyes them with a subtle turn of her helmet and then takes it, placing it back in its holster.

“Perhaps he’ll be easier to talk down, with you there,” the woman comments.

“Talk down?” Maha arches a brow.

“It’s likely he’ll perceive us as a threat,” he tells her. Yeah, knowing Din, he definitely would. “The bounty for the child is high.”

Maha stills. “You – you know about… the child?”

“We have much to discuss,” he concludes, gesturing in a direction. “Come.”

“Oh – oh you’re – you’re Fennec Shand,” Maha stammers, taking a step back when the woman's helmet is finally removed.

Fennec nods. “Mando and one of his hunter friends caught up to me, tried to take me in.” Of course Din caught Fennec Shand, she thinks, internally rolling her eyes. Arsehole is just that good. “I was shot and left for dead in the dunes.”

“What? Mando wouldn’t –”

“It wasn’t him,” Fennec interrupts. “The other one. Fett here found me, saved me.”

Maha turns her gaze to Fett, tilting her helmet curiously. She’s not heard of him before. “Are you a Mandalorian?”

He stares at her for a moment. “I pledge my allegiance to no one.”

“Then why would you – the armour belongs to Mandalorians, by Creed.”

“You will help us with our goal or leave,” he threatens. “I will find the Mandalorian by other means, if I must.”

She worries her lip. How would Din react to her being there? Would he think of her as a betrayer of the Creed? She needs to see him, she decides bluntly. “Okay. I’ll help you.”

Maha had explained to Boba, she’d learned his name to be, that Mando had set course for Trask – that he was looking for other Mandalorians. It’d been enough of a start that allowed him to track the movements of Din’s ship. He’d made his way from Tatooine to Maldo Kreis, Boba suggesting a chase evasion judging by the destruction his ship had caused. With a graveyard of dead ice spiders and no ship to be found, it was safe to assume Din had made it off safely – setting course for Trask. Upon reaching Trask, they spoke to a mon calamari who’d told them a Mandalorian had indeed passed through – they’d even done some repairs to his Razor Crest. Apparently his landing had been awfully botched, sending his ship off the landing port and into the water.

Maha can’t help but feel like maybe she’d made the right decision, to not go with him. It sounds like he’s been through a lot. Regardless, he’d achieved whatever he came to do because he left – though the mon calamari had noted that his ship was still in terrible shape. Maha presumes he’d travelled to Nevarro for repairs, knowing they were really the only reliable place for him to go, but before she can tell them, Boba announces he’s picked up traces of an energy trail left behind by a ship travelling through hyperspace. This meant they could follow his exact movements and, potentially, catch up to him.

As expected, it leads them to Nevarro – but he’s since left, the trail continuing on towards another planet. “It’s called Corvus,” Boba tells her, the planet visible in the distance after a lengthy flight. “He landed here, but he’s since left.”

“Again?” Maha exhales. Where are you, Din? Where are you heading? He hasn’t stopped moving, bouncing from planet to planet. She can’t help but wonder whether he’s eaten or slept, whether he’s as run down and exhausted as he was when they’d first met. It wasn’t a good thing – he’d easily been overwhelmed by her then.

“Not too long ago,” Boba adds and she feels a swell of hope.

Retiring to a seat, Maha runs her index finger along the muzzle of her rifle. “You known Mando long?” Fennec pipes up, having moved from her seat beside Boba and across the space to her.

“Sure, don’t know how long exactly – who’s keeping count these days, right? But sure. Around the time you were shot, I’d imagine.” Considering Din had been conversing with the hunter who’d shot her the day she tailed him.

“Huh,” Fennec’s brows lift. “Goes full circle, then.”

“I guess so,” she shrugs. “I should forewarn you, he might not be too pleased to see me.”

Fennec smirks, drawing her braid over her shoulder as she perches beside Maha. “Why’s that?”

“It just… wasn’t a mutual parting. Nor an amicable one, at that.”

“Hard to imagine someone like Mando having lady drama.”

Maha turns to look at her, visor expressionless but the tilt in her helmet suggests she hadn’t been expecting that from Shand.

“Oh come on, what else could it be?” Fennec shoots back.

“I’m too tired to argue about it.”

“Why don’t you get some rest? We’ll update you when we’re close.”

Maha gives a steady nod and rises to her feet. She’s directed to Fennec’s resting area, which she’s greatly appreciative of, and it’s only when she’s laying on her side that she realizes what a mess she’s getting herself into. After all, she’s just met these people. What if their real plan is to kill her and take her own armour? Could they be trusted around a sleeping Mandalorian?

Somehow, seeing Din outweighs all of those concerns. She’s excited, dreading it, regrets triggering this series of events. What would she say to him? Sorry I disappeared.

I don’t owe him anything, she asserts. But he’d surely make her feel like she does.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Fennec calls out from her seat and Maha winces. She’s right, stop thinking. She’d know what to do, when the time was right… she hopes.

“It’s your turn,” a familiar voice says, the jangle of keys heard and the thunking of an opening lock. Her vision is blurry, a sharp-clawed hand gripping her hair tightly and tearing at her scalp – she’s dragged from the safety of her tiny space and hauled through a lengthy hallway of similar cages. She’s been here in her mind a thousand times. Her gaze lands on a child, no older than perhaps six; she blanches. “Aya!” Her sister looks so small inside the cage, frail – as though one tug of a limb would have her crumbling into pieces.

“Maha,” she utters, a sickening rasp to her voice; she sounds alien to her. It sounds like her throats raw from screaming, exhausted from crying. “Please, I’m so –” she coughs violently, “so scared.”

“It’s okay, Aya! I’m going to get us out of this, I’m going to –”

“They said they’re going… to kill me, Maha. I’m too –” another set of coughs, “weak.”

“No, no, no, Aya listen to me, it’s going to be okay, I’ll protect you –”

Her sister suddenly collapses in on herself, body turning to blood that folds and folds until it’s a mere puddle on the floor. The hand in her hair is gone, her body still and the cage door open. “Aya?” She mutters brokenly, creeping into the cage to examine the pool of blood. “Aya?” Palms are pressed to both sides as she leans in close, as though peering through a portal. From the blood shoots up a tiny hand, gripping at her wrist painfully. She hears her sister scream, shrill and deafening as blood bursts upwards and into her eyes.

“Maha!”

She wakes with a gasp, shooting upright on the bed and scans the room nervously. Her breathing is fast and shallow, hands shaking.

“There! At the top, you see?” Fennec can be heard.

“I do," Fett replies.

Maha groggily becomes aware of the voices on the other side of the ship. “How long have I been –”

“We can’t land up there, we’ll have to make our way up,” Boba says to Fennec, the two of them at the console. Fennec’s pointing towards something, and Maha can feel the ship being prepared to land.

“What –”

“We found them,” Fennec announces, crossing the space. “Get up, we’ve got some climbing ahead of us.”

Her heart races. “You – you found them?”

“Up!” Fennec urges, offering a hand but Maha politely rejects it and clambers to her feet.

The ship lands and Boba rises from his seat, making his way over to her. “Stay behind with Fennec, I will path my way towards the Mandalorian. She will show you where to go, in the meantime. Do not act without my command, or I will kill you and the other Mandalorian. Nothing gets in the way of this.”

“Understood,” Maha replies. Boba makes his way off the ship and begins his climb up the ruins.

Fennec turns to her. “He will see Boba approaching and will seek to protect the child. This gives us time to wrap around and get into position.”

“Position?”

“Leverage,” Fennec says. “If he feels the child is in danger, he will give in more easily.”

Maha recoils, “you’re not going to… actually put the kid in harms way though, are you?”

“I’m in Boba’s debt. I will do as I’m asked. Here, it’s time to move.” Reluctantly, she follows her, up the ruins and across the top of the hill, out of Din’s line of sight. Fennec has her positioned near Boba, hidden from view and waiting. “Stay here until you’re told otherwise, or this could go very wrong.” With that, Fennec disappears up the ruins a few feet and positions herself somewhere that she can secure a possible shot on the child.

Maha feels terrible for contributing to this. He’s alone here, the child’s only protection and she’s sure he’d believed it to be safe. But this is Din she’s thinking about, the man who threw himself into the maw of a krayt dragon in order to blow it up from the inside out.

From below, she hears the sound of footsteps, the familiar jingle of his boots. It’s him. He’s trying to get a visual on the enemy, trying to flank them. She hears a series of blaster fire, warning shots.

“I’ve been tracking you, Mandalorian,” Boba can be heard a few feet ahead. It’s unbearably tempting to peek over, to get a snippet of the view, to see him.

“Are you Jedi?” His voice rings out, nervous. Her throat goes dry, it’s really him. “Or are you after the child?”

There’s an audible pause as she hears Boba make his way further down towards him. “I’m here for the armour.”

“If you want my armour you’ll have t’ peel it off my dead body,” Din warns.

“I don’t want your armour,” Boba informs him. “I want my armour, that you got from Cobb Vanth back on Tatooine. It belongs to me.”

“Are you Mandalorian?” Maha wonders what Boba’s thinking, being asked this question a second time.

“I’m a simple man making his way through the galaxy, like my father before me.”

“Did you take the Creed?” Din pushes.

“I give my allegiance to no one,” Boba repeats what he’d told Maha.

“The beskar belongs t' the Mandalorians. It was looted from us during the Purge.”

“The armour was my father’s,” he explains, “now it’s mine.”

“What’s t’ stop me from dropping you right where you stand?” His blaster is still aimed at Boba, unbeknownst to Maha, unwavering is his hold on it.

“Because I have a sharpshooter up on that ridge with a locked scope that will unload by the time my body hits the ground.”

“I’m the one wearing beskar,” Din says confidently, “as soon as I see that muzzle flash, you’re both dead.”

“I didn’t mean she was going to shoot you. My friend’s locked onto that little companion of yours up on the henge.” She senses the change in the air, the panic Din must be feeling.

“And if you remember,” Fennec calls out, “I don’t miss.”

“Fennec?” Din hisses.

“You have a keen ear, Mando.”

The tension is palpable. “You point that gun away from the kid, or I’ll drop you both where you stand.”

“Let’s all put down our weapons, have a chat,” Boba suggests. “There’s no need for bloodshed.”

“Tell her t’ drop the gun,” Din urges.

“After you put down the jetpack.”

“Same time.”

“Stand down!” Boba shouts up to Fennec who rises from her position on the ridge, throwing a single glance Maha’s way. She can hear the surrendering of weapons.

Fennec makes her way down from higher ground, passing Maha on her way and down to Boba where she studies Din’s reaction. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“You were dead,” Din says.

“She was left for dead on the sands of Tatooine, as was I. But fate sometimes steps in to rescue the wretched,” Boba chips in.

“In my case,” Fennec reveals her previous wounds to him, the mechanical replacement keeping her alive, “Boba Fett was that fate, and I am now in his service.”

“Speaking of ghosts,” Boba looks over his shoulder towards where Maha resides, “come out,” he requests.

This is it, she thinks. The match that will spark the flame, she climbs up and over the boulder in front of her, into view. Din visibly stills, form tensing even more if such is possible. He takes a solid step back, as though his knees are weak, helmet tilting up and following her down to her place behind the others.

“You,” Din breathes. It’s all he says, all he’s able to say – tone laced with too many emotions to count but she feels his anger, his hurt. The truth of the matter is that they’d never be able to simply move on from one another.

“I want my armour back,” Boba continues.

Din takes a moment to reply, struggling to tear his gaze from Maha. He shakes his head, “it goes against the Mandalorian Creed.” He looks back to her as though making a statement, you’re going against the Mandalorian Creed.

“The armour was given to my father, Jango, by your forebears. In exchange, I guarantee the safety of the child, as well as your own.”

“The bounty on your little friend has risen significantly,” Fennec comments. “You can buy ten suits of armour for the price on its head.”

“I’d say we’re offering a fair deal, under the circumstances,” Boba points out.

However, before Din can answer, the rumbling of a ship can be heard in the distance, the four looking to the skies to spot an incoming trooper transporter. Its approach is fast, prompting Fennec to slip her helmet back on and Boba to pick up his rifle.

“Stay with the Mandalorian,” Boba tells Maha, “we’ll hold them off.” But when she looks to follow Din she can only see his cape disappearing out of sight.

“On it,” she agrees, racing up the ruins after him. When she reaches the top, there’s an audible boom of energy and Din flies backwards towards her. She throws herself to the side, narrowly avoiding his form. “Shit, what just happened?” There’s no response, and Maha scrambles to her feet and over to his unmoving form. “Din?” She stresses, nudging his shoulder. “Din, you need to wake up.”

From below, she hears the sound of blaster fire, implying Boba and Fennec have begun their assault on their attackers. Maha looks around, checking their surroundings when she notices the child perched up a large boulder, encircled by a wall of flowing blue. Is that… his power? The things Din had mentioned, of using his mind – this is what he meant. A power so strong that it must’ve completely knocked Din out cold. She doesn’t dare go near him and instead unholsters her blaster, prepared to shoot down anyone who gets too close to the foundling.

Explosions thunder from below as they make contact with sections of ruin and rock, an artillery trooper firing mortar shells dangerously close to their position. “Shit, Din, wake up! I think they're here for the kid!” The familiar blitz of blasts from an E-Web follows, tailing Fennec who she can see racing across the ridge to evade it. The assassin leaps from one rock to another, barely keeping ahead and manages to duck dramatically out of sight, firing more shots from her rifle at straying troopers.

She wants to shout for her to look out at the incoming shell but knows if she outs the child’s position, the troopers will focus their attention on her and Din, so she watches nervously as the mortar collides with the rock in front of Fennec, shaking the hill. It appears to free a boulder however, as with a shove from her it loosens and tumbles downwards, brutally wiping out the E-Web and a number of fighters.

Further down, Boba takes on a group of troopers who fall easily to his skill, while more pursue Fennec upwards – they’re getting dangerously close to the top, Maha thinks. There’s no time to worry about them though when another transport ship arrives and lands beside the other. “Shit!”

Beside her, Din stirs with a deep groan and she checks their surroundings again, curving around to him. “Are you okay?” She reaches out but he pushes her hand away, stumbling to his feet. He steps towards the edge and looks down to see another ship has arrived and more troopers are flooding out. Din eyes Maha and says, “go help Fennec, we’ll be fine.”

“But I –”

“Go,” he urges, and without another word Maha makes her way down the ruins towards a struggling Fennec.

When she arrives at the assassin’s location, a whole second squad of troopers emerge into view.

“Give yourselves up!” A trooper shouts to her. “We don’t want you, we want the child!”

They’re all around her, closing in until Maha makes her presence known by firing a round of shots into ones chest. With more than one target, the soldiers struggle, enabling Fennec to reposition herself without being hit as Maha unsheathes and grips her vibroblade tight, firmly stabbing one trooper in the throat before launching herself at another.

It’s a brutal display of strength on her part, the blade being brought up roughly into ones side and then removed and thrown into a third trooper’s masked forehead, blood creeping down from the crack. She jumps and rolls to the body, retrieving it and then repeating. She’s taking down a fifth soldier when Din appears, activating his whistling birds that scatter through the air and kill a large portion of attackers. Maha retrieves her blade and swipes a hand across her helmet, unintentionally smearing blood, and with a grunt she makes a run to them.

“Okay, let’s move in,” Din leads, dodging blaster fire as more and more troopers appear. The hits bounce off his beskar, pinging back through the air.

“This isn’t looking good,” Fennec quips.

“I’ve seen worse,” he grunts, covering where he can. Maha keeps her lips sealed, firing when possible and then opts to utilise her blade, pushing towards the incoming soldiers and violently lunging at them. Din and Fennec are forced into a corner, struggling to fend off the danger while Maha proceeds to butcher as many as she can and swiftly. She feels Din’s gaze on her, concentrating on the trooper in front so much so that she doesn’t hear the approaching footsteps. She feels them before anything, swivelling too late but a blaster shot has them keeling over and she looks to Din. His blaster is raised in her direction, is he looking out for her? Maha nods in thanks, but the moment is interrupted by an explosion between them, killing multiple troopers.

From above, Boba adorning his armour drops in and helps them, taking on numerous soldiers himself with his regained gear and weapons. He’s good with it, Maha observes, muscle memory that you never unlearn – she knows every inch of her suit better than she does her own human body. Boba fires at the E-Web, causing its power supply to blow up, the burst of flames launching Maha back to Nevarro and she’s sure from Din’s momentary pause that the same happens to him.

They manage to take out all the troops nearby, a handful retreating back to the ship with haste. Boba pursues them to the edge of the ridge, where he locks onto one of the transporters and fires the missile on his back, which races through the air and collides with the middle of the ship, causing it to blast into flames and drop into the second ship, the two falling together and hitting the ground, a huge roar of fire shooting up into a blazing cloud. He turns to face them on their approach, clearly smug.

“Nice shot,” Din compliments.

“I was aiming for the other one,” Boba confesses dryly.

There’s no time to celebrate when a blast of red illuminates the sky and a shot comes down from the heavens and hits the Razor Crest, obliterating it in an instant. Shattered pieces of it fly through the air, the blaze severe and Maha’s stomach drops as Din surges forwards, helpless in the face of the destruction.

“Better get to your ship,” Fennec urges Boba, who shoots up into the sky to do exactly that.

Din’s shoulders rise and fall as he stares at the wreckage of his ship, turning his gaze upwards to figure out where the blast came from. He’s able to spot a cruiser above the clouds, prompting him to automatically run for the top of the ruins. “The kid!” Maha and Fennec follow, sprinting up the hill.

As they near the top, they’re able to see a formation of dark troopers descending upon the child. They’re not able to move any faster, bolting up the slope and leaping over rocks blocking the path but as they reach the location, the troopers snatch the child up and rocket upwards, the force field protecting it now gone.

“They’ve got the baby!” Fennec informs Boba through her comlink. “Don’t let them get away!”

“Affirmative,” Boba responds, already in his ship and pursuing them. “I have a lock.”

“Stop him,” Din requests firmly, “I don’t want the child hurt.”

“Abort pursuit,” Fennec orders, “disengage, do not harm the child!”

“Copy, I’ll do a loose follow, see where they’re headed.”

Fennec, Din and Maha watch helplessly as the child disappears further and further into the fog of the clouds. She can’t imagine the devastation he feels right now, she knows how important that foundling is – both in his power and to the Mandalorian.

“They’re back,” Boba grunts through the comlink.

“Who?” Fennec asks.

“The Empire. They’re back.”

“That can’t be. The Outer Rim is under the jurisdiction of the New Republic.”

“This isn’t a spice dream,” Boba responds bluntly. “I can see the Imperial cruiser with my own eyes. Heading down.”

They exchange glances at the news.

“But Gideon’s dead?” Maha can’t keep from blurting. “You – you killed him, he crashed you said he – ”

“Gideon’s alive,” Din states quietly.

“What?” Din had explained to her, back on Nevarro, who Moff Gideon was. What he was seeking, that he was obsessed with obtaining the child.

“I revisited Nevarro. There was… an old Imperial base that was still in use. We blew it up but… found evidence that Gideon was alive – he has even more reason t’ come after this child now. And he’s succeeded,” Din snarls, kicking at the dirt. “Fuck!”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done, Mando,” Maha insists but finds herself quickly being roughly guided away from Fennec’s side, a private space a few feet away.

“What are you doing here!?” He seethes.

“What do you mean what am I doing here? I came to find you!”

“But why?”

“Because I was hoping to talk. I never expected… any of this.”

“So what, you wanna run off and hide again? Leave me t’ deal with it like you did last time?” Din closes in on her, pointing a finger at her chest.

“That’s not fair,” Maha utters, stunned by his audacity. “That’s not fair and you know it.”

“What is fair!?” He growls back, not raising his voice, never raising his voice, but the severity of his tone is damning. “Huh? You wanna talk about fair? The only person I’ve truly given a kriff about up and leaves out of nowhere, I get – stuck on a freezing planet with gigantic ice spiders and its fucking… one thousand babies, they ruin my ship, I land in a karking harbour and have to be pulled out like a fish on a hook, I go through a tonne of shit to take the child to where he needs to be and I’m told – I’m told to go somewhere else, and when I do, Gideon sends an entire army down here and because I’m distracted I make mistakes and they fucking take him – after everything, they take him, they blow up my ship and the worst part? I know they’re gonna hurt him and there’s nothing I can do but watch I –”

Maha acts fast, wrapping her arms around Din’s form in a close hug. He’s astonished by the contact, standing awkwardly in her hold, arms by his sides as he rasps with confusion. She stays like that for a few moments, keeping him close. Tilting her hidden mouth towards his hearing, she says, “notice how this all happened when I wasn’t around.” The tension in Din’s body bleeds out slowly, his form relaxing against her own. There’s no amused huff or chuckle, understandably – given the circumstances, but it’s enough for her to know that this right here is important to him.

“Thought I’d never see you again,” he mutters.

Not going to apologise, she promises herself. “We need to talk,” she exhales. “But not right now.” Maha inhales deeply, breathing in his scent. She can smell the blood on herself. “I’ve missed you, di'kut.”

She feels Din do the same, a lengthy inhale with his helmet pressed as close as it can get. “Told myself I’d be mad at you,” he grunts, “if I saw you after… Tatooine. But I – dank farrik, don’t leave again. Okay? My priority is the child, I need t’ get him back, need him safe but don’t leave my side again,” he says through gritted teeth. “We can talk it through, figure out what happened, I’ll make it work.”

“Din,” Maha whispers, frowning to herself. He’s so torn up.

“Gedet'ye,” he demands softly.

“We’ll get him back, Din,” she tells him, strength in her voice. “We’ll get him back.” If it’s the last thing she does.

“It’s gonna take a while, I recommend you get some rest,” Din suggests, making his way over to the cockpit exit. He slides down the ladder, like many times he’s done before, and opens up the hatch to his sleeping chambers, noting the child isn’t there. “Kid?” He calls out, confused. Looking behind him, he spots the little terror reaching into the container of eggs.

“No, no, no!” He races over too late, the child slurping the egg up hungrily. The lid is flipped shut and he lifts him to his face, “that is not food!” He scolds. “Don’t do that again.” He merely receives a croaky burp in response and sighs. “Nap time,” he tells him and carries the little one over to their resting spot. He places the kid into the hammock he’d made for him and then proceeds to clamber into his own bed, resting on his side.

Din stares at that wall for some time, listening to the soft, shallow breathing of the baby. He thinks about Maha, can’t stop himself. He’d felt terrible leaving Tatooine without her, his return to Mos Eisley proving useless in locating her. She wasn’t back at the ship when he arrived, thus he’d walked to the local cantina knowing that was where she frequented – but there was no sign of her. Naturally, there wouldn’t be if she didn’t want to be found. But why had she wished to hide? He understood that she was likely angry at him, but why hadn’t she stuck around to talk to him? To tell him that. He could’ve apologised and she’d maybe still be here. Was that selfish of him? Perhaps, but it was better than this insufferable yearning.

They’d barely gotten started, the promise of so much more to come… He thinks back to the saloon, when they were alone. The way she eagerly escalated things with him, confirmed and reciprocated his feelings towards her, the weight of her hand against him as he ground his hips needily… Din chokes on rogue saliva that’d been pooling in his mouth. Fuck… What was he supposed to do? Let everyone die? Let her die?

He'd waited for as long as he could, but with the pressure and urgency from his new passenger and the threat of danger to the child the longer they stayed – especially after the bandit incident in the desert – they had to leave without her. Din exhales heavily, rolling his eyes at the wall of metal. If she were here, he’d have no trouble slipping off into a deep, blissful rest. How was he to get over her? He has to find her again, he tells himself. If it was the last thing he did.

“Lost visual,” one of the X-wings notifies, the comms proceed to chatter away, the signal breaking up and mixing with static. Din interacts with the interface, switching on and off the necessities.

We’re safe, for now, he tells himself. In the seat behind, the passenger croaks and splutters nervously – he’s certain she’s never been on a ride like that before. There’s a dreadful crack beneath the ship and it jolts as the ice beneath begins to break. The creaking grows louder, a crescendo of crunching and clunking when suddenly it gives way and before he can tell his company to hold on, the ship is falling and crashes onto the level below, the force of the movement causing Din to smash his head against the console – knocking him out cold.

“Get up, Din!”

He groans, blinking through the grogginess. “My head,” he mutters, blearily peering through narrowed eyelids as he takes in his surroundings. “Where – what?”

“Up, sleepyhead!”

He’s not on the ship anymore. In fact, it’s nowhere to be seen. Instead, he’s in a familiar room, with generic paintings on the walls and a bowl of complimentary fruit in the corner. He’s been here before, he thinks. But – how?

“Cyar'ika,” the voice coos in a whisper and he feels something slide over his abdomen and up his side. “Wake up.”

“Maha? How are you –” His words catch in his throat, “here?” His back is flat on the bed in the room, Maha’s form weighing down on him. The sensation is her hand, tentatively stroking over his chest. A flash of blue – there’s that fabric on her wrist again. He ponders on its sentiment, why she wears it – what it means? If anything.

“I’m not,” she tells him honestly. “I’m in your head. Although that’s where I usually am, no? Have I been in your head this entire time? It’s believable. I mean, you’ve even told yourself you think I’m too good to be true.”

“Why did you leave?” He asks, tone wavering. A hand reaches for her but phases through her, shockingly. “We could’ve – you didn’t have to.”

“Because you’re a terrible partner,” she replies coldly. Ice-fucking-cold, he’s sure he saw a thin wisp of steam leave her parted lips. “You don’t want a partner, you want a toy, someone who you can order around – a maid, to watch your child and stay with your ship. But I’m a Mandalorian. I’ve seen death, I don’t need to be reminded what it looks like, of the danger.” Her words echo within his helmet now, like its coming from the comlink.

“Please,” he pleads, “there’s still time.”

“No time in the world can help you figure out your chaos. You want to know why I left, Din? I left because of you.”

She vanishes in a blink and around him, the room begins to fade and a haunting white canvas takes its place, empty and stark as he lifts his head from his ship’s console. He stifles a groan as he rises, grunting at the pain in his head. Reaching to flick a few switches, he notices that nothing happens. The ship is out for good, damaged by the drop. Was this karma for leaving? Maha’s wrath somehow manipulating fate. Nonsensical, he realizes, but he’ll take what he can for the time being, if it means feeling like she’s somehow still with him.

She’d watched the Razor Crest lift off, watched until it'd disappeared out of sight. Din had come looking for her at the cantina, she was told. He’d held on for as long as he could, she'd realized, she knew how he liked to move fast – and that sitting in one place for too long was dangerous.

With Din gone, Maha could focus on returning to her old self. The feared bounty hunter on Tatooine. She’d grown from her experiences with her fellow Mandalorian, that was undeniable. But she’d needed a distraction.

A hunt out in the dunes is one she takes on eagerly. It’s a personal request, rather than guild – considering she’s still unable to reach Nevarro. A friend of a friend, their business has been immensely interrupted by a bandit operation. The pathing they take to deliver to a wealthy and long-standing customer is being intercepted by them, the goods stolen and delivery folk robbed and left to perish in the desert. Maha understands that everyone needs to make a living, but there’s a fine line between robbery and sadistic torture. Forcing someone to only be able to crawl and leaving them to attempt to make their way back home, only for them to be found days later ripped and torn to shreds by anoobas.

She’d allowed herself one luxury, regarding leaving Din. She kept his sniper rifle, a last minute decision – maybe she’d be able to give it back some day. Something to strive for, possibly.

“What’s the plan?” Zaki (Za-key) chirps from his perch in the sand hill. He’s no partner, but a trusted friend – one of the few people she trusts on this specific rock. An aspiring bounty hunter, he’s eager to help where he can. She glances over at him, four arms offering a curious shrug and she struggles not to smirk. Idiot. He’s an ardennian, with grey fur and a youthful, tan face. Unlike many ardennian’s, Zaki’s been growing his hair out on top, allowing him to secure four cornrow-styled braids on his scalp that have been dyed a light shade of blonde in comparison to his darker grey. His classic outfit is a brown flight suit with streaks of chartreuse green down his four arms and a line of squares in the same colour on his pant legs. “You wanna do the delivery fake-out? Let ‘em think they’ve got us and then – BAM!” He mimics blaster fire with his four sets of hands, mocking the sound of the bandits dying. “Or the sneak up and attack? Can never go wrong with that.”

“I’m thinking,” Maha grunts back. It’s nice, a change of pace to be around someone who isn’t constantly being overprotective, who doesn’t get jealous and confuse her with mixed signals. “It’s a medium-sized operation,” she points out, “won’t just be a couple, probably have a small camp nearby. Arseholes with egos this big tend to have backup somewhere along the way.”

“Makes sense,” Zaki agrees.

“I like the delivery fake-out,” she approves, “but with a minor adjustment.”

“Go on.”

“We let them take us to their camp. I have no doubts my armour will be ticket enough. We get in, break out and put the entire camp out of business.”

Zaki moans enthusiastically, punching at the air with two fists. “This is why you’re the hunter and I, the apprentice.”

“You’ll earn your stripes,” Maha encourages. “But we need to not be reckless. You’ll have to follow my lead on this one.”

He nods, offering her a thumbs up. “Can do, will do.”

“Great. Now we just need to find believable transport.”

The bantha’s admittedly uncomfortable, and Zaki bumbling about on its back doesn’t help. “Use your back muscles,” Maha scolds.

“I’m trying I’m– I’m not used to this.”

“It’s okay, we just need the attackers to believe you’re transporting me somewhere.”

“Do I have a route?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Maha breathes, “I’ll do most of the talking. You listen and, you know, absorb it.”

“Like a sponge,” Zaki confirms.

“Exactly. So, you see those two rocks ahead?”

“I do.”

Maha shifts, checking the accessibility of her blaster, should anything go wrong. Her rifle is up the back of her cape, hidden from view – she hopes they’ll be satisfied enough with the blaster that they won’t check for other weapons. They’re intelligent when it comes to setting up an ambush, but Maha’s not giving them too much credit. “That’s where they’ll strike. It’s a perfect place to hide their weapons and other resources. Don’t put up any kind of fight, arms up and surrender – okay?”

“I hate that but sure.”

“Vibroblade,” she prompts.

“Sheathed in my left boot.” Which looks run down and overworked – his newer, more stylish ones left at home. He needed to look the part of a lonesome bantha taxi, barely making enough to feed himself at night. Even more so with bandits like these roaming the sands; she’s doing everyone a favour by taking them out.

“Good, you remember the code word?”

“Tome.”

“That’s right,” she confirms.

“What does it mean? You said it’s Mando’a?”

“That’s – that’s irrelevant, at the moment. Focus on the job.”

“It mean something to you?”

Maha exhales heavily. “Zaki.”

“Okay, okay, sorry – just asking.”

“If you must know, yes, it does. Eyes forward, we’re getting close.” As the bantha draws near to the rocks she’d pointed out, as expected, four bandits leap out from behind them. Two begin making their way behind the bantha, blocking off both paths. They hold a mixture of blasters and long machete-like blades, the edges tinted with blood. They wear black, fabric masks that stretch loosely down to their shoulders, the eyes-holes hanging low enough that Maha can make out a curved shape in crimson, likely a symbol of who they belong to as a group. This is something they take great pride in, she notes, comfortably marking themselves with their sadism, their sickness. She has no mercy for people like this, many similarities to be linked between them and the people who kidnapped her as a child and forced her to participate in blood sport.

“Off!” One of the bandits shouts, “slow, slow!” He’s a hulking man, with broad shoulders and a small head, his biceps wider than she and Zaki’s widths combined. His proportions are off however, meaning he’s not agile nor flexible. He’d be easy to trip over just by running around him.

The second is far smaller but more fairly matched in height with Maha, a nikto with pale tan skin and spikes hanging down from where the brow would be, two smaller spikes poking out of his cheekbones. He’s not wearing a face covering, his teeth bared in a snarl – blaster poking at Zaki’s side as he orders them to do as they say.

As they slip from the bantha’s tall back, the third bandit pats them down briskly before reaching towards some cuffs at his hip to secure Maha, conscious of her flamethrower and other weapons that are intricately designed within her armour. This ones a human, like the first, the duality of man – he’s half the size of her and also has a mask tugged over his head. He’s aggressive and rough, giving Maha a dagger-like glare when she grunts at how he cuffs her. The fourth remains in the back, overseeing the operation and she assumes he’s the leader of this motley crew, a young Twi’lek with pale blue skin and darker blue stripes on his ears, a black wrap placed around them with a pair of orange goggles on top and Maha supposes they work well to keep the sand out of their eyes when the winds are bad. They’re less concerned about Zaki, tying his wrists with a fraying rope that Maha knows he’ll be able to get out of with his dexterity.

She feels something slam into her side, prompting her to splutter and bend as pain shoots through her. A hand on her shoulder guides her towards a previously hidden speeder bike and she’s seated firmly onto the back. Beside her, the same happens with Zaki and she offers him a subtle bow of her head to check he’s doing okay, to which he returns a wink.

Conscious of this whole operation not seeming too rehearsed or anticipated, Maha speaks with a stressed tone and asks, “where are you taking us?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” the twi’lek responds – he’s done this many times, she thinks. So confident in the presence of another’s uncertainty and fear.

“People are expecting us,” she states. “They’ll notice I’m missing.”

“Shut up!” The huge man roars, climbing a top the bantha. Did they plan on stealing that from them too?

“Nice armour,” the nikto murmurs as he climbs into the driver’s seat. The Twi’lek takes control of Zaki’s bike and the smallest bandit takes the third speeder alone. They remain quiet as they’re driven across the vast sand landscape, their camp visible in the distance as a few sturdy tents, a firepit and an ammunitions hut – likely where they kept the goods they stole. Arriving at the entrance, they step off of the bikes and Maha feels a blaster muzzle poking and prodding the small of her back. With her blaster having been removed, her gait feels vaguely lighter and as she’d hoped, they hadn’t located her rifle that is still strapped high up her back.

Coming to the centre of the camp, there are a few other bandits scattered around, envious of this group’s tremendous find. Mandalorian armour is fetching high prices currently, rising with each day. She wonders if they’ll fight over her, over the predicted spoils to come from selling her precious metal. They’re tied to individual wooden poles sticking out from the sand, a rope tightly wound around her cuffs as a precaution. That won’t be enough, she thinks smugly.

“What are you going to do to us!?” She demands nervously, internally pleased when Zaki joins in on the feigned fear.

“Let us go!”

She can hear the crunch of footsteps behind her, craning her head to see over her shoulder. It’s another bandit, a rodian this time – surprisingly muscular and wearing black cargo pants and a light beige, short-sleeved jacket over a longer sleeved dark brown top. She feels uncomfortable beneath its blackened, soulless stare, as it leers at her, speaking in its native tongue. “What have you boys brought us today?”

“Us?” The smallest bandit croaks. “The Mandalorian is ours ‘n’ ours alone – not sharing with you lazy nerf herders.”

“What did you call us?” One bandit hisses, emerging from his tent.

“Better watch your mouth, D'ar Toug, or we’ll rip that tongue right out!” Another threatens menacingly.

The small bandit supposedly named D’ar Toug raises Maha’s blaster in the air and she grits her teeth. Put that down you little shit. “Shut it!” He growls, “or someone’ll lose an eye!”

“You even know how to use that thing?” The rodian quips. They’re unruly, she notes, lacking any sense of togetherness. Terrible people forming a collective with terrible motives – it’s never going to end well.

“Enough,” a new voice drawls, raised and booming. Maha’s gaze falls on a nearby tent, spotting the quarren emerging from it. He’s dressed in an all-black flight suit with red stripes down his arms to match the colour of his head, tentacles flicking impatiently as he closes in on the prisoners. “What’s this? A Mandalorian?” He observes, deep and guttural.

“Found ‘em riding towards Mos Espa,” D’ar explains, his voice raspier and higher in pitch. Maha realizes he reminds her of a rat.

“Hmph. What business y’ got in Espa?” The quarren inquires, leaning into Maha’s personal space, a grubby hand raising to run along the curve of her shoulder armour. She tries hard not to recoil, disgusted.

“Meeting a friend,” she says, “they’ll notice if I don’t show up.”

“Now, now, nobody said you weren’t gonna show up,” he rumbles in his slimy tone. “Just… without your armour.”

“In your dreams,” she spits back. “You’ll have to pry it off my dead body.”

“It can be arranged, pretty thing, I can assure you.” He turns his attention to Zaki. “And you – you’re no Mandalorian.”

“I take people places,” he replies quietly.

“That so?”

“If you let us go, I can pay you handsomely – a ransom,” Maha suggests. “Name your price.”

The quarren lets out a filthy laugh, gritty and hoarse, bellowing his amusement throughout the camp. “Release a Mandalorian, you must think me a kriffin’ fool!”

He’s smarter than the other bandits, then – though not by much. “You’d rather scorn me then?” She tests.

A chuckle leaves him, fainter this time, and he gives her a once-over look. “If that’s what it takes. Good job, boys,” he praises the bandit group who’d ‘captured’ them. “Keep ‘em tied up f’r now. I’ll reassess at sundown.” Was that when they waited to set prisoners free? Dumping their dehydrated and starving bodies into the desert, wounded and beaten, fresh meat for scavengers.

They do exactly that, the bandits turning their attention to various other tasks within camp, ignoring the prisoners for the most part. When she’s sure no one’s watching, she peers over at Zaki who’s hand slips free from the rope and passes her the key to her cuffs. He’d snatched it from the bandit while being searched. With a history of petty theft, he brought a certain flare to this line of work. It meant he could expand his repertoire, for lack of a better word, without getting arrested.

Unlocking her cuffs, Maha pretends nothing has changed as she surveys the camp – ready for when the perfect moment strikes. They don’t want too many reinforcements, there is only two of them against well over ten, after all. But they have a decent advantage, and if half the camp is distracted their chances are doubled. Admittedly, there’s a few more here than Maha had originally planned to fight but sometimes that’s how things go. As a bounty hunter, she’d made a living off of being adaptable and capable of managing quick-changing events and details.

The nikto from earlier decides to make his way over, pausing to lavish Maha with unwanted attention – his gaze holding her own behind the visor. She knows in her gut what’s approaching, feels her fists clenching readily, helmet tilting as a challenge. Do it, I dare you. The nikto naturally can’t help himself and rounds on her, stepping up behind her to wrap his hands around her waist and Maha chokes at the repulsion of it all. Zaki looks at her frantically, seeking some kind of confirmation.

“Tome,” she says softly, and all hell breaks loose. She rams the back of her helmet into the nikto’s face, who in turn shouts and stumbles backwards. Her cuffs click as they’re opened and beside her, Zaki frees himself easily from his ties. Back to back, they begin fighting the bandits who have noticed, Maha removing the rifle from her back to knock down a couple early on.

She makes her way towards the swarming forms, firing close-contact blows to one chest before swinging the rifle to smash its butt into another’s face, alternating between the two until she runs out of ammo. Then, she makes a run towards D’ar, the smaller bandit, tearing her blaster from his holster and then firing two shots at him.

The huge bandit squares up to her, raising his fists for a close combat fight. Maha frees the sheathed vibroblade that she’d pinned at her breast beneath her flight suit and raises it, altering her stance as she waits for the first hit. He’s slow but packs a punch, Maha moving fast to evade his hits, slicing here and there at his knuckles when she can. Her vambrace launches a length of cord at the bandit, which enables her to wrap it around him once and then leap onto his back, wrapping the cord further around his throat. Fumbling around clumsily, desperate rasping can be heard as he tries to take in air, eventually falling flat on his face – dead. Maha springs from his shoulders and re-enters the fight, approaching the nikto who’d tried to assault her now he was back on his feet, a deep and crimson cut on his lip from the blow of her helmet. He snarls at her, launching forwards but Maha catches him with her blade, stabbing vigorously until he can only lean into her hold and is then lowered to the sand.

Zaki is holding his own too, having located a blaster from one of the bodies. He fires two shots and then skids between open legs, leaping up onto their back to stab his blade into them. They make quick work of the bandits, blaster fire deafening as shots narrowly miss them or hit other bandits. Someone roars from behind her and Maha is tackled to the ground by the head quarren, his hands wrapping tightly around her throat. She kicks and punches as hard as she can, before snapping up a knee into his groin.

He releases her, rolling onto his back but is quickly back in action, reaching for the axe at his hip to swing furiously – left and right, Maha catching the weapon with her forearm armour which gives her access to his leg. She slashes his thigh open and he howls, backing away with a limp to prepare for another hit. He’s fast, the axe whooshing past her helmet as she steps aside and it hits the sand with a thud. Kicking hard, she knocks his hand from the handle and slashes violently at his bicep. He seethes with pain, lunging again and she falls onto her back, their bodies rolling for control.

With her pinned a second time, she swings her arm between them and manages to slice off one of his tentacles, gore spilling down onto the face of her helmet. The blood obscures her view, and in a panic she slices again but he catches her wrist, the wrist she’d fractured back on Nevarro, and squeezes. Maha screams, using her free hand to grip at anything – thumb locating his eye socket and she plunges it in. The quarren lets her go, both hands flying up to protect his face and Maha scrambles to her feet, ignoring the familiar burn in her hand as she kicks him hard in the chest, sending him backwards onto the ground. She crawls on top of him and presses her blade to his throat, close enough that he knows should he move, he’s dead.

“Why did you make those people before us suffer?” She spits. In between gurgled moans, the quarren chokes on blood – she must’ve caused some serious internal damage. When he doesn’t respond, she presses the sharp edge to his flesh. “Tell me!”

“Because – message!”

“A message?” She clarifies. “You were leaving people a message?” The quarren nods. “What message?”

“Make – make you suffer.”

“A threat to make people suffer, huh? Why?” The quarren can’t respond, slowly suffocating on his own blood. “I’ll answer for you, shall I? Because you’re pathetic. Need others to suffer in order to feel something.” She pauses, gazing down at her blade. “Suffering is for the strong.” With that, she slices open his throat and rises to her feet, his breathing stopping almost instantly, form going lax. “Zaki, how we looking?”

“I think that’s everyone,” he mutters, catching his breath. Around them, bodies scatter the camp – it’s a mess.

“Scavengers will take care of the bodies. Salvage any weapons we can use. I’m sure jawas will run across the stolen goods and do what they will with them. Our priority was the bandits – job done.”

“Job well done,” Zaki corrects, shooting a finger-gun gesture her way.

“Come on, set the bantha free and grab a speeder, drinks are on me tonight.”

“No fuckin’ way!?” Zaki blasts, leaning over the table excitedly. She’d been telling him about the krayt dragon fight while they recovered from their day, at the local cantina.

“Way,” Maha confirms.

“How did you not get eaten?”

“I… had a good team. There were a lot of us, sand people, kriff, pretty much a whole town too!”

“Damn!” Zaki exhales, leaning back into his seat. “You live the life, Maha, hanging out with bounty hunters, sand people, killing dragons? I envy you.”

She chuckles softly, shaking her head. “You’ll get there, Zaki. I was really impressed with you today.”

“Thanks,” he smiles. “That means a lot coming from you.”

Zaki had grown close to being a little brother to Maha, a sibling bond between them – the space having been empty for years since having lost her sister. She closes her eyes, listening to him droning on in the background.

“Maha! You’re it!”

“Aya, we’re playing hide and seek!” She stresses, rolling her eyes and giggling when Aya’s expression creases with confusion.

“Oops! Okay, you have to count – I’m going to hide!”

Maha nods, turning her back, pausing to call out, “don’t go too far, Aya!” There’s no response, and her stomach churns nervously – what if she hadn’t heard? Putting her worries aside, she begins counting, louder and louder the closer to the max she gets. The hunt begins, Maha peeking around trees and checking under benches for her little sister. “I’m going to find you~” She calls playfully, jumping around a corner and shouting, “boo!”

When Maha has checked the majority of the obvious hiding places, she feels that anxiety gnawing at her again. “Aya?” Brows furrow. “Mother says it’s time to go inside now, you can come out, you win!” Nothing. “Aya, this isn’t fun–mmmph!” A hand is placed over her mouth, their grip calloused, sweaty and cold.

“Y’ hear that? We won!” The man says, his voice venomous.

Maha is turned to face her sister who is in a similar position, her delicate hair grasped tightly in her attacker’s free hand. Horrified and driven purely by the look in her sister’s eyes, Maha bites down hard on the man’s finger and he lets her go with a yell. Knowing she can’t fight them off, she runs in search of their mother.

“Forget her!” Aya’s kidnapper snarls.

“No! Didn’t you see that tenacity? She’s perfect!” The other says, a wicked grin smeared across his face as he pursues Maha.

“Ma-ma!?” She calls, voice cracking with terror. Her footsteps echo through the hall of their home, the birds tweeting loudly outside – wholly unaware of the awful events occurring around them. “Ma-ma, they took Aya! Bad men!” She makes her way into the kitchen space of the tiny house, a scream ripping from her at the sight of her mother on the floor, a single wound in her chest bleeding profusely into her clean, white apron. “Ma-ma! Ma-ma please!” She tastes the man’s blood on her tongue, having pierced his skin with her bite.

From behind her, there’s a guttural sound of frustration as she’s grabbed and pulled back. It’s her kidnapper again, she can tell by the toothmarks in his finger. “Come ‘ere you silly bitch, you bite me again and you’ll be taking a little nap – understand?” When Maha continues to struggle, she feels a hand roughly yank her hair and she squeals, stilling in his hold. “I said d’ you understand?”

Maha nods frantically but keeps the movements small to avoid further hair pulling. With tears in her eyes, she’s dragged away from her home and towards a ship she can’t fully make out the details of through her blurry vision. They take her on board and cram her into a cage, another beside her containing her sister.

“Aya,” she whispers, noticing that her sister has positioned herself in the corner and is silent. “Aya, are you hurt?” Her sister says nothing, barely turning her head to offer a terrified side-eye. “It’s going to be okay,” Maha tries to reassure. “I’m not going to let them –”

“Quiet back there!” One of the kidnappers barks.

They jolt fearfully, and Maha dares to slip her hand through one of the bars to reach for her sister’s. “It’s going to be okay…”

“Are you okay?” Zaki asks, reaching across the space to rest his fingertips on the back of her hand.

Maha jerks back to reality, staring at the contact for a beat. “Huh? Oh –” Her eyes scan their surroundings, taking in the lively cantina. “Yeah, just… day-dreaming.”

“Too much spotchka,” Zaki grins, but she’s aware of the concern still lingering lightly on his face.

“Or, not enough,” Maha teases, moving to lift her helmet enough that she can drink down her cup full and Zaki turns his gaze away for a moment, a familiar routine between them. Everyone else is far too absorbed in their own things to notice, and she’s swift enough that she’s finished in the time of a single head turn.

“Nothing a little rest can’t fix,” Zaki shrugs. He knows of her history, her past, knows nothing can fix what she’s seen and felt but he understands that Maha hates prying eyes, hates people coming at her with tools attempting to solve her problems.

“Well, well, well,” someone calls out, a familiar voice a few feet away. Maha scans the crowd, gaze landing on no other than Peli. “If it isn’t my second favourite Mandalorian!”

Maha squints behind her visor. “Peli, you only know two Mandalorians – that isn’t a compliment.”

“Nonsense! I’d say second t’ Mando is a pretty big compliment.”

She feels Zaki glance over at her. Who’s Mando? “How come you’re here and not fixing stuff?”

“A girl’s gotta have her downtime,” Peli replies, loud as ever. “The droids are holding down the fort. Any who, noticed ya didn’t come back with Mando after the whole dragon fiasco.”

“Yeah,” Maha grunts tiredly. “A girl’s got to have her downtime,” she repeats Peli’s words and the woman nods understandingly.

“I see. He seemed pretty shaken up when you didn’t show.”

“I’m sure he did.” Her chest aches, shoulders throbbing – the worst part is that she can’t tell if it's from the fighting today or from guilt. Why is she feeling guilty? He’s the one who gladly left her, told her to look after the kid and threw himself at death. “He say where he was going?” It slips out, a festering curiosity – she flinches at her own voice.

Peli arches a hairless brow at her. “Why d’ you care?” Maha remains quiet, allowing her intimidating visor to do the talking for her. The stare is overbearing and Peli folds beneath it. “I should charge ya for this information –” Automatically, Maha pushes a fresh cup of spotchka her way. Peli eyes it, smirking. “A-ha! Resourceful, alright. I can respect it – so! He mentioned somethin’ about looking for other Mandalorians. He took a passenger with ‘im,” she lowers her voice leaning in, “headed t’ Trask.” She snatches up the cup of blue and chugs it, finishing with a refreshed “ahh.”

“Outer Rim?”

“Yup! Seemed pretty keen.”

Maha nods, head tilting as she thinks about how unsafe the Outer Rim is for the child. How Din’s probably having a nightmare keeping him safe. He made that decision, she reminds herself. Had she gone with them, she likely would’ve been put on the side with the kid again while he went off and found trouble. “Good to know.”

“Well, I ought’a head back, leave those damned droids alone for too long and they cause all kinds’a chaos!”

“Later, Peli,” Maha offers a loose wave, hand lowering back to the table once she’s out of sight. She looks to her previously fractured wrist and frowns, aware of the sharp pulsing that’s still there.

“You should get it looked at,” Zaki prompts, drawing her gaze up to his.

“What? No, it’s fine. It got better before.” Because of bacta, she thinks, and Din’s healing touch.

“You want to talk about the bantha in the room or?”

Maha exhales heavily. “Go ahead.”

“Alright. Who’s Mando?”

“He’s a Mandalorian.”

“No shit,” Zaki snorts. “How d’ you know him?”

“He… He’s a bounty hunter, too. He was there, with the krayt dragon.”

“Have you been travelling with him or something?”

Maha shrugs. “We made a deal, I help him, he helps me kind of thing. I went to Nevarro with him to… help him with a kid problem.”

“He has a kid?”

“Kind of? It’s hard to explain,” she huffs.

“Complicated is fun,” Zaki challenges. “Did you guys –?”

“Zaki,” Maha scolds. “He got overprotective.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Yes, Zaki, very bad – I’m a Mandalorian, I can’t be… pushed aside every time things get dangerous.”

“He totally liked you, didn’t he?”

She rolls her eyes. “Maybe.”

“What do you mean maybe? He was worried about you, Maha. A Mandalorian! You guys don’t worry about anything.”

“Okay,” Maha cuts, “that’s enough of that.”

“Fine, fine, I trust you’ll tell me when the time’s right.”

Feeling a wave of exhaustion come over her, she leans back into her own seat, enjoying the buzz of the cantina. She’s always preferred the noise and action over the quiet and the still; it keeps her out of her head.

“You totally liked him though, right?” Zaki interrupts with a wide grin and Maha throws her head back with an annoyed groan.

“Zaki!”

“They attacked us less than a year ago,” Cobb begins, “killed a half a dozen of us by the mining camp. I’d say I took down about twice as many Tuskens.” Their bikes slow to a halt upon arriving back at Mos Pelgo. After what she’s seen, Maha’s surprised these people have stayed as long as they have; their fear having not pushed them out and away to somewhere safer. Then again, where on Tatooine is safe? You’d merely be exchanging one terror for another.

“The town respects you, my guess is they’ll listen t’ reason,” Din assures. They’ve not spoken since the argument in the tent. Maha sits quietly on her bike, watching the residents of Pelgo pass by – blissfully unaware of the news to come.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Cobb responds dryly, walking away from his parked bike and towards the saloon. It leaves Din and Maha in each other’s company for a moment and she wonders if he’ll speak to her, say anything – even a hopeful glance. He steps off his bike, dusting sand from his pant leg and follows Cobb’s footsteps. Okay, so he’s giving her the silent treatment for now. She could deal with that, it didn’t mean anything other than Din being the loner that he is, he’s not used to having to communicate his thoughts, which she can strongly relate to. She’s had a head start, being trapped on Tatooine.

Cobb makes a point of calling a Pelgo meeting, the entire village congregating within the walls of the saloon to hear their plan. There’s people of all different shapes and sizes, each with concern etched into their features as they study Din and Maha closely. At least they’re familiar with the armour by this point, with the Marshal having been wearing it around them for some time.

“These here… are Mandalorians,” Cobb informs them. She notices how they’re hushed, the low hum of subtle chatter audible but for the most part they’re keen to listen to Cobb. “Know what that means?”

“Well we’ve heard the stories,” the Weequay speaks up, Maha recalls him introducing himself as Taanti.

“Then you know how good they are at killin’. Now, these ones got a problem,” Cobb states, thumb pointing back towards them. “I got a suit of salvaged armour and the Mandalorian Creed says it’s his t’ take.”

There’s obvious disagreement in the crowd, muttering growing in volume as they scoff and shake their heads. Maha’s shoulders tense, she’d been expecting such a reaction but she’s concerned Cobb’s guiding them in the wrong direction.

“But, I’ve got a problem too,” Cobb shrugs. “The krayt dragon has been peelin’ off our pack animals and sometimes takin’ our minin’ haul with it. It’s just a matter of time before it grows tired of banthas and goes after a couple of you townsfolk or even, so help us, the school,” he stresses to them, prompting another lift in volume. “As much as I’ve grown fond of the armour, I’m even more fond of this town. The Mandalorians are willin’ to help us slay the leviathan, in exchange for returning the armour to its ancestral owners.”

“Well that settles it,” Taanti croaks.

“There’s more…” Cobb continues cautiously. “We can’t take on the krayt alone.” He taps nervously at his hip, drawing in a deep breath. “And the sand people are willin’ t’ help.”

The townsfolk don’t agree with this idea, as anticipated, and the muttering becomes a full blown ruckus as they exclaim their disbelief and anger. Monsters, someone shouts, raiders, another calls them.

Din pushes his weight off the bar and steps forth. “I’ve seen the size of that thing,” he asserts, triggering the crowd to quieten again. “It will swallow your entire town when the fancy hits it. You’re lucky Mos Pelgo isn’t a sand field already,” he reasons. “I know these people. They are brutal, but so is the dune sea. They have survived for thousands of years in these sands, and they know the krayt dragon better than anyone here. They are raiders, it’s true, but they also keep their word. We have struck a deal. If we are willing t’ leave them the carcass and its ichor, they will stand by our side in battle and vow never to raise a blaster against this town until one of you breaks the peace.”

There’s a wave of consideration through the crowd as they look between one another, the tapping of fingers against steel mugs and feet on the floorboards reveals the intense deliberation. Then, they agree as a whole, some verbally while others nod. Din follows Cobb for a word away from the prying eyes of the residents and Maha decides to check on the child who she discovers is still sleeping soundly in the bag on Din’s bike. The people of Mos Pelgo begin lining up explosives in their possession, ready for the plan. She watches, observing their obvious suspense in the build up to the Tuskens arriving.

In the distance, a single file line of banthas make their way over the sand hills, their giant horns swaying with each step and on their backs, sand people. The busy Mos Pelgo residents all stop, still as they stare. Din oversees their introduction, with the Tuskens helping to load the explosives and him assisting Cobb in intervening with any confrontations before making his way back over to the village a short distance away – the explosives kept in a different spot to avoid any accidents.

The only ones remaining in the town are the children and those looking over them, meaning a large portion of it is empty – like a ghost town, which is what Maha had anticipated upon their first arrival. She hears Din’s speeder bike in the distance and decides to busy herself. If he didn’t want to talk, they didn’t need to. She’ll go with them, nevertheless, help kill the dragon where possible and from there? Well, she feels it’s smarter not to dwell.

She’s not going to apologise or worry herself over Din’s outrageous behaviour. Jealousy? A childish display of aggression towards her for having a conversation with Cobb. Maha scoffs, shaking her head as she makes her way into the saloon. What right did he have, to be jealous? He hadn’t declared any feelings towards her, kriff, even if Cobb had been flirting he had no right to feel jealous. She doesn’t belong to him, this isn’t exclusive! They’re business partners, and last she checked, business partners didn’t tantrum jealously over who they each interacted with.

The sound of approaching footsteps comes much faster than she’d predicted and she finds herself reaching for something to avoid looking like she’d been standing there – which she had been. He rounds the corner, his presence intense, and Maha can feel his gaze burning into her. Does he plan on saying anything? Did he just come here for the child?

“We’re heading out soon,” he breathes, clipped and terse, as though he’s holding back from saying more.

“Kid’s asleep,” she says flatly, “just give me the word.”

A lengthy pause, painfully long, his stare unforgiving and Maha glances down at the bar, feeling overwhelmed by him. He’s insufferable, like this. Unreadable, unpredictable, it's the only time she's felt uncertain in his company. She'd certainly grown to know him better since they'd first met, but there's still so much to learn. The clink of metal as he walks draws her from her frustration, his boots gently scuffing floorboards as he takes a few steps closer. He still says nothing and she finds herself becoming impatient. “Tell me I’m imagining this,” he finally says under his breath.

Dazed, Maha turns to face him. “What?”

“Tell me I’m imagining this,” he repeats. “This,” Din gestures at the empty space in the middle of them, “between us.”

Maha feigns confusion if only to protect herself in the moment. What's he getting at? He couldn't possibly mean what she thinks he does. “I – I don’t –”

“I know you understand me,” he urges her, and his tone has her knees weakening, her throat tightening. This is terrifying territory he's walking them into.

“Din.”

“If you say yes, if you tell me I’m imagining it, I won’t talk about it again. We can… act like nothing ever happened but I –” his breath catches in his throat, “I have t’ know. Am I imagining this?”

Is he? Maha knows deep down what he’s talking about, truth be told it's unmistakeable. The lingering looks, the fleeting touches, the laughs shared and forbidden thoughts... the damned jealousy.

He’s jealous because he wants you, is the truth of it. She realizes and, really, has known all along but she’d put it down to close proximity and a lack of social experience.

“Maha,” he presses and she shakes her head. No, Din, you’re not imagining it. He inhales sharply, like he’s received magnificent news and the space between them is filled when he closes it, armoured chests pressing together as he reaches to wrap an arm around her waist. “Say it, gedet'ye.”

“You’re not imagining it…” Maha says barely above a whisper and he groans, like a man deprived of affection, burying his helmet into the crook of her cape-covered neck.

“Been wanting this since Nevarro,” he utters. “Wanting you.”

“Since Nevarro?” Maha gasps, tilting her head to make more space for him and although their heads are covered, and she barely feels the cool kiss of his metal on the skin peeking out of her cape, she imagines his lips on her flesh, sucking and pecking, and strangles a moan.

“Fuck, yes, Nevarro,” he confirms, “I didn’t know what it was I – I thought… thought it would go away but… haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he tells her, “wanting you.”

“Tell me.”

“Wanna touch you,” he croaks, “wanna feel you, your scars, kiss you all over I – I wanna see you, Maha, your body… think about waking up next t’ you, Maker, this morning when –”

“This morning,” Maha chuckles breathily, “is that why you ran off on me? Needed to relieve yourself?”

Din shakes his head, “haven’t – haven’t had a second to… t’ feel good,” he says, “t’ really think about you.”

“We’ve been so busy,” Maha agrees, their breathing heavy and loud as Din’s hands begin to wander, roaming her armour and flight suit.

“Wish we could just… have a second,” he rumbles, a gloved hand gently wrapping around her wrist and she lets him lead her down, down, down until its resting on his thigh armour. “This okay?” He checks and Maha mumbles a yes, gasping when he slips it across and onto his covered crotch, his member solid and straining against his pants. He wheezes a moan, rasping delightfully at the contact. “What – hnn, what about this?”

“What about –” Maha boldly begins palming him, slow and steady, up and down motions, as her fingers twitch to cup him, “– this?”

Din chokes on the sound that leaves him, his hips fervently rocking against the friction and she feels him frantically nodding. “Yeah, yes, so close already, cyar'ika,” he warns her.

“Close already?” Her tone is teasing, “wanted me that bad, huh?”

“S-So bad,” he confirms, “saw you… with Vanth and – fuck, lost my mind I – ah!”

“And you felt jealous,” she reminds him.

“I did,” he growls, “thought I’d – ah – missed my chance.” Maha’s hand dares to drift lower, seeking to cup at his balls and when she feels the curve of them his head lolls backwards. “Can’t keep this up much longer.”

“How long has it been? Since you got a release?”

Din mumbles incoherently, then says, “can’t remember.”

“You can’t remember when you last came?”

“N-No,” he strains.

“Just let go, Din,” she whispers to him, “cum right here, it’s okay.”

His hips pick up the pace, his form folding into her own, desperation in every breath and grunt and just as his hips start to stutter and he starts to lose himself, a woman walks into the saloon – wholly unaware of their presence until Maha notices her and gasps, awkwardly patting at Din’s chest to alert him and he lets out a strangled and strained noise, his ruined orgasm suffocating and the townswoman leaves just in time, but not without a scolding glare, to miss Din letting out a string of curses. Maha turns to Din and places her hands on his shoulders, contrite laughter leaving her – amusement and an apology wrapped up in one.

“Shit – I’m so sorry I stopped, I didn’t know what to do, kriff!”

Din takes a few more moments to come down from the high, the realization setting in that they’re about to travel to face and kill a krayt dragon and Maha had teased him and drawn him to his peak just to let go at the last second… Oh, he’s frustrated, his breathing gruff and unsteady. It’s not her fault, he knows, if that damned woman hadn’t waltzed in for another thirty seconds – Din exhales heavily. “This isn’t over, hut’uun,” he apprises her with an intimidating lilt to his tone.

She eyes him, tilting her helmet. “Hut’uun, huh? We’ll see.”

“What’s that supposed t’ mean?” Din rasps.

“Atin beroya.”

He rumbles pleasantly, nuzzling the cheek of her helmet. “Sounds so good when you speak it. You know much?”

“A significant amount,” Maha hums, “had a lot of time to kill, as a foundling.” Of course, when she was recovering from her wounds – with little for the children to do outside of physical things, she’d spent much of her time learning Mando’a and asking questions about the legends and myths she’d heard. Din wonders if she knows more than him.

“One more thing to add t’ the list, then.”

“What list?” She questions, teasingly running a gloved finger up his thigh.

“Things you do that I’m obsessed with.”

Maha laughs at that, a grin forming on her lips. There’s a mutually comfortable pause as she admires him. He is charming, she supposes, in a gentlemanly kind of way – it’s not an act he puts on, however, but very natural. She likes it on him, confidence. “You think she’s going to tell everyone about us?” Maha mumbles, smirking.

“Once we’ve left, absolutely.”

“Cobb’s going to be disappointed.”

“Poor Cobb,” Din agrees smugly, running his hands over her hips and down onto the globes of her buttocks. From behind them, something chirps and their helmets turn to find the child is finally awake and watching them with bright eyes. “Hey, kid,” Din’s hands slowly melt back to his sides.

The baby gurgles in response, a familiar greeting from him. Maha looks back at Din and her chin lifts. “No more of this weirdness and jealousy, okay?”

Din nods, though something appears to be weighing him down.

“What’s wrong?”

“Was this… uh – d’ you –”

“Spit it out,” Maha grunts fondly.

“What was that? What we just did. Was it… one time or –?”

“Do you want it to be a one-time thing?” Maha asks lightly.

“No,” he answers quickly. “I – no, I don’t.”

“Then you have your answer, cyar'ika.” She shoves his shoulder playfully, turning to heave the lumpy green monster into her arms and as she bends, Din brazenly slaps at her ass, a virtually painless action but it’s his way of meeting her shove head-on. “Oh, you’re paying for that one,” she roars, speeding up to catch him but he’s faster than her, a spring in his step.

The journey across the dunes is merciless, the banthas carrying the heaviest of their supplies while some ride on their backs, others walking the great distance. Maha rode alongside Din and Cobb on their speeder bikes, with Din reaching out every so often to hold her hand, a closeness shared between them – uncertain of what this fight would bring in terms of consequence.

Upon arriving at the dragon’s cave, the sand people and Mos Pelgo residents gather around them, Cobb to their left and the baby seated tightly in the bike pack. One of the Tuskens bravely makes his way out towards the pitch black, gaping cavern, standing at the mouth and placing a hand to the floor. Satisfied, he turns to the crowd and signs.

“What ‘e say?” Cobb inquires.

“He says it’s sleeping,” Din translates, “if we listen carefully we can hear it breathing.” There’s a pause as they watch the Tusken begin to make his way back. “Let’s get to work.”

They all help to unload the explosives, carefully digging a ditch within the sand where those explosives will be laid, while Din goes over the plan again. The Tuskens mentioned that the belly is the only weak spot, so the idea is to hit it from below. The charges will be buried first, at the opening of the cave, and then they will wake the beast from its slumber. It needs to be angered, in order to charge, and when it’s far enough out and the belly is above the explosives, the detonator needs to be activated – the blast hopefully powerful enough to kill the dragon.

Din, Cobb and Maha stand on higher ground, overlooking the sand people and Pelgo’s residents, who are preparing to wake the beast. A townswoman approaches Vanth, handing him the detonator. “Careful Marshal,” she advises, handing the device over to him. She wears a brown, long-sleeved tunic and a trapper-style cap on her head that’s a lighter shade of brown, colours Maha is recognizing as helpful, living in a desert-scape. Her purple flashes might just be the brightest thing out here, except for the sun, of course.

“Thank you, Jo,” Cobb says, “now you stay safe, huh?”

She nods respectfully and continues onwards to the safe zone. They walk towards the cliff edge, observing as three Tuskens make their way to the cave entrance. They call out together, waking the dragon with their harsh shouts and the sound echoes through the darkness, a terrible groan calling back to them. Immediately, the Tuskens begin their urgent race back to the safety of the ballistas, kicking up sand as they go. In their wake, a bellow rattles the cave, the dragon shifting through the ground after them.

“They’re not fast enough,” Maha stresses, watching helplessly as the beast speedily gains on them. It’s humongous maw of teeth emerges from the sand, a deafening cry leaving it. The ballistas are fired, bolts flying through the air and piercing the creature’s face, slowing it down enough for two of the Tuskens to make it to safety, the third tripping and the dragon consumes them before anything can be done.

Din raises his scope to his visor, checking the distance between the bombs and the dragon’s stomach. “Dank farrik, it’s going back in,” he points out, the beast withdrawing with the roped bolts still stuck in its flesh. The Tuskens attempt to take a hold of the rope, to draw the dragon out but the ropes merely zip painfully through their hands, inevitably pulling some of the sand people with them. “It’s retreating.”

“I’m gonna hit it,” Cobb grunts, eyeing the detonator.

“No wait! We only have one shot,” Din insists, lowering his scope. “We’ve gotta get it out.”

Blasters are fired and objects are thrown menacingly at the creature, the people of Mos Pelgo shouting angrily at it. It reacts, charging a second time with its jaw stretched threateningly.

“Now?” Cobb presses.

“Not yet.” He peers through his scope again. “It’s gotta come out further.”

The ballistas are fired a second time, puncturing the monster’s face over and over. The ropes are pulled on, the Tuskens trying to haul it from its lair and the dragon proceeds to come out more and more, when suddenly it rears up from the ground, its gigantic form sending the Tuskens surging into the air. The people stare up in horror as the dragon roars, enraged, the crowd beginning to run for their very lives as its jaw drops and acid spills from within, killing a handful of fighters.

“Almost, almost,” Din says, waiting for it to pass over the bombs and when he thinks its in place, he shouts, “now!”

The detonator is pressed firmly and there’s a brutal explosive that sends sand scattering into a massive cloud of particles and rocks to crumble and fall. The beast arches in pain, its agonised cries ringing out through the canyon. The people fall to their needs by the force of it, sand whooshing blindingly into their faces. It disappears beneath the sand and they take the opportunity to help one another up, but it’s anticlimactic – the body nowhere in sight.

“I don’t think it’s dead,” Vanth mutters nervously.

“Me either,” Din replies, throwing a glance to Maha who shakes her head in agreement.

They can hear a rumbling deep within the dune mountain when the dragon bursts from within it, opening its mouth again and launches acid downwards onto the fighters who die instantly upon contact.

“It’s pickin’ us off like womp rats,” Cobb snarls, grimacing at the death occurring ahead of them. “Let’s get after it,” he rallies, reaching for his helmet and weapon.

Din reaches for his rifle but pauses when he notices Maha arming herself up to go with them. “I need you to stay here,” he requests, gripping her wrist lightly.

“What?” Maha recoils, “you’re kidding. Like I’m going to let you have all the fun.”

“People are dying, Maha,” Din reminds her.

“I’ve seen death,” she spits, irritated by his overprotectiveness. “I don’t need to be reminded what it looks like.”

“Maha.”

“Last one there’s a rotten egg,” she says bitterly, pushing past Din to make her way over to the fighters.

“Dammit!” He hisses, following her lead and activating his jetpack which sends him zooming up into the air, Cobb behind him, leaving the child safely secured in the bike pack.

Maha looks up and sneers, “cheaters.” It’s not fair she’s lacking a jetpack, but not having one doesn’t make her any less of a Mandalorian. She bolts across the span of sand, rolling and dodging the acid raining down on them, and begins firing the rifle she’d brought with her from Din’s ship at the beast. Din and Cobb can be spotted landing behind a curve of mountain, firing relentless shots at it. Angered, it swings its head towards them and takes a bite out of the mountain as they manage to make distance in time. They land back down beside her, weapons raised towards the cliff as the creature vanishes out of sight.

“That was stupid of you,” he scolds her under his breath.

“Says the guy who almost just got eaten,” Maha retorts.

From behind them this time, the beast emerges from the sand and gives a shrill wail, diving down the slope towards them.

“There he is!” Din says; the dragon sand-surfing swiftly to a group of Tuskens who race to avoid being eaten. He looks over to the nearby bantha, noting the explosives strapped to it. “I’ve got an idea! Get its attention.”

Maha begins firing shots at it, while Cobb shoots the explosive on his back at it, fire erupting when it hits. The dragon roars, turning its focus on the threat.

“We got its attention!” Cobb exclaims, “now what!?”

Maha turns to look at him for an answer but instead, Din grabs her by the waist and jetpacks into the air. She yells fearfully, the jump wholly unexpected and feels herself slipping in his grip. Holding on tightly she shouts, “what are you doing!?” He carries her quickly back to the child.

“You’re gonna take care of the child,” he tells her.

“What? Din, don’t you fucking –” Before she can finish, he flies off back towards Vanth and the beast, her shouts unheard over the chaos.

When he lands back at Cobb’s side, he asks. “You still have that detonator?”

Cobb hands the device over. “Take it! What’s the plan?”

“You’re gonna look after Maha and the kid.”

“What’a you gonna do?”

“I don’t know but wish me luck!” Din states, bringing the butt of his rifle down hard on Cobb’s jetpack, sending him up into the air and out of the way. Arming the bombs, he waits for the beast to draw near, racing to secure the bantha when it begins to panic. “No, no, no, no!” He hisses, grabbing for the rope. “Hold on, hold on, woah, woah, woah!” He calls to the it. As the dragon closes in, he stands firmly on the sand.

Maha scrambles to the edge of the cliff in time to watch Din and the bantha be devoured by the dragon, its maw opening wide and swallowing them down whole. It disappears into the sand once more, silence falling across the open space. Maha waits with bated breath for something, anything! He left her! You’re gonna take care of the child. As simple as that, like they hadn’t shared an intense and tender bond hours ago. She swallows, eyes wide and conscious of the child crying out in horror behind her at the sight of his father being brutally consumed. It comes to an end, just like that, wiped from existence. There’s that rumbling again, the dreaded return of the monster whose greed has no end – it blasts up into view and Maha wonders whether they’re all going to die here today. But, as the beast widens its maw, a vibrant shock of blue can be seen and Din emerges from within, hovering above while he activates the detonator and a devastating boom blows the dragon’s innards up from the inside out, the biggest explosion yet sending everyone to the floor. The ground shakes, sand scattering into another dusty cloud, rocks shattering – the blast radius is tremendous and the sand ripples from the force of it. Its head collides with the floor after one final cry, Din landing with an unsteady skid with the face of teeth close behind him. A wave of sand pours over the people, the thunder of the beast’s fall deafening.

The sand people and residents of Mos Pelgo regain their footing and begin to cheer, celebrating the leviathans death. They praise each other for their hard work and Din for effectively sacrificing himself to protect them, relief and joy radiating from below as the dragon’s remains steam, the stink of death strong in the atmosphere.

But Maha? She’s perched on the cliff, only able to observe the rejoicing because she feels far from doing such. You’re gonna take care of the child. Her mind slips back to being hauled through the air by him, to the memory of the Mandalorian rescuing her from death, the wind in her face, in her hair… Despite wearing armour now, she remembered the sensation.

She gazes down at the massiff signet on her arm and her eyes seal shut. She hears its snarls, its gnashing jaws, feels her skin tearing again. Death had kissed her so intimately, had left its mark for as long as she lives, until her body decays and becomes one with the flora or is burned and ashes scattered. She is not made for a life of being pushed aside, of being forced to watch Din die because he can’t cope with watching her die. Gritting her teeth, she makes her way over to the child and kisses the palm of her hand, or at least with the part of her helmet where her lips would be, and brushes it over his head. “Be good,” she tells him.

The baby blinks curiously, cooing when she turns her back and begins walking away. She pushes her speeder bike up the slope, not wanting to draw attention to her leaving, climbs on at the top of the cliff and switches it on. With a heavy sigh, she speeds off across the sand, back towards Mos Eisley. It meant she would indeed be stuck on this damned rock a second time, but if being with Din meant being exposed to such awful, terrifying, sorrowful feelings… she’d make peace with it.

When Din had finally made his way back up to his speeder bike, he’d found only the child – waiting patiently but blabbering sadly. “Maha?” He’d called out. “Maha!?” Nothing. “Where is she, kid?” The baby blathered incoherently, ears rising and falling. He’d noticed her bike missing, concern swelling in his chest. Had she left? Did she head back to Mos Pelgo, or maybe Mos Eisley? Was she mad at him?

Shit, Din had thought. Maybe she’d be waiting back at the ship for him, when he returned. Something told him his hope was futile. Nevertheless, he’d packed up his things and collected his fair share of dragon meat, obtaining the armour from Cobb and had said his goodbyes.

She had to be heading back to Mos Eisley. Maybe, if he was quick enough, he could catch up with her, he’d thought. He was wrong.

They rode to the krayt dragon’s den on bantha-back, and with there being only six banthas and seven of them, Din had agreed to (or rather, insisted on) Maha sharing his seat, her fingers wrapped around the back of his belt to avoid falling off. She wasn’t sure what to think of the previous events between them, his reactions and apparent mortification making her question whether any of it was genuine or accidental. He said nothing during the ride, but in hindsight she thinks he’d been enjoying the control because he’d turned to her once and said, “make sure you hold on tight down this hill.” Smug, he’d sounded, sickeningly smug but it was knocked right out of him when his words rang true and the bantha slipped in the sand, prompting Maha’s chest armour to forcibly bump into his back.

“Sorry,” she’d whispered, knowing it’d knocked the air out of his lungs but he managed to offer her an awkward thumbs up in response.

It’d been a much slower trip than when they’d been using the speeder bikes, but they couldn’t risk alerting the krayt dragon to their presence. After arriving, the Tuskens led them up onto a cliff face that provided them with a clear view of the cave the creature rested within. The mouth of it foreboding, stretching deep into deadly darkness – nothing would dare venture within.

This is where they sit currently, three of the Tuskens at their side while the fourth walks a bantha towards the cave’s entrance. “They say it lives in there,” Din translates the Tusken’s words. “They say it sleeps.” He’s handed the binoculars the Tusken had been using, peering through them. “It lives in an abandoned sarlacc pit.”

“Lived on Tatooine my whole life,” Cobb tells them, “there’s no such thing as an abandoned sarlacc pit.”

“There is if you eat the sarlacc,” Din declares, handing the binoculars back.

“Has anybody tried to kill it before?” Maha queries, gesturing for Din to ask for her, which he does.

She waits patiently as the Tusken responds. “Yes, but they’ve all failed.”

Understandably, she thinks. If people were living somewhere this remote, where the kriff were they supposed to get such firepower from? How would they obtain it?

“They’re laying out a bantha to protect the settlement,” he explains. “They’ve studied its digestion cycle for generations. They feed the dragon to make it sleep longer. Watch, the dragon will appear.”

They watch in silence as the Tusken below calls into the cave, summoning the beast. A ground-shaking roar echoes from the depths of the cave and the sand person at the bantha’s side breaks into a sprint. The dragon appears, surfacing from the protection of the sand and misses the bantha entirely, engulfing the Tusken in one single chomp. The Tuskens gasp in horror at the unexpected death, the beast withdrawing back to its lair – leaving the wandering bantha untouched on the stretch of sand, its moans of confusion audible from afar.

“They might be open to some fresh ideas,” Din deduces.

“No kidding,” Maha comments, reaching out to rub a finger reassuringly along the child’s ear, its head peeking over a rock fearfully. “Fresh ideas and fast.”

Back at the Tusken camp, the sand people have regrouped to set out a physical plan utilizing bones to represent the dragon and small pebbles to show them. The three watch as they converse and debate, agreeing and disagreeing with different things.

“What are the bones?” Cobb asks.

“That’s the krayt dragon,” Din replies.

“And those little rocks?”

“That’s us.”

“’s not t’ scale,” Cobb critiques, but Din disagrees with him.

“I think it is.”

“Can’t be, that’s too big.”

Din speaks with the Tuskens who avidly respond and he monotonously informs Cobb, “it’s t’ scale.”

“I’ve only seen it’s head and neck, that’s a whole lot bigger than I guessed. Might be time t’ rethink our arrangement.” The Mandalorian says something else to them, prompting them to sprinkle a few more rocks into play. “That’s more like it,” Cobb nods. “Where they gettin’ the reinforcements?”

“I volunteered your village,” Din says bluntly, Cobb’s eyes growing wide.

Maha is at the back, keeping watch over the kid as they discuss their plans. She understands the predicament Din’s in and how he’s not able to watch over him and deal with a dragon but she did not sign up to being a babysitter. Even if the baby is… very cute. As though reading her thoughts, he peers up at her and giggles affectionately. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll try to remember that when you get yourself into trouble next time,” she huffs, “because there will be a next time.”

She hears the sand crunching behind her and expects to hear Din’s voice, but instead Cobb addresses her. “Appreciate you stickin' around,” he reveals. “Wasn’t sure you would for a minute.”

“Someone has to keep him from causing too much chaos,” Maha shrugs.

“Yeah,” Cobb smirks, peering over at the kid in her grasp, “he seems like a real –”

“I’m talking about Mando,” she corrects, amusement rich in her voice.

Cobb’s brows raise, taken aback for a beat before grinning. Admittedly, he does have quite the charming smile. She wonders if Din does, or whether it’s a lowkey smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Ah,” he says knowingly, “him too.” There’s a pause, verging on awkward when he speaks again. “I meant what I said. My people are real important t’ me. If this works out, there might just be a space here for you, if y’ ever decide to visit.”

Maha turns her visor to him, eyeing curiously. An interesting offer from someone she’s mostly been bitter towards. “No offence, but once we’re off this rock I don’t plan on ever coming back.”

Cobb chuckles. “Not a fan of Tatooine?”

“I’ve seen my fair share,” she tells him and he nods.

“Understood. Heh, you uh – you and Mando known each other for long?”

“Long enough for him to not always be a pain in the arse,” Maha states.

“Seems t’ care a lot about you.”

“Well, I care a lot about him,” she admits, though it’s no big secret. They’d been through it together, and Din had seen parts of herself no one else had.

“Hm,” Cobb hums, gaze averting to something in the distance. “You two… some kinda item?”

She thinks the question should’ve startled her, made her nearly drop the baby but somehow she’s cool and collected, watching him. “You’re not trying to flirt with me, are you?”

It’s Cobb’s turn to look stunned, features distorted by his surprise. “Wh– no! I – shit, I apologize if it came across that way I swear it wasn’t meant t’.”

Interesting. “Then why did you ask me?” He appears embarrassed, head dipped and lips uncomfortably quirked. For a moment she thinks he won’t answer, but he finally glances at her visor and it says everything. “You like him?”

He hushes her, peering around to ensure no one’s listening. “I did not say that.”

“You didn’t have to, Cobb,” Maha grins. “Wow, and here I was thinking you were coming onto me.”

“Yeah… sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” she reassures. “Huh, so what, you’re crushing?”

“Don’t make it sound like I’m some teenager with no self-control.”

“Okay, well how would you put it?”

He pauses, considering the question. “Just… an attraction, I guess. I don’t know, my people they’re… pretty ordinary. Not in a bad way, but it’s familiar. How am I supposed t’ feel when you come into my town looking all mysterious, demanding things from me.”

“Mysterious and demanding does it for you, huh? Excuse me for repeating your earlier words, Cobb, but I think I pegged you wrong.”

He waves a hand, shaking his head. “We’re gonna be headin’ back t’ Mos Pelgo shortly, best get your things t’gether. I’m gonna get a little shut eye ‘fore we leave, catch you in a little bit.”

Maha departs with a wave and scans the crowd nearby for Din’s shiny form. He’s not around, which she figures must mean he’s in their tent. Opening the door, she steps inside and finds him seated on that stupid stool again. “Hey,” she greets, “we were wondering where you were.” The kid is placed on the ground and he plods his way over to Din’s shin, which he hugs happily.

“I’m here,” he replies gruffly and Maha takes a step back, his tone giving her whiplash.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he cuts back. “Why shouldn’t it be?”

This is a new one, she thinks. What had she done this time? “Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?”

“This,” Maha hisses, gesturing to him. “I’ve been spending my time watching your kid while you get to –”

“My kid,” he sounds offended, bizarrely, because it’s certainly not hers.

“Yes, your kid, while you get to plan this wild adventure that’s probably going to get you killed and I’m left facing the reality that without you, I’m going to have to take on the responsibility of him and that’s not something I signed up to –” He regrets allowing this to spiral, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder but she swipes at him to knock it away. “Let me finish. I didn’t sign up to this, but I’ve been keeping quiet and have been supportive because you’ve been good to me and I feel like I owe it to you, so I don’t know where this attitude is coming from because I know I don’t deserve it.”

“Maha…” Din begins, “you don’t owe me anything. I – I took care of you because I care about you.”

“And I care about you,” she sighs. “So what’s your kriffing problem, you jerk?”

He’d been looking for her after the discussion, having stayed behind with a few Tuskens to solidify a few details. He’d immediately gone to check the tent for her, having not noticed that she’d remained near the crowd, and when he didn’t find her he continued his search. That was when he spotted her in Cobb’s company. The two of them appeared to be sharing a laugh, Cobb closer than Din would’ve liked him to have been but Maha didn’t seem to mind. An unnerving observation, the unfamiliar feeling of jealousy creeping under his skin. What was he saying to her?

He'd told himself he was overreacting, being overdramatic and protective but within a matter of seconds he’d pressed a button on his helmet enabling him to listen in on their conversation from afar.

“Yeah… sorry about that,” Cobb had croaked. Sorry about what? Damn, what had he missed?

“It’s fine,” Maha had reassured. “Huh, so what, you’re crushing?”

Din’s stomach dropped at the coolness of her tone.

“Don’t make it sound like I’m some teenager with no self-control.”

“Okay, well how would you put it?”

There’d been a pause, Cobb taking his time to answer. “Just… an attraction, I guess. I don’t know, my people they’re… pretty ordinary. Not in a bad way, but it’s familiar. How am I supposed t’ feel when you come into my town looking all mysterious, demanding things from me.”

Din gritted his teeth.

“Mysterious and demanding does it for you, huh?”

He’d heard enough. Switching off the audio, he’d snarled a string of curses to himself as he’d made his way inside their tent, fighting the urge to destroy it – conscious that it didn’t belong to him and would likely upset the Tuskens. “Cobb likes her,” he said to himself in disbelief. And Maha hadn’t rejected him, hadn’t turned him away or told him she was taken… which she wasn’t, but Maker did he want her to be. By him. “Fuck!” He’d seethed, gripping at his helmet before collapsing onto the stool, immeasurably disappointed. He’d been fucking gutted, images of Cobb and Maha playing through his mind, tormenting him. It couldn’t be – he couldn’t allow it. He’d wait for her to find him and she’d realize real quick what a mistake she was making.

Maha stares at him in incredulity.

“I overheard you and the Marshal,” he says boldly, like it’s all supposed to make sense. She picks up on his use of Cobb’s title, too, rather than his name – petty.

“You overheard us saying what, exactly?” He’s misheard, she’s certain, misread the situation because if he’d truly heard their conversation he wouldn’t be behaving like this. At least not towards her.

“Cobb telling you he’s attracted t’ you, that he’s crushing on you. That he likes how mysterious and demanding you are.” He mocks Cobb’s tone, repeating the words used by them both. “You can try and deny it,” Din spits, “but I heard every word.”

Maha pauses, shoulders rolling back as she lifts her helmet and looks to the roof of the tent. “Oh, Maker, give me strength.”

“Why are you pretending like it didn’t happen?”

“It did happen, Din, but not how you think it happened.”

“What, are you saying I’m making it up?”

“He was talking about you,” Maha snarls, smacking him on the chest armour. “Di'kut!”

Din stands awkwardly, visor fixed on her. “What?”

Her voice is quieter, to ensure no one overhears which makes her more courteous than Din who didn’t bother dampening his fury. “Cobb was telling me that he finds you attractive. He asked me if we were an item and when I said no, he told me he asked because he was interested – in you.” He’s unmoving and silent, save for his heavy breathing made louder by the helmet. “I can’t believe Cobb made you jealous. Of what? How can you even be jealous?”

That’s right – because they’re not an item. They’re just partners, business partners, barely even friends. Din bows his helmet, averting his gaze to the floor at the sound of the child who has repositioned himself between them, tugging at the Din’s boot. A heavy sigh parts from him, followed by a breathy, “I’m – sorry.” He bends down and picks up the kid, cradling him as he offers her one more look. “I’m sorry.”

“Wait, we should at least –”

“Just forget it,” he murmurs.

“Din?”

“I said forget it, Maha.”

He turns and leaves the tent with the kid and she kicks the stool with a growl. “Fucking Tatooine.”

It’d been a desperate attempt, on his part. I need you. Something he’s not yet had a single second to comprehend, to break apart and analyse – his fault, some form of self-sabotage… He’ll leave it for as long as he possibly can to fester. Not a word of it a lie, however. From her using his rifle to protect him to her reliability and trustworthiness to her sharing solemn moments with him respectfully… He’s never experienced anything like this before. Has found women attractive and spent the night with them, has flirted and bantered, has managed to recover and move on just fine without them.

But Maha? She’s leaving a print, burning her mark into his very karking soul and he doesn’t know what to do. It’s not intentional, he tells himself. It never appears to be cunningly thought out or set up for him. Things merely flow well between them, or rather, did – prior to the mess he’d caused back at Mos Pelgo. She’s not spoken to him since they set off, not a single glance his way in comparison to the journey from Mos Eisley where they shared looks and raced playfully.

He wonders if she’ll move past it, whether she’ll accept his apology and he won’t have to bring it up again but he knows deep down that’s not going to happen. She’s angry, rightfully so – he’d practically told her she was a tool that’d been used and was now no longer needed. He chews on his lip, casting her another look. Nothing. Can she feel him looking at her? With Cobb on his own, custom speeder bike there was no chance for him to prod at her. He’s grateful she remained, grateful she’s dedicated to his foundling but to know she’s not here for him triggers an ache in his chest.

I need you to want me, repeats gruffly in his mind. He shakes his head, frustrated. What was he feeling? What did it mean? He thinks back to the time in the cockpit where they’d shared each other’s company, her teasing him and calling him by his full name. The way heat had gathered in his groin and his body had reacted hungrily. He’s never really yearned for someone before, to be close to them, longed for intimacy – mostly because he isn’t an intimate guy, but something about her makes him want it. Want her. In whatever damned way he can!

He wonders whether she has other scars she’s keeping from him, thinks about the strength it must’ve taken to kill so many troopers with a blade and what else she might apply that strength into. He’s drifting into a daydream, imagining her small but powerful hands on him, pinning him to a wall and while he has the strength to stop her he doesn’t, enjoying the trade in positions – he’d let her, he realizes. He’d let her corner him, pin him and make demands. The heat between them is undeniable, the tense moments when they bicker or argue and he stands over her but she meets him with a stare, regardless of how unseen it is, that possesses such ferocity he feels his knees weaken.

A scenario plays in his thoughts, where the town had been empty and the child was elsewhere, her tone and attitude earning punishment from him. Where he presses her against the bike and harshly spreads her legs, positioning himself between them, where their eyes are sealed and helmets are off, lips caught in a crossfire of passion – he wonders what noises she’d make? Soft and subdued or loud and desperate. How scandalous, that he’d remove his helmet for her in such a way. Has it been a long time for her too? In the scenario, she kicks him away and he lands flat on his back in the sand, watching eagerly as she mounts him and furiously rides his –

“You don’t understand what it was like,” Cobb’s voice startles him from his dangerous thoughts and he shifts uncomfortably, aware that he’s undeniably hard. How terrible of him, to be thinking such things when they’re on a quest to free innocent people from terror. “The town was on its last legs. It started after we got news of the death star blowin’ up,” his voice is raised to compete with the bikes. “The second one, that is. The Empire was pullin’ outta Tatooine, there was… blaster fire over Mos Eisley… The occupation was over. We didn’t even have time t’ celebrate. That very night, the mining collective moved in – power hates a vacuum and Mos Pelgo became a slave camp overnight.”

Vanth explains how he’d escaped and had taken what he could from the invaders, wandering in the desert for days with no food or water, until jawas happened upon him and saved him. He explained that, unknowingly, he’d taken silicax crystals from the invaders and the jawas wanted them, offering him their finest items – which was when he’d seen the Mandalorian armour. He’d traded the crystals for it, and once he’d recovered from his exhaustion he headed back to Mos Pelgo to retake it and kill the invaders.

“So that explains the hero complex,” Maha calls out bitterly, keeping her eyes forward. Din looks to her hopefully, but once he notices she’s not looking back he sighs.

“Says the Mandalorian,” Cobb chuckles back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means – and forgive me if I’m wrong, aren’t you folk raised by legends and myths? T’ believe you’re unkillable. This superior collective who stand above everybody else, because of a birth right.”

Not always a birth right, she thinks. “You’ve got us wrong,” Maha disagrees.

“That so? Well, maybe you can prove that by helpin’ me out.”

She huffs at that, rolling her eyes to herself. He’s cocky, that’s for sure, obnoxiously charming and kriffing bold… Maybe she’s worried she’s going to end up liking him after all. She’s not used to people standing up to her, holding their own in her presence. Maha side-eyes Din beside her, careful not to move her helmet which would alert him to such. Maybe she’s being too hard on him, but his behaviour recently has her frustrated.

Sure, he’d been on his own a long time and wasn’t used to company but she’s in the exact same position. Plus, he’d asked for her help, recruited her and agreed to let her travel with him. He wouldn’t have said yes if he was happy and fine on his own. Din’s not the ‘going out of his way to please others’ type. Not strangers, at least, which is what she effectively was to him. It’s not like she’s asking him to give her the world! Just a little thought – or to even pretend he cares what she thinks.

They approach a canyon, their speed having slowed to evade crashing into the jagged, rocky walls. She can hear the echo of their engines for miles, her eyes forward and focused – she’s having to concentrate in these narrow paths. Out of sight, something moans, a haunting noise that reverberates through the canyon. Cobb raises a fist into the air, signalling for them to stop and they each halt their bikes in sync. Another howl, clearer now with the bikes silent – Din leaps from his bike and brings his weapon up, kneeling behind the bike for better aim and Cobb does the same but remains standing. Maha, however, is frozen in place, heart racing and mind frantic as she scans for an escape.

The wails and groans and growing nearer, the noises bouncing off the walls as though they’re right next to her. Fingers tighten against her thighs, stomach flipping and ankles burning with the urge to run.

From around the opposite rock appears an adult massiff, with its face of teeth and long, sharp spines; its maw opens wide and a shattering cry rips from it. Then, with one grumble comes multiple, at least five other massiffs appear, skulking into view on various rocky formations ahead. Din lowers his weapon and raises a hand to his helmet, throatily calling out to them. They all pause, confused by the command and look around.

“What the hell’a you doin’?” Cobb asks him when the hunter makes his way around his bike and towards the beasts, but Din only offers an open palm to him, requesting patience.

Maha has slowly started to slip from her seat, inch by inch movements out of fear of tripping and attracting their attention. She’s unable to focus on what’s happening, on what Din’s doing, the desire to run for her very life drowning out everything else.

Din grumbles something to the pack leader, prompting it to gallop over. He kneels down and begins firmly patting it, the beast moaning contently at the contact. From around the same corner comes a group of Tuskens who Din proceeds to communicate calmly with. They eagerly respond, the massiffs having gone idle – stretching out on the rocks and laying around.

The baby peeks out of the bag on Din’s bike, curiously taking in the scene before his eyes land on Maha who is at least a foot away from her bike now. He gurgles, tilting his head in question.

“Hey partner,” Cobb calls out to Din. “You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”

Din turns to face him, “they wanna kill the krayt dragon too,” he explains, noticing Maha in his peripheral backing up. “It’s okay, Maha, they’re friendly,” he tells her but she’s very clearly somewhere else. Her steps are picking up and Din watches, confused, but when she trips on a section of rock and falls backwards, colliding with the hard ground Din begins moving towards her – careful not to break into a sprint and trigger the massiffs prey drive. Maha panics, gloved hands grasping at the sand as her breathing grows fast and shallow, gasps and cries leaving her as she tries to scramble back to her feet.

When Din reaches her, she snarls at him to get away, kicking and flailing when he tries to take her in his hold. “Maha,” he breathes, “Maha it’s me,” his voice lowers for her hearing only, “it’s Din.” What had possibly caused this reaction? Why was she so – “Shit,” he grunts, thinking back to her scars. ‘What did this?’ She’d never answered him, never told him what creature was responsible for the galaxy of scars on her arm but now he had an idea.

“Get away from me!” Maha roars, gripping at Din’s chest armour and shoving as hard as she can. Her head hurts, having knocked it against her helmet when she fell, her back aching from the rock she’d landed on. Her wrist had practically healed from its fracture but there’s a subtle pulsing sting that she can feel. Her scars burn, it feels like something tearing open her flesh and she sobs at it. Din manages to slip an arm around her and pull her into his form, holding her close as he hushes her. “It’s okay,” he whispers, “it’s okay, cyar'ika, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

She wakes with a start, hands reaching for anything she can use as a weapon. Looking up, she notices she’s in the dark – some kind of cover, a tent? Where is she? How had she gotten here? Outside, a fire can be heard crackling, light footsteps walking past, the soft grumbling of those creatures. “Wh–” Something moves beside her, head turning fast enough that it throbs as her eyes fall on Din. He’s seated on some kind of stool, hands on his knees and back slightly hunched.

“You blacked out,” he utters. “The Tuskens led us back t’ their camp. I –” He hesitates, “I carried you on my speeder.”

“We’re at their camp?” She clarifies.

He nods. “How are you… feeling?”

“Like shit,” she admits. “How long was I out?”

“Couple of hours.” A mutual quiet falls between them before Din asks, “is this what happened… with your bounty, before?”

“Something like that,” she grumbles. “Fucking Tatooine. Except I wasn’t carried to safety, that arsehole just left me for easy pickings.”

“I’m – sorry,” Din exhales. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have –”

“How could you have known,” she says softly. “It is what it is. I’ve faced it before, it’s nothing new.”

“You shouldn’t have to –”

“I know, I know, but I do.”

“I was going to say, you shouldn’t have t’ face it alone,” Din continues.

“Oh.”

“At least, not anymore.”

Maha glances to the tent entrance and swallows. Her palm pulses and she feels the urge to reach out and grasp his. “Where’s Cobb?”

“Outside. He’s struggling t’ keep things peaceful with the Tuskens.”

“Why?”

“Says they’ve… taken from Mos Pelgo before.”

She shakes her head. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“There’s so much going on, you didn’t need me… keeling over on you.”

Sincerity is rich in Din’s voice. “Stop that.”

“I just – I guess I feel like I’m going to mess things up for you and the kid.”

“Well, you’re not, so stop it. I do think you should stay here though, rest up and recover while we –”

“No,” Maha insists, pleading. This time she does reach out to him, gripping the back of his hand. “Don’t leave me here.”

The contact staggers him, a sharp and shaky intake heard as he stares down at it. He feels heat radiate from her touch, as though she’s using some sort of power to convince him when really he knows he’s weak for her. If only there were no gloves keeping him from her smooth skin. His voice is barely audible, threatening to break under the intensity of the moment, “Maha –”

The tent entrance flaps as its opened, Cobb appearing into view. Din’s delighted when Maha doesn’t immediately snatch her hand away. She doesn’t mind him seeing… “Sorry t’ interrupt but I’m not sure how much longer I can be out here alone with these people.”

Din scoffs, disappointed that the moment has been interrupted. Maha recatches his attention with a gentle nudge to his calf. “I’m serious,” she warns him. He gives her a single nod before following Cobb out into the campsite.

Maha is left to think about what’d happened moments ago. The sound that’d left Din when she touched him, the way his helmet dropped to stare. How his breathing shallowed, form stilling. The visible tension in him when Cobb interrupted. Interrupted what? She thinks. She’d not been trying to initiate anything. Did Din want her to initiate something? Did she want to? “I hit my head too hard,” she groans, rubbing a hand at the back of her cape-covered neck. There was no way she was going outside, not with those beasts roaming freely. The thought terrified her, she felt like she was back in that cage – minus the metal and rust.

She decides to attempt to get some more rest, a twinge of fear in her at the idea of waking up and finding she’s been left behind. He won’t do that, she tells herself, but there’s doubt. From the campfire she can make out the sound of arguing, Cobb’s voice audible as he threatens what sounds like one of the Tuskens who is giving back as good as he gets. She makes out Din’s flamethrower roaring to life, her own known to make a similar noise, the confrontation dying down. He’s never one to raise his voice or try to yell over others, something she can relate to. Raised in the silence of the hunt, noise was fatal to losing a bounty.

It is that which helps her drift off to sleep, the memory of creeping over rooftops in hot pursuit of someone who had no idea when she would appear and where from. A feeling of power, of control – something she’s lacking in the here and now. She imagines hunting alongside Din, being viewed by others as an unstoppable team…

Her eyes flutter open, light peeking through the slit in the tent, the sound of the bantha groaning their morning greetings to one another audible from where she lays. It’s dawn, she surmises, the comfortable clacking and clunking of the early-rising Tuskens beginning their routines. She’d rested very well, better than she usually did, shifting slightly to free a section of skin that her armour had been digging into.

The movement draws her attention to a heavy weight on her side, helmet lifting and craning so she can peer down – noting the gloved fingers twitching as a long arm rests on her hip, the hand dangling above her abdomen. It’s Din, she registers, Din’s got his arm around her waist while he sleeps. She chews on her lip, trying to keep from making a sound as she admires the gesture. Was it intentional? Did he just happen to put it there in his sleep? She smiles, closing her eyes to savour it.

Behind her, Din appears to stir and she worries he sensed her waking but it appears otherwise when he subconsciously shifts closer to the heat and that’s when she feels it, undeniably his hardened crotch pressing against her thigh. Maha almost chokes, her apparent shock fully waking Din who takes seconds to process the situation, hissing “shit,” before he splutters, tugging his arm away and scrambling backwards to give her space. “I’m – shit, sorry,” he fumbles groggily.

He knows she’s awake meaning there’s no point pretending she’s not. “It’s okay,” Maha waves, struggling not to laugh at his sheer mortification. “I – I didn’t want to say anything… you looked so peaceful…”

Din’s breathing levels out and he gulps, pushing himself to his feet – consciously keeping himself turned away so she can’t see his evident bulge. “You should’ve,” he tells her firmly.

“Hey, don’t be like that I woke up minutes before you, stop stressing about it I really –”

“Can you just – can you watch the kid? He’s…” Din peers at the space he’d allocated for him, spotting he was still fast asleep. “He’s still asleep, I – I’ll be back I just –” Without another word, he makes his way out of the tent and disappears, leaving Maha stunned and confused. What a wild ride of emotions. She thinks about how, had he not woken up, she might not have said anything. What did that mean? Did it need to have a meaning? Opposite her, dark, golden eyes peek over, thin ears twitching as he announces his presence with a chirp. “Hey, kid,” Maha greets. “Guess you’d like something to eat, huh?”

The child croaks in agreement, throwing back the cover Din had placed over his tiny form. He rose clumsily to his feet, a demanding grunt leaving him as he pointed towards the exit.

“That’s right, your dad’s gone off for… a little bit. He’ll be back soon though, and then he’ll figure something out for you.”

It’s apparently not a good enough answer, because the small green trouble-maker stomps over to the tent’s entrance, tugs it aside and creeps out into the camp. Panic rushes through Maha, Din’s not here and there’s a handful of likely-hungry massiffs patrolling the area. If the kid gets caught out he’s an easy meal and Din would never forgive her. “Fuck!” Maha spits, “baby? Hey, kid, you there? Please, this isn’t the time to be messing around…” She mutters, peeking out of the tent to find no one there. Damn, damn, damn! Din was going to kill her. Concern for the child’s wellbeing overpowers her fear and she pushes her way out into the light in search of the tiny thing.

In the middle of the night, Din had been woken by Maha muttering in her sleep. She appeared stressed, limbs jerking erratically and he’d wondered if she was having some kind of nightmare. It wasn’t uncommon, he knew full well, for one to dream about trauma after experiencing a trigger. What had she seen? Been put through. He’d attentively draped his arm over her side, ensuring not to wake her but in attempt to bring her some sense of comfort while she rested. He hadn’t meant to sleep longer than her though, rarely dozing for more than a couple of hours at a time he was surprised to find he’d slept for double that if not longer.

Her form had tensed against him, stirring him from his slumber and a thoughtless shift of his hips had led to him pressing a morning erection against her. She’d told him not to stress about it, that it wasn’t as much of a problem as he was making it out to be but she didn’t understand the severity. The embarrassment, the shame, the desire. He’d left as quickly as he could, making his way to an unoccupied space where he seated himself on a rock and waited, for his mind and body to calm.

It'd felt good, the sensation of his covered length grinding into the flesh of her thigh, the burn he’d felt at the fleeting friction – it’s been so long. How blissfully relaxed he’d felt, well rested and comfortable with her in his hold, a realization that he’d gladly wake up like that every morning, minus what had followed, forming a pit of dread in his stomach. Her sleepy voice greeting him, the sound she makes when she stretches, him pushing her legs apart and nestling between them… “Fuck,” Din chokes, concentrating on not cupping himself because the goal was to make it go away. He wishes it hadn’t happened, worries about how it’ll impact things going forward but he’s equally elated that it did. Confused why she wasn’t angry at him, dumbfounded that she’d allowed it to happen.

Not helping, he thinks to himself, but he can’t help it. His mind drifts to the image of her sandy skin bare and visible, his fingers trailing across warm thighs, appreciating the softness, feeling the way her muscles quiver beneath his touch…

“Stop it,” he snarls, pinching his own thigh. “Stop it, stop it, stop it.”

They need to defeat the krayt dragon – that’s the mission for the day. One that might potentially kill one or both of them. He should tell her how he feels, before he’s missed his chance! But if she doesn’t feel the same way it could be a distraction, it could prove fatal. He seethes with frustration, teeth gritting and head pounding but he’s interrupted from his self-loathing when he hears someone yelling in the distance.

“Stay away from him!”

Maha, he recognises. The sound of her in danger is an instant mood-killer and he rockets to his feet, racing back towards the camp. He rounds one of the tents to find her cornered by a massiff, its teeth bared threateningly and rumbling. Behind her is the child, squished out of sight and protected by her entire body as she holds out a hand in the beast’s direction – her scarred limb. Is this a re-enactment of what’d happened to her? “Back!” She hisses at it, “get back!” The creature considers her for a beat, its head cocking before bowing in disappointment. A Tusken intervenes, nudging the beast away for a scolding and offers Maha a hand up which she hesitates on before taking it. The child is lifted into her arms and held close as she mumbles reassuring words to him.

Din approaches and she catches him in her sights, brows furrowing with concern – expecting him to reprimand her, unbeknownst to him. “Are you okay?” He strains.

“He’s fine, a little shaken up but –”

“Are you okay?” He repeats, emphatically.

Maha blinks at him, helmet tilted back to meet his hidden stare. “I – Yes, I’m okay…”

“I shouldn’t have left you,” he grunts, “I’m – I’m sorry about…”

“It’s nothing, really,” she says lightly, working to keep her voice from wavering. “Stop worrying.”

Din nods emptily, knowing if he speaks again it’s going to be more apologies. Instead, he guides her back to the tent and takes the child from her hold. “I’m going to get him some food,” he states. “Stay here, I won’t be long. Then we can… get moving, if you’re okay to?”

“I’ll be fine,” Maha reassures but she knows he doesn’t fully believe her. Mostly because she said be fine, not I am fine, meaning she’s not fine currently or perhaps she’s thinking too deeply about it. A sigh leaves her, foot tapping against the floor as she brings her knees up to her armoured chest. Today was going to be tough.

Mos Pelgo is shockingly small, four to five clusters of buildings, surrounded by a sea of sand, it’s appearance desolate and lonely looking. It’s not abandoned though, and their approach seems to be the most interesting thing occurring, made obvious by the residents standing around watching them closely. They likely never get visitors, Maha thinks. Ahead of the speeders are a pair of scurriers, digging eagerly through the sand for food but scatter as they pass.

Maha is conscious that these folk might’ve seen awful things, experienced loss and sorrow, judging by the way they hold themselves in the face of new company. She notices that Din is equally as curious, cautious, his helm turning this way and that, taking in his surroundings. Many believe he’s fearless, can’t be intimidated by anything and can withstand whatever comes his way, but Maha knows in her core that, despite people having said the same about her, she feels fear. She experiences anxiety, she can be defeated.

Admittedly, it’s hard not to question your perishability when you’re raised to believe it’s impossible to die. That you’re untouchable. Perhaps that’s why her childhood experiences have been invaluable to her. Because she understands how quickly the tables can turn, how easy it is to be bested. Equally, while she knows it was her founding Mandalorian who saved her from death, she hadn’t died – leaving her with the question of: could I have?

“What are you thinking?” She queries, voice hushed, loud enough to hear over the bikes but not enough that the townspeople could hear.

“It’s quiet,” Din says roughly, his voice low from hours of minimal talking and the dry atmosphere.

“Where do you want to stop?”

“Over there,” he suggests, pointing towards one of the buildings. The residents stand and watch in the shadows of their doorways and Maha’s fingers twitch, wondering whether she should keep her hand on her holstered blaster.

They pull up outside and power down the bikes; Din taking the lead. She’s surprised when he doesn’t pick the child up, leaving him in the bag on the transport, but chooses not to question him – maybe he didn’t think it was safe to take him inside. The goal was to attract as little attention as possible, but with everything being so quiet and lowkey anyway, two Mandalorians roaming around made it difficult.

Din pauses in the doorway, taking in the space. It appears to be a saloon, with tables and chairs occupying the main area and a bar in the centre. The bartender warily eyes them, placing down an item onto the surface before stepping over to greet them. While Din is surveying the area for their safety, she doesn’t feel it means she can laze around – thus, she also inspects the room for anything he might miss.

“Can I help you?” The bartender rasps deeply.

“We’re looking for a Mandalorian,” Din informs, hands pressed to the lip of the bar as he leans in.

“Well we don’t get many visitors in these parts.” Just as Maha had anticipated. “Can you describe ‘im?”

Din eyes him and she smirks – how unusual, for someone to not know what a Mandalorian looks like. It’s the first time she’s encountered someone like this, who is unaware of the world outside his small town.

“Someone who looks like us,” Maha interjects, hoping Din won’t mind. She knows it’s his mission she’s on but she doesn’t want to stand around only to look pretty.

“You mean the Marshal?” The bartender huffs.

“Your Marshal wears Mandalorian armour?” Din asks.

The bartender glances over towards the door and grunts, nodding in the direction, “see for yourself.”

All three heads turn towards the doorway where another figure stands, mostly dressed in red with a green chest plate, shoulder pads, a helmet and vambraces. He’s wearing two belts, fingerless gloves and his armour is badly dented and damaged. Maha scoffs, bowing her head at Din when he glances at her – if this man is a Mandalorian he doesn’t appear to care about his armour, something she is quite the opposite of and she knows Din is too. They spend much of their time cleaning and polishing their own. There’s a faint jingle in his walk as he approaches, a swagger in his step and Maha wonders how well-respected this man must be to hold such presence. She’s conscious of the blaster at his thigh.

“What brings you here, stranger?” He drawls, accent unusual and different from both hers and Din’s.

“We’ve been searching for you for many parsecs,” Din replies.

“Well, now y’ found me,” he closes the distance, hand raising to signal two, the number, with his fingers at the bartender. “Weequay, three snorts of spotchka.” The rich, blue liquid is placed onto the bar with three cups. Maha’s brows furrow – they wouldn’t be drinking that, not out of rudeness or distaste but because they couldn’t remove their helmets. “Why don’t you join me for a drink?” The Marshal offers, taking the spotchka and cups over to a table where he seats himself and proceeds to remove his helmet.

Shocked, she and Din still, watching him tensely. Who is this man? How could he have so comfortably violated the code? Maha takes a step forwards, confrontation on the tip of her tongue but Din’s arm stretches out to block her.

“I’ve never met a real Mandalorian,” the Marshal states smugly. Does that mean he’s not a Mandalorian? After all that distance? She can’t imagine how frustrated Din must be feeling. “Huh,” he chuckles, “heard stories, I know you’re good at killin’,” he unplugs the bottle’s lid and begins pouring the liquid into the cups, “and probably none too happy t’ see me wearin’ this hardware. So, I figure only one of us walkin’ outta here,” he turns his gaze back to them, and then down towards the floor and points, “but then I see the little guy, and I think: maybe I pegged you wrong.”

Maha glances down at the pot near her foot that the child stands behind, having climbed down from the bag and followed them inside – likely bored. She imagines Din’s close enough with him to trust he won’t go wandering off. She hears the cups being moved across the table towards them.

“Who are you?” Din questions bluntly.

“I’m Cobb Vanth,” he introduces, “Marshal of Mos Pelgo,” he lifts a cup to his lips and takes a sip. Maha swallows, conscious of her growing thirst – arsehole.

“Where did you get the armour?”

“Bought it off some jawas,” he says honestly, nonchalant.

“Hand it over,” Din commands impatiently.

Cobb laughs, a grin forming on his features and Maha’s fascinated by his audacity. The cup is put down with a thud. “Look, Pal, I’m sure you call the shots where you come from, but ‘round here, I’m the one,” he gestures to himself, “tells folks what t’ do.”

Din takes an intimidating step forwards. “Take it off. Or I will.”

Maha throws a glance in the direction of the bartender who is clearly unnerved by the threat and shifts. He’s not able to watch his back right now, meaning she needs to. Her gaze is enough to steady him.

“We gonna do this in front’a the kid?”

“He’s seen worse.”

Cobb’s brows raise and he looks around, eyeing Maha for a moment. “Right here then?”

“Right here,” Din challenges lowly. She knows he’s not bluffing, either, knows full well he’ll beat this man into the coming week for wearing Mandalorian armour that doesn’t belong to him – disgracing its honour so easily.

With a deep exhale, the Marshal rises to his feet and his chair shifts back. It’s a stare off until someone makes a move, hands positioned on their blasters. Once again, Maha is conscious of the drifting bartender. “Don’t move,” she warns him.

The tension is interrupted when the building begins to shake, a thundering in the distance causing the ground to move and Maha finds herself unsteady, stumbling backwards into the bar enabling the bartender to make a run for the back door. Cobb raises a finger to pause this interaction between them and makes his way out onto the porch of the saloon, while Maha reaches for the child to hold tightly in case anything should fall and crush him.

Din follows Cobb outside, and Maha tails him, the three standing in the doorway and she follows their line of sight into the distance where something appears to be beneath the sand and moving closer towards the town. Residents begin to scramble, racing across the sand and up onto the wooden walkways and children ushered inside. There’s an audible sense of panic, shouting and yelling to secure certain items and to get to safety. Vanth says nothing as they stand silent and unmoving.

A dreadful screech accompanies the rumbling, something Maha has never heard before and her form stiffens. The sand is shifting now, moving like a living creature, the hidden shape drawing closer to them until she’s able to see the spines on its back, gliding effortlessly through the sand – it cuts through the town’s road and disappears before resurfacing with a terrible wail as its huge maw engulfs the lonesome bantha feeding in the distance, disappearing in a matter of seconds like nothing had happened.

Once the ground stills, Cobb says, “maybe we can work something out,” before turning and making his way back into the saloon.

The child coos at her, terrified by the sight, and she lightly rocks him reassuringly despite feeling equal terror herself. A krayt dragon, she’d heard of the legends but had never seen one herself. It completely overshadowed the town, dominating the terrain in a powerful display of strength. The idea of having to confront such a beast disturbs her, especially because its in a Mandalorians best interest to help others, meaning they’re effectively bound by the code to intervene.

It doesn’t take long for the fear and panic to ease among the residents and they swiftly, as though its part of their routine, begin repairing the walkways and other damaged items. How often did this happen to them? Din and Maha had since regrouped with the Marshal who has told them he has a proposal.

“That creature’s been terrorizin’ these parts since… long before Mos Pelgo was established,” Cobb explains. “Thanks t’ this armour, I’ve been able to protect this town from… bandits and sand people.”

“Doesn’t excuse it,” Maha remarks venomously and Din shoots her a look, prompting her to turn her gaze elsewhere.

Cobb pauses but decides not to fuel the fire. “They look t’ me, t’ protect ‘em,” he draws in a deep breath, “but a krayt dragon is too much f’r me t’ take on alone.” He walks them to the edge of the walkway and leans against a pillar, side-eyeing Din. “Help me kill it, I’ll give you the armour.”

Din appears to consider him, though his response is quicker than Maha had expected. “Deal.”

“Mando,” Maha hisses, earning her a hard stare. “Shouldn’t we at least talk about this?”

“Nothing to talk about,” Din denies, “I’ll ride back t’ the ship, blow it out of the sand from the sky, use the bantha as bait.”

“Ah, so simple,” Cobb smirks. “The ship passes above it, senses the vibrations, stays underground,” he pauses thoughtfully, “but I know where it lives.”

“How far?”

Cobb tilts his head in a shrugging manner, looking off into the distance. “Not far.”

“Or'diniise! This is ridiculous,” Maha scoffs, handing the child over to a reluctant Din before she makes her way back down the path, the wooden slats clunking with each stormy step. She mutters to herself as she goes, ignoring the way Din calls after her. “Kriffing krayt dragon,” she grunts, “all for some armour that’s not even going to get us anywhere.”

“Maha!”

“If he wants to die so badly then he can just… go right ahead.”

“Dammit, Maha!”

Finally, she turns to face him with a snarl on her lips. “What? Don’t come running after me like you didn’t just eagerly sign our death warrants.”

“You don’t have t’ come,” he tries to suggest but she’s not having it.

“We’re a team, Mando, have you any idea what that means?” His lips part to answer but she only hears a stuttered exhale. “No,” she answers for him, “clearly not, because you would’ve told Cobb over there that you’d think on it and would get back to him. That you’d speak with your team first.”

“I don’t need someone t’ watch my back all the time,” he says firmly and it’s a cold and hurtful sentence that has her recoiling. “I’ve managed for decades alone.”

“Oh-ho-ho,” she barks out a laugh, “if I remember correctly, you’re the one who asked for my help in the first place! So don’t go giving me the ‘I don’t need you’ bantha-shit because I know you do, otherwise you wouldn’t have come back to Tatooine to find me!”

“Keep your voice down,” he growls, irritated that the scene she’s causing is turning heads.

“I will not,” Maha spits back. “I’m not some dog you whistle for when you need me around.” She pushes past him, careful not to catch the baby in the process, and makes her way over to her speeder bike. Seating herself upon it, she starts it up and checks the fuel gauge.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving,” Maha replies sharply. “If you don’t need me, then I’ll go.”

“Maha,” Din tries to reason softly but she’s not having it and begins to walk the bike back for space. “Maha,” he repeats, firmer, “don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“The kid won’t understand –”

“He sure as kriff will,” Maha objects, “I’m sure he won’t blame me one bit.”

“You wanted to talk, let’s talk,” Din presses.

“It’s too late,” she shakes her head. “You can’t just –”

“I’m sorry, okay?” He emphasises and it causes Maha to pause.

“You’re –”

“Don’t leave.”

They stare at each other, an overwhelming force between them keeping their hidden gazes locked. It’s intense and Maha wants to look away, to fidget, to do anything other than this but she can’t tear her eyes away. Something unreadable radiates from him, a severity to his tone she’s not heard since… since Kuiil’s death, Din’s voice stone-like through the comlink. Maha swallows, fingers shifting on the handlebar. “Why shouldn’t I?” Her voice threatens to waver but she manages to hold her nerve.

“Because –” He sighs, heavily considering his words, “because I need you. We need you.” The baby chirps in agreement in his hold, arms lifting and hands reaching out for her. He gestures to them as a whole, “tome.”

Her chest aches, growing fury dissipating slowly into affection but there’s still an edge to her voice when she finally speaks. “Fine. I’ll stay,” he visually loosens up, if only a tiny amount, “but not for you,” she tells him coldly. “For him.” In a quick flow of movements, she turns off the bike and pushes past him, knocking into his shoulder as she goes and heads towards the Marshal. “We’re ready when you are,” she updates him. “Try not to keep us waiting.”